I whapped into it quick, and when I told her it was Romeo and Juliet, she said it was just what she’d wanted. By then Jack had a stool he put next to hers, so I could sit beside her, back of her little desk. He introduced us, and it turned out her name was Stark. I climbed up and there we were, out in the middle of the air, and yet in a way private, as the crew played it funny, to the extent they played it at all, but mostly were too busy even to look. I put the guitar on the desk and kept on with the music. By the time I’d done some Showboat she was calling me Bill and to me she was Lydia. I remarked on her eyes, which were green, and showed up bright against her creamy skin and ashy blond hair. She remarked on mine, which are light, watery blue, and I wished I was something besides tall, thin, and red-haired. But it was kind of cute when she gave a little pinch and nipped one of my freckles, on my hand back of the thumb.
Then Jack was back, with champagne iced in a bucket, which I hadn’t ordered. When I remembered my drink, the one I had ordered, he said Scotch was no good, and this would be on him. I thanked him, but after he’d opened and poured, and I’d leaned the guitar in a corner and raised my glass to her, I said: “What’s made him so friendly?”
“Oh, Jack’s always friendly.”
“Not to me. Oh, no.”
“He may have thought I had it coming. Some little thing to cheer me. My last night in the place.”
“You going away?”
“M’m-h’m.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“That why you’re off at 12?”
“Jack tell you that?”
“He told me quite a lot.”
“Plane leaves at 1. Bag’s gone already. It’s at the airport, all check and ready to be weighed.”
She clinked her glass to mine, took a little sip, and drew a deep, trembly breath. As for me, I felt downright sick, just why I couldn’t say, as it had to all be strictly allegro, with nobody taking it serious. It struck in my throat a little when I said: “Well — happy landings. It is permitted to ask which way that plane is taking you?”
“Home.”
“And where’s that?”
“It’s — not important.”
“The West, I know that much.”
“What else did Jack tell you?”
I took it, improvised, and made up a little stuff, about her high-toned friends, her being a society brat, spoiled as all get-out, and the heavy dough she was used to — a light rib, as I thought. But it hadn’t gone very far when I saw it was missing bad. When I cut it off, she took it. She said: “Some of that’s true, in a way. I was — fortunate, we’ll call it. But — you still have no idea, have you, Bill, what I really am?”
“I’ve been playing by ear.”
“I wonder if you want to know?”
“If you don’t want to, I’d rather you didn’t say.”
None of it was turning out quite as I wanted, and I guess maybe I showed it. She studied me a little and asked: “The silver I wear, that didn’t tell you anything? Or my giving you change for your dollars? It didn’t mean anything to you, that a girl would run a straight game?”
“She’s not human.”
“It means she’s a gambler.”
And then: “Bill does that shock you?”
“No, not at all.”
“I’m not ashamed of it. Out home, it’s legal. You know where that is now?”
“Oh! Oh!”
“Why oh? And oh?”
“Nothing. It’s — Nevada, isn’t it?”
“Something wrong with Nevada?”
“No! I just woke up, that’s all.”
I guess that’s what I said, but whatever it was, she could hardly miss the upbeat in my voice. Because, of course, that wrapped it all up pretty, not only the tunes, which the band would naturally play for her, but her too, and who she was. Society dame, to tell the truth, hadn’t pleased me much, and maybe that was one reason my rib was slightly off key. But gambler I could go for, a little cold, a little dangerous, a little brave. When she was sure I had really brought it, we were close again, and after a nip on the freckle her fingers slid over my hand. She said play her Smoke — the smoke she had in her eyes. But I didn’t, and we just sat there some little time.
And then, a little bit at a time, she began to spill it: “Bill, it was just plain cock-eyed. I worked in a club, the Paddock, in Reno, a regular institution. Tony Rocco — Rock — owned it, and was the squarest bookie ever — why he was a Senator, and civic, and everything. And I worked from him, running his wires practically being his manager, with a beautiful salary, a bonus Christmas, and everything. And then wham, it struck. This federal thing. This 10 % tax on gross. And we were out of business. It just didn’t make sense. Everything else was exempted. Wheels and boards and slots, whatever you could think of, but us. Us and the numbers racket, in Harlem and Florida and Washington.”
“Take it easy.”
“That’s right, Bill. Thanks.”
“Have some wine.”
“... Rock, of course, was fixed. He had property, and for the building, where the Paddock was, he got $250,000 — or so I heard. But then came the tip on Maryland.”
That crossed me up, and instead of switching her off, I asked her what she meant. She said: “That Maryland would legalize wheels.”
“What do you smoke in Nevada?”
“Oh, I didn’t believe it. And Rock didn’t. But Mrs. Rock went nuts about it. Oh well, she had reason.”
“Dark, handsome reason?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, but that reason took the Rocks for a ride, for every cent they got for the place, and tried to take me too, for other things beside money. When they went off to Italy, they thought they had it fixed, he was to keep me at my salary, in case Maryland would legalize, and if not, to send me home, with severance pay, as it’s called. And instead of that—”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve said too much.”
“What’s this guy to you?”
“Nothing! I never even saw him until the three of us stepped off the plane — with our hopes. In a way it seemed reasonable. Maryland had tracks, and they help with the taxes. Why not wheels?
“And who is this guy?”
“I’d be ashamed to say, but I’ll say this much: I won’t e a kept floozy. I don’t care who he thinks he is, or—”
She bit her lip, started to cry, and really shut up then. To switch off, I asked why she was working for Jack, and she said: “Why not? You can’t go home in a barrel. But he’s been swell to me.”
Saying people were swell seemed to be what she like, and she calmed down, letting her hand stay when I pressed it in both of mine. Then we were really close, close enough that I’d be warranted in laying it on the line, she should let that plane fly away, and not go to Nevada at all. But while I was working on that, business was picking up, with waiters stopping by to let her look at their trays, and I hadn’t much chance to say it, whatever I wanted to say. Then, through the IN door, a waiter came through with a tray that had a wine bottle on it. A guy followed him in, a little noisy guy, who said the bottle was full and grabbed it off the tray. He had hardly gone out, when Jack was in the door, watching him as he staggered back to the table. The waiter swore the bottle was empty, but all Jack did was nod.
Then Jack came over to her, took another little peep through the window in the OUT door, which was just under her balcony, and said: “Lydiay, what did you make of him?”
“Why — he’s drunk, that’s all.”
“You notice him, Mr. Cameron?”