Joseph Nuttin, in Psychoanalysis and Personality, stated, "sexual pleasure is one of the principle ways in which a large number of men seek the satisfaction of their need for self-affirmation and self-realization, as well as the expansion of their personality." Take a suave, polished, jaded man; call him Frank Winston... idle toy of the entire jet set. He went with Dinah Bentley to close up her posh house for the winter, only to be caught up in a mad whirl of socializing, rushing from one European capital to the next for one continuous party... one continuous orgy of shame and degradation and lust unbounded. While in the process of seducing Beulah, a gorgeous model, Frank confessed his destitute .circumstances and she persuaded him to become a male model. Darcy, the photographer, took up Frank's sin education where Beulah left off, smoothing out the corners and creating a perfect gigolo. Only the depraved Contessa Pagano remained to furnish the final thrills during one of her pagan orgies.
CHAPTER ONE
Frank Winston didn't try to hid the fact that he was staring at Dinah Bentley's legs. If she hadn't wanted them looked at, she shouldn't have shown them to him. The revelation of those lightly tanned seductive columns was no accident.
The top was down on the Mercedes as she gunned it eastward along the Connecticut highway, and the afternoon sun flooded down upon those two legs. She had drawn her skirt up until it was clear above her lap, showing every lovely curve of the long stems that went down to the pedals under the dash. She was driving without shoes, which Frank knew to be illegal in some states, probably including Connecticut, but that wouldn't bother Dinah Bentley. Her legs were covered by the sheerest of silk stockings, her bottom by the finest of white lace panties. In between the stockings and the panties were the two lightly tanned columns, naked except for the straps from her garter belt.
Frank hoped to be touching those legs within the next few hours.
With luck, he'd be touching them within the next few minutes.
Dinah turned the automobile southward off the highway. They passed through a business and then a residential area, and soon the land began to look deserted. Before long they would be at Dinah's beach house. None too soon, as far as Frank was concerned. He had waited for this week end for a long time.
"What've you got on your mind, Frank?" Dinah asked, with a smile that indicated that she could make a pretty good guess.
"Your legs," he said.
"How strange! What part of my legs?"
He decided to be bold. Boldness was always best in instances such as this one. He put a hand against the nearer knee, his fingers extending down over the sensitive inner surface.
"This part," he said.
Dinah's smile widened. She kept her eyes straight a-head on the road. "Why that part?" she asked.
"Your legs excite me," he said, and the truth was that he did feel a flush of excitement at the yielding of silk and flesh under his finger tips.
"Naughty boy," Dinah said, but she didn't move her leg and she didn't brush his hand away. So he swept his fingers over her leg and watched her face. He saw no particular reaction. She suppressed her smile a bit, but that was all. Her gaze remained fixed upon the road before them.
He moved his caress further, covering less silk and more bare skin. Her eyes changed slightly. The change was almost imperceptible, yet he detected the change, and as he did so, his own excitement grew stronger.
He'd been at the beach house before, but never alone with Dinah. In the past he'd always been a member of a party. He'd always ended up in bed with some girl but never with his hostess. And he'd always wanted her.
And now within minutes, he was sure, he was going to have her.
He continued to advance his hand until he'd gone all the way from tan silk to white lace. And there he lingered, caressing her gently.
"That's enough of that," she said quietly after a minute. "We're nearly there. Why don't you start taking off your clothes?"
"Right now?"
"What's wrong with now?"
Frank glanced around. The road was practically deserted. This was no time to fail a challenge, if that was what her suggestion was, so he began to undress. He took off his light-weight sport jacket and put it behind the bucket seat. Then he pulled off his shoes and socks, leaving them on the floor of the car. Next he doffed his shirt, putting it on top of his jacket. He was wearing no undershirt, and the air felt good moving over his bare chest.
He glanced around again, checking to see that there were no cars about to pass and no nearby houses, and he hoped that Dinah wouldn't notice his inspection. He didn't want to appear chicken.
He unfastened his belt and slid down his trousers, taking care that he didn't lose his keys or his change from his pockets. He slipped the trousers over his feet, folded them as best he could, and placed them, too, behind the seat.
Meanwhile he concentrated upon keeping his excitement under control. That left him in his briefs. And, after a moment's hesitation, he slipped them off and put them with the bulk of his clothes. He gave silent thanks that the road was deserted and that they were nearly at the beach house.
Dinah gave him a brief sideways look. She couldn't have failed to have observed that he'd managed to control himself, he decided.
"Why, Frank," she said, "you don't have your swimming trunks on."
"Should I have?"
"You don't think I expected you to ride along beside me naked, do you?"
That was Dinah's way -- keep a man in suspense. He had a date with her for tomorrow evening: they had planned to see a Broadway musical. Then this morning she'd phoned him and suggested that they drive out to her beach house for a final, postseason swim, and he could help her close the place up. Knowing Dinah, he'd figured that this was his big chance: a whole week end with that lovely body all to himself.
But also, knowing Dinah, he'd realized that Dinah might mean just what she said and no more.
"I don't know what you expected darling," he said as smoothly as he could. "You're unfathomable. Would you like me to help you undress?"
Her broad smile returned. "Would you, please?"
The slight tension in his chest increased, the smooth sun-warmed skin of her leg again slid against his fingers, and he carefully unfastened the top-most strap from her stocking. At the contact of flesh against flesh, he could no longer hold back his excitement. There was a tug, a tightening, and his desire for her was manifested visibly.
Dinah glanced at him and laughed softly.
He reached back of her leg and unfastened a second strap. His heart was beating faster. Then he rolled her stocking down, stroking the inner and outer surfaces of her leg as he did so, and each moment excited his need further. He rolled the stocking over her knee and down her perfectly curved calf, and she raised her foot from the accelerator for a moment as he took the silk off.
He put the stocking behind the seats, then started on the other leg. His fingers bit at the feminine flesh as he unfastened the straps, and he trembled. Suddenly he was slightly chilled, as the rushing air cooled the blood that had been pumped to the surface of his body. He was eager to get where he'd be warm and snug, held in a tight embrace.
She raised her knee as he worked the stocking along her leg. Then over her knee and down her calf. He took it off and put it behind the seats with the mate he had already removed.
As he did so, a light, warm touch moved over his. hip, his waist, and curled. His muscles tightened. The ball of a thumb slid to and fro a few times, thrilling him and making his breath draw shorter.
"I think you like my legs, Frank," Dinah said, looking straight through the windshield.
"What gave you that idea?"
She gave him a little tug. "This," she said, and then she released him. "And now my panties, please" He reached across her lap with one hand, and worked the thin white lace down both hips. She slid her back up against the back of the seat, and he pulled the garment over her buttocks and down to her knees. Then he took the opportunity to touch her everywhere with both hands. He left nothing untouched, and she didn't seem to be in any hurry to stop him. He was pleased to find that she was apparently as excited as he.
The car wandered dangerously on the road. Dinah sank back down into the seat, and she was breathless as she said, "No more, Frank. Just get my clothes off."
He slipped the panties the rest of the way off and put them with her stockings and began unbuttoning her dress. As he did so, he let his fingers drift over the skin that was exposed, and he kissed her ear and breathed against her. Her control of the automobile had perceptibly lessened since he'd started undressing her.
He unfastened her belt and drew the dress up her body. By now she was wearing only her bra underneath, a garment she didn't always bother with. Her velvet waist was in view, and then her rib cage.
"Wait," she said before he could lift the dress further, and she wheeled the car along an extended S-curve and pulled the vehicle to a halt.
To their left and above them stood the beach house, all redwood, glass, and shining metal. To their right and below lay the broad stretch of beach and the blue-gray Sound.
She pulled her dress the rest of the way off and quickly got out of the car. Standing there facing him, smiling a little, she pulled off her bra. By the time he was out of the car, she was as naked as he was.
Now, he thought, right here, now! Right here in the warm sand!
As she started around the front of the car, he stepped toward her. This wasn't the first time he'd seen her naked -- he'd been with her and others on swimming parties before -- but this was the first time they'd been naked and alone together, and she had never looked better.
Her breasts were full, round, and high, the brown tips peaked. She had an over-all tan, only a little lighter over her breasts, and with only a trace of white at her hips. The sun had bleached some of her dark hair.
He caught her with an arm around her waist in front. Her side touched him and ignited new fire. He pressed his mouth against hers and slid his arm up her front, taking a boob in hand and rolling an expanded tip with his thumb and forefinger.
Their mouths met and lightning passed between them.
"Not yet," she said, her voice low. "Let's go for a swim first."
With that she slipped away from him and went running down the beach toward the water.
He was so agitated that he took a few seconds to collect his wits. He saw the way her hips swayed as she ran, the way her heels flicked the sand.
He couldn't wait. He wanted her now. He needed her now, and he needed her in the worst way.
He ran after her. Technically, this was a public beach, though generally deserted, especially at this time of year; but he didn't even glance around to check, any more than she had. All he was aware of now was the naked woman and his body's urgent need for her legs, her bottom, her breasts, her lips.
He caught up with her at the water's edge. The cold sea dashed up over their feet, and his toes sank into the wet sand. He grabbed her arms and pulled her away from the water.
"No, Frank, not yet!"
"Now, baby, now!" he said hoarsely. "I've got to have you now!"
She resisted him, grinning and laughing, but he pulled her up a few yards onto the dry sand.
"No, Frank!"
He drew her against him.
Their hips rubbed. Their bodies swept together. He thrust a leg against hers and pressed against her while he forced a kiss to her mouth, and he kneaded a breast and twisted a nipple.
Then he found his way down the front of her torso until his hand was between her body and his. He made her gasp and shudder.
"All right, Frank," she said. "Lay me down in the sand. Take me."
She submitted to him, and he lowered her to the ground, getting to his hands and knees at the same time. Her eyes narrowed, her lips open and pulled with desire, she looked at his hungering body, realizing the strain of his need.
She reached for him with both hands. Her fingers traveled over him, touching the corded ridges and the flickering muscles.
"Take me, take me," she repeated, her words hardly more than a breath.
He moved toward her as she pulled him closer. His hands, knees, and feet dug through the warm surface sand to the cooler sand beneath.
"All right, darling," she murmured.
Then he took her. Her hands caught at his back and a buttock, and he was held as sweetly as he had hoped he would be. He moved once, then lay still with her naked body.
The sun was hot upon his back, and he kissed her sun-heated skin. She twisted a little against him, her breasts shifting against his chest and the tips grazing him.
He tightened muscles, and stirred.
"Oh, darling, I'm...." Her eyes closed tightly and for a moment she pressed rapidly and anxiously against him.
Her movement slowed.
"Love me, darling," she whispered.
He pulled up his knees a few inches, and his toes thrust deeper into cooler sand. He bowed his back, then arched, striking solidly and suddenly.
"Oh, Frank," she said, "morel" He repeated his attack.
"More! Keep loving! Love me!"
When he did the same thing again, he was obeying not her but the commands of his own body.
He had wanted this for a long time, but he wasn't savoring the victory. He was savoring only the moment.
And the moment was pleasure, pleasure pounding, pleasure tightening and mounting in pressure, pleasure building toward an explosive finish.
Frank settled upon his elbows. As his body worked, the rhythms of lust, the pleasure, seemed to shift and change, growing in intensity and pitch for him.
"Oh, Frank, I'm going to...." Her mouth opened wide as she strained for air, and her breasts shook as her shoulders rolled in the sand. She pushed to meet his attack with her own mad, out-of-control one.
"Frank, I'm about there again. I'm -- I'm there!"
As she twisted sharply and dug her nails at his buttocks, ecstasy for him exploded free. And suddenly he was no longer aware of the sand or the hot sun or even himself or the woman as individuals. He knew only the unbearable joy, the powerful cannonading, the ecstatic release...
She stirred against him.
He moved away and rolled over onto his back. Once again he was aware of the warm sand against his skin, the hot sun beating down upon his naked body.
How long he lay there he didn't know. He might have dozed He heard Dinah moving beside him, and when he looked through misty eyes, she was no longer there. Later he saw her, still naked, knee deep in the cold water.
He let the sun bake him, knowing that the heat would soon restore his strength. His release had been complete, but he knew that he wasn't through yet. Not by a long shot.
Finally a chilly breeze inspired him to sit up. The afternoon was far from over, but it was waning. He felt good. Almost good enough to take a woman again. In fact, he was pretty sure that he'd regained his capability, and at the thought of Dinah, his lust stirred.
He looked down the beach to where she was still playing in the water, her wet hair plastered to her head and body. She saw him observing her, and she gave him a wave. He stood up and went over the sand toward her.
The water was cold, even colder than he had expected, and Dinah's skin, especially her breasts, was covered with gooseflesh. Nevertheless, she urged him to get as wet as she was, and they went deeper into the water, clinging together for mutual warmth. As their naked torsos met, he received a galvanic charge, and he knew that he was indeed capable once more.
"I've had enough swimming," Dinah said, her teeth chattering. "I'm going into the house."
"I'll go with you."
Hand in hand, they hurried out of the water. They ran up the beach to the car and quickly got their cases and clothing. Dinah unlocked the house, and they went inside.
The first thing they did after dropping their belongings was to go through the main bedroom to a shower.
It was an outside shower on the wall-enclosed terrace of the bedroom Dinah adjusted the spray and they both stepped under it.
She shampooed her hair, and they soaped each other's backs; and as her tantalizing fingers worked over his spine, he wondered how long he'd have to wait until the next session.
He didn't have to wait long. When they faced each other and he watched the rivulets of water streaming down the hills and valleys of her body, he couldn't help becoming half excited.
She looked at him.
"Ready again, darling?"
"What do you think?"
"We'll see."
Her hand swung toward him. She touched him, held him.
At once his entire body tensed and his blood pounded. Her hand moved upon his yearning flesh.
"Yes, you're ready," she said softly as he pulled her against him under the whispering spray. "Make me ready, too, darling."
Then his mouth was at hers again, their tongues met feverishly, and his fingers moved over her wet body, and they lost consciousness of everything but their increasing pleasure.
* * *
He lay exhausted upon the bed. They were on their backs, and one of her legs lay aslant over him. He looked at their naked bodies reflected in the mirror upon the ceiling. Her eyes closed, she lightly stroked his fatigued flesh while he gently stroked and petted and explored wherever his fingers would go about the surfaces of her legs.
Night had fallen. He had managed to take her a fourth time, but he doubted that he would be good again for a number of hours. He was quite willing to quit for the night and get some sleep.
He was just about to suggest that when the phone rang.
Dinah moved away from him.
"Don't answer," he said, but she sat up on the edge of the bed and lifted the phone out of its cradle.
"Hello? Yes, Maisie, this is Dinah."
Frank pulled himself out his stupor. He hoped that nothing had come up that would spoil the week end. He hoped that Dinah wouldn't end up by inviting Maisie and a lot of other people out and turning this week end into a big party. He wanted to have Dinah alone and strictly to himself for just as long as possible.
"I'm sorry you couldn't locate me," Dinah went on. "When you couldn't get me here the first time, you should have tried here again later." She covered the phone and said quite unnecessarily to Frank. "It's Maisie."
She seemed pleased, and Frank didn't like that.
"But of course I'm all alone, darling," she said with a touch of satire, "just little me all by myself, enjoying a quiet week end, communing with nature... Male nature? Whatever gave you that idea?"
She grinned at Frank.
"I'm sorry, sweetie, but I'm all tied up right now -- yes, me and nature."
Frank sighed with relief.
"Well, you if you must know, Maisie, I'm with Mr. Nature himself. Frank Winston... Why, thus far I'-d say that he was -- ah -- quite serviceable."
"Is that all? Frank whispered, grinning.
"What do you want, Maisie? A detailed description? That's too bad. You'll just have to find out for yourself."
Evidently Maisie had never admitted to Dinah that she'd already had a sample of Frank's wares.
"Certainly," Dinah said, "I'm always ready for a good idea."
Frank braced himself for bad news again.
Dinah's back straightened and she looked more alert. "Why, yes. Yes! I think that's a perfectly wonderful idea! Maisie, hang on for just a minute."
She covered the phone and twisted around to face Frank more fully. "Honey, we've got to get back to New York. We're catching the morning jet for Paris!"
That brought Frank to a sitting position. "Hey, wait a minute -- "
"You'll go, won't you? A whole crowd is going." She turned back to the phone. "What?"
This was even worse than anything Frank had expected.
Dinah covered the phone again. "We're going to charter the jet, Frank. A whole gang is going, real swingers. Have you ever done any loving at twenty thousand feet over the Atlantic? There's a party tomorrow night in Paris, and then we're going on to Rome and North Africa and Greece." She spoke into the phone. "Sure, Maisie, count us in!"
"No!" Frank said hastily. "Don't count us in! I can't make it!"
"Wait a minute, Maisie. Don't be a party pooper, Frank! Of course you can -- "
"No! I absolutely can't! Look, darling, we're having a good time! We're having a ball -- "
"But I'm in the mood to jet! I'm in the mood for Paris and Rome and North Africa and Greece! Are you coming or not?"
"No, I can't!"
"Count Frank out, Maisie---he can't make it. But I'll be there. With bells on!"
Dinah talked to Maisie for a few minutes more and made some final arrangements. After hanging up, she turned to Frank again.
"Well, what happened to you?" she asked.
"What do you mean, what happened? I'm tied up, that's all." Fie felt sick. He'd counted on this week end for a real party. This was a reminder that there might not be so many real parties any more.
"Tied up how? Not too tied up to play games with me."
"I've got business in town Monday," he said weakly. "So jet back the night before. Then rejoin us in Rome -- "
"I can't, Dinah. My business will take several days, and...." He didn't go on. Dinah was looking rather oddly at him, and he knew that his tone of voice was weak. "Look." he said, "we're having a good time. Why don't you tell the party that you'll join 'em in Rome yourself? We can go right on -- "
"I'm going to catch that plane tomorrow. What you do is up to you. Sure you won't change your mind?"
He was tempted. Why not one last bug splurge? Then -- who could say! --maybe the best thing he could do would be to blow his brains out.
But Frank Winston wasn't about to do anything like that, if only because he lacked the nerve. No, somehow he was going to find his way back to his feet again. He had to get back onto his feet.
"No. Sorry," he said, trying to make his tone light-hearted. "No can do."
"Too bad," Dinah said. "Well, let's get dressed and go back to New York." As he watched her pulling on her panties and bra, he felt as if she were covering up an entire world that he would probably never see again.
CHAPTER TWO
Eight days later Frank took Beulah Tandi out for the evening with the idea of seducing her.
Beulah Tandi was not a top-flight model. She was beautiful -- a blonde with a curvaceous figure, green eyes, and a perfect complexion and features. You could take one look at her and see that if she wasn't a swinger already she wouldn't be unwilling to learn.
The basic instincts were very strong in Beulah Tandi.
She was the kind of babe that Frank would once have regarded as routine, a pushover. He'd had dozens like her. He should have been able to seduce her with an arm and a leg tied behind him, so to speak.
The technique was strictly standard. You showed the girl a good time. You acted as if you were interested in the girl as an entire being and not just in what she had under her blouse. You let her think that you were charmed by her total personality and couldn't hear enough of her thoughts, her dreams, her opinions. And at the same time you let the physical attraction show.
And when the moment came, you went as far as you could.
You might not take her on the first night or even on the third or fourth. But in time you would take her.
Frank had had Beulah out three times before. He had kissed her, he had petted her lightly, he had toyed with her boobs and made her nipples sing. Everything about tonight should have been strictly routine to him.
Yet he was nervous.
Ordinarily he wouldn't even have made much of a production out of an easy date with seduction such as this. He might have taken the girl to some little restaurant "with atmosphere." He might or might not have taken her to a Broadway show -- seeing a show was cheaper than hitting a couple of expensive clubs. Maybe a little dancing, maybe one club would be called for. Then he'd take her home to her apartment or, if she had a roommate, which was likely, to his own.
And so to bed.
Tonight his procedure was essentially the same but on a more impressive level. He took Beulah to an early dinner at the Pavilion. After that they went to a new musical which was a smash -- the scalper's tickets cost Frank a hundred dollars each. Then they went to a Harlem club which was currently "in." A second "in" club followed, and then he suggested that they stop by his East Side apartment for a nightcap. If she didn't know what kind of nightcap he had in mind, she was just dumb enough to deserve what was going to happen to her, or such was Frank Winston's opinion.
Why the extra effort? Why invest over three hundred dollars in seducing a girl like Beulah Tandi when he probably could have had his fun for less than fifty? Or for the price of a few cups of coffee, for that matter?
Because he found himself afflicted suddenly with a dreadful uncertainty.
Anyone who'd known him in earlier days would have said that if there was any one thing which Frank Winston didn't lack it was confidence. The confidence to take care of himself in any situation, the confidence that he was a child of destiny, the confidence to make a woman go to bed with him.
Eleven days ago he'd received a completely unexpected blow. Perhaps in the back of his mind he'd seen the blow coming, but he hadn't been willing to admit as much to himself.
That was one kind of confidence which Frank Winston did not have.
On that particular Tuesday afternoon eleven days ago, Frank had kept an appointment with Richard Gillette, his investment counselor. Gillette was a tall, thin man of fifty-odd years, handsome, authoritative in manner. He had a thin face, short, curly gray hair, and rather piercing eyes. He always made Frank feel just a little bit like a small boy. A lawyer as well as an expert on the market, he took a pleasure in his work which Frank could never understand.
Frank had delayed the appointment from the week before and had refused to talk business over the phone. He'd sensed that something unpleasant had happened.
As soon as he'd been admitted to Gillette's barely and neatly furnished inner office, he hardly waited for the invitation to sit down before throwing himself into a chair, lifting a leg over an arm, and lounging back. Gillette was something of a loose-limbed lounger himself, and part of Frank's tactics in dealing with him was to "out-lounge" him, as if he were taking over the older man's office.
"Scotch?"
Frank was surprised. Gillette had never offered him a drink in the office before. And it was only three in the afternoon.
"Is this how you take care of my affairs, counselor? By tippling in the middle of the afternoon?"
"I'm going home early today. And I think you might appreciate a drink while we're talking. If you prefer, say, a brandy...?"
"Scotch will be fine. With soda if you have it."
Gillette did. He poured two drinks, and the one which he handed to Frank was noticeably the larger.
Frank sipped his drink. He decided to put on a brave front. Brave or indifferent.
"So what's new, Dickie?"
"Frank, how little money would you say a man had to have before you'd consider him broke?"
"None, I guess."
"Then a man who had, say, eighty thousand dollars worth of investments bringing him an income of, oh, four thousand a year would be sitting pretty, wouldn't he?"
A chill passed through Frank. Somehow Gillette's words frightened him, and he refused to think about their possible meaning. He tried, in fact, not to think at all.
"Would he?" he said.
"He'd have less than the average family income, but let's say that he didn't have a family. He's not married, and it's not true that two can live as cheaply as one. Not on a low income and while maintaining a previously established standard which used up all of that income. But he doesn't have to worry about that."
"What does he have to worry about, then?"
"Very little. On four thousand a year he can get a decent room or even a little apartment, particularly if he's willing to live out of Manhattan. Maybe in Queens or Brooklyn, less than half an hour from midtown Manhattan by subway."
"You mean, people actually use the subway? Real live people?"
"Quite a few of them."
"I always thought they were part mole."
Gillette laughed. "I use the subway -- and I'll admit that I sometimes feel like a mole. But to get back to what I was saying, a man with an income of four thousand a year never has to do a lick of work if he doesn't want to. He never has to miss a meal. If he largely avoids the more expensive restaurants and, for that matter, fixes some of his meals for himself, he can eat very well. He can't hit the most expensive night spots every night of the week, but he can get around, see a lot of the town, have a good time. He can't afford the most expensive women, but he can meet women. And you'd be surprised at the number of sweet young things who are willing to yield up their virtue for a couple of franks and an orange drink at Nedick's."
"I didn't realize you had such a sordid mind, Dickie."
"Not sordid. Realistic. With the kind of income I'm talking about, a man can see all the best shows on or off Broadway. He can buy books, records. He can entertain his friends. It's all a matter of managing his money correctly. And if he should go so far as to get a job, his investment income is all gravy. He could probably even build up his fortune by reinvesting the earnings from his holdings -- and possibly by adding some of the money which he earns by the sweat of his brow."
"Wine, women, and song --they're all his! Dickie, you're making me nauseous. T may heave at any minute."
Gillette leaned back against his desk and crossed his ankles. He tinkled the ice in his Scotch and looked with a sad smile at the glass.
"The picture doesn't appeal to you, Frank?"
Frank took a deep draft of his Scotch and soda. "I can't say that it does."
"And yet many a poor schnook would envy the man in the picture."
"Maybe; but I'm not a poor schnook."
"You're fast becoming one, Frank," Gillette said softly.
The chill which Frank had felt deepened into a freeze.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked after a moment, and at that very moment the confidence which had always been his, and which had always had such a weak foundation, began to ebb.
"I mean that you are the man in the picture. But if you keep on the way you've been going, you won't be that man much longer."
Suffocation as well as cold seemed to be overcoming Frank. He attempted a businesslike bluster.
"Why -- why wasn't I kept abreast -- why haven't I been told -- "
"You were kept abreast, Frank. But, knowing you, I'd say you were too busy climbing barefooted over too many breasts to pay attention. Maybe you were afraid to face up to the truth."
"The truth is that I'm broke."
"A man with a four-thousand-a-year income is hardly broke," Gillette said dryly.
In the silence that followed, the sense of suffocation got worse. Frank was too stupefied even to grope for something to say.
"I'm not ordinarily a man to say, 'I told you so', and in this case the truth is that I had a hard time telling you. I mean, you've largely ignored my phone calls. I don't know if you open your mail or not--"
"But that last stock market tip I gave you -- "
"Lost you a mint." Suddenly Gillette seemed angry. "Didn't you even know? Can't you even crawl out from between your dames' sheets long enough to glance at the financial page?"
"I didn't know," Frank said softly.
"No, of course you didn't! You dip into your capital time and again, and then expect me to make the money back for you in some magical fashion. And when I don't, you get a tip from one of your ignorant friends and insist on investing against all expert advice. Of course your friends don't do that. Either they can afford the gamble or they back off when they get the straight dope from the experts. But not you. You throw away your money like a drunk in a slot machine gallery. If you ever picked a winner, you'd probably never know it -- you'd be like the drunk who hits the jackpot and walks away while the machine is coughing up coins all over the floor!"
Gillette scratched the back of his head. He shook his head slowly. "You can't even be bothered to find out what your wild investments have done. Honestly, Frank, sometimes I think you just don't have any brains at all!"
"What do you advise me to do?"
"A great time to ask me!"
"Just the same, I'm asking."
"All right. In a way, I've already told you what you can do. Obviously you can't go on any more spending sprees if you want to have anything left at all. No more expensive woman-chasing. If I were you, I'd get a job -- any kind of a job, even if you have to start out by sweeping out the stock room or running an elevator. There's no disgrace to that. Reinvest your interest and add whatever you can to it, if you want to build up a larger income."
Frank hardly heard what Gillette was saying. His reply was automatic. "That would take a long time, wouldn't it?"
Gillette shrugged. "If you follow good advice and pick the right growth stocks, you can build up a nice pile faster than you might think, but don't expect to do so overnight. Very roughly, you need a hundred thousand dollars in investments to produce about five thousand a year in income. You can invest quite conservatively and minimize your chances of losing your capital and earn only a thousand dollars or even less. Or you can take chances and earn ten thousand or even more, but in that case you naturally have more chance of going broke. So call five thousand a reasonable figure."
"Then if I reinvested every penny of income from what I have left, I'd need twenty-five years to get anywhere near two hundred thousand in capital. And if in that time the value of the dollar were reduced, maybe cut in half --"
"Not at all," Gillette said impatiently. "Each time you add a dollar to your investments, you get interest on that, too. After the first year you get interest on an additional four thousand, after the second on an additional eight, and so forth, and those earnings are poured back. So your capital spirals, so to speak. And with the right growth stocks your capital value will increase, you'll get stock splits. With luck, you might have a couple of hundred thousand within ten years, maybe less."
"Or maybe more."
"Maybe a lot more. There are no guarantees. But many a man with a hundred thousand to start with has had half a million within twenty-five years. That represents an income of -- again, very roughly -- twenty to twenty-five thousand dollars. Don't you think you could retire on twenty thousand dollars a year, Frank?"
Twenty thousand a year! Frank was sick. Twenty thousand dollars wouldn't have paid for a year's worth of the parties he'd thrown -- not some years, anyway, he thought. He'd been known to spend two or three thousand taking a small group of people out for an evening on the town Some people wouldn't have known how to spend that much Frank Winston did.
"Where did it all go?" he murmured, unaware that he was speaking aloud. "Where did the money all go?"
Gillette sighed. "You poured a lot of it to pairs of pretty legs," he said. "You poured a lot more down the throats of strangers. And huge chunks of it you simply threw away, as I've indicated, through wild investments which you evidently thought would help you recoup your capital. And, man, were you wrong. You've simply tossed away the bulk of what your father spent his life building up."
"But T don't understand...." He was in a daze.
Gillette gave him a wave as if to fan off an irritating fly. "You've had a full accounting from me all the way down the hill. I can send you accountings, but I can't make you read them."
"I'm not blaming you, Dickie."
"Big of you."
Frank hesitated. "So there's nothing I can do, huh?"
Gillette was exasperated. "Haven't you been listening to me? By any ordinary standards, you're well off! You have a small but respectable income. It'll diminish if you don't add to it -- that's where you're right about the buying power of the dollar. But you're a young man, you can go to work. You can even go back to school if you want to -- learn a trade, a profession. Go to a good testing firm, Frank, and find out what you're good for. Then do your best to break into the game."
But Gillette might as well have been speaking to a stone wall.
When he spoke of work, he might as well have been pronouncing a death sentence.
Frank knew what he was good for. He was good for having fun. He was good for giving thrills to a woman. He couldn't even be called a lover in the complete sense of the term--he was a stud. And his one real pleasure, his one real wish, was loving.
And Gillette was telling him to go to work. Just like the squares he saw going in and out of the subway entrances.
"Thanks, Dickie," he said automatically as he got up from his chair. "Ill think about it."
"Care for another drink?"
"No thanks."
He was still in a kind of fog as he left the office. The light on the street outside didn't quite seem real.
He had learned that, on his terms, he was broke. He didn't have to be penniless after all. He just had to be down to his last eighty thousand.
All he had to do was to cut out the expensive partying and the rich wench-chasing and he could go right on living.
He wandered into a nearby bar. He sat down in a small booth and ordered a Chivas Regal. He knew that he was "broke", but he couldn't quite believe it. He couldn't quite believe that if he ordered a couple of cases of Chivas Regal sent to his apartment, if he gave a diamond bauble to a pretty babe, if he spent a little on jetting with a dame out to Hawaii, he'd be doing anything which would make any real difference to his fortunes.
But he knew that he had only a couple of thousand in cash, hardly enough to live on until his next dividend checks. Certainly not enough to live on by his usual standard. Any expenditure would make a very real difference -- even the Scotch he was now buying.
To know a thing and yet hardly to be able to believe it was, he found, a rather shattering experience. At least in a case like this.
He thought of the last expensive velvet-bodied rich wench he'd had -- a strawberry blonde named Maisie Todd, a real swinger, Jet Set Witch with a set of ivory legs which had worn him out over a four-day week end. There'd be no more such week ends with Maisie Todd.
He thought of Dinah Bentley whom he'd wanted so badly and for so long. He might never get Dinah's succulent body now.
The thought was intolerable.
He glanced out the front window of the bar. The sun had gone down. He must have been sitting there for hours, drinking all the time, yet he hadn't felt the passage of time, and he didn't now feel his drinks.
He noticed that the bar had suddenly become noisy: the chatter burst in upon him like the noise of a defective television set which suddenly turns on at a tap on the case. The time had come to leave.
He put a five dollar tip on the table. Seldom in his life had he left less. He got to his feet, found that his gaze was fuzzy in the half-light, and had trouble locating the front door. By the time he reached the street he realized that his drinks had affected him after all.
He walked quickly toward his apartment, breathing deeply, hoping that his speed would keep his feet from wandering too much. Even on busy Manhattan avenues a man who appeared a little drunk was a prey for jackrollers, and now it was dark and Madison was half deserted.
By the time he reached his apartment he felt a degree more in control, and he told himself he was sober. He needed a woman, he decided, and even before he turned on the lights he went to a phone and dialed a number.
Nobody answered.
He tried another number.
Still no answer.
He sobbed once -- he couldn't have said why -- and headed for the bedroom.
From the closet he took out a small box. From the box he took out a small bundle of oily rags. And from the rags he extracted a .38 S&W revolver. He'd had it around for years, for shooting was one of his many forgotten enthusiasms. He hadn't used the gun more than once.
He found a box of cartridges, years old. He loaded the gun as he sat in the dark on the edge of the bed. Just his luck he thought, if the cartridges were no longer any good.
He played with the gun, feeling its weight in his hand.
Then, without cocking the weapon, he held it to his right temple. The chances of it going off by accident were slim, yet he felt an alarm ring in his nervous system.
He lowered the gun. He cocked it, using both hands. After a moment, he very carefully lowered the hammer, again using both hands.
He opened his mouth wide and slipped the muzzle between his teeth, trying to keep his teeth away from the metal. He pointed the gun upward and slowly pushed it a little farther. The oily muzzle touched the roof of his mouth.
He gagged.
Then he couldn't get the gun out of his mouth fast enough. He jerked it away, his forefinger straining away from the trigger. He bent forward and retched. Quickly he shut his mouth and ran for the bathroom.
Ordinarily vomiting relieved and sobered him. This time he felt worse. Sobbing, he placed the gun, which he still held, on the floor, very careful about the way he laid it down.
He wanted a woman, he wanted warmth, he wanted forgetfulness. But he was alone. So he did something which he hadn't done in years.
As his caress moved, he thought of the women he'd known. He thought of Maisie. He remembered her peaking pink nipples, her vibrant flesh, the strength of her legs. He remembered her grip and how he had worked and she had groaned.
He worked harder.
He thought of Dinah and what loving would be like with her. He thought of how he would some day soon, he hoped, denude her and explore all her secrets and make her beg for satisfaction.
He gasped and strained and tried and tried...
There was no use. He couldn't. He'd had too much to drink.
He got to his feet. Without even rearranging his clothes, he staggered out of the bathroom and made his way to the bedroom. There he threw himself upon his bed and waited desperately for sleep.
* * *
"Oh, Frank, darling," Beulah said, "I don't think I should let you touch me like that, I really shouldn't!"
But she was smiling, a comfortable catlike smile; her green eyes were veiled, and she didn't attempt to stop him.
Their glasses were set aside as they drew close together on the sofa. She was in the crook of his right arm and the strap of her dress had, not at all accidentally, fallen off her right shoulder. As he'd kissed her, he'd moved his hand down from her shoulder to the top of the large soft globe, farther and then still farther until the tip had slid under his palm and he was aware of the tip growing erect. He'd stroked her gently, baring the beautiful boob still more, until it was completely out of the front of her dress. He'd moved the mound and worked the tip, probing for nerves, and now he twisted and bent and moved the rosy tip with a thumb and forefinger.
"Frank, darling," she said between kisses, "don't make me feel too good!"
She was ripe for the taking, he knew that. But for the first time in years he was seriously frightened of the idea of fumbling. Why? Someone once said that the fastest way to a broad pair of shoulders was a fat bankroll.
Frank Winston had lost his shoulders.
He'd never before realized to what a great extent his sense of self-esteem and confidence depended upon his fortune. With it, the world was his. Without it, he was lost. With it, he didn't have to prove anything to anybody. Without it, he had a hard time proving anything to himself.
His looks, his smooth technique, his personality meant little now, as far as he was concerned. If this girl turned him down, his ego would suffer a blow--a far greater blow than someone like Dinah could have given him, because he regarded Beulah as being in a much lower class of dames.
Hence he'd blown a thick wad this evening, trying to take out insurance that Beulah would let him raise her skirt and wouldn't dust him off at the last minute.
Thus far, as he kissed her and fondled her rich, ripe boob, she showed no sign of intending to leave him still aching. She did make protests, but they were mild, little more than conventional formalities for situations of this type. But still he had no guarantee of ultimate success: he'd gone this far with her before and had gotten no farther "Not too good, Frank," she repeated, "don't make me feel too good!"
"Why not?" he asked. "When two people like each other the way we do, why shouldn't they feel good... together?"
"Because we might get... carried away." She reached to one side and picked up her Irish whiskey to S'D as his fingers continued to slide over the warm flesh and to move the taut little nub.
"Wouldn't you like to get... carried away?" he asked.
"Maybe. But nice girls don't, very often."
"Why worry about 'often' when we can enjoy now?" She shook her head. She was still smiling. "I think I should leave, Frank."
"Soon, if you wish."
"Another kiss or two...." She set her glass aside and settled into the crook of his arm again. The warmth of her body seemed to flow through his. She held herself close to him as their mouths met and his touch went on sensitizing her bare breast. Then he slipped her other shoulder strap down and worked the cloth off of the other globe. He tantalized that one, too, stroking and drawing at the tip.
She murmured his name "Frank . Frank- . .
"You do things to me more than any other woman I ever met," he said.
"What do I do to you, darling?"
"Fill me with desire. Excite me."
"You mean...." Her hand left his shoulder. She slid her palm over him, detecting his excitement. "Oh, yes!" she said.
Her touch was a signal to him to go further. His mouth to hers, the air filled with their sighs, he put his hand against her hip. He stroked the outer surface of her leg a few times, then pulled up the hem of her dress.
He let his hand linger about her bare knee for a moment. She wasn't wearing stockings. He slid the hand along her bare leg slowly, lifting the skirt with his hand. Then he caressed both bare legs for several minutes, gradually working his way toward the more sensitive surfaces. His own tension made him feel increasingly drunk with desire.
She shifted her legs, preventing him from proceeding as far as he would have liked to have done, but he did find her waist, making the flesh shake beneath the rayon.
"Frank, darling," she said, "my dress. You'll wrinkle it."
"Take it off," he said. She hesitated for a second. "I shouldn't."
"We're alone. You're hardly wearing it now. Don't spoil it. Take it off, darling."
"Well, all right."
She pulled back from his arms and turned her back to him. He unfastened the zipper for her. She stood up and pulled the dress off, tossing it over a nearby chair. Then she stepped out of her shoes, and with a little smile turned to him again, sitting down beside him. She was dressed only in her white panties now, and he'd never before seen her so nearly naked. Her figure was every bit as seductive as he'd hoped, and he could hardly wait for the finale as he took her into his arms once more.
"Don't you want to take off your coat?" she asked.
That happened to be his intention, to take off his coat, and a lot more besides. She helped him pull the coat off his shoulders, and he quickly pulled his tie loose and unbuttoned his shirt. He wore no undershirt, and when next they kissed, her warm globes were flattened against his bare chest. He kissed her and played with her breasts for several minutes before undressing further: he was afraid to go too far too fast.
When they stopped for air, he leaned forward and got his shoes and socks off as quickly as he could. Then he took his shirt the rest of the way off. He thought he saw her about to issue a protest against his undressing to this extent, and he hastened to continue his kisses and caresses. The girl might be ripe to be taken, she might very much want to be taken -- but still he had to be careful to proceed one step at a time.
"Darling, shouldn't we stop now?" she asked after another minute, and he couldn't tell if she were serious or if she were teasing him. Once he wouldn't have cared. Now he was in suspense.
"Do you want to?" he asked.
"No. but...." He didn't give her a chance to say more. His hands fanned her fires. His lips kept the embers alive. His caresses went over her ribs, her sides, her back. He slipped his hand under the elastic and covered the full extent of her shaking waist until she seized his hand to keep him from going further. He stroked her legs and then her buttocks, baring them, and then her legs again.
She whimpered. She sighed.
She rolled in the curve of his arm, and he lowered his head to move his mouth to her breasts and to tease her breasts with his lips.
His touch slipped under the lower edge of her last remaining article of clothing.
She moaned and responded to each pressure, each stroke, each exploration; and he thought, not long now! Not long!
His tongue moved to her lips and touched the tip of hers.
She uttered a little cry, twisted in his arms, and pushed his hand away from her. She shoved her panties clear to her knees and threw herself to his arms again, her mouth seeking his hungrily.
And now she offered not the slightest resistance to his petting. On the contrary, she seemed eager for him to go even further, so he went as far as a man could go. He pressed and touched everything that was available. And everything was available. Frank had long, artistic fingers, and he played the girl's passions with an artist's touch.
Her eyes looked blind, her lips were eager. Her breasts seemed about to burst with need. "Oh, darling," she said, and for the second time her hand went to him.
He had his clothing unfastened in a matter of seconds. He was going to have the girl, there was no doubt in his mind now. He shoved both his trousers and his underwear down his legs and off at the same time. She immediately reached to touch and hold him, and he felt as if he'd been hit by a bolt of electricity. He grabbed at the panties at her knees, and she kicked them away.
For the first time they were completely naked together. Naked and mad with need for each other.
He pushed her back on the sofa and lay down with her, careful not to hurt her. For a moment they kissed and moved their bodies against each other, and she stroked and tugged at him.
"Take me," she whispered. "Let me have you, darling."
He found the way without difficulty. She was completely ready to receive him. With one rush he went all the way.
"Love me," she begged. "Give me a loving. Oh, love me! Hit me, hurt me."
Then he was loving as hard and fast as he ever had in his life. There was no pause to wait for complete control. He was like a machine, a racing car, which had run wild, a savage running amuck. He struck again, and his sensations skyrocketed.
The skyrocket crashed.
He burned, he sizzled, he saw flare after flare of pleasure.
He heard the girl saying something. "Not yet! Not yet!" Her voice was desperate.
His pleasure diminished. The flares faded and ceased.
He collapsed against Beulah's body.
He'd succeeded in taking her, as he'd wished to do. Yet his loving was a failure nonetheless. Because he hadn't managed to satisfy her, he himself felt unfulfilled and less than the man he'd been trying to prove himself to be.
He heard Beulah sigh with frustration.
CHAPTER THREE
"Sorry," he said sometime later.
Beulah didn't answer. She lay flat on her back on the sofa, her forearm over her eyes. What Frank could see of her face was expressionless.
He sat beside her just below her hips. He swallowed some melted ice from his drink and lit another cigarette.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I don't know what happened. I haven't been that fast in years."
"Forget that," the girl said listlessly.
He wondered what she felt like right now. Once he'd had his big moment, he found difficulty in imagining what a woman might be like if left unfulfilled. And he had difficulty in giving much importance to the woman's feelings.
Did she still want a man? Would she be willing to take on almost any man at this moment in order to get relief? Or did she simply feel -- as some women had told him they did -- soured and frustrated and jangle-nerved?
All he really knew was that he felt like a failure. "Any other time...." he started. "I said, forget me. A man can't always be perfect, I guess."
The confirmation of his imperfection didn't make him feel any better.
He finished his cigarette. He thought about having another drink, but he could hardly bring himself to move.
Finally Beulah stirred. She pulled her legs from behind Frank and sat up. She shook her head groggily.
"Well, I suppose I should get dressed and be on my way," she said.
The idea of being left alone now and in these circumstances struck Frank as intolerable. He put a hand on the girl's forearm.
"Stay," he said.
"Why? Would there be any point?"
"I won't try to seduce you or anything like that, I promise. I just don't want to be alone."
She looked at him, her puzzlement clear on her face. He looked away. He didn't want to meet her eyes.
"What's wrong, Frank?"
"Nothing. I don't know."
"Something's been bothering you all evening. I don't known if it was bothering you the last time we were out or not. But I think so. Tonight, whatever it is, it's worse."
He felt a little like a small boy who'd been caught at some mischief. "I don't know why you say that."
"Neither do I. It's hard to put a finger on just what's wrong. At first I thought you were nervous because you were out to seduce me. That would only be natural. But you never struck me as the type to be nervous. Then I thought that you were worrying about somebody or something else. Now I think you've been worrying about something that concerns you directly. Am I right?"
The girl's perception surprised him, and he wondered if he hadn't been selling her short. He wouldn't have expected such an analysis from, say, Dinah or Maisie. In all likelihood, neither of them would have been interested enough to attempt such an analysis.
He heard himself saying, "You're right."
She nodded. "It's usually something very personal that throws a man's action off. Do you want to tell me?"
Confession, they say, is good for the soul. Frank didn't know and he didn't care. All he knew was that he was talking and that he was glad to be talking. He would never have told someone like Dinah what his problem was, but telling Beulah was a surprising relief. He got the story out as quickly as he could, as if he feared he'd stop and be unable to go on if he slowed down.
"I don't blame anybody," he said, "because I have nobody to blame but myself. But I've never before in my life had to worry about money, or at least I didn't know that I had to."
"But if you have eighty thousand left -- "
"And a four-thousand-a-year income," he confirmed. "I know that sounds like a lot to some people."
"I'd be tempted to stop working."
"And I've been tempted to blow my brains out. I can't live on four thousand a year -- with my habits, my background, such a thing is simply impossible."
"Well, you can go out and get a job."
Frank laughed bitterly. "What kind of job? You don't learn a trade in high school taking the kind of subjects I did. I majored in English in college, an easy course for faking your way. Should I become a teacher? I don't have the requirements even if I could make that scene, and I couldn't, not in a million years."
"Could you be a salesman?"
"Taking vacuum cleaners from door to door? Can you see me doing such a thing? Maybe I should be a floorwalker at Bloomingdale's and make maybe seventy-five, eighty dollars a week -- except that I wouldn't last a week. Got any other ideas?"
"I should think that with your social connections you could get something."
"My social connections would laugh themselves crazy if they knew the kind of jam I'm in. Besides, I'd cut my throat before I asked any of them for a favor."
"Do they know what's happened to you?"
"No. And if I have anything to say about it, they'll never find out."
"I don't see how you can keep your situation a secret."
That was one of the things that bugged Frank -- the idea that sooner or later his financial reverses would become common knowledge among the crowd of swingers with whom he ran--or had run until now. Like Beulah, he hardly saw how he could keep his secret. Dinah, he was sure, was already suspicious.
As they talked, Beulah appeared to forget her own frustration and disappointment. Frank's troubles provided a distraction. They sat together, lounging back on the sofa, both still quite naked, but now unaware of their mutual nudity. Beulah tried to dream up possibilities for Frank, and he tried not to appear too fast in dismissing them, though each one revolted him almost as fast as she mentioned it.
He'd studied literature -- could he do editorial work? He had no doubt that no self-respecting editor would ever give him a second look.
Did he think he had any talents for the advertising game? Like most people, he was sure he did. But he hadn't the slightest idea of what layout was all about or how the cost-per-thousand concepts worked.
Beulah's suggestions merely drove home to him more forcefully than ever that, aside from playing the role of the rich lover, he was fit for absolutely nothing, and the next hour brought him closer to despair.
Then he saw Beulah looking at him in a rather peculiar way. Her blonde head was tilted, she held a forefinger to her lips. She had a faint frown over her green eyes. He noticed the way the soft light of the room accented the contours of her body and the way each little nipple-tip cast its own shadow, and his awareness of their nakedness returned. He'd regained quite a bit of his strength, and he wished that he could forego all this talk and lose himself with the fevered pleasures of Beulah's body once again.
"This may be a crazy idea," she said at last, "but I wonder how you'd do in my racket."
"A model?"
Frank laughed. He was somewhat pleased that she should suggest the idea, for he was vain about his looks. He was no pretty boy -- he wouldn't have been so successful with the women if he had been -- but he was very definitely handsome. His light brown hair had a slight curl. His features were strong and regular -- they belied his character. His body was quite lean, a true lover type, but strongly corded with muscle, hard and ridged without being knotted. The sprinkling of hair on his chest, arms, and legs was rather thin but neat; the rest of his hair was thick, even bushy.
But Frank had no illusions about how hard it was for the average person, male or female, to break into the modeling game. He might have the looks, but that didn't mean that he'd necessarily photograph properly; some of the most successful models were quite unimpressive when seen in person. If he did turn out a good picture, he still might not have the necessary actor's knack for striking a pose and projecting a mood. And he might simply not be a type which was currently in popular demand. Thousands each year who thought that they had all the requisites for success in the modeling profession were sadly disillusioned.
"Don't laugh too soon," Beulah said, and her breasts gave a luscious little quiver as she shook her head. "I know that making anything in the business is strictly an off chance. Most of us don't stay in the game too long. We save our pennies so that we can help start our house and home, and after a few years we get out fast. But every now and then lightning strikes, and a model starts getting five hundred instead of twenty-five an hour. I know one fellow who was making two hundred fifty in his spare time,- but his own business made such demands that he unreel his price to four hundred. The calls he got immediately doubled. He draws down a minimum of fifteen hundred a week now, and two thousand isn't unusual."
That made Frank give the matter second thoughts. Fifteen hundred a week was nothing to be sneezed at. It came to over seventy-five thousand a year, or the income from one and a half million. Two thousand a week came to the income from two million.
With that kind of money, he might not only go on living in a way which at least suggested his previous manner -- he might even be able to do as Gillette had suggested and salt some away in investments. And in another ten years...
But what was the use? He was indulging in a pipe dream, the same kind of dream that conquered the vast majority of people who tried to make their way to the top in the modeling game.
He had only a chance in a million of making the scene of which Beulah was speaking, and he knew that quite well.
"So all I've got to do is put my mug in front of a lens, look at the little birdie, and get rich," he said dully.
"I didn't say that. As a matter of fact, modeling is darned hard work, much harder than most people realize. And getting started in the field is even harder. But if you do manage to get started, you earn a living of sorts without having to take any highly specialized training. Sure, you do have to learn certain skills, but most people learn them on the job and not in these modeling schools that you see advertised. And, as I said, now and then lightning strikes. It's not unheard of for a model to end up in Hollywood, you know."
"Now you're putting me in the movies?"
Beulah gave her head an impatient shake, and again an attractive quivering of her naked breasts resulted. "Look, if you want to just give up and blow your brains out...!"
He remembered the touch of the muzzle against the roof of his mouth. He remembered the uncontrollable vomiting which had followed. No, he definitely didn't want to blow his brains out.
"Go on," he said. "I'm listening. But I can't see my mug spread through the magazines for all my friends to see. I can't see myself parading around at some male fashion show for a bunch of gawking retail merchants -- "
"Oh, nonsense! Whatever 'parading' you have to do will soon bother you the way water bothers a duck! As for your stupid friends, some of them may kid you, but you'll be surprised at how many envy you for making the grade in the business."
He didn't answer. He had an idea that on this last point, Beulah just might be right.
"Do you happen to have a Polaroid?" she asked.
"A camera? Sure. Who hasn't?"
"The man who has everything," she commented dryly. "Get the thing."
He got up from the sofa and went to a desk. From the bottom he extracted a black camera case, and he took out the camera and the little light that went with it. He'd used the outfit only one evening, and had given it away to a female guest. Fortunately, she had forgotten it and left it behind. It was already loaded with a pack of color film.
"I'm not a bad photographer," Beulah said, "and a snapshot makes a better test than you might think. Do you have any black-and-white film?"
He looked into the case. "I don't know why I should," he said, "but it seems that I do."
"I'll use that, too."
For the next forty-five minutes Beulah took pictures of him, first in color and then in black and white. As she posed him, he cooperated without knocking himself out. He didn't try to "look good," he simply sat or stood still and let her snap away. He had an idea that her efforts were useless, but he couldn't help having a small hope in the back of his mind that she might just be right. That he really might click in the modeling racket.
And make seventy-five or a hundred thousand a year.
She looked with satisfaction or even approval at each shot as she turned it out. Each color shot was mounted upon its little quadrangle of stiff backing paper, and each black-and-white shot was swabbed with preservative. Frank was somewhat embarrassed by the whole process of picture-taking. He was always afraid that each shot would show him to disadvantage, and the girl who wasn't even at the moment interested in his masculine charms, somehow discomfited him. He didn't feel that he had the upper hand, and he was a man who liked to have the upper hand--especially where seductive-looking women were concerned.
When she had finished the two packs of film, Beulah laid the results out in neat rows upon the floor. "Come look at them, Frank," she said as she sat down upon the soft rug, facing the results of her work.
Though he'd seen each shot as it had been completed -- and hadn't been tremendously impressed -- Frank joined her. He found that he was once again quite conscious of her sensuality. He had a heightened awareness of her shoulder against his, his knee against the top of her buttocks.
"Not bad," she said. "Not bad at all."
"You take good pictures, but what's so good about me?"
"You photograph from every angle. Both of your profiles are good--so good that you can hardly say that one of them is the best, unlike most of us. Your face is interesting without being distracting from whatever you might be wearing -- if you were wearing anything. The shots of your body show a good deal of natural grace. You're not stringy and you're not lumpy. You'd fit into formal clothes, sports clothes, just about anything."
"I've never had any trouble."
She laughed, and her shoulder brushed against him. A small flood of warmth went through him. "You shouldn't have any trouble in front of a camera either," she said, smiling up at him.
"You really think I've got a chance?"
"I really do. And I generally try to discourage most people, even when I think they have possibilities, because I know that they're almost certainly doomed to disappointment. But I think you should give the game a whirl."
"How do I go about it?"
"You might try my agency first. Dunning and Dunning. The agency isn't one of the very biggest, but it's coming up fast, and it handles both men and women. And I can give you an 'in'. You won't be just another hunk of beef passing through an indifferent office."
"You'll set up an appointment for me?"
His awareness of her as a female, naked and desirable, grew stronger. He didn't want to scare her off, as he very well might after what had occurred when he'd first made love to her, and he tried not to look over her shoulder at her inviting globes and the pink-brown nipples, but his eyes were almost irresistibly drawn to them. He became aware of her perfume. The brushing of her bare shoulder against him was incendiary.
"Yes, I'll set up an appointment," she said, "but first you'd do well to have some pictures taken by a professional. The Dunnings will want to see how you photograph."
"Won't these pictures do?"
He raised his arm and put it lightly across her back and stroked her shoulder. No shoulder had ever felt smoother.
"Not these," she said. "Too small, for one thing, and you should have some clothes on. Though with your body, you might very well have some shots in a swimming outfit to show that you can do that sort of thing."
Then something happened to her eyes. Suddenly she seemed to be as aware of his naked physical presence as he was of hers, and she ceased to move. She was absolutely still.
"Beulah," he said, looking directly into her green eyes, "you don't know how much I appreciate your help."
"Forget it," she said, and there was a new tension in her voice. "Remember I can guarantee you nothing. Dunning and Dunning may not be interested. But even if they turn you down, you should take your pictures to other agencies."
"I'll do that."
He nodded, bringing his face closer to hers. For an instant his forehead touched her blonde hair and he felt the warm flow of her breath.
"And don't think you're going to get work the very first time the agency sends you out. Even if you should do so, it still takes time to get established. The photographers and the ad agency people have to get to recognize you. But gradually you build up credits -- "
"I understand that."
They were still, like two animals, their faces close together, neither quite sure of the other.
When he'd first brought her to his apartment tonight, he'd been sure of what he could make her do if he played his cards right. His only doubt had been as to his ability to play the cards. The last hour or two had done quite a lot to re-establish his confidence in his ability, but he was no longer at all certain of her willingness to let him have his way.
"Thanks, Beulah," he said softly, and with his finger tips he tilted her chin up.
Her lips didn't respond to his. She was still quiescent. He made his kiss as gentle as he possibly could.
He reduced the slight pressure he was applying, and his mouth barely grazed hers. "Thanks," he said again.
And then he tilted his head more to one side and kissed her harder.
"I'd better be going," she said softly. "Now I really had better be going."
He knew what she was thinking. She didn't want this to build up into a full fledged session, go to bed with him, and be let down the way she had been before. For his part, he couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't be subjected to the same disappointment, but somehow he thought that things would work out much more satisfactorily this time.
If she let him do what he wanted to do to her.
"Not yet," he said.
He was on the very verge of being excited. Her closeness and the possibility of taking her teased and tantalized him, and he was not only aware of her as a very desirable female but of himself as a male, struggling to keep the secret of his desire for her. He had to keep his power leashed for the moment, if only to keep from frightening her.
"Really, Frank," she said, "I should..
He kissed her again.
In spite of her protest he knew she was relaxing slightly. They were sitting on the rug with their legs curled under them, he beside and behind her; and now more of her shoulder and her back rested against his chest.
This time her lips moved a little, and he could hear as well as feel every breath she released.
To balance herself, she moved her hand, and the palm rested against one of his knees, her fingers resting. He seemed to scintillate with sparks, and he knew that in spite of all effort at restraint his excitement was soon going to be evident.
"Frank, I couldn't stand being let down twice in one night," she said. "Not that I blame you -- I don't. But I don't think I could bear having the same thing happen twice -- " His mouth cut off her words. He lifted a hand to one of her breasts and pulled gently at the tip, and the other nipple rubbed against his forearm. Both tips were expanding. He kissed her and caressed her breast, rubbing the other with his forearm; then he squeezed and drew at the other.
Her lips worked against his as if she couldn't stop them.
He stroked her shoulder and upper arm with one hand and let the other, which was toying with her breasts, drift down her body. Her muscles tightened at his light touch, and she released a small, involuntary whimper.
Now he had diagnosed her condition. Their first session had left her very much in need. She had been able to forget her frustration while they were talking and taking the pictures: she might even have thought that she had lost her baffled need. But the need had remained with her, and beneath her surface calm she had ached for satisfaction. And her yearning was now being reawakened in spite of herself.
"Don't worry," he said softly. "I won't disappoint you again."
He moved his touch from her waist to her legs and gently stroked the inner surfaces.
"Another time, Frank," she begged. "Not tonight."
But then her hand moved and inadvertently brushed him. He could restrain himself no longer. His full excitement burst like a flame, and his fevered flesh met her warm palm. She gasped as her fingers caressed him, as if against her will.
She seemed to be trying to protest as he went on with his love-making, yet she didn't try to turn her face from his, and her hand never left his body. She held and squeezed him, and her legs relaxed as his caress went further, stirring her desire until she shook in his arms.
"Frank, please," she said, and by then he didn't know if she meant she wanted him to go on or to stop. He doubted if she knew, either.
Then her hand was no longer squeezing but caressing, and she turned more toward him, her other hand flying to his shoulder and traveling up and down his upper arm. Her excitement was taking place much more quickly this time than had been the case before, and he knew, finally, that he was sure to have her. Even if he blundered in some way now, she was unlikely to allow him to quit. She was as eager as he.
When their mouths parted, she cursed him. "Do you know what you're doing to me?"
"I know what you're doing to me, lovely," he said, "and whatever I do to you, I can't help myself."
Then their mouths were wedded again, and their tongues slid together, lashing. She pushed her breasts against his chest and moved them from side to side, and he applied pressures on her most sensitive nerves that made her fists clench and her breath erratic.
"Oh, lover!" she said, and she fell back from him, lying over the arm which he'd had around her shoulders.
He continued to hold her, and he lowered his head over her breasts, looking at the milky bowls which were upturned toward the ceiling. Her weight was heavy on his arm, but at this moment he felt that he could hold her forever. He touched his face to a bowl. He dropped his mouth to a taut nipple, teasing the rosy bud as he prepared her for what was to happen next.
He went as far this time as he had the first, but now went faster, and he felt her grab his wrist and pull him closer to her.
She sobbed and she twisted in his arms.
"Love me!" she said, half strangled on her own words. "Take me now, Frank!"
But he didn't. Not yet. He was going to make up for his earlier deficiency. If she had thought that he was one of the worst, he was going to prove to her now that he was one of the best.
As he lowered her back onto the rug, he didn't cease to give her the most passionate of caresses, and at the same time he leaned over her head and shoulders and kissed both her nipples.
Then he kissed the undersides of her breasts, exciting the softness with his kisses.
He kissed down the curve of her ribs on her left side. His mouth crossed her shaking body under her navel. He kissed her around her navel, then went on, discovering new territory, and never forgetting to continue his caresses.
"Frank, lover!" she cried, "Now! Take me!" And her warm palms and fiery fingers were holding and stroking him.
Still he went on with his kisses and his flickering tongue.
On and on...
He gripped her buttocks with both hands and... Went on. "O-o-h!"
Her feet lifted and slammed down on the rug. "Oh, Frank!"
Her legs flayed and the pictures she had taken were scattered.
"Frank, stop that!"
But he didn't stop, and she clawed at him, and her kiss demanded immediate satisfaction.
He immediately threw himself completely back and away from her, and she reached for him, imploring him to take her now.
She screamed a two-syllable command. She repeated the command and told him exactly what to do. He rushed to change his position on the floor, moving to his feet.
She never ceased to pant for what she wanted, although he was in the act of complying with her command.
"Here, Frank! Here! Now, darling... Oh, Frank. Frank He was as pleased as the first time, but this time perfectly in control. Unhurriedly, he continued. She seemed to freeze for a few seconds. "Frank!"
Then she was a tigress.
There was no chance that she'd be disappointed this time. She twisted and swiveled. She was so violent in her culmination that for an instant he lost her, but he instantly took her again.
Finally she began to simmer down.
"Still worried?" he asked, his voice deep and hoarse.
She didn't answer.
When she'd regained her breath, she asked, "Have you finished?"
"Baby, I haven't even begun."
"Oh, lover!"
Then he did begin. He still had a long night ahead of him -- and an awful lot to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
Frank paused for a moment in the corridor outside of the studio of Darcy Yates.
He was conscious of the fact that this was a critical moment. Life was made up of critical moments, of course. In a sense, every moment was critical. Yet the critical quality of some was far more evident than that of others.
If he went through that door, if he actually kept his appointment with the photographer, he would definitely try to get work as a model, as Beulah had suggested. If he didn't make the attempt, he had no idea of what would happen to him.
Not unlikely, he would end up putting his pistol to his head.
But if he tried to get work as a model, that wouldn't be the end. Not even if he turned out to be a very respectable success. No, Frank Winston wasn't going to be satisfied with being one more photographer's model, one more clothes dummy for Madison Avenue.
If he managed to get that far, he was going to go farther. He was going to get back the pile of loot he'd thrown down the drain, or at least he was going to get back a considerable share of it. He had no idea how, but he would succeed.
No matter what he had to do.
That second session with Beulah, and the ones which had followed in rapid succession, had done a great deal to restore his confidence. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he'd been left with a cold, ruthless, implacable determination. He was going to lick the world. The world would have to kill him before he gave up.
He went through the door.
The waiting room was small and plainly decorated in shades of green. The only other person present was a nondescript girl behind a small walnut desk. She took his name, asked him to sit down, and left the room. She came back a moment later. A half-hour passed before a man passed through the room and left and the receptionist made another trip out of the room, returning to tell him that Mrs. Yates would see him now.
He went into a small bare office.
Mrs. Darcy Yates gave him an appraising look and told him to sit down.
Beulah had given him a list of several photographers he could try. "Any hack will try to give you the kind of work you want," she'd explained, "but you might as well do things right and go to somebody good. Some of these photographers don't ordinarily do this kind of thing because their fees are much too high for the average model to pay. But some are willing to throw something together for you for a thousand or two. Can you afford that much?"
Frank had assured her that he could, though the truth was that he'd be left with a very thin wallet until his next dividend payments came through. He might even find himself -- quite literally -- penniless. Unless he once more did the thing of which Gillette so deeply disapproved and dipped into his capital.
Darcy Yates was the first photographer he had tried, and he'd picked her for a very simple reason.
She was a woman.
Beulah had given him some background information on the various photographers whom she'd listed: what they specialized in, what their reputations were and so forth. Darcy Yates had started out as a model, and she'd done quite well as a lingerie and pin-up girl, but she'd always had the idea that she could take better pictures than the ones that were taken of her. She'd quit modeling and gone to work for Mel Yates, a fashionable portrait photographer and a hot man with the ad agencies. Darcy had done the girl shots and had made a name on her own. Several years after she'd married Mel, he'd died, but she'd kept the business alive.
She sounded like someone that a man like Frank Winston might care to know.
He now saw a dark-haired, high-complexioned woman in her early to middle thirties. She was handsome, even beautiful in a rather hard sort of way. Her jaw line was hard, her eyes were hard. But bright. And alert. They were hazel, he saw, brown and green with perhaps a fleck of gray here and there.
She got up from her desk, walked around it, and perched on a corner. She was smoking a cigarette, and her fingers were stained. She wore a tattered tan smock that didn't quite come down far enough to cover her skirt, and straw sandals. Her legs were bare.
"My secretary tells me you were pretty insistent."
"I was."
"In spite of the fact that she t"ld you I don't ordinarily do this kind of job."
"That's right."
"Why did you pick me?"
"A friend, Beulah Tandi, told me that you were one of the best."
"Good for Beulah " She stared at him, her eyes moving up and down his body. "Well, you look as if you might be interesting."
"I try to be," Frank said carefully, wondering just what, precisely, she had in mind. "At least I try not to bore people."
"How soon do you need your pictures?"
"The sooner the better."
Darcy Yates got off the corner of her desk and went back to her chair "I'm pretty busy. I could spare you a few hours this week, maybe one full afternoon, maybe a couple of evenings. I don't think I have anything on for this week end. We ought to be able to finish up by early next week if everything goes well. And it your time is free."
"Free as the birds," he said.
She nodded as if that were to be expected. "Do you have a fairly varied wardrobe?"
"I have a superb wardrobe."
"That'll help. I hate shooting the same old collar and tie over and over again. My fee will be fifteen hundred."
lie swallowed. Beulah had offhandedly mentioned something about a thousand or two, and he'd hoped that the tab would stay under a thousand. Fifteen hundred came to about thirty bucks a shot.
"Look, maybe you've got the wrong place," Darcy Yates said with surprising gentleness. "You see, ordinarily my rates are even higher than that, but I'm coming down because you want a batch and because you probably don't expect four dozen masterpieces. Still, I have to keep up a certain quality even for a thing like this, because the results reflect on my name. Now, there are excellent photographers in this town who'll give you a fine job for two or three hundred, maybe even less --"
"Fifteen hundred's fine," he said. "Did you hear me complaining?"
Darcy Yates stared blankly at him for a moment. She shrugged. "Seven-fifty now, the balance on delivery of the prints. All right?"
"Fair enough. I'll write you a check."
As he reached for his checkbook and his pen, she gave him a smile for the first time, and for the first time he saw that she had a certain girlishness about her and a sense of humor.
"Mind if I call you Frank?" she asked.
"Why should I, Darcy?"
This, he decided, could turn out to be an interesting relationship. Darcy looked like a warm-blooded woman. Some pin-up girls might be pure as the driven snow, but this one didn't look as if she didn't know why men liked to look at naked dames, and she'd had the experience of marriage. She couldn't have failed to receive her share of masses; he wondered how many of them she intercepted.
Darcy dictated a contract over the phone, and a moment later the secretary-receptionist brought the papers in to be signed. Frank hardly bothered to read what was placed before him, but he did notice that there was some kind of penalty against the photographer if she failed to complete the assignment within three weeks. The woman was fair -- as well as fair game.
Going over her schedule, she found that she had a couple of hours free that afternoon and two more on Tuesday. All of Wednesday afternoon was free and part of Thursday morning. The last hour of Friday afternoon was clear and all of the week end.
"We'll work for a while this evening if that's okay with you," she said, "and again on Wednesday and Thursday evenings. That and the week end should turn the trick if I'm going well; I can work very fast when all goes right. But we still may find ourselves pressed."
"However you want to arrange your schedule."
When he went back that afternoon, she was all business, yet she hardly took a picture. For the most part she stared at him, asking him to turn around, to walk to tilt up his chin, and so forth They casually swapped small talk and she told him about her work, but he sensed that her mind wasn't on what she was saying. She was studying him.
That evening she took quite a few pictures.
"I really shouldn't be taking these so soon," she said, "even though they're only studies. I do better if I've met the subject a couple of times and had time to think about him. Of course, if we're lucky every one of these shots could turn out to be finals. But the chances are that I'll take a few hundred more anyway before I even discover that I got what I wanted with the first try."
When he left that evening, he had the feeling that their relationship was still very impersonal, and he wondered if she were one of those dames with a cheerful ice-barrier which was impossible to crack. He hoped not. He felt as if scoring with Darcy would be a kind of omen of his future success.
The next afternoon, however, she greeted him as if he were an old friend, and he felt that her warmth was genuine.
"This morning my lab assistant souped the junk we took yesterday," she said, "and the results were pretty promising. Well experiment a little bit more today and hope that something comes out of it. I'll have prints made up right away so that I can think about them tonight, and maybe by tomorrow afternoon we can start doing the real thing."
Most photographers, as far as Frank knew, merely sat you down in front of a camera, and click. He wondered how much sensitivity a photographer had to have to make Darcy's demands upon her work. He also wondered if that sensitivity reacted to staring at his pictures by giving her an idea or two. A sensual idea.
On Wednesday she worked like a whirlwind. He'd brought several sets of clothes, and he couldn't change shirts, ties, and jackets fast enough for her. She seemed to know exactly what she wanted to shoot from moment to moment, and she kept varying angles and backdrops -- she had a number around the studio -- trying to make the pictures as different as possible.
She had supper sent in for them, and they ate hurriedly. He tried to talk to her but she was distracted. About the only thing she said directly to him was, "We only have a couple of hours tomorrow morning, and evening's not so hot for exterior shots. Saturday I want to do some work out on the street, midtown and downtown, and in Central Park. I hope the weather is good."
She wanted a couple of full-length pictures, and he went behind a screen to change his clothes. When he was in his briefs, he looked up to see her staring at him thoughtfully. She caught his eye but didn't look in the slightest discomfited. "You've got a good body," she said. "You could model beach stuff. Do you want to include some beefcake?"
He remembered that Beulah had mentioned the possibility.
"If you think that that's a good idea," he said. She nodded. "We'll take some. But not tonight." And she walked away.
She called things to a halt at about nine o'clock, saying that she had to have some part of the evening for herself. As he was about to leave, he wondered if she was as all business as she seemed to be. While he knew that most women didn't react much to the bare form of men, he also knew that some reacted quite strongly. And that some reacted unconsciously. He wondered about Darcy.
"Can I drop you anywhere?" he asked at the door of the studio. They had been alone together all evening.
"No, I still have fifteen or twenty minutes of work to do."
"I'd like to wait."
She smiled and put a hand on his forearm, as intimate a gesture as she'd made yet. "You're very nice," she said, "but I'd rather finish up here alone. I'll see you in the morning."
"You're the one who's nice. Do you think I can't see how you're knocking yourself out for me? Do you think I don't appreciate what you're doing?"
"We give our all for our clients," she said with self-mocking good humor, but he saw that she was pleased. Her hazel eyes didn't look nearly as hard as they had the first time he'd seen her.
"I've always admired people of talent and skill," he said, "and I can't tell you how much I admire you."
"Why, Frank!" She gave a pleased little laugh.
Before she could do anything about it, he touched her chin and quite lightly kissed her. The kiss lasted no more than a fraction of a second.
"I mean what I say, Darcy."
"That's nice of you." She gave him a quick little kiss back, then looked at him with a half-suppressed and slightly chiding smile.
He simply pulled her into his arms and kissed her again -- kissed her squarely and firmly.
When she pushed herself free, he let go of her at once. She was still smiling, and she looked more pleased than ever.
"You don't mind?" he asked.
"Why should I? I'm human. And I'll bet you're quite a lover."
The forthright statement surprised him. "What gives you that idea?"
"Oh, I read men pretty well. You don't have the face of a chaser, but that could be deceptive. You do have the body of a stud. Am I right?"
He shrugged and grinned. "Try me," he said lightly- She laughed and patted his arm again. "Go home, Frank. Good night."
He left feeling good. He decided that he was making progress with the woman. The trick, judging by the evidence thus far, was not to force any step forward but to make each step count.
Her greeting the next morning was, "Hi, Studs!"
She showed no sign of her fatigue from the night before, and she worked quickly and deftly, joking with him all the time as she never had before.
"I don't want to embarrass you, lover," she said, "but how many women have you known?"
"Not too many."
"I suppose you figure that there's no such thing as too many."
He pretended to take her statement seriously. "Sure, there's such a thing," he said. "Any woman you don't really like and respect is one too many."
She laughed, and he couldn't tell if she knew he was feeding her a line or not.
Who was being kidded and who was the kidder?
He didn't know. He knew only that if he scored with this woman he'd be sure that he was on his way up again. If he failed, he'd know that he was on his way to the bottom. She had become a sort of symbol of his future.
That evening he returned to the studio at six-thirty, but he had to wait until after seven before everyone but he and Darcy had cleared out and they could go to work. Then she showed him everything she'd done thus far and indicated those shots which she had tentatively selected as being the best. He agreed with her in almost every case, and she persuaded him of his wisdom in the others.
It was almost eight before they finished with that little task. "I thought we might get the beefcake out of the way this evening," she said thereafter. "So why don't you go over to that screen and get ready."
"Why the screen?" he asked. "I mean, if I'm going to get undressed anyway...."
"Most nude models prefer to dress and undress behind a screen, but it doesn't really matter."
He walked over to a chair at one side of the studio. It was much closer than the screen. She neither watched nor avoided looking at him while he disrobed. For his part, he hadn't been embarrassed by undressing in front of a female in a long time. He casually took off his clothes and hung them neatly over a chair. When he was down to his briefs he glanced over to where she was preparing a camera on a tripod, then he doffed them.
He walked over to her, going close enough that he nearly touched her.
"Looks complicated," he said.
She looked around and saw for the first time that he was completely naked. He also saw that he'd managed to surprise her.
"Didn't you bring anything to wear?"
"Should I have?"
"I thought you'd have some trunks or something. Most men wear at least a modeling strap."
He shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't know. I thought that the object of beefcake was to show beef. Does it really make any difference if I wear a little wisp of nothing or not?"
She laughed. "I suppose not."
She seemed as casual as he except for one thing. As she said her last words, she touched his chest, her finger tips pressing against his flesh. And he knew that when a woman touched a man like that, she was having a positive sensual reaction. She was having a reaction whether she realized or not.
She took a number of pictures, working as swiftly as ever. He'd found that he had little difficulty striking the poses she had in mind, but tonight he faked a certain awkwardness, and therefore she sometimes had to walk over to him and get him into position. And each time she had to do that, she had to touch him again. A hand found his back. A hand slid over his chest or his arm. A hand tightened at his buttock or his knee. She didn't object to helping him pose, he noticed, and if anything, she found opportunities to do so as the next hour and a half passed.
As usual, she used several different cameras, and each time she had to arrange a new set-up, he went to her and stood as close as he could. He didn't have to spend any time changing his costume tonight, as he could keep his naked presence in view or close to her at every minute.
There was a kind of reciprocity of awareness between them: she was aware of him as a male, and he was aware of her awareness. And their awareness grew stronger with each passing minute.
"Just a few more shots," she said, "and we can call it an evening."
Then something happened which he'd been waiting for, something he'd been hoping for. She was loading a camera, and he was standing right by her shoulder. When she was finished, she turned and bumped right into his chest. She looked up at him as if she were frightened.
He didn't hesitate, but neither did he move too quickly. As he looked into her hazel eyes, he slid his arms under hers and around her waist, drawing her against him. He smiled but only slightly.
"No, Frank, no," she said, her voice barely audible.
But she didn't resist as he kissed her.
He had a worried moment. As his lips met hers, something happened which he had hoped to avoid. As long as they had been taking pictures, he had been nowhere near a state of excitement. Even when she had touched his body he had remained completely in control. He wanted to stay that way, knowing that if she saw him excited too soon she might panic. Even in this day and age of permissiveness, and even in the circles in which Frank traveled, many women did.
In drawing her against him, he'd tried to ignore and muffle the sweet sensations he experienced when their legs touched. But when their lips met, the stimulation was too much for him. Nothing he could do could prevent the strong tension which abruptly was manifested.
She could hardly fail to detect what had happened as their bodies pressed together. Her eyes widened, her mouth formed a silent Oh!, and her hand slipped between them. For just an instant she touched his naked flesh.
She backed off a few inches from him, and he was sure he'd spoiled his game. But she didn't turn away.
Instead, her forehead dropped to his shoulder, and she leaned against him thus, looking at him. She reached to touch him again, and he shook .as the tips of her fingers brushed over him.
Her fingers dropped away. She raised her head and stepped farther back. Her eyes were so soft now that he would never have guessed that they could have been hard.
"Poor, Frank," she said, "Now you're going to be uncomfortable."
"Don't worry about me. I'll be ail right in a minute."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Not only that, he thought, but if all went well she'd be all right, too.
"Why don't we quit work for the evening," she said. "We've done enough. Let's go upstairs to my apartment and have a drink."
That was a revelation. He'd had no idea that her apartment was right there in the building.
"Fine," he said. "I could use a drink."
"Bring your clothes. We can go up in my elevator, and you can dress upstairs."
The studio was already locked up. Darcy turned off some of the lights while he gathered up his clothes, then led the way to a private elevator which he hadn't even known to exist. As they ascended one level, he concentrated on relaxing, and she avoided looking at him.
The elevator opened onto a foyer, and she led the way into the living room. The place was beautifully furnished, its ceiling two floors high. A curved staircase led to a balcony and the bedroom.
As she left the living room, he dropped his clothes and followed her. He had no intention of getting dressed again. Not yet.
She led the way into the kitchen. He saw her notice that he was making no move to dress, but she said nothing. Maybe, whether she knew it or not, she didn't really want him to dress.
They hardly spoke as she mixed the drinks. He complimented her upon her home, and she thanked him automatically. They carried their drinks back into the living room, and he sat down on a sofa. She stared at him. His tension was quite gone now, but he knew lie could become excited again in an instant.
"I'm not used to having a naked man in my apartment," she said.
"I don't wear clothes very much when I'm at home alone."
"Neither do I."
She put down her drink and unbuttoned the smock which she always wore. For a moment he thought she was going to undress.
"I suppose I should excuse myself to 'slip into something more comfortable'," she said, "but the fact is that I'm comfortable already."
He saw why. Under her smock she had been wearing an old gray jersey dress. The dress was beltless and half unbuttoned -- a couple of buttons were missing -- and apparently she wore nothing underneath. Her navel was a shadow under the worn-thin material, and the inner curves of both breasts showed, for only one top button was fastened, and another, between the breasts, was missing. He could see why she'd been a pin-up model: the weight she'd added since those days had simply rounded out her figure more seductively under the tightly stretched dress.
"You used to be a model, didn't you?" he said.
"Once upon a time."
"Do you have any samples?"
"Hundreds. Why?"
"I'd like to see them."
She gave him a look which he couldn't interpret, sipped her drink, and left the room. A moment later she returned with several large albums. She sat down beside him and put the stack at her feet, keeping one on her lap. Surely she must realize by now, he thought, that he wasn't going to leave here without having made love to her first.
"These are just a few," she said. "I don't think you want to look at them all."
She flipped the pages of the first album rapidly. It was composed of shots for lingerie advertisements, and she made comments on the various jobs she'd done. Then she picked up a second album.
"These are pin-ups," she said.
Pin-ups was right. Darcy Yates had been photographed by experts. Frank recognized a few of the pictures, which he'd seen years before in the top men's magazines. Darcy herself had been an expert; in some pictures she had a healthy girl-next-door look, in others she looked completely lust-drugged. She was posed on leopard skins, before fireplaces, in beds. She was posed in sweaters, in the nude, and in the act of stripping. She had been slimmer when the pictures were taken, but her curves were no less attractive.
"Are your nipples really that pink?" he asked.
She laughed softly. Everything about her had been soft and languorous since the incident downstairs in the studio. "The photographers had me rouge them a little. Actually they're quite a bit darker. But rosy."
"You have a marvelous figure."
"Did have."
"Still do. Better now. More womanly."
"You mean you prefer me to the girl in the pictures?"
"Infinitely."
With that he slid an arm around her shoulders and turned her face to his. As he kissed her, he slipped a hand into the front of her dress and found a bare breast. He stroked the full roundness and drew at the tautening tip, and he knew his own passion was returning.
He'd expected at least a token of protest; there was none. His tongue touched her lips as he caressed her breast. He felt lightning brush him and he began to strain. She petted him gently, and he thought that he was going to have her even sooner than he'd expected.
But she pulled her mouth away from his, and her fingers slowed and were still.
"I knew I shouldn't ask you up here," she said.
"Don't be sorry, Darcy." He rolled the swollen nub between his fingers.
She looked at him in a rather peculiar way. "Would you like to see some more pictures?"
"I'd rather see you."
"These pictures are special."
"All right."
She stood up and left the room again, returning immediately with another album. She sat down beside him again, the album on her knees, and for a moment she stared into space.
"My husband Me! took these," she said. "I've never shown them to anyone before. You see...." Her voice shook, and she hesitated "I was about to leave him when he died. I only stayed with him as long as I did in the hope that he'd change, and because I wanted to become established as a photographer " Her remarks puzzled him, and so did the haunted look which she turned to him. He was disturbed because he wanted her so badly, he wanted her without any unnecessary delay, and he was sure she wanted him, too. He sensed that some unexpected revelation was imminent, and the idea had an oddly frightening effect.
"He didn't want me, Frank," she said. "And I wanted him badly. I needed love and I needed loving. So he didn't have any difficulty in arranging for me to be seduced. To cut a sordid story short, one thing led to another. And the result was these pictures."
She opened the album.
He didn't see what he'd expected. The pictures were in color and they were certainly sensual. The details were often obscured, but each picture showed a naked man and woman apparently in the foreplay of love-making. The figures, their features almost impossible to make out, arched and curled and all but twisted with pleasure, as if the photographs were about to spring to life. Mouth pressed against mouth and chest and breast, hands caressed cheeks and legs and waists.
"I said I'd never shown these to anyone before, and I haven't. But actually some of these first ones have been published and drew a lot of critical praise. And I don't think that anyone would recognize me."
"Never."
"But these later pictures...." She continued to turn the pages.
The pictures which followed were no less works of art than the first, but Darcy's face was a little clearer -- and other details were a lot clearer. The man -- or men -- were shown from the front, nothing hidden. The pair caressed each other in the most exciting ways, and kisses traveled over bodies.
"You can see what I had to go through," Darcy murmured.
The pictures affected Frank as the pin-ups hadn't. He wanted to be one of the men in the pictures. He wanted to be all of them.
He wanted Darcy more than ever.
He twisted toward her and slipped his hand under the top of her dress again and kissed her.
"I'm sorry for what happened to you," he whispered, "but still I wish I'd been that man who was with you."
"I wish you had been, too, Frank," she said. And then, as he unfastened the top button of her dress, an amazing thing happened to him. "Darcy, I love you," he said And he did.
He had said the words falsely many times. This was the first time in his life that he'd meant them. He didn't blame her for anything that might have happened before Mel had died, even though he didn't know the details. He Only knew that he wanted this woman in every way, he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any other woman, and he wanted her forever.
"I love you," he repeated as he bared her breasts and bent to kiss the yearning tips. He slid a hand under her skirt, lifting it as he caressed her warm legs. "I love you "No, darling, don't say that -- "
"I do. And you love me."
"I don't know!" she said breathlessly. "When my husband died, I thought I'd never want a man again. I was sick of them, and I haven't been like this with a man since. Maybe I'm just starved -- "
"No, you love me."
For the first time in his life, Frank thought he knew what love was really about. His mouth went back to Darcy's and their tongues met. The album on her lap slipped to one side as he went further.
Then he'd gone as far as he could. She squealed and twisted against him, her mouth savage, and she returned his passion, enlivening every part of his body.
Suddenly she pulled away from him. She covered her face with her hands.
"I shouldn't! I shouldn't!" she said.
He'd seen this kind of next-to-last-minute retreat before: a woman realizing that she was close to doing something she might regret. He had to surmount this one last obstacle.
"Let me see those pictures," he said, pulling the album back to her bare lap.
"No, Frank, no more! You've seen enough!"
He pushed her hands away from the album and turned the pages.
The next pictures showed her in various positions, usually on a bed, the man poised with her, on the verge of taking her. In some she was reaching for him or actually guiding him.
The back of the album showed the pair actually loving. Nothing was concealed.
As he looked at the pictures, he began to ache with the intensity of his need. Darcy's hand began to caress again. Then her lips were against his ear and a sensual shudder ripped through him.
"Frank, T want to," she whispered. "I don't care if you love me or not, I want to!" And she told him what he might do for her.
He pushed the album away and it dropped to the floor. He kissed her, holding her close to him, and he brushed her breasts, then reached for her. As he prepared her, she tore at her dress to get it the rest of the way open, hardly bothering with the few remaining buttons. Then she was beside him, and he saw that she was indeed even more attractive, more seductive, than any of the pictures he'd seen of her. His love-making was entirely without restraint, and she struggled to make herself as available as possible.
"Hurry, Frank, hurry!" she panted, as he held back, trying to bring her to even greater heights of need.
"Oh, you -- you!" she said in frustration. "Take me! Love me! Make me got" He was about to comply, but he was a second too slow. Suddenly she shoved his shoulders. She was amazingly strong, and he fell onto the sofa. Then she was up beside him, naked all down her front, but with the gray dress still hanging down her back from her shoulders.
He seemed to be consumed by fire as she settled slowly.
At once her every muscle snapped tight, again and again, and her chest expanded, then pulled in. Her face was taut from her sensations, and he knew what was happening to her: he'd seen a few women act just like this at the summit before.
Her excitement tapered off, but she was far from being done. She whispered his name, "Frank! Frank!" and pitched forward to lean against him, her hands upon his shoulders, her arms straight.
Then she started again. She moved like a wanton possessed against him, and all thought was swamped by the floods of pleasure which inundated him.
Yet somehow he managed to contain himself. Darcy slowed, fell against him, and gasped, her eyes tightly closed, her face pained, and he knew that she had reached the summit a second time.
When she relaxed, he thought that she was done. But he was not.
He pushed himself into a sitting position. Then he toppled her back and moved again without ever leaving her.
Then he was in control.
His turn had come to be the master, hers to be dominated. Ever faster he moved, and he'd never before been so sure of his capability.
"Frank, darling . . nearly there... again...." She was sobbing and choking, hardly able to get the words out.
She met his motions. Her naked body was covered by a thin film of sweat. Her breasts shook and bobbed and swept from side to side.
She wrenched.
"Frank!"
And then he was with her.
He laughed at that final moment. He was triumphant. She was his. The whole world would be his. Nothing could stop him now.
CHAPTER FIVE
The evening wasy gray, the sky was gray, even the rain that struck his windowpane looked gray.
Without hope, he dialed Darcy's number. When the number had rung a dozen times, he hung up. He'd seen her only four or five times in the seven weeks since they'd parted, if parting was what that could be called.
Originally she'd hoped to complete his photographs within seven or eight days, but the job had taken almost three weeks. The reason was simple. They'd hardly been able to keep away from each other's arms. She'd let her other work slip and not a day had passed that they hadn't stripped and made love at least twice, and they'd slept together in his apartment or hers almost every night.
When the full set of photographs was completed, she'd refused his payment and had returned his seven hundred fifty.
"I wouldn't feel right about taking the money, darling. I want to be able to help you, to do something for you."
He'd thought he had her captured for good.
But on their last night, as they lay naked together in her bed, she'd made an announcement which he'd never expected.
"We can't go on like this, darling."
"I know. You must marry me."
She shook her head, her dark hair brushing his bare shoulder. "No. Not yet. And maybe never."
"But why not?"
"Because I don't trust either of us."
He was pained. "You mean you don't believe that I love you?"
"Perhaps you do, but that doesn't mean we'd necessarily be right together. I think that Mel, my husband, loved me too, in his own strange way -- "
"You don't think I'd turn out to be like him!"
"Never. But I'm still not sure you're the right kind of man for me. There's something about you, darling -- "
"Look, I'll admit that most of my life I've been something of a bum by most standards. But I've changed, Darcy. You've changed me. Trust my love."
"Even if I did, I couldn't trust myself."
"I don't understand."
In the barely lit room her hand crept over his body, and he started involuntarily. He was instantly agitated by her exploring touch.
"I think I love you," she said, "but I can't be sure I'm not fooling myself. Remember, I told you that after Mel died I swore off men. I suppose that I was afraid. And I suppose, too, that all my need built up over the next few years. You're my first man since I've become a widow, and -- and maybe this is just a case of the pot boiling over. Maybe I'm just romanticizing something that's nothing more than a lonely, frustrated widow's fling --"
"You can't believe that!"
"I don't, no, but neither do I rule the possibility out. And I've got to have time to find out the truth."
The silence that followed was bitter to him, all the more so because her caresses were inflaming him so. He rolled slightly and found her, seeking to return her caresses.
"So you plan to cut me off," he said. "To cut both of us off, darling. Oh, we can still see each other. Maybe every week or two."
"And make love?"
"Maybe. Sometimes."
"And how long is this to go on?"
"I don't know. A few weeks. A few months." He rolled her over and kissed a nipple. "Will you be seeing other men?"
"I suppose so."
The next question was the hardest. "Will you let them love you?"
The pause before her answer was like a knife in him. "I honestly don't know about that either. Maybe I will."
"Comparison proves, huh?" he said bitterly.
"If I did have another man... I suppose that would mean that there wasn't much chance for you and me to be together again. I don't really think I'll do anything with another man, darling, believe me. But I don't want to make any promises I can't keep."
"What if I were to sleep with another woman?" he asked, trying to arouse her jealousy.
"Then maybe you'd find that you were less interested in marrying me than you thought."
"I do want you, Darcy, I want to keep you with me forever."
Their petting and testing became more frantic, and they panted and sighed in the near-dark. Soon she indicated that she didn't want to wait any longer, and she rolled to his arms, mutely imploring his love, and for perhaps the seventy-fifth time he found himself taking her, to be driven mad and finally into sweet ecstasy by this woman he loved.
Afterward he'd continued to try to make her change her mind, but...
His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of his telephone. He turned from the rain-spattered window and hurried to answer, hoping that he would hear Darcy's voice.
"Hello, Frank? This is Naomi Lord."
His heart sank. He had met Naomi a couple of times, but he barely knew her. "Oh, yes, Naomi! How are you?"
"Fine. Then you do remember me?"
"How could I forget?" He dug into his memory. Naomi was quite wealthy, as he recalled, twice divorced, and not at all bad looking.
"Wonderful. Frank, I hear that you're actually working as a photographer's model these days."
He was amazed at the way the word had rapidly been spread. Of course, people like Dinah Bentley and Maisie Todd had noticed that he was largely out of circulation and had asked questions.
"Trying to, Naomi," he said. "I thought the job might be good for a kick."
"I should think so. Frank, I hope you're not busy this evening."
He didn't feel like getting tied up in anything, especially not something which he couldn't afford, but he figured he'd better not lie. "Not awfully, Naomi, though I do have some things I should take care of -- "
"Put them off. Frank, you're going to think that I'm awfully bold, but I don't care. We hardly know each other, but that's the very reason I'm calling you. I found that I didn't have anything on for tonight, and I'm bored, you see. T feel like doing something a little bit different. I was just talking to Margot Philips on the phone, and she gave me the idea of calling you. 'Have a date with a comparative stranger,' she said. 'Get out of the rut.' So if you're not busy, how about taking me out, Frank?"
He'd been afraid of something like this. He really couldn't afford to take a babe like Naomi Lord out even if he wanted to.
He realized that the pause was getting embarrassingly long. "Well... Naomi," he began weakly. ""Oh, I'd pay, Frank!"
"I wouldn't want you to do that -- "
"But I'd like to! That's part of the kick, see?"
She laughed. "We'll pretend that you're a gigolo and that I'm some old bag who's paying for your favors. Come on, be a sport!"
. He didn't want to go out with Naomi. He wanted only to be with Darcy. He thought of her possibly being out with another man, possibly being alone with him, possibly being naked with him, possibly having him take her luscious body...
Almost anything was preferable to enduring such thoughts. He needed a distraction.
"All right, Naomi," he said. "I'm game."
"Wonderful!"
An hour later he was on his way to Naomi Lord's apartment. He hoped that he could at least put on an appearance of being cheerful and not let the woman see that all of his hopes were disintegrating.
His affair with Darcy had been one of the high points of his life. On that first night together, he'd been so sure that he was on his way up. He'd found the woman of his life, and he had nothing but success ahead of him. The illusion had begun to fade as soon as Darcy had cut him off.
She'd seemed to sense that he had qualities she didn't like. She didn't want to admit as much to herself, but in her heart she knew that he was something that most people would call a bum. The fact was that he wasn't in the least ashamed of having been a swinging playboy, but he did believe he'd changed.
She wanted him to be something, to do something, he figured Well, he intended to show her. He had lost a mint -- and now, one way or another, he was going to make one. He would bring the world to heel.
He'd told himself that he wasn't really counting on getting the first agent he applied to to take him on, but he'd been elated when Dunning and Dunning had accepted him without hesitation. He remembered that first day, sitting in Teddi Dunning's office. The blonde girl was about twenty-seven, he judged, and she had a very serious manner, but he could see veiled interest in her eyes, the same interest he'd seen in the eyes of many another woman. She was a junior partner in the firm, as he understood the set-up. While she talked, sitting at her desk, her small hands clasped before her, Susan Dunning, the senior partner, remained silent, sitting in a chair in a corner behind her younger sister. She had an amused smile on her lips. She was a redhead in her middle thirties, with a lush big body. Like Darcy and a lot of others, she'd once been in the modeling game -- until she'd gotten smart and started her own agency.
"You understand," Teddi said, "that we can guarantee you nothing for the first three months. You won't even have a contract with us, but we'll expect you to be on call for us, available at all times. If you get work through another agency, fine. But we're going to lose interest in you if you can't come running for us, and you'll probably lose interest in us, too."
"I think I've got the picture," Frank said.
She gave no sign of having heard his remark. "At the end of three months, we'll either give you a contract guaranteeing a certain minimum, to come out of current or future earnings, or we'll no longer expect you to give us first chances. Of course, that doesn't preclude our possibly giving you a call, though we favor our steadies first. And older clients get priorities. Understand?"
"I understand. The arrangement sounds most fair to me."
He had the feeling that Teddi Dunning was trying to make him feel like a small boy, perhaps in order to deny her own attraction to him, and he attempted to bolster his ego by sounding approving. And in their subtle little battle she fought back by ignoring every unnecessary word which he said.
"All right," she said, "report to the receptionist tomorrow morning at eight-thirty, then go to the on-call room."
"Fine. Then what?"
"Then nothing. Just sit there. Better bring something to read."
She looked down at her desk and shuffled papers. He flushed. Sooner or later, baby, he thought as he stood up, you're going to pay for that. You'll pay plenty, and in my bed!
But she hadn't paid yet. He saw her every few days, far more often than he saw her sister Susan, and he would have sworn that he could detect her nervous system humming harder each time he was near her -- every man probably affected certain women like that -- but there was no change in her frigid exterior. Actually, he had no real interest in seducing her; the only woman who really appealed to him was Darcy.
In spite of the rain, he'd been successful in hiring a limousine for the evening. Naomi was footing the bill, so he didn't care how high the costs ran. When he reached her apartment, she kept him waiting only a few minutes.
She was more attractive than he remembered. She was a brunette with a rather crude kind of beauty, thin-cheeked and swollen-lipped. She wore her hair in a tight bun on the top of her head, strands of sparkling stones running through the knot. Her dress was fashionable and had the "naked look:" it was rust-red, fairly tight at the waist, and completely backless. A kind of bib barely covered her breasts, the material held up in front by a narrow strap around the back of her neck. Not only the tops of her breasts but also the outer surfaces showed from time to time as she moved, giving any onlooker tantalizing little peeks. At any other time, Frank would have been deeply interested.
She handed him a thick wad. "Three hundred in fifties, twenties and tens," she said. "If you find you need more, just let me know. Better keep out fifty or a hundred for yourself."
He looked at her in surprise. "But you don't have to pay me, Naomi!"
She gave him a wide grin. "But that's half the fun, isn't it? Remember the game we're playing -- I'm a jaded woman of the world and you're my gigolo."
For an instant he wondered if this really were a game.
Or the real thing.
He did his best to give her an enjoyable evening, and on the whole he succeeded. They had dinner together and hit a series of night spots; he joked and she laughed. The lady expected to be amused, and he amused her.
But his success was made in spite of the various dampers which were on his spirit. His thoughts constantly reverted to Darcy. He knew perfectly well that she wasn't likely to shack up with another man. If she did, she'd probably call off her relationship with Frank. Still, he couldn't stop the thoughts of what she might be doing, and he was all the more galled because he felt that she might be wise in feeling cautious of him.
Just as depressing were his memories of his past weeks on the job -- or rather off the job, because he'd obtained only a few hours of work as a model. And in those instances he'd always been included in group pictures of men modeling fashions. The pics weren't apt to call him to the attention of the ad men who counted.
He'd had visions of himself rapidly becoming a hot item on the market. Say, that's just the man we want! people had said in his dreams of glory, and suddenly he'd be making five hundred a week. Then a thousand. His rates would skyrocket. He'd draw down fifteen hundred without half trying. Two thousand. Twenty-five hundred! He'd be as well-known as the man with the shirt and the famous black eye-patch, as recognizable as the bearded cat who sold the quinine water!
A few weeks sweating out the jobs had recalled him to reality. He'd lost count of the studios he'd visited. He'd soon found that paying for taxis was impractical, and for the first time in his life he rode the subway regularly. He stood around and endured the hard eyes of men and women appraising him as if he were nothing but a hunk of meat, and he'd felt the humiliation of being dismissed as inadequate. Or, as his would-be employers put it, "not quite right for what we have in mind."
He'd been going to conquer the world.
Instead he was just another tenth-rate model who in seven weeks hadn't been able to secure so much as a toehold on a career. And though both Beulah Tandi and the Dunning sisters assured him that getting started was the hardest part of the game and that he had no legitimate reason as yet for giving up, he already felt defeated.
But he didn't let his feeling of defeat show during the evening, and when Naomi suggested that the time had come for him to escort her home, he was putting on his act as cheerfully as ever.
When they arrived at her apartment building, she told him to pay the chauffeur and let him go. He didn't object, though he'd planned to have the man drive him home. The rain had almost stopped, and his own building was only a few blocks away.
He took her to her door, and she invited him in for a drink. He'd expected that, since a nightcap was fairly customary in his crowd. When they entered her living room, there were flames in the fireplace and the lights were turned down low. He helped her out of her furs and took off his own topcoat.
"Settle down by the fire, darling," she said, "and I'll mix something to warm the insides as well."
He did as she said, sitting down on the soft thick rug and staring at the hypnotic flames. A few minutes later she brought him a Jack Daniels with ice and a splash of water and sat down close to him. Her shoulder rubbed his and he was aware of her perfume. He couldn't help seeing most of her cleavage under the loose bib-like front of her dress, and she couldn't possibly have worn a bra with that outfit.
They sipped their drinks and snuggled closer, and he became more conscious of her sensual attractiveness. He'd been a long time without Darcy, and he hadn't touched any other woman.
He wondered if somewhere in the city Darcy was doing this same thing with some man. Suddenly he was certain that she was. And he remembered that she was a basically warm-blooded female whom he'd reawakened.
She might give in.
In his mind's eye he saw her giving in, taking all, gasping with pleasure as her companion took her.
"Penny for your thoughts, darling," Naomi said.
He smiled. "If I told you, you'd be shocked."
"Naughty thoughts?"
"Very naughty."
"Not about me, I hope."
He leaned toward her and nuzzled her face and let her draw her own conclusions. She smiled.
"Have a good time tonight?" he asked. "Wonderful."
His lips crawled over her cheek. "And you?" she asked. "Delightful."
He smelled Naomi's heady perfume. He thought of Darcy...
His lips met Naomi's.
"When their mouths had parted, she smiled a little more and sipped her drink. Frank sipped his and set his glass aside. His breath was growing hoarse.
He kissed her again, stroking her cheek and fondling her throat. He put one hand against her naked back and let his mouth drift down to the side of her neck. After a moment he lifted his head. He took her glass from her hand and set it aside with his own. They slid into each other's arms.
Naomi would want to be kissed good night. Naturally. That was practically part of the deal. And if she wanted more...
The picture of Darcy lying naked with another man returned to his mind. She'd had other men before Frank, and she might very well want other men now. And if she did...
Naomi's eyes sparkled. "You're so nice to me, darling," she said softly.
The heat from the fire was strong, but the suggestion of Naomi's body was even stronger, and he was aware of her appeal. Or perhaps that was the intensification of his own desire which he sensed. Holding the woman this close, he could see how the tip of one breast tented the front of her gown.
"I want to be nice to you," he murmured. "Very nice."
He stroked her bare side for a few minutes as he kissed her. Gradually he worked his palm toward her chest as he moved over the smoothness of her ribs, and the heel of his hand pushed the front of her dress aside.
Then his wrist was caressing the side of her breast. "Darling," she whispered.
He covered her mouth with his again and turned his hand. Fingers and palm slid under the side of her dress-front and he caught a wealth of warmth and softness.
"Darling...." He plucked at the swelling tip and detected the answer of his own flesh to the call of hers. He stroked her. found the solid core of her breast, moved the risen tip.
"Darling...." Her eyes were brighter than ever in the fire light but her lids had lowered a fraction. They continued to kiss, and her tongue sought his. His answered. He fondled her breast and drew it far enough out of the side of the dress that he could kiss the tip of her nipple and tease it. He played with both breasts, almost hoping that she wouldn't want him to go farther or allow him to do more even though his instincts were thoroughly awakened. He wanted to be with Darcy.
But if Darcy were with another man...
He felt almost as if he were taking revenge in advance, returning a betrayal before any ever happened.
Naomi's skirt was up over her knees, and the curvature of her nylon-covered calves suggested that the rest of her legs might be just as attractive. He moved his hand from her breast to her knee. He stroked down her calf and back again, and kept going, raising her skirt.
The tops of her stockings were in view, and above them, the straps of her garter belt pressing into beautifully molded white flesh. He stroked her slowly and rhythmically as they moved their faces together, and she ran a hand over his leg.
For the first time in his life he was sad, even regretful, to be caressing a woman. He didn't want to be unfaithful to Darcy, no matter what the other might be doing at this moment. But his senses were fully excited, and he wasn't used to restraining them. If Naomi wanted to go all the way -- and he had little doubt now that she did -- he would certainly give her everything she wanted.
He moved his caress to the inner surfaces of her legs, and her responses became increasingly hungry. He advanced a little at a time, gauging her reactions, and going just a little slower than she wanted, sharpening her desire with an edge of frustration, and she shuddered and sighed when he at last reached the smoothly stretched panties.
"Oh, Frank, you are nice to me, darling... you are nice...." By this time the strain on him was as great as it was on her, but still he resisted the temptation to hurry her, though the pace of his love-making was naturally increasing. He waited for several minutes and then found his way around the edge of the panties, working the cloth to one side.
He found that she was already completely ready. She squirmed and shook as he played with her, and she clung to his shoulders and returned his kisses with a force that was almost vicious. Again and again, she murmured his name. She made him stop for only a few seconds as she took off her panties to give him greater access to herself, and then he went even farther than before.
Now his worries and jealousy over Darcy had virtually disappeared. He was entirely involved in what he was going and what he needed to do.
In another minute, she could take no more excitation. She had to rest. She pushed his hand away and, panting, leaned against him.
"Frank, you -- you torture me!"
"Do you like to be tortured?"
"Yes. Oh, yes, darling!"
She found the tab of his zipper and pulled. She unbuckled his belt and unfastened his waistband. Then, with a little help from him, she got his briefs out of the way.
She smiled as she caressed him.
"Tell me you want me as much as I want you," she said.
"More You don't know how much."
Every touch she gave him seared him,- both flesh and mind. He could hardly think. He put his face to hers and their tongues met, and he began slowly to cares= her again.
"Frank?"
"Yes?"
"Shall I get you ready?"
"Yes."
Her kiss was like continuous lightning and as her head moved he was afraid that he was going to finish immediately. He had to make her stop.
He held her still for a few moments, his caresses keeping her level of excitement high while he rested. He sensed that she didn't want to wait any longer, but he held off as long as he could.
"Frank, aren't you going to...?"
"If you want to play the game right, you should command me."
She laughed. "All right." She put her hand upon him again, and lowering her voice, she said, "I command you, darling. Love me! Take me, darling!"
He laid her back on the floor, and in a breathless moment, they were making love.
"You'll stay all night, won't you?" she asked as they lay quietly.
"As my lady commands."
She smiled and her breath was hoarser. He found a breast and squeezed.
"I command you to love me, darling," she said. "Get moving."
He obeyed, happily.
* * *
At dawn as they lay together in her bed, the idea hit him.
It struck him with such force that for several minutes he lay as if paralyzed, and yet he felt as if in the back of his mind he'd had it all along.
His connection with Dunning and Dunning was no failure. He could make use of it. All he had to do was to take the next step. Not that he didn't expect opposition, but he was sure that he could buck that.
No, he wasn't licked He was a long way from being licked. He was going to make his pile of loot, and he was going to make it fast Nothing could stop him.
CHAPTER SIX
Resistance grew as he got closer to his goal.
That didn't dismay him. He'd expected something of the sort. But he was so determined now that he was sure he could overcome any obstacle, any objection.
He tried his idea out on Beulah Tandi first. He didn't tell her the entire idea, for he only wanted her reaction to what he thought of as the "framework." He made a date with her, telling her that he had something important that he wanted to discuss. During the evening he delayed coming to the point, because he was a little afraid that she might throw cold water on his plan. Not that he'd allow that to stop him. If, on the contrary, she was as enthusiastic he would be all the more certain that what he had in mind was feasible.
When he suggested that they go to his apartment and talk things over there at the end of the evening, she turned him down.
"I know what you have in mind, Frank," she said with a smile, "but don't get the wrong idea about me. I'm a girl who likes to have her fun now and then, but I also keep the brakes handy. I don't want to turn into one of these floozies who're willing to go to bed with anything in pants."
He chalked up a credit for his side in judging Beulah correctly: he was right in not planning to tell her everything.
He covered most of what he thought she should hear as he took her home in a taxi. She looked a little puzzled.
"I don't get it," she said. "There are already escort bureaus, Frank. Quite a few of them, I understand, and some of them are supposed to be quite good. Well-trained, personable young men who know their way around town -- I think that some of them, at least, are even bonded. Maybe all of them are."
He had anticipated this objection.
"Sure," he said, "but how many of them have a stable of male models like Dunning and Dunning has? That's one reason why the business has been growing so rapidly -- it's developing quite a name, I find, for being able to supply attractive men in quantity. Even if it hasn't done so well at selling me."
She patted his hand. "Don't worry, Frank. Your hour will come."
My hour already has, he thought, and, baby, you don't know what an hour it is I "You will agree," he said aloud, "that Dunning and Dunning can hold its own when it comes to supplying attractive, intelligent males?"
"Of course. Women too. But I doubt that the Dunnings would be interested -- "
"Honey, Susan and Teddi are just like everybody else -- willing to do anything to turn an honest buck. And what would the investment amount to? A few hours of organization time, maybe the hiring of another girl or two, though that might not be necessary until the ball really got rolling. They'd need some stationery, maybe some legal advice. And they've probably already got a lawyer on a retainer. I know that they've got some spare desk space at the moment, and if they haven't got an empty file drawer, you can get a cardboard carton at any liquor store. So what's the problem?"
"Nothing, I guess. You make the whole thing sound easy."
"Susie and Little Sister don't have to turn a finger. They can leave the whole thing to me."
She smiled at him. "And suddenly you're an executive! You know, I think you've got something after all!"
They were still discussing the scheme enthusiastically when they reached her West Side apartment. He knew that she'd planned to turn him away at the door so that he couldn't make a play for her panties, but she hardly hesitated before letting him enter so that they could go on talking. They took off their coats, and she mixed a pair of drinks.
"Who do you think I should approach first," he asked, "Susan or Teddi?"
"Go to Susan. I know that Teddi sometimes seems has the final say "
"Okay. I'll make an appointment with her tomorrow."
They both felt good about his prospects, and he took advantage of the fact. As they stood joking and drinking in her little kitchen -- somehow they'd never gotten back to her living room, perhaps because she felt safer here -- he nuzzled her and kissed her ears and stroked her shoulders and arms. He made her giggle and duck away from him, and he hardly tried to pursue her. He didn't want to give her the impression that he was working too hard for her.
"Now. Frank, I told you no! And I'm not going to give in!"
"Certainly you're not, darling. But I do think I deserve one kiss to celebrate my future success."
"Well, just one."
One led to another, naturally, and that one to another, and he could tell by the flush on her cheeks and the swelling of her lips that she was as excited as he. Her soft globes brushed his chest, her hips his legs, and he patted the front of her body.
"Frank, stop that!"
"Just looking for concealed weapons, honey. You show me yours and I'll show you mine."
He tried quite literally to kid the pants off of her. He had no moments of hesitation or regret as when he'd been with Naomi. After all, he thought, his first infidelity hadn't hurt Darcy, and neither would another. What she didn't know couldn't possibly hurt her. And a man needed to have a little fun now and then. In a way, what he was doing was Darcy's fault for staying away from him.
Before long he had the front of Beulah's dress open and both beautiful boobs hanging out, the tips erect and the whole globes swollen with desire. The next step was to lift her skirt as he leaned her back against a counter. She weakened with every touch he gave her, and she hardly fought as he worked her underwear down around her knees. Leaning against her to keep her captive, he managed to get his clothing open.
"Honey, look," he said, drawing her hand to him. "I'm dying! You wouldn't let a good buddy die, would you? Honey, I've got to!"
"No! I said no!" she protested, caught between laughter and tears. But she returned his petting.
"Please, baby! Before I go crazy! Before you go crazy too! Don't be inhuman!"
"I'm not inhuman, darling, but I have to say no sometimes. I have to build up my will power."
"Will power! Look how my power is! Don't let me die!"
"You won't, if we keep on petting like this," she said laughing. "Let's just pet, Frank -- I'll make you finish. Won't that save your life?"
He said nothing, but redoubled his efforts to make her resistance crumble.
He succeeded.
"Oh, Frank!" she said hoarsely as she kicked her underwear away. "I will, I want to, I've got to! Don't wait, love me, take me, darling, make me do everything!"
As she sank back down against the counter, he seized her buttocks and had his way.
Her face grew strained.
"Oh. Frank!" she said, hardly able to get the words out "You lover!" They had quite a night.
He asked to see Susan Dunning the next morning. Ordinarily the sisters were quite easily approached if not always cordial once one got in to see them; but as luck would have it, they were both quite busy, and he had to wait for two days for his appointment.
He saw that Susan was looking at his file when he entered.
"Sit down," the red-headed woman told him before he could speak. "I see that we haven't been keeping you very busy. Frank, and I'm sorry about that. But we do have some important work coming up, and I'm fairly sure I'll be able to get you something pretty lucrative --"
"I didn't come here to complain or to weep on your shoulders, Susan," he cut in. "I'm here on business. Susan. T want to buy a piece of Dunning and Dunning."
She looked up, startled. She stared at him.
"I'm quite serious." he said to her unspoken question, "and quite sane."
"'We haven t contemplated selling any part of our little pie, mister."
He smiled. Susan didn't look at all friendly at this moment, but he knew in his bones that he was going to pull this deal off. Maybe he had a talent for salesmanship that he hadn't even suspected. He went to the desk, sat down on a corner, and quite frankly gazed with appreciation at the tops of Susan's ripe breasts in the neat white V of her collar.
"But you could use some money to expand," he said. "To pay advances to some of your free-spending top male models before they switch to agencies which will give them such advances. Money to do all kinds of things."
"Everybody can use money, but I like to control my own firm -- "
"I wouldn't dream of asking for a bit of your control. Just some kind of wee, tiny junior partnership or a share of the stock or whatever our lawyers can work out. And an opportunity to help the firm make a bit more money by a plan I have in mind. You can't lose by listening, Susan."
"I'm listening."
He'd worked up a better presentation since talking to Beulah, and he told her his plan -- the part which he was divulging -- in some detail. Susan gave every appearance of listening carefully and not dismissing what he had to say out of hand.
"We can scale the rates," he said. "For instance, a twenty-five-dollar-an-hour model who shows no exceptional talent for this sort of thing might draw a hundred for an evening. Fifty for us, fifty for him. A hundred-dollar-an-hour man who's also a personality boy might draw two-hundred-fifty -- "
"I get the idea. But aren't those rates pretty high?"
"Not for the crowd I'm principally interested in catering to. and anyway the really expensive boys would be comparatively few. And believe me, Susan, there are plenty of wealthy women right in this town who would make use of this service, if only because they get tired of the same old people and would like to have dinner with an interesting stranger I happen to know such women. And no woman is so popular that at times she doesn't find herself stuck for an escort when she feels like going out."
Susan frowned and leaned back in her chair. He could almost see her turning the idea over in her mind.
"An operation like this would help some of the boys around here quite a lot," he said. "Some of them are lucky to average seventy-five a week, and some like me make less. With an escort bureau operating, some would find themselves pulling down an extra hundred or more a week. They'd have more incentive for sticking to Dunning and Dunning until they're established as models. If the demand for our escorts gets high, we may have to recruit new men -- maybe models from other agencies who'll switch to Dunning and Dunning."
She looked up at him. "One thing puzzles me. Why do you want to buy in with us? Why not start the business on your own?"
"Lots of reasons. Good ones. You have business experience and I don't, and even a sure thing can flop if not operated correctly."
"And sometimes even if it is."
"Correct. So I want a cut of the whole pie for my own protection. For another thing, Dunning and Dunning is becoming known and has a good reputation. If I were on my own I'd just have one more little escort agency making big claims. But with you, our clientele will know that their escorts really are models -- glamorous models! Well, what do you think?"
"I don't know."
He waited in suspense for her to say more.
"You may have something," she said at last. "I don't want to get carried away. I'll have to talk to Teddi." Teddi, the cool, succulent blonde. He somehow doubted that she would go for the idea. "Give me a few days."
He gave her a week, and he began to think that her last words had been the equivalent of "Don't call me, I'll call you."
Then he got word through a secretary that Teddi wanted him to stay later for a conference.
When she said late, she meant late. At six-thirty, all but a few people had gone home, the office was mostly dark, and she was still tied up. A secretary told him to go out and eat and come back. At eight the only light in the deep interior of the suite came from Teddi's office, and he had to wait another half-hour. No doubt, he thought angrily, she was keeping him waiting before giving him the bad news.
At eight-thirty she called for him to come into her office. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," she said, her contrition apparently genuine. "I didn't realize how late it had become."
She had him sit down on a couch. She herself sat at the opposite end rather than going to her desk.
"Now suppose you tell me this idea of yours."
"Didn't your sister tell you?"
"I want to hear it all from you."
He had his plans in greater detail than ever now.
He gave her the broad outlines first and then filled in the details. As he spoke, his eyes were drawn toward her legs and her breasts The jacket of her neat blue suit was open, and he couldn't help but see how beautifully she filled out her blouse. And he knew that she realized that he saw The vibrations between them hadn't diminished in the slightest since they'd met, and they were growing stronger now.
Then he had an insight, a revelation as clear as crystal Teddi Dunning hadn't kept him waiting out of rudeness or inconsideration or even because she was truly busy She'd kept him waiting because she was afraid to be alone with him -- and yet wanted to be. He moved closer to her on the couch, and her eyes widened for a few seconds He talked for over half an hour, and by the time he'd finished he was sitting right next to her, and their knees were touching.
"I'll have to think this over," she said. "If Susan and I both agree...."
"How much will the deal cost me?"
"Well, if we don't take you in. we're not going to bargain with you and maybe waste a lot of time. Our first and final figure will be a hundred twenty thousand."
That made him catch his breath. He hadn't expected the figure to be so high. He could raise eighty thousand, but where was the other forty thousand coming from?
This was no time to hesitate, no time to back off. She'd said that she wouldn't bargain, and he believed her. "I'll meet your price," he said.
She didn't look at all cheerful. "Then we have... a tentative agreement?"
He took her hands in his. "We have a tentative agreement."
She stood up quickly as if his touch had burned her, and he rose to stand before her. He had a sense of everything speeding up. Even his heart beat faster and harder. He took her hands again.
"Partners generally shake," he said, "or kiss."
Her gray-blue eyes grew larger and more lustrous. "But we're not really partners yet."
We will be, he thought.
Her eyes closed as he kissed her.
He didn't know if he'd be a fool and lose his deal by trying to take her or if by scoring with her he'd make the deal sure. He preferred to think the latter. All he really knew was that the girl wanted him and that he, at the moment, wanted her.
His hands left hers and slid over her elbows. His arms went around her back. She was drawn solidly against him, her breasts yielding, her flesh scorching his, and his blood rushed.
He judged that her feelings were strong, hurricane-strong, but mixed. She acted as if she wanted to kiss him and to tear her mouth away from his at the same time. He kept her close to him and ran his hand up the back of her jacket to stroke her along the spine, and she shook in his arms.
Finally she did manage to tear her face to one side. "Don't!" she said breathlessly.
"Teddi...."
"That's enough! I don't know why I...." He touched her buttocks and then her back again. She struggled to get away, and her torso rubbed against him.
"Let me go!"
When he kissed her ear, she whipped her face to his again and their open mouths met once more. She strained as if trying to complete the act of love by a mere kiss, and he darted his tongue forward.
He pulled the back of her blouse out of her skirt and sent his finger tips up the bare curve of her back. When he found the tab of her bra, he pulled it loose. She at once pushed her breasts against his chest as if to keep the bra from falling off, and she broke their kiss.
"No!" she said. "I don't love you! I'm not sure that I even like you!"
But he was sure of something: he was sure now that he was going to have this girl.
This wasn't one of those cases where you took the girl along a little bit at a time, urging her to go just a little farther and then a little farther until she lost her head and went all the way. Teddi Dunning had already lost her head, or was very close to doing so.
Without actually rushing her, he had to score with her before she regained her wits.
He brought his hand around her ribs under her blouse and found a breast. He pushed the bra-cup out of the way and attacked the large resilient globe, teasing her nerves as much as he could. Then he began to undress her.
Pushing her back against her desk, he got the front of her blouse open and her breasts completely exposed.
As he pulled her jacket and blouse off, he steered her toward the sofa on which they'd been sitting.
She herself shed her bra as he made her sit down. She cooperated with him in spite of herself.
As they kissed and twisted upon the sofa, he unfastened the side of her skirt, and she kicked her shoes off.
Her skirt flew up to her lap, and he stroked her legs.
He took a few seconds to shed his coat, pull his tie loose, and rip his shirt open, and then he made his attentions more intimate than ever.
"That's enough, that's enough!" she sobbed, but she hardly resisted as he yanked at her panties and garter belt. They pulled off together, and her flaying legs helped him to rid her of her stockings.
Then he gave her strokes and pressures and caresses that maddened her.
"Take me!" she said in a little scream. "Take off your clothes, your pants! I want you!"
He threw off his shirt and helped her get rid of her skirt. Then she was completely naked, waiting to be taken. Hurriedly, he unfastened his belt and shoved his clothes to his knees. Seeing him, she shot out her hands, and her nails cut him. For a moment she made no more demands but merely returned to him some of the sensual madness which he'd given her.
Then...
"Love me!"
She grabbed for him greedily, at this point almost raping him, and they began to make love.
In a voice that sounded as if she hated him, she said, "You beast' Please take me all the way...." He did Twice And at the second, he did seem to turn into a mindless beast, with a pulsating roar of incandescent pleasure.
Then he fell away from her, pitching to the floor, his clothes still at his knees.
He almost fell asleep there. He was dozing when he felt hands removing his shoes and socks and the rest of his clothes. As he opened his eyes, a soft blonde's body slid against his.
"Well, you had me and I had you, so I might as well take you home for the rest of the night," Teddi said. "But first, one more time."
The partnership, he decided, was no longer so tentative.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Safe again from the December winds, Frank told the doorman his name. The man checked a clipboard, then made a phone call in discreet whispers. He hung up and nodded at Frank.
"You're expected," he said, and he pointed. "That private elevator over there."
Frank picked up his overnight case and stepped into the elevator. The door closed and he was gently wafted up to one of the highest penthouses in Manhattan.
The sliding door opened but he was faced with yet another door, and that one he found to be locked. When he noticed a button and pushed it, the door began to open almost immediately. One of the prettiest faces he'd ever seen looked around the edge of the door. The girl's brown eyes and hair were soft and rich, her complexion fair.
"Frank?" she said. "Frank Winston?"
He said yes, and she let him step into a dark foyer. He just had time before the elevator door closed and blocked the light to see how sheer her pink negligee was.
"I'm Dawn," she said, smiling. "You're awfully handsome I think I'm going to like you, Frank."
He was discomforted by her almost childish directness "Thanks," he answered. "I like you already."
She helped him take off his topcoat and hung it up in a closet for him. Then she said, "Follow me," and led the way into the living room.
The sight that met his eyes in the two-story room was nothing like what he might have expected. The lights were low and tinted rose and blue. The carpeting, the furnishings, the tapestries and other art works were luxurious beyond imagination. That was not surprising, but the sight of the people present was. He might have expected something more sedate or something more suggestive of an orgy. Instead, more than a dozen people sat around in little groups, talking and laughing in subdued tones, almost as if unaware of their state of dress -- or undress. Some of the men wore pajama pants and only one wore a jacket. Some wore undershorts, and one was completely naked. A couple of women were quite naked, some wore shortie nightgowns with or without panties, some wore negligees with or without something else underneath.
Frank had heard of the Contessa's pajama parties, but he'd never thought they'd have an atmosphere quite like this. As he followed Dawn through the big room, he recognized a few people he knew and exchanged nods and little waves. One man he knew had his pajamas open and was obviously becoming excited by something a naked girl was whispering to his ear. Across the room his wife was chatting with another fellow who reached for her as they talked, and she smiled at the pleasure he gave her.
The scene was so strange to Frank that he wasn't excited at all. But his view of Dawn's back as they went up a staircase was another matter. She seemed to have on only a shortie gown beneath her negligee, and through the latter he could view her finely shaped bottom and long legs quite clearly.
She led him down a corridor, and he heard both male and female laughter from behind various partially closed doors. He followed her into a bedroom which was unoccupied and she closed the door behind them.
"You'd better get undressed and into your pajamas before you see the Contessa," she said. When he hesitated, she added, "Go ahead. I want to see what you look like naked."
He'd better follow directions, he decided as he pulled off his suit coat. Fifty thousand dollars and his future depended upon his making no mistakes.
He'd racked his brains as to where he could raise forty thousand. His friends were no good for such a sum, not while he was in his present circumstances. A little investigation verified his hunch that the banks would hardly consider him a good risk. When he first thought of the Contessa Prima Pagano, he'd dismissed the possibility, because he hardly knew her. He'd met her at a few wild parties, but he wasn't one of the inner circle who were invited to her pajama affairs. The pajama party guests were like a club which refused to discuss its activities with outsiders His thoughts had returned to the Contessa again and again, perhaps because she was something of an enigma. No one seemed to be sure just where she or her alleged fabulous wealth came from. She was supposed to have staked several penniless young men in various business ventures, however, and Frank wondered if he couldn't persuade tier to add him to their number.
He had nothing to lose by asking.
Just getting the woman on the phone had proved to be something of a problem, but Frank had managed.
"Oh, yes, Frank," she'd said, "I remember you. I hear that you're working as a model of some sort these days."
So the word had gotten around? Far enough to reach the Contessa. Frank had gritted his teeth.
She'd sounded disappointed when he'd told her that he wanted to see her about a "confidential matter" and she had inferred correctly that he had business -- and money -- on his mind.
"Frank, I'm so busy; maybe next week some time."
"I'd appreciate that, but if you could see me sooner -- this is rather a rush matter."
"Well, wait a minute."
He'd had to wait almost five minutes.
"Frank, I'm having a little party this evening, and I'm told that you might fit in quite nicely. Why don't you show up at about ten? If the doorman lets you in, that'll mean I'll be able to find time to talk to you."
"Fine. Thank you, Contessa."
"Call me Prima, if you wish. And Frank...."
"Yes?"
"Be prepared to stay overnight -- and bring a nice fresh pair of pajamas."
He'd rushed right out and bought a new pair made of white silk. And now, stripped, he prepared to put them on. Just the pants, he decided, like most of the other men present.
"Hey, wait a minute," Dawn said before he could step into the pants.
She took a couple of steps toward him, her pink negligee and shortie gown swishing about her lithe figure. Her thin clothing concealed very little and suggested a great deal, and he knew that he could very easily be excited if he wasn't careful. But he had a hunch that he'd better not.
Not yet.
"Golly, you're pretty well endowed," Dawn said as she stared.
"Thanks. I must say, I appreciate your endowments, too."
She touched him lightly for just an instant, and he experienced an electric shock. In spite of himself, he was partially excited.
"I wonder if we'd have time... No, I guess we shouldn't. The Contessa might not like that. You'd better go on and put your pajama pants on." She looked up and laughed lightly "Of course you don't have to, but I think there's always fun to have a little something to take off. don't you?"
Frank agreed, and pulled on his pants. Another two minutes with this woman and he wouldn't be able to maintain his calm.
As he followed the tempting Dawn out of the room and down the hall, he braced himself to make his pitch. He was going to ask for forty thousand. He figured he might as well ask for fifty as for forty, and the extra ten would give him some operating capital so that he wouldn't be left stone broke after the deal was set.
Dawn opened a door and he followed her through it. Then he got another shock.
He'd seen such things before, but never quite like this. Only when people were four-fifths drunk, not when everyone was obviously sober.
The first thing he saw was the bed with the Contessa Prima Pagano sitting up on the pink sheets at the head, a thick pile of pillows behind her. Six or eight men and women were standing around the bed, and a pair was lying across the foot. Frank looked directly across the foot of the bed and straight at Prima Pagano.
As always, she was beautiful, but he hadn't known how beautiful until now, because he'd never before seen so much of her. She was wearing a sheer black negligee, and only that. The thin material concealed nothing. Her breasts were large, quite round, and jutting, and everything else -- nipples, waist, hips --was in perfect proportion Her hair was long and jet-black, and her eyes almost as dark. She was smoking a cigarette in a long ebony holder. Frank had no idea of her age. She might have been in her early thirties or her late forties. She looked like an ageless goddess of love.
But the sight of the near-nude Contessa wasn't what startled Frank. The shocker was the pair on the foot of the bed.
They were completely naked. And the woman, who lay on her back with an air of total, wanton abandon, was Dinah Bentley. He didn't recognize the man who was stretched out with her, propped up on his hands, but quite clearly the two had excited each other to the extreme. One look and Frank saw that they were both wild with unfulfilled need.
And they were on the verge of doing something about that.
They started. The intake of breath was clearly audible throughout the room as the man began to take Dinah. And at that moment all the excitement which Frank had been fending off was manifested.
Glancing about as the pair began their loving, he saw that he wasn't the only one who was excited. All eyes stared. Every woman was hard-nippled and swollen-mouthed. Every man was in the same condition as Frank, and none bothered to conceal the fact. Only the Contessa showed any degree of calm as she watched the wildly moving pair and smoked her cigarette.
The action didn't last long because the lovers were so excited. Their rhythm soon increased. Frank stared at them as if hypnotized, just as the others in the room did; and he felt that with any encouragement at all he would throw Dawn upon the bed and take her alongside the other pair.
Dinah cried out at that moment, and she strained like an athlete. Seconds later her partner joined her.
Dawn's nails dug into Frank's hand. By now the other people in the room were pairing off and frankly baring and agitating one another. Suddenly one woman turned and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her shortie gown up over her breasts, and a man sprang to her, dropping his pajamas, and took her with a single move. Frank was about to do the same for Dawn when Prima Pagano spoke.
"Everybody out! Everybody but Frank and Dawn. Do your loving somewhere else!"
The first pair sighed and stood up. The audience hurried to the door as if they couldn't wait to start loving. The second pair finished almost at once and staggered together toward the door. Then Dinah and her partner groggily got to their feet to follow the crowd. She saw Frank and winked at him as she left.
Dawn closed the door. Prima stared at Frank in silence for a moment, as if giving him a little time to regain a measure of composure. Or perhaps she was only measuring his potential.
"I like to see people making love,' she said. She had a slight, unidentifiable accent. "I like to see them enjoying each other."
Frank didn't know how to answer. His excitement had done nothing to help him keep his wits.
Fortunately, an answer didn't seem to be expected. "Let's get our business over as quickly as possible." Prima Pagano said. She patted the bed beside her. "Lie down here and be comfortable. Tell me what you want. You may speak with complete freedom in front of Dawn."
Frank did as he was told. He stretched out on his side beside the dark woman, leaning on one elbow. He could do nothing about his excitement.
He outlined his plan just as he had to Beulah, Susan, and Teddi, but more briefly, telling her that he needed fifty thousand dollars for his part of the deal. He told her quite frankly why he was turning to her. She asked only a few questions, but the ones she did ask were shrewd.
But he had a very hard time talking. His wits were failing him. Dawn had sat down on the side of the bed near his hips, and she continuously stroked his legs, his back, his chest, and he couldn't regain his calm. He'd never been through an interview like this in his entire life, and he wondered if what Dawn was doing to him wasn't specifically planned to dull his mind.
At one point Prima Pagano interrupted him. "Do you mind if Dawn touches you, Frank?"
"No, no, of course not," he answered unsteadily.
"Do you like to have a woman like Dawn play with you?"
"Certainly."
She smiled. "Give Frank a little more pleasure, Dawn."
Dawn laughed. She reached to the front of his waist and yanked the snaps of his pajama pants loose. Then long fingers fluttered over him like bird's wings, and his straining became so great that he could hardly finish telling his proposition.
"I think you'd better give Frank some relief now, Dawn," Prima said.
With a little cry of animal joy, Dawn left him and rose up on her knees on the bed, pulling open her negligee and lifting her little gown up to her neck. Frank saw nothing but that naked ivory female torso as he kicked off his pajama pants He reached for the girl, stroked her. and found her to be completely ready She threw herself onto the foot of the bed not far from where Dinah had been, and Frank went after her.
"Hurry!" she said, as she stretched her arms toward him "Let me help you, darling Frank!"
He needed no encouragement She drew him like a magnet and he went to the girl and found himself drawn to her impatient embrace. He didn't care it Prima was watching, he didn't care who might watch All he knew was that he had to have relief, he had to have joy, he had to have the girl. His back bent, he grasped one of her buttocks, found a nipple to kiss, and loved as furiously as he could "Frank! Frank!"
He hardly heard her call out. His own final moment was like thunder a moment that ripped over him with repeated lightning.
"Oh, good," Dawn murmured as she relaxed at last.
Fortunately, Prima gave him plenty of time to recover. She told Dawn that she could leave now, and at her urging Frank lay down on his back beside her. She turned down the lights. He felt her leave the bed, and soon after that she brought him a tall glass of cold water and some pills which she made him take -- vitamins, he supposed Then he felt a cool damp cloth moving refreshingly all over his body .
He shook his head, wondering if he had dozed.
Prima was sitting near his shoulders on the bed again, and he could smell her expensive perfume.
"Back to life again?" she asked.
"I think so."
"Did you enjoy Dawn?"
"Frankly, everything was so intense that I hardly had a chance for enjoyment."
Prima laughed appreciatively. "I see that you're a man who knows something about loving. I was told as much. And now I wish you'd tell me more about this business venture of yours."
"I think I've covered about everything. I'll give you a high rate of interest -- "
"Oh, I think you've left out a great deal."
Startled, Frank got up on his elbow, lying just as he had when he'd first joined her on the bed, but naked now. He stared at her.
She smiled back. "I'm not naive, my dear Frank. I know something about you, the kind of man you are. I can guess the kind of women you have in mind as clients. When one considers the matter, everything is so obvious."
Frank had often heard that the Contessa was an extremely intelligent and perceptive woman, but now he felt as if she were reading his mind.
"What are you talking about, Prima?"
In the next half-hour she told him the secret part of his plan. She did more than that, she even improved upon it somewhat.
"You want to legitimatize your business as much as possible, Frank -- "
"I know that. That's one reason for working with Dunning and Dunning."
"'You should go farther than that, if only for income tax reasons. Say a client comes to your office. She picks out a picture of the man she wants and his availability for the evening is checked and verified. She then makes out one check for a hundred dollars to Dunning and Dunning. She makes out another check for two hundred dollars, or whatever the balance may be, to another firm -- maybe Entertainment Specialties, Ltd. Thus she has hired her escort from one firm -- and her stud from another. Don't worry, my lawyers will arrange the matter properly, and the Dunning sisters will never know."
She hadn't yet said that she'd put up the money, but her words showed that she was really interested. He felt as if he'd already succeeded in getting the fifty thousand from her.
He felt good, fully recovered from his bout with Dawn. And he gazed at the lush ripe body of Prima Pagano under the thin black negligee with new appreciation.
"Do you have anyone in mind to run your office?"
"I thought I'd do that myself for the time being."
"No. You should have a daytime girl and an evening girl. You can't be there all the time even if you want to be. You may want to go on with your modeling, and you should be available as a lover yourself The girls should be selected with care, of course, and you can leave that to me. Now, what about call girls for male customers?"
Frank hadn't given the matter much thought. "I figured there wasn't much potential in that because the call girl business was already pretty well sewed up. And dominated by gangsters at that."
"Not at the clientele-level which you intend to serve. You're right -- the stud service should come first But you'll find that there are female models who'll be delighted to work for you. For that matter, I know of society women who'd work for you with some frequency just for the adventure. Some, like Dinah Bentley, whom you saw in here earlier, might be willing to work as much as once or twice a week or even more often."
The business hadn't even been started, and Frank saw it already expanding. The Contessa seemed to be extraordinarily knowledgeable in these matters, and he said so.
She shrugged. "I've seen the same kind of business in London, Rome, Paris, Los Angeles, everywhere in the world. Even in New York, though currently there is no really good one here. You're going to be filling a real need, Frank. That's why I'm so sure of your success " Frank moved a little closer to the Contessa. The call of her rich curves was developing into a real hunger. He put a hand against her leg and responded to the firmness and warmth through the black fabric.
"You're quite a woman, Prima," he said after a moment.
"I'm glad you think so."
He raised up in the bed slightly. As he stroked the Contessa's leg, he put his lips lightly to her breast. He sensed the swelling beneath the material Then his passion began to insist, too. He didn't try to hide the fact. He doubted that he could keep anything hidden for long from this woman, even if he wanted to.
Her arm stretched out. Her fingers were as tantalizing as Dawn's had been, and he was fully awakened. "You're feeling ready again," she said quietly. "Yes."
He slipped the hand that was on her leg under her negligee.
"I'll go get Dawn for you. Or someone else if you prefer."
"No."
Though she spoke of getting another woman for him, she didn't try to halt his seeking fingers, and he made his touches as passionate as hers.
"You want to love me?"
"Yes."
She straightened up and pulled away from him. She pulled loose the two or three tie strings of her garment, slipped it off, tossed it away. Then she slid down into the bed and rolled onto her side to face Frank She smiled.
Her love play charged him with a sudden thrill. "All right, lover," she said, her voice hardly audible, "let's see what I can do for you."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The kid was about twenty-two years old., Frank figured. He was blond, handsome in a boyish way, and nicely built. Like a lot of young guys who didn't have much money, he was wearing Levis that showed the shape of his haunches, and a colorful flannel shirt which had been tailored to emphasize the breadth and depth of his chest. The shirt was open at the throat, and like many a good stud, he wore no undershirt.
Frank talked to him in the outer office of the escort bureau while young Rosanne, the secretary now on duty, watched with curious eyes through harlequin glasses.
The kid's name was Dick Valda, and he was nervous. Frank wasn't at all sure he could be trusted or that he really knew what the "special business" was all about.
"I don't get you," he said. "Are you complaining that we don't get you enough dates, is that it?"
"No, no, I've got no complaints -- "
"Because when women phone in for dates, we contact you fellows in turn unless they have special requirements. And if they come here and look at your photo -- "
"I just wondered if I couldn't get those 'special requirements' dates, that's all."
"What 'special requirement' dates? What kind of special requirements? I still don't get you?"
Dick Valda glanced nervously at Rosanne, who grinned. "Look, could I talk to you alone, Frank?"
Frank ignored the request. "Who gave you the idea that you could get dates will special requirements just for the asking?"
"Well, I was talking to Max Logan, and he said something or other...." Dick looked nervously at Rosanne again. Frank really couldn't blame him. She was a small brunette, shaped for loving, and cute as a button. Prima Pagano had known what kind of girls to send him.
"Wait here a minute," he said. "I'll be right back."
He stepped through the door marked Dunning and Dunning Escort Bureau, and went a short distance down the corridor to another door marked Dunning and Dunning Model Service. He hadn't insisted that his name be added to that of the firm. His offices were separate from the main ones, which was reason enough to be happy. The arrangement had proved to be very convenient.
He thought he'd seen Max Logan in the room where the models generally waited for calls. The sandy-haired man was still there, and Frank asked him to come out into the hall.
"I've got Dick Valda in my office right now, Max. He wants to do specials though he won't come right out and say so. At least, not in front of Rosanne. Is he really wise to what a special is?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"You think so!"
"I told him there was a special deal which could make him good extra money. I thought he got the idea."
Frank sighed. "Max, I appreciate your recruiting -- we do need more men. But I wish you'd speak to me before saying anything to a kid like Dick Valda."
"Oh. he's okay, Frank."
"How do you know? Ever double date with him? Ever do any partner-switching at a party with him?"
"Well, no. But I'm positive he'll work out all right."
"I hope so."
Actually, Frank put a lot of trust in Max's judgment. Max had told him about some of the dames he'd taken around and how some had actually tipped him after he'd given them a loving, and he'd been the first man Frank had recruited. Max had brought in several good studs in the last month.
Frank returned to the bureau office. He asked Dick Valda to come with him into the inner office. He closed the door and sat down behind his desk. Dick, still nervous, stood facing him, "Max tells me you're okay."
"Thanks."
"He says you're a big boy now, that you know the score. Tell me something, when you go out on a date we've arranged, does the woman ever make a pass at you?"
"Twice."
"What did you do about it?"
"Laid 'em."
"Were they good looking?"
"One wasn't too bad. The other was a bag." That was promising. "Did they pay you anything for loving them?"
"No."
"If they'd offered anything, would you have accepted?"
"Sure," the kid answered, as if surprised at the question.
"Rosanne's not here now. Tell me what the special deal is that you want in on."
The kid grinned, a little embarrassed. "I want to be a paid stud. I mean, why do that for kicks when you can have money?"
Frank laughed. "Let me explain the set-up."
When he'd finished going over the details, he asked, "What makes you think you'll be any good at this game?"
"Oh, I'm pretty good, Frank."
Frank got up and went to the door. He opened it and called out to Rosanne. "Rosie, have you got a date for tonight?"
"No, not yet."
"Don't. I want you to try out Dick Valda."
"My pleasure."
"Let's hope so. Come in here for a minute, will you?"
Rosanne left her desk and entered the inner office, and Frank locked the door. He had a test in mind, one he wouldn't have bothered with if a man like Max Logan had been concerned, but which he considered justified in the case of one like Dick Valda.
"Okay, Dick," he said, "love her."
Dick looked confused, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Rosanne grinned, pulled up her skirt, and began to climb out of her panties "Go ahead," Frank said. "Unzip."
The kid was actually blushing. Maybe he'd still work out, but Frank would have a lot more confidence in him if he passed this test.
"Now, wait a minute," Dick said. "How come you want me to do a thing like that?"
Stepping out of her panties, Rosanne leaned back against the desk, her skirt up. From her waist she was covered only by her garter belt, stockings, and shoes, and what she presented was as tempting as any twenty-year-old girl could produce.
"Call this a kind of initiation ceremony," she said, giggling. "Hurry up, Dick, I can get bothered for you easy."
"Now, look!" Dick stammered. "There's some things I don't mind doing! But -- why -- in cold blood, right in front of you -- how do you expect me to --"
"Kid, in this game you'd better be able to anytime" Frank said. "Maybe a dame doesn't appeal to you or you've had two others already during the day or she likes some special treatment. You've got to be able to give her what she wants! Now, give Rosie her loving!"
Rosanne stroked her own legs suggestively. "One of you had better," she said, "before I have to take care of myself. Your turn, Dick."
Dick stared at her. He looked miserable.
Frank shrugged. "Well, if you can't, you can't." The fact was that he'd developed a yen for the girl himself in the last couple of minutes.
"I'll try," Dick said.
He unfastened his clothing, lowering his Levis slightly, and getting his underwear out of the way. He stared at Rosanne. She stared back and her eyes took on a glazed look. She breathed harder.
Nothing happened to Dick Valda.
Rosanne reached out to pet him but stopped as Frank said sharply, "No! Don't help him! Not yet!"
The two continued to look at each other, and Dick moved a step closer to the girl. Frank's throat went dry and he dropped into a chair at the side of the room. If he'd been in Dick's place, he'd hardly have been able to hold back by this time.
"You're certainly built," Rosanne said in a low husky voice. "Most girls say that quality and not quantity is most important, and T guess they're right. But, me, I like lots of quantity just the same. Let me just find out about your quantity -- and your quality, Dick."
Dick reacted. And he reacted fast. So did Frank, for that matter. This time he didn't object when Rosanne stroked the kid, and the kid gasped and did the same thing for her.
"I'm ready, Dick. Let...." Dick bent his knees, and Rosanne leaned farther back over the desk. He found his way expertly and with no help from the girl.
"Ah, that's fine," the girl sighed. "Go right ahead... that's right. Oh, he's good, Frank. So good!"
Dick's eyes were half-closed and he seemed to be in a trance He began to move.
"Oh, Dick, you know how to love!" Rosanne said, "Oh, I'm going to enjoy tonight! I'll want a lot from you tonight, Dick! If you're as good then as you are now...." Then she couldn't talk any more. Frank would have found difficulty in speaking, too.
The loving pair moved faster. Once they lost each other but they recovered immediately.
"I'm there! Any time!"
Dick pushed her back farther on the desk and went after her brutally. "Now Dick! Now!"
He made the grade. With a long, rapid flurry of action, he went through the final moment.
Which did nothing to help Frank.
"Okay, Dick, you're okay," Frank said. "You can expect a call from one of the girls."
Dick backed away from Rosanne and quickly rearranged his clothes. She let her skirt drop and went to the door. Frank felt as if he would die if he didn't have a woman soon.
Rosanne arranged to meet Dick that evening, let him out, and locked the door again. She went to where Frank was sitting and before he realized what she was up to, she started unfastening his clothing.
"Okay, boss," she said, "I can tell you're hurting. I might as well do something for you, too."
"Would you mind?"
She giggled. "Why should I mind? I never get enough."
Then she was petting him, and his fever got worse than ever. He stood up and she backed away, still petting him.
"Hey, you've got quantity, too!" she said.
She leaned back against the desk again, and he moved closer. He found her, claiming her as easily and smoothly as the kid had.
Rosanne looked as if she were enjoying herself even more than she had the first time, though only a few minutes had passed, and he wondered if she'd saved her real culmination to share with him. She lolled her head and sighed. She pulled open the top of her dress and yanked her bra up and, as he loved her, he caressed one breast and kissed the other.
"Oh, I like you!" she said.
He speeded up. He could hardly help himself. "Oh, Frank," she said, her voice hardly in control, "are you about ready?"
"Yes! Yes!" he said, gasping. "Here I got"
"Me, too!"
They both strained. Each of the next ten seconds was an explosion of supreme pleasure.
Then he heard Rosanne laughing with relief and relaxing.
"Boss, you really know how to please a girl a lot!"
"No charge," he said, moving away from her.
Soon afterward, he went back to the main office and sat down with Max Logan and Dick Valda. He hoped that he'd recovered sufficiently so that what he'd done wouldn't be apparent to any but the trained eye.
Max had a trained eye.
He stared at Frank as the latter sat down beside him. "Dick was just telling me about the little initiation you gave him," he whispered, so that the three or four other people in the room couldn't hear. "Looks to me like you had a little initiation for yourself."
"I'm only human."
"So am I. Is Rosanne still available?"
Frank didn't ordinarily believe in using the bureau office for partying, and Max knew that, but right now he didn't feel like arguing.
"Ask her yourself," he said.
"I will!"
Max got up and left.
Frank spent the rest of the morning waiting for work, but his mind was on the escort bureau. The business had been in operation for only a month, but its success, both over and under the counter, had been phenomenal. The very first week it had sent out almost a dozen escorts, of which three were stud jobs. The second week there had been calls for several dozen escorts, of which ten had operated as studs. And business had been increasing ever since with a much bigger percentage requiring studs.
The Dunnings were amazed. They would never have believed that a fifty-dollar-an-evening service such as this could be so successful. They would have been even more amazed, Frank thought with satisfaction, if they had known that some clients were paying three hundred dollars, minimum. Out of the extra two-hundred-fifty, the stud got a hundred, and Frank got a hundred-fifty. Ten such dates a week put fifteen hundred dollars in Frank's pocket. Twenty would give him three thousand. He would be able to repay Prima Pagano in no time, and after that he had a clear profit. He didn't even have much overhead -- the Dunnings were paying the rent and the salaries of Rosanne and Yvette.
Frank knew very well that the success of the business wasn't altogether due to him even though the idea was his. He couldn't have operated without a wealthy, swinging clientele, and Prima Pagano was largely responsible for that. Spreading the word was a touchy matter, as touchy as recruiting studs, but Prima had plenty of contacts-- more contacts who were reliable and didn't talk to the wrong people. Not that he cared who knew, for the most part, but naturally he didn't want to have any trouble with either the cops or the underworld.
Neither thing was likely to happen, he assured himself. His clients were wary of scandal or any other form of trouble, they didn't mix with gangsters. As for the law, Frank worried more about the income tax people. He planned to cheat to some extent but to make honest-looking payments. Uncle Sam took quite a bite, but Frank had to pay in order to invest his earnings safely. He'd broken with Gillette after cashing in his eighty thousand, and he planned to get a new investment counselor and broker as soon as he'd returned Prima's money. As things were going now, he'd be able to do that by spring.
Then he'd start "refinancing" himself, as he put it. He'd make a bundle fast and, if anything went at all wrong and there was a chance of heat, he'd get out of the business even faster.
Once he'd had dreams, wild dreams, of making a big comeback, or regaining the loot necessary to finance his playboy way of life. He'd soon flopped, or thought he had. But now his winnings were going on beyond his most coolly thought-out expectations.
He could credit Prima for that too. First, there was the call girl service which she'd persuaded him to include in the business: female paid-dates, some of whom were willing to go to bed with clients. Of course, that was hardly started, but he expected it soon to be going strong.
Then there was the "daytime" service. Prima had certainly been right in saying that he should have the office open morning, noon, and night, and not just in the afternoon and evening, and he planned soon to have it open twenty-four hours a day. In the last two weeks more than half of the trade had come during the day and a good part of that during the afternoon. When escorting was involved, the usual fees were paid; but when the client merely wanted some loving, the basic fees were one hundred dollars for a single quickie, one hundred-fifty for up to three hours, two hundred-fifty for all day. And Frank collected one hundred-fifty out of every two hundred-fifty.
The logic of the success of the daytime service was obvious to him now. Plenty of women were tied up socially or with their families almost every night. Some didn't care to be seen about town with unknown young men when they wanted a bit of entertainment before their loving.
But during the day they had time to kill. The husbands of the married ones were at work and their children, if any, were at school. Many a woman had a frequent yen to lounge around for a few hours or a day with some man who could pleasure her a few times. Frank knew of several cases where women had ordered two men for the day in order to get all the loving they wanted.
He suspected that the call girls would also have considerable success in the daytime. He had only three on the string at present, two models with whom Max had slept and a third girl whom Prima had sent to him. That didn't include Rosanne and Yvette. He didn't have much work for them, and most of the work he did have came from one man, an insurance executive, referred to him by the ever helpful Prima Pagano. The man wanted a girl sent up to his office every afternoon, five days a week, and he asked only that the same girl not be sent twice in succession With a few more clients like that, Frank would really make a mint.
And to the innocent part of the world they were just the Friendship Specialties Corporation, which taught people to make more friends and become more successful through personality development.
Frank spent the rest of the morning thumbing through magazines, pretending to read, and actually refining his plans for the future. He was always refining his plans.
He looked at his watch. It was almost eleven-thirty, and he had a lunch date with Darcy in an hour. He had more lunch dates than anything else with her these days, for she wouldn't make love with him at all. She still wanted to wait, to test her emotions. She'd made such a mistake with Mel Yates that she was frightened silly of repeating herself. Now that the pressure was off him because he was always having other women, he could understand her point of view better. But just the same he ached for her. She was Number One and the Only One for him.
He became aware that a secretary was standing beside him.
"Susan would like to see you right away," she said, and Frank got to his feet.
Susan got up from her desk and gave him a big smile when he'd entered. Her attitude toward him had changed a great deal from the time when they'd first met. The thriving escort bureau was a major reason, but not the only one.
"Good news, Frank. Hellman's Distilleries wants you to be at the Hunt Studio at two. It was a last-minute decision. They'll need you for a whole series, and they also want a six-months exclusive. Naturally we couldn't let them have you without a guaranteed minimum of twelve thousand. Okay?"
"Okay!"
That was the other reason she looked at him with new eyes. Suddenly he had "caught on" in the game, and he had caught on phenomenally. His whole luck had changed.
Except for his luck with Darcy. He couldn't help noticing that Susan always stood closer to him than she used to. He couldn't help noticing that whenever he saw her. a button had come undone at the top of her blouse and some lace as well as a good deal of breast was apparent. He had long ago trained himself to notice all such things. And at least once he would have sworn that the blue veins at the tops of the red-headed woman's breasts were more apparent than usual -- a common symptom of a woman's excitement.
The veins were apparent now.
"They wanted to sew you up for a year. And at eight thousand. I told them, six months and no more, twelve thousand and no less. So you'll probably actually make fifteen to twenty."
"Susan, you're marvelous!"
"I think so too. Give teacher a kiss, pet."
He laughed and they lightly brushed lips. Susan had never made such a suggestion before, and he knew that before long he just might have both of the Dunning sisters where he wanted them.
He considered prolonging the kiss, but someone said, "All right, knock it off!"
Teddi was standing in the doorway which connected her office with Susan's. She looked pale and weary.
"I just sold Frank, Teddi," Susan said, a bit breathlessly but happily. "Six months for twelve --"
"I know, I heard. Congratulations, both of you."
"Well, be happy, dear!"
"I've got a headache. Frank, may I see you in my office for a few minutes?"
"Of course."
As they went into her office, Teddi looked back over her shoulder at her sister. "If you're going to kiss the boys in here," she said crossly, "at least lock both of your doors! I do!"
She closed the connecting door and made a point of locking it as audibly as possible. Frowning, she crossed the room and locked the door that led into the outer office. She made Frank wait as long as she could before saying, "You didn't have to kiss her!" "She made a deal for me, she felt happy, she said, 'Give teacher a kiss, pet.' What was I supposed to do, kick her in the shins? Tell her, 'No, dear -- I might get sick?' Grow UP. Teddi!"
"All right, all right!" She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other and she frowned at him. "Why do I put up with you?"
"Maybe you love me, Teddi."
"Don't use the word. You dirty it up. I must be sick or something -- sick in the head!"
Frank sighed. Teddi wasn't always like this, but at times she could be tedious -- whenever she was jealous.
"Darling, believe me, that kiss didn't mean a thing."
"But you do have other women."
"You may drive me to them!" She slumped down into her chair behind her desk and hung her head for a moment. "I'm sorry, Frank."
"Forget it."
Slowly she raised her head and shook it as if to clear it "Maybe I'd better get out of here," he said. "You look tired."
"No, don't go. I have a special reason for wanting to talk to you."
"Talk away, darling." He was confident that he had her under his thumb and that the situation was well in hand.
"About the escort service."
"What about it?"
"Frank, something funny is going on." His heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"
"I think you know, and I want you to tell me."
So she hadn't tumbled to his little secret yet. He hadn't expected her to, but then he hadn't expected her to become suspicious yet either.
"Teddi, the service is working out just fine. What's bothering you?"
"Frank, why did you hire those two girls, Rosanne and Yvette?"
"You and Susan gave me a free hand -- "
"They're a couple of tramps. Do you think I can't tell an alley cat a mile away?"
"They're very efficient on the job. Their personal moral standards are none of your business or mine."
"But I don't like them, Frank!"
"Too bad. What else bothers you?"
"I'll admit it, I don't know. Some of the business, especially during the day. The boys, a number of them, aren't here as regularly any more, though they're not necessarily booked out as escorts. And they act, some of them, as if the escort bureau were some kind of secret little club."
"We're making money, aren't we?"
"Yes, more all the time, but just the same --" He decided that a display of anger was called for, a show of pride. The woman no doubt had heard and seen things which she couldn't quite put her finger on, and he wanted to throw her off the track before she got an insight; Teddi Dunning was nobody's fool.
Except his.
"What's the matter with you, Teddi?" he interrupted. "What are you, a jealous little idiot?"
That made her blink. "Jealous? Me?"
"I know that you and Susan take great pride in your agency! You've got a right to! But don't you think someone else is entitled to a little success too?"
"I don't know what you mean!"
"It's my turn to say, 'I think you know!' It burns you to think that someone else would buy into the organization and do something that you wish you had done! You agreed to let me into the agency, but you still resent me!"
"Frank, that's not true!"
"You begrudge me my success! You begrudge me my friendships! You even resent my having a perfectly innocent friendship with my partner and agent -- your own sister!" He made his voice tremble with indignation and pain.
"Darling, I don't begrudge you a thing! I'm just afraid that something might be going on that not even you know about!"
Her eyes deeply disturbed, she got up from her desk and came toward him.
"And you want to think the worst of me," he said, "as if it were my fault that you're -- not in love with me -- sick because of me. I think you said!" His tone was that of a man who had been cut to the core. "I suppose that that's all my fault! I suppose you've been babbling this nonsense to your sister --"
"I haven't said a thing!"
"Well, don't!" He stared directly into her eyes. He lowered his voice. "In my entire life I've done very little of which I can be proud, Teddi. I am proud of our escort bureau. And if you do one little thing which might threaten my success... Teddi, we're through!"
She closed her eyes and stood perfectly still.
He turned and walked toward the door to the outer office. When he placed his hand on the knob, she spoke.
"Frank...." He turned. She was standing just as she had before. Her left hand unfastened a button of her blouse. Her right hand rubbed slowly against her left breast.
He knew what she wanted. What she couldn't do without. He smiled to himself with satisfaction. He walked back to her.
As he lifted the front of her skirt, she unfastened his clothing "Of course, darling," he said softly.
CHAPTER NINE
Frank Winston's luck was tremendous. It had been for months now, and it continued to be. He didn't think it would ever break.
He'd gotten this date with Margo Philips with no trouble at all. In a way, she was responsible for his luck, for she was the one who had sent Naomi Lord to him, with the result that he'd had his great idea.
Since March had come in like a lion and was continuing to roar, Margo had suggested that rather than going out they should have dinner in her apartment and spend the evening together. Nothing could have fitted in with his plans better. Even the last storm of winter had proved to be good luck to him.
He figured that if he could get a swinger like Margo interested in the stud service, she would bring in at least a dozen more clients. Margo was discreet but game for almost anything short of murder to get her kicks.
She insisted that he make himself entirely at home, so he took off his coat and tie and sat down to the meal of baked lobster which she had ready for him. The apartment was bare of servants; they were alone. Margo had cooked the meal herself and she'd known what she was doing. There were cocktails before and a light wine during dinner, but Frank went light on the liquor. He knew what he was doing, too.
Afterward, he took off his shoes and settled down into an overstuffed chair and put his feet up on an ottoman. A few minutes later, Margo joined him, curling up on his lap. She was a rather small woman, quite light, but with more than enough weight where weight counted most.
She kissed him lightly a few times and cuddled with him.
"Still snowing, Frank."
"We'll be snowbound."
"You'll never be able to get a cab."
"Would you toss me out into the storm?"
"I'd be afraid to let you stay all night."
"Afraid I might violate you?"
"Afraid you wouldn't." They both laughed. "You know, I've done a lot of things and had a lot of things done for me, Frank, darling. But not once has some poor fiend raped me. If only one of them would realize what a favor he'd be doing me. I mean, I'm afraid that I'm getting really jaded, darling."
"Would you like me to rape you?"
"That would be cheating, now that I think of it. The fiend shouldn't know that I want him to. At least one of us should think I'm really being forced."
"Are you serious, Margo?"
"Completely. I think that every woman now and then would kind of like to be taken by force."
She unfastened a few buttons of his shirt and traced little circles with her nails on his skin.
And the desire was building rapidly.
A shiver went through him and he moved her skirt in order to stroke her bare legs.
"Am I affecting you, darling?" she asked.
"A great deal."
"Good. Affect me, too."
They kissed harder, moving their mouths and testing each other. She unbuttoned more of his shirt and he caressed her more boldly.
When he started to unbutton the front of her dress, she said, "Would you like me to undress for you, darling?"
"Would you?"
"Love to."
She got off his lap and went to her recorder and put on a tape. It proved to be classical music with which he wasn't familiar, but like many classics it was of an exotic nature.
Margo smiled at him and, swaying to the music, took off what little clothing she had on. She was already barefooted and bare-legged. She pulled off her dress and tossed it through a doorway into the dining room. She took off her underwear in a reverse order from that which most women used, Frank noticed; first she doffed her panties and tossed them after her dress, and then her bra.
Frank had never seen her stark naked before. For that matter, he'd never actually slept with her. Several times at parties they'd sneaked off together for quickies, but they'd never done more than that.
Frank felt as if she were practically virgin territory.
Now he marveled at her figure. She had long tapering legs and very little waist. Both hips and breasts were beautifully rounded, and her buttocks had little smiles under them. Her breasts were high and had a lot of thrust and the tips were large -- enlarged perhaps by their petting. Her face was cute and mischievous, if one cared to look at her face at a moment like this. Her eyebrows were dark and arched high, her hair was just a shade or two lighter. Her lashes were long.
"You look great!" he said.
She laughed and began to dance to the music.
Evidently she'd had some training, for she knew how to dance. Every movement was fluid and sensuous, and Frank found himself watching the flow of her shoulders and her legs, the rising and falling of her breasts, the rolling of her waist and waving of her buttocks with increasing eagerness. As the music went on, Margo used more and more movements suggestive of sensual action, and she gave him beckoning looks.
"Like me, darling?" she asked.
"Love you."
She smiled. "Not yet!"
Abruptly she stopped and turned off the recorder.
"What's the matter?"
"I'm bored."
She took off the tape and put on a new one. This one proved to be slow, romantic dance music.
"Dance with me, Frank. Barefooted."
He took off his stockings, stood up, and went to her. Maybe she was bored, but he was not. He'd had a certain amount of frustration earlier in the day, and now he found himself eager to get with the supple slender body which stood naked before him.
He took her to his arms. He savored the moment: the shape of her back under his hand, the touch of her hips against his. He'd seen plenty of naked women. Like most men, he could easily look at one without being excited But now, having a woman like this in his arms...
She swayed forward, pressing and rolling against him. "I do affect you, huh?"
"Like lightning."
She was pleased. "A woman is always glad to know that she awakens a man's interest."
"All the way, darling," he said, and they danced.
As they moved slowly around the room, she unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way and pulled out the tails. Her tips moved like streaming irons against his bare chest as their bodies brushed lightly together.
Still dancing with her, he put both hands to her back, his finger tips barely touching the innermost curve, and he stroked.
She purred. "How did you know that I was so sensitive there, darling?"
"Many women are."
"Have you loved many women?"
"Not women like you."
"Are you going to love me, Frank?"
"Yes."
"What if I don't let you?"
"Rape, sweetheart."
She laughed and pushed against him.
He stroked all of her back from her shoulders to her buttocks. Then he moved his left hand to her breast and made the whole globe swell with heightened desire. He stroked her all over the front of her torso, working his way over the tremulous round of her waist. When he was petting her, she fumbled at his clothes. Then her deft caress began to intensify his own longing.
"Take off your clothes, Frank," she whispered.
He shoved them down and kicked them away.
Locked in each others' arms, they sank to their knees.
They twisted and swayed against each other. Then she pushed him to the floor and slid against him. She began kissing him, kissing him everywhere, her tongue tickling him, and he returned the treatment. He kissed her about the navel and circled over her waist. His tongue touched her, and he grasped her buttocks with both hands, to squeeze them, while she held him just as firmly.
Then he made her churn and kick and arch and sob.
And suddenly he, too, was churning and arching and pressing. The pleasure was so intense that he hardly knew what was happening to him.
Then he was a cannon detonating with a thunderous roar, unable to hold back anything...
Later, they went to her bedroom and lay down. He stretched out, sighed with content, and relaxed. He'd had a frustrating day, all right, and this was certainly a good way to end it.
He'd had a maddening session at the Hunt Studio, and that was bad enough. He'd thought that things might be looking up when he returned to the office to check things at the stud service, as he still thought of it, in spite of the growing string of call girls, and he found a memo to call Darcy. He'd called her and she'd asked him to come to see her at the studio as soon as possible. Her tone had been urgent and worried but she wouldn't say what was on her mind.
When he arrived at six-thirty, her secretary and a couple of men were still in the office. He found Darcy alone in the studio, but the others weren't entirely out of hearing, and they might have been interrupted at any time. He wondered if he could get Darcy upstairs to her apartment for just looking at her made his throat dry. He couldn't help hoping that she would at last concede the reality of her love for him.
But love wasn't on her mind. She was preoccupied with something else entirely.
"Frank, I hear a lot of things here, some of them true, some of them not. The models gossip, the ad men gossip, everyone gossips And some of the gossip has to do with this escort bureau of yours."
He held his breath, readying himself to deny everything. "What have you heard?" he asked.
"That Prima Pagano is your angel."
His relief was so great that he laughed. "Where did you hear that, sweetheart?"
"Then it isn't true?"
"I didn't say it was or it wasn't. But I'd like to know where you got your information."
"From several sources. But a model named Beulah Tandi sounded most as if she knew what she was talking about."
He silently cursed Beulah, and himself for having let the information slip out in front of her. Looking at Darcy, he saw that she had the same hard-eyed look she'd had when they'd first met. There was no point in lying to her, he decided a good liar always told the truth whenever possible.
"The deal is confidential, Darcy, and T wish you wouldn't talk about it. But Beulah was right. The Contessa did make me a loan. I needed more money than I had in order to buy into Dunning and Dunning."
"But why did you have to go to her -- "
"Because I happen to be a poor risk from a banker's standpoint. And I also happen to be slightly acquainted with Prima Pagano. She was the one person I knew who might lend me what I needed. I'll soon have her paid off--"
"But, Frank, don't you know it's dangerous to be mixed up with that woman? I'll admit that she's beautiful, she's charming -- I've met her a few times myself, and I found that I liked her -- but she's also supposed to be one of the most thoroughly unscrupulous and immoral women in the entire world!"
"Darcy, that's nonsense. You've been listening to a lot of dirty rumors."
'Frank," she said, as if her words explained everything, "I met her during my years with Mel!"
He shrugged. "Maybe you do know more about her than I do But all she and I have together is a pleasant business relationship."
"Couldn't you have asked me for the money you needed?"
"Of course not!"
That was true. The idea had occurred to him, but only in passing, and not just because forty or fifty thousand dollars might be more than she could afford to give him. Of all the people in the world, Darcy Yates was the one person from whom he couldn't borrow for this business venture. The idea of doing so was completely intolerable.
"Frank, you've got to get free of this woman!"
He didn't like the way in which she spoke as if he were some kind of captive. "I am free of her, Darcy. I owe her nothing but money, and as I said, I'll soon have that paid off."
Here they were, talking about business, when the one thing he wanted, the thing he'd wanted for months, was to make love to her. When he could stand being apart from her no longer, he pulled her into his arms, not caring who might walk in on them She resisted him a little but her eyes softened.
He kissed her, and the warmth of their two bodies seemed to become a single warmth. As their mouths played lovingly together, his basic urge came to life. Darcy excited him faster and more strongly than any other woman he'd ever known.
"Darling, when are you going to end this little vacation from love?"
"I'll let you know soon," she said. "Please don't be impatient with me. Lots of people wait longer, you know."
"But we're not like other people. Darcy, do you ever... at night... want me?"
"Almost every night. And every day. Maybe I shouldn't tell you that, but that's the truth."
He kissed her some more. He ran a hand over her, caressing her breasts through her smock and her dress. She hadn't let him go even this far for quite a long time.
"Do you want me now?" he asked.
The question frightened her and she tried to pull away. He forced more caresses and kisses at her.
"Do you want me now?" he repeated.
"Please, Frank...."
"You do want me!"
Then, as if she couldn't help herself, she was returning his love-making as forcefully as he was trying to excite her.
His need for her catapulted.
He wanted her now. Not in half an hour or an hour, not in a month or in five minutes, but now. This very instant.
"Darcy," he said, his voice trembling, "let's go upstairs."
"No, Frank!"
"Darcy, I must."
He looked around. The darkroom was only a few steps away. He grabbed Darcy's arm and practically hurled her into the room, closing the door behind them. The only light was from a dim red bulb in the ceiling.
He held her tightly, kissed her, and ran a hand over her He felt as if the other women he'd had counted for nothing and all the frustration of waiting for months for Darcy had piled up and could be endured no longer. Never before in his life had he had such a sudden, strong, and unquenchable desire.
He pulled up her skirt and caressed her hips. She gasped and stepped away from him, but he pressed her back against a table.
"Darcy. I've got to have you!"
"No! Frank, no!"
"Please! Darling, let me!"
Faster than ever before in his life, he managed to get his clothing out of the way. He strained forward, stroking her smooth skin.
"Frank, I'll scream, I swear I will!"
"Just once, darling. I'm dying! Let me."
"No!"
He knew she meant what she said. However much she might be suffering from the same feelings as he, she intended to stay away from him until she was sure she loved him and was running no risk of another experience such as she'd had with her late husband.
And Frank couldn't blame her.
He pulled away from her and collapsed over one of the tables "I'm sorry, darling," she said tearfully But now, with Margo Philips naked in his arms, he could forget his troubles with Darcy for at least a little while.
He had regained his strength, and she sent little shivers through him. He petted her smooth body gently and nuzzled her breasts.
"I should have gotten around to you sooner, darling," she said. "I mean for a real session, not just a quickie behind a bush. Men as good as you are hard to find."
"Oh, I don't know. Not if you know where to look."
She laughed. "What a way to react to a compliment!"
"I appreciate the compliment. And maybe, as a man who likes to keep all the women he can to himself, I shouldn't say this. But I happen to know that some of the girls have a new kick. Maybe you haven't heard."
"Oh? What's that?" She sounded interested.
"What does a man do when he wants something completely fresh, a woman he's never seen before and doesn't necessarily have to worry about seeing again?"
"Gets a call girl, I suppose."
"That's right. And why shouldn't a woman do the same? Hire herself a handsome, well endowed, high-class man. Pay him for his services, have her kicks, and shoo him out."
Margo was silent for a minute. Frank shook under her languorously toying fingers.
"Hey, you know, that might be fun at that," she said. Then she made a bright guess. "Is that what you do in your escort business, Frank? Supply lovers?"
"Let's say that I know of a business that does. You can simply pick up your phone and call for one. Or go to a certain office and present certain identification and take your pick from pictures. Interested?"
"Sure Why not? Could I call right now?"
"Twenty-four hour a day service."
"Does this business supply girls too?"
"Sure Both men and women."
"I'll tell you what. You call for me, Frank. Get a guy for me and a girl for you. If they will, on a bad night like this."
"They may need a little time--but they'll be here." He knew they would He'd made arrangements with Max and Yvette He sat up on the edge of the bed and called the office Then he rolled back into Margo's embrace She made his most delicate nerves sing 'Hurry, honey," she said 'As long as we've got to wait for a while let's do some loving."
His luck was still going strong. Margo had gone for the idea of hiring a lover She'd spread the word in the right quarters. Business was booming.
CHAPTER TEN
Something was buzzing in his ears -- buzzing maddeningly, raucously, insistently.
He pulled himself out of sleep. His window was open and an unseasonably warm breeze for early May flowed over his naked body.
The buzzing continued. Someone wanted in. He turned on the bedside lamp and got up. Still not completely awake, he made his way through the dark apartment, turned on a light in the living room, and picked up the house phone. "Yes?"
"Frank, this is Susan Dunning. I've got to see you, and I want to see you now!"
She sounded disturbed, and he thought, oh-oh, the crisis was here. Well, he welcomed it. He knew how to handle it.
"Are you sure, honey?" he said "I happen to be naked at the moment."
"Throw something on and let me in!"
"Glad to."
He held down the door-lock buzzer until Susan had time to enter. Then he went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and washed out his mouth. He returned to the bedroom, found a robe in the closet, and pulled it on. As he went into the living room again, his doorbell sounded.
He opened the door. The red-headed older Dunning sister stood there, fire in her eyes. But there was something else in her eyes too, he noticed with satisfaction, as she looked over the front of his robe "Come in, Susan."
She entered and he closed the door. He walked up behind her and took off her light cloth coat. For a moment he thought she wasn't going to let him do so, but then she yielded.
"I'll get you a drink."
"Thanks. I need a drink. Even," she added, "if the liquor is yours'" He opened the bar "Did you think Id never find out?" she asked as he poured Scotch on ice. "Find out what?"
"About the shabby operations you've been managing under the cover of Dunning and Dunning."
"Susan. I don't know what you're talking about "
"Teddi told me all about them. I knew that something was worrying her -- she's been worried for months.
I suspected that she was having an affair with you and that you were giving her a hard time."
"Is that what you call my shabby operations under the cover of -- "
"Of course not."
He handed her a glass. Her eyes focused upon the exposed V of his chest. She took a deep gulp of whisky.
"Teddi figured out your call-boy racket a long time ago. She kept her mouth shut because she was hung up on you, sick for you. And as if your racket weren't bad enough, you kept loving her -- right there in the office, I understand -- in order to keep her quiet. Well, she's no longer quiet, Frank. And you're not going to see her again; she's leaving the city."
"You're sure she's not just a hysterical girl? You're sure she told you nothing but the truth?"
"I just came from your office. That Yvette babe gave me a hard time, and I fired her. I locked the door and took a good look. I found enough to convince me that Teddi was absolutely right."
Funny that he hadn't heard from Yvette, he thought Then he remembered that he had an unlisted number; and being locked out of the office. Yvette had no way of finding out what it was.
The thing that was really odd was his calm. He felt completely in control of the situation. He was actually more interested at this moment in the red-headed woman's long legs and the way her breasts heaved from her hard breathing than in what she had to say.
"So you're blowing the whistle, Susan?"
"If you mean calling the cops, you know I'm not.
I've got to find a way of salvaging Dunning and Dunning. I'm closing down the escort bureau at once."
"Honey, the bureau is going on and on and on. And I'm going to run it. Me -- a member of Dunning and Dunning."
Susan stared at him and licked her lips. He supposed she'd expected this development.
"All right," she said. "How much do you want?"
"For what?"
"You know for what -- to get out!"
He smiled. He had a feeling of having been through this before But this time he was on the other side of the bargaining counter. Looking at Susan and thinking of what he'd like to do to her made him feel a little drunk with need, but he kept his head.
"I want several things," he said. "First of all, though, I'd better tell you that I won't bargain."
Susan finished her drink. "Go on."
"T want the escort service. Complete. We'll move to a different building if you wish, but there'll be no other changes."
"What else."
"Two hundred thousand dollars."
Susan stared at him. She was going to take an eighty thousand dollar loss and he an eighty thousand dollar profit--the exact amount he'd had to start out with. He'd doubled his money in a few months, not to speak of all he was making off of the stud service and as a model.
Susan stood up.
"All right," she said. "You can have that. You have my word."
"Fine. But there's something else."
She looked at him questioningly. He held out his hand. Perhaps she thought he wanted to shake on the deal.
"I said, you have my word."
"And I said, something else."
"What?"
But then he'd pulled her into his arms and put his mouth to hers.
She was so startled that she didn't struggle. He thought that her lips even responded a little. He pulled her closer.
"You, Susan," he whispered, "I want you!"
Then she did struggle, but he held her tightly.
"You bum!" she said, her voice thick with hatred -- and perhaps something else as well. "You dirty, vicious bum!"
She tried to pound him with her fists and to knee him. He was afraid that she might bring a heel down on one of his bare feet, and he picked her up in his arms and carried her to a sofa while she flailed away, dumping her quickly before she could escape. Then he caught her ankles and pulled off her shoes while her skirt flew clear up her naked legs.
"No! No!" She swore, and she fought her way off the sofa.
He caught her from behind. His left hand rubbed her breasts and tried to get her dress open while his right hand moved down over her waist. She scratched at him and tried to bite him. but with no success.
He pulled her skirt up and attacked her panties.
"Why not?" He whispered into her ear as she struggled. "You have everything to gain and nothing to lose. It's not as if you'd never had a man before. Don't tell me you haven't! And what's one session, more or less? Especially when you know you really want me. You and I have had this date for a long time, Susan! Haven't we, honey?"
"You bum. You dirty rat!"
He was finally getting the front of her dress open, and the rayon on her waist was peeled away. She leaned far forward, trying to stop him, and he quickly pulled up the back of her skirt.
"Frank, you dirty, rotten -- " He shoved the white cloth off her buttocks. His robe was open, and he rubbed against her. She straightened up fast and twisted to one side, trying to escape When he put his mouth to hers again, she continued to struggle, yet didn't turn her face away. Her muscles twitched and her flesh trembled at his exploring touch. He was right. She did want him. Perhaps in her mind she didn't, but with her eager body she did.
"Just one night, a night we've both been wanting," he said as he panted both from his exertions and from his need. "One night together, and you've got your deal, Susan Nobody will ever know, if that's what you're worried about."
"No. I won't."
"Let me take off your dress. You won't have to do a thing; and think of the pleasure, Susan, think of how good I'll be to you. How long has it been since you've had a man, baby?"
"Frank, don't touch me!"
"I'll bet you've been needing a good lover, haven't you, Susan?"
Gradually her struggles weakened, and he found that he was controlling her without difficulty. When she at last stopped fighting, her head back and her mouth against his, she couldn't even keep her knees from trembling. She stood there with her underwear at her knees and her skirt up on his wrist, enduring every exciting stroke he gave her, quivering and ready.
"You rotten, filthy...."
"Call me all the names you want, sweetheart. But take off this dress. Take off your bra. Let those panties fall the rest of the way. You're going to get yourself loved, and you know that's what you want."
Her eyes were closed. She shook her head as if in protest, but one of her hands started loosening her dress. The other found his body and moved slowly and thrillingly.
"You bum," she whispered.
He helped her pull her dress over her head. That left her in her bra, and he unhooked it and pulled it away. She no longer showed any will of her own; she was like a stark naked doll -- but a beautiful, rounded, lust-swollen doll. Her skin was milky white, her nipples large and dark.
He dropped his robe from his shoulders and pulled her to him, moving against her, tugging at her back and at one plump buttock. Their tongues flayed at each other, and he learned anew that her desire was at least the equal of his.
Standing there, he caressed her for a few moments more and she toyed with him tantalizingly.
"If you're going to take me, hurry," she whispered. "I can't stand this much longer."
For the second time he picked her up. He carried her out of the living room, through the hall, and into his bedroom. He laid her down upon the bed and they embraced as he moved to her.
"Ready, baby?" he asked.
"Hurry," she sighed as she tried to get him right where she wanted him. "Hurry!"
He took great satisfaction in hearing her beg, and he held off for a moment.
Then he took even greater satisfaction.
He kept her going as long as he could, sliding at her white body, sliding over her, slipping and pressing and making her sigh with mounting desire and repeated peaks of pleasure. He nibbled her breasts and pulled at her buttocks and reduced the both of them to a set of passion-singing nerves. He drove himself to a spectacular culmination, knowing that before long he'd do the same thing all over again.
He had his career. He had his agency. He had all his money back and more.
He had the world by the string.
And Susan Dunning was no exception.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The exception was Darcy Yates.
Moreover, where she was concerned, he didn't even seem to be making progress. A week after his night with Susan, he reminded her at one of their lunch meetings that she'd been keeping him on the string since the previous fall.
"Is there another man, Darcy?" he asked, sick with jealousy and yearning at the very thought that there might be. "If there is, I wish you'd tell me."
"No, there's no other man. And I haven't touched any man but you."
"Then don't you think it's about time you made up your mind?" He made his words as gentle and sympathetic as he could.
She nodded. "Soon, Frank. I promise you."
But a week later she refused without explanation to see him. And as the days passed he developed a panicky feeling that her decision had gone against him.
Then one afternoon at the very end of May she phoned him.
"Can you see me this evening?" Her voice was low and revealed nothing of what she might be thinking. "Yes, certainly! Darcy -- "
"My apartment door will be open. Just walk in. And lock the door."
"Darcy -- "
"Come at about eight. I'll be waiting."
She hung up before he could say a word more.
At precisely eight o'clock he was at her door. He started to ring the bell, then remembered her instructions.
He tried the door handle and the door swung open. He entered the apartment and closed the door behind him, locking it.
He didn't hear a sound. He called, "Darcy?"
He heard no answer.
He went into the living room. No one was there. The last light of day slanted through the windows, and no lamps had been turned on. The effect was one of gloom.
"Darcy?"
No answer.
"Darcy!" Again no answer.
Puzzled, he walked back through the apartment. He went as far as the kitchen and still saw no one. Beginning to be a little nervous, even frightened, he returned to the living room. He went up the curving staircase that led to the balcony and the bedrooms.
In the upstairs hallway he saw a light for the first time, streaming from a door which was open just a crack.
With a sense of something being terribly wrong, he rushed into the room.
The blinds were drawn and one bedside lamp was on and Darcy Yates was sitting on the white sheets of the bed, looking more beautiful than he'd ever seen her.
He released a sigh of both relief and wonder. When he'd first seen Darcy, he'd thought there was something hard-looking about her, but now he'd never seen a woman who looked softer. Her legs were curled under her, and she was a symphony of feminine curves, every curve showing through the white peignoir which was her only garment. Her dark hair was loose and had a shine excelled only by that in her eyes. Her face was soft, a picture of a woman in want and waiting.
Yet she didn't look at him eagerly, she didn't smile, she didn't even look serious. She didn't appear to be watching for his reaction to the sight of her. She was simply waiting.
Like a bride.
He started to say something but thought better of it. At the moment, words were not what she wanted. He knew what she wanted.
He unbuttoned his suit coat and pulled at his tie. He began to get excited even as he undressed. He'd been waiting for so long for this. For her to give him her decision -- and herself. And now she was doing both at once. He tried to keep his thoughts calm in order to save as much of his strength for her as possible, but he couldn't. By the time he stripped off his briefs, his potency was entirely in command, and she saw how badly he wanted her.
He went to the bed, put one knee up beside her, and with shaking fingers unfastened her white peignoir. Her lips, her breasts, every curve and crease of her body called to him, and he shook as she caressed him while he undressed her.
The white garment slipped from her shoulders. She raised slightly so that he could pull it from under her, and he hung it over a chair. Then he returned to her.
They embraced.
They kissed and moved against each other. And now he found that she was eager, as eager as he. Like him, she'd been thinking of this meeting for hours. But she had known what was going to happen, what they were going to do.
He stroked the velvet skin. He stroked the rough nipples, making first one tip rise and then the other. He touched each curve of her legs, and her electric fingers lingered over his.
She was the first to speak.
"Darling," she said, her whisper heavy with desire.
"Yes. love."
"Listen to me. I want you to make love to me as much as you can. I want you to handle me and kiss me and love me everywhere. Everywhere, Frank, darling. I want you to make me more alive than I've ever been. I want your touch and your kiss for every square inch of my body Do you understand?"
"Yes, love."
"And I want you to take me as much as you can. Take me every way you can. Every way that a man can take a woman. And when you can't do that, do other things for me. Will you?"
"I will, darling."
"And I'll do the same for you. Everything. I'll help you to keep going."
She was already gasping from his love play, and he felt drawn as tight as a bow string with desire.
"Oh, we're going to have a night, darling," she said, "a night like nobody every had before."
Then as she leaned back on her arms, he commenced to give her the kind of loving he knew she wanted, the kind he wanted so badly to give her. As he kissed her breasts and gave fever to the more sensitive surface of her legs, he reminded himself that he must always exercise a degree of control, always hold back and conserve what power he could, in order to give her more loving than she'd ever before had in a single night.
He sent wave after wave of fire through her fervid flesh, and she did all she could to make him a crazed beast. He caressed her, kissed her, tantalized her, putting a wildness into her breasts, and her breath made his nerves go mad with delight. He stopped at nothing in adding to their pleasure, and neither did she.
He was the one who begged first.
"Darcy -- Darcy -- you've got to let me -- now! I can't -- wait any longer! Please, if I -- don't now -- "
"Yes, darling, but rest a minute! Rest!"
They lay perfectly still. He could almost hear his heart pounding.
Then he moved toward her. She rolled over and waited for him as he slowly moved closer and closer to her, finally taking her, still slow, still very gentle.
Then all was fury again, loving fury, giving and taking, until her arms tightened as she soared to the heights, and still he continued loving her, loving harder, until the dam burst and the ecstasy rushed through the night of love.
And they began again.
Nothing was hidden, nothing was held back, nothing was barred. Kisses traveled over chest and legs and hips. Teeth caught at the tenderest flesh. They explored everywhere. Veins were made to stand out and flesh to ache. And time after time they acted together to bring their love-making to a shattering finale.
As she kneeled astraddle him.
As she kneeled and lowered her shoulders to the bed.
As they lay side by side, twisting as if in agony.
As he put her on the bed once again and moved to her luxurious naked body.
When it was, at last, morning, and they lay spent in each other's arms, he honestly didn't know how many times he'd loved her. Six, possibly seven. And she must have had at least a dozen moments of complete release, probably many more.
When they had lain in silence for a long time, she said a strange thing: "I wonder if that was our last time together."
An iciness, a sickness, flowed through him. "What makes you say that?" he asked, but he felt that he knew everything that was to follow.
"When I heard about the kind of business you were running, when I heard all kinds of things about you, I told myself that they were lies. Were they?"
He knew that lies were now useless. There was no way of keeping her from being assured of the truth. He wondered dully why he had ever thought that the truth could be kept from Darcy.
"Probably not," he said. "But tell me, who told you?"
"Susan Dunning. And others too, that I asked later."
So Susan was having her revenge. She had managed to locate his Achilles' heel, and she had definitely shot the arrow.
"At first, when I was certain of the truth in spite of myself, I thought I'd go mad. Making love to both Susan and Teddi was bad enough, but I told myself that maybe that was partly my fault for holding you off for so long. But being a procurer, running a call-boy and call-girl service, that was something else. I thought I could never overlook or forgive that."
She raised up on her elbow and looked down at him. "But I discovered that I was wrong. Because I love you. And because I've done things, too -- you've seen the photographs Mel made -- and I know to what awful positions a person can be pushed."
He saw a gleam of light. "I'm glad you understand. Darcy."
"I didn't say that I understood. I don't even ask you to make me understand. But I am willing to accept."
"Thank you, darling."
"On one condition," she said.
"And on that condition you'll marry me?"
"Yes. And I'm going to ask you just once, Frank. Quit. Give up. Close down this prostitution service of yours."
Give up the stud service? Give up the call girls?
Give up a business that was now entirely his own and which was bringing him thousands of dollars a week?
Go back to being the Frank Winston who might have no more than a few years, at best, as a successful model ?
Give up when he had a chance of recovering his fortune and living on the scale he used to? Give all that up?
Darcy couldn't be serious. She didn't understand his position. She would surely come around to his way of thinking when she saw all that was involved. And, after all, it wasn't as if the service he supplied were really something bad; nobody got hurt, people were entitled to their bit of fun.
He tried to talk to her. He tried to explain. He tried to make her see reason.
She lay back on the bed, rolled away from him, and curled up into a little ball. She didn't even appear to be hearing his faltering words.
"Get dressed, Frank," she said dully. "Please leave now " He kept on trying to explain as he put his clothes on. He remembered his fright of last night, thinking that something had gone horribly wrong. His hunch had proven to be all too correct. He wished that Darcy would weep, scream, vilify him, anything for emotional release, rather than just lying there.
Well, she would see the light. She loved him too much to give him up.
But if she really meant to give him up...
"Darcy, you don't really want me to go!"
"I tried to believe that last night could be a new beginning," she said, her voice colorless. "I guess that maybe, in the back of my mind, I knew all along that this was the end rind that I'd never, ever, ever have the lover and the life that I wanted. Now I know you, Frank, the way I came to know Mel. And I don't think I'd have you even if you changed your mind."
He couldn't believe that. The statement was too extreme.
He started to leave, but he was worried by the idea of Darcy being alone.
"Darcy, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'll never touch a man again. Or maybe I should he like so many of you people -- forget my unhappiness, my failure, in lust. I honestly don't know which I should, do."
That Darcy should do either thing was unimaginable to him. She was too warm-blooded to remain without a man forever, too basically moral and conventional to lose herself in a life of unbridled lust.
"You're tired, honey," he said gently. "After you've rested and thought things over -- "
"We're finished, Frank."
Staring at her back, he had an almost ungovernable impulse to tell her, You win! I'll give up the business! I don't want anything else in the world but you!
He turned his back and went out the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thought he was almost staggering with fatigue, his final moments with Darcy had left him wide awake. As if to reassure himself of the importance of the escort bureau in his life, he took a taxi to the new office. To check up on things, he rationalized to himself.
All during the ride, he tried to tell himself that the parting with Darcy wasn't permanent. But the truth that it was permanent pounded in his brain. The thought of life without the one woman he loved was unbearable. But he couldn't give up his dream of regaining his former wealth.
Already, depleted though he was, he had a homesickness for Darcy, for the richness of her breasts and legs, for the luxury of her silken arms against his bare shoulders, for the delight of having her.
The building had just opened when he arrived, and the doorman he'd hired to escort clients to the office during the night was just leaving. Frank took the elevator up to the eighth floor and entered the office. Rosanne was at her desk, reading a magazine, and she gave him a cheerful good morning. He went into the inner office and sat down at the desk.
He would never know precisely why he made the discovery.
He would realize, however, that whether or not he had made the discovery his fate was bound to be the same.
But he didn't know that at the time. He only knew that in tinkering around the desk and feeling inside and above a drawer to find out how it was constructed, he found and pulled loose from its tape-mooring a small microphone and transmitter.
A "bug."
Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Somebody was wise. The cops. The heat was on. He had to get out and get out fast.
But how, he thought in a panic, how?
Prima Pagano. The Contessa would know what to do. The Contessa had a plan, an angle, a connection for everything.
Despite the early hour, he dialed her number. Surprisingly soon he had her on the phone. She sounded quite wide awake.
"Something's come up, Prima, something important. I can't say anything more on the phone, but I've got to talk to you right away."
For a moment she didn't answer, and the seconds seemed endless.
"Yes, Frank," she said at last, "I think it's time we had a little talk. Come see me at about five this afternoon. Meanwhile, you'd better go home and get some sleep."
Frank had already hung up before he wondered how Prima Pagano knew that he hadn't slept all night.
* * *
He couldn't have been more stunned if he'd managed to stay on his feet for fifteen rounds in the ring with a champion heavyweight.
Prima Pagano sat opposite him in her living room. They sat on the same level, yet she seemed to be above him, as if on a throne. She was dressed in a plain, demure white linen dress which failed to hide her superb figure. Her black hair was bound back in a simple style, and she smoked a cigarette through her long black holder. She looked like what she was, a member of the royalty.
The royalty of Hades.
"So the police didn't bug' the office," she murmured, perfectly calm. "You will not close down the business. And you will continue to run it. You will run it on and on and on."
Her words were an ironic echo of the ones he had spoken to Teddi Dunning. He wanted to strangle this woman, but he had a sense of unseen eyes watching. The Contessa wouldn't be unguarded at a moment like this.
"So the police didn't 'bug' the office," he repeated.
"You had it done."
She nodded. "I have evidence which would undoubtedly send you to prison for many a long year, should you try to get out of hand."
"But you'd be implicated, too."
She smiled. "You mean you'd try to implicate me. Others have tried. All have failed. And I don't think I have to worry about your running to the police on your own, Frank."
She was right. He would never willingly face the possibility of a prison sentence of any duration.
He remembered the pistol which he had in his apartment.
But he'd never have the guts to take that way out either.
"Don't look so stricken, Frank," Prima Pagano said. "The world hasn't come to an end. I've been very generous in letting you take all the profits until your debt to me was repaid. I've let you go on taking everything for a little while. I appreciate the talent of a man who can set up for me the same kind of operation I have in London, Paris, Rome -- but why name them all?"
"You she-devil," he said without fire.
She laughed. "You compliment me. You probably thought that all these operations were run by greasy little men."
"Like me."
"Not at all like you. Believe me, you don't run their risks. True, you won't make their fortunes either, for I take most of the profits. But I'll see to it that you have a very handsome living and even enough to put some aside for your retirement. You don't know how fortunate you are." She smiled. "Actually, there's not a reason in the world why we can't be friends."
"Not a reason in the world," Frank Winston said, in the voice of the walking dead.
* * *
Frank didn't cheat. He didn't try to see out from behind the blindfold.
Groping his way on his knees, he reached out. His right hand found a soft breast, his left hand grasped thin air, then landed on the naked ribs of a woman. He slid his hands until he had a breast in each, and he kneaded the softness, and the tips hardened against his palms.
He moved closer to the girl on the soft rug. Her hands fell to his shoulders. Their knees touched, then their naked legs and waists, and his lust awakened. He kissed the girl and their blindfolds rubbed together. In variations of this game, sometimes only one partner was blindfolded, sometimes both. The Contessa was giving two and three parties a week lately, and she was fond of such games as these. They were always played quietly with quiet talk and quiet laughter. One was always quiet and sober at the Contessa's.
He caressed the girl, still unable to recognize her, and she made his flesh ache with anticipation. He lowered his head and kissed her breasts, teasing them. Then he kissed his way along the middle of her body. As she realized what he was trying to do, she leaned backward to help him, and he held her to brace both of them. He heard murmurs of approval from the audience for their technique.
When he had gone all the way and had made her shake with joy, he swiftly kissed his way back along her body again. Then it was her turn to do the same thing for him. He leaned back as she moved along his chest and her tongue tickled him. She kissed farther and farther, and then he thrilled to her kisses.
He didn't give her time to kiss her way back again. He rolled her over, found her breasts, and caressed her hips, readying her. Then he moved to her.
Never speaking, in darkness, they moved closer. Unseen hands fluttered over him, and then he was loving the stranger.
She was good. She was great. It wasn't true that all women were alike in the dark. One of the advantages of this game was that you wound up with partners whom you might not otherwise consider. And sometimes they turned out to be the very best.
He and the girl began to work. He hadn't had such sensations of pleasure in a long time. He could hear her gasping, but he still had no idea of who she could be.
The pleasure became so intense that he was afraid he couldn't hold back. He tried to calm his mind, he tried to retain himself.
Then he recognized the girl's moment by the way she reacted, and he had to let go, flaming, rocketing, his mind going blank from the great surges of pleasure.
He was helped to his feet. He was led out of the room. And finally he lost his blindfold and found himself in a group in the living room, men and women in pajamas and nightgowns. No one would ever tell him who the girl had been. If they'd liked each other enough, they would try to recognize each other by making love to as many people as possible. A group of a dozen men and women entered the room and Frank looked at the half-dozen women. His partner might have been any one of them, and he would have to love them all to stand any chance of finding out.
He found his pajama pants and put them back on. On his way back to the living room, he passed a few bedroom doors where women were receiving one man after another in the dark, a variation of the blindfold game. He glanced into another bedroom where a man and a woman were embracing and kissing passionately -- while each made love to another man and woman who were also embracing and kissing. Another bedroom had a man between two women across the foot of the bed, a woman between two men across the head.
All kinds of games were played at the Contessa's parties.
He reentered the living room and watched for a while. A small group was pairing off by playing spin-the-bottle, the pairs going off alone. Not all action at the Contessa's was displayed to an audience, for that would diminish the fun. Variety was a key-word here.
Frank watched a pair dancing the old Chicago Boogie before the soft playing tape machine. As he watched, they became increasingly excited. He didn't know if they'd get to a bedroom in time or not. The man abandoned his pajamas and the girl threw off her nightie. A few other people gathered around to watch, but the pair didn't seem to notice.
The dance became increasingly teasing, turning into forthright foreplay, and both partners strained with want. Suddenly they could wait no longer. They threw themselves at each other, taking each other standing up and hardly stopping their dance steps. Gripping each other's hips, they continued the rhythm, and then the end as they were falling to the floor. They had lasted only a matter of seconds.
Watching them, Frank found that his strength had returned and was demanding new satisfaction. He walked through the apartment looking for someone especially promising and trying to guess who his last partner had been.
As he was walking through a hall, he met Max Logan. The man was leaning wearily against the wall, his pajama pants in his hand. Max waved a hand to a bedroom door.
"That one's terrific," he said. "And insatiable. She whispered for me to get her another, because I won't be good again for another two or three hours."
Frank thanked him for the tip and slipped into the darkness of the bedroom. He dropped his pajamas by the closed door where he'd be able to find them easily on his way out, and he felt his way toward the bed.
He was no sooner on the mattress when smooth arms encircled his shoulders, drawing him close, and he found the woman's mouth and breasts.
In the darkness they explored each other, agitated each other, slid closer, tangled, rolled, bit. Breasts moved against his chest, lips against hip. This woman was wild, he thought, as teeth and tongue skimmed over nerves that screamed with joy, as wild as any he had ever encountered.
At last he could wait no longer, and he tried to force her into position on the bed. Then she became as eager to take him as he was to have her, bringing him all the way to her, and then forcing him.
She was great, even greater than the last one, he thought as he worked in the darkness of the bedroom.
Was this the girl he'd had before... he suddenly wondered. Sometimes one couldn't tell. Maybe the girl had gone to the bedroom and taken Max, and now Frank was with her again. Maybe even before he'd first had her she'd been in this or another bedroom, taking one man after another.
But then the pleasure became so intense that he couldn't think -- which was one reason he made love these days. Her smooth, strong loving of his flesh crazed him. He held himself in check another second and then another and then -- He gasped.
He stifled the growl that rose in his throat. He struck again and again with all his force, and the girl stiffened and helped him.
He left silently, still wondering if this might be the same girl he'd had earlier.
He couldn't get her off his mind -- which, he had to admit, wasn't unpleasant. She kept other things off of his mind. Later he went back to the same room, but this time he was certain he was with a different girl.
Still later he roped out a blonde lovely who looked like a possibility and took her out on the penthouse terrace under the stars. She was wonderful -- but not the same girl Somewhere in this apartment tonight his lovely was giving other men the thrill of a lifetime, he thought with a certain jealousy of which the Contessa would not have approved, just as he was trying to give the woman the thrill of theirs.
Not until dawn had appeared upon the horizon did he and Darcy face each other, white-faced and heartsick, across the spacious living room.
The Contessa, it seemed, had quite a sense of humor.