LITMIR.BIZ

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said. “Excuse me, Julie. I won’t be long.”

      “All right,” said Julie, and when Paul had gone she glanced at Neil Parrish. “You look disturbed, Mr. Parrish. Is anything wrong?”

      “Not wrong exactly, but I’m afraid Mr. Cortes has been prevailed upon by certain of my staff who have had, I might say, rather too many champagne cocktails to stay and join the party, and he, being the charming man he is, has agreed to do so.”

      Julie smiled to herself. Mr. Parrish did not sound at all happy about his increased responsibility.

      “Will you have another drink?” said Neil Parrish now, deciding to shelve his responsibilities for the moment, and smiling at Julie. “After all, I might as well make the best of it.”

      Julie nodded. “Please. Shall we have another champagne cocktail?”

      In truth Julie was beginning to feel rather lightheaded. She had had her two earlier gin Martinis and now she had had a further two champagne cocktails, and all these on a comparatively empty stomach. But she helped herself to a couple of salmon sandwiches and began to feel a little better.

      Unable to resist glancing around, she saw that Manuel Cortez was drinking also, and was explaining to his companions some aspect of his work. As though aware of her gaze he looked across at her suddenly, and Julie felt a sense of shock at the almost physical recognition she saw in his eyes. She looked away, but her nerves were jumping. It was apparent that Manuel Cortez found her attractive, and the thought sent her senses spinning.

      It seemed ages before Paul returned, and Julie was beginning to wonder what was going on. Surely it did not take so long to pacify a chauffeur, even if he needed pacifying in the first place, which seemed unlikely.

      Neil Parrish danced with her and she supposed she ought to feel honoured, judging by the envious stares she was receiving from the wives of others of the young executives. At least Paul would be pleased, she thought dryly.

      When they returned to the group near the buffet, she saw that Paul had returned but was being held in conversation by another burly man whom she recognized as one of the producers she had met earlier. Then she became aware that Manuel Cortez was beside her, his lazy tawny eyes rather amused.

      “Hello again,” he said softly. “Will you dance?”

      “A … are you asking me?” Julie was taken aback. It could not be happening! Not to her!

      “No one else,” he mocked her.

      “All right.” Julie glanced across at Paul, whose eyes had been drawn to her when Manuel Cortez spoke to her. Shrugging, she allowed Manuel’s hard fingers to encircle her wrist and draw her out on to the dance floor. The music was the deep rhythmic beat of a Top Twenty favourite, but although most of the younger set were dancing individually, Manuel drew Julie close against him, his hand in the small of her back, while his other hand linked with hers at their side.

      Julie was quite a tall girl, but he was still almost a head taller than herself, and they moved slowly, seemingly unaware of the rest of the dancers. It was the kind of sinuously sedating music that affected the senses almost unconsciously, and Julie had to force herself to remember where she was and who was watching them. But she had never danced with anybody like Manuel before, nor had she met anyone quite like him. There was something wholly magnetic about him, primitive and animal, that made her whole body alive to his touch.

      She tried to mentally shake herself. This was Manuel Cortez, a Latin-American, who had not reached his present age without finding out how easy it was to attract the opposite sex. To him she was just another attractive female; nothing special.

      “What was your name?” he asked, his mouth near her ear. “Julie? Is that right?”

      “Yes.” Julie’s tone was unresponsive.

      “And what do you do, Julie? Do you work for Phoenix?”

      “No, I work in a store in Oxford Street,” she replied stiffly.

      “Hey,” he drew back and looked down at her. “What’s wrong?” he frowned. “Didn’t you want to dance with me?”

      Julie bit her lip, and then smiled suddenly. “Of course I did. But it’s difficult to relax when you know the whole community is watching you, speculatively.”

      “Is that so?” Manuel glanced around. “So what? Let them stare. I’m used to it.”

      “Yes, but I’m not.” Julie missed a step and stumbled ignominiously. “You see!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed.

      Manuel smiled down at her. “Come on, then. I’ll get you a drink instead.”

      Julie looked at him. “You don’t have to.”

      Manuel’s face was a little grim suddenly. “No, I know. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

      Julie shrugged, and walked with him across the floor to the bar.

      He ordered champagne for her and whisky for himself, then offered her a cigarette. After they had both lit cigarettes, he said:

      “I guess that guy you came with will be blowing his top just now.”

      Julie started. For a moment she had forgotten Paul. “Oh, yes,” she said contritely. “Perhaps I ought to …”

      “Forget it.” Manuel looked bored. “Stop worrying over other people. Enjoy yourself.”

      Julie shrugged. “I happen to care what Paul thinks,” she replied coolly.

      “Do you? Are you engaged or something?”

      “No, not exactly. But it’s understood.”

      “I see.” Manuel swallowed his drink decisively. “Do you like this kind of affair?”

      “Why?”

      “Well, it kills me. You get guys like Parrish trying to associate with guys like this Paul, and you know damn nicely that come Monday morning it’ll be back to status symbols again.”

      Julie gave him a quick glance. “That’s very cynical, Mr. Cortez.”

      “I guess I am,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, let’s chuck this subject. Do you want another drink?” Julie shook her head, and he ordered another whisky for himself. Swallowing half of it, he continued: “And don’t you get the yen to enter the world of the cornflake commercials?”

      “What? Oh, you mean television,” Julie smiled. “Not really. Besides, what could I do? I don’t sing or dance, and I’m not much good on a typewriter.”

      Manuel smiled, and leaned back against the bar, elbows resting on the counter. “There are ways and means,” he said. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t find it too difficult. …”

      “If you mean what I think you do, you can forget it,” exclaimed Julie hotly. “I wouldn’t sell myself for television stardom.”

      “Women sell themselves for a lot less than that,” remarked Manuel Cortez shrewdly.

      Julie moved restlessly. “I think I ought to go.”

      “Why? Have I shocked you? Surely not. You must know what goes on.”

      Julie refused to answer him. Stubbing out her cigarette, she looked up at him with raised eyebrows, but her haughty expression cut no ice with Manuel Cortez.

      “Excuse me,” she said abruptly, and leaving him, she walked swiftly away across the floor. It did not occur to her until she reached Paul and saw his shocked face that she had done anything out of the ordinary.

      “Julie!” he exclaimed, in a horrified voice. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

      Julie flushed. “Yes. I’ve just walked away from a man who treated me as though I were little better than a … a …” She sought about in her mind for a word to use. “Well, he was most objectionable.”

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