Chapter 5
STRANGE THING. FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS Pete didn't see any sign of Sandra and her husband, nor did he see either Helen or Jeanie. Each time he drove to their apartment house they weren't in. (He had discovered by asking the super which apartment was Jeanie's.) It was on a Saturday afternoon that he came out the door of his place and ran into Sandra. She looked different, more composed and perhaps less childish than he had remembered her.
She smiled at him. "Hello, did you miss me? Harry and I have been in New York. A convention."
"Hello," he said cautiously. "How are you feeling?'
"Good." She seemed to be surprised by his question. "Did you get over being mad at me?"
He rubbed his chin nervously. Why was it she always made him nervous? "I was never mad at you, Sandy."
She seemed to ignore this. "While I was in New York I went to see a doctor," she said, and stopped.
"Oh?". He couldn't think of a suitable reply to her remark.
"He gave me a few shots, kind of straightened me out, I guess. Don't I look better?"
"You look very good," he said carefully, "Thank you." She turned and walked toward her door. "Take care of yourself, Pete."
"Sure. You do the same. I'm glad you're feeling well."
"Oh, I've been okay right a long." She smiled at him and disappeared into her apartment.
Pete felt odd. What kind of shots could the doctor have given her? He shook his head and left the building. He knew nothing about mental disease, if that was what she really had. He walked to the corner drugstore, bought a bottle of Scotch and returned home He proceeded to have a few snorts all by himself. About an hour later he had a fairly good load on, though he wasn't drunk.
He went to the phone, after looking up Helen's number, and dialed. There was no answer. He wondered if she and Jeanie might have left Flint. He hoped not, he needed those two girls, one of them at least. Either that, or he could have to go out and look up another babe somewhere, which was sometimes a great nuisance.
A knock came on the door and he frowned, thinking it would be Sandra. He hesitated quite awhile before going to the door. When he did, he discovered it wasn't Sandra, or her husband, but the fat guy called George. Jeanie's friend.
"Mr. Drake? May I come in for a few minutes?"
Pete stiffened. The look in the fat guy's eyes didn't seem friendly. Pete looked the man straight in the eye. "What, is it you want?" he asked coolly, flexing his muscles unconsciously.
The fat man attempted to step into the room, but
Pete caught him by the arm and made him remain in the doorway. "Just want to talk to you, don't want no trouble," George told him.
"All right." Pete released him, stepping out of the way.
The fat man walked in, wiped his face with a rather soiled handkerchief, worked his mouth around nervously. "I understand you took Jeanie to a motel couple of weeks ago."
Again Pete stiffened. "Who says so?"
The fat man sighed and dropped down onto the sofa. "You got a drink I can have? I need one bad."
Pete reluctantly got the bottle of Scotch and handed it to him. He gave him a glass, too. "Help yourself."
George drank a long one and wiped his thick lips. He sighed and burped at the same time. "Might as well admit it, Mr. Drake. I can't win against you. I'm middle-aged and fat. You want to take my woman, guess you can. I came here to ask you to lay off. Will you?"
What a hell of a thing to have to answer. "Why should I?" Pete said. What was the matter with this fool? A man didn't do a thing like this.
"I want to keep her; Mr. Drake. You're a young man. You can get all the women you like. I can't. Don't you understand?"
"Okay," Pete said. "I let you in. I've listened to you. Now get out."
"Come on, Mr. Drake, don't get mad. I only want you to leave my woman alone."
"I was out with her once. That doesn't mean I'm trying to take her away from you."
The fat man's face was flushed as he ran his hand through his thin, blondish hair. His blue eyes were watery and unpleasant to look at as he struggled to his feet, perspiring profusely. "All right, Mr. Drake, I'm glad to hear you aren't going to make any more passes at her. I'll say good-bye to you."
"Just a minute. I haven't promised you anything."
The fat man paused on the way to the door. "Thought you said you weren't going to take her away from me. Are you?"
Pete ignored his question. "Tell me something. Where is Helen?"
"She's gone away for a few days, vacation. She'll be back tonight or tomorrow, I think. But how about it? Are you going to let me have my woman or not?"
"Why the hell don't you put up a fight for her instead of begging me, mister?"
The fat man sighed. "Too old and too fat to fight. Thought if I asked you, you..." He broke off and walked out of the apartment.
Pete waited a minute, then went over and slammed the door. He felt irritable and needed a few more drinks to offset it. Lying down flat on the sofa, he reached for the bottle and uncapped it. He was about to take a drink when the door flew open and Sandra stood there. Pete swore. There was getting to be an epidemic of people coming to his door. He felt like telling her to beat it, but he couldn't be that rude to her.
"Pete," she said. "Hope you don't mind if I come in."
"Come in," he growled. "Close the door, please."
She did so, then walked over near the sofa. He saw she was wearing that same very short skirt she had worn a couple of weeks earlier. It revealed most of her legs and he was forced to admit they were just as lovely as ever. He took a drink and tried not to look at her face.
"That man who just left," she said. "I saw him."
"Yeah. What about him?"
Her hand flew to her throat. "Do you know him?" She placed an accent on the word "him".
"No. Not particularly. Why?"
Her face seemed to relax "Oh...no reason. I just wondered why he came to see you."
"Why should you?"
"What?"
Pete held his annoyance in. "I said, why should you wonder why some guy comes to see me?"
"Please...don't be angry with me again."
His face began to grow red. What the hell was the matter with her? Couldn't she tell he wasn't angry but only provoked at her for asking foolish questions?. "I'm not angry. I'm just sitting here having a few quiet drinks."
"In other words, you wish I'd leave." Her face looked strangely tight now. She appeared ready to cry.
"Oh, come off it. You don't have to leave. It's just that I'm in a bad mood, I guess."
I make you feel this way. I can tell."
"Please don't cry. You don't make me feel bad, Sandy."
"Yes, I do. I make everyone feel bad, sooner or later."
He got to his feet and reluctantly put his arm about her. He did it reluctantly because he was afraid touching him might stir desire in him, and it did exactly that. She cried out and buried her face on his chest. Her body shook and he began to feel like a fool. Hell, he was no woman comforter.
"Come on now," he urged. "Stop crying. How about a drink. Make you feel better."
She pulled away from him, wiped her eyes with her fists, smiled at him. "All right, Pete. Maybe a drink would do me a lot of good. Make it a big one, will you?"
He went to the kitchen, got a bottle of mix and fixed her a stout drink. She took the glass from him and sipped it, making a face.
"Too strong?" he inquired. "Want me to tame it down a bit?"
"It's all right. I'm not used to drinking."
He sat on the sofa and she sank down beside him quickly. Her thigh pressed eagerly against his and he knew he shouldn't have been nice to her-now she was wanting to be loved. He didn't want to make love to her; she was sick. Her head came down and rested on his shoulder as she put the glass down, placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed.
"Oh, I'm so happy when you're nice to me," she murmured.
Her dark hair had fallen down over one eye and she looked positively radiant. Her dark lashes curled down over her cheeks in an entrancing manner, but he scarcely noticed these aspects of her beauty; her skirt had crept very high on her legs and he could see her flesh. It caused a wild feeling of desire in him and it was all he could do to prevent himself from pushing her down on her back and going above her.
She was making little cooing sounds with her lips.
"Don't do that," he said sharply.
"Why not, darling?"
"And don't call me 'darling'. "
She squeezed his thigh hard. "But I love you. Why shouldn't I call you that?"
"Because I'm not your darling. You happened to be married."
"That didn't make any difference to you before. You got on top of me like you owned me...and I loved it."
"I think you'd better finish your drink and go home."
"Darling," she murmured, her eyes filled with a wild lust, "please, throw me down, crawl on top of me and own me again. Please?"
He pulled away from her, though he found it difficult. "Go back to your husband," he said roughly. "I want nothing more to do with you."
"I want to stay with you, Pete," she said softly. "Please let me stay. My husband isn't home anyway."
He leaned back on the sofa, reached for the bottle and took a drink. Damn it. How had he gotten himself in this fix with her? The only thing to do was to be mean to her; maybe she would finally get the point that he wanted nothing to do with her.
Or did he?
Before he could make a move she began to stroke the bulge in his crotch suggestively. He couldn't stand this, but he couldn't stop her, either. He closed his eyes and a moment later felt her tugging at his zipper. In another moment he felt the coolness of her hand about him, gently stroking him. He was as rigid now as he had ever been.
"I love to do this," she said softly. "But if you don't want me to..."
He grunted, saying nothing.
"If you don't want to love me, do you object if I love you, darling?" she asked tensely.
"Go," he said, growling it, meaning to get out of here.
She mistook his meaning and lowered her. head to him. Her lips came in contact with him and he thought he was going out of his mind with desire.
"You keep that up...," he muttered.
She interrupted him. Giggling a little, she bent her head again and he felt himself being encircled. Did every woman he knew want this from him? It looked that way. Well...who was he to forego the pleasure of it? He leaned back, keeping his eyes closed, and allowed her to take him swiftly.
When it was finished she bounded to her feet, ran to the door and left. He lay back savoring the pleasure she had given him but wondering if he ought to have his head examined. He had gone too far with her again, and now she was calling him darling and making the advances herself, although she had always done a certain amount of that.
He zipped himself and had another drink. Suddenly, and for no good reason, he began to laugh.
It was Sunday evening when he dressed and left the apartment with the idea of going to see Helen. Pete had always been crazy about women, but of late it seemed he was more so than ever. How many guys, he asked himself, have three beautiful women after him at the same time? The trouble with this, he had discovered, was that it wasn't as satisfying as a guy might think. Having them pursuing him robbed him of something, a certain amount of pleasure; it was man's deal to do the pursuing, not woman's. He wished all three of them were slightly less aggressive, that they would let him do the aggression bit.
Women, however, wouldn't let a guy do anything if they could help it. Certain women, that is. What a guy needed to do with this type of girl was to completely take over the job of aggression, to be more aggressive than they, to beat them to. the punch. With this in mind he pulled up in front of Helen's apartment house and cut the car motor. He went to her door and knocked loudly.
The door came open and he saw her standing there in her pajamas. Her hair was sUghtly mussed and he suspected she had been taking a nap. "Hi," he said lightly. "Where have you been, stranger?"
"Hello, Pete," she replied. "I've been away. I called you before I left, but you didn't answer your phone."
He thought she looked nervous and as he started to enter the room she caught hold of his arm. "What's wrong?" he asked, seeking the look in her eyes, a look that defied immediate description.
"Pete...don't be mad...but you can't come in right now. I-I have company. I'm sorry."
He felt the tide of anger rising in him. "I see. Okay." He glanced about the room. "I take it your company is in your bed. I don't see him anywhere in this room."
She bit her lips hard. "Please go and, Pete, don't be mad. Come back tomorrow."
He looked into her blue eyes. "Why should I be mad? I'm not your husband. If you want to have fun with some other guy, help yourself."
She said nothing, but looked down at the floor, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she did so.
His cheeks burning, Pete stepped back into the hall. "I'll see you, baby...sometime...and maybe."
"Please don't be that way, Pete. It's-it's only George in the bedroom. He's drunk. He came here and feel down. I put him in the bed to let him sleep it off."
"Why did you have to put him in your bed? Why not steer him across the hall to his own place?"
"The door was locked. I couldn't get him inside."
"Then tell me this. Why are you telling me to cut out?"
"I didn't want you to know he was here."
"Well, I know it now. Do you still insist that I leave?"
"We can't make love with him in the bed, Pete."
"I'll carry him out in the hall and dump him." Her eyes grew wide. "No, you can't do that. I won't let you."
"What the hell do you mean, you won't let me? I'll do it if I want to."
She shook her head. "You can't do that, Pete. You see, George is naked. He came here without any clothes."
"I see. .He's naked, your hair is mussed up and you've been lying on the bed with him. Right?"
"Well, what about it?" she flared. "You took Jeanie to a motel and had your fun."
"You mean you've been having fun with that drunken fat slob?"
She backed away from him and again brushed her long blonde hair out of her eyes. Her bosom was heaving. He didn't know if it was caused by anger or what. "I haven't done anything to George, nor he to me. I was sleepy, that's all, so I took a nap."
Pete strode past her and went to the bedroom door. Looking into the room, he saw the fat guy sprawled naked on the bed. There wasn't even a sheet on the bed. He turned and strode back to Helen. "Couldn't you even cover him up?"
She rubbed her behind as if recalling the other time he had spanked her, then she smiled at him. "Why are we fighting? I don't care about George. I happen to like you when you're nice to me."
"Get dressed," he ordered. "You're coming with me."
"No, I can't, Pete. I have to stay here. I'm expecting a phone call."
"The hell with it. Get some clothes on. We're going to my place."
.Her answer was to drop the lower part other pajamas, let them slide to the floor. She stepped out of them and went to the sofa and lay down. She looked up at him in an inviting manner. "Now...do you want to take me here and now or somewhere else?"
Pete glanced at her lower body and got an immediate hard-on. He knew she had won this round. He couldn't wait to take her somewhere else. Walking over close to her, he reached down and touched her pussy and drew in his breath. "Okay, baby. We?U stay here this time."
"Get on me, Pete. Once you do that you'll forget your anger over George."
"Just like that, eh?"
"Just like that. You see, I know what a passionate man you are."
Wild lust carne over him and he started to crawl on top of her. She gave him a shove and jumped to her feet, drawing on the pajama bottoms hastily just as the door opened and Jeanie Price walked in. Pete jumped, too, when he saw her. He cursed inwardly but managed to grin at Jeanie.
"WeU, you two," Jeanie said. "Did I interrupt something nice?" She made no move to leave, however. Instead she closed the door and stood with her back to it, staring at first one and then the other of them. Obviously, she was enjoying the scene.
"Yes, you did," Helen said. "But now that you're here I wish you'd take George home. He's drunk and passed out on my bed."
Jeanie didn't bat an eye. She simply smiled. "I suppose he's naked too. That's a trick of his, get drunk, take off his clothes and come over here, Pete."
"Well, get him out of here, trick or no trick. Pete and I want to be alone."
Jeanie walked across the room to the bedroom door and looked in. She turned to them, grinning widely now. "Boy, does he look terrible lying there like that without a stitch on."
Pete felt strangely uncomfortable. He had never seen any woman so damned casual about men as these two, unless it was Sandra, of course, but she wasn't well and it could be expected that she would be pretty far out.
"How about it, Jeanie," he heard himself say. "You going to take your guy out of here or do I?"
"Oh," she said. "You'll have to carry him. He's too heavy for me."
"All right. Go and get a robe or something and put it on him."
"Just carry him naked," she replied.
"No thanks. Get a robe. Hurry up."
Jeanie shrugged. "If I were a man I wouldn't mind carrying another man naked."
"You aren't a man," Pete said. "Get the robe."
Jeanie walked to the door, her buttocks swaying outrageously. She stopped, turned around and looked at both of them lustfully. "Why can't I say? I'll take my clothes off and the three of us-can have a ball." Without waiting for either of them to agree, she began removing her clothing.
"Stop that, damn you, Jeanie," a voice said from the bedroom door.
Pete glanced at George quickly, saw he had a sheet wrapped around him. He also had a small gun in his hand.
"George!" Helen cried sharply. "Where did you find my gun? Stop pointing that thing at Pete."
"Not until he gets out of here," George said thickly. "You...Drake...beat it or by heaven I'll put a slug in you."
There was nothing for Pete to do at the moment but pretend to walk out. The man was drunk and ugly. Pete knew instinctively that there was nothing the fat man would like better than to kill him.
Without uttering a word, he stepped into the hallway and closed the door. He made a pretense of walking away by stamping his feet on the floor a few times and gradually making the sound softer as if he were actually going down the hall to the stairs. He stopped this after a moment and listened. He could heard their muffled voices inside the room. He waited a full minute and then burst open the door and dived headlong across the room. He struck the fat guy in the stomach and the man went down flat on his back, all fight going out of him immediately. The gun fell harmlessly to the floor. Pete kicked it away and yanked George to his feet. The man staggered and Pete shoved him over on the bed hard. The fat man lay there looking scared and fairly sober now.
"Take it easy, Drake," he muttered. "Wasn't gonna shoot you. Just wanted to get rid of you."
Pete reached over and slapped his face. "I ought to bust your head open, fella. You ever pull a gun on me again, I will."
The fat guy seemed to find courage. "You're a lousy bastard!" he screamed. "You think you can take anybody's woman and do what you please with her."
Pete slapped him again, harder. "You are out of your mind, fatso." He was about to slap the man again when he felt a hard object being pressed against his back. He knew it was the gun.
"All right, Mr. Drake," Jeanie said from behind him. "Now you can leave. Get out of here or I'll shoot you."
He turned around partway. "Take that gun out of my back."
"Not until you get out of here, Pete." she said firmly. "I won't let you slap him around. He's an old man compared to you."
"You're kiddin', " Pete said.
"I'm not kiddin', " she said positively.
"This isn't your place. You've got no right to force me to leave. If Helen wants me to, I will."
"You'd better go, Pete," Helen said quietly from the doorway.
He shrugged. "Okay, girls. Have it your way. You want to play with this fat punk, you want to protect the old man, help yourself." And this time he did walk out of the apartment and didn't return. He strode angrily to his car and headed for the downtown section. Maybe he could find some action that didn't include the protection of fat old men. The only thing he could conclude from the girls' actions was that George must have a considerable amount of money. More than-likely he was paying the bills for both of the women.