He gave her an authentic sneer, copied from a whole saga of "juvenile delinquency" movies and TV programmes. "I'll say you're busy! Busy with Old Man Walham. Don't waste your time, that's all I say. You want to know what's in his wallet? Mothballs! You'll never get rich that way."
"Walham? What are you talking about? You must be nuts!"
He said again, with considerable assurance: "Sister, you're wasting your time."
It was true that she was busy with Walham, and probably just as true that Walham was not going to pay her much of a dividend. He had placed the offer, from the very beginning, on a purely business footing; and the area of potential blackmail was very small indeed— he was travelling alone, he had (or so he claimed) an "understanding" with his wife, he was not the sort of man who, faced by Carl the outraged uncle, would have crumpled up and reached for his pocket-book. It boiled down to a matter of terms, and he was, as usual, looking for a bargain.
It had started, as so often happened to Diane, with a dance at one of the ship's innumerable "Gala Nights" involving balloons, paper caps, and moderate misbehaviour. Walham, she knew, had been gravitating in her direction fairly determinedly during the preceding five days; it became clear, when they had circled the dance-floor a couple of times, that he had now made up his mind to spend part of the allocation set out in his budget (so the Professor said) under "Sex". It became clear, also, that he was going to use as little of it as possible. Why he had taken it for granted that she was a suitable target, never even came up in conversation. All he said, when they presently sat down in a quiet corner of the main saloon, was:
"How much?"
After their dance, which had been explicit on both sides, it seemed silly to clutch her neckline and demand to know what he could possibly be talking about. Instead, she decided on shock tactics. She said:
"A thousand dollars."
He snorted. Clearly it gave him pleasure to do so; it must have been the preliminary to hundreds of similar discussions, in areas ranging from the selling of farm-tractors to the buying of antiques. In addition, he affected now the classic gesture of the man prepared to make a long, long fight for justice. He cupped his hand to his ear, and said dryly:
"Must be getting deaf. I could have sworn you said a thousand dollars."
Diane, taking the cigarette he offered, answered: "That's exactly what I did say."
"I'm not handing out any endowment funds," said Walham.
There ensued a bargaining session, extending over several days, which was ludicrous, spirited, and distinctly pleasurable. He began by offering her fifty dollars—"and that's way above the market. You'll have to earn it." She indicated, disdainfully, a total lack of interest; they were on board the Alcestis, she argued, and he must be prepared to pay luxury rates. "By God," he swore, his voice already an angry whine, "you're talking like that damned Purser!" He used every argument, including some close financial figuring which she could scarcely follow. Scribbling on the back of a menu, he calculated that, on an actuarial basis which took into account the number of available men on board, she was putting her monthly salary at more than $20,000. "Hell," he said, "the top man in General Motors doesn't rate that much!" "But he gets free cars," countered Diane. "And anyway, that's just a run-of-the-mill job." She was enjoying herself.
"But a thousand bucks!" said Walham, again and again. "I don't spend that amount in five years. I could get fifty girls for that kind of money."
"Go ahead," said Diane heartlessly. "Wear yourself out. See if I care."
"Look, I'll make you a proposition—" Walham began again.
Suddenly, talking to Barry Greenfield, Diane thought: Well, why not? Of course, he was a terrible brat, and she had never done anything like it before; but this was a pleasure cruise—they were in the tropics—anything went—in certain lights he was actually quite good-looking. . . . She said, her voice on a much more friendly note:
"All right, smarty-pants. Make me an offer."
"Well, gee. . . ." He looked away from her, fingering the edge of the pillow. "Gee, I don't know." It was most gratifying to see him, at last, embarrassed and at a loss; it must be the first time anyone on board the Alcestis had enjoyed such a view. "It's like this . . ."
"How much have you got?" she asked him.
"Seventy bucks." He looked at her, trying to interpret her expression. After a moment he said: "I can get more."
"You'll need more."
"O.K., O.K."
"Where will you get it from?"
He jerked his head back. "The folks. My dad's loaded." There was a return of his flip manner as he added: "Don't you worry about the dough."
It was important that she remain in command, in ail areas. "I'm not worrying," she told him crudely."You worry. Seventy bucks will get you precisely nowhere. What sort of league do you think this is?"
"O.K., give it a rest," he said, crestfallen. "How much, then?"
"Two hundred, at least. Then we'll start talking."
He rose from the bed, looking down at his feet. Consternation struggled with the need to appear sophisticated, and both of them with an important branch of virtue—thrift. "That's a lot of dough," he said.
"No, it isn't," said Diane. "It's peanuts."
"I'll see about it," said Barry. "Let you know, huh?"
"You do that."
He came closer, a step at a time, so that presently he was standing over her, and his body, when the ship rolled slightly, touched her shoulder. She suddenly realized that he was tremendously keyed up, triggered for something which, for all the tough talk and the show-off manner, he still knew nothing about. But the message was there; when the time came, it was going to be just like the book said. She put out her hand, holding him off with a very real sense of excitement.
"Down, boy," she said. "Take it easy. I'll see you when you've got the money."
"But when I have it," he insisted, "it'll be O.K.?"
"Yes. It'll be O.K. . . . How old are you, Barry?"
"Nearly nineteen."
"Good for you."
"I'll make it one-hundred-fifty," said Walham. "Not a red cent more."
"The trouble with you," said Diane, "is that you're mean."
"Of course I'm mean! That's why I'm rich." He sounded pleased.
"Well, you're not going to be mean with me. Four hundred—" (she had scaled it down progressively, just for the fun of bargaining) "—is my last and final word. Take it or leave it."
"I got an advance on my allowance," said Barry.
"How much?"
"A lousy fifty." He studied her face briefly. "Still no good, huh?"
"No."
"I'll get some more, though. Don't you change your mind, will you?"
"A bargain is a bargain," said Diane.
"But it's twice my whole allocation for the trip," said Walham, desperately.
"Well, you're going to blow it all in one."
"Three hundred dollars."
"No."
"Aw, come on. Give a little!"
"No."
"I've got a camera," said Barry. "Cost over a hundred bucks. How about that?"
"I don't want a camera," said Diane. "Cameras are for other people."
"It's a darned good one."
"You know, like the old joke. No Leica."
"O.K." He sighed, not too despairingly. "Only thirty bucks more to go. It won't be long now."
"What's that kid hanging around all the time for?" demanded Walham.
"Maybe he loves me."
"Three hundred and fifty dollars. And that's the last word."