Strange Embrace

Johnny Lane stood at a window and stared out over Central Park. He was a tall man with an athlete’s build and a strong chin. Usually his gray eyes were keen, penetrating. But now they held a vacant expression as he viewed the dark expanse that lay beyond the bright lights of Fifth Avenue.

Central Park, he thought. Muggings, stabbings and rapes. Come and bring the kiddies and we’ll all have fun.

He turned decisively from the window and walked with quick firm steps to a heavy Victorian wing chair beside a telephone. He sat down, hoisted the receiver to his ear, dialed a number. He listened impatiently to seven full rings, then slammed down the phone and slumped unhappily in the chair.

He heard the sound of a man clearing his throat.

Johnny turned his head. Ito was standing at his side, holding a small mahogany tray with a tumbler perched in its center. The slender man’s face was impassive but his eyes twinkled merrily.

"Master appears troubled," Ito said. "This servant has prepared special potion of esteemed medicinal value. Potion especially useful when user is troubled."

Johnny Lane grinned in spite of himself. "Cut the honorable-son routine," he said. "Save it for company. But thanks for the therapy—it’s just what the doctor ordered." He picked up the tumbler and sipped the straight bourbon it contained.

"The girl doesn’t answer?"

...

Johnny shook his head. "The girl doesn’t answer. The girl is supposed to be ready for two weeks of out-of-town rehearsals starting tomorrow, and it’s a quarter to two in the goddamn morning, and the girl doesn’t answer. Where in the name of hell the girl is, I do not know. Who in the name of Sarah Bernhardt the girl thinks she is..."

...

He broke off, shrugged angrily and drank more bourbon. Ito disappeared long enough to get rid of the tray, then returned. The perfect servant, Johnny thought. And every producer needed a perfect servant, just as every producer needed a well-stocked liquor cabinet. Both were essential safeguards against insanity.

He thought that over, tried to decide whether it was original on his part or a line from some play, and decided that it really didn’t matter. What mattered was the rest of the bourbon in the glass. He finished it off. He dialed the girl’s number again, listened to the phone ring its brains out, and replaced the receiver.

"Damn it," he said. "Now what in hell is the matter with that girl? Ito, it doesn’t add up at all. This is the first real part Elaine James has even been within yards of. She’s had a few small supporting roles off-Broadway but nothing worth a damn. Now she’s set up for the lead in A Touch of Squalor with Ernie Buell directing and Carter Tracy for a co-star. The play is a honey and the part couldn’t be better. And with all of seven hours before it’s time to grab a train to the hinterlands where is she?"

"I give up," Ito said. "Where is she?"

...

(From Strange Embrace by Lawrence Block)

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