That had been what Duke Clayton had done to her. Sheila Drake, a small-town girl with a small-town girl's ideas of love and life suddenly left bleeding inside, empty, her life seemingly ruined. Her one desire now was to hurt men-men who used her body to satisfy their lusts. She would hurt them as she had been hurt-using her body as a weapon. That began the strange career of a girl tormented by her own private lusts. A girl who would use sex to destroy every man she could get close to. And with her beauty she knew she could have them crawling to her bed....
CHAPTER ONE
She stood on the curb in the bus zone reading a book and paying no attention to anything around her, knowing that when the bus came it would stop. It always had.
He noticed her, recognized her, as he drove past, loafing at the wheel of his convertible. He didn't slow down. In fact, he drove two blocks before the question, "Why not?" inserted itself into his bored thoughts. He drove another block, considering it, then made a U turn and drove back past her.
She was still reading the book. Her lusterless brown hair jutted out in back in a pony tail. She was wearing a chain dress shop suit that was the mate to one in the window next to the bank. Under the suit coat was a print blouse, and under that was noticably more than he remembered her having in high school four years ago.
He wanted to go another block before turning and coming back, but he saw the bus coming so he made a fast U turn and beat the bus to the bus stop. "Sheila?" he called.
She looked up, frowned, then her expression changed to recognition and pleased surprise.
"Duke!" she exclaimed. "Duke Clayton!"
The bus stopped behind the convertible and tooted twice, fast in impatience.
"Get in!" he said. "I'll take you where you want to go."
Shelia hesitated. The bus driver gave an angry blast. She hesitated no longer. She fumbled at the door handle, dropped her book and had to pick it up. Somehow she got into the car and got the door closed.
"Shelia Drake," Duke said, his eyes scanning her face, the curve of her breasts under her coat, her trim waist and her knees. "You've grown up!" he said.
She blushed and made an attempt to cover her knees but couldn't conceal the fact that she was pleased.
"Look," Duke said as though the thought had just occurred to him. "Whatever you were going to do, do it some other time. Let's go some place and talk."
"I-I'm afraid I can't," Sheila said. "I'm on my way to work. I work part time at Lamberts Hardware. Bookkeeper and stenographer."
"Well what's the problem?" Duke said lightly. "We can stop at a phone booth and you can call in sick. As a matter-of-fact, that would work out perfect. We could take a nice ride and stop someplace for lunch. Damn it! To think I never even noticed you when we went to high school!" He flashed her a broad smile.
"I noticed you," Sheila said. "But all the other girls did too." She hesitated. "Well...." she said.
"It's settled then!" Duke said. He reached over and squeezed her leg in what seemed an impulsive gesture.
"Duke!" Sheila said. "Let's have none of that or I'll change my mind and go to work." She was trying to be indignant but she couldn't hide the thrill his touch had given her.
"Okay," he grinned broadly. "Just talk. No passes. No kisses." He laughed at her suddenly dismayed expression.
She found herself blushing again. "There's a phone," Duke said, veering into a service station.
"Sheila escaped from the car to the phone booth to regain her composure. When she had her connection she said, "Mr. Lambert? This is Sheila. I'd better not come in today. I have a splitting headache. I'll be all right by tomorrow."
"That's all right, Sheila," her boss said. "You've been a good girl-very good. Take a couple of days if you need them."
"No, I'll be in tomorrow," Sheila said, and wondered why her ears were burning. Because you don't want to be a good girl, her thoughts whispered. Why I never heard of such a thing! She answered her thought indignantly.
But the die was cast, she realized, hanging up. A whole afternoon with Duke was ahead of her. Anything can happen, her thoughts whispered. And it shook her a little.
Duke was a gentleman. He might kiss her, of course, but-Maybe he won't want to kiss you, her thoughts whispered. She tossed her head as she stepped out of the phone booth and whispered back, That suits me just fine! But it was an out and out lie, and she knew it. She had been in love with Duke Clayton, the football hero, all through high school. He had looked at her and said hello twice in those four years, and she had treasured the memory. Now-
She ran to the shiny convertible and slipped into the seat with the careless aplomb of an accompanied debutante. She was quite breathless.
"How was college?" Sheila asked when she caught her breath.
"Oh," Duke shrugged. "Okay. A lot of bard work learning things I'll never use. I'm going into dad's bank, you know."
"No, I didn't," Sheila said. "We should see each other, then. I go in every week and put ten dollars in my savings account." She sat as close to the door as she could. There was miles of space between them.
He shook his head. "You'll have to need money to see me," he said. "I'm to start in the loan department."
He turned and frowned at her.
"Why are you sitting way over there?" he said. "I have to shout for you to hear me." He reached over and gripped her leg just above the knee and pulled it toward him.
"Stop!" Sheila giggled, slapping at his hand. "I'll move over, but don't DO that!"
"Why?" he said, putting his hand back on the wheel.
"Because," Sheila said, sliding over so that only a small gap existed between them. "In the first place it's not nice. In the second place, I can't stand it. It tickles."
"But it's a nice tickle, isn't it?" Duke said, his lips quirking in a smile.
"That's why it's not nice," Sheila said. "How was college?"
"You asked me that."
"Oh. So I did."
Thev remained silent. The sign ahead said. YOU ARE NOW LEAVING EMERYDALE. COME BACK SOON! The Chamber of Commerce was inordinately proud of that sign and considered it a stroke of genius. Just beyond it was a sign that said, SPEED LIMIT 60. The speedometer needle touched seventy when they passed it.
"Take me home," Sheila said suddenly.
Duke glanced at her in surprise.
"Take you home?" he said. "Why?"
"Just take me home, Duke," Sheila said.
Duke slammed on the brakes and pulled over onto the shoulder in a cloud of dust.
"Look," he said. "Did you ever consider the possibility that I might be in love with you? Did you ever consider the possibility that I might want to marry you?" He glared at her questioningly.
"D-do you?" Sheila said uncertainly.
Duke slapped his hand against the steering wheel.
"I'm not saying," he said. "Maybe I don't even know. What the hell do you want? For a guy to propose to you in five minutes?"
"No," Sheila said, "I can't expect that."
"Okay then," Duke growled, staring straight ahead.
Sheila turned to face him. "But how could you?" she asked. "All through high school you never looked at me. I'm not glamorous-"
"Oh no?" Duke said, turning his head and glaring at her. "Put this in your pipe and smoke it-you aren't a high school kid now. You're-you." He reached out and cupped his hand over her breast.
She reached up to jerk his hand away. Some other part of her mind countermanded the order. To her dismay she found her hand settling over his. She felt his fingers work softly against her breast.
"Stop that!" she whispered.
His other hand was against the back of her head, cradling it. He leaned forward slowly, his lips drawing closer, his eyes smoky with emotion.
"This is madness," Sheila whispered. Then his lips covered hers, crushing them painfully.
Abruptly he released her. He slipped the car back into gear and moved out onto the highway. They didn't look at each other now.
His hand settled on her knee. She didn't move it away. When he turned off the highway onto the road leading to Lovers' Lane she didn't object.
She knew now that he was going to do it, and she was going to let him. She shouldn't she! She should make him wait. But, he wasn't the kind to NOT marry a girl. And you had to TRUST a man. It wasn't love if you didn't trust him.
"Afraid?" Duke said.
Sheila looked up at him, her lip trembling. She nodded her head mutely.
"I-I've never done it before !" she said.
Therel her thoughts whispered. Now you've given yourself away!
But he knew it anyway, she answered the thought.
She felt very small now, sitting beside Duke. Very small and weak. His shoulders were broad as he fought the rutted dirt road with only one hand on the wheel.
Ahead was the double line of Poplars that distinguished Lovers Lane, and the broad matting of underbrush that spread out fifty yards on either side.
Sheila had been here before, but always in firm command of things, letting the boy kiss her and maybe tickle her breasts a little, but clamping a firm hand on any bolder advances. And it had always been at night, with other cars parked within shouting distance.
At nine thirty in the morning on Wednesday the place would be completely deserted.
"There won't be a soul here," Duke said. "Well have it all to ourselves."
"You do love me?" Sheila said, her lip trembling.
"From the moment you got into the car," Duke said.
Around them now were the Poplars and the underbrush, and a dozen little roads that led only a few yards off the main road into the bushes. The breeze, unnoticeable in town, swayed the Poplars gently.
Duke braked suddenly, and turned into one of the brief sideroads. He edged the car cautiously forward until the main road was out of sight. He stopped the car and shut off the motor.
Now the sound of the wind in the trees was audible. They sat without moving for a minute, and a grasshopper lifted up into an erratic course, landing a dozen feet away in plain sight on a chokecherry bush.
Then, as though by telepathic agreement, Sheila and Duke turned, leaning toward each other. His arms went around her. His lips pressed against hers, forcing them open, holding them.
Their knees were in the way. He cupped his hand under her right knee and lifted it over his lap.
He fought with her skirt until it was shoved up out of the way. Then he put his hand in the small of her back and pulled her against him.
She straddled his lap, her legs doubled under. Her heart was beating wildly. Her lips forced against his hungrily. His right hand found her breasts. A soft fire burned within them, and they were stiffened and alive with an emotion she had never known before.
His left hand found the naked skin of her back, the top of her panties, pulling them down in back, cupping against her buttocks.
She writhed against him, her fingers digging into his back. Their tongues fought a duel.
She sensed his sudden distraction as he tried to rip her panties.
"Wait!" she said, and pulled away from him.
Reaching behind her she opened the car door and slipped out. Pulling up her skirt she slipped off her panties. She tossed them into the back seat and started to get back into the car, but Duke was already half way out.
He reached low, under her skirt, lifting it and her. Her legs came up to encircle him as their lips met again. He fumbled with his clothing, then swiveled around.
Sheila felt herself lowered until she was lying on the seat of the car.
A sudden stab of pain made her cry out. Then red hot fire was probing deep within her.
"I can't stand it !" she screamed. "I can't stand it!"
She struggled to escape, almost out of her mind. Then, by some strange miracle, the unbearable pain became a warmth. She heard herself laugh, and her voice sounded strange to her. Mad. But she didn't care.
A hotness grew within her, spreading through her. She writhed, clumsily, while the weight of Duke seemed to grow more and more.
A soundless scream escaped her lips as the hotness exploded inside her.
Her legs, utterly weak, sank down. The weight of the body on top of her became inert. For a moment she may have blacked out, she couldn't be sure.
While nothing moved but the consciously felt beat of her heart, the numb, then wondering realization flooded into her mind. I've had my first sexual experience!
"Duke?" she said, almost timidly.
"Duke?"
After a long minute came his reply. "Yes?"
"I love you," Sheila said. Her hands carressed his back. "I think I've always loved you," she said dreamily. "From the beginning of time...."
He didn't answer for a moment. Suddenly he pulled away from her and straightened up, grinning.
"Now that I think of it," he said, taking her hands and helping her slide out of the front seat to her feet, "I think I've had you in the back of my mind even since our sophomore year in high school."
"Then why didn't you say so years ago?" Sheila said with mock severity. "Why did you go with all those other girls?"
He shrugged. "Sometimes you don't touch a thing that means something to you until the right time comes," he said.
"And why didn't yon call me when yon came home?" Sheila said with a new found possessiveness. "You've been out of college six months now !"
He shook his head. "I didn't know," he said. "It was back there someplace." He touched the back of his head.
"I know, silly," Sheila said. "Oh, Duke darling," she said, putting her arms around his neck. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making you happy."
He gave her a quick hug that left her breathless.
"First things first, my sweet," he said. "I'm going to spend the afternoon making you happy. Get in the car. The place we're going to have lunch is fifty miles from here."
It was five thirty when the convertible again pulled to the curb at the bus stop. "I'll see you in a couple of days, sweet," Duke said. "Maybe tomorrow."
"I don't know whether I can wait that long to see you, darling" Sheila said. "Call me tonight. Will you?" She put her hand on his leg, conscious of its firm muscles. "Please? I want to hear your voice again before I go to sleep."
"Okay," Duke said.
CHAPTER TWO
"Are YOU EXPECTING A PHONE CALL, Sheila?"
"No, mom," Sheila said. "Why?"
"Well, you usually make a bee line for your room after supper."
"I just happened to get interested in my book," Sheila said. "Anyway, it's comfortable here on the davenport."
The phone started to ring. Before it had finished the first ring Sheila had leaped to it.
"Hello?" she said breathlessly, her heart pounding. Then, "Oh. Hello, Mrs. Carter. It's for you, mom."
Mrs. Drake gave her daughter a shrewd look as she took the phone. Sheila moved to the other side of the room and sat down in the rocking chair. She kept her eyes on the open page of the book but made no attempt to start reading again.
Every few minutes she looked up and frowned, but her mother wasn't even looking her way. A half hour went by. Three quarters of an hour. It was nine o'clock before her mother got off the phone.
Sheila sighed and moved back to the davenport within reach of the phone. Maybe Duke had called a dozen times already and found the line busy. Maybe now he wouldn't call again. She could hardly blame him if he didn't.
"Why don't you go to your room and be comfortable, Sheila?" her father said, glancing up from his newspaper.
"I AM comfortable, papa," Sheila said with great patience. "I'm just too interested in my book to go upstairs right now."
"Well, you haven't turned a page in the last fifteen minutes," her mother laughed.
"This page has something I'm trying to memorize-if I'm left alone," Sheila said.
The phone rang. Her hand leaped to it.
"Hello?" she said breathlessly, her heart pounding. "Oh, it's you, Millie."
"Who is it?" her mother said.
"Millie Johnson," Sheila said. "I'm awfully busy tonight Millie. Can't you wait until tomorrow?"
"Busy?" her father snorted, turning the newspaper over to another page.
"Now, papa," Mrs. Drake said.
"Well," Sheila said into the phone. "If it can't wait, come on over." She hung up and sighed. Then a thought made her feel better. She could swear Millie to secrecy and let her in on the news. And anyway, she didn't have to stay right by the phone. Mom and papa might as well know who it is that's calling when Duke called.
Sheila closed her book and stood up. "I'm going upstairs," she said. "Millie's coming over. Let her come up." She left the room with unconcerned slowness, to let her parents know that as far as she was concerned she didn't care whether the phone rang again or not!
Upstairs in her room she left the door open a crack and stood waiting for the phone to ring, straining her ears for the first sound of its ringing.
Instead, fifteen minutes later, she heard someone run up the steps onto the front porch and knock on the door. Her father's heavy footsteps went to answer.
"Hello, Millie," he said. "Sheila's in her room. Go on up."
And the phone still hadn't rung.
"What is it, Millie?" Sheila said. "My God, you look terrible-"
"Shh!" Millie said. "Close the door and turn on some music or something, then I'll talk."
"You've been crying !" Sheila said while they waited for the record player to warm up. "You're-" Music blasted from the record player. Sheila turned it down.
"Oh, it's terrible, Sheila," Millie said, wringing the twisted handkerchief clutched in her hands. "I've just got to tell somebody...."
"What is it?" Sheila said. Tears streaked Millie's cheeks. Her lip trembled. "I'm pregnant and he won't marry me," she said all in a rush. She turned and threw herself face down on the bed. crying heart-brokenly.
"What?" Sheila said. "Who won't marry you?"
"D-Duke Clayton," Millie sobbed. Sheila opened her mouth but no words came out. She stared at Millie's shaking shoulders. Finally she managed to say, "Are you sure you're telling the truth, Millie?"
"H-he's going to marry Gertrude Holm," Millie nobbed.
"Duke Clayton?" Sheila said. "But he can't!" Millie turned over and sat up, her face wet with tears.
"That's what I told him," she said. "He laughed at me. Laughed at me."
"That's not what I-" Sheila clamped her lips together and looked down at Millie, forced to recognize that Millie was telling the truth.
"He told me," Millie said in a flat voice, "if he had to marry every girl he's laid in this town ... Tears started to roll down her cheeks again.
"When was all this?" Sheila said.
"SHEILA!" Her father's shout sounded from downstairs.
Sheila leaped to the door and threw it open.
Her father stood at the foot of the stairs. "Would you put another record on?" he said. "That's been playing over again a hundred times!" He turned and strode back into the living room.
Sheila brought up short. It wasn't the phone! It wasn't Duke calling her!
Suddenly the whole thing hit her. An icy knot formed inside her. It was Duke Millie was talking about.
Slowly she turned, closing the door. She stacked several records on the record player and flipped the switch to drop one. She watched it, her back to Millie, until there was music again. Then she turned and went over to sit down beside Millie on the bed.
"It was three months ago," Millie said. "I-I haven't had a period. I haven't dared to go to the doctor yet, but I know now...."
Sheila took a deep breath. "Let me talk to that-Duke Clayton," she said.
"W-would you?" Millie said hopefully.
"You're darn right," Sheila said, putting her arm around Millie's shoulder and giving her an encouraging squeeze. "You leave it to me."
She waited until she was at work the next day, and no one else was in the cubbyhole office. She dialed the Clayton residence. A cultured male voice answered. "The Clayton residence."
"Is Duke there?" she asked.
"If you mean Master George Clayton," the cultured voice said, "I believe he's gone out of town-for several days. Is there a message?" There was a cultured insolence in the voice that angered Sheila.
"Yes there is," she said. "Tell him to call OR 4137 before five o'clock this afternoon or he's going to be in trouble."
"OR four one three seven?" the cultured voice said. "I shall tell Master George-when he returns home next week."
The line went dead. Sheila slammed the phone into its cradle, trembling with rage.
She forced herself to concentrate on her work. Mr. Lambert, fortunately, was too busy out in the store to want to dictate any letters, but she had two days' receipts and stock arrivals to enter in the books.
Every half hour or so she would find herself sitting there visualizing what she was going to do to Duke Clayton when she got hold of him.
At five o'clock Duke still hadn't called. And she'd only half caught up on her work. Mr. Lambert came into the cubbyhole office and glanced at the stacks of sales slips and shipping slips still on Sheila's desk.
"I finished day before yesterday's and part of yesterday's," Sheila said.
"That's all right, Sheila," he said. "You still don't look so good. If you don't feel like coming in tomorrow-"
"I'll be all right. Mr. Lambert," Sheila said.
She put on her suit coat and left. At the corner drugstore she went into a phone booth and called the bank.
"Mr. Clayton, please," she said. "Who is calling?" the bank switchboard girl asked.
Sheila hesitated. "Mrs. Holm," she said.
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Holm, I'll connect you right away," the girl said.
After a moment a cordially hearty male voice said. "Yes, Mrs. Holm."
"Where's George?" Sheila said.
"He's gone fishing over the weekend with-Who is this? You aren't Mrs. Holm."
Sheila hesitated, then hung up. The butler had told the truth. There was nothing to do but wait until Monday. She smiled grimly. That phone call would give Duke's father something to think about.
On Monday Sheila waited until three o'clock for Duke to call, then dialed the Clayton residence again. The cultured male voice said, " The Clayton residence."
"Has Duke-I mean, has Master George," Sheila said, matching his cultured tone, "Returned home yet, Jeeves?"
"You are the person from OR four one three seven?" the cultured voice said with distaste.
"Yes, Jeeves," Sheila said.
"My name is Henry," the cultured voice said, giving the name a hearty, manly sound. "I will call Master George to the phone."
In the background Sheila heard Duke say, "Whoever she is I don't want to-" The sound was cut off. Henry had probably placed his hand over the mouthpiece.
A full minute went by. Sheila wondered if Henry had hung up, but the line wasn't dead.
"Hello." It was Duke's voice, coldly impersonal.
"Duke, I want to see you," Sheila said.
"Sorry, I don't want to see you," he said. "Not after what you said to Henry Thursday."
"Well, you're going to see me or I'm going to the police and charge you with rape," Sheila said. "If you think I won't just try me."
"And have everybody in town know you-you know?" he said.
"You bet I will," Sheila said. "You picked the wrong girl to play around with."
"I don't mean it that way," Duke said. "You shouldn't have said what you did to Henry. I meant to call you, but these guys showed up and wanted me to go fishing with them. Maybe you had a right to get mad. Okay, I'll see you. We'll talk it over."
"When?" Sheila said.
"Same time, same place," Duke said. "Tomorrow morning."
"You'd better be there," Sheila said, and hung up. She smiled grimly. Wasn't Duke going to be surprised!
She ploughed into her work to get it caught up. At a quarter to five her desk was clean. Mr. Lambert came into the office a few minutes later.
"All caught up," Sheila smiled. "By the way, I may be a little late in the morning."
Mr. Lambert smiled indulgently. "You're a good girl, Sheila. That means more than the hours. Take the whole day off if you need to."
"No," Sheila said. "I don't think I'll be more than a half an hour late."
In the corner drug store she phoned Millie.
"I'm going to have a talk with Duke tomorrow morning. Millie," she said. "He doesn't know what it's about yet, but he will," she added grimly.
"Thanks, Sheila," Millie's voice sounded on the verge of crying. "Should I come over tomorrow evening?"
"Sure, Millie," Sheila said.
Sheila stood on the curb in the bus zone pretending to read her book. Her lusterless brown hair jutted out in back in a pony tail. She was wearing a print dress from the same chain dress shop. She had a charge account there, and a simple system of budgeting. Five dollars a week of her pay went on her bill, and when it got down to less than five dollars she bought more clothes.
Duke's convertible slid to a smooth stop while the bus was still two blocks away. For a moment the memory of that other time, the happy time, came alive in her thoughts. It faded, leaving a dull ache.
She opened the car door and slid in. Duke's lips curved in a cautious, half humorous smile. Sheila looked straight ahead.
Duke put the car in gear. The tires screamed from the acceleration as he shot the car forward, but in the next second he had slowed to a safe twenty-nine miles an hour.
He turned on the street leading out of town to Lovers' Lane.
"No," Sheila said. "Just park someplace."
"And nave people looking at us, hearing what we say?" Duke said. "Uh uh." He began to pick up speed, "Duke!" Sheila said. "I mean it!"
"So do I," he said. He was going fifty now. They passed the city limits without being stopped, "I found out about Gertrude," Sheila said.
"What about her?" Duke said.
"Nothing-except that you aren't going to marry her," Sheila said.
"That was before I met you," Duke said. "But the way you're acting...." He shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes on the road.
He braked the car enough to make a screaming turn onto the dirt road to Lovers' Lane. The car bounced in the ruts, speeding into the tree lined lane, and lurched to a stop at the same spot where they had been before.
Duke shut off the motor and turned in the seat to face her, smiling.
"I don't know whether I want to marry you or not," he said. "You're showing a pretty vicious streak. That's no way for a girl to be."
His hand darted out, the fingers clamping around her thigh, squeezing.
"Stop that!" Sheila said, digging her nails into his wrist.
"Stop it hell!" Duke said.
In sudden alarm Sheila opened the car door and tried to get out. Duke's grip on her leg relaxed. For a second she was free. She slid out of the car.
But his hand had shot up and circled her wrist.
He held her while he slid out. She reached up to claw his face with her free hand. His other hand intercepted it and clamped around the wrist.
He forced her arms behind her, bending her back so that she was off balance. He brought her wrists together and gripped both of them with his left hand, pressing her against him.
"What are you going to do?" she said, terrified.
He swung her around and forced her backward until she was half sprawled on the edge of the front seat of the car. His free hand started working her skirt up around her legs.
"No!" Sheila said. "I won't let you!"
"What do you want me to do?" Duke said. "Get you down in the dirt and sit on you?"
She lifted her head, trying to see what he was doing. Her arms felt as though they were about to break. His fingers, spread wide, circled her hip, the thumb pressing in. A stab of pure, dizzying pleasure-pain shot through her. The pain in her arms was wiped out completely by it. It paralyzed her.
Before she was aware of it her panties had been pulled down over her knees and over her feet, pulling one shoe off with them. She doubled up her legs in a belted effort to kick at him. He leaned forward. His shoulders had caught her legs and were pressing them down, still doubled up.
He was grinning into her face, excitement and undisguised animal lust changing his features into the face of a monster. Pain stabbed into her, penetrating, tearing at her. She opened her mouth to scream-and suddenly, flooding up into her, overcoming her fear and hurt, came a response from her body. The raw pain dissolved into a straining hotness.
She wanted him to possess her. She wanted him to take her in his arms, kiss her, love her. She wanted to reach up and put her arms around him, but they had no feeling. They were trapped under her.
His face was a grinning mask hovering above her. His eyes were two bright marbles, staring. His hands moved up over her breasts, massaging them. His stomach slapped against hers with a regular, audible slap.
The rhythm suddenly increased, then stopped. He was as motionless as a statue.
The terrible, grinning mask of his face altered suddenly, shifting in subtle transition to human shape. He pulled away from her and straightened up, glancing down then turning away quickly.
Sheila tried to sit up. It was impossible. Slowly she worked her arms out from under her. There was no feeling in them but she could move them, little by little.
She managed to slide off the seat to the ground and stand up. She could see Duke's head and shoulders a few yards away in the bushes.
She worked feeling back into her arms, stooped down painfully, and picked up her panties and shoe. She managed to get them on.
She was afraid to leave the car. Duke might drive off and leave her here.
He came back. He went around the car and slid in behind the wheel. Sheila slid into the seat painfully.
"Now," Duke said, not looking at her, his lip curled. "Go ahead and cry rape. But let me point out one fact to you. This is the second time you came out here with me."
"You did rape me this time," Sheila said. "I'm bleeding. I'll go to the doctor. He'll testify."
"Go talk with a lawyer first," Duke said. "He'll tell you no court will call it rape. You came out here with me twice."
"You're a monster," Sheila said shuddering.
"No," Duke said. "Just smart. As a matter-of-fact, it was my dad who pointed out to me that if I took you a second time you wouldn't have a leg to stand on, no lawyer would touch the case."
He started the motor.
"What about Millie?" Sheila said. "What about her and the baby she's going to have?"
"Millie?" Duke said. "I never heard of her. Who's Millie? And if she's pregnant I'd suggest she find some sucker to marry her fast, or in this town her reputation will be ruined."
Duke backed the car to the road and turned it to head back toward town.
"The same goes for you-if you get pregnant," he said.
"I didn't know," Sheila said. "I just didn't know there could be a human being like you."
"What the hell did you expect?" Duke snarled in sudden anger. "I pick you up at a bus stop, I drive you out here and lay you. Do you think I'd marry that soft a touch? You and Millie are just alike. Marriage hungry tramps. A dime a dozen." He glanced at Sheila contemptuously. "When you get someplace look at yourself in a mirror. No lipstick, your dull, lifeless hair done up in a pony tail. Chain-store clothes. Thirty-nine cent panties. And I'll bet your bra didn't cost a buck and a half. I'd be the laughingstock of the town if I took you anyplace where my friends could see us together. Why do you suppose I went to the trouble of driving forty miles for lunch the other day? For the ride? Hell no! To make damned sure no one I know would see us together!"
He twisted the wheel angrily, the car lurching onto the paved road into town. They reached the city limits. He slowed down.
"Where do you want out?" Duke said coldly. "There's a bus up ahead."
"That'll do," Sheila said listlessly.
Duke spurted past the bus and pulled to the curb at the next bus stop.
"Goodbye," he said.
Without looking at him Sheila opened the door and slid out.
The bus pulled to the curb a moment later. She got in, dropped her token in the slot, and went to the back of the bus. After a few blocks she opened her book and tried to read.
Later, when she walked through the door into Lamberts Hardware, she glanced at her watch.
It must be stopped, she thought. But it wasn't.
She was only forty minutes late to work.
She went back to the washroom and tidied herself up, avoiding her eyes in the mirror.
She went to her desk and started in on the pile of sales slips from yesterday. She was mildly surprised that she could still think.
After a while something began to nag at the back of her mind. There was something she ought to do. She remembered, finally.
She looked up the Holm phone number and dialed it. "May I speak to Gertrude?" she asked. A moment later Gertrude Holm answered. Sheila remembered her voice from high school. She had always detested Gertrude and her snobbish airs. She concealed that dislike.
"Gertrude?" she said. "This is Sheila Drake. Remember me?"
"Yes!" Gertrude's voice answered.
"I hear that you and Duke are planning to get married," Sheila said.
"Yes," Gertrude said. "In two weeks. Isn't it wonderful?"
"I don't know whether it is or not," Sheila said. "Did you know that Millie Johnson is pregnant and Duke is the father?"
There was a dead silence at the other end. Then, "Is that so?"
"Yes, it's so," Sheila said. "I think Duke should be forced to marry her and accept his responsibility."
"Why?" Gertrude said. "Would he be happy with her? I'm sure he wouldn't. As I remember her from high school days she's quite a plain sort, and her family...."
"Well," Sheila said grimly, "At least you won't marry him now. That's one step in the right direction."
"But of course I'm going to marry him!" Gertrude said. "I don't care what he's done before we get married. It's afterward that counts."
"You mean," Sheila gasped, "That you'd marry him, knowing that six months after you married him a child he is the father of is being born?"
"Our children will be born a safe nine months or more after we are married," Gertrude said. "What's your interest in this?" She laughed delightedly. "Don't tell me you're one of his...." She broke into peals of laughter.
"Certainly not!" Sheila said. "And all I can say is that you and Duke deserve each other!"
She slammed the phone.
Suddenly she did have a headache.
She went to the washroom and bathed her face in cold water, and let the cold water run over her wrists. Gradually the headache went away.
She returned to her desk and worked, trying not to think what she was going to have to tell Millie tonight. But her thoughts kept returning to Millie.
Poor Millie, she thought. Even if she finds someone to marry, when the baby comes in six months everyone will know.
Once, for a brief moment, her own problem thrust itself into her thoughts. What will YOU do if you're pregnant? She forced her thoughts away from the question, but perspiration broke out on her forehead. She was unable to breathe. Ice formed in the pit of her stomach. She forced herself to concentrate on her work. Slowly she climbed back to self control.
It was almost quitting time when the phone rang. She lifted the receiver and said automatically, "Hello? Lamberts Hardware."
"So you tried to get revenge by running to Gertrude with a pack of lies," Duke's voice came over the phone. "I'm going to fix your wagon, but good!"
"I only told her the truth!" Sheila said. "And that's what I'm going to do," Duke said. "What do you mean?" Sheila asked. "I'm going to pass the word around that you're a hot lay. See? Nothing but the truth!"
CHAPTER THREE
"Sheila, Millie Johnson's here to see you!" Mr. Drake called from the foot of the stairs.
Sheila stirred from her motionless position on the bed. She had lain there, staring at the ceiling, for over an hour since dinner. In spite of a hot soaking bath she ached all over.
She opened her door and went to the head of the stairs. "Come on up, Millie," she said. She stood watching Millie.
Millie was five feet tall, a trifle on the plump side but a long ways from being fat. Her hair was black, with natural waves. Her eyes were brown, her skin very white. Millie's mother had never believed in girls getting a sun tan. She was wearing a print dress under her light gray topcoat They were, Sheila noticed, last year's chain store models.
"Hi, Sheila," Millie said in loud casual cheerfulness for the benefit of Mr. and Mrs. Drake downstairs.
"Hi, Millie," Sheila said. "Come on in."
When they were inside Sheila closed the door and went to the record player. She had already stacked some records on it. All she had to do was turn it on.
Millie slipped out of her coat and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her brown eyes were large and round with questions. They remained silent until music blanketed the room.
"You saw Duke?" Millie said.
"Yes, but it didn't do any good," Sheila said. "He was very-insulting. I don't think you'd want to marry him anyway."
"But what will I do?" Millie said. She began to cry.
Sheila sat down beside her quickly and put her arm around her.
"Duke said to tell you to find some sucker who would marry you right away," she said. "That's how insulting he was."
After a few moments Millie's crying subsided.
"I do want the baby," she said forlornly.
"But to marry just anybody!" Sheila said.
"Several boys have asked me," Millie said with a shy smile. "I was going with one steady when Duke came back from college."
"What would he say when the baby comes early?" Sheila said.
"I don't know," Millie said. "It's a chance I'll have to take. At least the baby would have a name." She straightened up and groped in her purse for a handkerchief to dry her eyes. "Besides, what else can I do?"
"I don't know," Sheila said. "If you're really going to, I hope it works out for you."
"You won't be mad at me?" Millie said. "You'll still be my friend?"
"I want to be your bridesmaid!" Sheila said.
Millie stopped crying. "I don't know," she said. "I think I'll try to-to hook Einar first. I think I like him better than any of the others."
"Einar Johansen?" Sheila said, shocked. She remembered him in school. The dumbest kid in the class. Big as an ox. All thumbs.
"He's a good carpenter," Millie said.
"That counts." A smile quirked Sheila's lips.
"And he owns his own car," Millie added.
"I have an idea," Sheila said. "Why don't you call him and ask him if he'll come over and take you home?"
"All right." Millie went to the dresser mirror and powered her face. She gave Sheila a tight, brave smile. Sheila shut off the record player, and they went downstairs to the phone.
Einar's car was an old sedan with bent fenders and a rack on top holding ladders and planks. Sheila and Millie watched him get out and come up the walk. When he rang the bell Sheila whispered to Millie, "Good luck."
She watched them go back to the car, then went slowly up the stairs to her room.
Before she went to bed she got out her savings account book and looked in it. She had two thousand three hundred and seven dollars and forty-three cents in it.
During breakfast the next morning she said, "I wonder what Oakland California is like."
Her father stopped reading the morning paper and looked at her. "Why?" he asked.
Her mother, in the act of turning over the pancakes on the griddle, paused and looked at her.
Sheila looked from one to the other of them. "Why," she said, "isn't that where mama's sister, aunt Sophie, lives?"
"Oh." Her father rattled his paper. "Just another city I guess," he said. "Never been there."
Sheila went back to reading her book and absently eating her breakfast, conscious of her parents' furtive stares.
At the office she tried to call Millie. No one answered. She went back to work, feeling depressed. She had always liked the smallness of the cubbyhole office, tucked behind a partition from the store. This morning it felt cramped, the air in it stale.
She tried to get Millie again at eleven o'clock. No one answered. Shortly after she hung up the phone rang.
"This is Marty Mason," a male voice said. "Is this Sheila?"
"Yes," Sheila said. She was remembering Marty. A tackle on the high school football team, he had graduated a year before she did. His father owned the feed mill. Marty had gone to work in the mill when he got out of school.
She pulled an order blank over in front of her and picked up a pencil. There was silence on the phone.
"Did you want to order something, Marty?" Sheila asked.
"No," Marty said. "No. I was wondering, would you like to go to the drive-in movie with me tonight? We could have a bite to eat someplace afterwards...."
Cold shock hit Sheila in the face. But maybe it isn't true, she thought. Maybe he really-The coincidence was too great.
"I'm sorry, Marty," she said. "But-no thanks."
"We could have a good time," he said, and his meaning was obvious.
"No, thanks," Sheila said, and hung up.
She could feel her face burning with shame. She began to tremble with rage. And impotence. What could she do about it? Nothing.
At noon she took her book and went to the corner drugstore for a sandwich and milkshake. While she was waiting for her order someone sat down beside her at the counter and said, "Hi, Sheila!" She glanced up. It was Dave Godlove. He always sat at the other end of the counter and hadn't said hello to her in years. He was smiling.
"Doing anything Friday night?" he asked.
How many times she had dreamed of Dave Godlove sitting down by her like this and asking her, Doing anything Friday night? His father owned the TV and Appliance store, and Dave had gone to an electronics school and worked for his father. She would have given her right arm....
"Sorry," she said. "I'll be busy." She kept her eyes on her book.
"How about tonight?" he said.
She looked up at him. His smile was entirely friendly, with no hint of anything else. She looked down at her book again. "No, thanks," she said.
She continued staring at her book, but she was unable to read. She wanted to get up and leave.
Her sandwich and milkshake came. She forced herself to eat, conscious of him sitting there beside her. She pretended to read, turning the page occasionally.
"We've got some new TV's in, Sheila," he said suddenly. "Portables. How about dropping into the store? I could get you one for-or-a lot less than wholesale."
"Not interested," Sheila said, closing her book and getting up. She was conscious of Dave God-love's eyes on her as she stopped at the cash register to pay her check.
Her mind was numb. When she went back to work she stared down at the ledger, unable to focus her eyes on the figures. The hours dragged eternally. Once, for less than a minute, she lost control of herself and wept, her hands over her face. Then, desperately, she fought back to control.
How many elligible men were there in town? Once she had counted them. Forty-three. That had been over a year ago. Some of them had married since then so that now there were maybe less than thirty. Someday one of them might have asked her to marry him.
Now they were whispering to one another, Say, have you heard? Sheila Drake is a hot lay I They would all get married eventually-to someone else. None of them would ask her to marry them now. No. But like a pack of dogs they would come sniffing around, asking for a date, offering her a portable TV for less than wholesale-if she would go out to lover's lane with them. And if she did, they would whisper some more, Duke was right! Sheila Drake's a REAL hot lay. Don't let her plain looks fool you!
Quitting time came, finally. On the bus Sheila tried to read her book. The girl in the book was happy and full of plans for her forthcoming marriage to a soldier. Sheila closed the book and stared unseeingly out the window.
When she reached home her mother called from the kitchen. "Sheila, is that you?"
"Yes," Sheila answered.
Mrs. Drake appeared in the kitchen doorway, her face wreathed in smiles. "Millie called less than half an hour ago," she said. "She and Einar were married this afternoon. Isn't that wonderful?"
"But I was going to be bridesmaid!" Sheila said, dismayed.
"That's what she told me," Mrs. Drake said, "But she and Einar decided to get married right away. He proposed to her last night. They're driving up to State Park Lodge for a honeymoon and won't be back until day after tomorrow." She beamed at Sheila. "Well, run along and get ready for supper. Papa will be home any minute now."
Sheila went up to her room. She put the book with the other five from the public library and picked up the only one she hadn't read. It too was a romance. After supper she'd go to the library.
She washed her face and hands, and went back downstairs. She stood in the kitchen doorway watching her mother dish up the food.
"Mom?" she said suddenly.
"Yes, Sheila?"
"Nothing," Sheila said. She turned and went into the dining room and sat down at her place at the table. When her mother brought in the mashed potatoes and the peas Sheila said, "What's aunt Sophie like?"
"Lands!" Mrs. Drake said. "I haven't seen my sister since before you were born, Sheila! She's divorced, you know, and back doing beauty work-working in a beauty shop."
"Do you think she'd mind if I visited her?" Sheila blurted.
"I don't know," her mother said. "We could write and ask."
"Write?" Sheila said. "Couldn't we call her?"
"Long distance?" her mother said. "That would cost four or five dollars! Papa wouldn't stand for it!"
"Wouldn't stand for what?" Mr. Drake said, coming into the room and sitting down at the table.
"Nothing," Sheila said, bitting her lip.
"Sheila wants to call Sophia long distance and ask her if she can visit her," Mrs. Drake said. "That would cost four or five dollars and a letter will do just as well. It's a couple of months until you take your vacation, Sheila."
Mrs. Drake went back into the kitchen. Sheila's father sat looking at her, frowning.
"Is anything wrong, Sheila?" he asked abruptly.
"No!" Sheila shouted, pushing back from the table and getting up. "Is it a crime to want to quit my job and go stay with aunt Sophia until I can find work in Oakland, California and live by myself?"
She ran from the room, up the stairs to her room, and a moment later ran back down with her library books and out the front door, slamming it behind her.
When she returned an hour later she let herself in very quietly and started up the stairs.
"Sheila," her father called from the door to the living room. His voice was very gentle. Sheila stopped but didn't turn around. "Your mother and I have talked it over," he said. "You can call your aunt if you want to."
"I can?" Sheila turned around. Suddenly she ran down the stairs and threw her arms around her father. "I don't want to leave home," she said, crying. "But-but-"
He led her into the front room. Her mother was crying too. "We hoped you'd marry some nice boy here and-and-" she cried.
"I know," Sheila said. She was going to have to be very careful. She couldn't let them guess that anything was wrong. "I-I've been thinking about it a long time," she lied. "And I know that there isn't a one of them that I would marry-even if he asked me."
"I sort of knew that," Her mother said, trying bravely to stop her flow of tears. "You've never let any of them date you."
"We understand," her father said gruffly. "Millie getting married sort of...."
"Crystalized it," Sheila said. "Yes. I don't want to grow into an old maid working at Lambert's Hardware the rest of my life!"
They laughed together in slightly hysterical good humor, on the edge of tears. It was a good joke. It set the tone for the long distance call to aunt Sophie.
"Sure," aunt Sophie said in strangely slurred tones when they reached her. "Come on ahead. I've got plenty of room. Glad to have you. How soon you coming?"
"On the first plane I can catch!" Sheila said. "I'll send you a telegram!"
"What about the Hardware?" her father asked when she hung up.
"I'll call in sick in the morning," Sheila said. "In a day or two mom can call Mr. Lambert and tell him I don't want to go back there. Besides-" she brightened, "Aunt Sophie is expecting me!"
Sheila's father took over, calling the airport in Springfield, making the reservation. A gay mad spirit of recklessness possessed them as they sent the telegram and started to pack.
The reservation was for ten in the morning and they had to drive eighty miles to the airport. And they had to sleep too....
Like most first timers, as the plane picked up speed down the runway for takeoff she would gladly have gotten off and taken a train if she could. And like most first timers she was somewhat surprised she was still alive when, finally, she stood in the waiting room of the Oakland airport looking around for aunt Sophie.
Sheila was looking around for a woman with a trim figure and a well groomed cultured appearance-a more polished and slightly younger edition of her mother. She passed over and dismissed from thought the couple coming toward her.
"Sheila?" the woman said. She was slightly more than plump, her figure held in by a foundation garment that failed in critical areas. Her hair was a short curly crop of bleached artificiality. Her cheeks were fat, her eyes a faded blue. She smelled strongly of beer.
The man with her was in his fifties at least, with a lean hawkish face and yellowed teeth. He was shorter than the woman, mainly because he was stoop shouldered under his unpressed blue suit. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. Ashes from it spotted his coat front.
"Yes," Sheila said uncertainly. "Aunt Sophie?"
"Welcome to Oakland," the woman said, hugging Sheila in a clumsy gesture of welcome, and releasing her. "Got some suitcases?"
"Yes," Sheila said.
"I'll bring the car around," the man said. The movement of his lips knocked ashes off his cigarette onto his coat sleeve. He turned and left.
"Who's that?" Sheila said.
"I've forgotten his name," Sophie said. "Joe something, Italian or Greek, I've never figured out which. A good friend of mine. He was in the beer parlor when I stopped in tonight and offered to drive me out to the airport. A real good friend. I don't know him and he offered to drive me out here. A good guy." Her voice had the same slur to it that it had had over the phone on the long distance call. She staggered a little as she and Sheila went over to the baggage counter, and hung onto Sheila's arm to steady herself. "So you're Martha's daughter!" she said. "I haven't seen my sister since before you were born. Time sure flies!" Sheila noticed that when Sophie talked her lips barely moved-as though they were deadened with novacaine.
Sheila gave her baggage checks to the man behind the counter. He brought the two brand new linen finish suitcases.
"I'll carry one," Sophie said.
"No, that's all right," Sheila said. She took both suitcases. Aunt Sophie walked beside Sheila, lurching slightly, but exuding dignity.
Joe, or whatever his name was, drove up after a few moments. The car was a late model sedan with dealer license plates. He got out and came around and put the suitcases on the back seat.
"I can sit in back with the suitcases," Sheila said.
"Okay," Joe said.
Sheila sat beside her suitcases in the dark, looking at the back of her Aunt Sophie's head and her plump shoulders, as the car picked up speed in the freeway traffic.
She wondered numbly if her parents' reluctance for her to come to Oakland had been partly due to their knowing how Aunt Sophie was. Probably not. If they had known they wouldn't have let her come at all.
Not a word was spoken during the entire trip. Sheila was glad of that. She was already altering her original plan to stay with Aunt Sophia until she found work.
They left the freeway. The street signs said they were on Broadway. After several blocks of old buildings, pawnshops, and dangerous looking people on the sidewalks, suddenly there were new office buildings, large department stores, big hotels. This, Sheila guessed, was the downtown part of Oakland, the part where she would look for a job.
They left it behind, and Sheila lost interest in her surroundings, waiting for the end of the trip. Once, when they passed a two block long stretch of motels, Sheila opened her mouth to tell the driver to stop the car, that she would stay at one of the motels. But she didn't quite have the courage.
Later she was to think back on that moment and be glad she didn't, because Aunt Sophie, bar fly and and aspirin addict though she was, was made to order for Sheila, for the transition that was going on in her.
"We're almost here, Sheila," Sophie said as they entered a block long neighborhood business district with drugstore, dime store, hardware store, barber shop, and three beer parlors.
At the next corner they turned right into a darkened side street. In the middle of the block the car pulled to the curb in front of a darkened house.
"See you later, Joe," Sophie said to the driver when she and Sheila were on the sidewalk.
"Thanks, Joe," Sheila said.
"Okay," the driver said, lw's grin flicking the ashes from his cigaret onto his coat. And that was the last time Sheila saw Joe-or whatever his name was.
Carrying her suitcases Sheila followed her Aunt Sophie into the house. The lights flicked on, revealing a small front room crowded with furniture that was somewhat better than that at home.
Sophie led the way to a bedroom. "Here's your room," she said. "Put your suitcases down and I'll show you the kitchen and bathroom. You're probably tired and want to get some sleep. I have to go out."
"Okay," Sheila said, subdued.
The kitchen sink held dirty dishes, but there was plenty of food in the large refrigerator.
"See you in the morning," Sophie said. She paused in the kitchen doorway and looked at Sheila. "I ought to stay with you," she said.
"No, that's all right, Aunt Sophie," Sheila said.
Sophie shook her head sadly. "Why do you wear your hair that way?" she said. "You'll have to come to the shop and let me fix it up right. It doesn't fit you."
"I'd like that," Sheila said, smiling. And Aunt Sophie was gone. To the beer parlor, perhaps.
Sheila unpacked her suitcases and put on her housecoat and bunny fur slippers. She pulled back the covers of the bed. The sheets were fresh and clean. The dirty dishes in the sink made her wonder if they would be.
She took a bath. The soap had a different scent. The silence of this house was different. The sound of the refrigerator was different. After the bath she went to the kitchen and poured a glass of milk. She found cupcakes in the breadbox.
Later, after washing all the dishes and scouring the sink, she law awake in the dark, listening to the silence, its strangeness, its quality of peace.
She was safe now. She could let aunt Sophie re-style her hair and there would be no one to know the difference. She could get a job in some big office and find a small apartment and live by herself.
If it turned out she was pregnant she could call herself Mrs. Sheila Drake and not be ashamed. She could explain that her "husband" was in the army. No one would know that it wasn't so. She had enough money saved up to see her through whatever lay ahead.
She sighed contentedly, closing her eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
"WHAT WE ARE LOOKING FOR," HE SAID, fingering the application form and frowning at it, "is a girl who will stay with us, Miss Drake. You've lived in the Bay area only a year. In that year you've had three jobs-and now you're applying for a fourth
"When I first came to California I took the first job I could find," Sheila said, smiling. "It enabled me to look around, get acquainted with the Bay area, and search for a job more in line with what I wanted. Six months later I found what I thought was a job with a challenge. The challenge lasted two months. I went to work at Rascobb. I like it there, but...."
"John Prentiss recommends you very highly, Miss Drake,"
"I hope I don't let him down, Mr. Belden," Sheila said. "He's been very kind-and after all. I'm not exactly quitting Rascobb in going to work for you. Belden, Nielsen and Raub own the Rascobb plant."
"Just a controling interest," Belden said, coughing importantly. His iron gray hair, heavy black eyebrows, and solid face and figure were a symbol of financial stability. Sheila already knew from John Prentiss that Ed Belden was in his late fifities, with four grown children, and worth well over a million dollars. Watching him, she could understand his success. "We control several manufacturing companies in the Bay area," he added. "You're right, the job does offer a constant challenge. You seem to be the right person for it, too. There will be much for you to learn, but you've demonstrated a surprising knowledge of legal, business, and manufacturing terminology, as well as shorthand and typing speed and accuracy. Mr. Nielsen was completely satisfied with the test he gave you-and I hasten to assure you he doesn't ordinarily make things so tough. He did that purposely, muttering, expressing himself badly, then asking you to condense it into a one page letter, so that he could see how good your independent judgment is."
"I realized that," Sheila said, smiling broadly.
"There is one more thing," Belden said. "You look sharp. Very sharp. I'll speak frankly. The business suit you have on has a tailored cut to it that displays just the right amount of femininity. Your hair style fits you to perfection. Your lipstick and fingernail polish are exactly right. Either you relied on a beauty shop to give you a good appearance in applying for this job or you have carefully studied the art of looking well. Which is it?"
"I'll be equally frank, Mr. Belden," Sheila said. "I've carefully studied the art, as you call it; but I've had help. My aunt, who is my only relative in the Bay area, is a beautician."
"That accounts for it," Belden said, nodding. "We will be paying you enough to afford good clothes, good appearance. We will expect you to look the part we are offering you-Executive Secretary. Your salary to start will be four fifty a month. Now one thing more. You are single? Nothing in the back of your mind about getting married and quitting?" He grinned, cocking his head to one side.
"I like men," Sheila said slowly.
"But that hardly answered my question," Belden said.
"I know," Sheila said. "It's a difficult question to answer, truthfully-and that's what I'm trying to do. I'm not engaged to anyone, I don't know anyone I would marry. I would have to be awfully sure before I would consent to marriage."
"I think you'll do, Miss Drake," Belden said. "I'll introduce you to the staff and assign you your desk."
He stood up and came around the desk. Sheila followed him into the outer office. Sheila acknowledged the introductions, studying each person.
There was Frank Lloyd the office boy, eighteen, with chestnut hair too long for a boy but combed in a neat, vain style popular with the teenage set. He might grow up to be a banker or a crook. Right now he had a q lick but clumsy intelligence.
Elmo Courcy the head bookkeeper was in his early thirties, with black hair just beginning to grow thin on top. Well built, quiet, there was no way of telling what he was really like-yet.
"You'll meet Ralph Nord, our field man, later," Belden said. "You'll be working closely with him."
"He's single, too," Frank spoke up brightly, then shrugged when no one laughed.
Pat Nolan sat at the switchboard and information window, handling all incoming phone calls and visitors. She was overweight to the point of being fat, but it fitted her. Her ready smile and large, happy eyes, showed an outgoing personality.
Marge Risdon, Dot Milhaven, and Marie Carlton each had a desk and were, quite obviously, the workhorses of the office. Marge was in her late thirties, the quiet type. Dot was in her late forties, short and thin, with tinted red hair, and with a quick nervous giggle. Marie, also in her late forties, was tall and large boned, firmly built, quietly self-assured.
Their three desks were in line along one wall, far enough out so that their chairs had sufficient room between desk and wall. Elmo's desk was in a corner, with a wall of five drawer filing cabinets at his back giving him partial privacy.
In the center of this working area was a trim metal desk, with plenty of space all around it. This, Sheila learned, was to be hers.
"I'll turn you over to DeCourcy now, Miss Drake," Belden said. "He'll give you the picture of our book keeping system and our holdings, our general procedure-the whole works. It will take you a couple of days to get the picture."
"Thank you, Mr. Belden," Sheila said, sitting down at her desk. "I didn't expect to start right away. May I call Mr. Prentiss and tell him?"
"I'll take care of that myself," Belden said. "I have a few others things I want to talk with him about." He turned and went back into his office, leaving Sheila with a baffled expression she tried to conceal.
"One thing he didn't tell you," Dot Milhaven said, coming from behind her desk, "is where the ladies' room is. Come with me and I'll show you."
"Thanks!" Sheila said, getting up and following Dot.
It was through a door labeled SUPPLIES, which opened into a small room crowded with metal shelves loaded with supplies and a small desk that was for the office boy, Frank Lloyd. Another door was labeled REST ROOM. Sheila followed Dot through the door into a surprisingly roomy and nicely arranged rest room, containing even a couch that could be used comfortably to take a nap.
"You're pretty young to be an executive secretary," Dot said, uttering her nervous, high pitched laugh. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-three," Sheila lied.
"I would have thought you aren't more than twenty," Dot said with shrewd accuracy. "Anyway, what I brought you in here for was to give you the rundown. Marge Risdon has an ulcer and her husband Henry works at Sears, selling shoes. Watch out for Marie. She wanted your job and didn't get it. She'll try to cut your throat if she gets the chance."
"What about Elmo?" Sheila asked.
"He lives on the north peninsula. I don't think he gets along too well with his wife, but he never talks about it so I just have to guess," Dot said. "You might as well know about me. My husband, Howard, works at P. I. E. as routing chief. I have two boys, in high school. You'll have to come over for dinner won."
"I'd love that," Sheila said. "I live alone, though I have an aunt here. But she's a widow and her house is too old fashioned and depressing to suit me. I like modern things."
"So do I," Dot said. "Ed-that's Mr. Belden-he's the one you have to please. He really runs the place. Les Nielsen and Joe Raud just come along for the ride. Ed's the one who makes the big decisions."
"What's Ralph Nord like?" Sheila said. "I understand I'm going to be working with him a lot."
Dot's eyes flashed fire. "He's a smart aleck. Don't take anything from him. The sooner he gets fired out of here the better for everyone concerned."
"Oh?" Sheila said, giving Dot a shrewd look. "Thanks for the warning."
"Feel free to ask me anything," Dot said. "I'd better be getting back to work. Wait a minute before following me so no one will know we've been talking."
"Okay, Dot," Sheila said. "And thanks."
"Don't mention it," Dot said.
When Dot Milhaven had gone Sheila made a wry face at the closed door, then carefully inspected her makeup in the mirror. She had come a long ways from the pony-tailed, disillusioned dreamer of a year ago. How naive she had been about life in those days! For a moment the bitterness showed in her eyes, then was hidden.
She returned to the office with none of it showing.
Elmo DeCourcy was waiting for her. "We might as well get started," he said impatiently.
"Fine!" Sheila said, smiling. "I'm ready."
"The quickest way for you to catch the operational picture is for you to study the three ledger books I've laid on your desk. The first one has a separate page for each company we control. You'll have to know the contents of that one frontwards and backwards as quickly as possible. The second is our payroll ledger, with all our full and part time employees. I think you should become acquainted with what our part time employees have been doing, so you'll become familiar with the growth side of our operation. The third ledger isn't too necessary to you. It breaks everything down into expense statements on an across-the-board basis, including office time, on a single project."
Sheila spent the rest of the day, except for lunch time with the girls (when she got better acquainted with them) studying the three ledger books.
Ralph Nord had not come in. She would have liked to have learned more about him, but that would come. She had ignored Elmo except in a purely business-like way. He was a quite attractive male. A week, two weeks, from now ... Sheila shoved the thought to the back of her mind and concentrated on the books until five o'clock.
When she left the office to go home her thoughts turned to John Prentiss. Would he be waiting for her outside the building? It was a possibility. However, he wasn't. She wished she could have called John from the office, but Mr. Belden had taken that possibility away by saying he would let John know she was starting work right away.
Sheila went to the parking lot and retrieved her car, and drove to her Lake Merritt apartment house, catching the elevator from the basement parking area to the fourth floor.
When she unlocked the door to her apartment the phone was ringing. She heard John's voice when she lifted the receiver.
"Oh, John!" she exclaimed. "I'm so excited about my new job! When am I going to see you?"
"I'll be right over," his voice came. "This calls for a celebration. Dinner-"
"What about your wife?" Sheila laughed.
"That's taken care of," he said. "I'll be right over."
"Give me half an hour," Sheila said. "I have to take a bath and get off these stuffy clothes I've had on all day."
"Half an hour then," John Prentiss said, chuckling. "Sure you don't want me to scrub your back?" He hung up, laughing.
CHAPTER FIVE
John Prentiss knocked softly on the door, not really wanting Sheila to hear his knock. If Sheila was just inside, dressed and waiting, she would hear. But if she was still dressing-
He took out his keys, inserted the proper one in the lock with a feeling of ownership, and went inside, closing the door with a firm bang to announce his arrival. From the direction of the partly open bedroom door came the faint sound of the shower. "I'm here, darling!" he called.
Receiving no answer, he tossed his hat on the Danish Modern davenport, smiling at the memory of how excited Sheila had been when he bought it for her.
"Make us a cocktail, John. I'll be out in a moment," Sheila called.
"Will do!" he answered.
He had picked out the liquor cabinet himself. Eight hundred dollars. It had a special, built-in ice cube maker. All kinds of gadgets. He dropped several ice cubes in the snow maker and turned it-
John Prentiss was thirty, tall and somewhat angular. His hair was a taffy color and protested at being combed. His face was more angular than hi; frame. His eyes were small and set noticeably close Except for the well tailored tweed suit and the sure footed intelligence that was evident in his every movement he might have been mistaken for a born clod.
He was a Ph.D physicist, owned four basic patents in electronic equipment, and was president of Rascobb Manufacturing Company because he had insisted on it if he was to work there. Rascobb, faced with impending bankruptcy, had not only agreed to that but had made an even greater sacrifice in relinquishing control of his business to Belden Nielsen and Raub to get the capital for Prentiss to work with. That had been five years ago. It had paid off for everyone concerned.
At the age of twenty-three money had suddenly stopped being a. problem to him. That had been when he sold his first patent for fifty thousand dollars, outright. His first and only foolish deal. On his subsequent four patents he had sold only a license to use-and made much more money in the long run.
He had spent almost three thousand dollars furnishing this apartment for Sheila. He loved her.
He thought of his love for her as he shook the daquiri mix, and tears came to his eyes. God how he loved her!
Helen-that was the only other major mistake in his life.. He had married Helen when he was twenty-five, filled with the idea of having a wife and a home in keeping with his money.
Helen was good looking, well formed, a type that would be ideal as a wife and mother to his children, and she had been in love with him-still was, for that matter. He had acquired her as a wife, and a forty thousand dollar luxury home, all at the same time. A big splurge, and it had all been highly satisfactory, until Sheila came to work for him.
John Prentiss couldn't remember when he first fell in love with Sheila. Four months ago he hadn't been particularly impressed by her. He had, in fact, almost chosen one of the other five applicants!
He sampled the daiquiri mix thoughtfully, smiling to himself at the thought of how close he had been to not hiring Sheila at all.
But now-It would take a little time, of course, to correct his life so that Sheila could become his wife. Meanwhile, step by step, he was advancing. This nice apartment for her. (She insisted on paying the rent herself, naturally, but she couldn't refuse the gifts of furniture.) And the job at Belden, Nielsen & Raub was, really, going to make things work out better. He would be able to get his mind back on business during business hours, and he and Sheila could act more naturally toward each other now that they wouldn't have to pretend to be all business eight hours a day.
The big hurdle-Helen-still lay ahead. Some way he was going to have to get her to agree to a divorce. He hoped Helen would be reasonable and not insist on a half interest in his four patents as community property, but if she did-
It was all basically very simple, John Prentiss told himself as Sheila appeared in the bedroom doorway, the terry cloth bathrobe he had bought her wrapped around her securely, the exposed areas of her skin glowing pinkly from the shower. No matter what it cost, he had to clear the decks so he could make Sheila his bride, his partner through life....
"Hi, darling," Sheila said, smiling.
"Hi," John said, picking up both drinks and going toward her.
Sheila accepted the stemmed glass, sipped enough of the liquid through the mountain of snow to bring its level down to a safe distance below the edge, then stood on her tiptoes and leaned forward, giving John a maidenly kiss.
"You have just kissed the Executive Secretary of Belden, Nielsen and Raub," she said.
"I feel quite honored!" John Prentiss said, his lips quirking in a slight smile. "How about setting our drinks down somewhere so I can kiss Sheila?"
Sheila appeared to consider this, then nodded. "All right," she said.
They went over to the liquor cabinet and put their drinks down. Sheila turned toward John. Hei arms snaked around his neck, the loose sleeves of the terry cloth robe falling back to her shoulders.
John looked down into her upturned face for a moment, his hands on her hips, pulling her gently against him. Below her upturned face he could see the upper curve of her breasts where the robe had separated slightly.
His breath came faster as, suddenly, he leaned down and crushed his lips against hers.
Her quickening breath fanned his cheek as her lips responded hungrily. Her scent was fresh and soapy, more intimate than the most expensive perfume-and he had given her practically every variety of the best perfumes Paris had to offer!
His lips broke away from hers and explored her cheeks, her eyes, and ears, the nape of her neck, as his encircling arms lifted her against him, drawing her up until her feet were off the floor.
His lips walked in kissing steps across her collar bone until they reached the upper swell of her breast, forcing back the towel-like terry cloth of her robe.
"John!" Sheila protested.
Desperately he ignored her protest. His hand came up and pulled aside her robe. For the first time he saw her breast, utterly beautiful, the nipple like a rose. The vision etched into his mind a bit of Heaven he could dream of forever, then his lips touched it, circled it with playful tenderness.
She was struggling, pushing at him. He released her. and they stood back from each other, breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry," John Prentiss croaked. "I didn't mean...." He couldn't complete the lie. He wanted her. He wanted to search every part of her, possess her. Only the fear of losing her held him back.
"I'm sorry too," Sheila said.
Suddenly tears were in her eyes. She turned and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door.
John looked at the inscrutable blankness of the closed door, worrying. Had he gone too far? He had, really, he decided. But was it to end like this? He prayed that it wouldn't, that Sheila would eventually emerge from the bedroom, and forgive him.
He downed the remainder of his half melted daiquiri and with nervous hands poured straight rum into the glass, and gulped it down too.
Tomorrow he would tell Helen they had to get a divorce. Things couldn't go on this way! It was torture-to Sheila, poor kid.
And how brave she was, forcing herself to be cheerful and learn a new job when-if HE hadn't messed up his life by getting married just to be married-she could already be in her own home, queen of all she surveyed,, as she should be.
Poor Sheila. Or was it too much of this 190 proof rum? It was tricky stuff. It wouldn't do to fall flat on his face before taking Sheila to dinner. Dinner?
He WAS a selfish brute, thinking only of himself when Sheila had had to work hard at a new job and was probably starved! God what a fool he was, throwing everything away for one moment of ineffective passion I If only Sheila would come out so he could get down on his knees and apologize!
He Started toward the bedroom door to knock, to ask her forgiveness. Poor Sheila. Probably she was lying on the bed, crying her heart out.
The bedroom door opened. Sheila stood there fully dressed "I'm ready," he heard her say. Her voice was carefully casual, as though she were determined to say nothing about the terrible thing he had done. She DID love him! And she was absolutely wonderful!
"Good!" John Prentiss said, matching her tone of studied unconcern. "Should we go to the Showboat for dinner?"
"Okay," Sheila said brightly. "I'd like that."
In the car she sat close to him. After a few blocks her hand rested on his knee. He was conscious of the firm curve of her breast under his arm as he drove.
He could feel a pulse pounding in his temple. He wanted to stop the car and take her in his arms. He wanted-God! He had almost hit that old man in the cross walk!
He drove carefully the rest of the way down Broadway, under Nimitz Freeway, across the tracks, and into London Square. The Showboat, an old Richmond-San Raphael ferry converted into a restaurant, loomed ahead.
John Prentiss pulled into a parking space. The estuary was dark. The soft wash of water under the ferry came whispering upwards as John and Sheila went up the gangplank. It was a quiet, hushed sound, and when they went inside it was into a quiet, hushed lighting, provided mostly by the candles on the tables and the lighting over the bar.
They were led to a small, intimate table for two, where they could look out over the water and watch the ghosts of ships floating by. Under the table their knees touched.
John ordered Martinis. When they came the waitress took their dinner orders, then they were alone, sipping their Martinis, looking at each other.
"When are you going to tell Helen, John?" Sheila said abruptly.
John blinked, and carefully set his drink down.
"It shouldn't be long now," he said. "Perhaps tonight when I get home. In a few days, anyway. When the time is just right."
"It's got to be soon, John," Sheila said. "I can't-make myself fight you off forever!" Her voice was shaky.
"I know," he said. "But it doesn't have to go all the way. Not until we're married. I can have a little power too, you know. Let me love you. Trust me. I've been going out of my-"
The waitress came with the soup and salad.
"I trust you, John," Sheila said when the waitress left. "It's myself I don't trust. Would you have the will power to stop if I got to the point where I wanted you to go on-all the way? And what about afterwards? No, John. I don't want you that way. Not as your mistress, sleeping alone while you go home to your wife. You can't ask that of the girl who is going to be your wife, and that's the way it would be if we were foolish enough to think we could-"
The waitress came with their food.
"You're right, of course," John said.
They ate in silence, looking at their plates mostly, but now and then staring questioningly into each other's eyes, then looking away.
It was almost nine o'clock when they went down the gangplank and walked, hand in hand, to the car.
Sheila didn't sit close to John now. She sat huddled against the door on the far side, looking disconsolately out the window as the car moved slowly out of Jack London Square in the direction of downtown Oakland.
The car jounced lazily across the tracks. Half a block away was a railroad depot. On the corner was a cocktail lounge. Two sailors, using their sea legs, were headed toward its upholstered entrance door. They pushed it open and went inside.
Then that was gone. The Nimitz Freeway was overhead, then the pawnshops and ancient frame hotels of lower Broadway were on either side, lost souls on the sidewalks-and more sailors. Then the sleeping canyon of closed department stores and office buildings of downtown Broadway, and a right turn past the Leamington Hotel in the direction of Lake Merritt.
"May I come up?" John Prentiss asked when he had parked next to the curb.
"Of course," Sheila said, surprise in her tone. "I do have to trust you, don't I? I do trust you. It's only myself I don't trust."
"You can trust me, darling," John said.
They walked close together into the deserted lobby, and in the elevator they kissed hungrily until the elevator stopped and the door opened. They walked arm in arm down the carpeted hall to Sheila's apartment.
"Want to get into something more comfortable?" John grinned, crossing to the liquor cabinet.
"No thanks," Sheila said. "Too risky. Besides-" Her tone became practical. "I have a lot of detail to master at work tomorrow. I can't afford to be sleepy-not yet at any rate."
"That's right," John matched her tone. "I'd forgotten. Well, one drink for a nightcap, then I'll go."
He mixed the drinks. They touched glasses, then sipped their drinks without breaking their gaze. When Sheila set her empty glass down she turned and went to the windows and stood looking out over the lake.
John came and stood behind her, his arms circling her waist.
"Isn't the city wonderful at night?" Sheila remarked.
John kissed her hair. One hand slid down over the flat of her stomach, the other came up to cup her breast, as he leaned down to kiss the nape of her neck.
She pressed backward against him, twisting her head around until their lips met. Her hand pressed his against her breast.
He tried to get her to turn around. "No!" she whispered. "You've got to go. If you stay I'll give myself to you. I want you so much! But if you do-I'll never see you again. I mean that, John."
"I'll go," John said. "But before I do I'm going to prove to you I have will power for both of us. I'm going to kiss your breast darling, like I did before. Then I'm going."
Sheila was quiet and motionless for a long minute. Then she turned and put her arms around him. "It's up to you," she whispered hoarsely.
Their lips locked together. His hand fumbled at the zipper to her dress, then at the hooks on the back of her bra. Her bra came free.
He cupped one hand under her buttocks, lifting her against him. His lips sought her naked breast, exploring it. Her hands pressed loosely in his hair.
"Now I'll go." He set her gently on her feet and walked from the apartment.
Sheila stood there looking at the closed door. She was breathing heavily, passion still alive in her. Her eyes were covered with a smoky film of desire.
With trembling hands she spilled some raw ram into her glass on the liquor cabinet, sipped it, started to gulp it down, then set it down.
With firm purpose she fastened her bra and zipped up her dress. She hurried to the bathroom to repair her makeup, then left the apartment.
In the elevator she pressed the bottom button. When the elevator stopped and the door opened she stepped into the basement garage. A moment later she emerged into the street in her own car, and turned in the direction of Broadway.
Five minutes later she was parking at the curb next to the cocktail lounge where she had seen the two sailors enter. A hunger gnawed at her insides. A hunger that could not be denied. Down low. A continuing ecstasy that was not an ecstasy but a hunger borne of starvation. If it were not satisfied she would go out of her mind.
She pushed open the upholstered door. Inside was a bar running the full length of the left side, with a juke box and small tables.
The only inhabitants were the bartender, a short fat man with an oily skin and not much hair, who must also be the owner since he was hardly the type anyone would hire to tend bar, and ten or twelve sailors.
Whatever each had been doing before Sheila entered, all were doing the same thing now-looking at her.
"No ladies without an escort," the bartender called to her.
Sheila looked confused. "But I'm supposed to meet my brother here," she said. "He's a sailor. Is-is it all right if I just sit at a table until he comes, and don't have anything to drink?"
"It's against the law," the bartender said firmly. "I don't want to get my license suspended."
"Well, now," a voice sounded, with a Texas drawl. "The little lady HAS an escort. She's with me, until her brother gets here." The sailor who came toward Sheila was slightly shorter than she, not older than twenty, well buit. He was smiling.
"Thanks," Sheila said, a rush of relief in her voice. "We can sit at a table." She added in a whisper, "My name's Sheila."
"I'm Bill," he whispered back, taking her arm.
"It ain't regular!" the bartender protested. He became aware of the hostile looks directed at him from the other sailors along the bar and added hastily, "But for the record you came in together."
"What'll you have, Sheila?" Bill said.
"Anything," Sheila said. "A Martini. But yon don't need to buy me anything. Fred should have been here by now. I'm late."
"Fred who?" Bin said. "What boat? Maybe I know him."
"Fred Drake," Sheila said. "I don't remember the name of his ship."
Bill shook his head. "Don't know him," he said.
He went over to the bar and after a moment returned with the Martini and a bottle of beer.
Sheila sipped her drink, studying Bill.
"Maybe he won't show up," Bill said.
"Maybe he did, and I wasn't here, so he's trying to reach me at home," Sheila said.
"If he doesn't show up we could go there and see if he's called," Bill said with a grin.
"All right," Sheila said. "I feel nervous, out alone. He promised to be here." She set her drink down and stood up.
The sailor, caught by surprise, scrambled hastily to his feet.
"If he comes he can just call home and explain why he kept me waiting," Sheila said.
"He sure can," Bill said. Then to the bartender and the other sailors, "If Fred Drake shows up tell him to call his sister."
He followed Sheila hastily, hardly believing his good luck, afraid he was going to lose her. When she went around the car parked at the curb and got in behind the wheel he hurried to get in as though he were afraid she would start the motor and drive off without him.
"I can't understand why Fred wasn't there," Sheila said, starting the motor.
"Cigarette?" Bill held out a pack.
"Thanks," Sheila said, taking one. She leaned forward, her hand resting on his thigh, as he lit it for her. His hand shook a little.
Sheila made a U turn and concentrated on driving. After a few blocks she said, "I don't have any beer but I have everything else."
"As long as you have everything else ... Bill murmured.
Sheila gasped, automatically coming to a stop for a red light. "I didn't mean it that way!" she said. "Why!" She looked at him indignantly, then let her eyes survey his trim figure. "At least, I don't think I did!"
The light changed to green. Sheila concentrated on driving. Bill slid over to the center of the seat, putting his arm over the back of the seat so that his hand rested casually on Sheila's shoulder. He half turned so that his knee touched her thigh.
"You're interfering with my driving," Sheila said softly.
"Am I?"
There was another red light. Sheila brought the car to a stop and turned her head. "Yes," she said, her lips an inch from his.
The inch vanished. Their lips opened together. His right hand cupped her breast. When she didn't protest, he pressed his fingers more widely.
"Stop!" Sheila whispered, pulling his hand away.
A horn sounded impatiently behind the car. Bill pulled away from Sheila far enough for her to drive.
"I don't know whether I should let you come up to my apartment or not!" Sheila said shakily, turning past the Leamington. "If my brother doesn't show ud...."
Bill's hand rested on her thigh. His fingers squeezed firmly.
"Don't, Bill," Sheila said, but she made no move to stop him.
His hand coasted up over her stomach, the fingers widespread.
"Now I know I shouldn't let you come up," Sheila said, turning down the ramp to the basement garage of the apartment building, "And I know I shouldn't come up," Bill said. "But damn it, we're leaving on a Pacific cruise tomorrow, and I don't have any time to take it easy getting acquainted with you, and I don't want to just walk out of your life."
Sheila frowned, "You're leaving so soon?" She shut off the motor and turned toward him.
He nodded. She put her arms around his neck and her lips clamped against his. His arms circled her waist. He slid her out from behind the wheel and onto his lap. His hands began to explore.
"Bill!" Sheila gasped, struggling. "Stop that!"
She got the car door open, and struggled out. He got out more slowly and closed the car door. He started to take her in his arms.
"We'd better go upstairs," Sheila said. "Wait a minute. My keys! My purse! You've got me so distracted I can't think of anything!" She retrieved them and led the way to the automatic elevator.
"You must think I'm terrible," Sheila said as they waited for the elevator to come down, "but you've either caught me in the weakest moment of my life or I've fallen in love."
"You must think I'm terrible, Sheila," Bill said, "but I know I've fallen in love with yon." The elevator came.
Sheila laughed on the way up. "I'm so confused right now. All I know is I want you more than anything."
"And it'll be just like your brother to be waiting in the hall in front of your door," Bill grumbled.
"If he is I'll hate him the rest of my life," Sheila said as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.
The hall was deserted. Sheila inserted the key in the door to her apartment. Then she and Bill were inside, the door closed and locked.
They came together like two powerful magnets. Sheila's keys and purse dropped to the rug unnoticed. Abandoning all pretense of reserve she pressed against Bill. Their lips were harsh against each other. Her fingers clawed into his back.
His hands roamed over her body, cupping her breasts, her buttocks.
Then, as though at a common signal, they stood back from each other, nostrils flaring rapidly, eyes wide, lips parted. Suddenly they were in a race to undress.
Sheila won.
With a wild, excited laugh, she raced toward the bedroom. Bill caught up with her at the door, his arms circling her waist.
Sheila fell to her hands and knees, and crawled forward toward the bed. Bill's chin pressed into her shoulder blade. His arms were locked around her, his weight against her back.
She twisted her body and rolled free, then leaped onto the bed, crawling toward the other side. He caught her foot and pulled her toward him. She turned over, kicking at him as he climbed on the bed.
He sprawled over her, pressing her down against the mattress. A searing, living fire entered her. She arched to meet it, engulf it.
The yearning ache within her that had sent her back to Jack London Square, flowed downward as she pressed against him. Her fingers caressed the ripling muscles of his back. Their two bodies blended into one slowly writhing motion that, from time to time, became a stillness, disturbed, oily by the sound of their breathing against each other's ear.
Then, suddenly, the pace of their mutual rhythm increased. Faster and faster, her fingernails pressed into his sides. She arched upward, straining against his full weight. Their breathing became hoarse.
And abruptly they became motionless. Fire exploded deep inside Sheila, shooting outward through her, causing her to twitch. Her vision blurred. She almost blacked out.
Then peace flowed into her, saturating every cell, and happiness followed in its wake bringing tears to her eyes. Then came a drowsiness, overpowering her.
"I've never felt like this before," she said dreamily. "Never...."
"Never...."
What was that sound?
She opened her eyes The light was streaming in through the curtains. The sound was the strident ringing of the alarm clock.
She shut it off, then sat up abruptly. Where was Bill?
She was under the blankets. Bill had covered her up. She pushed back the blankets and got up. "Bill?" she called.
When there was no answer she got out of bed and ran into the living room. Bill was gone.
But of course he was gone! It was seven-thirty, and his ship had sailed at six.
CHAPTER SIX
It was a quarter to nine when Sheila entered the office. A hot soapy tub bath followed by a cold needle spray shower had restored her, and ham and eggs and two slices of toast had filled her energy tanks nicely. A half hour in front of the mirror had recaptured her just-right hair style and skin complexion.
She knew she looked every inch the Executive Secretary, and her only problem was to repress the exuberance that made her want to jump, dance and sing.
The other girls hadn't arrived yet. Elmo was the only one in the office. He had something on his mind, from the way he looked.
"Good morning, Mr. DeCourcy," Sheila said
"Good morning," he said impatiently. "Miss Drake-Sheila, could I take you to lunch this noon?"
"Is that a good idea?" Sheila said. "I mean, there is a gossipy group of girls here. We could have dinner together some evening if you liked...."
"I hadn't dared to ask that," Elmo glanced toward the closed door. "Tonight?"
"All right," Sheila said. "Call for me at six."
The door opened. Dot Milhaven came in. "Hi!" she said.
Marge Risdon and Marie Carton came in together a moment later, deep in a discussion of the rodeo at Walnut Creek the coming weekend.
It was five after nine when Pat Nolan hurried in, and took over the switchboard from Dot. "Sorry I'm late," Pat murmured.
Ed Nolan arrived shortly after, then Les Nielsen and Joe Raud came in together and disappeared into their private offices.
A man came in, spoke to Pat, then sat down. Another came in. The office slid smoothly into its daytime functioning.
Sheila took up the study of the three ledger books where she had left off yesterday.
One of the visitors went into Joe Raub's office. He was out again in five minutes. The light from Raub's office glowed on Sheila's desk. She went in and took a letter in shorthand, then came out and typed it up.
Her desk phone rang. She glanced at Pat, who nodded and smiled.
"Hello?" she said into the phone.
"Hello, darling," John Prentiss's voice sounded slightly worried. "Are you all right? Are you still speaking to me?"
"Yes, of course, "Sheila said in a business-like tone. She glanced toward Pat, who was busy with a man with a briefcase.
"Can I see you tonight?" John said.
"No," Sheila said. "Later. Tomorrow, maybe."
"I told Helen last night when I got home," John said. "I'd like to see you and tell you about it."
"Tell me now," Sheila said.
"I'd rather tell you later," he hedged.
"It will have to wait then," Sheila said. "I'm going to my aunt's tonight."
"You're mad at me, aren't you," John said. "I don't blame you, of course. Well, Helen is going to contest the divorce unless I agree to a property settlement and six hundred a month. But no matter what it costs I'm going ahead with it. Does that satisfy you?"
"If you're satisfied," Sheila said. "Look. Call me tomorrow night. I'm very busy."
"Okay." John's sigh came audibly over the phone. "It's a long time until tomorrow night."
"I know," Sheila said. "Bye...."
She hung up, aware of Dot Milhaven's eyes boring into her back as her mind tried to make sense out of the one-sided conversation she had listened to.
She turned and smiled ruefully at Dot. "My brother," she said.
"Oh." Dot returned to her work. A moment later, however, she waved her arm toward someone who had just entered the office and called, "Hi, Ralph!"
Sheila glanced up. The man was one she had seen before at Rascobb without knowing his name.
She had taken a dislike to him then, and the dislike returned.
Ralph Nord was twenty-eight, five feet ten, with a jet black crewcut, a button nose and strong chin, laughing brown eyes, and too much self confidence for his own good, in Sheila's estimation.
Dot Milhaven had gotten up from her desk. "Come on in and meet the new Exec-Sec, Ralph," she said, giving her high pitched laugh.
Ralph Nord had reached under the lock and opened the gate in the three foot high hardwood partition.
"This is Sheila Drake," Dot said.
"Hi, doll," Ralph said, going past her to the supply room door.
"That was Ralph Nord," Dot said with a laugh as he vanished through the door.
Sheila hid her anger, and noticed Elmo's look of distaste directed toward Ralph on his way through.
"I guess I didn't impress him much, did I," Sheila said to Dot.
"Don't kid yourself," Marie spoke up. "You impressed Ralph plenty."
"You sure did," Dot said, sitting down at her desk again.
A moment later Ralph Nord came out of the supply room. He came over and hooked a leg over the corner of Sheila's desk and sat down.
"How about having lunch with me, Doll?" he said.
"I'm very sorry," Sheila said frigidly. "I've already accepted Elmo's invitation to lunch."
Ralph glanced in Elmo's direction, shrugged, and stood up.
Elmo cleared his voice. "That's right," he said. "I asked Sheila to lunch when she first came in this morning."
"Okay by me," Ralph said. "By the way-" He reached inside his coat and brought out some rumpled papers, "I think I'll give these notes to you to type up." He dropped them carelessly in Sheila's in-basket, waved in a careless gesture that included everyone, and left.
"Thanks for coming to my rescue the way you did, Elmo," Sheila said. "It was quick thinking. But you don't really have to take me to lunch." She winked so that only Elmo could see.
"Of course I will," Elmo said. "Ralph might drop by to make sure."
"Go ahead," Marie spoke up.
"Sure. Go ahead," Dot said.
"Well...." Sheila said. She looked questioningly at Marge and Pat. They were nodding. "Okay," Sheila smiled.
"Take her to the Wheel," Dot said to Elmo.
So it was all settled. Sheila typed up Ralph Nord's scribbled notes into neat reports. At five after twelve she and Elmo sat down at a small table in the Wheel, and gave the waiter their order.
"I hope this doesn't mean...." Elmo said, his voice dwindling off.
"That our dinner date is off?" Sheila said. "Not unless you want to call it off."
"I don't," Elmo said, relieved. "I thought maybe you might think you were seeing too much of me in one day, is all."
"Silly," Sheila said, smiling. "And I'm really glad we're having lunch together. I can ask you a question about Belden Nielsen and Raub that I was hesitating to ask in the office."
"What's that?" Elmo asked.
"Well," Sheila said, "I can see why they would want to own control of a company to make sure it didn't do anything foolish that would make its stock go down in value, but couldn't they make as much money just investing in companies like General Motors? I noticed this morning that five of the companies don't even declare dividends. How can the firm make money on them?"
Elmo chuckled. "Belden, Nielsen, or Raub is Chairman of the Board of every company they control, at a salary of not less than ten thousand a year. They control sixty small manufacturing companies at present, with a total investment of about two million dollars, and receive about eight hundred thousand total in salaries as Chairmen of the Boards of those companies-plus either a reasonable dividend on their stocks or an even better Capital Gains, so that they are reaping about fifty-eight per cent on their investments-plus being in control of them. Does that answer your question?"
"Boy!" Sheila said. "Does it!" She frowned in thought. "I don't see how such a setup is possible. Why doesn't the Government step in?"
"For what reason?" Elmo said. "Anti-trust laws? They don't apply at all. It's all perfectly legal, just as it's legal for people to own a string of rental houses and hotels. Also it's a fairly safe string of investments. But let's talk about you. Do you swim?"
"A little. Why?"
"I have a swimming pool."
"How wonderful!" The waiter brought their food. "Where do you live?"
"The North Peninsula," Elmo said. "Half an hour each way from home to work, and seventy-five cents each way on the bridge, but it's worth it. Besides," he grinned. "Belsen is very good about things like that. My salary is sixty dollars a month more than it would have been, to take care of the added expense of my commuting to Oakland."
"I noticed that," Sheila said. "Mr. Belden pointed out to me that I was getting extra pay to take care of my personal appearance, better clothes, more frequent permanents...."
"You would look wonderful in a gunny sack and with a pony tail," Elmo said.
"You mean it would be an improvement?" Sheila lit an after lunch cigarette.
"I don't know," Elmo said slowly. "You know what's wrong with you now?" There was a daring light in his eye.
"No, what?"
"You're so perfect it would be a shame to muss you."
"You wouldn't dare!" Sheila said. "Besides, what about your wife?"
"Oh. Mable," Elmo scowled. "My wife...." He keft on scowling.
"Did I say something wrong?" Sheila asked timidly.
"No," he shrugged. "No. I suppose it will sound corny, but-" He lit a cigarette nervously, half angrily. "We don't get along. In fact, our marriage has been on the rocks for a long time. Mable spends half her time at home in Indiana. We should have broken it up years ago."
"Oh?" Sheila nodded sympathetically.
"I suppose you don't believe me," Elmo said. He sighed. "I suppose our dinner date for this evening is off."
"No," Sheila said, looking at the end of her cigarette, frowning. "Maybe it would be a good thing. Maybe you're doing her as much harm as you're doing yourself by-putting it off...."
"Do-you really think so?" Elmo said eagerly. "Then I can pick you up at about six tonight?"
Sheila stamped out her cigarette and stood up.
"Uh huh," she said.
She kept her wrist hooked under Elmo's arm all the way back to the office.
"Laugh clown, laugh," Elmo said in the hall after they left the elevator.
"Poor Elmo," Sheila squeezed his arm before releasing it.
They were ten minutes late.
Sheila went back through the stockroom to the rest room. A minute later Dot came in. "How'd you make out?" she asked eagerly.
"Your ears are wagging," Sheila smiled.
"Sure they're wagging," Dot said. "Elmo has a pretty tough life. His wife is a whiner."
"Is she?" Sheila looked away. "What's she like? Have you ever met her?"
"I've met her." Dot said grimly.
"Well, maybe we'd better get back to work," Sheila said, and she went back to her desk with the distinct feeling that Dot would like to see her get mixed up with Elmo, just for the juicy scandal she could pass along. This feeling was augmented by Dot's expression when she returned to her desk. Disappointment. Dot had obviously hoped Sheila would make some foolish or damaging remark she could use for gossip.
Marie came over. "Maybe I can help you on the ledgers," she said. "If you have any questions...."
"Good!" Sheila said gratefully.
She decided she liked Marie, and by five o'clock her understanding of the book keeping system was fairly complete.
At the last minute Ralph Nord returned. "Are my notes typed up?"
"Yes," she said.
He glanced them over while the other girls left. Elmo went out last, giving Sheila a meaningful glance to tell her he would see her at six.
"They look okay," Ralnh said. "My car's outside. Can I take you home?"
"No thanks," Sheila said. "I have my own car."
"It could break down," Ralph said, smiling, as Sheila went out the door.
Sheila scowled in anger at Ralph Nord most of the way to the parking lot, then shrugged him out of her thoughts. It was a five minute drive from the lot to the apartment building garage.
She hurried to the elevator. She would have to go fast to shower and get dressed before Elmo arrived at six.
The mail consisted of three pieces, the light bill. the phone bill, and a letter from her mother. She skimmed hastily through the letter from her mother. It contained nothing new or interesting.
In the bedroom she shucked off her clothes, tossing them on the bed to collect later.
Nude, she was a perfect 38-28-38, five feet four, with long graceful legs and flawess skin. She had learned, almost cold-bloodedy, during the past year in Oakland, how to dress to display her figure to advantage but not over-display it.
In the shower she soaped generously, the soapy water dripping from her firmly shaped pointed breasts, down the flat of her stomach, around her thighs.
When she changed the shower to cold for the final rinse her skin became pink, and the fatigue of the day vanished, leaving her alive and awake for the evening. Her breasts stood out firmly as she stood in front of the full length mirror and rubbed herself briskly with the thick towel, colored a rich chocolate brown.
She smiled, wondering what Elmo would do if he could see her as she was now. She gazed at her fully ripened breasts and laughed. The laugh held a note of bitterness, of sadness.
Abruptly she turned away from the mirror and began dressing. She picked a dress that had a suggestion of innocence and a note of daring to it, with a low neck line that held revealing promise at the breast line, a slimness at the waist, and a fullness in the skirt that would excite a man into daring advances.
At ten minutes to six she was ready for Elmo.
After a last critical inspection she waited for the doorbell to ring. She thought of the sailor of last night-and shoved such thoughts from her mind.
They returned. A restlessness possessed her. If the sailor were still in town she would be tempted to go look for him. But how would she find him? She couldn't even remember his name!
Her stomach ached for the weight of a man against it. Her thighs pulsed with a vague, restless urge that cried out for a man to press against.
Just the memory of it was driving her out of her mind. She wondered if she were becoming a nymphomaniac. The way she felt right now she would be willing to step into the shoes of a busy prostitute and take on one stranger after another all night. Dozens. Insatiably. Until, in the small hours of the morning, her body would relax, satisfied.
A knock sounded at the door.
Sheila went to the door and opened it. Elmo de Courcy stood there.
"Oh. Hello, Elmo," Sheila smiled. "Come in. I'll be ready in a minute."
"Hello, Sheila," Elmo came in, carrying a brown paper sack.
"What in Heaven's name is that?" Sheila said.
"I bought a couple of steaks and some things to go with them-on the off chance that maybe we could have dinner here. But of course if you don't care for the idea they won't go to waste. You can have them, or I can take them home."
"It's a wonderful idea!" Sheila said. "Put the groceries in the kitchen while I fix us a drink."
She followed him into the kitchen and put on an apron. A moment later she was making the drinks. Elmo watched her. and made admiring comments about the liquor cabinet.
"I like nice things," Sheila said. "Have you ever noticed that the difference in cost between an ordinary something and the same thing that is better is often so slight that it's foolish to buy the cheaper model? Take this apartment, for example-the rent is fifteen dollars a month more than I'd pay for the same apartment away from Lake Merritt in a cheaper neighborhood, but for that fifteen dollars I get a basement parking space for my car, an elevator, and a view."
"That's a pretty wonderful philosophy." Elmo said. "Too bad-"
"Too bad what?" Sheila said, adding the last touches to the two tall, cold Tom Collins.
"Nothing," Elmo said gruffly. "I hate bringing my wife into the conversation all the time."
"Why?" Sheila handed him his drink and picked up hers. She sipped, looking into his face with round, sympathetic eyes. "If we're going to be-friends-it's only right that I should try to understand."
Elmo stared down at Sheila's face, aware of the smooth skin beyond, that swelled gently into concealment under her bra, the canyon between her breasts that descended into breath-taking depths.
"Friends," he said dully. "Yes." He took a deep gulp of his drink. "I want to be more than friends," he said, turning away with angry bitterness against fate in his expression. "I don't have that right-yet. But I will," he said, facing her from half way across the room. "From the moment I first saw you-"
"I think I'd better put the steaks on the broiler," Sheila said, hurrying into the kitchen.
She took the groceries out of the sack conscious of Elmo standing in the doorway watching her scowling darkly.
"Maybe I'm making a fool of myself," he said.
"Maybe not," Sheila bent down to pull open the drawer of the broiler and light the gas. "Maybe I want you to."
"Do you?" Elmo came toward her.
She stood up. He gripped her arm.
"I'd better put the steaks on," Sheila said. "The gas is lit.." She stared up into his face, her eyes round, her lips parted, her breath quickening.
"Sheila!" Elmo took her suddenly in his arms and pressed his lips against hers.
Her hands pushed against his chest, then went upward around his neck. Her body pressed against his. Her lips came to life.
And suddenly they were standing away from each other, looking at each other.
"You're dynamite!" Sheila said breathlessly. "I don't know what's the matter with me! I shouldn't have let you do that. And I'm not going to let you do it again. You're a married man. Remember?"
Tears flooded from her eyes. "Oh why did you have to be married?" she wailed, pushing past him and shrugging off his clumsy attempt to hold her.
She ran into the living room and huddled up, her legs curled under her, in a wing back chair, crying.
"Sheila, I'm sorry," Elmo said softly. "I shouldn't have done that. I promise I won't again."
"The broiler!" Sheila said, sitting up.
"You just sit here," Elmo said. "I'll put the steaks on."
"But there's more than the steaks," Sheila said. "The salad...."
"Let me handle it," Elmo said gently. "I've had plenty of practice."
He brought her her drink, then disappeared into the kitchen. Sheila sipped the Tom Collins, her eyes staring into space.
Her body ached with a growing hunger that pulsed all through her stomach. A raw hunger, deep within, that could not be pacified by food.
Her thoughts were bitter.
"Is the whole world made up of married men?" she thought. "Why, can't I find a man?" And the word contained ail her dreams, her lost dreams.
She cried again, softly, heartbrokenly.
She felt a hand on her knee. "Darling," she heard Elmo say. "Don't cry like that. I love you. Do you understand? I love you!"
"I know," Sheila said, crying.
"My marriage was a mistake from the very beginning," Elmo said. "I realize that now. I'm going to correct it. I'm going to get a divorce as soon as possible. Then we can get married."
He kissed her cheeks, her closed, tear-flooded eyes. His hand rested briefly on her breast, "I love you, Sheila," he said.
She didn't move.
His hand cupped her breast. His lips kissed the upper mound where it rose above her dress.
"I know I have no right," he said huskily. "I won't go too far. I promise."
She opened her eyes and smiled at him through her tears. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him gently on the lips. His other hand came up and cupped her other breast. Hope flooded into his expression.
"The steaks," Sheila said gently.
He looked blank for a second. "The steaks!" he said, jumping up.
There was a flurry of activity and giddy, nervous laughter. Then they were eating.
"Mmm!" Sheila murmured. "Delicious! You're a good cook,"
"Thanks," Elmo growled.
They ate in silence for a while. Finally Sheila broke the silence. "Tell me about Mable," she said quietly.
"There's not much to tell."
"What is she like in bed?" Sheila said bluntly.
"Do you want to know the truth?" Elmo said. "All right, she has three periods a month, each of them lasting about ten days. A pass at her gives her a splitting headache. If I manage to wear down her resistance she's as responsive as a sack of old clothes."
"That's not a very nice picture," Sheila frowned. "Doesn't she love you?"
"Love?" Elmo laughed bitterly. "What is love? If it's the dream of a young girl to marry a respectable bookkeeper with a solid future and have a house of her own that he will pay for over a period of twenty years, then Mable loves me. Or at least she did-long enough to marry me. I'd better shut up."
"No no!" Sheila said. "Go on. Tell me about your marriage."
"There's nothing to tell," Elmo said. "We were engaged to be married for a year. During that year we picked out the house and I made the down payment. We picked out the furniture and I made the down payment. Then there was a big wedding and we flew to Hawaii for a honeymoon. I think that up until the last moment when I came out of the bathroom with my pajamas on in that resort hotel room it hadn't occurred to her that there was such a thing as sex. Do you know what she said to me when I came out of the bathroom with my pajamas on?"
"What?"
"She was still dressed." Elmo said. "She looked at me, looked at the bed, then she said, I think I'd better go.' Where? I asked her where, and of course she couldn't answer that."
"So what happened?" Sheila said.
Elmo got up and went over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff shot of Bourbon and gulped half of it down in one angry gesture.
"I boxed her in," he said. "I suggested maybe she was afraid of sex, and she jumped at that like it was a lifeline. She said she was afraid, and I should bear with her until she gained the courage. I chopped that off by telling her it was natural for a girl to be afraid, and it was the man's duty to help her get over her fear. She said if I was kind to her, maybe after a while-a month or a year, maybe-she would get over her fear. I told her the only way to get over fear was to face it-NOW.
"I took off all her clothes. I got a few bruises and scratches in the process, but finally she didn't have a stitch on. When I let her up she headed for the phone. I sat down on the edge of the bed and told her to go ahead and call the hotel detective, and tell him that her husband was trying to rape her on her wedding night. That stopped her."
"Then what happened?"
Elmo grinned wryly. "Well, she tried to cover herself. She grabbed a towel from the bathroom. I jerked it away from her. She turned her back on me. I took off my pajamas and put my arms around her from behind. Talk about someone jumping twenty feet in the air when they get goosed! Anyway, she hid under the covers in the bed-and I crawled in right next to her.
"She fought like a crazy woman, and I kept telling her to relax. She started to dig her fingernails into me, so I pinned her wrists together with one hand and sat on her stomach. I started playing with her then, hoping she would get in the mood. She didn't. And finally I had to rape her. Rape my own wife on her wedding night!"
Elmo gulped down the rest of the Bourbon in his glass and poured himself another.
He took his drink over to the windows and stood looking out over the lake.
"I did it to her three more times that night," he said quietly. "She didn't struggle any more. In fact, she did what she's done ever since. She lay there like a sack of dirty clothes. I guess that first time was the only time with her that I got any enjoyment out of." He emptied his glass as though it were water.
The lines of Sheila's expression had hardened. Her eyes had become like slits. But, as Elmo started to turn around, her expression softened and her eyes grew round.
"Poor Elmo," she said soothingly.
"I know I shouldn't be boring you like this with my troubles," he said. "Maybe I'd better go." His face was flushed with alcohol.
"I guess you'd better," Sheila said, "but not for that reason. It's getting late, you have to drive all the way home, and I have to get some sleep so I can make a good impression on the bosses tomorrow. I'm still on probation, you know."
"You're right." Elmo said. He glanced at his watch. "Nine o'clock already. Will you ever let me see you again? Outside of office hours, I mean?" He reached out his hands.
"Yes, Elmo," Sheila said. "No. Don't touch me. Let me just kiss you like this." She put her palms against his cheeks and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. "Now good night, darling-and don't you think it's time you started straightening out your life? If you don't, the time may come when it's too late."
"You're right," Elmo said. "It's time I straightened things out."
He went to the door, and was gone.
For a long time Sheila's eyes remained on the closed door. But she didn't see it. Her eyes were staring at something else. A nightmare on a quiet road called Lovers' Lane.
Lines of bitterness etched themselves into the flawless texture of her face. Then, slowly, they disappeared as, with an effort of will, she forced her thoughts back to her surroundings.
She began collecting the dirty dishes and glasses and carrying them into the kitchen.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elmo Decourcy didn't come to work the next day.
Sheila continued her study of the ledgers, with Marie's help. Then at ten-thirty Sheila was called into Belden's office. Nielsen and Raub, and Ralph Nord were there. Also a stranger named Paul Labowitz.
Belden told Sheila to take down everything said in shorthand and make five copies. It was a meeting to decide whether to buy control of a small metal stamping firm in Emeryville, which was about to go into receivership. Pacific Metal Stamping Company.
The meeting lasted for over an hour. Sheila filled four shorthand notebooks and several pages of a fifth one before it ended.
It was almost noon by then. She began transcribing her shorthand. Dot Milhaven offered to bring back a sandwich for Sheila when she went to lunch, and Sheila gratefully accepted. It was almost two o'clock when she finished transcribing the shorthand. She took the typewritten sheets and her shorthand notebooks with her down to the "greasy spoon," as the girls called the cafeteria on the first floor of the building, and went over them, making corrections, while she had a chocolate malt.
When she came back she started typing the final draft, with four carbons, on the electric typewriter at her desk.
At four o'clock John Prentiss called her to ask if she would like to have an outing Sunday, going to Muir Woods and Stinson Beach. She agreed, more to get rid of him.
At five the other girls left. Ralph Nord stayed, but Sheila was hardly aware of him, answering his remarks only in monosyllables while she continued typing. Finally he gave up and left.
At six-thirty Sheila finished the last page and had five neat piles on her desk. She put each in a folder, stapling them into easy-to-handle form, and typed a glued label for each.
Her last act was to place a copy in the in-basket of Ed Belden, Les Nielsen, Joe Raub, and Ralph Nord, and make a file folder for Pacific Metal Stamping Company and place the original in it, and the folder in the proper filing cabinet.
Exhausted, but with a satisfied feeling of real accomplishment, she locked up the office and went home. She knew she had done the job perfectly. Her bosses, when they came to work in the morning, would find their copy perfect, and perfectly neat.
She stopped at the neighborhood store on the way home and bought groceries. In her apartment she tossed a TV dinner into the oven, took a shower, and relaxed in front of the TV set while she ate.
The day had given her a further insight into the operation her bosses engaged in. A company on the rocks and ready to declare bankruptcy, discussion of ways and means of incorporating it into the setup of the total operation, diverting sub-assembly and parts manufacture to it, doubling or tripling the value of its stock in a short time.
Her heads was still spinning with all the ramifications of the thing when Sheila went to bed. But above all was the satisfying realization that no one-absolutely no one-could have done a better job than she had, and her bosses couldn't help being highly satisfied with her work.
She slept the sleep of complete exhaustion, but there was a smile on her lips. She had gone a long ways from that cubbyhole office back home where she processed the sales slips of a hardware store. A long ways....
Elmo deCourcy came back to work Friday. He looked thinner. He ignored Sheila and tackled the work piled up on his desk. At closing time he was still at work. Sheila deliberately took her time getting ready to go home so she would be the last one to leave the office.
"Can I see you this weekend?" Elmo said when she came out of the stockroom.
"I'm going to be with my aunt," Sheila said.
"Okay," Elmo said, nodding. "I just want you to know that things are going to work out-for us."
"I'm glad," Sheila said. She went over to Elmo.
He stood up to meet her. They both looked around to make sure they were alone. Then she put her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.
He kissed her passionately, straining against her with his lips and his body.
"I'm glad," Sheila repeated in a hoarse whisper. Then she left the office, head erect, shoulders squared.
Sunday morning at ten John Prentiss called on the phone. He would be over in half an hour if she was ready. "I'll be ready," Sheila promised.
She kept her promise. When he knocked and she opened the door she was wearing her Bikini suit and beach sandels. She was a breath taking sight, and John Prentiss caught his breath. The bra held its shape with a concealed wire form but looked like nothing more than two patches of cloth resting carelessly over her breasts and likely to fall off the next time she breathed deeply. The trunks, if they could be called that, appeared to be nothing more than two scant triangles of cloth whose corners came together at the hips and, possibly, by a thin G string underneath. This appearance was deceptive, but only slightly so. The Gilette Company was all that kept the suit from being definitely illegal-and even that was questionable.
John Prentiss formed his lips into a silent whistle. Sheila said. "Well, don't just stand there in the hall forever!" He came inside. She closed the door and fought him off at the same time.
He gave up with a grin and said, "I'd just as soon look, anyway."
"There's nothing to look at," Sheila said. "Everything's safely covered, and is going to remain that way. Pour yourself a drink of something while I put on my skirt and blouse, then I'm ready to go."
"Go where?" Prentiss said. "You don't think I'm going to let anyone else see you in that, do you?"
"And why not?" Sheila said. "I'm not your wife yet."
She disappeared into the bedroom. He toyed with the idea of following her, then settled for a drink. When she came out again she was wearing a full gingham print and a loose blouse, looking quite dressed and quite innocent.
John Prentiss shook his head, marvelling. "I'd never have believed it," he said.
Holding his drink in one hand he went over to her and lifted her skirt, revealing her Bikini trunks still shaking his head in amazement.
"You may view the property but you don't own it yet," Sheila said.
"Owning it, as you put it, is the one thing I'm going to do or die trying," John Prentiss said. "I've already taken the first step." He let her skirt drop, and sighed.
What do you mean?" Sheila said.
He turned away and went to the window. "I've broached the subject of divorce to Shirley." he said, looking out over Lake Merritt.
"Well," Sheila said, "that's a step. What did she say?"
"She's not in favor of it," Prentiss said. "But she knows now I'm thinking about it, and it won't take long to bring her around."
"How long?"
John Prentiss shrugged. "Who knows? I'll keep plugging at it. It shouldn't take long. Let's go, huh?"
"Okay." Sheila opened the door.
They took the freeway north past Berkeley and through Richmond to the San Raphael Bridge. On the north peninsula they took the Sir Francis Drake road that circled the San Quentin grounds with the solid walls of the maximum security area in the near distance beyond the clusters of houses of prison guards inside the ten foot high woven wire fence, until they came to and passed under the U. S. 101 freeway north, and passed through a couple of small towns to where the road to Muir Woods began.
It was a narrow concrete ribbon climbing steeply through wild growth to a high ridge that provided a panoramic view of the north end of the bay they had just left, and, to the west, another mountainous ridge that hid the Pacific from view.
From the ridge they cut down into the wooded valley between, the tires screaming on hairpin turns. Abruptly and without warning, like coming to the end of a ride on a roller coaster, they emerged into the picnic grounds of Muir Woods.
Here, the trees were not the pines and other trees of twentieth century origin, but giant Redwoods. They had been here before Christianity.
"I should have brought a jacket," Sheila said, shivering.
"I should have reminded you to," John Prentiss said. "The sun never gets through. But it will be worth it to take a walk along the tourist path and see a few of these old monarchs close up. Then we can go into the lodge and have some lunch."
"Clay," Sheila shivered. "Let's keep moving."
There were plenty of people. The parking area was almost filled. The broad path followed a creek. Every fifty yards or so was a footbridge made from a section of solid redwood log with its upper side cut down to form a broad flat surface, worn smooth by thousands of feet.
"It reminds me of a church I visited once," Sheila said. She looked upward, seeing nothing but the rising trunks of the redwoods with, far above, small patches of sky.
"I've felt that too," John Prentiss said as they stopped by the mammoth base of a tree and ran their fingers over the thick bark. "But I've been here several times, and now I get a feeling of depression when I come here. I worry about the other vegetation around here."
He pointed to a starved looking tree whose sparse leaves tried to spread out to capture the meager sunlight filtering down.
"Have you noticed there isn't an insect around?" he said. "They can't live here. The redwoods starve out practically everything else, plant life, insects, and even animals. To me Muir Woods is more like a mausoleum than a church. A place where the Elders, in their deathless state, support a canopy of death for everything else."
"Let's get out of here and have a cup of coffee or something," Sheila said, shivering. "I feel like it's getting me!" She clutched at her blouse in a mock gesture of having been stabbed.
"Okay." John Prentiss grinned, "but it isn't all that lethal." He took her hand and they hurried back the way they had come. When they reached the parking area he looked back through the forest of giants and added, "But these trees will still be here when you have died, and your children, and your children's children...."
"If I ever have any," Sheila said.
"Speaking of that...." John said, grinning.
"Taboo-until you get your divorce," Sheila said.
"But I'm going to get it." he said. "I've already spoken to Shirley. It's just a matter of time now."
"No," Sheila said. She shook her head and walked ahead.
John Prentiss caught up with her and put his arm around her waist while they continued walking toward the lodge.
"You don't doubt me, do you?" he asked quietly.
"Doubt you?" Sheila said, looking up into his face. "No. If I doubted you I wouldn't be here with you. But do you think I don't know the facts of life? If you could have me without divorcing your wife you wouldn't go through with the divorce."
"That isn't true!" John said.
"Well, you aren't going to have me until we're married," Sheila said. "If that day ever comes, then you can have me completely, and forever. Until then-" She shrugged and didn't complete the sentence.
They climbed to the lodge in silence.
The specialty of the house was corn fritters. "Yes sir!" the owner said to anyone interested, "They're mah own special recipe. You can't get them anywhere else except a drive-in just out of Tucson Arizona. That fellow came here two years ago and liked them so much he stole the recipe and started makin' them in his own place."
Sheila and John smiled at each other and ordered them, with fried chicken. "Only in California," John Prentiss said with a sigh, "can you find spot: that are genuine Oklahoma, or Kansas, or Tai-xus, or Ozarks...."
"Ain't it the truth?" Sheila chuckled.
"Ah hope to tell ya!" John murmured.
The corn fritters were good-and worth stealing.
Afterwards, in the car, John Prentiss cut down to Highway 1, which quickly emerged above the shore of the Pacific and wound tortuously along the side of the mountain slope, striving to remain level, northward toward Stinson Beach. The sun was overhead in an almost cloudless sky. The chill of Muir Woods was forgotten in the warmth of the direct sun's rays.
"Why not take off your blouse and skirt now?" John said lightly. "Get a little tan...."
"All right," Sheila said. She shucked them off and sat sideways on the seat, revealing the fact that the two triangles of her bathing shorts were not connected at the bottom corners by a G string, but a two and a half inch wide strip of the same bright red knit doth as the triangles.
"Concentrate on your DRIVING!" Sheila warned, when Prentiss very nearly went off the road on a tight turn.
"I'm trying to!" he said. "But damn it-"
He pulled up at the next view point and shut off the motor with a stubborn expression.
"Damn it!" he said.
He leaned forward and kissed Sheila tenderly on the lips, running his fingers along her thigh.
"Stop that!" Sheila whispered, but she made no move to stop him.
"I can't," John Prentiss groaned. "I love you too much, Sheila darling. I want you !"
He broke away from her lips and lowered his head to kiss her lower ribs, the undercurve of her breast. The fingers of his right hand circled her upper thigh, gripping with hungry, intensity.
"If we're ever going to make it to Stinson beach," Sheila said, her voice dripping with utter practicality, ""Don't you think we'd better keep going?"
The tone of her voice penetrated. John Prentiss remained motionless for a long minute, his lips touching the undercurve of Sheila's breast.
"Okay." he said. "Okay."
Not looking at her, he straightened up and got the car into motion.
A short while later they were creeping along the few blocks of stores that paralleled the beach and looking along the half block long side streets that ended at the beach.
"Here!" Sheila said. "What's wrong with this one? And there's a parking place!"
"Too crowded," John said. "Up the beach a ways we can have it all to ourselves."
"What for?" Sheila said. "You go to a beach to be with the crowd. It's more fun that way. Here's another parking place!"
"All right," John snapped. He backed into the parking place. "Put on your skirt and blouse," he said.
"Are you crazy?" Sheila said. "How will I go in swimming and get a tan?" She looked sharply at him then laughed in delight. "I do believe you're going old-fashioned on me, John," she said, getting out of the car.
"I just don't want us to get arrested," he said.
"Silly," Sheila said. "They don't even have a jail. How could they arrest us?"
"Well," John said reluctantly, "wait until I get my clothes off."
Sheila didn't wait. She walked along the street, pausing to look in store windows, taking her time so he could catch up with her. Women and girls stared at her with their eyes round as marbles. Men looked at her, gulped, then turned their faces away and continued looking at her from the corners of their eyes. Or they stared at her boldly.
John caught up with her, his face zed, an angry look in his eyes. She took his hand in a little girl gesture. Women frowned at him openly as though saying, "Can't you do something with her?," and he kept his eyes averted.
They turned the corner onto the side street to the beach.
"Wouldn't it be fun if we met someone we know?" Sheila said.
"God! I hope not!" John groaned. He gripped her hand more firmly when they left the pavement, and tried to hurry her toward the water-almost a hundred yards away across the sand.
Sheila held back, finally freeing her hand, showing no hurry to leave the area of scattered sun bathers.
A beach ball hit her. She ran after it, catching it on its second bounce, then held it up, looking around.
A few yards away a well-tanned muscular blond beach athlete in his early twenties stood grinning at her-obviously the one who had thrown the ball at her. Farther away were two others, obviously with him.
"I'll get even with you for that!" Sheila called, running toward the tanned blond athlete and throwing the large ball in his general direction when she was a few feet from him.
"Shelia!" John Prentiss called, but she seemed to have forgotten him.
The athlete leaped in beautiful muscular play and caught the ball-and threw it back at her. It struck her on the stomach. Although it was inflated rubber and didn't weigh over a pound, she fell backwards on the sand, sprawling, her long legs widespread in the air.
The blond athlete, grinning widely, his white teeth flashing in contrast to his heavy tan, ran to her to help her up.
Sheila took his hand and then pulled. He fell forward willingly. Sheila twisted from under him and straddled him. pounding on his hairy chest with pretended fighting spirit while he lay and took it, laughing.
His eyes narrowed and he nodded, while she continued beating his chest.
"Sheila!" John Prentiss said sharply, coming up.
"Sorry, John," Sheila said, getting up.
"And you!" John snarled at the beach athlete. "Keep your ball to yourself or there'll be trouble."
The beach athlete looked questioningly at Sheila.
She shook her head imperceptibly. ', "Sorry, dad," the beach athlete said with complete respect., He grinned at Sheila and winked openly at her, then picked up the beach ball and turned his back, throwing it to one of the other two athletes.
John Prentiss's face was livid. "Beach tramps." he muttered.
"Now John," Sheila said, taking his hand. "You have to expect things like that on a crowded beach. Let's go swimming."
She hurried him toward the water. The Pacific was unusually calm and blue, the waves coming in in regular rhythm with waves higher than three feet and each wave crest breaking into a white cascade of foam as it washed in, rushing with shallow speed the last ten to twenty feet along the almost flat sand, to retreat and meet the next incoming wave half way and blend with it.
Sheila seemed to have forgotten the crowd and the beach athletes, and John Prentiss was profoundly grateful for this. For over half an hour they played in the surf, and when the water buried them he took momentary bold intimacies with her which she not only did not object to, but didn't seem to notice.
This lack of seeming awareness only half dampened the pleasure of his explorations under her bikini because he was quite sure she must be aware. But there was no response from her-rather, a seeming indifference that kept him upset. It was wonderful, frustrating, and of course could only last a few brief seconds at any one time because each wave hid them from view only a brief second or two.
Finally he could stand it no more and suggested maybe they ought to start back to Oakland. Sheila readily agreed.
When they walked back up the beach to the pavement of the short sidestreet the beach athletes were gone. Sheila was strangely quiet, almost in a sultry mood, it seemed to John.
In the car she made no move to put on her skirt and blouse. Hope surged inside John Prentiss. Sheila was staring straight ahead, her lower lip in a sensuous pout that quickened his pulse and breathing.
Three different times he pulled off onto scenic parking areas and explored under her bikini with probing fingers, while Sheila didn't resist and didn't exactly respond, but seemed to accept with smoldering and growing passion. But other cars also pulled off the road to spoil things, and of course it was still broad daylight and anything more than hidden intimacies were out of the question.
When they finally cut over to the Richmond bridge Sheila sat up as though awakening from a nap, and put on her blouse and skirt.
John's thoughts jumped ahead. Surely she could not refuse to let him come up to her apartment! And surely she would give in this time! The very thought of it possessed him so strongly at times that he very nearly wrecked the car more than once.
But when they reached her apartment building and he started to park she put her hand on his arm.
"No, John," she said. "You can't come up. You know what would happen if you did. And I don't think I'd better see you any more until you get your divorce."
"I'll go crazy!" he said wildly.
"No you won't." Sheila said. "You'll get your divorce." She got hastily out of the car, without kissing him, without saying anything more.
She ran to the entrance to the apartment building without looking back.
In the apartment the phone was ringing. She picked it up breathlessly. A male voice said, "Sheila?"
"Yes," she said. "Who is this?"
"Phil," the voice said. "Stinson Beach. Remember?"
"Yes," Sheila breathed. "Yes."
"Can I come over?" the beach athlete said. "Of course." Sheila said. "Right away."
"I'll be right over," the voice said. "Fine," Sheila breathed, and hung up. A few seconds later the phone rang again. Sheila answered it.
"Me again," Phil said. "One minor detail."
"What's that?" Sheila said.. "Where do you live?"
"Oh," Sheila said. She began to laugh, and then they were both laughing to each other over the phone. Finally she gave him her address and apartment number, between gusts of laughter.
When she hung up she went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a half glass of straight Scotch. She laughed for a moment, cried a little bit, gulped down the Scotch, then sat down to wait, her expression wooden, her eyes half closed.
When Phil arrived she let him in and locked the door. They looked at each other for a moment, then undressed. When they had undressed, dropping their clothes on the rug, they stood looking at each other, devouring each other with their eyes, breathing rapidly and deeply as though they had been running a long ways.
"This is a one shot?" Phil said.
Sheila nodded.
"I thought so." Phil said. "It won't be the first time. You females are sure a crazy lot-"
They came together. Sheila felt herself lifted off her feet. She lifted her legs, circling Phil's waist and hooking her ankles together. Their lips met and opened.
She pressed flat against him, her legs unhooking and slowly lowering until they hung straight down, squeezing together, her toes just touching the floor.
Abruptly and without warning she slipped from his embrace and ran toward the bedroom door, opening it and running toward the bed, laughing wildly.
Phil caught up with her and picked her up, his tanned biceps bulging. She fought at him playfully, squirming to free herself, pounding his shoulders with the sides of her closed fists.
They fell onto the bed. Their playful struggle continued-until suddenly Sheila felt fire penetrate deep within her. Her senses reeled at the suddenness of it. It seemed more than she could bear.
The flame became a vibrant warmth. The two bodies began to move against each other in slow rhythm. Sheila's lightly tanned arms seemed white against Phil's tanned back. Her lips sought his and clung. Their breath mingled.
Minutes-an eternity-endured while their interlocked bodies writhed and moved to an unheard tune, a song without words or notes, composed by Nature in the primordial beginnings of Life, in some century long forgotten.
Suddenly Sheila's fingers dug deeply into Phil's back, constricting. "Now!" she whispered. "NOW!"
Their rhythm doubled and trippled its tempo. Her lips opened in a soundless scream as an explosion deep within her flashed like an erupting, invisible Sun, and echoes of the explosion pulsed through her in waves of dizzying pleasure-pain.
Afterward she lay silent as death.
Phil rolled over and got off the bed. He looked down at .the still form, the full breasts, the flat stomach, the long slim legs, the beautiful face with an almost child-like expression of hurt, the damp streaks formed by tears.
"Crazy mixed up kid," he muttered softly.
He went to the bathroom and. took a shower. When he came back through the bedroom Sheila had not moved. Her soft snores told that she slept.
In the living room he picked his clothes up off the floor and, with suddenly nervous haste, dressed.
"That babe is NUTS!" he told his two companions in the cocktail lounge four blocks away where they had waited for him. "She was a good lay. The best I ever had. But something is wrong with her. I can't put my finger on it, but one thing I know, I'm not going back there."
"How about giving us her phone number?" one of his companions said.
"Are you kiddin'?" Phil said.
He scrowled into the Martini he had ordered, then gulped it down and ordered another.
"I wouldn't give my worst enemy her phone number," he said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sheila had not really been asleep. She had dozed while Phil was in the bathroom. She awoke as he left the bedroom, and watched him dress through the half opened bedroom door. She sensed the nervous haste in his movements, and the reason for it.
A half smile played on her lips. The last thing in the world she wanted was for Phil to come back again. In subtle little ways she had tried to plant in his mind the idea that she might be crazy. The very nature of their brief and all-out relationship mould be enough to suggest that in itself but she had tried to make sure.
Complete satiation of every emotion was what she had wanted, and she had experienced it far beyond her expectations. When Phil left she bolted the door to the hall and, after a hot tub bath and i shower, she set the alarm and turned out the lights.
While she lay in the darkness tears welled From her eyes again. She didn't cry. She didn't feel like crying. Why then should tears flow? She fell asleep wondering about it-and the next moment, it seemed, the alarm clock was buzzing.
Her body surged with energy, her mind bubbled with contentment that seemed to have no source other than the energy that saturated her.
On her way to work in her car she was aware of men turning to watch her-as though some sort of animal magnetism radiated from her, attracting them. It seemed to affect even the elevator boy, who became so flustered when she entered the elevator that he couldn't concentrate on his work of letting people off on their right floor.
In the office the girls smiled a greeting at her, then their eyes widened as though they too sensed something about her. Elmo arrived half an hour late, took one look at her, gulped visibly and audibly, then hurried to his desk and dived into his work without looking up.
Men who arrived for business appointments with Belden or Nielsen or Raub kept looking at her while they explained their business with Pat at the reception counter and switchboard.
But very quickly Sheila stopped noticing such things. Her energy bit into the challenge if her work and everything else retreated to the borderline of awareness.
Sheila couldn't remember ever having felt so happy and so content before in her life. She applied herself to her work and felt regretful when five o'clock came and she could find no real reason for staying on and working late.
When she arrived home the phone was ringing, fit was John Prentiss.
"I bearded the lioness today," he said, chuckling. "My wife has agreed to a divorce. She's leaving for Reno to establish residence. It's going to cost me, but it'll be worth it. I'll still have a little left when it's over, but the main thing is that, together, darling, we can make it all back in no time. Can I come over? Just for a little while?"
"No, John," Sheila said. "We had that out last night. When you're a free man you can come over. Not until then." Her voice became soft and full of emotion. "The way I feel, John darling," she said "I don't dare let you come over."
"All right, baby." John Prentiss said. "It won't be long. You might as well make up your mind to being Mrs. John Prentiss by this time next month Okay?"
Sheila hesitated. "We'll see-when you're free." she said. She hung up slowly.
Tuesday and Wednesday reactions came from Belden, Nielsen, and Raub, casually, on the job of transcribing Friday's meeting. They were all three very pleased with her work. Acquisition of the metal stamping company was going ahead smoothly Very smoothly. Friday morning Ralph Nord spent an hour in the office. He kept Sheila busy transcribing his notes, and invited her to lunch.
"Or do you have a date with Elmo again?" he added, a mocking smile on his lips.
"No," Sheila said. "You would be wasting your money though, and-" She shook her head in disbelief. "Somehow I can't see you spending a dime unless you thought you were going to get something out of It."
"Maybe I will," Ralph said, grinning. "Just for kicks has a momentary value sometimes."
"In that case...." Sheila said.
"See you at twelve then," Ralph Nord said quickly, and left the office before Sheila could protest that she hadn't actually agreed.
"Go ahead," Dot said, laughing. "Order a steak. He can afford it."
"Now Dorothy!" Marie said.
"I didn't want to go to lunch with him." Sheila said. "He tried me." She looked appealingly in Elmo's direction but only the top of his head was in view. "I have an idea," she said. "Why don't all of you girls come with me?"
"Not me!" Dot said. "I have a job I'd like to keep."
"I'm afraid he's your problem, Sheila," Marge said. , "Elmo!" Sheila called. "Won't even you help me out?" Her lips formed a pout.
Elmo's face came into view. "I have a suggestion," he said. "Order everything on the menu, mess it up with a fork, and don't eat it."
"Maybe you have something there," Sheila said.
At noon when Ralph returned, Sheila was ready. Elmo and the girls watched them depart with great interest. At the door Sheila looked back with a secret, smile.
Ralph's car was parked at the curb. It was a Lincoln convertible, the current model. Small gold lettering on its doors said, BELDEN NIELSEN & RAUB INVESTMENTS.
"Cheap advertising," Ralph said. "With trade-in it's less than two thousand a year. Come on. I've reserved tables at a place that's-out of this world. You'll like it-even if you don't like me." He opened the door for her.
Sheila concealed her irritation. Underlying her irritation was a fear that she might enjoy this luncheon date.
Why did she dislike Ralph Nord so intensely?
She studied him while he drove. That button nose-his nose had probably been broken at some time or ether and the bridge removed. His string chin suggested he may have been a fighter in the ring, or a football player, in college. His black hair stood straight up in a crewcut, thick as a lawn. He gave the impression that nothing could destroy his self-confidence.
Maybe that was it. He was invulnerable. Even now she had the feeling that the only reason he was taking her to lunch was because he knew she disliked him.
She turned her eyes away from him, her lips compressing into a stubborn line. She intended to see just how invulnerable he was.
The Lincoln shot through the traffic smoothly, seeming to force the lights to change to green at just the right instant, and the lesser cars in their way to cringe over toward the curb.
In moments they were out of Oakland Sheila had never been on this street, she had never seen the place where they stopped. Just in front of the car was a strange jungle of banana trees, palms, bamboo stalks, and South Seas totem poles.
The parking lot was crowded, but the spot where they pulled in had a sign on in, RESERVED FOR MR. RALPH NORD. It seemed to be a permanent sign.
Ralph got out of the car and came around to open the door for Sheila.
"Don't tell me you're such a steady customer here you have a permanent parking place!" Sheila mocked.
Ralph grinned. "A simple trick," he said. "I own it."
"This restaurant or whatever it is?" Sheila said.
"No. The sign. I came out earlier and put it up. You'd be surprised how effective it is."
He took her arm and led them along a brief jungle path to the bamboo entrance to the surprisingly large and low ceilinged tropical restaurant.
A South Sea Islander hurried forward and escorted them to a table. He glanced curiously at Sheila but said nothing to them. He vanished and a short thin Philippino materialized with drink menus of elaborate proportions.
Sheila's eyes followed the price list up and down, settled on the most expensive item, $1.75. and read off the name of the drink, "A Dreamdust, please," she said.
Ralph lifted his eyebrows. The waiter nodded and hurried away.
"It isn't more than you can afford?" Sheila asked with pretended concern.
"That has nothing to do with it," Ralph said. "It's just that I doubt that you can drink it and work this afternoon."
"Oh, I don't intend to drink it." Sheila said. "I'm just curious about its taste."
The drink came. Sheila tasted it, smiled at Ralph, pushed it away, and said, "Strictly for the tourist."
The waiter brought even larger and more elaborate food menus. Sheila's eyes lit up with glee at the prices. She read off a list of things that added up to about twenty dollars. Egg roll, stuffed mushrooms, roast pork, chicken, barbecued ribs, shrimp ... She lost track.
Ralph looked up at the waiter and nodded When he had gone Ralph said, "I see you know how to order."
"Was it too much?" Sheila asked innocently.
"Oh no," Ralph said "As a matter-of-fact it's what I had intended ordering if you left it up to me." He smiled with his lips.
Sheila wanted another sip of the Dreamdust. Instead, she sipped the icewater daintily. "Very good water," she murmured, making a mental resolution to come back here sometime with someone else and really enjoy herself.
The food came, each item stacked on a dish with a long stemmed base under it. Enough food for six people. The waiter made an elaborate ritual out of mixing sauces on two flat plates for them to touch the food and to season it.
Sheila took her time, sampling each dish Ralph concentrated on the roast pork and stuffed mushrooms, emptying the two plates except for the one mushroom and one slice of roast pork that Sheila sampled.
Sheila glanced at her watch, finally. "It's almost one!" she said. "I have to get back to the office!"
Ralph beckoned the waiter, glanced at the check without expression, put a twenty dollar bill and a ten dollar bill on the tray, and when the waiter came back he picked up four of the one dollar bills, leaving one and the silver on the tray.
In the Lincoln, on the way back to the office, Sheila suddenly sat up. "You forgot to pick up your sign!" she said.
"That's okay," Ralph said. "I can pick it up later."
He let her out in front of the office building. "Have to get to work myself," he explained.
In the office the girls were waiting with great curiosity to find out what had happened. Sheila went into great lengths telling them.
"I'm starved," she concluded. "I would have given my soul to have made a pig of myself, the food was so wonderful." She sighed ecstatically, and went back to work.
"Twenty-five dollars!" Dot screamed with laughter. "I'd like to have seen his face when he paid the check!"
"I feel sorry for him," Pat said from the switchboard.
"Don't feel sorry for him," Dot laughed. "That's the first time I ever saw anyone get the best of Ralph Nord!"
"And probably the last," Elmo spoke up, glancing up from his work.
Silence settled over the office as everyone went back to work. The afternoon wore on.
At five o'clock the girls hurried to get out of the office, leaving Sheila and Elmo still apparently busy. When they were alone in the office Elmo glanced up.
"What are your plans for this weekend?" he asked.
Sheila stood up and went over to Elmo. He stood up to meet her. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.
"Elmo," she said tenderly, kissing his chin, "you're hopeless. As long as you're married it's no good! Can't you get that through your thick head?"
"I'm going to do something about that," Elmo said darkly.
Sheila clamped her lips against his hungrily. When she pulled away she said, softly, "Then do it. Don't you see? If we were together and your wife found out about it, she could sue you for everything you have and name me a party to the dviorce."
"I see that," Elmo said grimly. "I won't let you get mixed up in this. I should have divorced her long ago."
"All right then," Sheila said. "Divorce her. And don't take too long." She laughed shakily. "I don't know how long I can hold out against you."
Elmo cupped his hand over her breast. Sheila placed her hand over his, pressing, looking entreatingly into his eyes. Then she pulled away from him and hurried out of the office, not looking back.
Saturday morning at nine John Prentiss called Sheila on the phone. He was very eager.
"She's gone to Reno to establish residence," he said. "It's all over but the technicalities. So let's celebrate."
"No," Sheila said flatly. "Now more than ever we don't dare be together."
He argued. Sheila remained firm. After he hung up she hurriedly dressed and left the apartment. She had more than a suspicion that he would come over and try to press his arguments in person.
Sheila stayed with her aunt until late Sunday evening. When she returned to her apartment there were three notes shoved under her door, two of them from John Prentiss and one from Elmo deCourcy. All three of them asked her to call as soon as she came home.
She didn't.
Monday morning she told the girls in the office she had spent the weekend with her aunt. Elmo heard, and nodded to her imperceptibly to let her know he understood.
Sheila kept busy during the week. She finally felt that she had really mastered the company setup in all its details. Ralph Nord came and went, tossing his reports into her in basket for typing up. Otherwise he paid little attention to her, other than to give her a grin when he caught her eye.
A second week passed without event. John Prentiss didn't call. Sheila was almost glad that he didn't.
Then on the following weekend he called her on the phone. It was Saturday morning at eight-thirty.
"It's all over!" he said gaily. "The divorce went through yesterday. I'm a free man now. I'm coming right over."
"No!" Sheila said. "At least let me make myself presentable. Make it two this afternoon. I have to do my hair, my laundry, and shop for some groceries."
"All right, darling," John Prentiss chuckled. "I'll be there at two, right on the dot."
When Sheila hung up she stared at the phone with wide eyes, her teeth clamped against her small fist. Suddenly she was trembling.
She managed to get a cigarette lit, and went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a small glass of straight Scotch. After it was poured she stared at it, shook her head, and tried to pour it back into the bottle.
She had to run to the kitchen and get a washcloth to sop up the mess.
"What I need more is coffee," she said aloud when she returned to the kitchen.
This gave her something to do for a couple of minutes. When she had the cup of instant coffee in front of her at the table she sat there staring at it without touching it.
"What will I do?" she moaned.
It simply had not occurred to her that John would really get a divorce.. Even now she couldn't quite believe that he had.
Life had been so simple. Date only married men because you can easily convince them you're not the kind that would sleep with anyone until you're married. Tease them, tantalize them, but always control them. That way you're safe. You watch them squirm, your contempt for them keeps you from falling in love. And when you get so hot from all this that your internal fires won't die down-why, go out and get a pickup and let the fire that eats at you burn until it consumes you. There too you're safe, because you've kept things on one plane and can brush the guy off if he wants a return engagement.
She had been so sure that what John would do when she refused to see him again until he was divorced would be to give up and forget her. For him to actually go through with a divorce, give up half his money, saddle himself with heavy alimony payments....
Sheila shook her head in dazed belief.
Her coffee had grown cold. With an effort she shook off the daze that possessed her and forced herself to eat a substantial breakfast. After that she vacuumed the floors and dusted the furniture, trying to think what she should do.
Everything she thought of wouldn't work. If she went to her aunt's or to a show, John would either be waiting for her when she came home or he would keep after her until she let him see her. He would be in no mood to take a hint after throwing away practically everything he had and saddling his future with alimony payments.
She went to the store and did her weekend shopping, still wondering what she should do. At one thirty she still had no idea what to do. Call the police? What could she tell them?
"You see, officers." she said to her reflection in her dresser mirror, "it's like this. I talked him into getting a divorce so he could marry me, but I have no intention of marrying him, so maybe he will try to kill me when he finds that out"
Kill?
Sheila's eyes grew round with surprise. The thought hadn't occurred to her until she listened to herself utter the word.
On the verge of a nervous breakdown she rushed around the apartment in an important physical and mental search for some avenue of escape, while the clock rushed with express train speed toward two o'clock.
She should have gone out for the afternoon. She should have left a note pinned to the door telling John she didn't want to see him now or ever again. It was too late to write a note. It was too late to go out. John was already in the building, riding up on the elevator.
Should she call the police? She could tell them she thought she was in danger, and leave the phone off the hook so they could listen, and if they heard her scream they should come right over. But by that time she could be dead!
Still, it was the best idea she had had....
She started toward the phone. The sound of knocking on the door brought her up short. The clock pointed to exactly two o'clock.
But there was still time to lift the phone off the hook and dial the operator. She could at least do that. She started toward the phone again, calling over her shoulder, "Just a minute, John!"
The knob twisted and the door opened. In her distraction Sheila had forgotten to lock the door when she came back from shopping.
It was too late to go to the phone now. John Prentiss was standing in the doorway, a long florist box in his hands, a happy smile on his face.
"It's all over!" he said happly, coming in and closing the door. "Some roses to celebrate, darling," he said, handling her the box, "and as soon as you get them in a vase I have an even better surprise for you!"
"John-" Sheila tried to protest.
He turned her gently toward the kitchen and gave her a light spank. "The flowers first," he said.
Sheila fled to the kitchen, taking advantage of this opportunity to gain a little time. But he followed her, and while she opened the florist box and put the roses in a vase he circled her waist from behind and kissed her neck.
"You shouldn't have given me these," Sheila said wildly. "And I don't want any more surprises."
"You'll want this one," John said.
Impatiently he picked up the vase himself and carried it into the living room and set it down on a coffee table.
"Now close your eyes and hold out your hands," he ordered.
"Well, all right," Sheila said doubtfully.
She felt something touch her hand, guessed what it was, and jerked her hand back, opening her eyes. "No!" she said sharply.
Her mind fastened on the object John held in his hand. Her thoughts were paralyzed. It was a diamond ring. The diamond was immense-at least five karats-a brilliant blue-white. It must have cost at least five or six thousand.
"No, John, NO!" Sheila said in a tortured voice.
"Why not?" he said, grinning. "We're going to be married as soon as possible."
Sheila took a deep breath.
"No we're not." she said.
"Why not?" John Prentiss said, his voice suddenly sharp.
"Try to understand, John," Sheila said.
"Understand what?" John said.
"I'm not going to marry you," Sheila said.
"But you love me! You have to!" he said.
Inspiration hit Sheila between the eyes. All morning she had been searching for a way out. Now she had it! She rushed to blurt it out.
"I can't, John," she said. "Don't you see? I would never really feel secure. What you did to your wife for me, you might do to me for someone else?" She rushed on. "Don't you see? Every time you called to say you had to stay late on business I would wonder? Every time you went away on a weekend I would be tortured with doubts?".
He was staring at her, his mouth open.
"Don't you understand, John?" Sheila said, placing her hand timidly on his arm. "Now, more than ever, I can't marry you. We'd better not see each other again. It would be better for both of us."
Suddenly he exploded into action. She had no time to become aware of the motion of his arm before the back of his hand caught her on the side of her face. The blow stunned her momentarily.
She came to a second later, on the floor looking up. John stood over her looking down at her, his eyes flashing, his expression mirroring bitterness and contempt.
"So you never had any intention of marrying me," he said.
Sheila's hand came up to touch her cheek gently. "But I thought I did," she lied.
"Like hell you did," John snarled. "You took all this-" He waved his arm around at the various items of furniture he had bought her. "You stood me off. You talked me into divorcing my wife. And now you think I'll just say pardon me for breathing and slink out of here with my guilt complexes riding me? I have no guilt complexes. I loved you. I didn't love my wife. I loved you enough so that no matter what it cost I would make it possible for us to be married."
"You can have everything back that you gave me," Sheila said.
"Have it back?" John shouted. "What would I do with it? Burn it? Oh no. You've been paid. Now you're going to give." He unfastened his belt and pulled it free, and held the buckle end, swinging it gently like a poised whip. "Take off your clothes. I'm going to find out what you have to offer. I'm going to find out if it's worth all I paid to find out!"
"No!" Sheila said.
"Oh no?" John said. He flicked his belt so that its end snapped against Sheila's side with a loud report. "Take off your clothes."
"You're out of your mind!" Sheila whispered.
"You're darned right I am," John Prentiss snarled. "Are you going to take them off or do you want the next lash across your face?"
"Don't!" Sheila said, glancing hopelessly toward the phone. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons of her blouse. How she wished now that she had dialed the operator so that she could scream for help!
John reached down and opened her blouse with a jerk that ripped the button holes.
"Everything," he snarled. "Take off every stitch. Let me see what you're so proud of!" He brought his belt down in a whip-like motion that slapped against her hip.
"You can't get away with this," Sheila said, struggling to undress without daring to try to rise. "I'll have the police on you for this."
"I couldn't care less," John Prentiss sneered.
He reached down and gripped her bra and ripped it off. His eyes glittered as he stared at her exposed breasts.
"Take off the rest," he croaked. "I'm going to get my money's worth if I have to kill you."
He dropped his belt and gripped the waist line of her skirt, ripping. The skirt tore free, exposing her long legs, her flat stomach, her pastel blue panties. His fingers hooked under the elastic top and pulled. The string nylon refused to rip. He forced the panties off along her legs while she fought.
In a silent frenzy of terror Sheila fought. She crossed her legs and tried to double up. With a gar-goylish grin and marble-bright eyes John Prentiss forced her legs apart.
He sank to his knees, leaning over her. His hand settled over her breasts and his fingers constricted against them, biting in painfully.
Sheila closed her eyes, her senses reeling with pain. Her lips opened on a scream of terror as she felt a searing stab that penetrated deep within her.
Then she felt his weight, and heard his mad laughter close to her ear.
A coldness enveloped her, making the pain and the hotness of the deep probing torture more intense. She writhed and moaned in a delirious attempt to escape.
There was no instinctive response from the wells of her body There was only pain and cold, and-suddenly-an overpowering loneliness, a desire to be once more a little girl, a baby, an embryo still unborn, a non-existence.
Mama ... It was a child voice and it was her own. She heard it faintly as though from a great distance. She studied it in her mind for a moment, then became aware of the soreness, the rawness, that tortured her body.
She opened her eyes.
She still lay on the carpet. She tried to move and something scratched at her skin. She reached to brush whatever it was away. Her hand closed over something.
She lifted her head to see what it was. It was a rose. The thorns had scratched her. It was several roses scattered over her nude body. She glanced toward the vase on the coffee table. It was empty.
She looked around her. She was alone. John Prentiss had gone.
Carefully she started lifting off the roses so that they wouldn't scratch.
The movement of her hands brought a flash of light that attracted her attention. She focused her eyes on the source of the flash of light.
The diamond ring! It was on her finger.
She sat up abruptly, the remainder of the roses falling away from her onto the carpet.
In a sudden constrictive motion she jerked the ring off her finger and flung it toward a far corner of the room.
Then, unaccountably, she began to shiver.
CHAPTER NINE
John's death did not come to sheila as a surprise when she read about it on the inside page of the Sunday paper. In fact, she expected it. A man doesn't put a five or ten thousand dollar ring on a girl's finger after he has whipped her with his belt and ravished her if he plans on continuing to live with himself.
That ring on her finger had been his message that he planned to kill himself.
The newspaper, however, didn't even suggest suicide. It stated that John Prentiss was intoxicated (the half empty bottle of freshly opened Bourbon he had left on the liquor cabinet had told her that anyway), and mentioned that his wife had obtained a divorce the previous day in Reno. Witnesses had stated that his car seemed to go out of control on the Richmond cutoff from the freeway at the Albany turnoff and had ploughed into the underpass at an estimated ninety miles an hour and hit the concrete support of the freeway overpass head-on. He had died instantly.
Dry eyed, Sheila went to the Maple secretary and picked up the envelope she had addressed to John last night before going to bed. Inside was a note and a bulge formed by the diamond ring.
She couldn't remember what she had written on the note now. Something spiteful, and telling him if he ever showed his face again she would call the police. It didn't matter now.
She ripped open the envelope and took out the sparkling diamond. There was no use returning it now.
In fact, it would be very unwise. It would connect her with John. There might be a police inquiry.
No. It was better to forget about it, stay out of it. She put the diamond ring in one of the small drawers of the secretary, and crumpled the envelope and its note into a tight ball and dropped it into the garbage can in the kitchen.
As the day wore on she caught herself feeling happy. It surprised her and was against her conscious will. In her thoughts she was trying to feel guilty and depressed.. Through her stupidity she had led a man to kill himself and she ought to feel like a murderer. In her mind she told herself she was a murderer, but it had no effect on her emotions. Aside from the first shock of confirmation in the newspaper of what she already suspected, and the violent wave of self-condemnation she had felt then, she could find no feeling of remorse, self-condemnation, or unhappiness left.
Instead, there was a sense of freedom, a state of happiness that she couldn't shush. It puzzled her, but she was glad that it was there.
The more she thought about it the more reason she could see for this feeling of freedom and this bubbling happiness. John Prentiss, in spite of his devotion and lavish gifts, and his having gotten her present job, had been a constant weight on her thoughts. His death had put that to a permanent stop more surely than anything else could have done. The state of mind he was in, she thought with a shiver, he might have come back and murdered her.
She had never loved him. Maybe once she had respected him but she hadn't even respected him at last. Thinking back, she could recall the moment the last shred of respect she had for him had died. It had been that time when he had covered her exposed breast with slobbery kisses and she had looked down at the top of his head and thought, "He has a wife waiting for him at home!"
Suddenly the contempt for him rose fully into her mind. Contempt for him the way he was, contempt for him the way he died. His attempt to insult her by saying he had paid for something and was going to collect it held no sting. Rather, it was an indication of his character. In his mind each thing he had bought her had been another payment on her. His reaction hadn't been that of a man in love. It had been the reaction of a man who has made all the payments on a piece of merchandise and is outraged because he feels he has been swindled.
With a deep sigh Sheila welcomed the happiness bubbling up from the wells of her subconscious. She was free! She danced around the apartment Everything here belonged to her-no strings attached, no obligation to be nice to someone for it.
She put a stack of records on the hi-fi and settled down for a day of reading. And when she went to bed that night she reflected that-in some ways-it had really been the happiest day of her life.
Why?
She viewed the question drowsily and watched it dissolve into the darkness. It didn't really matter why. It just was ... She slept, and in the morning when she saw the bruise on her side she had a hard time remembering how she got it. From a snap of John's belt when he had gone off his rocker. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, then giggled. It was just a little bruise.
When she arrived at the office she was practically singing. The other girls were already at work. Ralph Nord was at a file cabinet, his fingers separating file folders. All of them looked at her as she came in.
"Good morning," Sheila sang.
"Evidently you haven't heard," Dot said.
"Heard what?" Sheila said, looking from one face to another.
"John Prentiss died in an auto accident yesterday," Dot said.
"Oh?" Sheila said. "That's too bad." She saw them continue to stare at her and added, "That's really too bad. No, I hadn't heard. And he was such a nice man. I worked for him, you know. I hardly knew him, but...."
"Well, it makes a lot of extra work for me," Ralph said. "Where's the file on Rascobb Engineering? It isn't where it belongs." He glared at the open file drawer and said, without looking at Sheila, "Did you know Prentiss was having trouble with his wife?"
"No," Sheila said. "How would I know?"
"Oh, I don't know," Ralph said, slamming the ffle drawer closed. "Who has the Rascobb file?" He glared around, meeting only blank stares. "Somebody has it," he said.
"Well don't look at us!" Dot snapped.
"Who should I look at?" Ralph snarled. "I'm supposed to be over there right now and I can't go until I get that file."
"Then look for it," Dot said. "Don't bother us. We have work to do."
"You won't have to if I find the Rascobb file hiding on your desk, Dot," Ralph said. He went toward her desk with the intention of searching it.
"You touch anything on MY desk and you're in for more trouble than you can handle," Dot said.
"Confucius say," Sheila broke in, "He who think everyone stupid should look in mirror."
Ralph gave her a shrewd look. "Meaning what?" he said.
Sheila shrugged and started examining some papers. After a moment she said, "Who told you to go to work on Rascobb this morning?"
"Belden," Ralph said. His eyebrows shot up. He went into Belden's office, and came out a moment later with the file folder.
Dot uttered her high pitched tittering laugh. Ralph glared at her and went into his office. The other girls, and even Elmo, were chuckling when he slammed his door. Sheila smiled.
A few minutes later Ralph left, carrying his briefcase. The office settled down to business.
Just before noon Elmo stopped at Sheila's desk and asked her if she would have lunch with him. Without looking up from her work she nodded her acceptance.
The next moment she regretted it and lifted her head and opened her mouth to decline, but Elmo was disappearing through the stockroom doorway, and Dot had her eyes on Sheila.
Sheila fixed her gaze unseeingly on the papers in front of her. Elmo came back from the stockroom. He stopped beside Sheila's desk.
"Ready to go to lunch?" he said. "I have some things to talk to you about."
"Leave the poor girl alone," Dot said, laughing. "Lunch time is no time for business."
"Who said anything about business?" Elmo said, grinning.
"I have some things I want to talk to you about
-and they are business," Sheila said. "So, I'll let you pay for my lunch."
"Why doesn't anyone ever buy me a lunch?" Dot said as Sheila and Elmo started toward the door.
Frank Lloyd, the office boy, had just come out of the stockroom. "I'll take you to lunch, Dot," he said bravely.
"That's sweet of you, Frank," Dot said. "Ask me again when you're older."
With everyone laughing, Sheila and Elmo went out the door.
"Where will we eat?" Sheila said, taking Elmo's arm.
"Somewhere where it's quiet," Elmo said. "I have a Chinese restaurant two blocks from here in mind. Care to walk?"
"The fresh air will do me good," Sheila said. "I
-I feel a little depressed."
"Why?" Elmo said. "John Prentiss's death?"
"No, I don't think so," Sheila said.
They didn't talk any more until they reached the restaurant and gave the Chinese waiter their order.
"Then what's bothering you?" Elmo said, picking up the theme of their conversation.
"I don't really know," Sheila said. "Just a mood, I guess. I feel sort of lost-like I'm not getting anywhere in life. Do you ever feel that way? My aunt makes me feel that way sometimes. She's been divorced for years. She lives alone in a house, she works in a beauty shop, and she spends most of her evenings at the local beer parlor. If she died, who would miss her? Really miss her, I mean? Do you see what I mean? What if I wound up that way?"
"You are depressed!" Elmo said. "Let me take you to dinner tonight and cheer you up."
"No, Elmo," Sheila said. "I would only give you my mood. I suppose John Prentiss's death does make me depressed. I mean the circumstances. I didn't care for him. If anything, I suppose I disliked him."
"I'll tell you what," Elmo said lightly. "My wife's gone to visit her folks for a while. She left last night. Why don't we do something this weekend?"
Sheila shook her head. "That's part of what I mean," she said. "The futility of things. You do something-and afterwards it doesn't mean anything. You still wind Up alone and unloved."
"That's where you're wrong," Elmo said.
The waiter brought their food.
"I'm not wrong," Sheila said after they had been eating for a while in silence.
"But you are," Elmo said, taking her hand and looking into her eyes. "Let me prove to you that you're wrong."
She gently withdrew her hand and continued toying with her food, not speaking.
"I don't love my wife and she doesn't love me," Elmo said. "I rather think that this time she's not coming back."
"There again-" Sheila said.
"I love you, Sheila," Elmo said fiercely. "When I get things straightened out, we can be married and I'll prove to you what love is."
Sheila stared at Elmo, her eyes round. Her lip curled slightly in contempt. He didn't notice.
"Don't you understand?" he said. "True love lasts down the years. I'll make you happy. Believe me, I will!"
"I have to have time to think," Sheila said.
"Okay," Elmo said huskily, still shaken by his emotion. "But may I call for you Saturday morning? I have a swimming pool. You'll love the place."
Sheila's lip curled more in contempt, the expression masking itself as a twisted smile.
"All right, Elmo," she said. "I'll come. You don't mind if my bathing suit is a Bikini do you?"
"Mind?" he said. "I'm drooling already!"
"And your wife?" Sheila said. "What if she comes back?"
"She won't," Elmo said. "And if she did it wouldn't make any difference. She's out of my life new. For good."
Sheila glanced at her watch. "It's time to get back," she said.
"I suppose so," Elmo said regretfully.
They walked back to the office in silence. Sheila was kept busy until five o'clock. Joe Raub dictated twenty letters and wanted them finished and in the mail by five, and Sheila just made it.
On the way home she stopped at the market. It was a quarter to six when she stepped off the elevator and went down the hall toward her apartment.
Ralph was leaning against her door. He had obviously been waiting for some time.
"Hello. What are you doing here?" Sheila said coldly.
"Mrs. Prentiss flew back from Reno when she was notified of her husband's death," Ralph Nord said, "and-well-some things came up and I thought I'd better see you."
He took the sack of groceries and Sheila unlocked the door.
"See me about what?" she said.
He didn't answer until they were inside and he had carried the groceries into the kitchen.
"See me about what?" Sheila repeated as Ralph went around the living room, touching this and that piece of furniture admiringly.
"You have good taste," he said. "I know. I like good things too, and sometimes I mortgage my soul for a year to buy them. This liquor cabinet, for example...."
"Help yourself," Sheila said. "When you get around to it you can-"
"I know," he interrupted. "Tell you what I came to see you about."
Sheila went into the kitchen and slammed the groceries into the cupboards and the refrigerator. When she returned to the living room Ralph had two tall frosted drinks ready. He held one out to her.
"Thanks," Sheila said gratefully. She went over and sat down in a chair well removed from all others.
Ralph hesitated, then took a chair ten feet away from her.
Sheila tasted the drink. "Not bad," she murmured, looking at him over the top of the glass.
"Not bad?" Ralph said, irritation showing suddenly. He shrugged. "Oh well," he said. He gulped down two inches of his. "Some rather peculiar circumstances have turned up in relation to John's death," he said.
"Murder?" Sheila said, sitting up in alarm.
"No. His death was unquestionably accidental. He was driving while drunk, he lost control of the car. There are witnesses to it all. What I mean is, Saturday morning he wrote a check to a jewelry store for twelve thousand four hundred and twenty dollars. Naturally when the banks opened today his account was frozen. That's normal procedure. Any checks that come in have to be returned to the sender, who can then present a bill to the estate. When the courts clear the estate such checks are normally paid on short order."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"The thing is," he went on, "Saturday morning John Prentiss bought a five and seven tenths karat diamond, in a solitaire setting. An engagement ring. Since it can't be found among his effects it must be presumed that he gave it to someone. His wife would like to know who it was and get it back."
"What does that have to do with me?" Sheila said.
"Nothing-I hope," Ralph said grimly.
"Well then," Sheila shrugged, "it has nothing to do with me."
"The way I reconstruct things," Ralph said, studying the frost glass he held between his hands, "John Prentiss talked his wife into getting a divorce so he could marry someone else. The minute the divorce was granted in Reno and he heard the news, he rushed out and bought a whopper of an engagement ring for this girl. Later on he took it with him and proposed to her-and she informed him she wouldn't marry him."
"Why do you figure that?" Sheila said.
"It stands to reason," Ralph said. "Why else would he get stinking drunk and drive like he was suicide-bent? What did he do with the ring? Does the girl have it? Did he, in a drunken rage, throw it away? In any case, if it can be found it can be returned to the jeweler and the estate will be that much better off. Twelve thousand four hundred and twenty dollars better off, to be exact."
"Why come to me about it?" Sheila asked, and held her breath.
Ralph shrugged. "No reason," he said. "Just a wild guess. John got you your job with us. I thought maybe he might have been presuming too much, talked his wife into a divorce, then came calling-and you told him off. Maybe to press his case he gave you the ring and left it here. Or maybe in the process of getting drunk he showed it to somebody and that somebody picked his pocket."
"I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Nord," Sheila said coldly. "Now, if you'll finish your drink...."
"I'm in no hurry," Ralph said. He walked casually about the room, inspecting things. "Nice things you have," he said.
"You said that before," Sheila said.
"Must have cost quite a bit," Ralph mused.
"I can afford them," Sheila said. "My savings account contains three thousand two hundred and eighty-four dollars and six cents right now. I save at least thirty dollars a week from my pay each week now. My liquor cabinet is well stocked, but I do very little drinking myself, so by adding a bottle a month I'm able to keep it stocked. My aunt does my hair for nothing so I have no beauty shop expense. When I buy clothes they are good clothes and last a long time. My hobby is reading, and the public library keeps that satisfied. When I acquire a piece of furniture I study the market and make a good buy. Quality stuff. Is there anything else you would like to know?"
"Yes," Ralph said, coming to a stop in, front of her. "How can I break through that cold exterior?"
"You don't stand a chance," Sheila said frigidly.
Ralph seized her shoulders in a firm grip and kissed her before she could evade him. He let go and stepped back, a tight smile on his lips. Sheila slapped his face with slow deliberation. He made no effort to avoid the slap, and he showed no signs of it having hurt his ego or his person.
"Well," he said casually, "I guess I'll be going now."
"Do that," Sheila said.
At the door he looked back at her, smiled, and went out. When he had gone, Sheila looked around for something to kick. There was nothing handy, so she went to the kitchen and pounded the grocery sack into a compact ball and slammed it into the garbage can.
Later, making sure the door was securely locked she took out the diamond ring and examined the brilliantly blue-white stone under a bright light. Twelve thousand dollars!
The thought left her a little breathless. For the first time doubt entered her mind. Had John Prentiss really been sincere about her?
She shook her head, rejecting the thought. A man who would kick his wife out for a passing fancy
"John Prentiss was a fool!" Sheila said aloud.
Sheila fixed her dinner, listened to records and read a very interesting historical novel until bedtime, then went to bed, and to sleep.
For the rest of the week she devoted herself entirely to perfecting herself at her new job. When Elmo deCourcy tried to invite her to lunch, or to dinner, she answered invariably, "Saturday, Elmo." And whenever Ralph Nord was in the office she treated him coolly, with business efficiency. And, finally, Saturday arrived.
But before it arrived it obsessed her. Saturday-and the ring.
What should she do with the ring? Send it to the John Prentiss residence by mail with no return address? How then could she be sure it would get there? How could she be sure that she wouldn't be connected with the ring if she sent it? What if she kept it? What if she sold it? Well why not? She was entitled to it! Or was she?
What should she do with Saturday. What should "tie do with Elmo?
He, like John Prentiss, deserved anything that happened to him. Sheila's lip curled every time she thought of it. A man who will kick his wife out at the drop of a pretty face, a sensuous approach, a beautiful body, deserved to be stepped on. Was the world made up of such creatures? It seemed so.
Except, of course, men like Ed Belden and Les Nielsen and Joe Raub, who were of a different breed, engrossed in making money for themselves and for their families and who would never turn to look at a pretty face, a lovely body, considering such things the property of the younger generation, relinquishing them to the younger generation.
She solved the problem of the ring by putting it away and forgetting it. Saturday was a different kind of problem-especially when it arrived.
Sheila awoke fuU of life, her body almost writhing with desire. Her mind was cold as ice, her emotions in her throat, her chest, her breasts, the pit of her stomach, causing even her thighs to be possessed by an indefinable ache that made them restless so that at breakfast, alone, she stirred with impatience, crossing and uncrossing her legs, squeezing them together.
Saturday was the time for housecleaning. Sheila cleaned house. She vacuumed and dusted. She washed windows and, to kill time, used windex on the mirrors and the glass in all the picture frames.
When everything was spotless and there was absolutely nothing left to clean she looked at the clock-and it was only five after ten.
What if Elmo didn't call, or show up? What if nothing happened, and Monday morning came with nothing happening? What was Elmo's telephone number?
She spent half an hour trying to track down Elmo's telephone number without success. What was left?
Nothing. Except maybe walking the streets until she picked up some moron. Or suicide. Or going to Stinson Beach by herself in the hopes that the Athlete would be there-No. That was definitely out. Once was enough.
Then, miraculously, the phone rang. She glanced at the clock on the way to the phone. It was five after eleven! That was all it was. Five after eleven!
"Hello?" she sang into the phone.
It was Elmo.
CHAPTER TEN
He would arrive at twelve! Sheila rushed into the bedroom and undressed. In the bathroom she started the bath water, pouring in a measured amount of bath salts and bubble bath.
While she waited she used her electric shaver under her arms and to make sure the scant bikini trunks would reveal nothing but smooth skin. She giggled. Now she looked almost like she had when she was ten years old.
She had been very curious about herself for a few months when she was ten. She had tried to imagine what it would be like with a boy, what a boy looked like. She had gone to a medical book in the reference section of the Main Library and found out, but still couldn't imagine what it would be like.
She had made a bold decision. Find out! She laughed as the memory came to her. She was in the fifth grade at the time. She had settled on Arnold Peevy to explore sex with her. He sat in the seat across the aisle from her in class, and lived a block away.
She had enticed him into going exploring with her along Jackson Creek where there was lots of secluded places, and all he had been interested in was trying to catch frogs. When she tried to get him interested in her by wrestling with him he had been annoyed and threatened to go home.
Finally she had hit upon the scheme of daring him to take off his clothes and go mud crawling in the shallow creek, and had said she would if he would. He had refused until she called him a double-darned-yellow-belly-scardy-cat.
They had taken off all their clothes and gone mud crawling. She had pushed his head under, and he had chased her to catch her and get even. She had crawled up onto the grassy bank, turned over on her back, and spread her legs wide, waving them at him, in some unformed instinct.
And he had gone looking for frogs again. All she had gotten out of the experience was a first hand look at what a boy looks like without any clothes on.
As she stepped into the tub she wondered if Arnold Peevy, now that he was grown, ever remembered the incident and mentally kicked himself for that lost chance. Now, of course, she knew that ten year old boys are usually immune to feminine charms as the classic Western cowboy, prefering to kiss a horse rather than a girl. But of course with Arnold Peevy it had been frogs instead of horses.
She finished her bath and towelled herself vigorously bringing a glow to her skin. She stood in front of the full length mirror set into the door and powdered her skin, watching the red glow become a subdued pink. Her full breasts stood out firmly. Her flat stomach and wide hips, and long legs were perfectly proportioned. With high heels she knew that she would be the prototype of the classic calendar girl. She doubled one leg and brought it across her in a concealing pose, and crossed her arms, her hands half concealing her breasts. Maybe she had missed her calling, she decided. There was supposed to be money in posing.
She made a face at herself in the mirror and went to the bedroom, slipping into her bikini suit and remembering to roll up a pair of panties and a bra in her purse. Over the bikini she slipped into a gingham dress that hugged her figure to the waist and then flared out into a generous skirt.
She slipped her feet into beach sandals and dropped her bathing cap into her purse-then a knock sounded on the outer door. It was exactly twelve o'clock. She grabbed up her purse, glanced into the bathroom and the kitchen to make sure everything was off, then opened the door.
"Hello, Elmo," she said breathlessly. "I'm all ready."
It was obvious he wanted to come in, but she stepped out and locked the door. On the way to the elevator she took his hand in a little girl gesture. His disappointment at not getting to come into the apartment vanished. In the elevator, going down, he kissed her, intending to make a production of it-until the elevator stopped on the floor below and an elderly couple entered.
In the car, headed down Broadway toward the freeway, Elmo turned and glanced at Sheila.
"Where's your bathing suit?"
"Right here," Sheila said, pulling her skirt up around her middle.
The next moment the car jolted. Just ahead the traffic light was red. The driver of the car ahead was looking back angrily.
Elmo set the handbrake and got out to inspect the damage. No damage had been done expect that the metal frame to Elmo's front license plate had been bent by the trailer hitch on the other car's rear bumper.
When he got back in he grinned at Sheila and said, "Don't do things like that to me!"
"I didn't do anything," Sheila pouted playfully.
On the freeway, headed north past Berkeley. Sheila slid over to the middle of the seat and, after a few moments, casually rested her hand on Elmo's knee.
"Where are we going, Elmo?" she asked while they were crossing the Richmond-San Raphael Bridge.
"To my place, in Mill Valley."
"Let's go to Stinson Beach first," Sheila suggested. "We have all day-and all evening...."
"Well, okay," Elmo said. "Why don't you take off your dress and get a little sun?"
"Okay," Sheila said. She pulled her dress up around her waist, revealing her long slim legs and the triangle of her bikini trunks. She slid the dress over her head, revealing the pair of patches that covered the outer thrust of her breasts, leaving their periphery generously exposed.
She half raised and turned sideways to lay her dress neatly on the back seat so it wouldn't wrinkle. Elmo ran his fingers lightly along the inside of her thigh.
"Elmo!" she said, abandoning the dress and slapping his hand away. He chuckled happily.
"Well!" Sheila said indignantly. "Just because I have on a bikini doesn't give you a license to explore! " She poked out her lower lip in a sultry pout.
They left the bridge and took the Sir Francis Drake Boulevard turn-off, soon paralleling the high woven wire fence that marked the limits of the grounds of San Quentin, with the grim walls of the maximum security section in the distance.
"I think I'll take off my suit and shirt," Elmo said, braking to a halt on the shoulder, "and get a little sun myself."
He did so, revealing long hairy legs and a surprisingly massive chest. Bright red trunks were about his middle.
"Well!" Sheila said. "For a bookkeeper you are certainly full of surprises!"
"The better to devour you with," Elmo grinned, trying to put his arms around her.
Sheila thrust him away. "Stinson Beach, Jeeves," she said haughtily.
"Yes, mum," Elmo grumbled, starting the car again.
He drove with his eyes on her long legs. He came very close several times to bushing oncoming cars.
"Keep your eyes on the road," Sheila ordered sternly, and after he had obeyed for a while she moved over to the center of the seat and let her fingers play lightly on his leg, finally letting her hand rest on his knee, with her bare forearm along the side of his leg.
The winding road along the highway forced Elmo's mind on driving. To the left was the drop to the ocean, and oncoming cars. Ahead, constantly, were turns as the highway followed the side of the mountainous terrain. By the time they reached Stinson Beach he was sweating-not from the drive but from keeping his emotions in check.
He had, perhaps, established a record for the trip, but now there were people everywhere, seemingly millions of them.
"Here!" Sheila said.
Elmo slowed down but said, "I thought maybe we could go up the beach a ways where there's more privacy."
"What for?" Sheila said. "Here's another place! Park here"
He parked the car. They got out and walked the half block to the side street, Sheila pausing to glance in store windows, Elmo uncomfortable under the stares of prissy females with wrinkled necks and odd shapes who passed by, and angered by the lecherous stares of men who devoured Sheila with their eyes.
"Poor innocent," he thought, a lump forming in his throat. "She doesn't realize the effect she has on people." But he said nothing to her. When they were married he would talk her out of this sort of thing....
At the beach they waded out through the sand, holding hands. Sheila looked around, exploring the nearby crowd and those farther away up and down the beach. A dog ran by with a ball in its mouth. A family of five or six assorted kids and a bloatedly fat mother and incredibly skinny father occupied the spot where the athletes had been playing catch the time before.
There was no one. Absolutely no one. A white skinned introvert with a thirty-two chest and legs that bowed out for no reason-certainly not from the weight of his torso!-was making like an athlete all by himself. Otherwise-nothing.
Toward, the west there was a storm front. Shark warning signs cluttered the beach. The waves had an undertone of anger as they broke into white caps and plunged up onto the beach. The air was chill-and suddenly it got chillier as a breeze erupted from the still calm that had prevailed up to now. Sheila shivered involuntarily, and crossed her arms over her breasts, hugging her shoulders.
"There's always my place," Elmo said smugly.
"Any port in a storm," Sheila agreed.
They struggled back through the sand to the walk of the short side street. By the time they reached the car the sun was blotted out. They slipped into their clothes for warmth, and were trapped by the signs of a small cafe that promised delectable seafood dishes.
A half hour was consumed while they were disillusioned by third rate breaded shrimp fried in stale grease and nauseated by flies that had come in out of the impending storm.
"I have some perfectly wonderful steaks in the freezer just waiting to be broiled over charcoal," Elmo said finally.
"Well why didn't you say so before, stupid?" Sheila said.
They chuckled in an ever closer intimacy and deserted the "Gourmet's paradise" without a single backward glance.
In the car as they started back the way they had come along the coast highway Shelia sat sideways on the seat, her back against the door, one leg doubled under her skirt pulled up carelessly.
She took out a comb and a compact and busied herself for a while. Elmo concentrated on the curves and the oncoming cars, restricting himself to quick wanting looks at her, and her half exposed widespread legs.
When they cut over toward Mill Valley the road was straighter. With his eyes on the road he reached over and let his hand course lightly along her thigh.
"Stop that!" Sheila said, slapping at his hand but making no effort to stop him.
"What'll you give me if I stop it?" Elmo asked, grinning.
Sheila pretended to study this proposition while his hand explored farther and farther.
"A kiss," she said.
"Okay." Elmo pulled off the road into a small picnic area that was deserted. He shut off the motor. He was breathing more rapidly, his lips in a tight smile, as he turned toward her.
Sheila leaned toward him, her face uplifted to receive the kiss. Her hands rested on his leg, supporting her weight. Her arms were close together.
Elmo half twisted to face her. His lips touched hers gently. Hers responded, parting slightly. He put his arms around her, then let his hands slide down until they rested on her hips.
Her mouth wide against his. His hands curved against her hips, the thumbs pressing gently inward and downward.
"No," she breathed restlessly. She arched forward until her breast pressed into his side. "No. We mustn't."
He slid from behind the wheel and attempted to get her onto his lap. She let him almost succeed, then suddenly pulled away from him and struggled free.
She sat pressed against the door, pulling her skirt down over her knees, breathing like a spent runner. Elmo looked at her, considering possibilities and abandoning them.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I lost control of myself."
"It was my fault," Sheila said, not looking at him. "I shouldn't have let you...."
"No. It was my fault," Elmo said. "I shouldn't have lost control of myself. I promise I won't let it happen again."
"Promise?" Sheila said, looking at him appealingly. "If you don't I'll have to let you take me directly home."
"I told you I promise, didn't I?" Elmo said, starting the motor and getting the car in motion.
As they pulled out of the picnic area onto the road Sheila looked out the window, a small smile of amusement on her lips. She kept looking out the window, unable to repress her secret smile and having to use real will power to keep it from becoming open laughter.
Elmo misinterpreted her averted face as due to a feeling of shame and embarrassment. Love for her choked his throat. He stole glances at her.
His mind was on fire with the feel of her, the memory of the bikini under her dress, the smooth and flawless skin of her, disappearing into the scant cover of the triangles of her trunks and the narrow band that connected them underneath, that swelled upward under the two patches of her bra.
How virginal she was, sitting there hugging the side of the door, her dress pulled down over her knees. She was too innocent, too unconscious of her effect on men-otherwise she would have never worn a bikini.
She was, he decided reverently, hardly more than a little girl-a child. He would overwhelm her if he could-but only because he was going to marry her.
He turned the car into the familiar street, and soon after into the familiar drive that curved steeply upward through wild growth, to emerge suddenly onto the widened parking area in front of the double garage with the swimming pool to the left and the rambling ranch style house on the right, with glass doors in a glass wall that exposed to full view the kitchen, and dinette and revealed glimpses of the stretches of the living room beyond.
"This is it," he announced, stopping the car and shutting off the motor.
"It's wonderful!" Sheila said, opening the door and slipping out, standing on the concrete beside the car and-looking around. "How blue the water in the pool is! How do you get it like that?"
Annoyance and impatience crossed Elmo's face. He forced himself into a philosophical patience, and said, "Oh, I don't know. It's just the water, I guess." He achieved a triumph of long range patience. "Hungry?" he said cheerfully.
"Boy! Am I!" Sheila said, turning and giving him a warm smile..
"So am I," Elmo said. "Let's get rid of our clothes and get a little sun. You can take a swim in the pool while I get the steaks and the barbecue going."
He lifted the door of the double garage and wheeled out the portable barbecue outfit. While he was doing this Sheila took her dress off over her head, put on her bathing cap, and dived into the pool, with Elmo watching every motion.
With impatient haste he poured charcoal briquettes in and soaked them generously with fluid, and touched a match to them. Shucking off his shirt and trousers and shoes and sox he made a running dive into the pool that carried him close to Sheila.
"Have to wait about twenty minutes for the coals to get hot enough for broiling the steaks," he explained. Grinning playfully he reached out toward her.
Sheila splashed water in his face and backed away.
"You!" Elmo shouted in pretended anger, and swam after her.
She reached the edge of the pool and tried to climb out. He grabbed for her. His fingers hooked over the top edge of her trunks. The hook at the side tore loose. Elmo fell back in the water still holding her bathing trunks. Sheila surged up onto the concrete, discovered the loss of her bathing trunks, and ran toward the house after screaming in dismay.
Elmo climbed out of the pool and ran after her. still holding her bathing trunks. He caught up with her at the glass doors to the dinette because they were still locked.
"Get away from me!" Sheila said. "You promised!" She turned to face him and shoved at his chest.
"I know!" Elmo said hoarsely, throwing his arms around her and pulling her to him. He tried to kiss her. For a moment she twisted her head, evading his lips. Then his lips found hers and clamped over them.
For another moment she continued to resist. Then her lips began to respond. Her arms came up slowly and circled his neck. They writhed against each other slowly.
His lips broke away from hers. He stared down into her eyes with fierce passion. "I've got to, Sheila!" he said. "Can you understand that? I've got to!"
"I'm-not-afraid-now...." Sheila said as though in a dream.
"The key," Elmo said. "I've got to get the key." He let her go and went to the car, fumbling into the pockets of his trousers until he remembered the key ring was still in the ignition. Grabbing it with a muttered curse he turned. Sheila was still standing where he had left her, a dreamy expression on her face. She was beautiful. Beautiful!
He unlocked the sliding glass doors and slid them back. Then he turned to Sheila. She held out her arms, stars shining in her eyes, the dreamy expression still on her face, making her seem like some fairy princess untouched by reality.
Gently he took off her bra. She seemed not aware of it. Her breasts swelled outward in freedom, rose-tipped. Elmo circled her waist with one arm and lifted her high, caressing the soft mounds with his lips. Her knees pressed against his slides.
He turned and carried her into the house, through the dinette to the living room, across the living room to the short hallway, and into the bedroom.
"I love you-and it's going to be all right!" he said in a wild voice.
He edged onto the bed on his knees, then fell forward. Dizzying warmth flashed deeply within Sheila. She planted her feet on the bed and arched upward to meet it, moaning softly. Her body writhed as though in torture.
"I love you!" Elmo said wildly, jerking in a frenzied rhythm that was clumsy and sporadic. "I love you! I love you!"
Stars exploded in Sheila's consciousness. A warmth spread out through her stomach, upward through her chest and into her arms, downward through her thighs to the tips of her toes. Her legs stretched out, relaxed. Her arms came away from Elmo's back and lay on the bed, forming a wreath above her head. Her eyes closed, and a half smile lay sleeping on her lips.
Her body rolled inertly to the continued spasmodic jerking of Elmo's frenzied rhythm.
Elmo became suddenly motionless, staring down into Sheila's face worriedly. "Are you all right, darling?" he asked.
Sheila seemed not to hear.
Alarmed, Elmo repeated his question, then lifted himself over to the edge of the bed.
Hastily pulling his bathing trunks up over his hips he ran to the bathroom and returned with a damp washcloth. Folding it, he placed it over Sheila's forehead.
With a last, regretful look at her he draped a free part of the bedspread over her. Then he hurried out of the room, returning a moment later with her dress, the two parts of her swim suit, and her purse. He laid these on the edge of the bed and whispered, "Are you all right, darling?"
He felt of her pulse. It was smooth and regular.
Reluctantly he left the room. Standing in the hall he frowned in thought for a moment, then went to the kitchen and brought the steaks out of the freezer.
When Sheila heard the slam of the refrigerator door her eyes shot open. She surveyed her immediate surroundings, then sat up on one elbow and fished a cigarette out of her purse.
When it was lit she lay back, using one arm for a pillow, and smoked, blowing smoke contentedly toward the ceiling.
It had been, Sheila reflected lazily, quite a wonderful afternoon. In some ways the most pleasant in her life. Her body was warm and content. Her mind was honed to a knife edge. There remained only one more thing to do, and that had to wait until the steaks were almost done.
An errant breeze wafted the delicious aroma of sizzling to her sensitive nostrils. She stamped out the cigarette in the bed stand ashtray and hastily dressed, putting on the panties and bra from her purse, pulling the gingham dress over her head and zipping the waist.
She took off her bathing cap and shook out her hair, examining it in the dresser mirror. She glanced curiously over the array of perfumes and powders on the dresser, small tombstones of a love that had not fared too well. A tear formed in her eye, for the woman she had never seen, whose hopes had died here.
Her lips formed into a grim line. She picked up her belongings and left the bedroom. When she stepped through the sliding glass doors of the dinette Elmo was in the act if turning the steaks over. Flames from dripping meat juices shot yellowly up to devour the steaks. Elmo's eyes lit up. A happy smile wreathed his face.
"Take me home!" Sheila said coldly.
"Take you home?" Elmo exclaimed. "The steaks are almost done!"
"Take me home!" Sheila said sharply. She went to the car and got in, slamming the door.
"But Sheila!" Elmo protested. "Oh, all right," he groaned.
He retrieved the keys from the lock in the sliding glass doors and got behind the wheel. Sheila sat glued to the door on the farther side of the seat, looking straight ahead.
"Isn't there anything I can say?" Elmo pleaded.
Sheila didn't answer.
Reluctantly Elmo backed the car around and headed down the driveway.
Behind them, as the car vanished down the drive, the steaks sizzled merrily until they were done, until they were overdone, until they were to lumps of charcoal.
Then they caught fire. But they didn't burn very well....
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On Sunday Elmo called several times, starting at a little after ten in the morning. Each time Sheila lifted the phone and listened until she heard him say, "Sheila? Are you there?" Then she hung up without having uttered a sound.
In the afternoon her aunt dropped in for a while. When the phone rang Sheila told her to answer it, and if it was a man to tell him she had been taken to the hospital, but to refuse to tell him what hospital.
"I'm playing a joke on him," Sheila explained.
Her aunt followed instructions but didn't like it at all-which made her tone of voice over the phone all the more convincing.
"No, I absolutely refuse to tell you which hospital nor why she's gone nor when she'll be back!" her aunt finally snapped and slammed the receiver.
There were no further calls.
Sheila went to work Monday as usual. Elmo didn't come. Nor did he come to work Tuesday or Wednesday. When he showed up Thursday he was noticeably thinner. His eyes studiously avoided any chance of meeting Sheila's. He stayed at his desk catching up on the pile of work.
Ralph Nord, coming and going at odd hours, seemed preoccupied. On the surface he kidded with Sheila as much as with the other girls, but in the background, unnoticed by the others but sensed by Sheila, was a something that might be coldness, dislike, suspended judgment, study-a lot of things.
Did he still think she had that twelve thousand dollar ring? If so, when Elmo came back Ralph's thoughts veered from his suspicions about the ring to a shrewd study of Elmo--and the way Elmo's eyes never went toward Sheila. And it became apparent to Sheila that Ralph was putting two and two together there, and coming up with five.
The week passed, and part of another. The following Wednesday Ralph and Elmo went out to lunch together. Elmo came back almost an hour late. Ralph didn't come back. The next day when he dropped in to the office with some reports which he dropped in Sheila's in-basket for her to type up, he was sporting a black eye, well painted with flesh that it was almost unnoticeable.
More days passed. Weeks. Ralph's black eye healed up so no trace of it remained. His personality changed noticeably. He joked with people less and less, took issue with them more. Once there was excitement in the office when Ralph's and Les Nielsen's voices raised in violent anger from behind Nielsen's door for several minutes, and Ralph came storming out, his expression dark, and walked out of the office. But that blew over after a few days, with no one finding out what it had been about.
Elmo grew thinner. His moods toward the girls under him, Dot, Marie, and Marge, were unpredictable. One day he would snap at them for the slightest cause, the next he would go out of his way to be nice to them.
Sheila's interest in her work increased. She studied Ralph's notes and reports as she typed them up, so that very soon she had a comprehensive knowledge of his activities in relation to the whole operation. She read and remembered the essentials of every letter the three partners dictated to her, and eventually knew a great deal about a great many small manufacturing plants-those the company was interested in and also those the company was curious about or had been curious about.
Her omniverous reading during the long evenings in her apartment expanded to take in the simpler aspects of corporation law, the stock market, the tax structure in relation to business, and a dozen minor subjects related to her job.
She occasionally accepted a date. It was a large office building, everyone who worked in it seemed curious about everyone else, and it seemed to be an unwritten law of the building that it was okay if you worked there to speak to anyone else who worked there, rode the elevators, and ate occasionally in the greasy spoon on the first floor just off the lobby Almost every day some man from another office worked up the courage to speak to her, introduce himself, and ask her for a date. She turned down most of them, but not all.
On such dates Sheila was friendly enough, but refused to permit even a goodnight kiss. Some of the men she dated had good jobs, were attractive, would have made fine husbands and seemed eager to become her husband if given half a chance. One of the most persistent, in his fourth date with her, protested, "What do you want? To be an old maid?"
"Maybe," Sheila had answered. But the truth was, she wasn't interested.
There were times when a hunger grew within her, gnawing. At such times she would pace her apartment restlessly in the evening. At work she would keep her eyes half veiled to hide the smoldering sexual fires that lurked in their depths. And sometimes late at night, too restless to sleep, she would take long walks on darkened streets, perhaps stopping in some cocktail lounge, to sit alone and toy with a martini which she barely tasted. But when anyone-a sailor or anyone else-tried to get acquainted with her, when all it would have taken would have been a nod from her, she shook her head firmly.
Why?
She thought of the question often, and tried to find the answer in her own mind, without success. Other girls had a few dates with a man, accepted his proposal of marriage, got married, and seemed to be happy. That prospect seemed to Sheila like something foreign-from a different culture, almost. Other girls had dates, gave themselves promiscuously to men, and seemed happy and carefree. That too seemed to Sheila to be something alien.
Yet when she asked herself what might be attractive to her, native to her rather than alien no answer came from the depths of her mind.
And when she tried to think back on the experiences she had had her thoughts became disorganized and chaotic, and she became quite depressed. Why this should be, she didn't know. She worked herself out of these depressed periods by concentrating on her work and studying books related to her work. As a consequence of this her perspective and judgment m the field of small corporation finance sharpened to the point where she was able to see, now and then, details in the company operation where Ed Belden, Les Nielsen, Joe Raub, and Ralph Nord made mistakes in judgment that she wouldn't have made if she had been running things.
The twelve thousand dollar diamond ring lay forgotten in the little drawer in the secretary. The refrigerator of the liquor cabinet was badly in need of defrosting, but Sheila wasn't even aware of this fact.
This, then, was the state of affairs when, one Friday morning while taking care of the items in her in-basket routinely, Sheila reached in and took the next item and laid it on the desk in front of her.
It was a printed form with blank spaces typed in. It was a single sheet, eight and a half by eleven. There was printing on both sides of it with typing in the blank spaces.
It didn't seem to belong in her in-basket at all. What was the "Custody of real property, to wit ... business on the back side?
Her eyes flicked over the paper, she brought her attention to focus on the phrases. Suddenly it dawned on her-this was a copy of a divorce obtained by Elmo's wife in Chicago!
She glanced sharply in his direction. Elmo was looking at her, a strained expression around his eyes and lips. He nodded meaningfully.
Sheila returned to the paper. The date the divorce had been granted was just three days ago. Probably Elmo had received this paper in the mail only yesterday. It had been he, of course, who had dropped it into her in-basket.
Elmo was awarded the community interest in the house in exchange for three thousand dollars of his half of the community cash and cash-equivalent stocks and bonds. He was to pay one hundred and seventy-five dollars a month alimony until his ex-remarried, at which time all liabilities on Elmo's part ended forever. It left him with-
Sheila grabbed the paper, crumpling the bottom third of it in her fingers, and took it over to Elmo's desk. She dropped it in his in-basket without looking at him and went back to her desk.
She took the next paper from her in-basket and looked at it unseeingly.
A vision rose unbidden in her mind's eye-a distorted vision, a cemetery with neatly ordered tombstones shaped like perfume bottles, and powder boxes. It resolved itself into the dresser top in Elmo's bedroom.
She wondered numbly what had become of all those bottles. Had Elmo scraped them off into a wastebasket and dumped them into the garbage can?
"Want to go to lunch with me?"
Sheila looked up at the sound of the voice. Elmo stood by her desk, smiling casually, but the strain around his eyes was still there.
"Lunch?" Sheila said vaguely. "Oh, all right. Is it time yet?" She glanced at her watch. It was one minute to twelve. "I'll be with you in a minute."
She hurried through the stockroom to the rest-room. It was crowded. The other girls were getting ready to go to lunch. Sheila contented herself with giving her hands a hasty wash and came back out.
Neither she nor Elmo said anything as they rode the elevator down, and walked to the Chinese restaurant. He tried once to take her arm. She unobtrusively avoided this as though unaware of it. He didn't try again.
When they were seated and the Chinese waiter had taken their order, Sheila lapsed into silence.
"Thank God it's all over," Elmo said quietly.. "I can tell you now-after I took you home that time I realized what a fool I had been to risk loosing everything like that. I tried to call you. When your aunt told me you'd gone to the hospital I caught the next plane for Chicago and had it out with my wife. It was rough, but she finally agreed to a divorce. We hired lawyers and got things going, then I came back. I haven't dared to tell you, partly because you might not have believed me, partly because I knew it wasn't right-that I should wait until now, when I'm free to marry you."
"Marry me?" Sheila said, smiling. "Are you trying to be funny?"
"No," Elmo said. "No, of course not. I was never more serious in my life. I love you. I want you to be my wife."
Sheila politely covered a small yawn. It was a genuine yawn. She felt strangely relaxed, almost sleepy. The Chinese waiter brought the soup She broke two crackers into the steaming liquid and tasted it cautiously. "Good...." she said, taking a larger spoonful.
"Don't you understand, darling?" Elmo said, his voice vibrant with emotion. "I love you. I want to marry you. I'm free to marry you now. Just set the date. After lunch we can go pick out a ring. We can announce it to the office this afternoon."
"You should try the soup, Elmo," Sheila said. "It's really good soup."
"Damn the soup!" Elmo said. "Answer me!"
"I should marry you?" Sheila said. She frowned as though considering the idea. She smiled across the table at Elmo. "And have you cast me aside when you find the girl you want for your next wife?"
"You know that won't happen!" he said. "I never loved her. I never loved anyone until I met you. It was too bad I didn't wait until you came along, but when you did come along I set about making things right."
"The soup is getting cold," Sheila said, smiling.
Elmo gripped the edge of the table. He grew deathly pale.
Sheila calmly laid down her soup spoon. She shook her head sadly.
"I don't really understand you, Elmo," she said quietly. "You cheat on your wife, you kick her out when you see something you think you want more-and by some distorted logic you try to turn this treachery into some kind of virtue to convince me that you deserve what you want because of it. Am I supposed to think you are wonderful, and marry you and move into the house you kicked her out of? And believe you are telling the truth when you call up and say you're working later tonight? No thank you, Elmo. But thanks for the offer. Where is that waiter? We'll be late getting back if he doesn't bring our food pretty soon." She caught the waiter's eye and waved. He nodded and went toward the kitchen.
"Then-it was all-for nothing?" Elmo said, his eyes two bright coals of anguish.
Sheila pursed her lips in thought. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," she said. "After all, your wife is probably happier than she was."
The waiter brought the food. Sheila took a fork and began eating hungrily.
"I'll have to come here oftener," she said, smiling at Elmo. "I'd forgotten how delicious the food is here, Aren't you hungry?"
Elmo squeezed his eyes together, trying to block the flow of tears onto his cheeks. "You hate me. Don't you?" he asked softly.
Sheila ate in silence for a minute or two. Finally she said, "Yes, I suppose I do. Not really. But if it makes you feel any better-" She glanced at her watch. "I must hurry back to work." She pushed back her chair and stood up. "Are you coming?" she asked.
When he didn't answer she shrugged, smiled at him, then left.
Back at her desk she worked happily. More than once she caught herself humming. She would dart a smile at Dot and murmur, "Sorry."
"Where's Elmo?" Marie asked her at one thirty.
"I don't know," Sheila said, expressing surprise. "Should I?"
"Didn't you go to lunch with him?" Marie said.
"Why yes!" Sheila said. "I'd forgotten. I had to come back to work. I don't know where he went. He didn't say."
"I wonder if he got those financial reports Ralph wanted?" Marie said, going to his desk. She searched his out-basket without finding what she wanted. She started looking through his in-basket. "Say!" she said, holding up a paper that Sheila recognized. "What's this? Did any if you know that Elmo's wife just got a divorce from him?"
The office was immediately a bedlam. Dot soon rose to the center of attention with remembered little things that hadn't seemed to mean anything at the time.
"Did Elmo tell you about it?" Marie asked as Ralph Nord came into the office. She was looking at Sheila.
"Should he have?" Sheila said before she became aware of Ralph's presence.
"What about Elmo?" Ralph said.
"His wife just got a divorce from him in Chicago," Dot said, her voice bubbing with importance.
"And he didn't come back to work after lunch," Marie said, "so those financial reports you wanted today didn't seem to have gotten out."
Ralph glanced sharply at Sheila, his expression suddenly grim. He concealed the grimness almost as soon as it appeared.
"Well," he said casually, "maybe he's celebrating his freedom. No hurry on those financial reports anyway." He went on to his private office. A few minutes later he passed through the office going out, his manner unconcerned.
Sheila smiled at his departing back. The smile remained while she did her work.
Elmo came to work the next Monday morning. He was pale and seemed ill. Marie showed concern over him and he snapped at her. An uncomfortable silence settled over the office. It slowly evaporated, but Elmo remained a source of quiet. He went out for lunch by himself. When he came back it soon became apparent he had been drinking.
Tuesday and Wednesday mornings his new habit of drinking was obvious the moment he stepped into the office.
"I may have to quit my job," Dot said worriedly when Elmo wasn't in the office. "The whole office is beginning to smell of stale liquor. When I go home at night I can't get it out of my nose. And my husband says he can smell it in my clothes!"
"It can't be that bad," Marie snorted. "Besides, he'll get over it and return to normal. He's a good man."
"You're just too too sensitive, Dot," Sheila said. "I can't help it, Sheila," Dot grumbled. Thursday, at three in the afternoon, Ed Belden threw open his office door and shouted across the outer office, "DeCourcy! Come in here!"
Elmo staggered a bit as he hastened into Belden's office. None of the girls did any work. They listened, but only silence came from Belden's office. After half an hour the door opened and Elmo headed for his desk.
"And if you come to work drunk again you're through!" Belden called after him.
"Yes sir," Elmo whispered, not looking back. Beads of sweat dotted his pale skin.
It was almost quitting time when, somehow, the rumor got started that Ralph Nord was quitting. Dot claimed to have heard it from Frank Lloyd the office boy, Frank claimed to have heard it from Marie or somebody, Marie denied having heard it until Dot told everyone. So it was a rumor. Ralph wasn't there to deny it or verify it.
It was exciting news. What would the company do without Ralph as field man? Who would replace him? It would take years to break a man in so he was as good as Ralph. Why was Ralph quitting? A better job? Where? Or was he being fired?
For several days the rumors flew, but when Ralph was around no one mentioned them, and Ralph seemed completely unaware of the rumor that he was quitting.
Sheila was surprised at her own reaction to the rumor. Suddenly she was possessed with the urge to quit herself, to find another job. There was no reason to it. She would have to take a tremendous cut in salary because she was now making six hundred a month. Besides, she loved her work, the challenge of it, the mastery of its complexities that she had acquired. Still, illogically, she wanted to quit.
No one particularly noticed Elmo's drinking any more. He drank openly now, a bottle in his desk drawer, a paper cup on his desk. He was often unshaven. His eyes were continually bloodshot. His mouth was habitually pulled down at the corners in a sour, bitter expression. He was beginning to silently defy Belden, who clamped down on his cigar and strode angrily back into his office each time, saying nothing.
"I might get a job in Berkeley," Marie said one morning. "Jeff has been after me to do that for two years now so we can get rid of one of our cars. I'd have to take less money, but think of the saving!"
"Don is almost demanding that I quit," Dot said. "My cleaning bill is five dollars a week, now that Elmo's drinking. The smell won't come out of my clothes even after they've been to the cleaners!"
"I wonder where Ralph's going?" Pat said. "Maybe they'd need an experienced PBX receptionist n
"Joe and I are thinking of taking a trip to Europe this fall," Marge said.
"What about you, Sheila?" Dot said. "Are you staying on?"
"Of course" Sheila said. "I like my work very much."
"She's the only one that'll quit," Frank Lloyd said darkly. "Them that yaps never does anything." He fled to the stockroom laughing and holding his hands over the back of his head in case Dot or Marie threw anything at him.
"Let's get back to work, girls," Elmo said in a slurred voice, draining his paper cup and looking at Sheila triumphantly. "And as for my drinking, Dot-" He opened the drawer and refilled the paper cup, "I have my reasons," he said darkly.
"Self pity perhaps?" Sheila said.
Elmo lifted the paper cup and drank without taking his bloodshot eyes off of her. She shrugged and turned back to her work.
It was an infectious fever that invades offices at times. When it appears bosses pull in their horns and tread softly, and when it's over they break in new girls to replace the casualties. That was, obviously, the attitude of Belden and Nielsen and Raub. They had been through it before in their existence as a partnership and would probably go through it again. Five years ago there had been one almost as bad. Only Marie had survived it when the smoke cleared away. This time? Who could know?
Sheila left the office at five doubting very much that she would work another week. There was no reason for this feeling other than the general fever. Or perhaps there was. She was getting awfully tired of Elmo's self pity and his flaunting of it. Awfully tired. She found it difficult to believe now that at one time she found him fun.
She parked her car in its accustomed stall in the basement and rode the elevator up to her floor. She strode down the hall clutching her purse-and Ralph Nord stood leaning his shoulder against her doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Oh no!" Sheila said. "Not you again!"
He nodded. "Me again," he said. "And this time you just may be glad."
"I could argue that point," Sheila said dryly, unlocking the door. "But-come in. Fix us a drink and don't look around too closely. I didn't expect anyone."
She went into the bedroom and closed the door and locked it. She took her time about taking a shower and changing to a comfortable housecoat. She couldn't do anything else to Ralph, but she could make him wait....
When she came out of the bedroom his eyes told her she had been worth waiting for, but his face revealed nothing. He held his fourth drink in his hand. He began building her first from scratch-proving that he had expected her to take a long time.
She sampled it when he gave it to her, and lifted her eyebrows in surprise.
"I thought that would get you," Ralph said, grinning.
"Oh, it's okay," Sheila dismissed it. She went over and sat down on the isolated chair, crossing her legs under her so that nothing of her showed except her hands, neck, and head. "What's on your mind?" she added, sipping the drink and looking at him over the glass.
"How would you like to go to work for me?" Ralph asked.
"So you are quitting!" Sheila said. She frowned, sipping her drink. "No," she said. "No thanks."
"I just need you," Ralph said with studied carelessness. "Let me tell you about it before you make op your mind."
"No harm in listening, I guess," Sheila said. "Make it short through. I'm hungry."
"Belden Nielsen and Raub control several companies by owning fifty-one percent of the stock," Ralph said.
"So?" Sheila said.
"Some companies can be controlled with as little as three percent of the stock." Ralph said. "They don't go for that. But think if it! I know a dozen companies that could be controlled that way, with a hundred per cent return on the investment each year, when you include a nice fat position as Chairman of the Board. All it takes is to get forty-eight percent of the stock holders behind you, and you're in."
"So?" Sheila said. There was no use telling Ralph she had thought of the same thing long ago, but didn't see quite how to work it.
"I'm planning on forming my own holding company," Ralph said. "I don't have the capital that Belden and Neilsen and Raub have, but I could control as many companies with a tenth of their capital-with your help. And I don't mind saying that you would get far more than six hundred a month out of it...."
"How do you figure?" Sheila said, pretending disinterest.
Ralph Nord looked at Sheila thoughtfully. "I don't have any illusions about you," he said abruptly. "Maybe the best thing for me to do is lay it right on the line. What I'm going to need, and need badly, is someone who can control men in key positions and do it without sentiment-cold-bloodedly. Someone who is intelligent enough to understand exactly what she's doing, and not get fouled up by emotional attachments. Someone who is completely lovely and can wind almost any man around her little finger, but who doesn't get emotional toward a sucker when he is no longer useful."
"Meaning me?" Sheila said softly, her eyes veiled.
"Yes," Ralph said. "I've watched you. I know pretty well what makes you tick. To you there are two types of men; those you are completely indifferent to, and those you have. Your only trouble is that there's no direction to it. Take Elmo, for instance. That was without direction. There was nothing there for you to gain. There was some direction to your handling of John Prentiss. It got you your job with Belden, Nielsen, and Raub. But I get the feeling that what you got out of it was incidental. You hated him and ruined him because you hated him. Why? A psychologist would probably say that some man did you dirt sometime in the past, and you are getting revenge by proxy, symbolically. That doesn't make any difference one way or the other. The thing is, you have the ability to wind a man around your little finger and get what you want out of him-then discard him when you've gotten what you want. That's what I need. A lot of men are going to have to be foolish and unwise, and I need someone to make them that way.
"I need financial backers, for example, and they have to be willing to invest their money and not look into things too closely as long as they get a fair return for their money. They mustn't get curious about the gravy that doesn't go into the books. The plush Member of the Board jobs with a fat salary for doing nothing. And sometimes a major company stockholder will have to have his head turned to get him to vote our way."
"I think I'm beginning to hate you." Sheila said.
"I rather expect you will, Sheila," Ralph said. "That's okay, so long as you let me channel your other hates so that they bring us in money. It's foolish to waste your talents ruining a man like Elmo with no return for your effort when you can ruin dozens of men and get fat bonuses in the process."
Ralph saw that Sheila's glass was empty. He took it and his and replenished them at the liquor cabinet.
"I have fourteen thousand dollars," he said without looking at her. "That's not enough. I need ten or twenty times that much to capitalize fully on what I know about various companies and gain control of them. I have the know-how, you have the know-how to make almost any man do what you want him to. You also have the know-how to keep the books. Nothing crooked is involved in this. Just manipulation of the right people at the right time. How about it?"
"Suppose you're wrong about me?" Sheila said, accepting the drink he offered her.
"I'm not wrong about you," Ralph said. "You see, John Prentiss told me why he got his wife to divorce him. And Elmo told me what's eating him. No, I'm not wrong about you."
Silence settled between them. Ralph waited.
"Let me think about it," Sheila said.
"All right," Ralph said with surprising gentleness. "I'll go now. We can talk again in a few days."
At the door he turned as though to say something more, then closed his lips and smiled. Then he was gone.
For fifteen minutes after he left Sheila didn't move, except to light cigarettes. She frowned in deep thought.
Finally she stood up and went over to the secretary and opened the little drawer. She took out the diamond ring and studied it. She got out her savings pass book and laid it beside the diamond ring.
How much would the diamond ring bring? Sheila had heard that with diamonds worth thousands of dollars there was very little markup. Five per cent, maybe-in which case she could get better than ten thousand dollars for it. She smiled.
So Ralph Nord wanted to capitalize on her "talents", did he, well, two could play at that game.
The visualization of Ralph, his own plans used against him, broke, reduced to the status of leg man for a holding company that she controlled, amused her so much that she broke into laughter.
Her laughter stopped suddenly. The expression on her face changed to hate. She clenched her fists until her knuckles became bloodless.
"You're right, Ralph," she whispered. "I do hate men-but none of them half as much as I hate you...."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Things moved swiftly. Sheila took the ring to work with her with the intention of having it appraised by the jeweler who had sold her her watch a few months before. As she remembered him he was a very nice man. He and his wife operated the store alone.
"A lot has happened since I bought my watch, Mr. Hahn," Sheila said. "I was almost engaged to be married. He bought the ring and gave it to me but wanted to wait to announce our engagement. He was killed in an automobile accident." She touched her handkerchief to the corner of her eye.
Mr. Hahn examined the diamond and became quietly excited. "Was he a rich man?" he said.
"I don't think so," Sheila said. "He was well off, I know. Why?"
"This ring is quite valuable," he said. "Do you want to sell it?"
"That's what I had in mind," Sheila said. "I thought I'd better have you tell me what it's worth first, because I know I can trust you."
Mr. Hahn nodded. "It's worth at least ten thousand," he said. "It could be worth as much as fourteen thousand. I'll tell you what I'd like to do. I'd like to handle it for you. The customary fee is five percent, but I'm sure I can earn it by getting you much more for it than you can get by yourself."
Two days later he called her at the office and told her it was sold. The check he gave her was for thirteen thousand five hundred.
"I'm sure John didn't pay that much !" Sheila said, amazed.
"Then he must have had special connections," Hahn said. "Actually it was a quite unusual stone, and even some experts may overlook its true worth.
That happens quite often in the diamond market."
"He left you quite a legacy," Mrs. Hahn said, smiling.
When Sheila went back to the office she went directly into Mr. Belden's office and informed him she was quitting, effective in two weeks.
Shortly afterward Ralph Nord showed up. Sheila gave him a meaningful glance and an imperceptible nod. His eyebrows shot up. He went on into his private office on sheer momentum, then came out and went into Belden's office. A few moments later Belden's voice sounded, loud with anger, the words indistinguishable.
"If Ralph keeps on he just may get fired," Dot said.
"Unless he quits," Sheila said. She smiled archly at Dot. "I'm quitting, you know-effective in two weeks."
"WhaaAAT?" Dot screamed.
The girls gathered around Sheila's desk to get the lowdown. Sheila caught a glimpse of Elmo's face. It was, suddenly, etched with despair.
"What are you going to do?" Marie asked eagerly. "What company are you going to work for?"
"How much will you make?" Dot said. "Do they need another girl?"
"I asked her first!" Pat shouted.
"One at a time!" Sheila protested, laughing. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Go into business for myself, maybe."
"You aren't getting married are you?" Marge asked slyly.
"Married?" Sheila said. "That's a thought.
Maybe I should marry Elmo. He's single now. I could keep house for him, bring his slippers and pipe after he had a hard day at the office, go to the liquor store for him...."
There was a sudden complete silence. It was broken by the shattering of a bottle against a wall. Broken glass and liquid fell to the floor, the liquid making a large stain on the wall.
Everyone turned in Elmo's direction. His face was livid as he lurched up out of his chair. He took two steps, and fell forward, flat on his face.
"What happening out here?" It was Belden, standing in his office doorway.
"I think Elmo is ill," Sheila said.
"I'll?" Belden said, coming to stand over Elmo. "He's drunk. If I didn't have enough trouble with you and Ralph quitting, Sheila, I would fire him right now. As it is, I suppose I'd better cancel my appointments for the afternoon and take him home. By the way, Sheila, the new girl is coming in in the morning, so you don't need to stay the two weeks. You will get paid for them, of course. We'll mail you the check." He stooped and started lifting Elmo to an upright position. "In fact," he went on grimly, "I would appreciate it if you cleared out your desk now, and left."
"Thanks, I will," Sheila said, coloring.
"That's no way to talk to Sheila, Mr. Belden." Dot said, livid with anger. "I've had enough. I'm quitting too. Right now."
"No, Dot!" Sheila said.
"Yes I am!" Dot said. "I've had enough of this place. If you want me, I'll work for you wherever you go, but if not I'll find another job. I've had it here."
This was an unexpected development. Sheila saw Ralph in the door of his office. He caught her eye and nodded vigorously.
"Okay, Dot," Sheila said grimly. "You're on. Let's collect our things, and go over to my place."
Ed Belden had Elmo on his feet. Half supporting him he led him out of the office. Quiet settled over the office while Sheila and Dot collected their personal belongings.
Marie was at her desk, crying silently.
"I'm sorry, Marie," Dot said uncomfortably.
"Oh shut up!" Marie sobbed. "Everything was so nice, and now it all has to build up again. Sometimes I wonder what's the use."
Ten minutes later Sheila and Dot left the office. Ralph caught up with them in the hall. In the elevator he said, "Three, please." He smiled at Sheila and Dot. "You might as well see where you're going to be working," he said.
Everything in the office was new. No names were on the doors. The only one there was the man from the phone company, and he had just arrived.
"This is your office, Sheila," Ralph said, opening a door. "And Dot, pick out the desk you want. As soon as things get going they'll all have people at them."
That was the beginning. A month later things were taking form. To Ralph Nord's satisfaction. To Sheila's satisfaction. It was obvious to Sheila that Dot considered her the boss, and would follow her bidding without question. In fact, Dot made it quite plain to Sheila in many ways that she was convinced Sheila had some scheme up her sleeve, and that she would play along, whatever it was.
Six girls had been hired. A sign painter had come and gone, leaving very conservative appearing names painted on doors. NORD INVESTMENT CO. on the outer door, Sheila Drake, Executive Secretary on one of the private office doors, Ralph M. Nord, President on the other.
A succession of prosperous appearing people came by appointment. Now and then when one of them left, a sizable check remained behind, to be deposited in the growing Capital Assets account.
A few minor investments had been made to get things rolling. For the most part, in this initial phase the six girls were kept busy wading through stacks of papers that had been piled on their desks sometime during the night.
The sources of these papers were the garbage can behind small factories Ralph became interested in. An almost unbelievable amount of information about these companies was obtained. The shorthand notebooks thrown away after their contents were transcribed gave detailed information about what went on behind closed doors. Extra carbons of highly confidential correspondence, carelessly tossed into waste baskets by secretaries gave more information.
At first it was Ralph who gathered these piles of discarded papers. Later two names appeared on the payroll-men who never came to the office during working hours and might even be non-existent! After all, what was to prevent Ralph from padding the payroll and cashing the checks himself? These men supposedly were hired to collect papers from garbage cans behind the small factories Nord Investment Company became interested in.
The six girls quickly learned what information was wanted and became skilled in finding it. Dot was the bookkeeper and supervisor, seeing to it that information was filed properly, with resumes placed in Shelia's in-basket for screening.
Shelia, in turn, was supposed to pick out the types of information Ralph was looking for and make them into brief notes. These she placed in his in-basket.
To a great extent this arrangement was her own devising. It placed her in a position where she saw every bit of information before it went to Ralph. She could withhold it or pass it on to him as she chose.
Rolph Nord was, in effect, completely at her mercy.
Sheila opened accounts under dummy names with two brokerage firms. On those first few minor investments made by the Company she made eight thousand dollars by purchasing stock under her dummy names and selling it to Nord investment Company for a nice profit. In each case Ralph was willing to pay a premium price for the stock because it was key stock that gave him a controlling voice in a company that had a balance of power in the rest of the stockholders.
In one of those companies he was elected Chairman of the Board at a salary of twelve thousand a year. This, like Shelia's secret transactions, did not go on the books of Nord Investment Company.
Much more quickly than Shelia had hoped, things were going according to her plan to ruin Ralph. Besides obtaining all information before Ralph did, she quickly developed into his confidant, so that she knew his plans as they developed.
She began to regard Ralph with a fondness she would have displayed toward a little boy. He eagerly confided in her-all the details of his schemes and plans.
He planned, eventually, to have Nord Investments go broke. Every cent the Company lost would go to him under dummy names he had set up with various investment brokers. On the books it would appear that the Company had merely lost the gamble. What would not appear on the books was the fact that in that gamble Ralph, under various dummy names, was Dealer-and the cards were not only marked, but the deck was stacked.
Sheila was continually amazed at Ralph's sharp insight into stock manipulation within the law. His plan was so fool proof that even if some of his silent partners found out what happened they could do nothing about it.
By the same token, if Ralph ever discovered whit went wrong with his schemes, so that everything wound up in Sheila's private account, he would be helpless.
Three months after the operation started the Capital Balance of the Nord Investment Company had climbed to a quarter of a million. Nearly all of it was invested.
Sheila's bank account had climbed to nearly one hundred thousand dollars. She was in a position to administer the coupe de grace to both Ralph and the Company, and end up with everything, under dummy names so that neither Ralph nor anyone else would know who had done it.
Then, one morning, in the resumes Sheila screened, came an opportunity almost unheard of. A small manufacturing plant, Smith Fabrications, with capital stock valued at one hundred thousand dollars, had a Capital Reserve of three hundred thousand.
In short, if someone could buy all the stock and close up the company, for one hundred thousand that person would get three hundred thousand plus the auction value of the equipment, which inventoried at eighty thousand.
IF.
Sheila gave her stockbroker the fist of stockholders in the company with instructions to find out if they would sell. Twenty-four hours later she had the almost unbelievable news that she could buy all of the stock except for three hundred dollars worth.
"Good enough," she said over the phone. "Buy!"
She took two quick hours in the middle of the afternoon to transfer the money from her private account to her stockbroker.
It was fool proof. Dot had no time to evaluate the information she processed. Sheila had only to keep it from going into Ralph's in-basket. As soon as Sheila owned all the stock-except for that three hundred dollars worth-she could act.
With almost four hundred thousand dollars in her bank account she could break Ralph and the Company and wind up with almost a million.
It was High Finance with a vengeance. It was a fever. It possessed her.
While she waited for her stockbroker to buy up the stock she found it difficult to concentrate on the routine work in front of her.
Ralph dropped into the office to discuss some things with Sheila, and she found the things they were discussing almost unreal. She was giddy with happiness. In perhaps a week Ralph would come into her office with a dazed expression, trying to understand what had happened to him. He would be broke. The Company would be broke. And every cent they lost would go into Sheila's private account.
She dreamed of the day when Ralph and the Company would be broke. She dreamed of the day she could smile at him and say, "Well, I managed to salvage a little out of the ruins for myself. Too bad you couldn't too."
The thought possessed her. To while away the time she analyzed it. Why should she be so eager to break Ralph?
The answer was obvious to her. With Elmo and with John she had simply had to get them to divorce their wives. Once that was accomplished she was through with them. But with Ralph it wasn't so simple. She hated him-yes! But he wasn't married. He was invulnerable to the simple attack. The only way to get at him was to break him. Money was his only point of vulnerability.
She pictured the dismay on his face, the recognition of defeat. His button nose, his strong chin, would mirror defeat. His broad shoulders would sag. Broke, he would go crawling back to Belden, Nielsen Raub, for his old job back.
Probably he wouldn't get his old job back. It might even be possible for Sheila to hire Ralph Nord-find a use for him. She toyed with the thought, smiling to herself.
Her pleasant dreams were interrupted by the phone.
The familiar voice of her stockbroker sounded.
"We have completed the purchase of stock in Smith Fabrications. You now own the entire companywith the exception of three hundred dollars worth of it.
"I know. I know!" Sheila said impatiently. "I'll come over and pick up the stock in half an hour."
When she hung up, Sheila sat at her desk, erect, victory beyond her wKdest expectations now solidly in her grasp.
Smiling, she pressed the bottom that summoned Dot. When Dot came into her office Sheila said, "I was just thinking, Dot. This is Monday. I would like to have an office party at my place this Friday evening. What do you think of the idea?"
"I like it fine!" Dot said, uttering her high pitched laughing giggle. "Should I pass the word on to my girls?"
"Do that," Sheila said. "Tell them their boyfriends or husbands are also invited. It's about time we had a real celebration."
"Will Ralph be there?" Dot giggled.
"I think so," Sheila said, smiling. "In fact, he'd better!"
After Dot went out, Sheila listened to the excited voices of the girls as they discussed what they would wear. For that matter, what would she wear herself?
She looked in her checkbook. She had less than five hundred dollars left. It had taken nearly every cent to swing this deal.
But what difference did that make? She would pick up the stock, give her broker instructions to take possession and liquidate the corporation, and by Friday considerably over a quarter of a million dollars would go into her private account.
Not one thing could possibly go wrong. She was thoroughly familiar with every step of the operation.
Then why was there this nervous tension deep within her?
It had been there for some time, nagging at her. She had been too excited to notice it. Now she looked at it, frowning. Could something go wrong?
She shook her head. No, this nervous tension was probably due to the fact that it was such a big operation. After all, it hadn't been so long ago that the money she got for the ring had seemed like a fortune.
Shrugging it off, Sheila picked up her purse and strolled into the outer office.
"I'll be back in an hour, Dot," she said smiling at the six girls. Two or three hundred thousand dollars richer, she added in her thoughts..
It was a wonderful feeling. A good feeling.
It lasted all the way to her broker's.
"I hope you and whoever you represent know what you're doing," the broker said, handing her the thick package of stock certificates and ownership transfers.
"Oh yes," Sheila smiled. "We do." She had no desire to disillusion him about her being a front for more experienced backers.
"That's good," he grunted. "I'm curious to learn what you see in this company-but I suppose that's the Secret? It must be something pretty good to make you buy a company that's on the rocks and was in the process of filing bankruptcy. A rather unusual business all around, I must say. A week ago you could have bought that stock for ten cents on the dollar. In fact, someone did."
"You-you're sure about the company being bankrupt?" Sheila said, not quite believing her ears.
"Of course I'm sure. The first person on that list of stockholders you gave me told me all about it. Liabilities of the company are about fifty thousand greater than assets. He practically gloated over the fact that he had hooked some sucker into giving him ten cents a share for what he considered worthless stock. He told me the name of the man, so I got in touch with the man and found out he'd bought all the stock except that three hundred dollars worth-par value of course-owned by-"
"I know. I know," Sheila said. "What's the name of the man you bought all-this-from?" She laid her hand on the bundle.
"Nord. Ralph Nord, I think his name is."
Sheila sat down suddenly, too weak to stand
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
With the bundle of worthless stock on the seat beside her, Sheila drove slowly home to her apartment. Too dazed to think, she stared straight ahead. She would have been in a dozen accidents before she reached the apartment house except for the fact that she drove slowly and everyone else driving a car had good brakes and a willingness to give her the right-of-way.
With the car safely in its basement stall, she rode the elevator up, carrying the bundle. In her apartment she tossed it on the davenport and went to the liquor cabinet. She had never before felt really in need a drink. Right now she did.
Straight Scotch.
She gulped down at least a jigger and a half of it, then carried the glass with her over to the davenport and sat down beside the worthless bundle, using it as an arm rest, staring into space.
As the alcohol soaked into her bloodstream her brain began to function a little.
"Ten cents on the dollar!" she moaned.
That meant that Ralph had paid ten thousand for the stock and sold it for a hundred thousand-her hundred thousand, with a profit of ninety thousand-her ninety thousand.
But me could go tell him it was her money and he would give it back to her!
PLEAD with him!
Even as the thought entered her mind she knew it wouldn't work. How could she explain to aim what she had done without also confessing that she had been skimming the cream of HIS operation-with the intention of ruining him? It would be obvious, once he knew it was she who had fallen for his scheme.
But he did know.
Sheila took another swallow of the fiery liquid.
How did he know? The answer had been right there, but she had lost it.
There was some way he knew. Now what was it?
Those shorthand transcriptions on the company. Of course! They had been fake!
Sheila could see how Ralph had ruined her now. He had known, somehow, what she was doing. He had gone to some public stenographer and dictated a whole shorthand notebook of purely fictitious information about this bankrupt company having cash reserves of three hundred thousand, then he had quietly dropped this notebook into the office mill for processing as though it had been taken from the garbage can behind the company.
He had dangled the bait for her. He had risked ten thousand of his own money on her taking the bait.
He had deliberately broken her.
"But he doesn't really mean it!" she cried aloud. "I can go to him, plead with him ... I'll tell him the ten thousand is okay-I'll be content to get back just the ninety thousand-"
The vision of Ralph's face appeared in her mind's eye. Only somehow it wasn't Ralph's face. It was Duke's.
"Why should I think of Duke at a time like this?" she said, her voice slurring slightly.
There was something familiar about her voice as it sounded in her ears. She pondered this gravely until the answer came..
Her voice was beginning to sound like her aunt's when she was drunk.
"Well, so what?" Sheila said defiantly.
She staggered up from the davenport and headed for the liquor cabinet to refill her glass. Half way there the glass slipped from her fingers to the rug. She collapsed into a huddled heap, tears streaming onto her cheeks.
"It's happening all over again," she said heart-brokenly.
Duke had raped her physically and laughed at her. Now Duke-Duke? It was what's-his-name-Ralph!-had raped her financially.
All that was left was for him to laugh at her. Oh yes! He would laugh at her. Then he would fire her. He could afford to. He had all her money and she couldn't do a thing about it!
And all she had was a measly couple of hundred-barely enough to last until she found a job.
In a hardware store someplace, keeping books.
She wept heartbrokenly.
Isn't that enough self pity?
The words formed in her mind, but there was some discrepancy. A voice had formed them. No no. her voice. A voice.
She blinked her eyes to clear them, and slowly lifted her head.
Ralph stood up there, towering over her. How had he gotten in? Oh yes, she had forgotten to lock the door.
"How did you get in?" Sheila said with great dignity. "Get out!"
"For a girl who just lost her last hundred thousand dollars you're mighty unhospitable," Ralph said.
Ignoring her, he picked up the glass she had dropped and sniffed at it, making a wry face.
"Straight Scotch," he said. "Drunk. And during office hours, too! You're as bad as Elmo."
"Get out!" Sheila shouted. "I never want to see you again!"
"Why not?" Ralph said. "You can dish it out but you can't take it?"
He took her glass and went to the liquor cabinet. He took his time mixing one drink, then leaned on one elbow on the liquor cabinet and sipped at it contentedly.
Sheila, too dizzy to stand, sat with her arms propped behind her, glaring at him.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, swirling the ice in his glass, "it took me a long time to figure you out, Sheila. I knew John Prentiss was in love with you. He told me all about it. I thought you were in love with him too-until I read about his accident in the papers. Then you started leading Elmo on."
"I didn't lead anyone on!" Sheila said. "Let me tell you something. John Prentiss had a nice wife. He was ready to kick her out at the drop of a handkerchief. It didn't matter to him what she wanted. All that mattered to him was what HE wanted. He was fair game. He got what he deserved-a kick in the teeth. Only-" Sheila's lip trembled. "I didn't mean for him to kill himself."
"He didn't," Ralph said. "He did what you just did. He drank a water glass full of straight Scotch-and probably from the same bottle!" He picked the bottle up. It was two thirds empty. "Then he stormed out of here and started driving, and it caught up with him just like it's caught up with you. Only he was in his car going seventy miles an hour when his eyes came unfocused. But you were saying John was fair game. Why? Was Elmo fair game too? Why?" Sheila didn't answer.
"Why wasn't I fair game?" Ralph said. "Because I had nothing to lose? That must be so, because the minute you thought I was vulnerable you set out to ruin me too. Didn't you?"
"Yes!" Sheila said. "You deserved it even more than the rest!"
"More?" Ralph said, his eyes lighting up. "Why?"
"Why?" Sheila said. "Because-" She frowned.
"WHY?" Ralph shouted, bending down and shaking her by the shoulders. "Answer me! Why?"
"I'm drunk," Sheila said. "Get out and leave me alone."
"Not until I get an answer," Ralph said.
Sheila closed her eyes and sank back on the rug. "Leave me alone...." she said sleepily.
Her head was spinning. If only Ralph would go, so she could be alone ... What was he doing?
Her eyes shot open. Blinding pain stabbed into her head. She saw enough before she shut her eyes again to know what he was doing. He was undressing her!
She should fight him, Wasn't it enough that he had stolen all her money? Was he so starved for sex that he had to take it from a girl too drunk to move?
Well, let him. What difference did it make now?
He was just like all the others. The sailor she had picked up, the beach athlete-when they got what they wanted they left and never came back. John and Elmo, kicking their wives out when they found something they thought they wanted. And Duke was the worst of them all. Duke? Why did she keep calling Ralph Duke? Ralph I He was the worst of them all. He had set a trap to steal all her money. And now, like a vulture, he was going to settle over the corpse, feast on the dead....
She felt herself lifted up and carried toward the bedroom.
Let him, she thought bitterly.
She felt herself lowered gently. Why was the bed so cold and hard?
In sudden alarm she tried to sit up. She started to open her eyes.
Then liquid ice flowed over her, into her nostrils, into her mouth. She fought for a breath of air, choking and coughing.
And suddenly she was stone sober. And madder than she had ever been in her life.
"Turn a cold shower on me will you?" she screamed, fighting upward to her feet and groping for the shower handle.
She didn't have to find it. The needle spray stopped as abruptly as it had begun. She blinked the water out of her eyes.
Ralph was standing there grinning at her.
"I'll kill you!" Sheila screamed. Her curved fingers tried to rake his face. Instead, she felt her wrists seized, her arms bent behind her back.
She fought to free herself. She struggled. Her breasts were trapped against the lapels of Ralph's coat. His belt buckle dug into her stomach painfully. She was pinned against him so she couldn't move.
"Is that any way to treat the man you're going to marry?" Ralph said, breathing hard from the effort of holding her.
"I wouldn't marry you if you were the last-" Sheila stopped talking. She stared at him incredulously. "Marry?" she said.
Ralph nodded. "That's the general idea," he said gravely. "You love me, you know."
"Love you?" Sheila said.
He released her and stood back.
She was too stunned to be aware of her nakedness.
"How could I possibly-"she said. "After what you-" She was speechless.
Fear flooded into her eyes. She put her arms around Ralph and pressed against him, shivering.
"What do you want of me, Ralph?" she said. "What are you going to do to me? All the horrible things I've done...."
His left arm circled the small of her waist. His right hand cupped over her breast, pressing in slow motion.
"I'm going to marry you, darling," he said, his lips seeking hers.
She felt herself lifted high against him, and carried into the bedroom.
She lay on the bed. Ralph's face floated above her with its boyish grin, its button nose and strong chin. She touched his cheek wonderingly.
"I love you," she whispered.
He was lowering himself over her. She arched to meet him. In perfect atunement they began a slow undulation. Her thighs pressed against his hips. A gnawing ache grew deep within her, a physical hunger-pain in her loins, old as the human race.
A tear formed in the corner of her eye and broke loose, to leave a moist trail across her temple.
Why am I crying? She opened her eyes and stared unseeingly at the ceiling. The rhythm increased in tempo, their bodies moving as one. Her breath quickened.
Suddenly Sheila broke the rhythm, her body and hips writhing in an agony of ecstasy that grew and grew until it exploded. Her fingers dug into Ralph's back, constricting spasmodically.
Then she lay still.
How long she had lain there she didn't know. She opened her eyes and lifted her head. Ralph was gone. "Ralph?" she called. There was no answer.
She listened to the empty silence of the apartment, the muted traffic sounds filtering up from the street. She sat up, crossing her arms over her breasts.
Scotch was not the answer now. She knew the only answer. It was in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. There had to be some left. She hadn't thrown them out when she bought her electric razor.
Sudden panic made her get up. If there weren't any razor blades she would have to get dressed and go out and buy some.
"Dear God, let there be one, at least," she cried.
She pawed through the medicine cabinet, obsolete pill bottles dropped to the floor, bouncing and breaking unnoticed. She pounced on the blue plastic blade dispenser behind the aspirin bottle.
She closed her eyes and clamped her lips together. All it would take was one deep slash. Just one. She clutched the blade firmly between thumb and finger in her right hand and lifted it for the swift slash that would sever an artery in her left wrist.
"Now!" she gritted between clenched teeth.
Fingers of steel wrapped around her right wrist in mid slash. She felt the sharp cut and the pressure of the fingers at the same time.
"Sheila!" It was Ralph's voice.
She looked at him, unbelieving.
"You came back?" she said.
"What's wrong with you, darling?" Ralph said. "Of course I came back. I just went to the safety deposit vault to get the engagement ring. I wasn't gone more than fifteen minutes."
"No! Not that!" Sheila moaned, trying to pull away from him, staring at the ring box he held in his hand, "It was my mother's," Ralph said. "When she was going to die she gave it to me for my bride." He opened the lid, revealing a diamond of perhaps a karat, in an old fashioned setting.
"You really mean it then?" Sheila said wonderingly.
"Of course I mean it!" Ralph said. "Can't yon understand I love you?"
"Then why did you take my hundred thousand dollars?" Sheila said.
"Oh. That." Ralph grinned guiltily. "I discussed my problem with a friend of mine. He's never seen you, of course, but he's supposed to be good in things like that. He told me you were a man hater because of some terrible wrong that happened to you in the past. He said the only way I would stand a chance of winning you was to kick you in the teeth. Turn the tables on you. Then maybe you would listen to me. But I guess he was wrong, wasn't he."
"Oh, I don't know...." Sheila said. Her lips trembled on a smile. "Want to put the ring on my finger?"
"I sure do." Ralph said.
Sheila was completely nude. Ralph was completely dressed. They were completely unaware of this as they stood up, facing each other, in the bathroom.
Almost timidly Sheila held out her left hand.
Fumbling, Ralph took the ring from its box. The fiery diamond with tawny yellow undertones flashed in the rays of the ceiling light.
He started to slip the ring onto her finger. His eyes widened.
"Your wrist!" he said. "It's bleeding!"
"That's all right," Sheila said. "What's a little blood?"
She watched as Ralph's thick clumsy fingers pushed the ring into place.
It felt snug and warm, as though it belonged. It did belong.
And I belong, she thought, looking up into Ralph's serious face, loving his button nose, his strong chin. For better-or for worse....
She took his hand and placed it on her bare breast, felt his fingers caress the stiffening nipple. Everything was right now. It would always be.
