shimmered hot fingers over the streets.
Audrey had a long one, a stiff one. I watched her throat move convulsively as she poured it down. When she’d finished it off, she put down the glass and leaned back against the booth. The tenseness gave a little at the edges. Alcoholic relaxation eased her nerves temporarily. And two big tears forced themselves from under her closed lids and ran down across her white cheeks.
“Poor baby.” she said, “poor helpless baby.”
Audrey needed someone to talk to. I listened.
“He never had a chance,” she said. “Money, sure he had money. Is that what they call a chance nowadays?”
She looked at me and the anger slipped from her thin features. She started working on her second drink. She put the glass down and pressed her right hand to her breasts as if she wanted to rub the liquored heat into her flesh. She reached up and dragged off the black veiled hat with a sob.
“I hate funerals.” she said miserably. “They stink. You hear me! They stink.”
“I hear you.”
She leaned her head onto her right palm and then ran shaking fingers through her hair. “Poor baby,” she said.
She lost breath for a moment as a sob clutched her throat. Then she drank some more. Her eyes on me. Red. Lost eyes. “You know what he said to me a few nights ago?”
“Jim?” I asked.
Dennis. Jim never talks to me.” Another sob. “Dennis said— you’re my family, Aud. The only family I have.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly
Imagine it,” she said. “Just his sister by marriage, but to him, I was his family. And he kissed me on the cheek. And he hugged me.”
Her teeth clamped together. Her lips pressed tightly, drained white under the lipstick.
“If I find out who did it,” she said, “if I find out for sure that she did this I’ll . . .”
”What?” I said.
Her eyes dropped. She shook her head and picked up her glass
“You’ll do what?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“I’ll tell you who killed Dennis. Steig killed him.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
‘You don’t want to know,” I said. “You’d rather believe it was Peggy.”
“Buy me another drink?”
“No, I won’t buy you another drink. I’m taking you home. I’m never buying you another drink again. Drink yourself to death on your own money. I’ve lost sympathy.”
She didn’t say a word all the way to Malibu. She got out of the car and I drove away. I imagine that she went to her room and locked herself in. There, she probably took off all her clothes and went to bed with a bottle of whiskey and drank it until she was senseless Happy college days gone. Betty Coed in a drunken stupor.
Later that afternoon I stopped by Peggy’s apartment. Apparently Jim had to entertain a few visiting firemen he happened to be related to. And, naturally, since Audrey wasn’t around he’d have enough trouble explaining that without having Peggy around to arouse comment too. As a matter of fact I found out later that Jim was burned up because I’d taken Audrey away. Lord know why. She certainly was in no shape to play hostess to ferret-eyed relatives.
Peggy was sitting in the living room listening to the radio. I recognized the introduction the orchestra was playing. In a moment Lanza would start heaving his lungs out and using up his incredible gift a little more.
The door was open to let the breeze in so I went in and sat beside her. She smiled a little and patted my hand as I sat down.
“How long have you been here?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t been keeping track. Where were you?”
“I took Audrey home,” I said.
“Oh. Jim took me home. That is, he had Steig take me home.”
“I imagined he would.”
Casual conversation with Che gelida manina in the background. And my mind tearing at me to ask her once and for all if . . .
But how can you ask a girl you love to tell you—yes or no— whether she’s murdered?
“I’m sorry you went,” I said,
Audrey had a long one, a stiff one. I watched her throat move convulsively as she poured it down. When she’d finished it off, she put down the glass and leaned back against the booth. The tenseness gave a little at the edges. Alcoholic relaxation eased her nerves temporarily. And two big tears forced themselves from under her closed lids and ran down across her white cheeks.
“Poor baby.” she said, “poor helpless baby.”
Audrey needed someone to talk to. I listened.
“He never had a chance,” she said. “Money, sure he had money. Is that what they call a chance nowadays?”
She looked at me and the anger slipped from her thin features. She started working on her second drink. She put the glass down and pressed her right hand to her breasts as if she wanted to rub the liquored heat into her flesh. She reached up and dragged off the black veiled hat with a sob.
“I hate funerals.” she said miserably. “They stink. You hear me! They stink.”
“I hear you.”
She leaned her head onto her right palm and then ran shaking fingers through her hair. “Poor baby,” she said.
She lost breath for a moment as a sob clutched her throat. Then she drank some more. Her eyes on me. Red. Lost eyes. “You know what he said to me a few nights ago?”
“Jim?” I asked.
Dennis. Jim never talks to me.” Another sob. “Dennis said— you’re my family, Aud. The only family I have.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly
Imagine it,” she said. “Just his sister by marriage, but to him, I was his family. And he kissed me on the cheek. And he hugged me.”
Her teeth clamped together. Her lips pressed tightly, drained white under the lipstick.
“If I find out who did it,” she said, “if I find out for sure that she did this I’ll . . .”
”What?” I said.
Her eyes dropped. She shook her head and picked up her glass
“You’ll do what?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“I’ll tell you who killed Dennis. Steig killed him.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
‘You don’t want to know,” I said. “You’d rather believe it was Peggy.”
“Buy me another drink?”
“No, I won’t buy you another drink. I’m taking you home. I’m never buying you another drink again. Drink yourself to death on your own money. I’ve lost sympathy.”
She didn’t say a word all the way to Malibu. She got out of the car and I drove away. I imagine that she went to her room and locked herself in. There, she probably took off all her clothes and went to bed with a bottle of whiskey and drank it until she was senseless Happy college days gone. Betty Coed in a drunken stupor.
Later that afternoon I stopped by Peggy’s apartment. Apparently Jim had to entertain a few visiting firemen he happened to be related to. And, naturally, since Audrey wasn’t around he’d have enough trouble explaining that without having Peggy around to arouse comment too. As a matter of fact I found out later that Jim was burned up because I’d taken Audrey away. Lord know why. She certainly was in no shape to play hostess to ferret-eyed relatives.
Peggy was sitting in the living room listening to the radio. I recognized the introduction the orchestra was playing. In a moment Lanza would start heaving his lungs out and using up his incredible gift a little more.
The door was open to let the breeze in so I went in and sat beside her. She smiled a little and patted my hand as I sat down.
“How long have you been here?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t been keeping track. Where were you?”
“I took Audrey home,” I said.
“Oh. Jim took me home. That is, he had Steig take me home.”
“I imagined he would.”
Casual conversation with Che gelida manina in the background. And my mind tearing at me to ask her once and for all if . . .
But how can you ask a girl you love to tell you—yes or no— whether she’s murdered?
“I’m sorry you went,” I said,
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