Kathy must be long asleep by now, he thought; and of his other problem children, only Diane was possibly still awake. She had done well with Gerson, and she had shown herself very ready to pursue the same sort of effort, with other candidates. Indeed, rising from the dinner-table that same evening, she had said, carelessly confident:
"I feel good tonight. I think I'll knock off Zucco."
The dauntless vulgarity of the remark had amused him when it was made; at this later hour, he only hoped that it had come true, without complication. But he did not want to consider the topic now; he only wished to savour the peace and contentment he had won. He drew on his cigar, and looked at the cheques on the table. He saw once again Tillotson's face as he had first sniffed danger, and then backed away from it, his head lowered like a wary bull. Delicious moment . . .
Now it was after four o'clock, and his face in the dawn light was stiff and tired. Perhaps he was getting old. But what pleasures still came his way!
7
Zucco was a breeze, a pushover, thought Diane; he knew all about the Hollywood meat-market, but he wasn't used to it getting up and biting him in the wallet. The total operation took less than forty-eight hours, and the whole thing, as far as she was concerned, boiled down to two scenes, like in one of his lousy films.
Scene One was ashore at Barbados. Pretty colours, kind of picturesque, but a dump, old-fashioned as hell. Policemen dolled up like from Gilbert and Sullivan. A daylight session up the coast, where the attraction was billed as a Planters' Lunch ("These are planters?" asked Walham suspiciously. "But how do we know?") A band knocking themselves into a coma, beating the hell out of two rows of oil drums. Then a night-club where they fried the lobster in coconut oil and even gypped you in the loo.
First, Zucco mournful, saying: "Tell you a funny story about an electric guitar. We lost a good musician that way. Bought himself a cheap guitar. Too cheap. First rehearsal, he plugged it in, gave one plonk! and fell stone-dead into the orchestra pit. Faulty wiring. Studio couldn't figure out whether it came under the Musicians' Union or the Seal of Good Housekeeping."
Then Zucco warming up, giving the slip to his wife, saying: "Sure I'll get you a film-test, any time. I'm like that with Walter Warner."
Then Zucco happy in his work at last, saying: "You're stacked, kiddo. Beautiful music!"
Scene Two was Came the Dawn, or near enough to it, in Cabin A15.
Zucco distraught, saying: "But I told you, I'll get you a film-test. I can make you a big star! I have lunch with Genghis Cohen every day!"
Zucco weakening, saying: "Hell, they don't pay those prices in Bel Air on Christmas Eve!"
Zucco in the death-throes, saying: "Christ, if I O.K'd a script like this, they'd have me strapped to the couch!"
Zucco flouncing out, saying: "Next time I see you, remind me to tell you to drop dead!"
Cut to hands counting ten-dollar bills, and Dissolve.
Down the corridor, listening to retreating footsteps, Barkway the steward picked his teeth reflectively. Then he shook his head.
"Stamina!" he said to the duty-stewardess. "Say what you like, you've got to admire it."
8
At Grenada, most beautiful of islands, they viewed a volcanic lake, and Mr. Cutler the Purser stocked up on fresh limes; at Tobago, the Professor held forth on Robinson Crusoe, expanding the slim evidence which sought to establish the island as the undoubted headquarters of this ancient mariner. But in general, the main anticipation centred on Port of Spain, Trinidad, where the Alcestis was due to arrive in time for the Carnival. When they finally streamed ashore here, into the arms of a polyglot population perfectly equipped to deal with such invasions, they looked forward to it as one of the high spots of the whole cruise. They were not disappointed.
Port of Spain seemed to have everything, and, at Carnival time, everything was on display. Steel bands roamed the streets, exotically costumed; the rival Calypso Kings set up their tents, and embarked on the yearly warfare to advance the claims of Lord Caresser, Lord Life Expectancy, and the Edinburgh Whiz-Kid. In the streets, the range of costume and the shades of colour were fantastic; Indian women in saris, civil servants in white duck, pure Negroes, impure Europeans, Portuguese traders, Chinese brothel-touts, Spanish girls with enormous bosoms and fiery eyes. There were teak forests to be visited, and a lake of pitch solid enough to be walked upon. The mosques and temples and bazaars beckoned the eye; the competing music wove its pattern continuously; tiny humming-birds hung like bees, motionless above the red-flowering immortelles.
There was Creole cooking for those who wanted a change, and caustic curries for those who preferred an ordeal. For passengers who, even at this late stage, had never left New York, there was a restaurant called the Tavern-on-the-Green. Over it all, music and dancing and a zany pre-Lental delinquency set the tone and showed the way. It was no wonder that, allowed by the schedule to spend five days there, the Alcestians took a long look at the conventions and decided to give them a rest.
Louis and Mrs. Consolini—whose name was Belle—had at last found a place they liked. It was a night-club called the Calcutta, one of the few which readily stayed open as long as the customers chose to remain there. They liked it because it was dark, and unfashionable, and because very few of their fellow-passengers had discovered it. Once there, all they did was talk, and listen to the music; Louis was handling this one with a long and leisurely spoon, and he applied no pressure of any sort. The pressure indeed finally came from her, in a form which he was to remember for a very long time.
Belle Consolini was in a curious mood. On this trip, the Captain had certainly not come up to her expectations; the impulse which had prompted her to make a third cruise in the Alcestis was paying many pleasant dividends, but Captain Harmer had not been one of them. Nor, up to the time of going to press, had anyone else. She had looked the field over; in plain terns, there just wasn't a field on board, save for this dubious young man who, so far, had concentrated on giving her rival Mrs. Stewart-Bates a whirl, and on nothing else. That seemed a pattern which had been discontinued, for reasons which she did not know but could approximately guess; the coming change-over, however, was going to be on her own terms. It only remained to tell him how and when.
On their second night at the Calcutta, the calypso singer who went the rounds of the tables paused to give them the traditional salute reserved for Alcestis passengers. (All the cruise-boats had their own slanted calypsos, calculated to provoke delighted squeals and two-dollar tips.) At the end, Belle Consolini unexpectedly asked the singer:
"There's one from Barbados called 'Back to Back, Belly to Belly*. Do you know it?"
"Yes, ma'am," said the calypso singer, grinning. "All the eight verses."
He sang them, in lingering detail, and departed with some solid largesse for his trouble.
"That's a pretty hot number," said Louis appreciatively. "You certainly know your way around, Belle. How did you hear about that one?"
She waved her hand; the lights caught her bracelets, and travelled up her plump sunburnt arm, and gave a dull sheen to the draped mink stole, and finished up among the gold dust sprinkled on her hair.