marry Betsy."
"Couldn't it happen like that?"
"With him? Never!" she said and explained how she hadn't liked Harry's looks and had checked him out. Her best source had been the housekeeper at the apartment building. Last November when the place had been finished, Harry Broll had taken over apartment 61. He had an unlisted phone installed. He did not get any mail there.
"It's obvious what he was setting up," Jeannie said. "The world is full of Harry Broll-type husbands. The housekeeper said some Canadian broad moved into the apartment a week later.
Harry would take long lunch hours. But he must have slipped up somehow, because Mrs. Broil arrived one day about Christmas time and went busting in when Harry was leaving, and there was a lot of screaming going on. His wife left him, even though Harry had gotten rid of his girlfriend. Then Harry moved out of his house and into the apartment. Betsy saw his house once.
He took her there and showed it to her. She said it's big and beautiful. She won't ever get to live there. He'll dump her when he gets tired of her."
She said two drinks would be plenty. I paid the check and took her out and introduced her to Miss Agnes. Jeannie was so delighted with my ancient Rolls that I had to drive her up to Pompano Beach and back. I let her out across from the Casa de Playa. I wondered if I should caution her about mentioning my name to Betsy, who might in turn mention it to Harry Broil, and turn him more paranoid than ever. But it seemed to be too long a chance to worry about and too little damage from it even if it did happen.
She gave me an oblique, quick, half-shy look that said something about wondering if she would ever see me again. I discovered that I would like to see her again. We said cheerful and conspiratorial good-bys. She walked around the front of Miss Agmes, waited for a gap in traffic, and hastened across the highway. Her legs were not quite too thin, I decided. The brown-red hair had a lively bounce. From the far curb she turned and waved, her smile long-range but very visible.
It was dark when I parked Miss Agnes. I walked to F Dock and on out to Slip 18 and made a ritualistic check of the mooring lines and spring lines, then checked to see how the Munequita was riding, tucked in against the flank of the Busted Flush, fenders in proper placement to prevent thumps and gouges.
Page 22
"Don't pretend you can't hear my foot tapping, you rude, tardy son of a bitch," Jilly said with acid sweetness. She was at the sundeck rail, outlined against the misty stars with a pallor of dock lights against her face.
I went aboard, climbed up, and reached for her but she ducked away. "What did I forget, woman?"
"The Townsends. I told you I accepted for both of us. Don't you remember at all?"
"What did we accept?"
"Drinks aboard the Wastrel and dinner ashore. They're over at Pier 66. Old friends, dear. She was the heavy little woman with the good diamonds."
"Oh."
"You're drawing a blank aren't you?"
"I seem to be."
"Hurry and change and we can join them at dinner. And, dear, not quite as informal as you were at my little party, please?"
"Is she the woman who kept talking about her servant problem? No matter what anybody else was talking about?"
"Yes. That's Natalie. And Charles is hard of hearing, and he's too vain to admit it or buy one of those little electronic things. Please hurry, Travis." She eeled into my arms, pressed herself close to me. She smelled very good, and she felt springy and useful. "The sooner we go, dearest, the sooner we can leave their party and come back and have our own little party."
I gave her a good solid whack on the behind and said, "You go ahead and make excuses."
"Ouch! That was too rough, really. You'll be along soon?"
"Ally honey, I don't know those people. I can't talk to them, and they can't talk to me. I could use up my life with people like that and never know where it went."
"They're my friends! I won't permit you to be rude to my
"Couldn't it happen like that?"
"With him? Never!" she said and explained how she hadn't liked Harry's looks and had checked him out. Her best source had been the housekeeper at the apartment building. Last November when the place had been finished, Harry Broll had taken over apartment 61. He had an unlisted phone installed. He did not get any mail there.
"It's obvious what he was setting up," Jeannie said. "The world is full of Harry Broll-type husbands. The housekeeper said some Canadian broad moved into the apartment a week later.
Harry would take long lunch hours. But he must have slipped up somehow, because Mrs. Broil arrived one day about Christmas time and went busting in when Harry was leaving, and there was a lot of screaming going on. His wife left him, even though Harry had gotten rid of his girlfriend. Then Harry moved out of his house and into the apartment. Betsy saw his house once.
He took her there and showed it to her. She said it's big and beautiful. She won't ever get to live there. He'll dump her when he gets tired of her."
She said two drinks would be plenty. I paid the check and took her out and introduced her to Miss Agnes. Jeannie was so delighted with my ancient Rolls that I had to drive her up to Pompano Beach and back. I let her out across from the Casa de Playa. I wondered if I should caution her about mentioning my name to Betsy, who might in turn mention it to Harry Broil, and turn him more paranoid than ever. But it seemed to be too long a chance to worry about and too little damage from it even if it did happen.
She gave me an oblique, quick, half-shy look that said something about wondering if she would ever see me again. I discovered that I would like to see her again. We said cheerful and conspiratorial good-bys. She walked around the front of Miss Agmes, waited for a gap in traffic, and hastened across the highway. Her legs were not quite too thin, I decided. The brown-red hair had a lively bounce. From the far curb she turned and waved, her smile long-range but very visible.
It was dark when I parked Miss Agnes. I walked to F Dock and on out to Slip 18 and made a ritualistic check of the mooring lines and spring lines, then checked to see how the Munequita was riding, tucked in against the flank of the Busted Flush, fenders in proper placement to prevent thumps and gouges.
Page 22
"Don't pretend you can't hear my foot tapping, you rude, tardy son of a bitch," Jilly said with acid sweetness. She was at the sundeck rail, outlined against the misty stars with a pallor of dock lights against her face.
I went aboard, climbed up, and reached for her but she ducked away. "What did I forget, woman?"
"The Townsends. I told you I accepted for both of us. Don't you remember at all?"
"What did we accept?"
"Drinks aboard the Wastrel and dinner ashore. They're over at Pier 66. Old friends, dear. She was the heavy little woman with the good diamonds."
"Oh."
"You're drawing a blank aren't you?"
"I seem to be."
"Hurry and change and we can join them at dinner. And, dear, not quite as informal as you were at my little party, please?"
"Is she the woman who kept talking about her servant problem? No matter what anybody else was talking about?"
"Yes. That's Natalie. And Charles is hard of hearing, and he's too vain to admit it or buy one of those little electronic things. Please hurry, Travis." She eeled into my arms, pressed herself close to me. She smelled very good, and she felt springy and useful. "The sooner we go, dearest, the sooner we can leave their party and come back and have our own little party."
I gave her a good solid whack on the behind and said, "You go ahead and make excuses."
"Ouch! That was too rough, really. You'll be along soon?"
"Ally honey, I don't know those people. I can't talk to them, and they can't talk to me. I could use up my life with people like that and never know where it went."
"They're my friends! I won't permit you to be rude to my
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