Chapter 9

JULY PASSED AND IN AUGUST THE THOUGHT OF returning to school, the phantoms of normalcy were very much with Vesper. The days limped by, lead-footed, pointless, their only variation and expectancy being those hours when she and Marcy, she and Dawn, she and Stella or Judy, were on the streets, were on the clout. These moments, as she put her skill on the line, were pretty much all that she lived for by then.

In this respect she mattered, she was important, (warped as it was) self-respect. For when she was in those stores, she was someone to be reckoned with; she was no longer a nonentity, she was no longer a zero.

There was no doubt about it, Vesper had beco a true professional. As proof positive there was the f that she had never again since that stomach-turnin afternoon in The Philadelphia Shop come close to being nabbed by a store dick. Her instincts were uncanny. It was as if she could actually smell a security officer a mile off. And those she couldn't smell, she knew on sight.

She was now an expert with the booster box, she knew the ins and outs of dress and mannerism so as to throw off any suspicious clerk or detective. The endless supply of stores in Doncastle (population, 300,000) guaranteed that her face and techniques would never become familiar to these enemies. Gil and Arnie were very careful about that, they'd actually prepared "route-sheets' so that none of their troupe ever appeared in the same store twice in any given two-week period.

Thus it was that Vesper (along with Marcy) came to be one of the top heels in the city. Granted, her age was against her teen-agers were generally more suspect than middle-aged boosters but nevertheless Gil would have put her up against any woman in the city. "I'd bet a grand that Sparrow would out-clout Fran Penderson any day of the week, and twice on Sundays," Gil often gloated. "We oughta call that old witch, have a contest sometime...."

Which reinforced Vesper's self-esteem, made the prospect of leaving this exciting, easy life the more grim. Sure, there would always be after-school and evening jobs, there were weekends, there was the Christ-Bias rush to consider, but that wasn't the same as steady boosting. Besides there was the fear that she might lose her quick hands, that being off the street would cause her to lose touch with store personnel, that the irregular work would dull that so-heavily-relied-upon sixth sense of hers.

There was almost $500 in her purse, and Vesper was hard put to find places to put all those 'bonus' goodies she brought home with her. It would be hard to turn her back on the life.

Otherwise the status was very quo. It was as Marcy had said. Judy Meader and Stella Povolo had learned fast, they were good boosters within two weeks of their impressment into the troupe. Also extension of Marcy's predictions-they were hooked on the racket, they'd touched up, by now they minded not at all the inherent danger, the ugly sexual extras Gil and Arnie demanded from them upon occasion.

It was an indifference Vesper had affected also. She was still a favorite with Gil, but it didn't matter. She could turn off her brain, close her eyes, tune out, the vile stunts couldn't touch her. There were a few times when Gil and Arnie went a little berserk, when things got double-nasty, no one could have ignored those orgiastic whing-dings then. But most of the time-

There was an expression she'd come to use: I could have done it standing on my head.

The perverted liaison with Marcy still went on. But the steam was mostly out of it. It was a change Marcy saw, groused often about to Vesper. Which, perhaps, was the only reason Vesper continued giving in to her. It seemed a friendly thing to do. And in her precarious line, she needed every friend she cold late onto. If it meant submitting to Marcy on a fairly regular basis-

Why the sweat? It was free; if everyone else was taking his kicks-

By now Vesper was well versed in use of 'bad-bags she knew double-pocket techniques, she could 'layer a booster bag with the best of them. Her work in loading a handbag without equal. She could 'switch' in women' clothing in jig time, escape before any clerk got suspicious, with unerring skill.

She could 'shop' for the guys, spent the afternoon lining up items, spirit them off a day's end in a matte of minutes. She was especially good in women's clothing Casing the racks for specified items, she would gather them on one central rack. Returning just before closing time (the stunt required a rainy day), the specially made hanger-belt fixed to her shoulders, she would hang the two or three items on her back, just between he shoulder blades, camouflage same under a raincoat In a matter of seconds, the unsuspecting clerk would have her department 'inventory-loosed' to the tune o $2-300.

Another specialty, one which she worked wit Marcy or Dawn, was 'throwing a hump'. Here the clout was pre-scouted, it was a major item, one worth the extra fuss. Vesper was fantastically good at feigning innocence when she deliberately upset a display that would send hundreds of boxes or bottles cascading to the floor. She could throw a very convincing faint.

During which commotion the store security office (in most cases sick customers) along with the nearby clerks would be kept very busy, while Marcy calmly opened her 'bad-bag' (a bag or box, already used, with the store name on it) filled it with whatever item they had 'orders' for, leisurely walked out of the store.

The 'moll-buzzing' went on also, the girls going easy on this sideline, not wanting to stir up a police crusade. Generally Vesper and Marcy stuck to the rest room and lipstick-under-the-partition gimmick to lift purses, but now and then they merely walked off with them when a busy shopper put hers down in order to examine merchandise more closely. Invariably, this was a two-girl operation; they had to have a 'stall' to pass the purse to as they fled.

There were countless variations on these schemes, Vesper and Marcy and Dawn (not to mention the guys) were always figuring new angles. These brainstorming sessions were further evidence of Vesper's resignation.

Thus the laggard days passed, each with its own special highs, its degenerate lows, each contributing to the days to come, piling to sum total of the way a given life would go.

There were often quiet, solitary introspective moments when Vesper couldn't keep from thinking of Donovan O'Leary and the incredible thing that had transpired between them that night at The Bon Ton. The memory of that night was a cherished one, one which Vesper brought out only on special occasions. There were times when, tired, blue, discouraged, Vesper produced the reverie, polished and enjoyed it. It seemed to replenish her, somehow.

And though two weeks had passed since then, she hadn't forgotten a single detail, she could still visualize Donovan's face, she could still hear his soft voice. And what did it mean? Why this sense of loss, this emptiness every time she thought of him? It was just a special night, she told herself, they'd enjoyed themselves in a very singular way. Donovan had been a nice boy, he'd treated her with respect, had made her feel like she amounted to something. Often she wondered if, should she call the number on that dog-eared price tag-

"Come in, Vesper," the beaming, handsome lad greeted her, rushed her into the Harbor Street apartment, "for God's sake, come in."

Vesper appraised Donovan shyly, let her eyes slide from his face to the book Crime and Punishment, it looked like he held in one hand. Now she took in the tan, knit T-shirt, the cotton slacks, the dark-blue sneakers he wore. He looked clean and fresh, as if he'd just stepped out of the shower. She surveyed the small apartment, saw that, despite its bargain-basement furnishings, it was neat and clean also.

"I was kind of bored," she stammered by way of openers, very much ill at ease, "nothing was happening. I thought I'd give you a buzz, see if I could fall by."

"Wonderful, honey," he exulted, genuine joy in his eyes. "I'd just about given up hope of ever hearing from you again. I'd read about some shoplifter getting picked up, I'd hoped it was you. So I could run down and bail you out."

The last few days had been rough, the heat was on again, Gil had been using the slack time for some very sickening bedroom diversions. Now the sight of Donovan, his warm words helped lift her heart. "Would you do that, Donovan? I mean, come bail me out? That's a sweet thing to say."

"I would, I swear I would. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind, honey. There are times when I find it hard to believe that night really happened." His eyes became strangely pleading. "It did, didn't it, Vesper? "

"It happened, Donovan. I haven't been able to forget it either."

"You haven't? Oh, God, that's wonderful, honey." He took her arm, his mere touch sending electric sparks through her. "Well, don't stand there, c'mon in. What d'ya think of the old Taj Mahal Arms?"

"It's very nice. Everything looks so cozy." And even though the guys' pad overshadowed this place a mile, she couldn't help but feel she'd like to live in a room like this. A silly thought hit her. Wouldn't I love to sit here some quiet afternoon and watch Donovan read?

"It's not much," he said. "But it's home. You just missed Bryan. We're running an ice-cream stand for a guy, and he's got the afternoon shift today. I go on tonight."

"You're out of the woods then? Moneywise, I mean?" She sent him a confidante's smile. "You make out all right on that stuff?"

"I did just fine." His expression was rueful. "I don't ever want to be in that kind of a bind again."

"Have you gone back?"

"Heavens, no! Never again. You?"

"No, not yet. But one of these nights soon."

"Give me a buzz. I'll go with you. That was a night of nights. If we could just ... again. I mean...." His face colored, Vesper thought his modesty very cute.

"Those things don't just have to happen in stores, you know. That's partly why T called. That is, if you want to." It was her turn to flush. "Everything I say comes out wrong today."

"No, honey," he said, his eyes searching hers, that same awe igniting in them, "everything you say is just right. If there's anything you are, it's honest. It's you ... the way you are. That sweet, beautiful way you are...."

His voice caught, his face drew into an anguished grimace, "Oh. Vesper...." he croaked. "What are we talking like this for?"

Then he took one quick step forward, he pulled her roughly into his arms, he buried his lips in hers, kissed her with a fervor that took Vesper's breath away. Her heart seemingly exploded within her, she felt like someone had pulled out her bones, left her so much mush. Then the hesitancy, the unsureness was gone. She clung to him, kissed him back, her ardor matching, no, surpassing his.

"Baby, baby," he groaned as they parted and he worked his lips in her hair, "I've missed you so, I've wondered about you. I've looked for you everywhere

I went. . . Thank God you called me."

"Thank God," Vesper refrained. "I've missed you too, Donovan. And somehow I didn't even know it. Until now. Jeez, you make me feel so crazy, you mix me up something awful."

Then they were kissing again, a stunning fever invading Vesper, she wanting to bury herself in him, to hide in his clean, decent strength. Then the sexual desire was there, hitting her like a fist in the stomach, she gingerly bunted her lower body to his. How she marveled after that ugh session with Gil only last night, after I thought I'd never want another man again as long as I lived-

And now this?

I want him so much I hurt down there, so much that if he told me no, I'd fall at his feet and bawl like a baby.

Donovan wasn't about to tell Vesper no. For as she began to tremble helplessly, as that unmistakable yearning distorted her features, he held her away from him, studied her. That amazed, awed concern registered anew in his face. He drew away, went to lock his door. And as he turned. "I'm a hound, Vesper," he groaned. "Forgive me, but I can't help it." He took one step toward her. "Should ... should we go into the bedroom?"

Vesper flew at him, began to sob in his arms.

They lay on Donovan's bed, he naked, Vesper partially so. They kissed and embraced, worked their bodies together in animalistic frenzy. The blinds, the drapes had been closed, but still muted light pervaded the room, errant beams of sunlight caught floating motes in the air. A warm breeze carried in through the open window, the sound of traffic, the drone of boat whistles carried muffledly to them.

Then, that first impatience and gratitude fading, there was pause, there was time to savor, to anticipate. Donovan rose on one elbow, looked down on Vesper, took in the exotic underpinnings she wore. A lavender, silk brassiere and panties, both garments trimmed with black lace, clusters which formed wreath about the nibs of her plainly visible nipples. Lace which trimmed the hip of the panties, swooped down in veritable garland into the lowest valley of her body, presented blatant invitation.

There were no stockings, Donovan had already removed the spicy white pumps she'd worn, all the items new, things she'd boosted only last week. Little dreaming then for whom she'd be wearing them.

"Beautiful," Donovan sighed, "those things are out of this world. They drive me right out of my mind."

"That's what they're supposed to do. I wore them especially for you." She flushed, averted her eyes. "I shouldn't talk like that. I shouldn't tell you things like that. You'll think I'm cheaper than I already am."

"You say exactly what you want, darling. I'm honored. I think that's the highest praise any man could ever get. That a girl would want to dress to please him, to excite him." His hand careened down her body, it riled her in a most erogenous place, set wicked, sharp knives to clashing inside Vesper's belly. "Beautiful," he sighed. "This too. All over."

Then they kissed again, his hands went wild on her. The pain within Vesper mounted, she was sure she'd melt on the spot if they didn't soon. Yet she endured his continuing caresses, she writhed and mewed as his lips and teeth nipped her nipples through that sheer veil of her brassiere.

"Take them off," she quaked at last. "Please. I want to have the real thing ... you ... touching me, kissing me there."

Shortly the exotic flimsies were peeled from her, she lay in tumbling impatience, goose-bumps rumbling over her body as Donovan continued to kiss and lave those smooth cones, as he marveled over their unusual configuration. As his hands and fingers did things to her elsewhere that made her want to jump out of her skin.

Somehow Vesper, an unnatural modesty infecting her, managed to remain silent, she bore the ministrations of love as bravely as possible. If Donovan wanted to play-then she wanted to play also.

But words were superfluous. Her sighs, the twistings of her face, the way her hips thrashed on the bed were signal enough. His lips never disengaging from those vibrant tips of her breasts, the man raised his own hips, navigated himself between her legs. Again Vesper betrayed herself by sending her hands to greet him, a sharp hiss exploded from her as she assessed his surging masculinity.

"Donovan...." she wailed, "you know I'm not here under false colors, don't you? You know I've had other guys before. Lots of 'em. Don't you?"

He paused, his face sad as he looked down at her. Some tough characters, if I'm any judge. So?"

"I don't know what I'm trying to say, darling. It's just that none of those others made me feel like this. I feel so strange, it's never been like this before. I wish I was good with words, so I could explain this." She paused, hissed as she deliberately touched him to that total keystone of her sexuality. "I feel holy, kinda like I want to give myself to you, do anything for you. I want to do this, I'm not being forced. There's all the difference in the world. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think I do, honey. It's a beautiful thing to say." His voice became husky. "You sweet, sweet darling."

Her hands froze. "What does it mean, Donovan? Does it mean I'm falling for you? That I'm falling in love with you? Is that what it's like? I'm just a kid, I'm so green about stuff like this."

"That's hard to say, baby. I can't explain it."

"Are you saying that you don't love ... like me? I can understand that, T suppose, only...."

"We can't tell, Vesper," he said, confused himself. "Those things take time. We've only just got to know each other."

"But you think ... love's like this?"

His heart melted. "Yes, Vesper." he choked. "Love's like this. You don't care about yourself, you only care...." He groaned as her fingers continued to hone him on her, as an avalanching lust took him. "Not now, baby. Later!"

It seemed perfect detour for the clumsy conversation. And her mind rebelling at the double strain, she chose the physical, let that be her answer. "Oh!" she grated. "Yes, oh yes. Come in. Come in now!"

And with her own fingers, raising her hips to implement that holy fusion, she stuffed him to herself, she groaned with delight as that first viscous cleaving commenced. Her hands fled up, clasped his back, her fingers dug into that concavity of flesh just above his buttocks, she bore him down with a brutal rush. "In, honey!"

Then the union was complete, that scalding containment revisited upon Donovan. And grateful, thrilled, he called, "Vesper, how good you are. How sweet, how kind." And lapsing into further trance, nearly incoherent. "Vesper, Vesper ... little vesper sparrow."

She jerked, hissed, nearly broke their union. Her nails raked his flesh. "Don't!" she hissed. "Don't you ever call me that! Never, do you hear?"

"But why?" he said, amused at her ferocity. "It fits, it's cute. A natural. Sparrow...."

"Damn you!" she seethed, "I told you no. I can't explain, only...."

Donovan saw the bitterness, the tired fear in her eyes, and was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean any offense."

"Don't talk, Donovan. This is no time for talk, you said so yourself." Her body erupted, rotated, used him as unique stirring spoon. "Just...." She used a very vulgar, very explicit word. "That's what I want. Do it!"

The session was barbaric, heathen beyond description. As Vesper went out of her head, lapsed into a pagan trance the like of which the man had never seen before. He'd had women young ones, older ones but none of them had begun to match the ferocity and desperateness which this child brought to the love act.

It was almost as if she was struggling to lose her self in the sensual commotion and yet to find herself in it as well.

Donovan was puzzled, curious about the mystery inherent in this child. And yet it wasn't merely curiosity that motivated him, drove him to assault her with such tragic desperateness. There was something else here, an enigmatic, indefinable factor.

He groaned inwardly. No, he raged. It can't be, it just can't be! If you were a kid like Vesper, maybe. But you're no kid.

He thrust himself to her more frenziedly, he gloried in her answering moans of joy. God damn! You damned well better know you're no kid! He began to gurgle in his throat, he laced his hands beneath her buttocks, clutched them, actually lifted them, held them, steadied that wildly jutting target. "Vesper," he howled. "Oh, you mink, you sweet mink. Oh, ohh...."

Those Roman rockets were exploding inside Vesper's brain again, she felt as if every nerve in her body were knotted, like some sadistic monster was touching a white-hot branding iron to every single end in that tangled ganglia. Rapture after rapture burst over her. But none of them was like the one that grew inside her now, threatened to tear her limb from limb. She cringed, groaned.

"I want to scream, darling," she called as he continued to flay and split her. "This one's terrible. I'm afraid. I want to scream."

"Scream then, Vesper," he encouraged. "Yell your pretty little head off. Nobody'll hear."

Then Vesper was falling. She spun through a narrow opening, drifted downward to the eye of a bubbling, molten volcano. She fell faster, spun more wildly. "It's never been like this. You gave me this. You, Donovan! I don't know what it is. All I know is that I love you. If I ever loved anybody, if I ever love anybody, I love you."

The last of her vainglorious declaration emerged in a near incoherent babble. As now, oblivious to anything, the world consumed in that one incandescent, hydrogen-bomb flash, she began to scream at the top of her lungs.

Only when the terror faded, did she finally stop.