Chapter 9

AL told himself that he was really living. He took Alice Bolton into his arms, began to kiss her. He kissed her lips, eyes, throat. He parted the negligee, mouthed her breasts. She merely submitted for a time, as if testing him. But finally she began to reciprocate with a practical urgency. Her lips were parted, warm and moist She grew breathless, excited.

Her bedroom was done in ivory, pink, and gold. The bed was oversized. She had already opened it. She drew him toward it, began to work on his clothes, the negligee sliding like water down her shoulders.

Coupled with her undressing him was so frank an appraisal of his physical being that he felt embarrassed. He seized her and tumbled with her onto the bed. She entwined her body with his.

"You make Earl look-and feel like a scrawny kid," she said. She kissed him greedily.

Alice's comparing him to Earl excited Al-also cued him to what she wanted from a man. He used his muscles, his strength in handling her, felt her become vibrantly eager in his arms. He prolonged his love-play, adeptly frustrating her aggressiveness until he was sure of his domination.

His final union with her was less an act of invasion than of possession. The rhythmic coupling that followed made her fully his. She was unlike Janice, who never lost a love match with him-who gave joyously as much as she took.

Alice, instead, was a lost, gone chick, his to trample and pound and gore to her vitals-his to possess to the core. And possess her he did, mindlessly and without other purpose-his eruption within her was a consuming thing that left her spent and gutted as if by fire....

He stirred at last, still one with her, running a hand along her now relaxed body.

"Well, did I measure up?"

She shivered. "For tonight-"

He grinned. "Don't kid yourself. Therell be other nights."

"I'm not sure."

"I am. So will you be before tonight is over."By morning he had won his point.

She pushed him away. "Don't, Al. I couldn't possibly again. Now go, please. But phone me about four this afternoon."

"Sure, baby," he said and got up from the bed.

He had left his car at the Flamingo Room. He taxied to the hotel room he had occupied since walking out on Janice. He dozed in a chair until a little after nine, then put a call through to the used-car lot.

Bill Norris, his boss, answered.

Al said, "Bill, I'm sorry, but I can't make it today. I've picked up a bug. Fever, nausea, sore throat. I've been sick as a dog all night."

"That's too bad, Al."

Bill hung up. Al stared at the receiver-a lot of sympathy a guy got. He put down the phone, undressed, got into bed and drifted into a deep sleep.

He woke again shortly after two o'clock. Remembering last night, thinking of Alice Bolton, he felt vastly pleased with himself. He showered, shaved and dressed and went out to eat. He chose an expensive restaurant-he might as well get into the mood for Alice. He ate a three-dollar steak with trimmings, drank two cups of coffee-and telephoned Alice at four.

To Alice's hello, he said, "Al, honey. How are you?"

"I'm fine. A woman always feels fine after having her hair done. I've just this minute gotten back from the hairdresser."

"You had that much energy after last night?"

Her husky laughter sounded. "I bounce back quickly."

"Do I see you tonight?"

"Would you be able to see me tonight?"

"You know I would."

"Egotist. I'm sorry, darling, but I have a date with Mike and Greta Ransome. I get together with them one night a week, and I-well, I can't disappoint them."

He said, "Well, if that's how it is, I'm just out of luck. Why did you want me to call you today? To make arrangements for tomorrow night?"

"Yes-tomorrow night."

"Okay, then." His voice sounded sulky even to his own ears.

Abruptly Alice laughed. "Oh, Al-I'll let you tag along-if you think you'd like to come."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Well, it won't be like last night. You mentioned you've heard gossip."

Al said, "I'm not narrow-minded when it comes to fun, sweetheart. After all, I have traded wives with Jay Bolton, haven't I? And he doesn't even know it."

"He doesn't, indeed," Alice said, laughing. "Well, pick me up at eight, lover."

She broke the connection. Al felt a new kind of excitement beginning to build up in him.

He taxied to the parking lot of the Flamingo to pick up his car.

Alice's doorman had a message for him. "Mrs. Bolton asked you to wait, sir. She'll be right down."

Al lit a cigarette and went back to his car. Presently Alice emerged from the building. Tonight she was dressed less for glamor than elegant taste. She wore a simple black dress of classic lines set off by a strand of pearls. She carried a white, sequined sweater.

Al liked her this way too.

He got out of his car and went to meet her.

"It's a different you," he said.

"You don't like?"

"I do like," he told her.

She smiled. "Leave your car here. We'll use mine." Again she let him drive. "Where to?" he asked.

"Ransome's Studio. You must know the address. You mentioned having done your homework."

"I know it," he said.

"Mike often works at night. Hell be through in an hour or so and he's often fun to watch. The girl who's posing tonight is very lovely."

"She's posing in the raw?"

Alice nodded. "Mike's quite an artist."

"And we can watch?"

"Yes. An audience of friends inspires him. He has a mirror that we can look through from its reverse side. The girl won't know."

Ransome's Studio was a narrow, three-storied building with a decorative aluminum front. The only window on the street was a showcase for artfully displayed portrait photographs. The door was of plate glass. The reception room inside was dimly lighted. Alice pressed a bell button. After several minutes a young woman appeared to admit them.

"Greetings," she said. "Come in and see the fun."

She wore white capris, a snug black sweater and flats. She had a slender but curvaceous figure, lacquer-black hair, large violet-blue eyes and ivory skin. She wore no make-up. The effect was not unpleasing.

She kissed Alice on the mouth. Al had an oddly startled feeling that it was more than a girl-to-girl kiss.

"I'm so glad to see you, darling," she said. Then, looking at Al: "And you've brought your new friend. How nice."

Alice introduced Al. Greta Ransome gave him her hand.

"Any friend of Alice's," she said, smiling at him. "Come along. I've got to get back to helping my lord and master."

They followed her across the reception room to an elevator. The three of them rode to the second floor, stepped off into a small room furnished as a lounge.

Greta said, "Let's see how the creative process works."

She went to a wall, removed a large painting from its brackets, exposed a window that looked out into a large photographic studio. One portion of the studio was ablaze with lights, flood and spot. The glare was directed upon a girl seated cross-legged on a pink chaise longue. She was completely nude.

Dropping from overhead and curving beneath the chaise was a backdrop of heavy, dull-white paper, apparently intended to blot out all background in the photographs to be taken. The photographer had a reflex camera hanging at his chest by a strap around his neck. At the moment he was moving a ten-foot step-ladder toward the chaise. Seated in a chair outside the semicircle of lights was a portly, pink-cheeked, white-haired man. He seemed to be merely an observer.

Greta said, "The old boy is the cutie's friend. He, of course, is paying for the pictures-wanted them taken. He's one of our leading citizens, a pillar of the community. He has grandchildren almost as old as the blonde. Enjoy yourselves, kids-but don't strain your eyes. See you in half an hour or so."

She left the room.

Al said, "The girl's looking this way. Are you sure this is just a mirror on the other side?"

"I'm sure," Alice said, laughing. "She can't see us-and probably wouldn't mind if she did know we were here. She's hot doing this for nothing. He doesn't get enough of her in the flesh-besides, Mike's photo treatment does add something. He is an artist."

Al stared at the nude girl. She was a tawny blonde with a voluptuous body and a pretty, animated face. Her expression subtly complemented her nudity-it seemed to reveal more of her than mere absence of clothes could.

Mike Ransome climbed the ladder and focused his camera on her from there. He was in his shirt sleeves and wore no tie. A man in his mid-thirties, he was somewhat pudgy and had thinning brown hair.

Al said, "Brother, what a way to earn a living."

"Don't be so taken by that blond dish," Alice said. "She's not for you."

"Who cares?" he said, turning to her with a grin.

He kissed her and ran his hands down over her back. She leaned against him, her breasts pressing his chest.

"Glad you came along?"

"You need to ask?"

"How do you like Greta?"

"I like her fine."

"Then there's no problem," Alice said. "We're swapping tonight, you know."

Al had been ready for anything-still, he felt shocked.

"You mean you had enough of me last night?"

"I didn't say so. Anyway, you said you liked Greta."

"I didn't say I preferred her to you," he said.

"Sorry, darling," Alice said firmly. "But those are the rules of the game. We'll have our times together, you and I."

"All right," he said grudgingly. "I'll play your little game."

"That's a nice boy," she said. "Now, let Mike and Greta further your education."

Al turned back to the one-way niirror. Mike Ran-some shot the blonde a half-dozen times, both from the ladder and from the floor. Greta appeared, the blonde stood up and Greta pushed the chaise away. She placed an old-fashioned, gilded chair against the paper backdrop. Greta now posed the blonde with the chair. She embraced, caressed the girl, fondled her breasts until the nipples became tumid. Mike then began shooting again from various angles.

The blonde's expression was a curious contradiction of itself-it was vibrantly languorous. Her pink-cheeked, white-haired friend watched the proceedings with interest.

Mike was finally satisfied. The blonde went into an adjoining room. While Mike switched off some of the lights, Greta talked with the girl's sponsor. The blonde reappeared. She wore a gold dress, stole, spike-heeled slippers-and carried a gold mesh purse.

Alice said, "Put the painting back, darling."

Al did as he was told. He and Alice sat down and lit cigarettes. In a moment, Greta came in with the blonde and her aging friend, led them to the elevator, stepped in with them. The elevator doors closed. Alice took Al out to meet Mike Ransome.

Mike was an outgoing man, good-looking despite his pudginess. He had a hearty, friendly manner.

"Glad Alice brought you along," he said, shaking Al's hand vigorously. "We'll go have a couple of drinks and some laughs shortly." He looked at Alice. "Greta said something about getting you to pose with her. You game?"

Alice shrugged. "I've got to be," she said. "I promised her last week that I'd go through with it tonight."

When Greta returned, Mike told her that Alice was willing to pose. He turned on the lights he had extinguished and asked Al to help him move the chaise back into their glare.

Less care was taken in photographing Alice and Greta than the blonde who had just left. Mike shot them quickly, letting them pose as they would. Greta had slipped off her black sweater, baring herself from the waist up, and kicked off her flats. At her urging, Alice had stripped down to her black panties and bra. They posed on the chaise longue in various intimate attitudes suggestive of two strikingly attractive young women in love with each other.

Al watched with a mounting excitement, new to him and one he found difficult to analyze or understand.

After a dozen or so shots, Mike said, "One more and well call it quits."

For the last pose, Alice and Greta locked themselves in a tight embrace and kissed.

When it was over, Al saw that Greta was wildly excited and released Alice with a definite reluctance.