Chapter 12

Jack michaels stared out at the sea of clouds, a boding, shifting cauldron of grey and white, with here and there a bit of blue sky peeking through. He had a difficult case and a demanding client to face in Los Angeles. Cold logic would win the case, and he knew he'd win it like so many others where his clear-headed, unemotional reasoning had assured victory no matter how hopeless or enmeshed the case had appeared. He always was in control.

Not being in control, is that why my very private affairs, my marriage, has turned out to be a complete failure, he asked himself. He decided to allow for a few moments of introspection much needed to arrive at a final decision knowing, although not wanting to know, that there was just one solution-divorce. Hadn't they been separated for many months now-he and Gail mentally foremost, but also bodily.

True, they had shared the same home and, at times, the same bed, but mentally they were strangers, worse, adversaries.

And now, with the issue clearly before him, he dared probe deeper. Why and what had him marry Gail in such a hurry-when there had never been but one girl who meant everything to him-Myra! The truth suddenly dawned on him-that Gail had precipitated the action, never giving him a chance to find out for himself why Myra had changed her mind about him so suddenly, overnight, so to speak. Like a simpleton he had accepted Gail's words-that she came as a messenger sent by Myra. Disappointed, hurt, and weak, he had allowed Gail to take over.

Thinking back over the months of their rocky marriage, he came to the inevitable conclusion that Gail had never cared for him. It had been an action of spite-the conquest of him-to lord it over her sister Myra whom Gail had envied all of her life.

And he, Jack, knowing all the time but not wanting to acknowledge it to himself, that on his part the marriage had been a compromise. He had gone along, giving Gail free rein. Temporizing ... Well, now all had come to a head and surprisingly he felt no deep hurt. Only his ego was bruised.

And now, after all that time, he finally thought about Myra, wondering what had happened to her. Wishing for her happiness, yet not wanting her to be happy without him. After this trip, and with Gail out of his house and his life, he would make it his business to find out about Myra ... If I were the playboy type, if I knew more about women and myself, this never could have happened to me, he concluded, finally getting at the truth.

He thought back with shame to his other 'affair of the heart,' or rather, one of the body, with Elaine Morton who had found it so easy to blackmail him into paying for a child he knew he had not fathered. He recalled her words after she had picked up the five thousand-in cash, as she had demanded-'You may be a smart lawyer, Jack, but when it comes to women you're a pushover."

She had been too right. It was simply that in his crowded schedule he found no time to hunt the right girl. He put his finger on one, decided she was it, and acted as if she really were what he wanted her to be-the acme of perfection. The three or four women with whom he'd ever been intimate had always proved to be the wrong ones ... Well, this would not happen ever again!

I've squandered a good part of my thirty five years emotionally. From now on, he decided, fastening his seat belt as the stewardess urged, I'll play it safe. Pick up a girl as one selects a shiny toy, play with it tdl I weary of her, and on to the next, more appealing because it will be novel to me. Keep the emotional compartment sealed off.

Jack wandered through the elegant suite he had reserved well in advance at the Ambassador Hotel. To please Gail whom I could never please, he thought full of bitterness, wondering what to do with the chunk of evening that loomed before him. He had unpacked his bag, shaved and showered and even permitted himself the luxury of a short nap. Now he felt fresh and fit. Fit for what? Tomorrow would be all work and tonight could be all play-if he had someone to play with. The city was full of women, young and pretty ones, and it should be easy to find one who would be willing.

He called up Tom Sweeney, partner of the law firm he would deal with in the case.

"Well Jack, glad to hear your voice. Had a good flight?"

"Excellent. I feel fine. Just a bit lonesome. I didn't bring the wife along."

"Oh, I see. Well ... too bad Connie and I have to dine with the family. She was so anxious to meet your Mrs.; we had arranged a nice party for you both tomorrow night ... But, we'll just take you around. And, for tonight I'd suggest you visit the Can Can Cafe-if it's your night to howl. It's off Vine. Small, darkish, excellent French cuisine. And at the bar you might buy some stray starlet a stinger. Off the record," he chuckled.

"Thanks a lot, Tom. Will do. See you tomorrow."

He hung up, feeling suddenly prickly with excitement. Yes, this would be an off-the-record evening. And night-if things went his way. And why shouldn't they? he thought, knotting the gay yellow tie before the mirror. He squinted at this reflection, brushed his dark hair that Gail once had found interesting. His deep brown eyes shone and he passed the tip of his tongue over his full red lips, foretasting possible pleasure.

He wore his new gray suit, now liking the wide, padded shoulders that slimmed his waist line. He dashed the grey Fedora over one eye, then rectified the angle-no use looking foolish, he decided. It was a warm evening and he dispensed with an overcoat.

The lobby was jammed and lilting music drifted in from the lounge. A tall, exotic-looking brunette passed throwing him a smile. He sniffed her provocative perfume and turned, watching her enticing, silk-spanned rear wiggle away. He didn't have to leave the premises-he could find a girl in this hotel without effort. But why not explore that cafe? He hailed a cab, and directed the driver to the Can Can. He looked at his watch. Ten to seven, just right for cocktails.

Dusk had set in and on the strip the neon signs flashed boldly against the mauve evening sky. Long, smooth limousines, like glistening metal snakes, raced by, horns honked, the sidewalks were jammed. People seemed in a hurry, rushing pleasure-bent to their various destinations. The night seemed full of mysterious promise to Jack.

The atmosphere of the Can Can suited his adventurous mood. It was an intimate place; to the left was the rather small dining room with its intricate table lamps that threw a golden glow over immaculate table clothes. The walls were wood-paneled, with some painting here and there gleaming darkly. Suppressed laughter tinkled; the air was saturated with smoke and various heady scents.

Jack walked to the long, curving bar, sat on the only vacant stool, stared at the battery of bottles fronting a huge mirror. Two bartenders were kept busy.

"What will it be, sir?"

"Double bourbon on the rocks," ordered Jack. Might as well start this right, he decided, his eyes roving over the drinkers. Two young women giggled at the other end of the bar, now smiled boldly at him. They must have stepped straight out of some picture, reflected Jack. The silver-blonde's artful hairdo, and the grey eyes fringed by false lashes gave her face an artificial, glazed look. Her friend was the exotic type, raven hair worn straight back, sloe-eyed, with a lusciously large, promising mouth. He was just about to take his drink over there, when his neighbor's giggle made him turn his head.

"Don't waste your time, mister; those two are just teasers. They don't want any man; they please each other."

Jack looked at die girl next to him, sniffing her exciting perfume. Raven-black hair fell in deep natural waves to her green, silken shoulders, In the pale oval of her young face the eyes shone moist and inviting, dark and mysterious. The nose was straight and finely chiseled; her rather large mouth was blood-red. Beneath the stark-white coat of powder Jack detected the young skin.

As she moved her head, her green chandelier earrings swayed. "Like what you see?" she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "Of course, this isn't really my face-it's my movie face I carry around."

"I can see through your disguise, and I find no fault with what I see." Jack smiled, his eyes running over the tight waist disclosing tender double swell of breasts. Her almost painful slimness delighted him; she was made up to look the femme fatale, but he guessed her to be seventeen. "What are you drinking?" he asked, sipping the excellent drink the bar man had deposited before him.

"Rum and coke," she said, "mostly coke. I don't really like hard liquor. It-it makes me feel raw inside."

Jack ordered her another drink and watched the tiny white hands on the glass. Baby paws, he thought.

"Ah, this tastes good. I was bushed." She put down the glass and as she smiled Jack admired the two dimples in her smooth cheeks. "I'm celebrating," she said. "My first day at work. Oh, it's no part really. I'm just an extra. But it's eating money."

"Here's to the beginning of your career-to a future star." The liquor ran in a mellow trickle down his insides making him feel light-headed.

"Oh, a few months in this town will convince any moon-struck girl that she's not what she dreamt to be. At Pleasantvdle, Iowa, it was easy to fancy myself a movie queen. But here connections are what matters...." She cocked a penciled eyebrow. "You by any chance in the game?"

"What game?" inquired Jack.

"I mean, connected with the studios, a director, or publicity man...." She frowned, "You look important."

"Sorry to disappoint you, little lady. I'm just an obscure lawyer, here to try a case. How about having dinner with me? I'm a stranger in town and you seem appealing company."

"Well-" she studied his face, her eyes taking in the well-tailored suit and new, expensive shoes-"I don't see why not. But I warn you, I have an immense appetite. I like steak."

"We like the same things. Now, shall we eat here, or where would you like to go?"

"Would it be too expensive-I mean, I'd like to go to that new French place, Charmaine's. A lot of studio people go there-and I like to be seen-with an important man like you," she added, batting her store lashes at him.

"Charmaine's it is, and I'm sure you'll be noticed there-as anywhere."

It was a small place; the white and gold dining room looked stiffly formal. Laughter and tinkling of glasses mingled in the smoke-drenched air. They had to wait at the bar for a table and without the bill Jack pressed into the Maitre D's palm it would have been a long wait.

Cutting into her juicy steak, the girl giggled. "Here you're buying me dinner and you don't even know my name. Informal, aren't we?" She smiled into Jack's eyes. "I'm Ninon Maine, that my stage name. Sounds Frenchy, hm?"

"You sure picked a famous name. Ever read about Ninon, the immortal French courtesan?" he inquired.

"Well, a boy back home-he always had his nose in history books-told me she never grew old. That intrigued me."

"Sometimes I shall tell you more about that illustrious namesake of yours," promised Jack. "I'm Jack Michaels-rather down-to-earth name."

She squinted. "It suits you, nice and solid. I'm tired of phonies." She attacked her steak and wasted no more time on conversation. She only sipped at the excellent Chateau Yquem and Jack finished the bottle by himself.

"Everybody here watches calories. Me, I eat while the eating's good." She finished the eclair and settled back, inspecting the diners. "Why, there's Myron Berg; he's the head of Lance Studios-that's where I work."

Jack's eyes followed her stare, centering on the bald-headed man with the fish face who sat at a corner table surrounded by various girls in flashy evening attire.

She pointed out different movie lights whose names were known to Jack. "They're on top; they got it easy now." She sighed. "It's a long, hard road and it leads over many couches."

"Does that worry you?" Jack's eyes were sharp.

She laughed gaily. "Only thing that worries me is that I might pick the wrong couch."

So this would be easy, reflected Jack. Apparently his dinner companion had dispensed with scruples.

"I'm sorry my legal connections won't help you. As for a couch-the one in my suite is very comfortable."

Her dark eyes told him that she was willing. "Well, why don't we find out-how comfortable it it?" She lowered her absurd, artificial lashes. "I'm not as shameless as you might think. You look substantial.

And I know you don't want things for nothing."

"A pretty girl like you needs a nice wardrobe. And tomorrow we'll go shopping," he promised.

He helped her into the green coat that matched the dress, following her into the foyer. She took his arm, staring entranced at the party of three. The tall man in tuxedo was helping a beautiful girl out of her fur wrap. Her hair was silver blonde and the violet eyes smiled up into the man's handsome face. Jack grew rigid staring at the full-slim figure in turquoise gauze.

"That's Myra Manners," whispered Ninon, pulling at his sleeve. "She's the author of Seed of Hate-the movie I work in."

No, it can't be, thought Jack, feeling feverish. Or, was it? Those violet eyes looked bigger with their heavy mascara, and the smile was more knowing.

He watched the girl re-arrange the two green orchids on her shoulder. "They're exquisite, Ted," she gazed into the blond man's eyes, patting him on the arm.

"Not as lovely as you." His lips touched her bare arm.

"Let's go," urged Ninon.

The girl and the tall man, followed by a heavy-set baldheaded man passed them and went inside. If it was Myra she hadn't noticed him; she was too engrossed in her blond escort, thought Jack bitterly, following Ninon outside.