1956 - There's Always a Price Tag (2 page)

She had moved over to the bar where the light fell directly on her. I caught a glimpse of her shape under the misty folds of the negligée: a shape that sent my blood racing through my veins.

If I took the job, I'd be right next to her: day in, night out, and I wanted to be next to her more than I wanted anything else in the world.

'I'd like the job,' I said, pulling my eyes away from her with an effort. 'I'd be glad of it.'

That's how it started. That's how I walked into trouble.

* * *

My words seemed to hang in the air.

Helen - I'll call her that since that's the way I thought of her as soon as I knew her name - poured herself a brandy, then she turned and leaned her lovely back against the bar so her round, full breasts, under the soft folds of the negligée, pointed at me.

'But, Erle, although I'm sure he is most suitable, don't you want to take up his references?' she said, and a cold little smile hit her mouth just to take the curse off it.

'Oh, we can go into that later,' Dester said impatiently. 'I'm going to do something for this guy: he saved my life. When can you start?' he went on to me.

'Whenever you wish... sir.'

I remembered the sir a little late. He didn't notice it, but she did. She would always notice little things like that.

'You can start right now by putting the car away.' He leaned across the bar and unhooked a key.

'There's an apartment above the garage. Here's the key.' He tossed it to me. 'Make yourself at home. You'll find a uniform there. It should fit you. If it doesn't, take it to Myer on 3rd Street. He'll fix it for you.'

I caught the key.

'Yes, sir.'

'We are right out of staff at the moment,' he went on. 'Mrs. Dester has everything to do. I want you to help her - keep the place clean, keep an eye on the garden, clean the windows: that kind of thing. Think you can do it?'

'Yes, sir.'

'That's fine. We don't eat here. You'll have to get your meals out or buy the stuff you want and cook it in your apartment. I'll settle the bills.' He yawned. 'Well, I guess I'll turn in. I've had quite a day.' He gave me a fatuous smile. 'You'll be happy with us, kid. We know how to look after our employees: look after us, and we'll look after you.'

'Yes, sir. Good night.' I looked at Helen. 'Good night, madam.'

She didn't say anything; her green eyes hated me, but that didn't bother me: don't they say hate is cousin to love? I was in and next to her. The rest depended on how I played my cards. I've been pretty successful with hostile women: that's about the only thing I can truthfully say I have been successful with up to now.

I went out of the lounge, leaving behind me an atmosphere you could lean against, into the hall, down the steps to the three-car garage. I put the Rolls away. Right by it was a two-seater Cadillac, and by the Cadillac, a Roadmaster Buick. Dester hadn't mentioned these two. It looked as if I had some washing and polishing on my hands.

Right now I didn't care. I climbed the steep stairs that led to the apartment above the garage. It wasn't quite as plush as I had expected, but it wasn't bad: a lot better than the room I had been living in. The last occupant had quit in a hurry. He hadn't bothered to clean up before he went. There were the remains of a meal on the table; the ashtrays were crammed with stale-smelling cigarette-butts. Dust lay like a grey cloak over everything.

I still didn't care. I've lived rough for so long, another man's dirt and leavings didn't trouble me.

I stripped off the sheets and dropped them on the floor. I took off my jacket and shoes, pulled my tie and prepared to settle down on the blanket I had spread over the mattress when I heard a movement on the stairs. I put on my shoes again, went to the bedroom door as Helen opened the outer door and came into the sitting room.

She had put on a black silk wrap over the white negligée. She stood in the doorway looking at me, her big emerald green eyes expressionless. I waited, looking at her from across the room, knowing she hadn't come because she had suddenly fallen for me: even for me that would be a shade too fast.

'Yes, madam?' I said, my voice nicely modulated, my manner nicely humble.

'Oh, Nash: I don't think you need stay,' she said, her voice colder than a Siberian wind and as penetrating. 'Mr. Dester isn't well tonight. Of course he is grateful, but he doesn't need a chauffeur.'

I leaned against the doorpost and tried to look as if what she said made a lot of sense to me.

'If you'll excuse me, madam,' I said, 'but Mr. Dester engaged me. It's his business to tell me if he wants me to stay or not.'

'Yes.' She looked as if she were talking to an idiot child. 'But he isn't quite himself tonight. He doesn't want you here.'

'Perhaps he will tell me that tomorrow morning when he is more himself.'

The green of her eyes seemed to deepen.

'I'm only telling you this for your good,' she said. 'The other man left because he didn't get paid, because he didn't get any sleep, because he found my husband impossible to work for.'

'I wouldn't know about that, madam,' I said. 'Right now I'm glad to have a roof over my head. Getting paid wouldn't bother me one way or the other. I've done without sleep for so long, a little less wouldn't bother me either, and I'd like to judge for myself if the work is impossible or not.'

She lifted her elegant shoulders.

'You don't look like a fool, but apparently you must be.'

'You'll have the opportunity to judge me better when you know me better, madam,' I said.

'I'm telling you!' she said, her voice suddenly harsh. 'You're not wanted here! My husband was drunk when he engaged you.' She held out her hand. Between her long, slender fingers was a hundred-dollar bill. 'Here, take this and get out!'

And that's what I should have done, but I was still trying to play it smart.

'I haven't earned it, madam,' I said. 'Thank you all the same, but if you'll pardon me, Mr. Dester's the one to tell me to go.'

The glitter suddenly went out of her eyes.

'Then if you must be stupid, be stupid.' She came further into the room. 'There's nothing here for you, Nash. I can imagine a man like you would naturally jump to the conclusion that there will be easy pickings in a job like this, but you are making a mistake. There are no easy pickings.'

'I just want the job, madam,' I said. 'I've always wanted to drive a Rolls. I don't know what you mean by easy pickings.'

She laughed then, tossing back her splendid head and showing me the white column of her throat.

'It's a nice act, but it doesn't come off. There's nothing here for you. We have no money. In a few weeks, Mr. Dester will be unemployed. We can't afford servants anymore. I do all the housework. It is only because he was drunk tonight that he offered you this job. You won't get paid, so don't imagine you will.'

That jarred me a little, but it also aroused my curiosity.

'I don't know anything about that, madam. It isn't my business. Mr. Dester gave me the job. It's up to him to tell me he doesn't want me.'

She gave me a contemptuous look.

'All right, if that's the way you want to act don't say I didn't warn you.' She moved about the room, keeping in the shadows. Suddenly she said, 'Did you really save my husband's life tonight?'

'Of course,' I said. 'A Packard, going at forty miles an hour, would have nailed him if I hadn't pulled him out of the way. He said if I hadn't been so quick you would have been a widow by now.'

She paused. Her face was like chiselled marble as she stared at me.

'Was that what he said?'

'Yes.'

There was another long pause while we looked at each other, then I decided to dig a quick one in under her guard.

'If I had known you wanted him to die, I might not have pulled him out of the way, madam.'

Her expression remained the same, but her eyes lit up. Perhaps her face went a shade paler. It was difficult to judge in the light that threw shadows on her.

'Really, Nash?' Her voice was a little more than a whisper, like the dry rustle of leaves, and it gave me a spooky feeling. 'That's very interesting.'

She turned and went silently out and down the stairs.

* * *

One of the few things the Army taught me that made sense was the value of knowing your enemy.

It seemed to me that Helen must have had a pretty urgent reason for wanting to get rid of me, and I was now curious to find out what that reason was. I was also curious to find out why she hated her husband so badly she wanted him dead. The setup was intriguing. I decided I'd be Dester's chauffeur for a week or so. The change from tramping the streets, trying to sell space, would be welcome. I had nothing to lose at fifty a week and all found, and with any luck I might have a lot to gain. Even if Dester hadn't any money as she had said, and I didn't believe her, I would at least have a roof over my head, and food.

I got up around six-forty-five the next morning, cleaned the apartment, put new sheets that I found in a closet on the bed, got rid of most of the traces of the last occupant, and then tried on his uniform. It was brand new, and it fitted me as if it were made for me: a light grey whipcord double-breasted jacket, riding breeches, knee boots and a peaked cap with a cockade on it: quite an outfit.

In one of the pockets of the jacket I found a soiled envelope. On it was scrawled: Ben Simmonds. 57a Clifford Street, Hollywood.

I remembered Simmonds was the name of the chauffeur who had left Dester's service. I wondered if he was still living on Clifford Street. It seemed an idea to have a talk with him.

At eight-fifteen I went over to the house and around to the kitchen door.

There was no sign of life in the kitchen and no sign of any food, but I could smell coffee coming from upstairs.

Standing against the wall was an eight-foot-long deep-freeze cabinet that could have held enough food to feed a large family for a year.

Before I had hooked up with Solly and his advertising racket, I had spent two dreary years trying to fiddle deep-freeze cabinets to hick farmers in the Ohio farming belt. The sight of that big freezer brought back memories that made me wince, but that didn't stop me from opening the lid and looking inside. It was as bare as the back of my hand and I shut the lid with a grunt of disgust. That cabinet must have cost a whale of a lot of money: it was a rank waste to leave it empty.

In the pantry I found a half-bottle of cream and a jug of yesterday's coffee. I was heating up the coffee when the kitchen door pushed open and Helen came in.

She was wearing a black wool sweater and pale blue slacks. She had a figure that looked provocative in slacks. I looked at her, feeling again that tight grip across my chest.

'What are you doing here?' she asked curtly, staring at me.

'I just looked in for some coffee, madam,' I said. 'I hope I'm not in the way.'

'I don't want you in the house, Nash,' she said, moving to the door. 'Your job is to drive Mr. Dester to the office. Keep to your own apartment.'

Well, at least she was now admitting I had a job here; that was a concession.

'Isn't there anything I can do for you, madam?' I said. 'Nothing in the house you want done?'

'Not by you. Keep away from here,' and she went out.

I drank the coffee, washed up the cup and then went back to the garage. I got out the Rolls, washed and polished it, then drove it around to the front entrance. By then it was a few minutes after ten o'clock.

I sat at the wheel and waited.

At half past ten, Dester came down the steps. He was wearing a pearl grey lounge suit and a slouch hat, and he had a briefcase under his arm.

'Morning, Nash,' he said as I slid out of the car and opened the door for him. 'That uniform looks pretty well. Did you get breakfast?'

'Yes, sir.'

The bright sunlight wasn't kind to him. His complexion looked like raw meat and his eyes were bloodshot and watery.

'Do you know where the Pacific Studios are?'

'Yes, sir.'

'That's where I work.' He got into the car and relaxed on the back seat. He seemed glad to take the weight off his legs. 'Hurry it along, kid. I'm a little late.'

I drove him to the studios; pushing the pace, but not overdoing it.

The guard opened the double gates. I noticed he didn't salute Dester as I drove past, and I thought that was odd.

Dester directed me to the big office block that stood away from the main studios. I pulled up outside the entrance.

'Pick me up here at four o'clock. You can go back now and help Mrs. Dester in the house.'

'She tells me she doesn't want any help, sir,' I said.

He seemed not to hear me. I watched him climb the steps to the entrance of the building, then disappear through the swing doors. I got back into the Rolls and drove down to the main entrance. The guard opened the gates. He didn't even bother to look at me. I wondered what one needed to have besides a Rolls to get a little respect from this guy.

When I had got some distance from the studios, I parked the car and went to an eating joint and bought myself a breakfast. I had fifteen bucks to last me until Dester produced something. I laid out five bucks on a small store of food, coffee and groceries. These I carried to the car, then I drove over to Clifford Street that happened to be four streets away from my own apartment house.

I pulled up outside 57, and rang the bell of Apartment 'A'. After a few moments a buzzer sounded and the front door clicked open.

Simmonds had a couple of rooms on the third floor. He was standing in the doorway waiting for me as I came up the last flight of stairs: a guy about my build with grey hair and a lined, humourous face. As soon as he saw the uniform I was wearing he grinned: it was the kind of grin you reserve for suckers, but that didn't bother me. I grinned back.

'I'm Dester's new chauffeur as if you need to be told,' I said. 'I've looked in for some information.'

'Come on in,' he said, opening the door. 'There's a sucker born every minute, but don't think you're the only one. I kidded myself I had landed on the gravy train when I took that job: I know a lot better now.'