Chapter 7
Korin took out a comb from her purse and started raking her hair with slow, rhythmic motions. The page-boy coiffure seemed ideal for her fiery auburn locks.
A comfortable silence had descended upon Ko-rin's apartment. She grinned mischievously as she see-sawed back and forth in the rocking chair, her legs stretched out like pink serpents, glinting and rippling as if they awaited a sexual encounter. Maurice realized that was out of the question. He walked over to the davenport and sat beside Yvette Thober.
Yvette's composition lay upon the cushion, and she was studying the red corrections which he had pencilled in. "I nearly flunked this essay," she nodded. "My thoughts must have. been elsewhere."
"Why do you think I'm at your quarters tonight? The two top students in English comp and you both washed out." He stared at Yvette, who sucked at the eraser of her pencil as she perused the theme sheet. Then Maurice glanced at the rocker again. Korin's complexion was the texture of soft cotton candy and she wore her revealing mod outfit-khaki pants and a shirt with epaulet shoulders-to display her curves to advantage. Her breasts bulged under the cotton shirt until the nipples were starkly out-lined.
He found certain facts well nigh unbelievable. Such as this pair of delicious feminine morsels being gay. Korin had explained it away by her claim that she and Yvette practiced lesbianism just part-time.
"Korin, I think we should go over your grammar lesson again," he said.
"I've got a better idea. You said you wanted to see the results of my modeling at the art class. Viola!" She leaped out of the chair with enough virility so that he figured she wore no bra ... her breasts moved around and jounced merrily as if there were no tomorrow.
Yvette sat up and clapped her hands. "Come over to the davenport, where you can relax, Maurie. We'll look at the pictures together."
"Relax?"
She lowered the skirt to her knees and laughed, "If that's feasible when you're with us single girls."
He cautiously took a seat beside her as Korin dug the pictures out of her trunk. Then she strewed them on his lap in a pile. "Read 'em and weep."
Yvette did the honors of sorting out the large, amateurish-but-realistic drawings. They were done in charcoal, brush, and oil. Korin had obviously worn no more than the legal limit while posing-and indeed she was nude on several of the side shots.
"Get a load of this one!" Yvette enthused, pointing to a comic pose which Maurice felt sure had never been approved by the art instructor.
The picture showed Korin trying to don a bra. However, her gorgeous breasts were so large that they dwarfed the midget-sized bra. It was like trying to cover two watermelons with a postage stamp. And the expression on her face conveyed disgust or condescension as though humoring the idiot who had suggested she put on the bra.
Maurice said, "How about you, Yvette? They told me you modeled for a while."
"Patience and fortitude. I'm in there."
He enjoyed leafing through the sketches, especially the ones of Yvette in her bikini and various bedroom attire-garter belt, nylons, half slip.
A few minutes later he was out in the corridor again with his briefcase. You couldn't stay too long on a private tutoring excursion, or the gossips would catch it and start talking. Maurice whistled as he strode toward the porch. It had nearly killed him to cast Ida adrift, and he still missed her something awful. But he intended to persevere in his vow of seeing her only at class. As a married man he had no business even entertaining the thought of a new love; not after what Ellen had meant to him.
Ellen, though, had grown much colder than ever because of her suspicions. She couldn't seem to believe that he was faithful in his love and would remain at her side.
He reached the outdoor patio and stairwell, near the marble fountain. The school day had ended and he anticipated a good meal at home. When he came to his car in the parking lot, Maurice set the briefcase down and searched for the key in his pocket. Then he saw a man approaching on the cinder lot.
"Wait a minute!" said the stranger. "You and I have somethin' to talk about."
Maurice frowned, hoping it would not be a hostile chat from any viewpoint. The fellow was about six-five and had the build of a weight-lifter.
"The name's Yankee Lane," he grunted. "You've gotta be Hayko."
"I admire your terse manner of speech."
"Huh?"
"You say a lot in a few words. Pleased to meet you, but I've really got to rush. If there are any directions you want-"
"Maybe she would go for a high-falutin' cat like you." Yankee grinned, oblivious of the hole in his mouth where an eyetooth should be. He appeared mid-twentyish and quite brutal-if one should meet him in a dark alley.
He continued, "I drive a limousine for my livin'. You're popular around town, professor." Derision was evident in his stress upon the last word, after which he said bluntly, "Keep your hands off her."
"Off whom?"
"Ida."
Maurice sighed in exasperation as he sat in the driver's seat of his Renault and hit the ignition. The engine thrummed to life. "I suppose you mean Ida Reneson. And I further suppose you're her boy friend."
"Right."
"Not another one! Dear chap, she has more steadies than I have pills, and that's quite a few. Why pick on me?"
Yankee snorted and narrowed his eyes. "You were seen at Swinpland in a booth with her. I'm her guy! So don't make me do anythin' we'll both regret." He cracked his knuckles, then rammed a fist into the palm of his other hand.
The noise brought goose-bumps to Maurice's neck. Tired of being warned about his friendship with Ida, he found courage enough for rebuttal.
"There's no romance between us, Tarzan!"
"Crazy. Let it stay like that and you'll last out the year in fine shape."
"I suggest you go pound sand where it will do the most good." Maurice snarled haughtily at the surprise in his adversary's face; then he lurched the auto ahead toward the Boulevard.
John DiCauslow had his thumbs hooked in the side pockets of his pants as he strutted from one side of the parlor to the other. He liked Ellen's taste in furnishing the Hayko house. But he would not admit it, because that might deter his plan psychologically.
He wet his lips, admiring the long, graceful legs which Ellen had sheathed in dark stockings. Then he walked to the sofa where she sat. "Maurie doesn't give you a high budget for decoration purposes, does he? This reminds me of the ghetto back home." John scratched his thick-set jaw and added, "Landlords used to charge twenty-five bucks for each tenement room. What a profit they hauled in."
"My husband's generous enough."
"Oh, he's generous. Especially with his love."
"You have a mean way of insinuating things, John."
"Maybe I should act more like a guest and delete the remarks about your housekeeping. Force of habit. At the college, we're brainwashed at the hands of Dean Barbara, who punishes any coed for an untidy room."
Ellen leaned forward, her elbows resting on her thighs, and squinted meaningfully at the youth. "You said you know something about my husband. That's why I took a chance and let you stop in for a visit."
"So he's working late again tonight."
"A few students have fallen behind and he decided to tutor them occasionally. John, I like you. Don't keep me in suspense."
"Okay." He started to pace up and down the carpet slowly, as he had seen criminal lawyers do in the movies, for dramatic effect. He knew Ellen was ripe. Experienced gals could prove quite satisfying once you pushed them over the edge. "Scuttlebutt says that your dear Maurie has rolled in the hay with several coeds. I thought you ought to know."
"I heard the same rumor last year and the year before. But they were lies."
"Believe me, Ellen, I got this from the top. A girl at a university like Milltown tends to brag about her conquests so her friends will know she has conformed."
"Conformed?"
"To the status symbol of losing her chastity."
Maurice's wife buried her face in her hands. "My God! Who were these harlots? If I find out that Ida Reneson-"
"I wouldn't repeat any names because the facts are hazy. But it happened. And it will go on and on if you sit back without taking action."
"Words of advice are easy to utter."
"All you have to do is fight fire with more fire. It's common sense when a person gets revenge and straightens out her problems at the same time. Go for a ride with me. I'll explain how you can purge yourself of the shame he inflicted on you."
Her eyes turned cold for a brief instant. "I hope you're not suggesting that you and I-"
"Ellen, you happen to be a wonderful, beautiful lady. Trust me. Let me show what a true friend can help you accomplish."
He watched the turmoil taking place in the lines of her face. She wasn't bad to look at, for a tomato forty-three years old; in fact he wanted to rip her clothes off and fornicate with her right here-but it would be too risky.
Finally, although she must have comprehended his intentions, she nodded and stood up slowly. "Fine. It will be your show."
He left the house alone and drove to a drug store on the corner of Wharfside Street. Waiting in the Falcon, he figured she would be a pushover-playing into his hands so that he could cement his hold on Ida. And the teach's wife wouldn't even realize it.
Soon she walked up to the curb and got into the passenger side of his sedan. "I think I made it without being seen."
John gunned the engine to consummate their liaison. He found the persuasion of her will easy enough. She came with him silently as he entered the St. Olaf Hotel, a faded brown frame building, and obtained a room key from the clerk. John felt his heart drumming with a crazy fever as he led her into the room at this strange place so far from Milltown's prying eyes.
"We're on the sixth floor," he laughed as he removed his shirt. "Don't go getting air-sick on me." He glanced through a window and saw the weed-choked yard far below, bathed in moonlight.
"This had to happen between us," he purred confidently. "You're a fatal drug that drives me out of my skull. Good girl."
Ellen resisted weakly upon his first attempt at kissing her. She acted dumb, or paralyzed, until his lips branded a thick line of descent from her neck down along her bare arms and then darted back to her mouth. He shot his tongue deep into her waiting chasm. At last she awakened from the shock and let her teeth play with him ... nipping the hot tongue, reaching out to bite his shoulder. John slid the belt off her skirt as she groaned with pleasure. Within seconds the skirt was off and her blouse lay on the floor, exposing her erogenous areas.
"Hey, you're a swinging doll," he whispered during his search for the bra's rear strap.
"I can be rough. Maybe you won't be able to take what I give. It's been so long since I let the stops out with-with a guy!"
"Try me and see."
He unfastened the bra with a deft motion, feeling his virility spring free with the promise of untold ecstasy. The woman's breasts were firm and yet spongy when he fondled them. She kissed him everywhere on the glowing, sweat-slick surface of his chassis. Her hands aroused him to a crescent of desire as she kneaded his hips and chest and then tangled her fingers in his hair, biting and licking his face until he began to groan with delight.
John hurled himself on the mattress. His arms upraised, he grinned at her and spread his chunky legs apart. She seemed hesitant while seated at the edge of the bed, and her breath sounded ragged with lust as she panted desperately.
"Come to uncle," he said.
He flailed out with his calves until they were scissored around her naked waist. Doing a flip, he spun her completely over and then stripped the panties off her wet flesh. She paused, closing her eyes momentarily.
"You make me dizzy with that athletic stuff. Just take it easy!"
"Look here and get even dizzier!"
She gazed unbelievably at the masculine strength which he now revealed. Her entire body spasmed in passion as he yanked her down upon him. "Johnny ... you look so comical when you're-nude."
The teasing stroked him to greater fury in his probe. He fitted the woman upon him and then rolled over so that he was on top, gurgling with joy at the sound of her shrieks. He hadn't dreamed she would enjoy it so much.
His pistoning attack speared her brutally with the ageless, animal triumph of man over his tormentor. She rocked against him with terrible force, again and again, until there was no power left in either of them and the act was finished. He heard the fireworks, muffled with death, lose their impact as though he were going deaf. Her revenge had been gained. John kept his arms around her and felt the sweet feminine weight burrow against him, her cheeks damp with tears.
He had a vital weapon in his arsenal for the war against Maurice. Having known Ellen carnally, the rest would be routine.
John talked to her for a while and then they got dressed again. Ten minutes later he halted his car at the drug store near her home. "That was the most pleasant time I've ever had," he said. "We're true friends now."
"Good-night."
She sounded rather curt in her farewell but it was probably due to a nagging conscience. He watched her hurry away up the dark avenue. Perhaps Ida had the right idea about preferring older people in her sex life; Ellen certainly had shown him some new tricks.
After his math class the next day, John rode across town to Mickey's drive-in, a restaurant stand on the main drag where juveniles often congregated. He saw a dozen motorcycles parked in the lot as he walked into the dining room. A few of his pals were at the pinball machine. He joined them for a session of wagering on high score, during which he lost thirty dollars. But he didn't mind because there were ingenious ways to get money back.
He sat down at a table to enjoy his cola and rum shot. Several minutes later a woman came in and approached him, setting her purse on the vacant chair.
"They tell me you're John DiCauslow. I've been looking-for you."
"Oh?"
"I want to talk about my sister and a certain college professor. May I?"
He nodded and ogled her as she got seated beside him. She was average in looks and figure-wholesome, though, and more than likely a bach girl. "You ring a bell somewhere," he said. "I could swear I've seen you before."
"Ida and I have a strong family resemblance. Sue's the name. She's my sister and she used to mention you in her letters. When you were going steady."
"That was a long time ago."
"Yes. But you might be able to help me. I've found out that she's got a thing for some teacher named Hayko. Please tell me what you know about him."
John smiled thinly as he sipped the bacardi. This could be a golden chance in his campaign to heave Hayko out of the picture. He filled Sue in on the salient biographical points as he had learned them. "The guy's married, Sue. I always thought of him as a dirty old leech who bothers the coeds. But don't quote me."
"I doubt if she's serious about him. Ida's a very nice girl and it'd be a shame if she got panicky. About love, I mean. She has plenty of time to wait for the right one."
He considered the fact of telling Sue about him own fondness for her sister. But he could court Ida alone until he managed to wangle a diamond ring onto her finger.
"Lots of luck," he said when his knowledge of Maurice had been narrated. "I go for Ida myself-platonically of course."
"Of course. Thanks very much, John. If she does start getting serious about that teacher, I'll at least be able to help discourage it."
After Sue had gone, he thought about this latest twist in the happenings. Maurice really turned her on and excited her if John could judge by the frantic motions of her hands as she had spoken. She was playing mama for Ida. Like most wealthy girls, Sue would rather marry late in life than be a teen-age bride. And she didn't want Dear Sis rushing her spiritual-sexual love for the sake of any old gent who was also tied up in marriage. Logical enough.
John went outside and wandered along the fence near the cycles. Then he telephoned Yvette from the outdoor booth, urging her to meet him at Mickey's around midnight.
"We've dilly dallied long enough as it is," he barked into the phone. "Just show up!"
"But Johnny-"
"If you chicken out, it's over with us. Understand?"
He heard her murmur in assent grudgingly on the other end of the line. Moving out to his Ford again, he thought about Ellen and their smash at the hotel. She must have figured me as a kind of chaplain, he mused, the way she told her life history. He didn't give a hoot about her rough childhood. What did he care if Ellen suffered with guilt feelings ever since the day her mother had punished her for "touching" herself at a nasty spot? It had just made things harder for John, because she had needed a lot of persuasion before he was able to get into her at that lousy hotel.
It was nearly oue o'clock in the morning as he cruised down the deserted road near Maurice's house. John stopped the car and squeezed Yvette's thigh.
"Cripes, you're acting like a nun or something. We hit private homes before."
"Not Maurie's, though!"
"It'll be like falling off a log. He stows his jewels and at least eight hundred cash in that wall safe. The clown hates banks."
"John-be careful."
"You stay at the wheel and be ready to blast off with me if anything happens. But nothing will. Sit tight, honey."
He kissed her on the mouth and then crept along the grass toward Hayko's side door. Clouds had hidden the moon, which was perfect. John hefted the tool-box in his right hand ... the box contained every tool he might need, to crack that safe. He bit his lower lip shrewdly. For a whole month he had waited patiently for the chance, for a night when Maurice and Ellen would be gone on their visit to Rhode Island and his relatives.
John's feet thudded on the concrete sidewalk. In his pocket was the yellow "M," a piece of wool that symbolized Milltown U's athletic letter and would let the teach know who had burgled him. And he wouldn't be able to prove a thing.
Clinking sounds reverberated dully in the inky black air of night as John ticked at the door lock. Suddenly he heard a vicious growl behind him. The blood froze in his veins; he pivoted around and stared into the eyes of a giant dog.
John gulped at the tingling, terrorizing panic in his throat as he backed away. "Steady, boy," he said to the dog. "Easy does it." He noted that it was a Doberman pinscher-the worst type of watch-hound-but at least it was tied by a chain and pegged to the lawn. Smiling, John decided the coast was clear.
He made a slow movement toward the door again and the pinscher leaped forward. Its teeth ripped at John's arm, sending pain knifing through his brain. He cursed in a loud voice.
His arcing foot connected on the pinscher's jaw with a crunch. John squinted away as a window from the house next door slid open. "Who's there?" a man yelled.
The canine was yelping savagely from his long chain, unable to reach John, who had vaulted past the curb.
"Get the damn jalopy started," he grunted at Yvette.
"You're hurt!"
He gripped his bloody arm and said, "Never mind about me. Drag rubber out of this joint or we've had it." He closed his eyes against the pain and sense of failure as Yvette took off.