Amberlough(54)

“You clocked me at the interval,” she said. “You know I ain’t.”

His shoulders pulled down and back, tugging the starched front of his white dress shirt into strained wrinkles at the buttonholes. “So you got plans with that swell you been seeing.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. “What about old kite-face Müller? You ain’t angling to take on both at once, I hope.”

“Don’t be a pig, Mal.” She turned her back and presented him with her half-done buttons. “Finish me up. You can make sure I’m shut in nice and tight.” His fingers were calloused; she could hear them, rough against the fine fabric of her dress. “Careful,” she said. “Don’t snag my satin.”

He let out a frustrated breath. It stirred the fine hair at the back of her neck. “You make me so vexed I’d like to skin you, Delia.”

She smiled, then realized he could see her face in the mirror. Too late to drop it, so she looked his reflection in the eyes and made it a tease. He blinked, twice, then scowled and turned his attention back to her buttons. His touch was hot and dry against her bare skin.

“You’re so warm all the time,” she said. “Bet you gave your ma a fright when you was small; always feverish.”

His steady progress up the line of buttons faltered. “Dell…”

“What?” She turned her head, tossing hair across his face. “Something wrong?”

The heat of his hands spread as he opened his palms over the taper of her hips. His thumbs met in the small of her back. “How long you gonna keep this up?” He spoke with his face down, forehead resting in the curve of her neck. His sticky pomade smelled of sweet tobacco.

“I ain’t the one who got all sour in the first place,” she said, leaning into his touch. She shouldn’t encourage him, but it felt good to fall back against that solid chest. They’d get on so well if he wasn’t such a jealous ass.

“So you’ll come on out with me tonight?”

“Mal, I can’t.”

His grip on her waist tightened briefly, and then he pushed away. “Delia!”

“Look, I would, all right? But Cyril wants me to tag along with him and Müller, and I can’t exactly say no.”

“And why’s that? You selling out ’cause he can treat you like a center city swell? You think you’re better than the rest of us?”

“Oh, that’s rich. I’m high and mighty and a whore. The sense you ain’t making would buy a house! Just listen to yourself.”

“Nobody else does.”

She rolled her eyes and reached back to finish her own buttons. “Stroll off,” she said. “I got places to be.”

“I ain’t strolling anywhere. I’m gonna sit here”—he dropped into her makeup chair with a tremendous squeal of metal and straining leather—“and you’re gonna tell me what it is about this welterweight swell that makes him so special.”

“Get out, Sailer.”

Malcolm checked his watch, casual as a man waiting for a train. “Think he’ll mind if you keep him waiting?”

She slammed her hairbrush down on the table and rounded on him. “Mother’s tits, Mal. Fine. You want to know why Cyril? Because Ari’s making me a tidy trade over it.”

“Makricosta?” Malcolm looked caught between laughing and rage. “What, he’s pimping for you now?”

“Is it always gotta be about whoring with you?” She fixed her hat in place, so fast the combs tore her hair. “Just ’cause I grew up in the bad end of the first precinct doesn’t mean I gotta make my living on my back.”

“I figured you was more in the side streets line. Standing in an alley, or something like that.”

Oh, she nearly slapped him then. “You got no idea what line I’m in.” Furious, she dug into her handbag and hauled out Ari’s brown paper package. It struck Malcolm’s lap with such force that he flinched, probably aiming to protect his tackle. The smack of it against his thighs gave her grim satisfaction.

“Go on,” she said. “Open it. See if you like what you find.”

He peeled back the edge of the paper and sniffed. “Tar?”

“Real good stuff, too.”

“Makricosta’s selling to you? Delia, I didn’t know—”

“You better shut your mouth before you swallow any more trouble.” She took the package back and carefully rewrapped it. “I don’t smoke tar. And if I did, I couldn’t afford this.” It hit the bottom of her handbag with a heavy thump. “I can get enough from that to live on. Better than what you’re paying. Ari’s not selling to me. I’m running for him.”

Malcolm crossed an ankle over his knee. She watched him watch her. “Since how long?” he asked.

“A couple of weeks.”

“How’d he hook you? You owe him money?”

“He owes me.”

“What for?”

She flung her hands wide. “For spending my time with Cyril. Queen’s sake, use the head your ma pushed out, for once.”

“So you are hiring out.”

“Only my time, Malcolm. Get outta my chair. You’re sitting on my coat.”

He snorted, but followed orders. “He’s awful pretty, Delia. ’Scuse me if I don’t believe it.”