Chapter 1
Lou finished his canneloni and poured another glass of wine from the basket-covered Chianti bottle. The smell of the onion and garlic was strong and smoke like a pall hung heavily in the restaurant. The crowd from the bar was spilling into the dining section and the din of noise had increased until he and Marilyn could barely hear each other across the tiny table.
"Christ, I can remember when this was a quiet little place full of well-dressed diners. Look at it now-get a look." Lou said with a smile.
Marilyn took a small nibble of the canneloni and stared around. "Never mind the crowd-the food is still good. It's the best pasta I've had in a long while."
"That's why I brought you here," he said. "The crowd has changed but not the food. Few places in town serve it as well."
"How long has this place been here?" asked Marilyn.
Lou thought a moment. "Ever since I can remember-in fact before some of these beatniks were born."
She smiled and shrugged. "It's different-even if it is a little wild-looking. I hope this celebration isn't premature, Lou?" she said, reaching for his hand.
His smile widened. "Don't worry, kid," he said confidently. "You're going to do the series. With all the background I picked up for you about these sex animals nobody else on the paper could do it." He lit a cigarette and stared at her.
She squeezed his hand as if it was exactly what she wanted him to say. Then she finished the last of the canneloni and moved her plate aside. She stared through the curtained window and was absorbed by the moon rolling coldly along a silver cloud bank. She turned slowly and stared around the room and Lou thought how she always moved with delicate gravity and grace.
"I bet some of these slovenly girls are here tonight celebrating their latest abortions," said Marilyn, her eyes dimming.
Lou laughed. "Among other things."
"What else?"
His eyes itched with mischievous desire. "Those wild sex parties you're going to write about." He leaned toward her over the table. "And don't forget to include the filthy way they live-their beards ... their sandals ... their long hair ... their lack of bathing."
She laughed and nodded. "Of course, I will. It wouldn't be a story without the details," she said.
"Good." He shook his head. "I'm afraid I prefer the well-scrubbed variety," he said, raising his voice over the throbbing hum of the crowd and the squeaky juke box. He looked around for a waiter and finally caught sight of one hurrying through the crowded floor. He motioned him over and ordered a couple of Stregas and asked for the check.
Marilyn suddenly caught Lou's eye and nodded toward the side. Lou glanced slowly.
The girl was slim and dark yet her chest was big and sprawling and spread out. She must be a Texan in those regions thought Lou. She stood a few feet away holding firmly to a glass of beer. Carried well-shaped legs that showed through shortened and tattered jean. Her blouse was colorful, like an Egyptian tablecloth, and the top two buttons were loose as if neatness was no part of her scheme of fashion. She wasn't the pretty type that compels a man's attention yet her prettiness shone through the masquerade of her clothes. Her long black hair cascaded to her shoulders and it was obvious she had little preference for the refinements of cosmetics.
"She looks mean," said Marilyn.
"Everyone does in this neighborhood."
Lou turned back to Marilyn and took her hand across the cluttered table. He stared a long moment into her lovely face shadowed by the flickering table candle-light. "I've brought the cleanest girl in town to this smoky grime-pit filled with dirty girls," he said, smiling.
"Oh, it's been nice. I enjoyed it. I should be used to these places by now-I've spent so much working time here digging up my expose these last few weeks. Yet I could go right home and soak all night in a tub."
Lou's nine senses possessed other ideas for Marilyn besides tubbing all night. His ninth sense in particular wanted amour. The other eight didn't matter. The waiter brought the drinks and Lou paid the check. Then they sipped slowly and stared into each other's eyes. He was about to reach over toward her and kiss her when he heard a girl's voice.
"There's no use coming around with the same old kicks," she was saying loud enough to be heard above the crowd.
Lou refrained from turning around. "Was that our girl?" he asked Marilyn with a wink.
"That was her all right," Marilyn said with a grin. "If she's so interested in kicks she might get some taking a bath."
Lou grinned as he stood up and waited for Marilyn. She stood up and asked him to be seated while she went to the ladies' room. He looked idly around. The stench of unclean bodies and heavy smoking almost suffocated him. He stared at his hands. They were firm and steady. He saw his napkin on the floor. He reached down and when he straightened up the dark-haired girl was near him-staring and tense, her breath held tight, her shifting buttocks tightly outlined. He leaned toward her, his face alive with interest. She turned toward the bearded one and said aloud: "Shove off, baby. Come back when you've found your imagination." Then she stepped toward him-a wild, dark, sardonic smile spreading her lips.
He looked hard at her. "Hello."
"Hello."
Her large black eyes were fastened on him like buttons and her voice cut across in a deep-throated sultry wave.
Suddenly Lou felt foolish. In the distance he could see Marilyn wending her way toward him through the surging crowd. He heard himself whisper to her, "My name is Lou."
She set her empty beer glass down on his table-stared at him as if he were inept, then shrugged and walked off. Christ, he said to himself, as she was lost in the crowd, who the hell is she?
Wow-is she wired for squirms. He guided Marilyn through the door and onto the sidewalk past some tattered guitar strollers. Then they both inhaled the dash of fresh clean air in deep gulps as they walked around the corner to his car.
Later, in Marilyn's apartment, Lou put his arm around her and stroked her shoulders. He was thinking of the girl with the dark shadowed look in the restaurant and he was haunted momentarily. Marilyn's robe was open and the sight of her golden body drove thoughts of strangers from his mind. He could feel her hands rubbing his prick as he kissed her fervently. She made sexy little noises in her throat and he shivered to his roots. Now he just didn't need any woman-just Marilyn ... the woman. He tore at her body impatiently. "Come on!" he whispered savagely.
On the bed she breathed deeply as she melted in his arms. Her tongue flicked his like a dart. Her nails raked his back and she held him firmly as he shifted toward her ready to ride the entire rampant fury of his love. His flanking thighs were cool. Hers were warm. She buckled herself to him and gasped as she rode the familiar route-rough and ecstatic. Then she gasped and pulled him closer ... holding on for dear, delightful life.
She could hear rain begin to fall. Evening frills. Inside she had the real thing ... at boiling point. No frills here. They remained wrapped with each other a long time-talking softly and feeling each other until the surge of a new excitement began. And they made love again. The rain began to come in through the open window. She didn't care. She loved what she was doing. His tongue licked gratefully at her. She bit at his nose. He bit back.
Suddenly everything was too far gone as she felt him ram and ram her again in a steady, demanding series of thrusts. She began to give back all she had. But she took her time about it.
He loved it. So did she. The more he thrust the harder she kissed him. She stopped his lips with hers. He made a throaty sound and his head swam. Now he was probing her, letting her feel who was boss. He could feel her gurgle with charged pleasure as she bent her body toward him wriggling like a worm. Then her cry of joy as she shook spasmodically under his cruel baton.
Later he closed the window and they lit cigarettes and smoked quietly. They listened to the rain and the distant peals of thunder.
"In a way, Lou, you're really the first for me," she said. "Certainly there have been others before you!" She laughed. "Maybe a few, darling, but only with you do I feel like a woman. The others were all turnips."
Lou stubbed his cigarette. He put his arm around her ... kissed her gently on the forehead. "Dear Marilyn," he could only say.
But she put a restraining finger to his lips. "No darling, don't say anything," she whispered softly. "I just wanted you to know."
A few minutes later he was listening to her steady breathing. He sat and lit another cigarette. He was exhausted. He could not sleep. He followed the smoke curl upward in the dimly lit room. And for an instant he thought he saw again the bold, black eyes of the girl in the restaurant, mocking him derisively.