The Girl, the Gold Watch and Everything (12 page)

Chapter Eight

There was a hornet big as a sea gull perched on something right in front of his face. It had a wide nasty little face, gray-green eyes, long heavy milky hair, a puffy mouth heavily lipsticked. It smacked its evil little mouth and swung its stinger back and forth. It had big veined wings which looked as rigid as plate glass. At intervals the wings would vibrate for several seconds, becoming almost invisible, making a harsh resonant burring sound.

The hornet was gone. A phone was ringing. He sat up, lost in space and time, still half wary of the hornet. He was in a huge vague bed in a shadowy room, with a dawn slant of sun coming in from the breakfast porch. As an orderly part of his mind picked up the count on the ringing of the phone, he turned and saw a tousle of curls sunk into a pillow at the far edge of the bed, four feet away, and a brown nape of tender neck, a silky V of white hair against it, and a deep brown shoulder, and a pale blue sheet, draped, molding the long girl-shape of the rest of her—incredible ornamentation to an unknown morning. Memory was suddenly an avalanche, pouring into the dry arroyo of the stunned and empty mind. He felt a stab of delight so unexpected it was more like pain than joy. He felt as if somebody had suddenly thrust a hollow needle into his heart and pumped it full of spiced molasses.

. . . thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and the phone went on and on. By the simplest deduction, it had to be Betsy Alden. Anybody else would have given up. By letting it ring and ring, she was letting him know who it was.

. . . nineteen, twenty, twenty-one . . .

He found the phone on the shelf to the left of the headboard.

"Yes?"

"Good
morning
, Kirby," Joseph said, the rich voice almost gelatinous in its baritone flexibility.

"Uh—how—"

"You've really been
very
tiresome lately, Kirby. But all will be forgiven if you can give us a little co-operation now. You are really in all kinds of trouble now, you know. The vicious assault on that poor waiter was a stupid mistake. But you seem to be reasonably ingenious, so we think you can probably devise some way of getting from that apartment to the
Glorianna
without incident. Listen carefully, my boy. She is tied up at the Biscayne Marina, E Dock. Please be aboard by ten at the latest."

"What time is it?"

"Twenty after seven. It should give you ample time."

"But I don't—"

"Filiatr—Betsy, rather, is a very silly, stubborn, emotional child. She tried to be clever. Let's just say it isn't wise to attempt a fool's mate against the queen's gambit. Perhaps she was counting upon a sentimentality which doesn't really exist. Or trying to play us against you. It's rather hard to tell at the moment. She's no longer very coherent. I must congratulate you upon not confiding in her completely. Because she really became very eager to confide in us. We did learn you two young people have become quite fond of each other in a very short time. And, of course, where to get in touch with you. And with Miss Farnham. Charla is wonderfully eager to talk with Miss Farnham too, and they should be bringing her here any moment. But we won't start asking her tiresome questions until, say, ten o'clock."

"What are you trying to—"

"I'm urging you to join us, old boy. I'm counting on your sense of responsibility for Betsy. And your sentimentality, I suppose. She's really too high strung for this sort of treatment, you know. Also, unless you've suddenly become irrational, you must realize that with the way things have developed, you need us quite badly. We'll be expecting you, Kirby."

The line was dead. He hung up and looked at his hand and noted that his fingers were trembling. He got up and put on his shorts and went around to the other side of the bed. He sat on his heels and looked at Bonny Lee's dear sleeping face and thought his heart would burst with the wonder of it.

It was dark against the pillow, lips parted, a face of absolute innocence. Her hand rested near her face. It was a lean, tanned, muscular hand, very like the hand of an active boy in his early teens. In the reflected glow of the early sunlight he saw the white hairline outline of a scar on the back of her hand shaped like an L. He wondered where she had gotten it.

He put his hand on the warmth of the bare shoulder and shook her gently. "Bonny Lee, darling. Hey! Bonny Lee!" Aside from a faint frown that disappeared immediately, there was no response.

He shook her more violently, spoke more forcefully. "Wurrow!" she said, a small, irritable squalling sound, and flounced over onto her other side. He rolled her back over and shook her.

Finally she opened her eyes and slowly focused on him. She glowered at him. "Middla ni'," she mumbled. "Middla ni'. Lemmilone." And she was gone again. He pulled the sheet off her, pulled her legs out of bed, took her by the shoulders and sat her up. She sat with her chin on her chest, shoulders slumped, mumbling and growling at him. When he took his hands from her shoulders, she toppled onto her side and gave a small, purring snore. He sat her up again, took her wrists and started to pull her into a standing position. When he realized he would merely be pulling her off the bed onto her face, he reached and took her around the waist and stood her on her feet about two feet from the bed. She. started to sag, then braced her legs. She peered at him, her eyes slightly crossed. As soon as he let go of her, she made a slow half-turn, took one step and dived face down across the bed. He stood her on her feet again and began to walk her. She leaned heavily against him, staggering, cussing him, groaning. He released her suddenly, ready to catch her if she fell.She wobbled around,caught her balance,shuddered violently, combed her fingers back through her curls and focused on him.

"So what the
hell
you doing, Kirk? Gawd!"

"Please wake up, Bonny Lee."

She squinted toward the porch. "Dawn!" she said despairingly. "Sonuvabitch!"

"I would have let you sleep, but I need your help."

She looked at him with venomous suspicion. "I tell you, sugar, it better be important."

"It is."

She shuddered again. She turned and blundered toward the bathroom. He heard the shower begin. He went over and examined her clothing. Lime slacks, a white blouse with a yellow figure, a little yellow jacket, white sandals, two blue-green wisps of nylon. He put her clothing on a chair just outside the bathroom door. The shower stopped. The door opened wide enough for her wet brown arm. "Fetch m'purse, sugar!" she called. He put it into her hand. He checked Bernie's wardrobe, laid out a gray sports shirt and dark blue slacks.

In a little while she stuck her head out, started to say something, saw her clothing, smiled at him and took her clothes into the bathroom. The protocol was slightly confusing. Apparently one could move about as unselfconsciously naked as a tenpin until morning ablutions began, at which time modesty set in.

She came striding out, brushed and lipsticked, giving a little hitch at the waistband of the lime slacks, tossing her jacket and purse on a chair, smiling at him. "Once you're up I guess it isn't too terrible. I been told I'm a little hard to wake up."

"You bounced out of bed the first time I whispered your name."

"You're next in there. I'll neaten up some. What you staring it?"

He realized his expression was probably rather strange. Looking at her, he had been reminded of something a teammate had said about Mickey Mantle. "The more he takes off, the bigger he looks."

Clothes changed Bonny Lee. She looked taller and thinner. It did not seem plausible that all of that well-remembered abundance of breast and hip, all the fecundities, the armsful and handsful of sweet sighing weight could have disappeared into such a compacted trimness, into the tailored litheness of a clothed and pretty stranger.

Her smile disappeared and her brown eyes widened. "Oh, Gawd, you never seen me in clothes afore!" She blushed violently, deepening her tan to redness and making her face look moist. "I wanna fall right smack through the floor, sugar."

"It's all right. We understand how it happened."

"Sure enough, but I'm thinking on how it would
sound
to somebody. Shees marie, how the hell would you explain it?"

"We don't have to try."

"You rushing me out of here on account of somebody coming?"

"No."

"Just who is this friend of Bernie's that's a friend of yours?"

"She's an actress."

"Oh, great!"

"Uh—Bernie's in love with her, I think."

"Anything in a skirt, Bernie's in love with it. Take your shower."

When he came back out in the gray shirt—too snug across the shoulders—and the blue slacks—too high above the shoes—rubbing a jaw made raw by the only razor blade he could find, he smelled coffee. She'd made the bed. She moved slowly toward him, her jaw belligerent, her fists on her hips, her brown eyes narrowed. The waiter's colorful uniform was behind her, on the foot of the bed.

"You wearin' Bernie's stuff, Kirk. You maybe been a waiter at the Elise? Just what the hell is going on?" 

"Bonny Lee, I just can't explain right now—"

"Right now is when you do, mister, or it's going to be like you was wrapped in bob wire and spun like a top toy."

He made two forlorn beginnings, then said, "My name is really Kirby Winter."

She tilted her head. "You say it like it meant something." 

"I thought it might."

"Kirby Winter? Sounds like I know of you somehow. You talk nice. School educated. Some kind of actor?" 

"I'm—sort of in the news. Starting yesterday."

"I don't pay much attention to—" She stopped abruptly and put her hand to her throat. She peered at him, shocked and incredulous. "Sugar, you
him
! Twenny-seven million bucks! You the one stole and hid all that money!" 

"I didn't steal it. I haven't got it."

She shook her head wonderingly. "You kin to that Kroops." 

"Krepps. Uncle Omar" 

She moved back to the bed and sat down limply and stared up at him. "You and some little old school-teacher-lookin' gal tooken it, and like the whole world looking for you all over hell and gone, and you cozied up in bed here with Bonny Lee Beaumont, herself." 

"I didn't take a dime." 

She studied him for a few moments. "Kirk, sugar. I mean Kirby. I surely know you didn't. I know the rough kind and I know the sly kind, and once in ever' long while, the sweet kind, which you are and which there's not enough of, and I wouldn't say you tooken it at all, so why don't you go turn yourself in and say how it came about?"

"I can't. There's so many reasons, there isn't time to tell you, but I just can't. I just hope—you'll be willing to help me, even though you know who I am."

"Even though? Don't you make me cross now, sugar. On this here big crazy old bed you learned me who you are, and what you want of me, I will do. But let's put a cigarette and coffee with it," she said and got up.

They took the coffee out onto the breakfast porch. There was a sun-glare on the bay. "You said you've got a little car?"

"Down in the alley. A little old yalla Sunbeam thing."

"Do you know where the Biscayne Marina is?"

"Sure thing. I knew a boy kept his boat there one time."

"I'd like you to drive me there, Bonny Lee."

"Then what?"

"Just leave me off there."

"That's all? Not much favor to that. Kirby."

"A lot of people know my face. A lot of people are looking. It could turn into a mess."

"You running away by boat?"

"I—I expect so."

"Can't put the top up on the car on account it doesn't have a top any more. You could kind of scrunch down, I expect. Let me see what I can find." She went into the apartment. He heard her opening and closing drawers. Music began to play. She came back out with a wide-brimmed planter's hat and a pair of dark sunglasses. "Should be news any time now. Here, you try these."

The hat was a little small, but he could pull it down far enough.

She nodded. "You look like anybody and ever'body. Camera a-hangin' round your neck, you'd be invisible any place in Florida entire. No need of scrunching."

"Aren't you going to ask if taking me there is going to implicate you in anything?"

"Implicate? That mean messed up in? I love a somebody, Kirby, I do like he asks me."

He took the glasses and hat off and stared at her. "Love?"

"You weren't listening in the bed, sugar?"

"Well, yes, I was, but I thought it—was sort of a manner of speaking."

"Hell yes it was, and I'm speaking it again. You got something against it?"

"No. I just mean that—well, I mean you seem to accept the fact I'll go off in a boat—and you don't know if we'll see each other again, and you don't seem to, well, to really care very much—and I thought—"

"You know, you could be, like they say, over-educated."

She wiped her lipstick onto the paper napkin, came smiling around the table and bent over him, put her hand on the nape of his neck and began to kiss him with considerable skill and energy. He groped for her and turned her and brought her into his lap. Within minutes they were trembling and gasping and giddy. She pushed his hands away from her and sat bolt upright, her hands on his shoulders, head tilted, smiling. Her eyes looked drowsy.

"I love you good, Kirby. And love is a pretty thing. See how fast all worked up we gettin'? That's the good of it, sugar. Going to bed is happy and it's fun. It's the way you get the good of it with none of the bad. It's like everybody has forgot that's all it is and all it was ever meant to be. People got to mess it up, it seems. Cryin', moanin', clingin' onto one another, all jealous and selfish and hateful. We love each other on account of we give each other a lot of happy fun, and if it comes round again, we'll take some more, and if it doesn't, we got this much already anyhow. But no vows and pledges and crap like that, hear? That's what people do because they got the funny idea it's the right thing to do. And before they know it, the fun part is gone, gotten itself strangled on the fine print, like it was a deed to some land. I live free and simple, Kirby, and I look on myself in the mirror and say hello to a friend I like. The day I stop liking her, I change my ways. So this is who loves you, and that's what the word means, and I got friends would die for me and me for them. What I say, you run onto a hell of a girl."