Chapter 13
A light snow was falling on Saturday afternoon as Della Street stood once more enjoying the view of the lake. The couple had gotten back to their cabin a few minutes shy of midnight, timing it just right before the snow coach taxi service shut down for the night. Perry would have had to try out the Jeep Wagoneer's four-wheel drive to deliver her safely to their door, carrying her on his back would have been the only other option. Della's knee was still swollen and felt warm to the touch. She was painfully reminded of her injuries whenever she jarred it or pivoted too quickly on her leg. She realized a trip to her doctor's office was in order when they returned to Los Angeles. As much as she would enjoy taking a walk with Perry along the lake, it would have to wait until the next trip to their mountain getaway. Much later in the night when she was sure Perry was asleep after their lovemaking, she reluctantly eased herself out of bed, found her robe and then limped through the darkened bedroom to the bathroom. She never wanted him to know he had inadvertently hurt her. She knew he cherished her and would be devastated if he knew he had caused her pain instead of pleasure. But now her injured knee throbbed once more. She opened the cabinet and took out the vial of Vicodin tablets and opened it. She washed a pill down with a swallow of water from the tap. She quietly re-entered their bedroom and exchanged the robe for Perry's comfy pajama top. She then crawled under the covers to snuggle up against his warmth. Sometime later she drifted asleep, the pain in her leg mercifully subsiding.
They slept in late the next morning, luxuriating in the knowledge they were still on "vacation time." Once awake, they were content to cuddle and debate the merits of buying vs. leasing a boat. Perry also broached the subject of having a phone with an outside line installed so they wouldn't have to go up to the hotel to make a phone call. "Nix that idea, Counselor." Della stated firmly.
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds we would come up here to get away from ringing telephones at all hours of the day and night."
Mason mulled over her rebuttal. "You may have a point, Miss Street. Now…your bear of a man is hungry. I'm going to get up and make us some eggs and get the coffee started." He rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed searching for his half of the flannel pajamas.
Della reached over and rubbed his back. "My teddy bear of a man." He stepped into his pajamas and turned to smile down at her. He blew an air kiss in her direction as he shuffled out the door. Della settled back against her pillow, knowing she was the luckiest woman alive because he loved her.
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Later that afternoon, the lawyer had left his secretary comfortably ensconced on the sofa with the latest bestseller in her hands. He was off for a promised quick resort business meeting and then headed to a tuxedo rental shop in town. Della had kept up a weak argument against her being at the night's festivities; featuring a formal dedication of the resort with more than a few appropriate remarks by the celebrity investors, followed by an extravaganza of a buffet supper. The promised merriment would continue late into the night with dancing to the music of a live orchestra and an open bar until "last call" at 1:30 a.m. But Perry had silenced her protests with a finger against her lips. "Miss Street, I want you gussied up and all fancy-fied by the time I get back. We're going to this shindig—together—or I won't be going, either. It's that simple. I won't have my best girl sitting home alone on a Saturday night."
Della's heart melted. His sad puppy dog expression combined with his big blue eyes got her every time. She reached up to stroke his cheek. "Correction. You mean your only girl, Counselor."
"Til death do us part," He turned his face to kiss her palm and then zipping up his parka, he was out the door with a spring in his step.
She realized much later she had lost track of time when she heard the now familiar sound of a snow coach coming down the trail to the row of private cabins. She laid her book aside, fully expecting either her boss or Paul Drake to come bounding through the chalet's door. Instead, there was a short staccato of knocking against the door. Before she could get up off the couch, the door opened and in walked Sandra Larsen with a breezy, "Hello! Anybody home?" Della Street was momentarily stunned by the actress' brazen entrance into her home uninvited and was rendered speechless. The actress entered the living room after pausing briefly to give the cabin the once over. She made note of her unopened gift basket sitting on the kitchen counter and then approached Della, taking off first one ski mitten and then another. "I knew about your injuries, darling and didn't wish to trouble you with answering my knock. The door was unlocked…I hope you don't mind my barging in like this. Do sit, I'm here but a minute before I'm off for another professional engagement, of sorts." She was dressed for the slopes in stirrup snow pants and a jet-black ski jacket. She wore a multi-colored fleece headband covering her ears, most obviously dressed for the slopes.
Della watched, astonished as two Big Blue Basin workers entered behind Larsen. One was carrying a typewriter and the other a large white office supply cardboard box. The actress waved at the dining table. "Just set them down over there, boys. Wait for me. I'll just be a tick." She turned her attention back to her lawyer's confidential secretary. "You look like you are recovering nicely from your recent ordeal and I'm glad for that. You see, we're in desperate need for some documents to be typed up."
Della winced as she maneuvered her injured leg off the couch and managed to sit upright. She tried to keep her voice professional yet stern. The nerve of this woman! "Now see here—Miss Larsen…you can't possibly think I'm going to do any sort of secretarial work for you."
"Why, yes I do Miss Street. You see these are all hand-written notes taken by the various individuals in attendance at our several ad hoc meetings held this week. Copies need to be made for future discussions and planning & development purposes. We need you to type them up by tonight so they can be distributed to the parties involved the first thing tomorrow morning before everyone heads out."
Della was having a difficult time remaining calm. Her voice raised a notch. "Surely this resort has office staff available? A copy machine?"
Sandra Larsen's lower lip produced a pout. "Unfortunately, no. You see it's Saturday and the clerks have the day off. Sadly, too…a copier has been back ordered for quite some time but hasn't been delivered as yet. So, you Miss Street are the next best alternative. We simply can't take a job description poll from all our paying guests this weekend, now can we?"
Della suddenly bolted up to stand and ignored the jolt of pain to her damaged knee. "I'm going to have to deny your "request" for secretarial help, Miss Larsen. I'm simply not available. Perry and I have—" she cut herself off momentarily as she saw the defiant glint in the celebrity woman's eyes. Della took a deep breath and finished her statement—to hell what Sandra Larsen wanted. "We have made plans for the evening and will be attending tonight's dinner dance."
Sandra was not dissuaded in the least. "Oh, I think not Miss Street. You'll be too busy typing these notes up—in triplicate…but don't worry…Perry will have plenty of dance partners to choose from—and none of them needing crutches, I might add. As a matter of fact-I'd be delighted to personally spend the evening with him, so don't worry, dear—he won't feel abandoned in the least."
Della Street had heard enough. "Get out! I won't be doing any work for you tonight—or any other time." Her hands were clenched into fists though she wasn't consciously aware of the fact.
"Don't worry Miss Street. I do have to move along. But let me remind you of a few facts before I go," her voice held ice crystals. "Mainly this…Perry Mason is my attorney and works for me. You work for Mr. Mason—therefore by extension you work for me as well." She turned and slinked her way towards the door. She paused as another thought occurred to her. "One more thing, Miss Street before I let you get busy typing. I understand you were in the company of Mr. Mason last night at the Cal-Neva Lodge?"
Della's voice was full of uncharacteristic venom. "And just how is that any of your business?"
Larsen began putting on her heavy ski mittens again. "Mm, I suppose it's not…but let's just say I have friends in the news media in Los Angeles who might make it their business. You see they might be interested in finding out why a prominent L.A. attorney was patronizing a gambling establishment owned and operated by the mob. Tsk, tsk! It just may become a dent in his reputation as an officer of the court. And I'm not even going to mention how it might look to conservative and potential clients if it became common knowledge he is having a steamy affair with his secretary. You know you're sure to be cast in the gold-digger role, Della dear."
Della hissed through clenched teeth. "Get out before I throw you out."
Sandra Larsen tittered gaily. "As if you could with all those bumps and bruises from the choo-choo train wreck." She turned back towards the door but tossed over her shoulder as she exited stage right. "Do at least have a chocolate, Miss Street. I think you'll find a surprise filling in each one. Ta-ta and remember—in triplicate, dear." She skipped across the little honeymoon cabin's front porch and climbed into the waiting snow coach.