“I got to make a pretence,” I said. “That's what I was hired for.”
“Sure.” She rubbed my leg. “But don't go any further.”
“All right.”
“Be sure,” she said. “They want her for the Ceremony of the Bride.”
“What's that?”
“Never mind. Only, get this. They aren't people you can cross.”
She smiled. She had me, and she knew it. She liked the idea. In a way, I did, too.
“What do I do?”
“Let's have a drink, honey. Then I'll tell you.”
She got a decanter and a couple of tall wine glasses. She filled the glasses and we drank. It was brandy. “Not bad,” I said.
“We make it.”
I could feel it mix with that other burn in my stomach. I moved so her shoulder touched my arm. I began to like the perfume.
She said: “I'm so sick of this joint.”
“Why?”
“No freedom. I can't go out. I can't get drunk or gamble or wear swell clothes....”
“They look swell to me.”
“Shut up, honey. I'm trying to tell you something. I like to dance. I like good restaurants and night clubs, and movies. Here all I'm supposed to do is think about God. It's getting me down.”
“You don't like God?”
“I can take him or leave him.”
I laughed.
She said: “I was a kid when Solomon picked me up. Eighteen. I wouldn't join the Vineyard as a regular Daughter so he made me Princess. Soly wasn't so bad.” She looked at me. “He was a big man, too.”
“You like them big, don't you?”
“The bigger the better.” She was smiling now. “Soly let me run certain things, and when he died I just kept running them.”
“Where'd he find you?”
“In New York.”
“In what chorus?”
She looked mad, and then she laughed.
“Wise guy.”
“Sure.” I reached across her and got the decanter and filled both glasses. I was getting a buzz from the brand “Why don't you leave the Vineyard?” I asked. “I'm going to.” She got up and went to a desk. The silk robe clung to her buttocks. She didn't have much on under the robe. She came back with a small leather book.
“Look.”
It was a deposit book and in it was a folded bank statement. It was the account of Bethine Gleason. She had a balance of $87,567.46. I blinked at the figures.
“When it says one hundred grand, I scram.” She put the book away. She sat down by me and drank her drink. I drank mine, too.
“Now, what do I do?”
“You're to work for me.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes narrowed. “On the surface you're to take Pug's place-work for the Vineyard. The Elders want to get rid of him.”
“What do I do for you?”
“You hand over part of the take.”
“To build up mat hundred grand?”
“Yes.”
“What do I get out of it?”
“Well, for one thing, you don't get knocked off by Pug Banta.”
“That's certainly something.”
“And a salary.”
