Authors: Harold Robbins
It was the only time in his life he was ever to hear Marja cry.
Chapter 16
IT WAS a week before Marja went back to work at the Golden Glow. Her face was thin and there were deep hollows under her eyes. Furst had come Katti's funeral.
The Mass at St. Augustine's had been simple. Father Janowicz had been kind and thoughtful. He spoke graciously of her mother's great courage and devotion to CathoUc principles, and prayed fervently that her children would guide themselves by her example.
She sat beside Peter in silence as the lone car followed the hearse to the cemetery. The burial was done quickly and inexpensively, and they returned home.
Welfare was waiting for them. Francie's mother, who had been minding the baby while they were out, went upstairs and left them. The young man and older woman who represented Welfare were concerned with their ability to take proper care of the child.
Marja persuaded them that all would be well. She was home during the day and Peter would be home in the eve-
ning whDe she was at work. They agreed to let things stand as they were until fall, when Marja would have to return to school.
She stood in the entrance of the dance hall for a moment. It seemed strange to her that while so much had changed, the dance hall was still the same. The cheap, tinselly decorations, the dim blue Ughts, the tired music with its false rhythms—everything was the same.
The bouncer came toward her. His apelike, dull face was without expression. "Mr. Martin wants to see yuh," he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the office.
Without answering him, she cut across the dance floor. She knocked at the door.
Martin's voice came through it. "Come in."
She opened the door. He was seated at his desk, some papers spread out before him. She hesitated until he looked up. Then she came into the room, closed the door behind her, and stood in front of his desk.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked in a dull voice.
He nodded. "Sit down. I'll be with yuh soon's I finish this."
She slipped into a chair beside the desk and watched him. His face was harsh and lined, and his gray-black hair gave his blue eyes an even colder look. His chin was firm and square, but his lips, though thin, had an almost strange gentility about them.
At last he looked up. "I'm sorry about your mother, Marja," he said gently.
She looked down at her hands. 'Thanks," she said, her throat tight and constricted. It was still difficult for her to talk about it.
He was silent for a moment. "An investigator was here
from the Welfare Department. They were checkmg up on your job."
Her face held a sudden fear. She looked at hhn question-ingly.
He smiled reassuringly. "Don't be frightened. I told him you were a cashier/*
She looked down at her hands again. Her voice was perilously close to breaking. "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Martin.**
He looked down at the papers on his desk. "Why didn't you tell me how old you are, Marja?" he asked suddenly.
"Would you have given me a job if I had?** she countered.
He hesitated. "I guess not.'*
"That's why,** she answered. "Besides, you never asked me.**
His eyes searched her face. "I never thought about it* You look old enough.**
A faint smile came to her lips. "I am old enough.**
He got to his feet and came around the desk to her. His hand reached out and touched her shoulder. He nodded thoughtfully. He remembered his own youth. He had come from a neighborhood very much like Marja's. "I guess you are,** he said.
She looked up at him questioningly. "It*s okay if I go back to work, then, Mr. Martin?"
"Yes," he answered. "But keep yoiu: eyes open. If there's any trouble or anything, get out in a hurry. We can't have you caught here or our license is gone."
"I'll be careful, Mr. Martin," she said, getting to her feet. "I promise.'*
He opened the door for her and she stood there a moment, a grateful smile on her lips. "Thanks very much.
Mr. Martin," she said in a low, husky voice. "I won't forget how nice you've been."
He stood in the doorway watching her make her way to the dressing-room. He shook his head wonderingly. Even now that he knew, it was still hard to believe. Not even sixteen. Still, some of these Polacks came to it early. He grinned to himself as he closed the door and walked back to his desk.
The calendar would never mean very much to her. She had now all the wisdom she would ever need. She had man sense. It was the sixth sense that most women spent all their lives without ever finding.
She opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Her stepfather was reading a paper spread on the table. He looked up at her.
"How is the baby?" she asked.
"Okay," he answered stiffly. "He was sleeping quiet all ^ night."
She went into her room and glanced into the crib. Peter was sleeping peacefully, his thumb stuck into the comer of his mouth. Gently she removed it. Suddenly she was aware of her stepfather's gaze. She turned swiftly.
He was standing in the doorway of her roonok, watching her. His face flushed suddenly.
"What do you want?" she asked.
He cleared his throat. "Nothin'," he answered. He went back into the kitchen.
She slipped out of her dress and slip. Throwing on a robe, she went into the kitchen and turned on the water in the sink.
Peter looked up at her from his chair. 'That feller Mike," he asked cautiously. "He come home with you?"
"Yeah," she answered, scrubbing her face vigorously with soap and water.
"He like you, eh?'*
"I suppose so," she replied, still busy with her face.
"You spend lots of time with him downstairs?" A leering sound had crept into his voice. "Before you come up?"
She turned on him coldly. "What are you trying to find out?"
He couldn't meet her gaze. He looked down at the table. "Nothing."
"Then mind your own business," she said, crossing the room and going out into the hall.
He was waiting at the door when she came back into the kitchen. His hand caught her arm. She stared up into his face, her eyes narrowing sUghtly. She didn't speak.
"You're very pretty girl, Marja." His voice had a pleading sound in it.
She still didn't speak.
"Sometime, maybe, you be nice to me like you are to him," he said awkwardly. "Then everybody happy, eh?"
She shook his hand from her arm. She was too weary to be very angry. Her voice was dull and flat. "Peter," she said—it was the first time she had ever called him by his given name without the prefix "Uncle"—"don't be a jerk. I'm stayin' here because that's the way Mama would have wanted it. But that's all. No more."
He followed her to the bedroom door. He sucked in his breath and dared another question. "But, Marja, you know how I always feel about you?"
"I know," she said coldly. "But you're not my type. If you need a woman that bad, go out and get yourself one."
She slammed the door swifdy in his face and turned the
key loudly so he could hear it. She waited there a moment until she could hear his footsteps walking away. Then she quickly finished undressing and climbed into her bed.
She stretched her arms behind her head and let the faint breeze from the window drift over her body. There was a dull, lonely ache inside her. She closed her eyes, and her mother*s face jumped before her in the darkness*
"Be a good girl, Marja,'* Katti seemed to be saying.
*T will. Mama,'* she promised in a half-whisper, turning on her side. She heard the faint click of the icebox door as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 17
JOKER MARTIN looked Up at her. She was standing in front of his desk. "I got it fixed," he said. "Welfare agreed it was okay for you to take an afternoon session at school and continue workin' here."
Her hands made a simple expressive gesture. "I don't know how to thank you," she said. "It seems like you're always doin' somethin' nice for me."
He smiled, embarrassed. "Maybe it's because I like yuh."
She didn't speak.
"You're steady, Marja," he said. "You show up every night, yuh never give me no trouble like the other girls." Maybe that's why."
"I still don't know how I can ever pay you back," she said.
He started to speak, but the telephone on his desk began to ring. He picked it up. "Martin speaking."
The voice spoke for a few seconds and Joker looked up
at her. She turned and started to leave, but a gesture of his hand bade her stay. "Hold on a minute," he said into the phone.
He covered the mouthpiece with his hand while he spoke to her. "Here is a way you can pay me back," he said. "I got a very important guy on the phone. He's short a dame on a party tonight. There's five bucks in it for yuh if yuh want to go."
She hesitated. "I—^I don't think so, Mr. Martin. I'd be outta place there."
He knew what she meant "Go on," he said. "This guy's okay. There won't be no rough stuff. All yuh gotta do is dance a little with 'em an' have a few laughs. Yuh'll be outta there by three thirty."
She still hesitated. "You sure?'*
He nodded. "Sure."
"But I haven't got the kind of clothes to wear." She shook her head. "I'd better not."
"You can take your gown," he said. "You can bring it back tomorrow night. Besides, you'll be doin' me a big favor."
She drew in her breath. She didn't see how she could refuse to go. He had been so good to her. "Okay."
He smiled. "Grood girl." He waved his hand at her. "Go get your bag an' come back here. I'll give you the address."
He waited until the door had closed behind her before he spoke into the phone again. Then he spoke quickly, cautiously. "I'm sendin' over a green kid. Jack, so take it easy. I don't want her scared off."
He was silent while the voice on the other end of the telephone crackled in his ear. The sound stopped and he spoke again, a laughing sound in his voice. "Look, it's the most gorgeous thing you ever saw. But don't let that fool
yuh. It's under age, and trouble if anything goes wrong. Play it straight an' give it a little time. It'll come around." He put the telephone down as she came back into the office.
She got out of the cab in front of the large apartment building. The doorman held the door for her while she paid the driver and got out of the cab. "Mr. Ostere's apartment."
There was a knowing look in his eyes. "Penthouse D, seventeenth floor."
The elevator-operator had the same look in his eyes as he took her up. "To your left," he said, holding the door for her.
She heard the elevator door close behind her as she pressed the buzzer. The door opened. A man in full evening dress looked out at her.
"Mr. Ostere?" she asked. "I'm Marja Flood.'*
The man's face was cold. "Come in," he said formally. "I'll teU Mr. Ostere you're here."
She waited in the foyer. The man disappeared and returned in a moment, followed by a shorter man. This man wore a dark business suit.
He came up to her, his hand outstretched. "I'm Jack Ostere," he said, smiling.
"Marja Flood," she answered, taking his hand.
He stepped back and looked at her. "My God!" he exclaimed dramatically. "Joker was right for once in his life. You are beautiful."
A pleased smile crossed her lips. "Thank you, Mr. Ostere," she said.
"Make it Jack," he answered quickly. "Come inside and let me fix you a drink before the others get here."
He took her arm and steered her into the largest living-room she had ever seen.
He paused before a small portable bar on wheels. "What will it be? Manhattan? Martini?"
"Coke?" she questioned hesitandy.
He wrinkled his brow quizzically, then smiled. "As you wish." He turned and pulled a cord near the wall.
The butier appeared almost immediately. "Yes, sir?"
"Jordan, a Coke for Miss Flood," Ostere said.
The butler's face was impassive. "Yes, sir," he said, turning away.
"With lots of ice," Marja said.
The butler looked at her. "With lots of ice, ma'am." He left the room.
Marja turned to her host. "I hope I wasn't too early. Joker told me to come right over."
Ostere had poured some whisky over ice. He held the glass toward her. "No one as pretty as you could ever be too early, Marja."
A chime sounded in the apartment "Please excuse me,** Ostere apologized. "Some of my guests are arriving and I must greet them."
The butler brought Marja her Coke, and she looked around the room quickly. It must have been forty feet long, and at one end were high French windows that opened onto a terrace.
Her host came busthng back into the room with the new arrivals. Marja's eyes widened.
One of the girls was a movie star whom she had seen many times on the screen at the RKO 86th Street Theatre. And one of the men was a newspaper columnist whose column she often read in the morning paper.
Before Ostere had finished the introductions, the chime
rang again and he hurried off-to welcome other guests. Marja's eyes were wide. Even though.she did not recognize all the names, they had the familiar ring of the daily paper.
She was quiet and shy most of the time, for she did not know what to say to people like these. From the conversation she gathered that Ostere was a rich man who often dabbled in backing plays.
He was a kind host, however, for though he circulated freely throughout the room talking to his guests, every few minutes he would appear at her side to see that she was happy and comfortable. She liked him. He was such a nice, busy litde man.
Otice the columnist got her in a comer and asked her what she did for a living. At first she didn't know what to say to him. Then it came to her.
"I'm a dancer," she answered. It was near enough to the truth.
Ostere appeared suddenly beside them and smiled approvingly at her reply.
"Where do you work?" the columnist persisted. "I'll give you a plug in the column."
"I'm not ready for that yet," she said, smiling. "But I'll count on you remembering that when I am."
The columnist had already had a few drinks and was slighdy loaded. He knew what kind of girls Ostere usually had around him on evenings like this. He wanted to make her uncomfortable. "Let's see you dance," he said nastily. "I don't believe you."