Chapter 4
I saw a pair of firm, jutting breasts, the flat stomach, lean and luscious flanks, the wonderfully curved lines you see only on a very young woman. And then the thought kept running through my mind that Terry wasn't a bag at all, and that she was wonderfully exciting in the nude, and what the hell made George stomp around out into the woods trying to sow wild oats when he had this at home waiting for him twenty-four hours a day.
"I don't think I'm bad," Terry was saying as she ran her hands seductively up her sides. "I don't think I'm put together badly, do you?" She started moving towards me.
She was getting so close to me now that I could smell her heat and perfume. "Is that what makes you want to find her? Is that why George is always chasing something new? Or do you think he's spoiled? Maybe you've been spoiled. Maybe you haven't really made love to an exciting woman."
"Do you think that Greek, that Zora, is put together any better? Do you think she's a better lay than I am? Do you think she knows how to do it any better? Let's see," she said breathlessly. "Let's just see."
She came in between my legs and slowly let herself sink down on top of me. She brought her mouth down on mine, hard, and she was shoving her hips viciously against me, smothering me with her mouth and hot breath and pushing against me until I lost my balance and we slid off the couch and onto the floor between it and the coffee table.
The fall jarred her mouth off mine and now I could hear her panting as her hands began digging frantically at my belt buckle and getting me open.
"Let's just see," she said between gasps, "let's see how I am. I want you to tell me. I want you to tell me how I compare with the others. Tell me if I'm good, or bad, or not worth a damn." The moment she'd come towards me I'd noticed the fierceness in her glance that turned to unleashed passions, and briefly the thought had come to me that her violence and heat would completely overpower me, and there was the whisp of uneasiness that my virility might not meet her expectations. Or mine. But then as she smothered me I felt the immediate unbounded reaction, and I knew that the match was not one-sided.
Initially I'd remained passive, not wanting to take the initiative, but now with the flurry of her hands against me I began to help her as much as I could. The second I was completely free we slammed together violently, forgetting the hardness of the floor and the cramped quarters between the legs of the couch and the coffee table, shifting and squirming and moving a-bout, my hand swiping my belt buckle aside so that it wouldn't bruise her thigh and feeling her hand, wonderfully urgent and helpful.
We were breathing so raggedly because of our urgency and passion that we could no longer kiss, and with my face pressed up tightly against her cheek I could hear her moaning each time we moved. Then the movements were coming so fast and in such quick succession that she could no longer break up the sounds and now it was a steady agonizing sound that began low and vibrant then increased in pitch as her throat tightened.
And then I no longer heard her because I was caught up in the splendor of her violence and reactions, hearing only the booming of the blood in my ears and through my body, boiling and drumming so forcefully that I was afraid it would tear me apart. There was a sudden flash of light, blinding in its brilliance, that ripped me wide open, and I followed through to become engulfed in the all-consuming splendor of her passion.
After awhile when everything came back into focus again I remembered that she'd asked me a question, and now I had to give her an answer.
"Don't you ever worry about a thing, Terry."
That made her very happy and she began to relax. Before long she'd lost all that frantic fierceness that had possessed her a short time ago. Everything about her became soft and warm, and tender, and we moved onto the couch where she stretched and squirmed languidly while I mouthed the wonderful breasts, beautifully white, the soft and heated skin, contrasting sharply with the dark tan of her luxurious body. She was delightfully supple and very passionate, and this time we neither rushed nor used force or violence. Not until we'd explored each other slowly and leisurely and then it came over us both simultaneously, the wonderful waves and surges of urgency, and we moved deliriously, pausing, accelerating, abruptly losing control of the moments and then becoming unleashed, brutally, savagely, and tortured by the pains of ecstasy.
Then I had to give her another answer. "The most, Terry. Really."
And when she'd gone to get dressed I remembered that last remark and I found myself analyzing it. If Terry were the most, how would I describe Zora? Was there a superlative for the most?
It occurred to me then why George might be doing what he was doing, and I knew I had to get Zora, too. Just to find out how good she really must be.
I didn't tell Terry about that. Neither one of us mentioned Zora's name again, but I finally said to Terry that I'd better leave. She'd put on the house coat she'd worn that morning, and now she walked me to the door.
"I said, 'Take care now, Terry."
"Perhaps the three of us can get together sometime, before your vacation ends."
"I hope so," I said, but I knew it would never happen.
When I got outside the building it was still quite warm. I began to walk towards town and by the time I found a cab stand, I'd begun to perspire. I asked the driver to take me to the hotel, but as we were going through downtown I glanced out the window and saw Pat Gordon fight her way through the pedestrian traffic and enter a drugstore.
"Hold up," I told the driver.
He glanced over his shoulder, his black eyebrows screwed down to reveal his confusion.
"Halt," I said.
"Alt?"
I nodded.
He still didn't understand. "Alt?"
The meter had just kicked over 400. I tossed a five-hundred Lire note at him. Before he'd stopped completely I had the door open and had hopped out.
In the drugstore I found Pat at the counter, paying for her purchases. She took her change and when she turned around she caught sight of me. "Hi, Chris."
She was wearing high heels, a beige skirt, and one of those see-through white blouses, looking willowy and very cute.
"You're pretty cute," I told her.
"I know," she said. "You told me last night."
I didn't remember that so I changed the subject quickly. "Where's the party tonight?"
"There isn't any that I know about."
"Well, let's get one going," I said. "Come on."
"Now?"
"Certainly."
She frowned as she glanced down at her pocketbook. "Well, I don't know-"
"-you've already got a date," I said disappointedly.
"No. It's just that I wanted to do a little more shopping. I don't come downtown very often."
"Be my guest." I took her arm and guided her out the door. We spent a couple of hours shopping, getting the things she needed for her apartment, and then I got a cab, and over her weak objections had the driver take us to the hotel.
In the bar we had martinis, and after the second one she said, "I have to go home now."
"You said that twice in the cab."
"I know, but it's true." She smiled. "I want to freshen up for my date tonight."
"What time shall we make it?"
We decided on eight o'clock, and after she'd departed I went into the hotel and talked to the man at the desk. I told him I'd like to get a hotel reservation somewhere on the Riviera, beginning tomorrow. He stated it might be difficult finding a vacancy because of the tourist season, but he assured me he'd do his best. After that I asked him about the possibility of renting a car. That apparently was much easier because he promised to have one waiting for me in the morning.
While I shaved and showered I reviewed the things I'd learned about George. Because I'd still discovered nothing about his official activities that might need investigating, I'd made a date with his secretary.
I spent some more time in the bar while waiting for eight o'clock, and as I came out of the hotel I found I was floating. I'd been drinking all day with nothing to eat, except for the snacks Terry had brought out.
I was feeling good when I stepped into Pat's apartment, and she stepped back quietly and a-way from me, as though I were the mad rapist. Driving to the restaurant she sat on the far side of the seat, with her hand near the door handle as though she were going to jump if I winked at her.
Compared to the way she'd been the night before, she seemed an entirely different person. I tried to make conversation; but all the while I was thinking that I could look forward to a dull miserable evening.
She'd recommended a restaurant at the outskirts of town, one that was perched on the side of the cliff overlooking the sea.
She spent a lot of time with her first glass of wine but once she'd finished it and I'd refilled her, glass, I noticed the color in her cheeks and her eyes began to sparkle. She was wearing a plain beige dress with short sleeves and a scoop neck, and it was very attractive on her. At first glance she would have passed for a teenager.
I tried to get her to talk about George but she said that she'd been here such a short time that she knew nothing about him. She had only been in the Foreign Service for six months, and Genoa was her first post. She was from a small town called Plainville in the Midwest and until she'd departed for Washington, she'd never been out of her home state.
When we'd finished eating she mentioned going to a night club. "It's one of the best night clubs in Genoa. I've never been there, but I'd like to go."
I slid into the cab, shoving over so that I was sitting close to her, but this time she did not move away. Neither did she object when I put my arm around her shoulder.
Instead, she said, "You're quite a wolf. Do you know that?"
It jolted me. It was the type of high-class chatter I used to get from girls in grade school, whenever I hung around trying to wrestle a kiss. It was tough trying to remain a gentleman. I said, "I am a wolf, and I want to howl. Let's sing."
She thought that was funny and we started singing. The cab driver glanced around at us as though he were trying to figure out if we were sick.
I was.
Sick and disgusted with myself for being out with Pat Gordon when I could have been out with someone else. Zora. The more I thought a-bout Zora, I realized that I should be out at this minute, trying to find her. I became more disgusted at myself and I even considered making some excuse to Pat and taking her home instead of to the night club.
But when I glanced at her and saw that she was having a ball, singing about the time she'd had on the railroad, I couldn't do it.
The night club was crowded but we managed to get a table right at the edge of the dance floor.
A five-piece band was playing softly with a slow, stomach-massaging beat, and a half dozen couples were doing just that out on the floor.
I told Pat, "Good enough not to be disappointing."
She nodded a bit vaguely as she continued to look around wide-eyed, and in a sort of wary and guarded way.
After we'd gotten our drinks, I asked her to dance.
"I'd like to visit the powder room first. Excuse me."
After she'd gone I sat down again, and a few moments later a dark-haired woman of a-bout thirty, with lines around her mouth twice that old, slid into the chair vacated by Pa. She was wearing a pink smock that hung loose on her and buttoned down the front.
"Hello, Americano."
"Howdy."
"You want to buy me a drink later?" Her large, weary eyes were watching me carefully.
"Why?"
"Maybe you like me."
"I have a date," I said.
"You want to sleep with me?"
"At the moment I'm all booked up."
Her glance flicked in the direction Pat had gone. "You no sleep with her tonight," she said positively.
She wasn't getting an argument out of me. "That's life."
"Si." She got up slowly and then took her time walking back to the bar and settling down on a stool.
When Pat returned I'd finished my drink and the band had taken a break. After I'd reordered I told her I'd been propositioned during her absence. Just for the shock value.
"So was I," she said lightly. "Once on my way to the powder room, and again on the way back."
Then the band was filing back in, and the M.C. was getting his microphone set up on the edge of the floor. They tried, but it wasn't much. A juggler, a guy riding a bicycle, a girl who sang Neapolitan songs, a dance team, and then we were being prepared for the big finale.
The M.C. introduced her as a harem dancer from the Far East. He must have meant far east Genoa, because it was the same woman who had dropped by in the pink smock. Now she was wearing a filmy pair of pantaloons, and nothing above the waist except a blue rock in her navel.
Her ribs were visible and she had narrow breasts with nipples at least an inch long. She looked tired and she danced the same way.
After the show I wanted to dance, but Pat said she'd rather get home because it was getting late.
The night was turning out true to form. When I got the bill I saw that the Scotch we'd been drinking had cost me four dollars a shot.
While we were riding to Pat's apartment she sat close and warm beside me and I had my arm around her, listening to what must have been her version of romantic chatter. Like how strange it still seemed to her that after dark Italian law required cars to drive with their parking lights on in the cities, and how she was sick and tired of riding the bus to and from work every day.
When the cab pulled up in front of her apartment building I told him to wait. Before I got out with her. "We can always call another one," she said. "I have a phone."
"It's getting late, Pat."
"But I wanted to offer you a drink of Scotch," she said disappointedly. "Ballantine's."
"Well now, that's different."
On our way up to her apartment she told me how sorry she was that she'd suggested we go to a club where Scotch was that expensive. Especially when she had Scotch in her apartment, all I wanted, and it was free.
I agreed with her, although at the moment I could visualize maybe a dusty half pint bottle of the stuff stuck away in one corner of the kitchen cupboard, probably behind the powdered coffee and the peanut butter jar.
But as it turned out, she was a girl who had a lot of Scotch. A full case.
While I was opening a bottle she was getting out the glasses, ice, and soda. I poured a couple of good jolts, I thought. But when I set down the bottle she picked it up and added some more to each glass.
I asked, "Are we going to get drunk?"
"Why not?"
I couldn't think of a good reason why not, and that's the way we started out.