He rammed his shirttail into his trousers and planted his feet and gave her his undivided attention. “You’re uncommonly impertinent and independent tonight.”
“Am I? Never mind. Tell me something-with all the respectable women you can get for a snap of your fingers, why keep coming back to me?”
“Because I taught you to be the best.”
“That’s not quite what I was fishing for-I was hoping you might admit it was because you like me.”
His head lifted slightly; lamplight reflected from his eyes. “I don’t dislike you,” he said. “I don’t dislike anybody, as long as they don’t get in my way.”
“At least I’m not in your way.”
“You make me wonder about that.”
“Do I? It’s probably good for you.”
“Have you been smoking pot?”
“No. Only thinking.”
“Don’t think, Carol. It’s not your strong point.”
“What would you say if I told you I was thinking of retiring?”
“You?” He became amused. “You, Carol? A few more years of ringside tables and sable coats and you’ll be too whipped and worn-out to make expenses at a plumbing-supply convention in Rapid City. You’ll get passed down the line from hand to hand until some smart guy comes along and takes you on a little vacation to Hong Kong, and then they’ll cop your passport and unload you into a crib, where you’ll get slapped down so far you won’t even want to come home.”
She stood up, full of languid grace, her hair fanning down her well-shaped back; she smiled frostily. “What a pig you can be.” She went into the bathroom, showered, and put on beige lace undies and a careful dose of scent, and emerged to find him smoking a cigarette, going through her closet with one hand. He was holding out the sleeve of a full-length Schulman Emba mink coat. “This is new,” he observed.
“A great many things are.”
He turned to face her. “What’s all this about, Carol?”
“I want off the hook, Mason. I want to pick and choose among the dirty jobs to suit myself.”
“Are you going to force me to remind you of the same tired old things we’ve been over before?”
“I’m not afraid of Albuquerque anymore. With a good lawyer I think I can beat the rap.”
“Possibly. And if you did, what do you suppose Rocco would be inclined to do?”
“You could use your influence. Persuade him I have no intention of making trouble for him.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Out of friendship, Mason. It’s the kind of thing a friend does for a friend.”
When he made no answer, she added mildly, “All you have to do is point out to him that even if I did accuse him of anything, it would only be my word against his.”
He began to smile; he said nothing, and Carol said, “That’s right, isn’t it? Rocco’s known that all along-that’s why he never made trouble for me. It never had anything to do with you, did it? You just used it as something to hold over my head. It only worked as long as I didn’t think it through.”
“You’ve learned to use your head, haven’t you?”
“I just don’t see how it could possibly be worth your while to go to the trouble of turning me over to the New Mexico cops, not when I’d probably be acquitted anyway. Look, why not drop it right here and go on like equals?”
He shook his head gently, watching her. She said in a rougher voice, “You just can’t do it, can you? You just can’t have any kind of relationship with anybody where your money or your blackmail doesn’t give you an edge.”
He ignored it; he said, “You’re ass-deep in muck, Carol. With your history it’s far too late for a declaration of independence.”
“Why? What could you prove against me? You can’t use anything you’ve got on me without implicating yourself. You’d hardly do that. You’ve got thousands of feet of infrared film on me, but you’d never use it because you can’t afford to expose the men who appear on the film with me. Besides, who would you show it to? I haven’t got a family. The law wouldn’t care, and even if they did, I’d survive a fifteen-day sentence for prostitution.”
“I admire your guts,” he said. “But you haven’t thought it all the way through. Working for me, you’ve learned too much about too many people. Some of them couldn’t afford to let you off the hook, even if I could. You’re locked in, Carol. There’s never been any way out. You’re a white chip in a no-limit game, and there are too many people in it who wouldn’t care if they had to tie weights on you and drop you off a motor launch in Long Island Sound.”
“You could keep them off my back, if you wanted to. You could convince them I was no danger to them. I’ve built up a complete new identity, false passport and bank accounts-I can fade out of sight and come to the surface in England or on the Riviera with a whole new identity. If you cover for me, the rest of them will never find me.”
“Maybe I could,” he said, turning toward the door, “but I won’t. Not now. Maybe I’ll think about it later. In the meantime, you’ll stay put and do as you’re told.”
She felt exhausted; she had nothing further to say. At the door he paused and said absently, “That lawyer from the SEC who asked you about my shares-have you heard from him again?”
“No.”
“All right,” he said. “Don’t do anything foolish.” He gave her a flat, hard glance with his hooded eyes, and went.
She put on a dress, walked into the living room, and stared at the door he had shut behind him; crossed the room to the stereo and put an album on the turntable. It pushed a slow, soothing beat through the room. She was adjusting the volume when she heard a knock at the door.
Surprised, frowning a little, she walked to the door.
It was Russ Hastings.
He smiled and said, “May I come in? I’m unarmed.”
Not certain how to respond, she stood looking at him. He was dressed in a rumpled seersucker suit, and he had an unassailable amiability on his pleasant, blocky face. He was searching her face with an odd intensity, but his manner was pleasantly abrasive, like a coarse towel after a bath. He said, “What a beauty you are, Carol,” and grinned at her. “Look here-my palms are sweating from the effort of pronouncing your name.”
“Good Lord,” she said. She shook her head in amazement. “The hell with it. I need cheering up-come on in, then.” She stepped back to let him enter; she thought, I’m being a fool.
18. Russell Hastings
She walked away from him into the room, moving slowly, because it was more graceful; all her movements were studied.
Russ Hastings said, shutting the door, “You’re gorgeous.”
“What’s on your mind? I’m not sure I should have let you in.”
“I think I’d like a drink. I don’t mind fixing it myself-have one with me?”
“Why not?”
He went to the bar and watched her settle on one of the sectional pieces, drawing her lovely long legs up under her with a trim display of swelling calves and shapely ankles.
He mixed two drinks, heavy on the Scotch, and said to her, “I have been thinking about you all week. I decided Wednesday that I was in love with you, and Thursday that I wasn’t. Today I’m somewhere in the middle. Maybe I’m not in love with you, but what the hell does it matter? Whatever you want to call it, maybe it’s a way to ease loneliness. I need somebody-I guess that’s all it amounts to.”
He brought the drink across to her. “Very grave,” he judged. “Very self-possessed and cool and competent and bemused by my foolishness. Very beautiful, above all. The trouble is, you see, in my vague fantasies it’s far too easy to see you making a warm, serene home.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Only a little.” He tasted his drink, standing above her. “That piano record makes the room feel emptier, doesn’t it? It’s a good night for blues.”