Hobart studied his face, as though deciding whether he really wanted to hear this, then said, “Sure. Let’s go over to the bar so I can take care of some chores while we talk.” Prescott went to the bar and watched Hobart taking inventory of bar supplies: olives, cherries, swizzle sticks, bitters. He emptied old bottles, moved new ones in. “What’s on your mind?”
Prescott said, “I was just wondering what your policy was on employees going out with customers.”
Hobart put his elbows on the bar and blew out a breath wearily. “Who did you have in mind?”
“Jean,” said Prescott. “I was considering trying to talk to her, but I won’t if it’ll get her fired or something.”
Hobart clamped his lips together and nodded sagely, as though it had been obvious. “You were right to ask me first. That’s sensible, and I appreciate it. We do have a rule against fraternizing. You start having that kind of thing going on, and the authorities get on you. As it is, every time there’s a city council election, everybody in the entertainment business has got to fear for his livelihood. But the truth is, I wouldn’t have that rule if the girls didn’t want it. This way they can say no, and it isn’t their fault. The guy who’s been a big tipper doesn’t get hurt feelings and go away.”
Prescott shrugged. “Okay. I can understand that. No hurt feelings. I’ll forget the idea.”
Hobart said, “I didn’t say that. This is a little different. You’re a good customer, and you’re not a kid. You seem like a serious man, and the fact that you asked me means you’re sensitive to other people’s problems.” He let a mysterious little smile play about his mouth and disappear. “Jean happened to ask me about you a week or two ago. She’s not married at the moment, so it could mean she’s interested. Of course, it could mean nothing, too.”
“So you think it might be okay if I had a talk with her?”
“I’ll tell you what. I have a couple of conditions. You talk to her in private, where the other customers don’t get the idea this is a regular thing here. And if she wants to go out, pick her up at her place, not mine, and stay the hell away from here.”
“That’s not much to ask,” said Prescott.
Hobart leaned closer. “There’s only one more unpleasant thing to say, and I apologize in advance for having to say it. Jean is a grown woman, and she’s free to decide. But if you should happen to be one of those guys who’s carrying around some weird fantasy in his head that he’s planning on working out on Jeanie, then it had better be one that she likes.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Prescott began, looking surprised.
But Hobart continued. “Because if you were to harm her, you would find that this place works kind of like a family. There are some relatives—distant cousins, you might say—that you haven’t met, and that you don’t ever want to meet.”
“I understand,” said Prescott. “I know you’ve got to be able to protect your workers.”
Hobart stared at him in silence for a second, his eyes never blinking. “I’ve got to say this clearly so we both know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s not just getting a couple of ribs kicked in, and losing some teeth. The cops wouldn’t find anything as big as the sole of your boot.”
“I’m not some kind of pervert, Dick,” said Prescott comfortably. “So neither of us has got anything to worry about.”
“I was pretty sure that was true,” said Hobart. “And I don’t mean to insult you. She came in a while ago because she goes on at one. I’ll take you back, and you can ask her yourself.”
Prescott followed Hobart through the door where he had seen him go with the two couriers a few times. The door led into a hallway of bare cinder blocks and a concrete floor with drains in it, lit by hanging bulbs with green metal shades. The only decorations were fire extinguishers at ten-foot intervals, and a four-foot-high, too expert drawing of a penis with Hobart’s face at the top and the words “Dick Hobart, Capitalist Tool” written across the testicles.
Along the outer wall were several doors. One was an office, two were staff rest rooms with posters on them giving dire warnings about washing hands before returning to work. There was one on the right that Prescott could tell led to the kitchen area, and then a short stretch of hallway that ended in a door with a star on it. Hobart didn’t knock. He said, “Wait here,” then opened the door and entered.
After a few seconds, he came out again, repeated, “Wait here,” and went back the way he had come. Prescott called, “Thanks, Dick,” before he had gone too far, and heard Hobart say, “Happy to help.”
A moment later, the door opened and Jean came out wearing an old, soft chenille bathrobe. She looked at him shyly. “Hi.”
“Hello, Jeanie,” said Prescott. “My name is Bob Greene, with an
She nodded, and her shy look tentatively grew into a small smile. “Nolan told me.” Then she said, “I noticed you watching me sometimes, and wondered who you were.”
Prescott said, “Now you know. I wanted to ask you if you might be willing to go out to dinner with me sometime.”
She put her head down, but her eyes were on him from beneath the glittering eye shadow. “You might be disappointed. When I’m not on stage, I’m really a pretty ordinary person.”
He grinned. “That’s what I was hoping. Ordinary people like to eat regular dinners in nice places, and don’t expect the rest of us to be too scintillating.”
She let his grin shift to her face. “I think I’d like to. When would it be?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to limit it to tonight, tomorrow night, or any other night in the future,” he said. “Last night is out.”
“How about tonight, then?” she asked. “I’m only working until three, and I could be ready around seven- thirty.”
“Wonderful,” said Prescott. “Terrific. I’ll get a reservation for Cavender’s.”
“Cavender’s?” she repeated, her expression apologetic and maybe a bit regretful. “I’m flattered. I really am. But you’ll never get a reservation for Cavender’s at noon the same day.”
He looked down at his feet, then back at her and shrugged. “I already have the reservation,” he admitted. “I made it just in case you said yes.”
Her sad look disappeared, and a look came over her that was partly gratification that he would make a reservation at a famous restaurant just in case, partly pleasure that she was going to get to go, and partly an amused sympathy that he’d had to admit to being so eager. The sympathy made her response excessive, as though to protect him. “I’m so glad. I’d love to go there. What time is your reservation?”
“Eight-thirty, but I could try to change—”
“Perfect.”
“Where can I pick you up?”
She frowned. “My apartment, I guess. I’ll write down the address.” She disappeared behind the door, then came back with an address written on a Nolan’s Paddock Club napkin. She held it in her hand, but she didn’t hold it out to him.
He detected a tension in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“This is embarrassing,” she said. “But I hope you’ll understand. Can I see your driver’s license?”
He reached for his wallet and retrieved the Robert E. Greene license he had brought from home. “It’s a California license, but it’s got my picture on it.”
She glanced at it, pushed her napkin into his hand, and closed his fingers over it. “I’m sorry. It’s just something you have to do if you’re—”
“No problem,” he said, making his smile return. “If I were you, I’d do the same.” He glanced at the address, and saw that there was a telephone number too. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty, then.”
But he could see there was still something on her mind. He waited. “Would you do me one more favor?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Would you mind . . . I go on at one. Would you mind not watching me work today? You can watch the other girls, I don’t mind. And it’s just for today. It would be kind of . . . distracting for me, and—”
“Say no more,” he said. “I’m on my way.” He gave her a warm smile and started down the hallway.
She called, “I heard the lunch is better down the street anyway.”
“I’ll let you know,” he said. On his way out, he passed the bar, smiled at Hobart, and gave a quick thumbs-up
