Free The Shell Scott Sampler by Richard S. Prather Page B

people were at the bar, but one of them was a redhead. Maybe not the redhead, but certainly fashioned like all I’d been led to expect of Ardith. Besides, I figured she was either 38-C or 39-B-plus, which was a fat clue.
    She was at the end of the bar on my left, with several empty places next to her, so I strolled down and climbed onto a stool, leaving one empty between us. She was drinking something green in a martini glass. Green like her eyes, I noticed when she glanced my way.
    Maybe she was one of those gals who won’t speak to strangers, but you never find out if you don’t try. So when the bartender asked what I wanted to drink I said, “I don’t know. Something different—it’s a little early for…” I glanced at the redhead. “Miss?”
    She turned slowly. Not just her head. All of her, swinging tantalizingly toward me as the bar stool swiveled. Maybe she didn’t talk to strangers, but she sure communicated.
    I said, “May I ask you what it is you’re drinking?”
    â€œSure,” she said. “Ask me.”
    Whatever it was, I decided it must not be her first one. But I grinned and said, “OK, what is that you’re drinking?”
    â€œIt’s a martini.”
    â€œA green martini?”
    â€œWell, it’s like a martini, only it’s green. Crème de menthe instead of vermouth.”
    â€œIs it any good?”
    â€œâ€™Licious.”
    I said to the bartender, “Just what I wanted.”
    He looked at me as if I’d ordered a Horse’s Neck. “You’re kidding.”
    I smiled. “I’ll let you know when I’m kidding.”
    Surprisingly, the concoction wasn’t half bad. I timed the drink so that I finished it just as the redhead pushed her empty glass across the bar. When I suggested that, since she had introduced me to whatever it was, perhaps it would be clever of me to buy us both another, she said, “Clev-er,” which I took to mean agreement.
    We finished those drinks without an empty stool between us, but she hadn’t told me anything important. Not even her name, or if she was staying at the Seawinds.
    Finally I said, as we began our third green martini, “Why don’t we do something exciting tonight? I mean, like go out for dinner, or even stay in for din —”
    â€œCan’t.” She lifted her left wrist and looked at a glittery watch with a face the size of a sliced pea, and apparently invisible numbers on it. “In another … while,” she said, “I’ve got to meet Al —” She chopped it off quick. “Oo.” Her eyes widened, then narrowed slyly. “Il.”
    â€œHe’s sick?”
    â€œBill, I mean.”
    â€œDear, I refuse to believe you’re waiting for a guy named Al Ooilbill. Unless he’s a prince from —”
    â€œBill, that’s his name.”
    â€œWho were those other guys?”
    â€œThey’re nobody. I just said them because … Well, if you want the truth I don’t know why. I say funny things when I drink martinis.”
    â€œDon’t we all.”
    â€œWhat time is it?” she asked me.
    I looked at the clock behind the bar. “Five.”
    â€œOh, dear. In only another hour I have to meet…” She stopped, looking puzzled.
    â€œBill?”
    â€œYes,” she smiled her thanks at me. “Bill. I’d better go. It’ll take me that long just to soak and powder.”
    â€œTo what?”
    â€œSoak and pow—why am I telling you?”
    â€œBeats me. But, I’m interested.”
    It seemed to make her glad. “I soak,” she said. “In a warm tub. Before I get dressed to go out, I always soak and soak. And then powder all over. I think it’s nice if women powder all over, don’t you?”
    â€œIf you say so.”
    â€œI think if you know you smell good, you feel good, don’t you?”
    â€œIf you