The producer was still watching her. “What d’yuh expect from a high-fashion model? The clothes fall better on them without ’em. She’s got more than most.” He looked up at her face. “Thirty-five?” he asked.
She nodded.
The producer got to his feet, smiling. “I got the best eye in Hollywood,” he said. “Haven’t guessed wrong in twenty years.” He turned to Jed. “She’ll do.”
The pratfall kid came over and leered up at her breasts. “Thanks for the mammaries,” he sang in an off-key voice.
Bayliss laughed. “Cut the clownin’,” he said. “Come on, it’s time we got something to eat.” He started for the door.
The pratfall kid and the film manager staggered after him to the door. At the door Bayliss turned back and spoke to Jed. “Tell her what she’s gotta do and have her at the press conference at five o’clock.”
The door closed behind them and she and Jed looked at each other. He smiled. “Maybe you’d like to sit down for a moment and catch your breath?”
Her legs felt suddenly weak. She smiled gratefully and sank into the chair the producer had vacated. It was still warm from his body.
Jed filled a glass with ice cubes and poured a bottle of Coke into it. He took it over and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it from him and sipping it.
“They’re crazy,” he said, still smiling, looking down at her white bathing suit and her long tan legs.
“Are they always like that?” she asked.
Jed was still smiling but she thought she detected a faint note of bitterness in his voice. “Always,” he answered. “They’re big men. They’re always proving something.”
For the next week she was the best-known girl in Buffalo. Not a day passed that her picture wasn’t in the papers. Twice that week she was in the Niagara Falls paper. She was on every local radio and television show and met every important newspaperman and person in the area.
Jed was always near. Unobtrusively he set up pictures for her and the producer, together and alone. Somewhere in the picture was always a plug for the movie. That first night she didn’t get home until three o’clock in the morning. The next night she didn’t get home at all. She spent the night in Jed’s room.
It was a giddy, supercharged week and when it was over, everything seemed flat and meaningless. Of all the people she had met that week, no one seemed to remember her, not even the matrons who attended the weekly fashion show at the department store where she worked.
She remembered what Jed had said to her the last night. “You got too much for this hick town, Barbara. You come down to New York. That’s the place for a girl like you.”
He had given her his card and the card of a photographer he knew. Six months later she went to New York. The manager of Jed’s building said that he had moved to California but the photographer was still there. The funny thing about it all was that Jed had been right. New York was the place for her. Within two weeks she had an assignment for a Vogue cover. Within a year she was one of the most sought-after high-fashion models in New York. Her fee was sixty dollars an hour and she earned almost twenty thousand a year.
She worked very hard and went out very little. The camera was too harsh and revealing when she did not get enough rest. On the weekends she flew home to Buffalo and lounged around the front yard of the new house she had bought for her mother.
Then one afternoon she had been modeling some new suits in front of the Plaza Hotel. One of the props they were using was a bright red, Alfa-Romeo sports car. As she posed opening the door of the car, the agency executive came up to her. With him was a tall, lean, foreign-looking man. The man had a handsome, savage look about him and when he smiled his teeth were strong and white.
“Barbara,” the agency executive said, “I’d like you to meet Count Cardinali. He was kind enough to loan us this car for these shots.”
Barbara looked up at him. She knew the name. Count Cardinali. It was one of those names you read in the papers. Almost a legend. Like De Portago and Pignatari, somehow you never expected them to be quite real.
Cesare took her hand and kissed it. “So pleased to meet you.” He smiled.
She smiled and nodded and he went away and she went back to work. That evening she was lounging in her slacks, watching television, when the phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello,” she said.
“Barbara?” Somehow his accent was slightly stronger when it came through the telephone. “This is Cesare Cardinali. How would you like to have some supper with me tonight?”
“I—I don’t know,” she answered, unexpectedly flustered. “I was just lounging around.”
His voice was very sure. “That’s all right. I won’t pick you up until eleven o’clock. We’ll go to El Morocco.”
He put down the phone before she could answer and she went into the bathroom and began drawing a tub of water. It wasn’t until she was in the steaming tub that she realized she was really going to see him that night.
Later, when they were seated in the restaurant, he lifted his glass of champagne toward her. “Barbara,” he said in a serious voice. “There is a great deal of talk around town that you are planning to become a promiscuous woman. I like that. And I would like it even more if you would allow me to be of some help in that matter.”
“What?” she gasped, looking at him startled.
But he was smiling and she knew that he was mocking her. She began to smile and picked up her glass. He had a lot to learn about American girls.
***
Now Cesare’s voice brought her back from her reverie. “I’ll pick you up about nine-thirty,” he was saying. “That will give me time to go down to the courthouse and get my papers before we drive to the airport.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”
3
Cesare pulled the red Alfa-Romeo into a parking place outside the building reserved for official cars only. He grinned at Barbara. “You don’t mind waiting a few minutes while I run inside and pick up the papers, do you?”
She shook her head. But with a typical middle-class fear of official signs and orders, she said, “Hurry, I don’t want them to chase me out of here.”
“They won’t,” Cesare said confidently, getting out of the car. He walked toward the building, his Alpine fedora sitting jauntily on his head.
She looked after him as he went into the entrance. He walked under the sign that read U. S. Dept. of Immigration and Naturalization and disappeared into the building. In some ways he was like a small boy.
That was how it had been when he called her up last week. He had just returned from Europe, he had said, and had visited his home. Now his mind was made up. He was going to become an American citizen. And to celebrate it, when he picked up the papers, would she join him on a week’s vacation some place where the sun was shining?
She had agreed to go without even thinking about it but when she put down the telephone she began to smile to herself. Maybe this time he was serious about a girl. Of course she had heard about the others, but a whole week—a lot could happen in a week.
There was a noise from around the corner and she looked up. There seemed to be a crowd of people gathering there. A policeman came by. He stopped at the side of the car and looked at her. “Will you be here long, miss?” he asked.
“Not long, officer,” she said quickly. “My friend just went inside to pick up his first papers.”
The policeman nodded and started to walk away. A roar came from around the corner. She called after him. “What’s going on around the corner, officer?”
He glanced toward the corner and then back at her. “That’s Foley Square, miss. They’re starting the big trial of them gangsters this morning. It seems like everybody in New York wants to get into that courtroom.”
***
Cesare went into the first reception room. The clerk at the counter looked up at him. “I’m Cesare Cardinali,” he said. “I’ve come to pick up my papers.”
The clerk nodded. “First papers?”
“Yes,” Cesare answered.
The clerk checked a tab file on the counter. He pulled out a small card and looked up. “If you’ll just take a seat, Mr. Cardinali, I’ll have them ready for you in about ten minutes.”
Cesare smiled. “That will be fine.” He hesitated a moment then asked, “Is there a lavatory around here?”
The clerk smiled and pointed out the door. “Down the hall to your left,” he said.
“Thank you,” Cesare answered, already on his way to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked out the door and down the hall. He stopped in front of the men’s room and looked around. There was no one watching. He walked quickly past it and opened a door marked stairs. The door closed behind him and he began to go up the steps two at a time.
***
The black limousine pulled to a stop in front of the courthouse and the crowd pressed around it. Baker looked out from his seat next to the witness then turned back to him. “You’re a big draw,” he said.
Dinky Adams, the witness, a long horse-faced man, shrank back in his seat and pulled his hat down over his face. “Big deal,” he snarled humorlessly. “My life ain’t goin’ to be worth two cents once they know who I am.”
“Nobody’s going to bother you,” Baker said reassuringly. “We told you you would be protected and we’ve done all right so far.”
A flying squad of police cleared the area around the car. Captain Strang stuck his head down near the window. “Okay, let’s go.”
Baker got out first, followed by three other agents. They stood there for a moment looking around, then Baker nodded and the witness began to get out.
A roar of recognition came up from the crowd. The agents and police crowded in around him as they started to move through the mass. Photographers and reporters were yelling questions at them but they kept moving on up the steps, entered the courthouse and moved down the corridor.
“This way,” Strang said. “We’ve got an elevator waiting.”
They followed the police captain into an empty elevator. The doors were promptly closed and the car started up. Intangibly the tension seemed to disappear. Baker looked at Strang. “Well, we made it,” he said, smiling.
The policeman nodded and smiled back at him. “The worst is over. All we got to get through upstairs is the reporters.”
Dinky looked at them. His face was white and still frightened. “I got time the rest of my life to congratulate you guys. If I live long enough.”
The smile disappeared from Baker’s face. The detectives looked at one another and then turned seriously toward the door as it began to open.
***
Cesare came out of the stairway on the third floor and turned and pushed his way quickly toward the elevators. He looked across the crowd to the courtroom doors. There were two policemen standing there. He pulled his right hand up into the sleeve of his lined car coat and felt the cold metal of the stiletto tingle against his fingers. A strange smile began to come to his lips.
He could feel his heart beginning to thump inside his chest. It was the way he felt when he took a car into a tight curve and didn’t know whether he had enough traction to make it. He took a deep breath and the smile became fixed on his face.
The elevator door opened and the crowd surged toward it. Cesare didn’t move. He knew they wouldn’t be on that car. His information was complete. It was just too bad that he hadn’t more time to prepare. He leaned back against the wall between the second and third elevators.
The next door opened and the detectives came out in a phalanx around the witness. Cesare stepped in quickly behind them and let the crowd push him along. There was no chance for him here, a detective was between him and the witness. The reporters were screaming unanswered questions. Flashbulbs were going off as the photographers jumped up and down trying to get a picture of the witness. He could only hope for a break. Once the man got into the courtroom it would be too late.
They were near the door now and the stiletto was cold in Cesare’s hand. He had stopped breathing a long time ago. His lungs were filled to bursting with oxygen that would never be needed. There was a heavy pressure in his ears and everyone seemed to be moving in a sort of slow motion.
The group stopped for a moment before the closed door. The detective behind the witness moved slightly. The air spilled from Cesare’s lungs in a gasp. The crowd pushed against his back, thrusting him forward. Now! Now was the time!
Cesare never even felt his hand move. It was almost as if it weren’t even a part of him. The stiletto slid into the witness’s heart as easily as a warm knife into butter. Cesare felt the blade snap back into his sleeve, pulled by the coiled wire attached to its hilt, as he opened his palm.
The witness stumbled slightly as the two policemen moved to open the door to the courtroom. Cesare began to walk toward the stairway. A flashbulb went off almost in his face, momentarily blinding him, but then his vision cleared and he kept on walking.
***
There was a hush in the courtroom. From outside in the corridor they could hear some noise growing. The sound of voices grew louder.
Matteo looked at the other defendants. Big Dutch was playing nervously with his tie clasp, Allie Fargo was tearing at his nails with his fingers, even Dandy Nick was doodling on the yellow pad before him. The noise grew louder.
Big Dutch leaned over toward him. “I wonder who they bringin’ in,” he said.
Dandy Nick grinned. It was an unhealthy grin of fear. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said.
Matteo shut them up with a gesture, his eyes watching the courtroom door. The others turned to look.
First a couple of detectives appeared in the doorway, then the witness. He stumbled for a moment and a cop put out a hand to steady him.
Big Dutch leaped to his feet with an angry roar. “It’s Dinky Adams, the son of a bitch!”
The judge’s gavel rapped on the desk. The witness took several more steps into the courtroom. His face seemed to be glazed with fear. He stumbled again. He looked down the courtroom toward the defendants’ table. He opened his mouth as if to speak but no sound came out. Only a tiny dribble of blood appeared in the corner of his lips. A tortured look came into his eyes and he stumbled again and began to fall. His hands clutched at Baker’s coat. But he couldn’t get a grip and slid down to the floor.
Pandemonium that the judge’s gavel could not control broke out in the courtroom.
“Lock the doors!” Strang shouted.
Big Dutch leaned over to say something to Matteo. “Shut up!” Matteo snapped, his dark eyes glittering in his impassive face.
***
The clerk looked up and smiled as Cesare appeared in the doorway. “I have the papers ready for you, Mr. Cardinali, if you’ll just sign here.”
Cesare took the pen from his fingers, scrawled his name on the papers and gave the pen back to the clerk. “Thank you,” he said, picked up the papers and walked out.
The tight feeling was still in his chest as he stepped out into the bright sunlight. He blinked his eyes. Barbara waved to him from the car. He smiled and waved back to her, the papers in his hand flashing whitely.
Barbara smiled up at him mischievously as he crossed the curb to the car. “Congratulations, Count Cardinali.”
He laughed as he walked around the car and got into it. “You haven’t read the papers, my dear. It is no longer Count Cardinali. It is just plain Mr. Cesare Cardinali.”
She laughed aloud as he started the motor. “Just plain Cesare. I like that. I think it has a nice homespun quality.”
Cesare looked at her as he moved the car out into traffic. “You know, I think you’re teasing me.”
“No, I’m not,” she said quickly. “I’m really very proud of you.”
The tension was gone from his stomach now as they turned the corner away from the building. “Light a cigarette for me, will you, darling?” he asked. There was a heat gr
owing in his loins, he could feel a pulse beating in his thighs.
She placed the cigarette between his lips. “I wonder what my mother would think,” she said lightly. “Going off for a week with a man. Not married to him. Not even engaged.”
He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye. “What your mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
Barbara was still smiling. “Of course, she might understand it if I were going with a Count. Europeans are different that way. But with just a plain mister—”
Cesare interrupted her. “You know what I think?”
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “No. What?”
The pain in his loins was growing unbearable. He reached for her hand and put it on the hard muscle of his thigh. The smile suddenly vanished from her face as she felt the tension in him. He turned his face toward her and for a moment she could see hundreds of years into his eyes. Then a veil dropped over them.
“I think your mother is a snob,” he said.
She laughed and they fell silent as he turned the car into the Midtown Tunnel and the parkways to the airport. He drove by reflex, automatically, as his mind went back to Sicily, to his home. He had been there just a few weeks ago. But already it seemed as if years had passed.
What was it that Don Emilio had once called his uncle? A shylock. He laughed to himself. He wondered what Don Emilio thought of him now.
The man who lay dead behind him represented merely the principal payment on his debt. The two to come would be the interest, accumulated interest for twelve years. Three lives for one. That should mean payment in any man’s book.
He remembered how it was the night Don Emilio had presented his note.
4
The courtyard of the Castle Cardinali had been empty as Cesare pulled the car to a stop in front of the house. He turned off the motor as the door opened and an old man peeked out. When he saw Cesare his face broke into a wide happy smile. He hurried creakingly down the steps.
“Don Cesare, Don Cesare!” he cried in an ancient voice.
Cesare turned to him with a smile. “Gio!” he exclaimed.
Stiletto Page 3