Chapter 11
Carla Jones closed the corridor door to her private suite and hurried to catch the elevator before the doors closed. Gerry, the operator, spotted her and held the car until she negotiated the long hallway.
"Good evening, Carla," he said politely, touching the brim of his cap.
"Hi, Gerry, what's up?" They were alone in the car and safely behind steel doors now so there was no need for secrecy. "Watson's got some friends in from Chicago. Look like some of the eastern big shots to me. Rumor is that they're all loaded."
Carla's eyes suddenly flashed like green lights at the freeway toll booth. "That's the kind of rumor I like to hear, Gerry," she said cheerfully, reaching into her purse for a crisp new bill. "Just keep your ears and eyes open for me, huh? I'd like to be in on the action before some other girl beats me to it."
"Sure thing, babe, anything for you, you know that." She reached between his legs and gave him a playful pat on his balls. "Come by when you get off tomorrow, okay? I'm not doing anything and I'd like to show you my appreciation for all the help you've been."
The doors opened as the car reached the lobby. "Good evening, Ma'am," he said officiously as the crowd of tourists-edged in to fill the empty car. Carla winked and made her way through the lobby. Outside, her car was waiting and the doorman held her door courteously as she climbed into the pale blue Mustang. She glanced at her wristwatch, a present from Stu for six months of outstanding service. It was nearly eight ... just enough time to make it to the airport to meet Mr. Bernie Feinbaum's flight in from New York. She thumbed through her tiny black notebook as she waited for the light to change at Collins Avenue.
He looked like a live one ... lots of money, married, top executive. Yes, this one should be lots of fun, she laughed to herself, thinking of that short fur jacket she'd seen at Berdine's just that afternoon. And suddenly that jacket seemed a lot closer, a lot closer indeed.