by Alice Orr
“I don’t need you taking care of things for me,” Nick said, and moved to follow the guy into the garage. Rudy grabbed his arm.
“We’ve still got a job to do,” Rudy said. “We’d better get to it.”
Nick shook the hand off his arm and shrugged his shoulders hard inside his Italian suit jacket. The red of his face was a shade less bright now. He still seemed to be spoiling for a fight with anybody unlucky enough to come along, but he climbed into the passenger side of the car all the same. Rudy got behind the wheel and shoved the car into gear before easing out into traffic and heading in the direction of the Plaza Hotel.
MEMPHIS WAS MAD AT himself, even madder than he’d been at himself for being fool enough to end up at that fancy club last night holding the bag for deep-sixing a woman he’d never before seen in his life. And that was nothing compared to how big a jackass he’d made of himself with Bennett St. Simon. Just thinking the name made him feel stupid. How could he ever have been dumb enough to think a Memphis Modine and a Bennett St. Simon could make a match?
Truth was, he hadn’t been thinking much about matches last night. He didn’t have anything permanent in mind then. His mind didn’t have much to do with what happened to him when she started taking off her clothes the way she did in the bathroom. Just thinking about it now had him getting worked up all over again. He didn’t like that much, either. He never had trouble keeping the lid on what he felt about a woman. If he wanted to let himself go, he’d do that, but only when he gave the okay and had his reactions strictly under control.
With this woman, control didn’t seem to be in the mix. He looked at her, he heard her voice, he let her into his head, and he was off and running whether he wanted to be or not. He’d never known anybody who could turn him on the way she did. Well, now it was time to get a grip and turn himself off. What he’d heard on the phone this morning told him there was no other choice in the matter.
Maybe it was her he should be mad at anyway. For some reason, that didn’t feel like something he wanted to do. He didn’t know where that came from, either. He’d started out just thinking about making love. He had to admit he’d been thinking about that a long time before it made sense to. Even when he was dragging her around the park, he couldn’t help noticing how soft her skin felt and the way her body looked in that little dress. If he hadn’t been running for his fool life at the time, he might have thrown her down on the grass right there.
Memphis walked faster along the crowded street. He knew that wasn’t true the minute he thought it. He wouldn’t throw Bennett anywhere. She made him feel something that put that aggressive part of himself straight out of commission. She made him feel respect. She wasn’t the kind of woman he could push or force into anything. She was the kind of woman he wanted by his side, step by step, right there with him all the way. He wanted her for a partner, in lovemaking and maybe in everything else, too. He thought they’d made a start last night. He’d been wrong.
He hesitated at the corner of Fifth Avenue. There was a subway pole with a green ball on top of it on the next block up. He’d be best off to try that. He could figure out which trains to take from the map on the wall down there. He’d feel more at ease underground right now anyway. Up here, he got the suspicion that everybody was looking at him funny, everybody knew his face and what he was supposed to be guilty of. It could be splattered all over the papers by now for all he knew. He glanced around for a newsstand but didn’t see one.
In the meantime, he didn’t head for the subway entrance. He continued on the way he’d been going, across town to the east. He needed to keep moving. He had to walk off what he was feeling. Maybe if he hiked fast enough, he could walk right out of himself and what was going on with him this morning. He wasn’t a guy who ran away from anything, but that seemed to be all he’d been doing since he met her—running from the cops, running from the thugs. Now he was even trying to run from himself. Of course, she could only be to blame for that last one, but he felt like blaming her for the whole mess anyway.
It was the phone call that did it. Up till then, he’d been going along like a crazy fool, letting himself believe in fairy tales. He hadn’t even believed in those things when he was a kid. Growing up in an orphanage knocked that fantasy stuff out of your head real fast. He’d figured out what was and wasn’t going to happen to a kid like him a long time before he was even old enough to go to school. For one thing, he knew he wasn’t going to be taken home by some beautiful lady to her big, sunny house on a hill where she’d care for him and love him forever. He thought he’d chucked that delusion in the garbage years ago. Maybe he hadn’t, because that’s just what had popped into the back of his mind sometime last night, beautiful lady, sunny digs and all.
Memphis felt the tightness rise up from his chest into his throat. He could hardly believe it. Tough-as-nails, salt-ofthe-sea Memphis Modine was all but running down the street just about half a step away from letting himself break down and cry. He swallowed the tightness and warned it not to come back. There had been lots of times in his life when he wanted to cry, most of them when he was a kid. He’d taught himself way back then that breaking down never got you anything but beaten up in this world. Let them see you’ve got a soft spot somewhere, and the vultures head straight for it. He wasn’t going to forget that lesson now, not for anything, especially not for a woman.
Memphis squared his shoulders and looked around for another subway entrance and the means to get himself the fastest way possible to Twenty-third Street and the East River.
Chapter Twenty
Bennett needed information, the inside scoop you might call it. She’d never paid much attention to all of that—the rumors and innuendo, the latest gossip circulating among the people she knew. In fact, she had always done her best to avoid that sort of thing. Private lives should be kept private was what she thought. Back in the days of her Mexico escapade, she had been on the receiving end of a lot of that unwelcome interest herself. She could still remember how it hurt to know that everybody was talking about her. She had wished she could run away again to some place where the only person scrutinizing herself would be herself.
Today was different. There were things Bennett needed to find out, and she had to find them out fast. Luckily she had a very good idea what the best source of that information might be. She also suspected Sonia Jade would jump at the chance to get closer to Bennett, who could be the avenue to all kinds of social opportunities. Social opportunities were Sonia’s number-one interest, next to gossip. Bennett turned out to be right about Sonia’s eagerness to get together. She was at the Plaza Palm Court almost before Bennett had time to change into the clothes Bergdorf’s had sent over for her— beige silk crepe day pants that nipped in a bit at the ankle over high-vamped taupe shoe boots; a simple cotton-knit sweater and linen-silk blend jacket in the same shade as the boots finished off the outfit. They had even included a bag with a shoulder strap.
Bennett marveled at the change a few well chosen garments could make. Last night she had transformed herself into a downtown hoyden with a few thrift box finds. She had looked the part so much that not a single person bad questioned her legitimacy in that role. She had mingled with the hip club crowd and fit right in. Now she was business as usual again. Bennett St. Simon, impeccable to a fault in her oh-so-appropriate stylish uptown ensemble. Surveying the effect in the mirror, she felt a twinge of desire to be Vangie once more, hanging out in fun places, running through the late-night streets, kissing her lover on a stoop on Ninth Avenue.
That last memory plunged to her belly with such a heavy jolt of longing she thought for a moment she might sink to the floor from the weight of it. She steadied herself against the French Provincial desk that stood so graciously in front of the mirror. A wave of uncertainty washed over her. Her mother always said, remember who you are and what you represent. Right now, Bennett was not at all sure what either of those might be. She understood that Memphis Modine and what had happened between them, so
very much in so very little time, was at the heart of her uncertainty. The thought of him made her question whether she Wanted to fit into a world where he might not fit, as well. Even if he never came back to her, she wondered if her privileged life was what she wanted for herself any longer.
“Even if he never came back to her.” The reality of that possibility thudded through her even more heavily than her sense of longing had done. She teetered perilously close to tears and had to swallow hard to keep from giving herself up to them. There was no time for any of that now. No time for regrets. She grabbed her perfectly coordinated, fine leather shoulderbag and headed, fast as she could hurry without stumbling over one of the perfectly coordinated fine antiques, for the door. She wished desperately that she felt half as well pulled together as her outfit and her surroundings.
Sonia Jade was already waiting when Bennett got downstairs to the Palm Court. As usual, Sonia was easy to spot among the generally sedate early lunch crowd. She was more colorfully attired than Bennett. Sonia’s turquoise raw silk suit had obviously been chosen to set off the eyes that matched her last name. Bennett could just imagine how every man’s attention had turned for a moment when Sonia walked into this room. Bennett didn’t have that effect on a crowd, and she knew it. She was much too low-keyed in both look and manner to cause much of a stir when she made an entrance. Last night had been an exception. She had not failed to notice a number of admiring male glances in her direction, both on the street and in the club. Vangie, of course, hadn’t been what you would call low-keyed at all.
“Thanks so much for coming,” Bennett said as she sat down across from Sonia at a small, round table in the exact center of the Court.
Bennett wished Sonia had picked a less conspicuous location. The Palm Court was open to the corridor from the Plaza’s main entrance and along the walkway that led to the shops and other restaurants in the hotel. Guests, lunchers, shoppers and just plain gawkers strolled along this carpeted promenade in droves. Bennett would have much preferred a corner table shielded by the fronds of the palms that gave the court its name. Sonia, however, was definitely not a corner table kind of woman. Seeing and being seen were her stock in trade. She had made certain that even the wide marble columns were too far away to provide any cover. At least, Bennett was able to position herself facing away from the more public side of the court. Sonia was obviously happy with that arrangement. She would want to be as visible as Bennett wished to remain the opposite.
“It was lovely to hear from you,” Sonia said in the tightjawed drawl she’d learned at school. “Of course, I had to juggle appointments like mad to manage this on such short notice.”
“Thank you for taking the trouble to do that.”
“Not to worry. I considered the effort a worthwhile one, especially for a special friend like you.”
Bennett and Sonia had never been friends, much less special friends, though Sonia had certainly wanted them to be. Sonia’s ambition to climb to the heady heights of the circle surrounding Bennett’s mother, Dilys St. Simon, had long been very apparent. Bennett couldn’t help feeling a flash of guilt for exploiting that ambition, which she had regarded with disdain in the past. She was not a person who believed that the ends justified the means. At least, she hadn’t been that kind of person before last night. Since then, she would have been hard-pressed to define just what kind of person she had suddenly become.
“It is because we are such special friends that I’ve invited you here today,” Bennett said in the tone she had to affect to get what she needed now. “I must ask a favor of you.”
“A favor?” Sonia sounded a bit more distant than she had before.
“And I would be very much in your debt if you were good enough to grant it,” Bennett added hastily.
“I see.” Of course, Sonia did see exactly what kind of titfor-tat arrangement Bennett was suggesting. “I would certainly be glad to be of help in any way I can. You have always been a particular favorite among my acquaintance. What was it you had in mind?”
Bennett was relieved to have the waiter interrupt at that point. The atmosphere of insincerity surrounding the small, linen-draped table was becoming so thick she thought she might choke on it at any moment. She reminded herself of what she was doing here and why it was so important. By the time the waiter had taken their orders, bowed ever so slightly then slipped away, she was ready to pursue her objective with almost no qualms about doing so.
“I need information,” she said. “I wanted it to be accurate,” she added, remembering that this particular wheel would be best greased by flattery, “so I naturally have come to you.”
“What kind of information would that be?” The spark of interest in Sonia’s green eyes was unmistakable. She obviously detected there must be something of potential interest afoot.
“I need to know if there are any men in our crowd who have been spending time recently with…” Bennett hesitated, searching for the right words. “With a woman the rest of us wouldn’t necessarily know.”
“You mean a townie?”
Bennett had always hated that term, which was such a snobbish carryover from school days, when certain students would use it to show how much they looked down on their less privileged, off-campus neighbors.
“A downtownie to be exact.” Bennett hated resorting to such a haughty attitude. It made her ashamed to be what she was and and what she represented, as her mother put it. Even telling herself that the circumstances called for just what she was doing didn’t wash the bad taste from Bennett’s mouth.
“Oh, yes. The downtown-chippy syndrome,” Sonia was saying. “The scourge of the low-life side. The fellows can’t seem to resist the impulse to dabble in a bit of street grit every now and again, can they? But then, boys will be boys, and they hardly ever forget to come scurrying back where they belong after they’ve had their tawdry little taste of that sort of thing.”
Bennett had to clench her teeth to keep from proclaiming that she had been on those selfsame low-life streets only hours ago and she hadn’t felt the impulse to look down her nose even once during the entire experience. She reminded herself that this would not be a wise revelation to make at this particular moment when she had much more crucial fish to fry.
“Do you know of any boys who have been dabbling lately?” she asked.
“Is there anyone of specific interest to you?” Sonia asked, leaning closer over the table and making no attempt to disguise her curiosity. Subtleness was not an art that Sonia had mastered.
“Specifically, any of the fellows who would have been at the Stuyvesant reception last night.”
“Oh, yes. Those fellows. You do know what happened there last night, don’t you?” Sonia’s green eyes narrowed slightly, as if she might be in the process of putting two and two together.
“I heard about it.” Bennett wasn’t about to be more forthcoming than that until she found out how much Sonia already knew.
“Ghastly business. Imagine it. A woman like that found dead at the Stuyvesant Club no less. Of course, every effort is being made to keep it out of the tabloids. The police are being most discreet at the moment, but who knows how long they’ll be able to manage that.”
“Do they have any idea what happened?” Bennett asked, allowing herself to be diverted from her primary agenda for a moment.
“Apparently she was killed by one of her own. Somebody she’d come into the club with, heaven knows by what access. We really do need to tighten security.”
“Do they know who that person with her might have been?” Bennett’s heart tripped faster. She composed her face, which her years as her mother’s daughter had taught her so well. She must not let on how agitated this conversation was making her.
“I called absolutely everybody this morning, but I couldn’t find out a thing. Except that they were both outsiders, and they had obviously come there to rob us all blind. How fortunate we were that they decided to turn on each other instead.”
“Yes. How fortun
ate,” Bennett managed to say over the expanding lump in her throat. “So, the man who killed this woman got away without a trace?”
“Did I say it was a man?” Sonia’s green eyes, which didn’t miss a trick, were openly probing again.
“No, I guess you didn’t. I assumed it must be.”
“Just so, and of course it was a man. Some kind of hoodlum lovers’ quarrel would be my guess. It is all too grimy to be believed. We don’t expect this sort of thing in our part of town.”
Suddenly it dawned on Bennett that Sonia hadn’t mentioned the kidnapping, or hostage taking or whatever they would have decided to call Bennett’s being dragged off by Memphis against her will. That part of the story had been kept quiet for now. She sensed the long arm of St. Simon influence at work, preventing scandal and public scrutiny at all costs. She wondered if that cost would go so far as to include sacrificing one of their own, namely herself, to the family obsession with privacy. Surely it would have been wise to raise a general alarm, put her picture in the papers, even on television in case somebody might have seen her and be able to help in the search. Or maybe that wasn’t true after all. Perhaps it was better to work quietly behind the scenes for fear the kidnapper might do something rash if frightened by a general alarm. Or, her parents could have been waiting for a ransom demand. That was so far from what Bennett would expect of Memphis it had never occurred to her as a possibility.
“Speaking of other parts of town,” Sonia was saying, “I can tell you what I’ve heard, if it will be of any help. Are you particularly interested in the fellows you know personally?”
Bennett could tell she was being pumped for grist for the gossip mill, but she didn’t care.
“Yes, I am,” she said.
“I see.”
The waiter was back with the tea and finger sandwiches they had ordered. Sonia took a moment to sweeten her cup and sip from it. Bennett gripped the edge of her cherry wood chair to keep her impatience from showing.