The Grifters

'You belong in bed, Miss Roberg,' he said. 'I'll give you part of mine.'

'I do not!' Carol blushed furiously. 'You will not!'

'Oh, but you do. I've seen girls with that look before. Bed is the only thing that will cure 'em.'

Carol giggled unwillingly, feeling very wicked. Roy told her severely that she mustn't laugh about such things. 'You'd better behave or I won't kiss you goodnight. Then, you'll be sorry!'

'I will not!' Carol blushed and wriggled and giggled. 'Now, you stop it! '

Roy stopped the teasing after a minute or two. She was honestly embarrassed by it, he guessed, and he wasn't up to much fun-making himself.

Suspended from a metal stand on the left side of his bed was a jar of syrupy-looking blood. A tube extended from the upended top of it to a quill-like needle in his arm. On the right side-of the bed, a similar device dripped saline water into the artery of his other arm. The blood and water had been fed into him thus since his arrival in the hospital. Lying constantly on his back with his arms held flat, he ached almost incessantly, his only relief coming when his body and arms became numb. Sometimes he found himself wondering if life was worth such a price. But the wondering was humorous, strictly on the wry side.

He'd had a long look at death, and he hadn't liked the look of it at all.

He was very, very glad to be alive.

Now that he was apparently out of danger, however, he did regret one thing-that it was Lilly who had saved his life. The one person to whom he wished to owe nothing, he now owed everything, a debt he could never repay.

He could fret and argue the matter in his mind. He could cite his own incredibly tough constitution, an irrestible will to live, as the true source of his survival. The doctors themselves had practically said as much, hadn't they? It was scientifically impossible, they'd said, for a man to live when his blood pressure and hemoglobin fell below a certain level. Yet his had been well below that level when he arrived at the hospital. Unassisted, he had been clinging to life on his own before anything had been done for him. So…

So nothing. He'd needed help fast, and Lilly had got it for him. Moira hadn't seen his need, he hadn't, no one had but Lilly. And just where, for that matter, had he got the mental and physical toughness to hold on until he had medical help? From strangers? Huh-uh.

Any way you looked at it, he owed his life to Lilly. And Lilly, unconsciously or deliberately, was making sure that he didn't forget it.

In a sweetly feline fashion, she'd put such a frost on Moira Langtry that Moira had stopped coming to the hospital after a couple of visits. She called every day, letting him know that she was concerned about him, but she didn't come back again. And Lilly often managed to be on hand at the time of her calls, practically restricting his end of the conversation to monosyllables.

Lilly obviously intended to break up his affair with Moira. Nor did her intentions end there. She'd selected a day nurse for him who was a real turtle, competent enough but homely as a mud fence. Then, by contrast, she'd picked a little doll for night duty, a kid that was bound to appeal to him even if Lilly hadn't given her a clear field with no competition.

Oh, he could see what was happening. Everywhere he looked, he could see the shadow of Lilly's fine hand. And just what could he do about it, anyway? Tell her to get the hell away and leave him alone? Could he say, 'Okay, you saved my life; does that give you any claim on me?'

A doctor came in, not the one who had visited at the hotel-Lilly had dismissed him right at the beginning-but a merry-looking young man. Behind him came an orderly, wheeling a metal-topped cart. Roy looked at the implements on it, and let out a groan.

'Oh, no! Not that thing again!'

'You mean you don't like it?' The doctor laughed. 'He's kidding us, isn't he, nurse? He loves to have his stomach pumped.'

'Please.' Carol frowned reprovingly. 'It is not funny.'

'Aah, you can't hurt this guy. Rally round now, and we'll get it over with.'

The orderly held him on one side, one hand clamping over the intravenous needle. Carol held the needle into the other arm, her free hand poised over a bowl of tiny ice cubes. The doctor picked up a narrow rubber tube and pushed it up into his nose.

'Now, hold still, keedo. Hold still or you'll jerk those needles loose!'

Roy tried to hold still but he couldn't. As the tube went up into his nose and down into his throat, he jerked and struggled. Gagging, gasping for breath, he tried to break free of them. And the doctor cursed him merrily, and Carol pressed little ice lumps between his lips.

'Please to swallow, Mr. Dillon. Swallow the ice and the tube will go down with it.'

Roy kept swallowing. At last the tube was down his throat and into his stomach. The doctor made some minor adjustments in it, moving it up and down slightly.

'How's that? Not hitting bottom, is it?'

Roy said he didn't think so. It seemed to be all right.

'Good.' The doctor checked the glass receptacle to which the pump was attached. 'I'll be back in thirty minutes, nurse. If he gives you any trouble, sock him in the stomach.'

Carol nodded coldly. She looked after him, frowning, as he strode out of the room, then came over to the bed and patted away the sweat from Roy's face.

'I am sorry. I hope it does not bother you too much.'

'It's all right.' He felt a little abashed at the fuss he had made. 'I'm just kind of conscious of it, you know.'

'I know. The worst part is getting it down, but afterward it is not good. You cannot swallow well and your breathing is ever-so- slightly hampered, and never do you become accustomed to it. Always, there is the consciousness of something wrong.'

'You sound like you'd been pumped yourself.'

'I have been, many times.'

'Internal bleeding?'

'No. I began to bleed after a time, but I was not bleeding to begin with.'

'Yes?' he frowned. 'I don't get you. Why were you being pumped out if-'

'I don't know.' She smiled suddenly and shook her head. 'It was a very long time ago. Anyway, it is not pleasant to talk about.'

'But-'

'And I think you should not talk so much, either. You will just lie still, please, and do nothing to disturb your stomach contents.'

'I don't see how there could be any contents.'

'Well, anyway,' she said firmly. And he let it go at that.

It was easy to drop the subject. Easy, in his insistent need to survive, to ignore all possible distractions. Years of practice had made it so easy that it was almost automatic.

He lay quietly, watching Carol as she moved about the room, seeing her youthful freshness as a refreshing relief from Moira. A very nice little kid, he thought, just about as nice as they came. So doubtless she must be left that way. On the other hand, wouldn't it be a little strange if a girl as attractive as she was had remained strictly on the nice side? Weren't the odds all against it? And if she did know the score…

Well, it was something to think about. Certainly, it would be a pleasant way of putting Lilly in her place.

The doctor returned. He checked the glass container of the pump, and chortled happily. 'Nothing but bile. That's what he's full of, nurse, as if you didn't know.'

He removed the stomach tube. Then, wonder of wonders, he ordered the intravenous needles