Skip a Beat by Henry Kane

Author:Henry Kane [Kane, Henry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I was too early for Whitney. It was a beautiful afternoon. I walked through the transverse to the other side of the park and skimmed a finger at the white bell at 262 Central Park West. The door was opened by a round-faced colored girl. She said, “Whom would you wish to see?”

“Mr. Dvorak home?”

“No, sir.”

“Mr. Barry?”

“No, sir.”

“Mrs. Kingsley?”

“No, sir.”

“Last call. Marcia Kingsley.”

She smiled broadly. “Yes, sir. She’s at home, sir. Please come in.” She ushered me into the room with the green walls and the liquor cabinet. “Who shall I say is calling, sir?”

“Peter Chambers.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The Scotch bottle and the brandy bottle were looking at each other atop tile liquor cabinet and the brandy bottle looked like it had gotten a lot of use. There was no ice, no water, no soda, so I sampled Scotch neat, and then Marcia Kingsley was beside me smelling of musky perfume and smelling, also, of brandy. She said, “Hi. Brandy for me.”

The prim expression was the same, and the no-rouge cheeks were the same, but the blue eyes were wide and glistening behind the heavy black specs and there was a jauntiness about her that hadn’t been there yesterday. I wondered about her without the goggles. She was excitingly pretty in black corduroy slacks, a red ribbon around her blonde hair, red shoes, red belt, and a red blouse open at the throat and giving off an alarming amount of cleavage for so small a girl.

I poured brandy into a pony glass and she said, “More,” and I added more brandy and she took it from me and leaned against me. “Tell you something,” she said. “I’m squiffed.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I’m not one to praise the dead, I never had much use for Paul, but it’s happening like that—”

“I know.”

She leaned against me harder. Her body was soft and warm. She said, “I’m glad you came. I’ve been thinking about you. I tried calling you. The only number listed in the book is your office. You weren’t in. I asked for your home number and the lady wouldn’t give it to me. I didn’t leave a message.”

“Something special?”

“No. I just wanted to talk to you. Nobody’s here.”

I gave her my address and phone number. I said, “Write it down.”

“I’ll remember.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll come calling on you one of these days.”

“Sure. Where’s everybody?”

She leaned away from me and I missed her. She sipped the brandy. “Mark and I took the day off, but he’s out, and so’s Rita, and Victor plays big shot today.”

“Big shot?”

“He got what he always wanted. Mr. Whitney appointed him managing editor.”

“Paul’s death did that guy a lot of good.”

“Now that’s not nice.”

“Sorry.”

She went to an easy chair and pulled her legs up under her. She said, “You’re cute. Walk. Walk like a tiger.”

I wasn’t walking like a tiger. Not today. Today I had a mess of affairs to straighten out. I nipped more Scotch and it warmed my stomach. I looked at her, cuddled in the chair. I’d like walking like a tiger for her, I had a hunch I’d like it very much.

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