STEVE TURKO whiled away the time by waiting for Mildred Whitney to re-cross her legs. Perched on a stool, the flame-haired private secretary was every bit the queen bee, relishing each glance from the twenty-four suffering drones seated about the conference room. She radiated a strict policy of: "Look-but don't touch."
Steve waited. Somehow, he always preferred the right leg crossed over the left . . .
This day looked like the start of another routine week to Steve Turko. Another Monday morning-another sales meeting. The same smoke-filled conference room, the same huddle of men feigning interest in Dick Sheldon's pep talk. And as always, long-limbed Mildred Whitney with steno pad in hand, perched atop her throne.
Sheldon, New York sales manager for the Polar Bear Home Freezer Corporation, had a habit of pacing with his hands knotted behind his back while addressing his captive audience of twenty-to-thirty salesmen-depending on how many had legitimate excuses for playing hooky. Whenever Sheldon uttered what he considered a brilliant pep-phrase, he'd turn to his secretary for a nod of acknowledgment. In-variably, he'd turn back to the men with an eat-your-hearts-out-you-poor-slobs look. All the boys knew that Sheldon, a supposedly happily-married man, had a little something going on the side with his curvaceous secretary.
Mildred re-crossed her legs to Steve's favorite position, and the young door-to-door salesman settled back to endure the remainder of Sheldon's spiel.
He should get out there to face the housewife's sales resistance, Steve grumbled to himself. He forced himself to divert his attention from Mildred's statuesque pose to his energetic boss. Steve guessed him to be roughly five years older than his own age of twenty-seven. Steve was slightly over the six-foot mark, broad-shouldered and possessed a face alive with the mingling of Greek and Irish blood in him. In contrast, Sheldon was a nondescript man with a sagging, emaciated frame. About all they had in common was coal-black hair-but Sheldon's hairline receded, while Steve's well-groomed crop was thick and low on his forehead.
Put to the test, Steve was certain that he could out-sell his boss any day of the week. "So what?" Steve mumbled to himself with a sigh of defeat. Sheldon was in the front office with his sultry secretary while he was selling deep-freeze units from door-to-door to straggly-haired housewives with screaming brats at their feet.
Selling was all Steve knew, starting with the magazine subscriptions he had sold in his youth. Since then he had sold just about everything from ladies lingerie to life insurance. It gave him confidence to know that he could do one job well-the only job he could earn good money at without a college education.
Steve pondered over the problem that was plaguing him: if he was so damned good at selling the company's merchandise-why couldn't he sell him-self? Once again, he wondered if his being single had anything to do with it. Maybe a wife-the right one -would give him the incentive he needed. He concentrated on Mildred as she arched her back primly. He gaped at the smooth lines of her body; his common sense told him that this type of woman wasn't wife-material, but his physical senses told him that she would be worth the try.
Mildred caught him at his mental-rape-play and tugged at the hem of the pale blue sheath, tossing him a glare. Steve put his pride in his back pocket and faked interest in a point Sheldon was attempting to drive home to his sales crew. Some day he'd be top man in a large sales organization, Steve daydreamed. And he'd have his private secretary on display at sales meetings. He'd pick a tall, leggy creature with soft hair tumbling down over her shoulders. Ever since he was a teen-ager and first saw a painting of Lady Godiva, he imagined his fantasy-princess with a lush bouquet of hair streaming down to her ankles.
He sighed momentarily and returned to the reality of the present and his seemingly drab existence. He was a single man, but his heart wasn't in it. A real bachelor would enjoy his footloose existence. But Steve was miserable at the game, tired of the same old rut. And part of that same old rut was Matty's Bar and Grill around the corner from the office. Matty's Bar and Grill. It might just as well be named "The Polar Bear Office Extension Bar and Grill." Listening to the salesmen, and especially the office girls, you'd think Matty's was a halfway house between the Latin Quarter and the Stork Club, and was in business exclusively to cater to the Polar Bear Company clique. You'd walk into the hangout at five o'clock and see the same, old tired scene. The credit department girls at one table, the shipping department at another, and the steno pool at still another. And the salesmen at the bar, anxiously waiting and watching, always ready to infiltrate the various tables. Then came the hard part: prying the "sure-thing" girl away from her girlfriends.
Steve shuddered at the thought of his latest con-quest in Matty's Bar-Gladys, the new girl in the credit department. Gladys was an attractive peroxide-blonde still in her twenties who didn't need one-third of the heavy make-up she wore. She was a leggy creature with snakelike hips; her breasts were well-proportioned mounds of firm flesh. Steve grew sweaty as he recalled his impatience with Gladys . . .
It was a Friday evening after work and he had entered Matty's with a determination. "Something new," he had told himself, and concentrated on Gladys. He was hazy about the way it happened: the table-hopping, the idle chatter, getting stuck for three rounds of drinks, that annoying thin girl with the shrill laugh drinking those damned grasshoppers, finally prying Gladys away from her girlfriends, more drinks at a corner table for two, more office chatter and then, all of four hours later, the pitch.
He distinctly remembered the moment they had entered his room-and-a-half apartment. After a five-second appraisal, she said the place lacked "a woman's touch." He had fought back an urge to in-form her that the only part of his apartment that needed "a woman's touch" was his bed. Instead, he offered her a drink.
And when he was finally seated comfortably on the daybed alongside her, his arm drawing her closer to him, she had to turn on the radio-a certain disk jockey who played the "most divine music!"
"C'mon, dance with me," she pleaded.
He fought back another urge to tell her that this wasn't exactly the Junior Prom. But he accommodated her with his one-two-three step through most of a rock'n roll record. He put a stop to it by gripping her sleek wrists and drawing her close. Her plump breasts flattened against his chest.
"You're a fast worker," she sighed.
Steve winced at the not-so-original line and brought his lips down heavily on hers. His hands re-leased her wrists and rapidly stroked her back. He heard her moan softly and he grasped at the high cushion of her buttocks. Suddenly her mouth was open and she was twining her tongue with his, her hands clawing at his back.
Breathing the heavy perfume, Steve expertly undid the zipper of her dress. He eased the garment off her shoulders, his fingers pausing on the hook of her bra. Before he could undo it, she pried herself away from him, gathering the dress about her waist.
"Well, I guess I asked for it," she sighed in a hurt tone that didn't ring true to Steve, "coming up here to your apartment."
She sat down on the edge of the daybed, reached for her drink on the coffee-table and daintily took a sip.
Steve studied her momentarily. "Okay," he told himself. "The girl's a clerk-typist all week long-let her play out her big movie scene-as long as it leads to bed."
And when it did-the even flow of her nudity clinging warmly to his-he quickly forgot his annoyance over her "waiting game." Her skin was soft and smooth and white. He massaged her rubbery haunches and her whole being seemed to come alive. He felt her arms tighten around him as her open mouth sought his. She was as anxious to please as he was to take pleasure in her and her body rolled and throbbed against him. For a few wild moments nothing existed for Steve but the feel of her and the fire began to spread in his body until he clutched her tightly, his breath ragged.
Steve remembered the shattering explosion that rocked them simultaneously. He remembered that but, most of all, he remembered the morning after. Gladys was just a barroom pick-up. So it had been at Matty's instead of some cheap dive on Forty-second Street-so what? She was still a barroom pickup. He didn't buy her story that going to a man's apartment was a new experience for her, and he was cool to her overtures for a repeat performance. What she was didn't bother Steve. It was her dishonesty that annoyed him-the game she wanted to play. He was tired of games-just as damned tired of games as he was of Matty's Bar and Grill.
He had finally persuaded Gladys to get dressed and leave by telling her that he was expecting relatives to pop in at any moment. This wasn't exactly a lie, he reasoned, but more of a remote possibility. And then Steve had settled down to a lonely, boring weekend: mostly television and beer-drinking, a little reading.
Sheldon was still going strong, sounding more like the top man than the "second banana." Everyone at Polar Bear knew that there was no love lost between the outfit's president, Dan Moore, and Sheldon.
Moore was a small, silver-haired man with an alcoholic flush to his face. He was a huckster of the old school, rumored to have been involved in a number of shady deals before organizing the Polar Bear food-freezer plan. Office rumor also had it that the hard-drinking President had a weakness for teen-aged females-jailbait.
Steve never put too much stock in office rumors, but he did have firsthand knowledge on this perverted segment of Moore's life. He restrained a grin as he recalled the somewhat puzzling incident that had occurred almost a month ago.
Steve's apartment was within walking distance of both the office and Matty's Bar and Grill, and one night he was restless, unable to sleep, and he had decided on a little nightcap at Matty's. Steve was about to enter the hangout when he went wide-eyed at the sight of an alcohol-benumbed Dan Moore leaning against the building, lewdly pawing a hippy, full-busted kid in dungarees and bulky sweater. The girl couldn't possibly have been older than sixteen.
Steve had decided to mind his own business and was about to enter Matty's when the lush teen-ager suddenly let out a torrent of sobs and protests.
Steve had remained the spectator while two men garbed in almost identical trenchcoats and slouched fedoras stepped out of a hallway, confronting Dan Moore with a flash of badges. Almost too quickly, the young girl was blurting out wild accusations. One of the men inquired about her age and the just-ripe girl proudly proclaimed that she was only fifteen.
Steve really got suspicious about the charade when the taller of the two men suggested to Moore that they continue the interrogation in the nearby hallway.
Steve recalled the hunch he had played, the way he moved in with authority: "I'm Lieutenant Turko, Vice Squad. What precinct do you two work outa?"
A month later, Steve still found himself grinning at the words that had instantly tumbled out of the teen-ager's mouth: "Cripes, a real cop!" And it still amused Steve to think of the trio's hasty getaway.
Steve would have enjoyed a phoney chase, but he decided on a safer, more sensible course, hustling Dan Moore into a taxi. After a silent ride to Moore's residence, the plush Blyden Hotel on upper Park Avenue, the silver-haired executive threw Steve for a total loss with two short statements as he got out of the cab. The first being in the form of a self-answered question: "You're on our sales staff, aren't you?" The second statement more of a concession than praise: "You've got a good head on your shoulders, young man."
Steve still fumed when he thought about it. That pair of phoney detectives might still be blackmailing Moore, and after all this time, not even a thank you. And the irony of it all was that the pompous old bastard had stuck him with the cab fare!
Steve was beginning to wonder if Moore was nothing more than a figurehead. Maybe there was some-thing to the favorite office rumor that a mysterious woman of wealth actually controlled the corporation.
Steve squirmed in his seat. Sheldon seemed to be catching his second wind and would probably be good for at least another twenty minutes. Steve couldn't think of anything better to do with this time than to give Mildred another mental-undressing. He gawked his neck slightly, wondering if the zipper was on the side or back of the sheath. In the back, he wanted to believe and he imagined himself expertly undoing the clasp, his face buried in the thickness of her stylishly-coiffured hair.
Steve was cheated out of the interesting part of his weekly daydream by Sheldon stopping his spiel abruptly. Sheldon moved in on Steve, hovering, over-acting his authority. "Mister Turko," he cynically intoned. "You're not with us this morning." He distorted his face for obvious dramatic effect. "Is there some other demand on your attention? "
Steve bit on his lower lip as Sheldon gloated, the other salesmen suppressing smiles.
"All right, men," Sheldon concluded. "Get out there and sell. Remember, the week starts on Monday -not Wednesday or Thursday."
As the scramble for the exit ensued-most of the salesmen anxious to get to the corner cafeteria for a badly-needed coffee break-Steve hesitated, wondering whether or not to have it out with Sheldon. He could shove the job!
Steve mulled it over quickly, calmed himself. He'd stick it out for the remainder of the week. The Sunday Times employment section would be loaded with juicy sales positions. Steve avoided Sheldon's searching glance and scurried into the outer office where a number of girls were processing sales orders.
Steve needed to hit the street, breathe some fresh air, but Nina Caldwell, a plain-looking, brown-haired girl was standing by her desk. Steve knew there was no escaping her. Steve had taken more than his share of ribbing from his fellow salesmen-mostly married men-about Nina getting her matrimonial hooks into him. He'd take all the kidding they could dish out until they'd start being derisive about the drabness of the girl. At this point, he always found him-self defending her. In a sense, he felt guilty about the crush she had on him. Nina handled leads and call-backs for the sales staff, and at first Steve sweet-talked her for preferential servicing of his accounts. When she took it as romance, Steve compounded his blunder by repaying her office favors with perfume and candy. He was really knee-deep in quicksand after being seen treating her to lunch at Matty's. Now, whenever he was with Nina, the men elbowed each other and the office girls smiled coyly.
Nina had not been at Matty's that Friday evening -it wasn't much of a habit with her-and Steve doubted that she knew about his date with Gladys. Not that Nina had any "claim" on him-he just didn't have the stomach to hurt the sensitive girl.
"Steve!" Nina shrilled as he approached her. "I have a lead for you."
Steve smiled, reaching for the slip of paper clenched in her hand. "Thanks, Nina."
"It's in a real ritzy part of town," Nina beamed. "The Cragmore Arms, over on Sutton Place."
Steve stopped short, resigned to the fact that he wouldn't escape Nina that easily. He looked her over, wondering why the supposedly form-fitting black sweater did absolutely nothing for her breasts. And her excitement over a possible sale for Steve only brought a pinched look to the plainness of her face.
"Sutton Place?" Steve questioned. A fashionable area like that was hardly the place to sell Polar Bear's freezer unit and packaged food. Steve made most of his sales to middle-income families in the Bronx, Brooklyn and outlying territories.
"Mrs. Thomas L. Crandon," Nina announced, reading from the slip of paper. "And she asked specifically for you, Steve."
"Crandon . . ." Steve repeated slowly, unable to recall the contact. "Oh, yeah, I remember," he lied, seizing the opportunity to ease the slip of paper out of Nina's hand. "I'll hop right over there and see if I can do myself any good," he said, edging away from her.
"Steve," Nina started in a voice that always seemed to whimper. "Did you have a good weekend?"
"So-so . . ." he shrugged, thinking back again to his peroxide-blonde.
"I was up to my neck making plans for mom and dad's thirtieth anniversary party. We're surprising them!" Nina shrilled, then added, "it's this coming Saturday night."
"Gee, that's nice," he managed. The surprise party was all she had talked about for the past two weeks and here she was filling him in on the details again as though for the first time.
"We've invited about twenty couples," she in-formed him, placing the stress on couples. My brother and his wife, my younger sister-and her date . . ."
Steve didn't need the building to fall in on him to take the hint. "Oh, the hell," he muttered to himself. If he'd squandered the past weekend with Gladys-it wouldn't kill him to go to a party the following Saturday night with Nina. So it would be a dull Saturday night.
"Nina . . ." Steve started slowly. "I hate to butt into private parties, but I'm not doing anything Saturday night"
"Would you like to come?" she gushed.
"Yeah, sure," he stammered. "If I'm invited."
"Oh, you are!"
"Yeah, I guess I could drop by for a while." Steve looked about uneasily as the other girls sneaked glances at them. "I have to run now, Nina."
"We live in Brooklyn!"
"Well, I'll get the address later," he said, rapidly backtracking. He offered Nina a slight wave of the hand, executed a swift about-face and fled into the hallway.
Walking down the corridor to the bank of elevators, Steve felt like kicking himself, angry that he had given in to Nina. "You have to be heartless to get ahead in this world," he told himself.
"Oh, well," Steve said aloud as he pushed the but-ton for the elevator. The portal opened and he stepped into the self-service car. He glanced at the lead-slip as the car clicked into action and started downward. Mrs. Thomas L. Crandon.
Chapter 2
STEVE took an instant dislike to the doorman at the Cragmore Arms. Maybe it was part of his job to check visitors, but Steve didn't appreciate the sneaky glance he got upon replying: "Mrs. Thomas L. Crandon."
The runty, shallow-eyed character, uniformed like a Napoleonic general, was playing the part to the hilt. Out of that ridiculous tassled-uniform, Steve could imagine the little guy a strip-suited pimp on any Forty-second Street corner.
"Are you selling anything?" the doorman asked, eyeing Steve's bulging briefcase.
"Mrs. Crandon asked me to stop by," he replied, purposely avoiding any mention of selling.
The little general gave him a slow once-over. "Okay," he muttered, and turned to the elevator operator. "Apartment 3410, Joe," he informed his co-worker as though it held a second meaning.
On the thirty-fourth floor, Steve padded along the lushly-rugged corridor until he spotted Apartment 3410. He hesitated before pressing the buzzer, his common sense telling him that people who live in swank places like this aren't interested in "Nutritious meals at incredibly low prices-made possible by Polar Bear's Food Freezer plan." People like this dine out at expensive restaurants.
But who was Mrs. Thomas L. Crandon?
He had passed out his calling card and brochure to countless women. He couldn't possibly remember them all. There was only one way to satisfy his curiosity and he took the first step by pressing the buzzer.
The waiting seemed endless. He suddenly found himself as frightened and nervous as the first day he had ventured out to sell magazine subscriptions.
He steeled himself as the door opened. His eyes widened, taking in the length of her sleek haunches encased in sheer black leotards. His eyes traveled over her firmly pointed breasts. The sparkling auburn tresses were piled high, like a coiled snake, pointed and ready to unleash its fury on the world.
She waved him into the foyer with one hand, holding a glass of what appeared to be tomato juice in the other, and closed the door behind him with a certain air of finality. "I guess you're here to sell me a freezer."
"That's right. My name's Steve Turko."
"I know," she smiled. She set the drink down long enough to slip on a smock and tug the sleeves up above her elbows.
Puzzled, Steve studied the woman. There was a sureness about her, the regal way she carried herself. And yet, she radiated a certain warmth. Her age could have been anywhere from twenty-five to forty.
"Well," Mrs. Crandon gestured with arms spread out. "Let's hear your pitch." She hesitated. "Do you think you can sell me a bill of goods?"
Steve started to open his briefcase. "If you'd care to look over our brochure--"
"I'd rather hear it from you," she interrupted.
Steve stared down at a lavishly-furnished, sunken living room. To his left, an extension of the foyer, leading doubtlessly to any number of bedrooms. To his right, he spotted a tiny kitchenette-hardly the place to install a bulky freezer unit.
"As you've probably heard," Steve uttered, forcing himself to start the spiel. "Polar Bear's food plan is geared to meet your family's needs. Might I ask the size of your family?"
"Just my husband and I," she shrugged. "But he's rarely ever home."
"I see."
"Mister Crandon travels a great deal," she explained. "He's down in Australia at present-the Melbourne Tournament."
"You mean tennis?"
"That's right," she beamed falsely. "The game where two grown men in little white shorts hit this ball back and forth over a net."
Although he didn't follow the sport closely, Steve was aware of some of the top tennis stars. "You mean-your husband is that Crandon-Tommy Crandon?" She nodded. "His picture was in the news-paper the other day."
"Yes," she deadpanned, "holding his dear trophy." She sipped at her drink. "Now tell me all about your marvelous food-freezer plan."
"Well, Mrs. Crandon...." Steve flustered, not certain of his next step.
"You seem to have forgotten your lines," she smiled knowingly. "Maybe you need a drink." She displayed her glass. "This is not ordinary tomato juice. It's a delightful Bloody Mary-perfect for dismal Mondays."
"Well . . ." Steve stammered, "I never drink while I'm working."
"A salesman with no bad habits?" she questioned, somewhat haughtily. "I don't believe it."
Steve flushed, annoyed with his schoolboyish reaction to the situation. His imagination ran wild at the thought of what might possibly follow the drink. She'd be a lot of real woman . . . Steve caught him-self. From experience, he knew that all those spicy traveling salesmen stories with the solid punchlines were strictly from hunger. It just didn't happen that way in real life door-to-door selling. Mrs. Crandon was most likely indulging in what she considered clever repartee. One false move on his part and she'd doubtlessly scream bloody murder.
"Shall I mix your drink?" Mrs. Crandon asked. "Thanks, anyway," Steve replied stiffly. "I wouldn't want to put you to any bother."
"No bother," she interrupted, pointing to a plush bar in a corner of the sunken living room. "In fact, I'm all set up for a cocktail party this afternoon." She started gracefully down the three steps into the enormous ultra-modern room. "Oh, dear, I must remind my maid to order some hors d'oeuvres."
Steve enjoyed the agility of her body in motion, the even flow of her steps. "Entertaining must be quite a task," he started, merely to make conversation while automatically following her to the bar.
"Sheer drudgery," Mrs. Crandon groaned. "You invite twenty people and you wind up with sixty."
Suddenly something clicked in Steve's brain. He was certain he'd never sell Mrs. Crandon a freezer unit with a spiel geared toward middle-income families. Maybe there wasn't much kitchen space for a Polar Bear freezer unit-but there was room to spare behind that plush bar.
"Mrs. Crandon," he started, suddenly sure of him-self. "Why not let our company assist you with your entertainment problems?"
"Really?" she questioned, turning suddenly, extremely close to him.
"With our service," Steve went on, "you'd be the most popular hostess among your circle of friends."
Mrs. Crandon deliberately placed her glass on the bar, watched Steve with a sudden new interest. "Tell me more."
"The freezer unit could be installed behind the bar-in a blending decor, naturally-and it would be supplied with trays of beautifully decorated delicacies from all over the world! Merely defrost and serve."
"Really?"
Steve swallowed hard, decided to go for broke. "Ma'am, our special foods department is capable of handling any request whatsoever," he lied.
Mrs. Crandon started swaying her head in a continual motion until her smile broke out into laughter.
Steve stiffened. "Lady, I'm glad I amuse you! If you don't mind I'll leave now-"
"No, wait-" she pleaded, checking her laugh-ter. "Please don't go." She placed her hand on his wrist, her eyes meeting his. "I was laughing at myself-not you."
Steve hesitated. He found himself suspended by the seemingly hypnotic gleam of her green eyes. She calmly removed the hat from his hand, placed it on the bar. "I guess I owe you an explanation, Steve." She gave his wrist a squeeze. "You don't mind if I call you Steve?"
"No . . ." he shrugged dumbly.
"Fine," she smiled, releasing her grip on his wrist. "Why don't you take off your coat and let me mix you a drink?"
Steve silently removed his coat, placed it neatly on one of the three bar stools.
"Why don't you have a seat?" she asked, moving behind the bar.
Steve perched himself on the plush middle stool. He started to place his hands comfortably on the bar when he suddenly grew angry with himself. This woman had a certain way of asking a man to do something that was in reality a command.
"Will a Bloody Mary do it?" she asked in the same manner.
Steve relaxed. "Make it scotch on the rocks," he shrugged, "if you don't mind?"
"I don't mind at all." A smile formed effortlessly on her crimson lips. "In fact, I'll join you."
Steve watched her pour ample amounts of the amber fluid over the ice cubes in each heavy tumbler. "Mrs. Crandon, might I ask what was so funny a while ago?"
She placed his drink before him, leaning over the bar, extremely close to him. "If I'm calling you Steve, shouldn't you call me Adele?"
"What was so funny, Adele?"
"The Polar Bear Company catering to cocktail parties with frozen trays of hors d'oeuvres."
"Why do you doubt it?" he asked, aware of the slight quiver in his voice.
She took a sip of her drink, placed the tumbler on a gaily-colored doily. "Because I happen to be the major stockholder in the Polar Bear Corporation," she deadpanned.
Steve swallowed hard. "You mean-" he stammered. "Mister Moore doesn't-"
"Oh, Dan Moore owns a solid chunk of the company," she explained, then grinned devilishly. "Let's just say that I own more of it than he does. And Mister Moore is very grateful for what you did for him-you know, that touchy incident."
"For rescuing him-or keeping my mouth shut?" Steve asked cynically.
Adele smiled. "Dan Moore was right. You are sharp. And I happen to think your brainstorm about party freezer cabinets has possibilities. But I doubt if Sheldon and most of that sales crew have enough class to put it across."
Steve watched her move gracefully from behind the bar to the stool alongside him. She perched herself regally, swiveling her long limbs toward him. He stared down at the sheer black material of the leotards hugging her curvy thighs, accentuating her full hips.
Steve started slowly out of his daze. The rumors were true and Adele Crandon was the woman behind the scenes. He suddenly realized one other thing. She had just made a damned fool of him.
He watched her perched precariously on the edge of the stool, stretching and flexing her legs with the agility of a ballerina. Instantly forgetting all that puzzled and annoyed him, his prime instinct was to reach out and steady her in his arms.
She halted the movement of her long legs, bringing to a standstill the provocative twitch of her hips, leaving Steve with his arms suspended in midair.
"I won't fall," she informed him.
A sudden anger overtook Steve; he bolted off the stool. "I don't know the name of your game, but somehow I managed to earn a living before I ever sold Polar Bear Freezers and I'll earn a living long after I'm through with your outfit!" He angrily grabbed at his second wind. "And you can tell Mister Moore that his little secret is safe with me. I'll never repeat what happened that night-because I'd rather forget the whole damned thing!"
"Suppose Mister Moore wanted to show his appreciation?" Adele asked suggestively.
Steve grabbed his hat and coat. "All Mister Moore had to do was say `Thank you.' And he's had practically a month to say it."
Adele made a point of mulling this over. "You're sharp, Steve, but you haven't been around long enough to understand a man like Moore."
"Okay, so I'll leave in blissful ignorance."
"Before you do, Steve, I'd like to ask you one question. Do you intend to be a door-to-door sales-man the rest of your life?" She took a delicate sip of scotch and soda. Her hesitation seemed deliberate, annoying Steve. "Dan Moore thinks you have the potential for something better."
Steve's jaw dropped. Adele arched her back primly and pointed to the drink she had poured for him. "No sense letting all that good scotch go to waste, is there, Steve?"
"Let's take this nice and slow," he monotoned, close enough to her for his nostrils to be aware of delicate, obviously expensive perfume. "Why should he reward me with a better job?"
"Very selfishly," Adele nonchalantly explained. "You might be damned good for us."
Steve hesitated. "And you? Do you share his enthusiasm?"
Adele grinned devilishly. "That little selling charade I put you through-wouldn't you say that's a tip-off to my very suspicious nature?"
Steve nodded, pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into their proper places. "This past month-ever since that night-you and Moore have been checking upon me?"
"I have," Adele confessed. "Moore's the type of man who relies too much on first impressions and his own snap judgment. Let's just say I've checked up on you a bit."
"And you were satisfied?" Steve asked cynically.
Adele hesitated, her hands pressing the flat of her stomach. "Fascinated is more like it," she finally replied. "I probably know you better than you do yourself."
"I'm listening."
"Play it big. Don't ever let people know you're down-because all they'll ever give you is another boot further down. But when they think you've got something-they fall all over each other to give you more."
Held in the fascinating sway of her, Steve studied her, pondering the mystery. "You're quite a woman."
"Thanks for the compliment," she replied dryly. "It's difficult being a woman. The closest I've come lately to really being a woman was a moment ago when you held me in your arms. It felt a helluva lot better than looking at a roomful of trophies."
Steve's jaw dropped and he felt a sharp jab in the pit of his stomach as she calmly gathered his coat and hat, moved across the length of the room, up the three steps, across the foyer and waited for him at the door.
Each step seemed a mile until he was alongside her at the exit. She handed him his hat and coat.
"I'll give you another tip for success," she started slowly. "Don't ever level with anyone-like I did with you. It weakens your bargaining position."
She reached up and kissed him gently.
"Was that on the level?" Steve asked.
"I always manage to get rid of the last of my cock-tail guests by eight o'clock. That might be as good a time as any to find out for yourself."
She opened the door and as he exited he was certain of but one thing: he had finally met a real woman.
Chapter 3
AUTUMN in New York, Steve thought, the rusty leaves floating downward, grazing him and swirling about his feet. He eased himself on the bench along-side the path, pulled out the bag of peanuts he had purchased from the old vendor. He took a handful of peanuts and held them out on his flattened palm to tempt a nearby squirrel. He watched the bushy-tailed animal scamper close to his hand, then hesitate.
"That's right," Steve shrugged. "Beware of strangers bearing gifts." He tossed the handful of peanuts a few feet away and the squirrel raced to the feast.
Steve shrugged again. Thinking back a few hours to his encounter with Adele Crandon, he suddenly put himself in the position of the squirrel greedily go-mg to the banquet. But a woman like Adele Crandon doesn't place a sumptuous feast before a guy for nothing, he told himself knowingly.
"Dammit," he sighed. He had walked and thought himself out-and still he remained decisionless. He arched himself tautly against the back of the bench, smug about his afternoon vacation from extolling the virtues of the Polar Bear Freezer to straggly-haired housewives.
He viewed the passing baby-carriage parade. The first woman was definitely a housewife. She had that pinched look about her. Steve knew that she'd have to really get involved before entering into an extra-marital affair. She'd turn a fling in bed into a never-ending Bette Davis-movie of torment.
The second carriage-pusher was a statuesque wheat-haired girl possessing all the finer Nordic qualities. A domestic for a wealthy family, he told himself, enjoying his little game. He studied her giant strides, the well-turned ankles, rounded thighs, firm hips and heavy bosom. Too damned healthy for fun-sex, he snickered inwardly as she passed him by.
An extremely young mulatto girl uniformed in white was next in the parade and Steve was instantly aware of her tall, angular frame, the distinct pin-points of her breasts; but most of all, the haughty manner in which she pushed her carriage. There was something about the catlike movements of her hips which was not in harmony with the stride of her thighs.
"What gives?" he muttered inwardly, kicking at a stubble of grass. This constant pre-occupation with sex, he mused, angry with himself. He suddenly felt like kicking himself. At least if all these affairs were real and not imagined-a panic nudged him.
Escape.
That's what he sought. Escape. Escape from reality. That's what he was trying to run away from. "The plain, unadulterated damned truth." He had sought refuge in the Park like a little boy climbs a tree to pout.
"The truth," he muttered, still kicking stubbornly at the same patch of grass. And the truth was that his encounter with Adele Crandon had annoyed him; left him totally frustrated.
He started walking out of the park, the grayness slowly lifting from his brain. He had met Adele Crandon-a regular female Waterloo-he told himself. It was all real enough. No one was playing a bad joke on him.
"Damned female," he muttered, quickening his pace. She had played the "cat'n mouse" game with him to the hilt. And that farewell kiss-the bait.
"Damned female!" he intoned, thinking of her intricate spy network. A scheming broad like that probably has spies spying on her spies. He recalled her saying: "I probably know more about you than you do about yourself."
"Damned!" he cried out. Only this time he was damning himself. While his eyes had been having a field day on each and every undulation of her curve-some body, his brain had gone out on vacation.
Adele Crandon needed another flunky. "Another spy to spy on one of her spies spying on everybody," he cynically told himself. "So a little title and money went with the dirty work . . . maybe for service beyond the call of duty she'd reward you with a fling in bed . . . and then again, she'd most likely hold back . . . tempting . . . teasing . . . the promise of her body goading you on until you were dizzy from want . . ." Steve shook his head negatively. "Thanks-but no thanks!"
Crossing Fifty-seventh Street on Sixth Avenue, he realized it was only three blocks down to the office. He also realized that if he turned thumbs down on Adele Crandon's offer-life might become pretty unbearable at the Polar Bear Company. Adele Crandon would discreetly see to that.
"Mutual funds," he told himself. "That's where the money is-selling mutual funds." Anyway he was tired of selling freezers, especially tired of Sheldon and his Monday morning pep talks.
Concentrating on a course of action he almost collided with a redheaded Amazon in thigh-tight purple slacks, white-sweatered breasts jutting out proudly. He swiveled his head over his shoulder, nodded approvingly at the buttocks . . . those tight purple slacks . . like a couple of weird or-chid petals . . .
"Stephano?" he called to himself in that particular manner and tone his father had employed on him when he was still a boy. "Stick to the grim reality."
Steve relaxed, resumed his pace, anxious to reach the office. A smile traced his lips. This would be one time when he'd thoroughly enjoy the grim reality. Telling Mister Sheldon exactly what he could do with his job.
Resuming his thinking, the smile slowly faded. Telling Sheldon off would be a luxury Steve couldn't afford. He'd need a clean slate for his next selling job. He'd resign in a gentleman-like manner.
Crossing the final east-west street before reaching the office, his gaze played momentarily on the neon:
MATTY'S BAR AND GRILL.
Maybe he needed a drink?
"No, dammit," he asserted, moving rapidly into the lobby of the building. Taking giant steps to the bank of elevators, he told himself that he'd be able to survive nicely without Matty's Bar and Grill once he left the Polar Bear Company. Of course, he'd have to make a few rapid adjustments if there wasn't to be too great a lag in his customary "once-a-week sex life."
Steve thought about trying some of the more posh bars on the east side. "Same love-starved broads," he shrugged, playing the same old "I'm really a virgin" game. Only the booze would be higher-priced.
Then, of course, he'd also make fresh contacts on his new job-whatever ti at might be. "Another job-another hangout," he sighed, going up on the elevator. He thought back to other sales positions he had held. Different names, decor, prices-but each hangout had been exactly what Matty's was to the Polar Bear Company employees.
Steve scanned his gaze about the deserted outer office area. A look up at the clock told him why it was deserted: twenty-after-five. The office girls were famous for their trigger-fast five o'clock getaways. Steve creased his brow. "Where'n the hell had the afternoon gone?"
Steve shrugged indifferently at the loss of time and moved swiftly down the corridor to Sheldon's office, hoping the sales manager was still in.
Steve opened the door, stopped short at the sound of muffled voices. Keep it business-like, he thought. Close the door and knock. The door still slightly ajar, Steve froze as Mildred Whitney's voice shrilled the office:
"Not now, Dick! Please?"
Steve heard Sheldon whining. "Aw, honey, don't stop me now."
Steve craned his neck, peering at an angle around the door, and he caught at his breath, his hands suddenly sticky with sweat.
Steve stared at the lewd picture of Mildred on the red leather couch, sprawling wantonly, the sheath above the line of her gartered hose. And Sheldon kneeling.
Steve sucked in his breath and bit hard on his lower lip. Sheldon's hands were see-sawing the length of her thighs, in rhythm to her guttural whimpering.
"I just can't get enough of you," Steve heard Sheldon moan as he expertly unsnapped her gartered hose. Wide-eyed, Steve watched Sheldon speed the sheer nylons down the length of her legs, first one, then the other. Sheldon's lips followed his hands with what seemed to be a deliberately skilled slowness until Steve heard the female strangled-scream.
The signal.
Mildred flung herself backward on the red leather until only the length of her legs were visible to Steve from his vantage point. That, and the hands she clamped tightly on Sheldon's head. Sheldon groaned loudly, frantically bobbing and weaving.
Steve felt a dryness in his throat, a fire kindling in him, rising and coursing up through his entire body until it numbed his brain. Momentarily, he forgot that he was the spectator and he imagined himself the understudy waiting to be called on stage, ready to replace the lead.
Suddenly, Sheldon's busy hands slowed and then, with deliberateness, he tossed the white satin panties over his shoulder.
Steve disengaged his eyes from the red-leathered couch, moved them slowly to the small blotch of white material on the maroon rug. He concentrated on the delicateness of the sheer cloth in contrast to the hardness of the dark floor-covering. From the couch, the mingled groans of seeking, moans of finding, cries of encouragement, words of lewd victory continued.
The manner in which Sheldon had tossed the sheer, white undergarment over his shoulder. It seemed to tell Steve: "You've had your little show, now move on you lowly crumb of a door-to-door salesman. This is a top executive action."
Defeated, Steve slowly backstepped, turned with a lumbering effort and moved, noiselessly to the main exit. Holding the door open, he thought of all those Monday morning pep sessions, Sheldon's favorite battle cry: "Men, the week starts on Monday!" Steve let out a gush of hair. The boss was sure as hell getting his Monday off to a royals start!
Unable to deny his envy, a sudden anger mounted within Steve. Powerless to do much more about it, he gave vent to his anger by loudly slamming the door closed.
"You bastard," Steve sneered inwardly as the sound reverberated throughout the empty office. "Maybe that'll crimp your Monday action!"
Chapter 4
THE first shot of Scotch went down like water, and the rotund, beet-faced Matty obeyed Steve's hand-command for an immediate refill.
On the second one, he got more for his money as the amber fluid slushed his throat, warming his in-sides and tightening his face.
"Whatsa matter?" Matty started, barmopping the area about Steve. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Two of them," Steve deadpanned.
Matty shrugged quizzically, let it go at that. He placed the familiar cigar butt between his thick lips, rolled it about, gnawing his teeth unmercifully into it. "You just missed the boys," Matty informed Steve as though it would surely be heartbreaking news. "Artie, Danny, Pete . . . you know. They wuz asking about you."
Steve tightened, certain that Matty pulled the "inside-clicky" bit on all Polar Bear employees. "Hit me again, Matty."
"Shall I mix it, Steve? A nice, tall highball?" Matty suggested in his father-like manner. The proprietor, easily twice Steve's age, was famous for his bigrooster-like concern over his Polar Bear brood.
"Yeah," Steve gave in. "Mix me a tall one."
While Matty poured, still chomping the unlighted cigar, Steve pulled up a stool, perched himself comfortably for what might be a long siege. Only three men were at the other end of the bar-outsiders. Steve gave the dimly-lighted table area a quick once over. Mostly couples, here and there a circle of giddy, chattering females.
"Gladys," the sex-mechanism of his brain cried out. "Why not?"
He peered more intently through the low-keyed lighting, the hazy smoke-cloud making his search more difficult.
No Gladys, he shrugged.
"This'll relax you," Matty announced, thumping the glass down on the bar near Steve's tense hands.
"Thanks," Steve replied, pushing the bills and change-the ten dollar bill he had broken into-toward Matty. He'd burn up the ten-spot, he decided, then go to his apartment and sleep it off. Alone, he added after another thorough table-search failed to bring Gladys into focus. He took a gulp of the high-ball, thinking.
Another conquest? He debated the question.
Too much effort; he shrugged. That same old routine: plying his prey loose from her girlfriends, all that nothing-talk, the hard pull convincing her to go to his apartment. It takes a lot of doing, and a guy has to be primed-really up to it-for the long haul. And then, the odds might be against you. You don't win them all. Then you're really in bad shape.
"No," he told himself. "No Gladys-no nothing." At least with Gladys, he had established the beach-head.
Downing more of the highball, he thought of those uncomplicated characters-the men who could solve the sex-problem so neatly by purchasing the necessary female partner for a stated price, like you would a loaf of bread, a pair of shoes.
Steve raised the glass to his lips, stopped short, suddenly aware of the clock behind the bar. Seven-thirty.
Adele Crandon's cocktail party would be in full swing at this moment, he thought. Most likely a jam-packed, wild free-for-all; mostly phonies sopping up the booze. But sooner or later they'd pay for Adele Crandon's liquor. He seriously doubted that she'd give away so much as the time of day without expecting something in return.
Seven-thirty-one.
He finished his drink. "Matty, do it again."
Steve drummed his fingers on the bar, recalling her suggestive words: "I always manage to get rid of the last of my cocktail guests by eight o'clock. That might be as good a time as any to find out for your-self."
"Find out what?" he asked himself. "How she would dangle that luscious frame of hers about, until he'd be spinning from want? And then, frustratingly close to the prize, she'd hand him his hat and coat? To be continued . . . next episode . . . tune in tomorrow?"
Steve tightened a sweaty palm around the high-ball Matty placed before him. He'd have to drink much faster to be out of circulation by eight o'clock, to be home in bed, sleeping it off. He downed a heavy slug, smirking as he held onto the glass.
Adele Crandon would be waiting a helluva long time for his arrival. He could imagine how furious she'd be at ten o'clock or so.
Steve's smug train of thought was interrupted by the tall, extremely young, auburn-haired girl entering the restaurant. She stopped short, only feet away from Steve; scanned the tables thoroughly, most likely searching for her girlfriends.
Steve had seen her around the office. She was either in accounting or advertising. Anyway, she was new with the company. Most likely her first job out of high school, Steve thought. She didn't appear to be older than eighteen-nineteen at the most.
"Too young," he muttered, crossing her off the potential" list. He was about to resume his all-important drinking when the girl half-turned in his direction, her opened car-coat offering him a pleasant view. She had a long, lovely leg line, slenderized by the subdued shade of her hosiery. The black skirt clung tightly to satin-sleek thighs, accentuating the snakelike slimness of her hips. And the black sweater brought prominence to the lush mounds.
Steve swallowed hard, wondering why he hadn't really noticed her before. He concentrated pleasurably. The flaming hair . . . lively face . . . the lithe, easy flowing body. He bit hard on his lower lip. This girl was a younger version of Mildred Whitney.
He looked again, his eyes were not playing tricks on him.
"Hi ya, Dolly," Matty called out to the girl. "You just missed your girlfriends." From his side of the bar, Matty spread his arms out to the girl in a gesture of welcome. "I missed you, sweetheart. I wuz askin' Janet and Betty-where's that nice, new girl?"
Steve almost gagged on his drink. When Matty shoveled, he really shoveled.
"Darn it . . ." the girl pouted. "I told them to wait for me."
"C'mere," Matty beamed, arms still spread out widely. "What's the rush?"
The girl, obviously flattered by the proprietor's attention, crossed over to the bar, placed her hands in his.
"So how's the Polar Bear Company treating you?" Matty asked, gently massaging her fingertips. Maybe Matty was twice Steve's age, but the manner in which his eyes focused on the youthfully plump breasts wasn't exactly fatherly. "You're in the accounting department, aren't you?"
The girl nodded. "It's a swell company," she sighed, managing to ease her hands out of Manny's.
"Hey, you two know each other?" Matty asked, switching glances steadily from Steve to the girl.
"Aren't you a salesman?" the girl asked Steve. "I've seen you around," she went on, not waiting for an answer. "I work in accounting-on the files."
Matty had to get into the act. "Hey, what is this? You two work for the same company and you don't even know each other." He hammed up the introduction with broad, hand gestures. "Dolly Conway, Steve Turko."
"Pleased to meetcha," Dolly beamed while Steve barely managed a smile. "Gee, I wish I worked on the main floor instead of up in that stuffy old ac-counting department. It's so dead up there."
"How about a drink, Dolly?" Steve put in quickly, fearful that she'd rattle on.
"Oh, no--"
"Steve's a real swell guy, Dolly," Matty assured her. Then he turned to Steve, confidentially. "A couple of the older boys-married men-tried to get cute with Dolly a while back. I set them straight."
"So what's one drink among fellow employees?" Steve asked Dolly, brushing dangerously close to her huge breasts. "You are old enough-"
"She's eighteen," Matty cut in. "I saw her birth certificate. She's of legal age."
"So have a drink with me," Steve urged, suddenly remembering to stand up and offer her the stool, managing to brush the full of her thigh during the move.
"I really shouldn't-" Dolly started, not backing from Steve's daring closeness.
"Dolly likes a grasshopper," Matty informed Steve.
Standing close to the teen-ager with the ripe body and poise of a mature woman; something stirred within Steve, the challenge was there.
"I'll have a drink with you on one condition," Dolly seriously intoned.
Steve couldn't resist the opening. "That I marry you. It's a deal!"
"I'll have a drink if you'll sit at a table with me. I know it sounds dreadfully old-fashioned, but I promised my mother I wouldn't drink at a bar. She's real icky about things like that-you know what I mean?"
"And you're mother's 100 per cent right," Steve stressed, not too certain of the exact meaning of "icky." For a moment, he could see the writing on the wall. A mother's warnings before sending her daughter out on her first job. He had little doubt that Mom was also "icky" about little Dolly entering a man's apartment.
Can't win them all, Steve silently reminded himself. Anyway, Dolly was turning out to be quite a welcome diversion, a pleasant escape from all his problems-well worth the price of even a dozen grasshoppers.
Steve scooped up the bills and change off the bar. "Matty, make the young lady a terrific grasshopper, scotch and soda for me. And have the waitress bring it over to the table."
Matty nodded his willingness and Steve moved be-hind Dolly, placed his hands on the lapels of her coat.She turned her face over and up to Steve, suspiciously.
"Your coat-" Steve explained.
"Oh-hh," the girl sighed and let Steve help her with the coat.
He ushered Dolly away from the bar and toward a table. And when she started to walk ahead of him, he was glad that he'd had the foresight to remove her coat. She had that innocently sexual slide to her body movements. The spiked heels gave her buttocks an exceptionally high rise, and they seemed to be performing apart from the rest of her anatomy. Gyrating with one step, grinding with the other. Steve's fingers tingled with a new sweat.
He wanted to see more of that long-limbed movement . . . up three flights of stairs . . . down to the end of the corridor . . . through the apartment door marked 3-C.
Chapter 5
"My mother would kill me," Dolly groaned, mouning the third and final flight of stairs with Steve.
"It's our little secret," Steve mumbled, feeling the scotch. He fumbled in his pocket for the keys, desperately trying to convince himself that he was drunk. Or why would he have maneuvered a gullible girl of eighteen to his apartment after three grasshoppers?
Dolly held her head while Steve opened the apartment door. "Gee, all those grasshoppers really got me!" she swooned. "I never drink that much."
Steve flung the door open and gestured for Dolly to enter. "This is home," he announced lightly. "Be it ever so humble and all that jazz." He reached in-side and flipped on the lightswitch.
Dolly froze. "You won't get me into trouble?" she asked. "You promised."
"And I promise again-I won't get you into trouble." Steve struggled to remain calm. Just exactly what did she mean by not getting her into trouble? Hands off completely? Or taking the necessary pre-cautions? Something kept telling him to leave well enough alone-put her in a cab and send her home.
"I shouldn't have come," she whispered, cringing near the entrance.
Steve tightened and restrained his urge to inform her that she was a big girl now and that she knew damned well what she was doing by accepting his invitation. But he sensed immediately the need for tact with Dolly. He couldn't work his usual routine-the one for females twenty-one and over-on Dolly. He'd need a new approach-a youthful, fumbling sort of approach.
"Do you like to dance, Dolly?"
"Love to!"
' "So do I," he lied with a straight face. "I've got a stack of good records. I'm not that great a dancer-but maybe you can teach me a few new steps."
"Gee," she gushed. "I guess there's no harm in dancing . . ." She moved slowly into the apartment, quickly gazing about the room-and-a-half. Steve closed the door behind her.
"Gee, you've got a swell place!" she beamed, completing her inspection.
"Its sloppy," he confessed, aware of the trousers, towels and underwear. draped over the backs of chairs. He suddenly smiled, grateful that she had not used the over-twenty-one approach that his apartment was in desperate need of a woman's touch. Eyeing her, his smile widened. Stay as naive as you are, Dolly, he thought. He crossed over to her and helped her remove her coat. He sensed her uneasiness and quickly moved away from her, placing her coat neatly over the back of a chair.
"Relax! What's so terrible about a man's apartment?"
She smiled, gradually broke out into a small, giddy laugh. "It's not as though I've never been alone with a boy before," she started. "Before I graduated from high school I used to babysit a lot and my boyfriend used to come over-"
"Aha," Steve cut in, "I've got competition."
"Oh, no, Jimmy and I aren't going steady-or anything like that. We just usta spend a lotta time together." She shrugged as though Steve should certainly understand.
Steve nodded, for what it was worth, eyeing the even flow of her ripe, young body. He swallowed hard, little Jimmy was nobody's fool.
"He was special, though," Steve playfully teased.
"Oh, Jimmy was nice," she replied seriously, evidently not aware that Steve was leading her on. "He was the only boy I'd ever let stay with me while I was babysitting."
"Oh?" Steve questioned, his mind racing lewdly. "I mean-he was the only boy I could trust to not get me into trouble. You know what I mean?"
Steve nodded that he did-but he didn't. Not fully, anyway. "Let's dance, Dolly," he said, deciding to quit while he was still ahead. He moved over to the stereo, then decided that the long-playing record al-ready on the machine would do. A recent recording of a selection of Benny Goodman classics. He flipped the switch, beckoned her with arms spread out. The slow dance music started.
"You're a smooth dancer," she sighed as he cupped her closer to him. Those luscious mounds were a pair of sentinels on guard, fixed at attention.
"You dance a lot?" she asked, her cheek awkwardly against the side of his chin. He nodded negatively. "If I try to lead you," she rattled on, "just stop me. In school, when I used to dance with my girlfriends, I always used to lead-and it's hard to break the habit."
He nestled her closer, thigh rubbing against thigh. The palm of his hand evaluated the graceful arch of her back, lingering precariously at the crest of her buttocks. He raised his chin, letting her bury her face alongside his neck.
All was going according to plan until he lost control of the sweaty palm at the crest of her buttocks and it moved independently, taking liberties.
She lifted her face anxiously, eyes meeting his. Be-fore she might speak, he gently flicked his lips to hers. She froze. He kissed her fully and she held her lips tightly closed.
Now he could hear the pounding of her heart. "Wow!" she started, prying away from Steve.
"Let's dance," Steve announced, attempting to sound as though nothing had happened.
Dolly freed herself completely, nervously smoothed her sweater and skirt. With great effort, a smile formed on her crimson lips. "Hey, do you know how to do the twist, Steve?" she asked, an amatuer at faking nonchalance.
"I like it nice 'n slow," he replied, reaching for her. She sidestepped. "You're not that old. C'mon, I'll teach you!"
"To that music?" Steve pained, pointing to the record on the stereo.
"Nq silly-" she shrilled breathlessly. She flipped off the record, turned on the radio dial and quickly sought a specific station. "There's one station that plays nothing but rock'n roll and twist music."
Steve folded his arms and let out a gush of air.
The radio warmed and instantly sounded in the midst of a jarring twist number, a vocal group shouting seemingly lewd instructions and encouragement.
"Watch me!" Dolly shrilled. "It's so simple. "
Steve's eyes widened, he restlessly unfolded his arms. Dolly had moved suddenly into wildly sensual gyrations. Her arms operating on one level, her breasts rolling one way, her torso rocking the other way. Without missing a beat, she kicked off her spike-heeled shoes, spiraling exotically as she did.
With every turn, Steve's eyes bulged, taking in every undulation of lushness. She moved momentarily away from him, her buttocks seemingly performing a separate dance that had nothing to do with the other parts of her body. She flayed her arms about wildly. Her sweater rode upward, parting from the waistline of the skirt, revealing a band of firm, milkwhite flesh. He could see that she wore a half-slip, and under that black sweater only a bra.
He quaked with the fire raging in his body, tensed with his want of the young prize innocently tempting him, hopelessly shattering his restraint.
She wheeled suddenly toward him, stretched her arms out and offered him her hands.
"C'mon," she urged. "It's real easy!"
He gripped at her hands, recklessly pulled her to him and sent his open mouth smashing against her lips. He prodded, but met the barrier of her teeth. He wrapped his arms around her, dug at her until the melon-like breasts were flattened against the hard muscle and bone of his chest.
He heard her moan softly and suddenly her mouth was open. His tongue anxiously sought hers and the low moaning sound grew to a stiffled cry within her. He lowered his lips, brushed them over her chin, sought the soft flesh of her neck-circling, flicking, nibbling.
The stiffled cry grew to a steady wail of torment. "Don't, Steve-" she pleaded. "Please?"
Sanity slowly returned to Steve. He eased himself, still cradling her body in his arms. The raging fire remained within him giving him no peace of mind, frustrating his choice of words. "Dolly, I can't help myself," he groaned.
"The way you kiss . . ." she sighed. "I'm afraid. . . ."
"You've been kissed before, haven't you?" he asked impatiently. "Didn't that boyfriend of yours ever kiss you?"
"Not like you just did," she moaned.
"Dolly," he started vaguely, his hands slipping under the sweater and caressing the bare flesh, "you can drive a guy crazy." The flat of his hands mounted her sleek sides.
"Oh, Steve, I'd just die if you got me into trouble!" Steve angrily bolted away from her. "Hey, what is it with you and this `trouble' bit?"
"You know what I'm talking about," she pouted, head down. "A girl who cares has to worry about when she gets married-'cause if her husband knows she's been fooled with-" She looked up, squared him. "A guy can tell!"
Steve slapped his jaw, incredulously. "Look, honey, I'd better put you in a cab. You go find your little schoolmate Jimmy-"
"You can still have a lot of fun without going all the way!" she angrily interrupted.
"Dolly, let's just chalk it off. Maybe when you grow up"
"I am grown-up!" she snapped, moving close to him. "And I thought you liked me, Steve."
Steve shrugged. He placed the flat of his hand flush on her bosom, stroked it as though it were a stray kitten.
"You do like me?" she asked. "Don't you, Steve?" He withdrew his hand.
"You're angry with me, aren't you, Steve?"
"Look, Dolly-" he flustered.
"You think I'm just a child," she pouted, close to tears. "Well, I'm not."
"I didn't say that," Steve protested. He bit his lower lip, but couldn't resist the temptation to get 46
back at her for firing him up in vain. "Your school-mate Jimmy must've taught you a thing or two," he wisecracked.
She angrily backed away from him. "We had fun making love! We usta turn the lights off and-" She cut it short, taking a grip on herself. "I think I'd better leave," she said quietly, moving toward her coat.
Steve moved quickly between the girl and the coat, suddenly intrigued by what she had revealed to him. "What happened then?" he asked pointblank, "after you'd turn the lights off?"
"You're making fun of me," she pouted. "Please let me go."
Steve stopped short, was forced to admit to him-self that he had turned it into a little game-a game from which he seemed to be deriving a certain, unexplainable pleasure. He studied the teen-ager's troubled expression. This encounter was in complete contrast to his head-on clash with Adele Crandon, he realized. Earlier that day, the worldly business-woman was playing games with him. And he had jumped through the hoops as though he were an awkward teen-ager.
Steve backstepped expertly to the lightswitch and darkened the room.
"Whatcha doing?" Dolly asked.
Steve quickly adjusted his vision to the meager rays of light trickling through the Venetian blinds, returning to his prey, ran the flat of his hands along the arch of her back. "We'll just pretend we're baby-sitting, Dolly. The lights are off-now what?" His hands encircled her sleek sides, mashed inwardly. "Now what?" he asked again.
"You're hurting me, Steve."
He drew her into him. Kissed her. Full. Hard and with determination now that he was calling the shots. Now that he wasn't whistling to Adele Crandon's tune.
"I'm afraid, Steve."
"I won't hurt you," he said, not certain of what he meant by the words he mouthed.
He felt her arms tighten around his back and he victoriously ran his hands down to her buttocks. Slowly he brought them up and under the black sweater, the velvety flesh warm to his touch. Her breathing grew heavy, her arms relaxed and he effortlessly peeled the sweater up over her head, off her arms.
His sweaty palms nuzzled the bra-cups; semi-circling, clock-wise, counter-clockwise.
She churned a deep, throaty cry. Her fingers nimbly undid the clasp of her bra. She anxiously tugged the elastic garment downward and the mounds of milkwhite flesh poured out.
Steve tautly stretched his fingers, strained to widen the palms so as to totally possess the firm young prizes. Frustrated, he jammed his face into the warm cleavage, his mouth open. He buckled under the sudden frenzy and he felt his legs grow rubbery. He grasped her taut haunches for support and stiffled his cry of urgency by lowering his open mouth over one of the firm nipples. His nostrils quivered with excitement.
He tugged her in the direction of the bed. She tightened her buttocks; her thighs tautly-muscled. His fingers moved to the clasp of the skirt to undo the zipper and he felt her clawlike fingernails restraining him.
"Don't stop me-" he pleaded, his breath coming in jagged spurts.
"No!" she cried, forcibly taking his hands and returning them to her bosom. "Keep doing that-like you were before!"
But the newness of the ripe, young bosom had worn off and Steve's hands tingled to explore the length of her. He moved his hands over the sleek flesh; her resistance firing him with angry determination. He lost his footing in the shuffle and toppled to the floor, bringing her down with him.
"I'm afraid!" she shrilled.
"Oh, honey, please-" he gasped.
"No," she insisted, wrapping her skirt tightly about her thighs.
Steve felt the sweat of frustration burning his temples and he let out a heavy sigh, loosened his grip on her.
"Steve," she started slowly, "don't be angry with me. I want you to make love to me-but not that. I just can't go all the way."
"Dolly," he shrugged hopelessly. "You can't place a dinner before a man, let him sample the vegetables and then deny him the rest!"
"Steve?" she questioned. "Don't you like me a little bit? 'Cause if you did" She let it hang there, suggestively.
He searched for some sort of reply within him, but he gagged on the words in total astonishment as Dolly busied her hands at his trousers. Awed, he searched her face, was instantly aware of the lewd suggestion on her crimson lips.
Steve pushed himself up off the rug, swaying on rubbery legs. Dolly wrapped her arms about his thighs. She looked up into his face, smiling somewhat childishly. Steve was numbed by her expression. An expression that seemed to say, It's only a game . . . don't be a sore loser.
Steve closed his eyes as he felt her force him to surrender. He steadied his stance as the lust she had suddenly aroused coursed through his body. The fire in him mounted and the pleasure she was giving him was unbearable, but still he felt degraded. He clenched his teeth and rode the crest of her frenzy until he felt almost on the point of collapse.
Steve steadied his breathing and jarred free of the teen-ager.
"When you're through dressing," Steve began tiredly, "just slam the door closed behind you." And he instantly stormed out of the apartment.
Racing down the stairs, an angry cry came from the very core of him.
"Damned females . . . teens, twenties, thirties, forties . . . they're too damned old-each and every one with her own special scheme. But all with one common goal: to play the game according to their rules. To make slaves of men!"
Once in the brisk air, he calmed himself and in that moment made his decision.
The game would now be played according to Steve Turko's rules. No more halfway measures. And no more penny-ante stuff. Only for the top stake.
Success.
He steeled himself, certain that he had what it takes to go the distance. He recalled Adele Crandon's words: "All you need is a little confidence in your-self."
And maybe-just maybe-Adele Crandon was the woman to instill it in him.
He hailed the first cab. "Sutton Place!" he roared. "The Cragmore Arms."
Chapter 6
HE was annoyed by her calmness, by the fact that she made no mention of his tardiness. He waited through her innocent tirade on cocktail guests, especially the ones who anchor themselves to the bar and refuse to leave. He held his breath waiting for the slightest innuendo concerning his three hour-plus late arrival. He had painstakingly rehearsed his speech all the way over in the cab and now she refused to give him his grand opening.
"I thought we might have a little supper," she said, pointing to an elaborately-set table in the dining al-cove.
He glanced quickly over to the table, then resumed his concentration on the worldly woman. Unless his vision was playing tricks on him, her smartly coiffured hair seemed easily twice as thick as it had earlier in the day. Now, for the first time since she had welcomed him back into the apartment, he took note of the low plunging cocktail dress, the flaming red color of it, the matching necklace and earrings.
He held his eyes tightly riveted on the graceful symmetry of Adele Crandon, amazed at how far you could really travel on a seventy-cent cab ride.
She caught him at his study and he switched to an absent gaze, beyond her.
"You men are all alike," she shrugged. "Okay, I'll give you the satisfaction." Performing, she placed her hands on the slide of her hips. "You're late! Where were you?"
He tried desperately not to, but a smile broke through. "High school," he chuckled, thinking of his frustrating experience with teen-aged Dolly.
"Oh?" she started softly. "And did you learn anything?'
"Yeah," he replied, tightening his jaw. "I'm accepting that little deal of yours."
"So you decided that working for a woman wouldn't be such a dreadful fate, and you hopped right over to discuss business?"
"No," he said. "I'd rather discuss business and working conditions in the morning-man-to-man." He squared with her. "Tonight, I intend to go to bed with you."
He watched her. She didn't bat an eyelash. "Before -or after supper?"
Steve recoiled, fought to conceal his anger. He let up on himself and conceded her the victory, wondering how a man could possibly top this woman. He `eased into a smile and she instantly joined him.
"I give up," Steve shrugged.
"Don't you dare," she shot back, suggestively. She turned in the direction of the kitchenette. "Josie? Oh, Josie?" she called out.
An enormous colored woman in an outlandish maid's uniform heaved into sight. "Shall I serve the supper, Miss Adele?"
"Mister Turko isn't as hungry as I thought he'd be, Josie. You can turn in now."
"How about breakfast?" Josie asked.
"You might ask Mister Turko how he likes his eggs," Adele deadpanned.
Josie openly chuckled and retreated into the kichenette.
"I thought you were alone," Steve said.
"I'm never without Josie," Adele replied. "Her room is beyond the kitchen." She moved in closer to Steve. "But that shouldn't cramp your style." She straightened his tie, removed an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket.
"This tie-straightening bit," he started, recalling her identical action on the first visit. "Is that the motherly instinct in you?"
"Did you come here as a lover or psycho-analyst?" Steve shrugged: "They both use a couch."
Now it was her turn to shrug. "You're getting pretty quick on the draw."
He ran the flat of his hands along her arms. "Your better qualities are starting to rub off on me."
"Glad to do my little bit," she replied, her crimson lips turned up to him.
He tightened his hands about her arms, drew her into him, instantly reacting to the electricity of thigh to thigh. He swayed with the initial voltage until the lushness of her bosom nuzzled into him. He brought his lips to hers, his mouth opening slightly in anticipation. She remained passive; the slight quiver of her lips subtly hinting that he would have to be the leader, she would follow him anywhere-anytime.
His lips remained magnetized to hers. The green eyes were fully on him, hypnotically. His eyes met hers and it started: a strange visual love-making set to the tempo of their lips, their arms, their hands, their thighs-their every muscle and sinew.
Finally, seemingly a lifetime, the rhythm slowed, the stillness set in, lips parted-but the eyes remained at it, seeking all of each other.
"You knew I'd return," Steve murmured. "Didn't you?"
"I had my anxious moments," she confessed, eyes still on him.
"I wasn't going to. I fought it."
She gently creased her thumb across his lips. "Let's not go into that-v-not now."
She hesitated, a troubled look shadowed her face. "Do you know what it is to be lonely-really lonely?"
"How about your cocktail party?" he asked. "I'm sure some of the guests were men."
"Two-thirds of them," she stated matter-of-factly. "But loneliness in the midst of a crowd is the most miserable hell of all."
"I can't figure you out."
"Don't try," she pleaded. "Not tonight."
"The way you're looking at me-"
"Steve . . . you know how every girl likes to say, `This is the first time.' Well, I'd like to say it, too." She closed the slight gap between them. "This is the first time I've ever gone into it with my eyes wide open."
He wanted to believe her. Desperately. His arms secured her. His lips sought hers, found them. Suddenly her mouth was open and she was twining her tongue with his, her hands clawing at his back. Her whole being seemed to come alive, to become animal. He dug at her, almost in fright, but was instantly caught up in the swirl of her-and for Steve Turko, there was no turning back.
The distance to her bedroom was the longest "short-walk" of his life.
Steve remained in the doorway as she flipped the light switch on and kicked off her high heels. She turned to him, arms spread out in welcome.
"If you're bashful you can undress in the other room," she coyly informed him.
Steve glanced about the spacious room. "There's plenty of room right here," he replied. "And games are for children."
Adele smiled approvingly and he heard the swish 54 of a zipper and a moment later the filmy cocktail dress was on the floor. She was nude except for a gar-ter belt and her mauve-hued sheer nylons.
Only a woman like this, Steve thought, would dare entertain a crowded cocktail party minus the restraint of undergarments. He stared at her incredulously, and as he did, the defiant jut of her large breasts told him that she didn't require the uplifting firmness of bra-cups.
Adele sat at her vanity, undid the garter belt, her hands rolling the sheer hose down one trim leg, and then the other.
Steve viewed her well-rounded body in the wide mirror. Two of her: doubling the lava-molten fire raging within him.
The hose resting on the plush rug, Adele got to her feet, stretched languorously, making no move to cover her nudity. Steve craned his neck, catching her at a certain angle and the mirrored-image of her played up the high cushion of her buttocks.
"My, what big eyes you have," Adele grinned. "And I'll let you in on a secret. I like the way you're looking at me."
Steve pointed to the mirror. "Two of you . . ."
Adele glanced at her nude image in the mirror, then haughtily crossed to the bed. She yanked the cover off, letting it fall over the foot of the canopied bed. She lay boldly on the bed and arched her supple body luxuriously, flinging one arm wantonly over her hair.
"Stevie?" she teased. "Which one of us do you want now?"
Steve suppressed his grin, undressing at a rapid clip, scattering his clothing about him. He went to her and her need was as urgent as his and there was no time for cute games.
Silence ensued, their bodies labored and the magic was made, swirling them into an endless tunnel of pleasure. They reached the peak of ecstasy together and tumbled back to earth in sheer exhaustion.
Steve fought the exhaustion, but sleep finally got the best of him.
Steve stirred groggily. He flung one arm over his tangled crop of hair, his body flexing lazily in a slow waking. He contorted the muscles of his face and opened his eyes, blinking them against the glare of the bright morning sun streaming boldly through the terrace windows. He clamped his eyes closed and went through the motion of puffing a quilt over his head-but there was no quilt. He rolled over on his side, the sheerness of the bedsheet still foreign to his senses.
He smiled. On a specially made silklike sheet-chartreuse. That was certainly a "first" for Steve Turko.
Steve suddenly bolted to a sitting position, his brain demanding to know the time of day. He'd have to report in at the office by nine, check with Nina Caldwell if he had any callbacks, new prospects, and set up an itinerary for the day.
"What the hell time is it?" he muttered softly, rubbing the soreness in his thighs.
He glanced up at the wide expanse of canopy over the bed; the sky-blue color was easy on the eyes. He brought his gaze down across the chartreuse covering to where she lay, and in that moment, the time of day no longer mattered.
Adele wore a childlike smile on her face. The long tresses of auburn hair, free of all the restraining pins, served as a quilt, covering the highlights of her breasts.
Steve gave in to the urge and gently tugged the quilt of flaming hair away; in slumber her bosom throbbed gently. He studied the tranquil motion of her, the pert thrust of the pink tips. His heart constricted while a fire kindled new life throughout his fatigued body.
He bit hard on his lower lip, recalling the long, seemingly endless night. He wondered if it were humanly possible to ever again equal the pinnacle they had reached together. So surely. So completely. He wondered if the enchantment of their oneness could ever again send him soaring, seemingly through ,space. His breath came in jagged spurts as he ,recalled how the huge canopied bed seemed to have lifted and started across the star-studded sky like the fabled magic carpet.
He touched her face, ran a finger gently across the smile on her lips. She stirred grudgingly, rolling on her side and drawing up her knees. She came awake slowly, reluctantly. She groaned, arching her supple body. She wet her lips and opened her eyes.
"Good morning," she sighed, then meticulously rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.
"It might be afternoon," he replied.
"Then good afternoon," she smiled, circling a finger through the mat of black hair on his chest.
"I wonder what time it is?" he asked dumbly, feeling her brush up close to him.
"Our time," she informed him with deliberateness. "A time to live." She brought her lips to his. "Kiss me, Steve. Hard."
He complied. He felt her lips cling fiercely as her hands tightened at the arch of his back.
"Thanks," she moaned. "I wanted to recall our night, be certain it really happened." She flicked kisses about his eyebrows. "Oh, Steve, it was like a dream!"
"With you-I could dream forever," he replied, rubbing his hands over her bosom.
She mumbled incoherently, her mouth nibbling an earlobe. His hands slithered down the sleek hips, tried desperately. to still her. His lips sought hers, found them. He heard gentle moan in her throat and her tongue became a darting snake in his mouth, her body throbbed against-him.
"Oh, Steve!" she moaned. "I need you! Desperately!"
Her sharp fingernails scraping his thighs betrayed her urgency. Her warm breath teased his senses. He lengthened his body as moist lips brought a surge of sweet sensation to every muscle and sinew of him, a surge so strong as to jolt him to total readiness. He rolled over instantly, rocking unsteadily on his knees. Fiercely, he gripped her sleek wrists, pulled her up-right and close to him, imprisoning her.
"Damn you!" he groaned.
"Damn you!" he repeated, then smiled. "You don't even have to whistle to make a guy jump through loops. What's your secret?"
"I live right," she deadpanned.
"Maybe I'd better stick around," he replied. "Some of it is bound to rub off on me."
"Why don't we stop talking?" she asked suggestively.
"Why don't you wave your magic wand and make the night return?"
"Gladly," she sighed. Wriggling an arm free, she stretched it over to the night table and gently applied a finger to a button. The wall-to-wall drapes moved steadily from each side of the room, across the wide expanse of windows, meeting in the center and locking out the sunlight. "Will that do, master?" she asked devilishly.
Steve blinked at the sudden semi-darkness of the room. "Damn you," he repeated. "Just press a button-that's all there is to it. I guess I just haven't been living right."
"Maybe you'd better start making up for lost time."
"Got any more miracles?" he asked.
She jabbed little kisses at the cleft of his chin. "I need you for the rest of the magic."
Steve responded, telegraphing his urgency with a groan. The moist lips brought him to an unbearably frenzied anticipation and his fingers worked feverishiy through the flaming tresses of her hair. He tilted her head upward. Her glittering catlike eyes told her need of him. Her hands moved to grasp his shoulders and offer encouragement.
He hovered over her until his labored breathing cleared. With deliberateness, he nibbled at the lobe of her ear as her body curled against his with a cushioned fullness. Her groans of anticipation added fuel to the fire scorching him. She stiffled the cry deep in her throat and a faint smile traced her crimson lips. She was anxious to please as he was to take pleasure in her and her body throbbed, meeting him in a never-ending quest.
Steve nodded negatively, asserting his mastery over her.
She sank her teeth savagely into the soft flesh of his neck. He tensed at the sudden pain and succumbed. When his last bit of strength was gone, Steve opened his eyes. The smile was still there on her face.
"Damn you," he whimpered.
Chapter 7
"GOOD MORNING, Mister Turko," Josie beamed. "Breakfast is on the terrace."
"Thanks," Steve curtly replied, avoiding the knowing gleam on the maid's face. Breakfast at noon, he thought, his body aching as he moved across the foyer.
"I pressed your suit the best I could," the maid said. "It sho' was a crumpled mess!"
"Thanks," Steve repeated, somewhat awed by all the service.
"Thataway," Josie informed him, waving her hand across the living room to a glass-paneled door slightly ajar. "They're waiting for you."
Steve started across the room, his leg muscles straining. Something clicked in his brain and he stopped short, swiveled his head back to Josie. "They?" he questioned.
"Miss Adele," Josie replied, absently flicking a duster about the room. "And Mister Moore."
Steve tensed. "Mister Dan Moore? President of the Polar Bear Company?"
"Yes, sir," Josie beamed. "And your breakfast is getting cold."
"Well, let it get cold!" Steve angered, turning suddenly to retreat. "Josie, get my hat and coat."
"But Miss Adele is waiting-
"Dandy!" Steve fumed. "She'll be waiting a helluva long time!"
"Shoot!" Josie shrugged. "Don't let Mister Moore bother you. They ain't married no more."
"Married?" Steve paled.
"Mister Moore wuz her first husband. But that was ages ago. Why, Miss Adele was practically a child then."
"That's nice and cozy," Steve sarcasmed. "Now all we need is for her second husband to return and join us for breakfast."
"Oh, no," Josie started, shrugging all of her huge body. "Mister Crandon is her third husband. In-between there was this little guy who-"
"Spare me the details," Steve cut in sharply. "Who needs it!"
"Steve, darling." Adele's voice trailed across the room.
Steve turned sharply, sucked in his breath at the sight of her standing in the terrace doorway. He was aware of the leopard-skinned Capri pants clinging to her thighs. But most of all, he was aware of the lush bouquet of hair tumbling over her shoulders, streaming down the length of her sleek sides and swirling about her haunches.
Adele closed the gap between them, arms out to him. "Well, don't you look sharp," she sighed. She waited, dropped her arms to her sides. "I left my hair down-the way you said you liked it."
Steve pulled himself together. "What the hell gives with you? Why is Moore here?"
"Dan?" she shrugged. "Stevie-don't tell me you're afraid of your boss?"
"No, dammit, that's not it at all. I just don't like the idea of broadcasting last night to everybody! We might just as well have sold tickets-" He remembered Josie's presence and cut it short. Josie suppressed a giggle and waddled away into the kitchen.
"Steve, darling, Dan doesn't know that you spent the night with me. I told him you were stopping by."
"He's not that naive," Steve protested.
"Well, it's none of his damned business."
Steve caught his second-wind. "And you didn't tell me that he was your first husband!"
"Details bore me," she shrugged, straightening his necktie, brushing up close to him. "And besides," she whispered, wetting her lips. "We didn't have much time for talking last night."
Steve felt himself weakening, let out a gush of air. "I can't figure you out."
She twined her arm about his. "Then why try?" She flicked a kiss at the soft flesh of his neck. "Your breakfast is getting cold," she monotoned, urging him toward the terrace entrance. "And we have important business to discuss."
"This is crazy-" Steve hesitated.
"Please, Steve. Dan is drinking his breakfast and lunch, and if we don't get at it soon he'll be slobbering drunk."
Steve gave in, marched across the room with her. The moment he stepped out on the gaily furnished 'terrace with its lush growth of natural ferns and flowers he was aware of a lightning-quick change in his outlook. Once out on the lofty perch overlooking the city an envy gnawed viciously at his senses. He liked the majestic feel of things as he ambled across the penthouse garden, the swirl of clouds seemingly at his fingertips. This was what he wanted; he was moving in the right direction, and he was mature enough to know that there was a price tag on it. He steeled himself; somehow, he'd meet the price-no matter how steep.
Steve stopped short at the sight of the beet-faced, silver-haired president of the firm. His eyes locked with those of the elder man-and Steve knew there was no turning back.
Adele wisely remained on the sideline. Dan Moore unlisted his hand from his drink and eased into a wide smile. The man pushed himself away from the table and steadied himself on his feet. He thrust his right hand out to Steve.
"How are things on the vice squad, Lieutenant Turko?" Moore grinned.
Steve smiled and suddenly found himself laughing along with Moore at the inside joke. The laughter subsided and Steve sideglanced Adele, and with a moment's meeting of the eyes, the bargain was sealed. Sure of himself, Steve swung into action. He gripped Dan Moore's hand in a hearty handshake. "Please be seated, Mister Moore-"
"Dan's the name," Steve's superior interrupted.
Adele eased into the act with one of her best smiles. "Sit down, sit down," she urged the men as they concluded the long handshake. "You must be famished, Steve."
Moore held the back of the wicker chair while Adele seated herself. "1 can imagine," the silver-haired man stressed, glancing down at Adele. "A young man must burn up a great deal of energy."
"You're not that old," Steve quipped, then let go a grin calculated to inform Dan Moore to cut his little game of sly remarks.
"Now," Adele said solemnly once they were seated, "suppose we drink to Steve's brainstorm-the Polar Bear Company's new subsidiary."
"Here-here!" Moore vigorously chimed in, raising the glass before him. "I'll drink to that!"
Steve studied Moore's evident need of a drink and devilishly decided to make him wait. "What's the big occasion?"
"The Polar Bear Home unit," Adele stressed, tofill Steve in on the details. "Complete with a built-in freezer cabinet for storing party snacks and hors d'oeuvres." Adele turned to Moore. "Steve was about to take his plans to one of our competitors," she lied. "Fortunately, I got to him just in time."
"I told you he had a lot on the ball!" Moore beamed. "Exactly the second line of merchandise we need to make Polar Bear grow." His facial muscles twitched steadily and with a shaky hand he downed most of his drink.
Adele pointed to Steve's glass. "I thought you might like to join me in a Bloody Mary."
Steve raced his brain. He had difficulty deciding whether or not Adele had taken Moore totally into her confidence. At any rate, he decided to join the cast and play out the scene. He leaned over closer to Moore. "Dan, I still have one big qualm about Polar Bear being the outfit for this type of sales program. And that's Sheldon. He's not the man for a class operation."
Moore coughed with glee, turning suddenly to Adele. "What have I been telling you? We're in a rut with Sheldon. We should've canned him a long time ago."
"We won't go into that at the present, Dan," she replied pointedly.
"Why not?" Steve asked, squaring with her.
Offguard, she momentarily showed her annoyance at his brashness. She quickly about-faced into a smile. "There's really no problem. Sheldon will re-main in charge of home freezer sales-you, Steve, will be in charge of home bar sales. You'll operate independently."
Steve studied the pair. "And I'll have a free hand?"
"That's right," Adele stressed. "Pick your own staff, set up your own sales program."
Steve eyed her cautiously, awed by her drastic transformation from almost nymphet-like love-partner to hardened businesswoman. He shifted his gaze Moore as the beet-faced man downed the re-der of his drink.
Steve decided to play it smart. It wouldn't hurt to have Dan Moore on his side. From what he had heard, the oldtime salesman was once pretty sharp at figuring all the angles in breaking down sales resistance. Maybe Moore still had some of the old stuff left in him. Steve returned his gaze to Adele and he had to admit one thing to himself.
He couldn't totally trust the woman.
"Okay," Steve nodded, toying with his glass. "Just as long as Sheldon stays in his own backyard. I only answer to one man-Dan Moore." Moore perked up quickly and Steve capitalized on it. "I'd like to go over my sales program with you, Mister Moore-I mean, Dan. I feel certain that we think a lot along the same lines."
"I'll go to bat all the way for you, Steve," Moore replied assuringly.
Steve tasted the Bloody Mary, looked across the table at Adele. She sat with her mouth open, evidently aware of Steve's lightning-quick moves. "Say, this tastes good," Steve informed her. "Did you mix it?"
"Oh, yes," she said slowly, evidently pulling out of her stupor. "With my own little hands."
Steve downed more of his drink and studied her. There was a faint defiance in the curve of her mouth and the determined set of her chin. The dark glitter of her eyes seemed to be tapping out a message: Stay in line like a good little boy, Steve Turko. Don't press your luck too far.
Steve suppressed a smile and absently shifted his gaze to the remainder of the reddish-brown fluid in his glass, trying desperately to picture Dan Moore as a husband to Adele. Even more puzzling was their present, friendly relationship-especially if it still existed in bed. Steve doubted the possibility-now that the booze had gotten the best of Moore. He momentarily wondered if all of Adele's men ended up like Moore. His better senses questioned his own involvement, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind by downing the remainder of his Bloody Mary.
"Well!" Steve beamed, rubbing his hands eagerly. "Now for breakfast. I'm famished!" He lifted the heavy silver lid off his plate. "Ah, ham'n eggs and hot biscuits!"
"Josie enjoys cooking for a man," Moore dead-panned. "She'll fatten you up in no time at all."
"How about you, Dan?" Steve inquired. "Aren't you eating?"
"I'm afraid not," Moore replied, glancing at his wrist watch. "I have a one o'clock luncheon appointment." He pushed himself away from the table. "I'll have to leave you two." On his feet, he gestured for Steve to remain seated. "Don't get up. Enjoy your breakfast."
"I'll see you to the door," Adele informed Moore.
Moore patted Steve's shoulders. "Stop by my office later this afternoon. We'll get along just fine."
With a mouthful of ham, Steve nodded affirmatively.
"I'll be right back," Adele told Steve before leading Moore away.
Steve dug in at his breakfast. He'd earned it, he gloatingly told himself.
Adele returned well before the halfway point of Steve's breakfast. He gulped coffee, eyeing her suspiciously, assuming she'd had a farewell chat with Moore.
Keeping Dan sober is really a task," she shrugged, standing at Steve's side.
"Tell me?" he started, sideglancing her. "Do you keep all your ex-mates on some sort of pension plan?"
"If you're speaking generally," she intoned some-what annoyed, "you'll soon find out that I give nothing for nothing. And if you're speaking of Dan Moore in particular-don't underestimate the drunken old goat."
"Isn't he just a figurehead?" Steve inquired.
"He needs my vote to remain President-but I happen to need the support of the stock Dan owns. As I said, don't underestimate the old buzzard."
Adele massaged Steve's shoulders suggestively. "And something tells me that I might have under-estimated you, Steve. You're more of a go-getter than I assumed."
"Is that good or bad?" he asked, feigning innocence.
She dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades. "We'll find out soon enough."
"Maybe you shouldn't take the chance?" he pressed.
"I'm just too damned curious about you now," she deadpanned. She slid her hands to his face, turned him to her. "Steve? You'd never double-cross me, would you?"
Steve took his time. "Does an employee have the right to ask his beautiful boss the same question?"
She smiled that favorite smile of hers and brought her lips down on his. Fully. She eased off with a playful poke at his chin. "You're damned good in bed, Steve-that's for sure."
He shrugged a false modesty. "I try."
"You also tried damned hard to win Dan over to your side," she smugly informed him. "You're smoother than I thought."
He spread his hands out and palmed her ample hips, puffing her close to him until his face was flush to her bosom. "Shall we continue our business talk?"
"You're an executive now," she reminded him, her hands cupping the back of his neck. "You make the decision."
"All right," he started. "Let's talk about Sheldon. Why don't you fire him?"
She attempted to pull away from him. Unsuccessfully. "That's my business."
"What does Sheldon have on you?"
"None of your damned affair!" she screeched, lurching out of his grip.
Steve watched Adele compose herself as she sat on the edge of the chaise lounge near the breakfast table.
"I'm sorry, Steve. I shouldn't have lost my temper -just bear with me-I need you. We'll talk about that bastard Sheldon at the right time."
Steve hesitated, decided not to push it any further. He turned his wicker chair around, faced her, his knees almost touching hers. "I'll try not to get too impatient."
Adele smiled sincerely, taking his hands in hers. "What are we so solemn about?"
Steve stared at the lushness of the two blacksweatered mounds. "I'll bet you two-bits you're not wearing a bra."
Adele licked her lips playfully. "Why not bet four-bits whether or not I'm wearing panties?"
Steve leaned forward on the edge of his chair and freed his hands from hers. Those skintight Capris did something to the curve of her thighs and his fingers tingled to discover exactly what.
"I'll make you a more interesting bet," he whispered, nibbling at the lobe of her ear. "I'll bet you a dollar that Josie hasn't made the bed yet."
Adele lifted his hands from her thighs, her eyes meeting his fully. Her stare was fixed, challenging: as though informing him that she could top him any day of the week-that she'd call the shots.
"I'll make you an even better bet, Steve. I'll bet you a thousand dollars-" She paused purposely, snaking the length of her sleek torso suggestively back on the lounge. "Right here-right this moment."
. Steve swallowed hard, his gaze drifting about beyond the open terrace. To his left, two window-washers plied their trade. To his right, an elderly couple were relaxing on another penthouse terrace.
Adele grinned victoriously. "I don't give a damned who knows. Do you, Steve?"
"You bitch!" Steve snarled.
Adele boldly undid the clasp at the side of her pants, nonchalantly unzippered them, exposing the soft, white flesh.
"You bitch," Steve repeated.
Adele darted him a smug glance.
Steve turned and hurried out, mumbling to him-self, knowing that she had proved her point.
She was the boss.
Chapter 8
STEVE TURKO whistled a show tune as he entered the office for the start of his first not-so-routine week.
Aggie, the pert blonde receptionist overdid it with a shrill, "Good morning, Mister Turko!" He darted her a smile. Until last Thursday when his new position was officially announced by Dan Moore, she never so much as cracked him a smile. He back-glanced the girl, concentrating on the firm tightly-skirted buttocks perched on the edge of the chair. Maybe she, too, had set her goals on becoming the new executive's private secretary, Steve smugly thought. The word was out that he would now rate his own Girl Friday and the run-of-the-mill office girls were bidding for the position with their most suggestive smiles.
"This might be fun," he devilishly told himself. He could think of at least a dozen qualified candidates for the position. Of course, he'd have to check their qualifications one-by-one up in his apartment, he mused, his brain racing wildly at the mental picture of each girl trying out for the job on his bed.
He shrugged tiredly. At his present pace with Adele, he'd never have that much free time-much less the energy. He glanced up at the clock over the conference room entrance. Nine-thirty-that was a good executive starting time, especially for a Monday morning. His thoughts traveled beyond the thick double portals; he could picture Sheldon holding ay over his captive audience of salesmen, mouth-g the same old tired "Get out there and sell the housewife," cliches. A faint smile traced his lips as he thought of Mildred Whitney surely perched on her stool in there, supposedly taking notes. He stopped momentarily, wondering if her legs were crossed at his favorite position-the right leg over the left-and if the eager young salesman hired to replace him appreciated the willowy view as much as he had for the past two years.
Steve shrugged it off; he had much more important matters to concentrate on. He jauntily paraded past desk after desk, each girl giving him the glad smile and the big hello. Nina Caldwell remained head down, deliberately thumbing through a file of papers.
"Good morning, Nina."
Head down, she nodded slightly, glued to her work. Steve stopped short. Saturday night, he suddenly recalled. Nina's surprise party for her parents ... he had forgotten all about it. He felt like kicking himself, angry that he had hurt her.
"Nina," he started apologetically, "I'm sorry about Saturday night."
"That's perfectly all right, Mister Turko," she monotoned, furiously thumbing the papers.
"You see, Saturday morning I had to go over to the factory in Jersey, and then I got tied up." Tied up. He recalled the drive over to Hackensack with Adele and her fire-red Jaguar. Sure, they had gone over plans for the new bar unit with the plant engineers, but then after cocktails and dinner-damned that Adele and her persuasive ways. She could make a man forget even his name. What was it she had said when they registered at the motel as Mister and Mrs.Smith? "Steve, darling, I've always dreamed of a honeymoon in Hackensack!"
"Nina?" he started again, wanting to soothe her hurt feelings.
"There's really no need to explain," Nina shrugged. "It's perfectly understandable how your new executive duties might tie up your entire Saturday evening and not even allow you time to call."
"Nina, I'm sorry-"
"It's all right, Mister Turko."
Steve hesitated. "Why the Mister Turko? I'm Steve, remember? We're still friends, aren't we?"
"If you wish-"
Steve studied her. So she was a good kid but, dammit, he was on his way up. And he didn't hurt her intentionally. "I'll see you," he said softly, continuing to his office.
He turned sharply into the corridor-a surge of satisfaction hitting him-executive row. He stalked past Sheldon's office, stopped at his own, lingered, admiring the lettering on the door:
STEVEN TURKO
SPECIAL SALES MANAGER
Pushing the door closed behind him, he stopped short, losing his wind at the sight of Mildred Whitney hovering about his desk, busily arranging folders.
She looked up at him with a smile. "Good morning, Mister Turko!"
He caught himself, edged closer to her. "Will someone please call me Steve-that's still my name."
She brought a little something extra to her smile. "Good morning-Steve."
He stood across the desk from her; enjoying the graceful body outlined by the clinging, knitted dress. She swooped over the desk to rearrange a file and he sucked in his breath at the daringly low plunge revealing the firm upper flesh of her breasts. She looked up at him, knowingly. He pulled out of his stupor, yanked off his coat and tossed it on the leather couch along with his hat.
Mildred clamped her hands on the slide of her hips. "I can see that you're going to need house-breaking," she sighed. He watched her dumbly as she moved into action, taking his hat and coat, hanging them properly in the small closet. She returned to him with a satisfied, "There."
"Why aren't you with Mister Sheldon?" he started slowly, many questions now ganging up within him. "Isn't there a sales meeting this morning?"
"Monday morning," she started with a toss of her head, "of course, there's a sales meeting. And some-how, they'll manage without me taking notes." She brushed close to Steve, supposedly rearranging an-other folder on the desk. She turned suddenly to him. "Those sessions can be a bore . . . "
Steve steeled himself. "The sessions- or Sheldon?" She wet her lips, a deliberate smile traced her crimson lips. "You're putting me on a spot, Steve."
Steve breathed her delicately-scented perfume. His eyes slanted downward, thoroughly appreciating the long-legged willowy body. A fire kindled in his loins as he thought of Mildred sprawled out on the couch as she had been a week ago. Only this time she wasn't writhing ecstatically on Sheldon's red-leathered couch, but twisting steadily on Steve's new green-leathered couch. And this time, Sheldon wasn't rolling down her sheer hose-Steve was performing the task, expertly backing up his hands with his lips.
The wall of perfume was closing in on Steve. He rubbed his chin, measured two paces away from her and gestured broadly at the paperwork on his desk, "What's all this for?"
"You're to have your pick of the present sales crew before you hire any new men. Mister Sheldon agreed to let you have one-fourth of the old crew."
"That was damned sweet of him," Steve sarcasmed.
"Mister Sheldon thought you might like to study the individual sales records and conduct reports-to pick out your men."
"Damned nice of him, Mildred, but you wasted a lot of time for nothing. I've already decided on the five men I want."
"But shouldn't you check the records-"
"I've worked with those men," he interrupted. Steve squared with her, a sudden anger mounting. "I don't give a damned what Sheldon thought! I'm running this new show!"
"Of course-" she flustered.
Steve rapped the flat of his hand dead-center of the paperwork. "So you can get this spy-data off my desk and give it back to Sheldon with all my regards!"
"Yes, of course-" she started, evidently caught offguard by his sureness. She quickly began to gather up the folders.
"Mildred." Without thinking, he clamped his hand about her sleek wrist. He turned slowly, slightly away from the sight of the invitingly smooth skin. "I didn't mean to bark at you. You were only doing what you were told to do."
"I understand," she smiled. "And I'm thrilled to see that you have a mind of your own."
"I only hope I get a secretary half as efficient as you are." He hesitated, then pressed his luck. "And merely a fraction as beautiful as you."
She turned to him fully. "How does a girl go about applying for the job?"
"You?" Steve tightened, reeling slightly away from her. "I'd give anything to have you work for me. But you're Sheldon's girl."
"Sometimes a girl needs a change," she montoned.
"Sheldon would never stand still for it. Right now his pride is bent to the breaking point."
"Steve, suppose you leave it to me."
Steve studied her. "I'm listening."
"Breaking in a private secretary is a big job. You'll be too busy to do it. Why not hire a new girl-an outsider-to assist me for a few months. I'll supervise all the details and paperwork for both you and Sheldon until the new girl can handle one of you on her own."
Steve paused long enough to backtrack her little scheme. He smiled widely. "Then one of us gets the new girl-and the winner takes you."
"That's very flattering of you, Steve," she sighed with a false coyness.
"I like the idea," Steve said. "But will Sheldon buy it?"
"Suppose you leave that to me, Steve."
He moved in closer to her. "I'm curious to know who you're betting on, Mildred."
She wet her lips devilishly. "The winner," she in-formed him. "A girl can't be too careful."
Steve hesitated, suppressed his urge to let his hands get the feel of her sleek sides, grip at her haunches, bury his face in the low plunge of her dress, inhale the warmth of her bosom. Instead, he uttered: "Something tells me we'll get along just fine, Mildred." Her lips were inches away from his, but he swallowed hard and mustered all his restraint. He forced himself away from her, edging around the desk, seating himself comfortably. "How about a drink after work?" he proposed.
"About five-thirty?" she asked, as though to tone down her quick acceptance. He nodded his approval of the time and an uneasy pause ensued.
The phone rang and they reached for it simultaneously. Steve retreated with a smile as Mildred picked up the receiver. "Mister Turko's office," she beamed, the words music to Steve's ears. "Who's calling, please?" Mildred pulled the receiver away from her ear, stared across the desk at Steve. "She won't say."
Steve reached out and took the receiver from Mildred's hand. "Hello," he said gruffly.
"Steve, darling," Adele's voice cut sharply into his senses. "Get rid of that bitch. I'd like to talk to you." Caught offguard, Steve froze, remained silent. "What's the matter, Stevie, darling," Adele's acid-like words poured into Steve's ear, "did the cat get your tongue? Or did you give it to that redheaded snake?"
Steve flushed with anger, was forced to use restraint because of Mildred's presence. "Just one moment," he tightlipped into the mouthpiece. He looked across the desk at Mildred, forced a smile. "Mildred, would you mind very much-"
Mildred interrupted him with a knowing smile. "I understand." She turned, made the most of her exit with a somewhat practiced long-legged undulation. She darted Steve a final glance before closing the door behind him.
Steve steeled himself, firmly gripping the receiver. "Listen, Adele," he started angrily. "I said I'd call you-"
"Oh, dear me," she sighed syrupy. "Will you listen to the big executive!"
"All right, all right."
"Steve," she seriously intoned. "Don't be fooled by the sudden attention you're getting. Especially dear little Mildred."
"She brought me some files from Sheldon's office," he shrugged.
"I'd like to suggest a more qualified girl to be your private secretary. Nina Caldwell."
"Nina Caldwell?" he gasped.
Steve reddened, fought his urge to hang up on her. He loosened slightly. "I'll think about it," he offered. "And I might be a little late tonight, Adele," he added, remembering his date with Mildred. "You needn't hold up dinner for me."
"Take all the time you need, darling," she quickly countered. "On one condition. If you do manage to make Mildred tonight, then wise-up to her working with Sheldon." Steve remained speechless. "Are you still there, Steve?"
"Damn you," he whimpered, beginning to feel like a broken record.
"'Bye, darling," she oozed before he heard the click terminating the phone call.
He hung up, puzzled and angered.
"That woman-" he shrugged, conceding defeat.
Chapter 9
THIS oughta be a pushover, Steve told himself, unlocking his apartment door. "Just the two of us," he mumbled. "How nice'n cozy." He pushed the door open and gestured broadly for his guest to enter.
"Nice, little place you've got," Dan Moore started. "Stay single, Steve-it's the only way." He shot Steve a knowing glance. "I'll bet the female-transient traffic is pretty damned heavy up here."
"I manage," Steve replied glumly, closing the door behind him. He watched Moore move about unsteadily, most likely half-drunk. Steve shrugged inwardly, telling himself that he ought to have his head examined. At this very moment his guest might have been a neat bundle of female named Mildred Whitney!
Steve realized that his life had been totally upset during the past few days-but purposely standing up a dream-package like Mildred Whitney was pushing the limit. "Maybe later," he consoled himself. So Mildred is a snake, he thought, so what? He'd still like to see her crawl into his bed.
But this evening was reserved for business. The business of getting a number of questions answered. He sized-up Moore. It wouldn't take a helluva lot more Scotch and soda to start him talking.
"Sit down, Dan," Steve started. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Fine idea meeting here at your place to get the new plans rolling, Steve. Nice and informal-away from that damned office."
"You must have had quite a session with Adele this morning," Steve started to pry. "You weren't in until noon."
"I haven't seen Adele for days," Moore replied. "I was at my club this morning-turkish bath and rub-down." He winked knowingly. "Rough weekend."
Steve smiled, inwardly still wondering who was spying on him. "Scotch and soda, Dan?"
"My boy," Moore beamed, wetting his lips. "You just said the magic words!"
Steve busied himself, getting a tray of ice from the refrigerator, setting up bottles and glasses on the coffee table. "As you can see-I'm the butler and maid."
"Not for long," Dan replied. "You're going places, Steve!"
"We are going places," Steve cut in, pouring an ample amount of Scotch for Moore.
"No." Moore shrugged tiredly. "I've already been there. I'm tired and perfectly content being put out to pasture."
Steve handed Moore the drink. "You're president of a growing Corporation-
"Steve, my boy," Moore interrupted as he took the drink, "you're a pretty damned good salesman-and a good salesman knows when to stop pushing-don't oversell a point." He gulped quickly at the drink. "We both know what I am."
Steve hesitated. "I still think you've got a lot on the ball."
Moore downed the remainder of his Scotch and soda without coming up for air. He reached for the fifth of Scotch and poured another. "You don't mind?" Moore asked, measuring a few drops of soda to the generous' portion of amber fluid.
"Not at all."
Moore smiled. "I've never taken anything under false pretenses. You'll get full value for your fifth of Scotch." He squared with Steve. "Just spill it-I'll answer all the questions I possibly can before I get drunk."
Steve was forced to smile. "Was I that obvious?"
"You're in a deep spin, Steve, trying to figure out Adele Crandon. Well, take a piece of advice from an old husband-"
"Hold up, Dan. I'm not married to her."
"You're sleeping with her, aren't you? A license is a mere formality."
Steve tightened. "Look, this isn't necessary-"
"Don't be so damned squeamish," Moore cut in quickly. "I'm the original member of the Mister Adele Crandon Club-you're the latest member. And there will be a helluva lot more Mister Adele Crandons when you finally get tossed out of her bed." Moore tasted his second Scotch and soda, smiled approvingly. "Steve, my boy, you and I are sort of special cousins." He hit the drink again. "Hey, one of these days I'll introduce you to some of the other former Mister Adele Crandons."
"Dan, you reek of sour grapes."
"Sour grapes?" Moore pondered. "No, not really. I've been enjoying the sideshow all these years. You see, I'm the only one she didn't toss out of bed. I-sneaked out of her bed."
"That's your version of it," Steve shot back.
Moore reddened. "Boy, I may be a helluva lot of things-but I'm not a liar!"
"I'm sorry."
"That's okay," Moore loosened. "I know it's hard to believe." Moore banged his glass down on the coffee table, tightened a fist and steadied it against the palm of the other hand. "You know, Steve," he started reflectively. "There's a chance-just a chance -that I'm responsible for the present-day Adele Crandon. You might not believe this-but she was my virgin bride. Yeah, she made me marry her first.
She was a seventeen-year-old farm girl," he mused, as though to himself.
"Were you in love with her?" Steve asked.
"Steve, I hate to sound philosophical-but every man in heat imagines he's in love." Moore remained fixed, creased his forehead. "I had a sales crew selling `one hundred per cent rainproof roofing-guaranteed to last a lifetime' throughout the southern states. I saw this lush'n ripe, barefooted creature on her daddy's farm-and that was it. I was determined to take her along with me. Steve, I was such a good salesman in those days that I convinced her she had a great career in store as a saleswoman. Hell, she hadn't gotten past the seventh grade in one of those one-room red schoolhouses." He leaned over closer to Steve. "You know something-I oversold her. In four years she got to be the smoothest soft-sell artist I have ever seen!"
"So why did you leave her?" Steve asked.
Moore shrugged, palmed his glass and took a heavy slug. "Drinking wasn't always my bad habit," he started. "I only had one bad habit in those days. Some men prefer mature women-I never did."
"You like them young?" Steve cut into the pause.
Moore shrugged in admission. "So one day I had my sales crew operating in a small town down in Virginia. I stopped for a cup of coffee and there was this perky little seventeen-year-old girl behind the counter. She didn't look a day over fifteen." Moore paused reflectively, wetting his lips. "Lena was one of those tall and lanky creatures with little cast-iron knockers . . ." Moore killed his enthusiasm, drifted into a pause.
"So you went to work on Lena."
Moore finished his drink. "Adele had just turned twenty-one," he pleaded in self-defense. "And out there selling-she was getting too damned sure of herself. She didn't really need me anymore." Moore bowed his head. "I worked that territory over for al-most a month-until I ran off with Lena."
"And you made a saleswoman of her, too?" Steve half-asked, half-presumed.
"And a few others," Moore bragged. "But none like Adele! Why, when I ran into her four years later she was blazing on to really big things!"
"She forgave you for running out on her?"
"Turned out I did her a big favor. 'Her second husband had money."
Finally, Steve tasted his drink, squared with Moore. "Dan, you might very well have created the monster in her."
Moore shrugged, poured a heavy slug of Scotch. This time he didn't bother with the soda. Now it was his turn to get back at Steve. "And if I hadn't, Stevemy-boy, where would you be at this precise moment?"
Moore's drunken smile was contagious and Steve joined him. "Maybe you've got a point there, Dan."
"Steve, maybe it's just wishful thinking-but my money's on you. Before she makes you over into Mister Adele Crandon-I'd like to see you make her. Mrs. Steve Turko, a fairly honest woman."
"She's already married."
"The tennis hero in the short white pants? His time is just about up; he's outlived his usefulness." Steve hit his drink, tightened.
"That's great!" He started. "Now I've got two mysteries on my hands. Now I can't really figure you out."
"It's simple enough," Moore smiled. "To me-Adele will always be that barefooted farm girl. Call it what you like, but I feel an obligation, something a bit fatherly." He nudged Steve. "So to speak-I'd rest easier with you as my son-in-law."
Steve shrugged dumbly. "This is crazy."
"Don't sweat it, Steve. Save your energy for Sheldon."
"Another mystery!" Steve quickly cut in.
"On that score I can't help you much, Steve. The slick bastard's got something on Adele. Exactly what, I don't know. All I do know, is that she's never maneuvered him into her bed. 'Cause if she had-she'd control him."
"Does he own any stock in the company?" Steve asked. "Any control?" The doorbell rang and Steve turned suddenly. "I'm not expecting anyone." He got up and started across the room while Moore poured himself another drink. Steve pulled open the door and caught offguard the wide-eyed young girl. "Dolly? What are you doing here?"
"Steve, I just had to see you! I just had to explain about the other night," she rattled on. "I mean, can't we still be friends?" Dolly's eyes bulged, finally aware of Moore. "Steve, isn't he the president of the company?" she whispered, somewhat incredulously.
"Well, who's your little friend?" Moore beamed, rising and straightening himself.
Frightened, Dolly froze. Steve took her arm, urging her into the room. Moore, eyes bulging, shortened the gap between them.
"Mister Moore," Steve started, "this young lady works in the accounting department."
"At Polar Bear?" Moore questioned, his eyes raking the length of Dolly. "Incredible!"
"I've only been there a few weeks, Mister Moore," Dolly cringed.
"Aha, that's the reason," Moore started, nervously fisting and unfisting his hands. "My child, I make it a point to know all my employees."
Something clicked in Steve's brain: Moore's pen-chant for young brides. "This is Dolly's first job out of high school," Steve explained. "She's only eighteen."
"I'll be nineteen next spring," Dolly quickly put in.
"Now-now," Moore beamed, taking her hand gently, giving it a little squeeze. "Be proud of your youth!" He re-examined her, concentrating on her white-sweatered mounds of lushness. "And your name is Dolly-"
"Dolly Conway, sir." The girl trembled. "It's really Dorothy," she explained.
"A formal name such as Dorothy would never do for so pretty a young thing," Moore gushed, as though oblivious to Steve's presence.
"I-I really should be going," Dolly quivered. "I only stopped by to talk to Steve." She hesitated. "We're just friends, Mister Moore. You do under-stand?"
"Perfectly," Moore assured her, quite fatherly, while bringing his hands up to the collar of her opened car-coat. "You must stay and have a drink with us."
"Oh, I couldn't!"
Moore expertly slipped behind her and removed the coat. "Just one little drink," he pleaded.
"I really couldn't."
Steve decided to go to bat for Moore. "Dolly, Mister Moore is only being friendly. Since you're a new employee-"
"Well, just one drink," she conceded.
"I'll do the honors," Moore informed Steve, as though to push him out into left field. "Dolly, what'll it be?"
"Well, I don't really drink-but I just adore grass-hoppers!"
"Grasshoppers?" Moore questioned.
"All I've got is Scotch and rye," Steve shrugged apologetically.
"Gosh, I don't know what goes into them," Dolly dumbly started. "But they taste just divine!"
"They most certainly do," Moore agreed, taking her hand in his again. "It's a delightful cocktail-always a favorite of mine."
Steve fought to suppress a spasm of coughing. Dan Moore's modus operandi with Dolly was much-toomuch, he thought. He devilishly decided to put a crimp into Moore's style. "I'll be glad to call the liquor store," Steve offered. "They deliver in five minutes. What do you need, Dan?"
"Steve, my boy, I'm surprised that you're not pre-pared for such occasions. Now, my bar is completely stocked," he stated suggestively. He snapped his fingers. "And just like that-Dolly would have her grasshopper!"
"Gosh, Mister Moore," Dolly oozed. "Do you really know how to make a grasshopper?"
Steve bit his lower lip to suppress his smile. "How do you make a grasshopper, Dan?"
Moore ignored Steve, seated Dolly on the couch and graduated to holding both of her hands, while managing knee-to-knee contact. "Dolly-my dear child-a grasshopper must be prepared with great finesse, using the finest ingredients. For you-I would measure one-and-a-half tablespoons of cream, one ounce creme de cacao, one ounce creme de menthe." He paused, caught his breath in a grand manner. "Add cracked ice, shake well, blend thoroughly and strain the delightful concoction into a cocktail glass."
"Gee whiz," Dolly gushed. "You're real smart, Mister Moore!"
Steve smiled and conceded the victory to Moore, "You'll have to take Dolly up to your place and demonstrate your artistry."
"A splendid idea," Moore nodded, the back of his hands riding Dolly's thighs.
"Gee whiz," Dolly started, "wouldn't your family mind? I mean-your wife and children?"
"No, Dolly." Moore feigned sadness. "I was never that fortunate. I'm all alone," he sighed, "at the Blyden Hotel."
"You live all alone in a hotel room?" she questioned sympathetically.
"I'm afraid so, Dolly." Moore shrugged, obviously pulling for more sympathy. "I envy the man with a delightful daughter such as you are-a happy house-hold busy with your teen-aged activities."
"Huh," Dolly groaned, "my father's almost never home-and when he is, he's always hollering for me to be quiet."
"No," Moore started, deeply pained. "The man doesn't know how fortunate he is."
Still standing, reeling slightly from Moore's rapid-fire progress with Dolly, Steve suddenly needed his drink. He started for it, but the steady ring of the telephone stopped him. On the third ring, he darted a glance at the oddly-matched pair, Moore's hands boldly pawing more and more of Dolly, and Dolly delightfully wallowing in the pool of attention. Steve shrugged dumbly and crossed over to the phone on the desk.
This was obviously his night for surprises, Steve told himself, as Mildred Whitney's sugary greeting oozed through the receiver. Steve nervously glanced at the couch but Moore was too engrossed with Dolly.
"Look, I'm sorry I stood you up," Steve started awkwardly. "But some business came up-"
"Steve," Mildred's voice cut in. "I must see you right away. It's urgent."
"I'll be in the office tomorrow at nine."
"No, Steve-not at the office. I'm not very far from your address; I'll be over in ten minutes."
"No." Steve tightened, then smiled over at Moore and Dolly. Why not make Moore a present of Dolly? Maybe the old buzzard had more patience than he did and would know how to cope with her.
"Steve?" Mildred's voice questioned over the receiver. "Are you still there?"
Steve smugly placed his lips close to the mouth-piece. "Come over in twenty minutes."
"What's the matter, Steve? Is someone there?" Her voice bit into his ear sarcastically.
"I said twenty minutes," Steve stressed, "Apartment 3-C." He quickly hung up on Mildred.
Steve wheeled about, moved slowly back to the pair, groping for a start in his new role of match-maker. "Some very important business just came up," he tried, for a starter. "I'm afraid I'll have to put you two out."
"Well, I really should be going home," Dolly sighed, easing herself out of Moore's clutches.
"Allow me to see you home," Moore offered Dolly.
"Mister Moore, Dolly is a fine, understanding girl." Steve started into his act. "I know you'll be angry if I let her in on our secret-but I'm really concerned about you." Moore stared dumbly. Steve sneaked him a wink, then turned solemnly to Dolly. "Dolly, Mister Moore has been feeling depressed lately, spends too much time alone."
"Oh, that's dreadful!" Dolly moaned..
"Personal misfortunes," Steve stated, as though that should certainly explain everything. "Why don't you keep him company a while this evening, Dolly? I'm sure you can cheer him up."
"Well, I'd like to-" Dolly started.
"Good," Steve cut in, quickly helping her into her coat.
Moore took bewildered Dolly's arm. "Young lady, I'll mix you the most delightful grasshopper!"
"Will you really?" Dolly dumbly asked as Moore marched her to the exit.
Holding the door open for their hasty departure, Steve suppressed a grin as he thought of the problem and possible struggle Dan Moore would soon be facing with Dolly and her constant plea of "Please don't get me in trouble." Steve shrugged. Maybe Moore would settle for her substitute-love-actions.
"Enjoy yourselves," Steve waved to the pair as they started down the stairway. And to himself he smugly mumbled. "Lots of luck, special cousin. I'll be too damned busy with the real thing-Mildred Whitney."
Chapter 10
"YOU'RE early," Steve said, opening the door for Mildred.
"Yes," Mildred replied, arching stiffly for a grand entrance. "And I just saw old Dan Moore getting into a cab down the block."
"Really?" Steve faked. "I wonder what he was doing in this neighborhood?"
"Loading a cute piece of jailbait into his cab." Mildred hesitated. "She looked a lot like one of the new girls at the office."
"Well, what do you know about that?" Steve replied, feigning surprise.
Mildred tugged at her mink stole, tossed it casually over the back of a chair. Regardless of what Adele had to say about the daringly low-plunge of Mildred's outfit, Steve thoroughly approved of it.
"If you don't mind, Steve, I'll dispense with the expected compliments about your apartment. I didn't come here to appraise furniture." She walked over to the coffee-table bedecked with liquor and accessories. "Two glasses . . ." she observed, then examined closer. "But no lipstick."
Steve smiled widely. "What big eyes you have, Granma!"
Mildred returned the smile. "We'll also dispense with the games."
Steve closed the gap between them. "All of them?" he asked suggestively, running his hands along her arms.
"Well, almost all of them," she countered, wetting her lips.
Steve kissed her and she held her lips tightly closed. His hands moved and crawled up the arch of her back, pressed her into him until the twin globes were flattened against the hard muscle and bone of his chest. He tightened as he felt her thighs press his, pushing him to the brink of a sudden frenzy. Her lips parted slightly. Teasingly. She swooned-obviously feigned-and pried loose of him.
"I need a drink," she gasped.
Steve fiercely gripped her sleek little wrists, pulled her upright and close to him. "Why stop now, Mildred?" he whispered, nibbling at her earlobe. He released her wrists, pressed his luck and captured the high cushions of her buttocks. "I don't think Sheldon would mind-""
She reddened and quickly tore loose of him, stinging him with a sudden slap high across his face. "You've got a sewer for a mind, Steve Turko!"
Steve backed off slowly. "You meet some interesting people in a sewer," he quipped, rubbing his face.
"Oh, the hell-" she pouted, nervously flaying her arms about. "This is getting us nowhere."
"Just exactly where would you like to get, Mildred?"
She turned on him suddenly. "Steve, you're a bigger jerk than I thought!"
"Thanks a lot," Steve deadpanned. "Was that your urgent message that couldn't wait until the morning?"
"Steve, they're using you-can't you see that?" Steve decided to play it dumb. "They?"
"That woman-" Mildred hissed. "And her stooge-president."
"What woman?" Steve continued.
"Don't play dumb with me-the one on Sutton Place! The girl-tycoon in her lofty penthouse."
"Have you ever met her?" Steve asked.
"No-thanks," Mildred stressed. "Steve, open your eyes. They'll use you-then feed you to the wolves."
"And all of a sudden you're so damned concerned about me? Come off it, Mildred, I'm not that big a jerk."
"I was angry when I said that, Steve," she apologized. "I didn't really mean it." She returned to him, ran the palm of her hands along the lapels of his jacket. "You're smart, Steve, damned smart."
Steve's eyes feasted on the cleavage of her throbbing breasts. "That's what Adele keeps telling me," he deadpanned.
Mildred cupped Steve's chin in the palm of her hand, brought his gaze up on a level with her dark eyes. "Are you in love with her, Steve?"
Steve slowly brought his hands up flat to straddle the sides of her breasts. "Are you in love with Sheldon?" he straightlaced.
A faint smile traced her crimson lips. "We speak the same nasty language, don't we, Steve?"
"It sure as hell looks that way," he replied, pressing inwardly on the mounds.
"Maybe we ought to consolidate forces?" she suggested, allowing his hands to take even bolder liberties.
"Suppose you tell me why you're so anxious to cut out on Sheldon?" Steve asked.
Mildred clamped her hands about Steve's wrists. "That's simple enough. Sheldon is a married man.
His wife is onto us and she's making life unbearable for me."
"That's how it goes," Steve shrugged, hoping Mildred would free his hands. "Some wives take a dim view of husband-snatchers."
"He despises his wife and yet he'll never leave her," Mildred nodded negatively. "He's a real pompous ass-him and his image of respectability."
"Are you heartbroken?" Steve asked cynically.
Mildred smiled, freed Steve's hands. "Not really." She wet her lips. Steve kissed her, with restraint. He quickly eased away from her.
"You said `no games,' Mildred. Which would you prefer to do? Sit ten paces apart and discuss business -or go to bed with me?"
She flushed momentarily, then quickly eased into a smile. "Oh, I like you," she said with a slight sway of her head.
"So what's your decision?" he deadpanned.
"Steve, suppose I told you that I happen to be in a position to do more for you than Adele Crandon?"
Steve swallowed hard. He forced himself to loosen, play it casual. "Two fairy godmothers," he said, purposely creasing his brow. "Sounds like fun. Do I get you in bed, too?"
"Steve, be serious-"
"I am serious," he informed her, moving in on her again.
She stepped out of his reach. "Steve, I'm offering you a chance of a lifetime!"
"Are you suggesting that I throw Adele over-board?"
"No, Steve, you still need her."
"I still need her?" Steve queried.
"Okay, we still need her," Mildred added.
"That's more like it," Steve replied. "All right, give me the grisly details."
Mildred pulled a cigarette out of her handbag, waited for Steve to light it. He purposely busied him-self with his drink. She snapped the unlighted cigarette in two and tossed it into the ashtray. "Steve, there's only one reason why Polar Bear is branching out-"
"To make money," Steve put in.
"No, Steve-that woman needs a legitimate excuse to issue more stock."
"What are you talking about?" Steve blurted, without thinking.
Mildred smiled smugly. "No, I didn't think Mrs. Crandon got around to telling you that part of it yet. Well, any day now twenty-five thousand shares of Polar Bear stock will be on sale for necessary re-capitalization. Only it won't be on sale to the general public-just to a number of select investors. And I'll tell you something else, Steve. She'll use you at her special cocktail parties to convince these people of the great sales job you'll perform."
"What's so irregular about that?" Steve asked.
"Steve, you've been selling door-to-door too long," Mildred sighed, hands on hips. "Can't you see the power struggle building up between Sheldon and stooge-Moore? Why do you think Mrs. Crandon is afraid to fire Sheldon?"
Something suddenly clicked for Steve. "Sheldon has been acquiring stock in the company?"
"Stock and voting proxies," Mildred stressed. "The annual stockholders' meeting is only three months off, Sheldon might possibly have the voting edge in his favor, pick most of the directors, toss out Moore and run the whole show his way."
Now Steve smiled. "But my boss is smart enough to get everyone excited about a new line of merchandise-and issue enough stock to herself and investors she can control to retain a firm hand over the company."
"That's what the bitch is up to," Mildred groaned.
"And all the dirty work you've done for Sheldon will be for nothing," Steve knowingly replied. He strengthened his Scotch and soda, gulped heavily. "Well, it looks like I'm on the winning side, Mildred. I'd better help my boss all I can."
"Get wise, Steve-help yourself."
"All of a sudden you're so damned interested in my future," Steve shrugged. "Is this some sort of special crusade with you, Mildred?" He leveled with her. "What's the price tag on it?"
"Partners," she shot back instantly. "You and I team up. You work on Adele Crandon; I'll work on Sheldon. Together, we'll make them all squirm plenty!"
Steve sideglanced her. "Then at the right moment -we stab our benefactors in the back?"
She sat down alongside him on the couch. "You needn't be so crude about it, Steve."
Steve turned into her, his kneecap touching hers. "Mildred, I, too, suffer from delusions of grandeur, but I don't give a damned how much stock we might manage to buy up, or how many proxy votes we might line up between the two of us, we'd never stand a chance of controlling the company."
"Speak for yourself, Steve, I don't suffer from any delusions whatsoever. I don't want control of the company. I want out." She grasped his hand, wet her lips hungrily. "With a nice, big, fat payoff-a sort of never-ending annuity."
Steve let out a gush of air. "You're losing me, Mildred."
"Steve, haven't you ever watched a political nominating convention on television? There's always one holdout between the two major candidates. This holdout knows he doesn't stand a chance, but he has enough votes lined up behind him to swing the nomination either way. He can swing it to the faction willing to pay the highest price!"
Steve studied her, hesitated. "That's not exactly my line of work-"
"What is your line of work?" she shot back. "Male prostitute?" Steve reddened, yanked his hand free of hers. "Steve, you're new at it; I'm an old hand. But face it-you're my male counterpart. We both sleep with our bosses."
"All right, you've made your point," he conceded.
Mildred took the Scotch and soda from his hand, sipped it, placed it carefully in the coaster on the table. "Steve? Are we partners?"
"Let me sleep on it."
Mildred playfully circled her forefinger about his shirt. "Mrs. Crandon is expecting you-you really shouldn't keep her waiting."
"She'll keep!" Steve angered. "And so will my answer to you!" He loosened, deciding to stall. He forced a smile, took her by the arms. He could feel the firm tips of her breasts brushing his chest. "I'll sleep on it-preferably with you."
Mildred calmly freed herself from his grip. "Be a darling, Steve, and unhook me." Caught offguard, Steve hesitated. She quickly drew her arms up, her hands to the clasp of the zipper. In one deft motion and follow-up, she peeled the knitted dress and sheer nylon slip off her shoulders, down to her waist. She grabbed his hands, brought them about her and placed them at the clasp of her bra. "Don't you like to undress girls?" she asked slyly.
Steve steeled himself, aware of the milkwhite flesh imprisoned by the bra cups. And all he had to do was unhook the clasp at her back. But his hands froze.
She finally withdrew his inactive hands, cradled them in her lap. "Steve, if going to bed with you is a part of your terms-then you've got a green light. Because once we pull this deal off-I'll never have to give my body again. I'd like to think I'm in love with the next man who gets me into bed."
Steve bolted away from her. "Okay, you can go now.
She leaned back luxuriously. "Are we partners?"
He knew there was no need to delay his decision. "You've got a deal, partner-strictly business. And cover those gorgeous knockers before I change my mind and rape you!" Steve grabbed his hat and coat draped over a chair and charged across the room to the door. "When you get your damned clothes on-slam the door behind you to lock it!"
On the street, hailing a cab to keep his date with Adele, he talked loudly to himself. "I oughta have my head examined . . . first Dolly . . . now Mildred . . . my apartment . . . and I'm the one who walks out on it . . ."
Chapter 11
GOOD EVENING, Mister Turko!" the nightshift doorman at the Cragmore Arms beamed effusively. Steve didn't appreciate this tall, thin-boned character any more than he did the little guy on the dayshift. Steve nodded slightly and crossed the wide expanse of lobby to the elevators. He pressed the button impatiently, watching the overhead numbers drop, indicating the car was on its way down.
The portal opened, but Steve stopped short and froze. He was prepared for most anything, but not Tom Sheldon.
Sheldon smiled, emerged with his hat in his left hand, light camel-haired coat over the arm. He thrust his right hand out at Steve seeking a handshake.
"Steve? If I'd known you were coming-I'd have waited." Steve didn't shake his hand; Sheldon dropped it to his side. "We could've had a drink-the three of us."
Steve pulled himself together. "Sorry to have disappointed you." He stepped aside, as though to allow Sheldon to pass. "Maybe some other time."
"What's wrong with now?" Sheldon asked, maintaining his smile.
"You mean upstairs with Adele?" Steve asked cautiously.
"I know a quiet little bar, not far from here."
"Some other time," Steve shrugged.
"I'd like to talk with you, Steve."
"I'm in my office at nine-just barge in. I don't even have a private secretary yet."
"What's wrong with the present?" Sheldon leveled, moving to one side of the opened elevator.
An elderly gray-haired lady inside the car waited impatiently for Steve to enter. Steve tightened his jaw and moved over to Sheldon. "Okay, Sheldon-talk."
"Steve, how would you like to be the general sales manager of Polar Bear? Run the entire sales end of it."
Steve bit his lower lip, telling himself that he'd floor the next person offering him a chunk of pie-inthe-sky. He faked a smile. "Are you retiring, Sheldon?"
"No, not quite. I intend to be the firm's president."
"And chairman of the board?" Steve asked cynically. "You'll need a mountain of voting stock to swing it."
"You don't think I'm going to stand still while Adele grabs up the new issue of stock?" Sheldon tightlipped. "There are certain stockholders entitled to a slice of the new issue."
Steve deliberately paused. This time his smile was genuine. "It looks like you weren't able to make a compromise deal with Adele."
"Those are the breaks," Sheldon shrugged. "Now if I had your good looks I might've won her over in bed."
Steve tightened. "Don't press your luck with me too far, Sheldon."
Sheldon went pale. "All right, Steve, I'll talk business. You ought to be able to talk Adele into a good chunk of stock for yourself. See if you can swing a few of the stockholders she controls your way-get their proxy votes, any way you can. Then swing in my direction."
Steve shrugged indifferently. "Sorry, Sheldon, I can't see the percentage. What can you offer me that Adele hasn't already promised me?"
"Wise up, Steve. Another good-looking, bright guy comes along and that man-hungry woman will toss you out on your can."
"Once you're in power, what's to stop you from tossing me out? What makes you think I'd trust you?"
Sheldon smiled knowingly. "You'd be out of your mind to trust me, Steve. Whatever I offer-I'll put in writing."
Steve hesitated, slowly measured his steps back to the elevator and jabbed the button. "I'll think about it, Sheldon."
"Steve," Sheldon eagerly started. "Together, we'll push that company-"
"I said I'll think about it."
The portal opened once again and Steve briskly stepped in. He big-heartedly offered Sheldon a slight wave of the hand as the door started to close.
"Going up!" Steve uttered aloud, alone in the car. And he instantly realized that if he wasn't careful it would be one helluva long fall back to the bottom.
Adele Crandon . . . Dan Moore . . . Mildred Whitney . . . Tom Sheldon. There certainly wasn't a shortage of backs to stab. And just as many schemers to stab him in the back. And how could he be certain that Mildred wasn't really working with Sheldon. Sheldon might've rehearsed her thoroughly in that performance of hers back at his apartment.
He needed a drink, he told himself as Josie let him into the apartment and informed him that Adele was out on the terrace. But when his eyes feasted on Adele through the filmy layers of lime-colored negligee he decided that he needed something more positive than a drink. Adele was reclining on the chaise lounge and the bright, full moon and supporting stars served as appropriate lighting effects. She spread her arms out to him, but that favorite smile of hers wasn't there. Steve was instantly aware of the troubled expression of her face.
"Steve, darling," she started. "Come here. I've been waiting."
Steve edged closer to her. "Wasn't Sheldon very entertaining?"
She grasped his hands eagerly. "Please, darling, no nasty blasts, no business-that dreadful man al-ways upsets me."
He kneeled close to her. "I was with Mildred," he confessed. "At my apartment."
Adele brushed the flat of her hand gently along his lips. "Please, Steve, not tonight."
He studied her cautiously. "What's the matter, Adele?"
"Sometimes I ask myself if it's really worth the struggle." She shrugged. "Stick with me, Steve," she pleaded, her hands caressing his face. "We've got a tough fight ahead of us-and I need you desperately."
Steve swallowed hard. "You don't think I'd turn against you? Do you, Adele?"
She leaned forward, gently planting her lips on his. She withdrew slowly, remaining close to him. "I don't want to think at all tonight, Steve. I only want to feel. I want to feel you close to me, know that it's real."
"Adele?" he started, his mind heavy with a number of questions that needed answering.
"Kiss me, Steve," she interrupted. "Kiss me real hard. Please don't waste that beautiful full moon."
His hands gripped angrily at the demanding sway of her hips and the sheerness of the negligee made hands tingle, each and every slight movement generating a new thrill, and he yielded to the fire kindling within him.
His lips touched hers and he felt her tongue work 'between them. He raised himself, imprisoning her on the lounge, his hands arching her back, pressing her breasts into him until he felt the nipples rise hard and firm against his chest.
He heard the whimper in her throat as their lips finally parted. "Oh, Steve," she moaned. "If that's what a full moon does to people-I'm all in favor of it."
His hands played the filmy layers of her negligee. Maybe it's this outfit of yours," he countered.
"I wore it just for you, Steve. The moment that dreadful Sheldon left, I just had to change into some-thing to make me feel like a woman." Her eyes flared, her hands clawed at his back. "Now you're here, Steve, and I'm complete."
Steve felt the brisk night air stirring slightly. "Aren't you cold with just that on?" he asked.
"I'm never cold," she asserted. "Especially not when you're around."
Steve smiled as a plane hummed by in the sky. "Is that thousand dollar bet still on?"
She playfully returned his smile. "The price goes down considerably in the darkness." She hesitated, grew serious as she rubbed the back of his neck. "I can be quite nasty at times, Steve-especially mornings. Maybe that nastiness is just a shield." She man-aged a faint smile. "Steve, darling, try to overlook my faults."
Steve's brain felt sluggish, his senses numb. He ;`wondered if she would always remain a mystery to-,him. He was certain that he felt something strong for Adele from the very beginning. But he was troubled deciding if that something was love or pity.
Steve looked up at the full moon darting behind a dark cloud. He pulled Adele up to him and she cuddled in like a kitten looking for a home. Her body seemed excitingly new to him, each and every curve of her still an ecstatic discovery. His hands frenzied her until she was clawing at his clothing like a fierce alley cat.
"Steve, Steve?" she begged.
Then, as in a dream, he took his trousers off. He thought only of this woman. A real woman. The labored sounds from deep in her throat telling honestly of her desire. Her need.
Steve hovered over her, a sudden surge of power overwhelming him, placing him in command. He slid the negligee off her shoulders, teased the filmy material slowly over the lush creaminess of her breasts and snaked the garment off her. He flicked kisses from thigh to thigh, edging gently around the flat of her stomach.
"Oh, Steve, Steve!" she moaned, her hands swooping and cupping his face. "I need you-so desperately!"
He kissed her and her mouth opened to him, her hands flaying wildly about until they stopped on the flat of his back. Steve felt the warmth and encouragement of her hands and he responded by cradling her buttocks throughout the extended kiss.
"I need you," she repeated as their lips finally parted.
Steve remained silent, his urgency growing more demanding, making him too impatient for mere words. He replied by imprisoning her with his powerful frame and the low moan in her throat diminished to a whimper. Steve swayed as her body rolled and throbbed against him.
The city with its many shadows and various night sounds swirled below Steve on his throne under the sky and he wanted to cry out his joy. He supressed his desire by lowering his open mouth over of her breasts.
And his body mastered her, keeping time with labored breath. Every contour of her grew insist-demanding, and Steve complied, fulfilling them equally.
Chapter 12
STEVE pulled up a chair and sat across the break-fast table from Adele and the old familiar smile-her favorite one-was there on her face. Somehow, he thought it didn't match the severe two-piece gray suit she wore. Neither did the smile seem to go with the way her hair was rigidly done up in a tight bun.
"I thought we'd better have breakfast here in the dining room," she started. "It's getting a bit chilly out on the terrace."
"Why did you let me fall asleep out there?" he asked, amidst a spasm of coughing.
"Steve, darling," she gasped. "you've caught a cold!"
"You should've called me," he coughed again. "That under the open sky and moon bit is for June-not October!"
"Oh, but it was wonderful," she sighed ecstatically. "It made me feel like a young girl again."
"I'll let you know how wonderful it was when I catch pneumonia," he sarcasmed.
"I'm sorry, Steve, but you were sleeping so peacefully when I went to my bed-so I just covered you with a blanket." She shrugged, grinning devilishly. "How was I to know you'd kick off the blanket and treat my early-rising neighbors to a free show."
"Very funny," he managed, between a spurt of bronchial coughs. He sipped his orange juice and then yawned. "And what the hell time is it?"
"It's only eight o'clock," Adele replied, holding a wafer of rye toast. "I have to dash-an early appointment with my stockbroker and attorneys on all Street. But you take your time, Steve. We might possibly have lunch together."
"I have work to do-remember?"
"Yes," Adele beamed. "But I'm just dying to know how you made out with that bitch, Mildred, last night."
Steve shrugged inwardly, confirming his knowledge that the morning after-a female is always a female. "Sexually or business-wise?" Steve cracked.
"Steve, darling," she started, after a sip of coffee. "The way you charged into my arms last night answers the love-making end of it with Mildred. I'll assume you didn't press that phase of it too hard with her. Now tell me, what sort of dirty work did Sheldon set her up to?"
Steve hesitated, gulped black coffee while studying his scrambled eggs and sausages. Putting the pieces together, he was certain Mildred was operating on her own-ready to cut Sheldon's throat. He looked across the table at Adele; she'd never believe it. Women who are so damned shrewd with men never really understand their own kind. "Mildred feels that I deserve at least five thousand shares of the new stock issue," Steve pointedly informed Adele to bring the matter to a head.
"And you do, Steve, you most certainly do."
"Then I use my votes and those of any other stock-holders I can persuade to stab you in the back," Steve nonchalantly went on.
"Really?" Adele deadpanned with raised eyebrows. "Did she say what Sheldon will offer you?"
"I didn't wait around that long," Steve replied, eyes averted.
"That was foolish of you, Steve. It wouldn't hurt to know what Sheldon is up to."
Steve paused, sideglanced Adele. "Are you suggesting anything?"
Adele shrugged, eased into it. "You're not such a bad-looking guy, Steve . . ."
"Thanks," he deadpanned.
"You're single and if you were to give Mildred some sort of hope . . ." Adele let it hang.
"My eggs are getting cold," Steve informed her. "Give it to me in one dirty chunk."
"All right, Steve. Mildred might be losing all hope of Sheldon ever divorcing his wife to marry her. That bitch is looking for a husband with some sort of position so that she can play at being a damned lady. She has a six-year-old son she'd like to give a name to."
"A son?" Steve asked incredulously.
"That's not all," Adele dramatized. "An aged mother and a house out on Long Island to support." Adele calmed herself, took a sip of coffee. "Oh, that one is looking for a husband all right-a bit late."
Steve recalled Mildred's seemingly selfish plea to consolidate forces to gain financial independence. He felt something warm now toward Mildred, since she had kept her family obligations to herself.
"So why aren't you eating your breakfast now?" Adele asked pointedly, cutting into his thoughts.
Steve jabbed his fork into the eggs. "I'll have to think about it."
"I wouldn't overdo the thinking, Steve-too much thinking can be a dangerous thing."
"Look, I've got a mind of my own. Steve started angrily, but stopped short as Josie popped into sight from the kitchen.
"Miss Adele?" Josie started timidly. "Will Mister 'Crandon be having his breakfast now?"
"You might wake him and see," Adele calmly re-plied.
Josie shuffled away from the table and Steve's eyes went suddenly to the third table setting-the setting he had given no special thought to before Josie's appearance. "Your husband?" Steve said in-credulously. "He's back from Australia?"
"Tommy's still asleep-the poor dear." Adele moaned. "He's so tired from the flight." She beamed suddenly. "He won another cup!"
"Jolly-Roger-dandy!" Steve sarcasmed angrily, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. "Was he here while we were out on the terrace last night?"
"Well the poor dear was so exhausted that he went straight to bed-"
"Just great!" Steve shrilled. "And you didn't even bother to tell me!"
"Steve, stop raving like a maniac. You certainly knew I had a husband. I said he was down in Australia-not up on the moon."
"And he's snug in your bed while I'm out on the terrace freezing my behind off!" he roared.
"He has his own bedroom," Adele was quick to explain. "We have what you might call-an understanding. At this point it's a marriage in name only. Oh, it was Tommy's idea. For months now, before he went to Australia, he's been mysteriously engrossed with some female-bitch. I just can't seem to find out who she is. He keeps hiding her from me." Adele calmly pushed her chair back. "I have to dash now, Steve. Why don't you wait a while, finish your break-fast and meet Tommy."
"Well, la-de-da! Wouldn't that be cozy?" Steve fumed. "What would I talk about with your dear Tommy? The dangers of catching double-pneumonia while camping out in the nude on drafty penthouse terraces?" Steve raced in a straight line to the door, his necktie hanging out of the pocket of his jacket. His coat was somewhere about the place, but he was in no mood to find out exactly where.
"Stevie?" Adele cried out, "where you going? You need a shave."
With the door open, he suppressed his coughing and shouted back at her. "I'm relinquishing all my morning rights to the bathroom to Tommy!"
He slammed the door behind him, and in his angered state of mind, remembered little of the cab ride back to his apartment, of climbing the three flights of stairs, or unlocking his door. With great gusto he slammed the door marked 3-C closed behind him.
A quick shower, shave, change of clothing and a dash to the office. In his present frame of mind he was not only ready for the backstabbing game-but some crude, bloody hatcheting as well.
He cocked his head at the smell of coffee perking. He wheeled instantly toward the kitchenette area. He wheeled about again to take in his opened daybed =and the sheets folded back in disarray. He leaned for-ward to the unmistakable noise of running shower water coming through the opened bathroom door.
"Steve?" the female voice trailed from the shower. "Is that you?"
"Yeah," he replied hoarsely, recognizing Mildred Whitney's velvety tone. It was his apartment, he assured himself as he stepped closer to the opened bathroom door. "Yeah, it's me, all right."
"I must've fallen asleep after you left, Steve."
"That's too bad," he replied dumbly.
"That's what I told myself this morning," she shouted over the steady patter of the cascading water, then stressed, "when I woke up all alone."
"Sorry to have disappointed you," he replied.
"It's understandable," she called out. "Business first!"
Annoyed, Steve stepped closer to the opened door. He stopped short, swallowed hard at the sight of the delightful silhouette through the transparent shower curtain. He saw Mildred at a side angle: the long flow of her legs willowy, her hips snakelike and slim, the slope of her buttocks well-defined. Through the transparent curtain he watched her soap herself hurriedly but thoroughly; her face directed into the force of the shower, the water pelting the firm juts of her bosom and cascading down the cleavage.
She destroyed the delightful water-nymphet image for him by turning suddenly, jamming her head only through the tightly clenched curtains. "Did you say something, Steve?"
"Nothing," he replied, starting in again with his cough.
"Steve, are you catching cold?"
"I did already."
"Now how did you do that?" she asked, blinking soap out of her eyes.
"I'm a boy scout," he quipped. "Overnight camping expedition."
"I'll bet," she sarcasmed; then she gestured with a flip of her chin at the large bath towel on the rack. "Be a darling and hand me that towel."
Steve hesitated, mentally measuring the steps from the shower to the towel rack. He smiled widely. "You don't look crippled; why don't you get it?"
"Steve, is that any way to treat a guest?"
Steve gave in, handed her the enormous towel. He even surprised himself by nobly turning the other way as she reached for it. He stepped briskly through the open bathroom door, away from temptation. He waited impatiently as the sound of running water ceased and in its place came her groans and ecstaticshudderings as she dried herself. He stepped aside slightly as she emerged with the towel draped securely about her, revealing only the lower portion of her thighs at one level and the tanned crest of her bosom and shoulders at the other level.
Steve smiled. "That towel of mine never had it so good."
She wet her lips, then flicked them as though brewing a worthy retort, when the coffee pot started boiling over and she dashed to it, quickly lowering the flame to allow the coffee to brew.
"This looks real husband'n-wifey," Steve quipped.
She turned, placed her hands on the side of her toweled-hips. "If it really were-you damned sure wouldn't have been out all night in some other female's bed!"
"I'll bet you'd be a tyrant?"
She smiled lewdly. "I'll bet you'd have no reason to find other women!"
Steve shook his head violently. "Mildred, I'm trying like hell to add you up-"
"The way you were looking at me-I thought you'd rather subtract this towel."
"You made your little speech last night," Steve gestured hopelessly. "So I cancelled out everything but business between the two of us." He hesitated. "But you're still here."
"It's a long story," she shrugged, "and my boss expects me into work by nine."
"You're already late," Steve replied, not bothering to check the time. He gazed on the even flow of her and swallowed hard, feeling his legs go rubbery. "So why not be good'n late?"
Mildred gathered the sheer hose at the foot of the daybed and seated herself. "Sheldon would like that."
Steve pulled himself together and measured his steps to her. He stared down at the flaming tresses, gently lowered his hands and ran them through the lustrous thickness, the electricity instantly tingling his fingertips. "I like your hair," he said softly. "You'll never know how I used to admire you at those damned sales meetings." He cupped her face up to him. "Always from a distance."
She took his hands warmly in hers, brought them to her lips. "There's no distance between us now, Steve."
He knelt down before her. "And tell me, Mildred," he said, "when I was sitting out there as one of the salesmen-if I'd have asked you? Would you have come here?"
She hesitated devilishly, kissing his fingertips as her knees lodged into his midsection. "Steve, you never asked me."
Steve was forced to smile. "You know, you've got me there."
She nodded. "But now you've got me," she whimpered suggestively.
Steve's hand tightened on the rim of the towel protecting her nudity, his eyes fixed on her face. A face so soft of lip and feature and yet stamped with an indelible invitation to depravity. Steve's gaze remained on her, unable to grasp the mystery. What was it with her?
Strictly for business? For sheer kicks?
Or maybe, just maybe, she, too, was desperately seeking something.
Oh, the hell, he thought, one fling. One wild fling! And he tore the towel away from the throbbing con-tour of her. Steve raised himself, his lips working feverishly about her neck, about the lobe of her ear until her claw-like nails dug deeply into his back.
With one sweeping scoop he cradled her, his hands mauling at the high cushion of her buttocks as her body throbbed against him.
She clawed suddenly at his clothing. He dizzily managed it to his feet. The fire within still raging, he peeled. off his clothing. And when he returned to her, she sought him with desperation, weaving the flow of her nudity to his body, her teeth marking the soft flesh of his neck. She lifted her parted lips to Steve's, and her kisses were the warmest he had ever experienced. The way she twisted and squirmed, Steve thought, she was either a nymphomaniac-or Sheldon wasn't capable of satisfying her.
When she took his underlip between her teeth and bit hard, a torrent of anger and passion rose inside him. He hurled the full weight of his body against her, mashing her taut belly, slowing the erotic pistoning of her hips.
Steve raised himself slightly over her now submissive, waiting body. He hesitated, viewing his prey. The moan deep in her throat was a pitiful, begging sound to Steve and he blanketed her with his body.
He was aware only of the sharp nails digging into his back, begging for prompt fulfillment. Steve recalled all those miserable Monday morning sales meetings with the unobtainable Mildred perched seductively on her throne-each and every Monday morning he had been forced to sit there, lusting hopelessly, eating his heart out-and it goaded him on, giving him strength to sadistically seek a new peak of pleasure. And Steve Turko didn't give a damn how long it would take to find that high point. Even if it took all day.
Chapter 13
STEVE sat tiredly at his desk, loosened his necktie, amazed at how fast the week had slipped by. He glanced at the compact, leather-encased clock on his desk, placed there by his private secretary, Nina Caldwell. It was a few minutes after five. The Friday exodus to Matty's Bar and Grill was most likely in full swing.
It surprised him to feel nostalgic about the damned hangout and he was tempted to clean up his desk and drop in for a drink. But he knew it wouldn't be the same as when he had been a part of the sales crew and did the bulk of his female-hunting at Matty's. Now that he was a bona fide executive, most of the salesmen and office workers approached him in a stand-offish manner which, in a sense, excluded him from the Matty's Bar and Grill clique. After all, as he clearly recalled, at Matty's, over a drink, 50 per cent of the conversation was about the opposite sex and the remaining 50 per cent was well-spent complain-mg about "those damned executives."
Steve relaxed, accepting the fact fully that he was now "one of those damned executives." And he had a dandy of a migraine headache as a credential. He glanced quickly at the scattering of files and documents littering the top of his desk. It had been a hectic week of planning and organizing. He had spent hours talking individually with the five salesmen he had picked to start his new sales crew, countless more hours interviewing new applicants. Finding salesmen with the necessary class for the new line was a problem, he was forced to admit. And then, keeping his eyes on Sheldon and Mildred, and yet avoiding making any direct commitments to either one, had been quite time-consuming.
He thought back pleasurably to Tuesday morning, Mildred Whitney and his favorite bath towel- especially to the moment he had peeled it off her throbbing, love-starved body. Sheer willpower had kept him from getting involved with her again throughout the week as he confined his possible scheming with her to the office and an out-of-the-way cocktail lounge. And yet, regardless of what she wore-sheaths or tailored suits-he imagined her nude, fresh out of his shower.
He grinned, laughed aloud, as he toyed with the almost-empty bottle of cough medicine Nina Caldwell had picked up for him to combat the cold. Mildred still had a beaut of a cold, constantly coughing and dabbing her dainty hanky to her inflamed nose. And no one, especially not Sheldon, had tied the two colds together.
"This is the time of year to be careful," everyone cautioned, all too late.
The buzz of the intercom removed the smug smile from his face. He leaned forward and pressed the button. "Yes, Nina?"
"Mister Sheldon's on the phone; he's at his club."
"Make some excuse for me, Nina, I don't feel like talking to him." Steve knew Sheldon was trying desperately to get him alone long enough to swing him over to his camp.
"All right, Steve," Nina's voice came clearly.
"And, Nina, it's after five-you can leave now."
"I thought I'd straighten out your desk first," she replied before Steve heard the cut-off click.
Steve swayed his head back and forth, amazed and gratified by Nina's efficient handling of his affairs, the smooth manner in which she had set him on a concrete time pattern, weeding out all the details and quickly attending to them herself, leaving him free more important matters. He conceded that she was rapidly becoming indispensable to him. And even though she wasn't fully aware of all the behindthe-scenes activities, he found himself confiding in her more and more, steadily asking for her opinion on a number of matters.
Steve tightened, still puzzled by the way he had noticed her earlier that afternoon as she took dictation. She had started to read back a paragraph when she suddenly crossed her legs and Steve was aware of a newness, a certain trimness about her. And each day a new outfit; today a striking aqua sheath. And her hair! He creased his brow in concentration. She's done something new to her hair.
The intercom buzzed again and he flipped the switch down. "Yes, Nina?"
"Will you talk to Mister Moore?"
"Is he at his club?" Steve asked, somewhat sarcastically, still awed by the executive's need to belong to an exclusive club.
"He didn't say," Nina replied. "But he sounds sober."
. Sober, Steve thought, suddenly realizing Moore had seemed sober to him every time he had seen him since Tuesday. But then, he hadn't encountered him too often, and each time only briefly. Steve was still curious to know how old Dan Moore had made out With Dolly Monday night. All he had managed to get out of Moore was, "a truly delightful child . . . "
"Steve?" Nina's voice came through to him. "Are you there?"
"I'll talk to him, Nina." Steve picked up the re. ceiver and waited for Nina to connect them.
"Steve?" Moore started anxiously. "You've got to do me a favor."
"Name it, Dan."
"Cover for me tonight with Adele."
"Tonight?" Steve started lethargically, and then it all crystalized for him. That damned exclusive supper party he was to attend to celebrate Tommy's return from Australia.
"The party for our boy in short white pants," Moore sarcastically explained. "I called Adele earlier and told her that I've a cold coming on and wouldn't be able to make it. She didn't believe me, but Steve-boy, if you were to tell her that you actually saw me hovering near death, pale with fever-"
"All right, Dan, all right, I'll give my finest performance."
"Thanks, Steve!" he shouted over the wire. "I'll do you a favor one of these days. Be seeing you-"
Steve heard the click on the other end before he had an opportunity to ask Moore why he wanted the raincheck from Adele's party and all that easy-flowing liquor, certain the old goat was up to something evil for the night.
"That damned party," he muttered, realizing he had purposely pushed it to the back of his mind the past few days. Now he wouldn't be able to postpone meeting the "aging boy-wonder tennis star" any longer. And this would only be the start of many parties-given for one lame excuse or another-to bring together the right possible investors now that the new stock issue had been okayed by the proper authorities and would actually be on sale within ten days.
It'll be a regular Fourth of July slam-bang affair," He mused aloud, thinking of the inevitable explosions and repercussions once the grab for control was on. Steve was still uncertain of the outcome, but he liked the feel of his new office, the opportunity to make a name for himself in the world of selling. It was the double-dealings that didn't sit right with Steve. Undecided as he was, he was leaving all the doors open, alienating no one-not even Sheldon.
And Adele was starting to get under his skin. His mind suddenly triggered on the fact that he hadn't seen Adele since Tuesday morning, when he had blown his top over her husband's return. He'd been on the phone with her at least once a day since then, but had used his cold-thickening his voice over the wire-as an excuse for some sorely needed free time.
He suddenly slammed the flat of his hands down on his desk: "Be honest," he muttered reproachfully. "You've been avoiding the inevitable-meeting her husband."
Well, he'd meet the tennis star at Adele's damned supper party-and if he made one crack out of the way, Steve would belt him on the spot. Steve grimaced, picturing himself at the phony gathering; smiling, mingling and small-talking with Adele's well-heeled guests.
His mind moved on to End of the party, the departure of the last guest-maybe Adele would tell her husband to go take a long walk for himself? Steve smiled devilishly; this time it would be the bedroom and that throne of a canopied bed-another cold was the last thing he needed.
Steve squirmed in his thickly-padded chair; still wary of the triangle, that damned intruder-Adele's playboy husband. He swayed his head steadily, working all of the neck muscles.
"Hell!"
The door opened and Nina Caldwell edged grace-fully into sight. "Did you say something, Steve?"
He turned suddenly, smiled sheepishly. "Talking to myself-occupational hazard," he explained.
"That's not good," Nina replied, straightening the papers on his desk. She stopped long enough to check the bottle of cough medicine. "I suggested the same medicine to Mildred," Nina started, still holding the bottle. "She just can't seem to shake her cold -she even went home early today."
"It's that time of the year," Steve shrugged, struggling to remain straightfaced.
"And how about you?" she asked, somewhat sternly. "Have you been taking your medicine regularly?"
He stretched himself, leaning back precariously in the swivel chair. "Yes, dear," he intoned without thinking.
She stopped suddenly, resumed movement, quickly concealing a twinge of embarrassment. "Steve?" she finally started. "I haven't had a chance to really thank you for picking me as your private secretary.
He leaned forward again. "Nonsense, Nina, you were the most capable girl out there." He hesitated, wondering if that sounded right for her ego. At any rate, he didn't want Nina to ever discover that Adele had forced her on him, especially now that he was so thoroughly pleased with the way she ran his office. Steve loosened. "I wanted you specifically to run my office," he beamed, instantly justifying the white lie to himself. She smiled her gratitude and Steve was awed: the whimpering, pathetic indentation of her face was now missing, and in its place . . . the mechanism of Steve's mind probed for the right word . . . a newness.
Steve pushed his chair back, on his feet he leaned across the table in further exploration.
"Nina? What the hell did you do to your hair?" He saw the quick flash of hurt in her eyes and he felt like biting his tongue and kicking himself in the rear simultaneously. "What I mean is-" he started to ex-plain. "I like it! It does something great for you! It makes you look kinda " Steve didn't use the word, except to himself-sexy.
"Do you really like it, Steve?" she asked cautiously. "It's a modern variation of the Cleopatra look."
"Cleopatra," Steve echoed, wetting his lips.
"Of course, I had my hair darkened," she confessed. "Someone told me about this exclusive Fifth Avenue salon-" she stopped abruptly. "Steve, you won't laugh if I tell you what else I did?"
"Laugh?" Steve shrilled. "Of course not."
"Well, I was so excited about my new position that I celebrated by splurging at that expensive beauty salon and an even more expensive dress shop. I bought an evening dress to match my new hairdo."
Steve excitedly moved in on her, innocently crowding her against the desk. "I oughta kick myself!" he tightened. "I'm so damned thoughtless. We'll have to step out and celebrate your new position!"
Nina beamed with an evident mixture of surprise and joy. "And your new position, too," she replied.
Steve snapped his fingers, close to the firm juttings of her rather smallish, but well-rounded breasts. "A double celebration!" be exclaimed, in the excitement taking her hands warmly in his.
"That would be fun!" she sighed, caught up in the high spirit of the moment.
Steve drew back slightly, still holding her hands as he thought of a pleasant, somewhat devilish scheme. Adele's party . . . and the surest way to defeat a triangle . . . make it a foursome.
"Nina," he beamed, "how would you like to show off that new evening dress tonight?"
"Tonight?" she questioned with evident shock. "Yeah, a swank party-see how the other half live."
"Oh, I couldn't," she said fearfully.
"Why not?" he questioned. "Do you have another date?" She nodded negatively. "Then it's settled. Meet me at nine-" he stopped abruptly, thinking of the gentlemanly thing to do. "No, I'll pick you up at your home-eight-thirty."
"But, Steve, I've never been to a party like that-"
He stopped her by gently placing his fingers to her lips. "And neither have I," he confessed. "We'll have a ball and they'll just adore you!"
"You-you really think so?"
"Yeah," he started dumbly, his fingers feeling the soft touch of her lips. He slowly backed his hand away and gave in to an impulse, darting her a quick, glancing kiss.
He sidestepped nervously. "Now get a move on. Eight-thirty-and be ready."
She smiled warmly. "Yes, boss."
He shook his head again as she turned to leave. Even Nina's smile was new.
Chapter 14
THE friends of friends had been at it-turning Adele's intimate little party into a sardine-packed free-for-all soiree.
Leaning over the terrace railing, Steve gestured broadly at the Manhattan panorama.
"How do you like it, Nina?"
"It's beautiful," Nina beamed. "It's all so different up here," she added, turning in to him. They were forced to speak over the roar of rattling voices and glasses.
Steve shifted his gaze from Manhattan in general to Nina in particular, his eyes running the length of her, thoroughly pleased by the streamlining effect of the low-cut sequined evening dress. The rhinestone necklace and matching earrings gave her a trim look. But most of all, he appreciated the subtle use of make-up, softly highlighting her natural beauty.
"You look wonderful, Nina."
"That's about the tenth time you've told me that this evening." She smiled warmly. "You'll have me believing it."
Adele's maid, Josie squeezed by with a tray of drinks and Steve snatched two of the cocktails.
"Evenin', Mister Turko!" Josie beamed. "Yo' lady friend is certainly pretty."
"Thank you, Josie," Steve replied, "you're looking pretty swell yourself in that new outfit."
Josie squirmed all of her mountainous bulk. `These starched uniforms Miss Adele makes me wear fo' parties are murder!" She leaned closer to Steve. "An' my girdle is about to burst at the seams!"
Steve smiled, was instantly aware that Josie was sent to him for a purpose. "You wouldn't happen to have a message for me? Would you, Josie?"
Josie smiled with evident relief. "You are wanted in the study, Mister Turko." Josie darted a quick glance at Nina, returned her dark banjo eyes to Steve. "I guess you know by who-to meet some very special guests."
Steve calmly handed Nina a cocktail, then gulped his down and replaced it with a fresh one from Josie's tray. "Josie, you just tell Adele that if she wants to see me I'm out on the terrace."
"I'll tell her," Josie shrilled. "But she ain't gonna like it!"
Josie shuffled away amidst the noisy drinkers and Steve returned to Nina with a smile, lifting his glass to her. "What shall we drink to?"
"Steve?" Nina started cautiously. "If you have business to attend to . . ." She hesitated. "I mean, I don't know what it's all about but"
"Stay as innocent as you are," Steve interrupted. "So let's drink to innocence."
Steve gulped most of his cocktail, a Manhattan, while Nina sipped hers.
Nina gestured discreetly toward the bulk of the gathering. "Steve, you don't like these people, do you?"
"No, not especially."
"Then why are we here?"
"To pretend that we do like them." He shrugged indifferently, "It's all part of the success formula. When you don't like someone-you smile them to death." He studied the frown on her face. "Now ditch that frown and enjoy the view."
"Steve, darling!" Adele shrilled, working her way through the boisterous crowd. "There you are!"
Steve nodded his greeting, gestured to Nina. "Nina Caldwell, Adele Crandon."
"Nina Caldwell?" Adele questioned, dwelling on the name as Nipa smiled her greeting. "Why does that name strike a bell for me?"
"She's in the movies," Steve straightf aced.
"No," Nina blushed. "I'm Steve's secretary."
"Well, how nice," Adele uttered in a manner which could have been taken either way.
Steve coughed his way out of the impasse. "I'm looking forward to meeting your husband, Adele," he emphasized decidedly for cynicism.
"Well, you'd better hurry," Adele informed him. "He's in the midst of getting stinko-drunk."
"Isn't that bad for his tennis game?" Steve sareasmed.
Adele tightened in obvious anger, showed quick restraint, smiling at Nina. "I'm really delighted that Steve brought you along, Nina. We must get better acquainted." She turned solemnly to Steve. "There's a few people I'd like to have you meet-"
"Don't tell me!" a voice boomed from the edge of the crowd and a tall, sandy-haired, boyish-looking man pushed his way up to Steve. Once in front of Steve, he stopped, swayed drunkenly as he tapped Steve on the shoulder. "Don't tell me," he repeated thickly, coughing intermittently. "I know who you are. You are Steve Turko-boy-sales wizard, self-made man extraordinary!"
"Tommy?" Adele hissed. "People are watching, you're making a spectacle of yourself." She turned apologetically to Nina. "My husband is celebrating -you'll excuse him."
"I am not celebrating," Tommy corrected, coughing loudly. "I'm drinking to kill this damned cold!"
"You can't be too careful this time of year," Nina offered. "Just about everybody seems to have a cold."
Tommy wrinkled his nose at Nina, checked his coughing. "How ya doing, doll-face?"
Steve moved in threateningly on Tommy. "Her name is not doll-face!"
"Well, it's a nice face," Tommy shot back drunkenly. "It's sweet'n pure-what all those damned poets keep writing about!"
"Steve," Adele cut in. "Tommy didn't mean any-thing-"
"Now, mommy," her drunken husband interrupted. "I'm a big boy now and I can take care of myself." Tommy smiled drunkenly at Steve. "Wait'll she gives you the full mother-complex. Just you wait until she starts picking out the suits you should wear -or is that already one of her selections you're wearing?"
"Tommy," Adele uttered forcefully. "Will you please stop making a damned ass of yourself!"
"But I like him!" Tommy explained, then smiled in Nina's direction. "Her, too. She's about the sweetest person I've seen here tonight among this motley mob of booze-chiselers." He wobbled closer to Nina, flinging his arm around her bare shoulder. "What-ever you do," he cautioned her, "don't buy any stock from these swindlers-don't invest a penny." He wrinkled his nose at her again. "Let's you an' I go chisel a free drink-"
Steve started into action, as though pulling out of a stupor. He jabbed his forefinger in Tommy's direction. "I'm gonna give you exactly three seconds to take your cruddy paws off that girl."
"Steve, please," Adele interjected. "Tommy doesn't mean any harm."
"Stay out of this, Adele," Steve warned.
Tommy suddenly glowed, made a production of untangling himself from somewhat frightened Nina, and bowed graciously to Steve. "A million-and-ahalf pardons, Mister Turko! I didn't know she was your girl." He looked slyly from Steve to Adele. "I'll say one thing for you, Steve-ol'boy-you've got guts!"
"Fella," Steve started menacingly. "Keep asking for it an' I'm gonna bruise the pretty-boy face of yours!"
"But I like you," Tommy drunkenly protested, reaching out as though to embrace Steve. "Is that any way to talk to a buddy?"
Steve sidestepped him. "Keep your hands to your-self."
Tommy turned to Adele with an evident look of hurt on his face. "He's very hostile-not a bit like the others. I liked your last boy-or was it the one be-fore him? Anyway, he wasn't so damned qualmy about it all-and a great drinking buddy!"
Adele nervously turned to Steve. "Why don't you take Nina over to the bar for a drink?"
Tommy drunkenly swayed his head in a negative manner. "Adele, you'll never break him in properly-"
Something snapped for Steve and he lunged out, grasping the lapels of Tommy's jacket, jamming him up close to him. "I'm gonna shut your damned mouth!"
"Steve-don't!" Adele pleaded.
"Let him go," Nina said softly.
Steve caught hold of his senses, instantly aware of the many onlookers. He released Tommy with a slight push away from him.
Tommy straightened his clothing with a smile. "Mister Turko, I still like you!"
"Oh, the hell-" Steve snarled.
"But you don't like me. And you wanna know why you don't like me?"
"Please, no more," Adele begged, then feigned a broad smile at the curious guests milling about. "Just a little discussion-plenty of drinks at the bar, every-body." She turned quickly, looping her arm through one of Tommy's. "Come on, you've had enough."
"No, wait," Steve cut in. "Let him finish his little spiel."
Tommy arrogantly jerked free of Adele. "Thank you, Steve," he swayed drunkenly. "Now you wanna know why you don't like me?"
"You've got the floor," Steve replied.
Tommy puffed his chest out, then exhaled, taking his time about it all. "Because I am a mirror. In me, you see yourself-and it's a pretty crummy picture, isn't it, Mister Turko?"
'Steve started to move away. "You're drunk."
"I'm a mirror!" Tommy vehemently insisted. "Mirror-mirror on the wall, who's the smartest of them all-' " He swayed precariously, then gripped himself soberly. "Adele-Adele-you idiot!"
"That's enough," Steve warned.
"I needed Adele for a reason," Tommy went right on. "Now you need her for another reason." He shrugged big-heartedly. "You can't blame a guy for trying to get ahead." He sideglanced Steve. "You've probably already discovered that she's capable of delivering whatever she promises. Only her asking price is pretty steep, isn't it? And what you'll discover too late is that whenever you give anyone your soul-it's a helluva job getting it back."
Steve reddened, avoided looking at Nina. The words stuck and his throat was cotton.
Tommy pulled himself up to his full height-easily two inches shorter than Steve, shoulders not nearly as broad. "I'll bet you'd like to hit me in the mouth-break the minor."
"You sonuvabitch," Steve tightlipped.
"Hey! Maybe you'd like me then like I like you!" Tommy beamed.
"Tommy, please," Adele begged.
Steve edged up to Tommy. "You'd like to see me make a damned fool of myself in front of all these people, wouldn't you?"
"On the contrary-" Tommy swayed. "As I said -I like you."
Steve tightened angrily. "If you say that once more-"
"Now, now, Steve, no need to wreck Adele's gorgeous party. There might be a number of potential investors among all these two-bit phonies." He smiled smugly. "I know a beaut of an empty lot behind the building where no one will bother us."
"You're drunk-" Steve shrugged, "I wouldn't take advantage of you while-"
"A fight always sobers me up," Tommy interrupted. "But I must warn you-I was inter-collegiate boxing champion three years running and I work out in a gym practically every day."
"You two stop this idiotic nonsense!" Adele angered.
Steve ignored Adele, eyes trained on Tommy. He had a bellyful of the ageless boy-wonder of the sports world, and his clenched fists ached to crack against that chin of his. "Let's go find this empty lot," he tightlipped.
Adele and Nina moved in simultaneously to pro-test, but Tommy eased them off with a smile and a wave of his hand. "You girls keep the party going." He turned to Steve. "Smile nice and chat amicably until we get past all' these phonies."
Steve smiled as they started through the wild group of males, females, and some of indeterminate gender all desperately clutching their drinks and cackling incessantly-but he didn't bother with the friendly chatter. Tommy, in contrast, made the trip to the exit greeting people and accepting their congratulations on his recent tennis victory. A number of Tommy's well-wishers were enough to make Steve vomit and he was happy to get out into the comparative solitude of the corridor. As Steve jabbed the "down" button for the elevator, he turned suddenly at the sight of Nina rushing toward him.
"I'm going with you, Steve."
"But I'll be right back--"
"Even if I have to carry him back," Tommy quipped. Tommy coughed loudly, then forced a smile. "Hey, maybe a good fight is what I need to break this cold?"
Steve darted a dirty look at Tommy, then turned to Nina. "Nina, I'll explain later-"
"Oh, let her come along," Tommy interrupted. "She'll hold our jackets. Besides, I always perform better with an audience."
Steve turned suddenly on Tommy, choked back the vulgarities lodged in his throat and controlled himself as the elevator portal opened. "Playboy," Steve hissed. "I'm gonna make mince meat out of that smug face of yours."
Tommy gallantly motioned for Nina to enter the elevator car first, then gestured for Steve to enter with a smile. "Mister Turko, we shall see about that."
Chapter 15
STEVE came to reluctantly; his every muscle and sinew aching, the base of his skull throbbing with pain. He stirred grudgingly, attempting to lift him-self off the asphalt pavement. It was too great a struggle. He started to work his fingers into motion, but his knuckles felt as though they had been run through a meat grinder. He attempted to pry his eyes open but one of them-which one he couldn't determine-was puffy, cogged up tightly. Managing the good eye open, he was instantly blinded by Tommy Crandon's wide smile.
"Oh, no." Steve grimaced, hazily recalling the brief but brutal scrap.
"You got in the way of a right uppercut, of buddy," Tommy apologized.
Steve stirred again rolling lethargically away from Tommy. He winced painfully at the one-eyed vision of Nina angrily hovering over him, their jackets draped over her arm.
"I hope you two are satisfied!" she reprimanded. "Now shake hands and be friends-and behave like ;grown men!"
Steve yanked himself up to a sitting position, wobbled up on his feet.
Tommy extended his right hand to Steve. "Your makes sense. Why shouldn't we be friends?"-Dumbfounded, Steve twisted his face up tightly, painfully. A nearby street lamp shed a meager ray of light over the vacant lot and he caught his first glimpse of Tommy's bluish, puffed-up face, a trickle of blood caked at his nostrils. Tommy waited patiently for the handshake.
Steve smiled. "I guess I didn't do too badly."
"You managed to sober me up a bit," Tommy re-plied. "And I still like you."
Steve conceded, clasping Tommy's hand sincerely.
"That's more like it." Nina sighed, handing them their jackets. "Now straighten up and let's get back to the party."
"Oh, no," Tommy protested. "You're a sweet, sensible girl, but you don't know Adele's parties like I do. Those gatherings bring out the worst in people -especially me."
"I can do without any more of that phoney gathering," Steve sided with Tommy.
"We'll have our own party!" Tommy announced. "Just the three of us. And very apropos of our little encounter here, I know just the bar! Artie's-a beautiful little dive on Eighth Avenue frequented by the boxing crowd.
Steve shrugged indifferently. "Why not? I'm game."
Tommy gentlemanly offered Nina his arm. "Nina, you are going to mix with some ,real people now."
Nina smiled, hooking one arm under Tommy's and the other under Steve's arm. She grasped Steve's hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze.
Steve sideglanced Tommy, admitting a new respect for him. And he was forced to make a quick evaluation of himself. Maybe he was more of a pretender than Adele's husband? Maybe, Steve thought, he was the phoney, and Tommy-whatever he was-was the genuine article.
Tommy's bright red Jaguar was parked at the b alongside the vacant lot and they crowded into the compact sports car, squeezing Nina tightly between them, Steve soon discovered that Tommy's driving was a lot like his right uppercuts. Fast.
Tommy was right about the colorful atmosphere of Artie's, the bar catering to the boxing crowd. The problem seemed to be that Tommy knew-and was well-known-in too many colorful little dives. After Artie's, there was Mauldin's for the baseball crowd, Jayson's for the basketball crowd, and a few others. But by that time, Steve had his sports all mixed up, and after a wild drinking spree with-and to-each sport, he finally realized that Tommy was a tough boy to keep up with.
Piling out of one dive in the early hours of the morning, Nina wisely maneuvered Steve and Tommy into a taxi, playfully informing Tommy that his sports car was exhausted and fast asleep. Steve drunkenly assumed that it was about time he suggested a swell dive. A little joint catering to salesmen-one in particular, and he invited them up to his apartment.
The remainder of the cab ride was hazy, with the exception of some very off-key harmonizing on I only want a buddy not a sweetheart.
Steve came awake reluctantly; his brain numb, his throat cotton-dry. One of his eyes was still puffy from the fight, and he managed the good one open. He blinked the single eye against the sunlight streaming through the open windows of his apartment.
Steve rolled lethargically on his side and through his one good eye saw Tommy Crandon blissfully asleep.
"Oh, no," Steve groaned, forcing himself up to a .sitting position. Steve's trousers and shirt-like Tommy's-looked more like battle-gear.
Steve smelled the aroma of coffee perking, and he managed to get on his feet.
"Good morning, Steve," Nina beamed, appearing as fresh and attractive as she did at the start of the previous evening. The only change seemed to be the apron she wore over her expensive evening dress. "You'd better wake up your buddy. It's past noon."
"Oh, no," Steve wailed, holding his head.
"It's Saturday," Nina shrugged. "The office is closed."
Steve moved in on Nina. "You should've gone home last night. What will your parents think?"
"I called them and explained what happened," she nonchalantly replied.
"Explained what?" Steve shrilled. "That you spent the night with two drunken, brawling bums?"
"It was fairly comfortable on the couch," Nina replied, gesturing toward the short divan.
"But what will your parents think?"
"They do not happen to have evil minds," she interrupted.
"Well, I'm taking you home and apologizing to them. And I guess I owe you an apology, too, for taking you to that party."
"No, Steve, I'm glad you did take me."
Steve hesitated. "Well, I guess you've got just about the whole rotten picture by now, don't you, Nina?"
"You'll grow with experience, Steve. And that's what's really important."
"I'm glad you think so," he mumbled, holding his throbbing head.
"I know so." She smiled with determination. "You'd better have some juice and coffee, and wake up Tommy."
The phone started to ring and Steve turned, but only stared at the instrument. "Something tells me I'd better not answer it," Steve mumbled to Nina, certain it was Adele raging with fury.
Tommy suddenly jumped up to a sitting position, poised his fists for action, evidently jarred from his ,slumber by the constant ringing. "C'mon!" he roared. The ringing of the phone ceased and Tommy turned slowly to Steve and Nina, smiled and darted them a : generous wave of his hand. "I guess we had a real bash last night, huh?"
Steve twisted his face. "You could call it that, old buddy."
Tommy yawned, stretched vigorously and jumped quickly onto his feet. "And dear Nina played nurse-maid to us?" he asked Steve.
"That's right," Steve replied. "She couldn't have gotten much rest on that uncomfortable couch." Tommy frowned. "While you and I shared the bed?"
"I'll take her home now and apologize to her parents."
"Steve, it's not necessary-" Nina started to protest.
"We'll just have to do the right thing," Tommy cut in. "Steve, one of us is duty-bound to marry the girl within forty-eight hours!" Playacting, he shrugged. "Unfortunately, I'm legally married at the present time-"
Nina tightened her face to reprimand Tommy.
"Breakfast is ready any time you two are. You both look like you could stand a shower and a shave."
"I could stand a new head," Steve moaned.
"I feel just great!" Tommy beamed.
Nina studied Tommy. "Your cold seems to have cleared. You're not coughing and your voice isn't raspy."
"I feel great because last night was a night of decision for me. And being with the two of you helped me reach that decision."
"Steve, I know I can confide in you"
"You can-you know you can."
"Adele has promised to divorce me right after this new stock issue is straightened out. Then I won't have to keep my real romance under wraps." Tommy suddenly glowed. "Steve, this girl is absolutely the greatest! She's had a pretty rough go of life-but she's got what it takes. She's a real person!"
"Then you intend to marry her?" Steve asked.
"Of course. I've kept it a secret because I knew Adele would louse it up for me."
"All the luck in the world, Tommy."
"Thanks, Steve." Tommy hesitated, moved nervously about. "Hell, Steve, I know I can trust you-"
"You can-you know you can."
"Well, I'm sure you know her, she's with the company. Mildred Whitney."
Fortunately, with his hangover, Steve was seated. "Mildred Whitney?"
"You do know her?"
"Yes . . . yes . . ." Steve started dumbly. "Quite well." Prying himself loose from the initial shock, a chain of events linked together for Steve and he suppressed his laughter.
If Tommy Crandon only knew that Mildred was-in addition to a number of other things-a dangerous virus-bug carrier! Those busy little cold-bugs . . . from himself to Mildred to Tommy.
It crystalized clearly for Steve and it wasn't a laughing matter anyway. He stared blankly at Tommy, busy with his arm and neck exercises.
Tommy Crandon . . . Mildred Whitney . his brain reviewed.
He thought of Tommy-oh, you poor sap.
And then he thought of Mildred-that conniving snake-bitch!
"You're going on the wagon?" Steve asked.
"A fate much worse," Tommy shot back. "I'm going to work for a living!"
"Believe me," Steve deadpanned, "it's not what it's cracked up to be."
"Well, I'm giving up tennis-before tennis gives me up. I'll let you in on a secret-I'm not as young as I look and my game is slowing up." Tommy limbered up his muscles in a certain pattern, as though by rote. "And, Steve, I'm asking you for a job?"
"What?"
"Oh, I know I could start out with some sort of phoney position-but first I want to learn to sell. I'll start right at the bottom as a sales trainee in your new setup."
"You're out of your mind-" Steve started. "No, he isn't," Nina put in.
Steve plopped himself into an easy chair. "After last night-I might be unemployed myself!"
Tommy smiled. "If I know Adele, you've still got a job. She respects you-because she can't push you around. And I'm starting to assert myself, too. You know, Adele used most of my friends to finance the Polar Bear Company." Tommy hesitated, then squared with Steve. "I only own a few hundred shares of stock myself-but I could take over enough proxy votes to make Adele really sweat for control."
Steve perked up to Tommy's words. "You seem to know the score, Tommy."
"I know what's going on down at the office," he uttered with an affirmative sway of his head. "I had been thinking of swinging for a share of control of the company, but now I realize that I need a lot of experience first."
While Nina was busy setting the breakfast table, Steve hesitated, thinking cautiously about this area of conversation. "You've got the right idea," was all Steve replied.
Chapter 16
STEVE approached the Polar Bear offices with one big question on his mind: How do you tell your "pal" that the woman he's madly in love with is a two-timing whore?
Steve hesitated at the main entrance and tiredly shrugged. He was tired because he had been up most of the night mulling over the Tommy Crandon-Mildred Whitney tangle. "That woman," he muttered. Steve could blink at most anyone playing both ends against the middle-but this bitch really believed in hedging all her bets.
Steve entered the office and was instantly aware that this wasn't a routine Monday morning. At nine-forty-five the entire sales crew was loitering about the outer office area; most of them were milling thickly about the office girls, the chatter lively and the pawing obvious.
Steve smiled widely. Sheldon was evidently too busy grasping at every possible scheme for control of the company to bother with his pet ritual-the Mon-day morning sales meeting.
"Hey, Steve!" Phil Stanzer, one of the older sales-men, called out. "You're a big wheel now, you can tell us whether we have to wait around or not for Sheldon."
"Where's Mildred?" Steve asked.
"She's not in yet, either," a younger salesman called out, then snickered. "I wonder-wonder why?"
A howl of laughter went up and Steve motioned for everyone to keep the noise down. Steve didn't bother to inquire whether or not Dan Moore was in. The old boy rarely ever made an appearance before eleven.
"Hey, Steve," another salesman called out. "Why don't you hold the sales meeting? You oughta know Sheldon's lines by heart!"
Steve waited for the laughter and shouts of approval to subside. "Boys, when my sales crew finally gets into action, I'm holding sales meetings on Friday afternoons-at Matty's Bar!" Steve motioned for the men to restrain their cheering. "And that's not all-the man with the lowest weekly sales gross gets stuck for the entire tab!"
Nina worked her way through the clutter of idle employees, seeking Steve's attention. Steve gestured that he'd be with her momentarily, then faced the salescrew. "Okay, men, I'll be responsible. No sales meeting this morning. So take off and make money." Steve moved quickly through the happy salesmen making their mass exodus, walking alongside Nina to his office. "What's up, Nina?" He opened the door of his private office, entered behind Nina. "Well, why the gloom, Nina? We've still got our jobs in this mad-house; I told you I spoke to Adele on the phone and all was forgiven."
"Dolly Conway's mother called first thing this morning," Nina started. "She was raving like a mad-woman about some man in the office getting Dolly in trouble. Dolly hasn't been home all weekend-"
"Dolly's big enough to take care of herself," Steve cut in.
"Big enough-yes," Nina shot back. "But not old enough, she's a minor-under twenty-one."
Steve stopped short, his legs went rubbery as the thought of underaged Dolly triggered Dan Moore's name into focus. Nina watched him. "Steve, every-body around the office knows that Mister Moore has been fooling around with Dolly."
"Get me Dolly," Steve ordered, "I think she works up in accounting. I'll have a long talk with her."
"Steve, I'm trying to tell you, Dolly didn't show up for work this morning-and Mister Moore hasn't been at his hotel all weekend."
"Oh, no!" Steve sagged.
"And that's not all," Nina went on. "Dolly's mother threatened to call the police."
"We've got to keep this quiet."
"Steve, I've got one more low blow for you. When Mrs. Conway called she demanded to talk to `the boss.' Sheldon came in at nine sharp, right behind me, and we both happened to be at the switchboard. Lucy was a little late, so I took the call-but . . ."
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes," Nina shrugged. "Sheldon smelled some-thing and took the call away from me. He sweet-talked Mrs. Conway and promised he'd take care of everything if she'd hold off calling the police."
"Don't tell me anymore," Steve sickened, "it'll only get worse."
"That's right, Steve. The moment Sheldon hung up, he got Mister Moore's hotel number and questioned the desk clerk. The more questions he'd ask-the more he smiled. Then Sheldon lit up like a Christmas tree and dashed right out of the office."
"Yeah," Steve started slowly. "Right over to black-mail Adele."
Nina looked confused. "Exactly what's going on around here?"
"That's a good question, Nina, but I know one thing-I'm clearing out of this nuthouse! I've got a bellyful! The hell with the title-the hell with being an executive! I'll get a job somewhere."
Nina squared-off with Steve. "If you do that, you'll never amount to anything, Steve."
He stared at her, dumbfounded. "You're telling me it's okay to play dirty in the mud?"
"No, Steve, it isn't-but a more important issue is at stake."
"I just don't get you, Nina . . ."
"Steve, my father believed in giving his children a free hand in making their decisions. He'd let us have our way, but whenever we ran into unpleasant snags, you know what he'd say? `You made your own bed-now sleep in it.' So maybe it's dirty, and maybe that's how you'll have to play it, too, but the most important thing is to see it through." She jabbed a fore-finger close to his face. "Next time you'll start off with an important bit of knowledge: sex and business just don't mix."
"Nina, you never cease to amaze me." He cupped her chin, deciding to flick her a gentle, fleeting kiss, but he enjoyed the smooth clinging effect of her lips and he lingered at it, pulled back slowly, eyes fully on her.
"Steve," she said smiling. "If you keep doing that -I'll probably ask for a raise."
Steve smiled dumbly, unable to muster words. He gently gripped her arms, held her out for inspection. She passed with flying colors. The spiked heels accentuated the "long look" of her legs, the tailored beige suit brought a graceful symmetry to the flow of her body and a pert thrust to her bosom.
"Is something wrong?" Nina asked.
He shook his head as he slowly but firmly brought her to him, the contour of her blending smoothly against him. He eased his hands along the satin-sleek sides; his legs were rubbery from the contact of her thighs. He kissed her.
The ringing of the phone jarred him from his ecstasy. Nina, as though frightened, pulled back, breaking the magic.
"The phone . . ." she started dumbly.
"I don't hear a thing," he whitelied, still holding her arms.
Nina hesitated, then pulled completely away from him on the fourth or fifth ring and snatched the receiver, forcing a business-like greeting. She extended the receiver to Steve. "It's Mrs. Crandon."
Steve took the receiver.
"Steve?" Adele started immediately over the wire. "I've decided against branching out into the Home Bar business at this time. I-I seriously doubt if we'd be able to raise the necessary capital."
"Adele," Steve uttered into the mouthpiece. "Say whatever you have to say."
"I've decided that I won't need you in an executive capacity after all-since we're not expanding-and I doubt that you'd care to go back to the sales crew. I'll mail you six months termination pay."
It didn't take Steve long to add it up. Sheldon had reached Adele, threatening to cause trouble for Dan Moore. Suddenly Steve's faith was restored; he felt warm all over, and a sincere compassion for Adele Crandon.
"Steve? Are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm still here, Adele, and I never felt greater in my life! Adele, you're not so tough after all. You're a phoney, but a wonderful phoney with a real heart! Sheldon was there, wasn't he, Adele? But you could've tossed Moore to the wolves-no skin off our gorgeous back-so why didn't you do it and tell Sheldon to go to hell?"
"Steve," her voice came faintly over the line. Then Steve swallowed hard at the muffled sound of sobbing. He might have been all of twenty city blocks away from Adele, but he was certain of one thing. Adele's tears were real.
"Adele-I'll be right over-"
"That old rascal," Adele started tearfully. "Dan can't help himself, Steve, you must understand that. He made me so happy once. He-he's not a monster; he'll do well by that girl."
"Adele-just sit tight-I'll do whatever I can."
"After I fired you?"
"Must've been a bad connection," Steve shot back. "I didn't hear a word of it. Now stay put and I'll get to you as soon as I can. And don't worry-I hap-pen to like old Dan, too."
"What's going on?" Nina asked, holding a stack of mail.
"I don't know," he barked, heading for his door. "But I've got to do something-and fast!"
"Steve, how about your mail?"
"It can wait."
Nina suddenly pushed forth a large official-looking envelope. "Steve, this is addressed to you. Personal."
"I said it can wait-"
"It's from Mister Moore."
Steve stopped short, retreated to Nina, eagerly took the letter and tore the seal open. A penned note was stapled to a number of documents.
"Well?" Nina started, after she had allowed him ample time to read the letter. "What does it say?"
Steve stared vacantly, slowly pulled himself together. "I'll be damned." He limply handed the letter Nina. "You read it to me-maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me."
Nina tensed and began to read:
Dear Steve, '
By the time you receive this I shall be honey-mooning on a dude ranch somewhere in Arizona with my beloved bride, Dolly.
First off, I shall be forever in your debt if you will contact Dolly's mother and assure her that Dolly is happy with me and that I will take good care of her. Enclosed is a ten thousand dollar trust fund I have set up for my precious Dolly. (Completely paid-up and naming Dolly's mother as legal guardian of the money). I have no control over the fund and regardless of what may take place in the future-Dolly is to receive this money on her twenty-fifth birthday.
Steve, I hold nine thousand shares of stock in the company and I have transferred my proxy votes from Adele to you. Also, as president of the firm, I took the liberty of appointing you executive vice-president. In short, you are now officially acting-president of the firm with complete executive powers during my absence. Don't worry, I've thought of everything and the attached documents cover every possible loophole-you are the boss until I return or until the Board of Directors calls a meeting to elect a new president. But here's the gimmick: a meeting cannot be held without the consent of the president or acting-president.
Steve, I was a dummy-president-I want you to be a real leader. Adele got too sure of herself, setting me up as a mere figurehead and fall-guy. She has enough on me-certain frivolous escapades of mine-to cause me much grief and possible embarrassment with the law. But some-how, I'm certain she won't wreak revenge on me. In any event, I want you to do what's right for the company, and especially what's right for Adele. I'm certain you won't turn against her. I'm hoping that you'll make an honest woman of her. Until my lovely bride and I return-My very best wishes, Daniel Moore."
Steve whistled loudly. "One minute I'm out on my bare can-the next minute I'm running the show. Now I know why big wheels get ulcers."
"What are you going to do?" Nina asked.
"Do?" Steve echoed. "Exactly what Moore told me to do."
The door opened, and Sheldon barged in, not bothering to knock. He seemed out of breath, still wearing his hat and coat. "Turko, who in the hell gave you the right to dismiss the boys from a meeting?"
Steve calmly held up the documents. "These nasty little papers."
Sheldon halted, caught his breath. "I hear you're resigning, Steve." Then pointedly asked. "When are you leaving?"
"First of all," Steve tightened, "take your hat off." He glanced to Nina. "You are in the presence of a lady." Sheldon appeared dumbfounded. "Or haven't you ever employed a private secretary who was also a lady?"
Sheldon dumbly removed his hat. "What's the matter with you?"
"I'm tasting real power, Sheldon-and it's delicious!"
Sheldon tensed himself. "Steve-you're through!"
"As third banana," Steve quickly cut in.
"Steve's acting-president in Moore's absence!" Nina angrily flared up at Sheldon. "And he's nobody's stooge!"
Sheldon paled. "What?"
Steve smiled, waving the documents at Sheldon. "It took a little doing," Steve shrugged.
"But Adele couldn't do that-"
"No, Sheldon, Moore did it. He's the president, re-member?" Steve glanced over to Nina. "That's all for now, Nina?" He gave her a special smile. "I might use a few words with Mister Sheldon that would make you cringe."
Nina returned the smile knowingly and exited.
Sheldon started out of his stupor. "You can't possibly stay in power for long. The Board of Di-rectors-"
Again, Steve moved in to complete a statement for Sheldon. "Cannot meet without my consent."
Steve glared at Sheldon, decided that he'd had enough of him for the day. Words crowded his throat, eager to tell him off, maybe even fire him. Steve shrugged, knowing it wouldn't make sense to fire Sheldon while he might possibly swing enough votes to eventually take over control. Steve reminded him-self that he'd be in the driver's seat for a damned short time and that he'd better make every second count. And the only way he could accomplish that was to crawl down on all fours to Sheldon's level. Steve forced a smile, even though it pained him, ready to play the game.
"Sheldon, you've got something I need-I've got something you need. Don't you think a merger is in order?"
"You'd cut out Adele?"
"Just you and me-and your girl, Mildred," Steve sarcasmed.
"I'm getting a bit tired of her," Sheldon sighed. "Just you and me." He hesitated, eyes averted. "But then again, maybe I don't really need you, Steve."
"But maybe you do," Steve shot back. "You're still a little short to grab control, aren't you, Sheldon?" Sheldon's uneasiness served as Steve's reply. "Moore gave me a proxy for his nine thousand shares of stock." He watched Sheldon gape in shock. "And Moore's on his honeymoon with his child-bride. No telling when he'll be back."
Sheldon nodded weakly. "Maybe we had better talk ..."
Steve smiled as Sheldon eagerly seated himself. That's right, you greedybastard, Steve thought, we'll talk long enough for me to find out exactly where d how to yank out your crooked guts!
Chapter 17
STEVE answered the bell, opening the door of his apartment widely to Mildred Whitney.
"You were so secretive." Mildred started. "I rushed right over."
"Come in, Mildred," Steve beamed, and to him-self he thought, your days are numbered, you little bitch.
Mildred moved into the apartment cautiously. "You made a deal with Sheldon today, didn't you, Steve?"
Steve raised his arms, passed his hands along the thick, shoulder fur of her coat-mink, he presumed, assuming how she had earned the coat. "Only to get Sheldon to uncover his hand. And I don't need him, Mildred-not if I can depend on you." He eased her out of the coat, tossed it over the back of a chair. "Stick with me, Mildred, and you'll have furs that will make that one look like an old dust rag."
Mildred thickened a throaty sigh, moving in on Steve. She wet her lips prettily, inches away from Steve's. "You know you can depend on me, Steve."
Steve sucked in his breath; Mildred's thighs pressed in and her breasts flattened against him.
"Mildred, I know how to get a pile of necessary proxy votes in a hurry. Only I'll need your help."
"Who is he?" she shot back knowingly.
"A real patsy-Adele's husband-the tennis star." Steve studied her, but she expertly concealed any surprise. "Quite a few stockholders are his friends and would go along with him."
"And you want me to go to work on Tommy?"
Steve struggled to keep a straightface. Mildred had mentioned him by his first name before he had used it. He decided to get right at it. "I can introduce Tommy to you-"
"That won't be necessary," she interrupted, giving herself slightly away for the first time.
"Do you know Tommy," Steve asked with faked nonchalance.
"I-I met him once-at a party," she stammered. Just that once-but he flirted with me."
"Then he ought to be a pushover for you," Steve shrugged, easing slightly away from her.
"Before we go much further," she started deliberately, "what's in it for me? Maybe we ought to have a little business discussion."
Steve moved fast, tightening his grip on her, his hands plying her shoulders. He brought his lips down hard on hers, prodded but met the barrier of her teeth. He worked his hands down her back and, after he had massaged the high rise of her buttocks, he heard a whimper deep in her throat, her mouth opened and her tongue hungrily twined his.
"Steve," she ,.groaned, "we really should settle a few matters."
"Mildred," he started, tenderly caressing her face and overacting his bit. "I've been doing flips over you -ever since that morning you stepped out of my shower with that towel hugging your gorgeous frame."
"But you've been avoiding me, Steve, ever since that morning."
Steve started his hands trembling at her chin. Yeah-you scared me-knowing what you do to me." Steve lowered his eyes, went for broke. "The way I feel about you . . ."
"Steve darling," Mildred blowed, her over-confidence showing. "Is this romance?"
"I've been living with a vision, Mildred,) all these days. I look-and I see you standing there with only that towel draped about you. And then I see myself moving slowly to you . . . slowly unwinding the towel-and taking its place."
"Steve," she sighed, playfully circling her forefinger about his chin. "I haven't had my dinner yet and I'm famished. It must be after eight. Why don't we step out and have a few drinks, a nice quiet dinner, some very-binding conversation-and then we'll scoot right back here for the night?"
"Mildred, baby, you've got me so I can't even think straight. Why don't you be real nice to me?"
"How?"
"Make that vision real again. Come out of that bathroom draped in nothing but a towel."
"Now?" she shrilled, hands on hips. "Of all the screwy-"
"Please, baby," Steve groveled. "I want to see you standing there by my bed . . . and then ..."
"I've heard of guys with real nutty fetishes," she groaned, "but this is the living end!"
"Please, Mildred, I'll do anything for you ..."
Mildred suddenly perked up. "Well, if that's how you like it . . ." She started slowly for the bathroom. Before closing the door she glanced back at Steve. "I'll be right with you. But if you don't mind-I'll skip the shower. I'm just getting over that damned cold you gave me the last time."
Steve relaxed, smiling widely to himself as she slammed the bathroom door closed behind her.
"Mildred, you little snake," he whispered to him-self. "This time you're gonna catch something a lot worse than a cold."
Steve checked the clock on the mantel: 8:05 P.M. He was right on schedule. He thought instantly of his secretary, Nina, hoping she hadn't run into any snags in her part of the operation. Steve tiptoed to the door, opened it quietly and scattered a few of his business calling cards in the hallway-the signal for Nina to bring on her participant in the upcoming drama. Steve held his breath as he eased the door closed, but he didn't bother to lock it. He sidled back to his old position by the bed and breathed easier. He stared directly ahead at the closed bathroom door, waiting impatiently. "C'mon, Mildred," he silently mouthed. "I'm ready any time you are."
He shot a quick glance at the clock, the perspiration starting at his forehead. Everything had been planned carefully with Nina, right to the minute, and time was starting to run against him. "Mildred?" he called out. "Baby, I'm waiting."
The bathroom door opened and Mildred swiveled out into the room, the towel tightened at the side of her bosom and dangling about the flow of her sleek midsection.
"I still say this is nutty." She shrugged.
Steve swallowed hard, felt his legs go rubbery. Just one look at her told Steve why she could dangle Sheldon on one little finger and Tommy Crandon on an-other little finger aid still be able to cope with any number of promising newcomers.
"Steve? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Steve felt the fire kindling in him and he knew why he was looking at her like that. He also knew that if he didn't cool it quickly with self-imposed control, his little plan would soon go astray and she'd have him jumping through hoops with each wanton sway of her supple body.
Steve pulled himself together, ready to fake it the way. He grinned. "That towel of mine never it so good."
She licked her red lips, her hands massaging the flat of her stomach. "Anything that towel can do-you ought to be able to do better, Steve."
Steve bit hard on his lower lip. "Come here, Mildred."
She made the most of the short walk, grinding out each of the seven or eight steps, her hips swaying, the towel straining over the rich abundance cif her breasts. She made a production out of halting dangerously close to him, taking his hands in hers and slowly flicking a kiss to each fingertip.
Steve freed his hands and hooked them into the top of the towel at the crest of her bosom. He hesitated, the throbbing heat of the milkwhite lushness scorching his hands.
"Love me," she whispered, her gaze going boldly to the bed. "Love me like the last time-with all of you.
She attempted to pull him down on the bed. Steve angered and tore the towel away from her nudity and she was instantly at him, her claw-like nails digging deeply into his back. Steve countered, his hands grasping and locking her hips. He mustered all his strength and hurled her onto the bed in a sitting position, her back flush to the wall. He hovered over her, his breath coming in jagged spurts.
"Oh, Steve, darling," she wailed, attempting to snake down on the bed, taking him along with her.
Steve sadistically smashed his palms against her breasts, heard the thud of her back against the wall. He glared down at her, the writhing satin-sleekness of her flesh goading him, his hands tingling to touch all of her, his lips blistering to taste.
Mildred clawed at his clothing. "Don't make me wait, Steve. I need you-desperately!" She impatiently started to unbutton his shirt. "Just the two of us, Steve-always!"
"Yeah, baby," he said aloud, his hands quick to strain the unbuttoning of his shirt. And to himself he muttered, You bitch!
"Steve, darling," she pleaded, her fingers again eagerly fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
Steve suddenly twisted his head toward the clock on the mantel, glanced quickly to the door, and a panic nudged him. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer against this love-starved wildcat.
"Steve?" she questioned. "You're acting so strangely. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," he lied. "Nothing at all."
Steve stared down at Mildred, the way she tugged at his shirt, her eyes wantonly pleading for a quick fulfillment. Steve suddenly applied his hands to her breasts, his thumbs scraped the nipples until she winced in pain.
"You're hurting me, Steve!"
"I don't want to hurt you," he soothed falsely. "I'd rather play a delightful little Dolly game with you."
Mildred looked up at him, perplexed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's really fun," he grinned, bringing her hands down. Mildred did not turn out to be as co-operative as Dolly had been and Steve grabbed her.
Mildred looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and revulsion. "What the hell do you think I am?" she asked angrily.
Steve smiled. "Mildred, baby," he mocked, "we both know damned well what you are! Now be a good girl and play the Dolly-game."
Mildred attempted to extricate herself. "Let go of me, I'm leaving!"
"But it's rude to leave before the game's over," Steve grinned.
"You rotten sonuvabitch!" Mildred screeched.
A cruelty new to Steve dominated him, goading him with sudden erotic lust, and he angrily pinned her arms beneath his knees. Immune to her pathetic squealing, his hands caught the hair at her neck and forced her face up toward him.
Mildred whimpered and twisted, attempting to escape the pressures of his strong hands.
Mildred grew suddenly still and her eyes flared up at Steve. "You bastard," she whined.
Steve suffered a moment of shame and a sanity re-turned to him. He was about to release her when he sensed her concession. The fire in him mounted and he clenched his teeth.
Exhausted, Mildred rolled away from Steve, caught at her ragged breath and fixed him with icy glare. "You bastard," she hissed. "Now are you satisfied?"
Steve eased himself off the bed. He heard the foot-steps outside his door and he breathed easier. He offered Mildred an apologetic smile. "Not quite. Now I just want to look at you."
"Look at me?" Mildred dumbfounded.
"Yeah," Steve gloated. "To see what a snake really looks like."
Tommy Crandon burst through the doorway and stopped short, eyes bulging at the cringing nude form of Mildred. "What the hell," Tommy gasped.
"You bastard!" Mildred spit out at Steve, lunging for the towel to cover herself.
Steve backhanded her high across the face, forcing her back onto the bed. "What's the rush?" he scowled down at Mildred. "I'm sure Tommy has seen you before in your favorite business suit."
Steve fought back an urge to hit her again. He started to turn to Tommy when the unexpected happened, something definitely not in his well-laid plans.
Tommy unleashed a solid right to Steve's jaw. Steve felt his knees buckle, his brain go numb, and he hit the floor.
Chapter 18
STEVE shuddered as the cold water hit his face and trickled down his neck. He let out a low wailing sound as he pried his eyes open. Tommy, water pitcher in hand, was smiling down at him.
"Sorry, Steve-old-buddy. I got excited there for a moment-"
"Yeah, one moment too long for me." Steve rubbed his bruised chin.
"It didn't take me long to figure it out," Tommy monotoned. "But why didn't you just tell me about her?"
Steve steadied himself on his elbows, managed it to a sitting position on the rug. "Would you have believed me?"
"No." Tommy smiled. "No wonder Nina was acting so screwy trying to get me to come here." He looked about. "Where is Nina? She was right behind me-"
"My clothes!" Mildred screeched, charging out of the bathroom. "My clothes are gone! Every last stitch!"
Steve smiled devilishly, jabbing a finger demonstratively at the towel twirled about her. "You've still got your towel, Mildred."
Mildred frantically searched about the room. "And my coat-where's my mink?"
"Relax, Mildred," Steve swayed, enjoying him-self. "Your pretty things are being aired out. They'll be returned to you any minute now by special messenger."
"What are you talking about?" Mildred angrily hissed. "I'll get even with you yet, Steve Turko-just you see!"
"Mildred-baby," Steve sarcasmed. "I was thinking of writing a nice letter of recommendation to your next employer." He eyed her lewdly. "Listing all your better points."
"You bastard!" Mildred screeched.
Tommy let out a gush of air. "And I was leaving Adele to get hooked up with this bitch," he started incredulously. He grasped Steve's hand, helped him onto his feet.
Steve brushed off his trousers. "I couldn't let that happen to a buddy-now could I?"
Tommy squared with Steve. "Old buddy-just to set you straight-while I'm still married to Adele I don't want to see you come crawling around."
Steve rubbed his still-aching jaw. "You made your point."
"What the hell's going on around here?" Mildred fumed. "I want my clothes-before I catch cold again!" The doorbell rang and Mildred cringed. "Who's that?"
Steve smiled widely. "A very special guest. Take three guesses, Mildred-the first two don't count."
Mildred swayed her head negatively, grasping at the towel rimming the crest of her bosom. Steve started for the door and Mildred bolted instantly into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind her.
Steve opened the door as the ringing continued. He renewed his smile. "Step right in, Mister Sheldon."
Sheldon moved dumbly into the room, Mildred's mink coat, dress and frilly undergarments conspicuously draped over his right arm. "What's this all about?" he asked in a stupor. "Your secretary just dumped these in my lap. What the hell have you done to Mildred?"
Steve shrugged with feigned innocence. "Nothing much; we just put your girl Mildred out of commission." Steve gestured broadly to Tommy Crandon. "Oh, by the way, Sheldon, have you ever met Tommy Crandon?"
"What the hell-" Sheldon snarled.
Steve moved in on Sheldon. "You put Mildred onto Tommy, didn't you, Sheldon? Well, it just backfired and she won't be able to deliver the goods. Chances are she might've cut your throat, anyway."
"Steve?" Sheldon started dumbly. "We've got a deal-"
"We had a deal," Steve stressed. "I'm particular about the company I keep. My advice to you is to resign and sell whatever Polar Bear stock you're holding."
"Like hell"
"Sheldon-" Steve cut in sharply. "So far I've been gentleman enough to keep your wife out of this. She thinks the money hef family left her is invested elsewhere-doesn't she, Sheldon? That's why you can't leave her." Steve glared at Sheldon. "Don't force me to play it any dirtier than I have to."
"Shall I have Adele write a flowery letter of recommendation to your next unsuspecting employer?" Steve asked pointedly.
"She needn't bother," Sheldon shrugged, turning to exit.
"Mildred's clothes-" Steve reminded Sheldon. "Your girl's in the bathroom, maybe you'd like to help her dress?"
Sheldon stopped short, hesitated briefly. He over-acted the bit of dropping Mildred's garments to the floor. "Mildred's pretty good at fast changes-she's had plenty of experience." Sheldon stooped to pick up the mink coat. He held his gaze on it momentarily, shrugged and dropped it back to the floor. "What the hell-" Sheldon smiled. "Let her keep the mink-I got my money's worth out of it."
Sheldon turned to exit, almost collided with Nina, breathlessly entering. Sheldon backglanced Nina thoroughly, a pleased smile on his face, until he caught a scowl from Steve. Sheldon waved apologetically and darted down the stairway.
Nina hooked her hands on her hips, squared with Steve. "Now that I've done everything exactly as you told me to-would you mind telling me what this is really all about?"
Steve studied her, finally smiled. "No," he said. "I'd rather keep you the way you are."
Mildred cracked the bathroom door open, jammed her head through the narrow opening. "My clothes! Will someone please give me my clothes!"
Steve started to gather Mildred's underthings, Nina restrained him. "If you don't mind, Steve, I'd better do that."
Steve backed off willingly and let Nina gather up Mildred's garments. Steve watched Nina take the bundle and nonchalantly flip it into the bathroom at Mildred. Amused, Steve turned to Tommy.
"Tommy, I want you to deliver a message to Adele. The company still belongs to her. I'm not experienced enough to be a top level executive-but I think I'd do a great job as a sales manager. Whether or not she wants me on a strictly business basis-"
"Is something you'll have to iron out with Adele," Tommy concluded. "I'll see you, of buddy." On his way out, Tommy stopped short near Nina. "Don't forget our date, Nina."
Nina nodded that she wouldn't and Tommy exited. Steve moved in on Nina. "What's this about a date with Tommy?" he asked suspiciously.
"He's promised to give me tennis lessons," Nina beamed. "Isn't that wonderful?"
"We'll see," Steve muttered.
Mildred charged out of the bathroom; dressed haphazardly, her hairdo a shamble. In her right hand, she held onto the bathtowel. "You men are all alike!" she hissed. "Well, you'll pay-"
"No," Steve corrected. "Some other guy will pay-you'll take some other poor sap for a ride soon enough." He smiled widely. "Good-bye, Mildred, it's been fun."
Mildred reddened, flung the bathtowel at Steve and charged out of the apartment.
Nina threw Steve a doubting glance. "Steve, what did you mean by `It's been fun?' "
But Steve never heard Nina. Holding the bath-towel, his concentration fully on Nina, he was too deeply engrossed in the pleasant possibility.