“Shhhh!” she whispered. “He’ll hear you!” She changed moods briefly. Her eyes became exultant. “They’re together on the big divan looking at TV—and necking. I peeked.” Her mood shifted back. “Go lie down in your bed. Take a towel, so you won’t stain anything. I’ll get you a drink. Thank God, you had the sense to sneak home the back way! If Kit Sloan had caught sight of the mess you’ve made of yourself—”
“ I’ve made—of myself?”
“You lost the money, didn’t you?”
It was not that he had bet.
It was that he had lost.
When she entered the beige and scarlet bedroom, the moderne creation of the best interior decorator in both cities, she carried a strong highball and a weak one. Beau was handed the latter.
He at once noticed the marked difference in color and, as his wife had anticipated, was too broken to protest. He flopped back on the pillow, spattering a little new blood on the leather bed-head.
“Now look!” Netta began, and he knew it was the peroration of something that would go on half the night, “we’re at the point where everything depends on playing our cards right. I couldn’t believe our luck when I learned Kit was interested in Lenore again.”
“He’s just interested in pretty girls. Some of the guys at the bank that play around with him tell tales that’d make your eyes stick out.”
She waved that fact away. “Lenore won’t be able to accomplish anything fast enough to help you in this Jake business—”