She got out of the cab in front of the large apartment building. The doorman held the door for her while she paid the driver and got out of the cab. “Mr. Ostere’s apartment.”
There was a knowing look in his eyes. “Penthouse D, seventeenth floor.”
The elevator-operator had the same look in his eyes as he took her up. “To your left,” he said, holding the door for her.
She heard the elevator door close behind her as she pressed the buzzer. The door opened. A man in full evening dress looked out at her.
“Mr. Ostere?” she asked. “I’m Marja Flood.”
The man’s face was cold. “Come in,” he said formally. “I’ll tell Mr. Ostere you’re here.”
She waited in the foyer. The man disappeared and returned in a moment, followed by a shorter man. This man wore a dark business suit.
He came up to her, his hand outstretched. “I’m Jack Ostere,” he said smiling.
He stepped back and looked at her. “Hell!” he exclaimed dramatically. “Joker was right for once in his life. You are beautiful.”
A pleased smile crossed her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Ostere,” she said.
“Make it Jack,” he answered quickly. “Come inside and let me fix you a drink before the others get here.” He took her arm and steered her into the largest living-room she had ever seen.
He paused before a small portable bar on wheels. “What will it be? Manhattan? Martini?”
“Coke?” she questioned hesitantly.
He wrinkled his brow quizzically, then smiled. “As you wish.” He turned and pulled a cord near the wall.
The butler appeared almost immediately. “Yes, sir?”
“Jordan, a Coke for Miss Flood,” Ostere said.
The butler’s face was impassive. “Yes, sir,” he said, turning away.
“With lots of ice,” Marja said.
The butler looked at her. “With lots of ice, ma’am.” He left the room.
Marja turned to her host. “I hope I wasn’t too early. Joker told me to come right over.”
Ostere had poured some whisky over ice. He held the glass toward her. “No one as pretty as you could ever be too early, Marja.”
A chime sounded in the apartment. “Please excuse me,” Ostere apologised. “Some of my guests are arriving and I must greet them.”
The butler brought Marja her Coke, and she looked around the room quickly. It must have been forty feet long, and at one end were high French windows that opened onto a terrace.
Her host came bustling back into the room with the new arrivals. Marja’s eyes widened.
One of the girls was a movie star whom she had seen many times on the screen at the RKO 86th Street Theatre. And one of the men was a newspaper columnist whose column she often read in the morning paper.
Before Ostere had finished the introductions, the chime rang again and he hurried off to welcome other guests. Marja’s eyes were wide. Even though she did not recognise all the names, they had the familiar ring of the daily paper.
She was quiet and shy most of the time, for she did not know what to say to people like these. From the conversation she gathered that Ostere was a rich man who often dabbled in backing plays.
He was a kind host, however, for though he circulated freely throughout the room talking to his guests, every few minutes he would appear at her side to see that she was happy and comfortable. She liked him. He was such a nice, busy little man.
Once the columnist got her in a corner and asked her what she did for a living. At first she didn’t know what to say to him. Then it came to her.
“I’m a dancer,” she answered. It was near enough to the truth.
Ostere appeared suddenly beside them and smiled approvingly at her reply.
“Where do you work?” the columnist persisted. “I’ll give you a plug in the column.”
“I’m not ready for that yet,” she said, smiling. “But I’ll count on you remembering that when I am.”
The columnist had already had a few drinks and was slightly loaded. He knew what kind of girl Ostere usually had around him on evenings like this. He wanted to make her uncomfortable. “Let’s see you dance,” he said nastily. “I don’t believe you.”
A silence fell around the room at his words. They looked at Marja curiously, waiting for her reaction. Ostere’s girls were no secret.
Marja kept her eyes wide as she answered. “I’d love to,” she said. “But unfortunately I can’t right now. You see, I suffer from a dancer’s occupational hazard at the moment.”
“What occupational hazard?” the columnist spoke loudly, almost triumphantly. “I never heard of any.”
“You don’t know very much, do you?” Marja asked sweetly. “Didn’t you ever hear of sore feet?”
The gust of laughter that swept the room eased the tension, and Ostere patted her shoulder and whispered: “Good girl.”
The guests began to leave about two-thirty, and by three o’clock Marja and Ostere were alone again. He sank into a chair and looked at her. “I’m glad that’s over for this week,” he exclaimed.
She was puzzled. “If you don’t like it, why do you do it?”
He smiled. “I must, my dear. It’s business. Besides, they would be disappointed if I didn’t. It’s become a weekly custom.”
“You mean this happens every week?” she asked.
He nodded. “New York wouldn’t be the same without Tuesday midnight at Jack Ostere’s.” His voice held a note of pride.
She shook her head. It was beyond her. She didn’t see what difference it made whether anybody came or not. “It’s time I was going, Mr. Ostere.” she said, suddenly reverting to formality.
He looked up with what he thought was an appealing expression. “Must you go?” he asked archly. “I’ve got lots of room here.”
Her eyes were cold. “I have to, Mr. Ostere. My father’s waiting up for me.”
He jumped to his feet. “Of course,” he said. “I should have realised.” He reached into his pocket for a bill, which he pressed into her hand.
She didn’t look at it. “Thank you very much, Mr. Ostere,” she said, holding out her hand. “I had a very good time.”
He pressed her hand. “I enjoyed having you here, my dear. I hope you’ll come again. Next week, maybe.”
She hesitated. “I can’t say. I’d have to check with Mr. Martin.”
He smiled as he walked her to the door. “Don’t worry about Joker. I’ll talk to him.”
“Good night, Mr. Ostere.”
“Good night, Marja.”
The elevator door opened and she stepped into the car. She waved at Ostere, still standing in the doorway, and the elevator door closed on his answering smile. It wasn’t until then that she peeked at the bill tightly clutched in her left hand.
A gasp of surprise parted her lips. It was twenty dollars—as much as she made in a whole week’s work. She slipped it into her purse quickly, wondering whether he had made a mistake.
The doorman’s face held an expression of surprise when she came out of the building. “Cab, ma’am?” he asked.
She stared at him for a moment. Then she shrugged her shoulders. Why not? She was loaded.
Chapter Eighteen
IT WAS THREE-THIRTY when the cab stopped in front of her door. She got out and started up the steps.
“Marja!” A figure stepped from the shadows near the doorway.
“Mike! What are you doing here?”
His voice was unhappy. “I was waiting for yuh. I was worried. Are you all right?”
She lit a cigarette. The match flared, illuminating her face briefly. “I’m okay.”
“I waited down at the Golden Glow until half-past twelve,” he said, his voice growing unhappier. “Then I asked an’ they told me you left early. I came here thinking you weren’t feeling well, but your father said you hadn’t come home yet.”
“You didn’t have to wait,” she said quickly. “I went to a party.”
“Where?�
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“Jack Ostere’s,” she answered without thinking. “You don’t know him,” she added.
“How come?” he asked.
“Joker asked me to go.”
His voice was low. “I don’t like it.”
“Why not?” She was annoyed and her voice betrayed it.
“I just don’t like you doing it, that’s all,” he said. “He’s got no right sending you out on things like that.”
She was angry now. “Nobody asked you what you thought,” she flared.
His voice was stubborn. “You shouldn’ ’ve gone.”
“If you didn’t hang aroun’ spyin’ on me,” she said angrily, “you never would’ve known.”
“I’m not spying on you, Marja,” he said in a hurt, low voice. “I was scared something might have happened to you.”
Her voice was cold. “Now that you see I’m okay, you can go home. Yuh’re beginnin’ to bother me!” She ran up the steps into the hall, leaving him standing in the street looking after her.
He stood there a moment. Then, a strange sadness in him, he turned and began to walk home. There were times when he felt that he didn’t know her at all.
Peter was sitting at the table, the inevitable can of beer in front of him. He looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “Where you been?” he asked.
“Workin’,” she answered briefly.
His eyes took in her dress. “Your boy frien’, he says you left early. You didn’t come home.”
She didn’t answer, but started through the kitchen to her room. He was out of his chair quickly, blocking her path. “Where you been in that dress?”
She stared into his eyes levelly. “Workin’, I said.”
His hands gripped her shoulders. “Like that?”
“This is my working clothes,” she answered. “I was too tired to change, so I came home in them.” She tried to shake off his grip. “Lay off. I gotta return it tomorrow. It ain’t mine.”
His hand fell from her shoulder swiftly. Before she could stop him, he had opened her purse and spilled its contents on the table. The twenty-dollar bill lay on top of the pile. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. “Where’d you get this?”
She stared at him. “It was a tip.”
“They don’t give tips like this for just dancing,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
His hand lashed out. “Slut!”
She spun half round and stumbled against the wall, a white blotch on her face. The snap of her shoulder strap opened and her dress began to fall. She clutched it to her breast.
His voice was harsh. “I told your mother what you were, but she didn’t believe me. It’s a good thing she’s not here to see this.”
Her voice was expressionless. “Good for you, you mean.”
His hand began to pull the belt from around his waist. He moved toward her menacingly.
She ducked around him and pulled a sharp meat knife from the table drawer. She held it, its gleaming edge pointing viciously at his face. Her teeth drew back over her lips in a snarl. “Come on!” she taunted. “Try somethin’!”
He stared at the knife, then at her. Her eyes were flaming with hate. He stepped back. “Marja! you don’t know what you’re doin’!”
She grinned. “Wanna bet?”
He took a deep breath. The girl was mad. Cautiously he backed away from her. “Okay, okay,” he said anxiously.
“The money.” Her eyes were still on his face.
He tossed the twenty-dollar bill on the table. She shovelled it quickly into her bag along with the other things.
Her face was still and grim. “If yuh ever come near me,” she said in a low, deadly voice, “or try to touch me, so help me God, I’ll kill yuh.”
He didn’t answer. He had no doubt that she meant every word she said. Her door closed behind her, and he turned to the icebox with a suddenly trembling hand.
Marja leaned her back against the closed door and shut her eyes. It was as if a thousand years had passed since her mother had died, yet it was only a little more than a month. She opened her eyes and looked down at the knife she held in her hand.
A cold chill ran through her and she shuddered convulsively. She dropped the knife on the bed and began to undress. She didn’t notice it again until she was about to get into bed. Then, thoughtfully she slipped it under the corner of her mattress. She never went to bed after that without checking first to see that it was there.
Chapter Nineteen
FROM THAT TIME on, she went where Joker sent her. Gradually she came to trust him. She never had trouble with any of the men she met. They were more respectful to her than the boys in school.
The boys were always ganging up on her and grabbing at her. She didn’t mind them. She felt superior in many ways to the children in school around her. What did they know of what was going in in the world?
She began to see Mike less and less as the winter wore on. Several times she made dates with him and then had to break them because Joker had a job for her. Since the night he had waited at her house, he had stopped waiting for her at the dance hall. Then one evening she was called to the ’phone at the dance hall.
“Hello,” she said into the speaker.
“Marja?” the familiar voice spoke in her ear. “It’s Mike.”
A sudden warmth came into her. She hadn’t realised until this minute how much she had missed him. She smiled into the phone. “How are yuh, Mike?”
“Fine,” he answered. “And you?”
“Okay,” she answered.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, “but I’ve been busy up at school.”
“I’m glad you called, Mike,” she said softly. “I missed you.”
His voice was suddenly light and happy. “You did?”
“Honest, Mike.”
“Meet me when you get through work?” he asked.
“Sure,” she answered quickly.
“Downstairs. Same place. First car off the corner,” he said quickly.
“Okay.”
“Marja?” He hesitated.
“What, Mike?”
“You won’t stand me up this time?” he pleaded.
“I’ll be there, Mike,” she said as she put down the telephone.
He was leaning against a car when she came out. He straightened up as she walked toward him. She looked up into his face. He seemed tired and thin. “Hi,” she said.
A crooked smile split his face. “Hi.”
They stood there staring at each other for a moment. Marja broke the silence. “Aren’t you gonna ask me for a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” he said. “You took the words outta my mouth.”
She started toward the drugstore, but he took her arm and steered her to a restaurant nearby. They entered and sat down at a table.
She looked down at the white tablecloth. “Boy, we’re livin’.”
He grinned. “Nothin’ but the best.”
But she noticed he was careful in ordering. “What you been doin’?” she asked.
“Nothin’ much,” he answered. “School. Studying. Working.”
“You lost weight,” she said.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I was getting too heavy, anyway.”
The waiter put the coffee and buns in front of them. She took a sip of coffee and waited for him to speak.
“How is little Peter?” he asked.
“Fine.” She smiled. “He’s walking and beginning to talk. He calls me ‘Ja-Ja’.” She noticed he didn’t ask about her stepfather.
“How’s the job going?” he asked.
“Okay,” she answered.
He was silent as he watched her drink the coffee, but he didn’t touch the cup in front of him. “You’re not drinkin’ your coffee,” she said.
“I’m not hungry,” he answered. He got to his feet abruptly, throwing a bill on the table. “C’mon, let’s go.”
She followed him out into the street. “What’s wrong, Mike?”
&n
bsp; He looked into her face. “I got a message for yuh,” he said expressionlessly.
She was puzzled. “For me?”
He nodded. “From Ross. He said to tell yuh he’ll be home next month.”
Her hand fell from his arm. “Is that why you called me? To give me a message?”
He didn’t answer. His face was grim.
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked sarcastically. “Do somersaults?”
He was still quiet.
She stopped. He took two steps before he realised she wasn’t with him. “What?” he asked in a puzzled tone.
“Okay, so I got the message,” she said in a cold voice. “Thanks.”
“He still thinks you’re his girl,” he said.
Her eyes were wide in the night. “What do you think?”
He stood there miserably. “I don’t know what to think. He seems so sure of himself.”
She backed into a dark doorway. “Mike,” she said.
“Yes?”
“C’mere, Mike.”
He followed her into the doorway. She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled his face down to her. She kissed him. At first he stood frozen, then his arms tightened and pulled her close to him. They stood there for moments while rockets exploded in his brain.
Finally she drew back. All her body was tingling from the tightness of his embrace. “Now what do you think, Mike?”
“But you never said anything,” he said confusedly. “You didn’t act like you wanted to see me. Like the last time you stood me up. I waited over an hour for you to show up, but you didn’t.”
Her eyes were green in the night and glowed like a cat’s. “I gotta work, Mike. I need the dough. You know that.”
“There’s just so much you can do for money,” he said.
She shook her head. “I don’t do anything wrong. I just want enough so I don’t have to live like my mother did. I saw what happened to her.”
79 Park Avenue Page 12
