I opened the car door and she slid in. We looked at each other.
“Do I look all right?”
I smiled at her. “Wonderful.”
“Don’t lie. Do I really look all right?”
“You could go anywhere, Eve, and with anyone.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Of course. The trouble with you is you’re ashamed of what you do,” I said, stubbing the self-starter. “That’s one of the reasons for your inferiority complex. You want it both ways, don’t you? Well, so far, it’s all right. You have nothing to worry about.”
She looked searchingly at me, decided that I was telling the truth and sank back against the cushions. “Thank you,” she said, with a little nod. “Where are we going?”
“Nikabob’s,” I said, turning into Sunset and going in the direction of Franklin. “All right?”
“Mmmm, I suppose so.”
“I tried to call you yesterday at two o’clock, but Marty said you were engaged.”
She grimaced, but did not say anything.
“You must work all day and all night,” I said, secretly torturing myself.
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” she said shortly. “I wonder why you men must always talk about it.”
“Sorry . . . I was forgetting it was shop to you.” I drove in silence for a couple of blocks and then said, “You puzzle me, Eve. You’re not really hard, are you?”
She pursed her mouth. “Why do you say that?”
“I think you could easily be hurt.”
“But, I’d never let you know,” she countered quickly.
“You’re an oddity. You’re always on guard against an unkind word. You think everyone is your enemy. I wish you’d relax and accept me as a friend.”
“I don’t want friends,” she returned impatiently. “Anyway, I never trust men. I know too much about them.”
“That’s because you know only the rottenness in men. Won’t you let me be your friend?”
She looked at me indifferently. “No, I won’t and do stop talking such nonsese. You can never mean anything to me. I keep telling you, so why don’t you stop?”
It seemed pretty hopeless to me. Again I felt the dark stirring of frustrated anger against her. If there were only something I could do to move her, to get behind that cold, completely indifferent attitude she hid behind.
“Well, you’re blunt enough,” I said. “At least, I know where I am.”
“I wish I knew what you were up to,” she said, giving me a searching look. “There’s something going on behind all this smoothness. What do you want, Clive?”
“You,” I said simply. “I like you. You intrigue me. I want to feel that I’ve a place in your life. That’s all.”
“Oh, you’re crazy,” she said impatiently. “You must know hundreds of women. Why bother with me?”
Yes . . . why bother with her? Why bother with her when I had Carol? Why waste my time beating against a stone wall when every time I met her it became clearer that she would never accept me? I did not know. But I had to go on, although I knew that unless something unexpected happened we would always be on the same hopeless footing.
“Never mind the other women,” I said, pulling up outside Nikabob’s. “They don’t count. It’s you that matters.”
She made an impatient gesture with her hands. “You must be crazy,” she said. “I’ve told you you mean nothing to me. I can’t keep telling you, can I? You mean absolutely nothing to me and you never will mean anything to me.”
I got out of the car and walked stiffly round to open the door for her. “All right,” I said. “What have you got to worry about? And besides, if you’re so sure about that, why do you come out with me?”
She gave me a quick, hard look. For a moment I thought I had gone too far and that she was going to leave me flat. Then she suddenly giggled.
“Well, I’ve got to live, haven’t I?”
I felt the blood leave my face, but I did not pause nor look at her. We entered Nikabob’s and sat down at a table away from the entrance.
Everything that I suspected and did not wish to admit was in that one damnable sentence. “Well, I’ve got to live, haven’t I?”
After I had given the order I told the waiter to bring me a bottle of Scotch. I wanted a drink badly. We did not speak until the whisky came.
“You’re a cold blooded little thing, aren’t you?” I said, pouring out two large drinks.
“Do you think so?” She looked bored.
It was all going wrong. I would have to make an effort if the lunch was going to be at all successful. It was no use leaving it to her.
“Heard from Jack?” I asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“I hear every week.”
“Is he all right?”
“Mmmm . . . he’s fine.”
“Coming home?”
“Mmmm.”
“How long will he stay?”
“Oh . . . a week . . . ten days, I don’t know.”
“So I shan’t see you?”
She shook her head. There was a blank faraway look in her eyes and I felt she was scarcely listening to what I was saying.
“I would like to meet your husband,” I said deliberately.
She looked at me sharply. “Would you?”
“Why not?”
“You would like him.” Her eyes became animated. “Everyone likes him . . . but, I’m the only one who really knows him. They think he’s such a nice person.” She pretended to sneer, but it did not come off. “It infuriates me sometimes to see the way people flock around him . . . if they only knew how he treated me.” I could see she did not mind how he treated her. Whatever he did would be all right with her. I could see that in every line in her face and in the expression in her eyes.
“Well, do we meet?”
“All right. I’ll speak to him.”
The waiter brought lobster soup. It was very good, but Eve scarcely touched it.
“You’re not eating.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I’m not hungry. After all I’ve only just got up.”
I pushed my plate impatiently away. “Are you sorry you came?”
“No . . . I wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t wanted to.”
“You’ve never learned to say anything complimentary, have you?”
“I don’t need to. You can take me as I am, or leave me.”
“Do you always treat your men like this?”
“Why not?”
“Not very wise, is it?”
“Well, they always come back. Why should I worry?”
She had no need to worry. I knew she was speaking the truth. If her other men were like me, then they always would come back.
I looked at her. The arrogant expression in her eyes made me want to hurt her. “You know best, of course,” I said evenly, “but, after all it’s not as if you’re getting any younger. A time’ll come when they won’t come back.”
Her mouth twisted and she shrugged. “It’s too late to learn new tricks now,” she said. “I’ve never run after any one yet and I don’t intend to start now.”
“You know, Eve,” I went on. “I don’t think you’re happy. This is a pretty ghastly kind of life you lead, isn’t it? Why don’t you give it up?”
“You’re all the same,” she said. “They all say that, but they don’t do anything about it. Besides, what do you think I’d do? Become a drudge around the house? Not me!”
“Is Jack going to keep travelling? Isn’t there a chance that he’d make a home for you?”
She looked past me across the room. Her eyes softened as she brooded. “We had planned to open a road-house.” She lifted her shoulders rather hopelessly. “Oh, I don’t know.”
The waiter brought the second course and then when he had gone away, she said suddenly, “You wouldn’t believe it, but I cried last night.” She looked quickly at me to see if I were going to laugh at her. “You wouldn’t think I’d do that, would you?”
“Why did you?”
“I was lonely . . . I’d had a rotten day.” Her face tightened. “You don’t know how rotten some men can be. You don’t know how lonely this life is. You can’t trust anyone. They’re all after what they can get.”
“Of course, it’s a rotten life,” I said. “No good can possibly come from it. Can’t you earn money in some other way?”
Her face became cold and wooden. “No,” she snapped. “How can I? I’m a fool to grumble, only I just feel low today.” She drew a deep breath and said, “How I hate men!”
“Something’s upset you. What is it?”
“Oh, nothing. Never mind, Clive, I’m not going to talk about it.”
“Someone treated you badly last night.”
“Yes. He tried to gyp me . . .” She snapped her fingers irritably, “I’m not going to talk about it.”
“I hope he didn’t get away with it,” I said curious to know what happened.
Her eyes showed deep anger and spite. “He didn’t and he’ll never be allowed in my house again.” She suddenly pushed her plate away. “We’d better go back.” She had only picked at her food.
I beckoned to the waiter. “Look, Eve,” I said, “Let’s have lunch or dinner together from time to time. It’ll be good for you. I want you to treat me as a friend. Maybe you don’t think you want a friend, but it does give you a chance to unbottle. I’m trying to treat you like a human being. None of your other men treat you like that, do they?”
For a moment she looked a little startled, then she said, “No, I suppose they don’t.”
“Well, will you? Can’t you see that a little time off from all this muck will be good for you?”
She pursed her mouth. “All right,” she said, then she brightened a little. “Thank you, Clive. Yes, I’d like to.”
I felt as if I had won a major battle. “That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll call you next week and we’ll get together.”
I paid the bill and we went back to the car.
As we turned into Laurel Canyon Drive, she said, “I’ve enjoyed this. You’re odd, aren’t you, Clive?”
I laughed. “Am I? Only in comparison with the other men you know. You still think I want something from you. I don’t. You intrigue me. I like having you around.”
We stopped outside her house. I got out and we stood by the car. “You’re coming in?” she said, smiling at me.
I shook my head. “No . . . I won’t today. It’s been nice, Eve. I want you to come again.”
She stood looking at me. The smile was still on her lips, but it had gone from her eyes. “Don’t you want to come in?”
“I want to be your friend,” I said. “I’ll take you out next week, but I don’t want to treat you as other men treat you.”
Her eyes were very cold now, but the smile still persisted. “I see,” she said. “All right. Thank you, Clive, for the lunch.”
This was, for me, a crucial moment. I could see she was disappointed and annoyed that I was not going to pay her for her company. I could clearly read that in her eyes. If I were to continue on the lines I had planned, I would have to reach this point sooner or later. In spite of what she had said as we had entered the restaurant, I was determined to go through with it.
I was not going to be like Harvey Barrow and pay for her company. I would give her a good time; I would listen to her talk about Jack and about her troubles, but I was not going to give her any more money.
“You’ll call me then?” she said.
“I will. Good-bye, Eve, and don’t cry any more.”
She turned from me and walked quickly to the house.
I returned to the car, lit a cigarette and started the engine. Then I drove slowly down the street and, as I turned the corner, I saw a man walking towards me. For a moment I did not recognize him, then I noticed the long arms that seemed to reach almost to his knees. I looked quickly at him as I drove past. It was Harvey Barrow.
I pulled to the curb and stopped. What was Harvey Barrow doing in this district? I knew, of course, but I refused to admit that he was going to see Eve.
I slid out of the car and ran back. Turning the corner I could see him walk purposely down Laurel Canyon Drive. He slowed down outside Eve’s house and stood hesitating at the gate.
I wanted to shout at him. I wanted to break into a run, reach him and slam my fist into his ugly, brutal face. But, instead, I just stood there, watching. He pushed open the gate and walked quickly down the short path to the house.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I HAD forgotten Harvey Barrow. He had seemed to me to be such a cheap, insignificant creature that I had dismissed him from my mind after I had driven him from Three Point. It did not occur to me that he would again associate with Eve. She had treated him so ruthlessly and I had so humiliated him before her that it was inconceivable that he could ever again face her. Yet there he was, going to her, sharing her with me, and bringing me down to his own sordid level.
I was still feeling shocked and depressed as I opened my front door. Russell came down the passage to meet me. One look at his worried face told me that more trouble was on the way.
“Miss Bensinger’s waiting to see you, sir,” he announced.
I stared at him. “Waiting to see me?” I repeated. “How long has she been here?”
“She has only this moment arrived. She said it was urgent and she would wait ten minutes.”
I wondered why Merle Bensinger had come all the way from her office to see me. It must obviously be urgent and important as she scarcely ever left her desk.
“All right,” Russell,” I said, handing him my hat. “I’ll see her at once.”
I walked into the sitting room. “Hel-lo, Merle,” I said, going to her. “This is a surprise.”
Merle Bensinger was big, red haired and tough. She carried her forty years well and there was no smarter business woman in Hollywood. She had planted herself before the empty fireplace and she looked at me with stormy eyes.
“If
this
is a surprise you’d better get yourself some brandy,” she said, ignoring my hand and sitting down on the arm of the settee, “because you’ll certainly need it.”
“Now look, Merle,” I began, “I’m sorry about the Digest article . . .”
“Never mind the Digest article,” she snapped. “You’ve enough grief without bringing that up.” She fumbled in her handbag and produced a battered packet of Camels, “I haven’t much time, so we’ll get right down to business. Just tell me one thing . . . did you punch Frank Imgram?”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “Suppose I did? What’s it to you?”
“He asks what’s it to me?” Merle raised her eyes beseechingly to the ceiling. “That’s a laugh. He socks the biggest money making proposition in Hollywood, breaks his bridgework, and asks what’s it to me?” She regarded me, her green eyes almost savage. “Listen, Thurston, you’ve been dumb. You’ve been so goddamn dumb that I can’t imagine what kind of parents produced you. The Digest was pretty bad, but this . . . well, it’s murder!”