79 Park Avenue

by Harold Robbins

  He grinned. “Thank you.” He held up his own glass. “To the most fascinating client an attorney ever had the good fortune to serve.”

  “Thank you.” She put down her drink and walked toward the bedroom. “How shall I dress? Where are we going?”

  He followed her to her bedroom door and stood looking at her. “Dress it up,” he said. “We’re going to the Shelton Club. I have to meet a client.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “The Shelton Club—we’re really livin’.”

  “Nothing but the best,” he said, grinning.

  She slipped out of her housecoat and sat down in front of a vanity table. He caught his breath, she had done it so casually. She wore nothing but a strapless brassiere, panties, and long silk stockings that were secured to a tiny garter belt around her waist. She glanced at him mischievously. “Excuse the working clothes.”

  He held his hands in front of his eyes. “I’ll be all right in a minute,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not used to women.”

  She laughed as she began to put on make-up. “You’re nice, Hank, I like you.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  She turned to him. “I mean it. There are very few men I do like. They’re mostly animals.”

  His face was suddenly serious. She ought to know better than most. “I hope we can be friends,” he said.

  Her eyes were wise. “I hope so,” she said candidly, “but I doubt it.”

  He was surprised. “Why?”

  She got to her feet and turned toward him. An indefinable change had come over her. He felt a pulse beating in his temple. In the soft light of the room she seemed suddenly to have turned into an erotic statue; her breasts were full and thrusting, the curve of her belly warm and inviting, her legs like long-stemmed flowers. His mouth was suddenly dry. He held his glass to his mouth, but did not drink from it. He just wanted the cold moistness against his lips. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  A half-smile came to her lips. “Am I?” she asked. “Not really. My legs are too long, my bust too full, my shoulders too broad, my eyes too big, my chin too square, my cheekbones too high, my mouth too wide. Everything’s wrong, according to the fashion. Yet you say I’m beautiful.”

  “You are,” he said.

  Her eyes stared through him. “You mean something else, not beauty, don’t you?”

  “What else is the measure of beauty?” he asked.

  The smile disappeared from her lips. “That’s what I mean. That’s why I doubt we can be friends. It always comes to that.”

  He smiled at her. “I know you,” he said softly. “You don’t want it any other way. It’s your only weapon. It’s your only way to be equal.”

  She stared at him a moment, then sat down again at the vanity table. She picked up a powder-puff and offered it to him. “Powder my back,” she said. “Maybe you’ll be different from all the others. You’re smarter.”

  He stared at the powder-puff for a moment, then turned away. “If we’re goin’ to be friends,” he said, “powder your own back. I’m only human.”

  When she came out of the bedroom he got to his feet and whistled. She wore a simple off-the-shoulder dress of gold lamé that clung lightly to her figure and fell to her calf. Sheer silk stockings and gold shoes. In her ears she wore tiny heart-shaped gold earrings, and around her throat a single large topaz-like stone hung on a gold-mesh chain. Her hair was white-blonde and shimmering against the yellow gold of her costume.

  She smiled at him. “You like?”

  He nodded. “Fabulous!”

  She brought his coat from the closet and draped a light-coloured mink scarf around her shoulders.

  “Ready?” he asked, smiling. Ross’s eyes would pop out.

  “Always ready,” she replied.

  As they started for the door, the telephone began to ring. He stopped and looked at her. “Don’t you want to answer it?” he asked.

  Her eyes met his. “My answering-service will get it. It’s probably a client who doesn’t know I’m taking a night off.”

  They sat back in the cab and he gave the driver the destination. She put her hand through his arm. The light scent of her perfume came to him.

  “What do you want out of life, Maryann?” he asked.

  The darkness hid her eyes from him as she spoke. “Everybody asks the same question. Do you want the stock answer or the truth?”

  “The truth, if we’re to be friends,” he said.

  “The same thing that everyone else wants,” she said. “Love. A home. Family. Security. Marriage. I’m no different from any other girl.”

  He hesitated. “But—” he started to say.

  She interrupted him. “I’m a whore, you were going to say.”

  It was as if she picked the thought from his mind. He coughed embarrassedly.

  “That doesn’t make me a second-class citizen,” she said quietly. “I feel everything that any other girl feels. I bleed as much when I’m cut, I cry as much when I’m hurt. I work just as hard at my profession as any other girl works at hers. It’s more difficult to be a competent whore than it is to be a competent secretary or clerk.”

  “Then how come you never tried anything else?”

  “How do you know what I tried?” she asked quietly. “Why are you a lawyer instead of a doctor? Because this is what you’re best at. Well, this is what I’m best at.”

  “I’m a lawyer also because it’s what I want, what I was born for,” he said quickly.

  “As one professional to another”—she smiled—“all my life I fought it. Ever since I was a kid and the boys were ganging up after me, I fought it. Someone once told me that this was what I was born for. I didn’t believe him, but he was right. I know it now.”

  He took her hand and petted it gently. Suddenly he realised he liked this girl very much. She had a curious form of honesty. “I hope someday you’ll get what you want.”

  At the restaurant she waited while Vito checked his hat and coat. Ross’s back was to them as they approached. He was busy talking to a dark-haired girl seated next to him.

  Vito stood behind him, his hand on Maryann’s arm. “Ross,” he said.

  Ross turned around quickly and looked up, smiling, his dark eyes bright. “Hank!”

  “Ross, I’d like you to meet Maryann Flood,” Hank said. “Maryann, this is Ross Dre—” His voice suddenly vanished.

  Ross’s face had gone white. For a moment Hank thought the man had become ill, there was such agony in his expression. Only Ross’s eyes were alive—alive and bright with a hunger in them that Vito had never seen before. Finally Ross spoke. His voice trembled. “Mar—Marja!”

  Vito looked at Maryann. Beneath her make-up her face was pale, but she was more composed than Ross. She held out her hand to him.

  “Ross!” she said in a husky voice. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Seven years, Marja,” Ross said. He struggled to his feet. “Sit down, Hank.”

  They seated themselves. “We grew up together, Hank,” Ross explained, his eyes on Maryann. “Remember what you said over the phone, Hank? This is the only girl in the world I would believe that about!”

  Vito looked from one to the other. The same angry vitality was in each. They were so alike in their differences that they might have come from the same mould, with only a different finish to each. He put his hand on the table and leaned forward. “Tell me about it,” he said.

  Chapter Four

  THE DARK-HAIRED GIRL who had come with Ross was annoyed. For all the attention she had been getting throughout dinner, she might as well not have been there. It made no difference to her what Ross and Maryann had done when they were kids.

  But it did to Hank Vito. It explained to him a lot of things about Ross and about Maryann. Things that had puzzled him. Silently he filed away their reminiscences. He was a collector of odd bits of information about people. In his business, such information not infrequently came in handy.

  One thing he saw at once; he w
ould have to wait his turn with Maryann. If ever there had been unfinished business between two people, there was between these two. He looked at the dark haired girl and smiled. “What do you say we buzz off and leave these two to their old-times reunion, honey?”

  The girl returned his smile gratefully. “I’d like nothing better, Mr. Vito. Other people’s memories are so dull.”

  Hank didn’t agree with her, but he got to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Ross looked up at him. “But we haven’t got around to our business yet,” he protested.

  Hank smiled. “Make it at my office first thing in the morning.” He held out a hand to Maryann. “Good night, friend.”

  Her smile was bright and warm. “Good night, counsellor.”

  Ross watched them leave, then turned to Maryann. “Sit next to me.”

  Silently she moved into the place the other girl had vacated. Ross covered her hand with his own.

  “Another drink?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “I’ll have one.” He gestured and the waiter brought him another Scotch. “How did you meet Hank Vito?” he asked.

  She looked into his eyes. “I was in trouble and needed a lawyer. I went to him.”

  “You went to the best,” Ross said. “He’s expensive, but there aren’t any better.”

  “Sometimes the most expensive is the cheapest in the long run,” she answered.

  “He’s my lawyer, too,” Ross said.

  She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  “I work for the syndicate,” Ross said. “You know what that is?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m clean, though,” he said quickly. “I handle the legit operations. Right now they want me to move out to L.O. to set up a construction company. That’s why I wanted to see Hank tonight.”

  She didn’t speak.

  “Remember Joker Martin?” Ross asked.

  She nodded.

  “He’s one of the wheels now. I used to be with him, but now I’m independent. I convinced them that I’m better off working alone.” Ross offered her a cigarette and held a light to it. “He was the only one who would give me a job when the old man kicked me out.”

  She looked into his eyes. “You’re doin’ pretty good.”

  He nodded with satisfaction. “There’s a lot of dough around, baby, and I’m in line for it.”

  “If the Army don’t get you,” she said.

  He laughed. “They won’t get me.”

  “You seem sure.”

  “It’s easy to beat the draft if you know the right medics,” he said.

  “They can’t help once you’re down at Grand Central,” she said. “All the notes in the world don’t hold up there.”

  He tugged his ear lobe. “I’ve got draft insurance. A twenty-five-hundred dollar hole in my eardrum.”

  She shook her head. “You haven’t changed a bit, Ross. Still got an angle for everything.” Suddenly she was tired. Ross reminded her of times long past and of things she didn’t want to remember. She reached for her scarf. “It’s getting late, Ross. I think I’ll go home.”

  “I’ll take you,” he said quickly. “My car’s outside.”

  “Got gas?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he laughed. “This is Ross you’re talkin’ to, remember, honey?”

  She had never got used to the dimout in the city and the way it made everything seem hushed and quiet. She gave him her address and leaned back in the car as it sped through the night. She closed her eyes, feeling far away from the people and places she knew.

  It seemed she had been riding a long time when the car stopped. She opened her eyes. She wasn’t home. “Ross!” she said sharply.

  “Look baby.” He gestured toward the car window. “It’s been a long time.”

  She turned and looked at the river, sparkling in the occasional flickers of light. Riverside Drive—where they had been together so many times.

  She felt his arm move along the seat behind her, and turned to him. “Cut it, Ross. It has been a long time, an’ yuh can’t go back. Take me home.”

  She saw his mouth set in the petulant look she remembered as he started the car again. A few silent minutes later they were at her door.

  Ross looked at her. “You could invite me in for a drink,” he said. “Just for old times’ sake.”

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “Just one.”

  He followed her into the apartment. “There’s liquor on the side table,” she said.

  She put his coat on a chair and went into the bedroom. A few minutes later she returned wearing a green velvet housecoat.

  He looked up at her and smiled and said “You’re still the greatest.”

  “Thanks,” she said dryly.

  He wrinkled his brow quizzically. “What’s eatin’ you, baby? Still mad over what happened between us so long ago?”

  She shook her head. “Not any more, Ross. Too much has happened to me. I can’t be angry over that.”

  He reached for her arm, but she stepped out of reach. “Then what is it? I still got that big yen for you I always had.”

  She smiled slowly. “I know. The same yen you have for all the girls.”

  His voice lowered. “It’s different with you, baby. It’s always been different.”

  “Yeah, Ross, yeah.” Her voice was sarcastic.

  He put down his drink and moved quickly. Catching her shoulders in his big hands, he held her still. Her eyes looked at him without fear. “Still the same little tease, ain’t you, baby?”

  “Still the same rough-action boy, ain’t yuh, Ross?” she replied.

  “I’m older now,” he said. “You can’t get rid of me as easily as you did the first time.” He pulled her to him. Her arms went around his neck. He smiled. “That’s better, baby.” He bent his head to kiss her.

  A sudden blinding pain seared through his temples. With a curse, he slipped to the floor and looked up at her. The pain was gone as soon as he let her go, but there was a dull ache in his neck. “You bitch!” he snarled. “What did you do?”

  She smiled down at him. “A friend of mine in the service taught me. It’s called pressure points. Judo.”

  He got to his feet and reached for his drink. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

  Without answering, she turned to the sideboard and mixed herself a drink. He watched her. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Cassis and soda,” she said.

  He made a face. “That’s like medicine.”

  “I like it,” she said.

  He looked around the apartment. “Nice place you got here.”

  “Thanks.” she said.

  “You must be doin’ pretty good yourself.”

  “I make out.”

  “What line are you in?” he asked curiously.

  She stared at him for a moment. Just then the telephone began to ring. She walked over to it and picked it up. Covering the mouthpeice with her hand, she looked right into his eyes. “I’m a whore,” she said.

  His breath seemed imprisoned in his chest. As if from a distance he heard her speak into the ’phone. “No, honey, not right now. I’m busy. Try tomorrow, will yuh?”

  She put down the telephone and walked across the room and picked up his coat. She held it toward him. “Now, will yuh go, Ross? I’m tired.”

  He didn’t move from where he stood. His eyes were still on her face. His hand went into his pocket and came out with a roll of bills. He snapped his fingers and the bills shot toward her and cascaded down around her. “I just bought the rest of the night,” he said.

  They lay quietly in the bed. The faint night sound of the city seeped into the room through the closed windows. He turned toward her. The glow of her cigarette flickered, throwing a soft red glow on her face.

  Something inside him ached. He reached toward her. Her hand was soft and cool. He remembered her touch and the wild excitement that it brought to him. “Marja,” he whispered.<
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  He felt the soft answering pressure of her fingers. “Marja,” he whispered softly, “didn’t you feel anything? Anything at all?”

  Her voice was low and husky. “Sure honey. You’re quite a man.”

  “Marja, I don’t mean that!” His sound was an agonised whisper. Suddenly something burst inside him and he began to cry. So much had been lost. Deep, racking sobs tore through him.

  Her arms went around him, drawing his head down to her breasts. “There, baby, there,” she whispered soothingly.

  Chapter Five

  THE ODOUR OF frying bacon hit him as he came out of the bathroom, still warm from the shower. He finished rubbing himself briskly, then strode into the kitchen, the towel draped around his waist.

  Maryann, wearing a simple housedress, was breaking some eggs into a pan on the small stove. She looked up briefly. “Get dressed,” she said. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a minute.”

  He stared at her. Her eyes were clear and she showed no trace of the long and angry night. She wore no make-up, and yet her skin glowed with the same healthy animal quality it had always had. “What for?” he asked. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said, gesturing to a small clock on the stove. “It’s almost noon. That’s checkout time in this hotel.”

  His face flushed. It was almost as if he felt the shame she should have felt. “You’re checkin’ out with me,” he said.

  “Don’t be a fool,” she replied quietly. “You can’t afford it.”

  He walked over to her and took her hand. “Marja,” he almost pleaded, “is that all I am to you? Just another Joe?”

  Her eyes met his steadily. “The name is Maryann. Marja’s gone a long time, and all guys are Joe to Maryann.”

  His gaze fell before hers. “I want to go back, Marja. I want us to do it over. You and me. I’m grown up now. We can have a lot of things together.”

  “What?” she asked sarcastically. “Marriage?”

  He flushed again.

  She didn’t give him time to answer. “Uh-uh. I’m satisfied the way things are. I don’t have to tie up with anybody.” She began to shake the eggs onto a plate. “Better hurry,” she said, “or the eggs’ll get cold.”