ateleveno’clockiwassittinginthethirdboothontheright-handsideasyougoinfromthedining-roomannex.ihadmybackagainstthewallandicouldseeanyonewhocameinorwentout.itwasaclearmorning,nosmog,nohighfogeven,andthesundazzledthesurfaceoftheswimmingpoolwhichbeganjustoutsidetheplateglasswallofthebarandstretchedtothefarendofthediningroom.agirlinawhitesharkskinsuitandalusciousfigurewasclimbingtheladdertothehighboard.iwatchedthebandofwhitethatshowedbetweenthetanofherthighsandthesuit.iwatcheditcarnally.thenshewasoutofsight,cutoffbythedeepoverhangoftheroof.amomentlaterisawherflashdowninaoneandahalf.spraycamehighenoughtocatchthesunandmakerainbowsthatwerealmostasprettyasthegirl.thenshecameuptheladderandunstrappedherwhitehelmetandshookherbleachjobloose.shewobbledherbottomovertoasmallwhitetableandsatdownbesidealumberjackinwhitedrillpantsanddarkglassesandatansoevenlydarkthathecouldn’thavebeenanythingbutthehiredmanaroundthepool.hereachedoverandpattedherthigh.sheopenedamouthlikeafirebucketandlaughed.thatterminatedmyinterestinher.icouldn’thearthelaughbuttheholeinherfacewhensheunzipperedherteethwasallineeded.

thebarwasprettyempty.threeboothsdownacoupleofsharpiesweresellingeachotherpiecesoftwentiethcentury-fox,usingdouble-armgesturesinsteadofmoney.theyhadatelephoneonthetablebetweenthemandeverytwoorthreeminutestheywouldplaythematchgametoseewhocalledzanuckwithahotidea.theywereyoung,dark,eagerandfullofvitality.theyputasmuchmuscularactivityintoatelephoneconversationasiwouldputintocarryingafatmanupfourflightsofstairs.therewasasadfellowoveronabarstooltalkingtothebartender,whowaspolishingaglassandlisteningwiththatplasticsmilepeoplewearwhentheyaretryingnottoscream.thecustomerwasmiddle-aged,handsomelydressed,anddrunk.hewantedtotalkandhecouldn’thavestoppedevenifhehadn’treallywantedtotalk.hewaspoliteandfriendlyandwheniheardhimhedidn’tseemtoslurhiswordsmuch,butyouknewthathegotuponthebottleandonlyletgoofitwhenhefellasleepatnight.hewouldbelikethatfortherestofhislifeandthatwaswhathislifewas.youwouldneverknowhowhegotthatwaybecauseevenifhetoldyouitwouldnotbethetruth.attheverybestadistortedmemoryofthetruthasheknewit.thereisasadmanlikethatineveryquietbarintheworld.

ilookedatmywatchandthishigh-poweredpublishermanwasalreadytwentyminuteslate.iwouldwaithalfanhourandtheniwouldleave.itneverpaystoletthecustomermakealltherules.ifhecanpushyouaround,hewillassumeotherpeoplecantoo,andthatisnotwhathehiresyoufor.andrightnowididn’tneedtheworkbadlyenoughtoletsomefatheadfrombackeastusemeforahorse-holder,someexecutivecharacterinapaneledofficeontheeighty-fifthfloor,witharowofpushbuttonsandanintercomandasecretaryinahattiecarnegiecareergirl’sspecialandapairofthosebigbeautifulpromisingeyes.thiswasthekindofoperatorwhowouldtellyoutobethereatninesharpandifyouweren’tsittingquietlywithapleasedsmileonyourpanwhenhefloatedintwohourslateronadoublegibson,hewouldhaveaparoxysmofoutragedexecutiveabilitywhichwouldnecessitatefiveweeksatacapulcobeforehegotbackthehoponhishighhardone.

theoldbarwaitercamedriftingbyandglancedsoftlyatmyweakscotchandwater.ishookmyheadandhebobbedhiswhitethatch,andrightthenadreamwalkedin.itseemedtomeforaninstantthattherewasnosoundinthebar,thatthesharpiesstoppedsharpingandthedrunkonthestoolstoppedburblingaway,anditwaslikejustaftertheconductortapsonhismusicstandandraiseshisarmsandholdsthempoised.

shewasslimandquitetallinawhitelinentailormadewithablackandwhitepolka-dottedscarfaroundherthroat.herhairwasthepalegoldofafairyprincess.therewasasmallhatonitintowhichthepalegoldhairnestledlikeabirdinitsnest.hereyeswerecornflowerblue,ararecolor,andthelasheswerelongandalmosttoopale.shereachedthetableacrossthewayandwaspullingoffawhitegauntletedgloveandtheoldwaiterhadthetablepulledoutinawaynowaitereverwillpullatableoutforme.shesatdownandslippedtheglovesunderthestrapofherbagandthankedhimwithasmilesogentle,soexquisitelypure,thathewasdamnnearparalyzedbyit.shesaidsomethingtohiminaverylowvoice.hehurriedaway,bendingforward.therewasaguywhoreallyhadamissioninlife.

istared.shecaughtmestaring.sheliftedherglancehalfaninchandiwasn’tthereanymore.butwhereveriwasiwasholdingmybreath.

thereareblondesandblondesanditisalmostajokewordnowadays.allblondeshavetheirpoints,exceptperhapsthemetalliconeswhoareasblondasazuluunderthebleachandastodispositionassoftasasidewalk.thereisthesmallcuteblondewhocheepsandtwitters,andthebigstatuesqueblondewhostraight-armsyouwithanice-blueglare.thereistheblondewhogivesyoutheup-from-underlookandsmellslovelyandshimmersandhangsonyourarmandisalwaysveryverytiredwhenyoutakeherhome.shemakesthathelplessgestureandhasthatgoddamnedheadacheandyouwouldliketoslugherexceptthatyouaregladyoufoundoutabouttheheadachebeforeyouinvestedtoomuchtimeandmoneyandhopeinher.becausetheheadachewillalwaysbethere,aweaponthatneverwearsoutandisasdeadlyasthebravo’srapierorlucrezia’spoisonvial.

thereisthesoftandwillingandalcoholicblondewhodoesn’tcarewhatshewearsaslongasitisminkorwhereshegoesaslongasitisthestarlightroofandthereisplentyofdrychampagne.thereisthesmallperkyblondewhoisalittlepalandwantstopayherownwayandisfullofsunshineandcommonsenseandknowsjudofromthegroundupandcantossatruckdriveroverhershoulderwithoutmissingmorethanonesentenceoutoftheeditorialinthesaturdayreview.thereisthepale,paleblondewithanemiaofsomenon-fatalbutincurabletype.sheisverylanguidandveryshadowyandshespeakssoftlyoutofnowhereandyoucan’tlayafingeronherbecauseinthefirstplaceyoudon’twanttoandinthesecondplacesheisreadingthewastelandordanteintheoriginal,orkafkaorkierkegaardorstudyingprovençal.sheadoresmusicandwhenthenewyorkphilharmonicisplayinghindemithshecantellyouwhichoneofthesixbassviolscameinaquarterofabeattoolate.iheartoscaninicanalso.thatmakestwoofthem.

andlastlythereisthegorgeousshowpiecewhowilloutlastthreekingpinracketeersandthenmarryacoupleofmillionairesatamillionaheadandendupwithapalerosevillaatcapantibes,analfa-romeotowncarcompletewithpilotandco-pilot,andastableofshopwornaristocrats,allofwhomshewilltreatwiththeaffectionateabsentmindednessofanelderlydukesayinggoodnighttohisbutler.

thedreamacrossthewaywasnoneofthese,notevenofthatkindofworld.shewasunclassifiable,asremoteandclearasmountainwater,aselusiveasitscolor.iwasstillstaringwhenavoiceclosetomyelbowsaid:

“i’mshockinglylate.iapologize.youmustblameitonthis.myname’showardspencer.you’remarlowe,ofcourse.”

iturnedmyheadandlookedathim.hewasmiddle-aged,ratherplump,dressedasifhedidn’tgiveanythoughttoit,butwellshavedandwiththinhairsmoothedbackcarefullyoveraheadthatwaswidebetweentheears.heworeaflashydouble-breastedvest,thesortofthingyouhardlyeverseeincaliforniaexceptperhapsonavisitingbostonian.hisglasseswererimlessandhewaspattingashabbyolddogofabriefcasewhichwasevidentlythe“this.”

“threebrandnewbook-lengthmanuscripts.fiction.itwouldbeembarrassingtolosethembeforewehaveachancetorejectthem.”hemadeasignaltotheoldwaiterwhohadjuststeppedbackfromplacingatallgreensomethingorotherinfrontofthedream.“ihaveaweaknessforginandorange.asillysortofdrinkreally.willyoujoinme?good.”

inoddedandtheoldwaiterdriftedaway.

pointingtothebriefcaseisaid:“howdoyouknowyouaregoingtorejectthem?”

“iftheywereanygood,theywouldn’tbedroppedatmyhotelbythewritersinperson.somenewyorkagentwouldhavethem.”

“thenwhytakethematall?”

“partlynottohurtfeelings.partlythethousand-to-onechanceallpublisherslivefor.butmostlyyou’reatacocktailpartyandgetintroducedtoallsortsofpeople,andsomeofthemhavenovelswrittenandyouarejustliquoredupenoughtobebenevolentandfullofloveforthehumanrace,soyousayyou’dlovetoseethescript.itisthendroppedatyourhotelwithsuchsickeningspeedthatyouareforcedtogothroughthemotionsofreadingit.butidon’tsupposeyouaremuchinterestedinpublishersandtheirproblems.”

thewaiterbroughtthedrinks.spencergrabbedforhisandtookahealthyswig.hewasn’tnoticingthegoldengirlacrosstheway.ihadallhisattention.hewasagood-contactman.

“ifit’spartofthejob,”isaid.“icanreadabookonceinawhile.”

“oneofourmostimportantauthorslivesaroundhere,”hesaidcasually.“maybeyou’vereadhisstuff.rogerwade.”

“uh-huh.”

“iseeyourpoint.”hesmiledsadly.“youdon’tcareforhistoricalromances.buttheysellbrutally.”

“idon’thaveanypoint,mr.spencer.ilookedatoneofhisbooksonce.ithoughtitwastripe.isthatthewrongthingformetosay?”

hegrinned.“ohno.therearemanypeoplewhoagreewithyou.butthepointisatthemomentthathe’sanautomaticbestseller.andeverypublisherhastohaveacouplewiththewaycostsarenow.”

ilookedacrossatthegoldengirl.shehadfinishedherlimeadeorwhateveritwasandwasglancingatamicroscopicwristwatch.thebarwasfillingupalittle,butnotyetnoisy.thetwosharpieswerestillwavingtheirhandsandthesolodrinkeronthebarstoolhadacoupleofpalswithhim.ilookedbackathowardspencer.

“somethingtodowithyourproblem?”iaskedhim.“thisfellowwade,imean.”

henodded.hewasgivingmeacarefulonceover.“tellmealittleaboutyourself,mr.marlowe.thatis,ifyoudon’tfindtherequestobjectionable.”

“whatsortofthing?i’malicensedprivateinvestigatorandhavebeenforquiteawhile.i’malonewolf,unmarried,gettingmiddle-aged,andnotrich.i’vebeeninjailmorethanonceandidon’tdoporcebusiness.ilikeliquorandwomenandchessandafewotherthings.thecopsdon’tlikemetoowell,butiknowacoupleigetalongwith.i’manativeson,borninsantarosa,bothparentsdead,nobrothersorsisters,andwhenigetknockedoffinadarkalleysometime,ifithappens,asitcouldtoanyoneinmybusiness,andtoplentyofpeopleinanybusinessornobusinessatallthesedays,nobodywillfeelthatthebottomhasdroppedoutofhisorherlife.”

“isee,”hesaid.“butallthatdoesn’texactlytellmewhatiwanttoknow.”

ifinishedtheginandorange.ididn’tlikeit.igrinnedathim.“ileftoutoneitem,mr.spencer.ihaveaportraitofmadisoninmypocket.”

“aportraitofmadison?i’mafraididon’t—.”

“afive-thousand-dollarbill,”isaid.“alwayscarryit.myluckypiece.”

“goodgod,”hesaidinahushedvoice.“isn’tthatterriblydangerous?”

“whowasitsaidthatbeyondacertainpointalldangersareequal?”

“ithinkitwaswalterbagehot.hewastalkingaboutasteeplejack.”thenhegrinned.“sorry,butiamapublisher.you’reallright,marlowe.i’lltakeachanceonyou.ifididn’tyouwouldtellmetogotohell.right?”

igrinnedbackathim.hecalledthewaiterandorderedanotherpairofdrinks.

“hereitis,”hesaidcarefully.“weareinbadtroubleoverrogerwade.hecan’tfinishabook.he’slosinghisgripandthere’ssomethingbehindit.themanseemstobegoingtopieces.wildfitsofdrinkingandtemper.everyonceinawhilehedisappearsfordaysonend.notverylongagohethrewhiswifedownstairsandputherinthehospitalwithfivebrokenribs.there’snotroublebetweenthemintheusualsense,noneatall.themanjustgoesnutswhenhedrinks.”spencerleanedbackandlookedatmegloomily.“wehavetohavethatbookfinished.weneeditbadly.toacertainextentmyjobdependsonit.butweneedmorethanthat.wewanttosaveaveryablewriterwhoiscapableofmuchbetterthingsthanhehaseverdone.somethingisverywrong.thistriphewon’tevenseeme.irealizethissoundslikeajobforapsychiatrist.mrs.wadedisagrees.sheisconvincedthatheisperfectlysanebutthatsomethingisworryinghimtodeath.ablackmailer,forinstance.thewadeshavebeenmarriedfiveyears.somethingfromhispastmayhavecaughtupwithhim.itmightevenbe—justasawildguess—afatalhit-and-runaccidentandsomeonehasthegoodsonhim.wedon’tknowwhatitis.wewanttoknow.andwearewillingtopaywelltocorrectthetrouble.ifitturnsouttobeamedicalmatter,well—that’sthat.ifnot,therehastobeananswer.andinthemeantimemrs.wadehastobeprotected.hemightkillherthenexttime.youneverknow.”

thesecondroundofdrinkscame.ileftmineuntouchedandwatchedhimgobblehalfofhisinoneswallow.ilitacigaretteandjuststaredathim.

“youdon’twantadetective,”isaid.“youwantamagician.whatthehellcouldido?ifihappenedtobethereatexactlytherighttime,andifheisn’ttootoughformetohandle,imightknockhimoutandputhimtobed.buti’dhavetobethere.it’sahundredtooneagainst.youknowthat.”

“he’saboutyoursize,”spencersaid,“buthe’snotinyourcondition.andyoucouldbethereallthetime.”

“hardly.anddrunksarecunning.he’dbecertaintopickatimewheniwasn’taroundtothrowhiswingding.i’mnotinthemarketforajobasamalenurse.”

“amalenursewouldn’tbeanyuse.rogerwadeisnotthekindofmantoacceptone.heisaverytalentedguywhohasbeenjarredloosefromhisself-control.hehasmadetoomuchmoneywritingjunkforhalfwits.buttheonlysalvationforawriteristowrite.ifthereisanythinggoodinhim,itwillcomeout.”

“okay,i’msoldonhim,”isaidwearily.“he’sterrific.alsohe’sdamndangerous.hehasaguiltysecretandhetriestodrownitinalcohol.it’snotmykindofproblem,mr.spencer.”

“isee.”helookedathiswristwatchwithaworriedfrownthatknottedhisfaceandmadeitlookolderandsmaller.“well,youcan’tblamemefortrying.”

hereachedforhisfatbriefcase.ilookedacrossatthegoldengirl.shewasgettingreadytoleave.thewhitehairedwaiterwashoveringoverherwiththecheck.shegavehimsomemoneyandalovelysmileandhelookedasifhehadshakenhandswithgod.shetouchedupherlipsandputherwhitegauntletsonandthewaiterpulledthetablehalfwayacrosstheroomforhertostrollout.

iglancedatspencer.hewasfrowningdownattheemptyglassonthetableedge.hehadthebriefcaseonhisknees.

“look,”isaid.“i’llgoseethemanandtrytosizehimup,ifyouwantmeto.i’lltalktohiswife.butmyguessishe’llthrowmeoutofthehouse.”

avoicethatwasnotspencer’ssaid:“no,mr.marlowe,idon’tthinkhewoulddothat.onthecontraryithinkhemightlikeyou.”

ilookedupintothepairofvioleteyes.shewasstandingattheendofthetable.igotupandcantedmyselfagainstthebackoftheboothinthatawkwardwayyouhavetostandwhenyoucan’tslideout.

“pleasedon’tgetup,”shesaidinavoicelikethestufftheyusetolinesummercloudswith.“iknowioweyouanapology,butitseemedimportantformetohaveachancetoobserveyoubeforeiintroducedmyself.iameileenwade.”

spencersaidgrumpily:“he’snotinterested,eileen.”

shesmiledgently.“idisagree.”

ipulledmyselftogether.ihadbeenstandingthereoffbalancewithmymouthopenandmebreathingthroughitlikeasweetgirlgraduate.thiswasreallyadish.seencloseupshewasalmostparalyzing.

“ididn’tsayiwasn’tinterested,mrs.wade.whatisaidormeanttosaywasthatididn’tthinkicoulddoanygood,anditmightbeahellofamistakeformetotry.itmightdoalotofharm.”