I got Ginger's room number from Charles, the Negro. It was on the third floor: 347. I knocked on the door. I waited and knocked again. I heard someone move. “Who is it?”
“Telegram.”
“Stick it under the door.”
“I can't, miss. You gotta sign.” She sighed. “Okay. Wait a minute.” She moved around the room and then opened the door. She had on a green dressing-gown. “My God! Aren't you dead?”
“Not me.”
She stared at me, her eyes wide. I could see her pyjama legs under the robe. Her red hair looked good, hanging over her shoulders. “How about lunch today?”
“How'd you get away?”
“Never mind,” I said. “What about lunch, sugar?”
“Listen, big boy, you're lucky to be alive. We both are. Let's leave dynamite alone.”
I grinned at her. “I thought you were on my team.”
“I know what's healthy.” She slammed the door.
I slept the rest of the day in my room. It was hot, but I didn't mind. I felt a lot better when I woke up around six. I had some whisky and a shower, and then I ate dinner in the coffee shop. I read a paper while I ate. There was even more excitement about Caryle Waterman, and the editor, in a front-page editorial, demanded that his murderer be found. The police were still looking for Papas. I began to wonder if Pug Banta's men had caught up with him. It said three more bodies had been found in the building, but that so far no one had identified them. There was nothing at all in the paper about Oke Johnson.
I had left the keys in Pug Banta's car so he could take it, but it was still sitting in front of the hotel. I figured that was nice of him. I drove around to Carmel's house, but the Negro maid said she wasn't there.
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“Somebody inside must know.”
“No. Nobody know.”
“Like hell they don't,” I told her. “They don't run a joint like this that way.”
A voice said: “Let me talk to the gentleman, Agnes.” A big woman in a purple evening gown came to the door. She had been fat, but had recently got thin. The skin on her face hung in folds. She wore a diamond bracelet.
“Carmel is not here,” the woman said.
“Where is she?”
“If she wanted you to know, she would have left word.”
“All right,” I said. “Will you take a message for her?”
“Certainly not.”
“For God's sake, why not?”
“We don't do favours for ill-mannered people.”
She shut the door. I thought for a minute about kicking it in, and then I went to the car. To hell with it.
I drove around town until dusk, stopping at the bar once for a whisky, and then I went to the Vineyard. I went past the main gate to the lane and turned in and parked by the bushes at the end. I took the keys out of the car this time. I began to feel ticklish in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know if it was fear or excitement. I guess it was excitement; I kept remembering what the Princess looked like lying naked on the floor of Pug's fishing shack. I went down the path to the women's building. Somewhere people were singing; I could just hear the voices. They were singing a hymn. The path ended by a flight of steps. I looked around for the door on the ground level. After I found it I didn't go in, but walked around the building wondering what would be a good way to get hold of Penelope Grayson in case I ever wanted to. There were doors at the top oA? the front and back stairs but the windows were all out of reach. I thought the doors would probably be locked at night. It didn't look so good. I walked around to the lower door and knocked. The Princess smiled when she saw me. “Come in, honey. I went in. She led me up two flights of stairs and into a room lit with indirect lights. It was a hell of a room. There was a thick blue carpet over the whole floor, and a silken divan as big as an ordinary double bed. The windows had black silk drapes. There was a fireplace and some tables and big chairs.
“Like it, honey?”
“It's swell.”
I looked at her. She had on a crimson robe, something like a hostess gown, I think, with a gold belt and gold bracelets and gold slippers. She looked smaller in the robe, but I could still see the curve of her hips. I felt warm in the pit of my stomach.. “Sit down.”
I sat by her on the divan. It was like sitting on feathers. It seemed as though I sank down to my hips. I could smell her perfume; heavy and sweet, like the jasmine they have down in New Orleans. “Are you going to play?”
“What else can I do?”
“You're smart.” She patted my leg with a hand that flashed a square cut diamond as big as a lump of sugar. “But, honey, you'll have to give up trying to take the Gray-son girl away.”
I wasn't surprised she knew about that. Penelope Grayson would have told her. That was probably another reason why she hadn't let Pug kill me.
