Chapter 13
Blanca Mason extended her hand and smiled warmly at Garnett as he and Clara stopped in front of her car. Her smile seemed to flicker into something more than mere cordiality, and Garnett's eyes appeared to take on a new glow of understanding.
"Mrs. Mason, this is my friend, Mr. Douglas," said Clara.
"How do you do?" said Blanca, flashing the attorney another smile. "I'm so glad you're coming with us, Mr.-uh, Douglas, isn't it?"
Garnett nodded affirmatively.
"We're all just crazy about Clara," Blanca continued. "I'm delighted to have any friend of hers come and stay with us."
Garnett acknowledged this pleasantry with a smile and an inclination of his head. "Do you think we have time for a cocktail before we start?" he inquired.
"An excellent idea," tinkled Blanca. They swept Clara between them toward a cocktail lounge that Garnett said was just around the comer. By the time they had seated themselves and ordered-a pink lady for "Mademoiselle," a gin fizz for "Madame" and a Jack Daniels on-the-rocks for "The Gentleman"-Mrs. Mason had become Blanca and Mr. Douglas had become Conrad and they were laughing and exchanging witticisms as though they had known each other for years.
"Haven't we met before, Conrad?" asked Blanca quietly during a lull in the conversation.
"You insult me when you ask if I could forget a lady as lovely as you are," Garnett smiled. Peering deeply into her eyes, he added, "There used to be an actor who resembled me, a Britisher-Leshe Banks-and people always seem to imagine they'd met me if they've seen his pictures. Myself, I've been a recluse of late."
"Fleeing women?"
"Pursuing the dollar."
"How very dull."
"Sickening."
Blancae reached across the table and took his hand in hers, bending over it intently. "I foresee a change," she said, running her enameled nail along one of the lines in his palm.
"Wonderful gypsy!" he cried heartily. "Shall I flee women?"
"I see many opportunities to flee."
"Tell me more. More, and I shall shower you with gold."
"I do not tell fortunes for gold." The corners of Blanca's patrician mouth flickered into a smile. Then she gently relinquished Garnett's hand and lifted her cocktail glass to him and to Clara. "To love," she said gaily. She looked into his eyes for no more than an instant, but, in that time, they seemed to hold a lengthy conversation. Then he turned away, signaling to the waiter to bring the check.
They rose to leave, and Gamett lingered behind for a moment to count his change. As he slowly followed the two women, he amused himself by comparing their two sets of buttocks-now, of course, decently skirt-encased. It was, he observed, an interesting comparison.