The Five Arrows. Chase Allan
"Nibble on this cheese, and while you're nibbling I'm going to order a punch I've just composed in honor of this day. Let's call it Punch Para Las Mujeres Bonitas."
"Whatever that means," Jerry said, dreamily.
"Oh, it's wonderful. Black rum and passion-flower juice and tamarinda and wild cherry juice and—just wait. I'll be right back." He walked across the plateau to the outdoor bar and had a long discussion with the attendants.
Jerry was staring into the sea when he returned. "You know?" she sighed.
"What?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking that I've been looking at the sea and not thinking at all."
"Cigarette?"
"Uh huh. Thanks for taking me up here. It reminds me of something nice, but I can't think of what."
"I know," Hall said. "The minute you get here for the first time you feel as if you've known this place all your life."
The waiter brought a pitcher of scarlet punch and two tall glasses to the table. Hall paid the check, and added a package of American cigarettes to his tip.
He filled the two glasses, tried a sip from his before handing one glass to the girl. "Let's see how this strikes you," he smiled.
"It's delicious!"
"Finish it and then try walking," Hall said, dryly.
"We'll try walking later." They finished the punch in the pitcher, and then Jerry looked at her face in a pocket mirror.
"Oh, Mr. Hall," she sighed. "It ate away what was left of my lipstick and I think it gave me a red nose and I suppose I should powder and paint but I won't."
"Madam," he said, "you are under the influence."
"I may be high, sir, but I'm not drunk."
Hall got up and took her arm. "Shame on you, nurse," he said. "There's still a thousand sights to see up here."
"Lead on," she commanded. "We'll see who's potted."
Hall pointed to the edge of the restaurant. There was a mountain path at that end, a graveled path leading into a park of streams and cypresses. They followed this path until the forest closed in around them, and they were alone.
"My feet," Jerry said. "These shoes were not meant for serious mountain climbing."
"My lady." Hall spread his brown gabardine jacket in the moss bank adjacent to a small stream. She took off her shoes and stretched out on the jacket, her hands clasped under her head.
"You know," she said, "if I weren't so full of food I'd take my stockings off and dip my feet in the creek. I just haven't the strength to move."
Hall lit a cigarette, put it in the girl's mouth. "If you ever dipped one of your dainty gringo toes in this burbling frigidaire," he said, "they'd hear your screams twelve miles out at sea."
Jerry sat up and hummed the tune of "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf." She took off her stockings, started to edge down toward the stream. "Here, help me up." She extended a hand to Hall, who pulled her to her feet. "I'm going wading."
There was no scream when Jerry stepped into the water. Her breath just stopped. She yanked her foot out of the stream as if it were a blazing inferno, hopped around on the dry foot with tears in her eyes, and then lay down on the jacket.
"Well, anyway," she said, when she could catch her breath, "I didn't scream."
"No. You were brave." He took out a large handkerchief, started to rub the foot which had been in the water.
"I never thought I'd wind up here when I left New York," she said.
"When do you go to work?"
"Tomorrow, I guess. The President is a pretty sick patient."
"Does Ansaldo think he can pull him through?"
"He didn't say."
"Did he find out what's the matter with Tabio?"
"Not yet. That's what he's doing today."
Hall wanted to ask her further questions about Ansaldo, but he was afraid to betray his interest too openly. "Let's cut it out," he laughed. "This is a party, and we're talking shop."
The girl sighed in contentment. "Oh, that's nice," she murmured. "I don't care what we talk about, as long as we stay here."
"Like it here?"
"Right now, I wish I could stay here forever." She had her hands clasped under her head, was talking to the tips of the cypresses as well as to Hall.
"Why don't you?"
"It's like Shangri-La," she said. "We should both be two centuries old. How old are you, Hall?"
"Thirty-six."
"I'm twenty-eight. Honest. Not twenty-one. Twenty-eight. In two years I'll be over the borderline. Then I'll be an old lady. But right now I'm not going to lie about my age."
"Right now I don't think you could tell a lie. Not even a white lie."
"No fair, Hall. First you get me drunk—only I'm not high any more—then you take me to Shangri-La. Can I call you Matthew? Or is it Matty or Matt the women in your life call you?"
"My friends call me Matt."
"My friends! There's no Mrs. Matt?"
"No. Never has been."
"I had a husband, once. Only I divorced him and became a nurse."
"That when you left Ohio? Or was it Indiana?"
Jerry turned her eyes from the cypresses and looked at Hall, who sat at her side, his face over hers. "Ohio," she said. "How did you know?"
Hall bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips. She neither resisted nor returned his kiss. "You sweet dope," he said. "I'm a Buckeye myself. Cleveland."
"I'm from Columbus."
"Pleased to know you, Miss Columbus. Did you know you have green eyes and there are little gold stars in each eye?"
"Nope."
"Nope. Sweet dope. No one ever told you."
"He calls me names!" Jerry sat up and put her arms around Hall's neck. "He calls me names." She put her slightly opened mouth against his lips and pulled him closer, and together they sank to the ground. They lay locked in the one kiss, the girl's full breasts pressing against Hall's chest.
"Don't," she whispered, "please. Ah, don't. Ah, Matt. Darling."
He found her lips again. They were trembling, and he could feel the tremors which started in the pit of her stomach and rose to her shoulders. "Please, Matt," she broke from his grip and turned her face to the ground. "Darling," she said, biting then kissing his hand. He put his arm around her and kissed the back of her neck. She shuddered deliciously. "Let's get up," she said.
"We're alone here," he said.
She smiled and kissed his hand. "I'm getting up," she said. "Let me sit up, Matt."
"Sure," he said. He sat up with her. She ran her hand lightly over his face, brushing the scars, the flatness of his nose.
"Gorilla," she said, and she kissed him softly on the mouth. "You tore off one of my buttons, you ape."
"Hello, Miss Columbus," he said, speaking with a Spanish accent. "It is a very nice day today. Very sunny."
"Yes," she said.
"Still want to stay here forever?"
"Uh huh. Do I look too messy?"
"No. Your hair could stand some combing."
"Will you get me some more of that punch?"
When she