79 Park Avenue

by Harold Robbins

  The man seemed flustered. “N-no,” he stammered. “But—”

  “Then why add the overhead?” She smiled. “You don’t have to spend money on me.”

  He cleared his throat, drawing himself up as if hoping to appear a man of the world. “Er-ah, how much?”

  “Ten dollars,” she said quickly, watching him carefully, ready to come down in price if he seemed to baulk.

  “Okay,” he said.

  She smiled and took his arm. Together they walked up the stairs and out into the street. She led him toward the hotel. “There’s nothing like snow in the winter,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “But it’s no good in the city. Everything gets all slopped up. You can’t do anything.”

  He ventured a joke. “I’m doin’ okay.”

  She laughed and held his arm tighter. He wasn’t so dumb. They were near the hotel now. She took her hand from his arm. “I’m goin’ in here,” she said. “Give me five minutes, then come up to room 209, second floor. Room 209. Got it?”

  He nodded. “Two-oh-nine. Five minutes.”

  She was wearing a kimona when the knock came at the door. Quickly she crossed the room and opened it. The man stood there hesitantly. “Come in,” she said.

  He entered slowly and stood in the middle of the room as she closed and locked the door. She turned toward him. “Your coat,” she said.

  “Oh, yes.” He shrugged off his coat and handed it to her. She put it on a hanger and hung it on the door. When she turned back, he already had his jacket off and was loosening his tie.

  She smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. her legs swinging. He watched her as he took off his shirt. Muscles rippled in his shoulders. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Mary,” she answered.

  “How come you’re doin’ this, Mary?” he asked. “You seem like too nice a girl—”

  A bored look crossed her face. They all had the same question. Sometimes she thought they came more for the story than for anything else. She shrugged her shoulders. “A girl’s gotta eat,” she said.

  He started to loosen his belt.

  “Haven’t you forgot something?” she asked.

  He looked startled. Then understanding came to him. “Yeah,” he said, putting his hand in his pocket. He held a bill toward her.

  She put it in her pocketbook on the dresser. Then she threw off the kimona and went back to the bed. Completely nude, she stretched out and looked at him.

  He was standing there, his trousers still on, staring at her.

  “Come on,” she said. “What’re yuh waitin’ for?”

  He ran his tongue over his lips. Slowly his hand went into his pocket again and came out with a small black leather wallet. He flipped it open. The sparkling silver of a badge gleamed at her. He turned his face away. “Detective Millersen. Vice Squad,” he said. “You’re under arrest. Get dressed.”

  She sat up quickly, her heart pounding inside her. It had to happen sometime. She had always known it. But not so soon.

  She forced a smile to her lips. “My mistake, officer,” she said. “This one’ll be on the house.”

  He shook his head. “Get dressed.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “You’re pretty good-lookin’ for a cop,” she said, coming near him.

  He walked away and planted himself in front of the door. He was already putting on his shirt. “No use tryin’, sister,” he said stolidly. “Might as well get your clothes on.”

  Slowly she began to dress. “What’s the rap for this?” she asked.

  “This the first offence?”

  She nodded, trying to fasten the hook in the back of her dress. Her fingers were trembling so that she couldn’t make it. “Be a good felluh, will yuh?” she asked. “See if yuh could forget that badge long enough to hook this for me?”

  He came around behind her and hooked the dress. “Thirty days,” he said.

  “Thirty days for what?” she said, for she had already forgotten her question.

  “Thirty days for a first offence,” he said, going back to the door.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed. “What day is this?”

  “February 27,” he answered.

  She opened the closet and took out her coat. “There goes the month of March.” She turned to him. “Have I got a few minutes to pack my things? You know these flea bags. Thirty days from now I’ll never get my clothes back.”

  He nodded. “Okay, but snap it up.”

  He watched as she took a valise from the closet. There wasn’t very much to pack. It all fitted into the valise. She snapped the lid down and turned to him. “I’m ready now. Thanks.”

  He opened the door and followed her out of the room. She looked up into his face as she crossed the threshold. “There must be an easier way to make a living,” she said.

  His eyes widened with a sudden respect. The girl had guts. He nodded sombrely. “There must be.”

  She took his arm as if they were old friends going for a stroll. Her voice was low and husky. “For both of us, I mean.”

  The State vs. Maryann Flood.

  I WALKED SLOWLY past the jurors. Their eyes followed me with interest as I went up to the judge to answer Vito’s motion for dismissal before he presented his case. I hoped they could hear me despite the fact that I spoke in a low voice.

  “There are two things to remember in any court of justice. They are moral guilt and legal guilt. We can punish only for that we find legally guilty. But it is seldom in any court of justice that we find both moral and legal guilt so close together.

  “We have carefully presented to the court and jury the accusations against the defendant. We have carefully documented them with facts and evidence and witness. We have presented the State’s case without dramatics, without flim-flam, and with a deep sense of responsibility to all the parties concerned. We have done our duty without fear or favour, and in so doing have created a structure of guilt that encompasses and incriminates the defendant.

  “The people of the State of New York look to you for justice. Justice, for now, will be served by denying the motion of the defendant!”

  I walked slowly away from the bench and stopped midway across the court. I heard the judge’s voice over my shoulder:

  “Motion denied.”

  Instantly pandemonium broke loose. Behind me reporters were running up the aisles to get the news to their papers. The judge banged his gavel. At last he could make himself heard over the uproar.

  “The court will adjourn until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  I was soaking wet when I walked into my office and sank into a chair.

  Joel and Alec were right behind me. “You need a drink, man,” Joel said, studying me.

  I nodded and closed my eyes. I needed more than that. I didn’t know how I would get through the next two weeks of the trial while Vito presented his case. I felt as if I had no strength left in me.

  “Here,” Joel said.

  I opened my eyes, took the glass from him, and threw the liquor down my throat. It burned all the way down to my gut. I coughed.

  “Hundred-proof bourbon,” he said.

  I looked up at him. “Thank God that’s over,” I said fervently.

  Alec grinned. “You were good. Real good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but you don’t have to say it. I know just how bad I was.”

  “You weren’t bad at all,” a new voice said.

  We turned to the doorway in surprise. I scrambled to my feet. “Chief!”

  He was smiling as he came into the room. “Pretty good, I would say.”

  Alec and Joel exchanged glances. These were the highest words of praise they had ever heard from the Old Man.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  He held up his hand. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “It isn’t over yet. Vito still has his chance. It’s never over until the jury comes back.”

  I pulled a chair out for the Old Man. He sat down carefully
. It was the first time he had come to the office since the operation.

  “You’re looking very well, sir,” Joel said. I glanced at him quickly. He was right back in the groove. Politics as usual.

  The Old Man took it in his stride. “I feel pretty good,” he said. He took out a package of cigarettes and put one in his mouth. Alec almost broke a finger beating Joel with the light.

  I smiled to myself. Normalcy had returned in a hurry. I was beginning to feel better. Maybe it was the whisky warming my stomach.

  The Old Man turned to me. “What do you think Vito will do?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, sir.”

  “I don’t like the way he looks,” the Old Man said. “He’s sitting too easy.”

  “Vito always looks like that, whether he’s got something or not,” Joel broke in quickly.

  The Old Man shot him a withering glance. “I’ve known Hank Vito for almost twenty years. I can tell when he’s acting. He’s not acting this time. He’s got something up his sleeve.” He took a puff on his cigarette. “I’d give another appendix to know what he’s sitting on.”

  We sat around silently for a moment, each trying to think of some possibility that we had overlooked.

  At last the Old Man got to his feet. “Well,” he said heavily. “I don’t think we’ll have long to wait. He’ll probably hit us with it first thing in the morning.”

  “What makes you think that, sir?” Joel asked.

  The Old Man walked to the door and looked back at us. “He didn’t subpoena any witnesses for tomorrow. Not a solitary one.”

  The rest of us looked at one another in amazement. It was Alec who drew the first breath. The Old Man’s statement had caught us flatfooted.

  He looked shrewdly at the three of us. “If any of you guys had been on your toes, you would have checked before you left the courtroom.” He disappeared into the corridor.

  It was Joel who gave voice to our grudging admiration. “Leave it to the old devil,” he said affectionately. “He may be old, but he doesn’t miss a trick.”

  I stayed at the office until after eleven o’clock that night going over the case. I did everything. Checked the data we had on his witnesses. Matched the questions he had asked the State’s witnesses. Nowhere in any of the information I had could I find a pattern that indicated his course of action. At last I closed my desk and took my hat and coat from the clothes tree.

  I was tired, but I wasn’t sleepy. It was raw cold out, but I decided to walk a bit, hoping the fresh air would clear my head. I headed up Broadway.

  Down here Broadway was a dark and deserted street. For uptown I could see the haze of lights that Times Square threw vividly upward. But here the office buildings loomed large and black with night. Only occasional lights where cleaning women were working flickered sporadically.

  I turned up my coat collar to stave off the wind and began to walk briskly. I had gone almost four blocks when I noticed an automobile idling slowly along the street beside me. I glanced at it curiously, but couldn’t see into it. It was too dark.

  I kept walking, busy with my thoughts. When I reached the next corner the car cut in front of me. I jumped back onto the kerb, swearing.

  A low burst of laughter reached my ears. It was a familiar laugh. I put my hand on the front door of the car and opened it.

  She was seated behind the wheel. In the dim light of the dash I could see the white reflection of her teeth. “Hello, Mike,” she said in a husky voice.

  “Marja!” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. I stood frozen to the kerb.

  “Get in,” she said. “I’ll give you a lift.”

  I hesitated a moment, then got into the car. She put it into gear immediately and the car moved off. I kept staring at her.

  At the next corner a traffic signal brought the big car to a stop. She turned and looked at me. “You work pretty late,” she said. “I’ve been parked outside your office since six o’clock.”

  “Why didn’t you let me know?” I said sarcastically. “I wouldn’t have kept you waiting.”

  “Uh-oh,” she said, starting the car again. “The man is mad.”

  I took a cigarette and lit it. In the light from the match her hair was almost white. There was a quiet smile on her lips. She drove silently with casual carelessness.

  After a while she spoke. “You were very good today, Mike.” It was almost as if she were not on trial.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She turned the car into a side street, pulled over to the kerb, and cut the ignition. From somewhere she pulled a cigarette. I held a match for her.

  Her eyes searched mine over the flame. “It’s been a long time, Mike.”

  I nodded. “I’ve heard those words before—I think.”

  The match flickered out, but not before I saw a strange hurt leap into her eyes. There was a gladness in me. I hadn’t believed anyone had the power to hurt her.

  She put her hand on mine. “Let’s not fight, Mike.” Her voice was gentle.

  “What do you think we’ve been doing ever since this trial began?” I asked angrily. “This isn’t a game we’re playing.”

  Her eyes stared into mine over the glow of the cigarettes. “That’s something else, Mike. It’s got nothing to do with us personally.”

  I could feel the drag in those eyes. I began to swim dizzily in their depths. Things hadn’t changed a bit. I leaned forward and kissed her.

  Her mouth was soft and warm. I could feel the pressure of her teeth behind her lips. I felt an instant passion surging in me. I pulled my mouth away from her. This was crazy.

  Her eyes were still closed. “Mike,” she whispered. Her hand sought mine and held it tightly. “Why did this have to happen to us?”

  I dragged on my cigarette. “I don’t know,” I said harshly. “I’ve wondered many times myself.”

  Her eyes opened slowly. Never had they seemed so gentle as now. They looked straight into mine. “Thanks, Mike,” she said softly. “I was afraid you had changed.”

  I didn’t answer.

  After a minute she spoke again. “How’re your folks?”

  I didn’t look at her. “Pa died two years ago. Heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry, Mike,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.” She dragged on her cigarette. “And your mother?”

  I looked at her quickly, wondering if she was aware of how my mother felt about her. I looked away again. Of course not. How could she be? “Ma’s okay. She’s in the country right now. I expect her home in a couple of weeks.”

  We fell silent again. Our cigarettes burned down and I tossed mine out the window. We seemed to have run out of conversation. “I hear you have a daughter,” I said.

  A smile came to her lips. “Yes.”

  “She must be very pretty,” I said. “Any child of yours would have to be.”

  A strange look came into her eyes. Her voice was very quiet. “She is.”

  Again silence descended upon us. There were a million things to say to her, a thousand questions I wanted to ask, but my tongue was frozen with time and circumstance. I cleared my throat.

  “Yes, Mike?” she asked.

  I looked at her. “I didn’t say anything,” I said awkwardly.

  “Oh,” she said.

  A police car came down the block and flashed its lights into our car. I fought an impulse to raise my hand and cover my face, but it kept on going.

  I turned to her. “This was a crazy thing to do,” I said.

  She smiled. “I like crazy things.”

  “I don’t,” I said. “That was always one of the differences between us.”

  “Don’t preach, Mike,” she said quietly. “I’ve heard enough of that the last few weeks.”

  I stared at her. “Why, Marja? Why?”

  Her eyes met mine levelly. She shrugged her shoulders. “It happened.”

  “But why couldn’t it be two other people, Marja? Why did it have to be us?”

  She didn’t answ
er.

  I reached forward and turned the ignition key angrily. “Let’s go,” I said.

  Obediently she started the car. We moved out into the street. “Where to?” she asked.

  “You can drop me on Broadway and Canal,” I said. “I can get a cab there.”

  “Okay.”

  A few minutes later we were there and she pulled to the kerb. I opened the door and was halfway out of the car before she spoke. I stopped and looked back at her. There was a reflection from the light in the window of the store on the corner. It threw wild highlights on her face—the high cheekbones, wide mouth, and delicately-flaring nostrils.

  “I wish it had been two other people, Mike,” she said.

  There was an ache inside me. “It’s too late now.”

  She took a deep breath. “Not for one thing, Mike.”

  I stared at her. “What?”

  She leaned forward swiftly and her lips brushed my cheek. “I love you, Mike,” she whispered. “It’s always been you. No matter what happened. I just didn’t know any better.”

  Then the car was off in a roar of the motor and I was standing on the corner looking after it. Its tail-light vanished around a corner and I began to walk toward the cab stand.

  I could still feel the light pressure of her lips, and the perfume she used clung to my nostrils. I didn’t understand. I would never understand. The more I knew her, the less I knew her.

  That time during the war, for instance. There had been a wonderful weekend. She was for me then—I knew it, I could feel it. But she had gone away with Ross. I rubbed the broken bridge of my nose reflectively. I didn’t need a greater reminder. Ross had done that.

  I got into a cab and gave the driver my address, then settled back in the seat. So many years. So many things had changed. Ross was dead. Nothing was the same any more.

  I took a deep breath. Nothing—except the way I felt about her.

  BOOK THREE: MARYANN

  Chapter One

  THE SHOESHINE BOY was waiting when Henry Vito got to his office. He came in briskly, threw his coat on the small leather sofa, and sat down behind his desk. He put his foot on the shine box. “Good morning, Tony,” he said, reaching for the stack of papers on his desk.