"Mr. and Mrs. Whitcomb are going to fly over to Las Vegas for a few days for a change of scenery," Sherry's father said. "They've decided to let Sheila stay on and enjoy the mountain atmosphere in their absence. Incidentally, it's a pity you slept in so late. Sheila sang for us at the piano bar in the lounge and she has a really remarkable voice. Quite professional I'd say. Very talented indeed. Perhaps you can give her a few pointers during her parents absence."
"Certainly," Sherry said. "I'd be delighted to help in any way I can." Her father was being his super-charming self.
"That would be wonderful," Mrs. Whitcomb said, bubbling with excitement. "We've always thought Sheila's voice was very good and when your father encouraged her – well, it makes us very happy. Sheila just hasn't made up her mind what she wants to do with herself as yet. She'll marry soon, no doubt, but in the meantime it would be nice if she could sing for a while. Mr. Whitcomb and I aren't trying to make a nightclub singer of Sheila, of course, but for a short while it would keep her out of mischief, wouldn't it?" Mrs. Whitcomb suddenly realized what she had said about not trying to make a nightclub singer out of her. She was embarrassed. "Not that there's anything wrong with being a nightclub singer, but – uh – well, I'm sure you understand," she said to Sherry. Mrs. Whitcomb muttered something else about work on stage being good for character development, but the more she said, the worse it was. She had obviously implied that there was somehow something cheap about being a performer and didn't know quite how to extricate herself from her delirium.
Sheila, who was standing unusually close to Sherry's father, was no help. She stood there with a smug expression on her pretty face as if to say, All right, my dowager, loud-mouthed mother, let's see you get yourself out of this one.
Whitcomb finally attempted to come to his wife's rescue. "In any event, we are most pleased that Mr. Redgrave seems to think our Sheila has talent," he said, "and we would deeply appreciate any help you can give our daughter in our absence. Perhaps you two could even play tennis. Sheila's backhand is a little weak, I'm afraid, but she's a scrapper – mmm, yea – a scrapper all right."
"We'll do whatever we can to make your daughter's stay here a pleasant one Mr. Whitcomb," Sherry said, glancing at her father's arm which was a bit too tight about young Sheila's thin waist. "Have a nice stay in Vegas."
"Thank you," Whitcomb said. "If I can keep the little missus away from the slot machines we shall – yes indeed, but she's a terror on those nickel machines! Absolutely loses her head!"
The little missus, who seemed to weigh nearly two-hundred pounds, giggled. It was a wonder she could even get around on a tennis court, Sherry thought.
"Oh, Jerome," she tittered, "you know I'm not that bad. How about you and your silly keno and dice?"
"Well, we must be getting upstairs to pack," Whitcomb said, glancing at his watch. "We're catching an early flight to Vegas and we mustn't be late. Come on, Lois," he said to his wife, "and thank you so much for looking after our Sheila."
"We will," Victor Redgrave assured the couple as they hurried off. Sherry started after them in amazement. They were like children. Worse!
And they actually seemed ambitious regarding their daughter's singing career. Mrs. Whitcomb reminded Sherry of mothers who push semi-talented and totally untalented children into show business. What made Mrs. Whitcomb doubly ridiculous was that she and her husband were wealthy and had no economical need to force a stage career on their daughter. Perhaps, though, it was as Mrs. Whitcomb had said. Perhaps they intended singing to be merely an amusement for their bored daughter until she found somebody's rich son or just killed in Europe for a season or two. There was something else that bothered Sherry. Was her father actually setting Sheila up for the make? He seemed awfully interested in young Sheila. Maybe it was his way of getting even with her for the sexual relationship she was having with Tony.
"Daddy," Sherry said abruptly, "I feel a little bushed. If you don't mind, I think I'll run over to our motel and take a little nap." She wished she hadn't even bothered to leave Tony. She could be sleeping in his arms right now, but she had sincerely assumed her father might be worried about her. Now that he seemed to be enjoying himself with Sheila she decided to leave and she didn't want to wake Tony by knocking on his locked door.
"Very well, dear," Victor said. "Sheila and I will just look around and I'll see you there after a while. Ta-ta."
Wow, Sherry thought. Father has already adopted the speech mannerisms of the rich. Wonder if he might be considering showing Sheila the sex habits of the not-so-rich. She would not be at all surprised judging by the way he was looking at Sheila and holding her waist.