The Plot

by Irving Wallace

  “Of course!” said Ormsby, happily baring his tiny yellow teeth.

  “I mean that I mean this book’s so important to whole world—so serious—like what’s in it—” Brennan launched into five minutes of sensational, if fictional, anecdotes about a Russian underground government inside the Soviet Union and its incredible and little-known activities. He could see Sydney Ormsby’s tongue lapping at his mustache and the glass trembling in his hand, and when he knew that he had him, Brennan abruptly concluded his summary of the contents.

  “Most important book I ever heard about!” exclaimed Sydney Ormsby.

  “Glad you see that,” said Brennan. “An’ that’s the point. Book’s so serious, so important, I’ve got to work closely, hand in hand, with my publisher from editing to publishing it. Got to work together closely. But can’t work with that Winkler woman, ‘cause even though she’s a good-looker, maybe thirtyish, could be a good roll in the hay, she’s type who’s fuddy-duddy business and straitlaced and wears girdles to bed, I bet.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “Glad you understand, Syd, my frien’. I can’t work months with publisher who’s all business—an’ book so serious important—got to have some diversion, too, some kicks, laughs—got to have someone, publisher, who likes to loosen up after hours—little relief—what we alive for, ‘cept to have some fun—got to have fun publisher who likes fun. Like here—like drinking—”

  Ormsby held up his glass. “Drinking, absolutely, Matt.”

  “An’ laughs.”

  Ormsby laughed nervously. “An’ laughs. Right you are, Matt.”

  “An’ women.”

  For the first time, Sydney Ormsby’s enthusiasm was genuine. “An’ women. Righto, women, God bless ‘em.”

  “Knew it. Knew it!” Brennan exulted. He leaned over and hit Sydney’s knee. “Knew you were my type, Syd, ol’ boy. So you like the broads, too, eh, Syd?”

  “Love ‘em, love ‘em all.”

  “Knew you were my boy, Syd. Yes, sir, got a solid feeling we’re going to make a deal on my book.” He paused, and considered Sydney Ormsby through slit eyes. “You’re not jus’ being agreeable, about havin’ fun?”

  “You know me, Matt, love drinking an’ lotta laughs an’ fun.”

  “You didn’t mention dames,” said Brennan suspiciously, “What about dames?”

  “Love ‘em more than anything else.”

  “Wasn’t sure, ‘cause you look too gentlemanly.”

  “Not gen’lemanly, not a bit,” Ormsby protested. “Just on good behavior to impress you, ‘cause we wanna have you with us, Matt.” He preened. “Fact is, Matt, I got somewhat a reputation for being bit of a ladies’ man, you know. Assure you, you won’—won’t be disappointed.”

  “You like fun, you mean?”

  “Fun first, business secon’, s’my motto.”

  “You’re my boy, yes sir,” said Brennan. He halted, stared at Sydney Ormsby, and then he asked, “How’s about some fun right now, Syd?”

  Ormsby looked startled. “Now?”

  “Can you name a better time? Now, sure. Matter of fact, I have—” He squinted at his wristwatch. “I got me a hooker coming up here in less than an hour. An American kid. Art student studies on Left Bank, lives ‘roun corner. Does it on the side to pick up some easy change. Been havin’ her up here regular—great kid—an’ she’s got a roommate girl friend who I hear’s even better—gorgeous dancer who does some acrobatics on side. What do you think? Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

  Ormsby’s expression of concern belied his enthusiastic response. “Sounds great fun, Matt. Maybe we can do it next time. Right now, I’m rather anxious to have a glance, jus’ a glance, at your manuscript before—”

  “Thought you said pleasure before business,” said Brennan peevishly.

  “I meant it, I meant it,” said Ormsby hastily, trying to mollify him. “Only I thought—”

  “Either you like dames or you don’t,” insisted Brennan with belligerence.

  “I do, I like nothing better!”

  “That’s more like it,” said Brennan, slapping Sydney Ormsby’s leg again. “Knew you were right for my book. Tell you what. Syd, let’s have our little roll, an’ after we get rid of the broads I’ll drag out the manuscript, an’ we can have some dinner relaxed an’ you can read.” He studied the publisher. “What do you say, ol’ Syd?”

  Ormsby worried his mustache with his fingers. “Well—” Suddenly, he sat up and grinned, decision made. “Sounds like a perfect program, an’ beginning of a long relationship.”

  “You said it. kid.” Brennan came to his feet. “One call, an’ I can get them here from ‘round the corner in five minutes. Sit tight.”

  Brennan hurried into the bedroom, pleased that he had carried the plan this far. The earlier events of the day at Maisons-Laffitte had been pushed to the back of his mind by the immediacy of the need to bully through the project that might help Medora. Only one step, the most precarious and unpredictable remained.

  Brennan took up the telephone and gave the number of the Berri Bar across the street. When the waitress brought her to the phone, Brennan spoke only two words. “Come over.”

  After that, he went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, combed his hair, and then, satisfied, he went quietly across his bedroom into Lisa’s vacant one. He surveyed the room. It was in order. He returned to the sitting room.

  Sydney Ormsby was standing at the liquor tray, sloshing more Scotch into his glass. On Brennan’s approach, he turned, staggered slightly, and looked at Brennan inquiringly.

  “All set, Syd. Her roommate was available. They started over here couple minutes ago. If her friend’s anything like what that broad of mine tells me, this is your lucky day.” He placed a comradely arm around Sydney’s shoulder. “You’re a good sport. Syd, good sport, my kind. We’re going to do mighty big things together.”

  Ormsby took a swallow of his whisky, and his lips curled with anticipation. “Sorry if I appeared a bit of a stick-in-the-mud earlier, but I’d better explain confidentially, since we’re gonna be friends. I’ve been ‘round the ladies in my time, and once I got myself in a little trouble with a prosty, an’ my brother, who’s always upholding the family honor, took a dim view of the affair. Ever since, Austin’s kept me on a tight leash, so to speak, ‘specially here in Paris, where he’s had me under restraint and behavin’ like a eunuch.” He grinned. “Got my new author to thank for ending my frightful fast. ‘Bout time. This is safe enough, and to the devil with abstinence. I got my brother a book—right, Matt? Now I deserve a reward, rather doin’ what comes naturally. Don’t mind having a last laugh on Austin once in a while. That brother’s-keeper routine is a bit outmoded, anyway, eh Matt?”

  “Now you’re talking, Syd.”

  “Better go to the bathroom,” said Ormsby.

  “Straight ahead.”

  Ormsby started for Brennan’s bedroom, calling back over his shoulder, “I hope she’s a bloody bitch of a whore. I like ‘em dirty, dirtier the better, eh, Matt?”

  Brennan watched him go with distaste. Alone, he made a hasty check of the sitting room. When he heard the toilet flush, he moved back to where he had been, and when he heard the faucet start and stop, he poured himself a drink but did not touch it.

  Ormsby strutted back, stroking his mustache. “Ready for action. What’s the pillow arrangement?”

  “I’ve got my bedroom, and the adjoining one for another lady friend—”

  Ormsby clucked appreciatively. “You’re going to be my favorite author.”

  “—so I’ll take my American hooker into that one, the extra one, and lock the door, and you can have this bedroom here. I’m payin’ for the chippies, so don’ bother.”

  “What about after I’ve had the tart?”

  “Send her off an’ buzz me. Room 110.”

  “Good show. Well, I’m—”

  There was a discreet series of raps on the door. They both looked up.


  “Here they are,” said Brennan. “Well, let’s see—”

  He hastened to the vestibule, and opened the door to the last act of his playlet.

  He embraced Lisa, who was chewing gum loudly. “How are you, honey? And welcome to your friend. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Maggie, this is Matt.”

  “Hi, Matt, heard plenty about you,” said Medora Hart.

  “Come on in, girls… You Australian or English, Maggie?”

  “English.”

  “Great. Want you to meet a countryman of yours, good guy, so be good to him.”

  Brennan brought the young ladies into the room. As he did so, he could see the transformation in Sydney Ormsby’s expression. Never in memory had he seen a person so quickly drained of blood and so instantly sobered.

  “Girls, you gotta meet the greatest little lord—well, anyway, brother of a lord—British Empire ever produced. Girls, this is Mr. Sydney Ormsby, and you can call him Syd… An’, Syd, we got here my little friend I was tellin’ you ‘bout.” He placed a proprietary arm around Lisa so there would be no mistake. “This is my Alicia.” He reached over to draw Medora forward. “An’ here’s her roommate, who’s all she’s been cracked up to be. namely—what was the name again, honey?”

  Medora’s face was a tight mask of hatred as her smoldering eyes fixed on Ormsby. “Maggie, my name’s Maggie.”

  “Okay, Maggie, meet Syd.”

  Neither Medora nor Ormsby spoke. They stood silently glaring at one another, like two cats, a torn and a female, backs arched rigidly before hissing.

  Brennan looked from one to the other. “Hey, what’s with you two now?”

  Ignoring him, Medora said to Ormsby, “Haven’t we met before?”

  “If we have,” said Ormsby with restrained ferocity, “I wouldn’t remember.”

  “Whoa, Syd, whoa. What’s got into you?” demanded Brennan. “Why you bein’ so standoffish suddenly? This is Alicia’s friend Maggie, who’s done some good shows in good clubs, and she’s here like the rest of us for a few kicks. Come on, Syd, admit you’re lucky. Where else could you ever meet a gorgeous girl like this on a blind date? Truth is, you got the best of the bargain.” He nudged Lisa. “Or don’t you agree, Alicia honey?”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Lisa, chomping her gum.

  Brennan turned back to the publisher. “Well, Syd,” he said darkly, “what do you say about our Maggie?”

  Plainly worried about having incurred Brennan’s displeasure, Sydney Ormsby came stiffly forward. “She’s very lovely,” he said. “What threw me off was that Maggie resembles a girl I once knew who was dreadfully unpleasant to me. For a second, my mind went back to that.” He bowed to Medora. “Forgive my rude behavior—Maggie. Can I get you a drink?”

  “As you please,” said Medora with a shrug.

  Ormsby went to the tray and busied himself with the bottles.

  “What about you, Alicia honey?” asked Brennan. “Want some booze?”

  Lisa shifted her wad of chewing gum to the opposite cheek. “I want less talk and more action,” she grumbled. “I haven’t got all day, you know. There’s three more tricks waiting after dinner.”

  “Commercialism demeans love, baby, or so they say,” said Brennan. He patted Lisa’s behind. “Anyway, come along, Alicia, let’s find out if it does.” From the doorway to his bedroom he called back, “Have a good time, you two.”

  Sydney Ormsby looked up from the drinks he was mixing and forced a smile. “We certainly shall, I promise you. See you later.”

  Brennan led Lisa through his bedroom and entered her bedroom, closing first his door, then latching her door shut. He turned and went quickly to Lisa, who was waiting worriedly at the foot of the bed.

  “Beautifully done, Lisa,” he whispered, embracing and kissing her.

  “Do you think it’ll work?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll soon find out.” He guided her toward her corridor door. “Now off with you. You go back to your collections, and let me concentrate on mine.”

  Throwing him a kiss, she departed on tiptoe. The instant that she was gone, Brennan strode to her bed, sat down on it, reached for the FM receiver on the nightstand, and then, hesitating, he finally pulled up the indoor antenna.

  Silence.

  Ice cubes against glass.

  Medora: “No thanks, I wouldn’t take anything from you, not even a drink, you bloody bastard.”

  Glass against metal tray.

  Sydney: “Commendable, but it’s frightfully late to try to regain your amateur standing, don’t you think?”

  Medora: “I see you haven’t changed a whit, not even in three years.”

  Sydney: “Nor have you advanced in your chosen career. So now it’s Medora in public, for the come-on, and Maggie in private, for the payoff. How’s the payoff these days, without Paddy at the cash register?”

  Silence.

  Medora: “I couldn’t imagine I’d ever be capable of hating anyone else as much as I hate your filthy brother. But you’ve just made it possible. You’re bloody well right I have to Maggie it, since you and your filthy brother sent me off into exile to protect your bloody names and then left me destitute here.”

  Sydney: “It’s no use your going ‘round blaming the whole world for your lot. You chose your profession. Now you’re practicing it. Simple.”

  Medora: “I don’t have to stand here and listen to your foul tongue. I’ve been up to my ears in Ormsby muck long enough, and I see no reason to endure another minute of it. Go back to your paid chippies. Why do you have to pick on me again?”

  Sydney: “What? Wait a minute, there. Who’s picking on whom? Are you implying I arranged this reunion?”

  Medora: “I’m not implying. I’m saying you did, because you’re a goddam sadist.”

  Sydney: “Now see here! You shut up and listen. Why in the devil would I ever want to see you again? I don’t need secondhand goods and I don’t need trouble, and you’re nothing but trouble. You want the truth? When you walked through that door, the first thing that crossed my mind was that this was some sort of—of—well, put-up thing—something you’d fixed to put me on the spot.”

  Medora: “Something I’d fixed? Are you insane? How could I? I’ve never laid eyes on this stinker, Brennan, before. I knew he was banging my girl friend, that’s all, and that he was supposed to be a nice fellow, that’s all. But the second I came in this room and saw that his friend was you, that he could make friends with a dirty little rat like you, he dropped clunk to the bottom in my regard. And that he’d pimp for you, that dropped him even lower.”

  Sydney: “I hadn’t ever set eyes on Brennan until a few hours ago. I was seeing him on business.”

  Medora: “Typical Ormsby business as usual.”

  Sydney: “Very well. This was an accident, so—”

  Purse rubbing upholstery, purse clicking shut.

  Medora: “So I’m leaving the scene of the accident, that’s what. I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of spitting on you, let alone being in the same room with you. You’re a dirty wretched beast, like your brother, no better, and all I want to do is get out of here and cleanse myself.”

  Leather soles on the carpet.

  Sydney: “Hold on, Medora—”

  Medora: “Let go of me!”

  Sydney: “Listen, Medora, be reasonable, will you? Your walking out like this—it’d upset Brennan terribly. I mean, the whole thing would come out and upset him. And, Medora, listen. I’m in no position to upset him. We’re negotiating a contract, very delicate, and any little thing like this could throw it off. Look, be practical. You walk out and you give me a pack of trouble, and you have yourself an empty handbag. But if we just sit here and have a drink, nothing more—I’ll mess up the bed a bit, but you can simply sit here—and after fifteen or twenty minutes—”

  Female laugh.

  Medora: “Be realistic, Sydney. After two minutes, right?”

  Sydney: “Savage me all you w
ish, but be sensible. Sit here a bit, and then let me pay you off double your price.”

  Medora: “Sydney, drop dead.”

  Swish of a skirt.

  Sydney: “Medora, don’t go—”

  Medora: “Ouch. Let go, you’re hurting my shoulder, you—”

  Blouse ripping.

  Medora: “You bastard, now look what you’ve done, torn off half my best silk—”

  Sydney: “I’ll buy you three new ones. I’ll—”

  Silence.

  Medora: “Now you’re hurting both my arms. Where do you get off with that? Will you or will you not let me go? I’ll scream. I’ll—”

  Silence.

  Medora: “What are you staring at like that?”

  Sydney: “I can’t help it. I—I’m sorry I tore your blouse, but I’m not sorry, either. You—you still don’t wear—wear brassieres, do you?”

  Medora: “It’s none of your business what I choose to wear or not wear.”

  Sydney: “I know, but I couldn’t help remembering the past, those times in my flat. You know, Medora, I thought then—I’ve never changed about that—I thought you were the loveliest and most attractive young girl on all the earth. I was truly serious about you. If that stupid Paddy Jameson hadn’t made a botch of things—”

  Medora: “Never you mind him. Just you leave Paddy out of this.”

  Sydney: “I was only thinking of what could have been for us. With all the trouble, I’d—I tried to put you out of my mind—and God knows there have been many girls since—but right now, Medora, seeing you again like this—why, you’re a young woman now, not a child—I realize you’ve always been on my mind. There’s never been any other girl like you, no one half as desirable. I realize, I honestly realize, I don’t want to lose you, and more than anything in the world, I don’t want you hating me.”

  Silence.

  Medora: “Pretty speech, very pretty, only why didn’t you think of making it three years ago, when you meant something to me still, when I was in the soup and needed somebody to help me out, somebody who loved me enough to care? That was the time to think of it, Sydney, when you could’ve been a real man, behaving properly, independently like a man and not like the slavey robot your stinking filthy brother has turned you into.”