Lawrence Sanders - Tenth Commandment

'Perdita,' I said, 'I really — '

'Can we go to your place?' she whispered.

'Oh no. No, no, no. Really. I'm afraid that wouldn't — '

'Where is your place?'

'Miles from here. Way downtown. West side.'

'Where is your place?' she said. 'Yum-yum.'

'Way downtown,' I started again.

'Col!' she screamed. 'We're going.'

'Good show,' he said.

We came out of Mother Tucker's and turned our backs to a vindictive wind that stung with driven snow. Manila motioned and we went plodding after him around the corner on to 69th Street. He halted at a car and began to fumble in his coat pockets for his keys. We all piled into the front, Perdita sitting in the middle.

'A joint,' the Colonel said.

'Oh no, sir,' I said. 'I thought it was a very pleasant restaurant.'

Perdita, already fishing in her purse, got out a fat, hand-rolled cigarette, both ends twisted.

She lighted it, took a deep drag, and held it out to the Col. He took a tremendous drag and half the cigarette seemed to disappear in a shower of sparks.

'Now then,' the Colonel said. He handed the joint back to Perdita, then busied himself with switches and buttons.

In a few moments he had the headlights on, engine purring, the heater going. The snow on the windows began to melt away.

'Whisky,' the Colonel said, like a drillmaster rapping out commands.

Perdita twisted around, got on to her knee on the front seat, and leaned far over into the rear compartment. Her rump jutted into the air. Colonel Manila slapped it lightly.

'There's a gel,' he said affectionately.

She flopped back to her original position with a full decanter and three tumblers, all in cut crystal. She poured us all drinks, big drinks, then set the decanter on the floor between her feet. I knew we would be stopped. I knew the police would arrest us. I could imagine the charges.

Perhaps, I thought hopefully, I might get off with three years because of my youthful appearance and exemplary record.

Nothing of the sort happened. The Colonel drove expertly. Even after he turned on the radio to a rock-and-roll station and kept banging the steering wheel with one palm in time to the music, still he smoked, drank, stopped for traffic lights, negotiated turns skilfully, and pulled up right in front of my door, scrunching the limousine into a snowbank. I laughed shrilly.

'Well, this has certainly been a memorable evening,' I said, listening to the quaver in my voice. 'I do want to thank — '

'Out,' Perdita Schug growled, nudging me. 'Let's go.'

I stumbled out hastily into the snow. She came scrambling after me. I looked back in at Colonel Clyde Manila.

He waggled fingers at me. I waggled back. Perdita slammed the car door, then took my arm in a firm, proprietary grip.

'Up we go,' she said gaily.

It was then around midnight. I think. Or it could have been ten. Or it might have been two. Whatever it was, I hoped Mrs Hermione Hufnagel, Cleo, Captain Bramwell Shank, Adolph Finkel, and Madame Zora Kadinsky were all behind locked doors and sleeping innocently in their warm beds.

'Shh,' I said to Perdita Schug, leading her upstairs. I giggled nervously.

'What's with this shh shit?' she demanded.

I got her inside my apartment. She was moving now with deliberate and exaggerated caution.

I switched on the overhead light. I draped our coats and hats over a chairback. She looked around the living room.

I awaited her reaction. There was none. She flopped into my armchair.

'Come sit on my lap,' she said with a vulpine grin.

I began to stammer, but she grabbed my wrist, drew me to her with surprising strength, and plunked me down on to her soft thighs.

She kissed me. My toes curled. Inside shoes and the rubbers I had neglected to remove.

'Mmm,' she said. 'That's better. Much better.'

She wriggled around, pulled me tighter on to her lap.

She had a muscled arm around my neck. She pressed our cheeks together. 'The last time I saw Paris,' she sang.

'Perdita,' I said, giving it one last try, 'I can't understand how you can endure doing the work you do. I mean, you've got so much personality and, uh, talent and experience. Why do you stay on as a maid for Tippi Kipper?'

'It's a breeze,' she said promptly. 'The pay is good. And I get meals and my own apartment. My own telephone.

What should I be doing — selling gloves in Macy's?'

'But still, it must be boring.'

'Sometimes yes,' she said. 'Sometimes no. Like any other job.'

'Is Mrs Kipper, ah, you know, understanding?'

'Oh sure,' she said, laughing. 'I get away with murder.

That Chester Heavens would like to bounce my ass right out of there, and Mrs Neckin called me "the spawn of the devil." They'd both like me out of there, but Tippi will never can me. Never.'

'Why not?'

'Give us another kissy,' she said.

I gave her another kissy.

'You're learning,' she said. 'Listen, Tippi plays around as much as I do. And she knows I know it.'

'Plays around now or before? I mean, when her husband was alive?'

'Oh shit, Josh, she's always played around. As long as I've been there. That'll be four years come April.'

226

'How do you know?'

'How do I know? Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent lamb.

You think I don't smell the grass on her and see her underwear and notice her hair is done a different way when she comes home from what she said was a bridge party?

Listen, a woman knows these things. A maid especially.

Scratches on her back. Fingerprints on her ass. Oh, she's making it; no doubt about that. Listen, Josh, I'm out of joints. You got any Scotch?'

'Well. . uh, sure,' I said. 'But are you certain you want — '

'Get me a Scotch,' she commanded.

I got her a drink.

'Where's yours?' she asked.

'We'll share this one,' I said.

'A loving cup,' she said. 'And then the yum-yum.

Where's the bed?'

'In the bedroom.'

'Not yet,' she said, shaking a reproving finger at me.

'Don't be in such a rush, tiger.'

'I'm really not,' I assured her. 'I mean, it's not what you — '

She grabbed my arm and pulled me down on to her lap again. I went to my fate willingly.

'So cute,' she said drowsily. 'You really are cute.'

'Tippi isn't making it with Knurr, is she?'

'Ho-ho-ho,' Perdita Schug said. 'Is she ever. Two, three times a week, at least. He's very big in her life right now.

Even in the house — can you beat that? I mean it. And while Sol was alive, too. The two of them in the elevator.

How does that grab you? Did you ever make it in an elevator, Josh?'

'No, I never have.'

'Me neither,' she said sorrowfully. 'But once in a closet,'

she said brightening. 'The funny thing i s. . ' Her voice trailed away.

'What's the funny thing?' I asked.

'I could have him like that,' she said, trying to snap her fingers. But they just slid over each other. 'Knurr, I mean.

He's warm for my form. Always coming on strong. Copping a feel when she isn't looking. The guy's a cocksman.

A religious cocksman. Now I'm ready for yum-yum.'

She found the bedroom. I didn't turn on the bedside lamp; there was enough illumination coming from the hallway. She looked around dazedly, put a hand against the wall to support herself. She turned her back to me.

'Unzip,' she said.

Obediently, I drew the long zipper down to her waist.

She shrugged the dress off her shoulders, let it fall to the floor, stepped out of it. She was wearing bra, panties, sheer black pantyhose. She shook her head suddenly, flinging her short flapper-cut about in a twirl.

'I'm zonked,' she announced.

She plumped down suddenly on the bed, fell back, raised her legs high in the air.

'Peel me,' she said.

There were a lot of other questions I wanted to ask her about Tippi Kipper and the Reverend Godfrey Knurr, but somehow this didn't seem the right time. I peeled off her pantyhose.