?What??
?Make you.?
Anton choked and clucked, giving her a push. ?That will be enough. If you don?t mind, sir, this way.? His hand was inviting me to a door in the side of the room. ?These young ladies are getting out of hand. Sometimes I could...?
?Yeah, so could I.? He choked again and opened the door.
I heard him announce my name but I didn?t catch what he said because my mind couldn?t get off the woman behind the desk. Some women are beautiful, some have bodies that make you forget beauty; here was a woman who had both. Her face had a supernatural loveliness as if some master artist had improved on nature itself. She had her hair cut short in the latest fashion, light tawny hair that glistened like a halo. Even her skin had a creamy texture, flowing down the smooth line of her neck into firm, wide shoulders. She had the breasts of youth-high, exciting, pushing against the high neckline of the white jersey blouse, revolting at the need for restraint. She stood up and held her hand out to me, letting it slip into mine with a warm, pleasant grip. Her voice had a rich vibrant quality when she introduced herself, but I was too busy cursing the longer hemlines to get it. When she sat down again with her legs crossed I stopped my silent protests of long dresses when I saw how tantalizingly nice they could mold themselves to the roundness of thighs that were more inviting when covered. Only then did I see the nameplate on the desk that read JUNO REEVES.
Juno, queen of the lesser gods and goddesses. She was well named.
She offered me a drink from a decanter in a bar set and I took it, something sweet and perfumy in a long- stemmed glass.
We talked. My voice would get a nasty intonation then it would get polite. It didn?t seem to come out of me at all. We could have talked about nothing for an hour, maybe it was just minutes. But we talked and she did things with her body deliberately as if I were a supreme test of her abilities as a woman and she laughed, knowing too well that I was hardly conscious of what I was saying or how I was reacting.
She sipped her drink and laid the glass down on the desk, the dark polish of her nails in sharp contrast against the gleaming crystal. Her voice eased me back to the present.
?This young lady, Mr. Hammer . . . you say she left with your friend??
?I said she
?Well, perhaps I can show you their photographs and you can identify her.?
?No, that won?t do it. I never saw her myself either. ?Then why . . .?
?I want to find out what happened last night, Miss Reeves.?
?Juno, please.?
I grinned at her.
?Do you suppose they did. . .? she smiled obliquely, ?anything wrong??
?I don?t give a damn what they did. I?m just interested in
knowing. You see, this pal of mine . . . he?s dead.?
Her eyes went soft. ?Oh, I?m awfully sorry. What happened??
?Suicide, the cops said.?
Juno folded her lower lip between her teeth, puzzled. ?In that case, Mr. Hammer . . .?
?Mike,? I said.
?In that case, Mike, why bring the girl into it? After all . . .?
?The guy had a family,? I cut in. ?If a nosy reporter decides to work out an angle and finds a juicy scandal lying around, the family will suffer. If there?s anything like that I want to squelch it.?
She nodded slowly, complete understanding written in her face. ?You
I stood up, my hat in my hand. ?That?ll be fine, Juno. Tomorrow then.?
?Please.? Her voice dropped into a lower register as she stood up and held her hand out to me again. Every motion she made was like liquid being poured and there was a flame in her eyes that waited to be breathed into life. I wrapped my hand around hers just long enough to feel her tighten it in subtle invitation.
I walked to the door and turned around to say good-by again. Juno let her eyes sweep over me, up and down, and she smiled. I couldn?t get the words out. Something about her made me too warm under my clothes. She was beautiful and she was built like a goddess should be built and her eyes said that she was , good when she was bad.
They said something else, too, something I should know and couldn?t remember.
When I got to the elevators I found I had company. This company was waiting for me at the far end of the hall, comfortably braced against the radiator smoking a cigarette.
This time she had more clothes on. When she saw me coming she ground the butt under her heel and walked up to me with such deliberate purpose that my eyes began to undress her all over again.
?Make me,? she said.
?I need an introduction first.?
?Like hell you do.? The light over the elevator turned red and I heard the car rattling in the well. ?Okay, you?re made.? She turned her grin on me as the car slowed up behind the steel doors. ?Right here??
?Yup?
?Look out, bub, I?m not the coy type. I may take you up on it.?
?Right here?? I asked.
up.
I let out a short laugh as the doors opened and shoved her in. It could be that she wasn?t kidding and I hated audiences. When we hit the ground floor she linked her arm in mine and let me lead her out to the street. We reached Broadway before she said, ?If you
?Mr. Michael Hammer, chick. I used to be a private investigator. I was in the papers recently.?
Her mouth was drawn up in a partial smile. ?Wow, am I in company.?
We reached Broadway and turned north. Connie didn?t ask where we were going, but when we passed three bars in a row without stopping I got an elbow in the ribs until I got the hint. The place I did turn into was a long, narrow affair with tables for ladies in the rear. So we took a table for ladies as far down as we could get with a waiter mumbling under his breath behind us.
Both of us ordered beer and I said, ?You?re not very expensive to keep, are you??
?Your change?ll last longer this way,? she laughed. ?You aren?t rich, or are you??
?I got dough,? I said, ?but you won?t get it out of me, girlie,? I tacked on.
Her laugh made pretty music and it was real. ?Most men want to buy me everything I look at. Wouldn?t you?? She sipped her brew, watching me over the rim of the glass with eyes as shiny as new dimes.
?Maybe a beer, that?s all. A kid I knew once told me I?d never have to pay for another damn thing. Not a thing at all.? She looked at me soberly. ?She was right.?
?Yeah,? I agreed.
The waiter came back with his tray and four more beers. He sat two in front of each of us, picked up the cash and shuffled away. As he left Connie stared at me for a full minute. ?What were you doing in the studio??
I told her the same thing I told Juno.
She shook her head. ?I don?t believe you.?
?Why??
?I don?t know. It just doesn?t sound right. Why would any reporter try to make something out of a suicide??
She had a point there, but I had an answer. ?Because he didn?t leave a farewell note. Because his home life was happy. Because he had a lot of dough and no apparent worries.?
?It sounds better now,? she said.
I told her about the party arid what I thought might have happened. When I sketched it in I asked, ?Do you know any of the girls that were there that night??
Her laugh was a little deeper this time. ?Golly, no, at least not to talk to. You see, the agency is divided into two factions, more or less . . . the clotheshorses and the no-clotheshorses. I?m one of the sugar pies who fill out
