by James Burke
The brown eyes got even brighter and a frown began to darken her face. "You're serious, aren't you? My God, you are. Okay. What should I say? What do you want me to say. I'm on a quote well-earned vacation end quote? Okay. That's it. I've been thinking it was my best ever vacation and a lot more, but all of a sudden, I'm beginning to wonder. What is it, Pat, what's wrong?"
She too was deadly serious now.
"I don't know, Dana, why don't you tell me?"
"My God! I don't know what it is you're after. Suddenly you think I'm different, or you're different, or what? You tell me. Damn it, you're scaring me. You're not like you. You're different. Why? What's wrong?"
"I guess I am different."
"Why, for God's sake. You weren't different an hour ago, or five minutes ago. What happened? What's changed?"
"Five minutes ago my head wasn't in charge. Now it is."
"What the devil are you talking about?"
Morley's eyes got steely, almost cloudy, and his mouth was a tighter line than she'd believed it could be. He spoke flatly with no intonation of friendliness, much less affection. "C'mon, Dana, you know fucking well what I'm talking about!"
She pulled back as if he'd slapped her, mouth dropping in disbelief. Her dark eyes started to harden, then misted over, and she instinctively clutched at the edge of the sheet, pulling it up over her legs. Her voice was emotion-clogged but steady. "I see. I mean, I think I see. All at once you talk to me as if I'm a whore, so all at once you must think I'm a whore. But why? I still don't know why. What's changed? What have I done?" She looked quizzically at him. A tear slithered off the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. "Five minutes ago, I thought I loved you," she continued. "Maybe I still do. I don't know. I thought you loved me. Guess I was wrong on that too. You've got me so damn confused; I don't know what I'm thinking. I don't know what you want." She turned away, pulling the sheet farther up on her body.
Morley's look softened. He reached over and took her hand. She started to pull away, then didn't, holding tight instead. He touched her cheek with his other hand. This time he spoke softly and the steel had gone out of his voice. I’m sorry. I really am. But I've had a shock too. You asked why I was playing hooky from work. Well, I got sick! That's why."
She just looked, unblinking, the tears still oozing out one by one. He went on, seeming to make up his mind about something difficult. "I got sick because I saw you at a restaurant in Deerfield this noon."
Dana's whole body relaxed, starting with her face and working down. She laughed with relief. "Oh honey, honey. Why didn't you say so? Today. Thank God! I was just having lunch with -"
He interrupted, but not harshly. "Don't lie, Dana. I couldn't take it."
She bristled. "Why should I lie, damn it. I was having lunch with a fellow I know in Chicago. He called me this morning, and since you were working, I agreed to meet him for lunch. That's all."
"In Deerfield?"
"Yes, damn it, in Deerfield! He's on business near there Boca Raton, I think -and he couldn't get away long enough to come up here, so I agreed to meet him there."
"For lunch?"
"Yes, for lunch. What do you think? He's a nice guy, but we're just friends. No romance. No assignation. No crap. No nothing."
"What his name?"
''Dennis Conners.''
"What's he do?"
"He's with a brokerage outfit." She had answered without thinking. Now she hesitated, and then began to fume. "Hey! Wait just a minute! What's with the quiz? Dammit, you don't own me. If I want to date somebody else, or-or-or even sleep around, it's no concern of yours!" She was really close to tears now, but she beat them back and continued. "What the hell gives, Pat? One minute you're all love and kisses and the next you're pouncing on me like a D.A. I thought at first you were jealous, and I was flattered, but now I know that's not it, is it?"
He had softened perceptibly again, but he didn't try for the hand she'd taken away. "I know I've got no right to dictate who your friends will be, or when you do or don't see them." He decided to take the plunge. What the hell, if they knew who he was, then they knew. If she knew, then she knew. But if she didn't - well, he'd never have a "shock" opportunity like this again. "But you see, my dear, this guy I saw you with, he's not just another guy from Chicago like you said. He's a syndicate hit man, and I think I'm his target!"
"What are you talking about? He's a broker. A harmless businessman – not even a rich one. He doesn't even know you.''
He noted that she didn't ask what the "syndicate" was or what a "hit man" did, but he didn't know whether to file that fact under "prior knowledge" or "emotional upset." Man, she was really upset, either that or she was the new Bernhardt. He decided to press the advantage, whatever it was. "Broker my ass, and harmless, double my ass. Dana, that guy's a hood and I think you know it!"
She was so taken aback she just spluttered. "What do you mean? Who do you think I am? What're you trying to say?"
"Dana, Dana. C'mon sweetheart. You set me up like a kid in a candy store, and I jumped every time you waved a tootsie roll at me. I can't deny I loved it - any man in his right mind would have - but I do resent being had. Dammit to hell, lady, I wish it weren't this way. I'd give anything if it weren't, but I know it was all a put-on. You and this hood Conners took me for a ride all the way, didn't you?"
She stopped sputtering. Her eyes were wet, but they blazed defiance. She looked straight at him. "My God! You're either crazy or sick kidding. For the last time - Conners is a broker, I'm a secretary, and I'm in Florida on vacation. I don't know anything about a 'setup' or a 'ride' or whatever you're talking about. I thought I'd met a wonderful guy and that we'd fallen in love; I didn't know where it would lead and I didn't care, 'cause I thought it would be good wherever it was. All of a sudden, I just don't know any more."
She was so serious, and looked so hurt, that Morley had to steel himself to keep from taking her in his arms and forgetting there was anything else in this world. But he didn't waver. He decided it was time to show an ace and bluff that she'd think there were more of them in the hole. He shrugged. "Sorry, but it won't wash. I have a friend who saw this guy Conners coming out of your place on Delaware Avenue at four A.M. on the night of January twentieth." She just looked at him, didn't even raise an eyebrow, so he went on. "But the real kicker is that earlier that same evening he was closeted for over an hour with his boss, Jammy Matthewson, who's the syndicate boss for the Chicago area!"
She still looked at him silently. He continued. "Incidentally, Matthewson was blasted to death last week-along with one Cassandra Porter, by an automobile bomb."
This did get a reaction. Her fist went to her mouth, her eyes opened even wider. "Oh no! No! I know Sandy Porter. And Mr. Matthewson. My God! Sandy. I'm sorry. I don't know Mr. Matthewson, but I know he's Conners's boss." Then she pounded her fist on the headboard in frustration. "But it's a brokerage, foreign investments, I know it! I know companies that do business with them. What is this bomb business? I suppose you want me to believe the syndicate, whoever they are, killed Sandy and Matthewson? Well, I don't. And I won't believe it! I don't care. What's it to me anyway?"
"No, Dana Kelly, you don't have to believe anything you don't want to, but then neither do I. Do I?"
She shook her head, balled hand still touching her lips. He went on. "You see, facts are facts and your not believing them or my not believing them doesn't make a damn bit of difference. It is a fact that Matthewson's company is an organized crime cover business. It is a fact that he and the Porter girl were wiped out in typical organized crime fashion. It is a fact that Dennis Conners is one of Matthewson's, or his successors, chief assistants. And it is also a fact, my dear, that whether you know it or not, you've got yourself in with a pretty sleazy bunch of animals!''
She just sat there and looked. Defiant, startled, rattled, and naked. Then she seemed to pull herself together. She straightened her shoulders; oblivious of the libido-boggling things this did to her mag
nificent bust, and said in a soft but controlled and cool voice, "Who are you?"
He accepted it as a question, but decided to downgrade its seriousness. "Pat Morley, travel agent and would-be man about-town. That's all."
She retorted in kind, now fully in control of her voice as well as her emotions. "To quote you, 'my ass' that's all. And why, mister travel agent man-about-town, is this, this syndicate" - she spat it out as if it were a distasteful morsel of food -" after you? What the hell is it I'm supposed to be setting you up for? Whatever that means. And what the hell's in it for me? And incidentally, who's your big-eyed friend in Chicago who hangs around peeping in girls' apartments?"
Morley recoiled just a bit from the ferocity of her attack. Inside he was all admiration - she was superb, guilty or not. Outside he resumed the "more in sadness than anger" attitude and mounted a counteroffensive. "Touché, my dear. You're right - those are perplexing questions. Maybe it's true that neither of us can answer them all. But this I do know, love: you're in Florida for Conners, you were on that beach for Conners, and you dated me for Conners! From then on I don't know. I'm conceited enough to think some of it was for me. It's true, I don't know if you know the whole story. I thought for sure you did at first, but I'm not so sure anymore. I hope my second guess is right, but that's really not too important at the moment. Anyway, the syndicate thinks I have something of theirs. I think I know what it is, and I think I know why they think I have it, but the fact is that I don't. I don't now, and I never did. I suppose that whatever they told you about the reasons, your job was to find out if l had it. Well now you know. The answer's 'no.' Go tell'em!"
She took this without flinching, with even a cool, cynical half smile that stopped just short of her eyes. "I see. Here's your hat and what's your hurry." She slid off the side of the bed. "Hope you won't mind if I use your living room to get dressed before I bug out of your life, which is obviously what you're after." She walked straight and saucy out of the room. Morley watched, fascinated. Insulted, beaten, naked, shocked she still exuded class and dignity. What a woman. If only…
She came back to the doorway, buttoning her blouse, jacket under arm, bag over shoulder, and stood there tucking the blouse in. Morley couldn't help himself-the stirring started, and all at once he didn't care much anymore whether or not she was a phony. Then she spoke, calmly and quietly. "Good-bye Pat. It was fun 'til you spoiled it. I hope some lonely night you'll miss me, and then maybe you'll remember that I share that apartment on Delaware with two other girls, and that thousands of people, lots of them secretaries, come to Florida from Chicago every winter. Maybe, Mr. Smart-ass, just maybe you've been wrong. So think about it, Patrick, my boy, think about it." She turned on her heel and walked out of the apartment. She shut the door softly and was gone. Morley, still lying in bed, shook his head. "Class, real class. What an exit." He got up and walked toward the bathroom. She hadn't even given the door a womanly slam. Sheer class!
It was six o'clock the next evening before she called him. He'd begun to lose his confidence. She'd had a good point how did he know Conners had been visiting her that night? Hell, he didn't even know Conners had been on Delaware Ave. in January. He'd been bluffing. Still, Dana had never really addressed herself to his statement. Suppose she was telling the truth. It would make sense if she were, that she didn't know when Conners might have visited her roommate. But then the phone rang. "Hello."
"Pat, I'd like to talk to you."
"Any time."
"Tonight."
"Sure. My place or yours?"
"How about a neutral corner?"
"Had dinner?"
"No."
"Like to?"
"Yes."
"Ready in half an hour?"
"Now."
''I'll be there in ten minutes."
''I'll be waiting in front."
"See ya."
As he drove to the Rutledge, Morley mulled over last night in his mind. He'd parked in the Rutledge lot about half an hour after Dana had left his place. He could see the front of the Inn, including the pay telephone booth. He'd been there about half an hour when Lisha came out dressed and coiffed fit for the bandbox, got into the brown Pinto, and roared off down A l A towards the bridge. He waited in the car about an hour, and when nothing happened, he got out and went into the lounge. He had a drink, then went through into the inside courtyard of the Inn. He could see the small balcony of Dana's room. Someone was sitting there, feet propped on the railing, smoking. He went a little closer, and as the smoker drew on the cigarette he could see Dana's profile in the glow. Morley withdrew quietly and returned home. He was puzzled. He'd have made book that she'd contact the blond guy, Conners, and that she'd do it via the pay phone. No dice. Of course she could have called from the room, but not likely, as that left a record; or she could have sent Lisha in the car; or most likely of all, the blond guy could have called her.
Morley pulled in under the porte cochere. Dana was waiting, very chic and striking in a light-colored pants suit of a kind of linen-like material. He reached over and unlatched the door and she climbed in. She looked friendly but serious. "Hi. You're on the dot."
"Yeah, but you can call me 'dot' for short."
This oldie brought a smile, so he knew she was in a positive mood. "Oh man, you really dug deep for that one."
"So solly. What kind of dinner sounds good to you?"
"Soup."
"Oh lady, now who's digging? That takes the prize. I give up. What would you like to eat?"
''Chinese?''
"Great idea."
She stayed on her side, and the conversation was light as they drove to a nearby Chinese restaurant. When they got inside he suggested that they have a drink in the bar before thinking about dinner. She accepted readily. They sat down and ordered. After they'd touched glasses and taken a first sip, Dana turned to face Morley. "You knew I'd call?"
"I hoped you'd call."
"I waited for you."
"I didn't think you'd want to hear from me again." He took her free hand and held it.
She smiled, widely. "You enormous fraud. You knew I couldn't just walk away."
"I knew. I didn't want you to but I was afraid it was too late."
"Do you still like me?"
"That's a bit bland."
"Really?"
"Dana Kelly, I love you, as if you didn't know."
"You didn't sound like it yesterday."
"This is today."
"What's different?"
"Time. I've had time to think. I don't want to lose you."
"Maybe you have," she said with a smile and an added bit of pressure from her warm hand that signaled otherwise.
"Maybe so. It was a chance I had to take."
"Why?"
"Because I saw you with that hood and figured what I had to figure. I had to find out. I couldn't go on unless I did."
"Suppose you're wrong?"
"I hope I am, but I don't think so."
"We're back where we left off yesterday." She stopped smiling.
"Not quite, honey, we're talking about it for a second time."
"What is it you want from me? A confession?"
"Just the truth."
"But I told you the truth yesterday."
"Not all of it."
"All you need if you love me."
"I love you, that's why I need all of it, if anything's to come of us."
"What could come of us?"
"Anything you want."
"You're serious, aren't you?" Her dark eyes were huge and luminous. She looked like a vulnerable little girl. He wished they were in a more private place.
"I've never been more serious."
'I’m not really hungry, let's go somewhere private." My God, he thought, she's a mind reader. He laid some change on the bar and they left, waving off the young Chinese with an armful of menus with a "Be back later."
Morley drove the few blocks, parked, and then they were in his living room: low lig
hts, fresh drinks, Dana propped lengthwise on the couch, and Morley seated alongside the curve of her middle. "Did you mean it - we still have a future?"
"Yes, ma'am, I sure did."
"What if I told you everything you suspected, everything you said, is true? What then? Washed up?"
"Not necessarily. Not if you don't want it to be."
"You mean if I've betrayed you from the start you'd still want me?"
"Sweetheart, I don't care about the past, just the future. If you feel the same, then there's no problem we can't solve."
"You mean it?"
"I mean it, honest."
"I love you. I really do. I know the time's been short, but I'm sure, really sure. Pat, honey, I don't want to lose you either.''
"Then there's a future. All we have to do is be square with each other.''
She put a palm on each side of his face and pulled him to her lips, then gently pushed him away so that she could focus her eyes on his. She spoke softly but clearly. "Okay. You're right." She didn't even blink as she went on. "I came to Florida for Conners. I was on that beach for Conners. And I dated you for Conners. But that's it, Pat. Honest to God, that's it. All of it. I don't know about any syndicate, or anyone wanting to hurt you; I wouldn't have come if I did. And I fell in love for me, not for anybody else."
"You're not Conners's girl?"
"No. He dated my roommate, Angela Mornay. But she really wasn't his 'girl' either."
"Conners just asked you to go to Florida?"
"He offered me an expense-paid vacation to Florida in the dead of winter."
"So you didn't care what you had to do?"
She pulled away, hurt in her eyes. "Of course I cared. I was bored, yes, and cold, yes, and jumped at the chance, but I cared."
"What did he want? What was the deal?"
"Simply to meet you, date you, find out if you were the Pat Morley he was looking for."
"And what Pat Morley was he looking for?"
"Well, he said the man 's real name was Paul Morrison and he was an embezzler. Conners said Morrison skipped with a bag of money some years ago, from their Gary affiliate. They finally got a lead that Morrison was living down here in South Florida, but they couldn't identify him positively because nobody who knew him is still available, and - oh, yeah - the statute of limitations had run out, so they couldn't even get the law to help. Anyway, Conners said they hoped to shame or talk Morrison into paying or giving the money back. Somehow they figured he hadn't spent too much of it yet - but first they had to make sure he was who they thought he was." She stopped, looking very serious. "Does that make any sense?"