Stardust Read Free Page B

“you’d be working for me.”
    He looked up and got to his feet.
    â€œHere’s Jill,” he said.
    I got to my feet. Jill Joyce, her black mink coat open, was swiveling through the dining room with Ray Morrissey a few feet back of her. Morrissey didn’t look very happy. He looked at me and I shot him with my forefinger. He nodded once and when Jill reached us, peeled off without a word and headed for the chow line. Salzman was holding Jill’s chair. She swivel-hipped around the table and sat in it and looked appraisingly at me from under her eyelids, slowly raising her head. Susan smiled and was quiet.
    â€œJill, you know Susan Silverman, our consultant. This is her friend that I mentioned to you, Mr. Spenser.”
    â€œDo you have a first name, Mr. Spenser?” Jill said. She had a soft girlish voice with just a hint of huskiness at the edges. I told her my first name.
    â€œI don’t like it,” she said.
    â€œI was afraid you wouldn’t,” I said. “I’ve been worried about it all month.”
    A small frown line deepened momentarily between her eyebrows and went away.
    â€œI’ll just make up a name for you,” she said.
    Susan’s inward smile was widening. She said softly, “Boy, oh boy.”
    Jill stared at her coldly, and then turned back to me.
    â€œWhat shall I call you,” she said.
    â€œCuddles,” I said. “Most of my closest friends call me that.”
    â€œCuddles?”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œYou seem to have awfully big shoulders for Cuddles. ”
    Everything Jill Joyce said was said in a sort of half-childish lilt that implied sexual desire the way an alto sax implies jazz.
    â€œWell,” I said, “we’ll think of something, I’m sure.”
    â€œSandy says you’re a dick,” Jill Joyce said.
    â€œUn hmm,” I said with a straight face. Susan looked down at her salad.
    â€œAre you going to help me, Dick?” she said. When she said help she leaned a little forward and let a hand flutter near her mouth. Tremulous.
    â€œSure,” I said. “Tell me a little about what you need help with.”
    A dark-haired guy wearing a T-shirt and an apron came over with a tray. The T-shirt said First Run Catering on it. The tray carried a bottle of white wine in an ice bucket and a wineglass. The dark-haired guy put the tray down, opened the wine bottle, poured half a glass, waited while Jill sipped it. She nodded and he picked up the tray and departed.
    Salzman said, “Jill, let me fix you a plate.”
    Jill smiled rather vaguely and nodded. Salzman got up and headed for the serving line. Her eyes never left me. From the corner of my eye I saw Susan pick up a leaf of red-tipped lettuce, inspect it carefully, and take a neat little bite from one edge of it. Jill finished the half glass of wine and looked at me.
    â€œMay I pour you some?” I said.
    â€œOh, Dickie,” she said, “how sweet.”
    I poured the white wine into her glass, waiting for her to say when or gesture with the rim that the glass was full enough. She did neither until I stopped because it was full. She drank about a third of it.
    â€œSo, Dickie,” she said, “you’re friends with, ah, this girl?” She made a sort of groping gesture with her left hand and finally nodded her head toward Susan.
    â€œI’m friends with that girl,” I said.
    â€œGood friends?”
    â€œGood friends.”
    â€œSleep with her?”
    â€œNone of your business.”
    Susan was still nibbling on her greens, but she looked less amused. I knew how much she enjoyed being referred to in the third person. Almost as much as she liked being called a girl. I paused, giving her a moment to kneecap Jill Joyce. Nothing happened.
    â€œOhh, Dickie,” Jill said with her lilt getting more pronounced. “No need to be snarky about it. A girl needs to know things.”
    â€œSo does a