“Swim suit? Yeah. It's in the car.”
She smiled in what I thought was a slightly mysterious and highly sensual fashion and said, “It's just as well, even though you probably won't need it.”
“Oh? Nobody going swimming?”
“Everybody will, I imagine.” She kept smiling and I looked at her bright red lips and thought how pleasant it would be to kiss them. And while I thought that, I also wondered if she'd meant what I thought she meant.
Just as I was about to ask if we were all to jump into the pool with our clothes on and drown, Raul gulped the last of another drink and shouted over the noise, “We're going swimming, people! Everybody get undressed. The prudes can wear suits.”
Helen's smile broadened slightly, and I thought I had at least part of my answer. I cleared my throat. “Well,” I said, “I never.” That was me. Brilliant as always.
Chapter Two
OSCAR SWALLOW swung around toward Raul. “Oh, you cur,” he cried, “not yet.”
“Excuse me a minute, Helen,” I said. “Think I'll chat with this man Raul.” I paused. “You have a suit?”
She nodded.
I looked at the deeply tanned skin of her face and arms. “You get a lot of sun, don't you?”
“All the time. But I'm not tanned all over. I have two white strips.” Her dark eyes were merry. “Little narrow white strips.”
“Oh?” I cleared my throat. “That's interesting. I—uh, excuse me.”
She chuckled as I walked across the room toward Raul. When I reached him he said, “Get your trunks, Shell, while you've got the chance.”
“O.K. What's with Swallow? Can't he swim?”
Raul laughed. He was a little tight. “Sure he swims. But he made a phone call a while back to his secretary. He has designs on the woman; wants to get her into the pool. Only she doesn't know it yet.” He laughed again. “He knows if we're all splashing around when she gets here, she'll probably never join the party.” He sobered a little and shook his head. “Can't say I blame the man. She's some woman. Some woman.”
There were a couple of things he'd said that had confused me a bit, but one above all. I said, “He called his secretary? You mean Zoe?”
He blinked at me. “Where did you hear about Zoe?”
“Why? Any reason I shouldn't?”
“No, no reason,” he replied. “Just surprised me. She's taken a powder somewhere, I guess. I meant Sherry, Swallow's new steno. He dictates most of his stuff.”
Swallow and Genova had been talking together and now they walked over to us. As they came up Genova was saying angrily, “That goddamn Bondhelm! I'd like to cut him to pieces a pound of fat at a time.” Genova's deep, booming voice was surprising in so short a man.
Raul chuckled. “That'd take about a year, considering his size.”
Genova grumbled, “The sonofabitch must of studied under Shylock.”
“Direct descendant,” agreed Swallow. He looked around and added, in one of those imitation British accents that never fool anyone except those who want to be fooled, “Things seem to have calmed a trifle. Unfortunately.”
I said, “Guess the cancan dancer ran down.” Then I asked Raul, “She in the movie?”
“Yeah, that's Dot. Dot English. But she gets eaten up by a lion in one of the first scenes.”
Swallow broke in. “Very intelligent lion, that one. Almost human, don't you think, old boy?”
I looked at him to see if he were old-boying me, but he was addressing himself to Raul. Swallow glanced over at Dot and said, “Lovely, lovely—and that creamy white skin. I think I'd call her Snow White with sex appeal.”
It about summed up my own impression of Dot, and it was a fair description, but I'd read the line before in one of the movie columns. Raul chuckled again and said, “I think that lion was you in a lion skin, Swallow.”
Swallow grinned but didn't answer as he and Genova walked to the bar.
I asked Raul, “Something else. What's this about cops asking questions?”
“Well,” he said, “you do get around.” He grinned. “Always the detective, aren't you? Believe me, I didn't ask you here to quiz the guests, Shell. Cops got a bug they should look for Zoe. Talked to me yesterday; to Genova, King, all of us, I guess.” He shrugged. “Me? I know from nothing. Why they should even ask us, I don't know. Except she's been working at the studio.” He paused and said, “For God's sake, relax, man. This is supposed to be for kicks.”
“O.K., Raul. Uh, say, you heard anything from Evelyn?”
His face sobered. “No. Looks like she's ... gone.” He frowned and looked at me. “I wish—Oh, to hell with it. Skip it, Shell. Go get your suit and glue it on.”
I nodded, handed him my empty glass, and walked out the front door and down the steps to the flagstone walk leading out to the drive. I grabbed my trunks from the front seat of my Cadillac and stopped.
A new Ford coupé pulled up behind my Cad and a girl in a bright print dress got out and started walking across the lawn toward the path. I guessed this was the Sherry Raul had mentioned. She was about twenty feet away, walking toward me, and at first I just glanced at her curiously. She was walking rapidly and my initial impression was that she was cute and curvy and a highly jiggly tomato.
“Hello,” I said.
She looked at me for the first time and said cheerily, “Hi, there. How're you?” She walked right by me and up the path, and I really didn't pay as much attention to her face as I should have. How I missed noticing, even on that first casual glance, I don't know, but even in a town that boasts such prominent women as Jane Russell, Denise Darcel, and Marie Wilson, this little cutey was right up there. They were right up there, too, and they had a personality all their own. This was three-dimensional TV and Art Studies in Action. Right then I decided that no matter what her other talents were, there was one thing she was almost sure to be good at.
She went past me and started up the path and I watched her revolve away, then followed about ten feet behind her. I'd been having fun inside the house watching Dot and talking to Helen, but nice as that had been, I felt right now as if I'd gone from the famine to the feast. She heard my footsteps on the path, looked over her shoulder, and smiled, then kept on going. She seemed like a happy little gal.
I followed her inside, then went over behind the bar for a drink while I sized up the situation. Swallow swung around as soon as the girl came in and said exuberantly, “Ah, Sherry, my dear. So glad you could come.”
He had a habit I'd noticed of acting as if he were the host, but what annoyed me most about him—so far, at least—was that phony British accent he'd stolen. Like a lot of affected fakes, he rolled “ripping” trippingly off his tongue, along with “old boy,” “by Jove!” and even “bloody” in perfect pear-shaped tones. He had already changed into trunks that might have been tailor-made.
Sherry said something to him and he threw back his head and laughed. I'd have bet he did that a lot; it made his neck look big and strong and the muscles rippled in his throat. He even laughed pear-shaped. Raul and Douglas King both headed toward him and the late arrival, but I lost track of the action right then because Helen walked across the room and sat on one of the bar stools.
She smiled. “Do you remember my drink, Mr. Scott?”
“Shell, honey. And it's scotch and soda. Coming up.”
Helen said without sarcasm, “She's lovely, isn't she?”
“Who? The new one? Well, yes. More cute than anything else.”
“She sort of sparkles. You know who she is?”
“Swallow's temporary secretary or something, isn't she?”
She nodded. “She ought to be in the picture.”
I grinned at her. “She wouldn't get past the Johnston office. For that matter, I don't know how you're going to. Breen will turn green.”
“You're sweet,” she said.
Laughter bubbled from the little gathering a few feet beyond us, then Douglas King detached himself from the others and wal
ked up to the bar. He sat down and patted Helen's thigh, looking at me.
“Mix me a drink,” he said.
I didn't like the flat way he said it, as if it were an order, but I let it pass. “What are you drinking?”
“Scotch on the rocks. You're the private eye, huh?”
“That's right. Only we're seldom called private eyes.” I mixed the drink and put it in front of him. He grunted. Just for the hell of it, I grunted.
Helen said, “I think I'll slip into my suit.” She gave me a big smile when she said it and I winked at her. King grunted. Maybe he had a pain.
Helen walked off and left me and Bruta together. I finished my drink and picked up my trunks. Some of the others had changed into swim suits and I wanted to be around for whatever the hell was supposed to happen out there at the pool. I stepped from behind the bar as King tossed off his drink and plunked the glass down on the bar top.
“Mix me another,” he said. Same flat tone again.
I grinned at him. “Sorry,” I said pleasantly. “There's a new bartender on now.”
He looked squarely at me and said softly, “Mix me another one, anyway.”
He was still sitting on the stool, all nine hundred pounds of him swung around a little toward me, and we were looking straight at each other. Obviously he was pushing this beyond the point of light chatter, and there were several things I could have done. I could have stared at him for several minutes to see which of us would look away first—which seemed pretty stupid—or I could get nasty, or I could clobber him one. I was getting damned unhappy with this boy, but I'm not a guy who goes around looking for trouble. In my business I get enough without looking for it. And maybe the guy did have a pain.
So I said, “Let's not be silly, King,” and walked away. He didn't spring on my back and bite me, so I went over toward the piano, where Swallow and Raul were talking to the outstanding woman in the room. Behind them Genova was rapidly shoving papers into his brief case. The girl had her back in the curve of the piano top, her elbows resting on the polished black surface behind her, and I added an inch to my unofficial estimate.
She glanced at me as I came up, then in apparent answer to something Raul had said she laughed merrily and replied, “All right, Raul. I won't be angry.”
I cleared my throat.
Swallow said, “Well, as long as you're here, how about a drink?”
“All right. Only one, though. I still think it's a dirty trick.”
I cleared my throat very loudly.
Swallow said, “I shall make it myself,” and headed for the bar. Big of him.
I dug Raul in the ribs. When he turned toward me I said, “Hello, pal. What's new, pal?”
He grinned. “I've been expecting you,” he said. Then he turned to the girl and said, “Sherry, this is one of my old, evil friends. He's a private investigator named Shell Scott, and not as tough as he looks. Shell, this is Sherry.”
“Hello, Mr. Scott,” she said, and her voice was as soft as a whispered “Kiss me.” She added, “I remember you. You're the man who was following me.”
“For years,” I said. “And call me Shell.” I might have said any number of other things, but this was the first good chance I'd had to take a look at her face; I took it, and it kept me fully occupied for a while. She was only about five-four or so, and she was looking up at me from big eyes that were the clear blue of sky after rain. Her lips were full, soft, and red as the edge of a rainbow, and turned up mischievously at the corners now in the start of a smile. Silky hair, the rich color of dark mahogany, tumbled down to her shoulders. Right here, I decided, was a woman who could have all of my time she wanted.
Finally I found my tongue again. “We sort of go together: Shell and Sherry. Names do, anyway. You joining the party?”
She smiled. “I thought there was some work for me to do here—typing or note-taking or something. That gay deceiver over there"—she glanced at Oscar Swallow across the room mixing drinks—"led me to believe there was. But as long as there isn't, I'll just drink and run.”
Raul spoke up. “I move that Sherry remains.”
“Second the motion,” I agreed.
She laughed musically. “Gentlemen, you're overruled.” She turned and took her drink from Swallow as he came up, then asked me, “A detective? Are you here picking up clues or whatever detectives do?”
“Uh-uh. Just enjoying myself.” I looked around the room. Almost everybody else was in a swim suit now, and that made me consider how lovely Sherry would look at the beach. Particularly a private beach. She was sipping at her drink and listening to Raul, so I excused myself and hunted up an empty room. I changed into my trunks and when I came back into the living room I noticed everybody was now ready for a swim except Genova—who wasn't really invited, Raul had told me.
But there was one thing missing: the bosomy Sherry. I spotted Raul, long and thin in a pair of faded green trunks, and walked up beside him.
“What happened to the little—”
He knew what I'd started to say. “She left. I figured she would when she found out Swallow didn't really have anything important cooking but just wanted to make a pass at her.” He smiled. “But I wish she'd stayed.”
I'd been wishing the same thing, myself. Then Raul turned away from me and yelled, “Outside, everybody. Hit the pool.”
We all trooped out, blonde little Dot prancing in the lead, looking very fetching in a bright yellow two-piece bikini. Everybody seemed to be happy, yelling and laughing, and I decided I'd only been imagining that something was dampening the spirits around here. The pool itself was a beauty. It was about sixty feet long, and at one end there was a diving board and at the other end was the feature of Raul's pool that made it different from most of its Hollywood counterparts. That was the waterfall. It wasn't a very big waterfall, but water was pumped continually up from the pool to splash down over artistically piled rocks and back into the pool again. It was pretty, and had a pleasant sound to it, and if you tried hard you could almost imagine it was a country stream. The house and grounds were isolated enough. Even the other homes nearby were out of sight.
We grouped around the pool and I spotted Helen and walked up beside her. She looked even better in her light blue one-piece suit than she had in the strapless white dress.
“I was looking for you,” she said. She went on casually, “How do you like my new suit? Usually I wear a two-piece, but I liked this one. Do you think anybody will really go swimming in the nude?”
I swallowed. The sun was low now, but it was still plenty bright. Very damned bright, if you asked me. I said, “In the— Is that on the program?”
She shrugged. “All I know is what Raul told everybody when he got the party together,” she said, smiling broadly. “That we could bring suits but we couldn't wear them in the water. You know: Hang your clothes on a hickory limb...”
“He—he didn't tell me that.” I thought back to Raul's invitation. “That is, not exactly.”
She put her hand on my arm. “Scare you?”
My heartbeat had speeded up a little bit. I looked down at Helen's brown eyes and red lips. The way she was smiling now, her lips seemed to thin and look almost savage. Their red seemed like the stain of blood and her dark eyes had narrowed and appeared almost black.
I said, “No, I don't think so.”
She squeezed my arm gently just as Raul shouted loudly, “No suits in the pool! Who's brave enough to be first in?”
Raul was only a few feet from me and I called to him, “Hey, you serious?”
He swung around a little unsteadily and shouted, “Hell, why else have the damn pool?”
There was quiet for about three seconds, and it appeared we were all going to stand there looking foolish, and then Dot, dear delightful little Dot, squealed bravely, “I'm brave,” and ran toward the diving board ten yards away.
Well, now I knew.
Chapter Three
DOT ran to the end of the pool and climbed up on the
springboard. The quiet of a moment before was gone now and somebody yelled, “Attagirl, Dottie,” as she reached behind her and fumbled with her skimpy yellow bra.
I heard Swallow's British accent close by as he said happily, “Ah, this is a lovely Hollywood innovation: The Casting Pool.”
Dot unfastened the bra and pulled the cloth from her body, then held it high over her head for a moment, posing before us all. Men yelled and the girls squealed and I said weakly, “Attagirl.”
I was wishing Sherry had stuck around. Then Helen stepped closer to me, her arm sliding around my waist, her soft thigh pressed against mine. I put my arm around her bare shoulders and pulled her closer to me, my throat tight. Dot threw the bra away from her and it was a spot of yellow on the surface of the water for a moment before it sank slowly downward. Then she put her hands on the brief bikini trunks, stood motionless for long seconds, then slowly slid them down from her hips and kicked them into the pool.
That really broke the ice, if it hadn't been broken before. One of the other girls whose name I couldn't remember, a sweet-faced redhead, started to peel off her suit, and Raul went over to help her. Dot still stood on the springboard, and now she started bouncing up and down, squealing. Talk about bouncing! You never in your life saw such bouncing. This looked like one of those times when pretty soon a man would feel more conspicuous with his clothes on than with them off. No matter what happened, pretty soon I was going to be damned conspicuous.
Dot yelled, “Come on in, everybody,” and dived into the pool. I was surprised: No steam came up. Right then Helen said softly beside me, “Well?”
I turned and faced her. She was smiling easily, and as I looked at her she unfastened the single strap that was looped around her neck and helped hold up the top of her suit. With her fingers hooked in the cloth over her full breasts she said, “Are you going to join me?”
I said, “You know something? I feel a little silly. Probably I should have had one more drink. Two more. Several.”
Way of a Wanton Page 2