Gladys flushed at the implied insult.
Greg said: ‘Father paid her a visit, and took with him a colleague, Joe Brekhunov. Have you met him, Gladys?’
‘I don’t believe so.’
‘Lucky you. Joe has a razor like this.’ Greg snapped the razor open, showing the gleaming sharp blade.
Gladys gasped.
Lev said: ‘I don’t know what game you think you’re playing—’
‘Just a minute,’ Greg said. ‘Gladys wants to hear the rest of the story.’ He smiled at her. She looked terrified. He said: ‘My father told Jacky that if she ever saw me again, Joe would cut her face with his razor.’
He jerked the knife, just a little, and Gladys gave a small scream.
‘The hell with this,’ Lev said, and took a step towards Greg. Greg raised the hand holding the razor. Lev stopped.
Greg did not know whether he would be able to cut his father. But Lev did not know either.
‘Jacky lives right here in Washington,’ Greg said.
His father said crudely: ‘Are you fucking her again?’
‘No. I’m not fucking anyone, though I have plans for Margaret Cowdry.’
‘The cookie heiress?’
‘Why, do you want Joe to threaten her too?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Jacky is a waitress now – she never got the movie part she was hoping for. I run into her on the street sometimes. Today she served me in a restaurant. Every time she sees my face, she thinks Joe is going to come after her.’
‘She’s out of her mind,’ Lev said. ‘I’d forgotten all about her until five minutes ago.’
‘Can I tell her that?’ Greg said. ‘I think by now she’s entitled to her peace of mind.’
‘Tell her whatever the hell you like. For me she doesn’t exist.’
‘That’s great,’ said Greg. ‘She’ll be pleased to hear it.’
‘Now put that damn blade away.’
‘One more thing. A warning.’
Lev looked angry. ‘You’re warning
‘If anything bad happens to Jacky – anything at all . . .’ Greg moved the razor side to side, just a little.
Lev said scornfully: ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to cut Joe Brekhunov.’
‘No.’
Lev showed a hint of fear. ‘You’d cut me?’
Greg shook his head.
Angrily, Lev said: ‘What, then, for Christ’s sake?’
Greg looked at Gladys.
She took a second to catch his drift. Then she jerked back in her silk-upholstered chair, put both hands on her cheeks as if to protect them, and gave another little scream, louder this time.
Lev said to Greg: ‘You little asshole.’
Greg folded the razor and stood up. ‘It’s how you would have handled it, Father,’ he said.
Then he went out.
He slammed the door and leaned against the wall, breathing as hard as if he had been running. He had never felt so scared in his life. Yet he also felt triumphant. He had stood up to the old man, used his own tactics back on him, even scared him a little.
He walked to the elevator, pocketing the razor. His breathing eased. He looked back along the hotel corridor, half expecting his father to come running after him. But the door of the suite remained closed, and Greg boarded the elevator and went down to the lobby.
He entered the hotel bar and ordered a dry martini.
On Sunday Greg decided to visit Jacky.
He wanted to tell her the good news. He remembered the address – the only piece of information he had ever paid a private detective for. Unless she had moved, she lived just the other side of Union Station. He had promised her he would not go there, but now he could explain to her that such caution was no longer necessary.
He went by cab. Crossing town, he told himself he would be glad to draw a line at last under his affair with Jacky. He had a soft spot for his first lover, but he did not want to be involved in
