Susan was experiencing a feeling she had never known previously. Pure, unadulterated passion was gnawing at her legs, her thighs, all over her body. She felt him seeking her, realizing the nearness of him for the first time, and she let out a gasp, as his tongue lashed against hers, vehemently.
For the first time in her life, she wanted a man to possess her.
Completely.
This man.
Deep within her.
To hell with her virginity. To hell with everything.
All she wanted was to satisfy that acute ache that was clawing her to pieces, inside.
Suddenly, she drew her lips away from his, but otherwise clung tightly to him. She was breathing with increased difficulty.
"Take every damn thing off of me, Charlie! My nylons! And hurry, dammit!...."
CHAPTER ONE
The car paused in front of the tall office building on Madison Avenue in Manhattan. Seconds later, the door next to the curb opened, and the shapely leg of a girl emerged from the vehicle, her high spike heel coming to rest against the curbing.
The tight hem of the girl's dress pulled well above her shapely knee, exposing a generous portion of her naked thigh as she kissed the man behind the steering wheel.
"Goodbye, Dad," the girl said, drawing away from the middle-aged man. "Be seeing you. And don't worry about me."
"Yes, be careful, Susan," the man said. "And don't make it so long until I see you again."
"Of course not, Dad."
She kissed him again, this time lightly on the cheek, and climbed out of the car and slammed the door. For a moment she stood on the curb, watched the car pull away and disappear around the next corner.
The girl was Susan Manning.
She was virtually alone on Madison Avenue right now. It was nearly dusk on this hot summer night, and nearly two hours had passed since all of the big-breasted secretaries had turned the street into a bustling mass of humanity, heading for home.
Or wherever the big-breasted secretaries who work along Madison Avenue go after they get off work.
Susan walked rather lazily into the entrance of the big building, then hesitated in front of the office listings in the lobby....
She read:
DRISCOLL CASTING AGENCY Fourteenth Floor
She smiled, moved over to the elevator, stepped inside and took a deep breath as the elevator whisked her to the fourteenth floor.
In the hallway, she stared at the sign on the door:
DRISCOLL CASTING AGENCY
She was a few minutes early for her appointment with Charlie Driscoll, and she wasn't certain whether she should go in or kill a few more minutes until it was exactly eight o'clock, the precise time for her appointment.
Finally, she turned away, deciding to wait.
She walked slowly on down the hall and paused at the lone window looking out over Manhattan. Bright-colored neon signs were beginning to flicker on and off, and Manhattan was girding itself for another saga of night life.
Susan lit a cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke.
She was a girl of average build in most respects, standing five feet, seven inches.
In her spike heels which were her trademark.
She weighed one hundred and fourteen pounds. Her soft, blonde hair flowed gently down over her shoulders. Her long, beet-red fingernails sparkled as she lifted her cigarette to her generous red lips. She wore an abundance of blue mascara.
The light-blue jersey sheath curved tightly around the twin swells of her buttocks, and the hemline struck her a full two inches above her knees.
Her shapely legs were encased in sheer nylons, so sheer her legs appeared nude, and tapered off into the soft-blue, nearly five-inch high, spike heels which were both heelless and toeless. Her toenails, manicured in brilliant red, sparkled through the sheer nylons.
There was one statistical department in which Susan Manning could hardly be classified as average.
Her breasts.
They put one helluva strain on a size forty-two bra.
When she wore one.
Right now, she wasn't wearing one.
The double cones of loveliness were rising and falling as she breathed, the upper third of each one was nothing except pure, white flesh that oozed high over the sheath's neckline.
In short, Susan Manning was a doll.
A doll just turned twenty-one years old.
Free, white, and twenty-one.
That was Susan Manning.
Like a lot of other dolls born and reared in New York City, she was a girl who had spent her life on the wrong side of the tracks and was now involved in a desperate struggle to get to the other side.
For three years, she'd dreamed of becoming a television actress and tonight she liked to think that she was on her way.
Charlie Driscoll held the immediate answer.
Susan was hoping right now that Charlie Driscoll didn't turn out like a couple of other opportunities she'd had.
And rejected.
To preserve her virginity.
She remembered both occasions so vividly. The first time was nearly seven months ago. In December. Susan had just finished a course in dramatics, going to school in the daytime and working as a waitress at night.
The dramatics school had sent her to the advertising agency of Barnett and Williams. Her appointment was with Adrian Barnett, one of the partners in the firm. He was a rather tall man of about twenty-nine or thirty.
"What we're looking for," Barnett said, his eyes roaming over Susan's body as she stood in front of him in his office late that cold and snowy afternoon, "is a girl for a television commercial. It isn't a lot, but it'll certainly put your face and that luscious figure of yours before the public and men who are constantly on the lookout for new faces for TV roles."
"I'm definitely interested," Susan said, unable to conceal the fact that she was shy and timid.
Barnett's eyes told her he was interested, too.
In Susan.
"I'm interested in anything I can get," Susan added. "I need a start."
Barnett's eyes were fixed firmly on the big bulges carved by her big breasts in the tight sweater she was wearing.
"The school has given you an excellent recommendation." His eyes shifted to the tight skirt, to her knees and her legs. "Tell me, Miss Manning, just how badly do you want this job?"
"Very badly," she replied. "I'd do anything on earth to get the job."
"Anything?"
She moved around the corner of the spacious desk and leaned against it.
"Please give me a chance, Mr. Barnett. I haven't had any experience, it's true, but ... "
Barnett reached out, took her hand, and led her closer to him. He rose from his chair almost simultaneously.
"You didn't answer my question. I asked you if you'd do anything to get this job, Miss Manning."
"Any damn thing ... within reason," she returned.
Desire to possess this shy but extremely sexy girl was bubbling in Barnett's groin and fanning out over his body.
"Let's go into Williams' office," he suggested.
He released her hand, extending his arm around her waist, and escorted her into another office directly opposite his own. He closed the door behind them and locked it.
Again, he took her hand and guided her to the divan at one end of the plush room.
"Sit down, Miss Manning, and let's discuss all of the details."
Susan sat down on the divan, crossed her legs, her skirt pulling high over her knees.
"Am I going to get the job, Mr. Barnett?" she asked excitedly.
Barnett slid onto the divan beside her.
"We're going to see what we can work out for you, Miss Manning."
Susan felt good. Very good. She concluded now that she had at least an even chance of landing the job.
Barnett opened a small cabinet near the divan and withdrew two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
"Why don't we start off with a drink, Miss Manning?"
"I don't drink, Mr. Barnett," she answered. "My only vice, if you want to call it that, is cigarettes."
She opened her purse, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and drew the smoke deep into her lungs.
"Everybody drinks in this business," Barnett said, ignoring her remark and pouring two generous drinks of the Scotch. "God, how they drink!"
He extended one of the glasses toward her.
Susan didn't want to do anything to place her chances of getting the job in jeopardy and took the glass from his hand. She sipped it. The liquor made her cough slightly, burning her throat and sinking into her belly.
"A thousand dollars for two weeks' work goes with this job, Miss Manning," Barnett said, his arm winding around her shoulders and his hand coming to rest around the fullness of her breast.
Susan's first reaction was to remove his hand casually, but on second thought, she concluded it was doing no harm.
Not at present, anyway.
Besides, even though she was a virgin, she had permitted boys on occasions to play with her breasts. In fact, a couple of boys had stripped her from the waist up, but she'd always drawn the line whenever they'd attempted to strip her from the waist down.
"You should be quite a success as an actress, Susan," Barnett volunteered, his hand cupping her breast and increasing the pressure now. "I haven't seen you act, of course, but judging from the school's recommendation and the fact you have the build and the beauty, you should do all right."
"Thank you."
Suddenly, he drew his hand away from her breast, sought and found the zipper of the sheath, and drew it down.
Susan did not resist his advances, deciding instead to cooperate with him.
To a point.
Barnett set his glass down on top of the cabinet, worked the straps off of her shoulders and the top of the sheath down until her firm breasts were in full view. They were perfectly shaped, tapering straight out without a trace of a sag and tipped with large red nipples that stood out like a pair of erect sentinels.
"God!" he murmured, drawing his cheek across them.
"You like those, don't you, Mr. Barnett?" she asked, laughing and knowing damn well what the answer was going to be.
"I have to admit I've never seen anything quite like them," he answered, measuring each one with his hand. "So big and firm and perfect."
She let out a little chuckle.
He drew her head against his shoulder and put his hand on her knee.
"Are you ready to transact a little business, Susan?"
She observed that his lips were very close to hers.
"I'm ready to sign the contract, if that's what you mean, Mr. Barnett," she replied.
She had sipped half of her glass of Scotch. Already, the booze was making her feel a little gay, and she decided she'd better dispose of the drink. She set the glass down.
He was staring directly into her eyes.
"I think you realize by this time that I expect something in return," he said, his hand inching to the soft flesh above the tops of her nylons.
"What?" Susan asked naively, as if she didn't know. "A cut of the thousand dollars?"
He laughed half aloud and half under his breath.
"Hardly that," he answered; "I want a cut of something else, I want to seduce you."
She was anything but stunned at his proposal. Only his bold way of stating it surprised her.
"I'm a virgin, Mr. Barnett."
"All girls are virgins at one time or another but yield sooner or later," he argued, his hand moving slightly higher. "You have everything to gain and really nothing to lose by coming around now. A thousand dollars is a helluva lot of dough for two weeks' work for a beginner, and there's no telling what it may lead to."
Silently, she agreed with him. Five-hundred dollars a week is damn good money and even more important is the fact that it's the start of a career.
"Then, whether or not I get the job now depends entirely upon whether or not I submit to you? Is that right, Mr. Barnett?"
"That's exactly right," he replied. "Sex is the best bargaining commodity a girl has in this business. Plenty of girls would be willing to get laid to get this job, Susan."
She didn't believe him. She thought all a girl needed was looks and ability, and she knew that she possessed both. His words gnawed at her:
"Plenty of girls would be willing to get laid to get this job, Susan," he had said.
She felt his hand toying with the lace fringe of her panties.
"Why don't you be a good girl and let me take off your clothes, Susan?" Barnett prompted. "You'll like it. Once a sexy girl like you gets a taste of it, you'll be begging for more."
Quickly and suddenly, she reached her decision.
She pushed his hands away, jumped up, closed the top of the sheath over her breasts, and inserted her arms through the straps, spun around, and faced him.
"I don't want your goddamn job that bad, you ... you bastard!" she snapped.
Barnett had a sarcastic grin on his face.
"I can wait a few days, Susan. You'll be back. As soon as you think it over, you'll be back."
Susan turned and ran to the door, paused, turned around and looked at him.
"Like hell I will!"
With that, she unlocked the door, opened it, and fled through the outer office and into the hallway.
Now she was lighting a fresh cigarette as she recalled the end of her experience with Adrian Barnett. She'd never seen Barnett again, although there were times when she was tempted to return to his office and beg him for that job.
Several weeks went by before she encountered Marvin Desmond, a short, fat man in his forties. Reluctantly, she had accepted a dinner date with him, and he took her to a plush restaurant in the center of Manhattan.
The memory of Desmond returned to her now....
"Would you care for another drink, dear?" Desmond asked, sitting across the table from her in the restaurant and feeling the lust gathering in his loins, as he continued to observe the mounds of bare flesh which rose from the neckline of her clinging rose-colored taffeta sheath.
"A month ago I wouldn't have drank this much," Susan returned, exhaling a stream of smoke. "I think I've had enough." She paused and looked directly at him. "God, I do feel wonderful, though. Really wonderful."
"Then why don't we go over to my apartment on Fifth Avenue, where we won't be interrupted, and really get down to the serious part of this ten-week TV series I've been telling you about?" he suggested.
"Couldn't we discuss it here?" Susan wanted to know.
"We could, but all of the papers are over at the apartment," Desmond countered, rubbing his leg against hers beneath the table. "By that time, perhaps you'll be ready for another drink."
Susan pondered over his invitation, silently. She knew damn well what was on his mind, but she also knew that she could always get up and walk right out of his apartment if things shaped up as they had with Barnett.
"All right," she agreed finally, but wondering silently whether or not she was doing the right thing.
Thirty minutes later, give or take a little, Desmond opened the door to his apartment. He escorted Susan inside.
Susan took a quick inventory of the living room which was lavishly furnished. She was momentarily overcome, only momentarily because she quickly forgot about the luxurious surroundings, when she heard Desmond lock the door. The click of the lock reminded her once more of her experience with Barnett.
"If you'll be seated, dear," Barnett said, "I'll get the papers. Just sit down over there on the divan."
Susan walked across the thick Oriental rug to the divan and sat down, while Desmond disappeared into another room. She already had sized Desmond up as a man who likely wouldn't waste as much time with preliminaries as Barnett.
Seconds later, Desmond returned, carrying a small briefcase, and sat down beside her. He opened the briefcase, withdrew several papers, and tossed them onto the divan beside him, then turned toward her.
".Maybe you'd care for that drink now, Susan."
"I don't think so. Not now, thanks."
Desmond's eyes picked up the swells of flesh above the neckline of her sheath.
"You know, you're a very beautiful girl, Susan. Young and very lovely."
"Thank you," she said, reaching to the coffee table and picking up a cigarette and lighting it.
He slid his arm around her, his eyes still drinking in the tight cleavage of her breasts. He felt her stiffen slightly.
"Why don't you relax?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I am relaxed."
"No, you're not," he insisted. "You're tense. A girl who's about to sign her first TV contract should be gay."
"I feel real good about it," Susan said, slightly above a whisper, facing him.
Quickly, he drove his lips against hers and clamped his hand tightly over her breast. For a second, he found her body tense, and then he felt her relax, and he pressed his tongue into her mouth. He was aware of the heat zooming through his body, reached for the zipper of her sheath and yanked it down in eager anticipation.
Susan drew her lips away from his.
"Why don't we sign the contract, Mr. Desmond?"
"Pleasure before business-that's my motto," Desmond replied, removing the narrow straps from her shoulders and watching her big, luscious breasts pop free. "Oh, my God," he moaned. "They're real, aren't they?"
"Yes, Mr. Desmond, they're real, all right. What did you expect?"
"You never can tell about girls these days," he returned, his lips moving to the dazzling cones and beginning to caress them. "So wonderful."
"What about the contract, Mr. Desmond?"
He raised his head and laughed.
"You're a very foxy girl, Susan. Real sneaky. You want to make damn sure you get your name on the dotted line, before you give old Marv a little hunk of you, don't you?"
Anger knifed through her, but she decided to play Desmond as close to the vest as possible, before she told him he wasn't about to get a little hunk of her.
Perhaps old Marv will let me sign the contract in order to bolster his chances of getting a little hunk of me, she thought.
"My motto's always been business before pleasure, Mr. Desmond."
He shook his head.
"Positively not!" he shouted, rubbing the palm of his hands over her nipples. "We're going into the bedroom, and afterward we'll talk business!"
She detected the firmness and finality in his voice and saw it magnify in his eyes. Quickly, she concluded he wasn't going to sign anything until she gave him what he wanted and perhaps not then.
Angrily she shoved him away from her, inserted her arms into the sheath, jumping up as he whirled toward her.
"You can go to hell, Mr. Desmond! You're not getting a hunk of this girl before or after we sign the contract! Is that clear?"
He was momentarily speechless. Then, as anger intermingled with disappointment blazed from his eyes, he shouted:
"Then you might just as well get the hell out of here, you little bitch!"
Susan stared at him for long seconds, finally turned, and ran toward the door, unlocked it, and hesitated.
"Thanks for nothing, you ... you...."
She didn't finish what she was trying to say, turned instead and broke into the hallway. She stopped at the elevator, started to press the button, paused and broke into tears. Damn!
Now she was standing by the window on the fourteenth floor of this towering office building, hoping that Charlie Driscoll wasn't going to be another such experience as she'd had with Barnett and Desmond.
Hoping against hope.
She looked at her watch.
It was time for her appointment.
With Charlie Driscoll.
She dropped her cigarette on the floor, stepped on it, applied an abundance of fresh lipstick, bent over and adjusted her nylons. She turned toward the opposite end of the hall.
And Charlie Driscoll's office.
CHAPTER TWO
Susan opened the door to Charlie Driscoll's office, or at least the door that had Charlie Driscoll's name on it, and stepped inside. The room was deserted. Obviously, it was a waiting room with several fancy chairs, a desk, and a small switchboard. The only thing on the desk was an ashtray brimming over with lipstick-tipped cigarette butts. Obviously, the remnants of the day's activities of one of those big-breasted Madison Avenue secretaries.
Susan glanced over at a door she concluded led to Charlie Driscoll's private office. It was partially open and the light was on, but she could see no one.
"Be with you in a minute," a voice called from the other room.
It was the voice of a man.
Susan reached one other immediate conclusion. The voice was that of Charlie Driscoll. She had never seen Driscoll but had talked to him over the phone, and she was wondering now what he looked like.
Her meditation was broken.
Very suddenly.
A man emerged from the inner office. He was tall, slender and handsome. Very handsome.
As his eyes fell on Susan, a smile spread across his face.
"Hello," he said. "I assume you're Susan Manning."
"Yes, I'm Susan Manning."
"I'm Charlie Driscoll."
"How do you do," Susan said, trying to approximate the man's age.
She thought he might be in his late twenties. Certainly no older.
"Trip the night latch on the door and come on in," Driscoll said politely, before turning and disappearing into the inner room.
Susan followed his instructions, flipping the night lock and walking slowly into the other room. She hesitated just inside the door and took advantage of the silence to study the man who now was seated behind a huge glass-topped desk, puffing on an expensive cigar.
She noted his almost black hair, the fine features of his gentle face, his blue eyes, and his relaxed manner. Everything considered, he was a handsome man.
Damn handsome.
Obviously, he too was using the silence to study her.
"Come around here, Susan," Driscoll said, motioning with his hand.
She moved across the room and around the edge of the desk to the spot where he was pointing and stopped. She was in full view of him now, from her blonde hair on down to her manicured toenails, and she knew he was studying her at close range.
His eyes wandered from her lovely face, hesitating at length on her bulging breasts and then moving on downward to her flat stomach, hips, and finally to her shapely legs.
A thin smile creased his lips as his eyes rose back up to the two distinct mounds of flesh extending straight out from her chest.
His eyes became solidly fixed on those two magnificent points.
"So you're trying to break into television?" he asked, the smile becoming full blown now.
"Yes, sir."
"Is everything under that dress real?" he grinned broadly.
She felt a wave of embarrassment curl through her body.
"Yes, sir."
"You've had no experience, I believe you told me."
"That's right," Susan reiterated. "Do you drink?" Driscoll asked. She wasn't positive whether she should say yes or no.
"Some," she answered finally, deciding to tell the truth. "I don't get drunk; I know when to quit ... if that's what you mean."
He laughed aloud.
"Have you ever posed? In the all-together, that is?"
"The all-together?"
Her reaction confirmed what he'd been thinking. That Susan Manning hadn't been around, as they say in the trade. She was pretty green.
"In the nude, Susan."
She felt the embarrassment magnify within her. "I'm afraid not."
"Could you?"
"I guess I could," Susan replied, "but I must say I'd rather not."
There was a moment of silence. He was staring at her, and she was staring at him.
"You're nervous, aren't you?"
"Very."
"Why don't you pull up that chair?" he asked. "Maybe you'd feel more relaxed sitting down."
She agreed, drawing a nearby chair to within an arm's length of him. She crossed her legs, her dress pulling high over her knees, and watched Driscoll's eyes express approval of the shapeliness of her gams.
And the streak of naked flesh above the tops of her nylons.
"Have you got a boy friend?" Driscoll continued.
"Yes."
"What's his name?"
"Roy Payne. We've known each other since we were sophomores in high school."
He ran his eyes up and down her body once more.
"Frankly, I don't think you're quite ready for television, Susan," he said, "for two reasons. First, you're very tense. You can't seem to relax. Second, you're very timid. Shy. These are definitely very decisive drawbacks to a successful TV career."
She was lost for words. She could think of nothing to say immediately. She had no defense.
"You'll admit you can't relax, won't you?" he prompted.
Finally, her lips began to move.
"It's just that I'm applying for a job, Mr., Driscoll. I wouldn't be nervous once I got the job, I'm certain. I've had a couple of pretty bad experiences applying for jobs."
"Like?"
She pondered over an explanation and decided to tell him boldly and bluntly.
"Well, I almost got ... got raped by the men who interviewed me."
Driscoll said nothing for a long while. He continued to size her up, letting his eyes roam up and down her body, until he no longer was thinking of her as a girl seeking a job.
He felt himself coming to life. Wanting her.
Physically.
"You're a virgin, aren't you, Susan?"
The word resounded in her ears again and again during the next few seconds.
"Yes," she answered simply.
When he didn't say anything, she added:
"Can you tell it? Just by sitting there looking at me?"
"Maybe I just guessed it," he returned. "Yes, I guess I can sorta tell by looking."
He became silent, preoccupied once more by desire for this girl.
Pure, raw lust.
He got up, brushed past her, and moved to the long window which looked down on the city. He closed the blinds tightly and returned to his chair, sat there watching Susan light a cigarette.
"Stand up, Susan."
Susan rose.
"Push the chair back out of the way and turn around a couple of times for me. Very slowly."
She followed his instructions. Very slowly she turned around twice.
Driscoll liked what he saw.
God, how he liked what he saw.
She was facing him again now, her eyes focused on his, waiting for some sort of reaction, "Strip for me," he ordered.
That was more reaction than she'd anticipated.
"Strip?"
"Sure, take off your clothes. Let's take a look at the merchandise." She was stunned. "Here? Right now?"
"Yeah, here. Right now. You want a job, don't you?"
Susan felt herself becoming angry but did her best to conceal her feeling.
"What the hell would stripping for you have to do with a job?"
"It might have a helluva lot to do with it," he replied firmly. "Go ahead. Off with the duds."
Susan hesitated.
Driscoll reached inside a drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, thrust it toward her.
"You're welcome to a big slug of that, if it'll help."
She took the bottle and opened it. Quickly in her mind, she concluded that she was going all out to get this job, and if it took posing for Charlie Driscoll in the nude, then she'd pose in the nude.
She took a long drink of the raw liquor. The whiskey seared her throat, and she felt it rip into her stomach.
"I've never removed my clothes in front of a man before."
"There's a first time for everything," Driscoll countered. "Come on, take 'em off."
She detected the anxiety in his voice and in his eyes.
"Everything?"
"Everything." He cleared his throat. "On second thought, you can forget about the nylons and the spike heels."
Susan started to set the bottle down on the desk, paused, returned it to her lips and swallowed hard.
Slowly now, she unfastened the zipper of her sheath. Even more slowly, she raised the sheath over her head and took it off, stood there holding the dress tightly against her breasts. For once in her life, she wished that she was wearing a bra.
Driscoll was all eyes. He wanted to see more. Much more. Right now, his view was limited to the bare flesh of her shoulders and the sweep of nudeness that ended at her waist where her half-slip hid the lower portion of her body. Faintly, he could see the outline of her panties beneath her slip.
"So far, so good," Driscoll beamed.
The whiskey had warmed Susan inside and was taking hold of her. She was becoming increasingly bold. Without further hesitation, she peeled the dress away from her out-stretched breasts and folded the sheath over the chair.
Driscoll liked what he saw now even better. Anxiety knifed through his loins, as he stared almost in disbelief at her enormous breasts and the brilliant red tips which pinpointed each one so vividly.
Susan released the half-slip, letting it fall to the floor and stepping out of it.
Driscoll's breathing became uneven. The delicate scent of perfume from her body penetrated his nostrils.
"God," he moaned, almost in a whisper.
Susan was standing there looking at him, clad only in a sheer pair of black panties, nylons, and heels. She picked up the bottle and took a long, lingering drink and was beginning to feel slightly drunk.
More than slightly.
She drew very close to him, thrusting her lips toward him.
"Cigarette me, Charlie old boy."
He took out a cigarette, inserted it between her luscious, crimson lips and lit it for her, the nearness of her breasts making him uneasy.
"I feel good," he heard her say.
He watched her pick up the bottle, tilt it to her lips, and hold it there for a long while.
"I'm going to get pleasantly drunk for the first time in my life," Susan warned him.
Not that he gave a damn.
She staggered slightly as she backed away from him.
"I'm already pleasantly drunk." Her hands flashed to the elastic band of her panties and paused. "Are you ready for the real treat, Charlie? Here we go!"
He was shaking his head in response to her question. The panties were so sheer that Driscoll was already aware of one thing: Susan Manning was a natural blonde.
A very natural blonde.
She started to remove the panties and stopped.
"Why don't you take them off for me, Charlie old boy?" she asked, looking squarely at him and inhaling her cigarette deeply.
Driscoll felt excitement racing through him. He rose from his chair, picked up the bottle, and gurgled the booze.
"I will," he vowed, facing her and moving toward her.
Without saying anything else, he reached out and caught hold of the elastic band and rolled the panties down her legs and off.
Now he was standing there staring again at her. Her proud breasts rose majestically in front of him, the nipples erect and tilted slightly. Driscoll was unable to believe his eyes. Susan had the most perfect body he'd ever seen, and he was no stranger to a woman's charms.
She knew he was momentarily stunned.
"You like, don't you, Charlie?"
"I'd be a damn fool to say that I didn't like," he mumbled, a fresh wave of desire gathering in his loins and sprouting in all directions.
"Do I pass the test, Charlie?" she asked.
"With flying colors," he laughed, pulling her to him and driving her breasts hard into his chest. "You're a gorgeous dame, Susan."
Quickly, he ground his lips into hers, felt her grow momentarily tense and then relax as his tongue found hers. He felt her body quiver.
"You didn't think I'd go through with it, did you, Charlie?" Susan asked, pulling her lips away from his.
"Frankly, no," he admitted. "I thought you'd fold up and run out of here like a frightened little girl."
"With a little more whiskey, there's no telling what I'd do," she purred. And she meant it.
There was no telling what she'd do.
CHAPTER THREE
Charlie Driscoll reached around to the desk, picked up the bottle and offered it to Susan. "Be my guest," he said.
She let out a little giggle, took the bottle, and took a long, stinging drink from it and staggered against him.
"So you think I'm shy, do you? Bashful? Well, I'm really going to shock hell out of you now, Mr. Driscoll!"
"What're you going to do, Susan?"
"I'm going to undress you. I've never seen a man in the nude. Not in the flesh. And since this seems to be a night for firsts, I might as well add that to my experiences."
"Well, I'm sure as hell not going to try to stop you," Charlie beamed.
She loosened his tie and took it off. Her long, red fingernails moved from one button on his shirt to another, until it was open down the front, and she peeled it off of his shoulders and flung it aside.
"How am I doing?" she wanted to know, raising his undershirt over his head.
"Fine," he answered, thrusting his arms around her and drawing her tightly against him until he could feel the erect nipples of her breasts digging into his naked chest like the points of knives.
He kissed her for a long while, finding her no longer tense to his touch but fully relaxed.
Finally, she pushed him away, reached silently for his belt, loosened it, and slid his trousers down his legs and waited until he stepped out of them.
"My God, it's hot in here," she observed, hesitating as she clung to the snaps of his shorts. Driscoll laughed aloud.
"Well, I'm certain it isn't the temperature of the office. The air conditioning is operating at full blast."
"It's still hot," Susan insisted, unsnapping his shorts and drawing back away from him as they slipped down his legs.
She watched him step out of the shorts and gasped lightly when her eyes fell on his nudity.
"God...." she breathed.
"What did you expect?" Charlie asked.
She found the question difficult to answer.
"I didn't know what to expect," she mumbled, carried away now by this man's flawless figure and handsome face. For a moment, she'd forgotten her real purpose in seeing him at all, to get a job.
"Really, I didn't know," she repeated.
He was standing some four feet away from her, now, once again soaking up the beauty that was hers.
"I think I know what you need more than anything else," Charlie said, his breath coming in short jerks.
"What?"
He didn't answer but walked to her, took her into his arms, moulding every curve of his body into hers, and kissed her.
Hard.
He felt her tongue sliding into his mouth, her arms tightening around his neck, and her long fingernails digging deeply into his back, the cones formed by her breasts pressed tightly against his chest.
Susan was experiencing a feeling she'd never known previously. Pure, unadulterated passion was gnawing at her legs, her thighs, all over her body. She felt him seeking her, realizing the nearness of him for the first time, and she let out a gasp, as his tongue lashed against hers, vehemently.
For the first time in her life, she wanted a man to possess her. Completely. This man. Deep within her.
To hell with her virginity. To hell with everything.
All she wanted was to satisfy that acute ache that was clawing her to pieces, inside.
Suddenly, she drew her lips away from his, but otherwise clung tightly to him. She was breathing with increased difficulty.
"Take every damn thing off of me, Charlie! My nylons! And hurry, dammit!"
He felt her arms relax from the tight hold on him, and a thin smile glazed his lips.
"Come on," he said urgently, pulling her with him as he backed up toward the desk.
He opened the top drawer of the desk and pressed a button.
The side of the wall across the room opened, and a freshly made, small, but soft and inviting, bed slid from its compartment in the wall.
Driscoll watched Susan's reaction.
There was no reaction.
He knelt down in front of her, cupped his hands around one of her legs. As his hands gripped the soft white flesh, he felt a quiver in her body. His hands moved slightly.
"Charlie!" she gasped.
He rolled the stocking down her leg and then repeated the performance with the other one.
Seconds later, he raised up in front of her as she set the bottle of whiskey back down on the desk after consuming another generous drink. Again, he took her into his arms, buried his face in her breasts.
Slowly, he began to caress her nipples with his lips and felt them growing increasingly hard to his touch. He increased the pressure, digging into each one lightly with his teeth.
He felt her body tremble.
A deep groan came from her throat.
A volley of sensation jolted her inwardly. All of her power of resistance had drained from her body. Her strength was gone.
"Oh, God, Charlie!" she moaned. "Give it to me, Charlie! Be gentle, but make it real good! This is the first time...."
Her voice trailed away as she collapsed into his arms, her head relaxed on his shoulder.
Driscoll lifted her into his arms, his lips once more beginning to tantalize her breasts as he carried her to the bed. Very gently, he let her down. For a moment, he started to draw back from her, but her arms restrained him, pulling him down with her.
On top of her.
"Gently, Charlie, but do it now!" she pleaded, arching her hips as if she were the world's most experienced woman with a man in bed.
Susan felt him moving against her.
Penetrating..
Slightly at first and then deeper. Deeper.
Much deeper until almost unbearable pain shot through her, causing her to scream lightly.
Charlie drove deeper, going all the way with this final thrust.
Susan felt the pain wither away and relaxed momentarily before a rekindled mass of desire engulfed her. Suddenly, she found herself reacting to his movement, her hips driving against his, her arms holding him desperately as if there would never be another time, her lips buried in his, her buttocks straining for the utmost satisfaction.
He felt her twisting beneath him, and he knew she liked what he was giving her.
For the first time. And he was convinced already it was the first time.
Her hips were grinding with violent frenzy.
The passion gained momentum rapidly within her, suddenly reaching the bursting point.
"More, Charlie!" she screamed.
Her words were in vain. He was incapable of doing any more than he was doing right now, and he knew that she was incapable of receiving any more. He had given all he had, and she'd taken all that was humanly possible.
The only thing either of them had left was momentum, and now, this too, had reached the peak. Simultaneously, their bodies exploded. "God!" she cried. It was over. It was good. For both of them.
Gradually, he experienced a feeling of relaxation and rolled away from her. The room was still except for their breathing.
Charlie broke the long silence first as he lay there beside her.
"Are you all right, Susan?"
"Yes."
"Was the pain really severe?"
"A little, I guess," she answered, not knowing how to describe it. "Not really severe. I don't know."
He grinned.
"I guess you'll hate my guts in the morning."
She turned his words over in her thoughts.
"No. I'm old enough to make my decisions. I've been making them for a long time."
"I suppose the booze helped make this one," Charlie asserted, rolling closer to her and taking her breasts in his hands. "Isn't that right?"
"Maybe," she admitted. "I probably wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been pretty tipsy, but the whiskey's wearing off now and has no part in the decision I'm making right now."
"What's that?"
"That I want to do what we just did again."
"When?"
"Now," she laughed, "right now."
Her hand was touching him and pulling him toward her, urging him into action.
Not that he needed much urging.
Fiery passion rolled through her. Susan Manning had discovered something new she liked, and she resolved she was going to have more of it. A helluva lot more.
Charlie's hand began to probe now, touching her gently, fondling her, caressing her.
She liked it, but she was becoming impatient. The desire, the ache within her, had become maddening again. She felt him stroking her secret flesh, and the ache magnified and fanned out over her with a fury she'd never known.
"For God's sake, Charlie, don't wait any longer!"
He didn't wait any longer, meeting her arched hips with a sharp, single surge, the violence of which stunned her momentarily before she was able to regain her composure and relax and pick up the rhythm.
Time passed.
Neither of them knew how much time. Neither of them cared how much time.
Susan broke the long silence this time. She lay on her back and blew spirals of smoke from her cigarette, toward the ceiling.
"I've done a lot of things for the first time tonight, Charlie," she said.
"I realize you have," Charlie agreed weakly, his strength entirely gone.
"I got pretty drunk," Susan began to enumerate slowly. "I took off all of my clothes in front of a man, and I saw a man naked for the first time."
She hesitated for a moment, then continued: "And I got laid for the first time. And the second and the third times."
"And the fourth," he prompted. She laughed.
"Yes, and the fourth time," she agreed.
He glanced over at the window. The first signs of dawn were beginning to sift around the edges of the blinds. The stir of garbage trucks down on the street below penetrated the stillness.
"You forgot something. You missed one thing you did for the first time."
"What was that?"
"You spent the night in bed with a man." She chuckled aloud. "That's right."
"How did you like it?" Charlie asked.
"That's a helluva silly question," she replied. "If I hadn't liked it, there wouldn't have been a fourth time. Or a third. Not even a second. It was wonderful."
"No regrets?"
"No regrets."
Driscoll's eyes picked up the window again. It was getting light outside quickly now.
"We've got to get this office fixed up like an office again," he said, raising his head over her and kissing each nipple gently. "You're a doll, Susan, a real cutie. Come on, let's get up."
"What's the hurry?"
"My secretaries will be arriving in a little while."
He turned away from her and started to climb out of the bed.
Susan caught hold of his arm and pulled him back.
"What about the job, Charlie? Do I get the job? Surely you don't think I'm so damn bashful now." He was nodding his head.
"I'm sorry, Susan. You've got to learn to be at ease under any circumstances ... when a man's kissing you ... when the script calls for you to take off your dress in front of the cameras ... every second the cameras are grinding away."
Susan was unable to conceal her disappointment.
"You're not ready for television," Charlie added, giving it to her in plain language. "Not yet."
The disappointment mounted rapidly. It was more than mere disappointment actually. She concluded that he'd never intended to give her the job in the first place. That all he wanted was a roll in the hay.
A good taste of her body.
Well, he certainly got what he wanted.
Susan stared at him.
Driscoll's face was bathed in a wide grin.
"What the hell's so funny?" Susan asked, feeling nothing now except resentment toward him.
"Your days as a waitress are over," Driscoll volunteered. "I do have a job for you. It won't have the glamour of television, perhaps, but it's one where you'll learn to relax under all conditions. It could set you up for television. Get up, and I'll tell you all about it."
A wave of relief ground through her.
"Thanks, Charlie. Thanks a million."
CHAPTER FOUR
It was the following night. Susan read the number over the entrance. This was the place, all right. She went inside and looked up the long staircase.
The stairs were dirty and unpainted. Susan concluded in her mind that those stairs could only lead to a crumby place at best, but she didn't care.
Anxiety intermingled with satisfaction gripped her as she climbed the deserted, dark stairs. The anxiety stemmed from the fact that Charlie Driscoll hadn't told her exactly what she'd be doing, merely that thirty days or so on the job would give her the poise and the confidence she needed to become a television actress.
She possessed a feeling of satisfaction, because she believed that now she was on her way, on the brink of starting the climb up the ladder to success.
She didn't care if the ladder in this case was a dirty staircase. She thought about her telephone conversation with Roy Payne, and how he told her that he was glad that she was going to do all right.
She reached the top of the stairs and rang the bell at the door bearing a small, faded sign reading:
MONARCH STUDIOS
A tall, thin Negro man opened the door.
"I'm Susan Manning," she said.
"Yes, one of the girls Charlie Driscoll sent over," the Negro man said. "I'm Joe. We're waiting for you."
Susan stepped inside, looked around. The small room was as dirty as the front entrance and the stairs and cluttered with all kinds of junk she concluded was photographic equipment.
Joe escorted her through the poor excuse for an office and into a large room which was equipped with a large plush rug, backed by a silver curtain and flooded with bright lights.
Fifteen or twenty men milled around the big room, each with a camera of all types and makes.
"Here's our girl for tonight," Joe said.
He turned toward Susan, picked up a black bra and a pair of black mesh tights and tossed them to her.
"You can go behind the curtain," he explained, "to take off all of your clothes and put those on ... the bra, the tights, and leave on your high heels."
She wasn't sure that she understood clearly.
"You want me to put these on over my panties?"
Joe shook his head in the negative.
"No, not over your panties. Take your panties off and then put on the tights."
Susan looked at the faces of the men standing around. They were smiling. Some rather sarcastically.
"But ... "
She paused. She remembered Charlie's parting words ... to do everything she was told to do. "All right," she agreed.
She walked to the area behind the screen, stripped off her clothes, inserted her breasts into the cups of the bra which left the upper half of the cones of flesh exposed from just above the nipples. She pulled the tights over her legs and up around her waist.
She felt as if she were still nude. She wanted to pick up her clothes and run and forget it all. Only Charlie's words restrained her:...." do everything you're told to do."
She returned to the lighted area in front of the screen and stood there.
All eyes were upon her.
Joe moved toward her, took her arm and led her into the center of the makeshift platform which was only a few inches off of the floor.
"Charlie Driscoll said you've never modeled before."
"That's right."
"Well, the boys are going to photograph you," Joe explained. "Just do whatever they tell you to do." Joe stepped into the shadows. "These shots are known as pin-ups."
Susan stood there, feeling once more that she was naked. Nearby was a large, dark-blue hassock. Draped across it was a large multi-colored and very sheer scarf.
"Strike a good pose," one photographer said.
Susan followed the instructions the best she knew how, drawing her hands behind her neck, clasping them together and forcing her elbows far back until her breasts were thrust straight forward.
"Keep your feet where they are and bend your waist to the right," another photographer said, "so that we can pick up the breastwork."
Susan twisted her body slightly to the right at the waist and paused.
"Good."
She heard the clicks of the camera shutters.
For the next thirty minutes, she was photographed in all kinds of poses. Standing, sitting, bent over backwards, bent over sideways. Finally, Joe stepped forward.
"Now, take off the bra," he ordered.
She hesitated momentarily, then unsnapped the bra and drew it away from her body. Her breasts sprung free, entirely nude and erect.
Oohs and aahs echoed from the mouths of the photographers.
During the next half-hour, the photographers took mostly close-ups of her, taking shots of her breasts from every conceivable angle. Susan was feeling more and more at ease and had pacified herself with the thought that this was merely a job. All in a day's work.
Or a night's work, to be exact.
Joe was interrupting once more now.
"Now remove the tights," he said. "The last hour tonight will be spent in full figure modeling. In the nude."
This was the part Susan dreaded ... exposing her naked body to the group of men, but she had much earlier concluded that it was going to come.
Eventually. Eventually was now.
Joe shifted his attention to the photographers. "Now remember, no shooting between poses." Susan caught hold of the elastic band of the tights and rolled them down over her buttocks. Down.
Until they were off and she was nude. Except for her spike heels.
Susan was face to face with the photographers now, expecting any second for one of them to take a quick shot of her, but none did.
"Now take the scarf and use it to cover yourself when it's necessary while the pictures are being taken," Joe instructed her. "All right, boys. She's all yours. Tell her what you want her to do."
Susan reached down and picked up the scarf, knowing damn well it was so sheer it wasn't going to hide much."
"Lie down on the rug and put your feet in the air," one photographer suggested, "straight up."
She did as she was told, extending her legs high into the air.
"The scarf, Miss Manning!" Joe reminded her.
She smiled and draped the scarf over the spot where her thighs joined. Seconds later, she heard the shutters begin to click.
Occasionally, while she was changing poses and was completely exposed, one or two of the photographers would violate the rules and grab a quick shot of her. Joe remained silent each time this occurred.
"Now get down on your knees and put your hands flat on the floor," another photographer said. He watched Susan get into the position. "Relax!"
Susan relaxed her body.
"Now look this way," the photographer continued.
Susan turned toward the cameras.
"That's good. Perfect."
Again, she heard the clicks of the shutters.
"Roll over on your back now, raise your knees and keep your feet flat on the floor and look this way."
Susan did exactly as the photographer instructed.
"Raise your chin a little."
Susan raised her chin.
"The scarf!" Joe reminded again.
She inserted the scarf between her legs. Already she was beginning to feel at ease in front of men.
Lots of men.
While she was nude.
"Smile!"
She smiled. Charlie Driscoll was right. A month of this kind of work and she'd feel right at home in any situation.
"One more shot, and the session's over," Joe said loudly. "Except for those who want to spend the additional twenty bucks."
He faced Susan and said:
"All right, Miss Manning, you can stand up now and look straight ahead."
Susan climbed to her feet, stared straight ahead, wondering now what Joe meant by his reference to the additional twenty dollars.
What else could she do?
"This is the shot for your private collection, boys," Joe explained. "This one is entirely in the nude, Miss Manning. You won't need the scarf."
She dropped the scarf.
"Take off my heels?"
"No, you can leave those on," Joe laughed.
Susan felt a little disturbed that the men were going to photograph her from the front with nothing on except her spike heels. First one shutter and then another clicked as the photographers took their final pictures of her.
"Good night, boys," Joe said, "to those who are leaving. Those who care to remain drop over here with another bill ... twenty bucks."
Susan wrapped the large scarf around her thighs, although she realized it really didn't make much difference now, because the men had seen everything she possessed already.
Everything.
She watched some of the men depart and others head toward Joe, removing money from their wallets.
At least six of them.
She walked behind the curtain, removed a cigarette from her purse and lit it. She was thinking now that this was easy work. There was nothing to it.
Nothing at all.
All she had to do was parade around in the nude while sex-hungry men took pictures of her. And, if Charlie Driscoll meant what he said, she was gaining the poise she needed to become a television actress.
She felt good, but she realized she could feel even better if she had a drink. On her next assignment like this, she was going to have a couple of drinks before she reported.
She could hear the men who'd remained talking to Joe and occasional laughter. She picked up her panties, inserted her legs into them and started to pull them up as Joe appeared behind the curtain.
"Come with me, Miss Manning," Joe said, heading toward a door at one end of the area behind the curtain.
She adjusted her panties, picked up her bra and wound it around her bosom and followed Joe to the door. He escorted her through the door and into a small room, flipping on the light as they entered.
Susan looked around the room. It contained a small dresser with a cracked mirror.
A bottle of whiskey and several glasses.
And a freshly made bed.
"There's six of them," Joe said, watching her closely for her reaction.
"Six?" she repeated. "You mean ... "
"That you're going to take them to bed with you," Joe interrupted. "One at a time, of course."
He could see the hesitation on her face.
"You get half," he continued. "Sixty bucks. Plus forty for the work out front."
Susan was standing there looking at him silently.
"That's a hundred bucks for your night's work," Joe continued, his voice rather pleading.
A hundred bucks sounded like a helluva lot of money for a girl to pick up in one night. For doing nothing. Standing up and laying down. A hundred bucks!
It took Susan two weeks to make that much as a waitress.
"Charlie told you to do everything you were told to do, didn't he?" Joe prompted.
"Yes." The word came out automatically. "But six men in one night." She took a drag from her cigarette. "Yes, Charlie told me to do everything...."
"Then what in the hell...."
"Send them in," Susan interrupted. "One at a time."
Joe smiled and disappeared through the door, closing it behind him.
Susan took a deep breath. She remembered that she'd gone four rounds with Charlie and if the night had lasted a little longer, undoubtedly they would've gone a couple of more rounds.
Was there any difference?
Six times with one man. Or six times with six different men.
She went to the dresser, poured herself half a glass of whiskey and downed it. In two gulps. The booze stung her throat and jolted her hard as it drained into her belly. She knew she was going to have to be pretty well fortified just the same to take on six men in one night. She poured another drink, swallowed it, and frowned.
The door opened.
A tall, dark man entered.
"Hello, baby."
She turned toward him.
"Hello," she replied.
He was moving toward her, lust filling his eyes.
He caught hold of her, quickly removed her bra and kissed her, driving her big breasts hard into his chest. When he released her, his hands flashed to her panties, worked them off of her buttocks and let them fall down her legs.
"Now undress me," he grinned.
She came face to face with him.
"Why don't you undress yourself?"
"I like for girls to undress me," he countered. "It's a helluva lot more fun that way."
She hesitated for a moment, then decided to let the guy have his kicks. After all, he was paying for them.
She consumed approximately thirty seconds taking the guy's clothes off. Everything except his pastel-blue shorts which were coming off now, and she didn't need to look twice to know just how bad this guy needed a dame.
He wound his arms around her, moulding the curves of her body into his and pressing his bare chest hard into her breasts and drove her back onto the bed.
"Great day in the morning," he moaned, falling on top of her like this was the first time and there'd never be another. With Susan, there probably never would be.
She felt him deep within her, now, but it was purely physical feeling on her part, nothing more. She experienced no real sensations. Nothing like she felt when Charlie Driscoll was making love to her. She was lying there, relaxed for this man.
Letting him do everything. Really, she'd expected no feeling inside of her. To her, this was just a business proposition.
He ground his lips into hers and cupped her breasts and gave it all he had.
Still, she felt nothing.
Now, it was over, and he rolled off of her.
"You're quite a hunk of female, baby," he said, climbing from the bed and beginning to put on his clothes. "A helluva lot of woman."
"Thanks," she said, not giving a damn one way or the other whether he was satisfied or not.
She watched him disappear and heard him tell her goodbye just before he stepped out the door.
Five more to go, she thought.
She got up from the bed, picked up her panties, started to put them on, and tossed them aside. What the hell was the use putting them on? She'd only have to take them off again when the next sex-mad bastard stepped through the door.
She went to the whiskey, poured another stiff drink and drained the glass.
The next man came in.
One ... two ... three ... four ... five.
Now Susan was watching the sixth man leave and she breathed a sigh of relief.
What a bunch of suckers, she thought.
She was glad that it was over. They were all alike. Not one of them did anything for her. Not one of them made her feel like a woman being loved.
She got up off of the bed feeling a little weak after her ordeal. She put on her panties and her bra and turned toward the door.
And bumped headlong into Joe.
Joe's face was flushed with a big smile.
"Every one of those guys had a big grin on his face when he came from this room," he said. "You must be something extra special." He caught her in his arms and crushed her against him. "Did you save some for big Joe?"
His words not only stunned her but also frightened her. For a moment, she was unable to speak to him.
Finally, she said:
"I think I've had enough for one night."
"Not until big Joe gets his, you haven't!" he shot back. "This boy always gets his when one comes along he wants, and I want you!" He raked at her bra. "Come on; take this damn thing off and let's get some action!"
She quickly concluded there was no use to resist him. He was big and strong and, after all, what was one more? Besides, she was supposed to do everything she was told to do.
For the first time, she felt cheap and dirty. She felt like a walking whorehouse!
"You might even like it," Joe coaxed. "Why, I've had babes go out of here begging for more."
Slowly, she removed her bra, and Joe whipped his face to her breasts and kissed them with a fury of passion.
"These are for real," he moaned. "The biggest I've ever seen." He took her hand. "Take big Joe's clothes off, and let's me and you have fun, doll."
Susan decided to get it over with as quickly as possible, and she began removing his clothes. Seconds later as she drew his shorts down his legs, she thought she knew why girls went away begging for more.
Joe was a big man.
Big in every way.
"They don't call me big Joe for nothing, doll," he said, sweeping her to him and taking her panties off simultaneously. "You're gonna like what I'm gonna give you!"
Joe picked her up in his arms, carried her to the bed and laid her down. He was breathing with difficulty as he rose over her, wound his arms around her, crushed her to him and drove deep inside of her with one forward motion.
"God!" Susan gasped. "Oh, God!"
Quickly, she began to respond, and her legs shot around him and her hips began to churn like pistons.
Quietly, she reached the conclusion that big Joe knew what he was talking about when he said she was going to like what he was going to give her.
Big Joe's boast was the understatement of Susan's life.
CHAPTER FIVE
A week passed before Susan Manning got her first night off from her new job. The job she hoped would continue for no longer than a month.
During the week, she'd been to four different studios, all under the ownership of big Joe and situated in different sections of Manhattan and Brooklyn. The routine of each one was just about the same. A girl posed for camera bugs, most of them amateurs, and then spent a couple of hours afterwards entertaining those who elected to remain.
Each one for twenty dollars, half of which went to Susan.
Now she had a night off ... and Susan knew exactly what she was going to do with it. She knew exactly how she was going to spend it.
With Roy Payne, the man she wanted to marry.
Sooner or later.
She hadn't seen Roy now for ten days, but they'd talked numerous times over the telephone.
Susan was sitting on a bench now in front of a mirror in her room surveying her big, firm breasts, her slim buttocks, perfect legs, and her beautiful face.
She was in the process of getting ready for a date with Roy.
A hot date.
It was going to be even hotter than he anticipated even in his wildest dreams.
Susan knew now how to use her body for something besides a figure to hang a dress on. Roy had tried many times to seduce her, but she'd always turned him away.
Tonight was going to be different.
She was going to let Roy have her. She'd done it thirty-one times since the night Charlie Driscoll had taken away her virginity in his office. She'd had a helluva lot of experience in the short span of a few nights, and Roy could have it any way he wanted it.
Still, she realized she couldn't just offer it to him on a silver platter. Girls just didn't reject a man one night and then act like a real veteran ten nights later and make a man believe he was getting it for the first time.
She was going to have to play hard to get. Roy Payne was going to have to beg for it.
And beg and beg and beg.
Susan was going to help him all she could. She was going to wear her sexiest dress, and she was slipping into it now, drawing it down over her curvaceous body.
There wasn't a damn thing beneath that black sheath with its low-plunging neckline that bared nearly half of her breasts and its tiny narrow rhinestone shoulder straps.
No nylons, no panties, no slip, no bra.
Just Susan.
In the flesh.
She stepped into a pair of nearly five-inch-high, black spike heels which had nothing over the tops of her feet except a narrow strap across the toes and which displayed her freshly manicured red toenails. She attached long sparkling rhinestone earrings to her ears.
Not only was she dressing for Roy's benefit and convenience, but she had rented a suite.
A suite in a fashionable hotel for the night so that they would be alone.
With no interruptions.
She was a gal rolling in dough now, and she was going to pretend that Roy was the first man ever to take her to bed.
She was a budding young actress, moving up the ladder by way of posing for nude photographs and carrying on with a little bedroom hanky-panky, and making Roy believe he was the first was a part she thought she could play well.
Quite well.
Susan lit a cigarette, blew smoke across the room, and stared off into space as she awaited Roy's arrival....
Two hours later, she touched another match to her cigarette, only this time she was sitting across the table from Roy Payne, in the luxurious dining room of the hotel where they were going to spend the night.
A fact very much known to Susan but very much unknown to Roy.
Yet.
"So you see I've been doing quite well since I saw you the last time, Roy," Susan was saying, being very careful not to reveal just what she'd been doing.
Roy Payne sat there admiring her. He was a big, husky, broad-shouldered man of twenty-four with black wavy hair. He reached out and took her hand while his eyes concentrated on the oozing mounds of bare flesh that swept upward from the low neckline of her sheath.
"I'll say you have, Susan. God, how I've missed you, though."
"I've missed you, too," Susan said. "It isn't easy for a girl who's in love with a guy like I love you to be away from him night after night."
Roy smiled.
"I don't have to work tomorrow, and you don't have to work until tomorrow night," he said. "Why don't we really celebrate tonight?"
"We are going to celebrate, Roy-just the two of us," Susan replied, beginning to reveal her plans now, "upstairs."
"Upstairs?"
"Yes. On the fifteenth floor, where we can be alone."
"Here?"
Roy was almost unable to believe his ears. "That's right," she answered, increasing the pressure on his hand. "I've reserved a cozy little suite for us on the fifteenth floor. In fact, I registered this afternoon as Mr. and Mrs. Roy Payne."
Roy's lips blended into a smile.
Just the thought of getting Susan alone in a hotel suite made him begin to come alive. Desire such as he'd never known coiled through him, touching off a barrage of raw anxiety.
"Well, what are we waiting for?"
She detected the anxiety in his voice.
"Nothing. We've finished eating. Let's go."
Moments later, they stepped off of the elevator on the fifteenth floor and walked down the hall with Susan clinging tightly to Roy's arm. They stepped into the suite, elaborately furnished and one of the best in the hotel.
"Well, here we are," Susan said.
Roy's eyes combed the living room. He noted the bottle of whiskey, the bottle of soda and the two glasses on the coffee table in front of the long divan.
"You really think of everything, don't you, Susan?"
"Well, I try to," she replied. "Now, why don't you be a good boy and go down the hall and get some ice?"
"Okay."
Roy watched Susan as she walked across the room and dropped her purse into a chair. He saw the sheath ride high over the backs of her legs as she moved, and he concluded her body must've been poured into that sheath.
Excitement stirred through him, and he was aware that a change had come over Susan. She seemed so vastly different from the Susan he'd seen the last time ten days earlier.
"All right, I'll get the ice."
With that, he left the room.
Susan removed her cigarettes from her purse, lit one and stood there looking around the room. The setting was perfect, but she was going to make Roy really beg for her charms. Eventually, she was going to give in to him, but she was going to make certain he was convinced that he was the first.
Susan walked across the room to the door that led to the bedroom. And pushed it open. Wide.
The big freshly made bed was clearly visible from the divan. She smiled and returned to the divan, sat down, crossed her legs, made certain the sheath rode high above her knees, and sat there moving her leg back and forth waiting for Roy to return with the ice.
Only seconds lapsed before Roy stepped inside the door from the hall.
"Lock the door, darling," Susan cooed.
Roy snapped the night latch, inserted the chain into the security lock and angled across the room toward her.
With his eyes focused directly upon the soft nude flesh above her knees.
He set the pitcher of ice down on the coffee table, his stare still drinking in the rise of her thighs.
"Would you care for a drink, Miss Manning?"
"That I would," Susan laughed, stretching her arms and elbows back over the top of the divan and thrusting her enormous breasts recklessly forward.
"Say when you want me to stop," Roy said, beginning to pour the whiskey.
"Heavy on the whiskey and light on the soda for me," she laughed. "I have a feeling that I'm going to get pleasantly intoxicated before this night's over."
Roy was convinced now that there had been a very definite transformation in Susan. He thought, too, that if he had his way she was going to get pleasantly seduced before the night was over.
"You'd better be careful," he said, edging around the coffee table with the drinks in his hands.
He sat down beside her.
"Intoxicated girls usually wind up getting into bed with a man," he continued.
"Not this girl," Susan countered. "You're quite familiar with my rules. I never get that drunk."
Roy took a long gulp of his drink, set the glass down on the table, and put his arm around her.
"Just what in the hell did you have in mind when you reserved this swanky joint?" he asked, eyeing her closely.
"Oh, to get away from it all ... the crowd. Pour me another drink."
He was stunned that she had consumed her drink so quickly. He poured her another one.
"And I suppose you think you can bring a guy to a place like this and expect him to do nothing except sit here and drink and talk and merely dream about that bed in the other room?"
He hesitated, then continued:
"If I remember correctly, you said downstairs we were going to spend the night here." She let out a little giggle.
"We are. That doesn't mean that just because we go to bed together we're going to wind up doing something else."
Suddenly, he ground his lips into hers and drowned out the giggle, felt her arms circle his neck and her tongue slide into his mouth.
He kissed her for a long while before he finally drew his lips away.
"May I?" he asked rather sarcastically, his hands reaching for the zipper of her sheath.
"As long as you stick by the rules," Susan answered. "You know what they are ... anything goes from the waist up. Below the waist ... well, that's off limits."
He drew the zipper down and the top of the sheath away from her body, and her dazzling breasts burst free, the nipples already incredibly erect and silhouetted brilliantly against the mounds of white flesh.
"Damn!" he groaned, as he raked his face in the mountains of softness.
He was already as hot for her as he would ever be, raw desire sweeping through him with the fury and swiftness of a wild forest fire.
He cupped one of the rosebud tips with his lips and felt her quiver. Slowly and cautiously, " he grasped the soft flesh above her knee and felt her hand catch hold of his and pull it away.
"Remember the rules," Susan reminded him, as if he'd forgotten.
Actually, what she was thinking was to hell with the rules. What she really wanted was for Roy to rip the bottom of that sheath away, carry her into the bedroom and give it to her.
Good.
Over and over again.
And that was what was going to happen.
Eventually.
Right now, though, she was going to play hard to get. A girl pretending to be a virgin just naturally didn't let a boy go all the way after a couple of drinks and a couple of kisses. He was going to have to fight for it.
Beg.
And beg some more.
Roy's hands had shifted to her breasts now, fondling and squeezing them. Hard.
His lips were very close to her ear.
"I want you, Susan," he whispered. "Give it to me! Forget the damn rules just for tonight!"
She felt a wave of passion strike her inner thighs and fan out all over her body. Still she was going to make him wait.
If possible.
Somehow she had to ignore her own burning desire and let him coax her a while longer. She reached out and' picked up the bottle and tilted it to her lips and took a long, stinging swallow of the undiluted whiskey.
"Light me a cigarette, darling," she said.
Roy picked up a cigarette, lit it, and handed it to her. Almost without hesitation, his lips returned to the lobe of her ear and his hand to the massage of her breasts. His breath was short and jerky.
"Give it to me, Susan! Give it to me now! Please!"
"No, Roy," she said. "We mustn't let our emotions run away with us."
"Give, baby!" he argued, increasing the pressure on her breasts. "You know damn well you didn't bring me here just to play around."
"I wanted to be alone with you. Nothing else," she lied.
"Like hell!" he snapped. "You wanted to get laid, didn't you?" She didn't answer. "Didn't you, Susan?" Still there was no reply.
"I'll get you so damn hot you'll scream for it!" he vowed, his hand sweeping past her knees and quickly coming to rest against her bare buttocks.
A smile came over his face, as he said: "You hot little devil! You're not even wearing any panties! Now tell me that was an accident!" All of the remaining resistance within her was rapidly disappearing now. Suddenly, she felt him touch her where she wanted to be touched, and she let out a little groan.
A groan that told him she liked it.
"You like that, don't you, Susan?" he asked, without expecting an answer.
He kissed her and felt her helpless in his arms. Almost mechanically, he rose and helped her to her feet, reached down and caught hold of the hem of the sheath and lifted it over her raised arms.
She was nude.
Except for the spike heels.
"God!...." he mumbled aloud, his eyes viewing all of her.
Susan smiled. She was ready to quit playing games. She moved close to him, removed his tie and unfastened the buttons of his shirt and removed it.
Roy knew now that victory was near.
Susan released his belt and slid his trousers down his legs. Anxiety stirred through her.
"You're about to see a man!" he bragged. "A real man!"
Releasing his shorts, she knew what he meant. She took off his undershirt, and he was standing in front of her, entirely nude. She quickly concluded Roy Payne was more of a man than any of the others who had taken her.
"Boy, am I going to get you!" he said.
She looked up at him.
"Well, what in the hell are you waiting for?" she asked.
He needed no further invitation.
Not that he'd intended to wait for an invitation.
Susan was coaxing him now.
He lifted her into his arms, one arm beneath her shoulders and the other wrapped around her buttocks. He heard her spike heels hit the floor with a resounding thud, as he carried her toward the bedroom. He laid her down in the center of the large bed and collapsed beside her.
For a moment, he toyed with her breasts and her thighs, felt her touching him, urging him into action.
"Skip the damn preliminaries!" Susan sighed. "I've had enough of that. I want the real thing!"
He was looking down into her eyes now. Ready to give her the real thing. Suddenly, he felt her long fingernails digging into his back and her legs parting.
"This may hurt a little," he said, "but not for long."
"I can take it. Just be gentle."
Slowly, he began to imbed himself within her.
Susan let out a little gasp.
"Easy, Roy. This is the first time."
He went deeper.
All the way.
His mouth covered hers, and her tongue flicked past his lips, and her fingernails became claws in his back.
"Oh, God," she mumbled, her legs circling his body and driving hard.
The tempo of the rhythm increased. Faster.
Until they reached the peak. The climax.
The inevitable point of no return. Simultaneously.
Roy collapsed on top of her, his body limp and spent. She'd drained him of all his energy.
Finally, he rolled away from her, and they lay there side by side for long moments looking up at the ceiling.
The room was still.
Susan turned toward him finally.
"How was I, Roy? Everything you expected?"
"Everything. And then some. You were wonderful. Simply terrific."
"Was this the first time for you, Roy?" Susan asked.
"Yes," he lied.
"Of course, you know it was the first time for me," she lied back.
He thrust his arm around her body. "Why don't we get married, Susan?" She did not reply.
After waiting impatiently at length, Roy inched her face around in his direction. "I asked you a question."
"You did?" she responded, trying to think of an answer to his question.
"Yes," Roy said. "I asked you to marry me."
"I ... I ... don't know, Roy," she returned, her voice filled with uncertainty. "My career ... "
"To hell with your career!"
"I can't say to hell with my career, Roy," Susan countered. "I've just got it off to a start. I've worked a long time trying to be somebody, trying to get my start as an actress. Careers and marriages don't seem to work out very well together."
He clasped his hands together beneath his head and stared at the ceiling. He could think of nothing to counteract her thinking that careers and marriages don't go together with any degree of success.
For a girl, at least.
A girl as beautiful as Susan.
His thoughts shifted to what had just happened between them.
Was it her first time? he wondered.
He thought there was usually evidence of a virgin's first time.
There was no evidence in Susan's case.
Still, he was willing to conclude that Susan was an exception to the rule and let it go at that.
Susan swung around toward him, raised her head and ran her fingers through his black hair. Her breasts brushed against his chest.
"I didn't say I wouldn't marry you, Roy. I said I didn't know."
He smiled.
"I know," he said, "but there was a helluva lot of doubt in your voice."
She reached down and touched him. Boldly.
"There isn't a damn bit of uncertainty in my voice, when I say that I want you to take me again," she said, fresh desire coiling through her.
"Now?"
"Right now," she purred, thrusting the tip of one breast to his lips. "And over and over again until we both collapse from exhaustion."
Roy had no argument against that. He opened his lips and clamped down and pulled her over on top of him, felt her body quiver and her legs relax in a desperate search for him.
Suddenly, she found him.
All of him.
So much that he let out a loud groan. She became a writhing, swirling mass of hot flesh hovering over him. "God!" she screamed.
THE END came this time with an even more shattering force than the first time.
Finally, she sprawled limply against him, refusing to turn loose of him.
"Again!" she exploded, almost like an order. "Give me more, Roy!"
He rolled over with her and pulled himself on top of her.
And gave her more. Much more.
CHAPTER SIX
Time passed.
The telephone call Susan Manning had expected at the end of thirty days didn't come for two months and three days after Charlie Driscoll sent her out to gain more poise and learn to be at ease under any situation.
Two months and three days after Charlie Driscoll had taken away her virginity.
The call had finally come, though.
Susan kissed her father goodbye in front of the huge office building on Madison Avenue.
"Goodbye, Pops. I'm glad we could have dinner together again tonight."
"That's about the only time I get to see my daughter," Manning grinned.
"I know, but I'm always so busy," Susan said. "You've got my phone number, and if you ever need me, just call and I'll be right over. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
She slid out of the car, anxiety tormenting her. She had an appointment and could hardly wait.
An appointment with Charlie Driscoll.
At long last, Susan believed she was on her way to becoming a television actress. She got off the elevator on the fourteenth floor in the big building that housed Driscoll's offices and started down the hallway.
She'd seen Driscoll only one time since she'd spent the night with him in his office. He'd turned up unexpectedly, to her at least, during one of her performances for a roomful of wanton photographers at one of big Joe's studios over in Brooklyn.
That was four weeks ago, give or take a day or two, and she'd recalled a hundred times every word he'd spoken to her that night.
"Well, how's my girl doing?" Driscoll asked her during a lull between poses.
"Fine," Susan replied.
"Learning a lot, I suppose," Driscoll said, his eyes roaming up and down her nude body. "Plenty."
Driscoll stood around watching her through the next half-dozen poses, his face breaking into a smile occasionally. Finally, he caught her attention.
"You'll be hearing from me real soon, Susan."
"I'll be waiting," she said.
With that, Driscoll pivoted on one foot, turned around and walked out of the room. Susan never heard from him again. Until some three hours ago.
She opened the door to Driscoll's office and stepped inside. The setting was just about like it was the first night she's visited his office.
Deserted. Or seemingly so.
"Come on in here," Driscoll yelled from his inner office.
She started toward the door that led to Driscoll's private office, hesitated, turned around, and locked the door that led to the hallway, then crossed the room to the door that would take her to Driscoll.
Charlie was sitting behind his big desk, doing nothing.
Except staring at Susan. "Hello," Driscoll smiled.
"Hello, Charlie," Susan returned.
She went directly to the desk and circled it and drew up close to him, sliding onto the desk, crossing her legs and making certain her dress bared her knees effectively.
Damn certain.
Her long, sexy legs were in full view of Driscoll from the tips of her manicured toenails on up to the rise of her nude thighs. She lit a cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke toward him.
Driscoll's eyes glittered, his stare sweeping quickly over her legs, to the abrupt swell of her breasts and finally coming to rest on her face.
"I see you haven't cut out smoking since the government's report linking cigarettes with cancer."
"Not a damn bit!" she shot back. "If I want to kill myself smoking cigarettes, that's my business!"
He laughed aloud.
"Well, I must say," he grinned, "that you aren't the frightened, timid little girl whom I introduced to the pleasures of sex right here in this office several weeks ago. You've developed poise, all right. A helluva lot of poise."
"I thought you'd say that," she said, crossing her legs in the opposite direction and making sure Driscoll got an eyeful as she did so.
He got an eyeful, all right.
He saw more than nude thighs.
Much more.
"Have you got a television spot for me now, Charlie?" she asked, her voice warm and sultry.
Driscoll rose from his chair, moved close to her, inserted his hands beneath her arms and lifted her from the desk. He wound his arms around her body and drove her breasts hard into his chest.
"I certainly have," he said, grinding his lips into hers.
She squirmed slightly and pulled her lips away. Her voice brimmed with excitement, as she said:
"Tell me about it."
"You're going to get the lead in the new TV series for Golden Motor Oil," Driscoll explained. "Twenty-six weeks at four-hundred bucks a week."
"Oh, Charlie!" she shouted, beginning to smother his face with kisses. "I'm the happiest goddamn girl in the world!"
"Of course, the agency's customary ten percent will come out of your salary," Driscoll informed her. "That's the agency's cut for handling you, and it's damn cheap. A lot of agencies have started charging double that."
"I don't give a damn what the agency's cut is," Susan returned. "All I want is that chance! That first chance! And speaking of handling me ... how about handling me another way? Right now!"
"You think this calls for a little celebration?" Driscoll asked.
"This calls for one of the damnedest celebrations of all times!" Susan corrected him.
She spun away from him, ran to the window, and lowered the blinds.
"You know what I need right now?" she asked. "A drink!"
"The booze is in the drawer. Remember?"
She ran to the desk, yanked the drawer open, pulled out a nearly new bottle of Scotch, opened it, and tilted it to her lips.
"I'm going to get drunk, and I mean drunk!"
She guzzled the whiskey.
Driscoll stood there watching her, realizing she was just like a little girl who suddenly had gotten something she wanted very badly. Simultaneously, he felt himself brimming over with desire for her.
Brutal and passionate desire.
The straight whiskey affected her very quickly.
"Drunk isn't all I'm going to get! I'm going to get you, too, Charlie!"
Suddenly, her eyes fell on the button inside the drawer.
She pressed it and watched the bed slide from the wall.
"I'm gonna get laid, Charlie! Not just once ... a hundred times! At least a hundred times!"
He laughed, walked slowly to the door that led to the outer office, and locked it. When he turned around, Susan had collapsed into the chair behind the desk and was taking another drink.
"You 'n me are going to celebrate, Charlie!"
She lit a cigarette, rose from the chair and looked directly at Driscoll.
"Come over here, Charlie," she said, motioning with her finger.
Driscoll moved slowly to her.
"Kiss me, Charlie! Kiss hell out of me!"
He took her into his arms, pressed his lips tightly into hers, felt her tongue drive instantly into his mouth and her arms tighten around his neck.
Like a noose.
Finally, she jerked away from him. She removed his coat, tie, shirt and undershirt, and flung them across the desk.
"Now, take off your pants. We're gonna have a party that will put the biggest party in history to shame!"
He saw the anxiety in her eyes.
"Why don't you take my pants off, Susan?"
"By God, I will!"
And she did. Very quickly.
Not only his pants but his shorts.
Gently, she knelt down in front of him, removed his shoes and socks, and paused to kiss him where he wanted most to be kissed.
"You like that, don't you, Charlie?" she asked.
"You're a little devil, Susan," Driscoll said. "A real little devil!"
"Well," she returned, standing up in front of him, "at least you can't say I'm a timid, shy little devil now, can you, Charlie?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached down, caught hold of the hem of her dress and lifted it upward, pausing long enough to unzip the dress and then remove it.
There was nothing beneath the dress.
Nothing except Susan, that is.
"Now take off my shoes," Susan directed.
He started to sweep her into his arms, wanting to feel the fullness of her breasts against him, but she backed quickly away.
"Not so fast, Charlie!" she said. "I want you to kneel down in front of me and take off my shoes."
He laughed aloud.
"Go ahead," Susan prompted.
Driscoll dropped to his knees, caught hold of her ankle, and removed one shoe. Then the other shoe.
His lips were parallel with her thighs. "No re ... ciprocate?" Susan laughed. "Re ... what?" he asked. "Reciprocate!" she repeated. "I don't get it," he lied. "I want you to return the favor, Charlie!" He knew damn well what she wanted, but he got a big kick out of making her wait. Making her beg him. His arms went around her thighs, and he drew her to him and kissed her exactly at the spot where she wanted most to be kissed.
"Ooo ... h," she purred in response to his gesture, a bolt of desire striking her hard and spreading out over her body. "That's enough of that now, Charlie! Pick me up and take me over to the bed!"
He wasted no time scooping her into his arms and staggered toward the bed with her. Her breasts were two high peaks directly in front of his lips as he moved across the room, and he drew his face over them.
"Bite them!" Susan moaned. "Bite them hard!"
He sank his teeth into first one and then the other and heard her gasp. He placed her in the center of the bed.
"From here on, you're on your own, Charlie," she mumbled, pulling him down on top of her.
Driscoll felt her thighs relax.
Wide.
He eased forward and heard the soft sounds of lust rise from her throat. "More, Charlie!" He gave her more. Everything.
Her legs curved around him, and her hips began to function like a pair of powerful pistons. Grinding, wheeling, twisting. Her reflexes were fantastic, responding instantly to his movements. His lips met her breasts and virtually devoured them.
Yes, Susan Manning had poise now to meet any situation. In bed. Out of bed.
Driscoll felt the imprint of her fingernails in his back, then deeper into his back, and he knew that she was ready.
Ready for the inevitable.
With one simultaneous, blinding surge, they reached the climax.
Driscoll's breath became short and choppy. Susan screamed. And it was over.
Driscoll noted that her arms and legs were growing limp around him, and he collapsed against her.
Both of them were exhausted. All of their strength gone. Spent.
Silent moments passed before Driscoll rolled away from her this time. He was certain of only one thing: She was the best he'd ever encountered, and he wanted more of her.
A lot more of her.
He could have kicked himself for letting two months go by while she spent her nights giving it to a bunch of dizzy photographers.
Or selling it, as it actually was.
Susan lay there beside him with two things on her mind. Neither concerned Charlie Driscoll and his love making. Instead, she was thinking about her big break as a television actress and of Roy Payne.
Only as she thought of Roy did Driscoll's ability as a lover enter into the picture. She'd already concluded that Roy was far the superior of the two in bed.
Still, Charlie wasn't bad. Very good, in fact. A helluva lot better than most of the guys she'd sacked up with for twenty dollars.
Ten for her and ten for big Joe, to be more exact.
And Susan did figure she was indebted to Charlie. The least she could do was to give him a little tumble now and then.
"You know, Charlie," Susan said, breaking the lengthy silence, "I'd do anything for you. That's how much I appreciate the chance you've given me in TV and everything you've done for me."
Driscoll rolled closer to her, feeling himself coming very much alive again. He clasped one hand over her breast and began to massage it gently.
"Anything?" he asked, thinking he knew what she was driving at.
Susan detected the note of sarcasm in his voice.
"Yes, anything!"
"Before this night is over, we'll see about that," he laughed.
She laughed with him, deciding to change the subject for the present.
"Charlie, tell me more about the series for Golden Motor Oil."
He edged closer to her, his eyes picking up her eyes.
"Suppose we have an encore first. Then we'll discuss business a little and then have another encore. You know, sort of sprinkle business with pleasure and pleasure with business, with the most emphasis on pleasure."
"Why not tell me a little more about the job now, Charlie?" she begged.
"Okay," he agreed. "Probably the first thing we've got to do is change your name."
"Change my name?" Susan repeated.
He realized she wasn't exactly happy with his suggestion.
"That's right."
"What's the matter with Susan Manning?" Driscoll shrugged his broad shoulders. "Nothing, particularly," he replied. "It's a very nice name, but ... "
"But? ... "
He drew his hand along her smooth leg, starting at her knee and hesitating at her thighs.
"We need a change ... a change to remove as much of your past background as possible. A new, intriguing image."
She reached across him to the chair beside a magazine rack near the wall, picked up a cigarette and lit it.
"Okay, if it's necessary. Do you have any suggestions?" she asked, relaxing beside him again and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.
"What about...." he paused, " ... what about Roxie for a first name?"
She frowned after a second of consideration.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "That sounds like a ... a whore."
Driscoll smiled.
"I guess you're right. I've known a couple of girls named Roxie, and both of them were whores pretending to be actresses or models."
He meditated deeply for a moment. Then he continued:
"We need something fresh ... like ... like Cynthia ... Cynthia Stevens. How does that strike you?"
Susan pondered over the name ... Cynthia Stevens. If my name can't be Susan Manning, my father would like Cynthia Stevens. I know that he would. And Roy Payne would like that name, too."
"Cynthia Stevens...." Driscoll mumbled. "That rings a pretty nice bell. I can see the name now fading in on television sets all over the country. How do you like it, Susan?"
"I like it too," Susan said.
"All right, that settles it. Cynthia Stevens it will be."
Driscoll was beginning to want her again now. The worst way.
He extended his arm around her body, spun her around toward him, and drove her hard-tipped breasts into his chest. His hand dropped down and began to explore the secret places of her body.
"Get hot, baby!" he urged excitedly. "Get hot as hell!"
"I'm already hot as hell!" she purred, smothering his face with kisses and finally rolling her lips into his.
Quickly, he rolled her over on top of him.
Her legs parted and swallowed him.
A series of unintelligible sounds erupted from her lips, and her hips lashed against him violently.
Very violently.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Light was beginning to flicker in around the edges of the window shades. Daylight.
Day was starting to wipe out the darkness outside.
Driscoll stirred slightly. His eyes opened, and he became aware of the daylight. The odor of stale cigarette smoke filled the room.
And the odor of whiskey.
And sex.
He turned toward Susan.
She was sleeping peacefully beside him, her face toward the ceiling and her nude body stretched out the full length of the bed. Her breasts extended straight up and rose majestically and fell as she breathed.
Driscoll raised up and leaned over her and kissed the tip of each breast, gently.
Susan moved, rubbed her eyes and opened them slowly. She smiled, put her arms around Driscoll and pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.
"God, I feel good," she said. "A trace of a headache, but still, I feel wonderful. That was a night I'll always remember."
"We've got to get up," he said. "This is a business establishment. Remember?"
"You'd've never guessed it about three o'clock this morning."
A sarcastic grin smothered her face.
"What about another little quick one, Charlie?" she added.
He nodded.
"There isn't time."
"It wouldn't take long," she argued. "Hell, I'm still all fired up."
She looked at him, laughing, and said:
"And if my eyes aren't deceiving me, you're still pretty fired up yourself!"
Still, he refused.
"We've got a lot of work to get done," he said. "Come on, get that pretty little fanny of yours out of bed." He smacked her legs lightly and climbed from the bed. "Out of there!"
Susan followed him, stepping onto the floor and into her spike heels. She reached for a cigarette and touched a match to it.
"Dress me, Charlie."
He whirled around toward her, poking his head through his undershirt.
"That won't be difficult," he reasoned, scooping up her dress. "No bra, no slip, no panties, no hose. Just this...."
He raised the dress over her head.
"Sure you won't change your mind and go for a quickie?" she teased.
"Nope!" he answered. "Not right now. I'll take a rain check, though,"
He worked the dress over her shoulders and down her body, then said:
"There, you're dressed."
She took a hard drag from her cigarette, and stood there watching him continue to put on his clothes.
"What work have we got to do?"
"Sign your contract and work out the rest of the details of starting you on your way to becoming a television actress. The groundwork, that is."
"Oh."
She said nothing more until he finished dressing. She watched him rearrange the bed, go to his desk, tidy it up a bit and toss the empty whiskey bottle in the wastebasket.
He returned to the bed and closed it into the wall. The office was beginning to look like an office should look once more. Driscoll adjusted his tie, combed his hair, went to his desk and sat down behind it.
"All right, Miss Manning," he said, no grin on his face now.
Susan moved across the office to the desk.
"All business now, aren't you, Charlie?" she observed, lighting a fresh cigarette and sliding onto the edge of the desk near him.
"That's right," he answered. "You'd better move the breastwork into that chair over here. The hired help will be coming to work soon now. One of those dames is suspicious as hell of me, anyway."
Susan slid from the desk.
"Damn you!" she said. "That's just like a man. He gets what he wants from a dame and then suddenly he's all business. God!...."
She sat down in the chair.
Driscoll chuckled almost under his breath.
"Now that we've agreed on a new name for you, Susan, there's something else."
She crossed her legs, her dress drawing up and revealing silken thighs again, and dangled her foot.
"Like what?"
Driscoll's eyes picked up the view.
"Better watch the legs, baby," he said. "We wouldn't want the hired hands to walk in and get the wrong impression of you."
He cleared his voice, watching her leg come to a standstill and her shapely thighs disappear beneath the dress.
Almost.
"We must create a favorable and glamorous background for you," he continued. "One of the factors involved in accomplishing this is that you must stay entirely away from your family, meaning your father, and the neighborhood in which you grew up."
Susan was hurt. Stunned. The smile disappeared from her face, and she became solemn.
"But, Charlie, that's carrying things too far. It's asking too much. Much too much."
Driscoll remained silent. He wasn't going to argue with Susan. He was just going to lay it on the line in plain, cold facts. He had his own ideas about the private life of one of his female proteges, and he wasn't going to budge an inch.
For Susan or anyone else.
"A girl can't just say to hell with her father," Susan argued, jumping from the chair and looking directly at Driscoll.
Her face was flushed with anger, as she added:
"And I'm practically engaged to Roy Payne. I...."
"That's the way it's got to be, Susan," Driscoll interrupted. "The television audience must never get wind of your past life in the slums. It's important too that officials of Golden Motor Oil Company don't find out about your past. Remember, we're going to promote you as a glamorous new importation."
"Imported from where?" she asked sarcastically.
"Never mind from where!"
"But, Mr. Driscoll ... "
"Now, Susan," Driscoll interrupted again, "there's no need for you to try to argue about the matter. We can't have our viewers or our sponsor find out you're the daughter of a junk collector, or that you've been running around with the driver of a coal truck."
"What the hell's wrong with my father's occupation?" she snapped, pausing slightly after her question. "And Roy ... he's a good truck driver."
Driscoll smiled.
"You must admit that neither job is very sexy."
"If someone sexy is what the audience wants," she shot back, "I'm just the little girl that can give it to them! I'll be so sexy the audience won't know what hit it!"
With that remark, she raised her dress high over her knees.
Higher.
Over her thighs.
"When they get a look at that," she added, "they won't give a good goddamn whether I'm a junk man's daughter or the Queen of England!"
Driscoll could not restrain himself from laughing. He got up, drew close to her, kissed her quickly and pulled back away from her.
"It may be a little rough on you for awhile, Susan, but you'll find new friends who measure up to your class and the new life you'll soon be leading."
Susan focused her, eyes on the floor.
"I want this part worse than I've ever wanted anything in my life, but to give up Roy Payne...."
She paused and realized how much she was really in love with Roy. She came face to face with Driscoll, then said:
"I've been in love with Roy for a long time ... a helluva long time."
He moved close to her again.
"And Daddy ... I'm all Daddy has since Mom died several years ago," she continued, a thin mist coating her eyes.
"It's part of the price you have to pay for getting the opportunity to become a great and lovely television star," Driscoll said, trying to comfort her. "People are funny ... They expect a star to have a glamorous background. When they don't we have to improvise one."
"I ... I can't go through with it," she insisted.
He cupped her chin with his hand and tilted her face in his direction.
"Susan," he said, "think what it means to you. You may never get another opportunity like this one. A million girls would give their right arm for a chance like this one."
She studied his words in silence.
The sacrifices ... the tremendous sacrifices, she thought. A girl has to go to bed with all kinds of men to get a break. She gives so much and now what little family she has and her sweetheart. It doesn't seem fair.
"Dammit, it isn't fair!" she blurted out.
"Susan," he countered, "in a month or two, you won't know the difference."
Susan puffed hard on her cigarette. She knew she had to make her decision.
Now.
If she left Charlie Driscoll's office without signing the contract, she might just as well forget her career. She would wind up marrying Roy Payne and settling down and having a batch of kids.
Well, she just wasn't ready for the role of housewife and mother.
"All right, I'll sign the contract," she said finally.
Driscoll looked up at her and smiled. "And follow all of my instructions?" he asked.
She bit her lip.
"Yes, and follow all of your ... your damn instructions."
"Atta girl," he said. "I'll make you one of the biggest stars in show business."
He withdrew the contract from a desk drawer.
"Here we are," he continued. "If you'll just put your name right here on all four copies, we're in business."
Susan signed her name four times, remembering to sign it Cynthia Stevens as Driscoll a few moments earlier had typed in at the top of the forms.
For the first time, she became aware that she was no longer Susan Manning but was now Cynthia Stevens.
Driscoll glanced at the signatures.
"From this moment on," he grinned, "you're Cynthia Stevens. In everything you do. In every acquaintance you make."
"All right."
Driscoll got up and caught hold of her. "I think this is one contract we ought to seal with a kiss."
Without further hesitation, he buried his lips in hers, felt her arms surround him and tighten and her body relax.
No sooner had he released her than a redhead, her skirt drawn tight over her shapely buttocks, opened the door and walked inside the office. She stared at Susan, taking close scrutiny of her charms, and then at Driscoll.
"G-o-o-d morning, Miss Collins," Driscoll greeted her.
"Hello, Charlie," the redhead replied, her bulging breasts straining heavily against her pastel-blue cotton blouse. "Mighty damn formal this morning, aren't you?"
Her eyes moved to Susan again, and she said:
"Usually he just says, 'G-o-o-d morning, my little wench!' "
Driscoll laughed aloud.
"Miss Stevens, I want you to meet Wanda Collins. She's my gal Friday. Miss Collins ... Cynthia Stevens ... She's going to become one of our glamorous and lovely TV stars. For the Golden Motor Oil program."
The two girls nodded to each other.
Wanda had a note of sarcasm in her eyes.
"I'm sure Miss Stevens will become one of our glamorous and lovely TV stars, all right!"
"She's signed a contract," Driscoll said.
Wanda started to return to the outer office, stopped and turned around.
"Have you sampled the merchandise yet, Charlie?" she asked. "Don't answer that. I know damn well you have, if she's signed a contract."
"That's my little wench!" Driscoll shot back, grinning broadly.
"You'd better wipe the lipstick off, Charlie!" Wanda cracked. "Somebody who doesn't know you better just might get the wrong idea."
She turned around and disappeared into the office, pulling the door to behind her.
"Some girl, that Wanda," Driscoll said, facing Susan again. "Well, now, where were we? Oh, yes, you'll begin work next Monday morning. Bright and early. Say, about this time. That's when we'll prepare a news release and make photographs of you, Susan. I mean Cynthia. We'll go for a Sunday spread in the Chronicle. Golden Motor Oil gives the Chronicle thousands of dollars a year in advertising, and they'll go along with us on the Sunday spread, I know."
"Okay," Susan sighed, feeling a little overwhelmed by everything now. "I'll be here Monday morning. Bright and early. Ready for action."
"Good."
Driscoll momentarily debated taking this bundle of sex into his arms and giving her a departing kiss but decided against it. There would be plenty of time for that in the future. He intended to see a lot more of Susan Manning-Cynthia Stevens.
"Goodbye," he concluded, "and thanks for everything, and I do mean everything."
"Goodbye."
Susan spun around and walked out of the office and cast a fleeting glance at Wanda Collins.
"Goodbye, Miss Collins," she said. "Goodbye."
Susan stepped into the hallway and stared straight ahead, a depressed feeling suddenly spreading through her. She had what she wanted.
Almost.
She wasn't convinced she could give up Roy Payne and never have anything more to do with her father. She wasn't certain she was going to give them up.
Contract or no contract.
She walked into the elevator and watched the door close in front of her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thirty-six hours passed. It was Saturday night. The girl opened the door, went inside the apartment, closed the door and heard the lock click.
She started to turn on the light but changed her mind. It was just beginning to get dusk outside, and there was still sufficient light in the room.
The girl set her small suitcase down on the end of the dresser and opened it. She pulled up her skirt and released the snaps on her garter belt, rolled her nylons down her legs, removed them, and stepped back into her new spike heel, multi-colored shoes.
She took off her skirt, her half-slip, then the garter belt, and draped them over the back of a chair. She peeled off her blouse and, with one swish of her hand, drew away the low-cut bra that cloaked her breasts.
She was nude.
Except for the spike heels.
She figured the high heels were a part of sex. They did something to a girl's legs. They expanded a girl's chest.
And consequently, her breasts.
Not that the girl's breasts needed expanding.
Consequently or otherwise.
Quickly now, she removed lipstick and mascara from the suitcase and applied both generously.
Very generously.
For a moment, the girl studied herself in the mirror. Long earrings dangled elegantly from her ears, and the nipples of her breasts stood out proudly in the reflection of the mirror.
She withdrew a midnight-black gown from the suitcase and slid into it. The gown hung nearly to the floor, was open down the front and had no sleeves, merely narrow straps that wound over her naked shoulders. It was so very sheer it really didn't hide a damn thing. Only the girl's high, pointed breasts kept it from dragging on the floor.
The girl removed a fresh fifth of Scotch and an unopened package of cigarettes, poured herself a stiff drink and downed it. She lit a cigarette, drew the smoke through her lungs and exhaled it.
She picked up the cigarettes, the bottle of booze and an ashtray, and moved to the corner of the room flanking the window and looked outside. Night was moving in very quickly over the city now.
The glow from the cigarette lighted the girl's face brilliantly.
The girl was Susan Manning, who, starting Monday morning, was going to be known as Cynthia Stevens.
The apartment was that occupied by Roy Payne. It consisted of a bedroom and a tiny kitchen. The bathroom was down the hall. It was a new apartment, and Roy had moved into it only a month previously.
Susan stared at the lights of the automobiles speeding along the city's streets far below. She waited, crushing out one cigarette after another and lighting a fresh one and occasionally taking a drink, directly from the bottle now.
I love Roy, she was thinking. This may be the last night I'll ever spend with him, and it's going to be a helluva night. A night I'll always remember.
A night Roy will always remember.
I don't give a damn whether Charlie Driscoll likes it or not, I'm going to see Roy this one more time. Charlie doesn't need to know, her thoughts continued.
She felt a sharp flicker of desire strike her loins and spread out quickly through her body. She hadn't had a man since Charlie Driscoll two nights ago, and she was hungry now.
For a man.
For Roy Payne.
During the past two days, she'd arrived at one conclusion: She was never again going to let just every Tom, Dick, and Harry take her to bed.
Including Charlie Driscoll.
She had accomplished her purpose in letting Driscoll make love to her. Her contract with Golden Motor Oil was all signed now. She had a copy of it in her purse, and there was no need now to climb into bed with every bastard who wanted to cuddle into the sack with her.
Besides, too much love making by too many men would tell on her figure and her physical attractiveness, in time, and she was going to retain both as long as possible.
In short, she wasn't going to be a dissipated old bitch with crow's feet under her eyes and look forty before she turned thirty.
No, she wasn't going to give up sex entirely.
She'd still get her share of love, but in the future, it was going to be with the right guys. With men who at least had some measure of interest in her other than popping her once or twice and then saying to hell with it.
Only the right guys were going to get her into bed from now on.
Like Roy Payne.
Susan touched another cigarette to her red, ripe lips and lit it. Scarcely had she extinguished the match when she heard footsteps in the hallway.
Roy Payne's footsteps.
Susan took a deep breath, backed quickly away from the window, leaned against the wall, raised one leg until her thigh was parallel with the ceiling, and the sole of her spike heel rested firmly against the wall.
The lock in the door clicked and the door opened slowly.
Susan took a hard drag on her cigarette, held it to her lips. The gown draped gently over the tips of her breasts and hung straight down and away from her nude leg, baring her naked belly.
Roy stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He reached for the light switch and froze, without turning the light on. He stared at the corner of the room.
Susan puffed hard and long on her cigarette, and the glow illuminated her face, brightly.
"Hello, Roy," she purred.
"Susan!"
She laughed aloud.
Roy snapped on the light and strode slowly toward her, in disbelief.
"What gives? I thought ... "
"You thought you and I were through ... that I wasn't going to see you any more," Susan interrupted. "Like hell we're through! Not until after tonight ... at least."
"But, over the telephone...."
"Over the telephone, I told you Charlie Driscoll didn't want me to see you again. I didn't say that I wasn't going to see you again."
Roy still couldn't believe his eyes.
"Well, don't just stand there, you damn fool!
I want you to make love to me!"
She hesitated momentarily, then continued:
"Or don't you like what you see?"
He moved closer to her, his eyes racing over everything that was beneath that gown.
Or showing.
"Hell, yes, I like what I see!" he mumbled. "And just as soon as I get out of these filthy clothes and shower and shave, I'm going to do something about it! When I get back from the shower, I'll do something about it, all right!"
Susan walked to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
Hard.
"What are you going to do about it?" she asked. He ran his hands over her bare breasts. "Plenty!"
"Come on ... tell me what you're going to do about it!" Susan insisted. "Say it!"
He felt slightly embarrassed. He knew she was more than a little intoxicated and that she was hotter than a firecracker on the Fourth of July.
"Say it, Roy!" she hissed.
"All right ... I'm going to rape hell out of you!"
She let out a little laugh.
"Okay, I'll let it go at that. Rape isn't quite the word, though. When a man rapes a woman, he forces her to submit to him. And believe me, buster, you're not going to have to force me! I'm just going to lie down and let you have it! As long and as often as you're able!"
They both laughed aloud.
"Come on, now," Susan urged, becoming increasingly desperate, "take that shower and shave, and let's go to bed. I've got a great big ache that needs soothing, and I can't wait too damn long!"
"We have something in common on that point,"
Roy admitted, picking up a towel, "I've got a great big ache of my own."
He disappeared through the door and into the hallway.
Susan returned to the liquor bottle, took a swallow, and then another, felt the whiskey burn her throat and then ease into her stomach.
She felt good, and she was going to feel even better. She was going to get laid by Roy Payne.
Over and over again.
And to hell with Charlie Driscoll.
To hell with everyone.
She gurgled another drink from the bottle.
Seconds later, Roy emerged from the hallway.
"You'd better run for cover, Susan!" he told her.
He was carrying his clothes and had a towel wrapped around his thighs. He tossed the clothes aside and yanked the towel away.
Roy was naked.
"Run, hell!" Susan countered. "I've been waiting for you!"
"I'm ready!"
He stopped in the center of the room and faced her directly.
"Well, I must say," Susan grinned anxiously, "you weren't joking when you said you were ready. My God!"
She started toward him, dropping the gown to the floor as she moved.
Roy met her, scooped her into his arms and buried his face in her breasts. He heard her spike heels hit the floor, as he carried her toward the bed. He let her down in the center of the bed and started to draw back.
It was no use trying to hold back. Even for a second. She clung tightly to him and pulled him quickly down upon her.
He drove his lips into hers, but she squirmed loose.
"Roy, stop wasting time!" she demanded. "Give me the real thing! Now!"
There was no further delay on Roy's part.
Or on Susan's part, for that matter.
He ripped into her with one breath-taking surge and felt her legs encircle him and her sharp, red fingernails dig deeply into his back.
The rhythm erupted like a bolt of lightning, and loud groans echoed from her throat.
"More, Roy! More!"
He was unable to accommodate her. He was already giving her all he had. All it was possible to give her. He felt like a man on a giant ferris wheel, scaling the heights and plunging to earth again.
Up and over.
Over and under.
Upward and downward.
Until suddenly, he felt her quiver and gasp beneath him. "Now, Roy!"
Her words were wasted. Their bodies already were exploding as she spoke. During the ensuing moments, their respective passions subsided, and they lay there clasped in each other's arms.
Limp and exhausted.
There was a long silence.
Susan was mentally comparing all of the others with Roy, particularly Charlie Driscoll. She concluded there was no real comparison.
Roy was the best.
Without a doubt.
Likewise, Roy was thinking about the girls he'd taken, secretly comparing each one of the others with the girl he was holding in his arms right now.
There was Janice. She was a cute redhead, but flat as a pancake upstairs. She had a good pair of legs on her, but she wasn't much in Roy's book, because she lacked so much, breast-wise.
And Charlene ... she was built like the proverbial you-know-what, with forty-inch breasts, long, tapering legs and shapely hips and thighs. Trouble was, she was a regular chatterbox in bed, and Roy was a man who liked action instead of conversation.
Viola ... a luscious brunette who measured thirty-eight, twenty-six, thirty-eight. She drank like a fish, and by the time you got her in bed she was usually so damn drunk she wanted to fight instead of make love.
Gloria, the chorus girl ... now here was a dish, a blonde whose breasts came to sharp points a good five inches from her chest and required no bra. All you had to do was touch those points and Gloria began to sizzle.
Immediately, she would purr in her sultry voice:
"Come on, big boy, take me to bed, and let's find out how good you are!"
And Maria ... Joan ... Marlene ... Estelle, the whore ... little Nellie ... and Nanette.
There were others, but these stood out in one way or another in Roy's memory.
And none compared with Susan.
"You know," Roy said to her finally, "you're terrific, Susan. A man couldn't ask for a better girl in bed than you."
"Thank you," Susan returned. "I was just thinking you're pretty wonderful yourself."
"Of course, you don't really have any basis for comparison," Roy observed.
She searched carefully for words.
"Well, I know when something's perfect," she said. "I know that I couldn't be more satisfied than I am right now, which means you have to be the best."
"Would you like to go again?"
"Are you kidding?" Susan asked. "You don't think I came all the way over here just for one time, do you? Before this night is over, I intend to ... well, you know what I said ... as long and as often as you're able."
He drew her closer to him, her breasts creasing deep into his chest and her lips so close to his he could feel her breath fanning his face.
"Goddammit, let's get married, Susan," he proposed, slightly above a whisper. "Let's make all of this legal."
She was aware that Roy had just said what she'd hoped he wouldn't say. His words rolled back and forth in her thoughts. She didn't know how to reply to him.
Finally, she said:
"Is that another proposal, Roy?"
"What the hell do you think it is?" Roy replied. "Of course, it's a proposal. I'm asking you to marry me."
"I can't, Roy," she said. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Why don't we just let it go at that for the present and enjoy tonight?" Susan suggested. "We could talk about ... about marriage, in the morning."
She paused and detected the disappointment in his eyes.
"I am going to spend tonight with you," she added.
She reached down and touched him. Boldly.
"Come on," she cooed. "I'm ready for an encore. The second time's always better than the first. If that's possible in this case."
He decided silently not to pursue the matter further at the present. With the boldness of her touch, he felt himself stirring quickly to life, and he was ready to pursue something else right now.
"Love me, Roy!" she pleaded, urgency and excitement filling her voice and dancing through her body.
A hot bolt of desire shot wildly through him. His sizzling tongue found her nipples, and he felt her hand consuming him, bidding desperately for him to go into action.
"Oh, God, give it to me!" she moaned.
He ran his hands beneath her arms and guided her on top of him, simultaneously rolling over on his back. Her legs parted and straddled him. Her breasts hovered over him, and she urged him silently to take them.
"Bite them!" she ordered.
Roy sank his teeth gently into first one and then the other.
She reacted by enclosing him, falling against him with a fury he'd never experienced from a woman and directed his legs around her, and her arms formed a noose around his neck. Her lips blended into his, and her tongue lashed violently into his mouth.
She began to work her body with reckless precision. She became a whirling, spinning, moaning bundle of delicate flesh.
Roy lapsed into a kind of unconsciousness as the tempo increased, a wild and savage tempo.
Suddenly, her fingers gripped handfuls of his hair as she hit the peak.
It was over.
For the moment.
Susan collapsed against him.
Roy's strength was depleted, every ounce of strength in his body. He'd done little more than lie there, but he was thoroughly bushed. He could not move a muscle, not even an eyelash, so completely had she possessed him.
Without warning, she rose over him again, seemingly finding an abundance of fresh strength.
"Again!" she purred. "Give me more!"
He wasn't able to give her more.
Not now.
It was physically impossible. At the moment.
And it might be awhile, considering she had so completely exhausted him.
"I can't," he mumbled, but with a high degree of positiveness.
"Come on!" Susan hissed. "What kind of a damn man are you, anyway?"
It was no use.
He simple wasn't able.
"Like I said, baby, I can't," he moaned. "I can't ... c-a-n-'-t...."
His head tilted over against the pillow. He repeated:
"I can't...."
His voice trailed away. His eyes flickered shut, and he lapsed into slumber.
CHAPTER NINE
Susan milled around the room while Roy slept. She made no attempt to cover her nudity, being perfectly content to wander around the apartment, wearing only her spike heels. She crushed her cigarette in an ashtray, which was brimming over with lipstick-smeared butts, and reached for another.
Let him sleep it off, she thought, tilting the bottle to her lips and taking a hard swallow of the raw whiskey. When he comes to, he'll be ready for another round. A thin smile creased her lips. I must be a helluva lot of woman to knock him out like that.
She went to an upholstered chair, sank into it, raised one leg over the arm, and relaxed her head against the back of the chair and blew smoke toward the ceiling.
She felt drunk.
She was drunk.
The thoughts of Roy's proposal curled through her mind.
Sure, I'd like to marry Roy, she thought, but I know I could never get away with it and keep my new job. Or even start it. And right now, that new job means more to me than anything else on earth.
In her mind, she decided one thing: She was going to keep right on seeing Roy. She could see him secretly. Neither Charlie Driscoll nor the Golden Motor Oil people could follow her around day and night, and there would be plenty of times when she and Roy could get together.
At some secluded rendezvous.
Roy Payne had something Susan wanted.
She wanted a lot of it.
Often.
Like right now.
She took another drink. A long one. The ache for Roy was gnawing away at her again, really raising hell inside of her. She got up and staggered back to the bed and touched Roy.
Intimately.
"Wake up, sleepyhead!" she said drunkenly. He stirred a little bit.
"What do you want?" he responded drowsily.
"You know damn well what I want, Charlie boy!"
His eyes eased slowly open. Wider. He looked at her, wound his arm around her and pulled her down to him, pressing her breasts deeply into his chest, and drove his lips into hers.
Seconds later, she raised her lips and ran her nose back and forth against his.
"Are you going to give me what I want or do I have to rape you?"
He laughed out loud. He felt himself stirring to life, eager now for another taste of this lovely blonde bombshell who was begging him to seduce her.
Again.
He answered her question by rolling her over on the bed and winding up on top of her.
"Baby, you're gonna get it like you've never gotten it before. Right now!"
Before she had a chance to react to his words, she felt him drive deep within her.
Deep.
With one breath-shattering thrust.
It was as if a hot, electric wire had burned her body. She let out a muffled scream and then moaned:
"God! Oh, God!"
Then she curled her legs around his body and melted into the rhythm, driving her hips upward with a tremendous impact as he drove down.
His hands smothered her peaked breasts, and his lips went down on hers. The end came with a blistering force, and seconds later he collapsed in a heap of flesh against her.
"Was it better this time than the last?" she asked.
"It gets better every time," he gasped, his body becoming limp. "And for you?"
"Tremendous. Like you say, it gets better every time."
"You're a real nymphomaniac, aren't you?" Roy wanted to know, rolling off of her but keeping his arm wrapped tightly around her.
"No, that's not right," she answered. "I'm not a nymphomaniac at all. I'm wild about it, but it has to be with the right guy, and you're the right guy, Roy."
For a moment, he pondered over the thought of whether he really was the only man who'd gone all the way with Susan.
She seemed so expert.
So very experienced.
"Is it true that I'm the only one who's been there with you, Susan?" Roy blurted out.
The question caught her off guard momentarily, but not long enough that she couldn't come up with a quick answer.
"You know damn well you're the only one, Roy," she lied. "Some day in the not-too-distant future, you'll be able to say, 'Cynthia Stevens is a great actress, and me-Roy Payne-I'm the only man who's ever been able to go all the way with her in bed'. Wouldn't you like that?"
Roy was convinced.
"Of course I would. But what do you mean by Cynthia Stevens?"
"That's my stage name." She smiled. "My TV name. That's the name I'm going to be known by as an actress."
He laughed.
"I'll never know you by any name except Susan Manning ... that is, unless I can lure you into changing it to Susan Payne. Mrs. Roy Payne, to be exact."
Susan started to laugh, but the sound faded away very quickly. She knew she might just as well tell Roy about the un---likeliness of their marriage any time in the immediate future right now.
"Roy...."
She paused as if waiting for him to prompt her.
"Yes?"
"I just can't marry you," she said sullenly.
Disappointment settled through him. Her words were so definite. So final.
"Why in the devil can't you marry me? You're free, white, and twenty-one, as the old saying goes."
"I'm not exactly free."
He raised up and looked directly at her.
"You're not free?" he asked. "You're sure as hell not already married."
"It's part of my contract," Susan explained. "Like I told you over the phone, under the terms of my contract, I'm not even supposed to see you any more."
"Yeah, I know what you said. What kind of a damn contract is that?" Roy snapped.
"Well, that's the way it reads," she continued to explain. "That's part of the agreement. I'm supposed to wash my hands of my past."
There was a lengthy silence. Finally, Roy's lips began to move:
"Are you really going to stick by that agreement? All of it?"
Susan saw the bitterness sift through Roy's eyes.
"Hell, no, I'm not. I'm not going to keep the part about not seeing you." She hesitated. "Of course, we'll have to see each other secretly."
He didn't like the idea of having to see the girl he loved on the sly. He didn't like it at all. Still, he didn't want to do anything to interfere with Susan's career.
"You mean like tonight ... here in my apartment?"
"Yes. Or in a hotel room. Or some place where nobody will see us."
"How often will that be?" Roy asked, beginning to fondle her breasts again.
The touch of his hand sent a penetrating chill of desire shooting through her body. She felt his touch become stronger. He was again lighting the fire within her.
"Once a week ... maybe. Every Saturday night."
She watched for his reaction, then continued:
"Saturday night has a big advantage over other nights. It can carry over into Sunday and even Sunday night."
His lips moved toward the tips of her breasts.
"Yeah, it sure can."
He cupped his lips over one breast and felt her arms surround him.
"I'm getting hot again, Roy!" she gasped sharply. "Oh ... my God!"
He increased the pressure of his lips, biting gently at first and then more fiercely.
"Roy!" she screamed, sliding beneath him. "Dammit! Don't make me wait any longer!"
He wasn't going to make her wait any longer. He wasn't able to wait himself. Quickly and violently, he spun into her, feeling her cling tightly to him and then relax.
They rose to the heights together, floating off into space a million miles into nowhere.
Faster.
Still faster.
Until they went as far as they could go. As far as it was possible for anybody to go. Until they were both delirious. Until it was over.
Once more, they were spent. Exhausted. Once more, they were silent. Until Roy's voice broke the stillness: "How often did you say we could see each other, Susan?"
CHAPTER TEN
Monday morning arrived. Bright and early.
This was Susan Manning's big day. The real beginning of a career. The realization of a goal.
Susan never felt better. She'd had all of the sex one girl could possibly pack into one weekend, and she'd topped it off by getting ten hours of sleep Sunday night. She expected a busy and exciting day, and she was ready for it.
She stepped from the elevator that led to Charlie Driscoll's office, walked anxiously down the hall, opened the office door and went inside.
Driscoll was sitting there in the outer office waiting for her. He looked up.
"Well, when I said bright and early, you took me at my word."
"I didn't really think I'd find you here this early," Susan said, drawing close to the desk where he was sitting.
"You have to get up pretty early in the morning to get ahead of Charlie Driscoll," he cracked, his eyes zeroed in on the teardrop openings that exposed the soft swells of her breasts.
The tight sheath she was wearing clung to her hips and tapered off at the hemline where her knees highlighted her sexy legs. She wore extremely high, matching royal-blue spike heels with ankle-hugging straps.
"Saturday night. Every Saturday night," she answered.
He smiled. Every Saturday night ... it was to be a night to look forward to. For both of them.
"Are you ready?" Driscoll asked. "We've got a very busy day cut out for us."
"I'm ready."
He rose from his chair, went to her, took her into his arms and kissed her and felt the warmth of her body penetrating the sheer blue sheath.
"Let's go."
Thirty minutes later, they arrived at a plush studio that specialized in glamour and pin-up photography, a far cry from the dirty, tiny studio where Susan had made her debut as a model.
They were greeted by a tall, dark, Italian man of about thirty. He had a pencil-thin mustache and black wavy hair.
"I'm Angelo," the studio owner said, introducing himself to Susan.
He was all eyes for Susan from the moment they'd entered the studio.
"I want you to photograph Cynthia Stevens in every possible pose," Driscoll told Angelo.
"Including in the nude, I assume," Angelo said, already undressing her with his eyes and in his thoughts.
"That's right," Driscoll confirmed. "Get at least one good nude shot for old man Kingston, the president of Golden Motor Oil. And plenty of shots emphasizing her face, legs, and bosom, for our advertising. Put all the sex the law allows in them. The usual eight by ten's for the advertising poses and blow the nude up to about twenty-four by thirty-six."
"Right-o," Angelo said.
Driscoll faced Susan.
"I've got some things to get done around the city, so I'll leave you here with Angelo this morning. I'll pick you up around one o'clock, and we'll have lunch together. I'll take you over this afternoon and introduce you to old man Kingston."
"All right," Susan agreed.
Driscoll picked up his hat, turned, and walked out of the studio, leaving Susan alone with Angelo.
"Right this way, Miss Stevens," Angelo said, "and we'll get started."
He took her by the arm and escorted her through one door and then another, until they were in a very large room with a large collection of background scenery, props of all kinds and lighting facilities.
"I've got everything just about ready," he explained.
He snapped a switch on the wall, and one section of the room became brilliantly illuminated with bright light.
Susan stared into the lighted area. The area was divided into four sections. One looked like a tiny section of a park with a bench running parallel with a backdrop painted with trees and shrubbery. Another depicted the corner of a kitchen. Still another was furnished like a small but elaborate living room.
The fourth was in the form of a bedroom with a fancy bed and a vanity and large mirror. Flanking the vanity was a vanity chair. The vanity contained various items that would be found in a girl's bedroom.
"We'll shoot the park bench scene first," Angelo said, showing her to the lighted section equipped with the bench. "You sit down on the bench, Miss Stevens, and I'll tell you what to do then."
Susan walked to the bench and sat down.
Angelo moved to the camera, which was situated in the center of the room, and wheeled it closer to the park scene, spent several minutes adjusting it and bringing it into focus.
"Cross your legs, Miss Stevens, and turn your body slightly to the left," Angelo instructed.
Susan followed his instructions.
"A little more to the left," Angelo motioned. She turned a little more.
"Now draw your dress a little higher over your knees," Angelo continued.
Susan raised her dress higher.
Angelo smiled and went to her. He lifted her dress higher, until a streak of bare flesh showed just beyond the top of her nylons on the side facing the camera.
"Now, that should do the trick," he said.
He returned to the camera and looked down through the view finder.
"Now I want you to relax," he continued. "Turn your head toward me, raise your left hand and wave at me. Show excitement, but relax."
Again, Susan carried out his instructions perfectly.
"Perfect! Perfect!" Angelo said, clicking the shutter as he spoke. "Now let's do it one more time."
Susan went through the same procedure over again, and Angelo took the picture.
"Now let's get a shot of you pausing in front of the bench adjusting your stockings," Angelo suggested. "Stand up and stand with your right side facing the camera."
She assumed the position.
"Now turn your body slightly to the right, bend over, raise your dress high over your knees and pretend to be pulling up your right stocking," Angelo continued. "Raise your chin just a little. We want to pick up your face, the breastwork, and your legs in this shot."
Seconds later, Angelo snapped the picture.
"Now let's do the nude shots," Angelo said. "These will be taken in the bedroom. Take off all of your clothes, including your shoes and hose, and I'll be moving the camera. Driscoll wants the nude shot for Kingston when you go over there this afternoon."
Susan moved into the section of the lighted area containing the bed and began to remove her clothes.
Angelo moved the camera and made the necessary adjustments. He walked into the lighted area just as Susan removed her bra and let her breasts spring free.
"My God!" he cried. "I've spent all morning wondering if all of that was real!"
"Now you know," Susan laughed.
She stripped off her panties and nylons and removed her shoes and stood before him.
Nude.
Angelo was stunned. Never in his life had he seen a more perfectly formed and developed girl. And he made a business of photographing beautiful girls and saw most of them in the nude. He felt a ripple of desire sweeping through him.
The ripple became a bolt of lightning.
"Get on the bed," he said, his loins aching for her.
He turned around and walked across the room and locked the door. He was staring at her as she relaxed on the bed and he was unable to concentrate on photography.
He walked to the bed and looked down at Susan, his eyes roaming from the tips of her toes upward to her thighs, her flat stomach, and to the tips of her breasts.
His eyes hesitated a long while on her breasts.
Quickly, he tried to regain hismental composure.
"I want you to turn on your stomach, stretch out across the bed with your face toward the camera," he mumbled.
He watched while she moved into the position, then he said:
"Now, fold your arms beneath your breasts."
He reached down and adjusted her arms, her breasts coming into contact with the backs of his hands and the contact made him weak in the knees.
"Like that," he continued. "Now, bend your knees and raise your legs toward the ceiling." He studied her. "That's it. Now hold it!"
Angelo hurried to the camera, looked down into it, smiled, and took the picture. He returned to Susan, his groin stirring wildly as he looked at her. He sat down on the bed beside her, extended his arm around her body and moved his hand beneath her arm and cupped her breast.
"I'm not sure I can continue," he muttered. "I've never seen a girl quite like you before."
"Well, thanks for the compliment."
Susan was aware that his hand was squeezing more firmly now, and she felt a simultaneous reaction between her thighs, a familiar sensation swaying into her. She also was aware of her promise to herself that she wasn't going to give it to every bastard who came along, but Angelo was getting to her.
And Angelo was extremely easy on the eyes.
She looked up and saw the burning desire in his eyes. It was hard as hell to reject a guy with that kind of yearning for a woman.
"Would you like to take time out for a little fun?" she asked.
"You're reading my mind," Angelo returned.
"Then, take off your clothes and climb aboard," she purred.
This was an invitation Angelo wasn't going to pass up. He hurried across the big room and turned off the floodlights, leaving only a small overhead light burning. He was removing his clothes as he returned to the bed.
"I almost have to pinch myself to make certain I'm not dreaming."
Susan laughed.
"You're not dreaming. I thought I ought to keep my photographer happy."
"If this won't do it, nothing will."
He was nude now.
Susan glanced down at him.
"My God, you were having trouble keeping your mind on your work, weren't you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he rolled her over and slipped onto the bed beside her. Their bodies were only inches apart and then suddenly their mouths merged, and he felt her tongue darting past his lips. He rolled over on top of her, and her nipples were sharp against his rubbing palms.
Her passion mounted rapidly, and she was in urgent need now. She moulded her arms around him, sinking her fingernails into his back, and closed her legs as they encircled him.
Then she felt him within her.
Deep within her.
She gasped, and her hips began to pump with him in a rhythmic motion that became violent frenzy.
A light groan emerged from Angelo's throat. He already was aware that this was it. This was the best ever. There were no words to describe it.
Susan knew, too, that Angelo was the best. Ever.
Including Roy Payne. The frenzy increased.
And Susan screamed as they reached the top. The top of everything. There was no place else to go.
And the end came with shattering force. "God!" Susan screamed.
A smile spread over Angelo's lips, as he collapsed against her.
"You liked it, didn't you, Cynthia?"
"Hell, yes, I liked it!" she answered. "You're a real man, Angelo."
She cleared her throat and caught her breath, then said:
"What you couldn't do for a girl if she spent the night with you!"
"I'd like to show you some night," Angelo said. "You really do something to a guy!"
"I could take a helluva lot of that!" Susan cooed. "We'll have to get together some night. Right now, though, how about a quick encore?"
"It'll have to be a quick one, but I'm ready," Angelo shot back. "We've still got a lot of photographs to make before Driscoll returns."
Angelo gave her an encore.
A quick one.
And, despite the haste, Susan liked it. Better than the first time. And Angelo liked it. Better than the first time.
It was eleven-thirty now. Only an hour and a half before Driscoll would return to pick up Susan.
Susan got up from the divan in the makeshift living room.
"I'd like to take time out for a cigarette," she said, lighting one.
She felt good. The morning so far had been quite an experience.
In more ways than one.
Angelo shifted the camera to the kitchen scene, went over to a small desk in the corner, picked up the telephone, and dialed.
"Have you got those nudes of Miss Stevens ready yet?" he asked.
He paused and listened.
"Another twenty or thirty minutes? ... Okay. Just so you have them ready shortly after noon."
He hung up the receiver and returned to Susan.
She crushed out her cigarette. "All ready," she said.
"Now for the kitchen shots," Angelo said. "We are going to photograph you as a handy girl around the house. You know, pretending to be doing dishes, and that kind of thing. You'll find an apron in that cabinet over that false sink."
Susan stepped into the lighted kitchen area, got the apron from the cabinet, and tied it around her waist.
"Now, what do you want me to do?"
Angelo focused the camera on her.
"Pick up that towel and a couple of those dishes and pretend to be drying them over the sink," he told her, concluding that Cynthia Stevens was a girl who seemed much more at home in the bedroom than in the kitchen. "That's real good," he told her.
He took the picture.
For the next twenty minutes, Susan had her picture taken in all sorts of poses in the kitchen.
"I guess that just about does it," Angelo said. "We've made about thirty pictures. I think we've made everything that Driscoll wanted."
The door opened, and a youth of about sixteen entered, carrying two large photographs. He went to Angelo and handed the pictures to him.
"They turned out real good, Angelo," the youth smiled. "That's quite a babe!"
Angelo took the pictures and looked at them, examining them closely.
"You're right, Speedy. She's quite a dish, all right."
Susan, touching a cigarette to her lips, moved over to where Angelo and the youth were standing. She blushed as she looked at the nude photos of herself.
The boy stared at her. "God!" he mumbled.
His eyes moved up and down her body, pausing at strategic points. Finally, he turned around and disappeared.
Susan and Angelo both laughed.
"You like the nudes?" Angelo asked, holding them up for her to see again.
"They're very good," she replied, unable to keep from blushing again. "In fact, I'd like to have a copy of each myself."
She was thinking she'd like to give them to Roy.
"I'll see that you get copies," Angelo said. "Maybe I could bring them to you that night we get together."
"Maybe you could," Susan agreed in a sultry voice. "Maybe you could."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The headquarters of Golden Motor Oil Company was located in a swank office building on Fifth Avenue. They consumed the first five floors of the huge structure.
It was shortly after two o'clock.
Susan and Charlie Driscoll waited anxiously in the plush reception room outside the private office of Clayton B. Kingston, the firm's president. At one end of the room was a large desk. Behind it sat a young brunette who wore a tight, pastel-green skirt, a white blouse that strained with the swell of her breasts down the front, and white spike heels.
Susan could feel her spike heels embedded deep in the thick rug on the floor.
She leaned toward Driscoll and said:
"I'm nervous as hell," she whispered.
"You don't have to be," Driscoll said. "The old man's about sixty. He's pleasant and easy to talk with."
"And rich?"
"And rich." Driscoll drew his lips closer to her ear. "If he tries to put the make on you, you'll know that he likes you."
"An old man with hot pants, huh?"
"That's about the story," Driscoll returned. "His wife died about six or seven years ago. Cancer. The old man lives alone now in a big house in Connecticut."
Susan smiled.
The brunette pulled up in front of them.
"Mr. Kingston is ready to see you now," she said, eyeing Susan closely. "Just go right in."
Driscoll took Susan by the arm and escorted her through the door. Kingston was seated far across the big room behind a large, glass-topped desk, his eyes fixed on some papers in front of him. The rug on Kingston's office floor was at least twice as thick as that on the reception room floor.
"Hello, Driscoll," Kingston said, without looking up.
He was a big man, tall and husky, with heavy shoulders, and he wore dark-rimmed glasses.
Susan concluded quickly that if he was sixty, he was well preserved.
"Hello, Clayton B.," Driscoll answered. "This is Miss Stevens ... Cynthia Stevens."
Kingston glanced up and let his eyes fall back on his papers without really taking inventory of Susan.
"Hello, Miss Stevens," he said. His voice was low but clear and, as Driscoll had told her, pleasant.
Driscoll walked over to the desk and removed the big envelope from the nude photos of Susan and ran them across the desk toward Kingston. He watched Kingston's eyes shift to the pictures, and a smile bathe his face.
Slowly and gradually, Kingston's eyes left the photos and raised upward toward Susan, who was still standing nervously a few feet from the desk. He glanced at the pictures again and then back at Susan.
"Good! V-e-r-y good!" he said. "I'm glad to meet you, Miss Stevens!" Susan moved closer.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Kingston." Kingston got up and drew two chairs close to his desk. "Sit down."
Driscoll started to sit down in the chair closest to Kingston, but the older man nodded.
"Let the lady sit in that one," Kingston said in a very persuasive voice. "I like young ladies close to me."
When they were seated, Susan crossed her legs, making certain her dress drew up over her knees.
Kingston's eyes flashed to her knees.
"Ordinarily, we like for actresses with names to appear on our television show," he said, "but I have a hunch you're going to fill the bill nicely, Miss Stevens. Very nicely."
"As I told you, Clayton B,, I know everything about Miss Stevens," Driscoll said, "everything. She's young and beautiful. She has the proper background. And the people where she went to dramatics school say she has the greatest potential of any young actress who has studied with them in a long, long while."
"We always go along with your agency's decision," Kingston said, "and you've never been wrong so far."
He turned toward the nude photos again, then said to Susan:
"That's quite a body you've got there, Miss Stevens."
"Thank you," Susan smiled, lighting a cigarette.
The telephone rang. Kingston answered it.
"At three o'clock? ... Yes, I can be there, Walt." He glanced at his watch. "That's about twenty minutes from now ... All right, I'll be there."
He hung up the receiver, turned toward Susan and Driscoll and said:
"I've got a meeting at three. I hate to have to cut this short, but it's important."
"That's all right, Clayton B.," Driscoll said assuringly. "I just thought I'd bring Miss Stevens over and let you get a look at the merchandise." He got up. "We'll put Miss Stevens through the usual briefing, and everything's ready to start rehearsals the last of this week."
"Good," Kingston said.
Susan rose.
"I'm glad to have had the opportunity to meet you, Mr. Kingston."
Kingston's eyes were fixed on her breasts. "The pleasure's all mine."
Driscoll and Susan said goodbye and started toward the door. Kingston got up.
"Oh, Miss Stevens...." he said. Susan spun around toward him. "Yes? ... "
"Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight?" Kingston asked bluntly.
Susan looked at Driscoll and saw him nod approval. It was more of a nod urging her to accept than a nod of approval.
"I'd like that, Mr. Kingston," Susan said. "I'd like that very much."
Kingston smiled in triumph.
"My secretary has your file which contains your address. My car will pick you up at eight o'clock."
"Eight o'clock," Susan repeated. "I'll be ready."
She and Driscoll closed the door behind them.
It was exactly eight o'clock, when a knock sounded on the door of Susan's apartment. She put out her cigarette and hurried to the door and opened it. Standing before her was a slender, tall man in uniform.
"Miss Stevens," the man said, taking it for granted that he was at the right apartment, "Mr. Kingston told me to call for you at eight."
"I'm ready," Susan said, picking up a shawl from a chair near the door and draping it around her shoulders.
She made certain the door was locked behind her and left.
Some forty-five minutes later, the man rang the bell at the door of Clayton B. Kingston's elaborate home on the edge of Connecticut. It had been a fast and rather wild drive through Manhattan and onto the throughway and finally into Connecticut.
The butler opened the door.
"Mr. Kingston is expecting you, Miss Stevens," the butler said.
Susan stepped inside, and the man who'd driven her there departed. She took a hurried look around the hallway which was elaborately furnished as she'd expected after seeing the outside of the house.
"Just follow me into the living room," the butler said, starting to walk down the hallway and climbing a small flight of stairs that led up into the living room.
Susan followed closely behind him. From the moment she stepped into the living room, she knew she'd never seen anything like it. It was tremendous in size, and the wall-to-wall carpeting was pure Persian rug at least two inches thick. The room was furnished with expensive Colonial furniture, and every piece was in its proper place.
Susan took a deep breath and sighed.
"Oh...." the word came out automatically.
Kingston entered from his study and went to her. He took her shawl and handed it to the butler.
"Dinner is ready," Kingston said. "I thought you'd like to eat here where we won't be disturbed, Cynthia." He paused. "Maybe you'd like a drink first."
"Yes," she agreed.
"Then won't you sit down on the divan?" he asked, more in the form of a statement than a question.
Susan felt like a queen in a palace as she strode across the room and sat down on the plush divan. She crossed her legs as Kingston joined her.
"My, but you're beautiful," he said, his eyes already glued to the twin cones of flesh which swelled from the neckline of the pleated jersey sheath she was wearing.
The sheath was jet-black and formed a brilliant contrast to her lovely skin and her blonde hair.
An hour later after they'd dined in Kingston's fabulous dining room, Susan and Kingston at his suggestion went into his spacious study, which was dimly lighted.
"I thought you'd be interested in seeing some of my films," Kingston said, directing her toward a row of chairs in the center of the room. "I guess I'm taking it for granted that you are a broad-minded girl."
"Well, I'm not a virgin, if that's what you mean," Susan volunteered.
He laughed.
"That's what I mean."
Susan sat down while Kingston pulled a portable bar in her direction. He slid into the chair beside her, poured two drinks, and handed one to her. He reached behind them and turned a couple of switches.
The lights went out, leaving the room in total darkness, and a screen inched down from the ceiling in front of them. The buzzing sound of a movie projector echoed throughout the room, and the light from the projector flashed onto the screen.
Seconds later a beautiful girl appeared on the screen. She was fully clothed, wearing a blue polka dot, turtle-neck sleeveless sweater that fit her tightly and brought out the pointed contours of her big breasts. Her solid-blue stretch capris fit snugly around her hips and buttocks and clung to her ankles. She wore extremely high spike heels and dangling earrings that fell from the edges of her silver-platinum hair.
Susan took a generous gulp of her drink.
Kingston, who'd seen the film many times and knew exactly what was going to happen next, slipped his arm around Susan and cupped her breast with his hand. He had wondered if she'd resist him, but she didn't flinch a muscle.
The girl on the screen smiled, and her hands caught hold of the turtle-neck sweater and whisked it over her head.
There wasn't a damn thing beneath that sweater except a pair of very large and pointed breasts that extended almost straight out from her body.
Susan stared at the screen, finishing one drink and pouring herself another. The whiskey warmed her and made her begin to feel gay. She lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke.
Kingston felt the passion soaring within him. He glanced over at Susan, who was motionless. He worked the narrow strap of her sheath down off of her shoulder, drew her arm out of it, and inserted his hand into the soft flesh which swelled from her bra.
Still she did not move except to raise her hand to her lips and consume more of the whiskey.
A man entered the scene on the screen. He went directly to the girl and kissed her breasts gently. Like a ballet dancer, he moved closer to her, caught hold of the zipper at the back of the capris, and yanked it downward. He rolled the capris down the girl's legs, and off.
She was nude except for the heels.
The man picked her up in his arms and began to caress her breasts with his lips.
She squirmed and twisted in his arms, urging him to put her down. He set her feet on the floor, and without hesitation, the girl removed his shirt quickly, then his undershirt. She loosened his belt and took his trousers off. Then she smiled as she reached for his shorts and sent them falling to the floor.
Susan was beginning to feel quite drunk now, and she felt a quiver of delight mushrooming over her body. The quiver blossomed into a full-blown spasm, as Kingston continued to caress her breast.
The man on the screen swept the nude girl into his arms, and the scene shifted to an adjoining room, as the man and girl entered. He placed the girl in the center of the big bed and collapsed on top of her.
The screen was suddenly brilliant with light as the end of the film ran through the projector.
As Kingston turned toward her to await her reaction, Susan jumped up in front of him.
"Hell, I can beat that!" she said drunkenly. "Turn on the lights!"
Kingston, his mouth watering in anticipation, cut off the projector and snapped on the overhead lights.
"Pour me another drink, Clayton B.," she ordered. "I'm gonna show you something!"
She ran to the open spot between Kingston and the screen, her long fingernails loosening the zipper of her sheath. She raised the sheath over her head and flung it aside and laughed at Kingston.
"I'm drunk, and I don't give a damn!" she shouted.
Kingston watched her, wanting her as he'd never wanted another girl.
She unsnapped her bra and yanked it away from her breasts, big, firm and bare.
Kingston felt weak. Just looking at her drained him of his strength.
Susan ran to him, took the glass from his hand, and downed the whiskey in one long swallow. The booze burned her throat and cut a path into her stomach. She set the glass down and moved back away from Kingston again, pretended she heard music and began to dance.
Kingston jumped up, ran a few steps, twisted a knob, and real music sifted through the room. He returned to his chair and sat down. He found difficulty in breathing, as Susan danced wildly.
She removed her half-slip, tossed it aside, and was dancing in her panties, nylons, and spike heels. She danced close to Kingston, throwing her arms high and her head back and her breasts forward.
"Touch them!" she demanded. "Touch them!"
Kingston reached up and raked his hands over the mounds of flesh, and the desire within him skyrocketed almost to the bursting point.
She stepped out of her heels and stopped dead still in front of him.
"Take off my nylons!"
Kingston's face became flushed. Almost timidly, he circled one leg with his hands and peeled one stocking down her leg, and off. Again, he drove one hand between her legs and rolled down the other stocking and removed it.
Susan danced away from him, stepped back into her high heels and began to grind her hips and buttocks violently. She picked up a cigarette, lit it, let it dangle from her lips and caught hold of the elastic band of her sheer black panties.
"You're going to get a helluva treat now, Clayton B.!"
"You're a helluvan actress, Cynthia!" Kingston yelled, raw lust fanning out over him like an electrical current shooting through a wire. "You are going to be terrific in the Golden Motor Oil series!"
She drew her panties down. Slightly. Teasing him, tormenting him. The tempo of the music increased. She inched the panties down farther.
More.
Down.
All the way.
She kicked them off.
Now she was nude except for the heels.
And she was as drunk as she'd ever been in her life. She was going to feel like hell going to work tomorrow, but she didn't care. She had her boss in the palm of her hand, and she was going to give him something old men don't get very often. She danced to the Scotch bottle, picked it up, tilted it to her lips, and swallowed. Hard and long.
She set the bottle down and eased onto Kingston's lap, drawing his arm beneath her buttocks and thrusting her breasts to within inches of his lips.
"How'd you like it, Clayton B.?" she teased.
"Wonderful!" Kingston replied, his breath coming in little jerks.
"Now you can do any damn thing you want with me!" she said. "The sky's the limit!"
"I'm up in the clouds already," Kingston mumbled, perspiration beginning to show on his forehead.
She put her arms around his neck, drove her lips into his, and kissed him hard.
"Why don't we take off your clothes?" she asked, loosening and removing his tie and beginning to unbutton his shirt.
"I think that's a good idea," Kingston said. "You have a lot of good ideas, Cynthia."
The sweat on his forehead was increasing, and the ache in his loins had become almost unbearable.
Susan spun out of his lap, pulling him with her as she got up. "Stand up!"
He struggled to his feet, not knowing whether his legs were going to support him or not.
She removed his shirt and took off his undershirt. Slowly, she wound her arms around his neck, drove her nude breasts deeply into his naked chest and kissed him.
For a long time he let his body lap up the feel of her, the warmth, the tenderness of her beauty. When at last she released him, she quickly removed his trousers.
Kingston closed his eyes, felt her tugging at his shorts, and the cool air-conditioned atmosphere engulfing him as she let his shorts tumble to the floor.
"There!" Susan said. "The rest is up to you!"
He stood there looking at her. This was the way he liked a woman. Flawless legs tapering off into spike heels; smooth, flat belly; well-proportioned buttocks; strong, flaring hips; large breasts that extended well out from her body. He felt the blood rush to his head.
"I'll take care of the rest," he vowed, sweeping his arm around her and directing her toward a door at one end of the study. "Time was when I was able to pick up a girl and carry her into the bedroom, but I suppose those days are gone now."
She laughed drunkenly, staggering with him through the door and into a large bedroom which she quickly concluded was Kingston's private bedroom for just such purposes as this.
The walls were covered with gold wallpaper, and the bed was trimmed in gold. It was the largest bed Susan had ever seen. The area over the bed had a tremendously large mirror mounted against the ceiling.
"I call this my Gold Room," Kingston said, directing her to the bed.
Susan experienced a fresh sensation grinding through her body, and she was brimming over with anxiety even for this comparatively old man, as she collapsed across the bed. She spread out in the center of the giant bed, pulling him down on top of her.
Immediately, her arms swept around him, guiding his lips to her breasts.
"This is the first time I've been able to get so completely aroused with a woman in two years," Kingston groaned, feeling her legs enclose him.
"Don't talk!" she hissed, guiding him to her.
"I want action!"
He gave her action right then and there, surging forward with amazing drive and accuracy.
She gasped with the impact.
Lust cut through him like an electric current. He found her breasts and caressed them with his lips, and he felt her legs and hips gyrating desperately around him, urging him to heights he'd never known before. Her body arched higher and higher.
He was certain this could happen to a man only once in a lifetime. She was that good. That perfect.
He felt as if he were spinning high over the earth with nothing between him and the ground except air. He thought that Cynthia Stevens should get a patent on her ability to make love because it was so distinctly different from all of the others.
And Clayton B. Kingston had sampled plenty of other women during his lifetime. The momentum increased. Stronger. And stronger.
A blinding whirlwind out of control. A cry of lust rose from Susan's throat. Suddenly, the end came like a bursting dam. Susan screamed.
Kingston collapsed against her, the full force of his weight smothering her.
He let out a loud gasp and clutched at his throat with his hands. His hands became limp, and his head crashed against hers.
She felt his entire weight against her. She knew he was breathing with difficulty.
And then the harshness of his breathing ceased. He was still.
Fear gripped Susan. She did not know why she was afraid. She was possessed by a feeling. Kingston's body was so heavy. She waited quietly for him to move.
Kingston did not move.
She shook him lightly. God, I really knock them out cold, she thought. She shook him again. Still he did not respond. "Clayton B.!" He didn't stir.
Suddenly, she became desperate with his weight upon her. She pushed him off of her, and his body rolled onto the bed beside her.
Lifeless.
Susan raised over him, studied his eyes for any sign of movement. There was none.
Susan jumped out of the bed, paused, whirled around and looked at him.
Kingston's eyes were closed as if he were sound asleep.
She covered her lips with the back of her hand. She was afraid.
"Kingston!"
He did not move.
Susan tried to scream, but no sound came out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Susan found her spike heels near the bedroom door, stepped into them, and left the bedroom. She walked to the portable bar in the study, picked up a cigarette, and touched a match to it.
The house was very still, and she remembered that Kingston had told the butler and the maid they could have the night off.
Susan was aware that she was alone. She poured herself a couple of inches of whiskey in a glass and drank it. Straight.
She looked around the room. Her panties and bra and half-slip were strewn on the floor just as she'd left them, when she'd stripped for Kingston. Her dress was thrown over the back of a chair. Kingston's clothes were scattered about the room.
She could smell the odor of stale cigarette smoke. And whiskey. And sex.
Susan made no attempt to hide her nudity. She thought of Kingston. Fear of every description knifed through her. For the first time, she considered the possibility that he might be dead. Surely a roll in the hay couldn't kill a man, she concluded.
Even with her.
She glanced over at the clock on the long row of bookcases. It was a few minutes before two o'clock.
In the morning.
Kingston dead?
He couldn't be dead.
The thought bashed into her brain. She hurried back into the bedroom, hesitated near the bed, and looked down at Kingston. He was exactly as she'd left him.
She reached down and touched him, spoke his name. Still there was no sign of life.
Quickly, she ran from the bedroom, through the study and into the hallway. She found the bathroom, picked up a towel and turned the cold water into it. She returned to the bedroom and began to bathe Kingston's face with it.
Still he did not respond.
Susan tried to face the reality she did not want to face. Kingston was dead.
Fresh fear blinded her. She tore herself from the bed and returned to the study, lit a fresh cigarette, picked up her purse, and collapsed into a chair. She stirred through her purse, looking for nothing in particular. Her eyes fell on the contract she'd signed for the Golden Motor Oil TV series. She removed it and scanned it...." do nothing that would reflect on the good name of Golden Motor Oil Company," she read.
Susan was certain in her mind now that Kingston was dead. The thoughts of murder swept through her drunken mind! She'd killed the president of the company.
With her body!
She tossed the contract aside.
Damn ... damn it to hell! she thought.
Any chance she'd had of carrying out her contract now seemed to have vanished in one night of pleasure. She exhaled a long stream of smoke, jumped up and ran to the bedroom.
She looked at Kingston.
There was no doubt about it.
Kingston was dead.
Frantically, and unable to remain calm any longer, she broke into a run to the study, picked up her scattered clothes, dressed hurriedly, got her purse, and ran to the door. There she paused for long moments. Roy would know now. He was going to find out all about her. This would be a scandal when the body was discovered. The New York newspapers would have a field day, when they found out about this.
It was done. There was nothing she could do. She shrugged her shoulders and walked down the hallway, through the living room, and to the door.
Outside, she sucked in the air of the early morning. She thought that it must be close to four o'clock. She walked until she was exhausted, stood on a corner of the small Connecticut town and looked around. She didn't even know the name of the town. She looked in every direction. Everything was still and deserted. She walked two blocks deeper into the small business section.
Again, she stopped. Not even a cop was in sight. Not that she wanted to meet up with one right now. She figured she was going to have to face them soon enough.
She angled across the street, continued on down the next block to the corner, and saw a dimly lighted cafe halfway down the block on a side street. She walked to the cafe.
From the outside, it appeared to be a poor excuse for a restaurant. She looked through the window. It was deserted except for a man who was making coffee behind the counter.
Susan went inside and slid onto a stool at the counter. The smell of stale onions nauseated her.
"Good morning, lady," the man said, glancing in Susan's direction. "Coffee?"
"Yes," she replied. "No sugar or cream. I'd rather have a shot of whiskey, but I'll settle for the coffee. And a package of cigarettes ... Kents."
The man drew a cup of coffee, picked up the pack of cigarettes and set them down in front of her. He was a big man of about forty-five with black hair and a heavy growth of hair on his arms. He needed a shave. For a moment, he stared into Susan's face, and then his wandering eyes picked up the enormous swell of her breasts.
"Any cabs around this town?" Susan asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a long, hungry drag on it.
"Three," he answered. "They'll be stirring around six o'clock. Another hour yet."
"Hell ... "
"Where you wanta go?"
He watched her lean forward to sip the hot coffee and got a better view of the plunging cleavage formed by the tight neckline of her sheath. "New York."
"What about the New Haven Railroad?" he suggested, moving around the counter to get a good look at her legs. "Train goes to New York in about twenty minutes."
He looked down at her. Her legs were crossed recklessly, and her sheath was riding high over her knees. He quickly concluded that here was a dame who was all sex.
"Yeah, I never thought of the railroad," she said. "Twenty minutes, you say?"
"About. Give or take a little. Station's only a couple of blocks away."
She was feeling the need to get out of this hick town more than ever now. She drained the rest of her coffee, put out her cigarette, tossed a half dollar on the counter, and got up. She started toward the door.
He watched the sway of her hips as she moved.
"Lady...."
She turned around.
"Yes?"
"Do you still want that shot of booze?" Just the thought of it relaxed her. "Yes."
"Come in the kitchen."
He disappeared into the kitchen and heard her spike heels following him. He got a bottle, more than half empty.
"Take all you want," he told her.
She tilted the bottle to her lips and swallowed hard. She thought of Kingston and wanted to go off some place and get drunk, but she was aware that she had to be at work at nine o'clock. She took another long swallow and felt the liquor burn all the way down.
"That was what I needed," Susan said.
She stared at the man and sensed that he needed something else. She reached up and put her arms around his neck and drove her breasts hard into his chest and kissed him.
"That's for the whiskey," she said.
The man watched her leave, his eyes following her legs until she was out of sight. He was thinking that it was a helluva way to start a new day.
An hour and a half later, Susan paused by the newsstand in Grand Central Station and scanned the headlines of the morning papers. Something about Russia agreeing to release two American fliers. She sighed relief but knew damn well that before too many hours passed those headlines would tell about old man Kingston's death.
It was still an hour and a half before she had to report to work. She thought about calling in sick, but a girl just couldn't miss her first day on a new job. Fear shot through her again. She was afraid to go home because just as soon as the cops got wind of Kingston's death, they were certain to start looking for her.
She left Grand Central, moving out into the throng of people hurrying to work. She started to walk, going nowhere in particular. She was just killing time. Kingston! What was going to happen? She kept turning this question over and over in her thoughts.
She felt like a fool walking along the street dressed like a party girl, while everyone else was dressed in work clothes. She quickly discarded the thought. She was an actress, and she would dress any damn way she pleased.
When she pleased.
A cold chill raced through her as her thoughts turned once more to Kingston. She tried to console herself with the thought that she wasn't responsible for Kingston's death. He'd invited her to have dinner with him and afterwards had seduced her. A lot of old ladies might lift their eyebrows, but that was no crime.
She couldn't help it if her body was too rich for the old man's blood. He wanted it, and she let him have it.
It was that simple.
Or was it?
Susan felt there was certain to be a hearing into Kingston's death, and she'd be forced to tell all. It would be a nice juicy story for the papers. They'd go all out with the tale of the buxom and beautiful blonde who had too much tail for Mr. big-wig.
She stepped into a small soda shop on Forty-eighth Street and ordered scrambled eggs, a couple of slices of toast, and a cup of coffee. Slowly, she tried to eat it, but it was no use. She wasn't hungry.
She lit a cigarette and drank most of her coffee, got up and went outside and headed toward Charlie Driscoll's office. Driscoll was certain to give her the third degree on how she fared with old man Kingston.
Susan heard the news vendor on the corner yelling:
"Latest editions! Latest editions!"
She hesitated and glanced at the headlines, fearing the worst. Nothing had changed. The same big, bold letters telling about the Russians and the American fliers.
She crossed the street and went into the huge building which housed Charlie Driscoll's office. Somewhere in the distance she heard a clock striking and knew it was nine o'clock.
She was on time, but she felt like doing anything except working. The elevator whisked her upward, and she got off and walked down the hall and opened the door that would lead her to Driscoll. He was supposed to go over a few things with her and then send her over to the studios, where the rehearsals were going to begin at eleven o'clock for the Golden Motor Oil series.
Wanda Collins, the buxom redhead with the tight skirt, was sitting at her desk. The door to Driscoll's office was closed.
"Good morning, Miss Stevens," the redhead said, pouring a cloud of smoke through her bright-red lips.
"Good morning," Susan replied.
"Charlie's been waiting for you," Wanda added. "Just go right in."
Susan grasped the doorknob at Driscoll's door, turned it, and opened the door.
Driscoll was seated at his desk.
Flanking him on either side were two men.
Two uniformed policemen.
Driscoll looked up at Susan.
"Hello, Cynthia," he said.
Susan stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the policemen. She eyed first one of the cops and then the other.
"Hello," she said.
"This is the girl you've been waiting for," Driscoll said, turning to one of the cops.
She pretended there must be a mistake.
"Me? What do they want with me?"
"You were with Clayton B. Kingston last night," one of the cops said. "Isn't that right?"
"Yes," she answered.
"He's dead," the cop continued. "You were the last one to see him alive. Your contract with the Driscoll Agency was found in Mr. Kingston's study. We'll have to take you down to headquarters for questioning."
Susan closed her eyes momentarily and rubbed her damp forehead with her hand.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Susan tried to relax in her apartment. It was early morning. She'd been unable to sleep well during the night and rather than turn and toss in bed any longer she'd gotten up shortly after seven o'clock.
It was Thursday. Two days had passed since the police had taken her to headquarters and questioned her at length regarding Kingston's death.
During those two days, she'd remained in seclusion. She hadn't answered the doorbell nor the telephone. At night, she slipped out after dark and walked around several blocks and bought some of the newspapers.
Charlie Driscoll had impressed upon her the importance of publicity. Trouble was she was getting exactly the kind he warned her she didn't need.
Susan Manning was involved in a scandal.
And the cops and the newspapers knew her real name. Cynthia Stevens didn't mean a thing to them except that the newspapers had linked the two names together. She was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks who was standing on the brink of becoming an actress in an important television series.
Susan drew her cigarette to her lips and picked up one of the newspapers. She had read the story, she knew, several hundred times, and it always said the same thing. The big, black headlines stared back at her:
BLONDE WITH KINGSTON AT DEATH!
She started to scan the story again. It said:
Miss Manning told the police she and Kingston were in bed together when she discovered that he had stopped breathing. Lipstick was found on the pillows of the bed, located in a room Kingston referred to as his Gold Room.
Kingston's death was attributed to a heart attack.
"I thought I was doing the right thing when I accepted his (Kingston's) invitation to have dinner with him," Miss Manning told authorities. "After all, he was, in effect, my boss. I had never met Mr. Kingston until Monday afternoon.
"After we dined in his home, he took me into his study and we watched a motion picture and had a few drinks. Mr. Kingston referred to the film as a French film from his private collection."
When police asked the blonde what happened immediately after they watched the film, Miss Manning said she stripped off her clothes. She said she was drunk and that as soon as she was nude, she removed Kingston's clothes.
"After that," Miss Manning explained, "he took me into the Gold Room."
Susan stared at the picture of her. She knew it was taken from one of the nudes Angelo had made of her for Kingston. The picture in the paper showed only her face down to the spot where her breasts began to rise.
She tossed the paper aside. She dug her teeth into her lips, wondering what the scandal was going to do to her career, what it was going to do as far as she was concerned in the Golden Motor Oil series. How well she knew that her contract had a clause which said she must do nothing that would prove embarrassing to Golden Motor Oil.
And even before she'd started rehearsals she had hit the jackpot.
She had gone to bed with the company's president, who had a heart attack while she was performing the sex act with him.
Susan put out her cigarette and got up, her sheer robe parting down the front and revealing her nude body beneath it. The robe cascaded over the tips of her breasts, and her body formed a striking contrast against the black negligee.
She looked at the clock. It was nine o'clock. Driscoll would be in his office now. Susan picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number.
"Charlie Driscoll, please," she said into the phone.
She waited impatiently, then: "Charlie ... this is Susan Manning." Driscoll's voice was loud and clear. "Susan, where are you?"
"It doesn't matter where I am," she replied. "Charlie, I want the truth. Do I still have a job?"
"Right now, yes," Driscoll answered. "I can't say, Susan, what the outcome of all this is going to be. It's very messy, and the chairman of the board of Golden Motor Oil has ordered postponement of the beginning of rehearsals. It may be the firm will want to get another leading lady for the series."
Susan was overcome with disappointment. Soft mist filled her eyes. Suddenly, she became angry.
"How in the hell did I know the old man was going to keel over?"
"You didn't, of course," Driscoll said. "I must admit that you are a victim of circumstances. It's an unfortunate situation. Like I said, I don't know how it's going to turn out."
"Are you coming to the hearing this afternoon?" Susan wanted to know.
"Yes, I'll be there at two o'clock," Driscoll promised. "Meanwhile, I suggest we ought to get together."
Susan hesitated in replying to his proposal. Finally, she asked:
"Why?"
"Why?" Driscoll returned. "Well, we could talk over the situation, for one thing. Why don't you tell me where you are, and I'll come right over?"
She didn't answer immediately. She couldn't see what was to be gained by seeing Driscoll or anyone else. Still, Driscoll was her friend and she could see nothing to lose by seeing him.
"Will you promise to come alone?"
"Yes," Driscoll promised, "I'll come alone, and I won't tell anyone where I'm going."
"All right," Susan agreed. "I'm at my apartment. Lots of people have rung the bell the past two days, and I've kept the phone off the hook a lot of the time to keep it quiet. Be sure there's no one around when you come. Knock three times and I'll answer the door."
"I'll be over in about twenty minutes," Driscoll said. "Goodbye, Susan."
"Goodbye."
She hung up the receiver, lit a cigarette, and began to pace the floor.
"It may be the firm will want to get another leading lady for the series...." Driscoll's words tore through her thoughts.
If the firm canceled her contract, she probably would have a rough time ever landing a job in any show.
She smoked one cigarette after another. The twenty minutes before Driscoll was to arrive seemed like years. There was no doubt about it. Susan Manning was in real trouble, and she knew it.
The telephone rang. For an instant, she was tempted to answer it, but she knew it would probably be only one of those newspaper hounds.
Or Roy Payne.
She hadn't seen Roy, and she didn't want to see him. She didn't have the guts to face him. And she wasn't so certain he wanted to see her.
She let the phone ring until it finally stopped.
She went over to the window and stared outside. The sun was shining brightly, and it looked hot as the devil. Suddenly, she heard footsteps in the hallway.
There were three sharp knocks on the door.
Susan went to the door, opened it narrowly, and Driscoll squeezed inside. She locked the door and drew close to Driscoll.
"Charlie, I'm afraid! Afraid of what's going to happen this afternoon."
Driscoll studied her face, her eyes, her lips. His hands crept beneath the negligee, and he could feel the rise of her breasts.
"You haven't committed a crime," he said. "It isn't murder."
He glanced down at her nude legs.
"Maybe you hastened the old man's death," he continued, "but I'll bet he died happy. When I die, I hope it's in bed with a beautiful girl."
She smiled.
"You didn't come up here just to talk, did you, Charlie?"
He regarded it as a leading question.
"Frankly, I didn't. I thought ... "
She knew she let him come for the same reason he wanted to come.
"Well," she interrupted, "we've got plenty of time. Why don't we go into the bedroom?"
"I can't think of a better suggestion," Driscoll grinned.
Quickly, he removed the negligee from her arms and let it tumble to the floor.
She was nude except for the spike heels.
Driscoll spun her into his arms and kissed her.
She felt the old familiar ache spiraling through her legs and shooting in all directions.
His lips still meshed tightly into hers. He picked her up into his arms, carried her into the bedroom and rolled her onto the bed. He suddenly became aware that his own clothes remained intact.
"Shall I do the honors, or will you?"
She lay there, looking up at him, her legs the full length of the bed and spread far apart.
"Just get 'em off, Charlie, and hurry!"
He started to undress, his thoughts blinded by his need for her.
Susan watched him, anxiety making her weak, and wondered whether she possessed any real love for Driscoll. She knew he was handsome. She was certain he was pretty well fixed financially. She already had been convinced that he was a lot of man in bed.
A tremendous lot of man.
Yet, she found something in her heart for Roy Payne that was missing in her relationship with Driscoll. A strange kind of something that must be love.
Real, honest-to-God love.
Driscoll was undressed now, as he stepped out of his shorts. He climbed onto the bed beside her, his hand roaming over her stomach and down to her thighs and cupping one breast with the other. His lips found her other breast, and she began to squirm and twist beside him.
"Dammit!" she snapped. "Cut that stuff, and let's get on with the main attraction!"
He responded by rolling onto her, her hand meeting him and urging him into direct action.
Not that he needed urging.
Without further hesitation, he was with her.
All the way.
Her hips began to sway beneath him, and he felt her shiver with fierce excitement. She leveled her hips high, seeking the utmost.
They reached the peak in unison.
Perfect unison.
Moments later, they looked up at the ceiling, smoking cigarettes in silence.
Driscoll was thinking he'd had a lot of girls in his life, but none matched the all-around perfection of Susan Manning. She was one in a thousand. In his heart, he knew that she would never be a really successful actress. She might get a few bit parts, despite her experience with Kingston, but nothing really good.
"Susan, would you marry me?"
The words hit her like a bomb. They were the last thing she expected to come from Driscoll's lips. He'd always appeared to her as a man who was having too much fun to get entangled with one girl for very long. He was like the guy who took the attitude that he was getting all he wanted as a single man, so why should he get married?
"Are you asking me a serious question, or merely trying to get my reaction?"
"Hell, yes, I'm serious," Driscoll fired back. "I'm asking you to become my wife."
Susan kicked his words around in her mind. This was the second time a man had asked her to marry him in less than a week.
"What would happen to my career, Charlie?"
"Let's face it," he answered. "Your career's shot to hell already. You took care of that Monday night. The public just wouldn't accept you now, especially on TV, which is watched by a heavy percentage of kids."
"I don't believe that," she said, her voice filled with disbelief. "I believe that if a girl can act and is sexy enough, the public doesn't give a damn who she is or what she is."
"That's not so," Driscoll argued back. "Think of the stars you've known who have been caught in illicit relations with men. Nine out of ten of them faded from the scene very quickly, and they were established stars when it happened."
A dozen times since her night with Kingston the same thought had roamed through her mind. Driscoll was merely confirming what she'd told herself already. She turned on her side away from Driscoll, buried her head in her pillow, and began to sob. Softly at first, and then the sobs increased in intensity.
Driscoll rolled over against her, putting his arm around her and clutching her breasts.
"We'd have a lot of fun together, Susan. Acting isn't everything, and for a lot of actresses, it is short lived. In a majority of cases, the public wants new faces."
She. didn't respond to his remarks except that her sobbing grew more intense.
"Marry me, Susan," he pleaded. "We'll have a quick wedding, and you can forget all about this desire to become an actress. Even if you're a big star, all you'll ever do is move from one man's bed to another, anyway."
Her sobbing had subsided. She was listening to every word he was saying, and silently she was agreeing with him on most of his points.
"What do you say?" he prompted, massaging the twin peaks of flesh beneath his hand.
"I can't answer you," Susan said finally. "Not
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Now tell us exactly what happened after you and Mr. Kingston finished viewing the film, Miss Manning," the district attorney was saying. "Tell us all about it in your own words."
Susan glanced around the big room. The room was packed, mostly with men. Scattered among them were possibly thirty women, all staring at her with accusing eyes. Susan was dressed in her most conservative clothes-her longest skirt, and a rather loose blouse which strained only slightly with the impact of her full breasts. "Miss Manning ... "
She saw the words disappear from the district attorney's lips.
"Well, after the film ended," she began, "I took off my clothes."
"How did you take them off?" right now. I want to wait until this afternoon and see what happens at that hearing."
"I think you'll be convinced after that's over," Driscoll suggested.
"What time is it?" she asked.
He picked up his watch from the night stand by the bed.
"It's nearly noon."
"Two hours until I have to be there," she estimated.
She turned around and faced him, fitting the curves of her body into his.
"One more time, Charlie," she said. "We have time for one more round."
Driscoll gave her what she wanted.
One more time.
This was one of the details she'd hoped he wouldn't ask. She looked into the faces of the crowd. Her eyes fell on Driscoll, who was seated almost in the center of the room some twenty-five or thirty feet from her. Suddenly, she was face to face with Roy Payne, and she detected bitterness and anguish in his solemn eyes.
"Tell us how you disrobed, Miss Manning."
"Like a ... a ... burlesque dancer takes off her clothes," Susan replied.
"Give us a demonstration!" a man yelled from the back of the room.
"Quiet!" The district attorney turned toward Susan once more. "Now give us some detail of your undressing, Miss Manning."
Susan looked at Driscoll. He appeared amused.
"I took off my dress," she said, her eyes picking up Roy's stare. "Then in a few minutes, I removed my half-slip." She took a deep breath. "Then a few minutes later, I took off my bra."
There was a stir among the crowd.
"And then? What did you do next?"
"I took another drink of whiskey," Susan returned. "I was getting quite drunk."
"The little tramp!" a nearby woman spat.
"Order!" Again the district attorney faced Susan. "And then?"
"I'm not real sure, but I think I removed my nylons next," Susan explained. "Maybe it was my panties."
There was a roar of laughter from the men in the crowd.
"Take 'em off now!" a man bellowed.
"If you don't remain silent, I'll have the room cleared of spectators!"
The room was suddenly gripped with stillness.
"At any rate, you did disrobe completely," the district attorney said. "Is that right, Miss Manning?"
Susan stared directly at Roy as she searched for the strength to answer. He possessed a look of loathing disgust.
"Yes, except for my spike heels," Susan answered finally. "And my ... earrings."
The laughter was deafening. Even the district attorney was unable to keep a straight face, smiling slightly and then cutting it off short.
"Now, Miss Manning, tell us exactly what happened after you had disrobed."
She looked first at Driscoll and then at Roy. Roy's head was lowered toward the floor. Susan stared at some of the women and noted the sarcasm on their faces.
"I ... I ... "
"Yes?"
"I undressed him ... Mr. Kingston," Susan continued.
"Completely?"
"Yes."
"Then what did you do?"
Susan crossed her legs without thinking, and she saw the men's eyes shift their attention to the motion of her legs. She tried to pull her skirt down below her knees, but it was too short.
"Mr. Kingston did the next thing, sir."
"What did he do?"
"He took hold of my arm and escorted me into the Gold Room," Susan said.
"The Gold Room is a bedroom off of Mr. Kingston's study. Is that right?"
"Yes."
There was slight laughter in the crowd. "What happened in the bedroom, Miss Manning?"
For at least the hundredth time, a wave of photographers' flashbulbs burst into Susan's face. "Mr. Kingston and I ... well, we...." She paused.
"Continue, Miss Manning."
"We did what comes ... naturally," Susan blurted out.
The crowd burst into fresh laughter.
Susan's eyes found Roy. She saw him looking directly at her, and then he turned around and walked out of the room.
"I think we can assume what you did in the bedroom, Miss Manning," the district attorney said.
Susan was unaware of the district attorney's remark. She was thinking only of Roy. Deep inside her, she had the feeling that things between them would never be the same again. She felt cheap, dirty.
How low can a woman get? she asked herself.
Mist filled her eyes.
The district attorney cleared his throat.
"When did you first discover that Mr. Kingston was dead, Miss Manning?"
Susan was still lost in meditation.
Roy will hate me forever, she thought.
She was thankful for one thing: that she'd been able to persuade her father not to come to the hearing.
"Miss Manning!"
Susan regained her composure.
"Yes?"
"I asked you when you first discovered that Mr. Kingston was dead."
"I don't know," she answered.
"But you were certain he was dead, weren't you?"
"At first I thought he'd fallen asleep after we were ... were intimate," Susan explained. "I tried shaking him, and he didn't move. I got up and went into the study and smoked awhile and had a couple of drinks and went back to the bedroom. Mr. Kingston still didn't move. I guess it was then that I got the feeling he was dead."
"Had you ever had a date with Mr. Kingston before Monday night, Miss Manning?"
"No," she replied. "I met Mr. Kingston for the first time Monday afternoon."
"How many times were you intimate with him Monday night?"
Susan uncrossed her legs and focused her eyes for long moments on Driscoll.
"Only once."
The questioning continued. Susan gave the details of how she'd become frightened, left Kingston's home, walked into the little nearby town, and how she'd returned to New York on the train in the early morning hours on Tuesday.
"One more question, Miss Manning," the district attorney said.
Susan looked toward the door. She saw Roy leaning against the facing, and her face brightened. She knew that while he was deeply hurt he was still interested in her.
The district attorney came face to face with Susan.
"Were you a virgin when you went to Mr. Kingston's home, Miss Manning?"
"No," she answered simply.
The district attorney smiled.
"That's all, Miss Manning. Thank you for your cooperation. Medical authorities attributed death to a heart seizure, but we wanted to go through the formality of clearing you. Thank you."
He turned around and faced the crowd.
"Everyone will remain where they are until the witness has left the room," he told them.
Susan got up. She walked past the district attorney and into the aisle that led to the door. She knew that all eyes were upon her.
Some condemning her silently.
Others drooling over her. Wishing they could get her in bed with them.
She started up the aisle. Flashbulbs burst in front of her as she moved up the aisle. A woman reached out, grabbed her arm and spun her around.
"You'll never be a TV star!" the woman said. "You're nothing but a cheap whore, and you'll never be anything else!"
Susan jerked loose from her and continued toward the door. Roy was standing there. He had a sarcastic look on his face. She brushed past him and into the lobby. A horde of reporters and photographers surrounded her immediately. They started firing questions at her.
"I have no more to say," Susan said. "I've told everything there is to tell. I want to forget it."
She pressed her way through the lobby to the entrance to the building and stepped outside. She needed a drink. She hurried down the steps and turned to the left. She turned around and saw the mass of people surging from the building.
At the corner, she turned left and hurried down the side street and into a bar. It was a dirty little bar, but she didn't care. Several men were drinking along the counter. A middle-aged man was kissing a girl in a booth as Susan brushed past.
Susan slid into an empty booth. A waitress drew up beside her.
"A double Scotch on the rocks," Susan ordered, lighting a cigarette and inhaling it deep into her lungs and exhaling the smoke.
The waitress returned seconds later and set the drink down in front of Susan.
Susan lifted the drink to her lips and consumed half of the whiskey in one swallow. The whiskey burned its way into her stomach, but it hit the spot with her. She emptied the glass and ordered another drink, exactly the same.
The man now standing beside her looked down at her. She was unaware of his presence.
"I thought you'd head straight for a bar," the man said, "and this one was the closest one around."
Susan spun around and looked up.
"Charlie! God, I'm a wreck!"
Driscoll moved into the booth across the narrow table from her. He took her hand in his.
"It's all over," he said. "All you need is a little booze to steady your nerves."
"Wasn't it awful?" she asked. "All of those sex-hungry men and those old bitches staring holes in me. I wanted to crawl right through the floor."
Driscoll laughed aloud.
"Do you think there was a woman there who'd watch you on TV now?"
"I doubt it," Susan returned, sipping her drink. "But the men ... "
"Statistically," Driscoll interrupted, "the men are regarded as only a small portion of the viewing public. During a twenty-four-hour period, I'd say three-fourths of TV viewers are women and kids." He toyed with the ring on her finger. "You might just as well get used to the fact that there'll never be a Cynthia Stevens, Susan. The president of the Golden Motor Oil board told me their phones had been flooded with calls since Tuesday."
"Asking that I not be given the part?" Susan added.
"That's right," Driscoll confirmed. "If you're still determined to get a job in show business, I'd say your best bet is to get one in a night club and do that strip act you did for Kingston."
"I don't want that kind of a job!" she hissed. She felt his knees surrounding hers and applying pressure. "I'd rather go back to hashing."
He looked into her eyes.
"Why don't you marry me, Susan?"
Susan raked his words through her thoughts.
"And worry all of the time about you taking every beautiful girl who came along for a roll in the hay?"
"You don't know me very well, Susan," he countered. "Sure, I've taken a lot of beautiful women to bed, but if you marry me, that will be all over. I'll never touch another girl. I'll even get rid of that bed in the wall at the office."
He hesitated.
"Provided...." he added.
"Provided what?"
"Provided you promise you'll never let another man touch you," he explained.
She knew that he was dead serious. Once more, the thoughts of Roy entered her mind. She possessed a very real and deep love for Roy. Driscoll had more security to offer her, it was true, but Roy ... his name kept sifting through her brain like a neon light flashing on and off.
She decided to sidestep Driscoll's proposal for the present.
"Right now, I'm not going to marry anyone," she said. "I'm going to get drunk."
He decided not to press her further for an answer at the moment. Instead, he motioned for the waitress.
"Two more drinks. Same thing," he told her.
For the next few minutes, they sat there in silence, sipping their drinks. Occasionally, he could feel her legs brushing his.
Susan was thinking that she was really attracted to Charlie Driscoll only by one factor.
Sex.
That wasn't entirely the case with Roy, she was certain. If his mind hadn't been changed by the Kingston incident, Roy was in love with her.
It was genuine love. He wanted a home and children. Her children.
A newsboy entered and roamed through the bar.
"Two full pages of pictures of Susan Manning!" he yelled. "The blonde tells all to the D.A.!" Susan listened. Driscoll eyed her closely.
"This Susan Manning must be some dame to get two full pages of pictures," he grinned.
"Yeah, legs and all," she mumbled disgustedly. "How long is this going to go on?"
"It'll die down in a day or so," Driscoll replied. "As soon as some other dame crashes into the spotlight."
He released her hand, then faced her squarely.
"It's nearly five o'clock, Susan," he continued. "I've got to get back to the office before closing time. You think about it, Susan. Give it some serious thought." He got up out of the booth. "May I drop you some place?"
"No," she answered. "I'm going to soak up another drink or two first. I feel like hell."
"When will I see you again?" he wanted to know, leaning over her and quickly kissing her.
"I don't know, Charlie. I really don't know. Maybe I'll call you."
She paused for a moment, then said:
"Maybe ... "
He again kissed her.
"You do that, cutie. Meanwhile, I'll be looking around for a couple of rings to decorate that finger."
He decided to leave her alone and let her try to get all that had happened out of her system. He ran his arm around her shoulders and kissed her on top of the head, released her and started for the door.
Susan drew a fresh cigarette to her lips.
Driscoll appeared at her side again. He was removing a key from his key ring. He laid the key on the table.
"There," he said, "if you get the urge to drop over to my apartment, just make yourself at home. I'll be there around six every afternoon."
She picked up the key and stared straight ahead.
"Thanks, Charlie."
Driscoll disappeared.
Susan opened her purse and put the key into it. Now she had two keys belonging to the apartments of men. With one, she could gain entrance to Charlie Driscoll's apartment. With the other, she could get inside Roy Payne's apartment.
She picked up her drink and downed it and ordered another. Soon after the waitress set the fresh drink down and disappeared, a man in a dark suit and red tie lingered beside her table. She wasn't aware of him immediately.
Not until he said:
"Good afternoon, miss. Could I buy you another drink?"
Susan looked up at him.
"And after you do me that little favor, you'll expect me to repay you by letting you take me to some dirty hotel room and take off my panties," she predicted drunkenly. "No, thanks."
"You wouldn't be in a bar like this if you didn't want to be picked up," the man reasoned.
"I'm in this bar to get stinking drunk," she shot back, "and I've got a helluva start."
His eyes wandered over the bulging front of her blouse.
"Let's get drunk together."
"Disappear, buster!" she snapped.
"Please, miss," he pleaded.
Anger filled her eyes.
"Get the hell away from me!"
He saw that his efforts were in vain. Still, he wasn't ready to give up.
"You got troubles, miss. Maybe I could help you solve them."
Fresh anger blazed from her eyes. She picked up her drink and emptied it. She crushed out her cigarette, picked up her purse, jumped up and brushed past the stranger and turned toward the door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Susan sat on the bed, her knees drawn back behind her cradled arms. She was nude. It was late in the afternoon. More than twenty-four hours had passed since her session with the district attorney.
She had spent Thursday night touring the bars.
Alone.
Drinking.
And fighting off men.
She'd slept all day after arriving home shortly after four o'clock in the morning, and she felt good.
Real good.
So good that she decided she was going to do it all over again.
Only this time she was going to stay right where she was. In her apartment. She had an unopened fifth of whiskey and plenty of cigarettes. She wasn't going to answer the door, and she wasn't going to answer the telephone.
First, though, she was going to cook herself a meal. She was hungry, and she wasn't going to get drunk on an empty stomach.
She crawled from the bed and went to the dresser and studied herself in the mirror. She was proud of her body, but she was ashamed of the way she'd used it. And where had it gotten her? Nowhere. She hadn't heard from Driscoll after the board's meeting, but she was fairly certain that any hope she still nursed for keeping the role in the Golden Motor Oil series had vanished into thin air.
So she was right back where she started. A girl with a desire to become an actress. Without a job. She'd let dozens of men make love to her and had achieved nothing.
Her red-tipped breasts were vivid in the reflection of the mirror. She was aware that God had been good to her, and she reasoned she ought to be putting it to the proper use instead of letting her charms deteriorate at the hands of every man who crossed her path.
She stepped into a pair of heels, picked up a pair of black panties and stepped into them and pulled them up around her hips. This was the way she liked to parade around the apartment, especially in the summertime when it was hot. And it was still hot in New York in the late afternoon.
She headed for the kitchen and removed a piece of steak from the refrigerator and put it on to cook. She thought of Driscoll and she thought of Roy, weighing their respective likes and dislikes, their abilities.
In and out of bed.
For a moment, she toyed with the idea she might just throw in the towel on her hopes for a career and marry one of them. She roamed around the kitchen and finally wandered into the living room.
Roy or Charlie ... Charlie or Roy ... their names kept flashing on and off in her thoughts.
One thing was certain: If she decided to remain single, she'd have to return to some insignificant job like being a waitress.
Or modeling for a bunch of sex-crazed photographers.
A job which, in reality, was nothing more than whoring.
She didn't want that. Of this, she was certain.
A waitress could never afford the kind of apartment she was living in now. No, she would have to go back to some dingy single room in a rooming house or some fourth-rate hotel. She shook her head. No, she couldn't do this. She'd had her fill of dumps, and she'd had a pretty fair taste of luxury living.
She thought of Driscoll and her contract. Four-hundred dollars a week! She hurried to the telephone and dialed Driscoll's office.
"Charlie Driscoll, please," she said.
Moments passed. Suddenly, she heard his voice:
"Hello ... "
"Hello, Charlie."
"Well, my love, are you ready to take the big step ... the big plunge with Charlie Driscoll?" he asked immediately, when he heard her voice.
"That wasn't the reason I called, Charlie," Susan said, crossing her fingers tightly. "I wanted to find out if you'd heard from the board meeting. I thought maybe there was still a ... "
"The part has already been given to another girl," Driscoll cut in.
She was unable to speak. It was nothing more than she'd expected, but hearing it was the last straw. She'd hoped against hope all afternoon that through some miracle the job was still hers.
Disappointed beyond words, she mumbled: "Yes, I heard you, Charlie. You don't need to sound so damned glad about it, though."
"Susan, I didn't have a thing to say about the decision, one way or the other," he said, "but I've been in this business long enough to know what the board would do even before it met. The board was forced to dump you, Susan."
"I know. I know ... "
She lowered her head and began to sob.
"Susan...." Driscoll said. "Susan ... "
She didn't reply. She put down the receiver without saying another word to him, then stood there for long moments, a wave of despondency grinding through her. She went into the kitchen and opened the bottle of whiskey, poured herself a generous drink in a glass and drank it.
The telephone rang, but she ignored it.
It was beginning to get dark outside. Susan pushed her plate of food away from her and got up from the small dining table in the kitchen. She wasn't hungry. She wanted another drink.
She poured another drink and went into the living room, taking the bottle with her. She turned out the light, went to the window and stood there, listening while the clock struck nine.
Now she was thinking about the things that might have been. The ladder that led to success that she was ready to climb only to have it come tumbling down on top of her. The room seemed terribly warm, and she removed her panties.
Tears crept into her eyes as she deserted the loneliness of the window and moved to the divan and collapsed upon it. She took a long drink, this time from the bottle, then relaxed her head against the back of the divan.
She drew her feet up on the edge of the divan and relaxed her legs in opposite directions. Beginning to feel pleasantly intoxicated, she cupped her breasts in her hands and shivered with the impact of the resulting sensation.
Her thoughts turned to Driscoll, and she began to imagine that the hands squeezing her bosom were Driscoll's hands. A spasm of tingling ecstasy crashed through her thighs and mushroomed all over her body.
Suddenly, she could feel another man's hands fondling her breasts. Roy Payne's hands. Once more, raw desire stifled her, fanning out all over her.
Roy! She jumped up, turned on the table lamp beside the divan and went to the telephone. She dialed Roy's number. She could hear the phone ringing. Again and again. Finally, just as she was about to give up, she heard Roy's voice.
"This is Susan," she purred into the mouthpiece.
"What's on your mind?" Roy asked. "You, darling," she answered. There was a lengthy silence. When he failed to say anything for at least half a minute, she asked: "Roy, are you mad at me?"
"Not mad," Roy replied, "hurt. Hurt to hell and back."
"I made a mistake, Roy," Susan said, hoping he'd understand. "I wanted to be an actress so badly I was blinded to everything that was decent. I guess you'd say I lost my sense of values."
"And what's with the career now?" Roy wanted to know.
"I know it's all over, Roy," Susan admitted. "My career never got off of the ground."
"Will you marry me, Susan?"
She was feeling very drunk. Otherwise, she knew she'd never have mustered enough courage to call Roy.
"What did you say?"
"I asked you to marry me!" he said, louder this time. "I was pretty damn mad when I saw you up there testifying yesterday afternoon. The anger's all gone now. I saw your father before I came home tonight, and he said he understood how a girl with bright lights in her eyes could get involved the way you got involved. And he convinced me that I should understand."
"My father's not angry with me?"
"No," Roy said assuringly. "Now, what about you and me getting hitched, baby?"
"I ... I can't answer that right now, Roy. Maybe I'll let you know by Sunday."
"Promise?" Roy urged.
"I said maybe, Roy. Something's got to give soon, but I don't know what."
"Are you at home?" Roy asked.
She searched for the answer, knowing that if she said yes he'd be right over.
"No," she lied. "I'm not at home. Those damn reporters keep pestering me, and I'm spending the night with a friend. A girl friend. Goodbye, Roy, and I'm glad you're still in love with me."
"Goodbye, Susan."
She put down the receiver. She felt better now. She went to the coffee table, picked up the whiskey, and carried it with her into the bedroom.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she came to the quick conclusion that the best way to forget all that had happened was for her to get married. That's what she vowed to do.
Get married.
To Charlie Driscoll or Roy Payne.
She didn't know right now which one she was going to marry.
This could very easily be her final night of freedom, she predicted, and she was going to have one last fling.
She took another drink, jumped up and found her most seductive dress-a green, strapless sheath that had only her breasts for support. She scrambled into it. Nothing else. Just the dress. And long, dangling earrings and spike heels.
The dress curved over her hips and buttocks and breasts like rubber. She cut off the light and left.
Twenty minutes later, Susan hesitated outside what appeared to be a rather nice bar. Music echoed from a juke-box. She went inside.
The bar was lined with men and a couple of cheap-looking blondes. She went halfway through the bar past a half-dozen booths and edged into an empty one. She was aware that already she'd attracted the stares of most of the men.
And one of the blondes.
She ordered a drink from the waitress, lit a cigarette, and crossed her legs into the aisle. The sheath had a large slit up one side from the hemline and put her bare thighs on reckless display.
Only seconds passed before she was aware that a man was standing beside her.
"Haven't I seen you somewhere before, miss?" the tall, slender man asked in a somewhat foreign accent.
Susan twisted her head around slowly in the man's direction. She looked up.
"Angelo!" she gasped. "It's a small world, all right, isn't it?"
Angelo angled into the opposite side of the booth.
"That's right. Five days ago, I made photographs of you in my studio. Among other things. It seems like five years. A lot has happened since I last saw you shortly after noon on Monday, hasn't it?"
"A helluva lot," she agreed.
"Are you looking for what I think you're looking for, Miss Stevens?" he asked.
"It isn't Miss Stevens," Susan corrected. "Cynthia Stevens didn't live very long. She died somewhere along the line during the week. And, you're right, I am looking for exactly what you think I'm looking for."
"Lucky me," he said.
"You see, Angelo, I'm going to be married," she explained, "and I'm out for a last little fling."
"Who's the fortunate man?"
"That's a deep dark secret," she replied.
She wasn't lying. She wasn't certain herself. It was a decision she was going to make in the next twenty-four hours, give or take a little, perhaps.
"Then, why don't we go over to my apartment on Park Avenue and celebrate the occasion?" Angelo suggested. "I can provide plenty of liquor and all of the trimmings."
"Why don't we just do that, then?" Susan agreed, sliding out of the booth, taking his arm and heading toward the door with him.
She left nothing behind except the hungry stares of the men lined along the bar.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was the following day. Dusk was sinking in fast over the city, and bright lights were beginning to glitter in all directions.
Susan Manning inserted the key into the apartment door, turned it, and pushed the door open. Inside, she looked around, making a mental comparison of the apartment with her own.
She returned to the door and reassured herself that the door was locked. Then she faced the mirror and tossed her bag onto the edge of the bed.
She drew her skirt up and unfastened her garter belt. She peeled her nylons down her shapely legs, stepped out of her spike heels, removed the nylons and returned the shoes to her feet.
Susan looked into the mirror. Even though she had remained in bed until after two o'clock, it had been a long day. Actually, since the middle of the morning until she got out of bed, she did little more than twist and turn.
And meditate.
She had a decision to make. She'd already reached the conclusion that she was going to accept a proposal of marriage, but which proposal was the question. Even while Angelo had made love to her during her last wild fling, she kept making inevitable comparisons of the men who'd asked her to marry them.
Deep in her heart now she held the answer. The decision had been reached. And the first thing she'd decided to do was to surprise the man who was to enjoy her charms the rest of her life.
In his apartment. On Saturday night.
Susan removed her dress and folded it neatly over the back of a chair. She took off her garter belt and gazed into the mirror, standing there now clad only in her royal-blue panties and matching bra that did little to hide her bulging breasts. Purposely, she hadn't worn a slip because it was too hot and her dress was thick enough that it didn't matter.
She smoothed a heavy coat of lipstick over her lips and applied layers of mascara to her eyelids and lashes. Her long fingernails and toenails already sparkled with two coats of silver enamel polish.
She opened her small suitcase and withdrew a lace negligee from it and inserted her arms into it. Like her bra and panties, it was royal blue, forming a deep contrast to the whiteness of her fair skin.
Susan went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and removed a new bottle of Scotch, took the ice from the two trays, picked up a couple of glasses and returned to the large room that served as a living room and bedroom.
For a moment, she debated over whether or not she wanted to remove her bra. No, she decided. He could use his imagination until he could completely undress her.
Not that wearing the bra left very much to the imagination. Neither did the negligee. It was much too sheer, and the lace left much of her body exposed.
Susan checked the time. It was getting close to eight o'clock, and eight o'clock was just about the time he always arrived home on Saturday nights. She uncorked the whiskey and poured a small drink and downed it slowly.
She went back to the mirror, picked up her sparkling blue rhinestone earrings and fastened them to the lobes of her ears. She removed a fresh package of cigarettes from her purse, opened it, took out a cigarette and lit it. She picked up an ashtray and the package of cigarettes, went to the bed and stretched out the full length of it.
On her stomach. Facing the door.
Hell! She got up, walked across the room, turned out the light and returned to the bed and resumed the position.
She began the vigil, one that seemed like ages. She smoked one cigarette after another. I'm going to make him a good wife, she resolved. No more running around. I thought of him so many times during the week, but it wasn't until this morning that I realized he was the man for me. They were going to make love like they'd never made love before. Tonight.
And they were going to slip away tomorrow and be married. Susan had already made the arrangements. The last thing she did before she came to his apartment was pick up the marriage license.
She turned around and looked at the window. Neon lights flickering on and off blinked in her face and cast a radiant reflection over the contours of her body.
Approaching footsteps penetrated the stillness. Susan listened. The footsteps drew nearer.
Nearer.
Susan's eyes were focused on the door. She heard the sound of a key working its way into the lock. The night latch turned, and the door swung open.
The tall, slender figure stepped inside. The door slammed shut.
Susan saw him freeze, his body facing her. "Susan!"
"Don't turn the light on," Susan said.
She couldn't see his face, but she had recognized his voice immediately.
He stood there for a moment, watching the reflection from the neon lights splash across her body, then fade into virtual darkness and then flood her body again. He caught spasmodic views of her perfectly formed breasts rising high above and straining against her sheer bra. He saw the outline of her buttocks rising with the sheer blue lace. He saw her nude legs and the blue spike heels completing a right angle high over her head.
"Are you ready to be married tomorrow?" Susan asked, the glow from her cigarette reflecting against her face.
"I'm ready," he answered. "On a hunch, I bought the rings today."
"Come here," she cooed. "We're going to have a real celebration tonight."
He crossed the room and sat down on the bed and took her into his arms. She had removed the negligee, and he felt the sharp rise of her breasts against his hand. Desire made him weak as he kissed her and felt her tongue driving into his mouth. He could taste her lipstick and smell her perfume.
Susan pushed him away and started removing his clothes. When he was nude, she touched him intimately and knew that he was ready.
More than ready.
He took off her bra and viewed the fullness of her naked breasts in the flashing light. The nipples were erect, standing out like sentinels against their pale red background. He took off her panties and picked her up in his arms and carried her around the room, his face nestled deep in her breasts.
"Don't waste any more time!" she pleaded. "I may be a washout as an actress, but I want to get on with the show!"
He placed her in the center of the bed and rolled on top of her in almost a single motion. He was with her instantly, felt her legs surrounding him. Engulfing him. Like this was the first time and the last time all rolled into one.
Susan knew now that she'd made the right choice. He was the best.
Together, they climbed into the stratosphere.
Up.
Higher and higher. Until they were there.
Together.
Suddenly, the end came, and they began the plunge to earth again.
Susan was well aware of the effect she'd had upon him. She heard him gasping, knew that he was spent, exhausted, all strength drained from his body.
He felt the pressure of the sharp fingernails in his back grow less severe and her fingers become limp. Without strength now, he collapsed against her and finally rolled away from her.
It was perhaps half an hour before either of them was conscious of the room, the bed, the circumstances under which they were together.
Susan stirred first. She lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling. The reflection from the flashing lights still was dancing crazily across the bed, splashing over the sleekness of her nude body.
And over his nude body.
Susan rolled on her side until she was facing him. She watched him breathe slow and easy. He was the picture of a satisfied man. Gently, she touched him and watched him stir.
Gradually and slowly, he came out of the trance. His eyes opened.
"I know now what it was that got the best of old man Kingston," he said.
Susan laughed. She felt a peculiar happiness tugging at her heartstrings. She didn't seem to mind now that she'd never be an actress. She had what she wanted.
"You're beautiful," he said, watching the light cascade on and off across her body.
"Thank you," she returned. "Why don't we put a little light on the subject?"
"Why don't we?" he agreed, reaching to the lamp at the head of the bed and turning it on. "Hello, Susan."
He took her into his arms and pulled her against him.
"Hello, Angelo," Susan smiled. "I bet I'm the only girl in town who has the keys to the apartments of three men."
"Probably," Angelo said. "I think you should send the other two back."
"That's what I'm going to do," Susan confirmed. "The first thing in the morning. Right now, though, I have other ideas."
