"That's right."
"I was wondering why it took you so long to get in touch with me, Miss
Haynes. I was very anxious to hear from you."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You've been recommended most highly to me, Miss Haynes. Do you
mind if I call you Laura? And you can call me Phil. I like my friends
to call me by my first name."
Laura nearly dropped the phone. Nodding frantically to the puzzled
Marilyn, Laura said, "Ah--yes, _Phil_."
"That's better. Are you free this afternoon for lunch, Laura?"
"I--could be. But this is all so mysterious--"
"I'm sorry. But I have a business proposal for you, and it's not
something that can easily be explained over the phone. Shall we make it
a date for lunch in, say an hour and a half?"
_CHAPTER SIX_
"I'll be damned," Laura muttered in quiet incredulity, as she hung up
the phone. "So you were right after all. It was Phil Spinelli! But
how--where would he find out about me?--"
"They say he knows everything about everyone, honey. Aren't you glad
you listened to me and called him, now? Christ, I wish _I_ could get
into his syndicate! If I only had your looks--then I wouldn't need to
tramp around in the cold for five bucks a trick." Marilyn shrugged.
"Well, this is your big break. What kind of arrangements did you make
with him?"
"He's picking me up here at half past twelve."
"_Here?_ Baby, you better be ready ahead of time, and wait for him out
in front."
"Why?"
"Because we don't want Phil Spinelli to know that you live in a dump
like this. His girls have to radiate class, poise, breeding. Which
means you've got to give him the impression right from the start that
you come from the proper side of the tracks."
"Oh, dear--"
"Don't worry about it," Marilyn snapped. "Just start getting ready. And
dress like you're having a date with the Duke of Windsor."
Laura put on her one cocktail dress, a tight blue affair with a scoop
neckline that left bare the creamy upper globes of her breasts. At
Marilyn's suggestion, she put just a dab of perfume in the hollow
between her breasts, and wore a tiny jewelled locket that lay
tantalizingly over the soft, high hills of flesh. She combed her long
auburn hair out and arranged a meticulous coiffure. She brushed her
teeth until they sparkled like pearls. By the time she was finished,
she glistened. No one could possibly tell, merely by looking at her,
that only the day before she had taken part in five squalid acts of
physical lust in a cheap hotel room with flyspecked walls. She looked
more like a radiant Bryn Mawr senior on her way to meet her fiancé.
Marilyn nodded in approval when Laura turned away from the mirror at
last.
"Tremendous," she enthused. "You'll knock him for a loop. You've got
just what they want--a virginal appearance without the virginity that
goes with it."
"What sort of man is he, do you know?"
Marilyn shrugged. "All I know is that he's supposed to be a smooth
operator with lots of dough. Also that he doesn't like to waste time."
"Do you think he'll want me for--for his syndicate?"
"You bet. And you know what _that_ means. He'll put you up in a plush
apartment somewhere on the East Side, and every afternoon you'll get a
phone-call telling you where your assignment for the night is, and you
go off to some fancy party or some millionaire's hotel suite and you
earn yourself a hundred bucks."
Laura shook her head. "But why will men pay so much just for a night in
bed with a woman?"
"For one thing, because they can afford it. For another, because
it saves them a lot of fuss and bother. Look at it this way: Phil
Spinelli's girls aren't cheap whores. They're beautiful society dames
of the sort every man wants to lay. But to lay a regular society
woman, you've got to date her for weeks, take her to fancy restaurants,
spend a lot of cash and time on her before she'll come across. With a
call-girl, you short-circuit all the steps in between. You pick up the
phone, you call Spinelli, and you get a nice glossy Fifth Avenue type
girl who doesn't need to be coaxed into bed." Marilyn glanced at her
watch. "But it's almost half past twelve. You all ready?"
"Yes."
"Get downstairs, then. You don't want Spinelli to have to come looking
for you up here."
"Okay. I'm going."
"And--" Marilyn smiled tenderly and squeezed Laura's gloved hand. "Good
luck, honey. I hope you make the grade--even if that means we have to
split up."
"We'll stay together, no matter what," Laura promised.
Marilyn shook her head. "It won't work out that way, believe me. But
thanks for saying it. Hurry along, now, honey."
Laura made her way downstairs, trying to remain calm. She had only a
few moments to wait in front of the building before an enormous black
Imperial sedan glided up. A chauffeur hopped out and opened the back
door, and a man emerged. He looked around uncertainly for a moment
before spotting Laura.
"Mr. Spinelli?" she said in a hesitant voice.