Murder on the Cliff Read Online Free Page A

artistic enlightenment.
    Now another point of light was beaming its signal across the room, and Marianne was responding like a moth to a flame.
    “Mother, who is that gorgeous man?”
    “Shawn Hendrickson,” Connie replied. “He’s a sumo wrestler. He’s wrestling in the Black Ships exhibition tournament. One of the first Americans to reach the top division. A graduate of Yale, I think. An Ivy League wrestling champion who took up sumo. An Asian studies major; speaks fluent Japanese. Spalding’s followed his career pretty closely. He can tell you all about him.”
    “A sumo wrestler.” Marianne resumed her fixed stare.
    Charlotte could see the wheels spinning. An American sumo champion. What good publicity for her “Geisha” collection!
    “What did you say his name was, Mother?”
    “Shawn Hendrickson.”
    Hendrickson looked over in their direction and caught Marianne’s eye.
    “Excuse me.” Lowering her chin like a predator that’s spotted its prey, Marianne clattered off across the porch. Geta weren’t supposed to be worn indoors, but geta etiquette was a nicety that was lost on Marianne. Actually she didn’t do too badly for someone who wasn’t accustomed to walking in them. It had taken Charlotte a lot of practice to get it right for Soiled Dove .
    “I shouldn’t have said anything about him,” said Connie, berating herself. “She always goes on the prowl like this after a successful show; it’s as if success fires up her sex hormones. She can’t calm down until she’s seduced someone. At least it’s a man this time—if you can call twenty-five a man—and not a boy.” She rolled her pale blue eyes to the heavens and shook her head. “Oh Lordy, where did I go wrong.”
    Charlotte smiled. She was was familiar with the syndrome; it was common enough in Hollywood. But in her experience, it was usually the man who craved sex after nailing down the big deal or delivering the unforgettable performance. She remembered reading a study somewhere which reported that men’s testosterone levels surged after being awarded their M.D. degrees.
    The same was probably true of women; it was just that they’d never had the arena in which to assert their social dominance. It was certainly true of Marianne. She was simply exercising the sexual prerogatives of power, like the studio chief who has sex with the starlet on the casting couch.
    “Lester is not going to like this,” Connie predicted.
    Lester had also spotted Marianne and was watching her as intently as her mother was. Like her, his look of perturbation revealed that he was anticipating another slip.
    “Besides,” Connie added, “she’s not going to get anywhere with him.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “I should have told her.” Connie giggled guiltily. “But she ran off so fast, I didn’t have a chance. She’ll find out soon enough. Oh, it’s a big scandal in Japan. It’s been on the front pages of the newspapers for a week. Are you familiar with the geishas’ patron system?”
    Charlotte nodded. She had learned a lot about geisha life in researching the role of Okichi. Although many prostitutes called themselves geishas, the true geisha was a skilled artist, talented in such traditional arts as singing, dancing, and flower arranging. A businessman hired a geisha to entertain himself and his friends for the evening. “Pillow service” was not part of the deal. Except for the patron, or hanna . The patron was a rich businessman who offered the geisha financial support—often setting her up as proprietress of her own teahouse—in exchange for her becoming his mistress. She was free to carry on with her geisha activities, but she was expected to have sexual relations only with him. Being a patron was a status symbol among wealthy businessmen. It was a very cut and dried arrangement: often a business contact was drawn up.
    Connie nodded at Tanaka. “Tanaka is Okichi- mago ’s patron. He set her up in her own teahouse six years ago. With his