I didn't want to appear unsociable; I drank a little more of the jug wine. My shirt was already beginning to stick to my back.
'He and I are supposed to do a little, ah, business.'
I smiled what I hoped was a cryptic smile. Susan had told me that sometimes my cryptic smile shaded off into a leer, which had shaken my confidence in it. But this time it seemed to work.
'Business?' she said.
'Yes. Him and Tino. They told me to come here.'
'You know Tino?'
'Sure.'
She had finished her wine already and was pouring another large, clumsy dose from the jug. When she leaned forward I could see that she wore no bra, which was much more information than I really wanted.
'Tino and Jerome and I were supposed to do a piece of business,' I said, 'for Jerome's boss, what'sisname?'
Carlotta was looking at me speculatively over her wine glass. Sweat added sheen to her forehead and glimmered faintly on her upper lip.
'Mister Tannenbaum,' she said absently.
'Yeah, Tannenbaum, and they told me to meet them here.'
'Anyone ever tell you that you're a cutie?' Carlotta said.
'Jerome and Tino just said that last night.'
She smiled automatically and drank some wine. 'Well you are, and don't you just know it.'
'When do you expect Jerome back?' I said.
'He went to the beach for a few days,' she said. 'You ever fool around?'
'No. I always mean it,' I said.
'Maybe you oughta,' she said.
I would have been more flattered if I had the sense that she didn't proposition everyone she met. And if she wasn't drunk. And, the ugly sexist truth of the matter, if her thighs weren't flabby.
'You know where Mr. Tannenbaum lives?' I said.
'Lives? How the hell would I know where he lives? You think he invites me and Jerome over for cocktails? I never even met him.'
'But he's in L.A. someplace,' I said.
She drank some wine and nodded.
'Me and Jerome never get invited anyplace. We eat cheap, we drink cheap, we live in this dump and Jerome don't even pay the rent.'
She began to tear up.
'Wasn't for my alimony check we couldn't even live like we do,' she said.
Her wine glass was empty. She did another twohanded pour from the jug and spilled some of it on the coffee table and began to cry.
'You wanna fuck me or not,' she said through the tears.
'Anyone would,' I said. 'But I can't.'
'Why not?'
I made a cryptic gesture and smiled a cryptic smile and stood up. When I did I could see myself in the oval mirror that hung over the gas log fireplace on the far wall. My cryptic smile was not very convincing. It looked a little panicky. My face was sweaty. If I did not know and admire the owner, it was not a face I'd like very much.
'Whyn't you sit, drink some wine, have a little fun.'
'I wish I could,' I said.
'But you're uptight.' she said.
'That's it,' I said. 'Thanks for the wine.'
She was looking into her near-empty wine glass now, with her feet flat on the floor and her shoulders hunched as if she were cold, which was not possible in the stifling room.
'Get lost,' she said.
Which I did.
Chapter 30
VINCENT DEL Rio had an estate in Bel Air where he was master of all he surveyed, and a good deal more than that. The place was about the size of Worcester, Massachusetts, and a lot better looking in its flowery green Southern-California way.
Even though I had called first, I had to do a lot of explaining to a sequence of scary-looking men of Mexican
