“With all the duties appertaining thereto. I state here and now that in the entire illustrious career of Kurt Gresham, I have the unique distinction of having been the only lady-manager of any of his night clubs. My salary was a thousand bucks a week cum bonus. I hadn’t yet gaffed my fish, but I had him banging his snout against the boat. When I got him, it was on my terms.”
“What terms?”
“I’m hungry now, Harry.”
“Oh. A cliff hanger.”
“The next episode will concern you. But you’d better eat first, my love.”
He shrugged and tried to catch the waiter’s eye.
“I want us to eat, and I want us to dance, and I want us to get just a little bit drunk. We’ve got all night.”
Nine
Karen Gresham, back in cabin 4 at the Golden Cave, said to Dr. Harry Brown, “You go ask, my love. I’m parched.”
“Me, I’m also parched, my love.”
“So go ask.”
“Sure,” said Dr. Harry Brown. “What’ve I got to lose?” He was having a little trouble with his final consonants.
He went out of the cabin and weaved to OFFICE. The sunburned man was sitting soberly in an easy chair, reading a newspaper.
“Hi,” said Harry.
“Hi,” said the man.
“Can I buy some booze?” said Harry.
“Booze, Doctor?” He folded the paper and laid it on the arm of the chair, showing yellow dentures.
“Doctor?” said Harry Brown.
“MD plates on the car,” explained the clerk. “You said booze, Doctor?”
“That’s what I said,” said the doctor.
“Booze,” said the clerk, rising, “is located eight miles due north, which is where you’ll find the nearest package store. Which figures to be closed by now.”
“Which is why I’m asking you.”
“Well, I like a snort once in a while, Doctor, so I guess you’d have to figure I have booze, yes.”
“Vodka, maybe?”
“So happens I do have vodka, Doctor.”
“Sell me a bottle.”
“Now you know better’n that, Doctor. That’s illegal.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said the doctor. “As you observed, I am a doctor. Doctor, medicine. I prescribed vodka. For myself. What do you say, friend? How much for a bottle of vodka medicine?”
“Can’t sell without a license, Doctor,” said the clerk, showing pulpy gums. “But I could give you some.”
“Ah.”
“If you buy what goes along with it.”
“Limes?”
“I have better than limes, Doctor. Bottle of Rose’s Lime Juice. Imported from England. I also have ice cubes.”
“Could I buy the bottle of Rose’s Lime Juice and the ice cubes?”
“Sure. That’s legal. But, this time of night, expensive.”
“And would you then donate the bottle of vodka?”
“I have nothing but respect for doctors, Doctor. I’d like you to accept it as a token of my respect.”
“For how much?”
“For thirty bucks.”
“Thirty bucks!”
“They’re top-quality ice cubes, Doctor.”
“Better be,” said the doctor. He produced his wallet, and the sunburned man produced his token of respect.
Her dress was hung away. She was wearing bra and briefs and shoes, and the catch was off the ponytail; her massed hair surrounded her face like a sunset. She took the tray from Harry and said, “You have persuasive ways, don’t you?”
“Thirty bucks,” Harry said. He took off his jacket.
“Even so, he doesn’t know you from Adam. You could be an inspector or something.”
“He saw the New York MD plates.” He ripped off his tie and his shirt. “Do you have a comb?”
She gave him a comb from her handbag. He went to the lavatory and washed with cold water and combed his hair. When he came back, the gimlets were ready. They clinked glasses.
“To us,” Karen smiled. There was excitement in her eyes.
“Us,” he said.
The room was warm. He opened the windows and tilted the blinds, transferred his cigarettes and matches from his jacket to his trousers. Then he sat down with his drink on the shiny plastic-covered armchair. She stretched out on the bed. The squeak made her laugh.
“A squeaky bed in a motel. Am I a pervert, darling? The idea tickles me.” She laughed again, drank thirstily, and then there was no more laughter. “You parked there for the night, O hairy one?”
“I’m waiting for the next episode,” Harry said.
“Where was I?” She made a face.
“You were managing a night club in Philadelphia at a thousand dollars a week, and the big boss was in love with you.”
“Yes, all the way. He wanted to get married.”
“And so you married him and lived happily ever after.”
“Not that fast. We ran into a technical difficulty.”
“What held it up?”
“Money.”
“The root of all evil.”
“Not money per se. Everybody misquotes that proverb. The love of money is the root of all evil. I Timothy-something.”
“So?”
“So Kurt wanted to get married, and I held out. I think at first he was surprised — he thought I’d jump into his arms at the smell of a ring. When he saw I was serious — he’s a really smart old man — he said, ‘All right, let’s talk about a deal.’”
“And you held him up for a bundle.”
“No. I told him the truth. I told him what I wanted out of life — money, ease, status. I told him I didn’t love him, that if I married him it would be because, as his wife, I could have all three. I told him I’d try to be a good wife, but I warned him I liked men. I told him he was old. I told him I’d probably cheat on him. If he’d marry me on those terms, I’d accept.”
“Pardon me,” said Harry, “if I reach for the salt.”
“He lapped it up, darling. You don’t know Kurt. He’s a man who hates to be fooled. He appreciates straight talk. He thought it over, and then he said he understood. He said he wasn’t a jealous man. He said he was old and used-up and had a bum heart; he didn’t expect me to love him. He said he wanted to own me; and in order to own, you have to buy.”
Thinly Harry said, “Was he to get a bill of sale?”
“The marriage certificate.”
“And what were you to get?”
“A hundred thousand dollars in cash.”
“Cheap. Dirt cheap.”
“Don’t get bitchy, lover, you’re not the type. How about stirring up some more sauce?” Karen held out her empty glass. He got up and in silence made new drinks, lit a cigarette for her, put an ash tray beside her on the bed. He lit a cigarette for himself, and went back to his chair. “That was only to be the down payment,” Karen said comfortably. “Petty cash for emergencies. There was more, much more, in the offing. Like millions.”
“Millions?” Harry said, staring at her body.
“Millions.”
“He agreed to turn over millions?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But didn’t you just say...?”
For some reason his tone inflamed her. Her eyes flashed and she cried, “Listen, damn you! Listen, won’t you?”
“Sorry.” Harry smoked his cigarette.
“We continued our business conference. He wanted to buy me, so the terms became the issue. I went back to his being an old man. He could die suddenly and I’d be left with the short end of the stick. He said his will would take care of me. I said a will could be changed. He talked about a widow’s dower rights. I said, ‘And suppose you died broke?’ The more I dickered, the more respect he showed for me. I won’t bore you with all the details. We had a number of talks.”