Well, maybe a few strings. He couldnt help fantasizing about the possibilities. He thought of how it would be, taking her up to his room. Undressing her. Feeling her yield beneath him. He swallowed hard and reached automatically for the Heineken.
No doubt about it, Hamilton muttered. I tell you, its all their fault.
Hmm? Guy turned. Whose fault?
Women, of course. They cause more trouble than theyre worth.
You said it, pal. Guy sighed and lifted the beer to his lips. You said it.
MEN. THEY CAUSE MORE trouble than theyre worth, Willy thought as she viciously wound her alarm clock.
A bounty hunter. She should have guessed. Warning bells should have gone off in her head the minute he so generously offered his help. Help. What a laugh. She thought of all the solicitation letters she and her mother had received, all the mercenary groups whod offered, for a few thousand dollars, to provide just such worthless help. Thered been the MIA Search Fund, the Men Alive Committee, Operation ChestnutLets Pull Em Out Of The Fire! had been their revolting slogan. How many grieving families had invested their hopes and savings on such futile dreams?
She stripped down to a tank top and flopped onto the bed. A decent nights sleep, she could tell, was another futile dream. The mattress was lumpy, and the pillow seemed to be stuffed with concrete. Not that it mattered. How could she get any rest with that damned disco music vibrating through the walls? At 8:00 the first driving drumbeats had announced the opening of Dance Night at the Rex Hotel. Lord, she thought, what good is communism if it cant even stamp out disco?
It occurred to her that, at that very minute, Guy Barnard was probably loitering downstairs in that dance hall, checking out the action. Sometimes she thought that was the real reason men started warsit was an excuse to run away from home and check out the action.
What do I care if hes down there eyeing the ladies? The mans scum. Hes not worth a second thought.
Still, she had to admit he had a certain tattered charm. Nice straight teeth and a dazzling smile and eyes that were brown as a wolfs. A woman could get in trouble for the sake of those eyes. And heaven knows, I dont need that kind of trouble.
Someone knocked on
the door. She sat up straight and called out, Who is it?
Room service.
There must be a mistake. I didnt order anything.
There was no response. Sighing, she pulled on a robe and padded over to open the door.
Guy grinned at her from the darkness. Well? he inquired. Have you thought about it?
Thought about what? she snapped back.
You and me. Working together.
She laughed in disbelief. Either youre hard of hearing or I didnt make myself clear.
That was two hours ago. I figured you might have changed your mind.
I will never change my mind. Good night. She slammed the door, shoved the bolt home and stepped back, seething.
There was a tapping on her window. She yanked the curtain aside and saw Guy smiling through the glass.
Just one more question, he called.
What?
Is that answer final?
She jerked the curtain closed and stood there, waiting to see where hed turn up next. Would he drop down from the ceiling? Pop up like a jack-in-the-box through the floor?
What was that rustling sound?
Glancing down sharply, she saw a piece of paper slide under the door. She snatched it up and read the scrawled message. Call me if you need me.
Ha! she thought, ripping the note to pieces. The day I need you is the day hell freezes over! she yelled.
There was no answer. And she knew, without even looking, that he had already walked away.
CHANTAL GAZED AT THE bottle of champagne, the tins of caviar and foie gras, and the box of chocolates, and she licked her lips. Then she said, How dare you show up after all these years.
Siang merely smiled. You have lost your taste for champagne? What a pity. It seems I shall have to drink it all myself. He reached for the bottle. Slowly, he untwisted the wire. The flight from Bangkok had jostled the contents; the cork shot out, spilling pale gold bubbles all over the earthen floor. Chantal gave a little sob. She appeared ready to drop to her knees and lap up the precious liquid. He poured champagne into one of two fluted glasses hed brought all the way from Bangkok. One could not, after all, drink champagne from a teacup. He took a sip and sighed happily. Taittinger. Delightful.
Taittinger? she whispered.
He filled the second glass and set it on the rickety table in front of her. She kept staring at it, watching the bubbles spiral to the surface.
I need help, he said.
She reached for the glass, put it to her trembling lips, tasted the rim, then the contents. He could almost see the bubbles sliding over her tongue, slipping down that fine, long throat. Even if the rest of her was sagging, she still had that beautiful throat, slender as a stalk of grass. A legacy from her Vietnamese mother. Her Asian half had held up over the years; the French half hadnt done so well. He could see the freckles, the fine lines tracing the corners of her greenish eyes.