12 Chinks and A Woman

     “Thayler? What's he to you?” Noolen's eyes were suddenly hot and intent.

     “Saw his boat this afternoon. Swell job. Heard he came out here. Thought I'd like to look him over.”

     Noolen got up and walked to the door. “He's out there now.”

     Fenner followed him into the main hall. “Show him to me,” he said. “I want to meet him.”

     Noolen wandered through the crowd, looked right and left, then said, “He's playin' on the third. The guy sittin' next to the blonde twist.”

     Fenner saw the girl. She looked fine sitting there. The soft light reflected on her red-gold hair, making deep shadows of her eyes and making her red lips glisten. She was wearing a black dress that fitted her too well.

     Fenner said, “Who's the frill?” He said it very casually.

     “Glorie Leadler. She's good, isn't she? The best of her is under the table.” The blood had mounted in Noolen's face, and his blue eyes were watery. Fenner looked at him curiously. Noolen went on, “You'll have to wait if you want to meet Thayler. He won't want to be interrupted.”

     “That's all right. This Leadler girl, what is she?” Noolen turned his head and looked at Fenner. “Why the excitement?”

     “Why not? She's a riot, ain't she?”

     Noolen sneered. “I'll leave you for a little while. I've got things to do,” he said, and walked away.

     Fenner looked after him, wondered what it was all about, and walked over to the small bar at the other end of the room. He ordered a rye and ginger and leaned against the bar. From where he stood he could just see Glorie's head and shoulders. He looked at Thayler and studied him, a big man with a very sunburnt complexion and black crinkly hair. His china-blue eyes and his long thin nose made him look handsome.

     When Fenner glanced at Glorie again he found she was looking at him. Fenner regarded her thoughtfully, wondering at the uncanny likeness. If this dame wasn't Marian Daley's sister, then he was a three-legged horse.

     Thayler leaned over a little and spoke to her, and she started. Fenner couldn't be sure, but he thought she had smiled at him. He thought maybe it had been a trick of the light, but it certainly had seemed that she'd given him a come-hither. He watched her closely, but she didn't look in his direction again. He stayed there for several minutes, then he saw her speak to Thayler, and stand up. Thayler looked angry and put his hand on her wrist, but she shook her head, laughed at him and walked away from the table. Thayler screwed his head round to watch her, then turned back to the table again.

     She came over to the bar. There were two other men standing close by, and the small Cuban manager. Fenner said, “Drinking alone is a vice. Will you have one with me?”

     She didn't look at him, but opened her small bag and took out a ten dollar bill. “I like vice,” she said softly, and ordered a gin sling. She stood with her back three-quarters to him. He could just see the lobe of her ear and the strong line of her chin.

     Fenner finished his rye and ginger quickly and signaled the bartender for another. He studied her back thoughtfully, wondering. When the bar tender put his order down on the polished wood, and had gone away, he said, “Miss Leadler, I want to talk to you.”

     She turned her head. “Me?”

     “Yeah. That's your name, ain't it?” Yes.” Her gaze began to embarrass him. He had a sudden uncomfortable feeling that she was seeing him naked. No one had ever given him that feeling before, and it confused him.

     “My name's Ross. I'm staying at the Haworth. I want—” He broke off.

     Thayler was coming over fast. A heavy scowl darkened his face, and he came up to the bar with long quick strides. He said to Glorie, “For God's sake, can't you just drink?”

     Glorie laughed at him. She said in a clear voice, “I think he's marvelous. I think he's absolutely incredibly marvelous.”

     Thayler looked uneasily at Fenner. “Cut it out, Glorie,” he said under his breath.

     She went on. “He's the most beautiful thing I've seen. Look at his arms Look at the size of them. Look at the set of his neck—the way he holds his head.”

     Fenner took out his handkerchief and wiped off his hands. He finished his drink. The Cuban manager was watching him, a cold look of contempt on his face.

     Thayler said savagely, “You don't have to rave about his arms or his neck. I know what you're raving about all right.”

     “Ask him to have a drink. He's cute. Do you know what he said to me? He said, 'Drinking alone is a vice.'“ Glorie turned her head and smiled at Fenner.

     Thayler said to Fenner, “Get out of here, you dope.”

     Glorie giggled. “Be friendly. You're making him embarrassed. That's no way to talk to a lovely man like that.”

     Fenner said, “Watch yourself, playboy! you're a little too soft to talk big.”

     Thayler made a move, but the Cuban manager slid between them. He said something to Thayler in a low voice. Thayler looked at Fenner over the top of the Cuban's head, his face was flushed with suppressed rage; then he turned, took Glorie by the wrist and walked out of the room.

     Fenner said to the Cuban, “Case of hot pants?”