Paul deCamp, the host, was a smooth, soft-spoken man in his early forties. He was tall, dark and handsomer than many a movie star. He greeted Elizabeth by kissing her warmly and then when she introduced Tommy he pumped Tommy’s hand.
“Are you a newcomer to Hollywood, Mr. Dancer?”
“Practically. I’ve only lived here about twelve years.”
“How come I haven’t seen you around?”
“You don’t know
Paul deCamp put an arm about Elizabeth and squeezed her. “If he knows you, I want to know him,” he said. Then he suddenly looked over Elizabeth’s head in the direction of the bedroom. Tommy’s eyes followed. There were several people in the bedroom, some of whom were in his range. But of those he saw, he recognized none.
“Tommy,” Elizabeth said, “get me a drink.”
“Sure,” he replied, knowing she wanted to talk to Paul deCamp. He started for the kitchen, but before he reached it, he detoured and, bypassing Elizabeth and deCamp on his return, headed for the bedroom. He was on the verge of entering when a girl came out, almost colliding with him.
It was Florence Randall. She stopped. “Hello, are you going to all the parties now?”
Tommy grinned easily. “I heard you were here, so I crashed.”
“Well, crash right out again. This is the lion’s den.”
“Paul deCamp?”
“Get wise, handsome, get wise.”
She slipped past Tommy. He hesitated a moment, then entered the bedroom. Earl Faraday stood near the heavy draperies of the windows, talking to a fat, balding man. He saw Tommy at once and his face hardened. “Excuse me,” he said to the fat man, and came toward Tommy.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Tommy retorted.
Faraday said in a low, tense voice, “Get out of here as quick as you can. I mean that.”
He walked abruptly away from Tommy, heading for the living room. Tommy looked at the heavy velvet window drapes, the old ivory lacquered chiffonier and chest of drawers and then at the twin beds with silk bed covers. This was exactly the kind of apartment he was going to have himself in the very near future. And maybe he’d throw a party in it, but if he did, the bedroom would be barred.
“Tommy,” said a voice behind him. “I’m ready to go.”
He turned and looked at Elizabeth, standing in the doorway.
“I forgot your drink.”
“I don’t want one.”
“I’ll get one from the kitchen.”
“No — I want to go now.”
She took Tommy’s arm, exerted pressure and they walked out to the living room. Faraday stood near the hall door, his face a mask of cold rage.
“Leaving already?” he said to Elizabeth.
“We just stopped in for a minute,” Elizabeth replied coolly, “on our way to dinner.”
They went out. In the hall, Tommy rang for the elevator and when it came he and Elizabeth rode down to the lobby floor. Outside, the doorman went to the house phone and called for Elizabeth’s car. They were in the car, driving away, before Tommy spoke.
“You can drop me anywhere.”
“What for? We’re having dinner.”
“It isn’t necessary, now, is it?”
Elizabeth exclaimed. “Damn you, Tommy.”
“You showed Faraday that you didn’t give a damn about him, so I’ve served my purpose, haven’t I?” He uttered a forced, mirthless chuckle. “And boy, was he burned!”
Elizabeth swung the car to the curb and applied the brakes. “Get out!”
Tommy swung open the door and slid to the edge of the seat. “Faraday’s no good,” he said tonelessly. “The worst thing in the world would be for you to get him.”
“I said, get out!”
Tommy stepped out to the curb and the car shot away so quickly that the door was slammed shut by the force of its momentum.
Looking about, Tommy discovered that he was on Sunset, near Fairfax, a good stiff walk from his apartment on Las Palmas and an even longer one to Willis Trent’s place. He decided, however, that the walk would cool him off and struck off down Sunset.
Trent himself opened the door in response to Tommy’s ring. “What took you so long to get around?” he demanded.
“I had a date.”
Trent closed the door and went to his favorite armchair. But instead of seating himself he turned and studied Tommy with a cold eye. “So I heard. Stepping out of your class a little, aren’t you?”
“What’s my class?”
“The Targ dame isn’t.”
“Did
“Earl Faraday called a few minutes ago. You sap, haven’t you figured out yet that she’s his?”
“How many does he rate? The other night he was rushing a redhead.”
Trent exhaled heavily and seated himself. “Sit down, Dancer. Sit down and let me give you a small lesson in arithmetic.”
“I’m not in the mood for lessons tonight.”
“This one’ll be short and sweet and I think you need it. Women are Faraday’s business. I don’t know why, but they like his kind. He treats them like I wouldn’t treat a dog and they like it. He slaps them in the teeth and they buy him two hundred dollar suits and wrist watches and platinum cigarette cases...”
“Are you talking about Elizabeth Targ?” Tommy asked, ominously.
