Chapter 4
"Can you guess what's going to happen to us if we don't get that financial grant?" Amos Fiken said to his niece, Mona.
"It'll be bad-very bad," she answered.
"That's hardly an expression for it," Fiken said. "It's so simple that it's horrible. If we don't get the grant we can't cover up our-well, umph, our manipulation of hospital funds."
"Our theft, go ahead and say it, I don't mind," Mona said.
"All right-our theft. And when we can't cover it up, we'll go to jail."
"We'll go to jail?"
He did not answer her. He only stared, but it was sufficient to make Mona blink, then-lower her eyes to the carpeted floor. Amos Fiken's expression was severe. It seemed almost to create a physical strain within him, for beads of perspiration suddenly appeared on his bald head and there was even a glisten upon his pink, closely-shaved cheeks. And his body seemed strained, too, causing an erectness of his posture that seemed unnatural, almost as unnatural, it seemed, as the fifty years he carried as his own, for he looked to be a much younger man.
Mona raised her eyes. They changed in expression, turned sweet and loving. And then they smiled just the moment before her full lips opened to show her small, white teeth.
"Let's not start a quarrel again, Amos," she said.
"Of course not. Let's just decide what should be done."
"You decide," she said. "That's the way it's always been-that's the way it should be now."
Amos Fiken nodded as Mona, with a swish of the long negligee she was wearing, turned and walked to the window of the living room.
Fiken turned, too. He watched her for a moment, remembering how many years it had been that Mona had shared his home, his thoughts and emotions and his hopes and dreams. It seemed forever, and he had to remind himself that it had been only eight years, only since his brother's death had left Mona an orphan. And then, and forever after that time, she had shared everything with him, especially love.
Suddenly, Mona turned from the window and said, "What are we going to do, Uncle?"
"Just as we are, I guess," he said. "There's really only one person who might stand in our way.
"Dr. Roger Harper," Mona said, saying the words less sharply than if she were before him or in the presence of any of the hospital people.
"Right." Fiken paused, then walked over to the window where Mona was standing. He looked out at the wide sweep of lawn, crinkling his forehead in a meditative manner. Then he said, "It really boils down to a few simple principles. Elmer Pen will approve us for the grant just so long as that little snip of a Patty doesn't run home from the hospital and snitch on some of the things she might see. Or even some things she doesn't see. Then, we get the grant, we cover our-our embezzlement, never do it again and live happily ever after."
"Then Patty Pen's the problem?" Mona said, both stating and questioning her words. "No."
Mona jerked her head toward her uncle. Her eyebrows raised in a double question.
"No," Fiken said, turning to his niece. "Patty won't be a problem just so long as she has things the way she wants them in the hospital. You see, I know why she's really at Riverdale."
"So do I," Mona said. "She's promiscuous, a regular little bitch and there are a lot of people who'd like to hurt her. So, daddy says for us to take her in the hospital, hide her awhile, and at the same time treat her for that restless sexuality she's got-subdue it with drugs, anything to keep her from making it with every man in town."
"That's partly right," Amos Fiken said, staring straight ahead out the window. "Only partly?"
"Yes. All that you said is true. But, I happen to know Elmer Pen and I know damn well that he told that miserable child of his to look us over-see how we operate-to notice things, especially little things. Then, when she reports to him-as she always does about anything that takes her imagine-he'll decide whether we get the grant or not."
"So, we'd better please Patty, eh?"
"Yes. And just how do we please Patty?"
Mona smiled, then said, "I don't really have to tell you, do I?"
"No. But let me hear your thoughts."
"All we have to do is let little Patty have every man she wants in the hospital. She's just intrigued with hospitals-especially the interns in them."
"And the interns?" he asked.
"Well, naturally, they're intrigued with her."
"Except for Roger Harper, if my observations are correct," he said.
Mona nodded and said, "Yes. Thus far he's resisted her advances." Mona's smile widened as if the thought of Roger rejecting Patty delighted her no end.
"God damn him, anyway," Amos Fiken said. "He's the one who's apt to louse us up. He's always been so damn noble and devoted and acting like Dr. Scweitzer all the time-even when he's preparing to do nothing more than a hemorrhoidectomy."
Mona laughed.
"It's not funny," Fiken said.
"No, of course it isn't," Mona agreed.
"So we've got to change Harper's mind about Patty-about all of us. He's either going to queer us for the grant with Pen because of Patty, or because of his own miserable devotion to duty. And we've got to change that. Change him, if necessary."
"Maybe we could pressure him by threatening to withhold our recommendation for his residency," she suggested.
"Don't be absurd," Fiken said. "He's the best man in the hospital-it sticks out like a sore thumb."
Suddenly, Mona felt very tired of the conversation. It was early morning and already she had been up for hours, pacing the floor with her uncle, worrying and wondering about what to do about the problems that confronted them. And she was tired of it. Dreadfully tired.
"Tell you what," Fiken said. "I'm going to give him to you, Mona. Make him your problem. You're a woman-a beautiful one-hell, he can't be immune to all women. Maybe it's just that jailbait brat that he's afraid of."
A sudden flush pinkened both her cheeks. She shook her head, then said, "Won't work, Amos. He-he hates me. You and me, but especially me, I think."
"Well, you change all that," Amos said. "Soften him up-and, maybe you can arrange something. Maybe you can even get him to attend our little Patty when she starts to raise a fuss."
"She's already started," Mona said dejectedly.
"Huh?"
"She's been raising hell because Roger won't answer her calls-says she just needs rest. So, instead of Roger, Patty's been getting Jack Belton."
"Good man, that Belton. Bet he services her."
"He does. But Patty's tired of him. She screams for Roger, wants him, nobody but him and just last night she threatened to call her Daddy and tell him that we were neglecting her."
"Goddamn that Harper," Fiken said, frowning and bringing his hand to his chin to rub it in contemplation of his problem.
"What are we going to do?"
Fiken sighed, then said, "Just the best we can, that's all. Carry on as we are."
"I have a thought," Mona said.
"What?"
"There's going to be a party this Saturday night. That bitch, Dorry Glenn, is going to celebrate the removal of her stitches by throwing a party for the whole hospital."
"So?"
"So, I imagine Roger will go because Jack Belton is pressuring him like mad. So, as long as I've been invited-nobody really thinks I'll go-I'll attend the party, too, and see what I can do about getting better acquainted with young Dr. Harper."
"That's reasonable."
"And, there's something else. What would you think about inviting Patty?"
"What the hell-she's a patient!"
"Surely, but we can tell her that she seems so much a part of the hospital and since she's not really too sick that we'd like to have her join us."
"Ummmm, that's interesting."
"It'll be more interesting if I can get Roger and Patty together that night-that'll just about take care of everything for us."
Amos Finken snapped his fingers. His eyes brightened. Then he said, "By God, I think it'll work, I really do."
"We can try, that's all," Mona said. "I'll take Patty to the party myself-you know, personal nurse for the night and all that sort of thing."
"We'll do it," he said. "As a matter-of-fact, it's about our only chance. So zero in on that damn party with all you've got, Mona.
"I will."
He cocked his head and looked at her strangely.
Mona stared back, then looked to one side as she felt the burn of his eyes traveling over her body. Despite herself, she reacted to his look, even felt the burn through her breasts and at her belly and within her thighs. She wondered why she continued to react to her uncle, why, after all these years, she was still without will or resistance before his desires. Then she knew why she was this way. She remembered her shock when her father had died only a year after her mother had been killed in an automobile accident. She remembered her shock and fear and convulsion of loneliness that had converged upon her like an army of hated enemies. And then she remembered the hope she had found and the gratitude she had felt when Amos Fiken took her to raise as his own, to bring his niece within the realm of his wealth and authority. Within the realm of his sexual lust, too. But that was a small thing, she had thought at the time. That was the least that she could do for a loving uncle.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Mona asked.
"Don't you know?"
She smiled, then said, "Yes. Of course I do."
"There's something else, too," Fiken said. "What's that?"
"Just don't you get too carried away this Roger Harper."
"Don't be silly."
"I'm not. I know you pretty well, Mona. And I see things in you that you don't know that I see. Given just a little push, you'd be very much like Harper himself."
"That's absurd."
"I wish it was. But it's not." He paused and again roamed his eyes over all her body, stopping them at the place where her bodice parted enough to show that she wore nothing beneath the gown. "No, it's not absurd. It's all too possible. And that's what constantly worries me."
"Don't worry, Uncle," Mona said sweetly, taking a step closer to him.
He held his arms out, then said, "All right. Keep me from worrying, my dear. Show me how not to worry. Make me forget all of my problems."
Mona hesitated. The step toward him that had been intended as the mark of true concern for a loving niece had been misinterpreted. Lately Amos misinterpreted everything about her, she recalled. And as he did, his need and lust for her had increased to such a degree that it put a lie to his age.
Mona looked away from her uncle and glanced at the large clock on the library wall. Then she turned and said, "It's late. We should be at the hospital now."
"To hell with it." There was a note of savagery in his tone.
He took a step toward her and there was a quick swish from the dressing gown he wore. Then there was the swish of Mona's as she turned and walked toward the door.
"Not here, Amos," she said. "You know we can't do what you want here."
"No, of course we can't" he said, smiling.
Mona waited at the door. When Amos Fiken reached her, they smiled at each other, exited the room, walked through the foyer, and then ascended the thickly carpeted stairs of the old farmhouse.
The room that they entered after walking down the long, second floor corridor was strangely ornate for the simplicity of the rest of the house. The room was large, too, as if it had once been an upstairs living room or place for special occasion entertaining.
As if their pattern was well-set, Mona and Amos crossed the room and paused in front of a full-wall cabinet which had been made out of dark, mahogany wood. Amos smiled at her, then opened the doors of the first cabinet. Mona took a step away from him.
When Amos turned, he held a whip in his hand. It was black and very long with ugly tentacles shimmering out the end. He held it before him, then in a half-questioning motion, extended it toward her.
Mona shrugged, obviously unimpressed by the whip, unafraid of it, too.
Amos lowered the whip and laughed. "I was only considering it. Really, it's much too early in the morning for this, my sweet. Much too early. And besides, when I burn with problems and anger, well, then I want to touch you, to be tender and loving and find comfort in your body." His words were dramatic, almost poetic, and the change that had come over him gave the impression that he did indeed use Mona as solace for his discomfort.
Mona smiled at him, then raised her hands to where a single button held her negligee closed. She loosened it and waited, the smile leaving her face to be replaced by seriousness and concentration, a concentration that seemed more directed to her own feelings than those she was creating within her uncle.
Amos turned back to the cabinet. He replaced the whip. Then he withdrew two large jars from the cabinet, turned and placed them on a small table near where Mona stood. Then he raised and looked at his niece.
Mona took it as a signal to pull her gown apart, shrug it to the back of her white shoulders, then let it slip to the floor.
Amos gasped at the sight of her naked body. The sound was not reminiscent of any sound that one might expect to issue from the middle-aged man. Yet, at the same time, the low, guttural gasp seemed like one he made anew at every first sight of his niece's divine body.
It was divine. Mona's breasts were large, yet did not give the impression of over-heaviness or weight, instead, they appeared active, as if firmness and vitality were their qualities rather than largeness. And the nipple-studs of them were hard like large brick-chips; almost the same color, too. Her ribs showed through flesh that did not donate thinness. Rather-like her breasts-they told of strength and activity. Her belly looked hard, much as if it exercised frequently by harsh, panted breathing that indented and distended like the stammer of choked crying. Her thighs were full and firm and when they were together, as they now were as she faced Amos, they made a straight, dark line all the way to her knees, as if they were an extension of womanhood itself. Her knees were dimpled, her calves, solid, her feet small, but made to look longer looking by the blazing orange toenail polish that she wore.
When Amos' eyes had feasted their fill upon Mona's nude body, he slipped his dressing gown off and faced her, matching her nudity with his. There was a slight bloat at his waist, but other than that he was a hard, strong man, strong enough for a man a decade younger. But, there was no sign of virility that issued from his strong body.
Mona glanced over his body for an indifferent second, then, as if she acted obediently, she raised on her toes and stretched her arms high above her head, clasping her hands together and entwining the fingers as if she were fettered to some unseen manacle above.
Amos bent to the jars on the table. He unscrewed the lid of each. Then he dipped his right hand into the largest jar and withdrew a huge gob of white cream. It rested on his palm like a giant swirl of whipped cream that had been placed there by a vacuum-can dispenser.
Mona glanced at the white puff of cream. Then she stretched her head high and bent it a little, causing a strain to appear at her neck cords.
Amos walked directly in front of her. He hesitated a second, then smashed the cream upon Mona's right breast. '
"Ahhhhhh," he breathed as his hand circled, smearing the cream over all of her breast.
He massaged carefully, working the cream into her flesh, rubbing, rubbing, endlessly rubbing it seemed until the white of the cream disappeared and it took on the appearance of oil. Then he took a new gob of cream and massaged Mona's other breast with it.
The cold smashing against the heat of her body felt very good, Mona could not help reflecting. And then she tried to separate the two feelings, that of the cream and that of her uncle's caressing hand. She could not determine which gave her the excited feeling at every part of her body. It was not unusual. She could never tell which of the two sensations gave her thrill, or if indeed it was a combination of the two. And then she had another thought: Perhaps it was her uncle's pleasure that thrilled her-perhaps it was her ability to show gratitude and love to him by this sexually devious means that made her excited, that pleased her so much? She did not know. She did not care, for now Amos was rubbing the cream into each of her nipples, taking turns with them, moving the slippery ends between his fingers, catching, losing, and recatching them as they scampered from his touch.
Amos was breathing hard now. He caused. He looked at his creation of flesh and cream. His eyes glinted excitedly; his body stammered. And, almost as if by magic, virility came to him.
Mona glanced at his body. She saw the sign of his excitement and it was for her as it had always been: She became more excited herself, made that way because of this gift that she alone had given him.
Amos moved to the small table again. Now, his movements were hurried. He dipped the last of the cream from the jar, picked up the other jar with his free hand, then approached his niece once again.
Silently, he handed her the full jar. He waited as she unscrewed the top of it and Mona dipped her hand into the jar and withdrew a yellow, thick substance that appeared to be a combination of honey and motor oil, one of the two, or a combination of both. It hung in long, thick, clinging droplets from her hand, not falling but just hanging, moving lower and lower while the substance remained a part of its base in her hand.
Amos shivered delightedly at the sight of the yellow oil. Then he smashed the last of the white cream against the exact middle of Mona's belly. He bent over and smeared it around the soft circle of flesh, widening the circle as he moved, touching as high as her breasts again and as low as the hard roll of flesh beneath her navel. And then he went lower, slapped the last of the cream at the coarse vee between her thighs.
Excitement crept over Mona like an endless army of ants. And again she reflected on the sensation and tried to differentiate between the giving of the cream and her uncle's hand-which gave it. She could not determine the cause of her excitement. She only knew that it had always been a part of her life with Amos Fiken.
Amos dropped his hand away from Mona's thighs. He stepped back. He looked at her. His body hardened even more, responding anew to the sight of his cream-smeared niece. He trembled a bit. His mouth gaped open, as if awe-stricken. And then he glued his eyes upon the jar that Mona held. He straightened.
Mona, holding the gob of sticky oil before her as if it were a worshiped jewel, took a step closer to her uncle. He straightened and put his hands on his hips, tensing his body like a little boy who seeks to look taller.
Mona paused. She looked at her uncle's body, thought how good it was for a man of his age, then very carefully pressed the oil against his chest.
"Ahhhhhhhh," Amos responded to the contact.
Mona worked the oil over his body. She lowered the sweep of her working hand as she brought it far below his navel, then brought it lower still.
"Ohhhh," Amos whimpered as she lengthened the stroke of her hand to bring the oily substance to the hard bloat of his manhood.
She worked slowly, circling at his waist, then dropping her hand to pull, withdraw, and pull again, working the oil into his body, making his flesh slippery and bright with the oil.
And then, very suddenly, Amos could stand no more of it.
"Enough, for Crissakes, enough," he panted.
Mona dropped her hand from his body. Then she raised both of her arms as her uncle leaped forward, took her in his arms and caught her young mouth in a savage kiss.
Mona felt the slippery, sticky, oil contact of their bodies, felt her breasts crushing to his chest and sliding against him. Then she felt her own hips lurch forward and meet the contact of his hardness, which struck out like a saber that had been dipped in oil. And, she felt the knock of their knees and the closeness of their thighs as Amos' tongue shot through the soft wall of her lips. She caught it and drew upon it as she murmured soft sounds of love and excitement and lust.
With a groan and a backward step, Amos broke away from his niece's body. It was a very brief parting. Immediately, he lowered to the floor and stretched on his back.
Mona waited a second. She looked down at him. Then, like a beautiful statue crumbling, she, too, lowered to the floor next to her uncle.
Amos, flat on his back, stretched his arms out. His body glistened beneath the lights, pinpointing his erectness as if it were centered by a stage spotlight. He trembled.
Mona cried out and moved to his side. Then she half-climbed over him to fasten her knees on either side of his hips. And then she raised and came over him, causing her breasts to hang down, almost flicking at his chest. But neither of them had time for response to the erotic pose for Mona reached, touched her uncle, straightened and adjusted him, then raised, held her high-hipped position a moment, then crashed downward, making him her prisoner, capturing his pulsing lance in her cavern of love.
She rode him hard, without feeling or desire for finesse. When his hands found her hips and held her and guided her, she moved faster. The oils of their bodies merged, making their contact difficult even as it was more exciting because of the glide and depth their bodies attained.
Mona, riding high, her black hair bobbing around her ears, felt the machine-gun rapid contact she was making. She felt the glide of her uncle as she descended upon him. Then she felt the parting she made as she rose, paused a second, then crunched downward once again.
Soon, Amos' hips were snapping up and down in a frantic effort to compete with her hurried motions. Together, they seemed like inmates of insanity trying to crush the life out of an evil serpent that had come between them. And, they did crush it, subdue it, make it helpless, until at last, with an eerie scream from Mona and a short, hot gasp from Amos, they crushed the life from it, they both climaxed, making it die a quick death by taking all of its venom from its life.
Their bodies remained collapsed together for a long time. Mona cuddled her head into her uncle's chest as she went limp atop him. Amos, arms wound around her, comforting her as if she were a child. And soon their breathing evened and calmed.
But for the first time, Mona felt no real calming within her body. She felt disturbed and afraid as she considered all that was ahead of her, as she considered Roger Harper and the new interest she now had in him. It frightened her. It was nothing that she had considered possible, not she, nor Amos. Still, it was there, bubbling within her, knowledgeable of her life and reprimanding her for that life. It made her very, very afraid.