Driving the King by Ravi Howard

the show cancelled and all. If he puts some money in your hand, you can put up a little fuss, but then you fold it in your pocket. Just call it meantime money. Until he comes back to Los Angeles.”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œCarlos might book New York when Nat comes back. The road’s been better to him than television, so who knows.”
    â€œIf he needs me when he comes back, that’s fine. But he doesn’t owe me.”
    â€œHe knows that man was liable to kill him if not for youwhipping his ass. If he puts money in your hand, put it in your pocket.”
    He pointed out the window at the southbound bus that let out a dozen or so nurses at Saint Margaret’s Hospital, the last stop for white riders before Centennial Hill.
    â€œI think I figured out how to solve the bus problem down here. Double-decker busses. That way if anybody can’t stand sitting next to you, they can carry their ass up the stairs.”
    â€œYou can see about bringing one back from London.”
    â€œI’ll look into it.”
    Skip took another handful of change and started to dial a new number, and he reminded me of his warning about a man’s money and his pride.
    â€œTake what he puts in your hand.”
    â€œMr. Adams, it’s Weary.”
    Whenever we knocked on Nat’s door at any hotel, we used the name he checked in under, his middle name, in case somebody in the hallway overheard. The hours before a show need to be anonymous ones, so he had to be somebody else. Nat opened the door without showing himself, and closed the door behind me. He had changed out of his traveling suit, and he wore a red sweater and the round glasses he didn’t like people to see him in.
    â€œI know you don’t care for surprises, so I’m telling you.This suite’s about to get a new name. Miss Vee made a plaque for you, with you being famous and all.”
    â€œBoy from Saint John Street with his name on the wall.”
    â€œAbout to be out front in a little while, too. They’ll have you on the marquee and the radio after that. Then everybody’ll know.”
    â€œAll my time in show business, Weary, and this is a first. A show nobody knows about.”
    â€œEvery other week you had a surprise guest, and folks loved it.”
    â€œGood for ratings, they told me. Right, too. Ratings were never my problem.”
    One of the property rooms at NBC held doors for all the shows. Offices, mansions, hospitals. Cardboard elevators. One door used for The Nat King Cole Show had a question mark, and he opened it to reveal mystery guests. In Montgomery Nat and I had been on the wrong end of a surprise that his attackers had kept secret until they were ready.
    â€œYou can’t dwell. You said so yourself.”
    â€œTurns out I was wrong. I can dwell, but there’s no future in it.”
    â€œSkip got good news about London. He wanted to tell you himself, but you and surprises.”
    â€œI’d bring you along if I could. I hope you know that.”
    â€œYou got Skip looking out for you. You can hire somebody to drive when you get there.”
    â€œYou’ve never been just a driver, Weary. Anyway, after this evening, you can call yourself a promoter. The world can always use a good one. I ended up in Los Angeles when one ran off with the money and left me stranded. I guess that worked out, so television shouldn’t worry me like it does.”
    Nat had rearranged the furniture. The narrow table, no longer against the wall, was in front of the winged-back chair, turned into a workplace for the stack of staff pages. He’d made more room by moving the water pitcher and bowl and one of the lamps, placing them on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe. The red velvet chair’s seat cushion was dimpled from the bit of sitting he’d done while he worked.
    â€œWhich way is it, the neighborhood?”
    He asked as he stood facing the window with his hands on the back of the