Chapter 4
The driver hunched over the wheel of his cab parked out front of the subway at 72nd and Broadway knuckled his eyes and peered blearily at the youthful brunette standing hip-shot beside his vehicle. In the background, the cop, Davis, stood in the station entry watching the supple movement of Sandra's haunches and looking thoughtful, undecided, as if unable to make up his mind whether or not he ought to let the girls go their way without further guidance. On the ride down he hadn't got much out of either one of them. There was something phony about their story, a furtiveness in their reticence and general attitude. It wasn't fear but rather indecision, a vagueness of purpose.
Davis decided it was none of his business, and watched them climb into the cab and exchange a few words with the driver. He watched them drive away. Some months later he was to look back on that pleasant Spring morning with self-condemnation and regret.
The cab rolled for two blocks only and then stopped outside a gloomy all-night cafe.
"I could use my usual cuppa coffee," the driver said, yawning. "You kids want something? Bite to eat, maybe? You look kinda tuckered out."
Mavis nodded. She got out and Sandra followed, moving automatically, half asleep. Apart from some ragged bum hunched in a corner the cafe was deserted. The cab driver ordered ham on rye and coffee all round, and speculated a few dimes on a pin-ball machine while he waited.
"How you like it?" the fat character behind the counter asked Mavis.
"Right now, black. And plenty of relish on the ham."
He nodded. "You girls just hit town?"
"You might say that. We want a room. Nothing flashy."
"Goin' into business?" He laughed, exposing yellow teeth.
The cab driver grinned. Mavis didn't answer.
"You could try Bale's place on sixty-sixth street," the cafe owner said, "Right, Phil?"
"Maybe. Matter of fact that's where I was takin' 'em, Baldy. But now I ain't so sure. I reckon even Bale's would come a bit too high for these kids."
"Ain't they got any dough?"
"Not much," Mavis told him, "It'll have to be cheap."
Baldy grinned. He looked appreciatively at the amount of leg Mavis was unintentionally showing, and sucked at his foul snags.
"I gotta room upstairs you can have if you ain't too particular," he offered, "And seems to me you can't afford to be choosey. Ten bucks a week and ten per cent of the take. And of course there's a coupla conditions...."
"We couldn't take your room," Sanda said innocently, "Where would you sleep?"
Baldy laughed raucously. "Well now," he said, "That's one of the conditions, girlie. I don't move out-you girls just move in. I got a right sizeable bed. Comfortable too."
Just thinking of what it would be like brought a switf thrill to his groin. He licked his fleshy lips.
"No thanks," Mavis said drily.
"Kiddin' aside, Baldy," the cab driver began, "I reckon...."
"Who's kiddin?
"If you ain't you oughta be with that face," Phil retorted bluntly, "Forget it, you slob! I know a few places we can try, girls, providing you've got cab fare...."
They ate up and drank their coffee. Baldy, watching from the doorway as the girls clambered into the cab, couldn't shift his gaze from the plump contours of Sandra's prominent buttocks as she leaned forward. She stood for a moment with one foot in the cab and the other on the ground, and the provocative sight remained with Baldy long after the cab had turned off....
Phil, the driver tried several places unsuccessfull, and finally pulled into the curb.
"This ain't the best district for cheap rooms," he said, "You'd likely do better around forty-sixth."
"So let's go," Mavis muttered wearily. She was tired, mentally and physically, and the way she felt any place that would get her off the streets was right with her.
"You're piling up cab fare," Phil pointed out. "Tell you what. Why don't you shack up at my place till morning? No sense ridin' round half the night. Look, kids, I ain't a bad guy. I'll treat you right. Tomorrow, after a good rest, you'll feel-"
"No" Sandra said firmly, "All we want is to find a room. We can pay. Take us to forty-sixth street."
"Don't rightly know if I've got enough gas."
"Look!" Mavis said irritably, "Don't mind her. I'll agree to anything just so I can get some sleep. Don't get me wrong, mister, I may be green but I'm not stupid. I've been with a man before. You fix us up and I'll be, er, nice to you. But only for tonight, or what's left of it."
"Mavis! You can't...." Sandra protested.
"Shut up! Don't be silly. This is New York. Sandra is, well, different, mister. You've got to understand that. She's got a thing about men. Me, I'm not bothered that way."
Phil wasn't a young man but not bad looking in a dark sort of way, and there was nothing senile about the way his virility responded to girls' appeal and the soft fragrances of their young bodies that had tantalised his nostrils ever since they got into his cab. Somehow he'd figured the blonde for the hot one, and was mildly surprised.
"You got me real restless, kids," he answered, "What's your names?"
She told him. He let in the clutch. Sandra pulled away from Mavis. When the brunette placed her arm affectionately round her shoulders Sandra shrugged it off angrily. Mavis sighed.
"Look!" she exclaimed patiently, "It's just for tonight, just this once. We can't roam the strets all night. I'm worn out. It won't mean anything. It won't make any difference at all to us. Sandra, don't be stubborn."
The sulky blonde didn't answer. Mavis shrugged and settled back. Presently she felt a warm hand groping for hers, the clasp of Sandra's possessive fingers, and realized that she was forgiven.
The apartment Phil Benton took them to was small, just two rooms, a kitchen, and bedroom with one double bed. Sandra flopped, fully dressed, onto the bed, too exhausted for further argument or discussion. Phil put on a pot for coffee, lit two cigarettes, gave one to Mavis. Despite her fatigue she experienced a certain excitement, a mounting anticipation. She had never made love with a man before, only with boys, never an adult, mature man. The prospect was almost frightening. She wondered what it would be like, and trembled at the Uiought of it. Phil Benton was husky, powerfully built. She knew from the way he looked at her that he had been ready for her for some time.
She could hardly keep her eyes open, and yet the animal needs of her young body were stronger, more persistent than the mere longing for sleep. Sex dominated her flesh. She not only wanted a man's love, she needed it to relax her mind and her body, to settle her nerves. It had always been like that, a need rather than mere lustful pleasure. It was the outlet she needed now for pent-up emotions and fears, for jangled nerves and self-reproach. She tried to appear calm and masterful, but could hardly control her eagerness. When Phil placed a hand on her arm she looked up into his face and smiled in a way that brought a hot flush to his cheeks and a lustful gleam to his eyes.
She held his gaze, and he swore. Suddenly he felt self-conscious. Mavis was somehow different from any other girl, or woman, he'd ever had. He wanted her body, yet he felt drawn to her in other ways, wanted to protect her. She seemed such a child, and yet ... Phil sighed.
"I'll make the coffee," he said huskily. Mavis removed her coat. Phil went into the small kitchen. Mavis peeled off her sweater, unzippered her skirt and let it fall. She stepped out of it, moved to the window and drew one of the faded curtains aside. She stared down. The street below was quiet, deserted. A painfully thin cat sat on a low wall licking its paws and eyeing a mangy tabby thoughtfully.
Standing there wearing only brief black panties and bra, Mavis experienced a sudden spasm of apprehension, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth was sore where the teenage punk who's attacked her on the subway platform had slapped her. It was as if she tottered on the brink of a precipice, unable to help herself, knowing she had to fall one way or the other. She shivered.
Phil Benton, coming back into the room, put down the steaming coffee cups and stood staring intently at the girl. She heard the sharp intake of his breath but didn't turn even when she knew he was crossing the room towards her. He had removed his coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up exposing thick, muscular arms black with coarse hair. He approached close and stood directly behind Mavis. A muscle in his neck twitched. For the moment he didn't touch her.
Sandra lay unmoving, her eyes closed, breasts heaving gently. "Your friend's out to the wide," Phil remarked softly. "I made the coffee...."
He reached out slowly, put his arms around her waist. She felt the tenseness of his body, the surging strength in his tightening embrace. The rancid smell of his sweat was strong in her quivering nostrils, yet it wasn't an unpleasant odor, exciting rather than repellant. His breath beat hotly on the back of her neck. His hands touched her body, groped, slid over her hips past her waist to her breasts, freed the pulsing flesh, closed over each warm mound, and squeezed painfully.
Mavis moaned, and with a horse cry Phil lost all restraint. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her back, straining against her until she twisted round, her eyes bright, lips gently parted, and locked her fingers behind his corded neck. She pulled his head down, fastened her moist mouth on his and clung like a wild, demented creature, a panting animal suddenly freed from the leash, tearing at his clothing, moaning, sobbing. Her tongue darted in and out of his mouth, lashing him to frenzy. She thrust herself against him fiercely. Gently, almost reverently, he pulled her briefs down, pushed them over her hips, let them drop. He caressed her taut buttocks then dug his fingers deep into her firm, intimate flesh in a paroxysm of unbridled passion.
"Darling!" Mavis whispered hoarsely. "Love me! I want you ... God, how I want you! Yes, oh! Yes. Oh, darling, I can't stand it ... Dear, sweetie man, love me ... Now Darling, do it now ... Please!"
He swept her up from the floor and fell with her onto the bed. The lamp on the bedside table toppled with a crash but Sandra didn't waken. They were oblivious to her presence as they clung together, flesh to sweating flesh, oblivious to everything save the sweet ecstasy, the urgency, of their union.