Chapter 10
Barbara was taking the fresh vial of capsules from the drawer in his desk when Vincent entered his office. She jerked guiltily when the door opened.
"Barbara!" Her name spurted from his lips, then he checked himself, clicked shut the door behind him. "What the hell are you doing?" He spoke with restrained anger, moved towards her, reached out for the vial.
She stuffed it in her pocket, moved away from him, round the desk. "You don't mind, Vincent," she said, edging towards the door. "I just want them, that's all. You don't mind, do you?"
He moved towards her slowly, ominously. "You're goddamned right I mind." He breathed hard. "What d'you want 'em for?"
"You know I like them." Barbara tried to make her voice soft, wheedling.
"Why?" His voice went too high. "You're not staying late tonight!"
She turned her eyes away. "I just-just want them!"
It was then that he saw the name on the papers which were thrust so casually into the pocket of her jacket. "Gamble!" he said, pointing to the name that he'd scrawled on the copy. "You've got the copy that was supposed to be taken to the printer's this afternoon!" He stared at her. "Why?"
"I told Bert that I'd take it over."
Vincent drew in his breath. "Why?" he asked again softly, "Why you?"
Barbara's hand was on the handle of the door. "I-I happen to be goin' that way-an' I said I'd drop it off," she wistfully explained.
"You? Why you?"
"It-it's outa Bert's way."
Vincent drew in his breath. "Bert's the office boy-it's his job to go on errands like that-but you shouldn't go to a place like Gamble's."
"You sent me there yourself once," said Barbara.
"Just once," said Vincent, "in the morning- and that was months ago!"
"It's all right. There's nothing wrong with it!"
"Nothing wrong!" Vincent repeated. "That damned weirdo at that place!"
"Weirdo!" Barbara laughed shrilly. "Look who's talkin'!"
Vincent breathed deeply. "That's why you wanted those damned capsules!" He started towards her; Barbara was too fast. She opened the door and stood in the entrance where the staff could see-and hear-them. Vincent stopped.
"All right, Mr. Erickson," she said in her prim-est, youngest voice. "I'll be only too glad to take this copy to the printer's for you."
She smiled, half turned, then murmured, gently and sweetly: "Good-bye, Mr. Erickson. Thank you."
Then he was watching her, walking demurely, through the oblong-shaped office to the door. He slammed his office door viciously.
Sydney Gamble was a weirdo, Barbara admitted as she waited for a taxi at the stand. She had discovered that the first time she'd gone to his small shop in the basement of the rundown building in the old part of San Francisco. It wasn't much of a printing shop; just three crummy rooms filled with old equipment that Sydney operated by himself. But he was cheap, really cheap. Which was why Vincent Erickson gave him occasional jobs. Cut-rate jobs, cheap jobs-that-that's what Sydney depended on.
The first time she'd gone there, Barbara had found the pictures in the small room at the back, and the things in the drawer that had excited her. She'd had no right to be in that small room in the first place, and in the second place...
"Where's Bert?" Vincent Erickson had snapped at the staff in the small office.
"He didn't come in today," said John, the blond young man who helped with the accounts. "Phoned in, said he was sick."
Damn!" Vincent said unsympathetically. His eyes flickered over his small staff, then settled on Barbara. She had only been working at Erickson's for a few months then, though already she felt quite at home and at ease. She'd fitted in, easily though. Maybe her relationship -her special relationship-with Vincent Erickson had helped. He spoke to her now. "D'you mind going on a small errand, Miss Bennett?" he asked her formally.
And Barbara wanted to giggle, because she was thinking of what he'd been doing to her the night before. "Not at all, Mr. Erickson," she said politely, primly, smiling prettily.
Vincent hid a smile. "I wouldn't ask you if Bert was here," he said for the benefit of the staff, "but as you're the junior member of the staff-" He paused, and Barbara said: "The new girl gets the odd jobs."
"Yes," he made his voice gruff, "if you put it that way."
"I don't mind at all," Barbara said, enjoying herself, "You know I'm always willing Mr. Erickson."
He cut her off quickly and said: "Yes." His voice became crisp, businesslike. "Now take this copy to the Gamble Printing Shop. Just hand it in, then come back. I promised to have it ready for a client this afternoon and Gamble's the only place who can do such a rush job."
She had taken the sheaf of copy from him, noted the address of the shop, then hurried from the office. As she went down in the elevator, she remembered Vincent's final words, which he'd mumbled at the door. "Don't stick around his place -it's not a good district, Barbara. Just hand the stuff in, then come right back-understand?"
She wondered what he meant about it being a bad district, but when she arrived, saw the rundown buildings and the kind of people hanging around, she understood. She hadn't known about Sydney, though. Not just by looking at him.
"It's from Mr. Erickson," said Barbara, handing the copy to the fat man who'd let her into the shop. "He said it's rush -real rush!"
"Yes, I know," said Sydney Gamble, his small, beady eyes flickering from Barbara's face to her body, then back. "He phoned."
She turned to go, but he stopped her. "I've got some stuff you can take back," he said, "if you can wait a minute -just one minute," he added.
"All right," said Barbara, thinking that there was no hurry, no real urgent reason for her to rush back to the office.
"Sit down," Sydney said. "I'll be right back." And he disappeared behind a partition.
Barbara had glanced around her. The whole area was dusty, with an aura of disuse. She looked for a place to sit down, saw the small door at the side, which was usually kept locked but happened to be unlocked on this day. But Barbara hadn't known that when she tried the handle, pushed the door open and went in. It was then that she saw the things -the pictures and the things. After that she'd found out about Sydney being a weirdo. It had been bizarre but fascinating- intensely fascinating...
A taxi stopped; Barbara got out, gave the address. The driver turned his cab, nosed through the heavy traffic away from the business area towards the lower part of the city. Gamble's printing was in the lowest.
"Barbara!" said the fat, young man who pushed open the shabby door. "It's been a long time!!" He stepped back, watched the fresh-faced girl with the innocent eyes and childish clothes glide into his shop.
"Yes," she said, lisping, "it's been quite a long time."
He shut, then locked the door behind her. When he turned, she was throwing the sheaf of papers onto the dusty table.
"Rush?" he asked, indicating the copy with a jerk of his head. "Is it a rush job?"
"No," she answered, "there's no hurry."
He glanced at his watch. It was five-fifteen. "Late," he said. "You through for the day?"
Barbara shrugged out of her light coat, threw it onto the settee in one corner of the room.
"Yes," she said, staring at him, her eyes changing, becoming hot, glittering, cruel.
"It's been a long time," he said for the second time, and his body, fleshy overweight, seemed to sweat and shiver at the same time.
"Too long!" Barbara hissed out the words, then her hand stretched out towards Sydney. Wordlessly, he groped in his pocket, then handed Barbara a key. She squirmed towards the small door at the side of the room, and Sydney drew heavy drapes across the high, narrow window which provided the only natural light and ventilation for the dingy basement shop. He watched her opening the door, going in, moving out of his sight. His hand went to his crotch and he fingered himself, lewdly, crudely, urgently.
She came out in a minute looking just the same, except that her chaste blouse was unbuttoned and her breasts were bare, exposed, protruding; they looked bigger than they had just moments before. "Nothing new," she said, sounding slightly disappointed.
"No," he said, "Not really."
She dropped into the old leather settee; her hips lifted, she reached under the brief skirt, seized the waistband of the little-girl panties, slid them off and dropped them negligently, on the floor. "Get me a drink!" she snapped, not sounding like a little girl.
"Yes." He hurried to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, took out a bottle. "Vodka," he said anxiously. "All I've got is vodka-is that all right?"
"Of course," said Barbara, opening her purse, taking out a gold-tipped cigarette, thrusting it between her lips. "Light," she said, snapping her fingers. "Give me a light!" Her voice was impatient.
Sydney jangled the neck of the bottle against the rim of the glass in his nervousness. "Yes." He put the bottle down, felt in his pocket and found his lighter. He snapped it, held it in front of Barbara's face.
She could see his hand trembling. She reached up, held his hand steady, lit her cigarette, then released her light grip. "Thanks," she said, her mouth smiling but her eyes staying cool.
He stood close beside her, staring at her, stroking his hand where her fingers had held it; stroking it gently, reverently, as though her touch had made it sacred.
Barbara drew upon her cigarette deeply. A small shiver cascaded through her flesh; she lifted her knees high, propped her hands on them, looked up at Sydney. He was staring at the hairy triangle; the thick foliage which nestled so sweetly and wetly at the base of her belly.
"My drink!" Barbara hissed, sounding angry. "Have you forgotten my drink, you fat slob?"
He waddled to his desk, stumbling in his frightened eagerness to do her bidding. Barbara watched him, smoking her cigarette and sneering with the curl of her lips. His fleshy buttocks strained against the pants which always seemed too tight for his body. When he bent to pick up her glass, the rough material drew in tautly at the cleft of his buttocks.
Barbara's hand paused in the act of taking her cigarette from her lips, and she seemed to hold her breath until he straightened, then turned and brought her drink to her. She took it wordlessly, not thanking him. Then she groped in her purse, took out the vial of capsules that she'd taken from Vincent's desk, unscrewed the top and shook a capsule out. She shook it onto her belly and it rolled down until it was stopped by the thickness of the hairs. Barbara looked at it, laughed. She lifted her glass, took a long swallow, then breathed out deeply.
"Where'd you get that?" asked Sydney, staring at the capsule, the hairs on her belly, her pussy.
"The capsule?" asked Barbara, her eyes flickering up to his face.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Where'd you get it?"
Barbara picked up the capsule, placed it on the tip of her tongue daintily, then swilled it down with a gulp of the vodka. Her breasts heaved as she drew in air. "Why should I tell you?" she snapped. "It's none of your goddamned business where I got it!"
Sydney seemed to tremble. "Just askin'," he muttered hoarsely. "Sorry."
Barbara waved her empty glass about in the air. "Get me a table-a chair-somethin' to put this damned glass on," she said, sounding peevish, irritated. "And get me another drink!" Her voice seemed to have dropped an octave lower.
"Sure, Barbara. Sure." He hurried across the room, dragged up a crate which served as a table, placed it beside the girl on the couch. "That okay?" he asked, anxiety in his voice. He hurried to his desk, returned with the vodka, spilled some of it into her glass. "Anythin' else?" His voice was tight, nervous.
Barbara's eyes moved to the belly which shook every time Sydney spoke. She lifted her glass, drank some, then placed it on the table. "I got the capsules from Vincent," she said, ignoring his last question. "They're for-" "I know what they're for," he muttered.
"They're to make your prick stand up," Barbara went on, as though he hadn't interrupted, "to make it get bigger, swell, grow."
She stared at his belly. Small tremors seemed to shimmer through his pants. Barbara reached to the zipper, dragged it down, thrust her hand in, searched and found. Her fingers tightened their grip, and Sydney moaned softly.
"Take your pants off," Barbara hissed. She shrugged out of her blouse as he did as she'd told him, and she caressed her breasts idly as she watched him undress.
"You-you don't wear a bra no more," Sydney said hoarsely as he stood beside the couch. He was nude now. His gross belly protruded obscenely. His penis projected almost to Barbara's face, and the balls of flaccid tissue hung down limply between his fleshy thighs.
Barbara's eyes fastened on the balls and the prick. She took out the vial of capsules again, shook two out onto her belly again and watched them roll into the foliage. "Pick 'em up!" she told Sydney.
The sweat glistened on his face, rolled in small beads down his chest to his belly as he bent over the white, luscious girl-flesh, groped with trembling fingers among her pubic hairs.
"Take 'em!" Barbara hissed.
Sydney hesitated. "Both of 'em?" he asked, his voice frightened.
"Yeah," she said wetly, "both of 'em!"
"Is it okay to take two? I thought that-" "Take 'em, you putrid bastard! Swallow 'em now!" she bellowed angrily. Barbara's voice was as vicious as the words she spoke to Sydney. "Now the vodka," she said, when he'd put the capsules in his mouth. "Drink some vodka!"
Sydney Gamble shakily poured himself a shot of the liquor, drank it, and then stared at Barbara, already starting to tremble. "What happens? If you take two-and a drink-what happens?" he asked her fearfully.
But Barbara just sat there calmly and coolly and drew upon her gold-tipped cigarette. Her cold eyes glittered with feverish excitement, small tremors of anticipation began to flicker on all parts of her flesh, especially her erogenous zones: her nipples were protruding, tensed, and she slid a hungry finger through the wet, spreading slit of her pussy as she answered him very innocently, as if she didn't know! "I don't know, Sydney. I really and honestly don't know!"
She saw the terror in his eyes, and laughed. Her finger moved more quickly on the inner tissue. "We'll find out, won't we, Sydney?" Her voice was intense with excitement. "We'll soon find out!"
He shivered with fear and anxiety and his penis began to swell visibly.
"Sydney," she murmured, her eyes half closed, loving the tickling sensations that were traveling through her entire body.
"What, honey, name it."
"Kiss my nipples!" she demanded. She gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes, the pupils dark and mysterious and inviting.
"With pleasure," he said, bending his head down to her breast and fixing his lips upon the pink quivering nipple. It was so moist, so pointy, so sweet-tasting. She ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip, moistening it.
"Don't neglect the other one!" she ordered.
"Sorry," he grunted. He pulled her breast aside and bent his head toward the other nipple, catching its sweet succulence between his half-closed teeth. He nibbled her wet nipple for minutes, and then inquired whether he was hurting her.
"Oh God, I wish you had another mouth so you could be chewing between my legs while you're sucking my tits!"
"I have another mouth, Barbara," came a strangely familiar voice from the open doorway.
It was Jerry!