Chapter 11
For a moment I thought the brawny, beefy-faced executive lunching with me a week after the July Fourth festivities was about to burst a blood vessel.
Eyes bulging, Frank Harris gaped incredulously across the restaurant table at me. "You ... you can't be serious, Paul!" he said, almost choking on his food. "You couldn't mean what you just said."
I grinned at him and sipped my third martini. "Okay, Frank," I said in a soothing voice. "If that's the way you feel, don't worry about it."
I took another drink and then continued. "Federal Foundry is hungry for business," I began. "Joe Peterson from over there practically got down on his knees the last time he was in to see me. He begged me to give him our next order for those gear housings, Frank. So if you don't want to play ball, just forget it."
"But ... but, Paul," he sputtered. "What you want to ... what you're asking me to do ... is ... well, it's...." He stopped and swallowed visibly with his red face growing ashen and pasty as he reached for his water goblet and took time out for a quick, convulsive series of swallows. "It's damn near criminal, Paul!" he finally continued. "We could both get...."
"Rich," I filled in, smiling at him and keeping my eyes on his. I leaned back then and took a healthy swallow of my drink. Frank, the sales manager for Gordan Foundries, Inc., was wide-eyed and nervous. After nearly a minute of silence, I hunched my shoulders over the small table and snapped at Harris with no trace of my smile left on my face:
"You figure it out, Frank, you're a big boy. At ten cents per casting multiplied by quantities we buy in a year, I can see close to thirty grand we can divide."
"We'd both lose our jobs!" he retorted. "We'd be prosecuted for collusion ... for fraud ... and for grand larceny! We'd both wind up in prison!"
I gave him a warning scowl because our waiter was coming over to our table with the check. The dining room of the midtown executive's club that Frank Harris belonged to was virtually empty except for us and a few other businessmen lingering over after lunch drinks and cigars at the far end of the lavish room.
After Frank hurriedly scribbled his name on the tab, the waiter picked it up and moved away from our table. I leaned forward in my chair and began selling the idea again.
My get-rich-quick scheme wasn't very complicated. In fact, all Harris had to do was hike the per-unit price on each gear casting supplied by his foundry. A dime bump was just right. Not enough to cause questions on my end and yet enough to guarantee each of us about fifteen thousand bucks extra at the end of the year.
I'd okay the increases and have the voucher checks sent directly to Frank. When he received them, he'd deposit them, draw out the difference and start a new account in his own name. It would mean some juggling of records on his end. My neck wouldn't be out very far, but I didn't tell him that. If anyone ever did tumble on to what we were doing, they'd discover that the amounts shown on the purchase orders I issued tallied exactly with the amounts of the checks written to Gordon Foundries, Inc. I'd be completely blameless.
Harris was one of the major stockholders as well as a vice president in charge of sales for the foundry. He was authorized to make deposits and withdraw funds and there wasn't any reason why any part of the plan should backfire on us. He'd give the bank deposit slip to the bookkeeper at his office. The amount shown would reflect only the balance of the vouchers received from me after he'd deducted the difference between the cost of the castings shown on his billing records and the dime per casting added for us to split.
I'd put plenty of time and careful consideration into deciding which of the half-dozen major suppliers could be pressured into such an arrangement. Frank Harris won hands down. He was one of those guys who always lived beyond his income, no matter how much he was earning-and he earned roughly three times what I did!
Not only was the fleshy, puffy-faced slob always hungry for an extra buck, he was also scared to death that old Bill Gordon, who was his uncle as well as his boss, would fire him on the spot if he lost our business. I'd often heard Frank complaining about what a demanding old coot his Uncle Bill was to work for.
So, I was pretty well certain that the big boob would fall in line with my scheme before I phoned him and informed him that he was buying me lunch that day so we could talk about the new purchase order he'd been bugging me about for weeks.
By the time we left his club and stepped outside into the glaring July afternoon heat radiating up from the sidewalks and down from the sultry blue sky, Frank Harris looked like a well cooked lobster. His beefy red face had a haggard, jittery hangdog expression and his fat hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the cigarette he'd jerked from my extended pack before he could light it.
I kicked the cigarette into the gutter. "Yes or no, Frank," I demanded. "Which is it going to be?"
His tormented blue eyes were watery and glassy with fear. He licked his thick lips and looked nervously over his shoulder as though he expected to catch someone trailing him.
"Jesus, Paul," he stuttered. "I ... let's talk about it some more. Can you have dinner with me tonight, Paul. I just can't give you a fast answer. Not on something as big as this."
"We can't very well talk it over in front of your family," I said, assuming he meant for us to have dinner at his fancy suburban home. "And we really shouldn't do too much' talking about it in restaurants, either."
He blinked, apparently trying to think clearly. Then he wet his lips again. "I ... there's another place," he finally blurted out. "We can talk there."
"Where?" I asked, curiously.
"I have ... there's an apartment on Blythe Road, Paul," he admitted, glancing furtively around again as if he was worried that a cop or a plainclothes detective from the vice squad might be lurking at his elbow. Then he sidled closer to me and muttered. "I've got a girlfriend staying there." He chuckled nervously and nudged me in his best man-to-man manner. "She's a cute little piece. Half Chinese and half Norwegian." Then he chuckled again. "Name's Lila. You'll like her, Paul."
Suddenly I realized that the fat, sweating son-of-a-bitch was leering at me. He was playing the pimp role, hinting that I could have a go at his private playmate.
Struggling to control my temper, I shrugged. "Okay, we'll talk there tonight over dinner. What's the address and what time?"
"How about eight o'clock," he said, taking out a pen and jotting down the address for me. I stared coldly at him and he added a phone number before handing me the little piece of paper.
What a slimy, repulsive slob Harris was. I could just imagine the weird babe he had tucked away in his secret apartment. She was probably some ignorant young whore he'd found in some bar. He probably got his jollies beating her up and the dumb broad probably thought he had every right to punch her around since he was paying the rent. I got a mental picture of some tiny-titted chick who didn't know how to do anything but roll over on her back and spread her legs apart for Frank Harris. The thought made me sick.
I was relieved when we finally parted company there in front of the executive club. Even the air seemed to smell a lot better as I walked around the corner to the parking lot and redeemed my station wagon for the drive back to the office.
I wasn't worried at all about whether Frank would go along with my idea. Let him stew and mull it over all afternoon, I figured, and eventually, he'd still have to agree. He only had two other choices, as far as I could see.
He could refuse and probably get tossed out of his soft, lucrative position after I pulled our regular order out of Gordon Foundries.
Or, if he had more guts and brains than I gave him credit for, he could go directly to his Uncle Bill and squeal about the proposition I'd made to him. From what I knew about Bill Gordon, he would unhesitatingly reach for the phone and call Les Zimmer and then it would be my turn to sweat.
But there wasn't much chance of that happening, the way I had Frank Harris figured. I'd picked my pigeon carefully. I had Frank pegged right and we both knew it.
Entering the air-conditioned coolness of the office, I traded unfriendly glares with Mrs. Rachel Hughes, the clerical supervisor, and headed into the men's room When I came out, Mrs. Hughes was waiting for me. I nearly bumped into the frowning, fat-faced hag.
"I have to talk with you, Mr. Norman," she began, her somewhat sagging bosom heaving with agitation under her tent-like dress. "It concerns your secretary. Do you wish to talk in your office or shall we...?"
"Unless you want to go back into the men's room with me, let's make it my office," I suggested sarcastically.
That little joke agitated her even more. She gasped with outraged indignation and marched stiffly ahead of me toward my office door.
I sauntered in and noticed that Myra wasn't at her desk. I walked past where the bristling, frowzy-haired bag stood rigidly, her piggy eyes staring at me with severe distaste if not downright loathing.
Mrs. Hughes didn't even wait until I reached my desk and sat down to face her. "Miss Lawrence should be discharged!" she began sharply. "I intend to go directly to Mr. Zimmer if I am unable to obtain satisfaction from you, Mr. Norman."
I took my time lighting a cigarette. Then, grinning at the livid lumpy bitch in what was supposed to be a friendly, placating manner, I quietly said in my best executive tone, "Oh, I'm certain we can handle whatever it is between ourselves, Mrs. Hughes. Why don't you sit down here and tell me what this is all about?"
She ignored my friendly, placating invitation completely. "When I noticed Miss Lawrence having what appeared to be a cramp as I came in with the morning mail, I naturally asked her if she was ill."
"Naturally," I replied, trying the friendly bit again. "That was a kind thing to do."
The old bitch screwed up her fat, petulant face even more. "Don't be sarcastic with me, Mr. Norman!" she snapped. "I won't tolerate any more abuse. I've taken enough today!"
"All right," I retorted, leaning forward and bringing a stern, serious expression to my face. "Let's quit playing games, shall we, Mrs. Hughes? Just what is your problem-this time. Last week, if I recall correctly, you were riled up because Miss Lawrence refused to work on those letters you wanted her to type. She was right to refuse, of course. I gave her explicit instructions to get a batch of 'rush' purchase orders." I'd lied quite smoothly, I thought.
Mrs. Hughes snorted and sniffed in contempt. "Humph! She was giving herself a manicure when I looked in on her that day last week. But I'm not talking about that incident. What happened today is far more serious. It was a deliberate breach of office discipline!"
I yawned, causing her already flushed features to turn an even deeper shady of crimson.
"Myra Lawrence swore at me, Mr. Norman!" the old bat announced. "Yes, she did! When I asked if she were sick and offered to send for the plant nurse, she swirled around and told me...!"
It was obvious that repeating the words was extremely difficult and distasteful.
"What did she tell you?" I asked, adding to her embarrassment.
"Why ... she told me to ... to go screw myself!" Mrs. Hughes blubbered. "She said, 'Go screw yourself you fat old bitch! Keep your damn nose out of my business.' Those were her exact words."
I didn't even bother trying to hide my grin. "Doesn't sound as though Miss Lawrence was very sick, does it, Mrs. Hughes?"
"I won't be laughed at!" she nearly screamed.
"No?" I asked. "Just go in and tell Mr. Zimmer the pathetic little story you just told me, and see if he doesn't laugh, too." Chuckling, I rose from behind my desk. "If you won't tell him, I will. I think Les could use a good laugh, too."
"Well, I...!"
"What?" I snapped, immediately replacing my grin with an irked glower. "You've taken up almost ten minutes of time, just to sniffle and complain about a girl who only had enough spunk to call you on your bad habit of spying on everyone and everything around the office!"
"Really, Mr. Norman!" she sputtered.
"Oh, shut up!" I told her.
I thought she was going to have a stroke right then and there. I stalked over and stood in front of her while she gaped and gasped like a fish out of water.
"Now you listen to me, Mrs. Hughes," I said. "You've had a burr under your tail ever since Miss Lawrence was transferred to this department. Yes, I know, you've resented it all the more because you didn't have anything to say about who got the promotion. Ever since, you've been pussyfooting around, just trying to come up with something to pin on either Miss Lawrence or me."
That's when she started crying. Big tears rolled down her face and her shoulders shook causing her fat, sagging breasts to bounce around. She pressed her blubbering face into her hands.
I wasn't finished with her, though. Not quite.
"Do you want to go in and drag all this business out in front of the general manager?" I asked. "I'll go in with you if you do. We'll let Les Zimmer hear both sides and he can handle any disciplining he thinks is necessary. Or, we can do the sensible thing. We can just forget all this stupid nonsense and get back to our jobs-which we should have done fifteen minutes ago. You name it, Mrs. Hughes. What's your pleasure?"
Finally, she blinked furiously and dabbed at her tears and recovered sufficiently to speak.
"I ... I don't w-want ... trouble, M-Mr. Norman," she croaked.
"Of course you don't," I agreed. "I don't want trouble, either." I smiled at her soothingly to show her I was willing to forgive and forget. "Now don't you think we should both get back to our jobs and ignore Miss Lawrence's outburst? Naturally I'll speak to her about it and warn her not to let it happen again."
"T-That's all ... I really wanted ... M-Mr. Norman," the sniviling office supervisor replied. Then she turned and walked shakily from the office, still dabbing at her tears.
I sighed and returned to my desk. Now I thought I knew why Myra wasn't in the office. She was pregnant. This would be the second menstrual period Myra had missed. She must have taken off to see her doctor. He was some weirdo, buck-hungry quack who managed a health food business and gave astrology readings. He wasn't exactly a licensed M.D., but he supposedly had a real talent for helping women erase biological mistakes.
That evening, I showed up promptly at eight at the address Frank Harris had given me. It only took one look to see that the doll who opened the apartment door was a terrific playmate-far too nice a piece for a slob like Frank.
Lila was small, not more than five-two. And she was rather dark skinned with a luxuriant wealth of smoky black hair piled high on her head to give the impression of more height.
Surprisingly, her breasts were far from small. They stuck out like a delectable pair of rounded pyramids beneath the silky fabric of the black frock she wore. She turned away as I entered the apartment and I quickly confirmed that the rest of her trim, small-waisted shape was equally exquisite. She was a real doll, all right, and the only hint of her Oriental parentage was the slight almond slant of her mystic, dark eyes.
Frank was on the sofa with a drink. He nodded as I sat down across from him. Suddenly Lila put a chilled martini in my hand.
The apartment wasn't cheap and neither was she. I grinned up at Lila when she pressed the cocktail glass into my hand. Frank had evidently briefed his mistress on my visit and told her to be extra nice to me.
She smiled back at me. Her small, sensually sullen lips were moist and inviting and her dark eyes encouraged me to do as much looking as I wanted as she turned and padded softly back to the liquor cabinet to pour herself a martini.
Frank didn't bother to formally introduce us. When she came back and began to sit beside him on the sofa, he scowled at her.
"Take your drink into the bedroom," he ordered. "We have business to discuss."
She altered course with a graceful flick of her trim, cutely-curved backside and flashed me a departing smile as she glided silently through a door behind where I was sitting.
Frank and I actually didn't have much to talk about. In fact, I didn't talk at all. I just sat there and waited for the harassed-looking guy to give me his answer. He grunted with the exertion of heaving his build off the sofa. I watched him prowl nervously around the large, modern apartment living room and listened while he hemmed and hawed and sputtered his many misgivings about what I'd proposed that afternoon.
"Cut the crap, Frank," I finally told him curtly. "Just a definite yes or no. That's all I want to hear. Not all this bitching and moaning you've been giving me for the past twenty minutes."
"You have to give me more time, Paul," He pleaded.
"I don't have to give you a goddamned thing," I corrected. "Just forget it." stood up briskly and polished off my drink with two quick, impatient gulps. Then I stalked over to the walnut liquor cabinet and placed the glass on top with finality.
Frank caught up with me before I'd taken two steps toward the apartment door. "All right ... I'm in ... I'll do it," he muttered.
I let him stop me and I swung around to look into his round, wild-eyed face. "You can stop at my office tomorrow and pick up the new purchase orders," I told him calmly. "At the end of every month, you pay us out. I want my money in cash. No checks. Got that?"
He nodded dumbly. "Do you think we should go easy at first, Paul?" he asked hesitatingly. "How about starting with a nickle per casting and...."
"A dime," I snapped. "It's all settled, Frank. Right?"
His beaten face turned away from me and he nodded again. He was walking slowly back to pour himself another drink. That's why he didn't see me heading for the closed bedroom door until I was reaching for the knob.
"Finish your drink and lock the hall door on your way out, partner," I said grinning at him.
For a split second, Frank's fat mouth opened and a scowl bunched his forehead. Then, his shoulders slumped again and he turned woodenly back to pour out another martini.
Lila was naked and nicely arrayed on the mattress. Moonlight penetrated the room through windows on the opposite side of the bed, bathing her dusky perfection in a shimmering light.
"You finish business?" she asked, looking up at me with her beautiful, dark eyes.
I nodded and started climbing out of my suit. I ran my admiring gaze over her nude young body, lingering on the nipples of her opulent breasts and on the triangle of dark hair that covered her love region. She moved her hips slightly, giving me an even better view of the shadowy black velvet area between her lithe thighs.
"You like?" she asked with a smile, running her hands sensuously over her hips and up the inside of her legs.
"I like," I grinned, moving forward through the semi-darkness to stand beside the bed where I could look directly down at her lovliness.
"Lila like, too," she smiled up at me, reaching out to feel my already stiff love lance. She purred low in her throat and placed her free hand behind the swirling mass of black, silken hair that sprawled richly across the whiteness of the pillow.
Then I bent over her and filled my hands with the fragrant warm firmness of her tits. She kept her gentle grip on my rod as I lowered myself into the bed beside her.
My right hand moved quickly down over the flatness of her stomach and caressed the downy smoothness of the insides of her thighs. In a few seconds, I slipped my finger into her love slit and played between the wet, wanton lips. Her hips moved rhythmically against my hand and she moaned sweetly as I increased the pressure of my finger.
Suddenly, she raised herself up on one elbow and whispered, "You lie down and relax. Lila will bring you much pleasure."
Before I could respond, she jumped up and threw one leg over me so she was sitting astride my waist. She placed her hands on the bed above my shoulders and lowered herself forward on me. Gently, one of her nipples touched my face and she moved her shoulders gracefully to trace the light touch over my eyes, across my nose and over my cheek until the still, hard nipple found its way between my waiting lips.
I sucked it briefly, but soon she pulled it from my mouth and slowly moved down over my chest. Both nipples were touching me then, barely making contact with my skin and creating a strangely titillating sensation.
She dangled her breasts above me, just letting the hot, dart-like tips touch my skin. I could feel the twin trails they left across my chest and down over my stomach. Lila moved down on the bed until she was kneeling between my outstretched legs.
Her boobs continued to set my body on fire with their delicate, delightful, tempting touch. They were hovering above my stiff, pulsating hard-on, then. With my head propped up on a pillow, I watched as Lila lowered her body slowly until the red, ripe nipples touched the head of my weapon. I remember that I almost came then. The tension and the anticipation were so great that I almost blew my load when her tit touched me there.
I controlled it, though, sucking in my breath sharply and digging my fingers into the mattress. She was far from finished. Moving her shoulders from side to side slightly, Lila caused her breasts-hanging down like ripe grapefruits-to sway temptingly above me. Then she would quickly bring them down on either side of my erection, so the nipples touched briefly on my hips and the soft warm valley between her globes, covered my rod.
After dallying for several minutes over my sex area, she moved farther down in the bed and continued tracing lightly over my body with her nipples. When she reached my feet, I was on fire from head to toe. Of course, she knew the effect her actions were having on me, because a split second before I decided to leap up and throw her down on the bed and take her, Lila stopped her playing and moved back up to my hard-on.
She held it in her hands for a few seconds, caressing it and looking at it intently.
"You have a nice one," she said to me finally. "It is thick and long. Will make me feel very good."
"Don't play with it very much longer," I warned, "or I'll go off in your hands."
"No, no," Lila said with a mock frown. "You must come in Lila. That is the best way."
Without further ado, thank God, she raised herself up on her knees and inserted the tip of my tool in her hot, love box. She smiled as she lowered herself on it slowly and felt the male organ push deep into her feminine softness. She was surprisingly tight, and I thrilled to the sensation produced by the clinging lips of her sex.
As she rocked back and forth, Lila moved her hands all over my body. She knew how to play a man like a musical instrument. Every nerve in my frame quivered under her touch until, finally, all the sexual sensations cracked together and I poured my orgasm into her. Throbbing and spurting, I came with a shudder and a shake. Lila performed some kind of strange twitch with her hips and her love box seemed to nip at the head of my erection, trying to draw every drop of pleasure from me.
Fifteen minutes later, I screwed Lila again. This time, however, our position was more conventional with me on top of her. Once again she excited me until I almost came unglued and then she brought me swiftly to an orgasm that left me limp-figuratively and literally.
Although it was hard to keep track, I think Lila came about six times during our frolic. She shuddered and screamed with the waves of pleasure, digging her fingers into my back passionately.
An hour after I had entered the bedroom, Lila and I laid side by side in the rumpled bed, resting and staring into the darkness. Frank Harris was a pain in the ass and I didn't have much use for him. But, he had wonderful taste in a mistress. I had found a new, adventuresome playmate and I knew I would be welcome any time I decided to return to Lila's apartment, with or without Frank's invitation.