* * * * *
I stood there gawking. Finally I got the idea. She didn't want me to
get all wet. Or, she didn't want my robe to get all wet. She wanted her
lovely back scrubbed. Or maybe we could do some mutual scrubbing. She
wanted me there in the shower with her.
I began to take the robe off. She smiled at me through the half-open
sliding door of the shower. She glistened with water. She looked
all tan and silvery and sleek, sleek as if she were made out of
tight-stretched leather.
And then chimes rang. We both heard them. She looked at me and sighed.
I looked back at her. I hoped it wasn't too obvious. I hoped my tongue
was between my lips and back a bit. She smiled and leaned against me
and gave me a shower-water-wet and playful kiss. "Oh, well, darling,"
she said, as if we could do later whatever we hadn't had a chance to do
now. "I guess that must be the Fosters. I guess they're early. Better
get the door. I guess I'll have to scrub my own back."
The shower door slid shut.
I remembered Mr. Xlptl and his mission. There was no doubt about it
now, it was going to work out exactly as Mr. Xlptl said it would work
out. He'd given me the power, all right. I said: "Janet, there's only
one thing."
"What?" she shouted over the hiss and roar of the shower.
The chimes sounded again.
"Mrs. Xlptl," I said in a loud voice.
"What was that? What did you say?"
"Mrs. Xlptl," I repeated.
"Why, what a funny name!" she cried with a little laugh.
"Name?" I said, clearing my throat. "I was only clearing my throat." No
doubt of it, Mrs. Xlptl wasn't hiding here.
I went into the bedroom and through it to the hallway. The chimes
sounded a third time. To hell with this Hal Drummond guy, I thought.
Let him let in his own Fosters. I had a moment of panic, but found the
list of names in a pocket of my-Hal-Drummond bathrobe. I studied the
second name and address on the list. Chicago, Illinois. Mrs. Dan Carboy
(nee Dawn Daring). The address was, Club Chuckle. Dawn Daring, I
decided, was in show-biz. This sounded like fun. I thought of the name.
And buzzed out of there just as the bewildered Hal Drummond reached the
door....
* * * * *
I was dancing with a medium tall redhead whose wonderfully supple
figure was all but glued to me. I looked down at her face. She looked
up at mine. Her own face was pretty and heavily war-painted, so it
would look good behind a baby-spot. She was in show-biz, all right.
We danced slowly to music I hardly heard. Every now and then she leaned
up and kissed the side of my chin with her red, red lips.
"If you really want me to quit, Dan," she said.
"No, that's all right," I said automatically.
"But you just a minute ago said you wanted me to quit show-biz and
settle down to being your wife."
"Oh, did I?" I said.
"Of course you did," she said, slightly exasperated. I felt her move
away from me an inch or so. It made a lot of difference. They broke
into a mambo suddenly. We both could mambo very well. That meant
something. It meant more confirmation of Mr. Xlptl, because Jack Brody,
private eye, didn't know a mambo from a mango.
"When do you go on?" I said.
"You know when. In half an hour."
I looked down at her. Would Dan Carboy kiss his wife now? Probably, I
thought. _This_ version of Dan Carboy would only if he thought the real
Carboy would. I waited for her to make some kind of a gesture, to take
the play away from me. We just danced. Then the music stopped and we
went to our table where drinks were waiting. Mine was a martini. From
the color, it looked very dry. And it was.
"Xlptl," I said.
"What?" She'd heard me. She didn't understand. Her face showed
absolutely nothing.
She obviously wasn't Mrs. Xlptl. "Hiccup," I said, searching
surreptitiously through my suit-jacket pockets for the list of names.
She smiled at me. I smiled at her. I couldn't find the list. I didn't
want to make it obvious, so I didn't go digging down into my pants
pockets. That could wait for when she went on. What did she do? I
wondered. Sing? Play the piano maybe? Her gown told me nothing. It was
long and sheath-like, in a bright scarlet which almost matched her hair
in the dim lighting.
* * * * *
Finally there was a fan-fare. She patted my hand. "Maybe you're right,
Dan," she said, getting up. "Maybe after this month I will quit."
There was a round of polite applause. Dawn drifted over to a little
stage and swayed herself onto it. The music began and the applause
increased. Dawn smiled. The room went dark.
[Illustration: The smile she gave him was the one she reserved for her
husband.]
Dawn found a zipper somewhere and did with zippers what you will do
with them when they are closed. Down went Dawn's robe. What she was
wearing underneath was exactly what a stripper will wear under her
sheath-like outer garment.
Spangles and tassles flashed in the light of the spot. Dawn danced. A
spangle here and a tassel there was removed. There was more applause.
I blushed for Dan Carboy. Dan could take it from there. I dove into
my pants pockets and found the list of names. The next one was Mrs.
Angel Martell, (nee Sally Benton), with an address in Philly. I looked
up. Dawn was down to red hair, skin and a G-string. I thought of Mrs.
Martell.
* * * * *
"Angel!" she coo'd. "You're so stro-ong!"
She was a real tiny thing, but pretty. I sat in a room with lockers
and a rubdown table. I was wearing trunks and a robe. I looked at
my hands. They weren't taped. Either Angel Martell was a boxer with
considerable time to go as yet before he was on, or he was a wrestler.
I shuddered. I didn't know one damn thing about boxing or wrestling.
Street fighting, yeah--but how the hell would street fighting help me
here?
"Quit showing your muscles off to the little woman," a voice said. The
voice belonged to a tired-looking little man with glasses.