Chapter 1
They got out of the taxi and stood on the crowded sidewalk, apparently unperturbed by the July drizzle that turned the already dirty streets of New York a darker shade of gloom. They waited pleasantly while the cab driver took their expensive luggage from the cab, two long-legged, suntanned spots of beauty in their white pants suits that clung to every line of their lush bodies. The doorman put the luggage on his carrier. The girls called a cheery thank-you to the cab driver and went into the hotel with their heads held high, an aura of importance about them, yet somehow creating the impression of wealth and good breeding.
One was tall. She was close to six feet, but slender and supple as a wand, and she was so assured of her elegant appearance that she didn't give so much as a careless glance at the full-length mirror that covered one side of the lobby. Instead, she looked at her companion, brushed a strand of honey blonde hair from the other girl's face, then addressed herself to the desk clerk. Speaking in a well modulated voice that smacked of good breeding, she said, "Reservations for Landham and Jenkins."
"Yes, ma'am." The clerk used the smile he reserved for important guests.
While the girls stood at the desk and did the business of registering, the lobby filled with men. The smaller girl, the blonde one, frowned slightly. "Don't tell me there's a convention here at the hotel."
"They're judges, Miss Landham," answered the clerk. "Very quiet and dignified. Nobody rowdy, take my word for it."
The blonde looked doubtful. "Maybe we'd better check with the folks before we take the suite, Bev."
"Good heavens, Bunny!" The tall brunette smiled. "Judges aren't going to-anyway, we're here in New York to shop. We'll barely spend any time in the suite."
A bellman came forward and pushed the stack of luggage toward the row of elevators, his eyes both admiring and envious as he looked at the lovely girls. Admiring because they were beautiful and graceful and well-bred, envious because they were obviously not the kind of girls he would ever know except in passing.
The tall girl tipped him well. They both thanked him and gave him warm but reserved smiles. When he left their suite of rooms he stood for a moment just outside the door. Another bellman saw him standing there gazing off into space. "Somebody stiff you, Clark?"
"No. I just brought up a couple of rich bitches. Nice girls. Smith or Vassar stuff. I'll bet they come from families that are loaded. Christ. What'd it be like to fuck a girl like that? You know what, Glen? I bet those girls are smart as whips. I'd like to have a woman just once in my life that didn't chew bubble gum or giggle when she's screwing."
"Real quality stuff, huh, Clark?" The other bellman was younger. He turned to go on down the hall, whistling. Looking over his shoulder, he said in a near-whisper, "What the hell, Clark. You don't fuck a woman's head. Well ... yeah, you can, but I'm not talking about getting some head. What difference does it make whether a piece of ass is smart or dumb?"
"You crude son of a bitch." The bellman named Clark hurried to catch up with his co-worker, who punched the down bell. "You wouldn't understand what I'm talking about. Sometimes I see those golden girls, all suntanned and not a wrinkle on their faces, their bodies so perfect...." He sounded wistful.
The elevator was approaching. The other bellman grinned. "Shee-it. I bet they're hookers."
"No, they're not. Christ. After twenty years in this business I can tell a hooker a mile off."
Nobody but the elevator operator was on it as they went down. He looked up from his crossword puzzle, his intelligent face solemn. "Damn judges are about the horniest bunch of conventioneers I ever saw. I'm gonna do a paper on those bastards. Next fall I'll have my thesis all ready to turn in, and I won't have to leave the hotel for research material. How'd you like to have one of those jerks hand you down a sentence for, say, drunken driving? You know how they look when they sit up there on the bench with their faces so stern sitting in judgment?"
One of the bellmen started to answer, but the elevator was on the lobby level and an enormous crowd of men impatiently waited for someone to take their luggage so they could get settled in their rooms.
Margaret Jenkins was stretched out to her full exotic length on her queen-size bed. She'd slipped out of the Saks Fifth Avenue pants suit and into a demure looking little housecoat of pale yellow cotton that complimented her coppery tan and dark hair. It was a short housecoat, but not an immodest one. It came to just above her knees, and when it was buttoned all the way up to the little round collar it gave her a little-girl look. She raised one long, slender leg into the air and pointed her slim foot in the manner of a ballet dancer. Her dark eyes frowned as she noted a chip in her toenail enamel. "Rats," she said softly as she left the bed to rummage through the contents of a girlish-looking cosmetic bag. Then she sat down at the dressing table and carefully repaired the flaw in her otherwise flawless appearance.
"What's the matter?" The blonde girl was in the bathroom between the two bedrooms.
"That new pair of sandals I bought in St. Louis ruins my toenail polish."
"Horrors!" Paula Landham smiled at her lush and lovely self in the mirror above the wash basin. Her teeth were snowy white and perfect, an asset among many that she was most proud of. The year before she had paid almost five thousand dollars in dental bills in order to maintain that well-cared-for look. "How's that?"
Back on the bed, Margaret looked thoughtfully at her fingernails and found no fault with them. "How's what?"
"What I just said. Horrors. Just what a nice girl from Minneapolis would say, don't you think? I mean when her nice friend uses an expression like rats!"
"Well, we have to keep in our roles. If I said, 'Oh, fuck,' I might say it at the wrong time. Listen, Paula, did you see the suit that good-looking judge was wearing? I'm talking about the tall one with the dark hair who stood close to the desk when we registered. I'll bet that suit cost him five hundred dollars if it cost a dime." Margaret padded over to the open bathroom door so she wouldn't have to raise her voice.
"I didn't see the set of threads, Margie. I saw the bulge under his pants when his cock got the message his head was giving him when he saw you."
"Yeah. Well. According to my schedule, they'll be in the cocktail lounge before long."
Paula tossed her long mane of honey blonde hair. "We're not going in there, are we?"
"Of course not, silly. Our folks would be very upset with us if they thought we'd even consider going into a cocktail lounge without a proper escort-to whom we've been properly introduced, of course." Her laugh was sexy-throaty. "But we have to be seen. So we've only got thirty minutes. Let's give the judges another tantalizing glimpse, okay?"
The girls came down at a strategically planned time. The lobby was again filled with judges who were attending the convention. Now and then a splash of color appeared alongside the somberly attired men. A glance at the women quickly identified them as wives, for the most part. The majority were ladies with blue hair, carefully applied cosmetics, and dinner dresses with long jackets, designed to hide thickening waistlines and bulging bellies. A few were younger, but most of them had a wifely appearance that included a tightening of the mouth when their husbands gave the two stunning girls an appraising look. A few call girls had already infiltrated the ranks, but at that time they were few and far between.
Margaret Jenkins wore a subdued coral-colored dress that gave her sun-bronzed face an extra youthful glow that wasn't needed. Although her eyes swept appraisingly across the lobby in one quick glance, her expression was well-bred and gentle. She smiled as she chatted with Paula, and her appearance was that of a nice young girl from a good family who had nothing on her mind but some innocent pursuit suitable for daughters of good, substantial, rather old-fashioned fathers.
Paula wore virginal white and her accessories were beige. A froth of lace was at the high-necked beige blouse under her expensive suit. Both girls wore very little makeup.
"Something happened," said Paula just before they reached the revolving doors.
"Walk a little slower," answered Margaret. "It must be the Western Union people. You know we can depend on Earl. Anyway, I saw a vase of roses behind the desk out of the corner of my eyes."
The girls came to a halt in order to let the doorman in. "I know what we can do," said Paula. "We can go back and leave a message at the desk in case our parents call. Saying when we'll be back in the room."
"Okay." They walked back toward the desk. Just then another group of conventioning judges stepped off the elevator, which made the timing perfect. Margaret smiled pleasantly as she spoke to the desk clerk. "Would it be possible for us to leave a message in our box, in case our parents want to get in touch with us? We'd like them to know when we'll be back."
"Certainly, Miss Jenkins," said the clerk. His face lit up with a smile and his voice carried nicely. "Oh, I'm glad you stopped by. I was just about to send some beautiful roses up to your room."
Margaret blushed prettily and twisted the diamond on her third finger, left hand. She managed to look shy, embarrassed and just a little upset, all at once. "Dear Charles," she said softly as her eyes took in the long-stemmed roses. "So sweet of him, I'm sure. Well, can you just send them on up? We're already late, and with this rain it won't be easy to find a cab." She took a bill out of her purse and gave it to the clerk, instructing him a shade imperiously to send the roses up to the room with a bellman.
After they were inside the cab, Margaret and Paula exchanged a smile, but they didn't say anything about how well things went. At least a dozen well-heeled judges had overheard their conversation with the desk clerk, more than they could have hoped for.
Since the following three days would be highly lucrative, Paula and Margaret indulged themselves in a few little trinkets on Fifth Avenue before the shops closed. Then they took a cab to one of their favorite restaurants, where they dined on lobster.
It was almost nine o'clock when the girls returned to the hotel. Paula went to the hotel drug store where she purchased a bottle of hand lotion while Margaret entered the elevator. Five judges went up with her. One got off on the second floor. On the fourth floor, two more stepped off. She very carefully didn't look at any of them. "Five, please," she said politely, even though she'd said it when she got on.
One of the judges got off the elevator with her. He wasn't the one she had hoped for, but her disappointment didn't show in her face. Neither did her elation over making a contact so soon in the game. Sometimes it took as many as three trips up and down before she made a hit. And the operators remained on duty until midnight, which was an unsettling inconvenience. She didn't like their watchful eyes, their knowing glances, and she knew that very often the elevator men had their own girls to set up.
"Miss?" The tall, slender, grey-haired judge was about three steps behind her. She knew it because she could hear his footsteps on the thickly piled rug.
With the assurance of someone born with a silver spoon in her mouth, she turned around and faced him coolly. "Yes?"
"I thought maybe you'd like to have a drink with me," he said.
"Oh, no!" She blushed. Her long sooty lashes rested for a fragment of a second on her cheeks. "I couldn't do that."
"Why not?" He tried to speak boldly, but it didn't quite come off. He was feeling pretty good, she thought with elation, as she made careful note of his tendency to reach out toward the hall wall so he could hold on. His smile showed an expensive set of dentures and he spoke with a slightly backwoods accent. "I don't mean anything by asking you to have a little drink with me, Miss. I'm a judge." The way he said it implied that anybody with an impressive profession like judge could be nothing but loaded with integrity. "You remind me of a little old gal I used to date back home. Before I married the missus."
He finally made contact with the wall, which apparently gave him confidence. "Been married thirty years and never cheated on m'wife in m'life. Couldn't you just-sort of-you know ... gosh! It sure would give me a lot of pleasure just to sit and look at you for a little while. You won't have that drink with me?" Fumbling, he took out his wallet and showed her an identification card which she read swiftly.
The Hon. Robert Tatterslee
Tatum County
Arkansas , "I've got a daughter back home not much older'n you." His eyes were vaguely myopic, his mouth slightly loose, and when he spoke of his daughter it was as if he might be telling her that anybody who had a daughter not much older than she was simply had to be a trustworthy man. She appeared just a little frightened. He grew persuasive. "Honey, I'm just about the loneliest man in the world. Should have brought along the missus, but she's been feeling poorly. I never did fit in with these big-shots ... tell you what. Just have one little-bitty drink with me, then you can go straight to your room. Do I look like a man that would molest a sweet young thing like you?"
"No, of course not," she said in her best finishing school voice. "But we'll have to be quick about it. My friend is down in the drugstore getting some hand lotion. She wouldn't approve." She allowed her eyes to look into his, and they still looked a little frightened. "She might even tell my daddy when he calls tonight. He checks up on me when I come to New York, and it really makes me mad, too."
The man chuckled. "How old are you, honey?"
"Nineteen."
"Son of a gun!" He slapped his knee with the palm of his hand as if he had just heard the most amazing thing in the world. "Nineteen!"
Fifteen minutes later The Honorable Robert Tatterslee of Tatum County, Arkansas was naked as a jaybird and down on his knees at the side of the bed in his room. His arm clasped Margaret Jenkins' elegant legs as he looked up at her slavishly. "Honey, oh, baby, oh, honey, please let me lick that darlin' little pussy of yours. Just once, huh? Come on, baby. Don't act that way."