Finchley and Shorty were on duty; O’Neil said they would be rolling at once. But Joan ordered him to ‘have them first pick up Fred, to ride shotgun for Rockford. As an afterthought she told O’Neil to have the night pantryman place a cold supper and a case of chilled champagne in her lounge—the “night on the town” had turned out a dismal flop; she was darned if she would let it stay that way. Charlie was better dead and his death did not rate one crocodile tear. Ten thousand human beings had died around the globe in the hour since his death—why weep over a worthless one? (Eunice, what happens to a kark like Charlie after he’s dead?) (I’m no authority, Boss. Maybe the bad ones die dead—like a potter destroying damaged work. Ask the Front Office.)
(I don’t know its wavelength, sweetheart. Maybe you can tell me this—How can I get this party rolling again?
Look at Winnie—drinking champagne but not smiling.)
(Boss darling, I recommend more champagne and Money Hums, mixed fifty-fifty.) (Eunice, I thought you didn’t approve of liquor?) (Never said that, Boss. I didn’t drink because I didn’t need it. But nothing is good or bad in itself, just in its effects. Try it. Can’t hurt, might help.) So when at last the four reached the big, ugly fortress, Eunice insisted that they go to her lounge for a nightcap and a snack. “Who knows? We might feel like dancing yet. Roberto, has Winnie introduced you to our relaxing routine? The Money Hum?”
“I’ve tried to teach it to him, Joanie. But Bob is a dreadful cynic.”
“Jake, let’s uncynic Robert. I’ve thought of a new way to recite it. Sit in a circle and pass around a loving cup. Three recite while one drinks, and pass the cup to the next one.”
“I vote Yea,” Jake answered. “Doctor, if you want to be cynical, go do so by yourself—you can have the guest bed in my suite. We’ll form a triangle instead.”
“I had better stay to keep the party orderly.”
“Very well, sir. But one unseemly word while we are at our devotions—and you will be severely punished.”
“How?”
Joan Eunice answered, “By having to down the loving cup unassisted, of course, and then start it again.”
Joan Eunice woke up feeling rested but very thirsty. She glanced at the ceiling, saw that it was after ten and thought idly of turning on floor lights as a gentle preliminary to stronger light.
Then she realized that she was not alone. Should she wake Jake—gently—for a pleasant good morning? Or slide out softly and sneak back to her room and hope not to be seen? Or did it matter? Was she already a topic of gossip in her own house?
Better not wake Jake in any case; the poor darling planned to go to Washington tonight. She started to slide out of bed.
The man by her reached out and pulled her to him. She at once gave in, went soft and boneless. “Didn’t know you were awake, dear. I meant to—Roberto!”
“You were expecting Santa Claus?”
“How did you get here?”
“You invited me.”
“I did? Well, yes, I did. I mean I told you that you were welcome in my bed, quite a while back. But where’s Jake? Did he go to sleep on us? And what about Winnie?” She thumbed on the floor lights, saw that she was, as she was beginning to suspect, in her own bed.
“Winnie’s next door. In her bed. With Jake.”
“Good God, Roberto—I’ve finally spent a night with you. And don’t remember it.” (I do! Whee.’) (Well, I don’t, Eunice, Not in detail. Confused.) (You’re a drunken little bitch, Boss. But we had fun.) (I’m sure we did. I wish I remembered it.)
Dr. Garcia sighed. “Ah, well. I should not complain.”
“It’s coming back to me,” she lied. “Just disoriented as I woke up. You were especially sweet to me.”
“You didn’t think so when I wouldn’t let you go to bed with your makeup on.”
Joan allowed enough general illumination to come on to let her see herself, noted that the star sequins were gone as well as body paint they had adhered to. She had not scrubbed it off herself; ergo, someone else had. Not Winnie—Winnie had been potted as a palm. “That’s part of what I meant by ‘especially sweet’, Roberto. Not many men would take such good care of a drunken wench. Was I hard to handle?”