Chapter 1

Two real wild looking chicks, one a blond the other a red head, sharing a pad in Las Vegas. Both of them were models and both of them were beautiful.

They were both also hip at handling men.

They knew how to string along the likelier prospects, the men who could do them good, without promising too much, and they were aces at fending off the overly-romantic, the empty-pocketed, the seekers after free feels and quick lays.

And they handled both types adroitly and painlessly so that no one got hurt, least of all the two girls themselves.

They were, in short, typical of the more successful career girl-about-the country who ate, dressed and lived well. Knowing their way around, they could cope with most situations without disturbing themselves or anyone else.

When one of them met a guy who could help her in her career and he wasn't repulsive, she shacked up with him and enjoyed the session for what it was, no more and no less.

Yes, Rene Clark and Dale Anders did very well for themselves.

They lived in a two bedroom apartment. It was right in the heart of Las Vegas. The building had a heated pool and an underground garage. They paid a rent of two hundred and fifty dollars per month and considered it cheap for the conveniences and comforts that went with the apartment.

The apartment was on the sixth floor of the building and had a terrace the length of the apartment. They had a view of the pool from their living room picture window while maintaining privacy.

There was peace at the Coronado Apartments, for this was the hour of quiet, the calm between the day and night. Poolside was deserted, lights were turned on in some of the apartments, and there was a hushed pall, a silent shroud about the movements behind the drawn blinds as the residents of the Coronado made their preparations for the evening.

Rene Clark, covered by a terry-cloth robe, came out of the bathroom rubbing her wet short blonde curls with a towel, smiling brightly after her shower, alive and sparkling with all the fervor of her nineteen years.

She was a girl who was glad to be a girl.

"There!" she exclaimed. "That's much better! I feel new all over!"

"You look like the same old gal to me," smiled her roommate. "As cute and lively as ever."

Rene plopped on a chair, her legs stretched out, the robe parted to reveal the sparkle of the tawny legs. "Why, thank you, Dale. I hope Oscar thinks the same way about me."

Dale Anders stretched out on the sofa with a copy of Bazaar, smiled. "Stop worrying about it, Rene. You're a living doll and even better looking than you were a year ago when you last saw your piece of man flesh. He'll fall for you all over again."

"Do you really think so?"

Rene rose, stretched, and padded into her bedroom for her hair dryer. "I know Oscar from back home, you know. We were kids together."

She made this statement as if it were for the first time but Dale had heard it a hundred times and she closed her eyes, waiting for the rest of it. And it came as Rene turned on the dryer and sprayed her hair with the rush of heat.

"I've had a thing for him all my life. He's awfully cute."

Rene turned her head to catch the flow of air from the dryer, blissfully unaware that she described almost every man as 'cute'. "I think he digs me too, but I'm a little worried."

"What about, your looks?" Dale looked over the buxom body of her roommate as the robe, forgotten now, parted and showed her big boobs, the flat stomach, the round thighs, the slim legs. She sighed and went on, "You're still the best figure model in town-next to me, of course."

Rene pouted, a thin line between her brows. "That's what I'm worried about-the figure business we're in. I don't know if Oscar will approve of me doing figure modeling.

"What's wrong with figure modeling?" Dale demanded.

"Why, nothing! But Oscar's kinda square, like. He comes from one of the best families in Easton. That's my home town, you know."

"Yes, Rene, I know," sighed Dale.

"Oh, dear! What'll I do?"

"Just don't tell him, that's all."

"What?" Rene looked at Dale as if such a thought would never have occurred to her.

"Don't tell him, dear, if you're afraid it'll hurt him."

"Well, I don't want to hurt him. Why, I wouldn't hurt Oscar for anything in the world. I've known him all my life; since we were kids."

"I know. You've told me. Look, you said he's in town for only a couple of days, so why bother telling him exactly what you're doing? Tell him you're a high fashion model. He won't know the difference. He'll be here and gone and no one'll be hurt. Meanwhile, you'll both have a ball."

"Oh, I will!" Rene was herself again, bubbling, her eyes sparkling. "Thanks, Dale. That's a wonderful idea."

This was the Rene Las Vegas knew-a naive, wide-eyed, scintillating child with the body of a lush woman. The contrast between her mind and her body was her chief appeal both as a model and as a person.

The hipsters of the city laughed at her ways but it was water off a duck's back for Rene. Ridicule never seemed to touch her and she could face it and go on in her own way, reacting brightly, mouthing trite expressions, blinking her large blue eyes and making loot to send home to her folks in Easton to save for her.

People like Dale who took the trouble to know Rene and accept her as she was, enjoyed the girl's personality as an honest one. Rene enjoyed life and didn't get into too much of a dither over it. She had a mind only for business under that curly-topped blondeness. She knew how to pose and strike the right attitude for the camera, how to project facial expressions as the photographers wanted, how to arch her body so that it was alluring and provocative, how to dress and groom herself, and how to show men that they were interesting and fascinating.

She also had the capacity of projecting a sort of innocent, child-like sexuality to the camera. This ability came from within; it was not planned or calculated. It was direct and simple.

And most men were disappointed on meeting her to discover that she did not live up to the promise of her pictures.

Her vocabulary was astonishing. It consisted in the main of cliches and trite phrases she had picked up and thought cute. Catch-phrases long out of style stayed with her. She had short cuts in speech, set expressions she used for all occasions from being interviewed for a job to discouraging hot pants romeos in parked cars.

Such was Rene Clark's charm, however, that even the frustrated males felt no resentment. They were instead left wondering, shaking their heads, over what had hit them; dazed, knowing only that they had been held off most neatly and disarmingly.

"Toodle-oo," she would chirp as her escort dropped her off at the apartment after dinner and theater. "It's been loads of fun-just loads. We must do it again sometime." She would hold her cheek forward to be kissed and then would be out of the car and gone while the man was still leaning over with pursed lips.

"Au revoir" was another of her pet farewell phrases, along with "Ta-ta-ah,"

"Chee-reeo," and "Bye-eee now." She used to say "dig you later," until a man had come by her apartment after she had said it to him. He insisted that it had been an invitation for him to visit her later that night. It took the night manager, a threat to get the cops, and a good deal of explanation, none accepted, to get rid of him.

But that had been only a slight flaw in Rene's handling of males and she never repeated the error.

Dale watched Rene in delight and admiration as the blonde dressed for the evening. Nothing, thank goodness, would ever hurt Rene Clark. She just was not vulnerable to the sort of painful attacks that people used to cut one another-vituperation, sarcasm, snide remarks, gossip, and all the other instruments of calumny that were life and blood to the inside set.

Rene was indeed a blithe spirit.

"Why," Dale said to herself, "can't I be as innocent as Rene? Nothing ever gets to herand everything gets to me! I feel every dig, every dirty look, real or imagined." She sighed. "Bless little Rene Clark. She'll never get hurt, the lucky thing!"

"Now how do I look?" asked Rene, whirling around to display her gown.

Dale had to hide her smile. As usual, Rene was overdressed. A frilly, flowered dress billowed about her. It was loud and bright, making Rene look like a teen ager trying to imitate a glamor girl.

Rene's jewelry was garish and there was too much of it. She was loaded down with heavy rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings and an ornate brooch pinned to her bosom. Her musky perfume permeated the room. Her make-up was heavy with layers of color.

Still, even with all this gilding of the lily, the strange thing about Rene was that she could get away with it. She was the only girl she knew, Dale had to admit, who could overdress like this and still look attractive and becoming. Not, perhaps, to a too-discerning male, but how many of those were there in Las Vegas?

"You look terrific," Dale said truthfully. "Oscar will flip."

In their first days together as roommates, Dale had tried to improve Rene's manner of dressing. But it had been no use. None of it got through to Rene. She listened carefully, nodded, and then tried to do as Dale suggested. But no matter how she tried to do things differently, it still came out the same strictly pure and unadulterated Rene Clark.

And now, suddenly, Dale remembered with unwelcome clarity another episode dating from their early days together. Something she had made a conscious effort to forget, usually with some degree of success, but something which sometimes rose like a nightmare in her mind, torturing her. Had it been a dream or not? Could it have been real? She didn't know, and probably never would-not unless Rene brought it up of her own accord. This, in view of the months that had passed since the event, seemed un-likely.

Dale knew that she herself was definitely not a lesbian, and she would have bet her last dime that Rene would scream in horror at the thought.

Nevertheless, the thing had happened, either in a dream or in reality.

Dale had come home one night reeling from an unusually large amount of scotch and soda. She had successfully fenced off the passes of an over-amorous date who had been quite determined and who had handled her pretty roughly. She had collapsed across her bed, crying with disgust and the pain of bruises which he had inflicted on her breasts in his effort to capture them from behind the protecting brassiere.

When the crying spell ended and she felt herself drifting toward sleep, she forced herself up and undressed. Then she went in to take a shower, trying to keep as quiet as possible so as not to wake Rene, who had made no sound so far since Dale had come in. After the shower she collapsed against the sheets and, with her last fully-conscious movement, pulled the covers up around her shoulders. She hadn't even taken the time and trouble to put on her pajamas, and the coolness of the bed was delicious against her bruised flesh....

Just how, when, and why the thing started she still didn't know, but she had suddenly been conscious of an incredibly comforting warmth of arms and body cradling her, and the voice of an angel whispering sweet words into her ear.

"There, there, my little darling, let mama help. You just rest now, and mama will take care of everything."

At the same time she had felt her head drawn gently and firmly down to the softness of a bare bosom, while the hand cradling the back of her head stroked her hair lovingly. She was a child again, and she automatically turned her face toward the softness, nuzzling and sniffling, feeling another wonderfully gentle hand stroking down her back, patting her gently on the buttocks. And all the while the soft voice crooned into her ear, comforting her.

She remembered, too, that her mouth, seemingly of its own accord, closed hungrily over the fragrant boob on which it rested, while her arms tightened around the body of her comforter. And she remembered how the timbre of the soothing voice gradually changed, along with the words, and how she felt the formerly easing hand now move to cover her own boobs, squeezing caressingly. She remembered how the hands had gently moved her head from the wonderful softness on which it lay and eased it down onto the pillow, while the whispering lips were silenced as they closed over her nipples, stilling completely the burning fire of the bruises inflicted by the would-be seducer earlier. The seducer! This wasn't mother then. Mother hadn't been around for a long time before Dale met the guy. Vaguely, she had thought of a name: Rene! But-but, surely this couldn't be Rene?

She remembered how she had reached out to push the head from her knockers opening her mouth to question the mystery woman. Her effort had been weak and unavailing as the mouth tightened on her flesh and a hand came up to push hers down along her side. Then the mouth left her breast and came up to cover her own lips before they could utter a word. The kiss was tender, soft, and undemanding at first, turning slowly into one of beseeching passion. Her own response had been sudden and overwhelming, all questions disappearing from her thoughts, and she had surrendered herself entirely to the magic of the moment and the blood rushed through her body.

Pain, misery, everything was gone. There was nothing left in the world but the gentle, caressing hands and the wandering lips, the surrender of her whole being to a wonderful flicking tongue.

And then the dream ended, as quickly and mysteriously as it had started.

When she awoke the next morning she lay quietly, at first only vaguely aware of the memory of that dream. Then it came slowly back to her, in bits and pieces-the woman, mother or Rene? Dream or fact?

During breakfast she had watched Rene carefully, trying to find any change in attitude. Nothing. She wanted to talk about it, but couldn't bring herself to the necessary point. And, of course, after they had parted for the day, she realized she never would be able to mention it. And Rene never had shown any signs of being different from what she had been previously....

Now Rene's remark brought her up suddenly out of the haze of recollection....

"It's almost time," Rene said excitedly. "Oscar should be here any minute."

Dale picked herself up from the couch. "I'll go to my room."

"Oh, don't go. I want you to meet Oscar. You'll like him."

"I'm sure I will, dear, but I'm not dressed to meet anyone."

Dale walked toward her bedroom but stopped short when Rene screamed. "Eight o'clock?"

Rene was staring at her wrist watch with confused eyes.

"I almost forgot!" she exclaimed.

"Forgot what? What's the matter

"Oh, good grief! Can you feature that!" Rene slumped into a chair, the picture of confusion. "I clean forgot about my other appointment! Oh, good heavens!"

"What other appointment?" Dale came back to face Rene. "Honey, do you mean to tell me that you made two dates for tonight?"

"Oh, no! Only one-with Oscar. The other wasn't a date, it was business-to do some modeling."

"Well, why don't you call up and cancel it?"

"Because I didn't remember about it till just now and it's too late. The man'll be here at nine o'clock to pick me up."

"To pick you up? You mean you were going someplace with him to pose?"

"That's right. He wanted to shoot me in a night scene or something, I don't know." Rene was disturbed, and knowing her Dale knew that it irked her to have fouled up a business appointment. This, plus the confusion of a date with Oscar, sent Rene into a tizzy of excitement

"Well," Dale said soothingly. "Stop worrying about it. You just go off with Oscar and when the fellow comes, I'll make the necessary apologies and arrange to have him call you for another appointment. How's that?"

Rene rose and embraced her friend. "It's wonderful! I think you're terrific. How do you come up with ideas like that?"

"Well, it takes a good deal of thinking," Dale laughed. " It's not easy."

"It is for you. Please stay to meet Oscar."

Dale released herself from Rene's arms and moved to the bedroom door again. "No. This is your date. I'll just go in and read the evening away. Have a ball, Rene."

Their apartment is located in the hub of the city. The area is brightly lighted at all night hours with signs glaring from stores and nightclubs, signs just being turned on now with the coming of evening.

A man was sitting in a car parked at the curb near the Pizza Palace. He was an ordinary looking man and he was in an ordinary car, a nine-year-old Olds that had known better times. He sat casually and relaxed as if waiting for time to pass and not in too much of a hurry for it to go by.

Once in a while he looked at his watch and then he would look at the entrance to The Coronado just across the street. He watched the people going in and out, well-dressed people as compared to his shabbiness. He wore a shabby suit with shabby pants, an open shirt and black shoes that were down at the heels.

Autumns in Las Vegas were a great deal different from the Autumns he had known in the midwest. There it had been cold and blasty with ferocious winds, wet with sleet, ugly and miserable. This, now, was like summer; even in the evenings. A man could relax and think and imagine, and there would be no cold weather to interfere with the inner most secret thoughts anyone could have.

And he was a man with secret thoughts; beautiful but secret. They had to be kept secret, too, because most people didn't think they were beautiful. Most people had no imagination, no secret black passions, no unusual ideas. They merely went along their way doing the same old things day after day, with no deep, sudden excitements, no great thrills reaching into the depths of your being, tearing everything out so you felt such bliss as only the ancient gods must have known.

He smiled at his thoughts and then looked at his watch again. Another half-hour and he could make his call. He had been sitting in his car since six o'clock, just relishing the waiting, anticipating what was to come, preparing his mind for it.

He didn't mind the waiting, either. It made it that much more pleasurable. After all, he had waited all his life for this moment; what did another hour or so matter?

And then he saw a man and a girl come out of the door of the Coronado. They got in a shiny new car and drove off while the man stared after them, unbelievingly.

"She didn't wait," he said to himself as the car drove off. "She had an appointment with me and she didn't wait!"

He parted his lips in an ugly snarl, made uglier still by the wide spaces between his stained teeth.