1974 - So What Happens to Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

conscience.
    “I had a visitor. She didn’t leave me any time.”
    “You mean Pam?”
    “That’s who I mean.”
    He grinned.
    “That girl! I knew she would make for you, but not this fast.”
    “I’m going out with her tonight.”
    Tim eyed the drink in my hand.
    “I could use one of those.”
    “Come on in: she’s certain to be late.”
    I mixed him a long Scotch and soda with plenty of ice.
    “What is she?” I asked as I handed him the glass. “The local hooker?”
    “She’s Olson’s girlfriend.”
    That shook me.
    “You know Bernie. . .?”
    “Oh sure. He doesn’t care about her sleeping around. They have a thing for each other. The only thing they don’t do is go to bed together.”
    “For Pete’s sake! If I’d known I wouldn’t have touched her! I’m not going out with her tonight if she’s Bernie’s girl.”
    Tim drank greedily, paused to wipe his mouth with the back of his band.
    “If you don’t, some other guy will. Just don’t think it’s anything but a lay Jack. She’s Bernie’s girl. She has to have it. Olson can’t give it to her, so he lets her play around. This is no secret: the staff here and I guess half Paradise City knows about it, but just don’t take her seriously.” He finished his drink, set down his glass and moved to the door. “Me for a shower and T.V.” He regarded me, then smiled. “Life’s damn odd, isn’t it.”
    But I now had Bernie on my conscience.
     
    ***
     
    “Look, Pam,” I said, then paused while the waiter took our plates away. “Tim tells me you’re Bernie’s girl. He’s my best friend. This bothers me.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake! I told you: I need it! Bernie doesn’t mind. Will you stop talking about it. I tell you: Bernie knows how I am. He doesn’t mind.”
    The waiter brought a Tournedo Rossini with fronds d’artichauts and princess potatoes. He served while I thought.
    “Looks marvellous, doesn’t it?” Pam said. “Mmmm! I adore eating here!”
    “He must mind,” I said. “You mean he’s in love with you and you with him?”
    “Oh, shut up!” Her voice was low and suddenly vicious. “Take what you get and be thankful!”
    I gave up. I told myself from now on, I wouldn’t touch her. This was a hell of a situation! Bernie . . . the man I admired most and I had screwed his girl!
    I lost my appetite. As good as the steak was, I now found it hard to eat. I looked around the restaurant while I played with the food on my plate. There was a sudden commotion with Henri flying down the aisle to the entrance. I saw a tall, massively built man, around sixty years of age, come out of the shadows and into the defused light. I have never seen such a man. By the way he walked he was obviously a queer. His fat face with its snout of a nose made me think of a disagreeable dolphin. He wore an outrageous orange wig that rested a little sideways on what was obviously a completely baldhead. He had on a buttercup yellow linen suit and a frilled, purple shirt.
    As a show-off he was in a class of his own.
    “Look at that freak,” I said, glad to change the conversation. “Who can he be?”
    Pam glanced down the aisle.
    “That’s Claude Kendrick. He owns the most fashionable, the most expensive and the most profitable art gallery here.”
    I watched the fat man waddle to a table, three tables from where we were sitting. Behind him came a thin, willowy man who could be any age from twenty-five to forty. His long thick hair was the colour of sable and his lean face, narrow eyes and almost lipless mouth made him look like a suspicious, vicious rat.
    “That’s Louis de Mamey who runs the gallery,” Pam told me. She cut into her steak and ate.
    The fuss Henri was making of these two told me that Henri considered them V.I.P. people. Interested, I watched them settle at their table. A Vodka martini appeared as if by magic and was placed before the fat man. His companion refused a drink.
    There was a brief discussion with Henri about what they