Chapter 7
That night in my dreams a bedroom door opened and closed, and I was in a room with four beautiful young girls. There was Joanne Murray, the baby-faced blonde with the soft, rounded curves that demanded to be fondled. Next to her was Carmen Cervantes of the olive skin, her dark eyes flashing promises of animal ecstasy. Beside her was Christina Ekberg, her platinum blonde hair and white skin glowing in the dim bed-doom lighting. Mary Ellen Cuthbert followed, demure but willing. And Naomi Burke, pouting, holding back from the rest and yet wanting to come to me, wanting to love and be loved.
They were all naked and together they glided toward me, breasts rising and falling, hips moving in a provocative rhythm, intent on one purpose. Five pairs of female hands reached out for me, and I knew that my search would soon be over, that one of these girls would be the one with the diamond-shaped birthmark. All I had to do was discover which one. I reached out for the closest one-there was a sound-and the girls disappeared!
I opened my eyes and stared into the blackness of my bedroom. It took a moment to reorient myself, to realize that the girls had appeared only in a dream, and that a sound had awakened me. I lay very still on the bed, listening.
There was silence and darkness, and after a few seconds I decided it was only my imagination. Then I heard the sound of a bare foot brushing the floor only a few feet away, and I became instantly alert.
It could be Naomi, coming to make up-or Carol Rutledge coming to kill me before I exposed her.
My gun was in the drawer of the dresser, and I'd have to stretch to reach the lamplight on the table at the other side of the bed. One advantage was that whoever it was couldn't see me any more than I could see her. Stealthily, I swung the covers from me and sat up on the bed, silently wincing as the bedsprings squeaked.
The footsteps paused, and I could hear breathing a few feet away.
"Monsieur?" a female voice inquired softly.
"What?" I blurted.
"Sh!" the voice insisted. "Monsieur, it is Annette."
"Annette, what in the world-" I began. And then: "Wait, I'll put on a light."
"Oh no, Monsieur," she said hastily, and I felt her bump into me, grip my arm and sit down beside me on the bed. "No light, please."
The accent was unmistakably French, and she was unmistakably girl. She was apparently wearing a negligee, a very thin one it seemed from the feel of her warm skin pressing against my leg.
"If Miss Rice discovered me in here, she would have me sent back. I like it in this country. I want to stay."
"Then why are you here?"' I said softly.
I felt her hand touch my pajama'd leg, and I almost jumped.
"Because I like you, monsieur, and I am lonely. Do you mind?"
Gently, her hand moved along my leg.
"No," I said, "I don't mind at all. In fact-"
I reached out and took her shoulders in my hands and pulled her closer to me. The nightgown was a wispy thin diaphanous, and I would have loved to see her in it. But it was also a pleasure to feel her in it.
"Oh, Monsieur," she murmured as our lips met.
We kissed gently, with partially open lips. Our tongues probed and danced. Her arms went around me, pulling me closer to her, and my own hands wandered along the expanse of nightgown, feeling the warmth of the skin it barely covered. I ran my hands along her forehead and her chin and neck and her hair, picturing it as I'd last seen her with those lovely liquid and expressive eyes looking at me.
Her hands were busy too, and I could feel myself starting to tremble as she fumbled with the buttons of my pajamas.
I pushed the thin material from her shoulders and let my searching hand slide under the nightgown. Her body quivered and she twisted her shoulders so that the nightgown fell away completely and she was nude from the waist up.
I moved against her, reveling in the warm softness of her woman's flesh pressing against me. The nightgown parted some more, and impatiently I removed it from her and let it fall to the floor.
I touched her smooth skin, my fingers flowing along her body, exploring the curve that sloped down to her waist and across her stomach, and she began breathing raggedly and sighing and making movements of anticipation.
Her lips found mine again, and we kissed hard and violent. I relaxed on the bed, and she followed me down until we were lying side by side and then suddenly no longer side by side.
The world became beautiful without shame, passionate without violence. Our bodies moved with the rhythms of love, starting at the base of a crescendo and then building higher and higher, increasing in tempo until it seemed we were riding the very crest of passion....
And then suddenly it was over, and we parted and lay side by side once more, relaxed, the room silent except for our breathing.
She moved away from me suddenly and sat up on the bed.
"I must go," she said, and began pulling on her nightgown.
I touched her naked arm with my hand. "But-"
"No, please." She bent over me, and her searching lips found mine and pressed them briefly. I could hear her standing up, cording the thin gown around her. "Tomorrow," she whispered, "do not act as though anything has happened between us. Miss Rice is a very suspicious woman, and I would not want her to suspect."
"I'll pretend you don't even exist," I said. "Will I see you again?"
"You will see me again," she promised.
She moved across the room.
"Annette-"" I said, on impulse.
She paused by the door. "Yes, Monsieur?" she whispered.
I hesitated. "You're very nice," I said.
"Monsieur is very nice, too," she said softly.
The door opened silently and she went into the hallway. I saw her nightgown-clad figure silhouetted briefly against the dimly-lit corridor, and then the door shut and darkness and silence returned.
I lay in the darkness, thinking of how wonderful it had been to be with a young girl who didn't have a mess of psychological problems to contend with. It was especially nice after being with Janet and Eva and the frustrating episodes with those two.
I almost asked Annette if she knew if any of the girls had a birthmark, but at the last minute I decided it not only ungentlemanly under the circumstance, but un-likely that the French girl would know. I might ask her tomorrow, though, if I could do it secretly. It wouldn't be something I'd want Charlotte Rice to overhear. I could understand Annette's not wanting her employer to know about the secret tryst she and I had.
I felt very relaxed and not mad at anybody. I just lay there, letting sleep drift over me as my eyelids became heavier and heavier and the sounds of the world became less distinct. I wondered if I could get back to that dream I'd started in which four beautiful young girls were coming at me with fire in their eyes. Not that I needed them just then, but it was still a pleasant thought.
I half-heard the door open, but I wasn't sure whether it was only in my dream, or whether Annette was coming back for seconds. It wasn't until a flashlight glared into my eyes that I realized it was neither.