Way of a Wanton (2 page)

Helen said, “More changes on ‘Girl,' Raul?”
 

“Afraid so.” He turned to me. “We're already running over the budget on the damned thing. I wish L.G. would settle these things during working hours, though.” He grinned again and shrugged his thin shoulders. “Cheaper for him this way. The hell with it. Let's have a drink. Let's have a double.”
 

He wandered off. I looked around the room for a few moments, a screwy idea I'd had earlier entering my mind again. I turned to Helen. “You notice anything peculiar?”
 

“Peculiar?”
 

“Funny. Screwy. Off balance or something.”
 

“About Raul?”
 

“Not just Raul. Everybody. The whole party.”
 

Ever since right after I'd come in I'd had the feeling that something was off key. And the feeling had persisted despite the kicks and laughter and obvious enjoyment of some of the people present, including me. It seemed that, even for a party like this one, the guests were trying too hard, laughing too loudly, slapping backs too boisterously. There seemed to be a kind of tension in the air, as if somebody or everybody was under pressure and the feeling had spread like a stain through the room.
 

Helen said slowly, “I don't know. Maybe. How do you mean?”
 

“Well ... it's a fine party, but it's like—” I searched for the word—"like a wake. You know. Everybody's got to get plastered to have fun. Or like people pretending.”
 

She swallowed part of her drink. “I think you're reaching for that one,” she said. “But this
is
a funny collection of people, isn't it? Several varieties of worries here. Take Raul. You know his wife's at Tahoe, I imagine.”
 

I knew that. Raul had chased around a little too long and brazenly, and his wife, Evelyn, had finally headed for Lake Tahoe and the Cal-Neva Lodge four or five weeks back. Tahoe has pretty much replaced Las Vegas and Reno for many of the Hollywood couples who want to end it quickly. I knew Raul well enough to know he wasn't happy about it, but since Evelyn had left he'd done nothing except chase even harder, and perversely party longer and later when he had the chance.
 

Helen added, “Genova's got money troubles. King's wife is suing for custody of their two kids. And even Swallow has troubles of his own.” She hesitated and added, “Maybe.”
 

I said, “How about you? Any troubles I can fix?”
 

“Yes,” she said definitely. “I was having a fine time until you got so somber. Do you realize you spoiled a conversation I was enjoying?”
 

I grinned at her. “I'm sorry, Helen. I'll begin all over. How do you do, miss? I'm thinking of starting a nudist colony. All I need is nudists. Any suggestions?”
 

“That's better,” she said. “Sign me up. Where's this to be?”
 

“Organizational meetings will be held in the Spartan Apartment Hotel in Hollywood. That's right across from the Wilshire Country Club, which should be ideal.”
 

“If a bit public,” she said. “Spartan. That must be about where you live.”
 

“It is. I elect you queen of the Shell Scott Nudist Colony.”
 

She smiled. “And the king?” She whipped her eyelashes at me again, then said, “Don't tell me. But I imagine King Kong over there will want in.”
 

“Douglas? He's excluded; I accept applications only from humans.” I glanced toward him and was surprised to find him glaring at me. “What's eating him?”
 

She looked at Douglas King and waved to him, saying softly, “He likes me. We've been out on the Strip a couple of times. Very discreet because of the court battle with his wife, naturally. Nothing serious with us, although he tried. My, how he tried. Maybe he's afraid you're beating his time.”
 

“Should he be?”
 

She smiled, but didn't answer.
 

“Hell,” I said, “he's got a cancan dancer twirling on his lap.”
 

“Oh,” she said, “he's a man.” Apparently that explained everything.
 

I took Helen's arm and pulled her closer to me. “Listen, little sweetie,” I said, “I hope you're not one of those bloodthirsty wenches who like men to make like gladiators for the lady fair.”
 

She tossed her silver-blonde head. “I'm not,” she said. “Definitely not.” She reached up and started playing with my right ear. “Why? Does he scare you?”
 

I looked back at King. “Only a little,” I said.
 

I'd seen the guy around town a few times without meeting him, and I'd seen one movie he'd been in, which movie showed him stabbing crocodiles and hanging from trees by his tail or some such thing. He was a damned good-looking man if you like them beetle-browed and surly, and he was conceited as hell. He was an even six feet and had lumps all over him and the lumps were muscles. If you didn't like it he'd lump you. That was almost all I knew about him except what Helen had mentioned: that he was having some trouble in a child-custody case. I had always been inclined to think any children of his would be in a zoo, but apparently they were normal. Also, apparently, he didn't want his estranged wife to have them.
 

Helen finally let go of my ear. “You don't look like a man who scares easily,” she said.
 

I grinned at her. “Have it your way. If he even sneers at me I'll snatch all the hairs out of his chest.”
 

She gurgled her appreciation of my daring while I finished my drink. I said, “I'm behind on the liquor. How long's this ball been going on?”
 

“Since about two. You're not far behind.”
 

“I'll catch up, but isn't this a little unusual? Big drinking party before the movie's finished?”
 

“Uh-huh. But that's why we started early—so we can go home early and be fresh tomorrow. It isn't like working for M-G-M or Twentieth, say; we're more informal. For that matter, almost all of us here now were here last Thursday night, too, but that was mostly business then.”
 

That seemed to remind her of something, because she frowned slightly, narrow brows slanting. “You know,” she said, “I wish you hadn't mentioned that off-balance business. The wake. You started me thinking. I guess people aren't ever completely at ease after the police talk to them. Maybe that's part of it.”
 

“Police? What police? Who'd they talk to?”
 

She looked slowly around the room. “Oh, just about all of us, I guess.”
 

“When did all this happen?”
 

“Yesterday. I still don't know what it's all about, though. Zoe hasn't shown up or something. Cops wondered if we knew anything about where she might be.”
 

“Zoe?”
 

She wiggled a finger toward Swallow, resplendent in a mustard-colored jacket and chocolate slacks, with a beige scarf around his neck. “His secretary. At least, as of last Thursday.”
 

Now I frowned. “What is this?” I asked her. “Some kind of mystery?”
 

“I don't think so. All I know is she hasn't shown up at the studio. Wasn't there Friday or Saturday, anyway.”
 

I was going to ask her some more about this Zoe, but suddenly she changed the subject, and the direction the conversation seemed to be taking kept my mind occupied.
 

“I'm sorry,” she said. “There we go again, and this time it's my fault. Oh, did you bring a suit?”
 

“Swim suit? Yeah. It's in the car.”
 

She smiled in what I thought was a slightly mysterious and highly sensual fashion and said, “It's just as well, even though you probably won't need it.”
 

“Oh? Nobody going swimming?”
 

“Everybody will, I imagine.” She kept smiling and I looked at her bright red lips and thought how pleasant it would be to kiss them. And while I thought that, I also wondered if she'd meant what I thought she meant.
 

Just as I was about to ask if we were all to jump into the pool with our clothes on and drown, Raul gulped the last of another drink and shouted over the noise, “We're going swimming, people! Everybody get undressed. The prudes can wear suits.”
 

Helen's smile broadened slightly, and I thought I had at least part of my answer. I cleared my throat. “Well,” I said, “I never.” That was me. Brilliant as always.
 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

OSCAR SWALLOW swung around toward Raul. “Oh, you cur,” he cried, “not yet.”
 

“Excuse me a minute, Helen,” I said. “Think I'll chat with this man Raul.” I paused. “You have a suit?”
 

She nodded.
 

I looked at the deeply tanned skin of her face and arms. “You get a lot of sun, don't you?”
 

“All the time. But I'm not tanned all over. I have two white strips.” Her dark eyes were merry. “Little narrow white strips.”
 

“Oh?” I cleared my throat. “That's interesting. I—uh, excuse me.”
 

She chuckled as I walked across the room toward Raul. When I reached him he said, “Get your trunks, Shell, while you've got the chance.”
 

“O.K. What's with Swallow? Can't he swim?”
 

Raul laughed. He was a little tight. “Sure he swims. But he made a phone call a while back to his secretary. He has designs on the woman; wants to get her into the pool. Only she doesn't know it yet.” He laughed again. “He knows if we're all splashing around when she gets here, she'll probably never join the party.” He sobered a little and shook his head. “Can't say I blame the man. She's some woman. Some woman.”
 

There were a couple of things he'd said that had confused me a bit, but one above all. I said, “He called his secretary? You mean Zoe?”
 

He blinked at me. “Where did you hear about Zoe?”
 

“Why? Any reason I shouldn't?”
 

“No, no reason,” he replied. “Just surprised me. She's taken a powder somewhere, I guess. I meant Sherry, Swallow's new steno. He dictates most of his stuff.”
 

Swallow and Genova had been talking together and now they walked over to us. As they came up Genova was saying angrily, “That goddamn Bondhelm! I'd like to cut him to pieces a pound of fat at a time.” Genova's deep, booming voice was surprising in so short a man.
 

Raul chuckled. “That'd take about a year, considering his size.”
 

Genova grumbled, “The sonofabitch must of studied under Shylock.”
 

“Direct descendant,” agreed Swallow. He looked around and added, in one of those imitation British accents that never fool anyone except those who want to be fooled, “Things seem to have calmed a trifle. Unfortunately.”
 

I said, “Guess the cancan dancer ran down.” Then I asked Raul, “She in the movie?”
 

“Yeah, that's Dot. Dot English. But she gets eaten up by a lion in one of the first scenes.”
 

Swallow broke in. “Very intelligent lion, that one. Almost human, don't you think, old boy?”
 

I looked at him to see if he were old-boying me, but he was addressing himself to Raul. Swallow glanced over at Dot and said, “Lovely, lovely—and that creamy white skin. I think I'd call her Snow White with sex appeal.”
 

It about summed up my own impression of Dot, and it was a fair description, but I'd read the line before in one of the movie columns. Raul chuckled again and said, “I think that lion was you in a lion skin, Swallow.”
 

Swallow grinned but didn't answer as he and Genova walked to the bar.
 

I asked Raul, “Something else. What's this about cops asking questions?”
 

“Well,” he said, “you do get around.” He grinned. “Always the detective, aren't you? Believe me, I didn't ask you here to quiz the guests, Shell. Cops got a bug they should look for Zoe. Talked to me yesterday; to Genova, King, all of us, I guess.” He shrugged. “Me? I know from nothing. Why they should even ask us, I don't know. Except she's been working at the studio.” He paused and said, “For God's sake, relax, man. This is supposed to be for kicks.”
 

“O.K., Raul. Uh, say, you heard anything from Evelyn?”
 

His face sobered. “No. Looks like she's ... gone.” He frowned and looked at me. “I wish—Oh, to hell with it. Skip it, Shell. Go get your suit and glue it on.”
 

I nodded, handed him my empty glass, and walked out the front door and down the steps to the flagstone walk leading out to the drive. I grabbed my trunks from the front seat of my Cadillac and stopped.
 

A new Ford coupé pulled up behind my Cad and a girl in a bright print dress got out and started walking across the lawn toward the path. I guessed this was the Sherry Raul had mentioned. She was about twenty feet away, walking toward me, and at first I just glanced at her curiously. She was walking rapidly and my initial impression was that she was cute and curvy and a highly jiggly tomato.
 

“Hello,” I said.