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run out of soft soap in the laundry we'll send for you,” the housekeeper said.
He laughed, then inquired, “Have flowers and a basket of fruit been ordered?” The magnate, Peter thought, probably grew tired of the inevitable fruit basket – standard salutation of hotels to visiting VIPs. But its absence might be noticed.
“They're on the way up.” Mrs. du Quesnay looked up and said pointedly, “From what I hear, though, Mr. O'Keefe brings his own flowers, and not in vases either.”
It was a reference – which Peter understood – to the fact that Curtis O'Keefe was seldom without a feminine escort on his travels. He ignored it.
Both suites, Peter saw as he walked through them, had been gone over thoroughly. There was nothing else to be done, Peter thought.
Then a thought struck him. Curtis O'Keefe, he remembered, prayed frequently, sometimes in public. One report claimed that when a new hotel interested him he prayed for it as a child did for a Christmas toy; another, that before negotiations a private church service was held which O'Keefe executives attended dutifully.
The thought prompted Peter to check the Bibles – one in each room. He was glad he did.
As usually happened when they had been in use for any length of time, the Bibles' front pages were dotted with call girls' phone numbers, since a Bible – as experienced travelers knew – was the first place to seek that kind of information. Peter showed the books silently to Mrs. du Quesnay. “Mr. O'Keefe won't be needing these, now will he? I'll have new ones sent up.”
Taking the Bibles under her arm, she regarded Peter questioningly. “I suppose what Mr. O'Keefe likes or doesn't is going to be important to people keeping their jobs around here.”
He shook his head. “I honestly don't know, Mrs. Q. Your guess is as good as mine.”[79]
Mrs. du Quesnay, he knew, supported an invalid husband and any threat to her job would be cause for anxiety. He felt a genuine sympathy for her as he rode an elevator to the main mezzanine.
In the event of a management change, Peter supposed, most of the younger and brighter staff members would have an opportunity to stay on. He imagined that most would take it since the O'Keefe chain had a reputation for treating its employees well. Older employees, though, had a good deal more to worry about.
As Peter McDermott approached the executive suite, the chief engineer, Doc Vickery, was leaving it. Stopping, Peter said, “Number four elevator was giving some trouble last night, chief. I wondered if you knew.”
The chief nodded his bald head. “It's a poor business when machinery that needs money spending on it doesna' get it.”
“Is it really that bad?” The engineering budget, Peter knew, had been cut down recently, but this was the first he had heard of serious trouble with the elevators.
The chief shook his head. “If you mean shall we have a big accident, the answer's no. But we've had small breakdowns and sometime there'll be a bigger one.”
Peter nodded. He inquired, “What is it you need?”
“A hundred thousand dollars to start. With that I'd rip out most of the elevator guts and replace them, then some other things as well.”
Peter whistled softly.
“I'll tell you one thing,” the chief observed. “Good machinery's a lovely thing, and most times it'll do more work than you think it could. But somewhere along there's a death point you'll never get by, no matter how much you – and the machinery – want to.”
Peter was still thinking about the chief's words when he entered his own office. What was the death point, he wondered, for an entire hotel?
There was a pile of mail, memos and telephone messages on his desk. Another thing: he must drop in soon to see Christine. There were several small matters requiring decisions from Warren Trent. Then, grinning, he told himself: Stop rationalizing! You want to see her, and why not?
As he debated which to do first, the telephone bell shrilled. It was Reception, one of the room clerks. “I thought you'd want to know,” he said. “Mr. Curtis O'Keefe has just checked in.”
Curtis O'Keefe marched swiftly into the busy lobby. Glancing around, his experienced man's eye noticed the signs. Small signs, but significant: a newspaper left in a chair and uncollected; a half-dozen cigarette butts in a sand urn by the elevators; a button missing from a bellboy's uniform; two burned-out light bulbs in the chandelier above.
In a hotel of the O'Keefe chain, there would have been whip-cracking action[80], and perhaps dismissals. But the St. Gregory isn't my hotel, Curtis O'Keefe reminded himself. Not yet.
He headed for Reception, a slender, six-foot figure in a pressed gray suit, moving with dance-like steps. His lithe athlete's body had been his pride through most of his fifty-six years.
At the marble-topped counter, barely looking up, a room clerk pushed a registration pad forward. The hotelier ignored it. He announced evenly, “My name is O'Keefe and I have reserved two suites, one for myself, the other in the name of Miss Dorothy Lash.” Now he could see Dodo entering the lobby: all legs and breasts, radiating sex like a pyrotechnic. Heads were turning, as always happened. He had left her at the car to supervise the baggage. She enjoyed doing things like that occasionally. Anything requiring more cerebral strain[81] passed her by.
His words had the effect of a thrown grenade. The room clerk stiffened, straightening his shoulders. As he faced the cool gray eyes which seemed to bore into him, the clerk's attitude changed from indifference to respect. With nervous instinct, a hand went to his tie.
“Excuse me, sir. Mr. Curtis O'Keefe?”
The hotelier nodded.
“Yes, sir. I'm sure your suites are ready, sir. If you'll wait one moment, please.”[82]
O'Keefe stepped back a pace from the counter, allowing other arrivals to move in. Outside, in bright, warm sunshine, airport limousines and taxis were discharging passengers who had come on the breakfast jet flight from New York. He noticed a convention was assembling. A banner suspended from the vaulted lobby roof proclaimed:
WELCOME DELEGATES
CONGRESS OF AMERICAN DENTISTRY
Dodo joined him, “Curtie, they say there's a lotta dentists staying here.”
He said drily, “I'm glad you told me. Otherwise I might never have known.”[83]
“Geez, well maybe I should get that filling done[84]. I always mean to, then somehow never…”
“They're here to open their own mouths, not other people's.” Dodo looked puzzled. Some of O'Keefe's acquaintances, he knew, wondered about his choice of Dodo as a traveling companion when, with his wealth and influence, he could have anyone he chose. He thought of her mild stupidities as merely amusing – perhaps because he grew tired at times of being surrounded by clever minds.
He supposed, though, he would part with Dodo soon. She had been with him for almost a year – longer than most of the others. There were always plenty more starlets to choose from the Hollywood galaxy. He would, of course, take care of her, using his influence to arrange a supporting role[85] or two.
The room clerk returned to the front counter. “Everything is ready, sir.”
Curtis O'Keefe nodded. Then, led by the bell captain, their small procession moved to a waiting elevator.
Shortly after Curtis O'Keefe and Dodo had been escorted to their suites, Julius “Keycase”[86] Milne obtained a single room.
Keycase telephoned from the Airport to confirm
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