"Tal Howard."
"Who?"
"I spoke to you last night at the Aztec. About Timmy Warden. You said
to phone."
I could hear the soft yowl of her complete yawn. "Oh, sure. You go have
some coffee or something and then stop around here. I live at a place
called the Glendon Arms. Give me about forty minutes to wake up."
I wasted a half hour over coffee and a newspaper, and then found the
Glendon Arms without difficulty. It was as pretentious as its name,
with striped canopy, solid glass doors, mosaic tile lobby floor,
desk clerk with dreary sneer. He phoned and told me I could go right
up to Miss Raselle's apartment, third floor, 3A. The elevator was
self-service. The hallway was wide. I pushed the button beside her door.
She opened the door and smiled as she let me in. She wore a white
angora sleeveless blouse, slacks of corduroy in a green plaid. I had
expected her to be puffy, blurred by dissipation, full of a morning
surliness. But she looked fresh, golden, shining and clean. The
great mop of black hair was pulled sleekly back and fastened into an
intricate rosette.
"Hi, Tal Howard. Can you stand more coffee? Come along."
There was a small breakfast terrace with sliding doors that opened onto
it from the bedroom and the kitchen. The sun was warm on the terrace.
We had coffee and rolls and butter on a glass-topped table.
"Last night was a waste," she said. "He was a friend of a friend. A
stuffed uniform until drink number ten. And then what. He goes with his
hands like so. Zoom. Dadadadadada. Gun noises. Fighter planes. I'm too
old for toys."
"He had a lot of ribbons."
"He told me what they were for. Several times. How did you track me
down, Tal Howard?"
"Through your sister."
"Dear God. Anita has turned into a real slob. It's that Doyle. Doyle
allows that the sun rises and sets on Doyle. The kids are nice,
though. I don't know how they made it, but they are. What's with Timmy?
He was my first love. How is that cutie?"
"He's dead, Toni."
Her face lost its life. "You certainly didn't waste any time working up
to that. How?"
"He was taken prisoner by the Chinese in Korea. So was I. We were in
the same hut. He got sick and died there and we buried him there."
"What a stinking way for Timmy to go. He was a nice guy. We got along
fine, right up into the second year of high school, and then he started
considering his social position and brushed me off. I don't blame him.
He was too young to know any better. He left me to take a big hack at
the dancing-school set. My reputation wasn't exactly solid gold." She
grinned. "Nor is it yet."
"He mentioned you while we were in camp."
"Did he?"
"He called you Cindy."
For a long moment she looked puzzled, and then her face cleared. "Oh,
that. You know, I'd just about forgotten that. It was sort of a gag. In
that eighth grade we had a teacher who was all hopped up about class
activities. I was the rebel. She stuck me in a play as Cinderella.
Timmy was the prince. He called me Cindy for quite a while after that.
A year maybe. A pretty good year, too. I was a wild kid. I didn't know
what I wanted. I knew that what I had, I didn't want. But I didn't know
how to make a change. I was too young. Gee, I'm sorry about Timmy.
That's depressing. It makes me feel old, Tal. I don't like to feel old."
"I came back and tried to find a Cindy. I didn't know your right name.
I found a couple. Cindy Waskowitz--"
"A great fat pig. But nothing jolly about her. Brother, she was as
nasty as they come."
"She's dead, too. Glandular trouble of some kind."
"Couldn't you go around wearing a wreath or singing hymns like Crossing
the Bar?"
"I'm sorry. Then there was Cindy Kirschner."
"Kirschner. Wait a minute. A younger kid. Teeth like this?"
"That's right. But she had them fixed. Now she has a husband and a
couple of kids."
"Good for her."
"She was the one who remembered the class play or skit or whatever it
was. And the name of the eighth-grade teacher. Miss Major. She couldn't
remember who played Cinderella. So I found Miss Major. She went blind
quite a while ago and--"
"For God's sake, Tal! I mean really!"
"I'm sorry. Anyway, she identified you. I went out and saw your sister.
I came here hunting for Antoinette Rasi. The way your sister spoke
about you, when I couldn't find you, I tried the police. They told me
the name you use. Then it was easy."
She looked at me coldly and dubiously. "Police, eh? They give you all
the bawdy details?"
"They told me a few things. Not much."
"But enough. Enough so that when you walked in here you had to act like
a little kid inspecting a leper colony. What the hell did you expect to
find? A room all mirrors? A turnstile?"
"Don't get sore."
"You look stuffy to me, Tal Howard. Stuffy people bore me. So what the
hell was this? A sentimental journey all the way from prison camp to
dig up poor little me?"
"Not exactly. And I'm not stuffy. And I don't give a damn what you are
or what you do."
The glare faded. She shrugged and said, "Skip it. I don't know why I
should all of a sudden get sensitive. I'm living the way I want to
live. I guess it's just from talking about Timmy. That was a tender
spot. From thinking about the way I was. At thirteen I wanted to lick
the world with my bare hands. Now I'm twenty-eight. Do I look it?"
"No, you really don't."
She rested her cheek on her fist. She looked thoughtful. "You know,
Tal Howard, another reason why I think I jumped on you. I think I'm
beginning to get bored. I think I'm due for some kind of a change."
"Like what?"
"More than a new town. I don't know. Just restless. Skip that. You said
this wasn't exactly a sentimental journey. What is it?"
"There's something else involved."
"Mystery, hey? What's with you?"
"How do you mean?"
"What do you do? You married?"
"I'm not doing anything right now. I'm not married. I came here from
the west coast. I haven't got any permanent address."
"You're not the type."
"How do you mean that?"
"That information doesn't fit you, somehow. So it's just a temporary
thing with you. You're between lives, aren't you? And maybe as restless
as I am?"
"I could be."
She winked at me. "And I think you've been taking yourself too
seriously lately. Have you noticed that?"
"I guess I have."
"Now what's the mystery?"
"I'm looking for something. Timmy hid something. Before he left. I know
what it is. I don't know where it is. Before he died, not very many
hours before he died, Timmy said, 'Cindy would know.' That's why I'm
here."
"Here from the west coast, looking for Cindy. He hid something nice,
then. Like some nice money?"
"If you can help me, I'll give you some money."
"How much?"
"It depends on how much he hid."
"Maybe you admitted too fast that it was money, Tal. I am noted for my
fondness for money. It pleases me. I like the feel of it and the smell
of it and the look of it. I'm nuts about it. I like all I can get,
maybe because I spent so much time without any of it. A psychiatrist
friend told me it was my basic drive. I can't ever have too much."
"If that was really your basic drive, you wouldn't say it like that, I
don't think. It's just the way you like to think you are."
She was angry again. "Why does every type you meet try to tell you what
you really are?"
"It's a popular hobby."
"So all right. He hid something. Now I've got a big fat disappointment
for you. I wouldn't have any idea where he hid something. I don't know
what he means."
"Are you sure?"
"Don't look at me like that. I know what you're thinking. You're
thinking I _do_ know and I won't tell you because I want it all.
Honestly, Tal, I don't know. I can't think what he could have meant."