Crossroads of Desire by Amos Hatter — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CROSSROADS OF DESIRE Inciting to riot was a serious charge and Sam’s friend, the sergeant, couldn’t see it. The newspaper reporter went from one to the other trying to figure out the angle. He had a story— he was sure of that because of the presence of such big names as Connie Carter and Hathaway—but he couldn’t figure out what it was, In the end they were all booked on a technical charge of disturbing the peace and dismissed. “TIL be in your office firgt thing in the morning, Mr. Hath- away,” the attorney promised when they were out on the street, “We'll get this whole thing straightened out in no time.” “What about the thing we were talking about?” O’Brien asked Philip. “You be in the office too. We'll settle everything in the morning,” Philip replied. He turned to Connie. “I’ll take you home now.” . “I don’t know that I want to go there,” she said stubbornly. Everyone looked at her, The newspaper reporter having followed them outside, listened closely. “But where on earth would you go at this hour, and after all that has happened?” asked Philip, bewildered. Connie glanced toward Larry. His sudden embarrassment was not fully revealed in the semi-darkness. He gave a soft cough. “You'd better go on home, Connie. Get a good night’s rest,” he advised. “But, where are you going?” she asked. “Home. That’s where we all belong.” Connie saw the glint of triumph in Jane Vollmer’s eyes. That stung. Just then a taxi pulled up and Philip took her arm. She didn’t move. “Go on, Connie. It’s best,” Larry pleaded. Bitterly she got into the taxi. Philip and the attorney got in beside her. As the cab pulled away from the curb the last thing she saw was Larry, Jane and O’Brien standing together watch- ing them. Once again tears of frustration filled her eyes, She refused to speak to the two men in the taxi with her all the way home. 106 CHAPTER FIFTEEN CONNIE flung the morning paper aside as she sat in bed. Woe filled her eyes. This fixed everything. This was just fine! She grabbed it up again and looked at it with anger and dismay. One of her publicity pictures was prominently dis- played in a two column cut. Under it was a highly erroneous but very sensational story of what had happened last night. The account implied that she had engaged in a barroom brawl with a waitress over the attention of the millionaire socialite, Philip Hathaway, President of the Hathaway Lock and Bolt Company of New England and patron of the arts. It said further that Larry Brooks, the concert pianist, had participated with Hathaway in the fisticuffs, apparently over Miss Carter. The riot squad had rushed to O’Brien’s Tavern, where the incident occurred and all principals had been ‘charged with disturbance of the peace. “Yvonne,” Connie cried. “Come here.” The maid appeared a moment later. “You called, made- moiselle?” : “What else? Has there been any calls or—”’ “Newspapers have been calling constantly all morning. I’ve told them all you are not available,” Yvonne -replied. “Did Mr. Brooks call?” “No, but Mr. Hathaway did.” “T’m not in to anyone but. Mr. Brooks, Yvonne,” she said as she sat down in the kitchen to some tomato juice, toast and coffee. “What if Mr. Hathaway calls again?” “Yell him I’m not in. Tell him I went to South Africa,” Connie replied moodily. She was fully clothed and pacing the floor of the living room at a quarter to six when the buzzer sounded. She watched, hopeful that it might be Larry, as Yvonne went to answer it. Her hopes were dashed a second late when Philip marched in. “Glad I caught you before you left for the theater,” he said in asomber tone. Without being asked, he removed his hat and oe) Connie remained silent as he came over and sat down, 107 Conmiclooolks. Conn)