Part 12

That's right, Joe. White flannels, yachting cap, Wall Street Journal, glasses, and all. I saw his little scheme in an instant. He was as easy to read as the funny pages on Sunday. He planned to fool Sugar into thinking he was a millionaire. He knew she was planning on hooking up with one.

Sugar was sitting up, a little dazed. Sweet kid. The first words out of her mouth were, "It was my fault."

Joe helped her up. I was surprised that he restrained himself from brushing sand off her caboose. "You're not hurt, are you? I wish you'd make sure. Usually when people find out who I am they get themselves a wheelchair, a neck brace, a shyster lawyer, and sue me for a quarter of a million dollars."

Sugar said agreeably, "Well, don't worry, I won't sue you, no matter who you are." She paused, then said curiously, "Who are you?"

Joe looked affronted. "Well, really!"

It was time to put an end to this. I called, "Hey, Sugar! Come on." It didn't work. Joe gave her a little good-bye wave and sat, burying himself in the Journal again. Sugar hesitated, then threw the ball back to us. I caught it, but I quickly pitched it to Dolores and stepped out of the circle. This was one tete-a-tete I wanted to keep an eye, and an ear, on.

Sugar sat beside him and said, "Haven't I seen you somewhere before? Your face is familiar. Are you staying at the hotel?"

"Not at all. Possibly you saw me in a newspaper or magazine. Vanity Fair?"

"That must be it."

He waved at her to move. Oh, yeah, like he'd object to her taking up his field of vision! "Would you mind moving just a little? You're blocking my view. They run up a red-and-white flag on the yacht when it's time for cocktails."

If I'd known Joe was so good at bait, I'd have taken him fishing a long time ago. Sugar snapped. "You have a yacht?" she squeaked. She looked out to sea. There were about a dozen yachts floating serenely a little way out. "Which one is yours, the big one?"

Joe huffed. "Certainly not! With all the unrest in the world I don't think anybody should have a yacht that sleeps more than twelve."

Looking very superior, Sugar said, "I quite agree." Then, bless her tryin'-to-be-devious-and-failing-miserably little heart, "Who runs up the flag--your wife?"

"No, my flag steward."

And who mixes the cocktails--your wife?"

"No, my cocktail steward. Look, if you're interested in whether or not I'm married..."

"I'm not interested at all!" And do you know? Her nose didn't grow at all!

"Well, I'm not."

"That's very interesting." Joe pretended to go back to his paper, and Sugar said conversationally, "How's the stock market?"

He said casually, "Oh, up, up,up."

Sugar had a dreamy look on her face. "I'll bet just while we're talking, you made a hundred thousand dollars."

"Could be. Do you play the market?"

"No, the ukelele. And I sing, too."

"For your own amusement?"

"A group of us is appearing at the hotel. Sweet Sue and Her Society Syncopaters."

"You're society girls?"

Sugar sensed that there might be a, say, class problem looming, and covered pretty neatly. "Oh, yes, quite. You know: Vassar, Bryn Mawr. We're only doing this for a lark."

"Syncopaters. Does that mean you play that fast music--jazz?"

Sugar beamed, a real jazz baby. "Yeah! Real hot."

"Oh. Well, I guess some like it hot, but personally I prefer classical music."

Backpedal. "So do I. As a matter of fact, I spent three years at the Sheboygan Conservatory of Music." Why the--she stole our fib!

"Good school. And your family doesn't object to your career?"

"They do indeed. Daddy threatened to cut me off without a cent, but I don't care. It was such a bore: coming-out parties, cotillions..."

"Inaguguration balls..."

"...opening of the opera..."

"...riding to the hounds...

Snort. Tossing of the bullshit, I thought.

"And always the same Four Hundred!" Sugar finished.

Joe let himself look interested now. "You know, it's amazing we never ran into each other before. I'm sure I would have remembered anybody as attractive as you."

Sugar sighed. "You're very kind. I'll bet you're also very gentle--and helpless." Joe looked puzzled. "I have this theory about men with glasses."

"Oh? What theory?"

Sugar smiled demurely. "Maybe I'll tell you when I know you a little better. What are you doing tonight? You could come to the hotel and hear us play."

"I'd like to, but it may be rather difficult. I only come ashore twice a day, when the tide goes out." He indicated the pail of sea shells the poor kid he'd scared off had left. "It's for the shells. It's my hobby."

Sugar blinked. Collecting cars, she could understand. Or houses. Even diamonds. But a millionaire collecting sea shells? "You collect...?"

"Sea shells, yes. So did my father and my grandfather, we've all had this passion for shells. That's why we named the oil company after it."

"Shell Oil?" Her eyes got the size of saucers.

Joe shushed her. "Please! No names. Just call me Junior."

Well, I'd had enough of this nonsense. The ball game was breaking up, so I stalked over to them, saying, "Come on, Sugar. Time to change for dinner."

She waved me away. "Run along, Daphne. I'll catch up."

I stepped closer, glaring at Joe. "You--you--"

He looked at me blankly. "What is it, young lady? What are you staring at?"

"You!" Okay, so I'm not real articulate when I'm POed.

He gave Sugar a world-weary look. "This happens to me all the time in public."

Sugar burbled to me. "I recognized him, too--his picture was in Vanity Fair." To Joe she said, "This is my friend, Daphne. She's a Vassar girl."

That stumped me. "I'm a what?"

"Or was it Bryn Mawr?" Oh, great. First Joe reinvents my life to suit his purposes, now Sugar.

Joe was staring at me, hard. "I heard a very sad story about a girl who went to Bryn Mawr. She squealed on her roommate, and they found her strangled with her own brassiere."

I glared back. "Yes, you have to be very careful about picking roommates."

Sugar got up. "Well, I must dash. You will come see us tonight, won't you?"

"If it's at all possible."

I smiled sweetly. "Oh, please do come. Don't disappoint us. It'll be such fun. And bring your yacht.

" We walked off. I snorted as we walked toward the hotel. "Well, I'll be! How about that guy?"

"Now look, Daphne, hands off! I saw him first."

"Sugar, dear, let me give you some advice. If I were a girl..." I paused. "and I am, I'd watch my step."

She shrugged. "If I'd been watching my step, I never would have met him. Wait till I tell Josephine!"

Inspiration was creeping up. "Yeah, Josephine."

"Will she be surprised! I can't wait to see her face."

Inspiration pounced. "Neither can I. Come on--let's go up to her room and tell her--right now!" I grabbed her hand and took off at a run. She protested that we didn't have to hurry so, but I didn't slacken my pace. I hauled her up to 413 at full speed. Hee-hee. Let's see Joe get out of this one!

The room was empty when I pulled a panting Sugar inside. She looked around and said, "I guess she's not here. I'll come back later."

"No, no, Sugar--wait. I have a feeling she's going to show up any minute."

Sugar sat, saying, "Believe it or not, Josephine predicted the whole thing."

"Ye-ah. This is one for Ripley."

"Do you suppose she went out shopping?"

"That's it. Something tells me she's going to walk through that door in a whole new outfit-a complete change of image!"

Right about then Joe/Josephine's voice drifted out of the bathroom, singing 'Running Wild'. Well, that dropped a brick wall on me. I followed Sugar into the bathroom.

There was Joe, wig firmly in place, sitting in a tub of bubbles. He looked up blandly and cooed, "Oh. I didn't hear you come in." I spotted a window behind him. Well, that solved the mystery of how he got in, but how did he manage the quick change?

Sugar was bouncing, and when Sugar bounced--she bounced. "The most wonderful thing happened!"

Joe looked interested. "They repealed prohibition?"

"I met one of them. Shell Oil, Junior. He's got millions--he's got glasses--and he's got a yacht!"

I chimed in. "He's not only got a yacht--he had to have a bicycle."

Joe gave me a warning look as Sugar continued. "He's young and handsome and a bachelor--and he's a real gentleman, not one of those grabbers."

"Mm. Better go after him, if you don't want him to get away."

Joe, spelled D-O-G.

"Oh, I'm not letting him get away. He collects shells," she continued.

"You know," I growled. "For the old shell game?"

"And you're going to meet him tonight, because he promised to come hear us play--maybe."

Time to turn up the gas. "What do you mean, maybe? I saw the way he looked at you. He'll be there for sure. What do you think, Josephine What does it say in your crystal ball?" Oo, if looks could kill, Spats Colombo would have had nothing to worry about from me.

Dolores came by, wanting Sugar to let her into their room, so Sugar excused herself, leaving me alone with Joe. The tension was thicker than a flapper's rouge. Finally Joe said, "Wise guy, huh? Trying to louse me up."

I put my hands on my hips. "And what were you trying to do to poor Sugar with that phony millionaire act? I've seen you pull some low tricks on dames..." I paused. "And other people, but this is the trickiest and the lowest and the meanest..."

I trailed off as Joe stood up. Usually Joe standing up out of a tub is one of my favorite sights in the world. But this time the mystery of the quick change was solved: he hadn't. He was still in the flannels and blazer and scarf and two-tone shoes, clutching the yachting cap. Dripping wet, he looked positively demonic.

He advanced on me slowly, and I said bravely. "I'm not scared of you! I may be small, but I'm wiry." He kept stalking, I kept backing up. "When I'm aroused, I'm a tiger!" That got him to pause and smile nostalgically, but it didn't last. "Don't look at me like that, Joe. I didn't mean any harm. I'll press your suit myself." The phone rang, and I said brightly. "You better answer the phone."

Joe jammed the wet cap down on my head and went to answer the phone. He growled, "Hello?" then remembered himself and got the bass out of his voice. "Hello? Yes, this is 413. Ship-to-shore? All right, I'll take it."

Ship-to-shore? What the heck could that be about? We didn't know anyone offshore.

"Who? The naughty boy from the elevator?" Joe looked at me. I cringed. "Oh, Osgood. No, this is her roommate." I made frantic motions for him to tell Fielding I wasn't there. Preferably to tell him that I'd taken a vow of chastity and joined a convent.

"Daphne can't talk right now. Is it urgent? Oh, it is to YOU. Yes, I can take a message."

Seeing that Joe had it in hand, I went into the bathroom to wash my face. I was going to have to do a complete make-up job before dinner. I heard Joe murmuring in the other room. It sure did take him a long time to say good-bye. As I came back in, Joe was saying, "That's good thinking. She's a push-over for him."

"I'm a push-over for whom? What is it?"

He shushed me. "Yes, Mr. Fielding-you'll pick her up after the show in your motorboat..." Uh-oh. "What's that you said? Oh, zowie! I'll give her the message."

He hung up, and I said, "What message? What motorboat? What gives?"

Joe rubbed his hands together: never a good sign for yours truly. "You got it made, kid. Fielding wants you to have a little cold pheasant and champagne with him on his yacht."

I drew myself up with dignity. "Oh, he does?"

"Just the three of you--you, him, and Rudy Vallee. He's got records."

I hesitated. I love Rudy Vallee. Then my good sense clobbered me. "Fat chance! You call him right back and tell him I'm not going."

"Of course you're not. I'm going."

This stumped me. "You're going to be on the boat with that dirty old man?"

"No. I'm going to be on the boat with Sugar."

My mouth dropped open. "And where's he going to be?"

"He's going to be ashore with you."

The plot was now clear. I shook my head. "Oh, no! Not tonight, Josephine!"