“I just said that sometimes I get thinking that way. You don’t always ring quite true. But I could be the one wrong about that. Probably I am. Time will prove that. Anyway, even though I’m not all the way on your side, I’m not against your idea, if that’s any help. Do the best you can, and — well, good luck.”
“I’ll certainly try.” He added dryly, “And thanks.”
Frank left him to return to the table and Marty was called to the service bar, where chaos suddenly reigned supreme. He became a wartime sergeant, straightened out the mess, and had things running smoothly again in a short while. He tried to return to the Bali Room, but that was impossible. As the hours passed and the help tired and became irritated by the crowds, various deficiencies showed up in the system. Marty was the trouble-shooter, improvising on the spot and keeping everything moving as smoothly as possible. Even after the service of liquor ended at two A.M., Marty’s services were still in demand at widely scattered places in the hotel. It was after three in the morning before he could slow down and think of relaxing.
He started toward the Bali Room and ran into Dotty in the hallway at the entrance. She was excited and threw her arms about his shoulders to hug him. Marty was more interested in the fur coat she was wearing, an expensive ermine. He smiled as he remembered George’s telling him about the ermine he kept in the closet for special occasions and a special sort of woman. Sam Levin’s chubby figure was just back of her, wearing tails and a broad grin.
Sam chuckled and said, “Well, you took her away from me, but I don’t hold no hard feelings. I figured on it all along. Sure went over big, didn’t she?”
Marty nodded and looked down into the rapturous light in Dotty’s eyes. “You got what you wanted, baby?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. I’m so thrilled I — I can’t even think straight.” She swung about to his side and hooked an arm in his. “Marty, come with us. I won’t take no for an answer. Please?”
“Where?”
“The Stannard house. George is throwing a big party. He’s taking the Bali orchestra along and we’re going to have a super-terrific time. Sound like fun?”
He patted her shoulder, but shook his head. “You know I can’t leave the hotel. Not tonight.”
She cried, “But, Marty, you never go — ”
“Sorry. Not tonight, baby. It can’t be done, and you know it.”
Sam agreed with him. “He’d be insane to leave the hotel tonight. Come on, Dotty. Let’s get moving.”
She pouted for a second, but was quickly smiling again. Nothing could dim her spirits that night. She patted Marty’s cheek and swept down the hallway with Sam. Marty watched the ermine disappear and turned away with a thin smile.
He looked in the Bali Room, but the Stannard party had gone with the rest of the guests. He was crossing the lobby when a bellboy informed him that a woman was waiting for him in his private office. He went into the office and found Karen. She was curled up in a deep chair by the desk, a fur coat draped over her shoulders and pulled warmly about her hips.
She yawned, patted her mouth with her fingers, and smiled at him as he came in. “Take me home, Marty?”
He closed the door and stood at the side of the chair, frowning down at her, slightly irritated. “Gripes, Karen, I can’t leave here. There are dozens of parties going on all over the hotel. Some of them important people. They expect me to drop in. You know, the genial host.”
“You won’t be gone long.” She stood up to face him and pulled the coat snugly about her shoulders. “You may come back.”
“Why didn’t you go with George?”
“Now, please. Can you picture me at one of his snake-pit affairs?” Her shoulders quivered with disgust. “Those women he knows — ”
“Frank would have taken you home.”
“I wanted to wait for you.”
“Is it important?”
She looked levelly into his eyes and said quietly, “I don’t know. It could be. You see, Uncle Frank was telling me about a conversation you had with him.”
For one of the few times in his life, Marty was unaccountably embarrassed. “Oh, for God’s sake! He shouldn’t have done that.”
“No one can ever tell him what he should or shouldn’t do.”
Marty felt that matters were somehow taken out of his hands, that he should stall for time, think it over, examine the angles. But there was a stronger force impelling him to seize the moment. He placed his hands on her shoulders and asked huskily, “What’s the answer?”
She shook her head, smiling indulgently. “That’s not the way it’s done. Not here, darling. Take me home. I want you to hold me in your arms. Then you can ask me and I’ll know.”
He was confident that he saw the answer in the liquid softness of her eyes and was as excited as Dotty had been with her evening’s success. Of all people, a Stannard. It couldn’t be happening to him. It was unreasonable, an impossibility. But maybe it was happening. To hell with the guests. To hell with the hotel. He threw on a topcoat and hat and hurriedly escorted Karen to the lobby.
They were going through the outer door when Marty bumped a swarthy man wearing an expensively tailored topcoat and tuxedo that fitted him as if he had been poured into them, a bit flashy, slightly overdone. The diamond on his ring finger was too large, his coal-black hair was too slick, and his smile of apology altogether too broad. Marty knew his type. He had come up from the gutter and wanted the world to know it, even though the smell still lingered with him. He, however, was not aware of it.
“Sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t looking. Beg pardon.”
Marty was physically tired and mentally fatigued, as well as enjoying artificial stimulation, or he would have passed on. But, instead, he paused and squinted at the swarthy individual. “You look familiar to me.”
“That so? Could be.” He held out a hand and introduced himself. “I’m Tony Arturo. Reno, Lake Tahoe, and Frisco. You’re Marty Lee, ain’t you? Someone pointed you out in the Venetian Room. Quite a joint you got here. Strictly plush.”
Marty shook hands with him and then his senses froze as his brain took over and began working. He mumbled something under his breath and broke away from the man as quickly as possible.
Tony Arturo was the owner of a large gambling establishment on the south shore of Lake Tahoe, Nevada side. Red Martin and his confederates had held it up the year before and walked out with eighty-five thousand dollars in cash. Tony would never forget it. Tony was also the kind who would never quit looking for Red Martin and his eighty-five grand.
A chill traveled up Marty’s spine as he helped Karen into a taxi.
Chapter Nine
MARTY and Karen were married in the Episcopal church in Burlingame, down the peninsula south of San Francisco. The boulevard of El Camino Real, vestigial remains of the old mission trails, was snarled with traffic jams for hours. Curious onlookers lined the sidewalks and crowded about the church as if a movie couple were being wed in Hollywood. Frank Stannard gave the bride away with a commanding sense of dignity Marty had never known he possessed. George acted as best man and fumbled drunkenly for the ring in the best traditional manner. It was an old-fashioned wedding ceremony, with “duty” and “obey” and “till death us do part.” The most beautiful bride the church had ever seen had difficulty keeping the mist in her eyes from overflowing. Society columnists wrote thousands of words describing the gown she was wearing, down to its last stitch and bit of lace. The groom stood stiffly at her side and stared into space. Throughout the ceremony he worried about one matter only, the inevitable pictures in the papers. Black printing ink made no distinction between red hair and brown. Except for a few malcontents, the guests exclaimed that it was undoubtedly the loveliest wedding in many years. The press went further and called it spectacular.
The reception was held in the Hillsborough mansion of Karen’s late parents, a place Marty had never known existed until a few days before the wedding. The building was granite, four stories high, of better t
han fifty rooms, and sat on a knoll in the hills overlooking the peninsula and San Francisco Bay. There were three hundred acres of grounds in the midst of the most expensive residential area on the Coast, twelve acres of lawns and gardens and bridle paths that wandered crookedly under oaks where padres and caballeros had once rested. Three enormous green tents, in either of which a small circus could perform, were placed on the lawns for the reception, each decorated with the stock of a florist shop. Champagne had been brought in by the truckload. Flower girls were as numerous as daisies, and if all the mink coats and ermines present could have been spread out they would have carpeted one of the lawns. Everyone said that it was a reception in the old grand manner and only royalty or a Stannard could have carried it off.
Marty had wanted to get married quietly in the city hall.
He had never been so staggered. He had seen great wealth in action before, even blatantly and ostentatiously in Florida and Texas, but never on that scale. He had simply not given much thought to Karen’s actual wealth. He had been so obsessed with his own actions and his own plans that he had not troubled himself about her financial standing. He had known that she was very wealthy, probably worth a million or so, and had let it go at that. It had never actually entered his mind that he was marrying one of the wealthiest women in the country. It disturbed him to realize that Karen could probably have given away her share in the hotel and never missed it. Marty did not enjoy that.
Nor did he enjoy the fact that at his own wedding and reception he felt like a rank outsider. He knew very few of the people present, so he spent most of his time being introduced by George. Names soon became a blur in his mind. He met one prominent person after another and concluded that all of the great California families were represented. But it was the Stannard name that had drawn them. Marty Lee meant nothing, except as an object of curiosity. Even his success with the hotel was suddenly small change.
He thought of all the risks he had taken to achieve his present eminence and realized that simply by marrying Karen it could have been handed to him as a gift. He resented the whole idea. The reception became a sour taste in his mouth.
The only thing that entertained Marty was Wayne Howard’s presence at the reception. The tall blond was impeccably dressed for a change, and was seemingly aloof and disinterested, but Marty soon saw that he was troubled and plastered. He stopped every waiter passing on the lawn, gulped down a glass of wine, then waited for the next tray to come along. He carried the load well, even with dignity, but he was so boiled he could hardly recognize anyone.
As Marty was on his way into the mansion to change clothes he stopped for a moment to talk with Wayne. The decorator blinked at him, hiccuped, and smiled weakly. Marty chuckled and wanted to know why the heavy elbow bending. Wayne replied, “You.”
“I’m not twisting your arm.”
“Not that. You and Karen. Just came to my ‘tention you captured prize of prizes. Never thought of it before. Too busy. Now too late.”
“You weren’t in the running, chum.”
“I know. Sad. Stupid. Too engrossed other matters think ‘bout a woman. But when I saw her, there at the altar — Sorry can’t ‘gratulate you. Hypocritical.”
“Don’t bust out crying in your wine.”
“Don’t ‘tend to. But tell me — what the hell’s she see in you?”
Marty grinned. “Didn’t you know? I’m Prince Charming in disguise. Excuse me, will you, while I run for my coach and four?”
Marty walked away from him, smiling over the idea of having stepped on someone else’s toes without knowing it. The idea pleased him and added some spice to the affair. He had accomplished a little something, after all.
He was entering the mansion when Frank stopped him and introduced him to Albert Bentley, a man nudging his seventies yet of giant proportions. He towered half a head over Marty, weighed three hundred pounds, and had the appearance of an amiable, retired ship captain. He was, however, head of the Bentley hotel system, the largest chain of hotels in the nation, embracing small and large hostelries from border to border and coast to coast.
Bentley congratulated him on his marriage in an oddly high, piercing voice and also on his success with the Stannard Hotel. “We’ve had our eye on you, young man, ever since you took it over. Didn’t think you could do anything with it. Fooled us all. Good job.”
Marty winked at Frank and smiled at the big man. “Well, sir, I learned part of the technique from you.”
“Huh? How’s that?”
“You don’t know it, but I’ve worked for you many times, probably in a dozen or more of your hotels.”
“Well, well. So you liked our methods and you learned by them?”
Marty shook his head. “Not at all. What I learned was to avoid your system as much as possible.”
Frank said quickly, “I’m sure you don’t mean that exactly.”
Bentley squeaked, “Mr. Lee is probably just indulging in a little kidding. After all, a festive day such as this — ”
Marty said, “I’m not kidding, Mr. Bentley. Your system grew up during the boom twenties and held together during the depression only because it was too big to close out. That’s still the only thing that keeps it going, its size. A few dozen excellent locations carry the load for a hundred bad ones. You could use a thorough house cleaning.”
Bentley’s eyes narrowed and his voice took on a sharp, sarcastic edge. “Evidently you believe that this one, lone success puts you in a position to criticize.”
“I could have told you the same thing when I was a clerk in one of your hotels. Only,” he smiled, “then you wouldn’t have listened to me.”
Bentley’s ruddy complexion turned even more mottled and red. “I’ll listen to you, Mr. Lee, when I think you know what you’re talking about and not before.”
“In other words, prove it.”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe I will. Glad to have met you, sir. Hope to see you again.”
Marty went in to the master suite of the mansion, where George soon joined him. George had switched from champagne to Scotch and waxed philosophical as Marty changed to sports clothes. “Damned good idea, this wedding. Always said so. New blood in the family. Everyone thought she’d marry one of her own crowd. And what would happen then? Nothing. Strictly a negative. That isn’t Karen’s way. Smart girl. She’s out to out-Stannard the older gang, and you’re the boy to do it. How about a free ride on your coattails, Marty?”
Marty laughed. “Just hang on.”
“Don’t worry. I will.”
Frank joined them, but not in their mood. He paced the floor, chewing viciously at a cigar. “That was a damned fool thing to do, Marty. Bentley’s the biggest power in the business. A good man to have on your side. Now he’ll applaud every time you stumble.”
“If I stumble. Listen. What I had to say about his hotel chain is true. Sure, it’s the biggest in the country, but it stinks. I know. I’ve watched it operating from the inside. He knows it, too, but he doesn’t know what the hell to do about it.”
“That’s neither here nor there. At least, you could have been friendly and polite with the man.”
Marty grinned at him. “I don’t see you winning any prizes for diplomacy, and you aren’t starving.”
“I’ve had it made. You’re just beginning.”
“O.K. But I’m not beginning by kissing his behind and having him worm anything out of me in a condescending manner. I don’t give a damn, because we have nothing in common and never will.”
Frank squinted at him, shifted his cigar about, and mumbled, “I wonder.”
George asked, “Where are you and Karen heading?”
“Del Monte Lodge at Pebble Beach, but keep it under your hat.”
“Want me to tell you the facts of life before you go?”
Marty chuckled and squeezed his arm. “Hell’s bells, I got the world by the tail on a downhill pull.”
But that night he was more perplexed than he had e
ver been in his life. He lay in bed, with Karen curled at his side, in their cottage at Del Monte Lodge, and stared sleeplessly at the ceiling. All of his standards had crashed. His brain was a whirling jumble of ideas, none of which could be brought into focus. He felt almost as if he had been betrayed.
He was in love with no one, including Karen, nor was he capable of feeling an emotion even closely approaching love. In fact, he had felt that by violating Karen’s body he would be violating all of her class and all she stood for. He had looked forward to it with pleasure. It was one of the conscious reasons he had married her. The desire to possess went hand in hand with the idea of ravishing. He would be getting even with everyone for the many years he had had to stand on the other side of a hotel desk and smirk at guests who were hardly aware of his existence. Possessing Karen was his idea of sweet revenge. He was ravishing a whole class of society.
The idea had turned to ashes the moment he became aware of the surprising fact that his bride was a virgin. Nothing about her had prepared him for it. It was the last thing in the world he would have expected. Even to consider the idea would have been ridiculous and naïve. Virginity in her class was a somewhat comic virtue, not quite grown-up. And Karen was an unusually sophisticated woman, with a worldly knowledge achieved through both heredity and environment. Obviously, dozens of men had been in love with her, and she had been subjected to tremendous pressures. Yet she had remained a virgin. It was the most astonishing thing Marty had ever experienced.
He stared into the dark and thought of how it had been.
• • •
They had stopped twice on the highway, so they had arrived at Del Monte after dark. Marty registered and had their luggage sent to the cottage across the road from the Lodge. He wanted to go to the cottage at once, but Karen insisted that she was hungry. Marty accompanied her impatiently to the dining room and became irritated as she slowed the pace of their dining to a crawl. They were the last to leave the room. They left then only because the waiters were pointedly yawning at them.
Karen then insisted on having liqueurs in the cocktail room. Marty was furious, but went along with her. It took her over an hour to sip her way through two brandies. They were finally the last couple in the cocktail room.
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