Chapter 1

"Let's keep the record straight, Bryce," Wanda Tupper's green eyes flashed anger despite the quiet tone of her voice, "I'm a social worker, not a policeman."

"That remains to be seen," the man snapped coldly in reply. "A social worker has certain responsibilities to the community. The police are a vital part of that community."

"Yes," Wanda admitted as she unbuttoned the light tweed jacket and revealed the crisp white blouse with the high collar, "they are, but my people are more important to me. You've been a social worker longer than I, Bryce, I should think you'd understand that."

Bryce Jenkins, head of the Welfare Bureau that included all of the city's social work program glared across the desk at the woman with whom he was usually on good terms. This time though, she was definitely out of favor.

He had just spent the better, or worse, part of an hour in a meeting with the Chief of Police and the mayor. They had both given him a first class blistering and it still burned.

"The fact remains, Miss Tupper," he dropped the first name basis he normally used in talking with Wanda, "that a girl told you Johnny Powers pulled that service station robbery. A man was shot there and almost died. In spite of that, you didn't notify the police or report it to me."

"What would you have done if I had reported it to you, Mr. Jenkins?" Wanda decided to follow his lead in the matter of formality.

"I would have done my duty and notified the police. You should have done your duty, Miss Tupper."

"I did my duty, Mr. Jenkins. My duty as a social worker. If I had turned that boy in, it would have been all over the street the next day. When those people out there can't trust me, I may as well pack it up and, as head of this bureau, you should be aware of that."

"Are you trying to tell me how to run the bureau, Miss Tupper? Is it possible that after making an error in judgment that heaped torrents of abuse and discredit on this bureau, you would dare try to tell me how to do my job?"

"It's not up to me to tell you that, Mr. Jenkins," Wanda refused to back pedal. "I'm merely insisting that I did my job properly. If you can't see that, then you're so blinded by trying to keep on the right side of city hall that you've forgotten what a social worker is supposed to be."

"If you will take that remark back, Miss Tupper," the man's eyes blazed with fury, "I'm willing to forget you made it."

"But I have no intention of taking it back," she stared right back at him. "You know I'm right, Mr. Jenkins, regardless of what you say. If I'm faced with the same choice tomorrow, I'll do the same thing and if you hadn't forsaken all the things you once believed in for the sake of being the fair -haired boy at city hall, you'd understand it. Have I made myself clear?"

"You have indeed, Miss Tupper. So clear that you leave me no choice but to dismiss you."

"On what grounds?" Wanda snapped back.

"On any or all of several," the civil service background was showing plainly now as Bryce Jenkins stung under the lash of her insubordination. "Inefficiency, obviously. Insubordination for another. Complicity in the commission of a crime, harboring a fugitive, accessory after the fact of a felony. The grounds are limitless."

"You fail to impress me, Mr. Jenkins," Wanda spoke with the same calm assurance she had demonstrated throughout the interview.

"Then let me put it this way," the man was actually hissing in anger now, "as of this moment, you are no longer employed by this bureau. You are to clean out your desk immediately and turn all files and notes over to me. You are fired, Miss Tupper."

"And you, Mr. Jenkins, are a fool," Wanda stood and smiled as she threw the line at him. "If you dare to fire me on this issue, I'll devote the rest of my life to making you sorry. That isn't just an idle threat, Mr. Jenkins. I happen to care about those people out there. They're more important to me than your petty ambitions. If the bureau has stopped caring about them, I haven't."

As if cowed by the way she was standing over him, the man pushed his chair back and stood across the desk from her. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

"I told you, you're fired, Miss Tupper. Don't you dare try to threaten me. I want every file and note you have on my desk within the hour. Now get out of my office." He was almost screaming by the time he finished.

As she walked out of his office and down the uncarpeted hall to her own much smaller one, Wanda took time to wonder whether she had mishandled the interview.

As a social worker, she was in a position to help a lot of people who needed help, she reminded herself. Out of the job, she could keep her philosophy strong, but how, she asked herself, could she apply it to help the people who needed help?

If I don't believe the bureau is being operated properly? she threw another question at herself, am I helping anyone by allowing myself to be fired? Who will work for them then?

Wanda knew that in spite of all that had been said during their bitter exchange, all she had to do was go back into his office and take back the things she had said.

Armed with that, he could go back to the mayor and the police chief and tell them that he had brought his maverick social worker under control and that there would be no more trouble. Even as she thought of it though, Wanda knew she wouldn't do it.

If I give in to him on this, then he'll dictate to me all the way. I won't really be a social worker at all, I'll just be a worker for him and for city hall.

In her office, Wanda gathered up the files that had been left on her desk when she finished working just before midnight last night. Reaching into her purse, she picked up her notebook and was about to add it to the pile when she changed her mind. She slid it back into her purse and muttered a less than lady-like word under her breath.

I'm going to have to go back and talk to a lot of those people out there, Wanda reminded herself, I'll need the notebook. There could be other uses for it too, she thought. Wanda knew that when she told her former boss she would fight him, she wasn't kidding. She was not only going to fight him and the system, she told herself firmly, she was going to win.

After she had checked all the drawers of her desk and put the things that were hers into her purse, she walked to the door, pulled it open and walked down the hall.

When she reached the office of Bryce Jenkins, she pushed his door open without knocking and felt satisfaction at his angry expression as he turned toward her.

"My files are on top of my desk, Mr. Jenkins," she said firmly.

"I instructed you to bring them to me, Miss Tupper," he roared as his face colored again.

"That's right, sir," Wanda flashed a small smile, "but then again, I'm not exactly adept at following your orders am I? As I recall, that's why you fired me. If I were less of a lady, I'd tell you what you can do with your files, but I refuse to reduce myself to your level so I'll simply inform you that you may pick them up if you wish. Good evening, Mr. Jenkins."

Without giving him a chance to speak, Wanda pulled his door closed behind her and walked out into the hall. As she walked toward the stairs, her heels echoed loudly through the deserted hallway. She wished they wouldn't make so much noise, but still, she didn't walk any more softly until she reached the worn stairs.

In the parking lot, Wanda walked toward her three year old Corvair and realized, as she looked at it, just how dirty and beat up it looked. All of a sudden, it was as if she had looked into a mirror and saw herself there rather than a car in need of a wash.

Is that what I am? she asked herself. Am I just a beat up old model who talks like a Cadillac and acts like a Corvair? Sliding behind the wheel, she turned the key, stepped on the gas and heard the car respond immediately.

So what if I am, she snapped back in reply to her own question. Is there anything wrong with being a Corvair after all? Perhaps Bryce Jenkins is the Cadillac. He cares a lot about appearance and comfort, but surely there are other things more important to me.

As she turned the car into the street, Wanda was still waging an argument within herself. She sensed though that no matter how long she argued, she would come up with the same answer. It would have been a mistake to turn that kid over to the police and an even bigger one to give Bryce Jenkins the promises he wanted about her future conduct.

By the time Wanda whipped the car down the ramp into the basement garage of her apartment building, she knew the argument was over and she had won. She knew she had done the right thing and that she would still be able to look at herself in the mirror without feeling even a touch of shame.

Of course, there was the matter of finding a new job, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Effortlessly, she slid the little car into the parking slot, turned off the key, picked up her purse and stepped out.

As she walked to the elevator, she looked like anything except a woman who had just been fired. She carried her well formed body with pride. It didn't require any great effort, Wanda just did that without effort.

To her surprise and relief, the elevator was waiting at that level so that there wasn't the usual waiting for it. Punching the button for the tenth floor, she felt it whir right past the main floor and go all the way without a stop.

She turned the key in her door and walked into what was more than just an apartment. It was a place where she could kick off her shoes at the end of a long day and sit in a comfortable chair. When she didn't feel like sitting, she could walk over to the window or step out on the balcony and look at the city below.

Right now though, she knew she wouldn't do either. There was an almost full bottle of Scotch in the kitchen and the thought of it offered more than the consolation she needed at the moment. She turned the tap on first, then reached up on the shelf for the bottle.

The drink she poured was about two ounces and change and just right under the circumstances, she decided. She ran about four ounces of water into it and held it up for examination. It looked right and when she tasted it, she decided it was right all the way.

Walking across the room, Wanda pushed open the front door and stepped out on the balcony. She was just in time to see the last of the sun as it began to slip out of sight through a mixture of cloud and smoke. There was just a trace of coolness in the air and she felt it comfort her after the heat of argument.

Wanda stayed there until the sun and her drink expired at about the same time. When she walked back into the apartment, she pushed the door closed behind her.

Food, she thought was the logical thing at this stage, but her stomach told her it wasn't in the mood. Searching for something to relax her fatigued mind, she thought of reading but dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. In her present mood, she knew, no book could possibly occupy her sufficiently.

From there, her mind moved on to the thought of a nice long soak in a hot tub. That one worked. She was actually smiling as she hurried to the bathroom and began to run a tub.

It was her favorite form of escape. In times of stress, Wanda liked to turn to the tub as her refuge. A drink helped, but with or without it, a hot tub provided her with the release from tensions that permitted her to think out her problems and come up with the right answers.

This time though, she decided to combine the best of both by pouring a very large Scotch as her tub companion. Carrying it back into the bathroom, she felt the comforting, damp heat that was already permeating the room. Putting her glass down, she unzipped her skirt and pushed it down over her legs.

Stepping out of it, she looked at it and tossed it into the corner before beginning to unbutton the blouse. A few seconds later, it landed in the same corner.

Normally, her bra would have been next to go, but tonight, Wanda couldn't wait to escape from the confinement of the darn girdle. She bent from the waist and pushed her rear back a little as she dragged it down over her hips and felt it slide down her thighs to fall dangling as her nylons prevented it from going all the way. The edge of the tub was cold on her naked buttocks as she sat on it to slip her nylons down. Pushing the lightweight girdle down, she slipped it off with the nylons still attached like a pair of empty legs. It was the kind of sloppiness that always annoyed her, but she decided to tolerate it this time in view of all that had happened.

She reached behind her to turn the taps off then, still sitting on the edge of the tub, Wanda reached behind her to unfasten the bra and felt immediate relief as all of her body was free of the confinement of clothes.

As she tossed the bra onto the pile and stood by the tub, Wanda caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full length mirror. At first glance, she was critical. Wanda Tupper, six years ago at age twenty-one had been a stunner with a figure that could stop traffic.

Now, the full breasts were just a little less firm than they had been then. Now, she had to wear a girdle even though she could get away with a light one.

Six years ago, her five-foot-six frame had carried one hundred and twenty pounds. Now, it was a shade over one-thirty. Still, she consoled herself as she stood in profile to the mirror, it wasn't really that bad.

The six years had added about an inch around her hips and waist, but considering what it had contributed to what was under her short cropped black hair, she didn't really regret it at all. Still, she warned herself, don't get complacent, lady. I wouldn't like you as a fat old slob.

She stuck one toe into the water and found it hot enough to cook lobsters. The next time she stuck a toe in, she decided it was only hot enough to warm them a bit so she left it there. A minute later, she stuck the other foot in the water. Standing there, she reached for her glass that she had parked on top of the chest. A couple of sips later, she put the glass down, gripped both sides of the tub and lowered herself into the water.

In a few seconds, the intensity of the heat passed and she felt the soothing warmth caress her body. Leaning back, she ignored the coldness of the tub against her upper back. Her eyes closed and she surrendered to the almost erotic feeling.

Wanda stayed that way for a long time without even opening her eyes. When she did, she reached for her glass and had another sip. It added a little to the feeling of well being. It didn't make sense feeling so good after just having been fired, but somehow that didn't seem to be important.

There was enough in her bank account to carry her for a while and finding another job didn't bother her at all. The important thing, she reasoned, was to find the right one. It would have to be a job where, one way or another, she could still do the things she believed in.

She couldn't quite define the things she believed in, but Wanda knew she would recognize the job when she found it. In religion, she was an agnostic and had been since about fifteen when religion stopped meaning as much to her as the suffering of the people she saw around her.

In politics, she was somewhere left of liberal, a political as well as a religious agnostic, one of her friends had once called her. She hadn't argued with him either since the label seemed to fit rather well.

As her mind strove to find a way to put her beliefs back to work where they would keep her reasonably contented and still keep the bank balance from vanishing, she thought of newspaper work. Back in college she had done a lot of writing. Over the past few years, she had found time to do a few articles when her work load permitted. Wanda was sure she could make the transition from social worker to crusading newspaperwoman if she could find an opening on one of the two local papers.

For just a little while, she wavered as she thought of the possibility of moving to another city and getting back into social work, but she knew that was out. The first thing they would do was check her record here and the next thing they would do was say no, thanks.

Closing her eyes, Wanda turned her mind loose in search of the right contact to land a job on a local paper. Sam Parker was the most obvious one, but he was out. The fact that he was now city editor of the Bulletin didn't overcome the fact that she had had an affair with him for a while last year while he was separated from his wife and thinking about divorce.

It had been good while it lasted and they had both enjoyed it, but when the time came to make decisions, Sam had scurried back to his wife rather than face the stigma of divorce and the threat of condemnation from his correct suburban neighbors.

The affair had ended then without anger or recrimination. Sam had been anxious to keep it going, but Wanda had made it clear to him that it wasn't her style.

"I don't carry any brief for virginity in the adult female," she had explained to him over drinks in her apartment, "and I'm not averse to sharing what I have to offer with a man who's separated from his wife as long as all other things are equal. Now that you've decided to go back home to respectability, though, I congratulate you, wish you lots of success and say goodbye."

Sam had only gone through the motions of arguing and then let it go. They still saw each other from time to time and were able to talk easily, but going to him for a job would smack of asking for favors on the basis of the past. Wanda knew she would have to look elsewhere to find her entree to the world of journalism.

She remembered Mike Hanson then. She had often talked to Mike when he was doing a series on the new concept of social work as it related to the people of the city.

They had gotten along well and he still phoned her from time to time when he needed information she could provide. A bachelor at thirty or so, Mike had not figured in her personal life even though there had been times when Wanda knew she would admit him if he chose to apply. When he didn't though, she went on being a friendly contact and was pleased to let it go at that.

For a minute, Wanda thought of getting out of the tub and calling him, but she decided against it. She guessed she could get to him by calling his office and leaving word, but that hardly seemed the way to do it. She promised herself to call him first thing in the morning. For now, it was enough to just soak and ignore the world. She was glad she had taken the phone off the hook before getting into the tub and wondered why everyone didn't do it.

When the water began to cool down to the point where it was only barely comfortable, she reached for the soap and began bathing. As she held her breasts and smeared the rich lather over them, Wanda was able to assure herself that she really hadn't deteriorated that much after all. They were still pretty firm, she told herself, and an arresting thirty-eight-C. Rinsing the lather off, she saw the twin globes glisten and knew that she still had a few years before she would have to retire to knitting and keeping Siamese cats.

The fact that there hadn't been a man in her life for a couple of months didn't bother her at all. When the right man came along under the right circumstances, Wanda could unleash enough genuine passion to scare a lesser male to death.

Between affairs though, she was content to read books, listen to good music and do her job. Someday, she hoped, there would be the right man who would want to go all the way through the marriage bit, but she wasn't really concerned and wouldn't settle for less than the right one just because it was considered the thing to do.

Stepping out of the tub, Wanda took another look at herself in the mirror as she reached for the towel. She was still completely satisfied with what she saw. The towel was rough and made her blood flow as she rubbed herself hard with it. By the time she finished, she was tingling all over and looking pink and healthy.

For the first time in a long while, she thought of how nice it would be to have a man around to share her feeling of well being with her. For a little while as she walked naked into the living room, she permitted her mind to dwell on the thought and enjoyed the feeling. When it began to get the better of her, she turned it off.

Watch it, lady, she told herself. We need those carrots for the stew and bananas are for monkeys. Let's read a good book instead.

It was as easy as she knew it would be. The one concession she made to herself was staying nude as she poured her third drink of the evening and picked up the new John Fowles novel she had bought yesterday. For a few minutes, she had to concentrate on getting in the mood to read, but after that, it was easy.

During the evening, she had two more drinks and left the Scotch bottle with an empty look, but all in all, she decided, life wasn't bad. There was more Scotch where that came from and more authors to write more books.

When she decided to call it a day and put the book down, she felt amazingly good for a young woman who had just been both insulted and fired.

As usual, she slept nude and the sheets felt cool. She wondered idly, how cool sheets could feel as comforting as hot water in a bath, but didn't pursue the thought. Philosophy was something she could leave for another day, she decided.

Just as she was about to drop off to sleep, the phone rang. In the quiet of her apartment and with her mind ready for sleep, it seemed that the ring was much louder than any phone she had ever heard. She thought of a fireman hearing the alarm ring and jumping into his clothes to leap for the brass pole and slide down.

It kept right on ringing, but she decided that she could ignore it. When a small inner voice told her she really should answer it, she said absolutely rude things to it and went right on lying there listening as the ring went on and on.

To help her kill time until it stopped, she played little games of guessing who the caller was and what he or she wanted. For openers, she thought of Bryce Jenkins calling to say he was sorry and would she please come back to work in the morning. She rejected that idea out of hand. He wasn't man enough for that.

The next thought was that someone in the family was desperately ill. That didn't work very well either since both her parents were dead, she was an only child and her cousins, aunts and uncles were, in her honest estimation, a collection of creeps, ghouls and assorted nothings. They should call doctors, she told herself.

In time, the ringing stopped and as she drifted off into sleep, Wanda was undecided whether the caller had been LBJ asking her advice on world problems or Richard Burton admitting that Liz had been a mistake and it had been her all the time.

She was just sleepy enough so that either one made perfectly good sense.