by Judith Gould
'You got your fin, didn't you? So we aren't quite finished with our business deal yet.' He grinned lasciviously, flipped open the lap blanket at his groin and, grabbing the girl by the neck, pulled her down into his crotch. 'Just because I lost my house doesn't mean we've finished.'
The girl glared up at him with murderous eyes. Then the fight seemed to go out of her and she slumped, bending forward. Her lips found Ziolko's penis and she began licking and sucking halfheartedly.
'You can put a little more effort into it than that.' Ziolko grabbed her hair and yanked it. Then he leaned back on the headrest, shut his eyes and moaned as her moist mouth slid up and down his tumescent shaft.
'You see?' Ziolko asked himself. 'Everything isn't so bad after all. It's all what you make of a situation.'
A half-hour later, Louis Ziolko, with characteristic dauntlessness and a blase disregard for what anyone might think, screeched to a stop in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel. Then, tossing the Shetland blanket around him like a matador's cape, he emerged from the car, ignoring the gaping parking attendant's openmouthed expression. The doorman, who thought he had seen everything in his thirty-year career guarding the gates of America's premier hotels, would have snapped into action under normal circumstances, hurrying forward holding his huge protective umbrella aloft. However, he seemed as incapable of moving as the tubbed topiary bushes atop the steps, and stared at Ziolko with a mixture of incredulity and shock.
Ignoring their expressions, Ziolko held his head high as he strode confidently up the steps and pushed his way past the ogling doorman. It was only then that the doorman recognized this drenched, nomadic-looking apparition. Realization dawning, he snapped suddenly to, clicked his heels together respectfully, and held the door wide.
'I'm sorry, Mr. Ziolko,' the doorman called out sincerely to Ziolko's back. 'I didn't recognize you—'
Ziolko waved away his apologies without turning around and hurried barefoot into the lobby, seemingly impervious to the incredulous stares he received as he marched up to the concierge's desk. Unfortunately it was not manned by any familiar face, but a man who could only stare at him in shock. Ziolko glared right back at him. Then the concierge cleared his throat in one cupped hand and discreetly signalled for the security guard with the other.
'I want a bungalow—number one if it's available,' Ziolko demanded of the nonplussed clerk who looked positively apoplectic. 'And a double cabana by the pool.'
The concierge's shock was immediately replaced by an obvious smirk. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he said smoothly, recovering his composure, 'but we're booked up.' He busied himself with some letters he was sorting and turned his back.
'What do you mean, you're booked up? There's always a bungalow available for me. If not bungalow one, then another.' Ziolko clicked his fingers. 'Snap to it!'
The concierge turned around and sighed with exasperation. He leaned over the desk, wiggled a forefinger for Ziolko to draw nearer, and lowered his voice. 'Look, mister,' he said harshly, 'we don't want any trouble here. Understand?'
Ziolko fixed the concierge with his most intimidating glare. 'Straighten your tie, it's crooked.'
Seeing the concierge's hand instinctively fly to his collar made him feel slightly better. But not for long. He felt a firm pressure on his bare right arm.
Twisting around, Ziolko came face-to-face with the house detective. He, too, apparently was new and didn't recognize him.
Where was everybody when you needed someone?
'If you'll leave quietly, we won't be forced to call the police,' the detective said in a firm but soft voice. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
Ziolko shrugged the detective's hand off and brushed the spot where he had been touched. From his expression, it was clear that the staff had gone too far. 'Call the police, if you like, but time is money and you're wasting mine. I demand to speak to the proprietor this very instant, that is, if you value your jobs.' He raised his eyebrows questioningly and stared from one man to the other.
And then, before either employee could come to a decision, he heard a familiar friendly voice. 'Louis?' a man called out with a good-humoured laugh. 'Is that you under that abominable blanket?'
Ziolko turned, relieved to see that the proprietor himself, possibly sensing a potential problem through the power of some secret antennae known only to hoteliers, was bearing down on him in the flesh.
As he approached, the hotelier snapped his fingers, and the detective slid silently away and the concierge hurriedly busied himself sorting the mail in order to hide his embarrassment.
'Yes, it's me under this blanket,' Ziolko said testily. He shivered, for the first time really feeling cold and wet. 'And for your information, it's Shetland wool, which can hardly be called abominable.'
'Indeed. So it is.'
Quickly Ziolko explained his situation.
'The key to bungalow one.' The proprietor held his hand out to the concierge for the key. 'And have a hospitality basket delivered to Mr. Ziolko with our compliments. Got that?'
The concierge apparently did. He reddened, gulped, and sprang into action. He didn't need to be told more.
Two hours later Louis Ziolko, wearing a thick terry-towelling robe supplied by the hotel, felt completely rejuvenated. Warmed by a steaming hot bath and a full bottle of vintage French champagne, which had been furtively delivered by a room-service waiter—and smuggled into the country by rum-runners from Mexico—he was comfortably ensconced on a velvet sofa, his lifeline to the outside world, a black telephone, at his side. He was feeling better with each passing minute. His insides were positively beginning to glow, the bungalow was dry and heated and safe, the rain was kept at bay, and except for the fact that the pool and its famous deal-making environs were closed due to the weather, he couldn't have asked for anything more. Even the critical essentials necessary to a gentleman were on their way. He had telephoned the proprietor of his favourite haberdashery, which had his sizes on file, and he would soon have enough clothes to tide him over while new custom-made ones were being fitted and sewn. On the coffee table next to him, the enormous hospitality basket overflowed with polished fruit and fresh cheeses; if it was less than perfect it was only because it did not contain a single ounce of liquor. But he couldn't fault the hotel for that: it was Prohibition, and the champagne was more than adequate, a pleasant surprise, in fact.
His stomach began growling, informing him that it was past his usual breakfast time. Never one to deny himself anything, he picked up the phone and ordered a hearty breakfast from room service. Next, he called Zelda, his mother, who lived in a house he'd bought her in Pasadena—near enough so she couldn't complain that he was too far away, and far enough away that she couldn't simply drop by whenever the whim seized her. Last, but not least, he called the studio and cancelled all his appointments.
'But you've got three screen tests for The Flappers lined up!' Janice Frauenfelder, his secretary, protested.
'Make them tomorrow. No, tell you what, beautiful. Better yet, reschedule them for the day after.'
He hung up on her protests.
When room service wheeled in his breakfast, he lifted the silver domes covering the eggs Benedict, fruit platter, and bagels liberally swathed with cream cheese and thinly sliced smoked salmon. Just as he was about to attack the eggs, he was interrupted by the messengers delivering his clothes and jewellery. He let his fork clatter back down on the plate and, once the messengers were well-tipped and gone, poured himself a cup of steaming black coffee and let the food grow cold.
Now that he had clothes to wear and, thanks to the proprietor who, without having to be asked, had loaned him $200 out of his own pocket for 'walking about' expenses, Ziolko no longer felt hungry. Indeed, what he was most in need of was a prowl, not food. The girl last night hadn't fulfilled him in the least, especially after the mud slide.
As if to punctuate that fact, his penis grew tumescent under the robe.
Whistling softly to himself, he quickly pulled
on a sweater, trousers, shoes, and raincoat. Already he could feel himself rising to the challenge of the hunt. He'd cruise the streets, he decided, searching the protective doorways for a pickup, and if he struck out doing that, he'd drop by a few drugstores for coffee. There were always hungry girls to be found nursing a cup of coffee or a glass of soda on rainy days. Maybe he'd strike it lucky and pick up a dreamboat.
Chapter 4
'Ah just wish you'd make up yer mind once and fer all,' Jewel said testily in her Southern accent. 'We all have to make plans, ya know.'
Juliet 'just call me Jewel' Haynie was forty-nine, a seasoned waitress fighting the losing battle against time by dying her hair a garish flame orange and concealing her ruddy complexion under a ton of makeup.
'I know, Jewel, I'm sorry,' Tamara said contritely. 'Really I am. It's just that today's test was called off. It wasn't my fault.'
'It ain't never nobody's fault,' Jewel sniffed snappishly. 'Sometimes Ah wonder why Ah'm so good to you kids. It's always "Jewel this, Jewel that!" ' She squinted her fluttery, heavily made-up violet eyes.
'Is it all right if I work today and you take over my shift the day after tomorrow instead?' Tamara held her breath.
Jewel placed a hand on her hip, sighed deeply, and rolled her eyes in exasperation while nonchalantly popping an enormous bubble of gum. 'Oh, all right. Just this once, y' heah?' She waggled a chipped, brightly lacquered fingernail at Tamara.
'I hear.' On impulse, Tamara embraced Jewel and beamed for the first time since she'd been told the screen test had been cancelled.
Jewel made a production of scowling and pushed her away. 'You'll wrinkle mah uniform if you don't watch it.'
They were in the sweltering kitchen of the Sunset Restaurant, a glorified coffee shop which stayed open from six in the morning till ten at night. The place was narrow and deep; up front, a big plate-glass window looked out from the dining room at the traffic swishing sibilantly along the rain-swept boulevard. Maroon-upholstered booths for four lined the window as well as the two side walls; smaller tables made up little islands in the centre of the room. The ubiquitous counter with its maroon swivel stools separated the aisle behind the soda fountain from the kitchen, and the hatchway to the kitchen was already stacked with heavy plates in anticipation for the noon rush. If, that was, there would be a noon rush in this weather. Even shoppers from Woolworth's next door weren't drifting over like they usually did on sunny days.
More through a remarkably well-honed sixth sense than by ordinary sight or sound, Jewel sensed that the front door of the coffee shop had opened and shut. Signalling for Tamara to stay put, she squeezed past José, the Mexican cook, and got up on tiptoe and leaned forward, peering out the hatchway to check on who had arrived or departed. She saw beads of rainwater glistening silvery as a new arrival eased out of his creamy coat and shook the rain off it before hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door. From the look of it, it was an expensive coat, and Jewel's calculating mind instantly translated it into potential tips. She was an expert at guessing generosity and miserliness just from the looks of customers, and she was seldom wrong.
This one would tip well. Thank God.
The rest of the patrons looked far less well-off; they were obvious refugees from the street driven indoors by the rain. At the counter, a scrawny, toothless old lady in a dirty turban slowly gummed a sugar doughnut, rinsing tiny bitefuls down with a glass of water, trying to make it last. A quiet, reserved young man occupied a booth by the far wall, taking nervous little sips from his coffee cup, which he held wrapped in his hands as if trying to absorb the warmth through his fingers. He had been coming in for a week, now, and from flirting with him, Jewel had learned that he was an unemployed actor trying to break into the movies. She'd had her eyes on him ever since he'd first walked in. He was just her type, even if she was old enough to be his mother. Grandmother, even, but she didn't want to think about that, and pushed it out of her mind.
'Ah'll be right out,' she called to no one in particular, then rocked back on her heels and turned her attention to Tamara again. 'By the way, Janette called up earlier. She won't be in, so we're the only two workin' today. 'Fraid we'll both have to stay till ten. Shouldn't be too bad, though, what with the rain an' all. Just hope the tips won't be too bad. Got me a nice dress on layaway an' Ah wanna wear it 'fore it goes outta style. Still, Ah cain't blame nobody fer stayin' away in this godawful weather. Ain't no time to be out 'lesson you have to.'
'I'll say.'
'Damn right it ain't.' Jewel cocked her head and frowned, then tapped Tamara on the arm. 'Lissen, somebody else just come in. Ah gotta run, honey. If Ah don't, the customers'll be screamin' bloody murder. You can take the counter soon as yer changed. Ah'll chat with you later.' She paused. 'Plus there's that cute young actor Ah tol' you 'bout. He's waitin' on his burger.' Jewel gave two well-timed snorts, wiggled her shoulders in a sexy shudder, and added, 'Wish he'd sink his teeth into me 'stead 'o that ole meat.'
Tamara had to laugh. 'You're incorrigible, Jewel.'
Jewel flapped her hand limply. 'Ah ain't incorrigible, honey. Ah'm horny!' And with that, Jewel tucked her chin down into her chest, leaned forward as if into a wind, extended an arm straight out to push on the swinging door with her flat palm, and marched purposefully out into the dining room. The door flapped shut behind her.
'Don' know 'bout dat Jool,' José muttered, shaking his head as he flipped a sizzling burger over on the grill. The grease splattered him as he pressed it flat with a spatula, but he had long since become inured to it. Then, turning his back to the grill, he moved over to the big chopping block and began slicing a huge onion with a big, sharply honed knife. 'Sometime, she get into beeg trobble. You wait an' see.'
'Oh, I wouldn't worry about Jewel so much, José,' Tamara told him. 'Bet she knows how to take care of herself better than you or me.'
'Yeah, bot how 'bout the poor hombres, huh? She take a big bite out of this one and dat one an' then spit them out again. I seen her do it again an' again.' He shook his head morosely. 'For two years already I tole her I love her, an' she always reject me. How you like dat?'
Tamara looked surprised. This was news to her. 'You?' she asked incredulously. 'You've been after her, José? Seriously?'
The cook nodded unhappily, his drooping Zapata moustache making him look all the sadder. 'Only she wan' all the others, but she don' wan' me.'
'She's a heartbreaker, Jewel is,' Tamara consoled soberly. Then she patted him on the back. 'Maybe she'll wake up and come to her senses one of these days.' She smiled reassuringly.
'You really tink so?' José asked, his hopes rising.
'Maybe. You can never tell. Just don't be too depressed, and don't get your hopes up too high either.'
'You a nice girl, Señorita Tamara. Now, why Jool not be nice like you?'
'She is nice, under all her hardness and flirting.' It was high time she got moving. 'Well, I better hurry up and change. See you later, José.' Tamara gave a wave and hurried toward the storeroom in back, which doubled as a changing room, while José continued slicing onions.
At that moment Jewel's face appeared at the hatchway. 'Where's that well-done burger fer mah cutie pie?' she hissed darkly at José. 'An' stop gossipin' 'bout me, 'fore Ah take that knife away from you an' leave you singin' soprano!'
José looked up at her and continued slicing the onion, not paying attention to what he was doing. His soulful, hurt dark eyes were filled with tears from the onions.
'Well?' Jewel snapped, slapping the window's counter sharply with the flat of a hand. 'What're you waitin' fer?'
José jumped at the report, and the onion slipped from his grasp and went flying.
It was then that the accident happened. The razor-sharp knife descended, chopping his thumb with a sickening crunch.
'Aieee!' José' let out a sudden shriek, stared at his hand with bulging carp's eyes, and dropped the knife on the floor with a clatter. He staggered backward. 'Now look wha' you make
me do!' he screamed.
'Laws!' Jewel gasped, her face turning putty through the thick pink powder. She gulped noisily. Then she found her feet and disappeared from the window. 'Ah'll be right in, José' she called urgently. 'Tmara!'
Hearing her name screamed out, Tamara quickly backtracked to the grill. She saw why she had been summoned so urgently, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her stomach lurched and roiled and for a long, terrible moment she was certain she was going to be sick.
José's hand poured an enormous, steady stream of blood, and his thumb seemed to hang away from the other fingers at an absurdly crooked angle. The sharply honed knife had obviously sliced it neatly, even severing the bone at the first joint. The spray of blood was crimson, a bright, wet red against his neat, starched cook's whites.
She gripped the edge of the worktable to steady herself.
'My feenger!' José was screaming, dancing around in horror. 'My feenger! I gonna die!'
Jewel burst through the swinging door like an angel to the rescue. 'Ah'll take care of this,' she called out as she rushed past Tamara and took over. Not for nothing was she in charge of the restaurant. She had been working around kitchens most of her life, and had seen plenty of accidents. First aid came naturally to her. The first thing she did was sit José down, grab a handful of ice shavings, wrap them in a towel, and press it tightly around the severed thumb. Then she turned to Tamara. 'He'll have to be driven to the hospital immediately,' she told Tamara. 'This here thumb needs stitchin' and settin' bad. Here, hold this tight while Ah go see 'bout somebody drivin' José to the emergency room.'
'Is he going to be all right?' Tamara asked tremulously, pressing down around the thumb.
' 'Course he's gonna be all right!' Jewel snapped fiercely. 'Just make sure you keep pressing it tight to staunch the blood.' Jewel disappeared, and returned in a flash with a clerk from Woolworth's next door. Just jumping out and back in had gotten her soaked, but she didn't seem to care. 'Hank here's got a car,' she announced crisply. 'José, you take over holdin' that thumb and go with him. Us girls'll hold down the fort. Keep holdin' it tight!'
