As they moved along, forced to take shuffling steps in the press of the crowd leaving the neighborhood theatre, Connie linked both hands around the rock-hard muscled strength of Mike's arm, rested her head against his big shoulder, and closed her eyes. Oblivious to everyone around them, she was reluctant to depart from the make-believe world of the movie they had just seen and dreaded her return to reality.
Connie hated everything about the drabness of the city's tenement district in which she'd lived all her life. She detested the overcrowded streets and the muggy swelter of the unbearable city summer night that now awaited them outside. She did not want to enter the heat or hear the coarse voices of people or the angry sounds of congested traffic, or feel the bodies of sweating people jostling her, or leave the air-conditioned comfort of the theatre and its smell of soggy popcorn.
Connie opened her eyes when they were outside. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes felt strangely out of focus and sadness touched her as the happy glow which the movie's happy ending had left her with, faded. For an hour and a half she had escaped the humdrum existence of her own life, but now the never-never world of the movie was unfolding from her consciousness, shoving her back into the jungle.
She laughed up at Mike and squeezed his arm. It was a gesture of escape, an attempt to purge the threatening mood of depression that threatened to make her sad, rather than a signal of her happiness, just being with Mike.
Mike glanced at his watch and stopped a few doors away from the movie entrance. "It's early, hon. Feel like a couple of short ones down at the joint?"
Connie did not reply at first. She averted her gaze. Every week it was the same. Hamburgers and cokes. The movies. Jack's Juke Joint and flat beer and the noise, crowded into shabby leatherette covered booths, leaning on greasy formica tables, eyes burning from the haze of cigarette smoke, pretending to laugh at the neighborhood gang's antics and rowdy jokes, disgusted at the horseplay of the creeps, then home to smooch in the shadows of the dark hallway on the third floor in front of the rear apartment in which she lived with her sister, Louise; or perhaps to their secret place on the fifth-floor rooftop, when the stars were out, and the night warm, like tonight.
"Jack's?" she finally answered in a surprised voice. But Connie was not surprised at all. She was thinking of something else. like going to some other spot for a change. like that intimate little club they'd seen in the movie where the atmosphere was nice and where they could dance to the music of a real live orchestra and drink cocktails instead of flat beer. But no, that was out of the question. Mike couldn't afford it. Not on the pittance he earned, working as a laborer for a building construction company, out of which he paid for room and board and laundry and weekly tuition to the night school where he was studying drafting.
He frowned at her, a little puzzled, then his handsome face broke into a grin. "What's the matter, Connie? We always wind up there."
She dipped her shoulders and her hands fell away from his arm in defeat. "That's just it. We always go there."
Mike was suddenly alarmed. His eyes narrowed and he peered down at her, lifting one of his big hands to her chin, touching her gently, tenderly. "Gosh, hon. I wish you wouldn't be like that. Two and a half bucks for the movie, a buck and a half for eats and another two dollars for beer at the joint adds up to five bucks, which is-"
"I know," she interrupted tiredly, her voice in chorus with his as they both said, "the budget."
Mike laughed and she laughed, then he grasped her by the arm with a sudden masterfulness that thrilled her. "Come on. I know just the place. We haven't been there in months. For a change it might be fun."
Connie made a sour face which she hastily concealed from him by looking away. She knew where he intended to take her and although her first inclination was to protest, she decided against doing so. After all, Mike was doing his best to show her a good time and it was his money he was spending on her, so why shouldn't she try to be a good sport about it? The poor guy deserved some fun on his Saturday night out, what with his night classes every night after work, and Sunday nights for catching up on his home study assignments at the makeshift drafting table he had set up in his room, he was entitled to a few laughs or to do what he felt like doing.
They walked through the humid city night along gray sidewalks that led by dingy rows of tenements in front of which swarms of children played and ran, shrieking and laughing, oblivious to their dismal environment. Connie looked at the haggard faces of the women leaning out of their apartment windows, shouting down now and again at their children playing in the streets, nagging their husbands sitting on the front steps in tattle-tale gray undershirts, and she wondered if such an existence was to become hers also.
She shuddered at the thought. Living from day to day, hand to mouth, season to season, choking in the sweat-bath-like smog of blistering summers and huddling over steam radiators in freezing winters, raising a whole flock of runny-nosed kids, living in walk-ups that reeked of somebody else's cooking smells of lingering bacon grease and cabbage and garlic, was that to be Connie's fate?
No, she swore to herself. She would have more out of life than that. Even if it meant leaving Mike and leaving the city to strike out on her own.
She glanced up at Mike's profile and felt a twinge of regret and pain. How could she ever leave him? And would she ever be able to muster the courage necessary in order to do so? What good was being in love if that love were destined to die, killed by a miserable life of poverty?
The flashing neon sign above the arcade that was the tenement district's main all-night hangout reflected in Connie's saddened eyes. Ryan's Pool Palace, she thought. Oh, God, not tonight!
Mike hugged her quickly before they entered, glancing down at her as though proud of himself for remembering this place. Connie managed to swallow her disappointment. Advancing a thin smile to her face, she puckered her lips as though to say, "Mike, if it makes you happy," then made a gesture as though to kiss him.
Thus assured that Connie was pleased with the idea, Mike proudly escorted her inside, led her to a snooker table, inserted a quarter in the slot, and left her while the balls were rolling to say hello to the gallery of neighborhood idlers beside the service bar where he also ordered two draft beers.
While they played and sipped their beer, Connie felt a warm glow settle to the pit of her stomach. She watched Mike's thick arms ripple with that animal strength she had grown to know so well and suddenly she wanted those arms around her, tightly, comforting her, caressing her, loving her. For two years now, ever since her sixteenth birthday, Mike and she had been steadies, blindly loyal to each other. How could she ever bring herself to leave him? Even though he was four years older than she was, and he had had other girls before they had met, it did not matter except that Mike was her first love and, she also hoped, her only love.
As they were standing together, leaning over the pool table with Mike showing her the proper way to hold the cue in order to make a difficult shot, someone unexpectedly slipped up behind them and slapped Mike on the back. The cue slipped and scattered the balls.
Straightening, Mike whirled around. His face, usually genial and grinning whenever meeting an acquaintance, was now blank and devoid of expression. "I might've known," he said.
Connie turned, instinctively feeling that Mike disliked the newcomer, a flashily dressed, suave man in his late thirties. His sudden appearance disarmed her. She immediately felt uneasy beneath the man's bold stare and intense blue eyes, eyes which were fixed so steadily upon her that she felt as if he was mentally undressing her, oblivious to Mike's darkening frown.
The man's pencil-thin moustache straightened in a smile. Without shifting his hungry gaze from Connie's figure, he said, "Aren't you going to introduce us? Come on, Mike old boy. Where are your manners?"
"Connie. This is Greg. I used to know him when I worked down at the union hall."
Greg pantomimed a hurt look of incredulity for Connie's benefit. His blue eyes danced with laughter. "Did you hear that, Connie, my dear? He said, when he used to know me." With that, Greg turned to confront Mike directly. The smile was still on his smoothly shaven face. "You never told me you had a luscious little doll like this on the string. You've been holding out on me, Mike, old buddy. Now is that nice?"
Mike sidled beside Connie. He put a protective arm around her. "Knock it off, Greg. Connie and me, we're engaged." He smiled down at her and winked. "Ain't that right, baby?"
Connie squirmed under Greg's brazen stare. She felt a flush of embarrassment she could not understand color her face. Even her ears burned and she turned away quickly, noticed the scattered pool balls as if for the first time and without turning, said, "Heck, now look. We've got to start the whole game over again. Mike, help me rack them up."
With a final glance at Greg, Mike told him, "Don't let us keep you, old buddy." He then turned away and began to help Connie gather the balls together. He did not glance in Greg's direction and ignored him completely.
Greg, nonplussed, stood to one side for several long moments, watching, his gaze riveted on Connie's plump buttocks which seemed to swell against the tight material of last year's dress as she leaned across the table. A low whistle emanated from his lips. "Man, oh man," he said, "Ain't that little doll of yours stacked, Mike old buddy."
Without a word Mike looked up. His eyes narrowed into angry slits and his mouth hardened.
Connie, alarmed at the look on Mike's face, fired a warning glance at him. But Mike had not seen it. He continued to glare. Greg went on ogling Connie's figure as though Mike did not exist and the threatening look he was getting was--likewise, nonexistent.
When the silence drew out, Greg apparently felt more confident that Mike would not do anything, so he moved behind Connie and put his hands on her shapely hips. "Mmmmm, so round, so firm, so fully packed," he said, leaning forward, brushing his cheek against her hair.
Mike was suddenly around the table in two strides. He clapped one big hand on Greg's shoulder and spun him around. As Greg's face registered surprise, Mike's other hand knotted into a club-like fist. A moment later Mike delivered a sound punch to the point of the dapper man's chin. The sound was like a pistol shot that brought everyone in the room to attention in time to see Greg hurtle backwards, slam into a pool table, then collapse flat on his back, one arm and both legs dangling over the sides, unconscious.
Several hangers-on laughed. Two men slapped Mike on the back, muttering, "Nice going, kid. Saw the whole thing. He had it coming."
Taking the suddenly sheet-white face of Connie's into consideration, and seeing how she was nervously chewing a knuckle, Mike caught her by the arm, grabbed her purse and handed it to her, then steered their ways out between the rows of pool tables.
"You didn't have to hit him," Connie was saying when she had regained some of her composure a few minutes later after they had walked around the corner and out of sight of the pool palace. "Suppose he would've hit his head, and died, then what would you've done? One of these days-"
Mike stopped in his tracks. Ignoring the curious stares of the people sitting on the stoops and the others watching from open window perches on both sides of the street, he placed both hands on her shoulders and gazed down into her face, ignoring the little embarrassed protests and the uneasy side glances she kept giving to their audience. "Listen, baby. I love you. And because I love you, I ain't going to let no creep like Greg or any other imagine-Dan paw you and treat you like a-a common hooker. You're something special, Connie. That's why I want to marry you. That's why I'm going to school every damn night in the week, and pinching pennies, so I'll amount to something, someday. Then, when I'm a draftsman, and making big dough, we'll get married and I'll take you away from this goddamn life and give you a new one, a little house of our own with a lawn and with trees, and I'll make up for all the-"
"Mike, please. Everybody's staring."
"To hell with them. I love you, baby. And so help me, I'll break the jaw of any guy who gets funny with you."
"Please, Mike. Not here. Maybe Louise went to work early tonight. Take me home. We can talk there. Okay?" Her wan, smiling face and expectant expression turned up at him, waiting, insisting that he release her and start walking again.
He was intent. Without warning he caught her up in his arms and holding her powerless in an embrace of surprising force, kissed her. Connie struggled in vain. At first she tried to push him away, but it was like trying to press her hands against an immobile wall of muscle. Then her hands crept up, one clasping the back of his thick neck, the other clutching the taut flesh of his cheek.
Only when the people watching began to laugh and applaud and some children began to jeer and cheer, did Mike release her. Laughing, they ran hand in hand, down the street, across the next street and up the block. They didn't stop running until they had reached the brownstone in which Connie lived. Breathless, they entered the fetid atmosphere and mounted the stairs, taking them two at a time. Connie went first, reaching the third floor landing, then halting abruptly. A light could be seen beneath the door.
She placed a warning hand of restraint against Mike's chest and whispered, "Louise hasn't gone out yet."
Mike looked crestfallen. He glanced at his watch. "It's eleven?" he said, his remark intoned, clearly inquiring why she was still home.
"That's right. I forgot," she whispered. "Louise is working that new place where the folk-singing strippers are playing. The shows there don't start until midnight."
Her words fell on deaf ears. Mike had pulled her into the shadows and his big hands were at her breasts, his labored breath purling down her neck as his mouth nibbled at her earlobes.
Little shivers of excitement coursed through her body. She drew her elbows in against her body and wriggled free of his embrace. He was at her again, fervently, whispering in her ear, "Hon, let's go up to the roof. What d'ya say?"
She stopped trying to evade him. Her eyes lifted in a loving gaze to meet his. In the gloom he looked more handsome to her than ever. The animal magnetism that flowed from him charged her with irrestible longings. With one hand kneading and fondling the upright mound of her breast, and his other trembling hand stroking the pert solidity of her buttocks, Connie felt herself dissolving into a cauldron of desire.
She fought against it, not wanting to go to the rooftop, not wanting anything sordid or furtive that night, not wanting his lovemaking, their lovemaking to be hurried, or to be afraid that someone might chance upon them on the roof. Instead, Connie wanted it to be different, not like it had been during the two years past, sneaking into some dark corner to make love at every opportunity; and not like this. "Not tonight, Mike. Please?"
He started to give her an argument, but she raised two fingers to his lips, gently but firmly. His expressive eyes showed the frustration of disappointment. She recognized that look and nodded with understanding.
Finally Mike relented. He squared his shoulders and released her. "Okay. I get it. You're shook up because of what happened at the palace. I'm sorry about that, Connie. I apologize for spoiling the evening for you."
Before she could reply, to tell him it was all right, Mike abruptly turned, moved to the staircase and started down.
"Mike!"
He halted and looked up, hurt in his eyes.
"Don't go like this. Mad, I mean."
"Who's mad?" he tried to grin but it didn't come off.
She strode over and kissed him quickly, but he brushed aside and hurried down. Feeling somewhat despondent, then suddenly abandoned and sorry when she heard the door close after he went out, Connie had to rush into the apartment to keep from bursting into tears.
Louise, wearing a strapless bra and matching black panties, looked up in surprise upon hearing Connie came in. "Hey, you and Mike have a spat or something?"
Leaning against the door with her shoulders flat against it, Connie stared at her sister and nodded. "Whatever gives you that idea?"
Louise turned and picking up a mascara brush, leaned close to her reflection in the dresser mirror. "Baby sister, I know you like a book. I can practically tell you what you've been doing from the way you close the door when you come home." She continued applying her makeup for several moments in silence, then she moved back a step, surveyed her appearance and eyed Connie's reflected image. "Hey, what gives, Connie?"
Snapping out of her reverie, Connie shrugged. "Nothing." She crossed the room, kicked off her shoes, then dropped upon her bed where she leaned against the headboard. Finally she forced a smile. "I'm okay," she cried suddenly in a tone of urgent insistence which was embellished with a sweeping gesture of open hands in protest against her sister's unwelcomeed concern.
Louise turned a puzzled frown in her direction. "You did have a fight with Mike, didn't you?"
Connie turned her face to the wall. It was an action that was clearly indicative of a refusal to comment.
"Okay, be stubborn," Louise said. "Cool off a couple of minutes, honey. Then we'll talk. Okay?" But she did not wait for Connie's reply. She knew better. She went to the closet, selected a gown and held it up. "How's this one, Connie?" she inquired a little testily.
Finally Connie turned her head. She looked at the dress, a busy-patterned red satin, and made a face. "Not with that new shade of blonde hair you're dyed," she said.
Louise smiled thinly. She was glad Connie was human again. "Which one shall I wear."
"The new black one?"
Louise's face brightened. "Why not? The creeps I hustle for drinks always make more passes when a girl in black fills their glasses." She laughed despite Connie's disapproving look and began to hunt for the dress.
Connie, on the bed, pensively studying her sister, felt a wave of revulsion sweep over her when the thought occurred to her that perhaps she too, might end up as a B-girl, like Louise.
CHAPTER TWO
Louise, who had single-handedly provided for and brought up her kid sister since that unfortunate time when they were orphaned five years before, understood Connie with an uncommonly perceptive insight that was more maternal than sisterly. She had made many sacrifices in order to give Connie everything a growing schoolgirl would need, from taking that first job as a B-girl in order to be home with Connie in the daytime, to helping her with her schoolwork, paying for braces for her teeth, seeing to her every need and whim, and now, that Connie had just graduated high school two months before, Louise wanted to go on helping her.
As she performed the last rituals of dressing, putting on earrings, necklace, and an array of imagine gold plated bracelets, acting as though nothing in the world was awry, Louise set up a constant stream of chatter. She knew her sister's many moods and she also knew what signs to watch for when he would be receptive to her indulgent attention and could be persuaded to come around to her way of thinking. Every once in awhile she glanced surreptitiously at Connie's reflection in order to see if she was ready to listen.
"Well," she said with a sigh of relief. "How do I look?" She whirled around once and waited for Connie's decision.
Connie smiled warmly. "You look just fine, Lou."
"I'm glad you're pleased," she said, taking a cigarette from her purse and lighting it. "Know something, Connie?" she said, exhaling thin streams of smoke and moving to the bed where she sat down beside her after taking an ashtray off the nightstand between their beds. "What?"
"You've a wonderful future in store for you, know that?"
Connie shrugged. "I don't know about that."
Louise confronted her directly, concern creeping into the lines of her still beautiful face. "You don't know? Crimanee, girl. With a guy like Mike head over heels in love with you-you don't know? Are you kidding or something?"
Connie looked at her gravely. When she replied a few moments later her words were carefully chosen and uttered with calculating deliberation. "No, I'm not kidding. I don't know anything except that I'm sick and tired of being poor, of being an unimportant nobody who can't even pay back her sister for all she's done for me." She averted her face for a moment, swallowed, then said, "I know you think I should marry Mike and all like that, but..." her voice broke off as she elevated her face and implored Louise with her eyes to understand.
"But, what?" Louise demanded, more than a little annoyed.
Connie made a feeble gesture as though to forestall giving an answer, then sighed. "Okay. Mike's a nice guy. He loves me. He's all a girl could possibly want in a guy. He's good to me. Fun to be with. Considerate. And maybe even someday he'll amount to something. But, Louise, Mike's poor! What kind of a life will there be with him, living in a walk-up like this dump? Pinching pennies the rest of our lives? Never going anywhere because the budget won't allow it? Always waiting and hoping and wishing for the breaks that never come? Raising kids with runny noses who'll have to play in the gutters, die of heat in the summer, shiver all winter?"
Sitting up haughtily, charged with anger, Connie met Louise's astonished gaze with a bitter laugh. "No, my darling sister. That sort of life isn't the way I want to live, you can bet your sweet life on that. I want money. A car. A nice house with genuine paintings on the walls and rugs on the floors as thick as grass in a park. I want clothes. Nice silk things, not the junk we have to fight for in some bargain basement, but originals that girls model for you. And I want to go places and do things and be able to go to beauty parlors when I feel like going, and to be seen, yes, seen by all the right people in all the right places. I want to travel and I want to live-to really live and to enjoy life as it's meant to be lived. Know what I mean, Louise? Do you really know, do you?" Connie, breathless a moment, paused, but before her sister could reply, continued: "I'm sorry to have to say this, Lou. But men like Mike will never give me what I want in this life. That's why I've made up my mind to break off with Mike. I'm aiming my sights at the stars and I'm now making the announcement-officially-that I'm setting my cap for someone who's got the wherewith-all to give me what I want."
Louise silently watched Connie for a long while before she looked down, tapped the cigarette ash into the tray she'd been balancing on a shapely knee, and said in a crushed voice, "I don't blame you one bit for thinking that way."
Her remark took Connie by surprise as she had known it would. She waited another moment before continuing: "Connie, I had no idea you were so bitter." Louise's voice dropped an octave as she studied the end of her cigarette. "I'm sorry you've had it so rough." Then, looking up suddenly, her eyes began to flash with mounting intensity. "Listen to me, kid. And you listen good, do you hear? I'm going to tell you a few things that maybe you don't know. For almost two years I've watched you and Mike together. And when I couldn't see you two, I could guess the rest. You love each other, maybe more than you realize right now. And believe me, without somebody to love you and somebody to love, life ain't worth living.
"Sure, it's nice to have money and all those things you said you wanted. But without love to fill your life, living isn't worthwhile and your existence is empty. You don't know how lucky you are, having a strong, ambitious guy like Mike to make you secure in his love and devotion to you. So what do you care if you don't have money? You can't take it to bed with you. It can't make love to you and with it, you can't use it to buy real love. Believe me, I should know. Ever since I was twenty, I learned how to keep score and I've continued to learn that money is far from being the most important thing in life. Don't I hustle drinks from the suckers with dough to throw around? Don't they try to buy love from me? And do they get it? You know better than that. I might cuddle up to them a little, and I sometimes even let them paw me-for money-to support us; but, and this is a great big but, that's as far as I go, honey. You know what I mean. Nobody, but nobody buys me or my love.
"I'll admit that sometimes I got to thinking like you're thinking now. Once when I was your age I had a fella like Mike sniffing around after me, too. I suppose I loved him, but he wasn't good enough for me. No, sir, he didn't have enough money. I never told you about this before, have I, Connie? The truth is, I never thought that it'd ever be necessary to tell you because I did not want you to feel obligated to me, or guilty because of the sacrifices I've made to give you a good start in life, but now, it's different. I don't want to see you as I now see myself when I was your age, throwing away the one great love that comes to a girl once in a lifetime, just to chase some rainbow, hoping to get the pot of gold at the end of it. You'll get the pot all right. Just like someone else we both know."
Connie blinked at her. "Who's that?"
"Remember Donna, the dumb kid who used to live on the fourth front? The one who got kicked out of school after they caught her and a teacher sexing around in a classroom. Well, Donna made it all right. Car, plenty of money, gorgeous clothes, plush apartment in the Georgian Arms-all the things a swinging hustler dreams about. Except the most important thing of all-a man of her own, a man to love, honor and respect her, a man to take care of her when she's sick, to father the children she will probably never have. Instead of one man, she has hundreds. Maybe even thousands before she's too old. She made it all right, Connie. She sold herself for the top buck right on down the line and right on down the line she'll continue to go until they're no more takers and some other hooker will get all her trade.
"Honey, you know I don't mean to lecture you. I have your best interests at heart when I rave on like this. Can't you see, I don't want you to throw your life away. Won't you think about what I've just told you? Think about Mike, about loving him, having his children, going to bed with him every night for the rest of your life, having sex with him whenever you want, waking up beside him every morning; then, when you've thought all about that, think about how empty life will be without him."
Connie swallowed hard and looked at her sister through misty eyes. Unable to say anything, she merely dipped her head and studied her fingertips. Louise stood up, bent to kiss her cheek, then picked up her purse and moved toward the door.
Before going out she paused. "Connie?"
"Yes?" she said, looking up.
"Think it over. Carefully. Promise?"
She nodded slowly.
"Another thing. If you do decide to break off with Mike, be certain you know your own mind and you know what you're doing. It's a terrible thing to rip a man's heart out over some foolish notion, I know. My fella ... he tried so hard to stop loving me ... he left town ... joined the Air Force ... because of what I did to him. Because ... he wanted to keep himself from ever seeing me again..."
"Did you-I mean, did he see you anymore?" she asked Louise in a haltingly timid voice.
She looked across the room at Connie, then seemed to be staring right through her. It was as though she was looking back into the past. "No," she said hollowly. "There was a plane crash. He died in the hospital two hours later. My name was on his lips. He was asking for me with his dying breath."
Connie emitted a small choking sound that stifled an outcry. But Louise did not hear it. She had turned and hurried out, closing the door softly.
Later, when the impact of her sister's words had worn off somewhat, Connie began to rationalize. She sat on the bed, resting her chin on drawn up knees. On the one hand, she knew she loved Mike, not only physically, but in other ways as well; while on the other hand, if it was the real thing, then how come she was able to think about leaving him? And was this honestly what she wanted to do?
For a long while she sat motionless, thinking, idly staring at the faded wallpaper, the peeling blisters of paint that occasionally snowed down from the ceiling, the shabby furniture, the inadequate kitchen facilities, the impossible to exterminate, endless streams of cockroaches, and the antiquated bathtub with its rickety, outmoded shower curtain ring dangling from the crumbling plaster walls. No! Connie said to herself, sitting boldly upright. I don't want any more of this. I've had it!
She thought about Louise and all she'd done for her and she knew that she would never be able to repay her. Louise meant well, and it was true she loved her and wanted nothing else but the best things in life for her, but....
Connie climbed off the bed and began to undress. She watched herself in the dresser mirror and with a critical eye, surveyed her generously endowed body. Thirty-six-inch bra, C cup, she thought proudly, placing her hands on her breasts and stroking them until the nipples became erect. Her hands moved down and she turned, surveying her body from different angles, suddenly thinking about how wild Mike became when he saw her nude like this.
Connie looked down at the dresser and the array of junk jewelry, scatterings of cosmetics and other effects belonging to Louise. Am I going to wind up like her? she asked herself. Is there anything wrong about wanting money and clothes and a good figure? Is there anything wrong about not wanting to get married and now wanta humdrum existence like this? Louise's viewpoint hading my figure spoiled by breeding kids, and not wanting merit, all things considered. But she was different from her sister Louise. She was content merely to exist, while Connie wanted to live. Once, Connie had read somewhere, that everything had a price. If one wanted wealth, one had to acquire it by hard work, brains and guts. If one wanted anything at all, it had to be paid for.
Connie's thoughts drifted to Donna. Sure, she remembered her, only too well. She recalled how she used to admire Donna's clothing, her exquisite hairdos, the nice jewelry she had, and the rich men she had often been seen dating around town. Connie had secretly envied Donna from afar and now, as fate seemed to have it, Louise had unwittingly brought her name up and had told her where to find her. She knew the swank apartment house and as she intoned the name, The Georgian Arms, even the sound of it was more than just a little impressive. I'd give anything-do anything-even sell my body like Donna, just to live like that, just to be somebody and to have nice things. What's so bad about that? she told herself over again. You've got to give Donna credit for having the guts to go after what she wants. Maybe I'll drop around and talk to her. I'm sure, for old times' sake she'll be glad to see me and to give me the lowdown. Yes, Connie told herself determinedly, aloud, "First thing tomorrow, that's exactly what I'm going to do. No harm in talking to her, is there?"
She switched off the lights and turned back the spread and sheet on the bed and climbed in. It was too humid and warm for a nightie or a sheet covering so she sprawled there naked, tossing and turning from the thoughts in her mind.
In the gloom she could see Mike's photograph on the chest by the window. She stared at it for a long while, remembering how he had left her two hours before, thinking that part of the price she would have to pay to get what she wanted out of life would be in giving up Mike.
The thought tormented her. She thought about how she might break the news of her decision to him. She wondered about many other things, too. The girls he would naturally turn to, and he was bound to have them flocking after him once the word was out that Connie had thrown him over. A twinge of jealousy gnawed at her when she considered the unbearable thought of Mike belonging to some other girl. Bitter at her own thoughts, her loneliness and indecision magnified out of proportion, the unfulfilled yearning for Mike's strength and caresses and love, Connie found herself beginning to tremble with desire, the mounting degree of which was due to her inner tensions. She tossed around in bed restlessly. Sleep would not come to her. Thoughts of Mike persisted despite her efforts to stop thinking about him. Fragments of delicious memories continued to creep into her consciousness in an endless chain. She remembered the fresh scent of his masculinity and new desires began to awaken inside her. She thought of the way he kissed and held her, the way his rigid body fitted against her own softly feminine one and, suddenly, she was unable to stand the unrequited desire she herself had been solely responsible for when she had sent Mike away. She sat up and reached for the phone. Then she dialed hastily.
Someone behind the counter at the juke joint picked up the receiver, shouted for her to talk louder, then yelled for Mike. A moment later Connie was caressing the phone, her heart leaping at the sound of his voice. The din in the background was a roar. "That you, Connie? Is it really you?"
"Come over, Mike. I'm alone. I miss you like crazy."
"I can't hear you, Connie."
"I said, come on over," she shouted into the mouthpiece.
There was a brief silence as though he had been stunned. "I'm on my way, baby!" he finally cried. "Be there in five minutes."
She hung up and went into the bath. After hurriedly checking her appearance she went to the closet, started to select one of Louise's sheer negligees, thought better of it and crossed to the door. She unlocked it, turned on a dim light and returned to her bed, drawing the sheet up to her chin, her ears straining for the approaching sounds of his familiar footsteps.
Little shivers of excitement coursed through her. She awaited Mike's coming with more than just anticipation. Now she had a violent need for him. Her body craved his strength. During the past two years love with him had been the only important, worthwhile thing in her drab life. Now she needed his love and his body beside hers, in her bed. They had never been in her bed before, not because there hadn't been opportunities, but rather because Connie had always wanted it that way. However-
Tonight, everything was different. She was beginning to look at life from a new viewpoint, a new perspective. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was toying with the idea that tonight was to be the last time she would ever permit Mike to make love to her. How she had formed that idea, she had no way of knowing. Nor did she allow herself to think about it consciously.
She heard the creaking on the steps as he hurried upstairs. In the silence of the old building every minute sound was magnified. She heard his footsteps on the second floor landing and her flesh tingled as the thought of his surprise when he would come in and find her waiting-naked-in bed. Waiting with outstretched arms for him to come to her.
Mike would like that. He had often told her he had dreamed of the day when he would be able to come to her and find her like that. Now Mike's dream would come true. But the rest of it, the finish of the dream? What then? Would she, could she go through with it? That, Connie was unable to determine. It was like walking out in the middle of a movie. You have to guess at the ending or wait until someone else sees it in order to tell you how everything came out in the end.
Connie squeezed the thoughts from her mind. She began to tremble when she heard him at the door. "It's open," she called thinly, her voice strangely vibrant.
Mike came in, breathless from running. He took one look across the room at her and mechanically closed the door, his hand feeling for the latch that locked it. Connie smiled at him teasingly and held her arms out.
His breath caught in his throat. His face, half-smiling, half-livid with the first flush of surprise was immobile as though transfixed in awe.
Connie's extended arms beckoned and her eyes implored him to hurry.
"Mike-" she whispered. "Come to me, darling."
He walked toward her somewhat unsteadily, his shaking fingers hurriedly unbuttoning his sweat-soaked shirt. He reached her side, stripping off his shirt and kicking off his shoes at the same time. She lurched up, arms aching to embrace him and the sheet fell away baring her throbbing breasts.
Mike gasped and was suddenly upon her, his mouth leeching onto hers, his eager hands sweeping down her body, pausing a moment to fondle her breasts, then proceeding downward over the voluptuous contours of her hips. Connie writhed with hungry ecstasy as her fingers stroked the unblemished sleekness of her flesh.
She arched upward, her hands locked around his head and forced his mouth against the tingling upright bud of a heaving breast. She shuddered and moaned against his lips as he urged her nipple to hardness with the flicking point of his tongue. The breath caught in Connie's throat. A faint moan escaped from her lips as she tore at his hair with clutching fingers.
"Yes, yes, that's the way, Mike darling. Ohh, don't stop."
Connie's eyes, sparkling with the flames of wanton desire, became fixed in an almost hypnotic stare. She writhed with delirious abandon beneath his fervent kisses, tossing her head wildly, her hair flogging the pillow. Her body arched up, and her eager fingers clawed his flesh. She clasped him in desperation, shoving his face down against her fevered body.
Suddenly he was doing things to Connie he had never before done to her. It was a thrillingly new and insanely delirious experience. But only for her, only for the girl he loved could he do this.
"Yes, oh, yes, Mike, sweetheart," she sobbed, her voice almost incoherent, her straining hands cat claws that gripped his head. "Don't stop. Ahhh. Kiss me, kiss me, sweetheart."
Connie's recklessly abandoned passion fired him with a new excitement. She writhed beneath him with violent urgency, then she gasped, tugging at his shoulders, "Come to me, Mike. Now, now. Hurry, darling." She clawed at his flesh, forcing him to slide up. Her fingers raked the flesh of his back and her teeth sank deeply into the bulging muscles of his shoulder. Then she fell back upon the pillow. She cried out, "That's it, oh, darling."
Mike's intent face was masked in a frenzy of lust matched only by Connie's own widely staring eyes and gasping open mouth. As her hips drove, a deep-throated wail coursed up from deep inside her and suddenly she became rigid. Her nails ripped into him as the rhythmic throes of quaking convulsive tremors reached from her to him. Caught up in the maniacal fury of her unleashed passion, Mike felt himself spilling downwards in a giddy whirlwind of rapture until he went limp, his lungs wheezing for air, his heart thundering down upon her pulsing breasts. He made a slight movement as if to move aside, but still Connie clawed him to her.
"Don't ... move ... not yet ... please Mike."
He was utterly spent, helplessly inept now and he managed to raise himself slightly, to peer into her eyes, to tell her he loved her, to say how wonderful it was. But Connie's eyes glistened hotly as though with unsatisfied desire. Then, realizing that she had totally drained him, she struggled to free herself from the entanglement of his body. She urged him onto his back and then her lips were nibbling his flesh, her tongue flicking over him. Sizzling shocks purled through Mike as his entire body seemed to stiffen and rise up from the bedding, arching toward her, even as she crouched on drawn up knees above him.
A whimper of insane pleasure spat from his gaping mouth and his eyes became transfixed. His body, straining against her impassioned nibbling and suckling caresses, shook with mounting ecstasy. His violently shaking fingers raked her hair. "Connie, oh, baby, baby."
For a long while afterwards they lay in each other's arms. Mike, utterly depleted, numbed by the unexpected experience of being with Connie like this, like they had never been before-and in her own bed, felt contentment course through his being. Although he had many things on his mind, he could not find the strength to say them. If this day would only last forever.
"Mike?"
"Uh-huh."
"You'd better go now. It's after three. No telling when Louise may come marching in."
With surprising agility he leapt out of bed and hastily began to dress. A minute later he was bending over her, nibbling her earlobes, kissing her face, then her lips. "Good-night, Connie," he whispered, hastening away, crossing to the door.
"Good-bye, Mike," she said with an odd note of final-
He halted, one hand on the latch above the doorknob, his other hand in midair, turned and frowned. "Goodbye?"
Connie brought a smile to his face when she blew him a kiss and laughed tauntingly. He returned it and went out. She heard him try the door after he'd closed it to make sure it had locked properly, then, as she listened to the diminishing sound of his footsteps, Connie knotted her hands into fists, fell forward upon the mattress, burying her face into the pillow and wept, flailing the frustration out of her body by hammering her hands against the bedding.
Never before had she known such despondency and such aching emptiness. Her arms spread apart and she caressed the damp places where his body had lain. "Goodbye, Mike. Good-bye forever."
CHAPTER THREE
Connie strode away from the polished brass wall of mailboxes in the lobby of the Georgian Arms and entered the self-operated elevator. Donna's apartment was on the sixth floor. She pressed the button and when the doors closed, she looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror inside the elevator.
The bargain basement dress, the best she owned, was passable. However, Connie knew that it wouldn't fool Donna. Not so many years ago, Donna too had nothing else to wear except garments like hers. There was something tawdry and marked about clothing one fought mobs of bargain hunting shoppers to grab off sale racks. Others who had no other choice but to wear such things knew it, and those who could afford to buy their clothes in the best shops knew it.
Still feeling awkward and self-conscious, Connie timidly pressed the buzzer to six-twenty, taking a deep breath to bolster her courage. Although she could not think of any reason why she was nervous and ill at ease, Connie tried to laugh at herself for being so foolish. The smile was still on her face when Donna opened the door.
"Donna?" she said testily, a little wonderstruck at the glamorous appearance of the girl whose hair of champagne was impeccably set in an elaborate upsweep, and whose daringly revealing sheer black negligee cascaded down over her voluptuous figure like a silken veil that clung to every curve and jutting arch of her magnificent figure.
"Well, gee whiz!" Donna cried, stepping forward to grasp Connie's hands, then bussing her cheek with a quickness that caught her off-guard. Then she backed off, exclaiming, "Connie! Isn't this wonderful. Gee, I'm glad to see you. Come in, come in."
Connie gingerly followed Donna inside. She was utterly taken by the luxury of the apartment and she gave out with an awed cry of admiration. From the sculptured green carpeting to the scalloped brocade drapes to the free form contours of the white upholstered sectional sofa and matching chairs, to the Chinese modern black lacquered tables, Connie's astounded gaze traveled. She didn't have to say a word to tell Donna how much she admired everything she saw.
"Just like old times, isn't it?" Donna said, giving Connie a sudden hug. "Remember how you used to come up and I'd show you all my things?"
"Uh-huh."
"Gosh, I'm glad you dropped in, Connie. Sometimes it gets mighty lonely, not seeing any of the old gang. Know what I mean?"
Connie smiled and nodded understandingly. Donna had surely changed a great deal since the time when she lived in the neighborhood. She was sophisticated now and there was something extra special about her that made her stand out from the herd. Connie admired Donna's appearance secretly as she showed off the apartment, as she beamed them from one room to the next, opening closets, shower doors, kitchen cabinets, the refrigerator and even the bar cabinet.
Finally, they sat down upon the sofa, facing each other.
"Let me look at you, Connie," she gushed, taking the girl's hands and clinging to them as she looked her over. "You're really beautiful. Do you know that?"
Connie's face colored with embarrassment. She averted her gaze and mumbled something about the mess she really was and, "You're just saying that."
"No," Donna stated, surveying her critically. "It's true. You are lovely." Her gaze wandered over Connie's figure a bit too familiarly, a bit too lustily to be construed as just being "friendly." It was more than that. If Connie had noticed, she hadn't let on.
"So?" Donna said finally. "What brings you into this neck of the woods? Man trouble? Want some advice from the old maestro herself, that why?"
A little embarrassed, Connie murmured, "Yes. And no."
Amused, Donna pursed her lips and cocked an arched eyebrow. "Huh?"
Connie was flustered. She hastened to explain. "Yes, I have come to you for some advice, Donna. No, I don't have man trouble. But now that I am here, I don't know how to begin."
"Well you just relax here with me, honey," Donna said condescendingly, suddenly moving very close to her and placing one arm around Connie's shoulders. "Take it easy, honey, and tell me all about it. You know. Donna's going to do everything she can to help you-for old times' sake-and because we always have been dear, dear friends. Haven't we?"
Connie looked up into Donna's face, bewilderment and wide-eyed admiration evident in her expression. "Yes," she replied with mild enthusiasm. "We always have been friends. I've always adored you, Donna, and I always used to wish that I could be just like you. Even though my sister used to nag me to death to stay away from you, I just couldn't. I feel funny saying this, but it's the truth."
Unexpectedly, Donna leaned forward and kissed her. It was a strangely lingering kiss that sent little electric shocks through her. "That's the kindest thing anyone's said to me in a long time."
Connie looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. She sorted through the clutter of thoughts in her mind and decided which question she wanted to ask first. Still without meeting Donna's gaze, her eyes fixed on her manicured fingers, Connie asked testily, "Donna. Do you think that I'd make a good, er-ah, hooker?"
"You, Connie? Well, I would never have believed it!"
Apprehensively, Connie peered up at Donna's face. Now that she'd said it, now that she'd let the cat out of the bag, she had to follow through. "Tell me the truth, Donna. Please?"
Donna's lips curled into an amused smile. Her eyes danced and seemed to glitter. "Do you think you would?"
Connie shrugged. She looked at her blankly. "I don't know."
"Do you think you could stomach going to bed with men for money?"
"Wouldn't I have a choice? I mean, if the man wasn't appealing to me, would I have to?"
Donna laughed. It was a hard laugh. "You're so square, so innocent, it'd be a crying shame. But what a doll you are." She paused to take a cigarette off the table, light it, then offer it to Connie, who nodded refusal. "Frankly, Connie, I don't know what to say to you. That's for you to decide. Only why? Why are you-"
Connie interrupted. "Because I'm fed up with living like a pig in a pig pen. I'm sick of being poor all the time and of never going places or doing things or having nice clothes to wear. You know what I mean, Donna. You were a part of my world once, remember? Now," she paused to gesture around at the room, "I'd like a taste of your side of the world. All this, like you have, I'd sell my body and soul to have too!"
Donna's eyes crinkled with amusement and understanding. Finally, clasping her hand around Connie's shoulder a trifle more endearingly, squeezing, then releasing her, squeezing again, she said, "Be honest, honey. Do you think you would have the stomach for it?"
A whirlwind of thought spun in her mind, remembrances of Mikes' lovemaking of the night before, fragments of other passionate moments with him, on the rooftop in their secret place, in the recesses of the dark hallway while she had stood with bare buttocks flattened against the wall with Mike driving his body urgently against her, and now she tried to picture how it might be with others, with men of blank faces and fat bankrolls. Slowly, unable to say yes to Donna's question, she nodded and shrugged again.
"You don't know if you can. Is that it?"
Connie was deeply appreciative of Donna's understanding. Her hand, clasped by Donna's, gave a little squeeze in response.
"Honey," she said finally. "If I had your looks and your cute little figure, know what I'd do?"
"What's that?"
"Go after the big dough. Cashing in on your assets."
Connie eyed her with renewed interest. She waited for her to go on, watching as Donna removed her arm from around her shoulders and placed her fingertips at her throat, then traced the contours of her figure downward, over the outline of her bust, then along the generous arch of her hip. "Without a doubt, Connie, you'd make a terrific model. Did you ever think of that?"
A trifle embarrassed that she had, Connie avoided Donna's probing gaze and nodded. "Yes, I think that appeals to me more than anything else." Her voice became timid again. "Do you really think I've got what it takes?"
Donna laughed. "And then some. In fact, honey, I've a hunch that of all the ways open to you to get into the big time, modeling would be the fastest way to make it in the least amount of time."
"How do I get started? Where do I go, who do I see? What would I have to do--? "
Donna burst into laughter, "Hey, just a second. One question at a time."
Connie became intent. Setting her shoulders squarely, she leaned forward at the hip, anxiously peering into Donna's smile.
"First," Donna said, leaning to crush out the, cigarette in the tray on the cocktail table before them. "You have to decide what kind of model you want to be. If you're going to go the route by registering with those model agencies and waiting for them to call you for an hour or two of work once a month posing for beer commercials, forget it. But, if you want to get started at the top and earn fifty dollars an hour right off the bat-that's a hat of a different color. Of course, if I had your figure, that's exactly what I'd do."
"Would you, Donna? Honestly?"
Donna's expression changed to that of humility. She lowered her gaze and stared at her fingertips. "To be completely honest with you, kid, I would've given anything to look like you. As it is, I'm just an average type and there isn't too much call for me whenever some of those special assignments come up."
"Special assignments? You mean, you do some modeling as well as-er-hooking?"
Donna laughed at Connie's unintentionally uttered faux pas. "Don't be embarrassed. I'm a realist, honey. I know what I am and I don't make any pretenses about it. Sure, I'm a hustler, and I turn over many a fast buck selling myself to men, but know where my heart has always been? In modeling. Every so often I do get called to pose."
"How much do they pay you?" Connie asked excitedly, feeling a strange new rapport with Donna, a feeling that began to cement a bond between them.
Donna smiled. "My usual rate is a hundred dollars and more per hour. Depending on the type of assignment."
Connie's face registered incredulity. Her mouth fell open and she nodded in disbelief. "I think that's marvelous, Donna, to think that a girl could earn that much just for posing for pictures. Do you think, I mean really, that there's a place for me, I mean, well-you know."
"Sure, honey. It just so happens that they're scouting around right now looking for new talent. You're young and fresh and you're built like a pinup. You would do terrifically. Why, with me to help you and show you the ropes, in no time at all they'd have to pay you the same rates I get. Of course, when you're learning, you start at the bottom. Guarantee fifty dollars a job. That ain't nothing to stick your nose up at, now is it?"
Speechless, Connie slowly nodded.
Donna smiled and clapped her hands around the girl's shoulders. "Honey," she said with muted excitement, "I really believe you have what it takes. I've got a real in with them and I've a pretty damn good idea of what they want. You're just the type they're looking for and I'm sure that I could talk them into hiring you."
"You'd do that, for me?" Connie gasped. "Oh, Donna, how could I ever repay you?"
Donna, her eyes suddenly, engagingly, staring into Connie's, tensed. Her lips, parting slightly, slowly moved toward the girl. Then, with unexpected swiftness, she kissed Connie on the mouth.
At first Connie stiffened. Her own lips became rigid, but when a tiny shiver rippled down her back she responded by meeting Donna's mouth hesitantly. For a breathless instant she remained immobile, then she recoiled, drawing away in confusion and surprise.
Understanding how it was with her, Donna was quick to explain. "Honey, you're so damn beautiful that I can't-couldn't resist you. I dig you the most, know what I mean?"
Connie, scrutinizing her, a little suspicious, a little confused, replied, "No. I don't get it."
A coarse laugh burst from Donna's generous mouth. "You're wondering if I'm a lesbian, aren't you?"
The forthright question startled her. She was quick to blurt a defensive reply: "No, I wasn't thinking you were-"
"Come now, Connie, honey. Don't try to put me on. I know damn well what you were thinking. Does it shock you?"
Connie swallowed hard. She stared at Donna for a long moment before answering. "I never ... I mean, I don't understand. I like you and I always have, you know that. It's just that I never thought about making love to a woman or anything like that."
"Now you're wondering how I got this way?" Donna said, taking another cigarette, lighting it and leaning back against the sofa. She waited until the girl nodded affirmatively before going on. "Okay. It's simple. With men, I'm just a girl they hire. They make love to me, I pretend to return that love. Maybe I've gotten so that I just don't dig men anymore. Maybe it's because I'm bisexual, and maybe it's because I'm fed up with men and am attracted sexually to the beautiful innocence of a-"
"Girl like me?" Connie said it for her.
Donna smiled. "Now you're getting the idea."
For an instant the thoughts of what she would be able to buy with all that money Donna had said it was possible to earn flashed into her mind. If the price to pay in order to reach that goal would be in surrendering to Donna, she wondered, would it be worth it? Would she be able to let herself do that?
"Well?" Donna said, leaning forward abruptly, peering at her with abated interest. "What do you say?"
"I don't know what to say, Donna. Honestly. I just don't know. In other words, if I will be nice to you, you will be nice to me. Is that the picture?"
"You dig me just fine, sweetie. I've got to hand it to you, you've got a brain in that gorgeous little head of yours."
A wry smile cracked the edges of Connie's full mouth. "Have you forgotten that I also grew up in the same neighborhood? One gets wise mighty young in those back alley colleges in the slums, doesn't one?"
Donna's eyes narrowed. She watched Connie for a second and then burst into laughter. "Say, kid. You really did grow up since the last time I saw you, didn't you?"
Connie let it pass. She confronted Donna more boldly now. "The model job. What kind of modeling will it be."
Eyeing her with amusement, she said, "One guess."
"Nude?"
The laughter in Donna's eyes gave her the answer. "Those stag pictures. That the kind you have to pose for?"
Donna's gaze did not falter. "What else pays so well."
"And? What about the strings."
"There'll be no strings attached, Connie."
"I have your word on it?"
Donna slowly nodded. "Of course." Her smiling gaze fixed upon her hotly. She waited for Connie's reaction with bated breath.
"All right, Donna. I'll swing, but only as long as you keep your promise."
"That's fair," she said, her voice a little tremulous. Then she edged closer to Connie. Her lips parted for a brief moment as she flicked her tongue slowly around them, the gesture lewdly beckoning.
Surging charges of fired emotions pulsated inside Connie. She tried to swallow, but a lump had formed in her suddenly dry throat. She found herself curious and passively interested in Donna. Then, the blonde's mouth closed over hers. Quivering fingers expertly groped for the zipper of her dress. She closed her eyes, permitting the strange new sensations to charge her with desire.
Suddenly Connie was naked on the couch. Donna's hands fondled her full, erect breasts, cupping them, raising them, gently, tenderly as her tongue circled each rose-budded center where vivid color and sensation nestled delicately. Connie's breasts swelled. The buds opened and then she felt the sharp nip of Donna's teeth. Her responsive body yielded to the blonde's exploring hands.
Donna's ardent body slid down, her tongue leaving a stream of kisses until Connie stifled a cry at the delicious sensations her kisses were rousing within her writhing body.
like a wet tongue of flame, Donna's mouth continued until the girl's entire body opened to her kisses. With each new caress a dazzling blur of light swam across Connie's eyes. She flogged the sofa cushions above her head as she felt Donna controlling her, each darting tongue stroke stabbing her deeper into the throes of ecstasy.
Suddenly, Connie was whimpering, begging Donna to stop, while at the same time praying that she would go on, and on. ... Her kisses leeched to Connie, around and around, wildly, more ardent with each gasp, clingingly, until Connie was transported upwards, her arching body rigid, convulsive gasps soaring out of her throat as she rose up, up to beyond the pinnacle. Then, in a delightful trembling that rippled through her, she felt herself spilling downward in a collapse of wonderful release. Screams emitted from her from deep within. "Oh, my god. Stop, stop, stop!"
Later, vaguely aware of Donna beside her, Connie lay inert, drained and exhausted as she had never been before. In a delirium she began to sense the writhing of Donna's nude body. She felt the woman's hands clasping her head, the fingers clawing her scalp, and then Donna's fiery tongue again, lashing the tender places at her thighs.
A tremor shot through her and she wanted to reciprocate, to kiss and be kissed and suddenly, driven by the frenzied insanity of the moment, Connie's mouth sought and found Donna's nakedness. Their tongues seemed to lance each other with a mutual purpose as though each was trying to slake the thirst of her lust by doing to the other what the other was doing to her. Their movements reached a crescendo of abandonment. Their bodies clasped as though locked in the death throes of some occult ritual. And then, at once the gaspings and smothered moaning cries of impassioned delight burst from them at the same instant. Darting tongues, suddenly icy cold continued their maddening movements until squirmings of agonized protestations hammered them away, resisting with their final surgings of remaining strength.
Totally exhausted, limp and breathless, Connie felt the blanket of sleep cloud her mind and the throbbing warmth of .Donna's body, nestled still in spent repose.
CHAPTER FOUR
Connie lay inert upon the sofa. The dim light shone against her weary eyelids as if holding them shut. Somewhere in the apartment she heard Donna's voice talking to someone on the phone. In the distance she heard the whirring of an elevator in the building. Beneath her naked limp body the soft upholstery supported her weight like a gentle caress. She luxuriated still, transfixed on the threshold of drowsiness, midway between wakefulness and sleep.
The whisper of the air-conditioned breeze fanned into the living room and caressed Connie's cooling flesh. Then she heard the sound of Donna's voice again, laughing, saying goodbye, hanging up. She sensed her presence in the room although she could not hear her, for the thick carpeting muted every sound.
As if she could feel the vibrations of Donna's presence, Connie felt her nerves tighten. There was a movement on the floor beside the sofa where she was lying. Donna had knelt beside her. She felt her hot breath purling against her erect breasts. The flaming touch of Donna's tongue against her navel laced through her and she recoiled from the nerve-wracking sensation by springing up to lean on her elbows.
Donna laughed. "I've got real good news for you, honey. I called the man, told him all about you, and he sounded real interested."
Connie's heart leapt. She sprang up to a sitting position, her bare legs folded beneath her round bottom and she gazed raptly at the blonde woman as though every breath she drew was making her all the more grateful-and indebted. "Then what'd he say?" she gushed, the naive enthusiasm carrying her away. "Tell me all about it, from beginning to end. What'd you tell him about me? Did he ask you any questions about me?"
Donna hurriedly got up. Her big breasts jutted forward and she laughed. "You're such a doll. Such a square little doll."
Connie did not take offense at what she'd said. "Don't keep me in suspense, Donna. You know how much this means to me."
"Okay, Connie. He said he'd take my word for it, that you're everything I said you were. He's coming over. Should be here in an hour or so."
"Oh, my god!" Connie shrieked, leaping off the sofa. "I look a sight. I've got to dress, to fix my hair..."
"Hold your pants on, honey," Donna said. "First, we're going to take a shower and use up some of that hundred-buck-an-ounce, perfumed body oil I've been saving. Next, you're going to do your toenails and fingernails with red polish to replace that drab clear stuff you have on. While you do that, I'm going to fix your hair. Then, there's that slinky black cocktail dress in my closet that always was too small for me. Should fit you like a glove. If it fits, honey, it's yours. Cost me two hundred bucks, but what the hell, if it's for you, Connie, I don't care what it costs. Nothing's going to be too good for you from now on, just you wait and see."
She took Connie by the hand and led her, naked, into the bath. Connie looked up at Donna with near-tears of gratitude in her eyes. Later, while Donna worked at her hair and Connie sat on the vanity bench doing her nails, they talked as though nothing unusual had happened between them. While Donna luxuriated in the feeling, the victorious feeling of a lesbian conquest, Connie fought against her own thoughts which were as yet unresolved concerning the way she felt about the experience she'd had.
"This man who's coming. What's he like?" Connie asked.
After removing several bobby pins from her clenched teeth, Donna replied. "Greg? He's quite the ladies' man. You'll have to steer clear of him, honey. He's no good. Rotten to the core. At least two girls I know of hustle for him and he treats them like dirt. Doesn't even let them keep thirty percent of their own blood-money."
"You mean, he's a pimp?"
"Don't you ever call him that," she said, furiously working the brush, teasing Connie's hair into the shape she wanted. "He's a promoter. He's the front office guy for the photographers, rents and sells the pictures they take. Sets up stag parties, you know the sort of thing."
"I get the idea," she said.
"Just so you don't go getting any other ideas about him. Don't let his good looks and expensive clothes and Cadillac fool you. Sure, he's rich and attractive, but he'll cut your heart out just as easily as a barber could shave off that skinny moustache of his."
"Moustache?" Connie muttered. "You said his name was Greg." She paused, then remembering the man with whom Mike had had the run in with, she tensed with apprehension. Suddenly she moved around and peered up at Donna. "Is he about six feet tall. With real noticeable big blue eyes and a way of looking at you that makes you want to grab something and cover up even if you're completely dressed?"
Donna laughed. "You described him to a T. Where on earth did you meet him, for God's sake?" She held the comb and brush immobile, waiting for the reply with more than a little curiosity.
In a rush of words that were edged with concern and the fear that perhaps Greg might not want to hire her after what'd happened the night before, Connie told her everything.
When she was finished, Donna burst into laughter, holding her sides and stamping her foot. "I would've given up the price of ten dates just to have been there and I know a few other girls who would've liked to have seen it too. It's a shame your boyfriend didn't break his neck."
At the mention of the word boyfriend, a chain reaction of linked thoughts rattled through Connie's mind. An overwhelming emotion erupted inside her and she had to bite her lip in order to choke back the sigh and the inevitable tears. She forced her thoughts away from Mike and made herself listen intently to what Donna was saying.
". . . I wouldn't worry about it, honey. Chances are, even if he does' recognize you right off the bat, he's going to be intrigued all the more. No," she said with an outpouring of fresh enthusiasm. "I'd say you've got it made. That's a promise, honey chile."
Forcing a laugh of relief, Connie gazed up raptly at Donna. "Yes, mammy," she intoned, drawing her leg up again and bending her head so Donna could finish with her hair and she could complete the lacquering of her toenails.
When Donna had finished she held a hand over Connie's eyes and refused to let her peek at the new hair arrangement. "No, baby, not until we're all finished with you."
Minutes later, Donna's urgent fingers began to dress Connie as if she was a manikin. She selected one of her best half-cupped bras and matching lace panties which she helped her on with, then she led her to the closet and took down the dress. "Oooh," Connie squealed. "But I couldn't, Donna. I've never even seen such a daring original."
"It's yours, honey," Donna said thickly. "Come on, let me help you on with it. I want you to have it. I really do."
The finishing touch, spike-heeled pumps, and Connie permitted herself to be backed up to the mirror. "Okay, close your eyes and turn around," Donna said.
An outcry of amazement, of utter incredulity burst from Connie's lips. So astonished was she that she actually was staggered at the astounding change that had been brought about in her appearance. She gasped and as though wonderstruck, could not tear her gaze from her reflection.
The hair arrangement was exotic, piled high upon her head and crowned with a ringed tiara, the imitation gems of which glinted like real diamonds, casting reflected prisms of light around her like a rainbow-colored halo. Matching earrings which Donna had hung on her lobes swung just above her bare white shoulders.
Lush contours of her upright breasts showed enticingly as the plunging neckline of the pure silk gown was designed to reveal them in their twin-supporting semi-cups, cleverly concealed beneath the folds of the garment. The makeup and expertly applied eyebrow pencilings, mascara, green tinted eyeshade and other cosmetics Connie had never been able to afford, had transformed her into a glamorous being that completely flabbergasted her. If she did not know it was herself, she might never have believed it. In a gushing of emotion and a shower of words, Connie told her how devastatingly thrilled and excited she was.
Before Donna could answer, the doorbell chimed.
Connie gasped. "It's him!" She suddenly realized that Donna was. still undressed. "It's my fault, you were so busy getting me ready, thinking about me, that you haven't had time to get dressed yourself. Oh, Donna, forgive me."
"You scrumptious little doll!" the blonde cried, hugging her affectionately. "I could eat you up. No, baby, don't worry your pretty little head about me. It's you I want to show off now, because Greg's coming to see you, not me. And I couldn't care less about dolling myself up for the--likes of him. Now, you go on out there and let him in. Turn on the charm, baby. Make him drool, but don't let him touch the merchandise. Fix him a drink and take a little snifter yourself. I'll be out in a jif."
With her new look to bolster her confidence and ego, Connie opened the door without the slightest trace of apprehension affecting her mood.
Then Greg was standing before her, his blue eyes hungry, as though devouring her with insatiable yearnings. His pencil-thin moustache seemed to stiffen; he stood frozen as if benumbed at the dazzling luster of her fresh beauty. Then his eyes glinted with laughter, "Hey, did I ring the wrong bell? Am I in heaven looking at an angel or something?"
A nervous laugh tittered from Connie as she held the door open for him and effected a slight gesture and a curtsy, inviting him inside.
He slowly entered the living room, but his eyes remained riveted in a hypnotic trance-like stare. He stopped woodenly and turned as she closed the door. He continued staring, his eyes never for a second ceasing their fixation upon her, following as she went into the living room's interior.
Connie felt a flush of deep-rooted embarrassment come over her. Even the exposed contours of her upright breasts began to color. Despite what Donna had said about Greg, she liked him. More than just casually. There was a certain something about him, a kind of exciting animal magnetism that left her wits benign.
She caught a glimpse of a huge diamond ring on his little finger. Funny, she thought, she hadn't noticed that before. Then, she heard herself speaking to him, offering him a drink, asking what he preferred.
Dancing blue eyes continued their unmoving watchfulness. "J&B on the rocks," he said and she only half-heard him.
She felt his gaze caressing her when she turned her back. Then she purposely kept her face averted While getting out the glasses, and taking the cubes from the small ice-maker behind the bar. Then she had to hunt longer than necessary through the forest of bottles before she found the J&B. A little shaken by the literal assault of attention he so relentlessly was giving her, Connie's hands began to tremble and she spilled some of the liquor before she had built his drink. Finally, he stopped staring.
When the initial nervousness had subsided somewhat, Greg accepted the drink and took a seat and she, carrying a tiny cordial glass of Drambuie, seated herself opposite him.
He toasted her, sipped, then said, "I have the strangest feeling I know you from somewhere."
Connie laughed and elected not to reply. She took a tiny sip and waited with a dozen questions just bursting to be asked, questions that had set her hopefully, all agog.
Apparently, Greg sensed her thoughts. He eyed her with a studied glance and said, "So you want to be a model, eh?"
"I'd like that. Yes."
"I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name," he said with a stiff formality that was somewhat stilted, but which Connie did not seem to notice.
"Constance. But everybody calls me Connie."
"May I also call you Connie, Connie?" he said with measured forwardness.
Suddenly Connie felt her composure dissolving. No one had ever spoke to her so gentlemanly, so respectfully, before. Why, she thought, he isn't like Donna said he was at all!
"Why, yes, please do."
He bowed his head and smiled, replying, "Thank you, Connie. My friends call me Greg. I'd be honored if you would, too."
Speechless, Connie was only able to manage an uneasy smile. She grew increasingly aware of her own ineptness, her lack of ability to amuse him with intelligent conversation. She shifted her feet and hands and forced herself to wait for him to take the lead.
Then, as she waited, she found herself thinking about the way Mike had assaulted him. Now she decided that Mike had been wrong. Wrong to have hit Greg. Wrong for being rude to him. Wrong and crude and terrible. No wonder Mike showed such an intense dislike for Greg. Mike was jealous, she decided.
Although she had no way of knowing that the formulation of her ideas and favorable opinions of Greg due to wishful thinking rather than rationalization, Connie gave her runaway thoughts full rein, and hence, unwittingly, she began to ensnare herself in Greg's invisible trap.
"Donna has told me some nice things about you," he aid.
She dipped her head and smiled, suddenly remembering that she hadn't apologized for Donna who was still in her bedroom, dressing. "That reminds me," she stammered. "Donna isn't dressed yet. She'll be a while yet."
"I didn't come here to see Donna," Greg told her, a little annoyed to be reminded that Donna was somewhere else in the apartment. He measured her for a brief moment with a critical eye, then inquired testily, "Of course she made it clear to you that we require a model who is willing to work hard and begin at the bottom?"
"She did. She explained everything to me."
"And you know what will be expected of you?"
"Of course. That it's for stag films and stills," she answered in a cautious tone. "That I'll have to pose sort of, well, naked." She colored slightly as she intoned the last word and grew uneasy under his smiling gaze, a little flustered with embarrassment.
"Good. I'm glad we understand each other. Now, my girl, let's see. Can you be at the studio by ten tomorrow morning?"
"Will I? You bet!" she enthused.
Greg's moustache rippled from the effect of a strange smile. "We will start you, as we do with any other inexperienced girl learning the ropes, on say, fifty dollars a session. Will that be satisfactory, Connie?"
She shook her head vigorously, speechless with expectation and thrilled because she had made such an impressive and acceptable imprint upon him.
"Ordinarily," he said slowly, "we require all new models to take a screen test." He paused, watching the flicker of disappointment come across her face. Delaying the comment a trifle longer just to be mean and keep her dangling, Greg seemed to derive a vicarious pleasure from this. "But," he said with a knowing wink, "I'm going to extend myself for you, Connie, and take Donna's word for it, that you have the attributes we're seeking."
"Thank you," she said with the relief showing on her face.
"So," he went on, unmindful of her unnecessary remark, "I will excuse you from the screen testing, out of deference to Donna, of course."
She dipped her head in an obedient nod and managed a grateful smile.
They spoke a while longer, then Greg got up to leave. At the door he paused to say, "Give Donna my apologies, but do tell her I'm very pleased with you, Connie. I like you. I'm sure you're going to go places. By the way, our studio. Know where it is?"
Connie questioned him with a frown.
"Next door to Ryan's, the Pool Palace. Know the place?" he paused to await the answer. Upon receiving her nod, he continued: "We're on the second floor. Can't miss it."
The moment he left, Connie whirled around and around, then skipped across the room and flinging open the door to Donna's bedroom, rushed inside. "He--likes me!" she cried. "Isn't that wonderful, he hired me and I'm to go in tomorrow at ten." She stopped short when Donna made a face.
"What's the matter?"
"You're what's the matter," Donna told her succinctly. "I listened to you and I watched you. Honey, I recognize all the signs and I'm warning you, Greg is trouble. Stay away. Get it?"
Connie's eyes flashed in her direction. "You're all wrong about Greg, Donna. He's isn't one-tenth as bad as you led me to believe." She paused, a half-smile curling up the edges of her mouth. "I kind of like him. Yes, I could go for him. I really could."
Stunned, her eyes pinpoints of anger, Donna seized her by the shoulder. "Listen to me you little fool. I'm not warning you again. Stay the hell away from Greg."
CHAPTER FIVE
"Has it stopped raining?" Louise asked Connie.
"No. It's pouring," she replied, standing at the window and looking out.
"Criminee, Connie," she cried from the bed where her head was still under the sheet, "what are you doing up at this hour?"
"It's only eight-thirty. I've got something to do today," Louise's voice was hoarse with sleep. "And what's that, pray tell?"
"Oh, nothing important," Connie answered, her heart beginning to pound with anticipation and anxiety. The excitement of looking forward to her first modeling date had made her more than just a little nervous and anxious.
Louise's sleepy voice came again from beneath the sheet. "Rain. That means Mike's not working today. Which means you two have a standing date. And your date with Mike is nothing important? Come off it, kid sister. What's eating you?"
"I'm not seeing Mike anymore," Connie told her.
"Are you kidding?" Louise suddenly cried, yanking the sheet down from over her face and leaping up to a sitting position.
Her hair, up in curlers and wrapped in a cloth bonnet made her look grotesque in the gray morning light. Her eyes, puffy from lack of sleep, and her pale face now devoid of makeup, gave Louise an unflattering appearance, like that of an aging woman in a hospital bed.
"No, I'm not kidding," Connie told her, turning her back to the window. When she confronted Louise there was a determined set to her dimpled chin.
Louise cocked her head, closed one eye and squinted at her sister quizzically. "What are you up to?"
A nervous laugh slipped from Connie's mouth. "Whatever gives you the idea I'm up to something?"
Drawing her legs up and sitting cross-legged, Louise paused before answering. "I just have a hunch. Don't ask me why or how I know. Look, Connie. I'm not trying to be a nosy busybody and I'm not trying to run your life. I only want you to be honest with me. So?"
Connie shrugged and an innocent look masked her face. "So?"
"Aw, Connie. Why do you have to be so stubborn? Come on, out with it. Where are you going today?"
"If you must know," Connie snapped. "I'm going out to see about finding a job."
"Doing what?"
Connie had long before decided on what she'd say when that question arose. She answered without hesitation, "I heard there's an opening in a dress shop. I'm going to apply for the job. It's clerking."
Before Louise could answer there was a knock on the door. The look on Connie's face alarmed Louise, but she said nothing, watching Connie hurry across the room and lean to whisper, "It's Mike. Tell him I'm not here. Tell him I've gone out or something."
The alarm on Louise's face became displeasure. "No, I won't do that. If you're going to break off with him and think the least you could do is be honest with him and face the music yourself."
"Louise, please?"
She looked at Connie and did not stir. "Have you told Mike you don't want him to see you anymore?"
"What does that have to do with it?"
Louise's eyes narrowed with annoyance. "You know perfectly well what I mean."
"Then you won't answer the door for me and tell him I'm not here?"
"That's right. Do it yourself. Ask me anything else and you know I'd be glad to do anything for you-but not this. I won't lie to him. Mike's right for you, Connie. You don't know what you're doing."
Connie abruptly turned away. She stalked to the window and stood in front of it, pouting at the rain outside. The knock came again, louder, more insistent.
"Okay, okay!" she called out, suddenly aggravated. She spun around, moved to the door and unlocked it, then holding it open a few inches, looked out at Mike.
"Hi, Connie," he grinned. "I've cooked up a real surprise for us to do together today."
"Sorry, Mike, but maybe some other time. I'm busy."
"Hey?" his voice faltered. "What'd I do?"
"Nothing. Now, if you don't mind, please go away." She made a movement as though to shut the door in his face but he blocked it with his shoulder.
"Is something the matter, is that it? Is Louise okay?" he asked in a concerned tone.
"No. Everything's fine. Now if you will please leave, I've got to dress."
"Where are you going?" he said, more than a little worried now, his voice becoming sharper, demanding.
Connie resented his unwelcome prying. She stared up at his fact through the ajar door and contemplated him through narrowed, angry eyes. "That happens to be my business," she said flatly, again attempting to shut the door.
His big hand came around and tried to grip hers. "Aw, have a heart, Connie. Lemme come in and we'll sit down and talk things out."
"Sorry. Louise is sleeping."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know. Then you come on out."
His fingers reached for her and she suddenly pushed the door against his wrist. He grunted in anger and his voice hissed, "Wait a second, Connie. Now I know something's the matter. Is standing me up like this, chasing me away like this, going to fix things?"
"You heard me. I asked you to please leave."
"All right. If that's the way you want it. I'll leave. But first, listen to reason, will you? Let me talk to you for just five minutes."
"No."
"Okay, two minutes. I only want to talk to you and if you still want me to leave, exactly when the two minutes are up, I'll go away. Fair enough?"
"I said, no. And I mean it. Now please go away."
He was silent for several moments. "Connie, is this any way to treat the guy you're supposed to be in love with? Hey? Ain't I your guy? Then what's this all about?"
She replied by angrily pushing her body against the door. He returned her pushing with an infuriated outcry. "Be reasonable, Connie. Is this any way to act?"
Connie saw it was useless. She spat up at him, "Can't you take a hint? Why must you be so stupid?"
He gaped at her through a mask of surprise and hurt and confusion. "Come again? What are you driving at?"
Bolstered now by stubbornness and anger, she blurted, "You know perfectly well what I mean. I don't want to see you anymore. I'm sick of you, Mike. I don't love you anymore. So please, please let me alone and don't ever come back again."
Stunned, he withdrew his hand. He gaped at her, his eyes clouded over with disbelief. An instant later Connie slammed the door viciously and snapped the safety lock into place. She spun on her heels, went to the dresser and began to unwind the wrappings she had placed on her hair the night before after she had returned from Donna's.
She was keenly aware of her sister sitting up in bed watching. After she had hurriedly fixed her hair, she began to apply makeup. Then she crossed to the closet, removed her housecoat and selected a plain black dress which she donned. As she did so, she felt as if a great load had been lifted from her and already she'd begun to breathe easier.
"Connie," Louise called softly. "Do you really know what you're doing? Is breaking off with Mike the answer?"
Connie, bending to step into her black pumps, glanced up. She did not reply and the look on her face clearly said that she had no intention of discussing the subject any further.
She took her purse out of the drawer, checked it briefly and added the lipstick and some of the cosmetics to the freight inside, then checked her wallet. Tonight, she thought, I'll be at least fifty dollars richer.
As she went to the door to let herself out, Louise spoke again. "What time will you be back?"
Connie contemplated her blankly. She dipped her shoulders to indicate she didn't know.
"Shall I fix supper?"
Connie nodded. "I'll call you. Will you be in?"
"I suppose so. If you're not back by four, I'll not bother fixing something for you."
Without further comment, Connie went out. Although she was not afraid of Mike, she half expected to find him outside the door, waiting. He was not there and she felt a wave of relief but a slight disappointment also crept through her body. It was almost as though she had wanted him to be there, as though putting up a fight for her would have bolstered her ego.
Outside on the street, the morning rain, that had now stopped, had left a residue of wetness that seemed to permeate her soul, as if nature was making some mystical, last-ditch effort to cleanse her soul, to purge the fixation from her to go through with what she intended to do.
Holding her shoulders erect, stomach pulled in, Connie walked rapidly to the corner, glanced around as though she half expected to see Mike following, perhaps lurking in some doorway, then hurried down the street.
A few minutes later she entered a small luncheonette and took a booth, ordering black coffee from the aproned waiter. Black coffee, she mused absently, thinking that now she would have to watch her weight. Since she was going to be a model, and since she was going to pursue modeling as a career, there would be no more big breakfasts. That was one of the prices she would have to pay.
She recalled reading the fashion and movie magazines that were always filled with features and articles about dieting and the rigid discipline top-flight models had to enforce upon themselves. Now she too was to be one of them and beginning now, today, Connie resolutely set her mind on her goal. She had turned the page on Mike and opened her life to a new chapter. She glanced at her watch when the coffee was placed before her. It was nine-forty. She would spend the next ten minutes sipping the coffee, then she would start for the studio. She couldn't wait. Her hands felt clammy and she was jittery inside. A new anticipatory excitement rose within her as she thought about Greg, his gentlemanly manners, his words of the day before, his worldly deportment and his suavely exciting appearance. She even found herself thinking about the huge diamond solitaire and guessed that it must have cost at least five thousand, no, ten or fifteen thousand at the very least. Then she wondered about the other girls he'd had, guessing wildly at how many hearts he'd broken, at how many affairs he'd had.
Connie smiled to herself with a smug self-confidence. She opened her purse and contemplated herself in the mirror of her compact. Yes, she decided, the proof of her beauty would be shown when she captured Greg's heart, body and soul, and this would prove not only to her, but to the world as well, that she, Connie, was better than any other girl.
It was three minutes until ten when she came around the block without crossing in front of the Pool Palace where she would run the risk of Mike, or of his cronies, seeing her; then she went into the building. A sigh of relief escaped from her lips and she forced herself to walk slowly up the stairs toward the glass door at the top upon which was painted a silhouette of a motion picture camera beside neat letters reading, A lexander Studios, Ltd.
Her heart gave a leap when she saw the sign for the first time. She knew What Ltd. meant. The British counterpart of company or corporation. The name in and of itself sounded important and impressive and she was awed enormously.
Timidly she opened the door and entered a shabby waiting room which was deserted. She felt some measure of relief upon seeing that no one else was there. She would not have liked to have begun her first day on the new job with other girls standing around. Not knowing what to do, whether to take a seat or to rap on the other door, the one marked private, Connie hesitated. The worn leather furniture had seen better days and she wondered how many other models like her had been there before her. She fidgeted nervously, then sat down on an occasional chair which stood beside a dilapidated end table which was stacked high with tattered copies of Film Daily and other trade magazines.
The walls were adorned with glamour photographs of girls she'd never before seen. Some of the pictures seemed rather old, but she surmised that the owners of Alexander Studios, Ltd. were too busy to care about making a imagine impression upon waiting room visitors, which, Connie also reasoned, accounted for the neglected condition of the waiting room.
It was five minutes past ten when she began to grow even more anxious than she had been until that time. She stood, turned toward the door leading into the studio and rapped softly. She waited several moments and rapped again, less gingerly. This time someone inside heard. A male voice called, "It's open."
Connie turned the knob and went in. She found herself in an office which was stacked high with film containers, tripods, a couch and an enormous desk piled high with stacks of photographs behind which sat a bearded man with a gleaming bald head. He sat huddled forward with fat arms leaning upon the desk top, peering up at her. "You Connie?" he demanded.
"Y-yes, sir."
"You're late."
She made a feeble motion toward the waiting room with a wave of a hand. "I was out there, waiting."
"Why were you waiting?"
His question unnerved her. "I-I was expecting to meet Greg. He-"
"You're wasting time. Go in there and take off your clothes. Use dressing room number two."
Staggered at his brusque command, feeling that she did not like or trust him, a wave of hostility coursed through her. She hesitated, as if to protest, but could not think of anything to say.
He peered at her. "Well?"
She obeyed hastily, opening the door toward which he had pointed and went in. She found herself in a huge loft around which stood kleig lights, dollies upon which were cameras, lights and all sorts of strange equipment which she had never seen before, and at the far end of the room she noticed several false partitions arranged into room sets. To her left were a series of doors above which a crude sign read, dressing rooms. The door marked number two was beside two other doors marked impressively with cut-out gold stars.
She moved toward the dressing room hesitantly, almost tripping over one of the electric cables that crisscrossed the unswept floors like endless black snakes. Then she entered the room and found the light switch. Her heart skipped a beat with excitement at what she saw. A dressing table, its top strewn with various cosmetics, creams and spilled powder, overflowing ashtrays with lipstick-smeared cigarette butts, particularly drew her attention. She fancied herself sitting before the mirror applying theatrical makeup, or perhaps being made up by professional movie makeup women. She turned to explore the rest of the tiny area, glancing at a studio couch with plaid covers that had long since faded and were now stained with hair grease and the dust of time where how many others had lain, perhaps napping between takes, or resting after weary hours of grueling posing.
In her mind, Connie had constructed a fanciful image of what her life was going to be like as a model. So this shabby place she now found herself in did not look at all to her like it actually was. In her mind she saw things as she imagined them to be, not as they really were. She made up excuses for it all by reasoning that the people at Alexander Studios, Ltd. were too important and too busy to be concerned with the trivia of making the place attractive. After all, it wouldn't be a picture and movie studio would it, if there were not work space and who would expect to find imagine furniture and things like that in a working studio? Hence, to Connie, the dust and the dirt and the tawdry furniture meant only that work was done here. She'd read many stories about models and theatre people and she knew that life on the other side of the curtain, on the other side of the cameras and the footlights was anything but glamorous.
Suddenly, she heard someone tapping on the partially open door. She whirled around and gave a tiny cry of delight. It was Greg. He was wearing a beret and an expensive-looking checked sport jacket. A polka-dotted ascot was tucked around his neck, beneath the collar and front of a lemon yellow silk shirt. He grinned and entered the room, holding one hand behind him.
"Hi, Connie," he said as though he was awed to be in her presence. "This is for you. For your debut into pictures. My best wishes to your success in your new career." With that he extended the hand he'd been concealing behind him, holding out a paper box which had been tied with a pink ribbon.
"Is this for me?" she gushed, accepting it gingerly, then beaming up at him, saying, "That's sweet of you, Greg. Oh, thank you." She stared at the box as if unable to make up her mind to open it then or to wait until she was alone.
"Go on, open it," he urged her, watching her with amusement glinting in his blue eyes.
She pulled at the ribbon and turned back the lid. A gasp of delight settled on her lips. "Gregl They're precious. How'd you know I just adore red roses?"
He laughed and took the bouquet out of the box, went to the sink on the wall opposite the couch and filled a tall water glass into which he popped the flowers. He then placed the makeshift vase amid the rubble on the dressing table and went to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, asking, "What do you think of Alex?"
"The man with the beard?"
He nodded and frowned when he caught the flicker of concern in her expression.
"Come now, little one. He isn't as bad as all that. You'll get to like him. You've got to understand these temperamental eccentrics in the film industry."
Bolstered greatly by his encouragement, Connie smiled. "Okay."
"That's the girl. Now here's what we want you to do. Put on that outfit you see hanging behind the door. And the wig with the pigtails in that locker. You're going to pose as an innocent but sexy college girl. This is going to be a black and white sequence of stills, showing you coming home after school, stripping, doing your homework in all sorts of exotic poses. Get the picture?"
She nodded hurriedly, anxious to get started.
"Good," he said, turning toward the door. "I knew you'd take to this naturally. Donna was right about you." He opened the door and paused to wink at her. "Take it easy, Connie. Remember, I'll be out there all the time. Don't be nervous. And once this session is over, there'll be others. By the way. As you know, models are paid after every session. For the record, we'll put you on the payroll as Connie Brown, okay? And one thing more. I suppose you'd rather have cash than a check?"
"Oh, er, yes. Cash will do just fine."
She stared at the door and the costume hanging upon it after it clicked shut when he had gone. With trembling fingers she lifted down the hangers and looked at the skirt and sweater. Real school girlie, she thought, then when she noticed the lace bikini panties and the frothy bra, she burst into laughter.
CHAPTER SIX
Connie was grateful to Greg because he had escorted her from the dressing room to the set and she was doubtful if she would have been able to make it under her own power. Her knees felt rubbery and an overwhelming fright had begun to grip her.
She had been more than just a little worried if they would like her or not. This meant so much to her, that if she was to fail this initial session, which she imagined to be a screen test of sorts, she thought she would just die! Overly concerned with her appearance, she was fearful that she had either put on too much makeup or too little. If such were the case they might not think she was photogenic enough and would dismiss her.
Then she had given a great deal of thought to the way her body looked. For a long while she had stood before the dressing room mirror critically appraising her figure. Her breasts seemed a little too heavy and she was worried about that. Her buttocks protruded in over-plump rolls of sleek white flesh from the tight bikini panties and this worried her too.
Greg steered her into the set which was now bathed in a blaze of white light from kleig floods, overhead lights and aluminum reflectors. She was momentarily blinded.
The setting which was believable enough, arranged as a typical girl's room with a studio bed, lace curtains at the windows over which had been affixed a photographic blowup of an outdoorsy landscape, a small desk and a boudoir chair, now to Connie had taken on an unreal appearance. She tried to peer out beyond the circle of light and camera lenses, but could see nothing.
"Now, relax, honey," Greg told her in a soothing tone. "Only Alex and I will be out there, so have no fear."
Suddenly Alex's voice boomed, "Hey, who ever heard of a college broad wearing high heels like dem? Get dem the hell off her."
Connie hastened to remove her shoes. She handed them to Greg and stood uneasily, not knowing what to do, fidgeting and clenching and unclenching her hands.
"Okay," Alex said. "Much better. Now listen here, girlie. Pick up dem books and make like you came home from college just now."
Connie did so, holding the books in one arm and standing by the set's door. "Naw, naw, dat ain't it. Go show her, Greg."
Greg came around and placed one of Connie's hands on the doorknob and adjusted the books so they were beneath her breasts, pushing them even more upright than they were in the flimsy bra beneath her sweater.
"Dat's good. Naw, don't look like dat, girlie. Smile."
Greg, off the set, muttered, "You're on Candid Camera."
Whether it was his tone or the unexpected thing he'd said, or whether it was due to Connie's extreme nervousness, she suddenly burst into laughter.
"Now you got it, girlie. Hold it just like that."
The minute sound of a camera lens clicking could be heard.
Connie gradually became more sure of herself and as the nervousness disappeared, she went through the routine poses with ease. From the door she posed at the desk, putting down her books, yawning, holding up a big notebook marked homework, making a face at it. Then she posed taking off the sweater. Removing her socks. Standing in profile, her breasts showing in the frothy bra as she prepared to unbutton the skirt. Stepping out of the skirt. Slim legs poised in midair. Stretching, arms held toward the sky, on tiptoes, bending forward facing the camera, looking coy and demure, making round "O's" of her rouged lips as her full breasts revealed themselves to the clicking shutter.
Then, leaning forward with her buttocks to the camera, hands on her knees, peeking around at the lens and winking. Greg coming around, encouraging her, telling her how great she was doing. Adjusting her panties so the lush cheeks of her rounded bottom were suggestively, erotically exposed.
"Okay, Alex," Greg asked. "The homework routine?"
"Yeah. Let her hold up that notebook again. We'll do another establishing shot."
Connie got on the bed on her knees, pert buttocks resting on her heels, back to the camera, her head turned saucily in an expressive pose which showed her grimacing at the notebook labeled homework. The next scene Greg directed her to remove her bra. Although she balked, he patiently, understandingly, urged her to do so. Then he showed her how to pose, cupping her breasts, pressing them together, smiling at the camera and looking passionate while pretending to be pinching and fondling her nipples.
The tedium of posing went unnoticed. The first flush of embarrassment at her bared breasts had given way to nonchalance. After fifteen minutes of this Connie was following Greg's directions from off the set.
"You're doing just great, baby. Now, put on those high-heeled shoes. Back to the camera, yep, that's great. Turn your shoulders sideways so we can get a peek at your breasts. Hold it. Now, begin to roll down your panties. No, now you got it. Wiggle your behind out of them, ah, that's great. Great shot, eh, Alex?"
The bearded photographer grunted from somewhere beyond the lights, busy at the camera.
Connie, stark naked, felt Greg's lips pressed against her ear. "You're going to be the most famous pinup in the world, doll. You're terrific. Now, let's see. We're almost ready for the final sequence. Ready?"
Connie, flushed with a strange new excitement, filled with adulation for Greg, experiencing a sensation of sexual enjoyment from being totally naked, managed to nod and a sensual smile. She got on the bed. Wearing the shoes seemed ludicrous, but that's what they now wanted. Alex dollied one of the cameras in. Closeups were taken as she sipped a Coke, placed the bottle between her breasts, then her thighs.
She posed after that with a toy dog, holding it above her while her head dangled over the edge of the bed, cuddling it against her voluptuous body, kissing it, exposing herself in every way imaginable.
Then, the final shots. She donned a pair of studious looking eyeglasses, propped against the pillows, pretending to be reading and studying. With the books as props she contorted herself into many unusual positions. Then she was told to hold up a book which was labeled, What Every College Girl Should Know About Sex. She posed reading it, then pretending she was becoming excited, shifting into a variety of posturings.
At the next thing Greg asked her to do, Connie balked. "Don't be like that, honey," he whispered. "We're almost finished now. Tell you what. Do what I just explained and I'll take you out to dinner afterwards. We'll go someplace special. How'd you like that?"
She gazed at him through fevered eyes. Then she nodded, returned to the bed and, holding the book as though something inside it was giving her instructions, she slumped down, parting her legs to the camera and began to fondle herself. With each movement she heard Greg encouraging her just out of camera range. The sound of his voice did something to her and she felt herself being carried away as if on a cloud of blinding, heated light.
Later that day, after she had dressed, received the pay envelope from the bearded photographer, Alex, Greg took her to dinner. They went next to a swank club which was noted for the celebrities who gathered there for after dinner drinks and dancing.
With her head giddy from the excitement of the day, Connie clung to Greg ardently as they danced to the rhythm of the small orchestra.
She felt herself beginning to glow. Champagne cocktails and candlelight and the romantic atmosphere into which the dashing, exciting, dangerous Greg had brought her, made her heady and loving. The gentle pressure of his caressing hand upon her back as he lead her gracefully around the crowded dance floor stirred her with emotion. She gazed up at him, rapture swimming in her eyes. Under his almost hypnotic influence and animal-like magnetism she felt herself drawn to him like an insect is drawn toward a trap. But she didn't know and didn't care about the poison in the trap. Everyone else in her present and past life was now out of mind, forgotten. Louise, Mike, Donna. It was as if they no longer existed. She realized she hadn't phoned Louise and she didn't care. She knew Louise would be worried, and she told herself silently, I'm a big girl now and I don't need or want anyone keeping tabs on me. Let her stew. It's about time she learned to mind her own business.
Admittedly, Connie realized she had a lot to learn. But for the first time in her life she had thrown off the shackles of little-girlhood and was now loose and on her own. Nothing mattered. The first day in the studio under those lights had wreaked havoc with her outlook on life. The hours of posing, the lewdly suggestive things she'd done, the final act of obscenity she'd performed, and had enjoyed, all was now out of her mind, conveniently forgotten.
Now, only Greg's physical presence filled her consciousness, and the thoughts of the things he could do for her new career. The money she would earn like the first pay envelope she'd received earlier-with its five, crisp, new ten dollar bills inside-all this was only a promise of things to come. Only Greg was her real present. She wanted it no other way. She wanted him because she was entranced by his attention and because he wanted her and wanted to do everything for her.
Greg smiled down at Connie. "Having fun?"
"Oh, yes," she whispered, eyeing him with adulation.
"Tired?"
She paused, only to wonder if he was weary of dancing, then admitted, "A little."
He stopped dancing and led her through the crowd toward their table. Then he hurried around and held her chair until she was seated. He noticed a faint smile on her face and as he pulled up his own chair, asked, "What are you thinking?"
She watched Greg as he settled beside her and took her hand between his own. "Oh, just something."
He raised his eyebrows questioningly, his silence insisting that he wanted to know.
Condescendingly, she nodded. "I was just thinking about how wonderful you are, Greg. You're so sophisticated, so well-mannered, you treat me like a princess. like just now. Do you know that no man has ever held my chair for me as you just did?"
"Then you haven't been going around with gentlemen," he said.
Connie gave a start. She wondered if he had recognized her-if he remembered that she had been the girl with Mike. But when she looked at him and saw that he was lighting a cigarette, she felt relieved. He seemed not to have noticed.
"Greg?"
"Yes."
"I've been dying to ask you this all evening."
He smiled at her attentively and settled back as though welcoming, about to enjoy, what she had to say. "So ask me already."
"How'd I do today? Was I the type you wanted? Did you think I did everything satisfactorily, or did I make some bad mistakes?"
"Honey," he beamed a blue-eyed smile of pleasure at her, "You were the greatest. You've got the greatest natural talent we ever saw. Why, do you know that Alex took me aside confidentially and asked how many years you were modeling?"
"He did?" she remarked with incredulity, swelling with pride, her breasts seeming to grow, enlarging with every breath she drew.
"And that ain't all. He--likes you. You're going to go places, baby. Today was only the beginning. Now I have a surprise for you. Day after tomorrow we have another job for you. Then, the next one you get a raise. Seventy-five dollars, and before the next month is over, you'll be pulling down as much as two hundred bucks a job."
Connie gasped. She didn't know what to say. She had expected him to tell her that she would be working for fifty dollars a session for at least six months to a year. But this startlingly unexpected good news coming so fast, on top of everything else, exceeded her wildest dreams.
Greg frowned at his watch. "It's getting late and you've had a hard day, honey. Shall we be going?"
Connie averted her face as she nodded assent. She wanted to conceal the disappointment in her eyes. She did not want Greg to think that she had been so starved for attention, so thrilled with the day and where they were that she didn't want it to be over. At least, not yet.
She nestled beside him in the cab, oblivious to the traffic, to where they were, to everything about them, because her eyes were fixed upon him.
So far, Greg had not kissed her or attempted a pass of any kind. He had been a gentleman and this impressed her greatly.
"We'll be in the neighborhood of the studio in a couple minutes," he said. "What's your address? I'll drop you there."
At the mention of neighborhood and address, Connie stiffened and felt herself jolted back to reality. She did not know what to say. Suppose Mike was hanging around the house, maybe outside on the steps. Fear gripped her and her face paled. She knew Mike. If he took one look at Greg, he might kill him. Worse than that, if Greg should happen to see Mike waiting or hanging around the street, he might put two and two together and there was no telling what might happen. Perhaps Greg would be inclined to drop her like a hot potato.
On the other hand, suppose Louise was out there waiting for her, although it was hardly--likely at that hour, because she would either be at work or waiting in the apartment, what then?
Connie did not know what to do, so she reacted instinctively. She turned to Greg, suddenly threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with wild desperation. He responded passionately, accepting her embrace for all it was worth. They sprang apart several minutes later, breathless. Greg now looked at her with desire brightening the blue of his eyes. "Connie," he said as though he was having difficulty uttering the words.
"Yes," she whispered, falling against his chest, gazing with expectation and hope into his face, holding her breath as if her very life depended on what he was about to tell her.
"I don't want you to think I'm being forward or anything like that. I respect you too much and I want to keep on having you respect me, that's why I don't know, if-no, I'd better not. It wouldn't be right. I couldn't ask you to do that."
"Please, Greg. It's all right," she whispered. "Nothing you could ever do would make me lose respect for you. Ask it, please, Greg. And I promise I won't think any less of you."
"Do you really mean that?"
"Of course," she whispered, reaching up to stroke his face, to trail her fingertips over his moustache.
"All right. I was wondering, if instead of taking you home just now-if-you-"
"Yes, yes, Greg. Ask me, darling," she cried.
"If you'd like to come over to my place. To have a nightcap."
"Oh, is that all?" she cried, throwing her arms around him again. "Of course, silly. I'd be delighted. I'd love to see your place, to see where you live."
Greg leaned forward as soon as he'd untangled her arms from around his neck and gave the cabbie instructions and his address.
It was nearly midnight when they stepped off the elevator of a palatial apartment building and approached the door to Greg's apartment. "Golly!" she whispered, "it must cost you a fortune to live here."
Greg laughed as he opened the door. "Not much. Only six grand a year."
"Six thousand--! "
He laughed and silenced her with a kiss. She led the way inside, walking slowly, looking everywhere at once. The plush furnishings and expensive accessories were even more lavish than those she'd seen at Donna's. She had no idea that Greg was that well fixed and when she turned to gaze up at him her expression spoke her thoughts.
"The nightcap," he laughed, hurrying across the carpet to a bar. "You can't say that I don't keep my promises," he laughed, fixing their drinks.
After she had explored the spacious rooms of the apartment, Connie kicked her shoes off, sat upon the sofa and curled her legs up beneath her.
Greg was suddenly standing over' her, looking down from his towering height, extending her drink. She accepted it without taking her gaze off him and tilted her glass in a silent toast as he had done first. He then took her glass from her, turned and placed both drinks on an end table nearby. Connie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching him as he returned his attention to her. Her dress had slid up exposing rounded, white thighs and, when he noticed, his fingers seemed to twitch slightly.
"Connie..."
From the quiver in his voice she knew he could not hold out much longer. "Connie..." he whispered, kneeling, reaching for her, placing his lips against her hair.
She was aware of the desire quickening in his body. Her arms snaked up and clasped his head. Slowly she leaned back until she could go no further, pulling him with her, against her. His lips nibbled her ear, her cheek, her nose, then found her lips. She accepted his kiss and fired it with her own darting tongue, permitting the embrace to build in intensity. Her thigh began to rub against him and she darted her tongue into his mouth ardently.
Greg began to breathe heavily. His hands probed for her breasts. Sounds erupted in his throat and his hand slid down to her thigh, then began to pinch and knead her flesh, reaching up, up.
Connie gasped. Her hips began to rotate and churn from his touch. "Greg, darling-" she whispered. "I love you."
"Shh, Connie," he hissed, his lips seeking her mouth again. Then, urging her up to a sitting position, his arms locked around her waist, he held the kiss and pulled her to her feet. They instinctively moved toward the bedroom. Connie, one arm around him, the other hand occupied in a frantic probing for the fastenings of her dress, felt driven with an intense desire she had never before known.
Greg, watching and hypnotically undressing himself at the same moment, stared at her in utter fascination. Even though he had seen her completely naked mere hours before, the fact that she was undressing for him alone made it all very different.
The dress slid down the rolling lines of her bodice, her hips, then over the graceful curves of her legs, taunting him. She stepped out of the dress and unfastened her bra, unsnapping the clasp between the cups. With her eyes never leaving his gaze, she peeled off her panties. Greg, desire swelling up from inside him, threw his clothes aside.
She went to him, sliding into his arms. Her breasts raked his feverish body, then with a little cry, she tightened her arms, leeching her mouth fiercely onto his. The stab of her tongue inflamed him. Her quivering thighs ground and snaked against him in a maddening writhing of desire. Beneath his caresses her breasts began to tingle, the nipples hardening and rising, then throbbing between his fingertips. Guttural cries of sheer desire escaped from her throat. Her eyes closed and her gasping breath sucked inward, drawing his breath into her .parted mouth.
"Now, now, Greg-"
Choking back delirious moans, Connie clawed him to her as she retreated, backing toward the bed. She released him suddenly as she dropped upon the mattress, her arms outstretched, beckoning, swelling breasts pitching with emotion.
Greg leaned over her, slowly descending, looking into her wildly staring eyes. He kissed each throbbing nipple and his tongue lanced down each pulsing mound.
"Come to me, darling, Greg-now, hurry I" she gasped. Then, unable to wait, she seized him by the neck, pushing him down upon her taut, waiting body. Greg cradled her head in his arms and a multitude of sensations flooded into her. With the surging softness of her erect breasts beneath him, held fast by the quivering roundness of her grasping arms, he was no longer able to restrain himself.
"Greg ... darling ... you're so wonderful."
"Yes-" he murmured, feeling the gush of her fevered breath against his throat, his nostrils filling with the fragrant scent of her perfume. "You're marvelous too, baby ... the best ... the greatest..."
Suddenly, she arched against him as a convulsive paroxysm of quivering rippled through her. Stiffened in a frenzied sputtering of ecstasy, Connie screamed and locked her teeth into his shoulder.
In another instant he, too, became locked in the wild throes of overwhelming sensation. Then he felt himself settling down into the nest of her arms and legs, feeling her clinging, clutching him, writhing with him.
For Connie this experience was all-encompassing. A man, such as Greg was, affected her in a different way from Mike. Greg knew how to make her pulsate with throbbing sensation. As she stroked his hard legs with her rolling thighs, as her fingernails continued to rake his flesh, she felt him once again begin to thrum with desire.
Connie began to struggle as if to wrest free of his movements, feeling his clutching hands gripping the small of her back, cupping the lush mounds of her lunging buttocks, locking her into a position that held her imprisoned, like a love captive, a slave to his will. She moaned and sobbed and drove against him once again in a reckless frenzy.
Then, just as she felt herself beginning to freeze into a stiffened arch, just as her buttocks rose up beneath her, quivering with expectation, he suddenly moved and slid down, first nuzzling each heaving breast with a suckling mouth, then biting her flesh above the navel, nipping her hips with his teeth, and gripping her with pinching fingers. Connie screamed again and flailed the bedding around her, unable to withstand the ecstasy of his love-making. Suddenly she seized him again, her breath hissing through clenched teeth, but now she couldn't stop him. Tossing her head from side to side wildly, writhing beneath his lancing tongue, Connie's body lifted, churning, quivering, evading him.
She drove her nails into his head, grasping his face furiously against her incensed body. "Oh, Greg, darling ... you're driving me crazy ... please, please don't stop."
But Greg had no intention of doing as she wanted. He possessed her in his own way, in his own time, for his own reasons.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Louise came into the apartment with a bag of groceries in one arm and balancing her handbag in the other. She stopped short in the doorway and stared at Connie, concern contorting the features of her face, worry showing in her eyes. "Not again!" she cried, giving Connie a dubious look, then, hurrying to a chair, she dumped the freight down and spun around to glare at her.
"Connie, you've been out every day and night for the past two weeks. Don't you think you're overdoing it?"
Connie, wearing a new dress she'd bought two days before, closed the cap of her lipstick which she had been applying before the mirror, tossed it into her purse and made a movement toward the door.
Louise grabbed her elbow. "Now listen here," she yelled, jerking her around to face her. "What're you up to, Connie? I've a right to know. This mysterious job you won't talk about. The crazy hours you've been keeping. What's going on, will you kindly tell me? After all, I'm your sister, your only blood relative, and I think I've a right to know."
Connie sighed wearily. She glanced down at Louise's hand gripping her arm and then looked up into her face. "Let me go."
"If you'll promise to sit down and talk to me, tell me what you're doing, where you've been going, who've you been seeing, where the money, the clothes, the shoes and cosmetics have been coming from..."
"I said," Connie spat defiantly, "take your hand off me.
"Sure, I'll do that. Why not. You are a-" she caught herself and tried again. "Aw, listen, have a heart, Connie. Ain't I got a right to know, huh?"
"Louise, what's the use. We've been through this a hundred times already. I told you that you've nothing to worry about. I'm working and the pay is good and I have to work all kinds of hours in order to make the kind of dough I want."
"What the hell doing?" screamed Louise.
"What am I doing?" Connie asked, laughing without amusement. "What am I doing?" she shouted again. "Well, maybe I'll just tell you, being you're so goddamn nosy."
"Okay, so tell me. I've been waiting for two weeks now for you to spill it."
Connie laughed in her sister's face. "You want me to tell you now-before I move the hell out of here-or after?"
"Connie!" Louise shrieked. "You wouldn't--! "
"Oh, no. Just keep pushing and I'll show you."
Louise waved a finger in Connie's face. "Look here, you. I've had just about enough of this. I've never been tough on you in my life. I brought you up and I know you like a book and I happen to know that you're up to no good. That's why I'm sticking my nose into your affairs. That's why I-oh, what the hell's the use. Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. I'm the one who oughta have her head examined. Maybe I should slap you around a little. Yes, that's what you need, a good slapping around. Maybe that'll knock some sense into that stupid little head of yours."
"Are you finished!" Connie screamed.
Breathlessly, Louise stalked away from her and went to stand by the window.
Connie remained rooted to the floor. Finally, she felt sorry for Louise for having caused her so much concern. She slowly went to her and touched her arm. "Lou?"
"What is it?"
"Honestly, there's nothing to worry about. Just trust me and leave me alone. I'll tell you all about it soon's I can."
Louise did not turn around. She stood gazing through the window, breathing hard. "Mike's outside," she said matter-of-factly.
"Oh, cripes! Is he still hanging around?"
"He loves you, Connie. But this is your month for killing off the ones who love you, isn't it?"
Connie did not reply. She stood behind her sister, hands clenching and unclenching. Until then she had successfully avoided Mike. He was the last person on earth she wanted to see now. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven. Greg was to meet her for dinner at eight in a swank new place in the upper eighties. He'd said he had something particularly important-and personal-to talk over with her. He'd sounded urgent and excited and she couldn't bear the suspense of waiting to be with him.
"Louise?" Connie said, remorse rasping in her tone. "I want you to know that I'm sorry if I've been upsetting you. I didn't mean for you to be worried."
"Forget it," came the reply. "You don't have to explain a goddamn thing. I couldn't care less right now."
Connie glanced uneasily at the clock. She picked up her sweater, put it over her arm and went to the door. "Good-night," she said, pausing to see if her sister would reply.
Louise remained at the window, brooding in silence. She did not turn around or make any sign that she'd heard Connie.
With a shrug, Connie opened the door, then halted again.
"Mike!" she gasped, drawing back in surprise. "I thought I told you-"
"Please, Connie," he implored her. "Talk to me for a minute, will you?"
"Well, if it'll make you quit bothering me, all right."
"I finally got a break. One of the big shots down at the construction company heard I was taking up drafting at night school, then he took me out of the labor pool and gave me a raise and a new job. Guess what? You're now looking at the assistant manager of the specifications division."
Connie blinked at him. "Well hooray for you, Mike. Now, if you've said your piece, I'll thank you to stop bothering me."
"Dammit, Connie!" he snapped. "What's come over you? You aren't acting like the Connie I fell in love with and who loved me. You sick or something?"
"Mike, I appreciate your concern and all that," she said with a weary sigh. "But really. I've had it. I'm asking you like a lady to a gentleman to please let me alone. Get out of my life and stay out. Now, will you please go away?"
"But-" he persisted in standing there, attempting to reason with her as she took one step backwards over the threshold of the door and slammed it in his face.
Louise's voice, coming from behind Connie, sounded strangely hollow. "Little sister, you are a blind fool, a dumb jerk. Do you know what you've just done? Do you?"
Connie did not reply. She opened the door and went out, slamming it after her, almost at the same instant when she heard the front door downstairs close after Mike had gone out.
He was standing at the corner by the time she came down the front steps and reached the sidewalk. She began to walk in the opposite direction, her heels beating a rapid tattoo on the concrete. With her eyes focused straight ahead, Connie's thoughts became fixed on one goal: to get what she wanted, no matter how, no matter who she had to hurt. That's the way life is and that's the way it was to her.
She strode along rapidly, keeping her eyes on the lookout for a cab. She was so intent on rushing away from the neighborhood that she did not hear the footsteps running toward her. Suddenly, Mike was at her side. He grabbed her by the arm. She halted and glared up at him.
"Connie, for the last time," he said, his face graven like a stone mask, "be reasonable. What's going on? For
God's sake, tell me. I've been going crazy these past two weeks. I can't eat, I can't sleep. Dammit, baby, I love you and I want to marry you. This big break I just got means that we can afford to get married now. Right away if you wanna. No fooling. Why, as soon as I finish with night school, and that's going to be next fall, my boss said he'd kick my salary up to seventy-five hundred a year. How's them apples?"
"Mike, can't you understand anything?" she cried out in exasperation. "I'm glad for you and all like that. But I'm not the girl for you. I'm not, I tell you."
"But you are, baby. You truly are. I know it and you know it and even your sis-"
"Please, Mike. It's no good. There isn't any use for you to come around any longer. We're through. Finished. Kaput. Get it?"
He released her and stood aside, his hurt eyes glistening in the twilight. "Please, Connie, I hate to swallow my pride like this and beg you, but won't you at least go out with me for one last time-for old times' sake?"
She made a wry face. "How many times do I have to tell you? No."
"Connie, baby, stop this. Level with me, will you? What's going on? Where are you going now? What have you been doing? I've been half crazy worrying about you, wondering-"
"What I do with my life is no longer any concern of yours. What I do is my business. Now please, go get yourself another girl. I'm not worthy of you. I don't care for you anymore. Can you get that through that thick head?"
He started to protest again, to pursue the argument further, despite the fact that he knew it was hopeless, despite Connie's insistence to let her be alone.
Connie, seeing a cab approaching, stepped down off the curb and hailed it. Mike rushed beside her, making one last ditch effort to reason with her, one final attempt to save them from splitting up forever. His words of entreaty fell upon deaf ears.
"Take me away from here, uptown, fast, driver!" she said.
Mike found himself opening the door for Connie. She pushed his clutching hand aside and slammed the door and the cab rolled away, down the street, out of sight. She did not look back. She did not want to out of fear that she might weaken in her purpose. She was afraid that one last look at Mike would upset her too much and prevent her from enjoying the night ahead.
She thought about Greg. Then she gave the cabbie his address. The darkening streets of the city were beginning to brighten as the street lights winked on. It reminded her of herself. She was coming out of the darkness into the light. With Greg, her entire life had changed. Success, money, perhaps fame too; all this was in the offing and she wanted all of it, no matter what.
Greg was making everything possible and she was more than just a little grateful to him. Whether or not he loved her as she now loved him, Connie had no way of knowing. He had never once told her he loved her. Never once had he told her anything about himself, his past life, his former girl friends, where he was from, if he had any relatives. He remained a mystery to her and not knowing the things about him that she instinctively felt she should know, made her feel terribly insecure.
Aside from her modeling work, and there had been a total of four jobs during the past two weeks after she had made her debut as a model, and aside from their constant lovemaking and more and more infrequent dates, she had begun to feel that she did not know Greg at all. She needed him, yes. More than she had ever needed Mike. This did not sit well with her because it was not a good feeling to have such an overpowering physical need for someone. She'd begun to crave him more and more. Greg was like an addiction. He made love to her in so many ways that she had begun to feel that no other man would ever, could ever, replace him, if she was ever to lose him.
She thought about the money again. She'd spent some 76 of the total of two hundred fifty dollars she'd earned during the past two weeks and had banked the rest. So far, she smiled at the thought, she'd earned an average of one hundred and twenty five dollars a week. At that rate, she gloated, she'd have a tidy fortune tucked away before she was twenty-one, in three more years.
Suddenly she remembered that she'd inadvertently given the cabdriver Greg's address instead of the address of the supper club in the upper eighties. She glanced out of the window and saw that she was only a block from Greg's apartment. Since it was only seven-thirty and she was a half hour early for their date, she decided to give him a surprise. She paid the driver and stepped out of the cab the moment it stopped in front of the entrance.
A uniformed doorman opened the cab door and she got out, entered the building and rode up to Greg's floor. She paused a moment before getting out of the elevator to check her makeup. Seeing that her lips were smudged, she held one foot against the automatic doors and peered at herself in the wall mirror. She wiped away the smudge with a tissue and then reapplied fresh lipstick.
Just as she was about to leave she heard voices approaching from the direction of Greg's apartment. Connie, upon hearing them, stiffened with alarm. She recognized Greg's voice. But not the one of the person with him. A woman! Coming, obviously, from his apartment.
Connie dared one furtive glance toward them and then she shrank back trembling with jealous rage. As she moved her foot from out of the electric eye's beam the doors automatically shut and she took advantage of the opportunity to avoid being seen by Greg and the woman, a blonde, by pressing the up button.
She got off hastily on the next floor above and stood in the corridor watching the elevator indicators. She waited until the elevator descended, stopping at Greg's floor, then going on down to the lobby, before she pressed the button again.
As though in a daze, Connie rode down and left the building. Finally she pulled herself together enough to rationalize that perhaps the woman with Greg was a business associate, or maybe she hadn't been with him at all, but was a neighbor, or the wife of one of the tenants living on the same floor whom he had accidentally met as he left his own apartment. Yes, Connie told herself, it must have been something like that. Surely, he had made love to her the night before, and perhaps would also take her to his apartment again tonight, after their dinner date, so why worry? After he had made love to Connie, how was it possible for Greg to have others, even if he were to see them on the sneak? No, Connie decided, that would be out of the question. Then she also decided to think or say no more about it. Greg would not like it a bit if he knew she had unwittingly spotted him. Most--likely, if she was ever to tell him, he would accuse her of spying. Which could lead to an argument, which in turn could spell the finish.
Greg was waiting as the cab rolled up. He opened the door for her and frowned at the meter as he handed the cabbie a bill. "What kept you, honey?" he asked with a suspicious ring in his tone.
Connie was fully aware of the blunder she'd almost made. She replied nonchalantly, "Oh, I made a mistake and told the first cabdriver to take me to your apartment. By the time I realized you were taking me out tonight and had asked me to meet you here, he had driven away. So, I caught another cab, darling. And here I am."
Greg laughed and kissed her lightly, his thin moustache feeling scratchy on her cheek.
After they had dined and were sipping after-dinner cordials, Greg settled back and smiled at her strangely. "Connie," he said with unexpected directness. "I want you at the studio tomorrow morning at ten sharp." He paused to light a cigarette and after he had taken a deep drag and had exhaled, he said, "I know that some of the jobs you've been on have been a little rougher than the first one, so that's why we upped your pay to seventy-five bucks a session. Tomorrow morning we up your pay again. It's doubled. One hundred and fifty."
Connie's eyes danced. A squeal of pleasure burst from her lips. "Greg!" she exclaimed. "Why, that's marvelous." And then she thought, even if he asked me to do it for nothing, I would. So help me, I would!
CHAPTER EIGHT
At ten the next morning Connie was already undressed and leaving the dressing room attired only in the new robe she'd bought several days before. As she crossed the tangle of cable and went around the confusion of photography equipment, moving toward the set upon which Alex had been working when she had arrived a half hour earlier, she noticed something unusual.
At first, Connie did not realize what it was. But the moment she reached the set, she knew. No wonder her pay had so suddenly been doubled. From the equipment and huge lights which had been wheeled into position she knew that Alex had been setting things up for the filming of motion pictures. Then Connie noticed the set for the first time. She drew back sharply. Black satin had been spread like a carpet upon a number of mattresses which were placed on the floor.
A huge tub filled with water and decorated with a winged cupid-like statue reposed in the center. The folding screens which had been moved into place were mural-like backgrounds depicting a Grecian temple setting. Chains and manacles, huge cushions of bright yellow and red satin, and an enormous bull whip were placed on a low bench beside the artificial pool.
"That's my girl, right on time," Greg's voice laughed from behind Connie.
She whirled around and laughed. "I didn't hear you come in." Then she gestured at the set. "What's that?"
Greg's moustache moved and his blue eyes glinted with a mischievous light. "Greek temple."
Connie made a face. "I take it this is for a movie?"
"Correct. Now, if I may, sweetie, I'd like to introduce you to a very important guy. The producer. He's seen your stuff and he thinks you have talent, real talent." Greg paused, winked knowingly at her and yelled, "Mr. Gerard?"
A grunt answered. Then approaching footsteps. Suddenly from out of the gloom a figure emerged. He was overweight, overdressed and had a complexion like mottled alligator skin. His eyes, bloodshot and rheumy, bulged when he saw Connie.
Greg stepped aside to do the honors. "This is Mr. Gerard, Connie. The producer. Be nice to him, baby. He's the man."
Mr. Gerard's blubbery lips muttered her name and he extended a hand to grasp hers. Connie felt herself cringe at his clammy touch. She managed to conceal her revulsion and forced a "please t'meet'cha" smile to her face.
"I'm looking for'ard to working wid'cha," he said in a strangely inarticulate voice. "I'm gonna d'rect this here pic'ture. I d'rect lots of dem."
Connie's face revealed little of her growing displeasure. She'd seen Gerald's type before. The old neighborhood literally crawled with them. He was obviously one of the old-timers, a hood who'd made good.
Alex, who had been hooking up the equipment, came around the set and while mopping his bald head with a dirty handkerchief, said, "Mr. Gerard, this what you want?"
The fat man clasped his hands behind his flashy expensive suit and surveyed the set. "Good. Good," he grunted. "Dat's real good. You got bubble stuff for de water?"
Alex stroked his beard as if trying to remember and snapped his fingers. He disappeared behind the set and returned a moment later holding up a box of bubble bath powder.
"Good. Good," Mr. Gerard said, nodding vigorously. "We ready how soon for de shooting?"
The man with the beard stroked his bald head thoughtfully and replied, "Maybe ten minutes. Okay?"
"De other broad," Gerard asked him. "She here."
"Yessir," Alex replied. "She's putting on her costume now."
Connie frowned up at Greg. She whispered, "You didn't tell me I was going to work with another girl. Say, what's going on, Greg? You hiding something from me?"
He flashed his teeth in a grimace which was supposed to be a smile. Unexpectedly, he grasped her arm and roughly pushed her away from the set, leading her toward the dressing rooms. When they were midway across the studio, Greg stopped short. His face close to hers, his blue eyes now icy, he hissed, "Will you keep your trap shut? Now, look, baby. Don't start giving me a hard time, get me?"
The sudden cruelty in Greg's voice knifed through her. The gradual sense of belonging, of possessiveness, of blind trust which she had been allowing to build up within her toward Greg was beginning to crumble. For the first time she began to feel unsure of herself, uneasy about the whole affair. The pained expression in her eyes became evident to him.
He leaned closer and his hissing breath was like a torrid flame singeing her cheek. "This ain't going to be tough, baby. like before, I'll be right in there with you. Here's the pitch. Go along with it and you might even get a laugh out of it. Okay?"
Connie stood her ground. She placed her hands on her hips defiantly. "Who's the girl in there?" she demanded.
Greg did not smile. He rolled his tongue around in his cheek like a fighter who telegraphs when he is about to throw a punch. "Come on and I'll let you see her," he said angrily.
Suddenly Connie had her doubts. True, she was uneasy, but then again, perhaps her feeling was unjustified. Maybe it would be best if she continued to trust Greg. She decided to back down. "What am I supposed to do in the movie?"
The familiar self-confident grin returned to his face. "That's the girl," he said, obviously relieved. "Okay, now get this straight. The pitch is that you're supposed to be a slave girl. The other girl is the goddess of love, Sappho, the one who is going to chain you to the sacrificial altar after you take a bath. While you lay there dripping wet and all, she'll chain you down, pretend to beat you with that whip. Get it?"
Connie nodded in disbelief. She cocked her head at him quizzically. "You said the other girl is supposed to be Sappho. Wasn't she the lesbian?"
"Smart girl!" Greg laughed, screwing his face into an exaggerated wink. "Now you got the idea."
"And I'm supposed to--? "
"Just go along with it and do what comes naturally."
Connie pulled away from him abruptly and ran toward the dressing rooms. She reached the door just as Greg caught up to her.
"Hey," he growled, struggling to keep her from going inside, forcing his voice down to a whisper. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"In there."
"Why?"
"To see who she is. Since I'm going to be a co-star in this super colossal extravaganza I've got a right to know, haven't I?"
Greg had nothing to say. He released her and reached for the doorknob. He turned it, saying, "Be my guest."
Connie entered the tiny dressing room and gasped in surprise. "Donna!"
The blonde girl turned around and squealed, "Connie, baby!"
Staggered by the unexpected sight of Donna, completely shaken when she realized what was about to take place, Connie recoiled, shrinking away from Donna's outstretched arms extending toward her.
"Hey, Connie, baby!" Donna pouted. "What's the matter, honey chile? Have they been hurting you, baby, cause if they have, they'll have me to account to."
Greg laughed. "That's it, Donna. You tell her. And while you're at it, get her straightened out, will you? Mr. Gerard's out there and he ain't gonna like it one bit if she gives us a hard time."
Donna looked at him harshly. She stepped around Connie and pushed Greg out of the room. Then she closed the door and turned, leaning her back against it, and gazed raptly at Connie. Her eyes seemed sympathetic and her face softened as she whispered tenderly, "Hello, Connie. I've missed you. Long time no see."
Connie swallowed with an effort. She nodded. "I want to forget that. I-I didn't know what I was doing that night. You know how it is."
"No, I don't know how it is," Donna replied, the tender tone of endearment becoming hostile and menacing. "All I know is that you promised me something and after I helped you, after that night, you never called me again. You didn't have the decency to make good your promise."
Connie's thoughts raced. She bit her lip and wilted under Donna's harsh gaze. "I'm awfully sorry about that, Donna," she said weakly. "But I meant to call you, that's the truth."
"So why didn't you?"
Shrugging, Connie was unable to reply. She shifted on unsteady feet and continued to bite her lip.
"Okay. So you didn't call me. We'll skip that. Right now you're holding up the show. How about it, baby?"
"I just don't know," Connie said feebly.
Greg rapped on the door and opened it. He entered when Donna stepped aside. He looked from one to the other. Finally his gaze settled on Connie. "Well?" His tone was urgent, demanding an immediate reply.
Connie's lips quivered. She felt her insides quaking and her knees felt rubbery. She did not answer. She could not because she was unable to go through with what was being demanded of her.
Greg's face grew livid. His eyes narrowed into blued slits. "How about it, Connie? This is your last chance to get with it."
Still she remained silent. And the silence meant stubborn refusal.
"Goddamnit!" Greg barked with mounting impatience. "The way you act somebody'd think this is something you never did with a woman before!"
Connie cringed and hissed suddenly at Donna, curling her lips, baring her teeth, "You bitch! You told him!"
Donna laughed. "So what?"
A whimper of self-disgust welled up in Connie's throat. She turned her back to them, burying her face in her hands.
Greg winked at Donna and jerked his head at the door. Donna nodded and reached for the doorknob and then went out, leaving Greg alone with her.
"Connie. Come here, honey," he said, taking her by the shoulders and turning her around. "Listen to me, will you? I ain't let you down yet, have I? Have I ever tried to pull anything on you? Have I?"
Tearfully, Connie shook her head.
"Do you love me like you said you did?"
She looked up at him and nodded again, watching him through veils of tears.
"Okay. So prove that you love me. Do this little thing for me and everything will go on just as it's been. Nothing will be changed, I promise you."
Suddenly Connie was no longer able to hold back the tears. She fell forward against his chest and wept bitterly. He consoled her by patting her shoulders, then produced a handkerchief with which he dried her eyes when the crying had subsided. He then held it as her nose, "Come on, blow."
She sniffed and blew her nose.
"There, now. Isn't that better?"
Connie shook her head and managed a tearful smile.
He waited a discreet moment, then asked once more, "Will you do it? For me?"
"I didn't want you-to-know about Donna and me. I know she's spoiled everything by telling you. You must loathe me, Greg. Oh, I wish I were dead."
"There, there, honey. I don't loathe you one bit. In fact, the thought of you and Donna-like that-excites me, if you get what I mean."
Connie's eyes were suddenly wide open with shocked incredulity. A tiny gasp exuded from her mouth as she raised a hand to her lips and gnawed the knuckle. Confused, not knowing if she loved-or hated him, Connie sank down to the dressing room chair. She did not look up at him and she did not speak or stir.
Greg, not able to understand her reaction, angrily turned and left the room, going out to talk to Donna.
Several moments later, after she'd had a hurried talk with Greg, Donna came in again. She closed the door softly and knelt beside Connie, gently lifting a hand to stroke the hair back from her forehead. "Pucker up and smile, baby. It isn't as bad as all that, is it?"
"You didn't have to tell him, you didn't," Connie murmured in an anguished monotone.
"You should've taken my advice when I gave it to you. I told you to watch out for him, that he's poison, remember?"
"He didn't have anything to do with it. It's you!" she cried.
"You got a screw loose, kid. If you didn't, you wouldn't dare say that. Not to me."
Paying no heed whatsoever to what Donna had been saying or was now saying, Connie's voice continued: "Because of what you told him, perhaps he won't love me anymore. I don't know how to tell him I'm really not like that-that it was you, Donna, you who seduced me!"
Donna stood up angrily. "You foolish little tart, I ought to-"
Connie stood up and glared at her angrily, "If I lose Greg because of you, Donna, I swear I'll make you regret it to your dying day!"
A wild look in her eyes, Donna sneered, "Oh, yeah? Well, let me tell you a thing or two about your sweetie pie before you make me gag with anymore of that childish love mush. For your information, Connie, Greg is an ex-convict. Yes, you heard me, an ex-con! Know what he served time for? Pimping. He was convicted and sent up for two years when a couple of the call girls he had his hooks into, squealed. Don't look so shocked, baby doll. You haven't heard the half of it."
Connie's face turned ashen. "You're a liar!"
"Am I?" she hissed, moving toward her, her quivering lips a scant distance from her face. "That's another thing you're wrong about, Connie. Look, how long's it been since we've known each other?"
Connie stared at her blankly, beginning to wonder if Donna was, perhaps, telling the truth. She remained silent.
"Five years-six years?" Donna went on. "Is that how long?"
Connie shrugged. "Maybe longer than that. I was twelve and you were fourteen when you came to live in our building."
"Okay. Now how long have you known Greg? Since the time I introduced you-two weeks ago?"
Donna made sense, Connie realized. But then she looked at her askance, suspicion clouding her eyes. "You wouldn't be interested in him yourself, or would you?"
"Me?" Donna cried, jabbing a thumb at her breast. "You flipped your wig or something? You think that's why I--? " she broke off in a spell of harsh sounding, unamused laughter. "Baby doll, you sure have a lot to learn. Believe me, Greg doesn't mean anything to me, let me tell youl I couldn't care less about him." She put her hands on Connie's shoulders and squeezed, her fingers biting into the girl's flesh. "Connie, Connie, get wise, will you?" Her voice became softer. "Can't you see him for what he is? An animal. Even worse-a beast with a warped mind. Can't you tell he doesn't give a hoot for you, that he's only being nice to you because he's using you?"
Connie shook her head in stubborn refusal. "He hasn't used me," she said. "It's I who has been using him. He gave me those jobs and paid for my services in cash. Cold, hard cash. If I went to bed with him it was because I wanted to, because I cared enough about him to do it, and he wined me and dined me and took me out to swell places-"
"What you're saying," Donna interrupted, "is that you sold yourself to him."
"If I weren't a lady, I'd slap you for saying that."
Donna smiled. "Have it your way. You poor, stupid, naive kid. I thought you had better sense. On the other hand, you do have good sense, but you've made the mistake of letting your emotions rule your mind. I may only be a couple of years older than you, but I think I've been around more than you have. What you're going through now, being infatuated with a nogoodnik like Greg, a man who's old enough to be your father, I went through when I was sixteen. I was so head over heels in love with the guy than I did anything he asked. When he'd had his fun with me and had grown tired of me and found someone else, he tossed me over and damn near broke my heart. I went begging to him, throwing myself at him, and you know what he did? He degraded me. He shamed me and laughed in my face, making a mockery of my love.
"I didn't care if I lived or died," Donna went on, her eyes filling with tears. "Know what I did then? I went out and let myself be picked up. I didn't care. If I couldn't have him, I-so I sold myself. I don't even know how many there were. I never found any man who gave a damn about me. As long as I had something they wanted, they were interested. But after they got what they were after, after they used me, they were through. Then, one day I had a date with a millionaire. I went up to his suite at the Waldorf. There was another girl there, a hooker, like me. He paid us each two hundred to have a wingding with him. Neither of us had ever partied like that before, but for that kind of dough, what the hell? We swung. Then he wanted us to make love to each other while he watched. I didn't give a damn but the other girl refused. He started bidding. When the ante reached three hundred apiece more, she gave in." Donna's voice lowered to an intense whisper.
"Then I learned something about myself I didn't know before. I was eighteen at the time, your age. I actually got a kick out of being with a girl. Even though he was watching, I didn't give a damn. First thing I knew I got carried away. It was wild, Connie. Almost like it was with us that night. Remember? Only you're not a les. I am. I know that. I get my charge out of being the aggressor. I especially get my kicks when I know the girl is being with a woman for the first time. I know why I'm the way I am, too. I hate men, what they stand for, what they are, how they use me. I despise and detest them and I'd rather have relations with a woman than the handsomest, most virile man alive. You send me, Connie. You excite me more than any man ever has or could. I'm telling you this because I want you to know how it is with me. I'm here today for two good reasons. The first is that I love money. The hundred and fifty bucks they're paying me-and the second reason...." Her fevered eyes fixed intensely on Connie's face.
Connie stirred. She stood there dumbly, impassively, devoid of any emotion or thought. Donna moved closer. She put her arms around her, nodding and slowly lowering her mouth to meet Connie's. A moment later she was leading her to the couch. Donna dropped to her knees, her trembling fingers groping for the zipper of Connie's robe. "Hurry, baby, let's get you out of this thing and into your costume. I'll have you ready in a jif."
Her eyes were fixed straight ahead as she felt Donna's caressing fingers sweep down over the voluptuous contours of her ripe body. There was a waxen glaze to Connie's eyes as she felt Donna's mouth at her breasts, her tongue lancing against her navel as she dallied while helping her on with the sheer togalike costume. Then, unable to resist, unable to control herself, Connie's hands went out to claw Donna's head to the warmth of her awakening body.
Suddenly there was a loud rapping on the door. It was Alex. "Shake a leg girls, the man's waiting and you know how he don't like none of that."
Donna stooped once more to plant a kiss on Connie's abdomen. Then she stood up, making some final adjustments to the filmy costume Connie was wearing. She smiled and unzipped her own dressing gown, revealing the exotic costume she was wearing, tiny brass-pointed cups pasted to each breast, a loin cloth of transparent silk upon which were sewn brass medallions. Calf-high semi-boots were laced up her shapely legs. She laughed suddenly and picked up two brass bracelets which were as large as elbow-length gauntlets and snapped them on. "How do I look, Connie, my little love slave?"
Connie contemplated her gravely. She hardly noticed the exotic costume. "Just like Sappho," her voice murmured hollowly.
CHAPTER NINE
Just as they emerged from the dressing room, Connie saw Greg. He had been leaning against a ladder in the center of the studio. There was a cruel look on his face that suddenly altered to an expression of relief when he saw them coming. He removed the butt of a cigarette he had been smoking and held it with a thumb and forefinger momentarily before dropping it. Then he crushed it with the toe of his shoe, turned and went to tell the others that the girls were finally ready.
Connie felt a twinge of uneasiness sweep through her as she realized for the first time that Greg's only concern was not for her, or for what he was demanding of her, but was instead only to serve his own selfish purposes. She'd seen it on his face. She saw it when he turned his back at their approach and she had read it in the words he had used when he had said only a little while before, "So prove that you love me. Do this little thing for me and everything will go on just as it's been. Nothing will be changed, I promise you."
like a shock wave after a bomb has gone off, the impact and the subtle meaning of his words hit her. Greg had adroitly told her that unless she went through with this, unless she did exactly as he wished, they would be through.
She shuddered, completely unaware of Donna leading her into the blazing circle of light, into the unreal setting, into a performance she did not want to perform. Now she was thinking of something else Greg had said. She heard his words echoing in her brain, over and over, "There, there, honey. I don't loathe you one bit. In fact, the thought of you and Donna excites me ... if you get what I mean."
All of a sudden Connie understood.
Her thoughts spun crazily. The dazzling lights pierced her with unbearable intensity. She felt Donna and Greg leading her to the bench. Now she knew what it was for. They urged her down upon it, on her back. She felt Greg looping the chains around her ankles, then her wrists.
Swimming in the ring of lights were faces. At first, merely blank blurrings. Then she saw their features. Mr. Gerard's sweating ugly face. Alex's beard. Greg's moustache, the pencil thin lines seeming to twitch like that of a lengendary demon's. Donna, her heavily mascaraed eyes and brows gleaming grotesquely.
Watching her.
Alex's voice, "Camera, action, take one, scene one." Gerard's voice, "Roll dem."
The whirring of the motion picture camera. The blur of movement around her figure as Donna, playing the role of Sappho, enters the temple of Eros in the Grecian country of Lesbos and approaches the slave girl who is to be sacrificed to Aphrodite.
"Get wid it, Donna," Gerard's hoarsening voice barked from beyond the kleig lights.
Painfully aware of the lecherous eyes watching Connie squirmed with mounting uneasiness. Now everything was different. It was rapidly becoming a nightmare. Her body tensed, knowing, but not quite knowing what to expect. Donna stooping over her body. The warmth of her feverish breath purling against her cheek.
Then she felt the flickering of Donna's tongue at her throat, her mouth, then her breast. "Good. Good," came the man's voice. "Tear de clothes off'n her now. Dat's it. Good."
Connie felt the sheer garment being savagely ripped from her body. She felt the hot sensation of the blazing lights boring into her flesh as it became exposed.
Then she struggled and suddenly realized that they had actually lashed her to the bench!
Donna whispered, "Don't fight it, honey. I'm sorry we had to chain you down like this, but the man wanted it ' that way."
A scream trilled from Connie's throat. She heard Donna laugh. It was a wild outburst, high-pitched with the mounting fever of lust.
Then she felt Donna's hands upon her helpless body. As the whirring of the camera continued, Donna's perspiring hands caressed her, strong hands seeking her breasts, pinching fingers biting into her nipples.
Struggling vainly, Connie began to whimper. But with every writhing of her body, every stifled outcry from her lips, the man muttered, "Good. Good. De broad's sure some good actress."
She began to feel Donna's demanding mouth on her body. The lancing of a tongue burrowing into every corner of her body, sweeping over her in a frenzy of crazed abandon.
Connie's body arched up, up, trying to resist, trying to curtail the torturous sensations, the excruciating agony that was slowly becoming a delight.
The chains bit mercilessly into her wrists and ankles. With all her might she wormed and twisted and arched and writhed her captivated body, but still she could not evade Donna's moist mouth, warm lips, stabbing tongue.
Screaming, tensing her body as though in the throes of the spasms of death, Connie tried wildly, desperately, to keep from succumbing.
Spinning in a vortex of blazing white light, the blue eyes, the black beard and bald head, the pocked complexion, whirled before her like a whirlwind of depravity; lusting eyes stabbing at its helpless victim as though slaking their erotic thirsts.
Then Connie felt the quivering delight flooding through her veins. Arching up, her lush thighs stiffening, straining and then attempting to kick, Connie made one final effort to resist.
Then it was too late. The heaving pulsations quaked through her. She screamed and screamed, wrenching her arms and legs and pounding her buttocks against the bench, the saliva frothing from her mouth. Donna, crouching now above her captive body began to lower herself.
Connie felt the strong thighs brushing her cheeks, closing in, then locking against her, holding her fast. Sharp talons dug into Connie's wildly jerking buttocks and then, an instant later, the quivering rigidity, the descending fall. "Good. Good."
Greg's voice could be heard saying, "What'd I tell you. Ain't she the greatest, ain't she?"
"Okay, Donna," Alex said. "Now the whip."
Connie felt Donna's body slide away from hers. As she did so their combined weight tilted the bench. In a sudden burst of energy, Connie threw her weight toward the direction of the tilting and the bench toppled. Donna cursed and scrabbled out of the way. The chains that shackled Connie loosened and she wrenched her arms free, then before anyone realized it, she had also freed her legs. She leapt to her feet and ran naked, her plump breasts bouncing wildly, straight to her dressing room.
She rushed inside, slammed the door and seized the chair which she wedged beneath the knob.
An instant later she heard Greg hammering on the door, shouting, "Goddamn you, come out of there."
Connie screamed. "Get away from me. Let me alone. I won't do anymore of that. I'm through with your filthy-"
"Connie!" his voice growled through the door. "I'm warning you."
She stood beside the door, panting for breath, trembling, desperately groping with her mind to overcome her panic, to figure out what to do. In the distance she heard Alex cursing. Donna's voice was saying something unintelligible. The voice of Gerard laughing, laughing, making obscene remarks.
"Connie, open this door. For the last time-"
"No!" she shrieked.
But her protest was to no avail. Greg hurled his weight against the door and it flew open, knocking the chair across the room.
His face livid, his blue eyes darting at her like the angered tips of bluish flames, he snarled and came toward her. "You little bitch. And I thought you loved me!"
Connie shriveled deep inside herself at his words. She recoiled at the sight of him.
"I'm not going to stand here like a-"
"Then get out!" she screamed, cringing, shrinking back into a corner.
Greg's face became hard and cruel. The muscles beneath his cheeks pulsed visibly. He raised a fist in a menacing gesture and shook it at her. "See this, baby? Unless you go out there this minute and let us finish shooting, you're going to have a taste of it."
"I-I can't do it, I can't, Greg. Nothing you do or say to me will ever make me."
"Listen here, you. I went out on a limb for you, see. And you're not going to get away with this if I have anything to say about it."
"Please, Greg, can't you understand?"
Her entreaty fell on deaf ears. He scowled at her darkly, hissing, "The man don't like this. He's teed-off and when that happens, pow!" Seeing that his threatening manner was not getting him anywhere, he shifted his tactics. "Be reasonable, Connie. Honey," he said, a smile coming to his face. "Honey, do you know the trouble we're going to have if you walk out on us now?"
Connie's eyes did not flicker. She watched him, cowering in the corner, unaware of her heaving breasts, her nudity, the others outside the dressing room.
"We're going to have to take that whole sequence all over again. You're going to force us to waste all that film. The time. Mr. Gerard's valuable time. Donna's. We have to throw it all away and start over again because you walked out on us right in the middle. We can't just get another girl to replace your role, not now. We've got to begin the entire thing with somebody else if you leave us in the lurch like this."
Connie swallowed audibly and shook her head slowly. "I can't do it, Greg. It's no use. I'm sorry if I've caused you and everybody all that trouble, but you should've told me what you wanted me to do last night. If you would've been honest with me, I could've saved you all this trouble."
"You stupid little-for two cents I oughta-"
"Greg!" she cried. "Please. Understand. I'm really not that kind of girl, honestly-"
He spat in disgust. "Don't try to kid me, baby. It won't work. like I said before, it ain't nothing you never did before and it ain't nothing you won't probably do again. Try to see it my way. It's just a job. You don't really have to enjoy it. You can pretend. Yeah. Pretend. The suckers who will see this picture won't know the dif, now will they, huh? Come on, be a good kid. You can do it, I know you can."
Connie again nodded. "Oh, Greg. Do you know what you're asking?"
"Sure, sure. A hundred and fifty bucks worth of your time. A couple of lousy hours in front of the camera and it's all over." He tried another tactic when he saw that had failed also. "Listen here," he said in a suddenly hushed tone. "The man, Mr. Gerard. He came here expecting me to deliver. I put my neck right on the line for you, baby and you know what you're doing to me? What's going to happen to me if you cross me up?"
She eyed him through tears of fright, blankly, without being able to reply.
"I'll tell ya what's gonna happen, kid. Just so you'll know." He extended a forefinger and k-k-k-d out of the side of his mouth, making a slashing motion across his throat. "And that's what you'll get too, baby. Now come on. I didn't wanta lower the boom on ya like this, but you left me no choice. D'ya see how it is?"
Connie sobbed, unable to reply.
He stalked toward her, seizing her by the hair. He shook her violently. "Well?" She remained mute.
And then he drew back a hand and cracked it viciously across her face. She jerked spasmodically, her head held fast by his grip on her hair. He hit her again and again.
Suddenly, Donna appeared in the doorway. She saw what was happening and gasped. "Greg! You animal. Quit that."
He did not turn around. He snorted glaring at Connie, "Not until I reach this little bitch a lesson she won't forget." At that, he hit Connie with his fist. Blood spurted from her lip and her eyes became glassy. She slumped and he released his hold on her hair. She fell, unconscious, to the floor.
"I hope you're satisfied now, you creep!" Donna shrieked at Greg.
He spat on his knuckle and rubbed it, then with his mouth curled in disdain, asked, "Where's Peaches?"
Donna looked at him vehemently. "You mean your next victim, don't you?"
"I oughta-" he growled, cocking a fist as if to throw a punch at her.
Donna confronted him boldly. Her bared breasts with the brass pasties jutted toward him like the chest of an Amazon warrior, brazenly facing an enemy. "You oughta what, creep?"
He looked away and muttered something unintelligible. A moment later he went out, rubbing his knuckle and cursing under his breath.
Connie had been vaguely aware of Donna and Greg. She tried to get up, but was unable to stand. Seeing her struggling, Donna rushed over, knelt and cradled her head. "How do you feel, honey? You okay?"
She moaned in reply and again tried to climb to her feet. Donna helped her, placing one arm beneath her armpits, the other around the small of her naked back.
"I want to get out of here, Donna," she sobbed. "Help me, please?"
Donna nodded. "Sorry, baby. You came here under your own steam and that's how you're gonna haveta go. Want me to wind up in the river wearing cement boots or something? That Gerard guy, you don't cross."
"I didn't cross him, it was Greg. It was Greg who didn't tell me what I had to do today. For if he had, if he had've been honest with me, I would've said no right off the bat and none of this would've happened."
A thin smile curled up the edges of Donna's mouth. "Honey, you have so much to learn. When're you going to stop kidding yourself? Greg could've conned you into doing that little thing for him just as easily as I seduced you. Come off it, already!"
Confused, unable to gather her wits and decide what to do, Connie began to rush around the room, groping at something for support now and again as a dizzy spell sent her senses reeling, searching for her clothes.
"Honey, take it easy," Donna cried, coming over and taking her tenderly in her arms.
Connie recoiled as a wave of disgust and nausea gripped her. "Get away from me. Let me alone."
Donna stepped aside.
Connie blinked around the room, feeling her stomach churn and she retched, gagging, leaning against the wall for support. When she regained her composure slightly, when she managed to stand on her feet without leaning or clinging to something for support, she cried, "My clothes. Where are my clothes?"
Before Donna could reply, Connie went through the door, seeing it hanging on one hinge, not remembering how it'd been broken like that. She reeled, oblivious to her nakedness, now only intent upon one goal: to find her clothes and get out of there.
She focused her eyes with some effort, saw the doors leading to the other dressing rooms and staggered toward the nearest one. Her hand closed around a doorknob and as she turned it, she fell against the door and it swung open. Connie swayed in the doorway. Two people were in the room. A flash of recognition and she remembered where she'd seen the blonde woman, the one who was now writhing on the studio couch, her naked body grinding and twisting against the man who was hunched forward kissing her breasts. The man was Greg. The woman was the blonde girl Connie had seen him with the night before.
The spectacle had a sobering effect upon Connie. It was enough to halt her reeling senses. Enough to help her find her clothes. She opened the drawer containing her purse, took it out, then reached for her dress which she hastily threw on, oblivious to the nude girl and Greg on the couch.
Snatching up her shoes, Connie broke into a faltering run. She raced into the studio and stumbled against one of the huge lights. Just as it toppled and crashed to the floor, Alex made a motion as if to tackle her, but instead, tripped and lost his balance, falling against a camera dolly. His momentum pushed it into motion and it began rolling toward Mr. Gerard who was puffing heavily toward Connie.
Connie tripped over a cable and fell, rolling helplessly into a trio of kleig lights. Her leg caught one of the light supports and it teetered dangerously, the heavy shielded lens atop it too weighty to stay balanced, fell, setting off a chain reaction that sent the other two lights falling forward. Connie scooped up her purse and shoes, ran into the office, reached the door leading to the waiting room, threw the bolt, and flung the door open. She was downstairs and running up the street before Alex emerged from the building entrance, drew up short, watched her race away, then spat and threw his arms up in defeat.
CHAPTER TEN
Connie just made it around the corner before she faltered. She caught herself, staggered into the alley, reeling from the effects of her frantic exertion, the beating she'd taken and the nerve wracking ordeal, and fell over some garbage cans. The foul smelling contents poured out into the narrow alley amid a loud clatter. She fell across the corrugated cylinders unable to stop herself. Then, retching, the tears spilling down her cheeks, she was sick.
After a few minutes she managed to climb to her feet. She'd dropped one of her shoes and she looked around for it, couldn't see it anywhere, then threw the other one at a brick wall in disgust. At last she stopped the agonizing wheezing and panting that had clutched her so breathlessly and managed to grope her way through the alley to the next street by slowly walking with one supporting hand against the wall.
Through it all, Connie had managed to keep her wits. But when they'd chained her to that bench, her nervous system revolted.
She emerged from the alley, blinking in the sunlight. The blazing light blinded her momentarily and once again she felt the fear clutching her heart, the screams welling up from deep within. The kleig lights. The faces leering at her. Donna writhing upon her helpless body. Her screams. The man and his "Good. Good."
Again the nausea and disgust and waves of revulsion gripped her. Connie slumped against the brick wall. She swayed unsteadily and clung to the cool roughness of the building as though attempting to draw some strength from it.
Several pedestrians walked by her, staring curiously. One woman snorted, "Makes me sick to see a woman drunk."
But Connie hadn't heard. And if she had, it wouldn't have made any difference. Although she was only two and a half blocks from her apartment, she knew she couldn't make it on foot. She needed a cab. Rocking to and fro, Connie checked her purse to see if she had enough money to pay the fare. To see if perhaps someone had taken her wallet. Everything was there. She had nearly fifty dollars in the billfold, two twenties and a five and some ones.
She retched, ill at the stomach, then managed a silly laugh. Here I am, sick as hell, and I'm counting my money, she thought.
Taking several deep breaths, then bolstering her strength, she moved into the street and made it to a lamp post where she leaned, now waiting to hail a passing cab.
The warmth of the sun began to soothe her ragged nerves. It was comforting to know that she was free of Greg, free of Donna and out of there.
No longer did the money and the imagine clothes and lavish apartment mean anything to her. Something else mattered now. She thought of Louise and how she'd hurt her, how she'd repaid her love and devotion and kindness and sacrifices by this, this heinous, shameful thing she'd done. A sob welled up and choked her.
Mike. She thought about the way she'd treated him. How she'd thrown him over for a worm like Greg. How she'd driven him out of her life forever by scoffing at his promotion, by thinking and saying and believing that he wasn't good enough for her. It was the other way around, Connie now admitted to herself. It was she who was not good enough for Mike. Dear, wonderful, thoughtful, considerate man he was dear, dear Mike! she thought.
A checkered vehicle approached down the street. Connie's eyes focused on it. Was it a cab? She wasn't certain. She moved away from the lamp post and waved it down. It was a taxi. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Never before had she ever been so grateful to see a taxi. She opened the door and climbed inside, sinking back upon the comforting coolness of the leather seat. She felt it soothing her naked flesh beneath the thin material of her dress.
"Where to, miss?" the cabbie asked, peering curiously at her, noticing her disheveled appearance, the mascaraed streaks and smudged lipstick, the trickle of blood oozing from her swollen lip.
Connie's voice was hoarse. She gave him the address and fumbled nervously for a dollar bill. The cab stopped and started its way through the heavy traffic. She was only aware of one thing: that she was going home. Her heart began to flutter with anxiety. It seemed to her then that she had been away from home for months and months, that she was a stranger and would be a stranger to her sister. Dear, sweet Louise, she thought. How will I ever make up to her for all the terrible things I did and said?
Suddenly she was looking through the cab window at the familiar steps of the apartment house where she and Louise lived. Connie thrust the dollar at the cabbie and got out, not waiting for her change.
She started up the steps, shakily, her knees rubbery, hardly able to walk, noticing that she was barefoot.
"Connie!" From somewhere around her, from somewhere in the sunlight Mike was calling her. No, it couldn't be. She'd sent him away forever and he would never return.
Footsteps came running toward her. She gripped the railing for support and clutched it desperately, looking down, about to fall, teetering at the top of the concrete front door stoop.
The world swirled around her, blending into a whirring sound like that of a movie camera. Lights, blinding lights and faces, beards moustaches, piercing, staring blue eyes ogling her, leering, laughing, watching. The vortex caught her in its fury. Vertigo. She felt herself falling and suddenly she no longer cared.
All of a sudden strong arms seized her. The familiar fresh clean scrubbed smell of masculinity. Powerful arms and big hands cradled her. She felt her head resting against the trunk of his neck, her hand pressing against a wall of muscle.
Louise's voice came through the haze, crying out, gasping, "Connie, oh, my God!"
Then the familiar creaking of the front door. The door to their apartment, their home. She felt herself being carried through the familiar smell of the house. The scent of Louise's cosmetics littering the dresser, the aroma of sachet that came from their closet, the crisp laundered smell of the clean sheets on a bed. Then the settling down of her weary, shaken, quivering body into the familiar depressions of her bed.
She opened her eyes and saw them standing over her, Louise, fright and concern clouding her eyes, gently swabbing her face with a lukewarm cloth. Just like another time. She had been twelve then. She had had a bloody nose. She had had a fight because some of the neighborhood kids had called her an orphan. She fought them and they hit her in the nose and she had run home screaming, blood spilling down the front of her dress.
Louise had then, as now, swabbed away her hurt. "Honey," she had told her then, "don't fight when somebody calls you an orphan. It's true. We are orphans. We both are. When Mama and Poppa went to heaven ... that's what we became."
And now Louise was gazing down at her, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. Connie smiled wanly and raised a hand to Louise's face. Louise sobbed and clutched it to her cheek, kissing her wrist.
She felt the broad strength of his hand, Mike's hand, gently patting her arm. She turned, tearfully, and her lips quivered. She could not speak. There was so much to say, so much to make up for, to make up to him, she did not know where to start.
"What happened, Connie?" Louise asked, her voice shaking and tremulous.
"Connie, Connie," Mike suddenly cried, burying his head in the palm of her hand as he knelt beside her bed.
"My God, what've they done to you? Under your dress, I could tell. You don't have anything on."
A cry broke from Louise's mouth which she tried to choke back with a hand.
Connie struggled to sit up but both Louise and Mike restrained her, placing their hands gently upon her shoulders.
"Connie, for God's sake, what happened?" Louise cried, leaning close, kissing her forehead affectionately. She was visibly shaken and the pain of seeing her sister like that, disheveled and bruised, was too much.
Mike bit his lip. He sensed that Louise and Connie should be alone at a time like this. He reasoned that perhaps Connie might have something to tell her sister that he ought not hear. He made a movement to get up, but Connie's hand grasped his. Her fingers bit into his flesh. "No," she whispered. "Don't go, Mike. Please, will you forgive me for-being-such a jerk?"
He gnawed his lips and nodded vigorously. "Of course, hon. You know I understand."
She then turned and gazed up at Louise. "And you, will you ever be able to forgive-"
"Jerk!" Louise laughed. "That proves it. You don't have to apologize to me. After all. I'm your sister, ain't I?"
They laughed together. A bubbling warmth made them mellow and they hugged Connie. Then the laughter died on Connie's lips. She gripped both of their hands tightly. "There's something you both have to know. Especially you, Mike. After you hear what I have to say, Mike, you'll be free to walk out and never come back to see me again. I want you to promise."
"I'll promise no such thing," he said with a note of determined finality. "I don't care what happened, what you've done-it doesn't matter one iota. I love you, Connie. Tell me what happened if you want to, if it'll do some good, serve some purpose."
Connie's eyes stared. "Yes, telling you will do some good. There'll be some purpose served too." She paused, wet her lips, and then began at the beginning.
When she had finished several minutes later, Mike was kneeling at her side, silently weeping, his fingers trembling as they caressed her.
Louise suddenly stood up. She went around the bed and picked up the telephone.
Connie gave a start and cried, "What are you doing, Lou?"
"Calling somebody."
"Who?"
Louise made a face that told Connie how much she'd really been hurt. "I've a friend on the vice squad. That should do it, don't you think? One call to him and Gerard and Greg and those other horrible people you mentioned will all be behind bars where they belong."
Connie said nothing. She put a hand upon Mike's head and dug her fingernails into his scalp. She idly listened as Louise related the story as it'd just been told.
When Louise hung up there was a pall of silence in the room. Finally, Louise came over to Connie and leaned to kiss her forehead. "Listen, kids. I've got to get away for a few days. Something sudden sort of came up and I know this is short notice, but I was wondering..."
Connie and Mike looked up at her, curiously, wonderingly.
Louise laughed. "Why look at me like that?"
Connie smiled. "Because you're not a very good liar."
Mike stood up and put his arm around Louise. "I wonder if you would like me to be your brother-in-law?"
Louise suddenly put down her purse. She grasped both of Mike's hands in hers and sighed. "Mike, I never thought you'd get around to proposing. I accept you as my brother-in-law. Now, if we both get to work on that jerk of a sister of mine," she said, pausing to wink, "maybe we both can talk some sense into her."
"Yeah," Mike said, grinning, his eyes gleaming down at Connie. "How about it, hon?"
Connie laughed. She stretched her arms toward him and he came to her, tears beginning to trickle from his eyes. Suddenly Connie made a bar of her arms. She held him back. "No, Mike, no. I'm not worthy of you. I've been a tramp, a fool, a ass. Those pictures, those terrible things I did-I can't let you-"
"Don't talk like that, Connie. It isn't as bad as you make it sound. I love you, honey. I don't care what you've done. I told you that before. Just love me, huh? Everything's forgiven. You've made your mistakes and you've paid for them."
"Are you sure, Mike? Sure that you truly love me?"
He had to swallow hard in order to reply. "You're asking me that? Of course I'm sure. I love you, honey, and with all my heart. Will you, Connie, will you say you'll marry me?"
She wet her bruised lip with the flick of a tongue. Then, through tears of happiness, said, "Yes, Mike. Oh, yes, yes. And you'll see ... I will try to be a good wife to you, I will. With all my heart...."
