Chapter 4
Hester sat frowning, trying to find the proper words to give the letter the bite she wanted.
"The manner in which you played the role," she went on, speaking carefully and slowly, "did not have the originality the director demanded. Therefore, the agreement is terminated and I enclose your check for two hundred and seventy dollars. My usual ten-percent commission had been deducted from the total, etc., etc."
She finished dictating with a rush and sat back watching Judy's pencil race across the notebook. It was but a short trip for her eyes to travel from
Judy's book to her knees, which were delightfully in view, thanks to the ever-shorter skirts they were selling to the younger girls these days.
They were nice knees, pleasantly rounded and encased in sheer nylon which did not go much beyond them. Hester could see the bare underside of a thigh, white in the shadows beneath the skirt. The thigh was...
The pencil had stopped its scraping, and Hester looked up. Judy was staring at her, her eyes narrowed, her head cocked in a questioning manner.
"Well..." Hester cleared her throat and shuffled a few papers on her desk. "Our Mr. Smythe won't like getting only two hundred and seventy dollars for his part, but perhaps he'll learn that a bit of extra effort could have kept him on the studio payroll longer."
Judy said nothing, and Hester, feeling her face begin to color, rummaged in a drawer, finding a package of cigarettes. She held out the pack to her secretary, but the girl shook her head.
"It's getting late, Mrs. St. Claire. Perhaps I'd better just type this out and then go home." She paused for just an instant. "That is, if you don't mind."
Damned little bitch! Hester thought. A tease like you should be put over my knee! Instead she smiled and got up. "No that's fine. You run along when you're finished, and I'll lock the front door."
Judy closed her notebook, rising and turning for the door, but Hester caught up and walked with her across the large, carpeted office. "Sure you wouldn't like something?" she heard herself saying, almost pleading. "A drink, perhaps?"
Judy sighed and shook her head again. "No, really. Thanks, but I..."
Judy put her hand on the knob, and at the same instant Hester put her hand on a plump cheeks of her buttocks. The girl hesitated and turned to look at her employer. Hester had hoped to see a look of anticipation in her eyes, but there was only reproach and resignation.
Hester managed to smile in her old, confident way. "If you should finish any other work which needs my study or my signature, just stuff it into a brief-case and bring it by the house this evening." She was pleased at how coolly she was able to say the words.
Judy's eyes wavered. "Your house? Tonight?" She glanced over her shoulder at the outer office, where a client waited to see Hester. "I presume the doctor will be out."
"You presume correctly."
"Well, I don't know." Judy shrugged, and Hester's eyes dropped to her breasts. "I may have some things for you to sign..."
"Yes?" Hester blurted like a schoolgirl.
"And then I may not."
She closed the door in Hester's face, leaving her sucking in deep breaths while her hands clenched and unclenched, the fingers entwining like snakes.
"That's what you need, you tease!" Hester mumbled aloud as she went back to her desk, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. Her hand shook. "A good old-fashioned paddling."
She leaned back and placed her head against the thick leather rest of the chair. She closed her eyes, working to drive the frustration from her loins.
After another two or three days, she wouldn't be seeing Judy so much for the remainder of the summer. Hester would be off to the Treacher Camp first thing Monday morning and then, except for an occasional drive down to the city to take care of business, she would be deep in the forest, cut off from Judy and her annoying, teasing ways.
Hester depended on Judy a great deal, which was one reason she paid the girl two hundred dollars a week. Every year, Hester donated her entire summer to the Treacher Camp, giving freely of her valuable time. During those weeks it was up to Judy to keep the agency running smoothly, with Hester in regular contact by mail and telephone.
Therefore, Judy was more than a mere secretary. Much more. She was Hester's strong right arm, capable of taking charge almost as efficiently as Hester. Hester smiled. But not quite as efficiently.
Hester was the seasoned master who knew how to handle their show-business clients. She could make them happy on jobs that were less lucrative than they had expected-and what job wasn't? She had the all important connections with the studios and the stations, so that they came to her when they had a difficult part to fill.
Still, Judy was worth her ten thousand-plus a year. On occasion, she performed certain overtime work for which she was paid extra. This rankled Hester, for when Hester had first broken Judy's resistance, the girl had been a willing partner with no more payment than a compliment and a promise of more.
Then the bitch had gotten smart, knowing how much Hester needed her, and had begun to make demands-demands Hester had had to meet, or do without.
The price had gotten so steep lately that Hester had become more annoyed than ever. She had hated to cheapen their experiences with money in the first place, and now to have to pay so much...
She smiled. This summer she'd keep an especially close watch at the camp. Surely, something would turn up. A nice Los Angeles girl, so that everything wouldn't come to a halt when Labor Day arrived, and summer was ended. She needed someone to replace Judy on a year-round basis.
She had done well the summer before. There had been a sweet sixteen-year-old from San Francisco, plus an eager, red-headed counselor of twenty from Phoenix. She reacted at mere memory of those lovely legs. Two wonderful girls, but both out of reach when the holiday was over.
This year her goal was definite and sensible. A girl closer to home, a girl she could see all year, whenever she pleased. A girl she could cultivate, help develop. Perhaps, even, a girl to take Judy's place at the agency.
Hester actually laughed out loud. Then she could kick the blonde trollop out on her fanny.
Fanny! She thought of Judy and her marvelous bottom. At that moment, Judy was all she had, and Hester needed someone badly. She squirmed in her chair, feeling the itch in her loins, pressing her fingers against her stomach.
The box on her desk buzzed and she stabbed at it, missed, and stabbed again. "Yes?"
"Mrs. St. Claire, Mr. Hagen is still waiting to see you. May he come in soon?"
"Yes, send him in now." She bit her lip. "And Judy...? "
"Yes, Mrs. St. Claire?" The voice abruptly turned frosty with a professional chill.
"I believe arrangements can be made to pay you twenty for your overtime services. I thought you'd like that." God, she hated herself for crawling!
Judy's answer came fast. "I've so many things to do, but perhaps I could put them aside for fifty."
"Fifty!" Hester closed her eyes. "Not a penny over thirty-five."
"Fifty, Mrs. St. Claire." Judy's tone made it clear there was no room for bargaining.
"Very well." Hester sighed. "Fifty. And send Mr. Hagen in, if you please."
"Yes, Mrs. St. Claire."
The box clicked dead, and Hester pounded the desk with her fist. Fifty dollars! Her most outrageous price yet. "Yes, Mrs. St. Claire ... No, Mrs. St. Claire," she mumbled in a mocking voice. But she could still smile.
It may be the last fifty you'll collect, darling Judy. For by the end of next week I may have another, younger, brighter jewel for my harem.
The door opened, and she tacked on her professional smile as Mr. Hagen walked in.
Hester stood before the mirror, tugging the clinging gown into place, loving the way it stretched across her hips and molded the gorgeous curves of her bosom.
She lifted one hand high behind her back, struggling for the fastener, but it was useless. There was nothing left but to ask for his help.
Sighing, she went to a door and tapped.
"What is it?" he called.
"My zipper."
He opened the door, standing before her in his shorts, a towel around his shoulders. She turned her back to him and he tugged on the fastener, pulling it up to the back of her neck.
"Fancy clothes," he muttered. "Where are you off to tonight?"
Hester was a bit surprised, for George rarely asked her about anything she did any more. "I'm staying home," she snapped. "But there's no reason for me to look like a fishwife. After all, you know I like to dine as a civilized woman."
"I know all about your civilization, my dear," he shot back.
"What does that remark mean?" she hissed.
"Nothing. Nothing at all." He sounded weary as he turned away, ready to close the door.
She peered in at the dark suit laid out on his bed. "You're still going out?"
"Of course. You know it's the Medical Society every second Friday."
Hester turned away as he closed the door behind her. Good. George would be gone until after midnight, providing he drank his usual amount of whiskey after the dinner speeches.
At dinner, they sat quietly, one at either end of the table. From time to time, the cook hurried into the room, placing meat, vegetables and, at last, the cheese and coffee before them.
The cook hovered, waiting, until they looked up. "Will that be all, ma'am?" the heavy, middle-aged woman asked.
"Yes, Hilda. We won't be needing you until, oh ... say tomorrow afternoon."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much, ma'am."
When she was gone, George frowned. "What was that all about? She was off all day yesterday, and now you're giving her another twenty-four hours."
"Not quite that long, my dear," she snapped. "Besides, she's been working hard this week. A bit more rest won't hurt her, I'm sure."
George was silent a moment. Then he continued, "What are you up to?"
"Nothing," Hester blurted, her voice rising. "Nothing which concerns you."
"You've made certain that Hilda and I won't be around the house this evening." Pie picked up a piece of cheese, studying it. "Got friends dropping in?"
"I refuse to be grilled like a suspect in a station house, George St. Claire!" Her voice trembled with anger. "Hilda needs the rest, and your going out is completely your own doing. If you prefer, I'll run into the kitchen and stop her. Is that what you'd like-a scene with the domestic?"
George waved a hand. "No, no. Let her go, for heaven's sake!"
When they had finished the cheese and George began gulping his coffee and glancing at his watch, Hester said, "You know I'll be leaving Monday morning."
"Monday morning?" He frowned. "What's Monday morning?"
"The Treacher Camp, as if you didn't know."
He paused, setting down his cup, and a look close to despair crossed his face. Slowly, he reached inside his jacket and took out a silver case. He plucked out a cigarette and touched flame to it with a silver lighter. "So. Another summer in the company of a hundred-and-fifty girls."
"A hundred-and-fifty wonderful girls, if you please," she said defensively. "Believe me, the foundation is delighted to have me donate my time and skill to those..."
His abrupt laugh was more like an anguished cry. "I'm sure the foundation is delighted to have Hester St. Claire as camp supervisor for those kids. All kinds of kids. Rich and poor, paying and nonpaying ... they provide a mighty large target for you, don't they?"
"Suppose you explain that?" she snapped.
"You wouldn't want me to, and you know it." He dragged on the cigarette, flicking ashes across the cheese. "I've seen enough in my own home to be able to guess what goes on when you've got girls living in the woods for two months."
Surprisingly, she said nothing, instead bowed her head for a moment. At last, she raised it and sipped at her coffee. "I don't think such ridiculous talk needs any answer from me," she said, her voice low.
"Hester!" He was pleading now, but she remained silent.
"Hester, for God's sakel You're a healthy, attractive woman of thirty-one. Why in heaven's name can't you behave like a normal housewife?"
"You're calling on the almighty a great deal this evening, George," she snapped. "But, since you ask, how can one behave like a so-called 'normal' housewife when one has never lived like a housewife? You know our relationship hasn't been normal since that first night..."
He slapped on the table. "Yes, that first night when you froze over like a Minnesota snowstorm..."
"Yes, I admit that!" she shouted, and her eyes filled. She looked at her hands in her lap. "I've told you a hundred times it wasn't your fault. It started years before I met you."
"In those sick girls' schools."
"Yes." Her voice was small.
"And you keep wanting to go back to that same life."
"No, not really wanting to go at all."
He wiped his face and threw down his napkin, rising. "I'm late."
Of course, you're late, she thought sadly. You're always late just when we get close to discussing the very heart of my problem. The heart? My parents and their lack of love for one another and for me. Their insisting that I live away from home, that I associate with girls my own age. I wasn't ready to face the competition of the world. I was too young, and I'd had no early training, no challenges and-no love. So I took love as it came, not knowing it was wrong, not knowing that all girls weren't like those who took me...
For some reason, she went with him to the door. The bell rang as he placed his hand on the knob. He looked at her, frowning, then opened it.
Judy stood outside, smiling tentatively, hugging a brief-case to her breast. She wore a sweater, skirt and brown-and-white saddle shoes, in the manner of a high school coed. If there was any make-up on her face, it didn't show.
"Hi, Dr. St. Claire," she exclaimed, her voice taking on the manner of an adolescent. "On your way out?" i
He brushed past her, looking back at Hester. "Yes, conveniently for all of us, thank God!"
The girl stepped inside and the door slammed hard behind her. "My!" she breathed, talking almost like a child. "He's in a terrible mood tonight."
Hester looked at her with distaste, and the girl stared back, placing the brief case on the hall table and then preening, her hands clasped behind her. She pursed her lips in a self-conscious smile and lowered her eyes.
"Judy, how old are you?"
The girl hugged her elbows and rocked her body back and forth. "Tonight I'm eighteen. Just the way you like."
"How old are you?"
Judy took a step back, her hands coming to her mouth, her eyes wide. "Why, twenty-five, I guess."
"You guess," Hester snapped. "I'd guess so, too. You'll never see your first quarter century again."
"What's the matter?" Judy walked toward the living room and Hester followed. "Why are you being so mean?"
"You're a bit ancient for the teen-age role, wouldn't you say?"
The blonde stamped her foot. "That's not fairl You always say you like me best like this."
Hester began to say something else nasty, but a dam of resistance gave way deeply inside her body and, cursing her parents, she felt her face soften. "You're perfectly right, darling." She smiled and extended her arms. "Can you forgive your best friend?"
"Well..." Judy's toe dug at the carpet and at that moment she looked immensely desirable. "I suppose so ... if you have a present for me."
"Of course. Open the brief-case when you get home and you'll find the envelope."
Judy's face split in a childish giggle and she clapped her hands. "Goody, Hester! Gee, you're the best friend on the whole block."
She ran across the room into the older woman's waiting arms, burying her face in her neck, letting her body fasten itself against Hester's.
Hester stepped back, holding her at arm's length, and then she let her hand stray across the full mounds under the sweater. "Did you wear one?"
"Goodness, no! I told you I'm a little girl tonight. Little girls don't need those things."
Hester smiled sweetly, like a woman thinking gentle thoughts, then she grasped the sweater at Judy's waist. Lifting, she eased it up over her body, while Judy dutifully raised her arms. It slid over her head easily.
The blonde's high, hard breasts jiggled before her eyes, fresh, clean and unencumbered by any undergarment. Hester placed her thumb on a nipple and Judy whispered, "Oh...!"
"Like it?"
"Um! Do you like me?"
For an answer, Hester lowered her face, and her lips first kissed one of the pink nipples. Then they opened and took the nipple into her mouth, pulling at it greedily, much as an infant pulls at its bottle.
"Oh...! " Judy moaned again, and her fingers linked themselves behind Hester's head, holding the lips in place as they fell back on the couch...
Three and one-half hours later, at eleven-thirty, Judy kissed her hostess one last time and tiptoed from the house before George's return. She carried the brief-case.
Hester had remembered to slip fifty dollars into the case while Judy was freshening herself in the bathroom.