This time Woody put on an act for everybody's benefit.
I got a big smile, an introduction to the girls whose names all sounded alike, the pair named Carl and Sammy, but when he came to Larry Beers I said, "We've met," His handshake was very wary. "Been a long time Larry.
"Let's make it longer the next time."
"Why not?"
Ballinger gave me a big smile that was all snake with the fangs out, his heavy-lidded eyes asking for trouble. "Join us, Hammer?"
"Not tonight, Woody. I got better things to do."
"Ah, come on, I'll get you a broad and ..."
"I'm a leg man, myself," I said.
The blonde on his left stuck her tongue out at me. "I have those too, you know."
"I hope so. It's just that I enjoy a certain style and design."
She laughed and put both her hands on the table. Woody seemed annoyed at the sudden attention I was getting and let his smile fade. "You want something?"
I reached in my pocket, took out his wallet and tossed it on the table. "Just saving some embarrassment by having you go down and get it. Seems funny, an old pro like you letting a dip grab his poke. You do what I asked you?"
He was too happy to know I was leaving not to answer me. He stuck the wallet back in his pocket without looking at it and said, "Not yet, but soon."
"Real soon, okay?"
I looked at them all briefly, remembering their faces, nodded and went back to the street. I could feel Woody Ballinger's eyes boring into my back all the way.
On the way to the East Side I stopped in a gin mill on Sixth Avenue and put in a call to Velda at her apartment. I let the phone ring a dozen times, but there was no answer. I tried the office too in case she decided to work late. Same thing. The answering service for my apartment number told me there had been no calls for me at all. I wasn't about to worry about her. She had a P.I. ticket and a nasty little .32 hammerless automatic to go with it and when the chips were down she could take care of herself. Right now she probably was following orders, purse swinging with the come-on look in Lippy's neighborhood, seeing how the other half lived.
Near-midnight callers on actress tenants mustn't have seemed unusual to the doorman. He was the same one who had admitted me earlier and when I asked him if he ever slept he chuckled and said, "Changed shifts with
Barney. He's courting and the night work was ruining his love life. You want to see Miss Anders, go right up. She got in a little while ago and for her it's like the middle of the afternoon." He gave me a knowing look and added, "You want I should call her?"
"Give her a buzz. Hammer's the name.
"Yes, sir." He plugged in the jack, flipped the toggle twice and waited. Then: "Miss Anders, I have a Mr. Hammer ..."
Her voice, ringing with that odd quality that could carry right through a phone, came right over his, but this time with a hurried urgency that seemed to have a catch in it. "Yes, please, send him right up."
The doorman hung up and made a wry face at me. "Funny broad, that."
"How come?"
"Any guy she can get, but always picks the wrong ones who give her a hard time. Like tonight she comes home, eyes all red, sniffling and jumpy. You'd think she'd blow this coop and start over somewheres."
"The mortality rate is pretty high in show business. Those dames can attract some oddballs."
"Yeah, but no reason to. They're just people same as anybody else. They got a face and a body and you'd think they'd make out okay, but this one is always miserable. It's a wonder she'll even speak to a guy any more. A big star, plenty of money and always down in the dumps. Me, I'm plain glad to be what I am."
"I know the feeling," I said.
This tune I didn't have to touch the bell. The door was cracked and she was waiting for me, a pert thing with crazy ash-blonde hair, belted into a sheer black housecoat that clung so magically to all the curves and hollows that it seemed like she didn't have anything on at all.
But she wasn't quite as pretty as the last time. Her eyes were too red and feverish looking. The nervousness was more acute and the smile she gave me was strained to its limit. She swallowed with a tiny, jerky motion of her head and reached for my sleeve. "Come in, Mike. Please come in. I guess you must think Fm awfully strange to be having guests so late, but it's really nothing for me. Nothing at all." She tried a laugh on as she shut the door and took my hat. It had a hollow, flat sound. "You'll have to excuse me if I'm not at my best. It's just that. . . well, I imagine everyone has personal problems and ..."
"Don't let it bother you, honey."
Heidi Anders' fingers squeezed hard on my arm and she nibbled gently on her lower lip. Something like a shudder ran through her, then she tugged and let me feel the warmth of her body beside me as she took me into that nutty love nest of hers. Maybe it was the maid's day off, but the place wasn't like it had been. Too many things were out of place; cushions strewn around, a lamp on the floor, ashtrays filled with lipstick-smeared butts. They weren't party signs or trouble signs . . . just diffident neglect as if nobody gave a damn about the place.
She pushed me onto the couch, forcing gaiety into her tone. "Can I make you a drink, Mike?"
"A short one maybe. I can only stay a minute."
"Oh?" I couldn't tell whether it was fright or disappointment in her expression.
"I only came to bring your compact back." I reached in my pocket, took out the diamond-studded case and her insurance papers and laid them on the coffee table.
For all she seemed to care it could have been a piece of junk. She turned quickly, called back, "Thank you. It was very kind," over her shoulder, and went to the small mahogany bar in the corner and made me a drink. She came back and handed it to me. The ice in the glass clinked against the sides and she put it down quickly so I wouldn't notice her hand tremble.
I said, "None for you?"
"No . . . not now." She pulled a tissue from one slash pocket and touched her nose and eyes with it, the corners of her mouth crinkling in a smile. "I guess I shouldn't be so sentimental over small things," she said. "You'll have to excuse me." She reached for the compact and the insurance policy. "Maybe I'd better put these where they won't get lost again. Be right back."
I nodded and tasted my drink. She had made it too strong, but it was still good. She disappeared into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. I took another sip of my drink and got up and walked around the room, studying the decorations. There were framed photos of Heidi in her lavish stage costumes, others deliberately posed, provocative bikini scenes taken against white sand and palm tree backgrounds. Some were ornaments that could have been taken for the ruins of Pompeii. The oil paintings were original and unique, all with a carefully guarded sexual motif. The pieces that were obviously foreign were rare and expensive, half of them reflecting the phallic theme, but the other half a little out of place since they were the result of good and expensive taste.
Too bad there weren't more of them. I finished my drink and put the glass back on the bar.
I started back to the couch when Heidi said, "Sorry I took so long. I had to freshen up."
When I turned around I felt my mouth go dry and the muscles tightened across my shoulders. It was Heidi, all right, but the curtain had gone up and it was another Heidi altogether. The fever in her eyes had turned into a deep sultry azure. The smile was real, tantalizing, and when she walked toward me the sway was there, the slow, female gesticulations with the hips and thighs that could make them all so damn sure of themselves because they knew what it could do to a man. She had rearranged the housecoat so that the lapels were thrown open to the shoulders, the translucent fabric passing over breasts only half covered, to the belt at her waist. Her eyes held mine, letting me take her all in, then she stopped in a deliberate pose and the rest of the housecoat parted so that I could see all of her at once. Luscious, firm, silken, with the lightest of tans that offset hair that was tousled and ash-blonde, and not tousled and not ash-blonde.