Chapter 2

I came awake all at once. My fatigue was gone and I felt wonderfully rested. I even felt better than I normally do after a regular night's sleep. Booze does that to me. If I have a couple of quick snorts before I hit the sack, I sleep deeper and better and wake up all at once. There is no half-awake period between full sleep and full consciousness.

Outside my glass wall it was dark. I kicked the blanket off and stood up to yawn and scratch my belly. I think that right at that moment I felt better, both physically and emotionally, than I had in years. The pain of my life breaking into tiny pieces had washed away with my fatigue. Now everything was ahead of me, there was no place to go but forward. And I was in a pretty good position to go ahead.

A quick session in the shower left me tingling and alive. I shaved carefully and unpacked my raw silk suit. It hadn't wrinkled too badly in the suitcase, so I put it on. The clock in the lobby said nine thirty and I hoped that the dining-room was still open. I was ravenous.

There was a different clerk behind the desk. "Which way to the dining room?" I asked.

He looked at me and then at the clock. "I'm sorry, sir, but they've stopped serving by now. The coffee shop is still open. You can get a sandwich there."

He pointed toward the coffee shop and I went that way. I was really in the mood for a nice thick steak, but I'd settle for anything I could get.

The coffee shop was empty. It was between rush hours, too soon after dinner and too early before the bars and nightclubs closed. I went in and took a seat at the counter. From the kitchen I could hear the rattle of dishes and the steady steam hiss of the dish washer. I pounded my hand against the counter top and waited for somebody to wait on me.

The swinging door into the kitchen opened and an impish little face peered into the room. The rest of her stayed behind the door. Her lipstick was chewed off and there were circles under her eyes, but in spite of this she had the jaunty elfin look of a leprechaun. Her hair was cut in jagged points and it lay flat against her skull. The uneven line of her bangs came halfway down her forehead.

When she saw me her lips pursed. "Oh," she said. "I didn't hear you come in."

I smiled. "What have you got for a hungry man?"

She came all the way into the room and moved behind the counter to stand in front of me. She hunched her left shoulder at the menu on the wall behind her and said, "We've got everything there except for the Boston Cream Pie and the steamed carrots."

The menu was little more than a list of sandwiches and ice cream sodas. "If I asked you real nice do you think you could scrounge up a steak somewhere? I haven't had anything to eat since about eleven o'clock this morning and I'm starved."

She grinned in sympathy. "I'll see if I can get one from the dining room chef, but you'll have to pay the full dinner price."

"I don't care. Make it a nice thick steak."

"I'll pick it out myself."

She went back into the kitchen and over the noise of the dish washer I heard the sound of another door opening and closing. Her face had been deceiving. When she came all the way into the room and I saw the rest of her body the elfin impression almost disappeared. She was about five-two and lean. If her breasts and behind hadn't been so prominent I would have called her skinny, but the fore-and-aft bulge of her uniform saved her from that. Her breasts and butt weren't overly large, but they were definitely there. You couldn't possibly mistake her for a boy.

Even with all her leanness I had the impression that she had at one time been much heavier. There was an aura of tight control about her body, and her flesh seemed somehow to be wasted, or tortured and dieted to its present size.

She came back with a perfectly lovely hunk of raw meat. It took both her hands to hold it and she carried it on a piece of brown wrapping paper.

"How's this?" she asked, holding the steak out to me.

"Perfect," I said. "Now see how fast you can cook it."

"How do you like it?"

"Medium. Dark on the outside and still a little pink at the center. And don't trim it. I'm hungry enough to eat it all."

She went into the kitchen, came back a moment later without the steak. She gathered silverware and napkins from someplace under the counter and set a place before me.

"What vegetable will you have with the steak?"

"Give me a double order of french fries, an order of fried onion rings, and some string beans. Oh yes, and bring me some bread and butter."

Her eyes widened as I made my requests. "That's some meal. It sounds like you're ordering for six."

"There's an awful lot of me to feed," I told her.

Her eyes ran over me from the top of my head to the point where the counter cut me in half. She looked slow and long and I could tell she liked what she saw. Her tongue flicked out over her lips in a nervous gesture and she gave me a half smile.

"You don't look so big."

I stood up slowly to give her the full effect of my height and her eyes widened. There are lots of men bigger than me. Some of those freak basketball players run over seven feet. But I'm broad as well as tall. From the time I was sixteen I earned my bread by blood sweat. I'm getting a little thick through the waist but even in my prime I never weighed less than two twenty seven.

"I change my mind," she said. "My God, you're a monster."

"Yeah, me and Frankenstein, but I'm better looking and hungrier."

Ten minutes later she brought my steak and potatoes and I sent her to the bar for a bottle of beer. She brought the beer, poured half of it into a glass-keeping the head small-and left me alone with my food.

I fell to with gusto. The food was excellent, the steak tender and juicy, the potatoes crisp and brown. She'd added a pat of butter to the string beans and they disappeared with the rest of the food. When I pushed the plate away it was bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard. There wasn't a crumb left anywhere.

I belched appreciatively and finished the last of the beer.

"Hey," I yelled and she came bouncing out of the back room.

"I was watching you eat," she said. "You really mean business. I don't think I ever saw anyone pack it away like that."

"I'm not finished yet." I told her and her eyes widened again. "Now I'd like a cup of black coffee and a nice shiny apple."

She brought the coffee and I lit a cigarette to go along with it. There are only two times when I drink my coffee black. Once, of course, is when I'm hung over. Then I drink black coffee and eat plenty of ice cream. Sounds terrible, doesn't it? But it really works. The other time I drink black coffee is after a heavy meal. It seems to me that sugar and cream after a good piece of meat spoils the after taste, which is the best part. The full flavor of a good meal lingers for hours after that meal has been eaten.

The apple, of course, was to keep the doctor away. I' bit into it and sucked at the juice as it ran down my chin. The girl was standing a couple of feet away, her elbows on the counter and her chin resting in her palm. She was watching me, fascinated by the way I ate, and she giggled when she saw me struggling with the apple. I finished the thing in five mouthsful and smiled appreciatively when she brought me a toothpick before I asked for one. The toothpick was primarily for the little pieces of apple skin that always get caught between your teeth; but it really caps off a meal to sit back and pat your full belly with one hand while you pick your teeth with the other.

The tab came to five dollars. I handed her a ten and asked, "What's your name?"

She looked like she didn't know what to do first. She had the bill in her hand and was ready to make change, and at the same time I asked her a question. She seemed all upset when I asked her name. Finally she turned to the cash register and rang up the money. A moment later she turned back to me with four singles and four quarters clutched in her hand.

I took the money and absently stuck it in my pocket. "What's your name?" I asked again. .

"Millie, Millie Gention."

I reached into my pocket again and brought out a dollar for a tip. When I held it out to her she pushed my hand away. "Take it," I said. "You deserve it for that excellent meal."

She seemed to suddenly regain her composure. She smiled and said, "Oh, I couldn't take your money. I got a kick out of watching you eat. It's a pleasure to serve somebody who really appreciates food."

I put the buck back in my pocket and turned to walk out of the place. I stopped at the door and looked back. She was watching me like she was expecting me to say something.

So I said something.

I said, "What time do you get off work?"

That was what she had been waiting to hear. "I get relieved at eleven."

"I'll be waiting in the bar," I told her, and left the coffee shop just as two teen-aged gangsters walked in. They were dressed in the southwestern version of the uniform-faded, skin-tight levis, dusty brown high-heeled boots with pointed toes, magnificently tooled wide leather belts with lethal looking buckles, hair tortured into the shape of the south end of a northbound duck, and five and three quarter gallon stetsons with viciously rolled brims. The hats were black, of course, as were their very tight shirts. They strutted when they walked.

I watched them swagger into the coffee shop and order whatever it was they ordered. Then I headed for the bar. A bar in Texas is like a bar in no other state in the union. It seems like the Texas law-makers can't decide whether they're for or against the consumption of alcohol. As a consequence of this confusion Texas bars are permitted to sell only beer and wine. Whiskey is sold only in liquor stores and cannot be consumed on the premises. You'd be amazed at the number of Texans who can get smashed to the eyeballs on beer.

The room was decorated in lots of dark wood, with subdued lighting and leather booths and chairs. There was no juke box and I was glad. Instead, the music came into the room from half a dozen strategically placed speakers. It was quiet, unintrusive stuff probably piped in from the local FM station, if there was a local FM station.

I took a seat at the bar and ordered a bottle of local beer. It was cold and tart and went down smoothly. The bartender took a dollar and didn't bring me any change. That's a hell of a lot of money for a small bottle of beer. I would have preferred bourbon, especially at these prices, but I settled for what I could get.

I passed the time by watching the antics of the other patrons. A couple of the men standing belly to the bar were obviously ranchers in town for a once-a-month evening of relaxation. Their leathery brown faces were split in permanent grins and they drank like prohibition was coming back tomorrow.

While I watched, a tall black-haired woman came in and sat down alone in one of the booths. Her body was a treasure house of lush curves and jutting mounds and her dress did little to conceal "it. The front of the thing was split damned near to her waist and could only have been held up by magnetism or glue. The skirt of the thing was slit on both sides and the slits were so high they threatened to reveal the flesh of her backside when she sat down and crossed her legs.

In spite of the dress I couldn't make up my mind whether or not she was a hooker. She carried herself with an air of poise and sophistication and she could well have been the wild daughter of one of the wealthier townspeople.

One of the ranchers noticed her and stumbled away from the bar to weave to her table. He sat down so heavily I thought the chair was going to split apart under him. He smiled at her and she returned his smile. I watched their lips move and heard the murmur of their conversation, but I couldn't hear what they were saying.

The man said something and the girl's face hardened. Then she said something and he shook his head negatively. I could almost hear the alcohol slosh around inside his skull. The each had another chance at the conversation and smiles appeared on both their faces. They stood up and the girl helped the drunken rancher from the room.

So she had been a whore. That red-faced Texan was a lucky man. Pro or not the girl looked like a hell of a good time between the sheets. Two men in plain clothes came in and bothered a couple of GI's from the local Army post. They left again in a couple of minutes and the bartender seemed glad to see them go.

He saw my questioning look and grinned. "State Liquor Authority," he said, indicating their departing backs with a thrust of his chin. "If they come around too often business falls off."

I smiled back at him to show that I too realized that such authority was a pain in the rump and he responded by setting one up on the house. At a buck a throw one free drink considerably reduces the total cost and I felt better about it.

Millie showed up about ten minutes after eleven. She was wearing a two piece outfit of some shiny material. The skirt snugly fitted her hips and the long-sleeved top buttoned up to her neck. Her breasts pushed out against the soft material and beckoned invitingly.

"Hi," she said breathlessly as she slid onto the bar-stool next to me. "I took a few minutes to change."

"No sweat," I told her. "You want a beer?"

She made a face and I laughed. "I hate beer."

"All right then, let's go someplace else. You pick the spot, I'm only a visiting fireman."

They brought my car around front and I was glad the top was down. It was a warm evening with a sky-full of stars. She hopped in and settled her lean haunches in the bucket seat. Since I'm a little bigger than she is it took me somewhat longer to bet behind the wheel. She laughed at my maneuvers as I doubled my legs under me and twisted and turned.

"How come a big man like you owns such a little car?" She asked.

"How come big guys always go for tiny girls," I countered. That one caught her in mid-laugh. It struck close to home and she didn't know the appropriate reaction. Intelligently, she said nothing.

"Getting in and out is the only problem," I continued. "Once I'm in the car fits me like a glove."

"Isn't it supposed to fit like a car?"

I was in the seat by this time and I kicked the engine over. "I'd rather have this little old piece of British tin can than all the twisted iron in Detroit. This is a car you drive. American cars you aim. And who needs a car that completely changes designs every three years? These cars have had the same basic body design for over ten years. And another thing, American cars are built-to fall apart in a couple of years so the owners have to buy new ones. These cars are built to last. With the right care a guy can own one of these for twenty years. They're faster and safer to drive. At a hundred and twenty miles an hour in this car I have more control and more stopping power than most Detroit sedans have at sixty."

She put her hands to her ears to stop my cascade of words. "Enough, enough. I give up. I'll never buy another American car as long as I live."

I laughed along with her. "I'm sorry," I said. "Automobiles are a pet peeve with me. Once I get started it's difficult to stop. But no more of that for tonight. Where shall we go?"

"The only two places near here where we can get a decent drink are across the border in Juarez and across the state line in New Mexico. Take your choice."

"Which is better?"

"In New Mexico they have dance bands. In Juarez they have floor shows. It's up to you."

I can dance when the situation arises, but like most big men dancing is not my forte. "If it makes no difference to you I'll take Juarez. Which way do we go?" She pointed and I drove.

I whipped the Healey out of the circular driveway and into the stream of traffic. I drive hard and take advantage of every break in the traffic pattern. The Healey hummed to my touch as I snaked through tight spaces using the gear shift more than the brakes. When we hit a clear space I threw it into overdrive and kicked down. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Millie holding on to the handle on the dash board.

The car was in fourth gear over-drive and the tachometer needle hovered around the forty five hundred RPM mark. We were doing close to ninety. She was sitting forward in the seat, stretching her neck so her head came above the level of the windshield. The rush of air over the top of the windshield whipped her jagged-cut hair into a froth. Her eyes were closed and she was grinning from ear to ear.

The hotel was on the outskirts of town and it was necessary to drive through the main part of town to get to the bridge into Juarez. I slowed down when we began to hit traffic lights and pedestrians and she settled back in her seat, her eyes glowing.

Traffic into Mexico was heavy at that time of night and it took us ten minutes to get across the bridge. On the American side I stopped and paid the toll keeper thirty cents for the privilege of driving into Juarez. Cheap enough. We were stopped again on the Mexican side and declared our nationality. All you do is say "American" and they wave you on with a big grin. I don't know what other nationalities they expected coming across the bridge from America.

I'd been in Juarez twice before. Both times I had business in El Paso. But I really didn't know the town very well. On both my other visits I'd been traveling without my wife, and my evenings across the border were spent in the red-light district. I didn't think Millie would be interested in that.

We found parking space on the main drag-which is the only safe place to leave a car at night-and I covered it with the tonneau cover before we walked away. The cover wasn't a hell of a lot of protection. It was held on by snaps and a reasonably dextrous six year old could get in; but it made me feel better to know the thing was covered.

The first place we went to was called La Fiesta. It was a pretty plush joint, the waiters dressed in tuxedos and the wine steward wandering around with his keys jingling. A tiny table cost me a buck palmed to the head-waiter. This was not the kind of thing I expected in a Mexican night club. And when I looked at the liquor menu I damn near got up and walked out. Drinks here were more expensive than the beer had been in the hotel bar. hotel bar.

It's funny the way a guy can be with money. Back in the hotel I hadn't minded slipping the bellhop a buck just for carrying my bags. I figured it was worth a buck not to have to lug the damned things myself. But to pay inflated prices for liquor got my goat. It makes me feel like a sucker when I think that right down the street in a dingy little bar some other slob is getting the same liquor at probably half the price. It was costing me so those phony waiters could wear tuxedos.

Millie seemed to get a big kick out of the place, so I went along for a while. If the extra investment paid dividends, I wouldn't mind at all. She ordered a whiskey sour, extra sweet, and went for the bonded bourbon. Just before the waiter brought our drinks the band stopped playing and the people on the dance floor went back to their tables.

The lights dimmed, the band played a fanfare and a voice boomed into the room over the PA system. The guy rattled off a whole bunch of jazz in Spanish and then switched to English. He went through a bit welcoming everybody to the club and congratulating them on their excellent taste. It was standard nightclub hokum. Then he introduced the first act of the floorshow.

The spotlight opened on center stage to reveal a man and woman. The woman, her black hair piled high on her head, wore a long evening gown with a ruffle skirt and a low-cut top. The guy standing next to her wore tight pants with the waistline up under his ribs and a very short jacket. On his head he had a flat wide-brimmed hat with a tie-string going under the chin.

There was a light sprinkle of applause and the man and woman went into their dance. They did the whole tourist-slanted routine, stamping their heels into the stage, snapping their fingers, making faces at the audience. Strangely, when they were finished they got a lot of applause. Even I could do that kind of dancing.

After the dancers we drank our way through a group of singers, a guitar player, and then the one really good act of the evening, a trumpet player. But what a trumpet player. This guy could almost make that damned horn talk. He played straight and from the guts. When he was sad you could almost see tears dripping from the bell of his horn, and when he was happy the horn seemed almost to giggle out the music.

After the horn played we listened to the feature act, a second-rate American singer, drone his way through a couple of numbers, and then the lights came up again. The full band was replaced by a four-piece combo and people got up to dance again. We'd had three drinks each by this time and Millie's eyes were shining.

It was time to get on with the business at hand. "Dance?" I asked her.

She nodded her head and we stood up. She was so tiny I was afraid to hold her too tight. She came into my arms and the top of her head came only half way up my chest. I danced stooped over so I could get my mouth somewhere in the vicinity of her ear. I made it through a whole number without stepping on her toes and decided to quit while I was ahead.

Back at the table we order another round of drinks.

"Isn't this a fabulous place?" she said, when the drinks had been delivered.

I grinned. "Yeah, I guess it is. But now that we've seen the floor show I've got an urge to hit another spot. What do you say?"

She knocked back half her drink in one gulp. "I don't care. Whatever you want."

The waiter brought the check and when we left the place my wallet was almost fifteen dollars lighter. The next place was a lot more my style. They served the beer to the tables in bottles and hard liquor was half a buck a throw, but they didn't know about things like whiskey sours. For them whiskey was sour enough just like it comes from the bottle. I got a big kick out of the floor show too. Instead of all kinds of phony dancers and guitar players this show was simply a succession of strippers, most of them bad. But even a bad stripper is more interesting than some skinny, longhaired guy squeaking his vocal chords.

Maybe it was my imagination and maybe it was that they saved the better dancers for the end of the show, but the longer we sat there the more I enjoyed it. The feature strip was something I had never seen before. It started with a completely dark stage. When the spotlight came on it revealed a blonde in a bathtub. She seemed to have just finished her bath and when she stood up to reach for a towel she was completely, nude. My eyeballs almost popped out of my head when I saw that she didn't even have a g-string on.

Next to me I could feel Millie stiffen at the sight, and I wondered what she was thinking. But I didn't wonder long. There were more interesting things happening on the stage.

The dancer grabbed a towel and did things with it that made my hair stand on end. First she patted her shoulders dry and then she moved the towel to her breasts. Those fleshy spheres jiggled and flattened as she pressed the towel against them.

My attention was partially distracted when I felt Millie's thigh press mine under the table. I returned the pressure and put my hand on her knee. She didn't draw her leg away.

" On stage the stripper had finished with her upper torso and was whisking the towel back and forth across her fanny. And what a fanny it was! She had turned her back on the audience and was bent so her behind stuck out towards us. She was rubbing that towel across her rump like she was polishing shoes. I expected to see my reflection there when she finished.

There was no reflection.

She finished her fanny and turned her front to face us. Now it was evident that she used peroxide. Her natural hair color was jet black. She spread her thighs wide apart and dried each thigh teasingly. Then she passed one end of the towel between her legs and grabbed it behind her. She dried a most sensitive portion of her anatomy with a sawing motion of the towel and I suppose every guy in the audience wished he were that towel.

My hand found its way under Millie's skirt and I could feel the muscles in her thigh twitch.

The dancer had moved from the tub to a large bed. She lay flat on her back with her feet towards the audience and whenever she moved her legs she exposed her most intimate charms. She pantomimed a dream session with some phantom lover and the act was over.

I didn't feel like waiting around to see any more. In my belly I could feel excitement bubbling over and I knew Millie was feeling the same thing. We walked back to the car on passion-stiffened legs and five minutes later were roaring southward on the Pan American highway.

It would have ben simpler and quicker to take a hotel room right in Juarez, but I knew most of those places were real flea-bags. Out on the highway there were some really deluxe motels. I was old enough to wait fifteen minutes.

I passed up a couple of seedy-looking places and finally turned the Healy in at a place called the Blue Swan Motel. Millie stayed in the car while I registered. The blowsy broad behind the desk took my money and gave me a key with no questions. When I had signed the register she pointed to a cabin in the back of the court and I was on my own.

Millie helped me snap the cover over the cockpit of the car and we went inside the cabin. So far our evening together had been strangely silent. We had a couple of drinks together, danced together, watched a bunch of strippers together, but we hadn't done much talking. It was as though it were understood from the minute I walked into the coffee shop that we would wind up the night sharing a bed.

I closed and locked the door and she came into my arms with a rush, throwing her firm little body against me. Her mouth was hot and wet and open and her tongue flicked against mine. She laced her fingers behind my head and rolled her open mouth across my face.

I put my hands to her waist and lifted her against me. Her arms tightened and her feet dangled, but already her hips were working eagerly and her loins were rubbing against me.

She broke the kiss by forcing her hands between our bodies and pushing herself away. "Wait," she said. "Put me down."

I lowered her to the floor and heard her move in the darkness. First there was the sound of her shoes against the floor, then the metallic snick of a zipper, and finally the rustle of her clothes. She was undressing in the darkness. I took the hint and quickly removed my own clothes. When I was naked I tried to find her but it was too dark.

"Where the hell are you?" I finally asked.

She answered with a giggle and I located the sound in the darkness.

"Stop playing games. Say something or I'll turn on the lights."

"I'm over here ... on the bed, silly. Where else would I be?"

I moved toward the sound of her voice and bumped my shins against the edge of the bed. It hurt and I swore softly. I would have preferred some light on the situation but she evidently liked the darkness. It didn't matter a hell of a lot.

I felt around the bed and finally grabbed hold of a handful of bare skin.

"That's me," she said.

I couldn't think who else it could be. What I was touching turned out to be a shoulder. I ran my hand down her arm to her wrist and moved her hand to my body.

"And this is me?" I said.

"Well, hello. Fancy meeting you here in a dark motel room," she said as her fingers closed thrillingly around me.

I crawled onto the bed and pulled her warm nakedness against me. She was hot and eager and my searching fingers soon told me there wasn't any need for preliminaries. This baby was raring to go.

I was raring to go too but I hesitated. I was afraid if I threw myself on her I'd smash her flat. She solved the problem for me. Her tiny fist pushed me flat on my back and she rolled over on top of me, her lips finding mine in the darkness. Her breasts flattened against my chest and her loins and the apex of her thighs writhed against my belly.

She pushed herself down along my body until she was in the right position. When she was low enough for the coupling her mouth came only to the middle of my chest. She sat up then, her eager fingers between our bodies, holding, positioning, directing the joining.

When she had everything arranged to her liking she lowered herself with a hiss of indrawn breath and I felt her incredible softness close over me. Soft warmth, moist heat, and my blood began to boil.

Once we were joined she stretched out on top of me again and her knowledgeable loins did all the work. Her mouth got into the act too, her teeth nipping the skin of my chest, her tongue flashing at my flat hair-circled male nipples.

My passion rose so quickly that I was afraid the whole thing would be over too soon. But she sensed the high state of my excitement and slowed down her eager rhythm just before it would have been too late. She kept it slow and steady for as long as she could. Then, with a small cry from deep in her throat, her hips and loins went wild, smashing against me with repeated frenzy.

When it happened she didn't keep it a secret. "Oh God," she screamed shrilly. "Hold me tight. I'm there, I'm there!"

I was there too....

It was dawn when we drove back across the bridge and into the United States. We had to stop for cus-stoms inspection just inside the border. The customs man came to the car with a smirk that said he knew what we had been doing. Hell, he wasn't so damned smart. Any kid in the country old enough to go into a drug store and buy a copy of The Carpetbagger would have known what we'd been doing. After all we had been doing it all night, both of us had dark circles under our eyes and fatigue written across the slack muscles of our faces.

The customs man accepted my word that I wasn't smuggling anything into our great country and I drove on. Millie directed me through town to her house. The building was in the last stage of crumbling pride which comes just before the slum label.

She told me how to get back to the hotel, kissed my cheek and got out of the car. Just before she turned away from the car she said, "Do me a favor. From now on eat in the dining room." Then she was gone.