Chapter 8

By six o'clock that night I still had not gotten drunk.

Ok, I had tried. I had tried real hard. I had gone through half a bottle in my apartment, then had left and started making the rounds of the bars-but it was no use. I couldn't get drunk.

My body seemed to absorb each drink with ease, soaking up the liquor like a bone-dry sponge. With each sip, I waited expectantly for the first faint stirrings of light-headedness. the initial thickening of speech, the beginnings of lack of coordination, which would show that I was on the way. But nothing happened. I kept on drinking, one after the other, and all I did was stay cold sober.

I knew what had caused this. I was too angry, too miserable, to get drunk. My mind kept racing with thoughts of Carla and what she had done with Jason, and I pictured both of them in various positions in bed, sometimes completely naked, sometimes partially clothed, and all it did was make me more angry. My mind was too active to allow me the welcome oblivion of drunkenness.

Maybe later it would finally catch up with me, I told myself. Maybe later it would hit me all at once, and then I would be gloriously drunk. But until then, all I could do was sit and drink and think of Carla.

She had said she had done it for me. I believed her. Whether or not she had enjoyed it was another matter but her prime motivation had been to help me. After years of working the angles and using contacts, she knew only one way to accomplish what she wanted, and she had used that method on Jason. I couldn't really blame her for that. It was the way she operated, and I had known that for a long while.

But, even knowing this, I couldn't keep down the anger and the misery that filled me.

I sipped at my drink and looked about me in the bar. It was the fourth bar I had been in since I left the apartment, and it looked just the same as the others-dim, cool, quiet. It was still early in the evening, and the Saturday night rush had not yet started. At one of the booths in the corner, a woman sat alone, a drink in front of her. I stared at the woman, and a hunger suddenly began to build in me. It was, I guessed, a reaction to my shock and anger over what Carla had done. And, of course, the liquor in me may have had something to do with it.

The woman was blonde, big-busted, and lonely-looking. For a moment I toyed with the idea of making a play for her, but then I knew it wasn't for me. I was hungry for a woman, sure, but I was in no mood for the give and take and playful coyness involved in a bar pickup.

I turned back to my drink and took another swallow. Down at the end of the bar another woman laughed softly. There was a husky quality to her laugh that suddenly nagged at my mind. There was something I had forgotten, something associated with a woman's low, husky laugh.

Then I remembered.

Julie Wade.

I looked at my watch. I was over an hour and a half late for our appointment. I glanced about quickly, trying to locate a telephone, then thought better of it. Why bother calling her up? I decided. It would only give her the opportunity to be icily reserved over the phone.

I'd go see her in person.

That's what I'd do. I'd show up late and, if she felt like getting nasty about it ... well, I was in the mood for a little nastiness myself. On the other hand, if she would overlook my lateness, then we could go ahead with the business of reading and discussing her play. After all, I'd have to read the play sooner or later. Jason wanted her play, and since Jason paid me, I had no choice but to do what he wanted.

I got up from the bar stool, leaving a bunch of change and a dollar bill on the bar as a tip, and walked out to the street.

I was still cold sober.

Julie Wade was quite a woman.

She opened the door in answer to my ring, and I could feel my eyes widen and my mouth fall open, despite my effort to keep myself under control. She was a green-eyed, auburn-haired goddess in tight blue Capri pants, blue ballet slippers, and a white blouse with the top three buttons revealingly unbuttoned. It took only a swift glance to see that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were full and high, her nipples clearly out-lined where they pressed against the taut cloth of her blouse.

She stared back at me for a long, uncomfortable moment, regarding me coolly, nothing at all showing on her face.

"I'm Phil Devlin," I said hesitantly.

She nodded briefly and continued to look at me without saying anything.

"I'm a little late," I said and gave her a tentative smile.

She nodded again, but still said nothing.

I decided that two could play at this game, and I leaned nonchalantly against the door jamb, folded my arms across my chest, and looked straight into those cool green eyes. We stared at each other for several moments, and then, with a slight shrug, she said, "Come on in."

She stepped aside, and I entered her apartment. She followed behind me and closed the door. I took my coat off and dropped it on a chair in the foyer, then followed her as she led the way into the living room. My eyes were on her tightly-out-lined buttocks under the blue Capri pants. I could see the faint line formed by the edge of her panties, and the movement of her buttocks was a delight to watch.

She stopped in the center of the room and turned to face me.

"Nice place you've got here, Julie," I said conversationally.

She looked at me, her green eyes studying my face, and she said, "I can smell liquor on your breath all the way over here."

I grinned at her tightly.

"I'm not prying," she went on, "but if you're drunk, or about to get drunk, I don't think this would be the proper time to read my play."

"Do I look drunk to you?" I asked.

"No ... but that doesn't prove anything."

"You're right, it doesn't," I said easily.

A faint smile touched her full lips. "I guess it wouldn't do me much good to ask why you're late."

"Nope. Wouldn't do you a bit of good at all."

"You're pretty belligerent, Phil. Are you always like this?"

"Nope," I said again.

"You're not very talkative, either."

"Yup," I said, and I gave her another tight grin.

"You want to come back some other time, Phil?"

"Why?"

She spread her hands. "Well, you're acting like a man ready for a fight-and I don't know you well enough to fight with you."

I smiled and went to her and, before she could draw back, kissed her lightly and quickly. Her lips felt incredibly warm and soft.

She stepped back from me, her eyes widening just a trifle. Two spots of color began to glow in her cheeks.

"Why'd you do that?" she asked in a small voice.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Just an impulse. I'm a very friendly type guy."

"I think you had better come back another time, Phil," she said in a firm tone.

"Oh, come on," I answered. "You didn't mind the kiss, did you?" I grinned at her. "It didn't hurt, did it?"

That's not the point.

"You want me to apologize?" I asked.

"I don't know if that would do any good now," she said, I made a sweeping bow. "Consider yourself apologized to ... both for being late and for the stolen kiss."

She hesitated. "You sure you aren't drunk, Phil?"

"I've been trying," I admitted. "I've been drinking, but nothing has happened." I looked at her appealingly. "Don't send me out into the cold night, Julie. Take pity on a poor slob who just can't get drunk."

She smiled faintly. "You're a funny one, Phil."

"I am?"

"Yes. I shouldn't have let you in the door in the first place, especially after you showed up so late without an explanation or even a phone call. And I should have slapped you in the face and sent you on your way after that kiss."

"But you didn't," I reminded hex.

"No ... I didn't," she said softly.

"That means you like me," I said, giving her what I hoped was another appealing look.

She chuckled. "You can really turn on the charm, can't you?"

"Beautiful women always bring this out in me," I answered gallantly.

"Especially when you've been drinking, right?" she added.

"You may have a point there," I conceded.

She sighed lightly. "All right ... you can stay." She held up her hand quickly as I took a step forward. "But only if you behave yourself. I'm in no mood to wrestle tonight."

I threw back my head and laughed.

She waited until I had finished laughing, then said, "Would you like to see the play now?"

"Sure," I said, plunking myself down on the couch. "Bring it on."

She walked to a desk against the wall, opened the middle drawer, and drew out a bulky manuscript. She came back to me, handed it to me without a word, then went to a chair and sat down and lit a cigarette.

I looked at her for a moment, hefted the weight of the manuscript in my palm, then turned my attention to the title page. It was called The Wanderer, as Jason had mentioned, and I flipped back the title page and started reading.

After about ten minutes, I lit a cigarette, glancing briefly at Julie as I held my lighter to the end of the cigarette. She was still sitting in the chair, not moving, not even looking at me. I let my eyes rove over her full breasts thrusting against the white blouse, took a quick look at the way the tight pants out-lined the roundness of her hips as she sat there, and then I turned back to the manuscript.

It was good. There was no doubt of that. There was also no doubt that it needed a lot of work. Too many rough spots, some dialogue that was too stilted, and a second act that dragged kept the play from being topnotch material But the possibilities were there, and that's what really counted. I had tn admit grudgingly that Jason had picked a good play.

As I read, I became completely absorbed in the play. It was the story of a wandering man, a sort of refined drifter, who enters the lives of two sisters a few weeks after they have lost both parents in an automobile accident. The sisters are young, pretty, and only three years apart. Carla would be excellent in the role of the older sister. It was a meaty role, something she could sink her teeth into. The younger sister had a good part, too, and so did the drifter. It was a three-character play full of drama, strong emotion, and a very believable story. With proper handling, I felt sure it could become a big hit.

I had gone through two more cigarettes by the time I finished the play. I turned the last page and sat quietly, holding the manuscript in my lap, looking down at it speculatively. Easy now, I warned myself. Take it easy. Don't go overboard. I realized that I had been drinking, and although I wasn't drunk, all the liquor in me could easily have clouded my judgment. My mind had felt extremely clear and sharp while I had been reading, but still I didn't quite trust myself. I'd have to read the play again, go over it once more when I had not been drinking. If I got the same reaction after the second reading, then I would know for sure.

"Well?" Julie said, breaking into my thoughts.

I looked at her and immediately forgot the warning to myself to take it easy, to hold back judgment until a second reading.

"It's a great story I" I burst out.

Julie blushed. "You really think so?"

I had a little better control of myself now. "Yes," I said calmly. "The story idea is fine. Of course, there's still a lot of work to do on it."

Julie nodded. "But you do think it's good, Phil?"

"It's good," I said. "Nobody can predict success, Julie. You know that. But, in my opinion, you've got hold of something good here-and I'll be happy to work with you on it."

Julie flashed me a brief smile, but it faded quickly and was replaced by a troubled look.

"What's the matter?-" I asked.

"Tell me, Phil," she said in a low voice, "would you have said the same thing about the play if Jason Thorpe hadn't told you he wanted to produce it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," I said.

"I'll put it a little more plainly, Phil. Jason told you he had selected my play, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"And Jason is the boss, right?" I nodded.

"So you couldn't very well turn down my play even if you wanted to, isn't that right, Phil?"

"That's right."

Julie took a deep breath, and her breasts threatened to push right through the thin material of her blouse. She saw the direction of my gaze, and one hand went to the neck of her blouse, holding it closed.

"Then I'll ask you again," she said. "Are you saying that the play is good just because of Jason's interest in it? Or do you really think it's a good play?"

I took my time about answering. What I said was important to both of us. "I'll be honest with you, Julie. If your play had been terrible-really terrible-I still would have had to say I'd work with you on it. Jason's paying the bills, and I've got no choice but to go along with what he wants. But the honest truth is that your play has tremendous possibilities-and that makes my job that much easier. I don't have to lie to you."

Julie flashed me another smile, and this one stayed on her lips. "Thank you, Phil," she said softly.

"Don't thank me yet. I told you there's still a lot of work to be done on the play. If we can whip it into shape, we'll have a good chance of a hit. If not-" I shrugged my shoulders and left the sentenced unfinished.

"I understand," Julie said.

I put the manuscript down on the coffee table in front of me. "Well," I said briskly, smiling at her. "what do you say we have a drink and celebrate the beginning of our collaboration?"

Julie looked doubtful. "A drink?"

"Yes. You do drink, don't you?"

"Sure," she said. "But ... well, you've had quite a lot already tonight ... or so you've told me."

"I told you true," I said, grinning at my poetic phrasing "I have indeed had a lot to drink."

"You sure you want another one, Phil?"

I thought about it for a moment-and all of it came back to me. Carla's phone call, what she had said to me, what Jason had done with her-not to her, but with her because she had cooperated with him-it all came back to me now.

And it hurt.

It hurt a lot.

I looked at Julie and said, "Yes, I'm sure. I want another drink."

"Then you shall have one," she said brightly, and she opened a small liquor cabinet built into the wall. "What'll you have."

"Anything," I said.

With an almost imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, Julie turned to the cabinet and busied herself with a bottle and some glasses and ice cubes. When she turned back to me, she held a drink in each hand.

"It's Scotch," she said.

I nodded and held out my hand and took my drink from her and got to my feet.

"To success," Julie said, raising her glass.

"To money," I amended, and I clinked my glass against hers.

We drank, and I could feel the Scotch sliding smoothly down my throat, and then its warmth was spreading all through me.

It felt good.

Real good.

Julie lowered her glass and looked at me steadily and said, "I have a hunch."

"You do?" I asked, taking another swallow of my drink.

"Yes. T have a hunch you and I are going to get along just fine in working on my play."

"What makes you think that?"

"You've got an honest face, Phil."

I snorted. "That's a good one."

"I mean it," Julie said simply.

"Old Honest Phil, that's me." I said. "Don't let my face fool you, Julie. Remember, you yourself pointed out that I would have agreed to accept your play and work with you on it even if it had been terrible-all because of Jason Thorpe. I don't call that being very honest, do you?"

"You were honest enough to admit it, Phil."

I snorted again, but said nothing. I finished my drink in one fast gulp, and the warmth in me now began to build into a consuming heat. For the first time since I had started drinking after the phone call from Carla, I felt just a little lightheaded. I held up my empty glass and looked at Julie questioningly.

"Sure, go ahead and have another one," she said.

"You want one, too?" I asked.

She finished her drink and handed me her empty glass. "Yes, thanks. I'll have another."

While I prepared the drinks, Julie sat down on the couch and talked across the room to me.

"You know, Phil, I have a feeling you don't have much use for Jason," she said speculatively.

I grunted and kept on preparing the drinks.

"I'm not trying to trap you, Phil," she said quickly. "We can be frank with each other. We'll have to be, if we're going to work well together."

I turned with the drinks in my hand and came back to her. I handed her one of the drinks and sat down beside her.

"What do you think of Jason?" I asked her.

She made a face and took a quick sip at her drink, "I think he's an old lecher."

I laughed shortly, and made no effort to keep the bitterness out of my laughter.

"Don't you agree with me, Phil?"

"I'm no expert on lechery," I said. "But I'd say you've got a point there."

Julie shuddered slightly. "I'll tell you something about Jason, Phil." She paused for a moment, took a swallow of her drink, and then went on. "I've known Jason about six months now. Met him at a party. I've gone out with him a few times, and in the course of our conversation, he naturally found out about my play-wrighting activity. He asked to see a copy of The Wanderer about a month ago."

"That's just about the time he hired me," I interrupted.

"I know. Well, Jason read the play and told me he thought it was terrific, and he said he thought it had a good chance of being the first play he'd produce in his new theater. I got all excited about it, of course-but I should've known Jason better by that time."

I sipped at my drink and said nothing.

"You know, Phil," she said candidly, "I made a big mistake showing Jason how excited I was. He tried to use my eagerness to his own advantage-if you know what I mean."

"I can guess," I said.

Julie smiled faintly. "Jason had been trying to get me in bed from our very first date, but I foiled him each time. I guess I became sort of a challenge to him. He had to make me just to save his pride. There are men like that, you know, Phil."

"You're talking to one," I said dryly.

She looked at me closely. "No you're not, Phil. You're just putting on an act for me. You're teasing me."

"All right ... I'm just a big tease," I said in the same dry tone. I finished my drink and closed my eyes for a moment and savored the wonderful feeling of the Scotch-heat racing through my body. Then I opened my eyes and looked at her and said, "So what finally happened with Jason?"

"I didn't give in, if that's what you mean."

I grunted.

"Oh, Jason put up a great try. He kept on talking about my play and hinting broadly that there'd be no doubt about his producing it if I'd weaken and surrender my virtue."

"Your what?" I said, feeling my tongue start to thicken.

"Correction-" Julie said tartly. "-If I'd surrender what was left of my virtue. That better?"

"Much better," I said lazily.

She gave me a hard look, but then smiled and went on. "Well, Jason was the one to finally give in. He told me he wanted to produce my play and would ask you to read it and help me with it." She paused. "That's why I was a little suspicious of you at first, Phil."

"Suspicious?"

She nodded. "Yes. I thought Jason might have given you instructions to say you weren't too keen about the play but that you'd leave the final decision up to him, of course. And then, when you had me all primed and ready and anxious to get on the good side of Jason, he'd step back into the picture and make one more try at getting me to bed with him."

"I wouldn't do a thing like that," I said heatedly. "I'm no man's pimp."

"I know that now, Phil. But you can't blame me for being a little suspicious at the start, can you? After all, the only thing I knew about you was that Jason had sent you to me."

"And you think he's finally given up now?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

I smiled at her. "Maybe Jason is still trying. Maybe he figures you'll now be so grateful he's going to produce your play that you'll give in."

"Not a chance, Phil. It'll never happen."

"Okay, Julie ... if you say so."

"I do say so!" she snapped back.

"I believe you," I told her.

"Don't humor me, Phil."

I smiled at her again. "You wanna fight?"

She opened her mouth as though to come back at me with another snappy remark, then clamped her Lips shut and glared at me.

"All right," I said finally, and held out my hand to her. "I'm sorry I've been needling you. Let's be friends."

Julie pouted for a moment, then grinned and took my hand. "Okay-friends."

I held on to her hand. Her slim fingers rested lightly in mine, and she made no effort to pull back.

I looked at her steadily, and she stared back at me, her hand still in mine. I knew now that all the liquor I had imbibed was finally taking effect on me. I wasn't really drunk-not rolling, staggering drunk-but the sudden stirring deep inside me was the kind of woman hunger that comes only with heavy drinking.

Julie, with her woman's intuition for things like this, must have sensed what was happening to me. She started to pull her hand back, but I tightened my grip.

"No!" she whispered. "No, Phil!"

Her words were lost on me. The hunger was too great now. Maybe it was the result of all the drinking; or maybe it was because of what Carla had told me. I didn't know. But whatever had brought it on, I knew the hunger was not to be denied.

Julie knew it, too. I could see it in her eyes. There was some fear there, and also some doubt, and I knew that she was making up her mind fast. She could either give in to me-or she could resist me and scream for help at the top of her lungs.

I'd find out soon enough which it was to be.