Deep is the Pit

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  She was staring at him queerly, as if seeing him for the first time. “You talk about yourself like you’re talking about a lot of other people. I thought only ham actors did that. By the way, how was that Chicago thing arranged? Wrong person?”

  “None of your damned business.”

  “O.K. I’m sorry I brought it up in the first place. Honest.” She touched his arm lightly with her fingertips and managed a smile. “I know what you mean. I’ll be real careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Believe me.”

  He got to his feet, but stood by the side of the bed looking down at her. “If it did, sweetheart, you’d go down with me.”

  Her shoulders quivered slightly. “I know. Maybe that’s what I like about you. You frighten me and I’m crazy about you at the same time. Funny, isn’t it? But I guess I frighten you a little too, sometimes, in spite of the way you got it all figured out. We’re in the same boat. We really belong together, darling. Don’t you think so?”

  He looked uncomfortable and changed the subject quickly.

  “We were talking about George. I think I was trying to find out just how far he got with you.”

  “Oh, George.” She laughed. “He’d like to own that key you have.”

  “Has he tried?”

  “Often. He started by offering a better apartment, then a Cadillac, and now he’s up to blue minks.”

  “That’s progress. No ring?”

  Her eyes clouded for a moment and her mouth was a bitter line. “No ring. Say, wait a minute. Do you think I’ve been deliberately playing — ”

  “I’m not thinking anything. I’m not planning your life. I don’t own any part of you and I have no strings on you. None.”

  “I don’t see you offering any rings, either.”

  Marty stared at her, startled and amazed that even the suggestion of such an idea could creep into her mind. He headed for the door, but looked back at her. “I’m not the type, either.”

  She came to the hotel one day, a week later, and found Marty watching some workmen on a scaffolding in the lobby. Karen was also coming by, so Marty took Dotty’s arm and hurried her to his office. He did not want the two to meet. She went into his arms as soon as he closed the door and rubbed a cheek against his. He was kissing her neck when the door opened and Wayne Howard stepped in with some blueprints. Wayne gasped, stammered his apologies, and backed out. Dotty giggled and Marty swore under his breath.

  He locked the door, opened a wall cabinet, and mixed a martini for Dotty. He poured a Coke for himself and dropped into the swivel chair behind the ornate desk. Dotty sat on the edge of the desk, sipping her drink and idly swinging a leg in the air.

  Marty asked, “Shopping?”

  “Nope. Do I have to have a reason to come by and see you?”

  “Of course not. But with all this work on — ”

  “You’re busy and I’m not.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “As of this coming Saturday night I’ll be through at Chez Rouge.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Oh. It’s been a good job, Sam’s a wonderful boss to work for, and I made a name for myself, but I’m quitting.”

  Marty leaned back in his chair, his lids partly closed, his eyes fixed shrewdly on her face. She had something important on her mind and he had a hunch that it involved him. There was something tense about her, something purposeful and stubborn. “I don’t get it. I thought you liked it there.”

  “I do. It’s been nice. It’s been a big help. People know who I am. But now I want something bigger.”

  He ventured hopefully, “New York?”

  She smiled at him. “No, darling. Here. I’m not going to New York, now or any other time. If I go there I’m just another voice looking for a job. Here, right here on the Coast, is where I can make a reputation and get something out of it. Maybe even the movies later. I tried to get in before, that’s what I was doing in L.A. when I ran into you, but I didn’t have any pull then. I couldn’t even get to see anyone. Not even a casting couch.” She lifted her glass and smiled into the liquid. “Things are different now.”

  “How different?”

  “I have you, darling. You’re getting to know people, all the right people, and they know you. You can be a big help.”

  He shrugged. “Naturally, anything I can do — ”

  She stared into space and said dreamily, “I’ve been doing a little thinking, too. You know what I came up with? I think I’d like to be the featured attraction when you open this king-size saloon. Dotty Kimball. Star. My name plastered all over town every time you advertise the hotel. Really big. Something with meaning. That would do it.” She slanted a glance at him and asked, “Don’t you think so too?”

  Marty’s fingers gripped his knees and dug in to steady himself. “Well, of course, I see what you mean. But you have the wrong slant on the hotel.”

  “You’ll be using entertainment.”

  “Strictly name bands.”

  “Fine. And one other name — Dotty Kimball. People know me, darling. You wouldn’t be sticking your neck out. I did very well at Chez Rouge. I’d do even better here. Give me star billing, plenty of advertising, and the right band behind me, and I’ll make you proud of me.”

  “Well, look, Dotty. The fact is — ”

  She shook her head and leaned toward him across the desk. “The fact is,” she said, “there isn’t going to be an argument or a brush-off. This is where we pay the fare, darling.”

  Marty’s voice was deadly. “I’ve been expecting it to happen sometime.”

  “This is the time. Star billing, my own band, my O.K. on all personal advertising, and fifteen hundred a week. You’ll profit by it.”

  “You’ve really made up your mind, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Does it sound like blackmail?”

  “That you can’t touch.”

  “Don’t be too sure. Let me tell you something, darling. I’m not smart, but I’m smart enough to know you’re not the intelligent character the Stannards think you are. You’re methodical, you can concentrate on one thing, even a small detail, more than most people can, you’re ruthless and you have a pretty shrewd brain, but you aren’t intelligent. You don’t have everything figured out. There are gaps. You don’t have me figured out. If I wanted to blackmail you I could do it. I’ve even been tempted.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Two things. In your own peculiar way, you were decent to me. You came along right when I needed you. I’m grateful. And I am nuts about you, oddly enough, knowing what you are. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s just sex. I don’t know. But it’s there. So there won’t ever be blackmail.”

  “Unless I turn you down on this — uh — little request.”

  Dotty continued looking into his eyes, but said nothing.

  Marty got to his feet and paced the floor. He stopped to stare at Dotty a moment, then unlocked the door and left the office. He returned in a few minutes with his advertising manager, also an eager young man on his way up. He was not long out of college, his hair was crew-cut, he affected tweeds and smoked cigarettes chain fashion, as he thought he should do in his suddenly elevated position, but he was good. He gulped and beamed when he saw Dotty sitting on the edge of the desk.

  Marty smiled as he introduced them. “Dotty, John Talbot. He runs the advertising department and will also be in charge of entertainment. Johnny, Dotty Kimball.”

  “Sure. I know you. Saw you at Chez Rouge.”

  “Dotty will be our first star of the Bali Room. Get a band for her, a damned good one, and get together with her on advertising and all the other details. Draw up her contract, too; star billing, personal O.K. on advertising, and — ” He paused a second, then continued, “Seventeen-fifty a week. You just got a raise, Dotty.”

  Dotty stared at him, at first puzzled, then with comprehension. “You take away from danger and add to gratitude.”

  “Is that bad?”

  �
��No.” She smiled. “No, it isn’t.”

  He waved a hand to indicate the room. “O.K. You two have the office. Work it out. I’ll see you later.”

  He had a small doubt as he left them and returned to the lobby. Dotty was moving in too close, much too close. But he asked again, Is that bad? He remembered a situation he had experienced in the Army. The company captain had been a jerk. The men hated him, his brother officers hated him, everyone hated him. The only reason he was not shot in the back was that he was careful never to expose himself. Company morale was shattered. There seemed to be nothing to do about the jerk. And then it was all resolved so easily as to be almost ludicrous. The captain was promoted to major and vanished into the rarefied atmosphere of the back areas. He was kicked upstairs and thus ceased to be a problem. There was no reason why it could not work with Dotty. Kick her upstairs, he thought. Give her more money than she was used to, make a star out of her, give her some measure of fame, and automatically she would vanish into a higher atmosphere. Nothing to it. He went back to work.

  He did not spare himself in the heavy labor going on at the hotel. He had a rigid schedule to maintain so that all of the many renovations would be completed at approximately the same time. He drove the men working for him and he drove himself as his ideas took shape. The old inner court, long a waste space, became the Venetian Room, decorated as the name implied. Marty did not believe in subtleties. Two upstairs convention rooms were joined into one to make the exotic Bali Room. The Oak Room remained the main dining room, but its decor was altered and brightened and a gayer atmosphere achieved. The original bar was ripped out entirely and made into the Hollywood Bar, fittingly decorated with photographic murals and stage props. Behind that was the service bar to take care of all the rooms. The musty ballroom was changed completely into the Arizona Room with appropriate murals, desert plants, and an atmosphere designed to create nostalgic reminders of a dude ranch. The Manhattan Room was, of course, sophisticated Big Town at its imaginative best. The last completed was a smaller room, on a level lower than the main lobby, known as the Florida Room. One almost expected crocodiles to swim out of the Everglades murals.

  Marty also intended building a Sky Room penthouse bar on top of the hotel, but he was running out of cash and had to postpone that to a later date. He was, in fact, afraid that he would run out of funds before any of them was opened, so he kept the work going at a furious pace. But he had chosen his men well and virtually everything was completed ahead of schedule.

  Marty was astounded one day to realize that all of the work was in its final stage and that he could open the rooms to the public the following week. He plunged practically the last of his finances into a huge advertising campaign and filled the daily papers with the virtues of the “new” Stannard Hotel. It was hardly necessary, as San Franciscans were already titillated about what was being done to “their” hotel. Opening night was obviously going to be jammed.

  One room, the Bali Room, was reserved for invitations only, and Karen took over the chore of making out the list. The Bali Room, therefore, was established as being socially desirable the night it was launched. That was the room that “everyone else” wanted to be in, and angled and argued and fought for the privilege. The Stannards had spoken.

  The grand opening came off about as Marty had expected, an instant and overwhelming success. He was surprised not at all. After all, it was simply going according to plan. All of the rooms overflowed their capacity, the lobby was jammed, the guest rooms were all reserved, parties were going on everywhere in the hotel, and even the sidewalk in front of the hotel, flooded with powerful Kleig lamps, was crowded by the curious. It amused Marty to see a squad of police handling the crowds, working for him. The orchestras and entertainment had been well selected and met with instant public approval. Dotty Kimball was outstanding. She had spent all of her savings on a glamorous wardrobe that compelled the envy of the women and delight of the men watching her. The Bali Room alone could not contain her. She sang in the other rooms as well and was the biggest hit of the whole affair.

  Marty floated about from room to room, watching the crowds, their likes and dislikes, and, more important, the direction of their traffic. The flow was smooth and well regulated, offering little difficulty to the waiters and bartenders. The initial planning had been well done. Marty was more than pleased with himself.

  He stood in the entrance to the Bali Room late in the evening and looked toward the Stannard table at a corner of the dance floor. Karen, George, and Frank were entertaining a dozen of the more prominent guests at their table. Though their gaiety was subdued, they were obviously enjoying themselves. Karen, in fact, was radiant. In a low-cut evening gown, black hair cascading about white shoulders, she was the focal point of all attention. She was proudly surveying the scene as if she had personally reconstructed the hotel.

  Jees, Marty thought, how little it takes. Scratch below the glittering surface and what is it? A large-scale, gold-plated saloon. Today’s society. Saloon society. At the bottom of the inverted pyramid — booze.

  Frank saw Marty in the doorway and left the table to join him. The two of them listened to the hubbub in the room and looked over the crowds circulating in the hallways. Frank took the stub of a cigar from his mouth, threw it away, and squinted at Marty with high good nature. “Not bad,” he commented. “About the way you figured it?”

  Marty nodded. “Just about. Maybe a little better. But this is only opening night. It’s what happens every night from here on that counts.”

  Frank chuckled. “Not letting it go to your head, are you? Good boy. You’re a cool customer, Marty. How did you get that way?”

  “I’ve been in spots before that looked as good as this and then had them fold on me. Not that I expect it to happen here. This is different. This one is made. But I’ll get excited when I add up the books at the end of the year and look at all that nice black ink.”

  “You’re talking my language. Frankly, I think you’ve clicked already. I’ve been watching and doing a lot of listening. Not only are people enthusiastic — they even seem a little stunned. You’ve put it across with a punch. Whether you know it or not, a good portion of these people came to find fault and laugh at you. The outsider, you know. People are suspicious of a man on his way up. They like to see him trip and fall, as most of them have done. It’s-only when he makes it that they pat him on the back and tell him what a great person he is.” He asked sharply, “Getting your share of compliments?”

  “Plenty. The older babes,” he chuckled, “really love to gush.”

  “Uh-huh. You’ve done it, Marty.” He took another cigar from his breast pocket, bit off the end, and spat it out. As he puffed at the cigar to get it going he said, “But, by God, you got me curious. I’ve had your hotel record pretty well investigated. I’ve learned plenty of reasons why you should know the business well, but found nothing that indicates the person you are today. You’ve shown a genius for organization and planning that could come only from a man with unusual experience in that direction. Nothing I’ve been able to learn about you shows that. Where did you come by it?”

  Marty said cautiously, “Some of us have it and some haven’t. Maybe I have it.”

  Frank had his cigar going well and rolled it about in his mouth. “That’s no answer. It isn’t talent I have in mind. I’m talking about practical knowledge as well. So you’ve blended together science and theory and practical knowledge of the hotel business. Granted. Organizational skill, though, that’s different. You’ve had experience at it, wide experience. Where, Marty?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve picked it up here and there. Suppose we let it go at that.”

  Frank stared at him for a moment, blinking his lids over his green eyes, then turned away and indicated Karen across the room with a nod of his head. “Lovely, isn’t she? I hear you’ve been seeing a lot of her.”

  Marty thought of just how much he had seen of her and smiled, but said bluntly, “I intend seeing a lo
t more of her.”

  Frank shifted the cigar to a corner of his mouth and looked back at him with a quick, shrewd glance. “That’s what I thought. What do you have on your mind?”

  Marty took a deep breath and replied, “Well, I had intended calling on you in your office to get your permission, but this is probably as good a time as any.”

  Frank almost dropped the cigar from his suddenly slack mouth. “Permission?” he gasped.

  “Yes. I’d like to marry Karen. You’re the acting head of the family, so I’d like your permission.”

  “Have you asked her yet?”

  “I wanted to talk to you first.”

  Deeply amused lights danced in Frank’s eyes, but he said sternly and gruffly, “I’ll be damned. Isn’t that a pretty old-fashioned virtue? No one bothers about it in this day and age. You’re the last person in the world I would expect it from. How come?”

  Marty laughed, realizing that it was going much easier than he had expected. “You want the truth?”

  “If possible.”

  “O.K. If you weren’t in agreement with the marriage you could ruin me in this town. I’ve been told what a bastard you can be and I’ve watched you operate. So I’m not sticking my neck out. I want you on my side.”

  “Suppose I don’t agree?”

  Marty stated quietly, “Then you would find out the sort of bastard I can be, too.”

  Frank glared at him, then burst out laughing and slapped him on the shoulder. “I like that. Four cards face up and a hidden joker. Well, I’ll tell you. I think you’re a queer fish in a lot of ways, and sometimes — no offense meant, mind you — I get thinking there must be a bad soft spot somewhere. Know what I mean? A man builds a beautiful house that’s a sight to behold and it collapses because the foundation is soft.”

  Tiny muscles of anger twitched about Marty’s lips. “So you figure I have a soft spot.”