Free The Final Confession of Mabel Stark: A Novel (An Evergreen book) by Robert Hough Page A

held a burning Pall
Mall, pinioned between the second and third fingers. The ash had gotten to be about half an inch long, and if it fell the breeze would've scattered it over the buttered buns, the cheese-and-pickle roll-ups, the pigs
in a poke, the tuna-filled cherry tomatoes and most important the devilled eggs, which in my books are the only excuse for having a picnic in
the first place.
    She noticed me eyeing her.
    "Oh hello," she said, while straightening. I had to lift my chin to
look her in the eye.
    "Hello," I replied, and I wish I could say there wasn't a hint of
frostiness in my voice. If she noticed she didn't act like she did. Instead,
she shuffled around her plate and her cigarette and her glass of rose
wine so it was all teetering in her left hand, thus freeing up her shaking
hand. She held it out and said, "I'm Ida Ritter. How do you do?"
    My whole body sank.
    "Mabel Stark. I'm fine."
    This answer caused her to chew more vigorously while looking up
and away. "Wait a minute," she finally said. "Aren't you that tiger lady?"
    Here I looked at her, trying to keep the daggers out but by God it
wasn't easy. As you know I was centre-ring with the Ringling show of
the twenties, and saying to me, `Aren't you that tiger lady?' would be
akin to going up to a Cadona and saying, `Aren't you from that flying
family?' or asking a Wallenda if he'd once walked a highwire. It was
disrespect, pure and simple, not to me particularly but to the whole history of the circus. Had it been anybody else, I would've told them
so and stormed off, devilled eggs or no devilled eggs.

    Instead, I said, "Yes, that's right," and was pleased when someone recognized her and came over and told her how great she looked.
    Well. With that introduction problems were bound to happen
and sure enough they did. I was with my tigers one morning, about to
lay down sawdust, when who should come up but Ida, this time wearing tight leopard pants, an insult to the leopard world if you ask me,
along with cat's-eye sunglasses and a pink blouse tied just above her
navel. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a menthol in the other.
    "Beautiful," she said, gesturing at my babies, "beautiful animals."
    I stopped working and paid attention for I was still acting like
there was respect between us.
    "You got that right, Ida. There's nothing more beautiful."
    "But chubby. I see some sway on a few of 'em. For instance, that
one. What's his name?"
    "Her name."
    "Sorry. What's her name?"
    "Goldie."
    "Well, what do you think, Mabel, is it just me or is Goldie looking a little padded around the haunches? I was just wondering if maybe
these cats could do with a half pound less of chuck a day."
    Here I looked at her, doing my best imitation of calm, though
inside I was seeing red, for tigers need at least fifteen pounds of meat
daily or their coats pucker. Was nothing but cheapness, Ida's suggestion, and designed to aggravate; everyone knows if it were up to me I'd
feed them their favourite hippo steaks each and every morning.
    "Well now that's an idea Ida," I said. "I'll talk it over with Uncle
Ben and see what he thinks."
    "Good," she said and walked away, those teetery pink slippers
making her ass wiggle.
    A few days later, the same thing happened. I'd just thrown the cats their meat and was taking a breather when I heard those slippers
slapping the ground. I turned, fearing the worst, and there she was,
smiling and chewing gum, gesturing with a lit cigarette.

    "Well, good morning, Mabel. My oh my those tigers are looking
gorgeous as ever.
    "Suppose they can't help it."
    "Yep. They sure do look fantastic. You're doing one bang-up job
around here, Mabel."
    I took a deep breath and waited for it.
    "But I couldn't help notice one or two of them have coats that
could use a little shine. Like that one. What's his name?"
    "Her name," I said, "is Mommy."
    "Beautiful tiger. Beautiful bones. Ever thought of rubbing a little
vegetable oil into her