“Past the wall.”
“I really don’t know.”
“Wait here.”
He walked through trailing streamers of pink and white to the maroon drapes, found a break in them, pushed them aside, and found a set of French doors with mirrored squares of glass. He looked at his silvered reflection, grim and intent, and beyond him Claire, standing across the room like a woman at an airport who knows it is impossible she will not be met.
He tried the wall at two other points, and it was all the same. The entire wall behind the drapes was lined in mirrored French doors. None of the doors had knobs or keyholes, and all seemed to be securely fastened to the wall.
Parker went back over to Claire and said, “Go stand by that window over there. I’m going out to the street. When I wave at you, come down and join me.”
“All right. But what about—?” she motioned at the workmen.
“We’re none of their business. Look at them, they don’t pay any attention to us.”
She made a quick and rueful smile, saying, “You’re calmer about this than I am.”
“I’ve been through it before.”
He left, and went out to the street, turned right under the marquee, looked up, and saw Claire standing at the window. Just beyond that window was the end of the hotel, abutting another building, this one obviously much newer than the hotel. Between them, the hotel and the other building took up this entire block.
Parker waved, and Claire left the window.
The nearest window in the other building was about seven feet straight across from the one where Claire had been standing. This one had a cream-colored shade half drawn, was very wide, and had a small pot of African violets on the sill.
Claire came out of the hotel. When she joined him, Parker put his arm through hers and they walked down to the entrance to the next building, over which, in engraved letters, was written: MID-REGION INSURANCE BUILDING. A cornerstone down to the right said MCMXLVII.
Parker pointed at the date, saying, “What’s the number? I’m no good at that stuff.”
“Nineteen forty-seven.”
They went in and up to the second floor. The door that seemed to lead in the direction they wanted was marked, DIABLO TOURS, The Caribbean Our Specialty. Parker said, “We’re honeymooners, we don’t know if we want Bermuda or Jamaica.”
“All right.”
They went into a smallish square room cluttered with travel posters and bisected by a chest-high counter. A fluttery woman in white peasant blouse, wide flowered skirt, hoop earrings, curly dull-brown hair and several charm bracelets was sitting at a messy desk on the other side of the counter. There was no pot of African violets on the windowsill, and a door on the farther wall apparently led to an inner office.
Under his breath, Parker said, “Get mad at her.”
Claire nodded.
The fluttery woman got up from her desk, smiling as brightly as a bird, and came over to the counter, wondering if she could be of help. Parker gave her the honeymoon story, said they couldn’t decide between Bermuda and Jamaica, and the woman assured them both islands were really very nice. She began pulling pamphlets and brochures out from under the counter, slapping them down in front of Parker and Claire, and then said, “And have you considered Puerto Rico? San Juan is really lovely, particularly if it’s your first time in the Caribbean.”
“That’s the way you people always are,” Claire said, suddenly harsh and bitchy. “Push us off to someplace where you get a payoff, never mind what we want.”
The woman blushed scarlet. “Oh, my dear,” she said, so flustered her hands were fidgeting in the brochures on the counter like pigeons after crumbs. “Oh, I hope you don’t really think that of us, not really.”
“Really,” Claire said. “What are you people anyway but parasites? What good are you to anybody?”
“Really!” said the woman, suddenly stung. “No one asked you to come in here, after all.”
“Now, just a minute,” said Parker.
“If you don’t want our services,” the woman told him, obviously keeping herself under control with an effort, “that’s entirely up to you. I wish you a pleasant voyage in any case.”
“I don’t like the way you talked to my fiancee,” Parker said.
“Well, really. I mean really, after all, I was provoked.”
Parker said, “I think I better talk to the manager.”
“Miss Ross is not in at the moment.”
Claire said, “That’s what they always say.”
Parker pointed at the door in the far wall. “That’s the office, isn’t it?”
The woman was getting flustered again. “I tell you, Miss Ross is out, she really is out.”
“We’ll see,” Parker said. He went down to the end of the counter, raised the flap, and said to Claire, “Come on, Mary, we’ll see about this.”
