"Tell me about yourself, Spenser."

"I was born in a trunk," I said, "in the Princess Theatre in Pocatello, Idaho."

"I know it's a corny question, but it's still a real one. What are you like? How did you end up in such a strange business?"

"I got too old to be a Boy Scout," I said.

I could smell flowers in the soft California evening. Candy sipped her brandy. The ice clinked gently in the gla.s.s as she rolled it absently between her hands. Mingled with the smell of flowers was the smell of Candy's perfume.

"That's not an entirely frivolous answer, is it?" she said.

"No."

"You want to help people."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Makes me feel good," I said.

"But why this way? Guns, fists, hoodlums?"

"Because they're there," I said.

"You're laughing at me, but I will proceed. It's why I'm a good reporter. I keep asking. Why not be a doctor or a schoolteacher or"-she spread her hands, the gla.s.s in one of them-"you get the idea."

"Systems," I said. "The system gets in the way. You end up serving the medical profession or public education. I tried the cops for a while."

"And?"

"They felt I was too creative."

"Fired?"

"Yes."

Candy poured herself another drink. I squirted in some soda. "Are you attracted to violence?" she asked.

"Maybe. To a point. But it's also that I'm good at it. And there's a need for someone who's good at it. Someone needs to keep that fat guy from smacking you around."

"But what if you meet someone who's better?"

"Unthinkable," I said.

"No," she said. "It isn't unthinkable at all. You're too thoughtful a man not to have thought of it."

"How about unlikely then?"

"Maybe, but what happens? How do you feel?"

I took in a deep breath. "Talking about myself seriously has always seemed a little undignified," I said. "But..." The cab on Beverwil got a fare. Must be going a long way. I had the feeling Beverly Hills closed at sundown.

"But what?" Candy said.

"But the possibility that you'll meet somebody better is part of"-I gestured with my right land-"if that possibility didn't exist," I said, "it would be like playing tennis with the net down."

Candy drank her brandy and soda and got another from the tray, and when she had the drink rebuilt, she looked at it. and then looked at me. She took a sip and then held the gla.s.s against her chin with both hands and looked at me some more.

"It's a kind of game," she said.

"Yes."

"A serious game," she said.

I was quiet. I poured a small splash of brandy in my gla.s.s and added a lot of ice and a lot of soda. Be embarra.s.sing to pa.s.s out in front of the client.

"But why can't you play that same game inside a system? In a big organization?"

"You're talking about yourself now," I said, "Perhaps," she said. The final's slushed just barely. On the rooftop someone had apparently opened a window or a door. The music was louder, the Glenn Miller arrangement of "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square."

"I can work in a system just fine," Candy said.

"I imagine so," I said.

"So what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing."

We were quiet. The band on the roof was playing "Indian Summer." The smell of flowers seemed to have faded. The smell of Candy's perfume was stronger. My mouth was dry.

"Is dancing too systematic for you?" Candy said.

"No."

She got up and reached out toward me, and we began to dance, moving in a small circle on the narrow balcony, with the music drifting down. With her shoes off she was considerably smaller and her head reached only to my shoulder.

"Are you alone?" she said, "Out here?"

"No, in your life."

"No, I am committed to a woman named Susan Silverman."

"Doesn't that cut down on your freedom?" Candy rested her the head against my shoulder as we turned slowly in the darkness.

"Yes," I said. "But it's worth it."

"So you're not completely autonomous?"

"No."

"Good. It makes you easier to understand."

"Why do you need to understand me?" I said, She took her right hand out of my left and slid it around to join her left hand at the small of my back. Unless I was willing to dance around with my left hand sticking out like a figure in a Roman fountain, I had nothing to do but put it around her. I did.

"I need to understand you, so I can control you," Candy said.

"Your present technique is fairly effective," I said. My voice was hoa.r.s.e. I cleared my throat slightly, trying not to make any noise. "For the short run."

"Throat a bit dry?" Candy said.

"That's just my Andy Deyine impression," I said. "Sometimes I do Aldo Ray."

My throat felt tight, and there seemed to be more blood in my veins than I had begun the evening with.

She giggled softly, "Would you care to help me undress?" she said.

"Spenser's the name, helping's the game," I said. I sounded like Andy Devine with a cold. I could feel that old red obliterative surge I always felt at times like this. The band on the roof was playing "The Man vibes. Love," featuring someone, not Lionel Hampton, on vibes.

"There are two b.u.t.tons," Candy said. She took my hands in hers. "One here." We continued to move slowly with the music, "One here." She let the unb.u.t.toned dress slide down her arms and drop to the floor behind her. There was moonlight amplified by some spillover from the hotel windows and the roof lighting Her bra was the same plum color as her dress. "Three snaps," she murmured. "Hooks and eyelets, actually, in a vertical line-"

The bra slid down her arms in front of her and fell to the floor between us. "The Panty hose while dancing will be a challenge," I whispered.

I wasn't being secretive. It was the best I could talk.

"Try," she said. She stood almost still, her upper body moving slightly with the music. Her hands guided mine. It's hard to be graceful removing panty hose. We didn't fully succeed. But we got it done, and when I straightened, she wore only the gold around her neck. I felt oafishly overdressed.

"Now you," she said.

"Always hard to know what's best to do with a gun in this situation," I wheezed.

We were both naked finally, dancing on the balcony. The gun lay holstered on the table beside the cognac bottle. If an a.s.sa.s.sin broke in I could reach it in less than five minutes.

"What's that they re playing?" Candy said in my ear.

" 'I'll Never Smile Again,' " I said.

"I wish it were Ravel's 'Bolero,'" she said.

"At my age," I croaked, ,you may have to settle for 'Song of the Volga Boatmen.' "

"Pick me up." she said. She was whispering now too. "Carry me to bed."

Before I do, " I said. "This is what it is. It leads nowhere. It means nothing more than the moment."

"I know. Pick me up. Carry me."

I did, she wasn't heavy.

I snagged the gun, too, from the coffee table and took it with me when we went into the bedroom.

Chapter10.

WE WERE EATING corned beef hash at Don Hernando's in the Beverly Wilshire. Candy had insisted that it was the world's best, and I was willing to let her think so. She had never breakfasted at R.D.'s Diner in South Glens Palls, New York.

Candy sipped her coffee. When she put the cup down, there was a lipstick imprint on the rim. Susan always did that too.

"Any guilt?" Candy said to me.

I ate a forkful of hash, took a small bite of toast, and chewed and swallowed. "I don't think so," I said.

"What about the woman you're committed to?"

"I'm still committed to her."

"Will you tell her?"

"Yes."

"Will she mind?"

"Not very much," I said.

"Would you mind if it were the other way?"

"Yes."

"Is that fair?"

"It's got nothing to do with fair," I said, "or unfair. I'm jealous. She's not. Perhaps it's a real recognition that hers would be an affair of the heart, while mine is of the flesh only, so to speak."

"My G.o.d, what a romantic distinction," Candy said. "So flowery too."

I nodded and drank some coffee.

"More than flowery," Candy said. "Victorian. Women make love, and men f.u.c.k."

"No need to generalize. We did more than f.u.c.k last night, but we're not in love. For Susan it wouldn't have to be love, but it would involve feelings that you and I don't have: interest, excitement, commitment, maybe some intrigue. For Suze it would involve relationship.

"I can't say for you, although I bet it had a little something to do with the agent you used to sleep with. For me it was s.e.xual desire satisfied. I like you. I think you're beautiful. You seemed to be available. I guess rae could say that what was involved for me was affectionate l.u.s.t."

Candy smiled. "You talk well," she said. "And it's not the only thing."