79 Park Avenue (28 page)

"Who found the cab-driver?" he asked innocently.

"You mean you—?" She broke oS, a growing knowledge in her eyes.

He grinned at her. "Who was to say no? Bell was so drunk he didn't remember which driver he had. It was simple enough to get a man from the same company who could

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Book Three. Maryann 297

remember more than Bell could. Especially a man who works nights and was willing to pick up a few bucks for an easy afternoon's work."

"You are the best/' she said, smiling.

He closed the door. ''Seven thirty sharp," he said and walked off whistling.

He looked at his wristwatch. It was almost six o'clock. He picked up the telephone, and when his secretary answered, he said: "Call the barber and tell him to wait for me. I'll be down for a shave in a few minutes."

"Right, Mr. Vito," the girl said. He started to put down the receiver, but her voice continued. "I have Mr. Drego on the telephone."

"I didn't caU hhn," Vito said.

"He called just as you picked up the phone," the girl explained.

Vito punched the connecting button. "Yes, Ross?"

"I gotta see you tonight, Hank." Ross's voice was earnest.

"Can't it keep, kid?" Vito said. "I talked the ol' woman into giving me a night off and I got a beautiful babe lined up. Any other time."

"It's got to be tonight. Hank," Ross answered. "They want me to gp out west next week. There's some things we have to straighten out first."

"Christ! I got no luck at all," Vito said.

Ross laughed into the phone. "I won't keep you long."

"Yeah," Vito said.

Ross laughed again, "This babe must be somethin'> I never heard you sweat over a dame before."

"I don't think there's another like her in the world/' Vito said. "She was bom to be a woman/*

*This I gotta see," Ross said. "Bring her along if she can keep her mouth shut."

"Okay," Vito said. "We'll be at your place at eight."

"No," Ross answered, "better make it the Shelton Qub at eight thirty. I'll bring a dame, too. That way, if anyone sees us we'll be out on a ball."

"Right," Vito agreed. He put down the telephone. Ross was a bright boy. Sometimes too bright. He picked up the telephone again and dialed a number.

A voice answered. "Get Joker to the phone," he said. Joker was right. Many years ago he had said the kid would need a lot of handling.

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Chapter 3

THE CAB dropped him at a brownstone house on West 73rd Street. He paid the driver and walked up the steps. The light in the hall was dim, and he had to strike a match to find her name. Maryann Flood. He pressed the bell.

Almost immediately there was an answering buzz at the door. He pushed it open and came into an old-fashioned hallway. Her door, marked by a gold letter C, was at the top of a flight of stairs. He was about to knock when she opened it.

"Come in," she said, smiling, and stepped back to let him enter.

He came into the room, taking off his hat. At first glance he was surprised It was neatly and simply furnished* and still there was a sense of the exotic in the apartment It was in the thick rich pile of the rug, the bizarre wall fixtures, a sword, an ancient gun, a cat-o'-nine-tails The light was soft on the deep-maroon paint of the walls and ceiling Under

the windows were bookshelves filled with books and knick-knacks.

"Your coat?" she asked, still smiling.

"Oh—sure." He slipped it off.

She took it from him. "There's ice and whisky on the side table," she said. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."

He walked over to the side table. The ice bucket was sterling silver. The glasses were good Steuben tumblers. The Scotch was Johnnie Walker Black Label, the rye Canadian, the bourbon Old Grand-dad, the gin House of Lords. "You Uve pretty good," he said.

Her quilted housecoat of green velvet swirled as she turned to look at him. "I should," she said, unsmiling. *That's the only reward of my profession. And there's no guarantee that it will continue, so I make the most of the moment."

He filled a glass and walked over to the bookshelves. They contained current fiction, some good, some bad. "Did you read all these?" he asked curiously.

She nodded. "I generally have the whole day to kill."

He tasted his whisky. "Can I fix you a drink?" he asked.

"No, thanks," she said. "I'll get one." She poured some creme de cassis into a tumbler, added a few ice cubes and then soda. She raised the glass. "To the smartest lawyer in New York."

He grinned. "Thank you." He held up his own glass. "To the most fascinating client an'attorney ever had the good fortune to serve."

"Thank you." She put down her drink and walked toward the bedroom. "How shall I dress? Where are we going?"

He followed her to the bedroom door and stood looking

at her. "Dress it up," he said. "We're going to the Shelton Club. I have to meet a client."

She raised her eyebrows. 'The Shelton Club—we're really livin'."

"Nothing but the best," he said, grinning.

She slipped out of her housecoat and sat down in front of a vanity table. He caught his breathy she had done it so casually. She wore nothing but a strapless brassiere, panties, and long silk stockings that were secured to a tiny garter belt around her waist. She glanced at him mischievously. "Excuse the working clothes."

He held his hands in front of his eyes. "Fll be all right in a minute," he said. "It's just that I'm not used to women."

She laughed as she began to put on make-up. "You're nice, Hank. I hke you."

"Thanks," he said.

She turned to him. "I mean it. There are very few men I do like. They're mostly animals."

His face was suddenly serious. She-ought to know better than most. "I hope we can be friends," he said.

Her eyes were wise. "I hope so," she said candidly, "but I doubt it."

He was surprised. "Why?'*

She got to her feet and turned toward him. An indefinable change had come over her. He felt a pulse beating in his temple. In the soft light of the room she seemed suddenly to have turned into an erotic statue; her breasts were full and thrusting, the curve of her belly warm and inviting, her legs like long-stemmed flowers. His mouth was suddenly dry. He held his glass to his mouth, but did not drink from it. He just wanted the cold moisttiess against his lips. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

A half-smile came to her lips. "Am I?" she asked. "Not

really. My legs are too long, my bust too full, my shoulders too broad, my eyes too big, my chin too square, my cheekbones too high, my mouth too wide. Everything's wrong, according to the fashion. Yet you say I'm beautiful."

*'You are," he said.

Her eyes stared through him. "You mean something else, not beauty. You mean I'm good for something el^, don't you?"

"What else is the measure of beauty?" he asked.

The smUe disappeared from her hps. "That's what I mean. That's why I doubt we can be friends. It always comes to that."

He smiled at her. "I know you," he said softly. "You don't want it any other way. It's your only weapon. It's your only way to be equal."

She stared at him a moment, then sat down again at the vanity table. She picked up a powder puff and offered it to him. "Powder my back," she said. "Maybe you'll be different from all the others. You're smarter."

He stared at the powder puff for a moment, then turned away. "If we're goin' to be friends," he said, "powder your own back. I'm only human."

When she came out of the bedroom he got to his feet and whistled. She wore a simple off-the-shoulder dress of gold lame that clung lightly to her figure and fell to her calf. Sheer silk stockings and gold shoes. In her ears she wore tiny heart-shaped gold earrings, and aroimd her;throat a single large topaz-like stone hung on a gold-mesh chain. Her hair was white-blond and shimmering against the yellow gold of her oostume.

She smiled at him. "You like?"

He nodded. "Fabulous!"

She brought his coat from the closet and draped a light-colored mink scarf around her shoulders.

"Ready?" he asked, smiling. Ross's eyes would pop out.

"Always ready," she replied.

As they started for the door, the telephone began to ring. He stopped and looked at her. "Don't you want to answer it?" he asked.

Her eyes met his. "My answering-service wUl get it. It's probably a client who doesn't know I'm taking a night off."

They sat back in the cab and he gave the driver the destination. She put her hand through his arm. The Ught scent of her perfume came to him.

"What do you want out of life, Maryann?" he asked.

The darkness hid her eyes from him as she spoke. "Everybody asks the same question. Do you want the stock answer or the truth?"

"The truth, if we're to be friends," he said. * "The same thing that everyone else wants," she said. "Love. A home. FamUy. Security. Marriage. I'm no different from any other girl."

He hesitated. "But—" he started to say.

She interrupted him. "I'm a whore, you were going to say."

It was as if she picked the thought from his mind. He coughed embarrassedly.

"That doesn't make me a second-class citizen," she said quietly. "I feel everything that any other girl feels. I bleed as much when I'm cut, I cry as much when I'm hurt. I work just as hard at my profession as any other girl works at hers. It's more difficult to be a competent whore than it is to be a competent secretary or clerk."

"Then how come you never tried anything else?"

"How do you know what I tried?" she asked quietly. "Why are you a lawyer instead of a doctor? Because this is what you're best at. Well, this is what I'm best at."

"I'm a lawyer also because it's what I want, what I was bom for," he said quickly.

"As one professional to another"—she smiled—"all my life I fought it. Ever since I was a kid and the boys were ganging up after me, I fought it. Someone once told me that this was what I was born for. I didn't believe him, but he was right. I know it now."

He took her hand and patted it gently. Suddenly he realized he liked this giri very much. She had a curious form of honesty. "I hope someday you'll get what you want."

At the restaurant she waited while Vito checked his hat and coat. Ross's back was to them as they approached. He was busy talking to a dark-haired girl seated next to him.

Vito stood behind him, his hand on Maryann's arm. "Ross," he said.

Ross turned around quickly and looked up, smiling, his dark eyes bright. "Hank!"

"Ross, I'd like you to meet Maryann Flood," Hank said. "Maryann, this is Ross Dre—" His voice suddenly vanished.

Ross's face had gone white. For a moment Hank thought the man had become ill, there was such agony in his expression. Only Ross's eyes were alive—alive and bright with a hunger in them that Vito had never seen beforcv Finally Ross spoke. His voice trembled. "Mar—Marja!"

Vito looked at Maryann. Beneath her make-up her face was pale, but she was more composed than Ross. She held out her hand to him.

"Ross!" she said in a husky voice. "It's been a long

time."

*'Seven years, Marja," Ross said. He struggled to his feet. "Sit down, Hank."

They seated themselves. "We grew up together, Hank," Ross explained, his eyes on Maryann. "Remember what you said over the phone, Hank? This is the only girl in the world I would beUeve that about!"

Vito looked from one to the other. The same angry vitality was in each. They were so alike in their differences that they might have come from the same mold, with only a different finish to each. He put his hand on the table and leaned forward. "Tell me about it," he said.

Chapter 4

THE DARK-HAIRED girl who had come with Ross was annoyed. For all the attention she had been getting throughout dinner, she might as well not have been there. It made no difference to her what Ross and Maryann had done when they were kids.

But it did to Hank Vito. It explained to him a lot of things about Ross ^d about Maryann. Things that had puzzled him. Silently he filed away their reminiscences. He was a collector of odd bits of information about people. In his business, such information not infrequently came in handy.

One thing he saw at once: he would have to wait his turn with Maryann. If ever there had been unfinished business between two people, here it was between these two. He looked at the dark-haired girl and smiled. "What do you say we buzz off and leave these two to their old-times reunion, honey?"

The girl returned his smile gratefully. "I'd like nothing better, Mr. Vito. Other people's memories are so dull."

Hank didn't agree with her, but he got to his feet. "Let's go," he said.

Ross looked up at him. "But we haven't got around to our business yet," he protested.

Hank smiled. "Make it at my oflBce first thing in the morning." He held out a hand to Maryann. "Good night, friend."

Her smile was bright and warm. "Good night, counselor."

Ross watched them leave, then turned to Maryann. "Sit next to me."

Silently she moved into the place the other girl had vacated. Ross covered her hand with his own.

"Another drink?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No thanks."

"I'll have one." He gestured and the waiter brought him another Scotch. "How did you meet Hank Vito?" he asked.

She looked into his eyes. "I was in trouble and needed a lawyer. I went to him."

"You went to the best," Ross said. "He's expensive, but there aren't any better."

"Sometimes the most expensive is the cheapest in the long run," she answered.

"He's my lawyer, too," Ross said.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"I work for the syndicate," Ross said. "You know what that is?"

She nodded.

"I'm clean, though," he said quickly. "I handle the legit operations. Right now they want me to move out to L.A. to set up a construction company. That's why I wanted to see Hank tonight."

She didn't speak.

"Remember Joker Martin?" Ross asked.

She nodded.

"He's one of the wheels now. I used to be with him, but now I'm independent. I convinced them that I'm better off working alone." Ross offered her a cigarette and held a light to it. "He was the only one who would give me a job when the old man kicked me out."