The Vulcan Disaster

The big room we were in served her as bedroom and sitting room. She’d converted the second room into a painter’s studio and had let it become a comfortable mess, the way most painters’ studios are. This room was more like the rest of the house — First Empire, I guessed — and I ought not to have liked it any more than I did my suite or the rest of the house, which had a museumy feel I couldn’t get close to. But this was a room Vicki Weiner lived in, and she made the place livable. I’d been on the edge of being furious at her for her little stunt on the beach, using me to tickle her boyfriend’s temper; but now I found myself relaxing and feeling at home. Another chance for Vicki Weiner, I decided. And a few points for good vibes.

“Hey,” I said. “This Constantin guy. Just what’s his place here?”

“Oh,” she said. I could tell from the way her head and shoulders were moving that she was slipping into a bra and hooking it in the back. “He is a phony like the rest of us. He is supposed to be the pilot of the little launch that will take us to the Vulcan tomorrow when it anchors. With Alexandra away out of town so much, you can see that without other duties he would...” She shrugged.

“Yeah,” I said. “A captain without a ship.”

“Correct, Harry. Well, what he really is is the most recent one of Alexandra Komarova’s lovers to be... ah, put out to pasture. I have the right phrase?” I nodded. “I am not entirely surprised. He is not her usual type. She has fair taste in men sometimes. I don’t know. Perhaps she is changing. She has not been here in... oh, three months perhaps. I have heard nothing from her except impersonal cables. I am not looking forward to dealing with her again.”

“And Constantin? He went after you on the bounce?”

“Bounce? Oh, I see: the rebound. Yes. And just this once, like a fool, I let him talk me into a date on the beach. And... oh, Harry, I am so sorry I got you into this. Your chest... does it hurt terribly?”

“No worse than usual, I guess.” I was lying in my teeth all the way. “Now what do you have to tell me about Alexandra Komarova?”

“Alexandra? What do you want to know?” It’s funny how you can see someone’s face only, that way, and tell just what she’s doing. She’d be getting into a pants suit and she’d look terrific.

“Well, if as you say she maintains only a marginal interest in astrology, in occult things, why me? Why a whole string of guys like me?”

“Ah, Harry, the others were not like you. And Alexandra was more interested in, ah, spiritual matters once. More recently she has become more serious. Businesslike. Except when she uses drugs; then she grows amorous. Harry, did you send her your photo? With your dossier?”

“My resume? Yes, I did. Matter of fact, the ad stipulated full-length front and side views. Something about security matters, the way they put it. And when they told me what her father did for a living, well, I...” I let the Awful Truth dawn on my face. “Oh. That? You mean... me?”

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “This is no place for you. The Vulcan is an institution for the insane. It’s not too late to back out. A handsome man like you, you can always find another job, a real one. I’ll give you some names to call, people in Menton, Cannes...”

“No, no,” I said. I stuck a cynical smile on my face. “I’m here, and I think I’ll just stick around a bit just to find out what happens. Just for the hell of it. If it turns out to be too much to put up with, I’ll leave. I think about half my motivation for taking the job was just plain curiosity. You know, I’ve never been on a really big yacht before. And I’m curious. I know the rich, now. The kind of middle-aged money you find in Carmel, in Santa Barbara and Montecito. But these people... I’ve never had much to do with anyone like them. Something in me gets curious to see what the real prime movers of the world are like.”

She looked at me, her mouth frozen, one white tooth biting into one red lip. “Harry,” she said, “you are too much like me. We would not be good for each other.” She stepped out from behind the screen and widened my eyes for me a little. She was exquisite, in blinding white pants and halter and jacket and sandals. Wherever skin showed, the white set it off deliciously. I tipped my highball glass at her, drank.

“Well, why worry about that either?” I said. “If we are a pair of adventurers the only excuse for that line of work is enjoying it. You look great. Let’s go do a bit of enjoying.” I held a hand out for her to shake, but she turned away. I put my hands on her brown arms and spun her back around again. “What’s the matter?” I said.

“Oh, Harry, halfway through my little act this afternoon I realized what a fool I was being, playing with you like that. You are not a man to be played with. And most certainly not by me. I was thinking what a mess I’d made of things in the last year or so.”

“Here?” I said. “So leave. Nothing easier.”