“You got photographs, dear?”
Larry groped in his hip pocket and brought out a soiled envelope.
“All the dope’s here.”
“It will be four thousand five hundred francs,” Friedlander said as he took the envelope. “Cash down and a beautiful job… it’s cheap at the price.”
The old come-on, Helga thought and looked at Larry who was staring at Friedlander. I’ll give him a chance, but if he can’t handle it, then I will.
“Ron said it would be three.” She was pleased to hear Larry’s voice sounded firm.
Friedlander lifted his dirty hands with a shrug of regret.
“Dear Ron… he isn’t keeping pace with the rising cost of living. It’s now four thousand five, and it’ll be a beautiful job.”
“Ron said I shouldn’t pay more than three,” Larry said.
“So sorry… Ron isn’t with it any more.” The smile, foxy and shifty moved from Larry to Helga.
“That’s too bad,” Larry said. “We don’t pay more than three.”
“Goodbye,” Friedlander said, waving to the door. “When you see Ronnie again, tell him my price has gone up.”
“I don’t have too,” Larry said. “Ronnie told me something. He said you were a great artist.” He leaned forward to peer at Friedlander. “What would it cost you if you got your hands crushed in a door?”
Helga stiffened, feeling a chill move up her spine. She looked at Larry. He seemed the same friendly, gum chewing boy, but this new note in his voice told her his threat was genuine.
Friedlander stared at Larry, then he took a quick step back.
“What are you saying?”
“Are you deaf? I want the passport, buster and I’m not paying more than three.” Larry was chewing gum and he seemed mild and friendly. “Do we make a deal or do I feed your fingers in the door?”
Friedlander’s face showed terror. His back was now against the wall.
“I’ll do it for three,” he said huskily. “I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”
“I’m not asking you to do it for anyone else,” Larry said. “Go ahead… we’ll wait.”
Friedlander shifted his feet.
“I would like the money first.”
“We’ll wait,” Larry repeated.
Friedlander looked hopefully at Helga.
“Can I rely on you to pay me?”
“I’ll pay you,” Helga said and went to a chair and sat down.
Friedlander looked at her, then at Larry, then he went out of the room, closing the door behind him.
There was a long pause, then Helga said, “You handled that rather well, Larry.”
He pulled at the peak of his cap.
“Thank you, ma’am. It was your money. You’ve been generous enough to me. I couldn’t let you get gypped.”
“Thank you.” She regarded him. “That was quite a thought… about crushing his hands in the door. Would you have done it?”
Again he pulled at his cap, shaking his head. 43
“No, ma’am. I don’t believe in hurting people.”
Again she looked at him, remembering the note in his voice that had sent a chill up her spine. Was he really such a warm, friendly simple boy as he seemed?
“How am I going to pay him?” she asked suddenly. “I have only Traveller’s cheques. While we are waiting, I’d better find a bank.”
He crossed to the window, lifted the dirty curtain and looked out at the steadily falling snow.
“You can’t go out in this. Couldn’t you pay it into his bank?”
“I don’t want him to know my name.”
He turned and looked at her, nodding.
“Yeah… there’s that.” He hesitated, frowning. “You’ve done enough for me. I…”
“All right, Larry, I know what I’m doing for you. I don’t have to be reminded.” She got to her feet. “I’ll find a bank. You wait here,” and she went out into the passage and to the front door. She hoped he would have come after her, but he didn’t. Shrugging, she pulled her coat around her and went out into the falling snow.
As she looked for a bank, she wondered if she shouldn’t go back to where the Mercedes was parked and drive away. She had a growing conviction that by remaining with this boy she was building a complication around herself that she was going to regret.
But she found a bank at the end of the street and she cashed five thousand dollars into Swiss francs which she stuffed into her bag. Coming out of the bank, she looked to the left, knowing, not far away, the Mercedes was waiting under a blanket of snow. She hesitated only for a few seconds. She was lonely and needed a man. She walked to the right, and in five minutes she was knocking on Friedlander’s front door.
Larry opened the door.
“Is it all right, ma’am?” he asked, standing aside to let her in.
“It’s all right.” She walked into the shabby living-room, feeling the heat seeping through her. “How long do you think we will have to wait?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.” He closed the door and leaned against it, his big hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. His jaw moved rhythmically as he chewed.
She took off her coat and hung it over a chair, then she sat down. “We can’t hope to go further today in this blizzard. We’d better find an hotel.”
“We can go on if you want to, ma’am. I’m used to driving in the snow.”
She looked at her watch. The time was 15.15. She yearned for the luxury of the Adlon hotel. She longed to sink into a hot, relaxing bath and then rest on a bed until dinner time. She realized she couldn’t take Larry to the hotel, looking the way he did and without luggage. She was well known there. Then she remembered passing a store on her way to the bank.
She made an instant, impulsive decision.
“Listen, Larry, I don’t want to go on. I want to rest. You can’t come with me to an hotel, dressed as you are.” She opened her bag and took out some Swiss money. “There is a store at the end of the street: turn right as you leave here. I want you to buy yourself a dark suit, a white shirt and black tie. You will also need a lined mackintosh and shoes. You will come to the hotel as my chauffeur. Please take this money and buy these things. Will you also change at the store? Put what you have on in a suitcase.”
He was staring blankly at her.
“But I can’t do that, ma’am. It wouldn’t be right. I…”
“Oh, for God’s sake do as I ask!” Her voice had become waspish. “I’m tired! There’s the money… do what I say!”
Startled by the note in her voice, he picked up the money, pulled at the peak of his cap, then went out. She heard the front door slam.
She drew in a long breath, then with unsteady hands, she lit a cigarette. She waited, aware of the uncanny silence that hung over the building. She was getting more and more involved, she thought, but this was something that had happened before in a different way. In her present mood, she accepted risks.
In an hour or so, she thought, she would be at the hotel where the service was perfect. She imagined getting into the bath, resting in the bed and then, drinking her first vodka martini. The hotel would accept Larry as her chauffeur, but she would have to be careful. He would have to eat on his own and this she regretted - how bored she was eating meals alone in luxury restaurants, but she knew the hotel would raise its eyebrows and remember if Mrs. Herman Rolfe took dinner with her chauffeur. But after dinner, when she was in the seclusion of her bedroom, she would telephone to Lam’, telling him to come to her. He was almost certain to be a clumsy, selfish lover, but she would control him. Her heart began to hammer as she imagined the moment when he took her roughly in his arms.
The door opened, startling her and Friedlander came in. He looked around, his cunning little eyes puzzled.
“Where’s Larry?”
“He’ll be back. Have you got it?”
“Of course.” He edged into the room, closing the door. “It’s a beautiful job.”
“Let me see it.”
He hesitated, then coming over to her, he handed her the passport. It looked genuine enough and was just worn enough to be acceptable. The name on the passport was Larry Sinclair. Profession: Student. Larry a student? She shrugged. The word Student meant nothing these days: a smoke screen behind which so many young people hid as the word Model was used as often as a smoke screen for a whore.