blocks and she hadn't said a word.
Then: “I don't suppose you want to tell me where your sudden riches came from… I know it's none of my business.”
“It's simple. I had something to sell and found a man who wanted to buy; the very soul of commerce, the life blood of capitalism, the age-old law of supply and demand. Look,” I said, “I got off on the wrong foot with you; I admit it. I got a little rough, but actually I'm not a rough guy at all. Believe me, everything is fine.”
“Forget it.”
I parked the Lincoln in one of the garages behind the apartment building and Pat and I used the rear entrance to get to my place. I had the package under my arm, anxious to see her face when she opened it. This will thaw her out, I thought. If she doesn't react positively to the stimulus of this package, then I've wasted a hell of a lot of time studying the science of human motivation!
“Here we are,” I said, putting the key in the lock. I had opened the door, just a little, just a crack, when I saw Dorris Venci there in my apartment! I had just started to shove the door all the way open and step inside for Pat to enter, when I saw her sitting there, motionless, those Zeiss-lens eyes focused emptily on my face. I closed the door, fast.
“Look,” I said, “I just happened to think of something. Something I forgot to do. Will you do me a favor, will you go in your own apartment for a few minutes, powder your nose or something, until I get everything just right? I don't know about you, but this is a big day for me, and I want to be absolutely sure that everything is right. Will you humor me?”
An eyebrow lifted the slightest bit, that was all. “Of course,” she said.
She gave me her key and I opened the door to her own apartment. “Just a few minutes,” I said heartily, “this isn't going to take long.”
Alone, I stood there in the hallway thinking: Christ, I hope she didn't see Dorris in there! She would recognize her sure as hell and pretty soon she would start putting things together. Pat Kelso was no dummy. She wasn't just another piece of gorgeous sex machinery; she had a brain.
I took a deep breath, feeling the anger flow over me, feeling it in my guts, in my muscles, in my brain. I gave myself a few seconds to calm down, then shoved the door open and went in.
I had forgotten about the caterer. She was a short, fat German woman of about fifty, very neat and businesslike in a starched white dress, gleaming white shoes, a small heart-shaped light blue apron. She looked perfectly antiseptic and sterile and happy.
“Oh, Mr. O'Connor,” she beamed, “I believe everything is in order. Everything, just as you ordered it. Smoked turkey, baked ham, a shrimp bowl, mushroom salad. The sweetbreads are in the chafing dish, sir, over the warmer, and the wine is in the refrigerator ready to be iced.”
“Thank you,” I said, “everything looks fine.” Dorris Venci sat as though she were hypnotized, saying nothing. I paid the woman from the caterer's, made a deposit on the dishes and told her she could go.
I turned to Dorris and said, “I'm getting pretty goddamn tired of your walking into my place like this. To be perfectly honest, I'm getting tired of you. Can't you see I had something of my own arranged here?”
She turned those eyes on me, and only then did I see how washed out she looked. Her face had aged ten years in the past two weeks.
“You… haven't called,” she said flatly. “I… haven't heard from you in several days.”
“Listen to me,” I said, “we'd better get something straight, and right now. You have no hold on me at all; the minute you turned over your husband's strongbox, it was over. You didn't buy a damn thing. Is that clear?”
Suddenly she put her hands to her face, covering her face.
“Now what's wrong with you?”
“I wish I were dead!” Her voice came muffled through her hands. “I wish I had the courage to end it!”
“Great God!” I groaned, “don't go
Then: “I don't suppose you want to tell me where your sudden riches came from… I know it's none of my business.”
“It's simple. I had something to sell and found a man who wanted to buy; the very soul of commerce, the life blood of capitalism, the age-old law of supply and demand. Look,” I said, “I got off on the wrong foot with you; I admit it. I got a little rough, but actually I'm not a rough guy at all. Believe me, everything is fine.”
“Forget it.”
I parked the Lincoln in one of the garages behind the apartment building and Pat and I used the rear entrance to get to my place. I had the package under my arm, anxious to see her face when she opened it. This will thaw her out, I thought. If she doesn't react positively to the stimulus of this package, then I've wasted a hell of a lot of time studying the science of human motivation!
“Here we are,” I said, putting the key in the lock. I had opened the door, just a little, just a crack, when I saw Dorris Venci there in my apartment! I had just started to shove the door all the way open and step inside for Pat to enter, when I saw her sitting there, motionless, those Zeiss-lens eyes focused emptily on my face. I closed the door, fast.
“Look,” I said, “I just happened to think of something. Something I forgot to do. Will you do me a favor, will you go in your own apartment for a few minutes, powder your nose or something, until I get everything just right? I don't know about you, but this is a big day for me, and I want to be absolutely sure that everything is right. Will you humor me?”
An eyebrow lifted the slightest bit, that was all. “Of course,” she said.
She gave me her key and I opened the door to her own apartment. “Just a few minutes,” I said heartily, “this isn't going to take long.”
Alone, I stood there in the hallway thinking: Christ, I hope she didn't see Dorris in there! She would recognize her sure as hell and pretty soon she would start putting things together. Pat Kelso was no dummy. She wasn't just another piece of gorgeous sex machinery; she had a brain.
I took a deep breath, feeling the anger flow over me, feeling it in my guts, in my muscles, in my brain. I gave myself a few seconds to calm down, then shoved the door open and went in.
I had forgotten about the caterer. She was a short, fat German woman of about fifty, very neat and businesslike in a starched white dress, gleaming white shoes, a small heart-shaped light blue apron. She looked perfectly antiseptic and sterile and happy.
“Oh, Mr. O'Connor,” she beamed, “I believe everything is in order. Everything, just as you ordered it. Smoked turkey, baked ham, a shrimp bowl, mushroom salad. The sweetbreads are in the chafing dish, sir, over the warmer, and the wine is in the refrigerator ready to be iced.”
“Thank you,” I said, “everything looks fine.” Dorris Venci sat as though she were hypnotized, saying nothing. I paid the woman from the caterer's, made a deposit on the dishes and told her she could go.
I turned to Dorris and said, “I'm getting pretty goddamn tired of your walking into my place like this. To be perfectly honest, I'm getting tired of you. Can't you see I had something of my own arranged here?”
She turned those eyes on me, and only then did I see how washed out she looked. Her face had aged ten years in the past two weeks.
“You… haven't called,” she said flatly. “I… haven't heard from you in several days.”
“Listen to me,” I said, “we'd better get something straight, and right now. You have no hold on me at all; the minute you turned over your husband's strongbox, it was over. You didn't buy a damn thing. Is that clear?”
Suddenly she put her hands to her face, covering her face.
“Now what's wrong with you?”
“I wish I were dead!” Her voice came muffled through her hands. “I wish I had the courage to end it!”
“Great God!” I groaned, “don't go
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