"Two martinis, dry," Miles told the waitress, and watched her wheel about on medium-heeled shoes and sway her tight little buttocks across the electric-blue carpet of the plush lounge.
"Your friend is late," Ann Marie said as she crossed and uncrossed her full but trim legs.
"He's coming, chicken," Miles answered, still gazing with satisfaction at the slim body of the waitress as she bent over to pick up a small cocktail tray. He admired the whip in those little hips, and smiled as he told himself she could be on top or bottom before you knew how to hold on. And then what a nice bit of action.
"Miles," Ann Marie said insistently.
And Miles pulled his eyes from the waitress and stared into the pale, familiar face of the girl beside him.
"What's the matter, chicken?" he asked. "You've been on my back all afternoon."
"I don't mean to," she said. "But I just wanted to tell you that there's a man who looks like you describe Daws. He came in a couple of minutes ago, and he seems to be looking around for someone."
"Where?" Miles asked. And he scanned the lounge and then saw Dawson, nicknamed Daws, standing in the doorway behind him. And Daws looked as game and ready as ever. He was still slim and his five-eleven frame wore the dark tweed suit with the usual elegance. And the conservative dark tie seemed normal. Miles had to admit that Daws carried his 30 years with authority and success.
And then Daws obviously spotted him, and he nodded, and Miles watched him stride nimbly across the plush rug to the booth.
"Don't you think he's pretty, chicken?" Miles teased at Ann Marie.
And she blinked her muddy brown eyes and squirmed her buttocks on the leather seat of he booth. "Is it Daws?" she asked with impatience.
"That's old man Daws," Miles said. "My old buddy Daws, who was teaching chicks the facts of life before you were off pablum."
Miles smiled to himself as he saw that Daws had stopped to stare at the waitress as she leaned over the bar and displayed her thin, thrusting buttocks.
Miles glanced at Ann Marie's short-nailed hands, which were fumbling in her lap. And then he told himself that she was a perfect example of how to waste twenty years behind a dumb face.
Her body, he knew, was not impossible to like, but she ate too much, and she was a little overweight in all departments. He could love her without any problem, but he had grown weary of her fleshy, white body, despite the fact she had paid his bills for over a year.
"Miles!" Daws exclaimed as he walked to the booth. "You're a sight. And who's the babe?"
"This is my ready-made chicken," Miles said. "Her name is Ann Marie." And Miles had to smile as he saw Daws lift a questioning eyebrow.
And then Daws obviously checked out Ann Marie's style, and he winked at Miles. "Can't I get a personal introduction, Miles?" Daws asked, as he stared intently at Ann Marie.
And Miles shuddered as he saw Ann Marie get into her prep school formality. She extended her right hand and said mechanically, "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. Miles often speaks of you."
Miles winced. And then he saw that sparkle in Daws eyes, and realized that Daws thought of it as great sport. And Miles remembered that Daws always thought of his women as sports, and beneath him, and Miles vowed he would not let this happen again.
And then Miles remembered how desperately he needed this job Daws had gotten him, and he told himself he had to endure anything, at least for the present.
"Don't I at least get a formal introduction?" Daws asked. And Miles glanced at Ann Marie and he somehow resented the way her eyes sparkled at Daws.
"Ann Marie, this is Daws," Miles said quickly. "Daws, Ann Marie. And Daws, you look like a man who could use a drink."
"To tell the truth," Daws said, hesitating, "Well, I've got drinks and all that back at the office. Why don't we skip over there while the day's young, Miles? Officially, this is your first day at work as our outstanding young architect."
Miles bristled a moment at Daws' reference to him as the firm's new young architect. Yet he knew that Daws, though less than two years older, was far advanced in a career. And that Daws was the key to any career that moved beyond the bounds of being supported by a girl like Ann Marie.
"Sure, that sounds good," Miles," Daws said. "I can show you the setup, and Ann Marie can have a drink and stretch her legs with my girl, Lena."
"Lena?" Miles asked with interest. He knew Daws always managed to surround himself with interesting and desirable female company.
Miles started to suggest that they leave when the waitress returned and set a round of drinks on the table.
"Compliments of the house," she purred, and turned away, though Miles caught the provocative smile over her shoulder.
"Well, guess we can't refuse a free drink" Daws said. "Guess you've scored pretty quickly in this town, Miles."
Miles felt torn between his ego and his need for Ann Marie. But he knew, as always, his ego would dictate what he did and said.
But with the naked ego, he had the sense to be discreet. Though Daws' challenge nettled him. And particularly Daws' assumption that no matter how good Miles might be with women, that he was a little better.
"We didn't count on this drink," Daws said.
"We?" Ann Marie asked, and Miles felt she had set up for the line, and that in any case it was natural that she would somehow say something.
"Sure, baby," Daws said. "I left my Lena in the car and told her I'd be out as soon as I collected you two."
Miles sipped his drink and sighed as he stared absently at Ann Marie and Daws. Somehow he would gloss over this situation and go with Daws to meet the managing partner of the firm with which he had suddenly become involved.
"Well, if we're going to have these drinks, Miles, I can't ask my chick to wait at the curb," Daws said.
"So bring her in," Miles boomed. And he watched Daws shove out the booth and hurry to the door.
Miles turned to Ann Marie, and he shoved his standard, irresistible smile at her.
Miles knew he should pour out a string of flattery. But he stared with dumb eyes and gulped at the pudgy, white body.
And he was startled to see the way she looked with interest at Daws. Looked with interest, and a bit more than interest.
"He's a fast boy," Miles said, with little attempt to hide the scorn in his voice.
Ann Marie ignored his comment. "How long will we have to stay at the office," she nagged.
"We'll see, chicken," he said, absent-mindedly. The waitress smiled at him with closed pink lips and cash-register eyes. You can pack that when you deal with me, Miles thought, as he ripped up her body with his gaze.
He motioned to the waitress and ordered another drink for Daws girl.
"Is that all, sir?" the waitress asked, in an impudent, sultry little voice. And she flushed so slightly it took a confident eye to rake out the definite possibilities from the professional front.
"That's all," Miles said. "For now."
She nodded. Then she whipped about again and Miles found himself restlessly disinterested in the snap of her slim hips. He glanced at the door, his curiosity in Daws' girl increasing.
And then he saw a tall, beautiful girl, with a colorful swing of hip, stride into the lounge. She was packed into a pink woolen dress cut low and her melon-large breasts' round contours were bulging and offering themselves. Her hair was braided and fell in one heavy gleaming rope of brown silk that swayed with slight movements of her body.
Daws was behind her, and talked into her ear. Miles could see Daws nodding toward the booth where he and Ann Marie were sitting.
Daws' girl laughed with her head raised. She leaned slightly against Daws' shoulder for an instant. Then they approached the table. With each step, the girl's body seemed to grow dimensionally. Miles felt his throat widen nervously. Some chemistry agent, this beauty, he thought.
"Here we are!" Daws exclaimed. "Lena, this is Ann Marie, and the firm's new man, Miles."
Miles stood up to receive them. Then, for a long moment, he was lost in the large green-flecked eyes of the girl called Lena. Her brow, where the hair was drawn back into the huge braid, was high and white. Clear as a frank thought.
Lena matched his gaze directly. Her eyes warmed and her lips quivered with the subtle grace of preliminaries. On one upper arm a golden bracelet indented the soft white of her flesh. It seemed to imply that she liked to feel. I'd like to make a few indentations she wouldn't forget, Miles thought.
"What's the time of day?" Daws asked.
"It's three-thirty," Ann Marie answered, consulting her cumbrous wristwatch.
"We have to move it," Daws said, smiling at Lena. She tossed her head and smiled with close-lipped confidence. She seemed securely happy-comfortable-as if she were taking sun, or felt a warm shower passing over the luscious curves of her body.
"We can move," she said in an incredibly husky voice. Her tone was sleepy, and contented.
She shifted her weight, so that her hips gyrated and her broad shoulders and breasts were realigned. She appeared to have incredible muscular coordination. "But I'm sitting now," Lena said, abruptly, and Daws reached quickly to pull a chair.
As she eased her lovely hips into the chair, she looked up at Miles.
"I'm a dancer," she said, looking happily at Miles. She seemed to sense his interest.
Miles could feel both Daws and Ann Marie tracking his reactions. But Lena had become, for him, the only person in the room. She smelled of warm flowers. She breathed so deeply that her large breasts heaved and entranced him.
Daws took a seat beside Lena. This forced Miles to sit one place removed from her.
"Kirby's been expecting us for over an hour," Daws said, taking a deep, self-satisfied drag on his cigar.
"Daws keeps everybody waiting but me," Lena said. The green flecks in her eyes danced and melted his resistance to her more and more.
Miles felt his mind reeling. He could picture her anywhere, preferably in a bathing suit. Something white and gold, with no middle. A touch of green sea in the background, and some good bourbon. Ann Marie was incontestably drab beside this goddess.
The waitress brought Lena's drink, and Miles leaned over the table toward her.
"Do you like to swim?" Miles asked her.
"In the winter?" Lena replied-her full lips offering him faint ridicule. Her cheeks dimpled slightly as she sipped her drink and let her tongue sweep sensually across her upper Up. "I prefer summer," she added, eyeing Miles directly, implying to him that she could make her own weather.
"I don't see what swimming has to do with getting over to the office in time," Ann Marie said, obviously bristling at her new rival.
Miles new he was pushing Ann Marie into a scene. Knew that he should ease off Lena and give Ann Marie his attention. But he couldn't. He couldn't take his eyes off the goddess in the pink dress. His mind raced-plotting to ditch Ann Marie-plotting to capture Lena. Somewhere in the background he could feel that Daws was enjoying the whole scene. Daws loved to show his girls off.
"To the contrary," Lena said with a cold eloquence, and her large eyes, cool now, swam toward Ann Marie. "I find swimming quite relevant to Kirby. He is always over his head. Have you met him?"
"No," Ann Marie spit out.
"Then you'll have to see for yourself, Lena said.
Then Lena's eyes swam back to both Daws and Miles. She works like an expensive, well-oiled machine, Miles thought. He enjoyed watching her pick up her glass and sip and smile mysteriously to herself.
"Kirby has himself overdrawn in every department but time spent with wife and family," Daws said, chuckling. "He's forty-two tomorrow, but he watches his weight and has a couple of well turned girls that think very, very well of him."
"Kirby has a few tricks," Lena said, smirking.
"He's got this firm going with sheer impertinence," Daws went on. "Not a bad draftsman. Strong in certain areas."
"How's his designing?" Miles asked without looking at Daws, but watching Lena. She was slipping the cherry of her drink into her mouth with aplomb and assurance. Her teeth were extraordinarily white and, like the rest of her body, exuded health-like a sleek racehorse.
"Kirby's designing comes off best at a cocktail party," Daws answered. "On paper, he-well the poor fellow is lacking in inspiration. His old woman is bad news. A rough deal on the home scene."
"How so?" Miles asked, primarily to keep Daws talking.
"Well, let's just say he doesn't get much like this at home," Daws said as he stroked Lena on the neck. Miles felt his throat tighten as he watched Lena raise her head and lift her breasts in a silent sigh of pleasure.
"Could make a difference," Miles said a bit sullenly, enviously.
"Hell of a difference," Daws said, smiling at him.
Daws was irritatingly confident of his possession of Lena. It annoyed and challenged Miles. He wanted to beat Daws-for once in his life to cut Daws out.
"Shall we go," Ann Marie interjected curtly. She had finished her drink some minutes ago.
"Can do," Daws said, winking at Miles.
Miles felt himself flush, and he reached into his pocket for a cigarette to sooth his annoyance. He was made to feel more and more like a married man when he took Ann Marie around where scenes were-like this one-meant for free play.
Daws stood up, and Lena looked over at Miles. Then she shrugged one of her Amazon shoulders in his direction, as if to say, "I guess this isn't too cozy after all."
She rose up at this, with Daws expertly drawing back her chair. Miles stood up too, and searched with irritation for the waitress. She was at the bar. Seeing Miles stand, the waitress nodded and headed for the table.
Miles helped Ann Marie into her fur jacket, and enjoyed, perversely, giving her difficulty with the second sleeve. She fumbled and thrashed her arm about. Finally she found the opening. Then, before he could assist her with the chair, she stood up with an awkward jerk.
"We'll meet you out front," Daws said. And then he and Lena walked from the table.
The waitress dropped off the tab. Ann Marie whispered in Mile's ear, "Must you always pick up tabs for your friends? I'm not the Bank of England."
"Hang on, chicken," Miles answered as he looked at the tab. "This isn't going to kill us. Just keep yourself together. I'm about to get a legit job. Remember? Give me a little room to have a drink once in awhile."
"I'm not so sure this job is what you want," Ann Marie said. Then she added with emphasis, "And I saw you watching that girl-that girl Daws is with. Makes me look silly to have you falling all over yourself for every bitch you see."
"I said save it, baby. This is business."
"Don't give me that line," Ann Marie snapped, and handed him a twenty. Her muddy eyes were stormy. She left him at the table and hurried toward the door. Miles could hear her legs rubbing under her shapeless dress.
Miles paid the check and smiled at the tantalizing waitress who no longer interested him. Then he walked slowly, his mind reeling with thoughts of Lena as he told himself he would soon be free of girls like Ann Marie.
CHAPTER TWO
Daws and Miles left the girls in the waiting room. Daws led the way to Kirby's office, which was a small, wood-paneled room. Kirby was on the phone. Daws motioned to a seat and Miles sat down, listening to Kirby speaking nervously and with increasing irritation.
Kirby was a man of about medium build. He wore thick-lensed glasses and his face was lean and sharp-featured.
"Why don't they call it off now and have done with it," Kirby exclaimed. "I've had the sculpture ready for three weeks now, and still no advance ... Of course I'm pessimistic. It's costing."
"This is the second cancellation we've had this winter," Daws explained, pacing about the room.
"How good a rate is that?" Miles questioned.
"Have to expect it in the beginning," Daws said. The whole setup is a gamble."...." Personally. Right." Kirby said with finality. With this he hung up and stood. He was an extremely lean man, his face lined, his hands figiting constantly with his tie, or slipping in and out of his pockets.
"This is Miles Renson, Frank," Daws said. "Had a hell-of-a-time getting over here."
"Never mind," Kirby said, nodding pleasantly in Miles' direction. Kirby extended his hand and Miles stood up quickly, and offered his own. Kirby's grasp was strong, but absent-mindedly brief.
"Now...." Kirby said, with nervous energy. "Where shall we start?" He paced to the window and looked out for a moment. Then, pointing suddenly to a tall office building across the street said in a quick, precise voice, "That's the kind of building we're trying to avoid. But we have to educate every bloody client about good and bad architecture before we can even get through initial drinks."
"Some of our clients are feminine," Daws offered, smirking. "They make the best students."
"That's where it's at," Kirby said without a trace of humor. "How good are you on your feet, Renson?"
"He means," Daws interpreted playfully, "how fast can you think with a drink in your hand and a rich lady giving you her expensive attention?"
Miles shifted uneasily, then stood up. He felt for the loose change in his pocket, and wondered if all the change in the world had to, eventually, come from the pocket of undesirable women, like Ann Marie.
With a degree of disillusionment and an unpleasant picture in his mind of himself bending down to pick up some dowager's hanky, he said, "I've worked off and on with Swenson and Goodrich." Then he added, a bit defiantly, "I happen to have a good wit about interiors."
"Perhaps we're hitting you too fast," Kirby said frankly. "Let's have a drink. I'll give you a quick sketch of our situation. Then we can talk strategy." Kirby walked out of his office briskly, and Daws motioned to Miles to sit down and cool it.
Miles settled back into the rather spare wooden chair. Daws walked over to the door and looked out. Then Daws pivoted and said quickly, "Listen, Miles, don't say too much, or think too much until you've heard Kirby out. He's working this firm the only way it can be worked. He knows. You'll see. Just sit tight. Got that?"
"What about the actual work," Miles asked.
"Never mind questions, Miles," Daws coached him. "Just sit and listen. Got that?"
"All right," Miles replied.
Something within Miles seemed to be warning him that he was too much on edge. It was again, just as it had been in the college days, old Daws who was always on top of the situation. He nodded to Daws compliantly, just as Kirby paced back into the room. He was followed by a short, rather blank-faced blonde who carried a tray of drinks.
"Scotch all right?" Kirby asked Miles. "First rate," Miles answered politely and glanced at Daws.
Daws was grinning and indicated, with a side shake of his head, that there was something amusing to be observed about the chubby, full-breasted girl who had returned with Kirby. She was now placing the drinks upon the desk in a slow, dumb-witted manner.
Miles noticed her big, soft buttocks and that her waistline was created more by her tightly drawn belt, than by natural curve.
She gathered up some of Kirby's papers and carried them, as if they were an infant, toward the door. There was, about her movements, something extremely pliant and weak-willed. She had that quality of a woman who is all give. Not rosy enough to have thorns. A place to relax, if you're forty, I guess, Miles summed her up.
"Is that all, Mr. Kirby?" she asked, pressing the papers under her pendulous breasts.
"Yes, thank you, Patty," Kirby answered. She let her tongue follow the line of her lower Up, and smiled at Kirby tauntingly. Then she swung her soft hips, turned, and left the room. Kirby was watching her every movement.
"Patty Mays. Sweet girl. You'll be seeing her around here. My right hand lady." Kirby explained, mechanically, but Miles could sense that Kirby was very interested in her.
"Now, boys," Kirby started out, seating himself in a swift, pressured movement. "Let's have a talk."
"I've filled him in on the work-load division," Daws offered.
"Good," Kirby said succinctly. "Then you realize that, in the beginning months, it will add up to a lot of drafting. There won't be too much in the responsibility areas."
Miles nodded.
"Have your drink," Kirby said, offering him the glass.
Miles stood up and took the glass from Kirby's hand, slightly annoyed that, at that moment, Kirby's attention was on his desk. It made Miles feel like a freshman. But he knew, except with women, that was exactly where his long reliance on Ann Marie had put him.
"The field work we've got lined up for you," Kirby went on, still looking at his desk, "will consist of a lot of the work we have found necessary to run this show. In short," and at this point Kirby looked at him, his face tense and unemotional, "we do a lot of talking about our capabilites under informal conditions."
"Tell him about the Drew case," Daws said, laughing. "Hell, Miles, that was the case that brought me into the firm."
"You can render that better than I can," Kirby said, still without a trace of emotion.
"Get this, Miles," Daws said, addressing him directly. "About a year ago there was this out-of-town client, Franklin Drew, a big trucking agent in Sidney. You heard of him?"
"He was the orange-truck man," Miles offered. Daws nodded.
"A big stout guy-a reputation with the ladies?"
"Well, baby, that's only part of his setup," Daws corrected him. "Drew happens to be one of the big men in interstate goods that just seem to slip through without ICC approval. And he runs his business by making a fatal mistake. He trusts a couple of pretty little girls, pays 'em over-stuffed salaries, and tries to get his overtime with them. All in the same package. Every once in awhile, he loses a girl."
"That's hardly getting to the point," Kirby said with annoyance.
"Okay, chief," Daws replied, pulling out a cigar.
Miles shifted uneasily in his chair. He could sense something underhanded, but as yet only implied.
"Anyway," Daws continued, "Drew lost one girl-just after I got there to look over their old office. She happened to be in grievance, and spilled the beans to me. It seemed that Drew was about to pull out of town completely. At this point Kirby and I had put in three months of site design for a new Drew office. With my little bit of side information which this chick supplied me, in exchange for my ... well shall we say, for my sympathetic shoulder-we kept the advance, but stopped the work. And sure enough, two weeks later Drew phoned, apologized for the rupture, but conceded that he could not go ahead with the building."
"I insisted," Kirby interrupted with the tone of a man who is blood-thirsty, "that we had expended all of the advances, and even showed him fake proofs of further expenditures. Drew, rather than cause attention, happily shoveled over more cash. And we parted friends."
"So far," Miles said, somewhat puzzled, "I'd say you seem to have a lot of cancellations."
"Exactly," Kirby said. "But we have learned to make the most of them."
"And that's where you come in, without delay, Miles," Daws added.
"You can help us branch out in the partying. That's where we meet the little ladies who seem to be crowded with interesting tips that comes out of their uninteresting lives. You know, the lovelies that get bored for being paid to look good and keep quiet at the same time."
Miles looked at Daws, and for the first time the whole impact of the role he was being asked to play hit him. He felt nauseous. He set his scotch down on the nearest table and stood up.
Then he walked slowly to the window. Outside the day was losing its drab grey light. A strange loneliness materialized, and gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He pulled out a cigarette, just as he heard Lena call, "Daws, it's getting late. There's better things to do."
"Easy, baby. I'm coming," Daws answered.
Miles turned to look at her. Her hands were resting on each large, curving hip. The pink of her dress glowed in strange contrast to his grim thoughts. Her moist lips parted as she returned his glance. Miles felt as if heat flowed from her and into his bloodstream. He wanted the freedom to have her. He wanted no more of Ann Marie. Looking at her large breasts, heaving with suppressed passion, Miles heard himself say, "O.K. Daws. Kirby. Count me in."
And he added in his own mind, as he winked at Lena, "You count me in too, baby. I'd rather job a girl, and have time for you, than the way it is now. So count me in.
Lena swung her rich, full buttocks out of the room, pausing to look over her shoulder at Miles. She gave him a quick, slightly scornful smile. But her eyes urged him.
CHAPTER THREE
Miles turned over in the bed, and his arm fell onto the empty space beside him. He opened his eyes and strained his head around. Ann Marie was already up.
Eight-fifteen, the bedside clock showed, and he groaned as he remembered he was a working man now. The year with Ann Marie paying the checks had spoiled him, and he lay down and closed his eyes again and thought of another day doing the routine drafting work he had come to loathe in the week he had worked.
Some architect I am, he jeered to himself.
"Honey, you've got to get moving."
Miles blinked his eyes open and stared around at Ann Marie. "What are you doing up?"
"I had to get coffee and juice," she said.
"Yeh. I need coffee bad." He rubbed his eyes and yawned.
"It's making. Take a few minutes though."
Her unusually husky voice left no doubt as to how she wanted to occupy those minutes, and Miles laughed to himself as he thought how pitiful her attempt at a provocative voice was.
Ann Marie offered him a broad smile, and her frame rocked a little as she slowly crossed the room, awkwardly balanced on very high heels. Her broad thighs strained against the tight clasp of her skirt as she labored up to the bed.
Miles remembered how often in the past year he had told himself Ann Marie could make herself much more attractive, that she was just 20, and would grow up one day. Now he knew she would always be like this.
She offered him a deeper smile, and ran her thick, red tongue around her full lips. Her breasts were heaving behind her tight dress, and Miles knew her heart would be pounding now.
Yet, despite his initial lack of enthusiasm, Miles found himself somehow aroused by Ann Marie, and he shoved the sheet back as her zipper made an indiscreet noise, revealing her bulging body. The dress fell over the tight straps of her bra and the trim rim of her fluffy bikini panties.
She stepped out of the dress, and removed the bra and panties. Her breasts lolled heavily, the nipples round and dark-tipped. Her belly was slightly rounded, but plush and inviting.
The smile vanished as she fell to the bed with a small guttural sound, and without formality, Miles grasped the heavy breasts, kneaded them and pinched the nipples until they stood out tautly, wantingly.
Ann Marie shut her eyes and groaned and she ground her hips and pressed eagerly against his body.
Miles went hot all over and he shoved his lips over her mouth and forced his tongue deeper into her mouth. She countered his roughness with a bite on the tongue, which stung his desire to a furious pitch.
He reached down and shoved at her pulsating thighs and she writhed and twisted and dug her fingers into his back as he rolled between the fleshy thighs.
The bed rattled with their frenzied movement, and Miles felt he would be completely enclosed by her puffy, white body. His hands cupped her rolling, rounded buttocks, and she made animal sounds.
In a short minute, his over-heated body wrung from her a jungle cry of release, and his own moaning joined hers as he dug his nails into her buttocks and then collapsed.
Then she was only a puffy, white body, sweating slightly, and he rolled quickly away, and lit a cigarette.
"Was that good, honey?" she asked.
"Sure, chicken. Isn't it always?" He puffed on the cigarette and thought how out of character her calling him honey was with her prep-school formality at other times.
"It's always good for me, Miles. Oh, honey I'm sorry I make so much trouble sometimes, about money and all. But you know I'd do anything for you."
"And I'd do anything for you, chicken." He mashed the cigarette out, and turned over.
Ann Marie was stuffing her ample body back into the skimpy panties and bra. Her flesh rolled and her buttocks worked against each other as she picked up her dress and crossed to the bathroom.
"I smell the coffee. You get dressed and hurry on in."
The clock said eight-forty, and Miles got up and hurried into the bathroom. He would never make it by nine. But then Kirby and Dawson never showed before ten.
"Honey, the coffee's getting cold."
"Hell, put it back on the stove." He brushed at his teeth, and pictured Ann Marie's white body and shook his head.
Miles drew another straight line, then looked down at the drawing in disgust, and threw his pen onto the desk. "Hell," he mumbled.
"You call me?" Patty asked from across the room. "No, just talking to myself."
"Can I get you anything? You been working awful hard all day."
"You could get me a drink."
Her laugh was not much more than a loud giggle, and he looked over at the rounded, full-breasted blonde, and told himself she seemed a smaller version of Ann Marie.
She giggled again, and then returned to peck at the typewriter. Another half hour, he thought and then remembered that after this giggling, silly girl, he had to go home and face Ann Marie.
He had just picked up his pen when the phone rang. It was Daws.
"Knock off and join us for a drink," he boomed. "You're working too hard."
"Us?" he asked.
"Lena and I are downstairs in the bar. Kirby won't be back."
Lena. He felt a touch of warmth in his cheeks as he thought of her.
"Be down in two minutes," he said. "You leaving?" Patty asked.
"Important client," he said, as he walked over and put on his coat.
"I'll be left alone," she said, and looked up at him with huge, dumb-blue eyes.
"I think you'll be safe," he said.
"I'm leaving early, too. I'm meeting Kirby."
Her attempt to be sexy with her voice came off no better than Ann Marie's, and Miles smiled as he walked out and thought of Kirby with the pliant, giggling girl.
Some damned firm of architects, he thought, as he hurried downstairs to the bar. As if to emphasize his thoughts, he walked out into a street lined with slim, box-like buildings devoid of any personality or beauty.
The bar was crowded and cold, and so dark Miles had trouble finding Dawson and Lena in a booth at the back.
"I ordered you a martini," Dawson said, as Miles sat down.
"I can use it," Miles said, and smiled at Lena. He felt the flush on his face again, and took a swallow of the martini.
"Design any great buildings, pal?" Dawson asked, and smiled.
"I drew some beautiful straight lines."
"Why, Dawson, you mean there's some of the idealist in your friend?" Lena asked.
Miles blushed as Dawson put his arm around Lena's shoulder and squeezed. He breathed her perfume. Like warm flowers. He drank the martini and felt hot and heard Lena's skirt rustle as she shifted on the seat and snuggled into Dawson's chest.
"Oh, Miles likes to seem tough and ambitious, but there's always been some of the boy scout in him."
Lena sat up and a smile broke over her lovely face. "How nice," she said, and took a dainty sip from his drink. "He picked up the right firm."
"What I've always really wanted is to be able to draw straight lines," Miles said. "And this firm does more of that work than any outfit in town."
Lena laughed and her smile deepened, not a vicious smile as her laugh had implied, but a faintly enigmatic twisting of her lips that caused her cheeks to dimple slightly.
"You've just scratched the surface of our operation," Dawson said, and pulled out a slim cigar and lit it. "Wait until you start meeting, and entertaining our clients."
"Any change will be welcome," Miles said, and smelled Lena's perfume again. Any change, he thought, even if it means keeping women happy so their husbands will be plans for dull, crummy buildings.
"Let me tell you about a recent sales meeting, pal," Dawson said, and exhaled a cloud of thick smoke. Then he launched into his encounters with a Mrs. Roberts, whose husband had recently given the firm a lucrative contract.
Lena sighed, as though she had heard the story before, and Miles noticed the way her huge breasts heaved beneath her tight, red knit dress. Her braided strand of brown silk hung over her shoulder. And for one instant, her green-flecked eyes stared at Miles, and he quickly swallowed his drink.
Lena's thigh rubbed gently against Miles leg, and he went warm all over. Even through cloth, he seemed to feel a sleek warmth from the thigh.
And the dimples were creased into the cheeks and the lips twisted into a mocking little smile when he looked over again. Then the green eyes danced and a pink tongue circled the full lips.
"So that's what you can expect."
"Huh?" Miles asked. Dawson's voice seemed to come from far off, and he looked over.
Dawson laughed. "I should know better than to tell a story with Lena around, pal. Come back to earth. She's not available." And he squeezed her shoulder again.
"I wonder," Miles said, as he felt the brush of the thigh again.
"Don't." Lena's word was soft but firm, and the thigh was gone. The lips were drawn tight, and the dimples gone but the green-specked eyes still sparkled. "Dawson, I've got to get to class."
"Sure," Dawson said.
"What are you studying?" Miles asked.
"Dancing."
"She likes to keep in shape," Dawson said, as he stood up.
He patted Lena's deliciously jutting buttocks, and she frowned in mock annoyance, and swayed off, her legs long and golden, her thighs trim beneath the miniskirt.
"See you tomorrow, pal," Miles said, and Lena smiled over her shoulder, and they disappeared into the darkness of the crowded bar.
Miles had drained his glass and ordered another martini before he realized that he would have to pay the whole check.
"Dammit," he said aloud. He dug out a clip of bills and saw that he could cover the bill. But it would create another fight with Ann Marie.
"To hell with it," he said, so loud a man in the next booth glanced around. The martini came and Miles drank it, and thought of Lena. She was just what he needed to give his life something extra, to keep him from going under with Arm Marie, and the crummy job.
CHAPTER FOUR
And the next day, after a grim session of lovemaking with Ann Marie, and a fight over money, Miles sat in the office sipping coffee from a plastic container, and thought of Lena. By this time, he knew he wanted her for more than a lift. He was obsessed with possessing her.
As the day wore on, the drafting became more of a drag, and Kirby constantly screaming over the phone in the inner office got to him. He realized more clearly just what he had gotten into with this firm. Yet, he knew it was his only ticket away from Ann Marie.
Just before lunch, Kirby called him into the office.
"Where the hell is Dawson today?" he demanded, leaning forward, his elbows on the desk, his lean, lined face set rigidly.
"How should I know?" Miles said.
"I don't mind him being late," Kirby said. "He went to a party and closed a big deal last night. But we've got this Farmner thing coming up. He should have called me."
"What's the Farmner thing?" Miles asked.
Kirby motioned to a chair, and Miles sat down.
"It's your first important deal, so I might as well put you in the picture now," Kirby said. He leaned back in his huge chair, and locked his hands behind his head.
"How do I fit in?"
"Frank Farmner is going to build a new office building out in the Glendale section, surrounded by a shopping center," Kirby said. "Whoever gets the job will also get to design the interiors."
"Sounds lucrative. What kind of proposal do we submit?"
Kirby smiled a thin, tight-lipped smile and leaned forward again. "Tomorrow night, there's a party at the Farmner's. Both you and Dawson will handle proposals then. At least one of you."
"Mrs. Farmner?" Miles felt a knot in his stomach.
"Mrs. Farmner," Kirby said, very softly, as he tapped a pen on the desk. "She has a pseudo interest in modern art and design, and a real interest in attractive, discreet young men."
"What would happen if we drew up plans and made a bid?" Miles asked.
Kirby stiffened, as though he could not believe what he had heard. And Patty's giggling cut into Miles and he turned as she walked into the office, her soft buttocks swaying beneath her tight, red dress.
"Isn't Miles just too funny?" she asked, and pulled her blonde hair from her face and walked to Kirby's desk.
There was no mistaking the way Kirby stared at the juggle of her large breasts beneath the red material, and Miles told himself that Kirby must have a hell of a love life with his wife to get so easily hooked on a girl like this. Then he thought of Ann Marie.
"Yes, Miles is funny," Kirby said, quickly, and cleared his throat. "Sometimes, I actually take him seriously."
Patty put some papers onto Kirby's desk, letting her breasts brush his shoulder in a gesture that caused him to bite his lower lip. Miles told himself that the little bitch really had him on a string.
"He's more fun than Dawson," Patty said, and she turned and jostled her buttocks for Kirby. "Not so stuck up."
"Let's hope Mrs. Farmner finds him as interesting," Kirby said.
"I hope so," Patty said, and giggled, as she walked out. "I like having him around."
"You've made a friend," Kirby said drily.
"From what she said, I assume I'm not yet in," Miles sail.
"I don't know yet what kind of, shall we say, uh, work, you do," Kirby said. "Your draftmanship is good enough, that kind of thing. But the other thing is more important."
"So I see," Miles said, and his stomach seemed to tighten. "Well, what about Mrs. Farmner?"
Kirby shrugged. "What's there to tell? Farmner is crazy for her. He'll do anything she wants. Just remember, she fancies herself an expert in art and design."
"And young men."
"I'm curious to see how you fare, with Dawson as competition," Kirby said, and cocked his head to stare at Miles.
"Why is there competition? As long as one of us gets her, uh, interest?"
"Well, Dawson has proved his worth in that department, and he's good enough at the drawing board for what we do."
"I've never had much trouble in that department," Miles said, and realized he actually resented Kirby's doubts. "What in hell is this bitch like?"
"Not a bad night's work. Quite nice, I might say. I don't think you'll find it too unpleasant."
"Not if it helps to advance architecture."
Kirby's face tensed. Then he smiled. "Some sense of humor. Let's hope Diane Farmner finds it interesting."
"Yes, let's hope," Miles said. "Is that all?"
"For now," Kirby said. "Dawson can fill you in on further details. If he ever decides to come in."
"I'll get back to work," Miles muttered.
Kirby nodded, and Miles walked quickly from the room, and out to his desk. Patty was typing, but she stopped a moment to glance over at him.
"Good luck with the Farmner woman. I don't think you'll have any trouble."
Miles sat down. "Thanks. I'm glad to know someone appreciates my ability as an architect."
Patty's giggle was high and long. Then she started typing again, though she still giggled softly. Miles glanced at her as he grabbed his pen. He was thankful at least that Ann Marie didn't giggle like that.
Miles tried to throw himself into the work, but the day dragged. He did not go out for lunch, but had a sandwich and coffee sent up. And he was thankful when Kirby and Patty left.
And more thankful when Kirby called an hour later to say he and Patty would be in the field all day on business. Miles put the phone down and thought of Kirby's lean body with Patty's fleshy, soft buttocks and thighs and breasts. And at the moment of passion, he thought of that giggle, and laughed aloud.
But it was his last laugh. The sandwich was terrible-tuna salad with much mayonnaise and only a hint of fish, and tepid coffee that tasted of cardboard. The work was deadly and routine, and he thought of the sterile buildings he would help to design.
But he forced himself to work hard, and content himself with the thought that if his activities with female clients went well, he would soon be free of Ann Marie, and be able to live in the style he liked.
Dawson came in around three, obviously a little drunk.
"Been working, though," he said, as he sat on the edge of Miles' desk. "Still part of last night's session. This chick just won't quit. Finally passed out half an hour ago. But pal, we got some beautiful contract. Or will have, soon as she gets back to her old man."
"Congratulations," Miles said. "I understand I'm to get my shot tomorrow night."
Dawson took out a cigar and lit it. "Oh, Kirby mentioned the Farmner chick to you? Sure, you're to come along, and watch my style. But I've had my eyes on her for some time, so you'll be there only to observe the master at work."
"As an architect, your best designing was always at cocktail parties," Miles said.
"Unlike you, the sensitive artist." Dawson took a deep, obviously contented puff on the cigar. "Maybe that's why I've always been the one to get you through things, and shove you up, at times like this. Or maybe it's really true love with Mary Ann."
"Ann Marie."
"Yes, Ann Marie. Nice girl. A little heavy around the money, isn't she?"
"You're a real bastard when you drink. When sober, you're just an ass."
Dawson laughed, and pulled a bottle out of his coat pocket. He twisted the top off and poured the scotch down, then handed the bottle to Miles.
"Cool off, pal," Dawson said. "Have a drink. I'm way ahead of you."
Miles hesitated, then grabbed the bottle and took two deep swallows. It helped calm his tenseness, and he breathed deeply. He warned himself not to antagonize Dawson, not yet. Then he remembered the drinks yesterday. .
"You ran out on a check yesterday."
"I didn't run, pal. I walked slowly, with my arm around Lena. You were so hung up on the little lady, you forgot the check and everything else."
"She's some lady. How could I help but be hung up?"
"Can I pick them, or not, pal? I assume now that you'll be making some decent money, you'll dump your gravy train, and try for something hot and lovely,"
"Sure. Maybe something like Lena."
Dawson ground the cigar out, and drank from the bottle. "Don't get too ambitious. I'm afraid she's a little out of your class."
Miles remembered the rub of Lena's thigh, and her smile. "You really think so? Or just being overly possessive?"
"Come on, pal. We've known each other a long time. When did you ever score with one of my chicks? Are you serious?" He drained the scotch and threw the bottle into the wastebasket and stood up.
"Sure, I'm serious. It would keep me in shape for women like Diane Farmner."
"After the chick you're living with now, you probably need practice."
Miles realized Dawson's words were slurred slightly, and that he was swaying a little. "Then give me Lean's number, and let's see what happens."
"She happens to be waiting for me downstairs in the bar. Tell you what. I'm behind on my drafting work, and it's a real pain. You go down and tell her I can't see her, and try to take her home. If you score with her, I mean make love, pal, then you'll win. If you don't, you do my share of the drafting for a month."
Miles pictured Lena in that miniskirt, and thought of her full lips, and the tongue circling the full lips. "It's a deal," he said, quickly.
"I'll cover for you with Kirby."
"No need. He's doing field work the rest of the day with Patty."
Dawson laughed and shook his head. "Poor Kirby. His wife stopped putting out, and he's a bit frantic. Even for a girl like Patty."
"What should I tell Lena?" Miles asked, as he stood up.
"Tell her anything. Say something came up, and I can't take her home. She's a little angry that I was out with someone else not only last night, but most of today. That gives you an advantage, pal."
"You'll take my word for what happens?"
"I'll know," Dawson said, and picked up the phone. "From the source." He dialed a liquor store, and ordered a fifth of scotch.
Miles grabbed his coat and left quickly, with visions of Lena's lush body spurring him on. The two slugs of scotch had hit him harder than he had realized, and he told himself with a surge of confidence that he would make Dawson eat his words about his superiority with women.
Yet by the time he walked into the dimly-lit bar, his confidence was ebbing a bit, her short shirt riding high on her golden thighs.
Lena was sipping a tall, frosted drink, and her pink tongue licked lazily around the rim of the glass. She shifted, and her huge breasts surged against the enclosure of tight green material.
Miles moved forward, his heart racing now, and stopped beside her. She took a leisurely sip of her drink, then turned to him.
"Did Dawson pass out upstairs?" Her voice was husky, her words slow and sleepy.
"Something like that," Miles said, as he slid onto the stool beside her. "Actually, I'm to tell you some business came up and he can't meet you."
"Do you like running Dawson's errands?" she asked, a strange edge cutting into her deep voice.
Miles reddened. "Do you like waiting alone in bars while he runs around with other women?"
"We're going to be great friends," she said, and tossed her regal head and her braid of brown hair fell over her shoulder. "But I deserved that. No, Miles, I don't like it, though I know it's business."
"Another drink?"
"I'm bored with drinking," Lena said. "And with drinkers."
"Perhaps I can help relieve your boredom."
"Perhaps," she said, her green-flecked eyes sparkling. "But I doubt it."
"If you're not drinking, I assume you're leaving," Miles said. "Can I take your somewhere?"
"I'm going home," Lena said, her tone sleep-heavy and sexy. "I'm a big girl. I think I can make it by myself."
Miles stared from the pouting lips to the bulging breasts, and down over the exposed thighs. "A big girl you are," he said. "How old are you?"
"Would you believe nineteen?" she asked.
"I would believe," he said. "But I don't think I should let a lady of that delicate age walk the streets alone."
"Perhaps you're right," Lena said, and smiled so that the dimples showed. "Shall we go?'
"I have to pay for my drinks."
Miles threw a couple of bills onto the counter, and thought for a minute of having another money fight with Ann Marie. But as Lena slid off the stool and he stared into her glowing eyes, he told himself Ann Marie did not exist now.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lena's apartment was typically big-city-one oblong room with a kitchenette at one end behind sliding doors, and a bathroom tucked away to the side.
"Make yourself comfortable," Lena said, motioning to the one chair.
Miles glanced around, at the white walls decorated with prints, and the bamboo mats and Oriental lamps of jade. And on a low bamboo table beneath a window was a small jade figure of Buddha.
"Very nice," he said, as he sank into the chair, and glanced at the narrow bed against the wall, covered with a burnt-orange madras spread.
"Not the largest place in the world," she said. "What can I get you to drink?"
"I thought you were tired of drinkers, and of drinking," he said, staring at her miniskirted thighs, then up to her provocative smile that showed her dimples.
"I'm trying to be a good hostess," she said, and shifted her weight to one leg so that her delicious buttocks jutted against the small, tight skirt-.
"I'll take some scotch, with a splash of water," he said.
He watched her flow back to the kitchen alcove, and take out the bottle of scotch and fix two drinks. She was smiling deeply when she returned and handed him the drink.
"What's so amusing?" he asked, and sipped the scotch and water.
She sank down in front of him, resting on her feet in a pose that hiked her skirt higher, and shoved the protesting breasts tightly against the thin green material.
"The whole thing," she said, and laughed as she took a drink.
Miles felt uneasy, yet he wanted Lena more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life. Her changing moods kept him on edge, yet she was continually provocative, sometimes even encouraging.
"Your dimples are lovely when you laugh," he said.
She stood up abruptly. "I'm a good dancer."
"I don't doubt it."
"But you've never really thought of me as a dancer, have you? I'm attractive and you're obviously interested in me. But you never really thought of what I want, or what I'm interested in."
"This is only the third time I've seen you."
"It wouldn't matter," she snapped. "Dawson is the same way."
"I'm not Dawson," he said, quickly.
She shook her head. "No, you're not. But you will be, soon enough, Miles. You're headed that way quickly."
"What way?" he asked, and drained the scotch and water.
"It doesn't matter. It's not my concern. Do you like to dance?"
Miles stood up. "Sure. But I'm a little out of practice, particularly with the newer stuff."
"I love to dance," she said, and stepped back, her teeth nibbling at her moist lower Up. "It's all I ready care about. Care to see?"
"Very much." He looked the length of her perfect, golden body in the abbreviated green dress, and swallowed hard.
"There's a record on the phonograph. Switch it on, will you?"
Miles nodded and stepped over the small record player. The arm of the manual machine was hanging limply over the edge. He switched the thing on, and set the arm on the record.
The music was loud and fast, and Miles turned to stare open-mouthed at Lena. She stood with her feet barely moving, her hands at her sides, and twisted her ripe body about to the music, her head to one side, her eyes closed. Her feet barely moved, yet they were shifting in definite, intricate patterns.
And the ripple of Lena's body was incredible, and Miles stood on suddenly-weak legs, his heart pounding, his face hot. Her breasts and hips rocked and jerked smoothly, and her stomach rolled slightly, and there was a small, groaning sound from her damp lips.
"Dance with me," she said, very quietly.
He moved to her, and tried to follow her movements, but his feet would not respond, and he felt clumsy. She opened her eyes, and smiled warmly, and shook her head.
So he stepped back, and watched once more, as the sound and tempo throbbed with more intensity, and her body writhed and twisted and seemed ready to tear free from the flimsy, green minidress.
The record ended, the arm swirling on the wax, and Lena exhaled and wiped sweat from her forehead, and shoved her braid over her shoulder.
Miles stepped to Lena, and put his hands on her slim waist. She brushed at the sweat on her face with the back of her hand. He took out his handkerchief and mopped at her damp face, and she stood still, her breasts heaving with the effort of her heavy breathing.
She stiffened a moment as he leaned forward to brush her lips. The touch of the lips, soft and warm, and damp, sent a surge of desire through him, and he felt suddenly feverish.
He slid his hand up, and pulled Lena to him, and her breasts shoved against his chest. He ran a hand up and fondled her long, silky rope of hair, as he pushed the kiss harder, and dug his tongue deep into her mouth.
Lena stiffened, and shoved him away and stepped back. Her green-flecked eyes were narrowed.
"Take it easy," she said, a hint of hardness in her deep voice.
Miles was startled at his surging excitement, but he had trouble checking his rushing breath and wildly pounding heart.
"What's a little kiss between friends?" he asked, and stepped toward Lena again.
"Slow down," she snapped and there was no mistaking the firmness of her tone. "I'd like another drink. How about you?"
Miles warned himself to calm down, or he knew he would ruin everything. "I could use a drink," he mum-hied.
Lena took their empty glasses and walked back to the kitchen, her buttocks flowing beneath the short, tight skirt in a way that made Miles go warm again.
He knew he wanted her beyond all rationality, and on any terms. He stared as though hypnotized at the bare flesh of her copper thighs beneath the green skirt, and thought of running his fingers under the green cloth.
Lena was smiling slightly as she turned and came back with the drinks. Her breasts rose and fell as she walked, and Miles saw the smile deepen and knew she had caught him staring.
Her fingers seemed to linger just an instant as she handed him the drink. They drank silently, and Miles realized the arm of the record player still swirled. He stepped back and turned the phonograph off, then moved to Lena once more.
"Sorry I snapped at you," she said, and ran her pink tongue around the rim of her glass. "But you were pushing me too hard, Miles. You know, we've only been here a few minutes. And you seem to forget, I'm Dawson's girl."
"Are you happy being Dawson's girl?" he asked.
She cocked her head and smiled wickedly. "Are you happy being Ann Marie's boy?"
The remark stung Miles and he sucked in his breath and took a deep swallow of scotch. "I'm not anybody's boy," he said.
"That's not what Dawson tells me," she purred, and her dimples showed in her smile.
He laughed harshly. "Do you believe everything he tells you, baby?"
"I don't believe anything Dawson tells me, but it doesn't take much to figure you out, Miles."
Miles' face flushed, and he set his glass down and stepped to her. His anger only heightened his urgent desire, and he tore the drink from her fingers and shoved it down beside his on the table.
He grabbed her roughly, his hands harsh on her narrow waist, and slammed her ripe body sharply against him and smothered her lips with his. Again, he rammed his tongue into her mouth, and this time her lips parted slightly. He gasped when she squirmed against him, her hips working faintly.
Miles ran his hands down to cup her luscious buttocks. He squeezed and tried to shove her undulating body harder against him. And he lashed the roof of her mouth with his tongue.
He felt her sharp nails on his neck, and then her tongue lashed his, and he dug his fingers against her buttocks.
She tore her lips from his, and her mouth was hot and wet on his ear. "Do you want me, Miles?"
"Yes," he panted, and nibbled at her neck. "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you."
"Yes, I know."
Her fingers were maddening as they dug beneath his shirt to streak down his back, and her body still moved in motions that sent electric ripples over his feverish body.
"Why don't you take off my dress?" she asked, her voice sleepy and syrupy.
Miles stepped back. He could not believe this was going so easily now, and as he stared at her still-quivering body, he thought for an instant of the pleasure of seeing Dawson again.
But Lena stepped to him, and thoughts of anything else dissipated and he reached for the dress. And he saw that his fingers were trembling.
"I better do it," she said. "I'm not sure you're able, Miles."
There was a slight rebuke in her voice, but he quickly forgot it when she reached behind him in a gesture that caused her melon-large breasts to surge sharply upward.
The little green dress fluttered down, and Miles' mouth dropped open as Lena stepped from the dress, and stood in a small, flufffy white bra and bikini panties that were inadequate bands of cloth on her golden, over-ripe body.
"Do you still want me?" she taunted.
"More than anything," he said.
She smiled. "You're not going to have me, Miles. So you might as well run back to Dawson."
"Lena, listen," he said, quickly, his eyes riveted on her body.
"You think I don't know that Dawson sent you to me to play some game or prove some bet or something?"
"Why in hell did you lead me along so far?"
"I felt like it, Miles. I usually do what I feel like doing. I wanted to see how you handle yourself."
Miles moved to Lena, his breath pouring, his blood pounding at the temples. "You little bitch," he started.
"Don't get nasty, darling," she said. "I could have you on your hands and knees, if I wanted to. Your desperation is showing. You've been with Ann Marie too long."
"What you say about Dawson is true," he said. "We did have a bet. But it has nothing to do with my wanting you. I've been obsessed with you. I'd do anything to make love to you, Lena. I think I'm in love with you."
"That's a very pretty speech," she said, and shifted her weight, and ran her hands leisurely over her flat stomach and down her thighs. "Girls like Ann Marie must find it touching. Why don't you go home and tell her that, Miles. Or tell someone. But get out of here."
Miles knew then he would not make love to her, and he also knew he should get the hell out, because she could have him on his hands and knees, if he thought there was any possibility of possessing her.
"I don't guess you're worth the effort, after all," he said, and turned to leave, on legs that felt they would buckle.
"I'm worth it, Miles, and we both know it," she said.
Miles stormed from the apartment in a towering rage, and slammed he door behind him. He ran down the steps and paused in the street to catch his breath. Just thinking of Lena's body in the brief bra and panties made him go warm and he felt he could still feel the touch of her lips and tongue, and the undulating body that drove him wild.
"Damn her," he growled, and crossed the street to a bar.
He gulped the first drink down, and ordered another. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped sweat from his face, and poured down the drink. He was in a murderous mood, and ordered an extra dry martini.
He forced himself to drink the martini slowly, but by the time he shoved the empty glass across the bar, he felt tight already. He took a deep breath and looked around the dark, deserted bar.
There was the smell of stale, too-cold air, and a deadly depression gripped him. He swallowed to relieve a raw throat, and it seemed an hour before the bartender handed him another martini.
The gin and vermouth fell onto a rolling stomach, and Miles thought of Dawson, and cursed him. And he cursed Ann Marie, and Lena. And he cursed himself. This was what his life had come to, and he knew this was all it would be.
Fleshy Ann Marie, or the crummy work for Kirby and Dawson, with sessions with female clients, and the mocking, taunting presence of Lena. But he knew he had come to accept, and to need, easy living, and he wasn't capable of striking out for himself.
And as he sucked in the stale air and fished the olive from his martini, he knew he didn't have the confidence.
He only had the confidence to score with girls like Ann Marie, and the frustrated wives of wealthy clients.
Lena had whittled him down to size quickly, and he shuddered as he wondered what would happen when he saw her again. And he knew he would.
"To hell with it," he muttered, and drank his martini, and remembered the sight of Lena as she stood in bra and panties, mocking him.
CHAPTER SIX
Rain fell in gushing sheets as Miles hurried from the cab and ran into the building. He stopped and brushed water from his face and hair, and then walked slowly to the elevator and rode up to his floor.
The hangover gnawed at him, and his head throbbed and he thought of the bitter argument with Ann Marie this morning. But it had been nothing compared with their scene when he got home drunk late last night.
Now he had to go face Dawson, and admit defeat. He paused outside the office, and steeled himself for the ordeal.
But Dawson wasn't in yet, and he spoke to Patty, and forced a smile as she giggled and joked about his being wet.
He sat down, and saw a huge pile of drafts on his desk. He turned to Patty. "What the hell are these?"
"Oh, Dawson called and said to put them on your desk," she said. "He said you'd know what they were for."
Geezus, he mumbled. A rotten month of dull drafting work.
"Dawson seemed awfully upset," Patty said. "I think he had a fight with his girl. Do you know anything about it?"
"I couldn't care less about his damn girl."
"You don't have to bite my head off, Miles," she said, in a mock-hurt tone. "I'm sorry, Patty. But let's forget Dawson, okay?"
"Sure. Sorry I bothered you."
She started typing furiously, and Miles shoved the stack of drafts to one side, and picked up his pen and twirled it in his fingers. He tried to work on his own drafting, because he was behind on it, and now he had to do Dawson's work for a month.
But he worked slowly, and when the door opened, he had done very little. He looked up, and saw Dawson walk slowly in and slam the door.
"I see you know what the score was," Miles said, nodding toward the stack on his desk.
"Yeh, the score was that you didn't score," Dawson said. "It was just like I told you. But you really made her angry, pal. She wouldn't even let me in her apartment. I was drunk yesterday. I should know better than to send you to her."
"Let's forget it. I've got a damn month of work to remind me."
"Next time, don't take advantage of me when I'm drunk, pal. And stay away from my chicks. Especially the ones like Lena."
Miles glared up at Dawson, and told himself there was nothing he'd rather do than wipe the snide grin off Dawson's face. But he grabbed a draft and picked up his pen.
Dawson went over and sat down at his desk. "Hell, I don't have anything to do,' he said. "I've got a free month, except for parties like tonight. You haven't forgotten the party have you, pal?"
"What party? Oh, hell, the Farmner woman. No, I haven't forgotten. It's my first real dip into creative architecture."
"Just remember to look pretty and talk all artsy-craftsy for Diane Farmner," Dawson said. "And flatter her, though that shouldn't be too difficult."
"What time is the thing? And how do I get there?'
"Oh, about nine, maybe nine-thirty. It's never good form to get to a party too early. I'll pick you up at your place."
"I can hardly wait."
Miles turned back to his work, and asked himself if he could take much more abuse from Dawson. Though he knew the worst thing was the self-abuse he heaped on himself, when he really wanted to do decent architectural work.
The phone rang and Patty answered it, and giggled, and said something soft and intimate, then giggled again.
Kirby, Miles said to himself, as he picked up a T-square and drew a line:
Rain washed the streets in waves and Miles stood at the window of his apartment with a drink in his hand and stared absently and morosely at the street.
"Honey, you better put your tie on," Ann Marie called from the bathroom. "Dawson will be here in a minute."
"Sure, chicken." He drained the drink, and turned from the window. "Too bad you can't go to the party with me," but he knew the sarcasm in his voice would be lost on Ann Marie.
"I sure wish I could," she called over the running water. "But I wouldn't want to interfere in an important business deal like this."
"Of course you wouldn't." He put his neatly-striped tie on and asked himself what she would think if she knew what he was really going to the party for. Or if she really knew what his duties at the firm were. Or if she knew once he was established there, that he would have no further need of her or her checkbook.
"I'm so proud that you're doing so well," she said, as she came from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her white, fleshy body.
Miles knotted the tie, and turned to her. Do something she'll like, he lectured himself. Because the checks were still needed.
He held out an arm and she walked over to him, her muddy brown eyes glowing, her skin faintly wet from the shower. Miles pecked at her lips and she snuggled up against him.
But he stepped back. "Take it easy, chicken. I'm all dressed."
"I'm sorry, honey. Gee, I'm sorry you're dressed. I feel all sexy."
"And you look it, too," he lied. He put out his hand and cupped her heavy breasts through the towel, and she gasped and squeezed her eyes shut.
The doorbell rang, and Miles muttered thanks to himself and pumped at the breasts and released them. Ann Marie smiled and waddled back into the bathroom and closed the door.
Dawson was dressed as always in an expensive tweed suit, with a conservative dark tie. "Where's the chicken?" he asked, as he came into the apartment.
Miles nodded toward the bathroom just as Ann Marie called out, "Hello, Dawson."
"How are you, chicken?" Dawson called, and winked at Miles.
"Let's get out of here," Miles said, softly. Then he raised his voice, and called over his shoulder, "We're going, Ann Marie."
"Have a good time," she called.
Miles picked up his raincoat and hat and he and Dawson walked quietly out, and down the stairs to the street.
Dawson had double-parked in front of the building, and they ran out to the car and Miles nearly slipped at the curb. Water gushed into his shoes.
He climbed into the car and slammed the door and took off his shoes.
"You want to run back up and change shoes?" Dawson asked.
"No, just got a little water, not bad," Miles said, and put the shoes on again.
Dawson pulled into the line of traffic, and drove sUent-ly along the wet, shining street. Miles stared at red and green neon reflected on the dark-wet street, and wondered what this Mrs. Farmner would be like. He had decided that since he had made the decision to play the game, he could try to get as much fun out of it as he could.
Dawson turned a corner without taking his foot from the accelerator, and the car slid slightly. "Don't forget, talk about art and that stuff with Diane Farmner," he said. "And watch how I operate. I'll take care of things tonight, but next time, it'll be your shot to get a contract."
"I'll watch carefully," Miles said.
"Yeh, you do that," Dawson said. "Don't mess up, like you did with Lena. She still won't let me get near her. Stupid little bitch."
There was silence again, and Miles looked again at the wet street and watched people scurrying along beneath awnings, ducking inside doorways as sheets of rain soaked them.
Dawson was able to park in the basement garage of the whole apartment building in which the Farmners lived. The elevator ride up was swift, and without knowing why, Miles felt a little uneasy as he walked behind Dawson down a thickly-carpeted hallway.
A maid opened the door and took their coats and hung them in a large closet in the entrance foyer. Then they followed her down a corridor lined with paintings, and into a huge living room, one wall of which was glass and looked out over the city.
The room was jammed with people, and there was a high hum of garbled talk and laughter, and music from a combo on the other side near a buffet of food, and a small, well-stocked bar.
Dawson introduced Miles to a multitude of people who shook his hand, and a minute later, he had forgotten every name. They worked their way to the bar ,and Dawson ordered two scotches from a bartender hi a short-cut red jacket and white shirt and narrow black bow-tie.
Couples were dancing near them, and Miles watched girls in miniskirts and thought of Lena, and gulped down his drink. Dawson touched his arm and he looked over to see a heavy, red-faced man with brush-cut grey hair coming toward them.
"Farmner," Dawson whispered.
"How you doing there?" Farmner asked, and reached out and pumped Dawson's hand. "I was wondering when you'd get here."
Dawson introduced Miles, and Miles was surprised at the strength in the fat man's grasp. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Farmner," he said.
"So you're here to help Dawson try to talk me into giving your firm my new building complex?" Farmner said.
"We think we have something really great worked out," Dawson said.
"I'm a long way from making up my mind," Farmner said. "And last time I talked to Kirby, his price wasn't at all to my liking."
"We're working on something else that we're certain will change your thinking," Dawson said, and smiled at Miles in a gesture of conspiracy that was thinly veiled.
"Business comes later," Farmner said. "Enjoy yourselves now. I've got to get around and meet some more of my guests."
"It's a fine party," Dawson said. "But your parties always are."
Farmner beamed, and his face grew a deeper red. "Give these boys another drink," he boomed to the bartender, then he walked into the crowd.
"Don't you think you laid it on a little thick?" Miles asked, as they waited for their drinks.
"I know what I'm doing," Dawson said. He smiled.
"Now watch me, pal. I'm going to start making us a bundle of money right now."
Miles looked past Dawson, and saw a slim, honey-blonde woman in a tight-fitting black dress crossing the room toward them.
"Let me guess who this is," Miles said, and picked up his drink, and took a swallow.
"Good evening, Dawson," the woman said, and her smile was broad and sexy over a pale, rounded lovely face.
"How are you, Diane?" Dawson said, and let his eyes run openly over the body Miles saw now was slim, but well put together. Particularly the full-breasted surge against the black material.
"A little bored," she said, and heaved in a sharp breath that made her breasts rise abruptly to show she wore no bra. She turned and stared at Miles, blue eyes appraising his body as openly as Dawson had stared at her.
"Do you like him?" Dawson asked, with a touch of scorn. "This is Miles. He's new with the firm."
Diane nodded. "I like him. Particularly the steel-grey eyes. They're cute. But he looks so serious."
"He's a serious student of art and architecture," Dawson said. "He's not used to taking time off for parties."
"How interesting," she said, and nibbled at her lower lip as her eyes again swept Miles' body in a look that made him go warm. "Perhaps you have some ideas about how to design and decorate my husband's new buildings."
"If we get the contract, Miles will definitely work on the plans," Dawson said. "I've got some ideas of my own about the building, and other things, that I'd like to discuss with you right now, Diane."
"The last time I wanted to talk to you, you were far too busy, Dawson. But, of course, that was before you became interested in my husband's money."
Miles nearly smiled at the look on Dawson's face, and he noted with satisfaction that Dawson's composure was obviously shaken as he gulped down his scotch.
"Run along and charm the other ladies," she said. "I'd like to discuss art with Miles."
"Sure, Diane," Dawson said. "I wouldn't want to stand in the way of art. See you later, pal."
"Poor Dawson's ego so rarely gets stepped on," she said, as he walked quickly away. "I was interested in him. He is pretty, and I like pretty things. But I found him suddenly boring."
"I hope I don't bore you," Miles said. He had decided he liked Mrs. Diane Farmner, and he would have given a week's salary for the way she put Dawson down.
"We'll see, she said. "But please forget that stupid contract. I might see that you get it, if I like you enough. But don't think me too stupid. I know exactly what Kirby and Dawson are doing. Now, you can get me a drink, and we can discuss art and other interesting things for awhile."
Miles got the drink, and they walked over to a comer that was deserted, and discussed Picasso and sculpture, and then Frank Lloyd Wright and Edward Stone, and Miles was impressed with her knowledge of the subjects, and her feel for good architecture.
And he was impressed with the way her blue eyes looked hungrily at him, and the tension of desire her slim, big-breasted body generated beneath the simple black dress.
"Do you see that door over there?" she asked abruptly. He glanced over. "I see it."
"It leads to the back way out. I'm going now. Follow me out in two minutes and meet me downstairs in the garage."
"Can you leave like like that?" he said.
"I hope you don't disappoint me," she purred, and turned and walked quickly from the room, her neat, tight buttocks working beneath the black dress.
Miles finished his drink, and waited a minute, then headed for the door, his heart pounding.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The long, grey limousine hummed over the wet streets as Diane pushed down on the accelerator. Miles sat across the broad seat, staring at her profile. Rain-mist fell, and the wipers purred smoothly across the windshield.
"Where are we headed?" Miles asked. I
"Do you really care?" she said, and swung the long car around a trailer-truck."
The street was nearly deserted, and Miles knew they were only a couple of miles from the city limits. He didn't know where they were headed. But he knew what Mrs. Diane Farmner wanted, and he was willing to go anywhere with her.
She turned a corner, and drove past rain-soaked vacant lots crowded with trash. "I feel like something different tonight," she said. "I'm glad you're game."
"I'm game for anything," he said.
"How did you ever get mixed up with Kirby and Dawson?"
"It's a job, and I'm an architect," he said, defensively.
"Yes, you seem to have genuine interest in architecture," she said. "So it's strange you should pick the bedfellows you did. You must have more of an interest in money."
"Anything wrong with that?"
"Not a thing," she said. "I'm interested in lots of money, for instance. And the things it can buy. So I'm willing to stay married to a man twenty years older. It's all right. If you can handle that kind of desire. I don't think you can."
"You think I'm the type to sit and starve and design in a garret?"
"Hardly," she said, and laughed. "But I suspect you're good enough to get ahead on your own terms, but lack the guts."
"Then why are you wasting your time with a gutless, money-grubbing guy?"
"I don't think I'm wasting my time, Miles," she said. "What I want from you hardly takes guts. So far, I've taken all the initiative. In a minute, we'll see, though."
"You're a tough lady, Mrs. Farmner."
"Not much, as you'll see, Miles."
She turned sharply onto a gravel road, and drove a couple of hundred yards and stopped. The rain was falling harder now, and when she switched the lights off, they sat in darkness.
"I haven't parked in a car in a long time," she said, softly. "But it's nice, being alone with you, here in the dark, with the rain falling."
"Would you like a cigarette?" he asked.
"No, let's get into the back seat," she said.
"You don't waste any time, do you?" he asked.
"I can smoke all I want at home," she said. "Don't you find this exciting, Miles?"
"Very much, Diane," he said, and heard her sliding across the seat.
Her perfume was sweet and heavy in the closeness of the car, and her lips were hot on his ear. I'll get you into the mood," she said.
He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "That's hardly necessary," he said, and felt her fingers tickling down over his body.
"I want to," she purred, and bit his neck.
Her expert fingers tickled over his stomach, then unfastened his belt, and unzipped his pants. Warmth surged over his body and he tensed a moment, then gasped as her fingers skated under his shorts, moving quickly and maddeningly.
She slid down onto the floor, and her lips were soft and hot, then her hair fanned over his stomach, and he groaned, then fever shot up his spine as her tongue went to work, moving in fantastic motions that had him whimpering in a moment.
Then the tongue was still, and she sat up, and pressed her mouth against his ear again. "The back seat," she said, her words barely audible. "Take me, Miles. Take me rough. I like it that way."
She scrambled suddenly over the seat. He sat an instant, collecting his breath, and then followed her over into the back seat. He was burning with desire, his legs weak, his temple throbbing, his throat raw.
She lay back on the seat, and he could barely make out her face in the dim light from the moon that had come out from behind clouds. But he could see that her eyes were closed and that her lips were trembling with words he did not understand.
He fell to her, and she groaned and pulled his face to hers, and her lips were wild and desperate, sucking and kissing, and her tongue streaked into his mouth, and her teeth bit and nibbled until he gasped with pain.
He ripped her dress open, and cupped and squeezed her huge breasts, pinching the long nipples until she groaned and thrashed beneath him.
"Hurt me, take me hard and rough," she panted, and bit his ear, then his neck, as her nails tore down his back. "Don't worry about my damn clothes. Hurry, Miles, please, darling, please."
He shoved her dress up, and pinched at her thighs until she whimpered, and sucked against his lips. He poured out pained breath, and his feverish body dripped with sweat. His frantic fingers ripped her flimsy panties off, and his other hand punished her breasts and nipples.
And she moaned and rocked back and forth, and lacerated his back with her nails. "Take me now, oh Miles, please," she said, her voice rising sharply.
Miles ripped his clothes off, and lowered himself to her pulsating thighs, and started working roughly with her, his hands punishing her squirming buttocks, his teeth biting her lips, then her shoulder.
And she matched his roughness with all the strength in her slim, desperately aroused body, and her nails and teeth wrung grunts and finally a soft scream from him.
He worked fiercely, and soared to a blinding point of pained pleasure, and then fell off the peak and lay weak and spent.
She lay still for only a moment. Then she bit his ear. "Again," she commanded.
When he did not immediately respond, she slid a sharp nail down to his buttocks, and with a wicked twist that sent a job of pain through his body, she brought him alive again.
"Don't be so gentle," she gasped.
And this time, he punished her body brutally with hands and teeth and then took her so roughly he was afraid he had really hurt her. But she only lay quietly an instant, and then panted, "Again."
And he moved quickly when he felt the wicked fingernail slither over his buttocks.
Miles sat limply in the corner as Diane drove slowly back down the long, wet street to the apartment building. He was utterly drained, and felt so exhausted he did not think he could open the door.
Diane was obviously on the point of collapse also, and she held the big wheel with one hand, and relaxed back against the plush seat. In all his experience with women, he had never known anyone like Diane, had never known a woman who wanted to be taken so roughly, or who had more stamina. And she drove now wearing only her raincoat.. Her torn dress and panties were in a heap on the seat between them. She had put on makeup, but she still looked as though she had been through an ordeal.
"I want to see you tomorrow, Miles," she said. "In the morning."
"Geezus, I've got to work," he said, and took a deep breath.
"I thought you wanted the contract from my husband," she said. "Isn't that your job? Getting the contract? You can get the contract by keeping me happy, Miles."
"Sure, that's my job, getting the contract," he said. "But I'd look forward to keeping you happy, contract or not."
"Let's not get sentimental," she said. Then she laughed. "Just make sure you don't bore me, darling."
"What if I have an attack of idealism?" he asked. "Maybe I'll decide I don't want the money? What if I really wanted to do a good job of design?"
"My husband is hardly interested in design," she said. "He's only interested in saving money."
"But you sounded very idealistic when we talked," he said.
"Oh, I am," she said, and sighed. "But I'm more interested in being pleased by handsome young men. I can get you the contract, but you'll have to pay the price, Miles. The touch of idealism to which you cling is endearing, and it's one of the things that attracted me. But I play rough, and breaking idealism in artists is one of my favorite games. I just like you enough to give you fair warning."
"I should have guessed," he said. "Nobody gets something for nothing."
"That's right," she said. "I have a hall full of lovely paintings by a promising young artist. But he hasn't done any painting lately. I don't think he can even stand to look at himself in the mirror."
"You paint a charming picture of yourself," he said, and felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.
She laughed again. "We'll have another talk about art later, Miles. And we'll see what's left of you."
She pulled abruptly to the curb. "Out you go," she said.
"Hey, it's raining like hell," he said. "I thought we were going back to the party."
"Oh, I am, but you're not," she said. "I'll call you at the office in the morning."
"But I can tell Kirby and Dawson we'll get the contract?" he asked, as he put his hand on the handle.
"Tell them anything you like," she said. "You get the contract, if you keep me happy."
"Don't worry, lady, I'll keep you happy," he snapped. Then he climbed out into the rain, and Diane pulled off, water swirling from the back wheels and splashing his pants and shoes.
He cursed and ran for the shelter of an awning in front of a drug store. He bent down and brushed the water from his pants, and realized just how utterly exhausted he was. And he knew when he got home, Ann Marie would be lying there, trying to look sexy, and just waiting for him to climb into the bed.
He shuddered at the thought and dug his hands into his pockets and glanced down the street for a taxi. But there was no cab in sight. The wind whipped the rain against him, and he stepped back against the wall.
And he knew he could not face Ann Marie, not after the session with Diane, and the thought of what she promised him he would undergo to get the contract.
He walked into the drugstore and dropped a dime into a phone and called the apartment. The phone rang several times before Ann Marie answered.
"I'm tied up on the Farmner contract," he said. "I'll be later than I thought getting home."
"Oh, honey, I've been lying in bed just dying for you to get here. I've got that sheer nightgown that you like so much."
"It's no picnic being away from you, chicken," he said, and pictured her white body beneath the sheer nightgown. "Don't worry, I'll get away as soon as I can."
"It sounds awfully quiet for a party," she said.
"Damn," he muttered. "You don't talk business in a noisy room, Ann Marie. I can't talk now, or Farmner will hear me."
"Well, hurry home," she said. "I'm tired of waiting."
"Don't worry, I'll get there as soon as I can," he said, and slammed the phone down.
He walked out of the drugstore and ran down the street from awning to awning. He stopped in a dingy, crowded bar and had a couple of shots, then returned to the rain-soaked street, where he walked rapidly, as though he had to complete the job of exhausting himself.
He walked blocks in the rain, not caring anymore that he was wet, as though the clean water would purge something from him. Shots of whiskey kept his spent body going, and it was an hour when he realized he was only a block from Lena's apartment.
He stopped abruptly, and wondered if he had deliberately headed this way. It would be the final blow to have another session with her. Yet, he knew he was still obsessed with her.
Fool, he muttered, and turned to walk away. But he was passing a bookstore, and he paused to stare through an iron-grill gate at huge, expensive books of paintings.
And in one corner was a book of drawings of Leonardo daVinci. He remembered in college, when he could spend hours pouring over books like these, dream of the day he would design beautiful things.
A sharp laugh choked in his throat, and he turned from the window, and nearly bumped into Lena.
She was stunning in a screaming-red pants suit that hugged her body, and drops of glistening rain sparkled in her brown hair and ran down her beautiful face.
"Do you like to walk in the rain, too?" she asked, and smiled so that the dimples creased her wet cheeks.
"Not often," he said. "Tonight is a special occasion."
She stepped past him and gazed at the books in the window. "They're lovely. Were you looking at one in particular?"
"The daVinci," he said. "Pardon my suspicion, Lena, but why the warm and friendly bit, after what happened in your apartment?"
"You deserved what happened in my apartment, Miles," she said, and the smile vanished. "You had some nerve listening to Dawson, and thinking you could take me home and have me like that."
"All right," he said. "Say you're right. More than right. It was pretty rotten of me. So why are you stopping to talk to me now?"
"Because I like you, Miles,' 'she said. "But I wonder why, really, when you act this way. Another month of being with Dawson, and you'll be impossible."
"Dawson is your old man, not mine," he snapped.
"Not anymore," she said. "I could tell you about that. But I don't guess you care. Maybe you're more like Dawson than I thought. You expect to take me home, make love to me, and that's it. I was going to say I wanted to see you again, but maybe it's best to let things stay the way they are."
"Lena, I want to see you again," he-said, and his face flushed at the thought.
"I'm finished with Dawson arid everything he represents," she said. "How about you, Miles?"
"Let's have a drink, and talk, Lena," he said.
She shook her head, and droplets of water fell over her face. "No, Miles," she said. "But I'll meet you tomorrow for lunch, if you like."
"What time?" he asked quickly. And then, he thought of Diane Farmner and her morning phone call. "Why lunch?" he added. "Dinner would be better."
"If you had rather play games with Mrs. Farmner, let's forget the whole thing," she said. "You see, I just had a bitter meeting with Dawson, and I know what's happening."
"I'll meet you at noon," he said, without hesitation. "How about the place we first met? They should put out a decent lunch."
Her smile was deep, crinkling her dimple. "I'll see you at noon," she said.
He was startled as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, then turned and hurried away in the rain. He watched the red-clothed buttocks flowing down the street, and put his hand to his cheek, as though he could prolong the sensation of the soft, arousing kiss.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sun drenched the street as Miles walked slowly along, browsing in store windows. He was already half an hour late for work, but he dreaded the thought of going to the office.
He knew that this was a pivotal day, and that he had to move carefully. Ann Marie had laid down an ultimatum. Because when he poured himself drunk into the apartment late last night, he discovered that some woman had called. He didn't know if it had been Diane or Lena. But Ann Marie had been so furious that she had refused to give him a cent, and he had been forced to walk to work.
And he knew Diane might well be calling him now. And he had a lunch date with Lena.
Panic had stabbed at him when he realized Ann Marie's determination to have him her way. And he had known there was real danger when she even refused to let him touch her this morning.
He shook his head, and then smiled as he thought of Lena last night, the rain-specks in her hair, her dimpled smile warming him as they stood and talked. But he knew that she would be trouble, if he had no money, and he couldn't even afford to buy her lunch today.
He crossed a street, and paused in front of the shell of a tall, office building, its steel ribs gleaming in the brilliant sunlight. It would look like a glass-covered box, he told himself. But who the hell was he to criticize? Heaven only knew what kind of stuff he would grind out, after all-night sessions of sex with the wives and mistresses of men who owned the buildings.
He kicked at an empty pack of cigarettes, and thought of Diane. The lovemaking in the back seat of her car with the rain-dark night enclosing them had certainly been one of the most exciting nights of sex he had ever known.
But he shuddered to think what she planned for him, and he thought of the way she had subjugated herself to' him, and wondered if she didn't have some idea of reversal in mind.
He glanced up at a clock above an ad for cigarettes. Past ten how. He thought of the office, of Dawson, and Kirby, and Patty giggling, and the call from Diane.
He thought wild thoughts of Lena and lovely buildings he could design. But he laughed at himself and knew he had to get to work. The Ann Marie thing was all but finished. And he dared not jeopardize the job. If he landed the Farmner contract, he knew he would be in solid, and would have no money worries.
As for Lena, he could not take a chance of risking everything for her, though he thought that if he could make it with the firm, and had money, one way or another he would have Lena.
He walked faster, and tried to content himself with thoughts of Diane's wild, wicked lovemaking, and he tried to think of a time when he could have both Diane and Lena, and on his terms, and with plenty of money to spend.
Plenty of money to spend, he repeated to himself, and walked faster. Money of his own, not from Ann Marie. Damn, it had been a year now since he was his own man.
He shook his head as he crossed a street. His own man. Sure,-he had been free. And poor. He had jumped at the chance for Ann Marie and her money.
He stopped to buy a container of coffee and a doughnut, then went up to the office.
"Where have you been?" Patty squealed as he walked in. "Some client has been trying to call you, and Kirby and Dawson are furious."
"Is that Miles?" Kirby called from the inner office.
"Yes," Miles yelled as he walked to his desk.
"Get in here, pal," Dawson said.
Miles set the bag on his desk, and drummed on the back of his chair, as his hair bristled at Dawson's tone.
"You shouldn't upset them this way," Patty said. "Kirby worried all night about the Farmner contract."
"I'm sure you helped ease the pain," Miles snapped.
But his sarcasm was lost on Patty, and she giggled and smiled, her eyes wide and stupid.
Miles moved slowly into the other office. Kirby was pacing beside the window, and his lean, lined face was tight, and his hands went up to adjust his tie twice in ten seconds. Dawson puffed on a cigar, sitting with legs crossed in front of the desk.
"Well, what happened?" Kirby asked. "Diane Farmner has called you twice this morning."
Miles shrugged. "Things went as they were supposed to." And he looked at Dawson and smiled slightly.
"Don't get cute," Dawson said, and chomped on his cigar. "Just because you score once in your life."
"Cut out that bickering," Kirby said, and sat down behind his desk. "Well, Miles?"
"Diane Farmner is willing to see that we get the contract," he said. "If she is kept happy."
Kirby smiled, a quick, nervous smile as his hand touched at the knot of his tie. "And she will be kept happy, I assume. Great work, Miles. We'll do a crash job in something that will please Farmner."
"Yeah, pal, congratulations," Dawson said.
"When do you see Mrs. Farmner again?" Kirby asked.
"This morning," he said. "That's why she's calling."
"Splendid," he said, and flashed a thin smile as he cracked his lean knuckles. "Dawson and I will start on the plans, and you hop to it when she calls. You just make sure you keep her happy until the deal is sealed. Make sure she'll go to Farmner and steer him our way, with no hitches."
"Look, I don't mind things up to a point," Miles said.
"Diane Farmner is obviously an attractive proposition. But she's something of a nut, and the way she talked last night, I don't like her idea of fun for the future."
"Maybe her idea of fun is why she picked you," Dawson said, and laughed smugly.
"Damn, don't get squeamish," Kirby said, and bolted up to pace beside the window again. "It's only for a short time. I guess you know the kind of money this will bring you. And don't forget, Miles. You've still got to prove your value to us. This deal will do it."
"I wish to hell I could prove my value to myself," Miles blurted.
Kirby's hands slipped in and out of his pockets. "That kind of talk makes me sick, Miles," he snapped. "You know what the setup is here. And this is the last time...."
The phone rang and Kirby trailed the words off, and he and Dawson looked quickly at each other, then out through the door to the other office where Patty was answering the phone.
She put her hand over the receiver. "It's for you Miles," she called.
Kirby's thin lips drew tight, and Miles turned and walked to his desk, and sat down. He picked up the phone, hesitated, then said, "Hello."
"You keep executive's hours," Diane said. "Didn't you remember my call and appointment, Miles? I don't like to be kept waiting."
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Is that all you have to say? I've been sitting in a bar for over an hour. Aren't you anxious to discuss art and architecture with me?" Her harsh voice took on a suddenly seductive tone.
"I can't wait," he said, quietly. "Where can I meet you?"
"I'll pick you up, two blocks down from your office, at the corner of the park, by the post office."
"I'll be there in five minutes."
"You'd better, Miles, darling." The phone choked sharply.
He hung up, and opened the container of coffee, and took a couple of swallows, as he heard Kirby and Dawson walk up behind him.
"Well, Miles, are you seeing her?" Kirgy asked.
"In five minutes. I've got to have some coffee."
"Good," Kirby said. "Dawson and I will get busy on something that will satisfy Farmner. Don't let us down. And you'll come out of this deal with more money than you ever dreamed of."
"He won't let us down, will you, pal?" Dawson asked. "He's weary of being tied to a girl like Ann Marie."
"That's right," Miles said, and looked up into Dawson's snide smile. "Maybe you'd like her. Your luck seems to be changing rapidly."
"Dammit, cut out that bickering," Kirby said. "Don't forget I'm still running this show. This is a chance to land an enormously big contract. What's wrong with you two? Can't you keep your private lives out of this, so we can all get rich?"
"Yeh, let's all get rich," Miles said, as he stood up. "I've got to go. Can't keep Mrs. Farmner waiting."
Dawson started to say something, but Kirby touched his arm. Miles smiled sarcastically and walked quickly out of the office. As he rode down the elevator, he thought of calling Lena. He told himself he should not stand her up.
But he did not want to talk to her before seeing Diane, because Lena knew about Diane, and he could not endure her scorn, the way he felt. Remember the money, he told himself again and again as he left the building.
But he moved along the crowded sidewalk with heavy steps, and somehow the money did not seem important enough for what he was doing, or not doing with Lena.
But he moved to the corner by the park, and waited dutifully. Diane was fifteen minutes late, and he cursed her, and told himself she was keeping him waiting on purpose. Then he saw the long, grey limousine pull out of the traffic and over to the curb.
He opened the door and got in. Diane was striking in a low-cut green dress that left little to the imagination.
"Glad you could make it," she snapped, as she pulled way.
"Dammit, your moods shift," he said. "Last night when I first met you, you were pleasant and interested in things I like. Now, you get nastier and nastier."
"Why, didn't you know?" she said, with mock sweetness. "I'm a spoiled, rich bitch, sweetie. I told you I only wanted to talk to you to see just how idealistic you really are. It will make the game so much fun later."
"Fun and games," he said. "Where are we going to play our game today, Diane?"
"What difference does it make?" she asked. "As long as we have plenty of privacy. We need plenty of privacy for what I have in mind."
"I'm sure you've spent all this time thinking, and that you must have plenty in mind," he said.
She pulled abruptly to the curb and stomped on the brake. "Let's get something straight, Miles," she said, her eyes blazing. "You're not doing me any favors by going out with me. Sure, you interest me, but so do a lot of other handsome, young men. You play the game my way, or get out now, and crawl back to explain to Kirby how you lost the contract."
"You're holding all the cards," he said, his stomach suddenly queasy with self-disgust.
"I always hold all the cards," she said, and laughed sharply. "Last night, I was in a certain mood, and I wanted to be taken a certain way. A rough, self-humiliating way. Today, I'm in a different mood, and sweetie, I'm going to make you pay for your arrogance."
She pulled from the curb, and a large truck had to stop quickly to avoid hitting her. The driver blew the horn and leaned from the window to curse and shake his fist.
But Diane only smiled and drove faster, and at the next corner, she ran a stop sign, and nearly hit a taxi.
"I have a place out in the country where we won't be disturbed," she said, her voice softer. "I'm sorry for being so bitchy, Miles. But you made me angry. I'll make it up to you later."
"Though we're still going to play your kind of games?" he asked.
"You'll get to like my games, Miles," she said. "Anything that drives away boredom is worth while. And then you'll get that beautiful contract and have all that money, darling."
"After you've stripped down my self-respect and thrown me to the wolves with your games," he said. He felt disgusted and reckless, as though nothing mattered, and when he thought of last night, and of what Diane probably had in mind, his anger soared.
"Actually, you're rather charming when you get all high and mighty like this," she said. "By the way, you did shave this morning, didn't you? I didn't notice."
"Sure, I shaved," he said. "Why?" But he knew, and his face flushed.
She turned and smiled wickedly, and ran a thick tongue around her lips. Her laugh was short and harsh, and Miles felt like leaning over and hitting her.
"Pull over," he said, and was startled at his words.
"What's wrong?" she asked, as she pulled to the curb.
Miles jerked the door open. "Everything," he snapped. "You. Me. The whole sickening setup. I enjoyed making love to you last night, Diane. I think I really rather liked you. Now in the daylight I see what you're really like. And what I'm headed for."
"What a pretty speech," she said. "You're headed for hell if you get out of this car. I can promise you that. Not only will you lose my husband's contract, but I'll make sure you never work again in this town."
"I'll take my chances, baby," he said, and slammed the door so hard the big car rocked.
"Miles," she called, and he stepped to the curb and turned to see her sliding across the seat. "Miles, please don't leave me. Things will be good for us. It will be just like last night. That's the way I want it. Please, Miles."
"Not a chance," he said, and started walking.
"Miles," she screamed. "You'll pay for this, you bastard."
He walked faster, and turned a corner, his hands doubling into fists at his sides. He paused at the next corner, and his breath poured out. He dug into his pocket, and pulled out a nickle and two pennies.
It was a long walk to the restaurant where he was to meet Lena. He glanced up at a clock, and told himself he would just about have time to make it.
CHAPTER NINE
Miles paced back and forth in front of the restaurant. He glanced anxiously at a clock in the window of a jewelry store across the street. Lena was nearly half an hour late.
He realized now she might not come. Dammit, he had given up everything for her, had ruined himself with Diane, and consequently with Kirby and Dawson. And now he was acting like an idiot, with seven cents in his pocket.
He had just cursed Lena, and turned to stalk away, when he heard her calling, and turned to see her running across the street, her body poured into a traffic-stopping miniskirt of brilliant red.
"I'd given you up," he said.
She shook her head, and shoved her braid of brown hair over her shoulder. "I tried to call you here," she said. "Dawson came over and we had a terrible scene, and he told me you were going to meet Diane Farmner. And then I called at noon and they told me you weren't here."
"But you came anyway?" he asked.
"Yes, I knew this was a critical meeting for us, Miles. And I didn't trust Dawson. Thank goodness I did come."
"Dawson was right," Miles said. "I did go out with Diane Farmner. But I couldn't stand the thought of not seeing you, and told her to go to hell and jumped out of the car after ten minutes."
She smiled, then leaned up and brushed his lips with hers, and an electric shock raced up his spine.
"Why are you pacing up and down out here?" she asked.
"You might not be glad to see me when I tell you."
"Take a chance," she said, and her dimples creased her cheeks, and looked out of place and doubly provocative above the uptilted breasts which strained against the thin, red dress.
Miles dug the coins from his pocket, and held them in his open palm. "This is how much I can afford to spend on our lunch," he said.
"What happened?" she asked, and he wasn't certain as to her reaction. But she was not smiling.
"I didn't get my allowance from Ann Marie," he said, bitterly. "And tomorrow is pay day at Kirby's. Want to back out?"
"Don't be an idiot," she said. "Let me buy you lunch."
"I've had enough of that," he said. "I don't want to start it with you."
"Baby, I'm not about to support you," she said, and took his arm. "But I don't think it will be disgraceful or habit-forming if we walk over to the park, and buy us a couple of hot dogs."
"I should get used to hot dogs," he said. "And this is a perfect day for the park."
She smiled, and they turned and walked slowly down the sidewalk. He took her hand, and when she squeezed slightly, he glowed with contentment, and told himself he had rather hold hands with Lena, than make love to Diane.
"How in hell did you get involved with Dawson?" he asked, as they crossed a street and he saw men staring openly at Lena.
"I'm young, and as foolish as anyone else my age," she said. "He's a smooth, good-looking guy, and spends a lot of money. When I met you, we were already having a lot of trouble. It was just a matter of time until we broke up."
"And you're finished with him now?"
"Without a doubt," she said, and squeezed his hand. "In my short and limited career with the opposite sex, he is the most unpleasant man I've known. Though that night in my apartment, I would have said you were definitely in the running."
"I plead guilty," he said. "Geezuz, but I wanted to make love to you, Lena."
""You might have," she said, as they crossed another street, and entered the park. "But not the way you tried. I knew the minute you came into the bar that Dawson had set something up."
Miles glanced at Lena. The strong sunlight filtered through the thick-leaved trees and patterned her golden skin and accentuated her body.
"You did rather lead me on," he said, as they passed a small lake where brown and grey speckled ducks basked in the sun.
"I wanted to see how you'd react," she said. "And I got a certain pleasure from seeing you squirm. I'm not a saint, Miles."
"I hope not," he said. "Saints, I find, are rather dull. But what changed your mind about me?"
"I liked you from the beginning," she said. "So nothing really changed. And then, oh, hell, Miles. Why hash it all over? What are you going to do now? You know, I should be angry, in a sense. You did see the Farmner woman."
"A momentary lapse into weakness and my old ways," he said. "As to what I'm going to do, I don't know. I'm frankly scared, baby. I've been taken care of long enough to have to worry about my future. I may not even be able to get my clothes out of the apartment."
"Let's forget the past,' she said. "I'm hungry."
"So am I," he said.
They walked without talking along a twisting path lined with oak trees, and Lena kicked at acorns that rolled over the narrow path.
"I think I'll be wicked and have a beer with lunch," she said, finally, as they walked around a curve and came upon a small hot-dog stand encased in an elf-like brick shelter, with sharply-slanting slate roof.
"Two hot-dogs," Miles said to the fat, white-aproned man behind he counter.
"Mustard and sauerkraut, buddy?" the man barked, shifting a toothpick from one side of his wide mouth to the other.
Miles looked at Lena and she smiled and nodded. "Mustard and sauerkraut," Miles said. "And two beers."
The attendant stuck two weiners from a small pan of steaming water with a sharp, two-pronged long fork, and slapped them on buns and added mustard and sauerkraut.
Miles handed Lena a hot dog while the man opened two cans of beer and poured them into huge malted milk cups and set them on the counter.
Lena took a tentative bite of the hot dog, then wiped a dab of mustard from her lips. "Oh, the money," she said.
She set the hot dog down on a thin napkin on the counter, and took a couple of bills from her handbag.
"You ain't letting the lady buy, are you, buddy?" the man asked, and shook his head.
"What business it is of yours?" Miles asked, and he felt the veins iu his neck standing taut.
"Miles, don't be ridiculous," Lena said, and shoved the money across the counter.
"No offense, buddy," the man said, and took the bills and threw a couple of coins onto the counter.
"I'm sorry, Lena," Miles said. "But I'm pretty touchy about this kind of thing."
"Let's walk and eat lunch," she said. She picked up the change, and then took the hot dog and the cup of beer, and walked away from the counter.
Miles took his beer and hot dog and followed her, and could not help but stare at the way her miniskirt swished across her upper thighs. They walked around a curve, and in a couple of minutes, they were alone in a twisting narrow walk lined with thick bushes.
"A very good lunch," Lena said, and took a big bite of her hot dog. she stopped, and tilted her face up to him. "Oh, Miles, I'm sorry about the money thing. I should have given you some money before we got there."
"I shouldn't have been so touchy," he said. "It is a lovely lunch. The best I've had since coming to this crummy town. Hell, that's not fair. There's nothing wrong with the town."
"Or with you," she said. "Now cut that kind of talk out. I told you I'm no saint, and you're going to force me to prove it."
He kissed her cheek, and they walked on, eating the hot dogs and drinking beer. But despite Lena's presence and the lovely day, he could not help but brood about this situation, the reality of surviving and getting money, that permeated his life now.
Lena finished her hot dog, and gulped from the huge cup of beer, the foam lining her lovely upper lip. Miles looked down and laughed, and she licked the foam off, and the sight of her tongue made him go warm.
She threw her cup into a wastebasket and he gulped his beer down, and almost got the hiccups. But he threw his cup away, and took her hand and they walked on, past a heavily-wooded area that was a bird sanctuary.
"Where do you want to make love?" she asked abruptly. "Crawl among the birds, or wait until we get to my place?"
His heart missed a beat. "Make love?" he asked, weakly, and stared down the length of her body.
"We could have ice cream for dessert," she said, and laughed. "But making love is more my idea of the best way to top off a meal."
He shook his head, and put a hand on her narrow waist. "Lena, you are a very amazing young lady."
"I certainly hope so," she said, and stepped to him, her breasts touching his chest in a feeling that sent a shiver of delight down his back. "I was never much interested in birds. Let's go to my place for dessert."
"We'll have to walk,' he said. "I can't even afford a bus."
"A taxi, darling," she said, and bit his ear, then smiled in a wicked way that made her dimples seem out of place. "My last treat."
"I imagine there's a treat to be had in your apartment," he said.
She laughed. "Definitely. I meant a money treat, actually."
Money seemed to mean little as Miles took Lena's hand and walked down the path, bird-sounds soft behind them from the thick growth.
Miles followed Lena into her apartment, his eyes riveted to the delicious sway of her buttocks beneath the tight miniskirt, his mind reeling with the thought of his body between those golden thighs.
"I think I have some beer," she said, as she walked over and put a record on the phonograph. "And of course, there's scotch."
Miles crossed to her. "I don't like to drink with dessert," he said.
A fast, loud sound wailed from the phonograph as she stood up and put her hands on his shoulder. "Good," she said. "Neither do I."
She tilted her face up and her lips surged against his, and he gripped her waist and squeezed, as her kiss sent a shiver up his back, and the sudden feel of her breasts digging into his chest excited him to a fever pitch.
"I'll rncke up for last time," she said, through the kiss, and he gasped as she slammed her lower body against him, and did a wicked twist.
Miles raced his hands to cup her fantastic, squirming buttocks, and then slid them under the miniskirt, to fondle the buttocks over the small, sheer panties.
Lena bit his tongue, and his hands shot behind her back and unzipped her dress. Miles moved his hands, and Lena stepped back and did a slow bump and grind as she peeled the dress off, and stood pulsating slightly in stockings, garter belt, bra and panties.
Miles took a step, but she stopped, and put out a hand. "Don't rush things, darling," she said, her voice sleepy and provocative. She smiled. "Wait at least a couple of seconds."
"Not a chance," Miles said, and grabbed Lena, slamming her body against him as his hands again squeezed her panty-clad buttocks. Lena snuggled against him, her breasts squirming into his chest in motions that made his heart pound.
Lena's kiss was wicked and driving, her tongue going in his mouth, and her fingers rubbed the rims of his ears, then dug sharply into his hair. Miles went hot and stiffened as she gyrated her hips against him.
He dug his hands beneath the flimsy panties, and fondled her bare buttocks. And her twisting, damply-hot lips drove him berserk. He lifted her by the buttocks and staggered back, and they fell onto the bed.
Lena seemed stunned for an instant by the weight of his body. Then she again smothered his lips with hers. And he slid his hands around and ripped her bra loose and tore the flimsy band of cloth from her straining breasts.
And then began a magical, arousing, blinding sexual sensation for Miles. Lena's golden body seemed to pulse with a searing heat, and Miles possessed the breasts with his frantic hands, pinching the pink nipples, then with sucking lips and a lashing tongue, and he felt enclosed in hot honey as her thighs tightened, and her body undulated and flowed.
Lena moved with a sensual totality, hands and thighs, lips and teeth and tongue, that left Miles moaning with desire. And when she untwined her thighs, and he tore the tiny panties off, and fell between the thighs again, she arched her perfect body, and her lips sucked at his mouth in a tongue-filled kiss and her fingers did things down his body that he had never felt.
Her eyes were closed, and she groaned with passion, and undulated her hips in a motion that had Miles clawing desperately at her sweating body. He dug trembling fingers under her hot buttocks and she slammed against him, and locked her teeth into his neck. And when she moved her body again, there were motions and sensations that made Miles whine and whimper.
When he worked with Lena, worked in rhythm with her golden, honey-hot body, he felt the bed creaking, and he remembered at the last rational instant her arching legs around his straining body.
Then she rolled her hips beneath his punishing hands, and sank her teeth into his shoulder and groaned, and he went white-hot and frantic with desire, and heard himself make small, animal-like noises as he slid quickly through a world of screaming, screeching, agonizingly beautiful pleasure, then lay gasping beside Lena's hot, still body.
It took a long minute before Miles realized the phone was ringing. He poured out gasping breath, and felt Lena stir faintly, her breasts heaving with her heavier breath.
"The phone," she gasped.
"To hell with the phone," he panted and kissed her-sweat-soaked cheek softly.
She skated tender fingers over his wet back. "Yes, darling. To hell with the phone."
But the phone kept ringing.
And Lena tugged at Miles, and he rolled from her.
"Easier to answer and get it over with," she said, as she slithered over, and jerked the receiver up, and said "Hello," with little attempt to hide her irritation.
She listened a moment, her face pale with exhaustion, her brown braid pasted damply over her bare shoulder. Then her green-flecked eyes narrowed.
She thrust the phone at Miles. "It's for you," she said, and rolled away from him.
"Yes?" Miles asked, his heart suddenly pounding again.
"Okay, pal, you finally won the bet about Lena," Dawson said. "But the other thing is serious. And stupid."
"What in hell are you talking about?" Miles looked over quickly at Lena, who lay curled against herself, her green eyes narrowed, her lips clamped together.
"It's bad enough to steal drafts from the office," Dawson said, and Miles could picture the snide look on his face. "But to ask Diane Farmner to get her husband's contract for you, and to cut Kirby and me out is really crummy. And pal, you're in trouble unless you get over here right away."
"Dawson, you bastard," Miles said, and raised up on his elbow. But the phone clicked off. Miles slammed the receiver down, and lay down again.
Lena's hand touched his arm and he flinched. He turned to face her. "Do you believe Dawson?" he snapped.
"For a minute, I wondered, I have to confess," she said. "He can sound awfully convincing. But no, I don't believe him for a minute, darling. But what he said is serious. And he's enough of a bastard to follow through with his threats."
Miles sighed. "Yes, you're right," he said. "I guess it's inevitable that I deal with Kirby and Dawson sooner or later. It might as well be now." He leaned over and kissed Lena's cheek. "Right after dessert is the best time. I can handle anything now."
Lena rolled over and wrapped an arm around Miles. "Well, you better go quickly, Miles. Another couple of minutes, and I don't give you a chance of leaving for a long time."
Miles looked a moment at Lena's ripe, naked body. Then he kissed her cheek again, and scrambled from the bed.
"Just lie there and take it easy," he said, as he scooped up his clothes. He started dressing, but had to turn away from Lena, or he knew he could not leave.
CHAPTER TEN
Miles drummed on the wall of the elevator and wondered if it would get him up to his floor. Then the metal doors slid open, and he stalked out, his anger rising as he headed for the meeting with Dawson, and certainly Kirby.
He shoved the door open, expecting to hear Patty giggle. But a stranger in a blue suit turned to face him. The man was tall, with a blonde crew-cut, and Miles knew right away he was a cop.
Miles and the man stared at each other a long moment. Then Kirby came from the inner office, his face pinched, his thin hands at his narrow tie.
"Ah, Miles, thank goodness you're here," he said. "You shouldn't stay away like this. It only points suspicion toward you."
"What in hell are you talking about?" Miles asked, and stared at the tall man with the crew-cut.
"The drafts that seemed to have disappeared," Kirby said. "We had no alternative but to call the police."
Miles looked at his desk, and saw that the stack of drafts were gone.
"When we're involved in bidding for a contract as big as the Farmner job we have to take extreme measures if something seems to go wrong," Kirby said.
"I've been waiting to talk to you about this," the crew-cut man said.
"This is Lt. Johnson," Kirby said.
"Where's Dawson?" Miles asked.
"He had to go out," Kirby said.
"I already talked to him," Lt. Johnson said. "I talked to him, and to Kirby, and to Miss Mays."
Patty giggled and walked from the inner office and went over to her desk. Miles glanced over, and saw that she was poured into a brown knit dress that emphasized her chubby buttocks and fleshy but ample breasts.
"Then I guess I'm the only suspect left," Miles said.
"Don't be silly," Kirby said. "Don't talk like that, just because of the Farmner contract."
"There was another case similiar to this here one," Lt. Johnson said. "Couple years ago, some guy working here grabbed some plans or something, and tried to sell them on his own to the wife of one of our prominent citizens who was building a new office building."
"What a coincidence," Miles said, but his gnawing stomach belied his sarcasm.
"It happens," Lt. Johnson said. "Take a guy, not doing too well, comes into a legit office like this. Sort of a ladies' man. Sees a chance to take advantage of a lady, make a bundle of money."
"What do you want to ask me?" Miles asked, and tried to think quickly and clearly, because he could trap himself into trouble in an instant.
"Well, you were working on the Farmner thing, that right?" Lt. Johnson asked. "Big job, right? And you were handling it. Lots of money involved."
"Yes, lots of money involved," Miles said. "But I still don't quite understand about the missing drafts. Though I know the staff has been laboring for weeks on the most creative and unique plans any building in this city has ever seen."
"The plans were here when Patty went to lunch," Kirby said quickly.
Miles glanced over at Patty, and she suddenly started typing. He warned himself to take it easy, because he knew now they were out to hang him, or to pressure him back into the situation.
"The people here thought you could tell us what happened to the plans," Lt. Johnson said. His voice was deep, and there was a quality in his tone that seemed to accuse.
"Didn't you say you were going to take the drafts and discuss them with Mrs. Farmner?" Patty called.
"That wasn't exactly what I said," Miles answered. "I didn't take anything with me when I left to meet Mrs. Farmner."
"So you admit meeting her?" Lt. Johnson asked.
"Sure, I met her," Miles said. Why should I deny it?"
"Well, I talked to the lady," the detective said, and nodded. "Listen here, fella. What she said, and what they say here don't make a pretty picture."
Kirby stepped forward, and touched the detective's sleeve. "I wonder if I could buy you a cup of coffee, and discuss this further," he said. "And perhaps it would give Miles time to think clearly about what happened."
"Cup of coffee?" Lt. Johnson asked. His broad face broke into a smile. "Sure, fella. Let's, go downstairs and get something to drink."
"You won't leave?" Kirby asked, but it was more of a statement.
"Of course not, not during office hours," he said.
"I'm sure this can all be worked out," Kirby said. "And later, Mrs. Farmner can be satisfied, I'm certain."
Kirby and the detective walked from the office, and Miles sat down wearily at his desk. He knew he faced serious trouble, and he wondered if his interest in Lena could sustain him. There was no doubt that Kirby and Dawson would go to any lengths to keep him in line with Diane.
And when he thought of Diane, he told himself he could gladly bust her in the mouth if he ever laid eyes on her again. But again, he knew she could cause him more trouble than he could handle.
He heard the steady clicking of the typewriter, and looked over at Patty. She had said he left with the drafts. Miles shoved his chair back and stood up and walked over to her desk.
"What the hell did you mean, lying like that?" he asked.
She pulled her fingers from the typewriter, and looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and challenging.
"I meant I wanted you the way I wanted you, silly," she said, and giggled.
"This is serious, Patty," he said.
She stood up, and stared up into his face, her eyes burning, her lips moist. "I've been serious since you came here," she said. "But you've hardly known I existed."
"So you lied, to get in good with Kirby."
Her giggle was short and sharp. "Silly," she said, and took a step toward Miles. "If you can't tell how things are between Kirby and me, well, I'm disappointed in you."
"What in hell do you want?" he asked.
"You're really silly," she said. "I want you. The only reason the police didn't cart you off is because of me, Miles. Don't you know how much I like you? Kirby wanted me to say you'd stolen the Farmner drafts. Diane Farmner called and he was furious at what you did. But that only made me want you more, Miles."
"Listen, Patty, this is stupid," Miles said.
But Patty walked past him, her ample buttocks swaying beneath her skirt. And she locked the door, and turned, smiling, and moved back to him, her fleshy breasts moving up and down, and her broad hips undulating. And her white face was twisted into what she obviously considered a provocative smile.
"Take it easy," Miles said, and backed away.
"Your fate already depends on what I say," she said, and there was no hint of a giggle in her deadly serious voice. "Now what would happen if I went screaming downstairs to Kirby and the detective?"
"You're Kirby's chick," Miles said. "How in hell can I trust you?"
"Miles, baby, you have no choice," she said. "What I want from Kirby, I get. Surely you can see that. I want something from you now. I'm no fool. I know how you think about me. I know you don't find me attractive.
That's why I've got to have you, my way. Now. Don't make me cause you trouble, Miles."
"Listen, Patty, I always liked you," Miles started.
But she suddenly peeled her dress off. And she stood inches from him, her white, chubby body pouring over stockings and bra and panties. "My way," she said.
"Sure, honey. Anything you want," he said feebly, trying to make his smile stay in place. One woman more, what's that? he thought.
"Drop your pants!"
"What?"
"I said, drop your pants."
Why not? What have I got to lose? He fumbled with his belt for a moment until she went down in front of him and had to help him. When his pants were off and he was working on his shirt, she pressed her face against is bare belly and thighs, her fingernails digging deeply into his buttocks. It made him tingle strangely down to his toes. Then he felt her hand move to his thigh. He looked down at her and saw the moist, thick lips parted in a child-like smile, her eyes glistening. Then she grabbed him with both hands and squeezed him hard, her nails digging in deeply.
"Say I'm a bad girl!"
"Patty, I don't understand."
"You don't have to understand." Patty's tone turned cold. "Just do what I told you. Okay?"
"You're a bad girl."
Her hands tightened their grip on him, with a strength Miles would not have suspected. Like a man's hands, Miles thought.
"Am I hurting you, darling?"
Miles closed his eyes, kept his voice steady, "No, honey, youre not hurting me."
The nails dug deeper into his throbbing flesh. As she massaged him harder he felt a blue pain of frustration flash up each side of his groin. "Now, baby, now," he said, "Kiss me."
He felt one of her hands cup him under his hips, gently at first, and then harder, squeezing, until his body ached. "Hey, take it easy, kid."
"Oh!" she said, bringing her lips to the inflamed flesh, and breathing gently on it, "Oooh, am I hurting you. I am a bad girl."
Dazed, Miles' body doubled with the ache in his flesh. "Baby, please! Put your mouth to me."
"Shut up!" She pulled her mouth away from his urgent motions, rose, and went over to the desk. She watched him for a moment, his hips writhings, his hands kneading the flesh in his belly to ease the pain. She giggled. "Gee, you men look funny. I mean, with your clothes off you look awfully funny."
"Come here, you bitch!"
Patty giggled again. "I just want to look at you."
"What?"
"Be quiet, dear," Patty's tone was peremptory. "And give little Patty what she wants."
"But I just don't understand."
"I want to play a little Patty-game with you."
Miles looked at her, perplexed. "What's that?"
"It's easy." She grinned, spreading her legs. "And it's really fun. Come here."
Miles took a step toward her.
"No, not like that," she said. "Crawl. Get down on your knees and crawl for me."
Miles stared at the plump teenager in front of him with a mixture of surprise and revulsion. "What the hell do you think I am?" he asked angrily.
Patty smiled her demented smile at him. "Miles, baby," she said, "we both know damned well what you are! Now be a good little mannie and play the Patty-game."
Miles stepped out of his shorts and got down on one knee.
"On your knees, dammit!"
Miles flushed. He felt the rush of blood surging into his face. She was making him feel foolish. So damn foolish and cheap. But there wasn't anything he could do about it. Patty held the Whip hand and she knew it. He had to give the bitch what she wanted. And he was fairly sure of what that would be. "Whimper, darling."
Miles felt his throat tighten and he made soft mewling sounds as his hand reached to her panties. Her wide hips tapered to a belly that had all the softly rolling majesty of a calm swelling sea that rose to a crest at her navel. He pressed his face against the warm flesh.
"Take my panties down, honey."
"Uh-huh."
Without breaking the kiss, Miles brought his hands down around her back to the elastic band that encircled her waist and slipped his fingers under it until he could touch the warm swell of her buttocks.
"What the hell are you waiting for? Come on."
Her harsh tone stirred him into action. Slowly, fumbling every now and then with the stockings, he brought her panties and nylons down to her ankles. Miles lingered long enough to kiss the strength of her thighs, then rose slightly on his knees and kissed her again, feeling the quaking within her.
She broke the kiss and moved back slightly from him. "I'm no lesbian," she said, bristling. "I'm not interested in that at all. That was stupid. Look, Miles, would you rather forget the whole thing? Would you rather I talk with Kirby? Would you? We can call the whole thing off, you know."
"No, Patty. Please...."
"Then be nice. I'm warning you, Miles, I'm peeved with you. You shouldn't do things I don't like. Now, you say you're sorry."
"I'm sorry."...." and you'll be nice."
"I'm sorry. I'll be nice."
"Well, that's better." Patty swung around and leaned over the desk, her wide hips flaring dramatically. "Pinch me.
Miles pinched her, kneading his strong fingers into her soft, fleshy buttocks until his fingers tired and angry red welts flared like burns on her soft bottom.
"Harder," she said. "Bite me."
Without taking his hands from her buttocks, Miles bent his head and bit each firm mound, drawing the flesh into his mouth and closing his teeth on it. A slight gasp came from her and her hips arched backwards in their eagerness for him.
Patty giggled. "You-you are nice."
"Ummmm...."
"I knew you'd be like this," she said, reaching behind her and drawing her fingers caressingly through his hair. "Come to me." She pressed his face deeply into the warmth of her derriere "Make me tickle, baby."
"Tickle?"
Patty laughed brazenly. "Don't be so innocent, Miles. You know what I mean."
"Oh. Yeah, but...."
"Come on, damn you, before I get all cooled down. Listen, if you don't want to take care of me, just say so. But you'd better think twice about it before you do."
"Patty, please...."
"Kiss me. With your tongue."
Miles lowered his head. Patty arched her body into a deep crouch over the desk, her behind jutting upwards, and Miles pressed his lips hesitantly to her. Her toes wriggled.
"Oooh, that feels funny."
Patty's two hands grasped frantically for a moment for his head and tugged his face down to her. Tugged and held.
Patty raised one foot in glee. "Hey, that tickles!"
For a moment more, Miles hesitated, but he knew there was no escape. This was what he had to do. Now. This. To indulge her perverse whims. This. To kiss and caress with his tongue that flesh he had never known before with any woman.
For a moment he wondered if he could go through with it. But of course he could. He had to. There was nothing he wouldn't do to stay where the big money was. No nothing. He rubbed his face more deeply, urgently, into her buttocks and felt her soft flesh press against his cheeks.
And it really wasn't as shameful as he had expected. Enjoyable, really. The familiar, musky perfume was strong, but exciting. And the humid flesh was soft and smooth. Nice, in a way.
No, he didn't mind doing it. His tongue flicked lightly. He only hoped he was doing it well. He had never done this before and he knew what Patty would be like if he failed. He knelt to her more urgently as her body writhed with excitement, and he heard her voice from far away, slightly muffled. "Yes, yes, like that. All the way, Miles. All the way." And then there was no more talk, just the liquid sounds of his tongue, like water lapping the sides of a pool.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Miles woke slowly to the warm sunshine which flowed into the big bedroom like pale liquid gold. He stirred groggily and flung one arm over his tangled crop of hair, his body flexing lazily in that delicious torpor that is halfway between sleeping and waking. A troubled smile touched his mouth. His eyelids flickered once and shut as he went through the motion of pulling the sheet over his head-but there was no sheet. Clumsily he rolled over on his side and touched Ann Marie.
Ann Marie.
Miles bolted suddenly to a sitting position his hands fumbling for the clock on the night table. Twelve-thirty. He should have gotten into the office by ten and had a talk with Kirby. Coming in late-that would put Kirby at an advantage. Then he remembered Lt. Johnson and Patty and smiled bitterly. The time of day no longer mattered.
"What the hell difference does it make?" he muttered softly rubbing the back of his hand over the strange taste in his mouth. Patty!
He glanced up at the sky-blue walls of the room and brought his gaze down across the rumpled sheets to where Ann Marie lay. She slept like a little girl, tired from an overlong day of play, her rose-red mouth curled in a smile of sleepy satisfaction. The long tresses of raven hair served as a quilt barely concealing her plump nipples.
Miles raised himself cautiously on one elbow, brooding over her, put out a thick forefinger and moved the quilt of soft hair away, delicately tracing the line of her firm, swollen nipples. In slumber her breasts throbbed gently. He studied the tranquil motion of her, the pert thrust of the pink tips for a moment longer, and then rolled away, reached for the cigarettes on the night table.
He bit hard on the filter tip, sucked the flame in, and thought of the scene he would have with Kirby. He felt Ann Marie stir grudgingly, shifting on her back and drawing up her knees. She came awake slowly, reluctantly. She groaned, arching her supple body. She wet her lips and opened her eyes.
"Good morning," she sighed, then like a cat rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"It's afternoon," he replied.
"Then good afternoon." She smiled, circling a finger through the mat of black hair on his chest.
"I wonder what time I'll get into the office?" he asked, dumbly, feeling her leg circle his and snuggle warm against his body.
"Our time," she informed him with deliberateness. She brought her lips to his. Under the sheet, he felt the flutter of soft hands on his flesh, of sharp fingernails lightly scratching his belly, of warm breath teasing his cheek. "Kiss me, honey. Hard."
He scowled. "I have to work, remember?" He rolled away, letting his feet swing easily to the floor, flicked an ash from his cigarette.
Ann Marie pouted prettily and massaged the muscles of his bare back with slow spiraling motions. "Aw, c'mon, Miles baby ... you know you're in the mood."
"I said I was going to work."
"Miles baby...."
He wrestled free and rose to his feet. "Will you knock off that Miles baby jazz? It's enough to make a guy throw up."
Ann Marie raised a hand in the air. "All right. Pardon me for breathing."
He sighed wearily and donned his shorts. "You've just got to understand how it is for a man. I mean, I've got a lot of problems with the office."
Ann Marie's eyes darkened with suspicion. "I know, poor dear. And all of a sudden everything I do bugs you. But I know. I understand. You've got all those terrible problems at the office. I just don't know how you put up with them."
Miles winced. "Look, chicken, just don't start that again, huh?" A long silence.
"Miles, honey, what's the matter?" she asked in a voice soft for her. "Can't you tell me?"
"Annie, I'm in a little bit of a spin right now," he said. "You gotta be patient." , Miles pulled up his trousers and walked to the chaise in front of her dresser and sank down on it, turning sideways so that only his back was to her. He heard her say, "I'll try, Miles.. And if I get too bitchy--why, you just slap me down. You just hurt me as hard as you please."
He stared in the mirror, fixing his tie and watching Ann Marie squatting in the middle of the bed, the sheet pulled over her breasts and clutched with both hands. "No, chicken," he said, "I don't want to hurt you."
"Well, don't ever leave me, Miles," she said. "Just don't you ever try to leave me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You know what I mean."
Miles hesitated. "Annie, I'm gonna take a new job. Maybe with Thymes and Kruger, as a draughtsman."
"But why?"
"Because it takes money to live, that's why! You think I enjoy living off of you." He looked around for his jacket.
"But you're too good for that. And you know you don't like it. Why don't you just give up that-"
"Well, bullshit!" he interrupted. "There's a lot of things I don't like. But I do them."
"Am I one of those things, Miles? The way you been treating me lately, like I was-"
"Annie I didn't say that. You're twisting every damned thing I say!"
"Well, did it ever occur to you that I might be in love with you, tool This girl, this Lena, she's a real slut. I once read this story about a screwy swinger who went for her men in the big way and got them to do all sorts of weird things. I'll just bet you this Lena likes her men to give it oh-la-lah!"
"That's enough," Miles warned.
"Sure, always side with her. I couldn't say anything right about her!" Ann Marie rose from the bed, the sheet still draped around her, went to the dressing table and began combing her hair.
"She's not a slut!" Miles said, his voice growing shrill. "She's a decent girl who-"
"My, my, this sounds like romance." Ann Marie planted her hands on her hips, swayed her shoulders in time with her words, "Well, what do you know, love comes to Andy Hardy!"
"Annie, I'm not telling you again. Lay off Lena."
"Really?"
Miles rose from the dressing table in silent anger. He'd hoped for reassurance from Ann Marie. He'd needed it and she was giving him only bitterness and reproach.
He moved across the room for his briefcase, wanting to smash his open hand into her face, wanting to see her cringe before him.
When he turned back, Ann Marie was still seated at the mirror, her legs straddling the stool, her arms bent behind her, hooking the black lace brassiere. She tilted her head to one side in a show of impatience and her eyes were irritably contemptuous. "Well, don't just stand there, you fool. Go to your precious Lena!"
She laughed softly, gazing at him, as she rose and wriggled her firm hips into the black Parisian lace panties. She saw his eyes flicker to the transparent panties and smiled, sitting back on the stool and letting her firm, softly fleshed legs move to a greater degree of carelessness. She laughed scornfully, watching his face. "You whoremonger, I'm your living! I have a right to make love to you! Any time! Any way I want to!"
Miles tightened his hands into fists, tighter, holding his anger with the strength of his hands. "You bitch!"
He wanted to walk over and smack her across the face but, "Oh, hell no," he murmured between his teeth. "I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Hell, no!"
There was a long silence.
Ann Marie.
"I feel sorry for you," he stated calmly, moving to the door, not wanting to look upon her again. "What did you say?"
He opened the door and looked back at her angry face. "I feel sorry for you."
The eyes blazed. "You feel sorry for mel What are you? A second-rate architect, that's what. You always were and you always will be until you get too old for it. Then what happens, lover-boy? If you want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for yourself. Now get the hell out . of here!"
He turned away from her and went through the door, chilled now, no longer wanting to win the argument, no longer warmed by the memory of her flesh, tightened up again with his bitterness.
Miles stared at the clutter of papers on Kirby's desk and the neatly piled sketches for the Farmner building, and he wondered.
Kirby smiled.
"We'd like you to stay with us, of course. You're one of the most valuable men who's ever come to work here. Right from the start you were more experienced, you had more of the ol' get-up-and-go, than Dawson or any of the others. But we wanted to see what you could do. And now we know."
Miles remembered the startled-doe glances in the secretarial pool as he came through the office. He remembered the purple mimeographed announcement tacked to the bulletin board: Effective Monday next, Miles Renson will be promoted to the rank of Senior Vice-President. Mr. Dawson will continue in his present position as Executive Director. Mr. Miles will also assume the further duties proper to his new responsibilities as Special Consultant to Kirby & Co.
Miles stood in front of the bulletin board, and wondered. Dawson still the Executive Director? And what was this about a vice-presidency? What was this Special Consultant deal? And since when did they promote a high-ranking man without informing him on the change in advance?
Miles had come to the office with one big question on his mind: How do you tell your boss to "shove it" when he's got you where it hurts, with both hands? Miles had rehearsed his answers to that question all the way to work and, tiring of his imaginary scenes with Kirby, had hesitated for only a moment at the main entrance, and then shrugged and pushed through the doors into the office.
No sooner had he entered than he was aware that this wasn't going to be a routine morning. At nine-forty-five, too many of the young, would-be executives were loitering in the outer office area, most of them milling thickly about the office girls, the chatter lively and the glances in his direction too-obvious. After reading the bulletin, Miles had moved off toward Kirby's office, his legs numb.
Now Kirby was talking:
"You know with that Farmner account nailed down, we'll probably be floating a stock issue in August. Why I wouldn't be surprised if we doubled the size of this outfit within the next six months. We'll have to hire several new men, of course, as soon as we can grab them up. Dawson and I have done most of the hiring around here. But I've got other work to do, and, frankly Miles, just between the two of us, I don't think Dawson's got the vision I need. I think you're the one."
"Well, I appreciate that, Mr. Kirby, but-"
"Of course you do! And maybe someday when you've got the time, you'll tell me just how in hell you landed the Farmner deal." Kirby winked. "Let the old man in on some of your secrets. Meanwhile, we got to find somebody to take over your old job."
"Before we talk about that I'd like to talk about those Farmner sketches on your desk."
"Those! Hell, Miles, what can I say. It was one of those terrible mistakes a man makes. Mine. Naturally, when we thought they were missing, and knowing the trouble you were having with Mrs. Farmner-well, I jumped to conclusions. I was wrong and what can a man say when he was wrong but he's sorry. Shake on it?" Kirby was smiling when he stood up behind his desk and put his hand out.
Miles shook it.
"Good, I'm glad we understand each other," Kirby said. "Now about your replacement-" Kirby smiled and let the sentence hang. Miles let it hang and looked at Kirby.
Kirby frowned.
"How would you feel about giving up architecture entirely and concentrating on the account angle?"
"Who do you have in mind to replace me as a designer?" Miles asked, hedging.
"Who do you want?"
Miles frowned. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "That young man, Thompson, seems the best of the lot, I think."
Nodding, Kirby said, "I think so too. I'm glad we agree. Thompson takes over." Kirby consulted a slip of paper on his desk. "Now as to the part that I'm sure doesn't interest you at all, the salary. You're scheduled to go to fifteen thousand in January, aren't you?"
"That's right."
"Okay. You'll go to seventeen-five instead. By the end of the year you ought to be making twenty, by the end of the year after that, thirty thousand. That sound good enough to you, Miles?"
"That sounds just fine," Miles said. "One more thing. How good a judge of men do you think you are?"
"Pretty fair. Depends on what kind of men you mean."
"I mean architects. Think you can spot a good man and put him in the job he's best suited for, Miles?"
"I think so. Why?"
Kirby smiled. "Well, you just kick the thought around for a while, and take some time for a good long look at yourself. Get to know yourself better, Miles. That's important."
Kirby's eyes narrowed, the fingers of one hand rubbed softly along his lapel. "It's important," he went on, "because I've got to know if I've got the right man. Can you handle more clients like the Farmners? Are you up to it?"
Miles moistened his lips. "I don't know," he said, watching the fingers move. They stopped.
"What do you mean you don't know? If you don't know, how can I know? It was my impression," Kirby said carefully, "that you felt you were the man best qualified for the job."
"I do. But I'd like to feel more confidence in you. I'd like to know what was going on here yesterday when you-"
"Now, now. Let's not be personal about this," Kirby said, and there was sharpness behind his bland tones. "I said I liked you, Miles, and I still do. But I have to admit your hesitation makes me wonder. Perhaps it would be best for everyone concerned if we let this vice-presidency ride in the wind for awhile. That'll give us both time to think it over. What do you say?"
Miles rose abruptly. In a hoarse voice, he said, "What the hell are you up to, Kirby?"
"Me, Miles?"
"Five minutes ago you offered me the number two spot, and now you've turned around. This vice-presidency is just an invitation to quit. For some reason, you don't want to fire me, but you can humiliate me until I have to get out-"
"Please, Miles, spare us both this outburst." I want to know what the hell you're up to."
"You're misunderstanding-"
"I understand everything. You've found out I know about your little Patty-games and you want to buy my quiet with this promotion. That Farmner deal doesn't have a damn thing to do with it."
Kirby turned white. The smile vanished. "Young man, that was an incredible remark."
"Do you deny that you sexually abuse teenage girls?" Miles replied.
Kirby looked at him and the smile came back. In a soft voice he said, "Do you deny that you have enjoyed Patty's little games yourself?"
Miles crumpled. At one shot he was finished. His shoulders sagged. "So that's it," he murmured.
"Yes," Kirby said. "That's it."
He turned abruptly back to the papers on his desk, fingered one of them nervously for a moment, studied its contents, and then looked back to Miles. "I've never really thought you had the guts to service our clients in the way we like. But I had hoped your little encounter with Patty yesterday might have been a growing-up for you." Kirby paused. "No. No actually I wish it had never happened. But she seems to have taken rather fondly to you and I suppose I am going to have to live with that. For awhile, at least. Actually this promotion was her idea and I more or less had to go along with it. You see, I couldn't bear losing her. I know that sounds silly, but a man my age has his little silliness with girls, and ones young enough are hard to find. And Patty's really very inventive you know. I'm sure you'd get to enjoy it as much as I do."
"But you'd rather I didn't. You'd rather get rid of me," Miles said in a muffled voice. "So you're giving me a stupid, useless job and overpaying me for it. Just so you can keep me under your thumb. You're inviting me to quit."
Kirby nodded. "If you want to put it that way."
"And all that talk about my landing the Farmner account doesn't mean a thing."
Kirby shrugged. "It means a good deal. But until you landed it, frankly, I never thought you handled it well. But somehow you did land it and I must keep my Patty happy. You and I must keep Patty happy. You see I'm simply trying to remove a disturbing factor from my life. If you prefer, you can stay at your present job, and at your present salary, but I'll have to ask that you discourage Patty. I don't know how. I'll have to leave that up to you. But I know you'll manage. A young man as skillful with women as you are, will always manage. If you don't, and if I catch you with my Patty again, I'll finish you."
"Don't brother yourself," Miles said. "You'll have my resignation effective tomorrow. I'll come in then to clean out my office."
Kirby smiled.
Miles turned and walked slowly out of the office.
He could not bear to go to his office now. He got into the elevator and rode down, not bothering to give his usual grin to the guard at the door. It was only quarter to three in the afternoon. Too early to go home. Too early to do anything.
The first shot of scotch went down like water, and the beefy, fat-faced barman took one look at Miles and gave him a quick refill.
On the second one, he got more for his money. The amber fluid slushed his throat, warming his insides and tightening his face.
"My name's Mike," the fat man said, barmopping the dark wood around Miles. "What'sa matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Yeah. Several."
Mike shrugged, quizzically, and let it go at that. He picked the dead cigar butt from the ashtray and placed it between his thick lips, rolled it about, gnawing his teeth unmercifully into it. "You missed the boys," Mike informed him as though it would break his heart. "Ain't you one of the guys from the Kirby office? Well, you missed the boys. You know ... they wuz asking about you."
Miles' face wrinkled, certain that Mike pulled the "insider" bit on all his customers. "Hit me again, Mike."
"You want me to mix it this time, pal? A nice, tall highball maybe" Mike suggested, in his best fatherly manner.
"Sure," Miles said, giving in. "Mix me a tall one."
While Mike poured, still chomping the unlighted cigar, Miles settled himself on the stool for what might be a long siege. Only three men were at the other end of the bar. He didn't know them. He gave the dimly lighted table area a quick once-over. Mostly couples. Here and there, a group of giggling office girls. He didn't know them either.
He peered more intently through the low-keyed lighting, the hazy smoke clouds making his search more difficult.
No one. He shrugged.
"This'll relax you, friend," Mike announced, thumping the glass down on the bar near Miles' tense hands.
"Thanks," Miles said, pushing some bills and change toward the fat man. He looked into his wallet and decided he'd burn up the ten spot. After that he'd go someplace and sleep it off. Alone, he added after another thorough table-search failed to bring a girl he wanted into focus. He took a gulp of the highball, thinking.
Lena, No, she wouldn't want me now. I'm broke. Maybe a new girl. He debated the question.
I'm no good for Lena, but she's what I want. He shrugged. With a new girl it would be the same old routine: prying her loose from her girl friends, all that nothing-talk, the hard pull convincing her to go to a hotel. It takes a lot of doing, and a guy has to be primed. For the long haul. And then the odds might be against you. You don't win them all. And then you have a lobby scene. Then you're really in bad shape.
"No," he told himself. "No Lena-no nothing." At least with Lena, he had established a beach-head. She could make him happy. Meanwhile, there was always Ann Marie.
Downing more of the highball, he' thought of the uncomplicated guys he knew-the guys who could solve their sex problems neatly, purchasing the necessary girl for an easy price, like you would a loaf of bread, a pair of shoes.
Miles raised the glass to his lips, stopped short, suddenly aware of the clock behind the bar. Seven-thirty.
Ann Marie would probably be home now, he thought. He'd have to tell her about the job. He'd tell her he had to quit because of the play the Farmner woman was making. He could build that up. It wasn't exactly a lie, he reasoned, but more of a possibility. Anyway Ann Marie would believe it. And then he could settle down to looking for a job and to lonely, boring weeks with Ann Marie: mostly television and beer-drinking, a little reading and just enough sex to keep her happy.
He left the bar and went around the corner to his car. He sat in the car for a long while, his mind a blank. From time to time he let his gaze shift out the window to the empty street and stared at the gray buildings. He sat in the car some more. By eight o'clock, he decided he had to go home and tell Ann Marie the news. He drove carefully through the streets at twenty miles an hour, clinging tightly to the wheel.
He found a parking space near the house, but it took him close to five minutes to get the car into the spot. He got out, his body bathed in sweat, his hands shaking. His eyes had clouds in them. He felt drunk. He staggered slowly toward the building, walked in, pressed the elevator button.
The elevator arrived. He went in.
He went to the end of the hall and knocked lightly on the door. Maybe the bitch was still mad. He waited a moment and then took the key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock, easing the door open. He saw the familiar wide bed, cluttered with panties and slips and half-packed suitcases. Then he caught the soft and sensuously-familiar sound.
He moved deeper into the room and looked around the door. He stood motionless, not breathing, the sweat going cold on his body. The scene held him, fascinated, numbed him.
A female with lush hips was kneeling on a small pillow, her back to him, her body naked and gleaming except for a satin garter-belt and sheer hose and glossy pumps. A gossamy dressing-gown lay in pool at her side.
The man, slumped low in the deep-cushioned chair, was fully dressed, the jacket of his suit unbuttoned and parted, his arms hanging limply over the sides of the armchair, his head lolling on the backrest, his eyes closed and his mouth opened. He was making small moans of pleasure with each artful bobbing of the raven head that shielded the lower part of his body and his extended legs jerked with the tempo of the flower in her hair.
The man in the chair was Dawson.
The female with the warm hips was Ann Marie.
After a few moments, this double-edged thought penetrated the fog numbing Miles' brain and registered with crippling, painful clarity. He stood there, watching, staring at the points of the glossy heels that suck up toward him just below the sinfully-naked, warmly-creviced flesh of her cute buttocks.
It could not be happening and yet it was and he was completely helpless to turn away from it. He watched, stunned, still unable to accept fully the reality of it.
The raven hair, so carefully arranged, was like a halo as her head bobbed in slow tempo. She made little mewing sounds of pleasure with each moist touch of her mouth on his flesh. She eased with tiny, daring maneuvers, her bare breasts rubbing against his knees, her hands touching him lightly under the sensual caress of her tongue. The man groaned his torment at her delaying tactics and her throaty chuckle was something Miles had never heard before.
"Not yet, baby. Please, not now," she whispered wickedly, lifting herself from her knees in a fluidly graceful motion.
Miles heard Dawson whine. "No, honey, don't stop me now."
With no hint of awkwardness or uncertainty, her lush body moved quickly and the single well-oiled thrust of her supple hips brought the fusion she needed. "Now, baby-man," she said, laughing huskily, her fleshy arms curling around his neck. "Now make your little girl happy."
Miles sucked in his breath and bit hard on his lower lip. Dawson's hands were see-sawing the length of her thighs, in rhythm to her gutteral whimperings.
"More, honey-man. Give me more."
Dawson's body went taut as he strove to rise to her passionate need.
Miles' eyes followed Dawson's hands as they moved up her thighs, cupping her heavy behind, and the length of his fingers, first one, then another, as they disappeared into her warm, inviting flesh.
The signal.
Miles heard himself moan her name in a dry whisper.
Ann Marie jerked around, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. Something stronger and deeper than rage flared in her eyes and her hands drew Dawson's head against her naked breasts, cupping his head, her hips continuing lie sensuous movements. "Get out," she hissed, "get out of here, damn you!"
Miles stared at her. "Ann...."
She paused to push her breasts more firmly against Dawson's greedly mouth. She looked back over her shoulder a second time, eyes frantic and furious. "Will you please get the hell out of here?" she whispered tightly, her body jerking in a wanton effort to find the lost pulsings of her flesh with Dawson's.
Miles turned and moved slowly out of the room, closing the door. He leaned against the wall, barely conscious of the party noises that drifted up from the floor below. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his face and tried to clear his head so he could think, but it was still too soon. A door opened down the hall and a man came out, fixing his tie. He moved quickly to the down staircase, brushing into Miles as he went by. He grinned at Miles and jerked a thumb toward the party downstairs. Miles stared at him. The man frowned and shrugged and went down the stairs to the noise of the party.
Geezus, Miles thought, the whole world is like this. The whole damn world is really like this.
Lena .. Lena ..
CHAPTER TWELVE
Miles was sitting on the divan next to Lena, his fourth martini trembling in his hand. He was laughing, pressing his free hand against his stomach. "Man," he was saying, "you should have heard me, Lena. I was great! I really was! I don't know when I've had so much fun!"
Lena smiled happily at him. "You're drunk, Miles. What on earth are you talking about?"
"Kirby," Miles said through a spasm of laughter. " 'Kiss my ass, Kirby. Do your own dirty work.'" Miles gasped, almost bent double, his eyes glassy with laughter and liquor. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when ol' Kirby's face would sag like that. Boy, I really shook him. I really told him."
Lena wrapped the flimsy negligee more tightly about her and leaned toward him, touching his hand gently. "What do you mean, darling?"
"I told Kirby he could shove his job."
"Oh, darling! That's wonderful!" she said in a slow, husky voice. "I'm so proud of you."
Miles nodded his head incredulously.
"What happened then?" Lena asked.
"I walked out."
"What are you going to do now?"
Miles smiled, patted the black lace on Lena's shoulder. "Don't worry, honey. I'll find something. Something will turn up. It always does." Miles winked, took another sip from his martini and smiled, blearily, into the future.
"Maybe Mr. Farmner would help you find something. He seemed to admire your design for his building."
"Farmner! Dammit, I forgot about him." Miles put the drink on the coffee table and rubbed his temples. "It's all very confused now."
"Oh, I don't know, darling. Maybe it's all really very simple," she said, her tone throaty with emotion. "Dawson called me."
Miles looked at her steadily, with no particular emotion. "Dawson called you, did he? And what happened to be on his mind?"
"Sex," Lena said huskily.
Miles leaned forward. "I want to know what he said, Lena. Let's not play guessing games with this. We both know why he called you and not someone else."
"That's cruel, Miles." She looked down at her open negligee. "All right," she said. "He told me about you. About you and Mrs. Farmner. And Mr. Farmner."
Miles nodded. "And how can you be so calm about it. Here's one of your old lovers trying to get you back into bed, and you sit there with a dumb look on your face as if it were nothing!"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Tell me what happened."
"I went with Farmner."
"Farmner! Geezus, why?"
"I don't know. I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know!"
Lena was silent.
Then Miles said, "You went to his office and then what happened?"
"We talked."
"That's all?" he asked. "You just talked?"
"He fixed me a drink. He sat behind his desk and looked at me, and talked. After while he came over and sat on the couch. He put his hand into my blouse."
"All right, all right skip the gory details."
"I'm telling you," Lena said. "You asked me and I'm telling you. I told him I wasn't like that anymore. That I'd given up that kind of life. I cried a little, at first. We talked some more. He told me how crazy he was about me. I told him, no, I wouldn't deceive you. We talked about you a little. He's very high on you, it seems. I suggested ever so subtly that I might say yes to what he wanted if he gave the contract to Kirby. He suggested ever so subtly that he got my meaning. Then we went to a hotel."
"And then?"
"Oh, Miles, let's not," Lena said, getting up. "Let's not go on with this." She moved across the room. "What difference does it make now? It's over."
"In all fairness, Lena, I've got to give you the chance to explain why you did this to me. There must be a reason-"
"Miles, this is the first time I ever deceived you."
"Yeah, I guess so."
"You don't really believe that, do you, Miles?"
"I don't know what to believe anymore." He shrugged.
"It would be easier for you to just leave, wouldn't it, Miles? You don't want me-not after what happened yesterday. Don't you just want to leave. Wouldn't you rather just leave?"
Miles wanted to slap her face, hard, and walk out. But he had no place to go, so he said, "No, honey, I don't want to leave." He took his martini and walked over to her. He cupped her face tenderly, stroking it gently. "Lena ... Lena...."
"Miles, I did things...."
"Take it easy, baby ... just relax."
"Oh, Miles, Miles!" she cried, lifting herself up and did anything like that before."
"You mean he forced you to go with him?"
"Oh, Miles, Miles!" she cried, lifting herself up and into his arms. "I must have been out of my mind."
"Honey, you did it for me."
She lifted her tear-stained face to him. "Tell me, please tell me that you forgive me." Miles nodded and said nothing. We watched the tears gush and spill freely on her face. He couldn't stop them; nor did he want to. He felt a nausea rise in him.
"Stay with me. I couldn't bear to be alone-not tonight," she pleaded. "Talk to me, Miles-about anything. When you were a boy, your family-anything at all."
"No, darling, let's not talk." He put his arm gently around her shoulder and they moved into the bedroom.
When would it have been, Miles wondered. What was I doing? Probably just coming back from lunch. The bell boy lets them in, and Farmner says he's not to be disturbed. He tries to kiss her, but she fends him off. He give her a drink, probably a good stiff one. They sit and talk for awhile. Then she tells him about my designs. Maybe he tells her its in the bag. But maybe they don't talk about me at all.
Two o'clock. They're on their second drink now. Both of them are sitting on the couch. Farmner puts his arm around her shoulder. She doesn't push him away. The arm reaches down and his hand closes around her breast. He turns toward her and unbuttons her blouse nd reaches in and opens the hook or her bra. The bra straps slip down and her breasts are bare. He kisses her breasts They go into the bedroom and close the door.
Two-thirty. Both of them are naked. Lena is lying on a hotel bed and a naked man is lying with her. His big strong hands are on her breasts. Then they disappear beneath her hips and she squirms. They are moving together like two animals.
The pictures in Miles' mind became unbearable. He clenched his jaws and buried his head in his hands, sitting nude on the side of the bed. He felt the bed move as Lena climbed in beside him.
"Give me tenderness, Miles, it's in you, I know it is." Her voice was soft and inviting.
Miles turned and saw her lithe, eager young body, her hips writhing slowly, her nipples swollen to the size of pencil erasers.
Be patient with me, Miles ... lead me easily ... I'll try to help you...."
He hovered over her, his hands moving on her warm flesh, until the waiting was unbearable. Slowly, he brought his thick middle finger to her mouth. Gently, he . brushed it against the soft moistness of her tightly closed lips. She raised her head slightly, opening her lips and sucking his finger into her mouth. "Tender ... gentle ... easy," she murmured, sucking and making slow moist circles with her tongue.
Two-forty-five, he thought. They're all done now, sticky and sweaty. Farmner is still holding her softness in his hand. He's breathing hard. His heart is pounding. He's looking at his watch, telling himself it's time to get up and get back to the office. But he doesn't want to go. He wants to stay and have Lena try to rouse him again with her mouth.
Three o'clock. Lena tries to get something going, but he can't make it. She gets up and puts on her slip, and Farmner goes to the head to wash himself off. He starts to get dressed. He asks when he can see her again. Lena shrugs. But maybe she doesn't. Maybe she tells him. Maybe he's got her telephone number. Finally he leaves. He's on his way back to the office now. Lena goes into the shower scrubbing hard, trying to scrub away the skin where he touched her, only it's no use, she's sick with guilt and disgust. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she goes and sits on the couch with a dreamy expression on her face, telling herself it's never been so good before. You can never tell with a woman. Dammit, maybe I shouldn't have gotten into this with her. Maybe I'm making a big mistake. Maybe-
Doubts crossfired in his mind, and he reached for the martini on the nighttable. "Tell me. How was it?" His voice was low with bitterness. "How was it with the Farmner guy? What was he like? Did you like what he did to you?"
Lena moaned softly and turned over, away from him, burying her face in the pillow. "Did he pay you?"
"No, he didn't pay me."
"Did you like it?"
He heard Lena's voice, muffled in the pillow, say: "Oh, Miles, forgive me. Yes. Oh yes, I liked it."
"What did he want you to do?"
Lena was crying now. "He didn't just want me, Miles. That wasn't it. He just wanted to do me like a boy. Didn't want to buy me or pay for me or own me for the rest of his life. Just wanted to do me right then and there and be done with it. As if I were a boy prostitute! Miles, he wouldn't have paid a dime. I guess he just knew me too well. And you know what? After the first time, I wanted him to. I would have let him again if he'd asked me. Oh, Miles, I'm so afraid! What if he wants me again? I'd give myself to just be loved that way. I would-" Her words snapped off with hysterical, broken laughter and she gasped once and began to sob. "Oh, Miles, I need you. Make love to me his way."
He could feel her hands greedily moving over his belly. He had a sensation of motionlessness about himself and everything around him; slowly, he began to feel the strength in her hands, her fingertips touching and stroking. He felt a wondrous slumberous contentment. Geezus, he thought suddenly, as if waking, do I want her that way? Now? Even after Patty? His loins felt a slow wash of shame rise with coming pleasure.
He felt her lips full and red and wet and her flesh smooth and flexed with voluptuous desire. He looked at her breasts as she bent over him, the nipples pointing, like little tongues of birds seeking nourishment. As he reached for the fullness of her rump looming above him, she caught his hands suddenly and he heard her laughter. "No, no," she said, "let me finish. Let me."
She struggled to rise above him. He pushed her down. She lay stretched out on her tummy, motionless on the sheet, smiling, then slowly writhing under his gale, closing her eyes, then lunging her hips upward in an anguished movement. She thrust the fullness of her flesh toward him, jerking and twitching from side to side. She moaned, her eyes closed, her lips trembling, and caught his hands again and pressed them roughly against her breasts. He felt her writhing lift his body out of itself. And then his hands caught her thighs, and her voice rose, making a sound almost of pain.
With her hand on the back of his neck, she drew down his head to run the tip of her tongue around the rim of his ear. Miles raised his hand to her left breast, feeling her nipple like a pebble in his palm. He traced a course with his lips from her mouth to the pulse beat in her throat, inhaling the sweet aroma of her body. He brushed his lips over the soft hair at the back of her neck, and her legs shifted restlessly with his moist kisses accentuating his kisses with the gentle bucking of her buttocks.
Miles swayed his hips in time with her, dipping his motion to touch her warm creamy flesh with his flesh. He kept looking down at her, her eyes glowing, smiling. She sighed happily and remained motionless except for the sinuous shiftings of her buttocks as he strained to press her harder.
"Yes ... yes. You feel so good. Oh...! She raised up suddenly and he let his full weight come down on her and her warm cheek pressed against his. The slow circling of her hips quickened, her thrusts became more urgent, greedy for the sudden pain and ecstasy he was giving her, and he caught her buttocks in his hands and held them firmly until he felt this passion slipping from him and her body sag in his arms from weariness.
And then, of all things, he heard a low laugh ripple out of her throat.
Afterwards, Miles lay in bed next to her, feeling the cool breeze on his perspiring body, and trying not to think of the change that had come over Lena. She took his hand.
"Lena, do you love me, after all this?"
"I love you, yes. After all."
"I'm-I love you," he said, haltingly. "I only wish we could turn the clock back. To when we first met. You know, change things so it wouldn't have worked out for us like this."
"Time only goes one way, Miles. It goes into the future."
"My future is behind me," he said hollowly. "Don't talk that way."
He clenched his fists. "It was just so perfect at Kirby's. If only I'd had sense enough to see that. Such a damn good job. And I would have been a vice-president-"
"Well, you never earned it. You connived your way to it. But that's all in the past now, Miles. You can go somewhere else. You've got qualifications. You can get a good job. Maybe it won't pay as much as Kirby's, and maybe the opportunities won't be as great. But at least you'll have your self-respect."
He tried to smile. "And I'll still have you."
"You will always have me and we'll always make love our way."
Miles nodded dully. He thought again of Ann Marie's words, of the words that had cut him down and destroyed the source of his confidence. "How much of a man do you think I am, Lena?" he asked tiredly. "Tell me the truth."
The young girl laughed in her throat. "You ought to know the answer to that one, darling. I'm still glowing from what we just had together."
Miles shook his head and looked toward the empty martini glass on the nighttable. "Another question. What happens to an ambitious guy like me when he gets too old to use women?"
Lena's eyes flashed quick understanding. "The pure Ann Marie pulled no punches, I see. Well, if nothing better comes along, there are always rich old women who'd like nothing more than to provide for a young and virile house-pet. But don't worry about that. You can always stay here with me until you get back on your feet. Don't worry. I can always make enough for both of us."
Miles looked at her and heard Ann Marie's words echoing in his head. This was it, he knew. This was his future. He could expect nothing more, nothing better. All that was left to him was to try and put he end off until it became a necessity. He looked again at the empty glass and smiled a the full-bodied young girl next to him who waited for his answer. "Thanks, Lena, I love you too."
