An Ear to the Ground

Three

“To get this story in its right perspective,” Al Barney said, “I now have to take you back three years. We’ll come up to date before long, but I want you to get it into your mind, we are going back three years.”

I said I understood.

Al nodded and took some beer.

“Well, now... I want to tell you about Harry Lewis...

“At the age of thirty-eight, Harry Lewis became the husband of one of the richest women in the world. He didn’t make any effort to marry her — she married him. The moment she set eyes on him, he was a dead duck. She wanted him as her husband, and when Lisa Cohen wanted anything, she always got it. Harry wasn’t anything special in the brain-box line nor was he particularly bright in business. But he had looks. He was one of those tall, husky, handsome guys you see on the movies — a Gregory Peck type. He had loads of personality, sex appeal and a smile that rocked the kind of girls he associated with. Make no mistake about it, Harry had a stable full of girls who dropped flat on their backs when he gave the signal. But apart from his looks, Harry was no great shakes, and he was grateful that more by luck than hard work, he had become the manager of one of Cohen’s Self-Service Stores, right here in Paradise City.” Al paused to look at me. “Maybe you’ve heard of Sol Cohen?”

I said I had heard of him — who hadn’t?

“Yeah... well, here was Harry walking around the store, showing his teeth to the girls who worked there, giving some of them who would stand for it a quick feel when no one was looking and earning around six thousand dollars a year. He had more or less made up his mind he wouldn’t get beyond this income bracket, and this was as far as he would go in his career. This didn’t worry him too much... he wasn’t the ambitious type. With six grand coming in steadily, he could amuse himself, have all the girls he wanted and pay the rent of a two-room apartment that faced the sea and that was pretty cosy over the weekends when he would sun himself on the balcony with a girl on his lap or near enough for him to reach for should the idea come into his mind.

“I don’t ever want you to imagine Harry was dumb. No one who ever worked for Sol Cohen could be dumb, but Harry wasn’t anything special. He did his job and got by.

“Well, one hot, sunny afternoon something happened that was to turn his life upside down and inside out. Imagine Harry wandering around the store, keeping his eyes on things, giving his favourites his sexy look, pausing to have a word with the customers, feeling like a captain on his ship when the sea is nice and calm, when a woman comes up to him.

“I’ve seen Lisa Cohen a number of times, so let me describe her to you. She was small, dark and skinny. She had big eyes — her best feature — and her father’s nose that took up most of her face. She had a mouth and chin that showed temper and aggression. One thing you can be certain about, Lisa Cohen would never make the centre spread in Playboy. You could bet your last buck on that and not have a sleepless night. At the time she first met Harry she was twenty-nine years of age. She was wearing a pair of white slacks and a blue sweat shirt that made her look like a half-grown teenager.

“She was in Paradise City on a month’s vacation. The Cohens’ home was in Frisco, and this was her first visit to Paradise City. She had been there two weeks with friends on her father’s yacht and the old man had asked her to take a gander at the store to see how it was being handled and to report back to him. He had a lot of faith in Lisa’s judgment and he got her to do these snap checks when she was in Florida. A couple of times, she had reported unfavourably, and the managers of the stores found themselves out on the cold, hard sidewalk.

“Lisa had been watching Harry without him noticing her for the past ten minutes. She had been wandering around the store, noting how the merchandise was being displayed, how the girls coped, and she had been favourably impressed. She was still more impressed when she realised this tall, husky hunk of beautiful manhood was the store manager.

“It’s no secret that Lisa had hot pants. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she was a nympho, but she was as near it as makes no difference. She could have married twenty or thirty times. With her money, and what Sol Cohen was going to leave her, men were queuing up. Lisa let a lot of them lay her. This was something she had to have, but she had made up her mind when she was going to marry she would pick her man for herself and he wasn’t marrying her just for her loot.

“As soon as she saw Harry, she decided he was the one she was going to marry. Up to now, she had met all types of men: tall, thin, short, fat, smooth, brash, young and old, but none of them combined Harry’s looks, his huskiness and the sex appeal that leaked out of his ears.

“So she went up to him, looking at him with her big, alive eyes and told him who she was.”

To say Harry was startled to find himself face to face with his boss’s daughter was to put it mildly. He was practically thrown into a panic. He wondered how long she had been in the store... if she had seen him squeeze the bottom of the girl working on the cosmetic counter. He wondered... then he pulled himself together and switched on his charming smile.

“Welcome to the store, Miss Cohen. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Lisa had noted the panic, which pleased her. She also liked the smile, which made her blood move more quickly.

“I want to talk to you about the store,” she said abruptly. “What time do you close?”

“Seven o’clock,” Harry told her. “Won’t you come up to the office, Miss Cohen?”

“I’ll be outside in my car at seven,” Lisa said. “We will have dinner together,” and turning, she walked into the crowd and Harry lost sight of her.

He cursed to himself because he had a girl lined up who promised great things for this night, but he had no alternative but to call her and cancel the date. She took it badly. Harry said it was just one of those things and hung up while she was still screaming abuse.

During the afternoon, he wondered what the hell the daughter of a tycoon wanted, having dinner with him. He spent the rest of the afternoon in his office, feverishly making notes on the latest sales figures and getting out a balance sheet. He could only imagine she was going to probe his profit and loss account, and as the takings had fallen off during the month, Harry sweated. But he need not have worried. During dinner, Lisa didn’t even mention the store.

She was waiting for him in a white Aston Martin. She had changed into a simple scarlet dress which from its cut must have cost plenty. She wore no jewellery and no stockings. Her black glossy hair was immaculate and if her nose had allowed her to look attractive, she would have been attractive.

Harry got into the passenger’s seat and she shot the car off with an expertise change of gears that startled him. She said nothing until they were roaring along the beach road that led out of Paradise City, then she asked abruptly, “Can you eat sea food?”

“Why, sure,” Harry said. “I can eat anything.”

She concentrated on her driving, and although Harry hated to be driven, preferring always to drive himself, he didn’t feel one qualm of uneasiness although she drove at an enormous speed.

They arrived at a small restaurant that Harry knew to be murderously expensive, situated on a lonely strip of beach. He wondered if he had enough money on him to meet the check’, but again he need not have worried. When the Maître d’hôtel saw Lisa, he came forward, bowing, and led them to a secluded booth, away from the rest of the crowded restaurant and from then on, Harry had nothing to do with the arrangements.

The dinner had already been ordered: king-sized prawns, hanging from wine glasses that were filled with crushed ice, lobster in a cream and champagne sauce, followed by wild strawberries in Kirsch.

During the meal, Lisa, sitting opposite Harry, studied him and questioned him: not about the store as he had expected, but about himself. Her questions were personal and probing, and bewildered, Harry answered them. Who were his parents? What was his father’s profession? Where was he educated? What were his ambitions? (To this, Harry answered a little vaguely that he was doing all right at the store and liked the work. Then seeing Lisa’s sharp, frowning stare, he went on to say that of course it would be grand to get to head office, but he did really enjoy his work.) Was he married? What were his hobbies? (To this, Harry said golf, but if he had told the truth, he would have said sex.) The probing questions went on and on and Harry became more bewildered and even a little resentful, but he told himself you never know: she might be vetting him for a more important job.

By the end of the dinner, Lisa knew almost as much about Harry as he did himself — but not quite. When she abruptly asked him about his sex life, Harry threw up a smoke screen. This was taking the probe just too far.

“I get along... is this something we have to talk about?”

She studied him, then nodded.

“No. Do you want coffee?”

“Look, Miss Cohen,” Harry said firmly, feeling now was the time to assert himself. “You are my guest. I want you to understand that. Do you want coffee?”

She moved her shoulders impatiently.

“Don’t be a fool,” she said with brutal curtness. “It goes down on Daddy’s account. I sign for everything and he pays. On what you earn, you couldn’t possibly afford to pay the check... do you want coffee?”

Thinking back later, Harry realised this was the crucial moment when he should have either slapped her face or tossed his only $100 bill on the table and walked out. But Harry wasn’t made of that stuff. He hesitated, then turned on his charm.

“Why, thanks... I didn’t know. A coffee would be marvellous.”

From that moment, he was a dead duck.

They had coffee and brandy and they discussed the latest novels, the latest pop discs and the latest movies. All the time, he felt those big black eyes searching his face, regarding the width of his shoulders, looking intently at his hands.

Then suddenly she signalled to the Maître d’hôtel for the check. She examined it carefully, even added the figures, then she signed it. She put a ten dollar bill on the plate as a tip. As she left the restaurant, money passed between her and the Maître d’hôtel. He bowed nearly to the floor. Harry registered this and flinched. This was brash, vulgar spending and he resented it.

They walked together to the car. Harry said it was one of the best meals he had had, and he thanked her for it. Lisa said nothing. She got in the car, started the engine and when Harry was by her side, she drove the car further down the beach road towards the sand dunes.

“I don’t know if you know it,” Harry said awkwardly, “but this road is a deadend. You...”

“I know,” she said.

Because Harry wasn’t all that dumb, he got the idea that the evening wasn’t over. He suddenly realised Lisa Cohen, his boss’s daughter, had hot pants for him, and this brought him out in a cold sweat. For one thing, she wasn’t his type. She was just the kind of girl Harry never even looked at. He liked his girls to have big breasts and neat, hard bottoms. This girl had no front and no behind. She was just skinny. Apart from that, he thought of Sol Cohen. If he laid his daughter and Cohen heard about it, he would be out on his ear.

Lisa pulled up under a clump of palm trees. There was a big stretch of silver sand, looking in the moonlight like freshly laundered sheet... there was the sea.

She got out of the car and walked down on to the hard firm sand, and Harry, his heart thumping, feeling he wanted to shout for help, followed her. She sat down under the palm trees and he stood over her.

She looked up at him.

“Come on,” she said impatiently, “take me.”

A half an hour later, Harry came out of an exhausted doze and stared up at the big, white moon. He felt as if he had been put through a wringer. Never before in his sexual life had he ever had such an experience. Making love with Lisa was like making love to a buzz saw. It had been a shattering session and Harry had hated it. When he laid a girl, he liked to be in charge. He liked to regulate the tempo, but he had had no chance to do anything but to submit to Lisa’s terrifying passion.

“Give me a cigarette,” she said. She had pulled down her dress and was lying placidly by his side. As he lit the cigarette for her, he was surprised to see in the flame of the lighter how relaxed she was now. The hardness had gone. As she looked at him, smiling, her eyes limpid and kind, in spite of the size of her nose, she looked beautiful.

Not knowing what to say, still feeling torn to pieces, Harry said nothing. He lay there until Lisa had finished her cigarette, then she crushed it out into the sand and sat up.

“I must get back. They’ll think I’ve had an accident or something.” She got to her feet and walked across the sand to the car. Harry followed her. It was an effort to drag one foot after the other. He had never felt so drained out.

As she slid under the steering wheel and as he dropped heavily into the passenger’s seat, she looked inquiringly at him.

“Was it good?” she asked.

Harry could have said it was sheer hell, but he remembered his job. After all, he told himself, she would soon be gone. This was something not to be repeated, so he lied: “The best ever.”

She nodded, slid into gear and sent the car roaring back along the beach road towards the lights of the City.

Three days later when Harry had recovered his virility and had had no word from Lisa, he decided he was out of danger. This was just a passing thing, he assured himself, and he wouldn’t have to face that ordeal again.

When Lisa had said goodbye to him, she had looked intently at him with those big, glittering eyes and had smiled. “It was good, wasn’t it, Harry? It was the best ever for me too.” Then she had driven away.

Well, that was that, Harry thought with heartfelt relief. What an experience... phew!

But how wrong he was.

On this third day, he was in his office working on reorder sheets when the telephone rang.

“This is Miss Selby,” a cool, crisp voice informed him. “Mr. Cohen’s personal secretary. I am calling from San Francisco. Mr. Cohen wants to see you at three o’clock on Friday, the 11th. I have mailed you your return air ticket. It will reach you tomorrow. Please be punctual,” and the line went dead.

Right then and there, Harry laid an egg. The few times any store manager had been summoned to the holy of holies, he had got the gate. Could the old bastard have heard about Lisa? Harry wondered, really sweating it out. If he got the gate, what was he going to do? He hadn’t saved any money... damn it, he owed money! Hell’s teeth! He would be fixed!

By the time he reached Frisco and had been shot up seventeen floors in the express elevator to Sol Cohen’s palatial office, he was practically a hospital case.

He was met by Miss Selby who he had heard about. She was tall and willowy and gorgeous, with eyes like ice pick points and a smile that would have frozen a glacier. She took him to Sol Cohen’s office door, tapped and half-opened the door.

Harry heard a voice talking with vicious anger. The sound of the voice sent a chill up his spine.

Sol Cohen was on the telephone.

“German?” Sol Cohen was shouting. “Listen, Sam, don’t tell me lies like that! That consignment comes from China! I know! You can’t fool me! I’m not handling any crap from China!” There was a click as Cohen slammed down the receiver.

Miss Selby raised her beautiful eyebrows at Harry, her face expressionless.

“You may go in.”

Sol Cohen was a small, fat, balding man with a big hooked nose, small, dark, tough looking eyes and the magic only the real top executives have that come from them like a laser ray.

As Harry walked across the forty-foot carpet before he finally arrived at Cohen’s desk which was big enough to play billiards on, Cohen leaned back on his high executive chair and studied him. By the time Harry reached the desk, his knees were knocking together and he was sweating cold sweat.

Cohen’s fat face was a hard mask: an unnerving face. Harry thought wildly that this could be a dead face, then the face broke into a wide beaming smile and Cohen became transformed from a ruthless tycoon to a jovial, fat Jew who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“You Harry Lewis?” he said, getting to his feet.

Harry gaped at him. The transformation threw him hopelessly out of his stride.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Sit down, boy. First, let me shake your hand.”

Dazed, Harry felt the small hard hand grip his, then as Cohen waved to a chair opposite his desk, he almost collapsed into it.

“So you’re Harry Lewis.” Cohen regarded him, smiling, then he nodded. “Quite a boy! Well! Well! I always knew Lisa could pick ’em. Now listen, Harry, I’ve got a busy day. People keep worrying me. When you ran a business the way I ran this business, you’re like a goddam slave, so we’ll have to make this a quickie. Maybe when I take a vacation, we’ll get together and have fun... huh?”

Harry just stared at him.

“You want a cigar?” Cohen asked.

“No-no, thank you, sir.”

“Okay, Harry, let’s get at it. Tell me, how do you like the idea of me being your father-in-law?”

Harry thought: One of us must be mad! I guess it must be me!

“Surprised? Didn’t Lisa tell you?” Cohen laughed. “My little girl loves you... you love her... so... okay. She wants to marry you and when Lisa wants anything, she gets it.” Cohen wagged his head, his expression rueful. “I’ll tell you something, Harry, she’s got me wrapped around her finger. But I like the idea of Lisa getting married. I want grandchildren. You know something, Harry? I like little kids. It’s the Jew in me. Besides, I’m not going to last forever and I want to leave my dough to Lisa and after her to three or four or even five boys. See?”

Harry was speechless. He just sat there, sweat beading his face, his heart thumping, his mouth half-open.

“I’ve been checking on your record, Harry,” Cohen went on. “No great shakes, huh? Six thousand... nothing, but according to Lisa you’ve got something pretty special.” He gave a leering laugh, “And Lisa likes it. Between you and me... how was she?”

Harry reared back, feeling blood rash to his face.

“I’d rather... I... I...”

Cohen waved his hand.

“Okay, boy... I like that... shows class,” he said. “Forget it... sure, that’s something a classy guy doesn’t talk about. Well now, Harry, I’ve got to rush this. I’ve a full day. Just listen: Lisa wants to get married at the end of the month. I’ve already got a replacement for you at the store. That’ll give you a chance to help Lisa find a house. She’s struck with Paradise City and wants to settle there. I’ll miss her here, but when Lisa wants anything, she damn well gets it. So she’ll look around and she’ll find a house. You must be around to help her. The house and everything that goes with it... the furniture... the cars... you know, is all on me. I’m opening a bank account down there with the Florida Deposit in your joint names... just to start you two off right. Two hundred and fifty thousand. When the account begins to ran low — and knowing Lisa — it’ll ran low — I’ll keep it topped up. You have nothing to worry about. When you get back, go along to the bank and draw some money. Buy some clothes. When you go around with Lisa you’ve got to look good.” The telephone bell buzzed and Cohen scowled. When he scowled, Harry shivered. It was a different face: a face you see in a nightmare. Cohen snatched up another telephone receiver. “I’m busy! I’m not taking calls! What? Hong Kong? Who the hell cares about Hong Kong?” and he slammed down the receiver. For a long moment he scowled at the telephone, then he worked himself into a good mood again. “What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Now look, Harry, I don’t believe a man can be happy without some kind of work. Lisa didn’t want you to work. She thought you should stick around in the house and on the yacht and have fun with her, but I don’t go for that. I think you should have some work to do. I’ve got fifty thousand acres of building land out in Florida. My father bought it for a song. I’ve sat on it for years, but three months ago, I began to sell. I’ve set up an office in Paradise City. The punk in charge is as useless as a newborn babe — all he does is to make a noise. So I telephoned him this morning and gave him the heave-ho.” Harry suppressed a shiver. “When a guy is no use to me, I get rid of him,” Cohen went on, “and this punk has a hole in his head. Well now, Harry, here’s a job that’ll give you interest. It’s not hard. There’s a clever little bitch down there who knows all the answers. She practically runs the office on her own, but I like a man in the front. I thought twenty thousand would be about right... we can adjust that later. That’ll be your own personal spending money. Of course, the heavy money will come from your joint account. The other money is for your cigarettes. Get all this?”

Still Harry said nothing, but by now his mind was beginning to function.

Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars... a house... a yacht... $20,000 a year... a job in an office.

Miss Selby put her gorgeous head around the door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Cohen, but the American Ambassador is calling from London and Hong Kong is still on the line.”

Cohen raised his hands and grimaced at Harry.

“You see, boy... no peace. Well, okay, you get back to Paradise City and clear up. Lisa will be down in a couple of days. Excuse me, huh? I know you two are going to be very, very happy.”

Harry felt a touch on his arm from Miss Selby and he got slowly to his feet. He left the office as Cohen began talking on one of his many telephones.

Miss Selby eyed Harry over. Her eyes were hostile, her smile freezing.

“Congratulations, Mr. Lewis,” she said and went to her desk.

Harry walked to the elevator. He moved like a man under a shock.

During the three weeks that Harry remained a bachelor, every now and then, he decided to cut and run, but he hadn’t the guts. The prize was too glittering. When he saw the house Lisa had chosen, his eyes nearly fell out of his head. It had eight bedrooms, eight bathrooms, four living-rooms, a magnificent garden and swimming pool... the whole works. There was a Rolls, a Caddy and the Aston Martin in the garage. There was a Jap butler, a housekeeper and five other staff and three Chinese gardeners. There was a yacht which had luxury accommodation for twenty people... a small liner. Suddenly Harry was handed on a plate everything a man could dream of, but he also had Lisa.

While he was clearing out his desk in the small poky office at the self-service store, the day following his interview with Sol Cohen, the door opened and Lisa came in. She shut the door and turned the key. She came across to where Harry was standing and looked up at him, her dark eyes shining. “Hello, Harry,” Lisa said and smiled. “Surprised?”

By now, Harry had made his decision. Whatever else he might have been, he was honest and he was now determined, since Lisa had bought him, he would somehow give her value for her money. He knew what she wanted, and if it half-killed him, he would give it to her. All the way back from Frisco, he had thought about the deal. At first, he had decided to pack his bag and get the hell out. Then he thought what it could mean to be the husband of the heir to the Cohen millions. The scale was too heavily balanced in Lisa’s favour, but often when he lay in bed in the dark and thought of what he was heading for, he still wanted to ran, but he didn’t.

So now with this small, unattractive, enormously wealthy woman standing in front of him, Harry did what was expected of him.

“Surprised?” He laughed. “I’m crazy with joy!” He pulled her to him, slid his hands up under her dress and captured her small, skinny buttocks in either hand. “I’m going to make you happy, Lisa,” he said, and held her hard against him.

“Sol Cohen came down for the wedding. There were close on eight hundred guests... it was one of the biggest turnouts in Paradise City. Sol was in tremendous form. He brought with him his personal present for the bride... the Esmaldi necklace.”

Here Al Barney paused and regarded me with a cocked eyebrow.

“I told you I’d finally get around to the necklace, didn’t I? Well, let me tell you about it. The Esmaldi necklace belonged to one of those South American dictators who are always in trouble. He had to get out fast... so fast, all he took with him was his wife’s necklace that had been in the family for a couple of generations. He ran into Sol Cohen and Sol bought the necklace off him. No one knows what he paid for it. Sol stashed it away, planning to give it to Lisa as a wedding present. The necklace consisted of one hundred matched diamonds the size of garden peas. The setting was platinum and the lot — so the newspapers said — was worth around three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

“Lisa wore it at the wedding. Then she put it in her Raysons’ safe and went off on the honeymoon in the yacht to the Bahamas.

“She and Harry cruised for a month. During that time Harry gave her value for money. Lisa practically killed him. She was insatiable. There were times when he wanted to jump overboard and swim ashore, but he didn’t.

“When the mood hit her, and sometimes it would hit her two or three times a day, she would look directly at him and say, ‘Harry...’ Then she would leave her lounging chair and walk down to their cabin. Harry would follow like a sheep to the slaughter.

“He had what she wanted and he gave it to her. If only she had been attractive! Harry often thought, but she was bony, her breasts were like poached eggs and her ribs showed, but at least she had technique! Boy! Had she technique!

“After two weeks, Harry was longing to get off the yacht. If the goddamn yacht had struck a reef, he would have cheered with joy. But finally, like everything in this world, things had to come to an end, and they moved into their new, palatial home.

“It was better then because Harry began to work at the downtown office. He had only Lisa in his hair from six o’clock in the evening onwards, but that was bad enough. He discovered there were two things that Lisa was mad about: he getting astride her and she getting astride a horse. She practically lived on a horse when he was in the office. She had three thoroughbreds and she was always out in the woods or galloping along the bridle paths, either on her own or with other women who were also horse crazy.

“In the evenings, there were always parties: either thrown by Lisa or thrown by someone else. Harry was a great party man and he was popular. On the face of it, the marriage seemed to be going well. It was bed time that Harry feared. But so long as he did his duty, he found Lisa surprisingly easy to live with. It was doing his duty that stuck in his throat.

“He hoped Lisa would get enough of sex to cool off as the time went on, but she didn’t. She just couldn’t get enough of him. There were times when it drove Harry crazy. There were times too when he unexpectedly ran into some of his past girl-friends who gave him the eye and he knew he had only to return the signal to have someone who really had a body and not a piece of scrawn, but Harry was honest. He knew the value of what he was getting and he was determined not to cheat — besides, he was so handled by Lisa, the urge just wasn’t there.

“Every so often, when the party was grand enough, Lisa would wear the Esmaldi diamonds. The necklace made the other women tear their hair with envy. Watching her, Harry thought sadly what a waste of beauty it was. She just didn’t have the face or the neck to carry the necklace off. He got so he hated the necklace. There were times when one of the real beauties of Paradise City — and there were a number of them — was at a party and Harry longed to take the necklace off Lisa’s scraggy neck and put it on this particular beauty. He was sure the effect would have been out of this world.

“He wasn’t too happy working in the office, handling Cohen’s fifty thousand acres of land. The office itself was pretty nice: very deluxe and his own private office top executive. But selling or trying to sell parcels of land bored Harry. He didn’t understand high pressure selling. He found it difficult to enthuse over maps and he wasn’t very good with customers who were suspicious.

“He also disliked Harriet Bernstein, his secretary. Cohen had said she practically ran the business, and she did. She was around thirty-eight, short, fat, neatly dressed with a small hooked nose, beady, black eyes and a complexion like mutton fat. Harry knew, as soon as they first met, she neither liked him nor trusted him. His charm bounced off her like a golf ball slammed against a concrete wall. She was terrifyingly efficient. He had only to ask for a letter, a plan, a title deed to have it on his desk before the words were scarcely out of his mouth. She knew the credit rating of every customer. She knew who was worth a business lunch and who wasn’t. She had arranged for a table at the Yacht Club to be permanently at Harry’s disposal, and every morning when he came into his office, he found a neatly typed memo showing him his appointments and who he was lunching with and all the necessary details about his guest. He could understand Sol Cohen appreciating this kind of service, but it stifled Harry. There were times when some congenial customer came to see him who he would have liked to have taken to some waterfront sea food restaurant instead of the grand Yacht Club, but he just hadn’t the nerve to upset Miss Bernstein’s carefully planned schedule.

“So Harry wasn’t all that happy at the office and not all that happy at home. At one time, before he married Lisa, he thought she would turn out to be a first-class bitch, but this wasn’t so. So long as the bed arrangements worked smoothly, Lisa was even fun.

“They had been married for two years when the accident happened. During this time, Harry had got a better grasp of the business and had sold some thirty acres of building land which pleased Sol as the price was high. Harry was now used to luxury living. Because of him, Lisa’s parties were considered the best in the City. She, herself, was never too popular. She bored men, and the women envied her too much, but everyone liked Harry. Every so often they would go off on the yacht with a party. Harry learned to skin dive.” Here Al Barney paused. “I taught him. He took to it like a fish. Well, anyway, he found life wasn’t all that bad, and after all, he was husky enough to satisfy Lisa, and she really doted on him.

“After some trouble, he had finally sold a parcel of land to an Englishman who was looking for a place in the sun. He had exchanged contracts, shaken hands, and as his customer left the office, Harry sat back in his chair, feeling he wasn’t doing too badly. He decided he would take Lisa out that night to celebrate when Miss Bernstein came in. There was something about her fat face that made Harry stiffen. Usually, she was placid and coldly efficient, but now her face looked like mutton fat that had been dropped on the floor.

“Dr. Gourley wants to speak to you,” she said, and her voice was shrill.

Dr. Gourley was their personal doctor. Lisa liked doctors, and was constantly having checkups and making Harry have them too.

Harry stared at her.

“Dr. Gourley?”

“There’s been an accident,” Miss Bernstein said, and to his horror began to cry.

Harry snatched up the telephone receiver.

It appeared that Lisa had been thrown from her horse. Some dog had run across the bridle path and the horse had shied violently.

The grave, quiet voice of the doctor sent a cold chill up Harry’s spine.

“She’s at my clinic, Mr. Lewis. It’s bad. Will you come at once?”

The accident fixed Lisa. She came down on a hunk of rock and jolted her spine out of shape. From that moment Lisa was a cripple from the waist down. Harry’s world turned upside down and inside out again. At first, he couldn’t believe what the doctor was telling him. Then it dawned on him there would be no more bed sessions, and he felt as if a ton of rock had been taken off his back. Then he felt shocked to think that Lisa wouldn’t walk again. Then finally, but this came later, he realised he was chained to a cripple.

When Sol Cohen got the news, he had a fatal heart attack. He was dead before the snooty Miss Selby could reach a telephone to get help.

Harry practically panicked when he heard that Sol Cohen was dead. What with Lisa in the clinic, semi-conscious and now Sol dead, he imagined he would have the Cohen kingdom to deal with. But he quickly found out that Sol had taken care of everything. There was a Vice President, a board of directors, lawyers, three hatchet-faced Trustees — all of them just waved Harry away and handled everything.

It wasn’t until Lisa came out of the clinic in a wheelchair that Sol’s will was read. Everything went to Lisa. Harry wasn’t even mentioned. Sol might just as well have been alive for all the difference it made to Harry.

But Lisa’s accident did make a change in Harry’s life. When the fact finally sank into her mind that she would never get laid again and would never ride a horse again, she went a little crazy in the head.

Harry had always suspected that there was a bitch in her, and now the bitch came out into the open. From the moment she returned to the house, Harry’s life turned into a nightmare. The red light went up when she closed their joint account and reopened it in her name only.

“Daddy has left everything to me,” she said, staring at Harry, “so I am going to run everything. You have your money for cigarettes. I’m handling the rest of the money.”

There were no more parties. Who the hell wants to come here with me in this goddam wheelchair? Harry tried to talk her out of this mood without success. Do you imagine I’m going to entertain all those so called glamorous whores so you can give them a sly feel? And listen... while we are on the subject of whores... if I can’t have it, you’re not having it! I warn you! Do you understand? Harry, shaken, said feebly, “Don’t talk like that, darling. This is as big a tragedy for me as it is for you.” She glared at him, her big eyes glittering. “Okay... so keep it a tragedy for you, Harry, or you’re out!”

Two years of luxury living had not only made a big impact on Harry, it had also softened him. The thought of being out of a job, out of this beautiful house, out of his top executive office scared him silly.

But at the back of his mind, he felt, if he really had to get laid, he would be able to manage it so discreetly that Lisa would never know. But he quickly found out that he was now surrounded by spies. Miss Bernstein, To-To, the Japanese butler and Helgar were always spying on him.

Helgar was Lisa’s nurse — a gaunt, tall Dane, around fifty-five with flaxen hair, a face like a horse and eyes like stone. Harry got the idea that this woman disliked him and would, if she could, stir up trouble for him. In his turn, he hated her.

During the day, Lisa kept busy on the telephone in contact with Frisco, her bank and her lawyers and driving Miss Selby crazy. Harry had the satisfaction of knowing that she was just as bitchy to these people as she was to him. But it was the evenings and the weekends that Harry dreaded. After he had returned from work, he never knew in what mood he would find Lisa. Sometimes she would be reasonable, but always complaining, but most times she was sheer hell.

In despair, one evening after she had snapped off the TV set and had flung her novel across the room, Harry had suggested they should have a party. “It would do you good,” he said. “You can’t go on living...”

“Shut up!” Lisa screamed at him. “Do you think I want those creeps coming here and pitying me! If I’m caught, then you’re caught, and if you don’t like it, then get the hell out of here!”

That’s how their life together was for the next few months. Things happened. For instance, Harry had got into the habit of buying clothes when he wanted them. He bought three lightweight suits, charged them to the joint account, forgetting the joint account no longer existed. The scene that followed him alerted him as to how bad Lisa’s mental state had become.

When he returned home after a day in the office, Lisa threw the bills at him. “Pay them yourself!” she screamed at him. “You have your own money! How dare you charge these to my account!”

Harry remembered there wasn’t much in his account. Twenty thousand dollars a year sounded all right, but when he had to find his cigarettes, his drinks, his gas for the car, take care of the big tips at the Yacht Club and all the other incidentals of a rich man, there wasn’t much left. He realised the tailor’s bill would have to wait until he received his next monthly cheque from the Trustees.

But there were also times when Lisa was pathetic. When she got rid of Helgar and was alone in her vast, ornate bedroom. This was the time when she was in the mood when she allowed Harry to comfort her, and because he was strictly honest, he made the effort and did his best. There were times when she asked him to open the Raysons’ safe and give her the Esmaldi necklace. She would put it on and wheel herself to the mirror and stare at herself and then weep bitterly. When she cried she shook as if her sobs would tear her to pieces and Harry felt pretty bad about this.

Finally, after two months had dragged by, he risked an explosion and suggested that they went on the yacht and get the hell out of the house for a while. To his surprise, Lisa agreed. She was now getting sick of pitying herself. Harry then suggested they should take along with them a few of their close friends. He was careful to suggest three women who had as much charm as a dentist’s drill and their husbands who lived for horses. Again Lisa agreed.

The cruise was a success. A few days after their return, Lisa told Harry that she was going to throw a party. She had decided no one gave a damn that she was chained to a wheelchair so long as they could get drunk and eat the luxury food she provided... so, what the hell?

Life then slowly came back to normal for Harry, but he had to be careful. It was like living with a time bomb in his lap. During any party, he dared not move far from Lisa’s chair. He had always to be near her or there would be a nerve shattering scene after the party. After some six months living like a monk, Harry found the sex urge getting on top of him, but he fought it off. He knew this was asking for the worst kind of trouble: besides, he couldn’t see how he could even hire a whore! He just had no opportunity. He left home at ten a.m. for the office and he knew Miss Bernstein, the spy, would telephone Lisa if he was even half an hour late. His lunch hour was given up to feeding clients. He returned home at six p.m. The rest of the evening was spent with Lisa until she went to bed at ten-thirty. Then he was on his own, but he knew Helgar and To-To were prowling around and there was no chance of sneaking out. Anyway, in spite of this urge, there was no one woman in Paradise City he knew of worth fooling with at the risk of losing this luxury standard of life. So Harry gritted his teeth and remained celibate.

This situation went on for another two months. Then Harry got a break. Lisa had thrown a small party and among the guests was Jack English. He was like Harry: married to a rich woman and scared silly of putting a foot wrong. English was nice: a quiet guy and Lisa liked him. He wasn’t much to look at: tall, thin with a face like a spaniel, but nice. He said suddenly to Lisa, “You know something? Harry’s getting fat. The trouble with him is he isn’t taking any exercise. I’m looking for a golfing partner. Don’t you think he should get off some of that fat?” As Lisa hesitated, Harry’s heart stood still, then she looked at him: she was in one of her good moods.

“Do you want to take up golf again, Harry?” she asked.

He forced himself to shake his head. “No... when I’m not working, I want to spend my time with you.” This was the right thing to have said.

Lisa turned to English, “I’m insisting that he plays. I’m sure you’re right. It will do him good.”

So it was agreed that Harry should play golf with Jack English every Sunday morning. When they met for the first time at the club house, English said, “Listen, pal. I’m not playing. You’re my alibi. I’ve got a hot piece of tail I want to take care of. You get it?”

Startled, Harry said, “So what do I do?”

English grinned. “You can get fixed up with a foursome. Be a pal. I’ll do the same for you any time you want.” So Harry played foursomes while English had a couple of hours in the hay with his girl-friend. Then Harry began to see there was a chance for him to cheat if he found the right girl.

Then one evening when he returned from the office, Lisa herself gave him what he was hoping for... Lisa herself...