‘And he told you to come here, is that right?’
‘He did.’
‘We might be able to accommodate you,’ Stephanie said.
‘Might?’
‘Yes. It depends on whether or not the facilities suit you. And, of course, the price.’
‘From what I’ve seen,’ I said, ‘the facilities are remarkable.’
Stephanie did not smile. ‘The other cabins aren’t quite like the office,’ she answered.
‘Oh. I was hoping for something just like it.’
‘Well, I don’t think you’ll be too disappointed. You understand, of course, that it would be impossible to rent out the office, don’t you?’
‘Would it be impossible?’ I asked.
Her eyes held mine. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid it would be impossible.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I say so.’
‘Well then, it’s impossible, I suppose.’
It was a funny kind of conversation. She had told me a lot of things in the past two minutes, but we’d talked with our eyes locked, the way a man and a woman very rarely speak. I’d just been sounding her because I wanted to find out exactly what her role was in the setup. But I got the feeling that she was seriously considering everything I said, and that she was even carrying on a small debate inside her head. Maybe I was wrong. In any case, the woman to get close to was Stephanie Barter. If anybody knew what was happening here, she was that person; I decided to press my luck.
‘Naturally,’ I said, ‘rules are made to be broken.’
Our eyes were still clenched somewhere in mid-air. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘rules are made to be broken.’
‘And I do like the office. I really do.’
‘Your eyes are brown,’ she said quite suddenly.
‘Yes.’
‘I like brown eyes.’
‘Thank you. About the rules...’
‘If we rented the office, we’d be losing a revenue on one of the cabins,’ Stephanie said. ‘Besides, my husband would be furious if he learned about it.’
‘I wouldn’t tell him,’ I said.
‘Neither would I. Besides, after...’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘But rules are rules.’
‘What’s the revenue on the cabin?’
‘Didn’t Joe tell you?’
‘No.’
‘A hundred and fifty.’
I must have blinked. Stephanie smiled for the first time and said, ‘Too high?’
‘A little steep.’
‘But the cabins are very clean and very decorative. You’d be pleased.’
‘I’m sure. I would. But I want the office.’
‘My husband is away,’ she said suddenly. ‘On some business.’
‘What kind of business?’
‘Something that had to be done.’
‘Will he be back soon?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then why don’t we talk this over a little more?’
‘Talk over what?’ she asked. She smiled again. ‘Your wanting to go to bed with me, do you mean?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘We can talk about it,’ she said. ‘Come inside while I change.’
Chapter thirteen
‘Inside’ was a suite of rooms behind the motel office.
There was a living room with a long cabinet and a longer couch and a rug that needed mowing. Stephanie went directly to the cabinet, opened one of the doors, and pulled out the record-player unit.
‘I like music,’ she said. She picked up one of the LP albums from the cabinet top, and then pulled a Sinatra record from its protective cover. Sinatra began singing. Stephanie listened for a moment and then said, ‘He phrases beautifully.’ She nodded in agreement with herself, went to the other end of the cabinet, took a bottle and two glasses, and then said, ‘Come on.’
I followed her into a luxurious bedroom. There were blue silk sheets on the double bed, and a white monogram where the sheets were folded over, the letters SBR. Stephanie Something Barter.
‘What was your maiden name?’ I asked.
‘Roscanski. Horrible, isn’t it?’ She went to the closet, took something from a hanger there, and then went to another door. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said. ‘Sit down.’
She closed the door behind her. I sat in the chaise lounge. I got up, walked to the bed, and touched the blue sheets. They were cool and smooth. I sat down again. In the bathroom, the water was running. It was getting dark outside. I went to the lamp on the night table and snapped it on. The water in the bathroom stopped. There was only Sinatra then, and the beginning night song of the katydids. The bathroom door opened. Stephanie Barter had pulled her blonde hair back into a pony tail, tied it at the nape of her neck with a green ribbon that caught the color of her eyes. She wore a white robe with the SBR monogrammed on the left breast. She wore pink ruffled mules.
‘Rye all right?’ she asked.
‘Rye will do very nicely,’ I said.
She walked to the dressing table where she’d left the bottle. She picked it up. The label read Canadian Club. She held out the bottle. ‘All right?’ she asked.
‘Fine,’ I said.
There was a keen glow of proprietorship in her eyes. She was proud of the Canadian Club, happy she could afford good whisky. She poured it liberally and handed me one of the glasses.
‘Toast,’ she said.
‘Here’s to truth and beauty,’ I said. We clinked glasses.
‘Why that?’
‘Why not? They’re the two most elusive things around.’
‘Beauty’s cheap,’ Stephanie said. ‘You can buy beauty.’
‘You can’t buy truth.’
‘Who would want to?’ She thought a moment. ‘Besides, you can buy truth, too. You can buy anything you want in this world.’
‘Can I buy you?’ I asked.
Stephanie laughed. ‘I’ve already been bought.’
‘Oh?’
‘A long time ago. The man wanted beauty. He bought it.’
‘Which man?’
‘Mike. My husband.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s a gorilla.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘That is not so nice,’ Stephanie said, and she drank. She poured another drink for herself. I still had not tasted mine. ‘I like nice things,’ she said, ‘good things. The best. Why drive a Ford when I can drive a Cadillac?’ She savored the name of the car. She rolled it on her tongue.
‘There’s always a Mercedes Benz,’ I said.
‘Is that better than a Cadillac?’
‘Well, it costs more.’
She seemed troubled. ‘I didn’t know that,’ she said.
‘You’ll have to look into it.’
‘Yes.’ She sipped at her drink. ‘You’ve got a lot of nerve, do you know?’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes. You’re lucky, too.’
‘How so?’
‘If this were yesterday, you wouldn’t be in this room.’
‘What makes yesterday different from today?’
‘Lots of things. The todays are always different from the yesterdays, didn’t you know?’
‘I suspected.’
‘What line of work are you in, Tony?’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll bet I can guess.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Advertising.’
‘How’d you know?’
‘I can tell. You dress like an advertising man.’
‘I didn’t know we were so obvious,’ I said. ‘How does your husband dress?’
‘How do gorillas dress? Like gorillas?’ She giggled. ‘I believe in bargains, don’t you?’
‘Bargain basement bargains?’
‘No, no that’s not what I meant. A bargain. A contract.’
‘Yes, I believe in contracts.’
‘So do I. At least, I did. You make a bargain, you stick to it. You buy something, you sell something, that’s it. You put your name on the dotted line, and it’s signed, sealed, and delivered. F.O.B. San Diego.’