Deep is the Pit

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  Marty laughed. “Honestly, George, I don’t need you.”

  “But you’ll have to have cash.”

  “Sure.”

  “O.K. Let me put it up. Frank can arbitrate the percentage split. Then use me in the deal. You know I can be useful.”

  “I suppose you could be.”

  That was all the leverage George needed. He started talking fast, selling himself. Marty paid little attention to what he had to say, but did consider George’s offer seriously. Looking at it from one angle, Marty could see that George’s backing could be preferable to Karen’s. George was none too bright, he was totally lacking in his father’s executive ability and shrewdness, and he was easy to handle. His cash was as good as Karen’s, he would make an excellent errand boy, and, with the Stannard name, he would be a wonderful front man with the Hollywood crowd and the socially prominent of Santa Barbara.

  While they argued about it, Karen talked quietly with Wayne in another corner of the room. When Wayne started to leave, Karen hastily persuaded him to remain for dinner. George decided to stay, too.

  Marty was still arguing with George at the dinner table, but his attention was distracted by Wayne and Karen. They were two of a kind. They conversed easily together, they had common tastes and interests, and they obviously liked each other. Marty watched Wayne closely and wondered if it went deeper than that. He decided that it did. Wayne gave himself away in many little manners — the rapt way he listened to Karen, as if entranced by the music of her voice, and the intent way his piercing eyes drank in every detail of her changing expressions. Wayne was captivated by her.

  At first Marty was amused, but other emotions began to stir. He felt resentment, then anger. He tried to brush it off, but it would not leave. He told himself that he was silly, that Wayne was the last man in the world to make a play for another man’s wife, and that anyway, Karen would never respond. But the feeling of anger remained.

  It was still with him even after Wayne and George had left and Karen had gone to bed. Marty got into his pajamas, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked down at Karen’s head dark against the pillow. He studied the glossy sheen of a bare shoulder and her curved form under the covers, the way she curled into a ball like a kitten. He felt another emotion, a new one to him, one akin to hunger.

  He stood up and paced the floor in the dark, breathing deeply of the perfumed atmosphere, every nerve feeling and responding to Karen’s nearness. He was confused. He had suddenly wondered what it would be like to lose Karen and knew that it would hurt, a deep, raw hurt. He had never felt that way about anyone before. Women had been something to use, to enjoy, to slake his passions, but not to be considered seriously. As Red Martin, but operating under other aliases, he had been married before to women he could not possess in any other way. When he got tired of them he had walked out of their lives with never a backward glance, or even a thought about them. That, he realized, was impossible with Karen, regardless of the circumstances.

  She had come to mean something to him; he was not sure exactly what it was, but it was nevertheless a positive thing. It meant just being together, looking at her, listening to her voice, watching the beauty and grace of her form, whatever the movement, and being amused with the way her eyes seemed to effervesce whenever she was excited about something. It meant thinking about her as a person, wondering what went on in her mind, and being puzzled over the reasons she had married him. It also meant a tremendous strengthening of ego. With a woman like Karen as his wife, he had to be something pretty hot himself.

  He doubted that he was in love. He was not capable of it. That meant giving as well as receiving, and Marty hadn’t the giving nature. He co-operated with Karen and her way of thinking and living and went along with her and her ideas as much as possible, but he rarely gave of himself. It was not love.

  But a strong tie had been born in his union with her, a powerful tie. He admitted that it was partly compounded of the fact that she was a living denial of his attitude toward all people and an affirmation of the possibility that some people could actually be virtuous, honest, kind, and trusting. He still doubted the purity of the rest of mankind, but he knew of Karen’s. There was no doubt of that. She was the one good thing in the world as seen through his eyes, and he possessed that goodness.

  It startled him to realize that his feeling toward her was no longer based primarily on sex. There had been little enough of that lately. But, even in spite of Karen’s strange new attitude, he still felt powerfully drawn to her. Perhaps, he thought, it was because she had opened a new world for him. That could be it. Without her he would be simply a pretty sharp hotel operator. With her he had become three-dimensional, a person of substance, someone to reckon with, a man of power.

  God, he thought, if I ever lost her! A wave of hot violence swept through his body and he was aware that, for once, he could kill for something other than money or his own safety.

  It was a tremendous turning point in Marty’s thinking processes.

  Chapter Twelve

  MARTY became cautious. He made no moves without numerous conferences with attorneys, every new idea had to be discussed and analyzed dozens of times, and each final commitment was made with reluctance. When he arrived finally at a compromise figure with the owners of the Wilton Plaza, he used George’s backing to close the deal. The deciding factor in George’s favor was also caution. Karen’s wealth remained untouched, a solid anchor to windward.

  Wayne did all the driving. Marty’s new-found caution amused the decorator, but Wayne had the ideas this time and he saw that they were executed as he wanted them. Marty furnished the technical ideas from his knowledge of the hotel business, but it was Wayne in the driver’s seat where the decor of the hotel was concerned. Marty soon saw that Wayne had learned considerably from the Stannard and that he was doing a job of even greater competence with the Wilton Plaza. Marty left him alone.

  He was in his hotel suite one evening, after a hurried flight to Santa Barbara and back, when Dotty called on him. He told her to help herself to the contents of the bar and continued going through an accumulation of mail. When he had disposed of it he turned about to face her. She was relaxed in a chair close by his desk, sipping at a weak highball, her glance resting casually on him. Marty noticed that she had changed during recent weeks. She was wearing heavy make-up for the first show of the evening, her gown was the usual clinging and revealing type, and her body was as lush as ever, but there was a difference about her. She was still as vital as ever, but she seemed more rested and more polished, more the successful personality now, used to praise and adulation. She seemed to have lost the restless urge to climb and acted more the woman who had already arrived.

  Marty mixed a highball for himself and dropped onto a couch facing Dotty. He stretched his arms and legs and slumped down on his spine. He blew out his breath and said, “I’m pooped.”

  Dotty smiled slightly. “You don’t look it, darling.”

  “Too damned much work. Too many people to watch. Not enough hours in the day.” He glanced at his watch and saw that she had a half hour before appearing in the Bali Room. “What’s on your mind, Dotty? Anything special?”

  “A few little items.” She sipped slowly at her drink, watching him over the rim of the glass. She allowed the silence to grow almost embarrassing, then said, “Our directions haven’t been running parallel for some time, Marty. Right now mine is taking me away from the Bali Room.”

  Marty lifted his head from the back of the couch and raised an interested eyebrow. “What’s this all about?”

  “I have an offer to sing in the Lotus Room of the Beverly-Bentley.”

  Marty frowned. “That so? That’s one of the few money-makers in the whole damned Bentley chain. Nice hotel. Very swank.”

  “I think so, too. Mr. Bentley assures me — ”

  “The old boy himself? Where did you meet him?”

  “Right here, of course. He comes to the Bali Room every time he’s in town.”
Dotty looked amused. “He — ah — rather likes me.”

  Marty burst out laughing. “Well, I’ll be damned! So the old boy’s sniffing around. I didn’t think he had it in him. But I don’t suppose you have to worry. He’s too far gone to cause you any trouble.”

  Her amusement deepened. “He has other ways.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. That kind. Anyway, he made me an offer of two thousand a week to sing in his hotel in Beverly Hills. I’ve taken it. I’ll be leaving here the end of the week.”

  Marty was suddenly alarmed. He felt that he should be pleased with getting rid of her so easily, but still, it could make matters difficult for him. His domestic arrangement would suffer. It could lead to a bad showdown with Karen, and the time was not ripe for that. Her strange attitude had not yet altered even a degree.

  “Sounds as if it’s all settled,” he said. “Do you think you’ll like it there?”

  “Why not? It’s one of the better spots in the south, uses the best name bands, and caters to the movie crowd. I’ll be seen by the people I’d like to have see me. Something might come of it.”

  Marty squinted at her and shook his head. “I don’t know, Dotty. Mind you, I think you got it on the ball, but you have to consider that here I’ve backed you up all the way, given you all the publicity in the world, and spotlighted you as if you were a New York star. You might not get that treatment down there. It could make a difference.”

  She pouted. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m known well enough now to carry my own weight.”

  “I just thought I’d point out — ”

  “Besides,” she chuckled, crossing her knees, and the smile returned, “this is where I take the candy away from baby for a while.”

  Marty wondered what the devil she was referring to, then remembered their conversation about George. “Oh. Distance lends enchantment?”

  “Something like that, but not exactly. George depends on me. He spends all the time with me he can.”

  “I didn’t know it had gone that far.”

  “It certainly has. And further. When he’s in town we have dinner together practically every night. And on my night off we always manage to go to some resort.”

  Marty growled, “You told me you like to be alone then.”

  She laughed at him. “Jealous?”

  “Oh, nuts. We aren’t a couple of kids playing patty-cake. So you’ve been really giving him the works, have you?”

  “All the way.”

  “Funny, but he hasn’t said anything to me.”

  “He doesn’t know about you and me.” She lost her smile as a shadow crossed her face, and bit her lower lip. “Anyway, I didn’t say I had him wrapped around my little finger. He isn’t that easy. But we’re making progress. We’re getting somewhere. Now, I think if I take the candy away from him for a few months, that might turn the trick. That’s one of the principal reasons I’m leaving.”

  “You sure have a fixation about him. I don’t get it. You’re doing all right on your own, without him. If anyone had offered you two grand a week when I first met you, you’d have torn yourself apart with joy. Now you got it and you’re on your way. You might even go places, big places.”

  “Thanks, darling. And I still want George. Remember Sylvia Stone?”

  Marty chuckled. “Sure. The nympho.”

  “One of these days, sweetheart, I’m going to be in the same position she was in the night she made me feel like crawling back under my rock. Georgie is going to do that for me. When I’m Mrs. Stannard she and her whole crowd are the ones going to feel like lepers.”

  Marty took a swallow of his drink and shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way, Dotty. Believe me. You can’t dent those people.”

  “The hell I can’t.” She put her glass aside and got to her feet. “Anyway, that’s the program.”

  Marty was still disturbed at the sudden idea of Dotty’s leaving and could not make up his mind whether or not he should be pleased about it. He decided, however, that it would be best not to interfere.

  He stood up with her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Dotty, are you still afraid of me?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Afraid?”

  “Yes. The night of that blind date, when you recognized me, you were afraid of what I might do. So you said you were going to protect yourself with a little document that would ruin me if anything happened to you.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And you did?”

  “Naturally. I wrote out a little history about Red Martin and Marty Lee and put it in a safe-deposit box.”

  “Well, look. That thing is a danger to me. Suppose you had an accident? Through no fault of mine. That document would come out. For God’s sake, tear it up. You know you’re safe with me.”

  Dotty patted his cheek and walked away from him. She opened the door and smiled back at him over her shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, darling. I tore up that paper the day you got married. That was when you ceased being dangerous to anyone.”

  Marty was delighted that that particular worry was removed so easily and celebrated by taking Karen out that night for a tour of the silver-plated pubs. When Dotty left for the south at the end of the week he gave her a Cadillac for a going-away present. She was overjoyed and hugged her patron saint and protector. Marty hoped she would drive the car over a steep cliff and break her neck.

  A few days after she had gone he had to make a business trip down to Santa Barbara. He had intended spending a day or two only, but Karen was restless and went along with him to make a vacation of it. They spent lazy days riding, playing golf, and lying in the sun by the Wilton Plaza swimming pool, or taking long walks on the beach. Wayne joined them for a few minutes or so, whenever he had time, but he was not seeking Marty’s company. Each time it became more apparent to Marty that Wayne, though he managed to hide it well, was either in love with Karen or well on his way. It had evidently been growing in him ever since the wedding.

  One afternoon, while looking over some blueprints in the offices of the Wilton Plaza, Marty started talking to Wayne about Karen. He sat on the edge of the desk and said, “It’s taken me a long time to realize just how lucky I am. I don’t think there’s another woman in the world like Karen. Do you know that?”

  Wayne looked embarrassed. He shuffled the prints about on the desk and nodded. “Sure. Unusual woman.”

  “That’s an understatement. It’s really odd, Wayne, how much she means to me. I know how you look at me — cut your throat for a nickel, strictly after the dollar. Maybe I am a lot like that, but not where Karen is concerned. When it comes to Karen — ”

  Wayne interrupted by shoving the prints aside and straightening his back to glare narrowly at Marty. “O.K., big shot. Get it off your chest. You don’t have to beat around the bush with me. So you’re scared.”

  Marty growled low in his throat. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Just what you have in your mind. You’re afraid I’m in love with your wife.”

  “I haven’t said — ”

  “You don’t have to. I know how you think. Well, you’re right. I’ve been in love with her for a long time. Sure. And I know it’s hopeless. You don’t seem to realize that, you don’t have the equipment to realize it, but I do. You can’t see it because you don’t understand loyalty. You don’t understand anything about a woman like Karen. All you can see is that we have a hell of a lot more in common than you will ever have and that she likes me and I’m crazy about her, so you’re scared.”

  “Why, you jerk, you’re nuts!”

  “I’m talking sense.” He poked an angry finger into Marty’s chest and continued, “I’d take her away from you in a minute if I could. Quite aside from my own desires, it would be the best thing that could happen to her. With you she’s heading straight for tragedy. There’s something wrong about you, something badly wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m willing to bet there’s something rotten in you that
’s going to burst one of these days — and smear Karen. When it does, I’ll be there. Is that plain enough?”

  Marty jumped up from the desk, swinging even as he reached his feet. He caught Wayne high on the cheek with a solid left that spun him about, but did not knock him down. Wayne stared at him, then started to laugh. He came in swinging as if he were going to enjoy every blow. He was taller than Marty, wiry, powerful, in excellent condition, and knew how to use his fists. He had not, however, learned to fight in the gutters and back alleys. Marty knew every dirty trick in the book and used them all. In a few moments the office was a shambles and Wayne was flat on the floor. He tried to get up, but lacked the strength. He shook his head dazedly and passed out.

  Marty stood over him, breathing hard, still feeling the effects of Wayne’s blows about his chest and ribs, but otherwise not marked. He raised a foot to smash Wayne’s face, but thought better of it. He got some water from the cooler and threw it in Wayne’s face. Wayne groaned, rolled to his side, and got to his knees. Marty grabbed his arms, lifted him to his feet, and helped him into a chair. Wayne leaned back and stared at him.

  “Nice. Queensberry rules.”

  Marty’s eyes were as hard and flat as a rattlesnake’s. “Don’t ever make that mistake again, chum.”

  “I didn’t think — you could do it.”

  “You know something, you stupid son-of-a-bitch? You’re lucky to be alive.”

  Wayne looked into the vicious lights in his eyes and nodded. “I guess I am.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe some of the blood from his face. He was beginning to breathe easier. “You really are tough.”