“... Oh, yes,” smiling faintly. “I didn't know you worked here, Mr. O'Connor.”
I laughed. “I don't work here, I just came out to see a friend who does. Charlie Burkett, in Advertising. Maybe you know him.”
“No, I'm afraid I don't.” We were standing on the sidewalk in front of the building, the white-collar parade going past on either side.
“Miss Kelso,” I said, and she paused for a moment, half turning. “I was just thinking, Miss Kelso, I'm going back to the apartment myself.”
No smile this time. “I'm sorry, Mr. O'Connor, I'd rather....”
She left it hanging, nodded, then walked on by herself. Well, by God, I thought, this kind of thing has got to stop! I'm getting pretty goddamn tired of women looking at me like I was something pickled in formaldehyde. I followed her.
I said, “All right, I didn't come out here to see a friend, and I never knew a Charlie Burkett.”
Anyway, it stopped her, it surprised her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Kelso,” I said, “don't you think it's about time you joined the Living?”
She frowned, “Really, Mr. O'Connor, I don't know...”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “I've tried just about everything in the book to get to know you better, and finally I tried this; you know it.”
People were staring at us, and that bothered her. I took her arm and helped her into a waiting taxi, then got in beside her. I said to the driver, “The Lake Hotel,” then settled back and looked at her.
She was not afraid, merely curious. “You are very persuasive person, Mr. O'Connor,” she said dryly.
“Yes, I can be persuasive if the occasion calls for it.”
Unsmiling, she looked at me, strangely, as though she was seeing me for the first time. She said, “What did you mean when you said it was time I joined the Living?”
“It's pretty obvious to an interested observer. You haven't been anywhere, seen anybody, you haven't even smiled since Alex Burton was killed.”
She looked as though I had slapped her. “Relax,” I said. It seemed that I was always telling women to relax. “It's not exactly a secret, is it, that Alex Burton and his secretary were...”
“I'll thank you,” she hissed, “to keep out of my life, Mr. O'Connor!”
I shrugged.
“And I'm not going to the Lake Hotel with you, or anywhere else! I'm going home!”
“I had hoped I wouldn't have to bring this up,” I said, “but you leave me no alternative. It's a little awkward for me; for a while I thought about telling it to the police, but then I thought what the hell, there's no use spoiling a nice girl's life.” I grinned. “You
She didn't know what I was getting at, but she was doing some pretty fast guessing, and she didn't like it. I said, “It was pure accident, understand, that I happened to see Burton entering your apartment just about the time he was killed, according to the police coroner. After all, we are neighbors, and a person does get curious about his neighbors sometimes. Of course, at the time, I thought you would tell the police yourself—but I understand now that it would have placed you in an—unfavorable light, so I really don't blame you. Still, it is information that the police might...”
“What do you want!” she said hoarsely.
“Want?” Lord, she was beautiful! Her eyes blazed with anger and every inch of her was alive.
“My wants are very simple,” I said. “I'm a lonely guy in a strange town. I want a bottle of good wine, a good meal, and a beautiful girl to keep me company—the most natural desires in the world.”
She said one word, under her breath, and not a very nice word at that.
I laughed. “You won't believe this, but I almost never make a good impression on people. That has always seemed unfair, because I'm a lovable guy when you get to know me.”
“I'll bet!”
I liked this. I had a feeling that under that mask of hers was something very exciting. Then the cab stopped and I was surprised to see that we were already in the heart of town, at the Lake Hotel.
“Fine!” I paid the driver, assisted her from the cab.
Pat seemed to know her way around so I said, “The choice is up to you. There must be a good saloon somewhere in this place.” The decor in the African Room was extremely modern and angular and not much to my taste, but it was better than anything I had seen for five years so I didn't complain.
I looked at Pat when the waiter arrived and she said, “Martini, five-to-one.”
I looked at the waiter and he nodded that he had the order. I said, “Bourbon on the rocks,” and he went away.
We said nothing until the drinks arrived and the waiter went away again. Then she looked at me, angrily. “Now I want to know the reason for all this!”
“I told you, I was lonely.”
“I don't feel like jokes. What is it you want?”
“I told you what I wanted. Maybe it's strange, but it's the truth.”
“Understand one thing,” she said tightly. “I don't have to stand for this... this caveman performance of yours. I have friends...”
“Have you?” I said. “Alex Burton had people in debt to him and might have called them friends, but they don't count now.”
Color crept high in her face. “I must have been insane,” she said, “when I allowed you to drag me into that taxi. I thought... I don't know what I thought. But I know one thing, I've had enough.” She stood up.
I said, “Sit down!”
She didn't move.
I came half out of my chair. “Listen to me!” I said. “You try to leave this room and I'll cause the goddamnedest scene you ever saw! I'll tie you up with the Burton murder and get your name in headlines if I have to print the papers myself! Now sit down!”
She dropped as though she had been shot.
“That's better. Now drink your Martini and calm down a little.”
She glared at me, then downed the drink angrily. The well-trained waiter was right at my elbow, ready to pick up the empty glass. “Another of the same,” I said, “for the lady.”
We sat in absolute silence until the drink arrived. I hadn't meant for it to be like this at all, I had meant for it to be a nice, smooth operation carried off in a civilized manner. But, goddamnit, people simply would not allow me to be civilized.
Jesus, I thought, I don't enjoy this sort of thing; I'm no goddamn sadist. A certain amount of violence, sure; like a good fighter, I needed a certain amount of violence to keep my reflexes in condition.
The waiter came and went away again, and still we sat there in silence. But she didn't look quite as angry now. I could almost see her taking control of her emotions, and some of the fire went out of her eyes, and she sat there for a long while, studying me coldly, calmly.
“Well,” I said at last, “what do you see?”
“... I'm not sure.”
“Believe me,” I said, “I didn't enjoy that little scene. I hadn't meant for it to be that way at all. Now, have you calmed down a little?”
“... Yes.”
“Fine. Finish your martini, then if you still want to walk out, I won't try to stop you. Is that fair enough?”
“Mr. O'Connor,” she said coldly, “I want to ask you once more. What do you want from me?”
I sighed. “I don't know what's wrong here, I honestly don't. We speak the same language, don't we, the American language? I've told you three times, it's a universal plot: boy meets girl, the oldest plot in the world. My methods were unorthodox, I admit it, and perhaps they were all wrong, I admit that too, but believe me, that's all there is to it. To put it bluntly, I saw you, I wanted you, I went after you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Things you want... Do you always go after them like this?”
“That depends on the situation and the value of the object desired.”
“I see.” Her hand was perfectly steady as she lifted the martini to her Ups. “Do your methods work?” she asked, her gaze lowered.
