same place. A real estate agent. She’ll be moving soon, that one.”
“Which real estate agent? Do you recall the name?”
“Certainly. She got three calls in the same day. Besides, it isn’t far from here.”
“What’s the name?” O’Brien asked.
“Pullen Real Estate. It’s the next elevated stop from here. Right on the corner, under the station.”
“Can you tell us what Oona Blake looks like?” Meyer asked.
“Yes, certainly. But I don’t really know very much about her. Where shall I start?”
“What was she wearing when she left here this morning?”
“A red silk dress, rather low cut. Red high-heeled pumps. No stockings. A little sort of red feather in her hair, with a rhinestone clip.”
“Was she carrying a purse?”
“One of these small things that all you can fit into are a compact and lipstick and a few odds and ends.”
“Was that red, too?”
“No. It was a dark blue. Sequins, I believe.”
“And how would you describe her?”
“She’s a blonde. I think it’s natural. She’s very well developed. If you ask me, she’s got a thyroid condition. Anyway, she’s a very big girl. Noisy, I guess. Or perhaps she just talks loud. She’s very pretty, I would say. Blue eyes. She gives an impression of…I don’t know…being strong, I guess. She’s got a nice smile and a pretty nose. Does that help?”
“Yes. Thank you very much.”
“You going to that real estate office now?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t. He’s closed on Sundays.”
The girl dancing with Bert Kling was wearing a red silk dress and red high-heeled pumps. She wore a red feather in her hair, and the feather tickled Kling’s cheek as he maneuvered her over the makeshift dance floor. People were beginning to filter to the tables where cocktails had been placed at each setting. Kling was beginning to feel a little hungry. Perhaps it was the way the girl danced, with a sort of nervous, pushing energy that demanded all his leading skill to counter. She was a very busty girl, and she danced quite close, her long blonde hair brushing his cheek. She seemed quite feminine and lovely—even though she was a big girl—but there was nonetheless this pushing quality about her which gave him the feeling that she was leading him around the dance floor. The strength seemed in direct contradiction to the blue eyes and lovely smile that had first attracted him to her. The eyes and the smile had been totally female. The dancing was the footwork of a steel magnate, a person with something to do, a person anxious to get it done.
The band, once one got used to it, wasn’t really half bad. Playing a medley of foxtrots, they moved smoothly from one number to the next, keeping a steady danceable beat. Sal Martino had put his trombone on a chair that rested on the bandstand alongside him, and he led the orchestra with his right hand, smiling out at the crowd occasionally. Waiters rushed across the lawn carrying drinks. Kling’s eyes moved across the dance floor. Ben Darcy was still dancing with Angela. The pair seemed to be having an argument. Steve Carella was dancing with a redhead who’d undoubtedly leaped from the pages of Playboy although, Kling mused, the same observation could probably be made about the blonde who was pushing him around the floor. Teddy Carella didn’t look too damn happy about the inflammable girl in the green dress. Cotton Hawes didn’t look too happy, either. Dismally, he watched Christine Maxwell dancing with Sam Jones.
This is one hell of a wedding, Kling thought. Everybody bursting with joy. Even Steve looks pretty gloomy, though I can’t see why that redhead should make any man gloomy.
“I don’t think I know your name,” Kling said to the blonde in the red dress.
“You don’t,” she answered. Her voice was deep and husky.
“Mine’s Bert.”
“Nice to know you,” the blonde said.
He waited for her to offer her name. When she didn’t, he let it pass. What the hell, if a girl didn’t want to give her name, there was no sense forcing her. Besides, he told himself in deference to his fiancée, he was only dancing so that he wouldn’t look conspicuous standing on the sidelines.
“You a relative?” he asked.
“No.” The girl paused. “Are you?”
“No.” Kling paused. “Friend of the bride?”
The girl hesitated for just a fraction of a second. Then she said, “Yes.”
“Nice wedding,” Kling said.
“Lovely,” the girl agreed, and she continued to push him around the floor as if in a hurry to get nowhere particularly fast.
On the bandstand, Sal Martino leaned over