I drove along the coast road to Dayden Beach, a lonely strip of sand and palms a few miles from the Casino.
Miss Wonderly sat by my side. She was humming a tune under her breath, and she seemed to have shaken off her depression.
We coasted along in the moonlight. It was hot, but the breeze from the ocean came in through the open windows of the Buick.
“We’re nearly there,” Miss Wonderly said. “Look, you can see it now.”
Ahead was a ring of palms close to the surf. There was no sign of life, and it looked good.
I drove the Buick off the road and down on to the sand until it turned too soft, then I stopped, and we got out.
In the far distance I could see the bright lights of Paradise Palms, and could hear the faint sound of music. The night was still, and sounds carried easily.
“Pretty nice,” I said. “What shall we do?”
Miss Wonderly had pulled up her skirt to her knees, and began to roll down her stockings. Her legs were slim and muscular.
“I’m going in,” she said.
I went around to the back of the car, unlocked the boot and took out a couple of towels and my trunks. It took me less than two minutes to shed my clothes. The warm breeze against my skin felt swell. I came around the Buick. Miss Wonderly was waiting for me. She was in her white brassiere and pants.
“That’s a hell of a swim suit.” I said.
She said I was right, and took them off.
I didn’t look at her.
We walked across the strip of sand, hand in hand. The sand was hot, and we sank in up to our ankles. I eyed her as we began to wade through the surf. A sculptor could have cast her in bronze for a perfect thirty-four, and he’d never have to do anything more about it. I was surprised I could take her so calmly.
We swam out to a moored raft. The sea was warm, and when she hoisted herself on to the raft, she looked like a sprite from the ocean bed.
I floated around the raft so I could study her in the moon-light. I’ve known plenty of women in my day, but she was a picture.
“Don’t,” she called; “you’re making me shy.”
I came up on to the raft and sat beside her.
“It’s all right,” I said.
She looked at me over her shoulder, then leaned against me. Her back was warm, but the tiny drops of water on her skin felt cold against me.
“Tell me the story of your life,” she said.
“It wouldn’t interest you.”
“Tell me.”
I grinned at her. “Nothing happened much until I went into the Army. I came back from France with a lot of sharp-shooting medals, a beautiful case of shell-shock and an itch to gamble. No one wanted me. I couldn’t get a job. One day I got into a poker game. I kept in that poker game for three weeks. We shaved, ate and drank at the table. I made five grand, and then someone got mad. I hit him with a bottle, and he pulled a gun on me. Guns don’t scare me. I was in the Ardennes push. Anything that a punk gambler starts after that is kid’s stuff. I took the gun away and beat the guy soft with it. We went on playing with him under the table. We used him as a rug.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts and kicked the water gently. “Tough guy,” she said.
“Uh huh,” I said. “I didn’t like that gun. It made me think. One of these days, I thought, some guy will pull a gun on me, and he’ll know how to use it. So I bought myself a gun. I wanted to be better at gun-play than anyone else. You see, after messing around in the Army you get a kind of pride in doing things better than the next guy. I stuck in a room in a tenth-rate hotel and practised pulling the gun from my belt and pulling the trigger. I did that six hours a day for a week. I guess I got smooth. I haven’t met a guy yet who can draw faster than I can. That week’s work saved my life five times.”
She shivered. “They said you were ruthless, but now I’ve seen you, I don’t believe it.”
“I’m not,” I said, and put my hand on her thigh. “I’ll tell you what happens. A punk comes along who thinks he’s a world beater. He thinks there’s no one as good as he is. Maybe he’s slaphappy or drunk or something. I don’t know. But whatever it is, he thinks he’s so good that he must prove it to everyone. No one cares whether he’s good or not, but the punk doesn’t understand that. So what does he do? He looks around for a guy with a reputation, and he calls on the guy and starts trouble. He reasons that when he’s licked this guy, he’ll stand ace-high. And he usually picks on me.” I swirled the water with my feet. “I take everything he gives me, because I know I can beat him any time I want, and I don’t care for killing guys. There’s no sense in it. So I sit there and let him rib me. Maybe I’m wrong, because it encourages him, and he goes for his gun. Then I have to kill him because I’ m fond of myself in my odd way, and I don’t want to die. Then people say I’m ruthless, but they’re wrong. I’ve been crowded, and I can’t help myself.”
She didn’t say anything.
“And it’s going to happen here,” I went on. “Some smart punk in this town thinks he’s good, and he’s arranged an elaborate set-up to show this town that he can pull a fast one on rne. He’s getting me into a position so he can crowd me. I don’t know who he is or when he’s going to start, but I know that’s what’s going to happen, and something tells me that you are in this too.” I smiled at her. “But whether you know what’s in the wind, or whether you’re just part of the extravagant trimmings, remains to be seen.”
She shook her head. “You’re crazy,” she said. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“That still doesn’t tell me whether you’re for me or against me,” I said.
“I’m for you,” she said.
I put my arm around her and swung her legs across mine so she was sitting on my lap. She leaned against my chest, her hair, damp and perfumed, against my cheek.
“I knew it would be fun with you,” she said.
I took her chin between my ringer and thumb and raised her face. She closed her eyes. She looked white, like a beautiful porcelain mask in the moonlight. I looked down at her, then I kissed her. Her lips tasted salty. They were firm and cool and good. We stayed like that while the raft rode the ripples; and I didn’t care what was going to happen, even though I was sure that something was going to happen.
She pushed away from me suddenly, slid off my lap and stood up. I looked at her. Her beauty gave me a hell of a buzz. She dived in as I grabbed at her, and swam away from me. I sat there and waited. After a while, she turned and came back. I tilted the raft down into the water so she slid up it on her stomach. She lay close to me, her chin in her hands, flat, her ankles crossed. She had a beautiful little back.
“Now tell me the story of your life,” I said.
She shook her head. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“There must be. How long have you been here?”
“A year.”
“Before then?”
“New York.”
“A show girl.”
“Yes.”
“How did you meet Speratza?”
“I met him.”
“Do you like him?”
“He’s nothing to me.”
“You take care of his distinguished visitors?”
“That seems to be the idea.”
“Who else beside me have you taken care off?”
“No one.”
“So I’m Paradise Palms’ first distinguished visitor?”
“You must be.”
“Like the job?”
She rolled over on her back. “Yes,” she said, and looked at me.
I could see from the expression in her eyes that from now on I’d be wasting time by staying on the raft.
“Come on,” I said. “We’ll go.”
She was the first to hit the water.