The curvaceous girl, mentally, hugged herself with pleasure, with a Cheshire cat grin of inward delight. "Mayme," she chortled in smothered, effervescent happiness, "there's a whole new life waiting for you ... right out there. Just for you...."
The Las Vegas airport, gateway to the whole new world of Mayme Lake (the first name sounded like "Maymay") beckoned, and she was ready. Whatever the direction of the road, so long as it conformed to her wishes, desires and aspirations, she was ready.
This was no spur-of-the-moment excursion for the red-haired Mayme. It was the result of long and meticulous planning; of saving money; of weaving an intricate network of lies about herself and her ambitions.
After 19 years in Alton, Illinois she was so happy to be stepping down off a plane at Las Vegas, (as she put it to herself, mincing down the steps from the American Airlines Jet) she could have "peeed her pants." Mayme was a very basic, very cold individual who thought only of herself but had enough native shrewdness in the area of psychology to realize that all she had to do was put on a good act of pretending to care for others and it would pay off like a slot machine.
Mayme had a spectacular figure. In Alton, she had been the target of every sharpshooter who orbited in her sector of space, but she had a built-in radar for recognizing them. The black leather jacket set had made her its target for a month. The head stud, over-confident and careless had made the mistake of relaxing when he was about to strip her nylon panties off the goodies he was fighting for and Mayme (then Annamay) had ripped a high-heeled pump into his exposed genitals with a force which left him permanently bereft of his generators. She had gone to the police immediately with an accusation of criminal attack and described what she'd done. The hot-shot had gone up for life ... and the rest of the gang gave her wide clearance. The sympathetic police had kept her name out of it (it was a closed trial for her testimony) so that only her mother knew, for sure. The gasoline alley mob wondered but never knew all the details-just Annamay was poison.
As her feet touched the asphalt hardstand at Las Vegas, an electric thrill seemed to chase through her nerves. The whole, seductive body tensed and radiated animal magnetism as she walked across to the gate.
The figure which housed Mayme was a product of a generous nature and the girl's own ability to translate contemporary sex symbols into a composite which fit her. She'd studied the subject well, going out with both callow and precocious boys during her school days. Mayme knew just how to accent the desirable features. Her total appearance was 'impertinent.' She was hugged everywhere by her sheath, the bra pushed the firm bosoms up enticingly, the snugly-anchored hose were smooth over high insteps and full calves, not even wrinkling over her knees as she walked. The jubilant buttocks seemed to enjoy an existence all their own, exuberantly free as they swayed slightly, quivering with her stride.
Watching her approach the gate, the four pairs of male eyes continued locked on her approach, intently, causing another bubble of elation to form and burst with a tingling sensation in Mayme's sensational midriff. She had disposed of Jerry Kraft as they rose to leave the plane and, now, was conscious of his lagging behind her. She could all but feel his hot eyes tracing the luscious curves of her body.
As Mayme moved, confident and hyper-femininely under the outer trappings which proclaimed and proclaimed again that she was all girl, her mind went back in amusement to one of her high-school dates. Jerry Kraft reminded her a lot of Bobby Stiles, except that Bobby had been smooth and golden-skinned, handsome and muscular. He moved like an athlete and only his halting. speech and nervous laugh indicated the pressure he was under as (then Annamay) teased and toyed with him during the high school senior dance.
* * *
Bobby had been proud as punch that Annamay had accepted his bid to the prom; had arrived at her house promptly with a corsage in the accepted transparent box. They'd gone through the routine of pinning it to her coat as they left to get into his father's car and start for the high-school gymnasium. Once they were settled in the big sedan, Bobby slid away from the curb, tooling the big car expertly through the streets. The boy was having trouble in maintaining a pleasant flow of small-talk and Annamay sensed his effort to do so. Some imp of perversity in her revolted at this effort at conventional behavior on the boy's part. As they pulled into the parking lot, Bobby sought for a secluded spot in anticipation of hoped-for need of one later, but couldn't locate where the overhead lights missed the car interior. As he pulled in and stopped, the light shone down illuminating them from the waist down.
"Darn these nylons," Annamay said, giving a good imitation of a girl whose patience was worn thin with the effort of coping with the manufacturer's shortcomings. "I just can't keep them from getting loose. 'Scuse me, Bobby," she apolozied as she whipped her dress up to her hips and proceeded to tighten and straighten and smooth the sleek sheen of the hose over her provocative limbs. Bobby gulped.
"It-it's-go right ahead, Annamay," he said, his voice tangling in his throat and his eyes darting over the exposed limbs. He felt a hot flush expand inside him as he ogled the actions of the girl, the white softness of her thighs above the hose making his heart pound like a trip-hammer. As Annamay continued her spurious adjustment, making sure that she had the hose just as she wanted them, she kept darting unobserved glances at Bobby's face. After a few all too brief (for Bobby) moments, she finished and, in a final move which almost completely destroyed his equanimity, she exaggerated the gesture with which she pulled her skirts back over her legs. Bobby got a clear and unobstructed view of the tight, sheer panties which covered Annamay's treasures, noting with a surge of excitement the prominent, bold swell of her body at the top of the full thighs.
Annamay was about to break up as he got out, saw that the car was properly locked, and started toward the gym with her. Bobby was going through his pockets frantically, to make sure he had tickets and his words were getting stuck in his throat or coming out half-spoken. When finally they moved to the dance floor and he took her in his arms, she purposely moved close against him, letting her thighs press and slide against his as they swayed to the music. It wasn't long before she had her reward, feeling Bobby's body touch her leg as they turned and feeling the stiffness of his response as she also felt the pumping of his heart.
All through the evening, Annamay continued her campaign of teasing Bobby until the boy was in a state of near-collapse. After the dance, he falteringly asked where she'd like to go to eat and she pretended to consider it.
"Oh, gee, Bobby ... let's not go down to Green's. Everybody'll be there. Why don't we go out the highway someplace where we can miss the mob. How about the Pig 'n' Whistle? I know one of the carhops there. If she's on, maybe she'll sneak us a beer."
"Alright," Bobby gulped. "But why don't I stop out at the Sunoco station on the way and get Killy Garson to pick up a six-pack from the liquor store next door?"
"Good deal!" Annamay agreed, enthusiastically, and Bobby's pulses again leaped in anticipation.
Bobby, when they arrived at the gas station, left Annamay, to make arrangements with his friend, returning in a few moments with the paper bag containing the beer carton.
"And we're off!" he said, enthusiastically, seeming to have regained his power of speech, as he drove back onto the highway and headed for the barbecue stand. As the big car followed the brilliance of its headlights through the dark, Mayme moved over close to Bobby, snuggling her hip and thigh against him as she moved.
"Now I don't feel so all alone," she joked as he grinned nervously down at her. Bobby wasn't much taller than Annamay, but she'd seen him in his basketball uniform and was much attracted by the compact muscularity of his body. She had been surprised to feel a definite response at the sight of his smooth, powerful limbs as he moved, shining with perspiration, under the bright lights of the basketball court.
Now she savored the same tingles again as, sitting close to him, her body savored the heat of his. They slowed to pull in and park at the barbecue, ordering and eating with the healthy appetites of youth. Anna-may protested she couldn't drink three cans of beer and Bobby said he'd be looped on four, so they slipped one to Annamay's friend, the carhop as she picked up their tray.
As they headed back toward Alton on the highway, Annamay again snuggled close to Bobby, this time resting one hand over the top of the thigh she nestled against, hearing his sharp intake of breath.
"Let's go t' the cemetery," she suggested, daringly, squeezing his leg gently and feeling it flex in response. The cemetery, in those days, had some wide, un-crowded areas, much prized by smoochers.
"O-okay!" Bobby gulped and headed for it. As they found a spot, secluded yet allowing them a clear view all around in the moonlight, they parked and Bobby opened the two cans of beer they had left. They drank them in leisurely fashion, Annamay leaning against the opposite door, facing Bobby, curling on the seat with one leg dangling. She nudged his ankle, now and then with the toe of her high-heeled sandal.
Finished, they stowed the cans in the sack to be thrown away later and Annamay again nestled against Bobby. He tentatively kissed her, then moved to take her in his arms and kiss her fervently. She moved her hand back to his thigh and began to stroke him, slowly, higher and higher as his excitement rose. She could feel his heart pounding against hers and, egged on by the spirit of perversity and two cans of beer, she went through the routine of snugging her hose again, the bright moonlight streaking the sexy legs with a dull line of light as they moved. Bobby, gulping, put forth a shaking hand to touch a round knee with his fingertips and, meeting with no rebuke, Annamay giggled inwardly as his feverish hand closed over the round top of her thigh. Not bothering to restore her dress, she leaned to him for another kiss and, as his agitated hand began to inch its way up the firm column of her thigh, she returned the favor, slowly approaching the displaced area of his trousers. Before his hand could reach its target, Annamay cheated, leaping the last scant inches to take his throbbing rigidity with knowing fingers.
As Bobby gasped and arched his back, Annamay opened his slacks and deftly brought him out into the moonlight's illumination. Then, hotly, his hands darted back to her panties and he started to pull them down over her lifted hips and legs.
"Well, young feller," Annamay said to herself, "I'll guarantee you'll hide no little Bobby in there," gasping as his hands, clumsily, found her, making her tense. As the feverish moments passed, Annamay giggled tensely within at Bobby's efforts to position her for his envisioned possession of her and, when sweating and panting, he was becoming more insistent, she stopped him with one word. "No!" she said, firmly.
"Wh-what...? " he mumbled, hands still busy. Annamay pushed him back against the seat.
"You want to make a baby?" she asked, brusquely. He shook his head. "Neither do I," she said, holding him firmly. "I've always wanted to try this, though," she said, winking at him as she slowly lowered her head....
* * *
Ignoring the interested male looks, she passed through the gate with other deplaning passengers, her eyes busy on their own. She was looking for a friend-with whom she had shared considerable girlhood experiences-and was a little disappointed not to see her immediately. The girl's practical mind, however, granted there might be any number of reasons Pat might not meet her and was fully prepared to go to a motel and contact Pat later. They had been close enough in school, however, for Mayme to feel that only an event or circumstance of considerable importance would prevent Pat from being there.
Then she picked up the figure of a tall ash blonde coming toward her; eyes questioning and expression quizzical. She slowed her approach several paces away, looked over the other passengers, her eyes returning to find Mayme again. She did look familiar, Mayme thought, but-perhaps it was the blonde hair and the skin-tight capris which decided her but the redhead, suddenly, decided to approach the other girl.
"Pat Marlow?" she asked, smiling into the taller girl's eyes. An expression of puzzlement supplanted the questioning look on he features.
"Annamay?" she asked, "Annamay Leonard?"
Mayme smiled, delightedly, laying a finger on her scarlet, beautifully-painted lips.
"That's right, hon ... only now, I'm Mayme Lake. Forget that Annawhoozis bit. How've you been?" They rushed into each other's arms for a bear hug and then took off, chattering like magpies, to pick up Mayme's luggage, and head for Pat's apartment which the blonde described as being "upstairs over a vacant lot." It wasn't that bad, but Mayme could tell, as she stowed her clothes, that her friend wasn't browsing in any Las Vegas lettuce patch; at least not so far as externals were concerned. Pat's things were cheap so Mayme assessed her economic conditions as not too great. Pat liked nice things and, had she been able to afford them, she'd have had them....
Mayme, clad in the filmiest and briefest of sleepers, was sprawled alongside the figure of her friend. Pat's eyes were reading the redhead's figure in brief, repeated glances and Mayme knew she was turning the other on by her presence. Neither indicated anything of it, though, as the conversation continued. Pat's eyes were busy going from bosoms to lips to thighs and she finally began to fidget, twisting gradually until her thigh touched Mayme's. The redhead finished her story, meanwhile dropping a hand softly to Pat's thigh, causing the blonde to gasp.
"...and I'm going to find the people who can help me get where I'm going," Mayme said, fingers squeezing Pat's firm thigh slightly, the touch causing the blonde to shiver and shake. With the sinuous grace of a stalking jungle cat, the redhead's hand began to explore the soft curves of her companion's body. Half turning on her side, Mayme slipped one leg over Pat's as her hand moved up to trace the excitement of a suddenly-leaping nipple. As the blonde began to breathe faster, Mayme slowly brought her own lips closer and closer to Pat's, her hand slipping from nipple to nipple with insistent, stimulating caresses; then swiftly sliding down the softly curved abdomen to stroke and gently pinch the quivering body. Pat's breath was hot against her cheek as Mayme moved over closer to the eager lips of her friend but then, finally, a butterfly-light contact was made ... just the barest of touches ... but Pat tensed. Mayme's tongue slipped between her lips to brush Pat's lips, ever so lightly, now and again, until Pat's arching back ached with the effort to project herself straight up into space. As the pressure of Mayme's kiss increased, so did the activity of her darting, pink tongue; then her knee began to push against the closed columns of Pat's thighs. As they parted, trembling, the redhead slipped over upon the shaking body, forcing the thighs apart, and nestling between them with searching pushes of her pelvis which soon found the contact she was seeking. Pat began to moan, her arms stealing around Mayme to lock her in a vise-like grip....
CHAPTER TWO
Mayme, before she dropped off to sleep, her first night in Las Vegas, remembered something. When she'd repulsed the attack by the motorcycle Romeo, her lawyer insisted that she have an examination by a gynecologist. The doctor, a muscular, blonde-haired bachelor of about 35, had a well-established practise. When he came into the examination room, despite the procedure which pretty well hid the patient from the physician, Mayme detected a most unprofessional gleam in the young medic's eyes before they were shut from view by the sheet which was hung over her legs. Later, when she was dressed and sitting in his office, answering questions for the medical history he wrote on her, her eyes happened to drop to his lap. This was routine with her ... her experience with boys had titillated her curiosity in the matter of male sex organs ... but she was surprised to note that the doctor, from the appearance of his trousers, was considerably agitated. Also, Mayme concluded, while not an exceptionally big man otherwise, the swelling her eyes detected on their fleeting glance was an indication the doctor was considerably better "hung" (as the expression then described it) than any of the boys she'd brought to fulfillment by her devious and frustrating techniques. When the doctor directed that she come back for a follow-up examination 15 days later, she didn't know that it was the day his office was normally closed ... and that there'd be no nurse in attendance.
She writhed against the bed clothing as the memory returned in full detail. The doctor had been busily engaged, at the reception desk, filling in cards such as the history he'd made out on her. He was brusque, but not unpleasant, asking her if she'd mind sitting down and waiting for just a moment. Purposely, she took a chair across from the desk at which he was occupied. She'd dressed very carefully for this visit, with all the cunning that feminine instinct, plus three years of boy-baiting, had equipped her with. Push-up bra, low d'colletage, a dress as short as current fashion permitted-then, right at the knee-and sheer nylons, reefed up as snugly as her own creation of broad, turndown garters would hold them. Her high heels pitched her calves and high insteps to the ultimate in provocative attitude. Before her mirror at home, she'd been well satisfied-extremely well satisfied-with the appearance of her luscious body, clad only in bra, panties, hose and heels, turning and posing before the full-length mirror in her mother's room. With a feeling of elation at the effect, she disdained a slip and let the clinging material of the snug frock do its utmost for her.
That afternoon, seated across from the busily writing physician, she picked up a magazine and gave every appearance of being lost in it. She crossed her legs carefully, noting the doctor's quick glance at the action, and making the most perfunctory of efforts at pulling her dress down. Now and then, she'd flex the muscles of the crossed limb, pointing the toe downward until she could feel the smooth muscles under the tight nylons pull and swell. She could check the effect, partially, by glancing to one side of the magazine she was holding, not forgetting to turn the page at intervals. An effervescence, born of excitement in the knowledge that this was her first adventure with a mature male, and the secretive nature of her actions, rose within her and made it difficult to breathe evenly. The doctor was looking his fill, now, taking admiring glances at the enticements Mayme was dangling before him. Keeping her eyes on the page before her, she deliberately re-crossed the shapely legs and, as though deeply engrossed in what she was reading, carelessly reached down to tug at the dress hem, releasing it to spring back a couple of inches above the perfectly rounded knee.
The doctor didn't miss a bit of this and, by now, was beginning to squirm on his chair, making only the most perfunctory gestures toward the cards. Mayme felt something leap in her chest as she looked past the magazine to see, through the knee-hole of the desk, the doctor's big thighs open with a twisting motion, his hand going, surreptitiously, to the lengthy bulge which her eyes could discern with no trouble. Evidently he was trying to rearrange things more comfortably under the stress of his erotic response to the seductive view he was facing. He struggled to make an adjustment to ease the strain both his trousers and his person were undergoing. Mayme could feel her heart pounding; her breathing was fighting to go quick and shallow, but, with tremendous effort, she fought to keep the cadence as nearly normal as she could.....
She wondered how to break the spell. The doctor showed no indication that he was bored with the charms he could see, had abandoned any pretense of further writing on the cards. Mayme watched as he returned his hand to the focus of his fever and agitation, to deliberately take hold of the swelling and squeeze it until she could see his knuckles whiten. She lowered the magazine, dropping it on the stack atop the table by her chair, but the doctor didn't take his eyes off her legs. Carefully uncrossing her legs and keeping her eyes on the doctor's hand beneath the desk, she slowly raised her skirt and began to pull the already-tight nylons upward, the action baring the full swell of luscious thighs until the doctor's startled eyes could plainly discern the tight band of the white panties, plump and creased between the pink columns above the long hose.
As she toyed with the garter, she raised her eyes to his until he looked at her; at which she pointedly looked back at the position of his hand beneath the desk. His face was glistening with a fine film of perspiration, the rise and fall of his white clinical coat was deep and ragged. He rose, walking stiffly to the entrance door, turning the knob to open it enough to hang the "Doctor is Out" placard on its hook and pushing the latch before he quietly closed it. He turned toward Mayme, by now adjusting-and just as needlessly-the garter on the other lush thigh. Returning to lean with his back to the desk, the white-coated audience watched Mayme's slowly-moving hands with absorbed interest, glancing at her eyes now and then. She continued to look fixedly at his manifest excitement in the display. As she started to replace the cover of her skirt, the muscular doctor stepped across the room and scooped her with muscular arms, effortlessly, out of the chair, turning to take her through the door, through the consultation room and then into one of the examination rooms. He deposited her gently on the cushioned surface, raising the leaf of the table to its full length and lovingly stretching her legs upon it. Then his skilled fingers took hold of the material of the clinging dress and quickly worked it upward, lifting her plump, firm buttocks, turning the garment back and then quickly freeing her of the snug panties. His eyes memorizing every detail of the luscious picture lying before him, the medic paused a moment, then his fingers went rapidly to the buttons of his coat. With no lost motion, he quickly stripped to his white shoes and thick nylon socks. Mayme's eyes widened as the token of his aroused virility stood unveiled. The doctor slid his hands caressingly across the tight burden of her bra to slip under her arms and lift her to a sitting position on the cushions, quickly unzipping her dress and drawing it over her head and upraised arms, then stepping close between her knees, he unfastened the hooks and put the bra on the chair where he'd draped dress and panties.
Mayme's hands had instinctively gone to the curly triangle below her abdomen, but her attention hadn't wavered from that which first had drawn it. Smiling now, and sure of success, the doctor took her wrist in his hand and slowly drew her fingers to the rigid appendage. As they fastened around it, almost without volition, he bent slowly and brushed her lips with the tip of his tongue. Mayme shuddered involuntarily and a hot, electric surge went through her body as she clutched him eagerly, passing her other hand behind his neck to draw his mouth down to her swollen, half-parted lips....
An hour and a half later, Mayme smiled at the doctor across the consulting room desk.
"Well, what kind of condition am I in?" she asked. The doctor looked up at her, then rolled his eyes upward.
"I had to write the truth in my medical report for the County prosecutor," he said, soberly. Mayme straightened in her chair.
The doctor opened the drawer and passed a sheaf of papers to her.
"What's that?" she asked, a sharp note creeping into her voice.
"The last paragraph on the first page, there is the important one," he said. "I wrote it after I examined you two weeks ago and kept this copy for my files. To cut through all the medical double talk, it states that all evidence indicates that you are a virgin..."
"Was a virgin, doc," she said, rising and going behind the desk to drop her luscious hips into his lap. Leaning down, she brushed his ear with crimson lips. "Doctor," she whispered, slowly, "how'd you like to make it an even three...? "
Mayme settled her pillow again drowsily, her pulses having quickened at the recollection. The doctor truly revealed to her just what her body could be expected to do, to accomplish what she wanted. Over the months, she recalled, she and Dr. Ecklund-Davehad many passionate hours together. Because she was legally a minor, they had to take great care not to be discovered. Mayme didn't mind the secretiveness of their arrangement ... for her, it added a spice to something she enjoyed tremendously. The doctor's fortunes made Mayme used to going "first class" during their clandestine association and, when Mayme had laid her final plans to disappear, she "borrowed" five hundred dollars from the physician to finance an advanced course at business school in St. Louis. Mayme knew she could have gotten money from Dave any time she'd have asked for it, but with shrewd restraint, she made her touch when she needed it. In her own mind, this final act in their relationship was a harbinger of future security.
"All you have to do is ask," she said hugging herself in delighted elation. "If you've got the right equipment-and I have-all you have to do is ask." She smothered a bubbling chuckle. "Of course, you have to put your attractions right on the line-and you have to know what you want. That's the next most important thing ... know what you want...."
Mayme knew what she wanted, she reflected as she snuggled into the enveloping arms of drowsiness. But the nice thing, the comforting thing to know was that it was just a case of asking. Just like money in the bank, she thought, as she dropped off to sleep, wondering at the same time, how she'd make out in her search for a job, tomorrow....
CHAPTER THREE
Having no luck at finding employment her first day out, Mayme was interested when Pat had suggested she quiz her barman friend, Lefty, at work that night.
Next day, Pat slept till noon, Mayme pouncing on her for any news, immediately she awoke.
"Lefty tells me a plush restaurant-The Porterhouse-about 12 miles out's looking for sexy hostesses. It's a transportation problem, but the money's right, Lefty says . .
"Then, would you drive me out?" Mayme asked, eagerly and Pat smilingly nodded.
Dressed to the teeth, the redhead swung out of Pat's old model car about 3. The Porterhouse was an impressive structure, sprawling low across the flat desert. Pat headed for the bar to wait for Mayme.
The latter had no trouble talking to James Moore the manager. He eyed her figure closely as he explained they were trying to attract more heavy-spending males by using sexy, smart girls to handle the customers.
"Would you care to model one of the costumes we've had designed for the staff the 'front girls' as we call them?" He smiled at her. "They're real eye-openers..."
"Just so long as I don't get arrested for indecent exposure," Mayme smiled in return.
"What size do you wear in a dress?" he asked.
Mayme supplied the information. He touched an intercom switch on his desk and asked the answering voice to have a size 10 tunic brought in. When a knock at the door announced its arrival, Moore rose and took it, Mayme rising too, looking at the garment with interest. It was gold lame and of a stretch material, with a daring d'colletage, and long sleeves. The bottom was trimmed with a classic, repeating square pattern in rich red.
"This is darling!" Mayme exclaimed, noting there were matching brief pants over the crossbar of the hanger. Moore grinned.
"They're great on ... the right figures," he said. He looked at the redhead who unconsciously arched her back under his scrutiny. "If I lock you in, would you mind modeling it for me, right now?" he asked.
"Be happy to," Mayme assented, putting down her bag and taking the tunic off the hanger to hold it against her. Moore beckoned her to his desk, pointing to the intercom.
"When you get changed, just push this red switch down and call me," he said. "I'll latch the door so no one walks in on you." He went out and Mayme heard the latch snap and the rattle of the knob as he tried it. Swiftly she stepped out of her dress and slip, finding a clear, plastic packet also fastened to the hanger. She hadn't noticed it previously, but it proved to be sheer tights and she stripped her hose off, hoping the garter marks wouldn't be too noticeable. She quickly put on the tights, noting they were of the stretch variety and snugged tightly to her. The brief golden panties were next, and they hugged her contours lovingly. Getting into the tunic was more of a job ... the sleeves fit tightly and from shoulders to waist, the effort of the designer was to eliminate wrinkles and accent the curves. The bottom of the brief garment, which came just below the "v" of the tight, golden panties, hung naturally, however, thanks to the two side vents.
"I wish I had a full-length mirror," she said to herself. The d'colletage was a problem because a narrow edge of her bra showed above the line of the neck. She'd have to find another one, she mused, trying to see if hair was unmussed and her costume wrinkle-free with the aid of her purse mirror. Finally she shrugged and went over to the intercom to inform the manager she was dressed, going over to open the door. When he appeared, she was standing in the center of the office, poised with a hand resting lightly on the provocatively impudent flare of one hip. Moore stopped in the doorway and his eyes traveled over her from head to foot. Mayme broke the pose to turn and walk a couple of steps away from him.
"Great!" he said, enthusiastically. "Wait a moment." He went to the desk again and asked someone to see if Mr. Graydon was on the parking lot out back and to ask him to come to his office. He turned to her. "Mayme, you're spectacular." She fussed with the exposed edges of the bra but he waved it away. "That's a detail you can handle with the right bra. Oh Phil . . he said as another tall figure entered the office, "This is Mayme Lake. Do you think she does anything for our tunic?" Again Mayme moved and posed under the closed scrutiny of the second man. He nodded slowly.
"Jim, I'm sold. That's the cutest thing I've seen since Santa Claus brought me my first teddy bear." Mayme smiled and turned again. Graydon turned to Moore, unsmiling and nodded emphatically. "Go, go, go," he said, and vanished out the door.
"Is there someplace I could see myself?" Mayme asked. "I'm sort of flying blind....: He waved the thought away.
"We're getting a real dressing room built," he said. "We'll have full-length mirrors all over the place, but, right now, let's talk a little more..."
"...and he arranged a ride for me with the barman, starting tonight. I've got to shop for bras..." Mayme broke off as Pat braked for a corner.
"Here we go," she said, turning and pulling into a parking lot beside a shop called The Trimmer. It took about a half hour and twenty dollars to take care of the problem.
"I'll need a coat, too," Mayme mused. "Until they get dressing room facilities finished, I'll have to go to and from work this way."
"Hope you don't have to walk any of it," Pat smiled as they arrived at the apartment. "You'll be a real menace to navigation in that costume."
"They are sexy, aren't they?" Mayme laughed, excitedly. "Maybe I can get off the ground as a Porterhouse hostess."
"If you want to meet people, that's a good place for it," Pat said as they went in. "They have fabulous food there..."
"There's one there, in back," Pat said. "I rarely wear it and it may need cleaning but there's a one-hour cleaner around the corner and they can run it through for you tomorrow."
"Great. Gee, I really feel like I'm camping out, but I feel real good about the job. I think I can get myself into the spot of 'head girl' out there, pretty easily," Mayme said, thoughtfully, as though thinking out loud. Pat cast a quick glance at her, but said nothing.
"I think I'm going to take a short nap," Pat said. "It helps on this cockeyed 9 to 5 shift. I used to think nothing but a warehouse rat would work hours like that." Mayme laughed.
"I'm lucky-7 to 3," she commented. "I think I'll go along with that nap idea, though. Sounds good." The redhead stretched out beside her friend, setting the little clock on soft alarm. Since she had to get under way sooner than Pat, it was a problem. She got about an hour's sleep before the gentle, insistent chime of the small alarm woke her. She silenced it, immediately, turning to look at Pat. The blonde didn't move and Mayme, yawning, wound and re-set the timepiece for 7:30, getting up and starting to get ready.
When she was dressed, she eagerly walked in front of the wavery full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. She appraised herself, coldly, allowing for the aberration of the faulty glass and admitted that she was a walking advertisement for sex.
"But, you know," she said to herself, shrewdly assessing the effect of the demure tunic, "it's good, clean sex ... like a little girl playing dress up." Just long enough to cover the seductive flare of her buttocks and the junction of her thighs, the costume emphasized by what it did not reveal and attracted the eye by what it threatened to expose. "I'll be diddledy-damned," she commented to herself, in wonderment. "Here's a new package for it." Turning and posing, despite the inadequacies of the mirror, she was impressed. One thing made her chuckle-the daring and impertinent swell of her breasts above the neckline of the gold tunic. It was as though they dared you to look at them, touch them ... or attempt to ignore them. Mayme chuckled again. Whoever the designer was, he knew what he was doing. Put sex in a wholesome, but attractive package to make it seem right ... and the sinful touch just lights the fuse on the whole thing without detracting from the desired effect....
Jim Moore worked with Mayme for about four hours that night and the redhead, with her native quickness, caught on fast. Moore, watching her operate with a couple of parties while he was on the phone, or behind the long, plate glass steak bar, began to congratulate himself. However, he kept his fingers crossed, mentally; one thing you don't do is count on people. Too shifty. Use 'em, but don't depend on 'em. However, he began to feel easier about selling The Porterhouse with a top-drawer display of good, clean sex. Today, you couldn't sell anything without it and, despite the reluctance of his partner, Moore knew he had an answer to the problem of making some real money. Once he'd established The Porterhouse in Las Vegas, the second establishment would go into Hollywood....
"Isn't she attractive?" a female patron demanded of her girl friend as Mayme walked away from their table, after seating them and beckoning to a waiter. This was part of the technique. If the station waiter was busy, you engaged the patron in some light conversation. The minute he was free, you beckoned him over, and your customers were impressed by the treatment.
"Indeed she is," her companion, eyes on Mayme's retreating hips, replied. "You know, one of those tunics would be an excellent and comfortable relaxing costume for around the house." The other nodded as the cocktail waitress came to the table. Moore drilled them rigidly on their approaches.
"With unescorted women, you play down the sex angle. Be courteous but be pleasant and direct. This lets them know that you recognize they're female, too, and-despite the head start of your work clothes, you give them credit for being just as sexy as you are. Go along with compliments on your costumes ... be a touch conspiratorial about their effect on the men customers, but never go overboard. Let them lead ... and you follow ... "
"Good evening," she said levelly. "I'm Jenny. Would you like me to order for you at the bar?" Since customers were constantly up and down at the display of steaks under the plate glass cases, this seemed to be a convenience no one would dispense with. Consequently, the cocktail girls, in their red, or green or yellow or blue tunics were constantly busy. There was, constantly, a movement of legs, buttocks and bar trays through the room.
By I:30, the room was packed and Mayme's head was spinning. Yet, she was full of effervescence at the effect she was having, and of Moore's obvious approval of her mothod of operation. She had no trouble steering customers, even though she always asked their preference as to a booth or table. In every situation, Moore told the girls, "The customer is right. Your job is to find out what he wants ... and then see that he gets it."
At 3, things had quieted down somewhat and Mayme, relaxing in Jim Moore's office over a champagne cocktail, was happy with his critique.
"...not only have you got a terrific figure for our uniform, but you judge people accurately. Sure you haven't had some professional experience along those lines?" he asked smiling broadly.
"Not professional, Mr. Moore," she protested, "but ever since I was in grade school, I've been curious about people and I finally began to figure them out by types, and gestures. For instance, if someone crosses his arms when you're talking to him, it's usually a sign he disagrees with you..." Mayme pointed out a half-dozen other signs she depended on and gestures she looked for. Moore compared notes with her on some of his indicators and then the bartender stuck his head in.
"Excuse me, Mr. Moore," he said, "but I'm ready to leave and I wanted to check if Mayme wanted a ride back into town." The redhead came gracefully to her feet, picking up the glass and draining the small amount left in it.
"I sure do," she said. "I'm going to have to get a car, but, right now, I'm a little tight for money." Moore walked to the door with her.
"I have an idea it won't be that way for too long," he smiled. "Goodnight."
Next morning, Mayme had breakfast ready when Pat woke up. The blonde was all ears to know how the first night had gone.
"I think it's going to be fabulous," Mayme said, with enthusiasm. "Moore was very complimentary ... and we compared notes on how to handle people. You know, Pat, I think I'm going to be the head girl out there with less trouble than I'd thought." Pat nodded.
"That figures," she laughed. "With the figure you have, they'd have to raid every show in town to compete. Now, if you're going to turn out smart, in the bargain, Moore can't lose."
"Plus the fact that they're planning to open a duplicate in Los Angeles," Mayme laughed, exultantly. "And, Pat-baby, that's the place I was headed for when I dropped into your lap. Incidentally, we haven't talked about my share of the expenses ... so let's." Pat waved a negligent hand.
"There's no sweat about it," she said.
"I know," Mayme said, "but you're the only friend I've got and I'm not going to hang you up with the check. I'll find my free-load prospects somewhere else." After the details were settled in that area, the conversation drifted to cars, then clothes and, finally, men. Pat told of a few of the dates she'd had, but recounted them without much enjoyment at the recollection.
"Big problem with me, out here," Pat explained, "is that every guy who propositions this cocktail waitress, expects that I'm a pro. I've thought about it more than once, because it's a source of quick money, but there are hazards. I know several of the girls who are working and they're in pretty often with dates. It's good for my tips. The minute I get into competition, they'll blow the whistle-they'd be stupid if they didn't-and some guy will come around to see me to argue with his fists instead of his mouth. As a waitress, I'm going to do all right," Pat finished, a speculative look in her eyes, "but I don't like the looks of the guys who, I understand, control the business."
Mayme rolled a fingertip over a raisin on her plate. She raised her eyes to Pat's frankly.
"You remember our dates with kids back home," she said. "I learned something from all those nights of wrestling high school boys with hot pants. As long as they're still on the prowl for you, you can get them to do most anything you want, provided they can see a way they might get what they want. But, it's always a juggling act-where everything is always up in the air. I consider myself a pro, already ... I got five bills from the Doc when I split; I'm planning to get more, from other men. But I'm not going to play any one night stands, unless it's to my advantage. It has to be a solid arrangement to make any sense to me. A long term deal with good living and money in the bank."
"Yeah ... but how do you find it in a town like this?' Pat asked, rising to pour more coffee. "Seems like the great majority of people are here today and gone tomorrow. Las Vegas is just one big convention with gambling, etc., on the side." Mayme shrugged.
"May not be possible to find it here," she said. "But, as I said, Hollywood's where I'm going, and I'll bet there are a lot of commuters between here and there who fall into the money in the bank' group. I figure anyone who can come to Las Vegas, for fun, regularly, is a good risk, at least for consideration."
"It makes sense when you say it," Pat agreed. "I think I'm just going to coast along until, maybe, I find a good, dependable truck driver who's looking for a home and kiddies." She chuckled as Mayme shuddered.
"I hated myself, as a kid," Mayme said. "I don't hate myself now, because I know me pretty well. The only thing I can figure is, I hate kids ... so there."
They both laughed and Pat, rising, suggested they do some grocery shopping as the larder was getting low. The redhead agreed, but needed to bathe first, she said, and Pat shooed her to the shower, saying she needed some more coffee, first. They took Pat's trench coat to the coin-op cleaner on the corner and the girl assured them it would be done in an hour and a half, at the most. The supermarket was only about five blocks from the apartment and Mayme signed a chit to borrow a cart, returning it when she went to pick up the coat. Over Pat's protests, she said she felt like walking and, besides, it was good for her legs. Pat eyed the stretch capris and grinned.
"You look like you'd been walking all your life, baby," she said. Mayme laughed.
"Yep ... but I expect to do a lot of riding, too, on the strength of all that walking.
CHAPTER FOUR
The pattern of their lives didn't change much over the next few weeks. Out at The Porterhouse, Moore had hired several more "Tunic Girls," as they were referred to in publicity stories, but had fired as many.
"They've got the looks, but they all think they're too talented to be one cut above a waitress," he complained, quietly to Mayme one night.
"It's just a matter of time, I think," Mayme replied. Moore shrugged.
"It's a good thing I found you when I did," he grinned, ruefully. "If you hadn't made the grade, Graydon might have thrown the whole idea out the back door, even though he knows it's good."
"Well, hey, then ... how about a raise?" Mayme laughed, half-kidding. Moore looked at her levelly.
"I was coming to that," he said. Mayme had to break away at that moment to take a large party in tow.
"Be right back," she grinned over her shoulder as she moved out.
"I'll be here," Moore replied. When she could leave the floor, she went back to the cashier's desk and Moore beckoned her into the office.
"Can't hear myself think with all that clatter out there," he said. It really wasn't that noisy, but it certainly was active and Mayme felt the busyness in the atmosphere. "To get back to what we were talking about, I've got to have two more girls." He jerked his head toward the office door, leaning against the edge of his desk. "Those kids I've got are lovely, yes, but neither one of them is smart enough to yell 'help' if she was trapped in a burning building." Moore frowned as he extracted a cigarette and lit it. "If you can find-or help find-the girls, and train them, it's worth a $250 bonus, for each one you get. You need a car ... here's a way to go." The mention of money turned Mayme on and she creased the tiny dimple in her chin, reflectively as she looked at the manager.
"We're talking about two more?" she asked, as a move to stretch out the time while the wheels in her head were turning.
"Could be three more," Moore said, pushing away from the desk to stub out his cigarette in a tray beside one of the office chairs. "If this thing goes as well as I've seen it go with you, we could use four ... if we had the right boss-girl."
"You have a deal," Mayme said. "I may run into some expense for taxis-lunches-like that ... " Moore picked her up.
"I'll take care of any reasonable expense for you," he said. "Just turn in the chit for what you spend."
Returning to the foyer, Mayme checked the room, moved in to help a group at a table who seemed neglected, then went to the cashier's desk to call the Caravansary, asking for Lucky at the bar. When he answered, Mayme explained who she was and thanked Lucky for steering her into The Porterhouse through Pat. Knowing he was busy, she quickly sketched the need for the kind of girls she needed, asking him to be on the lookout.
"Great notion," he said. "Saw your picture in the paper a few days ago. Why don't you drop in for a drink soon. like to talk to you."
"Be in Monday-that's my day off," Mayme said. "You working then?" Lucky said he was and they hung up.
Next morning, when Pat awoke, the redhead gave her the whole story.
"Lucky said he talked to you last night," Pat said. "But he said you'd give me the details. It was busy ... besides, Lucky has a real good trait. He's a gold-mine of public information, but try to get something, which is somebody else's business, out of him, and you get nothing."
"Funny guy," Mayme commented, "but then, aren't most bartenders?" Pat went along with the sentiment. The redhead then explained the deal Moore had offered her the night before. "I don't want to put you in the middle, but would you be interested in trying this bit? You've got the figure for it and you're doing about the same thing now, hustling drinks." Pat considered for a long moment.
"I don't think so, Mayme," she said at length. "I'm making about as good money as I can hope for, on my shift, but I'm getting moved up to the same hours as yours in two weeks. Then my take will pick up at least twenty a week, if not more. And-you know-they like me, so I feel steady and it's not an 'if deal, like it'd be at the Porterhouse and besides it's a long drive, compared to about 20 blocks I go now." Mayme sighed.
"Just thought I'd make you the first offer," she said.
"Besides, I could use a friend on the job." Pat put down her coffee cup.
"Well, don't take it as final," she said. "Lets talk about it again when you're down to your last girl." Mayme nodded emphatic agreement. To break the monotony, they decided to go to an early movie, and broke into a flurry of getting dressed, and getting under way....
On the way home, Mayme was unusually vivacious, talking a blue streak. Pat, driving, looked at her a couple of times in wonder, but said nothing. When they were back in the apartment, Pat started to undress for a nap. Mayme stripped to the skin and danced around the room. Pat, laughing, as she stepped into her filmy sleepers, asked:
"Hey, Aphrodite, what's with you?" Mayme pushed her backward onto the bed, one leg in, one leg out of the sheer panties. Pat squealed as she fell.
"Ooh ... that Sean O'Connery type ... he just turns me on" the redhead exclaimed, tickling one of Pat's feet. The blonde snatched her legs away with a gasp.
"Hey, take it easy," she remonstrated. Mayme ignored her, hopping onto the bed beside Pat on her knees.
"Have you ever been raped by a girl?" Mayme demanded, taking Pat in her arms and burying her face in the curve between her neck and shoulder. Pat, struggling, broke into goose-bumps all over.
"Not yet," the blonde returned, scissoring her legs around to catch Mayme in the vise of her thighs. "How about you?" Mayme jumped as Pat caught one distended nipple between thumb and forefinger, gently twisting.
"Wait a minute" the redhead demanded, trying to escape, but to no avail. Pat's hands were busily flying, first to one hardened nipple, then the other as Mayme struggled, uttering soft squeals of frustration. Finally, through the rising fog of excitement, she remembered Pat's feet-they couldn't stand tickling. Continuing her struggles, she worked her body around between Pat's grasping thighs until she could reach her objective, then suddenly her fingertips danced up the sole of Pat's foot, convulsing the blonde and making her legs fly apart to escape.
"Ho ho!" Mayme exclaimed, taking advantage of the other's surprise, to throw herself atop the trembling figure, "Now, who's gotcha?" Pat struggled, but without much effect. Mayme had thrust her knees between the other's legs, and now held the blonde down by her weight and by slipping her legs under Pat's, and, bending her feet across the blonde's ankles. Her legs thus pinioned, Pat was at the complete mercy of her aroused room-mate. Knowing the redhead of old, Pat realized she could expect no let-up in the fierce erotic assault and her blonde curls began to roll and toss on the pillow as Mayme attacked first one hard nipple and then the other. As her breasts began to tighten, spreading ripples of pure pleasure began to spread through her and Pat's back arched in delight. She locked her arms around Mayme, her pelvis beginning to make small, blind thrusts involuntarily, and the redhead felt the movement and smiled wickedly down into her helpless partner's eyes. She lowered her own hardening, pointed breasts onto Pat's as tongue and lips captured the helpless girl's ears, searching and tantalizing; working down the curve of the straining throat in which she could see the swelling pulse of the blonde's frenzied heartbeat; finally capturing her mouth again. Panting, gasping for breath, Mayme freed Pat's lips.
"Oh, baby!" Pat panted hoarsely as her body twisted and writhed helplessly, "It's just like Alton, again ... only better."
"I'll make you yell for mercy, again," Mayme laughed wickedly as Pat's head flung back against the pillow. Freeing the blonde's ankles, Mayme began to probe with subtle, experienced movements of her hips as Pat began to moan softly and rhythmically. For long minutes, the panting bodies, glistening with perspiration writhed and tossed together. As Mayme's pelvis found Pat's, the blonde spasmodically clamped her shapely legs around the redhead's waist, frenziedly crushing the tightly-swollen, aching breasts together. Mayme stopped her mouth with a hard kiss as Pat's out-flung hands clutched the bedclothes and her legs suddenly pushed down on the redhead's hard-muscled buttocks as their violent release suddenly shocked them....
Monday, Mayme, dressed to the teeth, dropped in on Lucky in the Caravansary bar, receiving a cordial welcome, and congratulations on the job she was doing at the Porterhouse.
"We're fresh out of Tunic Girls," she smiled, wryly.
"Like yuh told me," Lucky grinned back. "What'll it be?" Mayme ordered a screwdriver because, as she put it:
"I need the vitamins."
"Doesn't everybody?" Lucky inquired with a broad grin, setting the tall glass before her. "Figured I'd make it a double ... I'd rather talk to you than mix drinks, any day." he said. Mayme lifted her glass.
"Salud," she said. He kept on grinning. "You're a doll," he said. "You and Pat been friends a long time?"
"Ever since high school," Mayme replied, settling herself on the barstool and crossing her exceptional legs. "She's the only friend I have in Las Vegas ... I guess she's my only friend, since I never intend to go back home." Lucky shook his head.
"Don't burn all your bridges, chick," he said, "you may need to re-cross some of them."
"Oh, I'm not," Mayme returned, from a sense of not wanting to argue with Lucky, rather than a reflection of her feelings. "I never had many friends. Pat's the only one who's stuck." Lucky nodded sagely.
"Understand you could use some lookers with some sense out there," he remarked, downing a quick one, after taking a swift look around. Mayme nodded.
"I sure could," she said and remained silent. Lefty looked pensive for a moment of silence.
"Have a couple of prospects for you," he said. "Show girls who couldn't quite make the grade." Mayme perked up her ears. "They're not tall enough for the productions," Lucky continued, "but I've talked to both of them enough to feel that they may have all the smart you need. They've certainly got the looks." He dived into his pocket and fished out a wallet. "Got their names, addresses, measurements and phone numbers right here." He passed the card across the bar to Mayme.
"Want this card back?" Mayme asked, picking it up. Lucky shook his head with a wry smile.
"Not at my age," he said. "However, if you can't do anything for either of them, I'd appreciate having it back. Give it to Pat ... "
"Heck with that," Mayme broke in. "Bring it back myself. Enjoy the conversation." Lucky grinned, waving a deprecating hand at her.
"Flattery will get you anywhere, with me," he said. They talked of this and that, Mayme looking for information on Las Vegas, and Lucky a veritable encyclopedia. Finally the redhead said:
"Pat's lucky to be working with someone like you. A girl could never go wrong with as much information as you have." Again Lucky grinned and waved off the compliment.
"Nothin' to do in my old age except mix drink and advise girls," he said. "Incidentally, that's a good operation you're with. They pay their bills." Mayme raised questioning eyebrows.
"There are some who don't?" she said. "I'd think, in this town, it's either up or out."
"Here and there you'll find some pretty slow operators. It's a happy thing to know you're not working for one of 'em." Mayme nodded over the rim of her glass, as she finished her drink. She reached for her bag, but
Lucky waved her off when she started to take out a bill to pay for the drink.
"This one's on me," he said. Mayme smiled, sliding gracefully off the stool, to the edification of the two or three male patrons who could get a good look at her, due to their location in the room.
"Appreciate the chance to buy you the next one," the redhead said. "Many thanks for your time, Lucky, and for the leads on the girls. I'll be seeing you." She blew him a kiss in parting and he waved again.
As Mayme's high heels ticked across the terazzo outside the hotel entrance, a deep masculine voice hailed her:
"Hi, there." She looked around, then stopped and turned, smiling as she recognized one of the patrons of The Porterhouse. She'd seen him several times there and he was always very pleasant.
"Why, hello, Mr. Muller," she greeted him, extending a gloved hand which he took in both of his, briefly.
"Why thank you for remembering my name," he replied, obviously pleased.
"I always remember the names of good customers and pleasant people," she returned, frankly. His smile broadened.
"I have an easier task," he said, "remembering the names of beautiful girls." Mayme took the attitude that good looks were her stock in trade, and she never simpered nor acted cute in the face of compliments.
"Thank you, Mr. Muller," she replied, sincerely. "You're very kind."
"I've been turning this over in my mind since I first saw you at the restaurant," he continued, easily, "but
I'd like to know you better. Could I take you to dinner some night when you're off?" Mayme looked at him levelly.
"I'm flattered, Mr. Muller." She hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "Yes, I'd enjoy having dinner with you. The only difficulty is that we can't go where I work, and I don't feel like I should be responsible for sending our customers to our competitors." She smiled. "It's a problem."
"I think I can fix that. We'll go to another city. Do you mind flying?"
"I love it," was her interested reply. "Do you fly?" He nodded in answer.
"Would you like to make it your next day off?" Muller asked.
"That would be next Monday," she said, "if that's all right for you."
"That would be fine. I'm sorry this didn't happen sooner. We could have done it tonight. Do you have time for a drink?"
"One, yes." She smiled as he took her arm and continued toward the parking area, where he'd been bound when he met Mayme. "I just had a drink with a friend of my room-mate's," she explained, "and he insisted on building me a double. Said he'd rather talk than mix drinks."
"Can't say that I blame him," Muller returned. "Here we are..." He put Mayme into an Imperial with an appreciative glance at the leg show which was inevitable with Mayme's brief hemline. As he slid under the wheel, Mayme settled herself, noting his interest, and doing nothing to obstruct his view, though not obviously increasing the amount of exposure. They drove a few blocks down the strip, going to a cocktail lounge which offered a small jazz group for late afternoon patrons.
"This is nice," Mayme commented after they'd ordered. "There are still most of the town's attractions which remain to be seen, for me," she went on.
"I'd be happy to give you a conducted tour," Muller smiled easily. "I'm a Vegas booster, though I'm not a fanatic on the subject." Over their drink, they got to a first name basis and Mayme came to the realization that she'd been missing a lot of male companionship since she'd come to Las Vegas. Not from choice, unless you looked at it from a negative standpoint ... Mayme had no intention of wasting any of her considerable physical attractiveness or her time on men who didn't count for something in her book. Now, sitting alongside Bob Muller in the pleasant intimacy of The Rocker lounge, the redhead felt a stir of excitement as her escort talked. She was looking forward to their dinner date, wishing, as the male's proximity and her carefully-apportioned intake of alcohol made desire dance around her mind, that the date were for tonight. However, Mayme knew the value of making haste slowly in such affairs. Their conversation was bringing each up to date on the other as Bob related:
"...and after the divorce I decided to settle here, since it's my hometown. I don't care for the East, although I have a lot of good business connections there." Mayme heard the brief recap of Bob's married life with little or no interest. The marital status of her escort had no bearing on whatever relationship was established between them. Mayme was definitely not in the market for a husband. " ... and that's the long story of my life," Bob concluded, his inflection a tacit invitation to Mayme to tell him something of her.
"Mine's pretty dull," Mayme said, easily, and slid into the version of her background she had decided on a long time ago. As she sketched it, briefly, she tried to listen to it herself, to make sure it was plausible. It sounded so to her and she made a mental note to try it out on Pat at her first opportunity. She refused Bob's invitation for a second drink, nursing hers, but urged him not to refrain, pointing out she still had the means to keep him company. When it was finished, Bob drove her home and they parted with his reminder not to forget their next week's date and her reassurance that she wasn't about to.
She told Pat the whole story, including her instructive session with Lucky.
"That guy's a real gold mine of information on this town!" Mayme exclaimed.
"Want me to run Bob Muller through his computer for you?" Pat smiled. Mayme nodded.
"At your earliest opportunity, baby," she said.
Next morning, the redhead got busy on the telephone and ran down the two prospects for Tunic Girl jobs Lucky had given her. She made a date to meet one at the girl's apartment at ll, the other for lunch at I:30. Returning home about 3:15, she was in a high good humor. Pat, getting ready to settle down for a nap, commented:
"Hey, you look like someone who just ate the cat that ate the canary." Mayme grinned.
"I think I just solved a thousand dollar's worth of problems for The Porterhouse. Lucky was right-both these gals are plenty sharp, upstairs and down." To add a little red carpet treatment, Mayme had asked the two of them to have dinner on the establishment that night, so Moore could look them over. Later, as she was waiting for the bartender to pick her up, the redhead told Pat:
"You might thank Lucky for me ... tell him both girls are prime prospects and I'll fill him in on them later." A horn sounded outside, and Mayme grimaced. "Well, here's my Jeep buddy. I'm off to join the rough riders." When she reached the restaurant, she went directly to Moore's office.
"I have a couple of sharp prospects coming out for dinner on the house," she explained. "They're both interested, and I thought this would do two things: give us a good public relations status with them and let me demonstrate exactly what we want done."
"Good, good," Moore agreed. "I'll be anxious to see them. If they pass muster with you-and me-I'll let you finalize the deal with them. I'd like you to ramrod this and, if you hire 'em, they know you can also fire 'em. That way, they know who's boss. That'll be worth an additional two-bits a week on your pay check, to start. If we can get the Tunic Girls personnel settled, the next thing is waitresses." He inclined his head toward her. "You again, and that means another raise and different working hours." He rose. "They finished the addition," he explained, as he steered Mayme toward the office door. "These frustrated show-girls wont feel like they're too far away from the business."
The new quarters were, as Mayme described them, "strictly posh." Make-up table, lights and mirrors, with both ends paneled in mirrors, gave the place the appearance of a theatre dressing room. Bob took out a key-case and unlocked a door to a partitioned space at the head of the room.
"Your office," he said, opening the door and standing back for her to enter.
"Hey, this is beautiful!" Mayme exclaimed. She pointed to the intercom on the fruitwood desk. "Direct line to the Pentagon?" she asked. Moore grinned.
"You betcha," he chuckled. "We didn't put in a red phone for you because we didn't want any clash in the decor."
"Oh!" Mayme said, standing in the center of the carpet and turning a complete circle to look. "I'll say it again: it's just beautiful, Mr. Moore and I am most grateful." Moore smiled, taking the key from the case and handing it to her.
"Get changed, and I'll buy you a drink in anticipation of a long and profitable association."
"Amen," Mayme said, with a smiling salute....
The two prospects for Tunic Girls showed up promptly at seven and Mayme, smilingly, gave them the full treatment. As their drinks arrived, Jim Moore, who had been alerted to the girls' arrival, emerged from his office and came to the booth. Mayme introduced them.
"Candice Valette-Laura Lee O'Brien ... may I present Mr. James Moore, The Porterhouse manager? He'd like to talk with you..." Mayme left the group to return to the growing crowd in the foyer. Until the girls finished their dinners, the redhead was busy as a beaver. When table had been cleared and the two girls were sitting over a final cup of coffee, Mayme went over to the booth.
"Would you come back to the dressing room?" Mayme asked. "I'd like you to model the uniform, and for Mr. Moore to see you, too. I'm sure you have all the necessary equipment, but we'd like to get a first hand check." The girls, smilingly assented. The publicity on the Tunic Girls hadn't escaped them and the job offered more plusses than had at first been apparent. They followed Mayme eagerly, as she led the way, exclaiming over the dressing facilities. They were soon dressed, and emerged from the booths to pose and primp before the mirrors, arranging hair, and touching up make-up. Mayme pointed out some alterations which would be necessary to make the uniforms fit perfectly and Candice's shoes were too large. She had tiny feet and Mayme had produced the smallest pair they had in stock for her.
"Candy, we'll have to get you another pair tomorrow, if Mr. Moore puts his stamp of approval on you. Personally, I can't see a reason why he won't. You look wonderful," the redhead said, stepping into her office and calling the manager on her intercom. When he arrived, Mayme explained the shoe problem, smiling. "We may have to put gloves on her feet, if we can't find shoes for her," she kidded the smiling Candice.
"Five and a half used to be sample size, they tell me," Candy replied. "Now, everybody raises eyebrows when I ask for them."
The girls were busy posing and turning for Mr.
Moore. He turned to Mayme and nodded his approval, thanking the two girls.
"Miss Lake, they're beautiful. Congratulations and I hope you can work everything out. Goodnight, girls," he bowed at the door. "A pleasure to meet you." Mayme noticed the glance which passed between Can-dice and Laura Lee and smiled inwardly. She suggested the girls change and then they'd talk....
CHAPTER FIVE
About mid-week, Bob Muller called to remind Mayme of their date, the coming Monday.
"I'm looking forward to it," she assured him. "Have you decided where we're going to dinner?" V "Why don't you pick the place?" Bob asked. "Los Angeles or Phoenix would be handiest."
"Ooh-wonderful," Mayme breathed, properly impressed. "Which is better for flying purposes?"
"Not too much difference, this time of year," he replied. "Los Angeles is a little closer. Either one you like, Mayme."
"Let's go to Los Angeles," Mayme said. "I've never been either place...."
"Los Angeles it is, then," was his reply. "Pick you up about 4?"
"Fine, Bob," replied the redhead.
"Oh, Mayme," Bob said, "I'm not suggesting anything, but in case we get fogged in, it might be a good idea to pack an overnight bag. I don't think there's much of a chance, but just to be on the safe side, I always do."
"You're the pilot," Mayme returned, smiling to herself. "Wilco, or whatever." Bob chuckled. "Fine. See you at 4 Monday."
That night, Mayme picked up another prospect, among the customers. A group of four smartly clad girls came in and it was Mayme's turn in the rotation she'd set up for her sexy-looking crew. One of the quartet took her eye immediately-an auburn-haired beauty, with a creamy skin and a figure which made even Mayme whistle, mentally. She spent more time with the group than was necessary, hut the girl fascinated her and, not entirely from a business standpoint, the redhead wanted to know more about her. She alerted her two partners to mind the store until she checked back in, but saying nothing to them of her intentions.
After their drinks had been served, Mayme wandered back to their booth.
"Everything alright?" she inquired, in the time-honored manner of American restaurants. The girls agreed everything was. The auburn-haired girl was most vivacious and outgoing.
"I've read about you in the papers. Miss Lake," she smiled up at Mayme, "and I think those tunics are just fantastically attractive."
"Thank you," Mayme returned, smiling. "Are you from out of town?" The girl shook her head.
"My friends are," she said. "I've lived here for about five years." She paused a moment. "I've been away at school most of the time," she continued.
"Do you have much trouble fighting off wolves in those tunics?" one of the girls asked.
"It's no worse than a bathing suit ... besides, the footing is better in here," Mayme returned, laughing. The girls' drinks were about finished. "Would you like another round, or do you want to order?" she asked. The group consulted among its members and voted another drink. Mayme caught the cocktail waitress on her way back to the bar, signaling for another all 'round. Turning her attention to the auburn-haired girl again, Mayme asked, conversationally, if she were going to get married or get an easy job. The girls laughed.
"I'd like to go to work," the auburn-tressed one said, "but I haven't started to look for a job." Mayme looked at her, in speculation, then decided she had nothing to lose.
"Do you think you'd like to do work like this?" she asked.
"Well ... yes." She smiled at Mayme suddenly. "I'd like the excuse to parade around in that kind of costume anytime." Her eyes ran over Mayme's figure, appreciatively.
"I'm interviewing another girl at 3 tomorrow," Mayme said. "Would you like to come out, too?" Her eyes dropped to the bodice of the girl's dress. "You have a much nicer figure than hers." The auburn-haired one shivered.
"Indeed I would," she replied, excitement appearing in her voice. "Do you think..." Mayme smiled warmly at her.
"Why don't you come out about 4?" she asked. "I think you'd do very well..." The girl nodded her head, eagerly. "Incidentally, what is your name?" Mayme asked, smiling.
"Oh-it's Martine LeClerq," the girl, spelling it.
"Sounds French," Mayme commented.
"French-Canadian," Martine replied. "We came to the United States from Canada when I was 9. Incidentally, my nick-name is Marti ... what else?" she laughed.
"Marti LeClerq? I think if s a very good professional name. Have you any ambitions to be in show business?" Marti shrugged.
"Amateur theatricals, nothing else," she replied.
"Who knows?" Mayme smiled back. "See you tomorrow at 4?" Marti nodded, eagerly.
"I'll be here," she concluded the conversation, lifting her glass in a tentative toast. Mayme left the group with an all-inclusive smile as the girls buzzed over Martine's conversation with the fascinating redhead, their eyes on the fetching display the unusual garment made of the retreating figure. The redhead went directly to Jim Moore's office and stuck her head in to receive a 'come on in' wave of the hand from the manager.
"Like to take a quick look at another prime prospect?" she asked. "I've been talking to one in booth 7. She's the auburn-haired girl in the off-white dress. Wish I could get her to stand up for you, but I have her coming out at 4 tomorrow." Moore grinned down at Mayme and moved unobtrusively along the line of display. As he got into position for a good look at Martine, she and one other of the group arose to go to the powder room. Moore got a good view coming and then going, following casually until he turned into his office door. Mayme put down the menu she'd been examining and did a quick check of the room, moving on a table which seemed to be static. Then she went in to Moore's office again.
"Sorry I couldn't get right back," she said and told him of Betty's problem and of arrangements to keep tabs.
"Good," Moore said. "Say that girl's a knockout, May. How'd you get a line on her?"
"She brought it up," Mayme returned. "Started raving about the uniform and I just played it by ear. I'll get her sizes before she leaves."
"Fine. Incidentally, I'll pick you up about 2:30 tomorrow. I've got to do a couple of errands in town. Better tell Max you have a ride for tomorrow, coming out. Congratulations, Mayme. Go ahead on this girl. If we can get her, I can get another nice publicity blast ... and look," Moore looked up at her, "if these two girls-Candy and Laura Lee-and the one I hope you get tomorrow-stick for 30 days and are doing a job, your bonus gets paid. Fair enough?" Mayme held out her hand.
"Fair enough. I thought you'd make it longer," she grinned.
"Don't think I'll need to," he returned, rising. "I think this idea is off and running. Incidentally, you'll get overtime for the early hours tomorrow. If you can stand it, I'd rather do that than have you off early..." Mayme signalled an OK with thumb and forefinger.
"Well, I'd better get back to it," she said. Moore nodded and blew her a solemn kiss in salute.
The Porterhouse was humming and a quick survey showed every station full, as Mayme smiled her way through the tables, checking the progress of meals with quick glances. There wasn't a quick opening anywhere she could see, but, thank goodness, there were about a dozen places at the bar open in the event of more arrivals, she noted mentally. Going quickly back to the foyer, she was going to report to Moore that they were loaded but she caught the sweep of headlights turning off the road into the parking lot and waved Candy and Laura Lee over to make sure.
"There's not a seat in the house except at the bar," she said, as the girls nodded they knew. "Take these parties in turn, tell them we're sure it won't be more than 15 to 20 minutes before we can have them seated-for goodness sake, don't say 'take care of you'-and ask if they'd like to be seated at the bar, meanwhile. If this keeps up we'll have to set up cocktail tables at the foyer seats. OK?" The girls nodded as Mayme went into Moore's office again. She advised him of the situation, concluding:
"If we get about five or six more people, right quick, we won't have bar space. Thought you might want to use cocktail tables at the foyer benches." Moore was up and smiling as he came around the desk.
"Good, good. I'll have busboys set out about four tables right away..." Mayme preceded him as he closed his office door behind them, heading for the kitchen. Laura Lee had the last group in tow, leading them to the bar and Mayme heaved a sigh of relief. The foyer was clear and she hoped it would stay that way. Then she saw Martine and her friends rise, preparatory to leaving. As they came into the foyer, Mayme drew the auburn-haired girl to one side.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked, softly, smiling. The other smiled back, giving an exaggerated shiver of excitement.
"I'll be here at four, sharp," she said. Mayme's expression showed her pleasure.
"Fine! Oh, just one other thing-I need to know your dress size and shoe size..." Martine gave her the information breathlessly and they said goodnight, as Mayme followed them to the door. Glancing thru the plate glass after them, the redhead spotted the lights of another car turning in to the parking area. With a muttered 'damn,' under her breath, she checked to see a busboy clearing the booth Martine's party had just vacated. Laura Lee was watching too, as her party at the bar was next in order. Fortunately there was a delay in the arrival of the occupants of the car at the entrance and Laura Lee gathered up the group at the bar to start them to the vacant booth while it was still being set up. The door opened and two men entered, one following a little behind the other. Mayme moved toward them, with a welcoming smile which the man in the lead did not return, his eyes being engrossed with a leisurely inventory of Mayme's physical assets. She looked at the second man and felt a small rapier of shivery sensation go through her at the impact of his eyes. He wasn't saying anything with them-he was just looking at her, engrossed. The redhead stopped, continuing to smile until the first man concluded his perusal of her, lifting his eyes to hers. The first impression which flashed through her mind was 'snake eyes.' They were hooded, cold, reptilian. Without losing her smile Mayme welcomed them, impartially, explaining there'd be table space shortly, suggesting she take them to the bar, meanwhile. The first man made no sign he'd heard her, turning to walk to the bar, the other following. For a moment, Mayme was nonplussed, then suddenly a quick flush of anger at snake eyes' behavior but more interested in the effect of the second, younger man's eyes on her. As they disappeared around the huge, round brick column which anchored one end of the bar, Mayme turned back to the foyer, annoyed at the rebuff of the older man, something she and the girls seldom encountered.
"Probably president of the local chapter of bastards," she shrugged mentally. "But, what is it with the other guy ... the one with him? Nobody ever tripped me up with a look, like that. And it's not love nor his body that's bothering me ... Well," she lifted her shoulders slightly, "maybe he's a practicing hypnotist..." She finished talking to herself as two more sets of car lights started up the drive.
CHAPTER SIX
The next afternoon, Moore picked Mayme up for the drive to the restaurant.
"Nice business last night," Mayme commented as they pulled out into traffic. "I was afraid I was going to get tired of people before it all ended."
"I'll bet it was a little wearing. Especially when you had 'em backed up'in the foyer-every new arrival is another problem. Keeps up like this, we'll need Martine like yesterday. Wonder how she is with people?"
"I can't tell-with her, I'm playing a hunch. She is very outgoing, though, and I think she can cut it, easily."
"I hope so," the manager returned, "she certainly is a beautiful girl," he grinned. "I saw Georg Paxinou come in last night," he went on. "Kind of annoying, isn't he?"
"Who?" Mayme asked.
"The lizard-faced character who gave you the brush last night. I could see he made you a little miffed. Don't pay any attention to him. He's mad at the world. He's got a number of rackets going back East but he's trying to get into a casino operation out here. He can't swing it himself and he can't find anybody who'll even talk to him." Moore laughed. "He can't find anybody who'll give him the time of day, much less go into business with him. No wonder he's mad at the world."
Mayme waved a negligent hand. "He did needle me for a moment, but why worry? He's the first real schnook who's come into the place. I was interested in the fellow with him, though. Who is he?"
"I don't know, Mayme-I haven't seen him before. He could be one of Paxinou's boys from back East, but he's a stranger to me."
"Well," she grinned, "maybe he'll come in sometime without Little Poison and I can find out on my own."
"This guy turn you on?" the other asked.
"No, not really. He just looked at me-not undressing me-not anything, really; but something just seemed to go through me. Maybe he's real poison and my system is just trying to warn me," she laughed, as they pulled into the parking lot.
Almost before she had stowed her bag, after touching up her make-up and smoothing her hair, Mayme was called from up front to let her know her three o'clock appointment had arrived. The girl was a pretty blonde with a figure just a touch on the full side, but a sharp conversationalist and a touch of Texas in her drawl which Mayme would have downgraded another girl for. However, with this one, it fit, perfectly; but the tunic was a little strained at the seams.
"We could let it out a little, Kit," the redhead pointed out, "but it would be much better if you lost about five pounds. These things are cut to fit right." The girl sighed.
"Damn. I could use a job but I hate to go back to hustling a cocktail tray."
"Well," Mayme looked at her speculatively, "hang loose for a day or two. We just may need another cocktail girl ... and that way, I could keep an eye on you. We could always convert you, you know." The girl rose, smiling.
"I'll keep my ringers crossed for 48 hours ... and stay on this damned diet." She sighed. "Give me a call?" Mayme promised she'd hear, one way or another.
Martine was a few moments early for her 4 o'clock appointment and the redhead was, suddenly, glad she'd come. Marti was stunning in a stretch pants and twin sweater outfit in matched, soft yellow; topped off by her lustrous auburn hair, which hung to shoulder length. Trim, gold boots, cuffed, with high heels accented the curves of her calves and thighs and she was a delight to look at as she moved.
"Martine, you're beautiful in that outfit," Mayme said, with conviction. "Did you cause any riots on the way out?" Marti shook her head, the soft, lustrous hair swaying in orderly array.
"I was so anxious to get here, I didn't look," she confessed, with a shy smile.
"Well, then, let's see how the Tunic fits you," Mayme said, picking up the uniform and the clogs to lead the way to a dressing booth. "Here you are," she said, ushering her in and giving the clothing to her. "Come on into the office when you're dressed."
It was a quarter hour later that Martine appeared at the door, a troubled expression her face.
"Come in," Mayme said, getting up from her desk, "and let's see you. What's the matter?" she said, noticing the frown.
"I think I'm too short and too small in the waist," Marti said, disappointed. "I'd hoped it would fit me like my skin ... "
"Let's see," Mayme said. "Those don't sound like problems to me. Generally it's the other way 'round." She took the material at the waist on each side and gathered it with her fingers. "It will take alteration, but Martine, it'll be spectacular on you!" Mayme stood back-chin in hand-to survey the lithe, graceful figure. Marti just instinctively fell into attractive attitudes, whenever she changed position. Mayme could visualize the final effect of the short garment on her and recognized that she'd present, by far, the loveliest appearance of the four. She decided to have the fitting done on her own and asked Marti to change back into her own things and sit and talk with her awhile. Over coffee, they completed the "vital statistics" sheet, as the redhead called the application blank, and then settled back to chat. By four, Mayme was comfortable in her conviction that this girl was the best she'd found and pressed the intercom key to ask Moore if he could see them for a minute.
"Come right in," he invited and Mayme led the way. When they entered the office door, Mayme couldn't suppress a smile at the momentary widening of Moore's eyes as the full impact of Marti's appearance struck him. After introductions, he invited them to sit down.
"I was expecting to see you in our uniform," he confessed, "but the effect of this," he waved his hand toward her, "makes me think I ought to change the uniform."
"I'll have to have the tunic altered for her, Mr. Moore," Mayme put in, smoothly. "Marti has a true
'girl-art' figure ... short and tiny in the waist, long and full in the legs. I thought I'd have her fitted tomorrow at Mrs. Howard's." Moore kept his eyes on hers during the redhead's recital. "I was going to let you see her first, but I think you'll be happier seeing the finished product." Moore considered a long moment, finally relaxing to smile at both of them.
"You're the boss," he said. "Marti, do you think you'll like it here? This kind of work cuts into your evenings, something awful."
"Oh yes!" the auburn-haired girl answered, enthusiastically. "I could never earn this much money as a secretary, which is all I know about. This will let me feel like I'm no longer a burden on my family. They're wonderful, but it seems like they've been paying for my schooling forever!" Her smile, Mayme noted, drew an answering one from Moore; her gestures, as she talked, were spontaneous and compelling ... Moore couldn't take his eyes off her. He finally sat back in his chair and turned to Mayme.
"When can she start?" he asked.
"Tuesday," Mayme said. Moore nodded.
"Fine," he said, leaning forward to check his desk calendar. "I have a commitment from one of the casino house magazines for a picture and story on the Tunic Girls; and they'd like to shoot it next Friday." Mayme rose and the other girl followed suit.
"Barring accidents, we'll be ready," Mayme smiled, and both girls said their goodbyes.
"Ooh, I can't believe it!" Martine exulted, almost dancing across the foyer. "I've always been spooked by having to look for a job ... and it's just as though this one looked for me."
"You'll be sensational," Mayme promised, smiling. "Oh!-I almost forgot. I've got to make an appointment for your fitting." She crossed to the cashier desk phone and dialed, Marti following her, eyes tracing Mayme's pert figure admiringly: coming to rest with one elbow atop the raised surface, gracefully relaxed, her eyes touching Mayme's features as the redhead talked. "One thirty tomorrow alright for you?" Mayme asked and Marti nodded emphatically, smiling. Mayme finished and hung up. "See you there at I:30 tomorrow, then," Mayme said, walking her to the door. As they paused a moment, in goodbye, Marti suddenly took Mayme's shoulders in her hands and impulsively pressed her cheek against the redhead's.
"Thank you, so much," she said, huskily, turning to glide quickly out the plate glass doors and disappear toward the parking area. Mayme smiled, thoughtfully, as she went back to get into her work clothes....
Monday, Bob Muller called for her promptly at 4, taking her overnight case as he closed the apartment door behind her.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," he commented, "and that in a town which offers a lot of sights." Mayme was effervescent with anticipation and she hugged his arm impulsively.
"You're good for a girl's morale," she laughed, as they stopped beside the car. Bob paused. "Something wrong?" Mayme asked.
"I was just wondering if, maybe, you'd like to take along a capri outfit. Coming home, it might be more comfortable and you can change in the back seat." He grinned. "I promise not to look."
"How about that?" Mayme inquired of all outdoors. "That's an idea. You mind waiting a moment-and I'll grab what I need?" She trotted gracefully back to the apartment, and took the clothes she needed from the closet, waved goodbye to Pat again, and they were off. Bob hung the capri outfit while Mayme put a pair of flats in her bag, and they were off to the airport.
The plane was a twin-engine job and very comfortable, and Bob took her in with him to file a flight plan and check the weather. She looked bright and interested, in return. The plane's engines were warmed and a man in coveralls came out of the hangar office to advise Bob of the fact and also that the ship had been checked and fueled. With thanks, Muller walked Mayme over to the craft and opened the door on the passenger side. Then he stowed the bags in back-hers and his-and hung the other clothes, turning to pick Mayme up and lift her to the seat.
"It's better that way," he grinned. "I'd have enjoyed the leg show greatly, but I'm afraid it's a little risky to have you trying to climb around on these so-called 'steps'. "
"Happy to have your help," she smiled. "With the hemlines we've got today, who needs a leg-show?" Bob went around and climbed in on the left side, making sure both doors were secure.
"Only thing," he said, picking up the interrupted conversation, "is that all girls with brief dresses don't have the legs to go with them. You do." He chirped twice, cricket-wise and leered at Mayme's crossed knees. She promptly uncrossed them, hiked the skirt up to the run stops and said:
"There! Flattery will get you anywhere with me!" She resumed her decorum as Bob, laughing, started the engines. After the necessary preliminaries, he taxied out to the runway, got take-off clearance, and they were off.
Mayme thoroughly enjoyed the flight and Bob let her take the controls, at which she was delighted after she got over her nervousness. While she was flying the ship, Bob got a thermos of coffee out of its clip and poured for both of them. They landed at Lockheed and the hangar-boss promised the craft would be ready to return anytime after 3 hours. Renting a car, Bob dropped their bags into the rear seat, waiting for his passenger to return from the 'biffy', blythe and with fresh make-up and smoothly combed hair.
"Los Angeles, we are here," Mayme paraphrased as they mixed into the boulevard traffic and headed toward Sunset Strip's own version of 'Never-Never Land.' They started off with a few drinks in a bar which featured a really fine jazz quintet, playing with a restraint and sensitivity which was truly exciting. After about an hour and three drinks, Mayme couldn't sit still any longer, and begged Bob to take her some place they could dance and work off some of the pent-up steam she'd accumulated. They decamped to an establishment which was strictly a Go-Go and things were just getting underway. Mayme helped overcome the initial reluctance of the 'joint' by dragging Bob to the dance floor at the opening bars of the combo's night's work. Her waist snapped her seductive hips and upper body as though they were suspended on rubber bands, and, before long, floorside parties were urging her on with applause and shouts of encouragement. When finally they left, Mayme literally staggered out the front door on legs which, she confessed, were-for the moment-completely danced out.
"Hungry yet?" Bob asked, as he put her in the car. Mayme's head fell back against the seat, the rise and fall of the out-thrust bosoms a titillating sight. Mayme took note of Bob's interested scrutiny as she smiled up at him.
"Ooh! yes!" she panted, straightening her legs and dropping off her pumps. "Get me somewhere they serve rare meat before I start on you."
"Hey, I'm pretty tough for dining," Bob protested as he slid into the driver's seat. Mayme rolled over and hugged him quickly.
"Don't you believe it!" she declared, sitting up. "Right now, I'm so famished I'd probably finish you, right down to your leather heels."
"Steak?" he asked.
"Not necessarily," Mayme replied. "Hey ... how about roast beef? That's the ticket for me. How about you?"
"Great," he replied, slipping the car into drive, "Let's make for it." As they tooled through the traffic, Mayme, unabashedly lifted her brief skirt and tightened her hose, getting appreciative side glances from Bob in the process.
"Forgive me," she asked as she smoothed the nylons and snugged them up. "They drive me crazy when they wrinkle." Bob grinned at her.
"They drive me crazy because they don't. Now how do you explain that?" he laughed across at her.
"Hey, you're just a mass of problems," she laughed back at him, snuggling close beside him in the seat. "Where are we going now?"
"Section called Restaurant Mile. I'll get you roast beef exactly the way you want it," he answered.
"M-m-m-m," the redhead hummed contentedly. "That's for me. I'm so empty, if somebody thumped me I'd sound like a bass drum.
When they were seated, Bob insisted she should have an appetizer.
"I just can't eat until I have a vodka martini," he protested, "and I can't drink alone. It's not civilized." Mayme considered the logic of that for a moment and agreed he was right.
"Make it two," she said. In the end it was she who suggested they have a second before they ate. It was after ll when they left the restaurant and Mayme pronounced her condition as 'swell.'
"Here-feel," she said, taking Bob's unresisting hand and running it over her stomach. "I'm just before exploding. I didn't mean to make a pig of myself ... it sort of sneaked up on me."
"That was good roast beef," he said. "I'm in the same condition. "Look," he suggested, after a moment of silence, "how would you like to slip on your flats and we'll stroll along Hollywood Boulevard and look at the 'kooks'? California's famous for 'em and you'll never see anything like the variety they have here." In a flash, Mayme was on her knees, leaning over the seat back.
"Great! If I sat still for any length of time, I'd be asleep with all the food I ate. Let's walk it off."
"Afterward, there's another good spot for music where the dancing isn't quite so athletic. We could soak up a few drinks there before we take off." Mayme's thighs flashed in the passing illumination as she removed her heels and put on her flats.
"Gee," she sighed, "this has been such concentrated fun, I hate to think of going home." They pulled up at a traffic light and Bob looked down at her as she again snuggled close to him. She looked up at him, smiling. He leered back, with a sudden change of expression.
"We could stay overnight and fly back in the morning," he said, cocking one eyebrow and making twirling motions on the ends of an imaginary mustache. Mayme bounced to her knees again, making childhood "shame on you" gestures, drawing one extended finger the length of the other pointing forefinger.
"Ooh, what you said," she chirped, accusingly in a little girl voice. "Shame on you, Bob Muller..." He laughed, in spite of himself.
"Alright, then, if you want to go back tonight..." he cut her off, only to have her do the same to him.
"Oh, no you don't!" she exclaimed. "You made improper proposals to me ... and I don't hold still for any retractions." She sat down, arms folded, huffily, under the spectacular breasts. "I accept your kind invitation, so there, too!" Bob laughed again.
"You know, May, you're nutty as a fruit cake ... and I love fruit cake."
"Ooh, ho thanks-no dessert," she protested in deliberate misinterpretation, "I couldn't eat another bite." Bob sneaked one big hand over and suddenly squeezed the firm thigh between thumb and fingers, just behind the knee. Mayme jumped about a foot. "Yikes!" she squealed, rubbing the area of the sensation. "That tickles!" He nodded slowly.
"You better know the rest," he said, solemnly. "I tickle girls, too ... but I don't pull hair or bite." He headed into a parking lot.
"Phew!" Mayme responded, "that's a relief to know." As he braked the car to a stop and started to open the door for the lot attendant, Mayme reached over and gave him the same treatment back of the knee. He jumped, his leg bumping the wheel.
"Ouch!" he yelped, without volition, almost diving out his side of the car. The lot attendant stepped back as the door flung open. Bob shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was just putting my friend's pet scorpion back in her bag." The boy grinned in understanding.
"Your're lucky," he said. "My girl is crazy for pink elephants ... nervous pink elephants that stampede at the bat of an eye." He paused for a moment, assuming a puzzled look. " . . .Or, was it the eye of a bat?" He said, as he handed Bob the parking stub and walked off, shaking his head.
Bob came around and opened the door on Mayme's side.
"Come on," he urged in a low voice. "He may be back with those damn elephants, any minute." She giggled, in spite of herself as they hustled out of the lot. "There it is," Bob said, pointing to the bright lights at the corner.
"Hollywood Boulevard?" she asked. He nodded.
"Where's Hollywood and Vine?" she asked. "I've read about it all my life..."
"It's just three or four blocks up," he said. "If we don't hurry, we can just make it ... "
CHAPTER SEVEN
About 12:30, Mayme and Bob were ordering drinks in a comfortable restaurant, surrounded by the smoothly flowing music of a group of musicians who seemed to like what they were playing. It was integrated, and the scoring was complicated, the entire group doubling on two or more instruments. It was great to listen to, Bob and Mayme agreed, as they loafed, after their stroll, over long, cold drinks, but they couldn't sit it out for long. A provocative arrangement of an oldie, "After I Say I'm Sorry"-with an easy cut-time tempo, practically drove them to the dance floor. Bob proved to be an excellent dancer, moving with effortless ease and Mayme just melted against him so she could feel the patterns better. It wasn't long before she became aware of an answering pressure against her firm thigh and an excited bubble began to form right under her stomach. As the set continued, Mayme did nothing to discourage the condition of thermal rigidity which she variously and briefly brushed, pushed and rubbed against, with unobtrusive persistence. Back at the table, she chattered brightly and kept him laughing with her comments on various fragments of conversation which floated their way.
As they went back to the dance floor for the third set in the silent erotic game they were playing, the tempos were slow, and the lights dimmed. Mayme melted into Bob's arms again and, pressed close to him, was soon rewarded with a revival of excitement which, of course, contributed to hers. Mayme moved gracefully, but purposefully, through the numbers-the first two-of the set until, as she noted gleefully to herself, she brought her partner to the boiling point. She could feel the heat of Bob's desire pressing against her teasing thigh and went blithely along with her bedevilment until she felt a subtle shift in his arm around her active waist. The next thing she knew, she was held so that no way she moved could she escape the insistent pressure of his hard, pulsating excitation against the sensitive swelling at the juncture of her busy thighs. Without being obvious, she contested this new move with him, as they danced, but with absolutely no success and at the end of a number, as he released her, she took his hand and pulled him toward their table. When they were seated, she dived into her bag for a handkerchief and blotted the moisture from her flushed face. When she'd returned the cloth to her bag, she reached under the table and pinched him on the thigh. He jumped and almost spilled his drink.
"Hey!" he said, and then chuckled. "What's going on?"
"You know," she hissed quietly. "I don't know where you learned to dance that way, but if I hadn't gotten off that floor, you'd have been a rapist! ... Or something, I think."
"Oh ho!" he returned, his lips at her ear. "That's fun. Want to dance some more?" Mayme stuck out her tongue at him and shook her head. His hand stole, invisibly, under the table cloth and Mayme felt the fingers gently press a thigh which she couldn't keep from trembling. Involuntarily, she slipped her hand over his and squeezed it. Turning her head, her lips brushing his cheek as they sought his ear, she whispered, in the little girl inflection:
"It's past my bedtime, daddy." She darted the tip of her tongue into the convolutions, causing Bob to sit back suddenly. He grinned.
"Shall we?" he asked. She smiled and nodded, reaching for her bag. Bob signalled the waiter and paid the check, and they departed in a hurry. Taking the freeway for speed, Bob was soon pulling into the traffic of a boulevard and then slowing to turn in to a plush motel. He went in and registered, paying the night clerk, who directed him, orally, to where the room was located, and she was soon inside, dropping her bag on the dresser, as Bob switched on the lamps and went back out for their bags, to run a comb through her hair. As he returned, he picked up the pitcher from the tray.
"Ice machine's right close," he said. "Would you like a nightcap?"
"Ooh, yes. What's in the bottle?" she inquired.
"Scotch," he replied.
"If there's a coin machine, see if they have soda. I think it's good with Scotch." Bob nodded and went out. Returning shortly, he set the pitcher of ice cubes down and produced a bottle of soda.
"Ooh, goodie," Mayme said. "Want me to mix?"
"Good offer," he smiled. "I'll open. Water with mine, please, ma'am."
While the redhead busied herself with ice and glasses, Bob opened his bag to produce the Scotch and then went outside to lock the car. Mayme handed him his glass when he returned, locking the door behind him. He raised the glass.
"To the purtiest gal I ever did see," he said, drinking deeply and Mayme bobbed a curtsey, moving to the window to make sure the drapes were completely closed. She came back to relax into an easy chair, crossing her legs and letting the hemline go hang. Bob pulled the ottoman from an overstuffed chair over beside her and sat down on it, his arm going behind her head. She turned to him smiling, to sip from her glass.
"That's good," she commented softly. He moved his face slowly to hers and she lifted her lips as he kissed her softly, moving his mouth as though to savor the touch of her. As his tongue brushed her lips, she shifted, tensing; and his kisses left her mouth to travel down her throat and back to her ear. Her skin tightened and her toes pressed downward, lifting her heels from the floor.
"Ooh ... that's good, too," she breathed, as Bob leaned back to take another deep sip from his drink. She followed suit as he set his glass down and moved to fold her in his arms. This time, his lips were more firmly pressed to hers, as his hand sought her bosom tight under her clothes, and she couldn't help but arch her back as his touching fingers gently molded the tight swell with resultant sensations of pleasure. They were both breathing more rapidly when he released her and Mayme looked at him over the rim of her glass as she applied herself to it once more. As he turned to retrieve his glass, her eyes dropped to see a return of his excitement and she got up, putting down her glass, and proceeded to loosen his tie and remove it.
"Why thank you," he chuckled. "I've been so busy I haven't had time to get comfortable."
"Aah-comfortable. At a time like this, who needs it?" she asked, attacking the buttons on his shirt, and pulling it out of his slacks. She loosened the cuff-links and took it off, refreshing herself with another deep drink. Putting the glass down, once more, she stood with her head on one side, chin in hand, as her toe tapped noiselessly on the thick carpet. Bob drained his drink and rose.
"Another?" he asked, motioning toward the bottle.
"Build me a light one on this," she suggested, handing him her drink, and following him to the makings. As he worked, Mayme moved to his side.
"I've just figured it out," she said, her hands going to his belt.
"Wha-a-t?" he asked.
"You've got too many clothes on," she said, decisively, unfastening the belt, unhooking and unzipping the garment, letting it drop around his feet. He looked down as he put soda into her glass.
"Well, I'll be gol-darned," he commented softly. "M'pants fell down." Mayme nodded, matter-of-factly, accepting the drink he handed her, with a nod of thanks.
"I noticed that," she said, rolling her eyes. Bob continued making a drink for himself, then bending over to release his feet from the slacks, putting them on a hanger. A puzzled look crossed his face and the redhead looked at him, inquiringly.
"There's something wrong," he replied to her tacit question, lifting his glass, his eyes caressing her figure from the slim pumps to her hair. Then he set down the glass and his face cleared. "Got it," he said. He moved to Mayme and moved the snug zipper at the neck of her dress down to the curve to which the material clung with loving tenacity. Unhooking it at the top, he took Mayme's glass and put it down, returning to slip the snug garment carefully upward and off, hardly mussing her hair, and putting it carefully away on a hanger. Mayme picked up her glass again, conscious of the thump of her heart and the push of her hardening nipples against the bra.
"You are the neatest man," she commented as he returned. He grinned smugly, slipping his hands into the elastic at the waist of her half-slip and dropping it below the round hips, where it gathered in a soft circle around her pumps. She stepped out of the filmy material and he bent to pick it up, watching the play of light on the sheen of her admirably-filled hose. She tightened the nylons, pulling at the broad garters she used to secure them as he disposed of the slip over the back of a chair. She made no move to smooth the skintight panties which she wore. She knew, from previous inspection, they had no way to wrinkle, so thoroughly did the rounded hips occupy all the available space in them. Bob whistled softly. "Something?" Mayme asked, smiling.
"Are you ever 'something'? " he asked the air around them, moving to fit a muscular arm around her waist. She bent to him as he planted a feverish kiss on her eager lips, moving ever so slightly as the caress continued. She raised one hand to his head and began to fondle his ears and the back of his neck, feeling him swell and begin to pulse against her. Releasing her lips, he tossed off his drink and put down his glass as she emptied her glass and he took it from her to put on the tray. Their arms went around each other in a tight embrace and their bodies began to move silkily against each other. Long moments passed as they kissed and clung, the pounding of their hearts clearly perceptible as they pressed together. Bob's hands found the bra hooks and released them and she quickly stripped the straps from her arms. As his fingers slipped into the waist of her panties, she feverishly began pulling his shorts downward, but they snagged on his stiff masculinity and he gave a nervous chuckle as he watched her step out of hers, the while he stripped himself. Mayme's eyes were fixed on the prize she'd begun to ache for as he picked her up, his mouth capturing a hard nipple, and put her on the bed as though she were a babe in arms. As his hard body pressed downward on the pleasantly aching breasts, and stretched beside her to capture one round thigh between his, her fingertips slid down the tense, muscular abdomen to capture the erect object and unveil its swollen tip with shaking fingers....
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mayme awakened about 4, she guessed, chilled and naked, atop the bedclothing. Lifting her head, she saw the considerable bulk of her companion, likewise clad, sprawled on his back. The lights were still on and, as Mayme trembling, swung her feet to the floor, to pull back the spread, blanket and sheet so she could get into them, Bob awoke.
"Hey!" he exclaimed, thickly, "baby, it's cold inside..."
"It sure is," Mayme chattered as she struggled with the bed. Bob came to his feet quickly and went to the wall thermostat, turning it up, and then detoured by the wall switch to douse the lights. As the shivering redhead scrambled into the sheets, he stepped over her curled up form on one knee to whip back the bedclothes and get in with her. He folded his body around hers, spoon-fashion, and wrapped his arms around the shivering girl.
"O-o-o-h," she said, her chin trembling, snuggling her back close against him. "You're almost as cold as I am."
"Just hold tight for a little," he said. "It'll get warmer." He reached down to sandwich her feet between the calves of his legs. "Beginning to get any warmer?" he asked. She could feel the welcome heat from his body beginning to pierce the chill of her skin temperature and nodded.
Shortly thereafter, Mayme stopped shivering and, before many moments had passed, managed to speak without her teeth rattling.
"M-m-m," she murmured, "that's much better. Better let me move my legs, hon ... they're beginning to feel crampy." Bob opened his knees and she pulled her feet away to stretch her legs full length. "They alright?" he asked.
"Ooh, yes, that helps..." She broke off suddenly. "What's that?"
"What's what?" he answered, unconcernedly. She struggled to turn toward him and he eased the hold of his arms to let her.
"You know what I mean," she said, pushing her breasts against him, and reaching downward with grasping fingers. "That's what I mean!"
"Oh that," he said, casually, folding her to him in a bear hug, burying his face at the junction of neck and shoulder. "You'll find out..."
"I will, will I?" she teased, dodging as Bob attempted to kiss her, by little movements of her head keeping her mouth just beyond his reach. For minutes they struggled until Bob finally trapped her waist in the scissors of his big legs, pinning her arms behind her back with one of his while the other went around the back of her neck to seize her chin and hold her helpless. Then he teased her ... refusing to kiss her lips, rubbing noses, tickling her ear with the tip of his tongue and biting her throat and neck gently with little nips of his teeth. When he finally released her, she sprang for him like a tigress only to end up, flat on her back, with Bob's big body flattening the tightly-swollen breasts, and his legs gently but irresistibly forcing her thighs apart. Then he began to torment and tease her all over again, moving his body against hers until she thought she'd explode from the waves of sensation which flooded over her. As he felt her beginning to lose control, he varied his tactics, with feather-light brushes of his aroused masculinity and teasing her with small touches which drove her almost to distraction. When the best part of an hour had passed in these pleasantries, Mayme was wet with perspiration and every nerve sang like a telegraph wire in a stiff breeze. Finally, in a near-frenzy she beat her small fists against his hard-muscled shoulders.
"Oh! you-you...! " she exclaimed, her words bursting from swollen lips on gasps of laboring breath.
"You, who?" Bob whispered as he left off teasing at that moment and she discerned, through the throbbing tingles which were washing over her, the inflexible, thermal pressure of him. She momentarily lost the ability to speak coherently, paralyzed by the continuing, slow march of his possession. She clutched him with arms and legs as, suddenly a great spasm possessed her and she was plunged into a welter of indescribable sensation, which buffeted and tumbled her until she lost all identification with anything except the wonderful deluge which drowned her in delight....
Moments later, she floated upward through the receding surges to become conscious of small darts of pain from the muscles of her arms and legs, finally realizing they were trembling from her effort to squeeze Bob like an orange. It took a second to remember how to release them and relief flooded through her as she let them fall, slack, on the soft surface beneath her. Then she became conscious of something else and she threw her head backward, in its tangled mass of red hair to stare, wide-eyed into Bob's smiling face, above her.
"You're-you-he's still ... oh no!" She gabbled briefly before she covered her trembling lips with tight fingers. He moved tentatively and Mayme's body stiffened, her hands clutching the sheet. He did it again and she raised her hands to stoke the hard muscles of his back.
"You alright, baby?" Bob asked, suddenly concerned. She nodded and gave him a wicked smile, moving her hips minutely.
"I thought I was ready to yell 'Uncle' for a moment, there," she said, "but, all of a sudden, I got another idea."
"What's that?" he asked as her hands continued their explorations.
"I decided to make you yell 'Uncle!' instead," she growled, deep in her throat, as she crossed her ankles above his hips and squeezed....
When Bob dropped her at the apartment he said: "I can't remember having so much fun going somewhere for dinner. Save me a Monday and we'll pick another spot, if you like ... or, find some more rocks to turn over in L.A. Thanks for going." Mayme waved goodbye, closing the door. Pat hailed her from the breakfast nook.
"Hey, flygirl," she called, "thought I'd lost you. Have fun?"
"Hi, sweetie," Mayme said, stooping to kiss Pat's cheek. "I'm like the bad penny ... ever returning. We had a fabulous time. L.A. is a riot."
"Wish I had a friend who'd fly me to dinner someplace ... like, maybe Australia." She heaved a comedy sigh. "Hey, there was no fog here, last night. You get snowed in?" Mayme rolled her eyes and collapsed in pantomime.
"It was no snow-job," she laughed, "it was my own idea and, for once, I had a good idea. I enjoyed every minute of it ... this Bob goes first class ... and that, I truly enjoy." While she was talking, Mayme was unpacking and stowing her overnight case.
"Gee, it sounds like fun," Pat said, wistfully. "Seems like the guys who ask to take me out are interested in a cheap movie, a hamburger and a quick roll in the hay." Mayme chattered on, filling Pat in on the spots they'd visited, finishing with her bag and then doing a quick job of freshening her make-up and combing her hair. By the time the bartender honked, she'd just closed her handbag. Picking up her sweater, she headed for the door.
When she arrived at the restaurant, she paused at the manager's office to say hello.
"Hi," he said. "Your new girl just came in. She's in the back."
"Good," the redhead responded. "I hope she turns out to be as good as she looks." Entering the dressing room, she greeted the girls. "Hi-Candice-Laura Lee ... you and Martine get acquainted?" They said they had and Mayme unlocked her office and went in. Moore had put the time sheets for the girls on her desk to check and sign and Marti's withholding and other papers were in the neat stack. She decided to do them before she dressed, disliking 'paperwork' and wanting to get it out of the way. As she finished and rose, Marti tapped on the door frame.
"Come in," she said, smiling. "Let me see how you look?" Marti was bubbling with excitement.
"I think it just looks wonderful. I can't imagine a cuter costume to show you off!" She turned and posed to give Mayme an all-'round look.
"It's merely sensational," the redhead laughed at Marti's exuberance, as Candy and Laura Lee came in.
"Doesn't she look like a doll?" Candy asked.
"The rest of us look like boys in coveralls by comparison," Laura Lee commented. Marti stopped in her tracks, confused. Mayme sensed she thought the others were putting her on, and stepped in quickly.
"Marti, we're agreed ... you just look wonderful. You'll make us all famous," Mayme slipped an arm around the tiny waist and gave her a small hug as Marti's blushes subsided. "I've got some forms for you to sign ... here they are ... and be sure to sign them just as your name is typed on all of them. Got it?" The new girl nodded and Mayme told her to use the desk while she dressed, and moved out with Candy and Laura Lee, asking them how things had gone on Monday. She changed quickly, coming out of one of the dressing cubicles to join the other two before make-up mirrors.
"We've got some more publicity coming," Mayme told the two, conversationally, "so you'll probably get your pictures printed before long. I'm glad we've got you-think you'll stick with us?"
"Unless somebody offers to star us in the movies," Candy laughed. "This is steady work and good pay ... and all I do is be nice to people." Laura Lee chimed in:
"And I haven't even found anybody I don't tike that I have to be nice to. It's all profit. Besides that, do you know I've got dates for my next three days off? You know, I think you meet a better class of people out here." Mayme rolled her lips together, smoothing her freshly applied lipstick.
"Could be," she agreed, "there are lots of good places to eat a lot closer and quite some cheaper ... but you won't find a better steak better cooked, anywhere, I'll bet. It stands to reason a lot of the customers are looking for something better." Marti emerged with the information that she'd finished the forms and Laura Lee rose to offer her seat before the mirror.
"Marti, honey would you let me touch up your eye make-up, just a teeny bit? I think a little less shadow and liner would make them show to better advantage..." The blonde left the offer in mid-air.
"Would you, Laura Lee?" Marti asked, sitting down with alacrity. "I've just kind of danced around with what I could find in fashion magazines..." Candy got into the act, too.
"Here, Laura Lee, use my liner. Her eyes are such a beautiful green..." Mayme smiled to herself and rose. She could tell who the pet of the group was, right now. As long as Marti didn't spoil-and she exhibited many signs of level-headedness-she could be a big help in holding the group together. And Mayme, crossing her fingers, told herself she wanted it to hold....
"Here are the time sheets and Marti's forms," she said, entering Moore's office to put the papers on his desk. He looked up at her, his eyes traveling from hair to clogs and smiled.
"It's a real pleasure to work around here," he commented, leaning back in his chair. "The scenery is terrific." Mayme bobbed him a comic curtsey.
"I just left the other three in the dressing room. Candy and Laura Lee are babying Marti already. They've taken her under their wings like a pair of mother hens." The redhead crossed her fingers, holding them up for Moore to see. "This could be the start of something big ... like money in the bank for Mayme..." Moore nodded, still smiling.
"You read it right," he agreed. "I'm keeping mine crossed, too. I don't know where we could get another four girls like you." He picked up a letter from his desk. "Here's some more publicity-of course, it's limited to trade circulation-but if it causes this kind of response in the business, it's bound to be getting some word-of-mouth among the customers. It's an expensive gimmick, but it's going to pay off." He dropped the letter back on the desk. "Incidentally, Graydon thinks he's got a location which can be had. Talked with him by phone this morning." Mayme shook her head.
"Everything is moving too fast," she laughed, moving to the door. "Next thing, we'll be having wide-screen movies." Moore nodded.
"More like dancing girls," he chuckled. "It's remarkable how pretty girls can be used to sell everything from brake lining to locomotives."
CHAPTER NINE
As Mayme went into the foyer, the man who'd come in sometime previously with Georg Paxinou was just coming in the glass doors. He spotted her, immediately and smilingly nodded toward her as Laura Lee greeted him. The latter lifted her eyebrows at Mayme who smiled and nodded and took him in tow.
"You came at a good time," she smiled as she led him to a small corner booth for two. "How would this do?"
"Great," he smiled back. "This is the smartest operation in town. I didn't mean to brush the 'up' girl," he apologized for by-passing Laura Lee, "but I wanted an opportunity to talk business with you."
"Business?" she asked, half frowning through her smile as she put a menu on the table before him. "Would you like me to order you a drink, first?"
"Appreciate it," he grinned. "Dry Manhattan, please..."
Mayme flagged a cocktail girl and sent her to the bar, turning back to the customer.
"I don't ... " she began. He held up a hand, smiling.
"You don't know me," he said. "My name's Ricco Parma and I didn't come out here to be fresh, even though I'd like to take you home for a pet and eat all my meals out." His smile broadened into a grin and Mayme responded with a little curtsey, laughing.
"Thank you, sir," she replied. "When a man forsakes his stomach in my behalf, I owe him my full attention."
"This, believe me, is strictly business," he said, his face becoming serious, "and it has nothing to do with the mug I was in here with the last time I saw you. However, is there sometime tomorrow you and I could get together for about a half hour? I can come by in my car and we can go somewhere to talk where no one can hear us. I'm not on the make for you-although it would be a pleasure-but I just want to lay this on the line the clearest and easiest way. You can make some money for yourself-and you don't have to do much for it. I say that, because I've watched your operation and you use your head for something besides a hairdresser's dummy."
"I still am mystified," she shrugged, "but awfully curious. Why don't you pick me up at my place about 3-the bartender gives me a lift out to work at 4-and that'll give us a little time to talk."
"Fine," he nodded, as the cocktail waitress brought his drink, smiling.
Parma finished his dinner and left, pausing for a moment, smiling, to chat with Laura Lee as he departed through the peopling foyer. The latter came over to Mayme a few moments later.
"Your friend is real nice," she commented. Mayme raised her eyebrows. "The one who skipped me, coming in, to get you to seat him-the-one with the rugged face." She hesitated before describing Ricco's features.
"Oh-him," Mayme smiled, offhandedly, "he's hardly a friend. I saw him once before when he came in with another man. He just wanted me to hear the cricket noises he's making for me, but I told him I wasn't interested. Took it nicely."
Next afternoon at 3, Mayme, watching out the window, saw Ricco Parma pull in to the curb.
"See you in a little while," she said to Pat, going out to the car.
"Hello," Ricco said, affably as she stepped in the opened door. Mayme returned the greeting noncommittally as she closed it. "Mind if we talk right here?" he asked.
"Not at all," she returned. "What's on your mind?" He half turned in the seat and she couldn't make up her mind whether she was pleased or sorry he was wearing shades. Anyway she looked at Ricco, she had to admit, he spooked her.
"It's like this," he began, "I work some with a guy, but I'm not exactly sure that I'm gonna keep on with it." He paused, as though choosing his words. "Some of the working conditions, let us say, are a little too chancy for my liking." Mayme's recollection of Paxinou's reptilian eyes made a sensation of distaste go through her. "Now what I have in mind, is to set myself up with something going for me that's all mine." He paused and Mayme kept her peace. Ricco took out a cigarette and lighted it deliberately with an expensive gold lighter. "I've got a commitment on a secluded spot between here and Lake Mead. It's a perfect hideaway for playing ... a Pussycat Casino for rich wives or widows. I've got myself about 4 ... maybe 5 if he checks out ... real good studs who know the route and won't louse up the deal when I get it off and running." Ricco flicked the ash out the side. "What I have in mind, is strictly a private affair ... no licenses-no hint of anything going on. It's on a side road to the desert ... the parking lot is behind a fold of the ground so you can stash twenty cars and nobody knows. I need the names of some married women who look like they want to play ... or who you feel want to. I handle the whole thing past that point. All I need are names to contact. If they're out-of-towners, I need to know where they're staying ... I miss them one trip, I get them another." Despite herself, Mayme was completely interested now, straightening herself in the seat as she listened. Ricco didn't miss it, but gave no sign, tossing his cigarette butt carelessly into the street, and checking the time on his wrist. "I won't bore you with the details, but I'll pay you two-bits, cash, for every name you give me I can score with. The way I've got this thing figured to work, I'll give you fifteen for every name your originals refer to me ... and you may not believe it, but you'll make more from the 'residuals' than you will from the first runs. You call me from a phone booth each day at a different time-I'll give you the schedule-and all you give me is names and whatever other information you have on them. I want wedding rings with money ... I want 'em loose and bored-you know the signs-and I don't care whether they're from Las Vegas or Timbuctoo. If they're looking for what my studs have to offer, neither one of us can lose." Mayme looked at Ricco with a new respect.
"I couldn't figure what it was-I've been selling you short, figuring a bedroom pitch." she said quietly. Ricco shrugged and the corners of his mouth drew down, briefly, in a harsh sound which passed, with him, for laughter.
"As ugly as I am, what else?" he said. "I'm a hell of a salesman, though, when I believe in what I'm selling, and..." his grin spread from ear to ear " ... sex is always in season." He shifted position and reached a negligent hand down to grab himself and readjust the position of his genitals. Straightening up in the seat, he reached for the key and started the engine. "Think about it, baby. You're already in on a hell of a gimmick, but this can make you as much ... and for what? Just using that hard, red head of yours. Here's my card." Mayme nodded. "Then I'll get a call schedule to you in the mail, and we're in business. OK?" He gunned the motor, easily and Mayme reached for the door handle.
"We've got a deal," Mayme said. He looked around at her and took off the sun glasses. "Pussycat Casino--they pays their money and takes their choice?" Ricco ignored the comment.
"No questions about the payoff-no needles about 'how you know I won't cheat you?'" he grinned. Mayme shook her head, soberly.
"If I think you're shorting me, I'll slip you some lemon-pusses who'll blow the whistle on your pitch," she said, levelly. "I can spot a do-gooder as far as you can spot a hustler." She pulled the door handle and got out. "So-we trust each other-don't we?" Ricco suddenly thrust out a manicured hand, which she took.
"I maintain I can pick 'em," he said, soberly, replacing his shades. "I picked you, didn't I?" Mayme nodded.
"Send me the schedule, Brain," she said. He nodded and lifted off. Mayme returned to the apartment, shaking her head in wonder....
CHAPTER TEN
A week later, Mayme got Ricco's schedule in the mail and began calling Ricco at regular intervals. Never using the same phone twice in succession, the number she called to reach him was never duplicated sooner than a month following its first use. It wasn't long until the two of them had worked out a code to cover names and addresses. Mayme had to laugh, sometimes, in the middle of her calls. It sounded as though they were talking stupid, childish gibberish. However, at the end of the first two weeks, Ricco had told her one of her pigeons was coming home. She went to the General Delivery window of the post office next afternoon, using the name Jane Donnelly. There was ... a manila envelope which she tucked, unconcernedly, under her arm as she left. She opened it, later that night, in the privacy of her office at the restaurant. In the envelope was a copy of the Wall Street Journal, with a one-hundred and a fifty-dollar bill fixed with masking tape. She tore the envelope into pieces, throwing them into a kitchen waste can. The paper, she dropped on the cashier's desk when no one was looking, after checking through it to see if there was any mark or writing on it. There was nothing. Mayme considered. She had given Ricco 19 names in the four calls she'd made, giving him 10 out of the 19 as pretty sure things. So, if he hit 8 out of 10, they were both batting way above average. About I, sitting with a cup of coffee at her desk, she was taking a 10 minute break when her intercom crackled and Moore asked her to come in to see him.
"Hi, Mayme," he greeted her. "Got one here that'll do us all some good. One of the television stations wants to do a feature for their news on the Tunic Girls. They'll put it on tape and you can all see the playback."
"And away we go!" Mayme cheered. "Fame and fortune, here we come!" Moore laughed with her.
"It's a terrific break, promotion-wise, in that it's free. Television time is only a little less expensive than diamonds ... and, with you four, we'll certainly be putting our best foot forward."
It was a terrific break. The girls were articulate and they looked beautiful on camera. The-feature man insisted on doing the bit standing up, so the full impact of the Tunics, individually and collectively, was realized. The quartet almost upset the station routine, nearly every member of the staff finding a reason to go through the control room while the session was in progress; crowding into the studio after the session was over. Finally the program manager and Mayme had to break it up to get everybody back to work. Mayme thanked him, warmly, on behalf of Jim Moore and the girls. Grinning, he ran his eyes over her from red hair to gold clogs and said:
"You girls ought to be doing commercials for The Porterhouse on a regular basis. Sure would bring the men in."
Which remark Mayme did not neglect to pass on to Moore when they arrived at the restaurant and she took the girls in to report on the session. She let the quote drop after the others had left the office and, while Moore only nodded his head in silent agreement, his expression indicated that the idea was being fed into his mental processes.
The station ran the feature on a Wednesday newscast, at 5:30 P.M. About 7, the program manager called Moore to inform him that the clip had caused a number of phone calls, totally unsolicited, and they felt it would make even more of an impression if they re-ran it on the ll P.M. news period, which had a much larger audience.
Naturally the girls clustered at the bar television set and many patrons joined them. The second broadcast drew greater comment, as expected and brought several new faces to the Porterhouse in the next few weeks, the girls reported to Mayme. Moore, thoughtfully, charted a definite bulge in business following the telecasts, of which he told Mayme later.
The redhead had mentioned to Pat that Ricco Parma was dropping by to talk to her the afternoon he called, but she was a little surprised by an item of news Pat dropped next day, over coffee.
"Hey, Lucky told me last night that Ricco Parma's coming back to the Caravansary casino as a stick man," she said.
"Wonder how come?" Mayme asked, idly.
"Lucky says he's split with the racket man he worked for awhile. Lucky never figured the deal would last. Says Ricco's too set in his ways and too smart an operator to get much involved with a mobster."
"He's a strange man," Mayme commented, apropos of nothing.
Three days later, Georg Paxinou's body, with four bullets in the head and chest, was fished out of a Lake Mead cove. Mayme, at first frightened, followed the story in the papers and newscasts. Ricco was among the first picked up, but was released not too much later. He had an air-tight alibi for the time the coroner had indicated Paxinou had been killed. Then, the redhead's nerves quieted but she debated whether to call Ricco on schedule, finally doing so. It was all she could do to keep from asking questions, but squelched the urge. Next time she talked to him, in person, she could ask questions but didn't anticipate getting answers. The story was page I for about a week, but, by that time, local police were confident that the murder was a gang matter which had no roots in Nevada, other than Paxinou's presence, and that the hit had been made by out-of-state gunmen; the reports concluding with the fact that further investigation would be handled by the FBI. Mayme felt relieved but wary. Also, she was restless ... wound up like a two-dollar alarm clock, as she put it ... and finally tackled Moore about it. She was spending less time up front with the girls, she realized, but this was because there were other things she had to do. Analyzing her feelings, as she talked with the manager, it came down to too much work and just not enough time off.
"I was looking for work when I came here," she grinned at him, "so it must sound like I'm trying to crawl out ... " Moore shook his head.
"I've been expecting this, Mayme. I know the hours have been fantastic and give you little time to yourself.
There is a point past which you can't expect people to give their best ... because you're really asking too much. I think that's been the case here. For the time being, we'd better figure on two days off, but we're going to have to hire a swing girl. Have you a good prospect?"
"I have about a dozen, but one gal with a touch of Texas in her talk I think is the prime prospect. She was about 5 pounds too heavy and Martine came on the scene at the same time. However, the last time I talked with her, she was working at a job but would really like to come out here."
"OK, then ... see if you can get her. As soon as she can go to work, set up a two-day-off schedule, and you take an extra two days and we'll see if that makes you feel any better. I think your sparkle has diminished a little lately," he grinned.
"I've been feeling a little diminished, lately," she said. "I think I need a little time to play."
Mayme called Kit Montague next day and, to the girl's delight, made an appointment for a try-on. The redhead explained it was a swing deal; that while she wouldn't hurt for money, the hours would be a little strange. The voluptuous blonde body fit the uniform perfectly and Mayme congratulated her on shedding the superfluous poundage. Kit-or Tex as the girls nicknamed her because of her accent-went to work that night.
Arranging her schedule to keep her days off on the lighter business days early in the week, Mayme called Bob Muller to tell him she had four days in a row coming if he still wanted to make the San Diego trip.
"Got a better thought," he said. "With four days, why don't we fly down to Ensenada and romance it up in Old Mexico?" Mayme was delighted with the idea.
"Can the plant spare you that long, though?" she asked.
"I keep hoping," he said, laughing. "Things are pretty well in hand-if I just don't run into another emergency..."
Mayme called Ricco at her regular time, adding: "I need to see you." He set the time and a street corner where he'd pick her up.
Mayme was there ahead of time, swinging in with a fine display of the beautiful legs, getting an appreciative eye from Ricco as he headed for the outskirts.
"What's the problem, doll?" he asked.
"No problem, lover-except that I've got four days off in a row and was planning to spend them out of town. I'll miss calling at my regular time. How's it going?"
He rolled his eyes. "I could make a million on blackmail. You'd never believe some of the society dames I've seen, bare-assed naked, screwing their heads off! Wow!"
"You filling in a little on the work?" Mayme guessed, with a grin. Ricco had pulled off the deserted road, onto a sand track and parked behind some scrub. He pulled his sunglasses off, squinting as he grinned back at Mayme.
"Oh, I get my share," he confessed. "When some of these dames get lit enough, they come looking for me. Thank God, I got my nights to rest up. Most of my action takes place in the afternoon." She nodded as
Ricco turned, under the wheel to bend one leg up onto the seat. He reached into his coat pocket and extracted some bills. "Thought I might as well bring this with me," he said, tossing them to her negligently. Mayme riffled through them quickly.
"Hey ... this is good ... two seventy-five," she said, looking up at him in surprise. He nodded.
"I told you-'residuals', " he explained, grinning. "A hundred and a quarter is new prospects ... we're hittin' a high percentage on your picks and some of them have become convinced that my spot is a fun-place and are beginning to recommend their friends." He squirmed in his seat, in a characteristic gesture, dropping his hands to the seam of his trousers to tug at himself. "I saved up your referrals for this pay-off," he said. Mayme shook her head.
"It's a great deal," she said, opening her bag to deposit the bills and re-crossing her legs. Ricco didn't miss the move, his eyes, covetously traveling the redhead's legs.
"It is," he said. "Wish I could make a little deal on the side with you," he grinned.
"We've got a deal," Mayme smiled back, purposely playing dumb. Ricco patted the prominent bulge at the junction of his trouser legs.
"I mean for a little of this," he said, his smile tightening. Mayme put her bag down carefully and reached over to unzip his trousers, reaching in to withdraw his swelling masculinity. Ricco's fingers gripped the wheel and seat back until the knuckles showed white, as Mayme slid her round hips across the seat, her brief dress riding up above her garters with the move. She bent toward him.
"How about a quickie?" she asked, mockingly, looking up under her long lashes. Ricco groaned and shook his head, pushing her hands away to order himself and readjust his slacks.
"I know this'll give you a belly laugh," he growled, "but I got to save myself for a long day's work." He glowered at Mayme, shaking his head as he accelerated the engine and backed around to head toward the road. As he rocked onto the pavement and streaked back toward town, Mayme began to laugh and, after a couple of sour looks, Ricco began to see the humor in the situation and joined her. When she got over the outburst, she dried her eyes, and patted Ricco on the thigh. He grinned, his crooked grin and Mayme understood him to mean the laugh was on him.
"Well," she said, "since I work for you, it's better this way. You shouldn't be playing around with the help, anyhow."
"Aw cut it out," he retorted grinning. "And don't worry about the call. I appreciate your letting me know. Pick up your schedule the next day you can, after you come back."
"Maybe "you could use the rest," Mayme teased and Ricco responded with a silent laugh. "Oh, I wanted to ask ... you get out of the Paxinou thing alright?" He nodded.
"The papers have the straight of it ... some of his own people got ideas and let a contract to have him hit. I couldn't finger anyone, and I told them why. They could turn the Feds loose on it and in 3 days come up with the same information I could give them.
All I knew were his key people and they could ask the barkeeps in five towns, and get the information like that." He snapped his fingers. "If I told them, I'd end up in the lake with holes in my head, like Georg. As it is, I'm just a stickman on a crap table ... and all I did was run some errands for the guy-and that's that." He shrugged. "The Feds'll never come up with anything, because there's no way to trace the killer." Ricco slowed the car, several blocks from where he'd picked Mayme up. "This be alright, kid?" he asked and she nodded agreement.
"Fine, Ricco," she said, "and thanks for the lift. Maybe we can go to the desert again, sometime," she chuckled. Ricco groaned.
"Don't rub it in, doll. You're too much!" He grinned at her. "Get lost before I change my mind." laughing, she swung to the pavement, and Ricco boomed off, door closing with the momentum. Mayme picked up a cab, returning to the apartment, to join Pat in a hot coffee break before her ride to work arrived.
Soon after she arrived at the Porterhouse, Bob Muller called to ask if she could be ready to leave Monday morning from work.
"We could get a head start-fly down to San Diego and get some breakfast-cross to Tijuana and light out. Red tape takes time," he explained.
"Sounds wonderful and it's no problem. I'll be all packed to travel when I come to work and I can leave about an hour early since I won't have to wait for the barman-that's if you want to pick me up.
"I want to. I want to," he laughed as they rang off....
Mayme felt some of her old sparkle return as, anticipating her getaway for four whole days, she trod the thick carpets and the varying levels of the Porterhouse that night. The other girls kidded her about her 'free nervous breakdown' as the irrepressible Texan, Kit, had dubbed her trip. A little before her quitting time, things had slowed down and Jim Moore suggested she let the other girls handle it and get ready to leave. Mayme was ready, heading for her office to change, after goodbyes to the group.
Bob picked her up at the back door, looking with approval at the snug capri outfit which contained her delicious curves revealingly.
"You look great, as always," he pointed out, as he' swung her bags into his car.
"Thank you, angel. You'll never know how good you look to me."
"That's just because you're happy to be going south with me," he scoffed. "I'll bet King Kong would look pretty good to you, right now."
Mayme was full of questions and their conversation was continuous all the way to the airport. Once the preliminaries were out of the way and Bob's plane was airborne, Mayme stretched in her seat in a continuing release of tension.
"Oooh! that feels good!" she gasped as she relaxed from bridging her provocative body clear off the seat redhead cut him off with a mischievous grin.
"What you need is a tranquilizer," Bob smiled, his face turning to her, lit by the dim glow of the instrument panel. "I've got some aspirin..." he began as the redhead cut him off with a mischievous grin.
"That's not the kind of soothing I need," she pointed out. "Besides, who'd fly the airplane?" Bob tsk-tsk'd at her, reaching over to gently grip one firm, round thigh behind the knee. Mayme jumped and gasped, trying to return the favor, giving up when Bob prisoned her hands.
"No fair!" she protested, "you have grabbier hands so you take advantage," she kidded.
"I'm like a kid in a candy store with you," he chuckled, "I want everything I see...! "
She napped briefly, at Bob's suggestion, waking when he called Lindbergh for landing clearance. There was a profusion of low clouds and fog which, Bob commented, was usual this time of the year. The cast was broken and Mayme could catch glimpses of the area lights as they circled and came in over downtown. Then, suddenly the runway lights and the panorama of the city burst upon them out of the fog and, swooping low over Highway 101, they settled smoothly to a landing in the gloom.
"Next stop, Tijuana," Bob grinned at her as he taxied the ship toward the hangar. "Feel like breakfast this early?"
"Mm-I'll go along with you," she replied, "I'm not really ravenous, yet."
"OK, then, I'll get done what I can and we'll eat after ... "
CHAPTER ELEVEN
By the time they landed at Ensenada and checked into a hotel, both Mayme and Bob were ready for a bath and a nap. The flight down had been smooth and scenic and Mayme had been intrigued with the Mexican customs officers.
"They're so grim," she commented, shivering.
"They take their jobs seriously and show it," Bob winked. "The U.S. guys try to act nonchalant about it..."
Awaking in mid-afternoon, they elected to spend some time at the pool, Mayme complaining as they showered afterward that she was going to wash away, taking two baths in one day and spending half of it in swimming.
Coming back to the suite from the pool, when the door was locked behind them, Bob caught her, kissing her expertly. She quickly warmed to the activity, kidding him as he slipped her suit from the luscious curves.
"See something else in the candy store?" she asked, laughing.
"Nope. This is therapy. Gonna give you a tranquilizer!" he said.
"Oh, goody!" she exclaimed, pulling at his trunks, "just what the doctor ordered!"
When they awoke following their erotic pursuits, Bob suggested they hit the bar for some appetizers and
Mayme, refreshed and sparkling, dressed carefully, drawing an accolade from Bob for the snug, dark-green sheath which highlighted her provocative lines and accented the glow of her hair.
"Nobody'll see me with you along," Bob laughed, "I'll be the Invisible Man!" Mayme threatened to hide behind him if they didn't stop, and they entered the bar to find some vacant stools at the long, polished counter.
When they were working on their second drink, a stunning blonde with a huge, handsome male came in, taking the barstools next to them, the girl sitting next to Mayme. The two girls, quickly, eyed each other appraisingly, then returned attention to their escorts.
Talking animated with Bob, Mayme reached for her purse just as the girl next to her picked up her glass. The bump on the elbow made the blonde knock the drink over to spill on the bar.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" Mayme apologized, contrite. Neither of them suffered any spillage due to the raised edge of the bar. "Please ... let me get you another..."
"Oh, no," the blonde girl laughed, "it was no more your fault than mine. We just decided to move at the same time." The smiling barman was mopping up.
"Would you give this lady another drink and put it on our bill?" Mayme asked looking at Bob, who pushed a bill forward.
"Ah, Senorita, no, gracias," the barman smiled. "Acceedents like thees, we have eensurance against," he kidded, "so thees wan ees on the eensurance com-panee." Quickly he replaced the blonde's drink.
"I'll just watch my impulses more carefully,"
Mayme smiled at the girl next to her. The blonde impulsively put her hand on Mayme's forearm, with a light touch.
"Please," she said, "if you say another word, you'll make me feel bad. If I may say so, I think the combination of your dress and your hair are just beautiful."
"Why, thank you!" Mayme smiled, "now I can tell you I think the effect of your cocktail dress is simply stunning."
"Probably the contrast of black and white," the girl smiled, easily, "but I thank you, too. I've been keeping out of the sun-got a bad burn last summer-and don't want any complications. Incidentally, I'm Corrigan Wood..." the blonde and Mayme exchanged names, then introduced their men. Her husband, John and Bob, had risen to acknowledge introductions and shake hands. When they sat down again, Mayme and Corrigan (she had explained she was named for her uncle and went by the nickname of Corri) got involved in conversation. Noticing the men were being left out on the ends, Mayme suggested they get a table where they could talk more comfortably.
The Wood couple were originally Texans who'd moved to California and John indicated he was in the oil business. Bob, confessing to his interest and business activity in electronics manufacture, the two were soon deep in applications to drilling and producing operations for automated controls and recording devices.
It didn't take Mayme too long to ascertain from Corn's conversation that the Woods were pretty loaded where money was concerned. She felt drawn to the blonde, somehow, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Despite the fact that both were beauties-and living sex symbols-they were soon entirely at ease with each other, through some magic of emanated intelligence.
Before long, Corri indicated she wanted to visit the powder room and she and Mayme excused themselves to make the trip together. Before they returned to the table, they sat before make-up mirrors to check. Mayme noted Corri's eyes furtively brushing her figure. As they stood up, Mayme lifted her skirt and snugged the smoky hose.
"You have the most beautiful legs," Corri said, her eyes traveling the smooth curves of them.
"I'll bet they're no prettier than yours," Mayme grinned. "Yours are probably nicer because they're longer. Let's see," she grinned, mischievously. Corri's eyes twinkled back and she lifted her skirt to the soft nudity of thighs above her nylons and Mayme eyed them soberly. "They are nicer-and they are longer, too," she smiled, reaching to bestow a tiny pat on Corri's thigh. The girl shivered, slightly, her eyes suddenly locking on Mayme's as the latter looked up, rearranging her dress.
"There-and am I all back together?" Mayme asked, pirouetting before the other.
"Beautifully," Corri smiled. "There's not a thing that needs to be improved upon." Impulsively she squeezed Mayme's rounded upper arm and Mayme returned the pressure on Corri's hands with a quick gesture. As they walked back to the men, Mayme could feel, lingering, the warmth of Corri's touch on her arm and she wondered at the quick establishment of simpatico between them.
After a few drinks, the group decided to have dinner together, afterward moving back to the hotel where they'd first met to sit on the patio in the dim light for after-dinner drinks.
"I thought I'd go fishing in the morning," John remarked, "but Corri says she doesn't want to."
"Darling, I can amuse myself while you're gone. Why don't you go ahead?" Corri asked, smiling. "You love deep sea fishing..."
"Oh, I hate to go by myself," John smiled back, sheepishly. "If there were someone else aboard I knew, it would be different. But, I don't speak Spanish..."
Bob looked at Mayme who had reached over to put her fingers on the back of his hand.
"Are you a fisherman?" she asked. Bob nodded slowly.
"Yes, I like it," he said, looking inquiringly at Mayme through the gloom. "Why, May?"
"I was wondering if you were sitting there, thinking you'd like to go fishing and not saying so because of me."
"Well, I..."
"Look, Mr. Muller, sir ... if you'd like to go with John, I'm sure Corri and I could find something to amuse ourselves-go swimming or shopping-something. How about it, Corri?"
"I'd love it," Corri smiled. "Now, Large Man," she continued, putting a hand on her husband's, "why don't you see if Bob will join you?"
"Would you, Bob?" he asked, eagerly.
"Great idea-I just didn't want Mayme neglected-but if she doesn't mind..."
"No, indeed. I'll wait for you," she chuckled.
"Good, then, John. Count me in."
"Wonderful. Look, I'll go make arrangements for the boat right now..."
"I'll go with you," Bob volunteered, "if the girls will excuse us...? "
The two men swung away toward the lights of the lobby as Mayme and Corri shook their heads at their eagerness.
The men returned with rueful expressions to inform the girls that they'd have to get up about four-thirty the next morning and wouldn't return until two or three in the afternoon.
"Well, you'd better get some sleep, then," Mayme said, rising.
"You know, May," Corri commented as she rose, "I always hear how women will wear anything that looks good on them, no matter how uncomfortable it is ... but I never hear anybody point out the discomfort of spending the day on a fishing cruiser, or sleeping on the ground, lack of sleep--the things men do to have fun. Do you?"
"That's right, you don't," Mayme laughed. "I think they're trying to make out that we're the only ones who willingly suffer for purely personal reasons..."
Next morning Mayme and Corri spent an hour in and around the pool; then had lunch on the balcony of the Wood's room, overlooking the ocean.
"Ooh, that was pleasant," Mayme said, returning to the cool spaciousness of the living room to sprawl comfortably on the sofa. "I'm beginning to feel so relaxed, I can't believe it."
Corri came over to sit beside her. "Good," she smiled into the redhead's eyes. "Anything I hate, it's to be all tensed up."
Mayme smiled. "You suffering from any tension?" The blonde's eyes caught and held the other's.
"Not really suffering," she said, after a long moment, "but I do have some little quivers around the nerve ends."
"Oh?" Mayme said, sitting up, wondering. Corri made an impatient gesture.
"I guess I'm just being silly," she said, her eyes still holding Mayme's, "but it seems to be connected with you. Last night I-I first noticed it."
Mayme put her fingertips on Corri's arm, noting, again, the tiny shiver. "I felt it, too," she said, "I could feel your hand on my arm, for some time after you touched me." Corri's eyes suddenly dropped to the redhead's lips, then danced away in indecision to brush over her swelling bosom. Corri's own bosoms were rising and falling irregularly, in some agitation.
Tentatively, Mayme lifted her arms toward the other and was surprised at the haste with which the blonde came into them. Raising her eyebrows in silent comment, Mayme lowered her face, to softly touch the blonde girl's lips with her own. When she attempted to break the caress, Corri made a small sound of protest in her throat, and clung, suddenly, fiercely to Mayme, who felt her pulse increase at the reaction. They sprang apart as a knock came at the door.
Pulling herself together, Corri went to answer the door, staggering slightly, to open it on a man who'd come to get the luncheon dishes. When he'd gone, Mayme got up and locked the door, going into the bedroom where Corri had retreated after letting the room service boy in. The blonde girl was slipping into a brief, almost-transparent negligee as Mayme entered, turned to look at her with eyes no longer undecided. Her hair, which she'd loosed from the piled effect atop her head, dropped in shining, golden profusion to her shoulders.
"Do you like me?" Corri asked, moving to stand before Mayme. The latter nodded, her own eyes, now, moving over the lush outlines of the almost-naked figure of the other girl, were reflecting the excitement she felt at the nearness, the subtle fragrance, the bold presentation of Corri's loveliness. Mayme stepped closer, arm softly circling the pliant waist, feeling the blonde's agitation, heated and pulsing. "I've never, really, had sex with a girl I really wanted," Corri went on. "Do you ... I mean, would you...? "
Mayme looked deep into the other's eyes a moment, then nodded, feeling her own pulses leap, urging Corri toward the large bed. As the blonde lifted a round knee onto the mattress, the living room phone pealed. Stifling a sob, Corri muttered "damn" and went to answer it.
"Oh-John-back already?" she asked, pressing a hand between the swelling, heaving breasts as she fought to control her voice. "Yes, Mayme's here. We'll be right down. I was just changing...'bye." She turned, stricken, to the redhead. "Something has happened. Want us to come down to the bar, right away. Oh, Mayme ... I'm-I'm so ... "
Mayme swiftly hugged the girl tightly to her. "There'll be another time. I'll hold the fort until you get there, angel..." Corri's eyes were big with disappointment as Mayme departed.
Bob and John greeted her wearily and Bob looked particularly unhappy.
"Who's the funeral for?" Mayme asked. Bob pointed to himself.
"There was a call from Las Vegas waiting when we got back," he said, dispiritedly. "Wildcat strike at the damn plant. I have to saddle up and get right back." He looked so crestfallen, Mayme couldn't help patting his arm.
"I'm sorry, too, Bob. I'll go get packed and we'll take off."
"Mayme, I could shoot myself for lousing up your time off..."
"I knew it could happen, Bob. I'm disappointed, too, but I'll live..."
Corri hurried into the bar just then and also caught the gloom in the atmosphere. When she was filled in on the facts, she looked first at John and then at Bob and Mayme.
"I-well, I'm so sorry, I could bawl," she said. John looked at her quickly. "Look-Bob, why don't you leave Mayme with us? We'll put her on a plane from San Diego or Los Angeles ... that is, if you want to, Mayme."
"I'll leave it up to you, honey," Bob said. "I'd love your company going back, but I'd rather do anything than spoil your short vacation."
"Bob and I have a lot of unfinished business," John put in. "If it's alright, I'll call you when we land-maybe all three of us could fly over."
"Wouldn't you like to stay, Mayme?" Bob asked and Mayme turned to the Woodses.
"Are you sure I won't be butting in?" she asked in a 'no nonsense' voice and both John and Corri insisted emphatically they'd love to have her. Mayme nodded then. "Alright, I'd love to-and thanks, Bob..."
That settled, Bob hastened to pack, got Mayme moved to a single room and took care of the bill, signing it and arranging that all Mayme's charges she should sign, and the bill be forwarded to him for payment. Then the group drove to the airport to see Bob off....
CHAPTER TWELVE
Next morning, the girls elected to shop while John went swimming. As they returned, shortly before lunchtime, they went up to the Woods' suite, hearing the faint noise of the shower stop as they entered. Corri went toward the balcony to deposit her parcels on the table. Mayme dropped her purchases, all in one big bag, on the sofa, then idly started to walk around it to sit down.
Just at that instant, the huge, naked figure of John emerged from the bedroom, toweling his head, vigorously. He didn't see Mayme, but must have heard her gasp. Lifting his head, he froze for an instant, before whipping the towel in front of him to beat a red-faced retreat.
"Forgive me, Mayme!" he called, "I didn't know you two were back. I'm sorry..."
"Don't be," Mayme laughed, recovering her breath, "I enjoyed it!" In the instant he'd been fully visible, Mayme's curious eyes had darted-to inspect John's masculinity. Turning, now to blink at a convulsed Corri in disbelief, she watched, somewhat in shock, as the blonde recovered from her seizure of d' light at the scene which had just occurred. When she could talk, Corri went to the bedroom door to call to John that they'd go on down to lunch and have a drink while they waited for him....
As the door closed behind them, Corri's mischievous smile turned on the redhead.
"He's a big boy, isn't he?" she asked, unable to suppress a giggle.
Mayme made a fanning motion at her face. "If you mean your husband, that's the understatement of the year. I-I never saw anything like him in my life." Corri's laughter pealed as they entered the elevator.
"Besides being six-four and weighing about two-thirty, he wears a size twelve shoe."
"Well, remembering the old joke about shoes being related to the size of his thing, I'd say John better go get himself a pair of shoes that fit him-say about size fifteen?" Corri broke up as the automatic door opened to let them into the lobby. "Modesty forbids me to say more," Mayme simpered.
"I'll tell him what you said," Corri laughed, "He'll be flattered."
"Don't you dare!" Mayme demanded.
"Please, Mayme-you know wives aren't supposed to have secrets from their husbands," Corri demanded.
"Oh, alright-you'll tell him anyway," Mayme grinned ruefully. "I'll stop speaking my mind to you..."
"No, honest, I won't tell him if you insist-but it will tickle him..." Mayme doubled over in glee at this as Corri looked at her inquiringly.
"Now what?" Corri demanded.
"Tickle him-it would be a pleasure-I'd be happy to!" Mayme laughed.
"I'll tell him that too!" Corri threatened as Mayme threw up her hands in surrender and followed the blonde into the bar.
The following morning, when they went aboard the "Sea Gold" Mayme stared, aghast. "Mama mia!" she exclaimed to John and Corri as they started up the gangway, "why didn't you tell me we were going back on the Queen Mary?"
As Corri laughed, John protested: "Aw, come on now, it's not all that big!" He saw to the baggage as Corri and Mayme wandered aft to the fantail to relax on the cushions, after being made acquainted with the skipper and the mate.
As they got underway, Mayme asked her hostess:
"How big is this-this liner, anyway?"
"I understand from Big John," Corri confided, laughing at the clowning shudder Mayme gave at the nickname, "that the Sea Gold measures one hundred and five feet from stem to stern."
"Damn!" Mayme exclaimed in mock frustration, "every time I turn around I seem to run into John's 'stem'! " Corri rolled her eyes.
"Mayme," she said, with a wink, "You ain't seen nothin' yet!"
"Yet?" Mayme sat up, startled to ask. "What ... "
Just then the Filipino steward came back to inform them that breakfast was served, followed by John to take them into the dining salon. Mayme fumed inwardly and puzzled over Corri's words but couldn't immediately find further opportunity to pursue it. Not wanting to bring the subject up "cold turkey" she had to abandon it-but she didn't forget it. After breakfast, the mate and Corri took her on a tour of inspection over the yacht as John, sketches and figures spread over the cleared dining table, worked on electronic applications he and Bob had discussed on their fishing trip.
Their progress up the coast was leisurely and Mayme and Corri, increasingly at home with each other, talked endlessly as the soporific hours passed. Mayme had the feeling that Corri was skirting the subject of their small bedroom encounter so she made no further reference to it. Nonetheless, both John and Corri Wood intrigued her, tremendously. While both presented smooth, attractive, conventional exteriors, Mayme had the definite conviction that, like the proverbial iceberg, there was far more to them than showed on the surface. Either way Mayme looked at them, there was a tingle of excitement as a reward. John or Corri-either one-induced an inward thrill.
When they went ashore at Long Beach, John called Bob, but he was still immersed in troubles and they decided it would be a waste of John's time to come over just then. So, they regretfully parted company, driving Mayme to International and putting her on a plane for Las Vegas.
The redhead was at loose ends when she got home; it being Pat's day off Mayme suspected she was gone for the day. Checking her bankbook-though she knew the balance to the penny-she decided the time had come to buy a car. She also decided to call Ricco at his club, something she'd never done before. She was told he was busy, but left her number.
She was completely dressed, her luscious body snugged revealingly into a capri outfit of lightweight material, when the phone rang.
"Forgive my disturbing you, baby-doll," she responded with an endearment rather than use names, "but I've been afoot long enough and just decided to buy myself a car. I wondered if you could give me a steer-I just hate to go off, cold..."
"Sure, doll. Got a preference?"
"No-just a good, little car that I can afford. Are Mustangs expensive?"
"We'll see. You at home?" Mayme said she was and Ricco said he'd have someone call her. "You back early from your trip?" he asked.
"Yes. My date got a hurry-up from his business and had to cut out. But I had a wonderful time..."
"Look-if you do buy a car, why don't you drop by the joint this afternoon? Might be interesting." He chuckled.
"Well-alright. How do I get there?" she asked.
"The guy who calls you will come by to pick you up," Ricco said.
"On your way downtown, ask him. OK?"
"I dig, 007," she said conspiratorially and Ricco said 'so long', laughing.
About fifteen minutes later, the expected call came, a brisk male voice introducing himself as Jerry Macon of the Desert Ford agency. "Friend of mine said you were interested in a car," he said, tentatively.
"That's right," Mayme replied. "I'll buy one this afternoon, if the price is right and those low-down payments aren't too much."
"I'll make you a deal," Macon laughed. "Where do you live-I'll come and get you..."
Jerry Macon was a suavely-smiling, somber-eyed young man who, upon Mayme's request, gave her explicit directions as to how to get out to Ricco's. Mayme suspected he probably worked part-time for Ricco, but said nothing. He was very smooth, but he knew his business and steered her on to a repossessed Mustang that had barely three hundred miles on the speedometer.
"Chick who bought it got in over her head," he told her. "This is no malarky-I wouldn't man-handle anybody Ricco sent me. They got a big down out of her, and then she got sick and couldn't work," he continued, significantly. "It's already financed, so I can make it to you on a nice down if the finance company will take you. Where do you work?"
Mayme explained where she worked and what she did and Macon said she should be a shoo-in. He got her into the Mustang-a white hardtop with automatic-took her for a ride and put her behind the wheel, directing her to the office to get a temporary driver's license in the course of it. Back at the agency, a delighted Mayme called Jim Moore to tell him what she was up to and Jim said to have the salesman or the finance company call him for any verification they wanted.
As a result, Mayme, her stomach full of happy butterflies, was headed out the road to Ricco's desert hideaway by a little past three. The Mustang was smooth as cream but the redhead drove it warily, Macon having demonstrated its acceleration to her. Winding off the county road at the designated spot, Mayme drove cautiously around the curves until the big, low-lying house came into view. About a dozen cars were parked in and out of the four-car garage beneath the structure and Mayme got out and went up to the entrance which opened before she touched the bell-button.
"Hi, doll," Ricco greeted her as she blinked at him. He was clad in a brief Japanese-appearing shirt, the bulge of his loins just peeping beneath the hem of the shirt as he moved. His outfit was complete with toe-socks and thong sandals. He laughed as she looked at him lewdly and licked her lips. "Aw, let me up," he said, "I'm workin' this afternoon."
"Boy, I'll bet you turn the gals on with that kind of peek-a-boo costume. All the lads work this way?"
"Yeh-it's good for business," he said, leading the way to his office. "I've got a date coming out about four o'clock. Want a drink?"
"Oh-something light-say a screwdriver," Mayme assented.
He grinned as he gave the order on a desk intercom. "Depends on how many you carry how light they are," he quipped. "How'd you make out on the car?"
Mayme explained, thanking him for his help, and Ricco agreed it was a good deal-if she was happy with it and she assured him she was. They sipped drinks and chatted for a moment, Ricco glancing from time to time through a louvered panel in the wall next to his chair.
"That your peep-hole?" the redhead asked, with a chuckle.
"Just like the post-office," Ricco grinned back. "I'm just checking a new jane-one of your referral's referrals-who's got the hots for a young blonde stud.
C'mere," he beckoned and Mayme went over to peer through the slits.
An expensively-dressed woman who looked to be in her late thirties but, from what Mayme could see of her face, very good-looking, was dancing in the close embrace of a compact blonde boy. The music, which they could hear, dimly, was slow and dreamy and the woman clung to her partner, pressed close to him with every move he made. There were two other couples on the small dance surface; the men all wore outfits like Ricco's; the women wearing lace masks which seemed to conceal their features very effectively. Beneath the tight dress the blonde man's partner wore, Mayme could see her buttocks tense as, now and then, she pressed against him while they danced. All the dancers exhibited some degree of erotic excitement, and the woman Ricco had indicated moved her head to whisper in her partner's ear. He nodded a smiling assent, and they left the floor to move into the bar and disappear.
"C'mon," Ricco said, crooking a finger at Mayme, "if you want to see the fun." Finishing her drink, her throat suddenly dry and excitement beginning to throb inside, Mayme put down the glass and followed Ricco. Going down a carpeted corridor, he stopped at what looked like a closet door, producing a key from beneath his shirt, laying a finger on his lips, unlocked it to usher Mayme inside. He indicated a chair, facing the back wall and the redhead sank into it, Ricco reaching to slowly and silently turn a small crank which opened an air-conditioning type of louver. Looking downward, they had a view of the bedroom from about ceiling height.
As they watched, the door opened, the blonde young man following the black-haired woman into the room, locking the door behind him. Ricco bent down to breathe softly in her ear:
"Don't make a sound-come on back to the office if it gets dull." Mayme turned to nod and wink as Ricco slipped out behind her.
It didn't get dull, but it was soon more than Mayme could stand to watch. No sooner than the door was locked, the woman began to snatch the shirt off the blonde man and Mayme caught her breath at the muscled torso which emerged. Dropping one hand to the bulge of his loins, she rubbed and fondled him while the other hand was busy unfastening what Mayme recalled (with a silent giggle) what resembled a boy's athletic supporter and what she and Pat used to refer to as 'mezzanine brassieres.' Once this fell away, Mayme felt a surge of excitement at the aroused condition the blonde man was experiencing. The woman, once his body was totally bare, sank back onto the edge of the bed, planted her high-heeled feet well apart and sat looking at the spectacle he presented. Her hand went to the hem of her brief dress and began to slowly pull it upward, over full thighs, encased in tight, dully-gleaming hose. As the white skin of her thighs emerged beneath the lifted garment, her hands went to the zipper to drop the top of the garment and then freeing the standing, proud breasts from the confinement of the bra. The man moved a little closer to touch the nipples, the woman grasping him as Mayme gulped at the dimension, her mind flying for an instant back to John Wood....
The black-haired woman slipped her dress off over her head, tossing it across a chair-back and then resumed her grip on the blonde muscle-man's erect body, pulling him slowly to her and lowering her head for a brief caress which made him twist and then pull away. As he took the woman's breasts in his hands and began to force her backward on the bed, Mayme's heart was pounding like it was going to escape her rib-cage. The black-haired woman kicked off her heels and wriggled into position on the bed, holding trembling legs wide apart as the muscles in the blonde man's thighs and buttocks tensed and knotted as his hard masculinity found her and he began to surge, slowly but irresistibly, forward....
Mayme got to her feet, panting, found the little crank and closed the vents on the view-hole silently and crept out into the corridor, softly closing the door behind her. Her bosom plunging up and down from her excitement, she hurried back to Ricco's office, to be met with a suppressed guffaw as he ascertained her condition. Mayme, feet apart, put her hands on her hips, glowering.
"Got the hots, doll?" Ricco chuckled at her discomfiture. "Like the looks of that blonde stud?" he needled. "He's Number Four on our hit parade out here. There's three stallions that's hung better'n him..."
"And I suppose you're one of them," Mayme gritted, then grinned crookedly at him. "A hell of a performance, though," she breathed glancing down at Ricco's midriff. "It's too bad you've got a date," she said, moving toward him, a hand reaching for him threateningly. Ricco pushed his chair away, laughing.
"Now, doll-control yourself!" he urged.
"Control, hell! Where's the little girl's room?" Mayme demanded. Ricco rose to open a door.
"Be my guest," he snickered as Mayme, glaring in exaggerated ire, entered his bathroom....
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
John and Corrigan Wood didn't get to Las Vegas as soon as they had said they would, but did make a flying trip over about a month after Mayme had met them in Ensenada. They came out to the Porterhouse with Bob, and Mayme felt the same electric tingles as she renewed acquaintance with them. It was a busy night, but she got to chat occasionally with them as they had dinner and they urged her to take some time and come to see them in Los Angeles.
"I'm hopeful I'll be moving there, one of these days," the redhead confided. "The owners of the restaurant are building a location in Los Angeles on restaurant mile and I'm going over to handle the staff for them."
"I think those costumes are darling," Corri said, eyeing Mayme's lines. "Your front girls are stunning."
The men agreed with the sentiment, laughingly.
"They're hand-picked for beauty and brains," Mayme said, proudly, "and I picked 'em, personally."
They parted company, regretfully-at least on Mayme's part-but the Woods had to be back in Los Angeles early next morning and Mayme promised to call them if and when she came to town.
A week later, Ricco called her.
"Hi, doll. I got a problem. Could I see you?" he asked, without preamble. Surprised, Mayme answered: "Sure-what's the spot?"
"Tell you when I see you. Can you start for work about an hour early tonight."
"Can do."
"You know my car, doncha?" Mayme indicated she did. "OK, then, I'll pick you up when you turn out the county road for your joint. Follow me. O.K.? "
"I'll make it an hour and a half early. Leave about I:30."
"Fine, see you then," Ricco said, hanging up.
Conjectures chased themselves through Mayme's head like hounds running rabbits but she gave up trying to figure it out. When she turned at the designated place, she saw Ricco's car pull off the shoulder onto the pavement ahead of her and she followed him as he took another turn about a mile farther on, driving until a sink in the desert topography concealed them from view of the county road. She pulled up and got out to join Ricco in his car.
"Got a problem?" she asked as she slid onto the seat. He nodded.
"A bad one," he confessed, taking off his shades. "Somebody is blackmailing one of my customers. It happens to be that black-headed dame you watched with the blonde stud the afternoon you were out."
"Not me," Mayme said, her eyes going to Ricco's. He nodded.
"Forget it-you're not the type. No, doll, I've checked this thing as far as it can be checked. I think it's the blonde stud."
"Inside?" Mayme asked, alarmed.
"Right. I know the customers and this Drogan dame is only connected through the one who referred her-and she doesn't need blackmail money. Her old man owns the mint, I think. I'm in a spot, alright. I've kept this thing clean as far a squeezing the customers is concerned. If that happens, man you lose your protection so fast it sizzles, going away. This guy got pictures, sent the prints to the Drogan piece, then called her long-distance in L.A. demanding a drop in Vegas or he'd blow the whistle on her to the husband. Geez, I've got to mash this, like day before yesterday. I mean quick. I wouldn't ask you to lay your business on the line if I weren't really hurting-and this thing has been good to you."
Mayme nodded. "True. What's your angle?"
"This guy I suspect, he doesn't know you. He's got a night job out at the big factory down the road toward Mead, so he don't prowl the town much. If I could bring you in as a referral-a customer-then we might have something to go on. If we could make the story of a neglected wife with a loaded husband stick, then we could tie it to him-and I can give him a few broken bones to take home to mother."
Mayme shuddered. "Well, anyhow, if it's him, he's earned 'em," she said. "Anyhow, I'll get some of that blonde buck for free, won't I?"
For the first time since they'd started talking, Ricco smiled. "Yeh-but remember, I've got better men on the staff. Anyhow we need a cover which will prove out-somebody who's really got the bread. This L.A. dame you mentioned-the one with the yacht you met on your trip. Do you think you could con her...? "
"You don't miss a trick, Ricco," Mayme smiled. "I don't know all about Corri-but I can find out, right quick. Look, suppose I call her tonight and see if I can talk to her, face to face, tomorrow. I could fly over to L.A.-my day off-and see if we can set it up. Then when the guy contacts her for a payoff, she can forward the stuff to me, stall for a couple of days to raise the money and make a date to meet him here in Las Vegas ... "
"Well ... I don't know why not. But, I just don't like to handle something like this remote control, you know? I don't know any other way to go, though, because I can't contact any of the dames I know who're loaded. like, I know 'em through the business and that would scare them off for sure." He shook his head. "But, there's no other way I can see. As long as the payoff is here, then I can control it. Here..." Hunching his hips in the seat, Ricco jammed a hand into a pocket of his tight trousers, bringing out a folded sheaf of bills and peeling off a couple of hundreds, shoving them to Mayme.
"I don't think I'll need all this..." she started to protest.
"Rather you have more than not enough-if you need it in a hurry. If you feel like it, you can return what you don't use." He grinned. "But, if this proves out, I'll owe you a bonus..."
"I'll call Corri just as soon as I get to the club, because it might be better if her husband isn't around when I talk to her," the redhead said, stowing the bills in her wallet.
"OK, doll. Once more, I say I hate to pull you into this-but if you can swing it, I'll be your friend for life
. . . " the hard face reflected the sincerity of his sentiment.
To break up the mood, Mayme grinned and leaned over against him, one hand gently capturing the bulge in his tight trousers as he jumped and grinned.
"Maybe, even, you'll let me sample some of this, for free?"
"You askin' me to give up my professional standing?" Ricco growled, scowling fiercely; then breaking into a grin. "OK, doll-even that-but you don't know how tough it'll make a day's work..."
Mayme left her hand where it was, some devil of mischief working inside her. Ricco knew she was teasing him and let her have her way. As Mayme felt the growing response, she increased the vigor of her caresses. Suddenly Ricco leaned over, sliding a hand up the inside of her thigh to capture the soft bulge in her capris. Mayme shivered and twisted, let Ricco go, throwing up both hands in surrender.
"OK-OK, I give up!" she laughed.
Ricco sat up, cracking the palm of the hand he'd been fondling Mayme with, against his forehead.
"Brother-every time I get around you, I wish I was in another line of business!" He straightened in his seat and started the engine.
"What do you do on vacation?" Mayme kidded, chuckling, "take two weeks' active duty in the Marines?" Ricco laughed as she slid out to go to her owe car, appreciatively eyeing the trim fit of her capri outfit.
"I'll guarantee I get as far away from dames as I can. But who gets a vacation?" he demanded, aggrievedly as she closed the door and blew him a kiss....
When Mayme arrived at the club, she looked into Jim Moore's office, finding him gone. The barkeep called to her that he'd had to go into town a few minutes before.
"Thanks, Chuck, it'll keep," she smiled. He nodded, dolefully.
"That's what's killin' me," he mourned. "You're keepin' it."
"Oh come on, now," she laughed, heading for her office, "you toted me back and forth to work for months, before you changed shifts, and you never even made a smart remark. What's with you?"
He sniffed in pretended tears. "Just repentin' my misspent youth," he mourned. "Them days is gone forever ... "
"But look how much more sleep you get," Mayme laughed, going through the door. She couldn't hear his reply, but the inflection was profane.
Changing, hurriedly, she got some quarters from Chuck and went to a pay phone just outside the entrance, placing her call to Corri. A female voice she assumed was a maid, answered and Mayme identified herself, telling the other she was calling from Las Vegas.
"Why, Mayme, what a nice surprise!" Corri's voice bubbled over the wire.
"Hi, Corri-good to hear your voice," the redhead replied. "It may not be so pleasant-I have to help a friend of mine and I want to borrow your identity and background for it. Could I fly over tonight and talk to you about it?" There was a silence at the other end for a moment.
"John's leaving town tomorrow morning, early," Corri replied. "If it doesn't make any difference, I'd just as soon fly over and see you..."
"Well ... alright, but I could come over there..."
"I'll wire my arrival time. OK?"
"OK, angel. It'll be good to see you again..." Mayme sensed a hesitation before Corri chuckled.
"I think you like me," she said, brazenly.
"I do," Mayme said, "so there, too."
"Recommend a good hotel when I get there," Corri laughed as they rang off.
Mayme picked Corri up a few minutes past noon at the airport and suggested a plush motel might be the most comfortable place to stay and the blonde girl agreed. When they had checked Corri in, the two girls settled down and Mayme outlined the whole difficulty, omitting nothing. Corri was a little shocked but admitted Ricco's resolve to protect his customers from such actions was commendable, to say the least. Mayme asked if Corri would feel better talking to Ricco herself; Corri said "not really," but supposed she ought to. Ricco came quickly in response to Mayme's pay-phone call and answered all Corri's questions.
"Alright then," Corri said when they had talked it out. "Let's go ahead. When do you plan for Mayme to...? " she grinned and winked at the redhead, lasciviously.
"Better the quicker," Ricco answered, solemnly. "I've had her in on what we call a 'floater,' since yesterday. The guy is free at 4:30, Mayme, if you're ready."
"Alright. I'll go home and get into some imagine playgirl clothes and be there right on time. I need to ask Corri some questions, too, for my story to check for this ape..."
Promptly at 4:30, Mayme pulled into the club parking lot and Ricco greeted her by the door, as he opened it for her. He walked her into the lounge by the bar after she donned one of the lace masks the establishment offered and he sat with her over a drink to give her time to look over the available males. After a while, Mayme went into her act, whispering as she glanced at the blonde stud, and away. Ricco rose and bowed, and acted as go-between, sending the compact man over to the redhead's table. She was tense, as he moved toward her, but, as he greeted her, it didn't take long to realize that, whatever his ability in bed, Ricco had probably taught him everything he knew in the way of social accomplishments. However, he did what he'd been schooled to do, sitting with one leg casually drawn up beside him on the padded bench so that the bulge of his tight, brief nether garment was plainly in view. As the time wore on, Mayme nursed her drinks, but got a considerable buzz out of them, as she didn't do too much drinking, and it wasn't hard to act the part of the increasingly confiding, neglected wife. She saw the stolid eyes of the blonde man show sharp attention, as she danced with him, at some of the lures she dropped while complaining about her husband's neglect of her and his love for the oil business. She rubbed against him as they turned slowly on the floor, feeling his response in his loins and in the gradual deepening of his breathing. Before she got maudlin, he suggested they go somewhere they could be alone, and Mayme nodded, eagerly....
In his room, the blonde stud undressed her gently as she made tentative fumbles at his thighs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pretended to be well gone as he toyed with her, clad only in hose and heels, and then took off his own garments, to sit beside her in love play, completely nude. Mayme noticed that from time to time, he dropped a hand to the edge of the bed-frame, out of her sight. It only occurred at moments when her face was unobscured by his kisses or when her thighs were wide parted with his hand between them, or she was holding on to his rampant erection. Then, when he possessed her and began his skillful manipulation of her emotions, she noted the arm moving downward only a few times ... twice during the climax she experienced....
When, disheveled and, apparently thoroughly sexed out and staggering, she insisted on leaving the club, Ricco was concerned about her but she pushed past him and staggered out to her car, sitting in it a few moments before driving erratically away. She went to the motel, and Corri exclaimed in shock at her appearance.
"Don't give it a thought, baby," she laughed, tossing her hair back from her eyes. "I just wanted to show you what a playgirl looks like when she comes home..."
Ricco followed her to the motel in about an hour, to find her composed and sleek again. She told him about the blonde's arm and the bottom of the bed frame.
"Probably got his little camera in the air-conditioning return in the opposite wall with a release fastened under the bed," Ricco growled. "I haven't been able to inspect his room while he's working. Would have tipped him off..."
Corri, nervous, insisted on returning to Los Angeles on an early evening flight.
"That way, I could have been in town and eaten dinner out, so there'll be no conversation among the servants," she told Mayme. "I don't usually worry about what they think-but I don't want anything to look unusual until this is behind us." Mayme drove her to the airport.
Two days later, she got a call at The Porterhouse about eleven, taking it in her office. It was Corri.
"I got the pictures and then a phone call," she said. "John's coming home tomorrow, so I won't be able to bring them in person but they've gone out to you, air special. I told the jerk it would take me two days to get up the cash and he set up a meet with me at 11:15..." Corri provided the remainder of the details as Mayme penciled them and repeated them to make sure she had them correctly.
"Thanks a million, angel," Mayme said fervently before hanging up. "This will take the monkey off Ricco's back, to coin a phrase..."
Pleading a headache, she asked Jim Moore if she could go home early and headed for the casino to catch Ricco on a break. Spotting her in the crowd he nodded, almost imperceptibly. She waited until he left the table, then followed him unobtrusively to a secluded spot in the parking lot.
"He's the one, for sure," Ricco said. "You got the dope for the meet written out, you say?"
Mayme nodded. "Right here," she tapped the envelope he held. "I'll have to get off work for this ... "
"Can you manage?" Ricco asked, anxiously. She nodded. "I'll get another girl to trade days off next week ... give her two in a row ... "
At the time appointed, she drove out into the desert to the spot designated by the blackmailer. She expected to wait for him fifteen minutes, according to the directions he'd given her. She did. Evidently he'd been hidden, making sure there was no one with her. All of a sudden he loomed up out of the dark, startling her.
"Don't be scared, Mrs. Wood," he said, sneeringly. "It's just me." He reached out a hand for the envelope. Mayme put it behind her.
"What's to guarantee I get the negatives and there are no prints?" she asked. He gave her a pencil flashlight and an envelope. "You can check on the negatives," he said, "and the prints you'll just have to take my word for." She handed him her envelope. He took the flashlight from her and examined the envelope thick with hundred-dollar bills. "You're a good girl," he said. "Thanks for the lay, baby..." Then he was gone.
Mayme stood where she was, jumping when a sharp cry broke the desert stillness. It was followed by a sharp crack and the sound of a falling body. She heard repeated blows and took off for the car, rented for this expedition, a feeling of sickness in her mid-section.
About two-thirty, the phone ringing, awakened her from the uneasy sleep she'd fallen into.
"Hi, doll?" the caller said, guardedly.
"Hi, sweets," she returned. "How'd it go?"
"Everything alright. I got the stuff on the other customer out of him before he passed out. He'll think twice before he tries it again. Be a long time before he gets any nooky, again ... if ever. Be seein' you ... soon." There was a click and Mayme wondered what had happened to the blonde stud....
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The newspapers carried heavy lineage on the discovery of the badly-beaten plant worker the following day. He was in critical condition, suspected of suffering internal injuries. The pictures of him in the hospital bed didn't show much but splinted limbs and a bandaged head. Conjecture about the reasons ran from union trouble to woman trouble with one suggestion of mistaken identity.
The publicity fell off after a few days and Mayme called Corri to tell her, in guarded phrases, that the bit had gone off as planned; and that their "friend" would be a long time recuperating from his "accident."
"When are you coming to see me?" Corri asked.
"Why?" Mayme teased.
"We have some unfinished business, you and I," the blonde pointed out, chuckling.
"It may be soon, angel," Mayme said, "the boss was telling me they're getting ready to finish up the new location. I'll call you the minute I hit town..."
"I'll take that as a promise," Corri said and Mayme reaffirmed it.
Jim Moore stopped her as she was going to her office a few days later. "Looks like the time has come," he said, smiling.
"Los Angeles?" Mayme asked. Jim nodded.
"Had a call from Phil this morning. They'll have the place ready to open in a week and thinks you'd better start working on your staff."
Mayme sighed. "Well, I've known it was coming, but I sort of hate to leave. Will you be going back and forth on management?" she asked. "We sort of understand each other..." He nodded grinning.
"Until and unless it proves not workable, yes," he said. "Nothing changes." He held out an envelope. "In here is the name of the woman who'll handle alterations on the uniforms. They'll still be supplied from here and I have the ones for the L.A. location going out in two or three days."
"Shall I take the ones I'm wearing with me?" she asked. Jim nodded.
"Yes, but we're having you a new set made. Keep yours for emergency use. Incidentally, I'll run the thing here, myself, for awhile before setting Tex up in your place ... but I agree with you that she seems the one to ramrod the deal."
"It's been a wonderful experience," Mayme smiled. "When shall I take off?"
"Better plan on making this your last night. You're driving over, I assume?" She nodded. "Well, then, get away early tonight, if you can and check in with Phil day after tomorrow. I'll see you there."
Mayme nodded and departed. Dressed, she wandered through the restaurant, as though taking a last look at it and hoping her luck in Los Angeles would be as good as it had been in Las Vegas. When Jim left the office, about four, to go into town, Mayme called Ricco.
"Busy, lover?" she asked.
"Busy enough, doll," he said, with a sigh. "Something?"
Mayme told him, guardedly, she was leaving; arranged to meet him the next day. About one, she told the girls goodbye and called Jim on the intercom to let him know. Back at the apartment, she got her stuff packed, noting she'd be taking about three times as much clothing out of Las Vegas as she brought to town with her. Just before she went to bed, she wrote a note to Tex Montague telling the girl that the bearer had a message for her that she, Mayme, suggested Tex would be interested in learning. Putting it in an envelope, she scrawled Tex's name across it and dropped it in her bag to give Ricco.
Next morning, she tiptoed about, showering, dressing and stowing her things in the car. Pat woke about ll, desolated when Mayme told her that 'D-day was today. With mutual promises to come see each other and tearful eyes, they said goodbye about twelve-thirty and Mayme drove to Ricco's.
Her finger on the door-buzzer brought a shouted invitation from him to come in and she entered.
"Be right with you, doll," he called. "Sit down. Want coffee-a drink...? "
"Nothing, lover," she said. He came into the living room, tying the sash of his robe about his waist.
"Gonna miss you, doll," he said, with the broken grin he displayed when something got to him.
"Knowing you has been very profitable-but I never got any," she said, tying it off with a meaningful look, as a jest.
"Ah, well-you've seen one stud-you've seen 'em all," he returned in kind. He picked up an envelope from a lamp table and handed it to her. "This is your current pay with a five bill bonus for the caper with Stanislaus," he said, pronouncing the name so the final syllable sounded like 'louse.'
"Thanks a million, Ricco ... and here's something for you." She gave him the note for Tex. "As you suggested-on plain paper and just what you told me to write." She went back into her bag and brought out some folded currency. "Here's the rest of your two hundred expense money-less the rental car and Corri's motel. A hundred sixty-five you get back," she grinned.
"Hey, doll, you're an easy rider on the old expense account," he grinned, taking the money negligently and dropping it in the robe pocket.
"And you're a good man to do business with," she said. "Shall we keep up the good work in L.A.? " she asked. "I imagine the pickings will be a lot sparser ... "
"You never can tell," he said, "but you shoot 'em along as you find 'em and I'll have Tex tickle me if she knows they show up here at The Porterhouse. I've got the big hotels covered on the desk staff. We'll miss some, but the business is good and you've got some income from the referrals. May, it's a terrific gimmick."
"Ricco," Mayme said slowly, "if this blonde stud should show in Los Angeles, what should I do?"
"First thing, don't worry about it. I'll know every move he makes from the time he gets out of the hospital. If he heads your way, I'll alert you-if he contacts you, call me. That's all you need to do..."
A warm goodbye kiss and Mayme was on her way, heading for 15 West and Los Angeles....
True to her word, Mayme called Corri about six thirty from a pay phone. When the blonde came to the phone, Mayme said:
"Hi, Corri-it's your bad-penny-friend from the land of the casinos..."
"May!" Corri exclaimed. "Something wrong...? "
"Oh, no!" the redhead hastened to assure her. "I just got my moving orders yesterday, just now got to Pasadena and figured it was close enough to town to call you. Do you think I can get to Los Angeles from here?"
"Come to Beverly Hills-forget Los Angeles!" Corri demanded. "Have you had dinner?"
"No, and I don't intend imposing on you ... "
"Forget it!" Corri said. "You come directly here. John's not home yet-we'll probably be eating about eight. Now, here's how you get here..."
Despite Mayme's protests-which weren't too vigorous as she didn't like the idea of being alone her first night in a strange city-Corri put her on the way to the Woods' house on Coldwater Canyon Drive. Mayme, as she neared the location, was most impressed by the homes, almost missing the number Corri had given her. Pulling into the drive and parking, Corri came out as Mayme cut off the engine.
They enveloped each other in a brisk hug and Corri towed her excitedly inside.
"John should be along, shortly," she said when they were seated in the den with a drink. "Now, tell me everything that's going on..."
"Corri, I'll tell you everything I know and that isn't much," Mayme laughed and proceeded to the task at hand. First, in guarded tones she filled her in on the blackmailer's fate and what Ricco had told her to do if he should contact her. "Although Ricco says it's not-likely to happen. He's keeping tabs on the guy. As for the rest of it, the L.A. version of The Porterhouse is opening at the end of the week and I've got to hire the girls. I just hope I have as good luck as I had in Vegas..."
"Mayme, I'm sure you will. You don't have a place to stay," Corri stated, divining that her friend didn't. "I insist that you stay here until you locate a place."
"Oh, Corri, I couldn't impose..."
"And, May, if you use that word once more, I'll muzzle you. John's away a great deal now, by and large, so it'll be wonderful to have you here." She spoke the last few words with a meaningful smile and Mayme smiled back, mischievously.
"Oh...? " she said, with a rising inflection.
Corri nodded her head firmly, the engine sound of a car pulling into the drive coming faintly into the room.
"That's probably Big John now," she winked at Mayme, "shall we go meet him?" She chuckled. "He'll be as glad to see you as I am."
Mayme looked at Corri as she rose and started to ask if there was more than met the ear in her words, but crowded it down, Corri taking her hand to lead her through the living room to the entrance.
"Hi, lover," the blonde greeted her husband, holding up her face for his kiss. "See who's come to town...! "
"Mayme!" John grinned. "Good to see you!" Mayme held out her hand but John enveloped her in a quick hug which took her by surprise.
"Gosh, it's wonderful to be so welcome," she said. "What did I ever do to deserve this?" John's eyes ran over her figure, zestfully.
"It's the contribution you make to the scenery!" he laughed. "How's Bob?"
"You know, I haven't seen him since Ensenada?" she said. "He's called me a half-dozen times and he was out with a party at the restaurant one night when I was off. I just don't know what happened to him ... "
"Probably busy as the one-armed paperhanger," John said as they moved back to the den. "I provided him with enough trouble to last him a lifetime, I think," he laughed. "Well, how about a drink before we eat? I'm starved..."
Mayme went down to the new restaurant the next morning, Phil greeting her brusquely but with a grin.
"Opening a business is like taking out your own appendix!" he grumbled. "We've run ads for girls-they'll start coming in this afternoon for interviews-and the clothes are back in the dressing room, in your office."
"Here we go again," Mayme grinned and Phil nodded, hustling back to the electrical contractor he was hassling with.
The next few days were tiring but, by the time Friday evening arrived they were "as ready as they'd ever be" Phil told Jim Moore when the latter came in from Vegas about noon. After they conferred over a few knotty problems which remained to be solved, Jim and Mayme talked for awhile about the girls, the redhead being of the opinion that she didn't have the ideal group put together to her satisfaction but Jim reminding her it would take time and turnover to do it. John and Corri came in about 8:30, Mayme having asked them as a guest of the house. She'd asked Jim if she could pick up their tab but he'd vetoed the suggestion.
"We'll have a few guests of our own," he pointed out, "and it's good advertising. Handle it with them as your party, but I'll OK their check..."
The opening was successful, Jim and Phil having done some "papering" but there were lots of diners in, the advertising campaign bringing in many guests who'd come to the Las Vegas restaurant as well as newcomers who'd heard of the excellence of the food ... and the pulchritude of the girls. Mayme had some difficulties with the latter, their make-up being too stark and stagey. She had them tone it down to a more natural appearance and they looked lovely, being especially happy with their brief, seductive uniforms.
After the bugs worked out of the operation, Mayme suggested she had better stop free-loading on Corri and find herself a place to live.
"Please, wait until John gets back from this trip," Corri urged. "He'll be gone ten days..." Mayme reluctantly agreed but had checked out a couple of locations when she was ready to move.
Mayme's next day off, Corri suggested they have dinner, early, and see "Cleopatra," both being intrigued by the tremendous publicity its production had produced. When they returned to the house, it was a little after midnight, and, both being in the mood for a drink, they went into the den, Corri doing the honors at the bar.
As they sat and talked, Corri's eyes kept going to Mayme's bosoms and legs, the redhead noticing the direction of her friend's eyes and bringing her own to bear on Corri's very excellent lines.
When their glasses were empty, both girls went to the bar to re-stock, Corri's hip brushing Mayme's, accidentally, in the crowded space. The redhead patted a firm buttock, gently.
"You know, Corri," she said, chuckling, "every time you touch me I can feel it all through me."
Corri turned to her, the blue eyes big, nodding. "Same thing with me. Do you suppose we've got a yen for each other?"
"I think there's no doubt about it," Corri answered. "Ever since Ensenada, I've been wondering what it is." They took their glasses back to sit down, Corri joining Mayme on the sofa.
"What d'you think we ought to do about it?" the redhead asked, after taking a sip. Corri shivered.
"I favor letting nature take its course," she said slowly, her eyes coming around to meet and hold Mayme's. The redhead nodded, putting down her drink and turning to sit with her legs drawn up between them on the soft cushions. After a moment, eyes still locked, Mayme dropped pink finger-tips to the knee of Corri's taut-sheathed leg, moving them, experimentally, up along the full thigh. Again Corri shivered, Mayme reaching for her drink with the other hand as the blonde girl shakily uncrossed her legs. As the redhead's hand went slowly beneath Corri's dress, the other shivered again, taking a long pull of her drink, then putting her own hand on Mayme's dully-gleaming thigh, unsuccessfully trying to repress another shiver. For a few moments, as they drank, intermittently, they teased each other with small caresses, bosoms beginning to rise and fall more deeply as their erotic excitement grew under the restrained caresses.
Mayme finished her drink, Corri following suit as the redhead rose.
"Let's go to bed," Mayme suggested. Corri nodded and Mayme picked up the glasses to return them behind the bar as Corri turned out the lamps. As Corri turned out lights, going to the front hall to operate the switches, the girls' arms went around each other's waists as they slowly went up the stairs. At the top, they stopped.
"Shall I come to your room?" Mayme asked. Corri nodded and they moved apart. The redhead undressed, swiftly, slipping into a filmy, short sleeper top which just covered her hips. Touching a perfume applicator lightly and quickly to her body in selected locations, she stepped into high-heeled mules to go to Corri's bedroom. The latter sat, naked, on the edge of her bed, her eyes leaping to Mayme's hardly-concealed nudity as she crossed the room.
Corri's proud, tight breasts, their aureoles and nipples only a shade lighter pink than Mayme's, pushed forward as Corri's arms were behind her, supporting her as she leaned back against them. The redhead quickly shucked out of the brief top, draping it gracefully on a chair back as she moved to Corri to step out of her mules and bend to kiss the blonde softly on the lips. Their arms went around each other as Mayme urged the other girl back to lie on the bed, her thighs parting as Mayme moved between them to stretch her body against Corri's....
Mayme's hunger was great, she hadn't had a date in weeks and, while Corri hadn't wanted for a man, the excitement of exploring the heights of passion with Mayme caught her up and carried her along and she matched the redhead, climax for climax. After two crashing, writhing emotional explosions had shaken them, they fell asleep in each other's arms, to awaken shortly before dawn. Mayme felt Corri's lips insistently making love to a nipple, hard and erect under the blonde's caresses with lips and tongue. With a soft, contented sound from deep in her throat, Mayme clasped her in her arms, kissing the blonde's neck and ear as her trembling began again. The redhead felt heat swell within her as Corri's twisting, trembling nudity pressed and slid against her and she freed the bosom the blonde was assaulting with her excited affection to capture one of Corri's larger, swollen globes and subject the hard tip to the refined, unrelenting titillation of her excited kisses....
As the two struggled in the mounting excitement of their desire, their active bodies threw aside the bedclothes to reveal a tangle of rounded limbs, pressing bosoms and shivering, tensing buttocks as the two girls pressed together. Mayme, still playing the aggressor, rolled her straining figure atop Corri's to seek, with her body, the touch of the other's sensitivity, knowing when she found it by the way the blonde's back arched and the sounds she made, muffled by Mayme's demanding lips....
At breakfast, they devoted themselves to the food, served by the tall Negress who was a paragon of a domestic. Her name was Nell and she cooked as well as kept the house spotless. She smiled on the two girls fondly as she served them and they conversed with her in brief sentences. As they finished, Corri asked Mayme if she'd like to go for a swim. Agreeing, they parted to get into swim suits, Corri asking Nell if she'd give them a tray with coffee and cups which they'd take to the pool with them.
"Certainly, Miss Corri," Nell smiled, no trace of accent tainting her speech, "and you take care you don't get burned again."
"You know me, Nell," Corri laughed. "The burnt child dreads the fire."
In the privacy of the poolside, stretched under the shade of a big umbrella, they discussed in low tones, their adventures of the preceding night.
"Darling, I think I'd better move out," Mayme said. "This can get to be too much-besides, John might not. . . "
Corri dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry about my Big John," she said, smiling. "Just do this for me-stay here until John gets back. All my friends are back in Texas. While I'm meeting some new people here, now and then, both John and I are traveling very slowly in this regard. You and I have much in common and I'd like to keep you with me."
"Corri, I love it here, but ... "
"Then stay-and I promise not to give in to my desires more often than you think I should." Her eyes danced as she smiled at her friend and Mayme gave in.
"Alright, darling-but I've got to get a place of my own, sometime..."
"Are you married to your job?" Corri asked, her expression going serious. Mayme shook her head.
"No-I've always wanted to 'make it big' as they say, and the publicity of this seemed to offer some hope. However, in Los Angeles, I find the Tunics don't cause such a splash-there are too many other good gimmicks. But, I'd be no closer in Las Vegas, so..." Mayme shrugged her shoulders.
"I see," Corri's eyes held a reflective look. "It almost depends on some 'big producer' seeing you and thinking you're destined for stardom, that it?" Mayme nodded, smiling.
"The chances are about one in nine gillion," she said. "There's so much talent floating loose here, according to what my girls tell me, that somebody who's just a body, hasn't a chance. I understand that my body is negotiable-but I have to have talent to go with it-and I'm not convinced I have."
"Then you're not a dedicated restaurateur," Corri smiled.
"Right now, I'm not a dedicated anything," Mayme returned. "I guess I'm just going along with things and not doing anything to change the mainstream..."
"Reason I'm asking so many questions is, I wonder how you'd like a job with me?"
"With you, Corri?" Mayme asked, eyes wide, "what sort of job do you have...? "
"You could be my social secretary," Corri returned, eyes dancing again. "I have such a heavy social life..."
Mayme laughed. "You could if you wanted. You keep dodging it, but you have as much use for a social secretary as I have for another head."
Corri grimaced. "John inherited his father's business-got it as a gift, over many years, actually," she said. "Money-knock wood-we don't need. Friends, we'd like to pick ourselves and all we seem to run into are spongers or sucker-fish or opportunist types. So, we've been pretty wary; we know some few people on the coast, but there aren't many our age."
"Corri, I'd just be a sponger-" Mayme began but the blonde interrupted.
"No, you wouldn't. You'll see. But, don't let's talk tipsily across the living room, to fall backward in a
Upon John's return, Corri suggested they go out on the town on Mayme's day off. Somewhat puzzled by the threesome, Mayme, dubiously, agreed to go. John and Corri were in high spirits and, before long, Mayme became infected with their gaiety. When they returned to the house, all three were more than a little tight. Mayme was feeling a reckless surge, as she pirouetted tipsily across the living room, to fall backward in a sitting position on one of the sofas, John's appreciative eyes taking in the momentary exposure of her beautiful legs.
"I feel romantic," she proclaimed, laughing. "It must be you and the night and the booze," she paraphrased, looking at her host and hostess.
"Let's make love to Mayme!" Corri suggested, crazily, flinging her mink stole carefully across a chair back.
"Great idea!" John laughed, moving toward her.
"Wha-a-t?" Mayme demanded with eyebrows cocked, "and have Corri shoot me, dead? Not on your ... m-m-mf!"
Her words were smothered as John gathered her into his arms and kissed her. Just as panic was about to set in, she felt Corri sit next to her and begin kissing her ear and throat, at the same time she cupped a warm hand under a bosom. After Mayme's first shock of surprise was abated by Corri's joining in, she decided-letting the reckless urge have its head-to play ball. Responding to John's heated kisses, fencing with her tongue against the darts of his, she dropped a hand to Corri's thigh and began to stroke the inside of it. She could feel the blonde trembling and tensing and decided to expand her activities, dropping the other hand on John's thigh and beginning a stroking, squeezing caress that made him gurgle with delight as their lips continued locked together. As the two came up for air, Corri insisted it was her turn, and began kissing Mayme, John's hand going to the zipper of her frock to pull it down and working one breast free of its covering, pouncing on it with lips and tongue. Mayme tensed and twisted under the concerted efforts of Corri and John. When Corri freed her lips, the redhead gasped:
"Let's get John in the middle..."
"Great!" Corri gasped and proceeded to change position. The girls got to their knees and proceeded to go to work on the huge man, his hands busy baring both girls' breasts. As Mayme and Corri touched hands at the junction of John's thighs, Mayme, whose mouth was free at the moment said:
"Do we charge?" Corri nodded as best she could and Mayme pulled John's zipper, both girls busying their hands to free his masculinity from the clothing.
In a few moments, John, panting and thoroughly aroused, struggled free of the two women, both of whom were naked to the waist.
"Let's go upstairs!" he suggested. The girls bounced to their feet as John started to restore his clothes, but they slapped his hands to make him desist. Stopping only to lock the front door, they conducted him upstairs and Corri led them to the master bedroom and the huge double bed. Quickly they stripped the big, muscular body of Corri's husband, both of them exclaiming over his salient points, and keeping their hands busy with caresses of his arousal as he writhed and tried his best to return their teasing stimulation.
Finally, in desperation, he turned Mayme over on her back and pulled her struggling body atop his. As Corri lavished kisses and caresses on the struggling Mayme's bosoms and abdomen, the redhead gasped as she felt the hot touch of the man beneath her. Skillfully and easily his legs went over hers to hold her helpless while he worked and writhed, with short and easy thrusts to invest her completely.
Helpless, the redhead lay gasping and panting, the swollen breasts captive to John's huge hands, her body seemingly bursting with his pulsing excitation. As she started to search for Corri, her eyes, despite her efforts, tending to roll back under her lids, she became conscious of Corri's body descending on her own; Corri's breasts flattening against hers in a sweet ache of erotic torment; and Corri's lips seeking hers as John freed her legs and began to thrust, slowly and powerfully....
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The beginning of the fourth month of Mayme's stay in Beverly Hills began with Corri and John announcing that they were planning to depart soon on a world cruise on the Sea Gold, and urging Mayme to quit her job and go with them.
"You two are too much," she said, protestingly.
"But don't we have very modern ideas?" Corri teased, slipping a hand up Mayme's skirt to pinch the soft skin above her hose.
"The gods alone know how modern!" Mayme agreed.
"Not only that, but we have introductions to a number of swingers around the world, Mayme. It's ... well, Corri and I have made up our minds to enjoy it while we're young. Doesn't that appeal to you....
Around the World Sex....but our kind!" he laughed.
"Smorgasbord in every port ... ! "
"You two are mad!" she protested, "but I wish I were in a position to..."
"Tell you what, Mayme," John said. "How much money have you in your bank account-and I'm not prying-I have a business proposition for you."
"A little over three thousand dollars," she said, looking at him wonderingly.
"If you'll trust me, I'll take that money, loan you twelve thousand more, and cut you in on a deal that has every possibility of making you rich. Because it's something I want to do, I'll guarantee your money, and if it flops, I'll write the loan off-you don't pay me back a cent."
"This sounds like robbery," she said laughing, her eyes searching John's, "and if so, count me in. When do you want the money?"
"Right now. Write me a check for three thousand and I'll give you a promissory note for it." He got up as Mayme went up to her room to get her checkbook and make out the draft.
Coming back downstairs, she went into the den where John was signing the note and they exchanged slips of paper.
"I'm confident you have a very pleasant surprise coming to you over the next several months," he said quietly. "To make sure that no word of it leaks, I won't tell you what it is, except that it involves a producing corporation, a new one that I'm putting together. You can pay me back the twelve thousand as soon as you have enough income to do it. The only thing I ask is that you not sell the shares to anybody else but me-and I'll have an agreement drawn up tomorrow for you to sign. OK?"
"You betcha," Mayme said, looking at him with calculating eyes. "Corri," she said, turning to the smiling blonde, "I've just figured something out."
"What's that, May?"
"He's a-one of those tycoons, that's what!"
"That's about the size of him, I think," Corri said, looking at her husband with amused eyes. Mayme broke into peals of laughter.
"Don't mind me," she said, "but I just thought of something you said to me at Ensenada, Corri-the day John wandered into the living room, naked." Corri began to smile as Mayme turned to John. "We were discussing the size of your-ah-stem, I think it was, and Corri said: 'you ain't seen nothin' yet' ... you know, you were right?" Corri doubled up, pointing to John's flushed face.
"How about him-and he can still blush, too!"
Next night at work, Mayme went out on the parking lot to get some time sheets she'd taken home to work on the night previously. As she walked in the black shadow of the building, she turned the corner and stopped, chilled, fear paralyzing her in her tracks. An old model coupe, its color indistinguishable under the mercury vapor lamps was parked with its back in against the retaining wall. Leaning forward into the light to check the time on his wrist watch was the face of the blonde stud who'd tried the blackmail on Ricco's customer!
Shocked, she retreated. As she went back into her office, she debated what to do. She'd only gotten a brief flash at the man's face, but she was sure she hadn't made a mistake. The one time she had seen him had been an experience which would never let her forget his features. Suddenly she moved into action. Going out to check the girls, she told them she'd be out of action for a little while longer and, taking her wallet, she extracted the card with Ricco's numbers. She called the Caravansary and asked to speak with him, but was told he was working. She left the message for him to call on his first break-it was a matter of extreme urgency. Trying to keep herself calm by concentrating on her work, she went back on the floor. About twenty minutes later, the cashier flagged her attention, holding up the phone. Mayme nodded, pointing to her office and hurrying in to answer. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was Ricco.
"Hi, doll," he said anxiously, "something?"
"Hello, lover," she gulped, "an old acquaintance of ours is parked out on the back lot. I just caught a flash of his face..."
"Is he still there?" Ricco asked, his voice gritty. "Take a look but don't let him see you. I'll hold..."
"Right back," she said, breathlessly and eased out the back door again, sneaking up to the corner to peer cautiously around it. She went back to the phone.
"Still there," she said. "At least the car is. It's an old model Ford coupe, California license KKL 721." She could hear Ricco's voice whispering the number as he made a note of it.
"Now, doll," he said, briskly, "don't get caught alone until Chuck O'Reilly contacts you at the restaurant. Big, red-faced guy with sandy hair. Chuck O'Reilly is the name. He'll handle it. Be on the lookout for him, up front. Don't let the blonde stud see you. Do what O'Reilly tells you..."
"Thanks, Ricco!" Mayme breathed in relief, "thanks a million, lover!"
"Forget it, doll," he replied. "I don't know how he slipped out of town on me-somebody I know's got some explaining to do. He's so crippled he can't do much more than drive a car, but ... well, just do what O'Reilly tells you, you hear? And when you comin' to see me?"
"Oh-my next day off, Monday. Am I going to get some of you if I do?" she asked. He chuckled.
"Yeh. I've retired from professional service. Now I've got the guys to handle the job. I only fill in on emergencies." He chuckled. "Lemme know when you get to town," he said. "I'll pick you up at the airport..."
"Will do, lover. 'Bye..." She hung up the phone, glancing about her to leave the office hastily and get back up front. As she worked, she kept a constant eye out for a big, red-faced man and was relieved when she saw one answering that description come in to sit down on the foyer bench. She moved to intercept one of the other girls, approaching him with a smile as his eyes did a quick trip over her lovely lines.
"Are you Mr. Chuck O'Reilly?" she asked, quietly. He was on his feet as she got to him.
"The same," he said in a husky voice. "My friend Ricco Parma says you have a chiseller camped out back." She nodded. "What time do you leave and where do you go?"
Mayme gave him the information he asked, including the word that, there was an open space on both sides of her Mustang where he could park.
"I might as well have one of your prize steaks while I'm waiting," O'Reilly said, "but first, I'll go out and bring my heap in and park beside yours..."
"Be my guest!" she said, fervently. "Whatever the house offers, is on me!" He grinned at her lopsidedly.
"Too bad you ain't on the menu," he chuckled, "but I don't want to cut in on Ricco's territory." He winked, grinning and left. Mayme "picked him up" and seated him, when he returned, ordering him a drink and supplying him with the menu. While he looked it over, he told her what he wanted her to do and had her repeat it to him to be sure she understood.
She left the table to go to the cashier's stand, asking for the check on the single at station 35 to be put on her ticket, signing a blank which she took back to the waitress.
When it was time to leave, she checked out, tipped O'Reilly, lingering over coffee and a long cigar, by an imperceptible nod as she paused at his table, ostensibly to inquire how he'd enjoyed his dinner.
"Give me five minutes to change," she said and he nodded.
Nervously she got out of her tunic and into a capri outfit, checking her watch to make sure she took the required time. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped out of the office and moved to the back door. Shivering as she passed through the deep shadow, she stepped out unconcernedly to cross the brief space to her car, get in and lock the door inside. She started the engine, letting it run to warm up as O'Reilly casually sauntered into view from the opposite side of the building to get into his car next to hers. Mayme, looking out of the corner of her eye, she saw the ancient car quiver as the driver turned his engine over. Sitting, letting her power plant run, she saw O'Reilly, unconcernedly, walk around the other side of the building to get into the car to her left. As O'Reilly turned his engine over, Mayme slipped into drive and waited. O'Reilly turned on his lights and the redhead took off, moving swiftly out of the parking space and seeing the ancient coupe take off, to follow, at not too close an interval. She dawdled through traffic, as per O'Reilly's instructions, conscious that she had to give him time to get ahead of her and keep both cars in view. Crossing Sunset on the amber light, she noted that the following car pinched his luck, dropping into a lower gear to skin through, coming close as she followed ca-s ahead of her up and around the bend to make the right turn into Coldwater Canyon Dive. The old coupe had dropped back, following at a fairly wide separation, as the car ahead of her turned off at the first intersection to the right past the fire house. Nervously, Mayme speeded up a little, then saw that Chuck's car was right ahead of her. She relaxed, continuing at legal speed up the street, to continue, saying ahead of the old car tailing her until she came to the junction of the road leading over to Mulholland. She noticed that Chuck went on out that road as she followed his instructions and turned sharp right, doubling back on her direction, the ancient coupe now pulling close to her. As she slowed at the first driveway which ran off to her left, her pursuer came abreast of her and then cut around to block the road ahead of her.
Mayme, her heart in her mouth, jammed on her brakes as the blonde stud writhed out of his seat and badly crippled lurched toward her car, a switch blade blossoming in his hand. As he tried to open the locked door on the driver's side, Mayme heard the angry snarl and the whine of tires of a car coming fast behind her. The blonde stud snapped his head around as the headlights of the approaching car cut on. Fright froze his features as he perceived the intent of the oncoming driver and he threw himself away, toward the front of Mayme's car in an effort to escape. The right front fender of O'Reilly's car struck him a glancing blow, caroming the twisted figure along the road. O'Reilly ran down the glass on the passenger side of his car to hiss at Mayme:
"OK, doll ... go home and forget everything. You just drove straight home from work. Got it?"
"Thanks a million, Chuck," she quavered, throwing the Mustang in reverse to back around and make the U-turn at the intersection back into Coldwater. As she huddled under the bedclothes in the quiet house, she forced herself to shut her mind to what went on up the canyon behind her as she finally shivered herself to sleep....
The next day at noon, Mayme came out of an exhausted sleep to sit up, suddenly impelled by the memories of the night to get downstairs.
"Hi, sweetie," Corri called, as Mayme came down the stairs.
"Hi, darling," Mayme returned, slowing her steps to move into the living room. "Where's John?"
"Out this morning with the birds. What's new?"
Mayme hesitated a moment, then said: "Wait till I get a cup of coffee..." She went into the kitchen where Nell greeted her with a bright smile.
"Good morning, Miss Mayme," she said, pouring the redhead a cup of steaming, black coffee. "What would you like for breakfast this morning?"
"Oh, Nell, suddenly I'm hungry. I'll put myself in your hands. Whatever you decide, I'll eat, with pleasure..." Taking the coffee from Nell's competent hands with a grateful smile, Mayme went back to Corri, fortifying herself with a couple of sips of the strong brew.
"Corri," Mayme said, sinking down at the table beside the blonde, "remember the blackmail caper?" Corri looked at her with startled eyes.
"Yes. What ... ? "
"The man turned up at the restaurant last night. Ricco told me to call him if that should ever happen ... and I did. He sent a man-but all I'm allowed to remember is that I drove straight home from work last night. Is there anything in the paper about an accident-or something-on Coldwater or Mulholland last night?"
"I didn't notice," Corri said, handing Mayme one of the papers. They scoured the dailies but nothing which would relate to the incident was to be found.
"Well," Mayme sighed as Nell placed a plate of ham and eggs before her. "Nell, I saved up for this all day yesterday. Now I'm going to enjoy every bite of it ... "
"May, what do you think happened?" Corri asked in a low voice as Nell returned to the kitchen.
"I think that blonde stud may have met with a fatal accident," Mayme said, eyes big on Corri's as she picked up her knife and fork. The blonde nodded, a shudder going over her. "Corri," Mayme said, putting her hands on the table to steady them, "is your invitation for your world cruise-as your 'social secretary' still open?"
Corri nodded. "You know it is!"
"Then," Mayme said, "I'm accepting job and invitation. I'll have to turn in my resignation today. I should give them two weeks' notice. On my next day off, I have to fly over to Las Vegas to tie off some unfinished business with Ricco..."
Corri grinned. "Need any help?" Mayme smiled and shook her head. "No-this is just a final accounting and goodbye," she said. "Besides, there's nothing to compare to you and Big John in tandem." Mayme rolled her eyes as she cut into the slice of ham....
"Don't worry about it, doll," Ricco said, easily, lying nude beside Mayme and toying with one pink, erect nipple. "O'Reilly is the kind of operator whose work isn't discovered for years after he does it." Mayme lifted a tousled red head to support it on one hand.
"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled. "He told..."
"That's just in case of accidents," Ricco said, pulling the lush body to him, again. "I'll bet you that blonde stud's body won't come to light for two or three years. You'll have time for several trips around the world. Which reminds me," he grinned wickedly down into her eyes, "Around the World-what a way to go!"
"Oh, no you don't!" Mayme squealed over Ricco's teasing laughter as he silenced her with a kiss....
