Read Online Hot Springs by Stephen Hunter - Free Book Online Page A

as they can,” said Ben, staring at his favorite thing on earth, his own roughly handsome face in the mirror, as he tried to get his bow tie just right. It was a red number, with little blue symbols of something or other on it. He’d got it at Sulka’s, the last time he was in London with the Countess.
    “Well, they better shake their asses,” Virginia said.
    “They” were the squad of bellboys necessary to move the Virginia and Ben show from the Apollo Suite at the Arlington to a limousine to the Missouri-Pacific station for the 4:15, which would take them to St. Louis, where they would transfer to the Super Chief on its way back to Los Angeles. So many men were required because wherever Virginia went, she went in style, involving at least ten pieces of alligator luggage. Ben also traveled in alligator and in style, but he disciplined himself to a mere eight cases.
    So eighteen suitcases were stacked in the living room of the Apollo Suite, awaiting removal. But Virginia hated to wait. Waiting was not for the Flamingo. It was for the other 99.999999 percent of the world. She decided she needed a cigarette. She walked out onto the terrace and the blinding Arkansas sun hit her. Her sunglasses were already packed. For some reason the sun against her face infuriated her more.
    She stepped back into the room, nerves uncalmed by the cigarette. She didn’t like to smoke indoors because the smoke clung to her clothes. She was in the mood for a fight.
    “This place is a goddamn dump,” she said. “Why did we come here? You said I’d meet picture people.”
    “Sweetie, you did meet picture people. You met Alan Ladd, Dick Powell and June Allyson.”
    “You idiot,” she said. “They ain’t picture people. They are Hot Springs people. Don’t you understand the difference?”
    “Alan Ladd is big in pictures!” protested Ben.
    “Yeah, but his wife manages him and she watches him like a hawk. And she ain’t about to help a li’l of thang like me! I felt her staring at me! She would have ripped my eyes out, except that if she’d tried, I’d have belted her in the puss so hard she’d see stars for a fucking year. And that Dick Powell, he’s like Mr. Bob who ran the company store. Just a big of politician, slapping the gravy on every goddamn thing! I know his type; big on talk, nothing on getting it done. He’ll smile pretty as how-de-do, but he ain’t one bit interested in me! I want to meet Cary Grant or John Wayne. I want to meet Mr. Cooper or Mr. Bogart! These are little people. You can’t get nowheres in L. A. with little people.”
    Ben sighed. When Virginia lit up like this, there was no stopping her, short of an uppercut to the jaw, which he had delivered a few times, but she was wearing him down. You can only hit a gal so many times. He wished he had the guts to dump her, but in bed, when the mood was on her, she was such a tigress, so much better than anyone, he knew it was impossible.
    “Well, I’m down here on business,” he said. “I have a lot to learn from Owney. He has ideas.”
    “That creep. He’s about as British as my Uncle Clytell.”
    “Sweetie, we’ll be back in LA. in a couple of days. I’ll buy you a new mink. We’ll throw a big party. Stars will come.
    But let me tell you! This has been very profitable for me. It’s going to get better and better out there. You watch and see Where the next ten years take us. We will be so big—”
    “You been saying that for six months and you’re still the bughouse creep they sent to L. A. to get outta their hair and I still don’t have a speaking part! Did you call your lawyer?”
    “Well, honey, I—”
    “You did not! You are still married to that bag Estelle! You’re still Mr. Krakow! Mr. Krakow, would you like some eggs with your bacon and let’s take the station wagon to Bloomingdale’s, dear, they’re having a sale! You ain’t moved one step closer to no divorce. You bughouse kike, I knew you’d lie! You liar! You goddamn