Chapter 8
THE THREE WOMEN WHO HAD "COME INTO HIS life" seemed to have the capacity for disappearing all at once. Once again two weeks passed without Pete seeing Sandra, Helen or Jeanie. He was beginning to suspect all three had left town at the same time and quite possibly together. The coincidence was strong; He dismissed this as being foolishness, though he knew that Sandra was aware of the existence of Jeanie, he didn't know if Helen or Jeanie knew Sandra. They more than-likely didn't. Pete knew that Harry March and George knew one another-Sandra had told him this-so there could be a connection between the three women.
Pete was at home on a Friday night with a bottle. Repeatedly, he had tried to get in touch with Helen or Jeanie but to no avail. He had also gone to the March apartment door several times and knocked, but no one had come to open up. At the moment, he was lying fully dressed on the sofa in his front room. It occurred to him that he hadn't been back to the nightclub where he had first met Helen the night she had had the spat' with her friend. He sat up, rubbed his chin, and wondered if he ought to pay a visit to the place. Maybe he could pick up a-likely looking broad and bring her home with him. It seemed worth the try.
He got to his feet, stretched his arms high above his head and yawned. He was bored to hell and gone. Five minutes later he was climbing into his car and starting the motor. When he arrived in the downtown area, he parked and walked a block to the Kit Cat Club. He entered the place and was given a table at the rear. The show was in progress and he watched it idly while a waiter took his order. He had two drinks before the show was finished and was now more bored than ever.
"Hi there," a. feminine voice said close to his ear.
He glanced up to see a blonde with short hair standing near. There was an open invitation in her eyes. He grinned, got to his feet, gestured. "Join me?"
That was all it required. She smiled and sat down at the table, never taking her eyes from his. The club wasn't the most well-lighted room he had ever seen. It was difficult to guess the woman's age. It could have been thirty, it could have been forty-five-Pete didn't care too much what it was-he wanted something feminine to talk to, to look at.
"What's your name?" he asked, after giving her his own.
She kept the fixed smile on her face. "Emily."
"What are you drinking?"
"I'm not. Not really. I mean I've had too many already. Say..." She leaned over the table. "Don't think me bold, but wouldn't you like to get out of here and go some place?"
He saw the look in her eyes and recognized it. Standing up, he pulled her chair out for her and she got to her feet. "All right. Come on," he said, and steered her toward the door. The waiter came running up and Pete paid his bill and tipped the guy. The woman took his arm and they left the club and walked the block to his car, neither of them speaking much. They got in the car and Pete turned on the lights and looked at her.
" My place?" he asked.
"I don't mind," she said, and squeezed his arm.
This was about as easy a pickup as he had ever made. "Good," he said. "I like to hear a woman talk that way."
She laughed. "I should imagine you do, being a man."
"I do," he said, and started to move the car away from the cub.
"I've seen you before, Mr. Drake."
"Is that so? Where?"
"At the Kit Cat. About six weeks ago. I saw you leave with a blonde girl."
"You have a good memory. You go there often?"
"I've been at the club just about every night for six weeks."
He glanced at her legs, noting how short her skirt was, how shapely her legs were. "You must like the place."
"Not particularly. You won't believe this, I was waiting for you to come back."
Pete was amused. "You're kiddin'. "
"No. I'm not kidding. I was waiting for you to return."
"Why?"
The blonde laughed in a low-pitched sort of way. "Let's say I liked your looks."
"Thank you. I don't believe you." The car was now moving along in the traffic stream.
"It's the truth. I thought you'd never come back to the place. I even asked the waiters if they knew you. They didn't."
--"I've been there only twice now," Pete said. "I still don't believe you."
The blonde laughed again. "I don't expect you to. It does sound far-fetched. I kept hoping I'd see you again."
Pete grinned. "Well, you have," He drove along without speaking for several minutes when the apartment house came into view, turned into the rear parking lot. "Here we are, baby, My place."
They entered the building and still without speaking much, went to his apartment. Pete unlocked the door, ushering her in with a mock bow.
She looked about. "So this is where you live."
"Yes. My bachelor quarters, as they say."
The blonde threw her purse on the sofa, stood with her hands of hips, still looking the place over carefully. "Lot of women bit the dust here, I'll bet."
Pete laughed and got a bottle and poured two drinks. "I wouldn't say that." He handed one glass to her.
"Here's to a sexy evening," she said, raising her glass to her lips.
"I'll drink to that," he returned, and did drink to it. He suspected she was at least forty years old but didn't care. She had no wrinkles, no ugly fat. Her flesh looked firm and youthful. Her skin was good, clear, unmarked, and he had an idea this woman knew a great deal about what it was all about.
She drank,-too, and put her glass down. "As I said, I've had too much of this stuff already. If I drink any more I'll pass out and then you could take me without my evening knowing it."
"Don't think I'd enjoy that," Pete said, wondering .if he meant this.
"Are you a sexy man?" she asked bluntly.
"Yes, or so I've been told."
"By a great many women, I suppose."
"A few."
"I know how you bachelors operate. You've got your prick in some female seven nights a week and hell on Sundays."
Pete laughed so hard he choked. This woman was highly amusing. He decided then and there that he was going to like her. She wasn't a bit reticent about her speech, and he found this very much to his liking. "Hardly that," he said, his face red from all the laughing.
She lost no time. She lay down flat on the sofa and looked up at him, her skirt having crept high on her lets. She noticed this and pulled one leg up deliberately, the better, apparently, to reveal her body to him.
"Well?" she asked.
Just like that, no bones about it. Pete had ceased to laugh and choke and now he walked to the sofa and sat down beside her. "You're quite a gal," he said softly. "I think I like you."
She patted his hand. "Come off it. You like everything that's female and not too ugly."
He shook his head. "No, you're wrong there. Not everything. Some dames give me a pain."
"The mouthy ones, I'll bet."
"Right." He grinned. "How did you know that?"
"You look like the type."
"What type is that?"
"The smart type."
"Flattery will get you anything," he said, grinning. She sighed, studied his eyes, dropped a bomb.
"Will it get you to lie down on top of me?"
He laughed again. "That doesn't require flattery. Your looks are sufficient."
She began to unbutton her blouse and when it was done, she sat up and pulled it off. She wasn't wearing a bra and her large breasts tumbled out in full view. Pete looked at her in something approaching amazement. She was so damned deliberate about every move.
"Okay, Mr. Drake. Here I am, ready and witting to be made."
"You don't waste any time," he said softly. "I like that, too."
"Makes it easier for you, doesn't it?"
"A little too easy, maybe."
"Oh...you want me to play hard to get?"
"No."
She frowned slightly. "Make up your mind."
He had no chance to say anything back to her right then because someone had knocked on his door. He swore softly, looked at Emily, looked at the door. "Cover yourself. I'll get rid of them."
"Them?" she asked. "You mean, you usually have more than one woman coming here at a time?"
Pete smiled. "Just a manner of speaking."
"Get rid of her," Emily said. "I was here first."
"All right," Pete said.
He went to the door, opened it and was startled, "Sandra," he said. "Thought you were out of town." The truth was, he was somewhat embarrassed.
Sandra didn't answer him. She was staring over his shoulder and evidently saw the other woman. Sandra's face turned white. "What's with you?" he asked sharply, but she turned and, uttering a little cry, ran into her apartment across the hall. He stood there, feeling strange. He finally closed the door.
Hell, there was no law that said he had to confine his activities to Sandra. Even she ought to know that, and after all she was a married woman and not his girl.
He turned about and saw Emily putting on her blouse. She was up on her feet, a set expression on her face. She grabbed up her purse and came over close to him. "Some other time, Mr. Drake," she said coolly. "I've changed my mind."
Before he could stop her she had stepped into the hall and closed the door. Pete started to go after her but decided he wouldn't. The hell with her if she wanted to take off just like that with no explanation.
"I'll be damned," he muttered. "The world is getting crazier every day."
He picked up the bottle, sat down and began to drink heavily. Nutty, damned women. They were all fouled up.
He must have fallen asleep and slept for some time, for when he sat up he had the feeling that a lot of time had passed. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was one o'clock. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, remembering the strange scene with the two women. Both of them acted as if they'd seen ghosts. Thinking about them caused him to have an erection, which did nothing but annoy him. What was the use of it if there was no girl about the place. He got to his feet on an impulse and walked across the hallway. The door to Sandra's stood ajar. He looked in and saw her with a glass in her hand. Her husband wasn't in evidence. Pete drew a breath and pushed the door all the way open. She glanced up, her lips parted, but said nothing.
"All right," he said. "I've had enough suspense.
Who was the woman? I mean, do' you know her?"
Sandra took a quick swallow of her drink, her face getting red now instead of white. "W-what?" she faltered.
"You heard me. Do you know that woman?"
She nodded. "My mother."
Pete felt his scalp crawling. "But you told me your mother was dead. You said she had been killed in a car accident. You even accused your stepfather of plotting to kill her."
"She is my mother. I was led to believe she was dead. Obviously, she's still very much alive."
"You don't seem to be thrilled at finding this out."
"Why should I be? I always hated her."
"I see." People who were mentally unstable quite often hated their parents, he knew. "It must have been a shock for you to discover she was alive."
Sandra nodded. "Yes, and on top of that to find her in your apartment, though that doesn't surprise me so much. She's spent most of her life in some man's apartment."
"You said you were led to believe she was dead. Weren't you at her funeral?"
"No. I was hospitalized at the time."
Pete said nothing.
"I suppose you made big love to her after I left?"
Pete studied her carefully. "No. I didn't. Your mother left immediately. She acted very strange, too, never said a word."
"The old bag. A wonder she didn't lay you before going. It'd be just like her."
Pete felt like saying, Well, she may not be an angel, but at least she didn't lay her stepfather as you did. However, he remained quiet about this. There was no point in having a fight with her. "Tell me something," he said aloud. "Do you happen to know a girl named Helen Marks?"
Sandra's eyes became hostile. "Why do you ask that?"
"I'm not sure. Do you know her?"
"Know of her," she said hesitantly.
"I picked your mother up in a downtown club. She told me she had seen me there six weeks ago, had seen me leaving the place with this girl named Helen Marks. She, your mother, also told me she had been going to this club nightly in the hopes of meeting me. Now why would your mother want to meet me?"
"Sexual reasons. That's not hard to answer."
"I can't believe that. There's some other reason. It occurs to me she may have been told you live in the same apartment house I do, and she wanted to find out where it was."
Sandra shook her head. "My mother despises me. She'd never bother her head about me, ever."
"I didn't say she was bothering her head about you. I said she may have wanted to know where you live."
"The hell with my mother. I hate her."
Pete stroked his chin, waited a few moments. Them "Where is your husband?"
"In bed sleeping. Knocked out on sleeping pills, as usual."
"I'm going back to my place now. If you get over being mad, why not join me--later."
She angrily threw her glass against the wall, shattering it. "Of all the nerve I You didn't get what you want from my mother, so now you want me to take over the job."
Pete stiffened. "Not at all," he said coldly. "Forget I asked." He started for the door.
"Wait, Pete," she cried. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I just lost my temper. I'll come over after a bit. Please...don't look at me that way."
"Go to hell, baby," he said, and left, slamming the door behind him.
It wasn't two minutes before she had followed him across the hall. He let her in reluctantly, being still annoyed at her somewhat. She came swiftly into the room and threw her arms about his neck and kissed his mouth.
"Darling," she said, pulling back a little and looking up at him strangely. "If I let you have me, will you help me kill my husband?"
He disengaged her arms. "What the hell are you saying, baby?"
She moved away from him. "I asked you if you would help me get rid of Harry."
"You said kill him, didn't you?"
She stuck her lower lip out. "Yes. Kill him. I can't stand him any longer. I've got to get rid of him. I need help to do it."
Pete lighted a cigarette and puffed on it momentarily. "Do you realize what you have just asked me?"
"Certainly. I made you a proposition. I'll let you make love to me from now on, any time, any place, if you'll help me."
"You must think I'm crazy."
A sly look came over her pretty tanned face. "Oh no, you're not the one who's crazy. It's Harry who is. He's completely gone."
"I see. He's out of his mind now. Is that it?"
She smiled oddly. "I just said so. Why ask me?"
"You'd better go home," he told her. "I'm going to bed. It's late."
"I want to stay with you all night, Pete. May I?"
"No."
"Please?"
He shook his head. "Go back to your husband."
"I hate him. I can't stand being around him."
"You seem to hate everyone, your mother, your husband."
"I don't hate you, Pete. I love you."
"Thanks," he said dryly, "but I'm going to bed. Good night."
"Are you throwing me out?"
"No. I said I was going to bed. I wish you'd go to your own place."
"I won't do it. I'm going to sleep with you whether you want me to or not."
He threw up his hands. "Okay. I'm not going to spend the entire night arguing with you."
He walked to the bedroom and began removing his clothing. She didn't follow him into the room until he had crawled in bed. Then she came to the door and he saw she was stark naked. He drew in his breath sharply at the loveliness of her body. She stood in the door, he bosom heaving considerably. She reached for the switch and turned off the lights, and a moment later he felt her climbing into bed with him.
She gave a little cry and began to run her lips over his body feverishly.
"Hey," he said. "Cut that out."
Her answer was to take him passionately between her lips and apply suction.
He slept afterward but not for very long. When he wakened he felt her lying next to him and heard her regular breathing. He recalled the passion she had shown for him and wondered how a woman could be so sexy all the time almost without cease. He smiled in the dark, took a deep breath, and ran his hand over her lips. She stirred in her sleep and he thought she muttered his name, though he wasn't sure of it. He ran his hand up her nude body until he had cupped a breast in it. The breast was warm and soft and inviting; touching it caused him to have another erection. He turned on his side and allowed the rigidity to brush against her side. Again she stirred and muttered something that sounded like his name.
He leaned over, found her mouth and kissed her.
She didn't awaken.
A strong desire took possession of him and he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to, yet didn't want to. Overcoming his reticence, he lowered himself on the bed until he could kiss her on the stomach. She stirred when he did so and raised one leg, placing it over his shoulder. This made him wonder if she were really sleeping or merely pretending. She moved her loins a little, seeming to press that part of her toward his face. A bead of sweat appeared on his face as he again kissed her flesh, low. She sighed and moaned almost at the same time. Pete was very excited now, and grasping her buttocks in his hands, he pulled her pussy to his lips.
He ran his tongue over and into it.
"Pete..." The one word sounded as if it were the most important word in the language to her.
He raised his head a little. "Are you awake?"
She grunted but didn't speak.
"Are you awake?" he repeated.
She didn't answer, so he used his lips on her again. His tongue found the spot and he felt a pulse beating furiously in her.
"Pete..."
"Do you like this?" he asked hoarsely, his heart hammering.
"Pete..." was all she replied.
His lips found the place again and he tasted the sweet moisture of her. She groaned and spread her legs far apart and pressed his head down on her as she panted now and began to beg him thickly to go faster.
He needed no invitation. He was hotter than he had ever been in his entire life. He continued to go down on her.
AU the way.