“We’d like to talk to the manager if we could.”
“Something I can help you with?” Colin said.
“We’ve got this act, see. We were wondering if maybe we could
perform at your resort.”
He shrugged his tanned shoulders. “We’ve got a Vegas-quality
show already.”
“We wouldn’t ask for much. Only a room, if you’ve got it. We
could play afternoons.”
“We’ll have to ask the boss.”
Niles cut a striking figure in a tan linen suit and white cotton
shirt. His dreads had been oiled and pulled back in a bandana. His
face was unnaturally smooth and mask-like.
“Let’s see what you got,” he said.
They played Mr. Bojangles and The Girl From Ipanema.
“That was terrible. When can you start?”
“Well, we’ve got another partner. Looks a bit like a young Sammy
Davis actually. He’s still over on the big island.”
“We’ve already got one Sammy. But okay. Let’s try you out. We
can’t pay you, but we’ll give you free room and food.”
“Sounds fine.”
“Great. Welcome to St. Marty’s. Go enjoy the show. We’ll have
you start at lunchtime tomorrow.”
Tomorrow’s lunch rolled around and Roy had still not shown up so
they played without him. At the end of the show Sammie Davis, Jr.
came up to congratulate them.
“That was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Except for a few bits
which were lousy. But I can help you with those.”
They were semistarstruck. Up close it was apparent that it was
only an impersonator, but the mannerisms, voice and style were
spot-on. Dolores took off her glasses.
“Baby, what fabulous eyes you have!” Sammie bubbled. She
giggled.
“We loved your show last night, Mr. Davis,” Bern told him,
“Tapdancing before the ark! What a great touch.”
“That was Niles’ idea. The whole Rasta thing. Took me a while to
adjust, but now I dig it. Sammy was half-Caribbean, so I think of this
as a sort of homecoming.”
“Here’s to old Sammy,” Bern said, raising his glass.
Dolores asked, “Sammie, that song you sang. The one about
ABYSSINIA
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