Chapter 5

Polar was not to be found at the tennis club.

I drove away slowly and even I had to admit I felt a bit used. The clutching hunger of Nanette Rivers and Fran Nature never was to be appeased, but I knew a certain satisfaction, too. I had been as close to fulfillment for them as they would ever experience. And I knew more satisfaction when I thought about Kit. The black girl was long on mental ability, but a short fuse physically. Still, she had one talent. Those long fingers quivered with deftness. She'd be called a pro in a circle jerk.

A blonde woman whisked past me in a blue top-down convertible, yellow-white hair floating-and suddenly I was remembering Cora Ayers. I suddenly felt bastard all over again. I had a vision of Cora prowling my apartment while I had prowled a cabana bed with three women. I slammed the steering wheel. I could have turned from the trio, I should have turned. Why hadn't I?

I knew. No willpower. And I also knew that Cora could not belong to me because I could not totally belong to her. There always would be that one other woman, that sex machine just around the blind corner. But how was I to explain? How was I to tell her that she was inside me deep, that I wanted her, that I lusted for her, that when I was in her presence there was no outside world-but expose me to the world and there were corners?

Would Cora Ayers understand?

She would not. Did I understand? I did not.

I drove to downtown headquarters caught up in the shambles of myself. Lieutenant Crowder jarred me back to reality. "We had to free Archie Table."

I stared.

Crowder waved a hand in disgust. "The D.A. says he's up to his eyeballs in courtroom reversals these days. He can't afford another one. And we didn't exactly have Mr. Table by the short hairs. We couldn't-can't-prove anything, Matt. So we'll give him some string, dangle him, keep a sharp eye on Mm. For the moment he's suspect. That's all."

"Lieutenant-" I started to protest.

"Damnit, Matt," he interrupted, "I don't like the turn, either. I think the little fag is guilty as hell. I think he killed the girl with his dingus. It only figures. They're alone in a car, tooling down the road. Who else could fill her with semen? But what can I prove?"

"And this guy Polar?" I shot at him. "The phone call?"

Crowder grunted. "What'd he have to offer?"

"I didn't find him at the club."

"Hell, I'm not sure he's important anyway."

"Why not?"

"I just told you: Table was with the girl in the car, not Polar. I've been thinking about all of this, Matt. The killer-in spite of your anonymous caller-almost has to be Table. Maybe your caller is a nut or somebody with a hard-on against Polar. I don't know. All I know is, I've got to go with hard facts. And the one fact we have is it was Table and Michelle Rivers in the car when it crashed and Michelle Rivers choked to death on semen."

"How 'bout if she was killed at the Rivers' mansion? How 'bout if she was in bed with someone at the mansion, choked to death, and then our someone decided to get rid of the body?"

"That's wild, Matt."

"But a possibility."

"Perhaps, but-"

"Lieutenant, Archie Table is a fag, won't let a woman or a girl touch him."

"We don't know that."

But maybe someone talked Archie into taking the body away from the mansion. Maybe he was going to throw her in a swamp or the river or-"

"That someone being?"

"Polar can be suspect. He had a thing going with the girl."

"The way I hear it everybody in pants had a thing going with her," Crowder grunted. "Matt, I think you've let the phone call cloud your thinking."

"Damnit, someone had a reason for making the call!"

"I admit it looks like someone is after Polar's ass, but it remains: Table was the only guy in the car with the girl."

"You have to concede it could've happened my way, too. Michelle Rivers just might have died in a bed instead of the front seat of a car. She just might have been-"

"All right, all right," Crowder snapped, waving the hand again. He lit a fresh cigarette. "So go track down this Polar. Get him out of your system-but I still think our boy is Table and we're going to stay so tight on his butt he'll think we're adhesive tape!"

I became a very smart police detective then. I became crafty. I needed Polar. So I looked for his name in the telephone directory. The address puzzled for a moment; it was not the address of the tennis club, but I did not allow this minor mystery to deter. I picked up the phone receiver and I dialed. I got an answer, and I had Polar. Business-like, I snapped, "I've been looking for you, Polar."

"And I didn't know you cared, Sergeant," he replied with a smirk lacing his tone.

"I've been to the tennis club."

"I wasn't there."

"Point: I was told you lived at the club."

"I have quarters at the club, Sergeant. I live where I am standing. In an apartment. But now tell me, my good man, why have you been looking for me? Certainly not for my body."

"Knock off that crap. I'm coming out to your place. You stick."

"Perhaps I am ... er, engaged."

"So get rid of her."

"And if my friend happens to be a him?" I slammed the phone together on his mocking chuckle. Crowder stared at me, but remained silent as I pounded out of the squad room and downstairs. Polar lived in a yellow stucco building that stuck seven flights up into the air. It was a modest neighborhood and the interior of the yellow building was clean and had a self-service elevator. I rode up to the fourth deck and found Polar's door.

He was a few seconds answering my knock, and then he stood before me in shorts and a tiny lace apron. He was barefooted and bare-chested. He smelled freshly bathed, shaved and powdered. He held a straight-edged razor in his hand, but there was a smile on his face.

"You are not a man to waste minutes, are you, Sergeant?" he said as he stepped back into the apartment and swung the door wide for my entry. He bowed slightly as I moved inside, his eyes laughing and his mouth curved into a near smirk. "Yes, yes, come in," he said.

The front room of the apartment was small, masculine in appointments and color, neat. An alcove served as a dining area, and there was a tiny kitchenette behind the alcove. To my left was an open door, but from my angle I could not see into the other room.

"Bed and bath," said Polar. And then he added, almost as an afterthought: "And occupied."

"Anyone I know?" I asked politely.

"Your sarcasm stinks, Sergeant."

"Throw her out!"

"My dear man...." He flipped his apron and moved toward the open door. "My guest happens to be Archie Table."

His steps were delicate, and he smiled at me over his shoulder just before disappearing into the bedroom. I went after him and stopped and stood rooted as I stared on the incongruity. Archie Table was propped up in a large bed. His shoulders mashed pillows and there was a maroon covering drawn neatly across his lap. He wore a filmy pale green peignoir that formed a wide V down his front to the line of the maroon covering and his makeup was a fashionable light orange. He sat with his fingers interlocked on his crotch and a tiny smile almost curving his painted lips. Shaving cream covered the exposed area of his chest.

Polar sat on the edge of the bed and used the straight-edged razor expertly on Archie Table's chest. "You are here because?" he asked without looking at me.

"What's he doing here?" I bleated.

Polar stopped shaving Archie and turned on me. His expression was a combination of innocence and contempt. "If you will recall, Sergeant, Archie has just been released from the hospital. He had an automobile accident, remember? And now he must convalesce. He is here because I brought him here. Archie is my friend. Is all of that too difficult to comprehend?"

"Aren't you going to speak to me, Sergeant?" Archie Table said from the bed. "Aren't you even going to say hello?"

I was on fire.

"Well, no matter," Archie continued. He waved his hands delicately. "Please, Tommy, continue to shave me. I must be rid of the hairs. They make me feel so ... so unclean!"

If I had had the razor in hand in those few seconds I would have sliced off Archie Table's nipples. But Polar was careful, very deliberate and professional. He spread and protected the nipples with his palm as he curved the razor edge around the brown rims. And then he tested and nipped at other areas of Table's chest. Finally both were satisfied and Polar closed the razor and used a damp towel. He made the chest skin glow, then he applied perfume and a light coating of female powder.

When it was finished, I wanted to gag but Polar stood suddenly and took off the apron and faced me head-on. He had changed. He was all male now, his eyes hard, his stance antagonistic, and his mouth a thin line. "All right, Sergeant," he said, his tone rough with sharp edges, "you've invaded the privacy enough. Why are you here?"

I told him.

He snapped back, "And?"

"Did you kill her, Polar? Did she choke on you, and then did you talk Archie here into-"

"No!"

I kept my eyes on Archie. I figured he would be the give-away. If I had hit on the truth with Tommy Polar, I figured Archie would break. But Archie remained placid in the bed. His expression remained blank, mildly curious perhaps, but no more. And his gaze didn't tell me anything.

Polar sucked a deep breath. "Why can't you accept a simple death, Sergeant? Why can't you people accept the death of Michelle the way it happened? I found her on the lawn. I asked Archie to-"

"Because she did not die of heart failure, or crash injuries, or ... Goddamnit, man, the girl choked on semen!"

"You were there?" he asked with lifted eyebrows. "Our technicians can put together a few facts!"

"Perhaps, but this time I'm afraid your technicians are-"

"Polar, I got a telephone call. Now, why would I get a telephone call if-"

"Someone doesn't like me, Sergeant. Does that surprise you?"

It did not.

"Someone is jealous of my prowess."

"You're the stud supreme, huh?"

"Can you rival me? Don't even bother to answer, Sergeant. I know you can't-and especially, you couldn't with Michelle."

Now Archie Table's face changed. He was suddenly disturbed. He fidgeted in the bed. His hands worked, his eyes danced, and his legs were twitching under the covering.

"You got a problem, Archie?" I threw at him. "Michelle was a bitch," he said softly. "All women are bitches."

"Archie doesn't like women," Polar said with the understatement of the century. "Quit picking on him. Archie is Archie. He's not involved in this."

"He's only driving the car that smacks a tree and we find a dead girl inside that car-and Archie is not involved?"

"Sergeant," Polar said with another sigh, "you twist things to your convenience. Why can't you believe-"

It was my turn to break in. "Polar," I said with conviction, "I'm going to hang your ass."

"That's a threat."

"That's what it is."

"I don't like threats."

"So suck on it."

"Sergeant, get out. Get out of my apartment."

"Toss me out."

He reached for a phone, lifted the receiver. "No, I won't throw you out," he said mildly. "I'll merely call your superior. I believe his name is Crowder."

He began to dial. And I cut. I took my frustrations and my anger and my physical body out of sight of the fruitcakes and I pounded out of the apartment-and charged head-on into a pair of magnificent breasts that defied gravity and the thin threads of a red-and-white-striped pullover knit T-shirt.

Diane Bowers backed off my charge. "Wow," she breathed. "Bulls I like, but angry bulls have taut balls, and taut balls do not always make for adventurous afternoons. Hello again, Sergeant. I came here to get laid. I have an itch in my pants. Is Tommy home? Obviously, he is-and obviously, he has angered you. What did he do? Attempt to feel your change?"

I started to stomp past her. She caught my arm, whirled me. "Hey, I don't have to have Tommy. I'll take you. Do you have time?"

"Back off, doll."

"Ouch, our mood is black." She grinned impishly, hooked her arm in mine and swung along with me as I pounded to the self-service elevator. "Maybe we can do it while we're going down," she suggested.

"Fade."

"Oh, come on, Sergeant, cheer up. It's a bright evening outside. How about taking me to the park down by the river? The breeze will be cool-and I'm sure we can find a nook where we can play games."

We entered the elevator. We were alone. She smiled at me again and pushed the Down button. "I really do have an itch," she said as the doors closed. She took my hand and put it up under the white microskirt. She was wearing panties, but she was warm and damp.

"Put a finger in," she said, coming up on her tiptoes and pecking my mouth in a kiss.

I snapped my hand away from her, but all she did was laugh softly and clutch the front of my pants. "At last you're not too angry."

"Doll, I've got work to do," I growled.

"And you've got just the right kind of tool," she chortled, continuing to work her fingers against me. "At least for the kind of work I have in mind. Are you going to take me to the park?"

"No."

"Why not?"

We left the elevator and she danced ahead of me, her legs flashing and her hips twitching the microskirt engagingly. And then suddenly she whirled and popped her hands on her spread knees, arched into a running-back position and stared at me as I approached her.

"Hey, hey," she giggled, "you need to go to the park. You need to go somewhere. Or do we do it right here in the doorway?"

She straightened as I moved into her. She caught my shoulders. I started to move around her, but she stopped me. "Are you going out on the street with that sticking out?"

I went out on the street with that sticking out. I crossed the sidewalk and piled into the official sedan. Diane popped in beside me. "Zowie, I've never been in a police car!" She looked around. "Where's the shotguns, the tear gas, the Mace?"

She was bad medicine for me. I couldn't ignore her exposed legs as she sat half twisted on the seat, inventorying the back of the sedan. The skirt hem was across the juncture of her thighs and her hips, her panties were a magnet, and the smell of her filled my nostrils.

On the other hand, she seemed to be the kind of medicine I needed, too. She took my mind from Polar and Archie Table. She didn't exactly cool me, but anger was replaced by something much more pleasant.

She saw where my eyes were rooted and she grinned. Then she slapped a hand against her juncture and lifted herself tauntingly. "Can you wait until we get to the park?" she teased.

I slammed the sedan into gear and moved it out into the traffic. We flashed past an intersection as she lifted her hips again and skimmed out of her panties. She dangled them on a finger and held them before my eyes. "Recommended by Panty World," she chuckled. "Every girl's underworld advisor."

"I'd like to see the street," I growled.

She laughed softly and worked the panties over the rear-view mirror. They dangled and swayed. She cocked her head and eyed her work. "Some people dangle baby shoes, monkeys, and then there are those who lean to dice. But you, Sergeant Matthew Law? You dangle-"

"This is a cop car," I rasped.

"So?"

"Get it off the mirror."

"No. Why did you go up to see Tommy Polar? Do you think he might have had something to do with Michelle's death?"

The sudden change in subject made me forget about the swaying panties. "Do you?" I shot back at her.

She shrugged. "There has to be a reason you were at his apartment. But I thought Michelle was killed in the crash."

"She was dead before the crash, honey. That much our technicians have put together."

"Boy, I hope I don't die rubbin' myself off against a statue in a church! Your technicians are likely to figure I got struck down by a wand from above."

"How long have you known Archie Table?"

"Years."

"Be specific."

"Well, okay ... maybe a couple of years."

"How 'bout Michelle? How long would she-"

"We probably met him at the same party. I really don't remember."

"He is strictly a party acquaintance?"

"He started showing up at the house a couple of years ago. I think Daddy brought him in from a sewer somewhere. I'm not sure."

"Daddy being William Dar-"

"Daddy being," she nodded.

"So Michelle wouldn't have known Archie longer than you."

"No."

"I thought they might have been special friends."

"Archie and Michelle? Hardly. Archie is a genuine twilighter. Nothing but the penis for him."

"So why was Michelle in his car last night? Why was she naked in his car? Why-"

"Well, that could happen. Maybe she was bombed. Maybe she got on narco, the hard stuff. Maybe she talked Archie into taking her for a ride. Maybe she-"

"It seems damned odd she'd pick a fag."

"Michelle would've taken a horse if she needed fucking and a horse was her whim."

"On the other hand, maybe she was killed at the house, during the party, and then was put into the car. Maybe Archie was told, forced, cajoled, humored, into-"

"Now we're getting around to Tommy Polar, huh?" Diane interrupted thoughtfully. "What have you got against Tommy, Sergeant?"

"I don't like him."

"Oh come on, there has to be more than-"

"Okay, so I got an anonymous telephone call."

I told her about the call and she mused on it. Then she said, "So someone has a bone to gnaw with Tommy. So?"

"Yeah, it could be that," I was forced to admit.

"But you'd rather think Tommy killed her. You pick him because he and Michelle sexed it up."

"You told me they did."

"And they did," she nodded. "Often. Tommy has what Michelle-what any girl in her right mind-likes. He's hung, Sergeant. Believe me, Tommy Polar is hung-and he has talent. But Michelle knew tricks too. Tommy's kind of tricks. I told you she was a hand and tongue expert, and-"

So Polar might have killed her-accidentally, of course."

"Sarcasm we don't need, do we?"

"I don't know. Perhaps we do. It's making you think."

"I'm thinking about a jillion other men Michelle might have gone to bed with."

"But not last night."

"Okay, so maybe it was six or seven last night."

"Polar for one."

"I'm excluding Tommy for the moment."

"Are you also excluding Archie Table?"

"Definitely."

"All right, how 'bout ... er, Daddy?"

"He would've had to rape her, but it could've happened."

"A guy named Harold Boswell?"

"Also possible," she said thoughtfully. "And I believe you mentioned two freeloaders."

"I remember seeing at least two at the party. There were probably more."

"Go on."

"There's Sim, of course."

"Who's he?"

"Mother found him in New York last winter. He had a small role in one of these naked plays. She became enthralled with his body and brought him home as a combination-you know, chauffeur, bouncer, window washer, stud. He even knows how to change a fight bulb. In addition, he's a delightful tool for her at parties. She can favor her women friends who have an urge to be favored while going to the bathroom, or she can sic him on her enemies-hoping he will rape them. Sim is black and animal. He's a godsend to, and for, Mother."

"Does he have a friend or a wife or something named Kit?"

Diane looked surprised. "How do you know about her?"

"Who is she?"

"She was in the show too. Sim wouldn't come here without her, but how do you know about-"

I waved her down. "Sim and Michelle."

"Michelle liked him," Diane nodded. "Occasionally. For a change of color."

"Who's next?"

"Well, there's Bernard Oshman. The Oshmans live next door, and they come to all of the parties. Both of them are sixty if they're a day, but they're hanging in tough.

Bernard has a little trouble getting it up, but Michelle could do it for him-especially if he was watching Sim and Mrs. Oshman make out at the same time. And then there's Randy Clarke, whose wife is an addict about masturbating. Her name is Hertha. She and Michelle were friends at the university. I guess that's where she got on this masturbating kick. She's wild. She's liable to do it any time, any place. She gets the yen, and away she goes. She's a ball in a circle."

"While Randy?"

"Is a short fuse. Up and ready at the flick of a tongue, but he's short in tool and even shorter in staying power. Two strokes and he comes and wilts. Hertha has reason to be a masturbator."

"Randy and Michelle."

"She liked to give him trips around the world. Sometimes he was finished before she'd start. And that always broke her up. She'd laugh all over the room while poor Randy stood there with tears streaming down his face."

"Any more?"

"The freeloaders. The strangers. Oh yes, and Peter Barry. He's Fran Nature's friend. But Peter and Fran had a falling out last night-or maybe he fell out of her, I don't know. But I do know Peter left the party early. Which, now that I think about it, may shoot your suspicion about Tommy Polar. Fran and Tommy spent most of last night in bed together."

"Says who?"

Diane shot me an oblique glance. "Says Fran."

"Honey, I thought you told me you were asleep on the lawn most of the night. How would you-"

"Boy, you are a suspicious bastard, aren't you? Fran called me this morning. She wanted to talk about Tommy. She thinks he's going kinky. He had a thing last night about using his belt on her. He wanted to whip her. Incidentally, here's the park."

"I know where the park is," I grumbled, turning the sedan down one of the winding lanes. I cruised into a parking area that overlooked the river. There were four other cars in the area. They looked empty. Diane squirmed on the seat and studied our surroundings. It was dusk now. "Are we going to do it here?" she asked. "I'm so hot I think I'll have an orgasm if you wink at me. Let's try it. Go ahead, be a big man. Wink at me."

"Out of the car, wench."

She stroked herself vigorously a couple of times and then left the sedan to stand on the lot. She bounced her hips. "Whooie, the hand do feel good. How about if we do it here? I'll bend over the hood and you-"

I took her hand and jerked her toward a slanting path. She bounced along beside me, grinning like a schoolgirl. "I do believe you know where you're going," she bubbled. "Now what can that mean?"

"It means I've fished here."

"Oh," she laughed.

Two couples were spread out around a picnic on a grassy knoll. They gave us passing glances, no more,. Another couple didn't even bother to look at us. They were on a blanket off to our right and the girl's leg had crawled up the guy's hip.

I put Diane ahead of me and aimed her along the river path. She picked her way, keeping her head down and her eyes busy as she moved over the imbedded rocks. Her tiny skirt swished and was too much temptation. I moved my hands up under it and cupped her buttocks. She stopped, looked back at me over her shoulder.

"Keep going," I growled.

She moved on while I kept my palms on her. She put extra action in her walk. And then I turned her into a gentle depression in the riverbank. The bank was grassy, and we were alone, out of sight unless someone came along the path or passed in a boat.

She turned and came into my arms. Her large breasts felt good against my chest and her pelvis was all movement as she fitted herself. She brought my face down and sucked gently on my mouth with her lips. I moved my hands in under the pullover and up the bare skin of her spine to the tiny bra strap.

"Can we get naked?" she breathed.

"Someone could come along the path."

"Let 'em see."

I turned her, put a forearm across her shoulders. She bent immediately. I opened my trousers, and when I touched her buttocks she jerked. "Hurry," she said. "I think I'm coming already!"

I pushed the pullover up her spine and bent to kiss her skin. She wriggled, moving her hips back into me. And then I felt her hand as she reached down between her thighs and back up. She guided me to the door and rammed against me in a series of jerky movements.

"Lordy, there it is!" she cried out, squeezing and shuddering all over. She started to come up, but I kept her bent and slammed deep into her warmth as I felt her cunt jerk. She arched and reached back to clasp the backs of my thighs and hold on. We became a frenzy of writhing-and then we lost our balance. Diane pitched forward with a cry and threw out her hands to break the fall against the bank. I spun off her and slammed against the ground, where I lay close-eyed and cursing.

I heard Diane giggle and I opened my eyes. She had swung around to sit against the bank. She sat with her legs spread, her knees high and her heels digging in. She was laughing down on me, the skirt bunched in her lap.

I started to crawl to her, but she shook her head. "No." I stopped, frowned. She grinned. "On your back," she said. "Flat on your back."

She stood, stepped out of her shoes, and then she swung a leg over me, facing away from me, looking out on the river. From my position I could look straight up her legs into her juncture. Her buttocks under the skirt were quivering as she -lined herself with me.

"Hold it up straight," she demanded.

I pushed with a thumb and she lowered herself in a squat. I felt her close on my head and I waited for her to move on down. But she seemed to have found what she wanted. She began with slow movements, increased the pace but kept herself high. The sensation made me climb. I felt myself growing larger as her skirt swirled. And then there was no holding back. All of the strength in my loins came gushing out and Diane opened wide and groaned as the flood bathed her.

We sat on the grassy bank and stared out on the black river in silence while she smoked and I attempted to reorganize my thinking. I was on police duty. Crowder might be looking for me. I needed to get back to the sedan, regain contact with downtown. But it was peaceful there on the riverbank, and Diane smelled good, and looked good with her legs propped and her young body moving with her breathing, and I found myself fascinated by her breasts this night. Perhaps it was because they were covered. I suddenly had to see them, kiss them.

"Take off your top," I said.

She gave me a quick look.

"It's dark enough now," I told her.

She fired the cigarette butt toward the river and swished the pullover shirt over her head in a single movement. She put it aside and arched her spine as she reached up her back with one hand and opened the bra. She hunched her shoulders and the bra slid down her arms. She put it with the pullover and then she turned to me. She remained seated where she was. She wore the microskirt now, nothing else. She waited.

I went to her on hands and knees and dipped my face into her breasts. I nipped with lips and teeth. She arched and allowed me to feed, holding herself aloft for my hunger. She began to quiver all over, but she made no attempt to reach for me. She was food now and I was the starving man.

I lifted my face and kissed her lips. I kept the kiss gentle. Our breathing hissed but we managed to refrain from the frantic clutching. And then I put her back on the grass and moved up on her and entered her. She received me without a sound. There was only the quiver of her muscles. All of her body moved in spasms that seemed to come over her without pattern or design.

I filled her and then I lay on her and we became wrapped in each other's arms. "Don't move," I hissed.

She shook her head and moved her lips against my mouth. We lay locked and straining and breathing deep without flicking a muscle. But I could feel myself growing large inside her, and I could feel her opening with the growth to accept.

Suddenly she wrenched her mouth from mine. She clung to me, her lips against my ear. Her breath was hot. "I'm going ... to come," she whispered. "I ... can't help it."

"But don't move!"

We strained. We did not move. Our muscles became locked, our hearts hammered. And then there was release for both of us and she whimpered and crawled tighter against me while I brought her head around so that I could find her open mouth.

A long time later, she said in a voice that broke: "Matthew Law ... that's a helluva way to do it. That's a helluva ... strain on the nerve ends."

"But it felt good, didn't it, Baby?"

She shuddered all over. "Delicious. I don't think I've ever known such a sensation, but I couldn't do it often. I have to move!"

I laughed gently and pulled her up to her feet. We searched the darkness for her bra, pullover and shoes. She dressed reluctantly. "Do we really have to go?" she wanted to know.

"Tell me you still itch," I chided.

"No," she said simply. "But I like you. I don't want to leave you. Let's go out to the house and go to bed. In my bed."

"Duty, doll. I'm just a poor working slob."

"Not you, Matthew Law," she said, shaking her head as we moved down to the river path. "You're no slob. You're man, and I like you."

"You were going to Tommy Polar earlier this evening," I reminded her. "I can take you back there."

"You bastard," she murmured. "I know what I am. You don't have to-"

"What are you, Diane?"

"A nympho, but you don't have to remind me. Not right now, not tonight. I like tonight. I feel different somehow and I want to keep the feeling for a while. I almost feel ... healthy."

I took her hand and we walked that way back to the sedan. We didn't talk, and I thought I knew what Diane Bowers might be feeling for the first time in her life. At the car, she got inside as I held the door for her and she sat and clamped her knees together and attempted to hold her skirt down as far as it would go. She stared straight ahead, remained silent, and she looked schoolgirlish and innocent and almost pure.

When I got around to the other side of the car, the panties were gone from the rear-view mirror and out of sight and Diane was sitting straight again, still staring out over the river. I had the car motor running when she put a hand on my arm and said softly, "Do something for me, Matthew. Kiss me as if I'm just a good clean date you've taken to the movie and now are about to deliver back to her nice, gentle, normal parents in a snug bungalow somewhere."

I kissed her for a long time and then she crawled against me and whispered in my ear. "I've never known this. Somewhere along the line I've missed it. Thank you."