Re turned and scooted back down hoping she hadn't seen him. He remembered yesterday. He remembered how good sex had ben with Nancy. What. the hell? Last night with the widow was
good, in a way, he thought. But the widow had to put something on it.
Somewhere in the back of his mind hovered a quiet guilty thought: Nancy had been expecting him to come home since last night. The answering service! He remembered. He scooted over to a corner phone booth and checked in.
"Mr. Warner, Nancy has called every hour on the hour, and Mr. Buck Pappas has called twice."
"Listen, sugar plum, I want you to tell me something. Please don't tell me wrong. Now, did you tell either Mr. Pappas or Nancy that the other had called?"
"Well, I told Mr. Pappas that Nancy had called…and..;"
"Never mind the rest. You got a pencil and paper handy?"
"Sure, Mr. Warner, that's part of my job."
"If Mr. Pappas calls, tell him that I'm away on a film job and you forgot to tell him will you do that for me?"
"All right," she said reluctantly.
"Now, when Nancy calls, tell her the same thing. You forgot to give her the memo before. Now get this exact: I called long distance from location. I went on a quick trip with a producer to a Mexico location. Tell her I'll drop a letter to her and will be back in a day or so. Also, tell her I love her."
He rechecked with her again to make sure she had it. He knew it was too much for her, but all he could do was hope she had her memo correct and would follow through. By God, he thought, his
mind was made up. He wasn't going to let any rich Mexicali Rose beat him out of one hundred and twenty bucks just because she was tape happy and he was the fall guy. He. would keep that appointment with Jim again tonight; and show her who had the best insurance policy.
He figured his remaining cash torn the original forty and his last night's piano tips and it wasn't much. But it would do. He bought a small flight bag; two white, shirts, some socks, underwear, and toothpaste and a toothbrush. He then went and had a big steak. The Japanese sukiyaki and five aspirins had left nothing but an empty cavern in his stomach.
Then he got in his MG and drove out to car dealer, Warner told himself that sometimes the opportunity comes to a man to do something, and he better be ready to grab at-it. He hated to get rid of the little bomb, but he parked and collected the papers out of the glove compartment. He got out and handed the papers to the man. Just like that.
"Three hundred is all she's worth," the dealer said.
"Pay me in cash," Warner said.
The dealer got in, drove the MG around back while Nathan cooled his heels, came back and gave him the cash. He transferred the papers to the dealer, then went across the street to a brand had a quick bourbon while he Collected his thoughts.
Suddenly, he wanted to see Nancy, to find out just what she could do for him with Weindorf, the producer.. But first, he had to collect his dough
plus interest from the Empress. He'd already made up his mind to go on her trip with her.
He got up and walked to a corner drugstore and got an envelope and stamps, then came back to the neighborhood bar for another bourbon. He borrowed a piece of paper from the bartender and wrote on it: "Darling, hope you heard the good news from the answering service. Production man going back up to Hollywood will mail this for me today. Here's $300. My advance. Please pay rent, get groceries, and sit tight. Set up the deal with Weindorf. Some way for me to meet him. See you sometime. Save that dinner for me."
He addressed the envelope to Nancy at the apartment. At least that ought to make her feel better, and the setup for Weindorf could be his break at last. He added a PS: "I'll come when I can. Love you." He signed it, "Man in Mexico."
Two hours later, Nathan Warner sat behind the wheel of the big black rental chariot. Empress was decked out in sweater and slacks, sitting close beside him. She didn't have her Oriental look on today, but he called her "Empress" just the same. He drove fast, out of L.A., whipping the hones and watching the rear-view mirror.
Destination: New resort in the desert, twenty five miles northeast of Phoenix, Arizona. Paulette had the propaganda folders and the reservation spread out In her lap. The place was a new
super-duper resort hotel, complete with gardens schmaltz, pile carpets, paneled club room, barn, and a stable for horses. Lots were for sale, and that was part of the reason Paulette wanted to go see the place. He learned from her that some of her husband's business contacts had told her about the glories of Arizona living as opposed to the smog and winds of Los. Angeles, or the hot humidity of Houston, Texas.
Paulette said she liked to travel at night. They drove along. sometimes talking, sometimes listening to the radio, until shortly after midnight they spotted a motel with a truck-stop restaurant open nearby, and they pulled in. They. went over for food after checking into a dingy motel room. Paulette wore stretch pants and sweater. She bad her hair done up on her head, and her makeup was light; Truck drivers and tourists eyed them and he was glad she looked like something instead of forty.
He paid for the food tab directly from the one-twenty he had in his inside coat pocket. The moment he opened her Beverly Hilton suite room, she'd handed it to him and he hadn't said a word, just put it in his pocket. They went back to the motel and Paulette told him to go to bed, that she would take a bath. That suited Nathan since he was tired from the drive.
As soon as Paulette get into the small bathroom, he pulled all the bills out of his coat pocket, put them in a sock, then hid the sock in the small flight
bag. If she wanted to play the I.O.U. game, at least she'd have to search, he had decided.
Nathan drifted off to sleep, hoping that tonight wasn't a night for tape. He felt Paulette crawl in beside him. All night long he could feel her squeezing him now and again. Once, when she woke up, he thought duty was imminent. But she was just in a lovey-dovey mood. He had, never seen her in early morning without her warpaint. He turned her face over to him. It was morning, but she still was asleep. He silently wished he hadn't taken such a close look. There was something naked about her. Her eyes were closed. Her skin was pasty cream. She needed sun. It gave her an expression of ghost-like unreality. She looked forty now or more. But it wasn't the age that made the difference. It was a sallowness beneath the natural dark complexion of her skin.
One thing Nathan knew about these kind of women; there was hardly any middle-age. They were beautiful, then all of a sudden they disintegrated into pudgy, oily-skinned grandmothers. Paulette wasn't leather-skinned yet.
Nathan hopped out of bed and went to the bathroom. When he finished, she was sitting up in bed, yawning and stretching. Her tits were bare and sagging. She didn't seem to care any more. She held her arms up for him to come to her. Her lips met his. While they kissed, she rubbed him tenderly.
"Oh, poor Nathan," she said playfully, "did it hurt when Paulette pinched you, dear?" She rolled
over and giggled, then put her hands over her face. At times, Paulette could act like a teenage girl. "I'd hate for your handsome face tote scarred up, but I wouldn't mind about the rest of you too much."
"Nuts to you, sugar blossom!" he said. "You know damn well nothing's going to happen to my face. That's my. future. I'm going to be a star because of my face."
He searched for a cigarette, got his kit and went into the bathroom and shaved. She watched him for along moment, her eyes alone unsmiling.
"Let's hit the road," he called out to her. He towered and came out dressed
"I'll check the map while you're dressing," he
told her.
He scooped, up his bills from the sock and put them back in his coat pocket. Suddenly, he noticed the wealth of South Africa lying on the bedside table. This was the first time he had known Paulette to take off the stone. She was still in the bathroom. He kept looking at it, trying to count the carats. He looked again. That was all.