Джеймс Чейз - You Never Know With Women

I put my hand on his shoulders and shoved him down again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mick. We’ll have a little talk then. Right now I have business with the brunette.”

Joe coughed behind his hand. Casy looked startled.

“I guess I’m slipping,” he said apologetically. “Why sure, you go right on ahead.”

“That’s the idea,” I said and took Veda’s arm. “Let’s go,” I said to her.

At the door I looked back.

Casy was staring; his mouth a little open. Joe was kissing his thick fingers to the ceiling.

“And thanks, Mick,” I said, opened the door and followed Veda across the bar.

The guys all stopped talking again. They X-rayed Veda as she walked to the far door. One fella began a low long whistle. I scowled at him. He cut the whistle short.

I showed her to the elevator in the lobby and we rode up together to- the roof level.

A negro with a big friendly smile opened the door of the penthouse for us. He said it was all ready, and after showing me where the whisky was, he went away, rolling his eyes.

The penthouse was a gaudy little love nest that at one time Casy had thought of using for himself. Although he had plenty of ideas about women, he had never found one that could interest him for more than a couple of hours. He was always too busy thinking up new ways of making money to take a woman seriously, and when he bought up the local hotel, he took over the largest suite and lived there, surrounded by hard-drinking, hard-swearing gamblers who shared his itch for money. The penthouse, as far as Casy was concerned, was a white elephant, but it came in handy for his friends: it was seldom empty.

It consisted of a big lounge, a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and a roof garden. It had been decorated and furnished by a swank firm in Los Angeles, and it looked as if it had been decorated and furnished by a swank firm in Los Angeles.

Veda looked around the lounge, her hands in her pockets, her head on one side.

“Like it?” I asked.

She turned slowly on her heels to face me.

“What have you done with the compact?” she asked.

“Sit down,” I went over to the cocktail cabinet. “Before we talk about the compact we’ll talk about you. Where do you figure in this?”

She sat down, crossed her legs and frowned at her slim hands.

“I want to know about the compact,” she said. “What have you done with it?”

“One thing at a time.” I mixed a couple of highballs, came over to her. “Who are you? Let’s begin at the beginning. How did you get mixed up in this?”

She took the drink, brooded for a moment, then said: “I couldn’t help myself. I wanted money.”

I sat opposite her, lowered half the highball, set the glass on the floor by my feet, reached for a carton of cigarettes on a nearby table, threw her one, lit up, tossed the matches over to her.

“How did you run into Gorman?”

“He’s my agent.”

I studied her.

“He told me you were a stripper. That right?”

“Yes.”

“Look, don’t make me drag it out of you like I was pulling out your teeth. Start in from the beginning. I want to know as much about you as you know yourself.”

She sipped her highball and studied me. She had a way of looking at you from under her lashes. You couldn’t see her eyes when she looked at you like this: but you could feel them.

“Why should I tell you anything about myself?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

She shifted her gaze from me to the opposite wall. There was a thoughtful, far-away expression in her eyes; she began to talk.

Her old man was a farmer, she told me. He had a small farm near Waukomis, Oklahoma. There was her Ma, four brothers and five sisters. Ever since she could remember things had been tough. The farm was a ruin; her old man had done what he could to hold the place together, but it licked him. It licked her Ma too, and she was hard and bitter with the misery of it all. The kids were half starved and wild. When Veda was sixteen they found her old man by a water-hole. He’d worked himself to a standstill and had fallen face down in four inches of water and had drowned. He hadn’t had the strength left in him to turn his face for air.

The family split up after that. Veda got a job in a roadside restaurant, washing dishes and serving meals to hungry truckers who came in at all hours of the day and night.

She was crazy about the movies and her one thought was to get to Hollywood. She was sure she’d get a job as an extra and then when someone important saw her she’d be made a star. She talked to a trucker about her chances. He told her she couldn’t miss. A girl with her looks, he said, and with her figure, was a snap for the movies, and offered to stake her to the trip.

At first she couldn’t believe him, but he assured her he wasn’t kidding. Of course, he told her, looking at her with his hard, intent eyes, there was a little ceremony attached to the offer. She couldn’t expect him to give her the money, but she wouldn’t mind earning it, now would she. There was a sweaty animal look on his face that turned her cold.

How’s about it, kid? he wanted to know. How’s about it?

She felt in her bones if she could get to Hollywood she’d be a star. She wouldn’t have to wash dishes or smell stale cooking or wash her own clothes or go to the outhouse in the cold and the dark; she wouldn’t have to do any of those things again if she could get to Hollywood. She wouldn’t have to make do on five dollars a week and all if she got to Hollywood. She said she’d meet him in the barn that night.

Of course he gypped her out of the dough, but she got to Hollywood a year later. It took her three weeks to do the trip. She hitch-hiked all the way, and paid her fare like any other of the hundreds of road floozies travelling that route, and she landed in Hollywood with a veneer you couldn’t crack with a steam hammer.

She got a job as a waitress in a smart café opposite one of the big film studios. After a while of playing around with various studio technicians, she met one of the lesser-known directors. He traded a film test for a week-end in his caravan, and was honest enough to tell her, although she looked fine in the flesh, she just didn’t photograph. He let her see the test, and she was smart enough to see he was right.

The director had practically promised her a job on the screen and he felt bad when he saw the way the test turned out. He told her he wanted to do something for her and gave her an introduction to Gorman.

Gorman, he told her, ran a team of strippers who were in big demand at Stags, Reunions and wherever a party of men had got together to celebrate. The job was worth fifty to a hundred bucks a night and all she’d have to do was to sit in a bath-tub full of champagne or in a glass bowl or dance on a table or stuff like that. She’d be unlucky if she didn’t get one or two engagements a week.

Gorman signed her up and she worked with him for a year or so. She soon got used to the work and she was popular and in demand. She earned money, spent money and never had any money. Then Gorman came to her with a proposition.

All the time she’d been talking she had stared at the wall. It was as if she had been talking to herself. When she came to Gorman’s proposition she got up for a cigarette, and when she had lit it she said: “He told me he’d fixed up for me to do my act at Lindsay Brett’s in San Luis Beach. I didn’t think anything of it. I was used to going to people’s houses and around the country. Then he said I could make myself a lot of money if I found out the combination of the safe in this house, and if there were any alarms and what the routine of the guards were and stuff like that. I thought he was fooling at first. There’d never been anything like that before. But he wasn’t fooling. He said it’d be worth a thousand dollars to me if I got the information he wanted. I said I’d think it over.”