Chocolates for Breakfast by Pamela Moore Read Free Book Online Page B

in late last evening,” Marty said as he mixed the vodka martini.
    Barry Cabot was a juvenile, boy-next-door actor in his late twenties, conscious of the fact that he would soon be very much out of work. For his type, the working years were as short as a boxer’s, and the wait until he could go into character roles would be long and hungry. He was often “in between roles” now, and almost any bar in Hollywood knew what was meant by a “Cabot martini.”
    â€œDid he behave himself?” Sondra smiled.
    â€œOh, you know Mr. Cabot,” Marty answered. “But he was all right. Just kind of moody, that’s all. Didn’t throw any martinis in anybody’s face or anything like that.”
    Cabot was a young man who had particular appeal to older women, but since Sondra was never more than briefly interested in weak young men, they had a comfortable, working relationship. He was a good drinking companion when he was sober, but that was less and less of the time now, so Sondra seldom bothered to speak to him when he sat sullenly at the bar. Barry Cabot’s chief contribution was his amusement value.
    â€œHow is your little girl?” Marty asked, because he could see that Sondra was very lonely this evening.
    â€œShe’s all right,” Sondra lied. “She’ll be coming home soon,” she added.
    Marty digested this piece of information and moved to the other end of the bar to serve some people who had just come in. One of them nodded to Sondra Farrell, and she raised her hand in a slight gesture of greeting. She couldn’t remember where she had met him, probably on some picture.
    Suddenly someone slapped her on the back very hard, so that her martini splattered a little way from her lips. The man next to her chuckled and said, “Friend of yours?”
    â€œHiya, Sondra, you bitch, where have you been ?” Barry Cabot had an ingratiating way about him.
    â€œAvailable,” Sondra smiled. “Who’s been buying you the martinis?”
    Barry smiled that white, boyish smile.
    â€œThat doesn’t matter at all, darling, because you’re buying them for me now.” He was almost as famous for his beautiful and deep voice as his martinis, and he realized this and spoke slowly as though he were stretching in bed and hadn’t gotten up yet. Yes, thought Sondra, he had a bed voice.
    â€œOnly if you’re charming, Barry. I can’t bear moody gigolos.”
    â€œI don’t know that I shall be charming now that you put it that way,” he said petulantly. “Tell me”—and he smiled again, that totally insincere but effective smile—“how is your daughter?” He knew that Sondra hated to be reminded that she had a daughter fifteen.
    â€œOh, a problem, as usual.”
    â€œI should like to meet her,” Barry said to annoy her.
    â€œShe’ll be out here soon, dammit. She’s my duenna, you know.”
    â€œShe’s lovely, of course.”
    â€œOh, yes. Very.”
    â€œWith all the charm of youth,” he said.
    â€œYes, of course.”
    â€œYouth appeals to me, you know,” he said.
    â€œI hadn’t noticed.”
    â€œDon’t be bitchy,” he said.
    â€œBut I always am.”
    â€œMargaret’s only your age,” he said.
    â€œShe looks ten years older.”
    â€œShe’s convenient,” he said. “Where the hell is my drink?”
    â€œHow delightful it is to be with you.”
    â€œYou don’t have to be, you know,” he said.
    â€œWould you rather I left?”
    â€œYou’re paying,” he said.
    â€œGod, you’re a spoiled child.”
    Barry picked up his drink, and then slowly and deliberately turned his back on the woman. Everyone who knew Barry Cabot was accustomed to this. Sondra did not take the trouble of leaving. The best way to treat a difficult child was to ignore him. She looked at Barry’s classic profile