THE LADY KILLER: intense, suspenseful, gripping literary fiction (9 page)

“Sure,” said Hammond, “another adoptee for her. This time a male; not another girl.” I wagged my finger at him. Not telling him at the time, of course, how nearly close to
right
he turned out to be.

When June grilled a person, of course, she made it sound impersonal and innocent. She’d learned that in her
trade
and refined it into an art. With Sandy standing right there she’d managed to inquire of Hartwig’s family ... she also knew his mother quite well … but also where Hartwig’d gone to school and what he’d done since then and where he lived.

“Boy,” said Hammond, “she must’ve really liked that.”

“No,” I replied, “all he told her was on a houseboat, not on a houseboat in a ghetto.” Some of them actually were quite respectable as I told you. June’d even sold several like that. It wasn’t until June asked what kind of car he drove, the big ‘status symbol’ of the time and still depressingly is, that Sandy brought the conversation to a more realistic level.

“He drives an old clunker,” she volunteered. “A bucket of bolts that was once called a Volkswagen.” She laughed.

“People’s car.” Hartwig defended himself.

But June as well as some of the others got a kick out of that. Marcus giggled. Stich broke out into a healthy guffaw and patted Hartwig on the back. And you know what?” I said.

“No, what?”

June was immediately interested instead of being ‘turned off’. Much like, I think, Sandy’d been when she’d first met Hartwig and driven in his car. Both women were rich dowagers, bored with the typical types they met from their own backgrounds and Hartwig’s Bohemian style appealed to them. Even society matrons like to rub their noses in the dirt once in a while, especially when it includes taboo sex though Hartwig was white. Neither one, of course, imagined he was out to get hold of a rich woman. They’d’ve perhaps both had to know his grandmother more thoroughly and how Hartwig worshipped her every design to be able to do that. They didn’t so… Both Sandy and June had met her in social circles but at the most casually. Bertha Adler was a very private woman.

To make a long story short, after that afternoon Hartwig had not only Sandy but June competing for his affection though the rivalry didn’t become manifest right away. As those affairs so often go, wakes or baptismal receptions, what starts out to be a mournful or serious affair often ends in a sort of orgy so did this one.

Stich, the contractor, wasn’t the only one who imbibed too much of the delicious rum punch he kept making to fill bowl after bowl. By late afternoon he and June were shouting at one another, in friendly tones, of course, about how they were both going to make a killing on a property they were about to jointly acquire while the others tried to keep pace with them. It was like the young kid shooting hoops to mimic the pro. None could but they tried. That was until Sandy pulled Hartwig aside and said,

“I’m tired of this. Let’s go?”

“No … no, just a minute,” said Hartwig. “I’m learning. This’s interesting. Just a little longer.”

“Well,” said she. “I’m leaving. You’ll have to get back on your own.” He shrugged his shoulders, she grabbed her purse and coat, took one last look at the sleeping babe in its crib and with a hurt, angry expression walked out hoping, I suppose, Hartwig’d follow her.

“There goes my girlfriend,” said an effete Hartwig.

“Don’t worry,” said June. “I can drive you home. I know where she lives.”

“So,” said Hammond. “Did she or did Hartwig leave on his own? And if she did whose house did she take him to, Sandy’s or hers?”

Hartwig stayed. As to whose house… And Hartwig didn’t only intrigue June. She fell … well almost … in love with the boy Marcus; not in any physical sense I can assure you, though Sandy might’ve done something like that if she already hadn’t. In just that one drunken evening together with her, the boy, Hartwig and Stich, by God she was already sending him away to school. She‘d adopted his sister, now she’d turned to the brother to say nothing of how that’d rile the mother Sarah who June could self-righteously despise even more if she could get hold of him. At the end of the evening, she said,

“I … I know just the place for you,” she had a natural stutter to her voice, “back east at Dartmouth. To graduate from there is to secure your future. I’m sure with your grades you can get in.”

“Really?” Marcus glanced from her to Stich; then commented. “That’d only require about a hundred thousand dollars a year nowadays. If I had that, why waste it at school? Invested properly I might never have to do another thing.” June turned to the contractor.

“He,” she said to Stich, “just might be right if he knew where,” as though it was a clandestine secret between them. And those sorts of things are what brokers and investors like to throw around at parties as if to suggest their lives aren’t always mechanically sterile. Anyhow the night wore on, the party began breaking up. June, who gave Hartwig a ride back to the beach house, bought him a drink at the Sand Piper before delivering her piece of goods…

“Well put,” Hammond interjected, “just as I’ve always thought of him, as a piece of goods. That describes Hartwig perfectly.”

I don’t believe the two kissed as they parked though Hartwig said he‘d never had a pleasanter conversation with such an intelligent, educated woman… ”

“And not bad looking either?”

“No, very good and very rich, single and out
hunting
.”

Sandy, of course, had been waiting for them out on the porch in the cold fog in her robe with nothing but a glass of wine to keep her company. The porch light shrouded her figure. It had been all she could do to restrain herself from phoning moment-to-moment back to the reception to see whether Hartwig’d left. ‘No one’, she claimed, could fathom the anguish she’d undergone just to refrain herself from it. Her anxiety, her jealousy had been building up something terrible. At one moment she’d wanted to go right up to Hartwig and stab him with a knife. The next it was somewhere away to a desert isle where she could have him all to herself. When, naturally, the two showed up in June’s luxurious sedan they spied her under the porch light and she saw them. Sandy waved if you can believe it, she was so relieved. Just like it was her ninety-year-old grandmother driving her boyfriend home or like June, the old friend was so trustworthy and unattractive no one could suspect her of any sort of complicity.

“Ha, that temptress …”

“Yes,” I said, “that devil.”

Hartwig, naturally, got out of the car and went up to her. June undoubtedly saw the two embrace as she drove away. Now do you see what a man like that can do to women? He already had one, two really if you count Gloria; now he’s got another, who’s already grabbed the bait and is on the line thrashing.

“Do you like her?” Sandy said later, meaning June.

“Yes, of course,” her lover replied, “but not like you.” And that sort of trivial reassurance gave the nod to Sandy for Hartwig’s favor. Unfortunately that seems to be the way our minds work. Always better at the expense of another’s. I’d say we’re none too worse off from this affliction as long as one doesn’t take himself too seriously. If you do you can get awfully
hurt
and I mean
hurt
.

“You can say that again,” said Hammond and we both paused for another drink.

Chapter Eight

Sandy certainly lost no time in sulking over her boyfriend’s new acquaintance with her oldest and best friend. If anything it now made her realize she had some serious competition for Hartwig’s affection and she decided to capitalize on it as rapidly as she could.

“But,” said Hammond. “What does that mean in our contemporary society anyhow? You say capitalize. Do you mean marriage perhaps? That’s the only legitimate contract out there we recognize for possessing another and believe me that’s all it is, a contract that without love means nothing. And how long does love last as our doctors point out. The physical passion perhaps for eight months or so and most couple’s’ve already shared that before they’re married. Of course there’s such a thing as sharing your life exclusively with another, which is becoming more and more old-fashioned. Then there’re children. Was Sandy perhaps dreaming of beginning another family? She wasn’t that old, remember. Thirty-two? Many women’ve started them later.”

The day after the christening Sandy again informed Hartwig she was taking him someplace. He didn’t have to dress up to look nice. And you know I began to think Hartwig enjoyed these mysterious rides of hers. He enjoyed being chauffeured about by a handsome woman in the racy convertible with the top down. He might not’ve enjoyed this ride so much if he’d known where they were going but by the time they arrived there it was too late. She stopped the car they both got out and she began to show him around.

“Where?” Said Hammond.

“Her mother’s estate in Redwood Grove, where else?” I said. “I guess after having survived what had been to her a close call at losing her love interest to her best friend at the christening she wanted to somehow cement the deal by impressing him.”

After cruising along a private road through a luxuriously wooded countryside, when Sandy turned under a stone arch upon which the word
Hightower
was relieved, I’m sure Hartwig got the idea.

“What?” He almost stood up in his seat. “You never told me. This’ your mother’s?”

“Don‘t worry,” said Sandy, “she won’t bite and besides I doubt if she’s home.”

The estate consisted of twenty-six acres in one of the richest areas in the county. You know it perhaps?”

“I certainly do,” said Hammond. “That’s where property’s measured in diamonds and twenty-six acres there amounts to a lot of carats.”

The long driveway that was arbored by oaks ended at an ivy trellised carriage house with ample room for cars and a living unit upstairs. This was the maid’s quarters. In the left slot stood a Bentley and to the right stood a Bentley, one navy blue the other maroon. The center was empty.

“What on earth goes there?” Hartwig pointed.

“Mother’s sedan,” said Sandy. “It’s what her chauffeur prefers to drive and she seldom uses the other two. They’re more like keepsakes.” The sedan, of course, was a Mercedes.

“Oh, really,” said Hammond, “what a slip, a mere Mercedes aside two Bentley’s, a pity.” I laughed.

With that Sandy showed him around. They reached the main building, which was a Florentine villa. It was bordered by porticoes walkways and surrounded a courtyard. Two afghans bounded from the garden area where they’d been carousing.

“This Tristan, this Isolde,” said Sandy. The long legged male leapt up at Hartwig and hooked its paws on his shoulders. Its tan coat shimmered like a golden fleece.

“I can see,” he said. “Your mother likes big things.”

“Yes,” said Sandy, “that’s the one thing we have in common.” She winked pruriently. With that she led him to the pool at the foot of a magnificent terraced garden on the hillside. Here they sat under a parasoled table as the Filipino maid, her dark complexion contrasted against her light smock, brought them drinks.

“Peem’s cups,” as Sandy liked to call them. They had one; then another as Hartwig tried to take everything in. He was impressed. The main structure had been laid in the same sparkling granite block as the carriage house and at the pool’s end stood another villa, a replica in miniature of the larger one. The walkway around the pool was white marble and a large statue of Minerva stood just across from them. The materials had been imported from Italy. If you can imagine Hartwig’s impression of the beach house, try to fathom it here. The surroundings were so elegant they made him nervous.

“Hartwig nervous?” Said Hammond. “That’ll be the day. He was licking his chops. The man doesn’t have a nerve in his body.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “We all have those. That’s how come we’re reflexive creatures.”

As the two sat there looking like innocent peasants, who’d just found their ways into a Florentine castle, Sandy rose to answer a phone call, then informed Hartwig she couldn’t take him inside to show him around for they didn’t have time. Her mother was due home soon and she didn’t feel it was the right moment for an introduction.

“She thrives on appointments,” said Sandy. “They rule her entire life from luncheons to the opera. Everything’s written beforehand in her book. But perhaps another time we’ll visit.”

No wonder she drove her husband crazy Hartwig wanted to comment but refrained. Sandy did say this to him, however, which though put in an odd way indicated to me a proposal of some sort. Taking both his hands and putting them to her cheeks she focused her large grey eyes on his and said in a general fashion,

“I want what you’ve got.” The stunned Hartwig sat back in his pool chair and replied humorously if not hyperbolically,

“What’s that Sandy, my sinking houseboat, my broken down old car? Or my great bank account which has all of several hundred dollars in it?” She smiled, obviously appreciating his humor and honesty and not wanting to be hard on her
intended
, replied.

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t exactly know, of course, for the suggestion’d been too broad, too general. But in the next breath when she asked him if he’d ever thought of having children, Hartwig must’ve inferred what was on her mind.

“No,” he said, “at least not right away. It’s not the right time (state of the world). One has to wait and see.” He must’ve felt the squeeze and wanted to stop it right there. There’s an implied trust when you’re going with a young woman, of course, that they’ll continue their monthly precautions. One slip of their part whether intentional or not and the man is stuck. Unless, of course, he can convince the woman to have an abortion. If you can get one nowadays. But outside of your opinion they have complete control over the faculty as long as you’re having sex. After Sandy’d made her point in those impressive surroundings the two drove back to the beach house. I’m sure it passed through Hartwig’s mind as to what it’d be like to live so opulently without another care in the world except the counting of your money like Midas. June, should she see fit, had nothing like that to offer him and Sandy knew it. You can see the temptation developing in a puerile sort of way.

‘Here’s my mother’s mansion; you can see so much of it today. If you’re a good boy I’ll bring you back and show you the rest’. I believe she’d made her point. Then guess what?

“What?” Said Hammond. “she brought him back? The deal was clinched? I know they didn’t marry.”

“No, Sandy disappeared. It was like from the face of the earth too. She’d taken Hartwig back to Sausalito and when he tried to contact her again she wasn’t there.

“Well, where the hell is she?” Hartwig‘d actually gone out and confronted the son. He swore up and down he didn’t know. His mother hadn’t told him a thing but she’d taken the two dogs with her and the car. She probably wouldn’t come to any harm, but she was so discombobulated she just might. If he didn’t hear eventually he was going to notify the police.

“In the meantime,” the boy’s eyes lit up ridiculously, “I can have the house to myself.”

Hartwig looked around a bit and already detected signs of partying. But sitting down to face the hard reality on his own he figured she’d been playing him along and had run off with another man. He was amused at the swindle but not angry for a woman’s whim seldom disturbed him. He figured that’s what she wanted to do and she did it. He was better off without her. Things had been becoming a little too thick and now… No wonder, of course, they were so attracted to him. He always withheld a part of himself they knew they could never reach and their attempts led to a never-ending desire.

Hartwig couldn’t be worrying about that sort of stuff. In a week or so he’d written her off and had let Gloria come back into his life.

“Gloria?” Said Hammond. “You mean after that she’d even have him?”

“In … a sense,” I said, “by that time she didn’t have much choice. Remember Johansson and his crush on her, well instead of lightening up it went from bad to worse. The young hot-blooded Swede, who couldn’t take
no
for an answer, harassed her at work to the point Larson, his superior, another Swede, had to let him go. He’d called the strapping young man into his office and confronted him directly.

“I know your mother and your father. They’re both good people and do a lot for the community. You were a good lad yourself until something got into you but you continue to pester that poor young girl. She’s very upset you know. She cries on the job. I can’t have that. I’ve observed your taunts. You had your third and last warning, son. You’ll just have to find another job.”

“Really sir,” said Johansson, “but I was just teasing. What’d she say about me?” His eyes’d open wide. “It’s her that causes it.”

“Doesn’t look like teasing to me. You don’t clay someone’s hair and call it teasing.”

And that was that. Johansson had to go home and tell his parents, the schoolteacher and the harbormaster. He came in drunk that very night and his father kicked him out of the house. So where’d he go? Where else but down to Gloria’s where he banged on her door and tried to kick it in. Luckily they built them firmly in the days
that
building went up. She called the police. He waited around and they came and took him to jail. The next day she went to the DA’s office to get a restraining order but even that didn’t seem to do much good. Johansson kept after her. Kicked out of his house he got his sleeping bag and knapsack and joined the other vagrants that slept nearby in the small park by the bay. He, in essence, had chosen to ruin his life or damn near it.

“And all that for a piece of ass. Some piece it must’ve been I might add,” said Hammond.

“It wasn’t merely that,” I reminded him. “Remember with some males there’s a lot more involved. Their entire egos become wrapped up in the love object. Then watch out if you’re rejected. You go wild trying to regain your status.”

“Sounds like you’ve done a little of that hounding yourself in your day,” Hammond remarked.

“No,” I said. “I don’t believe in that sort of behavior. I’m just telling you how things occurred.”

So, sleeping in the park at night and also drinking with his cronies by day, Johansson had no one to watch over him. He’d lost his job having been thrown in jail again. His former offenses began to haunt him. It got to the point he’d shadow Gloria, wait hidden in the shadows across the street from her place. That tiny road the factory was on had very few lights. She was frightened to go home again after dark. She became nervous and skittish on the job and was even thinking of quitting it and moving out of Sausalito. Women can get to the point like that you know. With someone stalking and threatening to kill them (he’d done that twice) they become frightened of their own shadow. And she was no tomboy either who could fight back though she was strong for her size. She was all ladylike, a genuine princess who had a very feminine nature that broke down completely wherein violence was involved. She couldn’t imagine violence let alone stand it. Think when it turned on her.

“I’d rather not,” said Hammond. “She sounds like a sweet person. He, a creep.”

“She was, she was,” I said with a wistful sigh. “I wish you’d been around to meet her.”

At any rate one night she’d been unavoidably detained uptown and couldn’t get home before dark so she’d taken a cab. Remember now, she had no one. Her father had departed the family when she’d been a young girl. Her mother was a potter in Santa Cruz. She couldn’t go to her though she’d most likely thought about it. And although the cabbie let her off in front of the building she had to walk the corridor between it and the next to reach her apartment in the back. As she emerged from the cab, paid and heard the door slam and the cabbie who she’d been too embarrassed to reveal her situation to had left, halfway down the alleyway between her and her door who’d she encounter but the Swede. His teeth shone sadistically and his yoke blond hair had a dull sheen to it. He was obviously a white man even in the dark. There he stood teetering back and forth from one foot to the other. He was so close the vapor of alcohol from his presence turned her stomach like a cloud of gas.

“So there yuh are,” said the voice. It was Johansson, naturally.

“So,” said Hammond. “What’d she do?”

“What’d you do?” I told him, “in a case like that? She did mention something about the
order
for him to stay away but half-heartedly and in a very timid voice. And do you think that sort of threat’d stop a man like that, never. As he approached her she threw her purse to the ground and ran like the blazes, the madman stumbling drunkenly after her. And luckily he was drunk for he ran very poorly.