Night Extra

Jenny was saying to Nat Clark, “Honest to God, I never knew what the word meant until I met Mike. I mean, I’d never heard it used in a sentence. I never knew people — well, like you, for instance.”

“We’re a desperate bunch,” Nat Clark said, sighing.

Terrell excused himself and went into the guest bedroom which was generally used as a cloakroom during parties. He wanted to wash his hands; he felt grimy, not so much from five hours on the road as from five minutes with Jenny.

As Terrell entered the room a man named Diddy turned quickly toward him, a bright smile flashing on his small, shrewd face. “Hi, Sam, how’s it going? Long time no see, keed.”

Diddy had been in the act of putting an unopened bottle of whiskey into the pocket of a camel’s hair overcoat. Terrell stared at him for a few seconds and Diddy wet his lips. “We may be going out later, Sam. Mike likes a drink when we’re driving. So I thought I’d take one along for him.”

“Where did he find such thoughtful friends?” Terrell said, shaking his head slowly. “You’d better take some money, too. He keeps that in his wallet. He might want to look at Lincoln’s picture while he’s driving around.”

“Very funny,” Diddy said gently. He straightened up, not smiling any more. “What’s it to you, Sam? It’s not your booze.”

“Ownership interests you? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Very funny indeed,” Diddy said, but there were spots of color in his cheek. He walked out of the room carrying the bottle by the neck and muttering something under his breath. Terrell went into the bathroom and washed his hands. He was surprised by his appearance; his face was pale and his eyes were hard and bright with anger. Where did Mike find these slugs, he thought, wadding up a towel and flinging it aside.

When he left the bedroom he almost ran into Karsh and his ex-wife, Gloria, standing together at the front door. Karsh looked harassed and weary, but Gloria, a chic, tiny creature with fantastically drawn eyebrows, seemed in a good mood.

“Sam, love,” she said, putting out a hand. “We simply never see each other any more. Why have you crept out of my heart?”

The hand was soft and deceptive, like the paw of a cat with the claws sheathed.

“You’re looking fine, Gloria,” he said.

“You put things so extravagantly. I suppose it’s your Latin streak.”

“Yes, it runs north to south just along my femur,” Terrell said.

“You must show me someday,” she said, squeezing his hand. She glanced at Karsh and made a little face at him. “Sorry I embarrassed all your lovely friends, Mike. Such an elegant crowd. Does the delicatessen send them up as a premium with food orders?”

Karsh said, “Gloria, will you please get the hell out of here?”

“You doll,” she said, smiling pleasurably at the anger in his eyes. “Just take care of that little matter for me in the morning, will you? The deposit, remember? And about our darling’s new car — I leave that to your generous judgment. I’m absolutely stony.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll think it over.”

“Bye, bye, darlings.” She walked jauntily toward the elevators, showing off her cute little body like a saucy child. Karsh closed the door and took Terrell’s arm. “Let’s go into my bedroom,” he said. “The only reason I enjoy making dough is to keep that bitch at a distance. A paycheck to me is what a whip and a chair is to a lion tamer.”

The party was accelerating rapidly, and it was a relief when Karsh closed the bedroom door behind them and shut off the badly synchronized cacophony of jazz, talk and laughter. Karsh sat down slowly in a leather chair before the fireplace. He still looked tired, but the irritation was gone from his face and eyes; work was performing the familiar alchemy on him, burning out everything but an excitement for the job at hand. “Let’s have it all in order,” he said, glancing up at Terrell.

Terrell told him what he had learned from Paddy Coglan, and when he finished Karsh looked at his watch. “Eight-fifteen,” he murmured.

For a few seconds he was silent, frowning at the backs of his hands. Then he said, “Paddy Coglan is a ticking bomb, Sam. When he explodes the whole blazing city may be up in smoke. We’d better get him over here. Let’s see, there’s a train from Beach City around nine. Tell him to catch it. And tell him to keep out of the club car. I don’t want him loaded. I’ll have Tuckerman and a few of the boys from the press room meet him at the station, and I’ll arrange a room for him here. You can spend tonight getting his story, and we’ll cut loose tomorrow morning.”

“How are you going to play it?”