“So,” Jay said, watching Lana looking at the crushed ice like a crystal ball, turning the glass, her mind obviously not with him. “Tell me about this Shirer guy.”
“He’s a pilot,” she said, taking another sip. “I met him at-”
“I know when you met him. What’s he like?”
“Kind, considerate.” She touched the glass, tracing a line with her finger across the condensation. “He’s nice.”
“Well,” Jay said, with an air of magnanimity, “I hope it works out.”
“Thanks.”
“To—” Jay hesitated. “What’s his first name?”
“Franklin,” she said.
“Frank!” The glasses clinked again. “Sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
She was sorely tempted by the lobster cocktail. “No— I’m—” She yawned. “I’m fine.”
“Fine! You’re beautiful. If you’d have me back, babe, I’d—” He fell silent. She’d speared the olive with the swizzle stick and he watched her take it to her mouth, leaning forward, her breasts the more tantalizing for being hidden in the uniform, the uniform that carried with it the suggestion of regulations, conformity — the very things that excited him to violate. “God but you’re beautiful. Now don’t get mad. Just a compliment.”
“I’m not mad,” she said, taking another sip then sitting back against the plush padded wall of the booth. She looked around. It was the first time she’d been to the Davy Jones Restaurant. “It’s not as bad as I thought,” she said.
“Huh — oh. Thought you’d been here before?”
“No. Just heard of it. Navy lieutenants can’t afford eating out. Not in restaurants anyway.”
“Then have dinner. Come on, relax. I’m not trying to hit on you. You believe that?”
“I don’t know anything about you,” she said, her finger trailing the edge of the glass. “I thought I did once but I don’t.” She took another sip.
“You think I’m an animal,” he said.
“Not all the time.” She looked around the restaurant. “When are those papers coming?”
“Any minute.”
Before she could ask him any more questions about the papers he rambled on, “Told them to take them up to my room, but I can see now there’s no way you’d come up to sign them.”
Lana’s smile was a worldly one — a world away from the shy virgin that Jay had married and debased until she’d fought her way back to self-respect. Her look now told him, “Come on, Jay — you take me for a fool?”
“So,” he said. “I’ll get someone over here from the Excelsior. If you don’t mind a lawyer sitting in.”
“Why should I?” She took another sip, visibly more relaxed and feeling more in control of the situation.
“Okay,” he said, lifting his drink. “To a civil parting of the ways. No hard feelings.”
She sighed, and he saw her eyes going out of focus.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” She yawned. “Why-?”
“I dunno — you don’t look so good. I told you, they work you too hard at that—”
The thud of her head knocked over the glasses, and Jay was by her side in two seconds. “Hey, babe—”
The barman came over. “Is there anything wrong, Mr. La Roche?”
“No,” Jay said sarcastically. “She’s fine. Loves crashing on tables.”
“Should I call a doctor?”
“No — she’s got low blood pressure. Happens all the time. She’ll be right in a few minutes.”
A man appeared from one of the booths, looking concerned, coming over to see if he could help. Jay was lifting her up, putting her over his shoulder. “Better send dinner up to the room,” he told the maitre d’-cum-manager.
“Certainly, sir. Should I ring a doctor?”
“No, I told you it’s just a bit of low blood pressure. She’ll be right as rain in a little while. You could give us a hand up on the elevator.”
“Of course,” the maitre d’ said. “Marge, you clean up the table.”
“Yes, sir.”
Up in Jay’s room the manager was still fussing.
“She’ll be fine,” Jay told him for the third time in as many minutes. “But listen, maybe you should hold off on the meal. I’ll call down when we’re ready.”
“Yes, Mr. La Roche. Of course. Anything…”
Not long after the manager had gone, Jay heard the phone ring. It was his lawyer downstairs who had been sitting a few booths away.
“Everything okay?” Jay asked.
“No problems, Mr. La Roche. They cleaned up the booth real nice.”
“You switch her glass with mine?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. La Roche. Be through the washing machine in a few minutes anyway.”
“Fine. Now I don’t want any interruptions for at least half an hour. I’ll call down when I want you. When I call, get your ass up here quick. I want you here when she wakes up. Right?”
“Of course, Mr. La Roche.”