The elevator decanted us into a lobby. Facing us were two doors.
‘Here’s where you live, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo said and opened one of the doors. Clicking on the lights, he moved into an enormous room so luxuriously furnished, I paused in the doorway to gape.
There was everything in this room a billionaire could desire: a vast desk with telephones and recorders, lounging chairs, two big settees, a TV set, a big, fully equipped bar, a big fireplace and wall-to-wall thick pale fawn carpeting. On the walls hung modern art paintings. I recognized at least four Picassos. There was a forty foot wide picture window and glass doors leading onto a big, flower decorated terrace.
‘Here’s where you sleep, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo said, opening a door. He was grinning at the way I was gaping.
I followed him into another vast room: the same fawn wall-to-wall carpet: built-in closets, another TV set and an enormous bed that could have slept six in comfort. Again, the walls were decorated with modern paintings.
‘Nice, huh?’ Mazzo said.
I just gaped. This was the ultimate in luxury.
‘Well, okay. Let’s get some sleep,’ Mazzo said. ‘You’ll have a busy day tomorrow. The bathroom’s through there.’ He went to one of the closets and took out a pair of silk, grey pajamas and a pair of Gucci slippers. These he tossed on the bed. ‘See you in the morning,’ and he left me.
I stood for a moment, staring around, then I heard a faint click.
Mazzo had locked me in.
* * *
I woke from an erotic dream in which I was chasing Phoebe who was stark naked except for the pillbox hat. I was rapidly overtaking her when I felt a heavy hand on my arm.
I opened my eyes to find Mazzo bending over me.
‘Must you do that?’ I snarled, sitting up. ‘I very nearly had her.’
He released his sighing laugh.
‘Breakfast, Mr. Ferguson, then business.’ He went to a closet and produced a brocaded dressing gown.
‘Hurry it up!’
Groaning, I struggled out of bed and went into the bathroom. I took a shower, shaved, put on the dressing gown and came out to find Mazzo wheeling in a trolley.
I sat down as he poured coffee and served two sets of devilled kidneys.
The meal over, he said, ‘You have all the clothes you’ll ever need, Mr. Ferguson.’ He threw open the doors of the closets. ‘Help yourself.’
I went over and inspected the contents of the closets.
Once, I had been invited to the house of one of the biggest movie stars who was a showoff. He had sadistically shown me his wardrobe, and I had been sick with envy. What he had shown me was peanuts to John Merrill Ferguson’s wardrobe. There must have been some two hundred suits, racks of shirts, racks of shoes and so on.
‘Before you dress, Mr. Ferguson, get with the mask,’ Mazzo said. ‘You’re going to be on show.’
I went into the bathroom and put on the mask and completed the disguise, then I returned to the bedroom. It took me some twenty minutes to decide on a cream with a faint blue stripe suit that fitted me like a glove. While I was changing, I remembered Durant had said I was to meet Mr. John Merrill Ferguson’s wife.
‘What’s the wife like, Mazzo?’ I asked as I knotted a dark blue Cardin tie.
He released a long, low whistle.
‘You’ll find out, the way I found out,’ he said. ‘Just watch it. Take a tip from me, play it light.’ He rubbed his shaven head as he regarded me. ‘That line of yours with Mr. D. is okay. He can’t do much about it, so he has to take it, but watch it with Mrs. F. To her, you are Jerry Stevens. Two-bit actors are something she happened to have trodden in on the sidewalk. Even the Boss handles her with care and Mr. D. acts like he’s scared of her. Me, she looks at like I was a three month old stiff, crawling with maggots, so watch it.’
For a moment this information disconcerted me, but looking in the mirror, seeing John Merrill Ferguson looking right back at me, I relaxed.
‘Okay, Mazzo, I’ll treat her with care.’
A buzzer sounded in the living room. Mazzo went in, lifted a receiver, said, ‘Yes, Mr. Durant. He’s all fixed.’
I came into the living room.
‘Mrs. F. is on her way,’ Mazzo said. ‘Just watch it. You’re doing fine so far, don’t upset the crap cart.’
Feeling suddenly the way I once felt when I first walked onto a movie set, I went across to the big desk and sat down. For something to do, I picked up a leather bound appointment diary and flicked through the pages. Every half hour of each day was filled with unknown names. John Merrill Ferguson certainly was an occupied man. Then I flicked on, coming to the month of June: three months ago. The diary began to thin out. July there were only three names. August one name. September was blank.
I didn’t hear the door open. I was staring at the blank September pages, then I heard Mazzo give a slight cough. I looked up.
She was standing just inside the door, regarding me.
I felt, as long as I lived, I would always remember my first sight of Loretta Merrill Ferguson. There are women and women. In my trade, I had seen the best and the worst: the fat, the thin, the cuties, the beauties, the tough and the not-so-tough, the big stars, the starlettes, the gimmes, the desperates, the degenerates, the sex- starved, the nymphos and . . . but why go on? I had seen them all, but I had never seen any woman like Mrs. John Merrill Ferguson.
She was the type of woman that would make any man catch his breath. There is no true way of describing her except to say she was tall, lean, with full breasts, long legs: something that most big stars have, but it was her face that riveted me. Framed in raven black Cleopatra hair style, her face was the color of old ivory and each feature was perfect: a short nose, a wide mouth and big violet colored eyes.
She was not only the most beautiful, but also the most sensual woman I had ever seen.
The sight of her turned my mouth dry and my heart racing.
I just sat there, staring at her.
Durant came into the room.
‘Stand up!’ he snapped.
I got to my feet, still looking at this fantastic woman.
‘Walk across the room!’
I limped across the room, turned and waited, aware she was regarding me as if I were a performing dog.
Durant said to her, ‘I suggest, madam, he is acceptable.’
‘Tell him to say something.’ She had a low, sexy voice. She spoke as if I didn’t exist.
‘Say something!’ Durant snapped.
I caught sight of myself in a wall mirror. I saw John Merrill Ferguson standing there. John Merrill Ferguson, one of the most powerful and richest men in the world! No one would dare tell John Merrill Ferguson what to do!
I pointed to the door.
‘Get the hell out of here, Joe!’ I barked. ‘And you, Mazzo! I want to talk to my wife!’
chapter four
I stood by the desk, looking at Loretta Merrill Ferguson.
We were alone.
After my outburst, Durant, purple in the face, had begun to bluster, but Loretta Merrill Ferguson had silenced him with a wave of her hand.
‘Go away!’ she had said in a voice like the crack of a whip.
Both Durant and Mazzo had left the room, closing the door as if it were made of egg shells.
So we were alone.
