Nightmare in Pink (9 page)

"Trav, dear, let's drink to dreary rich women like poor Terry. And to Sunday afternoons in October. And to finding new friends."

"And to privacy."

She made a rueful face. "That lovely thing which I ain't got. I really have to be alone a little while every day. It renews me, you know? I pity people who haven't enough resources to be able to be by themselves. In that huge apartment, I lock myself in my room and think and read. I read a great deal. It's the only way we have to lead more lives than one."

"That's a very interesting way of putting it, Bonita."

She arranged her face into a pretty little frown of thought. "I suppose we all feel trapped in one life. Sometimes it makes one want to do mad mad things. It's dreary to be circumspect all the time."

"Think up a madness."

"Sure," she said. She made her cold eyes sparkle. "Take a cab right now, to Idlewild. Buy a toothbrush, fly to Florida, and go off on your boat and hide away in the islands."

"I'll go check the flights."

"Darling, I do wish I could. I really do. But sometimes we all have to settle for a little less, don't we?"

It was a very personal voice. It was good for nuances. She was beginning to make me feel like a juicy bug on the end of a handy twig. Any minute now the sticky tongue would flick out and snare me and yank me into that greedy maw. She was managing it with great skill. She had fed me most of my lines.

"What will you settle for, Bonita?"

"Another drink, dear."

"That's a very minor request."

"Everything is relative, Trav. Everything should be sufficient to the moment, don't you think?"

"It seldom is."

"That's because most people never know exactly what they want. It's a great blessing, to always know exactly what you want."

"Do you?"

"You still didn't order that drink."

After I did, she said, "Will you be in town long?"

"Another few days. A week. Maybe a little more."

"Are you staying with friends?" I named my hotel. She looked disapproving. "Those new ones are so characterless."

"And completely anonymous. I like that kind of privacy."

"Are the rooms really nice? I picture them as little white boxes."

"They're quite comfortable."

She glanced down for a fraction of a second, and I knew that she had opened that jeweled watch. Her lips tightened slightly. I was being a dull pupil. I wondered if she'd take me by the ear and lead me, bellowing, back to my hotel room. She had the hunger, she had set the scene, and she was pressed for time. But I had suddenly forgotten my lines.

I saw her begin to wonder if I found her unattractive. The thought disturbed her. I had to take her off the hook. "I wish I could see that apartment you used to have."

"But I had to give it up, dear. It broke my heart. All my precious things in storage. And I can't show you the apartment where I live now. I'm… not really in a position to have guests. Surely you understand."

"Of course, Bonita." I was beginning to have a difficult time relating her to conspiracy, to large-scale theft, to possible murder. She was clear-eyed and healthy. The long round pale throat had a look of grace and strength. She was fragrant and purposeful, and she knew how to use her eyes and mouth to maximum effect.

She sat there, humid and intent, leaning slightly forward, with a tilted smile, planted firmly on those glossy needful hips, readied for any opportunity to rationalize a brief Sunday afternoon liaison as a bit of enchanting October madness, concealing with a hasty jerry-built scaffolding of romance the plain vulgar structure of itch.

Her living arrangement had deprived her, apparently, and though she was more accustomed to the leisurely pursuits fashioned about the precious little apartment, she was obviously willing to gratify herself in a more casual fashion when opportunity arose. And, because of Terry, I had a suitable cachet.

Once a reasonably attractive woman has accustomed herself to an almost masculine directness, her batting average can run unreasonably high. And such was her skill she had injected a thoroughly steamy overtone into the conversation without ever having committed herself in any way.

Were I to dutifully trundle her off to the gold and white lobby and up to my plastic aerie, she would arrange to get herself kissed, then laugh fondly and patronizingly and chide me for being a dear silly boy, then put her black dress on a hanger and carefully turban her intricate hair with a towel to keep it from being mussed, and graciously, generously, coyly present herself for service, giving her explicit executive secretarial instructions and requests in that light-bodied, musical, secretive voice. October madness, my dear. Everything sufficient to the moment. We all have to settle for what we can get.

Eased and content, she would dress with great care, making a gay chatter all the while, and, at the door, pat my cheek fondly and call me a dear boy, quite confident I would never never forget this magical afternoon when a veritable princess had brightened my drab days with her impulsive generosity.

Playing it her way, a game for which I had no stomach, would end the relationship. Offending her would end it just as readily. If I were to learn anything from her, I had to achieve some kind of continuity.

"Bonita, I could prove that the rooms are not little white boxes, but I think Walker might wake up in a bad temper."

"Walker?"

"He was a little too tight to drive back to the country last night. Bunny's nephew."

"oh?"

"Bunny Rodriguez. Terry mentioned her."

"Oh, yes, of course," she said with a little uncertain frown between her golden brows. "When I left to meet Terry, he didn't look as if he would wake up until Monday." I smiled at her. "There's an old phrase: Had I but known."

She reached swiftly and patted my hand. "Tours of inspection are dull things at best, my dear. And we certainly don't want to disturb Walker, do we?"

"I could have him evicted."

"You're fun, Trav. I do like being with you."

"A pair of refugees from Terry Drummond. I suppose it's the money. People with that kind of money are never quite real. I can't imagine Charles McKewn Armister as being quite real, Bonita."

"Oh he is, definitely. But he does have some unreal attitudes, I suppose. I remember while I was still working for Bay. That was well over a year ago, before Charles became ill. Charles came back from having lunch at one of his clubs one day, and he was very indignant. He was used to paying a dollar and a half for his lunch, and they had raised the price to a dollar sixty-five. He wrote an indignant letter to the house committee. I suppose he had lunch there twenty times a year. Twenty times fifteen cents comes to three dollars. And it was that same month that he and his wife gave seven hundred thousand dollars to Princeton. Out of foundation monies of course. But the contrast."

"Terry said he doesn't use his clubs any more."

There was a cold flicker in her pale blue eyes. "Not lately. You see, they are making huge changes in the investment setup of the Armister money. And when Charlie goes out, even if he went to a private club, there'are just too many people who are too anxious to find out what the plans are, and suggest things and try to gain some advantage. After all, when you start moving some seventy millions of dollars about, people get some terribly clever ideas. It's part of my job to… to insulate Charlie from those people." She patted my hand again, more lingeringly. "But I don't want to talk shop, dear. This is a rare day off for me. It's practically a vacation. I should be back at the apartment by seven at the latest."

"And here it is quarter to four. Will I be able to see you soon again, Bonita?"

She looked rueful. "It's really terribly difficult, Trav. I'm at their beck and call."

"Aren't your evenings your own?"

"They should be. But it hasn't worked out that way. I do special work at the apartment for Baynard. One of the extra bedrooms is set up as an office now. This is a very busy time for all of us. But… you could give me a ring. At the office would be best."

I ordered us another round. The drinks were getting to her slightly, but they did not make her any less evasive when I tried to swing the conversation around to Charlie Armister.

Finally I said, "How much did Terry offer you to send Charlie back to Joanna?"

She bit her lip. "I suppose Terry would tell you anyway. Fifty thousand dollars. Isn't that absurd?"

I shrugged. "She's got it. And she loves her sister. Too bad you couldn't send him back."

"Charlie is a generous employer."

"Not that generous, is he?"

"No. But I have more than enough for my needs, Trav."

"Your expensive tastes?"

She smiled. "Clothes and furs. And nice surroundings. But if I had millions, I think I'd keep working. It's my life."

"Power hungry?"

"It's my weakness, dear. I love to have the little people jump when I want them to jump. I have an earnest little secretary of my own. Miss Angela Morse. She's a fat humble little thing, and she strives so hard to please. She gets all sweaty when I speak to her. But in a few years I might be able to really turn her into something."

I filed that away. A little later I was able to take another hack at Charlie-lore. She left a small opening and I said, "When he had his nervous breakdown, did he come right back and move into the apartment?"

"What nervous breakdown, dear?"

"All right. When he was sick."

"Yes, he wanted to stay in town. Baynard found the apartment. We moved in and got it all ready for him. He was very pleased with it."

"And then you and he had your little fling."

"Darling, you're going to make me terribly sorry I ever mentioned that. He couldn't spend much time at the office. I took things back for his signature and so on. And, as I said, it was proximity. Terry acted as if I were some horrible little slut trying to snag myself a rich man. I have more pride than that."

"That's obvious."

"Why do we keep talking about Charlie?"

"Maybe I'm jealous."

She took hold of my wrist, a firm pressure in her small plump hand. "You shouldn't be, dearie. It's been over for months. And I have been a veritable nun ever since."

"And Charlie has been a monk?"

"Hardly!"

"You sound very positive."

"Didn't I tell you he's recovering from a life of repression? He has whole acres of wild oats all saved up. So poor Baynard, to keep Charlie from making a fool of himself, or to keep some bitch from blackmailing him, has been… well, arranging things for him."

"Ladies of the evening?"

"It distresses poor Baynard. But from what little I have seen of a couple of them, they seem quite presentable. I guess if you pay enough they would be. They look like college girls who do some modeling on the side. I don't know what the source is, but apparently it's inexhaustible. Harris goes and picks them up in the Lincoln and brings them up the service elevator. They leave in the morning the same way. I imagine they are perfectly trustworthy. And it does keep him out of trouble. It seems so strange that…" She stopped abruptly and released my wrist. She stared at me. "I must be getting drunk, Trav. I shouldn't be saying these things."

"You're among friends."

She drew herself up. "Am I? Perhaps you're pumping me. How do I know that Terry Drummond didn't arrange this so you could pump me, dear?"

"You're getting to be paranoid."

"Hardly. I'm just naturally cautious. And very loyal. I told you how loyal I am. I am very very loyal to the man I work for. And I am very very loving to the man I don't work for."

"Baynard?"

"Don't be a dope. I meant it abstract."

"But you are a nun, you said."

"Yes, indeed. Tragic, isn't it? But that's the way the ball bounces sometimes. Did I ask for this drink? How many does this make? Is it sinful to get smashed on Sunday, dear?"

"It's the best day."

She beamed and preened herself and fluttered her eyelashes. "What a man wants, he doesn't want involvement. You know? I know how a man thinks. I think like a man, darling. Does that seem strange?"

"Not at all."

"A man wants to have his fun and no regrets. Fair for one, fair for all. Right?"

"Right."

"Promiskus… promiscuous means like cheating on a man. I've always said, Bonita, vou've got to be loving and loyal, because you don't want to be a tramp. Geez, I miss my darling lil apartment so much. A girl should be a good sport. You know? God, I hate a teaser. That's false pretenses. Right?"

"Right."

"A man wants you gracious. Nice lil private dinners and pretty sexy clothes. Good cooking. Herbs. I use lots of herbs. And damned good in bed. That's what counts the most, let me tell you, sonny boy." She stopped again and her eyes widened. She wore a listening expression. Suddenly there were beads of moisture on her pale forehead.

"Scuse me," she said in a tiny voice and got up quickly and hurried away, leaning forward slightly from the waist. She was gone a long time. When she came back she looked slightly hollow-eyed. But sobered.