Chapter 2
The tall man in the light business suit who had glanced into Penny's window walked swiftly to the corner and then half a block away to where his car was parked. The streets were deserted except for a couple of children who played on the tiny fingernail lawns, and a woman who pushed a loaded shopping cart to the door of a house. He walked very casually to his car and got inside.
Every few minutes his eyes darted to the rear-view mirror to see if newcomers had entered the street. Occasionally he looked through the side windows. Once, when a pretty girl in skintight capri pants left her MG and sprinted to her door, he followed her avidly with his eyes.
After ten minutes, he glanced at his watch and drove the car two blocks-moving past Penny's house. No one was on the street. When he parked again, he massaged his jowls with a splash of cologne and left the car.
He walked briskly down the street-the briefcase in his hand-and marched up to Penny's house. After a lightning-quick glance in both directions, he rang the bell firmly. While he waited, he looked in a business-like manner at a notebook he took from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Penny did not answer the bell until it rang a second time. She came to the door in a pair of crimson shorts and a yellow halter she had put on quickly. She could tell it was not on right by the smile on the man's face. She was suddenly conscious of drops of cold water lingering on her neck and legs.
"Yes?" she asked politely.
"I'm from the Los Angeles County Tax Office," he said pleasantly as he showed her a card in plastic.
She frowned. "Are we behind or something? I know my husband sent you a check...."
"Oh, this has nothing to do with that, ma'am," the man said reassuringly. "I'm just making a survey of the incomes, furnishings, buying habits and personal tastes of families. We want to know what kind of things go with families in every income bracket-the sort of TV and hi-fi sets they buy, furniture. We want to know how often things are bought new. How many children families have, etc. See, the County would like to estimate future revenues and needs for public funds for schools, libraries, etc. It's easier for us if we know how much money will be coming in in the next few years."
She smiled. "Guess we could all use information like that."
He laughed heartily and shook his head.
"I hate this job, ma'am. Barging in on people at lunch hour. But we learned that it's hard making appointments in advance. You can't tell how long an interview will take. Five minutes or fifteen." He laughed sheepishly. "And you know how popular tax people are anyway. We tell them all we want is information and boom-they panic. Make sure they're not at home." He shook his head sadly. "It's enough to give a man an inferiority complex."
The girl smiled sympathetically. "Well, I was going to eat lunch. But I guess I could answer those questions now. Or maybe you'd rather come when my husband's here? He knows some of the answers. But he won't be back until four."
"No. It's fine this way. Won't take too long."
As he followed the girl into the cool, dark living room, the tall man sighed. "Boy, it's good to get out of the hot sun. I can tell you that."
"Can I get you something cold to drink?"
"You got any Coke?"
"I think so," she said. "Will you sit down please?"
He watched her small buttocks move gracefully toward the kitchen and a moment later fumbled with his briefcase.
When she returned he thanked her for the drink, and immediately asked in an official voice, "How much did you pay for your TV set, ma'am?"
"Let's see. I think $320. Or maybe $340."
His soft gray eyes were fixed on her halter as she spoke.
"And do you have a hi-fi set, too?"
"Just a medium-sized one. I think it cost us a hundred and fifty or seventy. It's in the bedroom," she said apologetically.
"That's okay. How old are you, Mrs. Bruce?"
"Twenty-four."
"You been married long?" he smiled and his Adam's apple moved as he waited for her answer.
"Two and a half years."
"Where did you meet your husband?"
"At a dance," she began. Her eyes narrowed. "I don't understand these questions."
"Well, we make a pretty full report. We've got to know about the makeup of our family groups. How old they are. How long they've been married."
She nodded, uncomfortably aware that the man was keeping his eyes on the cleft of her breasts as he talked.
"How long did you wait to get married?" he asked pleasantly. "I mean after meeting him."
"Maybe you'd better come back later," she said a little nervously. "When my husband is here."
"Only take a few minutes more," he protested. "I've got to finish this area today."
"Well, I knew Cliff six, seven months I guess. We went pretty steady and after his mother came west for a visit, he asked me."
"I see," the man said softly, eyeing the tanned, silk-smooth flesh of her thighs. "But he didn't need his mother's approval, did he? I mean, not after he'd been with you a few times. He must have known what a fine girl he had. I haven't seen many girls with legs as beautiful as yours, Mrs. Bruce."
She reddened, but decided to let it pass.
"Any children?" the man asked.
"No."
The man smiled. "Any particular reason for that? Did you want them and couldn't have any? Or," the man hesitated as if the question were too indelicate, "did you try and just not get pregnant?"
Penny's face colored a deep red. She stood up suddenly.
"Don't get mad, ma'am," the tall man said easily. "I should have explained. We're doing a great many projects and surveys at County headquarters. For Civil Defense, medical needs, schools, all that. So when we ask about property, we also ask about personal habits and family planning."
His easy-going tone and pleasant smile placated her somewhat, but she felt vaguely uncomfortable. She smiled sheepishly.
"I was just thinking, it sounds almost like a Kinsey report."
The man nodded, laughing. "Why, sure. That's what so many women tell me. Everywhere I go. Here, Beverly Hills or Santa Monica. Out here they're just not used to talking about sex matters to strangers. But in Sweden, why it's nothing at all. They're used to these surveys. Anyway, I assure you it's all useful and vital. We give these things a lot of thought. And hundreds of other women have already answered the same questions."
"Well," Penny began, "I guess I can answer those questions if all these other women have. We just never had anything like that back home. I guess I got a lot to learn about California ways."
"We all have," he said, smiling understandingly. He still didn't take his eyes from the cleft of her breasts.
Their eyes met as he lifted his for a moment and something in them made her spine tingle. When the laughter drained from his face, his eyes seemed icy and impenetrable.
""Shall we begin again?" he said gently.
She nodded, wishing she had put on a pair of slacks instead of the bright red shorts that hiked up on her thighs and buttocks, and that her bosom was not so big. He seemed to be conscious of nothing else in the room.
"How long did you wait before trying for kids?" he asked.
"Three or four months," she said nervously. Despite the man's casualness, his steady gaze on her bare thighs felt like a lighted match held close to her skin.
"Did you have frequent intercourse during that period?"
"Well, not frequent, no."
"What do you think interfered with pregnancy? Did he withdraw before completing the act? Or did he use some prophylactic?"
"Well." Penny wet her lips. "We tried both. First Cliff didn't finish. But it made us both kind of nervous, you know? Unhappy."
He nodded. "I can imagine. Especially your husband's feelings. Going to bed with a body as lovely as yours and then having to stop loving it. And it was bad for you. Like starting over Niagara Falls and turning away at the last minute, wasn't it?"
She nodded uneasily.
"What prophylaxis did you use?"
She colored. "I was fitted for a diaphragm by a doctor."
"Your husband doesn't like the-er-other methods?"
"No."
"Well, now. Let's get up to date. How often do you have sexual intercourse now?"
The visitor's question hit her right between the eyes. A deep flush spread over her pale, narrow cheeks. But his routine tone and his copying of her answers in a large notebook calmed her.
"You mean you've asked all these women in Beverly Hills and all these places, that?" she asked amazed.
"Certainly," he said matter-of-factly. "It's an important question on our survey. Made up by medical authorities."
"We-er-we have it about once or twice a month," she barely whispered. She had read the Kinsey Report on Sexual Behavior in the Female and she knew women had answered such questions. But she never dreamed anyone would ask her.
"Only once or twice a month?" the man said. He seemed very surprised. "How come?"
She hesitated, embarrassed and ashamed by the obvious disbelief in his voice.
He patted her hand lightly.
"No, don't worry, ma'am. This is completely confidential. I assure you. Just like the Kinsey Survey."
She did not meet his eyes as she replied.
"That's all my husband wants," she said, somewhat resentfully. "I don't try to tell him what to do."
She had been right in the first place. This was like the Kinsey Report. She had read the two books on the Sexual Behavior of the Human Male and the Human Female and about how the surveys had been made.
If I hadn't, she thought, this would scare me out of a year's growth. A stranger asking me this kind of thing.
"Why doesn't he want to make love more often?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know," she said, surprised at her own vehemence. "I can't force him."
"Would you do it more often? I mean, are you ready more often?" the man asked.
"Yes," she said firmly. She looked at her watch suddenly.
"I-I'm sorry but I'll have to stop now, mister ... I've...."
"Are you expecting someone?" he asked.
She reddened. "No. But I have things to do."
"I only asked because women get embarrassed sometimes. They're afraid of being caught answering these questions by other women who visit them. If that's it, I can come back later."
"No," she said. "But I got a lot of chores. Got to fix a roast for my husband, clean house. Lot of things. So if you can just end it soon, I'd appreciate it."
"Right," he said quickly. "Just a couple more."
He looked at a sheet in his briefcase for a moment.
"Do you like to make love in the woods? Or on the cool sand of the beach, say at night? Or early morning?"
Her eyes widened. "You really go around asking women questions like that? I can't believe the County wants to know things like that."
He put the sheet back quickly.
"Well, let's forget that. It's just a kind of-er-supplementary question." He sighed. "I just can't understand your husband going to bed with you once or twice a month."
His eyes crawled hungrily along the silk-smooth flesh of her legs and thighs, the roundness of her hips and the fullness of her breasts.
"Not with a body like yours," he finished, his voice almost hoarse. "Your man must be undersexed. But I'll bet my bottom dollar you're not."
Something in the man's unveering gaze paralyzed her vocal chords. The words she wanted to say remained inchoate in her throat. There was something terrifying about the way he stared at her and the evenness of his voice.
Now the man had stopped talking and was unabashedly staring at a drop of water that trickled down the inside of her plump thigh. She blushed and flecked it off with her finger.
"You didn't have to do that, Mrs. Bruce. There's nothing lovelier than water moving down a girl's thigh. I even knew a man who loved to hold his wife nude under a shower, just so he could watch the drops bubble up like little fish eyes on her breasts and thighs and belly." He changed his tone swiftly as he saw the fear mushroom on her face.
"Now to business," he said drily, standing up. "Can I see what furniture you have? I want to note down everything."
"Well, I can tell you what we got, Mr....er...."
"Mitchell. Don Mitchell. Sorry. Orders are to make an eyewitness report. No offense, madam. Just have to."
She led him nervously through the rooms. He jotted down the furniture in the living room and kitchen on a yellow pad he took from his briefcase, noting the prices she had paid.
Somewhat calmer, she led him into the guest bedroom. He made some notes.
"Any more?"
"Just our bedroom," she said. "It's furnished almost the same."
"May I see it, please?"
She nodded reluctantly and led the way to it. He glanced at the drapes, at the large, low bed, and smiled.
"That's a much bigger bed than the one in the guest room. Lots of room for you and your husband to roll around in."
He sat on the bed suddenly and opened his briefcase. He pulled out a magazine with a bikini-clad girl on the cover and showed it to her.
"Just a couple of questions, then I'll be off. Doesn't she look like you, Mrs. Bruce?"
Penny's eyes widened. "I think you'd better leave now, mister," she said quietly.
He grinned. "It's nice and cool in here. I think she looks a lot like you. Where you going?"
"Out, mister. And you'd better get out, too."
"What are you so trembly about? You're shivering like raspberry jello. Look at that halter go up and down," he said, grabbing her wrist.
"Let go of me," she said, pulling away from his grip.
"My goodness. Just look at that halter. What you got under there, Mrs. Bruce? Rabbits? They look alive."
She pulled with all her strength, but could not shake off his steel-like grip.
"Help," she screamed, then realized the windows were shut and the blinds down. He pulled her down to the bed beside him and covered her mouth.
"Let me see those rabbits, honey. Now lie still and I'll take my hand off your mouth. I just want to see those rabbits."
She kicked at him roughly and tried to get away. His face hardened as he shoved her down and squeezed her breast.
"Don't fool with me, baby, or I'll shut those eyes permanently. Now just lie still and don't yell. Nobody'll hear you anyhow. But if you let out another yell, I'll push these thumbs in hard-like this. And if that doesn't work, I'll finish the job like this."
"Please. I-I can't breathe," she said hoarsely, staring up at him as she lay pinned down by his body.
"All right. Now shut up."
He fumbled irritably with the catch of her bandanna and finally ripped it off. He whistled as he saw the firm, pear-shaped breasts with the heavy madder-brown aureola.
"My God," he said reverently. "You're really beautiful."
He touched them gently.
"They're beautiful," he said softly. "So beautiful. They're not rabbits. They're roses. Beautiful roses. They're so big for that small body. But they're beautiful."
"Please," she begged, her voice full of terror. "Please don't hurt me. Please."
"Don't talk, don't scream, and I won't hurt you. God, they're beautiful."
He lowered his lips and kissed her nipples gently. She shuddered and he laughed.
"My God, you're beautiful even when you're scared. I ought to keep you scared. I just love to watch them dance. I don't get much chance to see breasts like these. My girl's got small ones. She wears black lace underwear to improve them. But it only helps when I'm drunk. That's been my luck, all my life. I love girls with big breasts and all I end up with is girls with molehills."
"You're hurting me with your hand," she said pleadingly.
"Okay, now let's see the rest of you. Let's see if it all matches up."
He loosened the buckle of her belt, opened the zipper at the side and pulled off her shorts. Underneath she wore panties with a blue floral design. He marveled at it.
"What a wonderful idea. Flowers."
"Don't kill me, mister, please, please."
"Then shut up. Don't yell and don't fight me. I won't kill you. You can't do nothing to me. You got no proof I'm even here. Nobody saw me come in. And if they did, I'm just another salesman. But no yelling. I shut a girl up permanently a week ago for that. You believe me, baby?"
"Yes, yes. Don't do that," she said, gasping and coughing as he pressed his thumbs into her throat.
"All right. You're cool-looking in your birthday suit."
He ran his fingers gently down her belly and flanks. Then he turned her over with a sharp, sudden movement and slapped her buttocks.
"Baby, you're gorgeous all over. What's your name? I mean, what does hubby call you?"
"Penny."
"When you're making love, he calls you that? Nothing more private than Penny?"
"No."
"I'll bet you look twice as good in black lace underwear. You got some, don't you?"
"Yes," she said slowly. "Where?"
"In the third drawer."
"I'll get it, you look too wonderful to move. You just lie there, Penny. I'll get them and put them on."
As he moved to the chiffonier, Penny's eyes glanced quickly at the door of the bathroom which was slightly ajar. If she jumped and ran, she might just make it and lock herself in.