Chapter 11

Suspicions nagged at Donna. Mel had paid up the back bills. He had bought her some new clothes, himself a fine set of golf clubs, and he always seemed to have plenty of money. He told her that the traffic controller's job paid well and that he was gradually learning his duties. But he was continually making excuses for not having sex with her.

Even during their most violent quarrels in the past, they would always end up fucking-then patching things up. This time was different.

Donna knew that Mel was a passionate man. If he wasn't fucking his wife, then who was taking care of his cock?

She asked herself this as she walked out of the apartment one afternoon, attired in a one-piece swimsuit that was backless down to the start of her buttock crease. The suit was canary yellow and it complemented her dark-brown hair.

Mel had bought it for her birthday.

Donna had thrown a terry-cloth beach towel over her shoulders. She walked down the hall and took the self-service elevator to the first floor. It had been a stifling hot day, and now it was still scorching at late afternoon. She decided that a swim would be refreshing.

When she reached the pool, though, it was crowded and noisy. Laughter and squeals from tenants of all ages, male and female, echoed through the courtyard. The pool couldn't be seen from the street.

Donna walked over to the most private place that she could find at the far end of the courtyard.

She spread the towel and sat down, lighting a cigarette and glancing about. She saw two people she knew.

One of them, Steve Kramer, an ex-policeman in the process of establishing his own private detective agency, had spotted her, too. He climbed out of the pool and started toward her. Unknown to Mel, he had been trying to date her for weeks. She had told him about her marriage troubles, and he had listened without comment, particularly to the part about Mel not being interested in her any more. But he hadn't been able to talk her into cheating on Mel.

When he reached Donna, Kramer sat down beside her. Water dripped off his tanned, hard body. Kramer was tall and had straight black hair, long sideburns, and brooding, inscrutable features. He was looking at her strangely and smiling sympathetically.

Donna wondered about that look.

"How's the flying widow today?" he inquired. He removed a pack of cigarettes from a waterproof pocket in his swimming trunks. Leaning over and taking her cigarette from her mouth, he used it to light his own. His eyes penetrated hers, a yearning desire in their depths.

She let him know, with a look, that she didn't appreciate his humor.

Kramer cleared his throat. "I don't mean to pry, but did Mel come in today? Or did he go straight to that new 'job' of his?"

Donna expelled a huge cloud of smoke. She forced herself to speak calmly. "Are you trying to insinuate that Mel goes somewhere other than to work every night, Steve? Are you?"

Kramer started to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

Tears filled Donna's eyes. Not wanting him to see them, she crushed out her cigarette on the concrete, then jumped up to kick off her things and run to the edge of the pool. She dove into the cool water, took a short swim, then returned to Steve. But she was sick with worry. Mel had left the night before at five o'clock, and she hadn't seen or heard from him since. She could no longer defend him and keep up the pretense that she didn't believe the things that Steve told her.

"You know I'm concerned about you, honey," Kramer said softly. "We've been friends of a sort, and I hate to see you like this. Why don't you come up to my apartment for a drink? I'd love to have you."

She shook her head. "If Mel's been true to me, I want to be true to him. Being alone in a man's apartment, drinking with him, might lead to something I'd be sorry for later."

Kramer's eyes narrowed. "And if he hasn't been? What then?"

"I guess ... I wouldn't care any more," she faltered. She wished Steve would tell her what he knew, if he knew anything.

"I don't understand you, Donna," Kramer commented. "You're miserable. Eating your heart out. Yet, you won't face the problem. All you have to do it make a phone call or two, and you'd find out if Mel's telling the truth or not. How about it?"

Donna felt as if she were suffocating. "I can't do that. He's warned me about interfering with his job. He means it."

Kramer snorted. "Then if you can't, what about my making the calls? I could say I'm with a credit bureau if things get sticky. Want to give it a try?"

Donna hesitated. She was getting desperate enough to try anything. She didn't want to lose Mel. But if he had found someone else, he would probably want a divorce soon. She didn't know if she could take that. "If you don't involve me directly."

Kramer sat up on the blanket. "Where is Mel supposed to be right now? You must have some idea."

She had to think. He had told her twice, but so fast the words came back with difficulty. "Room L at the Air Traffic Control Center."

"Then let's go up to my apartment and find out."

"All right," Donna said, then bit her lip.

She hoped she was doing the right thing as Steve helped her up, scooped the towel off the concrete, then draped it about her shoulders. They left the pool together and took the elevator up to the fifth floor, Steve's floor. His apartment was right across the hall. Donna waited until he had unlocked it, then she followed him inside. The apartment had one large room, the largest piece of furniture of which was a studio couch, a small bar, a kitchenette, and a stall shower. Through one window there was a view of the park across the street.

Kramer went over to the bar and Donna, apologizing for still being damp, sat down on the studio couch. She inhaled deeply on a half-smoked cigarette and watched as he mixed two whiskey sours. Kramer reached behind the bar and removed some ice cubes. When he had dropped a couple in each glass, he took them over to the couch and handed her one. He sat down beside her, although not too near.

"What was that address again?"

"Room L, Tower Operations. It should be in the directory."

He put his drink down and went to dial. The call went through swiftly enough. "Hello? I'd like to speak with a Mister Mel Martin. Yes, I said Mel Martin. He's one of your traffic controllers for the night division. What's that?" Kramer glanced at Donna. "Please check your files. I want to be sure."

Donna's heart sank. She gathered from the conversation that no one at either the tower or Room L had ever heard of Mel Martin. And she saw from Kramer's expression that he wasn't surprised. She wanted to cry, only she owed it to herself-and Steve-not to.

"I see. Well, I guess there's been some mistake. Yes, I'm sorry, too. Thank you for your trouble. Good-bye." Kramer hung up. He looked at her. "Donna, baby, I have something to tell you. Do you want to hear it?"

Her lips were trembling, but she nodded. She really did want to hear it, even if it blew her marriage to bits.

"About a week ago, to satisfy my own curiosity, I tailed Mel when he drove away from here. He went straight to the apartment of a girl named Shannon Hartgrave. I saw the name on the plate downstairs. She's a department-store buyer and quite beautiful. I got a glimpse of her twice. I asked around about her and-well, it's a sordid story. Shall I call there and see if we uncover you-know-who?"

Donna nodded in grim determination. "Please do."

Kramer thumbed through the directory until he found Shan Hartgrave's number. He dialed it.

After two rings, Shan answered the phone. She and Mel had just taken a shower together. They were sitting nude on the divan, sharing a bottle of vodka. They had been drinking most of the day. "Hello," she said in a thick voice.

"Hello. Is this Shan?" someone asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Oh, you wouldn't remember me. We met some time ago at a party. You gave me your number."

Shan was too drunk and too confused to remember. "I meet a lot of guys at parties. Was it the Laurens'?"

"Yes," the caller said quickly. "Remember me now?"

Shan hesitated, trying to think. Something about the call didn't add up, but she couldn't decide what. "You sound like Tony," she said doubtfully.

"That's me. What are you doing tonight?"

"I have a date. You know Mel, don't you?"

The caller paused. "I think I do. Which one is he?"

"That big handsome stud Mrs. Laurens likes so well. He's turned out to be the most popular party boy I've ever taken there."

"I know him all right. Can't you call him and cancel the date?"

Shan laughed. "I don't have to call. He's here now, sitting next to me."

Mel looked up with a start. "Who in Christ's name is that?"

She turned and placed a finger to her lips. "I'm busy now, Tony," she said into the phone. "You know. Busy with a prick."

Martin stumbled over to take the phone out of her hand. "Yeah, and she prefers my prick, pal!" he shouted. "Go fuck some other chick!"

Shan wrenched the phone back again, glaring at Mel. "I'm sorry, Tony. Don't pay any attention to him. I'll see you at the Laurens' Saturday night. Okay?"

"Is the party going to be at the beach?"

A strange look crossed Shan's face. "No. At their home in Nelson's Estates. Say, are you sure you're Tony?"

"Yes, of course. I just wasn't thinking. What time do you expect to arrive?"

"The usual time. Around eight."

Mel put his arms around Shan. "Come on, baby, hang up on him. I'm ready for some hot fucking."

"Good-bye, Tony," Shan said. "I'll see you Saturday night."

Kramer put the phone down. When he looked at Donna, he saw that her face was flushed with anger. "Sorry, baby, but now you've heard for yourself."

"That son-of-a-bitch!" She clenched her hands into fists. "If he were here now, I'd black both his eyes. He'd never hurt me again."

Kramer nodded. "He's a no-good bastard as well. You wouldn't know what a party boy is, but I do. I've been approached for that kind of work myself."

Donna grimaced. "No, I'm afraid I don't know exactly. You'll have to tell me."

He shrugged. "What's to tell? It's like being a male prostitute. Wealthy people throw parties, and the young men they hire perform sexually.

Sometimes there are prominent people as guests, and pictures are taken. Then blackmail's the name of the game."

She stared at him. "I can't believe Mel would do anything like that!"

"Has he seemed to have more money lately?"

"Yes. Lots of it."

"Then doesn't it follow?"

Donna sagged to the couch. "Fix me another drink, please. A stiff one."