Pleasure Thieves

"Think she's going to Detroit?" Harry asked plaintively. Then they heard her ask for a California flight. "Maybe we should go to California?" The woman turned around and flirted playfully, like a delicate young elephant.

"Maybe we should," Phillip laughed. Nothing to fear. She wasn't Harry's type. They just had the same tastes in decoration. "But remember Harry, Detroit is the backbone of America."

"Oh?" Harry's eyes left the woman. "Then we must go. Mustn't neglect the country's backbone. Especially when it's held together with platinum."

Phillip didn't answer. He hadn't said one word about the job.

Instead, he looked at his watch, then scanned the waiting room. "Oh, here she is," he said, brightening, as Carol approached, girlish and breathless.

"Last minute things at the office," she said in a rush. "Sorry Phillip darling. Hello Harry." She looked at him briefly. A breathless, girlish, adorable, cool witch. "Good, here come my bags." She wore a back suit and held a big red purse. Harry touched the bag playfully and said,

"Going shopping?"

She looked quickly away, and he realized that it wasn't control that produced her smoothness. It was fear.

Her luggage was the last to be weighed. As it was wheeled toward the scale, the three of them walked out to the field. Harry was upbeat, a new dimension of his usually somber way. He felt good. Proud of Carol for looking so chic and untouched – and probably hot between her thighs right now. Proud of Phillip, too, distinguished in his perfectly fitted suit and homburg. Proud of himself, as a matter of fact

– free and clean and a fit companion for the elegant couple.

"My mother should see me now," he said to them. Phillip cut him short. "Was that the woman you were staring at?" He couldn't tell if Carol had heard or felt the words. They boarded the plane.

Harry walked down the aisle ahead of them and took a seat next to a plump, jeweled dowager. My God, thought Phillip, he's got the magic touch. Carol and Phillip sat behind him. They watched as Harry offered the delighted woman a cigarette and then turned and winked at them. Phillip smiled broadly. Carol hesitated, then said, "Just like Tom Sawyer. How adorable." As the plane took off, she studied Manhattan below them.

In Detroit it was raining heavily. A uniformed chauffeur just outside the gate ran toward them carrying a huge black umbrella.

"Mr. Johns, Mr. Johns," he shouted. Phillip was transformed. He looked like the master come back from the wars. "Good to see you, Sam," he greeted.

Then Sam, protecting them all with the umbrella, himself hatless and soaked, said, "You'd better get to the car, Miss Carol. You'll get all wet."

That would be a tragedy, Harry thought in a rankling of anger and confusion. Imagine Miss Carol all wet. Is Miss Carol ever dry?

Miss Carol said, "Hi Sam," warmly like the gentle princess she was.

It was enough for Sam. They followed him swiftly to the black limousine. In the instant before getting into the car, Phillip paused and said, "Sam, this is Mr. Gregory. Steven Gregory. He'll be our guest for a while."

"Pleased to know you, sir," Sam acknowledged, touching his cap.

Harry nodded. His expression was the same as when he had met Carol in the prison, guarded and half asleep. He was furious, furious.

It was like being denied by Phillip. But he'd have to wait. Phillip might be after a big load. Maybe they were going to be honored guests of Detroit's finest, and then leave with all the gold plumbing. Had to be patient. But Harry felt strange, separate. As if Phillip and Carol had come home and he'd turned down the wrong road.

Phillip sat up front with Sam and Carol, and Harry slipped quickly into the back seat. Phillip and Sam began talking, and Harry tried to piece their conversation into a coherent story. He heard Phillip's voice through the glass cage. "Yes, these past two years in Europe were a gold mine of information. My plans for the gardens are superb. We'll talk about it soon. Ah, to be home at last."

How sweet, how absolutely touching. Carol reached backwards and tapped Harry's arm. "Don't sulk," she mocked. "Everything will be explained to the little boy who hates the dark."

The car arrived at the gate of a huge estate in Grosse Pointe, just outside Detroit. Sam turned into the driveway that formed a huge arc in front of the main house. Another servant hurried down the steps to meet them with an umbrella. When Carol saw him, she exuded, "Dear Wilbur!" Wilbur, undoubtedly the most important of the staff, rushed Miss Carol up the steps, terrified that the honey would melt if she got wet.

"Wilbur, Mr. Gregory. Steven Gregory. He'll be staying with us a while."

After the hurried introduction, they all stood in the front hall of the house. "That's very good, sir," Wilbur approved with an eccentric nod of his head. He gathered up their coats.