Mickey Spillane - I, The Jury

“Now scram while I get dressed,” I told her.

Her mouth went into a pout. “Why?”

“Look,” I tried to be convincing, “I don’t get undressed in front of women.”

“Since when?” she asked impishly.

“It was dark then,” I told her. “Besides, it’s too early for that.”

I got another one of those sexy smiles. Her eyes were begging me to undress her. “Okay . . . sissy.” She closed the door behind her and I heard that deep-throated laugh.

The gang outside was making a racket and I poked my head out the window to see what was up. Directly beneath me two underweight males were having a hair-pulling match while four others egged them on. What a place. The two boys hit the dirt together and followed by a slap or two. I grinned. A couple of pansies trying to decide who would be Queen of the May. I drew a pitcher of water from the sink and let it go on their blonde heads.

That ended the fight. They both let out a falsetto scream and got up running The gang saw me and howled. It was a good gag.

Mary met me downstairs. She was lounging against the porch railing smoking a cigarette. I came out in slacks and a sweat shirt and tossed her a hello. Myrna joined us at the same time swinging a tennis racket against her legs. I could see that Mary was disappointed at not getting me alone. The three of us walked across the lawn to the courts with Mary hanging on to my arm. Before we quite reached there another edition of her stepped out of a group of players and waved to us. Esther Bellemy.

She was another to make your mouth drool. She recognized me immediately and offered a firm handshake. Her manner was cool and reserved. I saw what Charlotte meant when she said Esther wasn’t like her sister. However, there seemed to be no resentment or jealousy. Esther had her admirers, too. We were introduced all around to a lot of people whose names I forgot as soon as I met them, and Mary carted me off to a vacant court for a game of singles.

Tennis wasn’t in my line, she found out. After a hectic ten minutes I had batted the balls over the fence and we gathered them up and put them in a box and laid the rackets down. Mary sat on a bench beside me with her brown legs stuck out in front of her while I cooled off.

“Why are we wasting time out here, Mike? Your room is so much nicer.”

Some dame. “You rush things, Mary. Why aren’t you more like your sister?”

She gave me a short laugh. “Maybe I am.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, I guess. But Esther keeps her eyes open, too. She’s no virgin.”

“How do you know?”

Mary giggled and folded her knees under her hands. “She keeps a diary.”

“I bet yours is a lot thicker,” I said.

“Uh-huh, lots.”

I took her hand and pulled her from the bench. “Come on, show me where the bar is.”

We took a flagstone path back to the house and entered through a pair of French windows. The bar was built off a trophy room that was well packed with cups and medals, decorated with live-oak paneling and blown-up photographs of the Bellemy sisters winning everything from a golf game to a ski jump. They certainly were an active pair. The curious thing about it was that they didn’t like publicity. I wondered where the rumor started that they were looking for husbands. Husbands that would satisfy, maybe.

I guess Mary gave me up as hopeless for a while. She left me with a colored bartender who sat at the end of the thirty-foot bar reading a stack of comic magazines, getting up only long enough to pour me a fresh drink every time I emptied my glass.

Several times I had company, but not for long. Myrna came in once, then left after a few pleasant words. Some other tootsies tried their hand at making a strange face but were dragged off by their boy friends who chased them into the bar. One of the pansies I doused did his bit, too, and all it took to get him out was a strong hand on the seat of his shorts and another around his neck. The whole deal was getting very monotonous. I wished Charlotte would get here. I thought I’d have a nice time with Mary, but compared to Charlotte she was a flop. Mary only had sex. Charlotte had that—plus a lot more.

I managed to sneak out without the bartender seeing me and found my room. There I changed back to my street clothes, patted old junior under my arm and lay down on the bed. Now I felt normal.

The drinks did more to me than I thought. I didn’t pass out, I simply fell asleep, but quick. The next thing I knew someone was shaking me and I looked up into the prettiest face in the world. Before my eyes were all the way open, Charlotte kissed me, then mussed my hair.

“Is this the way you greet me? I thought you’d be at the gate waiting for me with open arms.”

“Hello, beautiful,” I said.

I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. “What time is it?” She looked at her watch.

“Seven-thirty.”

“Holy cow! I slept the whole day out practically!”

“I’ll say you have. Now get dressed and come downstairs for dinner. I want to see Myrna.”

We got up and I saw her to the door, then washed my face and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of my coat. When I thought I was presentable enough I went downstairs. Mary saw me and waved me over. “You’re sitting by me tonight,” she told me.

The crowd was beginning to file in and I found the place card with my name on it. Charlotte was sitting directly opposite me at any rate. I felt much better at that. The two of them ought to be fun unless Mary started playing kneesy under the table.

Charlotte sat down with a smile and Myrna was next to her. Through the appetizer they spoke to each other earnestly, laughing occasionally over some private joke.

I glanced down the table to see if there was anyone I knew. One face seemed fairly familiar, although I couldn’t place it. He was a short, skinny guy, dressed in a dark grey flannel. His only conversation was with the heavy-set woman opposite him. There was so much chatter at the table I couldn’t get a line on what they were talking about, but I saw him sneak a few side glances my way.

He happened to turn his full face toward me for a moment, then I recognized him. He was one of the men I had seen going into Madam June’s call house the night of the raid.

I nudged Mary and she quit talking to the guy on her other side long enough to look my way. “Who’s the squirt down at the end?” I asked, motioning with my fork.

Mary picked him out and said, “Why, that’s Harmon Wilder, our attorney. He’s the one who invests our money for us. Why?”

“Just curious. I thought I recognized him.”

“You should. He used to be one of the best criminal lawyers in the country before he gave it up for a private practice in something less sensational.”

I said, “Oh,” then returned to my food. Charlotte had found my foot under the table and tapped it with her toe. Behind the table the lawn was moon-lit—a perfect night. I’d be glad when supper was over.

Mary tried me out in conversation all too suggestive. I saw Charlotte give her a glance that was full of fire, winked, then cut Mary off pretty sharply. She sort of got the idea that something was up between me and Charlotte and whispered into my ear. “I’ll get you tonight, big stuff— after she’s gone.”

She yelped when I stuck my elbow in her ribs.

Dinner ended when one of the fruits fell out of his chair at the table’s end. Right after that there was a lot of noise and the two tennis players who were to be featured in the game that night stood up and toasted success to each other with glasses of milk.

I managed to get through to Charlotte and took Myrna and her out to the courts together. A lot of cars were driving up, probably some neighbors invited just for the game. The floodlights had been turned on over the sunbaked clay, and bleacher seats had been erected sometime during the latter part of the afternoon while I was asleep.