Chapter 3
You know, Gail, you're the best I'll pal a man ever had. Too bad-"
"Too bad, what, Jack dear?" Gail held still, offering her shoulder as a chusion for Jack's tired head. They were the only customers in the Red Ant Inn, and the bartender was eyeing them malevolently. He's just debating with himself whether our bar bill is big enough to cover a fine for keeping open after hours, reflected Gail.
She gazed tenderly at Jack's ruffled hair, deciding it was a sin for a man to have such long, curly lashes.
They had done the town, starting at the top, with dinner at the Edgezvater Beach, then on to some floor show with girls flashing black-stockinged legs, dancing a wicked Can can. After that, a blue-smoky place, called Green Parrot, finally ending their tour on a downward slide in this joint.
And now it was after two a.m., and she had to decide how to bring this night to a fitting close-one fitting in with her plans. The thing to do, she decided, was to get him sobered up and drive to some little town and get married at once. But sober he would object. And drunk no justice of the peace would marry them.
The bartender was at their table. "Lady, I've got to close up. Want me to help you move him?" He could afford to be generous, his tip had been.
"Is there any place open nearby? Some diner, maybe? Black coffee."
"Sure, the Waggon Wheel, right next door."
Gail pushed Jack up, dumped the hat on his tousled head. "Jack dear, time to leave." She yanked at his arm.
His eyes came open and he grinned at her. "You're a pal. Nice girl, not Myra-but nice."
Did he have to mention her now? "Jack try to get up."
With the help of the bar man he was hoisted up to his feet; the man hooked one arm about his middle and Gail shoved. It seemed a twenty mile drag to the counter of the diner. The bar man had departed and Gail was feeding Jack black coffee. Luckily they were the only customers.
Jack recovered surprisingly quick. He blinked, frowned, and sighed exhaustively. Now he looked at Gail and gave her a big smile. "I'm sorry Gail, I lost control. I'm truly sorry to spoil your evening."
"Nonsense, I had a wonderful time, Jack."
"You know, you're quite a girl. I never had a chance to really know you. You and I, we get along famously ... How come you haven't got a fellow? Are they all blind? What I see of you looks awfully attractive."
"Maybe," she smiled into his dark eyes, "I had my eyes on a fellow-who had his eyes on somebody else." She held the look.
"Must be some stupid guy."
Gail never moved her eyes off his face. "No, he's a wonderful guy, smart as they come, a mind like a butcher knife ... handsome to boot ... and you know him as you know yourself," she ended, a tremor in her voice.
There was a silence she thought would last forever.
"Gail, this is no time in my life to listen to some joke. When the cardboard house of illusion came tumbling down on me...."
"I'm not joking, Jack. Why do you think I came all the way to Chicago to soften the blow for you? Oh, I know I'm a very foolish girl...."
His eyes looked at her, through her, and a slow tenderness crept into them. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Foolish you may be, but you're very sweet ... And now, let's leave this stinking place. I wish we were in New York right this minute. A ride through the Park with my girl by my side would be just the thing. Walking and getting some fresh air is die next best thing."
So they walked arm in arm, and finally landed in some scrubby park pressed between narrow-chested houses where they sat on a bench and watched the grey dawn creep up the sky. Talking. Talking. With him telling her about the law case he was on, the nice little house in Oakland he had rented, his aloneness. And her confiding that she needed the moral support and the stout-hearted love who would guide her with and through understanding, and to whom she would devote every moment of her life. Someone to look up to who would not fail her.
"And to think I almost married the wrong girl," he said, his arm around her waist.
This made Gail sit up and stare at him. "Don't say things you don't mean, Jack. Don't hurt me," she whispered, withdrawing her hand. She found it proper to get up and frown.
He pulled her back down on the bench, all forceful manhood now. "Look at me, Gail." He twisted her chin, forcing her to meet his dark eyes. "I want you to know I'm stone sober now. And I don't usually propose to girls on a park bench. Strange, it's as if I had never known Myra; she seems a shadow in my past. But you are real, alive. And you are what I need and want. Tell me-no, I don't want your answer now. Think it over ... I can stay on for another day-a day I want to spend with you. And then-it's up to you whether you want to come along with me to Oakland ... We could be married along the way."
"What, no bridesmaids?" she giggled.
He scowled and pressed her hand. "Don't joke, this is serious. I want you to think it over."
She took a deep breath, her voice came as a whisper. "I am serious, my darling, and I don't have to think it over."
He read the answer in her green-flashing eyes and was overwhelmed.
"You may kiss die bride," she lowered her eyes, wild triumph flashing through her. She had made it come to pass.
"My very dear." Slowly, with tender fingers, as if she were made of porcelain, he lifted her face to his and kissed her long and tenderly. She kissed him back fiercely, feeling herself on fire.
The sudden rain drove them from their bench and finally, drenched to the skin, they found a taxi.
"You can't go back to your friend's house at this ungodly hour." He frowned. "I'll get you a room in my hotel."
That's what she had been figuring on. "Oh, I could sit in some diner, or in your lobby till eight, and then slink home," she said.
"Out of the question." He gave die driver the address of the Drake, and ten minutes later she was installed in room 630, just across the corridor from him. There was a tender kiss and he vanished. Gad had just taken ofl her soggy coat and ruined beret when the phone rang.
"My darling, breakfast-or rather, lunch whenever you wake up. Call me ... Tell me, am I dreaming, or is it true?" His voice was infinitely tender.
"As true as I'm in room 630," she giggled. "And Jack, I'm too happy to sleep."
"Same here. So, why not come over and keep me company? I promise I shall behave."
"I'll be over in two minutes." She hung up and danced into the badiroom to inspect her face. Her hair didn't look too bad; the dampness had encouraged the curls. Her face was pale and there were purplish shadows beneadi the eyes. But that enhanced their brilliance. She repainted her mouth, washed her hands, and ran the powder puff across her face, deciding she would use his shower-not deciding, leaving it up to the moment whether she would give him more than her company.
Jack received her clad in a black silk robe which made him look like a movie star.
She commented. "If I didn't know Valentino was dead, I would swear I was seeing him. Darling!" She threw herself into his arms. He held her close, his moudi fused to hers. It was an exhausting, fierce, yet tender kiss, their bodies pressed together, his tongue now teasing her palate. Finally he released her and she sank onto the nearest chair.
"Oh Jack, I've never been kissed like that. It's-it's exhausting. But wonderful."
"And I, dear lady, haven't ever kissed any girl like that. You put fire into a man, Gail. I think I'm getting drunk again. And I hope to stay that way." He stared at her rumpled dress. "I advise a hot shower. And, let me see." He went to the closet and emerged with a long box. "I hope you don't find me indelicate for suggesting you put this on ... I bought it as a surprise for Myra but it will look better on you. Go on, look at it."
She took the box, opened it, and removed the white lace negligee from its nest of tissue. "Why Jack it's lovely. Like a bridal gown."
Jack smiled. "It is a gown for a bride, dear. And the bride is just right. Now, go on before you catch a death of cold."
The hot shower pricked her skin; she felt wonderful inside and out. She toweled herself dry and stepped up to the long wall mirror, bowing to her coppery reflection.
"Congratulations, Gail, you're the winner." She lifted her arms and threw back her polished shoulders, squinting at her compact breasts, wishing they were bigger-more like Myra's. But she was more alluring than Myra, alluring enough to have snatched the prize away from her. Her palms fluttered down her slim thighs, knowing he would approve of them. Her legs were as good as Myra's any day. Straight and slim-curved, with trim ankles. And her feet were one-size smaller than Myra's. Critically, she inspected the red-lacquered toe nails. She turned sideways to look at her silhouette. Her buttocks were small but nicely rounded; he would find no fault with diem.
She looked at die foamy gown and frowned. Some-diing was missing. What could it be? Yes, perfume, so necessary to be identified with and be remembered by. Oh for the tiniest bottle of Chanel! But then, a slight scent of Number Five still hovered about her; it would have to do.
The robe fitted her perfectly. It was transparent and through its lacy folds shimmered her suntanned body. I do look like a bride, she thought, but my eyes are too knowing for a blushing one.
She opened the door and stood there, ready to be admired. He turned, bottle in hand; he had been fixing two drinks.
"Don't move. You are a vision." He shook his head. "I must have been blind." Putting down the bottle, he took her in his arms, carried her to the couch and let her down gently. His fingers toyed with her curls. "I am a very lucky man, darling. And I shall do my best to make you happy." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I don't think I want that drink. How about you?"
She shook her head and smiled a slow, tantalizing smile. "This is like a beautiful dream. Oh Jack, don't let me ever wake up."
Her lips met his and through the vaporous gown she felt his hot palm on her back. She had one moment of lucidity, debating whether or not. Then she lay back on the couch permitting him to open the gown. No use denying him, she thought; he was hooked.
He was kneeling by her side, running his hands over her brown, slim planes, eyes drunk with love. "My darling, you are so lovely; it makes me dizzy. Mind if I caress what's to be mine?"
She smiled and the smile was an invitation. He grew bolder. His hands clutched the firm apples and now he bent over her, raining kisses on her cheeks, her eyes, her throat, finally finding the red target of the nipple. His moist tongue laved her body and now his dark head came to rest on her flat abdomen.
"Darling, I am worshipping at the altar of beauty-"
She found it wise to delay the sacrifice; he must not diink her easy. Her long lashes hid her eyes and she started breathing rhythmically. It worked. "My darling," she heard him get up, "you're tired." She was lifted up in his arms and carried to the open bed where he deposited her tenderly.
Eyes half-closed, she watched him getting out of the robe, thinking. Yes, he's all man. She compared his lanky virility with her memory of him in the bathroom; there was no difference. Broad shoulders, black knolls of hair shadowing his chest, straight muscular legs and-his flag was up! Suddenly her wise intentions melted beneath die fiery waves that washed over her body. She would let him take her asleep. She would keep her eyes closed and snuggle up to him. And being the man she knew he was, he wouldn't be able to leave her alone ... And in the morning she would be the blushing bride, full of consternation, accepting his apologies for having raped the sleeping beauty....
The light was turned off and she felt his warm, hard body, wondering what he would do about the lovely robe. It would be ruined!
She felt-his hot breath on her face; her eyelids were kissed, then her mouth and her throat. He opened the robe with fumbling fingers. He turned her over gently as if she were a fragile objet d'art. She was crushed to his chest, felt his hotly pulsating body, heard his accelerated breathing and, eyes closed, she tendered her lips. A limp bundle of pulchritude, she offered no resistance.
He tugged at die short sleeve and finally, half turning her, removed the gown. He lifted her lightly and it was pulled from under her. She was lying face down, feeling him breathing down her neck. His tongue, a lash of fire, flicked down her spine and strong fingers were kneading the twin hills of her buttocks. He even kissed the soles of her feet.
She was turned around once more. The weight of his body buried her in the mattress; she found it hard to control her breathing. Gently, his right knee separated her legs and when he knocked at her gate she felt like crying out. But his lips sealed her secret.
Impatient now, he didn't delay. Hot and hard, he broke down die gate and stormed the bastion, moving ahead, retreating, thrusting forward deeper and deeper, faster and faster, taking what was to be his, taking her along with him to the high mountain of ecstasy, making her melt and dissolve, making her forget all scheming. Leaving her sweetly sated, all well-loved, fulfilled woman.
She felt his light kiss on her cheek, heard him walk to the bathroom. One frightening thought made her sit up. She should go to the bathroom. But that would have to be later. During the night. Forgetting about precaution, she fell asleep and never heard him climb into bed, unaware of his whispered "Dar-ling."