She shook her head. "I read character," she said. "I'm going to have fun with you."
I winked at her. "That's only half of it. What shall we do? I mean, let's map out a
programme."
"We'll have a drink, then dinner, then dance, then we'll go to the beach and swim Then we'll have more drinks and then—–"
"Then—what?"
She fluttered her eyelashes.
"Then we'll see."
"That sounds exciting."
She pouted.
"Don't you want to dance with me?"
"Sure," I said.
I had a feeling I wasn't going to move a piano tonight.
The barman put down two large glasses, three-quarters filled with green liquid. I made a move to reach for my roll, but he had already gone.
"I can't get used to this on-the-house business," I said, picking up the glass. "You will," she said.
I took a long gulp at the drink, and hurriedly put the glass on the counter. I clutched at my throat, coughed and closed my eyes. The stuff seemed to explode in my stomach, but a moment later I felt like I was sitting on a cloud.
"Phew! That stuff kind of sneaks up on you," I said, when I could speak.
'Tom's very proud of it," she said, sipping her drink. "It's wonderful! I feel it going right down to my toes."
By the time we'd finished the green parrots we were behaving like we'd known each other for years.
"Let's eat," she said, sliding off the stool, and taking my arm. "Guillermo has a special dinner for you." She squeezed my arm and smiled up at me. Her eyes were frankly inviting.
Guillermo was there to see us into our seats. Above us were the stars. A warm breeze came in from the sea. The orchestra was playing a dreamy melody, and trumpets rolled muted notes like balls of quicksilver, round and smooth. The food was as incredibly good as the wine that went with it. We didn't have to bother to say what we wanted. The food came, we ate and marvelled at it.
Then we danced. The floor was not overcrowded, and we swept around in wide circles. It was like dancing with Ginger Rogers.
I was thinking that this was the best evening I'd ever spent when I spotted a thick-set man in a green gaberdine suit who was standing near the band. He had a flat, evil-looking puss, and he was watching me with a vicious gleam in his eyes. When he caught my eye, he turned abruptly and ducked out of sight behind a curtained exit.
Miss Wonderly had seen him, too. I felt the muscles in her back stiffen, and she missed step so I nearly stubbed her toes.
She broke away from me.
"Let's swim," she said abruptly, and walked towards the lobby, keeping her face averted.
I caught a glimpse of her in a mirror.
She was pale.
4
I drove along the coast road to Dayden Beach, a lonely strip of sand and palms a few miles from the Casino.
Miss Wonderly sat by my side. She was humming a tune under her breath, and she seemed to have shaken off her depression.
We coasted along in the moonlight. It was hot, but the breeze from the ocean came in through the open windows of the Buick.
"We're nearly there," Miss Wonderly said. "Look, you can see it now."
Ahead was a ring of palms close to the surf. There was no sign of life, and it looked good.
I drove the Buick off the road and down on to the sand until it turned too soft, then I stopped, and we got out.
In the far distance I could see the bright lights of Paradise Palms, and could hear the faint sound of music. The night was still, and sounds carried easily.
"Pretty nice," I said. "What shall we do?"
Miss Wonderly had pulled up her skirt to her knees, and began to roll down her stockings. Her legs were slim and muscular.
"I'm going in," she said.
I went around to the back of the car, unlocked the boot and took out a couple of towels and my trunks. It took me less than two minutes to shed my clothes. The warm breeze against my skin felt swell. I came around the Buick. Miss Wonderly was waiting for me. She was in her white brassiere and pants.
"That's a hell of a swim suit." I said.
She said I was right, and took them off.
I didn't look at her.
We walked across the strip of sand, hand in hand. The sand was hot, and we sank in up to our ankles. I eyed her as we began to wade through the surf. A sculptor could have cast her in bronze for a perfect thirty-four, and he'd never have to do anything more about it. I was surprised I could take her so calmly.
We swam out to a moored raft. The sea was warm, and when she hoisted herself on to the raft, she looked like a sprite from the ocean bed.
I floated around the raft so I could study her in the moon-light. I've known plenty of women in my day, but she was a picture.
"Don't," she called; "you're making me shy."
I came up on to the raft and sat beside her.
"It's all right," I said.
She looked at me over her shoulder, then leaned against me. Her back was warm, but the tiny drops of water on her skin felt cold against me.
"Tell me the story of your life," she said.
"It wouldn't interest you."
"Tell me."
I grinned at her. "Nothing happened much until I went into the Army. I came back from France with a lot of sharp-shooting medals, a beautiful case of shell-shock and an itch to gamble. No one wanted me. I couldn't get a job. One day I got into a poker game. I kept in that poker game for three weeks. We shaved, ate and drank at the table. I made five grand, and then someone got mad. I hit him with a bottle, and he pulled a gun on me. Guns don't scare me. I was in the Ardennes push. Anything that a punk gambler starts after that is kid's stuff. I took the gun away and beat the guy soft with it. We went on playing with him under the table. We used him as a rug."
She crossed her arms over her breasts and kicked the water gently. "Tough guy," she said.
"Uh huh," I said. "I didn't like that gun. It made me think. One of these days, I thought, some guy will pull a gun on me, and he'll know how to use it. So I bought myself a gun. I wanted to be better at gun-play than anyone else. You see, after messing around in the Army you get a kind of pride in doing things better than the next guy. I stuck in a room in a tenth-rate hotel and practised pulling the gun from my belt and pulling the trigger. I did that six hours a day for a week. I guess I got smooth. I haven't met a guy yet who can draw faster than I can. That week's work saved my life five times."
She shivered. "They said you were ruthless, but now I've seen you, I don't believe it."
"I'm not," I said, and put my hand on her thigh. "I'll tell you what happens. A punk comes along who thinks he's a world beater. He thinks there's no one as good as he is. Maybe he's slaphappy or drunk or something. I don't know. But whatever it is, he thinks he's so good that he must prove it to everyone. No one cares whether he's good or not, but the punk doesn't understand that. So what does he do? He looks around for a guy with a reputation, and he calls on the guy and starts trouble. He reasons that when he's licked this guy, he'll stand ace-high. And he usually picks on me." I swirled the water with my feet. "I take everything he gives me, because I know I can beat him any time I want, and I don't care for killing guys. There's no sense in it. So I sit there and let him rib me. Maybe I'm wrong, because it encourages him, and he goes for his gun. Then I have to kill him because I' m fond of myself in my odd way, and I don't want to die. Then people say I'm ruthless, but they're wrong. I've been crowded, and I can't help myself."