“No dice. I mean it.” He leaned over and placed his hands gently on her shoulders, but close to her throat and with nothing gentle in his eyes. “Furthermore, you’re getting out of this hotel. Get an apartment, another hotel, I don’t give a damn, but you’re getting out. Understand?”
Dotty made the mistake of failing to heed the danger signals in his eyes. She laughed at him. “If you think you can get tough with me — ”
Her words were choked off. Marty lifted her by the throat, his fingers pressing in deeply, thumbs in the hollow, Dotty’s fingers clawing at his arms, then dropping away, her body going limp. Marty dropped her back to the couch and stepped away. He leaned against a wall, lit a cigarette, and waited. After a while Dotty began to stir, pushed herself upright, and dazedly caressed her throat with shaking hands. She looked toward Marty, blinking at him, bringing him into focus out of the fog.
Marty said, “You see, I mean it. Next time it could be very different.”
She swallowed and gasped, “You’re a cold-blooded killer!”
“So I have been told, many times. Maybe you’d better start remembering it. Let’s get this straight. I’ve traveled a long way to be exactly where I am today. You aren’t going to get in my way. I’ve been carrying you for a long time, as long as it was safe. Now it isn’t. Now you’re on your own. Now, just by returning, you’ve become dangerous to me. And you know,” he smiled thinly, “I don’t like people who are dangerous to me. Something can usually be done about it. You understand?”
Dotty bit her lower lip, still rubbing her throat, her eyes fixed on his. “I guess,” she said, “I’ve been forgetting,”
“I guess you have.”
“I shouldn’t ever forget.”
“That’s right.” He turned away from her and placed his hand on the knob of the door to leave. He looked back at her with a smile. “Don’t take it too hard. You’re pretty well set up. You can get along. You have Georgie.”
“Yes.” She was out of the daze, fully recovered, her eyes suddenly as cold as Marty’s. “I have Georgie — almost.” She smiled with her lips only. “I’m not on my own there, too, am I?”
“Why not?”
“I need your help where he’s concerned.”
“I can’t go to bed with him.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t walk out on me there, Marty. Anywhere else, maybe, but not there. That’s important.”
He squinted at her a long moment, his eyes glinting dangerously, wondering if she could possibly be threatening him. He decided that she was in no position to think she could endanger him. He lifted a hand in a mock salute. “Be seeing you.”
“O.K., Marty. Remember.”
“Sure.”
He left the room not quite satisfied, but feeling that something had been accomplished to clear the air.
That night he told Karen that Dotty Kimball was back in town. They had finished dinner in the apartment dining room and were having coffee and brandy on the terrace. Marty looked over the lights of San Francisco, but could not keep his eyes away from Karen very long. She was wearing a severely plain jade-green dinner dress, but with lines that accentuated every curve of her figure and a plunging V at the neckline. Pearls gleamed dully at her ear lobes and about the marble whiteness of her throat. Marty thought again, as he did every time he looked at her, that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Also, as it did every time he looked at her, frustration mounted in him in black waves. The barrier she had erected was still there.
She slanted him a glance of slightly better than casual interest. “Dotty Kimball?”
“Yes. The singer. I wanted you to know.”
“Why?”
“Well, just in case you got any ideas. She didn’t do so well down south, so she came back. Wants me to put her back in the Bali Room. I told her it was no dice.”
Karen lit a cigarette, blew out a puff of smoke, and said lightly, “That wasn’t very chivalrous of you. But perhaps you were thinking of me?”
“Well, damn it, naturally. I also told her she was strictly on her own from here on.”
“Hasn’t she always been?”
Marty covered his blunder by saying quickly, “Yes, of course. What I meant was that she and I are all through.” He hunched his chair closer to hers and placed a hand on her thigh. She crossed her knees and drew away from him. He said urgently, “Listen to me, Karen. I’m all through playing around with anyone. Even that wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for your odd attitude. Look, why can’t you unbend a little? Why can’t we go back to where we started?”
“No one ever goes back.”
“All right, then start over again from here. Put it any way you like. You know I’m crazy about you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Marty.”
“But what the hell’s wrong?” he shouted. “You said yourself I’m the same man you married.”
“That’s right, but I thought you were honest. My mistake.”
“Karen, you’re driving me nuts. I might as well be living with a store-window dummy. I can hardly sleep any more. You lie there a few inches away, but it may as well be a thousand miles.”
She said coolly, “It would be better if we had different rooms.”
“My God, can you live that way?”
She thought of it a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure I can.”
“Well, I can’t. I’m not built that way.”
She stretched her arms, yawned, and got to her feet. “I’m going to a show with some friends. I’ll be back later, if you don’t mind.”
He got to his feet and stood facing her, his features twisted with rage. “Well, I do mind. We have things to talk about.”
She looked unblinkingly into his eyes. “Do you intend stopping me?”
She waited a moment, then turned on her heel and left the terrace. Marty dropped back to the deck chair, his hands working, opening and closing into fists. A permanent sense of frustration was beginning to permeate every cell of his body.
A few days later Frank Stannard called him to make a luncheon engagement. They met at the University Club and dined near windows overlooking Chinatown and San Francisco’s financial district. The older man’s eyes were fixed coldly and speculatively on Marty throughout the meal, though he had little to say. They went into the comfortable, old-fashioned barroom after lunch and sat at a table away from the other members. Marty was nervous, wondering what was on Frank’s mind, and ordered a double shot over ice. He had recently begun to drink doubles, but told himself that it was simply a passing thing. He could quit any time he desired. But he liked the way liquor relaxed his nerves and dulled that constant feeling of frustration.
Frank definitely had something on his mind, but he did not bring up the matter in the barroom. He waited until they had left the club and were standing on the sidewalk outside.
Then he said casually, “I see where the glamorous Miss Kimball is back in town.”
Marty thought, Oh, oh, here we go. But he nodded and said, “Returned Sunday. I saw her a few minutes Monday morning at the hotel. She checked out the next day.”
Frank cut off the end of a cigar with a tiny gold knife, apparently interested intensely in what he was doing. “So I understand. She took an apartment in the Marina district, near the yacht harbor.”
“That so?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“No. I haven’t seen her since.”
“I see.” He gave Marty a sharp glance and said dryly, “Enough of this nonsense. You know that I know all about your little affair with Miss Kimball. I don’t particularly condemn you for it. In fact, it must have been damned hard for you to fire her at the hotel and send her away.”
Tension gradually drained out of Marty. The trend of the conversation was not going too badly. He decided to play along and said, “No, it wasn’t easy.”
Frank put the cigar in his mouth and puffed at it until it was glowing. He looked into spa
ce and said, “Yes, I learned all about that little affair, but I hadn’t sense enough to pay attention to my own son. But having you investigated, I learned, quite by accident, of George’s romantic interest in the same Miss Kimball. Didn’t you know about it?”
“Well, not exactly. I just knew they had a few dates together, that’s all.”
“It’s more than that, my boy. He has always played the game of safety in numbers. Not any more. Since he started going with Miss Kimball he has stepped out with no one else.”
Even Marty was surprised by that information. Evidently Dotty really knew what she was doing, after all. But he said, “I doubt that. It doesn’t sound like George.”
“And it isn’t like him. That’s the whole point. He has seen no other woman and she’s playing him along like a fish already hooked. In fact, she isn’t playing the game of mistress at all, and I seriously doubt that she is one. It’s obvious to me that her goal is greater than that. She is bound and determined to marry him. Now, George is no brain trust. He hasn’t been taken in before because he never before ran into a woman who was more worldly-wise than he is and could outthink him at every step. I don’t blame the girl, mind you, I don’t blame anyone who tries to better himself, but not at the expense of my son.”
“I still think — ”
Frank snapped, suddenly irritable, “You don’t know anything about it. George is crazy about her. That I know. All right. So he’s in a battle with himself. She wants to marry him. He knows he shouldn’t marry her, that he would be a damned fool to do it, but she has him at a point where he isn’t able to think straight. He may do it. He doesn’t seem able to stay away from her.”
“Sex, Frank. Strictly sex.”
“You should know.”
“So I do know.”
“She must be good.”
“She is.”
“Damned good?”
“And then some.”
“Hmmmmm.” Frank rolled the cigar thoughtfully in his mouth before saying, “That makes it stronger than ever in her favor. Nothing wrong with sex that I can see. So she has him hooked. All he has to do is lose this battle with himself and they’ll be married. You can imagine what that would do to George.” He looked levelly into Marty’s eyes and asked, “Or can you?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Yes. You know her. Very well. So I have a favor to ask of you, Marty.”
“Now, wait. I’d rather not be involved. You can end it if you want. All you have to do is tell George she was shacking up with me. That should finish it. He wouldn’t like that at all.”
Frank shook his head sadly. “It isn’t for me to do it, my boy. If I did it, George would hate me for it.”
“Oh, now, George is crazy about you.”
“Thank you. I hope he is. I am damned fond of him, you know. But all his life he has lived in my shadow. He wants to get out on his own. That’s why he went in with you on the Wilton Plaza deal, and I was happy to see him do it. But this new independence of his also embraces his romance with Miss Kimball. So if I tried to do anything about it — well, it could be bad. But you, though — ”
Marty said desperately, “I’m telling you, Frank, I want no part of it.”
Frank placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it hard. “What I mean, Marty — one of these days he’s going to bring up the subject with you. It’s bound to happen, the way he feels about you. Then you can tell him exactly what you think. I’m not asking you to lie about anything. You know the truth. You know what she’s like and what she’s after. Simply tell him that and, of course, the more important fact that he would be wearing your castoff shoes.”
“Jees, Frank — ”
He smiled and patted Marty’s arm. “I’m not going to try to argue you into it. Think it over. But if you do it — well, I believe you know what my gratitude could amount to.”
Marty shrugged. There was nothing more to be said. Frank nodded a curt good-by and left him standing in front of the club. Marty felt trapped. Dotty had him on one side and Frank on the other. It was difficult to know which would be the more valuable friend or implacable enemy.
Chapter Thirteen
KAREN took the whole matter out of Marty’s hands when George arrived at the apartment one evening shortly after dinner. Marty had gone into the study to look over some of Wayne’s bills from Santa Barbara while Karen, in another corner of the room, was working on the servants’ budget. George dropped in, ostensibly to talk over the progress being made with the Wilton Plaza, and all work came to a halt. George was nervous and mixed a powerful highball for himself. He sat down for a minute, talked about the hotel, got up and paced the floor, and again sat down. Marty watched him curiously.
Karen at last laughed and said, “For goodness’ sake, George, stop twitching and hopping about. What on earth is wrong with you?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Oh, nothing much. Just something on my mind.”
“Then get it off your mind.”
“Well, I don’t know — ” He looked undecided, glancing from one to the other, then blurted out, “I’m thinking of getting married.”
Marty sat a little forward in his chair, his body tensing, his eyes fixed narrowly on George. Karen gasped, started to get to her feet, but dropped back into the deep chair. George chuckled, pleased with her reaction. “Surprised?”
Karen stared at him wide-eyed and gasped, “Surprised is hardly the word. I would have had some intimation-some hint, a suspicion — George, it can’t possibly be anyone I know.”
“Well, not exactly, but in a way. You know who she is.”
Karen shook her head. “Impossible.” She drew in her lower lip, thought a moment, then ticked off names on her fingers: “Sylvia? No. The Hollister girl? No, she’s going with the Damon boy. Gwen Field? You saw a good deal of her, but that was a year ago. One of the Flaherty sisters? But you never seemed to care much for either of then. Then there’s — ”
George looked slightly uncomfortable and interrupted, “She isn’t in our — well, she’s not quite in our set. To be perfectly honest about it, our friends are not going to like it at all.”
Karen stared at him, as if not quite believing what she had heard, then smiled broadly. “But George, that’s wonderful!” She crossed the room, dropped to the couch at his side, and squeezed his arm with both hands. “Tell me all about it and end this suspense. I’m dying of curiosity. This is terribly romantic. Who is she, George?”
He glanced at Marty, obviously feeling good, not as nervous as he had been. “Marty knows her. We met her at the same time. In fact, she was a blind date a friend of mine got for him to celebrate with when he bought the hotel. Isn’t that one for the books?”
Karen looked puzzled, but still immensely pleased. “It becomes more romantic than ever. Now, look here, George, you’re killing me. Who is the girl?”
“Well, you’ve seen her. She worked for Marty for a long time in the Bali Room. She’s a singer. Dotty Kimball.”
Karen’s smile turned into a weird grimace and all blood drained from her face. She turned her head slowly to stare at Marty with an expression of tragic shock, as if seeing the devil himself, then looked back at her cousin. Her hands slid from his arm to drop listlessly in her lap. She shook her head, her mouth silently forming the word “No.”
George frowned at her as an angry flush crept into his cheeks. “It can’t be as bad as all that, Karen. You married out of our circle. Of all people, you’re the one I thought would be pleased. By God, this is really something. You — ”
“George.” She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them they were cold, calculating, and hard. “It isn’t what you think, George. Does Frank know about this?”
“I imagine he suspects something.”
“And this — Miss Kimball — you have already asked her to marry you?”
“Well, not yet. I had an idea I might talk to Marty. He’s smarter about these things than I am….” His words trailed off weak
ly into silence. He looked to Marty for support. Marty watched the two of them, saying nothing.
Karen said coldly, “Yes, that would be a good idea. Marty could tell you a great deal.” She glanced toward him, her eyes narrowed and challenging. “Can’t you darling?”
Marty sat leaning forward, squinting at her, biting his lip. He wanted to say nothing, but the two of them were watching him, waiting. “Well,” he said, “I did get to know her pretty well.” He could not face Karen and turned his glance to George. “I think that what Karen has in mind is that I could probably tell you more about her background than you know. She’s definitely from the wrong side of the tracks, George, and you know the old saying about a sow’s ear — ”
George snorted disgustedly, “Oh, the hell with that.”
“And, well, perhaps her morals — ”
“And the hell with that, too. What am I supposed to be, Little Boy Blue?”
Karen said, “Well, one thing about it, her sex life would certainly be a full and happy one in this family.”
George snapped, “Just what do you mean by that?”
“I’ll leave that to Marty to explain.” She got to her feet and looked down at her cousin with deep sympathy. She ran her fingers lightly through his hair and said, “I’m sorry, George. I would truly like to see you happily married. But Miss Kimball is not the one. You see, George, she has been Marty’s mistress for a long time.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “And perhaps still is, for all I know. Sorry, but that’s how it is.”
She brushed her fingers on George’s cheek, then turned away and left the room. George stared after her, his mouth open, his face as pale as Karen’s had been. Slowly he turned his eyes toward Marty. He shook his head slowly back and forth, blinking at Marty. After a moment he got to his feet, refreshed his glass with a lot of whisky, and drank it down in one gulp. He had a coughing fit, his shoulders shaking convulsively. When it was over he leaned weakly back against the study bar.
“Anything else,” he whispered. “Almost anything else. Is it true, Marty?”
Marty nodded. “I’m afraid so. Of course,” he lied, “I had meant to tell you before it got too serious — ”
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