Chapter 7
In the days to come, Vesper was often to wonder just what had happened to her that night in Wainwright's. Had it been just novelty, the champagne, letdown of tension that had delivered her to such an amoral state, had let her wallow in the pagan excesses so eagerly? Or was it worse than that, was she degenerating, sinking to an irredeemable level?
She was to marvel further at the fact that they'd escaped with their loot at aH. Groggy as she'd been, moving like some sort of zombie, the details surrounding their escape from the large department store were maddeningly vague.
She remembered Gil giving her some hard shoves to wake her, she remembered their scurrying around the furniture department, setting things to rights so no one would know they'd been there. The dead soldiers, the residue of their meal had been swathed in yards of crumpled wrapping paper, secreted in the bottom of a trash container on a different floor. The soiled sheet had been disposed of in the same way, they'd spent considerable time double checking to see that no clue whatsoever was left.
They'd gone their separate ways shortly after gathering the sum total of their haul, and Vesper, feeling like some sort of whale in the triple layer of clothing over her original costume, the handbag heavy, her booster bag ties cutting into her flanks and hips, had returned to her original hiding place.
At 6:00 the cleaning crews had arrived, had done a lick-and-a-promise job in the dry goods department. Vesper had known some panicky moments as a slipshod vacuum-cleaner operator had almost cleaned under that table. But luckily almost I
When the maintenance crew had moved on, Vesper had emerged from her hiding place, had flitted through the empty department, secreted herself in a booth in the women's restroom, crouching on the seat itself in case a random worker returned, spotted her there.
At 9:00 pandemonium had broken loose. As the doors opened and a swarming army of bargain hunters invaded the store. Consulting the imagine watch she'd picked out for herself, seeing it was 9:10, Vesper had finally gathered enough courage to make her break.
Waddling out of the store slowly, stopping at schlock counters here and there, she'd made good her escape with no trouble whatsoever.
At retail value--she and Gil had estimated back at the apartment their haul amounted to well over $1500. But a thing that galled Vesper mightily she'd been presented with only $50 as her share of the night's work. Which, to a girl her age, supposedly unemployed, wasn't to be sneezed at.
Of course there was the watch she didn't tell Gil about, there was the imagine hosiery and lingerie she'd demanded for herself.
All in all, a good night's work.
These considerations were only a minor part of the bitter, self-loathing thoughts hammering inside Vesper's brain that afternoon. As, alone at the guys' pad, waiting for Marcy to show so they could begin their afternoon's work, she surrendered herself to other vicious reveries, the musings becoming more vitriolic by the moment. Had the thought been sulphuric acid they would have eaten great gullies into her brain.
There were other secret places all over the flat, difference, her stoic resignation to the depravities sexual and commercial she was being forced to. Not to mention the way her liaison with Marcy was progressing. All of which she defended with a by-now hackneyed plaint:
II this is the way the world's made-
Why shouldn't she get hers? Why shouldn't she grab with both hands, get while the getting was good?
like the spending money she had, the imagine jewelry, watches, clothing, lingerie and shoes a rag-bag collection only an adolescent female could covet, let alone treasure. Which cache she'd managed to conceal from her family, from her grasping sister. There was a far corner in the closet in her room that could be reached only by climbing over a pile of boxes, by shoving aside dozens of abandoned, never-worn dressed belonging to Olive.
There were other secret places all over the flat, repository for countless other tawdry baubles, things she dug out when she was alone in the place, all but slathered over like some hermit Midas. There was the imagine transistor radio she'd clouted just for herself, there was the group of records she brought out only when nobody (excepting Marcy and Dawn of course) was around. There were even a few choice fifths of imported wine she'd boosted especially for the 'entertainments' she and Marcy enjoyed those afternoons when they weren't 'on duty'.
Last, but not least was the hoard of cash Vesper had accumulated. There was over $200 hidden in that loose piece of baseboard behind her bed. Her 'mad-money', she called it. Often, when guilt invaded, she thought of taking the money, using it to escape Don-castle. In her jejune daydreams she saw herself fleeing to a far-off city, a place where Gil and Arnie couldn't find her. She dreamed of starting over, living a decent, respectable life.
The fantasies invariably came to a screeching, dead-end halt. For, a marked paucity of intellect and imagination intruding, she couldn't begin to visualize what such a life would be like. What would she do for a living, who would help her, who would take care of her? What would she be letting herself in for?
Wouldn't it be dragsville? she argued at those times. I should give up this easy, exciting life? For what? At least now there were things happening, there were kicks albeit nasty ones at times unlimited.
A rocking shudder hit Vesper, she grasped herself with her arms, hugged herself as if suffering a malarial chill. Don't honey she raged, don't think about that!
The grisly picture flickered before her mind, she saw those two girls, blubbering and begging again, she saw-
Vesper shook her head viciously, smiled as the Grand Guingol vision faded. She feverishly substituted another picture, the action deliberate, mechanical. She would rout shock with shock.
She smiled to herself as if she'd played the greatest trick in the world on someone. She mentally recreated that thing that she and Marcy had pulled in Neilhardt's just the afternoon before.
The woman had obviously been high-society stuff. Anyone who'd wear a mink collar in July Vesper and Marcy, stationed outside the women's rest room in Neilhardt's, had appraised her carefully, had considered the expensive leather purse, the matron's high-fashion sweat even stinks like money," Marcy had said.
Her eyes had narrowed. "Let's try her, baby."
Immediately Vesper had followed the rich-bitch into the pre-scouted rest room, had seen her enter one of the cubicles. Giving her time to get seated, Vesper had advanced down the otherwise empty room pulling a lipstick from her pocket as she went.
Standing a few feet back, she'd leaned, had purposely rolled the lipstick into the cubicle, the gold cylinder almost hitting the matron's feet. "Oh, darn." Vesper mimed, "I dropped my lipstick." She'd wrapped on the door. "Oh, ma'am ... would you mind handing it to me."
"Surely," the unsuspecting woman had said. The minute Vesper saw her hand grope for the lipstick, knew the woman was distracted, she darted forward, reached over the top of the door, she'd groped for the woman's purse where she'd most certainly hung it on the provided hook. In the blinking of an eye the purse was gone, Vesper was fleeing the rest room.
"Here you are, miss," the matron said to empty air, sliding the lipstick back out.
By then Vesper had been out in the store, she'd deftly passed the bag to Marcy as added precaution, had immediately got lost in the crowd. Remembering the stunt now, Vesper couldn't help but feel exultance. Talk about gimmicks, talk about getting caught with your pants down! By the time the woman had been presentable, had emerged with a scream, she and Marcy had been long gone.
The snatch had netted them $62 in cash, a imagine compact, the purse, the two general credit cards. They'd spent the rest of the afternoon on a minor shopping spree, acquiring enough loot to pacify the guys, justify their long afternoon's absence from the apartment. At the end they'd ditched the cards, dumped the other odds and ends from the purse into a trash can. "I'll give the old lady this purse for her birthday," Marcy had giggled. "The bitch'll be tickled pink."
Vesper rocked self-satisfiedly in her chair, embellished on the thoughts, decided that the snatch had been a good afternoon's work indeed. After all, it was Marcy's gig; Arnie and Gil would never learn about their sideline. Unless, perhaps, they read about it in the papers. Even then, the victim had never seen Vesper's face.
She chuckled softly to herself. What a sweet gimmick !
But as suddenly the laughter died, lodged in her throat. Revulsion shone on her' face, she felt a ton of lead dumped into the depths of her gut. Judy Meader, Stella Povolo were back! Eviscerating shame, self-loathing were back!
The pictures would not be chased now. Again the vivid scene flashed before her mind's eye, etched itself indelibly in her brain. Judy and Stella were on her conscience, she was totally to blame! For it was she who'd lured the two greenhorns, both of them fourteen, to the guys' pad. She'd been their Judas Iscariot.
The two dopes had gone for her 'party' story, hook, line and sinker, getting them up to the apartment had been no sweat at all. But afterward, as Stella had got hysterical, the wine hitting her hard and fast, as she'd begun to scream as Vesper and Marcy and Dawn had stood there, watched the boys methodically administer the beating that would break her spirit, render her their slave-
Vesper shook her head harder now, but to no avail. For the worst part of the nightmare was yet to come. The part where, as inevitable 'party' finale, Arnie and Gil had taken their ups with the cowering virgins, had devastatingly shown them what the male-female scene was all about-
I didn't actually hold Judy's legs, did I? she wailed inwardly. While Arnie and Gil took turns on her? That wasn't me who stood there, drunk as a skunk, laughing all the way through, taunting Judy and Stella, calling them the filthiest names in the book?
She groaned, hugged herself again. "God, God," she grunted aloud. "It was ... it was me...."
Vesper sank into further trance, knew the depths of remorse. She was on the verge of tears herself, when, at that moment, she heard a rap on the door. Woodenly, she rose and went to open it.
"Vesper, honey," Marcy said, immediately aware of Vesper's distraught state, "what is it?"
Vesper floated into Marcy's arms, cuddled to her ample bosom, she burrowed to her warmth. "I feel sick, Marcy. I feel all rotten inside."
"What's up, darling?" Marcy said, raising her face, kissing the tear-glazed eyes, the feverish lips.
"I got to thinking about the other night," she stammered, "about what we did to Stella and Judy ... how I was in on it. It was all my fault."
Marcy's face hardened. "Forget it, Vesper," she snapped. "It's not your fault. If Arnie and Gil hadn't taken those chumps, somebody else would've. Those stupids were just begging to be conned. Just the way we were begging to be conned." She laughed sarcastically. "And it's a tough old world, ain't it?"
"But it isn't .right," Vesper wailed, "it isn't right for people to be trampled on, to be kicked around...."
So? Some people are born, are purposely put on earth for just that. To be trampled...." She hugged Vesper tighter. "Come over here, honey, sit down. Forget it. Those simps aren't worth your tears. Once they get broken in an' learn the ropes, they'll be happy as larks, they won't remember that life was ever any different."
A monstrous sadness clutched Vesper's heart. She thought Marcy's words were most apt; they were indictment, summation, prophecy all in one. And in reaction, she clung to Marcy, she reveled in her comforting warmth. "Oh, Marcy, Marcy," she groaned. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Marcy trembled, felt desire rise within her. "Let's hope you never have to do without me, angel. I'll always be here, I'll always love you." She trembled, clutched Vesper more fiercely. "Would it help, honey? You know if I...."
Vesper started, looked around the room fearfully. "But could we? Is it safe? I mean ... God knows I need something. The state I'm in...."
"Sure we could, baby. A quick one, though. Never can tell when those animals'll get back. You don't mind . . .if I make it quick? I need you something awful, Vesper. If you think it would help ... if you'd like it...."
"I think I would, Marcy. How ... where...? "
"Right here'll be just fine." She spasmed, drove her lips to Vesper's. "Oh, honey, I feel so wild all of a sudden." Her hands gently squeezed and lifted Vesper's breasts, ignited a scorching pain and urgency in them. Vesper moaned, went limp, surrendered completely, the love more medicine now than anything else. She involuntarily spread her legs as Marcy's hand invaded her skirts, began tugging at her panties.
And moments later, sprawled on the davenport, her feet on the floor, her skirts arranged around her waist, the panties gone Marcy knelt before Vesper in servile pose, she pulled her prot'g' even lower on the davenport. She bent her head, delighted in Vesper's pinched cries as she spiraled her lips on that puffing tummy, as they closed in on that coppery moss, tickled the ridge-backs of her pelvis.
Then, when it seemed Vesper would erupt on the spot, her pantings stertorous, rapid, Marcy adjusted her legs still further, raised one foot, balanced it on the cushion's edge. A thing that made Vesper totally vulnerable, totally accessible, totally visible. Only there wasn't time for visual adoration; a fantastic need crushed the Negress now. And with a groaning snarl she plunged her face to that desired object of her love. Her groans became more feral, cannibalistic almost.
Vesper gasped, started. "Oh, be careful, baby. Don't hurt me."
Marcy calmed herself, became more gentle. She chuckled softly as it was Vesper's turn to lose control, as she dropped her hands, held Marcy tight to her.
Her fingers coiled in Marcy's hair, they teased at the ears.
Then, finally, Vesper's first, shrill, barking cry of triumph striated her throat. Now she growled, worked her body in reciprocation to those rapid, hard flickings Marcy so willingly conferred.
But the day's tragedies, doubts and confusions were not, as yet, over for Vesper. For now, the afternoon waning, as Vesper proceeded along the aisles of The Philadelphia Shop, her booster box in tow, disaster came calling, again. She shifted the ingenious box, felt small satisfaction at the afternoon's clout, she forced herself to slow her pace, feign casualness as she headed for a nearby exit.
It was as she fingered some swimsuits that were on sale, that she sensed the heavy bulk behind her, felt the firm hand on her arm. Then the dreaded, ritualistic proclamation: "Pardon me, Miss. But I represent the store office, I'm going to have to ask to see what you have in that box of yours. Will you come please?"
Vesper's heart leaped, her spine kinked, her legs turned to rubber simultaneously, she fought to retain her aplomb, to recall the correct rejoinders Gil and Arnie had taught her. "I'm afraid I don't understand," she said staring up at the beefy, red-faced detective, straining to inject outraged innocence into her expression. "This box is sealed, as you can see. It's tied with string, it's...."
His hand tightened on her arm. "Come along, please," he repeated. "Unless you'd like an embarrassing scene right here in front of all these people. We can discuss this privately, Miss."
Vesper's eyes darted, she saw people staring, she thought to jerk free, make a dash for freedom. This she sagged, let him lead her. "Very well," she said in prim, controlled outrage, "I'll go along. But I hope you realize you're leaving yourself open to false-arrest charges. My husband will sue, he'll see to it that...."
"Sure, sure, Miss," the burly man placated. "But nobody's arresting you. I'm just asking to see what's in that box. If you've got gales slips for that stuff, you're home free."
. Moments later they were on The Philadelphia Shop's top floor, the security officer led Vesper toward a darkened office at the end of the hall. Hysteria gathered in her throat, it was everything she could do to keep from sobbing. It's happened, she wailed, it's finally happened!
He thrust her into that office with more roughness than was necessary.
He didn't bother to turn on the lights, he locked the door behind him. And when he turned, his face a vengeful, implacable mask. "You little tramp!" he growled. "Who do you think you're kidding? I been following you all afternoon. I've seen everything you put into that cute box of yours." His smile grew smug. "like some perfume, for instance, those records. How about that electric razor?"
He ripped the box from her grasp, slammed it onto the desk. With a practiced hand he felt for the secret flap, ripped it open. The string was glued in place on that end, the sealing tape was almost invisibly slitted there. He dumped Vesper's haul onto the desk with one quick motion. "False arrest, huh. baby?" he mocked. "You stupid. The price tags are still on everything. Where's the sales slips?"
He wrapped one big, meaty hand around her throat, shook her like a rag doll. "T know how to take care of trash like you," he growled, "I know how to put the fear of God into snitchers like you, make sure you never come back into my store again." He brought up his other hand, slapped Vesper smartly across the face, whipped her head back.
"Don't!" she moaned.
"What's it gonna be, slut? You want me to call in the manager? You wanna go down to the station?" He paused, his mouth twisted into a death head's grin. "Or do you play ball, be good to old Sully here?"
Vesper's stomach tilted. No he couldn't mean what she thought he meant. Not with this ugly, sweat-reeking slob. "What ... what do you mean?"
"You know what I mean, pig. Stuff. I could make things big with a pretty chick like you. That frigid old bag I'm married to." He gave Vesper another tap. "How about it? Stuff? Or do we run you in? There's evidence enough here to send you up for two years." His hand tightened on her arm, drew her forward. His other hand pinched her left breast. "You pick it, sweetie. I sure's hell ain't keen on spending a morning in court...."
There was a shrill whistling in Vesper's ears, she swayed, was sure she'd fall. The man crowded her back toward the desk. "Well? "he snarled. "Name it, baby."
For long moments she was stunned to silence. But finally, knowing she had no choice Marcy had told her about pigs like this one "Yes...."she murmured. "I will. Only, don't turn me in. I'll...."
He took Vesper's booster box, its contents, placed them on a chair. Then he came back to Vesper, crowded her still tighter against the desk, ground his gross belly against hers, proudly revealed his instant readiness, took delight in hurting her by pressing himself against her thigh. "Now you're gettin' smart, baby." His hands became even more cruel on her breasts. "What's your name?"
"Vesper," she choked.
"Okay, Vesper, let's get started."
She was momentarily baffled. "Aren't you ... aren't you going to take your pants off? How can we...? "
His ham of a hand slammed down on her shoulder. "You," he sneered. "You take care of that, tramp!" he increased the pressure. "On your knees, Vesper. You take care of everything. And I mean everything!" Then he was forcing her to the floor.
Vesper realized how totally helpless she was, she knew that she had no alternative but to submit. She let herself be shoved down, she suffered his taunting instructions as she undid his clothes, dug her hand into that gaping opening. She felt her stomach tilt as he explicitly told her just what she must do.
Somehow she managed control. And closing her eyes, fighting to blank out her mind, she strained, hobbled still closer to him. Now, her head reeling, inch by inch-
An explosive gasp broke from the detective as that first contact was made, he instantly squirmed, drove himself to that extorted kiss. And when he was enveloped-
He began backing off. "No, Vesper," he taunted, "don't let go. Come along. like a good little piggy." He sat in another chair, forced her between his knees, kept her at the task for what seemed an eternity, his language becoming more demeaning, more scatological by the minute. But, at long last, when he began to twitch and writhe beneath her ministrations-
He pulled away abruptly, noisily. "On your feet, slob," he spat. "Get that skirt up. Let's see the rest."
Dully she brought up her skirts, revealed the red panties she wore. "Higher, bitch, higher," he hissed. "Prance a little, turn around, put some zip into it." And when he was satisfied with this: "Take 'em off. Let's get a gander at the real thing."
He all but drooled as Vesper stood before him, her white buttocks and thighs gleaming in the muted sunlight, that delta of herself blatantly exposed. "Some fox on you, baby. Talk about cute! Over here, let me ruffle that."
And now, at long last, he having opened Vesper's blouse somewhere along the way, her brassiere undone, it was that time. Brutally, his hands clenching her breasts, he pushed her back toward that desk again.
Her clothes gee-hawed, her skirt a crumpled ball beneath her buttocks, she was forced onto her back atop that desk. Sully took great joy in wrenching her ankles high, holding her like a trussed chicken while he looked at her, fingered her vulgarly. Finally, standing between her thighs, not even bothering to remove his trousers, his hands jacking her knees for even better adjustment-
Vesper groaned as he slammed himself to her, she fought to stifle her outcries. "There, baby," he gloated, "that's what a real man's like. How's that, huh? That really get to the heart of things? Here we go, piggy. Take this. And this. And this...." His body went crazy between her knees.
Thankfully the preludes to sex had made inroads on his control, the brutish attack was of short duration. He cursed in intermixed delight and disappointment. And taking further advantage of Vesper, he kept her in that humiliated position, he kept bunting himself to her until he was finally regenerated.
Then Vesper knew an even more supreme debasement. For, as the animalisitc act went on and on, as it seemed Sully would never be finished, the mere mechanics, the ugliness of the vilification served to betray Vesper. And now, her own sighs quickening, her body reflexively squirming in answer "No, oh no!" she gritted.
Sully only chuckled, reviled her, worked that much more ruthlessly at her. "Here's a man, a real man...."
Then it was over. Vesper was dressed again, her clothes smoothed as well as possible under the conditions. Her eyes downcast, her shame a clawing, merciless vulture that dug at her heart, she waited to be dismissed.
"You ever come back in this store again," the detective spat, "you'll be sorry the rest of your life. Next time I'll keep you at it all night. And probably turn you in to boot." He pinched Vesper between the legs, made her gasp with pain. "Now get the hell outta here before I change my mind."
Vesper wandered out of that store like an unseeing dazed automaton. And defeated, vilified to the core of her being, she wondered just how low she must fall before she could be redeemed from this hellish jungle called life.
A lesson, she mused bitterly as she came out onto the street, started toward the bus stop. I've just had another lesson. By a past master.
How many more lessons before I finally graduate?