"You did plenty. How did the paper look, anyway? No illegible signatures or funny stuff?"
"See for yourself," Turkelson said, and he handed Mitch the checks which Lord had written that night. They were all made out to the hotel company, rather than to cash or an individual. Thus, they became a legitimate obligation for value received. It would be obvious, of course, that Lord's bill could not have amounted to so much. But that changed nothing. As a means of building good will, a large hotel may cash checks for a person who is not even a patron.
Mitch handed the checks back, began to relax for the first time in days. He could pay off Agate now, and still have more than enough left to take care of his other immediate needs. After that…
Well, after that was after that. For the present he was sitting sweet.
Red brought him a drink and a few delicacies from the tray. He frowned slightly as she fixed herself another drink, then grinned and winked at her. She had been a little awkward with him since she had forced him to take her to the bank. It was good to see her loosened up and having fun again.
Red would never be a drunk. She enjoyed life too much. She was too honest with herself, too clear of conscience.
"All worn out, honey?" She looked at him archly over the rim of her glass. "Completely worn out?"
Mitch laughed and shook his head. "How about you? Winnie was giving you a pretty hard time."
"Him? Oh, pooh! You know, he's such a complete stinker that I almost felt sorry for him."
"Don't!" Mitch said firmly. "The last woman who felt sorry for Winnie Lord almost got her nose bitten off. I'm not kidding"-he glanced at Turkelson. "You remember it, don't you, Turk? Some poor damned waitress in a Galveston beer joint."
"I remember," the manager nodded. "The Lords fought the case all the way to the Supreme Court. She didn't even get her doctor bills out of it."
Red said that that might be all well and good, but Lord had really paid her quite a compliment. "You heard him yourself, Mitch. He said I was the prettiest little package of you-know he'd ever seen."
"He was probably exaggerating," Mitch told her. "You know how these Texans are."
"Well, what about you? Do you think I am or not?"
"How would I know?" Mitch spread his hands helplessly. "You're the only woman I've ever known."
"Mmm," Red said. "Mmmm-mmm-mmm! Am I going to kiss you for that when I get you alone!" Then she turned and gave Turkelson a speculative look. "Now, I just wonder," she said. "I wonder if you'd know."
"What about?" Turkelson grinned expectantly. "Why not ask me?"
"Well, okay, but you've got to promise to tell the truth." She cocked her head to one side. "You promise, you big fat man?"
"Promise." He held up a hand, chuckling.
Red turned on the lounge on her knees and whispered in his ear. The ear suddenly turned sunset red, as did his face and neck.
"Well?" she demanded pertly. "What do you think?"
"Uh, I, uh, think I'd better go," Turkelson said desperately, running a plump finger around his collar. "I-I-"
He struggled to his feet. Red grabbed him by the coattail and dragged him down again.
"Now, you've got to tell the truth," she insisted. "If you don't tell the truth, you'll have to pay the penalty. You know what the penalty is?"
She whispered to him again, leaned back with a solemn nod. Turkelson appeared to be on the point of strangling.
"That's it," she declared. "If you don't tell the truth right this minute, I'm going to make you-Mitch! Mitch, you let me go, darn you!"
Mitch held her sackwise, tucked under one arm. As she kicked and squealed, he shook hands with Turkelson.
"Good going, my friend. We'll see you tomorrow, huh?"
"Uh, yes. You bet, Mitch." The manager edged nervously toward the door.
"And we've checked out as far as Lord is concerned, understand? No telephone calls. He doesn't get up here on the elevator."
"Right! Oh, absolutely!" Turkelson bobbed his head. "I- I'll let myself out, Mitch!"
He did so, just as Red tugged herself free, pirouetted, and paused with an arm theatrically upflung. "A little music, Professor."
"Now, honey. It's getting pretty late…"
"Hush!" she said. "Music!"
"Well, okay then. Just a little."
He had never had music lessons. But he had an excellent memory and, naturally, a sensitive touch. Sitting down at the Piano, he pressed the soft pedal, considered the keyboard for a moment and brought his hands down on it. Very softly, he swung out with a swaggering barrel-house version of "It Must Be Jelly, 'Cause Jam Don't Shake Like That."
Red did a low-down grind, turning completely around. She kicked backwards, and one of her houseslippers sailed into the air. Turning and grinding, she kicked again and the other slipper sailed free.
Mitch moved both hands down to the bass. The piano became a tom-tom, and Red's face took on an ecstatic look. Head flung back, leaning backward from her knees, she writhed out of her robe.
The lacy negligee went next. And that was all for a minute or two.
Mitch moved up the keyboard, his fingers insistent, demanding. Red's hands went to her bra, seeming to struggle with themselves, to fight against the action. Then, as the piano sobbed and pleaded, she suddenly ripped it off.
The panties went next. Then…
Then there was nothing more. Only Red.
Ripe, full-bodied, a living dream of pulsing pastel.
They looked at each other silently. Then, she turned slightly, pointing to an almost invisible bruise on her flank.
"See?" she said. "That's what you did when you spanked my bottom."
"Into each life," Mitch said, "some rain must fall."
"Aren't you going to do anything about it?"
"Well, I might," Mitch said, "if I was sure you weren't one of those phony redheads."
Red said he could surely see for himself that she wasn't, but Mitch said it was not something that could be determined with the naked eye.
"Why, I knew a blonde one time who passed herself off as a brunette. Her boy friend was a coal miner, you see, and he was allergic to soap and water."
Red made her eyes very large. "My goodness gracious," she said. "Not to mention heavens-to-Betsy. So there's no way of knowing whether I'm a phony or not?"
"Well, yes there is," Mitch said. "It's a method I've developed over the years, and I've enjoyed every minute of it. How are you fixed for time?"
"Well, I don't have anything on tonight…"
"So you don't," Mitch said. "But I'm afraid tonight wouldn't be nearly enough. How about the next forty or fifty years?"
Red said oh, sure, she could manage that all right. What were forty or fifty years when the interests of science were at stake?
Mitch stood up and pointed firmly to the bedroom. "Just step into my laboratory, madam. The tests will begin immediately, and I don't mean perhaps."