Chapter 10

"YOU'RE early," Steve said, opening the door for Mildred.

"Yes," Mildred replied, arching stiffly for a grand entrance. "And I just saw old Dan Moore getting into a cab down the block."

"Really?" Steve faked. "I wonder what he was doing in this neighborhood?"

"Loading a cute piece of jailbait into his cab." Mildred hesitated. "She looked a lot like one of the new girls at the office."

"Well, what do you know about that?" Steve replied, feigning surprise.

Mildred tugged at her mink stole, tossed it casually over the back of a chair. Regardless of what Adele had to say about the daringly low-plunge of Mildred's outfit, Steve thoroughly approved of it.

"If you don't mind, Steve, I'll dispense with the expected compliments about your apartment. I didn't come here to appraise furniture." She walked over to the coffee-table bedecked with liquor and accessories. "Two glasses . . ." she observed, then examined closer. "But no lipstick."

Steve smiled widely. "What big eyes you have, Granma!"

Mildred returned the smile. "We'll also dispense with the games."

Steve closed the gap between them. "All of them?" he asked suggestively, running his hands along her arms.

"Well, almost all of them," she countered, wetting her lips.

Steve kissed her and she held her lips tightly closed. His hands moved and crawled up the arch of her back, pressed her into him until the twin globes were flattened against the hard muscle and bone of his chest. He tightened as he felt her thighs press his, pushing him to the brink of a sudden frenzy. Her lips parted slightly. Teasingly. She swooned—obviously feigned—and pried loose of him.

"I need a drink," she gasped.

Steve fiercely gripped her sleek little wrists, pulled her upright and close to him. "Why stop now, Mildred?" he whispered, nibbling at her earlobe. He released her wrists, pressed his luck and captured the high cushions of her buttocks. "I don't think Sheldon would mind—""

She reddened and quickly tore loose of him, stinging him with a sudden slap high across his face. "You've got a sewer for a mind, Steve Turko!"

Steve backed off slowly. "You meet some interesting people in a sewer," he quipped, rubbing his face.

"Oh, the hell—" she pouted, nervously flaying her arms about. "This is getting us nowhere."

"Just exactly where would you like to get, Mildred?"

She turned on him suddenly. "Steve, you're a bigger jerk than I thought!"

"Thanks a lot," Steve deadpanned. "Was that your urgent message that couldn't wait until the morning?"

"Steve, they're using you—can't you see that?" Steve decided to play it dumb. "They?"

"That woman—" Mildred hissed. "And her stooge-president."

"What woman?" Steve continued.

"Don't play dumb with me—the one on Sutton Place! The girl-tycoon in her lofty penthouse."

"Have you ever met her?" Steve asked.

"No—thanks," Mildred stressed. "Steve, open your eyes. They'll use you—then feed you to the wolves."

"And all of a sudden you're so damned concerned about me? Come off it, Mildred, I'm not that big a jerk."

"I was angry when I said that, Steve," she apologized. "I didn't really mean it." She returned to him, ran the palm of her hands along the lapels of his jacket. "You're smart, Steve, damned smart."

Steve's eyes feasted on the cleavage of her throbbing breasts. "That's what Adele keeps telling me," he deadpanned.

Mildred cupped Steve's chin in the palm of her hand, brought his gaze up on a level with her dark eyes. "Are you in love with her, Steve?"

Steve slowly brought his hands up flat to straddle the sides of her breasts. "Are you in love with Sheldon?" he straightlaced.

A faint smile traced her crimson lips. "We speak the same nasty language, don't we, Steve?"

"It sure as hell looks that way," he replied, pressing inwardly on the mounds.

"Maybe we ought to consolidate forces?" she suggested, allowing his hands to take even bolder liberties.

"Suppose you tell me why you're so anxious to cut out on Sheldon?" Steve asked.

Mildred clamped her hands about Steve's wrists. "That's simple enough. Sheldon is a married man.

His wife is onto us and she's making life unbearable for me."

"That's how it goes," Steve shrugged, hoping Mildred would free his hands. "Some wives take a dim view of husband-snatchers."

"He despises his wife and yet he'll never leave her," Mildred nodded negatively. "He's a real pompous ass—him and his image of respectability."

"Are you heartbroken?" Steve asked cynically.

Mildred smiled, freed Steve's hands. "Not really." She wet her lips. Steve kissed her, with restraint. He quickly eased away from her.

"You said `no games,' Mildred. Which would you prefer to do? Sit ten paces apart and discuss business —or go to bed with me?"

She flushed momentarily, then quickly eased into a smile. "Oh, I like you," she said with a slight sway of her head.

"So what's your decision?" he deadpanned.

"Steve, suppose I told you that I happen to be in a position to do more for you than Adele Crandon?"

Steve swallowed hard. He forced himself to loosen, play it casual. "Two fairy godmothers," he said, purposely creasing his brow. "Sounds like fun. Do I get you in bed, too?"

"Steve, be serious—"

"I am serious," he informed her, moving in on her again.

She stepped out of his reach. "Steve, I'm offering you a chance of a lifetime!"

"Are you suggesting that I throw Adele over-board?"

"No, Steve, you still need her."

"I still need her?" Steve queried.

"Okay, we still need her," Mildred added.

"That's more like it," Steve replied. "All right, give me the grisly details."

Mildred pulled a cigarette out of her handbag, waited for Steve to light it. He purposely busied him-self with his drink. She snapped the unlighted cigarette in two and tossed it into the ashtray. "Steve, there's only one reason why Polar Bear is branching out—"

"To make money," Steve put in.

"No, Steve—that woman needs a legitimate excuse to issue more stock."

"What are you talking about?" Steve blurted, without thinking.

Mildred smiled smugly. "No, I didn't think Mrs. Crandon got around to telling you that part of it yet. Well, any day now twenty-five thousand shares of Polar Bear stock will be on sale for necessary re-capitalization. Only it won't be on sale to the general public—just to a number of select investors. And I'll tell you something else, Steve. She'll use you at her special cocktail parties to convince these people of the great sales job you'll perform."

"What's so irregular about that?" Steve asked.

"Steve, you've been selling door-to-door too long," Mildred sighed, hands on hips. "Can't you see the power struggle building up between Sheldon and stooge-Moore? Why do you think Mrs. Crandon is afraid to fire Sheldon?"

Something suddenly clicked for Steve. "Sheldon has been acquiring stock in the company?"

"Stock and voting proxies," Mildred stressed. "The annual stockholders' meeting is only three months off, Sheldon might possibly have the voting edge in his favor, pick most of the directors, toss out Moore and run the whole show his way."

Now Steve smiled. "But my boss is smart enough to get everyone excited about a new line of merchandise—and issue enough stock to herself and investors she can control to retain a firm hand over the company."

"That's what the bitch is up to," Mildred groaned.

"And all the dirty work you've done for Sheldon will be for nothing," Steve knowingly replied. He strengthened his Scotch and soda, gulped heavily. "Well, it looks like I'm on the winning side, Mildred. I'd better help my boss all I can."

"Get wise, Steve—help yourself."

"All of a sudden you're so damned interested in my future," Steve shrugged. "Is this some sort of special crusade with you, Mildred?" He leveled with her. "What's the price tag on it?"

"Partners," she shot back instantly. "You and I team up. You work on Adele Crandon; I'll work on Sheldon. Together, we'll make them all squirm plenty!"

Steve sideglanced her. "Then at the right moment —we stab our benefactors in the back?"

She sat down alongside him on the couch. "You needn't be so crude about it, Steve."

Steve turned into her, his kneecap touching hers. "Mildred, I, too, suffer from delusions of grandeur, but I don't give a damned how much stock we might manage to buy up, or how many proxy votes we might line up between the two of us, we'd never stand a chance of controlling the company."

"Speak for yourself, Steve, I don't suffer from any delusions whatsoever. I don't want control of the company. I want out." She grasped his hand, wet her lips hungrily. "With a nice, big, fat payoff—a sort of never-ending annuity."

Steve let out a gush of air. "You're losing me, Mildred."

"Steve, haven't you ever watched a political nominating convention on television? There's always one holdout between the two major candidates. This holdout knows he doesn't stand a chance, but he has enough votes lined up behind him to swing the nomination either way. He can swing it to the faction willing to pay the highest price!"

Steve studied her, hesitated. "That's not exactly my line of work—"

"What is your line of work?" she shot back. "Male prostitute?" Steve reddened, yanked his hand free of hers. "Steve, you're new at it; I'm an old hand. But face it—you're my male counterpart. We both sleep with our bosses."

"All right, you've made your point," he conceded.

Mildred took the Scotch and soda from his hand, sipped it, placed it carefully in the coaster on the table. "Steve? Are we partners?"

"Let me sleep on it."

Mildred playfully circled her forefinger about his shirt. "Mrs. Crandon is expecting you—you really shouldn't keep her waiting."

"She'll keep!" Steve angered. "And so will my answer to you!" He loosened, deciding to stall. He forced a smile, took her by the arms. He could feel the firm tips of her breasts brushing his chest. "I'll sleep on it—preferably with you."

Mildred calmly freed herself from his grip. "Be a darling, Steve, and unhook me." Caught offguard, Steve hesitated. She quickly drew her arms up, her hands to the clasp of the zipper. In one deft motion and follow-up, she peeled the knitted dress and sheer nylon slip off her shoulders, down to her waist. She grabbed his hands, brought them about her and placed them at the clasp of her bra. "Don't you like to undress girls?" she asked slyly.

Steve steeled himself, aware of the milkwhite flesh imprisoned by the bra cups. And all he had to do was unhook the clasp at her back. But his hands froze.

She finally withdrew his inactive hands, cradled them in her lap. "Steve, if going to bed with you is a part of your terms—then you've got a green light. Because once we pull this deal off—I'll never have to give my body again. I'd like to think I'm in love with the next man who gets me into bed."

Steve bolted away from her. "Okay, you can go now.

She leaned back luxuriously. "Are we partners?"

He knew there was no need to delay his decision. "You've got a deal, partner—strictly business. And cover those gorgeous knockers before I change my mind and rape you!" Steve grabbed his hat and coat draped over a chair and charged across the room to the door. "When you get your damned clothes on—slam the door behind you to lock it!"

On the street, hailing a cab to keep his date with Adele, he talked loudly to himself. "I oughta have my head examined . . . first Dolly . . . now Mildred . . . my apartment . . . and I'm the one who walks out on it . . ."