Chapter 2
Thursday dawned bright and clear. There were bits of cotton puff clouds drifting across the blue sky, and a cool wind gently fanned the palm trees and the acacias. Sally was up early, dressed and through with breakfast long before John dragged himself from bed and under the icy spray of the glass-enclosed shower. By the time he was ready to leave, she was bustling about the living room, dusting and polishing, emptying ashtrays, plumping pillows.
"What's the fuss about? Mike asked with a smile.
"Kirst's coming! Sally answered, straightening a blind.
"I know that. But it seems to me, since Kirst's coming, you could relax, and let her do all this stuff when she gets here."
Sally sighed, to let Mike know she could never understand male logic. "I've got to have everything clean before she gets here," she explained. "Otherwise what will she think?"
"She'll probably think she's damned lucky to be in a place like this ... " he waved at the sunlit room, the patio and the pool beyond, " ... no matter how the house looks."
"Sally's eyes widened. "Does it really look too awful, Mike?" she asked.
"Cool it, honey. It looks great. And try to take it easy today. I don't like to see you all tired out. You know that."
"I know, Mike." Sally patted his hand affectionately, then darted away to straighten a picture. "But I do want everything right for Kirst when she gets here." She paused to light a cigarette. "What do you think she'll be like, Mike?" she asked anxiously.
"She's probably got two heads and eats babies for breakfast."
"Oh, Mike!" Sally pounded him with tiny, ineffective fists. "Be serious."
"I'm not only serious," Mike said, glancing at his watch. "In a minute, I'll be late." He started towards the door, with Sally at his heels.
"Mike, you will be back at three, so we can drive to the airport together?"
Mike raised his right hand. "I will be home at three. I will drive carefully. I won't forget your birthday. Scout's honor!"
"Oh, Mike! Please don't act like that! Not today."
"I'm sorry, honey," Mike said, flashing his wife grin at her.
Sally smiled back, to show that all was forgiven. "See you at three," she said.
After Mike left, she went upstairs to arrange Kirst's room. When she'd finished cleaning, she stepped back, squinting, surveying the place. Didn't it seem a little cold? Almost at once, she thought of flowers. She hurried out to the garden, to pick a huge bouquet. Sally was in the kitchen, arranging them, when the telephone rang. She stuck a final delphinium into the vase, then picked up the instrument. Damn it, she thought, I don't have time to talk to anyone.
"Hello," she said, and a strange voice came over the wire. Yes, she was Mrs. Mike Hole, Sally said, cradling the telephone between her shoulder and her chin while she continued to arrange the flowers. Yes, that was right. Mrs. Mike Hole. She wondered who it was and what they wanted and then she realized it was the operator speaking to her, telling her it was a personal call.
"One moment, please!"
"Yes?" Sally said.
"Mrs. Hole, are you Mona Bitt's sister?"
"Of course," Sally said. Who would ask such a foolish question?
There was a sigh from the other end of the wire, and then the voice said, "Thank God. I've been able to reach you."
A sudden wave of panic pounded through Sally. She felt her knees buckle, her hands shake. There was a loud crash as the heavy crystal vase fell from her lifeless fingers ... and then she asked, "What ... what is it?"
"There's been an accident," the voice at the other end said. "It's pretty serious. She's been shaken up rather badly."
It was the hospital calling, Sally understood, the one near Portland, nearly three hundred miles away. And Sally was needed at once. Would she-could she-come?
Sally nodded. "Yes," she managed to whisper at last, through the lump in her throat. Dazed, baffled by the news, she nevertheless managed to find a pencil and a pad of paper, to jot down the information necessary. When she put the telephone down at last, she was shaking like a leaf.
She looked around at the debris on the floor-the shards of glass, the broken petals and pools of water-then instinctively got a cloth and cleaned it up. She was still shaking when she dialed Mike's number, and a cry of frustration escaped her when his secretary informed her "Mr. Hole is out."
"Have him call me back, Sue," she urged. "As soon as he comes in. It's terribly important."
"Is anything wrong, Mrs. Hole?" Sue asked solicitously.
Sally was too despondent to explain. "Just tell Mr. Hole it's urgent," she repeated.
She was packing her bag when Mike at last called, throwing in a couple of nightgowns, a robe, the first few dresses that came to hand. At the sound of Mike's voice, she burst into tears. "It's Mona," she sobbed. There's been an accident. I have to go."
"Honey, do you want me to come home?"
"Yes. No. Yes!" Sally, confused, shook her head. "There isn't time," she said.
"Don't you want me to drive up with you?"
"Oh, yes. Please, yes." Sally put the phone down, and wiped away her tears with a bit of Kleenex. Suddenly she remembered Kirst.' Today was the day Kirst was arriving! If Mike drove to the hospital in Portland with her, who would meet the girl? Hastily, Sally dialed Mike's number again, hoping to catch him before he left.
"He's just gone out the door, Mrs. Hole," Sue told her.
"Oh, Sue! See if you can catch him!"
She heard the telephone clatter to the desk, the sound of Sue's high heels clicking as she ran across the room, another sound-was it the opening of the door?-Sue's voice echoing down the corridor. She heard footsteps again, both Sue's frivolous ones and then Mike's heavy footsteps, coming closer. Then Mike asked, "What is it, Sally?"
"Kirst!"
It was a moment before Mike understood. "Kirst?"
"Yes, Kirst." Sally wailed. "She's coming this afternoon. Remember?"
"Damn it, yes!" Mike swore softly.
"You'll have to pick her up, Mike."
"That means you'll have to drive all the way alone, honey."
Sally wiped her eyes again. "I'll just have to, then," she said. "After all, someone has to pick her up."
"Maybe I could get someone else to go ... " Mike began.
But Sally cut him off. "You go, Mike. I'll be perfectly all right. And at least, if you get Kirst, I won't have that on my mind too."
"Okay, Sally. But call me tonight, will you?"
"I will," Sally promised, cradling the phone again. She sat down and lit a cigarette, trying to compose herself. Her eyes swept around the room, as she ticked off in her mind the things she would need, the things she had packed. She'd remembered everything she thought, snapping her suitcase shut and taking it downstairs. At the front door she stopped. Darn! Toothpaste and tooth brush. Hairbrush. Makeup. She hurried upstairs, dumped half the contents of the medicine cabinet into her bag. Downstairs, she checked for keys, money, cigarettes. Then she climbed into the car and started the motor. Carefully she backed out of the driveway. Everything would be all right, she told herself. Everything.
At precisely twenty minutes after three, Mike Hole closed his desk drawer, said goodbye to his secretary, Sue Roll, and went down to the Triumph convertible that stood at the curb. He climbed behind the wheel, paused long enough to put the top down and to turn on the radio. Then he headed the light blue sports car towards the airport.
In spite of his concern for Sally and for Mona, he felt light-hearted. The weather-still perfect, still balmy-had something to do with it. But so, he knew, did Kirst.
Goddamn! It would be nice to have a kid in the house again! He and Sally had been a lot more lonely than either cared to admit, with both Vern and Jean gone. And even if Kirst was grown-up enough to leave her own home-yes, and tp travel half way around the world to take a job-she was still just a kid.
And a cute one, too, Mike thought, remembering the photo she'd sent. He patted his breast pocket where he carried it now. He might need it, in order to recognize her. Not that there would be many girls like Kirst getting off the plane. Not that there were many girls like Kirst anywhere.
She looked like a young-a very young-Norse goddess, at least in the snap that Mike carried. Perfect features, marvelous high cheekbones, full lips slightly parted over white, even teeth, and her crowning glory, shoulder-length, ash-blonde hair. There was something exciting-something almost spine-tingling-about Kirst's expression, too, about the way she stared out from under half-closed eyelids. In an older woman, it would have been an unmistakable invitation; but Kirst was just a child, young enough to be his daughter, and in her it might have been simply impishness, or maybe insolence. Mike wasn't sure what it was, but he sure as Hell liked it.
He pulled the car into the parking lot at the airport, and glanced at his watch. Just on time, he noted with satisfaction. He got out and strolled to the huge waiting room, and scanned the bulletin board marking incoming flights. There it was! Flight number four-six-one-already in, with passengers disembarking at gate number seven. He loped towards it, looking over the crowd.
A couple of tired businessmen headed it, carrying briefcases under their arms. Behind them was a group of chattering, middle-aged women, in flower-splashed cotton dresses, laden with Mexican hats and baskets, souvenirs of their vacations. There were a couple of quarreling children next, ducking and spinning around their harassed mother. And then ... Mike let out a long, low whistle. My God, he thought. Kirst isn't just cute!
She's gorgeous.
She was tinier than Mike expected, and younger, too. She'd written that she "would be eighteen," Mike remembered. But she hadn't said exactly when she'd be eighteen, he thought wryly. And she Hardly looked older than a child.
But Christ! she was magnificently proportioned. Her thighs were rich and full, her pert little tilted breasts that strained as if to escape the confining fabric of her low-cut peasant blouse were lush and ripe. She turned, and Mike noted with a sigh of intense sexual feeling, provocative, sensual little half melons of her rounded buttocks. In spite of himself, he watched with open mouth as Kirst moved down the exit ramp, while the shortest of mini skirts twitched enchantingly over her charmingly undulating little bottom.
Half way to the waiting room, Kirst stopped and looked around. Hex lips were half-opened, her eyes wide. Then a slight frown wrinkled her smooth clear brow. Mike, startled, realized she was looking for Sally.
He began to wave wildly. "Over here," he called. "Over here."
Kirst still wore a puzzled expression as she walked towards Mike and looked up at him. He grabbed her tiny hand in his own and pumped it heartily up and down. "Hi," he said. "You must be Kirst West."
A sudden bright smile of comprehension lit Kirst's face. "You must be Mr. Hole," she said. Her eyes darted around the room quickly. "But where is Mrs. Hole?"
"It's Mike," Hole said jovially. "And it's Sally-not Mr. and Mrs. Hole. And Sally couldn't come.
I'll tell you about it later. But let's get your bags, meanwhile." He noticed the small flight bag Kirst carried. "Here, let me take that."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Hole," Kirst said, lowering her eyes demurely. "I mean Mike."
They said little to one another until, luggage collected, they reached the car. As Kirst slid in beside the older man, he explained Sally's absence, and a look of compassion crossed the girl's face. "Oh, dear," she said softly. "I do hope Sally's sister will be all right." Impulsively, she reached over and gave Mike's hand a friendly squeeze.
Mike smiled. Nice kid, he thought, trying to draw his hand away. But Kirst clung to it, and her slim, tapering fingers began a slow, sensuous stroking of his palm that sent little chills of excitement dancing up and down Mike's spine. My God! Did the kid know what she was doing? He gave her a quick, sidelong glance, pulling his hand from hers and placing it firmly on the steering wheel. Kirst let her own hand fall to Mike's thigh.
Mike sucked in his breath, staring at her in the rear-view mirror. What the hell was this kid? Some sort of sex maniac? He glanced over at the blonde covered young head beside him. Christ, no! She couldn't be. She was too sweet, too young. It was all in his own mind!
And in his pants, too, he thought, feeling his prick jerk and swell. God! What was he? Some sort of pervert? This was only a child sitting beside him-Jesus, it might have been Jean, five years ago-and here he was getting a hard-on, his balls aching, his rod going stiff as a poker. You're a dirty old man, Mike Hole, he told himself. He glanced down at his pants, seeing the huge bulge there. God, he hoped Kirst didn't notice.
If she did, she gave no sign of it. Instead she sat, turning her head from one side to the other to stare at the motels and drive-ins and coffee shops that -lined the highway. She chattered brightly, too: "Oh, I'm going to love Oregon. I know I am."
"I'm sure you are, Kirst."
"And I'm going to love you, too," Kirst blurted.
"I hope you'll like me ... us," Mike corrected. "I hope you'll like us both."
"Oh, I will," Kirst purred. She turned and smiled again, inching over on the seat so that her slim, bare, golden thigh now touched Mike's trousered leg, pressed sensuously against it. Quivering, Mike shifted his body, to escape the young Danish girl's maddening nearness. She seemed surprised, then hurt. For a long time she was silent and when she spoke at last, it was in a still, shy voice. "You know," she said, "all the way over, on the plane, I was thinking about you. And you know, I was afraid you wouldn't want me to stay!"
"Not want you to stay!" Mike boomed, with false heartiness. "Now that's a silly thing to say."
"Then you do want me?"
"Sure I want you," Mike said without thinking.
"Oh, Mike," Kirst chirped. "I'm glad," she sighed, and lowered her eyes, fluttering her lashes. "Because," and her husky voice was sultry, "because I want you!"
Mike felt a burning on the back of his neck, behind his ears. He stared straight ahead, swallowing hard, while his cock again jerked convulsively. Kirst didn't know what she was saying! She couldn't! She'd heard some line like that in a movie or something, read it in a book. That was all. And why the hell had he said, "I?" Why hadn't he said "we?"
"We want you." No, he'd had to blurt out something stupid, and poor Kirst had tried to cover up for him. Jesus, he could have kicked himself. What the hell did she think of him! That ne was lewd and evil, that's what Why, the poor kid was probably scared of him by now, afraid even to go out to the house with him, with Sally away and everything.
Mike cleared his throat and tried to smile at Kirst. Maybe he could explain things somehow, make her understand, make it all right. "I hope you don't mind Sally's being away tonight," he began. "And maybe for a couple of nights," he added.
Kirst shook her head. "No," she said. "Why should I?"
Mike shrugged. "Oh, I just thought you might, you know," he said, wondering if Kirst was telling the truth or was just being polite. Maybe he should have her stay next door, with Val and Jeff Harrison; they'd have room, and that way the girl wouldn't feel uneasy with him, after all the bloopers he'd made.
He turned to look at her, and saw the puzzled expression on her face. "Why should I?" she repeated.
Mike's bluff laugh had a hollow ring to it. "Well," he said heartily, "I just thought you might not want to be alone in the house with a strange man. You know ... " His voice trailed off with embarrassment. " ... you know how it is ... "
"Oh," I don't mind," Kirst said at once. She smoothed her skirt demurely over the tops of her voluptuous, golden-hued legs, then ran her hand slowly, lewdly, teasingly along Mike's thigh. "We could have fun, all alone," she said, breathing heavily. "We could-how do you say it?-we could play house together!"