lately?”
“Your husband?”
“Let’s just call him Mike—if you don’t mind. I suppose he’s upstairs with a bottle. He always goes into that routine when I throw a party.”
“You aren’t very fond of him, are you?”
“Let’s watch that talk, now. I take my troubles to your pal, Professor Hermann. I’ve been talking to him about you all evening.”
“Do I trouble you?”
“You might.”
“All right.” And I could see that it was. The way she held my arm and looked up, with her teeth flashing. I caught a heavy gust of Scotch. She’d been working the bar, making up for lost time.
I looked around for the Professor, waiting for a cue, a signal. He’d tell me how nice I was supposed to be, what I was supposed to do now. But the Professor had disappeared. This meant I was on my own. On my own, with six drinks under my belt, and a girl who knew exactly what she wanted. Maybe I should have remembered that I was Judson Roberts, Ps.D. Maybe I should have figured out how to play it carefully, slowly, cleverly.
Instead I looked down at those white legs, looked into the blue, blazing insolence of Lorna’s eyes.
“It’s hot in here,” I said.
“It might be even hotter, outside.”
“You’re thinking of your husband?”
“Don’t call him that. He hasn’t really been my husband since the Toronto game when somebody hit him with a stick. All he wants now is his bottle, understand?” She leaned close.
I understood, all right. I understood that she wasn’t in love with me, that she wasn’t in need of affection or anything else I could give her except sensation. But she had those legs and she was a movie star, or almost a star. And I was Eddie Haines, a nobody from nowhere. I was Eddie Haines, trying like hell to hold my liquor, trying like hell to remember my name was Judson Roberts.
There was only one answer within me.
“Let’s go outside,” I said.
Dark curls tumbled from side to side. “No, not now. I’m the hostess, remember? Wait until later, when I get rid of this gang. I’ll throw them out and check on Mike.”
“When?”
“Tell you what. It’s after eleven, so you come back about twelve-thirty. Most of these people are in pictures, they go home early during the week nights. Twelve-thirty will do it. I’ll wait for you down at the coach house. You know where it is—on the side, behind the swimming pool.”
“Right.”
“Clear out, now. I don’t want us to be seen together any longer—you understand.”
I understood. She squeezed my arm and rose. I stood up as I saw Himberg’s red face bobbing towards us, then moved away through a maze of low-cut peasant blouses, open sports shirts and drink-spattered jackets.
I made one last attempt to find the Professor. He wasn’t in the big room and he wasn’t on the terrace. Miss Bauer had melted away like an old ice cube.
Ice cube. I could use another drink. But not here. I made for the door. The night air was cool. I breathed slowly, deeply, evenly. But inside my chest, my heart was going like a dynamo. There was nothing to do for an hour and a half. Just nothing to do but wait...and drink.
I walked down the road a way and before I knew it I’d hit a highway. There was a little neon-lighted place not too far up, and I stopped in for a quick one. It had to be quick, because the bars close at twelve. When I found that out I had another, and another.
Somehow I remembered another bar, months ago, where I’d stood drinking the hours away before I went home to meet the Professor for the first time. Only, when I went, I hadn’t expected to meet the Professor. I’d expected to cut my throat. And now, just three months later, I was drinking again. And when I left here, I wouldn’t be on my way to cut my throat. No indeed.
I’d come a long way in three months. And I was going a long way. Money...women...power. Luck had changed for Eddie Haines, now that he was Judson Roberts.
Tonight was important to me. I knew that now. It marked the turning point, the real turning point. I’d find out, once and for all, if what the Professor promised was true: if I could reach out and take what I wanted from a world of suckers.
It was a little after twelve. I’d know very soon, now.
I staggered out, lurched up the road, breathing deep. I got my balance under control quickly, but my thoughts were still spinning.
It was a good night. It was a damned good night. Cool, but not too cool, and very clear. Stars up overhead. Millions of them. They went round and round. Why not? What the hell else did they have to do? That’s what they got paid for. Going around like that. That’s why MGM put them in the sky. I wondered who had the moon concession. Paramount, probably. No, they had stars, too—stars and a mountain. Well, I was also going to have a star.
The house was dark as I approached the terrace. Cars were all gone. Good. I cut across the lawn, went through the shrubbery. There was the swimming pool ahead. Mustn’t stumble and fall into the swimming pool. Show up all wet. Stars in the swimming pool, too. Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might—
Well, I was going to.
Coach house. What the hell kind of a business was that, a coach house? Nobody had coaches. Not this little Cinderella, certainly. But here it was. Here it was in the dark, and here was I, and where was the door?
I found the door and it opened and somebody was waiting for me. Sure enough, I could see her: she was waiting. She came forward. What was I waiting for?
“Everything all right?” I asked.
“Sure. Mike was upstairs. Out cold.”
“You’re not cold.”
“You’re not sober.”
“Do you mind?”
“What do you think?”
Then she laughed. I wanted to stop that, so I did. My mouth closed down on hers, and her mouth came up to mine, and all of her came up to me. Through the doorway I could still see the stars. Then the stars turned to buttons, and I began to give them my attention. And then—
“Wait a minute. What’s that?” she said.
“Forget about it, honey.”
“No. I hear something outside. Somebody’s coming.”
Now I heard it too: the crunch of gravel, then the fumbling and the sudden squeaking of the door.
“Mike!”
He stood there in the doorway, going round and round. I tried to focus my eyes on him. He was a big man, and it was hard to see him clearly or separate his bulk from the monstrous, menacing black shadow on the wall— the shadow of an ape.
He stood there and cursed us. He cursed us in a low, steady, monotonous voice, ripping his words off back- alley fences, off privy walls. He said other things, too.
“z’N now I’m gonna kill ya. I’m gonna rip out ya guts an’—”
He was in the light, I was in the dark, and now was the time, if ever.
I went up to him and he reached out those hairy-ape arms of his. I weaved under them, straightened, and hit him hard. But not hard enough. He backed away and then he came up with one on the side of my head. I felt it, soft and far away, and I wobbled as he hit me again. He turned and knocked me outside.
Then we were both in the moonlight and Lorna said, “No...stop...please...” But it was nothing but cheap dialogue; it was a corny scene, a couple of drunks fighting over a tramp.
That made me mad, so I hit him again. He swung, not to hit this time, but to gouge at my eye with his thumb. He was good at it. I pushed my knuckles against his mouth, hard. He grunted and tried to tackle me.
