She was Dorrie Climer, and housewife had been right, sort of. She was Max’s soon-to-be ex, wasn’t she?
“Oh, I’m sorry, Vernon,” she said in a voice sultry and lower-pitched than her estranged husband’s. “I was just here to, uh, pick up my check.”
His mouth smiled, forehead frowned. “Can I drop it by this afternoon, Dorrie? Haven’t got to that yet. Uh, this is Jack Quarry, our new security consultant. Jack, this is Dorrie Climer, Max’s...”
He didn’t quite know how to fill that in.
“I’m a fan,” I said and smiled at her, nodding.
She grinned embarrassedly.
“Sorry,” she said, and ducked back out.
I got up. “Would you excuse me, Vernon? Anyway, I should let you get back to work.”
“Fine,” he said, cigar in hand. It needed re-lighting.
I slipped out after her, caught up in the empty club just before she went out the door.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Climer,” I said, touching her sleeve. She stopped with a jerk and looked back at me, unsettled.
I removed my hand. “Sorry.”
She paused. “What is it you want?”
“I was hoping we might chat for a few minutes.”
Her eyes flared, nostrils, too. “Whatever for?”
“I’m just trying to get a sense of this place and what it’s about. Your husband’s had some death threats and I hoped you might share some insights.”
Now the eyes tightened. “Well, I don’t know that I want to talk about anything here. I’m not entirely comfortable in this place.”
“Okay,” I said, and held the door open for her.
She went out, frowning, but more in confusion than anything else.
It was humid but not hot — a pleasant oven that wasn’t trying too hard. She looked at me with something approaching suspicion, or anyway wanting to know why she should be giving me any time at all.
“Could I buy you a cup of coffee?” I asked. “Or maybe a late breakfast or early lunch? It’s almost eleven.”
She studied me, took in air, let out air. “Are you on my husband’s expense account?”
I was on the Broker’s expense account, but I knew the answer she wanted.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I’ll let you buy me lunch. Mr. Quarry, is it?”
“Jack.”
She nodded up the street. “Anderton’s isn’t far.”
Small talk accompanied the ten-minute walk through the not-busy shopping district. I told her I was from Ohio, which I used to be, and that I was the brother of a navy friend of Max’s, and so on. A Vietnam vet doing security work.
“Are you Max’s bodyguard?”
“Not permanently. I’ll only be here a few weeks.” Actually, I doubted I’d be here anywhere near that long. “And only when he’s making a public appearance.”
“Otherwise you’re consulting.”
“Yes.”
“About security.”
“Right.”
“And what does a security consultant do? And if you say, consult about security, I won’t let you buy me lunch.”
I risked a boyish smile. “You mean if I say I consult about security, you’ll buy me lunch?”
That got a light chuckle out of her. Nice and kind of throaty.
Anderton’s had a nautical theme and was in part an oyster bar. We sat across from each other in a two-tone green booth by a sea-foam-color wall with a swordfish flying on it. She ordered fish and chips and so did I. When in Rome.
We had iced tea. I remembered to ask for it unsweetened. There was bread to nibble.
She asked, “What can I tell you about my husband?”
“Are you as friendly as he says you are?”
“You mean, am I a friendly person, or are Max and I still friendly?”
“I already know you’re a friendly person.”
“No you don’t. I’ve actually been a little cold.”
“You mean a little cold during your lifetime or just to me right today?”
That made her chuckle again. The old Quarry charm was working its magic.
“I get along with Max okay,” she said unconvincingly. “I’ve resigned myself to reality.”
“What is reality?”
“That’s a wonderful and deep question.”
“Give me the shallow answer.”
“...The shallow answer is, he likes to fuck other women. Oh, he still liked to fuck me at times. But mostly the girls at his club and ones who posed for him and now this witch he’s living with.”
“You posed for him.”
“Yes I did. Why? Did you see it?”
“I saw it. I wasn’t lying when I said I was a fan.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think your husband is out of his mind.”
Her smile burned red. “Very kind of you to say. Of course, Max is out of his mind, in a way that has turned out to be very profitable. And he’s not ungenerous. I was picking up my monthly cheek, earlier, when you and I ran into each other. And the settlement we’re working out seems generous to a fault.”
“I have a suggestion.”
“You do?”
“Ask for that penthouse pad of his. If Vernon Climer’s to be believed, that club will be gone soon and so will the magazine offices, and it’s quite a place, that upstairs. Just have him throw it in.”
Her lips pursed in a nice plump smile. “That’s a good piece of advice. I hadn’t thought of that. Probably the thought of him and that silicone sweetie of his fucking and sucking their way from room to room, well, probably made me too sick to consider it. But it’s a good idea. Fine idea. Do you really think Max is in danger?”
I sipped unsweetened iced tea. “Well, it’s hard to say. He stirs up a lot of controversy, both locally and nationally. I don’t have to tell you, there’ve been a lot of protests. Do you think there’s anybody in particular who might really have it in for him?”
“Like do-him-harm have it in for him?”
“Right. More than just wave signs and yell outside his place of business.”
“Maybe. That insane preacher, possibly. That creep who chairs the Highland Strip organization, merchants whatever, he’s a hypocrite and a half.”
“How so?”
“He owns two porno bookshops in other parts of town.”
“Ah. People who live in glass houses...”
“Should keep their fucking trousers on.”
Our food came. Very good, great batter on the cod, not greasy; real hand-cut fries. My fountain Coke was just the right mix of syrup and soda water. I was having a fine time.
We returned to small talk for the meal. I asked her where she was living and she said an apartment in the better part of downtown. She liked being close to the restaurants and the music, but the tourists sometimes got her down. Was she working? No, she was happy to live off Max Climer’s money. She had worked hard to help him become the publishing magnate of today, and had no problem spending the rest of her life living off him.
When our dishes had been cleared, we lingered for coffee and another iced tea.
“So,” she said, “you, uh... liked what you saw.”
“Pardon?”
“In Climax. Of me.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“Did you ever... you know.”
“Get out the hand lotion in your honor?”
She blushed. Actually fucking blushed. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Not at all.”
“I’m about ten pounds heavier now.”
More like fifteen.
I said, “Looks great on you.”
“How can you tell?”
“I can tell.”
“Not really, though. Did you know the Holiday Inn chain is based in Memphis?”
“No I didn’t.”