"SHOW ME YOUR LEGS...." was the theme song of the modeling agents. But that wasn't all they wanted to see ... those purveyors of flesh in the big town. They wanted to see all of the beautiful body that was Sylvia Saunders. But Sylvia had sworn she would remain a virgin in this most foul of girl traps. She had sworn she would not sell herself to make a name and a fortune modeling. Partially because she considered men filthy beasts, and partially because she had never been rocked by the volcano of passion, Sylvia met the lusty challenge of the girl-for-hire racket ... and found she could not cope with the lecherous tactics of the flesh handlers. From man to man, and every one of them with his hot hands pawing her, she rode a roller coaster of sex down a lust-starvea track, hearing the demand....
"GIVE ME YOUR BODY!"
CHAPTER ONE
The bus hadn't gone a mile out of Tulsa before Harry Han bury was bored. The large, rotund man with the checkered vest peeking through the ill fitting coat rubbed a broad hand across the large expanse of skin hiding the hair on his head, peering glumly through the window at the passing landscape.
There wasn't much to see. Flat, lifeless land, broken here and there by twisted fences fighting to keep the dull soil in place. Leafless trees only added to the barrenness, standing gaunt and crooked against the gray, sunless sky. bending slightly against the cold March wind blowing out of the north.
Hanbury puckered his fat lips against the sight, shuddering slightly, glad at least he was in a warm place.
But his thankfulness was brief, dissolving into resentment towards the conditions that'd put him on the swaying bus in the first place.
"We've got to save money, Harry," old man Mossburg had said. "You're top salesman this year so you get to go to the convention. But no planes. The firm can't afford it."
Hanbury compressed his lips as he remembered the conversation, saw the old man's face crack into a smile as he'd added, chuckling, "We'll do like the ads, Harry. This time we'll take the bus and leave the driving to them."
"Crap," Hanbury spat out loud. Here he was the best goddamned fertilizer salesman in the southwest territory and he had to take a lousy bus to Chicago. A million tons, that's what he'd sold. Unconsciously the big man's chest swelled slightly at the thought.
Hanbury swung his eyes back inside the bus-They weren't making much dough this trip. Maybe a dozen passengers in all. None of 'em under forty, excepting the couple across the aisle.
Hanbury found the cigar he'd been smoking, stuffing it into his mouth and lighting it "Crap," he repeated. At least in a plane he'd have stood a chance of finding a dame. All the class flew. Now that was the way to get tail, not on a goddamned bus.
The big man relaxed his bulk in the chair, squirming slightly to get the fat settled more comfortably. He glanced at his watch. Only one. Christ. This thing wouldn't get into Chi until seven in the morning. All night on a bus. He didn't like the prospect one bit.
Just thinking of the convention helped a little. The annual meeting of fertilizer makers and their top salesmen. They'd probably talk over a lot of crap, he thought. Hanbury smiled to himself when he realized what he'd said. That'd be a good joke to tell the boys.
But be was more interested in what went on after the meetings were over. There'd be some dames. There were always dames. And lots of good whiskey. It'd be a cinch to find some tail. He licked his lips at the prospect. That'd be real nice.
Hanbury smiled broadly at the prospect, took another look outside the bus, it was the same, and lay his head back for a snoozer.
Hanbury'd hardly closed his eyes when he heard voices. Whispers but close enough to come in clear above the dull roar of the bus.
"Not yet, Danny," the female voice said softly.
"Why not?"
"He's not asleep."
"Who cares?"
"I do," the girl said. "Wait 'till he's asleep."
"I can't," the male voice protested. "Now."
"Careful." the girl cautioned. "You'll run my stockings." A moan entered her voice. "That feels good, Danny. Kiss me."
A long silence. Hanbury took advantage of the pause to open one eye cautiously, looking in the direction of the whispers. The young couple across the aisle were in a tight embrace.
Hanbury kept his eye slitted, glad of something to do to pass the time. Automatically he glanced at her fingers wrapped around the man's neck. No ring. Neither of them was over twenty, he thought. But she wasn't bad looking at all. At least from what he could see of her face partially hidden by his. As their lips parted momentarily Hanbury could see her tongue caressing his teeth. It did strange things to the big man. He'd have given fifty bucks to be in the kid's place.
The girl broke quickly, looking towards Hanbury. He shut his eyes. "He's asleep, Danny," she whispered.
"Good, give me another kiss."
Hanbury turned his face towards the window. The sky beyond had darkened considerably, making the glass a mirror. In the reflection he watched with much interest the proceedings going on behind him.
The girl was a looker all right. She sat beside the youth, twisted from the waist so they could embrace. One of his arms lay across her back, pulling her to him. With the other he'd managed to lift the narrow skirt well up her thighs. Smooth stockings covered well-shaped legs, held up by garters, vivid black as they snaked across the smooth white thighs, vanishing upwards beneath the pulled up skirt.
As they kissed the youth's hand wasn't idle, running up the calf of her leg, caressing the knees, forcing them apart, moving upwards above the stockings onto bare flesh, hesitating, then moving higher until it vanished beneath the skirt. The outline of his fingers could be seen beneath the cloth as he kneaded the girl's stomach.
She moaned and closed her legs on his hands, her hips slowly beginning to work against the pressure.
Hanbury realized that he was sweating. This was something to watch.
There Was more. The girl's voice from behind him, changed slightly, slower, quieter, an edge of passion in the heavy breathing. "I'm hot, Danny," she said. "So hot." For a long second she looked down at his hand beneath her skirt, then towards the front of the bus. All of the other passengers were towards the door. Only the couple and Hanbury in the rear. She reached down and grasped the youth's hand, pressing it tightly, groaning. ""You shouldn't have it there," she said without conviction. "I shouldn't let you. But it feels so good."
He kissed her on the ear lobe. "Let's do it," he suggested.
"He might see."
"He's asleep."
Like hell he was, Hanbury thought wryly. He'd never been so wide awake. But the kids didn't know that. He didn't want to miss this.
The girl was breathing heavily now, each breath pulling the material surrounding her breasts taut. The youth knew how to take advantage of a situation, his fingers running rapidly down the buttons of the blouse. The white mounds exploded into view, the tips hidden by the narrow black brassiere. He ran his hand across the material, pushing gently, relaxing the strap across her shoulder.
"Don't," she said softly.
But Pandora's box was open now. It was too late to back out. Even while protesting the girl had unhooked the garters from her stockings allowing them to slide down her legs. His hand squeezing the breast, her open mouth on the youth's, she kicked off her shoes and the nylons, twisting to a position where their bodies pressed flat against each other.
Their voices muffled against each other it was hard for Hanbury to hear. He cursed the, noise of the rough road, leaning a little towards the aisle, not surprised that he was breathing a little hard himself.
"You sure he's asleep?" she said quietly.
The youth ran his hands up the back of her legs, tugging the skirt to her waist, his fingers kneading the hips hidden by a thin pair of black panties, pulling her closer. "Sure," he panted. "Anyhow who cares?"
The girl moaned as his hands found the elastic, tugged, forced the nylon downward, hesitated as it taught on the seat, finished the job when she raised herself slightly, letting them fall to her feet where she kicked them off.
Hanbury sweated more heavily as the cute little white fanny came into view.
The girl pressed herself hard against the young man. "If I let you do it will you marry me?"
"Sure . ... sure," he panted. "Anything you want."
Hanbury grinned to himself. Fat chance of that, he thought. Anything for a piece of tail.
The girl was well in the grip of passion now. Neither of them even knew where they were ... or cared. Her eyes were glazed, the lipstick smeared across the pretty face, both breasts pulled out of the brassiere, bobbing gently at the motion of the bus.
"How'll we do it. Danny?" she moaned. "I'm ready and I know you are. I can feel it."
"Climb on top of me," he suggested. "Will it work?"
This should be a good trick, Hanbury thought. He made a mental bet that it wouldn't work.
He'd seldom been more wrong. What happened next was almost too fast to follow.
Super heated in passion the young girl did ,as the youth suggested, moving her legs apart enough to straddle his legs, lifting her skirt clear, long enough for Hanbury to see the flat young stomach and what lay below. At that point he'd have upped his offer, given five hundred bucks to be in the youth's place.
A zipper sounded above the silence, followed by the girl's quiet scream of pleasure, buried as their mouths silenced any further noise.
Long minutes later her contorted expression told Hanbury that he'd have lost his bet. He knew his face was wreathed in sweat. But he couldn't touch it, afraid that the motion might scare her to getting dressed. But the water tickled as it' flowed down the crevices of his skin.
The problem solved itself as the bus veered off the highway, scattering gravel in all directions, the air brakes hissing as it came to a swift stop.
The girl pulled away from her companion, in seconds dressed to a semblance of respectability.
Hanbury cursed silently, pretending to wake, staring forward, trying to see what the hell had caused the interruption.
Then he saw the girl, waiting outside the still closed doors. Hanbury smiled to himself. Things were looking up.
CHAPTER TWO
Somehow the little scene outside the waiting bus seemed strange. It was cold. You didn't have to be out there to know that. The darkening clouds had begun to give up some of their weight. White snow flakes, even more vivid against the grayness of the day, swirled downward, pushed this way and that by the twisting wind.
And three people standing on the shoulder of the highway. The old woman and man seemed bent from time itself, stooped over, dressed in well patched coats, both anxiously huddled around the young girl.
And she was the one Hanbury kept his eyes on. Somehow she didn't seem part of the group. Maybe it was the clothes that set her apart. They didn't seem to belong to a girl standing in the highway in the middle of the Oklahoma dust bowl. A gust of wind plucked at her coat, spread it apart and caught the slender dress. The light material flipped upwards, followed by a slip edged in lace. For an instant Hanbury had a full glimpse of two extremely well shaped legs, exposed beyond the upper limits of the darker stockings. He smiled to himself, licking his lips. He'd make this little filly before they pulled into Chi . ... and show the two kids across the aisle how a real pro works. It was a pleasant thought.
The doors of the bus hissed open and the girl started for them, a small case in her hand. She stopped, turned and kissed each of the two older people lightly, then entered the bus.
Hanbury watched with much interest as she opened her purse, paying off the driver. He smiled broadly, acknowledging the money. The girl didn't crack a grin. She put her ticket in the purse and started down the aisle, balancing herself as the bus eased back onto the highway.
Hanbury watched, holding his breath as she came towards the rear. His smile faded when she selected a seat in front of him. Closer up she certainly was a looker, he decided. One of the prettiest dames he'd ever run across. The big eyes seemed to cover most of the attractive face, dimmed only by the high cheek bones above a perfectly formed mouth. She shucked out of the coat. Hanbury caught his breath. Christ, he thought, what a body. Perfectly flat stomach, just right hips tapering down to a narrow waist. And a beautiful set of boobs to get his teeth onto, sloping downward and out against a white sweater that failed to hide the outline of the brassiere beneath.
As she stretched to get her bag onto the rack above the seat the skirt and sweater parted company briefly, exposing the flawless skin at her waist.
Hanbury licked his thick lips, trying to imagine the girl on a bed beneath him. He liked the thought. She wasn't over Aventy. But what did that matter? These farmers knew how to do it when they were ten.
He settled back as she sat down out of view. He had plenty of time. Let her get bored from the trip first. She'd like a little action then.
The unexpected stop had taken the steam out of the young couple. She sat quiet, sobbing softly to herself, realization of what she'd done sinking in. Once or twice the youth tried again, lifting the dress above her knee. All he got for his troubles was a slap on the wrist. He gave up after a while, concentrating on the scenery.
Not that the passing countryside had changed much. Still desolate, even more so as the bus crossed over into Missouri.
Harry Hanbury stood it as long as he could. An hour had passed since the girl arrived. That should be long enough, he thought. Now was the time to show those kids how a real operator goes at it.
He straightened the three remaining hairs on his bald head, smoothed down the striped tie beneath the checkered vest and squirmed his bulk out of the seat. An easy matter, he thought. A young dame traveling alone. She'd want company. Particularly his. These hick broads were all alike. He'd met plenty of them in his territory. Oversexed, anxious for a session in the haystack. All he had to do was spread it on. They liked guys who went places, knew all the important joints in the big city like Chi. Maybe if she was good to him he might even take her out once or twice while he was in town.
All you had to do was spread it on thick. Promise her a hot night at the Chez Paree. That should get her pants off.
Idly Hanbury wondered how he'd do it on the bus. The kids were young....and a hell of a lot thinner. He glanced towards the rear and spotted the big back seat spread the width of the aisle. Empty and spacious. That, should do it.
His plans made, the big man approached the girl's seat.
She was asleep.
Momentarily disappointed, Hanbury recovered quickly and sat beside her. He smiled as he remembered the words to an old nursery rhyme....'Along came a spider and sat down beside her ... '
That was good.
The fat man took a good look at the young girl. And she was young, he thought. Certainly not over twenty. Although the hair twisted into a red knot at the rear of her head gave her a stern look, even in sleeep.
She'd pushed against the window of the bus, her body moving gently with the rocking motion as it sped along. Vibration spreading through the frame caused the well-shaped breasts beneath the sweater to jiggle slightly.
Hanbury noticed. He had a hard time keeping his hands off the place where the nipples pointed the material.
But there was more to see. Her tight fitting skirt had slid above the knees, forming a dark cavity between the well-shaped legs.
Hanbury wiped his face dry from sweat, lust crossing the thick jowels like a cloud before the storm. A hell of a tasty dish this, he thought happily, glancing across his shoulder at the silent couple. He'd show 'em how it was done.
But the young girl slept on. Fifteen minutes past. Then a half hour. She didn't make a move. Just regular deep breathing, her breasts raising and lowering temptingly.
Why not take advantage of a situation, he thought finally, losing patience, his wants beginning to get out of control.
He moved his hand beneath one breasts, lifting gently. The sweater was soft. But what lay beneath was even softer.
The girl didn't stir at the touch.
Getting bolder the fat man ran his hand up from beneath until his palm encased the breast ... but not all of it ... it was much too big.
"Damn," he swore to himself, pleased, squeezing gently until the mound fairly burned his fingers.
She made no motion to wake up.
Breathing heavily, Hanbury removed the hand and placed it on her leg, just above the knee. The skin beneath the stocking was warm. He slowly slid it upwards, pushing the skirt ahead of the fingers. He stopped when the material left the nylons, for a long minute staring at the bare flesh.
At that point Hanbury had to stop long enough to wipe his face dry again. The girl stayed asleep.
How far could he go before she woke? The idea teased the fat man. He stared at the full length of exposed stockings. Funny, he thought, how much more sexy a dame looks like that, especially if her legs are spread just enough.
But he had to fight against jumping on top of her. That would spoil everything.
Could he feel it without waking her? Hanbury swallowed hard, aware that his heart was on double time. What if she did? He scoffed at the idea. So what? Any boob knows that once you get your hand on it the girl can't say no. At least none he'd met up to that point. Besides, this was an Oakie. They didn't count.
It was all foolish thinking, Hanbury decided finally. What the hell could she do but say yes once he'd touched it. Any dame should be glad to be laid by a smart fella like him.
Decided, the fat man lay his hand on the bare flesh of her thigh, for a moment hesitating, then sliding upwards. His fingers reached the edge of her panties. They were snow white.
He hesitated again, wishing to hell he wouldn't sweat so much. He pulled her dress to the waist, then stopped long enough to dry himself off.
Christ, he thought. She certainly was a looker all right. Hanbury surveyed what he'd exposed thus far with much pleasure. The skirt and slip lay wrapped around her waist. Beneath, the white panties clung tightly to the thin hips and waist, not hiding much of anything. Then a short length of bare thighs leading down into the self-supporting stockings.
He wasn't quite satisfied. Hanbury put his hand between the legs and pressed them gently apart. Much better. Excepting for the panties which would have to come off.
For a moment he debated whether it was possible to do it and not wake her at all.
Hanbury shook his head. That'd be impossible. Not that it mattered anyhow. As soon as she did wake she'd want him ... or any man that happened to be close by.
He glanced at the couple, a little sorry that they weren't in a position to see what he'd accomplished.
But there was still more to be done. Could he get the panties off, or at least down beyond the crucial point? Hanbury wiped more sweat from his face and reached up, grasping the elastic firmly.
Someone shot a cannon off in his ear. Then as his face began to sting he realized he'd been slapped ... hard enough to hear bells.
Hanbury looked up quickly, straight into the eyes of the fully awakened girl.
Her face was grim, the narrow lips unsmiling as she stared at him, scorn engraved in the expression.
But it was the eyes that nailed the fat man motionless. Big and brown, maybe beautiful. But not now. Twin chunks of ice that froze him to the seat.
For the first time in his life Harry Hanbury was speechless.
CHAPTER THREE
Sylvia had felt the hands, right from the beginning. But they meant nothing. They never did. She'd kept her eyes tightly shuttered while the probing fingers roamed up her legs. In a way she'd hoped he'd go beneath the pants, put his hands on it and find out the truth.
Maybe that's the reason she'd pretended sleep. To find out if she might get stirred up this time.
But she hadn't Her blood pressure didn't raise a pound. There was no quickening of breathing as she'd heard happened when a man's hands roamed a girl's body.
Sylvia felt absolutely nothing from the man's efforts at heating her up.
Not that it puzzled Her That had long since passed, years ago. Instead she now felt a certain repulsiveness.
And it showed in her eyes. She knew that. Now as she confronted the confused fat figure she was fully aware of the icy stare she gave him. Not that it was all his fault. She had to be fair, she thought. After all, she had felt the hands. The time to have stopped him had long since passed.
Then Sylvia remembered the vow she'd made when she'd left home. Allowing him to even go beneath the skirt had been a bad beginning.
The bus rounded a sharp corner, almost throwing the man off balance. Instinctively he grabbed at her leg for support, thought better of it and hung onto the back of the seat. He found his voice, "You're awake," he said rather lamely.
Sylvia didn't smile. She didn't feel like it. "I am," she said coolly. "Disappointed?"
"Look," Hanbury stammered, a trifle confused, his boldness gone like a snowflake on a hot stove. "It's a long trip to Chi. I was just thinking we might as well get acquainted."
Sylvia looked down at the still exposed panties pointedly. "It certainly looks that way," she said, pulling the dress back into place.
Hanbury flushed. "Let's just say I was bored." He lighted his cigar, some of his old bravado returning. "My name's Harry Hanbury. I'm a salesman, going to a convention in Chi." He jabbed the smoldering cigar at her. "Where you headed?"
"Chicago," she admitted.
"First trip?"
The red headed girl nodded somberly.
He was making time after all, Hanbury decided.
Only one thing still puzzled him. The girl looked and acted tike she was from anyplace but the middle of Oklahoma. No accent. Nothing about her. But going to the big city for the first time. He rolled this information around, liking it. The innocent ones were the best. "Stick with me, kiddo and we can have a ball in the big city."
"Doing what?"
Hanbury almost glowed with his conquest as she hit the bait. "Hell, we can do all the joints, see the sights. Like I say, have ourselves a ball. We'll even take a room at the Palmer House, the fanciest joint in town."
"We'll?" One eyebrow raised above the other.
"Hell, baby," Hanbury chuckled. "I got to get something for the dough I'll spend."
Sylvia nodded slightly, absorbing the information. "I see," she said soi'tly. "You'd like to sleep with me."
Hanbury wiped sweat from his face, grinning. "Yeah." He leaned closer to her, his hand touching the knee again. "You get the picture."
"In fact," she continued, her face still expressionless. "You'd like to do it right now." She fingered the hem of her skirt. "Perhaps you'd like to start now. Pull my dress up and finish taking off my panties. There's a big seat in the rear. We could use that."
"Damn." the fat man swore, his breathing coming hard. "You sure got the message."
Sylvia knew things were getting out of control. Common sense told her to stop. She didn't. Leaning towards him she continued. "You've felt my breasts. Do you like them?"
"You bet," he panted.
"Just the sweater. That will come off easy. And the brassiere shouldn't be any trouble." She leaned still closer, her unsmiling mouth inches from his sweat wreathed face. "Tell me, Mister Hanbury," she said softly. "Would you like to do it to me?"
Hanbury nodded, his hand sliding up the leg. He'd been right, he gloated. She was a farm tramp.
Sylvia smiled. But it was a strange motion that twisted across the full lips. Certainly without mirth. If anything it contained a veiled warning. "You get away from here," she spat, anger treading through the frozen eyes. "Go to hell."
Hanbury jerked his hand away from the leg as if it had turned red hot, surprise showing through the thick jowels. But he was too worked up to quit. "I'll give you fifty bucks."
Her hand moved faster than he could see. But Hanbury felt the sting as it struck home, almost knocking him off the edge of the seat. "You bitch," he swore, lunging for her.
Sylvia slid towards the window, her voice cold as the snow swirling outsde the bus. "I'll scream," she warned him.
Hanbury hesitated, suddenly aware that what few passengers there were towards the front had turned and were staring. So was the young couple, amusement written across their faces. He hesitated a second longer, glaring at the young girl, then slunk back to his seat.
Sylvia watched him go, then turned her attention outside the window. The sun had managed to make a final farewell appearance, hanging low on the horizon, surrounded by blackening clouds, waiting to close in.
But the young girl didn't see it her mind drifting rapidly from one thought to another.
It had been a long day. Too long. She should be happy. She knew that. How long had she waited for today? Again, too long.
Now that it had come why wasn't she happy?
Sylvia patted a few strands of hair in place, studying her face in the small pocket mirror. It was a good looking face. And she had the body to go with it. If she needed any proof, the fat man had given it to her, practically having a stroke trying to get his hands on her.
Maybe that's what was bothering her Sylvia shook her head. She doubted it. He wasn't the first ... and certainly wouldn't be the last. Men were all alike, looking at a girl as a three dimensional phenomena, legs, breasts and face ... in that order.
She scolded herself for having egged him on. Why? The girl shook her head again. She wasn't sure Maybe she wanted to prove again that men had no effect on her. There was nothing they could do that would make her react.
But she didn't need proof. There was plenty of that. Mentally she checked off the number of boys back in Vineta that'd given in to her. Enough.
But Johnny Simpson's name stood out. Probably because he'd been the first. That'd been four years ago, when she'd turned sixteen. Up until then she'd been an ugly duckling. But something happened that year. Her clothes began bending around curves that hadn't been there before.
Sylvia leaned back in the seat, remembering.
Johnny'd been the first boy in town to notice. "Let's go swimming," he'd suggested.
They had. On a deserted side of the Lake of the Cherokees He'd made no pretense, stripping to the skin and plunging in. She knew she should have left. She hadn't. She'd kept on her panties and brassiere and joined him.
Johnny'd forgotten about swimming when he saw her in those wet underclothes. What boy wouldn't have, seeing that full darkness through the cloth.
So he'd kissed her, their wet bodies plastered together. Sylvia still remembered her surprise at the lack of feeling in the embrace. Even when he'd stripped off the brassiere and buried her breast in his mouth there was no feeling. The panties had come next, his hands exploring every inch of her body.
It hadn't been like she'd thought it would be at all. Her girl friends had done it ... and went into lurid details at how wonderful it felt.
Not to Sylvia. She'd let Johnny have his way until he'd tried to spread her legs. Revulsion had set in and she'd dressed and run all the way home.
Sylvia shook her head. After that it was always the same. Gradually she'd grown used to the fact that men meant nothing to her. Not that she hated them. They just meant nothing to her. Sex was a word. No more.
She twisted in her seat trying to see the fat man. He was out of sight. It'd been the same with him. So she'd egged him on. That'd been a mistake.
But what lay ahead was better. Three years of planning, hating every minute she had to Spend on the farm. Her lip curled at the thought. That dirty old farm, fit for pigs, not people.
Fate had done her a dirty trick by handing her to such poor parents, she thought. But she'd make it up. Ahead lay money and success.
And she'd have it on her own terms. Sylvia knew what went with success to some girls. They earned it with loose skirts.
The young girl smiled to herself. She'd be different. She'd have all the money she wanted, placed at her feet. And she wouldn't unfasten a button to get it.
Sex was filth. And she'd seen enough of that on the farm.
But she was tired. Why not, she thought. How many days had she argued with her parents. "Don't go," they'd said. "Stay here on the farm and marry a nice boy. Have children and be a good wife."
The girl felt revulsion at the thought of a man pawing at her every night. Even worse would be the life in a pig sty. She looked out the window and felt sick, watching the endless prairie slide past in the deepening dusk. She didn't want any part of it. There was only one thing that mattered, money. Lots of it. And with her looks she meant to have it. To hell with her parents. They were fools, living in poverty all their lives. Her mother nothing but a misshapen hulk of flesh from years of endless struggle.
Sylvia smiled to herself, glad that she'd managed to leave it all behind. The break had been clean. She felt no remorse at having left home.
The young girl put her head back and promptly fell asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
The hand woke Sylvia up. Her reaction was immediate. "Damn you," she swore, opening her eyes. "I told you to leave me alone."
Sylvia stopped short as she realized she wasn't talking to Hanbury.
In fact the figure next to her wasn't even a man. It was a woman.
Sylvia felt suddenly foolish, realizing that the newcomer had brushed her knee while settling into the seat. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I thought you were someone else."
The woman was more a girl, perhaps five years older than Sylvia. And stunningly beautiful, the long dark hair framing an intense face. Her skin seemed even more white against the background of the low cut dark blouse. She produced a cigarette and lighted it. "That's all right." she smiled. "But you sure got the jumps."
Sylvia shook off her grogginess, looking around the bus. It seemed more crowded. "Where are we?" she asked.
"Just pulling out of St. Louis."
"I've been asleep," Sylvia admitted.
The older girl shrugged. "You sure have," she agreed.
"You know what time it is?"
The newcomer looked at a watch on her wrist. Sylvia couldn't help but notice at least five diamonds set around the face. "Ten," she said.
"Still nine hours on this thing," Sylvia groaned.
"Beats walking," the stranger shrugged.
"But I'd hoped to be fresh enough to make the rounds tomorrow."
"The rounds?"
"I'm going to be a model," Sylvia explained, conscious that it came out more a boast than a statement.
The older girl smiled faintly, finishing the cigarette. "I see," she said. "And you hope to get a job tomorrow?"
"I don't hope to," Sylvia said. "I will."
The stranger ran her eyes up and down the younger girl. "You got the looks for it all right."
"I know it," Sylvia admitted. She added, studying the older girl intently, "So have you. You should become a model too."
The older girl laughed gently. "I am," she said simply.
For the second time in as many ininutes Sylvia felt foolish. "I should have guessed," she said, feeling her face flush.
The older girl patted her on the arm. "Never mind," she eased. "We can't win them all. My name's Angelia Ashford. What's yours?"
The red headed girl smiled. "Sylvia Saunders."
"Nice name," Angelia said. "And a nice face to go with it. You'll do all right."
"Thanks," Sylvia said. She really didn't care for the other girl's opinion. Particularly of something she already knew. But it would be a long trip and the company was worth some effort. Besides she was a little puzzled as to why the girl was traveling by bus. Models made money. Gobs of it. Why didn't she take a first class plane? Maybe she could find out later, she thought.
Angelia found another cigarette and lighted it, picking a piece of tobacco from her lip. "Where you from?"
"Oklahoma," Sylvia admitted guardedly, waiting for a snide remark. None came. "Farm?" Sylvia nodded.
"Crummy places," the older girl snapped. "Full of pigs and young bucks with short tools and long ideas."
Sylvia found herself liking the newcomer. "You sound as if you'd been on a farm."
"That's right," Angelia nodded. "I'm the original farmer's daughter. Kansas."
"Then you understand why I'm getting away."
Angelia laughed, a pleasant sound above the dull roar of the engine. "I sure as hell do, honey."
Sylvia looked out the window. Even with the interior lights subdued there wasn't much to see. A car's headlights flashing past now and then. But nothing more. It seemed to her they were in the middle of a black void.
Then she smelled the cigar. It could belong to only one man, Hanbury. She swung around fast ... and found she was right. The fat man stood in the aisle, braced against the motion of the bus. talking in subdued tones to Angelia.
"Don't bother talking to him." she suggested to her companion. "He's a beast."
Angelia turned slightly, her voice on the edge of sharpness. "I'll pick my own friends," she said, then faced the man again.
Hanbury flashed Sylvia a triumphant look and resumed his conversation, bending lower, his eyes not on Angelia's face but the open gap formed by the low blouse. "Like I said," he continued. "Twenty-five bucks. We can use the back seat."
Sylvia smiled to herself, settling back, waiting for Angelia to slap his face.
She didn't. Far from it. The red headed girl had a hard time hiding her gasp as the older girl reached for her blouse. The motion of her fingers was almost faster than the eye could follow. The material gaped open, exposing a very narrow brassiere clinging to the inflated nipples.
Smiling slightly, Angelia ran a hand down each mound, wiping the covering free to her waist. Now the naked breasts flowed with the motion of the bus. "You like?" she said huskily, touching one nipple with a well painted fingernail.
"Damn," the fat man swore. There was no objection as his hand closed on one of the breasts, squeezing it out of shape. "That's nice."
Angelia smiled, watching the kneading hand. "One hundred dollars," she said slowly.
"You're crazy," Hanbury spat, not letting go of the breast, his breathing coming hard.
"Am I?" the girl said patiently.
Sylvia watched the little scene being enacted next to her, fascinated, unable to tear her eyes away.
Angelia took the man's free hand, putting it between her knees, then nudged it upwards, pushing her skirt ahead of it, past the tops of the dark stockings until it could go no further.
Hanbury's face twisted into lust. "Christ," he breathed. "No pants."
Angelia pushed her face closer to his. "A hundred dollars" she said softly.
Hanbury was too far gone to care He felt the warm body beginning to work against his hand. "Yeah" he agreed. "And how "
The older girl turned to Sylvia, starting to leave the seat. "Save my place for me. honey," she said sweetly. "I've a date on the back seat."
Sylvia felt revulsion set in. She'd never seen anything quite as bold. Maybe she was an ignorant farm girl after all. And she knew something else. Even watching from the sidelines she should have been worked up. She wasn't. It just disgusted her And it didn't have to be that way. No good looking girl really had to lift her skirt for money.
The young red head set her Hds tight She wouldn't. And she'd be famous ... with all the money she could use. Earned by her looks alone. The people who would stop her on the street would want her autograph ... not to see her belly button. Smiling at the thought the young girl fell asleep again.
Sylvia's first impression of Chicago was its utter filth. She stared out the window of the bus as it bluffed its way through early morning rush hour traffic. Sometime in the past it'd snowed. Now the drifts lay in mounds covered by a layer of dirt.
And the smell, a pungent odor of burning coal drifting across the city, accompanied by a gray pall that all but blotted out the weak, rising morning sun.
Sylvia didn't have to be told it was cold outside the warm cocoon of the bus. The people, faces red, blowing steam in their rush, coats flying in the wind, was indication enough.
Then they turned a corner and Sylvia caught her breath in surprise. The ugliness melted into beauty as she saw the distant Lake Michigan, frost white, sparkling in chilling grandeur.
And closer was the main part of the city, reflecting the early morning sun emerging from beneath the lake. A giant forest of stone and steel rising into the sky, overpowering her with its mass. Sylvia felt suddenly good again. Here was what she'd come to see and conquer. And by God she would.
Angelia groaned next' to her, waking. Sylvia looked away from the window, smiling at the girl. She certainly held no grudge against her. Morals were her own business. "We're here." she announced.
The dark haired girl struggled to a sitting position. "Lord," she complained. "Am I stiff. What a bull that guy was. And on the back seat yet. I should have doubled the price."
Sylvia shrugged. "I tried to warn you," she said somewhat smugly.
Angelia smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes, closing the gap surrounding her breasts, finding lipstick and freshening her face. Finished, she looked as if she'd just stepped out of the convent for a look around. "Warn me of what?" she said. "That he was a bull? How would you know?"
"He tried to get fresh with me."
"Hah," Angelia grunted. "That's mild compared what he did to me. But at least I got the hundred dollars." She looked out the window as the bus started down a canyon of buildings. "Just a few minutes now," she announced. The girl turned suddenly to Sylvia. "Where do you go from here?"
"Start looking for work I guess," the young red head said. Sylvia felt suddenly scared now that she was here. There had to be a beginning and she wasn't certain where to start.
Angelia found a cigarette. "You got to have a place to stay."
"I suppose so."
The older girl tapped her nail thoughtfully on her purse, thinking. "Tell you what," she said suddenly. "I've got an apartment on the near north side. I used to have a roommate but she left for other pastures. Why not come in with me."
"I thought you were from St. Louis."
Angelia laughed. "Nope. I'm strictly a windy city girl. Remind me to tell you why I was down there sometime ... when you've got plenty of crying towels around."
Sylvia thought over the offer. She wasn't too sure that she liked the dark haired girl. But it was true that she'd have to have a place to stay, .at least until she got her first paycheck and could find the penthouse she wanted so badly. And there would be nothing to stop her from walking out then. Besides, she reasoned, she was grimy from the trip and didn't want to go to the trouble of searching for a room right away. "How much will it cost me?"
"I pay one fifty a month. Half is seventy-five. I'll see that you make that."
Sylvia didn't understand the last statement. The figure seventy-five had blotted out everything else. It was a great deal more than she'd figured on. Mentally the redhead counted her money. There was the two hundred she'd saved. Plus another hundred she'd taken from her father's hiding place. And twenty-five out of the egg money. Minus the bus fare. That left a little under three hundred dollars. It was plenty, she decided. After all she'd be making big money before the week was out. "It's all right with me," she said.
Angelia grinned. "Fine." She added, "Are you tired?"
"Not really. A little dirty. Why?"
The older girl plucked at her lip. "I was just thinking. If you're so steamed up on making the rounds right away I believe I might be able to help you."
"How?"
"I know a couple of important men in the model agencies. Suppose I ask them to come over for breakfast?"
"Would they?"
Angelia laughed. "Honey," she said. "You are a good looking girl. They'll be foaming at your feet."
Sylvia smiled, watching the bus turn into the terminal. She liked the older girl more all the time. Angelia certainly knew the truth when she saw it.
It was a beautiful apartment. Sylvia looked around as she stepped through the door, unable to take her eyes off the lovely furniture. But she forced herself to be outwardly calm. Why should Angelia know that she'd never seen anything as nice. Nor that an indoor water supply was a novelty to her. Not to mention a bathroom that wasn't at the far end of sixteen cracked stone steps, liberally supplied with out of date catalogs.
She crossed the deep rug and stared over the city twenty floors below. The lake, a large glacier beneath the winter sun, was only two blocks away. In front of it a dark strip crawling with tiny cars threaded through a park.
The loop, as she'd learned the business district of Chicago was called, was to her right, spiked with tall buildings.
Sylvia turned back into the apartment. "It's really lovely," she admitted.
Angelia shrugged, tossing her coat on the back of the eight foot white sofa fronting a false stone fireplace. "It'll do," she said, fishing for a cigarette from the dish on the coffee table. "More important it's handy for our operation."
Sylvia took off her coat. "Our operation?"
The older girl lighted the cigarette and puffed smoke into the air, waving the match dead. "Sure. All the model agencies are within a fifty cent cab fare." She looked at her watch. "But it's getting late, I told the boys to come by around nine. We better get ready." She pointed at a closed door. "You take that bedroom. It has its own bath."
"We have separate bedrooms?"
Angelia laughed. "Of course. Doesn't everyone?" She shook her head. "My but you are from the country."
Sylvia felt her face flush.
Angelia saw it and was instantly contrite, coming across the room, putting a hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "I'm sorry, kid," she said. "That was nasty."
Sylvia shrugged. "That's all right. I guess I'm just tired from the long trip." She moved towards the bedroom the older girl had indicated. "I'll get ready."
The water felt good. Sylvia turned on the spray wide open, reveling in the unused to luxury, feeling the sting bring life back into her body.
Gradually happiness took over as she realized she had actually arrived at her destination. Three years of planning was finished.
And before long she'd have more money than she'd ever realized was possible. The red head patted her shower cap, making certain the hair twirled in the knot wasn't getting wet.
She'd been even luckier than she'd figured on. This apartment and a friend. All in the first day. Not that she'd want to keep Angelia as a friend very long. The girl obviously didn't have what it took to become a top flight model....else why the session on the back seat of the bus?
Sylvia looked down at her full body, watching the water trickle down the pure white skin, cascade off the dark nipples onto the stone floor. There was no doubt about it. She was beautiful. The girl shrugged. That was nothing new to her.
Why else had she come to Chicago excepting to sell her good looks. . well covered and for a price. Before long she'd be able to afford an apartment that would make this one look like a shanty.
She killed the water and toweled herself off. Humming softly she returned to the bedroom, feeling her bare toes curl on the thick carpet.
For an instant the young girl stood in front of the full length mirror next to the dresser, surveying her body, enjoying what she saw. The tight hair gave her face a certain coldness, destroyed by the breasts which were overly warm.
Sylvia's eyes were deflected by movement behind her, seen through the mirror. There was someone in the room with her. , She turned quickly, gasped as she saw the man approaching, a smile on his face, the eyes well lighted by lust.
There was no time for details ... excepting one. ., he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothes.
CHAPTER FIVE
Automatically, Sylvia's hands went to the classic position, one in front of her stomach, the other hiding a breast. "Who are you?" she stammered.
The man grinned crookedly, standing only a foot away, his eyes busy running the length of her naked figure. "Sam, honey," he said. "Angelia asked Bill and I to come over. We're agency men. here to help you."
Sylvia moved backwards but the mirror pinned her tight. "What do you call help?" she asked, gaining courage despite her pounding heart.
The man reached out, fondling a breast, lifting it gently in the palm of his hand! "Christ," he breathed heavily "What a lay you'll be."
Without any further warning he closed the distance.
Sylvia felt the naked body crush her, felt the hair on his chest scratch her breasts, felt his manliness driving her as he slobbered through his gasping mouth.
But most of all she felt revulsion.
And Sylvia knew what he was thinking. Once he had it between her legs he was certain passion would take over, refusing to let her stop.
But he didn't know Sylvia. She felt nothing from the driving hips.
She tried to scream but his wet mouth pushing at her prevented it.
She had to get help. Angelia. She'd stop him. Desperately Sylvia struggled against the sex-maddened fiend, found leverage and twisted away.
She heard him swearing behind her as she ran for the closed bedroom door, flinging it open, plunging into the front room, looking for Angelia to help her.
The search was short. Angelia lay on the long, white couch, one leg draped over the back, the other spread onto the coffee table, clothes scattered across the floor. She wasn't alone.
Sylvia hesitated, more than a little confused, watching the naked couple in the last minutes of the act, Angelia's face twisted into pure passion by the efforts of the man above her.
She felt arms encircle her, looked up into the blood shot eyes of the man who'd followed her, watched his fingers caress her nipples, listened to him breathe wild promises into her ear ... and felt nothing as his hands ran freely down her stomach.
Angelia suddenly screamed. But it wasn't fear.
Far from it. The sound curdled Sylvia as she realized the older girl had arrived at her climax.
It was the scene of a wild orgy, the thought. And she was part of it. In a minute she'd be on the floor beneath another man. And he'd expect her to scream the same.
How did she ever get into such a mess?
But more important how could she get out of it? This was no time to lose what she'd fought so hard to hold.
Sylvia turned suddenly, flattening her body against the man, reacting slowly to his movements.
And he was suddenly pleased. "That's better," he said huskily. "I knew you'd come around. You want it here or in the bedroom?"
Sylvia faked the passion she didn't feel, her voice soft as she kept her lips inches away from his, wrapping her arms around him. "The bedroom," she said.
"Christ." he panted. "What a piece." He led her towards the bedroom.
Sylvia hesitated at the opening. She gave him a long lingering kiss, the kind she knew men liked. Pulling away she said, "Get me a glass of water from the kitchen."
The man swore at the delay, but he didn't waste time, almost running for the request.
Sylvia smiled slightly at his stupidity ... and slammed the door shut, locking it from the inside.
For a long time she sat on the edge of her bed, listening to his threats and curses as he beat on the wood, finally joined by another male voice.
The young redhead lay back on the bed, still slightly confused by it all, wondering what Angelia's ideas of success were. Not that she didn't have some idea.
But it wasn't hers. Let the others take their clothes off. It was unnecessary. Besides, she thought, why bother if there isn't any thrill attached.
She'd come to the city to make money one way. And she would. Any woman with two breasts and hair where it counted could make a living. But she wanted more than that. Much more. Money. That was her god. And she'd get it her own way.
It was dark. Sylvia woke, startled to consciousness by the blackness.
For a minute she lay in the cramped position in which she'd fallen asleep, listening but hearing nothing.
Puzzled at the sudden passage of time the girl left the bed stiffly, crossing to the window, looking out.
The city far below was a maze of colored lights. Almost a fairyland of beauty, she thought.
And it was chilly. Sylvia realized that she was still bare. She found a robe and slid into it, turning on her bedlamp.
But what time was it? What had happened since she'd fallen asleep?
Automatically she looked at the bedroom door, surprised that it was still on its hinges. The last she remembered were the frustrated voices behind the wood.
For a moment the young girl sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain of what to do next. Perhaps they were still waiting out there, keeping quiet, ready to jump her the moment she opened the door. How could she get away?
Her stay in Chicago certainly hadn't begun the way she'd thought it would. If she'd have had her way she'd already have made the rounds and be working, making the money she wanted so desperately ... instead of cringing on a bed in a strange, nightmarish apartment. , Sylvia cursed her own stupidity at trusting a stranger.
The knock startled her and broke into the bitter thoughts.
Sylvia's heart stopped. She didn't have the strength to hide here forever.
The knock came again, this time harder. Sylvia kept quiet.
"For Christ's sake open this door," a voice snapped angrily. It, was Angelia.
Sylvia swallowed her fear but remained cautious. "Tell those men to go away," she said.
"They're gone," Angelia replied, irritation in her tone. "Open this goddamned door or I'll have it broken down."
Silvia snapped the lock, opening the panel an inch. Angelia didn't wait for more, she shoved it the rest of the way, sweeping into the room, her eyes sparking anger. "Well." she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You really blew it this time." she snapped, lighting a cigarette.
Sylvia shook her head. "I don't understand." she admitted. "What did I do wrong? Just because I didn't let those beasts paw me, is that a crime?"
Angelia snorted. "Those 'beasts' as you call them are mighty influencial people."
Sylvia wouldn't be swayed. Getting angry herself she began pacing the room. "I can do without that kind of influence." She added, "Besides, you had no business promising them my body without asking me first."
Angelia shrugged, fingering the lace on the edge of her panties, the only thing she wore beneath the waist. "Maybe I was wrong doing that," she admitted. "But I thought you could use a break."
"Some break," Sylvia said wryly. "My panties for a career."
"I thought you wanted to be a famous model."
"I do and I will," Sylvia said emphatically. "But not that way."
Angelia leaned against the head board, taking a good look at the young girl. She was certainly beautiful ... in a strange sort of way. Her face, though pretty, had a frostiness to it perhaps emphasized by the tightly rolled hair. And the body was strictly first class. In a way Angelia felt a trifle jealous. There were only five or so years between their ages. But the young girl still had the firm breasts, self supporting, nipples aimed straight ahead, that she used to have. And a flat stomach with hips to match. The older girl shrugged to herself, looking down at her own breasts drooping in the loose brassier. Too many men did that. "Well" she said slowly. "You're aiming at a career the wrong way. I know. Christ. I should. I've been the whole route. In this business you get to the top only one way....and that's beneath a man. They hand out the assignments and control you with an iron fist."
Sylvia shook her head. "I don't believe it. Just because you want to be laid ten times a day doesn't mean that every girl wanting to get to the top has to do the same." As soon as she'd spat the words she was sorry. Then just as fast she wasn't. The older girl was just what she'd said. So why be sorry. "I'll do it my own way," she snapped angrily. "And no man will so much as see the top of my stockings." She paused to get breath, then continued. "And I'll make a lot of money. Enough to buy and sell ten of these apartments. In fact I'll have a penthouse." She moved to the window and waved towards the tall buildings in the distance. "Somewhere in one of those."
Angelia shook her head, the cigarette in her hand forgotten. "Honey," she said slowly, "You got a bottle stashed in here? You're talking crazy. It can't be done. No girl can climb that high without showing anything."
Sylvia smiled smugly. "I can."
"Uh uh, I won't buy that. Even if you don't want to give out you'll be forced to sooner or later."
"Why?" .
It was hard for Angelia to believe what she was hearing. It was almost crazy talk "You're human, girl," she explained patiently "There comes a time when you got to have a man So why not turn this to your advantage and let it help your career along."
Sylvia shook her head smiling slowly. "I don't need a man....now or ever I can get along without them."
Angelia got to her feet, pacing the room, shaking her head. At length she stopped and studied the girl. "You missed your calling. You should be with the circus in the freak tent. Sex is here to stay and you've got to have your share."
Sylvia had the trump card. "Could you have held out against that man this morning if his naked body was wrapped around you?"
"Hell no," Angelia admitted. "A man gets his hands on my thigh and he's three quarters home."
"Sam had more than that on me," Sylvia reminded her.
"I wouldn't really know," Angelia admitted. "I was busy at the time. But knowing Sam I don't doubt you."
"And he didn't get me. I had no feeling for him."
Angelia nodded agreement. "You're right there. He was so hot after seeing you it took three hours on top of me to cool him off. That man's part bull."
"So you can see I don't need a man."
Angelia plucked a piece of paper from her lip: "I still don't see what you have against a man climbing into bed with you."
"It's simple," Sylvia smiled. "I'm still a virgin....
CHAPTER SIX
Surprise showed in Angelia's eyes. "You're kidding, you're such a good looking girl. It isn't possible."
Sylvia smiled. "Isn't it? It's true all right. And no man's going to do anything about it. Sex is filth."
The older girl shook her head. "You're wrong," she disagreed. "You'll find that out sooner or later. It's the only weapon we've been given to carve our way up. You're just throwing away your advantage."
Sylvia leaned on the windowsill, pleased that she'd been able to surprise Angelia ... and in a way proud of her accomplishment. No one had to tell her how unusual it was for a girl at twenty to be a virgin. Around her home town you'd have to look until hell froze over to find another one. "I don't think I'm wrong. And I intend to prove it."
Angelia shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said slowly. "But you will have to prove it to me. Chicago's a hard town. And it takes one hell of a lot more than beauty to get along. Good looks and loose panties go together in the windy city. One and not the other is like a gun without the ammunition.
Sylvia shrugged, moving for her suitcase, throwing the clothes back in she'd already taken out.
Angelia saw the motion and questioned it. "What are you up to?"
"I'm packing."
"Why?"
Sylvia turned to face the girl. "You want someone around that can help entertain your friends. I'm not that person."
"Oh for God's sake put that stuff away. You can stay here. A deal's a deal."
"You won't sic anybody on me?"
Angelia laughed. "Not if you don't want 'em. Besides I'd like to be around to watch this grand experiment of yours. It should prove interesting."
Sylvia hesitated. She did like the apartment. And she'd always told herself another girl's morals were strictly her own. Besides that it would be very satisfying to watch the older girl eat her words when she came in with all the juicy assignments.
"There's one thing," Angelia added. "Maybe two. First, I've got to have my seventy-five at the first of every month. Secondly, if you decide you like to eat and want to raise your skirt to get the where-with-all you'll have to find your own men. Leave mine strictly alone."
Sylvia reached for her purse and counted out the necessary money. "Don't worry about the second," she smiled, even more smug than before. "There won't be a chance of that happening."
"We'll see," Angelia grunted, her tone indicating she didn't believe it in the least. "But let me give you a piece of advice, learned on the hard grill of experience. Maybe you don't get any feeling now for or from men. But mark my words, you will. And with your high ideals you're just the kind of girl that'd go all the way to the other side of the scale." She smiled, patting the younger girl on the arm. "Be careful huh?"
The doorbell interrupted her. "That must be Charlie," she said. "He's coming by tonight." She started through the bedroom door, unhooking her brassiere as she went, tossing it on the couch. By the time she reached the door she'd flung the pants away and stood there, adjusting her hair, completely naked.
Sylvia watched from the bedroom as a man came into the apartment, kissed Angelia passionately, his hands dark against the white skin as they dropped to her hips. In a minute they vanished into the room across the carpet.
Sylvia made a face and shut her door. The girl was obviously a nymphomaniac. And that made her advice worth exactly nothing. Besides, she thought, it wasn't even good advice.
But at least she had a place to stay. She felt no gratefulness towards the girl. In a way she owed it to her, after the events of the morning. When the time came she'd move to a better surroundings, more in keeping with the money she was about to make.
Sylvia crossed to the window and looked out. For a long time she stared at the multitude of lights, dreaming of what was to come, trying to wash the bitter past' from her mind. She was no longer a farm girl. She felt as if she belonged to the city at her feet. And before long she was certain it would belong to her.
Shep Homer slid behind his desk, easing his three hundred pounds carefully into the narrow chair, careful that he didn't disturb his head. Christ, the skin-headed man thought, his dome felt the size of a soggy watermelon. What the hell did they put in that booze last night?
He rubbed the stubble of his beard, looking over his cluttered desk. Half a brown apple, two stale cups of coffee, three trays of cigar butts and two stained pieces of paper covered the well-scarred wood.
Homer pulled the papers towards him, picked up the longest cigar butt, lighting it. and studied the printing.
But he couldn't concentrate, his blood-shot eyes refusing to focus.
Grunting to himself the man swung around to face the dirty window at his back. Directly below the glass the El tracks ran above Wabash. He could see the street below through the ties. For a moment a train screeching into the loop blocked his view. Homer waited, cringing against the noise. When the hell were they going to tear that damned thing down, he thought. For twenty years they'd been promising to do it. He shrugged. What the hell, it wasn't his problem. Only that goddamned noise.
The street five stories below was busy as early morning shoppers drifted into town, walking swiftly through the skid row of pawn shops and beer hangouts. Here and there a drunk, getting an early start, staggered through the crowd.
Homer shifted his eyes across the street. The 671 night club was getting its morning wash, the porters busily scrubbing down life size pictures of half dressed strippers, pausing here and there in the work to dwell on the joys of doing it to the real thing. Somehow, in the cold light of early morning, the scene had an unreal look to it. Better at night, the pudgy faced figure at the window thought. With all the neons going and the barker out front. Much better.
He turned back into the room, shuffling out of his chair, crossing the tired, frayed carpet, opening the outer door to the reception room. It was just as shaggy, the desk possibly more scarred. The glass opening to the hall read; HOMER'S MODEL AGENCY.
The man rubbed his cheek, looking at the empty room. "Where the hell's Tina?" he swore, returning to his own office. It was after nine. She should be in. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle, getting some solice from the whiskey. It reduced the swelling in his head a trifle.
The outer door slammed as he took a second swig. A shuffling in the desk and the inner panel swung open. A woman, possibly thirty, good looking, her full figure poured into the simple dress with the big white buttons down the front. She took off her hat. lighted a cigarette and smiled at the man behind the desk, in that order.
"Where you been?" he scowled. "A hell of a time for a secretary to get to work."
Tina kept the smile in place. "Bailing out a couple of our girls."
"What the hell did they do?"
Tina shrugged. "The usual. Making the pictures got them heated up and they went to find men to cool off with. But they tried to solicit the wrong ones. Two plainclothesmen."
"Serves them right," Homer spat. "Take the bail money off their next commissions."
The girl crossed the room, settling onto the edge of the desk, studying the man in the chair. "You look like hell."
"Do I," he admitted. "Too much joy juice last night."
Tina grinned broadly, adding some ashes to the cigar butts. "I forgot. The monthly meeting of model agency bigwigs. Anything new?"
Homer shook his head. "Not a hell of a lot. The usual crap. Excepting that I'm going to make a C note the easyway."
"We could use it. How?"
Homer re-lighted his dead cigar, studying the smoke for a minute. "Simple," he said at last. "The word has it there's a new dame in town trying to become a model."
"Oh Christ," Tina scoffed. "That's news? I'll bet there's a hundred of them drifting in every week."
The fat man smiled patiently, fingering the cigar. "Not like this one. From what I hear she's a first class looker. Dresses fit to kill. Good shape. Everything."
"From what you're describing this gal shouldn't have a thing to worry about," Tina said, snuffing out the cigarette, stretching across the desk to reach the tray, the motion popping the top two buttons on the dress. She let them stay.
Homer shook his head, laughing softly. "That's where the rub comes in. She does have everything. And several of the top agencies have been ready to snap her up."
"Why don't they."
"She won't screw."
"Oh for Christ's sake," Tina scoffed. "That's no crime."
"I know that," Homer admitted. "But there's more. She treats everybody, brass on down, as if they should be glad to have her as a client."
"That's bad," Tina said. She laughed. "I can see some of those wheels when she puts on the act."
"Not only that, she's about as frosty as you can get. Hair piled on top of her head, long neck. The works. One of the boys she'd been to described her as a saint looking for work."
"Hasn't she gotten anyplace?" Tina asked, suddenly feeling a little sorry for the unknown girl"
"Not really. Old man Bornson over at the Cover agency was going to give her a try. He asked to see her legs and she walked out." Homer tipped an ash off the cigar, continuing. "Phillips at the Swanson Agency tried to get a promise of a lay in return for a job." He chuckled. "She slapped his face so hard he had to tell his wife he ran into a door."
"The poor kid," Tina sympathized. "Somebody should set her straight."
"That's the rub," Homer said. "She's living with Angelia Ashford."
"Good lord," Tina exploded. "And she still is putting on airs. If anybody could put her right Angelia could. She's got answers to questions that haven't been invented yet." Tina thought a minute, looking out the window at nothing in particular. "So where does the C note come in?"
"Well we were talking about it when Barney Fretter came up with this idea. A C note to the first guy that knocks her down."
Tina made a face. "That's terrible," she snapped. "This girl's human." She looked around at the shabby office, her eyes resting on the fly specked wallpaper for a second "What makes you think she'll come to this dump anyhow. Maybe Barney knows something. She might go there."
Homer shook his head. "Not a chance. You know Barney gets all his women through those phony ads he puts in the paper. He's not on the agency list. And this gal is following the list, right from the top. She's been on it two weeks with no strikes. Sooner or later she'll have to show up here."
"I pity her that." Tina snapped. "It's one thing to farm out all the call girls and strippers to our pornographic friends. I wouldn't feel right about sending a nice girl that route."
A storm cloud gathered on the fat man's face.
"You getting soft?"
Tina laughed, sliding off the desk, her dress pulling up well beyond the dark edges of her stockings, showing a black strip of panties between the well shaped legs. "Of courrse I'm not," she said slowly, approaching the man in the chair, putting her arm around him. "I just don't like the idea of your earning a C note that way. You're my property."
Homer laughed, drawing her close, beginning to unfasten the buttons on the dress. "Let's see what my holdings are," he said, drawing the loosened dress over her shoulders, exposing the unsupported breasts.
Tina laughed softly, leaning forward until a dark nipple tickled his nose. "A good way to begin the day," she agreed.
At that moment the outer door slammed. The girl swore and pulled the dress back into place. "Now they have to come," she snapped, moving across the room, buttoning as she went, vanishing from the room.
In a minute she re-appeared, a scowl spread across the pretty face. "Sylvia Saunders to see you," she snapped, adding hotly, "Your C note."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sylvia was tired. She knew she shouldn't be. It was still early in the morning. And this was the first stop of the day.
But just the same she was tired. She looked around the shabby reception room, scanning the darkening pictures of half naked women covering the wallpaper, fighting the urge to run.
The location of the office, in the middle of skid row, the dark, dirty hall she'd just come through, they puzzled her. But the name of the agency was on the approved list of model agencies.
She told herself that looks meant nothing. Perhaps the owner was eccentric and liked being out of the high rent district.
Sylvia shook her head, threatening to laugh out loud. She was kidding herself. She knew that. She'd been kidding herself for over a week.
The beginning had been grand. At least there were prospects then. But the glamour had faded badly. The filth around her was more the truth.
The young girl patted the knot of red hair, making certain every strand was in place, holding her head high as she waited. This was the last agency. If nothing happened here she'd start again, at the top. And keep it up until someone gave in. They had to . ... at her terms.
Sylvia re-crossed her legs, waiting impatiently, remembering the young secretary's surprise at seeing her. It was almost as if she'd been expected.
But that was impossible. She'd noticed something else. The young woman's haste at buttoning her dress. Not that it hid anything. The nipples still shown through the material, man hard.
Sex, she thought bitterly. That was all everybody in Chicago thought of.
The secretary came through the door again, indicating the inner office. "Mister Homer will see you now, Miss Ashford," she said, the voice not friendly.
Sylvia gave her a cold look and swept in.
Shep Homer caught his breath as the girl appeared. She was everything he'd been told. And more. A real doll. Class. He suddenly felt ashamed of the dusty office. Her yellow dress clung skin tight to the full body, taut enough so that no imagination was needed to know where the panties begun. They were clearly outlined. Her breasts fought a losing battle with the material, extending well into space, jiggling slightly as she moved, ending in two precise points.
Homer licked his lips, indicating a chair near the desk. This would be an easy hundred bucks.
"You wanted to see me?" he began.
Sylvia nodded. She'd seen the look. He'd already undressed her with his eyes. Now she was sorry she'd come. But it was an old story and she was getting used to it. "I'd like to be a model," she said slowly.
Homer made a point with two fingers, trying to look important, failing behind the poor disguise of a dirty, tieless shirt and two day old beard. Not to mention the blearing, beady eyes that telegraphed the message of what he'd like to do to the girl. "I see," he said slowly. "Do you have any particular assignments in mind?"
Sylvia nodded. "I'd prefer to be a cover model," she said. "If not that then something like Harper's of Vogue would do. Do you handle their account?"
The fat man had a hard time biding his surprise at the boldness of her request. Could a girl actually be that naive, he thought? It certainly was hard to believe. He cleared his throat, wishing he had a drink. "No," he admitted. "Those aren't among our own accounts."
Sylvia's face fell, though she wasn't really surprised. Again she fought the desire to run. "What do you handle?" she asked.
Homer figured the best treatment for this dame would be shock. He reached behind him and pulled a dusty book off the shelf, tossing it across the desk, scattering the apple onto the floor. "This is our main stock in trade," he said, smiling. "I could get you top prices."
Once, a long time ago, Sylvia had known a boy back home who'd taken her down by his father's barn and shown her a small pamphlet he'd sent for in the mail, hoping the pictures it contained would loosen up her sex urges. It hadn't worked.
But as Sylvia thumbed through the book on the desk she remembered the incident. These were the same. Just a succession of photographs, each containing two vital ingredients, a man and a woman, both naked, both in various stages of sexual relations.
Sylvia felt her face flush red. She snapped the book closed, looking up at the grinning man hotly. "You beast," she snapped.
Homer laughed. "Come on, honey," he grinned. "Loosen up." He reached into his desk and set the bottle on the wood with a resounding bang pulling the cork. "Let's have a drink together and talk over what I can do for you." He winked broadly "I got connections."
Sylvia got up from the chair and started for the door. He beat her to it, standing in the way. the bottle gurgling in one hand. "You ain't no angel." he snapped. "Who the tell do you think you are. You and this hoity attitude. You'll never get any place in this racket unless you loosen up those panties."
"That's for me to decide," Sylvia snapped anger sparkling her eyes. But despite her bravado she was afraid. The man was big. And he had the door well blocked. Laughing, he reached out quickly Sylvia felt his hand encircle her breast before she could move away.
"Christ, what tits," Homer panted, the urge getting stronger with every squeeze.
Sylvia bit her lip against the pain of his hand as he used the breast as a handle, pulling her to him. She struggled but it was a one-sided battle. She felt his hands slide down her back, press against her hips, pull her to him, work against her.
Sylvia fought wildly, struggling to get free from the laughing man. His hands lifted the skirt until they were on the thin panties.
"Don't," she cried in desperation.
"Now, honey," he grinned. "You shouldn't fight. I'm just doing you a favor. Showing you how good it feels." His hands slid to her bare flesh, ripping the nylon in the process.
Sylvia was genuinely frightened. She knew that it was only a matter of time until he forced her to the floor and did it. She just didn't have the strength to stop him.
Suddenly, the door behind Homer swung open. He was directly in line and as it hit him it threw him off balance. For a second his grip on Sylvia was loosened.
She wasted no time, scampering past the swearing man, dodging his outstretched hands. Despite her hurry she had time to see the sly grin on the face of the secretary as she passed.
Sylvia was in luck, managing to catch the self-service elevator. She dodged inside and slammed the door in Homer's face.
But the fat man wasn't through. He headed for the stairs.
Sylvia fled the building and headed across the street. Behind her she saw the fat man, waving his arms wildly, dodging traffic.
It was hard for her to run in high heels. "If she could only find a cab. She stood in front of a night club, frantically waving at everything that passed.
Nothing stopped. Sylvia's heart dropped as she saw the fat man approaching. She turned to flee again. But her breath was gone. She made a desperate effort. No good. His strong hands grabbed her from behind.
"Now," he panted. "Now I'll show you what a real screwing is." He looked around, saw the dark alcove of the night club and dragged her roughly out of the sun.
Sylvia screamed No one on the street bothered to turn her way . ... excepting a drunk wishing he was in Homer's shoes.
Rough hands grasped her clothing. It was too much for the blouse. The buttons parted, dropping the material away from the brassiered breasts.
Homer swore pleasure, pawing at what was left, managing to get one mound free, his hand squeezing the nakedness while the other forced its way up between her legs.
"Don't," Sylvia pleaded. "Please don't." She was too tired to fight anymore.
"Christ, baby," Homer panted, his face red from lust, the fingers on the loose nipple. "You sure got what it takes. Wait 'till I do it. You'll see how good it feels. Then you'll be begging for more." He began pushing her down to the sidewalk, at the same time forcing her legs apart.
A new voice boomed in the dark alcove. "What the hell's going on here?" it snapped.
Homer stopped for an instant, looking up, ready to tell the guy to go to hell.
He froze as a face came into focus through his sweat. Sammy Keller. "Good lord," he spat.
The man was well over six feet tall, with a face, even in the shadows, made of cast iron, each ridge a hard valley, all leading to the jet black, piercing eyes.
And Homer was suddenly afraid. Any man in his right mind would have been. Sammy Keller owned the 671 club ... and a lot more. One word from him and people vanished from the face of the earth.
"I asked a. question," Keller snapped, pointing a gloved finger at the half-dressed girl. "What's going on?"
Sylvia sucked in a deep breath, trying to find her voice. She did.. "He's trying to rape me!"
One eyebrow shot up on Keller as he looked back at the frozen fat man. "So." It was only one word. But something cold sped up Homer's spine.
"It's a lie," he yelled. Too late he realized he was still clenching a piece of the girl's dress in his hand. He threw it away as if it were a live snake.
Sylvia regained some strength. She straightened up, putting her breast back inside the brassiere, pulling her dress down. "It's true," she said hotly. "He dragged me in here and tried it."
Sammy Keller made a motion. Two men suddenly appeared at his side, both their eyes riveted on the girl. Sylvia wondered if she was jumping from the frying pan to the fire.
"You hear that, boys," Keller said, his voice clipped and cold. "This man tried to rape the pretty young girl." He turned to Sylvia. "What would you like us to do with him?"
Homer realized that he was trembling. He looked at the girl. But she only returned a cold stare.
Sylvia had a vague awareness that there was danger here. She wasn't certain what it was. Only a feeling. She knew one thing. She'd never seen a man as afraid as the fat man appeared. And there had to be a reason for that. She swallowed some of her dryness away. "Just get him out of my sight," she said hotly.
Keller seeded disappointed. But he waved at the street. "All right," he said to Homer. "Get the hell out of here. But if you ever touch the girl again...." The fat man was gone before he'd finished the sentence.
The steel-faced man smiled suddenly, his hard eyes roaming her partially exposed body. "You can't wander about the city that way." He pointed towards the glass door of the club. "Come inside and we'll see what we can do about it."
Sylvia didn't have time to object. Both men, smiling, put their arms around her. propelling her into the dark cavity of the closed building as Keller followed behind.
Sylvia noted that their hands weren't too particular of what they touched. Now she was sure. She'd jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The inside of the building was more like a fancy barn. At least it seemed that large to Sylvia. The tables with chairs turned over them looked like a forest in the semi-darkness. The stale stench of whiskey seemed to flow out of the cracks in the wall. Here and there a forgotten glass, half full, gave mute testimony to the fun that'd been washed out by the new day.
Sylvia shivered, gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering. She was cold. And no wonder, her coat was still back at the model agency. But even more was her exposure. She looked down at the front of the dress. It was gone, ripped past repair. And the brassiere, the hooks loose at the back, wasn't doing its job, riding the crest of the hobbling mounds, sliding low enough to show the enlarged tips.
One of the two men next to her bent towards her ear. "You got it, kid," he whispered, his eyes on the broad expanse of whiteness. "I'll give you a hundred bucks for a good chew on them things." Not waiting for an answer his hand lifted from below, raising one breast clear of the cloth.
Sylvia slapped the fingers away. "Go to hell," she snapped, pulling free from both of them.
"Okay, okay," Keller snapped from behind. "No funny stuff you guys. What the hell's the sense saving the girl from being raped if you're going to do the same thing." He waved his gloved hand at the stockier of the two. "Pete, go look in the dressing rooms. See if you can find a dress or coat. The kid's freezing to death. Finch, go rustle up some coffee. "We could all use some." He smiled at Sylvia. "Come into my office. It's warmer in there."
On her guard, Sylvia followed him through the long aisle of tables, past a multi-colored bar covering one whole wall and through a small door.
It was warmer. Much. The room was the size of a living room, with a fireplace at one end. But it was made up as an office. The desk was the biggest she'd ever seen. Everything had a rich appearance.
Keller took off his coat and gloves and sat behind the desk, smiling, the motion seeming somehow strange on his rugged face. "Sit down," he suggested.
She did, noticing for, the first time her dress had been ripped almost to the waist, making it impossible for her to hide the long expanse of legs. She wished now she hadn't worn the lace panties.
But Keller didn't seem to notice. He leaned back in the chair, selecting a long, tapered cigar and lighting it with a small silver lighter. "So what happened?" he said suddenly.
Sylvia bit her lip, trying to forget what was past. But before she knew it she'd told Keller of her visit to Homer and what had followed.
The dark figure's face grew hard as she finished. "He's a bastard," he snapped. "You should have let me take care of him."
Sylvia smiled wanly. "That would be a big order," she said. "He's not the only one. They're all alike." She told him of her many visits to the model agencies and the profusion of propositions in return for work.
Keller smiled, tipping a white ash into the belly of an elephant shaped ash tray. "So those are the so-called legit operations," he said slowly. "And they call my business dirty. At least I'm honest about it. Why the hell do you want to be a model anyhow?"
Sylvia had recovered her composure somewhat, enforced by the fact the man didn't seem to even notice her semi-nakedness. "I want to make money," she said. "Lots of it. Enough to buy this town if I want to. I picked modeling because I've got the looks and I thought it was a decent living."
"At least you're frank." For the first time he looked below her neck. "And you have got the looks all right. But there are other ways a girl as good looking as you can make lots of dough."
Sylvia shook her head. "Not for me. I won't sell my body. In fact I won't even give it away. I think sex is ugly."
Keller laughed gently. "That's laying it on the line all right." He shrugged. "It's a free world." He drummed a nail on the desk, thinking. At last he looked up again. "I could help. I've got connections."
The red headed girl shook her head again, flashing him a wry smile. "Thanks but no thanks. That means I'd be obligated to you. I'll make it on my own."
Keller bit into his cigar, thinking. He'd never met such a stubborn girl. Or one as frank. And there was something about her that he couldn't put his finger on. Here she sat, half dressed, her tits hanging out all over the place, acting like royalty. With the tight hair and frosty face she looked like somebody's kid sister. He had to respect her.
Pete showed up, followed by Finch, carrying a pot of coffee and some cups.
The short, stocky figure leered at the girl and tossed the clothes in his hands onto the couch next to her. "Some panties, a bra and a heavy dress I figure might fit."
Keller poured himself a cup of coffee. "You better put them on," he suggested. "Before you catch cold."
Finch smiled broadly, settling on the edge of the desk. "Yeah," he agreed. "The boss's right."
Sylvia hesitated, looking around the room for a place to change. There wasn't one unexposed corner. "Here?" she questioned.
Keller sipped his coffee. "Here. Don't worry. We won't bite you. We've seen a few skinned women before."
Sylvia bit her lip. It didn't look as if she had much choice. But somehow she felt safe as long as Keller was around.
Not that she minded showing her body. She didn't, as long as it didn't go further than showing. Besides, she reasoned, these men had saved her from rape. This could be a reward.
Her mind made up she got to her feet, letting the dress slide to the floor. The loose brassiere followed. She hesitated, her fingers inside the elastic of the panties. Did she have to go all the way? The looks on the men's faces gave her the answer. The nylon went down easily, over her flat stomach and the darkness that lay beyond, slipping silently to the floor.
The girl stood motionless in the center of the room, light from the desk lamp pouring across her body, naked excepting for the dark stockings clinging three quarters up her thighs. Shadows accentuated the youth ripened breasts, moving gently as she breathed hard, the nipples big, pointing straight ahead.
"Christ," Finch snapped, staring hard. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
Keller poured out another cup of coffee, pushing it across the desk. "Take a sip before you get dressed," he suggested.
Sylvia stood motionless, her old puzzlement returning. Here she was, naked with three men looking on. But she felt nothing. Absolutely nothing It wasn't normal. It couldn't be. Not to want one or all three to jump her. But she knew if one of them even touched her she'd feel revulsion.
In a way she was tempted to shove a breast in Finch's leering mouth. To see if he could suck her to passion.
But that wouldn't work. She'd tried it before. It never worked.
Sylvia spurned the coffee, dressing quickly, enjoying the disappointed looks on the face of Pete and Finch. ;
The dress was low cut, lower than she'd ever worn, barely covering the dark aureole surrounding the nipple. So let them look, she thought. They'd at least earned that pleasure by not jumping her.
Keller broke the silence, indicating the coffee for a second time. "Drink it. It's getting cold."
Sylvia smiled her thanks and did as he requested. It was hot and warm.
"You know," Keller said finally. "You got the face of a school teacher and the body of a sex pot. I could get you five hundred bucks a night for its use.
Sylvia shook her head. "I told you what I felt."
"Yeah," he agreed. "You did. How old are you?"
"Twenty. Why?"
"I'd like to give you a job."
Sylvia was at once suspicious and interested. She eould use work. With the money she'd had to spend on clothes she had barely enough to eat, not to mention the rent coming up in two weeks. "What kind of work?" she asked cautiously.
"That's the rub. You're too young to put out in front of the club."
"If you want me to be a stripper forget it," Sylvia snapped.
Keller exhaled heavily. "Good Lord," he exploded. "You've got the damndest suspicious mind. I was just thinking of something to give you pin money until you get this model job you want so damned badly."
"Why would you want to help me?"
She had Keller there. Maybe it was the respect he'd developed for the girl. He didn't know himself. "Never mind that. You ever done any bookkeeping?"
Sylvia nodded. "In high school I was top in my class. I used to earn extra money around town that way."
Keller snapped his fingers. "That's it. You can keep the club's books. Work here at night and give yourself the day to look for that damned pot beneath the rainbow."
Sylvia raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Any extra curricular job requirements?"
"Damn it no," Keller exploded. "I'll give you fifty a week. You start tonight. Come back about eight." He turned to the two grinning apes, warning, "Keep your mitts off her. Or you'll hear from me," He waved towards the door. "Now get going. I've got work to do"
Sylvia sat on the windowsill of the apartment, looking out onto the frozen lake, her mind a turmoil of confusion.
It had been six hours since the rape attempt, five since the offer of a job and two more had passed since Angelia had put her two cents worth in with the rest.
How could one day hold so much, she thought idly? Sylvia corrected herself. How could two weeks be so full ... even if it was nothing.
And that bothered her more than the events of the finishing day. Twelve days of tramping the streets, looking for a modeling job. And a big fat zero for effort.
Why?
The young girl crossed the room, pausing in front of the full length mirror backing the bedroom door. For a long time she studied the reflection, admiring the figure encased in bra and panties. She stripped off the few clothes and looked intently at the nakedness, lifting the breasts to even bigger fullness. What was wrong with that figure, she thought? She'd seen worse in many magazines.
But Sylvia knew what the matter was. She wouldn't allow it to be used in exchange for a job.
Sylvia paced the room, thinking. Did every girl who made it have to gain fame via the couch? It didn't seem logical to her.
But the facts were there. Sex seemed to have a stranglehold on careers in Chicago.
The young girl moved back to the window, oblivious to the half dozen men in nearby apartment houses braving pneumonia by venturing onto their cold swept balconies for a better look.
Somehow the distant glitter seemed further away than it did a week ago, she thought idly. Then it had looked so easy. Come to Cheago and gain fame and fortune through your face.
Sylvia snorted to herself. That's what all the glamour magazines she'd read since she was ten had said. And she'd fallen for it.
Three years of saving and stealing from her parents.
But one good thing had come out of it. She was rid of the farm and its filth.
Even that seemed dimmed somehow. At least back home the boys were frank. They wanted to lay a girl for the fun of it, no trades offered.
Sylvia scolded herself for thinking this way. She'd gone to a lot of trouble to get here. And she wasn't licked yet. Before she was through she'd have all the money she'd started out to get.
After all that was the only way, corner the money market, then tell everybody to go to hell. As far as she was concernca there was no other way to gain happiness
But how to get it, that seemed the current problem. There was an obvious way. Sylvia looked down at her naked body. She could sell it. But how long would that last? A few years at most and she'd be worn out. And those years would be hell itself, feeling the way she did about sex. Better she go through the agonies of hell back on the farm.
The young girl shook her head. No, that wouldn't do. She'd make it the way she'd started out, no matter how long it took. A break was bound to come her way. Somewhere there was a man willing to get her a modeling job with nothing in exchange.
Sylvia looked at the clock. Almost five. Three more hours and she was due back at the nightclub.
And that brought up another problem. The thought of working behind a desk made her feel ill. That was for stupid pencil pushers, not her.
She remembered Angelia's warning when she'd told her .about Mister Keller. "Watch it," she'd warned. "He's a real operator in this town, concrete shoes and all. That nightclub of his is notorious as a hoodlum hangout....not to mention a sucker trap for visiting firemen."
Sylvia made a face, thinking of the advice she hadn't asked for. Keller had been good to her. Hadn't he saved her from rape? And he was kind enough to offer her a job to get her by while waiting for her break.
But even at that Sylvia didn't feel satisfied. He might at least have made a hat check girl or something safe like that out of her. Then she'd be in the public eye. That might help her get the big chance.
But the argument was purely academic, Sylvia thought wryly. She had exactly two dollars left from her nest egg. If she wanted to eat she had to take the job, like it or not.
The knock at the door startled her. She moved back into the room, much to the disappointment of the balcony hangers.
For a moment she hesitated in the semi gloom, wondering who could be. at the door. Probably a friend of Angelia.
Let him beat the door down, she thought.
But the repeated banging disturbed her. Didn't the man ever give up? She'd do something about that, tell him off.
Sylvia found a robe, buttoning it to the neck and approached the wood. She grasped the handle and yanked angrily.
The man on the other side of the threshold hesitated, his hand poised in mid flight, a smile spreading rapidly across his face.
Sylvia saw two things at once. The figure was the handsomest man she'd ever seen, long curly blond hair above an unlined face, framed by squareness. And he was young. Perhaps just a few years older than she. She forget what she was going to say.
He filled the sudden silence. "Are you Sylvia Saunders?"
The girl nodded. "I am."
"My name's Barney Fretter." He fumbled in his pocket, found a wallet and extracted a card from it, handing it to her. "I own the Fretter Model Agency in the Tribune Buiding."
Sylvia's puzzlement showed across her face. "So?" was all she could think of to say.
Fretter smiled even broader, his eyes roaming up and down the robe clad figure. But Sylvia noticed no lust. If anything it was a professional inventory. "You are hunting for a job as a model I understand," he said.
Sylvia nodded agreement, still silent.
"Fine," he continued. "My agency can use you.' I'd like to hire your services....if you're not already engaged."
CHAPTER NINE
Sylvia's heart skipped a beat. But she kept her head ... and her foot in the door, suspicious, studying the card in her hand. Anybody could have those made up, she thought, at a dollar a hundred The girl had learned a great deal in two weeks.
"May I come in?" he asked, adding, "To discuss terms."
The red headed girl hesitated. "I don't know." she said slowly, unsure of what to do. The thought of a modeling job excited her. But another rape didn't. "How can I be sure you're what you say you are?"
The young man laughed. "I guess I hadn't thought of that. If it'll make you feel any better lock me out here and call the number on that card. My secretary will answer. Ask her where I've gone.
She'll say to visit a prospective client."
Sylvia shrugged, shutting the door in his face, moving to the telephone.
A minute later she re-opened the door, feeling rather sheepish about the whole thing. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm alone here and well...."
"Never mind," Fretter said, moving into the room. "It's perfectly understandable."
As he moved to the couch, beneath the floor lamp, Sylvia noticed more than ever how handsome he was. She revised her age estimate, his dark, moody eyes giving him away as above thirty. As he took off his overcoat the suit seemed fitted to a gallic frame, perfect in every detail.
But she was staring. She averted her eyes to the window. "You said something about an assignment," she prompted, getting her mind back to the business at hand.
He lighted a cigarette, his voice smooth, well modulated. "Yes I did," he admitted. "You've been making the rounds and haven't met with much success."
Sylvia looked for amusement in his eyes. There was none. "Yes, I have," she said. "And my lack of success has been notable."
"That's hard to understand. Of course with that housecoat I can't tell about your figure. But you have a pretty face. A trifle school-teacherish perhaps. But very attractive." He pointed the cigarette at the robe. "Perhaps if you opened that I could get an idea as to the figure."
Sylvia was instantly on her guard. "There's nothing beneath it," she said coldly.
Barney Fretter looked suddenly like a small boy caught smoking behind the barn, a faint blush of red showing in his lean cheeks.
Sylvia saw it and was sorry she'd been so cold. This was the first real act of gentlemanliness she'd seen since arriving. For a moment she was tempted to open the robe.
But that would be foolish. Particularly to a complete stranger. But she felt a strange compulsion to show him her figure. "I'll slip into something," she promised, vanishing into the bedroom.
But what? Sylva stood naked in the center of the room, looking over her clothes. The white dress. Not bothering with underclothes she slipped into the skin tight fabric, looking at the result in the mirror.
It was astonishing. Even Sylvia had never realized she could be quite so sexy, not that she'd ever wanted to before. The material looked glued to every curve, rounding her hips in flawless perfection, exposing the dark area below her stomach ever so little. But enough.
The complete outline of her firm breasts was visible through the fabric, the nipples showing as two dark dots raised above the cloth.
Sylvia hesitated. It was too much, probably even worse than walking into the other room naked.
But he'd wanted to see her figure and this was it. For some reason that the young girl couldn't explain she wanted him to see it. For the first time in her life she felt intense excitement as she walked back into the living room.
Fretter looked up and the red flush reappeared.
"My," he said at last, obviously choosing his words carefully. "You have got a figure."
And then Sylvia did something she'd never done in her life, running the palms of her hands up the length of the material, cupping each breast, raising it high, forcing each nipple to point straight at him.
She caught herself and turned away, suddenly ashamed of the way she was acting. In a minute she'd regained control of herself, keeping her back' to the man on the couch, looking out the window onto the darkened city. "What was this job?" she reminded him.
Fretter cleared his throat. "We'd like to handle you as a client," he said slowly. "Beginning tonight."
Sylvia turned, a question in her eyes. "Tonight?"
The man nodded. "That's right. I have a client whose job it is to supply girls as photographer's models. He's a trifle eccentric and likes the girls to work at night. At the moment this is the only opening I have available. But I'm certain more jobs will turn up. I handle only the top fashion magazines."
"Where is this assignment?" Sylvia asked, suspicious again.
"The Courtland Terrace."
The distrust evaporated. In her short time in Chicago Sylvia had come to know the Courtland Terrace as the oldest and most respected building in town, home of the majority of fashion photographers. An office in the Courtland Terrace building meant you had arrived. "What's the fee?"
"A hundred dollars for two hours works."
Now that was more like it, the girl thought happily. Those were the figures she'd expected from the beginning. Her face fell as she thought of something. The job at the 671 Club.
He saw the look. "Something wrong?"
Sylvia pondered the problem. Why should she give up her first assignment for a job with a hoodlum. And that's what Angelia had said he was, a gangster....or words to that effect. So he'd 'been kind to her. She dismissed the thought from her mind. No one was getting in the way of her success. "There's nothing wrong," she smiled. "I'll be happy to take the job. What time do I begin and when do I get paid?"
Fretter laughed gently and got to his feet, taking her offered hand. "Tonight at eight and the gentleman's name is Pinkerton. Room 601. He'll pay you when you're finished." He let go the hand and started for the door. "I'll call you tomorrow about another assignment."
Sylvia watched him go, then looked strangely at her hand. She was happy about the job. Bui even more so was the feeling she'd had when he took that hand. Were they butterflies in her stomach? Whatever they were she'd never felt that way before.
Sylvia paid off the cab, stood for a moment in the street, feeling the cold night wind brush her face, watching the rapidly vanishing lights of the taxi.
Now that she was here she was. scared. And she had to admit the fact. There was no longer any doubt about what the feelings were in her stomach.
Butterflies.
Why? She had no real reason to be seared Or did she. The chips were down. She had to prove herself.
Sylvia stepped into the alcove of the building and checked herself, seeing that everything was in the proper place. She'd forgotten to ask Mister Fretter what she should wear so she'd picked a simple black outfit. Not too tight, yet enough to fill the figure well: Not that it really mattered, she thought. They'd probably give her some sort of costume to be photographed in.
Two men with camera cases slung across their shoulders brushed past the girl, heading for the entrance to the building, caught sight of Sylvia and winked broadly, one whistling. She gave them a cold look and stared the other way. They gave up easily.
Damn' men, she swore.
But it was getting late. Sylvia swallowed some of the tremors away and pushed through the swinging door.
The lobby seemed almost empty as she clicked across the marble towards a waiting elevator. As she started to enter an old man held out his arm, his mustache twitching. "Sorry, honey," he cackled. "Building's closed. Nobody allowed in after hours." He winked, adding, "Even you."
"But I have an appointment," Sylvia protested.
"Thet so," the old man snapped. "Who with?"
"A mister Pinkerton in room 601."
The gray headed man smiled broadly, showing his new false teeth. "Hell, girlie," he spat, moving into the elevator, motioning for her to follow. "Why the hell didn't you say so." His eyes ran the length of her figure as he closed the door. "Damn, they're getting cuter every year."
She heard the noise as soon as she left the machine. A sort of confused rumble flowing across the hall. Men's voices twisted in a senseless jumble, now and then a whistle or raise in the pitch of racket.
And Sylvia felt confusion. First from the attitude of the elevator operator who was all hands in six floors. Now the noise.
But neither of them concerned her. Mister Fretter had said his client liked odd hours and was slightly eccentric. Perhaps that's why he preferred a noisy floor to operate on.
She hesitated before the door marked 601, making certain her clothing was in place. Then she moved through the panel.
It takes the mind at least thirty seconds to comprehend a change in scene, to understand and catalog everything in a room it's just entered.
Because Sylvia was tired from a long day: And because it was unexpected, it took her mind a lot longer to understand what she saw when she walked through the door.
She saw it first. A bare, rug covered room about twenty feet square, with an open door at the opposite end. There was no furniture excepting a dozen folding type seats backed against the blank wall.
And on each chair sat a girl ... completely naked. Scattered through the space were other girls, all pretty, all in various stages of undress. One with a brassiere and no panties, another with panties and no bra, a third with only stockings, a fourth without. In all there were a dozen girls milling about-
When her mind did grasp what she was seeing, Sylvia gasped disbelief and reached for the knob of the door just behind her. She'd come to the wrong place.
But before she could get away an older woman glided towards her, a fixed smile on her over made up mouth.
"You looking for someone, honey?" she snapped.
Sylvia shook her head, confused. "No no," she stammered. "I must be in the wrong office. I was looking for mister Pinkerton."
"Hell, girlie." the woman shrugged, shifting her cigarette to the other side of her mouth. "You got the right place."
Sylvia felt the woman grasp her arm and tug her back into the room. She fought free looking around, the shock showing on her face. "No." she repeated. "I can't have. He's eccentric. I'm a model for one of his clients."
The woman nodded knowingly. "You must be Sylvia, miss high neck of 1960." The tone wasn't friendly. "Anyhow Pinky's out in the other room talking to his 'clients' now. I'm handling things in here. You're on in five minutes."
Sylvia shook her head, trying to free it from the nightmare. She felt a tear trickle down her nose and knew there were more where that came from. "I don't understand," she admitted.
A roar went up from the room on the other side of the door. Shouts of "take it off" echoed across the walls. She must have because the noise turned to wild approval.
The older woman saw the tears in Sylvia's eyes and was suddenly compassionate "You really don't know what's going on, do you?" It was more a statement than a question.
"No," Sylvia admitted, wiping wet from her eyes.
"Barney Fretter send you?"
"The girl nodded."
"I thought so," she snorted. "He's done this before." She pulled the redheaded girl into a quiet corner of the room, pushing her gently into one of the chairs, hovering above her. "You at least deserve an explanation and a chance at backing out." She waved at the open door. "That leads to the run." she explained. "We send a girl out there every tep minutes. Feed her to the wolves so to speak On the other side is a hall filled with men. They all got cameras. You know about camera clubs?"
Sylvia shook her head. "No."
"You are new in town," the older woman snapped "That's a club where a sex happy bastard pays twenty bucks for a night of photographing dames. Naked ones. He brings his own camera and newspapers. A few even bring along film."
"I still don't understand," the young girl protested, having a tough time with tears.
"Pinkerton runs this club. He's got the pull to get it held in this fancy Courtland Terrace. Barney Fretter supplies him the women." She spat out the cigarette onto the floor. "Beginning to get the picture?"
Sylvia did. And at the same time a rage began to burn against Fretter. "Just what do these girls have to do for their money?"
"The first time you go onto the run you do it with clothes. You're required to skin down in front of the lens bugs. Then you make three more appearances during the evening. All stripped."
"Are they allowed to...." she didn't finish the sentence.
But the older woman understood, smiling broadly, displaying three gold teeth. "Nope, they can't touch you. If they do they're tossed. But you are required to give them any pose they demand."
Sylvia had never heard of anything so repulsive. And Fretter had lured her right into the middle of it.
"Well," the older woman snapped. "That's the story." She motioned towards the door leading back to the hall. "You can go if you want. I'll tell Pinky you didn't show."
Sylvia bit her lip. How could she leave? She'd spent her last three dollars getting here. And the job at the 671 was washed up. "I can't," she said slowly. "I need the money."
The older woman shrugged. "That's tough, kid. But I know how it is." She glanced at the door to the noise, just as a naked girl came running through it. "Looks like you're next, honey." she announced, shoving Sylvia gently towards the opening "Give 'em a good show."
The red headed girl patted the knot of hair in place, unfastened the top button of the dress and walked slowly towards the bedlam, her heart in her mouth.
But as she entered the man filled room she knew one thing, she'd get even with Barney Fretter if it was the last thing she ever did.
Sylvia had never seen anything quite like it. First there were the lights. Intense, hot, blinding her. She hesitated just inside the door, waiting for her eyes to get used to the glare.
When they did she saw a slightly elevated stage, backgrounded with nondescript scenery, illuminated intensely, supplied with a couple of web chairs. Beyond the footlights were the men. Noisy, smelling of stale tobacco smoke, they rustled noisily, each with a camera of some sort clenched in his hand, all jostling forward for a better vantage point.
Sylvia swallowed, staring hard at an X marked in chalk centering the stage. It seemed an eternity away. She looked behind her. The older woman made a motion for her to move.
The young girl, her heart in her mouth, walked into the room. As the men caught sight of her the rumble swelled to a roar of approval. Flashbulbs began exploding in her face.
Sylvia reached the mark, feeling like the center of attraction at a sexual fashion show. Shouts of, "Christ, what a beaut"...."A real sexpot"...."Straighten that back, show them tits," reached her.
The young girl trembled, fighting the urge to flee the stage. But the vision of an empty purse nailed her to the spot.
Her fingers shook as they fingered the long zipper backing the dress, pulling it downward to the swell of her hips.
The noise increased, aided by frantic whistles of pleasure, watching the girl on the stage turn slowly, showing the long slash of white skin where the material had parted on her back, broken only by a narrow strap.
She unfastened the last two buttons fronting the bodice. Now a brassiere, barely covering the tips of the swells, came into view.
Sylvia watched her body beneath the glare of the lights, helped the dress slide to the waist.
Calmness seemed to settled over her at that point. Somehow she was no longer afraid. The hate she felt for the lustful, screaming wolves at her feet was a sedation. She knew there was nothing they could do but look ... and want It was in her power to make the desire even worse ... and not be able to do anything about it.
Sylvia smiled to herself, outwardly her face moody. She'd fix them but good, she thought.
To the men on the floor the girl seemed suddenly to come to life. What had before been only a manikin seemed strangely animated. She helped the dress fall the rest of the way to the floor, kicked it to one side, along with her shoes.
Now the girl was in her stocking feet, moving slowly, dressed in a black half slip and bra.
But not for long. The strip across her overfull breasts loosened dangerously as she unhooked it. For a long, breathless second it seemed to cling for dear life to the twin swells, the straps dangling down past her waist.
Sylvia ran her palms suggestively down the slope of the breasts, beneath the cloth, dropping it to the floor.
The gathered men screamed pleasure as she fondled each breast, kneaded the nipple, lifted them high out of shape, dipped them' close to the crowd at her feet.
From the corner of her eye she saw the older woman, a worried look on her face, shaking her head in warning. She could feel the men getting out of control.
But Sylvia was past stopping. The lustful unfilled looks of the gathered men drove her to frenzy. She'd show these bastards, she thought. They'd never forget this night.
She grasped the half slip at the waist and ripped it free, tossing the shredded material to a dozen fighting hands.
Sweat glistened across the half naked body of the young girl as she pranced rapidly back and forth, a motion designed to make the big breasts dance and bobble freely.
Gaining more confidence she approached the edge of the stage, stood there for a moment, looking down at the glistening faces, her legs apart, knowing full well what kind of a view they were getting.
And she gave them an even better one, sliding off the pants, kicking them into the audience.
Bedlam broke loose as the men fought like tigers to get closer to the stage.
But Sylvia wasn't finished. Not yet Avoiding the warning glances from the wing she returned to the web chair and sat down, moving her legs as far apart as she could manage, her fingers idly plucking at her bare nipples.
Instantly the room erupted into a mass of uncontrolled violence as the sex aroused men forgot their cameras, forgot everything excepting getting a piece of the girl on the stage.
Sylvia felt sudden fear as they began to climb over the footlights, animal wants glazed into their eyes. She knew, but too late, that she'd gone to far.
And she had to get away or she'd be swarmed over. The young girl bolted the stage and started towards the door to the hall ... and ran into the arms of something in blue.
At the same instant whistles began blowing all over the place.
Sylvia knew at once that these were the police.
She was right.
CHAPTER TEN
Sylvia shivered in the evening cold as she stood by the curb, uncertain of what to do next. Neither the dress or the coat loaned her by the kindly police matron were enough.
Not that the trembling was all from the cold It wasn't. The past three hours had been the most humiliating of her life, a nightmare come alive.
Arrested like a common criminal, thrown in a cell with all those nasty women. The young girl shivered at the thought.
Indecent exposure, sex perversion, inciting a riot, all terms used by the night court, directed at her.
Sylvia shook her head, trying to clear the confusion. All that because she'd taken a job forced on her.
How had it happened? How? All she'd wanted was a decent job by being good-
And what had that determination gotten her? Thirty days in the county jail.
Sylvia sobbed as she remembered the stark terror she'd felt when the grave judge had handed down that sentence.
She looked around her, at the empty street, the quiet office buildings lining the sidewalk. Somehow they looked different. And the gusts of cold air blowing across her face smelled better than it ever had before. Even the. pungent stench of coal was welcome.
Why wasn't hard to figure, she thought wryly. There were no bars between her and the city, no stench of foul sweating women crowded together. She was free.
But why she was loose she couldn't understand. One minute they were leading her to a cell, the next she was handad her things and told to go home.
The girl shook her head, confused.
But where did she go from here? Sylvia had little idea of where she 'was. The 23rd precinct station. But that was no help.
She was somewhere in Chicago, alone and without one cent to her name. She hadn't the slightest idea of how to get back to the apartment.
Sylvia felt close to crying.
A car came down the street, traveling slowly, hugging the curb. The young girl turned away, the bright lights bothering her.
But it didn't pass, stopping in front of her. Sylvia saw motion in the car and groaned. That's all she needed now, mashers. She started walking rapidly down the street, her high heels clicking in the silence of the night.
The car followed slowly.
She moved faster.
So did it, finally pulling a little ahead and waiting beneath a street light.
As Sylvia closed the distance a figure got out. The girl gasped as she recognized Finch, one of mister Keller's right hand men.
He smiled broadly as she approached, indicating the open door. "Hi, Sylvia," he said "Hop in "
The girl shook her head, suddenly afraid again. "No."
The short pudgy man was patient, lighting a cigarette, tossing the spent match in a dirty snow-pile. "You better," he suggested. "The boss might not like it."
"Mister Keller sent you?"
Finch nodded, uh huh.
"Why?"
"I don't ask questions. I just do as he says."
At least it was better than walking.....even if more dangerous. Sylvia got into the back seat, recognizing the man behind the wheel as Pete.
There was silence while the car got under way, finally broken by Finch as he twisted around the front seat to see her, a broad grin still on his face. "Some trouble you got yourself into."
"You know?"
"Sure," he agreed. "That's why we're here. The boss sent us."
Sylvia had a sudden suspicion. She took a shot in the dark. "Mister Keller didn't have anything to do with me going free did he?"
Pete snorted, swinging the car around a curve. "Hell, honey," he spat. "Keller had everything to do with it. His pull yanked you right out of that cell."
Finch leaned further over the seat, his eyes on her exposed knees. "I get it from the boys that were at the party that you really wowed 'em," he leered.
"Nix," Pete warned his partner. "Lay off. You know what Keller said."
"Yeah." Finch sobered. "T sure do. He fumbled in his pocket and handed the girl an envelope. "There's a C note in there. The boss said to give it to you."
"I don't understand," Sylvia admitted. "Why's he helping me like this?"
"He's got a complex," Pete snapoed from behind the wheel. "Figures you remind him of his kid sister. She died last year."
"No strings?"
Finch shook his head, sucking on the cigarette. "None."
"Then where you taking me?"
Pete skillfully avoided a bus pulling out from the curb, skidded slightly on the slick street car rails, and recovered in time to miss a drunk wandering across the road. "You tell us. The boss said to take you anyplace you wanted to go."
It certainly was confusing. Sylvia thought to herself, fingering the crisp hundred dollar bill in her hand. But why should she fight it? Didn't she deserve a break? She started to tell them to take her to the apartment, then stopped, remembering something. And the thought renewed old hatreds.
Barney Fretter. She had a thing or two to say to him and it couldn't wait. But she hadn't the slightest idea of where he lived.
The girl leaned forward. "Do either of you know a Barney Fretter?"
Finch scratched his beard and shook his head. "Not me. You, Pete?"
"Yeah" the other figure agreed slowly. "I know of him. He runs a con agency for models. Gets the dames from ads in the newspapers." He twisted in his seat, taking his eyes off the road for a minute. "What do you want with that bastard?"
"He got me into this mess tonight. I've got a thing or two to say to him."
"Better let the boss take care of it. He's mightv good at those things." Finch made a motion in the air and opened his hands, as if he were dropping something. "Splash, into Lake Michigan. The guys out of circulation."
"No," Sylvia snapped. "I want to take care of this myself. You know where he lives?"
"Suit yourself." Pete shrugged. He picked up a microphone from beneath the dash and spoke into it. Something unintelligible crackled back through a speaker. Pete turned around. "You want to go there? I got his address."
Sylvia nodded, marveling at the wonder of modern crime. No wonder Chicago had the reputation accorded it. It was well earned.
Some of the steam had evaporated by the time Sylvia arrived in front of apartment 4906 at the Lucatania Arms, Barney Fretter's address.
Now she hesitated, her hand raised to knock, eyeing the darkened hall out of the corner of her eye, wondering if the suspicious elevator operator had followed.
But there was no one to be seen. The silence was an envelope encasing the night, broken only by the sound of a muted radio playing somewhere on the floor.
"The bastard," she spat to herself, the events of the past evening welling up in a torrent of hatred. She brought the hand down ... hard. The sudden noise was a drum played in an echoe chamber.
When nobody answered she repeated the motion, this time even more viciously.
A chain rattled, the knob turned, an eye peered from the other side of the door and then it swung wide, Barney Fretter in the opening.
Sylvia had the crazy thought that he looked like a little boy, his blond hair rumpled, his eyes sleep filled. But she caught herself before the thought got too far. "You bastard," she spat angrily, pushing him aside, entering the apartment. "Of all the gall." More anger flamed as she paced the room lighted only by a desk lamp, calling him every vile name she'd ever heard.
Even that wasn't enough. Sylvia picked up a vase and threw it at him, the resounding crash against the wall ruining for the night the love affair next door. She followed it with an ash tray and several other loose articles.
Through the torrent Fretter stood by the door he'd closed behind her, his mouth slightly open, ducking when necessary.
At last he closed the distance. Sylvia's voice raised a pitch as he came, a vision of a huge man about to overwhelm her.
The slap spun her half way across the room, sprawling her against the sofa.
It was enough. Sylvia collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face, her body racked with sobs.
Fretter stood above her, rubbing his open hand, a solicitous look on his face. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It was the only way to stop you. You were hysterical."
"Who wouldn't be," the young girl sobbed. "After the night I had."
"Care for a drink?" he asked, moving to an ornate bar along the wall.
"Go to hell," the girl spat.
Fretter shrugged and made her one anyhow, setting it on the coffee table near her head. "Drink it," he suggested. "You'll feel better."
Something was wrong here, Sylvia thought. Terribly wrong. She'd come to eat him alive with words. Some of them she'd spat out. But through it all she'd been only conscious of how handsome the man was in his dressing gown, and the cuteness of the stern face. She rubbed her cheek, puzzled. Even the hand on her face had seemed different than any other man's touch. She took the drink. She needed it badly.
Fretter laid on the long, tiger skinned sofa, adjusting his robe carefully across his knee. When he spoke he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Let's get one thing straight," he said slowly. "I did what I did for your own sake. You needed a lesson."
Sylvia felt her face flush. She could hardly believe the words. "You what?" she spat. "You'd let me rot in jail? A lesson for what?"
The man shrugged, sipping his drink, eyeing her over the brim "I really didn't expect you to go to jail. That was your own doing. And as to getting you out I would have in the morning."
Sylvia got to her feet, studying the man He was obviously stark raving mad. "I just don't understand you," she admitted hotly. "I think I'd better go before I try to throw you out the window, I don't believe I've ever hated anyone quite as much." She moved towards the door but didn't get far, his hand on her arm, pulling her back.
What happened next was hard for Sylvia to understand. She lost her balance beneath his grip, tumbling onto the sofa next to him. She knew the fall had raised her skirt well beyond the safety limit. In fact to her waist and she was wearing nothing beneath.
But he didn't seem to notice, his eyes close to hers, their mouths near.
And suddenly he kissed her, a warm, gentle embrace, the strength of his arm pressing her head to him.
Sylvia knew one thing about that kiss. She liked it for the first time in her life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When they broke apart Sylvia realized she was trembling. She got to her feet her eyes blazing. "You pig," she spat. Deep inside the girl realized that the words were just that . words But she fought to retain her anger. "I've never met anyone quite as rotten as you," she snapped.
Fretter shrugged, walking to the bar and fixing another drink, turning towards her. his eyes hard on the young girl. "Would you Care to listen to me for a while? I'd say you had the floor long enough '
"There's nothing you can say that would interest me in the least." the girl snapped.
"Then I'll say it anyhow You're a spoiled, pig headed brat that's mad because Chicago didn't welcome you with a ticker tape reception."
"I won't stay here and listen," Sylvia snapped, walking to the door.
"It's locked," Fretter said, smiling for the first time. "You'll listen and like it." He took a sip of the drink, looking at the steaming girl. "You're pretty. Very. And on that fact alone you figured you could take the modeling business by storm. Because you were propositioned several times you thought every agency man that asked to look at your legs was trying to climb into bed with you. Hell, girl, this is a business of sex. That's what sells the products."
"It's a filthy, rotten business," Sylvia spat.
Fretter shook his head. "No," he disagreed. "It's not that at all. My part in it is perhaps. But that's only one facet. I personally know of at least three men that might have hired you."
"Sure, Sylvia sneered. "If I'd have played house."
"No." The man almost shouted the words. He approached the girl and forced her in front of a mirror. "Look at you," he snapped. "A pretty face and one hell of a figure. But the way you keep that damned red hair locked in a net safe on top of your head ruins everything. Not to mention your haughty approach. Miss gotrocks looking for a job ... that's you,"
"You're crazy," Sylvia snapped. But as she spoke the words she wondered if perhaps a little of what he was saying might not be true.
"And that's why I gave you the job tonight. I thought it might shock you into a little reality, take away some of the grandeur of it all." He finished the drink, adding. "You sure made a mess of it."
Sylvia was suddenly tired. She sat down heavily.
"I don't see how I made a mess of it."
Fretter chuckled. "From the report I got you gave quite a show. Pinky will never be the same. He tore out most of his hair while you were on stage. He's had a deal with the police for years, paying them so much to use those rooms at the Courtland place ... on the condition that his girls pose for the jokers, no more. You did a hell of a lot more and they closed down the show. That man certainly isn't happy with you."
"Too bad," Sylvia sneered. "At least you could have warned me."
"That would have spoiled the effect I was trying to get. I figured you might see the light and loosen up a trifle. You could have made a lot of money in this town."
"Could have?"
He corrected himself, adding, "You will ... after this thing blows over."
Sylvia felt like a little girl that'd just been scolded. She sat quiet, thinking. A lot of what he'd said made sense. She wondered why she hadn't seen it before.
Her mind drifting, she looked out the broad picture window at one end of the room. A faint tinge of dawn shown on the horizon, already illuminating the frozen lake. It was a great deal later than she'd imagined. A thought struck her and she laughed.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Sylvia shrugged, most of her earlier anger gone. "I was just thinking," she admitted. "I've never been in a man's apartment at this hour of the morning." She added hastily, correcting herself, "Or any other hour for that matter."
Fretter smiled, pouring another drink, lighting a cigarette, letting the smoke drift through the darkened room. He said nothing.
Sylvia watched him with mixed emotions. Why did she feel this way when he looked at her? She tried to describe the way she felt to herself. Kind of tingly inside was the best she could do. She uncrossed her legs, toying with the hem of the split skirt. It fell open, revealing her thighs. Fretter didn't seem to notice. The girl helped the material along. Fretter sipped his drink, remaining silent, his eyes on her face.
At last he moved across the room, hovering above her, still not looking below the waist. "You're mighty pretty," he said slowly.
Sylvia felt strange with him this close. She'd never known this feeling before. She raised her face towards him.
"You're quite handsome yourself," she heard herself say. And something prompted her to reach up and put her arms about his neck. Her skin tingled with the touch.
"For god's sake kiss me," she heard a voice ... certainly not her own say.
And he did ... hard, sinking down onto the couch next to her, pulling her tight against him.
Words could not describe Sylvia's feelings, as an explosion whirled within her as the moist lips pressed hers tightly, moved slightly.
And a tongue, a man's tongue, the tip probing for an opening, was held away by her closed teeth.
Sylvia shook her head, tried to move away, couldn't, pinned there by his hand.
And she opened her mouth wide, moaning slightly, answering his tongue with hers. Lord how good it felt, spreading weakness to every corner of her body.
And she felt the Band on her thigh, searing the flesh with heat, moving upwards slowly.
Sylvia came to her senses with cold-water-suddenness, pulling free from the man, standing up, shaking her head. "No," she snapped, her breath coming in deep gasps. "No, I won't do it."
Barney smiled slowly, wiping his mouth, sitting up and lighting a cigarette. "All this emotion for a kiss?"
Sylvia walked to the window, thoroughly confused, her hands still trembling from the emotional outburst, the spot he'd touched, raw.
Why? she thought. Why? Many men had felt her. And she'd kissed some. But she'd felt nothing. Why now? And for a man who'd done what he had.
The girl looked onto the city, lighted now by the rising sun, a few cars beginning to creep along the outer drive snaking through the lakeside park.
Somewhat calmer she turned around, for a long time staring at the man on the couch. Even ; looking at him made her heart skip into double time. Sylvia smiled slightly. "You know," she said frankly. "You do something to me."
Barney laughed softly. A nice sound. "Thanks," he chuckled. "It's good to know you have some emotions. From the way you've been acting around town I'd heard you were a statue."
"Do I look like a statue?" , "No, not really," he said slowly, fingering the cigarette. "Excepting for the hair."
"Damn the hair," Sylvia exploded. Her fingers probed the knot. Seconds later golden redness cascaded down her shoulders, long strands resting on her rapidly heaving bosom. She moved closer to the man, drawn by some invisible magnet. "Better?"
"Much," he agreed, reaching out, encircling her waist with his hands.
Someone else had crawled into her body and had taken over, Sylvia thought. She seemed to have lost all control. His grip, firm and tender, was wonderful. She leaned down, kissing him on the forehead, amused as to how her hair washed across his face.
The hands slid from the waist to her hips, squeezing her gently through the cloth. She pulled back, shaking her head. "You shouldn't," she said, not really meaning it, enjoying the feeling. "I should go. It's late."
"Not yet," he said slowly. "Later."
His fingers moved to the zipper, yanking it down. Sylvia watched the skirt sag beyond the stomach button, slide to the darkness below. He ran his hands down her side, pushing it to the floor.
"Please don't," Sylvia pleaded, using her hand to protect her virtue.
Barney didn't hear. All he could see was the half dressed girl standing directly in front of him, her stomach on a line with his face. He clasped her buttocks, pulling her to him, kissing the hand.
Sylvia moaned slightly, losing control for the first time in her life, pulling away the protective fingers, feeling his lips dig into her.
It was wrong. She knew it. But such a wonderful feeling, one she'd never known before.
She pulled free, standing there, a few feet away, breathing hard, a strange look on her face. "I've never known anything so wonderful," she admitted huskily, rubbing the damp spot where his lips had been.
Barney nodded, his cigarette forgotten on the tray. "There's more," he said, getting to his feet, approaching her.
Sylvia nodded her head soberly. "I know."
He rested his hands on her shoulders still covered by the blouse. "May I?"
Sylvia knew what he meant. And it struck her as strangely funny. All she'd ever heard was how men jumped a woman like an animal in heat. But not Barney. She looked deep into the somber eyes. Perhaps that's why she felt the way she did about him. Instead of answering, her fingers went to the blouse, popping the buttons slowly, pulling the material wide, sliding it over her shoulders.
Sylvia quivered as she realized she was alone in a room with a man ... without a stitch of clothing. In seemed strangely exhilarating. "Kiss them," she ordered, fingering a nipple, raising it towards him.
Sylvia moaned in pleasure as his lips closed over the darkness tipping the trembling breast. And it fascinated her, watching the breasts grow bigger as he caressed.
"Christ," he snapped at last, pulling her body flat against his. "What a woman."
Sylvia smiled, realizing that she was wet with sweat, her hips beginning to drive against him. Every nerve quivered as they kissed.
"I'm a virgin," she whispered down his throat, her. hands probing the robe, finding him, hanging on. moaning with pleasure. "Is it big enough to take care of me?"
"Christ yes," Barney spat, lifting her into his arms, walking unsteadily for the bedroom.
Sylvia lay on the bed, her white body pale against the backing sheet, watching the man practically tear his clothes off.
Now he was naked, hovering above her. looking down at the mass of red hair beneath her head. "You look like an angel."
Sylvia smiled, breathing hard, feeling her hips beginning to work. "I'm not," she said, the voice passion filled, her hand reaching out, grasping the man, pulling him towards her. "I'll show you."
The girl felt the man on her. Fought against the pleasure threatening to black her out, not wanting that, wanting to enjoy every minute of his body. His mouth kissed her, bit her breasts, probed her body.
Sylvia sobbed softly at the pleasure of it all, waited for the moment that she knew had to come, dreading it....wanting it.
"Barney," she panted. "Do it ... do it ... do it....I'm ready!" She tightened her limbs about him.
And suddenly the room was filled with pain. Warm, throbbing hurt that threatened to tear her apart.
Sylvia screamed ... and screamed again ... and kept screaming ... all the time working against the man on top of her.
And the pain lessened, slowly, then rapidly, replaced with something else she'd never known. A wild weakness that seemed to drive her to more frantic movements. It seemed to stretch up and up and up, each step better than the last. Until she exploded inside in unvented passion, her nails digging into his back, demands pouring from her mouth, the bodies two blurs on the bed.
Sylvia screamed again . ... this time in pure pleasure, pure joy washing through her demanding body.
And as the girl relaxed, a black curtain dropping slowly onto the scene, she knew one thing. She was no longer a virgin....
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sylvia startled awake, a shaft of sun filtering through the blinds laying across her face.
Realization of what she'd done hit her with sickening force. She'd been laid.
And the girl began to cry, trying to control her sobs so as not to awaken the sleeping man next to her.
How had it happened? What was wrong with her to allow such a thing.
And as Sylvia looked around the room she felt even more revulsion. His clothes scattered across the floor, a towel, the remains of the drink. And through the open doorway she could see the tiny pile of cloth belonging to her.
And now she felt no feeling as she looked at the naked body of the man next to her. It was sickening flesh, no more.
Sylvia had never felt so ashamed. Allowing a man to touch her that way.
And fear tiptoed into her heart. Supposing he awakened. He'd want more. They always did. Even the thought made her sick.
As quietly as she could the young girl left the bed, trembling at every noise, fearing it might awaken Barney. She dressed quickly, wishing she had some underclothes to hide the man-ripened nipples poking through the cloth.
For a moment she hesitated in front of the mirror. Should she chance putting her hair back into the knot? The man stirred and she made her decision. It would have to wait.
Breathing hard, Sylvia found the key and fled the apartment....
She didn't stop running until the cab left her off at Angelia's place.
And now she was safe, in her own place, leaning against the door, breathing hard, happy to be home.
"Well, look at you?" A voice spoke from somewhere in the room.
Sylvia jumped at the sound, then realized it was Angelia. She'd been lying out of sight on the couch. "Oh," she said simply.
The older girl smiled knowingly, her eyes inventorying Sylvia, seeing the loose red hair, the swelled bosom. "From the looks of you, you've had quite a night. Who was he?"
"I don't want to talk about it," the young girl snapped.
Angelia rattled a paper in her hand. "You made the front pages." She laughed ... more a scoff "And I thought you were the innocent babe in the woods. Maybe I should take lessons."
Sylvia was in no mood for smart talk. Neither did she feel she had to explain her actions to a nymphomaniac. She ran her hands through her long hair. "Is there a cup of coffee around here? I could certainly use it."
"I'll bet you could," Angelia. agreed. "Sit down. I'll bring it to you."
Sylvia sipped the coffee, feeling a little better, some of the shake leaving her. And she had to tell someone....even if it was Angelia.
The older girl listened, her eyes growing hard as Sylvia brought in what Barney had done. At last she got to her feet, fingering a cigarette in her hand, anger showing in her motions. "That bastard." she spat. "Some things aren't funny. And what he did was one of them." She stopped suddenly, looking at the girl on the couch. "You aren't a virgin any more."
Sylvia nodded, feeling the tears well in her eyes.
"Maybe that part of it's for the best. You'll take a different attitude about men from now on."
"I won't," Sylvia snapped. "They're beasts ... all of them."
Angelia shook her head slowly. "Wait until you've had some rest. Things will look different. But be careful now. All hell could break loose with your hormones."
Sylvia grew angry again. She was damned sick of being talked to like a child by the older girl who pretended to know everything. So she'd made a mistake. One didn't mean she was like Angelia She still felt the same way about sex. And she'd prove it. She left the room and threw herself down on her bed, crying herself to sleep.
Sleep was short and fitful. At least it seemed that way. But when Sylvia awoke the room was dark.
She lay on the bed a long time, listening to the gentle hiss of steam escaping from the radiator.
And she felt strange. A kind of relaxation she'd never known before, as if every fiber of her body was still asleep.
Only her mind revolved at top speed, sorting out the weeks since she'd arrived from the farm and all that had happened to her in that time.
And as she thought she began to realize that a lot of what Barney said made sense. Perhaps she'd expected too much too quick. And she'd been haughty. She had to admit that, even if only to herself.
But none of this dampened her goal of making money. That's what she'd come for and that's what she was going to get.
She'd make the rounds again, she thought. Only this time she'd try to be less demanding, accept a job even if it wasn't the best.
But no sex. It wouldn't hurt, she supposed, to show her legs now and then. No more than that.
And as she lay in the dark she came to realize that she didn't hate Barney so much. In a way he had helped her. For that she should be grateful.
Sylvia turned on the bed lamp, studying her naked figure stretched on top of the covers, her hands cupping a breast, raising it gently, the nipple throwing a long shadow across her flat stomach.
She remembered how his mouth had felt on the mound. A tingle of pleasure rippled through her body.
But that was crazy thinking, she scolded herself. She'd have to make it a point that it didn't happen again. Not with him. Not with anybody. She'd come to Chicago for one purpose . ... to make money.
The telephone began ringing in the other room. Sylvia waited for Angelia to answer it. It kept ringing. The older girl must be out.
Grumbling, Sylvia got to her feet and padded bare footed to the instrument, lifting it. A familiar voice on the other end. "Sylvia?"
It was Barney. Her heart skipped a beat. She debated slamming the instrument down. But she didn't. "Yes, this is Sylvia," she said slowly, uncertain of herself.
"Why'd you leave before I got up?" he asked.
"I had to think." It was the best answer she could come up with that fast.
"What are you doing now?"
Sylvia shook her head, confused at the mixed feelings churning within her at the sound of his voice. "I'm still thinking," she admitted.
"Fine," he agreed. "I'll come over and help you."
Sylvia knew she should say no. She was certain that she should slam the phone down in his ear. But as the light from a rising moon drifted across her bare breast she could almost see the nipple throb as his lips encased it. And again, the voice that answered him wasn't hers. Warm, sultry, full of meaning, it said, "Fine, I'll be waiting."
Sylvia felt like a fool....or at best a two headed woman. One half was demure. The other? It wanted more of what it'd gotten that morning.
She took a shower and dressed quickly, standing in front of the mirror surveying the finished product. The long, loose red hair drifting down her base shoulders seemed to accentuate the blackness of the strapless cocktail dress.
She was bare a long way down, until the valley between the full bosom became overly pronounced, each breast dipping into the cloth at the crucial moment, the thin bra beneath holding the outlines in check.
. All in all it seemed a pretty daring costume. She wasn't quite sure of what she was trying to prove....unless it was that she could stay pure while wearing almost nothing.
Deep down there was another reason but Sylvia refused to recognize it.
An hour later when Barney entered the room he was a subdued figure, smiling only slightly as he handed her a box containing a corsage. "Let's say this is a peace offering," he said. "I've been pretty much a heel."
"Yes," Sylvia agreed. "You have."
The tall, blond headed man looked even more sheepish. "Could you forgive me?"
How could she help but do that, Sylvia thought, looking from the flowers in her hand to the worried man. No one had ever given her flowers before. And the old strange feeling she had when he was around had returned. She smiled broadly. "Of course. I suppose we all make mistakes." Laughing, she held the corsage up to the swell of her left breast. "How will I put it on? With scotch tape?"
"No you ninny" he chuckled, taking it from her, holding it to the lip of the dress. "Pin it here." He shook his head. "No, on second thought you better not. That dress doesn't look like it would take much weight."
"It wouldn't," she agreed, taking the flowers from him.
For a second neither of them spoke. Then Sylvia, without knowing why, raised her arms and put them around his neck, pulling his mouth towards her. "You'd better kiss me," she said softly, her tongue a period in the center of her moist mouth.
And as they embraced Sylvia knew what she felt. It frightened and at the same time amazed her. She was in love with Barney Fretter.
Minutes later, slightly breathless, the young girl pulled away, a slight smile on her face as she realized the impact of her discovery.
And for the first time in her life she felt a strong urge to be bad.
She knew the dress had slid to a point where the lace of her brassiere had begun to show. She let it be, enjoying his eyes on the exposure. "I should hate you," she said slowly, "for what happened this morning."
Barney walked to the window, looking out, for a second, then turning to face her, lighting a cigarette. "Do you?"
Sylvia shook her head, the hair rippling beneath the glow of the single lamp lighting the room. "No," she admitted. "I did. But I don't now."
He smiled. "What changed your mind?"
"I don't really know. Maybe I got to thinking it over and thought how wonderful it was." She laughed music. "Getting unvirgined is quite an event in a young girl's life."
"It makes me feel more a heel, particularly when you'd lasted so long. Not many women can say as much."
She closed the distance between them. "Barney," she said, running her fingers through her hair. "Do you really think I'm beautiful?"
"Christ, yes. But I told you that before."
"Tell me again." Sylvia was breathing hard, her rising bosom shaking the dress close to oblivion.
He smiled, his lips twitching. "You're the best looking girl I've ever known."
"Even with clothes on?" Why was she acting this way, Sylvia thought.
"With or without."
She kissed him violently, driving her tongue into his mouth. "Unzip the dress," she moaned.
When she pulled away only a strip of lace, partially covered by strands of long hair, protected her breasts. But it didn't last long as she reached behind her, unhooking it.
"You're the damndest girl," he swore, eyeing the dancing mounds inches from his eyes.
Panting, Sylvia sank down on the couch, pulling him with her. "Love me," she said, her face twisted in rising passion, forcing a breast to his mouth, enjoying the look of desire as he met it.
She had never felt like this. And once more she was thoroughly' enjoying herself.
At length he pulled away, looking up into her face. "That was the first course. Where's desert?"
Sylvia jumped laughingly to her feet, avoiding his grasping hands. She took the flowers he'd brought and held them mockingly above the bare breast. "Like?"
"No. They hide too much. In fact you've still got clothes on."
She moved in front of him, her hands stripping the remains of the dress to the floor. Now she had on only a pair of white panties and stockings. "Barney," she said slowly, her fingers entwined in the elastic, "I'm in love with you." She rolled the nylon down, stopping at her hips, her body beginning to undulate. "I can't help it. I love you."
He ran his hands beneath the cloth, bringing them up hard until they could go no further. At the same time his lips closed on hers. "Christ,. Sylvia," he panted, sweat rolling down his face. "I love you too."
And she began to laugh. A wild, passionate sound that somehow seemed unreal.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Sylvia pushed her panties to the floor, running her hand above his, pressing it tighter. "Nothing, darling. I just thought of something I never believed until now. They say a man has you when his hand is on it." She glanced beyond her stomach. "Yours is."
And as they sank slowly to the carpet one thing was apparent.
The old saying was very true.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Samuel P. Fenmore had been unhappy with the apartment at first. And why not? The rent was two hundred dollars a month. But his wife had insisted and they'd moved in.
All that money he'd thought glumly. For what? A twenty story view of a lake and trees.
That was in the beginning.
But things had changed considerably. Now the bald headed man watched anxiously as his wife waddled out of his view, on the way to some meeting or other.
When she'd gone he fairly dove for the closet, found the expensive binoculars he'd hidden behind the loose wallboard, and headed for the balcony.
It was cold. The shrunken shape of a man shivered with the chill as he settled onto a chair, his heart beating faster while he-scanned the tall building two blocks away.
Was she there, he thought expectantly. She should be. It was after two.
But the window was empty. Fenmore wiped his bald head, not surprised that even in the cold there was a fine layer of sweat.
His mind drifted back over the previous two weeks since he'd first made the discovery. At first the figure was a blur, too distant to see clearly. Then he'd bought the glasses. Fifty bucks they cost. But well worth the price. With them she was only twenty feet away. Better than a front seat at a burlesque.
A lot better, he thought. Christ, yes. Down there they left a lot on. Not her. It made his ancient heart seem young again.
And the guy she was with most of the time. How could he keep it up? Three, four times a day he did it to her, right on the couch in front of the window.
Fenmore licked his lips. He'd have given all his blue chip stock to be in that man's boots. The bald headed man cackled, correcting himself. To be in his skin was more like it. He never wore much more.
But where was she? Fenmore scanned the window again, the frame of the glasses cold against his face. It'd been three days now since he'd seen the man. Not that she wasn't there. Like clockwork she Was. Always dressed. Then as time passed she stripped and sat down....like she was waiting for something. But for the past three days nobody'd showed. Maybe he should go over himself, Fenmore thought.
But what could he do but look?
Movement caught his eye. He swung the binoculars into place. And there she was. "Hot damn." he swore happily, getting out of the chair, leaning over the balcony in an attempt to get even closer.
She was pretty. That long red hair kind of drifting down. And how those breasts filled out that yellow sweater, almost to the point of breaking the yarn.
She stood there for a minute, kind of looking out.. Fenmore had the feeling she could see him But that was impossible.
"Damn," he swore again, as her hand fingered the hem. She pulled it off, tossing it casually behind her.
Now there was the brassiere, the straps straining beneath the load, the twin swells close together as the material held them tight.
"Take it off, girlie," Fenmore urged.
She did and each freed breast bobbled off in its own direction. For a long time the girl studied her exposure, seemingly taking great delight in fondling herself, pressing the nipples together, raising the nakedness high. Fenmore found a handkerchief, wiping sweat from his face.
Now the girl retreated to the couch, dropping her skirt and slip as she went, sitting down in a tight pair of white panties. She had on stockings today, the first time the old man could remember that. And they made her legs look even better, the dark garters vivid against the skin as they crept beneath the panties.
She leaned forward, the breasts dipped, touching her knees. Then her fingers strayed to the edge of the stockings, unhooking them one at a time, rolling them to the floor, the loose breasts undulating with every movement.
As her hands approached the elastic of the panties, Fenmore leaned out even further over the balcony, saliva dripping down his chin as he waited the final exposure.
And at that instant a pigeon, unhappy with the cold, swooped down, not looking where it was going, colliding, with the glasses in the old man's hands.
Fenmore swore, grabbing in desperation. But he missed. The old man's face twisted in frustration as he watched the binoculars spiral downwards to the parking lot below.
And he began to hate two hundred dollar a month apartments all over.
Sylvia was happy. Why shouldn't she be? She was deeply in love. And Barney loved her. How many times had he said it? It was all so wonderful.
The girl on the couch stretched languidly, her ' bare breasts forming tight peaks through the motion. Why hadn't anyone told her it could be so wonderful? Because it certainly was.
How many times had he made love to her? Ten? Twenty? More than that. Each time more wonderful than the last.
She thought over the past two days and frowned. That'd been the worst part. Barney having to leave town on an assignment. That many days out of two weeks didn't seem like many. But she'd been miserable, not able to think of anything but his body next to hers.
It seemed strange now, she thought. How could she ever have hated sex? But then Barney really wasn't sex. He was showing her love and affection. That was different.
Sylvia yawned, contentedly. The wait would be over today. He'd be home and they could begin again.
The girl looked down at her naked body, giggling happily to herself. Somehow it looked different now that it belonged to a man. The breasts, taut, each tip pointing off on a slight angle, they had changed. Now the dark nipples stood well out from the mound, as if they were waiting for his lips.
What could a man see in the softness? She didn't know. But his hands fondling them always felt wonderful, making her want more. And that must be the answer, she thought. The breasts were the key to what lay below. Not once had he touched them that she didn't feel the urge to move her legs apart.
Sylvia stretched again, moving to the window. It felt wonderful without clothes. A sort of freedom she'd never known. Perhaps that's why she'd passed the time waiting for his return near the window, unable to keep anything on.
But the wait would be over soon. She turned and looked at the distant door. He'd come in there, stand for a moment admiring her beauty, then give her what she desperately wanted.
The girl fingered the elastic of her panties debating what to do, take them off or not. No, she thought, that was his job. Just doing it made him more of a man by the time he was ready.
She giggled again, deciding to compromise just a little, rolling the nylon down until the dark began to show. Now it was just a hand away. That should whet his appetite....not that Barney needed any encouragement.
The rustling at the door sent her blood pressure soaring. He was coming, using the key she'd given him. Sylvia ran to the other side of the room, standing behind the panel as it swung open, her heart-fluttering in joyful anticipation of the loving she was about to get.
Angelia walked into the room, a man in toe behind her. She caught sight of the crestfallen redhead. "Don't you wear clothes anymore?" she snapped.
"I was expecting Barney." Sylvia said, trying to hide her disappointment, failing.
"Obviously," The older girl snorted, eyeing her nakedness.
The man smiled broadly at Sylvia. "You didn't tell me about her."
Angelia took him by the sleeve trying to guide him towards the bedroom. The man stood rooted to the floor.
"Damn," he swore. "Now there's a knockout."
Sylvia watched him stare. And she enjoyed it. He was the first man to see her naked since Barney had done such a good job the first night.
"Who's this Barney?" the man persisted, turning to Angelia. adding, "And who's she?"
Angelia sighed. "This is my roommate, Sylvia Saunders."
"Damned." the man repeated. "I certainly am glad to know you. I'm Clyde Foster."
Sylvia wondered if the man realized she had a face, his eyes nailed between her navel and breasts. And the girl realized that just his stare was making her hot. This was a new feeling. She smiled, closing the distance between them, feeling her already lowered panties sliding further down. There couldn't be much hidden now. "Glad to know you," she said slowly.
Foster turned to Angelia, an effort pulling hi? eyes from the undressed girl. "I was thinking." he said. "You were charging me fifty." He pointed at the younger girl. "I'll pay a hundred for this one."
Angelia's voice chipped stone. "She isn't for sale," she snapped, giving Sylvia a hard stare, adding pointedly, "Are you?"
"No," the redhead agreed. "I'm waiting for my boyfriend."
"Lucky guy," the man muttered. "Who is he?"
"Barney Fretter."
"Hell," Foster grinned. "I know him. I just saw him at the bar over at the Blackhawk."
Before he had a chance to say more Angelia was guiding him firmly towards her bedroom, slamming the door with finality.
But what he'd said cheered Sylvia up considerably. Barney was back. That's all that mattered. Pretty soon he'd be coming through the door. And then....the girl trembled in anticipation.
She moved to the mirror to smooth out her long hair. And as she saw herself she laughed quietly. No wonder the poor man had been thunderstruck. The panties covered nothing, having slid well down. Only the garter belt covered her waist, the long tentacles of elastic snaking down each thigh. She took it off, aloag with the panties. It would only take vital time when he got here. And pretense of fencing was no good. She sighed, running her hands up the inside of her thighs. She was hot. God she was hot.
And Angelia's scream of passion drifted into the quiet room, sending shivers up Sylvia's spine. What was keeping Barney?
The telephone startled Sylvia. Recovering, she walked quickly to the instrument and picked it up. A woman's voice came through the other end.
"This is mister Fretter's secretary," it said. "He just called me from Houston and told me to call you. He will not be able to fly in tonight."
It took a minute for the message to sink in. "He what?" Sylvia asked.
The woman repeated the massage patiently. Before the girl had a chance to ask anything else the connection broke.
Sylvia put the phone back in the cradle, thoroughly confused. She looked in the direction of Angelia's bedroom. But that man said he'd just seen Barney, she thought.
But maybe he wasn't thinking straight, he certainly had good reason for that, stumbling onto a half naked woman while paying for another, But above the confusion Sylvia knew one thing. And it pained her. There'd be no love making tonight.
The young redheaded girl stood in front of the apartment door, her hand raised, hesitating. It was like living a night over, she thought. When was the last time she'd come to Barney's place. And now she was here again.
Why? She scolded herself as she'd been doing all across town. She should trust and respect the man, not suspect him. If he said he was in Houston, that's where he was-
But the man had said he'd seen him today.
And Sylvia had to know. An hour after the call she'd gotten dressed. And here she was.
But this was foolishness. She lowered the hand, preparing to leave. It was then she heard the sound. A woman giggling beyond the door.
Sylvia felt her heart sink, then caught herself. Barney had let someone else use the apartment. He was that loyal to his friends.
But just the same she knocked.
The woman that answered the door was very young and extremely pretty....and only half dressed. What was left of her dress hung loose at the waist, joined by a limp brassiere that hadn't been taken off, just slid down. The bare breasts were big and bruised and wet, traces of lipstick smeared across the white skin where it'd been transferred from her mouth. "Yes?" she snapped.
Sylvia opened her mouth, then realized she didn't know exactly what to say. "I came here to see Barney," she stammered, knowing her face was flushed, hoping the girl wouldn't even know of him.
"You're Sylvia aren't you?" the girl said. It came out more a purr.
Sylvia nodded.
"Then go home," the girl snapped. "Let a woman do it with him that really knows how."
"He's here?" the young girl said hesitantly "Of course he is."
Sylvia shook her head. "I don't believe it." But at that moment she caught sight of movement behind the figure in the door. Barney came out of the bedroom, stripped of any clothes.
Their eyes met at the same instant. Sylvia knew she gasped. She had to fight hard for control, a strange blackness hovering above her like a curtain.
And Barney opened his mouth.
But Sylvia didn't wait. Compressing her lips against the sudden shock she turned and fled the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sylvia had come to Chicago to make money.
And by God, she was going to make it.
Did this thought come to her after the fifth or the tenth man? She couldn't remember.
But she did. She remembered too much too well. Not that she wanted to. Memory was painful. She'd prefer to forget.
But how could she after all that had happened? Now some of it had become a blur in her subconscious. Not completely blotted out. Neither did it seem real. A bad dream, beginning with that man on the bus in Oklahoma.
Now the girl stared moodily out of her window at the city. Two weeks had passed since that night at Barney's apartment. In one way nothing had happened since then. In another all too much.
And it was funny, she reflected, studying the lake. Everything seemed to be measured in periods of two weeks. Fourteen days. It'd been that length of time from her arrival until she'd met Barney.
And for two weeks he'd preached his love, a tender weapon allowing him the full usage of her body.
And now the last fourteen days. She walked to the full length mirror backing the door, staring at herself. That had been the worst of all. Her eyes were puffed from too little sleep, her body a mass of bruises, the results of too many men.
Why? What had Barney done to her that changed her so? It was as if he'd opened Pandora's box by de-virginizing her. And it was full of problems....all hers.
Where once she'd felt strange and haughty when a man approached her now she welcomed it. Wanted his touch. Demanded his body to do to her what Barney had begun.
Sylvia shook her head, the long hair rippling in the light.
It really hadn't ended that last night at Barney's apartment. That was the beginning.
She'd gone there superheated, wanting him badly. And she'd fled unsatisfied, hurt, angry.
What was the name of that man in the big car? She couldn't even remember. But he'd stopped beside her while she walked away from the building, her insides storming.
"You're cute," he'd said. "Want a ride?"
And she'd gotten into the car. A mistake but she'd done it. One block and his hand beneath her skirt. Two, beneath the slip. She'd been too hot to wait tor more, stripping everything from the waist down to the floor, feeling the chill of the seat.
And the long ride on the outer drive before he found a place to pull over, his hand driving her to frenzy.
Sylvia shook her head, remembering....not his name but the feeling of satisfaction as he climbed on her, driving himself home, lifting her to heights she'd previously only known with Barney.
But that hadn't been the girl she'd grown up with. The one who hated sex, drove men away with scorn.
She was different now. Sylvia knew it. Barney had changed her.
Perhaps she could blame the incident with the unknown man on her hatred of Barney. Wanting to show him that he wasn't the only one capable of satisfying her.
It didn't hold water. Not on the basis of the facts.
Sylvia stared hard at the stranger in the mirror. She'd had a man every night since the first one. And after each she swore it wouldn't happen again. But it always did.
She stripped herself naked, studying the full, youthful figure. It was hers. And she had to admit that even now she felt the urge of the act. It gnawed at her, demanded satisfaction....and wouldn't have it until a man rolled off of her body.
Sylvia clenched her fist, a sob escaping as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Why did it have to happen like this? Why couldn't Barney have been what she thought, instead of a cheat? It could have been so different then, clean instead of sordid.
Sex was sordid, she thought....only now she was a part of it.
She paced the room, stopping at the window, looking at the distant lake. In six weeks it's begun to thaw. Already a thread of blue shown beyond the edge of iee.
But she'd lick this city yet, Sylvia thought angrily. If not one way then another. She knew she had to get hold of herself. Cold facts told her that. She was almost broke. And she was two weeks past due on the rent.
But even that wasn't important. The critical reason was what she'd come for in the first place. Now, more than ever, she had to do it. Then, with money, she could rub everybody's nose in the dirt.
Sylvia smiled suddenly. She'd like that very much. And it certainly gave her incentive.
She remembered what Barney had told her long ago. "Hell, girl, this is a business of sex. That's what sells the products."
Sylvia moved back to the mirror, looking at the naked figure with renewed interest. Certainly she had the sex.
So why not sell it? Not the way Angelia did. But as a model. That way she'd get what she came after. She had a weapon of her own. Why not use it?
Walter Snow flipped the button of the intercom angrily, annoyed with the interruption keeping him from finishing the STATURE account. "What the hell is it?" he snapped, eyeing the papers scattered like confetti across his desk, knowing that damned mess was keeping him from his Friday golf game.
His secretary's calm voice bounced out of the little box. "Miss Ashford to see you," she said.
"I'm busy," Snow growled. "And who the hell's Miss Ashford! I never heard of her."
"She was in once before, looking for modeling work."
Snow fingered his mustache, remembering. "Oh yeah, wasn't that the haughty dame?" he made a vague circle above his bald pate. "The one with the hair piled up in a pill box on top of her head."
"That's the one."
"We can't use her. You know that. How many times do I have to say it?"
The secretary hesitated, clearing her throat. I think you'd better see her this time," she hesitated. "You might want a second look."
"Oh for Christ's sake, Snow muttered. "Send her in."
As the outer door opened and a figure came through the opening, the bald headed man looked up, annoyance on his face, determined to get rid of the girl as quickly as possible.
Despite his good intentions his eyes widened at the well exposed trim figure of the young girl. Good lord," he thought, eyeing the long red hair twisting loosely down the tight fitting coat. Was this the same girl he'd seen before?
Sylvia saw the look, smiling to herself, moving into the room, standing a few feet in front of his desk. And it told her she'd picked the proper weapon. "I'd like a modeling job," she said slowly.
Snow came to his senses, snapping his fingers. "Just like that?"
Sylvia smiled patiently. "That's right. I believe I have the proper qualifications."
"Such as what?"
Sylvia hadn't come here to waste time. She unfastened the buttons on the coat, tossing it onto the desk. The thin blouse beneath hid little as she leaned over the wood towards him. "Figure for one," she said slowly, adding, "Willingness for another."
Snow began to sweat. In his fifteen years in the business nothing like this had ever happened to him. Not that he hadn't wished it. Most of the dames he saw were willing enough....after several hours of his well patented line. But none of them laid it on the desk quite so frankly. And he couldn't take his eyes off the cavity between the breasts made visible by the low cut material. "You've got the figure all right," he agreed. "But at the moment I'm not taking on any new clients."
Sylvia hadn't the slightest intention of leaving without a job. She slid off the desk, walking around it, standing directly in front of the man, a strange smile in her eyes, feeling the power of her body at work on him. Without any hesitation she unfastened the blouse in the back, sliding it down her shoulders, holding the material for a moment against the fullness, then snatching it off.
Snow stared transfixed at the bare breasts on a level with his eyes, watched her fingers massage the tips.
"I want a job," Sylvia said slowly. "And I have plenty in exchange." She knew she was too far gone to stop now. She enjoyed his stare, enjoyed what she knew he was thinking. And at the same time felt desire building up. He was old and bald and certainly not good looking. But he wore pants and she'd been five days without a man. She needed one almost as bad as a job.
And as she unzippered the skirt, helped it down her smooth bare hips to the floor, kicked it away with her shoes, she knew that she could have both.
Now she was naked to the skin, every inch of her lovely body exposed by the afternoon sun streaming in through the window.
Snow wiped his face dry. "Christ," he spat nervously, looking at the office door. "Supposing someone comes in."
Sylvia smiled, leaning towards him, rubbing her hand on his bare head, letting her breasts sway against his face, trembling at the wonderful feeling of nakedness, wishing he'd put a hand where it belonged. "You can lock it," she said simply. "Tell your secretary that you're busy."
The girl slid away from him, walking across the floor, accentuating the movement so that her hips and breasts moved more than necessary. She sat on the couch, chilling at the coldness of the leather, staring across the room at the man behind the desk. He seemed in a trance.
She put her head back, moving one leg up onto the back, the other as far as she could in the other direction, both hands raising her breasts into small mountains. "All I want is a job," she said huskily. "For that you can have everything you see."
Snow wiped his face again, suddenly leaning down and saying something into the lttle box. He got up from the desk, locked the door and approached Sylvia, his hands fumbling with his clothes.
Thirty seconds later only the squeaking of leather filled the room.
In the outer office the young secretary looked at the intercom with a puzzled expression, remembering the last clipped instructions that'd just come through. The boss must be cracking up, she thought. Too bad he'd told her to cancel his golf date. He needed the exercize.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Something was very wrong. Sylvia didn't need psychic powers to see that.
And as she dressed in the dimness of the hotel room she felt suddenly cheap.
She didn't bother with the bra and panties, just sliding into the tight sweater and skirt. Let the man on the bed have them as signs of another victory in his conquest of sex.
And as she stared at the naked figure she couldn't suppress a smile. He hardly looked like the head of one of the biggest agencies in town. Not now, not with that stupid grin on his flabby face as he slept blissfully on.
"Come with me for a drink," he'd said. "We'll discuss a modeling job for you."
That had been five hours ago. And here she was in a shabby Lake Street hotel, fully satisfied and without any job.
Not that it was unusual, she thought wryly. It seemed common. Too much so. First there'd been that man named Snow. He had a great job coming up....if shed visit him again on the leather couch for more consultation.
And the list had gotten a little long in the past week.
The man on the bed grunted, startling Sylvia. She stood still, bathed in the reflected light of the hotel sign drifting through the window, afraid that he might wake.
But he didn't. She exhaled relief.
But at the same time Sylvia felt the traces of disappointment. Deep inside she knew she wanted another loving.
"Damn," ' she swore softly, angry with herself for the crazy thoughts. What was the matter with her that she couldn't control the urge....not even for a few minutes? The truth was that sex was taking hold, dragging her clown with it.
And she couldn't allow that. She'd come to Chicago to earn money. She looked at the figure on the bed. This was one hell of a way to do it, she thought wryly.
But the problem at the moment was getting out of the hotel room, before he woke....or worse yet, she could take off her clothes and lay down for another session.
Taking herself by the scruff of the neck she left.
Sylvia let herself into the apartment quietly, afraid that she might wake Angelia. She'd been avoiding the girl for over a week, afraid that she'd ask for the rent money.
And Sylvia didn't have it. In fact she knew that there was less than two dollars in her purse.
She'd almost made her room when a dark shadow rose from the couch. "That you, Sylvia?" a voice asked.
Angelia.
The young girl exhaled resignation. She was tired and she needed to think. She started into her room wthout answering.
Angelia switched on a table lamp. "Mind sitting down? I'd like to talk to you."
"I would mind," Sylvia protested. "I want to go to bed." She had the strange feeling she'd been caught at the cookie jar by her mother and was being called on the carpet.
"It will wait," Angelia said a trifle sharply "Sit."
Sylvia shrugged and sank down on the couch. "So talk," she snapped.
Angelia went to the window and looked out, drawing slowly on her cigarette. At last she turned, her eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and hardness. "Where have you been?"
"Out. And I don't think it's any of your business."
"I suppose not." The older girl studied the seated figure, looking over the well filled sweater, noting the swelled darkness pushing through the cloth as if it weren't there. Only a man's passion could have caused that bigness. "I don't know quite where to begin," she admitted.
Sylvia crossed her legs, reaching into her purse and finding a cigarette. The action was new to her and she coughed before she had it under control. "I really don't see what you're driving at?" she said. "If it's the rent I'll have that soon."
Angelia shook her head. "It's not the rent. That can wait. There are more important things at stake." ' "Such as what?"
"You."
Sylvia squirmed under the stare, starting to get up. "Oh for god's sake, I'm going to bed."
Angelia pressed her back on the couch. "Just let me have my say. I feel as if I were somewhat responsible." She took a deep breath, lighting a cigarette from the one in her hand. "It was my fault for bringing you into this apartment in the first place, exposing you to my-habits."
"You mean men?" Sylvia smiled. "I think they're rather nice."
"So I've heard," Angelia said unhappily. "You've blazed quite a trail through the agencies, throwing yourself at them in exchange for work."
Sylvia shrugged indifference. "So? That's the way you do it isn't it?"
Angelia snuffed out the cigarette. It was a long time before she spoke again, trying to figure some way to get through to the young, foolish girl. She made a drink and swallowed it in one gulp, finally facing the couch. "Sylvia," she snapped. "You're a damned fool. That isn't the way I do it. You were stupid to give up your virginity."
And Sylvia laughed. Wild uncontrollable laughter until the tears trickled down her cheeks. When she'd calmed she said, "I gave it up? It was taken from me. And besides, this isn't the way you used to talk."
"Oh I know that," Angelia said, unsure of herself, running her fingers through her hair. "I talked a lot and I'm sorry. And you're wrong about one thing. The way you're acting didn't ever get me any jobs." She shrugged, continuing, "In fact I was a good model and made fine money at it. But after a while I couldn't keep a pair of panties on long enough to stand still in front of the camera. I tried to sleep my way through more assignments until I found I liked men more than work.
She lighted another cigarette before going on. "You once asked me what I was doing in St. Louis. Well a man took me there with the promise of a big job. After he was quite finished with my body-he vanished. I had-just enough to get home to this apartment. Now I have to take men if I want to eat." She added, smiling bitterly. "Not that I hate men. I don't".
Sylvia yawned. "Come to the point. I'm tired."
Angalia exploded air, returning to the couch, sitting close to the younger girl. "The point is that you can't throw yourself at a man, walk up to him and raise your skirt and say here it is. There has to be a balance, even to sex. That's what I tried to tell you from the beginning. Tantalize the men, give them the idea you might be willing to do it ... I ... they have a good assignment that you need. That's where I-made my mistake and am trying to keep you from repeating it."
Sylvia was bored with this silly chatter about the other woman's morals. They meant nothing to her. And the advice was stupid. She knew what she was doing every step of the way. Angelia would be tramping the mud while she looked down from her penthouse and laughed. And she had another thought, suddenly wondering why it hadn't occurred to her before.
"You know what?" she said suddenly, standing up.
Angelia shook her head, puzzled at the younger girl's attitude. "No," she admitted.
"I think you're jealous," she sneered, removing her sweater. "Look at my breasts." She fingered them, raising them so the light struck shadows across the fullness. "They're big and firm and round....a man's mouth full. Not skinny like yours. You're afraid of me, that I might take one of your precious men away."
Angelia was speechless at the sudden turn of events.
But Sylvia had just warmed up, enjoying the shock playing across the older girl's face. She stripped off the skirt, now naked save for the shoes. "Look at my body," she demanded, her hands caressing down the hips, raising between the legs, rolling over the flat stomach, squeezing her breasts, running against the slopes up over her shoulder until the fingers tangled in the long hair. "Every inch better than yours, able to give a man a ride he'll never forget." She laughed wildly. "Thai's your trouble Angelia, jealousy. Fear I'll show you up in bed." Her voice raised to shrill proportions. "And I will.
I'll make you look like you just got out of an old lady's home."
Angelia found her voice. Shocked, disgusted, unable to believe what she was seeing and hearing. "Get out," she spat, enraged. "Get out of this apartment . ... now."
Sylvia laughed hysterically, cupping her breasts, pointing the mounds at the older girl. "They're mine," she screamed. "Mine. And you're jealous because you don't have them."
The slap was sharp and quick, Angelia's hand moving faster than the eye, slamming it across the other girl's face. "You leave here this instant," she hissed. "If you don't I swear I'll kill you with my bare hands!"
The blow sobered Sylvia. She rubbed her stinging cheek. "All right," she snapped. "I will, you bitch. But some day you'll be sorry you did that. Some day I'll have money and you'll come sniveling to my feet. Then we'll see who has the last laugh "
Angelia spat an oath and the younger girl hurried to her room to pack.
The cold rain beat down on the young girl standing by the curb, bouncing noisly from her plastic rain coat. Late evening traffic splashed past in front of her.
In the distance the advertising signs were a multi-colored rainbow through the falling mist.
Sylvia fumbled in her purse for the tenth time. No better. She still came up with only two dollars.
The cold had sobered her considerably. And with this were the terrible mixed emotions, her only warmth coming from her hatred of Angelia.
She was out in the cold, broke in a big city and no place to go. Beside her was the single small grip she'd brought from Oklahoma, getting wetter by the minute. What clothes that wouldn't fit she'd, left behind in the apartment.
But what puzzled her more than anything else was her desire for a man. That certainly wasn't logical. Not after what she'd been through. She should be weeping or throwing a tantrum. But no, her thoughts were those of sex.
Sylvia shook her head, bewildered by it all. And in her self pity she didn't see the car until in pulled up in front of her. A man's head stuck out the open window, beads of water gathering on the grinning, older face.
"Hi, kiddo," it grinned. "Come on in out of the wet."
Sylvia hesitated, noting that he was handsome in a rugged sort of way. And she certainly was in no position to be choosey.
But she shook her head. "No."
"Come on, baby," he coaxed. "No sense a doll like you getting all wet."
Sylvia moved closer to the car. And as she did a yellow glow from the overhead streetlight flooded across her raincoat. She smiled to herself as she saw the look of surprise on his face. Why not? She hadn't taken time to put on a dress. There were only pants and bra beneath the transparent plastic.
And she gave up any thoughts of modesty as he stared transfixed through the material. "I need help," she said frankly.
"Name it," he muttered happily.
"I need a place to stay for tonight."
The man shook his head, not believing the sudden fairy tale he'd blundered into. How lucky could a guy get? "I got an apartment. Stay there," he suggested, adding with a slow smile. "But there's only one bed. A single."
Sylvia nodded, unbuttoning the coat. "We won't need more," she smiled. "I expect to pay . ... in my own way."
He almost broke an arm getting the door open, afraid she'd vanish into thin air.
But she didn't, instead stepping into the opening, tossing the coat onto the back seat. For a second the young girl hesitated, letting the rain wash across her bare body, watching the drops hit the swells of her breasts and trickle out of sight down the valley into the brassiere.
"Come on, come on," the man urged, looking around anxiously. "A cop see you we'll both be in the jug." He reached across the seat to drag her down, his hand pulling the elastic of the panties instead. They gave with a quiet rip, coming free in his hands.
Sylvia looked at the exposure, smiling, sliding onto the seat next to him, plucking away what was left of the material. "You did it," she said. "Now do something about it."
He did.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Chino gave the steaming coffee urn an extra swipe, trying to bring some life to the tarnished chrome. It stayed dull. He turned his attention to the counter, rubbing it vigorously, attempting to get rid of the dirt ground into the well-scarred wood.
But it was useless. No matter how he tried he couldn't make the small diner look any better than the slop house it was.
Flies, early this spring, buzzed noisily around the plates of doughnuts scattered behind him.
And Chino quit for a deep breath his eyes searching the crowded street outside. Still no sign of her. He glanced at the crooked handed clock behind his head, clinging precariously to the paint chipped wall. Ten. She'd be here soon.
The pimple laced youth smiled his anticipated pleasure and went on with his cleaning. There was no one to bother him with orders. The early florist market crowd had gone. And it wasn't time for lunch yet.
In the kitchen old man Cracken looked through the order hole, a smile spreading across his bearded face as he watched the youth work. The kid hadn't used so much elbow grease in over a year. Maybe he should pay the dame, he thought. Her coming in every morning had sure put-the whip to Chino. The next thing you know, he reflected, the kid'd want to put up curtains.
The old man snorted. That'd be the day He scraped a brown egg off the greasy grill, chuckling to himself. Imagine the drunks' surprise when they wandered in off south State Street and saw that Better'n pink elephants.
Out front Chino saw her coming down the street, oblivious to the stares of the winos, passing the succession of burlesque houses and pawn shops without looking right or left.
The youth quickly dusted off the stool she always used, returning to his place behind the counter.
And as she came through the door she flashed him a tired smile. "Morning, Chino."
He grinned broadly, looking at the clock. "You're late."
She shrugged listlessly. "Slipping I guess."
He slid a cup of coffee in front of her.
"Thanks," she said gratefully. "I can use it."
From his vantage point above the girl Chino could look well down into the loose fitting blouse and see both of the smooth breasts, plus even a little stomach beyond. Not that there was any more exposure than the first time she'd come in, a week ago. Always the same amount, never a brassiere to spoil the effect. At first he'd stolen glances. But she didn't seem to mind so now he stared.
The girl took a sip of coffee, her eyes amused as she watched the youth. "You're staring." she accused.
Chino flushed. "They're something to look at," he hesitated.
"You got a girl?" Chino shook his head. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
The redhead drained her cup, shoving it across the counter for a re-fill. "When you do get a girl make sure she has big breasts, so large you can't put them in the palm of your hand."
Chino rattled the full cup back onto the counter, nervous at the turn the conversation was taking. "Like yours?" he said, his mouth dry.
"If you can find them that big. Here, let me show you." She unfastened the top buttons on the blouse, exposing a breast, taking his hand and holding the palm to the fullness.
Chino gulped, watching his hand cover only a small area of exposure, the flesh soft and yet hard where the nipple pushed against him.
"Lift it," she ordered, amused at his sudden embarrassment.
It was heavy. Far heavier than he'd even imagined. When he let go it bobbled for a second, like firm jelly.
The girl covered herself up. "Show's over," she smiled. "Now get me some breakfast."
Chino left to do as she asked, vowing never to wash his hand again.
Sylvia laughed to herself at the youth's confusion. But it sounded hollow in her ears. Now she was working on kids. But why not? Hadn't they done the same to her?
She found a cigarette and lighted it, sipping the coffee, her mind busy, thinking of the apartment she'd just left.
Phil Loring was a bastard. More than that he was part bull. He had to be. How else would he have been able to do it so often this past week. Sylvia smiled to herself, wondering where he kept his blue ribbons.
Chino brought her breakfast, stepping away from in front of her, seemingly a little afraid.
She didn't blame him. He was wise, not wanting to go too fast too soon. Would that she'd been as smart.
Sylvia ate the eggs, thinking. It's been a mistake to take that ride in front of Angelia's apartment. Christ, had it ever. But what could .she have done? Hindsight was great.
Many things were mistakes, she thought. Even coming to Chicago in the first place. But that she found hard to believe. She'd lick the place yet Maybe her determination to make money had been slowed. But it was far from dead.
She laughed to herself, remembering her first thoughts after Loring had picked her up. He had a big car. That meant he was loaded. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He lived in a pig sty and had dragged her in with him. Where he got the money for the car she didn't know. She'd searched for money. There was none.
Sylvia knew she should get away, run as fast and as far as she could. She had her chance, every morning while he slept off the rest of the previous night's drunk. But instead, when she'd finish eating, she knew she'd get up, walk the two blocks to the flea trap, stop long enough at the door to shed what few clothes she wore, move inside and wait for him to wake. When he did she'd want him . ... as often as he could do it....which was pretty often. Then as night wore on he'd begin paying more attention to the bottle than her until he fell asleep. Tomorrow the same thing all over.
Sylvia knew she was on a merry-go-round. And she wanted off in the worst way. But she was tired and weak. But something strange had hold of her. Now, even when a man looked at her, she shivered from wanting him. To her Loring was like dope, a steady supply when she needed it.
So how could she leave him?
She finished her breakfast and sipped the last of the coffee, her mind a confused turmoil. The youth had gathered fresh courage, now standing in front of her, his eyes once again on the exposed blouse. Sylvia realized that she liked the stare. How would the youth feel, she thought, squirming on top of her? Even though she was only a year older she felt like his mother.
And at the same time she had a strange urge to remove his virginity just as hers had been taken. The old man had left the kitchen, probably for his morning drink. They were alone.
"Chino?" she smiled, leaning across the counter. "Have you ever done it to a girl?"
He shook his head.
Sylvia played with her blouse, pressing the material tight so that her outline showed through, brushing the long red hair aside, affording a better view. "Would you like to?"
"Yes. When?"
Sylvia smiled. "Now."
"What about the diner? Somebody might come in. It's almost lunch."
"There's time," she said. "The back room....on the floor. It won't take long. All I have to do is pull up my skirt . ... and you've got a zipper."
"I'll have to lock up," he said, his face red-inflamed.
Sylvia leaned forward, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead. "Do it....now." And as he walked across the narrow room the girl licked her lips, noting the figure in the tight trousers was more man than she'd thought.
But he didn't make the door before an oversized man pushed through. The pudgy figure with the droopy eyelids didn't bother to look at the crestfallen youth as he headed straight for Sylvia. When he got close he made a clucking sound with his mouth. "You Sylvia Ashford?"
Puzzled, the girl admitted it.
The big man took her by the wrist, pulling her off the stool. "You better come with me. You're under arrest. For murder."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sylvia shook her head, not believing what she heard. Her mouth dry she said, "Murder? You must be crazy. I haven't killed anyone."
The fat figure produced a toothpick, digging between his thick lips. You been living with a character named Phil Loring?"
Sylvia flushed slightly. Out loud the admission sounded strange. "Yes," she admitted, her voice a whisper.
The detective ran his eyes appraisingly down her figure, breaking into a leering smile. "He was a lucky guy. You're nice."
Sylvia picked one word from his sentence. "Was?" she questioned.
"Yeah, was. The bum's dead." He tugged at her arm "Come on, let's go."
"No," Sylvia protested. "I didn't do it T didn't even know he was dead. When I left him he was still asleep."
"Oh for Christ's sake, quit the act," the big man rumbled. "You were sleeping with him and wanted out. So you shot him. Open and shut." His leer widened as he added, "But don't worry about sex. You can be kept supplied."
Tears welled in Sylvia's eyes as she realized the seriousness of the situation. "But I didn't do it," she sobbed.
Chino moved up to them. He'd been standing quietly by the door, silently cursing the interruption. "What time was this joker shot?"
"Don't bother me, boy," the detective spat his eyes on the low cut blouse. "I got other things to think about."
"What time was he shot?" the youth repeated.
"Ten thirty," the fat man snapped. "What difference does that make? A wino heard the blast, looked in and saw the guy bleeding all over the place."
"She couldn't have done it."
"Oh hell, son," the detective spat. "Go fry some hamburgers. Don't bother me."
Chino pressed his point. "She couldn't have done it because she was in here at the time."
"Hah," the fat man scoffed. "You expect me to believe that. I saw the way you were looking at her, getting ready to lock the door and give her a good ride in the back room." He shook his head. "No sir, this broad's mine. I'm booking her."
At that point old man Cracken scuffled through the door, well fortified for the noon rush with six ounces of Southern Comfort. "What the hell's going on, Max?" he spat, recognizing the detective.
The fat figure snorted. "This dame drilled her lover boy. I'm taking her in."
"Too bad," Cracken sympathized, wiping excess booze from his cracked lips. "A shame to take the pretty ones out of circulation."
"But she didn't do it," Chino said emphatically. "You know that, mister Cracken. Wasn't she here at ten thirty?"
The old man raised one white eyebrow, looking at Max. "That the time he was killed?" The detective nodded.
"Then let her go, Max. It's no dice. She was sitting there, eating and making with the sex to my boy here."
"You sure?" the detective snapped, disappointment spreading across his jowels. "You aren't saving her for yourself?"
The old man cackled. "Now what would I do with a doll like that? Stuff her? The well dried up years ago."
Max turned to the girl. "Okay, you're clear. But come down to headquarters this afternoon. The chief'll want to ask some questions." He turned and stalked from the diner.
Sylvia watched him go, suddenly realizing how close it'd been, shaking all over uncontrollably.
Chino moved closer. "Now how about that lesson? Want to meet me tonight?"
The redheaded girl looked at him strangely, as if she'd never seen him before. Inside she felt strange, chills running a foot race up her spine. And what was worse she saw the life she'd been leading the past two weeks . ... in blazing lights illuminating her brain. It wasn't pleasant.
"I don't know," she mumbled. "I just don't know." She got to her feet, walking unsteadily towards the door. "I have to thinks."
Chino stood in the opening, watching the slim figure move unsteadily down the street. He made a move to follow and then caught sight of old man Cracken in the corner of his eye. He was somberly shaking his head.
He was a very wise old man.
It was well over two hours before Sylvia found the ability to control the shakes shattering her body. And she continued to walk. No direction.
She had vague recollections of the crowded streets, shoppers jostling her aside, several theaters, the warm smell of popcorn and heat spilling over her, bars and stale whiskey. A continual symphony of the big city poured into her unhearing ears, reflected in the rumble of the elevated trains, busy cabs and anxious horns.
But for a long time the strolling girl neither heard nor saw anything. She was in a trance, wandering the city, her emotions spent in the shock of the last weeks.
The brisk wind oft the lake pressed her thin clothes tight to her body. Men whistled, approached, made intended remarks, gave up scratched their heads, watching the slim figure move slowly down the street, oblivious of everything about her, a daylight sleep walker.
The first thing Sylvia recognized in four hours was the water. Stale, foul, brimmed with debris of a busy city, it churned silently away from the lake, a course mapped out for it years ago by engineers driven to desperation that no river should flow backwards.
She was sitting high above the filth on the concrete bank, her skirt whipping freely in the wind, crowding the nearby bridge with interested male spectators.
It was as if she was awakening from a dream, even worse, a bad nightmare. And all the ugliness of the past weeks flooded into her mind once more.
She tucked the skirt between her legs, got to her feet and started walking again. Only this time she was conscious, awareness a painful wound that she had to live with.
Sylvia took a deep breath, shivering slightly, this time from the cold left behind by the sun now vanished into the city's stone canyons. This had never happened to her before, she thought. And it seemed strange and odd. The last thing she remembered was leaving the diner.
The girl hesitated, looking around her. Above, rush hour traffic rumbled down the elevated roadway, sped across the bridge, vanished from sight. Where was she? How long had she wandered?
There were no answers.
But for the first time in her life she was scared. Badly frightened that such a thing could happen. That her mind suddenly gave up on her, refusing to answer her commands any longer.
And she didn't have to ask herself why. She'd demanded too much, forced it to twist to her suddenly warped values.
Sylvia climbed the worn stairs to the street level, standing on the corner a long time, feeling the wind whip her. face to freshness.
And it only took her a moment to recognize where she wandered. Clear across the loop Two blocks away the Tribune Tower splashed brilliant white against the deepening grayness. Michigan Boulevard fed cluttered traffic onto the bridge at her left.
Now what? That was a big question to Sylvia and she mulled it over carefully. Loring was dead. Perhaps that was good. She felt no sorrow at his passing. In fact a great weight had been lifted.
And then she caught herself. It wasn't her fault at all what had happened. Mostly it was Barney Not to mention Angelia who'd seemed intent on leading her astray from the very beginning.
She walked a little faster as her thinking picked up, her mind clearing for the first time in weeks.
So she'd gone off the deep end once Barney had done his work to her. Perhaps that was to be expected. But did that have to be the end? No, she thought emphatically. Why not make it the beginning. Not as she'd done the past weeks though. Sex was fine . ... in its place. And she firmly intended keeping it there.
She'd once thought of using it as a weapon, That was good thinking. She still agreed with it. But her trouble had come about from using the wrong targets.
Sylvia hesitated for a light, then crossed the street rapidly. There had to be a new beginning.
It was then she saw the sign. For a minute she stared at the flickering neon, realizing that it should mean something. The 671 Club it spelled out.
And she remembered. Mister Keller. He was the answer to everything. Hadn't Finch said he thought of her as a sister? Hadn't he given her a hundred dollars with no strings attached?
Sylvia smiled, almost sobbed with sudden happiness. He'd help. She knew it. And at the same time she had another idea. She could work in the club. Meet a rich man and marry him. Then she'd be able to tell those s.o.b.'s Barney and Angelia where to go.
Sylvia dodged across the street, ignoring the rumble of an El train overhead. She started past the elegant doorman stationed near the opening. He held out his hand. "Sorry, miss," he said without the flicker of a smile. "No unescorted ladies allowed."
"But I want to see mister Keller," she protested.
"Sorry," he repeated, keeping the hand out.
A man, slightly drunk, wavered up to her, a stupid smile on his face. "Thas all right, honey," he said thickly, reaching for her. "I'll take you in."
Sylvia cringed away from him, feeling his hand close over her blouse.
At the same instant she saw a familiar face come through the door. Finch.
He shoved the drunk away roughly, straightening out his pin striped suit. "Took you longer than we figured," he grinned, motioning for her to follow. "Come on in. The boss's expecting you."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sammy Keller looked for a long time at the wall, his mind apparently some place else. Sylvia, seated in the deep chair, began to wonder if lied forgotten she was there.
At last the dark haired man turned to face her. "So you're the girl that thought sex was ugly," he smiled slowly.
The suddenness of the question startled Sylvia. She took a deep breath. "I suppose I said that." she admitted. "It seems like such a long time ago."
Finch, standing quietly in the corner chuckled.
Keller looked at him coldly. "You better get out front and see how the drunks are doing."
The chubby man shrugged, shuffling out of sight through the door. For an instant Sylvia had a glimpse of a girl, completely naked, moving through the audience, her body brilliantly white in the glare of the spot light.
As the door closed, cutting out the grinding music, Keller picked up a letter opener, fingering it gently. "You've been a busy girl."
"Look, mister Keller," Sylvia said, regaining her courage. "I'll be frank with you. I've made a few mistakes since I arrived in town. But they haven't been my fault. She took a deep breath then continued, "I came here because I thought you were my friend."
"I am," he agreed, smiling, motioning with the letter opener. "Please go on."
Sylvia hesitated then did as he asked. "I thought I could make money in the modeling business. I was wrong. Every man in it is just a lustful s.o.b. But I still want to make money. Lots of it. I thought if you could give me a job out there ... She motioned in the direction Finch had taken. "I might meet someone rich and marry him." She finished rather lamely. Out in the open it sounded strange.
Keller laughed. "You're a frank one. Maybe that's what I always liked about you." He leaned across the desk. "But I think I have a better idea. That's why I've had the boys keep an eye on you." He got up, coming around in front of her, leaning on the desk. "At first you intrigued me. An innocent babe in the big city who thought the big bad wolf was sex." He laughed, selecting a cigar and lighting it. "I didn't figure that could last. And I was right."
Sylvia flushed at the thought.
"But," he continued, "when you got a jolt you went all the way to the other side of the scale, finally ending up in a dirty flat with that character Loring."
"You knew him?" Sylvia asked, surprised.
Keller fingered the cigar. "My boys and he had a nodding acquaintance you might say. But when you got to the end of the dead alley you came to me."
Sylvia shrugged, slightly puzzled at the turn the conversation had taken. "I suppose you're right." She watched as he put his cigar carefully into the elephant shaped ash tray and vanished behind her. Then she felt his hands roaming through her hair.
"You have lovely hair," he said slowly.
"Thank you kind sir," she smiled, looking up into his face, realizing with suddenness that he wasn't bad looking at all, his rugged face with the deep valleys strangely attractive.
As he bent lower she opened her mouth slightly to accept the kiss she was sure was coming. It did, long and lingering. His hand rested briefly on her shoulders, then slid down the twin swells until they each palmed a breast beneath the cloth.
Sylvia trembled at the touch, moaning slightly, surprised at the tenderness he showed.
But she kept her head through the embrace, realizing that this was her chance to use her weapon to the utmost.
"It was an effort but she pulled away, standing in the center of the room, trying to hide her deep breathing. "Finch said you looked on me as a kid sister." she smiled wryly. "You always kiss her like that?"
"No," he admitted. "But that was the old Sylvia. This," he motioned at her. "This is the new one. The exciting woman I knew she could be."
The young girl, still smiling, stepped closer, her fingers loosening the blouse, brushing the cloth aside so he could see the twin loveliness.
Keller sucked in air, looking at her. "They are beautiful. Take off the skirt."
It sounded more like an order. Sylvia hesitated, then let the material slide to the floor. Now she stood in the dimly lighted room in only a pair of high heels.
Keller took her in his arms, pulling her body flat against his. But he didn't kiss her. "You want money," he said. "I'll give it to you."
Sylvia tried to pull away, suddenly disgusted at what he was saying. "I'm not a whore," she snapped, her eyes sparking.
"I didn't mean that." He let her go..
Sylvia, eyeing the man warily found a cigarette and lighted it, leaning her bare buttocks against the desk. "Explain what you mean," she said.
Keller had a hard time dragging his roving eyes off the body. "I want to set you up in an apartment. Give you a bank account and clothes."
"What do you get out of all this?"
Keller came closer, fingering a nipple. "A key," he said simply.
"Why me?" Sylvia waved toward the club. "You have your choice of girls out there."
"Slobs," Keller snapped. "You're fresh and young."
Sylvia smiled suddenly, pushing herself close to him. "What you mean is that you want me for a mistress."
The dark haired man smiled. "That's right."
Sylvia spread her legs slightly, feeling his manliness press against her. She liked the offer. And as she began to move against his body, she knew she'd like that too.
"All right," she agreed huskily. "Try that key on me, see if it fits......now."
The young, good looking redhead threw the fur coat on the floor disdainfully. "I don't like it," she pouted. "It's cheap."
"But madam," the little man with the pointed nose protested, quickly retrieving the coat, dusting it off with rapid motions. "It's one of our best. Fifteen hundred dollars."
"Cheap," she repeated, wrinkling her nose in emphasis. "And I don't want one of your best. I want the best."
Pierre had never quite run up against a woman like this. And it fussed him no little. Mopping his narrow face, he looked around the ornate showroom, movng quickly to a gold gilded cabinet, returning with another fur. "Perhaps you'd be interested in this," he said without much hope. "It's only twenty-five hundred dollars. Mink. Our best coat."
Pierre watched as she tried it on, grimacing at her carelessness A terrible business, he reflected. People always coming off the street, never intending to buy anything. He frowned dark eyebrows at the girl. Typical. He could tell the feelers.
And for an hour she'd taken his time. Soon she'd thank him....if she even bothered to do that....and vanish back onto Michigan Boulevard. A terrible business.
The girl studied herself in the many sided mirror, holding the coat away from her slender body, looking at the effect.
She liked it. "How much did you say?"
Pierre yawned, watching the cigarette in her long holder like a hawk. "Twenty-five hundred, madam."
"Fine," the girl smiled. "I'll take it. "Please charge it to mister Sam Keller."
Pierre looked up sharply. "Who?" he said anxiously.
"Sam Keller. He owns the 671 Club."
"I know him," Pierre agreed. He shivered slightly, wishing he'd taken better care of this particular customer. Keller was no man to fool with. One move ... he made a mental cut across his throat with his finger. But he wasn't leaving that coat out of the store without more information. "What relation are you to mister Keller?"
The girl smiled sweetly. "I'm his mistress." She signed the charge sheet and sauntered from the store, fully conscious that her hips moved more than necessary.
Sylvia sat back in the cab, cuddling in the coat. There was no real need of it. Not now. The warm spring sun had melted what snow remained. Now it brought the first signs of life to the trees in Grant Park as they sped rapidly down the outer drive.
But the fur was more to Sylvia than a coat. It was conquest. Idly she pulled her skirt high, looking at the strip of black panties between her legs. Her weapon. And it'd worked. She laughed gently to herself, thinking of the look on the tiny man's face when she'd mentioned Sammy's name. Scared. Downright frightened. She had the feeling he'd have kissed her feet if she'd asked it. She liked that.
"Pretty good for an Oklahoma gal," she said to herself.
The cabby turned his head. "You say something, lady?"
Sylvia shook her head. "I guess I was thinking out loud," she admitted.
The cab driver kept his face to the rear longer than seemed necessary. Then Sylvia realized she hadn't pulled down her skirt. She did in time for him to lose interest and miss the truck pulling into their lane.
The redheaded girl studied the passing city, humming softly to herself. She really had it by the tail this time. Just as Keller had promised. Money, clothes, an apartment, everything she wanted.
And it still seemed too good to be true In the two weeks since that scene in his office she'd pinched herself black and blue.
And now the coat. She hugged herself, rubbing the luxury of the fur. It made her feel wicked. If being bad had earned her this so quickly why hadn't she started much earlier? By now she could buy the city.
Sylvia shrugged. That would come in time. She knew it.
The cab spun across Wacker Drive, twisting onto north Michigan Boulevard, driving into the exclusive section of the city, passing the old water tower, finally skidding to a stop across the street from the Palmolive building, at the ornate canopy of the Wellington Arms.
A braided doorman snapped to attention, opening the door with such enthusiasm he threatened to wrench it from its hinges. "Good afternoon, Miss Saunders," he smiled professionally.
She dismissed the cab with a bored nod and a five dollar bill, sweeping into the luxurious lobby, holding her head well erect as she headed for the elevator.
She knew they were looking at her. She could feel the eyes of the dozen assembled men. Why not? She was beautiful, her clothes covered little and the dark coat was striking with her long hair streaming down the rear.
She didn't hear the comment of the doorman to the cab driver as he slid back to his seat. "Christ, what a bitch." Or the warning voice of the porter. "Careful. Mac. That's Keller's dame."
As Sylvia left the elevator the feeling of wickedness increased. Instead of heading directly for her apartment she stood by the open picture window overlooking the now thawed lake. Why did she feel this way? Hadn't Sammy taken care of her just last night?
Sylvia shook her head, trying to forget that incident. Impulsively she yanked at the shoulder straps of the dress. They broke easily, allowing her to pull the material to the waist. The fur felt good on the bareness of the breasts, cool and soft.
But it wasn't enough. She unfastened the dress at the hips, forcing it and the panties down her legs. Then, laughing slightly, she picked them up, tossing them from the open window, watching them flutter forty-eight stories to the busy boulevard below.
Now she felt better. Much. She straightened the seams of the remaining stockings, chuckling at her feminine instincts.
Now the coat felt the way a fur should, wrapped around her nakedness.
All this had built a slow fire within the girl. A blaze she'd come to recognize all too well.
And she sobered, realizing with chilling suddenness there was no one to put it out.
The elevator doors whispered open and Sylvia covered herself quickly, averting her gaze from that direction, walking swiftly towards the apartment. A voice barked after her, familiar. Too much so. As she recognized it a thousand emotions poured through her body. She was afraid to look.
But she did.
Barney Fretter stood grinning not twenty feet away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The surprise turned to shocked anger, reflecting through her narrowed eyes. "You," she spat, catching her breath. "Bastard!" She spun on her heels, starting to move away, her insides a seething volcano of forgotten hate.
His hand rested briefly on her shoulder. "Now wait, Sylvia."
She brushed the fingers away, "Wait, hell. I've nothing to say to you."
"Can't I at least talk to you?"
She fumbled nervously for her key, not surprised that her hand shook so hard she had trouble fitting it to the lock. Opening the door she swept into the apartment, attempting to close it in his face. He blocked the panel with his body. "Now look, Barney Fretter," she said, the voice almost a hiss. "Get this straight. I want nothing, absoutey nothing to do with you. Now you get out of here before I make a call and have you put permanently out of circulation."
"You mean Keller?"
"I mean Keller."
Barney smiled slowly, not enough to wipe out the sadness apparent in his face. "That's why I'm here. He asked me to come up."
Sylvia took another deep breath, stunned by what he'd just said. "You're crazy."
"Nope. It's the truth. Or almost so."
"I thought so. You wouldn't know the truth if it sat in your lap. Why would Keller want you to see me?"
"Can I come in?"
"No. Speak your piece and get the hell out of here." Sylvia realized she was still trembling from the sudden meeting. She needed a drink.
Barney fumbled with a camera hanging from his neck. "This Is what brought me. I'm supposed to take pictures."
"Hah," she scoffed. "That's original at least." But in the back of her mind she remembered Sammy saying something about wanting some pictures of her. "Anyhow, you're not a photographer."
The blond figure shrugged. "Not anymore. But before I became an agent I was. That's where I got the idea of the camera clubs."
"Why did he pick you?" she said, still suspicious as hell.
"He didn't. But one of his boys was nosing around a friend of mine's shop asking him if he wanted to take some pictures of Keller's dame. This buddy knew who the dame was and called me, knowing I'd been looking for you." He shrugged. "And here I am."
Some of the angry steam vented from Sylvia. "You couldn't have looked very hard."
"Can I come in?"
She hesitated, keeping the coat tight around her body. "To do what Keller asked. That's all."
Barney sauntered uncertainly into the apartment, his eyes roving the expensive furnishings. He whistled. "Some layout. You've come a long way in a short time."
That pleased Sylvia, that he recognized her conquest. And no matter how mad she was at Barney she had to admit, if only to herself, that he'd been largely responsible. What if he hadn't made love to her? She'd never have known all this. She'd either be back on the farm or pushing a pencil for some fat slob.
I guess I have," she admitted, walking to the portable bar and filling a glass, asking him as an afterthought. "Drink?"
Thanks. I could use one." He accepted the glass, sitting on the couch, his eyes somber on her. "I'd like to apologize," he said slowly.
"For what?" Sylvia noticed that somehow the man seemed different than the one she'd known, more serious. It was obvious something was troubling him.
Barney fingered the frosted glass, hesitating. "I don't quite know how to start. I've been thinking of this for well over a month. And I've been trying to find you to say it."
"Okay, say it. You've found me."
Barney smiled lamely. "It's just that I feel I've been responsible for everything." He looked around the expensive apartment. "For this and the string of men you went to after I first made love to you."
The redheaded girl laughed, finishing her drink, putting another cigarette in the long holder and lighting it. "To tell you the truth I should thank you. I've got what I came to get."
"But look how you had to get it."
"Oh for Christ's sake," Sylvia snapped. "What's the difference?"
"There's a lot of difference. You could have had it your own way if I hadn't got so damned hot pantsed."
"You did, I let you and that's the story of my riches," she smiled.
Barney shrugged, taking another tack. "How well do you know Keller?"
Sylvia feigned modesty. "No, Barney," she warned, "you should know better than that. I'm his mistress."
"I don't mean that," he hastened to add. I mean how well do you know his business?"
The girl fingered the fur coat pointedly. "I know that he makes lots of money."
"How does he get it?"
"Who cares," she shrugged.
Barney exhaled sharply, getting to his feet, staring out the window for a long time, noticing it'd darkened enough to light the Lindberg beacon in the Palmolive Building across the street. He turned suddenly. "He's a cheap hood, controlling his own little section of Chicago for the syndicate. And from what I understand he's not in the best of favor with the big boys upstairs."
"Who cares," Sylvia yawned. "He's generous. That's the main thing."
"Okay," Barney said, suddenly angry. "At least you've been warned. And I tried to apologize." He look the camera from around his neck. "Let's get to the pictures."
During the conversation Sylvia had been trying to think of a way to get even with Barney for that night the girl had answered the door. Now as she saw him getting ready to go to work the glimmer of an idea entered her mind. She held it there, waiting the proper time to bring it out. "How about a picture of me in the coat first?"
"Fine," he agreed. "Stand by the coffee table. No, not that way." He approached her, smoothing out the long red hair, draping it just so down her shoulders. Not satisfied with the fit of the fur he grasped it by the lapels. It gapped open in his hands, exposing a narrow strip the length of her body. "You don't believe much in clothes do you?" he muttered, closing it.
The girl shook her head. "Not really." And she knew he was working into her plan.
Barney finished the picture and poured another drink for himself. "These next ones are specials. The kind only a man like Keller could want."
"So?" she questioned.
"He said to take some sexy ones."
Sylvia smiled to herself. That was good, she thought. It gave her the excuse she wanted, to parade herself in front of him. And he wouldn't be able to do a thing about it, not if he didn't want his head handed to him by Keller.
She let the coat slide to the floor. "Like this?" she smiled.
Barney nodded silently, noting how the long heeled shoes and dark stockings creeping three quarters up the thighs added emphasis to her slenderness. He knew he was breathing hard but was determined not to show it, "Like that," he agreed, taking the picture.
Sylvia noticed the lack of emotion in his face. And she became determined to break it. She fingered the long hair hiding her breasts aside enough for the nipples to show through. "Why not a close up of them?" she suggested.
He came closer, seemingly taking a long time snapping the shutter as she held the breasts pointed straight at the lens.
Giggling slightly, the girl leaned forward. The nipple touching the front of the camera, smudging the glass.
Sylvia began breathing heavily herself. She realized his eyes had become a blowtorch burning her skin. And at the same instant knew that she wanted two opposites. to have him make love to her and get even with him for that awful night.
How?
The girl glanced at the small clock above the bar. And she knew how It was difficult to keep from laughing.
Smiling, she got to her feet, walking to the bar, moving her bare hips suggestively. She poured a drink and swallowed it. It didn't cool her. She knew nothing would. Not now. And she thought of Barney in the old days. He'd been quite a man. Had he changed? She meant to find out.
The girl turned her back to him. "Are my seams straight?"
And Barney laughed. A loud sound in the sudden quiet of the room. "Damned," he swore. "Stripped to the bare skin rug and she wants to know about her seams."
"Are they?" she repeated.
His eyes flowed from the shoulders almost hidden by the long hair, down the back, paused at the firm buttocks, then lowered to the dark stockings. "No," he said, sweat forming on his forehead.
She sat down on the couch, raising one leg towards him, carefully covering between her legs with her hand. "Then take them off, Barney," she said huskily.
"This could lead to trouble," he warned her.
Sylvia took a deep breath, the action quivering her breasts. "That's my middle name. I wasn't this way before. I hated it. But I've changed You did it. Now when I look at a man I feel all funny inside."
"I'm sorry."
She put the glass down on the arm of the couch. "Don't be sorry, Barney. Just finish what you started."
He looked at her sharply. "You mean that?"
She switched on the light, flooding the narrow area with a yellow glow. Red hair covered the breasts. She brushed it aside. "You still think I'm beautiful?"
"Christ, yes."
"How can you tell? I've got clothes on. She ran her red nails beneath the nylon. "Take them off. Then tell me I'm beautiful" She shivered at the touch of his rough hands as they ripped at the stockings, jerking them to the floor. "NTow am I beautiful?" she smiled, her heart pounding. She wiggled her toes, ran her hands up the insides of her thighs, caressed her breasts and finished by running her fingers through her hair, adding, "From head to toe?"
Barney nodded somberly. "Good lord, yes."
Sylvia was teasing. She knew it and enjoyed every second. But she was hot, terribly hot It was an effort to keep her hips from working, showing the man how much she wanted him. That would come in time. And when it did she'd have the last laugh.
Barney sat on the coffee table facing her his jaw muscles working. He put his hands between her knees, forcing them slightly apart, moving slowly up between the thighs.
"You shouldn't." she said, watching the creeping fingers. "That's private property."
He took a breast in his hand, kneading the softness, forcing the nipple between his fingers, watching it grow. "That too?"
Passion began pouring into Sylvia's veins. She'd teased too close to the cliff. "You've got squatter's rights," she whispered, taking her hand away so his could reach her warmth moaning slightly as he fondled her loveliness.
She felt him force her down on the couch, opened her mouth wide to accept his. driving her tongue deep as a demand of what she wanted. The lovely feeling grew more intense as he ripped off his shirt, feeling the hair on his chest rub her breasts like sandpaper.
"Oh, Barney," the girl moaned, beginning to press in regular motions against his body. "It's good. So good. Make it even better." Fumbling, she unhooked his belt, his skin warm on her hands as she pressed the clothes to the floor, felt his strong body, the muscles hard beneath her hands. She slid the fingers to the other side, moaned at what she found, moved her body to accept it. " You're all man," she panted. "Every bit of you."
Sweat streaming down his face, Barney kissed her hair, forehead, chin, slid down the sweat covered valley to the stomach, sank even lower until she cried with pleasure.
Deep in passion. Sylvia made little noises at the caressing mouth, worked her body against it, felt it draw more pleasure than she'd ever known.
At last he looked into her face, grinning, panting. "You ready?"
"Lord, yes!" She buried his mouth in hers, wet, lovely.
"Where?"
"The bedroom. We'll need room, lots of it."
Strong arms carried the naked girl through the opening, her long hair plastered across his face as their mouths drew at each other.
Sylvia felt the cool sheet beneath her back, stretched languidly on it. watching the naked man at the foot of the bed studying her. "Like me?"
She lifted a bare foot between his legs, wiggling her toes. "I like it." She lifted her arms towards the man. "Come to me. I'm ready."
Two wet, slippery bodies came together and the springs began to squeak. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, in the rhythm of love. .
Sylvia slid into passion feeling his strength on her, pushing her to greater and greater heights until suddenly she was on top of a mountain. Something wonderful flowed through her veins and as the weakness overcame her the room filled with a woman's satisfied scream.
For a long time Sylvia watched the man's fingers fondle the nipple, bending it this way and that, pushing it down into the full breast, leave it for a second, going to the other one. And even though satisfied the gentle fingers did strange things to her. She reached her own hand across to the figure next to her, caressing him.
"You shouldn't do such things," his deep voice said.
She slapped his fingers playfully. "Neither should you. Trying to heat me up again?"
The hand palmed one breast, building it to a small mountain. "Am I succeeding?"
Sylvia laughed gently, moving onto her side, placing one leg over his thigh until they came together again. "What do you think?"
Now their faces were against each other. And his was serious. "There's something I want to tell you."
Sylvia kissed him lingeringly. "What?"
"I love you."
The girl moved away a little, surprise on her face. "You said that once before."
"I know," he agreed.-But this time I'm serious. I want to marry you."
That startled Sylvia good. "You what?" she snapped.
"I want to marry you. Is that so bad?"
"What about Keller? He might have something to say about that. I am his mistress."
For some reason the idea Sylvia'd had when she'd begun teasing him now seemed sour in her mouth. "You'd better go," she said suddenly.
But before he had a chance to answer she heard the key rattle in the lock to the apartment. A million things went through the girl's mind at once. This was as she'd planned. But now it seemed wrong. She'd led Barney into a trap in her desire for revenge. But just the simple proposal made things different. Not that she wanted any part of him. But he'd been honest.
But she had herself to look out for. She'd worked hard to get this far. And she wasn't about to lose everything.
And the girl began to scream, loud, wild, in terror. "Help me....for god's sake help me," she yelled. "He's raped me!"
And as her frenzy increased, Barney sprang from the bed, suddenly confused at the accusations, looking at Sylvia as if she'd gone mad.
And then the man's face turned to chalk. He'd spotted Sammy Keller in the doorway of the bedroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sylvia threw herself into Keller's arms, sobbing violently. "It was horrible!" she cried. "He came here claiming you wanted him to take pictures of me naked. When I was that way he forced me into bed!"
Barney opened his mouth to say something. But his shock at the girl's story was so great that nothing came out. And he was scared. Damned scared. This man was no one to fool with. Had Sylvia lost her mind? And then he saw the light. Too late. She'd played him for a sucker, knowing Keller was due. This was her way of getting even.
Keller's face flickered anger. "This true?"
Barney shrugged, finding his voice. "No. But why fight it."
The dark haired man looked at the bed for a long time, then glanced into the other room at the tattered stockings and fur coat.
"He tried to rape me," Sylvia screamed, trying to get some reaction out of the man.
Keller's hand moved so fast it couldn't be seen, striking Sylvia's face a glancing blow, pushing her back onto the bed. "Cut it," he snapped. "Who you trying to kid?" He waved a hand at her body. "Look at you. Not a mark. You expect me to believe that cock and bull story about rape?" He snorted. "I know what a raped dame looks like."
He turned back to Barney. "Aren't you the guy that got her involved with that photo deal a couple of months back?"
Barney nodded.
"I thought so," Keller said, pleased with himself. "So you come up here with great apologies. But my little girl there's still sore. She figures on getting even by me walking in....while getting a little on the side for herself." He tapped the side of his head. "Sharp thinking."
"No," Sylvia protested.
"Shut up," Keller ordered. "I wasn't talking to you."
He returned to the blonde headed man, looking a little strange standing naked in the middle of the room. "Let me give you a tip. I like this doll. A lot. And I went to much trouble to get her into my stable. Maybe you remember a character named Loring she holed up with for a time." Keller chuckled, finding a cigar and lighting it. "Well this Loring met with a strange accident giving me a clear field."
Sylvia, laying motionless on the bed, shivered.
She remembered a comment Finch had made concerning Loring. "We had a nodding acquaintance."
Keller smiled coldly, walking into the living room and returning with the fur coat, stroking it gently. "I'll tell you what, Sylvia," he said slowly, enjoying himself immensely. "I've always been a fair man. You like this guy. You go ahead and leave with him. Of course," he stroked the coat gently. "This stays here. Along with the bank account"
The room lapsed into silence. Barney looked at the girl on the "bed. But she didn't see him, her eyes on Keller, moving her legs apart slowly, her voice husky. "It's still warm, Sammy, Why don't you use it?"
Keller chuckled, starting to take off his coat, watching the speed with which the angry Barney got dressed. He winked broadly at the younger man. "Guess you better go. Three's a crowd."
And as the blonde headed man reached the front door Keller called after him. "If any of those pictures come out send me a couple."
Still chuckling he dropped the rest of his clothes to the floor and climbed into bed, feeling Sylvia's strong legs wrapped around him. "Now that you had practice let's see you give me the main event," he smiled....
The old man looked up from his racing sheet casually, automatically flipping the register board around. And then he saw the young redhead patiently waiting attention. The old wrinkles in his face split as he smiled a friendly greeting. "Well," he said. "What have we here?"
"I want a room," Sylvia hesitated, looking around at the deserted, dust covered lobby.
The old man glanced at the clock behind the desk. "You're a mite early. It's only eight o'clock in the morning."
"Never mind," she said impatiently. "Have you a room?"
"Sure," he spat. "We got lots of rooms." He looked at her feet. "Baggage?"
"No."
"Have to pay in advance. Ten dollars."
The old man waited patiently while she fished in her purse for the money. He couldn't help noticing the coat. Damned expensive. Why was she bothering with this flea bag hotel? Probably a man, he reflected. Darned lucky fella whoever he was. He took the bill she handed him. "You expecting someone?"
Sylvia nodded. "Yes. Please send him right up."
"What's his name?"
"Mister Fretter." She added a five to the ten. "Please don't let anyone else come up."
The old man winked broadly, palming the money. "You bet. I understand."
The room was filthy. And the only view a back alley. But Sylvia didn't care. After a week of worry she'd at last made up her mind and she wanted to get this over with before she changed it again.
Her hands were sweating as she picked up the phone, giving the switchboard a number.
It rang a long time. And Sylvia was afraid no one would answer, her heart speeding up.
And it leaped ahead as Barney spoke groggily into the mouthpiece. "Yeah?"
Sylvia looked around nervously, and she realized she was speaking in confidential tones. 'Barney? This is Sylvia."
The man at the other end was instantly awake. "Now what the hell do you want?"
"I wanted to apologize about the other night."
"That's all we ever seem to do," Barney growled. "Apologize to each other."
"I was scared."
"Who wasn't," he admitted. "But what about the act of me raping you? Now that was a hell of a thing to do."
"I guess I was trying to get even."
"You damned near got me shot."
"Never mind. I want to see you right away."
"For what?" Barney became suddenly wary.
Sylvia wiped perspiration from her hand, transferring the instrument to the other palm. "You asked me a question, remember."
"Sure," he agreed. "We all have our weak moments."
"The answer is yes."
There was a long silence at the other end, only the sound of a man breathing hard coming through. At last he spoke again. "You sure?"
"I'm certain. I've been thinking about it all week."
"Where are you."
"The Lake Street Hotel. Room 505."
"I know where it is. But why all the cloak and dagger stuff?"
"Do I have to tell you?"
"Skip it. I understand. I'll be right over."
The connection went dead.
Sylvia sat on the edge of the bed, lighting a cigarette with a shaking hand, glad that the call was made.
The past week had been a living hell. She really couldn't understand why. Keller had acted as if nothing had ever happened, even adding a thousand dollars to her bank account.
But she'd kept thinking of Barney and the proposal. And every time Sammy came into her room at night for his quota she found herself comparing the two men in loving techniques.
And there was no comparison. Sammy might be a top boy in the rackets but he was nowhere in bed.
She couldn't be certain if that'd influenced her decision. She wasn't sure. Maye she'd grown afraid of Sammy after that night, after seeing his coldness out in the open. Or perhaps it was the fact that he'd had something to do with Loring.
But what did she want? At one time it was the money to buy and sell Chicago. Now she wasn't sure. Maybe she needed a good man around all the time.
At first she'd thought of how much she'd have to give up to marry Barney.
But there was one thing more. And for some strange reason she'd begun to hate the name. Mistress. She didn't want to be one. It had an ugly sound.
And she'd figured a way to keep the bank account and the coat....and still marry a real man.
The knock at the door startled her. Could it be Barney? There hardly seemed time. Perhaps Finch had followed her, despite her precautions. She'd certainly thought it safe to slip out at this time of the morning.
"Open up," a familiar voice barked through the wood. Barney!
Sylvia swung open the door, waited for him to come in, then threw herself into his arms, kissing him violently, drawing fresh strength from his response.
At length he pushed her away, grinning. "Now that's the way I like to be met." He shut the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. looking around, shuddering. "You sure picked a creepy joint."
Sylvia smiled, sitting beside him, putting his hand firmly on her lap. "It's the only place I could think of that Sammy or his boys might not look for me."
"They looking?"
She shook her head, the red hair catching the morning light flowing through the window. "No. They'd never expect me to be up this early."
She leaned over, kissing him passionately, feeling the fingers on her lap react by fondling her through the clothes "I do love you, Barney," she said softly, pulling away.
"Fine. When do we get married?"
"That's what I want to talk to you about."
Barney frowned. "Now you didn't get me up here on a wild goose chase did you?" Storm flags flew in his eyes.
She kissed him lightly again. "Of course not," she smiled. "I just want to ask a question." She stood up and slid off the coat, wiping perspiration from her forehead "It's hot in here."
"Take off the dress," he suggested.
"You'd be disappointed. I'm wearing a full quota of clothes."
"You don't expect me to let my future wife out of this room without showing her what kind of a man she has," Barney grinned. He stood up, unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it on the chair.
Sylvia sucked in her breath as the strong chest came into view. "Be serious, Barney," she smiled.
"I am," he grinned. "You said it was hot. I'm cooling off."
Sylvia laughed, turning her back to him. "You win. Unzip me." He did and she finished by unhooking the belt of the black, high necked dress, grasping the hem, pulling it over her head, adding it to his shirt. The full slip clung to the slender body.
"Be serious for a moment," she cautioned, pulling away, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling her slip up high enough so his hands could go beneath. "That should hold the animal in you for the time being."
"All right," he agreed dutifully. "You had a question to ask. Go ahead."
"Are you willing to leave the city and start someplace else?"
"That's a tough one," he admitted, drawing his hand from her, finding a cigarette and lighting it. "You mean sever all connections here?"
"That's right?"
"Where could we go?"
Sylvia unhooked a stocking from her garter belt, rolling it to the floor, knowing she'd have to sooner or later. "Maybe the west coast. You're smart. You could begin over again."
"You're that scared of Keller?"
The girl unfastened the other stocking, repeating the process, leaving the slip high enough so the slash of white panties could be seen "I don't think I'm really scared of Sammy. But I'd rather be cautious."
"Then you're planning to take the money he gave you plus the fur coat?"
Sylvia leaned her back towards him. He took the hint and unfastened the brassiere. "I am. Any objections? I earned them."
She pushed his hand away. "Be patient. It'll keep."
"When do you want to leave?"
"This afternoon."
"Woosh," Barney spat, getting to his feet, a strange looking figure pacing the floor in his shorts. "That's asking a lot."
"You said you loved me." she pouted. "Or is it only my body you're fond of?"
He took both breasts in the palms of his hands and kissed her on top of the head, moving away again. "It could be done I suppose." he admitted. "There's nothing really holding me here. Since the raid, business has been bad with the city cracking down." He looked at her sharply. "How do you figure on getting away?"
"I think I have that figured out. I'll take a cab from the hotel and leave everything in the apartment so Sammy won't suspect. You be waiting in front of the old water tower at four thirty. I'll pick you up there and we can go directly to the airport." She hesitated, adding. "There is one thing. You say Sammy is part of a syndicate. Maybe he can get to me through his friends on the west coast."
Barney laughed harshly. "No chance of that. From what I hear mister Keller is currently without friends and in danger of the rub out."
Barney made a motion with his hands. "They plan to kill him."
Sylvia shivered, glad now she'd made the right decision. She glanced at her watch. "It's getting late. I'd better leave now so I can get the money from the bank."
Barney stood in front of her. his hands on the girl's bare shoulders. "Not quite yet. We have unfinished business."
Sylvia smiled, fingering the elastic in his shorts, tugging them downwards, smiling up at him as they fell to the floor. "We do," she admitted, grasping him.
When she looked up again passion streaked through the eyes. "I want to be loved, Barney," she said slowly, roaming his body freely with her hands. "Love me like you never have before. Hurt me. Make me cry."
The man gently pushed her back onto the bed, swinging her feet until the hair formed a red cloud on the pillow. For a long minute he studied the slender beauty, bare from the shoulders to the waist, the breasts twin mountains. He kneeled next to her, running his hand tenderly up her legs, watching the pleasured expression as he fondled the narlow white strip of panties, creeping beneath the edges with his fingers, listening to the moan as he touched it.
"Your hand feels good, Barney," she said softly, clamping hers over his, pressing it even tighter.
"Lovely....lovely....lovely," she panted, feeling his warm lips move upwards, kissing every inch on the way to her mouth. "Do it like I were your wife," she demanded, wrapping her legs about him waiting for the crucial moment.
She screamed in ecstasy as he did....
Sylvia checked everything for the tenth time. They were all there on the dresser. Two thousand dollars from the bank. What make-up she'd need. And the fur coat.
She looked at her watch. Three thirty. A half hour to go. Nervously she paced the apartment, somewhat stiffly after the morning affair. But the stiffness served as a good reminder of the happiness that was to come.
And Hollywood. She liked the sound, glad that she'd been able to talk Barney into it, knowing that she'd never have agreed to marry him if he hadn't wanted to go. Perhaps she was being a trifle selfish using the man that way. But she'd never really gotten over the shock of seeing that girl in the apartment.
Not that it mattered now. She thought she loved him. And she was giving up a lot to be with him.
Sylvia smoked the cigarette in her hand, looking out the window. How things had changed since she'd arrived, she thought. The lake was now a deep azure blue. And spring had filled the park with lively green.
Chicago almost looked good to her. But she wasn't sorry to leave it behind.
She stopped in front of the mirror, admiring the sleek form fitting dress. Chicago wasn't all that'd changed. She had. If she was honest she could see it. She looked older, more like the woman of the world she was. And a certain hardness had crept in around the eyes.
No matter, she thought, snuffing out the cigarette. She was in a hell of a lot better shape than the poor kid who'd come here on the bus.
She wandered back to the dresser, for a long time staring at the blank manila envelope. Barney had given her that, warning her not to open it until they were together again. A surprise he'd called it.
But it was time to leave. With a final look of. regret at the expensive apartment she moved towards the door. And then her skin turned cold as it opened in her face. Sammy Keller stepped in front of her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"I was just leaving," she stammered, sick inside at the interruption. "It'll wait," he snapped.
And for the first time Sylvia got a good look at the man. His usually rugged face was a pasty gray. Something seemed very wrong. He sank heavily onto the couch.
Sylvia fumbled for some good excuse. "I have a date at the hairdresser." Very poor.
"It will wait," he repeated, this time anger showing through.
Maybe she could get rid of him faster if she took time to talk. "You don't look so good." she said, moving in front of him 'Anything wrong?"
Keller shook his head. He seemed suddenly tired and very old. "Sit down." He indicated a spot next to her. "I want to talk to you."
Sylvia sank onto the indicated cushion, her insides a turmoil at the unexpected delay. Would Barney wait?
Sammy Keller took a deep breath, seemingly needing it, finding a cigar, spitting the tip onto the floor and lighting it. "You like me?" he said slowly.
The question was so simple it confused the girl. "Of course," she admitted puzzled.
Keller managed a smile. It seemed a genuine effort. "That's nice. It's good to know I have some friends left."
"But I really have to run," she said, starting to get up. "Can't we talk some other time?"
His hand grabbed her roughly, hurting, pulling her back onto the couch. "No," he said sharply. "It's got to be said now." He took a deep breath and continued. "I'm worth maybe half a million dollars. The money's scattered in five banks through the country."
"Why you telling me this?".
"You'll see." He seemed much calmer than he did when he'd first entered the room. He held a key out in front of her. "If anything should ever happen to me you grab this key. It's to a locker down at the Lake Street E! Station. In the locker are five other keys to safety deposit boxes in those cities."
Sylvia was confused at the sudden turn of events. She wanted to get away. But not quite as desperately as before. The sound of a half million dollars had charmed her. "I still don't understand," she admitted.
"You don't have to," he snapped. "Just if anything happens to me you grab that key. The money's yours."
Sylvia caught the gasp in her throat. What was he talking about? A half million dollars ... hers?
But Keller broke into her thoughts. "Of course there's a catch," he added, smiling wryly. "I'm leaving town within the next half hour. And I want you to come."
So that was it, she thought. He was using the money as bait to keep her as his mistress. A lousy joke.
But before she could express the anger she felt he reached into his pocket and pulled out a box, handing it to her. "Open it," he suggested.
Sylvia hesitated, then snapped the lid back. She was almost blinded by the size of the diamond ring. "Good lord," she whispered in awe. "I've never seen a ring that big."
"Five thousand bucks worth," he grinned. "All yours for being such a good friend. I know I'm a lousy lover. You deserve a bonus."
But even that wasn't enough, the girl thought. Not to put up with fear the rest of her life....not to mention keeping the name she'd come to hate . ... mistress.
But Keller wasn't through. "I figured you and I could leave here this afternoon, drive up to Wisconsin, stop long enough to see a minister and get married, then go on to California."
One word in the sentence stuck out like a neon sign . ... "Did you say get married?"
Keller nodded, knocking ashes onto the floor.
"Sure," he admitted. "Why not. I've liked you from the start. And I'm in pretty deep trouble. I'd like to have a pretty face around me as long as I'm still here. So why not make it legal?"
And Sylvia suddenly understood everything. Like Barney had said, Keller was headed for the rub out. And from the looks of the man he knew it.
Now what did she do? Thoughts flitted through her mind with the speed of an express train. If he was killed then she, as his wife, would own all that money. A half million dollars. How big a pile would that make in the living room? Lovely, wonderful money, all hers for putting up with Sammy for a week, a month, maybe even a year if he was lucky.
And she thought of Barney waiting in front of the water tower. What about him? She'd promised to go to California with the man.
But that was stupid, she thought. Here, with Keller, she'd have a real chance at that brass ring she'd sought so hard to catch.
Barney was fine as a sex partner. But with all that money she could buy them by the bushel. Perhaps she did love the man. But why not admit it, she loved money more. She'd do it.
Sylvia nodded agreement, getting to her feet, sliding the ring on her finger, noting it was too large. "We had better get going," she suggested, slightly fearful Barney would call the apartment in desperation.
Keller smiled broadly and waited at the door while she picked up the envelope and her purse.
Sylvia looked back briefly at the apartment. Now she was glad to see it go. There were better things ahead.
But she was a trifle sorry that Sammy decided to go down Michigan Boulevard. As they swept past the water tower in the open convertible she saw Barney, checking his watch.
And at that moment she was glad of her decision. So much so that as he looked up and recognized her in the car she waved gaily, enjoying the shocked look spreading across his face. This was fine revenge.
Sylvia slid closer to the man next to her, hugging his arm, looking at the sun drenched city. She had come to Chicago to conquer. And she had....
EPILOGUE
The early morning sun poured coldly down on the small knot of people gathered near the car parked at the curb, held back to a respectable distance by the uniformed men gathered at the scene.
A convertible, it looked more like a sieve, the rising light probing out more than two dozen holes punctured in the bright red metal. Highway traffic bent gingerly away, avoiding bits of glass left from what had been a windshield. A mild breeze fluttered the shattered canvas top.
A small wiry figure in a shabby bathrobe stood nearer than the rest, flanked by two patrolmen with the emblem; WISCONSIN STATE POLICE stitched on their sleeves.
"Damndest thing I ever heard of," he stammered nervously, rubbing the stubble of a beard. "Came out here this morning to get the paper and saw this." He pointed a shaking finger at the car.
One of the troopers fingered a bullet hole piercing the door. "You didn't hear anything?"
"Nope." The narrow faced man shook his head emphatically. "Nothing I'd recognize. But who would with cars up and down this highway all the time?"
The second trooper watched the ambulance attendant Wheel away one of the two figures spread beneath white sheets. "A hell of a deal," he said, his face gray. "Never saw such a mess. Machine gun did it. No doubt of that. Came up beside 'em while they were parked and let go. Chewed them to ribbons." He looked sick.
The taller of the two patrolmen turned to the little man. "Ever see them before?"
"Nope."
He looked at his partner. "Any ideas?"
The trooper propped his clip board on the hood, starting his report. "Yeah." He fumbled through the papers he'd retrieved from the car, dried blood vivid against the white. "The guy was Sammy Keller. We just had an APB on him. The syndicate was out for him. They were followed. When they stopped they'd had it."
"Why the hell did they stop?"
The trooper poised his pencil above his report, rubbing his chin looking at the sign on the little man's lawn ... WEDDINGS $5.00. "Gonna get married I guess."
"What about the girl? She sure picked one hell of a time to get hitched. They were after Keller and she got it by accident."
"Mistress I guess. All those guys got them." He noted the name down on the report....Sylvia Saunders, Occupation, Mistress.
The second trooper stuck his head in the car, sickening at the splattered blood. When he came out he handed a manila envelope to his partner. "Where'd you get this?"
"Back seat. We missed it first time over." The trooper shrugged, opening the package, drawing out a popular weekly magazine. For a long time he stared at the cover. "Too bad," he said slowly. "She was a pretty girl."
His partner looked over his shoulder at the picture of a young girl in a fur coat on the cover "Yeah," he agreed. "She sure as hell was. Wonder how she got mixed up with a guy like him? She didn't need the dough. Those gals make plenty."
"Dames are funny," the first trooper philosophized. "You never know." He turned the pencil around, energetically erasing the girl's occupation, replacing it with another . ... Model.
