All or Nothing (2 page)

Marla heaved a gusty sigh that sent her bosom in the low–cut silk shirt atremble.

“No one would ever know you’re such a glorious madman in bed.” She took a sip of his ale and picked daintily at a pretzel.

“It’s not for anyone else to know.” He was laughing with her now.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. Otherwise I might suspect you of having other women.”

He leaned closer, kissed her ear. “Marla Cwitowitz, there are no other women. I wouldn’t have the time for them, to say nothing of the stamina. Remember, I’m a forty–five–year–old guy. . . .”

“In your prime, Giraud,” she said firmly, but Al’s gaze had traveled over her left shoulder. She swung around to see who he was looking at.

The young woman was tall with long, straight blond hair, a California tan, attractive in a cream silk skirt and jacket and high–heeled gold sandals. She was carrying a portfolio under her arm, and she was shaking hands with the man at the table opposite. She was not wearing a wedding band but a gold snake ring embossed with diamonds and with a large diamond eye coiled around the third finger of her right hand. It looked expensive and Al wondered briefly how she could afford it.

“Giraud, why do you always go for the blondes?” Marla complained. His eyes were still fixed on the couple.

“Just curious, that’s all. I was laying bets on who he was waiting for; his wife, or a girlfriend.”

“So? Did you win?”

Al’s dark blue eyes moved back to her and he grinned. “I hedged my bet.”

“Don’t you always?”

He was laughing as he signaled the waiter and ordered a vodka martini for her.

“And bring some more of the pretzels, would you please?” Marla added, taking the last one from the silver dish. “Did you also guess her profession?” She licked the crumbs off her lips.

“You shouldn’t do that in public. It’s obscene.”

She grinned at him, delighted. “And to think I never knew. Anyhow, she’s in real estate.”

“How did you deduce that, Miss P.I.?”

“The portfolio, the handshake––first time they’ve met, I’ll bet. Plus the California estate agent “look.’ Part casual, part business––the happy medium. I’ll bet she’s showing him pictures of houses right this minute.”

The martini came and she took a sip, rolling her magnificent eyes, shuddering with delight. “You should bring me here more often, I like it.” She glanced around at the sumptuous furnishings, the marble floors, the Oriental rugs, the view of the ocean. “I think I could live here.”

“I couldn’t afford it.”

“With me as your partner, soon you’ll be able to.”

“The businesswoman.” He snorted with laughter. Marla was still trying to persuade him to let her become a detective.

“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it, Giraud. I’m taking over the business end. Your fees are going up, plus from now on you’re asking for a percentage.”

“A percentage of what, exactly?”

She grinned and took another sip of the martini. “Of anything I can get. Stick with me and you too will be driving a Mercedes.”

“Over my dead body.”
“Oh, I sincerely hope not.” She leaned across the table, took his hand in hers. “I’m crazy about you, Al Giraud,” she whispered. Her eyes were luminous as twin stars as they looked deep into his. “Take me to dinner. Then take me to bed. We’ll talk our business deal there.” She cocked her head to one side, not taking her eyes off him.

Giraud took a deep breath to steady his racing pulse. “Finish the martini and let’s go.”

On their way out they glanced curiously at the couple at the next table. The blonde was talking animatedly, waving her arms around, while the man studied the sheets with pictures and details of homes for sale spread across the table.

“Hideous ring,” Marla commented. “But did I guess right?”

She held up her hand and Al gave her five. “Right on, baby. Now, first things first. Let’s eat.”

Steve Mallard must have been the only man in the bar who didn’t turn to look as Marla made her exit. He was too busy looking at pictures of prospective houses and listening to Laurie Martin’s spiel as she extolled the virtues of each one of them.

Steve was depressed. He was thirty–nine years old and had worked for a southern California electronics company for seven years. Now they had relocated him from L.A. to San Diego. He was staying in a hotel and missing Vickie, his wife, and his two young daughters, who were remaining at their home in the suburban San Fernando Valley until school was out––and until he found a suitable house. A task at which he wasn’t having much success.

Laurie Martin was his latest hope. He had seen her ad in a local newspaper with a picture of a house that looked like a possibility, in the right price range, with a distant view of the sea, and a few miles away from San Diego in the little seaside town of Laguna. He liked it there. He liked the oceanfront walk, the crashing surf on the rocks, the clean beaches, the tree–lined streets and small–town air of refinement. It would be a good place for his girls. He ran his hands through his brownish hair wearily. If he could only find somewhere, that is. Money was an important consideration and Laguna had expensive real estate.

Laurie Martin studied her weary client from behind her rose–tinted sunglasses. He was attractive, nice brown eyes, not too tall, and thin. She couldn’t stand men with paunches and love handles. She pushed a drift of pale blond hair from her eyes and smiled at him, the kind of smile that lit up her triangular little–cat face.

Transforming her, Steve thought, suddenly realizing he was looking at a pretty woman. “I’m sorry,” he said repentently, “I’m so busy worrying about houses, I forgot to ask if you would like a drink.”

She pushed the rose–colored glasses up into her hair, fluffing out her blond bangs with her French–manicured fingertips. “Well, it has been a long––and tiresome––day.” She glanced at her watch. “If you’re sure you have time   .   .   .   ?”

“Oh, I’m sure. As I told you, I’m here all alone.”

“Well then, a martini would be nice.” As he signaled the waiter, Laurie thought that this would be an easy sale. A piece of cake, and she might just have the right house . . . the only trouble was the price. . . .

A week later, Marla was driving back from a brief sojourn at Rancho La Puerta, a spa in Tecate, Mexico, that she visited every now and again “to regain her inner balance,” she told Al.

Actually, what she did was hike to the top of Mount Kuchumaa in the early morning before the Baja heat struck its blow. There she would sit, in the lotus position, eyes open to the beauty of the sunlit chaparral, her head cleared of all extraneous thoughts, breathing deeply of the clean air and the peace. After an hour, she would hike back down again, jog through the grounds and dive into one of the swimming pools.

That was it. Her activities for the day were over. Not for her the aerobics dance class, aquacize, circuit training, super–cross–training or water volleyball. A salad of greens with herbs picked fresh from the garden for lunch. A nap. A laze in a hammock with a book, perhaps late–afternoon yoga. Then––her special treat––a full–body massage that left her feeling limp as a sleepy kitten, ready only for supper and bed––perchance to dream of Al Giraud.

Anyhow, after three days she was up and rarin’ to go. Ready to take on Al and whatever he might offer.

She grinned as she swung the big silver Mercedes S500 through the border crossing near Tijuana. They were to meet at the Hotel La Valencia, in La Jolla, where they would spend the night. She couldn’t wait to see him.

This time, though, it was Al who was late. Marla checked in, unpacked, took a shower and paced out onto the balcony. She was just wondering where the hell he could be when the phone rang.

“Where are you, you louse?” she asked, without bothering to greet him.

“It’s like this, Marla. I’m here at the track at Del Mar with some of the guys. Had a couple of winners, you know how it is, we just had to catch the last race. . . .”

“Hmmm.” Her foot in its red suede slingback tapped a staccato rhythm of annoyance. “So you stood me up for a horse, Giraud.”

“Never. Anyhow, it was a mare, a gray, and she came in at ten to one.”

“Good thing she did because this is gonna cost you.”

“Sweetheart, name your price. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“I’ll be out on the terrace, having a drink.”

Damn it,
she
had driven all the way from Tecate and gotten there on time. But Al was a man who loved the ponies. She sighed, she guessed you took the good along with the bad.
But an hour and a half late?
She’d kill him when she got her hands on him.

She was sitting on the terrace sipping a vodka martini when she saw the guy and the blond real estate agent again. They were sitting a couple of tables away, just like before, only this time it was obvious they knew each other better.

Marla sipped the icy–cold martini, taking them in over the top of the glass. The blonde had no taste but her outfit was expensive, a different league from her office suit of last time. Bright blue lace, skirt too short and showing a lot of––quite good––leg. A little too tight, a touch too obvious. But the guy seemed to like it alright, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. And she’d bet they weren’t talking business. No pictures of houses on the table this time, just a couple of flutes of champagne. She wondered whether he had bought a house from her and this was the celebration. If so, he didn’t look like a happy camper. Probably thinking about the size of his new mortgage.

She smiled as she saw Al striding toward her. “Loping” was a better description. He had this shambling cowboy kind of walk, sexy as hell. It was the first thing she had noticed about him at that party. That and his lean, hard body and his total indifference to the Hollywood glitz scene going on around him. Ah, she had thought, a man of integrity. Here in Babylon. How intriguing. She went weak at the knees now, just looking at him.

Marla was wearing white to set off her newly acquired Tecate tan: an ankle–length silk jersey skirt slit to the thigh, and a tiny white chiffon top embroidered with pale green butterflies. It clung to her narrow waist and nestled on her round breasts, delicate as a breeze. Al thought she looked sensational and he regretted being late. Except he would enjoy getting her going . . . he liked to see her eyes flash when she was angry. Like now.

“Bastard,” she said by way of greeting.

He lifted a shoulder, grinning at her. “Got it in one, sweetheart. Though my mother wouldn’t thank you for that description.”

She raised her face to be kissed. “I’ve not met your mother.”

“A pleasure yet to come.”

She glanced curiously at him. “Are you joking? Or did you really mean that?”

“I meant it. My mom is one of a kind. Brought up six boys single–handed, and somehow instilled moral values into us all––though I admit, with me it was chancy.”

“A guy who loves his mom.” She squeezed his hand affectionately. “No wonder I love you.”

“Love? I thought it was sexual chemistry between us?” She lifted his hand to her mouth and bit hard. He laughed. “Ouch. Okay, okay, I didn’t mean it.”

“So tell me, Mr. Private Eye, is it sex or just plain business between our real estate tycoon and the poor sap who looks as though he’s just realizing he’s paid too much for a house?”

Al glanced at the couple at the nearby table. “Are they following us?” he asked, surprised.

“They’re probably wondering the same thing about us. Perhaps we should say hello. I feel as though I already know them.”

Al stared thoughtfully at them. They were oblivious to anyone else, lost in their own conversation. Or rather
her
conversation. The woman was animated as all get out, smiling, arms waving, crossing and recrossing her––quite good––legs. “Nah. She’s putting on quite a show for him. Doesn’t need us.”

“Think he’s interested?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. The guy looks as though he’s just swallowed a dose of castor oil instead of a mouthful of champagne.”

“Castor oil?” She looked mystified and he laughed.

“One of Mom’s old–fashioned remedies for all that ails you. She used it frequently on us when we were kids.”

“I don’t even want to think about it.” Marla shuddered. “More important, where are you taking me for dinner? And before you answer, remember, I told you that tonight would cost you.”

Al took a wad of winners’ greenbacks from his pocket, flicking through them with his thumb. “Only the best for my girl tonight.”

“The best is a full partnership.”

“Are you kidding?” He was laughing as they wandered back down the terrace, leaving the real estate couple to mull over the too–expensive house they felt sure he had just bought.

They were both wrong. Steve Mallard had not bought a house. Laurie had shown him a dozen but none of them had worked out. He’d had a business meeting that afternoon that had run late and had decided the drive home to L.A. through the weekend traffic just wasn’t worth it. On the spur of the moment he’d called Laurie and asked her to have dinner with him after house–hunting. It wasn’t the first time they had dined together. He always looked at houses in the evenings after work and somehow falling into a café for a meal was better with company than without. Besides, she was an attractive woman.

He had shown her photos of his children and Laurie had said how pretty they were. And she had showed him a picture of her dog––a little black mutt wearing a red bandanna, one ear up, one ear drooping.

“His name is Clyde.” She smiled fondly at the picture. “And he’s a true rascal. I just love him to pieces.”

“What a nice couple we make. We both love kids and dogs.”
She was quick to laugh with him. She hadn’t yet nailed this sale but she would. And maybe the guy as well. Her eyes smiled into his as she lifted the champagne flute. “To the wonderful house I just know I’m going to find for you.” She clinked her glass to his. “And to more evenings like this.” She smiled slyly at his surprise. “I just meant it’s so nice to have a rapport with a client. It’s rare, I can assure you. And I can also tell you I don’t have dinner with everyone I show a house to.”