The party had increased in numbers, or the guests had become noisier. Tommy stopped in the living room and surveyed the party for a moment. A redhead with all that a redhead should have was giving a squat, bald man the business. A drink in one hand, from which whiskey was dribbling onto the bald man’s coat, the redhead was gripping the man with her free hand, gripping his arm and leaning against him drunkenly.
Trent called to the Filipino. “Manuel!”
The white-coated servitor came over with his tray. Trent took down two glasses, one for himself. The other he pressed upon Tommy. Here, drink this, then have another. When you get loosened up, grab yourself a girl. He nodded toward the redhead. “She came without anybody.”
A slow throbbing began in Tommy’s pulse. Automatically he moved the glass of whiskey to his lips and downed it in a single gulp. The waiter smilingly moved the tray so that it was easy for Tommy to take a second drink.
And then Tommy saw her. She was standing at the far end of the room, near the open door that led to the terrace; the girl for whom he had made a car key the night before. Elizabeth Targ.
She was wearing a black cocktail dress that shimmered with sequins. Her hair was done up high on her head. She had a glass in her hand, but seemed oblivious of it. Her attention was focused on someone out upon the terrace. Her face wore an expression that Tommy did not like.
He drank his second cocktail, took a third from the convenient Filipino and started across the room. He had to pass near the redhead and the girl suddenly let go of the bald-headed man and squealed.
“A man! A sure enough, honest to gawd, man!”
She lunged for Tommy, but he evaded her and she spilled the rest of her whiskey on the bald man’s suit. The man swore angrily. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a dame that can’t handle her liquor.”
“Says who?”
“Says me!”
But Tommy was oblivious of the fight that was beginning. He was across the room, and beside Elizabeth Targ.
“Hello,” he said.
She brought her eyes from the terrace and fixed them upon Tommy. “Hello.”
“I didn’t know you were a friend of Mr. Trent’s,” Tommy said, to make conversation.
“Trent? Who’s Trent?”
“The man who’s giving the party.”
“Oh, him.” Her eyes strayed toward the terrace, then she caught herself and looked again at Tommy. “I suppose we’ve met somewhere.”
“Yes, we have.” Tommy waited a moment, then added, “Last night.”
“Last night? I wasn’t anywhere last night.”
“I made a key for your car.”
She looked at him then with more than disinterest. “Oh yes.” She grimaced a little. “I... I gave you a tip, didn’t I?”
“Fifty cents.”
But he had lost her attention. Her eyes had gone again to the terrace and she seemed completely unaware of his presence. Tommy waited awkwardly for her attention to return to him, but when it did not he stepped deliberately around her and looked out upon the terrace.
There were two couples outside. One stood by the parapet looking down upon the street below. The other, a tall, lean man and a girl in a flaming red dress, stood in the far corner; close together, talking animatedly.
Tommy said, almost into Elizabeth Targ’s ear: “Good-looking girl.”
Her head swiveled toward him. “What?”
“The girl in the red dress — she’s good-looking...”
“What girl?”
“The one you’re watching.” Tommy paused. “Or is it the man?” Tommy had crowded her too far. She gave him a withering look and walked off. Tommy watched her clear across the room, saw her accosted by Willis Trent and not become aware of it until she had passed him a couple of paces, when she stopped and attempted an apologetic smile.
Tommy lit a cigarette and when a waiter came near took another drink. Smouldering, he sipped at his liquor and cursed himself, first, for coming up here and second, for remaining. Yet there was nothing to keep him here. He’d had the drink, and more, that Trent had asked him to have. He could go; except that he had talked to her and had been rebuffed.
Footsteps slithered on the cement of the terrace and a whiff of Chanel No. 5, although Tommy did not know it for that, assailed his nostrils. He turned and the girl in the red dress came into the room. Burnished copper hair and a heavily tanned skin went well with the red dress. Her liptsick matched it, too, except that it was smeared.
“Excuse me,” Tommy said, “but your lipstick is slipping.”
She stopped, looked at Tommy coolly and opened a compact. She looked at her lips, said, “Thanks,” and began repairing the damage. As she worked her eyes suddenly raised from the little mirror and met Tommy’s. “Do I know you?”
“I’m willing.”
“Get me a drink.”
The man with whom she had been on the terrace appeared behind her. He was tall, lean and swarthy. There was a good fifteen or twenty cents’ worth of pomade on his hair. There was possessiveness in the way he took hold of the girl’s elbow. “Let’s beat it.”
The girl continued to make up her lips. “I just got here.”
At that moment the waiter came within signaling distance and Tommy summoned him. He replaced his empty glass on the tray took down two filled ones. He handed one to the girl in the red dress.
“Here you are.”
She flashed him a smile. “You saved my life.” Then she looked over her shoulder at the swarthy man. “By the way, have you two met? Mr. Faraday... Mr...?” She snapped her fingers.
“Dancer.”
She smiled at Tommy. “Of course. Mr. Dancer, Mr. Faraday.”
The man with the pomaded hair looked at Tommy from under lowered eyebrows. “How are you?” He did not extend his hand.
Tommy nodded. “Har’ya.”
That should have ended the dialogue between Tommy and the other man, except that something within Tommy, probably the four or was it five? drinks urged him on. He said to the girclass="underline" “I didn’t set your name.”
“Oh, didn’t you? How careless of you, Earl.” She looked at Faraday.
But Faraday wasn’t in the mood. He pressed forward on her elbow. “Come on.”
Tommy stepped into the girl’s path, touched the wrist of the hand that held the compact, the one that wasn’t being gripped at the moment by Faraday.
“Did you come with anybody?” he asked.
It was quite obvious that the girl was striking a match in the presence of a powder keg, but she gave Tommy a slow, tantalizing smile and said:
“The name is Flo... Florence Randall, if you want to be formal. And no, I didn’t come with anybody.”
Faraday said harshly: “She’s with me.”
“How many girls can you handle?” Tommy retorted. His eyes flickered across the room toward Elizabeth Targ. The look was not wasted on Faraday.
His eyes followed Tommy’s, came back. “Look, sonny,” he said, “I don’t know who the hell you are, but if you’re trying to pick a fight with me you’re going about it the right way.”
“I never backed out of a fight yet,” Tommy challenged him.
Willis Trent came up from behind Tommy, and stopped so that his back was to him. He addressed Faraday: “Hello, Earl. Just get here?”
“I been here long enough,” retorted Faraday.
“Like to have a talk with you,” Trent said, “if you’ve got a minute or two.”
Faraday hesitated, glowering. Then he shrugged. “All right.” He turned and stepped out to the terrace. Trent followed.
Flo Randall said to Tommy: “Fun’s fun, but Earl Faraday isn’t fun, if you know what I mean.”
“Bad medicine?”
“Mmmm.”
Tommy laid his hand on the girl’s wrist. “Mustn’t touch?”