The Adventurers (72 page)

"Not really. I'm still getting used to the idea of having nothing special to do. Next month I've been invited on a safari in Kenya."

"Going?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"What about your friend?"

"Dee Dee's going to Paris to work on some picture, so I probably will go on that safari. The idea of spending the hot summer in Paris doesn't appeal to me all that much."

Sue Ann felt a glow of satisfaction spread over her. If Dax felt like that there was no need to be concerned. There was a mild commotion on the beach behind them, and they turned to look. Dee Dee was coming down the steps to the Carlton plage, and the photographers were falling all over themselves trying to get her picture. She was dressed in a flowing pastel summer chiffon print. A large picture hat and a parasol of the same material as her dress shielded her face from the sun. The photographers parted finally and she came down the beach toward them, her high heels sinking into the soft sand.

Dax got to his feet. "Dee Dee, this is Sue Ann Daley. Sue Ann, Dee Dee Lester."

"Miss Daley," the actress said with a faint hint of malice. "I've heard so much about you all these years. I'm glad to meet you."

Sue Ann smiled, getting to her feet. "And I've just heard all about you." She looked at Dax. "Well, I've really got to be going."

"Oh, don't let me interrupt anything," Dee Dee said quickly, "I can't stay but a moment. I can't take the sun. My skin is so delicate, you know. I just came out to see how Dax was doing."

Sue Ann smiled. "Dax is doing fine," she said sweetly. "You weren't interrupting anything important." She picked up her beach bag. "So nice meeting you, Miss Lester."

Dee Dee smiled back. "Nice meeting you."

"Just be good to him," Sue Ann continued, "after all, we are going to get married."

Sue Ann turned her back on them and walked away.

CHAPTER 12

The hostess was still a very attractive woman, Jeremy thought, in her mid-forties but still possessing traces of the exciting beauty she must have had in her youth. "Come along to the cocktail party," Dax had urged, "there are always some interesting people at Madame Fontaine's," and since he had had nothing better to do until his dinner appointment, Jeremy had come along.

Dax had been right, there were some interesting people there. Just the proper blend of politicians, diplomats, writers, artists, show people, and the ordinarily wealthy. It was a bright salon and from the pleasantly casual manner in which everything was carried out Jeremy suspected the hostess had been giving such little affairs for a long time.

"It is fascinating," the man on his left said, "the way you Americans can elect a new President and until he takes office the old one remains completely in charge. He still makes many decisions and even appoints people who will survive his own administration."

Jeremy smiled. "Perhaps it is because the new President is aware that in a few months he will have the same opportunity." From the corner of his eye he noticed the hostess, summoned by a maid, pick up the telephone.

"But Eisenhower is going to Korea to end the war. Is he not usurping some of the duties of office?"

"Not really," Jeremy explained. "You see, he's still acting wholly as a private citizen. He cannot initiate any of his plans until he assumes office."

"It is too much for me to understand," the other said in a puzzled voice. "In my country if a man is elected he becomes President that very day. Thus there are never two Presidents."

In your country if a man is elected to office, it is a miracle, Jeremy thought, though he wasn't much interested in what was being said. He was far more curious about the telephone conversation between the hostess and whoever she was speaking with. Whatever it was affected her visibly. Almost before his eyes she seemed to be growing older.

Finally she drew a deep breath. "A demairt," she said into the telephone, and put it down. She stood there silently for a long moment as if she were trying to pull herself together. Bit by bit some of the mask of her vitality fell back into place. She took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and walked over to the big bay window overlooking her garden and stood there, staring out silently.

Jeremy was curious about what was holding her interest for so long. By stretching his neck slightly he could see into the garden where, as usual at these affairs, there was a variety of small dogs, yapping and scampering about, left there by their mistresses. And as usual there was one little poodle, hornier than the others, jumping around crazily, trying to mount first one dog, then another. As Jeremy watched, he discovered one bitch who did not throw him off, and with an almost visible expression of satisfaction, he settled down to his task.

The hostess, too, seemed fascinated. Silently she stood there, alone in the window, the room behind her obviously forgotten. When she finally spoke it was as if her thoughts, meant only for her own ears, came from her lips without her being aware of them.

"Look at the little bitch, how happy she is with that cock dancing inside her. She looks around at all the other bitches so proudly. She alone has the cock and she wants them to envy her. And the dog, the damn fool. He thinks he is doing it all, that the triumph is his alone. In his stupidity he thinks he has conquered her but in the end it is she who will triumph."

Jeremy turned to Dax, who had come up beside him. "Do you hear what she is saying?"

Dax nodded.

"I'm sure that everyone else can, too." Jeremy looked around the room. They could hear, all right. Bit by bit the other conversations were fading as they all began to listen, secretly at first, not looking in each other's faces, then more overtly.

"Why doesn't someone stop her?" Jeremy asked in a horrified whisper.

"Let her talk, it is good for her. For years she has been the mistress of Monsieur Basse, the ministre. It is in this very same salon that she courted favors for him and helped promote his career. Now there is talk that he has found a younger woman and no longer has time for her." But despite what Dax said, he crossed the quiet salon to stand beside her in the bay window silently.

"What does that little bitch know about what to do with that jabbing cock or with the male to which it is attached? I know what I would do. I would caress him, kiss him, lick him, praise him until he was really swollen with his own strength and power and then I would make room for him inside me and drain his every drop."

Jeremy saw Dax gently take her arm. She turned toward him, a startled expression on her face as if she had just been awakened from a deep sleep. Then slowly she turned and looked around the quiet salon. Her face was faintly pale beneath her makeup. "He is not coming!" she said, in a suddenly loud clear voice.

Almost immediately the conversations began again where they had been dropped. But the party was over and, one by one, the people began to drift away. Jeremy looked at his watch. It was almost time to change for dinner. He caught Dax's eye. "I've got to run. I'll see you in the morning for breakfast."

"Ten o'clock, at my place."

Politely Jeremy sought the hostess but she was nowhere to be found so he left without saying good-bye.

Jeremy followed Fat Cat to the dining room. Dax was waiting, still in his dressing gown, his face drawn and tired. He was holding a big glass of tomato juice in his hand.

He grinned at Jeremy. "Probably America's greatest discovery, that tomato juice, lemon, and Worcestershire cure the common hangover."

"My God! You look like the wrath of God. Where did you go last night?"

"Nowhere," Dax answered, taking a sip of tomato juice and making a face. "Now if they could only find a way to make this stuff taste good!"

"I thought you were going to the theater."

"I changed my mind," Dax answered. "I remained at Madame Fontaine's after all the others had gone."

Jeremy stared at him. Suddenly it came to him. "You mean you fucked her?" he asked incredulously.

"It was the decent thing to do," Dax replied noncommittally. He shrugged. "Someone had to give the poor woman back her pride."

Jeremy stared at him speechlessly.

Dax smiled. "And you know, she wasn't bad. She knew what to do, it was exactly as she said it would be. That Basse must be an idiot." He took another sip of his tomato juice. "You know, I think that every once in a while we should oblige an older woman. They are so appreciative, it is great for your ego."

"Oh, brother!" Jeremy said, taking a swallow of the tomato juice Fat Cat had placed before him.

"You do not agree?"

"I do not anything," Jeremy said. "Mostly I do not understand."

Dax laughed. "You Americans are strange, you think a hard is only for making love. But it can also be used to say so many other things."

"I don't get it. I would find it very difficult to—"

"What is so difficult to understand?" Dax interrupted. "Your cock is a part of you, like your hands or feet. You would not let them do or take you where they wanted. What is so different about the penis that it should be considered beyond your control?"

"I quit," Jeremy said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "You're either too civilized or too primitive for me!"

Dax finished his tomato juice in a gulp. "To carry along that line of thought, a French breakfast of brioche and coffee is too civilized for me this morning. How about primitive American ham and eggs?"

Jeremy laughed. "That I understand."

Later, after they had finished eating and were lolling over their coffee, Jeremy looked at his friend. "You seem restless, changed, not the same somehow."

Dax glanced at him sharply as he lit a thin cigarro. "It is not such an easy fife being a playboy, whatever your American newspapers seem to think."

"I can believe that," Jeremy said with mock solemnity. "You even have to fuck some broads that you don't like."

Dax laughed. "Even that."

"Seriously, what are you going to do? You're not the sort of man who can sit around doing nothing."

"One never knows until one tries."

"Marcel would give his eyeteeth if you would come in with him. It would take the public's eye off him and let him operate more freely. I'm not sure that it wouldn't be good for both of you."

"Marcel told you that?" Dax glanced at him shrewdly.

"No," Jeremy confessed, "I haven't seen him since he got out of prison. Very few people have. He stays locked up in that house on Park Avenue and makes everyone come to him, even his girls."

"What made you think of Marcel?"

"My father. He seemed to think it might be a good idea. He's ready to talk to Marcel if you wish. You interested?"

Dax shook his head. "Not really. I can't quite see myself as a businessman."

"The money would be good."

Dax glanced at Jeremy and smiled. "I have enough money. I don't have any ambitions to own everything in the world."

"You still should not remain idle. It's a waste. You're too young."

Dax's eyes seemed veiled. "Perhaps it's that I'm too old," he said quietly, "and I can't find any more ways in which to fool myself."

For a few moments there was a silence between them, then

Jeremy broke it abruptly. "Sue Ann's telling everyone she's going to marry you."

Dax did not answer.

"Are you going to marry her?"

Slowly Dax let some smoke drift from his mouth. He held the cigarro in front of him and looked at it critically. "I don't know. Possibly, someday, if I'm bored enough."

Then he looked at Jeremy and Jeremy thought he had never seen such sadness in a man's eyes before. "In many ways Sue Ann and I are very much alike, you know. Neither of us has any illusions left."

CHAPTER 13

Marcel looked through the gate and saw the reporters and photographers. He turned to the guard who was waiting to let him out. "Is there no other way out of here?"

"There is," the guard answered with grisly humor, "but I doubt that you'd like it."

Marcel gave him a withering look. They were all very funny with their uniforms and petty little bureaucratic ways. It probably gave them a great sense of power to order a man like him around. The guard opened the gate and he walked out.

The reporters were on him instantly. Flashbulbs exploded in his face as he pushed his way through, trying to reach the curb and the waiting limousine. But it was almost impossible to move.

"How does it feel to be out, Mr. Campion?"

"You look like you'd lost some weight, Mr. Campion. How much?"

"Did the prison food agree with you?"

"What are your future plans?"

"Did you know that the immigration authorities have begun deportation proceedings against you?"

"Do you plan to leave the country?"

To all of them Marcel kept muttering the same answer as he pushed his way to the car. "No comment, no comment."

The car sped away from the curb and he leaned back and closed his eyes wearily. It was then that he first became aware of the faintly musky scent of perfume. He turned his head slowly and opened his eyes.

Dania sat there looking at him, her large eyes luminous and dark. "You've grown thin, Marcel," she said softly.

For a moment he did not answer. "Why did you come?" he finally asked, almost harshly. "I wrote that I wanted no one to meet me."

"I thought—" Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she turned away.

"What did you think?" he asked. "That I would be so hard up from being in prison I would fall into your arms?"

Dania didn't answer.

"I don't need you, I don't need anyone. They'll see. I'll fix all of them who sent me to prison. My turn will come."

"No one sent you to prison, Marcel," Dania replied in a low voice. "You did it all yourself. You listened to nobody."

"It's not true!" he shouted. "It was a plot. They were all out to get me!"

Dania's eyes were dry now and a subtle change had come over her face, a hardness that had not been there before. "They? Who?"