Chapter 4
The following day, Lena Troy had a business luncheon engagement with Bart Laramie, who owned one of the largest chains of drug stores in the Metropolitan area. For several months, Lena had been negotiating to get an exclusive for her line of cosmetics, with one of the executives of the firm. It would be an important deal to her, meaning many hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. She had just about given up on it, though, when she received a call first thing this morning, from Laramie, himself, asking her to have lunch with him.
As soon as they sat down at his reserved table in the expensive and fashionable restaurant called The Golden Peacock, Laramie got right down to business.
Lena had been pleasantly surprised to find him a handsome, charming man in his early thirties. He was a tall, rangy, broad shouldered man. His crisply curling black hair was prematurely dappled with gray at the temples. His uneven features held rugged good looks and when he grinned, his brown eyes crinkled at the comers and a dimple appeared in one cheek in a completely disarming, boyish way.
Lena found herself thinking, only a few minutes after she met him that here was the type of man she would eventually like to marry. But then they were busy talking business and she was happy to hear that except for a few details which needed to be ironed out, he was willing to give Helena Troy Cosmetics the exclusive in all his stores. They soon ironed out the details and shook hands in a firm agreement, and made arrangements for their lawyers to get together to draw up the contracts the next day.
The business details over with, they entered into pleasant chitchat Lena was pleased to note that Bart Laramie seemed quite taken with her. After awhile, he said: "You know, Lena I may call you by your first name, may I?"
"Of course, Bart," she said.
"Anyhow, Lena," he went on, "what I was going to say is that until I met you, talked to you for awhile, I still wasn't completely sold on this deal of letting you have an exclusive with our stores. But then when I did see you " He shook his head and grinned that almost shy. boyish smile. " Well, it was all over then. You know you are a walking advertisement for your own products. You are probably the most beautiful woman I've ever met."
She felt herself blushing faintly and her heart beating a little faster. "Well, thank you, sir," she said. "Does Mrs. Laramie happen to use our product? I'd be interested in hearing what she thought of it."
He shook his head. "There isn't any Mrs. Laramie. I'm not married. To be frank with you, I've been so busy the last few years, building up this string of drug stores, I haven't had much time for courting, as my Granddaddy would call it. This luncheon date, though, is beginning to make me see what I've been missing. Or maybe why I've waited." He sighed, glanced at his watch. "I actually hate to let you go back to work. Couldn't we both possibly play hookey for the rest of the day?"
Lena laughed. She twisted uncomfortably in her seat. The strangest feeling was pervading her. She had never felt this way with a man before in her life. A special kind of warmth seemed to suffuse her whole body, when his eyes looked deeply into hers the way they were, now; when he said nice things to her like that
"I'm afraid not" she said. "I have so many things to do back at the office, I don't know how I'm going to cram them all in, as it is. What could we do all afternoon, for goodness sake, anyhow?"
"Well, for one thing, the horses are running at Belmont, now and I have a season box in the Clubhouse. Do you like going to the races?"
"I've never been, but I'd love to go sometime."
He reached over and put his hand lightly on hers. Lena felt something like a warm electric shock run up her arm just at the touch of his palm over the back of her hand. She found herself looking down at his fingers, so lean and strong yet sensitive looking, the nails so clean and perfectly kept. She found herself wondering what it would be like to feel those hands intimately all over her body the way Harry Fields' had been, the night before. A chill of delightful anticipation ran through her, almost making her shiver and she felt the nipples of her breasts rise hard against the inside of her uia.
Quickly she drew her hand away as he said: "Well, let's go, then?".
She almost weakened under the magnetic effect of his eyes upon hers. She turned her gaze away, shook her head, regretfully. "I'm sorry, Bart. I'll have to take a rain check. Maybe, some Saturday ... My office is closed on Saturdays."
"Good," he said, quickly. "So is mine. How about next Saturday?"
She thought about it. She could remember no other engagements. She smiled and nodded, affirmatively. "You'll have to be patient with me, though. I know nothing about horses, the races."
"That's fine. Then, you should have beginner's luck and maybe some of it will rub off on me. Meanwhile, will you have a couple of drinks with me, after office hours tonight just to seal our business agreement?"
She started to say, no, then she thought, why not? What else will I do, go out and eat by myself and then go home and watch TV for an hour or so and then go to bed. Maybe it'll do me good to break the routine a little.
"All right, Bart?" she found herself saying. "But only two drinks, though, agreed? I don't like to drink too much on an empty stomach."
"Your wish is my command, to coin a brilliant cliche," he told he smiling.
They talked for a few more minutes about inconsequentials and then he escorted her back to her building and they made a date to meet at The Shipshape Cocktail Lounge at five o'clock.
The rest of the day, Lena was kept constantly busy, making arrangements with jobbers and others to increase the supply of her various cosmetic products so that they could take care of the immensely increased business that would accrue from the Laramie account.
About four o'clock, she called. Harry Fields into her office, to tell him to prepare a special promotion campaign built around the fact that Laramie would be handling their products, exclusively. He was pleasant and business-like, all during their talk but as he was about to leave, to go back to his own office, Harry said:
"Did you have pleasant dreams last night, Lena?"
She looked up from her work, saw the smirk on his thin, dark, shrewd looking face. She drew herself up coldly. "I don't think I know what you mean," she said.
"You don't, huh?"
"No. Furthermore, I don't like your tone or your manner. I am your employer, you know.'
"Oh, I know, I know, Lena." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "And I love it. Nobody could have a nicer boss. I certainly can't complain about the way I'm treated. I love it. I couldn't stop thinking about it, all last night. You know, Lena, it's almost impossible for a man to have a taste of Heaven and then not want more. So I want more. I think you do, too, really. Don't you? Now be honest with me."
Her face flamed, partly from embarrassment, partly from temper. Her eyes fixed on him, coldly, now. "Let me put it this way," she told him, her voice dripping icicles. "I still don't know what you're talking about. I won't ever know. So if you insist on proceeding along this idiotic line of conversation, I'll have to assume that you're no longer mentally competent; in which case, you're hardly the man for the important job of Promotion Manager. I pay you $1500 a month, don't I?"
He nodded.
"That's a fair salary. I've heard of other men who would like your job, and would take it for less money. Don't misunderstand me, Harry. I like your work. I've been very happy with your work. But I won't put up with strange personality quirks."
He was getting angry, too, now. He jabbed his forefinger against his chest. "My strange personality quirks? Lady, I don't go off my rocker when I see something out the window, in another building. I don't-
"Shut up!" she screamed it at hirn, cutting him off. She pointed to the door. "Get out! Get out!"
"All right, Miss Troy," Fields said, thin-lipped. "What you're saying is, that it was all a mistake, eh and I'm to mark it off the books. I thought you were kidding about that last night, that you were just embarrassed. But you're serious, aren't you?"
"Very."
He nodded, thoughtfully. "I see. My mistake, Miss Troy. I uh I won't annoy you again. All right?"
She nodded and then picked up some papers from her desk, went back to work, as Harry Fields walked out of the office. When he was gone, Lena Troy looked up, stared at the closed door and a chill of apprehension came over her. She didn't like the way he had acted. She didn't like it at all. She had a feeling that the man had been lying, there, at the end, that he wasn't really about to drop the issue.
After awhile, she forced her mind back to her work. And then, before she knew it, it was close to five o'clock and her date with Bart.
The rest of the evening more than made up for her unpleasant session with Harry Fields. After she met Bart, she had two drinks with him and they both found out that they had a lot in common. They were both born under the same sign of the Zodiac; they liked the same foods, had similar political beliefs. They both hated Rock'N'RolI, and progressive jazz, loved Dixieland. They liked some foreign movies, thought others were over-rated, usually the same ones. After the second drink, Lena made a token gesture of having to leave. But she soon allowed Bart to talk her into having another.
"Look," he said. "You wouldn't want to spoil the nicest evening I've ever had, would you?" he begged. "Please. Just one more. We'll sip it, nurse it; we'll make it last all evening if you say so."
She sighed, happily. She didn't really want to go. "All right, Bart. But if I get tipsy, don't get angry. I can't usually take more than two drinks on an empty stomach."
"Don't you worry, Lena," he said. "I'll take care of you. We'll start right off by getting rid of the empty stomach hazard." He then ordered hors d'oeuvres from a passing waiter.
After that, she found that the third drink didn't bother her so much. She and Bart Laramie laughed and joked and it wasn't very difficult for him to talk her into having dinner with him. They went to an expensive French restaurant on Third Avenue and Lena who didn't read French, let Bart order for her. She was surprised and pleased at his fluent handling of the language and was delighted with the exotic delights he had ordered for her. She had never known food to taste so good.
After that rich meal, with the right wines served with every course, with two drinks of the harmless looking, pleasant tasting Green Chartreuse, which she didn't know, of course, was 100 proof, after a dessert designed for a gourmet, Lena was practically putty in Bait's hands. It didn't take much persuasion on his part, to talk her into going to a musical with him. And from there to a night club in the Village.
Then the night was over and they were sitting in the front seat of his car, parked in front of the narrow, swankly exclusive East Side apartment building where Lena Troy lived. Lena was sitting close to Bart, on the front seat of his Lincoln Continental.
"I had a wonderful evening, Bart," she told him. "I can't remember when I've had such a good time. Honestly."
"I'm glad," he said, softly. "I was hoping you'd enjoy it. Then we could do it again, real soon. I guess I don't have to tell you, Lena, that I'm crazy about you. I suppose that sounds like schoolboy stuff you know, the love at first sight, or at least at first date, bit. Or maybe a line. Believe me, it's neither. I've never had anything happen to me like this. I've heard of it happening with other people and was always a little cynical about it. Always, before, a date with a beautiful woman never meant anything except a prelude to getting in the hay with her at the end of the evening. Let me set you straight right now; it hasn't been that way with you. Just being with you, watching your face as you're enjoying yourself, just talking with you, being with you, has been enough."
"Thank you, Bart. That's a very pretty speech. I wish I could be sure you meant it.'
"I guess it is hard to believe. But let me add it isn't that I wouldn't like to go to bed with you. That would be ridiculous; any man would, I'm sure. But if and when that ever happens, with you, I don't want it to be any spur of the moment thing for either of us."
"It won't be, Bart," she whispered.
He was holding her hand, now. Gently, he put his other arm around her, pulled her into the hollow of his shoulder. Then he tipped her face up toward his. His hand cupped her chin, his sensitive fingers trailing gently along her jawbone. His voice husky, barely audible, then, he said: "I do love you, Lena."
She felt her own heart pounding like a crazy thing now, slamming against her ribs. The warmth that flowed through her was almost feverish. Yet it was a different kind of heat than she'd experienced the night before in Harry Fields' arms.
Then Bart's wide, strong mouth moved toward hers. His lips touched her lightly, brushing and then fitted gently over them, pressed them tenderly.
Lena had never experienced such . a kiss, before. It seemed to light deep fires within her, not the fires of quick savage passion but something deeper, more lasting. She returned the even, tender pressure of his lips as his hand curled around her upper arm, squeezed and caressed it gently, then moved up to cup her shoulder, hunching it. From there his hand slid up to caress the sensitive side of her throat, to toy affectionately with the lobe of her ear.
She was breathing hard, now, greatly stirred, strangely stirred. At the same time she found herself hoping, wishing for his hands, his caresses, to become more intimate. She felt the tips of her breasts stiffen, achingly. Conversely, some other power inside of her was crying out, "No! No! Don't let him. You can't! It's not right; it's dirty; it's evil!" And she instinctively knew that if his hand did move to her breast, something within her, something uncontrollable, would force her to brush his hand away, to become frightened.
She let out a long, slow sigh, then, when he didn't proceed further but gently removed his mouth from hers and let his hands move away from her.
"Good night, Lena," he said. "May I call you tomorrow?"
"Mmmmmm-hmm. And thanks again, Bart for everything."
Swiftly she slid along the seat away from him and waited while he got out and ran around to her side and opened the door for her. He escorted her inside.and then left.
Upstairs in her apartment, Lena undressed and got into bed. For several minutes before she went to sleep, she puzzled at her own behavior, her strange reactions to Bart Laramie. What kind of a nut am I? she asked herself? I let myself go insane with passion with a nobody, a nothing-little-wolf like Harry Fields, for whom I have no genuine affection then balk and sweat it out like a silly, frightened school girl, at even the anticipation that a man like Bart Laramie might try to become intimate. Especially when I'm already terribly fond of him, feel more strongly toward him than I have with any other man I've ever known. I must be crazy.
On that thought, she fell into troubled sleep. It was disturbed several times by wild dreams. In one of them, she was in some kind of a barn-like place, with piles of hay all around and she was naked and tied to a pole, a strange looking pole, smooth and polished, like a huge policeman's nightstick, except for a peculiar mushroom-like knob at the top of it. And all around her, couples were sprawled on the straw covered floor and they were all naked, too. And all of them were copulating wildly, savagely, like rutting animals and Lena could hear the grunting and panting of them, the agonizedly ecstatic cries of the women. She watched them entwining and surging, the muscular, bulky bodies of the men and the soft white-fleshed bodies of the women, all of them sheened with sweat.
The strange part was that all the couples were the same; they were duplicated; she knew this even though she couldn't see their faces; the faces were sort of blank.
And all the while, she strained to break free from the thongs that hound her to the smooth pole that pressed so solidly between her shoulders, down her back, between her buttocks, against the backs of her thighs. After awhile the more she struggled against the pole, to free herself from it, the more excited she seemed to get, until finally there was a great sweet surge of relief. And suddenly she was in another scene. She was swimming, bathing in a great sea of sweetly scented, oily liquid, which laved and soothed her heated body, slowly, gently, marvelously cooling it...
She awakened then, trembling and bathed with perspiration and was somehow calmed so that the trembling gradually stopped and she went back to sleep.
In the morning, she remembered none of the dreams.