The girls had one thing in common: When they had first been brought to Gil's pad, they had had no idea what lay in store for them. But as Howard Jones states in Crime in a Changing Society: "There are many ways of expressing intense hostility, but one way is through violent crime. This may consist of the wanton destruction of property, or of assault, or even murder. Some psychoanalysts are now raising the question of whether, especially in the case of crimes against the person, like sexual assault and violence, the victim may not be as responsible for the offense as the person who perpetrated it. The crime, in other words, may be invited by the victim because it satisfies some unconscious wish in him. There is plenty of evidence of the existence of such symbiotic patterns. The early family experience of the rough, working-class individual is enough to account for his characteristic behavior and for his proneness to delinquency. And the very difference between his behavior and that of other groups, the clashes which his impatient and violently unstable nature brings about as he makes contact with those less driven, are more than enough to bring about antagonisms. Are not existing aggressions, the demand for material compensations, the inability to tolerate frustration, going to be greatly augmented, leading to an increase in behavior which the community calls delinquency?"
CHAPTER ONE
THEY PICKED UP THE TWO GIRLS ON MERRICK AVENUE.
It was no difficult pickup. The girls were ripe, they were cruising also. They were tarts, teasing and juicy, there was no sweat on any score.
At least so Gil and Arnie saw it.
Sure, the kids were young jailbait stuff but that didn't matter to Gil and Arnie. They'd promoted under-age cooze before, such held no terror for them.
Arnie Caves nudged Gil Brewster. "What d'ya say, pal?"
"They look prime to me," Gil leered. "Especially that redhead. Dig those big, baby blues. Talk about innocent! She's just askin' for it."
The pickup lingo was glib, practiced, disarming, the two men working as a precise team, high-pressuring the girls with a subliminal skill neither could resist. After all, they were kids, Vesper just sixteen, Dawn an experienced, worldly wise seventeen.
The line goes: "like shooting fish in a barrel."
There was a penny-arcade over on River Street, would the girls like to shoot a few games? They'd pop, blow 'em to burgers and Cokes afterward. The girls would. And before they knew it, they'd paired off, Dawn with Arnie, Vesper with Gil, the cutting-out done with effortless ease, neither girl having anything at all to do with the choosing.
There was something about those guys-
Within a half-hour the boys had won their confidence, they were laughing and talking like they'd been friends for a long time. Another ten minutes and the fleeting touches, the innuendo, the-leaning-over-the-shoulder-as-the-girls-played-ski-bowl, the sly working-of-the-hip-and-pelvis-against-those-sassy-backsides began.
And where the girls getting talked out of the burgers happened, neither could quite say. All of a sudden the lunch seemed pass', very kiddish and smalltime indeed. They were all having such a wonderful time this balmy May evening, it was only 10:30, it would be a terrible shame to let their fun die on the vine. Just when things were really beginning to swing.
"You don't want any Coke, girls," Gil coaxed. Coke's for kids." He dangled irresistible lure, that curiosity about the forbidden that rides roughshod over the adolescent mind. Why don't we go up to our place? Arnie and I've got some booze. Beer, wine, whiskey ... you call it, we got it. How about it? We'll tip a few, dance a little, you girls can fix some eats...."
Vesper was reluctant, she knew her mother would return at one, she knew she'd get a skinning if she didn't beat her home to their grubby, Murchison Street flat. She'd heard wild stories about things like this, she'd heard that men took advantage of girls once they got them alone in their pads. And her saucy, tart-like appearance to the contrary those skintight slacks, that clinging black sweater that did marvelous things to her just-bursting breasts Vesper hadn't ever gone all the way with a man, she still held such in distinct terror.
But Dawn persisted. "C'mon," she wheedled, drawing Vesper apart from the men, "they won't hurt you. I can get you out of any jam. They won't pull anything fresh, I'll see to that. It'll be a blast. Damn it, Vesper, you wanna be a kid all your life?"
That last taunt did it. And her heart hammering excitedly, that dark curiosity churning her guts, Vesper decided. "Okay," she said, her large, round eyes narrowing speculatively, those lush, dark brows plunging into a fleeting frown, "I'll go along. But no dirty stuff, understand? I gotta be home by one, don't forget that."
The boys' pad was located two blocks over, on Trent Street. For as the girls were guided past the row of dark, shuttered, burglar-screened shops, went past a pawn shop, were turned into a dark, brooding alley, they became suddenly apprehensive.
"Hey," Dawn froze, fought against Arnie, "this don't look so good. What kind of games you guys playing?"
"Unlax, baby doll," he assured her. "This may look like low-rent district to you, but wait'll you see the layout. We got our reasons...."
What those reasons were, he didn't bother to go into. The boys guided the girls into the murky recesses of the alley, the hard-leather heels of their flats clicked on the irregular terrain of paving-bricks. Then a door latch clicked ahead of them, fear climbed in their throats as they climbed some decrepit, wooden steps in pitch blackness. Vesper trembled, she was possessed of the strongest impulse to scream, to squirm and wheel, to escape this rapidly deteriorating situation.
"Easy does it," Gil soothed, his hand gentle yet firm on her arm, guiding her upward inexorably. "Just wait'll you see our digs. You won't believe this, honey...."
Then they were in a dark hall, moving toward an unseen door. Again a key clicked, the door swung open, Vesper felt her feet sink into thick, soft carpeting, she caught odor of stale cigarette smoke, new furniture, still-curing paint. It was an undefinable, distinctive recognition, she was lulled.
"We just moved in a couple weeks ago," Arnie announced proudly as the lights flared to life, illuminated the apartment. "Had everything done special.
All new."
Dawn and Vesper stood in awed silence. This luxury, this beautifully appointed room? In the midst of the Trent Street squalor, up a reeking, filthy alley? 'Hey," Dawn purred, "you weren't kidding, were you? Neat-oh, Arnie. Man, you guys must be in the chips."
The room was small but neat, a coziness pervading that the girls found extremely reassuring. Their minds holding this comparative sumptuousness up against their own down-at-the-heels environment, they felt a quick yearning in their hearts, they wanted to remain in these surroundings very much. Neither of them knew the significance of a Shangri-La, but if they had-
This would have come close.
"I like," Vesper said, taking in the modernistic, segmented-cushion davenport, the hanging, Danish-designed light over the piece. "This I like. Very much." She refrained Dawn. "Oh, neat, neat...."
The boys preened smugly, let the girls take in the pad, sent each other quick glances. Garish, bargain basement as most of the pieces were, tasteless in a connoisseur's eyes as the apartment might be, to these innocents (the concept of having everything new, of living in a furniture salon display dazzling them) it was heaven on earth.
Immediately as women from age six to sixty invariably will their avarice came to the fore. These guys-maybe they should get to know them better. Much better.
Gil led Vesper to the davenport, sat her down.
"Relax, honey," he smirked down at her, "Well get this show on the road." He turned to a glittering, multi-knobbed, portable stereo set that sat on a low, walnut table. "I'll get the music going, Arnie'll take drink orders." Gil was obviously older than Arnie-perhaps he was in apparent charge.
The rig was one Vesper would have given her right arm to own, and she stared at it covetously. "What do you dig, Vesper?" Gil said. "Beatles, Byrds, Dylan . . .We got 'em all."
"The Byrds would be nice," she said in a flawed tone.
"Byrds it is." He chose the record, put it on, adjusted the volume. "The drinks, Arnie. See what they want."
"What they want, hell," Arnie grunted. "I'm choosin'. Specialty of the house." Then he turned, went into the adjoining kitchen. Even as the lights came on, Vesper was further amazed as she saw glittering chrome and stainless steel, the appliances done in a robin's-egg blue shade.
"What...." she turned to Gil, "do you and Arnie do? I mean ... all this must take lots of money."
Gil paused the briefest moment before answering, his smile became sly. "We're in business," he evaded, "we're independent, sort of on our own." And to further distract, he stood, pulled Vesper up. "This I dig," he said. "Dance with me, Vesper."
And while the tune, Turn, Turn, Turn wasn't a very danceable, she did her best, danced slowly and self-consciously with him, kept the prescribed distance between them, somnolently executed the jerks and grinds and bobs that pass for dancing nowadays.
But then, as Arnie emerged with a small tray holding four pretty stemware glasses, the party shortly livened up. "What are these?" Vesper asked, taking an experimental sip of her drink, wondering at the velvet glide of the liquor down her gullet, the instant warmth and ease it induced within her.
"Manhattans," Amie smiled, putting his arm round Dawn, slowly drawing her closer to him. "Nice? That the first you ever had? I make 'em with rum. Smoothest drink in town." He didn't bother to add that for a novice drinker, a mere kid, it was also one of the most lethal.
"Good," Dawn said. "Tastes sweet and nice." She giggled. "Is it safe?"
"Just like cherry pop," Arnie said. "Never hurt you."
Things happened very swiftly after that. Vesper quickly found herself loosening up, she enjoyed the dancing very much. And her exertions working the liquor quickly into her system, she drank her first cocktail much too fast. One drink (of course) deserved another.
Arnie was quick to fill the empty glass she held out.
Now the dancing became wilder, even more intimate, Vesper minding not at all that Gil held her close now, often didn't release her for minutes at a stretch. The girls didn't notice the boys taking turns at the dimmer switch, gradually darkening the room, the mood more exotic by the minute.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world for the tall, slender, dark-haired Gil Brewster to raise Vesper's lips, kiss her lingeringly. She didn't mind at all when the kissing continued, became more and more passionate. She actually shivered as his hands came down, cupped the vibrant globes of her buttocks through those second-skin slacks, squeezed and rolled them. Especially since she now worked on another Manhattan (her third). She found the drink near addictive. It rendered her helpless, delivered her into a dreamy, muzzy never-never land from which she never wanted to return.
"I feel so good," she chanted repeatedly, "I feel so good."
"A thing like this can't 'be wrong, it can't be wrong. Oooh, Gil! Kiss me like that again. Those feelings! So wild, so hot. I feel like I'm on fire inside, like someone's twisting me up in there. Gil, Gil-"
By then, whether she knew it or not, Vesper had passed the point of no return. The music still played, but she and Gil had long ago stopped dancing. They stood in the center of the murky room, their mouths jammed, their lips grinding, their tongues flicking, their bellies clamped together. A fiery compulsion possessed Vesper, made her wild, made her want to work herself closer, closer to him. It was a sensation she'd never known before; it was almost as if she wanted to consume him, as if she wanted him in her own body.
Primal, maddening, it was an ageless, elemental urge. And though Vesper didn't recognize it for what it was, she capitulated to its drive just as women have been capitulating since the beginning of time.
She broke the kiss momentarily, felt a hacking sense of loss, looked around for Dawn, wasn't the least bit chagrined to see the doll-like brunette sprawled on the davenport with Arnie, her sweater partially pulled up to reveal that heaving whiteness of her diaphragm. Even as she watched Arnie run the zipper on the side of Dawn's slacks, she felt no alarm, no fear. It was last call.
Only Vesper was too far gone to recognize it.
That hot yearning grew, threatened to immolate her. She fought herself back to Gil's lips, actually nipped them, actually clenched her legs together in a betraying spasm. She sighed, limply let Gil lead her toward a large, leather-upholstered double-lounge. Then they were sprawled upon it, they were together again, their mouths glued, their bodies bunting, squirming.
This wild, uncontrollable need! She groaned as they slammed their mouths together. This fire, this craziness, she thought. What is it? Why don't I care, why can't I wait, why can't I think? Now, oh now, Gil Yes. Kiss, oh kisss! A pained, thin whimper broke from her.
Gil Brewster recognized the cue, and moved in accordingly. "Vesper, baby," he groaned into her ear, letting the tip of his tongue probe that pearly orifice, causing Vesper to squirm, to suck in her breath loudly, "my sweet, little baby. A regular little fireball. Where'd you ever get a name like that? Vesper?"
She giggled, tried to fight her lips to his anew.
"My mother gave it to me. Used to be my grandmother's name. It's a drag, I hate it. So old-fashioned...."
"Pretty, pretty," Gil muttered, kissing her eyes, letting his tongue drift to her other ear. "Vesper, Vesper. Vesper sparrow. Oh, that's nice. Sparrow, my sweet, little sparrow...." His tongue became even wilder.
Vesper squirmed more frantically, forgot to wonder at this insane, delicious ache deep within her body. She only gave in to it, she enjoyed it, she wallowed in the sensation. The liquor making her totally irresponsible, totally vulnerable to carnal appetites, she glanced across the room, saw that Arnie had removed Dawn's sweater and slacks. Dazedly, she watched as Dawn jittered her plump buttocks on the davenport, her white flesh contrasting starkly against her black panties, her black brassiere.
Now the slacks went sailing, Arnie went over Dawn, expertly stripped off her brassiere, flung it aside. Immediately his head dropped, his lips affixed themselves to her rigid nipples, they plucked and worked at them. Dawn's buttocks writhed even more frenziedly, she drummed her heels on the upholstery. Vesper felt like someone had driven a red-hot dagger deep into her belly, was twisting it there. She jittered, felt all crazy.
"Oh, Gil," she choked. "Do that to me. What he's doing to Dawn. Please, please...."
"You little mink," Gil chuckled smugly. "You are with it, ain't you?" His hands slid inside her sweater, closed on her small breasts, made Vesper hiss with impatient delight. "Sparrow, my sweet, hot sparrow." He laughed again, the sound more arrogant, somehow ugly.
"Sure, I'll do you like Dawn. I'll do you even better.
Easy does it. There's time, there's plenty of time. Jeez, the body on you, Sparrow. The boobs on you, these hard little raisins." His fingers pinched the nipples. "They want old Gil, don't they? They want him."
Vesper was lust-dominated then. "They do, darling," she groaned. "They want you. Oh, pinch them, play with them. Whatever you want to do." Her body spasmed, she tensed her legs, raised her rear off the chaise. "Take my bra off!" Her words emerged in a growl. "Do me like Dawn!"
Gil groaned, knew grinding amazement. He'd seen some hot-tailed kids in his time. But this Sparrow number Instantly his hands were at her body, he was pulling up the black sweater, revealing the white, shimmering nylon of her brassiere. The sweater was torn away, he began on her shoes, her slacks. A cold current of air swept Vesper, momentarily alerted her, tensed her. But the panic was instantly chased as Gil returned, kissed her, slid his hot hands along her inner thighs. Involuntarily she clenched her legs shut, caught his briefly.
Chucklingly, he escaped her, his hands came around her back, deftly undid the snaps there. The bra whispered in relief, sprang away. Vesper eagerly lifted her arms, let him sweep it away, felt no shame at all as he looked down at her small breasts, his eyes, the air tweaking her nipples, making them distend, resemble smooth, shiny, miniature volcanoes, the aureoles engorged, impatient.
"Sparrow," he gloated, "you ever-lovin' sparrow.
You got some of those. Here, let daddy at 'em." Instantly his head dropped, he let his lips close on first one rose tip, then another. His tongue darted and rippled and spun about each of them, his lips compressed and tugged at them gently.
Vesper jittered more agitatedly on the lounge, she loosed a piteous whimper, gave herself totally to sensation, to the fantastic adoration. She felt like her breasts were swelling, like they were on fire, like they would explode at any moment. Seemingly he inserted darts of fire into her flesh with each stab of his tongue.
"Gil, Gil...." she intoned. "Oh, good, so good...." Oooh, oooh ... Don't stop, never stop." She sank into even deeper frenzy.
Thus she barely spasmed, she readily flung herself open to him as his hand slid down her hips, fled across her belly, clutched that humid, crisp promontory there, as it closed and roiled.
Vesper was transformed, transfigured, transported. There was no tomorrow, no yesterday; no practical contingency of nowness could intrude. There was only this clawing, incandescent lust, there was only the instinctive drive to culmination. And even though she didn't know exactly what form that completion would take, she knew she wanted it, she delivered herself to pure instinct, knew things would somehow take care of themselves.
And failing in that-
Gil certainly knew what he was about.
His hand felt glorious there, his lips seemingly set licking flames of fire along her body. She gasped, shifted her feet, flung her head back and forth in heedless fever. Her eyes rolled up in her head, vision came and went. Once she focused on Arnie and Dawn on the davenport across, she saw that Arnie was naked now, that he was atop Dawn, his body plunging between her greedy, scissoring thighs. She heard Dawn's glutinous cried, her stertorous encouragements.
The scene set a hot poker to Vesper's flesh.
And though her sexual experience thus far had consisted only of fighting off some of the sexually precocious boys in her block, fighting off a dirty-minded little brother in the bargain, Vesper knew what was going on between Dawn and Arnie, she knew the mechanics of the sexual act. The accompanying passion storm, however, was something new to her, she'd always wondered how people could work themselves into so wild a state as to permit, let alone enjoy, the intimacies of sexual congress.
There had been that boy a year or so ago Tom, was that his name? whom she'd liked, whom she'd allowed, on a dark night, on the front stoop of their tenement building, to kiss her at length. And who, before they were through, she'd let play with her breasts. There had been a midget approximation of sensation then, but nothing like what she experienced now.
Tom, eventually, had got carried away, had tried to get his hand beneath her skirts, she'd had to fight him off, get rough at the end. So much for Vesper's first, vestigial awakenings to the sex urge.
The thoughts were chased now, Vesper started, sighed as Gil's hand invaded her white, nylon panties themselves. And as that strumming finger found her, as that excruciating sensation was induced, all fear of pain, of other consequences, was gone. There was only swaggering, bullying lust, there was only that overpowering curiosity. She had to know! She'd endure anything to know! "Please, darling," she hissed. "Oh soon, now!"
But Gil Brewster, chaotic though his own lust might have been, had no intention of hurrying. Sensing that he'd caught himself a rare, nearly extinct bird a virgin he thought to draw the session out, milk it of every possible sensation. Thus he smiled strangely, sat up, began working the pristine, practical panties down her legs.
For a long time he sat over Vesper, brushing her hands away as she sought to drag him back to her, he appraised that elegant, tempestuous body at great length, he took her in from the tips of her pretty toes to the top of her touseled, red head. Vesper was a budding specimen, tallish as girls go, her body still boyish, but filling out quickly, giving lush promise of erotic delights to come.
Her hips were wide, her thighs thin, her waist flared to mouth-watering suppleness, her shoulders and throat were fine, sloping in patrician grace. Those breasts, each a perfect handful, were essence of female beauty. And now, as those unique tips knurled anew, they were that much more alluring. His hands rumpled that coppery tangle playfully, swept up lightly over her pulsing tummy.
"You hot-pants," he growled, standing, beginning to shuck off his own clothes, "you're really hurting, ain't you?"
Then he was naked. He stood over Vesper, leered smugly as he saw fear possess her face as she took in his stunning arousal. There were times when he wondered which he really enjoyed most: the expression on the gal's yap when she saw him, or the taste of her, the sound of her sighs when he presented this massive gift to her.
A shudder took him, he moved toward her. And if this little tramp is cherry, like I think she is I'm really going to make her whimper.
There was a final moment of reticence, near terror for Vesper. As the man came closer, gave her better view. But the lust overrode, she didn't care what he did, how much he hurt her. She had to have him, she'd gone too far to turn back now!
Then he was on the bed, there was a crisp crackle, he was attending to a final nicety. And even though Vesper knew what it was: "What, Gil...." she quaked. "What are you...? "
"I'm fixing it so you don't catch any babies," he chuckled. "You wouldn't want that, would you? You'd be no good to me at all if you got P.G."
"No...." she murmured stupidly. "I wouldn't want that."
Then he was beside her again, gathering her, kissing her, his hands and fingers taking gross liberties with her most intimate self, igniting those devil fires anew. Vesper surged, groaned, splayed her legs, steepled her knees. His lips pounced upon her aching nipples anew.
And finally, his guttural chuckles overloud in her ears: Vesper's breath seared her throat, her pulse banged in her ears. She froze, lay stone still in near supplicant's pose, her hands limp at her side, palms up, the fingers slightly curled. She gasped as his knees came between hers, as they slid, adjusted, further stretched her.
Now, with painstaking slowness, lowering himself inch by inch, his voice soft, reassuring, gentling her: "Easy does it, baby. Don't be afraid, I'll be good to you. You'll like this, once you get used to it. Easy, easy...." He paused. "Here, give me your hand. like this. That's right. If this's your first time...."
"It is," Vesper sighed, her heart now suddenly bloating in her chest as her hand tightened, guided, assessed. "It is. I'm afraid...."
"Sparrow," he said, an alien gentleness in his tone, "don't be afraid. Every woman's got to go through this once. Re thankful your first one's with a man, a real man. Easy...."
She tried to forestall him at the last moment, she attempted to claw him away, terror paralyzing her, but he was too strong, too determined. She felt that first maddening touch, that pressure. With a sharp, contemptuous move, he flung her hand from him. And then-
Vesper put her hand to her mouth, she stuffed the back of it tight to her teeth, clamped down. Tears flooded her eyes, she fought to choke back a wail. Her whole body was on fire, blistering heat and pain was seemingly touched to every nerve cell in her body, she actually heard a strident creaking in her head. She gasped, sobbed, chewed harder on her hand.
And then it was over, that initial pain dulled somewhat, a different, more transcending pain began to build deep within her. Pain that was not pain, but was urgency, wildness, she shriek of a hundred banshees all at once. She was suffused with pride. That she was a woman at last, woman enough for this masterful man! Deeper, still deeper he attempted to bury himself. Vesper knew a transfiguring sense of rightness, of purpose, a soul-wrenching self-satisfaction.
"Oh!" she sighed, an edge of anguish to her voice, "oh, oh! I never dreamed ... a man would feel like that. That I could actually want...."
Brewster snickered arrogantly. "You want, baby," he gritted, "and you're gonna get. Are you ever gonna get...."
Then he began to move.
Gradually the pain diminished, became negligible, the former lust and ecstasy built up anew. And Vesper found her arms circling his back, her thighs clamping his flanks, she found herself actually rising and grinding to meet him, to intensify that scalding, fantastic heat.
Her breath came in great, shattery gasps, it seemed became oblivious to everything. To her pantings, to Gil's continuing chuckles and encouragements, to the sounds coming from across the room where Dawn and Arnie had finished, were starting afresh.
Now her entrails were knotted into a thousand knots, they were being pulled tighter, still tighter. "God, oh God!" she barked. As now a hundred tons of molten slut were poured over her. As a screaming welter of voices, an ecstatic ahorus swelled within her head. Vesper groaned, choked, coughed, let her body go crazy, became a total fanatic in pursuit of continued ecstasies.
"Darling, darling, darling...." she chanted in senseless refrain.
As now a virtual shower of Roman candles began going off in her head, painting that midnight screen of her mind with slow, lazy starbursts, each extension composed of millions of minor starbursts. The explosions continued, one atop the other, until it seemed that sky could accommodate no more.
But then they became watery, they faded like snowflakes, there was only that darkness, that terrifying darkness.
Not understanding at all, that appalling fear seemingly pulverizing her very bones, Vesper began to sob.
She clawed herself to this stranger, she dug her face into his hard shoulder, she chewed his flesh, spat desperate sobs against wall of skin and muscle.
CHAPTER TWO
"Sparrow" Brewster attempted to soothe, his tone embarrassed, somehow mocking, "little Sparrow. Cool it, baby. What's the sweat? You wanted to know, now you found out. It wasn't that bad, was it? Cool, cool, kid."
"It was wrong," she gasped. "I shouldn't have. I went all crazy inside. I simply didn't know what I was doing."
"That's the mood, baby. That's the way it's supposed to run. People get carried away, that's natural.
Can you imagine sex when you bad control, when you had your cool? That would be the dullest scene in the world."
"What's the matter with her?" Arnie Caves called from across the room. "You hurt her?"
"Sure I hurt her," Gil snapped. "Don't I always? She's just having a bad case of conscience, that's all. It'll pass." He regarded Dawn sarcastically. "Did you know your girl friend was cherry?"
"She never told me," Dawn replied, her dark features perplexed. "She always made out like she'd had guys before."
"How about you?" Gil regarded Arnie. "You get a cherry too?"
"Hardly," Caves snorted. "This doll's 'been had. She swings. You wanna sample?"
"In a while. Soon's I get Little Merry Sunshine calmed down here. Quite a kid, this Sparrow. Cute huh? I'm gonna call her that from now on." He pulled away from Vesper, snickered as he saw how she scrambled to curl herself in a ball, conceal her nakedness. He reached for his trousers, produced a handkerchief. "Here, baby, let's dry up those water works. No need, no need at all."
He turned, looked down on the dark-haired voluptuously endowed Dawn where she lay in slack weariness, her dusky face somehow wan, her naked belly rising and falling slowly, one hand languidly trailing to the floor. His smile became more contemptuous. "How was she, Arnie?"
"Prime, Gil," Caves chuckled, "She knows how to move the stuff. And yours?"
"She's got a ways to go yet. But she was mint. You don't run onto those every day. And a tiger ... Wow! She may not know how, but she sure knows when. You wanna some?"
"Not yet. Give me time to catch my breath." He snickered. "Among other things." He rose, started for the kitchen. "Anybody for a drink?"
"No, thanks. I'm good. Any more'n I won't be able to put little Dawn there through her paces." Gil sat on the end of the chaise, made no attempt to conceal himself whatsoever, he leered at Dawn, appreciated the way her eyes frankly fled across his body. "Brother, things came on kind of fast there, didn't they? Everything ganged up on us all of a sudden. Surprise every minute."
His leer widened. "How about it, Dawn? You ready for seconds? Or is it thirds? You an' Arnie got off to a flying start there, didn't you?"
Dawn stared at him self-consciously. "Do I ... must I ... with you?"
"You bet your sweet bottom, with me. I broke in the virgin here, now maybe once for fun." He reached behind him, grabbed Vesper's ankle, began to stroke her leg. "You over your crying jag yet, baby? You about ready for another go? I got a real champ lined up for you. Bet you never thought you'd end up with two guys, did you?"
Vesper sucked in her breath audibly, pulled her leg away from him as the impact of his words fully registered. "No, Gil!" she wailed. "Not Arnie. Not me with Arnie. I couldn't ... I just couldn't. Please, you won't...."
"Knock off the baby act, Sparrow," he growled. A little of that goes a long way. You weren't so blubbery a minute ago. You couldn't get enough as I recall. If Arnie's interested, you'll be interested."
"Please, Gil," Vesper pleaded, more and more emerging from her alcoholic trance, more and more realizing just what corrupt act she'd so recently committed, dismayed revulsion crushing her, "don't make me, don't make us...."
Make?" he mocked. "I ain't gonna make Dawn here do anything. She's hot to trot. Ain't so, Dawn? You ain't been able to take your eyes off me since we came up for air, have you? You wanna try that, don't you?"
Dawn didn't answer. But, the more experienced, the more adventuresome of the two girls, she didn't need to. Her eyes, the feral grimace on her face was answer enough.
"We have to go," Vesper continued to wail, "it's midnight already. My mom'll kill me if I don't get home by one."
"Make up a story, baby. Tell her you had a flat tire or something. You go when I say so, understand? When Arnie'n me get our fill, and not one minute sooner."
The mood in the room suddenly changed, a new terror was abroad, both girls (Vesper especially) knew they were in bad trouble, they realized they'd stumbled upon a psychopath, they'd foolishly walked into a vicious trap.
"What...." Dawn ventured, coming up from her fearful daze, "are you going to do with us? You won't hurt us ... kill us? You won't get away with it, the police'll...."
"The police'll spit. We ain't gonna hurt you, pretty, little girls. We like little girls like you. Ain't that so, Arnie?"
"You know it, Gil," Caves called from the kitchen. "Just so long's you do what we say," Gil continued, "don't rub our fur the wrong way ... nobody gets hurt. We're gonna be the best of friends. We're gonna have some wonderful times together. Ain't so, Sparrow?" He turned, grasped one ankle, pulled her toward him. He rumpled that rose-gold delta of her body.
"Don't...." she fought him, "oh, please ... I wanna go home, I wanna get out of here. Dawn...."
Brewster twisted Vesper's ankle cruelly. "I told you to knock it off, kid. Unless you want big trouble. You want some lumps. Sparrow?"
"Please ... you're hurting me. Stop, oh, please. Don't call me that. My name's Vesper, not...."
"Your name's what I saw it is! And if I wanna call you Sparrow ... my little, red-hot Sparrow...." He reached for her, viciously dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her thigh, made her scream. "Want more?" he growled.
"Lay off, Gil," Arnie said, returning from the kitchen with a small pitcher of Manhattans. He smirked. "Don't bruise the merchandise. At least not until I've had my ups."
"Lay off, hell," GO snarled. "Gotta break these kids in right. If they're gonna be any good to us at all. Ya gotta put the fear of God into 'em right from the start."
"Well, cool it, Gil. Later'll be just as good. After I've...."
Dawn's face was even more white now. "What ... what do you mean? Just what are you going to do with us?"
Gil rose, went to stand over Dawn, he stared down at her, a piggish smile on his features. "Do? What d'ya think we're gonna do with you? Put ya to work, that's what we're gonna do." He grabbed one of her legs, raised it, raised it toward him, appraised her coldly, ended up by ruffling her belly with his other hand. "This kind of work."
He sat beside Dawn on the davenport, idly flopped her ample breasts, clucked at her rigidity and growing discomfiture. "I'll bet you really throw a mean one if you set your mind to it." His hand became more vulgar. "What's your name? Your whole name?"
"Dawn," she stammered. "Dawn Logan."
"And where do you live, Dawn Logan?"
"On Murchison Street."
"Kind of a cheesy neighborhood, ain't it? Where on Murchison?"
"Twenty-two hundred north."
"That is bottom-of-the-barrel stuff. And you're in a hurry to get back there?"
"Our parents'll kill us if we don't get back. They'll get the cops after us if we don't come home...."
"Who said anything about your not coming home?" he leered. "You'll get home all right. But not right away." He beckoned to Arnie. "Give Dawn here a little drink. She's runnin' outta steam. Touch Sparrow up too. She's looking a bit peaked."
"No more for her," Arnie said. "Any more and she'll be sick."
"Suit yourself. But Dawn here, she wants more." He moved his face close to hers. "Ain't so, baby?"
"Yes," she hurried. "I'll have some more."
She barely replenished her drink when Gil pulled her to her feet, led her toward what she assumed must be a bedroom. He came close behind Dawn, jammed his belly to her buttocks, held her, his resurgent manhood causing her to start and squeal. "Be careful with that!"
"No...." Vesper began to protest, shying away from Arnie as he sat on the chaise, "oh please, not again. He hurt me, he hurt me something awful. I ache all over. I can't ... again ... I just can't...."
Arnie, a squat, stocky specimen, a blonde, crew-cut male of 21, leered lewdly at her protest, took a long drag on his drink, put the glass aside. Now he cornered the pretty child, he made her wince as he dug his hand into her left breast, pinned her in place. "You never know just what you can do until you try, dolly. And we're gonna try. You're gonna like me, Sparrow. I ain't half as rough as Gil. He comes on like a runaway freight. I got more style."
He chuckled anew, clambered over Vesper, his own virility now regenerated, the mere thought of violating the fair-skinned girl affecting same. "Sparrow," he teased, "real cute. I'm gonna like that." His hands wrenched her legs apart viciously. "You got nothing to be scared of. Here we go, Sparrow. I got just the perch for you...."
Then he was upon her, his knee jamming her legs, dropping his full weight upon her slight frame like some avenging animal. He laughed fiendishly as Vesper screamed at the abrading pain his brutish penetration triggered. "Please, please...." she sobbed. "No more, I can't stand any more. You're hurting me, you're hurting me something awful!"
But Arnie paid not the slightest heed. Engrossed in exercising his own droit du seigneur over Vesper, he wanted his. Enthralled by the close constriction of this near virginal body, the child's whimpers only added that much more spice to the act.
As Arnie thrust and ground at her, Vesper recoiled, cringed inwardly at the pain. She was struck by a contradictory thought. But hadn't she been thrilled, been driven out of her mind with ecstasy only minutes before? How could such be? The act was repulsive, degrading now, a thing merely to be borne as best as she could. How can such changes be? How can a world be turned upside down in a matter of minutes? Then turned upside down still another time?
"Oh, baby," Arnie gloated as his body slammed to hers with brutal cadence, "you are special! I ain't had one like you in a month of Sundays. Hang on, Sparrow, hang on. Here we go, here we...."
The words trailed into a piggish squeal, into a cacophony of curses and groans. "You mink! You ever-lovin'-mink! You nearly tore me out by the roots."
He hovered over her for long moments afterward, his weight suffocating, his breathing harsh and rapid in her ears. "Dolly, dolly," he grated when he finally rolled off her, the suddenness of his move making her hiss, "we are going to have some wonderful times together. I'm never going to get tired of that cozy apartment of yours."
"Please," she whined, tried to pull away, "I've got to go home. I'll catch all kinds of hell if I don't get there soon. I'll go away, I'll never tell anyone what you guys did to me. I swear I won't fink. Just let me go, that's all I ask."
Arnie rose on one elbow, stared at Vesper mockingly. "We'll let you go, honey. Both of you. When we're ready. But before you leave...."
"Yes?"
"We've gotta have a little talk. Certain things gotta be understood."
The cruelty in his eyes, the coldness in his tone, made Vesper quail anew, she was suddenly shuddering all over.
They let Vesper and Dawn get dressed after this last formalization, they let them go into the bathroom to get cleaned up, to redo their faces. Which, in light of what was about to happen next, was so much wasted motion.
By then it was I:00 a.m., Vesper and Dawn were already overdue at home. And with a ten-block walk through some of Doncastle's most scabrous, dangerous slums still ahead of them, the prospect was not a happy one.
When the girls were dressed, the effects of the cocktails sufficiently worn away, the opportunistic, cruel men herded the two girls into the living room, seated them on the plush davenport.
"You're comin' back here tomorrow night, you know," Gil began, his smile oily. "Tonight, I mean. I forget the new day's already begun." He snickered. "How time does get away from a person. Especially when he's doin' something he enjoys."
"No...." Dawn wailed. "Come back here? But why? You can't make...."
The dark threat in Gil Brewster's eyes stilled her in mid-sentence. "Their bags," Gil snapped. Instantly Arnie wrenched Vesper's clutch purse from her, scooped up Dawn's more bulky bag from the floor. Right away he dug inside, emerged with the girls' wallets. Gil had produced a pencil and paper by then.
Brewster took the wallets, searched them for identification. Finding same, he began scribbling their names onto the paper, he doubled-checked addresses, wrote them "as well as phone numbers" down also. "You must live real close to each other, girls," he said. "Real handy, I say."
Gil smirked. "Just making sure, kiddies. You might have been connin' me. I gotta know where you live. Just in case you try to split on me. We'll come lookin' for you if you do. What we do to you won't be very nice. Not nice at all."
He paused, let his eyes sweep from one girl to the other, his stare malevolent, piercing. Then the words were barked out, their threat pinning them both in place. "Show 'em what I mean, Arnie!"
With that Arnie turned on Dawn, dug his stubby fingers into her hair, twisted it violently, forced her head back. With his free hand he slapped her across the face a half dozen times, each crack whipping her head back, causing Dawn to scream with blind fury and pain. Instantly she began to sob hysterically, a thin trail of blood ran down from her hose.
"Don't, Arnie!" she pleaded. "No, no ... No more! For God's sake, no more!"
But the brute didn't listen. His face drawn into an animal snarl, he pulled her to her feet by her hair, stood her at arm's length, punched her in the right breast, taking some steam off the punch at the last minute. Dawn sobbed, screamed, gagged all at the same time, she hung by her hair as her knees collapsed beneath her.
Then Arnie let her go. She fell like a bag of meal, sobbed and coughed, she groveled on the floor like some wounded animal, the pain inflicted nearly driving her out of her mind.
Vesper stifled a terrified howl, tried to evade Arnie's grasp. "No!" she begged, "don't hurt me, don't hit me. I'll do anything you say, only don't Her cry ended in a gargled scream as Gil blocked her, dug his right hand into her left breast, closed the finger like steel talons, nearly tore the globe off.
"Don't run, Sparrow," he seethed. "Take your medicine, just like Dawn. You gotta have a lesson too. So you'll see we mean business." He flung her contemptuously toward Arnie. "Take your medicine, you little slut!"
Arnie administered an almost identical beating to Vesper. He coiled his fingers in her long, coppery hair, he nearly tore her scalp off. The explosions sounded in her head for what seemed an eternity, her brain was glazed with sheet lightning. The pain was horrendous, unbelievable, her helpless outrage intensified it a hundredfold. She wanted to die, she felt she would actually have at the clawing agony that invaded her body.
Then when he punched her in the breast when he kept her dangling at arm's length like some broken puppet if Vesper had felt defiled before-
It was nothing to the shame, the meanness that filled her now. She wanted to die.
Finally she dropped, lay writhing beside Dawn, she emitted great, hawking sobs, sobs that threatened to bring the very lining of her throat up with them. She actually dug her nails into that carpeting in order to endure the excruciating pain. And still the land mines kept detonating inside her head, those flashes of blinding, bluish-white light kept searing the screen of her mind.
"You get the message, piggies?" Gil's taunting voice carried from some Olympian height. "You want some more of that? Or was once enough?"
"What ... what do you want from us?" Dawn finally choked up the words?
"That's for me to know, you to find out, baby,"
Gil said. "What I want is for the both of you to show tomorrow night. Eight bells, understand? You know how to find this place, huh? Arnie and I'll be waiting for you."
"You rat on us," Arnie interjected, "you bring the police, you'll be sorry the longest day you live. They can't keep us in jail forever. And when we do get out, we'll come looking for you two twerps, we'll gut you out like some animal. We'll make you die by inches. What we just gave you will seem like heaven by comparison...."
"Do we make ourselves clear?" Brewster took over.
"Yes, yes," Vesper sobbed brokenly, the pain subsiding enough so that she could form coherent thought, bring up words. "We'll be here, I swear. We won't tell the police, we won't tell anybody." Her voice shattered again, she bobbed her head against the floor. "Only don't hurt us any more, don't...."
"Why do you want us here?" Dawn persisted. "What are you gonna do to us?"
Gil nudged her menacingly with his foot. "In due time, Dawn. But for now, just say we dig your bedroom style. That reason enough?"
Dawn stared at him stolidly, her face fearful, yet etched with hatred at the same time. Arnie began dragging her feet.
"Get cleaned up," Gil rasped. "You look like you been in a fight. Tell your ma that. Then get the hell out of here. We gotta get some sleep."
Less than ten minutes later, their faces somewhat repaired, but still lobster-red where Arnie had slapped them constantly, they finally let themselves out of the apartment.
Their legs wobbly, their breasts (as well as other parts of their anatomy) throbbing, feeling like they were on fire, they groped down those gloom-shrouded flight of stairs.
Then they were out in the mild, May night, they were clattering about noisily down that subterranean alley.
When they hit the street they began to run as fast as they were able.
They ran like every hound in hell had been turned loose and was yapping at their heels.
CHAPTER THREE
It was 3:10 of that same day, Vesper Delaney sat in Room 129 at Jefferson High, fought to focus her thoughts on the class proceedings. Mr. Kinney was holding forth on causes of the Civil War; Vesper even if she'd been in any sort of shape at all couldn't have cared less. The Civil War? That had happened 700 years ago. How did it apply to the here and now?
How did it apply to the very personal hell in which she, Vesper Delaney, girl-stupid, now found herself?
It wasn't bad enough that it was a beautiful day, the sun hot and intense, the sky clear, a fragrant spring breeze carrying in through the opened-to-maximum windows. No, there were other things bugging her. Things like the lingering aftermath of her first hangover, like her spiritual and moral hangover as well.
Add to that the seething restlessness in the classroom, the knowledge that in another week school would be finished for another year. Add to that the very hopelessness, the idiocy actually, of this situation. There were 34 students, microcosm of the whole decrepit plant, 40 whites, 20 blacks. All, like Vesper, were indifferent students, they were merely marking time, they were there because the state law (in most cases forceful, ambitious parents) said they had to be.
But because they were there, did that mean they were obliged to study, that they were actually supposed to absorb any of this cruddy material? Why sweat, when the weak-sister policy at Jefferson High virtually guaranteed them a diploma? This for the mere fact that they helped the custodians, kept the seats of their desks dusted?
Even had Vesper been a bright girl (she was not), even had there been incentive for her to study all such efforts toward betterment would have been doomed from the outset. After all, when the total establishment of environment at home as well as in the streets is seemingly dedicated to the stifling of the human soul-
When that elusive "better life" is a mockery and nothing more-
"The North was acting in a very arbitrary way, dictating impossible conditions the South hoped to meet...." Mr. Kinney droned on. Vesper scowled, stared up at the man. Seeing the disinterested, mechanical way Mr. Kinney read his notes, his mind a million miles away, she became even more bitter. Hell, dad, she thought, who needs this? You should be teaching us how to defend ourselves in the hall, out on the streets, you should be teaching us girls how to sling hash, how to coax tips from customers, you should be teaching the studs how to strip a parked car that much faster, how to fix the corner cop.
Her heart clutched, she felt a ghastly emptiness. You should be teaching morons like me how to keep their noses clean. Teach them how to keep their pants on, how to keep from being conned eighty ways from Sunday.
The bitterness choked her. She looked to her right, saw Ace Wilkins carving an obscene word on the edge of his desk, totally oblivious to what was going on around him in the room.
Her thoughts drifted again, the expenditure of thought, of puny emotion too dear at this despondent moment. She sniffed aloud to remember how, after all her concern, she'd skulked into their flat during this morning's wee hours, only to discover that neither her mother or her father had returned home as yet. Her sister Olive, twenty, independent, having long ago broken her parents' control over her, very-likely out peddling it on the highways and byways of the Murchison Street district, wasn't home either. There had only been kid brother Pete, and he'd been out like a light when she'd squeezed past his bed on her way into the cramped cubicle she and Olive shared. All that frenzy? For what?
Dawn had been very incommunicative as they'd dragged their way to school that morning. "How do you feel, Vesper?" she'd asked, a tired, cynical smile on her face.
"like dead," Vesper had replied. "All over. God, what those animals did to me...."
"You aren't alone, hon. I still ache. Look at these bruises. And that Gil! When he took me into that bedroom. I thought he was never gonna let me up. Talk about submarine!"
"What...." Vesper had ventured, her voice awed, ". . .are we gonna do about them?"
"Do?" Dawn had snorted. "What else, baby? I don't know about you, but I ain't gonna cross 'em. They're freaks, Vesper. They'll kill us as soon as look at us. And if they don't kill us, they'll leave us crippled for life, we'll have faces like a Halloween mask." She smiled sardonically. "I'm not going to stand those jocks up. Christ, of all the stupid things for us to get into."
"Dawn, I've been thinking, I could hardly sleep all night. You don't suppose they're going to sell us ... You know, to other men ... make whores out of us...."
"Where'd you get a dumb thought like that? They wouldn't dare. There are laws, after all...."
"I noticed. Last night. What then? If that ain't what they want?"
"They wanna play, that's all. They want theirs steady. And free. And so long as they caught a couple of suckers, kids who can't fight back...." She sighed ponderously. "We gotta go along with 'em. They'll get tired of us one of these days. And then...."
The conversation had died after that.
Now Vesper's mind heeled over hard. Distasteful as the memories were, she couldn't forestall them. A strange disquiet, half disgust, half wonder, suffused her. Panic, fear of pregnancy, fear of continued brutalities and vilifications at Arnie's and Gil's hands fled before her eyes. Again she wondered how a thing so thrilling, so sensually gratifying, could, in the blinking of an eye, become so vile, so loathsome?
And what, just what, had happened to her? It couldn't have been just the drinks, there had to be something else.
Was this the way all men were? All honey and smiles until they got what they wanted? The bitterness ballooned within her anew. If she was to go on past performances, it was so. All men were brutes, rutting, unfeeling animals, only one thought, one appetite, foremost in their minds.
She smiled wanly. Honey, if anybody should know-
Her rummy father, that sex-smirky kid brother of hers always brushing up against her, getting feisty with his hot, little hands-
There were the guys in the halls at school, on the streets, always trying to close in, trying to make out. Sex, sex, sex. A regular one-note samba. Tired, cynical as she was at this moment, she was surprised that she hadn't been had long, long before this.
Maybe it was for the best, she rationalized idly. At least I know what it is now, what's supposed to happen. I'll bet there are plenty of married women, bags who've been making it steady with their old man, who can't say that.
Jezz just one night with that Gil stud-
They'd never be the same again.
She was astonished to break up from her ugly little reverie, find that she actually felt jittery pangs of desire. That tight feeling was in her belly again, she felt all warm and flushed, her nipples had actually swollen inside her brassiere. Disgust ripped her.
Pig, she derided. You slutty pig! After what they did to you? You can get the hots just thinking about it?
But the taunts carried little sting. For she'd progressed one step too far into the erotic fantasy. And once started, the sensuality couldn't be so easily turned off. After all, she defended, any girl in the world on the morning after-
The first time. What am I supposed to think about? Maybe I should run through the multiplication tables yet?
And conscience thus mollified, Vesper surrendered herself totally to remembrance of her introduction to sex, she blocked out that portion of the evening where Arnie and Gil had turned brutal. She felt even more feverish now, she discovered her hands were beginning to tremble.
She slouched in her seat, tuned out Mr. Kinney completely. Now she let her thoughts reel back, she began at the very beginning. To where she and Gil had been dancing, to when he'd first kissed her. and begun to feel her up. Now she remembered how it had been when he'd taken her breasts into his mouth, when he'd brought her hand to himself. Just before-
She remembered how he'd hurt her, she remembered that terrifying sensation, part pain, part ecstasy, when he'd begun to fill her.
Vesper Delaney was gone now. Staring out the window, her large text-book shielding her face, she was transported to another world. A small, pinched smile grew on her face.
It was still light when Vesper and Dawn entered that stinking, littered alley on Trent Street that night, the prospect before them seeming less foreboding now that the moment of reunion was at hand. Vesper's father was on a toot again, her mother was working, Olive had another "date", there'd been nobody home to make waves when she'd cut out. And just so long as she got home at a decent hour, saw to it that no questions got asked about her whereabouts-
She'd see was there any alternative?
None whatsoever. Especially when she lived in such primal terror of her two tormentors. A terror (Vesper had discovered in school that afternoon) that was not without its peculiar satisfactions and fascinations as well.
Gil flung open the door at Dawn's first knock, stood with an arrogant smile, wore just a sport shirt, slacks, loafers, was obviously dressed for an evening at home. "Well, look who's here," he guffawed. "If it ain't my little Sparrow. And her good friend Dawn. C'mon in, you two. We been waiting for you. The party's just startin'. "
Arnie emerged from the kitchen, a couple of bottles of beer in his hand. "Hey, Dawn baby," he mocked. "I was beginning to worry about you. But then you wouldn't stand me up. would you? Not a guy with such charm, such good looks." He raised his arm in a menacing way. "A guy with such a good right?" He cackled. "Smart girl...."
The door was closed behind them, Vesper and Dawn were led into the living room, were once again surprised at the neatness of the apartment, impressed at its opulent furnishings and appointments.
And as an added surprise, there was a lovely Negro girl, a perfect stranger, who sat primly on the davenport, her cafe au lait legs crossed as she smoked. She peered speculatively at the newcomers, a thin smile twisting her lips. She ignored the fact that her skirt was high on her legs, revealed the tops of her stockings, the dark line of her garter belt. v
"Hello?" Gil chuckled. "Surprised, girls?" He indicated the Negress. "This spade's name is Marcy. Marcy Jordan. Marcy, meet Dawn and the Sparrow. Her real name's Vesper Delaney. But we're gonna call her Sparrow." His eyes mocked Vesper. "Ain't so, Sparrow?"
Vesper averted her eyes. "Anything you say, Gil."
"Ha! How about that, Arnie? She's learned a little respect already. Housebroken, the kid is. Smart."
"Nice to meet you, Vesper," she replied, her eyes boring into Vesper's, "welcome to the club." Her eyes were dark, knowing. "Hope the initiation wasn't too rough...."
The Negro girl was perhaps eighteen at the outside. She was small, seemingly confident and self-possessed, considering the ugly circumstances. And though Vesper came into daily contact with Negro girls at school, generally kept her distance, had no time for such idiocies as integration, she had to admit that she'd never seen such a lovely Negress before. Her hair was long, smooth and soft, had a raven gloss to it that set off her small, tan face perfectly. Marcy's eyes were large, almond-shaped, her nose was small, thin, her lips being the only Negroid touch, even this feature enhancing her beauty, making her mouth pouty and sultry.
And as a further contrast, whereas Dawn and Vesper wore slacks and flats, Marcy was dressed to the nines, her pink dress flattering her sexy body, her matching pumps giving elegant flare to her legs.
Dawn stood sullenly apart from Marcy. Her prejudices stronger than Vesper's, she refused to speak. "What's she doing here?" she snapped.
Marcy sent Dawn a slow, condescending smile.
"She's a member of the team," Gil snapped. "She's gonna be working with us. And don't give her no grief, either. Or I'll put your ears on backward. Marcy's gonna break you stupes in."
"Break us in?" Dawn gaped. "What are you talking about?"
"Cool it," Arnie interrupted. "There's time. How about a drink first? What you dolls having?"
"Give 'em a little wine," Marcy said. "That's about their speed."
"Knock it off, you!" Dawn snarled. "I can drink anything you can. I can hold my liquor with the best of them."
"Yeah," Gil smirked, "you looked like it last night. Wow! How some people do get turned on."
"I don't care," Dawn said, "I ain't gonna have no dinge tellin' me what I can drink and can't drink."
Gil's hand came up in a blurring arc, he slapped Dawn across the face, half-whirled her across the room. "That's once," he said softly. "No more of that kind of talk. You gals are gonna get along. If you're gonna work together we can't have none of that...."
"Let her be," Marcy said tiredly. "I can take care of my own...."
"Bring 'em some wine," Gil ordered. "But easy." His grin turned lewd. "We got a long night ahead of us...."
They gathered in a small circle in the room, each with a drink in hand. Brewster had put some soft jazz on the player. One might have thought this was the most innocent sort of party until Gil got down to brass tacks, blew all Vesper's jejune thoughts of white-slavery sky high, when he finally revealed the real use to which his terror-ridden victims were to be put.
"New faces," he said, his lingo making Utile sense to Vesper, she drinking the sweet, potent wine too fast, already feeling that woozy warmth climb in her brain, "that's what this gig needs. The store dicks are getting wise to us. New clouts. And you, Dawn, Sparrow ... you're it. We're gonna break you in easy, train you. Before you're through you'll be the best damned boosters in the business."
"Clouts?" Vesper roused herself. "Boosters?"
Marcy gently put her hand on Vesper's shoulder where she sat on the floor, drew her back. "Easy, baby," she said. "Shoplifting ... that's what the man's talking about...."
"Shoplifting?" Vesper jerked as if she been slapped. "Oh, no! I couldn't...."
"Oh, yes," Gil laughed. "How else do you think we can afford a imagine pad like this?" He leered. "How else could we afford to wine and dine you dolls the way we do?"
Then, the initial shock fading as Gil, Arnie and Marcy took turns briefing the stunned, gaping innocents, the details began to take shape in their dazed minds. The picture, the name of the game, became very clear indeed.
Gil and Arnie were professional boosters. So professional were they that they rarely lifted a finger on their own-unless there was an especially difficult 'order' to be filled. They relied on their gang of adolescents, kids like Dawn and Vesper, to do their dirty work for them. Modern-day Fagins, they would teach their new prot'g's the ins and outs of the racket, they would relieve them of their hot cargo, would hotfoot it to their friendly, neighborhood fence, sell at bargain rates. Otherwise they would contact certain merchants not adverse to handling stolen merchandise, give them special prices on all sorts of odd lots.
It was further revealed that a couple of their helpers had recently taken a fall and now languished at New Hope Correctional Home for Women. The troupe was in desperate need of replacements.
Vesper Delaney, Dawn Logan-This is your life!
Marcy Jordan, so obviously impressed into bondage in the same way as they had been, living in that same dread fear of Arnie and Gil, hooked in some odd way on the grifter's life, would go with them on their first clout. She'd teach them all they needed to know, give them some most dangerous on-the-job training.
The girls would get a minimal cut, of course. Their risks would be made worthwhile. Not to mention the invaluable skills they'd be learning, skills that would always stand them in good stead in later life. "It'll be like a summer job," Arnie chortled. "SchooFll be out in a few days, you can go right to work. You can even tell your folks you got a job." He choked on his drink, thought the joke the funniest thing in the world.
And if the effects of the sherry weren't bad enough, the whirl of thoughts, the doubts and terrors in Vesper's brain served to confuse her that much more. No, no, no the refrain came in deafening roar in her head. I can't, I can't. Jail I'll be caught, sent to jail-
"How many others?" she awoke to find a strangely calm, dispassionate Dawn inquiring. "Besides us?"
"A couple. Only they ain't regulars." Gil smirked.
"like you'll be. Some are 'retired' until the fuzz forgets what they look like." He turned his palms out in a pacifying gesture. "See? It's only for a while And when they start sweatin' you, you bow out. It's as simple as that."
Vesper's heart rose slightly at that. There was a light after all. When they became recognized by the store detectives How long? A week? A month? Two months? Then Gil and Arnie would dismiss them, they'd be replaced by other suckers, other gulled victims. Stupes who deserved just what they got.
But as quickly, the cold hand clutched her heart anew. The reprieve could come even quicker, their illicit careers could end very swiftly. They could be caught, sentenced to reform school. And then-
She shook her head back and forth, fought helpless tears. What out was there? There was threat of bodily injury, even death, at the hands of her captors, there was nonstop sexual abuse. And beyond that the lure of freedom. But even that was blocked by the looming figure of blue-coated law.
"And don't get any funny ideas if you take a fall, either," Gil snarled now. "You don't fink on us, see? Because if you do, there'll be a reception committee waiting for you the day you come out. You're no use to us once you've been busted, understand? But if you rat, we'll make a use for you. like maybe a boat anchor, queen of an ugly show, something like that."
Arnie rose from his chair. "C'mon, you two," he said. "I'll show you something." He started toward the back of the apartment, indicated a door.
The girls opened it, Arnie switched on the light. They gasped, stood in gaping amazement as they took in the scene before them. On the floor, on shelves, on makeshift tables, on chairs, hanging on an improvised clothes rack-Clothing, shoes, records, portable radios, miniature TV's, cameras, box upon box of perfume, jewelry, a whole row of expensive leather handbags, billfolds, leather cases of every description. Here was a row of at least 25 odd pieces of luggage, there was a mink scarf, a tape recorder, even a matched set of golf clubs. How items like these had ever been boosted, Vesper couldn't begin to imagine.
"Our storeroom," Arnie laughed. "Stuff that ain't been called for yet. Tess and Kathy were good gals, you two are really gonna have to hump to take their place."
"All that...." Dawn marveled. "You stole all that?"
"Clout," he corrected her. "If you're gonna be in the business, you better learn the lingo. We clouted those goodies, boosted them."
For a few moments more the girls stood in dumb astonishment, their eyes greedily fleeing over the treasure trove. To the piles of exotic lingerie, hosiery and such, to the cluster of toasters, knife-sharpeners, can-openers, electric knives, to the array of imagine clocks on another table. And dozens of bottles of wine and liquor of every description. "My God...." Vesper breathed admiringly.
Then Arnie was killing the lights, herding them back to the living room. "Ain't that something?" Gil smirked. "You like our Utile store? You be good to us, we might let you shop there someday." He abruptly became business-like. "Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow's Saturday, ain't it? About eleven. We meet here, Marcy'll give you a schoolin'. You get your first taste of the real thing."
Instantly the dazzlement, the novelty of this unique situation faded within Vesper. And realizing that only hours stood between her and the actual thing. "No...." she moaned, turning as if to flee, "I can't do that, Gil, I just can't. I'd be scared to death. Please, don't make me...."
Brewster's face turned livid, a monstrous rage overtook him. He darted up, his eyes murderous. "Oh, Christ!" he spat. "I've had all of this whining and blubbering I can stand. You're gonna do it, and that's that, you're gonna be just fine." He grabbed her arm, whirled her.
"No...." Vesper shrilled a last time as that right arm drew back with lightning-like speed. "Don't oh, don't hit...."
She didn't finish. For then the fist was buried to the wrist in the middle of her belly. Vesper screamed gutturally, clutched her stomach, dropped to her knees. She gasped and whooped for breath, she thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. Then, suddenly, she began vomiting all over herself, all over the floor.
The room was deathly quiet when she stopped, the sickish smell was heavy in the room. She raised herself, sow the other girls staring at her, terror in their eyes, she saw Arnie standing to one side, a disgusted grimace carved on his face. And then Gil advanced, a mass of dripping wet towels in his hands.
And seeing the wrathful look on his face: "Oh, I please, Gil! No more, please, no more. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be sick. Only you shouldn't have hit me in the stomach, you shouldn't have...."
He threw the sopping mess into her face. "Clean up, you pig! Clean up your own mess. Move, damn you...."
A chastened, humiliated Vesper hurried to scrub up the vomit, she worked feverishly, a bone-chilling fear filling her, stunning her mind. Anything, she thought I'll do anything. Only don't hit me again, Gil don't hurt me any more-
As of that moment Vesper became a gutless, willless automaton, every last shred of resistance was eternally routed.
Finally the vile task was finished. Marcy spraying the room with a floral deodorant, the lights dimmer all of a sudden, the setting was once more placid, returned to its former luxuriant state.
Shop-talk gradually diminished, glasses were refilled all around. Arnie and Gil on Cognac then, the mood became sybaritic, exotic even peaceful once more. And the three girls cowed, waiting in cringing dread.
The wine cut in quickly. Vesper drank almost desperately, despite her previous vow to take it easy. Things became hazy in a hurry. Thus she knew only minor shame and hesitancy when Gil began undoing her! clothes. She caved in, was further lulled when she saw Arnie disrobing Dawn. All of which the Negro girl watched impassively.
The music grew louder, more raucous. And as Gil indicated that Vesper should undress him also, she merely shrugged. All will gone, she began.
Arnie nakedly crossed the room, turned the lights down even more. The room was bathed in eerie, murky light. "Party time," Gil gloated. "Let's get things started. And for openers...." He stared at Marcy. "Baby? Will you do honors?"
Marcy struggled to her feet, shot him a last, hateful stare. Yet her fear of Gil was predominant. And without a word, she began swaying to the riffy music, she unconcernedly began unzipping her gown.
Vesper sat on the floor at Gil's feet. She stared muzzily as Marcy threw the dress, then her black slip, aside. She danced and whirled before them in just the shiny, black brassiere, panties, garter belt, in her nylons and pink, patent pumps. And then, as Marcy's hands became frenzied on her body, actually began to lift and rotate those monstrous breasts caged in that satin bra, its points exaggeratedly sharp, its exquisite cantileverings holding their lush cargo high and proud, Vesper felt Gils' fingers gather in her hair, she felt his knees trembling, she heard that sick humming in his throat. "That's all, baby," he slurred, increasing his pressure on her hair, raising her, turning her. "That's all of the show you see. The rest is just for Gil and Arnie. You got other work to do."
Vesper was on her knees before him, she was fighting his hands, bewilderedly staring into his cruel, mocking face. "Gil," she gasped. "You're hurting me.
What ... ? "
His eyes impaled her, the malice in them making her quail. "You know what, Sparrow," he hissed. "A little entertainment ... some refreshments on the side...." Then he began drawing her head down.
And as Vesper realized what it was he wanted, her heart turned to ice. Had she not so recently thrown up, she would have been sick all over again. But still, as his fingers twisted in her hair, as that pain was revisited, her will fled again. She knew it was no use to fight now.
She was drawn still closer, terror skewered her as he hovered before her, as she regared tht stunning arousal. "I can't," she gasped, "oh, I can't...."
"That seems to be your theme song, baby. Sure you can. Just try. You'll be surprised what you can do. once you set your mind to it." The throbbing fire in her scalp leaped searingly all at once. "Look at Dawn, she ain't havin' no trouble at all."
Her eyes shifted, she felt her stomach lurch as she saw how Dawn's head was bent, her eyes closed, her torso rising and falling. Then her head was turned. "Open up," Gil snickered. "Before I break your neck."
Vespers heart shattered at that moment. And slowly, inch by inch-
Gil chuckled as she began, he encouraged her foully, forced her. And finally, her will violated, as she settled down, commenced a steady pace, he groaned, fell back. Both he and Arnie watched Marcy intently, the double stimulation making them shudder and writhe. As Marcy, in just the belt, hosiery and high heels now, the black-on-black particularly titillating, moved more wantonly now, began to do very obscene things to herself with her hands and fingers. Party time. With a vengeance.
CHAPTER FOUR
"I'm afraid, Marcy," Vesper whispered now, as she and the striking Negress stood outside Lament's Fashions, Vesper's head wheeling as if it were on ball bearings, studying every passer-by as if he were a prospective apprehender.
"What's to be afraid of, damn you?" Marcy hissed. "You got this gig letter-perfect at the pad and I've brought you to the easiest store in town. There's only two nabs in the place, both of 'em women, they're both blinder'n bats." She caught Vesper by the shoulders, forced her to stare at her. "Stop lookin' around like that. I told you, that's a tip-off to the fuzz. They see you watching the people instead of the merchandise, they'll know you're not shopping."
"God, Marcy," Vesper wailed, her heart feeling big as a pumpkin, fighting to crowd its way into her throat, "I can't go through with this. I know what to do, I know how to use this damned bag ... But I just can't make myself move. I'm paralyzed, I'm going to cry, I know I will."
Marcy gave her a shake, stared about warily, knew they were drawing attention. "Stop that, now! It's gonna be just fine. Once you get that first one under your belt, you'll be okay. It's like buck fever, you gotta lick it." Her voice firmed. "Unless you wanna go back to the pad and tell Gil and Arnie your troubles."
Vesper stiffened. "Oh no, Marcy! Please, not that! Just be patient a little bit longer. I'll be brave. God, if I could just breathe...."
Marcy's face softened, she caressed Vesper's back lightly, as one might gentle down a skittish colt. Looking up into her eyes, Vesper was positive she saw genuine compassion and concern there. "Look, honey," Marcy soothed, "I've been boosting for six months now. I never even got close to getting caught. If you follow all the rules, if you don't get careless ... nothing's going to happen. They gotta catch you in the act, suspicion ain't enough. And if you handle that booster bag like you did this morning ... It'd take a magician to see those hands of yours...."
The girls were dressed in smart, summer frocks
billowy, full-skirted things that gave them (Vesper especially) a fresh, innocent appearance. No one would have begun to suspect they were 'heels' professional shoplifters. Each carried a large, white purse, they wore heels, expensive costume jewelry they'd picked from the guys' 'store' just for the afternoon's 'clout'.
Marcy had helped Vesper with her hair and makeup, her efforts making Vesper look older, more sophisticated. She no longer resembled an adolescent; she could easily have passed as a young newlywed, a wife out on a shopping spree. The get-up was cunningly conceived, Marcy and the guys well aware that teenagers were generally suspect by the store security police. Thus the added years, the specious respectability, even to the paste diamond and wedding band on Vesper's left hand.
To this same effect Negroes also suspect, their apprehension and arrest rate much higher than that of the whites Marcy had dolled up also, affected smart respectability.
"Here's what we're gonna do," she coached Vesper for the hundredth time since they'd met at the guys' apartment at 11:00 that morning. "I'm gonna go in and stall for you. If that nab's around she'll be watching me like a hawk. I'll give her a good show. While I'm doin' that, you grab a gang of that expensive perfume an' shove it down the hatch. We clear the place, you meet me, we go over to pad an' unload. You follow?"
"Yes, Marcy," Vesper gulped. "I know what I'm supposed to do, I know it by heart. It's just the doing that's so impossible. I'm just stiff. I feel all numb."
"Christ, kid," Marcy sniffed, "don't tell me you never snitched anything from a store before. I know better."
"Yes, of course I did," Vesper readily agreed. "But that was different. That wasn't really stealing...."
"like hell it wasn't, honey. If they'da caught you they'da given you a hard way to go. They'da backed you up but good."
"But this is so cold-blooded. It isn't as if I wanted that perfume for myself...."
"This is so professional, that's what it is. Gil's got a customer an' he wants this stuff real bad. You don't think he'd have taken Dawn out himself otherwise, do you? He's gonna raise a hump, smoke-screen for her over at Ogleby's. She oughta get a dozen bottles easy. He's got other people looking too, don't forget."
"But I'm scared. What if I muff everything?"
"You won't, kid. I guarantee that." She grabbed Vesper's arm forcefully, knew it was the only way to get her moving. "Here we go. Cool, honey. Easy does it."
Then they were going through the door of the large department store. They walked several paces apart, Marcy taking the lead.
"Remember," Marcy hissed at the last moment, keep your eyes open. But don't gawk like some ostrich. That'll be a dead giveaway."
Vesper wanted to freeze on the spot, she wanted to bolt, she wanted to run and never stop running. But like some mesmerized creature, she followed her mentor, she pretended she was a casual shopper. They boarded the escalator, headed for the second floor. They neared the toiletries department. Vesper was sure everyone in the store could hear the way her heart was pounding, she felt that every eye was on her.
More disturbing, she was positive she was walking awkwardly because of the satin booster bag strapped about her hips, hanging in susurrant complaint in that hollow of her pelvic region. She remembered to fling back her shoulders, she adjusted her stride. She hung back, lingered over a table of bath salts. Marcy reached the perfume counter, fingered the merchandise.
No, Vesper moaned to herself as she saw the high counter, the proximity of the desired perfume to the cash register, to the clerk on duty. Not there not so close! How will I ever--She forced her sluggard legs forward, made herself advance to the prescribed display.
But still she dallied, fingered other merchandise, the panic crowding her more mercilessly. She totally disregarded Marcy's admonition to grab and go, her warning that every extra minute spent in the department to be clouted made the job that much more dangerous.
"May I help you, ma'am?" the clerk, a woman in her late thirties asked as Vesper approached the Chanson display.
"No, thank you, I'm just browsing." Then, breaking another rule: "Yes, on second thought you could. Could I sample this perfume?"
The clerk went through the timeless ritual of dabbing the perfume on the back of her hand, waving it dry, presenting it to Vesper. She sniffed the fragrance appreciatively. "That's very nice. But I think it'll have to wait."
"Was there something special you were looking for?"
"No, nothing in particular."
"Impervus on special this week."
"No, thank you." Vesper wandered on. When she looked up, she caught Marcy staring daggers at her. Here we go, her next glance said. And with that, she began roaming the department in feverish furtiveness, fingering everything in sight, her movements purposely suspicious.
And as Vesper saw the salesclerk commence watching her, eventually going to Marcy's assistance, she knew it was time to move in on the $25-the-ounce perfume. Her eyes flitted swiftly, she positioned the three other women in the shop, saw she was unobserved.
A thunderous roaring began in her head, she felt as if her legs were made of rubber. Still she forced herself toward that counter, took a last swift glance at the other customers, at the clerk. That fat, dowdy blonde in blue, she thought. Is she watching me? Could she be one of the store detectives?
Still she forced herself to make her move. Now three boxes of Chanson were in her hand. And despite the clumsiness she felt, she deftly slid them into the specially designed slit in her skirt, dropped them into the booster bag, immediately readjusted her posture to accommodate their weight. Instantly she retreated, certain she'd been seen. She was studying a lipstick chart when the salesclerk next looked her way.
Again Marcy's eyes locked with Vesper's. Did you get it? they asked. Vesper shook her head slightly, withered beneath Marcy's frown. Try again, she commanded, and with that managed to brush a full dozen mascara kits onto the floor at her and the clerk's feet. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, kneeling to pick them up. "How clumsy of me."
"Not at all," the clerk said, immediately stooping to help her.
Again that tornado sounded in Vesper's head, again she checked the other customers, saw them watching Marcy. Three times her hands swooped toward the Chanson display. As the nine boxes clunked into that recess beneath her skirt, Vesper was amazed at how cool and confident she suddenly felt.
A second later, after another swift appraisal of the department, she turned, slowly left it, headed toward the escalator.
It was only then, the loot concealed on her person, that the panic was back. She was sure someone had seen the theft, they were even now reporting her to the clerk. At any moment, the girl, with a store detective in tow, would come charging after her. It took every last ounce of control for Vesper to retain her composure, to keep from running down those moving stairs, making mad dash for the main door.
Which, of course, would have meant disaster.
Now she reached the main floor. Despite the fear suffocating her, she still maintained a leisurely pace, even stopped at the last to examine a shoe display. Then she was emerging from the store, she was stalling down Michigan Avenue, heading for the bus stop.
As Marcy had warned, she made no move toward the booster bag. And though it was uncomfortable, though the corners of the boxes dug into her thighs, she bore the discomfort stoically. Often, Marcy had told her, the store fuzz couldn't pin a thing on a shoplifter if they didn't produce the heist just after they left the store. Often they followed the suspect to his door. Once the booster got behind his own door, the cop was helpless to follow.
Ten blocks further, Vesper got off the bus, headed toward Trent Street. Minutes later, she was turning into that alley, scurrying up those gloomy stairs. She groped in the darkness for the hidden key, found it, hastily let herself into the empty apartment.
With a ponderous sigh of relief Vesper locked the door, sagged against it. While simultaneously she hoisted her skirt, dug into that specially constructed bag that hung at the base of her belly, removed the dozen small boxes of perfume. A move which revealed her lovely legs, her white panties, the line of her garter belt. At the last, as the booster bag was slid aside, that coppery delta beneath the sheer nylon was clearly exposed.
The skirt was dropped back, and Vesper proudly lined the twelve boxes of perfume atop a imagine cocktail table, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. But then the letdown was too much for her. She began .shuddering violently, sank onto the davenport, buried her face in her hands, waited for the shakes to leave her.
She was still sitting in a shuddering heap when a terse rat-a-tat-tat sounded on the door. Marcy! Vesper leaped up, went to admit her. Her grin was foolish, she still swayed where she stood when Marcy darted in.
Concern ignited in her eyes as she saw Vesper's agitated state. "Baby," she said, going to Vesper, putting an arm around her, "what is it? You all right?"
Vesper found the woman's softness and warmth strangely comforting, she yearned to it almost greedily. Yes, Marcy, I'm fine. All keyed up, I guess." She stared up into her eyes like a puppy pleading for approval. "Did I do all right? Was there any trouble after I left?"
"You were great, Vesper. That dumb clerk never noticed a thing. She took care of another customer afterward. She won't miss that loot until closing time." She frowned. "That was a mistake. Letting her get that good a look at you...."
She released Vesper, reluctantly at best. "Here, look." She raised her skirts, emptied her booster bag, gave Vesper a long look at her legs, at the brown flesh of her thighs, that opulent pooch of her belly. Vesper couldn't help but be reminded, of the degraded purposes to which that body had been put only last night. Be reminded of the sick things she'd been forced to perform also. Revulsion filled her, robbed her of the questionable elation she'd just felt.
"Oh, Marcy," she laughed, "you got some too. How many? Where? Not at the same store...."
"No, silly. I stopped at Bestco on my way back. Four bottles. Gil oughta do just fine by that." Her voice caught strangely. "Oh, yes. I clouted these too." She handed Vesper a pair of pretty, black pumps, the heels high and thin, the toes dagger-pointed. "For yon. I think they're your size."
"For me?" Vesper said softly. "But why?"
Marcy avoided Vesper's open, innocent stare. "You don't seem to have much, kid. Your legs look real pretty in pumps. Duck 'em in the hall, Gil'll never know you got 'em." She dug into her booster bag again. "Here. This too...."
She gave Vesper a beautiful butterfly pin that was easily worth $25 retail. Vesper's voice snagged. "But why, Marcy? I don't understand."
Again the Negress averted her gaze. "Because you're a good kid. A funny, little kid. Here, let's hide 'em. Just in case Gil comes back unexpectedly." She fled into the hall, returned shortly. "Remind me when we get back, so we don't forget those."
She winked. "Part of the bonus feature of this racket. You see something you want, take it, don't tell Gil about it unless you have to. He's a greedy-guts. If he slips you ten for all of this, you'll be doing good."
"Thanks, Marcy," Vesper said uncertainly. "I appreciate it. But I still don't understand...."
"What's to understand? A prize for being such a good booster the first time out. You've got hands, baby, good hands. The way you made that stuff disappear...."
She rose, readjusted her skirts. "Ready?"
"Ready? Are we going back again?"
"Sure thing. We've still got an hour or so before the stores close. You know how it is when you fall off a horse? You hop right back on. You get two easy scores under your belt it'll make you that much better a booster."
She took Vesper's hand as they started down the stairs, held it more tightly then was necessary. "We'll store up brownie points with Gil and Arnie. Let's see if we can get a transistor radio, maybe an expensive handbag this time. I'll show you some other gimmicks."
As they came out onto the street, headed toward the bus stop, Vesper was struck by some very ambiguous thoughts. She should feel terribly ashamed and guilty now, she should feel demeaned at mere remembrance of the ugly things she'd suffered at Gil's hands these past two nights. Not to mention the prospect of submitting to continuing vilifications in the immediate future.
And yet she felt a giddy excitement, a curious sense of pride in this new calling which had been forced upon her.
There was fear, there were butterflies.
But there was expectancy to. In some vague way it seemed she was getting back at a world that had done her dirt since the day she was born.
"You know," she chattered to Marcy, "I think this is going to be fun."
Marcy sent her an enigmatic, pitying smile.
They saw the bus, made a dash for it.
CHAPTER FIVE
TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED. SCHOOL WAS OVER FOR another year, an endless summer yawned before Vesper, A strange summer, menacing, dangerous, one about which she had very mixed feelings. In one way she was deliriously happy to be free of that maddening drudgery (she'd emerged from the. year with a C-minus average). But in another, thinking of Gil and Arnie, of their demands upon her sexual and mercenary that fear of being caught in the act of shoplifting with her constantly, it was ghastly, terrifying.
Some mornings she awoke in the scabrous Murchison Street flat with paralyzing dread, she wished she could go back to sleep, never wake up again. The fear, intermixed with shame at the memory of whatever uglies had transpired at the boys' pad the night before activated clawing shame at the bottom of her soul, something writhed and rebelled and made her feel sick there.
On an afternoon in June, an oppressive mugginess closing in on Doncastle, the temperature hovering at a very muggy 82 degrees, Vesper Delaney had all the time in the world to ponder the cul de sac her life had become. Alone in the rag-bag confines that passed for home, dressed in just panties and brassiere, staring at the crooked picture on the opposite wall, she thought some very bitter, very hopeless thoughts indeed.
The downtown merchants had inaugurated a clamp-down campaign of late, there had been a flurry of arrests for shoplifting lately, many small-time snitchers housewives, school kids mostly had been charged, fined, placed on probation. While the real heels, of course, Wise to the heat, had laid off, had waited for the store nabs to sit back, rest on their laurels once again.
Which was one word for where they'd most-likely sit, Vesper concluded acidly.
Thus, she, Dawn, Marcy and the other part-timers in Gil and Arnie's stable, had been given a vacation. Perhaps next week they could start again. Gil was casing some new locations, he had some new ideas brewing. Until then-
Vesper wasn't sure she enjoyed the enforced idleness. She'd got to be a pretty good booster. She'd been averaging $100 worth a day there and she hated to let herself get rusty. Besides, all those idle hours on her hands, there was too much time for thought.
Thinking wasn't the best thing in the world for a girl in Vesper's straits.
Besides, the slack time gave Gil and Arnie opportunity to evolve other angles. Angles having nothing at all to do with business. like the crazy sexual didos the girls could continue to perform for them at the apartment. Vesper winced, knew an acid taste in her mouth as she remembered that thing on Wednesday night, with the five of them in the same bed at the same time.
"Yech!" she said aloud.
But if the truth were known, Vesper was daily becoming more resigned, more hard-boiled about her grisly fate. After all, she rationalized, what did I expect? A marriage to Bobby Darin? You come from dregs, you stay dregs. And if that's the way the world's made-
After all, it was something to do, it did kill a lot of time.
Even this strange transformation frightened Vesper at times.
She rose, moved listlessly about the room, gathered dirty glasses, emptied ash trays, picked up in as much as that trash bin could ever be picked up. There had been a time, up to the time she was twelve, when Vesper had pitched in, tried to keep the place up, at least resemble a normal home. But when her parents, her slovenly sister, her lazy brother, had never seemed to notice, had never lifted a hand themselves, she'd gradually let things slide.
Thus the junk-shop now at hand.
Vesper deposited the glasses and ash-trays on the sink's drip tray, returned to the living room, dropped onto the couch with a dispirited sigh. Her dad had been home all day the day before. Nursing the hangover of the century, shaking like some palsied old man, alternating between TV and mad dashes for the biffy, he'd managed to get himself stoned again by evening. Thus the mess.
Vesper frowned more angrily, dark rage grew within her.
Her mother and father were pigs. It sounded heartless, she knew, but there was no other way to put it. Because that was exactly what they were. Pa was a filthy-mouthed stevedore on the docks. In his mid-fifties, he was bloated, red-eyed, balding, he generally resembled a skid-row escapee. There was work on an erratic basis. There was work when Pa was sober enough to stand up at shape-up time. Mostly he laid around the house half-dressed, dirty, cursing, lashing out at Pete or Vesper or Olive, whichever one happened to come in range.
Perhaps Vesper shouldn't have been so hard on Mom. She'd tried at first. Maybe she'd actually believed she could make something out of the more-animal-than-human wreck she'd married. But if she had any such notions, Pa knocked them out of her head in short order. She was always nursing a cut lip, a gashed cheek, a mouse of an eye. If one studied Mable Delaney closely, he could see where a broken nose had healed imperfectly. There wasn't money for a decent doctor, she'd been forced to let a drink-sotted sawbones try to straighten it. He'd been a doctor once, way back in the dim recesses of history. That was before booze and dope got to him.
But couldn't Mom have fought a little longer, Vesper rebelled now, couldn't she have tried a little harder? By the time Vesper was ten, Mom was as bad as he was. She'd lost her jobs one by one, had deteriorated before Vesper's very eyes. From waitress she'd been demoted to kitchen slavery and pearl-diver. She hadn't been able to hold even that job. Now she was just an all-night swamper at one of the downtown office buildings.
Again, like Pa, when she was sober enough to make it.
It was a comedown Pa never noticed. Olive was too calloused herself by then to notice, let alone care. Pete was just a kid, spawn of the street, he took it in stride. That's the way life was. But Vesper had never been quite able to roll with the punches. She'd always hoped that someday, somehow-
Only now, seemingly, she didn't care either.
There was always booze in the house rotgut whiskey and gin, raw muscatel and port even if there wasn't food. The times Vesper had returned home from school to find her father sacked out on the davenport, her mother sloppy drunk in the kitchen, her head bobbing over a nearly demolished quart or gallon bottle of wine, were beyond counting. Small wonder she was indifferent to school, small wonder she chose to spend most of her time on the streets.
Small wonder that she was in the jam she was in now!
Now Vesper recalled the drinks she'd had at the boys' pad, she actually hungered for something now, she yearned for that inner warmth, that fuzziness that liquor induced. But she resisted the impulse, even thought she knew there was a half-gallon of gut-searing tokay in the kitchen.
You've been spoiled, she smiled wryly.
It was at that moment that she heard a staccato rapping on the door, she darted up, her reverie dashed aside. And remembering her near-naked state: "Yes? Who is it?"
"It's me, Vesper," the familiar voice came. "Marcy."
Vesper's eyebrows rose. Marcy? The Murchison Street area was integrated, just as many Negroes as whites lived there; there was no sweat on that score. But this was the first time Marcy had ever stopped by the house. Vesper hadn't even known that Marcy knew where she lived.
She forgot her undress, ran to open up. "Hey, Marcy," she greeted as she admitted her, "surprise, huh? What's up?"
Marcy's gaze fled over Vesper's body, a pained expression registered on her face, her eyes narrowed briefly. "Nothing special. I was just dying on the vine, thought I'd drop over. Somebody to talk to." Her eyes fled about the flat, barely concealed distaste filled them.
Vesper saw the look, cringed. "You'll have to forgive the mess," she apologized. "The old man ain't working much, he's like a pig sometimes ... If you'd have told me you were falling by...."
"Forget it, hon. I didn't come to see decor, I came to see you. How you been, Sparrow? I ain't seen you since Wednesday night."
Vesper winced. "Please, Marcy, don't call me that. Let's not talk about that, huh?"
"Sorry, Spar...." She caught herself. "It's just that I get so used to hearing the guys call you that." She smiled, sat down beside Vesper. "How you makin' it?" Her eyes studied Vesper's beautiful body anew, settled on her white, nylon brassiere, lingered overlong in that shadowed V of her body where the white panties didn't quite conceal that rosy bush. "Takin' her cool, I see...."
"It's a bitch of a day, isn't it?" Vesper said, her embarrassment fading as fast as it had come. "This heat...."
"Sure is something. Anyway, you're comfy." She fell back, sighed heavily. "I don't know what's worse. Boosting or sitting. I'm goin' out of my mind."
"Maybe we could go to a movie or something. I can turn on the TV."
"Forget it. That ain't my speed. Just talk, huh, Vesper?" Her eyes flitted over Vesper's face again, she became more edgy by the moment. "You wouldn't have anything to drink around here, would you? I could use a good belt."
"Just some wine. The old man did the whiskey in yesterday. It's just cheap stuff, about a buck-fifty a gallon...."
"I don't care. Just something to take the edge off things. You gonna have some too?"
"I suppose."' Vesper rose, started for the kitchen. "That is if Mom didn't swig it all up herself. She's a real wino."
Marcy laughed. "This sounds just like my home, baby."
They both made wry faces when Vesper returned with the half-filled tumblers of tokay. "Bitter," Vesper said. "Nothing like what we get at the pad...."
"It's got a kick. That's what matters. Just so's you don't guzzle too much of it." Her eyes went to half mast. "Yeah ... that's good. That goes to work right away."
Marcy sent Vesper a slit-eyed look. "Besides, don't forget the price we gotta pay for that good stuff at the guys' place. I'll settle, honey."
Vesper hadn't had much of a lunch, and the raw wine affected her quickly, hummed along the wires with a happy vengeance. She was glad Marcy had come, glad she had someone to talk to. Anything to keep those dark thoughts at bay.
"Not too bad, is it?" she giggled softly.
"Even poison don't bother much after that first swallow," Marcy chuckled.
They talked listlessly for a while then, confining themselves mostly to shop talk, discussing their scores during their last week on the street, Marcy volunteering small pointers. Indeed they were small, for Vesper had learned fast, she had an instinctive quickness and danger sense. Any suggestions were a matter of refinement of technique, no more. Then, as Vesper returned with still another glass of wine for them, the conversation veered, became even more confidential. Vesper told Marcy just what kind of a home life she had, she described her parents mercilessly, felt much better to spill some of her bitterness.
"Where's the old lady now?" Marcy asked. "And that brother of yours?"
"She's shopping. She'll have to stop for a snort on her way home; I don't expect her until six or so. Same with the old man. And as far as Pete's concerned he's out with his gang. He never shows until late."
"And Olive?"
"Probably shacked up with somebody. Sometimes she don't come home for days." She chuckled, stretched lazily. "We got the place to ourselves. We can get good and plastered if we want to."
"Whew!" Marcy said. "Gettin' hotter'n hell in here. You look cool, baby. You mind if I ... I mean, nobody'll catch me in my undies, will they?"
The idea of both of them sitting in their scanties amused Vesper. "Hell no, Marcy. Help yourself. Get comfortable...."
Moments later the Negress had stripped off her blouse, her dark, cotton skirt, she'd laid them neatly over a chair. Ami, like Vesper, dressed in just panties and bra, leather flats on her feet the brassiere a simple, tailored creation of beige nylon, clearly revealing the dark nuts of Marcy's nipples she sank back into the davenport, picked up her drink, sipped it avidly. "Nice...." she purred. "That's one-hundred per cent bettor."
Her eyes fled over Vesper, small cunning in them. "You look so pretty like that, Vesper. Kinda small and helpless...."
"You don't look so bad yourself, Marcy," the girl laughed, missing the innuendo completely. Her eyes skipped over Marcy's body, the novelty of seeing all that mocha-colored flesh somehow wicked. That she'd live to see the day when she'd have a Negro for a friend! And to see her lovely, bronze body so extensively exposed besides-
"Wow," she giggled, "I think I'm getting crocked."
"Go ahead, baby," Marcy said. "Enjoy yourself." I'll watch out for you. That's just about all we've got left."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Figure it yourself, Vesper. What have you got? Out of life, I mean? You live in this palace, you got rummies for parents. The same with me. We go to rat-trap schools, we get the rejects for teachers. You think things are ever gonna change, things are ever gonna get any better for us?"
"But, Marcy," Vesper argued feebly, feeling a happy buzzing in her head, "it won't always be like this you can bet on that. We'll grow up, we'll clear outta this place. We'll...."
"We'll split too!" Marcy snapped. "You think they're ever gonna let you out from under? Think again, kid. You ain't goin' anywhere. Neither am I.
Except down. Give us a couple years more we'll be just like your sister, we'll be peddling it too. Add a few more years to that and we'll be sozzling rot-gut booze just like our parents."
"Marcy," Vesper said, her voice small, defeated, "you make it all sound so hopeless."
Marcy's smile was sad. "It's what's happening, baby," she said, her tragic tone moving Vesper strangely, making goose bumps spatter her arms. "That's why I say enjoy what small things we can. While we still can."
Then her hands shuddered, her eyes rolled strangely. "Things like this...."
Then, even before the woozy Vesper realized what was happening, before she could assimilate the change or recoil from it, the Negro girl had put her wine glass down, she was embracing Vesper, pulling her close. The warm, human contact seemed somehow beautiful to Vesper, bewildered and lost as she was, she welcomed Marcy's hug. Someone cares, someone cares, she sing-songed inwardly.
Marcy's face was close to hers, she stared deep into Vesper's eyes, an eerie fear and pleading in them. Now she shuddered, her face twisted with need. "Don't hate me, baby," she whispered, her voice shattery.
Vesper's eyes fluttered open. "Hate you? Why should I hate you? You're my friend. My only real friend."
"Yes, Vesper," Marcy breathed. "I am your friend. I'll always be good to you, take care of you. Remember that."
"Then why should I hate you?"
Slowly, deliberately, giving Vesper a last chance to rebuff her, Marcy lowered her lips to Vesper's, she saw Vesper's eyes go wide. "For this," she sighed.
Then she kissed Vesper full on the lips.
Vesper didn't struggle, she didn't protest. For that brief, stunned moment it seemed to be all a part of the affection and compassion Marcy was trying to confer. In that moment there was nothing unnatural about one teen-age girl kissing another even a Negro and a white it seemed the most natural thing in the world. But then, at the last, she realized. "Oh, Marcy. what ... ? What are you doing?"
"Forgive me, Vesper. I couldn't help it. You're so sweet and soft and warm ... you look so pretty in just your pants and bra ... I couldn't stop. I've wanted to do that for so long. Don't hate me, baby. I don't hate you, I ... I love you...."
Vesper's mouth formed a wondering O. "What do you mean, Marcy? You love me? You're my friend, but...."
"I can't help the way I am, baby," Marcy groaned. "I try to hide it from the world. But sometimes I just can't any more. I'm that way about girls. Not just any girl, though. I'm that way about you, Vesper. I want you. I want you to let me love you."
"I'm all mixed up, Marcy. You mean you're one of those ... you're a queer?"
Marcy winced. "Please, baby. Don't use that word. I'm that way about girls, let it go at that."
"But how ... you and Arnie, you and Gil the other night. How could you ... I mean if you want girls...."
"I had no choice if you'll recall, honey. They made me." Fury blazed in her eyes. "The degenerates made me! Just like the whole stinkin' world's been making me...."
"And all the time...."
"All the time I was standing it just because I was close to you. When I saw the things they did to you, the things they forced you to do...." Her eyes glazed with tears. "I wanted to die, I wanted to cry out to you, I wanted to hold you, take care of you...." She pulled the dazed child close again, worked her lips to hers anew. "Let me love you."
"It's wrong Marcy," Vesper breathed. "For girls and girls...." She was flung into a monstrous whirlpool of bafflement, repelled on the other hand by the idea of a girl kissing and caressing her, attracted on the other by the sudden heat in her belly, by the spiraling desire, the carnal curiosity raging within her.
To have a woman make love to me to think that I'd give Marcy joy by merely surrendering to her-
"Please, baby, please...." Marcy moaned, grinding her body to Vesper's, fighting to draw her even closer to her.
"Will it make you happy," Vesper asked in guileless phrasing, "if I let you? You seemed so sad a minute ago, like there was nothing to live for. Will it make you really happy?"
"Oh, Vesper," Marcy gasped. "If you only knew how happy it would make me, if you knew how I love you...."
Vesper made up her mind. The wine making it hard for her to think straight, she said, "All right, Marcy, if that's what you really want." Chagrin wracked her at the desire that now consumed her. "If I don't have to do anything. If you'll...."
"Yes, yes," Marcy rasped. "I swear you won't. I'll do it all. Every bit."
"What will you do to me?"
Her arms tightened, she pulled Vesper up from the couch. "I'll show you, baby. Come with me, show me where your bed is. I'll take care of it all." Her lips dropped to Vespers, they seared and rocked, her tongue probed. Vesper's head felt very heavy; seemingly her spine had turned to jelly.
Then they staggered through the flat, squeezed their way to Vesper's clean bed, the Negress actually supporting the mesmerized child as they went. Now Vesper sprawled full length on the clean, white sheets, Marcy was hovering over her, coming to her.
"You're so beautiful, darling," Marcy keened as she caressed Vesper, reverently began disrobing her. Then her eyes glazed in some sort of ecstasy, Marcy stood and stripped herself, not taking her eyes off Vesper for a second. Vesper saw that lithe, yet voluptuous brown body before her, she saw those hard, crinkled nipples, that pulsing bowl of belly, that ebony tangle at the base of her torso, she quailed before Marcy's wild stare.
Then Marcy was in bed with her, she was gathering Vesper, she was peppering her face with hot, liquid kisses, her grateful sighs and pantings bursting against
Vesper's flesh like a desert Sirocco. Vesper knew an all-consuming awe as she felt Marcy's soft, fragrant nakedness against her own. So smooth, so warm, she marveled. So different from the demanding, cruel, angular hardness of a man!
For long moments their bodies shuddered and cleaved together, Marcy holding the interminable, devouring kiss, winding her arms and legs frenziedly about Vesper's slight body, grinding her belly to hers. Then with a convulsive shudder, she pulled away, sat above her, adored her with her eyes.
"My precious darling," she gulped. "Oh, let me love you. Forever and ever." Her fingers skittered down that heaving, fluttering plain of Vesper's belly, they walked in that coppery gorse, they cupped and roiled Vesper there. "So beautiful," she chanted. "The way the sun shines in it. like gold ... like beautiful, reddish gold."
Another convulsive spasm smashed her. "Oh, Vesper, you sweet, little fox! I want you! I want you so bad I could scream."
Then Vesper was completely out of things. For as Marcy's fingers invaded that hot nest, as she did those magnificent things to her, her surrender, her sense-robbing curiosity was complete. It was just like it had been that first time with Gil Brewster. She'd gone this far, she wouldn't turn back now. She had to know!
"Yes," she intoned, her hips writhing reflexively, her thighs clamping on Marcy's hand. "Here I am. Take me. Do what you want to me."
She stood Marcy's lips at her breasts the adorations perfect, gentle, maddening, vastly different from Gil's greedy slurpings as long as she could. She felt exalted, deified almost at the long, piteous moans and sighs that escaped Marcy, she felt altruistic, like she was conferring a precious gift upon the addled girl.
But then, as tongue and lips and fingers and hands worked simultaneously on her body, as they fled over every square inch of her screaming flesh, Vesper could endure no more. "Please, Marcy," she wheezed. "Do it. Do whatever you have to to me. Only no more ... don't torture me like this any more...."
She groaned, sucked in her breath audibly as Marcy fluidly turned, deserted her burning nipples, as she began circling that sensitive indentation of her navel with hot, moist lips, with peppery, audacious tongue.
Then Marcy was kissing her some place else, she was making Vesper writhe and lurch and whimper. It tickled, it tickled! And then, an adjustment of mere inches, Marcy's palms on her inner thighs, parting them There was no tickle now. There was a cauterizing kiss, a pizzicato flicking. A contact, a touch, a possession that made Vesper gasp and gurgle in her throat.
Those lips actually closed, they actually captured that minor heart of her being. They held that touchstone captive for that skillful, avenging tongue.
Vesper put her fist into her mouth, bit down to stifle those first screams, she clamped her legs, did some capturing of her own.
But the screams weren't screams of brutalization, ecstasy. They were forerunner of a whole series of screams that would electrify the sultry air before this endless afternoon was over.
"Oooh, oooh," Vesper gasped, the initial glory making her feel as if her spine were being pulled from her body inch by inch, causing her to close her legs on Marcy as if to keep her there forever, suffocate her there. "I've never, I've never...."
Marcy didn't answer. She only snuggled deeper, hummed happily in her throat, began to do Vesper all over again.
CHAPTER SIX
It was 5:20 p.m. In ten more minutes, Wainwright's Department Store would be closed for the day. And on this Tuesday afternoon in mid-June, a very jumpy, very dubious Vesper Delaney was wandering the aisles of Wainwright's linen shop, her eyes furtive, assessing the movements of the three clerks riding herd on the dry-goods department.
But with a decided difference. Whereas ordinarily, she'd have been cool, deliberate, where it would take an outright nab to put her into a flap, this afternoon she moved in near hysteria.
Damn Gil! she cursed to herself. Oh damn, damn! Where does he get hare-brained schemes like this?
She paused at a voluminously draped table featuring damask dinner service, she pretended to examine the imagine napkins. While her eyes, actually, watched a harried, eager-to-close-shop employee across the way. A clerk who, even then, got trapped by a picky, nasal-voiced matron inquiring after peppermint-stripe sheets, and as the clerk, momentarily distracted, turned her back on Vesper, the girl took one last sweeping appraisal of the department, found herself alone in it, totally unobserved.
Now! her mind goaded, Now! Make your move! You'll never get a better chance!
And with that, that knell-of-doom ringing in her ears again, a terror she thought she'd put behind her for good, Vesper fell to one knee on the floor as if recovering a dropped item. One last look about her then.
Suddenly she lifted the heavy, floor-sweeping table cloth, darted beneath the table, crouched in that comparative gloom, fought to focus her eyes. Her heart pounded in her head, she was sure its pulse must be reverberating through the entire department.
Dear God, if anyone saw me duck under here! It would be open and shut. They'd haul her away without another word.
She froze in a pained crouch, stealthily arranged her feet beneath her haunches, fought to control her breathing. A chime sounded in the distance, signal that the store was closing, she sensed hurrying feet on the carpeted floor. Counter doors were slamming, cash registers were clanging
Still she waited, with one leg going to sleep under her. She listened, for the sounds of the clerks departing. Voices faded, she heard the sound of the crash bars on the inside doors being engaged, the hearty good-byes of store personnel. For the fiftieth time she wondered where Gil had stumbled on a scheme like this.
A few last customer-cursing grumblings were heard, one of the department managers called, "How about tipping a few, Hank? I sure's hell could stand a drink. What a day."
Vesper checked her watch, read 6:00. Still she made no move, except to adjust her leg, ease the cramp in it. Gil had wanted her that this was the most crucial moment of all.
Her heart leaped as she heard the final invasion of the department, as she saw trousered legs pass within two feet of where she crouched. The floor manager and his assistant were running a last security check. The sound of slamming rest-room and storage-room doors carried to her.
Minutes later the inspection was complete. A distant elevator door clanged, a humming began. The store became a tomb as the escalators quit running. The heavy clunk of the master switch, and the floor was in darkness.
Vesper followed her instructions to the letter. And though she breathed easier now, she remained under the table for ten minutes more. She heard no sounds whatsoever during that interval.
Then suddenly, there were quick, stealthy rustlings to her right. She tensed anew. Then the sibilant command carried. "Okay, Sparrow," Gil whispered, "you can come out now. All clear."
Nevertheless, she was still shaky as she emerged from her lair. Seeing the red-and-white glow of the exit signs in the distance, she reflexively ducked back.
"It's okay, kid," he grumbled. "They're all gone."
She stifled a groan as she stood, shook one leg to rout the shooting pin-pricks running its length. "God," she hissed, "I thought they'd never leave."
But Brewster was in no mood for small talk. "This way," he said, drawing her forward, "we gotta, clear this area before the guard comes through. He's about due."
They crept up the immobilized escalator. "Up on the third," he muttered, "in furniture. We'll hole up there. Easy, dammit! Carry those shoes, stupe!"
They paused at the top of the third-floor escalator, listened, searched the darkness. There was nothing. "That watchman comes through every hour," Gil advised. "At least until midnight. Then he goofs off. But until then ... We gotta be on our toes."
They started through the yawning, carpeted furniture department, headed for a far corner of the floor. "Wainwright's behind the times," he continued. "Most of the other stores got police dogs they let loose. They prowl all night, an honest heel ain't got a chance...."
Vesper shuddered at the thought of Gil's being misinformed. Maybe Wainwright's had recently acquired German Shepherds without his knowing about it. The vision of being pounced upon by a ferocious, snarling dog petrified her.
"C'mon!" Gil gave her a jerk. "This way!"
He led Vesper into a corner congested with tall dressers, stacked-on-end mattresses and box springs. 'The guard works the main aisles. He never comes back here."
Then, as they sank into some convenient easy chairs: "Have you done this before, Gil?" she asked. "You sound like you know what it's all about."
"I do," he laughed softly. "It's the oldest stunt in the world. People been rabbin' these stores blind for years this way. At least until recently. Those dogs, all that electric-eye stuff. You can't make a move then. This dump's one of the last holdouts in town. There's The Bon Ton, Merriwell's, The Philadelphia Shop. I got inside dope that Merriwell's will have dogs next month too."
"Where do you hear things like that?"
He sniffed, grasped Vesper's knee, slid his hand up, clenched her nyloned thighs. "Connections, kid. A guy's gotta have connections in this racket or he's dead." He laughed salaciously. "Those are quite some connections you got there, baby."
She brushed his hand away as he became bolder. "Please, Gil, don't. Of all the times and places for that is sex all you ever think about?"
"Can you name anything better? And what better place for sex? What better way to kill time? Why'n hell do you think I brought you along? I needed someone to talk to." His hand returned. Vesper froze, let him have his way. "Such a nice conversation we're gonna have, Sparrow."
Gradually Vesper's breath evened out, she took heart at Gil's easy confidence. If he knew his way around this store at night, what did she have to rear? Her heart kicked. Except whatever sexual demands the long night would bring. There was terror with a capital T.
"How do we get out of here in the morning?" She squirmed. "Gil, stop that! Not now."
He snickered, withdrew his hand. "Nothing to it," he said. "We hide in the John until the store fills up. Tomorrow's Downtown Day, the place'll be mobbed. They always check the rest rooms at night, but not in the morning. At least this dump."
"You make it sound so easy."
"It is and it isn't. You gotta have lots of moxie when you clear, you can't lose your cool for a second."
"How long ... before we start?"
"No hurry, baby. We got all night. In a little while, now."
"What are we looking for?"
Gil glibly ticked off the list. "Forget the big scores, Sparrow. Stuff like mink, like the big jewels. They lock those up at night. Alarms all over the place. But the small stuff, watches, costume jewelry and such ... Pick the biggest handbag you can find and load up."
"Is that wise?"
"Well, be selective, honey. A little here, a little there. Let them think inventory got rifled, make out like amateurs scored. They find gobs of stuff missing the first morning after, they'll get wise. Next time we try this gig...." He laughed. "Redheart. Buzzers, the whole bit."
"What else?"
"Clothes, of course. Pick out two or three expensive outfits, put one over the other. Dawn's soon enough for that. Fill you little bag with all the stuff that won't go in the purse. We need some cameras, some transistor radios too. Some of that imported glassware if you can manage. That always goes good. But don't overdo."
He rose finally. "Let's go. Make a start. You got everything located? like I told you?"
"I ... I think so. And the watchman...."
He glanced at his watch. "He's downstairs now. We'll go up. Ready?"
Then they were skulking through the gloomy store again, furtively mounting the stilled escalators. They found some flashlights, went their separate ways, Gil heading toward men's clothing, Vesper heading toward the exclusive French Salon.
Apprehensive, uncertain without Gil, she stabbed the racks bulging with $2O0-$30O originals with her torch, picked out three stunning outfits in successive sizes, put them to one side. Again and again she stopped in her tracks, killed the light, listened for any undue sounds.
As afterthought she chose an expensive lingerie ensemble, panties, brassiere, girdle and slip, all done in a wild tigress pattern. As Marcy had said: Bonus. Why shouldn't she have something for herself out of all this?
She held the panties to herself. Won't Marcy like me in these? Won't she flip? Immediately she discarded the conjecture, felt queasy. Especially when she thought of how their perverted love had been taking place more and more often of late.
She carried the lingerie to where she'd stashed the $600 worth of gowns, placed them on an adjoining shelf, filched a few pairs of Wainwright's most expensive hosiery.
But then, as Vesper browsed in the handbag section, a sixth sense warned her. Instantly she extinguished the flash, ducked down behind the counter. Not one minute too soon, for now the watchman was some thirty feet from her, his flashlight sweeping the room, making arc on the ceiling as he strode through the department.
Vesper was shaking like a leaf when the guard finally went on to the next floor.
Next she chose a large, satchel-like bag carefully, took its resale value into consideration as well. Then she headed downstairs. She knew just which jewelry, which camera, which radio she was going to clout. And, just as Gil had said, a dab here, a dab there-
They met back at the furniture department, Vesper's booster bag jam-packed as well as her handbag. She found Gil already waiting for her, a jaunty Homburg on his head, his Moroccan leather brief case bulging with loot. His smile was broad. "How's shopping, baby?"
"Wonderful," Vesper giggled. "This's wonderful. Not crowded, no snippy salesclerks. I can't remember when I've enjoyed shopping more. Why we bother with that other stuff...."
"We bother because this is just a one-shot deal. You can pull this only every month or so before your string runs out." He opened her handbag, went through it. "Nice, very nice--. A good selection, Sparrow. His eyes smugly studied her exposed legs as she unstrapped her booster bag, put it aside.
Immediately his hand dropped, he clutched her in that so erogenous zone. "Nice selection there too, sugar. I can hardly wait to sample it." Shortly he withdrew his hand, let her drop her skirt. "Hungry?" he asked.
Vesper realized that she was. In all the scouting of the store, in those tense moments when she'd concealed herself beneath that table, she'd completely forgotten about food. And not having eaten since lunch, she was starved. "Yes, I am. I could eat a horse."
"Over here, kiddo," he smirked. He shone his light on a small round table he'd pulled over. On which stood a bucket of potato salad from the delicatessen, a gang of ham sandwiches. Two bottles of chilled champagne had been provided from the liquor department. Pleased as punch, he led Vesper to the crude repast, handed her a paper plate, a paper cup, some wooden picnic tableware he'd scrounged. "All we need's candlelight and soft music," he said.
"Wonderful," Vesper sighed, moving in on the food. "This is all like some kind of dream come true. Being turned loose in a store like this. I wish I had a truck...."
They were quite drunk by the time they finished the pickup meal. Their eyes long accustomed to the dark by then, they ate by the glow of the EXIT lights, they drank at their leisure, Vesper trusting Gil to keep weather eye out for the watchman. And also to warn her when she got carried away with the bubbles, talked and giggled too loudly.
It was after 11:00 when they finished. By then, the double effect of the champagne (Vesper's first), the novelty of having this vast store as their playground, getting to Vesper, she didn't care what sexual tribute Gil would extort from her by way of finale to their madcap adventure.
Thus she was more titillated than shocked when Gil next led her down the way a bit, showed her an American Colonial bed on which he'd arranged a sheet, some pillows. And more astonishing: The sexy, black negligee he'd laid on that bed in provocative drapings. "Put it on, huh, doll?" he chuckled. "Sex it up for Gil, huh? Let's get number one out of the way."
He never left her for a moment, his eyes hot and greedy on her body as she stripped to the skin before him. A thing Vesper minded not at all, consumed with an insane, hectic gaiety as she was. And though she knew she was being used, debasing herself, she didn't mind. These unique circumstances ganged up on her, made the impending love bout vastly intriguing.
How many other girls, she thought bawdily, have ever had it in a department store at midnight?
Even when Gil forestalled the love event, beckoned her to stand before him, did she demur, did she feel debased. Docilely she posed for him, she tolerated enjoyed, even his fingers, his lips on her breasts. She let him pull her down, she gaily fed him first one nipple then another. And when he forced her knees, she submitted readily. He riled that font of sensuality, his fingers crudely invaded, conferred a stinging, irresistible arousal.
Vesper was helpless before the passion that crashed down on her then. Sense of self-betrayal or not, she couldn't help herself. She wanted this mockery of love, she wanted to pursue it to any lengths. Great, sibilant pantings broke from her, she began to shudder, to rotate her hips, she bent her knees, actually moved to meet his searing caress.
"Tell me you don't want old Gil now," he snickered. "I dare you to. You hot-tailed little bitch. You're hurtin'. You know you are. Say it."
"I'm hurtin', Gil," she intoned. "Ooh, that's good. I need you, man. Wow, but I need you...."
He chuckled, continued to torture her. He mouthed one breast, plucked at the other with his fingers. While, with his other hand-
He drove Vesper clear out of her skull.
Until finally she couldn't stand any more. "Please, darling," she gasped, "soon. I can't wait any more."
He pulled away from her with a sudden move. "Put on that sexy rag, Sparrow. Model it for me. Then come over here, get the old king ready." His chuckle was lewd. "And I mean ready."
Vesper did exactly as she was told. With no hesitation, no modesty whatsoever, she donned the frilly, diaphanous gown, she reveled in its luxuriousness, she thought nothing of the fact that it was absolutely transparent. Had it not been for the lacy hem and bodice, she might as well have been naked. She turned, arched herself, assumed every outrageous stance the man indicated.
And then, when he tired of that segment: "Over here now, sugar. Undress me."
Gil got monster boots out of watching Vesper strip off his clothes, undo his shoes, his socks, the bewitching, black nylon doing wonderful things for her body. And then, even as his undershorts were drawn away, as Vesper still knelt at his feet-
He got equally monster boots out of watching her perform that final prelude to love. Sitting up, watching her head rise and fall, feeling that hot constriction, that scorching abrasion silk upon velvet He went a little berserk, he groaned raggedly, clutched Vesper's head, governed her cadence. His husky cries came faster, overrode Vesper's muffled protests, her pleas for termination of the abomination. There was, after all, just so much of her, too much of him.
Summarily, a guttural growl breaking from the man, he fell back, disengaged himself from Vesper in the bargain. "Up here, baby," he choked. "Leave that torchy gown on."
Then Vesper scrambled up, sought to roll onto her back, prepare to receive him. "No," he rasped. "Stay up there. Mount up. I wanna watch that first one happen, Sparrow."
He actually clasped her under the ribs, helped lift her, he saw to her seating on that proud pommel himself. He exulted in the fearful expression that flickered across her face as she slowly, gingerly lowered herself.
Then as consternation turned to self-satisfaction: He chuckled salaciously, bucked up, thought her muffled moan the essence of delight.
He propped his head with the pillow, watched as Vesper commenced to post upon him, he took special pleasure in watching her breasts bob behind that murky, nylon screen. He took even more pleasure in the flow of emotions that crossed Vesper's face. As, shortly, all caution was thrown to the winds, as mild embarrassment was traded for uninhibited glee, Vesper's expression uninhibited, signal of flat-out lust.
"Sparrow," he gloated. "Ride, little Sparrow. Sparrow on the tree top...." The mocking chant became more vulgar by the moment, finally served to put Vesper over the top. And when she sagged in limp satiation-
Then he rolled her onto her back, he whipped up the nylon gown, arranged it beneath her chin. Chuckling arrogantly, he slapped her knees apart. Now he crawled forward, positioned himself, let his hand become forerunner.
Vesper gasped, grunted at the ferocity of that first pile-driver stroke. Despite the implied contempt of the thrust, she couldn't help herself. She squealed, raised her hips, met the brutish onslaught with matching ferocity. Almost immediately those stunning sensations were activated within her anew. And she went quite out of her head.
Even after Gil had finished, she still continued to gyrate and flop at him, she brought, secret muscles to play, still clung to him, still manufactured another feeble release for herself.
And that was their first bout.
Vesper drifted in and out of sleep all through that haunted, madhouse night. She aroused when Brewster demanded her anew, she moved like some sort of psychotic robot, she garnered ecstasy upon ecstasy for herself.
She slept and awoke at frequent intervals through the night, wondered where she was. And oriented again, bedazzled anew by the uniqueness of her situation, she dozed once more.
She left caution, night-long watch entirely to Gil. Spent, drugged by surfeit of sensation, emotion and tension, she was oblivious to fear now.
But now Gil was shaking her again. This time his demands were other than carnal. "Let's go, Sparrow," he grumped. "Rise and shine. It's almost dawn. The cleanup crews'll be here in an hour. We've gotta gather our stuff, find a place to hide. Move, damn you!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
In the days to come, Vesper was often to wonder just what had happened to her that night in Wainwright's. Had it been just novelty, the champagne, letdown of tension that had delivered her to such an amoral state, had let her wallow in the pagan excesses so eagerly? Or was it worse than that, was she degenerating, sinking to an irredeemable level?
She was to marvel further at the fact that they'd escaped with their loot at aH. Groggy as she'd been, moving like some sort of zombie, the details surrounding their escape from the large department store were maddeningly vague.
She remembered Gil giving her some hard shoves to wake her, she remembered their scurrying around the furniture department, setting things to rights so no one would know they'd been there. The dead soldiers, the residue of their meal had been swathed in yards of crumpled wrapping paper, secreted in the bottom of a trash container on a different floor. The soiled sheet had been disposed of in the same way, they'd spent considerable time double checking to see that no clue whatsoever was left.
They'd gone their separate ways shortly after gathering the sum total of their haul, and Vesper, feeling like some sort of whale in the triple layer of clothing over her original costume, the handbag heavy, her booster bag ties cutting into her flanks and hips, had returned to her original hiding place.
At 6:00 the cleaning crews had arrived, had done a lick-and-a-promise job in the dry goods department. Vesper had known some panicky moments as a slipshod vacuum-cleaner operator had almost cleaned under that table. But luckily almost I
When the maintenance crew had moved on, Vesper had emerged from her hiding place, had flitted through the empty department, secreted herself in a booth in the women's restroom, crouching on the seat itself in case a random worker returned, spotted her there.
At 9:00 pandemonium had broken loose. As the doors opened and a swarming army of bargain hunters invaded the store. Consulting the imagine watch she'd picked out for herself, seeing it was 9:10, Vesper had finally gathered enough courage to make her break.
Waddling out of the store slowly, stopping at schlock counters here and there, she'd made good her escape with no trouble whatsoever.
At retail value--she and Gil had estimated back at the apartment their haul amounted to well over $1500. But a thing that galled Vesper mightily she'd been presented with only $50 as her share of the night's work. Which, to a girl her age, supposedly unemployed, wasn't to be sneezed at.
Of course there was the watch she didn't tell Gil about, there was the imagine hosiery and lingerie she'd demanded for herself.
All in all, a good night's work.
These considerations were only a minor part of the bitter, self-loathing thoughts hammering inside Vesper's brain that afternoon. As, alone at the guys' pad, waiting for Marcy to show so they could begin their afternoon's work, she surrendered herself to other vicious reveries, the musings becoming more vitriolic by the moment. Had the thought been sulphuric acid they would have eaten great gullies into her brain.
There were other secret places all over the flat, difference, her stoic resignation to the depravities sexual and commercial she was being forced to. Not to mention the way her liaison with Marcy was progressing. All of which she defended with a by-now hackneyed plaint:
II this is the way the world's made-
Why shouldn't she get hers? Why shouldn't she grab with both hands, get while the getting was good?
like the spending money she had, the imagine jewelry, watches, clothing, lingerie and shoes a rag-bag collection only an adolescent female could covet, let alone treasure. Which cache she'd managed to conceal from her family, from her grasping sister. There was a far corner in the closet in her room that could be reached only by climbing over a pile of boxes, by shoving aside dozens of abandoned, never-worn dressed belonging to Olive.
There were other secret places all over the flat, repository for countless other tawdry baubles, things she dug out when she was alone in the place, all but slathered over like some hermit Midas. There was the imagine transistor radio she'd clouted just for herself, there was the group of records she brought out only when nobody (excepting Marcy and Dawn of course) was around. There were even a few choice fifths of imported wine she'd boosted especially for the 'entertainments' she and Marcy enjoyed those afternoons when they weren't 'on duty'.
Last, but not least was the hoard of cash Vesper had accumulated. There was over $200 hidden in that loose piece of baseboard behind her bed. Her 'mad-money', she called it. Often, when guilt invaded, she thought of taking the money, using it to escape Don-castle. In her jejune daydreams she saw herself fleeing to a far-off city, a place where Gil and Arnie couldn't find her. She dreamed of starting over, living a decent, respectable life.
The fantasies invariably came to a screeching, dead-end halt. For, a marked paucity of intellect and imagination intruding, she couldn't begin to visualize what such a life would be like. What would she do for a living, who would help her, who would take care of her? What would she be letting herself in for?
Wouldn't it be dragsville? she argued at those times. I should give up this easy, exciting life? For what? At least now there were things happening, there were kicks albeit nasty ones at times unlimited.
A rocking shudder hit Vesper, she grasped herself with her arms, hugged herself as if suffering a malarial chill. Don't honey she raged, don't think about that!
The grisly picture flickered before her mind, she saw those two girls, blubbering and begging again, she saw-
Vesper shook her head viciously, smiled as the Grand Guingol vision faded. She feverishly substituted another picture, the action deliberate, mechanical. She would rout shock with shock.
She smiled to herself as if she'd played the greatest trick in the world on someone. She mentally recreated that thing that she and Marcy had pulled in Neilhardt's just the afternoon before.
The woman had obviously been high-society stuff. Anyone who'd wear a mink collar in July Vesper and Marcy, stationed outside the women's rest room in Neilhardt's, had appraised her carefully, had considered the expensive leather purse, the matron's high-fashion sweat even stinks like money," Marcy had said.
Her eyes had narrowed. "Let's try her, baby."
Immediately Vesper had followed the rich-bitch into the pre-scouted rest room, had seen her enter one of the cubicles. Giving her time to get seated, Vesper had advanced down the otherwise empty room pulling a lipstick from her pocket as she went.
Standing a few feet back, she'd leaned, had purposely rolled the lipstick into the cubicle, the gold cylinder almost hitting the matron's feet. "Oh, darn." Vesper mimed, "I dropped my lipstick." She'd wrapped on the door. "Oh, ma'am ... would you mind handing it to me."
"Surely," the unsuspecting woman had said. The minute Vesper saw her hand grope for the lipstick, knew the woman was distracted, she darted forward, reached over the top of the door, she'd groped for the woman's purse where she'd most certainly hung it on the provided hook. In the blinking of an eye the purse was gone, Vesper was fleeing the rest room.
"Here you are, miss," the matron said to empty air, sliding the lipstick back out.
By then Vesper had been out in the store, she'd deftly passed the bag to Marcy as added precaution, had immediately got lost in the crowd. Remembering the stunt now, Vesper couldn't help but feel exultance. Talk about gimmicks, talk about getting caught with your pants down! By the time the woman had been presentable, had emerged with a scream, she and Marcy had been long gone.
The snatch had netted them $62 in cash, a imagine compact, the purse, the two general credit cards. They'd spent the rest of the afternoon on a minor shopping spree, acquiring enough loot to pacify the guys, justify their long afternoon's absence from the apartment. At the end they'd ditched the cards, dumped the other odds and ends from the purse into a trash can. "I'll give the old lady this purse for her birthday," Marcy had giggled. "The bitch'll be tickled pink."
Vesper rocked self-satisfiedly in her chair, embellished on the thoughts, decided that the snatch had been a good afternoon's work indeed. After all, it was Marcy's gig; Arnie and Gil would never learn about their sideline. Unless, perhaps, they read about it in the papers. Even then, the victim had never seen Vesper's face.
She chuckled softly to herself. What a sweet gimmick !
But as suddenly the laughter died, lodged in her throat. Revulsion shone on her' face, she felt a ton of lead dumped into the depths of her gut. Judy Meader, Stella Povolo were back! Eviscerating shame, self-loathing were back!
The pictures would not be chased now. Again the vivid scene flashed before her mind's eye, etched itself indelibly in her brain. Judy and Stella were on her conscience, she was totally to blame! For it was she who'd lured the two greenhorns, both of them fourteen, to the guys' pad. She'd been their Judas Iscariot.
The two dopes had gone for her 'party' story, hook, line and sinker, getting them up to the apartment had been no sweat at all. But afterward, as Stella had got hysterical, the wine hitting her hard and fast, as she'd begun to scream as Vesper and Marcy and Dawn had stood there, watched the boys methodically administer the beating that would break her spirit, render her their slave-
Vesper shook her head harder now, but to no avail. For the worst part of the nightmare was yet to come. The part where, as inevitable 'party' finale, Arnie and Gil had taken their ups with the cowering virgins, had devastatingly shown them what the male-female scene was all about-
I didn't actually hold Judy's legs, did I? she wailed inwardly. While Arnie and Gil took turns on her? That wasn't me who stood there, drunk as a skunk, laughing all the way through, taunting Judy and Stella, calling them the filthiest names in the book?
She groaned, hugged herself again. "God, God," she grunted aloud. "It was ... it was me...."
Vesper sank into further trance, knew the depths of remorse. She was on the verge of tears herself, when, at that moment, she heard a rap on the door. Woodenly, she rose and went to open it.
"Vesper, honey," Marcy said, immediately aware of Vesper's distraught state, "what is it?"
Vesper floated into Marcy's arms, cuddled to her ample bosom, she burrowed to her warmth. "I feel sick, Marcy. I feel all rotten inside."
"What's up, darling?" Marcy said, raising her face, kissing the tear-glazed eyes, the feverish lips.
"I got to thinking about the other night," she stammered, "about what we did to Stella and Judy ... how I was in on it. It was all my fault."
Marcy's face hardened. "Forget it, Vesper," she snapped. "It's not your fault. If Arnie and Gil hadn't taken those chumps, somebody else would've. Those stupids were just begging to be conned. Just the way we were begging to be conned." She laughed sarcastically. "And it's a tough old world, ain't it?"
"But it isn't .right," Vesper wailed, "it isn't right for people to be trampled on, to be kicked around...."
So? Some people are born, are purposely put on earth for just that. To be trampled...." She hugged Vesper tighter. "Come over here, honey, sit down. Forget it. Those simps aren't worth your tears. Once they get broken in an' learn the ropes, they'll be happy as larks, they won't remember that life was ever any different."
A monstrous sadness clutched Vesper's heart. She thought Marcy's words were most apt; they were indictment, summation, prophecy all in one. And in reaction, she clung to Marcy, she reveled in her comforting warmth. "Oh, Marcy, Marcy," she groaned. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Marcy trembled, felt desire rise within her. "Let's hope you never have to do without me, angel. I'll always be here, I'll always love you." She trembled, clutched Vesper more fiercely. "Would it help, honey? You know if I...."
Vesper started, looked around the room fearfully. "But could we? Is it safe? I mean ... God knows I need something. The state I'm in...."
"Sure we could, baby. A quick one, though. Never can tell when those animals'll get back. You don't mind . . .if I make it quick? I need you something awful, Vesper. If you think it would help ... if you'd like it...."
"I think I would, Marcy. How ... where...? "
"Right here'll be just fine." She spasmed, drove her lips to Vesper's. "Oh, honey, I feel so wild all of a sudden." Her hands gently squeezed and lifted Vesper's breasts, ignited a scorching pain and urgency in them. Vesper moaned, went limp, surrendered completely, the love more medicine now than anything else. She involuntarily spread her legs as Marcy's hand invaded her skirts, began tugging at her panties.
And moments later, sprawled on the davenport, her feet on the floor, her skirts arranged around her waist, the panties gone Marcy knelt before Vesper in servile pose, she pulled her prot'g' even lower on the davenport. She bent her head, delighted in Vesper's pinched cries as she spiraled her lips on that puffing tummy, as they closed in on that coppery moss, tickled the ridge-backs of her pelvis.
Then, when it seemed Vesper would erupt on the spot, her pantings stertorous, rapid, Marcy adjusted her legs still further, raised one foot, balanced it on the cushion's edge. A thing that made Vesper totally vulnerable, totally accessible, totally visible. Only there wasn't time for visual adoration; a fantastic need crushed the Negress now. And with a groaning snarl she plunged her face to that desired object of her love. Her groans became more feral, cannibalistic almost.
Vesper gasped, started. "Oh, be careful, baby. Don't hurt me."
Marcy calmed herself, became more gentle. She chuckled softly as it was Vesper's turn to lose control, as she dropped her hands, held Marcy tight to her.
Her fingers coiled in Marcy's hair, they teased at the ears.
Then, finally, Vesper's first, shrill, barking cry of triumph striated her throat. Now she growled, worked her body in reciprocation to those rapid, hard flickings Marcy so willingly conferred.
But the day's tragedies, doubts and confusions were not, as yet, over for Vesper. For now, the afternoon waning, as Vesper proceeded along the aisles of The Philadelphia Shop, her booster box in tow, disaster came calling, again. She shifted the ingenious box, felt small satisfaction at the afternoon's clout, she forced herself to slow her pace, feign casualness as she headed for a nearby exit.
It was as she fingered some swimsuits that were on sale, that she sensed the heavy bulk behind her, felt the firm hand on her arm. Then the dreaded, ritualistic proclamation: "Pardon me, Miss. But I represent the store office, I'm going to have to ask to see what you have in that box of yours. Will you come please?"
Vesper's heart leaped, her spine kinked, her legs turned to rubber simultaneously, she fought to retain her aplomb, to recall the correct rejoinders Gil and Arnie had taught her. "I'm afraid I don't understand," she said staring up at the beefy, red-faced detective, straining to inject outraged innocence into her expression. "This box is sealed, as you can see. It's tied with string, it's...."
His hand tightened on her arm. "Come along, please," he repeated. "Unless you'd like an embarrassing scene right here in front of all these people. We can discuss this privately, Miss."
Vesper's eyes darted, she saw people staring, she thought to jerk free, make a dash for freedom. This she sagged, let him lead her. "Very well," she said in prim, controlled outrage, "I'll go along. But I hope you realize you're leaving yourself open to false-arrest charges. My husband will sue, he'll see to it that...."
"Sure, sure, Miss," the burly man placated. "But nobody's arresting you. I'm just asking to see what's in that box. If you've got gales slips for that stuff, you're home free."
. Moments later they were on The Philadelphia Shop's top floor, the security officer led Vesper toward a darkened office at the end of the hall. Hysteria gathered in her throat, it was everything she could do to keep from sobbing. It's happened, she wailed, it's finally happened!
He thrust her into that office with more roughness than was necessary.
He didn't bother to turn on the lights, he locked the door behind him. And when he turned, his face a vengeful, implacable mask. "You little tramp!" he growled. "Who do you think you're kidding? I been following you all afternoon. I've seen everything you put into that cute box of yours." His smile grew smug. "like some perfume, for instance, those records. How about that electric razor?"
He ripped the box from her grasp, slammed it onto the desk. With a practiced hand he felt for the secret flap, ripped it open. The string was glued in place on that end, the sealing tape was almost invisibly slitted there. He dumped Vesper's haul onto the desk with one quick motion. "False arrest, huh. baby?" he mocked. "You stupid. The price tags are still on everything. Where's the sales slips?"
He wrapped one big, meaty hand around her throat, shook her like a rag doll. "T know how to take care of trash like you," he growled, "I know how to put the fear of God into snitchers like you, make sure you never come back into my store again." He brought up his other hand, slapped Vesper smartly across the face, whipped her head back.
"Don't!" she moaned.
"What's it gonna be, slut? You want me to call in the manager? You wanna go down to the station?" He paused, his mouth twisted into a death head's grin. "Or do you play ball, be good to old Sully here?"
Vesper's stomach tilted. No he couldn't mean what she thought he meant. Not with this ugly, sweat-reeking slob. "What ... what do you mean?"
"You know what I mean, pig. Stuff. I could make things big with a pretty chick like you. That frigid old bag I'm married to." He gave Vesper another tap. "How about it? Stuff? Or do we run you in? There's evidence enough here to send you up for two years." His hand tightened on her arm, drew her forward. His other hand pinched her left breast. "You pick it, sweetie. I sure's hell ain't keen on spending a morning in court...."
There was a shrill whistling in Vesper's ears, she swayed, was sure she'd fall. The man crowded her back toward the desk. "Well? "he snarled. "Name it, baby."
For long moments she was stunned to silence. But finally, knowing she had no choice Marcy had told her about pigs like this one "Yes...."she murmured. "I will. Only, don't turn me in. I'll...."
He took Vesper's booster box, its contents, placed them on a chair. Then he came back to Vesper, crowded her still tighter against the desk, ground his gross belly against hers, proudly revealed his instant readiness, took delight in hurting her by pressing himself against her thigh. "Now you're gettin' smart, baby." His hands became even more cruel on her breasts. "What's your name?"
"Vesper," she choked.
"Okay, Vesper, let's get started."
She was momentarily baffled. "Aren't you ... aren't you going to take your pants off? How can we...? "
His ham of a hand slammed down on her shoulder. "You," he sneered. "You take care of that, tramp!" he increased the pressure. "On your knees, Vesper. You take care of everything. And I mean everything!" Then he was forcing her to the floor.
Vesper realized how totally helpless she was, she knew that she had no alternative but to submit. She let herself be shoved down, she suffered his taunting instructions as she undid his clothes, dug her hand into that gaping opening. She felt her stomach tilt as he explicitly told her just what she must do.
Somehow she managed control. And closing her eyes, fighting to blank out her mind, she strained, hobbled still closer to him. Now, her head reeling, inch by inch-
An explosive gasp broke from the detective as that first contact was made, he instantly squirmed, drove himself to that extorted kiss. And when he was enveloped-
He began backing off. "No, Vesper," he taunted, "don't let go. Come along. like a good little piggy." He sat in another chair, forced her between his knees, kept her at the task for what seemed an eternity, his language becoming more demeaning, more scatological by the minute. But, at long last, when he began to twitch and writhe beneath her ministrations-
He pulled away abruptly, noisily. "On your feet, slob," he spat. "Get that skirt up. Let's see the rest."
Dully she brought up her skirts, revealed the red panties she wore. "Higher, bitch, higher," he hissed. "Prance a little, turn around, put some zip into it." And when he was satisfied with this: "Take 'em off. Let's get a gander at the real thing."
He all but drooled as Vesper stood before him, her white buttocks and thighs gleaming in the muted sunlight, that delta of herself blatantly exposed. "Some fox on you, baby. Talk about cute! Over here, let me ruffle that."
And now, at long last, he having opened Vesper's blouse somewhere along the way, her brassiere undone, it was that time. Brutally, his hands clenching her breasts, he pushed her back toward that desk again.
Her clothes gee-hawed, her skirt a crumpled ball beneath her buttocks, she was forced onto her back atop that desk. Sully took great joy in wrenching her ankles high, holding her like a trussed chicken while he looked at her, fingered her vulgarly. Finally, standing between her thighs, not even bothering to remove his trousers, his hands jacking her knees for even better adjustment-
Vesper groaned as he slammed himself to her, she fought to stifle her outcries. "There, baby," he gloated, "that's what a real man's like. How's that, huh? That really get to the heart of things? Here we go, piggy. Take this. And this. And this...." His body went crazy between her knees.
Thankfully the preludes to sex had made inroads on his control, the brutish attack was of short duration. He cursed in intermixed delight and disappointment. And taking further advantage of Vesper, he kept her in that humiliated position, he kept bunting himself to her until he was finally regenerated.
Then Vesper knew an even more supreme debasement. For, as the animalisitc act went on and on, as it seemed Sully would never be finished, the mere mechanics, the ugliness of the vilification served to betray Vesper. And now, her own sighs quickening, her body reflexively squirming in answer "No, oh no!" she gritted.
Sully only chuckled, reviled her, worked that much more ruthlessly at her. "Here's a man, a real man...."
Then it was over. Vesper was dressed again, her clothes smoothed as well as possible under the conditions. Her eyes downcast, her shame a clawing, merciless vulture that dug at her heart, she waited to be dismissed.
"You ever come back in this store again," the detective spat, "you'll be sorry the rest of your life. Next time I'll keep you at it all night. And probably turn you in to boot." He pinched Vesper between the legs, made her gasp with pain. "Now get the hell outta here before I change my mind."
Vesper wandered out of that store like an unseeing dazed automaton. And defeated, vilified to the core of her being, she wondered just how low she must fall before she could be redeemed from this hellish jungle called life.
A lesson, she mused bitterly as she came out onto the street, started toward the bus stop. I've just had another lesson. By a past master.
How many more lessons before I finally graduate?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vesper shuddered convulsively, sought to sink deeper into the murky gloom. Checking her watch, she saw it was almost 9:00; soon total darkness would descend upon the outside world. While there, inside the store The Bon Ton this time it had been night ever since 6:00 when the last of the store employees had left.
She knew a chilling terror, a hollowing sense of loneliness, both emotions joining up to immobilize her. God, she moaned, how can I go through with this? Please, Gil, don't make me do this, don't leave me here alone.
She might as well have talked to the wall, for Gil wasn't here. It was the truth; she was alone, the deadly assignment was left entirely in her own hands.
Another week had passed. And Gil and Arnie having received a rush-rush order from one of their regular clients, both of them up to their elbows with other matters. "Send the Sparrow," Arnie had said. "She'll do a job for you. She knows the ropes. She's one of the best in the business. Hell, if we ever decide to take this troupe on the road, that kid goes with us. Talk about cool...."
The praise, Gil's quick agreement, the gang's confidence in her abilities had turned Vesper's head, had made the mission seem like a lark. And thus it had seemed all this long afternoon as she'd prowled The Bon Ton from top to bottom, had memorized the layout, had decided upon an ideal hideout in the carpet department.
Only when the time had finally come and she was alone in the vast, sprawling store, all the lark aspects had quickly fled. She was terrified, scared into near paralysis. And how was she ever going to make herself desert this safe lair, begin her 'shopping' tour?
The least they could have done was let Marcy or Dawn come along!
The shadows in the store seemed alive, there seemed to be a constant hissing in the air. Vesper twitched and started at every creak in the ancient building, she was positive the store was crawling with security officers lying in wait for her.
Beyond this were the gnawing hunger pains, the intense thirst. She thought to scout up the delicatessen section, scrounge an impromptu meal. She knew The Bon Ton had an extensive liquor department. But no, she scolded herself. First things first. like the 'shopping list' Gil had given her, her sole reason for being there in the first place. It was that time.
Still the terror immobilized her. How was she ever going to last out the night? It was endless. She was sure she'd go out of her mind before dawn rolled around. She actually yearned for Gil, for Arnie. No matter what uglies they might force her to, she'd willingly talk to, somebody to sit out this eternal vigil with her!
Finally she forced herself to rise from the pile of 30-40 carpets upon which she'd sprawled, a minor tower of nylon and wool compared to the other towers of stacked carpeting surrounding it, towers which seemingly guaranteed isolated privacy. The dress department first, she decided.
Her eyes accustomed to the gloom, she didn't bother to turn on her flashlight, she padded through like a phantom wraith. Now she reached the motionless escalator, started up. A dull, far-off whistling from a lower floor reassured her. The night watchman had passed five minutes ago. She had at least an hour's working time left to her before he returned.
Gradually, the mere fact that she was moving made her more confident, she wondered what all the sweat had been about. Keep busy, she admonished, keep moving. You won't have tome for worrying.
She reached the fifth floor, knew women's furnishings were on sixth, She moved more quickly, was halfway up the escalator, when a distant glint of light caught her eye, stopped her dead in her tracks. Her pulse racketed in her head, she strained to make out the light's source. Could it be? Was a detective prowling? Had she made a mistake? Were they looking for her?
The light came from a section devoted to men's clothing. And while it flickered, it nevertheless remained stationary. Vesper stood frozen in place for perhaps five minutes, her heart hammering, her curiosity growing by the second. What did it mean?
Now she stealthily backtracked. She reached the floor, padded softly through the department, closed in on the light source, strained her eyes sought vantage point where she wouldn't be too close, where there was no danger of exposing herself.
And then, peeking through a rack of men's slacks-
She saw the man, she saw the flashlight he alternately used to go through the racks of men's suits, placed on a chair when he tried different jackets on. He was a young man, perhaps 22-23 years of age. His hair was a sandy color, it was soft, worn long, combed to one side. He was of medium height, on the stocky side, but not fat. He had a nice face, a kindly light shining in his eyes as he appraised himself in a nearby mirror. He wore flattering, dark-rimmed glasses.
Vesper was amazed, then amused at the calmness with which the man went about his task; he acted as if it were broad daylight, as if he had all the time in the world to make his selection. But why, Vesper pondered, if he were an employee, a sales clerk perhaps, the flashlight? A crazy thought hit her. Noit couldn't be! Coincidences like this were beyond the realm of probability. Was he was he here on the same sort of errand she was?
She quite forgot herself, forgot caution. Thus, when the man put on a handsome plaid, modeled it before the mirror, shot his cuffs, shrugged his shoulders, ended by making a funny face at himself, Vesper suddenly giggled aloud.
Instantly the man dove for his flashlight, wheeled, shone it in the direction of the noise, caught Vesper dead in its blinding beam.
They both stared at each other wordlessly for at least sixty seconds, both their faces stunned, working baffledly.
"For Christ's sake," he muttered finally. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Vesper merely gulped, was sure she was in the soup now. "Are you.. .are you?"
"No, honey," he smiled, revealing even, white teeth, "I'm not a store dick. I'm unauthorized just like you are." He laughed. "At least I hope you are." The light dropped, went out. "C'mon over here. We got some talking to do."
As Vesper reached his side, as he gently took her hand: "God, I've read about things like this. But I never thought they'd really happen. In a story ... by John Collier ... there was this guy who hid in a store once ... he found a whole colony of people living there." He stopped. "Are you here for the same reason I am? Are you . . .pilfering?"
"I ... I guess I am." And in a quick, inexplicable rush: "Only I call it boosting."
Amazement filled his voice. "You're a pro? You mean you do this for a living?"
"You mean you don't?" she gasped.
"No, I just wandered in. This is my first time. I'm up against it. I need a stake, some new clothes. I thought...."
"You mean ... you just want the stuff. No money?"
"That too. I'm gonna lift some other things. I've got a buddy who knows a guy. They said if I could get them some cameras, some binoculars...."
Vesper's head was suddenly spinning. This was to incredible, it was coming altogether too fast. "Let's find a place to sit down," she said. "This is crazy."
Talk they did. And Vesper learned it was as the man had said: "He'd read about the gimmick in a book, he'd haphazardly chosen a store, intending to rob it blind. A vague sense of superiority invaded Vesper, she anticipated telling this jerk the facts of life. "Lucky, lucky...." she marveled. And proceeded to tell him about the roaming dogs, the electronic snooper devices the other stores used.
"You mean to tell me I'd have been so much dog chow if I'd have gone to, say ... Goldmark's?"
"That's right, stupid, beginner's luck."
"I suppose. You talk like you know all about this. You've actually hidden in these stores overnight before?"
Vesper was streetwise enough not to spill everything she knew. She told him she and a couple girls were in a gang, they worked together. She was careful not to mention Arnie or Gil, her reticence on this score intuitive.
The talked animatedly for perhaps ten more minutes, a quick rapport established between them, Vesper deliriously happy there was someone to share the long night with her feeling a smugness that she was the authority in this peculiar case.
"Hey," he said finally, "I don't even know your name. Donovan O'Leary, here. And you?"
"Vesper."
"Vesper? Pretty. Is that all?"
"That's all. You ain't named after that folk-rock singer, are you?"
He laughed softly. "I'm afraid I was born long before that guy came along. Donovan, it's authentic. Irish. In case you haven't guessed."
They both laughed. Then abruptly Vesper caught his hand, jerked it roughly. "Down!" she hissed. Instantly they dropped to the floor, scurried for cover. Just in time to see the watchman mount the stairs, commence his tour. And when he was finally gone, on his way upstairs:
"Wow!" Donovan breathed. "That was close. Christ, I never heard a thing. He'd have had me flat-footed."
Vesper laughed self-satisfiedly. "Somebody's gotta take you in hand. You're a regular babe in the woods."
They huddled in the darkness, talked in hushed tones. Donovan O'Leary was a very-likeable guy, decent, upright. Although a trifle snerdly, Vesper concluded. The way he spilled everything he knew. In a very short time she'd learned that Donovan was an engineering student at Hillyer College, located on Doncastle's outskirts. In his second year, he was having a rough time financially. This first adventure had been inspired half by dare, half by desperation. He needed $200 like now, it had been the only way out.
"I used to snitch stuff in the stores when I was a kid," he confessed. "You know, the usual stuff. Stamps for my collection, school supplies, paperback book?. Once I even walked out with a jacket I'd tried on. But a thing like this ... A guy really has to have his back against the wall. I'm a real babe in the woods."
"I guess you are," Vesper said. "Lucky someone was here to break you in right. Otherwise you'd have queered things for all of us." The 'break you in right' phrase seemingly took on a lewd connotation all at once. "You hungry?"
"I guess so. I don't suppose you brought a candy bar along or anything."
Vesper giggled. "You are green, aren't you? This night shopping is a blast. There's a delicatessen on the main floor. Let's go. You got the rest of the night to clout the rest of your stuff."
"Clout?"
"Boost, Donovan. You know, shoplift." She took his hand, again felt delight at his presence. "C'mon. This way."
The picnic they had afterward, Vesper taking O'Leary back to her lair in carpeting was almost carbon-copy of the one she'd shared with Gil Brewster that last time. If anything, she enjoyed it more for his innocence to the contrary, Donovan was a very funny, very interesting man. The dim light revealed him to be even more handsome close up than from a distance. Again and again Vesper was to wonder at the quick trust, the sudden warmth she felt toward him.
Again it was potato salad, champagne. Only this time there were pastrami sandwiches, some cream-puffs for dessert. By the time they were through eating, both sitting cross-legged on the mound of carpets, a throw rug beneath them to catch crumbs, they were tipsy, they giggled and joked like old friends. And yet it was not all humorous; Donovan was quite concerned about a sixteen-year-old pursuing a shoplifting career, he questioned her background, her life aspirations. When he discovered Vesper had none he was even more distressed.
"Don't be a crusader," she protested when he worked the refrain into the ground. "Don't preach. I've got nobody else. Nobody the hell cares. I'm makin' out the best I can." She wrinkled her nose at him, a dab of cream on its tip. "At least I'm no amateur."
An hour later, the meal interrupted once by the watchman as he made his rounds, they were finished. They cleaned up their debris, put it in a nearby rubbish bin like good citizens. "Let's split," Vesper said then. "I'll gather my loot, you find yours. We'll meet back here. And for Christ's sake be careful!"
Vesper fled through the store with confident, precise ease. The watchman's schedule in mind, she worked opposite floors in clock-work timing. The gathering of the 20-odd items on her list was almost routine. She was finished in less than 90 minutes. Twice she and Donovan's paths crossed, they exchanged whispered greetings, a curious camaraderie established.
It was as Vesper flitted through the lingerie department that the idea struck her. And studying the wicked, black-and-red negligee, as blood-boiling a collection of lace and nylon as she'd ever seen, a reckless, what-the-hell attitude was born within her. She went behind the counter, chose the creation in her exact size.
She was waiting for Donovan as he returned, burdened with a camera, binoculars, radio, watches and small jewelry. A $200 suit, shirt and tie, expensive cuff links, $50 shoes were also included in his haul. "I'll be the best-dressed student on campus," he chuckled.
By then it was well past midnight, the watchman's tours came at further and further intervals, they were both lulled into an exotic feeling of security. "Isn't this the craziest?" Vesper said, lolling atop the carpet parapet. "This feeling of having all this stuff around. Yours for the taking? It's like some kind of dream come true." She purred lazily. "I think I could stand some more champagne, Donovan. My buzz's wearing off. How about running down to the corner for some?"
"Sounds great," he said, rising instantly. "Will the 'Forty-seven do, madame?" Seconds later, he melted into the darkness, headed for the main floor.
He was no sooner gone than Vesper sat up, began undressing.
There was no question of modesty or morality involved in her decision; she was beyond such petty considerations. There was only this curiosity about what it would be like with a guy like Donovan. There was the fact that she liked him, that there were many hours to be killed before dawn finally arrived. And so long as she was passing out her body right and left, what harm if she tried out Donovan? Kicks, that's what it was, pure kicks.
But more than kicks. For lurking in the dim reaches of her mind was the frightening worry that she was irredeemably changing, that she was no longer possessed of any humanist tendencies whatsoever. She was becoming an animal, just like Gil and Arnie and Dawn. Just like Marcy.
Here another fear intruded. That Lesbian bit had been getting pretty steamy lately. Was she actually turning? Were those brutish excuses for men driving her to that eventual end? There were times with Marcy when Vesper had actually been tempted to try it herself.
A shiver hit her as she reached for the box. Then the wispy gown floated down over her body.
"Vesper!" Donovan gasped as he returned with the champagne, fresh glasses, found her lying atop the carpets in the riot-inciting nightgown. She'd stolen a drape cloth from a nearby display, two decorator pillows were arranged beneath her head, she was a very alluring piece of merchandise indeed. "What in hell ... ? "
She reached for him, adjusted one leg provocatively. "Get undressed, Donovan, honey," she slurred, feeling very worldly-wise indeed. "Please? Something to pass the time?"
Callow, comparative ing'nue O'Leary might be. But not that callow. The erotic promise, the uniqueness of this escapade stunning him, he began tearing at his clothes almost instantly. "You angel," he hissed, "you darling angel."
But as he clambered up that carpet embankment: 'The champagne, silly." Vesper giggled. "Let's get high."
They got high. And though Donovan fought to keep from gulping his wine, though he wanted to prolong this love, adore this teen-age wanton, visually and tactually forever, other, more-overpowering drives kept intruding.
"You're beautiful, Vesper," he whisperer!, his voice flawed, "so beautiful. So little, so sweet. God, who'd ever believe a thing like this?"
Her body writhed, her nerve ends caught fire, a greedy fist clawed in her entrails as Donovan's fingers caressed her nipples through the nylon, the silky sensation, his tenderness intensifying her desire. "Am I?" she sighed. "Beautiful, I mean? Do you really think so?" And she compared his awkward, awed love to that brutal version Gil specialized in. How long since anyone except Marcy had told her she was beautiful? Her need grew, she melted at the reverent look in Donovan's eyes, her blood turned to molten fire as his timid fingers fled over her body.
Then the champagne was gone, the glasses flung aside. Then they were in hot, heady embrace, Donovan as kissing her, she was kissing back like some famished animal. And in one of the few pauses: "This gown," he asked, "it's fantastic. Where...? "
"I went shopping for it," she giggled. "I bought it special for you." Vesper pulled him back, "yes, I knew, all along, lease, Donovan? Oh, now? Love me?"
"You crazy kid. Then you knew ... all along...." He loved her. Making a drawn-out, worshipful ceremony of removing that gown, kissing her fragrant body from hips up as the witchy creation rose, he had Vesper twitching and panting uncontrollably long before the gown was thrown aside. His kisses were tender, respectful, soul-searing. Again he sat up, studied her in the ghostly gloom, his face crumpled as he appraised that elfin, bursting-to-womanhood body. It was a look that made Vesper want to cry.
"Please," she whispered, "touch me again. Come and love me." The moment seemed magic, she was moved as she hadn't been moved in a long time. She wanted him with a chaotic, mind-unhinging lust. You dope, she mused. And you thought you were turning Lez? "I want you."
Then their bodies were compacted, their mouths were glued together. Paganly Vesper sent her tongue in search of his. She flung one leg over his, clenched him between her knees, so fiery was her desire at that instant.
He came to kiss her breasts, he consumed her nipples with his hot, restless lips. He was gentle at first, then he turned mildly sadistic, pressured them, playfully nipped with his teeth. His fingers held them captive, plucked and pulled them, rolled them even as has torturing tongue stabbed at their raw tips. Vesper whimpered, felt like white-hot tendrils were emanating there, spreading through her entire body. Now the searing roots centered in that erogenous terminus to her body, then clenched and wrenched and tore, lit intolerable fires there.
In a primal, reflexive move Vesper's hand went forth. She gripped, assessed Donovan, she fought to draw him to her. There was a place for this. A screaming, agonized, too-long-denied place. "Darling, please!"
The bold demonstration of her aboriginal need put Donovan over the edge; he could wait no longer. With a strangled growl he rose and moved over Vesper. He exulted in the spontaneous way her knees rose, came to pressure his flanks, the way her heels actually herded hkn to that torrid corral.
"Ooh, baby," she gasped as he came to her slowly, gently, an almost reverence in his seizure, "you are good, so good ... Darling! Oh, darling!"
For brief moments he froze, savored that hot snugness, those secret pulsing of Vesper's most secret self. "You sweet doll," he intoned. "This can't be your first time, it can't. But you feel like...." He began to move. "Wow, oh wow, baby...."
Vesper felt like she was gorged with lust, her entire body surged, yearned, reached out to him, she couldn't get the man close enough, she couldn't consume him greedily enough. "Oh, oh, oh!" she whispered. "Yes, like that. I need you. Yes, yes. Go, go...."
The savage rhythm of their bodies quickened. And that minor insanity possessing Donovan, turning his thrusts somewhat sadistic, it was as if he was actually trying to kill her with that blunted weapon.
But if this was murder, Vesper was all for it! She wanted to die this way uncounted times. At that moment the first glory mounted within her, she had all she could do to keep from screaming aloud. Even as it built there was pause, it seemed she'd retreated from herself, from this cauterizing passion, she held the ecstasy in abeyance.
Where, she wondered, when? When had it been this good before? When had those slow-climbing skyrockets so lazily exploded against the midnight velvet of her mind before? When had her sensation built up to so keen, so exquisite a peak, made her feel like she was being pulled through the eye of a needle?
Then she remembered. That first time. When Gil took her by storm, when he crowded her so unmercifully, sent her out of her head with lust. It hadn't ever been like that since. And how tonight? What did this mean? What was happening to her?
But there was no time for further questions. Now the total fury of her orgasm thundered down upon her. The screen of her mind exploded with hundreds of vivid, spattering splashes of multi-colored light, it seemed its very terrain was illuminated in glaring brilliance. She sucked in her breath in a coarse gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut, fought to savor every iota of the searing sensation, she strained to glory in each, individual, blinding explosion, to inventory it. This in the vain hope she could remember each stab of ecstasy and deliverance forever and ever.
At the last moment she remembered where she was, she recalled their deadly circumstances. Thus she rammed her mouth against Donovan's shoulder, she spat her cries of release against his muffling flesh.
She felt a sublime sense of fulfillment, of duty perfectly executed as she heard Donovan's guttural groans of completion twine with hers, as she felt that unmistakable throb, life pulse of the universe.
She went limp, gasped and sighed. "Great, darling, she choked, "that was simply great."
Again at I:30, the guard made the rounds. But by then, confident, their alcoholic glow replenished, they led charmed lives; nothing could touch or harm them now. So long as they had each other. So long as they had this exalting, transporting love-
Again and again Donovan sought to probe, he sought to understand how this miracle had happened. "Don't, Donovan," Vesper resisted. "It just happened. Don't ask quesions, take it for what it is."
Then, not too long after, their passion revived, there was no more talk. Lust steam-rollered any uneasiness, any lingering restraint.
This one seemed to last an eternity, Vesper achieved countless ecstasies, gleefully strung them on an imagined cord, eye-paining baubles made of acetylene fire.
Theirs was an ideal way of making the hours slip by.
In between they dozed, took turns standing vigil, each alert for the fateful dawn. And when both awoke, wanton fresh desire intruded.
Safe atop their tower of carpeting, light years separating them from the mundane considerations of earth and time-
Again and again.
Near dawn Vesper awoke, found that Donovan had fallen asleep at his post. She tenderly arranged the pillow beneath his head, covered him with a corner of the throw cloth, felt hot tenderness invade her. To think, she mused, that I'd sec the day when I'd be looking after someone. She thought Donovan incredibly handsome, she marveled at the boyish innocence in his sleeping face. A strange ache built in her heart.
At 4:00 the first gray light of dawn fingered his face. "Donovan." she shook him. "It's almost dawn."
He protested tragically. "Oh, no, baby. Not already."
But it was that time, there was no way to forestall it. They kissed, clung nakedly together a last lime. Then they rose, dressed, saw to all necessary security precautions. Their booty was secreted. Vesper's professionalism proving invaluable, they dressed in the stolen clothes.
And finally, just before it was time to retreat to their separate lairs, Vesper advising him in these escape procedures also:
"Is this it, Vesper?" he said, his eyes pained, pleading. "Kiss and run? We won't ever see each other again?"
"It's for the best. Donovan. It was wonderful, I'll never forget it. It seemed like we played a trick on the world, like we ran away from it for a while there. It's best if we left things that way."
"You won't tell me where you live then? No phone number, nothing? I have to hope I might bump into you this way again some day?"
"I have my reasons, Donovan. They're not very pretty ones. Please, leave it this way. It's been beautiful, I. . . "
He produced a pen, scribbled something onto the back of an elongated price tag, tucked it into Vesper's bulging handbag. "My address, my phone number. I've got a pad I share with a guy. If you should ever change your mind." His voice snagged. "I want to see you again, Vesper."
There was a last kiss then. Moments later they both fled their separate ways.
And as Vesper cowered within a half-empty storage cabinet in the house wares department, waited for an interminable 9:00 to roll around, she fought to understand this maddening emptiness she felt, this knowledge that no matter what, her life from this night on would never be right again.
CHAPTER NINE
JULY PASSED AND IN AUGUST THE THOUGHT OF returning to school, the phantoms of normalcy were very much with Vesper. The days limped by, lead-footed, pointless, their only variation and expectancy being those hours when she and Marcy, she and Dawn, she and Stella or Judy, were on the streets, were on the clout. These moments, as she put her skill on the line, were pretty much all that she lived for by then.
In this respect she mattered, she was important, (warped as it was) self-respect. For when she was in those stores, she was someone to be reckoned with; she was no longer a nonentity, she was no longer a zero.
There was no doubt about it, Vesper had beco a true professional. As proof positive there was the f that she had never again since that stomach-turnin afternoon in The Philadelphia Shop come close to being nabbed by a store dick. Her instincts were uncanny. It was as if she could actually smell a security officer a mile off. And those she couldn't smell, she knew on sight.
She was now an expert with the booster box, she knew the ins and outs of dress and mannerism so as to throw off any suspicious clerk or detective. The endless supply of stores in Doncastle (population, 300,000) guaranteed that her face and techniques would never become familiar to these enemies. Gil and Arnie were very careful about that, they'd actually prepared "route-sheets' so that none of their troupe ever appeared in the same store twice in any given two-week period.
Thus it was that Vesper (along with Marcy) came to be one of the top heels in the city. Granted, her age was against her teen-agers were generally more suspect than middle-aged boosters but nevertheless Gil would have put her up against any woman in the city. "I'd bet a grand that Sparrow would out-clout Fran Penderson any day of the week, and twice on Sundays," Gil often gloated. "We oughta call that old witch, have a contest sometime...."
Which reinforced Vesper's self-esteem, made the prospect of leaving this exciting, easy life the more grim. Sure, there would always be after-school and evening jobs, there were weekends, there was the Christ-Bias rush to consider, but that wasn't the same as steady boosting. Besides there was the fear that she might lose her quick hands, that being off the street would cause her to lose touch with store personnel, that the irregular work would dull that so-heavily-relied-upon sixth sense of hers.
There was almost $500 in her purse, and Vesper was hard put to find places to put all those 'bonus' goodies she brought home with her. It would be hard to turn her back on the life.
Otherwise the status was very quo. It was as Marcy had said. Judy Meader and Stella Povolo had learned fast, they were good boosters within two weeks of their impressment into the troupe. Also extension of Marcy's predictions-they were hooked on the racket, they'd touched up, by now they minded not at all the inherent danger, the ugly sexual extras Gil and Arnie demanded from them upon occasion.
It was an indifference Vesper had affected also. She was still a favorite with Gil, but it didn't matter. She could turn off her brain, close her eyes, tune out, the vile stunts couldn't touch her. There were a few times when Gil and Arnie went a little berserk, when things got double-nasty, no one could have ignored those orgiastic whing-dings then. But most of the time-
There was an expression she'd come to use: I could have done it standing on my head.
The perverted liaison with Marcy still went on. But the steam was mostly out of it. It was a change Marcy saw, groused often about to Vesper. Which, perhaps, was the only reason Vesper continued giving in to her. It seemed a friendly thing to do. And in her precarious line, she needed every friend she cold late onto. If it meant submitting to Marcy on a fairly regular basis-
Why the sweat? It was free; if everyone else was taking his kicks-
By now Vesper was well versed in use of 'bad-bags she knew double-pocket techniques, she could 'layer a booster bag with the best of them. Her work in loading a handbag without equal. She could 'switch' in women' clothing in jig time, escape before any clerk got suspicious, with unerring skill.
She could 'shop' for the guys, spent the afternoon lining up items, spirit them off a day's end in a matte of minutes. She was especially good in women's clothing Casing the racks for specified items, she would gather them on one central rack. Returning just before closing time (the stunt required a rainy day), the specially made hanger-belt fixed to her shoulders, she would hang the two or three items on her back, just between he shoulder blades, camouflage same under a raincoat In a matter of seconds, the unsuspecting clerk would have her department 'inventory-loosed' to the tune o $2-300.
Another specialty, one which she worked wit Marcy or Dawn, was 'throwing a hump'. Here the clout was pre-scouted, it was a major item, one worth the extra fuss. Vesper was fantastically good at feigning innocence when she deliberately upset a display that would send hundreds of boxes or bottles cascading to the floor. She could throw a very convincing faint.
During which commotion the store security office (in most cases sick customers) along with the nearby clerks would be kept very busy, while Marcy calmly opened her 'bad-bag' (a bag or box, already used, with the store name on it) filled it with whatever item they had 'orders' for, leisurely walked out of the store.
The 'moll-buzzing' went on also, the girls going easy on this sideline, not wanting to stir up a police crusade. Generally Vesper and Marcy stuck to the rest room and lipstick-under-the-partition gimmick to lift purses, but now and then they merely walked off with them when a busy shopper put hers down in order to examine merchandise more closely. Invariably, this was a two-girl operation; they had to have a 'stall' to pass the purse to as they fled.
There were countless variations on these schemes, Vesper and Marcy and Dawn (not to mention the guys) were always figuring new angles. These brainstorming sessions were further evidence of Vesper's resignation.
Thus the laggard days passed, each with its own special highs, its degenerate lows, each contributing to the days to come, piling to sum total of the way a given life would go.
There were often quiet, solitary introspective moments when Vesper couldn't keep from thinking of Donovan O'Leary and the incredible thing that had transpired between them that night at The Bon Ton. The memory of that night was a cherished one, one which Vesper brought out only on special occasions. There were times when, tired, blue, discouraged, Vesper produced the reverie, polished and enjoyed it. It seemed to replenish her, somehow.
And though two weeks had passed since then, she hadn't forgotten a single detail, she could still visualize Donovan's face, she could still hear his soft voice. And what did it mean? Why this sense of loss, this emptiness every time she thought of him? It was just a special night, she told herself, they'd enjoyed themselves in a very singular way. Donovan had been a nice boy, he'd treated her with respect, had made her feel like she amounted to something. Often she wondered if, should she call the number on that dog-eared price tag-
"Come in, Vesper," the beaming, handsome lad greeted her, rushed her into the Harbor Street apartment, "for God's sake, come in."
Vesper appraised Donovan shyly, let her eyes slide from his face to the book Crime and Punishment, it looked like he held in one hand. Now she took in the tan, knit T-shirt, the cotton slacks, the dark-blue sneakers he wore. He looked clean and fresh, as if he'd just stepped out of the shower. She surveyed the small apartment, saw that, despite its bargain-basement furnishings, it was neat and clean also.
"I was kind of bored," she stammered by way of openers, very much ill at ease, "nothing was happening. I thought I'd give you a buzz, see if I could fall by."
"Wonderful, honey," he exulted, genuine joy in his eyes. "I'd just about given up hope of ever hearing from you again. I'd read about some shoplifter getting picked up, I'd hoped it was you. So I could run down and bail you out."
The last few days had been rough, the heat was on again, Gil had been using the slack time for some very sickening bedroom diversions. Now the sight of Donovan, his warm words helped lift her heart. "Would you do that, Donovan? I mean, come bail me out? That's a sweet thing to say."
"I would, I swear I would. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind, honey. There are times when I find it hard to believe that night really happened." His eyes became strangely pleading. "It did, didn't it, Vesper? "
"It happened, Donovan. I haven't been able to forget it either."
"You haven't? Oh, God, that's wonderful, honey." He took her arm, his mere touch sending electric sparks through her. "Well, don't stand there, c'mon in. What d'ya think of the old Taj Mahal Arms?"
"It's very nice. Everything looks so cozy." And even though the guys' pad overshadowed this place a mile, she couldn't help but feel she'd like to live in a room like this. A silly thought hit her. Wouldn't I love to sit here some quiet afternoon and watch Donovan read?
"It's not much," he said. "But it's home. You just missed Bryan. We're running an ice-cream stand for a guy, and he's got the afternoon shift today. I go on tonight."
"You're out of the woods then? Moneywise, I mean?" She sent him a confidante's smile. "You make out all right on that stuff?"
"I did just fine." His expression was rueful. "I don't ever want to be in that kind of a bind again."
"Have you gone back?"
"Heavens, no! Never again. You?"
"No, not yet. But one of these nights soon."
"Give me a buzz. I'll go with you. That was a night of nights. If we could just ... again. I mean...." His face colored, Vesper thought his modesty very cute.
"Those things don't just have to happen in stores, you know. That's partly why T called. That is, if you want to." It was her turn to flush. "Everything I say comes out wrong today."
"No, honey," he said, his eyes searching hers, that same awe igniting in them, "everything you say is just right. If there's anything you are, it's honest. It's you ... the way you are. That sweet, beautiful way you are...."
His voice caught, his face drew into an anguished grimace, "Oh. Vesper...." he croaked. "What are we talking like this for?"
Then he took one quick step forward, he pulled her roughly into his arms, he buried his lips in hers, kissed her with a fervor that took Vesper's breath away. Her heart seemingly exploded within her, she felt like someone had pulled out her bones, left her so much mush. Then the hesitancy, the unsureness was gone. She clung to him, kissed him back, her ardor matching, no, surpassing his.
"Baby, baby," he groaned as they parted and he worked his lips in her hair, "I've missed you so, I've wondered about you. I've looked for you everywhere
I went. . . Thank God you called me."
"Thank God," Vesper refrained. "I've missed you too, Donovan. And somehow I didn't even know it. Until now. Jeez, you make me feel so crazy, you mix me up something awful."
Then they were kissing again, a stunning fever invading Vesper, she wanting to bury herself in him, to hide in his clean, decent strength. Then the sexual desire was there, hitting her like a fist in the stomach, she gingerly bunted her lower body to his. How she marveled after that ugh session with Gil only last night, after I thought I'd never want another man again as long as I lived-
And now this?
I want him so much I hurt down there, so much that if he told me no, I'd fall at his feet and bawl like a baby.
Donovan wasn't about to tell Vesper no. For as she began to tremble helplessly, as that unmistakable yearning distorted her features, he held her away from him, studied her. That amazed, awed concern registered anew in his face. He drew away, went to lock his door. And as he turned. "I'm a hound, Vesper," he groaned. "Forgive me, but I can't help it." He took one step toward her. "Should ... should we go into the bedroom?"
Vesper flew at him, began to sob in his arms.
They lay on Donovan's bed, he naked, Vesper partially so. They kissed and embraced, worked their bodies together in animalistic frenzy. The blinds, the drapes had been closed, but still muted light pervaded the room, errant beams of sunlight caught floating motes in the air. A warm breeze carried in through the open window, the sound of traffic, the drone of boat whistles carried muffledly to them.
Then, that first impatience and gratitude fading, there was pause, there was time to savor, to anticipate. Donovan rose on one elbow, looked down on Vesper, took in the exotic underpinnings she wore. A lavender, silk brassiere and panties, both garments trimmed with black lace, clusters which formed wreath about the nibs of her plainly visible nipples. Lace which trimmed the hip of the panties, swooped down in veritable garland into the lowest valley of her body, presented blatant invitation.
There were no stockings, Donovan had already removed the spicy white pumps she'd worn, all the items new, things she'd boosted only last week. Little dreaming then for whom she'd be wearing them.
"Beautiful," Donovan sighed, "those things are out of this world. They drive me right out of my mind."
"That's what they're supposed to do. I wore them especially for you." She flushed, averted her eyes. "I shouldn't talk like that. I shouldn't tell you things like that. You'll think I'm cheaper than I already am."
"You say exactly what you want, darling. I'm honored. I think that's the highest praise any man could ever get. That a girl would want to dress to please him, to excite him." His hand careened down her body, it riled her in a most erogenous place, set wicked, sharp knives to clashing inside Vesper's belly. "Beautiful," he sighed. "This too. All over."
Then they kissed again, his hands went wild on her. The pain within Vesper mounted, she was sure she'd melt on the spot if they didn't soon. Yet she endured his continuing caresses, she writhed and mewed as his lips and teeth nipped her nipples through that sheer veil of her brassiere.
"Take them off," she quaked at last. "Please. I want to have the real thing ... you ... touching me, kissing me there."
Shortly the exotic flimsies were peeled from her, she lay in tumbling impatience, goose-bumps rumbling over her body as Donovan continued to kiss and lave those smooth cones, as he marveled over their unusual configuration. As his hands and fingers did things to her elsewhere that made her want to jump out of her skin.
Somehow Vesper, an unnatural modesty infecting her, managed to remain silent, she bore the ministrations of love as bravely as possible. If Donovan wanted to play-then she wanted to play also.
But words were superfluous. Her sighs, the twistings of her face, the way her hips thrashed on the bed were signal enough. His lips never disengaging from those vibrant tips of her breasts, the man raised his own hips, navigated himself between her legs. Again Vesper betrayed herself by sending her hands to greet him, a sharp hiss exploded from her as she assessed his surging masculinity.
"Donovan...." she wailed, "you know I'm not here under false colors, don't you? You know I've had other guys before. Lots of 'em. Don't you?"
He paused, his face sad as he looked down at her. Some tough characters, if I'm any judge. So?"
"I don't know what I'm trying to say, darling. It's just that none of those others made me feel like this. I feel so strange, it's never been like this before. I wish I was good with words, so I could explain this." She paused, hissed as she deliberately touched him to that total keystone of her sexuality. "I feel holy, kinda like I want to give myself to you, do anything for you. I want to do this, I'm not being forced. There's all the difference in the world. Do you know what I mean?"
"I think I do, honey. It's a beautiful thing to say." His voice became husky. "You sweet, sweet darling."
Her hands froze. "What does it mean, Donovan? Does it mean I'm falling for you? That I'm falling in love with you? Is that what it's like? I'm just a kid, I'm so green about stuff like this."
"That's hard to say, baby. I can't explain it."
"Are you saying that you don't love ... like me? I can understand that, T suppose, only...."
"We can't tell, Vesper," he said, confused himself. "Those things take time. We've only just got to know each other."
"But you think ... love's like this?"
His heart melted. "Yes, Vesper." he choked. "Love's like this. You don't care about yourself, you only care...." He groaned as her fingers continued to hone him on her, as an avalanching lust took him. "Not now, baby. Later!"
It seemed perfect detour for the clumsy conversation. And her mind rebelling at the double strain, she chose the physical, let that be her answer. "Oh!" she grated. "Yes, oh yes. Come in. Come in now!"
And with her own fingers, raising her hips to implement that holy fusion, she stuffed him to herself, she groaned with delight as that first viscous cleaving commenced. Her hands fled up, clasped his back, her fingers dug into that concavity of flesh just above his buttocks, she bore him down with a brutal rush. "In, honey!"
Then the union was complete, that scalding containment revisited upon Donovan. And grateful, thrilled, he called, "Vesper, how good you are. How sweet, how kind." And lapsing into further trance, nearly incoherent. "Vesper, Vesper ... little vesper sparrow."
She jerked, hissed, nearly broke their union. Her nails raked his flesh. "Don't!" she hissed. "Don't you ever call me that! Never, do you hear?"
"But why?" he said, amused at her ferocity. "It fits, it's cute. A natural. Sparrow...."
"Damn you!" she seethed, "I told you no. I can't explain, only...."
Donovan saw the bitterness, the tired fear in her eyes, and was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean any offense."
"Don't talk, Donovan. This is no time for talk, you said so yourself." Her body erupted, rotated, used him as unique stirring spoon. "Just...." She used a very vulgar, very explicit word. "That's what I want. Do it!"
The session was barbaric, heathen beyond description. As Vesper went out of her head, lapsed into a pagan trance the like of which the man had never seen before. He'd had women young ones, older ones but none of them had begun to match the ferocity and desperateness which this child brought to the love act.
It was almost as if she was struggling to lose her self in the sensual commotion and yet to find herself in it as well.
Donovan was puzzled, curious about the mystery inherent in this child. And yet it wasn't merely curiosity that motivated him, drove him to assault her with such tragic desperateness. There was something else here, an enigmatic, indefinable factor.
He groaned inwardly. No, he raged. It can't be, it just can't be! If you were a kid like Vesper, maybe. But you're no kid.
He thrust himself to her more frenziedly, he gloried in her answering moans of joy. God damn! You damned well better know you're no kid! He began to gurgle in his throat, he laced his hands beneath her buttocks, clutched them, actually lifted them, held them, steadied that wildly jutting target. "Vesper," he howled. "Oh, you mink, you sweet mink. Oh, ohh...."
Those Roman rockets were exploding inside Vesper's brain again, she felt as if every nerve in her body were knotted, like some sadistic monster was touching a white-hot branding iron to every single end in that tangled ganglia. Rapture after rapture burst over her. But none of them was like the one that grew inside her now, threatened to tear her limb from limb. She cringed, groaned.
"I want to scream, darling," she called as he continued to flay and split her. "This one's terrible. I'm afraid. I want to scream."
"Scream then, Vesper," he encouraged. "Yell your pretty little head off. Nobody'll hear."
Then Vesper was falling. She spun through a narrow opening, drifted downward to the eye of a bubbling, molten volcano. She fell faster, spun more wildly. "It's never been like this. You gave me this. You, Donovan! I don't know what it is. All I know is that I love you. If I ever loved anybody, if I ever love anybody, I love you."
The last of her vainglorious declaration emerged in a near incoherent babble. As now, oblivious to anything, the world consumed in that one incandescent, hydrogen-bomb flash, she began to scream at the top of her lungs.
Only when the terror faded, did she finally stop.
CHAPTER TEN
THE man's name was Claude Wallace. He was a Negro, he was obviously Gil Brewster's guest this afternoon; he made Vesper very nervous.
She was supposed to go out today. But on arriving at the apartment she'd found that Marcy had strangely left without her, she'd taken Dawn as her accomplice instead. Vesper had thought to split, return home, roam the streets, perhaps take in a matinee to kill time, but Gil had invited her to sit, to have a drink, shoot the breeze for a while.
Reluctantly, a strange tension in the air, Vesper had agreed. "Just one," she said. "I got things to do. The old lady said I should clean the house."
"like hell you got things to do. Some cleaning that'll be." His eyes had hardened. "Unlax, kid. Can't you stand a day off now and then?" He winked at the Negro. "Best little hustler I got."
He'd handed Vesper a generous glass of wine, she'd eyed it jaundicedly, had vowed to make it last as long as possible. Gil and his friend drank beer with shots on the side, listlessly played gin on one end of the room, paid Vesper little heed. Idly she went through the guys' records, picked a Simon and Garfinkle she liked, put it on the player, modulated the volume.
Once in a while Gil directed a question or wisecrack in her direction, but mostly she was ignored. And as the wine took effect, as that lazy ease grew inside her brain, she sank deeper into her chair, thought it was just as well they left her alone.
Vesper was not prejudiced (what did she. have to be prejudiced about?) but she made no bones about the fact that she didn't like Negro men. The girls, the women she got along with just fine, there was a subtle, indefinable bond between them. Their very femaleness, perhaps. Marcy was a strong case in point.
But the men with their cat-like restlessness, their rolling eyes, their inside argot, the constant innuendo in their every word, their skittish movements almost effeminate she couldn't abide them. Thus she was glad to keep her distance from Gil and the man named Claude Wallace.
Wallace hardly fit the aforementioned summary.
He was a large, tall Negro, perhaps 27 or 28, he stood six feet tall. His hair was short, kinky, his skin was smooth, dark, shiny, his eyes heavy-lidded, sleepy, almost contemptuous as they regarded Vesper. He might be best characterized as moon-faced, there was something smug, mocking in the smile when he looked her way.
Which, seemingly, became more and more frequent as the afternoon wore on, as one o'clock became two o'clock.
Vesper's contented, contemplative mood deepened, she relaxed, thought it very pleasant to be sitting in this chic apartment drinking good wine, listening to hip music, the men's soft mutterings and chucklings seemingly granting security, giving her subtly wicked feeling of a kept woman.
Of course, she amended, this pad wasn't as nice as Donovan's. Just thinking of his name made her heart race. It was a strange feeling, as if her heart were straining, yearning to get outside of her body, a feeling that was more and more with her with each passing day. And if this wasn't love-
It was like the song: It would have to do until the real thing came along.
She'd been seeing quite a bit of Donovan lately. Mid-August now, they'd been unofficial lovers for the past two weeks, they were together every chance they got. Lots of afternoons now she stinted on her booster detail, she pleaded sick, made a dozen other excuses when she failed to show at Gil's, fled to Donovan's snug apartment instead.
That was why she was so disappointed not to be going out this afternoon. There were brownie points that needed storing. Again she thought it odd that Gil wasn't sniping at her to get off her rusty-dusty.
Sometimes she even went to Donovan's pad when he wasn't home. And his roomie, Bryan Justin bumming or working, she sat in those cozy confines, leafed through the piles of magazines he had there, listened to some of the more melodic classical things he'd taught her to enjoy. Wonder of wonders, he'd even got Vesper started on a book. A poor book by critical standards, but how was she to know? It was Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, it dealt with a slum background, it rang bells with Vesper. Daily becoming more engrossed in it, her reading difficulties notwithstanding, she often said to Donovan, "Jeez, why don't they give us kids stuff like this to read in school? Instead of all that Shakespeare? And that poetry." She purposely yammered the words: " T meant to do my work today, But a brown bird sang in the apple tree...' "
Donovan had winced. "Don't honey. That happens to be a favorite. Don't knock Shakespeare and poetry. There's a place for all of them. But I agree with you, there should be more vital stuff to read in our schools. That's where I think those educators are missing the boat. I've got another one for you when you're done with that one. Tougher, but it'll get you. Knock on Any Door, it's called...."
There was no doubt about it, Donovan was good for her. To think she'd ever see the day when she'd be reading! And liking it, besides. Another strange thing.
This the fact that their time together wasn't spent exclusively in making love. Granted, there was love aplenty, claw-the-wall, top-of-the-voice love at that, love that left her exhausted, satiated and happier than she'd ever felt before. But beyond there was talk, beautiful, warm, intelligent talk, with Donovan treating her as an almost equal, prodding her, puzzling her, encouraging her to attempt to redeem herself, become a better person.
He actually made Vesper believe that she could do it, he harped constantly on her native intelligence, told her that it was her own surrender and resignation that was doing her in. If she'd expend even minimum effort in her classes once September rolled around-
Those were good times, joyful, inspiring times. For the first time in her life Vesper felt alive, truly alive, she was alert and thinking, she daily became more aware of the world about her, was able to see some of the beauty and hope that lay beneath the dust and tarnish of her slum environment. If she could make the least effort to scrape some of that grimy film off-
That was the reason that Vesper clammed up, panicked, refused to give Donovan the least inkling of what her real life consisted of, why she gave him no addresses, why he still didn't know her last name.
For if Donovan ever found out, it would be all over then, of that she was positive. Donovan couldn't understand a thing like this wild menagerie Gil and Arnie maintained, he wouldn't sanction it, he couldn't go on seeing her under those conditions.
It was a constant, haunting terror. For if she lost
Donovan now, just when her life was beginning to take on any meaning whatsoever-it wouldn't happen! She wouldn't let it happen! She'd die first!
Thus it was that she told Donovan she was in a girl gang, they had a 'contract' who bought their clouts, she clammed up when he sought to probe further, she laughed off his dire predictions of doom.
But the fear was omnipresent, she schemed constantly to devise a method of escaping Gil and Arnie's control, it was the most important thing in the world that she get out from under before it was to late.
There had been an open confrontation with Gil a few nights back. "God, Gil, let me out," she'd pleaded. "I've done my duty by you, I've brought you tons of loot, you've made big money off me. I'm afraid, T'm slipping, they're gonna catch me one of these days. What good will I do you then, what good will I do myself? I'll be in the slammer, I'll be long gone...."
His face had darkened, ruthlessness of the purest sort had shone in his eyes. "You're breaking my heart, Sparrow," he'd mocked. "The answer is no. You got plenty of good years left in you, yet. I got plans for you, real plans."
When she'd begun to sob, when she'd persisted in her pleas for her freedom he'd brusquely terminated the discussion with a slap across the face that had left her head ringing for days afterward.
And beyond that-
There was the brooding tension which had hung over the apartment the past week. Stella Povolo was gone. She'd simply disappeared one night, no one had seen her since. The papers had got hold of it, there had been a stink. Stella's best friend Judy moved like a zombie these days, she cringed and jumped every time Arnie or Gil spoke to her.
"They got to her," Marcy ominously told Vesper, "they put the fear of God into her. They killed Stella, I know they did. She's at the bottom of Heller Bay right now. She was making all kinds of fink noises at the end there, I don't think she was right in the head...."
True or not, it was threat enough for Vesper. And extremely terror-prone anyway-
That and the recent backhand she'd got were quite sufficient to keep her in line.
Still she couldn't keep from yearning desperately for release from this bondage. Dear God, if there was just some way she agonized.
The peaceful mood was summarily routed. Jittery, not really thinking, she rose, forgot her vow, started for the kitchen for more wine. "Bring us another beer, Sparrow," Gil called as she went.
He clutched her behind the knee when she brought the beer, he slid his hand high beneath her skirt, pincered a roll of her buttock as she shied, tried to pull away. "Hey, baby," he snickered, "don't rush off. That feels good." His eyes drilled hers. "Hey, how come you don't talk to Claude here? Don't you like him?"
A tremor hit Vesper, she stared down at the Negro's bland, leering face, was hit by the strongest impulse to whirl, tear free, run out that door as fast as her legs would carry her.
"I didn't see him talking to me," she stammered. "None of you were doing ... much talking. You were pretty busy, it looked to me...."
"That's no excuse, Sparrow. Turn on the charm, be nice to us. To Claude especially. He came here on purpose, just to see you. I invited him, I told him about you." His hand became more bold, sought to wedge itself deeper beneath the saucy out-crop of her buttocks. "Claude here thinks you're the cat's meow. Ain't so, Claude?"
The obsidian-hard eyes rolled up softly, regarded Vesper coldly. "You know it, cat. She's the real merchandise. I'll go fifty for a taste of that."
"Y'hear that, Sparrow?" Gil laughed thickly. "Claude-likes you, he'll pay fifty for a roll with you. What d'ya say?"
Vesper's breath froze, a hot burning began behind her eyes. She swayed, fought to keep revulsion from her face. "Gil ... I ah...." She pulled against him, her voice sounding like a whining child's. "Please ... no...."
"Please, yes," he mocked her. "Do old Gil a favor huh, baby? Do yourself a favor? Don't make Gil have to get mean. Don't hurt Claude's feelings. He can't help it because he's black. He's no less a man for that."
The words tumbled out before Vesper could stop them. "Then let him get a black girl! Let Marcy ... somebody else ... But not me, Gil. I'm afraid...."
"You got nothing to be afraid of, kitten," Claude purred, the oily smile never leaving his lips for a moment. "I'll be very good to you. Won't ruffle you hardly none at all. Don't act so uppity...."
Again Vesper tried to break loose, the impending humiliation causing her to lose control. But Gil's hand only dug deeper. It seemed his fingers would actually pierce her flesh. Vesper groaned, sagged. "Don't, Gil! Oh, don't ... Don't make me...."
"Dad's up tight. Some birds are crowding him. I lost at cards last night, I need a quick score. I'm counting on you girls ... all of you ... to help out. I'll peddle Dawn and Marcy and Judy later. But for starters ... since Claude digs you the most...."
His hand became a white-hot tong, it twisted her flesh mercilessly, Vesper knew she'd be bruised there for days. "You gonna help?" he gritted. "Show your loyalty?" He actually forced her to her knees.
Vesper's head fell forward, she fought to stifle degraded sobs. This had to be rock bottom. All the other was bad enough. But this being sold like a common whore in a lowdown crib. Still the pain tore at her, cauterized her nerves. "All right," the blurred words emerged, all right. I will. Only don't hurt me any more."
Gil chuckled salaciously. "That's more like it, baby. Didn't I tell you I had plans for you? Well this is part of it." He helped her to her feet. "Now you just wipe that pretty face, Sparrow, hop into that bedroom like a good girl. Get ready. Claude'll be in shortly...."
Vesper buried her face in her hands. And hunched forward, she bolted for the bedroom.
She was naked on the bed, face down, her face hidden in the pillow when the Negro finally entered. She stiffened, stopped breathing as she heard the rustle of his clothes. Out in the other room Gil turned up the record player's volume. There was metallic click. Claude's belt. Now the hiss of a zipper, the clump of shoes. Still Vesper didn't move. More rustling then, the sound of his heavy breathing.
"Turn over, kid," his soft, wheezing voice came. "Let's both see what we're gettin'. Unless that's some kind of invite."
Vesper flopped over onto her back. She hissed, the terror suddenly compounded a hundredfold. She sucked in a searing gasp of breath, her eyes nearly popped from her head as she saw the massive, dark body standing beside the bed. Totally naked, his eyes lustful, his arousal there for all the world to see, he stared on at Vesper's trembling body, reveled in the way she shuddered, in the way she gaped.
"Don't be afraid, Sparrow," he seethed. "I ain't met the woman yet who couldn't handle this." He laughed softly. "This your first time with a black man?"
"Yes...." she breathed. And though she fought to tear her eyes away from him. to sublimate the fear she was positive registered on her face, she could not. "The first time."
Then he was sitting on the bed, his hands were swiftly going over her body, they were slithering on her breasts, across her quaking tummy, along her thighs, the contrast of white and dark somehow mesmerizing. He rumpled the copper fur of her body, chuckled huskily. "Baby ... If you ain't something. I'm afraid this boy can't wait!"
But still he played a bit longer, he dialed the smooth caps of her breasts, he ducked his head to them, mouthed them painfully, the sadism seemingly part of it with him. Vesper felt swoony, she found it hard to get her breath. Especially when the man came beside her, when he spread her legs, prepared to take her. Then, savoring her awe. he deliberately brought her hand to him, twined her fingers about that stunning pride. "You gonna like that baby?" he wheedled.
Still Vesper froze, she couldn't force a single word up. At least not until Claude came over her, arranged his massive hulk between her knees. "Careful...." she gulped. "You will be careful, won't you?"
"Peaches an' cream, sugar," he chuckled. "From start to finish."
Then that intolerable pressure was visited upon her, Vesper turned to stone, felt like she was on fire as that initial, slow, massive thrust began. She groaned, felt her head begin to buzz. And now, slowly, slowly-
"Relax, baby," he soothed. "You're making it all that much rougher on yourself...."
Then he was totally harbored. And Vesper was stunned, it seemed she was immobilized by that stunning presence. But then, as Claude cautiously began to move It was pure reflex, intuitive and protective surrender quite beyond any conscious doing on Vesper's part.
She couldn't think, she couldn't react, she couldn't believe this was really happening. All she could do was cower, submit, present mere receptacle.
Claude's body moved faster, more punishingly. Vesper was sure he'd tear her, he'd kill her. His phlegmy chuckles of victory grew louder.
The Negro stayed with her a half hour. During which time he mauled her body more, delighted in her whimpers of pain and fear. He finished by taking her again before he finally dressed, disappeared.
Dazed and alone then, Vesper glanced at her watch, was amazed to read 3:00. That short a time for such a vast education? she mused. That short a time to change a woman into a whore?
Thankfully the flat was empty when Vesper dragged herself home a scant half-hour later. Her heart dead inside her, she scurried through the littered living room, stripping off her clothing as she ran. A bath, she wailed, I need a bath I I'll never be clean again!
She stayed in the steaming tub for twenty minutes, she scrubbed herself like someone possessed. Then, fleeing the bathroom for her shared bedroom-
But if Vesper thought the day's store of humiliations had been expended, she was to be tragically disappointed.
For now, lying on her bed, her face tear-streaked, Vesper unable to dislodge a single one of the myriad sobs log-jammed in her throat, a further abomination was inflicted. And, dressed in just a pair of pink panties, a pink brassiere, she started, whirled as the snide voice cut the air behind her:
"Well, if that ain't a sight for sore eyes," Pete sneered, his piggish eyes devouring her body, a bestial lust contorting his pimply face. "Baby, I've been waiting for a chance like this. If ever a doll was askin' for it...."
Then, the whole thing happening swiftly, a ghastly dream, surrealistic almost, her brother charged the bed, he was upon Vesper, wrestling her down onto her back. His hands were everywhere upon her, they took gross liberties with her breasts, her legs, that other treasure of her body as well.
Vesper groaned, cursed, fought like a wildcat. But it was no use. His lust giving Pete superhuman strength, his confidence that this was his long-awaited chance, that they wouldn't be interrupted serving as final spur, she might as well have fought a stone wall. The boy might have been just fifteen, but he was nevertheless wiry, tough, nearly full-grown.
"Don't act so high and mighty with me, sis," he cackled. "Don't act like this's your first time. Somebody's been gettin' to you. That 'stayin'-overnight-with-a-girl-friend' jazz might fool Ma, but it don't fool me. You're peddling it, I'll bet. Those new duds of yours, that watch you got on didn't come outta thin air. So what's the sweat if I want my ups?" His hands gripped her already raw breasts, made her gasp. "I'm gonna find out about you one of these days, bitch! And when I do ... But for now...."
A fiery fury impaled Vesper, nearly sent her over the brink of sanity What is this? she screamed to herself. Get Vesper Week? Why me? Why is it always me who ends up the goat? Why not, just once, somebody else? Why not a guy?
An insane revenge presented itself to Vesper, a stroke of near genius. Why not? As long's I'm getting shafted anyway? The vengeance lust became full-blown within her. Somebody else should get the dirty end of the stick for once. Why not this filthy kid brother of mine? The thought killed all reason, routed any lingering decency, any thought of taboo. I didn't start this, did I? she raged.
Now her strategy was clear cut. Petey-boy, she gloated, You're it!
Abruptly she quit fighting. Puffing sibilantly, she went limp, smiled crookedly at Pete. "You gonna give in?" he gasped, "do I get mine?"
"Sure, Pete," she slurred, her expression turning sultry all at once, "I'm game. Only slow down, huh? We don't need all this commotion. Where's your style?"
The surprised boy loosened his grip, smiled foolishly down at her. "You mean it, Vesper?"
She squirmed away from him, sat up. "Sure I mean it, Pete. If this's what you want, Why not do it up brown?" She reached for him. teasingly began to undo his shirt buttons. "Here, let me get you ready. I'll make a regular little lover boy out of you."
Minutes later Pete was naked on the bed, he was dazed, trembling uncontrollably, his breath coming in quick, belly-churning gasps. Vesper sat over him, ran her hands up and down his body, teased him in a very sensitive place, felt him go tense. She evaluated his pinched, breathy groans expertly.'
She stood before him, seductively removed the brassiere, the panties. She straightened, rolled her breasts in her hands, pinched the swollen nipples hard, she undulated her hips in a bawdy grind, let her fingers drift to that awry, red copse. She exulted as she saw Pete's mouth gape, his face go crazy. Then that unmistakable throb.
She was on him moments later, reclining, actually feeding him her breasts herself, guiding his fingers to her most secret self. And all the while, she worried him elsewhere on his pawky frame.
Then Pete couldn't wait, he was climbing over her, he was fighting her hands, her legs, straining to thread that singular needle. While Vesper twisted and squirmed, playfully teasingly avoided him. "Not yet, lover," she giggled, "not yet. Don't be greedy. Play with your big sister a little bit more ... Play, lover, play...."
Then, gauging Pete's sickening wheezes and whimperings precisely, she finally let him pin her. But not quite in the way Pete desired. Clamping him between her thighs, she see-sawed them vigorously, never let go of him for a second. She giggled, taunted him lewdly. "How's that, lover?" she refrained. "You like that?"
Now, suddenly the boy cursed, shrieked like a stuck pig. He lurched, fought to pull away from that flesh trap, to culminate the act. But he was too late. Vesper felt that liquid heat on her thighs, she rolled away, laughed victoriously, coarsely, contemptuously. She knelt on the edge of the bed, looked down at the embarrassed, depleted excuse for a man.
"Ain't you the hot-shot lover?" she mocked. "Can't even wait for me. Damn, look what you done to me, look what you done to the bed. Get out of here, you false alarm. Go practice on your ten-year-olds, play doctor in the alley. That's all you're good for."
Her look became even more contemptuous, her tone more lashing. "Get out of here, I said. Before some robin flies in here and takes after you. A man you call yourself...."
Then the humiliated boy was on his feet, he was fleeing from the room, his clothes in a ball in his arms, held low to conceal his disgraced condition. "Bitch!" he howled back lamely. "You cheap bitch!"
"Jack-rabbit!" she retorted. "Go on home, sonny. Tell your mother she wants you."
Then Vesper was running for the bathroom again.
And later, once more lounging on the bed, pondering what had happened, realizing the vengeance had been totally counterfeit, that it had solved nothing, she felt cheap and mean, she felt lower than she'd ever felt before.
Now that fire was flamed in her heart. Now the wracking, hawking sobs could begin again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"But why?" Donovan O'Leary howled as he heard out Vesper's blubbering diatribe. "What's happened? What makes you think you can get away with a thing like that? I thought you were keen on getting back to school. I thought you were going to give it a real try."
"Don't ask me, darling," she wailed, clinging more tightly to him. "You know I can't tell you. I can't tell you anything. It's all too terrible. I'm just not going back, I tell you. They'll have to kill me first. It's a farce. School ... life ... the whole thing. I'm going, I tell you. I'm gonna take my money ... I'm gonna run away. I'll hide ... where they'll never find me."
"They?" he pressed. "Who are they?"
Vesper flung her head back and forth savagely "No, Donovan! I won't tell you. I'm going away, that's all there is to it. I'm asking you to come with me."
"That's impossible, baby. It's ridiculous. I graduate at mid-term, I've already got a job lined up in Chicago. Can't you wait until then? We'll find a way to get married, we'll go out there then. I can't just go off half-cocked, throw away everything I've worked years for."
"You don't love me," the hysterical girl accused. "You don't really love me."
"I do, angel, I do." he insisted ardently, holding her painfully tight, working his lips in her disheveled hair. "But be reasonable. What good's love if you don't have a job, if there isn't money to get by on? Love gets kind of thin on soup-bones night after night. If you could just tell me what this's all about, tell me why you can't wait until January. It can't be that bad."
"You don't know, Donovan," she choked. "You just don't know."
"Well, tell me, then," he cried exasperatedly. "Is it a guy? Tell me who he is, I'll take care of him. And if I can't, I know some police who can. How can I help you if you won't let me?"
Vesper sighed ponderously, pulled away slightly, her expression sullen. "Forget it, honey. It just wasn't meant to happen. I knew when I came here that you'd say no."
"But if you'll just be reasonable, darling...."
Vesper stared into space. "Forget it, I said."
It was a Friday night, they were at Donovan's apartment. Another week had passed, Vesper was that much closer to be onset of another school year. It had been a haunted, mortifying week, one which, in retrospect, Vesper wondered how she'd lived through.
For in addition to the Shop-lifting chores expected of them the entire gang was now expected to staff the impromptu brothel Arnie and Gil had established in their apartment. Their gambling losses had been heavy, the girls had been kept busy with appointments almost every night or afternoon, some of them taking on three, four Johns a day.
There were no signs that business, the guys' dire need for cash would slack off in the near future. Vesper and Judy could look forward to being after-school whores, Marcy would be perpetually on-call. At least until some new members were recruited, were impressed into the vile servitude.
The changeover was not without its attendant drawbacks. For, the demands being what they were, the girls either on the street or on their backs, Vesper knew that her techniques, her caution were suffering. She was getting careless, her work was sloppy. Only yesterday she'd dropped a wallet she'd been in the process of stealing, a suspicious clerk had moved in on her. Only some fast talking had saved her from being taken to the manager's office.
Which would have been disastrous. For, her booster bag half full, they'd have had her cold.
The handwriting was on the wall. If the guys kept pressing them like they were, it was only a matter of time before they were caught red-handed.
Thus she'd been deliriously grateful that the gang had been dismissed tonight, Arnie and Gil supposedly returning to the poker table, hoping to recoup their losses. Thus Vesper had immediately turned to Donovan, had blurted her desperate, half-baked plan to him.
And now was she going to explain why she had to escape Doncastle? Why his had to be an act of faith, why he had to accompany her blindly? Not that Vesper deserved as much. But that was the way it had to be.
For what would he do, how would he react when she confessed the truth? When she told him she'd been Gil and Arnie's playmate all summer long, had traded off occasionally with Marcy Jordon? What would he say when she told him about that store detective named Sully?
And piece de resistance: How long would Donovan love her when she admitted her new vocation? When she told him she was a $10-$20-$50 (anything the traffic would bear)whore? When she told him she'd been a busy little bee this past week, that she already had bookings right through September?
Oh, she groaned inwardly, her hopeless plight making her shudder now, they really had her over a barrel! The whole stinking world had her over a barrel! How can I help you if you won't let me? Donovan had asked. Is it a guy? Tell me who, let me take care of him. And if I can't, I know some police who can.
Sure, she'd tell him. In a pig's eye! She might as well hang herself. If Donovan could only appreciate the bind she was in. She was damned if she did, she was damned if she didn't. If she told Donovan he'd drop her like a hot potato. If she risked Gil's and Arnie's retaliation afterward, went to the police, she'd be in a nice, cozy reformatory within the week. Either way she'd lose her beloved Donovan.
Small wonder she was willing to put her life on the line, willing to cling to straws, beg for a chance to put her jerry-built runaway plan into effect? Small wonder she pleaded with Donovan, was crushed when he refused her.
Now the shudders became more pronounced, he drew her back on the davenport, studied her face worriedly. "What is it, Vesper? You feel all right?"
She smiled at him wanly. "I'll be okay. I could use a drink, I guess. Some of that sweet sherry, huh?"
He rose, brought her a small glass of wine. She sipped it greedily, hungered for that alcoholic ease, she yearned for that lazy dullness. She looked about the room, heard the sonorous strains of Tchaikovsky's Fifth, the only damned classical piece she recognized, she wondered where that elusive magic had fled. How could this shabby room ever have seemed beautiful, ever have seemed inviolable sanctuary? What was happening to her? Didn't she love Donovan any more?
The panic mounted. How does a person's life fall apart with such a rush? God, dear God Can't any-body help me?
She leaned back, rolled her head slowly back and forth, sought to hurry the wine into her system, achieve that woozy limbo where worries and problems couldn't intrude. Again she clung to him. "Hold me, darling," she moaned, "oh, hold me. Never let me go. Tell me. Tell me you love me. That's all I've got left."
He held her, pressed his cheek to hers, stared beyond her shoulder into the dimly lit room. "I love you, Vesper," he intoned. "I love you so much. It took me a while to find out, but when I did ... I'd do anything for you."
"Anything but what I ask of you," she snapped.
"That's impossible, Vesper," he replied, his tone padent, that an exasperated parent might use with a child. "Can't you see that running away never solved any problems? You've got to turn, face them down. I'm willing to do almost anything, to marry you, to falsify papers if need be, so we can be married. But this is ridiculous."
"Spare me the sermons," she said tiredly. "I'm up to here with sewnons." A new thought hit her. If the wine wouldn't work, if the music, this room wouldn't work. If even Donovan's nearness, his touch failed her-
There was that one infallible panacea.
And using the act as medicine, no real desire as yet sparked within her wanting to prove to herself that she was still a woman, that she could still experience genuine, soul-carbonizing passion even after the abominations forced upon her that week-
"Let's go into the bedroom, baby," she whispered. "Let's get undressed. Let's make love." She fought to force urgency into her voice. "Make those crazy things happen inside me ... send me to the moon. Please, darling? Now?"
Confused full of intermixed pity and compassion for the child, his love swelling his heart, Donovan rose, helped Vesper up. He replenished her glass from the decanter, gave himself another dollop of whiskey. Then they started for the bedroom, their advance reluctant, almost hesitant.
Vesper was quickly naked, she lay on the bed, watched as Donovan undressed. She sipped her wine languidly. Then, as she saw his nakedness gleaming palely in the gloom, she started, was suddenly anxious to have him close, to have him touch her. She heard the clink of ice as Donovan brought his drink to bed with him.
Both of them balancing their glasses, the ritual of abeyance predetermined, they slid together, fitted their bodies tight, kissed with slow, lingering motions and explorations, let desire build slowly. There was something dreamy, even fatalistic, about their love.
Donovan's lips fluttered, opened and closed, swirled against hers, they were gentle and hard in turn. One moment they were teasing, tickling, the next they were predatory, consuming and harsh. The extremes were maddening. And then, when he slowly moved his tongue to hers, when it explored her mouth, spiraled about hers, when Vesper tasted the second-hand bite of his whiskey--
The love became very pagan indeed, lust was very quickly triggered. That clenching, tearing hand was alive in her belly all at once. She began to shudder, her legs clamped together as if that hot sensation might escape, never to be found again. "Lover," she moaned. "You exquisite lover."
She writhed, released a low, guttural sigh as his lips coursed over her throat, down her shoulder, climbed to the suddenly rigid cones of her nipples, swept onward. She stifled a thick giggle as his lips spiraled on her belly, as his tongue stabbed at her navel. Then she froze, sucked in a quick breath as his lips continued southward, as they flirted with the inner ridges of her pelvis. He wasn't going to-
His lips moved inward and downward, they brushed that crisp fleece in a wild, unsettling way. The sensation made her yearn for all sorts of primal, forbidden things. Fleeting thought of Marcy, her love, intruded, breath hot on her flesh, his lips itching her there terribly. A soft, sad chuckle broke from him, his head moved upward, his lips planting hot, delightful kisses on her flesh all the way up. His .mouth closed on one of her nipples. And where Vesper had thought she'd never want a man to love her there again in a hundred years-
"Oooh, darling," she expelled a huge breath. "That's gorgeous. You're so gentle, you're so ... perfect."
She jerked, giggled in intermixed pleasure and fright as he carefully tipped his glass, let whiskey run onto her right nipple. The coldness, the bite of the alcohol made her yip a playful protest. But then, when his lips closed on those abused caps, when his mouth became vacuum cleaner, when his tongue lapped and swirled about that crown, picked up the crumbs, she yipped for an entirely different reason.
Now her left nipple was accorded that same stunning treatment. There was no longer any doubt as to Vesper's sexuality. A voracious tiger was ripping her up inside, he was snarling and spitting.
And I thought I didn't want Donovan tonight?
It seemed her entire body was centered in that throbbing dome of pleasure as Donovan continued mouthing her, her soul, her very being with the universe thrown in besides was gathered there, compacted into one tight ball of screaming sensation. Dear God, she chanted to herself, dear God-
It was the first time Donovan had ever loved her this way, she found the novelty of it, the voluptuary fires it induced glorious beyond compare. But if she thought this sublime, it was nothing compared to what Donovan did next. Another newness almost as if he were deliberately trying to make this love that night his masterpiece, a love to be remembered forever.
He adjusted his body and hovered over her. Both their glasses emptied, put aside, they were free to devote themselves entirely to the moment's madness. Vesper sighed raggedly as Donovan's hands gathered her breasts, lifted and rolled them, began pushing her inward. There was small pain, but it was a pain she willingly endured. For, as her nipples came closer, as they actually touched, as Vesper felt Donovan's mouth close anew, as she felt his tongue squash on both buds simultaneously, as it began to circle, interlace about the shrieking tips-
"Oh, Donovan, Donovan!" she whimpered. "I can't stand it. That's the most incredible thing. Oh, no! Don't stop. Please don't stop. Where'd you learn...."
The question went unfinished. Another flame of lust scalded, purified her. As Donovan sent his free hand to the heart of her body, as he opened her, instituted still another fantastic caress. The simultaneous arousal made Vesper jitter, made her rock her head back and forth on the pillows, forced quick, coarse pantings of desire through pinched lips through clenched teeth.
And as the towering, exalting passion mounted, seemingly climbed to celestial climes: "Oh, darling," she gulped, "my precious darling! You're doing so much for me, you're driving me out of my skull! And I'm doing nothing for you. Oh, I should do something, I should...." Then the thought smashed her, froze her, killed the words in mid-flow. As suddenly as that it was decided.
Why not? she rationalized. If I can do those things for other men because I'm forced to Why can't I do them for Donovan, the man I love? She tensed. But what if he won't let me? A savage rage electrified her. I'll make him let me! I will, I will!
Then she pulled away from him, she withdrew his hand, she whined as his lips fought to recapture her. "Let me do something, darling!" she seethed. "I feel all crazy, all wild. There's something I want to do ... I must do ... for you. Something we've never done before...."
And before Donovan could recover, before he could protest-Vesper was upright, she pivoted swiftly, sent her hand fluttering down his hard, flat belly, the move part tease, part force, her fury daring him to resist her. Then her lips skittered along his belly, they veered at that banked curve of hip-bone. Now they zeroed in, the determination maenadic.
"Vesper!" he gasped as she closed on him, as he was enveloped in that liquid, compressing, hot sheath. Her head rose and fell swiftly, her cries thick, animalistic. "Let me, darling! Let me do something for you. You do so much for me, you've given me so much ... Let me show you ... how much I love you. You have to let me!"
Donovan fell back, stunned by the ferocious attack, by the demented tone of voice. Awed, confused, not knowing what to think, he did the only thing left to him. He did the thing most any man in the world would have done.
He surrendered to her wanton devices.
But only for a moment. For as Vesper went wild on him, as she began to moan and quicken her movements, as she found that love sanctified what she'd previously regarded as degenerate, Donovan could not remain passive. He was sundered by an equally uncontrollable urge to reciprocate, to participate. If Vesper could sacrifice herself like this, if she could present this fantastic self effacement-
Then he could also.
This time Vesper's resistance was futile. Fanaticism hypoing his strength, he took her legs, pulled and arranged her, squirmed his shoulders. And though she moaned, protested, begged him not to-
"If you can show me...." he called in an eerie, muffled voice, "I can show you. I do love you, Vesper!"
And together then-
But there quickly arrived that instinctively recognized cut-off time. And both Vesper and Donovan knowing they couldn't dally a moment longer, they parted, rearranged their bodies, they kissed and clutched, the fusion instantly accomplished, affected by mere squirmings and lurchings of their lower bodies. Donovan wanted to howl at the caress of that viscous containment, Vesper gasped with rapture at that masterful presence.
Her lust was a swaggering, braggart giant a hundred-foot-tall monster who easily strode the earth, who now straddled the city, stared down at her, laughed, mocked, goaded her to even more dissolute frenzies. And Vesper had never wanted Donovan, she'd never wanted a man, the things a man could do for her, as much as she wanted them at this moment! She tossed and lurched, her words emerged as mere gibberish, gurglings in her throat and nothing more.
And as Donovan rose and fell above her, as he seemingly cleaved her, as he became avenging juggernaut, as his whole body was seemingly within her, filling her, straining her, threatening to demolish her, even murder her-
That, first glory avalanched down on her, made her scream, her head seemed to explode, her ears rang at the violence of her cries. A tower of flame shone before her dazzled eyes, it seemed to grow taller, brighter, it seemed to leap to the sky, it seemed to reach for infinity, it pierced the very canopy of the heavens.
"Darling, darling, darling. It's fantastic, it's never been better. I'm going to die, I know I will." Her body worked more viciously beneath his. "I'm going to...." A very bawdy chuckle broke from her. "I'm going to take another one."
And she did, her ecstasy ripping this time, sending her spinning like some out-of-control boomerang. high against the velvety blackness of the universe. Where she wobbled, faltered, knew a soul-rocking Release. Then she slowly glided back to earth, to this bed, even as she heard Donovan groan, cry out her name, make a prayer of it. Then that elemental flurry and throb. Her satisfaction was now complete, she was whole and worthy once more. "I love you, Donovan," she murmured. Even as she blissfully slid into a doze.
But suddenly she started, broke up from that recuperative sleep, she clawed the covers, huddled to Donovan's hard, warm body. She'd been dreaming, she'd been back at the apartment again, she'd been in bed with that buck named Claude Wallace.
She recovered quickly, remembered where she was, she relaxed, breathed a fervent sigh of relief. She listened to see if she'd awakened Donovan. But no, he slept, oblivious to her terror.
Vesper tried to claw herself to that soft, warm cocoon of sleep again. But the screeching, furry-winged bats had invaded her mind anew, it was impossible. Again her brain teemed with thought of the things that had happened at the apartment this past week.
Claude Wallace was no mere nightmare. He had been back again, he'd requested Vesper, he'd willingly paid $50 for the privilege of using and abusing her body. A policy-runner, the $50 was a pittance compared to the joy, the ego-boost a romp with a white girl provided.
Vesper squeezed her eyes shut, tried to blot out the ugly pictures. That old, crepey-bodied man named Hugo, who had wanted her kneeling on a chair in the corner of the room, he standing behind her, the corner bit having some perverted significance for him. That Benny kid, who'd wanted her on all fours, who'd nearly broken her back as he'd dropped his total weight upon her at the end of the sick session. The man who'd only wanted to grovel before her. Harlow, had that been his name? For finale he'd kneeled beside the bed, had only wanted to bury his face in her body, minister to her in that servile way. Eddy, who had carried her about on himself, Bill who'd left her spine aching for days when he'd bent her back so painfully, his shoulders behind her knees.
All the rest. Harry and Mark and Jake. And-
Vesper's mind would go no further. She fought to black out the rest of the vile thoughts. She knew she'd be crying in a moment if she didn't-
She stirred herself, shook' Donovan awake. "Hey, you," she shammed impishness, "wake up. You ready yet? There's a gal here who needs your immediate attention, doctor."
"You little mink," he laughed, stretching and yawning. "Don't you ever get enough?" He struggled up. "Okay, but I'm warning you. The spirit may be willing, but the flesh is mighty weak."
"I'll see to that," she laughed, her voice earthy. She clutched him. "Here, this way."
Then Donovan was crouched between her thighs again, his hands gathering her breasts. "Yes," Vesper sighed, thrilled at the prospect of the unique love again, "like that. Both of them at the same time." The liquid laving began, those intolerable fires were restoked. She took him, manipulated him. Then, drawing him closer, beginning to hone him on herself in a very irresistible way-
Shortly Donovan was revived. Shortly they were on another journey into outer space. And inner space as well.
Vesper was hardly gone when a very perturbed Donovan O'Leary was up, flinging on only trousers and a shirt, stuffing his feet into a pair of sneakers. This whole thing's gone far enough, he thought as he stealthily let himself out of his apartment, started down the stairs. Vesper's in big trouble, trouble that can only end one way. She needs help. And if she won't give me an inkling-
There's more than one way to skin a cat, he thought, shivering as the coolish night air hit him. I don't care what, I'm gonna find out what's spooking her, I'm gonna come on with both fists flying.
He was on the street now, he glanced up and down, saw the lonely figure a block down. Moving with more deliberate stealth now, he stuck close to the buildings, began following Vesper. A home address would be a starter, he mused, the determination growing within him by the moment, becoming a monolithic vow and commitment.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ALL THE GIRLS WERE GATHERED AT THE APARTMENT:
Vesper, Dawn, Marcy, Judy, even the new member, a sallow-faced blonde of seventeen named Edith. The guys had made no bones about the reason for the gathering. "Party night," Gil had leeringly announced. "You queens get lotsa sleep, came ready to wail."
Party night it was, with most of them drunk before 9:30 rolled around, the music loud, the pad jumping. Only Vesper held back. For some strange reason she couldn't get started, she was possessed of an eerie sense of foreboding. School would start in a few days, things would be different from here on in, perhaps that had something to do with her state of mind. Worry over her going-nowhere life, over the fact that there'd been no time with Donovan since that last sublime night together contributed also.
I should drink, she prodded herself. I should get good and high. Any minute now the uglies start. Yech time. Anybody who goes into that cold turkey has got to be a little freaky. She lifted her Manhattan, forced the liquor down. There, she thought. Happy hour. It's starting now.
She was thankful to be momentarily ignored, she was thankful that Gil was giving Edith the big rush, leaving her alone. Sure, Gil would crowd the new kids a while, but invariably he'd return to Vesper, make her his more or less steady boff. She sighed heavily. Watching Arnie maul Marcy, she thought, Thank God for small favors.
The guys had demanded that the girls strip down to their undies almost from the start, which made for a very wild scene indeed. For, Gil insisting that the girls come dressed in stockings and heels, they all paraded about in girdles, garter belts-the real swingers, gals like Dawn and Judy making a point of rigging themselves in the most outrageous of sexy undergarments.
Dawn wore a devastating red ensemble, wild satin with black lace overlay in the damnedest spots. While Judy came in a patterned getup, bold slashes of color streaking over her body, she resembling something out of an abstract painter's color box. Vesper was put out in a rather modest, pastel blue outfit, she wore black sheers on her legs, her dagger-toed pumps were royal-blue velvet. Marcy was in a lemon-yellow creation, a thing that did marvelous things for her mocha coloring. Edith wore a bewitching black ensemble.
Which Gil Brewster was attempting to peel her out of at the moment, Edith gigglingly resisting, tearing at his own clothes in the bargain. "You too, you too," she brayed, sounding like the brainless dolt she was.
A Vesper drank with seeming dedication, sought her elusive high, she watched Dawn and Judy dance together at the other end of the room (some Beatle stuff played), she thought the bob and sway of their boobs amusing, she wondered what some stranger might say if he walked in at this moment. like wild, daddy-o, she smiled.
When thoughts of what the evening's finale would be smote her, the smile instantly faded. The glass came up, the booze burned all the way down. Yeah, Vesper exulted. Here we go.
Somewhere along the line Vesper suspected the bit was that sappy Edith's idea the drunken gaggle of girls had attacked Arnie and Gil, had stripped them. And producing large-sized panties from the gang's store room, they'd proceeded to put them on the guys, black for Arnie, a lacy purple pair for Gil. The guys had protested, had brushed the girls off at first. But the frenzy growing, the mood more madhouse by the moment, the girls had prevailed.
"If we gotta look pretty for you," the asinine Edith had harped, "you gotta look .pretty for us." Her eyes had swept their naked bodies, appraised their surging arousal. "You sure's hell ain't pretty that way...."
The garments didn't help much. If anything they only emphasized the guys' angularity, piqued curiosity and desire. At any rate so far as Edith and Dawn were concerned; they couldn't keep their hands inside their silkies.
Things progressively went from bad to worse. The drinks came faster, the noise was seemingly deafening, the room was darker, the bodies became a kaleidoscopic blur to Vesper. And still she wasn't as drunk as she'd like to be. By then Dawn, Edith and Judy had removed their brassieres, they pranced in just girdles, panties, belts, stockings. And, of course, the sexy high heels.
It was then that Vesper decided that she'd best punish the booze for Arnie and Gil were telling the girls to gather around, the real festivities were moments away. But by then it was too late. As she resignedly moved in, saw that Edith and Dawn had already peeled the guys' panties partially off, were already arranging them on the davenport, going to their knees before them. She felt her stomach tilt, she knew this was going to be one of the real rotten ones.
"Over here, Sparrow," Gil cackled as she hung back. "You gotta get in on this too." He slapped Edith lightly on the head. "Easy, you. Don't bite. They don't carry spares for those at Sears."
His eyes went to half-mast, his smile was a wide smear on his face. "Oooh, Edith doll, you've had experience." He laughed louder. "Gather round, piggies.
Let's figure this out. So we can all ball together."
Then Marcy and Judy were virtually straddling their chests, leaning at the boys' instructions, ladling their naked breasts to their mouths with their own fingers. "Here, Vesper," Gil paused then, putting his hand on Edith's head, momentarily quelling her energetic motions, "stand in between. Get that brassiere off."
And as she complied dully, flung the flimsy thing aside, knelt between the two bodies, let her breasts hang, he snickered, took the nearest in his hand. "Here, Arnie," he called. "Latch on. There's one left for you." He pinched Vesper's nipple, made her bend lower. "There. Everybody got something to do? Everybody happy? Later on we switch off, take turns. Edie and Dawn can't have all the fun, can they? Ready? One ... two ... three ... Go!"
Then the cooperative debauch could commence. Soon there was a welter of straining, giggling, sighing, writhing bodies. There was a cacophony of filthy talk. The orgy truly went into high.
Afterward Vesper was always grateful that the thing hadn't gone on much longer. Long enough for her to go on the midnight shift. As it was she was straddling Gil's chest, feeding him her breasts, Marcy and Judy were doing the more base honors when the sharp rapping sounded on the door.
Suddenly everybody froze. "Now, who'n hell can that be?" Arnie Caves cursed. "I told those Johns we were closed tonight, that we weren't sellin' any tickets at the box office. Sit still, Dawn. Stay where you are. Edith, go see who's there, tell them to butt off...."
Drunk as she was Edith merely covered her breasts with one arm, went doorward. "Yeah?" she called, turning the second latch, starting to open the door. "Who's there?"
Instantly the door bucked open, hit her in the face, sent her reeling back. And Vesper, turned at awkward angle to see, felt her heart kick, she felt as if her stomach would back up on the spot.
That man staring at the bacchanal scene, straining to focus his eyes to the dark, his mouth twisting in addled disgust and bafflement. He looked familiar somehow.
She shook her head, looked again. Then, without thinking, the words spewed forth: "Donovan! How did you get here?"
"Don't move, anybody," the ashen-faced man said, leveling the dull-blue Luger at the mass of contorted bodies, his eyes sick, uncomprehending. "Stay right where you are. I wanna see just what kind of pervert's picnic this is...."
"What the hell?" Gil growled. "Who are you, fella? Who told you to fall by? Vesper, do you know this creep?"
"Sure, she knows me," Donovan spat. "Don't get all heated up, bastard. She didn't tell me about this set up, she wouldn't tell me. I came looking for you myself." His face worked. "Now, I wish to God I hadn't bothered. What's going on here?"
His eyes drifted to Gil's purple panties, twisted about his legs, he took in Marcy kneeling on the floor before him, instantly recognized the name of the game.
When he looked at Vesper, interpreted her role, he truly went green about the gills. "God, oh God...." he groaned.
"So now you seen, you bastard." Arnie snarled, turning slightly. The gun moved slowly, zeroed in on his head, stopped him cold. "Now you know," he finished lamely, "what you gonna do about it? There's the door, use it. Before that pop-gun goes off and pinks you in the butt."
Cold hatred transformed Donovan's face, made him a fearful spectacle indeed. Arnie quailed, instinctively knew the intruder would as soon shoot him as look at him. "Are you coming, Vesper?" Donovan spat. "Or do you want to stay here with this sewer-filth? They made you do this, didn't they? They forced you." His voice was almost pleading ,the man wild for some justification of this debauch. "Isn't that right, Vesper? They made you, didn't they? This is the gang you were telling me about, isn't it? And it wasn't just ... a bunch of girls."
Vesper didn't move. Dazed, all this happening too fast for her, her breath dried in her throat, no words could be forced past that parched membrane.
"Well, they aren't going to make you any more," Donovan chewed out the words. "They so much as call you again, they try to get at you in any way...." His voice broke beneath the weight of his rage. "I'll come back here, scum, I'll come back here shooting. I'll shoot out your eyes, do you hear?" He was very close to hysteria at that moment.
"Vesper!" he growled. "Do you hear? Get off that filth. Get your clothes. We're getting out of here. For good." And when the mesmerized child still didn't move "Damn you! Move!"
like some wooden puppet, she slid away from Gil, she rose to her feet, began staggering toward the chair n which her clothes were piled. Edith rose from where she'd cowered throughout, she began moaning in a sick, blubbering fashion, momentarily distracting Donovan.
Here tragedy intervened, here drunkenness was the cause of the most ironic reversal of all. For had Gil not been drunk, he'd have had sense enough to stay put, he wouldn't have had courage enough to attempt the rash, stupid move.
Suddenly he was up, he was hurtling himself at the less-than-alert Donovan. "Let's get him!" he bellowed, his movement, the foolhardy tone of voice spurring Arnie into matching recklessness.
Donovan whirled, aimed the gun, fired. A stunning, deafening roar exploded the room, deafened its occupants; blue smoke, the smell of cordite hung heavy on the air.
Gil Brewster was stopped in his tracks for the briefest moment, he hung suspended in air, an astonished look of disbelief in his gaping eyes, a small, dark hole in the center of his forehead. Then he gasped, slumped, fell. Even as he went down, the hysterical Edith screamed to see the place where half of his head was blown away in back.
Instantly she bolted for the door. Half-naked, one pump off, one on, she went shrieking down the hallway and clattered down the stairs. There was the slam of an outside door and she was gone.
Now Vesper screamed without stop, she clutched her hands to her ears, watched in helpless horror as the two men fought for the gun. Then she truly howled, she died inside for all time, as she saw Arnie wrest it from Donovan, saw him crush Donovan's face with it.
Even as Donovan fought for balance, clutched at his cheek, Arnie stepped back, calmly pumped two bullets into his head. Donovan went down like .someone had hit him with a ball bat.
Then Caves was dropping the gun, staring about him with confused terror. He ran for the door.
Marcy began to scream.
When the police arrived, found the mayhem, saw the half-dressed girls screaming and blubbering, they were hard put to make any sense of the scene. Officer Quale took charge of the pretty, blood-spattered redhead who sat on the floor, rocking a dead man's body in her arms. He was later to note that she reminded him of nothing so much as one of those small kids whose dog gets run over in the street. He'd seen dozens like that. The kids who cry as if their hearts will never mend who won't let anyone separate them from their beloved pets.
It was dark in the room, the lights-out bell had sounded a half hour before. Henrietta Jarvis, the floor matron had looked in minutes ago. But still Vesper Delaney, in her third day at New Hope, the state correctional home for women, could sleep nights, she couldn't stop that horrible buzzing in her head, she couldn't dispel the nagging sense of emptiness, of I-don't-care that pervaded her every waking hour.
Her face buried in her pillow to muffle her sobs, she hoped that horrible Florence Franzen was asleep, that she wouldn't creep over again tonight, make those sick advances.
God, where does it all end? What are the odds?
She tried to think of Donovan, she felt his remembrance would help her to be brave. She had to keep trying, she couldn't give up. Just because she was lonely and frightened, just because there seemed no point to her life. If Donovan had ever really meant anything to her, if his death were to serve any purpose whatsoever-
How often had he said it? "A step at a time, Vesper, a day at a time. That's where most people fail. They want it to happen all at once. Can you see that? Try, that's all I'm asking of you. If you fall, well just get back up and try again...."
But Vesper couldn't keep his memory alive in her mind. It hurt too much. It seemed every time she thought of Donovan someone stuck a knife into her heart, twisted it with sadistic glee. Darling, oh darling, she wailed. It's no good. Not without you.
There was a squeak of springs across the room, Vesper cringed, froze. Oh no, not again.
Then her own bed sagged, she felt the rustle of covers, cold air on her body as Florence slid in beside her. "Bad again tonight, honey?" the fat, thirty-ish woman wheezed. "Don't ... here, let Flo hold you. You poor, poor baby...."
Vesper stiffened, let herself be drawn to Florence's squashy bosom reluctantly. "I'm all right," she protested feebly. "If you'd just leave me alone...."
"That's the worst thing, kid. To be left alone. Everybody needs somebody. That's what the song says. And if you don't have love, where are you?"
"But that isn't love," Vesper argued. "That's...."
"You call it what you want," Florence said, her voice hardening. "I'll call it what I want. Relax, Vesper. It'll be all right. In just a little while now. Let Flo hold you. There, that's better already, isn't it?"
Despite her determination not to surrender that night, Vesper couldn't help but be comforted by the woman's warmth, by the fact that no matter what her motives might be, she was still a human being, someone to talk to, someone to tell her troubles to. Florence cared, she was willing to get involved to that degree anyway. Gradually Vesper went limp in her arms, she felt that dependent warmth flower within her. Small tendrils of forbidden desire began to spread through her body.
Florence kissed her wet eyes, wiped them with a corner of the sheet. She kissed Vesper's cheeks. Now her lips. "There, there, baby," she cooed, "it'll be all right. FloTI make it all right."
Vesper started, tensed as Florence slid her hand inside the coarse, cotton nightgown the school provided, clutched one of her breasts. "Don't, Florence...."
"All right," the woman ignored her, her breath quickening, "it'll be all right." Her hands continued their gentle, persuasive stroking. "This'll be just what the doctor ordered. You're lucky they put you with Flo. She'll teach you all about these things. Men are no good, they're rotten. They never bring a woman anything but trouble."
She opened Vesper's gown, dropped lips to girls' breast, sucked nipple in greedily. "But take a woman, on the other hand...."
I tried, Donovan, Vesper wailed, gradually sinking into that sensual torpor, I did. But there's nothing else for me now. I have to have something.
The nightie was removed, Florence flopped about to remove hers. "Okay, Vesper?" she chuckled liquidly-
"Yes," Vesper capitulated dreamily, already anticipating that sweet release, that seeming reward for all humiliations, all sadness day had brought. "You can do what you want, Florence. I'll let you."
"Maybe you tonight, Vesper. A little of this one-sided stuff goes a long way with me." Menace tinged her voice. "Please, baby? It's best that way. If we ... together, I mean."
Vesper started. "I couldn't. Oh, I've never done that. No, Florence. If you want me, okay. But that other...."
Florence's hand tightened on Vesper's arm, snuffled snarl escaped. "I don't wanna get rough, baby. But if I have to...."
An awesome, overpowering tiredness swept Vesper. It was as if she'd been brainwashed, as if she couldn't stand another moment's pain, another ultimatum. She'd had her share; she didn't want any more.
What did it matter? What did anything matter? If this was what life was all about, if this was what they wanted her to be-
"All right, Florence," she said, her voice dead. "If that's what you really want. Only don't hurt me. I couldn't stand that."
"Good girl," Florence cackled. "That's a good little girl. You and me are gonna have some wonderful times. The things I'll teach you. When I get done with you, you'll never look at a man again. Here, now. This way."
If this is the way the world's made Vesper refrained a last time.
Now she surrendered, let Florence move her body exactly as she wanted.
