Chapter 4
In the hectic days that followed, Penny had no time for regrets. Life took on a new and accelerated tempo, and she was swept along on a tide that had no tangible beginning, no foreseeable end. Having made her bed, however, she resolved to lie in it with the sturdy pioneer spirit that Dan and Erlene considered so essential, and which David Stewart obviously thought she did not possess.
There was much to be done before she could face Washington in a manner befitting a confident career girl; a girl who knew what she wanted of life and had every intention of getting it. Many times it occurred to Penny that no career, however exacting, could be more frustrating than the process of getting into orbit. Certainly The Grove, with its self-service way of life, was a poor excuse for a launching pad.
There was no hired help around to "oil the machinery and do the dirty work," as Dad inelegantly described the sorry state of affairs; no by-the-day sewing woman to rejuvenate an ailing wardrobe; no bearers to tote and fetch-and no class distinctions whatsoever. Penny remarked on it, only to have Erlene smile and say:
"Don't forget, dear, this is the land of the free...."
"And the home of the brave," Penny finished. "You don't need to say it again, darling. I heard you the first time." Tactfully, she refrained from adding what was on her mind:
"I am the brave one around here."
It was downright irritating to hear young Gena say, as she often did, "It's wonderful, living in a place where you don't have servants hanging around, breaking their necks trying to please everyone, while you bend over backward trying to please them."
But then, Gena was like that, the older sister reflected: too democratic for her own good. And Gena, like everyone else in the family, was cooperating to the fullest, the object being to send Penny off in the style to which she was surely entitled. Penny, for all her grandiose airs, was properly grateful.
Philip Gilmore declared a moratorium on house repairs and made several trips to Washington and innumerable phone calls, renewing old friendships in the interest of his elder daughter. With his usual flair for getting things done without fanfare, he-met and hurdled such obstacles and Penny's inexperience, his own misgivings, and arranged for interviews with suitable employers. Happily, the Gilmore name was no handicap; in fact, it seemed to have magic qualities. Only once did Philip break down and say:
"I'm lying through my teeth, Penny; sticking my neck out all over Washington. If you let me down, may God help you. I can't."
"I won't let you down, Dad," Penny . promised.
Erlene, cooperative as always, borrowed a sewing machine from a friendly neighbor and set about the business of updating Penny's wardrobe to comply with a rather shocking new freedom in dress. America, she observed wryly, was out-marching Paris in the style parade.
"We'll strike a happy medium, salvaging whatever we can of the wardrobe you have," she told Penny. "Next week we'll rob the piggy-bank and go shopping for new things."
Penny, touched by her stepmother's kindness, tried to express her appreciation in deeds as well as words. She offered to take over the household chores, including the cooking. But Gena, who had installed herself in the kitchen the moment it was vacated, refused to budge from her self-appointed assignment.
"I'm having a ball," she declared, and proceeded to prepare meals remarkable mainly for their accent on TV dinners and gooey desserts.
"After all, I'm not getty any younger," fourteen-year-old Gena announced with amusing solemnity. "It's high time I learned. A lot of girls my age are already going steady."
Penny, not to be outdone, volunteered to do the grocery shopping-and was stuck with it. No matter, she told herself sturdily. Regardless of David Stewart's heckling, no girl who had been practically everywhere, seen practically everything, could possibly lose her bearings in an American supermarket.
Assuming a nonchalance that she certainly did not feel, she joined the parade of housewives-many of them accompanied by children of assorted sizes, not to mention over-friendly dogs of varied ancestry-in what appeared to be a frenzied raid on a gargantuan grab bag.
In a way, it was a challenging experience and, Penny admitted, a rewarding one. She had bought all the items Erlene had set down on a seemingly interminable list and come through alive. In fact, she managed to say quite convincingly in response to her stepmother's sympathetic, "You poor child; you must have had the full treatment."
"It was nothing, darling. I sailed through like a breeze."
She had a wild impulse to telephone David Stewart and inform him of her latest achievement, let him know how wrong he'd been about so many things. But no, she decided, she would wait till he broke down and called her. She could be just as proud, as ornery, as he could.
He did not call, and Penny hated herself for getting goose pimples every time the phone rang. Only Gena, always sensitive to the fortunes and misfortunes of her older sister, seemed aware of the ignominious situation. And Gena, passionately loyal and wise beyond her years, had the grace to remain silent.
"I couldn't care less," Penny would say by way of reassurance. "Don't forget I'm going where there's life, action, and romance. It's not just for myself I'm doing this, angel. You don't belong in this provincial town any more than I do. Just you wait till I get set and you're a little older-"
"I like it here," Gena would say loyally. Nevertheless, with each repetition, there was a growing breathlessness in her voice that should have warned Penny that, even now, young Gena was not altogether averse to going where romance was.
There followed two weeks of pure bedlam, in which feverish activity, anxiety, and high excitement merged into a kind of dizzy pattern. For Penny, there were trips into Washington with an indulgent though apprehensive father, for interviews with potential employers-all hand-picked in advance. Now and then as they drove along the highway, Philip Gilmore would glance sharply at his daughter and demand:
"Are you sure this is what you want, baby-this career, as you call it? Think you're ready?"
"I'm ready-as ready as I'll ever be, I guess."
"Erlene and I will help you all we can, of course, financially and otherwise. But we both feel you should go to school in the fall, here in the States; perhaps take a secretarial course. Unless I miss my guess, you'll be running into some plain and fancy competition."
"Don't be stuffy, Dad. Not every girl can say she's lived all over the world and can converse in several languages. And don't forget I do have a diploma from one of the most exclusive finishing schools in all of Europe."
"It's not enough, dear. You're a beautiful girl, Penny, and you have all the graces. But you have no special skill, nothing of market value in the business world," Philip would say, pointing out a fact that became increasingly obvious with each interview.
Whereupon Penny would take refuge in her sweetest smile and say, "Never mind what I don't know, Dad. Just look at all the lovely people you know in Washington. Don't worry. I'll get along."
And Philip Gilmore, hastily revising his opinion of his unpredictable daughter, would say, albeit a little anxiously: "Chances are you will get along, at that."
On the brighter side, there were shopping expeditions, with Erlene an indulgent, style-conscious guide, and Gena going along as cheerleader. Despite Gena's insistence on frilly, romantic things for her adored sister, Penny became the possessor of a tasteful wardrobe that could go anyplace, anytime.
There was, however, the grueling process of finding a suitable apartment to share. More than once as she made the dreary rounds with a suddenly hard-to-please Erlene, it occurred to Penny that they were looking for a combination that did not exist: an attractive apartment, a proper address, a wholesome roommate, and a reasonable rental-all in one package.
"We'll just have to compromise, I guess," she said tentatively, when they'd closed the door on a luxury apartment in which only the price and the roommate were wrong. "You and Dad often say that life itself is a series of compromises."
Erlene put her foot down. They would not compromise, she announced firmly, pointing out that the redhead-in-residence had all the earmarks of a hussy. Eventually, she promised, they would find a place with all the necessary virtues and only such inconveniences as a girl in Penny's position might expect.
"We aren't going to find the perfect place-I agree with you on that point, my dear," Erlene went on to say, trying once more to establish a forthright line of communication between herself and her bemused stepdaughter. "There'll be things on the debit side, as well as the credit. Make no mistake about that. But they'll balance."
Erlene's words were prophetic. With the help of a roommate agency catering to top-drawer career girls, an efficiency apartment was found in the Georgetown section of Washington. It consisted of a sizable living room, a pink-tiled bath, a stand-up kitchenette screened from view by a collapsible door, and two of the smallest bedrooms Penny had ever seen.
Strictly on the debit side was a kind of female population explosion that took place while Erlene and Penny were examining the apartment. Penny held her breath in dismay as three embryonic glamour girls, their hair done up on rollers, arranged themselves one by one on hassocks around a seemingly shrinking living room. Actually there were three roommates instead of the one she had visualized, not to speak of a frisky blue poodle.
In a flurry of words, the girls introduced themselves as Susan Randolph, librarian; Cynthia Blake, airline hostess; and NellieMay Butler, presently "resting." The dog's name was Husha, short for Hush-puppy. He was the property of Nellie-May, who described herself as Cynthia's "bloodcousin," come up from the South.
"Don't look so scared, sugah," NellieMay consoled Penny. "There isn't usually such a crowd here. Cynthia's away most of the time. And me-I'm just visitin', lookin' around. One of these days, we'll be going back to our lovely plantation home down in Georgia, won't we, Husha?" she drawled, addressing the restless poodle.
Cynthia and Susan, obviously older and more sophisticated, exchanged amused glances. Clearly they were not too companionable with the pretty blond visitor from down South, a circumstance that boded no good for the camaraderie of the crowded retreat.
On the credit side, however, there were such compensatory features as: the impeccable address, the above-average furnishings, and the rent that would be split three ways, maybe four.
"Besides, it's only a stopgap," Penny confided later to a visibly impressed Gena. "In no time at all I'll be moving out of that cat cage into a place of my own."
She was equally philosophical about the position, which, as sheer luck would have it, had come through on the very day she had signed up for the apartment. While she would have preferred a more glamorous assignment to start with, Penny admitted, a post as receptionist in the offices of one J. Cyrus Henry, generally known as "the Smiling Legislator from the Great Southwest," was not to be scorned.
"It's a steppingstone," she told Gena. "The important thing is, I'm in."
Now, on a Saturday afternoon, after a peculiarly frustrating week of commuting and getting acquainted with her job, Penny was gathering together her belongings in preparation for the move to the Washington apartment. Meanwhile, in response to considerable probing, she was regaling her young sister with a running account of her duties, together with a purposely facetious description of the unorthodox surroundings in which she worked.
The building itself, she declared, was ultramodern, all windows-a showplace, really. The Henry suite, on the other hand, was a masterpiece in down-to-earth austerity. Whereas the corridors were of finest marble and there was wall-to-wall carpeting all over the place, the smiling congressman's domain, including the large reception room, presented a picture of what Penny described as Early Southwestern Corn. The decor, in fact, was incredible.
"Mr. Henry doesn't want his friends from the great open spaces to get ideas; wants them to feel at home, I guess," Penny continued. "There's even a water bucket with a dipper in the reception room-believe that, if you can! There's also a rack for ten-gallon hats, a buffalo rug, cane-bottom chairs, a place to park boots and saddle and stuff...."
Moreover, there were framed mottoes on the walls and elsewhere, pointing out that honesty was the best policy, and admonishing everyone to keep smiling. These, Penny assumed, were for the purpose of emphasizing the image of honest goodwill Mr. Henry and his public relations man were striving so earnestly to project.
"And he is democratic; he actually means it," Penny added in a sudden burst of loyalty. "I refuse to believe it's all politics, American style. I hope I haven't sounded snobbish or critical."
Gena's admiring smile was answer enough.
"Actually, he's genuinely interested in doing good for his constituents, especially underprivileged young people-and I'm sure there are a lot of them back where he came from. Anyhow," Penny concluded, "he's a sweet old man. Otherwise Dad would never in the world have consented to my working for him."
"No, of course not," Gena said. "Sounds luscious-your job as a receptionist. Just look at all the exciting people you're meeting."
Penny shrugged. "Mainly politicians, cowboys, and stuff-."
"I will say it's luscious and exciting. I think cowboys are sort of cute. They look so romantic, so-well, you know, sexy." Gena's accompanying giggle did not quite come off, and her face flamed with sudden color.
"Gena!" Penny scolded. "You're only a child. What would you know about romance"-she hesitated-' 'and sex?"
Gena did not answer, and Penny, reassured, resumed her recital. "Well, I don't have to mix with any riffraff. All I have to do is to send them packing-but smiling. My job, according to Mr. Henry, is to separate the freeloaders from the bona-fide constituents and keep smiling. That's a must-whether I feel like it or not. If you think that's luscious and exciting, Gena, think again."
"I was just about to ask how you tell them apart," Gena said cautiously.
"That's the problem," Penny confessed, lowering her voice to a confidential tone, as though the very walls had ears. "They're look-a-likes, dress-a-likes, act-a-likes, most of them. But no matter. As I said, this position is only a steppingstone."
Fastening the last strap of her four suitcases, Penny smiled grimly. "I'd better call Dad now, so we can get started with these things. I'd like to get into the apartment and get oriented before I start getting dressed, though heaven only knows how I'll manage with all that crowd around, I have a date to go dancing tonight...."
Gena beamed. "Then you've made up with Doctor Stewart. I knew you would, sis. I gave him your office phone number when he kept calling here."
"Thanks, honey. Dave phoned me. We're still good friends, always will be, but that's all. My date tonight is with a man who's already 'arrived.' He's an image-maker. We're going to dinner, then on to Tino's a Go-Go, which is supposed to be one of the liveliest discotheques in the city," Penny added in a breathless spate of words surely calculated to forestall any backtalk on the part of her young sister.
"An image-maker?" Gena repeated, picking out one of the few words that had registered in the avalanche. "You mean he's a for-real sculptor?"
Penny laughed and shook her head. Mark Graham, her date for the evening, she explained, was a public relations wizard, who specialized in creating and fostering images for important and would-be important political figures. J. Cyrus Henry was only one of his many clients.
No, Penny acknowledged when pinned down, Mark Graham was not as good-looking as David Stewart; few men were. Nor was he as young. Actually, he was a trifle on the homely side, and there was a touch of gray at his temples; however, this was inconsequential, since it only added to his distinguished appearance and marked him as a successful man of the world."
"Don't get excited, honey," Penny protested when Gena fell silent. "Just because I'm going out with him tonight doesn't mean I'm in love with him and that I intend to marry him. Mark Graham may not be your idea of a Prince Charming, and to tell the truth, he isn't mine. But he does know everybody who is anybody in the whole city of Washington!"
"Oh. Then he's another steppingstone, you mean?"
Penny, feeling unaccountably embarrassed, averted her flushed face. Then, on an impulse, she raised her head and glanced across at her sister. Gena had taken off the thick glasses she hated, and in her luminous eyes there was the unmistakable light of affection for an older sister who presumably could do no wrong.
There was something else, too-an inscrutable look Penny had never noticed before, causing her to shiver perceptibly. She recalled a remark Erlene had once made.
"Gena?" Erlene had said, "has perfect vision in her heart."
Again Penny lowered her eyes. Somehow, at the moment, she could not bring herself to face the challenge of her young sister's all-seeing heart.
That evening, Erlene and Philip Gilmore lay in bed talking about their two daughters. Since moving back to the States, they had been very concerned about the way Penny and Gena would adjust to life in America.
It was dark in their bedroom, and they huddled close together under the covers, enjoying the feel of their naked bodies pressed tightly together.
"You know something?" Erlene asked, twirling her finger in the thick hair on her husband's chest.
"No, what's that?" Philip sighed, reaching up to lazily caress his wife's large tit.
"I think the girls will be all right, as long as we don't get in their way too much. In fact, I'm pretty proud of them so far. Aren't you?"
Philip just grunted his assent and then attacked his wife's fleshy breasts with increased ardor.
"Oh, honey," she squealed. "You know what that does to me. Oooooo!"
Grinning lewdly, Philip moved down so he could suck on Erlene's nipple. He rolled his tongue all around the brown nub of her tit-tip, listening while Erlene sighed contentedly.
"Yes, I'm sure the girls will be all right," Erlene said softly. "And besides, you have more important things to do than worry about them day in and day out. You've got your book to write, and...."
Raising up from her tit, Philip had a thin slivery strand of spittle hanging from his chin. Determinedly he said, "And I've got a beautiful wife to make love to. Now just relax and stop thinking about the girls. I want you to enjoy this."
"Whatever you say, darling," she replied, pulling his face back down against her breast. "Whatever you say."
Philip bit down on his wife's nipple just enough to make it pleasant for her. She moaned beneath him, running her finger through his hair while gently calling out his name.
Having thoroughly aroused one of Erlene's nipples, Philip moved his attentions to the other one. Before long, he had both her tits covered with a glossy sheen of saliva, and that gave him an idea.
"Hey, honey, what are you doing now?" Erlene asked. "You're not going to stop already, are you? Huh?"
Philip intended to stop sucking her nipples, but he planned to begin fucking his cock between her big boobs. Sitting down on her quivering belly, he slowly scooted up until the head of his prick was lodged in her cleavage. Then he leaned down with his hands firmly gripping her breasts, pushing on the huge globes until he had formed a tight passageway through which he could fuck his penis.
"You ready, honey?" he asked breathlessly.
Erlene just nodded, eagerly awaiting the moment when her husband would begin fucking her tits. She stuck out her tongue and tried to arch her head forward so she could get in a few licks and sucks of Philip's cock as it appeared at the top of her cleavage.
Philip fucked back and forth slowly at first, moving his hips in a steady controlled rhythm. It was easy for Erlene to get in a few licks on his penis during the upstroke. In fact, when Philip's cock began drooling pre-cum, she was able to suck that gooey jism down, right out of his piss-slit. This turned her on immensely, and she could hardly wait for him to shoot out his load of sperm, covering her face and neck and shoulders with the creamy stuff.
Then Philip began thrusting harder, working his dick between her tits until it was a mere blur. Each time he reached the peak of his thrust, his ass would bounce against her belly, causing a loud slapping sound that grew louder the more they sweated.
"Oh, Philip!" she cried. "That's so good. Oh, that feels so damn good. Do it harder! Faster! Ohhhhh!"
While staring down at his aroused wife's face, Philip got the sudden urge to plow his cock into her mouth. Fucking her tits was nice, but he knew that the powerful suction she could put on his penis with her lips and mouth would feel even better.
Releasing her breasts, Philip scooted for ward until his prick was jutting into his wife's face. While she took hold of his cock with her lips and tongue, he leaned back and started stroking her wet pussy with both hands. While she sucked his prick, he tried as best he could to stimulate her engorged clitoris.
It didn't take them long to get a steady rhythm going, even though they were in such a strange position. Erlene sucked hard, giving it everything she had, while enjoying the tremendously exciting feelings provided by Philip's fingers rolling over her clit. And Philip grunted out his ecstasy, sitting back and letting his body take over, giving in totally to the ripples of lust that were sweeping through his loins.
When he felt that unmistakable itch in his balls, Philip could tell that he was going to come at any moment. So he increased the pace of his thrusts, trying to let his wife know that his moment was at hand.
Getting the message, Erlene began sucking as hard as she could, filling the room with lurid slurping noises. And it wasn't long before she was rewarded with the first hot spurt of her husband's sperm. Philip couldn't shoot the stuff out fast enough to suit her, because she swallowed down each wad of semen greedily.
Having emptied his load, Philip was exhausted. But he still understood that his wife had not come. So after she had licked his cock clean, he rolled over and began sucking on her pussy, driving his tongue into her hole as deep as he could.
Since she was so aroused by the taste of Philip's jism, it didn't take Erlene long to enjoy her climax. Sandwiching his head between her quivering thighs, she let her come sweep through her, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his tongue slithering around her clitoris.
Just before drifting off into sleep, Erlene thought how prophetic her earlier statement was. Of course they had more important things to do than worry about their daughters day in and day out. Worrying would detract from their sex life, and she didn't want that, not by a long shot.