Benny Muscles In

Chapter Ten

Alverato’s men never gave Miss Driscoll a chance to explain their mistake. First she was speechless, then they didn’t listen to her, and finally the one who sat in the back with her clapped his big hand over her mouth because she was starting to get too noisy. At the pier she was first clunked over the head and then led out like a drunken woman. The onlookers only laughed.

Afterward she didn’t remember the motorboat ride too well, for during most of it she was feeling dizzy and sick, but when they started to push her up the companionway of the yacht she suddenly jerked to get free and fell into the water.

It cleared her head. They pulled her out and up the companionway again, and once inside the cabin she was glad to be alone. Perhaps she was dreaming. No. She was awake and wet. She pulled at her seersucker suit, which was clinging in a disturbing way, then she huddled down into the sofa. None of this made sense. A kidnapping? What could they want with her? Not money, because whoever owned this yacht must have plenty of that. But then, no respectable millionaire would have ordered this kind of frightful abduction. Respectable! It must be-”Goodness,” she said aloud. “A gangster! A rich gangster!”

Benny’s talk came back to her in a rush. Not until then had she felt frightened. Miss Driscoll jumped up, fluttering with panic, when the door opened.

The big man walked in alone, his red face the image of a lecher. He took quick, energetic steps and with each one the little curls on his head made springy jumps. He stopped in front of the shivering woman and said, “I’m Alverato,” and he looked her up and down. Then he stepped back, reached for a glass and bottle, and poured himself a drink. “Want one?” He waved the bottle at her.

Miss Driscoll drew back.

He took a long swallow. Then he licked his lips. “You know, kid, I thought you was younger.”

Miss Driscoll shivered.

“Guess you’re cold. I’ll get you something.”

Alverato went to the door and yelled a name.

“Yes, boss?” A short man came running.

“We got any dry clothes for her?”

“I don’t know, boss. I don’t think so.”

“Well, go take a look. Take a look where Phyllis had her stuff.”

“She took all hers.”

“Go take a look, damn it There must be something there.”

“Yes, boss.” The man left.

Alverato came back and looked at Miss Driscoll with a cold eye. She tried to step back again, but she had reached a bulkhead. Her fright showed clearly now.

There was a knock on the door and the short man was back. “All I found was some sun suits or something. And a towel.”

“O.K., let’s have ‘em.” Alverato took the handful of clothes and threw them on the couch. He brought her the towel. “Here, kid, dry yourself. Get in those duds and make yourself presentable. Then we’ll talk.” To her vast surprise, Alverato turned and went to the door. “I’ll be back. Yell when you’re ready.” He slammed the door.

Yell when you’re ready! And what did he want her to do afterward? Smile? Coo? Seem happy? Was this nightmare to go on like clockwork, like a customary thing of daily occurrence? A sudden shiver came over her and she began to rub her hair mechanically. The clothes, dry and gay-colored, lay on the couch. Miss Driscoll stepped to the door, tiptoeing, but there was no sound. She clicked the lock and went back to the couch. With trembling fingers she took off her clammy clothes and rubbed herself with the towel. Then she picked through the things on the couch. The man had been right; nothing but sun suits. She picked one with pedal pushers for pants, but her hips were too wide. The next pair of pants fitted, but were so brief she immediately picked up another pair. These were worse, but there was no time to change again now. For the upper part there was a thing with collar, sleeves, and buttons down the front. When she had it on Miss Driscoll discovered that all the upper buttons were fake. They buttoned nothing. In the end only a halter did a job for her, a disgraceful one, but still functional.

The sight she saw in the mirror over the couch made her gasp. She must wait for her own clothes to dry. Nothing else would do. Then Alverato was at the door.

“You decent?” he called.

Decent! Was this man mad?

“Come on, open that door, kid, or do you want me to get rough?”

He was mad.

Miss Driscoll scooped up the towel and draped it over her shoulders. Clutching it tightly in front, she unlatched the door and jumped back, ready to defend herself.

Alverato came in, looked at her, and said, “Sorry I got nothing better. Sit down.”

Where, how, what next?

Alverato looked at her with a puzzled face; then he reached out and pushed her onto the couch. “I said sit. Now listen.”

“Why?” Miss Driscoll’s voice was a wail.

“Huh?”

“Why me? How ever did you come to pick me? This is a terrible nightmare!”

“Huh?” Alverato’s mouth hung open.

“Sir, please,” the wailing continued, “I don’t need the money. I don’t want it, my life and my plans are not-”

“Kid, you nuts or something?” Alverato stepped up to the couch. He peered at Miss Driscoll with a frown.

“Why not some deserving girl, much younger than I, who goes in for that kind of thing?”

Alverato gave a quick shake of his head and then he opened his mouth and yelled. “Will you shut up a minute before I lose my mind?” He picked up a bottle. “First a drink and then you listen to me. I’ll give it to you quick. I’ll-”

“You’ll give it to me quick!” she screamed.

Alverato gave such a start that the bottle fell out of his hands, spilling the liquor all over the front of his pants.

“Damn you! Give me that towel,” and he yanked it off her shoulders. Miss Driscoll leaped from the couch, but Alverato wasn’t noticing. He was busy rubbing his drenched slacks. When he looked up again he started to yell, but she stopped him, just standing there in the middle of the room in the tight yellow briefs and the little red halter.

“Well,” said Alverato. “Well!”

She didn’t move. She stood watching him, seeing how he was watching her, and she didn’t move.

“You look different, kid,” he said. “And not like a kid, either.” He sat down on the couch and swung the towel back and forth. “You may be crazy,” he said, “but you’re a looker. Well,” and he got up again. “I was going to say-”

“Don’t say it.” Miss Driscoll could hardly talk. Her voice was husky.

“Huh?” Alverato got none of this.

“Can’t you-can’t you just forget about it? Can’t you just skip all the-” Miss Driscoll started to sob.

Alverato, puzzled beyond repair, got up from the couch and went up to the crying woman.

“Now, now. Easy there, kid.” Alverato put one arm around her shoulders.

“I never-I’d-”

Alverato held her like that and she looked up into his face, leaning against him, her wet eyes big and close. She wasn’t crying any more. Alverato saw all this and he forgot for a moment what he wanted to say. She leaned against him, she looked up even closer, and her lips parted. Alverato tried to shake his head once more, step back maybe, but he couldn’t He said, “Hey,” and then again, “Hey,” when all conversation was over.