Chapter 8
Two days after Joy moved out on Vicky, Bart McLane called her at the office.
"Your girl friend told me you had moved out and she didn't know where, Joy," he said. "I suppose you've been wondering why I haven't called. I had to leave town and there wasn't time. Will you have dinner with me this evening?"
"I'd like that, Bart," Joy said.
"Where do I pick you up?"
"I'm staying at the Y until I find an apartment," Joy said.
"Seven then." He hung up.
Joy expected Bart to ask her why she had suddenly moved out of Vicky's apartment and she was grateful when he didn't. Instead he was apologetic about not having called her before leaving town.
It was one of those hurry up deals, a client out of town. I had to catch a midnight plane. It's no excuse, though. I guess I could have called you from Chicago," he said.
"It didn't matter, Bart," Joy laughed.
"I'm forgiven, then?"
"You're forgiven."
"Good. Now, you mentioned you wanted to find an apartment. Will you let me help you look?"
"If you'd like, Bart. But it. will have to be either Saturday or Sunday."
Joy discovered Bart knew New York. In less than two hours, Saturday afternoon, she found a nice place. It wasn't quite as luxurious as Vicky's apartment, but it was a pretty three-room unit and the rent was lower than Joy had expected to pay.
Bart showed up that evening she moved in with a TV set. "House warming gift," he grinned.
"Bart, you shouldn't have," she protested.
"There's no strings attached," he said.
Joy sensed a hidden innuendo in the way he said it, but she decided to see what developed. Without really knowing it, she was becoming fond of Bart. She liked going out with him, the feeling of being with someone important. He was so different from anyone she had ever known. He seemed to dominate everyone he came in contact with, head waiters, people who stopped at their table to chat, and yet he wasn't domineering or arrogant, not like Trey Benton.
That something had to happen, Joy knew. Bart started seeing her at least once a week. She could feel the growing tension when he'd kiss her goodnight.
Then, one afternoon when he called her at work, instinct told Joy that there would have to be an answer one way or the other.
It was in the way he told her about a new restaurant on Long Island and a surprise he had for her.
Dressing for her date, Joy felt nervous. Her hands shook as she hooked her bra in place. Then, she found it twisted. "Damn," she said, aloud at her reflection in the mirror. She finally got it straight.
I'm being foolish, she thought to herself. I should be calm. I know what to expect. But she wasn't sure. She remembered Vicky telling her that Bart McLane was a guy who would expect more than friendship from a woman. But, so far, he had been a perfect gentlemen.
Rising from the dressing table, she stepped into a pair of black panties. They were a shadow against the creamy whiteness of her thighs. She thought about Vicky Neale again. Vicky had said men liked black lace panties.
Joy frowned. Suddenly, she realized, she was brazenly planning her own seduction. She knew Bart would seduce her.
What made it worse, she felt a tremble of anticipation. Since leaving Vicky, there were Vicky's lips. Perhaps Bart would make her forget. She wondered if the answer would come tonight.
Crossing to the closet, she decided on a dark blue gown. It was the best dress she owned, in fact the only one she had bought since coming to New York.
Slipping it over her head, she went into the bathroom and examined herself in the door mirror. The neck of the dress was low, but not too low. It just enough to reveal a hint of bold hollow between her breasts.
Joy turned sideways. The gown fit snugly, giving a nice profile to her body, hugging nicely rounded buttocks above her thighs and slim legs.
Staring at herself, she wondered if she could fall in love with a man like Bart McLane. Or was love something that had died with Clay Trent, died even as a substitute in the arms of Vicky Neale. The thoughts tortured her. And she wasn't sure of the answers.
Shrugging, after a last critical look she went back into the bedroom to apply her makeup.
The door buzzer sounded and Joy ran to the door. She decided that tonight she would be carefree and gay, let whatever had to happen, happen.
Smiling, she opened the door.
Bart stood there. His eyes widened slightly as he looked at her, his glance moving up and down, caressing every curve.
"You blind a man," he said. "Your gown is beautiful."
"Thank you," she murmured. The way he was looking at her offered part of the answer. She turned and picked up her purse.
As they left, heading for the street, Joy was aware of his eyes. At the same time, she studied him. He was wearing a pin stripe. It made him look younger. Except for the grey at his temples, he looked very young. Joy decided they made a distinguished looking couple.
The restaurant they went to was well out on the Island. The food was Viennese and like always, a taste treat.
They were having brandy when Bart took a long oblong box from his pocket and set it in front of Joy.
"I saw this, this afternoon and decided it was meant for you," he said, flicking the box open.
Joy gasped. The wrist watch was exquisite, very tiny and set with diamonds. "Bart, I . . ."
"Don't say a word. Let's see how it looks." He took the watch from the box and put it on her wrist. "Perfect," he smiled. "Meant for you."
"I really shouldn't accept it," Joy said. "You've spoiled me so much already."
His face turned serious. "I enjoy spoiling you, Joy. This is only the beginning. The day you walked in front of my car was the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."
"I'm not sure I know what you mean."
He laughed. "It isn't a thing that's easy to explain. Let's just say I find you different than other women I've known."
Joy gave him a puzzled look. "What do you really mean, Bart?" she asked.
He hesitated and sipped his brandy. "I've never been a man who kidded himself. I'm forty-six. Since my wife died some years back, I've tried to act half my age. Most of the women I've taken out were young, like you, say about twenty or twenty-one. I know why they go out with me. They want something."
"And me?" Joy said, softly.
"You asked me to get you a job. Since then - well you haven't asked for a damn thing. You must have a price."
"Price?" Joy stared at him. His blunt admissions stunned her for a moment. "Does there have to be a price on enjoying one's company? I'm grateful for the job you got for me. What else is there?"
"I think you know. You know what I want. I'm willing to pay for it." He turned and motioned to the waiter for the check.
Joy held silent. She wasn't sure what she was expected to say.
Bart spoke again, after paying the check. "I have a place up the road. I'd like to show it to you. You would like to see it, wouldn't you?"
Joy nodded numbly. She stared at the watch on her wrist. And she knew it was meant to be the first offering.
They drove in silence. Joy cast furtive glances at Bart. He drove with his eyes straight ahead, intent on the highway.
Ten minutes later, they turned off the main road up a side road between trees to a white bungalow.
This is it," Bart said as he killed the motor. Joy gasped as he opened the door and switched on a light. She had the feeling of entering a movie set. Logs burned in a huge stone fireplace. Scatter rugs covered the floor, haphazardly. There was a small bar and stools along one wall.
Above the open ceiling was rough hewn planks.
"Like it?" he asked.
"It's beautiful." Suddenly, Joy was thinking of Clay Trent and the cabin back at Havenhurst. It wasn't the same, though. Bart McLane wasn't Clay Trent. He wasn't a college kid. He was a man and he wanted something. That was why she was here.
Joy felt foolish at the thoughts rising in conflict in her brain. Everything was so obvious, why was she trying to make issues of it. Bart had as much as told her what he wanted and expected to get.
"Care for a drink?" he asked.
Joy nodded and moved across the room to the big divan that circled in front of the fire.
Bart joined her a minute later with drinks. "I had my caretaker clean up the place and start a fire," he said. "Frankly, I use this place so little, I don't know why I don't sell it."
Joy tried to find some significance in his words. She decided he was just making conversation.
"It's a lovely place, Bart," she said.
There was a moment of silence. Then, he spoke. "I said something about price earlier, Joy. It was a poor choice of words. I don't think you're the kind who can be bought at any price. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
Joy looked at him and forced a smile. "It adds up to the same thing, doesn't it?" she said. "What you want is me. You want me to sleep with you." As she said it, Joy was surprised at her own boldness.
But, there wasn't much sense in evading what was there.
"It's what I want. Neither of us are kids, Joy. I dare say you've had a man. I've wanted you since the first time I saw you."
"And you've waited this long? Why?"
"I'm not sure I can answer that. Maybe I wanted to see if you'd make the first move, the same as all the rest. Most women I've known do the proposing. My money gives me that advantage."
"If I say no?"
He laughed sharply. "I've never forced a woman in my life, and I'm much too old to start now. You're a beautiful girl. I want you. The answer is strictly up to you."
Joy moistened her lips with a scrap of red tongue. "I don't have any price, Bart. I'm not that kind of girl. I like you. I enjoy your company," she said.
He leaned closer. His arm circled her shoulders. As he kissed her, Joy let her lips part, in response. She wanted him to make love to her. Suddenly, she realized that, subconsciously, she had planned it this way.
A fear caught at her. The memory of Trey Benton came alive. Would Bart be like that? There was no Vicky to turn to any more.
His hands reached inside her gown, gently caressing her breasts through the bra. Joy was grateful for his gentleness. And his lips, so soft and nice, not harsh and demanding like Trey's. It was almost as if it were Vicky, she thought.
A wild tremor shook her body. Suddenly, Joy knew how starved she was for love. Trey had called her hungry. Well, perhaps, now she was. Bart eased her gown away from her shoulders and kissed her neck, then the swell of her breasts above her bra.
Joy unsnapped it, letting the twin mounds of flesh burst free. Her tremble became more violent as his mouth toyed with the nipples, moving from one to the other, gentle, oh so gentle.
He's a man; he's a man, Joy kept telling herself, trying to force Vicky from her mind.
And she wanted to enjoy him, know that he was a man. Arching, she eased her gown down over her hips and helped him take it off.
His hands felt good on her thighs, then on her legs as he eased off her nylons. He kissed her knee, the insides of her thighs and smiled up at her. His fingers closed on her panties and pulled them free.
"I've pictured you like this," he said. "You're more beautiful than I imagined."
Joy looked up, met his eyes. For some reason, she felt no shame. "I'm glad," she whispered.
As he rose and started to undress, she watched him. His fine erect figure belied his age. His stomach was flat and hard. A fine mat of black hair covered his chest.
Then, he was picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom. He seemed to do it so easily, as if she weighed nothing. The fear she had felt left her. Bart was no Trey. He would be gentle. She would find what it was to be a woman again. The thoughts rose in conflict in her mind. Suddenly, she didn't care or want to think.
She felt the strength of his arms, the glorious warmth of his body.
No more pretending, she thought to herself as he dropped her gently on the bed. She smiled up at him, hovering over her.
Then, he was beside her, his mouth searching her breasts, gently, the caress of his tongue on her buds, building a fire.
Joy caught her fingers in his hair and pulled his face up. "Kiss me, kiss me hard," she hissed at him. A desperation engulfed her. She wanted something to happen. She wanted to he loved, wanted the memory of another cabin, centuries ago, brought back.
Her lips parted. She forced her tongue between his teeth and felt the tremble in his body as he responded.
"I'm going to make him want me more than he ever wanted any woman, Joy told herself. She pressed against him. Her lips started to move, forcing him to pick up the rhythm. A cry broke from her lips as she felt his masculinity penetrate her.
Thoughts raced through her mind. She thought of Vicky. Bart was gentle like Vicky. And there was Trey Benton.
No, not Trey. Bart wasn't forcing her. She was letting him make love to her. The grunts of pleasure coming from somewhere overhead, through the daze of thoughts meant he was enjoying himself. This was good. This was what he wanted, what she wanted.
Sobbing, Joy clawed his back with her nails, drawing a ribbon of blood. She arched to accept all his love. Slowly, a need came, a wild desire to find fulfillment.
When he stopped with a convulsive shudder, she refused to stop, forcing him on, beating a tattoo against him with her supple thighs. And, finally, she found the completion she sought.
In a sense, she found triumph. She wanted to cry out, fling curses at Vicky Neale, at Trey Benton. Pleasing Bart McLane was only a small part. Winning the battle with herself was far greater.
Perhaps she did owe Vicky something. It was Vicky who had told her to take what she could get. And I will, Joy told herself. She looked at Bart.
The tenseness in his eyes told her he was pleased, contented. She ran her fingers thru the mat of hair on his chest.
"I'm glad this happened, Bart," she whispered, her voice catching, girlishly, with just the right touch of hesitation.
"That makes two of us," he grinned. "I could use a drink, how about you?"
Joy nodded. She watched him rise and cross into the front room. He's not really old, she told herself. He's a man, the kind of man who will be good to me. The thoughts were there, but there was a confusion, too. His love had been satisfying. Yet . . . There was something missing, something she couldn't quite pin down. But there was time.
He came back with two glasses and handed her one. They sipped their drinks in silence for a moment.
Joy watched him over the rim of her glass. "You knew I would give in to you, didn't you, Bart," she said, finally.
He smiled. "I've always found that one can't be sure of anything, Joy."
Joy forced a laugh. "But you did plan it. Dinner out here on the island, coming to this place. It was kind of obvious. I think you knew you would win."
"A calculated risk," he laughed. "Now I have a confession to make."
"Confession?" Joy gave him a curious look.
Bart nodded and finished his drink. "The apartment you live in. We didn't find that place by accident. I arranged it. The rent is a little more than you pay. I made a deal with the manager to pay the difference before we ever got there."
Joy felt an anger dig at her insides. "You were sure that I . . . that I'd . . ." she cried.
He frowned. "I wasn't sure of anything. I wanted you to have a decent apartment."
"And now?" Joy retorted. "If I decide that tonight is a mistake? I suppose that would mean I'd be out of a job and an apartment."
"No. I've told you I never force. I've talked to Trantor. He tells me you're very efficient. The decision is yours."
Joy gave him a reflective look. "Just what does that mean?"
He shrugged. "There's no limit. A better apartment to start with. There won't be any need of you working any more."
"I like my job, Bart. I wouldn't want to give it up. And there's nothing wrong with the apartment I have."
He laughed. "I kind of expected to hear you say that. I think that's why I like you. You don't make any demands." He caressed her breast, trailing his fingers across the nipple. "Suppose we just let nature take it's course then."
Joy nodded and smiled. His eyes told her he was interested in more love. She complied. And, moaning and twisting in his arms, she decided that nature would take it's course.