Read Online Dread Journey by Dorothy B. Hughes - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy B. Hughes
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there.”
He smiled mechanically. “Thank you, Cobbett.”
Kitten had taken Gratia on her club car maraudings. He couldn’t send for Gratia now, advertise his interest to the Chief gossips. He was not a man to be thwarted. He intended to see Gratia. He would go along to the club car, join the girls casually. Invite them to dine with him. It was a good move after all; everything friendly on the surface. The great man taking Kitten and her protégée to dinner.
The train was slowing. He looked out into the twilight, then glanced down at his watch. Needles already, six forty-five. He widened his smile. This was better. He’d get off and walk, board the train again at the club car. The meeting would be accidental, no seeking out. Fate, as was her custom, played his hand.
Even Fate would not thwart Vivien Spender.
—6—
Kitten said, “What does the publicity department want now that I should do? Ride in the baggage section?”
The train was stopping at Needles. The Chief was hermetically sealed in its own air-conditioned void. No desert heat could penetrate. The sluggish men and women on the station platform stood in the heavy, unmoving air outside and gazed curiously in at the sterile faces behind the train windows.
Mike said, “Not yet.” She laughed after she said it, but the laugh was too sharp; it was almost a cry. “You’re a riot, Kitten. No, it’s just some releases for New York I wanted you to okay.”
Kitten took the typewritten pages disinterestedly. “That’s the trouble with these cross-countries. No agent to do the dirty work.” She looked at papers with disdain. “Do I have to read all this stuff?”
“I’ve read it; you don’t have to,” Mike said. “Just pencil on your initials.”
Kitten took the pencil Mike offered. “Viv and his bureaucracy. The other studios don’t go in for this red tape.”
“It’s for your own protection,” Mike said mechanically.
She had to bring up the subject of the wife. She had to delay long enough to get Mike to talk about it. She nibbled the pencil and looked over the first page. “Maybe I’d better read them,” she said. “Maybe he is trying to slip a fast one over me. Like putting that girl in my drawing room.”
“How are you getting along with her?” Mike spoke absently, without interest. She was gazing out the window.
Kitten followed her gaze. She drew back. He was striding down the platform. Viv Spender, the king. She didn’t want him to see her. She didn’t want a scene with him now. She wanted to get back to Hank; it wasn’t safe leaving a man with Gratia Shawn.
Mike, too, had drawn back as Viv passed. Kitten’s eyes were shrewd. “He’s trying to put something over. What is it?”
Mike eyed her for a long moment out of her green-rimmed glasses. Her hand moved to a typewritten sheet on another sheaf of papers. She held it put silently.
Kitten took the sheet but she didn’t look at it. She looked at Mike. Mike’s eyes were as expressionless as the glass panes covering them. The paper was undated. Kitten read: Vivien Spender (his name must be first always) announced today that Gratia Shawn…Kitten crumpled the paper from her. It fell to the carpet, lay there, a white blotch.
“He isn’t putting anything over on you. He told you.”
Kitten asked, “When is he releasing that?” Her throat was dusty.
“When we get to New York.”
“He’s already signed her?”
“He says so. I haven’t seen the contract.”
Kitten said harshly, “He can’t do it.”
“I wouldn’t try to stop him.” Behind the slant green glasses Mike’s eyes appealed to her. “He’s in an ugly mood.”
“So am I.”
Mike cried out now, “Why not settle your contract, Kitten?” It wasn’t like Mike, the unemotional, to be emotional.
It brought the fear again to Kitten’s spine but she arched her anger against it. “He can’t do it to me. I’ve got him where I want him.”
Mike’s voice was ragged. “Don’t fight him,
He smiled mechanically. “Thank you, Cobbett.”
Kitten had taken Gratia on her club car maraudings. He couldn’t send for Gratia now, advertise his interest to the Chief gossips. He was not a man to be thwarted. He intended to see Gratia. He would go along to the club car, join the girls casually. Invite them to dine with him. It was a good move after all; everything friendly on the surface. The great man taking Kitten and her protégée to dinner.
The train was slowing. He looked out into the twilight, then glanced down at his watch. Needles already, six forty-five. He widened his smile. This was better. He’d get off and walk, board the train again at the club car. The meeting would be accidental, no seeking out. Fate, as was her custom, played his hand.
Even Fate would not thwart Vivien Spender.
—6—
Kitten said, “What does the publicity department want now that I should do? Ride in the baggage section?”
The train was stopping at Needles. The Chief was hermetically sealed in its own air-conditioned void. No desert heat could penetrate. The sluggish men and women on the station platform stood in the heavy, unmoving air outside and gazed curiously in at the sterile faces behind the train windows.
Mike said, “Not yet.” She laughed after she said it, but the laugh was too sharp; it was almost a cry. “You’re a riot, Kitten. No, it’s just some releases for New York I wanted you to okay.”
Kitten took the typewritten pages disinterestedly. “That’s the trouble with these cross-countries. No agent to do the dirty work.” She looked at papers with disdain. “Do I have to read all this stuff?”
“I’ve read it; you don’t have to,” Mike said. “Just pencil on your initials.”
Kitten took the pencil Mike offered. “Viv and his bureaucracy. The other studios don’t go in for this red tape.”
“It’s for your own protection,” Mike said mechanically.
She had to bring up the subject of the wife. She had to delay long enough to get Mike to talk about it. She nibbled the pencil and looked over the first page. “Maybe I’d better read them,” she said. “Maybe he is trying to slip a fast one over me. Like putting that girl in my drawing room.”
“How are you getting along with her?” Mike spoke absently, without interest. She was gazing out the window.
Kitten followed her gaze. She drew back. He was striding down the platform. Viv Spender, the king. She didn’t want him to see her. She didn’t want a scene with him now. She wanted to get back to Hank; it wasn’t safe leaving a man with Gratia Shawn.
Mike, too, had drawn back as Viv passed. Kitten’s eyes were shrewd. “He’s trying to put something over. What is it?”
Mike eyed her for a long moment out of her green-rimmed glasses. Her hand moved to a typewritten sheet on another sheaf of papers. She held it put silently.
Kitten took the sheet but she didn’t look at it. She looked at Mike. Mike’s eyes were as expressionless as the glass panes covering them. The paper was undated. Kitten read: Vivien Spender (his name must be first always) announced today that Gratia Shawn…Kitten crumpled the paper from her. It fell to the carpet, lay there, a white blotch.
“He isn’t putting anything over on you. He told you.”
Kitten asked, “When is he releasing that?” Her throat was dusty.
“When we get to New York.”
“He’s already signed her?”
“He says so. I haven’t seen the contract.”
Kitten said harshly, “He can’t do it.”
“I wouldn’t try to stop him.” Behind the slant green glasses Mike’s eyes appealed to her. “He’s in an ugly mood.”
“So am I.”
Mike cried out now, “Why not settle your contract, Kitten?” It wasn’t like Mike, the unemotional, to be emotional.
It brought the fear again to Kitten’s spine but she arched her anger against it. “He can’t do it to me. I’ve got him where I want him.”
Mike’s voice was ragged. “Don’t fight him,
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