Chapter 7
SHE HAD REVERTED TO TEENAGE SEXUAL SATISFACTION....
Back in her own suite, Calla trembled as she recalled not just what she had seen in room 703, but, more vividly, how she had reacted to it.
She didn't like it at all. First there had been the forbidden affair with Mia and now this. The thing about using her own finger to bring gratification was something she hadn't done in a long, long time.
It surprised and frightened her how quickly she had done it, how easily she returned to a teenage style of solitary sexual satisfaction. The fact that other women did it frequently offered no consolation at all, she was, she told herself forcefully, not other women.
Searching for some justification after the fact, she was able to accept the explanation that no person, male or female, could have viewed such a scene without being overcome by lust as she had been.
She thought of going to her father's room to tell him what she had learned, though not what she had done about it, but it was too late for that. As his life's thread spun out toward the dangling end, he tired easily and went to bed early.
It would be cruel, she reasoned, to waken him now to give him such shattering news. It would be bad enough in the morning after he had rested.
But for Calla, it was much too early for thoughts of bed. Sleep, she guessed, would be a long time in coming. She saw no point in going to bed early and fighting the jumble of thoughts that filled her mind.
The bar downstairs would be a pleasant place to kill a little time, but she wasn't in the mood for conversation and she decided it was un-likely that she could spend anytime there without running into someone she knew who would want to talk.
Checking her private bar, she found a bottle of scotch with three or four drinks left in it and decided that would do for a start. She saw that the maid had restocked ice and soda so she was ready to settle down to some serious drinking and, she hoped, equally serious thinking.
The first problem she tackled was whether or not she should tell her father anything about her discovery of the specially rigged rooms.
On the one hand, she reasoned, she owed it to him as the owner of the hotel. It was a terrible responsibility and he would want to bear it and was entitled to.
And yet, for a man with only weeks or a couple of months of life left to him, it would be a cruel burden to dump onto his shoulders.
For the time being, she decided in favor of keeping it to herself for a while. It was a decision she knew would have to be reconsiderd in the morning, but it would do for the time being while she passed on to other problems.
For a change of pace, she turned her thoughts to Bruce West. She was sure he was photographing what he saw through the windows. The question now was what was he doing with the pictures.
If he was merely taking them for his own pleasure, no matter how perverted it may be, that was bad enough. But there were other possibilities.
People photographed in what they thought was the privacy of a hotel room wouldn't be anxious to have pictures taken. More than that, they would go to any length to keep those pictures from being passed around.
There was a dirty word for people who trade on that kind of fear to make money. Was it possible, she wondered, that Bruce West, an established hotel man with a decent reputation could stoop to blackmail? She found herself hoping not and yet, he had stooped to rigging four rooms so that he could photograph the most intimate acts of unsuspecting people.
Calla wrestled with that one for a while. On the basis of her evaluation of the man, she could see him slavering over a private collection of pictures of naked men and women at play in various ways. It seemed somehow in character for him to want vicarious sex rather than to participate in it normally.
On the other hand, she could not credit him with the guts and intelligence to be a blackmailer. After she had gone over that aspect of the problem through an entire drink, she was prepared to ditch the fear that there was blackmail involved.
She felt a little better then, but it only lasted long enough for her to realize that as long as such pictures existed, there was a danger that they would fall into other hands and the fear clutched her again.
It was, she knew, the kind of scandal that no hotel could survive. If anything like that should ever happen and if word got out, then they may as well tear down the building and sell the property for a parking lot.
Calla tried telling herself that she was only guessing about his taking pictures, but it didn't work. Remembering the heavy suitcase he lugged into the elevator and recalling the excellent visibility in the rooms in question, she was sure that pictures were being taken.
If it was true, then he had to be hiding them some place. The place where he lived seemed like an obvious choice. Not knowing how she was going to arrange it, Calla swore that she would find a way to search his living quarters wherever and whatever they were.
Just as she was ready to congratulate herself on her prowess as a private detective, Calla felt the bottom drop out of her confidence. What hit her below the belt at that moment was the thought that the thing she had stumbled on seemed to have no bearing at all on the mystery of the vanishing income of the hotel.
That was the problem she had set out to solve. The thing about the windows didn't explain where the money was going or who was getting it or how.
Bruce West, she admitted, could be a very dirty man who peeped at and possibly took pictures of people in the act of making love, but as far as stealing from the hotel was concerned, he could be as innocent and pure as angel wings.
It was as if everything she had done and all she had learned was worth nothing at all. When she found herself ready to cry out of utter frustration, Calla tried to stave off the tears by pouring herself another drink. Hoping it would help, she made it a very strong one.
Carrying it into the bedroom, she put it down on the night table beside her bed. Without turning on the lights, she began to undress. When she was naked, she walked to the window.
The drapes were pulled back so that she could see out to the park across the street, the lights of the city beyond and the stars above it all. It was a lovely sight and she wished she could truly enjoy it, but she couldn't and knew she wouldn't, no matter how long she tried.
Still naked, she walked back to the bed and picked up her drink. The first sip told her just how strong she had poured it. It should more than just clear her brain, she thought, it should do the same for her nasal passages and perhaps even put a sheen on her toenails if it didn't cause them to fall off first.
For a long time, Calla played a mental wrestling game with herself as she thought of the futility of her trying to solve the problem alone.
It turned out to be her first really constructive thought of the evening. She needed help and knew that it would be unfair to involve her father in it.
After a long time of thinking about the problem, she realized where she could get that help she had to have.
Once before, when she had been in trouble, she had gone to Jack Towers and he had come through magnificently for her. This time, she needed the help of his mind rather than the portion of his anatomy she had needed before, but she was prepared to gamble that it functioned at least as well.
He had taken one day off then without any trouble, but this would involve a lot more. Did she dare ask him?
Her own mind began to function a lot better then as she pushed on with the thought process.
In just a little while, her father was going to die. That would create a vacancy at the top. Unless she was completely wrong in her thinking, it was only a matter of time before Bruce West was fired whether or not he went to jail.
That second vacancy would leave the hotel in critical trouble. She could offer Jack a job at the same pay he was getting with a guarantee of a fat raise in the very near future. In the meantime, he would be on the scene to share the problems with her and help guide her thinking while she tried to work things out.
Impulsively, she reached for the phone and placed the call. Without telling him too much, she told him about the job she was offering. There was no doubt in her mind that her father would go along with her decision.
Ten minutes later, she had Jack's assurance that he would leave his other job in the morning and, if possible, arrive the same day.
"This is a big chain, baby," he told her. "They don't give a damn whether or not I give notice. They have a half dozen others waiting in the wings to take my job. I'll be there sometime tomorrow afternoon."
Suddenly, the oppressive load that had weighed her down so badly was gone. Jack was coming and, together, they would settle everything in very short order.
After that, Calla was able to sleep so she did.
She woke in the morning refreshed and more light-hearted than she had been in a long time. She was still surrrounded by loose ends and missing pieces of a fantastic puzzle that involved real people instead of pieces of paper, but now it would be easier with Jack there to help her sift through the pieces.
For just a little while, Calla wondered if her mind was being influenced by the femininity which burned warmly between her thighs, but she assured herself that wasn't the case.
In any event, it was to late to do anything about it so she went in search of her father to tell him about the new man and hoped he would understand.
He understood and agreed so there was nothing for her to do now but wait for Jack to arrive.