PEGGY'S DREAM OF LIMOUSINES and sable coats and sparkling diamonds gradually faded into oblivion as her sleep-warm body responded to the hesitant strokings of a loving hand. She came awake by degrees, stirring languidly to roll on her back, her pretty legs unconsciously pushing away the confining sheet. She sighed deeply as the soft fingers traced the outline of her pointy breast through the flimsy material of her baby-doll pajamas, her pleasure increased by the gentle caress of the morning breeze against her smooth thighs.
"So lovely," a voice whispered huskily. "So very sweet and lovely."
Peggy murmured contentedly and flung one arm up over her soft brown hair, her body arching lazily with slow awareness. The fingers grew bolder, cupping the weightiness of her breast and then avidly kneading it. She wet her lips and opened her eyes, blinking groggily a moment before they focused on the flushed and familiar face of her husband.
Peggy frowned annoyedly and pushed his hand from her breast. "Stop that," she muttered thickly.
Warren withdrew his pudgy fingers fearfully, his pink face reflecting his disappointment. "I'm sorry," he whimpered quickly. "It's just that you looked so-so beautiful, so appealing. I suppose I have to touch you to make sure it all isn't a dream, that you're really here with me, my wife..." He wet his lips embarrassedly. "Does that sound silly?"
She shrugged her indifference and rolled on to her side, her back to him. She bunched the pillow beneath her head and yawned before drawing up her bare legs to form a warm little bundle of flesh. No sooner had she resettled herself than she felt Warren's hand come to rest on the bold curve of her hip. She scowled back over her shoulder at him. "Will you please stop? I'm not in the mood."
Warren wore a whipped puppy-dog expression as he crawled away from her. He was a small man, plump and round-faced, with blond hair he sported in a youthful crew-cut. In his over-sized pajamas, he appeared rather comical, but then Warren had the unhappy knack of appearing comical in most anything he wore. He cleared his throat and sat up on the doublebed. "I guess I might as well shower and get dressed," he murmured, his suffering gaze watching Peggy for some sign of objection.
She remained still until she heard his sigh and felt the bed sag under his weight as he hoisted himself to his feet. She scowled impatiently as he opened and closed the dresser drawers and it seemed an eternity before the bathroom door closed behind him. She let out her breath and relaxed, her annoyance lingering.
She hated him for having awakened her so early. Not only had it ruined a wonderful dream but it made the long day that much more unendurable. She kicked the sheet completely free of her ankles and squinted angrily at the bright sunshine which streamed through the slanted blinds of the windows. The sound of Warren sputtering under the shower only added to her discomfort and she gritted her teeth, tugging the pillow about her head to muffle the sound.
It was just like him to take advantage of her sleep to steal a cheap thrill, she thought cynically. He was like a little boy in more ways than one, a pathetic little boy who wants to be a man but doesn't know how.
It was on mornings such as this that Peggy wondered if her marriage to the mild-mannered salesman had been such a smart idea after all. Things weren't working out at all as she had expected, as she had planned. She'd married him to escape the boredom of a small town, the drudgery of her job at the cigar counter of the dismal hotel, the pointless nights with transient guests and local wolves who could offer nothing more than dinner and drinks in return for her charms.
Warren Pricer, totally ignorant as to her past and the reason for her popularity, had seemed like the answer to all her problems. He had just been permanently reassigned to a desk job in New York City and he pleaded with her to come with him as his blushing bride. The thought of New York City brought a quick consent from her and they were married before he had a chance to brush the lint from his knee.
Peggy never intended to stay married to him once she got her bearings in the big-city environment-she had far too much to offer the world than to remain the dutiful housewife-she wanted too much out of life to be content with the modest salary Warren brought home each Friday. Yet, after three months in the comfortable apartment they'd rented on the East Side, she was no closer to achieving her ambitions than she had been behind the cigar counter. She'd never thought it possible to be so bored, so lonely, so depressed living in a city like New York.
Peggy rolled over on the bed, her expression unusually sober as she stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. She was beginning to realize that it was impossible to achieve all she desired from life in one big jump. It took time and planning and work to get to the top. A girl had to begin at the bottom and climb the ladder step by step. Perhaps marrying Warren Pricer had been the first step, she wondered clinically. If nothing else, it had at least brought her to New York, that much closer to the sources of real money and luxury she had dreamed of since childhood. But she'd made a mistake sitting around the apartment, waiting for some miracle to happen, some fabulous opportunity to materialize before her eyes- she had to go out and make it happen, create her own opportunities.
Peggy wriggled deeper into the softness of the bed, a wicked smile playing upon her lips, the idea strongly appealing to her. The excitement of unknown adventure was no less sweet in considering than the prospect of meeting new people and-more explicitly-new men. She slid a hand lovingly along her young thigh, tasting her need for a real man, for some real loving. It had been months since someone had treated her the way she liked to be treated-not as a precious little love-toy to be petted and fondled and nuzzled and treasured... but rather as a woman, a sensual and hot-blooded woman.
She chuckled soundlessly, feeling her breasts react approvingly to her thoughts.
The bathroom door opened and Warren emerged freshly-showered, shaven and powdered, looking crisp and clean in his laundered underwear. He cast a self-conscious glance in Peggy's direction as he went to the closet and hurriedly donned his trousers, turning his back to the bed as he zippered them. He picked up his shirt and continued to dress in mute efficiency, obviously reluctant to risk another curt rejection by attempting to make conversation.
Peggy eyed him detachedly through her lashes. He was so small and soft, she thought critically, like a little rabbit. He looked older than his thirty-six years despite the crew-cut and his manner also carried the prissiness of a middle-aged man. Yet, in bed, Warren was more like a schoolboy, naive and awkward and painfully inadequate. He was so dazzled by her prettiness that his lovemaking was one of abject worship and humble gratitude. He'd admitted to her on their wedding night that his experience was limited to a high-school romance and one wild fling with a prostitute in Chicago that lasted all of one night.
He turned, adjusting his tie. "Sweetheart?"
Peggy fluttered her lashes. "What?"
"You didn't forget about tonight, did you?"
"Tonight?"
He smiled worriedly. "The Reillys... Bill and Mary."
Peggy groaned miserably.
Warren grimaced and moved toward the bed. "I know you don't particularly care for them but I really feel obligated. After all, he has been awfully considerate of me during this period of adjustment at my new job." He reached the bed and lowered himself to its edge gingerly. "I promise I won't ever invite them again without asking you first."
Peggy knew it was useless to argue the issue. She sighed resignedly and nodded, "All right. What kind of meat shall I get for dinner?"
Warren smiled relievedly. "Anything you like. I'll leave it all up to you." He gazed at her pretty face adoringly and then cleared his throat. "You aren't mad at me, are you, sweetheart? I wouldn't be able to work today if I thought you were still angry."
Peggy looked up at him, feeling a twinge of conscience. It was like whipping a pet, she thought idly. "No, I'm not mad," she murmured.
He beamed. "You don't have to get up, darling. I can grab something to eat on my way to the office. You stay in bed and rest." He let his eyes slide down the length of her body and his cheeks began to flush anew. "You're so lovely. I just can't seem to get enough of you."
She smiled provocatively and lifted her finger to play at his mouth. "It's getting late. You'd better go."
Warren swallowed heavily, her smile and teasing caress bringing a glassiness to his blue eyes. He looked back at the tiny ruffled panties and then at the bold upthrust of her young breast beneath the transparent pajama top. "Oh, sweetheart..." he rasped, leaning forward ardently.
Peggy let him kiss her, leaving her lips softly parted so her breath could flow into his mouth. She could taste his toothpaste and gargle and smell the shaving lotion. She knew she was being unnecessarily cruel to him but she could not resist exacting some measure of revenge for his having awakened her so early. She caressed the nape of his neck with her hand and flicked her tongue around his lips. "Just one time and that's all," she breathed softly, knowing his desires.
Warren groaned his gratitude and slid his mouth down her throat, his hands hiking the loose pajama top up her pliant body to expose her gleaming breasts. He nuzzled them greedily, his mouth fusing moistly and head bobbing.
Peggy peeked down at him amusedly. "That's all now," she chided affectionately. "You have to go to work." She tugged at his ear. "Now don't be naughty..."
Warren released her rigid breast reluctantly and caught his breath. He gulped and smiled weakly at her, his hands very meticulously recovering her breasts. He took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe at his perspiring face and when he had regained some of his composure, his eyes held their usual adoration for her. "I do love you, Peggy."
She patted his cheek. "I know you do, darling."
He rose, straightening his tie, eyes brimming over with love. "Well, I better be on my way. We have a regional meeting this morning and I'm scheduled to give my first official report."
"That's wonderful, dear."
He nodded proudly and went for his jacket. "I don't want you to go to any trouble for tonight," he called back to her. "The Reillys aren't the fussy type, I'm sure. Why don't you just call in an order to the market and have them deliver it instead of going out into this heat yourself?"
"All right, Warren."
He moved to the doorway and paused to look back at her position on the bed. "I wish I didn't have to go," he admitted longingly.
Peggy smiled. "So do I, darling."
He shrugged helplessly, blew her a kiss and went out of sight.
Peggy waited until the front door clanged shut behind him before giving vent to a peal of mocking laughter. He was such a fool, she thought derisively. She stretched luxuriously, her mind dismissing him with practised facility, and considered exactly how she was going to spend her day. For the first time in months, she felt alive and anxious to get out of bed. She'd find that next step on the ladder and when she did...
She laughed and jumped to her feet, tossing off the pajamas in a show of recklessness. She went to the window and lifted the blinds to let in the sunshine and cool breeze, not caring that she was in full view of the apartment house directly across the street. She breathed deeply, squeezing her luscious breasts which still tingled from Warren's infantile sucklings, then running her hands hard down her taut body as though to reassure herself she had the necessary equipment for her quest.
She looked out at the sparkling city and smiled.
"Look out, New York," she whispered, "here I come."
Laughing, she turned and ran to the shower.
CHAPTER TWO
THE RADIO WAS playing a ballad by Sinatra and Peggy hummed along with him as she concentrated on applying the glittering veneer to her nails. She was seated at the little dressing table, her nakedness carelessly covered by a loose terry-cloth robe. When the song ended and an announcer began a commercial spiel, Peggy curled her finger and blew on the wet polish lightly. Cautiously, she reached out and delicately lifted her cup of coffee to her lips, sipping at it in respect to its temperature.
She rose and carried the cup to the window, her heeled slippers clicking on the floor. It was still early, far too early to follow her plan of action. It hadn't required much thought really. A smart cocktail lounge, the kind that the more prosperous males might frequent in the afternoon... a quick screening of the men present, a shy flutter of lashes, a smile, some small talk... from then on, she'd play it by ear and see what might develop.
From her vantage point, Peggy could see a group of housewives clustered together in the small bench area just to the right of the building entrance. She studied them, noting their uniformity, their drabness, and wondered how they could be content to spend their lives married to one man, raising children, seeking out small patches of sunlight in which to stand and exchange gossip with their equally colorless neighbors. One or two of the women with baby carriages were already swollen with still another pregnancy and they looked grotesque to Peggy. She shuddered distastefully and returned to the dressing table where she noted the time on the small electric clock.
Twelve forty-five... the morning was dragging at its usual pace...
She studied her reflection in the mirror, enjoying the looks of her new hair-style, the soft waves that framed her pretty face with warm brown curls and golden highlights. If it weren't for the fullness of her mouth, the knowledge in the green eyes, she could have passed for a schoolgirl. She turned her face from side to side, touching a tissue at tiny patches of cold cream, examining her profile.
Nice, she thought. Very nice.
The kind of face that turns men's heads.
Innocent at first glance, slumberous on closer inspection.
Peggy opened the belt of the robe and let it slide back down from her shoulders. Taking up a phial of perfume, she carefully anointed her ears, throat, armpits and breasts. Then, with a faint smile, she touched the perfume delicately to the soft insides of her thighs. She paused in capping the phial, her intimate appraisal focusing on the tiny blonde triangle. Taking up a small manicure scissor, she very carefully trimmed the golden nap until satisfied with the result.
She crossed the room to the bed, the robe flowing behind her, and considered the garments she'd laid out for use. The puckered panty-girdle was the object of concern and with a sigh of irritation, she picked it up and returned it to her dresser drawer, replacing it with a scanty satin garter-belt. Peggy despised anything that retarded her natural undulations or confined her well-rounded flesh. It was an ordeal for her each time she donned a brassiere though she took special care in their selection and style.
She slipped out of the robe, letting it fall to the floor and fitted the garter belt about her narrow waist, fastening it over her tummy before swiveling it around so that the straps came to rest on her thighs. She stepped out of the slippers and into the dainty panties which were a shockingly icy blue in color and wafer thin in texture. She rubbed her palms over them until they were pleasantly snug.
The stockings came next. She sat on the edge of the bed as she rolled the sheer hose up her calves and thighs, extending each leg in turn to make sure the seam was straight before fastening the tops to the tabs of the garter-straps. Rising, she looked back down at herself before turning to pick up the blue nylon brassiere. She fitted the cups to her breasts carefully before straightening and reaching back with a grimace to fasten the hooks. Although she despised the necessity of a bra, she had to admit that it did provide an even more brazen thrust to her bosom.
The ruffled half-slip followed and then her glossy pumps. She was about to don the simple white sheath she had selected for the occasion when the doorbell rang. It startled her at first but then she remembered the order she had phoned to the market.
"Just a minute!" she called, looking around for something to throw over herself. She scooped up the terry robe reluctantly and slipped it on as she went through the apartment to the front door. She patted at her hair as she tugged the belt securely and unlocked the door.
A boy was almost hidden by the cardboard box of foodstuffs in his arms. "Mrs. Pricer?"
"Yes, come in," she answered, stepping out of his way.
The delivery boy stepped into the apartment and turned his head to look at her. Recognition flashed in his eyes and a smile appeared on his ruggedly attractive face. "Oh, it's you," he said calmly.
Peggy frowned at the youth. "You know me?"
He shrugged, the muscles in his arms flexing. "I've seen you walking on the street a couple of times." He hefted the box, his gaze slipping to appreciate the gap in the robe. "Where do you want it, Mrs. Pricer?"
Peggy closed the door and gestured to the kitchen. "You can put it in there on the table."
He nodded, the boldness still in his grin. "Sure thing, whatever you say." He carted the heavy box into the other room, a slight swagger to his stocky frame.
Peggy smiled slightly, amused by the boy's brashness, appreciative of his impressive physique so blatantly molded by the tight T-shirt and faded dungarees. She went for her purse, estimating him to be no more than eighteen. A cocky kid for only eighteen, but then kids in New York grew up a lot faster than most, she decided. She went into the kitchen where he awaited her. "Do you have the bill?"
He held out the paper. "Here you are. Twelve-fifty."
Peggy took her time fumbling with the bilk in her purse, letting him strain his eyes for a better view of her semi-concealed breasts. "Let's see...ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen..."
"Keep the change."
He accepted the money without looking at it, shoving it into his pocket carelessly. "Thanks. You mind if I have a glass of water?"
Peggy gestured to the sink. "Help yourself."
"Thanks a lot." He filled a glass and turned back to her. "You a model or something?"
Peggy laughed, pleased. "No, just a housewife. Do I look like a model?"
The delivery boy nodded slowly, his eyes sweeping up from the high heels to her auburn-tinted curls. "You sure do. I was positive you was a model or an actress or something like that when I seen you on the street." He grinned broadly. "You got some build, you know?"
Peggy laughed. "Thanks for the compliment."
He shrugged. "It's the truth, ain't it? Er, my name's Joey... Joey Schmidt."
He was good-looking, she thought fleetingly. And he's been around despite his youth. Probably making all the teenage girls in the neighborhood as well as a few frustrated housewives. And he looks as though he might be good at it, too. He has the body for it. "It's nice to know you, Joey," she replied softly, letting her lashes lower slightly.
He finished the water. "Next time you call the market, you ask for me, huh?"
Peggy nodded. "I promise."
He sat down the glass and shoved away from the table so that he was standing very close to her.
"It don't matter what," he murmured seductively. "Anything, anything at all...any time you want it."
Peggy had to smile at his practised technique. "That's very kind of you, Joey," she replied, moving back a bit toward the door.
"It's my pleasure."
She glanced at him, a bit tempted. He held a definite appeal for her. He was young and strong and, she suspected, a bit cruel. She made a bet with herself she could break down that cockiness inside of five minutes if she so decided... but she had more important matters to take care of, matters that meant more than just a quick roll in the hay. "Now if you'll excuse me, Joey," she smiled pleasantly, "I have to keep an appointment."
He nodded and walked out of the kitchen. "Sure." As he started through the door, he paused to glance back at her with a smile. "Don't forget what I told you. Anything, any time."
Peggy nodded, lowering her lashes to let him know she caught his meaning. She leaned against the opened door so that the robe split to reveal the long expanse of her silk-clad leg. "I won't forget, Joey," she purred, easing the door closed.
Peggy giggled her way back to the bedroom where she flung off the robe and began to wriggle into the tight sheath. She could picture Joey regaling his companions on the street corner with a graphic tale of how he had laid the groundwork with the sexy dame on the fifth floor. She'd noticed the gang of young toughs who congregated there and she didn't have a doubt that Joey was one of them. And from what he'd said, they would all have noticed her as well.
A model...
That was cute of him.
Peggy smoothed the snug dress into place, enjoying the way it hugged every curve of her provocative figure. She fixed the belt and made sure the neckline was low enough to show the tops of her breasts. The mirror told her that she wouldn't have any trouble catching the eye of whatever man she desired, the dress leaving little to masculine imagination.
At the dressing table, she used the mascara brush and lipstick carefully, completing her toilet with a few artful brushings of her loose curls. Checking her handbag for contents, Peggy hurried out of the room, leaving it in a state of utter disarray. She was in no mood for housekeeping. She was in no mood for anything that smacked of domesticity.
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the subway into the hustle and bustle of midtown New York. The area offered dozens of bars and lounges and Peggy looked about the streets in some confusion. She crossed the street on the light and a car horn beeped invitingly as she stepped up on the opposite curb. Peggy glanced back, saw that it was a battered coupe, and continued on.
Now, if it had been a Cadillac....
One lounge up ahead caught her eye and she slowed her steps. The long canopy that extended from the entrance to the curb was lettered ornately. ANTHONY'S, it stated simply and effectively. When she reached it, she looked through an oval and tinted window and saw that the interior seemed suitably illuminated and expensively decorated. She took a deep breath and pushed through the door.
There was only one bartender on duty, a uniformed man with gray hair. The rear of the club was roped off and an attendant was sweeping what appeared to be a small dance floor. Peggy moved to the bar and slid up on a stool, crossing her legs gracefully and setting her purse to one side. There were two couples at the bar and one paunchy gentleman who didn't loom at all interesting.
"Yes, miss?"
"I think I'd like a whisky sour."
"Coming right up."
Peggy dawdled over the drink, waiting for some more of the club's clientele to appear. She decided to wait no more than twenty minutes before giving up and moving on to another site. She was sipping at her drink when the door opened and a tall, long-legged brunette sauntered in. The girl walked directly through the bar into the back. Peggy frowned when, two minutes later, a redhead entered the bar and followed exactly the same route.
Curiosity gnawed at her and she was just about to question the bartender when the door opened a third time. This time the figure was most definitely masculine. Lean and dark, impeccably but rather flashily dressed, the man strode into the club with an air of possessiveness. She watched him as he moved toward her and noted with pleasure that his black eyes gave her a look of more than passing interest.
The bartender had come to attention. "A couple of girls are in the back, boss. You know, about the job."
The gangsterish club-owner nodded, his gaze flicking to Peggy again. "Good. If any more come in, you send them back to the office."
"Yes, sir."
The owner walked into the back and Peggy lifted her eyes from her drink to look after him. Now that was something interesting, she told herself... very, very interesting.
"Er, excuse me, miss...."
Peggy looked up at the bartender. "Yes?"
"You here about the ad in the paper?"
Opportunity smacked her between the eyes. "Well, yes...."
The man grinned. "I thought so. If I was you, I'd go in the back before any more girls come in."
Peggy smiled at him. "You know, I think you're right."
After he moved away, she slipped off her wedding ring and finished her drink. As she slid from the padded stool, the bartender winked and wished her luck. Peggy smiled and walked to the rear of the club where she found the redhead seated by a door marked PRIVATE. Peggy went over and took a seat next to the woman. "Are you applying for the job?" she asked the redhead sweetly.
"Uh-huh...."
"Me, too."
The redhead nodded indifferently and turned the page of her fashion magazine.
Peggy hesitated. "It's probably silly of me to bother. I haven't had much experience."
The girl snorted. "What's to know about checking hats?"
Peggy smiled and settled back to wait her turn, her mind already racing toward a decision as to the best possible role to play once she got inside the office with the handsome club-owner, her body already tingling with anticipation.
CHAPTER THREE
THE OFFICE CONSISTED of a desk, chairs, draped windows, a couch, file cabinet and safe. The walls were adorned with glossy photographs of famed entertainers. Peggy settled herself in the wooded chair opposite the desk demurely, tugging modestly at the hem of the dress so that it covered her knees. She noticed a framed picture on the club-owner's desk, a picture of a heavy-set Italian woman and two young boys, both of whom resembled the man behind the desk markedly. He's married, she thought disappointedly, waiting for him to open the interview.
"I'm Anthony," he said, swinging around in the padded swivel chair to face her. "Like on the sign outside."
She caught a faint trace of an accent. "I'm Peggy Pricer," she replied, maintaining the role of the nervous young applicant.
He smiled slightly. "Cute." The dark eyes dwelled on the pointiness of her breasts beneath the snug sheath. "Very cute."
"Thank you," she replied, lashes fluttering.
"You ever work a nightclub before? A checkroom?"
She frowned worriedly. "No, sir...but I'm sure I could learn." She smiled slightly. "That is, if you'll give me the chance."
Anthony studied her silently a moment. "You don't look the type," he stated finally, flatly.
She inched forward on the chair. "Oh, please, Mister Anthony, I really do need this job."
"You do, huh?"
She nodded desperately, enjoying the charade. "Yes. It's not just the money, it's... well, it's the opportunity of meeting people, the right kind of people."
Anthony frowned puzzledly. "Come again?"
Peggy smiled sweetly. "A lot of important people must come here often. People in television and the movies and...well, you know."
Anthony grunted sourly. "I get it You want to be an actress, huh?"
"Yes, sir," she lied.
He sized her up expertly. "You got the looks, I'll say that much."
"Thank you."
"But I dunno about the job-"
She fretted. "Oh, please, Mister Anthony-"
He leaned back in the chair and pursed his sensual lips around a cigar. He was not quite as young as Peggy had initially imagined, closer to forty than thirty, she decided, but unquestionably a virile forty. He looked at her reddish-brown curls, her red lips, the rising fullness of the white dress and showed his gleaming teeth in a faint smile. "Okay," he purred softly, "I'll give you a shot at it."
Anthony frowned and lifted a restraining hand. "I said I'd give you a shot at it. I didn't say you had the job."
"I don't understand."
The dapper man crossed his neatly creased trouser legs carefully. "I'll give you the same chance I give all the rest. What happens then depends on you."
"You mean a sort of tryout?"
He grinned. "Yeah, a tryout...a private one. Just you and me."
Peggy hid her delight and feigned a blush, looking down at the handbag in her lap. "Oh, I see..."
He watched her closely. "I thought you said you needed this job?"
"I do, but..."
"But not that bad, huh? Okay, suit yourself. I got more girls outside to see."
Peggy waited for what she deemed a suitable period before lifting her eyes to look shyly at him. The role of the blushing innocent was working out perfectly, adding to the spice of the situation.
"If I...if I do what you want, will I get the job?"
Anthony sat up straighter. "Word of honor."
She sighed and nodded. "All right." He grinned and rose from the chair, moving around the desk.
"I'll send the other broads home and make sure we ain't disturbed, huh?" He gave her a long look before walking back to the door and stepping outside.
Peggy giggled deliriously and put her bag atop the desk near the picture of Anthony's wife and children. From the looks of the bulky woman, he'd be well experienced in extra-curricular activity. She was one of the most unappetizing females Peggy had ever seen. It had always puzzled Peggy to see attractive men wed to dumpy and downright ugly women. She shrugged off the thought and glanced over at the couch as though testing its softness with her eyes. The afternoon was progressing wonderfully although she wasn't sure where it might lead her. The job as a hat-check-girl couldn't have interested her less even if it were possible for her to take it without Warren finding out. Peggy had long since discarded any thoughts of working for a living. There was a much easier way for a girl to get ahead.
Anthony returned, closing the door firmly behind him. He came to stand behind her chair and his hands rubbed softly and admiringly at her shoulders. She looked back up at him and smiled nervously. He patted her cheek. "Just relax, baby. Just relax and enjoy it, like they say. I'm not so hard to take, am I?"
She fluttered her lashes. "No, not at all. You're... you're very exciting."
He smiled, pleased, and touched his fingertip to the tip of her breast. "They real, baby?"
She giggled. "Of course."
He moved around to stand against the desk. "Suppose you prove it to me, huh?"
Peggy pushed up from the chair, her insides warming to the moment, and glanced back at the door. "Is it locked?" she asked shyly. "Are you sure no one will-"
He laughed throatily. "Stop worrying so much. I gave them the word. Now, come on...we're wasting time." He folded his arms across his chest and hiked his hip up on the desk, letting his leg swing back and forth.
Peggy removed the narrow belt and opened the long zipper of the sheath. She tried to appear awkward and nervous but actually she was shivering with anticipation. Three long months of Warren's failures to please her were bubbling to the surface and making her tense with urgency.
When she had draped the limp garment over the back of the chair, Peggy was tingling with excitement. Ever since she was old enough to know the difference between boys and girls, she had gloried in the thrill of exposing herself to a pair of admiring eyes. It was a thrill she had tasted often over the years and yet, for her, it never ebbed.
She turned to face him, lashes demure, hands folded modestly in front of the crinkly half-slip through which could be seen the outline of her panties. The caress of his gaze on the overflow of her ripe breasts, so tightly and provocatively encased in the flimsy brassiere, was almost a physical thing and she shivered pleasurably.
Anthony let out his breath in a soft whistle. "Baby, you're really stacked. But don't stop now...let them breathe."
She smiled at the phrase and reached back to open the bra. It sprang loose and she teased him by holding the loose cups in place a moment before slowly lowering them to bare her luscious fullness. She dropped the bra and took a deep breath, pushing the twin mounds up and out at him. "See?" she whispered huskily. "They're real."
Anthony reached out and yanked her hard against him, his dark eyes glittering, his hands rough on her arms. He fastened his mouth at her throat, forcing her head back, and one hand pried between their bodies to squeeze hungrily at her softness.
Peggy welcomed his roughness, her arms snaking around his wiry body. "Oh, yes," she breathed hotly. "Yes."
"Like whipped cream," he murmured, filling his mouth with her throbbing flesh, cupping the firmness of her buttocks in his two hands. "Whipped cream."
Peggy could no longer play the innocent, no longer control her urgency. She worked herself against him feverishly, hands moving up and down his back, hips grinding in a wanton rhythm. She tugged at his hair until their lips met and his tongue was thick in her mouth. She groaned and writhed in his embrace. "Now... now...."
Anthony grunted at her abandon and tugged her to the couch. She fell backwards across it, knees raised, head over the side, throbbing with passion. He kissed her breasts and teased at her naval until she squirmed heatedly. "Geezuz, you're too much," he muttered tightly, yanking the tight panties down her legs.
Peggy moaned and opened her eyes dazedly to watch him strip off his natty apparel, her hunger increasing as she saw his sinewy body become bared. "Hurry," she groaned, eyes fixed on his looming maleness, hips writhing in open desire. "Hurry."
Anthony fell to her, wasting no time with preliminaries. Peggy rose up to meet him, her limbs welcoming his body, her hands reaching out to grip ecstatically at the sides of the couch. She hissed with pleasure as he took her and let herself move urgently with him.
The delirium lasted only a few moments before she heard Anthony gasp and felt his lean body go taut in anticipation of completion. She cried out in protest, her own fulfillment far distant, and sought desperately to slow the rhythm. "Not yet," she pleaded, "not yet." But it was too late. He shuddered violently and fell exhausted.
It had been so close... so very close...
After a while she became conscious of running water and when she was able to open her eyes she saw Anthony emerging from a side door she hadn't noticed upon entering the office. He was half-dressed and he was drying his face and arms with a towel. He looked at her curiously a moment and then made a curt gesture with his head. "C'mon, baby, the party's over. On your feet."
She struggled to a seated position and looked down at herself. She was still wearing her high heels, stockings and garter-belt, the half-slip bunched around her waist. She pushed it down her legs and rose to her feet unsteadily, lifting the pale blue panties from the floor.
Anthony finished dressing before turning back to the couch where Peggy was tugging the panties up her thighs. He shook his head wonderingly. "I've known some hot ones in my time, baby, but you take the cake. What's with you anyhow? You always go that crazy in the sack?"
Peggy glowered at him resentfully. "A lot of good it did me."
Anthony scowled angrily. "You shouldn't have come on so damn strong. It was your own fault."
She snorted, no degree of her earlier shyness in her manner, and walked to the chair for the brassiere. "You tell that to all your women?" she asked cynically.
The lean club-owner continued to study her curiously. "What's your story? You come in here acting like one of them college girls, giving me the eyelashes and the mister bit and the phoney blushes. You get undressed and you're hotter than a goddam pistol. C'mon, give. What's it all about?"
Peggy fastened the bra and picked up the white sheath. "I thought you looked like what I needed, but I made a mistake."
Anthony nodded slowly, unperturbed by her sarcasm. "It didn't have nothing to do with the job, huh?"
"Not a thing."
"You just wanted to get made."
She smiled at him coldly. "Something like that."
Anthony chuckled amusedly. "You know something? I like you. I really like you. Now tell me the truth, what do you do?"
Peggy shimmied into the dress and tugged it in place over her hips. "Nothing yet," she replied despondently, "but I have plans."
"Were you on the level about wanting to meet the right people and all that crap?" She eyed him suspiciously. "Why?" He shrugged. "Maybe I can help you." She pulled the zipper and molded the sheath to her breasts. "I told you I wasn't interested in the hatcheck job or any other job in a nightclub." Anthony grimaced impatiently. "Who's talking about a job? You want to meet some big shots, right? Okay, I'll arrange it for you. I got all kinds of contacts."
Peggy studied him closely, some of her irritation ebbing. "You mean it?"
He nodded.
"Sure I mean it. Like I told you, I like you. I want to do something for you." He grinned sheepishly.
"Besides, I figure it's the least I can do for leaving you up in the air just now. I guess I ain't the man I used to be, huh? Well, that's the way it goes." He looked at her inquiringly. "What do you say? You want me to set it up for you?"
Peggy dimpled a smile. "All right." Anthony grinned, pleased. "There's this guy I know...Phil Hersh. He's one of them agents, you know? He knows all the right people in show business. I'll give him a buzz and tell him I want he should take care of you for me."
Peggy beamed, excitement stirring. "Will he do it?"
Anthony chuckled. "Are you kidding? I tell him, he jumps."
Peggy fixed the belt and patted at her hair. "This is all very nice of you, Anthony." She smiled guiltily. "I'm sorry for what I said before. You were right, it was my own fault. But I have to admit that while it lasted, it was just... wonderful."
Anthony chuckled softly. "Yeah, it was pretty good, wasn't it. Maybe next time you'll be luckier, huh?"
Peggy stroked his chest. "I hope so."
"You got a phone number?"
She hesitated, thinking of Warren. "Can't I call you?"
He grunted and shrugged. "Sure. You gimme a ring tonight about ten, okay? I'll let you know what the score is with Phil Hersh."
Peggy nodded, relieved and happy. She leaned forward, touching her lips lightly to his mouth. "About that next time," she murmured throatily.
Anthony looked into her slumberous eyes and ran a hand over the bold curve of her pretty rump. "First, we get you fixed up then we talk some more. I gotta be careful. I got a wife and kids. She finds out I'm playing house with a chick like you, she'll slit my throat."
Peggy edged away. "I understand." She took up her bag and walked across the room to the door. "Tonight at ten?"
Anthony stuck the cigar in his mouth. "Yeah, you call me."
She blew him a kiss and walked back out into the club. The bartender looked up as she approached, his eyes knowing and envious. "How you make out?"
Peggy smiled sweetly at him. "I made out just fine."
She continued on out into the street, her spirits soaring, her smile heavy with smug satisfaction. Anthony would serve his purpose as he had promised. He'd be Step Two on the ladder, as she had hoped. He wouldn't be too hard to handle until she made sure of Step Three and could afford to drop him.
Phil Hersh...Step Three?
She laughed deliciously and hurried to the subway for the trip home. It had been a profitable if not completely satisfying afternoon.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE PRICERS were entertaining.
Peggy, pert and pretty in slim tapered pants of chartreuse velvet, matching pumps and an open-throated blouse, was doing her best to conceal her intense boredom and edginess. The evening had rubbed her nerves raw, each minute seeming more like an hour, and she could feel herself winding tighter and tighter as it progressed.
She sipped her coffee and glanced at Warren in utter contempt. He was regaling their guests with an enthusiastic account of some momentous fishing expedition of his boyhood days in Minnesota. He was obviously enjoying himself immensely and Peggy hated him for it, for prolonging the ordeal with his stupid babblings.
She looked up at the ornate wall clock.
Nine-forty-five.
Fifteen minutes and she'd know if Anthony meant all he'd said to her that afternoon.
Seated opposite Peggy and Warren, their bulky forms filling the stylish sofa, Bill and Mary Reilly made an attentive audience for the fish tale. Peggy had seen dozens of Bill Reilly's in her time, overweight, hearty, blessed with an undying and slightly ridiculous rah-rah attitude toward life as well as a stockpile of pitiful jokes that could be told in mixed company. His spouse was equally colorless, an ex-schoolteacher who wore her Miraculous Medal and huge pregnancy like badges of merit. Since their arrival, Mary Reilly had appeared ill at ease among the fashionable furnishings of the apartment, as well as obviously intimidated by Peggy's uncommon loveliness and poise.
Everyone chuckled appreciatively as Warren reached the end of his narration and Mary Reilly gave Peggy a long-suffering smile. "Isn't it awful? This is all they talk about... fishing, fishing, fishing."
Peggy smiled frostily and nodded. "Yes, awful."
Bill chuckled and squeezed his wife's hand in a show of freshman affection. "Don't you listen to her, Peg," he boomed. "She loves it. You ought to see her out in a canoe."
Peggy let her animosity slip through, glancing down at Mary's swollen belly replying. "Yes, that would be something to see."
Mary flushed embarrassedly but Bill only laughed.
Warren fidgeted uneasily, sensing Peggy's mood. He cleared his throat and leaned forward eagerly. "Exactly when do you expect the baby?"
Mary smiled at him shyly. "February."
Bill grinned. "We're hoping for another boy. That'll balance the scales."
"How many do you have?" Peggy asked idly.
There was a sudden and heavy silence and she knew instantly that she'd said the wrong thing. She suddenly recalled the endless drivel at the dinner table in which both parents went into detail about their brood.
Mary, openly offended by Peggy's disinterest, smiled coldly at her. "I thought we told you. We have three, two girls and a boy."
Warren looked ill. "Sure, you remember, sweetheart."
Peggy rose gracefully, smoothing her slacks. "Would anyone like more coffee?"
"No, thank you,' Mary answered frostily. "It's getting late and we told the baby-sitter we'd be home early tonight."
Bill Reilly scowled disappointedly at her ultimatum. "Aw, come on Slugger, another half-hour won't hurt."
Peggy gave the overfed man a vicious look before turning to pick up the tray. "It might take a minute."
Warren jumped to his feet. "Can I help?" Peggy gave him a look as she started for the kitchen that withered him on the spot.
Peggy put the tray down on the table and lit the flame under the coffee. She relaxed a bit then, leaning wearily against the wall while waiting for the water to boil. She could hear Warren and Charlie launch into another exchange of views on fishing and she shuddered inwardly.
Ten minutes now....
She decided to make the call in the bedroom on the extension. She could say that she had promised to call one of her neighbors earlier that afternoon. Warren would be pleased to hear that she had finally broken down and made friends with someone. It always embarrassed him when they'd walk out of the building and Peggy would pass the people without so much as a glance.
She thought of the call and of what it might mean to her. While she really didn't have any ambitions toward an acting career, if that was what it took to get her next to the right people, Peggy would play the part. From all she'd heard about the theatrical world, a girl had to go from casting couch to casting couch in order to make any progress. In Peggy's mind, such girls were incredibly stupid... one good bout in the right place at the right time was all it took.
She stirred restlessly, as though plagued by an itch that needed scratching.
She knew what it was. The episode with Anthony had left her edgy and irritable and incomplete. It had felt so good to really let loose, to wrap herself around a strong body after so long, but that had only made it worse when Anthony had spent himself so quickly. She could still feel his mouth on her breasts, his hands on her flanks, his flesh on her thighs, and the memory taunted her.
Warren popped into view, his eyes worried and apologetic. "Can I do anything?" he asked fearfully.
She glared at him.
He winced and lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, really I am. They'll be leaving soon. Please, don't be mad."
She gestured at the coffee. "You bring it in to your friends. I have a telephone call to make."
Warren blinked. "A call?"
Peggy nodded briskly. "I promised I'd call one of the women in the building. We met today in the market."
Warren smiled. "Fine, fine. You go right ahead."
Peggy walked out of the kitchen and looked over at the Reillys. "Excuse me a moment, won't you?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued on into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She sat down on the bed and dialed information for the telephone number of the club. When she got it, she dialed again and waited for the connection to be made.
"Anthony's..."
"May I speak to Mister Anthony, please. He's expecting the call."
"Can I give him your name, miss?"
"Peggy."
"Hold on."
She waited, tapping her finger nails on the curve of her thigh. She could hear music and the buzz of voices in the background and she wished desperately that she were there instead of at home with the rollicking Reillys. She wondered where she'd get the strength to go back into the living room and listen to more of their homespun conversation. She was half-tempted to go back, smile sweetly at them, and calmly ask Mary which position she preferred when having intercourse with her husband. She had to smile, imagining the effect it would have on all present, particularly the demure Mary. She probably didn't know there was more than one position.
"Hello..."
Peggy made her voice drip with sweetness. "Anthony?"
"You're right on time, baby."
"Don't keep me in suspense."
Anthony laughed. "Relax, it's all set. Phil wants you to meet him tomorrow afternoon. He hangs out in a joint called The Hideaway over on Madison Avenue. Make it about three, okay?"
Peggy smiled happily, leaning back to recline on the pillows. "Whatever you say, lover," she purred, keeping one eye on the bedroom door.
"I told him I wanted you to meet only the best people," Anthony reported smugly, "the ones that can do you some good. You don't have no worries, he got the message."
Peggy giggled softly into the receiver. "Is that all you told him about me?"
Anthony chuckled throatily. "Anything else is just between you and me, right?"
"Right, lover."
"You remember, huh? Three o'clock at The Hideaway."
Peggy sat up. "How will I know him?"
"He'll know you."
She relaxed. "All right." She hesitated, knowing he expected her to say something intimate now that they had concluded their business conversation. "Anthony?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"You don't know what you did to me this afternoon. I can't sit still tonight. It's just awful."
He laughed coarsely. "You ain't got nobody around to take care of you?"
She laughed lowly. "Would you be jealous if there was?"
"Who misses a slice of the cake after it's been cut, right? There's enough to go around."
Peggy sat up, laughing lightly. "I'll have to remember that. I'd better go now."
"You call and let me know how it's going, huh?"
"Of course, lover."
"Maybe we can get together by the end of the week."
"I'd love it."
"Okay."
"Anthony?"
"Yeah?"
She smacked him a kiss and hung up the receiver.
Warren tapped on the bedroom door as he pushed it open to peek around its edge. "Bill and Mary are leaving, sweetheart."
Peggy smiled cheerfully at him. "Oh, really? So soon?"
Warren stared at her in confusion as she swept by him into the living room where the Reillys stood by the front door. They more than watched Warren's bewilderment when Peggy fussed over them, protesting at their departure and indulging in the usual pleasantries of farewell.
Peggy leaned relievedly against the door when it had closed behind them. Warren shook his head dazedly and smiled at her. She chuckled knowingly. "There. Was I nice enough to your friends?"
"Oh, yes," Warren replied, eyes shining with gratitude.
Peggy walked by him to the bedroom, her fingers unbuttoning her blouse. "Turn off the lights, darling," she called casually. "I think I'll go right to bed."
"All right."
Peggy undressed before the mirror of her dressing table, lost in thoughts of the following afternoon. She would wear her newest cocktail dress to The Hideaway, the one with the flaring skirt and peekaboo bodice. She'd meet Phil Hersh and adjust her behavior pattern the moment she decided what type of a man he was. The fact that he would look at her as Anthony's girl bothered Peggy slightly, even though she know it would probably be to her advantage. She didn't like any man to think that she was off-limits....
Warren entered the room, caught his breath at the sight of her nakedness and hurried to draw the blinds at the window. He watched avidly as she tossed aside the tight slacks and turned to pad barefoot and bare-breasted to the bed.
Peggy turned back the coverlet and saw the expression of mute hunger on her husband's face. She hesitated a moment, considering the possibility, wondering if he could in some way appease the itchiness of her loins. She smiled and lowered herself seductively to the starched sheets,; "It's too warm to wear pajamas tonight, don't you think?"
Warren gulped, wet his lips and nodded. "Yes, much too warm."
She lay back, stretching and arching sensuously, her golden body inviting in the warm light. "Oh, I feel so...so good tonight. I'm not the least bit sleepy."
Warren moved toward the bed, his steps uncertain, his watery eyes feasting on her loveliness. "Peggy?"
She looked up at him through her lashes, a faint smile forming on her red lips. "Yes, darling?"
He stopped beside the bed, staring down at the merging of her rounded thighs. She moved her leg slightly and he trembled, rubbing his moist palms along the side of his trousers. "Peggy?"
She chuckled softly, amused by his obvious hunger. "I'm right here, darling."
He flushed, smiling embarrassedly. "I just wanted to... to tell you... well... you're beautiful."
"That's sweet, Warren."
"So beautiful."
She flickered her lashes. "Warren?"
"Yes?"
Peggy ran her fingertips along the curve of her hip as she eyed him. "Would you like to make me even happier tonight?"
Warren nodded jerkily, eagerly. "Yes..."
"That extra-special way?" she murmured childishly.
"Oh, yes..."
Peggy gave him a loving smile. "You're so good to me, Warren. I really don't deserve you."
"Don't say that," he croaked, hurrying his undressing. "It's not true. You're so wonderful and I'm just... just a man. I'm the lucky one and I know it." He divested himself of his pants and blushed under the calm appraisal of her gaze which focused itself on his aroused manhood.
Peggy smiled shyly. "Are you sure you don't mind, darling? I mean, I'm not being selfish, am I? It's just that I love it so much when you make love to me that extra special way. Am I bad for liking it so much?"
Warren swayed dizzily and shook his head. "Oh, no... no, not at all...."
"You do it so beautifully."
He swallowed heavily and turned off the light, casting the bedroom in deep shadow.
Peggy shifted in the softness of the bed as he came to sit beside her. He covered her face with gentle kisses while his hands roamed over her flesh. She sighed pleasurably and folded her arms up over her head on the pillow as his mouth began its ritualistic journey downward to her breasts and belly. It was a poor substitute for what she really needed but at least it was a substitute. It would blunt the edge if nothing else.
"So sweet," he mumbled, crouching over her.
Peggy used her swaying knee to nudge him into a more comfortable and rewarding position.
"Gently, darling," she sighed serenely. "There, that's better. That's much better." Warren groaned muffledly. Peggy lifted her head slightly to peer down at him. A smile formed on her lips, half-amused, half-mocking. "You're so good to me," she whispered softly, her hips beginning to move with rising excitement. "So very good." She lay back and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE HIDEAWAY was typical of the numerous cocktail lounges found along Madison and Park Avenues in that section of New York sometimes referred to as "The Fashionable Fifties." A low-ceilinged room, two steps below street level, The Hideaway featured warmly diffused lighting, glittering glassware, expensive drinks and a measure of privacy which appealed to businessmen try-sting with their secretaries.
Peggy was far more interested in its clientele than the decor of the lounge. She eyed them covertly over the rim of her whisky sour, appraising and evaluating. They were, as she had hoped and expected, a prosperous-looking lot. The men seemed the executive caliber, neatly attired, immaculately groomed, well-mannered. The few women, articulate and poised, were apparently career girls or models, their conversations quite animated and embellished with attention-drawing gestures and laughter.
While very much impressed, Peggy felt in no way inadequate or intimidated.
She relaxed comfortably in the leathered cushions of the rear booth, her lips savoring the sour, her gaze jumping back to where Phil Hersh was concluding his conversation with an emaciated gentleman in horn-rimmed glasses. She studied the young agent with undisguised interest, still not quite decided as how best to cope with him.
Dynamic, personable, he had taken her completely by surprise when he'd greeted her at the door of the lounge earlier. For some reason she had expected an older man, one not quite so incisive, flippant, or attractive.
She smiled brightly as she saw him making his way back to their booth and decided to maintain the ingenue characterization until more sure of herself and of him.
"Sorry, Peggy," he offered, sliding into the seat beside her, "but I had to nail that guy down on a deal while I had the chance. He's doing a film over in Europe this year and I have a kid who'd be just perfect for the lead."
"I understand."
He drank and hunched forward tensely, as though unable to relax totally. "You've got to stay on your toes in this racket. It's a rat race, believe me."
She smiled. "I can imagine."
He grinned at her, his brown eyes sparkling. "Hey, I just heard a great joke. There was this fellow who...."
Peggy only half-listened to the story, losing herself in a closer analysis of him as he talked. An expensive raw silk suit flattered his stocky frame and the white shirt and pale tie set off his tanned complexion smartly. About twenty-six or seven, she guessed. She picked him apart with her eyes, deciding his face was a bit too round, his jaw a shade too belligerent, his nose a trifle too large, his mouth a little too thick. Yet, he was a good-looking man, virile and magnetic and intensely physical... the type that always made her imagine what he would be like to have in bed.
"... in such a bad way, he's practically begging her, you know? So she finally says okay, but I'll be damned if I'm going to get all undressed again. You'll have to make up your mind, she tells him. What comes off, my gloves or my lipstick?"
Peggy laughed throatily, feigning embarrassment.
Phil laughed and lifted his glass. "Funny, huh?" He drank some of his Manhattan and then assumed a more sober attitude, his eyes studying her professionally. "Now, let's get down to business. Anthony said he wanted me to take care of you, to make sure you met the right people in this business. Well, it's not as easy as all that, Peggy. Meeting them is one thing, impressing them is another."
She listened respectfully, never allowing her eyes to stray from his face as he went on about the pitfalls of the industry for a young and inexperienced actress. There was something about Phil Hersh that made Peggy feel she could be completely honest with him without fearing his being shocked. She felt an urge to tell him the truth of her ambitions, her total disinterest in the acting profession, yet she knew it might be unwise. She needed his help too badly to risk endangering it by admitting her mercenary goals.
"...right agent can make or break a girl's career," he stated grimly.
She nodded dutifully. "I know."
He drew a breath and smiled at her. "Now, let's get to you. Can you act?"
"I'm not sure."
He chuckled. "It doesn't matter really. As long as you've got the right measurements and attitude, you've got as good a chance as anyone else." He ran his eyes over her hair and face. "My first impression is to promote some prestige modeling for you. Then maybe, a top exposure bit on TV. Nothing big, but effective. We don't want to bite off more than we can chew at the start. How are you fixed for pictures?"
"Pictures?"
"Brochures. Stuff I can circulate and push into the right hands."
Peggy fretted embarrassedly. "I'm afraid I haven't any."
Phil frowned. "Okay, then we've got to get you to a photographer right away. I know a good man who'll give you a special rate."
She looked at him, disturbed by the complication. "Is it very expensive?"
Phil Hersh smiled puzzledly. "Yeah, but, er... I thought Anthony was taking care of your expenses?"
It was the opening Peggy had been waiting for, the chance to cast off the confining chains. She swirled the liquid in her glass as she considered her words. "Can I be perfectly honest with you, Phil?"
The agent sat back, sensing her seriousness. "I've got to know the score if I'm going to help you, Peggy."
She moistened her lips as she looked up at him. "I'm not really Anthony's girl. I only met him yesterday."
Phil smiled slowly. "You sure must have made an impression. From the way he talked to me on the phone, I thought-"
"I know what you thought but it isn't so," she objected softly. "I needed his help just like I need yours so I let him think... well, you know."
"I see."
She looked at him closely. "Do I sound awful?"
"Not at all."
There was a new light in his eyes, a glint that Peggy welcomed, a sparkle that give considerable impetus to her confidence. She started tugging off her white glove. "There's something else you should know." She removed the glove and showed the gold wedding band on her finger. "This."
Phil winced. "Ouch!"
She nodded. "Yes, I know. But it really doesn't have to be a problem. I mean, if I was sure of the future... that I didn't have to worry about anything...."
Phil stared at her wonderingly. "You're quite a girl."
She smiled. "I hope all this honesty isn't a mistake."
He moved a shoulder in a faint shrug. "It's too soon to tell. I'll say this much though... I'm impressed."
"Impressed?"
"You've got the right attitude for this business."
She laughed. "I know what I want, if that's what you mean."
He nodded slowly, looking at her differently. "Yeah, that's what I mean." He eyed her curiously. "Does, er, our mutual friend know you've got a husband?"
"No."
Phil laughed. "Funny."
She reached out shyly to touch at his arm. "Will you still help me meet the right people, Phil? Are you still interested in me?"
Phil Hersh hesitated, his eyes taking in the allure of the peekaboo bodice.
Peggy closed her fingers on his wrist. "You won't be sorry, really. Is it Anthony? You don't have to worry about him. He's not the jealous type."
"How about hubby? Is he the jealous type?"
She smiled. "Hardly. Besides, he doesn't have to know anything until... well, until I'm forced to make some kind of a choice."
Phil frowned. "Let's see if I've got this straight. You want to operate on a part-time basis, right? You want me to help you but without your husband knowing about it."
She beamed at him. "That's it exactly."
He sighed wearily. "That's next to impossible, Peggy. There are things you'll just have to do, places you'll have to go, jobs that might mean working all day or maybe evenings... he'd be bound to know."
She was tempted to tell him to forget about the jobs, to forget about promoting her career, to concentrate on just bringing her to the attention of the most important people on a personal basis. "Can't we try it?" she asked cutely, pleadingly. "Just for a while?" She let her fingers stroke at his hand. "Please, Phil?"
He looked down at her hand and then into her eyes and he grinned. "You talked me into it."
Peggy relaxed, feeling as though she had just taken a successful step toward her ambitions. "Do I have to sign a contract with you or something?"
Phil moved on cue, dropping a hand beneath the level of the table to her leg. "Yeah, something..."
She smiled wisely. "Aren't you afraid Anthony might object to... to your taking a personal interest in me?"
He scowled derisively. "Anthony likes to make out he's a big man. He owns a bar, so what? He saw a George Raft movie once and never got over it. Let's forget all about Anthony, heh?"
She shrugged. "If you insist."
Phil let his hand roam a bit on her silken knee. "I have a feeling I'm being had... But, like they say, what a way to go."
She laughed, giving no sign of awareness of the fingertips which had stolen an inch under the skirt of her cocktail dress and petticoat.
Phil nodded at her drink. "Let's finish up."
Peggy recognized the invitation. She hesitated, looking down at her wrist watch. It was four o'clock and she had to be home at five-thirty if she was to have time to change her clothes before Warren arrived. The stylish dress wasn't exactly what a housewife wore to the market.
Phil saw her thoughtfulness. He closed his fingers in silent urging around the fullness of her leg. "Come on," he smiled coaxingly. "We've got a bargain to seal, right?"
Peggy considered him amusedly. An hour and a half, not counting travel time. She could feel the rise of excitement within herself, the hunger that Anthony had awakened and Warren only tempered. Phil Hersh struck her as a man who'd know how to satisfy a woman. He seemed to radiate sex from every pore. Still, she hesitated, not wanting to appear too much of a pushover. "I don't know...."
"What's the problem?"
"I have a husband, remember?"
"So?"
"He comes home at five-forty-five."
"Plenty of time."
"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"
Phil grinned and shook his head. "Nope. I'm sure of you. We understand each other. You want my help, I want your... friendship. Simple."
She cocked her head prettily to one side. "You might be disappointed."
"I doubt it."
"How can I be sure you'll keep your end of the bargain?"
He paused to purse his lips thoughtfully. "A good question. What kind of proof do you wane?"
Peggy thought it over a moment. "You could start the ball rolling, couldn't you? Arrange for me to meet someone important? Someone famous?"
Phil grinned at her boldness. "You don't waste time, do you?"
She lifted the wrist watch significantly. "Speaking of wasting time..."
He laughed and nodded. "Okay, you win. How about Victor Trask? Is he famous enough for you?"
Peggy blinked. "THE Victor Trask?"
"That's the one."
"You know him?"
"Very well."
"And I could meet him?"
"All it takes is a phone call," Phil answered smugly. "I'm doing some work for him on an independent picture he's planning to do here this fall."
Peggy felt charged with exhilaration, the name of the internationally celebrated producer having taken her breath away. She could recall all the newspaper stories and magazine articles she'd read about him while working behind the cigar counter. London, Paris, the Riviera, the Gold Coast of Africa, Rome...and of course, Hollywood.
The very thought of meeting such a famous personage thrilled her to the core and she wet her lips enthusiastically as she leaned over the table toward Phil. "You're not kidding me, are you, Phil? This isn't just some kind of a trick?"
Phil laughed. "Do I look like that kind of a guy?"
She nodded, suspiciously. "Yes, you do."
He laughed again and shrugged. "Okay, okay... I see I've got to prove it to you. We'll go right over to my place and I'll call him on the phone. You can sit right there and listen to me. If it sounds like a con job, you can pick up your marbles and go on home. That fair enough?"
Peggy considered it, her inner exhilaration intense. "All right."
Phil lifted his drink. "Let's go."
She emptied her glass and was gathering her things when a thought flashed across her mind. "Isn't Victor Trask married to Mona Marlow, the actress?"
"Uh-huh."
Peggy smiled deliciously, enjoying the idea of going into competition with the high powered and much publicized sex symbol. If ever there was a challenge....
"Well, how about it?" Phil asked impatiently.
Peggy looked at him, eyes sparkling. "Lead the way."
He grinned and took her arm.
CHAPTER SIX
"WHATEVER YOU SAY, Victor... sure thing... I'll get on it right away... right... I understand perfectly." Phil Hersh cradled the receiver to his ear patiently and closed one eye in a slow wink to Peggy. "Say, Victor," he resumed, "while I have you on the phone... I have a girl I'd like you to meet... Pricer, Peggy Pricer... an unknown but loaded with talent... yeah, very... that's what I figured... when can you see her?"
Peggy squirmed excitedly on the couch, her heart racing wildly as she listened raptly to every word, every inflection. She chewed fretfully on her lower lip as she studied Phil's face for a clue to what Victor Trask might be saying about her.
Phil smiled smugly. "Fine, Victor, I'll set it up that way... right... so long." He hung up the phone, tasted his highball deliberately and then turned to look at Peggy with a faint grin. "He'll see you Friday."
Peggy let out her breath and hugged herself. I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. Victor Trask."
Phil came to join her. "Well? Did I deliver or didn't I?"
She inched over to make room for him, her legs drawn up under her. "I don't know what to say," she laughed. "It all happened so fast. Oh, Phil, I'm so excited."
He leaned back, facing her. "And it's only the beginning, honey. There's a spot in the script of his movie for a cute little doll like you. It's just a bit part but hell, that's how Monroe got started."
Peggy smiled. "I thought she got started by posing for a calendar?"
Phil chuckled. "I handle that kind of business too."
She thought about Friday and shivered. "Now that it's happened, I'm a little scared. What do I say to him? How should I act?"
Phil toyed with one golden-brown curl. "You just be yourself, that's all. Victor prefers working with newcomers. He doesn't give a damn about experience if he thinks you can be molded and developed." He lifted her glass and handed it to her. "Here, relax a little."
Peggy smiled nervously and tasted the highball he'd mixed upon their arrival at his two-room bachelor apartment. It was significantly laced with rye but she gave no sign of noticing it.
"Where am I supposed to see him? What time Friday? Will you be there?"
Phil held up a hand. "One at a time. You'll see him Friday at seven at his place. He's taken a penthouse in the Midtown Towers for his stay in town."
Peggy arched an eyebrow. "His penthouse?"
"Victor doesn't operate out of an office like the rest of us slobs."
"Will you be with me?"
"I don't think so."
Peggy was half-glad, half-frightened by his reply. "You mean I'll be alone with him?" she asked quietly, a bit demurely.
Phil chuckled. "That's the way the great man conducts his interviews. No agents allowed. He doesn't want anyone giving him a high pressure salestalk or putting words in their client's mouth. Stop worrying, he'll like you...."
"You really think so?"
Phil leaned over to nuzzle gently at her ear. "What's not to like?" he murmured, his hand coming to turn her face so that he could kiss her. It was short but firm and when he pulled back a bit, his eyes were a shade smokier. "I delivered my end of the bargain. Now it's your turn, right?"
Peggy eased out of his arm and leaned forward to place her empty glass on the coffee table, the kiss and his words having brought her down from the clouds and back to reality. "Can I say something first?" she asked softly, without looking back at him.
"Sure, as long as it doesn't take too long."
She smiled and touched at her skirt, flounced by the stiffy-ruffled petticoat. "I want to be completely honest with you, Phil. The way I was in the lounge... you know, about Anthony and being married and everything. I have a feeling I can trust you, that you and I are going to be... well, very close friends."
Phil nodded a bit impatiently. "I have the same feeling, honey. Just say whatever's on your mind."
She turned to look at him directly. "I want you to know that I never would have come up here with you unless I felt something toward you. I admit I would have been tempted because of the phone call to Victor Trask but if you weren't someone who attracted me this strongly... well, I wouldn't have come."
The young agent seemed to swallow her little speech. He smiled warmly and touched at her shoulder in a show of affection. "Don't you think I know that, Peggy?" he asked softly.
She wondered who was kidding who but she kept the suspicion from her expression. "I know it might sound funny after all I've told you but... well, I am married. I don't want you to think I'm a-"
Phil put a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Don't say it, honey. Don't even think it. Believe me, I understand perfectly." He smiled and pushed away from her. "Let's knock off all this serious talk, okay? I tell you what... I'll go mix up a couple of fresh drinks while you go inside and make yourself comfortable. How's that sound?"
Peggy fluttered her lashes, somewhat satisfied that she had made her point. "All right."
He rose, holding their two glasses, his gaze paying homage to her prettiness. "You know something? I'm glad I called Victor. When he gets a look at you, he'll never again doubt my taste in women."
Peggy smiled, rising from the couch. "I hope you're right."
Phil winked. "I know I'm right. He'll flip over you. Now, er...let's get this show on the road, huh?"
She laughed and walked by him toward the bedroom. She stopped at the doorway and looked back to where he was just entering the screened kitchenette. "Phil?"
"Yes?"
"Is Mona Marlow here in New York with him?"
Phil's voice carried over the thatched screen. "No, she's doing a picture for Metro out on the coast."
"Oh, I see."
Peggy walked into the small bedroom, her mind working at a fast pace. Victor Trask would be living alone in the penthouse. That was interesting. There was one hitch, a small one but nevertheless a problem. She was to be there at seven o'clock on Friday. That meant making some excuse to Warren in order for her to get out of the house dressed for the occasion. Well, she'd think of something before Friday....
Peggy removed the dress and the petticoat, careful not to wrinkle them in draping them over the back of an upholstered chair. She sat on the arm of the chair to remove her shoes and stockings, her motions deliberate and unhurried as her mind dwelled on her meeting with the legendary producer.
Victor Trask had been involved with any number of famous beauty queens over the years, most of them actresses who had starred in his pictures. When he and the fiery Mona Marlow came together, movie fans all over the world held their breath. Their subsequent marriage was one of the most publicized in history and Peggy could still remember the coverage that Life Magazine had given it.
They'd honeymooned on the French Riviera, Peggy thought enviously.
"Wow!"
She turned, a bit startled, and saw Phil gazing at her from the doorway. She straightened up, all thoughts of Friday evening vanishing under the rush of pleasure she experienced when seeing the look in Phil's eyes. The lacy undies were black, contrasting strikingly with her creamy blondness, and she knew what an appetizing picture she must have made for him.
"You sound surprised," she laughed softly, drawing her fingers slowly up her thighs.
Phil set down the glasses and shook his head. "Not surprised, honey...just overwhelmed."
"You like?"
"I like."
She trembled inwardly, feeling the force of sudden desire, the lovely thrill of being looked at with such unadulterated lust. "Am I as nice as Mona Marlow, do you think?"
Phil removed his jacket and tie, his eyes never leaving her. "I don't know what Victor will think, but I'll take you any day."
She lidded her eyes sexily. "Tell me how."
"How?"
"How will you take me?" she breathed huskily.
Phil wet his lips, yanking off his shirt. "Any way you want, honey," he muttered tightly.
Peggy sauntered to the bed between them, reaching back to unhook the strapless bra. "You mean I have to tell you what to do?" she teased wickedly. "A big boy like you?" The bra popped loose and she let it slip delicately from her fingertips to the floor. She knelt down on the bed facing him, her bared flesh expanding to its natural roundness.
Phil Hersh ogled the luscious globes a moment before crawling over the bed to get at her. Peggy giggled and caught at his dark hair as he glued his lips to her tautening breast. She fell against him on the bed and moved his mouth to the other breast, laughing delightfully as he accepted it with a growl.
"Mmmm, that's nice," she purred, watching him. She felt his hands move to tug at the elastic band of her panties and she shifted her position to accommodate his efforts. "Be careful, lover. Don't tear them."
The panties disappeared shortly and the feeling of total nudity moved Peggy to lift his face from her breasts and kiss it. She kissed his eyes and nose and then focused her mounting ardor on his mouth, revolving her tongue sensuously until he began to breathe raggedly.
She slid away from him. "Five-forty-five, remember?"
Phil looked at her, then down at his pants, and pushed up from the bed.
Peggy watched his compact body become unveiled, her eyes slitted, her breasts heaving. He was just as she had imagined, strong bodied and well developed. There were tiny tufts of dark hair on his shoulders and his chest was matted excitingly. The glistening growth ran down across his flat stomach, widening at his groin. She shivered, staring at him. "Hurry, lover..."
He came to the bed and their initial embrace was feverish, as though each one's passion had been ignited by the first electric contact of flesh on flesh. They rolled about, limbs intertwining, bodies straining, hands seeking and finding.
"Oh, yes..." she breathed heatedly, responding to the probings of his strong hand. "Yes..."
She gave herself up to him, letting him move her to his will, letting him test and taste every inch of her body. She could feel her blood racing wildly through her limbs and she knew it was going to be good for her this time. His tongue darted along her soft belly and she hissed, rising up from the bed with pleasure. He played at her breasts and she groaned with delight, her own hands running hungrily over his tensed muscles.
"So good," she breathed hotly. "So very good."
"Peggy..."
She ran her mouth along his arm, across his chest, her tongue teasing his skin. He fell back, panting, and she came over to him, her kisses and caresses artfully building his excitement as well as feeding her own. He pulled her up and kissed her mouth roughly, bruising her lips, and she clung to him wantonly.
"Now," she whispered deliriously. "Please."
Phil started to push her back to the bed but she resisted his hands, letting her body show him what she wanted. He looked at her. "Like this?"
She felt him against her and groaned. "Yes, like that. Like that." Her face contorted with ecstasy as she pushed at his chest with her palms. "Oh... oh, yes... yes... oh, I love it...."
She moved urgently, her body on fire. It had been a long time since she had felt so good. She wanted to laugh out loud with pure joy. He was good, very good, very very good....
She leaned back, opening her eyes. "Watch me, lover," she whispered. "I want you to watch me."
Phil watched.
Peggy ran her fingers through her hair and let loose.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PEGGY BASKED in the warm haze of dreamy contentment that comes to a woman only after a deep-rooted physical release. She lay inert on the bed, blonde hair touseled, limbs gleaming with perspiration, body twitching with dying spasms of spent passion. It was the sweetest kind of lethargy and she savored it appreciatively, not daring to move as much as an eyelash lest she ruffle her tranquillity.
She sighed tremulously, listening to Phil Hersh splash water in the bathroom. The agent had manifested artistry and miraculous self-control during their intimacy, continuing with amazing vigor even after his initial gratification, until she herself had reached the heights of fulfillment. It had been a long, long time since Peggy had enjoyed a similar degree of satisfaction.
All the way back to a hot night in July when she was eighteen, to be exact...
She could still remember the two young sailors who'd taken her to the amusement park that evening. They were both in their early twenties, tall and slender and clean scrubbed. They'd laughed their way on all of the dizzying rides, hugging her, stealing open-mouthed kisses, taking secret liberties with her breasts and thighs. It had been fun, the best kind of fun and when the night was coming to an end Peggy hadn't wanted it to end.
They drove out to a roadhouse and drank beer and took turns dancing with her. She became a bit tipsy but it was wonderful and she didn't care. Later, in their car, seated between them, she gave up her mouth freely to their kisses and her body to their seeking hands.
"There's a motel about a mile up the road."
"There is?" she giggled.
"We can buy a bottle from the owner."
"We can?"
"How about it?"
"Why not?"
Peggy shivered deliciously, recalling the ensuing night. It had been a night to remember, one of the best ever, in fact. It brought her the first real sexual satisfaction she'd ever known and for that reason alone, she was grateful to the two sailors. They took turns with her, laughing and drinking and she was a willing partner. She'd learned a lot that night, an awful lot.
Phil padded heavily and nakedly from the bathroom, bringing Peggy back to the present. There were beads of water on his shoulders and chest and his hair was damp from his dousing. He sat down beside her and smiled as he rubbed a cool washrag gently over her face. "How's that?"
She shivered as the rag moved down to her breasts and still lower to her navel. "Wonderful," she breathed. "Just wonderful."
Phil continued to cleanse her body as she stretched and wriggled her toes. He clucked his tongue enviously, his eyes following the lift of her pointy breasts. "He's a lucky man."
"Who?"
He touched her wedding ring. "Him."
Peggy grimaced.
"What's his name anyhow?"
"Warren."
Phil smiled. "Does he look like a Warren?"
She laughed. "Exactly like a Warren."
"How'd a girl like you ever come to-"
Peggy sighed, interrupting the question. "It's a long story. I was tired of living in a small town, knocking myself out for forty dollars a week. He was coming to New York and he wanted to marry me, so... here I am."
Phil nodded. "I gather he's not the passionate type."
"That's the understatement of the year."
"What's his problem? Doesn't he like girls?" Peggy shrugged, folding one arm beneath her head. "It isn't that. He's just... immature or something. He can't seem to wait. If I so much as touch him, bang, it's over."
"A minute-man, huh?"
She laughed. "That's Warren." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Oh, I feel just fabulous. I wish I could stay here like this for hours." She looked up at Phil suddenly. "What time is it?"
"Relax."
"Tell me."
He sighed and looked over at a bureau clock. "Five-ten."
Peggy sat up instantly. "I've got to go."
Phil tossed the washrag aside and looped an arm around her waist. He nuzzled at her hair playfully. "Can't you call him and say you'll be a little late? Tell him you went shopping or something. Come on, be a sport."
Peggy hesitated, the idea appealing to her. She looked at Phil teasingly. "Haven't you had enough of me?"
"Never."
She slid a hand down his body and giggled softly. "I think you're bragging."
Phil eyed her amusedly. "Call your husband and we'll see if I'm bragging."
Peggy bit on her lower lip as if deliberating. "I don't know..."
He lifted a hand to her breast, jiggling it gently. "Come on," he whispered, his lips at her ear.
Peggy looked down at his manipulations, fascinated that his thick fingers could move so lightly and knowingly. "What will I tell him?"
"Just pick up the phone and dial," Phil answered. "You'll think of something." He leaned down and around her to purse his lips over the tight tip while his other hand started tracing little designs on her bare back.
Peggy smiled, enjoying the sensation. "All right... on one condition."
Phil lifted his head. "What?"
"Tell me what to expect when I go see Victor Trask."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
Peggy shrugged. "Is he very married? Is he the faithful type? Will he expect me to jump in bed with him? That's what I mean."
Phil sat up and reached for a cigarette. "To tell the truth, your guess is as good as mine." He struck a match and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke escape in a steady stream as he thought about her query. "Victor's not the talkative type when it comes to his personal life. All anybody knows is what they read in the papers about him."
Peggy scowled disappointedly. "You're not much help." She gnawed at her lip. "Do you think I should let him know I'm married?" I don't think it matters either way."
"Either way?" If he loves his wife and gives you a straight interview, he won't care that you're married. If he has other ideas, it won't matter to him."
Peggy twisted a loose curl absently. "Do you think he really loves Mona Marlow?"
"He married her."
"That doesn't mean anything. I married Warren."
Phil grinned. "I get your point. Well... she'd be awfully easy to love, don't you think?"
Peggy turned up her nose. "I don't think she's as beautiful as everyone says. And she's too tall."
Phil sighed happily. "Yeah, in every direction."
Peggy made a face. "That's another thing I can't stand about her... the way she flops around all over the place. Why don't they make her wear a brassiere in her pictures?"
"Because they'd lose a fortune, that why. Millions of horny males all over the world pay good money just to see Mona flop around all over the place."
"They're hardly ever together," Peggy pointed out, doggedly pursuing the subject. "I mean, he's always off in Africa or some place making a picture while she's flitting around Paris or Hollywood or Hong Kong."
Phil shrugged. "That's the business, honey. I guess they make up for lost time when they finally do get together."
"He must play around some though," she insisted. "It wouldn't be possible for him not to all that time...."
"Well... in this racket you hear all kinds of talk. Nobody's normal, you know? Everybody's either a faggot, a drug addict or a Lesbian."
"And what do they say about Victor Trask?"
"Nothing that strong, only that he likes girls and indulges in a fling or two. It's just gossip though." Phil flicked his ashes to a tray. "You know that kid singer... Debbie Lane? There was a story that Victor taught her the facts of life when she was working on his last film out in Hollywood. It seems that Little Miss Hot-Pants' tongue was dragging from chasing him all over the set and that she finally cornered him one night in his beachhouse at Malibu."
Peggy twisted around eagerly. "And what happened?"
Phil spread his hands. "Nobody knows, that's the big mystery. Victor showed up at the studio on time the next morning but Debbie called in sick and didn't report for work for a week. And when she did, she was a much subdued little girl, never so much as giving Victor a look for the rest of the production. Evidently, she got more than she was looking for and it shook her up."
Peggy smiled jealously. "Good, serves her right."
"Hey...how about that phone call?"
Peggy laughed and nodded. "All right, but I'm not promising anything."
The switchboard operator at Warren's office asked her to wait a moment. Peggy pushed herself back into a more comfortable position on the bed while Phil snuffed out his butt and stretched out beside her. She smiled down at him and covered the receiver. "You're sure you're not bragging?" she asked slyly, looking at his body.
"Don't you worry about it."
"Maybe I can help," she whispered, sliding her hand down his flat stomach.
"Pricer here."
She sat up a bit straighter. "Warren?"
"Peggy?"
"Am I disturbing you, darling?"
Warren's piping voice was cheerful. "No, not at all, sweetheart. Is there anything wrong?"
Peggy teased at Phil with her fingertips. "No, dear, I'm fine. I just wanted to call and ask you if I could be a little late for dinner. I'm at Macy's, shopping..."
Phil stirred as she grew bolder in her intimate finger tracings and Peggy glanced down to judge the results. "Do you mind very much, darling?" she asked absently, preoccupied by Phil's responsiveness.
"Why, no, of course not," Warren answered. "Er, do you think you'll be very late?"
Peggy covered the receiver. "You're Jewish, aren't you?"
Phil chuckled. "How could you tell?"
"Peggy?"
She took her hand away. "What did you say, dear? We must have a bad connection."
"I asked what time you thought you'd be home."
"Oh, not late. Six or six-thirty, I suppose."
Phil squirmed and made a hurry-up gesture.
Peggy squeezed him playfully and winked. "It's all right then, Warren? Can I stay awhile? You know how much I love to window-shop. I probably won't buy a thing."
"Certainly, sweetheart. You stay and have fun. I might surprise you by whipping up dinner myself."
"That would be wonderful."
"How does some spaghetti a la Pricer sound?"
"Mmmm, it makes my mouth water," she replied. Phil ran his hand along her warm thighs and she wriggled. "I better go now, Warren. There's someone waiting to get in here and he seems to be in an awful hurry."
Phil chuckled.
"All right, sweetheart, I won't keep you. I'll see you home. Don't tire yourself too much now..."
"I won't, dear. Bye." She blew him a kiss and replaced the receiver to its cradle, fluffing her hair and turning back to Phil. "Now, where were we?"
Phil clucked his tongue. "Poor Warren..."
She giggled and leaned over to kiss him. "He asked for it," she whispered, moving her mouth. "Now, you give me what I ask for...."
Phil grabbed her and mashed his lips against hers, his strong arms encircling and hiking her body. "That's just what I intend to do," he muttered, sliding his hands to her tight buttocks.
Peggy laughed and threw her weight to one side. "Not this time, lover," she giggled. "This time you do all the work."
Phil nibbled playfully at her ear. "You call this work?"
Peggy snuggled beneath him. "Let's not rush this time, honey."
"Slow and easy, huh?"
She smiled and shifted against his strong body. "Yes, slow and easy."
He came to her and Peggy drew in her breath at the feel of him. She closed her eyes and let herself swing into the controlled rhythm he'd established. "Mmmm," she purred contentedly, "that's nice."
"We aim to please."
She smiled and reached back to hug the pillow up under her head. The electric clock on the bureau ticked away the seconds while far below in the congested streets of the city people scurried to and fro in search of some form of happiness. Peggy mocked them in her mind as she worked her body in an artful and illicit dance of love. It might be the rush hour in the street below but certainly not in the quiet bedroom.
"Oh, baby..."
"Now," she breathed huskily, "more."
The bed springs creaked as the tempo quickened.
"Oh, that's nice...."
CHAPTER EIGHT
A SHADOWY stillness, heavy with scent of stale perfume and mingled perspiration, filled the bedroom. The opened window provided no breeze to alleviate the humidity, allowing only the distant pre-dawn stirrings of the city to enter the apartment. Peggy stared up through the darkness at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep, unable to quiet the workings of her mind.
Warren mumbled incoherently as he rolled over, one arm falling to hang stiffly suspended over the side of the bed. Peggy glanced at him and frowned, envying his peaceful oblivion, his rhythmic breathing that barely fell short of being snoring. She folded back the sheet and eased herself from the bed, wincing as the springs creaked from under her weight.
She stood at the night table a moment, kneading her scalp, plucking at her flimsy pajamas which stuck to her damp skin. Warren murmured again and she looked at him, so small and plump and ludicrous in his gaping pajama shorts.
She walked silently to the bathroom, closing the door behind her before turning on the small light. She ran a wet washrag over her face and throat and wrists before opening her top and pressing the cloth gratefully to her warm breasts. Sighing, Peggy put aside the rag and looked into the mirror at herself, wondering how it was possible Warren had failed to notice the satisfaction in her green eyes -a satisfaction that had not been there that morning when he'd left for work - or the slight puffiness of her lips that Phil had bruised....
Men were so blind, really, seeing only what they wanted to see.
She felt heavy and warm and sated and yet her body ached in a hundred different spots. Her loins were hot and steamy, her breasts swollen and thick, and sore where his teeth had scraped them. Yet her body looked exactly the same. Nothing showed. It always looked the same, she thought proudly, running her palms down inside the bottoms of the pajamas. It was a good body, a beautiful body.
Victor Trask would be quick to appreciate it.
She'd make him appreciate it.
Friday at seven...less than forty-eight hours.
It seemed so far away.
Peggy turned off the light and went out into the living room where she lighted one of her infrequent cigarettes. She went to sit on the ledge of the window, looking down at the dark streets, at the dark outlines of buildings, the blinking tail lights of an airplane until they were cut from view by the jagged skyline. She smoked, letting the bluish vapors slip from her lips and slid out into the night.
New York City....
She'd come a long way from that State Orphanage. A long way....
Peggy's thoughts drifted back over the years to a blurred image of the woman she had called mother. She'd never known her father, only that he had been a soldier and that she'd inherited her coloring from him. She remembered the day they took her mother away to an institution for her drinking, the day another woman brought Peggy to the State Orphanage. She was almost seven years old... she never saw her mother again.
The Orphanage became home. A home without love, but the only home she had. She had stayed there until she was twelve, one among many, doing as she was told, finding what little pleasures were available for a lonely little girl in an orphanage, but mostly living within the walls of her own imagination.
It was during these years that the seeds of Peggy's ambitions were planted. She would look at the pictures in magazines of the lovely ladies in the sparkling gowns and her own drab uniform would rub coarsely against her thin body. She would study their faces and run to a mirror in the washroom to see if she resembled them in any way. She would gaze in awe at their houses, their cars, their husbands and little tears would form in her eyes. Tears of envy, tears of hunger, tears of being unloved and unwanted.
In the fifth year she was adopted by a family named McAndrews and she went with them to their farm, her heart thumping with excitement and gratitude. George McAndrews was a stern and strict man who said little and labored hard. Evie, his wife, was small and birdlike and much in fear of incurring her husband's displeasure. Yet she had prevailed upon him to adopt a little girl so that their fourteen-year-old son, Tommy, would not be alone all of the time on the farm. Tommy was Evie's pride and joy and Peggy soon learned it was useless to compete with him for Evie's affection. The excitement died, leaving only a humble gratitude for their having provided her with a room of her own rather than a loft she shared with nineteen other girls. In all the years that followed, Peggy remained an outsider, a part of the family unit and yet not a part. It hadn't made for a happy life.
It was Tommy, her precocious stepbrother, who first taught Peggy the difference between boys and girls. She was thirteen when he took her up to the attic and began her education. Curious, excited, fearful of antagonizing him, Peggy listened avidly as he explained the mysteries of babies and how they came to be. She trembled with a flush of awakened excitement when he took down his dungarees and showed her his budding manhood. It was in awed fascination that she touched him and witnessed the miracle of the male.
On their second trek to the attic, Peggy allowed Tommy to persuade her to take down her cotton panties and show herself to him. She nearly fainted with dizziness and pleasure when he touched her, and Tommy was forced to clamp his hand on her mouth to keep her groans from being heard on the floor below.
Night after night, lonely and unloved in her narrow bed, Peggy embellished her dreams of a more glamorous and romantic world by touching at her body in the manner taught to her by Tommy McAndrews. It made her fanciful daydreams all the more vivid and exciting and rewarding and her enjoyment more than compensated for the guilt she suffered the following mornings.
At fourteen, Peggy fell in love.
His name was Andy and he was a classmate, son of the town butcher.
"Don't you know about soul-kissing?"
"No."
"You wanna learn?"
"All right."
It was with Andy that Peggy learned how to kiss and how to draw pleasure from rubbing up against a boy's lean body. It was with Andy that Peggy learned how to satisfy a boy's urgent needs.
"Nobody can see, honest."
"I don't know..."
"Aw, Peggy, you've got to."
"Well, all right. Like this?"
"Oh, gosh, yes..."
It was with Andy that Peggy experienced the sweet pleasure of having a strange hand massage her budding breasts and aching loins. It was with Andy that Peggy felt the first awful pangs of frustration and want.
"Peggy... gee...."
"I know. It's the same for me."
"It is? Honest?"
"Sure."
"Do you think we... well, you know."
"I don't know. I'd be afraid of having a baby."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
But it was with Andy, one day in a remote pasture, that Peggy finally surrendered to her needs and gave up her virginity.
It hadn't been planned. It had simply happened and it hadn't lasted very long. Andy was a big, raw-boned lad and as clumsy as he was inexperienced. They were sprawled in the sweet-smelling grass, cut off from the rest of the world, the sun warm on their bodies. Andy had her dress up and her panties down and he was rubbing at her while she kissed him and returned the caressings.
Suddenly he rolled over to her and Peggy automatically shifted to meet him. She felt a terrible pain at first but it was quickly followed by a rush of pleasure that made her cry out with joy.
She and Andy returned to the pasture often thereafter and although he was always too quick to deplete his passion, she found the secret meetings progressively more enjoyable. As time went by, Peggy filled out and her prettiness became a thing of notice around the farm district. Andy paled in comparison to the older and wiser boys and Peggy found herself swept up in a flood of new and exciting activity. She learned quickly what the older boys wanted from her and she was more than willing to pay the price for their continued attentions. At sixteen, she was easily the most popular girl in the township.
As fate would have it, gossip spread and drifted back to the farm and George McAndrews. One night, when she returned home from a moonlight date with one of her new suitors, the big farmer was waiting for her, belt in hand.
He marched her up to her room and made her admit her sins through an authoritative and relentless cross examination. He hefted the belt and stated that when he got through with her she'd think twice before again bringing shame to the McAndrews name. The farmer's eyes glittered brightly as she fearfully obeyed his command to undress and when she stood naked and shivering before him, he seemed to be having trouble breathing. He made her turn her back to him and bend down to grip her ankles. The first stunning and stinging crack of the belt across her bared buttocks brought a scream from Peggy that must have been heard around the countryside. But as he continued to punish her, caught up in his righteous frenzy, Peggy stopped screaming and a new spirit of rebellion and defiance took form.
The very next afternoon, her buttocks sore and blotched, she spited her step-father in the only way she knew how. When the final bell sounded, dismissing all students for the day, she lingered to wait for the baseball team to finish practice. Four of the athletes were especially pleased to see her and Peggy rode with them in their car out to a deserted road where she satisfied all of them in various ways, her pleasure coming only from the fierce joy of revenge.
After a while, George McAndrews gave up beating and berating his errant stepdaughter, and on her eighteenth birthday, Peggy left home without ever once looking back or bothering to say any good-bys.
The bus took Peggy to a bigger town that boasted a naval training center. There were plenty of job opportunities for a pretty girl, particularly a pretty girl who enjoyed the flirtations of the young recruits. Peggy grew up fast in the new atmosphere, acquiring a knowledge and polish from her dates with the adventurous young sailors such as the two who took her to the amusement park one summer night. She stayed in the town for almost two years before deciding to move on to bigger and better things.
The bigger and better things turned out to be a job behind the cigar counter of a second class hotel. For a while, Peggy was content with the older men, the married men, the traveling men, but after several months she began to take a good look at herself and her surroundings. It was then that a small, amiable and shy salesman named Warren Pricer checked into the hotel. He told her he was about to be re-located on permanent assignment to New York City and she could make him the happiest man in the world if she'd come along with him as his wife.
Peggy stirred, emerging from her reverie, hearing her voice called from the bedroom. "I'm here," she answered tiredly.
Warren appeared in the doorway, knuckling the sleep from his eyes.
"Are you all right?" he asked groggily, coming toward her.
"Yes. I just couldn't sleep."
Warren yawned as he reached her. "Can I get you something?"
"No."
"A glass of warm milk might help."
"I'm fine, Warren."
He nodded and sat down in the chair by the window, scratching at his soft stomach. "What time is it?"
Peggy looked back out at the city. "I don't know. Three, four."
"Are you warm enough? I mean, to be sitting at the window like that? It's awfully easy to catch a cold during the summer."
"I'm fine, Warren."
He was quiet a moment. "You look so pretty sitting there like that... your hair, it's like a halo..."
She thought about Phil Hersh and wondered whether he was asleep in the bed she'd shared with him that afternoon. Hell, he was good....
"Peggy?"
"Yes, Warren?"
"What are you thinking about?"
She shrugged, looking back at him. "Nothing in particular."
He smiled. "You looked so... so happy."
Peggy had to smile, wondering what he would say if she told him the cause of her contentment. "Did I?"
Warren nodded. "Yes. Are you happy, Peggy? I mean, with... with me?"
"Very."
He leaned forward. "I love you very much."
"I know."
"I didn't have anything until I met you."
"That's sweet, Warren."
"It's true." He rubbed his palms over his knees as he stared up at her. "I guess that's why I still can't believe you're my wife. When I look at you... I mean... well, you could have anyone... anyone at all...."
Peggy felt suddenly sleepy. She rose from the ledge and stopped by the side of his chair. "You're the only one I wanted, Warren."
He reached for her hand. "Really?"
"Uh-huh...."
He kissed her palm. "I love you so much...."
Peggy withdrew her hand. "I'm tired now. I think I'll be able to sleep."
Warren trailed her into the bedroom and hurried ahead to smooth the covers of her bed. Peggy slid between the sheets and smiled up at him as Warren took great pains in adjusting the blanket. He leaned over and kissed her forehead chastely, his eyes filled with love. "Good-night, sweetheart," he smiled.
"Good-night, Warren."
"I'll try not to wake you in the morning."
"Thank you, darling."
He patted her shoulder and moved away.
Peggy closed her eyes and rolled over on her side, her back to him. She slid a hand in between her thighs in unconscious habit and drew up her knees. She thought of Victor Trask and of all she had ever read about him.
He's got to like me, she thought fiercely. I'll make him like me. She fell asleep.
CHAPTER NINE
FRIDAY FINALLY came.
There were moments when she truly doubted it would.
Peggy prowled her apartment like a caged tigress, her nerves on edge from the waiting, her mood restless and irritable. It was only noon and she was already jumping out of her skin. The seven hours that remained before her appointment with Victor Trask stretched out ahead of her like an endless desert. There was nothing left to do but wait, she thought miserably.
She plopped down on the bed and dialed the number of Phil Hersh's office, her foot jiggling in betrayal of her tensions. "Mister Hersh, please."
"Hello?"
"Phil, this is Peggy."
"Hi, honey. All set for tonight? What did you tell hubby?"
Peggy frowned fretfully. "I mumbled something about going to a card party with one of the women in the building. He was delighted."
"Clever."
She shifted restlessly. "Phil? Are you very busy this afternoon?"
"Swamped."
She grimaced. "Can't you at least sneak out for a drink or something? I'm going out of my mind sitting around the apartment. I guess I'm nervous about tonight."
"Hey, that reminds me. I have news for you."
"News?"
"Guess who flew into town this morning?"
Peggy went cold. "Mona Marlow."
Phil chuckled. "Right. Don't let it throw you.... I spoke to Victor about an hour ago and he still wants you to come."
Peggy frowned. "But...well, won't she be there?"
"You've got me, honey. They have adjoining suites so she might be in and out." Phil hesitated a moment. "Look at it this way, Peggy... he must know what he's doing, right? He says you should come, so... you come."
"Oh, hell," she sighed annoyedly, "this is all I needed. I'll be a nervous wreck by seven o'clock. Are you sure you can't get away?"
"I'd love it but it's impossible."
Peggy let out her breath in resignation. "Oh, all right. You're sure I should go then?"
"That's what the great man said."
Peggy thought about it. "Maybe she won't be home."
"Yeah, maybe. Say, honey, I've got two phones ringing..."
"All right. Goodbye."
She hung up the phone and sat there, her mood much worsened by the news of Mona Marlow's unexpected arrival. She could just see herself being granted five minutes of time by the famed producer before being brushed off as he waltzed out to some nightclub with his equally-famous wife.
"Goddam her..."
Peggy lighted a cigarette and puffed on it furiously, still confronted with the prospect of a long and dreary afternoon. She looked at the phone again and hesitated in picking up the receiver. She dialed slowly, wondering if she wasn't making a mistake. "Is Mister Anthony there?"
"No, ma'am," a deep voice replied politely. "He won't be in until tonight."
"Oh, I see. Thank you."
"Would you like to leave a message?"
"Just say that Peggy called."
"Peggy."
"That's right."
She hung up again and leaned back to look at the ceiling bleakly. She had to find something to do, something to make the time pass more quickly, something to take her mind off Victor Trask and Mona Marlow.
She considered an afternoon movie but knew she was much too tense to become interested in anything that required sitting still for more than a few minutes. A shopping tour entailed getting dressed and battling the crowds on Fifth Avenue as well as probably wearing herself to a frazzle in one late rush to get ready for her date. Any idea of taking a calming nap in her present condition was a joke.
There had to be something. Anything.
It came to her and she deliberated the pros and cons of it. Then, relaxing into a faint smile, she picked up the telephone again. The more she thought about it, the better it sounded.
"Hullo..."
"I'd like an order to be delivered, please."
"Okay, go ahead."
"Two containers of milk... one container of orange juice... a box of whipped butter, lightly salted... a bottle of coke-"
"Large or small?"
"Large."
"Anything else?"
"A carton of Lucky Strikes."
"Okay, got it. What's the name and address?"
Peggy hesitated. "Is, er, Joey on duty today?"
"Joey? Sure, but-"
Peggy smiled into the phone. "Just tell him it's for Mrs. Pricer. He knows the address."
"Pricer?"
"That's right. Will he be long?"
"Fifteen minutes maybe."
"Fine. Thank you very much."
Peggy hung up and laughed throatily, imagining the egotistical smirk on the boy's face when he received the message. If she knew his type, he'd make two stops between the market and her apartment... one at the drugstore for a pack of cheap prophylactics and then, at the candy store to let all his roughneck buddies know he was finally going to score with the blonde dish they figured for a model. Well, the gift to the frustrated housewife was in for a surprise.
Peggy hummed her way to the closet where she removed her housecoat. The idea of calling the market had been an inspiration and she was delighted with herself. Not only would she have fun but she'd also accomplish an enjoyable passage of time. She preoccupied herself with a plan of action as she wriggled into a pair of short shorts that exposed all of her shapely thighs and cutely molded the bold curves of her buttocks.
She paused, bra in hand, then with a wicked smile, dropped it back into the drawer of her dresser.
The candy-striped jersey slid caressingly over her flesh, softly molding itself to the unhampered fullness of her uptilted breasts. Peggy turned at the waist, studying the youthful outfit with satisfaction, smiling at the soft sway of her breasts each time she moved her shoulders. If not for that weighty projection, she could have passed for a teenager... the pretty bare legs, the saucy shorts, the fluffy hair, fluttering lashes...
Leaning closer to the mirror, Peggy applied a layer of lipstick to her mouth. Her hair, already shampooed and set in preparation for her meeting with Victor Trask, needed only the barest touching of the comb. A dab of perfume at the ears and throat... there, she was ready... except for a final smoothing of the soft jersey, just enough to make her nipple apparent.
"Something bothering you, Joey?" she asked the mirror innocently. "Something in your eye?"
She laughed huskily and went out into the living room to wait. She found some music on the radio and drew the blinds against the prying eyes of her neighbors, the room becoming suitably shaded.
The doorbell sounded.
"Who is it?"
"Me. Joey."
"Oh... just a minute."
She opened the door, assuming her most guileless expression.
Joey was wearing the smirk. It broadened into a smile as he gaped at her outfit. "Hi..." he offered dully, his young eyes fixed on the jersey.
"Hi."
He wet his lips and lifted the carton. "I got your order here."
Peggy smiled, leaning suggestively against the door. "So I see. Come in. You know where the kitchen is, don't you?"
He nodded, moving by her, his eyes maintaining their contact with the prominence of her breasts. Peggy smiled as he went by her, using her shoulder to push the door closed. She followed him into the kitchen, amused by his swagger, by the tight fit of his trousers and polo shirt. "Just put it on the table, Joey," she murmured, going around him so that her hip brushed his thigh. She lifted a coke from the carton. "I've been just dying for this all day. Would you like some?"
Joey Schmidt grinned. "Sure, thanks."
She handed him the bottle, her eyes looking directly up at him. "You open it. You're much stronger than I am. The glasses are on the shelf. I'll get the ice cubes." She turned and went to the refrigerator, opening the door and bending over to reach inside fully aware Joey was enjoying the rear view.
He had the bottle opened and the glasses in his hands when she turned back to face him. She dropped cubes in each of the glasses and smiled up at him. "You pour."
Joey wet his lips and obeyed the soft command.
Peggy moved to the table, lifting herself atop it so that her bare legs dangled and the white shorts were stretched taut. She tasted the coke. "Hmmmm, that's good."
Joey managed to stop looking at her long enough to take a swallow. "Yeah, it is," he agreed, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He watched as Peggy began to sway idly to the music from the other room, her luscious breasts lolling juicily beneath the candy-striped jersey. He shook his head in boyish admiration. "You sure got a helluva build."
Peggy smiled. "I'm glad you think so. My husband says I'm all out of proportion." She lowered her lashes demurely and lifted one hand to jiggle her breast. "He says I'm too big here."
Joey swallowed heavily and cleared his throat. "He must have a screw loose or somethin'..."
Peggy giggled. "I gather you like girls to be...big."
The young tough grinned. "You said it."
Peggy sipped her coke. "Is your girlfriend big?"
"I don't have no girlfriend," the boy replied casually. "Nobody special, I mean."
"Oh, I see," Peggy murmured, playing up his ego. "You play the field. Keep all the girls happy."
Joey squared his shoulders, his grin cocky. "I ain't heard no complaints yet."
Peggy let her eyes slide down his body to the tightly fitted pants. "I can believe it," she murmured softly.
Joey tensed and began to move to her.
Peggy slid down from the table effortlessly, easing by him. "I think it's cooler in the other room." She went out of the kitchen, hiding a smile. This was more fun than she expected. She walked over to the radio and twisted the dial to another station for music. "Do you dance, Joey?" she asked over her shoulder, knowing he'd followed her.
"A little."
She turned and smiled at him. "Would you like to dance with me?"
He looked at her inviting eyes and nodded, putting down his coke. "Sure."
Peggy let him take her in his arms. He held her tightly, awkwardly, one hand jumping immediately to her rump. He barely moved his feet, more intent on rubbing his body up against her, but Peggy didn't object. She leaned into him, humming softly, letting her breasts push against his chest. After a few moments, she felt his arm tighten and a growing pressure at her thighs. She hid her face and smiled, rolling her hips to heighten his awareness.
Joey drew in his breath and sought to pinion her against the wall with his straining body. Peggy giggled and ducked under his arms. "It's too hot to dance," she teased, moving to the couch and patting at her hair. "Will you bring me my glass, Joey?"
The boy let out his breath and carried the coke to the couch where she had perched herself. He flushed as she eyed the front of his trousers. "What did ya expect," he growled surlily. "I'm only human."
Peggy laughed and settled back against the cushions, crossing her legs and sipping at her drink. She squared her shoulders subtly until the jersey went taut over her impudent breasts and watched the result take effect on the youth. "Is something bothering you, Joey?" she asked sweetly.
He sat down beside her and grinned. "You ain't got nothin' on under that shirt, have you?"
She fluttered her lashes. "Why, Joey, what a thing to say. You're embarrassing me."
He wet his lips and lifted one hand slowly to her breast. Peggy kept the glass to her lips, remaining still as the fingers closed over her unhampered softness. Joey whistled soundlessly, his fingers tightening. "Geesuz, what a pair..."
Peggy smiled shyly. "You're being very naughty."
Aroused, the stocky youth refused to give up his hold. He slid closer, burying his face in her hair, blowing into her ear. "C'mon, you know you love it," he whispered confidently.
The hand dropped down to her bare thigh and began working its way upward. Peggy simulated an uneasy gasp. "Joey, please!"
He was breathing raggedly as he sought to capture her lips. "Relax," he muttered, his hand tugging entreatingly at her clenched thighs. "I ain't gonna hurt you."
Peggy surrendered her mouth to his kiss, parting her lips to admit his thrusting tongue after a suitable show of reluctance. She let his fingers gradually explore the tautness of the tight white shorts. "Oh..." she breathed huskily. "Oh, Joey, you'd better stop. You're getting me hot."
He groaned and intensified his efforts.
"Joey, stop. I'm a married woman."
"Come off it, huh? You know you want to."
"Joey, please..."
"You called the market and asked for me, didn't you?"
"Well... yes..."
"Okay, so I'm here. Let's stop playing games."
"It isn't right."
"Crap."
Joey had the thin jersey hiked high up around her throat and his mouth was hungrily devouring the bouncy fullness of her round breasts. Peggy smiled, unseen, and pushed feebly at his persistent head. "Joey, now stop that..."
He pulled back, annoyance and frustration clotting his tough face. "What the hell is it with you anyhow? You some kind of a nut or something?"
Peggy pulled down her shirt and shrugged. "I can't help being nervous. I mean, suppose my husband ever found out?"
The boy laughed derisively. "Nobody misses a slice of the cake after it's been cut."
Peggy giggled. "Oh, you're awful." She slid apart from him, plucking at the tightness of her shorts. "It's true, though. Suppose he ever found out I let you... well, I let you?"
"Who's gonna tell him?"
Peggy sighed sadly. "That's the trouble, nobody has to tell him. He always finds out when I've done something wrong. I guess it's in his blood or something. I mean, on account of his being a detective and all."
The boy blinked and sat up straight. "A detective? Your husband's a cop?"
"Didn't you know? I thought everyone knew. I mean, he's always getting his picture in the newspapers for shooting some criminal." Peggy smiled innocently. "I thought you knew."
Joey edged away, gulping, rising slowly to his feet. "Look, I think I better get back to work..."
Peggy simulated surprise. "So soon? Just when we were so cozy?"
"Yeah. I, uh, just remembered a couple of orders I got to deliver." He sidled toward the door.
Peggy pouted. "I think you're mean."
"Er, you owe me three-ten for your stuff..."
Peggy went for her bag, taking her time, enjoying Joey's nervous discomfort. "Here's four dollars," she said, holding out the bills to him. "You can keep the change."
Joey took the money and unlocked the door. "Thanks. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Pricer." He hesitated. "Look, I'm sorry I got out of line. I mean, you don't have to tell your husband nothing, right?"
Peggy hooked a finger in his belt, restraining him. She swayed up close, teasing him with her body. "You sure you have to go, Joey? Can't you stay for just a little while?" She smiled, wetting her lips. "I bet I know some things your girlfriends don't know."
The boy groaned, eyes tormented. "Geezus... no... no, honest.. I got to go."
She sulked. "Party-pooper."
He managed to stumble away from her, back out into the hall.
Peggy watched him press for the elevator. She hugged the doorjamb so that one leg and one pointed breast remained visible to his tortured gaze." Bye, Joey," she called softly, lashes veiling her eyes, a faint smile on her lips, her bare leg moving up and down the metal doorframe.
The boy smiled weakly, swallowed, and ducked into the elevator.
Peggy pushed back into her apartment, bursting into a fit of laughter. She giggled all the way to the bathroom where she bent to prepare her bath. Poor Joey... what was he ever going to tell his friends on the corner... and what was he ever going to do about that bulge in his pants....
Peggy stripped off her jaunty outfit and looked at herself in the mirror, her confidence greatly bolstered by the amusing episode. From delivery boy to famed producer, she thought, cupping her breasts... quite a jump... but she could make it. She was positive, looking at herself, at the creamy curves of her body, that she could make it.
Giggling, she stepped into the swirling water daintily and reached for her bath sales.
Poor Joey....
CHAPTER TEN
PEGGY PRESSED the ornate button, heard the chimes sound within the penthouse suite, and nervously patted at her hair, her purse racing at triphammer velocity. The paneled door swung open and instead of the servant she'd expected, she found herself staring at Victor Trask. At close range, he was older and thinner than she remembered from his photographs, but still almost over-poweringly handsome.
"Miss Pricer?"
"Yes."
"Won't you come in?"
Peggy moved stiffly, a bit stunned by the man's magnetic personality. He touched her elbow and led her down into the sunken living room of the plush penthouse suite.
"Please have a seat, Miss Pricer," he smiled. "I have someone on the telephone. I won't be long."
She nodded dumbly. "Thank you."
Victor Trask crossed the spacious room to a desk by the glass doors leading out to a wide terrace. The desk was buried under newspapers and magazines and all sorts of mystifying charts and sketches. He picked up the phone and resumed talking in a low voice, his back to Peggy. She took a steadying breath and lowered herself to a spongy sofa. It was the biggest sectional she'd ever seen, all white and running nearly the length of one wall before curving at the corner to widen into a flat circular settee on which were scattered pillows of all colors. There were books and manuscripts piled all over the room and yet they failed to detract from the luxuriousness of the appointments. The low-slung cocktail table was immense, topped with a slab of black marble. One entire wall was glass, surrounding a false fireplace of matching black marble.
Peggy leaned back uncertainly and tried to bolster her confidence by studying her reflection in the mirrored wall. She had dressed with great restraint, not wanting to overdo it, not wanting to be obvious. A tailored skirt, neat and stylish, hugged her hips and legs. It was matched cutely by an opened jacket that partially covered a white blouse of delicate crocheted lace. With her sheer hose and black pumps and golden brown hair, Peggy looked stunningly tasteful and groomed.
The gold wedding band was safely tucked away in her purse.
She glanced back to Victor Trask who was obviously concluding his phone call. He looked almost ascetic, she thought, eyeing the dark trousers that emphasized his elegant slenderness, the softly-draped silk shirt that showed his well-tanned throat and contrasted with his dark complexion. Like a poet or something, she thought, impressed.
He put down the phone and turned to move to where she awaited him, one lock of black hair dangling loosely to his forehead. "Now..." he smiled, drawing up an occasional chair to sit facing her, "we can talk. I apologize for the interruption but it was rather urgent."
"That's all right," Peggy murmured awkwardly, again overwhelmed by the nearness of him. She couldn't take her eyes from his lean, solemnly handsome face. He had brown eyes, like velvet. Bedroom eyes. And he had a way of looking at her that made Peggy feel as though she were all-important to him. For the first time in her life, she knew the real meaning of charm... real charm.
"You're here about the picture," he began, his voice seductively modulated. "We don't plan to go into production for another month or so but the sooner we can complete our casting the better. Has Phil Hersh spoken to you at all about the part we had in mind for you?"
She blinked. "Er, no, not really."
Trask nodded and clasped his hands together. "Well, it's that of a waitress in a rather gaudy roadhouse. A small part-but one which I consider of importance. You'd have two lines to deliver, both quite amusing, and you'd play them against our two principals. I estimate you'd be on screen for approximately sixty or sixty-five seconds."
Peggy nodded, a bit flustered by the technical talk. "I see. It sounds... very good."
"Can you tell me something about your background?"
"My background?"
"Yes, your credits, your experience."
Peggy looked at him a moment before relaxing into a self-conscious smile. "I'm afraid I haven't any credits. And as for my experience, well, it hasn't anything to do with acting."
Victor Trask drew back, a smile of genuine amusement adding to his handsomeness. "You're not an actress?"
"I'm afraid not."
He laughed softly. "Good. I prefer working with newcomers." He eyed her, a new interest in his gaze, and rose gracefully to his feet. "Would you care for a drink, Miss Pricer?"
Peggy glowed, knowing she'd made an impression with her honesty. "I'd love one," she answered, looking down at the decanter on the cocktail table.
Victor Trask surprised her by walking over to a wall cabinet where he took out a strangely-shaped bottle. "This is a rather exotic liqueur I found down in Mexico," he explained, bringing it back to the table. He filled two of the small glasses with meticulous care. "I'm afraid it's very potent so I'd advise you to approach it with care. I, myself, have built up an immunity to it. Here...."
Peggy took the glass with a smile, the earlier fear she'd held for him evaporating, leaving only the nervousness of being in the presence of an acknowledged genius. "Thank you. I'll be careful." She sipped the thick liquid, and all at once her eyes misted and her throat felt as though it were on fire. She swallowed, gulped, and blinked at him. "Goodness!"
Victor Trask laughed. "I warned you." She tried it again and this time it was a bit easier. She could feel the warmth of it steal through her body, making her toes curl and her fingers tingle. It was delicious. "I like it," she announced with mild surprise.
"Good. I'm glad you share my tastes." The heat of the drink pervaded her until she was forced to laugh with embarrassment and fan at herself. "I feel as if I'm on fire."
"Would you like to get some air?" Trask asked solicitously, gesturing toward the terrace.
"I think I'd better," she smiled, pushing up from the soft couch with his assistance. She had a sudden thought and put her hands meaningfully to the lapels of her short jacket. "Would you mind?" she asked shyly, slipping it back from her shoulders.
"Not at all," Trask replied easily. "Let me help you." He removed the jacket and folded it carefully over the back of the couch. When he turned back to lift their glasses and nod toward the terrace, Peggy was disappointed at his failure to pay any heed to the fullness of her lace blouse. "This way, Miss Pricer."
They went out on the stone terrace and Peggy was truly awed by the view. All New York seemed spread out before her, its lights glittering majestically and merging with the twinkling stars in the dark sky. "It's beautiful," she gasped childishly, taking the glass he held out for her.
"Yes, quite beautiful," he agreed.
Music wafted around the corner of the terrace from an unseen speaker and Peggy was suddenly reminded of Phil's words regarding Mona Mar-low having an adjoining suite on the penthouse floor. She wisely decided to refrain from any mention of the movie queen until an opportunity presented itself, until she was more sure of her ground. She drank and the liquor made her instantly heady. "It is awfully strong, isn't it?"
He smiled and guided her to a small cushioned settee. They sat down and he rolled his glass between his palms as he studied her in the half-light. "I think Phil made a good choice for the part. I'd like your voice to carry a bit more brash-ness, of course, but that's no great problem." He lifted a finger to turn her face in profile. "There's an odd piquancy to your face that interests me. It clashes intriguingly with what is obviously a strong sensuality. I like the effect... half-angel, half-devil. The trick is to catch that quality on film. Unfortunately, it doesn't always come across."
Peggy felt her senses swimming as she listened to his hypnotic voice. The exotic liqueur was making itself felt in no uncertain terms.
Trask touched at her hair. "Is that your natural shade?"
"Uh-huh..."
"Really?"
She smiled wickedly, unable to resist the opening. "Would you like proof?"
He laughed amusedly and shook his head. "I'll take your word for it." He grew sober again, pursing his lips. "I envision you -the waitress, that is -in a typical uniform. The usual thing, tight skirt, attached apron, a blouse of white satin... opened to show enough flesh, of course."
"Of course," echoed Peggy, liking the trend of the conversation as well as the feel of the liqueur in her blood.
"I'm rather a stickler on that point," he smiled. "As you may have heard, none of my actresses are allowed to wear brassieres unless absolutely necessary for support or foam padding."
Peggy leaned back daringly. "Do I look as though I'd need either?"
Victor was amused as he eyed her. "It's difficult to say...."
"Shall I make it easier for you?" Peggy murmured, one hand to the top button of the blouse, determined to take full advantage of the opportunity. When Trask merely lifted an eyebrow, she proceeded to undo the tiny buttons one by one, smiling to herself with approval of Victor Trask's technique in seducing a girl. A penthouse terrace, under the stars, music flowing on the breeze... sex in grand style. She wondered idly- her disrobing of the blouse unhurried - how many hundreds of women he'd seduced, and her mind suddenly conjured an image of him with Mona Marlow, filling her with a rush of jealousy at the thought of two such volatile personalities clashing in the struggle of sex.
Victor Trask sat calmly, sipping his drink as she shrugged out of the blouse and fingered the frontal clasp of her strapless brassiere.
It jumped away from her firm breasts and Peggy drew in her breath, making her exposed loveliness jut out at him, full and round and dark-tipped. "Well?" she asked huskily.
The handsome producer considered her nudity with an air of a connoisseur. "Very impressive," he smiled. There was something strange and exciting in his detachment and Peggy squirmed with impatience, taking it as a challenge to her beauty. Victor lifted a languid hand to caress the under-slope of her breast before tracing his fingertips around the tip. "And sensitive," he murmured, seeing the delicate flesh react to his touch and rise to quiver with awareness.
Peggy sank deeper into the cushion, marveling at his touch, expecting him to come to her. Instead, the hand fell away and she saw him finishing his drink as though totally disinterested in her lushness. She blinked up at him. "Is that all?" she asked dazedly.
The slender sophisticate chuckled softly. "You expect me to make love to you, don't you?"
"Well..."
He nodded. "Most girls do when I ask them here for an interview. They don't seem to realize that this is my home as well as my office. Then, too, they've read some rather sordid articles concerning my personal life, articles which I assure you are merely reckless guesses."
The newness of a male rejection had Peggy reeling. She blinked at him confusedly. "You're not queer, are you?"
Something flickered in the velvet eyes. "I like women," he replied softly, "if that's what you mean."
She shook her head, looking down at her breasts which gleamed lusciously in the moonlight. "Then what-"
"Let me explain. You see, I've led a rather full and adventurous life and as a result, my sexual appetites have become... well, conditioned. Only the unusual, the unique, seems to appeal to me, to stimulate me. To be a bit clearer, I think I'm much too jaded for a girl like you." He rose slowly, holding out a hand to her. "Shall we go back inside? We both seem to have emptied our glasses."
Peggy let him lift her to her feet. She took the blouse and brassiere he picked up and held them dumbly in her hands, unable to do anything but stare in wonderment at him. She walked dazedly back into the living room, trying to understand what he'd said to her. Without the fancy words it boiled down to one face... he was afraid of shocking her! Peggy began to giggle as she dropped to the soft couch.
Victor looked up from the pouring of the exotic liqueur. "Did I say something funny?"
Peggy tossed aside her blouse and bra. "Very funny."
"Really?" he smiled, handing her a full glass.
"You're afraid of shocking me," she giggled, tasting the thick potion.
He sat down beside her. "That amuses you?"
"You don't know how much."
He leaned back to allow his head to rest on the back cushion, his face only inches apart from her own, his eyes strangely clouded again. "Are you saying you're not the squeamish sort? That the unusual also appeals to you?"
The steamy liqueur had Peggy groggy. "Usual, unusual..." She shrugged impatiently, voice slurred. "Do you know why I really came up here tonight? To meet you, that's why. I don't give a damn about your picture. I'm not interested in being an actress. I'm a woman, all woman... and you're the kind of a man I've always wanted."
He listened intently, his hand on her breast. "I like your honesty, Miss Pricer...."
"Peggy."
He smiled. "Peggy." He began to talk, softly, intimately, seductively, telling her of himself, the places he'd been, the things he'd seen. She listened, enraptured, spellbound by the hypnotic eyes and soothing voice and vivid words. Her glass was filled a third time, lifted to her lips, tilted so that she drank. The strange potion drugged her brain yet heightened her senses, making her body vibrate with desire, resent the confinement of the few garments still covering her tingly flesh. Victor's artful caresses had her breasts tautly extended and throbbing with awareness. She drank greedily of the potion, her throat dry, her lashes heavy.
"You have a lovely body."
Peggy stirred, feeling his fingers tugging gently at her breasts. She looked at him and his face was blurred and indistinct. "Why don't you do something with it?" she laughed thickly, her drugged passion spreading its heat through her body. "You gonna just sit there and look at it?"
Victor Trask seemed to be studying her, estimating the extent of her drunkenness and desire. Finally, taking hold of her hands, he rose and lifted Peggy to her feet. She leaned unsteadily against him as he guided her across the huge room and through a wide door.
"Just tell me what you want," she whispered heatedly, trying to find his mouth with her lips. "Anything at all."
He smiled and held her upright as his hands started to remove the rest of her clothing. Peggy swayed and looked around at the newer surroundings. There were wall mirrors and heavy drapes and a huge circular bed draped with a black satin coverlet. Pillows of all sizes and shapes and colors were strewn on it and they looked wondrously soft and inviting.
She giggled and fell backwards on them. "Whee!"
Victor laughed and moved to complete her nudity with his practised hands.
Peggy closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of the cool satin beneath her skin. After a few moments, she squirmed restlessly and held up her arms, eyes closed, mouth moist. "Hurry, lover," she murmured groggily.
There was no answer.
She lifted her lashes and looked Wearily around the empty bedroom chamber. "Victor? Lover?"
A door on the opposite side of the room swung inward and Peggy squinted at the two figures framed in its light. She licked at her lips and tried to focus her eyes as they approached the bed. She frowned, puzzled. "Victor?"
He smiled down at her. "Right here, Peggy. I, er, assume you know my wife? Mona, this is Peggy."
The famous actress flashed her celebrated smile. "How do you do, Peggy?" she drawled, breathtakingly beautiful and dramatic in a shimmery silver gown.
Peggy automatically sought to cover her nakedness with one of the pillows as she gaped bewilderedly up at the raven-haired woman. "I don't understand," she mumbled weakly, looking back at Victor.
He laughed softly. "You will, Peggy. You will."
Mona Marlow handed her husband her glass and began removing the glittering gown. It slid down her statuesque torso to lie in a puddle around her ankles. Peggy caught her breath at the sight of the lush body, the amazingly suspended breasts with their dark tips, the sleekly rounded hips, the strongly sinuous legs, the dark meeting of the gleaming thighs.
She shook her head dumbly. "Hey... hey, what is this?"
There was pure wickedness in the flashing eyes and scarlet mouth as Mona moved to kneel on the circular bed, A hand came out to caress Peggy's cheek lightly as the painted lips descended still nearer and Peggy shivered involuntarily. "Don't be afraid, Peggy," Mona purred, her breath carrying a martini flavoring, "I won't hurt you."
"No..." Peggy whimpered, feeling the lips touch her own and the heavy breasts scrape against her own. "Oh, no..."
Victor Trask finished his wife's drink and set it aside, undressing unhurriedly as he watched the two females become acquainted. A low chuckle escaped his lips as Peggy gradually ceased her helpless struggling. He stripped himself and walked to the other side of the bed before lowering himself to it.
Peggy looked up at him through glazed eyes as Mona slid down to taste Peggy's breasts. "Victor?"
He nodded and leaned over to kiss her on the mouth. "My wife and I are firm believers in togetherness," he smiled, running his hand up the inside of her thigh. "I hope you approve." Peggy groaned and the room began to spin.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE THREE NAKED bodies lay in a bizarre tangle on the circular bed, chests heaving with their ragged breathings, faces flushed with color and slick with sweat.
Peggy recovered slowly from the violent intimacy, her heart still pounding under the force of her orgasm, her brain still dazed by the awareness of their perverted union. She coughed and pushed herself away from Victor's twitching body while at the same time, disengaging her lower torso from Mona's pulsing weight.
The celebrated actress sighed deeply as she sat up to push at her flowing black hair and wet her already glistening lips. Unlike Peggy and Victor, she was not spent and wearied. The dark eyes were still alert, the white flesh still aglow with excitement, the incredibly extended breasts still quivering with awareness.
Victor, on the other hand, lay inert, his lean body utterly relaxed.
Peggy felt Mona's hand on her thigh. "Leave me alone," she groaned, turning over on her stomach, burying her face in the folds of the satin coverlet. Mona laughed softly, triumphantly, and Peggy tried to shut out the mocking sound.
Victor opened his eyes and turned on his side to face her. He brushed languidly at a soft curl. "You were marvelous."
Peggy glared at him, resenting the way he had capitalized on her abandon. She'd been helpless, too aroused by Mona, to have resisted his perverted demand of her. The uniqueness of loving while being loved had fanned the fire of her passion at the moment but now that the flame had died, she felt only contempt and disgust toward him. It sickened her to think how he had shared her mouth and breasts and loins with Mona until the intimacy sufficiently aroused him. It angered her to recall how, in the midst of all she was experiencing at Mona's hands, he had grabbed at her hair and forced her to simultaneously accept him.
"Just marvelous," he repeated.
"And you were disgusting," she hissed, hating him.
He chuckled and lay back. "You seemed to be enjoying it at the time."
Mona was still finger-combing her thick hair. "Don't be cruel, Victor," she purred. "There comes a time when a girl isn't responsible for the things she does. Isn't that right, Peggy?"
Peggy winced but remained silent, lacking the courage to look back at the erotic female. It had been her first encounter with Lesbianism and the newness of it was too much for her to grasp as yet. Mona had lifted her to heights she'd seldom achieved, that special plateau of pleasure that only Phil Hersh and a few other men had shown her.
Victor stretched and sat up. "Shouldn't you be getting back to your guests, darling?" he asked calmly.
Mona shrugged. "They can wait."
"Is Rick still there?"
"He was when I left."
Victor sighed. "I think I'll go in and speak to him about his future commitments. He'd be perfect for the part of the gambler, don't you think?"
Mona ran her hands lovingly over Peggy's smooth buttocks. "Yes, perfect..." she murmured.
Peggy squirmed. "Stop it."
Mona laughed. "If you insist."
Victor rose and proceeded to dress in a pair of lounging pajamas, oriental robe and white scarf. "You will excuse me, ladies?" he asked with a faint smile.
"Of course we will," Mona answered suggestively. "Won't we, Peggy?"
Peggy hid her face.
Victor paused, en route to the door. "Er, should anyone ask... will you be very long, darling?"
Mona stroked Peggy's hair. "That depends."
Victor chuckled. "I understand perfectly. Well, have fun." He went through the door which connected the two penthouse suites, closing it softly and carefully behind him.
Peggy turned over tiredly to look after him. She glanced at Mona, bitterness showing in her eyes. "Do you two always do this kind of thing?"
Mona's smile was unruffled. "Only when we have the opportunity." She cocked one eyebrow. "And I really wouldn't act so indignant. It doesn't quite ring true... not after the talent you displayed in pleasing my husband."
Peggy scowled angrily. "Two queers...the both of you...."
Mona shrugged. "It depends on your point of view. We prefer to think we're uninhibited. We take our pleasure where we can find it, regardless of normal conventions... there's so little pleasure in the world as it is, one can't further limit it by drawing a line between right and wrong." The brunette gazed down at Peggy amusedly. "Besides, you aren't the innocent type. You've been around, haven't you?"
Peggy refused to answer.
Mona chuckled. "You needn't answer. As they say, it takes one to know one."
Peggy struggled to find some way of retaliation. "Is this what happened to Debbie Lane?" she asked cynically.
Mona showed true surprise. "You know about Debbie?"
"I heard talk."
Mona made a distasteful face. "She was much too immature for my tastes. Yes, this is more or less what happened. There was one slight variance however... I'd just returned home from Spain with a young bullfighter I was sponsoring... I have a weakness for bullfighters and flamenco dancers, you know. Well, to make a long story short, we persuaded the boy to join us. It was quite a night for little Debbie, I guess. The poor thing turned out to be a virgin, would you believe it? An impatient virgin, of course, but still a virgin."
Peggy shook her head in curious disbelief. "And I thought I was bad."
The actress moved closer with a smile. "Bad? Why, you're glorious." She began stroking Peggy's body soothingly, shamelessly. "Tell me, did you like what I did for you? But that's a silly question, isn't it? You obviously enjoyed it immensely. You responded thrillingly. Was it your first time?"
Peggy lacked the strength to move away from the hand. It was an odd feeling, almost as though she were touching at herself, even more odd now that she was able to think and see with some clarity. "Yes, it was the first time," she admitted tightly.
Mona leaned down until her lips were grazing Peggy's breast. "And we've only scratched the surface, you and I," she breathed, plucking at the sensitive tip with her lips. "There's so much more, really. Would you like me to show you?"
Peggy pushed feebly at the dark hair. "No..."
"You should try everything once, you know."
"No..."
"Don't be shy."
The kissings were beginning to warm Peggy and she squirmed out from under them in something akin to fear. The movie star sat up and laughed, rising to her feet then to pad across the room. She paused, studying herself in one of the wall mirrors in a show of pure narcissism. Peggy watched until the long-legged beauty continued on out into the living room.
Peggy sat up weakly and looked down to the floor where her clothes were heaped. She could barely remember Victor taking them off. It seemed like hours ago and yet she knew it could not actually have been so distant. It was just that so much had taken place. The whole thing had left her badly shaken and confused. All her plans of seducing Victor Trask, of replacing Mona Marlow in his life, had been destroyed.
Not only did the man no longer interest her but the mere thought of him filled her with disgust. He was no more of a real man than Warren. The thought made Peggy feel a sharp hunger within, a hunger made stronger than usual by all she had experienced in the circular bed. It was a want for the rough hardness of a man, for the purity of being deeply possessed. She not only wanted it, she felt a need for it...as though it would cleanse her of the filth through which Mona and Victor had dragged her.
Peggy stirred, summoning her strength to rise from the bed, just as Mona returned to the room. She held the curiously-shaped bottle in one hand, a small tumbler in the other. Peggy shrank from the sight of it, still feeling the effect of her earlier drinks.
Mona came to stand before her. "Here," she said, filling the tumbler. "This will make you feel better."
Peggy sat down on the bed. "No..."
"Take it."
Mona put down the bottle and caught at Peggy's hair, forcing the liquid into her mouth. She choked and gasped as the fiery potion coursed into her body, instantly bringing the familiar warmth to her flesh. She pushed at Mona's hand weakly. "No more, please... no more...."
Mona coldly ignored the plea, moving to stand between Peggy's legs so as to better hold the glass to Peggy's lips until it was drained. "There," she murmured, letting the tumbler fall to the bed and roll off to thud on the thick carpeting. "Now we can pick up where we left off." She reached down with both hands to lift and hold Peggy's breasts, her thumbs flicking expertly at the tips. "We must be fair, mustn't we? I was nice to you. Shouldn't you want to be nice to me?"
Peggy felt caught and helpless. The potion flowed through her veins like molten ore, once again dulling her brain and putting an edge to her senses. The nearness of Mona's lush and disciplined body dizzied her and she sought to escape by pushing feebly at the smooth thighs. "No... don't... don't..."
Mona laughed wildly and pushed her backwards to the bed. The dark-tressed actress crawled atop Peggy, imprisoning her. "Kiss me," she hissed hotly, her eyes mere slits.
Peggy tossed feverishly, trying to escape the sharp-tipped breasts which danced before her blurred eyes. "No," she gasped weakly. "No."
"Kiss me," Mona commanded, pushing the softness to Peggy's lips.
Peggy groaned brokenly and surrendered.
"That's it," Mona laughed triumphantly. "It isn't really so difficult, is it? Now, here."
Peggy complied helplessly, alternating her mechanical kissings, her senses only dully accepting the fact of what was happening. It was a little like drowning, she thought deliriously. She felt as though she were sinking deeper and deeper into a sea of flesh. Without warning, Mona moved again and Peggy cried out in pitiful protest. "Oh, no... please... please..."
"Kiss me," Mona commanded harshly, her body pinioning Peggy's squirming form. "Kiss me, damn you."
The roaring in her ears increased steadily until it all but obliterated Mona's shaming urgings. Peggy labored instinctively against the pumping body, afraid to stop, unable to stop - something perverted in her body showing response to the abnormality of the intimacy.
It was an eternity before Mona moaned and shuddered and permitted Peggy to drift off into the darkness of a spent and exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PEGGY WOKE up on the living-room couch. She sat up the moment her lashes lifted, instantly aware of her surroundings and the fact that she'd slept for some time. She looked down at the woolen blanket someone had carelessly draped over her nudity and wondered how and when she had been moved from the bedroom. The last thing she could remember with any clarity was Mona Marlow standing over her, talking to her, touching at her... and that had been in the bedroom.
The living room was dark, the heavy drapes drawn over the glass doors leading out to the terrace. The entire suite was completely still, the quiet not even ruffled by sounds from the street far below the penthouse.
Peggy sighed tiredly, her eyes burning, her stomach fluttering with the faint beginnings of nausea. There was a sour taste in her mouth, coating her teeth, and it brought back the memory of the thick liqueur both Victor and Mona had used to seduce her. She knew now that it had been some kind of an aphrodisiac, a stimulating drug... and that it had done its job on her.
She rose unsteadily to her feet and looked at her reflection in the mirrored wall which framed the fireplace. She looked awful, her hair twisted and disheveled, her dried lipstick smeared and caked to misshapen her mouth, her eyes darkly-shadowed and bloodshot. She ran a hand in her hair and looked down at her clothing which had been neatly stacked on the black-marble cocktail table. Someone had apparently taken great pains to move her bag-and-baggage out of the bedroom....
Victor?
Mona?
Were they together in the other room on the circular bed?
Peggy looked over at the closed door, feeling a hot anger rise up in her throat. They had taken and used her to their perverted will as though she were some naive schoolgirl. She'd provided them with a momentary diversion, nothing more, and this knowledge rankled her. Victor, seducing her with his sophisticated talk, drugging her mind with the illegal drinks, bringing his wife to join their intimacy, needing to watch them together in order to reach a state of desire, then sating that need in a way that...that disgusted Peggy even to think about it.
And Mona...
Peggy bit hard at her lip, remembering.
It all came back to her in one scalding rush. Mona, touching and kissing her body, arousing her, satisfying her while she was forced to satisfy Victor... and later, when they were alone, pushing her back to the bed, crawling atop her, making her kiss those publicized breasts and thighs, guiding and demanding more and more until... until...the darkness had come and Mona had had no further need of her love-making.
She hated them.
Hell, how she hated them.
Peggy pulled on her panties and fastened her brassiere, suddenly in a rush to get out of the suite, away from the scene of her debasement. She dressed hurriedly, carelessly, not bothering with her stockings and garter-belt. When she slipped her high-heels on her feet she suddenly froze, wondering just how long she had slept, just how late it was...
Warren!
She looked around the room frantically, searching for a clock. Finding none, she hurried across to the drapes and yanked them aside. A low groan of dismay escaped her lips as she stared out at the brightness.... the unmistakable brightness of a dawning day. It was early morning. Morning.
Oh, God...
She turned away from the window slowly, her mind working furiously. What could she ever say to Warren? How could she ever explain being out all night? He would have checked with the woman she'd used for an alibi, found out there had been no card party, that the woman had never said as much as a word to Peggy. What could she say?
It was no use, her brain refused to cooperate with its usual cleverness. She ran for her purse and started toward the front door of the suite. She stopped, looking back at herself in the mirror. She couldn't go out in such a condition, she couldn't go home looking as though she'd just returned from an all-night orgy. She turned and walked back to the bedroom, disliking the thought of entering that room again, the prospect of seeing Victor and Mona once more, even in sleep.
The door swung open to her touch and she slipped inside, not wanting to awaken them. She saw the two figures on the round bed, half-covered by the satin coverlet she remembered so well. She tiptoed toward the bathroom, eyes still completely accustomed to the murkiness, giving the bed a wide berth. Once inside she eased the door closed and carefully ran the water in the sink. She washed quickly and opened her bag to touch up her lips and comb her curls into some semblance of normalcy. She checked the result, frowned at the haggard hollows under her eyes and reopened the bathroom door to leave.
Something caught Peggy's eye as she went around the bed. She stopped, looking back at the two sleeping figures with a puzzled frown. Victor remained inert, apparently naked under the twisted coverlet, but Mona had stirred somewhat since Peggy had entered the bathroom. The satin cover had slid away to reveal an orange-hued nightgown... a nightgown which also had shifted in her restless tossing....
Peggy blinked, her gaze penetrating the gray shadows. She stepped closer to the bed, unable to accept what her eyes had seen. It was not Mona in the bed. It was not even a woman in the bed. The bunched-up nightgown blatantly proved the fact.
Peggy leaned down, fascinated by the masquerade. She recognized the young man in the nightgown immediately. Rick Taylor, the teenager's delight, one of the biggest names in motion pictures. He was wearing lipstick and eye-makeup and powder. The bodice of the gown was filled with two rubber cups adhered to his hairless chest. He reeked of perfume and whisky and a weird assortment of bracelets dangled from his limp wrist.
Peggy retreated from the bed, her face contorted in pure contempt, her stomach revolting against the evidence of Victor Trask's bisexual tastes. This was the man on whom she had placed so much importance, so many dreams. This was the man to whom she had offered herself so willingly and let use her so perversely.
She fled from the penthouse apartment as though pursued by the pure evil of its inhabitants. The elevator came and took her down to the deserted lobby. The air was crisp and clean out on the street and she breathed it deeply, needing it to chase the stirrings of sickness brought on by thoughts of Victor and Rick Taylor together.
She found a taxi-cab at the corner and gave the driver her address. Settling back she forced all thoughts of Victor Trask and Mona Marlow and Rick Taylor from her mind. She had other things to think about, to worry about...for example, what awaited her in the apartment? She snapped open her purse and hurriedly slipped the wedding ring back on her finger.
She had to think of some kind of story to tell Warren. Anything, anything at all, even if it were far-fetched and improbable. He'd believe almost anything she'd tell him because he'd want to believe it, because he'd be afraid not to believe it. He was such a pitiful little fool....
Peggy felt somewhat better all at once. What did it matter what she told him? What would he do about it? Would he explode into violence? Hardly... if he did, it would be hilarious to see. Would he leave her? Peggy smiled at the idea, aware of his love and helplessness where she was concerned. No, he wouldn't do a damned thing except stand there and look like a whipped puppy...
So why should she worry?
The cab pulled up in front of the apartment house and Peggy paid off the driver before stepping out of the car. The street was empty except for a sanitation truck as she walked across the pavement into the lobby. She smoothed at her jacket as she rode the elevator to the fifth floor, her nervousness returning despite the harshness of her earlier thoughts.
She unlocked the door softly, edging it open and stepping inside, hoping foolishly that Warren might have retired early the previous evening and still be sleeping, unaware he'd been alone most of the night. She closed the door carefully, looking around the living room and then to the opened bedroom door.
Warren startled her by materializing from out of the kitchen. "Where have you been?" he asked hoarsely, the sound of his voice making her jump with surprise.
Peggy looked at him, her gaze at once arrested by his swollen jaw, the shredded lip, the discoloring under his left eye. "What happened to you?" she gasped.
Warren seemed near tears. He looked haggard and exhausted and pale. "Never mind me, answer my question. Where have you been all night?"
Peggy looked at him, shrugged, and tossed her purse to the sofa. "I've been out," she replied flatly. "And I'm not in the mood for the third-degree."
Warren trembled, his eyes misting. "You've been with a man, haven't you? Haven't you?" The tone of his voice bordered on hysteria.
Peggy sighed wearily. "That's right, darling, I've been with a man. Did you think I was feeding the pigeons in the park all this time?"
The bruised lips trembled as Warren stared through his tears at her. "I knew it," he whimpered brokenly. "I knew it."
Peggy looked again at his face. "Will you please tell me what happened to your face? Did you have some kind of an accident?"
Warren ignored her question, walking like a sleepwalker to drop down on the sofa and cover his face with his hands. He began to sob softly, pathetically, his round shoulders jerking convulsively. "Why?" he cried muffledly. "Why did you do it?"
Peggy removed her suit jacket despairingly. "Must we discuss it now, Warren? I'm tired and irritable and nothing I can say is going to make you feel any better. I'll explain everything to you after I've had some sleep." She looked at him edgily. "Oh, stop your sniveling! It isn't the end of the world."
He lifted his tear-streaked and battered face. "Why?" he repeated dully, agonizedly. "Just tell me why?"
Peggy's frayed patience snapped. She put her hands on her hips, thrusting her body at him in a show of defiance and raked him mercilessly with her contemptuous gaze. "Just why do you think, darling? Go take a good look at yourself in the mirror and maybe it will give you a clue. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I might need a little something more than you're capable of giving me? Did I say a little more? That's a laugh... I've seen fourteen-year-old boys with more than you've got to offer."
Warren buckled under the lash of her words. He clutched at his soft stomach as though suffering from terrible cramps, his face ashen, his eyes tortured. "I loved you," he whimpered brokenly. "I've always loved you."
"Oh, grow up! You and your love... hell, I'd had my fill of it." She turned and walked into the bedroom, opening her blouse, a headache adding to her discomfort. She undressed quickly, flinging away her clothes, hating them for reminding her of the long night in the penthouse. When she was slipping into her terry-cloth robe, Warren came to stand in the doorway and look at her. She groaned in exasperation and reached for the jar of cold cream. "Will you please leave me alone, Warren? I've said all I'm going to say."
He shook his head dazedly, continuing to stare at her as though seeing her for the first time. "I nearly went out of my mind last night," he muttered hollowly, touching weakly at his forehead.
Peggy sat down at the dressing-table and applied the layer of cleansing cream to her skin. "What did you expect me to do?" she asked curtly. "Call and say, I'm sorry, dear, but I won't be home tonight? I'm in bed with a man and I just can't tear myself away? Would that have made your night any easier?"
Warren leaned heavily against the wall. "I went to see the woman you were supposed to be with... she looked at me as though I were crazy...I called the police, the hospitals..."
"Warren, please!"
He touched at his swollen mouth. "Then those boys came..."
Peggy looked up, pausing with tissue in hand to look in the mirror at his reflection. "Boys?"
Warren's mouth twisted bitterly. "They were drunk... three of them... and they were looking for you... where's Peggy, they asked... they called me the big-shot detective and they laughed... I tried to make them go away and -and they hit me... they hit me..." He sobbed suddenly, covering his face with his hands. "They were only boys and they wanted you. They knew you. They knew you."
Peggy scowled, thinking of Joey Schmidt, realizing he must have found out some way that her husband was not a detective, that she had played a cruel trick on him.
She sighed resignedly and swiveled around on the seat. "If it will make you feel any better, Warren, only one of those boys knew me. The delivery boy from the market. He came up here one day with an order and began to get fresh with me. I told him my husband was a detective in order to get rid of him. Was that so awful?"
He looked up at her suspiciously.
Peggy shrugged and rose from the table to walk over to the bed. "You can believe whatever you like. I couldn't care less at the moment. I'd like to sleep now, if you don't mind. And I'd like to sleep alone."
Warren watched her slip out of the robe, exposing her nude flesh to the sunlight. "I won't be here when you wake up," he croaked, looking painfully at her loveliness.
Peggy laughed softly as she drew back the covers and knelt down on the cool sheet. "Oh, really?"
"You killed the love I had for you."
"Isn't that a shame..."
He drew himself up. "You're not even sorry."
Peggy smiled and arched one eyebrow. "Sorry? Why should I be sorry? I had a wonderful time," she lied, wanting to hurt him. "Do you want to know how wonderful? Would you like to hear about it? Shall I tell you what he did to me, what I did to him? Shall I tell you what it felt like to have a real man again?"
Warren quaked with the strain of containing his rage. There was a wildness to his tortured eyes as he stared across the sunlit room at her. "You slut...," he croaked. "You shameless slut..."
Peggy lay back, flaunting her nakedness at him, her smile taunting him. "Poor Warren," she purred, running her hands over her pink-tipped breasts. "Poor, little, pathetic Warren... he married a slut, a shameless slut... and all the time he thought she was a nice girl, a sugar-and-spice girl." She laughed mockingly and moved her legs obscenely. "Here, Warren... here's what you want... do you know yet what to do with it?"
The small, crew-cutted salesman let out a strangled cry and hurtled toward the bed. Peggy screamed and tried to evade his assault, all her contempt vanishing in place of a sudden fear. He fell heavily atop her, cursing and sobbing, his fists battering at her head and shoulders and protecting arm. "Slut! Slut! Slut!"
Peggy screamed a second time, drawing herself into a ball, covering her face with her arms and kicking frantically at him. The blows numbed her with their combined force and she felt herself filling with pain as she sought to crawl out from under him. "Stop... stop... Warren, no more... please... please... I'm sorry... Warren..."
He rose up over her, pulling and holding her arms away from her face. "I'll fix you," he gasped brokenly, eyes glazed and wild. "I'll fix you so you'll never cheat on me again."
Peggy went cold, her fear gorging in her throat as she stared up at him in horror. "No... oh, god, Warren no... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... please..."
He was beyond hearing her, his mouth working without sound, his throat corded, his face that of a stranger. He imprisoned her wrists above her head and lifted his fist, the sunlight glinting on his college-ring. "I'll fix you," he sobbed irrationally.
Peggy's terrified scream was cut off by the crushing impact of the blow. There was a flood of pain and then a wave of numbness... and then... nothing at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A DELICATE flurry of flakes drifted down from the dark skies to thicken the blanket of white which covered the sloping lawns of the suburban area. The snow had come during the holiday season and had continued well into January. It clotted the winding streets, padded the slanted roofs and in all, added to the picturesque beauty of the quiet residential neighborhood.
Peggy Pricer stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing the few remaining dishes automatically, her attention focused on the window and the pretty view it afforded. Everything was so clean and restful beyond the frosted glass. Even after five months, she was unused to such serenity. The people were an alien breed, their smiles genuine, their interest sincere, their manner unintimidating. They were nice people, warm people, and she wondered if she would ever feel truly one of them.
She stacked the last saucer, drained the sink, wiped it clean and dried her hands on the house-apron tied loosely around her waist. The hands were rough and red and she looked down at them a moment before turning away from the sink to survey the room. Like the rest of the small ranch-house, it gleamed immaculately, yet a slight frown appeared to pucker her brows. She'd wax the floor again in the morning, she decided. It was showing the first sign of lacklustreness.
Switching off the light, she walked out of the room, her loose slippers slapping on the polished linoleum. She paused to adjust the cloth on the dining-room table before continuing on into the living room where he was seated in the glow from the television set.
Peggy moved quietly, unobtrusively, respectfully about the room, emptying ash-trays, smoothing cushions, drawing the window-blinds. He did not look up from the flickering image, his body slumped low in the deep leathered chair, his chin resting on his fist. The late news program was a ritual with him, the last thing he watched at night, a final check on the world disorders in which he was quietly interested.
Peggy adjusted the thermostat for the night and looked back at his shadowy profile, trying to judge his preoccupation, the degree of his comfort. "Can I get you anything?" she asked softly, timing the query so as not to clash with the video reporting.
He shook his head slowly, mutely, never taking his eyes from the screen.
She remained in the background, gazing at him, her thoughts dwelling on the change in him. He was not the same man she had married. He was older, stronger... handsomer. There were lines in his face, the face which had lost all of its former chubbiness, lines of tiredness and maturity and... and lingering bitterness. Tension and strain had melted pounds from his body until it was almost whipcord lean, somehow adding to his stature as a man. The juvenile crew-cut was no more, his blond hair neatly parted and brushed in the current new-frontier style so popular with the younger executive-type.
A drastic change, she thought, in only five months. Or was it six? Yes, closer to six.
"Warren?"
He grunted.
"Are you going to stay up a while?"
He listened to an account of civil strife in Algiers.
Peggy plucked nervously at her apron. "You ought to put on a sweater or something if you're going to sit up." She waited a moment and then turned to walk back to the rear of the house where the bedroom was situated.
She undressed in the bathroom, the door closed, removing the wrap-around apron and undergarments without pause and tucking them neatly into the hamper for next-day laundering. She soaped her face and throat thoroughly and rubbed the towel until her skin glowed pink. It was as she reached for the nightgown that her movements slowed and she surrendered to the temptation of self-appraisal.
Warren was not the only one who had changed.
She touched at her breasts, so much larger and heavier. She felt at her swollen body, just recently showing the heaviness of pregnancy. It looked strange, almost grotesque with its new thickness and roundness. She was with child, she thought wondrously, barely able to accept the fact. A child...
Pain touched at her heart as she considered its conception despite her efforts to avoid such reflection. The seed of life had been planted that awful morning when she lay bleeding and unconscious and totally unaware of how Warren was spending his terrible violence. A child conceived of hate and rage and pain and revenge....
She shuddered and quickly slipped the woolen nightgown over her head. It was an old-fashioned gown, devoid of frills, tied at the throat with a small ribbon and falling in shapeless folds to her ankles.
The gown was part of the change. She wanted nothing to remind her of the girl she once had been. The baby-doll pajamas were forever gone along with all the rest... the creams and perfumes and makeup...the provocative lingerie, the stylish dresses, the chic suits, the garish sport-wear... all of them gone, destroyed... along with her prettiness.
Peggy looked slowly to the cabinet mirror, drawn to the pain of it, the horror of it. She tried desperately to look only at her golden hair and not the face it framed. It was simply parted and ascetically natural in its fall to her shoulders. It made the face she tried to erase appear small and thin and drawn...and pale, so very pale...
The face.
She looked, eyes misty, searching for some shred of prettiness, some tiny basis for hope. The nose which had once been pert and tilted was flattened and pulpy. The mouth which had once held such allure and power was marred and disfigured by a permanent lump in the upper lip where a tooth had penetrated with terrible force. It was a face beyond repair, not truthfully ugly but merely... curious, and rather sad in its hint of former symmetry.
"An automobile accident," she told her new neighbors.
"A shame," they answered.
"I don't mind," she smiled.
But Peggy did mind. The awareness of her appearance was with her every second of the day and night no matter how feverishly she tried to bury it under the mask of indifference and acceptance. It was with her when she'd run out of labors around the house, when she'd meet an attractive neighbor on the street, when men in the stores would glance at her with distasteful curiosity, when she'd look up from her meal to find Warren gazing at her across the table, when she'd hear or see some reminder of the past.
It was with her always, a source of pain, a source of fear....
He had crushed her spirit along with her prettiness. She realized quickly that she was no longer something to be desired, wanted, protected. She realized quickly that all at once she had nothing to use to scratch out a life for herself. Who would have her? A blind man? A man as ugly as herself? A side-show freak for whom she could make an ideal mate? And where could she go? How could she live? Alone in some dark room with her shame and fears and ugliness, afraid to go out into the light, afraid of rejection and ridicule and -worse- compassion?
No... there was only Warren... only Warren... and the constant fear that he might leave her alone to face this emptiness was like a sword hanging over her head, chilling her each time she looked into a mirror.
Peggy shivered convulsively and hurried out of the bathroom, away from the mirror and the desperate fear it evoked. The bedroom was comfortably warm and somewhat reassuring. She checked to see that everything was in place the way he liked them to be, her survey hurried by the familiar theme music of the weather forecast which signified the end of the news program.
She laid out his freshly-ironed pajamas across his bed, smoothing them neatly with her trembling hands. They had twin beds in their new house, another sign of change, a painful sign, a constantly threatening sign. Peggy looked down at them, feeling the nightly torment begin anew, the quiver of hunger and frustration that made her body tense and ache.
Night after night, hoping... praying... and more than once, begging....
Her body refused to acknowledge any change. It was cruel in its demands to be sated, ruthless in its signals of impatience. It cared nothing of her ugliness, her pregnancy, her fears. The years of indulgence and promiscuity had given it a hearty appetite for satisfaction and it protested fiercely to the months of denial.
Perhaps tonight, she thought hotly, helplessly... running the heels of her palms hard against her thighs in a pitiful attempt to ease the achings...perhaps tonight...
Peggy waited tensely, trembling, brushing at her hair and plucking at the heavy nightgown. She heard him turn off the television set but still he did not appear. Finally, unable to contain her anxieties, she went out into the shadows of the living room where he was still seated in the deep chair. She approached fearfully, embarrassedly, knowing that he'd awaited her. "Warren?"
He barely moved his head to glance up at her.
"Aren't you coming to bed?"
"Not yet," he answered softly. "I don't think I'm ready to sleep."
She plucked at the gown self-consciously, knowing she was obvious yet starved enough not to care. "Do you want to be alone?" she asked timidly.
He looked at her. "No."
Peggy brightened instantly, hope flaring. She felt a frantic haste to please him. "You've been working too hard," she blurted. "You look tired and... and tense. You need to relax." She wet her lips, shaking beneath the gown. "Let me relax you, Warren," she pleaded humbly. "Please."
He smiled sardonically, eyeing her.
Peggy hung her head. "Please..."
He moved a foot, nudging a hassock closer to his chair. "All right," he replied quietly, meaningfully. "You can relax me."
Peggy looked down at the hassock in despair. "I didn't mean..." She bit at her lip, her fists clenching tightly at her sides. "Warren, I need you," she whispered tightly. "It's been so long... so very long...."
His eyes were cold and unpitying. "I know exactly how long it's been."
"Please," she whimpered. "You don't have to... to do anything. I'll do it all." She clutched at her thighs to stifle the pain. "Please, Warren, let me.
The softly-uttered reply cut through the stillness to slice at her heart. "Why don't you find yourself a fourteen-year-old boy? A delivery boy, perhaps?"
Peggy winced.
"Besides," he murmured, "I wouldn't be of any help. I don't know what to do with it, remember?"
She wet her misshapened lips. "I was wrong, Warren. I know that now. If only you'd give me a chance to make you forget all that happened. I'm trying so hard to...to be what you want... so hard..." She looked at him pleadingly. "Won't you ever forget? Won't you ever forgive me?"
Warren Pricer remained stolid, his expression telling her that is was still too soon to talk of forgiveness. "You can leave me, you know."
Peggy froze, eyes widening with fear. "No, don't say that..." She drew a breath and quickly moved to sit down at his feet on the hassock. "It's all right, Warren. Really."
There was a trace of contempt in his smile, contempt and bitterness. He watched her edge closer and tuck the folds of her gown under her legs.
Peggy smiled up at him. "Whatever you want, Warren," she stated desperately. "You know that. Just tell me what you want."
Warren's eyes narrowed, a nerve jumping in his cheek as he stared down at her. "You know what I want."
She stiffened. "Again?"
"Again and again."
It was her punishment, her penance, a strange kind of therapy he employed to make her see herself as she used to be. "All right," she said tonelessly, closing her eyes to ask the dreaded question she was forced to ask. "Which time?"
Warren's eyes were also tortured. "The time with the two sailors," he muttered hoarsely.
Peggy shivered. "All right..."
"In the motel."
She nodded. "Yes..."
"All of it."
"Yes."
He leaned back in the deep chair. "Go on."
Peggy drew a deep breath and brushed her hair away from her face as she reached out to loosen his trousers. "They took me to the amusement park first," she began, her voice hollow and dead.
Warren remained inert under her hands, listening impassively as she confessed her sins aloud while seeking to please him with the humble strokings. He kept his eyes on her pale face all the while she talked, as though the self-admissions were enabling him to see her for the first time, providing him with fuel for his bitterness, his callousness. They had spent many such passionate hours in this manner since the morning he had beaten and assaulted her. Taking advantage of her desperation, her fear, her need for him, he had forced her to confess the past he'd never suspected, the past he never would have believed until the morning she bared and flaunted her sins before him. It pleased him that in each telling, she was harsher on herself, more truthful in her admissions. It hurt him that he had been drawn to this terrible means of scouring her soul of its sins and yet he could not yet surrender to this hurt. The wound was still raw. It required time for healing.
Perhaps after the child... perhaps then....
"They took off my clothes," Peggy whispered quietly, the sound of her raspy words no louder than the hitting of the tiny flakes against the windows. "I let them do it. I wanted them to look at me that way. I wanted them to tell me how pretty I was, how I excited them. They put me on the bed and kissed me and touched me and I loved it. I loved the things they did to me. I hardly knew them and yet I let them do whatever they wanted with me."
Warren stirred, his body responding to the heat of Peggy's breath, the rhythmic strokings of her small fingers. He closed his eyes as though unable to bear the sight of her and the realization of what he was doing to her. He could not shut out her voice and he bit hard on his lower lip as she painted the picture of her past.
Peggy gave no thought to the flow of words which spilled so softly and shamefully from her lips. She let them come forth, baring her soul, finding a strange serenity in the pain they invoked, "...the other one came back a second time and took me a different way. I didn't care, I wanted it to go on and on. I wanted them to stay there with me. I didn't want to go home to my room where I'd be all alone. I hated my room. I hated being alone. It seemed like I'd been alone for so long, for all my life. So I kept doing things to make them want me again and again, anything I could think of, anything at all...just to keep them wanting me...just to keep from being alone again...."
Warren sobbed softly and pressed his forearm hard over his eyes. "Oh, no..."
Peggy shivered, his voice bringing her out of the past, out of the reverie. She wet her lips and moved to kiss him.
"Peggy..."
She felt the hands tugging at her and she lifted her head to look up at him, not completely certain he had spoken her name in such a tone. She saw his face, the wetness on his cheek and the tears in his tortured eyes...and something else...a something that made her whimper in joyous disbelief. It had come at last... forgiveness....
Warren took her face between his palms and gazed at her in mute testimony of his emotions. "Peggy..."
She uncurled and rose with him, leaning into him, her gratitude draining her of all strength. They moved as one into their bedroom where Warren removed her garments and stroked at her new plumpness, Peggy wept silently. "Oh, Warren....Warren... I need you so... I need you..."
They fell together on the bed and the kiss was deep and desperate and fraught with tortured love. Peggy trembled as he tore at his clothing and when she spoke, the words came directly from her heart. "Warren... I love you... I really do...."
He came to her and she embraced him with arms and legs and mouth, rocking him with sobs of happiness, hearing and treasuring each word that told her of his own need and love. She lifted him with her to the sweet pleasures of marital love and she joyed in his tender dominance.
She would have her baby and her husband and a life without shame and confusion and loneliness. It was the end and yet, a beginning for her. She was happy, happier than she had ever been in all her life, perhaps for the very first time in her life... for this was a true and lasting happiness... the kind born only of a true and lasting love.
