Chapter 7
The Photographer's Model
Tony awoke feeling like hell. Dobber's moaning had kept him awake most of the night. Tony's eyes were inflamed; he had a headache and his mouth had the taste of battery acid.
Tony sat up in bed and blinked at the glaring sunlight. He stretched, then winced. Each muscle in his body seemed to have its own particular protest. That surfing was more strenuous than he thought.
Dobber was curled and into a writhing ball of pain on the couch. He was sleeping, but now and then he moaned and his body broke into violent trembling.
Tony slid out of bed deliberately. He stretched his stiff muscles, then stood up and pulled on his swim trunks. He walked over to the bureau and opened the top drawer. No liquor. Damn, he could sure use a drink. He moved over to a chair and settled his aching body into it gingerly. He looked out the window, idly watching the sea birds as they soared high over the surf, then swooped down suddenly to grab small shell fish in the shallow water.
A tap sounded at the door to the connecting apartment. The door opened slowly and Margo stuck her head inside. "Is everybody up?"
"Yeah," Tony said wearily. "But I wish I were back in bed."
"Oh?" said Margo with mock sympathy. "Does my little stud horse feel bad today?" Her tongue was thick, her speech slurred.
"God, do I need a drink bad," Tony said. "You got any liquor left?"
Margo stepped into the room, a bit unsteadily. "Surprise!" She held up a half-filled glass with one hand and a fifth of bourbon with the other. "I'm drinking Coke and whisky today. Care to join me, lover boy?"
She was wearing a transparent nylon wrapper. Underneath, Tony could see the outlines of a black-lace bra, black panties and garter belt, and dark, smoky hose. She wore trim, red pumps with spiked heels.
Tony eyed the bottle of bourbon. "You're like a Florence Nightingale."
"Want me to get you a Coke, hon?"
Tony shook his head. "Naw, I need it straight today. God, what a night."
Margo turned unsteadily and looked at Dobber, who was flaked out on the couch. "Dopey here run out of stuff again?"
Tony nodded. He rose, walked over to the bureau and picked up a glass. "We've got to come up with some cabbage for the stuff today or they'll be packing the both of us off to the nut house."
Tony reached for the bottle, but she moved it behind her back mischievously. "Give me something for it," she teased.
Tony grinned. "What?"
She raised an eyebrow impishly. "Maybe a kiss to start."
Tony leaned down and pecked her on the nose. "How's that?"
"Want me to break the bottle over your Goddamned head?"
Tony laughed, leaned down again and kissed her hard on the lips, open-mouthed. His tongue wiggled forward and found hers.
He broke off the kiss and looked into her green eyes. "That good enough for a drink?"
"Hmmmmm," she said, passing him the bottle. She giggled intoxicatedly and weaved over to a chair. She fell into it, almost spilling her drink. She crossed her legs and the nylon wrapper split open to the tops of her black stockings.
Tony poured the glass half full of bourbon and took several deep gulps. The whisky sizzled into his insides resoundingly. He sat down in a chair and looked at Margo's finely sculptured legs. She took a sip of her drink, then, eyes twinkling, smoothed a hand up her calves and along her inner thighs, finally stopping to inspect her garter belt fastenings at the top of her hose. She looked up at him, eyes still twinkling. "You're flat broke again, are you?"
Tony nodded glumly.
She raised an eyebrow. "Did Race ah tell you about the movie? He's willing to give you a good cut out of the deal."
Tony took a long pull at his drink. He shook his head. "Margo, I couldn't do it with people watching."
She tossed her blonde head back and laughed. Then she leaned forward, her green eyes bright with introspective lust. They seemed to be spinning in her head, blurring hypnotically. "Having people watch gives you an added kick. But the real fun comes later when you can sit back and watch yourself being naughty on the screen."
Tony finished his drink and rose to pour another. He felt is if the liquor was setting fire to his bloodstream. "How many films have you made?" he asked, feeling a little sick to his stomach.
She smiled. "Oh, a dozen or so, I guess." She laughed. "I'm a regular Hollywood star, aren't I." She leaned forward, holding out her glass. "Give me a refill, will you sweet?" The nylon wrapper split open farther and Tony saw that she did, indeed, have on black lace panties and a black garter belt.
Tony filled her glass to the brim, then poured himself another stiff one. He could feel his brain starting to tingle, then fade into numbness.
He sat down again, facing her. He couldn't keep his eyes off her smoky thighs. His pulse rate began to climb. "Why aren't they red today?" he asked, the liquor giving him sudden boldness.
She followed his gaze to her black-pantied hips. She smiled and winked at him. "Oh, this is my movie star's costume," she said lightly. "I'm all dressed for my role. Race says the guys who gape at these films like to see black hose and a lot of black, lacy underclothes. Erotic stuff know what I mean?"
Tony nodded. He knew damned well. They were doing things to him-disturbing things. Yet he couldn't understand it. It didn't make sense. He had laid her several times and was intimately familiar with every curving inch of her gorgeous body. Yet, seeing her in the sleek black hose, the spike-heeled shoes, the black lace under things, they all fired his blood again. His hands were eager to strip away the exotic wrapping and reveal the woman underneath, although he knew full well what was there.
He raised his glass but had a hard time finding his lips. When he did, they seemed large as a cannibal's. He knew he was getting stoned. "Is Race going to get some one else for the movie, I mean since I'm not going to be in it?" His tongue felt as if it was tied to the roof of his mouth.
Margo smiled, her green eyes seeming to spin faster. "Race thinks you'll change your mind." She stroked her leg again, and the wrapper split open all the way up to her navel. "He was hoping I could talk you into it."
Tony finished his drink. The pulse throbbed at his temples. He wanted her badly. "And if you don't, do you get another whipping?" His speech was slurring and he had the strange feeling that his voice was coming from someplace else in the room.
Margo shrugged. "Maybe."
Dobber cried out in his sleep and turned over on his stomach. His bony hands clawed at the upholstery in agony like someone in terror trying to climb the vertical walls of a snake pit.
Margo slowly uncrossed, then recrossed her slender legs. An impish smile was frozen on her lips. Tony rose unsteadily and lurched over to where she sat. His head felt like a basin of water with the plug just pulled. He grabbed for her, but she dodged, giggling. He almost fell flat on his face. She reached out and took his arm, steadying him. He embraced her shoulders, standing above her by the chair, swaying. "Margo ... let's go somewhere, to be alone "
She looked up, passion beginning to burn in her eyes. She reached up and ran light fingers through his tousled hair. "You know you do look like my teacher at the state home. He had such gentle hands but they could hurt just at the right time..."
Tony tugged at her drunkenly. "Margo ... let's go somewhere."
"I'd love to, sweetheart but I can't. Race is expecting me back. He's all set up for the movie." Her green eyes were intense. "Come with me, Tony. Make the movie. I'll be even better than being alone with me. There'll be kicks you've never had before."
"Margo ... I ... can't stand the thought that other people will be watching the movie. Maybe even somebody I know."
"Don't worry about that, Tony. Race will shoot it where the faces won't show up too well. And after the film is reprinted a hundred times or more it'll be too dark to make out a face, anyway."
"Margo ... I..."
She rose and embraced him, her cool, soft hands caressing the hot flesh of his neck and shoulders. Her hips pressed against his, hotly. She ground her body against him as though trying to start a fire like rubbing sticks together. Even through her clothing, Tony could feel the heat of her breasts and lower stomach.
Margo took Tony's arm and led him toward the door to the adjoining apartment. He followed her like a lamb with a rope around its neck.
They entered the apartment and Margo tugged him into the bedroom. Race glanced up as they came in. He had pulled the bed out into the center of the room and was fooling with some photographic lights he had positioned around it. A drink in a tall glass was on the floor by his feet. He smiled thinly. "Well, kid, I see you got smart." He moved a light about a foot and repositioned the lamp angle. "I'm just about ready here. Then we can get this show on the road. I found a guy who'll process the film for me, but I'll have to get it to him early this afternoon to receive it by tonight. I'm supposed to meet my contact at eight o'clock. Then we'll have half a grand in our pockets. How's that sound, kid?"
"I need a drink," Tony mumbled thickly.
"Sure, kid." Race picked up a bottle off a table and poured a glass half full of whisky. He handed it to Tony. .
"What gimmick are we going to use this time?" Margo asked Race.
He shrugged. "The photographer-model is always a good one. You still got that camera?"
Margo nodded. "I'll get it."
Tony sat down heavily in a chair. He gulped down his drink, trying to pickle his conscience.
Margo rummaged through her luggage and pulled out a small still camera. Race picked up an extension cord off the floor and plugged it into a wall socket. The lights flared on around the bed and Tony winced, closing his eyes. He felt as though his head was spinning on his shoulders like some crazy top.
Race took a movie camera from a table. He walked over to a chair and turned it around so that its back was to the bed. He sat down, straddling the chair. He rested the camera on the back of it, pointing toward the bed. "O.K. Let's get this show started."
Margo walked over and took Tony's arm. He rose unsteadily. She pressed her camera into his hands. "You just do what I tell you, Tony." She winked. "We'll have a lot of fun. I promise."
She led him over to the bed. It was lighted like a boxing ring at Madison Square Garden. She released his hand and climbed into the bed, spike-heeled shoes and all. She smiled at Tony. "O.K. Now you're the photographer and I'm your model, get it? You're telling me how to pose. Every once in awhile you make a gesture and I'll change positions. Then I'll demand that you take your clothes off, too. After that, I'll make love to you."
"Here we go," Race said. He pressed a button on the camera and it began to whir. It was like a sound of doom to Tony, a symbol of the low, low depths to which he had fallen, a mark of his total capitulation with the ways of a sordid world.