Manhunt. Volume 5, Number 5, May 1957

“So Frayne knew you as Gordon Phelps too?”

“Yes.”

“Did it worry you?”

“About Miss Sierra, no. I had hoped, soon, that I would be out of her orbit, that I’d just be another guy she had known and didn’t know any more. Men keep happening to these girls... and the remote ones just fade away and are forgotten.”

“And Vivian Frayne?”

“That one was different. She and I were much more intimate. She knew much more about me, made it her business, it seems, to know much more about me—”

“Kind of fodder for blackmail, wouldn’t you say?”

“It was fodder for blackmail, I would say.”

“Frayne?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s start at the beginning, Mr. Phelps. Let’s have it from scratch.”

He sipped his drink and set it down. He ran a tentative fingernail through his hair. His face creased into the pained expression of a constipated goat. “We’re all human,” he said. “Let’s put it that way, we’re all human. I like girls. I like girls who are young, strong, beautiful, vital. I don’t like the people in my own sphere. I — how shall I put it — I seek out, sort of, the lower depths, the physical, passionate people of a world other than my own. Perhaps I have a need to feel superior, perhaps my emotions are whipped to—”

“Okay,” I said, “with the abnormal psychology. I dig. Let’s move it from there.”

“I am a frequenter of dance halls — low, cheap dance halls. There, I am most superior. I am a millionaire. There are few millionaires in cheap dime-a-dance dance halls. And yet, you would be surprised at how many of the girls working in these dives are young, sweet, well-shaped kids from out of town—”

“Not me. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“There are bags, but there are beauties — kids trying to make a buck, kids with no talent, no knowledge, no assets, except youth and beauty. I get acquainted with these charming kids, I move slowly, I have patience, and, most of all in my favor, I have a good deal of money to throw around — and basically these kids have one prime need: money. Like that, and in that element, I can compete with my younger brethren. It was about six months ago that I went to the Nirvana Ballroom. As George Phillips, of course.”

“But of course,” I said.

“Originally, I was attracted to Sophia Sierra—”

“Can’t blame you,” I said, thinking of curves.

“But that one was too mercenary for me. She was right on top of the ball all the time.”

“What did you expect?” I said. “That she’d fall in love with you? Why, you can be her father, for Chrissake.”

“I smell maleness,” he said, “and I smell youth, and male ego, and a definite interest in Sophia Sierra. I smell Peter Chambers on the hunt, and I warn Peter Chambers right now. Take it from an old hand, Peter — not your youth, nor your maleness, nor your interest, will carry you one whit with Sophia Sierra. That one, at this moment in her life, is whore, all whore, period.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “Now get off the lecture platform. What happened with Sophia Sierra?”

“I took her out, showed her the town, let her see things big. I bought her a few frocks, a few dinners, advanced her a little cabbage, let her feel that papa was well-heeled and charitable.”

“Did you make it?”

“No.”

“Could you have?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I got close, but I didn’t get where I wanted to get. And then she came up with the lalapaloosa, and I took a raincheck.”

“Lalapaloosa?” I said.

“Ever hear of Elia Strassan?”

“Sure I’ve heard of Elia Strassan. Probably the greatest dramatic coach ever produced in America. Guy was in his prime about ten years ago, then he got sick and retired. What’s Elia Strassan got to do with this?”

“Sophia Sierra propositioned me. Seems she wants to be a great dramatic actress. Seems she wants to study with Strassan.”

“But he’s not having any... or is he?”

“Private tutorship, Sophia told me. Told me that Strassan wanted ten thousand dollars — in advance — for a year’s private tutorship. Wanted the money from me, she did, to pay over to him.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“I checked.”

“Whom?” I asked.

“First, Strassan. Guy’d had a stroke, was confined to a chair, wasn’t teaching any more. But that little lass had gotten to him, made him happy, somehow, right there in his wheel-chair. Because Strassan verified for her, said he’d be willing to take her on, privately, for a year, for ten thousand. He needs ten thousand like a hole in the head; the guy’s independently wealthy. So I checked some more. Dear Sophia had pulled this thing before — grabbed a few suckers — seems there are others like me who look for kicks in dance halls. Strassan covered for her, for reasons known only to himself.” He drank deeply of his drink. “That baby doesn’t want to be an actress. All she wants is to garner a great big bankroll while she’s young enough and beautiful enough to garner it. That’s all that’s on her mind — loot, big loot. And she uses that dance hall as a base of operations. Strange kind of whore, that kid, but all whore. I passed.”

“To Vivian Frayne?”