“Vinnie who? What are you talking about?”
“This is like a slice of dialogue from a particularly bad soap opera,” he said wearily. “The writer has so many pages to fill before the climax of a scene, and so his characters spar along page after page. Let’s not you and me spar.”
“I was not sparring,” Aline responded with spirit. “You’re a total stranger and you ring my bell and demand entrance to my apartment and then start insulting me.”
“Insulting you?” he asked with a slow grin. “Is any woman ever really insulted when a male tells her she is sexually desirable?”
“It depends on the male,” she told him tartly.
He leaned back and lazily got a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out and lighted it, then calmly spun the matchstick on the rug.
“Where’s Vincent?” The two words lashed out at her like the angry crack of a whip.
“Vincent who?” she lashed back.
“My buddy. The lad you hogtied and lashed to the mast last night at Bart’s party. Come off it, woman,” he went on impatiently. “What did you do with him?”
“What makes you think I did anything with him?”
He shook his head sadly. “Here we go again. This isn’t a soap opera. Vinnie Torn. Haven’t got him stashed around here, have you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t think so, else you wouldn’t have telephoned him a little while ago. It was you on the phone?” he challenged, pointing his cigarette at her as though he levelled a lethal weapon at her breast.
“How did you know?” Aline’s voice faltered slightly.
“Your voice for one thing. It is good, you know. One of the best things about you. Sexy and intimate. Besides, there has been no other woman in Vinnie’s life for months. What have you done with him?”
“Now, you’re sparring,” she accused angrily. “I don’t know what happened to your precious Vinnie. Last time I saw him was at Bart’s party.”
“I happen to know,” he said slowly and emphatically, “that you and he slipped out together. He told me not to look for him home until late… that you and he had plans, for a few hours. But… where is he now?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed miserably. “That’s why I telephoned to ask for him. If you want to know the exact truth,” she went on angrily, determined not to let her voice break again, “I passed out cold at Bart’s party. I don’t know what happened.”
He eyed her speculatively under sweeping black lashes. “Where were you when you finally came to?”
“That’s not anyone’s business,” she told him defiantly.
“Perhaps not. But Vinnie is my business. I’ve been looking after him for years and I intend to keep on doing so. Where did you leave him? In what condition?”
“I told you the last time I saw him was at the party when I left.”
“And I know you’re lying. You and he left together. See here! You say you passed out. How do you know who you left with or what you did?”
“I’ve done some checking this morning. A man named Ralph Barnes brought me home. You can ask him if you like.”
“I suppose he’d lie for you if you asked him to,” Gerry said with indifference. “I happen to know this much: Vinnie took me aside at the party a little before midnight and said he was taking you with him. And not to worry if he didn’t get back to our place until quite late. When I got home about an hour later, he wasn’t in. He hasn’t come in yet… or phoned or anything. So what am I supposed to think?”
“I don’t care what you think,” she snapped.
He grinned with mocking arrogance. “I could make you care.” He got up and moved across the room, leaned over her and gazed into her eyes with what she realized he must consider hypnotic intensity.
Aline had never felt less susceptible to hypnotism. She glared back into his eyes and said, “Get out of my apartment before I call the police.”
He continued to lean over her and his expression did not change. It was as though he had not heard her. She felt a strange dizziness coming over her, and closed her eyes suddenly. She kept them closed while he pressed his lips hard against hers.
Gerry Howard withdrew his lips quickly, crossed the room to the door and went out.
Aline didn’t open her eyes until she heard the door close behind him. She felt dazed and bewildered, and the familiar room looked unfamiliar. She got up and went to the couch and slumped down on it, pressed her hands over her eyes and tried to put Gerry Howard out of her thoughts.
What now? What could she do next?
While she was debating that question her telephone rang. She jumped, startled by the sound. Then she steeled herself to answer it, trying to steady the beat of her heart as she lifted the receiver.
“Hello,” she breathed into the mouthpiece.
A woman’s angry voice answered, strident, and speaking fast as though she had keyed herself up to the task:
“Aline! This is Ina Dreer and I’m warning you to stay away from Dirk after this. Do you hear me? Stay away from him. If he’s with you now, you can tell him it’s me calling and he’d better get out of there fast if he ever expects to come home again.”
“Whatever are you talking about, Ina?” asked Aline, aghast. “Why would Dirk be here?”
“Isn’t he?”
“No.”
“If he shows up, you send him packing. Hear me?”
“I hear you,” said Aline coldly. “But nothing you’ve said makes any sense. I have no reason to expect Dirk here.”
“Oh, no? Well, when he flung away from me an hour ago he said he’d see you any damned time he wanted to and what could I do to stop him? You slut, you!” Ina’s voice sprayed venom. “Keeping him out all hours and then sending him back to me so nasty-drunk I have to clean up his vomit. Let me tell you a thing or two right now. If you think for one minute…”
“But I didn’t,” Aline broke in determinedly.
“Didn’t what?”
“Keep him out all hours. I’ve never been out with Dirk in my life.”
“That’s what he said, too,” shrilled Ina. “But don’t think I didn’t do some checking up last night when he didn’t come home from Bart’s party where he slipped off by himself. I’ve got some friends, too, you know. And they told me plenty. I know well enough where he was… and why you didn’t answer your phone all last night. I suppose you precious two lay up in bed together and laughed and laughed while it rang… while I tore my heart out trying to call him. Well, you listen to me, Miss Bitch! Dirk’s my husband. He’s never done such a thing to me before, and he never will again if I have to castrate him. How’d you like that? You tell him I said so and to come home!”
Ina Dreer was sobbing hysterically when she hung up.
Aline replaced the receiver with shaking hands. Her legs felt rubbery and there was a churning in her stomach. What a mess it all was! Somehow, the problem of the dead man wasn’t nearly so acute, now, as this new development.
Poor, dear Dirk. Just because he had kissed her a couple of times at the party. Just because he had sought a little human sympathy and understanding. How could this horrid accusation be built on so small a foundation? It hadn’t meant anything. Really it hadn’t. Just a little amorous dalliance between good friends.
Then a frightening realization came to her: That’s the way she remembered it. Up to the third martini. Up to the point she had blacked out.
Again she flung herself on the couch, this time because she felt too weak to stand.
What had happened after that? How much of Ina’s hysterical accusation was true? Why had she and Ralph fought over the way she and Dirk were carrying on, as Doris had said?
Dirk, and the stranger named Vincent Torn!
What in the name of God had she done after that third martini?
