Part 6 (1/2)
We talked for a few more minutes, and gradually the friction which had been building during the first part of our conversation lessened. It got quite enjoyable. When Lolita wasn't discussing Quinn or the trial she got pretty animated, and simply breathing shallowly she was very nearly animated enough to blow fuses in the next apartment.
She was telling me about auditioning for the job in the Gardenia Room. ”I did have to audition,” she said. ”Mr. Sullivan makes all the acts audition for him, naturally. But especially the girl acts.”
”Who's Sullivan?”
”Manager of the Gardenia Room, and he hires all the people for the shows. Sully, they call him. He's big and bald - it isn't that his hair's getting thin, he says, just that his scalp's getting thick.” She laughed. ”So he wears a beret all the time. Imagine, a beret, even in the office. Always chewing a big cigar. He kept trying to get me to take off my clothes.”
”He didn't!”
”He sure did. But I didn't. You see, they always have one or two strip acts in the show, and he kept telling me I had the makings for a stripper.”
”You've got the makings, all right.”
”I kept telling him I was a singer, and I didn't have to take my clothes off to sing. You know what he said?”
”What?”
”He said it would sure help.”
”Yeah. Help him.”
”He kept saying, 'C'mon, baby, lessee what you got.'” She smiled. ”He said a stripper who could sing too would be a sensational act - and he could even pay me for both jobs. If I'd just audition. But finally I convinced him I was a singer, period. He always auditions the girls in his office - even after the club closes sometimes. He's a crazy one.”
”Yeah, crazy.”
We were getting pretty far afield here. Especially with Lolita dressed just in that white robe. At least I guessed that was all she was dressed in. When I thought about it. Which was quite a lot.
But I said sternly, ”However, about Quinn - ”
”Oh, let's not talk about him any more,” she said. ”Let's relax just a little.”
”I can't relax just a little.”
”Oh.” She crossed her legs and the white robe fell away from calf, knee, gleaming thigh.
”Now, look here,” I said in a no-nonsense tone, ”don't pull that stuff on me. It won't work, probably.”
Her black hair was loose, spread in a ma.s.s over her shoulders. She shook her head from side to side, the thick hair gently whipping. The easy movement caused ripples beneath the top of her robe, which parted in a narrow V, and then a wider U, and finally became something like a W.
”I'm sorry,” Lolita said in a glad voice, and uncrossed her long, lovely legs, only to cross them again the other way. The robe wiggled and billowed and slid.
Yeah, that's all she has on, just the robe, I thought. Wow! I thought. Give a man enough robe, I thought. But at the same warped moment another thought was fluttering in my skull, up there with the bats. And it was: Scott, old man, you've got to get out of here. But he wasn't listening.
”Oh, Sh.e.l.l, you're so businesslike,” she said gayly. ”Forget business for a minute, can't you?”
I said, ”It won't work.”
She s.h.i.+fted her position just a bit, as if getting more comfortable. She certainly looked more comfortable. ”It won't,” I said. ”I'll give you ten to one it won't . . . Eight to five?”
Then she s.h.i.+fted a bit more and said, ”Let's just talk fun, and have fun, and all. Just fun.”
”Sounds fun,” I said. ”What's it mean - ”
”Forget everything else. Just talk, have another drink, have a little party. The two of us.”
”Why not? Sure. Fine and dandy.” I didn't even give a hoot about quizzing her any more. After all, n.o.body's perfect. I have my flaws. I have my weaknesses. And my Achilles' heel is not in my feet.
She smiled gorgeously. ”You don't have to sit clear at the other end of the divan, do you?”
”I should say not,” I said, moving as I spoke.
Lolita, still smiling, leaned back against the cus.h.i.+ons behind her and said, ”Isn't this better, Sh.e.l.l? Now we - ” Then she broke off suddenly, staring across the room. ”Goodness,” she said. ”I had no idea.”
”Huh?” I followed her gaze. There wasn't anything over there except a table, chair, and a big clock.
”Goodness,” she said again, ”I didn't know it was so late.”
”It's later that you think.”
”I'm on in twenty minutes.”
”Say that again.”
”I only have twenty minutes to get dressed, and undressed.”
”One of us is nuts.”
”Changed, I mean I'm due at the club - the band is already playing.”
”I don't hear a thing.”
”I might even get fired if I'm late again.”
”I might get fired myself if - ”
”You'll have to leave.”
”Leave?”
”Go away. Get out. Go home,”
”But . . .”
”I'm sorry. I have to go to the club.”
”But . . . but . . . but . . .” Nothing else came out. Her meaning was filtering in, but I was trying to keep it unaltered; then we were up off the divan, and she was saying, ”I am sorry, Sh.e.l.l,” and I was being led in something approaching stupor to the front door, and then the door was closing gently behind me and I was staring blankly at a small beetle or something else very unexciting which was running across the hall carpet.