"Wonderful! Suppose I give you a call tomorrow? We can make a date to talk about it."
"Do that, dear boy," Irma said, getting to her feet. "Oh, by the way, did you know that Caroline de Coyne and Sue Ann Daley are here tonight?"
"I know, I saw them."
"And Mady Schneider and Dee Dee Lester and—" Irma would have continued but I held up my hand.
"You don't have to go on. I saw them all."
"And still you're eating alone?"
"Don't feel sorry for me." I laughed. "I like to eat alone sometimes."
But as it turned out I wasn't alone for long. Dania Farkas came in after her performance, and I invited her to join me. And perhaps because I was no longer alone the others came over. First Sue Ann, because she was curious to see if something was developing between Dania and myself. Next came Dee Dee, who never could resist making the scene when Sue Ann was present. And later Caroline, followed by Mady Schneider, who could never bear to be left out of anything.
Suddenly I became aware that an awkward silence had fallen over the table. They looked at each other and began to wonder why the hell they had come over. John Perona came hurrying over with two waiters, each carrying a bottle of champagne. He leaned over, a worried look in his eyes. "I hope there won't be any trouble," he said in a stage whisper.
Suddenly I laughed aloud. This was great, for a moment I was truly the Sultan of Morocco. "Don't worry, there won't be any trouble," I said reassuringly. "The ladies merely decided to hold an impromptu class reunion."
In the wave of laughter that followed, the tension left the table, and while we all talked and laughed, the others in the restaurant went back to their normal occupation, which was talking and minding everybody else's business.
It was two in the morning by the time I left the restaurant with Dania. "That was fun," she said, smiling. "Each of us looking at the others and wondering what each was thinking."
"It was amusing but I wouldn't like to do it every day. It's too wearing."
She laughed. "Come to my place for a nightcap. It will help settle you down."
"All right, but I can stay only a few minutes. I have a very full day tomorrow."
It was after five when I left her apartment, and I stared at myself in the mirrored elevator. I looked a wreck. There were two long scratches on the side of my neck and my ears were still ringing from her moans and squeals of pleasure. I looked at myself ruefully. It had turned out more than I bargained for.
The doorman looked at me silently as he let me out into the street. There was not a taxi in sight, so I started to walk west toward Park Avenue. There were always taxis there. I didn't notice the car that had pulled up alongside me until I heard her voice.
"Dax."
"Beatriz!"
I turned, staring.
She sat next to the driver, a curiously hurt look in her dark-green eyes. "We've been following you all night," she said, "hoping to find a moment when you'd be alone!"
CHAPTER 15
One of the wonderful things about New York is that no matter what time of day or night, there is always someplace to go. At five in the morning, if you're on the east side of Manhattan, the place to go is Reuben's, a delicatessen kind of spot where you can get anything from a cup of coffee to a full-course meal.
It was almost empty when Beatriz and I came in. There were a few stragglers left from the night, and the morning people hadn't yet stirred from their beds. The bored waiter didn't even raise an eyebrow at my dinner jacket. He was used to it; it was perfectly normal at that hour.
"What'll it be?"
"Coffee," I said, "lots of it. Strong and black."
I looked at Beatriz.
"I'll have coffee too."
The waiter nodded and went away. I reached for her hand but she kept it on her side of the table. "I was worried when I found you'd gone away," I said. "I thought about you every day."
Beatriz looked at me, her eyes still full of hurt. "Your neck is scratched, and there's blood on your collar."
"I'll speak to my barber," I answered lightly, "he'll have to be more careful."
Beatriz didn't smile. "I don't think that's funny."
"Why didn't you tell me you were going away?"
She didn't answer until after the waiter brought our coffee. "You weren't that worried."
I took a deep sip of coffee. It was hot and its warmth raced down to my stomach. I began to feel better. "I don't want to bicker. Besides, that's not why you finally decided to see me."
Beatriz looked down at her cup. Perhaps it wasn't fair of me to throw it up to her but it was true. She raised her eyes again. "My father did not believe what I told him. He says it's all a trick."
"Your father!" I exploded. "I suppose he thinks the fifty-seven dead campesinos of Matanza are a trick too?"
She didn't answer.
I thought of what the senator had said yesterday about the world being filled with cowards who asked that heroes die for them.
"What did you say?"
I hadn't realized I was speaking aloud. I repeated it, adding a few words of my own. "Your father is like a general sitting safely miles from the battlefront, comfortable in the realization that the blood he orders spilled will never soil his own hands. If your father truly believes he represents the will of the people, let him come forward and run against el Presidente. Or is he afraid he might lose and be exposed as a charlatan?"
Beatriz' lips tightened. "He would if he believed that el Presidente would keep his word about the amnesty!" she retorted angrily.
"El Presidente will keep his word!" I was equally heated; nothing was going right. "He has to, he has made the announcement to the world. Do you think he could go back on his word now?"
Beatriz stared at me. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"Yes." I subsided into an angry silence.
After a few minutes Beatriz said, "Would you be willing to meet my father and talk with him?"
"Yes, at any time."
"There would be no strings attached, and you would come alone?"
"Yes."
"I will speak to him." She got to her feet, and I started to get up also, but she gestured for me to remain seated. "Do not follow me."
"Beatriz," I said, reaching for her hand.
Again she kept away from me. "No. I made one mistake. I thought we lived in the same world, but about that one thing they were right. I can see that now."
"Beatriz. I can explain—"
"Don't!" she replied, her voice trembling. Then she turned quickly and hurried out of the restaurant.
I watched her go and something inside me ached. I got to my feet and through the huge windows I saw her get into the car as it moved away.
The waiter came over. "Will that be all, sir?" "Yes."
It wasn't until I was outside again in the gray light of the morning that I remembered 1 hadn't asked her when we would meet again.
Marcel's voice was confidential on the telephone. "I have the information you asked me for." "Good."
"Yes," he interrupted quickly. He did not trust telephones. "When can you come up and discuss it?"
I looked down at the clock calendar on my desk. "I have a dinner date this evening. Can I come up after that?" "Fine. About what time?" "Midnight too late?" "No. I'll tell my man you're expected." I put down the telephone thoughtfully. In a way I had never really expected Marcel to give me the information I sought. Not about the guns, or where the money came from that paid for them.
There was a knock at the door. "Come in," I called.
Prieto came into the office, a newspaper in his hand. "Have you seen this?"
I looked down, following his finger. It was a small item buried on one of the inside pages of the Herald Tribune.
CORTEGUAYAN TO SPEAK
Dr. Jose Guayanos, former president of the University of Corteguay and once the vice president of that country, and presently living in exile in this country will speak tonight at Columbia University. His su
bject will be: The Need for Democratic Government in Corteguay.
I looked at Prieto. It had been more than a week since I had met Beatriz. This was the first word I had even indirectly had about her.
"What shall we do?" Prieto asked.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" Prieto's voice was shocked. "You will allow him to spout his lies in this public place?"
I leaned back in my chair. "This is not Corteguay. Here everyone has the right to speak as he pleases."
"El Presidente will not like it. For more than two years now we have been searching for this man. Now he dares to come into the open with his false accusations."
"I do not give a damn what el Presidente likes or doesn't like!" Surely even Prieto could see that this was the first tentative step in testing the sincerity of the amnesty. The first faint glimmer of respect for Guayanos began to awaken in me. Even to speak out here must have taken a great deal of courage.
"But—" Prieto protested.
"This is my responsibility," I said sharply. "You will keep away from him! You will do nothing to interfere with him!"
Prieto stared at me for a moment. "Si, excelencia." Sullenly he started to leave the room.
"Prieto!" I said, calling him back. My voice was cold. "Remember what I say. If I find out that you or any of your men have been anywhere near him, I'll see to it that you are sent home in disgrace!"
Prieto's lips tightened grimly but he said nothing.
"Is that understood?"
"Si, excelencia."
I waited until he left the room, then picked up the telephone and called my apartment upstairs. I told Fat Cat to come down. As much as I would like to, I could not attend Guayanos' lecture. What went for Prieto also went for me. Even my appearance might be considered an intervention.
But there was nothing to prevent Fat Cat's going. I had the strange feeling that Guayanos expected me to send someone and that whom I chose might be very important. And Fat Cat seemed the best choice for several reasons.
He could by no means be considered political, and it was well known that his only relationship to me was a personal one. And I could trust Fat Cat to report accurately, without bias or distortion, exactly what Guayanos said, which was probably exactly what Guayanos wanted. And lastly, and not the least important, Fat Cat would be able to tell me if Prieto had kept his word.
CHAPTER 16
The senator's sister met me at the door. "I'm Edie Smith," she said, smiling, "I'm so glad you could come. This is my husband, Jack."
The tall heavyset man behind her smiled. "Delighted to meet you, Mr. Xenos," he said, a faint midwestern twang in his voice.
"My pleasure, Mr. Smith."
"Come on into the living room," his wife said, taking my arm, "we're all having a drink in there."
There were six or seven people standing around, all of whom I knew except the senator's wife, a dark pretty girl seated in an armchair. Obviously she was pregnant.
"I believe the only ones you don't know are my brother and his wife. Let's fix that and the party can begin." Mrs. Smith was beautifully oriented politically. She knew exactly what she had to do.
I shook hands with the senator as if it were the first time, and bowed to his wife. Then I turned to the others.
Giselle looked at me reproachfully as I walked over to her. "Aren't you ashamed," she said in French, "that the only times we meet is in someone else's house? You've turned down our invitations to dinner so often I've stopped asking you."
I kissed her hand and glanced at Sergei. He had put on weight but he looked very well. "Don't stop asking," I replied. "The way things are going, God knows when I may need a good meal."
The smile left Sergei's face. "The news in the papers has not been good."
I nodded. "It is serious, my friend. Very serious."
Concern came into Giselle's voice. "You're not in any danger, are you?"
"How could I be?" I smiled at her. "I am here."
"But if they call you home—"
Sergei interrupted. "There's no need to worry, my dear, Dax knows how to take care of himself." He turned to me. "We think about you often. We are both deeply concerned."
"I know." I believed Sergei because there was enough time behind all of us to know who were our friends. I saw Giselle slip her hand into Sergei's and his reassuring squeeze. For a moment I envied them. "You both look very well. And how is Anastasia?"
"You should see her!" It was Giselle who answered, before Sergei had a chance to speak. There was a mother's pride in her voice. Then she laughed. "Or maybe you shouldn't. She's turning out to be a very beautiful girl."
Jeremy came over. "You three are grinning like Cheshire cats. Let me in on it."
But the senator's sister appeared and took Jeremy and me by the arm. "One of the prerogatives of being the hostess," she announced gaily, "is that one can preempt the only two bachelors in the room as dinner partners."
Everyone laughed, and we went in to dinner. Several times I caught myself watching Giselle and Sergei and each time I had to force myself to look away before it became too obvious. They were close. Warm. And each time I looked at them I could see myself with Beatriz. We could be like that. I felt it. If ever we got the chance.
After dinner the senator caught me in a corner of the room. "I haven't forgotten our little talk. I've been making a few quiet inquiries on my own."
"Thank you," I said. "Knowing that you are interested is a help."
"I hope to do more than that," he said, "and I may have some news for you next week. Will you be in New York?"
"I expect to be."
"I'll be in touch."
Then we moved out of the corner and over to his wife. She was once again back in the chair. The senator stopped in front of her and looked down. "How about it, little girl? Feeling tired?"
"A little."
"Let's go, then." He smiled. "We'll leave these young folk to their little orgy."
After the senator had left the party began to break up. I left with Giselle and Sergei. His car and chauffeur were just outside the door, and they suggested I come home with them for a drink. But I shook my head. "No, thanks. I've got a date."
Sergei grinned. "You dog. You haven't changed a bit."
I laughed. "I wish I could preserve your illusions. But it's business; I have to see Marcel."
"They say he never leaves his house," Giselle said.
"It's true," Sergei replied before I could answer. "I went there to see him once. The house is as closely guarded as a bank."
"You went to see him?" I asked. Sergei and Marcel never seemed to have had much in common.
"It was a few years back, when I first came over here," Sergei said. "You know the bastard. He wanted to sell me a piece of some company he had."
"Did you buy it?"
"Of course." Sergei smiled. "I don't like Marcel but the one thing he does know how to do is make money. I didn't even know what the company did but he made me president and every three months like clockwork I get twenty-five hundred dollars in dividends."
Giselle looked at me. "I remember that time in Texas—" Then she looked at Sergei and stopped.
I glanced at my watch. "I'd better get going."
I kissed Giselle on the cheek. Sergei took my hand. "You look tired and drawn," he said. "Try to slow down."
"I will once this mess is over."
"And come up your first free evening," Giselle said.
"I'll try."
I watched them get into the big Rolls-Royce with the gold crest on the door. They waved as the car pulled away, and I began to walk west. It was only a few blocks over to Park, where Marcel lived, and I got there a minute or two early.
When I rounded the corner a man was just leaving. He jumped into a taxi as I turned up the steps and rang the bell. I looked after the disappearing cab. There had been something familiar about the figure, but it was dark and I hadn't seen his face.
A light flashed on overhead and I was aware tha
t the butler was studying me on the closed-circuit television. Then the light went off and the door slowly opened.
"Come in, Mr. Xenos," the butler said, "Mr. Campion is expecting you."
I followed him into the house. He took me up to the private elevator to Marcel's apartment and held the door. "Press the top button, please."
The door closed and the elevator started up. I got out on Marcel's floor. Marcel was just coming out of the guest room as I walked into his living room.
"Dax!" he exclaimed. "How good to see you again. A drink?"
I nodded and we walked over to the bar. Marcel took down a bottle of Scotch and poured some over the rocks. I took the glass. "How about you?"
Marcel shook his head. "Doctor's orders—it's bad for my ulcer."
"Cheers," I said. I took a swallow. "Hope he didn't take you off anything else."
Marcel laughed. "No, just liquor." He pressed the button under the bar. "Take a look at that."
I looked at the television screen. This time there was only one girl in the guest room. She was lying on the bed, completely nude, a bottle of champagne on the night table. She turned, reaching for a cigarette, and Marcel hit the off button. "Not bad, eh?"
I nodded.
"She's new. I just took her on the other day. You get bored with all of them after a while. They're all after the same thing—money."
I didn't say anything. What did he expect—romance?
"The cunts!" Marcel shouted, suddenly angry. "I think I'll have a drink after all. The damn doctors don't know everything."
I waited until he had poured a drink. "I don't want to keep you."
Marcel looked at me. "Have you heard anything from el Presidente?"
"No. Everything seems to be temporarily quiet."
"Do you think he can keep things under control?"
"I think so," I said. "Especially if we can discover the source of the guns and stop them."
Marcel took the hint. "I have the papers you wanted." He came out from behind the bar and went over to a desk. He took some papers out of the drawer and brought them to me.
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