by P. N. Elrod
Just as I was wondering where Archy Grant might be and speculating why I should be wary of him, the crooner ended his song, and Ted Drew got his Melodians to strike up a familiar fanfare. The crooner turned and started clapping, looking upstage, and the spotlight swung from him to the right-hand wings. Archy Grant, looking fresh and thumbtack sharp, burst from them waving both arms and giving his signature grin to the rising applause as he was recognized. The music, which was the theme number to his radio show, faded as he stepped up to the microphone and introduced himself. To judge by the loud response, everyone knew him.
He explained how he thought The Shanghai Review was so good he had to get in on it to bring it down to his level. This got a laugh, then he said he’d wanted to join in on the fun for just one song if no one minded. Nobody did, and he launched into one of his standbys.
Grant was a good showman, practiced and polished, with a knack for making it look unrehearsed. He played to the audience, using his own brand of energy to get each to think he was singing only for them. By the time he finished the song most of the women looked like they’d just fallen in love with him. He bowed, grinned, and thanked everyone, then told them all to give a big welcome to the real star of the show, Bobbi Smythe. The lights went out, and when they came back, the crooner stood in Archy’s place, ready to begin the teacup number. Bobbi and her sailor costar came out with the chorus and went to work.
I stayed and watched to see if there was anything new about it—there wasn’t—and to just enjoy the performance. When it finished, I threaded through the crowd to get into the gambling room. Quite a few customers were ahead of me; the guard at the door just nodded as I eased past on the side.
While some were busy getting chips, I strolled by tables, checking for familiar faces. Adelle Taylor was at one of the roulette wheels, staring hard as it turned. She had quite a stack of chips before her, and her face was glowing. She had every right; at a rough count she must have had four grand in front of her. That struck me as strange, since the odds favored the house—in this place more than most. Then I spotted Gordy standing alone off to one side, watching her win his money. His normally impassive face bore a pleased expression.
So that was the way of things. I hated to interrupt his daydreaming, but went over.
“’Lo, Fleming,” he said when I got close enough.
“’Lo, yourself. Another big night on your hands. I saw Archy Grant put in an appearance.”
“His idea. I’m not gonna turn him down. How’d it go?”
“He livened things up. Made a big deal over Bobbi when he turned the stage back to her.”
“Good. Real good.”
“I saw Dalhauser. He gave me some kind of cockeyed warning about staying away from Grant. I tried to get him to explain why, but he wouldn’t.”
His gaze went from Adelle to me. “Warning?”
“He said for me to stay out of Grant’s way, called it doing me a favor. The way he said it was like Grant could be a threat to me.”
Gordy’s mouth stretched slightly. Any more effort and it might have turned into a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”
“Any ideas why Grant would have it in for me?”
“He likes Bobbi. You’re her man. You wouldn’t be the first guy he asked Ike to take care of so he could have a clear field with a woman.”
“LaCelle an enforcer?” I snorted. “Come on, Gordy.”
“Ike wouldn’t do it himself, but he’d know where to find guys who would.”
“Grant could have had his pick of any of the girls last night—”
“Except Bobbi.”
“Except Bobbi. Are you saying he has guys killed so he can get dates?” I found that just too hard to believe.
“Not killed. Pushed around. Paid off. Nothing flashy enough to draw the law in.”
“That’s crazy.”
He gave a minimal shrug. “I seen crazier. When he finds something he likes, he goes for it.”
“Not this time he won’t.”
“No need to get on your hind legs for this. I’ll have a word with Ike before he leaves. Make sure he knows not to do anything stupid concerning you. He can pass it to Grant.”
“I’d appreciate it, but I got ways of dealing with Grant myself.”
“Not for long term you don’t.” Gordy knew my hypnosis talent was powerful but temporary in its effect on some people. “Lemme handle it first. Ike has an interest in keeping his boy out of trouble. I’ll let him know you would be six kinds of bad for Grant to tangle with, and this way Bobbi still gets to be on his show.”
I let it sink in, finally nodding. Gordy was a specialist at getting people to do things for him, a real diplomat. He knew the players better, too. My skills were more in the sledgehammer line. “Okay. I’ll be a gentleman. This time.”
His lips thinned again. He was a mighty happy man. “What d’you think?” He indicated Adelle Taylor. She had about five grand in front of her by now.
“I think you better buy her a drink before she breaks your bank.”
The rear exit was for employees only, but that didn’t apply to me. Another door and I was in the backstage area, fighting my way through a pack of sweating, chattering chorus girls. There are worse ways to spend an evening.
Bobbi’s dressing-room door was shut, so I knocked a couple times. Rachel, the costume mistress, opened it. She had Bobbi’s teacup pajama costume over one arm. Rachel’s smile for whatever was going on within faded suddenly to surprise when she saw me.
“Hello, Jack,” she said, just a shade too loud and clear, and stepped awkwardly back to let me through. “Look who’s here, Bobbi.”
Bobbi was at her dressing table in her kimono wrap, black wig off and her platinum hair fluffed and uncombed. “Hi, sweetheart,” she called brightly over her shoulder to me.
Sitting comfortably on the couch against the far wall near her was Archy Grant.
Rachel looked at all three of us with a sick artificial smile, then scurried off, slamming the door.
Grant slowly stood and came over to put his hand out to me. “Well, if it ain’t young Mr. Fleming. How you doing?” Perfect teeth, perfect grin, and an attitude calculated to annoy.
I let him shake my hand. “Fine. I saw your song. It went over great.” I looked at Bobbi. “You were terrific, angel.”
She beamed and smeared some cream on her face to take off the heavy Oriental makeup. “We thought it might be fun to have Archy make a surprise appearance at the last show. It’s good publicity for the review.”
“Very kind of you,” I said to Grant.
“A pleasure and nothing but,” he said, smiling warmly—at Bobbi.
Any other guy might have gone over to his girl, maybe put a possessive arm around her, maybe even landed a kiss on her mouth to let Grant know where and how things stood. I didn’t have to do anything like that. Besides, the big makeup mirror looked over half of the room, and me not being reflected in it was not something he needed to notice. “Going to make any more appearances here?” I asked.
“Hmm?” He dragged his attention away from Bobbi. “Oh, well, that’s always a possibility. Not too often or my agent will have fits. He likes me to earn money when I perform, but I make more than enough to keep me in champagne and cigars. How about yourself?” Those sharp brown eyes of his had already given me a once-over; he must have taken Adelle’s hint about pricing the clothes I wore.
“I do okay. Just wrapped a job up tonight, so I’ve got some time off.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an errand boy.” Yeah. Standing easy in a hundred-dollar suit with a silk shirt and tie. I could almost see the wheels spin in his head as he tried to figure it. The logical interpretation, given my surroundings and acquaintances, was that, like him, I was mob-connected and maybe dangerous.
Bobbi shot me an amused look to let me know what she thought of my game and went on wiping cream from her face.
“Must be some company,” Grant said.
“Yeah. I’m hoping to work my way up to the mail room before long.”
His grin didn’t falter, but something sparked in his eyes. He didn’t like me, but wasn’t going to make the mistake of showing it in front of Bobbi.
“Archy, tell Jack about the change,” she said. It was her way of asking us boys to play nice.
I looked interested.
Grant looked vastly pleased. “Sure thing. Bobbi’s going to be on my show next Tuesday for real.”
“For real?”
“Yeah, not just some insert broadcast from the club. I’ve fixed things so she can actually be in the studio.”
“What about the club act?”
“Adelle’s agreed to take her place for that night as a favor to me.”
I wondered how he’d managed it. For a woman like Adelle Taylor, doing a nightclub review was a step down and backward from her radio work. On the other hand, there was Gordy to be considered. Maybe she would see him as a step up from the indifferent Grant.
Bobbi finished with the face cream and turned around. “There’s going to be a ton of rehearsing for us both. Adelle’s got to learn the dance routines, and I’ve got to rehearse with Archy to get my lines and songs. Rachel has to make costumes for Adelle and—”
“It’ll be fun,” Grant said confidently.
“What a great break,” I said. “What’s Adelle think of this?”
“She’s all for it.”
“And Gordy? What’s he think?” I looked at Bobbi.
“Oh, he thought it was a terrific idea. Not in so many words, but he gave us the go-ahead. So long as the review goes on, it’s jake with him.”
I’d bet it would be, having Adelle around for all that time.
“Tied up with a bow,” said Grant. He put himself between me and Bobbi, took up her hand, and lifted it, looking deeply into her eyes. His voice got lower, more serious, and decidedly intimate. “Well, little teacup, I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow at ten.”
She smiled up at him. “Don’t forget I’m bringing my accompanist.”
“I look forward to meeting her.” He bowed slightly and kissed the back of her hand, then gave it a friendly squeeze. On his way out he said he’d see me around.
“‘Little teacup’?” I dryly asked, shutting the door.
“He thinks it’s cute.”
“What do you think?”
“That this radio show is the chance of a lifetime, so I’ll put up with his snake-oil routine.”
“Why was Rachel acting like she’d been punched in the gut?”
“Because she doesn’t know you as well as I do and watches too many movies. She must have thought you’d go into some kind of fit at finding Archy and me so cozy here.”
Bobbi’s last boyfriend would have done the jealous-rage routine. “You know, Archy didn’t make it easy on himself. Does he want me to take a shot at him?”
“I think he just likes flirting, but there’s really nothing to it.”
“There’s something to it, baby.”
“If there is, then it’s directed at you not me.”
“You saying he’s like your costar?”
“No, I’m saying I’m not the real focus. He’s using me to annoy you, which is too bad. If he smarted up, you two could be good friends. Wonder why he’s doing it?”
“Look in the mirror, teacup, just look in the mirror.”
“But he’s not really after me, just the idea of me. I’m not real to him like I am to you. There must be another reason.”
She didn’t need to hear from me that Grant probably only wanted another trophy notation in his little black book. As smart as she was, she’d have already figured it out. “Some people don’t need a reason to mix it up, they just want to see how far they can push others before getting pushed back. It happens. No skin off my nose, but I’ll behave myself. I wouldn’t want you to get thrown off his show.”
I wasn’t too worried about Bobbi. She could take care of herself. Grant may have been trying to play some kind of game to work me up the way some guys like to poke a stick in a tiger cage to get a reaction. With the bars in the way they feel all the power and are safe from reprisals. Bobbi’s pending radio spot would do for bars to hold me back in this case. I could imagine his plan—he baits me so I get into a jealous fight with Bobbi, her begging me not to do anything against him, and then telling her boyfriend troubles to Grant, who would be so very, very understanding.
Yeah, I was probably putting too much into it, but underneath I did have to admit to a small but solid kernel of real worry. Grant was in the same kind of job as Bobbi and could appeal to her in a way I couldn’t. He knew what it was like to feel the heat of a spotlight on his face and float on the applause of others, and that wasn’t something I could give her or entirely share.
“Jack?”
“Huh?”
“You look like a week of bad weather. Archy Grant is convenient to me, but nothing more. I know I don’t need to tell you that, but I wanted to say it anyway.”
I went over and folded my arms around her. “Thanks. You, I trust; him, I don’t.”
She relaxed against me, hugging me back, and let out a long sigh. “I’ve missed this.”
“But I was here just last night.”
“Like I said: I’ve missed this.”
She eventually put on a dress and hat, pulled on a long coat, and said good night to people as we strolled out. She hunched down into the protection of her high fur collar during the damp and chilly walk to my car.
“Want a late supper?” I asked, opening the door and helping her in.
“An early breakfast would be better. Take me home and I’ll fix it there.”
“You don’t want to eat out?”
“Don’t want to waste the time.”
That sounded promising. On the other hand she had to get up early—for her—and go to that ten o’clock rehearsal. Grant would probably offer to take her to lunch. I knew if I had the opportunity I’d ask her, knowing she would be unlikely to turn me down. Maybe Marza the accompanist would take a dislike to him as she’d done to me and tag along. If she did, I’d send her a big bunch of flowers.
Bobbi’s hotel apartment was dark and the curtains open. City glow illuminated her living room as we stepped inside from the hall. She shrugged out of her coat and told me not to bother as I reached for the light switch. She dropped the coat and hat on a chair.
“I like it this way, where it’s just gray shapes and shadows,” she said, stretching her arms high. She arched her back, and without thinking about it, my hands went straight to her breasts. The fabric of her dress disguised their texture but not their shape or firmness. She laughed softly and pressed close as I bent to kiss them. No brassiere tonight.
“I like your style,” she whispered. “I don’t have to offer you anything to drink first.”
“It’s called saving the best for last.” I broke things off long enough to help unbutton her dress. She did the same for my shirt, and pulled on the tie until it joined her hat and coat.
“This way,“ she said, leading me toward the windows.
She’d originally lived on the fourth floor, but had moved up to the tenth when a suite became available. She’d wanted the better view. Right now it was a drab cloud-choked sky above and countless lights scattered below except for a thick slice of uncompromising black where the lake began.
Bobbi stared out, her face dimly reflected in the glass. “On nights like this I look down from here and feel like I own this town.”
“You will own it.” I stood behind her, arms wrapped snug around her slim body. The rose scent in her hair was enough to make me feel drunk. I let my hands roam free on her and kissed the back of her neck, taking my time. Before too long her dress slipped to the floor. She laughed again, raising her arms. “Someone will see,” I cautioned.
“They’ll need a telescope. And if they go to that much trouble, let’s give ’em a real show to enjoy.” She turned to face me and got m
e free of my clothes.
After that it was skin on skin and more laughter and touching and her brief, harshly drawn gasps for air. We ended up on the thick rug in front of her couch, limbs tangling and urgent. I pressed into her, giving her that climax, and then when she was starting to descend from it, I gave her another, much longer one. She didn’t hold back her cry this time, just ran out of breath as I fed from the tiny wounds I’d reopened in her soft throat.
I lifted away. “You all right?”
“Yes, yes. Please don’t stop, ple—”
She held me, arms and legs wrapped tight. I rode her gently, giving and taking all at once. My pleasure came from hers and from the blood she gave so willingly, from her sweet voice, sometimes moaning, sometimes begging me to go harder, to take more. I surrendered to it, to that blinding, white-hot, inside-out feeling, of being out of control and yet in perfect command. Surrendered, until I knew I had to go one step further to make it complete.
I rolled onto my back, pulling Bobbi along. I eased away from kissing her. “Your turn,” I whispered.
“Jack, you—”
“Yes, now.” I dug one nail into my neck on the left side. Couldn’t feel much, only the sudden cool touch of my blood on my skin. “Now.”
She began kissing me there, then licking, and finally drinking from me.
She held me fast, not letting go. I forced my hands away from her and down so I’d not hurt her, and then I was truly out of control, my body shuddering, writhing from the ecstasy. She took it back again, the red life I’d taken from her. And with it she drank in the possibility of living as I did, beyond death. Because of it, I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, only feel the almighty delight of what she was doing to me.
It went on and on, getting better and better until it seemed like I couldn’t take any more.
And when that finally happened, it didn’t fade away—I did.
I came back to myself in the dark. In real dark, not the dim twilight that was usually like day to me. Something heavy was on my face. Hell, something heavy was on me all over, but it gave when I moved.
An abrupt ugly memory hit like an electric shock: of being tied head to foot in old carpeting, of weights against my chest, and the sudden fall to icy death in the free flowing water of that damned lake.