Chapter 8

A BLOND waitress pointed out Mrs. Jay Bolton to Al. She sat alone at a banquette midway back through the brilliantly lit cocktail lounge. The bar was lined with people and most of the booths and banquettes were occupied. A glimpse of the main dining room showed Al that it, too, was well patronized. He had the sour thought, while making his way toward Alice Bolton, that some guys probably spent as much here in one evening as he earned in a week. The thought bothered him.

His mood lifted with his first close view of Alice Bolton. She seemed to him to be in Technicolor-coppery hair, amber-flecked brown eyes, sensuous, crimson mouth, richly tanned skin-of which much was exposed by the decolletage of a green cocktail dress.

As he stopped before her, his gaze settled upon the cleavage of her breasts. Besides Technicolor, she was wide screen. Hers was the deepest cleavage he had ever seen. She was bigger and brighter than life.

She seemed openly amused by his staring. "Aren't you going to announce yourself?"

He managed to say, "I'm Al Kirby, Mrs. Bolton."

"So I guessed," she replied. "Sit down."

He joined her in the banquette, feeling outclassed. Still, he might as well turn on the old charm and give it a try. He had a lot to gain, and nothing to lose.

He said, "You sort of bowled me over, Mrs. Bolton.

I hadn't been warned what a lot of woman you are."

"And you're not quite what I expected." She looked at him levelly. "When I hear of a man's losing his wife to another man-I get the impression that he's some sort of a sad sack. You don't exactly bowl me over, Mr. Kirby, but you don't make me feel sorry for you, either. Are you sure you've told me the truth about your wife and my husband?"

Al nodded. "I have. But I didn't say that I've lost her to him. The situation's a little tricky."

A waitress came. Al ordered a whiskey and soda. Alice Bolton had barely touched the whiskey sour before her and did not need to reorder.

Al got out cigarettes, offered her one. She accepted and, as he lit hers, she touched his hand to steady the flame of his lighter. Brief though the contact was, it set off little thrusts of sensation in his groin. He began to have fantasies of how the evening might end. The lighter's flame was unsteady as he puffed his own cigarette alight. The hand that held it was trembling.

When his drink came, he lifted it to his companion. "To the beginning of a profitable relationship."

She smiled faintly, touched her glass to his and sipped.

"I like that word-profitable," she said. "Now why did you feel that you should tell me about my husband's affair? You mentioned 'turnabout' on the telephone. I hope you don't mean the obvious thing."

Al said, "I meant that an estranged wife would probably like a divorce with a big settlement or plenty of alimony-if she had grounds for one. I decided that you and I could come to an arrangement."

"What sort of an arrangement."

"I'd see that you got the grounds for divorce-for certain considerations."

"I thought you said you wanted no money from me."

"Only from the settlement from your husband. I want him to pay-not you."

Laughing, she said, "I'm afraid you've outsmarted yourself, Mr. Kirby. You've told me as much as I'd need to know-if I wanted a divorce."

He shook his head. "You mentioned proof earlier. I haven't given you that."

"I'm sure a private detective could find proof easily enough."

"That would cost you-besides, I could warn your husband. He could take additional precautions. Why make things hard for yourself?"

"You could, of course. And I have the feeling that you're heel enough to play that dirty. Any man who knows his wife is cheating and lets her get away with it-"

"Your husband knows that you play around and lets you get away with it."

"True enough," Alice said. "But he doesn't try to profit from the situation. You do. As for myself, my dear Mr. Kirby, I do not want a divorce-no matter how big the settlement or the alimony. I like being Mrs. Jay Bolton. It gives me status. It also gives me a nice allowance each month-plus my freedom. Moreover, I'm still fond of the guy. Fond enough-so that one day, if my freedom becomes boresome, I may go back to him."

Al's disappointment was complete, shattering. He had anticipated anything but this. Women, he thought, were damned impractical. This dame was turning down an opportunity to take her estranged husband for a bundle. Janice was refusing to let Bolton give her a decent job. Screwballs, both of them. But Al was accustomed to a salesman's disappointments. He had to accept the fact that no one sold a hundred per cent. He hid his chargin behind a rueful grin.

"Well, a guy can't win them all," he said. "Besides, this isn't a total loss. I've gotten to know you."

"You have, haven't you?" Alice said, then gave her attention to a man who had stopped by their banquette. "Oh, hello, Earl. Do sit down."

Al looked at Earl, his immediate reaction hostility. Earl looked back at him with no more friendliness. He was a young man with executive-type glasses and a somewhat anemic look. His manner was hesitant, his pale, thin face uncertain.

Looking from Al to Alice, he said, "You're sure I'm not interrupting something?"

"Nothing important, darling," she told him. "I simply got my wires crossed. I told Al as well as you to meet me here tonight. You know how scatterbrained I am. Now come sit down. Al, this is Earl Somers. Earl, Al Kirby."

Earl said grudgingly, "How do you do?"

Al acknowledged the greeting with a nod. He wondered what was going on. He did not believe for a second that Alice Bolton was scatterbrained. He thought it highly un-likely that she had accidentally dated them , both.

Earl seated himself at Alice's right. "I can't see how you made such a mistake, Alice. We made our date only this evening."

"I don't know how I did it, either," she told him. "But don't fret about it. We'll work something out."

The waitress came. Earl ordered a long drink. Alice said she would have another whiskey sour. Al asked for another whiskey and soda. One thing was sure-another man at the table had given him a real yen for Alice Bolton. Competition always affected him.

Alice was keeping the conversation going. She asked Earl about his work. He was a chemist. Alice let him talk for a few minutes, then asked Al what he did.

"I'm in the used-car business," Al said, not mentioning that he was merely a salesman. He grinned at Alice. "Not that you need to know. You're not likely ever to be in the market for a second-hand heap."

Laughing, she said, "One never knows." Earl was interested and asked about trade-in allowances.

"I'll give you more than any other dealer in town," Al said automatically. "I can't give you a figure now, though. I'd have to see the car-and also know what sort of job you'd trade on. Stop by when you can. I'll give you a square deal."

Earl said he would, and things were on a friendlier basis until Alice, having finished her second drink, said that she was ready to leave. She divided an amused look between the two men.

"Since I can't possibly spend the rest of the evening with both of you," she said, "I'll have to be fair about making a choice. Shall we flip a coin?"

Earl frowned, looked sulky.

Alice took a quarter from her purse, made ready to flip it.

"You call it, Earl," Al said magnanimously. He doubted the flip meant anything. Alice would be making the choice. He stared intently at her.

Earl said, "Well-tails."

Alice tossed the coin, caught it, clapped it to the top of her left hand. She looked at it, then at Earl.

"Sorry, darling. Better luck next time."

Earl looked crestfallen. Al was jubilant.

Al followed Alice out of the place. She paused outside to look at him with a conspirator's smile.

"Did you guess I cheated?"

'It was tails?"

Nodding, she said, "Poor Earl."

"And lucky me," Al said, grinning. "I didn't figure him for your type."

"I have no type," she said. "And he is a dear boy. So shy and awkward. I've enjoyed mothering him. You're new, that's all. Don't get the idea that you're my type."

Al said, "I'm grateful for small favors. Shall we go in your car or mine?"

"Mine," she said and started toward the parking lot. "Here are the keys."

She drove an expensive convertible. When they were seated in the car, Al behind the wheel, he put his right arm about her. Drawing her to him, he kissed her lingeringly on the mouth and at the same time felt her breasts with his left hand. She was in no rush to push him away.

Finally she did.

"My, you are in a hurry, aren't you?"

"You're not?"

She made a face at him, laughing. He started the motor and switched on the lights. She asked him if he knew where she lived. He told her he did.

"You have done your homework, haven't you?"

"All the research necessary," he said.

"Oh? And how did you go about it?"

"I have friends. I told you on the phone I know a good deal about your photogenic qualities-the portrait set. But I've only seen your photo in the papers."

"So-what you know is gossip."

"You want to hear it?"

She gave a throaty laugh. "I'm not in the least interested."

The apartment was a duplex, so lavish that for a while after arriving there Al felt uncomfortable and out of place. But once he had found the bar and been initiated into its mysteries he began to relax.

Alice sat on a white sofa. Her bare shoulders had a golden sheen in the soft light. Her hair was less vividly metallic than it had seemed under the brilliant lights of the Flamingo Room. Her amber-flecked brown eyes were as knowledgeable about men as those of any of Eve's daughter's-but Al had the impression that she still had to make up her mind about him. ""What is your wife like?"

"She's a blonde, damned attractive-but not too bright."

"What does she see in Jay?"

"She never said."

"I didn't find him to be much of a lover."

"Janice doesn't seem to have any complaints."

"Maybe experience hasn't led her to expect any man to be much as a lover," Alice said. "Could that be?" Al shook his head. "Try me."

Laughing, she said, "I'll take your word for it. Are you living with her now?"

"No."

"You're letting Jay have her all to himself?"

"I stop around now and then to keep my hand in-and to let her know who's boss. Do you see your husband at all?"

"I see him only if I happen to bump into him at some social affair," she said. "Do you mind if I go change into something more comfortable?"

"Not at all. Need any help?"

"Hardly."

She stood up.

Al watched her climb the stairs, delighting in the sway of her hips in the green cocktail dress. She disappeared. He settled himself more comfortably in his chair, completely at ease now. His luck was in. He eyed the luxurious surroundings. One way or another he was going to get a piece of this-in addition to what Alice Bolton offered.

She reappeared in a few minutes at the top of the stairs. She wore a filmy negligee-and nothing else that Al could see. Her smile was invitation enough.

She said, "Well, are you coming up or not?"

Al took a perverse pleasure in taking his own good time. He finished his drink, took the empty glass to the bar. He climbed the stairs without haste. There was a method in his actions-the less he hurried, the more eager he became ... the more he would have to give her.

And this was an occasion he had to make count. He had to score on this one.