"You dope, why'd you do that?"
"I didn't know any Spinellis."
Marilyn glowered scornfully. "Suppose it was Phil Spinelli, though?
Maybe he saw you somewhere, and wants to line you up for his syndicate."
Laura shook her head. "Don't be silly. There are dozens of Spinellis in
New York, and Phil Spinelli doesn't know me from Eve. Besides, it was
probably a mistake, a call for some other girl on my floor. There were
two or three girls with Italian names--"
"Does it cost you very much to call him?"
"No, but I feel funny, calling a strange number and asking to speak to
someone I don't even know--"
"Just suppose it _is_ the bigshot, though!" Marilyn urged. "Christ
almighty, Laura, do you want to spend the rest of your life selling
your ass at ten bucks a throw? A girl with your figure could be making
a mint. I tell you in all truth, I never seen a pair of buttons like
yours on _any_ woman in the trade. So you live up here wasting yourself
on me and on a bunch of cheap ten-buck johns, when you might be a big
syndicate girl--"
"But how could it be--"
"_Call_ him," Marilyn insisted. "You never know. Don't sell yourself
short."
In the end, Marilyn won out. It was unreasonable not to try, at least.
Laura had some trouble finding the scrap of paper on which the number
was written, and for a moment she thought she might have thrown it out.
But at last it turned up, crumpled into a corner of her handbag. She
flattened it out.
"Maybe it's too early to call," Laura suggested hesitantly.
"It's eleven in the morning, goof. If he isn't there, you can leave
your number or something."
She had run out of excuses. She went to the phone and dialed the
number. On the third ring the phone was picked up, and a deep masculine
voice boomed, "Yeah?"
"Mr. Spinelli?" Laura said weakly.
"Who's this?"
"My name is Laura Haynes. I got a message about a week ago from Mr.
Spinelli telling me that he had called, but I lost the number and it
just turned up. Are you Mr. Spinelli?"
"No. What did you say your name was?"
"Haynes. Laura Haynes."
"Hold on, huh?"
Laura held on. She heard muffled sounds, as though someone's hand were
over the mouthpiece while a discussion went on.
"What's happening?" Marilyn asked.
"They're bringing Spinelli to the phone, I guess," Laura said. Her
heart pounded.