It was ten in the morning on a mid-April day, with spring making one of its glorious pre-season sorties into town. Along the Henry Hudson Parkway, great masses of golden flowers splashed color across the landscape, and trees bore the first brave green shoots of the year. The air was deceptively warm, laden with promise. But on the front seat of the white convertible with Illinois license plates, Vicky Allison stared from the window and saw nothing that her mother pointed out-not the apartment buildings rising high above Riverside Drive, the majestic Hudson River, nor the cabin cruisers tied up at the boat basin.
"Darling, you'll love New York." Her mother tried again, for the thousandth time, to break through the stubborn rebellion brought on by the unexpected move from Chicago to New York.
"I loved Chicago," Vicky reminded, stormy blue eyes clashing for an instant with her mother's. She tossed the long, silken, pale blond hair from her shoulders in a gesture of defiance, adjusted the beautiful slack-clad legs beneath her. "I'm supposed to graduate in three months!" Her voice deepened in rebellion. "In Chicago I was Letter queen-there was so much fun!" In Chicago she had been voted Prettiest Girl in the Senior Class. In New York, she would be nobody, she thought with recurrent fury. How could her mother do this to her, with no more than three weeks warning?
"Darling," Lee Allison's husky chuckle dispelled for the moment the look of anxiety from her attractive face, "you'll do all right in Chicago or New York or Timbuctoo. You have the equipment, baby," she said with the frankness that was part of their relationship.
A pocket of traffic brought the car to a standstill. Vicky sulked in frustration, ignoring her mother's complacent inspection. So her mother was proud because she was stacked like some Hollywood movie starlet-that hadn't stopped her from grabbing this kooky job in New York.
"I don't have to go back to school at all." Vicky slyly watched this small bomb explode. "Who needs it?"
"You need it," her mother flashed back. "You graduate high school, and then you go college." Lee Allison's hands gripped tensely at the wheel. "We won't hear anything more about dropping out, Vicky." It was a command.
"You didn't go to college," Vicky reminded restlessly.
"I didn't have the chance," her mother pointed out. "At seventeen I married your father. You were born thirteen months later." The pocket of traffic broke up; the cars began to move. "It would have been an awful lot easier for me, with college, those first years after your father was killed in Korea."
"You're doing okay," Vicky flipped. "Without college." Normally, she took great pride in her mother. Not many kids her age had a mother as young and as gorgeous as Lee, with a job in a glamour business like records. She had just about gone ape when Lee was trotting around with the Five Winds, when they were recording for Lee's company this winter. Wow, had that raised her stock at school! "I just wish they could have waited until summer to give you this new job."
"It's a new record company, baby. They're in a rush to get off the ground. I need them more than they need me, so I had to grab when the offer came," her mother pointed out matter-of-factly. "Vicky, do you realize what a break this is for me, to go in as A&R chief at Rajah Records?"
Lee's hazel eyes glowed as she contemplated the future. Vicky felt a stirring of guilt. So she was a stinker to bellyache like this. But it was awful for her to be cut away from her own school and all her friends this way, in her senior year, with graduation practically falling on them. It was going to be terrible in New York, Vicky thought in young despair. If it got too bad, Vicky promised herself resolutely, she would just drop out. She would cut out of school and out of New York. She was almost eighteen. What could Lee do about it?
Vicky sat in stony silence as her mother struggled to find her way through the narrow, picturesque Greenwich Village streets. If this were a visit, Vicky admitted inwardly, she would be out of her mind with excitement. With a sigh of relief, Lee spotted the luxury apartment building where she had rented an apartment for them, on the earlier flight into New York, when the job had been officially sewed up.
"There it is, baby," Lee crooned. "Home. We have garage space, so we won't have to worry about the car.
"The rent's wild," Vicky reminded, with a need to be pessimistic. How could anything be right, away from Chicago?
"So's my salary," Lee tossed back lightly.
Lee drove into the garage, and in minutes a porter was helping them with luggage, and they were en route to the eighteenth floor apartment. Lee glanced at her watch as the elevator soared. "Sweetie, you won't be upset if I go straight in to the office, will you? No point in worrying about school today, with the weekend practically here. First thing Monday we'll check you into school. Tomorrow, we'll do some mad shopping. It's coming to us." She squeezed Vicky in a rush of affection as the porter unlocked the door, and thrust it wide for them to enter.
"What do you think of the place?" Lee demanded, when they were alone.
"It's okay," Vicky said coolly, though it was difficult not to be impressed with the opulence, in contrast to the modest place in Chicago that belonged to less affluent days.
"Let me put on fresh makeup and get out of here," Lee said exuberantly, yet Vicky sensed she was nervous about the new job. "If you get lost among these crazy streets, just hop a cab and get back home. We'll go out somewhere special for dinner," Lee promised, pulling makeup from her purse and sauntering towards the bathroom.
For long minutes after Lee left the apartment, Vicky stood at the eighteenth story window and gazed at the sweep of low buildings below. Here and there another luxury building such as this was breaking up the symmetry of small buildings with their patches of garden to the rear. Back home everybody was in school; it was the first week back after spring vacation. Spring vacation had not been much fun this year, not with New York staring her in the face.
In a sudden determination, Vicky ran a brush over the hair that tumbled to her shoulders and guided the extravagant fluff of bangs across her forehead into position. Then she reached for her suede jacket, her purse, and the keys her mother had left on the dresser in her own bedroom. She might as well go out and take a look at Greenwich Village, if she were going to live here.
Defiant about asking directions, Vicky roamed at random, intent on finding her way to Washington Square. She had a teacher last year who did postgraduate work in New York. He never stopped talking about Greenwich Village. Finally, she capitulated, and asked directions at a corner newsstand.
Vicky walked swiftly, refusing to acknowledge her eagerness to see Washington Square. And suddenly there it was, sprawling before her. On a day like this the Square spilled over with humanity. Vicky's gaze swept from the young mothers and nurses with babies, strolling or lounging on benches, to the clusters of her contemporaries that dotted the sidewalks, huddled in high spirits against the iron railings.
Her pace slackened. Despite her determination to play it cool, she found herself stirring with anticipation. She looked about, intrigued with much that met her eyes. These were students from New York University, she guessed. What had her literature teacher said? Washington Square was practically the NYU campus.
Covertly, Vicky inspected the girls. Most of them looked like grinds, she told herself scornfully. She could hold her own with any girl she had seen so far. The prognosis was stimulating. Confidence took deeper root as she intercepted the male glances that were appraising her appreciatively.
She hesitated at the center, where the fountain was a late-morning solarium for hordes of young people in a variety of moods. Some gathered together in noisy argument, some lay back in abject sun-worship. Several studied, with an absorption that shut out the rest of the world. At one side a group was surrounding a tall, rangy fellow with a shaggy-dog haircut, probing blue eyes, and a rapt expression. The rapt expression was due to the words pouring forth from his mouth as he sang along with the guitar clutched to his bosom.
"Old Bret isn't bad," a voice commented at her side.
Vicky looked up with a start, pleasantly surprised by what met her gaze. From the books he clutched, Vicky guessed that he was a student-junior or senior. Fairly tall, though not as tall as "Old Bret"-and she liked his dark-haired, dark-eyed look of quiet intensity.
"I've heard worse," she said with the air of a connoisseur, conscious that she was being avidly inspected.
"Of course, he pours it on a bit. Especially on weekends when the tourists invade. Hear him over at the Dark Room?"
"I just got into town this morning," Vicky said, striving for an air of sophistication. "I've seen nothing so far."
"Well, somebody better take on your education," he grinned. "Jim Hastings, guide to the Village."
"Vicky Allison," she said, exhilarated by his interest. "Late of Chicago."
"Welcome, Vicky Allison, late of Chicago," he drawled. "Come, let me buy you a cup of coffee and cement this friendship." He glanced at his watch. "I have twenty-five minutes before my next class."
"That's long enough for coffee," she conceded, letting him pilot her towards the Arch. Was it supposed to be a copy of the Arch of Triumph in Paris, she wondered?
"What brought you to New York?" Jim pursued, obviously complacent about having brought off this meeting. "Not a transfer student," he guessed, "if you just arrived this morning. Art student? Dancer?" He lifted an eyebrow in comical inquiry. "Actress?"
"Just looking," she explained, giving it undertones of sophisticaton way beyond her. "It sounded like a good idea to give New York a whirl." He would drop her in a hurry if he found out she was still in high school, Vicky thought uneasily.
The light changed to green and they crossed to Washington Square North. His eyes strayed religiously to the high rise of her breasts, pushing audaciously against the blue cashmere sweater. His hand at her elbow was faintly caressing. He must be a college junior or senior, Vicky decided, heady with triumph.
"Where are you living?" he probed. "Right here in the neighborhood?" He was going to ask her for a date, Vicky guessed.
"I'm staying with friends of my mother's, around here," she fabricated quickly, feeling herself grow warm with the lie. "Until I find a job, get settled." She shrugged, making it seem a matter of little importance. The deception intrigued her.
They went inside the student-crowded coffee shop and hovered over a pair who seemed on the verge of abdicating a pair of stools. She had been in New York less than two hours, Vicky marveled, and she had collected a real hip character like Jim Hastings. Suddenly, New York no longer loomed as a disaster.
"Look, I'm going to have to beat it to class in a few minutes," Jim said with apology, after they had gone through some verbal sparring over coffee and a donut. Vicky was being charmingly vague about where she lived, and was relieved that he wasn't pushing. The mystery bit was going over sensationally. She congratulated herself-he was popping with curiosity. "What do you say we make the Village scene tonight, Vicky?" He frowned, fleetingly. "I had something doing, but it isn't important." Which was to say, Vicky interpreted, that this was important.
"Sounds like a great idea," Vicky approved after a fraction of hesitation. Lee was broad-minded, but instinct warned her there might be a battle over this date. But Jim wasn't just some creep she had picked up, Vicky reasoned conscientiously, he was a college student. If he dated some girl on the campus, nobody-not even Lee would lift an eyebrow. So Washington Square was his campus. "Not too early, though, huh?" she added hastily, mentally planning dinner. Lee said they would go out; instead, she'd shop around for a delicatessen dinner. That way she could get out at a reasonable hour.
"How about eight-thirty?" Jim offered, switching on the full battery of his charm, which was potent, Vicky admitted. "Corner of McDougal and Washington Square South. Southwest corner," he stipulated, his knee rubbing against hers as he dropped coins on their checks. "We'll head straight for the Dark Room, before the Friday night tourist mob invades." His eyes were laden with promises. "That'll do for a start."
"Fine." Vicky was pleasurably aware of the knee jiggling against hers. "Eight-thirty, southwest corner of McDougal and Washington Square South."
"I have to sprint," Jim said, shooting a cautious glance at his watch. "See you tonight, baby."
Vicky walked slowly north to Eighth Street, anticipation lending a becoming glow to her. No matter what, she promised herself in soaring elation, she was going to keep tonight's date with Jim Hastings. If she had to live in New York and miss out on all the Chicago fun, then she would make up for it in her own way! She was going with Jim Hastings to the Dark Room-and the rest of the "Village scene."
Wouldn't Jim just keel over if he knew she was still in high school? Well, there was no need for him to know.
CHAPTER TWO
Vicky stood in the middle of her bedroom, surveying the results of her afternoon's labors with satisfaction. She had unpacked the pile of suitcases, and stowed their contents in closets or drawers. She had attacked the pyramid of boxes left by the movers in a corner of the room, so that the colorful illustrations on book covers and record jackets now gave the room a feeling of familiarity. Her record player had found a cozy niche.
Vicky crossed to the sweep of west-facing floor windows. The view of the Hudson River, just brushed by dusk, was exhilarating. It was exhilarating that she had a date with Jim Hastings this evening.
Had she shopped enough food, she asked herself? Excitement stirred within her as she thought about Jim. Golly, he was really sensational! Lee had only planned to go out for dinner this evening to cheer her up, Vicky reminded herself guiltily. Lee would probably be glad not to have to go chasing out to some restaurant that would be crowded. Friday night was "going out night" in any city.
She left the window view, took a final complacent glance about her room, then sauntered out, across the small foyer to the dining area. The table was set, with a bunch of early daffodils gaily rising from a smoky green glass. Food was waiting in the refrigerator. The coffee was just beginning to perk, the zestful aroma lending a feeling of warmth to the apartment that had seemed ridiculously strange a few hours earlier.
Almost six, Vicky noted nervously, and seconds later she heard the sound of a key in the door.
"Mother?" She crossed expectantly to the door, guessing Lee was having difficulty with the unfamiliar lock.
"Yes, sweetie," her mother said as Vicky pulled the door open. Vicky's eyes widened in astonishment; her mother wasn't alone. "Vicky, you've heard me talk about Randy Richards," she said brightly, yet Vicky caught an undertone of constraint. "He insisted on taking us out to dinner our first night in town."
"Hello," Vicky said softly, impressed by the good-looking, broad-shouldered, beautifully tailored man who stood beside her mother. He was younger than she had expected somehow, Vicky thought-younger than Lee, she guessed.
"Lee, this is your daughter?" Randy Richards demanded, his face etched in amused amazement. "Sweetie, I was picturing a pigtailed, tooth-missing seven-year-old. And you spring this one on me!" His grey eyes were disarmingly admiring. "A grown-up beauty!"
"I thought we could have dinner at home." Vicky was suddenly self-conscious as the three moved into the living room. "I went shopping downstairs for things," she said vaguely as the other two saw the table set for dinner.
"Coffee smells great," he approved. "Think you can scrounge up enough food to feed a stray male?"
"I'll run downstairs and get some extra bread. Lee and I seldom eat much," Vicky offered, her eyes moving to her mother for agreement. Lee was surprised at her use of the first name, Vicky noted-but amused, not angry.
"Don't tell me you two worry about dieting?" he chided humorously. "Not with those figures."
"Go shop, sweetie," Lee smiled brilliantly. "Oh, first come unzip me." She dropped an arm about Vicky's shoulders as they walked towards the master bedroom. "You don't mind about Randy, do you?" Lee asked in a conspiratorial whisper, when the door was safely shut behind them.
"Why should I?" Vicky countered. In a way she was glad; it would be easier to get away after dinner. "He seems awfully nice."
"Randy got me the job. I hear the money people were rooting for a man, but he went to bat for me." Lee stood still while Vicky maneuvered the zipper down the back of the black wool dress.
"Mother, you don't mind if I run out right after dinner, do you?" Vicky was determinedly offhand about it. "I have a date with a fellow named Jim Hastings. He's a student at New York University."
"You have a date with whom?" Lee swung about, her hazel eyes dark with shock.
"I just told you, Mother," Vicky said patiently. "His name is Jim Hastings and he's a senior at New York University."
"Where did you meet him?" Lee demanded.
"In Washington Square." She lifted her head, faintly defiant before the reaction she read in Lee's eyes.
"You mean you let some boy pick you up in the park? Honestly, Vicky!"
"It's like the college campus." Vicky lowered her voice, intimidated by the prospect of refusal. "You don't ask for birth certificates and things when you meet a boy on-campus."
"Before you go out with Jim Hastings," Lee's voice began to soar ominously, "I want to meet him. A college senior, honey," she reproached, gaining control of her voice now. "That's fast company for a high school senior."
"Mother, we're just going to some coffee shop to hear this folk singer he digs. I have to go-he'll be waiting for me on a street corner!" She colored, remembering that it was her vagueness about her address that brought on the street corner bit. "I told him I'd meet him there because we'd save time."
"Vicky, I don't like it," her mother said worriedly.
"I'd better hurry downstairs and shop," Vicky interjected quickly, taking uncertainty for acceptance. "Do you think Randy would like some madly gooey dessert?"
"Randy would probably love some madly gooey dessert," Lee concurred tiredly.
Vicky raced for the door, managing a festive smile for Randy Richards, who roamed about inspecting Lee's collection of prints. He was really awfully nice, Vicky thought as she waited for the elevator. Lee wouldn't be serious about this one, would she? She was always dating, ever since Vicky could remember-but Lee insisted she was much too busy ever to marry again. Vicky was glad about that.
In the delicatessen downstairs Vicky waited in eloquent impatience to be served. The store was mobbed with dinner-bound workers, stopping off for menu-makings. A clerk winked, rendezvoused with her at the end of the counter, ignoring an infuriated old lady who made snide remarks about his parentage. Vicky shopped for bread, extra helpings of roast beef and ham, a flamboyant frozen dessert.
Everything was working out tremendously. She congratulated herself as the elevator stopped at her floor. Lee wasn't going to start a battle over her date with Jim-not with Randy sitting right there in hearing distance. She walked in soaring, high, spirits down the carpeted corridor to her door, slid the key in, and turned it deftly. The door was easy to open, once you got the knack.
Lee and Randy had not heard the door open. They stood in the shadowed corner of the dining alcove, mouths locked, Lee's hands moving about Randy's shoulders, her hips jutting hungrily into his. As Vicky hovered in uncertainty, Randy's hand sought Lee's breasts, and clutched passionately.
Vicky turned blindly about, silently opened the door again, slammed it shut, and made a point of fiddling with the lock. Give them time to break it up, she told herself tensely. No wonder Randy made such a production of pushing Lee for the job! He must be making out like crazy. All those wide-eyed ideas she had clung to, about how Lee was only concerned about getting ahead in her career, and how Lee meant it about not ever getting married again. Lee didn't need to get married-there was Randy, making out like crazy. They probably couldn't wait for dinner to be over so she would get out of their way, Vicky taunted herself. They would be hitting the sack before she was even in the elevator!
The spring-like quality of the day had given way to a sharply cold winter evening. Vicky walked with a blinding swiftness, morbidly remembering the scene that had met her eyes when she returned from shopping. And she had always been so furious when any of the kids made cracks about Lee and her dates! She had been so proud because Lee was so good-looking and getting places in the record business.
Lee had climbed into that gorgeous white brocade hostess gown because she knew it would turn on Randy Richards, Vicky thought. Lee knew what white did for her, with that near-black hair and faintly gold skin. In her mind she remembered the parade of men who had been Lee's companion in the past. She had wanted to believe those dates were mostly business, the way Lee said. There was only Lee and her, against the world.
"Hey, remember me? Your date?" Jim's voice scolded good-humoredly as she almost walked past him on the appointed corner.
"I was thinking how cold it was," she complained quickly. She felt self-conscious about almost walking by him. "I would have seen you in another second." She flashed a brilliant, apologetic smile.
"You'll warm up fast enough in the Dark Room," Jim promised, linking an arm through hers. He was awfully good-looking, Vicky told herself again with a tremor of satisfaction. Thank goodness, there hadn't been a battle with Lee, after all. "Friday night it's always jammed at the place," he went on, a lilt in his voice. "Down here," he nodded south.
Jim and she pushed through the milling throngs that made the sidewalks all but impassable. People were beginning to spread out into the street, blithely blocking cars that tried to penetrate the area. Most of the people were young, Vicky noticed; many were frankly tourists, avid for the thrills with which Greenwich Village was supposed to abound.
"You can't be too cold even on a winter night," Jim chuckled. "Not in this mob."
"How much further do we have to go?" The undercurrent of almost hysterical gaiety was reaching through to her. Wait till she wrote about this back home, she thought in heady triumph. "Do you think we'll get there?" she laughed, at this moment not actually caring.
"In a few minutes," he promised. "It'll be better when we get off McDougal.
Jim's arm settled firmly about her waist as they ploughed their way through the crowds. He whispered a running commentary in her ear as they walked. It was a marvelously new and exciting experience; Vicky gaped as assiduously as any tourist about her.
"Over there," Jim directed, prodding her into a less densely populated area. "We ought to be able to get a table without waiting this early."
They walked into the coffee house, where each table was illuminated by candlelight. A waitress in black leotards, with a braid hanging to her hips, guided them through the semidarkness to a tiny table, crowded so closely to the next table that it was an effort to slide into the chairs.
Jim and the waitress conferred over the oversized menu, while Vicky's eyes tried to penetrate the shadows about the room. Suddenly a spot hit the tiny open area in the center. A white-faced, bearded character in chinos and black shirt took his place in the spotlight. His eyes moved about, commanding silence. He looked awfully young, Vicky decided in astonishment-probably not over twenty. When silence settled about the room, he began to quote poetry. It was strange, wandering, and deliberately obscene. Here and there a giggle, then a gasp punctuated the darkened audience area.
"That's just to warm up for Bret," Jim whispered. "Bret's the one who brings in the customer. I'll bet they've heard about him all the way up to Scarsdale and Darien. He'll be hitting big time soon, you'll see." There was an almost reverent quality in Jim's voice. Under the table his knee nuzzled contentedly against hers.
Twenty minutes later, when the bearded would-be poet relinquished the spotlight, the tall, rangy guitar-carrying singer Vicky had seen earlier in the park, took up his position. His smile was sardonic as the piercing blue eyes skimmed the expectant audience.
"I'm in trouble, my friends," he said huskily, his voice hardly recognizable now. "I gave way to an emotion, taped a tidal wave quick, and there's nothing left. Nothing-" He gestured dramatically. "Please, give your attention to my replacements-be gentle with them." His eyes said he knew better, even before the sounds of disappointment rose to a crescendo. He stood there, immobile, until the noise subsided somewhat, and then disappeared into the darkness to the rear.
"What lousy luck," Jim groaned, echoing the lament of the others around them. "And he wasn't putting it on-not old Bret." His hand reached out for Vicky's, and closed it tightly. "Tell you what, let's cut out of here. An old buddy of mine is throwing a brawl at his pad. He dropped out in his second year and he's making the artist scene now. You might get a kick out of some of the characters he keeps around."
"Why not?" Vicky approved, wriggling into her coat, which Jim made an effort to hold for her.
Along with other disappointed customers, Vicky and Jim made for the door. The cold night air elicited a sound of reproach from Vicky. Jim laughed, pulled her in tightly against him for a public warm-up, though nobody around gave them a second glance. Hand in hand they pushed their way towards their destination, the crowds suddenly thinning a block to the east.
"He lives in a converted cold water flat between Second and Third," Jim explained. "It's a real dive but the rent's cheap and they've got rid of the rats. Hope you feel strong," he warned in high good humor. "Fourth-floor walk-up."
"I've been through that bit," Vicky drawled. When she was a little kid, before Lee raised herself beyond a typist's salary, they lived in a fourth-floor walk-up. That seemed a million years ago, Vicky thought, feeling wickedly grown-up now.
Jim found the house, a decaying tenement above a Spanish-American grocery. A drunk slept in the doorway; Jim helped Vicky step over him, into the dark, dank, evil-smelling hallway. This was as far away from the luxury apartment building where Lee and she were now living, Vicky thought, as anything could be.
Hand in hand they made their way upwards. Jim kept an arm firmly about her waist, maintained a flow of colorful conversation about the sounds and aromas that drifted out from behind closed doors. As they arrived at the fourth-floor landing, party noises spilled out into the corridor. Unexpectedly, Jim swung her about to face him. His mouth came down eagerly on hers, his hard young body rubbing against her svelte torso.
"Now let's crash this brawl," he said, letting her go.
People greeted Jim like a long-lost brother. The fellows leered at Vicky; the girls eyed her, frankly, as competition.
"Baby," a golden-skinned, almond-eyed girl threw herself on Jim. "You behave like we're pariahs these days!" Though her figure was almost boyish, Vicky thought, she looked as oversexed as any girl could.
"Hey, you've found a new word," Jim taunted. "The old man educating you?"
Vicky gathered, after introductions, that the almond-eyed girl lived with Jim's friend. They were all very casual about it. They were older, Vicky thought, suddenly uncomfortable at the prospect of discovery. But nobody figured her for seventeen. She was with Jim; they figured she was old enough to know the score.
"Come on, let me show you around," Jim said, a hot look in his eyes. "The rooms are tiny enough to give anybody claustraphobia, but there are five of them." Jim grinned, his eyes fastened to the tight stretch of silk across her breasts. She moved her shoulders backward in a deliberately provocative gesture. The nipples strained against the soft material, and were tautly outlined. The hand at her waist, the hungry gaze on her breasts, were a heady combination. This wasn't a typical college brawl, she decided in heady satisfaction. This was the Village crowd, pushed out to the so-called new East Village because too many luxury apartment houses were taking over the old turf. That was what Jim had told her as they walked across town.
"You've been here an awful lot," Vicky said as she walked with Jim down the narrow, dark corridor.
"I used to live here," Jim said casually. "But it was too wild-I couldn't get any studying done. I came to New York for a degree," he chuckled. "It got to where I was forgetting about that."
They stopped before a small room, with every fragment of wall space plastered with paintings. Jim switched on a light. Vicky giggled; the paintings were mad. His hand pressured hers slightly, as he led her from the room, to the next.
"This is the student-in-residence room," he drawled. "I lived here for a few months. I even put in soundproofing panels, figuring that would be cheaper than rent somewhere else. Didn't work," he admitted ruefully. "Too many parties."
His arms slid about Vicky again, and his mouth sought hers. The party sounds outside were at fever pitch. His tongue prodded its way to find hers, and set off small fires within her.
"Stay here," he ordered. "I'll get us some beers."
Vicky waited, inspecting the narrow bed with its leopard simulated throw, the worktable by the window where Jim must have studied, the ribald quotations, framed and hanging on the wall. A thick, black fake-fur rug lay across the center of the cell-like room.
"Beer," Jim announced jubilantly, coming back into the room. A couple pushed past, their faces peering into the room as they made their way in search of unoccupied space. Jim slammed the door shut, grinned. "I've got this staked out." He slid the bolt into place before he popped open the beer cans.
"Good," Vicky commented, hiding her nervousness behind a vivacious facade. She wasn't actually fond of beer, but it was the high school-college party beverage.
"We'll catch up on Bret another weekend," he promised, putting down his can of beer to pull her close again. The room might have been soundproofed, but the blare of the music outside was penetrating. They swayed to the raucous rhythm.
"Sure," she agreed, warm from beer, his closeness, an inner excitement. As his hand fumbled for her breast, her mind shot for a painful instant to her mother and Randy Richards.
"I'm glad you gave Chicago the brush-off," he said intensely. "New York's a great town."
His mouth was on hers again and his hands grazed her breasts. This wasn't like the kids back in Chicago, she thought with dizzy triumph. She had thought she had it made back there, being so popular-even though she never let any of the fellows go all the way, like some girls did who got elected Letter Queen and all. She had always been too scared, afraid of what her mother would think. Now that, Vicky jibed inwardly, was one terrific joke! How kooky could she have been, walking around with those storybook ideas about how Lee never even let a fellow kiss her goodnight!
"You don't want to get this all wrinkled," Jim crooned, coaxing the zipper down the back of her dress. "Don't worry," he said quickly as her eyes darted nervously to the door. "It's locked."
Her dress slid noiselessly to the fake-fur rug, and Jim's hands reached eagerly for the snap of her brassiere.
"Oh, baby," he murmured huskily, "are you built!"
His hands fondled the audacious thrust of whiteness that bounced into view. Vicky's throat tightened with excitement as his fingers imprisoned the stiffening pink tips. So what, she thought defiantly? His mouth descended in a sudden hunger that brought forth a gasp of pleasure from her. Oh, golly, she thought in sweet abandon, she could go ape this way!
His tongue tormented a pink tip while desire rose to high tide within her. Her hands cruised about his shoulders, telegraphing her passion. Her body moved urgently towards his. His arms lifted her from the dark pool of clothes about her feet, carried her to the narrow bed that squeaked in mild complaint beneath their weight.
It was all right, she told herself in recurrent defiance. It was nobody's business, but Jim's and hers! She moaned slightly as the heat of him teased her. Her hands clutched at his shoulders. She had always known she wasn't the cold type; but now, this minute, she would go out of her mind if he didn't stop this wildness in her!
"You're okay, baby," he whispered hotly, while their torsos weaved together.
She closed her eyes tightly, mouth parted in frenzied anticipation. Her body arched to meet his, claimed him. A painful, sweet, ecstatic cry welled in her throat as they met. His mouth came down hard on hers, to silence the wail that threatened. It was absolutely the greatest, she told herself, enveloped in exhilaration. What a kook she had been, to miss this!
CHAPTER THREE
The tiny living room was hazy with cigarette smoke, and it wore a blend of aromas-beer, tobacco, sultry perfume, and a whisper of strong coffee percolating in the kitchen. In a corner of the living room Jim and Vicky sat tangled together in a fuchsia sling chair. From time to time Jim's mouth groped leisurely for hers. A hand strayed from her waist to the foothill of a breast.
"It's getting late," Vicky said finally, nervous about Lee, who could be explosive about broken curfews.
"Baby, it's Friday night," Jim protested.
"I know." Vicky stared unhappily at the floor. "But it's my first night in town-I don't want to start up a battle." She lifted her eyes to meet his in a plea for understanding. "It'll be different once I'm set." It was past one already, she reminded herself uneasily. Lee would flip if she came home at two! What was she going to do about Jim taking her home, she wondered in fresh alarm? She had thrown him that jazz about staying with friends. "Jim," she reproached because his arms were tightening about her waist again and she knew he was getting all worked up.
"Okay," he sighed in mock dejection. "So I'll take you back to the convent door."
Their departure was delayed by loud objections, amorous farewells on the part of their hostess, and last-minute consultations between Jim and a fellow student. They climbed down the dark, smelly stairs, in warm silence, with Jim's arm tucked cozily about her shoulders. What should she do, Vicky questioned herself? Tell Jim the truth, that she was a high school senior living with her mother? She would have to level with him, if they were going to see a lot of each other. And instinct told her Jim and she would be a sizzling item from this point on.
"Cold!" She shivered for an instant as they hit the night air. The temperature had zoomed downward, in shocking contrast to the earlier part of the day.
"We can fix that," Jim reminded, chuckling. "Let's go over to my place," he coaxed, his voice suddenly deepening. "Tonight it'll be empty-old Mark's away for the weekend."
"Can't," Vicky said, feeling herself being pushed against the wall now. "Look, you might as well know, I'm living with my mother. She's sensational about most things, but she's got a bug about curfews, until I graduate in June." She waited, breathlessly, for this to sink in.
"Graduate high school?" Jim demanded after a shocked instant. And then he broke into laughter. "Honey, I didn't know I was going in for the Lolita bit!"
"I'm almost eighteen," she tossed back defensively. "In three weeks!" The blue eyes were stormy. "You didn't mind when you didn't know."
"Who's complaining?" he countered. "Come on, I'll get you home before the roof caves in."
Vicky felt better now that she had cleared the air with Jim. He didn't really care that she was still in high school, she told herself in exhilaration. She felt herself way beyond the high school crowd, that twenty-four hours ago she was mourning.
"Not a bad pad," Jim approved as they approached the building.
"Mother just landed a sensational job," Vicky explained with a resurgence of pride. "When she has it, she spends it."
The doorman pulled the door open for them, and they strolled into the over-lush lobby.
"I'll take you upstairs," Jim decided after a moment of cautious hesitation.
"Why not?" Vicky flipped.
Jim was out to make an impression, Vicky realized in satisfaction. They were alone in the elevator. He reached with bird dog persistency. He wasn't at all disturbed that she was still in high school-not the way she had him turned on, Vicky congratulated herself. It had been kooky of her to be so worried.
The elevator whirred to a stop at the eighteenth floor. With a good-humored, exaggerated sigh of regret, Jim released her. They walked together to her door. Vicky reached for her key, then hesitated. Was Randy still here? Her earlier high spirits sagged suddenly. With a glint of hostility showing itself in her eyes, she touched the doorbell.
"Vicky?" Lee's voice, on the other side of the door, sounded surprised.
"Yes," Vicky said quickly.
Lee looked astonished, Vicky thought, as though she had expected Jim to bolt before coming face to face with her.
"I rang, in case you had company," Vicky said with deceptive demureness.
"No." Lee's smile was polite as she turned to Jim. "I was getting a bit anxious. We're so new in the city." But the Lee Allison charm was turned on generously.
"Mother, this is Jim Hastings," Vicky said hastily, watching Jim's efforts to conceal his surprise that her mother was so young and so attractive.
"I gathered that," Lee chuckled, and for an instant Vicky was jealous of the appraising looks flashing between Jim and her mother. Her mother liked Jim-she should be delighted, Vicky reproached herself.
"I'd better shove off," Jim said. His eyes rested on Vicky now. "Pick you up Sunday about three, okay?"
"Okay," Vicky flipped.
It had been a sensational introduction to New York, Vicky told herself. She was fully grown up now-she ran with a college crowd. The kids back in Chicago would flip if they could have seen her at that swinging party tonight.
Vicky was dressed ten minutes before Jim buzzed on Sunday afternoon. Lee had washed her hair earlier, and was now settled in bed with a book. As soon as she heard the buzz, Vicky picked up her coat and hurried to the door. Why had Lee been in such a rush to wash and set her hair? She hadn't said anything about going out tonight.
"I'm going," Vicky sang out, a hand on the doorknob.
"We'll have dinner whenever you get in," Lee called back. "Dress warm enough, baby. The temperature dropped, according to the weather report."
"Okay."
"Hi," Jim drawled appreciatively as Vicky closed the door behind her. Golly, he was tall when she wore low heels. He had said, wear flats and slacks because they were going to tour the Village. "I like the way you fit those clothes."
"You said we were going to tour the Village," she reminded with a provocative tilt of the head.
"Among other things," he stipulated, reaching for her hand. "Come on-so we can get to other things."
They strode from the apartment lobby in an aura of adventure-seeking. The doorman had smiled at them with something like nostalgia. It was a crisp, colorful spring afternoon, and they strode forward exuberantly to savor it.
"I have an errand," Jim announced as they headed east. "I have to stop off and leave something with Bret Danzig for Mark. Mark Cole, my roommate," he added at Vicky's look of incomprehension. "Okay?"
"Why not?" She thought of the sardonic smile, the probing blue eyes of the folk singer they had seen at the Dark Room on Friday evening. Compelling personality, she admitted with an odd reluctance.
Two blocks over they swung east, to a well-kept brick house. The front door was open, and they walked inside, along the narrow corridor to a door at the rear. Jim knocked.
"One sec," Bret Danzig called out. It astonished Vicky that she recognized his voice. She felt a sort of anticipation about seeing him again.
The door was pulled open and Bret Danzig hovered there, a mocking grin on his face.
"You mean you actually found my joint?" Bret questioned, his eyes managing to send a message of friendliness to Vicky as he kidded with Jim. "I was afraid I'd have to send out a St. Bernard with a keg of beer."
"Here's the newest lyrics old Mark came up with," Jim said, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket. "He's all worked up because you're bothering to work with him."
"I can't always do everything myself," Bret shrugged. "Thanks for this." He held the envelope aloft, his gaze returning to Vicky.
"We have to blow," Jim said with a swiftness that told Vicky he disapproved of the silent rapport between Bret and herself. "I'll buzz you later today, Bret." His hand was impatient as it prodded her into motion. "Okay?"
"I'll be working here until morning," Bret drawled. "Call me any time."
Vicky suppressed her curiosity until Jim and she were out in the street again.
"What was all that about?" she demanded, aware that a prickle of excitement still remained alive in her because she continued to see the lean, sardonic face of Bret Danzig in her mind. Why hadn't Jim introduced them?
"Mark writes on the side," Jim said. "Lyrics mostly. Bret liked some stuff Mark showed him, asked to see more. Bret's going to be important one of these days."
"He puts on a great act," Vicky said, with an attempt at scornful amusement. Bret Danzig was different from the others. She found herself drawn to that difference.
"Let's go guzzle some espresso," Jim ordered. "Then I'll show you our pad."
Jim took her to another coffee shop, where he was obviously well-known. He swaggered a bit as they settled themselves at a tiny table by the window. She wondered how old Bret Danzig was-probably older than Jim. She kept thinking about Bret Danzig all the time Jim and she carried on a flip conversation across the table, and a more heated conversation beneath the table.
An hour later they headed for the apartment Jim shared with Mark Cole. Mark was away. The words repeated themselves in her mind in a mounting intensity. She was glad they were going to Jim's apartment, and nobody would be there to disturb them. Yet beneath the bravado lurked an uneasiness.
"Here's the place," Jim said, stopping before an older brownstone deep in the Village. Despite its obvious need of a paint job, the house had a look of being cherished. "Another hike. We're on the top."
"Nothing like exercise," she giggled, keyed up with the knowledge that the empty apartment waited for them. Why did she feel guilty? You just had to be smart-like Lee. She didn't want to think about Lee and those men who had made love to Lee. She didn't want to think about Lee and Randy Friday night-all turned on that way, when she walked into the apartment. "Besides, we can always rest halfway up." Her eyes met his in bold invitation.
Hand in hand they started up the narrow stairs. Jim was breathing heavily before they reached the top, but Vicky was sharply conscious that his breathlessness was not all due to physical effort.
"It's not a fancy joint like yours," Jim warned with a grin. "One plodding senior and one graduate student on stiff budgets can't afford such lavishness."
Jim opened the door, ushered her into the small living room informally furnished with studio couch, a club chair, many pillows in clusters about the floor, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and a wood-burning fireplace. The embers still glowed.
"Your fireplace works." Vicky glowed with pleasure.
"It better." He reached to help her off with her coat, and allowed a hand to nuzzle her breast for an instant. "The landlord gets absentminded about heat sometimes. I had the gas stove going for a while." He nodded towards the closet kitchenette. "Didn't help, so I threw a log into the fireplace."
Jim crossed to the bedroom door, tossed their coats inside. Vicky stood before the fireplace, looking down at the mellow glow of the embers. She knew why Jim had brought her up to the apartment. She knew, anticipated, trembled. She stayed before the fireplace while Jim stacked records on the record player. The low wail of a girl folk singer infiltrated the silence.
"You dig this stuff, don't you?" Jim asked, crossing to where she stood.
"Sure." She started to tell him about Lee, but self-consciously detoured. It might sound like boasting. "Wait till you see my collection."
Her voice was uneven because Jim was closing in. Her breasts were flattened against his chest as his mouth sought hers, and his hands roamed. This was really living, she told herself in defiance. Everything else was kid stuff.
They swayed together in the faint chill of the living room, and heat flowed through them as their tongues clashed and bodies brushed. A hand found its way beneath her sweater. Fingers sought their quarry. Excitement beat a crazy path through her. And then there was a light but definite knock at the door.
"What the hell?" Jim swore under his breath as he released her. He walked to the door with a scowl, pulled it open.
"Greetings," his caller flipped, eyes skimming past Jim to rest on Vicky. "I forgot my key," he said pointedly.
"I thought you were going to be out in Jersey until tonight," Jim reminded, his voice laden with reproach.
"I got through early," Mark reported, and Vicky was slight discomforted by the secret exchange between the two fellows. Mark knew he was breaking in on a bad time-they probably had a code worked out. He hadn't forgot his key at all, Vicky guessed-that was part of the house rules, to knock first. It shouldn't disturb her that Mark guessed their plans for the afternoon-but it did.
"This decrepit grad student is Mark, the roommate," Jim drawled. "Vicky Allison, fresh from Chicago."
"So you have to freeze her to death because she comes from Chicago?" Mark chided, bending to pick up a log from the floor and drop it into the grate. "No ethics," he chuckled, making an effort to put Vicky at ease.
"If you have coffee, I'll make a perc," Vicky offered, liking Mark Cole instantly. He wasn't good-looking in the conventional sense; but there was a charm about him, a warmth to which she responded.
Vicky relaxed, feeling mature and sophisticated as she prepared coffee for the three of them. Mark kept sending glances in her direction. He liked what he saw, Vicky guessed, and she was pleased.
"I have to beat it," Vicky announced finally with reluctance. "I'm expected home for dinner."
"I have to get down to the books," Jim admitted. "Carouse all weekend, work like hell Sunday evening." He sauntered towards the bedroom for their coats.
"You don't have to walk me home," Vicky said quickly.
"Sure you don't mind?" Jim asked eagerly. He grimaced as he picked up a book from the desk.
"Of course not," Vicky insisted crisply.
"You're a creep, you know?" Mark objected. "Walk the girl home. Unless, of course, she fives in northern Westchester."
"I'm ten minutes away," Vicky said, letting Jim help her into her coat. "No problem."
"I'll walk you to the corner," Jim compromised. "Then I'll come back and sweat out the work."
Vicky walked from the elevator to the apartment door, with her mind darting ahead to tomorrow morning. She hated starting a new school. She felt so removed from high school after this weekend. Mark would probably drop dead if he knew she was still in high school; she had made a point of not mentioning it.
She fumbled in her coat pocket for the key, found it, and opened the door.
"Hello, darling." Lee's voice held a note of surprise, as though she had not expected Vicky back this early.
Her hair was out of curlers now, styled in that deceptively simple way that made her look years younger. She had changed from a terrycloth robe into one of her favorite lounging outfits-snug-fitting apricot velvet pants and a low-cut knitted top. "I didn't hear the key in the door." Lee smiled, a festive glow in the darkly lashed hazel eyes.
"Shall I try it again?" Vicky flipped.
She understood now why Lee had changed from the terrycloth robe into a glamour outfit. She understood now why Lee had not heard the key in the door. Randy sprawled comfortably in a lounge chair across the room. He pulled the pipe from his mouth to smile at Vicky. He was really awfully good-looking, Vicky thought dispassionately. Young. Younger than Lee.
"I've coaxed Randy to stay and have dinner with us," Lee said gaily. "I was just waiting for you to show to start things rolling." Lee had planned this dinner, Vicky was sure.
"Can I help?" Vicky offered, a strange excitement taking root in her as she walked into the room. A plan shaping in her mind.
"Just entertain Randy, darling," Lee ordered good-humoredly as she rose to her feet. "I'll throw the steaks in the broiler now."
"It'll be a pleasure to entertain Randy," Vicky murmured, in a startling facsimile of Lee's sultry huskiness.
As Vicky settled herself on the hassock beside Randy's chair, she caught the backward look of astonishment her mother bestowed on her.
CHAPTER FOUR
On the surface, dinner wore a look of casual festivity. Vicky was intoxicated with the success of her efforts to be ingratiating. Randy was really sweet; he didn't treat her like a kid at all. Lee was flipping, Vicky guessed in rebellious triumph. She kept smiling and acting as though she were enjoying herself, but Vicky felt the tightness beneath. There was a scared look in Lee's eyes that brought forth fleeting pangs of guilt in Vicky.
All right, Vicky told herself virtuously, let Lee start acting her age. Didn't she know Randy was young and lots of girls would make real plays for him? Why did she think Randy was hanging around so much? Because Lee was chasing him, and she made it so easy. Resentment bore down on her as she remembered that Randy must have made love to Lee even back in Chicago. For a moment she hated Randy.
"Let's have coffee in the living room," Lee suggested in an effort at lightness. "I love to relax with coffee."
"Good deal," Randy approved. His eyes met Lee's, and for a count of ten Vicky felt herself banished from the room. "Can I help?"
"Vicky's going to help," Lee decreed. "You're the man in the house. Loaf."
Lee waited until they were in the meager privacy of the kitchenette. Vicky noted the tenseness in her hands as Lee reached for the percolator.
"Vicky, what on earth are you up to?" she demanded in a furious whisper.
"What do you mean?" Vicky refused to meet her mother's eyes.
"The way you're flirting with Randy! Of course, he's amused-but it's ridiculous."
"I'm not flirting with Randy," Vicky denied. "I'm just having fun."
"Stop it," Lee ordered, her voice low. "Stop it, Vicky!"
"Would you like me to go out to a movie?" Vicky challenged, her eyes accusing as they met Lee's. "I wouldn't mind at all."
"Behave yourself, Vicky," Lee said after a shocked hesitation. "I'd hate to have to embarrass you in front of Randy."
Vicky's direct gaze wavered. She shrugged with a show of nonchalance. Lee would do it, she knew. "I don't know what you're all worked up about, anyhow. I'm just having a little fun. I thought you wanted me to be nice to Randy," she tossed over her shoulder in defiance as she took the tray of petit fours into the living room.
"There's no point in taking the car out," Lee said as Vicky and she rode down in the elevator on Monday morning. "We'll take a cab over to the school, and then I can hop another cab to the office." Lee was trying to be casual, Vicky guessed; but neither her mother nor she had completely brushed aside the strained relationship that developed last night.
"You don't really need to go at all," Vicky said distantly. "I mean, I'm old enough to register myself in a new school."
"I'll go with you," Lee insisted quickly.
The doorman finally snared a cab for them. He had a special smile for Lee, Vicky thought crossly, ignoring the fact that the smile also extended to her. They climbed inside, and settled back in silence.
There was a big brawl back at the Chicago school this coming Saturday, Vicky recalled, belligerence making a return engagement. She wasn't exactly nutty about Bill, but he was football captain and senior yearbook editor; they had a lot of fun together.
"There's the school," Lee said, leaning forward as the cab slowed down.
"It's a girls' school!" Vicky stared in shock at the name emblazoned above the entrance. "Oh, no!" Her face was etched in horror.
"Darling, that isn't exactly a fate worse than death," her mother chuckled. For a moment, it was almost like old times.
"Nothing of the sort." Lee brushed this aside crisply, paid the driver, then reached to push open the door. "Come on, sweetie. Let's make you an official New Yorker."
Students were already settling down in classrooms. Vicky inspected distastefully the parade of girl faces, as her mother and she strolled down the silent corridors to the office. Vicky handed over her school records, obediently filled out forms, and was assigned to classes.
Vicky sat through her first day of classes in sullen frustration. She hated the milling, strictly female hordes that surged into activity at every class break. She couldn't wait for the day to be over. It was going to be deadly-so different from what she had come to expect of school. None of the boy-girl interplay, the excitement of being Letter Queen and Prettiest Girl.
How did you meet fellows if you spent the whole school day with a bunch of creepy girls? But what was she worrying about, Vicky reminded herself with a resurgence of optimism. She was making out great with Jim. They had a date Wednesday night, she was meeting him for coffee after school, and he was cooking up a whole schedule for the weekend. She walked into Washington Square that first day, and zoom, she was practically going steady.
It was as though she lived in three worlds, Vicky thought as the days swept past; and she was exhilarated by the situation. There was the Lee-Vicky world, the repugnant nine-to-three school world, and the Jim-Bret-Mark world that highlighted her whole existence.
As Vicky dressed for her third Friday night date with Jim, she listened to her mother moving about in the other bedroom. Lee must be going out with Randy again. At least, she wasn't keeping Randy underfoot like a house pet anymore.
"Vicky?" Her mother hovered in the doorway. "You going out with Jim tonight?"
"That's right." Her smile was sweet, inscrutable. Her mother liked Jim, yet was worried that she was dating him so steadily, Vicky interpreted the worried look. Well, she hadn't dragged them away from Chicago, had she?
"I'm going to hear some folk singer we might be able to build for records," Lee reported. "I should be home by twelve or so."
"I probably won't be," Vicky flipped, waiting for a reaction. Lee looked as though she were about to flare up, but controlled the inclination. "Where's the folk singer?" she asked, with a flurry of nervousness. It wouldn't be Bret, would it?
"Some club out in Jersey," Lee said. "The word is he's great. Don't be out too late, honey," Lee wound up briskly. "I'm the nervous type."
Lee collected the autumn haze mink stole, that made her look like a showgirl just past her prime, and headed for the door. Vicky listened to the click of her high heels across the parquet floors, then picked up a hairbrush and flung it across the room when she was sure that Lee was out of the apartment. Why did Lee have to act as though she were about ten?
Vicky decided suddenly to change from the casual skirt and sweater that was her normal Village-crawling date outfit. She crossed to her closet, and pushed back the louvered doors. She searched defiantly for the black wool that Lee had banned on sight, unless its deeply scooped neckline was hidden beneath a jacket.
She pulled the sweater over, her head, and slid the skirt off. She drew the black wool over her head, and straightened it about her lush young dimensions. A high rise of whiteness pushed its way above the deep scoop of the neckline. Narrow hips, firm young rump, sleek thighs advertised themselves beneath the sheer wool. Golly, Jim would just flip, she thought pleasurably.
The doorbell rang, lightly, as though barely touched. Vicky stepped into high heeled pumps, raced through the rooms to open the door for Jim. She pulled open the door, a smile of welcome lending her an iridescent glow. Her mouth dropped in astonishment, the flip comment about to be voiced dying in silence.
"Hi," Mark greeted her casually. "I'm the stand-in."
"I don't dig you," Vicky said warily. "Jim get tied up somewhere?"
"That's right." Mark sauntered inside. His grin was warm, ingratiating. "He had some business deal that was hot. You know Jim, always with the big deals."
"On a Friday night?" Vicky demanded explosively.
"It happens, baby," Mark chided. "He'll explain to you when he sees you. Meanwhile, I'm available." His eyes teased like a friendly puppy's.
"I think he's got a nerve!" Vicky lifted her head defiantly. "He could have called-"
"And cheat me out of a chance to take you out? I'd clobber him," Mark insisted. "There's a foreign film over on Eighth that's supposed to be sensational. After that, we'll drop over and see Bret. With a Friday night audience he's really great." Mark was candidly delighted with his escort status.
"I've heard Bret on a Friday night," she said coolly. Bret Danzig wasn't as good as she thought he was, Vicky told herself. It was being with Jim, all geared up with The Dark Room atmosphere that made him sound so good. "He's okay."
"Come on," Mark prodded. "Let's get over to the movie before the line's a block long at the box office. I've got it all figured out. The performance breaks just in time for us to make it over to hear Bret."
"Honestly," Vicky protested, feeling years older than Mark, "the way you all drool over Bret Danzig!"
She let him hold her coat for her, dug a kerchief out of her pocket because from the state of Mark's hair it was obviously windy outside.
"Most girls look like hags with those things on their hair," he said quietly. "You look ready to pose for some TV commercial."
"Maybe Jim did me a favor standing me up," she purred. Mark might not be as good-looking as Jim, but he had a great personality, and he was a graduate student. "Jim's such a kid sometimes."
"Listen to the old lady," Mark kidded, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. But he didn't know she was in high school yet, unless Jim had broken his promise of secrecy.
They walked swiftly to the Eighth Street movie house, and arrived while the line was still thin and moving. Back in Chicago they hadn't bothered much with art movies, Vicky remembered, but this was the Village and the college crowd. In less than ten minutes they were inside the cozy darkness, searching for seats.
She was pleasantly conscious of Mark's thigh, rubbing against hers in the darkness. When his hand reached for hers, she accommodated instantly. But it continued to annoy her that Jim had so casually shipped over a replacement. Even if it were Mark he sent over, Jim might have called up and explained. After the movie they made their way south, through the Friday evening throngs, to the Dark Room. They were just seated when Bret came out into the tiny spotlighted area. It was crazy the way her pulse started to race every time she saw him. She wasn't one of the screaming fan brigade, Vicky warned herself firmly.
The mob paid fervent, noisy homage to Bret, insisted on repeats. He loved it, Vicky thought with lofty contempt. So he was good here-that didn't mean he would make it big in the real world. Lee's world. For an instant, she considered bringing her mother down to the Dark Room, uneasily dismissed the thought. For some reason she was reluctant to bring her mother and Bret together, as though her mother might look at her and know the absurd excitement Bret Danzig created within her.
"He's coming over," Mark said under his breath when Bret firmly refused further performance. "You know Bret writes most of his own stuff, don't you?"
"I heard you did some of it," Vicky said, trying not to watch Bret's slow approach across the room to their table.
"A few things, nothing like what he does himself," Mark said honestly.
"The gathering of the clan," Bret drawled leisurely, sitting himself into a chair. "You look sharp," he commented, the probing blue eyes on Vicky.
"How can you tell in here?" she countered with a faint smile. She wished, with a sudden startling intensity, that Bret would try for a date.
"I have special antennae," he said, his eyes holding hers.
He thought every girl who looked at him practically collapsed in passion, Vicky thought in shaky hostility.
He was so sure of himself. She lapsed into calculated silence while Bret and Mark exchanged shop talk. Sometimes it was smart just to listen. She had learned that from Lee.
"I have to shove," Bret said after a few minutes, without explaining why. "Tell Jim not to buzz me too early in the morning. I plan on sleeping late." He winked at Mark, and jealousy unexpectedly soared in Vicky. Was Bret shacked up with some girl? Was that why he didn't want to be awakened early tomorrow? They were all so wrapped up in their sex lives, she thought crossly.
"It's still early," Mark said after Bret left their table. "What about going up to the apartment for some real food? I'm too broke for a spread outside," he admitted humorously.
"Okay," Vicky decided, a dangerous glint in her eyes. Lee was out somewhere listening to recording talent-she would never be back by twelve, Vicky guessed from experience. "I have a great talent for scrambled eggs." Maybe Jim would show up, she told herself self-consciously.
"So let's go scramble."
It was past midnight, Vicky noted on the crazy clock the fellows kept above the mantel. Empty plates and drained coffee mugs, sat on the floor in front of the fireplace.
"More coffee?" Mark asked.
"No." Vicky smiled up at Mark with the knowledge that she looked most appealing in the warm firelight. She should be heading back for the apartment, she admitted inwardly, yet made no move. "I absolutely feel like purring." They had talked for hours, it seemed; much of the conversation seemed to revolve around Bret. He was becoming a cult with Jim's crowd, Vicky thought.
The phone rang, a jarring note in the cozy quietness. Vicky stiffened to attention as Mark crossed to answer the phone. She pretended to be terribly interested in the state of the logs in the fireplace.
"Hello," Mark said crisply. "Oh, hi, how're you doing?" Inadvertently, Vicky swung her gaze to Mark. "Good for you," Mark chuckled after a moment. "Yeah, we went to a movie, then spent a while at the Room." Vicky untangled herself from the floor, rose expectantly to her shoeless feet. "We came up for chow-you know the condition of my finances." Mark was silent, frowning, seemingly annoyed with something being said at the other end. "Okay, see you."
He hung up abruptly, and Vicky's mouth opened in astonishment.
"Wasn't that Jim?" The creep! Vicky burned inwardly. He had some nerve, calling up and wiggling out of talking to her. What about all the jazz he had been throwing her, how he wasn't giving her a chance to date anybody else?
"He's tied up," Mark said uncomfortably. "Some business deal."
"Oh, sure," Vicky drawled disdainfully. A new girl he had picked up in Washington Square?
"Come on," Mark soothed. "Don't blow a fuse."
"Why should I?" Vicky tried to play it cool now. "What's so important about Jim Hastings?" She looked about with a show of high spirits. "What about some music? It's Friday night, no school tomorrow!" Oh, she would fix Jim Hastings, Vicky promised herself-hurt, disappointed, suddenly shorn of confidence.
"We've got the swingingest collection south of Eighth Street," Mark chortled. "Let's pick a concert."
When they began to dance, Vicky deliberately snuggled closely against Mark. He was sweet, and he wasn't dull. He was as much fun to date as Jim, she told herself. And she sure turned him on!
"I'm glad old Jim had that date out there tonight," Mark said, excitement lacing his voice because Vicky's breasts strained against his chest and their hips brushed. "I may get shot for poaching, of course."
"I don't see any 'no trespassing' signs posted," Vicky tossed back, color staining her cheeks.
The music continued, but they were no longer dancing. Mark's arms closed in at her back. His mouth groped for hers. Vicky's hands tightened at his shoulders because his tongue, hotly persuasive, was racing to meet hers. The crazy pulse low within her was going berserk again.
"Baby, you make me wild," Mark muttered. Fingers traced the low scoop of her neckline, and ventured below.
"You don't act like it," she laughed unsteadily. Golly, he was strong! And passionate.
"Oh, you're asking for proof?" he challenged. "Well, baby, I don't need a second invitation!"
The music changed from sweet and plaintive to sultry and provocative. Vicky closed her eyes. Her mouth parted because hands were racing about her faintly weaving torso, building her to an impossible crescendo. A deep sigh escaped her. The black wool was sliding from her shoulders, riding down the high thrust of panting breasts, beyond the slim waist, narrow hips, sleek thighs.
"Honey, honey...." His voice was husky as his hands reached.
"You're terrific," she encouraged, breathless with anticipation. When he touched her this way, she could go ape. "Mark-"
She stopped talking because his mouth was on hers again, and his fingers tweaked and teased and set off rockets within her. She didn't have to care about Jim or Lee or anybody. You found somebody like Mark, and for a little while the world was the craziest place ever.
"The couch is on the noisy side," Mark apologized, guiding her back across its sagging length amid a medley of creaks. "It ought to be a king-sized masterpiece covered in satin." He reached behind her to switch off the lamp.
"Aren't you the romantic?" she chided hoarsely. He was great. He was really great! Her fingers trailed across his chest as he swept away the little that separated them. She wished he would hurry!
"My luck's better than I ever thought," he crooned. "Usually, it's Jim that walks off with the swinging babes."
Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her torso strained to meet his. Excitement welled in her throat, spilled over, blended with the sounds of his own billowing desire. She was really learning to live!
She stood before the bathroom mirror, seemingly absorbed in repairing her lipstick. Mark sat on the edge of the old-fashioned bathtub; his eyes skimmed with reminiscent satisfaction over the seductive length of her in the sheer black wool.
"We don't draw blueprints for Jim," he said carefully. "Right?"
"Right," Vicky echoed crisply. Jim wasn't drawing blueprints for her, was he? "I'd better get home," she decided, with a nervous glance at her watch. "You'd think I was living in a girls' dorm sometimes, the way my mother watches the clock."
"I thought you lived with some babe who works uptown?" Mark was startled. "That's what Jim said."
"My mother's the babe who works uptown." Vicky put away her lipstick, and swung about to face him with a flippant smile. "Anything else you'd like to know?"
"Yeah." His eyes were uneasy with speculation. "How old are you, Vicky?" He was appraising her with fresh awareness. Vicky lifted her head in a gesture of young bravado. "How old, Vicky?" he persisted gently.
"Twenty," she said, after a hesitation that was a telltale fraction too long.
"Come again?" Mark challenged grimly.
"Almost eighteen," she confessed, blue eyes stormy. "So what?"
"So what?" Mark jeered roughly. "So you're way out of your depth!" He shook his head eloquently. "It's no good, baby, you're running with the wrong crowd. Get out. Get out, Vicky, before you get burnt to a cinder!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Vicky lay across her bed, head propped on a fist while she made an effort to concentrate on homework. Yesterday, Lee and she had spent hours in the Fifth Avenue stores. Lee was bent on smoothing the air between them. So what did Lee do Saturday night, Vicky reminded herself somberly? She dragged Vicky out to dinner with Randy and herself. Which had one redeeming feature, Vicky conceded: Jim could have been calling all day and all evening without getting through to her.
She frowned, slammed the book shut, swung her legs to the floor. She wasn't really hungry, but there was an impatience in her that demanded activity. She was halfway to the kitchen when the phone rang.
"Vicky," Lee called. "It's for you."
"Okay." Vicky scurried for the bedroom, to pick up her extension. "Hello." She was faintly breathless.
"Hi," Jim murmured caressingly.
"Oh, it's you." She made it sound polite but disappointed.
"Hey, baby," he rebuked, "don't throw me into the deep freeze that way."
"I don't like being stood up," she said matter-of-factly. "Contrary to any ideas you might have had."
"I sent Mark over, didn't I? He must have told you it was business."
"Oh, sure," she jibed.
"Look, it's early. Come out and meet me for coffee," he said urgently. "I've got sensational news. We've got a party to plan, doll."
"What sensational news?" she hedged. She wasn't going to go running just because he snapped his fingers.
"I'm not telling you till you meet me for coffee," he taunted. "Now are you coming or going to grow old in curiosity?"
"I haven't much time. I have to cram for an exam in the morning. Meet me at the drugstore on the corner," she decided, not fully defrosting. "In about fifteen minutes." It would take him that long to walk up from his place. What was the great news, she wondered?
Vicky spent ten minutes brushing her hair into a pale gold sheen. She collected a jacket from her closet, dropped her keys and a lipstick into a pocket, and headed for the door. It would take another five to arrive at the drugstore. Mark hadn't said anything to Jim about Friday night, she guessed with a flicker of guilt.
She pushed open the door to the drugstore, instantly spied Jim sitting with a cup of coffee and a cigarette at a rear table. He must have come by jet.
"So what's all the mystery about?" she demanded, sliding into a chair opposite Jim.
"Big news," he grinned. "I'm going to be Bret's personal manager!"
"You're quitting school?" Vicky stared in shock.
"No, I'll do it on the side until June, when I pick up my degree. Bret's satisfied to wait it out with me. Bret's great, but he doesn't have the drive. With me behind him," he forged ahead exuberantly, "we'll both make a bundle."
The waiter sidled over, took Vicky's order, and departed. Jim leaned forward, and reached for Vicky's hand.
"I had to go chasing out to see this record guy Friday night," he explained. "About getting Bret on a platter. He made all kinds of crazy demands, like tying Bret up for five years without any kind of guarantee. I wasn't buying that, but I had to try to work out something we could go along with. He was a two-bit operator, anyhow," Jim admitted, "so maybe it's just as well we didn't make any deals."
"Lee says if the company hasn't got good distribution, you might as well be dead...." Vicky began, and then turned taciturn. She hadn't meant to mention her mother's job. Jim belonged in one segment of her life, her mother in another. She had a compulsion to keep them apart.
"Your mother in the record business?" Jim's eyes were alight with astonishment. "You never said anything about that," he accused.
"She works for Rajah Records," Vicky said hastily. She didn't have to say Lee was A&R head. "They don't put out a folk label." Not so far, Vicky amended in her mind. One of the reasons Lee landed the job-not counting Randy's promoting her for it-was because of the background in the folk field. They must be planning to bring out a folk label. Curiosity about this had been simmering in her mind since the first night she heard Bret at the Dark Room. "Lee couldn't do you any good," Vicky added with a show of candor, because Jim was looking at her in a way that brought forth a tremor of hostility-as though she might be useful.
Jim's eyes went opaque for a moment. "We're throwing a brawl Tuesday, at the apartment. That's an off-night for Bret. Meet me after school and we'll go shop for the fixings. Okay?"
His knee jiggled against hers beneath the table. His mind was off somewhere else, though, Vicky guessed. He was out in orbit over making this tie-in with Bret. It could be exciting, she admitted, remembering how Lee could become involved with a promising recording talent.
"I'll meet you in the Square, by the fountain," she promised. "Straight from school."
Bret would be at the party. She would see him for the whole evening. It wouldn't be like the other times at all. Suddenly, Vicky wished it were already Tuesday evening.
Vicky watched the clock impatiently, anxious for the end of the school day. School out in Chicago had been the focal point of her life. Here it was time to be served, with reluctance. The bell sounded, and Vicky sighed with relief. She pushed through the home-bent throngs of girls with a sense of satisfaction that she had a destination. It could have been awful for her here if she hadn't bumped into Jim and his crowd that first day.
Vicky shoved past the clusters of girls, in groups of twos or threes or more. She made her way down the subway stairs, somewhat ahead of the school mob. Jim would be waiting at his place for her. Mark, she remembered, had a class today until five. Bret always saw her with Jim, Vicky recalled. In his mind she was probably Jim's girl. The knowledge was oddly disturbing.
She climbed the long narrow flights to Jim's apartment. It was kooky, having a beer blast on a Tuesday night this way, when everybody had classes next morning. She paused near the top-both because she was breathless from the climb and because of the unmistakable sounds of a guitar drifting down to her level. Bret was there.
"We have to go shopping," Jim greeted her briskly at the door. He put a finger to his mouth in silence. "Bret's working on lyrics. He couldn't stand the circus in the apartment above his-some babe with small kids doing a war dance."
"Hi," Bret called out, nonetheless. "Don't let this character blow his whole bankroll. We're not in the high income brackets yet."
"I'll keep him on a budget," Vicky promised. There was an electric current that zigzagged between Bret and her. He was as aware of it as she was, she decided in a rush of anticipation. They walked within sight of each other, and zoom, somebody pushed the button! "You work, slave," she jibed.
They spent over an hour between the supermarket and the liquor store, where Jim concentrated on cheap wine. The beer was already stacked high in a supermarket bag. When they returned to the apartment, they found Bret in the tiny kitchenette, brewing coffee and searching for sandwich makings.
"Don't you guys stock anything around here?" Bret complained, poking an exploratory hand into the oversized paper bag which Vicky carried. "Here, let me take that," he redirected his efforts.
"Cold cuts in the bottom," Vicky said briskly, to mask the sudden acceleration of her pulse as Bret's hand brushed hers. There it was again-that electric current going berserk in her.
"Who said creative activity doesn't bring on an appetite?" Bret chuckled. "You don't have to push around a truck or lay bricks to work up a powerful hunger."
He looked as though he might have missed meals somewhere along the line, Vicky thought. But that faintly gaunt look was part of his attraction, she conceded. She moved about the small living room with swift, competent gestures. One thing about her mother, Vicky reminded herself with a pang of guilt-there was always a welcome mat out for the kids, even when Vicky brought them home in droves.
"Hey, Jim," Bret demanded, his voice muffled by a roast beef sandwich, "where did you find a girl who's gorgeous and quiet at the same time?"
"She's got a one-track mind-right now she's working," Jim mocked. "She'll talk your ear off when she gets going."
"I come from Chicago," Vicky said coolly. "Closer to the west than New York."
Vicky's eyes tangled with Bret's for a smothering instant. He bolted down the rest of his sandwich, and washed it down with coffee.
"I'll be back in time for festivities," he said, an inscrutable look of amusement on his face.
He was going out to give them time for personal frolic, Vicky thought, angry that Bret Danzig was taking for granted that she was private property. But there was no time for any such activity. Jim reached for Vicky, pulled her in snugly against him, and was instantly interrupted by a rhythmic knock at the door.
Jim swore under his breath, crossed the small room to open the door. The golden-skinned almond-eyed girl Vicky had met at that first party-her name was Iris, Vicky plucked the name from her memory-stood in the doorway with a jumbo shopping bag clutched in her arms.
"I'm on a cooking kick," Iris murmured, and again Vicky thought, this was the only girl she had ever encountered who was practically skin and bones yet terribly sexy. "I made a party cake!"
Iris was making a subtle effort to touch Jim at every possible opportunity, as the two of them removed the three-tiered cake from the shopping bag. Across the top, and the tracks about the two lower layers, Iris had scrawled a risque message in red. All of a sudden, Jim was madly important, Vicky thought, hostility soaring within her. The nerve of Iris, making a pitch for Jim right in front of her, when everybody knew she was shacked up with Jim's old buddy! Or was that off?
By the time guests began to arrive Vicky had built up a healthy antagonism for Iris that spilled over onto Jim. The small living room was a jungle in minutes, with every segment of floor space seemingly occupied. Bret appeared again, good-humoredly refused to entertain, and was encouraged with much jocularity all around. Everybody thought Jim was something like a genius for making the connection with Bret. But, of course, Vicky thought cynically, nothing had really happened. Bret was still just a cult among a small Village group, and Jim was a brash college senior out to make a lolling.
Jim floated, enjoying his role as host. Mark was deep in intellectual talk with an exile from Hunter College. At first, Vicky was flattered when Bret made a point of attaching himself to her. She was conscious that the others were taking note of his attentions.
"I never thought anybody would ambush me in another college blast," Bret was saying softly, off in a corner where they had found a private space.
"What have you got against college?" Vicky asked. He had a way of looking at her that said he knew every single secret about her-which was rot, of course.
"Not a thing. It's the time and energy wasted at these shindigs." For the first time she was really aware of the nervous energy generating beneath the casual exterior.
"What's wrong with fun?" She felt the warmth of him, and was stirred by it.
"Nothing, in fair measure. Too many of these characters," his eyes appraised the noisy clusters cynically, "come to college as the last happy hunting grounds. It's social life first, degree second."
"You didn't hang around to find out," she guessed.
"I stayed for two years." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I didn't run with the fun group. It was all pressure, until I was ready to blow my stack. And for what? To land a degree that meant nothing to me-so I walked. I was on the road for two years. I should have picked up a degree in engineering last June." He smiled slowly. "So I blew into New York and began making the Village scene."
"You're having a ball," she challenged, almost accusingly.
"Up to a point. I'm at a standstill now. Not enough drive-or maybe misdirected drive." He smiled, spilling over the ingratiating charm Vicky had felt on the first encounter. "Maybe Jim's just what I need. He's got the brass for it." Bret chuckled, but his eyes were probing again. "If he can swing some record deal for me, we're on our way."
"Oh, Jim has brass all right," she said flippantly. Like what was going on right now, she warned herself. Old Jim had taken old Bret aside and told him about Lee Allison's being tied up with Rajah Records-and they were out to milk the connection for all the mileage it would provide. "Not very subtle, though." Her eyes, aglow with hostility, clashed with Bret's.
"Now there, honey," surprisingly, Bret gave himself over to low laughter, "there you have nailed him down. But careers aren't made by being subtle or gentlemanly or compassionate. You need a thick hide and a heavy foot."
"Which you don't have," Vicky guessed.
"Hence Jim," he nodded. "So Jim's twenty-one and I'm twenty-two. It's not a business where age counts-you just have to make somebody listen, then deliver." His voice was serious now. He was sending a message, Vicky thought restlessly. It was real wild: Jim and Bret were wooing her to get through to Lee.
"I'm hungry," she announced, her mouth sulky.
Nobody was going to use her-she had a thing about that! But she was also fast developing a thing for Bret Danzig.
"Hey, floor show, everybody!" Jim was yelling, and the guests pushed back amid much laughter and noisy exhortations, to allow a small space in the center of the room. Iris was going to dance.
Iris emerged from the bathroom, dressed in skimpy red leotards. Her breasts were tiny adolescent swellings, her hips narrow, belly flat, the legs incredibly long and surprisingly sensuous. From in the bedroom came the sexy beat of an African drum. Iris closed her eyes, moved, writhed, building with the beat of the drum. Jim was absolutely mesmerized, Vicky thought scornfully.
She felt Bret's hand settle about her waist. Fingers traveled in the darkness to the foothills of her breast. A pulse began to pound deep in her pelvis. Her throat felt dry from the closeness of him. She wouldn't let him know how he turned her on, Vicky promised herself. She wouldn't!
It was past eleven, but there was no sign of slackening of festivities, despite the fact that tomorrow was school. Vicky frowned, gesturing to her watch when Jim paused with her for a moment.
"Relax, baby."
"I have to go," Vicky insisted firmly. Mark was here-Jim could take her home. Mark, she noted, was still in the corner with the intense brunette from Hunter.
"Wait, Vicky." His eyes traveled about the room, found Bret, signaled him to join them.
"Yeah?" Bret asked. He knew she was on to Jim and him, Vicky thought with shaky triumph. "What's doin'?"
"Take Vicky home for me, will you?" Jim asked leisurely. "I can't walk out on my own blast."
"Sure, I was ready to shove off anyhow," Bret said, smiling.
"We'll still be alive for a while, remember," Jim said cautiously. "Come on back later."
Vicky intercepted a message between the two fellows. The nerve of them, handing her about this way! She didn't care if she never saw either of them again! In fact, she told herself tautly, if she had one ounce of sense she would take Mark's advice-cut out from this whole conniving crowd!
"I can go home alone," Vicky announced defiantly. "You don't have to break up this happy little party on my account."
"You're not going home alone," Bret said firmly. "Where's your coat?"
She brushed past him and strode into the bedroom where coats lay huddled in a small mountain across the twin beds. If Bret were nursing any ideas about coming into the apartment and meeting Lee, he had a sad surprise in store. They were saying good-night in the lobby. And the next time she talked to Jim, she was going to lay the rules right on the table. If Jim Hastings wanted to date her, okay-but she wasn't going to be used as a way to get through to her mother!
"Okay," she said coolly to Bret, without allowing her eyes to meet Jim's. "Let's go."
"Wait," Jim ordered, dropping an arm about her waist as he walked with her to the door.
The three walked outside. Jim shut the door, reached for her mouth. He kissed her deeply, with a candid determination to mend their fences. It wasn't the same, Vicky thought, somehow frightened. Why?
CHAPTER SIX
Vicky brought the salad bowl to the dinette table, and placed it at the center. Her mother was pulling a steak from the broiler. Lee had made a point, ever since she walked into the apartment an hour ago, of emphasizing that she would not be racing out after dinner. She had even put on the extra-sized percolator.
This would be Lee's first evening home all week, and this was already Thursday, Vicky thought with recurrent resentment. But Lee felt guilty about being so tied up with the Job. And with Randy, Vicky forced herself to acknowledge. Randy wasn't just some man Lee was dating; he was her boss. She had never hated her mother's jobs before, had she? For a hodgepodge of undefined reasons, she hated this one.
"Darling, I've been thinking about tomorrow night," Lee said with a warm, smile-because there were still strained relations between them, despite Lee's determination to ignore the run-in over Randy. "I've asked Randy over for dinner-"
"Oh?" Vicky made the tiny word a loaded accusation.
Lee put the steak platter down, sat across from Vicky. "Why don't you invite that nice-looking friend of yours over for dinner, too? Jim. All I've seen of him so far is a fast glimpse at the door now and then," her mother reminded humorously. "You know I like to know your friends." She didn't say, the one you've been seeing constantly; but Vicky got the pitch. "Just have him pop in for dinner with us-to make it a party, then you two can shove off for whatever festivities you've planned."
"Okay," Vicky shrugged. She could call Jim later and tell him about the dinner. He would probably welcome the chance to spend that much time with Lee. But he wouldn't get a word in anywhere along the line about records, she promised herself. Randy would probably just pulverize him, anyhow, Vicky guessed. She had heard him sound off once about pushing song pluggers.
It was close to eleven before she was able to catch up with Jim. He couldn't be getting much studying done, she thought drily as she waited for Mark to direct him over to the phone.
"Hi, baby," his voice came to her with that effective undertone of sexiness. "How'd you know I was dying to talk to you?"
"From the way you've been trying to reach me all evening," she flipped. "You're invited for dinner tomorrow night. Knowing the state of your bank account, I figured you wouldn't object to a free meal," she drawled. "Oh, my mother's having a friend over. Don't say anything about the record business-he hates anything to do with entertainment," she lied sweetly, pleased with the subterfuge.
"Do we have to stay around after chow?" Jim asked cautiously.
"No, we eat and blow," Vicky said. Friday nights they made a point of being at the Dark Room. It was ritual now. "Show up about six-thirty or quarter of seven. We'll be out by eight," she promised.
Vicky inspected herself in the full-length door mirror. She never felt completely at ease with Randy since the night she had flirted with him so blatantly, though he was entirely casual. She had wanted to dress up for the dinner because Lee was sure to be as glamorous as anything in "Vogue," but the mob at the Dark Room went in for informality. She had compromised, wearing a turquoise skirt and festive after-ski knitted top that clung tenaciously. She looked all right, she told herself with a surge of confidence. With her blue eyes turquoise was madly flattering; the knitted top was a show-stopper.
The doorbell rang. It wasn't Randy, Vicky reminded herself. Lee had said he might be a little late.
"I'll get it," she called to her mother, and raced to open the door.
"Surprise!" Bret stood in the doorway with an ingratiating smile, a twinkle in the probing blue eyes. "Jim was hung up at an appointment. He said we shouldn't let a free dinner go astray. That is," Bret stipulated, "if it's okay with your mother."
"Why not?" Vicky tossed back, regaining her equilibrium. Bret had really made the big effort tonight. Haircut, dress shirt, tie. He might have been some hard-driving junior executive in an ad agency on the Loop or Madison Avenue. "You think they'll let you in the Dark Room tonight in that masquerade?"
"I'll dodge in the back way," he whispered, his gaze taking in the turquoise outfit. "Sharp," he approved. "As usual."
"I didn't think you noticed." She was making light conversation, but she was a shambles inside. Jim had a nerve, pulling this switch! And in some crazy, contradictory way she was mad and glad at the same time.
"I notice a lot of things," Bret said quietly.
"Hello there." Lee didn't quite manage to hide her surprise at the switch in guests.
"Mother, this is Bret Danzig, Jim's stand-in tonight," Vicky introduced. "We'll meet Jim after dinner."
"Can I do anything to help?" Bret offered, noting the ice bucket in Lee's hands. "I'm fairish as a bartender."
"I'm rotten," Lee laughed. "And Randy won't be here for at least fifteen minutes. Would you like to take a whirl at this?" She smiled, walking towards the bar at one end of the living room.
"Just fill me in on your tastes," Bret said, hitting a note of instant friendliness with Lee.
Vicky followed in their wake, faintly sulky because Bret was obviously making an effort to win Lee over. Not that it was taking much effort. What was he planning on doing? Pulling a guitar out of the air and auditioning for Lee and Randy over coffee?
"You allow her to drink?" Bret teased, nodding towards Vicky.
"Oh, Vicky has a cocktail when she's in the mood," Lee said lightly. "After all, she's almost eighteen."
Lee would have to say that, Vicky thought grimly. He was rocked. Like everybody else, he figured her for nineteen or twenty at least! But that wasn't keeping him from sending hot looks at her knitted top every chance he got.
"Is everything all set?" Vicky asked, wishing Randy would get here. If Bret tried any promoting tonight, she would absolutely flatten him. "Need any help out in the kitchen?"
"All set, darling," Lee reassured her. "I'll just run out and keep an eye on that roast. I hope Randy isn't too late." She cast-an apprehensive glance at her watch. "We have to be uptown at a recording session by eight-thirty."
"She's the most attractive A & R head anywhere in this town, I'll bet," Bret said in soft admiration when Lee had retreated to the kitchen.
So they had checked around; they knew Lee was A & R head.
"Rajah Records is a pop label," Vicky reminded coldly.
"I know," Bret said calmly. "Pull in your claws, kitten."
Vicky could feel the tension building up in Bret because here he was in such close contact with somebody with pull in a record company. Of course, she reminded herself guiltily, he had no idea about Lee's folk music background, what she had done for the group out in Chicago. He was too bright to come out with some brash remark at the dinner table, she was certain. He didn't have Jim's kind of brashness, she remembered Bret's saying. Maybe it was good that Bret showed in Jim's place.
The doorbell rang again, and Vicky went to admit Randy. She introduced Bret and Randy, noting the flicker of interest on Randy's part. Bret had the kind of personality that drew people. He was so at ease with both Lee and Randy, Vicky thought with child-like resentment. It was as though Bret was putting himself on the side of the adults, and Vicky with the kids.
"Dinner," Lee announced brightly, and they all settled themselves about the table.
Vicky spoke little, only when Bret made a concentrated effort to draw her within the table talk. He was miles away, tonight at their dinner table, from the Bret Danzig she had first encountered in the park, had heard at the Dark Room. He might lack Jim's drive; but he was smart, Vicky admitted reluctantly. Nobody said anything about the record business all through dinner; the conversation centered on cities, then politics, a current Broadway musical hit, over which Randy and Bret argued good-humoredly.
"It's getting close on time," Randy warned uneasily as they lingered over coffee.
Lee's eyes rested briefly on Bret. "Randy and I have to head uptown for a recording session," she said. "Can we drop you two off somewhere?" Lee didn't like leaving Bret and her alone, Vicky guessed, lifting her head defiantly.
"I have to be at work in half an hour," Bret said calmly, as though he were discussing the weather. "I strum a guitar and sing at a Village coffee shop." He made no effort to take advantage of the startled exchange between Randy and Lee. "I'll help Vicky clean up around the kitchen, and then walk her over to the Room to meet Jim."
"All right," Lee agreed.
With a stony face Vicky began collecting dishes from the table. Bret didn't have to make such a production about letting them know he was handing her over to Jim. It disturbed her, too, feeling the way Bret was keyed up tonight. If they hadn't pushed this way, she might just have tried to get Lee over to hear Bret.
"They're a nice pair," Bret remarked, covertly watching her as they stacked dishes in the dishwasher.
"They work together," Vicky said sharply.
"So what are you so antagonistic about?" he challenged. "Your mother's a good-looking woman. Don't you think she's entitled to some love life, too?"
"Oh, you're an authority on everything, aren't you?" Vicky blazed.
"You're a mixed-up, suspicious little kid, you know," he said tightly. "You don't trust anybody!"
"What's there to trust?" she demanded. "Everybody's out for something!"
"It really upset your little applecart when your mother took this job in New York, didn't it?" Compassion softened the usual probing of his eyes, elicited a startled rebelliousness in Vicky.
"What do you think?" She busied herself putting things into the refrigerator.
"Almost eighteen," he mused, his voice taking on a teasing quality. "High school senior?"
"You don't have to advertise it!" she shot back.
"I wouldn't dream of it, baby," he promised softly.
Suddenly, they were no longer two combatants. Each was terribly conscious of the other in the narrow quarters of the kitchenette. His hands settled at her shoulders. Vicky looked up at him in a convulsive rush of excitement. He made her feel small and helpless-and desirable. "You're a character, you know," she said unsteaday. , Her mouth was reaching up to meet his simultaneously with the descent of his own. His hands were large, strong, tenderly caressing about her back as she moved in against the lean, muscular torso. Oh, this was good!
"We'd better get out of here," Bret said roughly.
"Not yet," Vicky resisted, her fingers closing in about his shoulders.
"This doesn't belong in the plot," Bret reminded, before his mouth came down hungrily on hers again.
This was different, Vicky thought in wonder. Her mouth clung to his. Her body trembled. The long, strong fingers roved across the knit top, and excitement became a sweet, demanding anguish. She pushed insistently against him with a need to claim.
"Crazy," he muttered, but a hand found its way beneath the knit top, beneath the filmy bra.
"Let's go into my room," she whispered hotly, encouraging his hand to stay at her breast.
They walked together in hot silence, pausing now and then en route to brush lips across eager flesh. His fingers shooting off rockets in her as they stroked a quivering, stiffening tip. They walked into the darkness of her bedroom, closed the door behind them, and suddenly impatience took over.
She stood swaying before him while his hands roamed everywhere, while his mouth loved her. And then it was impossible to wait, and she was imploring with soft, painful sounds of excitement.
"All right, baby, all right," he crooned hoarsely.
They lay heatedly across the velvet softness of the coverlet. Her body strained to meet his. Her hands clutched convulsively. They sought, found, became one heated fount of passion. Her whimper became an abandoned cry. Nobody else but Bret, ever, she told herself in pounding ecstasy!
Her eyes shone, Vicky thought defiantly as she stared at herself in the mirror. She had repaired her make-up, and brushed her hair. She had never felt this way before, Vicky thought in wonder-as though the whole world had changed, as though all the tightness had been banished from her body. She felt free, relaxed, in love with the world. No, Vicky corrected herself: in love with Bret Danzig. You didn't have to be twenty or twenty-five for it to happen. It could happen at almost eighteen. Jim was kid's stuff; Bret and she were in the man-woman league.
"Ready?" Bret turned from the window when she walked into the living room.
"Ready," she said softly, waiting for him to take the initiative.
"Vicky, I ... I didn't mean for that to happen," he said tensely.
"Why not?" she challenged, singing inside for the moment.
"Because I don't buy this casual sleeping around bit," he said.
"Forget it," Vicky said quickly, hot color rising up her throat, staining her cheeks. "Let's go over to the Room. Jim'll be waiting."
He thought she was just a girl to be passed around from buddy to buddy, she thought-angry, ashamed, faintly sick inside. She had been all wrong. It had meant nothing to him, except a thing for the moment. And he had this high minded bit to throw at her-how he was saving himself for something real!
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Room was dimly lit, smoke-clogged, and Friday night jammed. Vicky and Jim sat close to the perimeter of the playing area, where a pair of actors had just finished presenting a scene.
"You're sore," Jim accused while they stretched a second cup of espresso into another hour. "I told you I had to see this guy about coming down to catch Bret."
"You're always shoving me off on somebody," Vicky whispered heatedly. Her eyes smoldered. She was unhappily conscious that Bret sat across the room, talking to a rapt little group of followers until it was time for him to sing again. "Like I was a French poodle or something."
"When Bret finishes his next round, let's go over to the apartment," he tried, his knee amorous beneath the table.
"I have to be home by twelve," she said sulkily. "Lee nearly collapsed when she saw Bret waltz in tonight instead of you. I don't want her picking up any kooky ideas."
"Didn't you explain that I had to follow up a lead?" Jim looked mildly outraged. Ever since he had walked into the Room, an hour and ten minutes late, Jim had been fishing to find out what happened at dinner.
"No," Vicky said coldly. "I just said Bret was standing in for you. My mother's broad-minded about such things," she needled, knowing exactly what was going through Jim's mind.
He thought he was so smart, shipping Bret over that way in his place. What would Jim have to say if he knew about what happened after dinner? What would he say if he knew about Mark and her? And in flash of logic, Vicky knew the answer. Jim would be surprised, sore for a few minutes-that would be all. It didn't mean anything to Jim about whom he was making out with, Vicky punished herself, just so long as there was a girl who was hip and good-looking and willing.
It had meant something to Bret, she insisted intensely. That was the difference between Bret and Jim. She was something special to Bret; but he wasn't having it, Vicky tortured herself. And she knew now that with Bret she could forget about every other fellow in the world. He had honestly flipped for her, too. Why the great pretense that it was all a mistake? Was he stuffed full of nutty ideas about loyalty to Jim?
He knew Jim, Vicky thought miserably. He knew about all the other girls before her. That was where she had washed out with Bret Danzig. He thought she was like Iris and the others in Jim's clique. Bret didn't want a community girl.
Jim was distant as he kissed her good-night at the door; it was just a routine he followed from habit, she thought resentfully. They were not severing relations, but there was a wall between them. He strode away from her, towards the elevator, without a backward glance.
Vicky walked into the living room, to find Lee curled up at one end of the sofa with a book.
"You're home early," Vicky said, taken aback by her mother's presence. It was just past twelve; the recording sessions usually went on way past the scheduled three hours. "What happened?"
"Oh, for once everything went smoothly," Lee said with a bright smile. "Randy stayed afterwards to wrap everything up and I caught a cab home." She hesitated, depositing the paperback in her hand face down on the coffee table. "Randy and I thought we'd drive up to Connecticut tomorrow afternoon, have dinner up there. Come along with us?"
"Saturday night's date night, remember?" Vicky flipped. "Not that we'll do anything madly exciting," she acknowledged with a show of restlessness. "Just sit around the coffee house all evening until the mob gets together to go up to Jim's and Mark's apartment for franks and beer."
"What happened with Jim tonight?" Lee questioned, so casually Vicky knew it was plotted.
"He was working. He has this part-time job," she improvised. "They weren't going to let a free meal go begging."
"Plot?" Lee asked, her eyes showing amusement.
"What do you mean?" Vicky hedged.
"I got the pitch, darling," Lee laughed gently. "Bret is trying to make it in the folk field. He wasn't pushing, I admit," Lee said conscientiously, "but the plug reached me, of course."
"Bret sings over at the Dark Room," Vicky said reluctantly. "He's been there about three weeks now. You know how the kids make the rounds of the coffee houses," she shrugged.
Had Bret been playing a really smart game with her? Turning her on, then walking off that way? Now she was supposed to be so ape over him that she'd throw him before Lee! Well, Bret Danzig would have a long wait, Vicky promised herself heatedly.
Vicky stared at the rug without seeing it as her mother retreated to the kitchenette. Maybe Bret had plotted the whole deal-he was bright, for all that jazz about not having the kind of drive it took to make a splash career-wise. She didn't want him playing games with her, Vicky rebelled impatiently. Tonight it had seemed so real, for both of them. How did you know when a fellow was just stringing you along? With the kids she would have known. Even with Jim she knew the score. But Bret Danzig was in another category. He ran with Jim's rat pack, but he was way beyond them.
"What about Bret?" Lee asked, coming back into the living room with two mugs of coffee. Lee had an idea that coffee made confiding easier. "Good?"
"He's okay." Vicky refused to meet her mother's eyes. "For a small coffee house."
"Sure you don't want to drive up to Connecticut with Randy and me tomorrow?" Lee tried again.
"No," Vicky said firmly. Lee knew she would be miserable, Vicky thought self-consciously. Why was she forever trying to drag Randy into the family picture? Vicky's throat tightened as she considered this. Lee wasn't serious about Randy, was she? No, that was kooky even to think about. Lee liked Randy, and he had helped her get this sensational job, and he was her boss.
She didn't want her mother marrying Randy or anybody else, Vicky admitted inwardly. It was rotten enough, having to leave Chicago and live in New York. But if they hadn't moved to New York, she would never have met Bret. Why was Bret suddenly the most important thing in her whole life? He was just playing some creepy game, using her to get through to Lee. What made him think that he could sell Lee on putting him on a record? What made him think he was so sensational that one record and, zingo, he would be made?
But he was good, Vicky told herself with a fleeting candor. Jim knew that, she knew that, and those squealing kids who flocked into the Dark Room on weekends knew that. It was a matter of time before Bret Danzig would move right out of their small Village circle, and she would lose what little contact she now had. The prospect made her miserable.
For once Vicky was relieved when the weekend was past, and school required her presence and attention for most of the day. Jim was playing the injured role now. Bret was making a point of staying out of talking range unless there were plenty of others around, like Sunday afternoon when the whole mob congregated again in Jim's and Mark's apartment. Iris was frank about having split up with her apartment-sharer. She was equally frank about wanting to move in with Jim and Mark, which the boys calmly squashed.
Monday afternoon was spent in the Forty-Second Street Public Library doing research for a special project. Monday evening Jim phoned, tried to coax her out for coffee. Vicky begged off. Tuesday Jim was cutting his last class to troop out to Jersey about a possible job for Bret. Vicky didn't really expect him to call her. Wednesday afternoon she was unlocking the door when the phone buzzed. She hurried to answer. Jim, after all, was her link to Bret. No matter how she talked to herself about hating his guts, Vicky knew it would be a long time before she got over Bret Danzig. "Hello," she said breathlessly.
"Sweetie, I'm going to be awfully late for dinner," her mother apologized. "There was a mix-up on the session today, and we're going in two hours late."
"Okay," Vicky accepted calmly. "I'll just grab a sandwich outside. What about you?"
"I might as well run into that little place around the corner after the session," Lee said, sounding relieved that Vicky was undisturbed. "You know how everybody suddenly develops a mad hunger after a session, anyway, we'll probably all pile in."
"See you when I see you then," Vicky said fliply. "Have a good session."
Vicky went into her room, changed into slacks and sneakers. Suddenly, she felt at loose ends. She would study for an hour, then take a break and go downstairs. She wondered how Jim made out last night with the job for Bret. Fighting restlessness, she tossed herself across the bed, and made an effort to concentrate on study.
The phone jarred noisily into the silence. Vicky stretched to the night table to pick up her extension.
"Hi," she said coolly.
"I got back too late last night to call you," Jim said, an undertone of excitement in his voice. "I'm starving and broke. Come over and make dinner for Mark and me. The refrigerator's still loaded."
"I might as well," Vicky conceded. "I'm eating alone, too."
"I'll defrost hamburger," Jim decided. "Okay?"
"Why not?" She didn't ask how he made out on the job for Bret. Why sound concerned about it? "I have to finish up an assignment. I'll be there in about an hour."
Mark would be at the apartment, so Jim would have to be limited in the romance department. She had been flattered by the way Jim put Iris down so firmly. For a moment she almost expected them to welcome Iris as a roommate. Anyhow, it was better to go over to Jim's than to stay alone here, Vicky decided calmly. Why shouldn't she see Jim? She had no intention of letting Bret know the way he had thrown her. It was just a scene for the night. That was the way he wanted it, so let him think that was all it meant to her, too. And if Bret were playing games, he would see she wasn't taking the bait.
Vicky heard the record player as she reached the final landing to Jim's apartment. Jim was singing along with the trio. She hesitated a moment before she knocked on the door. Her throat felt tight as she considered the possibility of Bret's being at the apartment. She didn't want to see him, she told herself savagely, knowing it was a lie.
"I was about to send out a St. Bernard," Jim welcomed her. "What took you so long?" He helped her off with her jacket, allowing a hand to rest briefly on the thrust of her sweater.
"An old-fashioned institution known as study," she mocked. "How did you make out last night?" On the surface she appeared amused that Jim had made the trip all the way out to Jersey.
"Okay," he grinned. "Bret goes out for a Friday and Saturday date week after next. They'll drop dead at the Room. They figured they had Bret sewed up forever."
"Why?" Vicky demanded. "He has no contract with them, has he?"
"They figure he's not going to miss a chance of being right here in New York, in case we can get somebody important down to hear him."
"How's your defrosting?" Vicky pointedly switched topics of conversation. "Or do we wait for Mark?" The bedroom was dark, the bathroom door open; obviously, Mark wasn't here.
"Mark's stuck uptown," Jim shrugged. "Let him worry about eating when he gets home. You still carrying that chip on your shoulder?" he jibed, reaching for her.
"You need glasses," she tossed back, immobile as he moved in closely.
"We haven't had a chance to be by ourselves for almost a week," he complained. "I'm not the celibate type, baby." His hands folded her in snugly against him. His mouth brushed her ear.
"You're the ambitious type, all wrapped up in the success picture," she taunted. "When do you have time to worry about being celibate?" She was taut in his arms, yet sharply aware of his closeness.
"So I'm aggressive," he said smugly. "That's how you get things in this world. You've been giving me a hard time, you know?"
"What do you think you've been doing?" she tossed back. "Shipping Bret over for dinner when my mother was expecting you. That was just great!"
"What have you got against Bret, anyhow?" he demanded.
"Bret's all right," she dismissed, "so long as he doesn't get in my way."
"He's not getting in your way right now," Jim pointed out.
"You said something about hamburgers," she reminded.
"No rush." He frowned. "What's with you, anyhow?"
"The next time I invite you over for dinner, I expect you to show up." She gave a good show of petulance.
"Invite me," he ordered. "I'll come a running."
His mouth was busy at her ear. His hands were making the familiar trip beneath her sweater. Her thoughts swung backward to Bret, and in retaliation she tightened her hands at Jim's shoulders, nuzzled her hips against his.
"When do you expect Mark?" she asked, her voice a blend of warning and anticipation.
"He called me less than ten minutes ago. He was all the way up at a hundred tliirty-fifth street," Jim said complacently. "Relax."
He found the zipper at the side of her slacks. His hand stroked the small flat belly. His mouth claimed hers-he moved his tongue between the already parting lips. She was a nut to think about Bret, Vicky rebuked herself. Concentrate on now, this minute.
He lifted her from the pool of clothes at her feet, coaxed the sweater above her head. She stretched in a gesture of deliberate provocativeness. Her bra went limp, the straps riding down about her shoulders.
"You are delicious," he whispered hotly. "I love the taste of you!"
She could absolutely go ape, Vicky thought dizzily. Her heart pounded. A cold white heat zigzagged through her. Jim was great! Who needed Bret?
"Jim," she whispered huskily. "Oh, Jimmy!"
"I go for a girl who shows appreciation," Jim crooned, his voice deepening in excitement. "You're a real swinger, baby."
Vicky closed her eyes as he lifted her from her feet. Her hands tightened at his shoulders. He was carrying her into the tiny bedroom. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be loved like crazy!
He dropped her along the length of the bed, and she waited with impatience for him to touch again. He lay beside her finally, in the darkness, and eager hands rippled across her throbbing torso. She reached to coax, relished the sound of guttural excitement that escaped him. Who needed Bret Danzig, she mocked herself as her panting whiteness strained to meet him. Here was Jim. Here was all she needed in this world.
"Oh, baby, baby," he muttered.
And there were only the sounds of their towering excitement, building to a tumultuous, triumphant crescendo, in the tiny darkened room.
Vicky stood in Jim's small kitchenette, arranging hamburgers on a griddle. She fought against a wave of depression that threatened to take over. In the beginning it was fun to be Jim's girl. And then there was the time with Mark, and Bret. She was out of her depth, Vicky admitted uneasily. She wasn't like Iris. But that was what Bret thought about her, of course.
"When do I get invited to chow again?" Jim asked, lounging in the doorway.
"We'll see," Vicky stalled.
"Why don't you bring your mother over to the Room some night?" Jim said, his voice -edged with anxiety.
"She's busy most nights," Vicky said. "Besides, what's the point?" She kept her eyes on the hamburgers.
"Bret will be there just two more weekends," Jim said impatiently, "then he shoots out to Jersey for something better paying. Then you'll have a real excuse-it'll be too much for her to travel to Jersey!" He glared at her in sudden anger, no longer masked.
"You're so worked up over her being with Rajah Records," Vicky said defiantly. "You know it's a pop label."
"Do I?" he jeered. "Don't you ever read the trade papers. Here, educate yourself, baby." He crossed the room, picked up a folded paper, and held it beneath Vicky's nose. "Your mother's getting some neat publicity. The new A & R head of Rajah Records is scouting for talent. And you're too neurotic to give a decent guy like Bret a break!"
"That's why you called me over tonight, wasn't it?" Vicky said scornfully. "That was the why of everything! Lee Allison's A & R head of Rajah Records, so let's get next to the kid and see where it'll get us. I've been through that rat race before. Who needs it?"
She pushed past Jim, collected her jacket, and flung herself from the apartment. At the downstairs door she ran headlong into Mark.
"Hey, where's the fire, Vicky?" he reproached.
"I wouldn't know," she shot back coldly. "I'm a stranger in town."
CHAPTER EIGHT
School books clutched in her arms, a sense of desolation slowing her down, Vicky walked into the lobby of her apartment building. It was a whole week today since the blow-up at Jim's apartment. She hadn't seen him since that evening. He called twice, while she was out, and she hadn't bothered to call him back. She was proud that she hadn't called him back, Vicky told herself defiantly-even though this cut off her line to Bret.
Vicky pushed the elevator button, waited restlessly. Her mother knew something had gone wrong between Jim and her, Vicky realized self-consciously. Lee always made a habit of playing it cool; she was waiting for Vicky to confide. This week had dragged like crazy, Vicky thought. She hated going to a school where all you saw were mobs of girls all day long. She wished it were June and she had the stupid high school diploma. Golly, how would she live till June?
The elevator slid to a stop in the lobby. The door opened and she waited for a tenant to clear the elevator for her.
Scrambling for her key in the valise-sized purse she carried, Vicky remembered the lie to her mother at breakfast, about having a date with Jim tonight. She had just made it up on impulse because Lee had that look in her eye of being about to ask questions. Okay, Vicky decided with an effort at casualness, so she would take herself to an Eighth Street movie tonight. What was so terrible about that?
She let herself into the apartment, headed for her room. Why was she being so kooky about pretending everything was great between Jim and her? Why couldn't she come right out and tell her mother it was dead? She had this mental block about letting on she was through with Jim-because Jim was her link to Bret.
Bret must know that Jim and she had broken up, Vicky considered. Was he sore at Jim for losing out on the contact, she wondered with wise young cynicism? He hadn't pushed at dinner that night, Vicky conceded honestly-even Lee admitted that. But also, he had made it clear that there was nothing for Bret Danzig and Vicky Allison.
She flung herself across the bed with a determination to concentrate on homework and get it out of the way. Her mother arrived early, rushed about getting dinner ready on the assumption that Vicky was going out with Jim. Vicky was silent at dinner. She was conscious of the anxious looks her mother kept shooting in her direction along with casual office talk.
"I'd better get going," Vicky said self-consciously, when she could no longer stall over coffee.
"Don't stay out too late, sweetie," Lee cautioned gently. "It's a school night, remember. And you know how you hate to get up in the morning." Lee knew something was wrong, Vicky thought with meager satisfaction.
"I'll be in by eleven," Vicky promised, pushing back her chair.
The phone rang, and Lee dashed to answer. From the low conversation on their end, Vicky gathered it was Randy to whom she was talking. Lee's face got all lit up when she talked to Randy, Vicky thought rebelliously. Randy was more important than anybody-and it wasn't just because of the job. The realization tightened a knot in the pit of Vicky's stomach.
Vicky brushed the pale silken hair into a striking smoothness, an exquisite frame for her face. Bret thought she slept around with whoever happened to be available, she taunted herself. He wanted his girl to be somebody special. All she was to Bret was a stepping stone to getting himself on a record. He wasn't the first fellow who tried that routine, Vicky reminded herself.
She pulled open a drawer, reached for her purse. Lee wasn't talking to Randy any more. Would Lee really marry him if he asked, she wondered? But why should Randy bother with marrying Lee? He was making out great this way. The phone rang again. Vicky started.
"Darling, answer the phone, will you?" Lee called. "It's probably for you this time, anyhow."
Vicky crossed to the extension in her room as the phone continued its low-keyed buzz. Probably a wrong number, she thought somberly. Didn't Lee realize how the phone rarely rang these last few days, unless it was Randy? Mark called, once, to say he had tickets for an off-Broadway preview; she had lied about having a date, with a perverse hope that this report would get back to Bret.
"Hello," she said warily.
"Vicky, it's Bret," he identified himself with a note of tension. "I want to see you."
"Why?" she challenged. "You have a fan club a mile long. Why me?" But already, her heart pounded ridiculously against her ribs.
"Meet me in ten minutes at your corner," he ordered briskly.
"I will not," she defied him, her eyes shooting sparks.
"You set a definite time this evening, Vicky Allison," he threatened calmly, "or I'll come up to your apartment and kick up the most awful scene you've ever encountered."
"You wouldn't dare!" she blazed.
"Don't try me, baby," he warned, and Vicky knew he would not be one to back down. "What time?"
Vicky hesitated, beset by a surge of conflicting emotions. She was dying to see Bret, to be near him, but what was the future in it? Why did Bret want to see her? Something to do with Lee, she taunted herself. That bit in the papers about Lee scouting for talent. Vicky knew all about the brashness of the ambitious; she had heard enough about it through the years from Lee. Lee's stories were colorful, biting, and to the point.
"Okay," Vicky capitulated. "I'll meet you at the corner in ten minutes."
As Vicky walked with small, quick steps through the lobby door into the early evening crispness, she spied Bret waiting by the lamppost at the corner. He looked terribly involved in the book propped open in one hand.
"Well?" she drawled, masking the excitement that rode through her at seeing him again for the first time in a whole week.
"Let's go," he said, slamming the book shut. His eyes rested on her with a glow of approval.
"Where?" She felt herself grow hot beneath that probing look.
"My place," he said, tucking a hand beneath her elbow.
"Oh, no," she rejected, head high.
"Don't be kooky," he reproached. "We can't talk in a drugstore."
"I don't know what we have to talk about!" Her eyes flashed defiantly.
"You ought to," he chastised. "Grow up, you're almost eighteen." There was a gentle ribbing in his voice that caught her unawares.
"Saturday," she admitted. She had completely forgot about her birthday until now. That was why Lee kept making odd little remarks about Saturday night. Lee didn't know whether to try for a small dinner party with Jim or not. "So what? I'll be eighteen on Saturday." She waited, jaw set, eyes smoldering.
"So stop acting like a spoiled little brat," he said intensely.
They began to walk, his hand at her elbow, bodies touching now and then as they strode briskly over the sidewalk, making a sharp left to start the in-and-out trek to Bret's basement apartment where she had been just briefly that time with Jim. Wow, that seemed such a long time ago, Vicky thought in wonder.
"You haven't been over to the Room," Bret said after a few minutes. "That's how I got the pitch about Jim and you not seeing each other right now."
"Not seeing each other period," she said emphatically. "Didn't he tell you?"
"Finally," Bret admitted. "I don't know why he was stalling." He shot a sideways glance at her. "Unless he figured you two would patch things up."
"No," she said briefly. Jim hadn't said anything to Bret because he didn't want Bret to be upset about losing out with Lee, Vicky jeered inwardly. "He won't be in mourning," she guessed.
"What about you? " Bret asked quietly.
"I was out of my depth with Jim," she said candidly, her pulse racing because maybe he would get the message. She didn't sleep around, the way Bret seemed to think. "So it's just as well."
"Iris is still trying to move into the apartment," Bret chuckled.
"So why doesn't he let her?" Vicky flipped. "Afraid he'll be too pooped to study?"
"Iris moved in last night," Bret admitted. "They're making up rules about parties only on weekends. I wasn't supposed to mention it."
"Why not?" She didn't care, Vicky told herself. Not about Jim.
"Mark told me to keep my fat mouth shut," Bret grinned. "I think he figured on making a pitch of his own."
"I told you," Vicky said stiffly, "they're out of my depth." Bret was out of her depth. All right, so she hadn't acted that way, Vicky conceded. But times were changing.
"We turn here," Bret said, prodding her around the corner.
"I don't know why we can't talk in a drugstore over coffee?" she said self-consciously.
Bret was silent, his hand tightening at her elbow. If he had any ideas about a repetition of the other night, he was in for a disappointment, she promised herself shakily. Hadn't she told him she was out of her depth with Jim? How blunt did she have to be?
Bret pulled open the door to the brick fronted house Vicky remembered from before, took her by the hand and led her down the narrow, dark corridor. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, swore softly till he found it.
"The place is a mess," he warned. "I was working all day on new material."
Bret found the switch, which bathed the large, low-ceilinged room in lamplight. There was much disorder of books and papers strewn about the giant-sized coffee table. An ash tray littered with butts sat on the floor in front of the leopard-covered couch. A mug with cold remains of coffee rested beside the ash tray.
"I've seen worse," Vicky said coolly. She felt uneasy about being here alone with Bret, yet would have died before admitting this. "What did you want to talk about, that was so important?" she jibed.
"Us," he said, eyes probing. "I didn't want to chisel in on somebody else's territory, but it looks like Jim and you have pfft. Right?"
"Right," she said, her voice unsteady.
"Unless I got the message wrong, you don't find me exactly repulsive." His hand reached for her wrist.
"There are times I could kill you," she said defiantly, trying to ignore the tidal wave of excitement that rode over her.
"Not all the time," he reproved, moving in.
"No," she concurred.
"I'd like to cut out the other competition, make us a steady scene," he said, his voice deep with anticipation. "I don't know why, but you turn me on like nobody I ever met. I don't go for the light stuff," he warned, his mouth close. "I find what I want, and I'd like it on a permanent basis."
"You think you've found it?" she taunted huskily.
"I'm becoming neurotic." He chuckled unexpectedly. "I tell myself-" His mouth was at her ear now. "So she's got a beautiful body and the kind of face that sets my teeth on edge, so what's so different about her and a dozen other gorgeous girls who come into the Room?"
"And what's the answer?" Her body nestled hungrily against his, aware of his strength, his warmth. "I can't find it!"
His mouth closed in on hers. Their tongues rushed to meet. Her tenseness evaporated. Her torso went limp against him. She was right; this wasn't like with anybody else! She felt as though fights were turned on all around her. She was floating in space.
"I knew it was going to be this way with us," Bret murmured huskily. "From the first time I saw you in the Room, I knew it. You don't know how I hated Jim for going with you!"
"I was angry at everybody, especially my mother," Vicky explained in a whisper. "Jim made me feel important, special. I thought I was being so mature," she laughed shakily.
"You make out with anybody but me and I'll break that gorgeous little neck," he warned, his hands racing about her throbbing torso. "I don't believe in sharing, baby." There was a tenderness beneath his joshing that touched off sparks in her.
"I thought you were disgusted with me," she confided, her hands clutched behind his neck while desire ran rampant through her.
His mouth silenced her. His hands found their way beneath her sweater. She arched towards him so that he could find the snaps that restrained the pulsating rise of her breasts. His fingers roamed, found their quarry, teased. She moaned softly, her body moving against his.
He walked her backwards until she felt the edge of the couch hit into the back of her knees. He guided her along the length of the couch. His hands roamed, lifting her into incredible excitement. She raced her fingers across his chest, down to the hard, flat belly. Passion gloriously in command, she teased, and rejoiced in the swift, heated response.
"You're not the frigid type," he whispered hoarsely, approval resounding in his voice.
"Bret, love me," she coaxed. "Bret, please!"
She would go ape, she thought dizzily. It was too marvelous to be real. She was one of those crazy drugs that made everything bigger than reality. Let it never end, she thought in soaring ecstasy.
"Oh, Bret," she cried, ignoring his exhortations to be silent. "Bret!"
The night was unexpectedly warm. Bret had another forty minutes before he had to check in at the Room. They walked hand in hand towards Washington Square, pausing now and then to brush lips lightly. Passersby accorded them the indulgent smiles accorded lovers.
They sat on a bench in the Square, with a candid contentment just to be close. Spring was in the air, lending them an exhilaration that shone from their faces. An hour ago the world had been bleak and ugly, Vicky thought in supreme satisfaction. Now it was beautiful.
"I have to get over to the Room," Bret said reluctantly. "Can you come over for a while?"
"Not for long," she decided.
She was eager to be home, Vicky realized in astonishment. She wanted to be able to shut herself up in her room and think about Bret and herself. Now unease was infiltrating the first ecstasy. Bret said he wanted it to be forever with them. How did he mean that? Marriage forever, or just making love forever? Suddenly, it was desperately important to know.
CHAPTER NINE
"We'd better pick up a little speed" Bret said, checking his watch. "The old man's sore as it is about my cutting out for the Jersey job for a few weeks-I don't want him to yell at me for being late tonight."
"How long will you be working out there?" Vicky asked. She had forgot about the new job. "You'll still be living here in town, won't you?" It was awful to think that she might not see Bret every day.
"It's forty minutes by train," Bret soothed. "I'll be here in town. It's a two week date with an option for another two weeks. I can use the kind of money they're paying," he said honestly.
"The Room's going to be a morgue without you," Vicky predicted, a sense of pride flooding her because Bret was good.
"Sure you won't stay?" Bret tried again as they approached the door. "Wednesday is a slow night. Not more than a handful of customers. I could probably take a break later and walk you home."
"School tomorrow," she reminded pertly. "You want me to flunk out? It's going to be tough enough to keep my mind on school."
"Love you," he whispered, and then pulled open the door for her to enter.
Vicky sat at a small table at the edge of the playing area. She felt self-conscious, sure that the light sprinkling of customers about the room could see the glow that must be shining from her. Bret and she couldn't be headed just nowhere, she bolstered her shaky optimism. Bret wasn't a kid like Jim and the others-that was the difference she had noticed right away.
Bret disappeared into the rear, and she settled down over a cup of coffee. A bunch of college students barged in now in noisy anticipation. They were from some school out on the Island, she gathered. The word was spreading about Bret Danzig.
She would tell Lee about Bret, Vicky decided with a tremor of excitement. She wouldn't let on to Bret, but she would bring Lee down to hear him. They just had to get a few wires uncrossed between them, Vicky stipulated mentally.
In minutes the evening program was underway. Vicky waited impatiently for the bearded poet to be done and Bret to take over. Maybe he could sneak out during the bit that followed him and walk her part way home, she plotted. He always wound up the entertainment, but there was at least ten or twelve minutes in between.
While Bret was on, Mark came into the Room. He looked about, deciding on a table, spotted Vicky. He walked over, and sat beside her. If he were surprised at seeing her here, Vicky thought, he was doing a noble job of keeping it a secret. He knew about Jim and her, of course.
"Hi," Mark said softly, along with his infectious grin. "Too bad you turned me down on that preview. They opened last night-it's a real click."
"Good for them," Vicky whispered back, feeling guilty that she wasn't giving Bret all of her attention. "But I told you, I had a date," she added.
Vicky concentrated on Bret again, conscious of quizzical, glances from Mark. He was trying to follow the plot, she guessed. Mark hadn't figured on Bret and her as an item. So let the word get around, she told herself in a glow of exhilaration.
The college group from the Island was reluctant to release Bret. They shouted requests with flattering insistence. His eyes shot across to Vicky's table with a look of mute apology.
"He's picking up style, you know," Mark approved. "Working in a place like this is great for him."
"He's really building up a following here," Vicky said with a touch of pride that brought a swift, appraising look from Mark.
Finally, Bret walked off. He crossed to the table, borrowed a chair from a neighboring table, and sat with Vicky and Mark. He dropped an arm lightly about Vicky's shoulders in a way that said, this is mine, my territory-keep off.
"Jim picked up the tapes," Mark reported. "The guy didn't want to give them up but Jim insisted we had to have them." He touched the small manila envelope on the table. "Might as well give it to Vicky right now, huh?" he asked.
"What for?" Vicky asked, an ominous, sick feeling settling in her stomach. "What do I need with the tapes?"
"To give to your mother, character," Mark said good-humoredly, completely missing the frenzied warnings from Bret. "Why do you think Jim cut classes to go chasing out to the record company?"
"No thanks!" Vicky blazed, pushing back her chair. "I'm not running errands for your little partnership! You want to get through to my mother, she has an office. Rajah Records! Look them up in the phone book!"
Vicky reached for her coat, hurried through the narrow space between tables to the door-without a backward glance, without bothering to put on her jacket. She just wanted to be out in the clean, fresh air, away from all the conniving, the low plotting that would stoop to anything to get Bret Danzig a chance on Rajah Records! If he were so great, she thought, tears of fury and humiliation stinging her eyes, why did Bret Danzig need her?
Vicky was almost halfway back to the apartment before Mark caught up with her.
"Vicky, wait," he ordered, reaching for her arm.
"I have had it," Vicky said tightly. "I'm sick of Jim, and Bret, and you. All I am is somebody who might get old Bret an audition with a record company! What kind of a manager is Jim," she taunted, "that he can't even get anybody important to come down and hear Bret?"
"They keep promising," Mark said tiredly. "Hell, you ought to know. They say they'll come down for sure and hear Bret, and then they get a bellyache or have a fight with their wives or get smashed and forget about it."
"So I'm elected to make the contact?" Vicky lifted her head defiantly. "That was really cute, sending Bret out to make his own pitch. Why not?" she jibed. "Everybody else has had a crack at the girl!"
"I told you that you were out of your depth with Jim," Mark reminded softly. "I warned you to cut out from our crowd. But Bret and you," he hesitated. "I hadn't figured on that."
"Don't tell me that wasn't all set up, for Bret to make the big try," Vicky refuted.
"I just took it for granted when I saw you together," Mark insisted. "I figured Bret and you had worked something out. Just looking at you two, I could see the five-alarm fire going," he tried to tease her into good humor.
"But you got the tapes for me to take to Lee," Vicky reminded, unrelenting. "I told you, she has an office. Bret met my mother-he had dinner at the house. He ought to know how to make use of that contact. Leave the tapes at her office." She was trembling as she pulled her arm away from Mark.
"You're playing this all wrong." Mark chastised tiredly.
"I don't like being a pawn," Vicky said with quiet intensity. "I don't like having passes made at me because my mother happens to be A & R head of a record company. I'll just forget I ever knew Bret or any of you. You can tell him that for me!"
She strode swiftly ahead, leaving Mark standing at the corner alone. That was the finish, now and forever. Wow, had she been handing herself a line! All that jazz about Bret and her forever, like marriage maybe. Bret wanted her around for as long as it was useful to have her around. Hadn't she seen enough people like that? Hadn't she heard Lee talk enough about them?
Again, each day was desolate and drawn out. She told her mother, flatly and without embellishments, that she wasn't dating Jim any more. So here they were on Saturday, her eighteenth birthday, and they were having this cozy dinner party. Lee, Randy, Vicky.
Vicky stalled over dressing, though she heard the muted voices of Randy and her mother in serious conversation out in the living room. Why hadn't they just stayed out in Chicago? Then she never would have met Bret. They had planned a real mad blast for her eighteenth birthday. It would have been the greatest-out in Chicago.
"Vicky?" her mother called cautiously from the other side of the closed door.
"I'll be through in a minute," Vicky said breathlessly, dreading the prospect of having to spend a Saturday night-her eighteenth birthday Saturday night-with her mother and Randy. Having to pretend that everything was okay.
"Sweetie," Lee went on, "Randy keeps telling me we ought to just throw dinner in the refrigerator and go out on the town. Dinner at a club, dancing, a bottle of champagne." Lee tried for a festive note, but her anxiety crept through.
"Randy and you go," Vicky said childishly.
"Vicky, you know better than that," Lee rebuked.
"I'll be right out," Vicky repeated. She heard Lee sigh, then retreat.
Vicky took a final look at herself in the mirror. She was dressing up because Lee insisted. The turquoise cocktail dress was sensational, she admitted. It had cost Lee a fortune. Her mother hadn't even screamed the way she expected about the low neckline. But then, Vicky thought grimly, she was eighteen now. A lot of things were permissible, even in the eyes of parents, at eighteen. You didn't even need your parents' consent to get married if you were a girl and eighteen.
Oh, she was in great shape, Vicky taunted herself-sitting at home on a Saturday night! Sitting here and thinking about how a girl could get married at eighteen even without her parents' consent. She stiffened to attention, trying to catch the whispering outside. She knew about the birthday cake Randy had spirited into the apartment while she was in the shower and the champagne. Why didn't they just stop trying so hard, she asked herself impatiently?
The intercom buzzer sounded in the foyer. Vicky heard her mother go to answer.
"Yes?" Lee asked. "Oh, thank you," she said a moment later, an odd note in her voice. "A young man coming up. It must be somebody for Vicky."
"Well," Randy drawled, and Vicky felt her face grow warm.
Vicky stayed at the door, listening. Who was coming up now? Mark? Jim was off on the Iris kick now. Bret would be heading for the Room about now. Besides, he wouldn't have the brass to come barging in this way.
The doorbell rang. Vicky waited, her heart pounding, while Lee went to answer.
"Hello there," Lee said with warmth, mingling with surprise.
"May I see Vicky for a minute?" Bret asked quietly. "I just stopped by on my way to work."
"Of course, come in," Lee invited.
Vicky didn't wait for her mother to call her. She pulled open the door, lifted her head with a note of defiance, and walked out.
"Hi," she said coolly, trying to ignore the insane pounding of her heart. Bret was a mess, really a mess, in those tight-fitting dungerees and plaid shirt that belonged to the singing routine. He needed a haircut, too. "I thought you were singing at the Room on Saturdays." She stared at him with sullen arrogance.
"I'm on my way," he explained, his eyes sweeping over the unfamiliar sight of her in high heels and cocktail dress. He cleared his throat, self-consciously aware of the interested looks from Lee and Randy. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a small package. "I remembered it was your birthday." He walked to Vicky, handed her the ribboned package. His eyes dared her to refuse it.
"Thank you," she said stiffly. Didn't Bret Danzig ever give up?
"I have to get over to the Room," he said after a faint hesitation. "My last Saturday over there for a while," he reminded.
"I know," she drawled. "Have fun."
Bret looked oddly questioning at Lee, for an instant, then reached to brush his mouth lightly across Vicky's. She froze in shock, but he was already straightening up. He grinned at Lee and Randy. "She's eighteen-I guess I'll be allowed to make a serious pitch now?"
"Don't waste your time," Vicky flashed back, blue eyes dark coals of fire. The box fell from her fingers to the floor.
Before Vicky could retrieve the box, Bret reached for it, and put it back into her hands.
"Spoiled brat," he chuckled, exchanging appraising glances with Lee. "Don't know why I'm so wacky about her."
"Of all the nerve!" Vicky sputtered, when Bret had closed the door firmly behind him. "All he lives for is to have you come over to the Dark Room and hear him sing. He's sure if you hear him once, you'll be dangling some fabulous contract under his nose."
"You said he wasn't too good," Lee reminded curiously.
"So I'm prejudiced," she shrugged, uncomfortable before Randy's gentle amusement. "When are we having dinner? I'm famished."
Vicky dropped the birthday gift from Bret on a table, without bothering to open it. She made a strong effort to radiate a convivial mood. It was her birthday. The cocktail dress Lee bought her was terrific. There was a new hi-fi for her own bedroom, plus a batch of new recordings. And Randy had bought her an extravagant bottle of French perfume. That was really sweet of him, Vicky thought, while her mind fought a strenuous battle against opening Bret's present. She would just let it he there, she promised herself.
Dinner, on the surface, was a huge success. Lee looked beautiful, Vicky thought with a rush of the old pride. Randy thought so, too. But he was also lavish with the compliments for Vicky. She didn't look like eighteen in this turquoise masterpiece, Vicky decided in satisfaction. She could say she was twenty-one, and people would believe her.
"Coffee inside?" Lee asked, when they were done with the ritual of the birthday cake.
"You gals go in and let me serve," Randy insisted grandly. "You've spoiled me enough for one night."
"Vicky," Lee began, a guarded note in her voice. "How many times an evening does Bret sing?"
"Oh, it's a kooky place," Vicky said, her voice sharp. "They keep him working practically all through the evening except for twenty-minute breaks in between when somebody else fills in." What did Lee mean?
"I've been building up the wildest curiosity about that boy." Lee turned to Randy with a wry smile. "I'm probably completely off my rocker, but there's a quality that comes through to me. Suppose I run out for about twenty minutes or a half hour, just long enough to catch a number? I'll never rest comfortably until I've heard him sing," Lee conceded. "Vicky, baby, you keep Randy entertained until I get back."
"Why don't we all go?" Randy offered.
"That's just what Bret was after, Mother!" Vicky protested stormily. "He's just been dying for you to come over and catch his act."
"Then I'll put the two of us at rest," Lee smiled casually. "And don't fuss about my going over alone," Lee insisted. "It's probably a madhouse on Saturday night. I'll be there just a few minutes, then grab a cab back home. Save a cup of coffee for me." Lee smiled brilliantly as she reached into the foyer closet for her fur coat.
Vicky sat with her feet beneath her, coffee cup in hand.
"It's really crazy," she said in a tight little voice. "A character like Bret makes Lee go dashing out this way on a Saturday night."
"She's looking for talent," Randy reminded mildly.
"He'd pull anything to get her over there. Even this act tonight," she told him scornfully.
"You know, you do yourself a sad injustice," he clucked. "You think this was all staged tonight, to drag Lee out?" He shook his head in disbelief.
"Randy, you know. People like that will do anything for a break!"
"You ever look in the mirror, honey?" he reproved. "Don't sell yourself short."
"Randy, you're sweet," Vicky murmured, taking savage delight in the way Randy was looking at her. It would be tough for him not to look, the way she was leaning forward. The high curve of her breasts pushed forward above the fragile turquoise of her dress. There was a faint outline of taut nipples beneath the built-in bra. "You're such a doll, Randy, and Lee goes running off after that kook." The heavily lashed blue eyes, luminous with admiration, told him she would never be so careless.
"That kook," Randy said humorously, "may prove to be a valuable asset to our folk line. Let has a marvelous talent for spotting what a record label needs." He cleared his throat, pulled his eyes away from the provocative sight of her.
Vicky rose exuberantly to her feet. "You know what I'd like?" she bubbled. "Another glass of that champagne. Okay?"
Without waiting for Randy's approval, she crossed to the table where the two-thirds full bottle of champagne still waited. She poured a glass for herself, turned with a defiant smile to Randy.
"Drinking with me?"
"Might as well live dangerously," he agreed. "Though Lee may have our heads."
"Lee is all tied up with chasing after possible talent," Vicky mocked, sipping at the glass of champagne in one hand while she extended the other glass to Randy.
"How's school working out?" Randy asked, discomforted by her audacious gaze. He was getting all turned on, she thought triumphantly. "Getting in the groove?"
"I hate it," she said nonchalantly. "I can't wait until it's over."
"But you like New York?" he pursued self-consciously.
"It's okay," she shrugged.
Vicky took another sip of the champagne. It was only her second glass, but she had eaten lightly at dinner. She felt warmed inside, relaxed, faintly giddy. She walked across to the hi-fi, searched for a record that fitted her mood. The music was a whisper at first, then rose, full and demanding. Her body began to sway with the seductive rhythm.
"Dance?" Vicky invited, arms extended.
"Can't turn a lady down on her birthday," Randy jibed.
He was really awfully good-looking, she decided, resting her head on his shoulder. She closed in so that her breasts grazed his chest. She felt an instant tension in him, as though he didn't quite trust himself in this situation.
"When's Lee's birthday?" Randy asked as they moved, like one, about the room. "She absolutely refuses to tell me."
"When a woman passes a certain age, she stops having birthdays," Vicky reminded. "You're a stinker to ask."
"I'm not worried about how old Lee is," he said candidly. "I'm pushing forty-I don't keep it a secret." He was making a point of letting her know he was far older than her, Vicky realized.
"You don't look like somebody who's pushing forty," she drawled. "I don't believe you are."
"Flattering," he grinned, "but undoubtedly true."
"You know what?" she murmured, stopping still. "You haven't even kissed me happy birthday."
"I seem to remember I did," he reproached, his eyes wary.
"I don't mean that on-the-forehead bit," Vicky reproached, determined to make inroads on his casualness. She nuzzled the seductive length of her against him. "I'm eighteen, remember?"
"I remember," he said grimly.
Vicky lifted her face to his, mouth moistly parted, daring him to refuse her.
"Happy birthday, baby," he said, and obediently lowered his mouth to hers, intent on a hit-and-run operation.
Vicky's hands tightened behind his head; her tongue slid with serpentine swiftness between his teeth. For an instant Randy caught at her in instantaneous arousal. And then his hands were at her wrists, pulling her away from him.
"Stop playing games, Vicky," he commanded sharply. "So you're all burnt up over that young fellow. Don't go looking for trouble."
"Scared?" she taunted, her eyes aglow because she had got through to him.
"You're damn right I am," he said with candor. "You're a mighty potent little dish. But I happen to be trapped already. If it weren't for your mother," Randy smiled in an attempt at gallantry, "I'd probably be lying awake nights remembering that sexy little body of yours."
"What is it with Lee and you?" Vicky asked, striving for sophistication. "She never talks to me." She felt like a chastened little girl.
"I'd like to marry the girl," Randy said lightly. "But she won't have any of it until she's sure you're over the trauma of moving. I'll probably get shot even for saying this much, but you asked."
"We don't have to say anything to Lee," Vicky said quietly. "And if Lee wants to get married, I don't want to stand in her way."
All these years she had nearly died at the thought that Lee might marry any of the men who trailed in and out of their lives. But Lee insisted it was the two of them together, always-no room in their lives for strange men, except as necessary escorts about town. But now, Vicky was certain, even without Randy's admission that it was Vicky who stood in the way of his success-certain that Lee wanted to be married.
"Lee feels all her loyalty belongs to you," Randy said after a minute. "She's felt guilty every time we've gone out together-because she's that kind of woman."
Randy really loved Lee, Vicky thought, and was oddly touched by the knowledge. Lee was scared now-scared of losing her looks, scared of being alone later, when Vicky went off her own way. Lee was in love with Randy, Vicky realized in a flash of prescience. She should have known that months ago. Lee gave herself away in a thousand little instances.
"I don't want to stand between Lee and you," Vicky said unhappily. "What can I do?"
The phone buzzed, and they both started. Vicky walked over to pick it up.
"Hello."
"Darling, let me talk to Randy," Lee said urgently.
"Just a sec," Vicky said, and gestured to Randy. "It's Mother. She wants to talk to you."
Lee was at the Room, Vicky guessed. She had heard Bret, and she thought he was sensational. That followed. Bret Danzig was sensational. So he had managed to get Lee over there, and now Lee was calling for Randy. Bret would sign with Rajah Records, and he would be on his way. And he wouldn't need her any more. She would just be Lee Allison's kid, whom he had known once a long time ago. Bret Danzig had won.
CHAPTER TEN
Vicky's face was set as she watched Randy put down the phone, and swing around to face her.
"Lee wants us to come over to the Dark Room," he reported. "She's quite taken with your friend."
"Bret Danzig is not my friend," she corrected. "And there's no point of my going over. I've heard him." She lifted her head in a gesture of young defiance.
"Come over and keep me company," he insisted. "Besides, I'll never find the place on my own. I'd never even get to this house if I were with a cabbie who doesn't know the Village."
"You'll never find a cab at this hour on a Saturday night. Walk. I'll tell you how to get there." She refused to heed the clamor within her. Oh, she was nuts to get all turned on just at the thought of going over there to hear Bret! Besides, why get hurt further? Bret had what he wanted from her. He had Lee and Randy, panting to hear him sing. "I'll make a diagram," she said nervously. "You won't have any trouble finding the place."
"Get your coat and come with me," Randy ordered. "Lee wants us over there before the kid finishes this round, so we don't have to sit hunched up for another half hour or so at one of those tiny little tables until he comes on again."
"I thought you'd never been over there?" Vicky stared in surprise.
"I haven't," Randy grinned, crossing to the foyer closet. "I'm quoting your mother." He pushed through the rows of coats in the closet. "Which one of these things are you wearing?"
"I don't really want to go," Vicky told him, with spots of color staining her cheeks. "Bret was just making a play for me to get through to Lee. I feel kind of silly," she admitted self-consciously.
"Tonight, you're my girl," Randy said gently. "Okay?"
Vicky managed a faint smile, walked to the closet to pull down a jacket. Randy was somebody special. And her mother kept Randy on the hook because of her. That made Lee pretty special, too. Guilt, blending with a rush of affection for her mother, cloaked Vicky as Randy held the jacket for her. She wasn't behaving very maturely, she reproached herself. She would make Lee understand she was not going to stand between them any more. She was for this marriage.
Riding down in the elevator, Vicky fought against a rising panic. She didn't want to go over to the Dark Room; she didn't want to sit there with Lee and Randy while Bret sold himself to them. She wished she hadn't allowed Randy to railroad her into going along this way. What was the sense? It was kooky of Randy to be so insistent. He didn't want to leave her alone on her birthday, even for a little while-which was sweet, she acknowledged. But it would be bittersweet to be there near Bret.
"You'll have to be the bird dog," Randy said with a humorous smile as they walked out into the night. He reached for her hand, took it firmly in his. "Something happens to me south of Eighth. I lose all sense of direction."
"You'll like Bret," Vicky said after a moment of reflection. Why not be honest about that? "He's really awfully good, and terribly ambitious," she added bitterly.
"Which can be a noble trait within limits," Randy pointed out.
"Right," Vicky agreed, her eyes staring somberly ahead. "Only Bret doesn't know about limits."
Randy's hand tightened on hers. He was cursing himself for bringing up that little point, Vicky guessed. She felt a need to put him at ease.
"Bret draws the crowds to the Room," she said, her voice laced with self-consciousness. "They pile into the place for Bret, nobody else. He has a kind of magnetism." And she flipped for that magnetism, Vicky berated herself. What a square she was turning out to be!
"We'll see," Randy said lightly. "Lee sounded very enthusiastic. She knows what sells. Of course, we'll have to find out what kind of a character he is to work with on contract and all," Randy stipulated.
"He turned down an offer with some small company out in New Jersey," Vicky reported, feeling as though she were listening to some outsider talk. "Jim and he have both been all keyed up over making it with Rajah. I was just burning over that," Vicky admitted honestly. "The way they tried to maneuver me!"
"Maybe you're being harsh on the kid on a personal level," Randy suggested.
"The message came through, loud and clear," Vicky said quickly. "Oh, we take a right here," she ordered, as they almost walked past the turn-off.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, pushing through the Saturday night throngs that glutted the area. Randy held determinedly to Vicky's hand.
"I feel like about ninety years old," Randy chuckled protestingly. "All this youth about us."
"The Room's right over there," Vicky pointed. "If we shove through here, we ought to make it." Her voice was faintly breathless.
They made their way into the Room. There was a cluster of people waiting for tables. In the darkness, Vicky spotted her mother. Bret was singing. There was an electric quality in the rapt faces that watched and listened. Randy maneuvered her to the side, and kept an arm about her shoulder. Bret was really selling tonight, Vicky thought, trying for detachment. He was great! Vicky's eyes wandered religiously to her mother. Bret was making it, she told herself. She knew that look of contained excitement on Lee's face. Lee got this marvelous personal satisfaction out of discovering talent, that went beyond the job. She had always been proud of that quality in her mother.
"Hey, does this go on forever?" Randy chuckled softly as the audience demanded another number.
"He'll cut after the next number, probably," Vicky whispered. Bret kept looking about into the darkness, as though searching for someone. He couldn't see her over here, could he? She didn't want him to know she was here.
Finally, Bret withdrew, despite the moans and disappointed reproaches. Lee was rising from her table now, walking towards them. Randy took her check, paid the cashier, then piloted both Vicky and Lee out into the street.
"I think we ought to sign him," Lee said quietly as they pushed their way along the sidewalk. "He's on the way up, Randy."
"Okay, let's talk business to him," Randy accepted briskly. "Did you make any sort of appointment with him to come in to the office?"
"I made an appointment with him for tonight," Lee said with an odd smile. "He's meeting us at a restaurant here in the neighborhood, as soon as he can break away."
"Where?" Vicky demanded, startled.
Vicky listened while Lee mentioned their meeting place. She didn't have to go with them, she told herself. Why didn't she just take off and head back for the apartment? She didn't have to punish herself this way. But there was this ridiculous inability in her to act. She walked along with Randy and her mother.
The restaurant was busy, but they found an empty booth. Randy slid in beside Lee. Bret would come rushing in any minute, Vicky thought apprehensively, and he'd push himself right in next to her. Oh, he must be gloating over how he managed this!
"Let's have some coffee," Randy said briskly, and signaled the waiter.
Vicky huddled in the corner of the booth with a determination to be aloof when Bret arrived. If Lee weren't so involved in this contract, she would have known better than to make this a foursome, Vicky thought rebelliously. Lee was usually so bright about such things.
"Bret's quite a lad," Lee said, with an enigmatic smile. "I only had a moment to talk with him, but I was quite impressed."
"Oh, he's smart, all right," Vicky reacted heatedly.
The waiter arrived with their coffee, and Vicky concentrated on dumping sugar into the cup. This was the kookiest ever! On her eighteenth birthday she sat in some Village college hangout with her mother and Randy, waiting for Bret to sew up a deal for himself-while she sat out in the cold, alone.
"There he is," Randy said, leaning forward for a view of the door.
"Oh, you didn't expect him not to show?" Vicky scoffed.
Vicky kept her eyes averted as Bret strode towards their booth.
"Hi, Bret!" somebody called exuberantly from across the room.
Bret waved, without slackening his pace.
"Hi there," he greeted Lee and Randy with warmth, then turned to Vicky as he slid into the booth beside her. "Hi, baby." For one painful, poignant, instant Vicky allowed her eyes to tangle with Bret's.
"Great crowd tonight at the Room," she said coolly, too conscious of the way his thigh reached out to brush hers beneath the table.
"We enjoyed ourselves," Lee said in candid approval.
"Thank you for coming," Bret said quietly, his gaze swinging again to Vicky.
"We're interested in talking contract, Bret," Lee began carefully. "On a long-term option deal. I gather you nixed one such arrangement." Lee's smile was faintly teasing.
"With a small company with no distribution and no money for promotion," Bret said frankly. "I could be tied up for five years without getting anywhere."
"We have top-notch distribution, plenty of bankroll for promotion-and we like you," Randy said, his grin ingratiating.
"We haven't released anything at all in the folk field," Lee picked up. "We want to start our folk label with somebody we feel we can push ahead with full confidence, both in the talent department and in his rehability. It's a tough, absorbing job to build a new talent. It's rewarding as anything can be, both from the standpoint of money and personal satisfaction," Lee conceded. "I think we can do a great job with you and for you, Bret, so long as you believe in us, let us call the moves."
"There's just one problem," Bret said slowly.
"Yes?" Randy's voice took on a note of caution. He looked at Lee as if in warning.
"I'm flipping to tie up with Rajah Records," Bret said honestly. "Jim and I have talked about it, plotted it, broken our backs to get through to you. I know we all hear a lot of talk about how talent gets discovered, how agents are running all over to listen to anybody who might, just might, be good. But it's not that easy," he smiled ruefully. "Half a dozen times we've had promises of somebody coming down to the Room, and something else always crops up."
"What are you driving at, Bret?" Lee asked crisply, exchanging looks with Randy. "I gathered you wanted us to hear you."
"I'd do anything to sign up with you, under your terms," he emphasized. "There's only one hold-up."
His eyes settled on Vicky. "Vicky has all kinds of crazy ideas in that gorgeous little head. I happen to be nuts about the girl. She's eighteen. I figured you wouldn't nix our going steady. Once she graduates from high school, I figured we could talk the permanent bit." He cleared his throat, shook his head, while the other three stared in varying degrees of astonishment. "I didn't plan on asking Vicky to marry me in the presence of her mother and friend, but she's a wack, you know?"
"You are the kookiest!" Vicky blazed.
"I don't sign with Rajah Records unless you go with the deal," he told Vicky with quiet determination. "And I don't sign unless you give me the go ahead."
"You'd be out of your mind to turn down a recording contract!" Vicky gasped, a tumble of emotions charging through her.
"It's up to you, baby." He reached for her hand. "I'm putting the facts right on the table."
"No wonder you need a business manager," Vicky reproached intensely. "When you let a chance like this almost go out the window."
"Do we sign, baby?" he murmured, moving in.
"We sign!" she said quickly, before he kissed her thoroughly-right in the presence of her mother and friend.
