“Coming or going?” she said.
“That’s up to you.”
“I don’t know just how to take that.”
“That's up to you too.”
“I was going to invite you out.”
“Fine. I was going out.”
“Where?”
“You name it.”
“No coaxing required?”
“Not when it’s you.”
We went to the elevator, waited, went down, and I let her out before me. She wore a powder-blue suit and toeless blue high-heeled shoes with intricate straps. Her ankles were stylishly slender, curving up to full round-muscled calves. Her golden hair was caught in a ring in back, pony-tail, and it swung down to her shoulders. Her walk was the walk of last night, the provocative swaying-ever-so-slightly, but enough to cause the gentlemen in the lobby to purse their lips in unemitted whistles.
Outside, parked smack against a No Parking sign, was a Caddy convertible, this year’s model, powder-blue and sleek. “That’s it,” she said.
“This?”
“Yep.”
“Not bad.”
She got in, slid into the driver’s seat, and I got in after her. She said, “I took a chance on a ticket. I was anxious to see you.”
“You could have called.”
“I can’t abduct you over the telephone.”
We pulled away from the curb and headed north, turned right at Fifty-Ninth, and got on to the bridge. She said, “Aren’t you curious as to where we’re going?”
“I’m perfectly satisfied.”
“You're a strange one, aren’t you?”
“No.”
Silence, then, all the way to the smooth Triboro. Then she said, “I want to apologize for last night.”
“Apologize?”
“I was looped. But looped.”
“I know that. But you were awfully cute.”
“Thanks.”
I said, “May I ask a question?”
“Shoot.”
“What do you do?”
“Do?”
“For a living.”
“I’m a diver.”
“Come again?”
“A diver.”
I digested that for a moment. I said, “You mean you’re one of those people that puts a helmet on her head and looks at fish, and things?”
“No. I put a bathing suit on my body, and part water. Gracefully.”
I digested that for a while. Then I said, “This you do for a living?”
“I was a crackerjack amateur once. Now I’m a professional. It pays the rent.”
“Does it pay for Cadillac convertibles too?”
“It doesn’t. But that’s another story. One which I’m going to tell you.”
“Now?”
“Not now. Later.”
I digested that too. I love to listen to stories. Stories mean business and business was something I could use, badly. The lady hadn’t barged in on the private detective strictly for the purpose of taking him for rides over bridges. I’d been waiting for the first leak in the dike, and this seemed to be it. So I changed the subject. I got off crass commercialism. I said, “Diving. Sister, I’d love to watch you sometime.”
“You’re going to. Quite soon. That’s where we’re heading.”
“We’re going diving?”
“Not we. I. There’s a new water show going to open next month. I’m to be one of the stars. Little guy that runs it owns a terrific estate out at Lido. Swimming pool, and all. He’s in Europe now, but he told me I could use the place any time I wanted. For practice, that is.”
“Ever use it before?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t, that is, not since he’s gone. I have my own spots for practice. But I thought it would be a good idea today. It’s warm and lovely out, and I wanted to be alone with you, somewhere where we could talk. Any objections?”
“Not a one.”
3.
The place in Lido was like a Moorish castle. We drove up a winding pebbled roadway to a massive iron gateway. I got out and pushed a bell that sounded like a fire gong. A man came out of a small house perhaps a hundred yards in, and trotted down to us. Lola waved to him. I got back into the car while he opened the gates. We rolled through, Lola and the man exchanged further waves, and then we lost him as we went up another winding roadway until we arrived at the house proper. House? It was a mansion, if by mansion you can imagine a red stone edifice of beautiful architecture, a sprawling, six-storied, spic-and-span hunk of work, with at least a hundred rooms. The man at the gate must have phoned in. A house-man came running down the stairs. Lola pulled up the brake, and we both got out. The houseman said, “Welcome. It’s a pleasure to see you, Miss Southern.”
“Hello, Fred. You’ll take care of the car?”
“Of course. Would you and the gentleman like lunch?”
“No, thank you. I’m going to put in a few licks of practice. The pool’s in order, I take it.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And then the gentleman and I are going to want to talk, in private. There’s nobody at the bath-house, is there?”
“Nobody. There’s nobody here at all, except the servants, and there’s nobody expected. Would you like me to drive you out, Miss?”
“No, thank you, we’ll walk.”
It was a hike of three quarters of a mile, and I was no high diver in the pink of condition. I practically fell into the bath-house. Which was another joke. When you say bathhouse you think bath-house. This wasn’t what you’d think. This was a red-brick ranch-house, with a kitchen that could have provided for a small army, and about twenty beautifully furnished bedrooms, each equipped with its own plumbing. In the kitchen, I opened one of the refrigerators, stocked from top to bottom, grabbed a bottle of beer, opened it, and drank it neat.
I said, “You know the guy that owns this joint?”
“He’s married,” she said sadly.
“Let’s get to the pool,” I said.
“I’m ready. And eager.”
“What do I do for trunks? Or don’t I?”
“Every room has men’s trunks and ladies’ suits. Find a pair that fit you. They’re all sterilized. See you at the pool.”
I wandered around looking the place over, mumbling and remumbling about how it’s nice to have dough. Then I found a pair of yellow trunks that fit. I got out of my clothes, pulled into the trunks, and went out to the pool.
It was wide and long and transparently blue and unrippled and peaceful. There were beach chairs on all four sides, and iron chairs and tables, and coolers for the colas, with cabinets fixed in the sides. I opened one cabinet. It had everything from gin to champagne.
Lola was nowhere in sight. I couldn’t wait. I was steaming from every pore. I went into the pool and rippled up the water plenty. It was cold and refreshing. I swam around a bit and climbed out. I fixed a drink out of one of the cabinets, spread out in a beach chair, and let the sun dry me out. I felt good, real good.
I felt better a moment later. Lola appeared on the far side in a white bathing suit, a white cap, and a towel about her shoulders. Lola in clothes was something. Lola in a bathing suit was something more. I wondered about Lola without a bathing suit.
She smiled at me, and even from that distance, I felt it, the begging smile, the smile of the secret thoughts, the lush, warm, wet, shining smile. Then she flung off the towel, and climbed up to the top board, posed poised, and dove. It was beautiful. It took your breath away. It was clean, sharp, almost geometrically beautiful. For the next half hour, I was treated to quite an exhibition. It was so beautiful, I almost forgot her body. Almost.