Deep Purple

by Parris Afton Bonds

  She and Larry exchanged looks. “ ’Cause if you are,” Mike continued, “you don’t have to worry ’bout coming back.”

  Larry rolled his eyes. “Aww, Mike, we were just stepping out for some fresh air, weren't we, Amanda?”

  Both men looked at her. Damn! Thirty different thoughts barraged her like gunfire in that brief interval, but what it came down to, she decided, was a duel between her pride and the need to graduate. If the gentleman had been anyone else but Nick, she would have acceded a great deal more graciously. “Sure, Larry. I was just checking my purse.”

  Mike’s cigar tilted upward with his grin. “Good going, kids. There’s a tip in it for you.”

  Walking back into the semidarkness, she could not at first make out Nick’s table. Larry took her elbow and maneuvered them through the maze of tables with Mike trailing behind. “Mayor Godwin,” he said expansively, “Casablanca’s two stars, Larry Willis and Amanda Shima.”

  Nick and the two other men at his table rose. He did not take his eyes off her as she took the chair her partner pulled out for her. He’d never meant to see her again—her with that hellfire temper. And that damned pride. Sitting there on those perfect hips as if she were some Far Eastern princess. But he had her number. An avaricious little wildcat who meant to have what she thought was her due. Sweet Jesus, but would he like to give her what he thought was her due!

  “I believe we’ve met before,” he said, addressing her alone.

  “It seems you made the same mistake then also,” she acknowledged coolly. “In Bisbee, wasn’t it?”

  Nick raked a brow, as if amused by her reply, but she turned her attention to the gentleman directly across from her, who began to make the introductions. She was wedged between Nick’s wife and a stout matron with turquoise necklaces and pendants draped from an ample bosom. These people, of course, needed no introductions. Their names and faces were familiar in Tucson society.

  The man across from her, Richard Attenberry, was the city’s district attorney, and his wife, the turquoise woman, headed up the opera guild. The other gentleman, Allan Shriver, and his wife owned the city’s largest department store, which rivaled that of Goldwaters in Phoenix.

  It was Danielle who spoke first after the introductions. “You have a very good voice, Miss Shima. Is Shima an Italian or Oriental name?”

  Nick rolled his eyes. Tonight was going to be combustible.

  The way Danielle inhaled on her cigarette, stubbing it out in an irritated gesture, told Amanda she did not really care about the answer. Through the swirling haze of cigarette smoke, Danielle watched her as closely as Nick, and all at once Amanda realized that Danielle sensed Nick’s more than casual interest in her. For a man to remember a woman he allegedly had met only once three years prior said more than mere words to his wife.

  “Shima is of Japanese origin," Amanda replied evenly.

  Mrs. Attenberry asked, “Are you studying music at the university, dear?”

  "No, I'm not," she replied, volunteering as little information as possible. She wanted only to finish with the pleasantries and leave.

  Danielle raised a delicately arched brow. "Oh? Then this kind of—work—it’s your . . . profession?”

  "No, it’s only a way to earn a living.”

  On her left, Allan Shriver offered her a cigarette, and she declined but continued to converse with him, grateful to escape Danielle's patronizing conversation. Nick ordered drinks. She watched his hands light a cigarette. They were large and capable. Too capable.

  The talk turned to the certainty of the coming war. “My brother's even signed up with the Army Air Forces, he's that sure we’re going to be in it," Larry said, and Allan prophesied it would drive up the prices of commodities and shorten the supply.

  "It’s Roosevelt who wants us in," Richard said. “I lay ten to one. It's the only way he can carry through with his New Deal policies and get us out of the Depression. What does Paul think about it, Nick? Or does he say?"

  “Whatever Paul thinks about it, he's certainly not allowed to put into letters—at least not to me.”

  “He and Arlene are coming home for a visit soon.” Danielle put in. “You can ask him yourself at our party." She turned to Amanda. “And we’d love to have you and Larry come and entertain us. Wouldn't we, Nick?”

  "I'm sure we’ll be working through the weekends,” Amanda replied. "But thank you for the invitation." Recklessly she tossed down the scotch and water the waiter set before her. She had done her duty to Mike and the Casablanca. She looked at Larry, who sat at the other end of the table. "I'd better go or I'll miss my bus.”

  Larry rose immediately, but Nick put a restraining hand on his arm. "We'll take you home, Miss Shima."

  She met his hard gaze. Her eyes frosted over. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm sure my house is nowhere in the vicinity of yours, Mayor Godwin"

  Larry came around to her chair and thanked everyone before ushering her out. "Well, was it as bad as you expected?” he asked as he helped her back into her evening coat.

  "Worse. I felt like a freak on exhibit at a sideshow. Our society friends were only interested in seeing how the other half lives.”

  She inhaled deeply of the fresh air when they stepped outside. Larry caught her arm and turned her to face him. “I don’t think so. I think, Amanda Shima, the mayor was interested in you—alone.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Larry.” She twisted away. “Mayor Godwin has a beautiful wife. And if he wanted another woman, I’m certain there are plenty of women all too willing to volunteer their charms.”

  Larry smiled at her obvious indignation. “It’s difficult to imagine that you are actually unaware of your incredible beauty.” Like the renowned beauty of Eurasian women, she had inherited the same breathtaking qualities from her Anglo-Hispanic mother and Oriental father. Exotic features balanced on a tall, willowy frame. Heads turned wherever she went. And he was no exception. “You underrate the power of your own charms, Amanda,” he said now, catching up with her. “Hey . . .”

  She stopped and looked at him, and he caught her against him. “Can’t you tell the power of your charms has ensnared me also?”

  Before she could move, Larry kissed her. At the noise of the people spilling out of the restaurant, he released her, and over his shoulder she saw Nick’s raking glance.

  CHAPTER 48

  Larry nodded as his nimble fingers tapped their way across the keyboard. “He’s out there again.”

  So, she wasn’t the only one who had noticed Nick Godwin’s repeated presence. Three times by her count in the past month— twice with business associates and once, surprisingly, alone. She would have bet her last supper that those were the only times Nick had been out there among the Casablanca’s patrons, listening as she sang. She would have known it had he been out there more than those three times—as surely as she knew the songs she rehearsed so often.

  It was unnerving to sing when he was there, knowing he watched her, studied her, as no other male did. He was an animal! His presence served to remind her how quixotic were her dreams of revenge, of possessing the Stronghold. Dreams made more vivid by photos of the Stronghold that Larry had pointed out in Architectural Digest the month before.

  She finished the song and signaled to Larry to cut her next number. ‘‘I’m leaving,” she lip-synched after the applause, which was light, since it was a weeknight. Leaving early was something rarely done, but Larry never missed a note as he swung into “Love Walked In.”

  Mike caught up with her on her way to the dressing room. “The mayor's asking for you," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "You must have made some impression on him.” She looked beyond Mike to the shadowy people at the tables, then back to the manager. He had been around a long time, and that mug of his was street-wise. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said tightly, “but I’ve had nothing to do with Mayor Godwin. And I’m not going to.”

  “Hey, doll, I don’t pass judgments. I leave that to the j
udge.” As if he sensed the inflexible temperament that corralled her at that moment, his gruff voice became wheedling rather than demanding. “The mayor has the power to take away our liquor license, with us this close to the university and all. And then we’d all be without a job, wouldn’t we?” He winked broadly. “Come on, it won’t hurt just to go over and be sociable for a few minutes, eh?”

  Only a year of school left until she got her LL.B. If it had been May a year later she could have spit in Mike’s face—and Nick’s. She whirled around and walked back into the dining room. It dismayed her to find her hands were knotted, her jaw tensed. Nick rose at her approach. She slid into the chair he pulled out for her. “Mike said you wanted to talk to me,” she said curtly.

  Above the flickering candle, Nick's square, almost homely features glowed with a saturnine quality. “You don’t smoke, do you?” he said. He pulled out a gold case of what must have been his own personalized brand of cigarettes. It was a statement that did not require an answer, and she sat across from him, lips clamped together in a stem line.

  He bent his head near the candle’s flame and lit the cigarette. His eyes narrowed as he inhaled. He blew the smoke out slowly, observing her, before he spoke again. “Your dislike for me intrigues me.”

  “‘Dislike’ is a mild word. How about ‘hostility’?”

  “If that’s what it is. But I think it’s stronger than that, even—what I feel between us.”

  “As I see it, Mayor Godwin,” she said, stressing his title, “there is nothing between us.”

  He quirked one of those thick brows. “You might deny it, but you and I both know you’re lying. Mandy—” He paused as the obsequious waiter hovered over him, inquiring if he wished to renew his drink order. Nick shook his head with irritation and the waiter backed away. “Get your purse,” Nick commanded.

  “I will not!”

  His gaze lanced her. He ground out his cigarette and caught her hand, jerking her to her feet. “I’m taking you home.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said, trying to wrench away from the clamp-like grip with no success.

  He grimaced impatiently. “You’ll only make a spectacle, because you’re going with me even if I have to call the chief of police and have you arrested.”

  She did not doubt he would make good his threat and let him pull her along beside him. At the checkroom he ordered the young girl to hand over Amanda’s purse and propelled Amanda out the door toward the darkened parking lot behind the Casablanca.

  “You're hurting me,” she cried, rubbing at her wrist. Never in her life had she been subjected to such brutality. Her father had never raised his hand to her, for a quelling look from those gentle eyes had been enough of a discipline. “You're nothing but an animal!”

  Nick laughed out loud and practically shoved her into the sleek white Pierce-Arrow. “And what do you think you are?” he asked as he gunned the motor. “You, my fine pet, are a cow a-bulling.”

  Her fingers arched for his face. This time he caught her hand in midflight. “Oh, no, not again, you don’t!” He yanked her to him, crushing her breasts against the buttoned jacket of his business suit. He slammed his hard, angry mouth over hers. His teeth ground against her lips, and her teeth were forced to part, opening the way for the assault of his tongue. His tongue shoved hers to one side, raking her mouth, laying claim to every intimate recess.

  It was like—it was like what it must be to be raped! Worse even than that first time he had kissed her! Oh, the beast! His mouth fired hotter and hotter over hers. He kept kissing her— vigorously, thoroughly—until she felt herself catch fire from his own body heat. This was not the way it was supposed to be!

  They kissed longer and harder. She wanted to hurt him, and he wanted to hurt her. They punished each other with their kisses. Then he shoved her away from him abruptly. “See?” he rasped. “I was right. A cow a-bulling! I can smell the scent on you. Doesn’t Larry the Piano Man satisfy your animal lusts?”

  “Oh? You disgust me!”

  “I can say the same for you. You have none of the refined virtues of a lady, my dear!” He whipped the car out onto Park Boulevard. “Where to?”

  “The Barrio,” she bit out, not trusting herself to say more. Fury boiled in her. He was nothing but a savage who brought out the worst in her. She couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, and when he maneuvered the Pierce Arrow down the Barrio's narrow dirt streets, her hand was already at the door handle. At that time of night, for it was nearing ten o'clock, all the lights from the mud jacales were out. Somewhere in the darkness a cat screeched.

  She swung open the door, prepared to bolt, but Nick grabbed her arm. “You don’t get off that easily,” he snapped.

  She turned on him. “What more do you want? Me?”

  "Yes!”

  It was her turn to laugh. She was afraid she wouldn’t stop. "Oh, that's justice,” she said at last, getting her breath. She brushed a knuckle along the outer corner of her eye to catch the laughter’s tear. “It’s a small measure of triumph, Nick Godwin, that I can say, ‘Never!’ ”

  His grip tightened on her arm, so that she was almost reclining across the car seat. His face was near enough that she could smell his cologne—and his man-scent. “Whatever revenge you’re hell-bent on won’t change what you feel about me!’’ he snarled.

  “I feel nothing about you—except contempt!”

  His mouth claimed hers, forcing her head down against the seat. Her hair spilled over its edge, and he trapped it with his thigh as he bent over her, kissing her savagely, brutally, burning her with the heat of his open mouth. His teeth bit into her lips. She clutched his head to hers so that he could not withdraw from the fierce attack of her own tongue and teeth, her fingers digging into his scalp, burying themselves in his thick hair.

  They pulled away, gasping in deep audible breaths. “I hate you!” she whispered.

  “You’d like to pretend that there isn’t something between us,” he grated. “But I'm not going to let you.”

  “I don’t ever want to see you again!” She bounded from the car and slammed its door.

  She was half afraid he would stop her, or worse, follow her into the house. But she made it inside and, with her back to the door, closed her eyes against the tears. She listened to the hum of his car as he drove off into the night.

  Trouble whimpered at her feet, begging to be petted, but she was unaware. It’s mine, her heart cried out in despair. The Stronghold should be mine!

  Nick did not come the next day to the Casablanca, nor the next week or month, and Amanda thought she was able to forget the impact he had on her. Without him watching her, reminding her of their kisses, her life seemed to steer a steadier course.

  Sometimes she read about him in the newspaper—“Mayor Godwin Signs Deal with Colorado River Authorities” . . . “Godwins Attend Fourth of July Gala” . . . “Godwins Host Party for Howard Hughes.” Beneath the last was a photo of Nick and a gorgeous Danielle, swathed in a frothy crepe and organza gown, with the tall, slender Hughes in between the two. A caption told of the party held at the mayor’s home in the exclusive Paseo Redondo section of Tucson for the elusive Hughes.

  And then there was the smaller headline when Paul Godwin returned home from Washington to bury his wife.

  Reading about the Godwins or hearing their names mentioned on the radio was like the discussion of a stranger. Surely Nick Godwin had never held her, kissed her . . . and she had never betrayed herself.

  As long as she could put the Godwins and the Stronghold in the right perspective—names that meant nothing to her—then her life was as pleasant as it could be under the circumstances, rising at four to work on the laundry with her father, attending school until three, and singing at the Casablanca from seven until ten (or one o'clock on weekends).

  In fact, that August of 1941, the month she turned twenty- three, held bright promise for her. She was entering her last year of law school. It had been three hard years, but it would be
worth it when she could put up her shingle along “Lawyer’s Row" that ran near the County Court House.

  Her father often teased her when he would catch her poring over a law journal in the middle of the night. “I have raised a female Clarence Darrow!” But she knew he was secretly proud. A female lawyer would have been unheard of in his country.

  Like the social unfortunates she hoped to represent, she had to believe that one day she would win her own struggle. Not just the struggle of prejudice—for some of the students had begun to avoid her when they realized she was part Japanese. With Japan on the Axis side in the war, her name was not a favorable one to have. Then there was the other struggle she had to believe she would one day win—her struggle for the Stronghold.

  Yet the next time she saw Nick Godwin she knew she was facing a much more powerful adversary than mere prejudice. She was facing—no, battling—-herself, her own conflicting emotions.

  A late-summer dust storm raged through Tucson’s streets the next time she saw him. She had just finished a class, and Larry waited to walk her to the corner bus stop. Together they fought the grit that abraded their exposed hands and faces. “Go on, Larry,” she yelled against the whirl of the wind. “There’s no use your getting coated with sand, too.”

  Larry pulled her to him, brushing his lips across her forehead. “It’s worth the sandblasting just to be near you.” Then, more earnestly, “Why won’t you go out with me?”

  “Because I don’t have time in my life to be serious about someone. There’s too much to do and not enough time as it is.”

  “That won't go, Amanda. People make time for what they want badly enough.”

  She reached up and brushed back the swath of toffee-colored hair that the wind whipped across his forehead. “And what would your parents say about your dating a Japanese?”

  “But you don’t look it!” he protested.

  “Oh?” Hurt, she moved away. “If I looked Japanese, then I wouldn’t be acceptable. Is that it?”