by Karen Black
“Can’t you give me a little more information? I know he wants me to get in touch with him.”
“He called from L.A. a couple of days ago. If he’s not there, I don’t know where he is”
“Well, look, if he calls in again, please tell him I’m sorry, but somehow I missed him in Denver. Tell him I’m on my way back to Saint Paul. That’s Saint Paul, Minnesota. I’ll try again later. You got that?”
“Yeah. Don’t call you, you’ll call him.”
“Good girl.”
“Thanks, bub.”
“Sorry. Wait a minute. Did someone named Malcolm Gregory call?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions.”
“Well, I know, but Mac may know how to reach Charley.”
“Mac who?”
“Malcolm Gregory. People call him Mac.”
“I thought you were Malcolm Gregory.”
“I know, it’s a lot of Macs and Gregs. I’m Gregory McGregor. I’m trying to find out about Malcolm Gregory. Do you know how to reach him?”
“I’ve never met him. Some mail came for him. I forwarded it to Mr. Farnsworth.”
“Okay, thanks a lot. I’ll be back in touch.”
“Yeah, you just do that.”
As I hung up, I smiled at the Abbot and Costello who’s-on-first number Corky had so deftly picked up on. If Charley’s phone were bugged, I could hope we had planted some seeds of confusion and uncertainty as to the whereabouts and identity of a couple of Macs and Gregs, which was, no doubt, why Charley had picked my pseudonym in the first place.
Before I left the pay phone, I asked the attendant to make change for a couple dollars, quarters, please, I directed. I called the Cliffe Motel in Santa Monica to tell them I would be a day late and ask for messages. “Your secretary came in about an hour ago and picked up your messages. Wow!” said a rather callow-sounding youth.
“What do you mean, my secretary, wow,” I said brusquely.
“Gee, I’m sorry.” The kid stammered, embarrassed, and then recovered sufficiently to explain. At least it would pass as sufficient, given the picture I was getting of this kid. “It’s like, you know, man, like, have you got a secretary!”
“Yeah,” I said, “like…which one?”
“You mean you got…I mean…like more?”
“Did you…like…get her name?” I cut in, trying to sound irritated, which wasn’t difficult.
“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“I have a pretty good idea what you were thinking,” I said dryly. “What did she look like?”
“A tall blonde.” His voice took on a dreamy note.
“Thanks,” I said and hung up.
A tall blonde, I thought grimly as I hurried back up the street toward Charley’s. I’ll bet she looks great in a backless halter and short shorts delivering Sunday papers. Then, as I got closer, I found myself feeling glad that Corky would be there and that I had decided to quit playing games and level with her for better or for worse.
Corky had started a fire while I was gone and had exchanged Charley’s shapeless terry cloth robe for a Japanese kimono, which suited her remarkably well. “Madame Butterfly?” I asked.
“Ah, so. You rike oriental girl?” We sat down side by side in the cushioned conversation pit. I found her hand, and she let it nestle quietly in mine.
“Okay,” I said, “My name is Gregory McGregor, 34 years old, recently divorced, no kids. I’m a post-doctoral research fellow in a geotechnical institute in Minnesota and a consultant on heavy construction projects, like dams and tunnels, where geological problems are involved. Starting last Friday, strange and scary things have been happening to me and two of my best friends have been killed. I don’t know why or by whom, but I intend to find out.”
I then recounted as simply as possible exactly what had gone on from the time Charley first called me. I described how Darwin was killed without getting into the more bizarre aspects of my Sunday morning paper delivery. When I came to Charley’s murder, Corky shuddered and drew closer to me. I looked closely at her for a long moment. It had never occurred to me that Charley, the confirmed bachelor, might have a girl, especially a girl like this. Did I think at first she was almost pretty? She’s beautiful. Poor Charley, I thought, you had more to lose in life than I imagined.
When I finished, we sat silently for a few minutes. At length, she sighed a long, shuddering sigh, gave my hand a gentle squeeze and stood up. My eyes were so heavy by this time it was an effort to look up at her. Hers were large and soft as she looked down at me.
“Look at you,” she said, “you’ve had a terrible day, and I must have dragged it out forever with my silly, self-pitying soap opera.”
“No,” I said, “You’ve provided me a harbor in the storm. I’ve used it about as long as I can, but look…” I knew I was blushing and I could hear my voice tightening. “There’s one part of your story you left out. I’d like to know it before I go.”
She looked at me steadily. “Okay.”
“How long have you been Charley’s girl?”
Her tawny color deepened, but she continued to look straight into my eyes. “I’d say about as long as you’ve been beating your wife.” It was my turn to blush. “I wasn’t Charley’s girl,” she added gently. “Not the way I think you meant it. Charley didn’t have girls, maybe couldn’t have girls. Maybe boys? You might know about that.” I’m sure my own face was brick red by this time. “Let’s just say I was his friend. He was mine. Maybe he was my sanctuary. Maybe I was his pet.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed anything. How did you meet?”
“I was invited by the manager at the ski resort, the one up there,” she pointed, “to one of Charley’s parties. We hit it off right away. As we were leaving, he asked me to come back the next day to talk about a ‘proposition.’ And, yeah, I thought it was going to be what you thought. But he made it clear he wasn’t looking for that kind of arrangement. He said he needed someone to ‘house sit’ since he wasn’t in town very often. And he gathered I could use a place to crash, so he thought it could be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both of us. I was still a little skeptical, and asked how much he would want me to pay. I remember him just laughing…his beautiful laugh…and he said, ‘Sweetheart, you’d be doing me the favor. I’ll pay you to take care of the place. Places like mine that are vacant a lot get broken into. They can do a lot of damage. Having you here would eliminate, or at least minimize, the risk.’”
I moved in the next weekend, five years ago, and it’s sort of been my home ever since. I still go out in the winter, teaching kids, stuff like that, but Charley’s generosity has allowed me to live almost like a regular human. But earlier today, I guess I was just feeling alone and sorry for myself. I’ve actually got it pretty good here, but….” Her voice trailed off.
“Thanks for that explanation. Charley really was a special, generous guy,” I said, and let my head fall back against the cushions for a moment. All of a sudden, Charley’s loss, his death, his murder, sunk in and hit me hard in the gut, or maybe the heart. I’d been letting my rage, my need for revenge, my concern, and probably my fear that I might be next, drown out my pain. He was my friend, and I was going to miss him, more than I’d allowed myself to think about before. I rubbed my suddenly moist eyes. Men aren’t supposed to cry–or are they?
I slowly gathered myself together to get up. It was time I moved on. Corky, who was watching me carefully, knelt down, kissed me very lightly on the cheek and pushed me back into the cushions.
“Rest a minute,” she said, “and let me fix us a bowl of soup before we try to figure out what happens next.” I was grateful.
The next thing I knew Corky had her arms under my shoulders tugging at me. “Greg, Greg,” she was saying, “Greg, wake up. You can’t just flake out here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered stupidly, “Got to figure out someplace to go.”
“It’s all figured,” Corky said, “and you’ll feel b
etter after a good hot shower.” She guided me into a sumptuous master bathroom and turned on the water in a king-sized shower with an impressive array of fixtures. I stood there, still groggy, fumbling at my shirt buttons. “Here,” she said, and quickly undid them.
“It’s nice being fussed over, but I’m not that far gone,” I protested feebly.
“Sit down,” she commanded. I sat on a stool, and she pulled off my shoes and socks. “There,” she said, pulling me up again with astonishing strength. “Now,” she said brusquely, “you’re sure you’re okay? You can finish undressing and get in the shower?” I nodded. “Here.” She handed me a voluminous bath towel and walked out.
I stumbled into the shower and stood there mesmerized by the flow of hot water over my weary body. At length, Corky’s voice reached me through the shower door and the rush of water. “Greg, are you okay? You’ve been in there an awfully long time.”
I mumbled something. There was a pause, and then the shower door opened. Corky stood there peering at me through the steam. Suddenly she shrugged off her kimono and stepped into the shower with me. I was momentarily stunned. Although I’d already figured out she had a nice, even sexy, body, seeing her nude was still a revelation. Corky was put together with far more elegant curves than I had imagined. In fact, she was breathtaking. The effect on me was both predictable and obvious. I smiled sheepishly and reddened. “Sorry, it’s been a long time, and you bring up…no pun intended…some nearly forgotten memories.”
Her silvery little giggle bubbled up again. She took my hand and cupped it over a firm, round breast. The nipple pressing against the palm of my hand was as hard and as delicate as a fresh, new rosebud. “You see, Greg,” her arms reached up to circle my neck, and press against me, “You have the same effect on me.”
Sometime later, as we were drifting off to sleep together, I remember thinking how strange it was that this day had been the worst and the best, the ugliest and most beautiful, in my entire life.
CHAPTER V
Aspen, Monday
The golden haze of sunrise was drifting through the curtains when I awoke. Corky was snuggled close to me, her head on my shoulder, her fingers entwined in the thick, crinkly mat of red hair on my chest, which I had always regarded as unromantic, great lovers in the movies invariably being as glabrous as eels. I gathered her to me, ran my hand down over the firm, supple contours of her back and buttocks and watched a dark, lustrous eye open lazily.
The sun was well above the mountains before we were ready to get up and face the day.
I sat up on the edge of the bed, wiggling my toes across the velvety thick carpet pile. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s bad?”
“Mostly,” I agreed, “except about you. Then I get to thinking about leaving, and that makes it worse.”
“I could go with you.”
I shook my head. As appealing as that sounded in many ways, I really didn’t want to be slowed down by a girl, even one as desirable as Corky, or to have another person to worry about.
“I’m very alert, agile, clever and well-spoken. All those nice things you said last night. I could help.” She was trying to make it sound light, but there was a huskiness in her voice.
I shook my head again. “No, it’s too dangerous.”
“I can be very helpful, and maybe if the bad guys are looking for you, it would throw them off if you’re traveling with a woman.”
Her argument did make some sense, but I figured I could take care of myself pretty easily; taking care of her would be more difficult if we encountered “the bad guys.”
“You’re making it very hard on me,” I protested.
“Oh, I hope so.” She lowered her eyes demurely, and I had to laugh. I got up and started toward the shower. “Greg,” she called after me, “Did I tell you you’re a beautiful man.?”
“Now I know you’re kidding. You dig those sun-tanned golden boys with chests as smooth as baby’s bottoms.”
“My mythical Dr. Gregory!” She cocked her head and gave an alluring smile, “but now I’m getting into crinkly red hair and freckles.”
I went into the shower laughing softly to myself, but reeling, feeling a little off balance over the intensity of my feelings for Corky and the speed with which they developed. I was used to doing things, including what almost seemed like starting to fall in love, in a methodical, logical, orderly, systematic way. Okay, so it didn’t work out so well last time…and I’d had a bit of a dry spell since Helen left. But, this was so atypical. I was a cautious man. Even though I’d had a few casual one night stands, or in a couple of cases, several nights, with no long-term emotional attachments or regrets, this seemed different. This felt different. Nevertheless, this…whatever the hell this was…made no sense. Perhaps it was but a momentary short-lived happening, brought about by our shared loss. But the thought of leaving her brought on the same dull, aching pain in my gut I’d experienced when Helen first announced she was leaving, despite the numerous warning signs I should have noticed.
The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous this quick “romance” seemed. By the time I finished dressing, I’d arrived at a decision. Too much was at stake to get bogged down in an impossible relationship, no matter how “right” it felt last night.
The coffee was perking, orange juice was on the counter, and the bacon was sizzling. Outside the big window facing the ski slope, a couple of hundred yards away, one of the chair lifts was running, taking tourists to the mountain tops for wild flowers and views. “Don’t you feel a little like a goldfish in here when the slopes are crowded?” I asked, wanting to delay the moment when I announced my decision.
“At first,” Corky admitted, “but it’s a one-way mirrored glass for sun control. You can’t imagine how bright it would be in here in the winter with the sun reflecting off the snow. It’s kind of fun when you get used to the idea that you can just stand here people-watching and the people can’t watch you.”
A powerful telescope with a zoom lens stood in front of the window mounted on a tripod. This must be about as close as Charley got to skiing, I thought, imagining him at the telescope following someone young and vibrant, unreachable…Corky maybe…far, far, up the mountain, hurtling down the slopes in exuberant swooping curves.
I put my eye to the scope and zoomed in on the foot of the lift. “Corky,” I steadied my voice, “are you sure we can see out and people out there can’t see in?”
“Sure I’m sure. Why?”
“Because I’m looking straight into the lenses of a big black pair of binoculars in the hands of a big black guy who looks like he’s looking straight back at me. He’s sitting with his elbows propped up to steady his glass at one of the outdoor tables at the refreshment stand.”
“There are a lot of tourists who like to try to see how us rich folks live it up,” Corky offered in a belittling tone, but also with a hint of uncertainty.
“This is no tourist.”
“Is he…?”
“I’m almost sure he is.”
“Shall I call the cops?”
“I suppose so…No…wait. It’s more complicated than that…let me think a minute. If he really can’t see in and doesn’t know I’m here, then they still don’t know who I am or where I am. If we call the cops, it will blow my cover, and that’s the one thing I’ve got going for me.”
“Who do you think ‘they’ are,” Corky asked, bringing me a cup of coffee.
“Some organization that plays, as Charley put it, with nine-digit numbers, signifying dollars. You can be sure that punk out there hasn’t got a clue who really hired him. If we turn him in, it will just tip the only hand I’ve got. I’ve got to figure out how to start at the top of this game, not the bottom.”
“Well, eat your breakfast while you’re mulling it over,” Corky pushed a plate of food in front of me. “It’s tough to be a secret agent on an empty stomach,” she said in a mocking tone.
I followed Corky’s advice and wolfed down th
e eggs and bacon. This changed everything. In my decision to leave her here, in addition to me walking away from some feelings I couldn’t understand or explain, I had calculated that it was also for her safety. She wouldn’t be exposed to those who were trying to kill me. Now it was clear, she would be in more danger here. I simply couldn’t leave her alone. I didn’t know if they’d tracked me down, or simply were here because it was Charley’s condo. But I no longer had any choice.
“Corky,” I said, “pack a bag.”
She flung her arms around my neck and kissed me exuberantly, spilling my coffee in the process.
I took her by the shoulders, held her at arm’s length and shook her gently. “Corky, it’s not a picnic, and this won’t be a pleasure trip. People are getting killed. And more, including me, are obviously still on someone’s hit list. The trouble is, it’s more dangerous for you to stay here than to go with me. If that guy up there convinces himself that you are here alone, he’s going to find a way to get to you. He probably has the keys they took from Charley. Why else is he here? He doesn’t know about me.”
“Why me, Greg?”
“To search the house and find out how much you know about Charley and his mysterious game. And, Corky, that guy’s way of finding out what you know, even if you don’t know anything, might not be very pretty.”
Corky shuddered and looked out toward the lift. “He’s still sitting there.”
“Good, let’s get moving. The problem is, how do we smuggle ourselves out of here. He’s got the entrance covered, and your van is in plain sight.”
“Why don’t we just go down to the garage, get in one of Charley’s cars and drive out through the service court in back?”
“That might make it too easy.” I grinned sheepishly, not having noticed the spiral stair in the entrance hall leading down to the garage. It also led upward to an interior balcony along the north wall from which the doors to several guest rooms opened.
Corky ran up the stairs. “I’ll pack a bag,” she called down. “Oh, Greg,” she added, “there are several books lying around with library call numbers on the spines. Would you get them together? They’ve got to go back.”
