Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

“Aaronson, Malachi, four-one-four Wyoming Avenue, five-five-five-nine-oh-two-three; Aaronson, Rupert, one-two-five Woodcrest Road, five-five-five-nine-oh-eight-seven; Aaronson, Vera, one-two-four Curtis Avenue, five-five-five-oh-nine-six-five.” At each new phone listing Billy would bark, “Lower, lower!” until Sally Sue sounded like she could do justice to “Old Man River.”

By the end of the second week, my Lady Bountifuls were feeling loose, so Billy canceled his Wednesday seminar so that Sally Sue and I could go shopping for outfits for the shows. We were so excited to have a three-hour pass from boot camp that we giggled like school girls. Or I should say, giggled like a school girl and a school boy. Sally Sue’s giggle had dropped several octaves. I let out a whoop when I found out that I had gone down two sizes. Sally Sue agreed that the mauve pantsuit with the fuchsia scarf that I picked out would be perfect for the show.

The saleswoman who had her back turned when Sally Sue asked directions to the petite department for her outfit answered, “Through the arch and to your right, sir.” Instead of being surprised at the saleswoman’s mistake, Sally Sue was pleased. “Billy’s lessons are working,” she said. However, when Sally Sue came out of the dressing room wearing a beige mini-dress that matched the color of her new short haircut and asked me how I liked it, I thought that she looked and sounded like a female impersonator. But hey, there are plenty of those on TV talk shows too, so I told her she looked cool.

Billy approved of our purchases and said we had done so well that he was canceling the seminars altogether so that we could shop for his Ricardo/Maurice/Zazu outfits. Billy thought it only right, since he was the pursued and therefore the central figure in our drama, that he should have a different outfit for each show. It was Billy’s stand-up guy honesty that made me love him so. Sally Sue pouted, but I think her sore throat had put her out of sorts.

For Ricardo, who’s rather low-key, Billy chose a subdued red, yellow, and green plaid blazer; silk tie painted with Van Gogh look-alike sunflowers; and Statement! jeans. Those loafers with the cute little tassels added, as Billy put it, a “je ne sais quoi” touch to the ensemble. Oh, that Billy and foreign words! Sally Sue and I should have begun to suspect that his fashion sense and language skills would attract other women.

For Maurice, who’s somewhat manic, Billy decided on a biker motif. We had to do massive mall-crawls to find the perfect foundation for his look. At Rip-Off Tees, we finally found it: a dynamite black T-shirt that looked as if its sleeves had been cut off by a reckless three-year-old. The store owner assured us of the authenticity of its prewrinkled fabric. The Neckrowfiles Biker Club had placed it on Highway One and run over it thirty times. Billy reverently handed it to the clerk, amazed that the relic cost only seventy-five dollars.

The tee really set off the studded denim vest and oil-slicked jeans he wore, but the most masterful touch was the fake tattoo. At the decal store, Billy bought four letters and let us each put two on his right bicep to spell H-O-N-S. Since Billy called us both hon, we were each represented on his arm. A real diplomat, that Billy, but why hadn’t he gotten a permanent tattoo?

For Zazu, who’s quite the lady, brimming with concern for the world, Billy decided on environmental correctness. He bought everything at Rita’s Recycled Rags: a burlap suit that made him sneeze a lot; a pink shirt fashioned from plastic shopping bags; and squeaky white shoes made from takeout containers from fast-food restaurants from which catsup and relish stains had carefully been removed.

Our costumes in place, all that remained was for us to be briefed. When we arrived on the Ricardo set two hours ahead of taping, Yvette, the associate producer, escorted us into the green room and filled us in.

“Although, we strive for spontaneity on Ricardo, we are not above making some suggestions that will enliven the show. In your case,” she said, eyes flashing, “we want hostility.”

The way she almost shouted the word hostility made Sally Sue and me jump, but Billy took it in stride, just sat there gaping at Yvette like she was a New York attraction, which in a slickly beautiful, overly made-up way she was. Just before we went on the set, she growled at Sally Sue and me, “Go out there and fight for your man.” Her voice softened, though, when she wished Billy luck and kissed him smack on the lips.