The Blonde Died Dancing (10 page)

Anita: (Laughing)
Kippy, you’re cute… you’re witty… talk some more. No… talk, let’s talk…

Kippy: (Angrily)
Oh, for God’s sake… is that why you let me come home with you? To talk?

Anita:
Were you expecting something else, darling?

Kippy:
I was expecting what you made me expect. That wasn’t dancing you were teaching me tonight…

Anita:
Why, Kippy!

Kippy:
The hell with it! See you around. You know, there’s a name for dames like you…

Anita:
Don’t be angry, don’t go…

Kippy:
Then make me want to stay…

Anita:
Kippy, you know, I’m a little surprised at you. I thought you were a happily married man…

Kippy:
Where’d you get that impression?

Anita:
You’ve talked so much about your wife…

Kippy:
Oh, Thelma’s all right…

Anita:
But not where and when you want her to be all right?

Kippy:
There hasn’t been anything like that for years.

Anita:
Don’t tell me you’re just good friends… you have an understanding…

Kippy:
To be honest, she bores hell out of me…

Anita:
Why, Kippy!

Kippy:
It’s true.

Anita:
Then why?

Kippy:
Why what?

Anita:
Why do you stay with her?

Kippy:
Ever hear of money? Thelma’s got it. Bags-ful.

Anita:
Aren’t you the frank one, though!

Kippy:
Why else do you think I’d have married her? I showed you her picture. And that one was taken right after she had shaved…

Anita:
Kippy, you bitch…

Kippy:
Is it any wonder that when I meet a gorgeous hunk of woman like you…

Wendell Kipp’s voice was cut off in full flight. The radio music stopped, too. Anita had turned off the recorder. The reason was obvious.

“So that’s it,” I said. “Blackmail.”

“Sure, blackmail,” Steve said. “If Anita ever played that for Kipp’s wife she might not just divorce him. She might tear him to pieces.”

“No wonder Kipp was interested in getting into Anita’s apartment.”

“Sex,” Steve said, “is a wonderful thing.”

“Yes. What do you mean?”

“Kipp was still taking lessons from Anita even while he was paying her blackmail. He must have still been trying to make the grade with her.”

“That Anita,” I said. “She was something, wasn’t she? Did you think so, Steve?”

“You’re better. Brunette, blonde… name it, you’re better.”

“How better?”

“Looking,” Steve said emphatically. “Looking. That’s the only comparison I can make. You are better looking.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“I went there to learn to dance. I’m not a Kippy-boy.”

“Your voice is rising…”

“Excuse it. Shall we play some more tape?”

Steve started the machine.

There was no music this time, just Anita and a man talking a duet. The man was a tenor, a slightly elderly-sounding tenor.

Man:
…please, I want you to have it…

Anita:
But you really shouldn’t have…

Man:
Tell me, do you like it?

Anita:
Do I like it? Why, Mrs. Tiffany herself would adore it.

Man:
Then it’s yours, my dear.

Anita:
How can I ever thank you?

Man:
Well, now…

There was a sharp sound in the distance.

Man:
What was that?

Anita:
Oh, damn, the buzzer.

Man: (Annoyed)
You said we’d be alone…

Anita:
I wasn’t expecting anyone, really…

Man:
Don’t answer it.

Anita:
Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll answer it.

Man:
Who is it?

Anita:
I’ve no idea…

Man:
You expect me to believe that! You know who it is! So you still see him!

Anita: (Delighted)
Darling, you’re jealous! You’re still jealous of little old Obie, Junior!

Man:
You said you told him to stay away from you! Anita: I made it a lot stronger than that! I practically threatened to call the police. Honestly, that boy’s ardor is frightening. He even wants to marry me. Isn’t that sweet? He says he can’t live without me, he’ll do something desperate…

The buzzer sounded again, Anita’s voice drifted away, and that was all there was to that duet. It was all there was to that spool. Steve took it off the machine.

He said, “I wonder if Anita managed to keep those two jealous lovers of hers from each other’s throats that night.”

“Steve,” I said, “she named one of them… the one coming up the stairs. Obie, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what I heard. Obie, Junior.” He spelled it out. “O-B-I-E. There was a fellow played some basketball at Columbia named Obie.”

“Obie, Junior or Obie, Senior?”

“I just mean there is such a name.”

“It needn’t be a family name. It can be a first name… a nickname.”

“For what, for instance?”

“Well… Obediah.”

“It’s funny how few Obediahs I’ve run into lately.”

“Well, it could be something else… maybe a pet name that doesn’t make any sense.”

“All right, but it gets pretty cute. Pet-name, Junior.”

“Steve, wait a minute!”

I got out the Crescent School Register and went through it carefully. But it was just wasted motion. Out of no name in the book, of pupil or teacher, could we make an Obie, Junior. We decided that Junior must be a non-academic connection of Anita’s; she had met him after school.

Steve put another spool on the machine and set it spinning. I recognized the man’s voice the moment I heard it. He was Jack Walston and he sounded annoyed… at least annoyed.

Jack:
…love her, of course, I do…

Anita:
If she knew you were here with me…

Jack:
She wouldn’t care.

Anita:
She loves you, too, Jack… that’s a two-way romance if ever I saw one.

Jack:
Then why is she being so damn stubborn? Look, we’re talking about you and me. Anita, I didn’t write this telegram. This is a real offer.

Anita:
Of course it is. But Jack, I’ve never done any dancing except…

Jack:
Listen, with your looks… who’s going to care about our act?

Anita:
That’s sweet of you…

Jack:
I mean it. This Miami engagement will be a springboard for us. We could make Las Vegas, then Ciro’s in L.A., the Chez Paree, Chicago… the Copa here… listen to me, Anita, we’ll wind up at the Palladium…

Anita:
Aren’t you the dreamer, though?

Jack:
We could go places, you and I…

Anita:
I couldn’t do it, Jack.

Jack:
Think it over…

Anita:
You talk to Dottie again.

Jack:
It’s no use. I’ve written her off. If she wants to spend the rest of her life teaching in some lousy dancing school…

Anita:
But you love her…

Jack:
It’s just occurring to me… maybe I don’t. Maybe I just don’t love her. She wants me to settle down, for God’s sake! Settle down! What kind of talk is that when you’re our age? Does she want me to end up like that mousey brother-in-law of hers… in a crumby little stationery store? Is that living? Listen, Anita, you’ve got to team up with me…

It ended there. Anita evidently had got all of Jack Walston that she wanted on tape. The rendezvous apparently hadn’t turned out the way she had expected. But still she hadn’t erased the tape. She had kept the recording.

“Steve,” I said, “why would Jack Walston want that tape? How could Anita possibly blackmail him for anything he said there?”

“It could make Dottie sore.”

“But Dottie knows all about it. She knows that he went to Anita’s apartment to try to find the tape.”

“Maybe,” Steve said, “there could have been another recording in the other lamp that he wanted… something really incriminating.”

“Maybe.”

Steve had gone to the mantel to get himself a new pack of cigarettes. He hadn’t turned off the machine. Suddenly, Anita was having a tête-a-tête with still another man… and this man’s voice was strangely familiar.

Man:
…got to be going, really I do…

Anita:
No, don’t, it’s early yet, Mr. Barton… darling, why don’t I call you Steve…

I yelled, “Steve! You!”

He started for the machine. I headed him off, pushed him down on the love seat.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” I said. “We’ll leave it on.”

“Connie, listen…”

“Yes, listen!” I put my hand over his mouth. “I want to hear every word of this!”

Anita:
…just one more drink, shall we?

Steve:
No, I don’t think so.

Anita:
What’s your rush?

Steve:
I’ve got to get home and spend the evening with Connie…

I said, “Oh, no, don’t let me stand in your way!”

“Connie!”

“Quiet!”

Anita:
…must be very lovely. What’s she like, Steve? Steve: About five-five, weighs a hundred and twenty-two. She’s right handed. Throws and hats right handed.

Anita: (Laughing)
Steve… Steve, you’re so cute… no, don’t go, darling. Sit down for just one minute…

Steve:
Well, one more cigarette…

I said bitterly, “And you promised me you’d cut down on your smoking.”

Steve:
…charming apartment, real cozy…

Anita:
So glad you like it. But it can be very lonely…

Steve:
I don’t believe it. A girl like you…

Anita:
I’m being quite serious. In my job I meet dozens and dozens of men, but so seldom do I meet anyone… well, I’m so pleased you decided to come to the Crescent School…

Steve: (Bantering)
Gee, I hope I make the team!

Anita:
There’s one team you’ve already made, darling… (a pause) There… that’s-nicer, isn’t it?

I shouted, “What’s going on here? What happened? What’s nicer?”

“She put a pillow behind my back.”

“I’ll murder her…”

“That’s already been done.”

“Quiet!”

But the tape had run out. I watched the machine automatically click to a stop. I turned back to my husband. I pinioned him with my eyes. He cringed back into the love seat.

“Steve,” I said, “I’m not going to ask you what happened.”

“Nothing happened! I left!”

“No,” I said calmly, “I won’t ask you. Although Anita was thoroughly unscrupulous, immoral… amoral, really, she was obviously fascinating, irresistible. So I don’t blame you, Steve…”

“Listen!” he shouted. “Anita twisted her ankle dancing with me. It was my fault. I took her home, helped her up the stairs…”

I held up my hand.

“May I continue? Thank you. And in all fairness to Anita, I don’t blame her. Although you have a certain inherent weakness in your character, you have a certain animal attractiveness and a rather sneaky charm that appeals to a certain class of women…”

“Connie, listen…”

“So Anita probably saw that she might combine some genuine pleasure with her business. In this case rather small business… due to your lack of courage in asking your boss for a raise. However, there is one thing I must know if we are to hope that we can ever again be relatively happy. Would you have paid Anita any blackmail, however insignificant?”

“She didn’t have anything to blackmail me with!”

I held up my hand.

“I withdraw that question. I see that an honest answer to it would incriminate you. But, Steve, you must make me one promise.”

“Yes?” he groaned.

“In the future, as you get into situations like this from time to time, promise me that you won’t pay blackmail. Come to me, confess everything… and we’ll save a great deal of money. Now if you please, the next tape.”

The next of Anita’s guest recording artists was a man in his cups. He was squiffed, blotto, highly intoxicated.

Anita:
Come on, Stubby, let’s talk… let’s have a nice little talk.

Stubby:
Don’t wanna talk, don’t wanna have a nice little talk. Just wanna go to sleep.

Anita:
Remember what you were saying at dinner, Stubby? About how you…

Stubby:
Dinner? We have dinner? Where’d we have dinner?

Anita:
At Margiotti’s, you remember…

Stubby:
That’s right, Margiotti’s. I got reservations at Margiotti’s. Hardest place in town to get reservations… but I got them, didn’t I? Even tonight, I got them…

Anita:
You were telling me about Walter. You hated Walter, didn’t you, Stubby?

Stubby:
Who says so? Who says I hated Walter?

Anita:
You said so. At Margiotti’s during dinner…

Stubby:
Dinner? What dinner?

Anita:
You told me how Walter used to bother you, how you hated him for it. But he doesn’t bother you anymore, does he?

Stubby:
Good old Walter… he won’t bother anybody anymore.

Anita:
That’s right. That was a good thing you did, Stubby.

Stubby:
No… no, that’s never a good thing…

Anita:
You mean you didn’t kill Walter?

Stubby:
Whoever said I did, who said it?

Anita:
You did, Stubby, at Margiotti’s…

Stubby:
No, I wouldn’t say a thing like that…

Anita:
You practically said it, Stubby. You were with him the night he died, you said it wasn’t an accident…

Stubby:
Don’t remember. Don’t wanna talk about it. Just wanna go to sleep…

Anita:
Sit up, Stubby! Come on, sit up!

Stubby:
Stubby’s tired… very, very tired…

Anita:
Listen, Stubby, let’s you and me have a drink. That’ll wake you up. There’s some lovely Scotch in the kitchen.

Stubby:
Too late for another drink.

Anita:
We’ll make it a nightcap, shall we?

Stubby:
Too late fora nightcap… must be morning. What time is it? Can’t see my watch… what time is it?