Chapter 1
He knew it as sure as he knew his own name. He had to decide. Either marry the girl or get her out of the damned office! Simple as that.
But not so simple. The year was 1970. Nothing was simple.
He had watched her. She didn't seem to be getting much done-and that was supposed to be the important thing. But it wasn't. She was so damned appealing, in her every motion, that's what was important to him. And so unlike him!
He had to reach a decision: whether to marry or fire Judy. That had been his reason for moving her office to a spot where, from his own, he could study the irritant.
Methodically he enumerated her assets.
Assured background. Probably that was why she was so indifferent to current style. Perversely, she appeared more smartly beautiful than those who gave their all, time and money, to clothes.
A graduate of St. Sophia's Hall, the most select girls' school on the coast, which automatically gave her entree to the best homes. Not that she entered them. He remembered she'd really cut a swath when her sister-in-law, Martha Dane Hubbard, had yanked her out of a public high school and nailed her into St. Sophia's.
Now how had Martha achieved that? Oh, yes, money. Judy's brother, ten years her senior, had inherited everything when their parents had died.
"I'll cut her salary," he said, and walked out to his Thursday car, a Cadillac.
No, that wouldn't do. She'd quit, and another agency would hire her.
Marriage really seemed the safest. He would give her only a small allowance. "Oh, my, no," breathed Stayton. "She's capable of going off to work. Imagine my wife working. Public opinion would bankrupt me in no time at all."
He'd better drive off somewhere for some fresh air. This recurring question had a most deleterious effect upon the normal functioning of his brain. It didn't occur to him Judy wouldn't have him.
Yet at the moment she almost loved him: Mr. Status all done up in importance symbols.
"Judy-" Benjy was back.
"Hold it," she begged, and began rapidly writing. "Now how is this? For Men of Status, Blue Tabu."
"Wonderful." Benjy looked his admiration. "Call out the gendarmes. The boys on the way up will be afraid not to wear one."
"At the fabulous price," Judy yawned and stretched, "it will be a sellout."
And then her conscience reared up. Why should she use her creative mind to think up some gimmick which would sell some innocent men something they'd abhor?
"Innocent, my eye," she breathed. "If hair shirts were on importance symbol, the idiots would wear them and scratch. Were you saying something, Benjy?"
"I've been trying to ask you to have dinner with me for the last half-hour. Thought we might run down the coast to the Fish Net."
"Because it's the place to be seen?" she asked.
"It is, but that's not my reason. I want you mellowed by food and atmosphere so you'll break down and tell me what's been bugging you lately. Or maybe you'll tell me en route."
She didn't. Hair and disposition calm, she slept sweetly for fifty miles, awakening when Benjy sighed, "It's safe to open your eyes now."
She opened them and was glad they'd been closed so long. Fog as thick as a grey woolen blanket had closed in. Benjy must have driven by ESP.
"We'll return by the inland route," he reassured her, "so don't lose your appetite."
Wise Benjamin, who knew her mind and appetite were related so closely they worked, or didn't work, in unison.
Wise and dear Benjamin. She looked at him fondly but couldn't see him, and hoped the wooden ramp wouldn't land them in the blue Pacific instead of in the latest in exclusive dining spots.
Benjy leaned down. "What did you say?"
"Just commented on where the word restaurant originated and why. A place in which to become restored. Benjy, I feel the need of restoration."
A trail of lights spotted their way, converged into a diffused glow at the entrance, then burst into brilliance as double doors swung open.
Quite astonishing. A moment before Judy could have sworn they were lost in the Twilight Zone. Now she found people milling about, appearing and disappearing behind fishnets. In the cocktail lounge, she nodded and smiled at one woman.
"Who's she?" asked the other woman in the foursome.
"Judy Hubbard, a Sophia grad. You remember Martha Dane? Judy's her sister-in-law. Switched her to Sophia's after her parents died. Martha married Judy's brother, who inherited everything. Hal was killed a couple of years ago; one of those dreadful one-car accidents with no guilty party to sue for damages."
"Is this Judy still living with Martha?"
"Heavens, no. Martha wanted to look after her, but Judy's the independent type. Kurt," she turned to her husband, "just what does Judy do?"
"Writes advertising copy. Good stuff. Lot of us living for the day some of it will come through with a double-check. Won't sell anything, but, man, will it be edifying!"
"Well," the guest sighed, "I am glad she's salaried. I can't conceive of Martha looking after anyone or anything, love her as I do. Where is she now?"
"Over in Arizona raising pelted Chihuahuas."
"Little Mexican hairless dogs?"
"These have hair. I mean they're supposed to."
Perversely, Judy was thinking of Chihuahuas at that moment. They'd been taken to a choice table by the window, but all the window revealed was black fog-returned images of themselves and a pair of bulging eyes.
"Now what?" asked Benjamin.
"Chihuahuas-those eyes. Oh-" She'd turned from the window to stare at what was supposed to induce an appetite: a giant fish reposing on a platter not only spotlighted from the outside but also lighted from the inside, giving the eyes a yearning, plaintive look.
A waiter hovered, and Judy let him hover. How could she eat fish with this one accusing her of cannibalism? Why couldn't she have just plain hamburger?
"Shrimp creole," she decided finally, shrimp being the smallest of the seafare offered.
"Good crowd," Benjy remarked. Sadly Judy nodded. Imagine all of these nice people driving a miserable distance when they could have gone into their own kitchens for more delectable food. Why hadn't they?
"And such beautiful kitchens," she murmured aloud, "some of these women have. You could live in them twenty-four hours a day, cheerfully."
"Judy," Benjy leaned across the table pleadingly, "why won't you let me give you a cheerful kitchen? I mean why won't you marry me?"
"I love you too dearly," she answered, swimming for a moment in his dark eyes. "You can't afford marriage."
"On my salary?" he protested.
"Dear, it costs you too much to earn that salary."
"It what?"
"Sweet, as a bachelor, all you have to do is take your account guests to the country club, pay green fees, lose the proper amount on each hole, or at poker, or on side bets. Underwrite the liquid consumption on the nineteenth hole. Of course sometimes it's status dining spots or nightclubs."
"We do have expense accounts."
"They don't cover it all. And with the new federal income ruling on expense accounts-"
"Ha, then I'd save by marrying."
"A wife is only a six-hundred deduction. Marriage, with your job, means a house in the top cream of suburbia, with swimming pool and servants and superlative food which isn't deductible."
"I know a guy who bought a boat. Fact is, a lot of the boys are going in for fishing, the simple life."
"And the cost of the boat? And probably a pilot for offshore cruises?"
"Judy Hubbard, that is negative thinking."
Judy waited for the first course to be served, then answered.
"When you find me a bank that requires only the assurance of positive thinking to balance an overdraft, or a credit manager who'll pat you on the back for said thinking, instead of repossessing, or a building and loan company that will accept such thinking instead of foreclosing-"
"But if you positive-think before, these situations won't arise."
"How right you are. I've been positive-thinking about marrying you. See how much I've saved you?"
He had to laugh. "Just don't forget, I'm the best salesman of the agency in the city. I don't give up."
"Um-hum, but you sell intangibles. You are a tangible. Benjy, don't throw the crockery; it really isn't being done this year. Next year, who knows?"
Judy confessed herself restored. They took a final look at the warm cheer of the Fish Net, then, shoulders braced, went forth to be absorbed by the fog.
Neither said a great deal driving over the hump. But when the lights of Los Gatos, San Jose and a few other cities lay spread below, Benjamin asked a question.
"It's Martha," Judy sighed. "I haven't heard from her for six weeks."
" 'And that worries you?"
Judy nodded. "With Martha, not knowing what she's up to is worse than knowing. That girl is a shady salesman's dream. She doesn't wait for him to call her; she calls him."
"But she's all settled in with the Chihuahua deal, isn't she?"
"Oh, yes. She was all settled in with that angle-worm farm, then began having snake dreams. And she was all settled in that antique store, only to find every home within fifty miles was filled with antiques the owners were trying to sell.
"In two years Martha has bought and sold, at a loss, more ventures than most people handle in a lifetime."
And that, she thought bitterly, was why she was so debt-conscious.
"That," she said, as he drew up before her apartment house, "is why it's worse not hearing than-"
She stopped short, and held her breath as a messenger hovered over the mail slots in the foyer. "Wait," she managed, and shot out of the car without waiting for help.
"Ben," she breathed, as he tipped the boy and sent him on his way, "I was wrong. Benjy, I was awfully wrong. Hearing from her is worse. Read this."