Whatever else might be said of Paul Harshman, Pal decided, he couldn't be called cheap. Their drinks and dinners cost him over one hundred dollars, and he was going to drive them in his rented car to a road company performance of a current Broadway production. Having checked ticket prices the previous week, Pal knew that the seats Paul had reserved added another sixty dollars to the evening's tariff.
As he tipped the doorman of the exclusive club, where they had dined, Paul shifted his wallet under the blue-white light of the neon sign, frowned, and then tucked the obviously expensive leather folder in his jacket pocket.
Their car was driven up to the door, Paul helped Pal in, and went around to get behind the wheel.
"Hang on tight, beautiful," he told her. "Have to stop at the hotel on our way to the theater. It seems I forgot to change the tickets from my card case to my wallet. If we don't waste any time on the way, we'll still make the curtain."
He was also a good driver, Pal learned, as the car sped through traffic at magnum speed limits, maneuvered deftly in and out of lanes to avoid delays by slower vehicles. But she closed her eyes a few times, as they came close to brushing other cars during the frenzied race against time.
Though Paul had used the term "hotel" to describe his lodgings, when they wheeled into the beautifully landscaped driveway, Pal saw that it was more truly a motel. The larger part of the rooms and suites were separate units, with maximum privacy assured by the ingenious layout and judicious use of shrubs and trees.
Paul parked the car behind the end unit – the most distant from the central facilities of the complex. He excused himself, and started to go inside. Then he halted, turned, and came back to the car. He leaned to place his head at the level of Pal's eyes, and opened her door.
"I don't like to leave you out here alone while I rummage around for those tickets," he told her. "It's too dark here, and there's too much shrubbery for concealment. Come on and wait for me in the doorway."
Pal had eyed the dark environment when they first parked, and it didn't take any coaxing to keep her as close to her escort as was properly permissible. She climbed out and accompanied him to his door. A faint glow from a recessed light illuminated the keyhole, but there was no overhead lamp at the entrance. Pal was not greatly surprised, knowing the secret nature of many comings and goings at motels.
Paul unlocked the door, leaving it wide open as he went into the dark interior. Instead of switching on the lights, he went through the room into another, and she saw a subdued gleam as he turned on a light somewhere beyond. She heard him rattling hangers, then there were sounds of drawers being opened and closed.
After a few minutes, just as she was growing uneasy and peering intently at the dark shrub-shapes around her, she heard Paul coming back. He was muttering stifled curses as he approached.
"I'm awfully sorry, Pal. I can't find those damned tickets anywhere. Maybe I'm rushing too fast. Come on in and latch the door while I take another look, will you, please?"
She made no move to comply, wondering about the advisability of enclosing herself in a remote motel unit like this with a man she knew so little about. Why did he want her inside all of a sudden, she wondered.
"With all the narcotic samples I have to keep in my quarters," he explained, providing the answer to her unvoiced question, "I have to be careful."
Pal stepped inside and closed the door without further thought. Her own training had instilled the same caution in her daily routine. One always kept narcotics and other drugs locked away from unauthorized personnel.
"Have a seat, Pal. I'll try not to be too long," he promised. He was outlined in the faint light beyond him as he went through the door to the adjoining room. Then he disappeared. Pal sat on the edge of a sofa she could just barely identify in the grayish darkness. Again she could hear his searching sounds and his annoyed mutterings.
Finally he came back into the room and stood there, once more a silhouette against the pale light of the doorway. He uttered a solitary "Damn!" and then come over to plop himself down beside Pal on the sofa. He heaved an exasperated sigh.
"I've never felt so much like an ass in all my life," he complained. "I had those tickets before I left to pick you up, and now they've vanished into thin air."
"I don't suppose there's any way of getting past the formalities when you've lost your tickets?" Pal wanted to know. "I mean, like telling them what happened and what the seat numbers are?"
"You're making me feel even more asinine than I was," said Paul. His sheepish grin softened the imitation she had been to feel at his inept handling of what she would have considered a simple thing. "I didn't even notice what seats they were. The lady told me they were the best ones available, so I didn't even look at the diagram of the auditorium."
"Look," said Pal, thinking that Fate might have handed her some sort of relief on this obligatory date. "Maybe we just weren't meant to see the show. Perhaps the roof's going to crumble or something, and we were supposed to be saved from the disaster." She made her tone light and humorous, thinking that he would be easily conned into calling it an evening. "I'm actually a little tired tonight, as it is. It's been one of those harrowing days for me in surgery."
"Poor kid," said Paul, getting up and heading out of the dimness into the faintly lighted hall. "I shouldn't have pressured you into such a full evening. Well, I'm going to pour us a small drink, then we're going to take you home."
He disappeared before she could protest. She half-arose, then sank back with a sigh of resignation. It would be simpler to accept his final choice of activity before the evening ended. Considering the various doubts she had entertained about him, a drink in his motel apartment seemed pretty tame.
Again, she found herself remembering the strange look on his face as he leaned forward in the surgery amphitheater. And the wild comments of Sick Jack, the intern. Before she could do any effective sorting in her mind, Paul was back with two tinkling glasses.
"Here you go, Pal," he said, handing her one of the cool, wet tumblers. "Hope you like Scotch. This is a favorite of mine… the only stuff I take with me on the road. If you're not a Scotch drinker, that heavy, peaty taste may seem medicinal, according to my bourbon… and martini-drinking friends. But it'll give you a bit of a pickup to counteract the boredom of this stupidly handled evening. To your health, Pal!" He took a deep sip.
She was going to make a polite protest, but decided to drink with him instead of what might be a less convincing courtesy. She was just beginning to realize how disappointed she was in not getting to see that show.
She wasn't a genuine Scotch enthusiast, but she didn't mind the heavy, smoky flavor. It was cool and wet, and she was suddenly quite anxious to get it down and leave.
"I enjoyed the dinner very much, Paul," she said after her first swallow. "And don't feel so guilty about the ticket thing. That sort of thing happens to everyone, sometime. To a fumble-fingers like me, it seems like a pretty natural thing to lose a couple of small pieces of cardboard. Bottoms up?" She tilted the glass and downed the contents.
Paul took her empty glass with one hand, tipped up his own for the final drops hiding around the ice cubes, then went back to leave the tumblers in the kitchenette, or wherever he had gotten them.
It seemed as if the tiresomeness of the entire day finally got the best of Pal. She leaned back, resting her head on the back of the sofa, and wished Paul would hurry. She was anxious to be in bed. He seemed to be taking an awfully long time to get rid of two glasses.
It struck her that the drink had been pretty potent. Usually, she could put away several average drinks before getting woozy.
A tiny alarm tried to sound somewhere at the back of her mind. Something was attempting to creep through her thoughts. Something from the pages of the current drug handbook – quick-acting sedatives – Nembutal – Cyclopal Evipal – Neraval…
She tried to sit up, thinking how silly it would be for Paul to come back and find her asleep. But it seemed much easier to just relax and let go…