She wondered if the happiness which enfused her body would ever cease. Uninhibited joy seemed to be welling up inside her so strong it was beyond containment. Her very heart reached out in a great rush as though it would break free from her body and join his in a moment of spontaneous, uncontrolled ecstasy. Waves of excitement spread through her that she prayed it might last forever. She could sense his breathing and she was faint with excitement.
Constantly on the verge of discovery 1
A Conquest 2
And yet another 3
Still in pursuit 4
An oriental love 5
Jake was ready to pay for everything 6
He possessed her completely 7
A desperate try 8
She knew she had the job 9
A question of homicide 10
An absolute conquest 11
Each craved satisfaction 12
A time for sensual delight 13
Archive Note: Though this table of contents shows only 13 chapters, there are, in fact, 14.
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1
With a screech of hard rubber tires on asphalt the big truck slowed at the fork in the highway and Jeff tossed out his gear and leaped smoothly to the pavement. The driver leaned out from his cab and waved his free hand as he made the turn.
"Take it easy, kid." he yelled.
Jeff grinned his thanks for the lift and waved back. For a moment his eyes followed the truck. Handsome like a finely built race horse he stood there in the late afternoon sun watching the truck disappear down the highway, shoulders straight across and broad and a slim waist buckled under the wide black belt. He bent to pick up his gear from the road and his muscles rippled like smooth water as he moved. Then he started on down the highway. His shoulders were back and his walk proud with a kind of challenge.
Yet about him was an air of alertness. The controlled tension of his body indicated that he was constantly on the verge of a discovery, a finding of that which he sought after. It was as if for a time almost deliberately he held back, abated, waiting like some predatory animal who quietly, instinctively watches for that exact moment when he finds that for which he is seeking and all tension and withdrawal is released in that terrifying second when he springs.
The car raced along the smooth road glistening in the rays of the late sun. It was low, shiny and powerful looking. The young man at the wheel with the bright, open sport shirt and the blondined hair turned his head just in time to see the traveler walking at the edge of the highway. Quickly the car slowed. The driver leaned back, waved and smiled at Jeff.
"Going my way?"
Jeff looked at the big cream-colored Cadillac and his eyes turned mad. Something reached down, inside him to bring everything back. He saw it all again: the big car, the girl's pale face and her ravished body, the black patch over the man's left eye, the driving rage which brought him to this moment, trudging this road today.
But none of this was the fault of the exotic young man who had raised his arm in salutation and who now peered anxiously at him. Jeff's mouth tightened and he shook his head curtly. The driver of the big car shrugged and drove on.
For a long time Jeff walked down the long highway as the sun started to fall from the sky and turn the hot California day into a soft twilight. The cars still flashed on by in endless procession but now their headlights were coming on and cut bright patterns through the dusk. On and on he walked as his thoughts went back to what he had left behind him in the house the family called home and the muscles in his belly tightened and his fists clenched in anticipation of what he would do when he found the man who had come on them so suddenly with stealth and cunning, wrought his havoc and just as quickly fled perhaps down this same highway where now the cars sped on into the horizon. Although his search was little more than just begun, he knew within himself it would not be in vain. In time he would find the man he looked for ... the violator. Then he would take his revenge. He strode on fearlessly through the early evening, for when a man has an appointment with violence he does not shrink from danger.
Jeff saw the cafe at the edge of the highway with the little yard in front and the door open, light coming through from the windows and the neon sign spelling out the word "Tacos" over the doorway. The building was a run-down almost ramshackle affair the same as a thousand others that eked out their shabby living clinging to the edges of the great highways which cross and recross the California countryside. But when he walked in and glanced around the dim interior of the little restaurant he was surprised by its neatness and order. Everything that is except the incredibly fat man in a soiled white apron who sat at one end of the counter eating from a platter of beans and chili, slopping great spoonfuls of it into his mouth and washing it down with the coca-cola from the tall glass beside his plate. He looked Jeff over with his little sharp eyes and grinned.
"You want eat?"
"That right." Jeff answered. He'd forgotten how hungry he was until he saw the food in front of the man so he sat down at the opposite end of the counter. The fat man called back to someone in the kitchen at the rear.
"Say Rosa ... you got customer waiting!"
"Coming!" a girl's voice answered.
A girl came quietly from the shadows down at the kitchen end of the counter. Young, maybe twenty, with a long, full body and breasts that were round and proud the way they jutted through the thin fabric of her blouse. His eyes travelled the length of her and he saw her soft, smooth light brown skin and the slender, well-rounded legs and he knew her hips were firm and full with well-curved buttocks built for the enjoyment of love and life. She was closer now and he could smell the exciting scent of her. Her eyes ... wide and deep brown, shining with life, brightened the cool shadows of the room as she leaned across the counter toward him and smiled.
"You come a long way?"
Her voice was soft and low with a faintly accented way of speaking which reflected her Spanish ancestry.
"Far enough," he answered. "Matter of fact, come to think of it, I'm beat!"
"Then you stay awhile and rest...." He smiled, "Maybe."
There was a reserve in her manner yet her eyes caught his and she looked at him with her slow smile.
"You will stay?"
Her voice trailed off and away as he felt the heat surge in his loins and all at once he knew how much he wanted her.
As she turned to the coffee urn behind the counter his eyes traversed her body and came to rest on her sensuous hips.
"Nice." he said to himself and felt his manhood surge again as he imagined what it would be like going to bed with her, pressing his body against her long legs and rounded thighs, getting the feel of her, touching gently every inch of her beautiful body. She turned around to set the coffee in front of him and colored slightly as she caught his glance. Jeff tried to look away but he was helpless to do anything but stare fixedly at her breasts. She was as aware as he as she went quickly back to the kitchen.
"Drink your coffee and I will bring you some dinner."
She passed the fat cook who had finally finished gulping the last bit from his plate and now sat staring gloomily into the remains of his glass of coke.
Jeff took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Sitting there waiting he hoped he appeared outwardly calm. Inside his blood was surging with a desire that all but carried him back to where she was at this moment getting the meal.
In a few minutes she was back, setting a well-filled plate of food in front of him. Ravenous, he started eating and she poured coffee for herself and sat down next to him, never taking her eyes from his face.
To her questioning, Jeff told her he was on his way to the big coast towns, Los Angeles and San Francisco to find the man he was looking for.
"Tell me why you are so anxious to find this man...." she said quietly.
"No, we won't talk about it now. Sometime I will explain it all." Jeff answered. She listened in silence when he spoke and instinctively understood this tall young stranger, for Rosa Ramirez had always known that the shoddy cafe with the Tacos sign over the door was not the only thing life had to offer. Something deep inside had told her. She had always sensed there are many doors to life and fulfillment. Sometimes they are easily opened, other times they stand ajar beckoning to every approaching traveller but more often they are closed tight until the right key unlocks them. And Rosa had not always wanted to open the doors along life's avenues. Why she did not know. Perhaps too many times she realized that shut away, out of sight behind those doors were sordid, neglected, smelly rooms she had no wish to explore. In her own neat room, above the cafe she had often examined the reflection of her long, full, young body in the mirror. She knew that she was a beautiful girl and that there were many who wanted her. Numerous were the young men with the greasy black hair, tight pants, pointed shoes and flashy sport jackets who grinned wolfishly when their eyes saw Rosa Ramirez. All of them' were more than willing to explore every possibility that she might make available. But Rosa was a girl who long since had been warned against the smooth operators who had such a healthy habit of whistling with no subtlety when they saw her and who dropped sly remarks as to how nice it would be if she would let them have it. Yes, Rosa had always known everything there was since the first time she had let it happen at fifteen when desire had tugged at her and curiosity begged for appeasement and experimentation was bound to happen eventually and she desired it.
So, it had happened with Tony who was almost as young as she and had often taken her out with him to buy her ice cream sodas at Franelli's drugstore. Tony was sixteen then and they were both in high school. He was always buying her cokes after school and helping her with her home-work. Good looking he was and Rosa tingled all over when he watched her with those big dreamy eyes. At school all the other girls thought Tony was the greatest. "A real dreamboat, that's what he is!" fat Angie Costello would giggle as she clucked her big tongue and made smacking noises with her full lips when she saw him going down the hall between classes. But then Angie Costello was a big pig in Rosa's opinion and not for the likes of a boy as nice as Tony. "Why's he always hangin' around you?" she would smirk. "Wish he'd see me!" Rosa smiled to herself and when school was over walked out of the brick school building, crowding through the hall with the mobs of pushing, shouting young people, down the long steps and across the square to the corner where Tony was waiting. He took her books to carry as he always did and fell into step beside her. "The drugstore's crowded ... let's go over to my place and get a sandwich."
"All right ... if you want," she answered. "We'll take a bus," Tony said. There was a sound of urgency in his voice.
They took the bus to Tony's house. It was way over on the south side of town. Outside it wasn't much but when Tony unlocked the door and took her in she looked around at the soft grey walls, the big couch with the gaily patterned cretonne cover, the leather armchair and the footstool. It was cozy. Tony took her on out to the kitchen. "Mom's not here," he said. "She works over at Dalton's store two or three times a week now." Rosa wondered where Dalton's store was and why Tony's mother worked there and where his father was. She never had heard Tony mention his father. He took sandwiches wrapped in cellophane out of the refrigerator, and a bottle of milk. He told her where the glasses were so she got them from the cupboard and they sat down at the kitchen table. The sandwiches and milk tasted good. After awhile Rosa got up and started to wash the glasses. "I better go," she said. Tony said not to hurry. "Mom doesn't come home 'til late." They finished cleaning up in the kitchen then went back to the living room. "Sit down, make yourself at home." Tony invited.
She sat down on the couch and Tony came over and sat beside her. All at once he put his arm around her body and pressed her to him. She started to draw back but he looked at her in a gentle, longing way then tilted her head back and kissed her full on the lips. Rosa felt a thrill go through her body at this. His fingers touched her breast. Tony was gentle but sure. Even though to Rosa this was the first time, she was aware that the beginner's awkwardness had no part in his approach. Now his mouth was pressed harder against hers and she felt his tongue force her lips apart and push itself between them. The excitement of his mouth on hers made her pulses throb. She turned in her seat and he pushed her down on the couch and she stretched herself out as he laid himself on her, his body against hers. His mouth never left hers and his hands were feeling every part of her. Then he started to unbutton her dress and he half rose to a kneeling position over her as his fingers struggled to unfasten the buttons. Now her breasts were bare and he was kissing them again and again, exploring the firm flesh, caressing her nipples, thrilling her. He pushed her dress down, forcing her out of it. Rosa had never known anything so exciting. She trembled and clutched at him as together they struggled out of their clothes and their young naked bodies pressed against each other in pulsing embrace. Tony's hands were exploring every part of her naked body. She clung to his bare shoulders and pulled him even closer to her. Suddenly she wanted him with her whole body. Her blood pounded and pulsed inside her as she felt the surges within him. She twisted under him and now she felt him bear down on her with a new force of discovery. The youth's strong, fresh body engulfed her in a surge of passion and a knife's blade of sheer pain made her scream out in a moment of agony. To both Rosa and Tony this was a moment of complete intimacy, a new peak of discovery, a time to be remembered filled with the realization and excitement each hoped might last forever. They lay, wrapped in each other's arms knowing all the fulfillment of youth's first, fine, splendor released by their vibrant, exhilarating love.
It had happened a long time ago and Tony and Rosa stayed friends as always. After school they met at the corner just like before and Tony carried her books and bought sodas for her at the drugstore. Once or twice they took the bus to his place when his mother was working and repeated their adventure of that first day they had been together. They were young and the feeling was easily recaptured but to Rosa the magic of that first release never quite returned. She liked Tony, yes, but when he whispered into her hair, "I love you," at the crisis of his desire she wondered within herself how much was true and how much born of his urge for release. So the time went on and one day Tony met her and his eyes told her something was wrong. They met at the usual corner but he didn't offer to take her to the drugstore for a coke. Instead they walked back to where Rosa lived with her aunt and uncle almost in total silence. Several times she tried to start a conversation but it just died out. Finally they were there. Standing out on the sidewalk in front of her house he told her. "I'm going away!" She stared back at him. "You mean now ... not even finish school?"
"That's right." He was forcing himself to say it. "My mother and I ... we're going back to him." Then she knew him was the father of whom he never before had spoken. Tony blurted on. "She's giving up her job here. We're going back to get him, my father. He gets out today. Out of prison, I mean ... so that's why I won't be seeing you at school anymore. You see?"
"I see," Rosa answered quietly. Then Tony looked at her softly and walked off down the street and she never saw him again.
Not long afterward Rosa's Aunt and Uncle Carlos bought the cafe on the highway and took Rosa with them there. It was the summer after she finished high school. After Tony moved away there had been many a boy who stared and smiled at Rosa Ramirez and wanted to buy sodas for her after school or take her to the movies. But Rosa remembered Tony's love making and wondered how it would be doing it with someone else. Would she like it the same way or should she wait? Although now and then she let one of them take her to a school dance or the Tivoli Theater where they showed double features it never went beyond that. Rosa had no particular wish that it should. It would have been easy to let it happen as it had with Tony. But she never felt strongly enough about it to bother. Perhaps Rosa didn't realize that she was waiting for something better than what the boys offered who took her to the Tivoli. Perhaps Rosa waited for love.
So she had waited like some fair lady of romantic legend for that moment when the right prince would come along. She sometimes smiled to herself and laughed at this naive way of thinking. All the girls of her own age laughed too and asked her what she was waiting for; they called her a dreamer and predicted she'd end up with no one, a dried-up spinster. But Rosa didn't care; she smiled at them as she ran her palms down over her well shaped, beautiful body with the uptilted breasts that rose like twin rounded globes, lovely enough to satisfy any man's desire.
She was in no way surprised at her feelings when Jeff had walked into the little cafe and sat down for dinner because she had anticipated his coming and now she realized her expectations had not been in vain.
Jeff finished eating and they sat quietly for awhile together. It was when he told her he'd have to find a room somewhere for the night that she said there were rooms for rent in the little hotel above the cafe. He could take one of those. They waited until Uncle Carlos, the fat man in the white apron, went out. "He has the cottage in back...." Rosa said. "All of us lived there once when my uncle and aunt bought the place and we first came here. Then, after Aunt Alicia died, I moved into the front room upstairs. Come ... I'll show you." They went up the stairs at the back of the cafe to where a long corridor of furnished rooms ran the length of the place. Rosa paused in front of one of the doors, took a key from her pocket and unlocked it. "You can have this room." she said. Jeff was feeling intensely that excitement he had known many times before, but never quite so strongly: a kind of electric self-awareness, a fine, alert tension. With it was a sense of expectation. He felt good. Nervous maybe, his stomach tight, but good. He looked around the hotel room. It was very clean with soft, pastel walls and a wide bed. He was pleased with what he saw and he smiled at Rosa and bent down and kissed her on the mouth. Her lips were soft and slightly open as she kissed him back with response. His foot kicked the door shut behind them and encircling her with his arm he pressed her to him. He cupped the other hand over her breast. Her mouth against his was like an electric current. Rosa was trembling under Jeff's touch. Now his one hand was manipulating her breast as his other slid down her slim back, over her waist to where her firm lovely buttocks curved. He pressed her closer to him and his tongue probed her mouth like a flame; gently, rhythmically he massaged her and she moved her hips with the movements of his hands.
She whispered his name softly and he felt her squirm against him. Then all at once, with a sweep of his strong arms he picked her up and carrying her over to the bed laid her on it. Slowly he unfastened her blouse as she moved spasmodically on the bed. He pulled it off and taking her breasts, first one and then the other, kissed the nipples until they hardened under his lips. Waves of desire sprang through her body and she sighed and pulled his head down closer to her bosom. Now his hands were pulling off her skirt while at the same time he bent down over her to bury his face in the cleavage between her lovely breasts. Her skirt was off now and his hand slipped down under the elastic band of her panties to explore her belly. She was helping him as he stripped her and she lay there naked, her whole body waiting. Then he took off his clothes and stood beside the bed naked gazing down at her. Rosa stared up at him. Never before had she seen such handsome remarkable maleness. He stood over her with a body almost of heroic beauty. Rosa could not wait. She held out her arms to him, her face aglow with happiness. Then he laid himself upon her. His body was clean and hard against hers. He took her in his arms and her arms encircled him and pressed him to her. Her body throbbed, burned and pulsed against his and now they moved together in a perfect rhythm, as her heart seemed to surge with joy. Never had Rosa known such lovemaking as Jeff gave her. Happiness was around her like some wondrous gift of dreams now crying for fulfillment. At long last it came to her in thrilling realization that love could be a consuming, devouring flame. Then they lay still in the quiet room, wrapped in each other's arms.
At the first light, Jeff's eyes opened slowly and he looked about the room in the early morning's softness. The girl beside him lay outstretched, completely relaxed. He could see the roundness of her thighs and the soft curve of her buttocks under the thin blanket. Incredible it was how they had met so recently and how all at once he had felt about her. He thought of the many times ... the many women. Then he had come upon this quiet, gentle girl-this girl who had smiled with her soft, lovely mouth and awakened him to an excitement above and beyond any others. When she opened her eyes she turned to Jeff with a little cry of wonder and his strong, open arms drew her to him. Ever so gently he took her and they made love flow in and out and up and through them like a fountain of rapture such as neither had ever experienced before. Each discovered every part of the other's body, reaching out with tender hands, gentle lips and soft cries of exploration; each learned from the other the intimate, glorious ways of love, and a depth of feeling flowed through them that had a richness and purpose all in itself transcending the act of love and making for them a bond of happiness the like of which few mortals ever achieve.
Finally, they lay side by side on the wide bed, together, barely touching. She did not tell him much about herself ... didn't feel there was much to tell that she had not said already. He told her about the home he had left where his father and he had lived with his sister. He talked to her about his dead mother. Finally, after a long time he answered the question she had first asked him there in the cafe: what was his journey and why?
2
After his mother died he and his father had run the filling station between Clinton and Hopkinsville on Route 31. It was easy to do. His father's farm had always been there and the house was close enough to the road so it had been simple to put the pumps out in front and start selling oil and gasoline. Then they had expanded the garage next to the house and it wasn't long until a good business was under way. Everything went along well enough until ... he had not wanted to tell her about his sister Cathy although she seemed to be in his mind constantly. He tried to think around the edges of it ... the single event that had all happened in an instant to bring ruin and despair into his father's middle-aged face and send Jeff on his search. Without actually detailing the events in sequence-he seemed unable to bring himself to that-he told her what she had to know and why he was searching. The bits and pieces she had to put together herself.
Always, since he could first remember, Cathy had been that way, like a child in her mind but growing up with the body and face of a lovely woman. Other people, seeing her for the first time, were hard put to believe it. But her family, those close to her, knew and tried to understand. How from the beginning she played with her dolls, a child, and as she grew older still kept them beside her in a half-dream world of her own invention. And when she was told, "It's time to grow up and be a big girl now," her great eyes slid idly past the speaker for to her there was no urgency. She hardly appeared to listen or hear. In no way did she seem to comprehend or understand. To her, all was the way she had first found it as an infant and she was grown up already and did not really mind nor care.
So, they loved her childish ways, playing games quietly in her own world, unaware of the voices and activities of those about her. Wrapped within the confines of her own limitations she stayed a child in mind and feelings, unformulated in thought and understanding, without knowledge that there was anything other than the bright love and care her family drew about her as a protecting shield. So Jeff and his father watched over Cathy, guarded and protected her immaturity and lack of understanding. After the mother's death they found kindly, warm hearted Mrs. Struthers to take care of the home and look after the girl and see that all was done as it should be.
When, in memory, Jeff recalled the kaleidoscopic picture of the events which suddenly crashed about them he wondered how he would make Rosa understand. Yet he had to tell her, for his feelings for her were strong and he could not linger here; he must be on his way, for he had business to accomplish; there were things he must do.
He told her about the day the big car drove up-long, low, shiny-the fish-tailed Cadillac with its lone driver. The man's huge body loomed in the driver's seat, a cigar in the corner of his mouth, clamped between big white teeth. He might have been pushing thirty-five or so with a pencil-thin moustache and greasy black hair that hugged his skull. He looked around the place as if he owned the world. Over one of his eyes he wore a black patch; the other eye was gray and gave out a cold stare. He had all the ear-marks of what in certain unsavory districts is known as a smooth operator. The top of the big car was down and among the pieces of expensive luggage piled into the back seat was a saxophone case.
"O.K. Buddy, fill 'er up!" he ordered. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and the muscles were visible in his forearms. He wasn't wearing a tie; the top buttons of his shirt were open and you could see the thick hair on his chest. Jeff smiled when he saw the saxophone case. "You'd never believe it, Mister ... but I used to play one of those things myself!"
"Yeah?" the man answered, his face never changing expression.
"Are you a musician?" Jeff asked.
"That's right!" the man said, noncommittal.
"Play with a band around here?"
The man guffawed as he took the cigar from his mouth and flicked the ashes in the direction of the ashtray that was pulled out from the dashboard. "With a band around this hick place? You must be kiddin' ... I'm strictly big time. Only tie up with the best. Stan Kenton, Freddy Martin, guys like that! Nuthin' for me but the best."
"You know it." Jeff commented quietly and went on with what he was doing.
It was then his sister, Cathy, came from the house to ask Jeff for some change to buy an ice cream cone. Mrs. Struthers followed closely after her.
"Honey, don't bother your brother now ... can't you see he's busy?" Mrs. Struthers admonished.
"But I want it now, Addie." Cathy replied, childishly. Mrs. Struthers turned to Jeff, "I'm sorry, Jeff, but she's bound and determined to wheedle someone out of a dime and go down to Riley's market for an ice cream!"
Jeff laughed, "It's no bother, Mrs. Struthers. Here, Cathy!" Taking a coin from his pocket he flipped it to her. The day was hot. He wished he could have a cold beer himself.
The face of the man in the waiting car didn't change. He stared at the girl impassively ... what was going through his mind as he sat there watching? Only he knew.
Cathy was beautiful ... slim and willowy she was with a soft oval face and long golden hair that fell about a body with high, full breasts and exciting hips.
"Thanks, Jeffie," she smiled, catching the money. "I'm just going down to the store for a minute."
"Wait, Cathy ... I'll go with you!" Mrs. Struthers spoke as she moved to join the girl.
"Just be a minute." Cathy laughed gaily as she started to run down the road. Mrs. Struthers called after her again as she went down the steps.
"Oh, let her go." Jeff's voice stopped Mrs. Struthers. "No harm in her just going down to Riley's for a minute...." With a look of relief, Mrs. Struthers went back into the house.
"Guess you're right, Jeff."
He finished servicing the car and the driver paid him and drove off. Just as the car started down the road, Jeff noticed the yellow California license plates with the tag "Los Angeles" on it.
He had been busy servicing cars for almost an hour without a break when Mrs. Struthers came running from the house looking for Cathy.
"Is she out there with you, Jeff? She went down to the store long ago!"
"She's not here." Jeff answered. "I thought she came back."
"No! No! I haven't seen her!" Hardly stopping for breath, Mrs. Struthers rushed down the road toward the tiny grocery store.
Jeff stared after the running woman. A wave of apprehension went through him. Why was Mrs. Struthers instinctively rushing to her young charge?
It was still early in the afternoon but the air was beginning to cool off now and there was more shade. For a moment Jeff stood looking after Mrs. Struthers, then with quick strides he started to run to catch up with her. Joining Mrs. Struthers, Jeff grabbed her by the arm and stopped her.
"What's the matter, Addie? What is it? Cathy's probably at the store visiting with Joyce or Sam and forgot to come home ... you know how she is." Addie Struthers' eyes were wild with alarm as she clutched Jeff's arm, "No she's not. She's not at the store. Joyce just 'phoned me. She wanted to know why Cathy drove off with that man in the big car. Oh Jeff, hurry ... something dreadful has happened!" Together they rushed on down the road toward the store on the corner.
Cathy had started out on her expedition gaily. In her simple way it was an event ... Jeff had given her a quarter, more than enough money for the ice cream cone. Never too sure of just how much value each coin had, she still knew this one was more than a dime and for it she received more in return. It was going to be fun and with gay, childish laughter she hurried down the country road to her destination.
As usual, Riley's grocery store was filled with activity. People came and went, gossiping, arguing, bargaining. Joyce and Sam who ran the place were more than busy and Cathy waited impatiently to make her purchases. Finally it was her turn and she found there was more than enough to pay for the cone she wanted and a candy bar as well. Her delight was boundless when Sam, who waited on her, first squinted at her quarter then, before he took it, put a bottle of orange colored soda into her outstretched hands along with the other treats.
"There you are, Cathy ... enough for a soda, too. Looks like you hit the jackpot!" Sam said. She rewarded him with a dazzling smile. This was why she always liked to make her purchases from the tall, skinny youth. Somehow she always got more for her money particularly if she smiled. It was as simple as that.
Cathy hadn't enjoyed herself so much in days. She gathered up her purchases and leaving the store sat down on the old bench outside in front. It was too hot to walk back home right away; besides the ice cream would melt if she didn't hurry up and eat it.
Jake Cavelli had heard the young girl tell her brother she was going down to the store at the corner so he drove slowly when he left the filling station to give her time to get there. He didn't want to miss the place. "Boy, what a piece!" he smiled to himself. "Young too ... just the age I like 'em." Jake loved them young. He had plenty of time, there was no rush. If his luck held out she would be there. Jake had little doubt that he could handle things to his own advantage if she was. He grinned to himself in anticipation, "What a lay you're going to get, Jake, old buddy...."
One way or another Jake got most of the things he wanted. When he looked back over his unsavory past he realized that in his own way he had been tough and smart. Perhaps not so smart as some but at least smart enough to get out of the slum he was born in. Of course it had taken all kinds of maneuvering but Jake had been younger in those days and quicker with his wits. Now he was big and slow and his mind plodded when he tried to drive it to think sharp; most of the time now he was putting on an act. Not all the time, of course. To say he was a musician, an orchestra player was stretching it a bit but at least he could play the saxophone that he carried with him. It came in handy when he needed to hang around some joint for awhile to get rid of his stuff. The saxophone had more or less of an "in" with many of the orchestra and combo musicians. Many of them were his best customers. Jake had done all kinds of things in his time to make a fast buck. Particularly when he first started. The only thing that could get him out of the slum where he was born was money. Jake had discovered that in early childhood so he had played every angle: shop lifting, a fence for stolen goods, pool hall hustling, anything he could do to turn a buck; when he was still youthful and slim he would flash his white teeth in an innocent smile and hustle his body too ... just as long as they would pay, women or men, it didn't matter to Jake in those days. For a few bucks he would do anything anybody wanted. It wasn't always the easiest way to get a little cash but to Jake it was one of the ways. Finally a real break came along and he started to sell marijuana and cocaine. He sold it everywhere he could but for the most part it was easiest to unload it in the cheap night clubs, bars, pool halls and cat houses he frequented. He soon had his steady customers and made money enough to dress in expensive clothes, wear a ring set with a great star sapphire and ride around in the big white Cadillac. These were all things which helped the act; made him look like a big shot. Soon he acquired the manner to go with it. Now he was Big Jake Cavelli ... that's what they all called him and he liked it.
Jake had acquired an appetite for other extravagances too. Along with his taste for costly accessories, he had developed a peculiar liking for another, more dangerous pleasure. He enjoyed the companionship of young girls and the younger they were the better as far as Jake was concerned. His greatest delight was to introduce them to his none-too-subtle forms of love making at an age before they had become jaded by experience.
The sight of Cathy had really made Jake excited.
When he opened that one good eye of his, he had looked, then shaken his head to clear his vision and looked again. "Jeez ... that's for me!" he had breathed to himself. Just how to achieve his purpose he didn't quite know. Then she started down the road to the store. Immediately Jake got that lucky feeling he sometimes had when he was winning at cards. "Play it real cool," he told himself. "Take your time and don't flub this." Impassive, he waited while Jeff serviced the car, then taking his time he handed him a bill in payment and watched while he counted out and handed back the change. Carefully he turned on the motor and very slowly started driving down the road. It was no great distance to the corner store of which they had spoken and Jake's stalling at the filling station had given Cathy time to get there. He pulled over to the side of the road. Finally Cathy came out of the store, and sat down on the bench to enjoy her purchases. For a while Jake just -eyed her, making his plans, then he started his car once more and drove up to where she was sitting. The radio played its bright tune and Jake grinned at the girl.
"How about giving me a taste of that ice cream?" he joked.
"No, siree ... I'm going to eat every bit of it myself!"
"How would you like to have a whole quart?" he teased.
Cathy's eyes grew round, "A whole quart?"
"That's right . A nice little girl like you should have all she wants...."
"Do you mean it? Oh, goody!" Jake turned the radio a bit higher as Cathy's eyes danced in expectation.
"Come on, jump in and we'll go get it. I know where there's an honest-to-goodness, real ice cream parlor. Come on!" With a little cry of delight Cathy jumped into the car next to him.
Jake could hardly wait. He always got what he went after and, no mistake, he was going to get this. Down the road a mile or so he came to a lane which turned off into a deeply wooded area. He pulled the car off the road and headed it in behind a growth of high bushes. Then he turned off the motor and, reaching over, pulled the girl to him. In her surprise and unawarenesss Cathy cried out as Jake's mouth came down on hers. His breath was hot and avid and she started to struggle in his grasp as instinct told her to push his body from her. It was impossible. His heavy lips were on her mouth so that she could not cry out. Jake's hot, stubby fingers were clamped around her wrist as his other hand reached up and explored her body under her dress. With cruel fingers he almost tore the dress from her body and, grabbing her breasts, one in each hand, roughly pushed her down on the leather seat. He loomed over her like a giant animal, his body inflamed with violence. Cathy stared up into his face in fascinated horror. She shook her head and her voice whimpered, "No." The veins stood out on Jake's forehead and his mouth now hung open as though he would devour her. His voice was obscene and gurgling as he came forward on her, mauling her naked body and pulling her to him. He grabbed her thighs brutally forcing them apart so that she gasped and shuddered.
"Please," she whispered, "Please!" Cathy was pulling back, trying to cover her body with her hands. Now she was sobbing.
"No! Please, no!" Jake was now uncontrolled. He plunged forward and pulled her body to him and took her cruelly. She screamed out in a long, drawn shriek as her eyes rolled and set in a look of unbelieving anguish. With a handkerchief Jake gagged her mouth to deaden her cries as he lunged deeper, ravishing her young, smooth body. The girl's moans of pain could scarcely be heard. It was a long time before he finished his violation and wrenched himself free. He got out of the car and straightened his clothing, walked around to the other side and, opening the door pulled her out. He looked down at her as her bruised body slid to the ground. Then he got back into his car and drove away.
Late that night one of the neighbors found her wandering the roads, abstractedly, her bewildered mind more out of focus than ever and brought her back home. Jeff's father who had been gone during the fearful day had returned in time to join the search for the missing girl and now from her incoherency they pieced together the hideous events. There was little doubt in their minds as to who the violator was. Only too well Jeff recalled the big man in the car with the California license plates. Jeff's mouth tightened and he made a vow to seek him out, to find him and repay him in kind for what had been done. Violence would be met with violence.
"You stay here," he said to his father. "I'm the one who saw him. I'm the one to find him. You stay here and look after Cathy and Addie."
"Be careful, Jeff, be careful!" Mrs. Struthers admonished him.
"Don't worry about me. I know what to do. I'll get him and I'll be back."
3
So, hot with rage and revenge, Jeff had started out that very hour on his journey with little but the clothes on his back and the few bills in his pocket but with a purpose and determination fierce within him to find the big, beefy man who drove the flashy car, played a saxophone and wore a black patch over one eye. His whole mind and body cried out for vengeance.
Rosa listened to him quietly, understanding it all, agreeing with his purpose.
"You are doing the right thing Jeff. It's what you have to do before you can know any peace of mind." Her words of sympathy comforted him.
"But I can't lose you, my darling."
"You won't, for I will be here waiting until you come back."
After they had dressed, Rosa cooked breakfast and, leaving the cafe with Carlos, they got in the car and she drove him to Los Angeles. Here, on tawdry downtown Main street, she left him. She loved Jeff and knew he had to accomplish his mission before he could return to her complete and ready to begin a life for them together. There were things he had to do that were at this time no part of her. But one day it would be finished and she would wait.
It was a cheap little bar just off Los Angeles' Main street, insignificantly folded away so that it was hard to find. Margo Farrell sat far back in a shadowy corner of the place, quietly smoking. Now and then she sipped gently from the Scotch and water on the table in front of her. It was cozy and dark where Margo sat and for the first time that day she felt completely relaxed. Anyone walking into the place from the dazzling sunlight outside would be able to make out little but her outline in the shadows; yet from where she sat she had the advantage of being able to clearly see each person who entered. The bar had the peculiar daytime quiet of those places which are only genuinely alive at night but Margo found this to her liking. Occasionally she came here alone for a quiet drink during the day or in the early evening now that Grant was away. She had discovered that it was a place frequented by an assorted coterie of males, most of them in the casual, sport-shirted California garb, some in blue jeans and here and there sometimes a neat business suit. The females who drifted in were nondescript and gave Margo little cause for irritation. At the moment, the place suited her mood. She had left home, the big house set high in the hills above Hollywood, that morning and had been driving around all day. She had stopped in for a time at one or two places up on the Sunset Strip where they knew her but today she had felt at odds with the glittering, showy, dressy denizens of the bright spots she knew. So to get away from all the people of Grant's world, hers too, for that matter, she had sought out the little hideaway where she now sat.
Almost everyone thought of Margo as sexy and glamorous, particularly men. Females were a bit stand-offish where Margo was concerned. There was a great deal for women to envy in this stunning member of their sex who carried her svelte body with its subtle loveliness and smooth, flawless structure so proudly. There was nothing blatant about Margo. She suggested the symmetry of some graceful Greek column, luminous and slim ... a body to compliment the lovely face with its high cheekbones and smooth planes. Women envied and men adored her panther-like grace, her husky voice, the splendor of her great, dark eyes.
Grant Farrell had told her years earlier, even before they were married, that there was no actress he knew who would not change her face for Margo's And Grant knew everything there was to know about actresses. For years he had been known in his world of show business as one of the great producer-directors. His motion pictures had glittered across theater screens around the world like incandescent meteors burning with the touch of a master's genius. Grant Farrell's success had almost become a legend now and, jaded with the shallow adoration of the motion picture world of Hollywood, he had fled to distant parts and now only made his pictures abroad. Margo had never gone with him to stay for any length of time after that. She really didn't quite know why. Perhaps it was because she and Grant had little to do with each other sexually anymore. At first their ardor had been flame-like but somewhere along the way they seemed to have lost the touch with each other. Then Margo experimented here and there much as Grant was doing. Now it was this actress or that he was seen with in faraway spots and Margo was always somewhere else but never alone. Always it was with some man as exciting in his way as Grant's actresses were. In the world they lived in it was difficult to escape observation or avoid comment. At first there had been a fantastic amount of talk, veiled hints in every gossip column from New York to London to Paris. But Margo and Grant remained good friends and occasionally were seen together at some brilliant first night of a play's opening in London, a fabulous premiere in Hollywood or the glittering debut of a night club in Rome, looking as radiantly happy and engrossed in each other as when they were first in love. And because they were truly fond of each other their momentary devotion passed for real and the columnists recorded it all as an undying love, an affaire-celebre. And when it was over each went his own way again. Margo always came back to the place where she and Grant had lived together in those first days when their hours were filled with adoration and rapture; when wonderful lush love-making rushed between them and they drained each other of ecstasy through nights and days of magic.
Margo preferred the house high on the cliff, just off Mulholland drive with the fantastic view of the huge city on one side and great, spreading, pulsing valley on the other; at night all of it studded like a carpet of fabulous jewels covering the earth.
Yet here, in a tawdry downtown Los Angeles bar Margo Farrell was facing a moment of truth....
She was sitting here waiting, watching, hoping for one thing only, a male who might come along and satisfy her need to escape for awhile. Every person needed something to satisfy his desire, whether it be for food, drink or pleasure. Margo needed someone to satisfy the desires of her body. Lightly she touched her lips to the edge of the glass in her hand. Yes, Margo knew why she waited in the shadowy recesses of the shoddy room.
For days Jeff had been going from one place to another searching the town, trying to find some clue that would tell him the whereabouts of the man he looked for. Since he was unaware of Jake Cavelli by name he had to rely on his ingenuity. keep a constant lookout, watching with that air of alertness, a tension which remained unabated, sensing, waiting, taking everything in wherever he went. He had looked for a long time now and no signal had yet been given and the moment he was looking for had not arrived.
Now and then he would question someone briefly, start a bit of conversation with a bartender, the occasional piano player whose desultory activity passed for entertainment, some combo leader, anyone who might give him a lead, drop a hint or lend him a clue. In his own mind he could see the man clearly, he needed no further identification for he had looked full at him that day at the filling station and he could never forget that face with the patch over one eye. So, he kept on from place to place unwavering, never veering in his search. Somewhere he would find some fact or hint which would be the key to the discovery of the person he sought.
Jeff walked into the bar where Margo was sitting and, going to the counter, slid his rump onto one of the stools with a smooth, easy movement. He ordered a beer and, paying the bartender, sat relaxed for a moment casually staring into the bar mirror. The room appeared to be almost empty; then he saw a woman sitting alone in the filtered dusk at one of the tables in the rear. He was scarcely aware of her being there at first for her simple black dress with the single strand of pearls at the throat almost lost her in the quiet gloom. But as he watched it appeared she too had been waiting for something and suddenly found it, for almost without looking she lifted her white-gloved hand with a deftness of motion to catch the attention of a waiter, who immediately went to her table and bent down to listen. A few moments later the bartender set a beer down in front of Jeff. "From the lady," he said, indicating with his head a slight movement in her direction. Jeff looked at Margo's reflection in the mirror and when she raised her eyes he grinned at her and held his glass up as if in a toast. She was aware of his look and smiled back at him but did not touch her glass. Nothing in her glance seemed to imply an invitation to flirtation. It was as if she was curious or amused. Jeff slid off the stool and, drink in hand, walked over to the table where she sat. He smiled at her and looking up at him Margo saw that she had been right, he was extraordinarily handsome.
"May I sit down?" Jeff asked. She shrugged gently.
"Of course," she said. Now he could see her more distinctly. Her face was beautiful. She leaned toward him and her scarf of sables slipped away and revealed the long, luminous line of her throat and his eyes followed it down to where her bosoms rounded out against the expensive material of her dress.
"When you walked through the door just now I wondered how we could meet. This seemed the simplest way." Her complete candor astonished him.
"You don't mind?" she continued.
"No," Jeff grinned back at her. "I don't mind ... thanks for the drink."
He liked the way she talked. Her voice was husky and low, yet the words were spoken clearly and with a kind of distinction new to his ear. There was something in the sound of her voice that, like the deceivingly simple yet expensive dress she wore and the fur scarf she handled so carelessly, was elegant and voluptuous ... qualities that Jeff liked very much. He couldn't think of anything further to say and silently waited for what seemed a long time as her eyes examined him through the cloud of cigarette smoke about them. The waiter walked by and on an impulse he said. "How about another drink for you?" He made his voice casual. She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.
"If you like, but why don't we drive out to my place where the liquor is free?"
"O.K." he said and when they got up to leave she laid a bill on the table for the waiter and then they walked out together.
Outside it was bright, hot and burning. The sunlight made the streets look even dirtier than they were. The sound of traffic was everywhere. At the parking lot next to the bar Margo handed a ticket to the cashier and the attendant brought her car. It was costly and foreign, some make Jeff didn't recognize but it went with all her other accessories. They were seated in the car well on their way when Jeff said, "Aren't you a little afraid?"
"Of what?" said Margo.
"You never saw me before until just a little while ago." He was conscious that she looked at him for a minute-in all probability judging him. Then she answered with a slow smile.
"I seldom make a mistake in a man. No, I'm not afraid." Something in the way she said it made him feel good and he told her his name.
"I'm Margo Farrell," she replied.
They drove out onto Sunset Boulevard then up along a winding road into the hill country above the town. The day had been hot and heavy with the fetid breath of the great city but in the winding canyon the air was cool now under the shadows from the hills, the trees made Jeff think of the countryside at home and the clouds were high and white above them in the incredibly blue sky. Finally she turned the car and swung into the driveway of the house on the hill. "We're here!" Margo said.
Jeff was curious as he followed Margo across the courtyard into the big house. He had little idea as to her identity but he was willing to explore, to discover. For days he had been searching for the man with the black patch over his eye; looking, seeking everywhere. Who could tell, perhaps through this connection which he had just made with the beautiful stranger might come the clue he needed to unlock the door and detect where the man might be hiding.
It was a huge, rambling house with great windows that opened out on smooth lawns and lush, tropical planting; beyond the marble terrace a swimming pool sparkled in the sun's final rays. Margo and Jeff walked across the magnificently appointed foyer, through the huge living room out to the terrace. She told him they were alone, the help had gone for the day. It was still hot. "Would you like a Martini?" Margo asked. Not waiting for a reply she went to the small bar at one side of the pool and started to mix the drinks. Jeff sat down in one of the canvas chairs on the terrace. She brought the drinks over and, pulling up a chair, sat near him. It was the moment of dusk which follows the sun's setting and the atmosphere was starting to take on that exciting blue quality to mark the beginning of evening. Margo felt desire not confused with any other impulse. For his part Jeff was completely aware and to himself he wondered what she would be like in bed, for inevitably that was what would happen. Already stirrings were deep within him; it would take little urging, none at all for that matter, for him to walk to her now, strip the lovely clothes from her exciting body and take her boldly. But for a time he was willing to play her game. Idly he sipped his drink and looked about him at the elegant house and the pool high on its hilltop location where no prying eyes could see.
"Nice," he said, indicating the pool. "It's been a hot day...." Margo answered. "Shall we take a swim before dinner?"
"Great," Jeff said.
"Find yourself some trunks over there in the dressing room while I change."
From the pool, where he had been swimming lazily, Jeff watched Margo as she came back from the bedroom. She had changed to a white bikini. Her almost naked, sun-tanned body with its full rounded breasts and smooth buttocks moved with an easy stride. It was a marvelous body, Jeff thought to himself and awakened once more by the excitement of her, he stared up in open admiration. Margo did not misinterpret his gaze. Deliberately with that panther-like grace, she walked out on the diving board and, posing her body for an instant like some lovely Aphrodite, plunged into the pool. Quick as she, he dove under and from below caught her and pressed her to him; they slid up through the water tight in each other's arms and together swam to the shallow end of the pool. Slowly, as their feet touched the bottom, she felt his hand reach down and slip under the band of her bikini as he pressed her to him. His other arm encircled her at the same time; his hand brushed her right breast then gently cupped it. Margo pressed her body against Jeff there in the shallow, clear-blue water; now he was pulling the tiny bikini from her body as he kissed her mouth. Flame raced through Margo and she kicked free of the bit of material. Jeff's hands tugged at her bra and unfastened it. Margo pulled it from her. Her bosoms were like soft globes of light under his gaze. He kissed her, his tongue in her mouth; and hers darted and entwined with it as their lips came together. He reached down, pulling off his swimming trunks with one hand as she held her with the other.
She could feel his young body hard against her. For a moment they did not move. Then she reached up and drew his face down to her breasts. His lips were moving all over her breasts, kissing every inch of them hungrily; he buried his face in the smooth white flesh of the valley between. Then he was kissing her nipples, massaging them with his tongue in a rhythm that electrified and thrilled her. She couldn't wait. "Take me! Take me!" she cried. Jeff pushed her back against the side of the pool and bent over her as his body plunged against hers. Softly she slid her arms around him, thrilling to the touch of his smoothness. For a moment everything else was forgotten in the deliberate, subtle feeling that drifted through every part of her, clinging, sweet and gentle as the limpid water of the pool around them. For a long time Jeff kept her there in the same position, his feet on the tile floor of the pool's bottom, she bent against its edge, as he relieved both himself and Margo of the acute physical hunger their pulsing, vibrating bodies begged for.
She wondered if the happiness which enfused her body would never cease. Uninhibited joy seemed to be welling up inside her so strong it was beyond containment. Her very heart reached out in a great rush as though it would break free from her body and join his in a moment of spontaneous, uncontrolled ecstasy. Waves of excitement spread through her that she prayed might last forever. Jeff's lovemaking was as sure and complete as any she had ever known. She could sense his breathing and she was faint with excite merit. Every part of her body responded to his. Her mouth was kissing his, touching his ear, caressing his throat. Now her hands were lingering upon his face in gentle discovery. She slipped her fingers through the waves of his hair and pulled his face close to hers. She caressed his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. To Jeff, Margo's entire body held the enchantment of a long, lingering caress. They embraced in a surge of unlimited ardor and release, then all was spent.
For a long time they lay there at the edge of the pool then slipped through the quiet water and side by side swam back to the upper end and, climbing out, threw themselves down on the brightly striped pads that lay strewn about the pool's apron in front of the cabana.
It was early twilight now and below them the lights were coming on to cover the earth with a jeweled blanket. For a while they stayed there, their naked bodies luminous in the still light. Jeff's eyes were on her breasts again, full, round, lustrous in the shadows. They lay close together, his hand resting lightly about one of her breasts, his body curved toward hers as if to protect her from the evening. It was a little cooler now and finally they got up and put on terrycloth robes they found in the cabana. Food had been prepared and left in the kitchen; together they brought it out to have dinner on the terrace.
After dinner they went inside for coffee. They were sitting in the den when Jeff noticed the movie screen partly hidden by the panels on one of the walls.
"Press the button over there," Margo said. Jeff did so and the paneling folded back to reveal a full screen.
"Grant used to have private showings of his films here in the old days. It's seldom used anymore but one night last week a girl I know came over to show some pictures. She's a model and gets her kicks that way. Sometimes she even poses for them."
"What kind of pictures?" Jeff asked.
"You know, pornographic. Miriam's got a 'thing' about them. She left the reel here. Want to see it?"
Margo flipped the switch on a motion picture projector which stood in an alcove. The screen was flooded with light. At first it seemed to be inundated by huge waves as if flooded by the sea, crashing, breaking, flooding across a vast expanse then gradually the waves drifted into the twin pink spheres of a woman's buttocks that looked like a high, throbbing cushion. They receded and the woman appeared to turn around and present the front view of herself to the audience; the camera pulled back to reveal all of her as she stood naked, her entire body smooth and clear and beautiful. Jeff's eyes fixed on the various parts of her, her breasts, her legs and thighs, the statuesque loveliness of her body. The woman then walked out on an enormous balcony which overlooked a square. The area below her was filled with male forms of every conceivable size and shape, all as naked as she. The men stretched out their arms to her in great gasping, clutching gestures and the woman, beautiful as Venus, smiled with a look inscrutable, yet knowing, as if she possessed a secret awareness she would not share with those who watched. She enticed the men with the prodigality of her voluptuous form and they reached up below her and cried out in an agony as if pleading for more. Then, as if they had been waiting to receive the signal by the lifting of her lovely arms, a troupe of naked women almost as beautiful as the goddess herself came rushing forward in a great swirl of light followed by a band of satyrs, half man and half goat who with the naked women commenced a wild, orgiastic dance. Their bodies curved and gleamed in the soft light as they drifted together with lascivious grace and movement in the pattern of a curious bacchanal being danced as a seeming tribute to love.
It was strange and fantastic yet most exciting in its rhythmic grace. For a moment it followed the measures of some age-old minuet, grave and sedate, then with a sudden leap, it changed to a whirling tempest of incredible fever and the twisting bodies moved in wild abandon in an orgy of celebration to the rites of spring.
As the frenzied ritual continued, a huge male with the build of a Hercules entered and, picking up the goddess in his arms, carried her naked form to a grove of olive trees nearby. Within the grove stood a white columned temple, pale and glistening in the soft filter of light which drifted through the trees and there he laid the goddess upon the altar of love.
From this scene the picture faded into another surge and swell of sea waves and from the foaming water stepped a sea nymph, completely nude and incredibly beautiful. Immediately she was joined by a Unicorn, that mythical creature of antiquity, half man and half beast with a great horn on his forehead.
The nymph let her smile flicker tantalizingly upon this strange, exotic creature beside her. The unicorn drew near to touch her but just in time she moved beyond his reach and turning, ran down the long, smooth beach which stretched away glistening under the receding waves. The unicorn, choosing to believe the nymph's unmistakable message, ran after her fleeing form while she, looking back over her shoulder smiled enticingly as she lead him racing on across the sand, in and out between the jagged rocks which -lined the shallow shore, through dashing spray and sparkling light on and up the side of a steep cliff which stood high above the sea. The unicorn still pursued her but just as they reached the grassy prominence at the top, the sea-nymph, her body slender and lovely as moulded light, leaped high and dove far out in a graceful arc, down, down into the white waves which crashed and pounded at the foot of the precipice and disappeared into the green water to swim away to her enchanted haven.
Jeff leaned over and pulled Margo closer to him. He slipped his arm around her as together they watched the waves once more pour across the screen. The goddess reappeared in the arms of a glorious Apollo who carried her off into the soft, cloudy haze of light. Jeff bent his face to Margo's and once more their lips touched. "Hello," Jeff laughed, "you still here?"
Margo's lips smiled as she answered, "You're going to say you thought that unicorn carried me off into the mists?"
"Nope," he laughed, "I'll bet you haven't met one in days."
"That's true," she said, "but I have met someone else who is terribly nice." Her eyes were on his face as she smiled, "You!" Jeff's arm tightened about Margo's body, they slid from the huge chair where they had been sitting, to the floor with its soft, deep carpet. His hand caressed her body gently as they stretched out together side by side. Once more his hand found her breasts and lingered. She put her arms around him and his clean, fresh breath was against her face as he whispered her name. His body encircled hers and he drew her to him. Their lips met in a long kiss.
For a long time they stayed on in the room, their bodies still entwined on the carpet. Finally, Margo got to her feet and wandered back to the terrace. The night air was gentle and still warm. After the recent stimulating experiences the pool looked wondrously inviting to her. The smooth skin of her naked body gleamed as she slipped into the quiet water. She swam for a time, her body relaxed and refreshed with Jeff's lovemaking. She drifted back and forth through the tepid water enjoying the feel of it against her thighs and buttocks. She immersed herself completely and for a while swam under the surface in the delicate haze the liquid made against the blue tiles. When she surfaced again Jeff stood at the edge of the pool watching her; completely naked he stood like flawlessly-sculptured bronzed marble. Margo held her arms out to him, imploring, and he plunged into the water and with quick strokes was at her side. They swam back and forth together for awhile, then climbed from the pool and dried each other's dripping bodies in the shadow of the cabana. Then, because the day had been long and hot, filled with unexpected physical and emotional satisfaction for each of them, they lay down together on the soft kapok mattresses as the pool's edge and fell asleep.
It had been a day full of delight for both of them, unrelated to past, present, or what was to come; only momentarily had Jeff thought of what had brought him here ... it had not been necessary to mention it to Margo. For days he had been searching, not for a woman to love but the man on whom he could wreak vengeance. Then he had seen this elegant, glittering woman, sitting there in the soft dusk of the little bar, drinking and watching the men. He was glad she had been there at that moment and that he had raised his glass to her in greeting. All of it was good, for it had given him a few hours of relaxation from his hunting, a respite from tension. And although he knew that eventually he must go back to searching for the man who wore the black patch, still he had been completely satisfied with the affair with this fascinating woman. He knew that for a long time he would remember how good it had been to perform with Margo the act of love.
4
Jeff awoke before it was morning. Margo was still sleeping, curled like a child at his side, her hair a dark halo about her head, her long eyelashes resting against her cheek, her naked body the most beautiful creation he had ever seen. Innocent she looked and trusting. Suddenly the power rose in his thighs and before he knew it he had touched her. Margo's eyes opened and she turned her fluid body and in an instant was in his arms, volatile as quick-silver. He said her name and felt again the strange tightening in his chest and wondered at the sound of his own voice. She was in his arms with a wonderful, mocking glow on her face as she said, "What are we waiting for?" He looked at her, so vivid, so winning; all the light of the coming day seemed trapped around her lovely head.
"I'm not waiting ... come on." With this he pulled her closer and she gave herself to him as he gave himself to her. He stiffened on her and she strained him closer. The curves of her body fitted against his slim belly and flanks like soft kisses and he felt himself flow toward her as a river rushes when the ice breaks. Then they were still. Across the great, green curve of the lawn the day was beginning to break and the early rays of the morning glowed on their bodies as they lay there together, naked in the dew...."
Margo's voice awakened him, saying, "Why don't you stay here for awhile?" He had fallen back to sleep again and, opening his eyes, looked at her dazed. She had put on the terry-cloth robe she wore before and the other robe covered him. He rolled over. A tray with cups and coffee was on a table near her. He didn't answer her for a minute. Then he said, "You mean live here?" She laughed wryly, "You don't need to sound so amazed. What's wrong with wanting a man around the house?"
"Nothing, I suppose, but...." he -eyed her cautiously. Again she laughed, "No strings. You're free to come and go as you like. Think it over anyway. It's cheaper than a hotel and there's always enough food out in the kitchen for two."
"It's an idea." He let himself fall back on the mat.
"Want some coffee?"
"Sounds good." He got up and put on the robe and they had coffee together. When Margo went into the house to dress, Jeff sat alone on the terrace smoking a cigarette and thought about her offer. In the first place he had a definite reason for being in Los Angeles. It was to find Big Jake Cavelli, although Jeff had no idea yet that was the man's name. How long it would take him he didn't know. Already his cash was running low and Margo was right, hotels did cost money, and he needed a place to stay for awhile.
Living at Margo's was much more than just a place to stay. It was an easy way of life. What she had said that first day was true, there were no strings. Each of them did as he pleased. Margo was always on the go now. A man around the house was what she had needed. All at once she seemed to have stopped drifting. For a long time now really, come to think of it, since she had returned from Europe the last time she was with Grand, Margo had found herself behaving in a purposeless manner. The trip abroad had depressed her. Always before, going to Europe had been fun, days filled with amusing companions, new things to see, exciting places to go. But for some odd reason this last trip had been different. Margo blamed it on the time of year.
It was the end of summer and it seemed to have turned cold overnight. Margo had met Grant in the south of France where he had been doing location shots for one of his pictures and it had been lovely and warm there. Then he had to find a particular kind of villa he wanted to use for some special scenes. She went with him as they motored through the country scouting for the house in Avignon, in Montpellier, in Antibes, in Nice.
When they got back, Paris seemed strange to her and melancholy. She had always loved it before and felt it to be the most beautiful city in the world. Now, all the tourists had disappeared and taken their gaiety with them. When she walked through the gardens, leaves were falling about her and the whole city seemed gradually to fade into great banks of gray stone, cold and comfortless. The colors on the river faded. Then it started to rain; a wet,, clammy, drench which seemed never to end gripped everything. She hated leaving the hotel where Grant and she lived, even to go out to the shops and cafes. The ancient city seemed trapped in melancholy and was trapping her with it. When she could take no more, she said goodbye to Grant, telling him she probably would return in the spring, took a plane back once more to the house on the hill. But she could not shake off the old world's depression that had obsessed her in Paris. True, the California sunshine was as bright as ever and the great, rambling house was like a haven. Yet the purposeless feeling stayed on. She drifted about from room to room and when friends called made implausible excuses to put them off. But there was nothing to substitute. Now and then she did see Miriam when they met for lunch at one of those glamorous places Miriam loved; sometimes Margo would have luncheon served on the terrace and she and Miriam would talk, catching up on all the current gossip and activities of the set they knew. Miriam was a wise one, always probing and analyzing. Margo usually avoided those confidential talks most women love to indulge in when they are alone with other women but it was difficult to keep from being intimate with Miriam as she went on and on. Margo nodded, putting in a word here and there but actually most of the time she had not been listening. "Do you hear what I'm saying?" Miriam asked. "Oh yes," Margo brought her thoughts back, "of course."
"What you need, my dear is a man. Not one of the usual numbers around here. Not somebody we know but a new, virile, stimulating man, who will lift you right out of yourself and give you just what you want!"
After Miriam had gone, Margo smiled to herself. Blunt as her friend's statements had been, it was a fact, Margo wanted a man who could satisfy her. "Why not admit the truth?" she said to herself. It hadn't been the dismal rainfall of Paris that had brought on her discomfort. It was simply that she needed the right male to dispel her inward hunger and satisfy her desire. Margo had gone to her room, dressed, dismissed the servants for" the day and, getting into her car, had started out. That evening she and Jeff had returned together as if by arrangement, although their meeting had really been by merest chance. Then the sequence of events had been so satisfactory that she had forgotten everything in the passion of release. Everything she wanted had been supplied. What had happened was good.
What had been so satisfactory for Margo had worked out very well for Jeff too, in a different way. It made him feel like a gigolo when Margo insisted he get himself outfitted with clothes from one of the small shops which catered to the men of her circle, but he didn't care. Since a car was a necessity for anyone living so far from town, one was always at his disposal. Yes, the opportunity which had presented itself was too great to be ignored, so even though his position might be tentative it was not untenable by any means. He had no intention of identifying himself with Margo's life and world on a permanent basis. His sojourn with Margo was for a purpose and if all went well he would stay until that purpose had been accomplished.
It was a day when Margo was away attending a fashion luncheon of one of the big dress designers and Jeff had been driving around the town looking, hunting, hoping that somewhere he might catch a glimpse of the big car and its beefy, greasy-haired driver and, tiring of his search, drove back through the canyon to the house on Mulholland. There were usually several cars belonging to the various members of the household parked in the courtyard besides the ones he and Margo drove, and he failed to see the little dark-red Alfa-Romeo which was parked in the shrubbery near the end of the drive.
He may have failed to see the little sports car in the driveway but only a blind man could fail to see Miriam in a formfitting, strapless bathing suit poised for a plunge on the end of the swimming pool's diving board. Jeff had let himself into the house and walked into the living room when he saw her. Miriam was fond of displaying the fine points of her breathtaking body to anyone who cared to see. Even when alone she got great satisfaction from viewing her high full breasts, rounded hips and curved buttocks in every available mirror. In fact, in Miriam's apartment mirrors were everywhere for, being beyond embarrassment in any situation, she adored watching herself almost as much as she liked it when other people watched her.
Her favorite room, the bedroom, was cleverly equipped with overhead mirrors so that Miriam could always view everything that went on.
It was when Jeff walked through the open sliding door to the terrace to get a fuller view that Miriam first saw him. She had given her friend Margo advice as to what she needed and she was certain Margo had taken that advice but this was the first time Miriam had actually seen the man.. She stared at Jeff as he strolled across the terrace, eyeing her. "Wow!" she exclaimed and jackknifed into the pool.
She surfaced at the pool's edge and flashed her wide smile.
"One look at you, handsome, and I just had to cool off!" she laughed. "Why don't you slip off your clothes and join me? This pool's plenty big enough for two!"
Jeff grinned back at her, "Not right now ... how about my buying you a drink when you get through?" He walked over to the bar. "What will it be?" he asked.
"Make it a Manhattan," Miriam called to him as she swam to the ladder and climbed from the pool.
"Coming up!" Jeff said and started to mix the drinks. Miriam picked up a towel to dry herself, all the time her eyes taking Jeff in.
"That Margo's a sly puss. All my free advice and she never even asked me over for a look."
"What's that?" he asked.
"Skip it, gorgeous." Miriam replied.
As Jeff prepared the drinks he looked Miriam over. The tight bathing suit revealed to advantage her flawless thighs, long slim legs and the lovely curvature of her full, rounded breasts.
"You must be Margo's friend, Miriam. She's mentioned you," Jeff observed.
"Oh, has she?" Miriam laughed impudently. "I haven't heard a word from her since you showed up."
"She's been busy," Jeff stumbled on.
"I'll bet!" The two of them burst into laughter at her remark and he handed Miriam her drink.
"Cheers," she said, taking it and raising her glass.
"Cheers," Jeff replied.
It wasn't difficult to like Miriam Stevens. Jeff couldn't help admiring the girl's beauty and the combination of it with her free and easy manner was refreshingly different, to say the least, "You in show biz?" Jeff asked. Miriam let her voice go low, husky and theatrical, "Why d'yew ahsk?" she mocked, one hand poised dramatically at her throat.
"Just knew it the minute I spotted those gams and I ain't kiddin', gal!" Jeff wise-cracked back.
"Yeah, that's me," Miriam turned serious. "Sing a little, dance a little, strip joint when things get slow...." She picked up a big bath towel and, draping it deftly around her with one hand, started pacing slowly and seductively up and down in front of Jeff, her left hand lifted in arch, show-girl style as she sang, "A Pretty Girl ... is like a Melody." Finally, pretending to disrobe, she dropped the towel and pantomimed swishing a large, feathery fan above her head for a finale. She held the dramatic pose for a moment and then bowed low as Jeff burst into applause.
Miriam picked up the copy of "Show Business" magazine which she had been reading before her swim. "Don't think those broads who peddle it in a strip joint don't do all right. Take a look at this!" She pointed to the picture of an exquisitely beautiful woman lying completely nude across a huge bed with a length of transparent gauze thrown across her radiant body.
"That's Gloria Marlowe ... the most beautiful body in the world, they say. I sure doubt that but she pulls in more cash a week than most picture stars." Miriam sighed enviously, then added, "She's a good friend of mine too. Why the hell couldn't I have made the dame's publicity man first?" She shook her head ruefully, "Oh well, you got to roll with the punches. That's show biz!" Dejectedly she sat there for a moment.
"Oh well, c'est la vie!" Jumping up, she put her empty glass on the bar. "How about just a teensy weensy little one?" she teased.
Jeff filled her glass. Their eyes met. Jeff could not resist the look in her face. She had just touched the edge of the freshly-filled glass to her lips as Jeff quietly took it from her, leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth. With a little moan she opened her lips, sent her tongue darting into his mouth. He could not resist pulling the top of her bathing suit down to reveal the mounds of her breasts. The tips were crimson and hardened against his hand as he gripped them. He picked her up from the bar stool and carried her into the cabana dressing room.
After Miriam had gone, Jeff, fully dressed, sat on the terrace sipping a drink. It had been a strange encounter with this friend of Margo's of whom he had heard so much. But in their coming together had been a distinct and peculiar satisfaction. The forthrightness of her conversation as well as her body was unlike most women.
He wondered if Miriam would discuss it with Margo just to tantalize her. In a way he hoped not. Even if she did, he doubted Margo would resent it. What could it matter? His relations with Margo were very satisfactory to both of them for the present and both knew that one day it would be over and their passion fulfilled.
Jeff stood up. He would go back to the house, change clothes and wait for Margo. They had a date for the evening and she had planned to come home to change before they went on to dinner. As he started to leave, he looked down and saw, tossed on the terrace, the magazine Miriam had shown him containing the pictures of the beautiful stripe tease use. She had forgotten to take it with her. Jeff picked up the magazine and started to leaf through it idly. There were several pictures in the layout about Miriam's beautiful friend, many in provocative poses. But all at once, one of the pictures arrested Jeff's attention. He caught his breath with a little gasp. It was a candid camera shot of the lovely strip tease artiste sitting with her escort at a table in what appeared to be a smart cafe. But it was not the girl whose face Jeff was looking at; it was the other's face he recognized only too well. Unmistakable, it looked out from the page of the cheap magazine. It was the face of the man he was seeking, and over the left eye was a black patch.
Under the picture was a caption: Beautiful Gloria Marlowe recently dined at the Rendezvous Club with her escort, Big Jake Cavelli. Jeff had all the information he needed. He knew what he must do.
He didn't go into details when he told Margo he had some unfinished business to transact with a man named Jake Cavelli. He mentioned it casually in a noncommittal kind of way as though it were of little concern to him and her response was equally indifferent; the name meant nothing to her and she was not particularly curious. Margo seldom asked questions when, as in this case, it was no immediate concern of hers. Jeff was relieved. He knew what he was going to do; it was the only step he could make in the direction he wanted to go.
The next day he drove to the Monte Carlo, the club on the Sunset Strip where Gloria Marlowe appeared. It didn't look like much on the outside, Jeff thought. In the lobby and on each side of the box office were huge photographs of Gloria Mar love. In one she was holding an enormous hat in front of her bare shoulders and legs. Another showed her in spangled black tights carrying a huge muff of orchids. Across the front a banner announced: 'Gloria Marlowe, the Most Beautiful Body in the World.'
5
Opposite the club was a coffee shop. Jeff walked in and, sitting down at the counter, ordered a cup of coffee. The place was practically empty. The counterman, a little fellow, who looked hard as nails, with a tightly screwed-up face, slapped a wet cloth along the counter in a pretense of cleaning it. The waitress, a fat, lumpy middle-aged blonde with gray showing at the roots of her bleached hair, said something to him and he walked back to where she stood cutting pies into segments and putting them on plates. Jeff was just sitting there, staring out the window, when the big cream colored car drove up and parked in front of the nightclub. He recognized it immediately. One look and he felt his muscles go stiff and tense. For an instant he seemed to freeze. "At last ... relax and don't show your hand. Take it easy and wait!" he told himself. He took a gulp of coffee and tried to appear at ease. A girl got out of the car. From what he could see she wore tight white capris with a sweater. Thrown around her shoulders was a mink coat. She had a bright silk scarf tied over her hair. Without looking back at the car's driver, she walked to the door of the club, opened it and disappeared inside. Jeff expected the car to drive away. He was all ready to leave the place and follow when he saw Jake Cavelli get out and come walking into the coffee shop. He swaggered up to the counter, that cold squint in his good eye. He looked at the counter man and smiled with one corner of his mouth. Jeff saw the big-stoned ring on his finger.
"Jesus ... I'd like to kill him!" the thought seared across his brain. Jake and the man behind the counter knew each other.
"Hi-ya, Marty!" he heard Jake say.
"How 'bout a cup of coffee, Jake?" Marty filled a cup for Cavelli, spilling some of it in his eagerness. Quickly he wiped the counter.
"What'sa matter, Marty? ... got the shakes?" Jake laughed. He took a cigar from a gold case and lit it. Jeff watched Cavelli as he sat talking to Marty. The sleeves of the expensive sport shirt were short. Jeff saw the arms. Heavy-veined, hairy, muscular. The long black hairs ran almost to the tips of his stubby fingers. "I'll break every bone in the bastard's body." He felt the muscles in his own arm tighten.
"Watch it...." he told himself, "Wait until the time is right ... play it cool."
Jeff was going to give it to Big Jake and he was going to give it to him hard. But the opportunity had to be right. He wasn't going to stick his neck out nor give his hand away but he wouldn't hold back either. He would know when the time was right. Jake looked around the coffee shop. Jeff saw his look. That baleful gray eye made him think of the eye of a fish.
Big Jake and Marty were talking together quietly but Jeff could catch a word here and there, enough to get the drift of their conversation.
"Stickin' around 'til showtime?" he heard Marty ask.
"Hell no." Jake pulled the cigar from his mouth and stared at its end. "Gloria had an early rehearsal call so I brought her over ... should be on my way right now. Got an appointment in Tijuana. Have to get there before midnight. Little business matter." He winked at Marty.
"You take it easy, Big Jake," Marty laughed knowingly.
Cavelli took the cigar from his mouth, looked at it with displeasure, then dropped it on the floor. He looked around coldly. Jeff sat calmly drinking his coffee as Jake's glance passed over him with no sign of recognition.
"See ya 'round!" Marty called softly as Jake went out the door.
"Yeah," the big man replied. Jeff waited until Jake got into his car before he rose and walked out of the coffee shop.
Jeff eased himself under the steering wheel of his borrowed car and took off after Jake's Cadillac. At last he had found him and eventually, at the right time, he would make contact.
"Be smart," he kept telling himself. "Keep free of him until you get a chance to make him squirm. Then let him have it. Don't try to kill him right away. Make him suffer. He needs to crawl and you want to see him crawl, so make him do it. When you come to that certain time knock his teeth down his throat. Beat his brains out until he begs for mercy. Then cut the goddamn slob's heart out!"
He tailed Jake's car out of town onto the slick pavement of the freeway that headed south. He was keeping just far enough behind not to be discovered. When Jake pulled into a restaurant at Laguna Beach, Jeff, keeping out of sight as much as possible, telephoned to Margo and told her he would be gone for a day or so. He managed to grab a sandwich and a malt in a nearby drive in. Soon it would be dark. Jeff drove on, following Cavelli's lead. He turned on the radio; the music was a soft tune that made him think of Rosa and the time they had first met. He lit a cigarette and watched the road ahead, squinting a little against the smoke. Night was spinning past now, endless, in sheets of blackness. The car's headlights cut through the dark. He was driving closer to Jake's car so he wouldn't lose its outline" in the dimness. Finally a slow truck came between them and he lost sight of him.
It wasn't far from midnight when Jeff arrived in Tijuana. Everything smelled of stale earth, the curious stink that permeated the town; Jeff looked around the place in disgust. All of it was squalid-the dingy streets, the ramshackle houses. He found Big Jake's car parked in front of the Club Bahia. He supposed Cavelli was perfectly at home all over town and knew just where he was going. Jeff went into the bar. It was located in an ancient, even venerable-looking building with a huge door of carved mahogany, black with years of smoke and grime. Outside, the building was squat and ugly. Inside, an enormous bar, shiny as polished ebony seemed to stretch away for blocks under dirty chandeliers which were hung from the high ceiling above alternately with great overhead fans which moved the vague swirls of dust through the atmosphere. Fat brass spittoons were -lined along the bar as well as the wall booths opposite. On the walls were enormous paintings of voluptuous nude females whose flesh glowed through the haze with a provocative lustre which looked almost real. The place gave out a peculiar aura of having been there always. Nothing had ever been changed.
Following Big Jake's car down the highway, Jeff had felt alone. The half-real music that comes from car radios had been poor companionship. He felt the need of being with someone, not so much for the company, but to make him less conspicuous now that he was shadowing Jake so closely. Because of this he was glad Cavelli had decided to have a drink in this particular saloon.
6
As Jeff entered he spotted Cavelli seated on a stool about mid-way down the bar. Jeff saw an empty booth and headed straight for it. The bar was only partly filled with a heterogeneous group most of whom appeared to be habitues. They were of every kind and description. In fact the place had a cosmopolitan quality which was surprising. Until now the town had looked like the stinkpot of the world. When the first drink was set in front of him he looked around and his opinion of Tijuana rose a notch. That was when he saw Mai Lee standing at a table near him, laughing with a group of friends. She wore a Chinese-style, high-collared dress of Peking blue with a tracery of gold embroidered at the edges. It was split at one side and Jeff could see the calf of her beautiful leg. The dress was skin-tight. Her head was held high and her lustrous black hair was drawn back in a bun and held with pins of jade. Instead of the usual moon-shaped face some Chinese women have, hers was rather long with high cheekbones. Her up-pointing breasts were symmetrical and perfect, her skin like shining satin, her hips rounded and slender, her legs long.
She turned as if to walk out of the bar. Right then there was a stir of commotion as a huge man, happily inebriated, pushed back a chair and started to stand up. He was signaling for another drink and it seemed for a moment he would fall flat on his face. Just as one of his companions reached out to steady him he slipped and his chair slid into the Chinese's girl's path, knocking her against Jeff's table. Quickly Jeff grasped her arm to steady her and she fell against him, her laughter bubbling up.
"Excuse me." Her voice was soft and she almost whispered.
"Looks like it's getting a little crowded in here," Jeff smiled. "Why don't you sit down for a minute?"
"Oh, thank you. You are very kind!" Again that soft will-o'-the-wisp cadence to her voice. Jeff was enchanted, "Please sit down...." he said, drawing her to the seat beside him.
"What are you drinking?" Jeff asked.
"Oh, I cannot stay long. I was just leaving," she murmured.
"Just one, anyway." He stopped a passing waiter and told him to bring the drinks.
"May I introduce myself?" he said, and told her his name.
"My name is American too," she said laughing. "It is Lee ... Mai Lee. Doesn't that sound American? It's just the Mai that makes it sound Chinese."
"Your name has a beautiful sound. Almost as beautiful as you," Jeff said. She smiled at him radiantly.
As intrigued as Jeff was by Mai Lee, his eyes seldom wandered far away from Cavelli, who still sat at the bar directly in his line of vision.
For some time Big Jake had been in conversation with a lean, nervous-looking man in a crumpled suit who sat next to him. Had Jeff been closer he would have noticed the look of anxiety on the man's face and the strained expression in his dilated eyes. He and Jake appeared to be involved in what might be called a kind of business transaction. Occasionally the man snuffed his nose in an odd sort of way and giggled to himself. When he spoke it was with a kind of whine. The small packet which Cavelli had in his pocket contained ingredients that could immediately remove the strained expression from the man's gaunt face; it could make the harried look disappear and stop the incessant snuffing. The voice at his shoulder would quiet and the persistent whispering of his drug habit would die away for awhile. There was only one thing that would bring about the exchange of the packet from Jake's pocket to the man's hand and that was money. Jake's price was high. He had gone to a lot of trouble, some might even consider it risk, to obtain the commodity the man needed so urgently and Jake always got what he wanted. As usual he was smoking a cigar. He mouthed it slowly and waited. He could be patient when he wasn't displeased. There was nothing here to displease him. Quietly he had stated his price. At first the man had gasped. He tried to bargain a little but Big Jake shook his head gently but firmly and continued to mouth his cigar.
Both of them knew that in a few short minutes after the man finished struggling within himself, the exchange would take place: he would take the money out of his wallet and pass it to Jake and their fingers would touch as Cavelli handed him the packet of cocaine in return.
Jeff saw Cavelli finish his drink at the bar, nod in the direction of the man he had been sitting next to and leave. He turned to Mai Lee and, taking her arm, escorted her out.
"Come on," Jeff said, "a friend of mine wants me to meet him."
"But where are we going?" Mai inquired.
"Don't ask me," Jeff laughed. "Don't you like surprises?" When they got outside Big Jake was in his car. Jeff hailed a cruising cab and, getting into it with Mai, told the driver to follow the Cadillac.
"Billie's" was not the usual type of nightclub. The town was overrun with dens of every variety, high and low, clubs, whorehouses, joints of every kind but none was more contrived than this Mexican hideaway with a woman's name. It fronted on what looked more like a filthy alley than it did a street, away over on the far side of town. When Jeff walked into the dimly lighted, elegant interior with Mai he wondered why Jake would come to a place like this.
Jake knew well enough though. He came to Billie's for one reason: here was his source of supply; it was from Billie he got the marijuana and cocaine he sold to his customers. There was a fairly large dance floor edged with darkened cubicles and numerous doors were exits and entrances to rooms and corridors. Women, many of them dressed in men's clothes, were everywhere. The prevailing uniform for most of these bull dykes was a man's tuxedo. He looked around at them; some were sitting at tables with other women dressed in beautiful evening gowns glittering with jewels, still others were dancing to the soft Latin music which came from a small combo. Near the bar at one end, two or three knife-blade-lean, tight-trousered boys lounged laughing, whispering to each other, eyeing the masculinity of the handsome bartender suggestively while at the same time something in their faces seemed at once terribly vulnerable and terribly hard. Everything was subdued, the lights, the music, the voices.
They were greeted at the door by Billie herself. She had a look of great distinction about her which complemented her man's attire. She was a female of excellent proportions who, with her mannish haircut and sleek tuxedo which fitted her flawless form and clung to her snake-like hips like wallpaper, looked like a worldly-wise schoolboy.
In complete contrast was a waitress who took their order. Almost completely nude, her principal covering was a diminutive apron of some ruffled gauze-like material and to the nipple of each of her beautiful breasts adhered a fragrant white gardenia. In her burnished hair another flower of the same kind rested. This, with high heeled slippers, completed her attire. Jeff was staring hard as Mai Lee giggled beside him. "You seem surprised," she murmured. "Aren't you?"
She told him that she had been here before. Just now it was the thing to do. "Lots of people come here. It is very chic," Mai told him. Jeff smiled to himself and was just going to ask her to dance when the hostess came up to inquire if they would like some of her friends to join them. Mai smiled and said, "Why not?" and Jeff was intrigued as two lesbians sat down with them. The waitress had brought what appeared to be the only drink the place served, champagne, and one of the dykes ordered another round. In the cubicles Jeff could see women kissing in the dark corners and fondling each others' bodies. One of the lesbians asked Mai to dance. Instantly they were out on the floor dancing in each other's arms. The place had an odd fascination that was almost illicit. It was frustrating to a man like Jeff and he could feel his gorge rise. Yet something about the way Mai looked when she came back to the table and sat down gave him an odd, excited feeling. She seemed completely unperturbed by the unusual carryings on. This quality in her sent Jeff's blood racing through him. He smiled to himself as she slipped next to him. Putting his arm around her waist he drew her close.
Cavelli had achieved his purpose at "Billie's" and when Jeff saw him leave he got up and followed him, taking Mai Lee with him. He had told the Mexican cab driver to wait around for awhile; at the end of the alley the cab was still waiting. When they were inside he pulled Mai to him and started kissing her and feeling her breasts. Her response was instantaneous. She cuddled into his arms, her body tight against his. His hand slid along the soft curve of her arm, then down to her waist. She pulled his head down and kissed him. "Where will we go?" she asked him.
They found a room at a little hotel near where he had parked the car. Jeff's body was impelling, driving him cruelly. He had to find satisfaction in the arms of this delightful creature. In the room he switched on the lights to get his bearings. There was little else than the bed, a rickety chair and a dresser with a cracked mirror. He locked the door and pulled Mai Lee into his arms. She smelled like some exotic tropical flower. He kissed her with little quick kisses that covered her eyelids and nose; then he brought his mouth down again on her mouth, which was open under his.
"Help me," he said and started to unhook the side of her dress. Her fingers worked at the fastenings and the dress fell away freeing her body. He pulled her to him, fondling her breasts with both hands. Then, bending down, he buried his mouth in the valley between them and kissed hungrily. Caressing her skillfully, Jeff's hands slid over her exciting body. At the moment this enchanting creature with her cool, exotic loveliness meant more to him than any women he had ever known before. When she kissed him it was as gently as the faint scent of her perfume yet infinitely more enticing. She enveloped him with a slender flame, her small hands with their rose-tinted nails slid along the muscles of his arm so gently that he sensed rather than felt their presence upon his body. With characteristic grace, she entwined her arms about him and he was unable to resist the enchantment of her message. Urgently, he pulled her tiny body to him. Nothing could stop Jeff now. He wanted her so much he was beyond control; he breathed her name as his frame surged. Mai felt as if her body would burst with the rapture of it. Exhausted they fell asleep.
Jeff woke up early. His mind was instantly clear. He looked around the dingy hotel room. He was alone. Mai Lee had vanished. On the dresser, hanging half over the edge, was his wallet. It had been zipped open. He went over and picked it up and looked inside. The money was gone.
7
Jeff shook his head glumly. He asked himself how he could have been so naive. "Sucker!" he said to himself. His face was grim as he dressed and went out to where he had parked the car. He sighed with relief: It was still there.
Jeff was mad. Mad at himself because he had let Jake Cavelli get away. After following him all the way down here to this stinking hole of a town to beat the hell out of him he had let him get away. Let him get away just because his pants had got hot for a broad!
By this time Big Jake probably was more than half way home. He checked the gasoline tank. He had enough gaasoline to make it back to Margo's place, but that was all. Oh yes, that and a handful of change that had been in the pocket of his sport coat which Mai Lee hadn't found. Jeff started the car. He smiled ruefully. At least she had left him enough to buy breakfast. When he got out of town the air was clear and cool, with a faint mist. The sun was bright but low. The car rolled along the highway back to Los Angeles; the next time Jeff would get him for sure. His body felt tense and relaxed too at the same time. Yes, he was going to get him for sure.
Jeff sat alone at a ringside table in the Monte Carlo, the strip joint on Sunset Boulevard where Gloria Marlowe was the star. It was a plushy trap; the drinks were expensive and the food even more so. But nobody went there to eat. They went to stare at the dames. Most of all they went to stare at Gloria. These days it was the thing to do, her press agents had seen to that. "The Most Beautiful Body in the World" the publicity blared. It was the starting of a legend and even Gloria was beginning to believe it. There was no doubt about it, she was dazzlingly beautiful, her skin perfect; its texture had a vitality that was almost separate from the rest of her. Her huge, limpid eyes were serenely beautiful, cool and self-confident. She had a natural color that diffused her face and entire body with an exciting glow. Her hair was a light brown that in certain fights appeared to be golden and other times gleamed with a reddish lustre. Yet sometimes it was very, very dark.
Gloria hadn't always been the star attraction at the Monte Carlo. Far from it. It had taken quite some time to reach this particular pinnacle of success, and lots of doing. She had come a long way since she had been skinny little Gladys Kelsey back on Halsted Street in the slums of Chicago. She very seldom thought about it now if she could help it but it was difficult to completely forget. For one thing there was the presence of Big Jake Cavelli hanging around somewhere much of the time and this was a constant, annoying reminder.
Big Jake was forever getting on her nerves. But then, Jake had been a necessary part of her existence for a long time and although she loathed him, he was hard to shake. She had never liked Jake since the first time he had made her take off her clothes and had started feeling her stomach and thighs with his clammy hands and eyeing her with that leering glint in his one good eye. No, she hadn't liked Jake then and his crude lovemaking had made her so sick to her stomach she often had to go off by herself and vomit. But even in I those days, when Gloria had just turned eighteen and was still Gladys Kelsey, she was determined to get out of that one room where she lived with I her family in what was little better than a flophouse. Whatever she had to do for a man like Jake I-Cavelli she was going to do. Jake always acted as if he thought she was wonderful even though he did do horrible, violating things to her which turned her stomach.
Cavelli had come across Gladys Kelsey on one of his periodic excursions back into the world I where he had been born and which he knew so well. He never had quite shaken himself completely free from the fetid atmosphere of his beginnings. There were always things he needed that could be obtained more easily in the slums than anywhere else.
It had been one of those days when Gladys Kelsey had strayed away from home early, apparently on her way to school. For a long time now Gladys had considered school a complete waste of time. It was getting her nowhere. To herself she said, "The sooner you ditch it, the better."
It didn't take Gladys as long to ditch school as she had thought it might. Later that same afternoon she had gone over to Aggie Bixby's. The two girls were sitting on the dirty steps in front of the tenement where Aggie lived when Big Jake saw Gladys. The big-shouldered man in the flashy suit was walking along the sidewalk in the shadows watching her but Gladys was unaware until she started home. She was walking along when all at once the man walked up to her, placed one hand on her shoulder and asked her how he could get to Quincy Street. At first Gladys started to shrug his hand off and walk away but she changed her mind when he showed her a crisp green bill and said she could have it if she'd go with him. So she did and somehow they ended up in Jake's car. Then they drove around for awhile and Jake finally persuaded her to go to a little Chinese restaurant with him. It didn't take a great deal of persuasion on his part because Gladys had seldom been inside a real restaurant.
It was very dark there and they sat together in a secluded booth and Jake made up his mind that the childishness about her lips and undefinable freshness of her body was just what he wanted.
She looked about fifteen and whether she was or not didn't matter much to Jake. He talked her into driving back with him to where he lived at the time in a fairly decent apartment in another part of town. It all looked very grand to Gladys and when Jake promised her that sometime she might live in a place just like this and have lots of pretty clothes, Gladys decided almost anything would be better than the one-roomed tenement which was home so she let him put his hands on her and then take off her clothes and play with her naked body. His big hands felt her all over and at first she had a pleasant feeling that was exciting. But Jake's touch began to get rougher and more insistent. The good, warm, beautiful feeling she had at the beginning disappeared and she commenced to struggle with her whole body. It was no use. Jake wouldn't let go of her now. There was no way she could get away from him so she decided to stop struggling, fighting and gasping for breath. Instead she lay back on the bed where Jake had pushed her and relaxed. She thought to herself, "Why fight? Let him go ahead." There were some things that couldn't be avoided. It was best to just put up with them and make the most of it. Gladys had learned this at an early age back there where she had always lived, in the slums with the weather-grimed buildings on their sagging foundations, the stinking garbage cans pressed full and running over, the raucous voices, the smells of rotten food and unwashed bodies, the pushing, crowding, cursing people. The easiest way was not to be scared and fight but be indifferent and relax. Then maybe it wouldn't hurt too much. She relaxed or at least tried to and let Jake have his way. It was horrible and terrifying; she thought she never would stop screaming. But at last all of it was over and Jake had his fill for once. At first Gladys tried to talk him into letting her go back home. For a moment it had seemed to her anything was better than this but Jake pointed out to her there was nothing much to go back home for. Her mother would be glad to be rid of her, it was one less mouth to feed; there were no pretty clothes like Jake promised to buy her back there. Even before he had picked her up she had made up her mind not to go back to school anymore so really there was no reason to go back to the miserable place.
So Gladys stayed on at Jake's and he did buy her the pretty clothes he had promised her and he introduced her to Vera, one of his girl friends who ran a beauty parlor. Vera immediately took a liking to Gladys. She looked her over critically, then told her she had all the makings: firm, round breasts, good hips, beautiful legs. She told Gladys how to fix her hair, how to wear make-up and even took her to a place where she could get clothes at cut rates. Of course it all cost money but Jake was ready to pay for everything and didn't seem to care. Gladys didn't care too much either. She loved the soft feel of the new clothes against her body and the burnished look her hair had now that it was always washed and done right.
Vera was a great help to Gladys. She gave her lots of advice on how to handle herself, how to walk so her body would be seen to the greatest advantage, how to speak in a refined and elegant manner and how to act so people would think she was a lady. Vera knew a lot about all these things and Gladys stored it all away within herself so she could use it when she wanted to impress people. She was grateful to Jake because he had made most of it possible. He had been the one who introduced her to Vera and Gladys was smart enough to know that she needed Vera's advice and assistance quite as much as she needed Jake. One day, when she got places she would drop both of them.
8
Vera's association with Jake Cavelli was a close one which had been going on for a long time. As with many of the others Jake included among his acquaintanceships, the relations between them was a kind of partnership. Jake realized the necessity of constantly expanding the areas in which he maintained his questionable business interests and for a long time now he had considered Vera one of these interests. Jake's ruthlessness, his continuous practice of fraud and deceit and his constant victimizing extended far, like the tentacles of a large octopus. His connection with Vera had turned out to be most profitable. While there was little similarity of temperament and style between them, Vera had come to tolerate him and in an odd way they had become fast friends, although Vera would have denied this.
It was some time back, a long time before she owned the beauty shop that Vera and Jake had first met. Vera was younger then, good looking too in a spirited kind of way that made some men a little wary; her tongue was sharp and her wits far from dull. Vera realized this sometimes was a bit disconcerting to males who, in their predatory way, wanted to be entertained exclusively by her body, not her wisecracks. Yet, others went along with it, calling it a sense of humor, and many a pal she made over a few beers and some hearty laughs. Vera never thought of herself as a beauty but she knew most men considered her body to be extremely passable and her legs and breasts were good. Lots of them were more than a little aware that her well-rounded hips, though a bit wide, had a wonderful resilience; her rear was solid but it made a good, firm cushion. She had overheard a rather spotted conversation one night in a bar between two of her admirers on the subject of fornication in its many forms, and the females who had contributed most to its success with each of them. When Vera's name came up, the consensus of their opinion was that she was "A fine healthy broad ... the kind a man could get his teeth into." Vera came to the conclusion that with some, perhaps most, she was considered "a damn good lay."
At least Tom Mitchell had thought so when he married her. Mitch, as everyone called him, had already made a lot of money in a plain, solid, honest way running a trucking business at a time when Cavelli was busy precociously thinking up his early deals. Vera was working as a waitress in a shabby cafe way downtown. It wasn't much and the neighborhood had a bad name. It was too near the railroad tracks and there was always talk about gangsters, hold-ups and killings. Everybody said it was the worst part of town. Vera couldn't find any other kind of a job at the time and she didn't want to hustle. Besides the railroad yard, there were several factories and foundries in the area and some trucking companies. One of the companies belonged to Tom; it got most of the business and Mitchell prospered.
Vera remembered the first time she had actually noticed Tom in the cafe. It was one morning when he had the early shift. It was before daylight when she and the cook opened up. The manager had given her the key the night before and warned her to be there early. "Those guys come in around daybreak to get coffee and some breakfast," he had said. "Them bastards gotta be on the road by sunup else they don't get their deliveries done. So's they gotta get somethin' in their stomachs first. Hell of a life." He shook his head wearily.
She turned on the lights. The naked electric bulbs lit up the bare, sullen-looking, dingy place in a way that made it more unappetizing than ever. But Vera and the cook got to work and after she put a pot of coffee on and had a bite to eat it didn't seem quite so bad. In no time they were under way and the place came alive; customers were everywhere, most of them men, some who talked, kidded and laughed raucously, others who all knew one another but seldom spoke ... just quietly drank their coffee and were off to work. Vera had to be all over the place, carrying armloads of dishes, plates of food, wiping up spilled coffee, back and forth, hurrying, trying to keep her red mouth smiling, feeling male eyes all over her breasts and hips as she moved among them, ribbing, laughing, brushing the moist hair from her eyes, the perspiration showing in damp circles under the arms of the cotton uniform she wore. The cash register clanged as she took their money, made change, her eyes sparkling, their mouths grinning back at her, fingers tightening on her arm, swiftly, playfully. "When are you going to let me come and see you?"
"How about lettin' me drive you home when you get off work?" Men, with their muscled arms and big shoulders, teasing, clowning, their burning eyes slipping down past her waist, their big, work-hardened hands almost reaching out, wanting to pull her panties off.
The blasts from the factory whistles pierced the morning air; suddenly the place was almost empty, the hubbub over.
Vera supposed she had seen him before without giving it any particular thought. He sat alone at a table having another cup of coffee. Mitch was tall ... over six feet, and his shoulders and arms gave evidence of his physical strength. His hair had a reddish tinge to it and under his suntan his skin was fair; to his friends who didn't call him Mitch, he was known as "Irish." He asked her to sit down and have a cup of coffee with him. At first she was going to, then she looked around and saw the dirty dishes and empty cups everywhere. She just stood there beside the table where he sat with her foot on the rung of the chair next to him and they talked. He could see where the skirt of her dress pulled tight around her round, full thighs and his eyes dropped down to her knee and the calf of her leg.
She took her foot off the chair rung and let her skirt fall back in place. He looked at her, knowing-like, and she started to get warm all over. He finished his coffee and paid for it. Then, turning deliberately to her, his voice steady and serious, he asked: "When are we going to get together, Vera?" He looked straight at her. She felt weak all over and her voice surprised her when she spoke. "Whenever you say."
"I'll be waiting outside for you tonight at five-thirty. My name's Mitchell ... Tom Mitchell." That was all there was to it and he was gone. Vera started stacking the dirty plates. She was busy all day; it was five-thirty before she realized it.
Mitchell was waiting for her outside as he said he would be. Tall, straight to the point, sure of himself, he didn't talk a lot but he meant what he said. Vera soon found that out. It had been a long day for both of them. They stopped in at Dominico's restaurant on the way to Vera's place and had dinner; he had said he liked Italian food. Then both of them felt better. When he drove her home he asked if he could come in with her for awhile. She had liked him from the beginning so she said, "Yes." She closed the door and he told her to lock it; then he put his arms around her and pulled her to him. Vera was quiet in his arms. They kissed for awhile then he said, "Where's the bedroom?" in that matter-of-fact way he had. She didn't blush or try to be coy; she'd been through the routine too many times but not with such directness.
Mitch knew exactly what he wanted and assumed she wanted it too. That was all there was to it. He had made up his mind and she had acquiesced in spirit at least or they wouldn't have come here to Vera's together this way.
Mitch's attitude was almost as if he had said, "Come on, let's get going. Don't waste my time." There was a quality about his self-assurance that was pleasant. He told her to take her clothes off and she pulled off her dress and her slip. She started to take off her panties but he said, "Wait a minute." then pulled them off himself and stretched her out on the bed. She did just what he told her to do because it made her feel good just doing it for him. His eyes followed her every minute, he had hardly touched her but already she was trembling under his look. He removed his own clothes, then lay down beside her.
"I've wanted you more than any woman I ever knew," he said evenly, "Do you want me?"
"Yes," she said and he caught her to him and their bodies joined as one in complete passion. His strong, muscular form vibrated upon her so that she felt consumed. He possessed her completely and she hoped it would never end.
It wasn't more than three weeks later when Mitch asked Vera to marry him. At first she was surprised; she thought it over for awhile. It made her feel good inside, warm and happy when he asked her.
The way he had said it in his direct, straightforward way had given her a feeling of security that she hoped would last. All at once she had the feeling it was what she wanted. A year from now it could be different but right now it was what she wanted; what he wanted too or he never would have asked her. Tom Mitchell had plenty of opportunities to pick and choose and he chose her. Inside Vera the warm glow of happiness persisted. Mitch had held her interest from the beginning. He had told her how he started out as a driver for a big trucking concern, how he had wanted to start his own company and make some money. He had been born on a farm somewhere in Nebraska; it was a big place and his family had wanted him to stay and be a farmer but he wanted to strike out on his own. Not long after, his father died and they split the farm up into tracts for a housing development at a big profit. Mitch's share was considerable so he had put the money into a trucking business of his own. He was enthusiastic and ambitious and wanted to make it big. So far he had.
Vera thought it all over before she said, "Yes." The life she was living was getting her nowhere; she worked hard for very little money in a hand-to-mouth sort of way. Marriage to Tom Mitchell meant not only a husband but a home of her own and maybe later on a family. Vera liked children. Yes, life with Mitch could have lots of advantages. She smiled to herself; here she was contemplating marriage to a man she hardly knew. His proposal had been as abrupt as their meeting and lovemaking. Not by the wildest stretch of imagination was she in love with him. She had him when they first met and he must like her or he wouldn't have asked her to go with him the way he had and then wanted to marry her. Yet the good feeling was always with her when Mitch was around and since their first meeting she never felt lonely anymore. "He wants to marry me...." she kept saying over and over to herself.
They were married on Vera's day off. It was a Wednesday. Mitch picked her up early and they drove down to the City Hall. Vera had bought a complete new outfit: dress, hat underwear, shoes, gloves, everything. It was a celebration even if they did have to dig up a couple of witnesses from an office down the corridor. Mitch gave her a diamond ring and bought her some flowers. Afterwards, she looked up at him walking beside her and felt proud. He winked at her suddenly, "Not so bad after all was it?"
"I thought it was great!" She smiled as she said it.
9
The same day Vera packed up her belongings and moved to an apartment Mitch had rented for them in a better part of town than where she had lived in the rooming-house. The first thing he wanted her to do was stop working so she gave her two weeks notice at the restaurant. After that about all she had to do was take care of the apartment and cook the meals and look after Mitch. After all that work in the restaurant it was easy. For the first time she had an honest-to-goodness place of her own with more than one room. She Very seldom left the apartment except to go shopping for groceries. Her days were full just cooking and keeping the place straightened up and looking nice for Mitch when he got home. Mitch was satisfied, his home life was good, Vera's lovemaking satisfactory and her cooking expert. For a long time both of them were happy. Maybe she didn't love Mitch but he was her kind of man, she told herself, and she was faithful to him.
They had been married almost eighteen months when Janet was born. She hadn't thought much about having a baby because she never felt Mitch wanted her to have one. They were expert at making love to each other in bed and always took precautions; she let Mitch worry about that. Then all at once Mitch told her he had decided to get her pregnant. It had been so long she doubted if he could but she just laughed and said, "What on earth for? You just want to find out if I can still have a baby?" He was very serious when he answered, "No, that's not the reason. I've decided I want a child of my own, one that looks like me." So Mitch did exactly what he hold her he was going to do and before long she was pregnant. It was easy for her. Just like shelling peas, she thought. When it was over and she lay listening to Janet's healthy squalls she smiled up at Mitch. "There she is, Mitch. Listen to that yelling ... all yours too!"
Mitch was pleased, "Looks just like me."
"How can you tell when she's so small?" Vera asked.
"Don't worry, I can tell. Spitting image of her old man, that's what she is."
When the baby was born Vera thought to herself it might change her feelings, make her love Mitch. She loved the baby from the moment she found out she was going to have one. When she got home from the hospital her days were full taking care of little Janet and the house. She never had any spare time now. From the day she was born Mitch doted on his daughter Janet. The strange thing was, the older she got the more she resembled her father rather than Vera. Janet had the same fair skin, the same coppery lights in her hair, the same blue eyes. She also had the same direct manner Mitch had, with a difference. Where Mitch was straightforward and easy in his ways, Janet was prim and haughty in a manner unusual in a child. The older she grew, the more Mitch humored her and the more disdainful she seemed to become of her mother. On occasion, Vera had tried to discuss the matter with Mitch, asking his advice and wondering what they should do about correcting Janet's behavior. But she never could get very far with him on the subject. He invariably took Janet's side in everything so Vera made little progress in her attempts to train the child.
Any criticism of Janet's actions or ways brought down a tirade of rationalizations from Mitch which disintegrated into endless bickerings. Nothing like this had ever happened to them before. Vera saw that Janet's birth, rather than bringing joy to the household, had been the first shadow to fall across their marriage. As Janet grew up the estrangement increased. Mitch spent every available moment of his life with the child as she grew older, to the exclusion of his wife whenever possible. Vera began to think of herself more as an outsider than as a wife and partner in a marriage. Mitch's personality slowly and surely was changing too. Rather than direct, he was domineering and authoritative even when not provoked. Vera tried in every way not to nag or pester him until finally it became a matter of just trying to keep out of his way so that things would go smoothly.
As Janet grew, Vera realized that although they did not resemble each other in features there was a quality the girl had, a kind of spirited way she moved, that made it obvious she was Vera's daughter. It didn't seem like any time at all before Janet was fourteen. She looked almost grown up now with that red-gold glint in her hair.
Mitch had changed. It seemed there were only two things in his life now: the trucking business and Janet. Most of the time he was at the business; then he would come home for dinner and Janet would be there and they'd spend the evenings together when Mitch didn't have to go back to the office. Vera would straighten up after dinner, be in and out of the kitchen, Janet sometimes giving her a hand with the dishes, but most of the time Mitch would be laughing and kidding with the girl.
"Isn't that a new way you're doing your hair?"
"It won't stay the way I want it ... it's too curly."
"It looks great!" Always admiring Janet, he never gave Vera a glance or a thought anymore.
Janet knew it first. "How long has Carrie Hoffstatter worked for Dad?"
"Carrie who?" Vera stared at her daughter blankly.
"Oh Mother, you know. Carrie, who's the book keeper down at the office."
Vera laughed, "I don't know who you're talking about. I never go down there." Janet looked at Vera with knowing eyes.
"Well, you should. Carrie's sweet on Dad."
Vera gasped, "What on earth are you talking about? You must be crazy." Janet spoke quickly, as though she were saying something she had to get out of her mouth or she would swallow it; "No you're the one who's crazy not to know about it. Go down there, find out for yourself." Vera sat stupefied, looking at the girl. "Do you know what you're saying?" Janet's voice was level when she replied, "Would I be telling you if I wasn't sure?"
So that was it. That was why Mitch never put his hand out to run his fingers through her hair anymore. Why he never pulled her close to him and felt her breasts like he used to do, why he never turned to her anymore at night when they were in bed together like he did when they were first married. Vera blamed herself. She had never loved him from the beginning although she had tried to. Perhaps Mitch had sensed it, saying nothing; perhaps he always knew.
She had to be sure. That's why she got dressed up one day after Janet had gone to school. She put on a dress that made her look young. Standing in front of the mirror she gazed at herself, looked at her breasts and legs. They were still good she decided with a smile. She was still straight and fairly slender and fairly well rounded. She thought of when she and Mitch had first met. It seemed to her, standing there looking at herself in the mirror, that she hadn't changed so much.
She smoothed her hair lightly. It was a beautiful color, soft and radiant and if she touched it up a little now and then, very few guessed. She was skillful at doing her hair, fixing it up into latest fashion like the pictures she saw in magazines; she loved shampooing and waving it into a halo of burnished light and shade. Eileen Goddard, who lived next door had been in one day when she was setting it. She was a pretty little woman of forty or so, her only interest seemed to be in what was new and latest in current fashion.
"Vera," she always said, "You have a real knack for this sort of thing. I've never seen anything quite like it. It's a gift. You should go into business for yourself. You'd make money, Vera...."
When she was dressed she took one more look at herself in the mirror. She knew she looked all right. Sitting in the taxi, on the way down to Mitch's office, she realized she hadn't been down in that part of town since she had worked at the cafe where Mitch had first met her. She stared out of the taxi window. They were going over cobblestones and streetcar tracks past the foundries with their tall stacks, through the streets with the ugly, brick buildings fronting them, peeling, crumbling, weathered. Nothing had changed. The taxi pulled up in front of the big concrete building with the sign: "Mitchell's Trucking and Transfer Co."
Mitch's office was stuck up on the second floor. When Vera asked the girl at the switchboard if she could see Mr. Mitchell, the girl said he was out of the office but would be back shortly. Vera said she would wait, and gave her name. The girl looked at her sharply and then, picking up a folder of papers, walked back to another woman who sat at a desk in the rear, said something, and they both glanced at Vera surreptitiously. She pretended to be reading a magazine she had taken from the chair next to her. She saw the woman sitting at the desk. She had red hair, the beautiful sort that goes with an exciting white skin. She was a big woman and to Vera her breasts looked unbelievably large. As far as she could see they didn't have a flabby look either.
The surprised look in Mitch's eyes quickly turned to anger when he saw Vera sitting there.
"What the hell are you doing down here?" he said. Then he got her into his office so fast Vera didn't have time to see if the two women were watching or not. She was sure they were taking it all in.
In Mitch's office, Vera felt more relaxed.
"Why can't I come down here? Is it so strange for a wife to visit her husband's office?' Mitch sneered at her.
"Pretty sudden ... you never showed up down here before."
"Maybe it would have been better for both of us if I had."
His temper was rising, the muscles of his face tightening.
"Say, what the hell is this? What are you getting at?" His voice was a bellow.
Vera thought to herself, I'm going about it all wrong. She started to talk and wished she could shut up. Bitter, biting words about how he didn't give a damn about her anymore. Sharp, accusing, insistent, defending herself, or trying to. That voice inside her whispering, "You never loved him. Why are you pretending to make him think you did?" He broke in on her, tight-faced and blunt, blurting it out.
"If you don't like it then why in the name of Christ don't you get out?" His words scalded her and she snapped her head around and stared at him.
"You mean that?" She wished she could stop the trembling in her voice.
"God damn right I mean it! And you can start by getting the hell out of my office right now!"
10
Vera was back in the taxi, on the way back to the apartment where she had lived these years with Mitch. The same one he had rented after they were married. Thinking of what had just happened, she tried to make excuses for them both. It had been an ugly scene, the one she had just gone through and the man she had been blaming along with herself now seemed to her like a complete stranger. This man who through the years had taken her body so many times and used it to relieve his passions as they had clung together. This man who had given her a child.
Then her mind went to Janet. Mitch had told her to get out and she would go. She would go and take Janet with her. So, making up her mind to leave Mitch, Vera went to see a lawyer. First, she tried to explain the situation to the girl and Janet seemed to understand; she told Vera she thought she was doing the right thing.
They found some furnished housekeeping rooms in a rather rundown bidding not too far from where Janet went to school and Vera moved their belongings in a taxi. Then she started job hunting. She looked in the Want Ads section of the paper, in the columns that listed jobs for women. She read all of them carefully then decided the quickest way to get work was to go back to being a waitress.
She had seen the name, Jake's Grill, in the Want Ads section and they needed a waitress. It was early when she got there but she had to get the job. She found the place easily. It was in a decent section of town; inside there was lots of walnut paneling and red leather upholstery. It had an expensive look, the sort of a place where well-dressed people came for their meals. In complete contrast was its owner, Jake Cavelli.
Jake had come by the Grill through a series of deceits so complicated they were almost unbelievable, but he finally had acquired it. It was a good front for him as it was neither cheap nor gaudy. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He had a small office in the mezzanine at the rear of the restaurant up a short flight of stairs, and most days he put in an appearance at some time or other. He saw Vera waiting to be interviewed by the chef when he walked in that morning. He started to go upstairs to his office, then stopped; he stood for a minute looking her over, chewing his cigar, then he told her to come with him. Vera followed him up to his office. When they got there Cavelli sat down behind the oak desk, the cigar still in the corner of his mouth. Vera stood waiting as he looked her over. He didn't ask her to sit down.
"You lookin' for the waitress job?" His face didn't change expression.
"That's right," Vera answered. "I was waiting to speak with the chef."
"Yeah ... he told me. I do the hiring and firing around here."
She didn't reply immediately but she knew she had to get the job. "I've had lots of experience," she finally said.
"Good," Jake still stared at her. "I need the job." She watched him appraising her. Then he stood up and came around the desk and walked up to her. As he came closer, Vera knew what he was going to do. She kept thinking, "Get the job. You've got to get the job. He owns the joint."
Jake took hold of Vera. His big, fleshy hands were on her shoulders now and he started to slide them down over her breasts. He drew her close to him with one arm while he reached up and removed the cigar from his mouth and threw it down. In a flash she thought of Mitch and how unlike this man he was. Jake unbuttoned the top of Vera's blouse clumsily, his breath smelled from the cigar he had taken out of his mouth. He pushed her back against the desk and told her to take off her skirt; he unfastened his own clothing, tore off her panties and pressing her back with his rough, hairy body against her, took her. She wouldn't cry out, no matter what he did, she had made up her mind to that. She cringed from him and bit her lips until the blood came but she was going to go through with it. Jake went on and on for a long time. He was so engrossed as to be unaware of Vera's feelings. Finally he was satisfied and it was over. He let her go and she pulled her clothes on and tried to make herself look decent. She was afraid to let him see her lace; he might see in her eyes the nausea that racked her entire body. She knew she had the job.
When she first started working at the Grill she felt a little unsure; it had been years since she had worked as a waitress and she wondered to herself if she still had the knack for it.
It wasn't long though until she felt perfectly at ease; it was the same routine it had always been. She made more money than she had working in the place where she met Mitch because the clientele was better and the tipping generous. Janet and she didn't have to stint at home anymore although the girl took a very lofty attitude about Vera's job as a waitress. However it was Janet she had to thank for her later success in the beauty parlor business. The girl's contempt for her mother's occupation eventually forced Vera to take the course of lessons at National Beauty Schools. As soon as she had saved up enough to make the down payment on the tuition she started going three nights a week. She found out she had a natural aptitude for the work just as Eileen Goddard had predicted when they were neighbors back on Beacon street.
In spite of Vera's aversion to Cavelli, she had given herself to him, and by the very act itself had entered into a sort of business exchange. She had needed the job and felt that she had bought it with her body; it was as simple as that. It wasn't long before her lawyer telephoned to say there was trouble. He had made the routine contacts with her husband's lawyers and Mitch was refusing to divorce her; the excuse was based on his religious affiliation. This came as a surprise to Vera. Until now religion had been no part of their existence; it had never entered her thinking in connection with Mitch. Now, all at once, he was claiming membership in a church which did not countenance divorce. Also, the other lawyer was requesting that his client be given custody of the daughter. Vera's lawyer explained to her it was necessary to obtain a decision from the court regarding the matter of legal guardianship. He indicated litigation would go on for some time. In the meantime Janet would stay with her mother.
One day Cavelli called her into his office. He was in a talkative mood, unusual for him.
"What's the matter?" he questioned her. "You got enemies?"
At first she thought she hadn't heard him correctly.
"Not that I know about," she answered. "Why?"
Jake shook his head, "S'funny. Some jerk 'phoned me just a little while ago. Started givin' me some jazz about you being a threat to my business here; said you wasn't trustworthy."
His eyebrows raised and he chomped his cigar.
"What gives?"
Vera looked at Jake in amazement. "It's ridiculous. Did he give you his name?" Jake's words pounded in her head, she tried to think clearly; the recent call from the lawyer, now this. In some way she knew it had something to do with Mitch.
Jake was answering her, "Hell no, just hung up on me!"
Who could it be? In her mind Vera struggled for a clue.
"I haven't worked since before I married Mitch." She blurted out the words. Jake looked at her coolly. "I thought you wasn't married?" She told him the truth, "Mitch and I are separated now." There was an almost impersonal quality in the way Jake questioned her. She wondered what thoughts were going through that mind of his.
"Trouble between you two?"
Vera shrugged, "I suppose that's what it is."
"Then he was the one who called. Trying to make trouble for you." Jake s face was almost expressionless but something in his voice made Vera feel that should there be further calls, Jake was on her side.
Maybe that was the reason she went ahead and told him the whole story of her marriage to Tom Mitchell. Jake listened impassively with only an occassional comment. He questioned her briefly about Mitchell's business, his ability and how much money he was worth. Vera answered his questions as best she could, then Jake's attention seemed to wander and the discussion ended. Vera sighed her relief as she went back to work. It hadn't been too bad, at least she hadn't lost her job.
Jake Cavelli's interest in Vera never lagged from the moment she told him she had been married to Tom Mitchell and they were separated, not divorced.
It was only a comparatively short time before Jake had familiarized himself with almost everything in connection with Mitchell's Trucking and Transfer Company to the most insignificant details. He was particularly aware of Mitchell's financial status.
11
It was late one afternoon. Vera hurried along the street on her way to work at the Grill. She had to be there in time for the dinner-hour rush. She kept close to the buildings in the shade although it was beginning to cool off now. Traffic had been thick in every direction, the beginning of the week-end exodus from town; but now it seemed to be thinning out for a mew minutes. Vera had been on this shift for two weeks now. Tomorrow would be her last day at it. Then she would go back to morning. It would be better because then she would be off every day early enough to get home in time to cook the evening meal for Janet and herself. She hurried along, the sidewalk was almost deserted, just a few pedestrians here and there, most of them headed the other way. She came to the edge of the sidewalk and started to step off the curb at the intersection. Suddenly it lunged across her path, swinging around the corner for the turn, the blurred, shadowy outline of the huge truck. Her foot drew back quickly before she stepped into its path. Catching her balance for an instant she swayed back just in time to get out of the way. Backing, she stumbled, putting out her hands to brace herself as she fell to the sidewalk. The truck lumbered on down the street and she saw the sign in large print across the canvas sidecurtain: Mitchell's Trucking and Transfer Co. She gasped the rush of air back into her lungs; her heart pounded. For an instant death seemed all around her in a shadowy pall. She tried to pull herself together. "It didn't hit me. Thank God it didn't hit me," she whispered to herself. She shook her head, trying to clear it, thinking, searching for realization: was it on purpose the truck had come so close, or was it by chance?
Getting to her feet, Vera hurried across the intersection, on down the street toward the cafe. She was holding her breath to stifle the fear that wanted to rush up within her; she was clenching her lips tight to keep from sobbing.
They were busier than usual that night at the Grill. Vera couldn't forget what had happened there at the intersection on her way to work. For a long time she was trembling. Jake must have sensed it because he asked her what was wrong.
Finally, she told him. Jake pondered for awhile before he spoke. "It's Mitchell." Cavelli's face was impassive. "He's out to kill you."
Vera shuddered; she let his words sit for a minute, "Why?"
She stared at Jake.
"Who knows? Maybe it's him; maybe that broad he's running around with put him up to it."
"I can't believe Mitch would do a thing like that."
Jake's voice was flat as he answered. "You'd be surprised what some people will do. Look at it this way, that dame wants to marry him."
"But Mitch and I aren't divorced. She can't."
"She could if you was dead." Jake walked away and Vera stood there by herself, for a long time.
The wheels moved slowly, the lawyers talked and talked. Briefs were compiled, affidavits sworn to, statements read. Somehow Vera and Mitch never had to be there at the same time; his lawyers must have seen to that. Finally, after long discussions, the decision was made in favor of Mitch. He was to have custody of Janet. So she left Vera and went to live with her lather. When they said goodbye to each other, Janet looked at her mother oddly, cool and detached. Vera knew the girl had been consulted privately before the judge had made known his decision. She wondered to herself how much Janet had to do with the way it had all worked out., Vera sat alone in the apartment the day Janet left. She felt numb and cold.. At first she blamed herself as she always had because she had never loved Mitch. For a long time she thought about it.
Maybe she hadn't loved him but she had been a good wife to him while he wanted her. Then another feeling started to creep through her. She hadn't loved him, it was true, but at least she hadn't hated him the way she did now. The way she had hated him since he had told her to get the hell out that day she went to his office. The world she had built around herself with Mitch and Janet had vanished. A woman called Carrie Hoffstetter had come into his life and everything had crumbled. A feeling like she had never known before came over Vera as she sat there burning with hate and despair. "I wish he was dead," she kept repeating to herself over and over, "I wish he was dead." Inside she was crying.
Jake's words beat against her brain like the blows of a hammer. "Make up your mind how you want it done. I could kill him myself or have him killed." Vera's voice was cold as she replied, "I want him dead but do we have to kill him?"
Jake shrugged, "You wait around long enough trying to make up your mind and he'll get you first." His voice sharpened, "You just about got it the other day when that truck almost hit you."
"Maybe it was a coincidence," Vera said.
"Don't fool yourself." His voice was dry. "You wait too long and you won't be here to be sorry."
Vera's voice answered wearily, "Oh Jake, I don't know what to do."
Jake flared, "Then for Christ's sake leave it to me. I know what to do!"
She had no power to say "Yes." or "No." Resistance had gone out of her. She closed her eyes for a minute, trying to remember how it had come to this. What had happened to her? She looked down into her hate and loneliness. Above all, she wanted Mitch dead. "Go ahead then," she finally answered Jake, "I want him hurt the way he's hurt me. Everything's gone now. I'm dead and I want him dead, too. Take care of it. Do it any way you know how."
There was no question in Jake's mind as to what he would do. Already he had set in motion the various elements to make up the scheme which would result not only in Vera's widowhood but also would leave her comparatively well off even after Cavelli had taken his share. Jake's furtive but thorough investigation of Mitchell had established the fact that he was rich in very negotiable assets: bank accounts, investment holdings, insurance policies, stocks and bonds. The more light that was uncovered on this subject the more intense Jake's interest in the project had become, the clearer his duty to Vera. He had to supply her with the means to free her from the unfortunate situation she was now in and, incidentally, make himself a very respectable profit at the same time.
From the time Jake had first learned of Vera's connection with Tom Mitchell, plans had started forming in his head to get rid of him so Vera would inherit his money. Some way he had to impress upon her the fact that her own life was in danger or she might never consent to Mitch's death. So Jake had arranged to have a truck that looked as if it could belong to Mitchell's company almost run her down that day at the crossing. Yes, Jake had carefully planned what he would do to get the money.
The place was a small, modern jazz club upstairs over a real estate office. It had been in the same location since the time when progressive jazz had first started to emerge. Many of the other joints had changed over to something else but this one had kept going somehow. Jake had known about it always, he dropped in now and then for a drink and to listen awhile, sometimes to speak quietly with one of the musicians he knew. That was why he was here now. The man was about Jake's age, maybe a little younger, small and skinny; his nose was thin, sharp, coming down to a weak mouth that gave his face a curious, disorganized quality. He wore a black suit that was just a size too big for him. It added to the look of disturbance, almost of anxiety that seemed to possess his entire body and culminated in the strained expression of his eyes.
His name was Max Vogel but Jake referred to him as Runt. The musicians-had finished a set and during the break the man joined Jake at a little side table for a drink. A lot of talk went on between them. That is, the musician talked in his hurried whisper and Cavelli listened with an occasional grunt.
Finally they got up and walked out onto the fire escape platform in the rear for a smoke. It was empty. Runt struck a match to light his cigarette, his hand shaking a little. Cavelli leaned against the rail of the fire escape platform and mouthed his cigar. He looked at the man standing next to him, contemplating him.
"I heard you and I know what you need! I ain't sellin' you none, Hear me?"
Runt's voice was a whine, "I gotta have it, Jake ... I just gotta!" Jake looked at him undisturbed.
"Tell you what I'll do. I'll give you enough stuff to last you for six months providing you do a little job for me...."
Runt's face twisted as if in pain. "You mean what you was just talking about inside ... ?" His head jerked in the direction of the club's interior.
"That's right, just what I told you. I'll make it worth your while. The whole job won't take more'n forty-five minutes."
"Please Jake, just a little so's I can think straight."
Runt's look was tortured but Jake's face was impassive.
"You think it over. Enough junk for six months and it won't cost you a dime!" Taking the cigar from his mouth, he tossed it into the alley and started to walk back into the place. Runt put out his hand to stop him, "I need it Jake, I-" his voice was pleading.
"I heard you okay, I heard you. Think over what I said. When you make up your mind, let me know." Jake turned his back and walked into the club.
When Vera listened to Jake telling her his plans she was amazed at herself. Her complete detachment from the whole thing gave her a feeling as if she had been hypnotized. All she could think of was, "When will it be over?" For days she had been filled with hate. Hate over what she had lost and what had been stolen from her. When Jake told her to go back to the apartment she was numb, but she went.
Vera slowly climbed the stairs to the apartment where she had lived those years with Mitch. She took the key out of her purse and unlocked the door. She had kept her key since the day Mitch told her to get out. She hadn't even realized she had it until Jake asked her about it. It was mid-afternoon and the curtains had been left open. The sun was beating in, fading the carpet. She had always drawn the curtains in the afternoon. It didn't matter now; none of it mattered anymore. She didn't care if the carpet faded or not. Deliberately she opened the desk drawer and took out Mitch's gun; he had always kept it there. She placed the gun in her handbag. She walked into the bedroom and took the tin box from the bottom drawer of the dresser where it was partly hidden under a stack of his shirts. The box had two or three folded papers in it: their marriage license, Mitch's birth certificate, his will. She glanced through the papers impersonally, then selecting the will, closed the box and put it back the way it was when she found it. She left the apartment, locking the door behind her. As she walked down the street, her fingers tore the will into tiny pieces. She was careful that none of the bits fell to the ground. Opening her bag, she dropped the torn pieces into it. She would burn them later.
The telephone's ring was sharp, insistent. Jake picked it up listening; the voice at the other end was husky, almost choked, "This is Max," the voice said. Jake's answer was questioning, "Max?
Max who?"
"You know, Max Vogel. It's me, Runt." Jake's tone was understanding, "Runt?" he said, "You made up your mind?"
The voice on the line was urgent now. "I'll do it, Jake. Where do I meet you?"
"I'll see you in front of the garage at eleven-thirty sharp." Jake replied.
"You'll have the stuff with you?" Runt's voice was tight.
"I'll have it with me. You better be there on time," Jake answered and hung up the telephone.
Mitch had left his car in the subterranean garage under the building and taken the elevator up to the tenth floor to where the meeting was already in progress. The hall was almost full but he found a seat near the rear. Several officials from the Teamsters Union were sitting up front on the platform. One of them was giving his speech now, addressing the audience from behind the stand with the little electric light attached to it, reading most of it from the notes in front of him. He was a big man. He looked as if he might have been a professional football player ten years earlier. Mitchell wondered how long it would go on. Are all of them going to sound off? he thought. He wanted to get back to Carrie. They had dinner together earlier and after this was over he was going back to meet her at the apartment.
The garage attendant was seated, his head leaning against one of the concrete pillars half asleep when Mitchell got out of the elevator. The place was practically deserted except for a few parked cars here and there, their owners still up stairs where Mitch had just been, smoking, laughing, talking man talk.
Mitch had promised Carrie he would get back as soon as he could. He walked over to his car, the big blue Buick, got in and turned on the engine; as he drove up the ramp he waved to the attendant who, awake now, waved back at him.
He had been driving for several blocks when he stopped for the red light. It was after midnight and there was very little traffic; the streets were almost empty.
Gently, without sound, Runt got to his knees; against the back of his neck Mitchell felt the cold steel, the muzzle of the gun. "Don't turn your head, don't move ... just keep driving. Do as I say, or I'll pull the trigger." The man's voice was husky-and implacable as the gun barrel at his neck.
"If you move I'll let you have it. Keep driving until I tell you to turn!" Mitch could see the pale outline of the man's face, under the brim of the dark hat pulled way down. His heart choked up in his throat and his temples pounded against his skull. Did he imagine hearing the sound of the man's heavy breathing?
"Turn here!" The barrel pressed harder against him.
"Pull up to the curb and stop the car." The voice came tense and biting. "Now, turn off the motor." Mitchell turned it off. He tried to see out of the corner of his eyes.
"Cut the lights. Don't move ... I've got you covered."
There was silence. Then he heard the rear door of the car click as the man opened it and slipped out. Now the muzzle was pointed straight into his face. Then Runt lowered the muzzle of the gun and fired pointblank. Mitch stopped the slug and fell forward grotesquely across the steering wheel. Runt placed the gun on the floor of the front seat. He turned with a quick look around him and pulled off the gloves he wore as he disappeared into the night.
Cavelli read the headlines, "Wealthy Businessman Shoots Self." Vera saw them too. She sat at a table in a cafe drinking coffee. For a while she stared out of the window of the cafe watching the people go by. Then she got up, paid for the coffee and walked on down the street to work. About eleven that morning she saw Cavelli come in and go straight up to his office on the mezzanine. Slowly she followed him. Not until she was inside his office with the door closed did she speak.
"Did you see the papers?" she asked. "I never read the papers. I ain't got time," Jake answered.
She turned to leave the office but he called her back.
"Keep your damned mouth shut, d'ya understand? Keep it shut. Remember, you don't know nuthin' " Vera went back down stairs to the dining room.
When Mitchell's estate was finally settled, the attorneys representing the widow's interests were engaged by Cavelli.
12
Vera and Gladys were on a shopping tour that had lasted almost the entire day. Most of the time had been spent in the shops Vera frequented where she could buy at special prices. They usually were owned or run by friends who were Vera's clients frequenting her beauty salon constantly in a mutual exchange of favors, an attempt to keep each other looking as reasonably attractive as possible for as long as possible. For none of them were young any longer. Gladys was undressed except for bra and panties in a dressing room waiting for a fitter to bring in a dress Vera and she had selected as just the right number to do the most for Gladys. She stood in front of the long mirror examining her breasts. Looking at them carefully, Gladys decided they had grown in the recent weeks she had been with Jake and were rounding out fuller and firmer than ever before. She wondered to herself if Jake's constant feeling, caressing and manipulating of this part of her anatomy could have anything to do with it. Vera's eyes were fixed on Gladys' body, carefully appraising it.
"Kid," she said, "You really are filling out. You're going to be a real beauty. With a shape like that you could get a job at one of the clubs. I'm going to talk to Jake about it right away."
Vera's enthusiasm for Gladys' physical development resulted in a lot more than just talking to Jake about finding a job for her in a club. It started the whole train of events that resulted in Gladys Kelsey becoming Gloria Marlowe, the famous nightclub star. Vera was indefatigable in her ambition for Gladys. She laid it right on the line. "Show business can be a hell of a lousy racket and you'll have to peddle it where you can do the most good for yourself. But at least you won't be just a common whore breaking your back for a couple of bucks or listening to a bunch of dames yakking and screaming all day like parrots while you're trying to fix them up so they'll feel like peacocks the way I have to do," she would say.
"But you've got your own shop," Gladys answered.
"Shop ... shloppe! Who gives a damn when you got to stand on your feet as many hours a day as I do, trying to make those old hags look like what they ain't!" Vera looked at Gladys and made her points with emphasis. "You're going to be beautiful, a real dish, so you've got to do something about it that will get you someplace." Gladys nodded. She wanted to get someplace if there was a chance.
"The first thing to do is change that Godawful name of yours to something that will look good in lights. Whoever heard of having a name like Gladys Kelsey. We've got to talk it over with Jake right away."
Vera saw to it that it wasn't long before Gladys Kelsey was changed to Gloria Marlowe and a completely new round of activity commenced. Vera insisted she start taking all kinds of lessons she hadn't ever dreamed of before. There were dancing lessons where she soon learned that although she never would qualify as a prima ballerina, at least she could make it through a few simple routines. Then Vera found a voice coach who was willing to try to teach her enough singing so she could carry a tune. Of course, it meant more money and Jake paid, Vera saw to that. Her protege was going to make it no matter how much energy it took on her part, not matter how much money Jake had to dig up.
In her own way Gladys had to pay too. Even though she was Gloria now and being groomed for a real break under Vera's earnest guidance she still had to satisfy Jake's appetites. She learned that he never could get enough; becoming satiated with her young body was almost beyond his imagining. It was available whenever he wanted it and Big Jake wanted it much of the time.
At last, after what seemed an interminable period of preparation, Vera decided Gloria was ready for her first try. Jake had a connection with Mike Flynn, an agent, a snide little weasel always out to make a fast buck. Goaded by Jake and after a thorough appraisal of her legs, breasts and rear, Mike got her a job in the chorus at the Cocoanut Tree ... a place way downtown that Vera termed, a real trap'. Gloria didn't care. It was her first job and at least she had a foot on the ladder. Now she would start to climb, climb away from Jake Cavelli.
To everyone's surprise, most of all her own, she did alright. As Mike Flynn had said, "The broad's got a hell of a good build." It was the build which kept her going. The men who came to the club did little but give out with that hungry stare and it always got hungrier when their eyes were on Gloria's lithesome body. The show consisted of a headliner, a specialty act and a chorus. It wasn't too long before Gloria's chance came. One night the contortionist was picked up on a vice rap just before show time and the manager, whose eyes always followed Gloria when she strutted through her brief routines with the other chorines, told her she had to fill in.
"Do what?" Gloria stared at him unbelievingly. The man shrugged, "Look honey, it's too damn late for me to call an agency to send somebody else. Use your brain. All you've got to do is walk around out there for a while and listen to the orchestra while you take your clothes off. With the kind of body you've got you'll be a cinch!"
The manager was right. Gloria did little more than drift languorously around the tiny stage in time to the music and slowly bit by bit dropped the improvised costume they had scrambled together for her in the dressing room backstage. She smiled a lot at the staring men because she felt she had to do something and although her performance was uncertain and crude compared to the sophisticated, smoothly staged, real show business exhibition she currently went through these days at the Monte Carlo, the audience had loved it and it had given her a chance to take another big step up the ladder.
Inexperienced as she was when she filled in for the specialty act at the Cocoanut Tree, the management was satisfied enough to include her spot in the evening's routine even after the contortionist returned. Gloria started polishing and perfecting the few minutes she had alone out there in front of the audience and a little at a time built it into a beginning of the big time act she did today. She asked Vera to come and watch, to criticize and give her suggestions. Vera's intuitive sense for the dramatic and her experience with males made her of great value in more ways than just showing Gloria how to fix her hair. Together they planned, rehearsed and perfected a performance that supplied the men in Gloria's audience with ideas and possibilities which sent them home to their wives hot and eager to experiment with new forms of lovemaking.
Just when things started to get dull at the Cocoanut Tree, Cavelli had to leave town. Overnight it got hot and the finger pointed right at Jake. In a matter of hours they were packed and in the car heading for the west coast just until as Jake put it, "Things have a chance to cool off."
For a moment Gloria got the feeling this might be the time to get ride of Jake but she soon found out his plans for flight definitely included her ... then too, she couldn't risk staying on after he left. Who knew what unfinished business Jake might leave behind him that could be laid to Gloria's door. The easiest thing to do was go with Jake.
After the long trip across country, Gloria and Jake settled in Los Angeles. Things were booming and the huge sprawling city was filled with opportunities Jake welcomed. He was constantly running into unsavory characters he had known before in the back wash of his life; most of them needed the commodity he dealt with in one form or another so business boomed for him and he kept adding new customers to his list. Then too, it was easy to slip back and forth across the line into nearby Mexico when he needed to replenish his supplies.
Gloria couldn't very well complain too much because it was after they got to Los Angeles that her big opportunity came along. At first she had been content to look the place over and get her bearings. Then she decided that she must do something about her act. Mike Flynn, the agent Jake had sent her to in Chicago had fixed it up so she could work at the Cocoanut Tree. When she learned that Jake was getting out of town and taking her with him, she had telephoned Mike asking him what she could do on the Coast. He told her to look up his associate, Abe Bellows, as soon as she got there. Gloria went to see Abe who looked her over as impersonally as if she were meat in a butcher shop; his eyes were keen and professional. He glanced through the stack of papers on his desk,-selected a letter and read it to himself.
"Here's a letter from Mike," he said, "telling me about your number at that joint you worked in back there. You must be pretty hot for Mike to bother to write a letter like this. Think you're good enough to knock 'em dead out here?"
Gloria looked at Abe and shook her head. "Not now I'm not," she told him, "but if I could get somebody who knows how to fix my act up, I'd be tops." Abe grinned, "You got brains as well as shape," he said. " I know a guy who is the greatest if I can just talk him into staging it for you. Leave me your 'phone number. I'll see what I can do and give you a buzz."
Gloria realized how lucky she was from the moment she met Marc Jaroff. Abe was right. Marc was tops. For the first time in her life she worked with somebody who knew how to stage an act so that it was real show business. He knew just what to tell her to do, how to make her entrance, to sing-talk her song, drift across the stage and remove the stunning gown she would wear from her beautiful body. Marc perfected every detail and Gloria adored him. It was Marc who started the legend of Gloria Marlowe, "The Most Beautiful Body in the World."
It wasn't long after Marc finished re-staging Gloria's act that Jake got into a bind with Sid Leiberman. Gloria never did quite understand what it was all about, although she found herself playing a very important part in its outcome.
Sid was a dark-haired, tense-looking man, who seemed to be wound up very tightly. He had dark brown eyes that saw everything going on around him and on occasion his semi-serious expression would be broken by his tantalizing smile. He had made lots of money in his time and had been lucky enough to keep some of it. His interests extended over quite an area: he ran a string of whorehouses in San Antonio and several more in Dallas. He owned a bar in Seattle and a hotel in Las Vegas. But Sid's favorite possession was a plushy nightclub on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood called the Monte Carlo.
Sid had known Jake for a long time; their beginnings were not unlike although Sid was far the smoother. In a kind of way a partnership existed between them. Anyway, Jake seemed to think of it as such when he could get Sid in the right mood. By that he meant a mood when Sid was willing to lend him money. The partnership was not exactly an equal one because Sid was constantly the loaner and Jake the recipient of his generosity. Jake kept an account of how much he owed Sid and he sometimes wondered to himself if the other man kept track of it too. Jake might have set his mind at ease on this score. Sid knew exactly to the penny just how much he had loaned him. Sid knew lots of other things too. Among them was that he had knowledge of most of Jake's nefarious traffic in illicit drug peddling.
Since his flight to California Jake had been lucky enough to be connected with a syndicate which had unloaded a huge amount of cocaine in the area and he had .received a very generous amount in cash as his share of the profits. Because Sid knew about this windfall of Cavelli's he made up his mind the time had come for the return of some of his loaned money. In no uncertain terms he proposed this to Jake, only to be met with evasions. Jake had already thought of a better way of paying off his friend. It was here that Gloria entered the picture. Jake had noted Sid's reaction every time he had seen Gloria. His look had concentrated on her breasts as if he wanted to devour first one, then the other. His searching eyes had lingered on a lot more of her than her breasts with a surge of sexual lust that resembled a wolf ready to attack his prey.
Jake felt that he could do a lot more for Sid than just pay him back what he owed him in cash. He would go far beyond that and arrange a meeting for Sid with Gloria that would give him a satisfaction beyond any he might have from the return of his money. In fact, Jake dreamed Sid undoubtedly would be so charmed with the arrangement he would set up for him, that Jake might never have to pay Sid's money back to him.
Of course, Jake had no intention of revealing his plans to Gloria beforehand so it was some thing of a surprise to both Sid and Gloria to find themselves alone together in Jake's apartment. Jake had persuaded Gloria to wait for him at his place one night about midnight. He must see her, he explained. He had also made an appointment with Sid to meet at the same time and place to discuss some business matters, giving Sid an extra key and explaining that should he, Jake, be detained and late for his appointment, Sid was to let himself in. Plans for his little ruse made, Jake left for Tijuana and Gloria and Sid found themselves together in the apartment. Sid immediately accepted the fact that Jake appeared to have done him a delightful favor and whether Gloria liked it or not, Sid had no intention of wasting his time in conversation; he went right to work. Now that he was alone with her, Sid hardly waited an appreciable length of time so they could have a drink. Gloria caught his hot glances, judging her, appraising her, hungry to devour her. She knew exactly what his goal was and it was no surprise to her when within an extremely short time he attained it. Sid enjoyed himself to the ultimate and found in possessing Gloria a quality of childishness and maturity which gave him the utmost in satisfaction.
Gloria didn't fully realize it then but she had made an absolute conquest of Sid, without particularly trying to. With little effort on her part, Sid was doing all the work; she won him over so completely he couldn't leave her alone. The little party didn't break up until dawn. Big Jake Cavelli had played his cards all wrong. When he got back from his Tijuana jaunt a few days later he discovered to his amazement that Gloria Marlowe's new act was the featured attraction at Sid Leiberman's Club Monte Carlo and Gloria herself was being starred as "The Most Beautiful Body in the World."
13
Not long after this Sid called Jake into his office to thank him for having arranged a most profitable and diverting evening for him with Gloria. Then he gave Jake twenty-four hours notice to return the money he owed in cash or some extremely valuable information in Sid's possession which concerned Jake would be transferred at once to certain agents who represented the Federal government. Jake was only too willing to see that Leiberman received the exact amount he owed him in crisp green bills of large denomination.
Jeff sat by himself at one of the ringside tables at the Monte Carlo, watching, waiting, that air of alertness as usual about him; his body was held with the same controlled tension and the handsome head was still set proud and challenging. Not a few of the expensively gowned, elegantly coiffured women sitting with their escorts at other tables let their eyes slide in Jeff's direction as they laughed and chatted while appraising with the eyes of connoisseurs, his strong, masculine build.
There was nothing cheap nor gaudy about the Monte Carlo. It was the last word in contemporary elegance of decor and sparkled in the soft radiance of chandeliers dripping with crystal, walls covered with brocade, velvet and satin. It glistened like a jewel box in a fascinating glow. Sid had spared neither time nor expense in perfecting his creation. Only the finest decorators and designers had been consulted at its conception and Sid took pride in the fact that cutting corners in regard to expense was unheard of. The food as well as the drinks was superb and everything about the place contributed to its flawlessly appointed atmosphere of relaxation and entertainment. Leiberman had unqualifiedly recommended it to the set who like life to be an open book and they usually were there in droves, ensconced on every available barstool and chair eager to enjoy themselves to the maximum.
The entertainment was in acts. The first one featured a singer whose forte was sweet and sultry ballads. For the second, a comedian took over for awhile in an amusing, conversational way which put the patrons in just the right mood for the third act, which included as the opening, the chorus in a sparkling routine, then Gloria's appearance.
Jeff had enjoyed the entire evening. The drinks had been good, the food delicious and the atmosphere more than interesting. The clientele of the expensive, plush club had been drifting in and out, back and forth under the dim lights in its casual, subdued, careless way most of the evening. Jeff watched them come and go: doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs and the rest of them with their wives, girl friends, mistresses; the ladies in their furs and jewels, the men in dinner jackets. Here and there he could pick out the denizens of Sid's and Jake's world, the gamblers, con men, ladies of the evening and their men. From time to time the crowd seemed to change its personality with the hours. Just before it was time for Gloria to appear, all of the empty tables and barstools started to fill up. Jeff saw Big Jake Cavelli make his ponderous way to a table down in front; he watched him as he would a viper. His muscles tensed as his blood tingled. He wished he could strangle him.
The beautiful chorus girls sparkled across the stage in an intricate dazzling routine, their costumes brief and brilliant, their smiles generous. Then the orchestra started playing her theme music and the Master of Ceremonies announced her thrillingly. The audience grew quiet and for a moment stopped its chatter. All the chorus girls disappeared. It was then she made her entrance; suddenly she was standing alone in the spotlight in the glow of that mysterious something called glamour.
Her lovely, white shoulders were bare, her throat glistened with diamonds, her dark hair was piled high on her head. Every line and curve of her fabulous body gleamed like satin through the flesh-colored film of the gown she wore; at strategic points here and there bright jewel-like palettes were sprinkled to catch the light. She wore long, white gloves as if she were being presented at court and she had allowed the cascade of white ermine which made up her stole to drop almost to the floor and she held it lightly with one hand. For a long time she stood there regal as an empress while the audience looked on and held its breath. Then the wild ovation began. While the orchestra played hauntingly, she drifted back and forth from one side of the stage to the other, her smile bewitching and dazzling. Then, dropping her stole, she started to remove her long gloves. Her eyes rested on one of the males in the audience and her look was provocative as she gracefully tossed him her glove. Just as she glanced around to throw her other glove into the audience, Jeff rose at his table and stood smiling at her. Gloria looked directly at him and smiled her slow smile. Then she threw the glove to him. As he caught it in mid-air, he gave her a tiny bow and she inclined her body in the hint of a curtsy.
Then she strolled back and forth against the velvet curtain, tall and desirable; again Jeff felt that faint, slow smile of hers on him and when he looked at her she held his look with her eyes. Slowly, she pulled a jeweled pin from the top of her gown. Effortlessly it slipped down revealing her full, exquisite, satin breasts, the nipples curving up into the light. As if drawn by invisible hands, the lower part of her dress fell away from her slim waist, slithering across the beauty of her curved navel, over the full hips down her soft, perfectly rounded thighs to the floor. There she stood in the spotlight, stark naked, revealing what the posters claimed was the most beautiful body in the world and the audience thundered its approval.
Jeff rapped briskly at the white door with the bright gold star on its panel. The colored porter who was backstage sweeping the floor had pointed out Gloria's dressing room to him. He heard her call, "Come in," and he opened the door and stood smiling at her. She was seated at her dressing table removing her stage makeup. All she wore was an old, faded dressing gown which she clutched to her as Jeff came in. He could see the outline of her thighs through the thin fabric and the creamy skin of her beautifully formed calf where the folds of her dressing gown fell open. As he gazed down at her, Jeff realized that as beautiful as she appeared onstage, it was when one saw her close that she was truly dazzling. She smiled at him as he said, "I believe this is yours...."
Taking the long, white glove from his pocket, he placed it on her dressing table.
"You're very sweet to return it to me." There was that provocative smile. "Most of them disappear as souvenirs and I never see them again."
"I can understand that," Jeff replied charmingly, "but who needs a glove to remember you?"
"There are many attractive girls out here but I'm sure I don't need to tell you that." She smiled at him. "You're a very handsome young man your self. That's why I tossed you my glove."
Jeff's look concentrated directly on her lovely mouth and Gloria, drawn to his gaze, looked at his level, appraising eyes. Each was a little embarrassed by the suddenness of the sensation which vibrated between them like a current of electricity. It was a delicious moment in which both of them reveled.
"Stop acting like a school-girl," Gloria said to herself. Then, indicating the portable bar at one side of the room, she asked him if he cared for a drink. Jeff might have hesitated but for the look of understanding that seemed to be unmistakable.
"Help yourself!" She turned her head back to the mirror and continued with her makeup. He poured the drinks and carried one to her.
"Shall we go somewhere for coffee after you finish dressing?" He spoke casually to her now never quite lifting his eyes from her mouth and her full, rounded young bosom.
He stood beside her, the drink in his hand. He was so close he could almost feel her breath brush his face. He placed the drink beside her glove on the dressing table; as he did so, she suddenly stood up and he took her into his arms. The dressing gown she wore fell open and with insinuating grace she pressed her form against his. All of the blood in his body seemed to rush to the center of him. To Gloria the moment was intolerable with excitement and her head fell back as his mouth opened upon hers. His desire was so intense he could have rushed upon her with the urgency of a great, winged bird but he controlled himself. She kissed him lingeringly; he pressed his lips to hers. They stood there together, their two bodies like twin flames. Each craved the satisfaction only the other could give. His hand passed up and down over her breasts, stomach and thighs as he drew her closer into his arms.
"Wait!" said Gloria, "Not here!" She wrapped a fur coat around her and taking Jeff by the hand left the club by a rear exit, got into Jeff's car and they drove to Gloria's apartment, a luxuriously appointed retreat situated on its private terrace in a tall, white, tower-like building far above the noise of the boulevard.
14
He saw the wide, white bed ready with its smooth expanse, an invitation to lovemaking. They stretched out together on it naked as Gloria's cool fingers lingered on Jeff's face and played lazily with his hair. He slipped his hand caressingly around her right breast and kissed the tip of her nipple, first effortlessly, then she felt his open mouth and scorching tongue. Raising his head from her one breast, he leaned over to cover the tip of the other with his burning mouth. Then he commenced to kiss the valley between her breasts. In the excitement of his caresses, it seemed her body no longer belonged to her, a trick of fancy that she had never experienced before with anyone else. Unable to endure the sweetness within her which brought this feeling on, she reached out and, placing her hands at either side of his temples on the burnished wings of hair, she pulled his face to hers and closed her mouth on his in a voluptuous caress. Her young, smooth skin was flawless, her thighs the color of rich cream; his hands touched with such an intimate, lingering movement that her body ached with longing. He stretched out, blade-slim and lean and drew her to him. Sensual delight flowed like the commingling of surging waters. He could feel her soft, silken hair straining against the pull of his fingers as he ran his hand through it and her hot breath against his face as she reached for his mouth. She murmured, caught up in the tempest of their furious loving. To Gloria it was a time of unforgettable completeness and gratified desire.
Slowly, gently, without a sound the door of the bedroom swung open, pushed from the outside. There was the sharp snap of an electric light switch turned on as Jake Cavelli stepped into the room and stood there eyeing the couple on the bed ominously. Wild -eyed with amazement, Gloria snatched up her robe and clutched it to her naked body. In one smooth leap, Jeff was out of bed, pulling on his clothes. Gloria suddenly turned on Cavelli, her eyes now blazing with rage. She hated him, hated him more than she had ever hated anybody in all her life. The sight of his great, obese body revolted her. Like scenes from some hideous, obscene play her days with Jake Cavelli flashed across her mind in a blazing light of revelation; his moist, filthy hands on her trembling young body when she was little more than a girl, the feel of his disgusting, thick, saliva dripping lips ruthlessly bruising the innocence of her mouth, his huge, loathsome naked form taking her, possessing her when she first tried to twist away, crying with pain, only to be forced roughly down by his panting body, his fetid breath against her face; wanting to scream but instead pleading in fright, realizing that resistance was impossible, allowing him to revolt her unspeakably; the retching, the vomiting release when he was through.
"How dare you come into my bedroom in this outrageous way, you filthy beast!" she screamed out in a rage that was shattering. Jake lunged at her and his hand crashed against her jaw, making her head snap.
"Don't call me a beast, you little whore, putting it out for any cheap punk who wants you!" he bellowed.
Jeff's teeth fastened together in a straight grim line as he saw Cavelli strike her. At the same time his mind fastened too ... into a knot of rage. The rage passed through him and back, back to the beginning when he first set eyes on this man, that day when he drove up to the station and told Jeff to fill up the tank of his big car.
Rage burned and smoldered at the very center of his body. This was the moment he had waited for. The time was now. He leaped at Cavelli but the big man, peculiarly alert, was ready for him. His fist crashed into Jeff's stomach and sent him backward, sprawling to the floor. Up like a coiled spring, left hauled oft with a hard right that made Jake stagger. Cavelli's face twisted into a mass of hate and madness as he lunged at Jeff. But the big, beefy man had started too slow. Jeff stepped aside quickly and Cavelli crashed into a table, crushing it. Jeff leaped upon him, chopping at the back of his neck. He heard his own voice but not the words he was yelling. The voice itself did not seem to belong to him as it continued. "You dirty, filthy bastard! I ought to kill you! I'll break every bone in your Goddamn, mangy body." Jake staggered to his feet. The two men stared at each other. Jeff's face was contorted with fury.
"Remember me, you rotten sonofabitch? The filling station? Remember? Cathy? Remember Cathy?" Jeff's eyes blazed. "Do you know what I'm talking about? Goddamn you to hell!"
Jeff's fist crashed into Cavelli's face.
Suddenly it all came back to Jake and fear rushed through him in a torrent. This was the boy from the filling station that day he had found the young girl ... the day he had raped her; the one who had looked so familiar that day in Marty's, he had seen him again in Tijuana. Yes, Jake remembered only too well and he cursed himself for a fool. "He'll kill me!" he thought. "Save yourself, for God's sake! Get him first!"
Jake tore into Jeff and the two men started trading punches, swinging heavy blows. Cavelli staggered, then his huge fist sent Jeff reefing back against the side of the dresser; bottles and ornaments crashed in every direction. Gloria backed against the wall, her robe clutched tightly around her in horror. Jake picked up a chair and threw it. Jeff ducked and the chair shattered into pieces. Jake fell against the glass doors to the terrace and they opened so violently that the panes shivered and cracked. Now, both men were outside slugging it out. The light from the bedroom streamed out across the darkness and the two battling men. Jeff hauled off with a terrific blow that drew blood and Cavelli retaliated with an equally savage punch. Their blows punished each other mercilessly, nothing barred. Jake was wavering ... a bleeding, beaten mess. With a leap, Jeff forced his heavy body against the wall of the balcony. With a thud Jake's huge fist smashed into Jeff's face. He staggered back, steadying himself against the edge of a heavy, wrought-iron table. As Jake lunged at him for the kill, Jeff let go with a terrific blow. Jake went down. He tried to crawl along the brick floor of the terrace but Jeff wouldn't let him get away. Cavelli's arms were warding off the hard fists, his head held down. Jeff was systematically smashing at his huge body and heavy head, beating, kicking, punching. Jake cringed under the beating Jeff was giving him.
Jeff's shoe smashed against his skull and he gasped with blinding, red-flashing pain; the black patch was torn from his eye and it seemed to stare out from his head, huge, blood-veined, revolting, through the milky whiteness of the cataract which covered its surface. Through the pain, blood and sweat smeared across his face, Cavelli could see Jeff towering above him, an avenger, half-crazed in his wrath. Jake screamed out an oath and twisted to get away. Jeff's strong arm pulled him to his feet. "Get up, you sonofabitch! Stand up! Fight!"
Cavelli stood shaking his head, blood all over his face, spitting it out of his mouth, glaring like a tired bull, foam at the edges of his broken lips. Then he bore in, his weight carrying in, his big, square fist landing hard against Jeff like a hammer, moving in ready to end it. Then Jeff threw one and Cavelli staggered. Jeff's lungs and head seemed to be bursting. Jake was leaning against the wall. Jeff got up close to him and putting all his strength behind it, let him have another one. His fist drove straight into Jake's face and buried itself there. Blood burst out from the big, flattened-out nostrils. Jake slid down the wall to the floor of the terrace.
He sat heavily, hunched there. "I've had enough!" Jeff heard Cavelli's voice speaking in desperation, "Don't kill me ... I've had enough!"
Jeff stood over him, panting and dazed then wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve. In the light from the open door Gloria stood in appalled silence as they looked at each other.
The broken-down, tinny old truck rattled and bumped along down the highway. Jeff, sitting up front with the ancient driver leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. The garrulous old man at the wheel talked on interminably. He looked to be in his seventies at least and he talked and talked as if bent on relating all the prosaic details of his entire life now that he had a listener.
Jeff scarcely heard a word; the recent events which had crowded his own existence had left him too spent to give his attention to the harangue which was being dinned into his ears. In spite of the racket the car made as it bumped along, the ride might be pleasant if only the old fool would shut up, Jeff told himself. He smiled, at least he had hitched a ride. He would soon be there. He had a good, relaxed feeling. Things had gone better than he had expected. Behind his closed eyelids he could see the swift series of events which had led to the moment that he stopped fighting and saw Big Jake Cavelli slumped there on the floor like a huge, tired, beaten bull. He remembered washing the blood from his face and hands, combing his hair, with Gloria standing beside him, trying to make himself look half-way presentable again, then leaving the apartment. He had driven straight to Margo, waiting there in her fine house high on the hilltop and he had left the car in the driveway and given her the keys. Then he told her he was on his way; taking her lovely body into his arms again he kissed her goodbye. Jeff opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. It was almost dusk and lights were coming on here and there along the road. The driver had finally stopped talking; he seemed to be under the quieting influence of the approaching night. Just as the road curved, Jeff saw the little cafe at the edge of the highway with the neat yard in front and the "Tacos" sign over the doorway. He told the driver to stop the truck. "This is where I get off," he said. Then, thanking the driver, he
[there is missing text in the original pocketbook at this point]
As the truck drove on, Jeff turned and saw the lights coming through the windows. He opened waved goodbye. the door and walked in. Everything looked cozy and warm. Rosa rushed from behind the counter and threw her arms about him. "I've come back," Jeff laughed, pressing her to him, his lips seeking her mouth.
"You're home...." Rosa said ... then she kissed him.