" 'Nother," he said in a loud voice.
Ernie looked at him but said nothing. He was mixing the gimlet, taking his time, when he saw David fall forward onto the bar. He just folded his arms and his head went down. He sat there hunched over, not moving.
The bartender sighed, put aside the drink. He dug out his little red address book and looked up Rathbone's home phone number. He called from the phone behind the bar.
"The Rathbone residence."
"Rita?"
"Yes. Who's this?"
"Ernie. At the Palace Lounge."
"Oh. Hiya, Ernie. Happy New Year."
"Same to you. Listen, Mr. Rathbone is here, and he's a little under the weather. I hate to eighty-six him, but he's in no condition to drive. He'll kill himself or someone else."
Silence a moment, then: "I'll call a cab. I should be there in twenty minutes, half-hour at the most. Don't give him any more to drink and try to keep him from leaving."
"Okay."
"And thanks for calling, Ernie."
When she hurried in, raincoat slick with mist, David was still sprawled over the bar. Rita stood alongside and looked down at him.
"How many did he have?" she asked Ernie.
"Too many. And fast. Seemed like he just couldn't stop. It's not like him."
"No," Rita said, "it's not. What's the bill?"
"Don't worry about it. I'll catch him another night."
"Thanks, Ernie. The valet brought the car around to the side entrance. Will you help me get him out?"
Ernie came from behind the bar. Rita shook David's shoulder, first gently, then roughly until he roused.
"Wha?" he said groggily, raising his head.
"Come on, Sleeping Beauty," she said, "we're going home."
She and Ernie got him to his feet and supported him, one on each side.
"All right, all right," he said thickly. "I can navigate."
But they didn't let go of him until he was outside, leaning against the Corsica, his face pressed against the cool, wet roof.
"Let me get some fresh air," he said.
"Thanks again, Ernie," Rita said. "I can take it from here."
The bartender went back inside. Rita opened the car door. But suddenly David lurched away, staggered several steps, and vomited all over a waist-high sago palm. He remained bent over for five minutes, and Rita waited patiently, listening to him retch.
Finally he straightened up, wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, and then threw it away. He came back to the car slowly, taking deep breaths.
"Sorry about that," he said huskily.
"It happens," Rita said. "Get in the car and I'll drive us home. Have a cup of black coffee, you'll feel better."
"I don't think so," he said.
When they arrived at the town house, he went directly upstairs to take off his spattered clothing. Rita sat on his bed and listened to the shower running. He was in there such a long time she was beginning to worry. But then he came out in a white terry robe, drying his hair with a towel.
"I'd like a cognac," he said. "Just an ounce, no more, to settle my stomach."
"You're sure?" she said.
"I'm sure."
"All right, I'll bring it up here for you." "No, I'll come downstairs."
In the kitchen, he measured out an ounce of Cour-voisier carefully. He took a cautious sip, then closed his eyes and sighed.
"You okay?" she asked anxiously.
"I will be. Let me mix you something. A brandy stinger?"
"Just right," she said.
They took their drinks into the living room and sat on the couch.
"I don't suppose you feel like eating that veal casserole."
"Jesus, no!" he said. "I never want to eat again. But you go ahead."
"I can wait. Maybe you'll feel like it later."
He stared at her, then picked up her hand, kissed her knuckles. "Know why I love you?" he asked.
"Why?"
"Because not once, at the Palace, on the ride back, or since we've been home, have you hollered at me or asked why I made such a fool of myself."
"I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would. I don't pry; you know that."
"It was that business meeting I had."
"It didn't go well?"
"It went fine."
"I don't understand."
"Forget it. I'm going to. Oh God, what would I do without you? You're my salvation."
"Don't make a federal case out of it, baby. You got drunk and I brought you home. No big deal."
"You were there when I needed you; that's what counts. Rita, I swear to you I'll never do that again."
"Even Ernie said it wasn't like you." "Did you pay my bar tab?"
"He said he'd catch you another night."
"He's a good man. He called you?"
"Yep."
"And Florence Nightingale came running. Thank God. Listen, hon, I've been thinking; maybe we should take off sooner than I planned. Say in about six months."
"Whatever you say; you're the boss."
"On that drive home tonight, I got the feeling that things were closing in. Waiting around for just one more big deal is a sucker's game. Let's take the money and run."
"Where to?"
He grinned. "A secret. But believe me, you'll love it. Plenty of hot sun."
"A beach?"
"Not too far away. But a big pool."
"A private pool?"
"Of course."
"That's for me," she said.
"Will you have a lot of preparations to make?"
"Nope. Just pack my bikinis. I'll write my mother and tell her I'll be traveling awhile and not to worry."
He kissed her hand again. "You think of everything. You're not only beautiful, you're brainy." He raised his glass. "Happy New Year, darling."
46
She called Tony Harker a little before noon and told him that Rathbone had driven up to Lakeland and wouldn't be back until late that night. Tony locked up his office and ran. He was at his motel with a cold six-pack of Bud by the time Rita arrived. Ten minutes later they were in bed, blinds drawn, air conditioner set at its coldest.
She had never been more impassioned, but now he had the confidence of experience and her ardor didn't daunt him. They coupled like young animals eager to test their strength, and if there was no surrender by either, there was triumph for both.
When finally they separated, they lay looking at each other wildly. It had been a curious union, so glowing that it frightened both for what it might promise. It exceeded the physical, gave a glimpse of a different relationship that, if nurtured, might remake their lives.
"What happened?" he asked wonderingly, but Rita could only shake her head, as confused and fearful as he.
The real world intruded, and they laughed and pretended it had merely been a dynamite roll in the hay and sexual pleasure was all that mattered.
But having experienced that epiphany, they desired to know it again, despite their dread, if only to prove such rapture did exist. So after a time they made love again, slowly and deliberately, and waited for that un-equaled ecstasy to reappear. But it did not, leaving them satiated but conscious of a loss.
"Have you been taking lessons?" Rita asked him.
"Yes," he answered. "From you. My God, your tan is deeper than ever." His forefinger stroked the fold between her thigh and groin. "You're not worried about skin cancer?"
"Ahh," she said, "life's too short. And I drink too much, smoke too much, and pig out on fatty foods. It's stupid to give up all the pleasures of life just to squeeze out a few extra years. That's for cowards."
"Dying young doesn't scare you?"
"Sure it does. But what scares me more is living a dull, boring life." She sat up. "Let's talk business for a while," she said. "Have your guys come up with anything on David and the Palace gang?"
"Lots of things. I really think we're going to rack up the whole crew. Rita, why did Rathbone go to Lakeland?"