Chapter 5

"All right, all right, I'll let you do the talking," muttered Carla under her breath as they stood at the Shangri-La Inn reception desk and waited for the clerk to telephone Mr. Watson's office. It was nearly dinner time and Carla fully expected to find out they had missed him. That would have been the crowning blow first she had waited all day for Sandy to call, then when she finally did get in touch, she had to wait again until Sandy came to pick her up in her car. Luckily, Clark was working late again, or they would not have been able to come at all. At least they were finally here. If only he's in his office.

"Yes, ladies, Mr. Watson says to come on in. That door there, down the corridor and the first door on the left." They thanked the courteous young man and found their way to the manager's office. Carla tried to relax herself by breathing deeply as her hands were shaking like she had the palsy. This had to work and she knew it; if he didn't agree to a little more time, there was no choice but to tell Clark. And that meant the end.

Stu Watson greeted them courteously at the door and seated them in his luxuriously furnished office, then returned to his desk. "Now, ladies," he said, after exchanging the usual pleasantries, "what would you like to tell me?"

Sandy started in on him before he could open his mouth to protest, though it was more than obvious that he wanted an opening through which to take his verbal swing at Carla Jones. He listened attentively as the attractive blonde spilled out her story. Or really, her girlfriend's story. This was a development in Stu Watson's carefully laid plans that he had not counted on. The married one, the brunette, was supposed to be his first pigeon, a sort of trial run of his new scheme. But the blonde no, she was definitely too smart, clever with that sort of street-savvy common to call girls and gigolos. That was something he could see just from her eyes: they were cool and clear, confidently self-assured, without a trace of fear or anxiety. No sir, she was not the sort he could muscle, that was for sure; she'd never buy it for a second. But it was now or never, make your move or give it up.

"Mrs. Jones," he started, directing all his attention to the tall, shapely brunette. And much to his pleasure, she stiffened visibly as he glared at her and shifted visibly under his gaze. "I'm sorry, I really am, but you have to understand my position. We, that is, the hotel, covered your losses in our lounge games and you, as a trusted member, assured us you could make these loans good. You have to understand that I don't hold the power around here, Mrs. Jones. I have my own bosses to answer to and I can only carry these bad debts just so long without it looking bad for me and my organization. And I can't have that, now, can I?"

Carla stirred anxiously in her chair. This was the first moment she had really felt the pressure Stu Watson wanted her to feel. She suddenly felt very alone and frightened, likes a cornered animal.

"Uh ... uh, Mr. Watson, I'm sorry. But you see, I just don't have the money right now. Maybe in a few, uh, weeks ... "

"A few weeks!" he shot back. "Mrs. Jones, I just can't do it. It's out of the question. How about your husband? Does he have the money or could he maybe borrow it?" Watson extended his hand until his fingertips rested on the telephone, poised as if about to call Clark and make this all known to him.

"No! Please, he doesn't know!" the nervous brunette blurted.

Now, this is more like it ... "Well, maybe I'll have to talk with him. After all, this is a serious breach of trust," he went on.

"Please, no, he wouldn't understand," Carla pleaded. "Just a little more time, that's all!"

Watson shook his head solemnly. "I am sorry."

"Isn't there some other way? Surely a man with your position can think of something. I mean, I know it's not your problem, but if you'll help just this one time, I promise it'll never happen again!"

But Watson only looked into her eyes, still shaking his head slowly from side to side. Watching, waiting ... this had to be it, make the pitch now, Stu ol' boy, or forget it.

"Uh, actually, there might be a way out of this for you," he said finally. "Anything! What is it? What is it?" Carla practically shrieked. And she meant it. She'd do anything, anything, to get out of this mess. But even her despair had not prepared her for what was to come.

"Well, you see, we have occasion from time to time to, uh, hire part-time hostesses for some of our better-heeled guests," he explained cautiously. "You know, sort of as escorts, just to ... "

"Escorts!? What're you getting at, Mr. Watson?"

"Now, don't go getting excited. Try to remember this is a modern age we're living in and sometimes things change so fast we can hardly ... "

"Don't say another word! I know all about this 'escort' business. I read the papers, too, and there's been plenty in there about this sort of thing. You're not talking about hostess work ... you're talking about prostitution!"

Watson tried to smile benevolently. "Please, Mrs. Jones, you shouldn't be so quick to criticize. After all, you're the one in debt, not me, and from gambling, too. What's the worse sin of the two, huh?"

"I won't listen to another word!" she shouted angrily, then looked to her girlfriend, who had been unusually quiet through this whole exchange. "Sandy, are you coming? I'm getting out of here this minute, with or without you!"

"You just go on. Take the car and I'll get a cab back. I want to talk to Mr. Watson since you're being so hot-headed."

"Hot-headed! Sandy, I can't believe you're actually saying that. Well, you'll not get me to stay, not on your life!" And as her last words echoed in the enormous executive offices, Carla slammed the wooden door and was gone.

"Got a bit of a temper, hasn't she?" said Watson to the blonde who stayed behind. She was starting to get more and more interesting by the second. Maybe there was some hope left yet.

"Yes, she has. And so have I, but let's not talk about that. I want to hear some more about this deal of yours, okay? Or is it just for girls who owe you money?"

Watson laughed self-consciously. "You're a pretty sharp number, Miss ... uh, what is your last name, by the way?"

"Liebt. Sandy Liebt, but just call me Sandy."

"Okay, Sandy, it's a deal. Now what 'ya want to know?"

"Just start at the top, honey, start at the top!"