Chapter 2

SABINA MILES

"Sabina Miles," Miss Connors enunciated reflectively. "It's a good name. I think we can let you keep it. It will suit most situations."

"I don't mind, y'know. It's not important."

"It is to us, Sabina. Take my name: Margaret Connors would be hopeless."

"I think it's a nice name." The girl sitting on the edge of her chair looked across the desk and ventured, "Do you-I mean-"

"No, I don't, dear. I haven't the figure."

"Oh, but you have!" The exclamation was not flattery but honest surprise.

Miss Connors provided a girl to girl grin. "Then let's say I'm not showing it."

Sabina Miles wrinkled her forehead. "You mean...?"

"Yes, dear, I do mean. If you've anything against nudity, now's your chance to run."

Sabina examined herself in a small silence. Miss Connor's requirement was a familiar hazard. But with these people it surely had to be legit! It just had to be. This was different. She wriggled diffidently and asked, "You used a term ... about these plays?"

"Oh, a Masque! It's a sixteenth century name for an elaborately staged dramatic performance."

"But not in a theatre?"

"In our case, no. Our situations are intriguing inasmuch as our members are often a part, and sometimes the whole of the cast."

"And I'd have to be naked?"

"Only where implicit to the script, dear." Margaret Connors allowed herself a consoling smile. "But I will not hide from you the fact that most plays these days...!"

Sabina sighed. "I don't really mind. I suppose it's just that I don't want to seem anxious or accustomed to dive into nudity. Once you get the name...!"

"Of course. Don't let's enlarge on it." Margaret Connors consulted the employment application. "You are twenty-four. And your experience isn't all that much."

"It's almost nothing. I know I don't rate this job. But why do you want a girl for the leading role?" Sabrina waved a deprecating hand. "Why not bit parts of supports? Look, my inexperience is in only one direction. I'm fairly hep on the rest. There's something odd here, isn't there?"

"Is a flat rate of five thousand still odd, Miss Miles?"

"It's about five times as odd as I expected."

Miss Connors nodded soberly. "It's five times what you're worth. And we're not chucking it at you. You're right, there's something odd."

"The usual screwing?"

"No, not that." Miss Connors permitted another smile. "Far worse."

Sabina cocked an eyebrow. "There's not supposed to be anything worse. Oh, don't get me wrong-I'm not a virgin."

Margaret Connors sighed. "Ever hear of the Seigneury?"

"Some sort of club or resort or something? You have to be very rich."

"Those names are not used. It is a loose association of a number of wealthy people with similar tastes. It is an estate."

"I only heard of it as a sort of legend."

"Their dramatic productions, which they sometimes film, often begin about the place Hollywood ends."

"You mean avant garde. Way out. Hairy?" The job applicant contrived to look brightly interested. "But wouldn't their standards be terribly exacting? I want the job in the worst way, but...."

"They're not too concerned with a real pro. What they value is spontaniety. Take a girl who can't swim, and toss her in the water-you have drama! But if she can swim there's no reaction."

"But, Miss Connors, that five thousand! I'd have to be a babe in arms not to be suspicious."

Executive fingers rapped the executive desk. Margaret Connors fixed the squirming applicant with an amused eye. "Sabina, let's make a laugh out of this. How many movies have you seen where the heroine gets herself into the most fearful jackpots and is rescued at the last moment by the hero-after a lot of contrived suspense?"

"Gosh ... hundreds. It's sort of a standard formula."

"At the Seigneury she doesn't get rescued."

The small silence grudgingly yielded to the applicant's nervous laugh. "What happens to the hero?"

"Mostly there isn't one."

"Are you trying to tell me I'll be given-a bad time?"

"Yes."

"Why don't I just walk out of here right now?" Sabina's rhetorical question was wryly plaintive.

"Because I primed you with the five grand."

Sabina swallowed. "Isn't this where you offer me brandy?"

The bottle and the glass appeared as though Miss Connors possessed a magic wand. The amber fluid splashed liberally into the snifter.

"Oh, please! I didn't mean...."

"Drink it. I don't want a hasty no."

The nervous applicant gulped greedily. "I don't want to give you one," she admitted, "but could you-Well, sort of cue me?"

"I don't have a script. But most of 'em aren't kind to the leading lady. You can figure on getting tossed to the lions, stretched on the rack, flogged, fucked and flayed...."

"For real?"

Miss Connors shrugged. "They'll simulate where they can without spoiling the impact. The rest you'll just have to grin and bear."

"But supposing I can't grin and bear?"

"No problem. No decision. You'll have passed the point of no return."

"You mean...? I'll be...? They'll compel...?"

"They certainly will."

"Wow! That's laying it on the line!"

"Now your five grand falls into place." Margaret Connors refilled the snifter. "You'd better down this. But give me a no if that's the way of it. There's an agency with four hundred girls on their books, some even have talent."

Sabina drank her brandy and saw the light. "What you've just said is they're a bunch of kooks?"

"You cease to be a kook after the tenth million."

"Will it hurt?"

"Not if you close your eyes."

The male voice from the door held laughter. Margaret Connors turned irritably, then softened. Sabina gasped and glowed. Here was The Male. The plush office was suddenly potent with masculine charm.

"Don't trust me," continued the urbane voice. "I'm too handsome by far, my treatment of women is shameless, and I dress too well to be a gentleman. I am also very rich."

"This is Mr. Rolfe Campys, Miss Miles." Margaret Connors sounded slightly breathless. "Believe nothing he tells you."

"She adores me." The sleek head shook sadly. "If only I had the time to love you all...!"

"What d'you want, Rolfe? You can see I'm...."

"I want you, beloved, only you. Tonight you share my bed-"

"Rolfe, stop that!" Margaret Connors was blushing. "Miss Miles is applying-"

"Miss Miles is delightful, delectable, and, I'm sure, delicious." Laughing satyr eyes examined their prey. The word "delicious" had been overemphasized so that Sabina, too, was blushing. "Will you take your clothes off now or later?"

"I'm sorry now I gave you those brandies, Miss Miles. A girl needs a clear head when dealing with this lecher." Margaret Connors said ruefully, "Rolfe, is it any use asking you to go away?"

Sabina quivered. It was a purely feminine response to the masculing emanations beating at her in waves. For a girl caught unaware, Rolfe Campys was a heady potion. Placards at theatres around the world proclaimed him, and here he was!

"None, poppet, none!" He winked at Sabina so that she gasped. "The dear girl always goes through this protest bit before pleading with me to screw her. Absolves her guilt complexes. If you don't mind, I'd like to screw you first."

"He always carries on like this," said Margaret resignedly. "Rolfe, what is it this time?"

"It's her." Her jerked a thumb at the awe-struck girl.

"Heard you were interviewing, so came to strip this trem-bling morsel with my lustful eyes. She'll do. Sign her up."

"I think she was about to refuse. Rolfe, leave the poor girl alone!" Margaret offerd an aplogetic explanation. "Mr. Campys is an associate of the Siegneury."

"Screams in the night and all that rot." The Male was suddenly frightfully British.

Sabina felt herself on a euphoric cloud. "Watch it, girl, watch it," she cautioned herself inwardly. Aloud, she ventured, "It's too way out for me. I can't scream worth a damn."

"But my dear, exquisite, beautiful, appetizing creature-think what you scorn!" The vibrant voice oozed repoach. "Beheaded on the block. Sold in the slave market. Branded with a good old Puritan 'A'! The delights are endless." He turned to a wryly amused Margaret Connors and demanded, "Have we got a good gallows hanging coming up? She's perfect. Can't you see! There she stands, hands tied behind her back the noose aroundher neck, looking soulfully definat at the awe-struck mob, and wishing the Sheriff would hurry up and pull the lever."

"Rolfe, that's too corny-"

"But we haven't done it yet."

"Hmmmmm, how about her tied to a post, blindfolded, before a firing squad?"

"We could do it for an encore."

Sabina giggled and tried to repress a rising excitation. "You need a stunt girl," she protested, "but I'm flattered to bits."

"I need you." Campys made it a declaration.

"If I thought I'd be any good to you I'd grab it like-"

Rolfe turned to the woman at the desk "You have the agreement? This pulse quickening creature is just being shy."

"I always have the agreement," Margaret Connors snapped tartly. "But no girl should put her name on it while under your influence. Please go away so she can get her feet back on the ground."

He affected glad surprise. "I have an influence...! Darling, don't tell me you care?"

"What T care doesn't matter. Every silly female in the world has the hots over you; we cancel each other out."

"But I adore this one! I shall insist on playing the male lead opposite her at least once."

"Just once?"

"In that glorious moment she will be immortalized."

"No second round?"

"She is far too beautiful."

"Where do I sign?" asked Sabina breathlessly.

"Rolfe, you have the charm of a homosexual. If you were as safe for a girl as they are I'd enjoy you."

Campys sipped his drink. His eyes were thoughtful. He carefully erased plaintiveness from his voice. "Glynis, you're a cocktease using 'hard to get' as bait. You'll die a spinster."

Glynis Woodhaye laughed across the silver and the linen and the roses. "I shall not die a spinster," she affirmed decisively. "I shall marry a wealthy and influential man who doesn't flirt with every wench in sight. I will be a person, not a convenient vessel for your sperm."

"Dammit, Glyn, go easy on the Vassar-or was it Girton."

"I will neither sleep with you or marry you. Now may we dine?"

"That's like you've said grace," Campys said cheerfully. "You're a cold, shrewd beauty. Trust you to choose a public place. If I had you where we ought to be I'd palm those pretty tits of yours until you begged for it."

"Only a boor needs the aid of friction."

"Boy, you come out with those dillies with a flair! I suppose you've got too many dividends pouring in to grab Zoskin's offer?"

"Yes."

"God! What you put into that one word! Haughty contempt for the plebian! We could make a condition of the contract that you play opposite from me. Equal billing?"

"And sleep with Zoskin too, I expect."

"He's a happily married man. You'd render him impotent."

"Thanks!"

"He wouldn't survive the chill. Takes someone like me to brave the ice. You ever had a piece of tail?"

"Could we talk about something else?"

Rolfe Campys sighed. "When I'm with you I just get two inspirations. To bed you or to beat you."

"Nice ideas. I'll take the beating."

"I believe you would." He surveyed her somberly. "I have to be nuts to waste my time with you. Here I am, bright and cheerful-and you turn me into an introvert. I suppose you represent a challenge."

"That's better, and sensible. You were seen having lunch with a fresh face. Who is she? Yesterday's waitress or tomorrow's star?"

"Oh, Sabina. Rather sweet actually. She's signed for the Seigneury."

"What is that place? I was told it didn't even exist."

"Call it a club, I suppose. Highly exclusive."

"Orgies?"

"I could get you membership. You'd become a Chatelaine. The males members are Chevaliers."

"Isn't one new member enough for today?"

"Sabina isn't a member."

"What is she then? An exclusive whore?"

"Glynis, ease off. She's an actress. The Seigneury stages its own productions."

"I bet they do!"

His long and level look was devoid of banter. Rolfe Campys was a man of many roles. He shook his head and said heavily, "Glynis Woodhaye the unapproachable, the lady in the ivory tower. Actually, a grade 'A' bitch. D'you ever let a man lift the lid and look inside?"

"No."

"Maybe there's nothing there to see?"

"If you believed that we wouldn't be here. By the way, I'm willing to pay my own dinner if you feel cheated." . "Okay. Offer accepted."

No surprise. No chagrin. Her response was maternal. "Rolfe, don't ever marry. Bed your popsies but leave the rest of us alone. If you have the Don Juan compulsion to female conquest, kill it. There's enough scented flesh comes your way to keep you satiated. Leave it at that. You'd have more friends."

"You?"

"No. I'm scared of you. There's something...!"

"Nice?"

"I don't think so."

Rolfe Campys' eyes did match his grin. "Was that my conge?"

"Don't play the petulant brat." She reached and placed her fingers on the back of his hand. "We could enjoy ourselves together. But we never do because all you think of is the thing between my legs."

"If you'd let me use it once I might forget-"

"That's it exactly! That's your trouble. To you, all us girls are a hairy pubic orifice completely surrounded by superfluous female."

Rolfe surveyed her ruefully. "And that's your trouble, sweetheart, you're always so bloody right. D'you ever realize you've got a problem?"

"No. But whatever it is I've got, I'll keep it."

"Horseshit apart, it really would give me the most exquisite pleasure to beat the hell out of you. Glynis, you are without doubt the most complacent, self-sufficient, snooty-"

"Rolfe, coming from you, they're all compliments."

"D'you hate men? Glyn, are you a les?"

"Look, Rolfe Campys, when you say 'men' you think of YOU. You're the sublimated MALE, surrogate for everything with a penis. As for being lesbian, I've considered it. I'm still considering it. I think I'd enjoy a petite nymphet with dewy eyes."

"I'm sure you can afford one."

Glynis laughed. "There are probably agenices-though, in fact, I've got my eye on a little sweetheart who's helping out in a drug store."

He scowled good naturedly. "If you say so I'll believe it. Bloody awful waste."

"I don't see that. The parts don't wear...."

"One of your charms is your exquisite vulgarity, Glynis beloved. I think you use it as a bastion against male enterprise. Caustic carnality without four letter words."

"What will happen to the girl you had lunch with?"

Rolfe Campys stiffened in surprise. "Why d'you ask?"

"Something will happen to her, won't it? Something will be made to happen?"

"What fool nonsense have you been listening to?"

"I hit a nerve. What's your interest in the Seigneury?"

"It's an escape place. A 'get away from it all.'"

"She'll be in some way hurt, won't she?"

"I've offered you membership. You could see for yourself."

"Then maybe I'd be hurt?"

"I'm not going to talk about it. There's a pledge."

"Very well. But you've offered to let me join. No girl's going to do that blind. Tell me the inducements."

"Sorry. Wrong approach."

"Who's Margaret Connors?"

He shook his head in mock despair. "Glynis, what have I done to deserve this?"

"Who is she?"

" A competent secretary. Look, Glyn, what's the pitch?"

"I've a friend, a journalist, who wants to do an article."

"Tell him to drop dead."

"It's a she."

"Tell her to come and see me. I'll give her an article she'll never forget."

"When's your next picture?"

"For Zoskin...? He's aiming for about six weeks from now."

"A lot of boredom waiting?"

"I've offered to let you fill it."

"Rolfe, we've sparred enough. Let's call it a day. We've got ourselves out of sorts with each other." She looked at his irritated face placatingly. "Why don't we have a peace conference Tuesday?"

"We could." Campys sounded dubious. "Want to meet me out at the Silver Pheasant?"

"Oh, the new place! Sort of rural. Thanks."

"Still driving the little yellow Lancia?"

"Oh, sure! Rolfe, I know you. You'll be late. You'll find me in the bar. I can handle the lechers 'til you come."

"About eight?"

"Wonderful!"

Rolfe Campys watched her go, a graceful vessel on a sea charted by great wealth. For several minutes he sat on at the cleared table, .someberly contemplating a vision far away. Then, in firm decision, he called for a phone and dialed. His voice was terse. "Eight P.M. Tuesday. A yellow Lancia at the Silver Pheasant as arranged. You have her photo."