There was nothing to study. He replied quickly, frankly, and openly. “I’ve heard the name mentioned,” he admitted. “But that’s about all.”
“Who mentioned it?”
“Joy Boxx. A long time ago.”
“Exactly what did she say about it?”
“I’m not sure. Something about a windfall. At first I thought she meant for her husband, the evangelist. Then it seemed like she was talking about the drama group. It was kind of confusing.”
“Did she ever mention a man named Arch Fink?”
“No.”
“Did she ever say anything about the CIA?”
“Only that her husband supports their efforts wholeheartedly.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Say,” Zelda Lenzio interrupted, “What’s all this got to do with Cass’s wife wanting a divorce?”
“Absolutely nothing,” I admitted blandly. “Well, I’ll see you around.” I dropped three dollar bills on the table to cover my drinks and left them.
I got home just in time to shave and change for the cast party. The Pine Glen Drama Group wasn’t overly sensitive. Despite the mime-mincing, which had marred their last party, nobody objected to this one also being held at the Roundheels’ home.
It was already in full swing by the time I arrived. I stood in the doorway to the furnished cellar and stared for a moment. Could this be the same group of people that had been ready to tear out each others throats less than twenty-four hours before?
Was that Wanda Humphrey popping cashew nuts into Will Leigh’s mouth while he beamed back at her? Did my ears deceive me? Was Cleo Taurus really telling Rusty what a wonderful job of acting she’d done the night before? Was that conversation between Cass Novak and Joy Boxx for real?
“The flub with the curtain was my fault,” Cass was telling her.
“No, no,” Joy replied. “It was my responsibility and I goofed.”
“Well, what’s important is that the show was a smash hit,” Phil Anders interrupted them.
“Anyway, I don’t think the audience really noticed,” Peter Putter interjected. “They loved every minute of it.”
The euphoria was making me giddy. I needed a drink. I made my way over to the bar where my host, Roger Roundheels, was mixing martinis.
“That was a whale of a job of directing you did, Vance boy,” Roger told me as he handed me a cocktail.
“Thanks.” I looked around the room. It was just like the first cast party I attended-—only something was missing. After a moment I realized what it was. “Where’s Lolly?” I asked Roger.
“Oh, haven’t you heard? She came down with mumps today. Caught them from her kid cousins. Good thing it was today and not yesterday. That really would have put the kibosh on the play.”
“Are you two talking about poor Lolly?” Joy Boxx had come up behind me. “Mumps! Isn’t it a shame?”
“It might have been worse if one of the men caught it instead of Lolly,” Roger pointed out. “Do you know mumps can render a grown man impotent?”
“I think you mean sterile,” I told him.
“Oh? Do I? Well, I guess if I did catch mumps, that would be a relief.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, Vance?” Joy Boxx faced me boldly.
“Of course.” I guided her to where the dancing was and took her in my arms. “I thought you were mad at me,” I reminded her.
“Not any more. The play is over. From my point of view it was a big success. So I’m not angry any more -”
“A big success? What do you mean?”
“Rusty was just awful! I’m vindicated! So I’ve forgiven you.”
Female logic! Ahh, well! “I’m glad.” I held her a little more tightly.
We danced silently, closely for awhile. Our bodies telegraphed memories to each other. The signals were questions, the pressures affirmative answers.
“My husband’s still away,” Joy whispered to me. “I’m all alone in that great big house tonight.”
My first inclination was to turn aside the invitation. I could still remember how guilty I’d felt when confronted with the Reverend Billy Boxx’s faith in his wife. Tempting as she was with the fires of passion ready to burst into roaring flames beneath that cool, blonde, beautiful surface, I couldn’t forget that the evangelist had just done me a favor in regard to Marcy’s plight.
But I didn’t turn Joy down. Not because of lust, but rather because I also recollected what Cass Novak had told me that very afternoon about her once mentioning Democratic Philanthropies, Inc. to him. If I could get her alone under the guise of romance, then I might be able to pump some further information about the CIA’s fifty Gs from her.
So I played the game and we arranged to cut out early. Joy left first. I said my goodbyes, pleaded weariness from the strain of my directorial chores, and followed. She was waiting for me in my car.
We drove to her home. It was dark when Joy let us into the front hallway. She didn’t waste any time. She wrapped herself around me and we kissed a long, lingering buss. Then, without bothering to turn on any lights, she led me straight up the stairs to her bedroom.
“Take your clothes off,” she told me in a husky voice as she started to take off her own.
I got them off. But that was all I got off. Just as I slipped between the sheets and embraced her lush, naked body, a pair of bright headlight beams from a car lit up the darkened bedroom.
“My husband!” She shot up to a sitting position, her bare breasts shimmering in the glare from the headlights.
“I thought he was out West?”
“So did I! He must have decided to come back and surprise me.”
“Some surprise!” I dived for my pants. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“Yes.” She was at the window now, peering through the curtains. “That’s his car in the driveway. He’s pulling it into the garage in back.”
“That’s an exit line if I ever heard one.” I dived for the door.
“Not that way!” Joy grabbed me. “He’s coming in the back door. You’d never get down the stairs without running smack into him. Here!” She pulled me through a facing doorway and we were in a bathroom. She opened the door to a stall shower and pushed me through it. “That window there.” She pointed upwards. High in the wall of the shower was a small window. “Crawl out through there. It opens on the portico roof. There’s a trellis there. You can crawl down it.” And then she was gone, closing the shower door behind her.
It wasn’t easy, but I managed to chin myself up to the window by my fingertips. Using my nose as a lever, I poked the window outwards until it was open. Then I pulled myself up the rest of the way and started to crawl out head first.
I managed to wriggle out all right until it came to my hips. Vic Tanney, where pare you, now that I need you? I huffed and puffed and pulled and pushed and tugged, but no matter how much skin I scraped off, I still couldn’t make it. By now I was really wedged in the window. It took me twice as long to work myself loose and drop back to the floor of the stall shower.
What now? I could hear the voices of Joy Boxx and the Right Reverend from the bedroom. Hell, if Fate makes you an eavesdropper, you might as well eavesdrop. I listened.
“I was surprised to find you’d left the party so early,” Billy Boxx was saying.
“It was getting too wild for me,” Joy lied glibly. “So I decided to come home.”
“A wise decision. As my wife you really shouldn’t attend such affairs. I know that you wouldn’t participate in anything untoward, of course, but we do have an image to protect. Mine.”
“I never forget your image, Billy.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
“Why did you cut your trip short and come home?” Joy inquired.
“Circumstances made it impractical for me to pursue the particular moral crusade I had embarked upon.”