his chest for company, shoo her along.”
“She’ll like you,” Sam said. “She’s crazy about big muscular men;
she tells me her mother was frightened by a wrestler. I’ll get her.”
I had finished my drink by the time he returned. He nodded,
winked.
“Two minutes,” he said, began to mix a flock of martinis.
She arrived a good ten minutes later. I spotted her before she
spotted me. There was something about her that amused me. Maybe
it was her big cornflower blue eyes or her snub nose. I don’t know,
but you had only to take one look at her and you were pretty sure she
was the girl who originated the phrase “a dumb blonde.” She was all
Sam had said. Her figure made me blink: it made the male section in
the room blink too.
Sam waved, and she came over, looked at me, and her eyelids
fluttered.
“Oh!” she said. Then: “Oh, Boy!”
“Crystal, this is Mr. Steve Harmas,” Sam said, winking at me. “He
cuts the hairs on his chest with a lawn-mower.”
She put her hand into mine, squeezed it.
“There was a tea leaf in the bottom of my cup that looked just like
you,” she confided. “I knew I was going to have fun to-night.” She
looked anxiously at Sam. “Have any of the girls seen him yet?”
“You’re the first,” he returned, winking at me again.
“What a break!” she exclaimed, turning back to me. “I’ve been
dreaming about a man like you ever since I’ve had those kind of
dreams.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” I said, kidding her. “Maybe I’d better have a
look at the other girls. I’m kind of selective.”
“You don’t have to look at them. They’re only called girls to
distinguish them from the male customers. They’ve been girls so long
they think a brassiere is a place to eat. Come on, let’s have fun.”
“What kind of fun can we have in this joint?” I asked. “It’s too
crowded for my kind of fun.”
Her blue eyes popped open. “Oh, I like lots of people. My father
says a girl can’t come to any harm so long as she stays with a crowd.”
“Your father’s crazy,” I said, grinning. “Suppose you fell in with a
crowd of sailors?”
She thought about this, frowning. “I don’t think my father knows
anything about sailors,” she said seriously. “He stuffs birds and
things.”
“You mean he’s a taxidermist?”
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her blonde curls, “He can’t drive.”
“Let’s skip your father,” I said hurriedly. “Let’s talk about you.
How about a drink?”
“I could go for a large gin with a very little lime if the gin was large
enough,” she said, brightening. “Do you think I could have that?”
I nodded to Sam, pulled up a stool, patted it. “Park your weight,” I
said. “How do you like it here?”
She climbed up on the stool, sat down, rested her smal hands on
the bar. “I love it,” she told me. “It’s so sinful and nice. You’ve no idea
how dull it is at home. There’s only father and me and all the animals
that need stuffing. You’d be surprised at the animals people bring to
father. He’s working on a stag some crank wants to keep in his hall.
Can you imagine having a stuffed stag in your hall?”
“You could always hang your hat and umbrella on its antlers,” I
said, after giving the matter thought.
She drank some of the gin. “You’re the kind of person who makes
the best of everything,” she said. “I’ll tell father about that idea. He
might make money out of it.” She sipped more gin, sighed. “I love this
stuff. Now I can’t get a two-way stretch, it’s the only thing that holds
me together.” An idea struck her, and she grabbed hold of my arm.
“Did you bring any silk stockings over with you?”
“Sure,” I said. “I have half a dozen pairs of nylons at my hotel.”
She clenched her fists, shut her eyes.
“Six pairs?” she repeated in a hoarse whisper.
“That’s right.”
“Oh, dear,” she said, shivered. “You weren’t thinking of giving
them to anyone, were you? They couldn’t be lying in your old room
unattached so to speak?”
“I brought them for someone,” I said quietly.
She nodded to herself. “I might have guessed it,” she said, sighed.
“Well, never mind. Some girls have all the luck. Some get them, others
just dream about them. You certainly made my heart go pit-a-pat for a
moment. But I shall get over it.”
“I brought them for Netta Scott,” I explained. “She was a friend of
mine.”
Crystal turned quickly, her eyes showed surprise. “Netta? You
knew Netta?”
“Sure. “
“And you brought the stockings . . . but, she’s dead. Didn’t you
know?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Then you haven’t anyone to give . . .” She caught herself up,
actually blushed. “Oh, I am awful! Poor Netta! I always get depressed
when I think of her. I feel I could cry right now.”
“If you want those stockings you can have them,” I said. “Netta
can’t use them, so they’re unattached as you put it.”
Her eyes brightened. “I don’t know what to say. I’d love them-
they’d save my life, but knowing they were for Netta . . . well, it does
make a difference, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?”
She thought, frowning. I could see she would always find thought
difficult: she just wasn’t the thinking type.
“I don’t know. I suppose not. I mean . . . well, where are they?”
“At my hotel. Shall we go over and get them?”
She slid off her stool. “You mean right now? This very moment?”
“Why not? Can you get away?”
“Oh, yes. All we girls are free lances. We make what we pick up-
doesn’t it sound sordid?” She giggled. “I suppose I’d have to come all
the way up to your room and there wouldn’t be any crowds in there?”
I shook my head. “No crowds. Just you and me.”
She looked doubtful. “I don’t know whether I should. My father
said he’d be terribly angry if I ever appeared in the News of the
World.”
“Who’s going to tell the News of the World?” I asked patiently.
She brightened up again. “I wish I was clever. Do you know, I
never thought of that. Well, come on. Let’s go.”
I finished my drink. “Is there a garage at the back of this joint?”
She nodded. “Yes, a big one. Why?”
I patted her hand. “Some Americans like to look at old churches,”
I said, smiling. “I’m crazy about garages. You’d be surprised at the
number of garages there are to look at. They’re full of oil and
interest.”
“But why garages?” she asked blankly.
“Why old churches?” I returned.
She nodded. “I expect you’re right. I had an uncle who liked
visiting public houses. I suppose it’s the same sort of idea.”
“Along those lines,” I said, walked with her to the door.
As we reached the head of the stairs, I saw a big woman coming
up. She wore a black evening dress and a heavy gold collar
surrounded her thick neck. Her black hair was scraped back and her
broad, rather sullen face was a mask of make-up. I drew back to allow
her to pass. She came on, gave Crystal a cold hard stare, didn’t notice