Chapter 17

Jack was sitting in the lounge waiting for Ninon, wondering how to end this abortive aflair in a gentlemanly way. Was there any such way to tell a girl you had enjoyed her services, but now playtime was over? There she was now, looking like a tulip in the yellow dress with hat to match he had bought her.

Her eyes danced as she saw him. "Hello, darling." Before he could prevent it, she kissed him smack on the mouth and sank down beside him on the settee. "You look tired. Overworked." She pressed his hand. "You know, I was afraid you wouldn't be there."

"But we made a date," he countered, admiring the wavy black hair framing her face. "I never stood anybody up in my life." Only my bride, he diought....

"I'm sorry. I do know you are reliable. Different from the others. And I have good news."

"Yes, what news?" He became increasingly worried; he wanted not to be involved in her life, yet he hated to hurt her.

"I got a real part now in the picture. I say five lines. And they'll see my face on the screen."

"That's fine." He tried to appear interested. "Shall we have dinner here?"

"Oh, I have eaten. Let's go up to the suite." Her eyes invited, her pouting lips challenged.

"Ninon, there's something I want to discuss with you." He saw her face change, her mouth tighten. "Okay, let's go upstairs." It would be easier, more private, and he could give her the envelope with the money after explaining. They rode up the elevator in silence. He unlocked the door and went inside after her, closing the door.

She took oil the yellow hat and placed it on a chair, walked into the bathroom to comb her hair and now came out, holding out her arms to him. He kissed her cheek and made her sit down next to him on the couch ... Her dark eyes were grave, her lower lip trembled.

"You're a sweet girl, Ninon, and I am glad and proud to-have known you well. And, if I were free-who knows ... But it so happens I'm a married man-and ... well, playtime's over."

With consternation, he watched two glossy tears roll down her cheeks. "Here," he took the handkerchief from his vest pocket and dried her cheeks. "I didn't tell you any stories. And I want you to think of me as a friend."

She threw her arms about him and pressed her wet cheek to his face, sobbing. "Jack, I love you. You're die first man who's been-good to me." She found his mouth and pressed her lips to his. Automatically, in a protective gesture, his arms went about her shaking frame.

"Nonsense, you just mistake liking for love. A nice-looking, sweet girl like you can do better than me." He cradled her in his arms as if she were a baby and kissed the silky hair.

She sat up and looked at him, her eyes full of tenderness. "I can't explain it-how I feel about you. I-somehow I feel safe with you. Protected. Will you let me stay the night? I just want to sleep in your arms."

Her dark eyes implored and his resistance melted. After all, nobody was going to be hurt, and it would make her happy. And tomorrow she would leave his bed and his life forever.

"It's kind of foolish, but if you want to."

She covered his lips, cheek and chin with glad kisses, disappeared into the bathroom while he undressed, already sorry he hadn't let her go. He wanted to be alone, to plan and think about the future, a future that included Myra.

But as her soft, pliant body clung to him he took her in his arms and kissed her with rising passion, damning his weakness. He thought of Myra who most likely was doing the same thing-making love to that Howell man-and let himself go. They did everything. Straight, the continental way, and he thought that it would make him an expert lover, one whom Myra would not find wanting. And when it was over and they were resting, his head pillowed on her breast, she coaxed him back into excitement. They strained against each other and, nerves on end, head dizzy and his blood pounding madly, he exhausted himself once more, utterly and completely, making her tremble in joyful, exquisite agony.

They fell asleep, arms about each other, having reached their limit of endurance.

Someone was knocking at die door in his dream. He moved and rubbed his eyes, then stared at die dark hair on the pillow. Someone was knocking at the door. He sat up and looked at the alarm. Seven o'clock. Now who-The knocking didn't stop.

He jumped out of bed, slipped into his robe and went to the door, calling without opening it. "Yes, who is it?"

"It's me, Gail, open up."

He froze. Half turning, he saw Ninon's dark, anxious eyes. He pointed to the bathroom, putting one finger to his lips in warning. She understood. Quick as a flash she jumped out of bed, picked up her underwear from the chair and ran into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.

More knocking. "You better open up, or do you want me to call the manager?"

He unlocked the door, opened it, and Gail stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her suspicious eyes went over the room. He frowned, taking in her smart appearance, the artfully made up face and the new green suit he'd not seen before.

She smiled, her eyes sarcastic. "Surprise.-I thought by now you might miss me." She meandered to the couch, took off the green felt hat and the jacket, draped them over a chair and sat down, crossing her legs.

"Gad, I told you I never wanted to see you again. And I meant it. How dare you hunt me up?"

"Is that so strange? After all, I'm still your wife. Also, there are things we have to discuss." She stretched her slim, nyloned legs and smiled mysteriously. "I've got news for you-news that changes any and all decisions."

He paced up and down, feeling ridiculous in his bare feet, desperately scheming how to get her out of there.

"Look Gad, I have no idea what brought you here-after our marriage has, as I told you, come to an end. But I simply have to get dressed and ready to be at die office. So, why don't you take a stroll and I'll meet you somewhere for lunch?"

"I don't like to stroll at seven in the morning, I prefer to rest here in your nice, mussed up bed. I left my grips downstairs. You better phone for them to be brought up. I need a change and, most of all, a shower."

Jack couldn't take this standing up. He slumped into a chair. "Now Gail, really, I have to shower and get dressed. Not a moment to spare."

She eyed him, suspicions written all over her face. "You seem in an awful hurry to get me out of here. Expecting somebody?" She arose and walked up to the dresser, inspecting her flawless coiffure in the mirror, loosening tight curls with her fingers.

Then she saw the pink half slip on the low bench. She held it up between two fingers and inspected its lacy trim.

Jack sat there petrified, cold sweat trickling down his arm pits.

"I see you have a visitor." She turned to him, her green eyes ablaze with fury. "And unless that visitor left in a hurry she must still be here." She walked into the adjoining sitting room and came back, staring at die closed bathroom door. "Yes, I think I'll take that shower now."

She charged toward the door and was about to yank it open, when the door opened revealing a completely dressed Ninon who stepped out, hat on, pock-etbook under her arm.

Gail barred her way, hands on slim hips, eyeing die girl malevolently. "So, you're my husband's tramp. What did he pay you for the night?" Her eyes evaluated gown and accessories. "Well, what's your price-by the hour?"

Jack stepped up, putting a restraining hand on her arm. "I permitted the young lady to use the facilities of the bathroom," he stated lamely.

"You keep out of this, Jack. Now, you better get out of here if you know what's good for you." Gail's hand shot out, slapping Ninon's cheek hard, first the right one, then changing over to the left. "Get out you whore, leave married men alone," she screamed, hitting the girl mercilessly.

Jack yanked her away, keeping her arm in a tight grip. "Stop screaming, I can't afford a scandal."

"Who cares?" Gail tried to wrest loose; tears of rage wetted her cheeks. "Out, hussy."

Ninon looked at Jack; it was a sad look, full of desperate humility. She rushed to the door and was gone.

Jack listened to the high heels clicking down the corridor. He let go of Gad and closed the door.

"And now you can take you departure. Here," he picked up her hat, coat and pocketbook, shoving them under her nose, "take your duds and leave."

Gail stared at him and shook her head. She headed for the couch and sat down, her eyes boring into him. "So, Mr. Moral has a hussy with him. Did you enjoy her? Well, now we're even. You see, I'm more tolerant than you are. I'm even willing to forget this-escapade and we can start all over again."

Dumbfounded, he watched her taking off the green dress, take off the high-heeled pumps. She stood up, yanking off the lacy bra walking up to him. "See how firm they are, fuller, wouldn't you say?" She pushed diem up to his face and he recoiled.

"Gail, can't you get it through your head that I want no more of you. I'll give you the fare to Vegas and I'll also take care of legal expenses. You could leave on the first plane out," he suggested.

"I could, couldn't I? And that would just be dandy for you so you can call up your whore ... Well, brother, you've got another thought coming." He watched as she tore off the transparent panties, un-snapped the garter belt. Now she stood, legs wide apart, throwing die slightly rounded, smooth belly out. "See this?" Her palm rotated slowly over the pearly mound. "Nice and round, not flat as it used to be. And," she cackled shrilly, "it's going to be high as a mountain." He stared at her dumbfound-,ed. "Know why? Can you guess? It's simply that you got me pregnant."

He slumped over in his chair, staring at the rug. Trying to co-ordinate his rambling thoughts. Now he looked at her, his face forbidding.

"You should have been more careful. That comes from playing around...." Then he added. "Are you quite sure?"

"Dr. Powell is," she stated. "And, according to my figuring, it's your child ... You see, I was careful when I played around. But not with" my husband...."

His head was sunk on his chest. Caught, he thought. Doomed. She had him where she wanted him. For, as she had shrewdly calculated, knowing the way he thought, he would not abandon her, uncertain as to whether the child she was carrying was his own, or someone else's. A child, he thought, a son of my own, someone to carry on where I leave off. Or-a bastard, sired by that beatnik pianist or some other chance lover.

"There are blood tests to ascertain paternity," he stated.

"Well, I'm willing to take such a test," she countered. "It's still too early for that. But, iii the meantime I'm still your wife. And I'll take the privileges of a wife. You better phone for my luggage. Or, shall I?"

He walked to the phone and did as told, feeling a hundred years old. This was the end of all dreams. He wanted to get out, get away from her. Being in the same room with her urged him to violence.

"If you don't mind I shall use the bathroom now and get to the office. Then you can do as you wish."

He took all his clothes with him into the bathroom and closed the door, wanting to think, to figure out some way out of this ordeal."

As he emerged, fully dressed, she was opening one of the two grips. "When will you be back?" she asked amiably. "I hope we can have dinner at some interesting place."

He glared at her. "Don't count on it. You better try to amuse yourself. You're on your own." He walked out slamming the door behind him.

Going down in the elevator, he wondered how she had found out where he was staying. But of course, that was easy. Probably she had phoned his office, giving some other name. As he moved, he heard the rustle of paper. The envelope with Ninon's money was in his breast pocket. He would call her place, or better, send it to her. He wanted her to have it.

Eating breakfast in the coffee shop around the corner, he wondered about his next move. He was hog-tied to a wife he detested. There must be some way out. And now he thought of Myra lost to him forever. Of course, he could still force Gail to a divorce and when the child came he would take care of it. Whose child? he thought bitterly. Considering this from the legal angle there was always a way out. The trouble was his conscience would not allow him to use any loopholes.