Читать книгу Border City Blues 3-Book Bundle - Michael Januska - Страница 34

THE PRINCE EDWARD HOTEL

At sunrise one morning earlier in the summer, Hiram H. Walker, president of the Border Cities Hotel Company and heir to the Walker distillery empire, christened the Prince Edward Hotel with a bottle of champagne on the roof mast. Walker, with the assistance of the hotel manager and a Royal Navy officer, then raised the Union Jack.

Later that day the hotel was open to the public for inspection. The city had never seen anything like it. People marvelled at the size of the pile and the richness of its décor: a lower lobby with a barbershop, tailoring department, and a bar room; a main lobby with a clerk’s desk in marble and a dining room done all in white with marble flooring; a mezzanine with a beauty parlor, flappers’ barbershop, miniature balconies overlooking the lobby, and a ballroom with a ceiling dripping with chandeliers. The townsfolk were mightily impressed.

Evening ceremonies began with dinner in the main banquet hall. Afterwards, everyone congregated in the ballroom to hear the speeches.

The answer, no doubt, to those who may marvel at the fact that so little difficulty was experienced in raising the one and three-quarters of a million dollars that was necessary for the construction of the hotel may be in the Board of Directors. The most conservative businessmen in the Border Cities and in the city of Detroit have purchased preferred stock in this company, and the influence of all-important local business and social organizations has been behind the enterprise and assures its success. I have the distinct pleasure of introducing one of these businessmen. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Mr. Richard Bathgate Davies….

The tailor, holding the jacket by its hanger, woke the bellhop from his reverie with a gentle squeeze of the elbow.

“Oh — looks good. I’ll grab his shoes.”

When they got to the elevator the bellhop poked the button. One of the cars started making its way down from the third floor. It paused for a moment before a slender, gloved hand pulled the doors back.

“Hey, Olive.”

“Gerry, Horace. Where to?”

“Can’t you guess?”

The elevator lurched, Olive jiggled, and the car began its ascent. The three stared at the numbers on the dial above the door. The bell went and Olive stopped at the seventh floor. A chambermaid walked in with an armful of linen.

“Ten please, honey.”

When Olive pulled the doors open again the chambermaid got out and led the way. By the time the others caught up she was already knocking. Nobody one wanted to be late.

“Housekeeping.”

Charlie Baxter checked the peephole then swung the door open and stepped aside. Richard Davies was standing at the window, talking on the telephone and gazing at the street below. Pearl Shipley was sitting in a big, winged-back chair with her legs hanging over the side, reading a movie magazine. Davies finished his conversation then set the telephone back on his desk.

“Emma, after you’ve put those things away I need you to tidy up the place. Charlie had some friends over for poker this afternoon and they’re still learning to pick up after themselves.”

“Yes, Mr. Davies.”

Davies sat in a chair and let Horace detail his shoes. “Excellent.”

Gerry handed Horace the jacket. Horace slipped it over Davies’s arms and then pulled it over his shoulders. Davies buttoned it himself and Horace smoothed the lapels.

“Very nice, Mr. Davies,” said Gerry.

Davies looked down at Pearl. She flipped a page in her magazine.

“I still want you to join us for dinner. Then if you like you can take your sister to the movies.”

“I’m ready when you are,” she muttered as she continued to thumb through her Photoplay.

Davies glared at her. The room fell silent. “You’re not wearing that.”

Pearl put her free hand on her hip. “What’s the matter with this?”

“I’ve an important guest this evening. Do you think you could play the part of a lady for me? Now go to your room and find something decent to wear.”

Davies gestured to the chambermaid, who hustled Pearl down the hall. These modern American girls were so smart-mouthed, undisciplined, and fearless, a completely different animal than what he was used to back home. Pearl was a gift from an auto executive in Detroit who liked his girls a little wild. Davies was thinking what he needed was a more traditional girl, a girl who knew her place, a Canadian girl.

“Gerry, I’d like to go down and inspect the dining room. Have the wait staff meet me there in five minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charlie got the door and Horace followed Gerry out.

It fell dead quiet in the suite. Davies let the silence hang for a minute. Charlie waited. Then the words came in hushed tones.

“Charlie.”

“Sir?”

“Pearl’s getting careless. She’s talking to the wrong people and drawing too much attention. Keep an eye on her for me and let me know by the end of the week what you think we should do about it.”

Davies circled Charlie and then stopped to look him straight in the eye. “Understand?”

Davies’ gaze was hot and penetrating. Charlie prided himself on being able to withstand anything his boss served up. Charlie was going to be his Number One.

“Yes, sir.”

Davies walked over to the cigarette case by the telephone. He squeezed it and it popped open. There was a photo of Pearl on the table.

“But honestly, Charlie, can you blame me?”

Charlie suppressed a smile. “No, sir.”

“Cigarette?”

“No, thank you.”

Davies eyed Charlie as he placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a fancy tabletop lighter. The chambermaid reappeared from the hall.

“Will that be all, Mr. Davies?”

“Yes, Emma. Thank you.”

The chambermaid showed herself out and they were alone again.

“I can trust you, can’t I, Charlie?”

Charlie looked at his boss. He wondered where all this was coming from and where it was going. He knew Davies was putting together a big deal and things have been a bit tense lately, what with rumours of Jack McCloskey being back in town. But considering the small army that Davies was now able to command, there should be no worries.

“Of course, sir.”

Davies smiled. “Right.”

He walked over to the mirror and checked his tie. If this deal went through tonight, it would be the first step towards something truly great, something he couldn’t accomplish back in England or in Montreal. It was a way into America, and America was ready for him.

“I’m going downstairs to inspect the dining room. Order yourself some room service while I’m gone.”

Charlie nodded.

“And later on what would you say to the night off?”

“I wouldn’t say no, sir.”

“Jigsaw will be around, so will most of the others. And our friend from Detroit’s bringing his own people. Just make sure you’re back here by o-seven-hundred tomorrow. It’ll be a new day, Charlie.”

Davies closed the door behind him and Charlie stood there motionless for a couple minutes. Then he pressed his ear against the door and opened it slowly. He could see the dial above the elevator door counting down. Gerry and Olive would warn him if Davies was on his way back up.

“Yoo-hoo … Charlie!”

He walked over to the gramophone and dropped the needle on Club Royal Orchestra’s rendition of “The Sheik” and stopped at the credenza before heading down the hall. There was a bottle that still had a little brandy in it. He poured the liquor into him. It went down good.

“Where’s my desert flower?”

Pearl Shipley was writhing under the sheets of her canopy bed. She just loved the feeling of silk on her skin. When Charlie swung open the door she let out a gale of giggles. There were candles everywhere. It was all very romantic and inspired by the latest cinematic marvel, The Sheik’s Wife. Pearl had a mania for Arabia ever since Valentino rode onto the screen last year. She was always trying to get Charlie to participate in one of her little fantasies.

“Thought you could escape me, didn’t you?”

“Nope,” she said, “just playing hard to get.”

“Aw, Pearl, you ain’t that hard.”

“I ain’t easy, neither!”

When the music stopped she could hear her heart beating. Pearl watched his shadow move across the bed curtain. Then he pulled the curtain apart.

“Ah-hah!”

Pearl let out a yelp. The sheer size of Charlie always surprised her. He filled doorways.

He crept slowly across the massive bed, leaned over, and pinned her legs under his ribs. Pearl held the sheet up to her chin and trembled in an exaggerated way. They played a tug of war with it until she couldn’t grip it any longer and let it snap out of her fingers.

Pearl covered her eyes with the backs of her hands and pretended to faint. Charlie pulled the sheet down slowly, watching intently as Pearl’s body revealed itself — the soft, rounded belly and the smooth white thighs. The sight of Pearl’s nakedness never ceased to amaze him. He thought she looked perfect, “more perfect than the girls in the movies,” he liked to say. Pearl loved hearing that.

When the sheet reached her knees he yanked it off with the flourish of a vaudeville magician. He drank in her beauty and then picked up one of her tiny feet. It wasn’t much larger than his hand. He kissed it. She wiggled her toes but still kept quiet. When he tickled the bottom she burst out laughing and tossed a pillow at his head. Looking down at her again he saw her biting her lip and fluttering her eyelids.

Charlie slid his braces off his shoulders and let his trousers drop. He almost fell over trying to kick his shorts off.

“Why don’t you blow out those candles before we burn the place down?”

Tiny plumes of smoke rose from each extinguished flame. Pearl sunk back and soaked it all in — the warm, fuzzy feeling from the champagne, the hot humid air, the smell of the candles, and the tingling between her thighs. She purred like a kitten, Charlie’s kitten.

He didn’t feel as guilty now that he knew his boss wanted to dump her. But how could he make Pearl his without rubbing the boss the wrong way? And more importantly, could he ever afford to keep a girl like Pearl?