Chapter 4
"I hope I'm not late, Mr. Torrance," Betty McDonald exclaimed as the debonair maitre d'hotel escorted her towards the window table in the Tower Suite.
The banker rose to his feet and gallantly waited until his charming young blonde secretary was seated before he resumed his own seat. "Why not at all, Betty. It's only a few minutes after eight. And how lovely you look tonight!"
"You don't think that my minidress is out of place here?" she anxiously inquired. She had changed to a flamboyant red minidress, and her pantyhose were smoke-colored, giving her legs an exciting sensual tone.
"I certainly don't. I'm all in favor of them, and personally, if anybody brings back either the midi or the maxi, I'll lie in wait for them and assassinate them," he jovially declared. As the pretty maid approached, he called, "A dry sherry for me, and I think the young lady would like an Alexander."
"How did you guess, Mr. Torrance?"
"It was easy. I happened to hear you talking to the switchboard operator the other day and it seems there was something about favorite drinks when you go out."
"My, my," she purred, drawing her chair up closer to the table and leaning forward towards him, her gray-blue eyes fixing on him most intently. "I'm going to have to be very careful what I say around you from now on. You might just hold it against me. And I do want to keep my job, Mr. Torrance."
"I don't think there's any danger of that, Betty. Now suppose you tell me how you found Miss Wilson."
"Oh! Not in the best of moods, I can tell you that, Mr. Torrance." Betty McDonald rolled her eyes expressively, then looked out at the magnificent panorama of New York at night, the Seagram and the RCA Buildings with their brilliantly by lighted vigilance over the concrete jungle of Manhattan. "Isn't that a gorgeous view?"
"Decidedly. But the service and the cuisine are exceptional here, and when you have that view you have my favorite dining place in all New York. But to go back to my client. So you found her difficult?"
"I should say so!" Again Betty McDonald shook her head and exhaled a sigh of expressive eloquence. "She took her own sweet time before she let me into her apartment. It certainly is beautifully decorated, I'll say that for her."
"Naturally. She's been abroad to school and she's had every advantage and always enough money at her fingertips. But how did she treat you?"
"Exactly like a flunky, which, after all, I am. It wasn't so much that, Mr. Torrance. It was just the way she had of looking at me, just as if she felt that I was a piece of furniture and to be shoved around."
"Don't take it to heart. She looks at everybody that way, even me, I can assure you," the banker chuckled. "Now then, here are our drinks. To your very good health, Betty."
"-Likewise, I'm sure." She lifted her cocktail glass in salute, then sipped, thoughtfully staring at him over the glass. When she set it down, it was to ask in a more serious tone, "I suppose she's the classical example of the poor little rich girl. No friends, but certainly she must have a sweetheart."
"You're quite wrong. I was a good friend of her parents, and I can assure you that she was sheltered. When she got to age of adolescence, the time when a girl normally starts to fool around with boys, she was already convinced that she was a princess and that anyone who wasn't in her class just didn't bear noticing. She thinks that all men are fortune hunters, and she's-likely to go on thinking that the rest of her spoiled life."
"Well, she didn't so much as say thank you. She looked at the plane reservations and she wanted to know if they were first class and whether the seat was near the wing or what not. I had to call TWA and ask the girl there exactly where the seat was before Her Highness was satisfied. Matter of fact, she had me change it to the other side of the plane."
"But at least she's got her tickets and the hotel confirmation."
"Oh yes. I brought the telegram. She said to tell you that she'd expect to hear from you as soon as she gets to the airport Friday.'
"I'll call her at the hotel, not at the airport. I'll be busy most of Friday afternoon making arrangements. After all, I have to take on the Grand Tour, you know. But that's enough about Diane Wilson. Now then, would you like another drink?"
"Not now, I'm hungry. And I do hope I did everything right?"
"Perfectly. You're a very charming girl. I'll admit I picked you out of the steno pool with a few mental reservations, but they're all gone now. Also, if it will make you feel flattered, I picked you because you were the most vibrant, vital girl in the entire bank."
"Thank you. Yes, I am flattered. And do you know, there isn't anybody else in the bank I'd rather work for than you, Mr. Torrance."
"Well, now that we've finished with this mutual admiration society, Betty, let's us get down to the serious business of eating."
The dinner was superb. A side of roast beef was the main entree, and both of them selected it. Gregson Torrance ordered a bottle of Nuits St. Georges 1959, a great vintage Burgundy, and Betty McDonald sipped it warily, then nodded and beamed approval.
By the time they finished their leisurely dinner, it was nearly eleven, and the spacious, beautifully carpeted and appointed room was nearly empty and hushed. Gregson Torrance rose, took out his wallet and threw down several bills enough for the check and a generous tip for the maid, the butler and the captain who had served the two of them so well. Then he drew back Betty's chair and escorted her to the elevator, then down to the street. "It's been a wonderful dinner and I wouldn't have missed the view for anything, Mr. Torrance. It seems a shame to end the evening now, though," she said huskily as they found themselves alone in the elevator hurtling down to the ground floor.
Again he felt his prick stiffen and tingle with the presentiment of pussy. To be honest, he didn't want the evening to end, either. "Well, it's true that we both have to appear on the job tomorrow, Betty, but I don't feel the least big tired. What about you?"
She shook her head, leaning back and looking at him with a soft little smile curving her ripe mouth. "I feel wonderful. What would you like to do?"
"That's a very leading question this time of night. We could of course go to a nightclub."
"We could, but it would be an utter waste of time. I really don't like them, they're too noisy, and you pay five times as much for a drink as your would if you went to a friendly little neighborhood bar. And besides, I like to do my drinking in private. And that's not all."
"Perhaps, in that case, a little background music and a good cordial in my apartment which has a lovely view also, might be a proper way to end the evening," he finally suggested.
"That would be perfect!" Betty McDonald agreed.
She leaned back against his long, comfortably upholstered couch and sighed dreamily as she nursed her pony of Cusenier brandy. Gregson Torrance, seated not too closely beside her, watched her carefully. She wasn't really too different from the way she was in the office, except more relaxed, more abandoned. The skirt of her minidress had hoisted almost to the tops of her thighs, but she had made no movement to smooth it back down. "I wish I knew a good painter who could do your picture that you are right now," he mused aloud.
"You're very sweet. I'm just sitting here thinking whether it would be a mistake for me to let you know how I really feel." She looked him steadily again, then took a sip of her brandy.
"I value honesty and candor above almost everything else, Betty. Why shouldn't you be frank with me? There's too much fencing between people, that's what's wrong with the world."
"You're so right. But it might involve me and I still want to keep my job."
"I can tell you in advance you're not in any danger of losing it. You've proved to be a most delightful companion this evening, and I shall always be grateful for it."
"But the trouble is, if anything more happens you might not think so much of me and it might be awkward for us to work together from then on. "Again she gave him that steady look which was so devastating and which made his prick throb with longing.
"Are you trying to say that you find me shall we say, interesting beyond my role of your boss?" he hazarded.
"Very much. I think I prefer older men. They're experienced, they're not selfish, and they're not in such a hurry. I thought I was in love very much once, and I guess I was, and he was a wonderful lover, only he forgot to tell me he was married and had two kids. I was just his convenience. But I still want to be loved. Only I don't want to involve anybody."
"Well in the first place, I'm definitely not married and I have no intention of being. In the second, I think I'm mature enough to be able to keep our separate identities quite distinctly divided between daytime and evening activities," he said with a bland smile.
"You're really very nice. But I'll bet you've had all sorts of girls. I bet you've even got one now."
"You're quite an amazing girl, Betty. Yes, I've had a little affair on and off for a while, but neither of us is involved and in fact we're very good friends. That's the best way between a man and a woman. No crimes of passion, no aberrations, just mutual affection and sharing each other's needs and wants."
"That sounds very nice. I'm not the least bit jealous, either. I don't even want to know who she is. Am I being too forward?"
"I think at this point I should kiss you," he chuckled softly.
"Please." She put down her brandy glass on the glass covered coffee table before them, and turned to him, offering her mouth. His right hand moved to her tittie, gently nuzzling the side, and as their lips met, his left hand gently caressed her right knee. She had magnificent legs, and indeed they were the most provocative part of her. Long, sinuous, high-set, nervously muscled calves, slender thighs but with the promise of gracious curves at their tops where they merged into the jouncy hillocks of her behind. Hardly had his mouth covered hers when he felt the delicate flick of her tongue tip, and with a grateful gasp he parted his lips to receive this exquisite titillation. His hand now closed on that pear-shaped loveglobe, while his left hand moved along the sleek column of her thigh till it reached the hem of the minidress.
"I've wanted you to do that for a long time, Mr. Torrance," she breathed huskily when he finally ended the kiss, but without removing his hands. Nor did she make the slightest movement to draw away. Her own hands remained clasped together at the back of his neck, and her eyes were humid and wide as they fixed him with an unwavering look.
"I've wanted to make love to you too, since the first day I saw you in that steno pool, Betty. When I saw those lovely long legs and that impudent face of yours, I thought to myself that here was a girl who knew exactly what she wanted out of life."
"I do. But I'll say this in advance, Mr. Torrance, I don't want to mess up your life and I won't try."
"Good girl! I wouldn't let you, to begin with. But it's always refreshing to know that you're not going to set out like a greedy little old digger. Besides, I've been thinking about something, ever since you told me how you didn't get along with Diane Wilson. But we can discuss that later. In the meantime, I very definitely want to make love to you. But you'll forgive me if I ask an embarrassing question-you're not by any chance a virgin?"
"Oh no! I told you I had this thing for this married guy, only I didn't know that's what he was. But he got me started into wanting love. Only this time I want it to be from someone who's an expert and yet isn't trying to hoodwink me." Then, tightening the hold of her soft slim hands against his neck, she moved her face forward to him and her mouth again sealed his. Once again her tongue flicked against his lips and bade them open, and when his own tongue touched hers, an electrifying current seemed to surge between them. Now his left hand moved upwards, under the hem of the minidress, until he found the waist-band of the pantyhose. Meanwhile his other hand was fondling her rapidly swelling tittie, and now the voracious digging of her tongue accelerated and he could feel the sweet hot breath of her nostrils.
"This is awfully nice," she confided huskily, when again they ended the kiss. "Mind if I go to the biffy? Then you tell me where your bedroom is and I'll be there. And can I call you Gregson just for now?"
"I'll spank you if you don't," he chuckled as he rose, not bothering to hide the savage swelling against the fly of his neatly pressed trousers. Her eyes flicked down and beheld the symbol of his power, then her red lips formed an "Oh" and she murmured, "Oh my goodness, I'd better not keep you waiting too long or you will spank me!" And then, as she moved towards the door, she looked back over her shoulder and lazily murmured, "But you know, it might be fun if you did it. It'd sort of be as if my daddy was paddling me to make me obey and be a good girl I wouldn't mind if you did that to me, either, Gregson."
The she disappeared, and he dug his fingernails into his palms and took a long deep shuddering breath. This was going to be one of the most exciting evenings in a long time, even more perhaps than with Myrna. It was very possible., he told himself as he took off his coat and tie and put them on the back of a straight-backed chair near the window, that provocative Betty McDonald might even help him along with Myrna in the humiliation of Diane Wilson.