79 Park Avenue (24 page)

"I wish they would," he said, still laughing. "It would save me the trouble of trying to take advantage of them."

She walked to the railing. The moonUght sparkled on the water below. "There's no use talking to you," she said.

He put his arms on her shoulders and turned her around. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were serious. "Keep talking, baby. It's nice having someone to worry about me for a change. Usually everybody's after me for something."

She stared into his eyes. "You're a nice guy. I don't want nothin' from you."

*T know you don't," he said. *'If you did, you would have been back."

She didn't answer.

"You're the first person in a long time who doesn't give a damn that I'm Gordon Paynter," he said.

*T like you," she said. "You're decent."

His hands dropped to his sides. "Famous last words. Just when I was trying to set you up, you take the wind out of'my sails."

She smiled at him. "Don't get discouraged. There's a fresh wind coming in from the ocean."

She put down her coffee cup. "You drink an awful lot," she said. "What for?"

He put down his fourth brandy and looked at her. "I like it," he said. He was begimning to feel the liquor. The

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words weren't coming just right. "Besides, there's nothing else to do."

"Nothing?" she asked in a wondering voice.

"Nothing," he answered heavily. "I keep away from business because every time I try something I lose money. Finally I gave it up. I get alTl need without working."

She didn't speak.

He stared at her. "You think that's wrong, don't you?" he asked accusingly.

She shook her head.

He grabbed her arm. "You do, really, don't you? Everybody else does. They think it's terrible that I don't have to work while half the world is starving."

"I don't give a damn about the rest of the world," she said. "I only worry about me."

He let go of her arm. He felt incredibly sad and lonely. "Well, I do," he said. "I think it's terrible."

Her eyes glowed in the dark. "Then why don't you do something about it?"

"They won't let me," he said. He was near tears. "My lawyers won't let me. I can't even give my money away if I want to. They would stop me."

"Poor Gordon," she said, patting his hand.

"Yes, poor Gordon," he agreed.

"I wish I could feel sorry for you," she said.

His head snapped up. His eyes were suddenly clear. "What do you mean?"

She smiled at him. "Nobody ever had it so good."

He began to laugh. He threw his head back and the laughter rolled up from deep inside him. It roared against the house and down toward the surf.

She looked at him with wide eyes. "What're you laughin' at?"

He managed to control himself for a moment. He looked into her face. "Of all places to find an honest woman!" he gasped. "I'd never have beheved it. Miami Beach!"

A puzzled look came into her eyes. "What's wrong with Miami Beach?" she asked. "I like it fine."

"I do, too," he said, still laughing. He went to the railing and looked down at the water, then turned back to her. "I have extra bathing-suits inside. How about a swim?" he asked.

She nodded silently.

They came back to the terrace wrapped in big Turkish towels. *'Tom!" he yelled. "Some hot coffee. We're freezing!"

There was no answer.

He walked over to the doors and called: "Hey, Tom! Get us some coffee."

Tom's voice came back faintly. *'Git it yo'self, boss. I gone to bed already."

Gordon came back from the door shaking his head. "I can't do a thing with him. He's been with me too long."

She smiled. "I can make coffee."

*Would you?" he asked. ^ "I insist," she said. "I'm cold, too. The water's great, but you gotta be used to it."

He led her into the kitchen. There was coffee on the stove. She lighted the burner imder it. A few minutes later they were sitting on the big chaise sipping the coffee from steaming mugs.

"This is good," he said, putting down his cup.

She nodded.

He stretched out flat. "Did you ever notice how big the stars are down here at night?" he asked.

She glanced up at them for a moment, then back at him, "They look the same to me.'*

He turned toward her. "Woman, have you no romance in your soul?"

She smiled. "It's late. I better be getting dressed." She started to get up.

His hand caught her arm. "Mary Flood," he said

She looked down at him. "That's my name."

"Don't go away now that I've found you," he said.

"Yuh don't know what you're sayin'," she said.

He pulled her down on the chaise. She looked into his eyes. He put his hands on her cheeks and drew her face to his. His mouth was warm and soft. It wasn't like all the others. A warmth ran through her. She closed her eyes.

She felt his hands on her breasts. She moved her shoulders and the straps slipped off. She heard his breath catch in his throat and she opened her eyes.

He was staring at her. "You're beautiful," he whispered. "Beautiful.'*

Her arms went around his neck, pulling his head down to her bosom. She could hardly hear his voice.

"Ever since you came out of the water the first morning I saw you," he was saying, "I knew you'd be like this."

She slipped her hands along his waist. She heard him gasp as her fingers touched him.

"I waited and waited," he whispered. "I waited so long."

"Shut up!" she said huskily, a strange fierceness in her. "You talk too much!"

Two days later he asked her to marry him.

Chapter 11

THE COFFEE was bubbling on the stove when a knock ? came at the door. *'Who is it?" she called without turning : around.

**Me," came the heavy, muflfled voice. "Mac." **The door's open," she called. **Come in." She filled two cups with coffee and carried them to the table. He had the papers in his hands. **Yuh see these?" he - asked.

She looked at him, "No," she answered. "I been too busy."

*Thaf s what the paper says," he said quickly. "You're in all of them."

Her brows knitted in puzzlement. "Me?" He nodded. "It says here you're goin' to marry Gordon Paynter."

She shrugged her shoulders. "What'd they print that for?" She sipped her coffee. "What's such a big deal? People get married all the time."

He stared at her. **You kiddin'? Not Gordon Paynter. He's one of the richest guys in the state."

She didn't answer, just reached for the papers and began to scan them. One of them had printed a picture of her leaving the license bureau with Gordon. She hadn't thought anything about it when the photographer snapped the picture. She remembered what Gordon had said before they went to the license bureau: ^'They'll make a big fuss. Don't pay any attention to them. Nothing they can do will change the way I feel about you."

She had looked up at him, her eyes somber. A sudden fear had begun to come into her. "Maybe we shouldn't do it, Gordon. Maybe we ought to wait a litde. You don't know nothin' about me."

He had smiled reassuringly at her. "I know everything I want to know. I don't care what you did. I only know what you are to me. That's the only thing that matters in the end. . . ."

The landlord sipped his coffee. *Ts it true, Mary? Are you really marryin' him?"

She lifted her eyes from the paper and nodded slowly. *^es."

He whistled. "That's a real break. Does he— T

She didn't let him finish his question. "He says it doesn't matter. That nothing matters," she said quickly, evading the truth.

"He must be real crazy about you." Mac put down his I cup and got to his feet "I guess this means that I lose a tenant."

She didn't answer, just looked at him. Something in his manner had changed. It was a subtle change, but it was there all the same. She sensed a subservience in him that had not been there before. She shook her head. "Not for a

while, Mac," she said. "It's three days before we can marry."

He walked to the door and opened it, then stood there looking back at her. "If there's anything you want, Mary," he said in a low voice, "just yell. I'U come a-runnin'."

**Thanks, Mac," she said.

He hesitated a moment. "I jus' don't want yuh to forget I always been your friend."

"I won't forget, Mac," she said. The door closed behind him, and she picked up the cups and put them in the sink. Name and money changed a lot of things. Her lips tightened into a grim Hne. Her mind was made up. It had taken Mac to show her the way. She would have them both. Then let anybody try to step on her.

Gordon stepped from the shower, pulled a large towel from the rack, and began to rub himself briskly. He began to hum with satisfaction. Only one more day.

He looked in the mirror as he combed his hair. It was thinning a little in the front, but still seemed heavy and luxuriant enough. He wondered how much heredity had to do with it. His father had been bald before thirty. He grinned into the mirror, pleased with himself.

Slowly he began to dress. His physique was stiU good. The frame was not spare, but neither was he soft. He remembered what Mary had said. Less drinking. She was right about that. He had always known, but it hadn't mattered. There had been nothing else to do.

He walked into the bedroom and picked up his shirt from the pillow where Tom had placed it. A faint scent came from the pillow—the perfume she wore. A stirring of excitement echoed in him. She was like a tiger in her passion. Wild and clawing and demanding. There had

never been anyone like her for him, so perfect they were together.

He could hear her muted voice echoing harshly in his ear: **Fill me, lover, drown me." His flesh tingled as if he could still feel her fingers tearing into his skin. He had never felt so much a man.

"Mr. Gordon." Tom's voice floated up from downstairs.

He tore himself from his memories. *'Yes, Tom?"

**They's a gen'mun here to see you."

**Who is it?" Gordon was annoyed. He had told him many times to get names.

"He won' say," Tom answered. "He says it's privut an' confidential. About Miss Flood."

Gordon's brow knitted. He wondered what the man wanted. It was probably a reporter, they always acted mysteriously. "Ask him to wait," he called. "I'll be down in a minute."

A few seconds later he walked into the living-room. A heavyset, florid man got out of a chair and stood up. "Mr. Paynter?" he asked.

Gordon nodded, waiting for the man to introduce himself.

*'My name is Joe," the man said nervously. "Last name doesn't matter. I'm only here to do you a favor. What d'yuh know about this girl Mary Flood?"

Gordon felt an instinctive anger begin to rise in him. •*Get out!" he snapped, jerking his finger at the door.

The man didn't move. "Yuh should know: somethin' about her if yuh're goin' to marry her," he said.

"I know all I need to know," Gordon answered, moving threateningly toward the man. "Get outl"

The man shifted nervously. His hand reached into a pocket and came out with a few pieces of paper. "Before

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yuh lose your temper," he said quickly, "maybe yuh better look at these." He thrust them into Gordon's hand.

Automatically Gordon glanced at them. They were photographs. Two girls. Nude. He could feel a chill nm-ning in his blood. One of them was Mary. He looked up at the man. His voice was shaking. "Where did you get these?"

The man didn't answer his question. "Her real name is Marja Fluudjincki. She was released from a reform school in New York less than a year ago. I know where I can get the negatives of these pictures if yuh want them."

Gordon's Ups tightened. Blackmail. He walked across the room and picked up the telephone. "PoUce headquarters," he said to the operator.

The man stared at him. "That won't do yuh no good," he said. "I'm givin' yuh the pictures as a favor. All it will do is get into the papers an' everybody will have a laugh on yuh."

Slowly Gordon put down the phone and sank into a chair. She should have told him. It wasn't right. He looked up at the man. "How do I know they're not fakes?" he asked, a faint hope inside him.

"I'll show yuh," the man said. He went to the door and opened it. "Evelyn!" he called. "Come in here!"

A moment later he came back into the room with a girl. She had short dark hair. Gordon looked down at the pictures. She was the other girl with Mary.

"Tell him the story," the man said.

The girl looked at him nervously. "But, Joe—"

The man's voice was harsh. "Tell him. We didn't drive all night from New Orleans for nothin'. Tell him!"

The girl looked down at Gordon. "I met Marja in the Geyer Home for Girls. We worked up an act and came

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down here. We worked stags and private clubs and parties. When the cops got hot, Joe an' me left town. Mary stayed here. We heard that—"

Gordon got out of his chair and crossed the room quickly. Her voice faded out as she looked at him, startled. He opened the rolling bar and took out a botde of whisky. He poured himself a glass and turned back to them. There was a heavy aching pain inside him. "How about a drink?" he asked.

The man answered first. "Don't mind if we do," he said with a forced laugh. "Do we, Evelyn?"

Chapter 12

THE JITNEY dropped her at the house, and she went up the walk to the door and rang the bell. Gordon opened it.

The whisky on his breath hit her as she entered. She turned toward him. "You've been drinking" she said reproachfully. "And you promised you wouldn't."

He laughed nervously. "Jus' celebratin', honey. It isn't every day that old friends stop in for a visit.'*

"Old friends?" she questioned.

He nodded and led the way into the living-room. She stopped in the doorway, frozen with shock. Evelyn was sprawled on the couch, clad only in a brassiere and panties. Her clothing was strewn all over the room. She waved drunkenly at Mary.

Joe lumbered toward her. "My oV girl Mary," he cried. "Got a kiss for ol' Joe?" Abrupdy he began to sing. ''Here comes the bride — here comes the bride,"