Reis smiled. “In that case you’re for sale. I’m delighted to hear it.”
“Maybe and maybe not.” She picked at her capon. “It depends.”
“On the price.”
“On the price, the conditions of sale, and... Oh, lots of other stuff. Herbie and I — Herbie was my first husband. Do you know about him?”
“No, but I will.”
“You certainly will.” Cassie grinned. “One more glass of this and I’ll tell you everything, most of it true. Well, anyway, Herbie decided we needed a border terrier. He found a breeder and was all enthusiastic about it. It was going to cost a lot, but we’d get a good one. I wasn’t as crazy about it as Herbie was — we were on the road a lot back then — but I went along.”
Reis said, “I’d much rather talk about you.”
“We are. Herbie and I went to see the breeder, and he wanted to know if we had a fenced yard. We said no, we lived in an apartment, but we’d walk the dog twice a day. He wouldn’t sell to us. Herbie offered him more than he’d been asking but he still wouldn’t sell. So this is about me after all. Do you get it now?”
“I believe I do. Chase has a fenced yard.”
“Wrong!” Cassie shook her head. “He hasn’t bought me. He hasn’t even tried to.”
“He gave you twenty thousand.”
“Not to buy me. To hire me. Want a truffle, Wally? They’re really delicious.”
“Thank you, but no. Have you tried the green goddess dressing yet?”
“You know, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy with the chicken. And his truffles. I will.”
She did.
“You’re right, Wally. I like it. I like it a lot. I guess it’s the taste of money.”
“I thought you would. You say Chase has hired you. Would it be possible for me to hire you as well?”
While chewing salad, Cassie nodded.
“In that case, we ought to talk about salary and terms of employment.”
“Huh uh.” She swallowed. “You already have. I’ve signed to play Mariah, remember?”
“Are you saying you’ll keep an eye on Chase for me without asking more money?”
“Within limits. What would you like me to do?”
“You might begin by telling me what you’re doing for Chase.”
“Come on, Wally! You’re smarter than that.” Cassie held out her glass.
He poured. “I’m not as sharp as you may think. What is it?”
“I’m having dinner with you.”
“On Chase’s instructions?”
“Kind of.”
“He wishes you to cultivate me.”
“Exactly. See there? I knew you’d get it. And why shouldn’t I? You’re an attractive man, rich and maybe ten years older than I am, which I like. Herbie was younger than I was, and a little bit of that goes one heck of a long way. The man should be older than the woman is what Mom used to say, and I always thought buckshot.” Cassie belched. “It took the first third of my life and another bad marriage for me to find out Mom was dead-on. Excuse me. I’ve been eating too fast.”
“So have I.” Reis laid down his fork. “Where is Chase now?”
“You’d have to sweeten the pot quite a bit for that if I knew. I don’t, though, so you can have it for free.”
“He was the subject of the note I found in your apartment, wasn’t he?”
“How would I know?”
“You’ll agree that it seems likely?”
Slowly, Cassie nodded. “Sharon’s been covering the story, so it was probably something somebody’d passed to her. He’s been shot? That’s what I heard. Shot wounded, I mean. Not shot dead.”
Rosenquist nodded.
“He hasn’t been in contact...” Cassie’s fork conveyed a sliver of meat to her mouth; she chewed it reflectively.
“What is it?”
“I told you I had a lot of people at my place today. Which I did. Margaret, Sharon, and a couple others. The phone rang and I didn’t answer it. A lot was going on.”
“I understand.”
“That was you, and you left a message on my machine. What do they feed these chickens that makes them so good?”
“I’ll find out and let you know. Go on with what you were saying.”
“Right after that, the phone rang again. Was that you, too?”
“No. More wine?”
Cassie accepted another glass. “I didn’t answer that one, either. I unplugged the phone instead. That could have been... Up! Excuse me. Gid. Dr. Gideon Chase. I’ve been trying to phone him, Wally, and that could have been him. I never thought.”
SHE had clung to his arm while they left Rusterman’s, having found that she was none too steady. Now, as the white limousine glided along Arbor Boulevard, Rosenquist whispered, “I’m going to win you, Cassie. I doubt that you believe me, but you’ll see. When I first heard of you, I wanted to find and destroy you. It was to be an exhibition of my power, something to frighten Chase — to frighten him into my camp if possible. Almost at once I realized you were worth a hundred Chases.”
She smiled, not unkindly. “This is very flattering, Wally.”
“I no longer want to destroy you. I want to win you — I, alone, out of all the world. I want to feel the envy of every man who sees us together, as I did tonight. I want to dress you in diamonds. When I was younger, I wanted to own an island. An island with beaches and palm trees where I would reign as king.”
Something almost mystical had crept into Reis’s voice. “I have that island now, but I’ve seen a better one. A blue isle in a sea of black. I fight for it every day, and I’ll win. With a green goddess at my side.”
He saw her to her door; she kissed him there, pressing herself against him, and her kiss was long and deep. When they parted she whispered, “I’ll win you, Billyboy. I know you don’t think so, but I will. Just watch.”
THREE MONTHS LATER VOLCANO GLOWS WITH PROMISE
Dating the Volcano God kicked off the fall season at the Majestic. Rev. Brownlea and his long-suffering sister were visibly nervous as they discussed what effect the family’s move from Enterprise, Kansas, to the South Pacific might have on the reverend’s daughter. The audience was nervous, too, and your intrepid reporter made a mental note: “This volcano has DISASTER stamped all over it.”
After three minutes that seemed more like ten, the daughter appeared in the form of Cassie Casey, an auburn-haired actress about whom I have had good reports. As she floated onstage, the audience fell deathly quiet. All of us were looking at her — “staring” might be a better word — and I doubt that there was even one among us who could have said why.
She spoke, and the plywood tree outside the Brownleas’ window had become a real palm; an intangible breeze carried the scent of tropical blossoms. There is such a thing as magic, no matter what the materialists may say.
Most especially there can be magic in the theater.
THEY had opened in Springfield. As Cassie stood in the wings waiting for her first entrance, Mickey the stage manager whispered, “You’re the only one who’s not nervous, Cassie. How do you do it?”
She grinned. “I’m jumpy as a cat. It’s just that I’m good at hiding it.”
The curtain rose, the Reverend Brownlea and his sister exchanged worries, and very soon after that it was time for her first song:
Behind Mariah, the grass house on a nameless tropical island was wholly real. Before Cassie, the men in pink and mauve dinner jackets and the women with hair-fantasies and pearls were equally real, her people, her audience to be loved and cherished. The song filled her and poured forth of its own volition. It filled the theater, too, although she did not know it — filled it, and a thousand hearts.