Chapter 3
"Don't put it off, son ... call the little woman and let her know she won't be rubbin' up against your backside tonight," Loren said jovially, flicking his cigar ashes. "Here, you need a dime?"
Bob Carlson stood in his trenchcoat, briefcase in hand, exhausted after a frustrating meeting with the New York clothing manufacturers of Bason & West concerning the sloppy airbrush work on the six dozen silk shirts Sanger's had custom ordered. They reached no mutual settlement, spelling out one more night in New York and one more night away from Jill, who would be righteously irate.
In one conceding movement, Bob set down his briefcase and plucked the tiny dime from Loren's fat warm palm and disappeared into the phone booth.
Jill lay in a semi-stupor for hours after her wild, self induced orgasm, and then slowly the Valium's hazy, sweet glow blended with the bliss of satiation and she slept until the sun dipped in the West.
"Bbbbrrrrnnggghhh...." The telephone jostled her out of bed and amongst a comet of flickering lights, she stumbled druggedly for the telephone in the hallway. The cold fingers of reality suddenly gripped her. What was she doing naked? And where was Bob?
"H ... Hello?" She clutched the receiver desperately to her ear, uncertain, in her weary state of confusion, of the cause of anxiety.
"What's the matter, honey? You been sleeping?" As he spoke, Bob checked his wrist watch. Seven o'clock was too early to be in bed. If she's been popping those damned sleeping pills again, I swear I'll flush them down the toilet!
"Yes ... I was." In the mirror facing the telephone stand Jill studied her dimly reflected image, gazing at herself suspiciously. Blushing red, a dull sensation spread throughout her lower belly. Lord, her body felt as if she really had made love to that awful TV repairman ... how horrible! She cringed at the recollection of her carnal weakness. True ... she had wanted him, a perfect stranger, to fuck her ... to take her without love.
"Honey ... you okay?"
"Oh, just fine." She forced a crooked innocent grin as if he were standing there in the room with her.
"Listen, babe ... before you get all pissed off, listen to me. Bason & West screwed up the custom airbrush order we came to inspect and I'm gonna have to stay another night. You understand, don't you? ... It's not my fault, believe me, I'd rather be home warming your feet." Christ, why should I defend myself? I didn't commit any crime ... why the hell do I feel guilty?
It hisssed over the phone into his ear-just as he'd expected-that long, disappointed sigh. "If that's what you have to do...."
"Thata girl ... chin up. Hey ... anything exciting happen today?" He hastened to change the subject.
"No ... the TV repairman came to fix the set.'-'
"Huh ... I didn't know it was on the blink,"
"What?" Jill clutched the phone tight. "You're the one who called him. He showed me the work order," she snipped back, perturbed at her husband for calling a disreputable service when the yellow pages was full of them.
"Honey, I didn't call...." Bob stopped short, cautious not to raise suspicion and fears. His eyebrows knit in puzzlement and he touched his fingers to his bent forehead, thinking. "Give me the company name." He jotted down her reply. "Listen, I'll be at the Fairmont in Suite 393. Give me a jingle later. Gotta split! Love you!" He blew a kiss over the phone and folding back the scraping door, stepping into Loren's periphery of stenching cigar smoke.
"How about a coupla drinks to take out the kings, huh, buddie?" winked Loren, raising his eyebrows like Groucho Marx and jabbing Bob with his elbow.
Shades of his used car salesman humor never set well with Bob ... that unbending persistence that could be quelled only by an affirmative nod of the head. "I don't know, Loren. I'm pooped." Rubbing his forehead wearily for effect, he shrugged, wanting to refuse but hating to cause friction between himself and his boss who always seemed to need an accomplice in his vices.
"Hey, come on ol' chap. No better way to discuss business than over a coupla martinis!" he laughed raucously, popping out a shirt button. "If you're gonna make it in this business, you're gonna have to take on a few vices, kid."
Bob felt acutely uncomfortable, a quick drink with Loren usually terminated in six hours on a bar stool and a hell of a hangover ... and something strangely disquieting about his conversation with Jill preoccupied his concerns. He scratched his head, as he followed Loren out the door, trying to recall telephoning ... what the hell was the name of that company?
Loren and New York were old buddies, and he led Bob to a swank hotel lobby down the street from the Fairmont. Under the neon lights, Bob spotted a wicked glint in his boss' eyes, and the way he was rubbing his hands together! The only time Bob had seen this miniature Santa Claus do that was after swindling a manufacturer out of a few samples, but he followed docilely through the revolving glass door, into the thick carpeted lobby.
The hotel's cocktail lounge was called The Polynesian Paradise and was decorated in a mock island opulence replete with potted palms, fallen coconuts and cocktail waitresses with long shimmering black hair pulled back on one side and pinned with an orchid, and inches and inches of naked honey colored skin peeking out between the coconut cup bra and grass skirts that hugged their hips and swooshed in an intimate hush with each sway of the hip. In spite of himself, Bob looked ... then he gawked.
Loren's eyes were fastened on this Polynesian honey who led them to their table near an outrigger canoe. "Hot damn!" he rasped over his shoulder at Bob. "She's got a motor attached to that ass!"
Smiling a toothpaste ad grin, the waitress swept barefooted over to the table where they sat and she smiled perfunctorily at Bob, and grinned at Loren who made a habit of flashing before pretty ladies his diamond pinky ring and studded watchband to match. 'Two scotch up, with water backs."
"Loren ... I...." Bob started to protest, but Loren's fat hand slapping jovially into his chest was reason enough to stop.
"The night's young, my boy ... we have business to discuss." He winked at the waitress. "Gorgeous belly button, huh?" Another nudge in the ribs. "We oughta start marketing navel jewels ... ain't that a hot idea? I could see an opal hanging in that little dimple, could you?"
The drinks appeared and the girl swished her thighs and jiggled her full, barely concealed breasts. This time Loren leaned over and patted her buttocks lightly; the scent of sex was suddenly strong in the air, and trembling, Bob downed his drink before he realized how strong it was. He exploded with the burning heat in his throat and stomach, reaching for his water back.
"Another round, honey!" crowed Loren, thumping Bob on the back at his coughing.
He gulped his own as if it were lemonade.
"Here's a toast, Bob," Loren said on the third double. 'To the only man in my business I can trust. Yes sir, I'm gonna give you a nice Christmas present this year, Carlson."
The room suddenly lost its clarity, but the words reverberated in Bob's head; he felt important and proud, and vowed that he would concede to any of Loren's demands and he would do so in the name of his career. "You're one helluva boss, Loren. You know that? You know how to treat your men," he slurred appreciatively.
Another slap on the back. "Well, kid, I'm giving you a nice hot bonus for leavin' the little lady in the sack and jumpin' plane with me...." Suddenly Loren stopped short, and glanced intently across the room. "Here they come now."
"Who?" asked Bob cringing; he was in no condition to discuss business, it being all he could manage to see straight.
"Couple of lookers, heh?" winked Loren.
Bob stared over his shoulder at the two women approaching their table. He wanted to get up ... to run home and bury his head in Jill's breasts and get away from what was happening ... but home was fifteen hundred miles away ... and this was his boss' idea of a bonus. He must appear grateful.
"I was gonna keep 'em both for myself, but I wanna share with you, kid."
The women were now at the table, and Loren slid his hulk over to make room for one, a short, highly developed brunette in a white jumpsuit. Bob suddenly found a tall, lithe blonde beside him, her luminous green eyes sparkling and her tightly encased buttocks against his. "Hi," she said musically. "I'm Janie."
"He ... hello," Bob replied. "I'm Bob."
"And this is Linda ... and I'm Loren."
"Pleased to meet you, Bob," said Linda, smiling, then flicked Loren's shoulder chidingly and said, "Where's my stinger, Lornie?"
Loren snapped his fingers and gave the waitress another order for two more double scotches and two stingers. Linda and Janie laughed, and Loren laughed, and Bob laughed, although he couldn't fathom why.
They fell into an easy conversation, far easier than Bob would have believed possible. Both girls seemed to be witty conversationalists, both divorced, and both had jobs as models, though they spoke of their work in very vague terms and giggling unnecessarily. It grew obvious to Bob that Loren had known these two girls for some time. The drinks arrived, and Bob sampled the stinger and promptly handed it back to Janie, and then another round appeared.
"Gee," Linda said at one point, "I'm sure glad your friend Bob came along. I don't like competition in the sack." She winked conspiratorially at her friend across the table and Bob had the uneasy feeling that he was the brunt of the joke.
Even in his liquor fogged mind he was able to see the inevitable: Loren would disappear with Linda and leave him with Janie ... which would have been alright, of course, were he a single man. But he couldn't see satisfying a woman he didn't love, when the one he adored was laying in bed right now, wanting him. Yet, as he looked at those flashing green eyes and fleshy mounds hidden under white nylon, he suddenly wasn't piqued with his boss. What the hell; everyone was having a good time, weren't they? No harm done....
Another round ... then Linda said, "Well, there isn't much time left ... unless you wanna pay overtime, honey."
At first Bob thought that was the cue to break up the evening, say goodnight, and head on down the street to the Fairmont. But he was wrong. He found himself linked arm-in-arm with Janie, walking across the street to the Fairmont, following Loren and Linda, across the lobby to pause at the elevator. Confusedly, he glanced around, the walls melting around him. "What?" He squinched up his nose, then Janie said something to him....
"I said, it's exciting being in the Fairmont with you. It's a real classy hotel ... and just the two of us."
"But ... what about Loren ... and Linda?"
She giggled and shrugged her shoulders. 'They'll be right next door...." and here she paused, breathing hotly and wetly into his ear. "I can tell you want me."
Wild-eyed, Bob looked to Loren for help, but he was pressing Linda against the otherwise deserted elevator car, kissing her hotly ... and Linda was kissing him back with the same salacity! Numb, he staggered from the car and down the hall, his mind screaming for him to stop, but his will to resist was eroded by scotch. As Janie took the key from him and slipped it into the door lock, he cried out hoarsely. "Loren...! I-I!"
"Don't worry about a thing," grinned Loren. "I paid for both of 'em-company money, you know!"