“I’m afraid not. But suppose we think it over and talk about it again some other time. Right now I’m tired. I’d like to hit the sack.”
She shuddered. “To think of you in that cold bedroom — ”
“Believe me, that bedroom — ” Then he thought, What’s the use? and dropped it.
She said brightly, “I know what. I’m going back to the city first thing in the morning and see my attorneys. There must be some way to get around that will. There has to be.”
“Good idea.” He reached across to open the door on her side and eased her toward it. “Let me know what they have to say.”
She was finally out of the car. She called, “You’ll hear from me soon,” as he stepped on the gas and pulled away.
When he got home Joey was either in bed or out and Elsie had apparently retired. He went into the library, switched on one light; and paced the floor in a black rage. To think of allowing that cow to crawl all over him when all the time it was hopeless! That damned, stupid, lousy, drunken Hibbard! Why did a souse like that have to be in the way? Right in the palm of my hand, he thought, all that beautiful green stuff, probably high in the millions, and a stupid woman to take it away from, and that drunken Hibbard has to be in the way.
When the telephone rang he picked it up from the desk and snarled, “Well?”
A soft voice asked, “Clark?”
“Who the hell else would it be?”
“My goodness, we are in a pet, aren’t we?”
He frowned, stared foolishly at the phone, then recognized the voice. “Ione? I’m sorry. I guess I am a little on edge tonight.”
“I didn’t think you would be so worried.”
“Hmmmmm?”
“About Eric.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I called earlier, but you were out. I thought you’d like to know how he is. You did an awful job on him, Clark. Three fractured ribs, a broken jaw, and a broken nose.”
Clark thought of it and felt a little better and smiled thinly. “I was pretty mad.”
“I should say you were. You can relax, though. About any charges, I mean. Eric won’t talk to the police and they’ve lost interest.” She laughed softly and said, “He told the doctors he was run over by a lawn mower.”
“The guy has a sense of humor.”
“Well, I think he feels a little silly about getting beaten so badly. From what Ricki tells me, that’s the first battle Eric ever lost. You must be terribly strong.” There was a brief pause, then she said, “I thought you’d like to know.”
“Yes, of course. Thanks a lot, Ione. Takes a weight off my mind. But it doesn’t relieve the situation where you and I are concerned. Always something coming up. Suppose you tell me when we can get together.”
“No definite offers?”
“I’ll give you the calendar and you pick it.”
“I pick Saturday night.”
“Good.”
“I’ll wear some little old rag I haven’t even bought yet and you press out your old black tie.”
“This is better than good. Pick you up at your place?”
“Dinner and the works, Buster. I come high.”
“I’m sailing a little myself.”
“Ah, romance! Be seeing you.”
He put the phone back in its cradle, stared thoughtfully into space for a moment, then walked down the long corridor to his bedroom and buzzed for Elsie.
Chapter Seven
CLARK PARKED in front of the Ranson home at eight that Saturday evening, immaculately groomed in a midnight-blue tuxedo, lightweight topcoat, and a Homburg hat. The butler showed him in, informed him that Miss Ranson would be down presently, and led him back to the bar.
One person was in the room, standing near the windows and looking out over the dark ocean. She turned to face Clark, a woman in her fifties, still with the traces of great beauty. She had the same black hair and olive complexion of her children, but was slightly taller than Ione and possessed a thinner, rather fragile frame. Clark saw at once, however, that there was nothing else fragile about her. She had a determined chin and the eyes that appraised him were sharp, penetrating, and shrewd. When she came toward him to give him her hand, he was impressed by the still feminine allure in the way she carried herself.
“Clark Holt,” she said. “I am Grace Ranson. I’ve heard a good deal about you from Ricki and Ione and, I might add, from Eric Bothello. I wouldn’t say he is exactly a warm admirer of yours.”
Clark smiled easily, liking her directness and not at all alarmed by it. “No,” he said. “I suppose you’ve heard about my game with Ricki.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Eric seemed to think it was a setup.”
“I know.” She led him toward the bar, saying, “Help yourself to whatever you like to drink.”
“No, thank you. I drink very little.”
Her eyebrows arched with surprise. “Indeed? Just don’t care for the stuff, or are you afraid of it?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Ranson, I guess I am a little afraid of it. I don’t like having what little brains I possess constantly dulled from too much drinking. I like to be wide awake and know what’s going on at all times.”
She regarded him narrowly and nodded. “I guessed that. I have a feeling that you’re an unusually alert young man. But about Eric’s charge — could such a thing be done? I mean, could someone fool another good golfer?”
“Oh, yes, but it isn’t easy. The man pulling it would have to be better than most of the professionals.”
“Are you better than most professionals?”
Clark looked sharply and uneasily into her eyes, but there was nothing there to indicate anything other than interest. “Not at all.” He laughed. “I play a better than average game and sometimes I get lucky, like I did with Ricki. That’s about it.”
She smiled for the first time, but there were distinct reservations in her smile, her eyes remaining coolly fixed on his. “Perhaps Eric was simply angry because he sensed a rival in you.”
“I think that was it, too.”
“But what really interests me, Mr. Holt, is the terrible beating you gave him. Eric is a very powerful young man, so I can only assume that you are much the stronger of the two. Yet, frankly, you don’t look it.”
“My appearance is a bit deceptive.”
She nodded and said, “That I guessed, too. I can see why Ricki and Ione have taken a liking to you. She said that she felt there was something dangerous about you. I thought she was just being youthfully dramatic, but now I understand it. I trust, Mr. Holt, that my daughter never learns just what are the ingredients in that element of danger. I don’t think I would like that.”
Clark had the sudden feeling that she was seeing through him exactly as Elsie had done. But, he thought, she had no reason to pick him for a phony. Everything about him would indicate a man of considerable wealth and good background. Or had he slipped with that beating he had administered to Eric? Not many men of his assumed background would be capable of handing out a lacing like that. That he had learned in hundreds of school fights, in back alleys, and on the freights. Perhaps she sensed that.
He was relieved when Ione came into the room and broke up the conversation. She was wearing a chartreuse evening gown with a deeply plunging V neckline and a mink cape draped over her shoulders. Her dark beauty was glowing and she smiled warmly as she took his arm and winked at her mother.
“Isn’t he pretty, Mother? I’m going to have him stuffed and put up on the mantle where no other conniving little doll can get at him.”
“Ione, the way you talk — ”
“See you later, old-timer. We kids have a lot of sinning to do.”
She kissed her mother’s cheek and practically pushed Clark out of the house. She had assumed they were going to the Lodge, but made no comment when Clark turned his car up the hill and went on down the highway and up to the airport.
He parked his car by a dark hangar, helped
her out, and started toward his plane, already parked on the ramp. “You said you come high, didn’t you? O.K. So we’re going to the city.”
She squeezed his arm with pleasure. “But this is a wonderful idea, Clark! You know, you’re a man of imagination. But not the wrong ideas, I hope. We do have to be back at a respectable hour.”
“Don’t worry. This crate of mine cruises at a hundred and seventy.”
They landed at the San Francisco terminal, took a taxi to the Fairmont Hotel on Nob Hill, and were escorted to a table Clark had reserved in the Cirque Room. In a moment, as soon as they had ordered, they were in each other’s arms dancing. It was exactly as Clark had known it would be.
She whispered in his ear, “Now I’m really floating on cloud eight.”
“You’re reading my mind.”
“Same cloud?”
“Doesn’t it have to be?”
“Yes.”
They were happy where they were, but they were also young and restless. They went to the Mark Hopkins, from there to the St. Francis, then on to the Palace. At two in the morning they stopped dancing at a little jive joint in the Tenderloin. They went to an all-night beanery for coffee and doughnuts, then took a cab back to the airport. At four in the morning they were parked in front of Ione’s home.
She lit a cigarette, leaned back in the car seat, and smiled lazily at Clark. “We haven’t had much to say to each other, have we?”
“No need for it.”
“It’s been a grand night, Clark. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much.” She sighed, then said thoughtfully, “It’s much different going out with a man who doesn’t drink. No brawls, no worries; all smooth sailing. By this time, any other date would have been plastered and trying to — ” She flipped the cigarette out of the car and turned toward him, trying to read his eyes in the dark. “You haven’t even tried to kiss me.”
Clark’s hand shook as it slid about her shoulders and he pulled her into his arms. She went to him without reservation, but he crushed his lips savagely against hers and held her so tightly she would have cried out with pain if it had been possible. When he let her go he said huskily, “Now you know why.”
She whispered, “Yes.”
He escorted her to the door and kissed her again just as savagely, hungrily, making her feel the full depth of his animal strength. She stared at him in awe and fascination and was trembling when she turned away and went through the door.
He drove slowly home, went into the kitchen for a glass of milk, then went on into the library. On the desk he found three telephone messages to call Mrs. Hicks at the Lodge. Thank God, he thought, we went to the city instead. Running into Faye, with Ione on his arm, would have been a catastrophe.
He finished the milk, went down the corridor to his bedroom, skipped his usual exercises, and in a moment was in bed. He lay in the dark, hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He thought of the night and what it meant to him. In many ways, it had been so different from some other dates he had enjoyed with young women as respectable as Ione. So he had taken a nice girl out for an exciting flight and a round of hotel dancing. That he had done before. This, however, was vastly different.
He thought of dancing with Ione and the supple feel of her rhythmic body in his arms and the way she tilted her head to smile up at him and the funny little way she had of talking like a hoyden and knew he had discovered something he had never dreamed possible. It went beyond the simple fact of not being able to get her out of his mind and it was even beyond the powerful urge of his desire. He had found someone to cherish. He blinked in the dark, not quite believing it, yet having to accept it. Love? he wondered. He doubted that. He knew himself too well to believe he was the kind of person who could ever really fall in love. That meant giving all of yourself, and there were too many reservations in his make-up for that. Yet someone he could cherish — that was possible. It was equally possible that she could feel the same way about him, or more.
He sat up in bed, arms around his legs, chin resting on his knees. He knew he was being foolish, trying to imagine a future with a woman he had dated exactly once, but he also had a feeling that at that moment he had considerable control over her future and his own. He thought seriously of marriage and what it would be like. He would have to give up his manner of making a living, which left him two choices. He could return to the flying game and eke out some kind of existence for the two of them until he got on an airline. That would take time, a long time, and even then there was no assurance of landing on his feet with a good livelihood. Or he could turn pro and follow the tournament circuit. That was the more attractive of the two, as he knew he could compete with the best with ease and probably come out on top. Later, of course, there would be the dull routine of winding up a pro at some country club. But even that wouldn’t be too bad with Ione at his side. He groaned, however, as he considered the necessity of having to keep up his violent morning and evening exercise for possibly the rest of his life. Either way, he thought, it was rough.
He got out of bed and paced the floor, slamming his right fist into the palm of his left hand. So I’m nuts about her, he thought, and for the first time I’d like to marry a woman for just what she is and nothing more and it truly is a beautiful thing to think about, but damn it, her family won’t like me, that mother of hers is no fool, she’ll know my background in no time at all, there’ll be no help there, and it’s a rough proposition making an honest living no matter how you look at it. Then he paused, surprised and amazed by the sudden realization that he had completely forgotten the fact that Ione would be a wealthy woman herself in five years. How, he wondered, had he ever forgotten that? It had never happened to him before. So, he thought, it’s really only five years I’d have to beat my brains out, and Ione would probably get a kick out of following the circuit, and being a country club pro after that would just be something to do to kill time while really enjoying Ione’s inheritance. It could work.
To hell with Joey and the pigeons and all the rest of it. It could work out and it could be a wonderful thing. Maybe, with Ione’s assistance later on, he could even go into business, a feeder line or cargo stuff or something like that. Respectability. A real businessman. Sure, he thought, grinning. Why not?
When he returned to bed he was excited, but he was also tired. He fell asleep smiling.
He was up four hours later, still feeling good. He got through his exercises quickly, dressed, and joined Joey at the breakfast table on the terrace. Joey looked bad. The bags under his eyes had given birth to more bags.
“Poker,” he said. “Three nights in a row. But you sure look good, kid. Guess you made a homer last night, huh?”
“Don’t be a damn fool. Ione’s no tramp.”
“Oh, brother, the things you tell me Sunday mornings! You got religion?”
Clark waited until Elsie had brought breakfast for him and left, then nodded. “You might call it that. I’ve gone for the girl, Joey. I mean all the way this time. I’m going to marry her.”
“Jees, she said yes already yet?”
“No, but I think she will when the time’s ripe.”
Joey squinted at him shrewdly, then put his knife and fork aside and leaned his beefy arms on the glass-topped table. “You sound serious.”
“I am.”
“You know she ain’t gonna get no heavy lettuce for five years.”
Clark nodded, chewed at a mouthful of food, then said, “I can make a living for the two of us on the pro circuit. Five years and I’ll be out and in something else. I don’t think Ione would mind backing me by that time.”
Joey nodded. “Sounds O.K. Beautiful queen, too. Can’t say I hardly blame you.” He picked up his fork and went back to finishing his breakfast.
Clark ate his bacon and scrambled eggs, smiling, thinking of his decision, then suddenly looked sharply across at Joey. “O.K.,” he growled. “What’s the gimmick?”
Joey stared at him with naïve innocence.
“I ain’t said nothin’.”
“Yeah, I know. Give.”
Joey leaned back, took a toothpick from a pocket of his violently colored silk dressing gown, and picked slowly and methodically at his teeth while he stared at Clark. “O.K., kid, I’ll tell you. But remember you asked for it. You’re a larcenous, no-good thief who’ll never do no woman no good at no time. Wanna start swingin’?”
“I’m still listening.”
“O.K. You think you got a raw deal somewheres. So your old man was prac’ly a bum. So what? Lotsa kids’ old men were prac’ly bums and it didn’t kill ’em. Some of our best citizens come from beat-up families. Why? ’cause they had guts. So you beat your brains out gettin’ a fly boy’s license so’s you can wear a nice, pretty airline uniform and make time with all the pretty li’l stewardesses and you get drafted instead. That’s tough? Hell, you never had it so good. You got paid, and damn good, too, for toolin’ crates back and forth over the nice, safe U.S.A. while a million other guys like you were gettin’ shot up. That’s somethin’ to be sore about? Let me tell you — ”
Clark leaned over the table and shouted, “Just what are you getting at?”
“So hang on a minute and I’ll tell you. I like you, Clark, you and me get along, and I don’t like sayin’ this, but you’re just no good, you were born no good, and you never will be any good. Some kids is born weak and some strong, I guess. You’re one a the weak ones.” He shrugged and spread his hands in an open gesture. “That’s it.”
Clark glared at him with murder in his eyes. “You haven’t said anything.”
Joey sighed and said patiently, “I said it all, kid. It’s all right there. Did I have to argue with you to get you into this racket? Uh-uh. It was the easy way to make a fast buck. You’re weak. You always take the easy way. You marry that queen and it’ll blow up in your face in no time at all. You won’t like the tournament business ’cause it’s tough work. You didn’t like it before, you won’t like it again. You’ll look for an easy out, and then-smash.”
His words got through and Clark thought of them, but he said, “That’s not all true. For two years, when I was just a punk, I worked my fool head off getting that flying certificate. You think I was weak? I’m telling you, that took guts and a lot of it.”
Up a Winding Stair Page 9
