Chapter 5

"What!!" Irving exploded. "Do you mean to say you put some girl's name on my book?! My masterpiece, which I trustingly gave into your care out of the goodness of my heart-you had the audacity, the sheer unadulterated ... "

"Calm down, Irving," I said wearily. "I sold it, didn't I? Ten-thousand bucks, Irving. Deducting my commission, that's nine-thousand for you. Be grateful, for God's sake."

"Nine-thousand," Irving said contemptuously. "That's nothing. That's only the beginning, Bernie. That book is going to become a best seller. A sensation. It's going to be the biggest thing to come along for decades! 'Gone With The Wind' will look like a piker in contrast. The author is going to be famous. And the author is me, Bernie. Me! Not some stupid secretary. And if you think I'm going to ... "

"Irving!" I said, "the book isn't going to do shit. It's junk, Irving. It's terrible. They'll probably print as few copies as they can get away with and dump it as unobtrusively as possible, hoping to hell it won't ruin their reputation. I was only able to sell it because of Peggy. And if you make a fuss now, they could term the contract void because of false pretenses and demand their money back. So just leave well enough alone, okay?"

"I can't believe this," Irving moaned. "I trusted you. I rescued your business. I even lent you my wife to satisfy your twisted lusts. And now ... "

"What!" Irving talking about twisted lusts after that scene with Sylvia was too much. I started to get up to punch him in the nose, but at that moment the phone rang. Peggy was out to lunch, so I answered it.

"Culligan Agency."

"Mr. Culligan? This is Jenny Jourdemaine."

"Oh. Hi, Jenny. How are you?"

"Fine, thank you." There was a pause.

"Well," I said. "What can I do for you?"

"I-I was just wondering ... if anything's happening. With the poems, I mean."

"I'm working on it," I said. "Jerry Bosset of Forest Press is looking at them at the moment and I think he may be interested. But nothing definite yet."

"Oh." Another pause. Then: "Mr. Culligan?"

"Yes?"

"You remember ... what we talked about? About ... well ... my-changing my status?"

"Of course."

"Well ... I'm ready now."

I was taken aback. I cleared my throat. "You are?"

"Yes."

"That's wonderful," I said. "I'll be right over."

"Oh," she said. Then she said, "All right." And she hung up.

I hung up, too, hoping I had heard right. "I have to leave, Irving," I said. "I have a very important business engagement."

"Now wait a minute, Bernie. About my book-if you think ... "

I had to get him off my back. "Tell you what, Irving," I said. "You set me up with Sylvia, so I'm going to do you a similar favor-because I really feel guilty, Irving, for making nine-thousand bucks for you out of your piece of vomitive claptrap. Anyway ... "

"Goddamm it, Bernie, you wouldn't know a work of deathless literary merit if it ... "

"Irving, shut up! I'm trying to do you a good deed, for Chrissake and as usual you're not even grateful. Now there's this girl up at Carswell & Haynsworth by the name of JoAnne Grimble; she's old Jarvis's secretary and she's just dying to meet you, Irving."

"She is?"

"Yeah. She likes big cocks. But for God's sake, don't tell her you wrote that thing! Just tell her your my brother-the one I told her about. She'll have you in the closet in no time."

"In the closet?"

"Don't knock it, Irving. It ain't bad." And before he could say anything more, I was out the door.

The address Jenny had left with me was on a rapidly-deteriorating street in the West 90's. Her apartment was two flights up, no elevator. I made it up the steps and knocked on the door.

When the door opened, I was hit by an almost overwhelming cloud of perfume. I was surprised to see a strange woman standing there, because I had gotten the impression for some reason that Jenny lived alone.

"Hi," I said. "I'm looking for Jenny Jourdemaine. I'm ... " And then I stopped, peering more closely at the stranger. "Jenny? Is that you?"

"Yes," she said. "Come in."

I went in dazedly. The apartment was small and neat. A quick glance showed that it was a one-room-and-kitchenette deal, but it was nicely fixed up. I couldn't take in very much, however, because my eyes were drawn compulsively back to Jenny. I couldn't believe what I was staring at.

She was wearing a very tight, bright red dress, against which her breasts were thrusting at an artificially-high angle, obviously aided by some sort of ultimate uplift bra and maybe falsies. The dress out-lined her hips almost obscenely and stopped short a couple of inches below her crotch. She was also wearing sheer black stockings and very highheeled shoes. Her glasses were gone and her hair was piled atop her head in a ridiculous-looking mass of frothy curls. Her face was heavily made up, her eyes painted with several different shades of mascara and shadow and God knows what and adorned by false eyelashes. Her mouth was a deep red slash.

"Jesus H. Christ!" I said weakly. "Jenny-what the hell is that?"

"It's the new me," she said, a little defiantly. "Me as a sexy woman. Don't you like it?"

I know I shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't help myself. I started to laugh. Jenny looked stricken and I tried to stop, but the sight of her, now that the first shock had been absorbed, was so ludicrous that I was just overcome by helpless mirth. I laughed and laughed, doubling over, feeling tears coming to my eyes, shaking my head and chortling helplessly, until I collapsed into a chair, still shaking with laughter. When I finally recovered enough to wipe my eyes and look at her again, I saw that she was weeping.

I really felt like a heel, but still I had to make an effort to control myself before I could speak to her. "Hey, Jenny, I'm sorry," I said. "It's just that you-well, Christ, you went too far. All that crap doesn't make you look sexy. It makes you look like a caricature of a two-dollar streetwalker, for God's sake."

Of course this just made things worse and Jenny began to cry for real. "I told you!" she sobbed. "You said you wanted me to ... change my image and ... and be sexy ... and I told you I didn't think I could ... but I ... I tried and I spent all this money I can't afford ... for these dumb clothes ... and these contact lenses-they make my eyes hurt-and ... and ... "

Her tears were dampening her eye make-up and making long black streaks down her face. When she rubbed her eyes, the mess got worse. "Jenny ... " I said, getting up and starting toward her, but she backed away from me.

"No!" she cried. "Stay away from me!"

I shrugged helplessly. "Okay. But listen, I'm sorry. Maybe I was wrong about changing your image. Or maybe I just wasn't too clear about what I meant. Look, why don't you go and wash all that crud off your face. And take a shower to get rid of that perfume. Then put on some normal clothes and we'll talk about it, okay?"

She hesitated and at first I thought she was going to throw me out. But then she just kind of nodded and ran past me to go into what I assumed was the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

I opened a window to get some of the perfume stink out of the room, then wandered around for a while looking at her books and stuff. I heard the shower going and for a pleasant moment imagined Jenny beneath the spray, naked. I wondered if I would ever see her that way.

After a time the bathroom door opened and she came out, wrapped in a shapeless blue terry-cloth bathrobe. The make-up was gone, the dark hair was back to normal and she was wearing her glasses.

"I didn't have any other clothes in there," she said defensively.

"Don't worry," I said. "I won't touch you without permission. I promise. Now sit down and let's talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about it," she said. "It was a lousy idea and I should never have let you talk me into it. I'm just not cut out to be a sexpot. I'm just a nice, plain girl who writes poetry. If I can't get it published by being myself, then it won't get published, that's all."

"You're a nice girl, all right," I said. "But you're not plain. You're very pretty. And I didn't want to turn you into a sexpot, exactly. I just meant that you didn't have to make yourself-well-dowdy."

She glared at me. "I like being dowdy!" she said defiantly.

I put up my hands. "Okay, okay. Be dowdy. But damn it, what I wanted was to bring out your sensuality. Not in a phony way, with tight dresses and false eyelashes, but the real sensuality that's inside you. I know it's there because I read your poems."

She didn't say anything for a minute. Then she said, not looking at me, "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

"I certainly do."

"And you ... you think I'm-attractive ... sexually?"

"Jenny," I said, "when you called me before to say you wanted to change your virginal state, I was so eager to get up here that I even did a favor for my brother Irving, just to get rid of him."

She blushed. "I shouldn't have done that," she said. "It was part of the new me. The phony."

"I'm not so sure of that," I said. I stood up. "Come here, Jenny."

She looked at me fearfully, not moving. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" I said. "You don't really want to stay a virgin, do you?"

She swallowed. "I ... Mr. Culligan ... you promised you wouldn't touch me."

"Without permission, I said. Okay, I'll keep my promise. But damn it, be honest with yourself. The girl who wrote those poems is no shrinking maiden afraid to have a man touch her and she's not a tarted-up whore, either. She's you and you shouldn't be afraid to let her out. Now you can either tell me to get the hell out of here, or stand up and take that bathrobe off. And call me Bernie, for God's sake."

For a minute she looked like she was either going to laugh or cry. But she did neither; she just sat there looking at me, until I began to feel awkward. And then, slowly, she stood up.

There was another pause, even longer this time, or so it seemed. But at last, with trembling hands, she fumbled for the sash of her bathrobe. She untied it and then took off the robe.

I didn't move. I didn't want to scare her off and anyway, I was stunned for a moment. I let my eyes move slowly down her body. It was a wonderful body, even more wonderful than I had imagined. She stood tensely, shivering a little, but made no move to cover herself.

"Jenny," I said softly, "you're beautiful." I started to move toward her.

"Wait," she said in an uneven voice. I stopped. "I-I want to see you, too."

"All right," I said. I took off my clothes.

She looked at me as I had looked at her. My cock was fully erect and her eyes went round as they focused on it. This time I was smart enough not to say anything about my brother Irving.

After a minute I moved again, stopping within reach of her. She looked like she wanted to run away, but she stood there.

"Jenny," I said, "I'd like permission to touch you now."

"I ... " She gulped. Then she gave a short, jerky nod.

I reached out slowly and put my hand gently on the side of her face. She looked into my eyes, her dark orbs wide and vulnerable behind her glasses. I moved my hand down to her neck and then let it slide farther down, until I was holding her breasts. They felt incredibly warm and soft in my hand, expanding and contracting very slightly with her quickened breathing.

"Oh," she said softly. After a moment her eyes left mine and dropped again to my upstanding cock. Hesitantly, she reached one hand out to touch it. It jerked under her trembling fingers. "Oh," she said again and began to stroke it gently.

"Jenny ... " My voice was husky. I knew I was about to make beautiful love with this lovely, virginal girl and I was literally trembling with lust and anticipation. Reluctantly I took my hand from her breast, then used both hands to draw her close to me. A bit hesitantly, she lifted her face to mine. Slowly our mouths moved closer to each other. Her lips parted slightly. I touched them gently, exploringly, with mine.

And the phone rang.

Jenny pulled back from me, her face startled, as if we had been burst in on by the vice squad. "Ignore it," I said. "Whomever it is will call back later." And I reached for her again.

But she was obviously one of those people who cannot just let a telephone ring unanswered. In spite of my frustration, I had to grin to myself when she picked up her bathrobe and fumbled into it before rushing over to the phone.

"Hello?" she said into it. And after a moment I saw her eyes go wide. "Oh!" she gasped. "Oh, yes ... yes, Mr. Bosset."

So it was Jerry Bosset, well known editor-publisher of Forest Press, to whom I had sent Jenny's poems. My eyebrows went up, but my cock did not go down.

"Yes," Jenny said. "Yes, he told me ... Oh ... You have? ... You do?" Her eyes went still wider. "Oh ... Oh, well, that's-that's wonderful, Mr. Bosset ... That's just....

What? ... Oh, yes, well, he's-he's right here, actually." Her face suddenly went red. "We-we were just talking business," she said hastily. "Oh yes, yes, of course." She held the receiver out to me. "He wants to talk to you." Her expression was ecstatic. "He liked the poems!" she whispered as I took the phone.

I winked at her encouragingly and put the receiver to my ear. "Hi, Jerry," I said into it. "How's tricks?"

I had to hold the phone away from my ear a little as the familiar staccato voice blasted through. "Goddam it, Culligan, you fuck-up, I've been trying to get you for a fucking hour!

Why the hell don't you stay in your office, for Chrissakes! I finally had to call this dame directly and now you're there! What the hell are you-no, never mind, I don't want to know, goddam it. How did she latch on to a screw-up like you anyway? I've just been reading her goddam poems. Jesus H. Christ in the garden!"

"I take it you like them?" I got in.

"Like them? Like them! Christ, they're sensational! They're brilliant! They'll sell like 'The Godfather!' Better! We'll all make a fucking mint! I want you to get down here right away-both of you-and talk money. Right now, you hear me!"

I held the phone farther from my ear. "They can hear you in New Jersey," I said. "That's fine, Jerry. That's great. We'll be down there ... uh ... later. A couple of hours or so, okay?"

"Fuck that! I have to leave at three-thirty to meet some shithead French playwright. You get down here in half an hour, damn it! You can do your screwing later."

Bosset's voice was perfectly audible to Jenny, who was standing right beside me and she flushed deeply. But her face was alight with obvious happiness at his reaction to her poems. I wanted to argue with him some more, but he hung up before I could say another word.

"Oh, how marvelous!" Jenny said breathlessly when I put down the phone. "He likes the poems! He wants to publish them! Oh ... "

"I thought he would," I said smugly. "Jerry's a dumb bastard, but he knows a good hot property when somebody shoves it under his nose."

"We'd better leave right away," Jenny said. "I'll get dressed." She went to a closet and started going through clothes.

"Hold it," I protested. "There's no rush, Jenny. He'll keep."

She turned, surprised. "But he said he was going out. He said we should ... "

"Don't worry about it," I said. "If we don't see him today, there's always tomorrow. I think we should finish what we started, don't you?" I moved toward her. "Now where were we ... "

She sidled away. The belt of her bathrobe had loosened and the robe slid open just a bit. "But-but Mr. Bosset said we should be there in half an hour! We've got to go. What if he changes his mind?"

"He won't, believe me," I assured her. My hard-on had diminished only a little during the phone conversation and now it was coming back full force as my eyes devoured the inner slopes of her virginal breasts, barely revealed by the gap in the robe.

She saw where I was looking and closed the robe quickly. "No," she said. "We have to go. I don't want to take any chances. Please."

"Trust me," I said. "It's okay." I went toward her again. Her eyes were flashing, but I was too worked up to see it was a warning.

"We have to go," she repeated stubbornly. "It's important. It's my work. My poems!"

"Jenny ... " I reached out to touch her. She slapped me hard across the face.

I was stunned and for a moment I could only stare at her. I saw there were tears in her eyes.

"Damn you!" she said. Her voice trembled. "I thought you ... You don't care about my work at all! I-I thought I could trust you. I even ... I almost ... Oh!!"

"Jenny ... " I said helplessly.

She rubbed hard at her eyes, then took a big breath and drew herself up. "I'm going to get dressed now," she said coldly. She grabbed a dress from the closet, then got some things from a drawer. She took them into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her. I heard the lock click.

I looked down at my hard-on; it looked up at me. Neither of us was happy.