yes, I do have one room at ten. I'll let you have that.'
Bascom assigned her to a room with southern exposure on the tenth, the top, floor. It was at the end of the corridor, a considerable walk from the elevator, and not too large, but it was undoubtedly the best of the Manton's ten-buck rooms. The city got hot as hell at this time of year, and high-up rooms on the south were at a premium.
Dusty preceded her down the long thickly carpeted hallway. He unlocked the door, flicked on the light and gestured without looking at her. She went in, brushing against him slightly as he stooped to pick up her baggage.
He placed the luggage – a suitcase, hat box and overnight case – on a stand immediately inside the door. He turned on the bathroom light, tested the circulating ice water spigot and checked the supply of towels and soap. He came out of the bath, edged toward the corridor door.
Breathing heavily. Still not looking at her.
A little red flag in his mind was swinging for all it was worth. He didn't want any tip from her, only to get out of there before something happened that had better not happen.
'I hope you'll be comfortable, ma'am,' he said, and he got his hand on the doorknob. 'Good night.'
'Just a moment,' she said, firmly. 'Don't I have a fan in this room?'
'You won't need one,' he said. 'You get a very nice breeze on this side of the hotel.'
'Oh? Well, will you open the windows, please?'
That was just what he didn't want to do, because she was standing by the bed, between the bed and the chest of drawers, and that left very little room for him to pass her. And he knew, as well as he knew he couldn't trust himself far with this babe, that she wasn't going to move out of the way.
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes concentrating on a spot directly above that lustrous gray head, but of course he couldn't refuse. He squeezed past her hurriedly, so brusquely that her knees bent and she almost toppled backward to the bed. He flung the windows up, and the strong south breeze swept in… slamming the door.
He turned around, looking directly at her at last.
She was facing him now. There was a fifty-cent piece between the tapering fingers of her extended right hand.
'Thank you, very much,' she said. 'Who shall I call for – in case I want anything else?'
'I' – he licked his lips -- 'I'm the only bellboy on at night. You won't need to call by name.'
She looked at him silently. She stared straight into his eyes, holding them, and came toward him. The extended hand lowered, went into the pocket of his trousers, placing the tip there. It remained there, deep in his pocket. 'Dusty' – he blurted the word out. He had to do something, say something, before he exploded. 'I m-mean it's Bill, but my last name's Rhodes so everyone calls me D-Dus- '
'I see.' Her eyes narrowed drowsily, her hand still in his pocket. 'What time do you get off work, Dusty?' 'S-seven. I work from midnight to seven'
'I'll bet you get awfully lonesome, don't you, roaming through a big hotel at night all by yourself? Don't you get lonesome, Dusty?'
'Look,' he stammered. 'Look, Miss. I- '
'But you wouldn't be lonesome long,' she said. 'Not a guy who looks like you.'
She leaned into him. Suddenly, because by God he couldn't help it, his arms went around her, right around those smoothly curving hips. And just as suddenly…
Just as suddenly she was standing six feet away from him! Over by the windows. And her voice and face were as cool as the in sweeping breeze. 'Did I give you your tip?' she said. 'I believe that will be all, then.'
That brought him up short. It was as though he'd been jerked out of an oven and into an ice box. He turned toward the door, angry, disappointed, and also relieved. Nothing could come of a deal like this. She was trouble. He couldn't afford trouble.
He shivered a little, thinking of what might have happened if she hadn't turned frosty on him. Relieved that it hadn't happened. Empty-feeling and disappointed because it hadn't.
He reached the door. She spoke again, and again her voice was warm, drowsy, filled with promise.
'That will be all,' she repeated. 'Now.'
Slowly, he turned around.
She was still standing by the windows, and the wind was swirling the long white curtains around her, draping the rich body, ruffling the lustrous white hair. There against the background of the night, 1 molded by the wind- blown curtains, she was like one of those unbelievably beautiful manatees from the prow of some Viking vessel. Or, no that wasn't right; she was too alive for that. She was like one of those ancient goddesses who tired of their heavenly pleasures and came down to earth for the delights of Man. Venus. Ceres, the Earth Mother. All things that were woman, eternal but never aging.
'Now,' she said. 'Nothing else now, Dusty.'
And she laughed in a gently mocking way.
He let the door slam behind him. Rather, he slammed it.
He cursed her all the way to the elevator.
It didn't seem possible, but almost fifteen minutes had passed since he'd left the lobby. Behind the long marble desk, Bascom beckoned to him grimly.
'Where have you been?' he snapped. 'What were you doing up in that room all this time?'
'Had to get some towels from the linen room,' Dusty lied. 'I guess the maid must have slipped up.'
'You're sure you didn't slip up?'
'Just the maid,' Dusty grinned at him, 'and possibly you.'
Bascom's mouth tightened. His eyes shifted uncomfortably.
Like many first-class hotels, the Manton had very few rooms at its lowest advertised rate. In fact, in the case of the Manton, there were' only six rooms which rented for the ten-dollar minimum. They were by way of being prizes, something to be doled out to long-time patrons of the hotel. Never, to the best of Dusty's recollection, had one been rented at night. They didn't have to be. A guest hitting town late at night could and would pay practically anything he was asked to.
Bascom had slipped, then. He'd made a double slip. He'd not only deprived the hotel of the extra revenue deriving from a more expensive room, but he'd also – potentially but inevitably – disappointed a preferred guest. The guest wouldn't like that. The day clerks wouldn't like it. The management wouldn't like it. In view of the Manton's room turnover, of course, Bascom's lapse stood every chance of going unremarked. But if Dusty should happen to mention it, very casually, needless to say…
Bascom turned on his heel and went up into the cashier's cage. After a moment, he called to Dusty to come help him with the transcript sheets. That was the way the matter ended.
Anyway, Dusty guessed – as he studied himself in the dresser mirror – he wasn't in any trouble. If she'd been a teaser, one of those dames who worked you into making a pass and then squawked to the management, she'd have, done her kicking last night. It didn't take a woman seven hours to decide she'd been insulted.
He heard the screen door to the front porch open, and his father's dragging footsteps. He frowned, irritably, still thinking about her and hating this interruption.
Who was she anyway, this Miss Marcia Hillis, of Dallas, Texas? What was she? Not a hooker, certainly. She hadn't propositioned him, and you learned to spot a hustling woman fast around a hotel. It didn't make any difference how they dressed, how high-toned they acted. You could spot them a mile away.
She wasn't a spotter – a detective – for the hotel, either. If she had been, she wouldn't have quibbled over the room rate. There would have been no reason to since the house would pick up her bill. A business woman, then? Nope, she didn't use the right lingo, and business people didn't arrive at a hotel late at night without reservations.
A tourist? No, again; there was nothing in this town to attract a tourist, and, at any rate, he just couldn't picture her as a sightseer. '''One of the horse-racing crowd? Well, yes, she could fit in with them, the upper-class stratum of them which made Hotel Manton its headquarters. She could, but he knew she didn't. The racing season didn't start for at least two weeks.
Probably, Dusty decided, she was just 'a woman at loose ends. Hungering for adventure, but afraid of it. Wandering aimlessly from one place to another, with nothing to do and all the time in the world to do it in.
So… so what difference did it make? Whoever or whatever she was, he'd never let her get him into another
