No Business of Mine

“You’re the first,” he returned, winking at me again.

“What a break!” she exclaimed, turning back to me. “I’ve been dreaming about a man like you ever since I’ve had those kind of dreams.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said, kidding her. “Maybe I’d better have a look at the other girls. I’m kind of selective.”

“You don’t have to look at them. They’re only called girls to distinguish them from the male customers. They’ve been girls so long they think a brassiere is a place to eat. Come on, let’s have fun.”

“What kind of fun can we have in this joint?” I asked. “It’s too crowded for my kind of fun.”

Her blue eyes popped open. “Oh, I like lots of people. My father says a girl can’t come to any harm so long as she stays with a crowd.”

“Your father’s crazy,” I said, grinning. “Suppose you fell in with a crowd of sailors?”

She thought about this, frowning. “I don’t think my father knows anything about sailors,” she said seriously. “He stuffs birds and things.”

“You mean he’s a taxidermist?”

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her blonde curls, “He can’t drive.”

“Let’s skip your father,” I said hurriedly. “Let’s talk about you. How about a drink?”

“I could go for a large gin with a very little lime if the gin was large enough,” she said, brightening. “Do you think I could have that?”

I nodded to Sam, pulled up a stool, patted it. “Park your weight,” I said. “How do you like it here?”

She climbed up on the stool, sat down, rested her small hands on the bar. “I love it,” she told me. “It’s so sinful and nice. You’ve no idea how dull it is at home. There’s only father and me and all the animals that need stuffing. You’d be surprised at the animals people bring to father. He’s working on a stag some crank wants to keep in his hall. Can you imagine having a stuffed stag in your hall?”

“You could always hang your hat and umbrella on its antlers,” I said, after giving the matter thought.

She drank some of the gin. “You’re the kind of person who makes the best of everything,” she said. “I’ll tell father about that idea. He might make money out of it.” She sipped more gin, sighed. “I love this stuff. Now I can’t get a two-way stretch, it’s the only thing that holds me together.” An idea struck her, and she grabbed hold of my arm. “Did you bring any silk stockings over with you?”

“Sure,” I said. “I have half a dozen pairs of nylons at my hotel.”

She clenched her fists, shut her eyes.

“Six pairs?” she repeated in a hoarse whisper.

“That’s right.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, shivered. “You weren’t thinking of giving them to anyone, were you? They couldn’t be lying in your old room unattached so to speak?”

“I brought them for someone,” I said quietly.

She nodded to herself. “I might have guessed it,” she said, sighed. “Well, never mind. Some girls have all the luck. Some get them, others just dream about them. You certainly made my heart go pit-a-pat for a moment. But I shall get over it.”

“I brought them for Netta Scott,” I explained. “She was a friend of mine.”

Crystal turned quickly, her eyes showed surprise. “Netta? You knew Netta?”

“Sure.”

“And you brought the stockings... but, she’s dead. Didn’t you know?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Then you haven’t anyone to give...” She caught herself up, actually blushed. “Oh, I am awful! Poor Netta! I always get depressed when I think of her. I feel I could cry right now.”

“If you want those stockings you can have them,” I said. “Netta can’t use them, so they’re unattached as you put it.”

Her eyes brightened. “I don’t know what to say. I’d love them-they’d save my life, but knowing they were for Netta... well, it does make a difference, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?”

She thought, frowning. I could see she would always find thought difficult: she just wasn’t the thinking type.

“I don’t know. I suppose not. I mean... well, where are they?”

“At my hotel. Shall we go over and get them?”

She slid off her stool. “You mean right now? This very moment?”

“Why not? Can you get away?”

“Oh, yes. All we girls are free lances. We make what we pick up-doesn’t it sound sordid?” She giggled. “I suppose I’d have to come all the way up to your room and there wouldn’t be any crowds in there?”

I shook my head. “No crowds. Just you and me.”

She looked doubtful. “I don’t know whether I should. My father said he’d be terribly angry if I ever appeared in the News of the World.”

“Who’s going to tell the News of the World?” I asked patiently.

She brightened up again. “I wish I was clever. Do you know, I never thought of that. Well, come on. Let’s go.”

I finished my drink. “Is there a garage at the back of this joint?”

She nodded. “Yes, a big one. Why?”

I patted her hand. “Some Americans like to look at old churches,” I said, smiling. “I’m crazy about garages. You’d be surprised at the number of garages there are to look at. They’re full of oil and interest.”

“But why garages?” she asked blankly.

“Why old churches?” I returned.

She nodded. “I expect you’re right. I had an uncle who liked visiting public houses. I suppose it’s the same sort of idea.”