A Man of Affairs (14 page)

“And now you’ve pulled a boner that maybe you can’t fix. And it will undo any good you may have done in the past. Keep that in mind. And try to figure out just what you’re going to do about it. Now you can run along and fondle your lady editor and dry her tears, but don’t let it take your mind off the problem.”

Guy Brainerd was a fair-sized man, but when he left he seemed to scuttle.

“Wouldn’t somebody fill me in?” I asked, as John handed me my drink on a tray.

Bowman seemed to notice me for the first time since I had joined the group. He studied me for a moment, picked up a piece of white paper from the table and turned away, saying, “Come with me, Glidden.”

We went to the farthest table, out of earshot of the others. He handed me the piece of white paper. We sat down and I read it. It was neatly typed. The title was centered. THE MIKE DEAN STORY.

Your terribly innocent reporter has just come back from a mad, mad week at the fabulous island hideaway of the mysterious bigshot, Michael Davis Dean. And your reporter is no longer as innocent, and Mike Dean is no longer as mysterious.

Where else, darlings, could a little country girl get such a vivid chance to see the alcoholic and ineffectual husband of the Harrison Corporation heiress get bitten to death by barracuda at the same time that she was contemplating divorce in order to remarry the sterling young executive who had already arranged to sell her pelt to Mike Dean in a secret agreement that will make him rich? Or see a bitter and fading musical comedy star cruelly used as a court jester? Or see how a great big public relations figure sells an idea to a lady editor—between the sheets? Or learn how a rich Texan’s pretty daughter amuses herself with the skipper of his private yacht? And much, MUCH more!

But I know this fearless magazine is mad, mad, mad about facts, and so now I shall get down to names and dates and give you the wholesome happy story of my week on Dubloon Cay in the Bahamas. Etc Etc Etc.

I handed it back to him and said, “Bridget, of course.”

He folded it and put it in the pocket of his walking shorts.

“Of course. It was very quiet. Guy and Elda and the Hallowell girl were going over the draft of the article. They decided the lead should have more tang. I believe that’s the word Miss Garry used. So they sent the Hallowell girl off to whip up a new lead. She was gone about fifteen minutes and came back with this. Guy went right up in the air. So did Elda. She was reading over his shoulder. When they stopped spinning and ran out of breath, the Hallowell girl started in. She made their tantrum seem like a lullaby. She quit, then and there. She used a lot of words for the group. Diseased, sordid, rotted. She’s still very young, I think. She said she was going back to freelance work. She said she was delighted to give them the opportunity to read the lead paragraphs to the first article she was going to do. She said she was afraid it would have to go to a pretty gummy sort of magazine, but she had heard they paid very well. You came along about twenty seconds after she left.”

“Would it be published? If she wrote it that way?”

“You know damn well it would be published. And it would tip over some very nice apple carts. So we won’t let it be published.”

“How are you going to do that? Have her killed?”

“Very amusing, Glidden. Very damned funny. It’s especially funny when I think of your big mouth.”

“Just what the hell do you mean by that?”

“Don’t ball your fists, you oversized idiot. I mean that it’s perfectly obvious from this piece of paper that she knows you made a deal with Mike. And the only way she could know is if you told her. And since it follows that you told her, then you have an oversized mouth and damn poor judgment. As poor as Guy’s.”

“Where did all your pretty charm and manners go, Bowman?”

“This is an emergency, and so I haven’t got time to pat you on the head, even if I felt like it. You seem to have some influence with the Hallowell person.”

“Very damn little.”

He shrugged. “You’ve been sleeping with her.”

“How the hell would you know that?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know it.”

“From Warren Dodge?”

“Stop being so damn trivial! The rooms are bugged. The control panel is in the radio room. It’s been handy before, and it will come in handy again. Like the man said, knowledge is power. So I’m electing you to make the first contact with the Hallowell girl.”

“What do I threaten to do to her, boss?”

“I hope you’re smarter than that. Soothe her. Tell her she lost her temper. Tell her Guy will forgive her and take her back on the payroll with a raise. If Cam was here, I’d let him handle it. He’s superb in situations like this.”

“So she doesn’t listen.”

“Then you let her know, as friend to friend, that it will be terribly hard for her to be a successful freelance. Tell her that there could be a few ways that Mike could have her black-listed. And of course, she couldn’t ever get back into public relations work.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then your tour of duty is over and we put somebody else on the job. Get this through your head. We can’t afford to take any chances with this thing. We don’t intend to. One way or another, she’ll never write or sell that article. This is one of those times when Mike is spread very, very thin. That’s one reason why we’re handling the Harrison thing our way. He shouldn’t have lost his temper with Port Crown. That makes things just that much tighter. You can start earning your money right now, Glidden.”

I knocked at her door. When I knocked the second time she said, “Who is it?”

“Sam.”

I heard the key in the lock and then she swung the door open. “Please do come in,” she said. “I was making mental book about who they’d send. And it came out you. Big kindly old Sam Glidden, the working girl’s pal.”

I shut the door behind me. The room was as cheerless as mine. We didn’t rate the deluxe accommodations. There was one straight chair by a rear window and she sat in it, looking pale and still and quite drawn.

I sat on the bed and lighted a cigarette and said, “I guess you really tore up the pea patch.”

“Be nice and folksy, because that might break me down. When that doesn’t work, you can try scaring me. After all, I am one poor frail girl with the whole Dean empire lined up against me. God, they may take away my citizenship.”

I wondered if Bowman was in the radio room with the hidden mike in this room turned on. I decided he was. I was a big mouth. I couldn’t be trusted. I wondered if he would listen if it were Cam Duncan talking to her. Probably.

Her typewriter was on a small table. I went over to it. “So you did the nasty bit of work on this machine.”

“With all my ten little fingers.”

I rolled a sheet of paper into the machine and, with two fingers, tapped out,
Hidden mike.
I pulled it out of the machine and said, “Nice type face.” I showed her the sheet and as I saw the sudden comprehension, I spoke quickly before she might say anything too revealing, “Your room is just about as enchanting as mine.”

“Adequate,” she said. “Barely adequate.” And she was looking at the walls, the molding, the corners.

“We might as well talk about your little adventure,” I said. “Where do you plan to peddle your new opus?”

“I’ll have the exposé magazines bidding against each other for it. If you want to keep up this silly conversation, you can follow me down the beach, but I won’t guarantee you’ll make any headway. My mind is made up.”

We went out the door at the west end of the veranda and down the beach to the left, where she had walked with Louise as an apologist for me, where I had seen them tiny in the distance, one in yellow and one in blue. The sheet I had typed on was crumpled in my hand. When I was out of sight of the house I stopped and dug a hole with my heel and dropped the paper into it and swept the sand over it with the side of my foot. She turned and looked back at me.

“What was that all about? Were you kidding me?”

“Not unless Bowman was kidding me. The joint is wired, he says. And knowledge is power, he says. And before he sent me to soften you up, he let me know that he knows that you and I have been, shall we say, indiscreet.”

“Oh, my God!”

“The next step is cameras and infrared and tape recorders, I guess.”

“If they haven’t got them already.” She kicked viciously at a mound of sand. She walked, head bent, hands in the slash pockets of a black denim skirt. “That makes me feel filthy, Sam. It makes me feel all fingerprints. What kind of a routine do they run around here?”

“Happy Mike and his angle boys. Let me get you straight, Bridget. You are going to try to blow up the fun house?”

“I’m not going to try, I’m going to.”

“And what do you think Mike will do?”

“Get me on some special sort of black list. Keep me from earning an honest wage. Maybe try some kind of frameup to make me keep my mouth shut.”

“But you’ll win?”

She looked up at me. “Of course not! I don’t expect to. But they’re going to have a hell of a fight on their hands.”

“Why?”

“Well, there was a book I read. About a man named Charlie who knew he was going to die. And Charlie was up to here with guts. And one of the things he said after he knew he was going to die, and I can’t quote it perfectly, but I remember he said it to his wife who had a name I liked. Lael. Charlie said it takes a special man to tell the difference between right and wrong, but any damn fool can tell the difference between good and evil. I don’t consider myself on the side of the angels, Sam. But I can fight these stinkers and all their precious rationalizations. And I can fight you too, because maybe you are the worst of the lot.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re perfectly welcome.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant thanks for blowing your top. It ripped the mask off Bowman. And I got a taste of the future.”

“Like it?”

“No. Didn’t care for it at all. I’ve got… potentially… a hell of a lot more money. And a lot less stature. If he feels like it, he can spit on me. And I have to hold still while he takes aim, because I like the money so much. Then I smile and use my hanky and say, ‘Oh, thank you, sir. Any time. Any time at all.’”

“Just so long as you understand it, Sam.”

“I know. I counted myself in. And I’ve been counting my money and telling myself this is a great bunch of boys. But it isn’t. So I count myself out.”

She took a half step closer to me and had to tilt her head farther back to look up into my face. “Do you mean that?”

“I yielded to temptation, baby. I saw Sam Glidden in the big time. A shrewdie. I saw his pictures in the magazines.”

She laughed aloud. “Cliff-sized, slow-moving Sam Glidden, one of Mike Dean’s bright young operators, today rumbled that he wants his soul back from the devil.”

“Not so much soul as pride, Miss Bridget. I was a pretty nice guy and I didn’t realize how much that sort of pleased me. So now I go to Mike and I say look, Mike, all deals are off. I got to get back home and wise up Louise and Tommy and get them onto a proxy deal that will supersede yours. Hope you don’t mind, old boy.”

“But you signed things.”

“And they’re all dated June second and I don’t get my copies until June second, and if I spend the whole twenty-four hours of June second with some very reliable people watching me every minute, then what good are the agreements?”

“But he can hurt you with them anyway, can’t he?”

“Maybe so. But if you’re willing to take on the whole shooting match, I ought to be able to at least make a try at it.”

“Hallowell and Glidden against the world,” she said, and she laughed and she looked very, very good, and I felt very show-off at the moment and pleased with myself; so with one paw on each side of her slim waist I lifted her to kissing height. And when she was up there it didn’t require any effort to hold her there, because then her arms were locked around my neck. After a long, long time I put her down.

“I love you, Sam,” she said. And then she gulped and put the back of her hand to her mouth and gave me a round-eyed look and finally said, “Where on earth did
that
come from?”

“I like it, wherever it came from. And those three black things on your left leg, and that one black thing on your right elbow, are mosquitoes, because it is now that time of day. Go to the pool and… no, go on the veranda, on that settee down near my door, and stay there and be mystic and silent with anybody who wants to talk to you, and I will go cut the tie that binds.”

We walked back along the beach and as we neared the dock we heard the clatter and sputter of the little float plane. It landed on the bay and taxied to the end of the dock. Cam Duncan got out onto the float and when the pilot, Bert Buford, swung it tenderly into the right position, he scrambled onto the dock. The plane swung and headed for open water and was airborne before it was completely out of the bay. It headed due west, to the left of the round red sun.

“Everything all arranged?” I asked Cam.

He took his jacket off and hung it over his arm. He looked tired. “It wasn’t too bad.”

“Are you going to report to Mike right away?”

“Yes, why?”

“Tell Mike and Bowman I’ll be in to see them in a few minutes.”

He looked at us sharply. “What’s up?”

“They’ll brief you, Cam.”

He went away. We went onto the veranda. We sat side by side. She laced her fingers in mine and said very quietly, “You might as well know, Sam darling, I’m a big bluff. I wouldn’t peddle scandal to one of those slimy magazines if I was down to my last dime. I just wanted to scare hell out of everybody.”

“And you did. No point in telling them it’s bluff, though.”

“None at all,” she said.

So we sat and held hands for a time and we didn’t have to say a word. It was a very comfortable silence. We watched a fine sunset shaping up, and when I figured they’d had enough time, I left her there and marched to the den of the lions.

TEN

WHEN I WENT INTO MIKE’S ROOM, on invitation, he was in the bathroom with the door open. He was standing in front of the mirror in his rump sprung sarong, shaving with an electric razor. His drink of steaming coffee was on the shelf under the mirror. Bowman and Cam had drinks. Amparo sat with open notebook in her lap, tapping her rather prominent teeth with a yellow pencil.