You’re a nice man, Sharky, she thought. Naive, maybe, but what’s wrong with that? ‘That’s a generous thought,’ she said.
‘Look, T like my old man. He was always good to me. It was something I could do back, make him happy. What the hell.’
‘I liked my old man, too,’ she said, without thinking, then wondered whether she should have brought it up.
‘What was he like?’
She could make up a story. She was used to that. Something glamorous, something they wanted to hear. She didn’t.
‘He was a mining engineer. Well, actually he was a roustabout, you know. He loved brawling and whoring and drinking with the boys. Mister Macho, that was old Charlie. The word was invented for him. Itchy Britches, mom called him. We went wherever the action was. I grew up in one temporary town after another. They were always either too muddy or too dusty. Mom still says the saddest thing about losing Dad was that he died so ingloriously. He really would have liked to go out in a blaze of glory like Humphrey Bogart in some old movie. Instead, he died in a miserable little town called Backaway in Utah. He came home one afternoon, got a beer and the paper, sat down in his favourite chair, and died.’
She seemed weighed down by the memory. Sadness crossed her face, very briefly, like shadows on a cloudy day, then it passed.
‘Well,’ Sharky said, ‘I’m sure he would have been proud of you. it looks like you’re doing pretty well.’
She closed the subject quickly.
‘I’m independently wealthy,’ she said, smiling. ‘A rich aunt.’
Sharky laughed and raised his glass.
‘Okay, here’s to rich aunts.’
She sat with her chin in her hand and stared at him again, then shook her head. ‘I just, uh, I don’t believe it. I mean, a geologist working as an elevator man?’
‘I’m not an elevator man. I’m an engineer. An elevator man is an old guy with spots on his uniform who never stops in the right place. You know, he’s always too high or too low.’
She was laughing. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You always have to step up or step down.’
‘Besides,’ Sharky said, ‘I once knew a dentist who quit and became a mechanic.’
‘A mechanic?’
‘You know, in a garage. It’s what he got off on.’
‘And you get off on elevators?’
‘Well, you know, I’m not going to do this for the rest of my life. It keeps me off the Street.’
She felt warm towards him. Secure, comfortable. And she wanted him, wanted his arms around her, stretched out on the floor listening to DuLac, free and easy, just letting it happen. it was something that had been missing from her life for a long time. She had given up on it. It’s a silly notion, she thought. A nowhere notion. But it was a nice feeling.
And Sharky felt the same way. I want you, he thought. Here. Now. But he let it pass. Even a one-time shot wouldn’t work. No future. in a week he might be putting her in the slams. And yet, he didn’t want to leave it.
‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘I’ll come back again before I leave, okay? Maybe I’ll be lucky, catch you on a day when you’re having a whale stew or barracuda steak.’
This time she didn’t smile.
‘How about just plain steak?’ she said. ‘I can handle that.’
‘Any time,’ he said.
‘Then come back,’ she said and touched his cheek.
And Sharky realized that for a few minutes he had forgotten why he was there because he wanted to come back.
Chapter Ten
Chiang drove the black Cadillac Seville up into the plaza and circled it slowly, observing the entrance to the apartment and the location of the security guard, then he turned back into Peachtree Street, went half a. block to a side street, and parked. He sat immobile, staring straight ahead, awaiting his instructions.
DeLaroza looked at his watch. Seven forty-five. Three hours, he figured. Domino could perform a miracle in three hours.
DeLaroza’s mind was still in a turmoil. The day had been eventful, exhausting. But now his thoughts were on Domino. I want you to think about it all day long, she had said, it wilt be much sweeter that way. And he had. Images of her had flashed continually through his mind, images of other times, when he had introduced her to a world reserved for the gods and the very rich.
Burns was right. He was concupiscent, a man driven by his lust as others are driven by fame.
Now it would end. But not before tonight.
They walked back to the apartment and DeLaroza stood in the shadows while Chiang entered, standing in front of the night guard, his bulk concealing the front door as he haltingly tried to explain that he was lost. The guard, confused by his broken English, concentrated on every word while DeLaroza slipped into the building and trotted to the stairwell. He did not want to risk being seen on the elevator. He walked up to the tenth floor, preparing himself for her pleasures as he climbed the steps, cleansing his mind.
Gowmanah
remembering her in Paris, flaunting h r sensuality until even the fag couturier was bewitched by her
gowmanah
remembering her at Quo Vadis, where even the arrogant waiters stopped and looked when she made her entrance
gow,nanah
remembering her in the bathhouse in Tokyo and the four geishas, flocking around her, bathing her, caressing her breasts while he sat forgotten in an adjoining tub
gowmanah...
The pressures of time slipped away. DeLaroza was prepared for whatever Domino had to offer.
She too had prepared herself for his arrival. It was to be her game, her rules tonight. She answered his first ring and DeLaroza stepped back in awe when she opened the door.
Her eyes were sketched into delicate almonds by the subtlest of eye-liners. A dust of shadow accentuated her high cheekbones. Her black hair was pulled to one side and pinned behind her ear by an azalea blossom. Her formfitting gown of white gauze was split almost to the hip on each side and trimmed in gold. She wore no shoes, no jewellery.
The scent of flowers surrounded her. Behind her the room shimmered in the glow of candles, revealing freshly cut daffodils and the coffee table bearing wine and other delights. A recording whispered Chinese love songs. She stepped back into the cool, dim fragrance and he could see her body through the thin cotton. Her skin seemed to glow in the dark, to provide its own radiation. The chocolate points of her breasts held the gauze at bay and he could see the thick black triangle of hair where her trim legs joined.
She put her hands together and bowed her head.
‘Welcome, Cheen Ping,’ she said, ‘to the lair of the Third Dragon.’
Sharky listened, heard the doorbell ring, heard her open the door but her remarks were lost among the tinkling bells and the Oriental music on the stereo. What was that? Something about dragons? There was movement, a rustling as though she perhaps had removed his coat.
‘Dor-jeh.’ A deep voice. Mature. But what was he saying? ‘There will be only three courses to dinner,’ she said and her voice was soft. Melodic. Almost.. . subservient? ‘And before each you must satisfy your innermost desires so that you may enjoy the meal to its fullest.’
God damn! Sharky lit a cigar, held it between his teeth, and pressed the earphones so he could hear better. Was this the same woman he had followed to Moundt’s? Who had joked with him about being an elevator man? Served him soup and wine and seemed hypnotized by his broken nose?
‘Only two courses, Ho Lan Ling. I am afraid three might be more than enough.’
He heard her laugh. Well, shit, Sharky said half aloud, they’re off and running in Peking!
She led DeLaroza to one of the Savoy chairs, stood behind him, began massaging his temples. Her touch was so light he hardly felt it. She pressed her thumbs in the middle of his forehead, held the first three fingers of each hand just inside the depression of his temples, and began rotating them in circles, widening the circle until her fingers moved over his eyelids. He sat with his hands resting on the arms of the chair. Her fingertips relaxed him. His head grew light under her touch. He eased into the chair. The music filled his head.