Chapter 14
After Rita hung up the phone, she buzzed for the janitor to. tell him about the window. He had big ambitions for such a dried-up little man; he reached her apartment in something less than minutes, and when she opened the door and he saw her flaming orange shorts-shorts, his red rimmed eyes swam like a couple of flying saucers. She called him "Curly" because of the half-dozen or so hairs that dotted his bald head; and she called him that now, guiding him to the blasted-out window frame, asking him to get it fixed.
The damage numbed him. So did her short-shorts. So did her revealing halter. "What happened?"
She looked at the little man in the gray shirt and the grease-stained khakis. She decided it was none of his business.
"Somebody threw a pumpkin through the window." But he saw the bullet hole and he shot her an inquisitive glance. The super isn't going to like this." The super?"
The building superintendent. He's gonna want to know what's going on around here?" His eyes undressed her.
"And do you have to tell 'em everything?"
His shoulders were hunched over, his natural stance. "I don't have to tell him anything, lady?" His glance dropped. His eyes beheld the defining tightness of her short-shorts. His mouth watered with desire.
"What don't you come out and say what you're thinking?" she said querulously.
"I don't know what you're talking about, lady." He broke his stare.
The hell you don't! You're wondering what I'd be like in bed. You're wondering if I'd let you."
His secret thoughts had been stripped bare. He was speechless.
Rita confounded him even further. She felt the drug releasing new and maddening sexual obsessions, and she said:
"I'd be good in bed, and if you're wondering would I, the answer is why not?" She skinned out of her short-shorts; then she flung off her halter. She was naked.
The janitor dropped the tape measure he had fished out of his khakis. He was dumbfounded. His eyes bulged like two oil-coated marbles.
"All right, Curly. Are you gonna fix the window or fix me?"
He looked like a man in the throes of a coronary occlusion. His mouth was popped open but nothing came out. Rita clasped her hands behind her head and wiggled her breasts for him.
"Maybe you'd rather fix the window," she teased.
He found some words:
"I'll fix the w-win ... I'll fix both," he said weakly.
She undulated toward him. Her eyes were half shut with desire. A hot wave of wanting flooded her loins.
"But which are you going to fix first?" she asked. "The window or me?"
He quite plainly didn't know what was happening here, but he wasn't going to question the turn to good fortune. He dropped his khakis.
"What the hell do you think I'm going to fix?" he said.
"I was just asking," she said, leaning her breasts against his arm.
He shot her an incredulous stare. He still could not believe this was really happening to him--him, the janitor.
'If you're just gonna stare all day...."
He turned slowly and cupped them gently in his hand, held them as though they were prize fruit, as though a sudden squeeze would bruise them and ruin them.
They're lovely," he said. Too lovely for words."
"Wouldn't you like to kiss them?" she teased. "Wouldn't you."
"Oh, would I!" Then why don't you?"
And gingerly, perhaps afraid that she would suddenly change her mind and scold him. he bent down and kissed their lingering tips one at a time. Rita felt no shame; she knew only that the crazy drug had again taken possession of her senses and that, as such, she would have to have release. But the janitor was timid, defensive. Rita coaxed him.
They won't bit you," she said quietly. "You're suppose to bite them." She cupped one of her melons in her hand and pressed it against his mouth. "Go ahead," she urged. Try it and see."
The janitor's defenses crumbled. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth and let Rita ease her hot breast inward. His eyes rolled and Rita thrilled to the touch of his tongue. ;
"Harder," she demanded. "Real hard."
The janitor complied. His mouth worked her nipple to a profound hardness. Meanwhile, his fingers were coaxing the other nipple to an equal hardness. Rita could hardly wait for the consummation of their mutual passion. She began undressing the janitor, and when she had gone as far as she could, he broke away from her and finished the task himself.
Rita led him into the bathroom.
"In here?"
"Why not?" She flashed him a mischievous smile. "Did you ever ... I mean ... in the shower...." He shook his head.
Rita parted the plastic curtains. She turned the water on, gauging its warmth. The janitor was obviously reluctant, but Rita took his hand and led him inside. She closed the curtains and handed him the soap.
"You're kiddin', " he said questioningly.
"The hell if I am." And then she instructed him how they would lather their bodies and make themselves as slippery as possible. The rest was pure instinct. And crazy. Because with the warm water spraying their bodies, the dizzying thrills were beyond measurement. And completed, it was so wild that Rita passed out in the janitor's arms. He revived her with cold water, and she said:
"I don't know if you fixed that window. But you sure fixed me!"
"That was the idea, wasn't it?"
"Am I complaining?"
After the janitor had left, Rita again turned on the shower. She felt soiled, dirty: self-recrimination, the equalizer to sin. She knew it was her addiction to the pills that led her to such degradation, but those same pills were also the pathway to success. But how foolish, she thought, to have come so close to having her brains blown out; then immediately afterward, think of sex. It seemed impossible that the pills could do this to her: remove fear from everything; but it was true. As long as she continued to take the pills, she felt no fear from no man, no thing. She was queen of the jungle, the high priestess of evil.
She came out of the shower now and took another pill. New courage coursed through her body. Her majestic breasts stood out noble and proud. Unyielding strength of purpose surged through her like a mad rampaging river. Anger was close by.
She climbed into a pair of skin-tight leather pants. A gold-sequined half-blouse covered her breasts. Her stomach was bare.
"What the heck kind of get-up is that?" Henry Ridgewood asked after he arrived. His eyes were fastened on her spike-heeled shoes.
Rita ignored him. She commanded him to sit down.
"I don't like being here," he said, glancing toward the pile of window glass on the kitchen floor. "I don't like it at all."
She paced the floor like a hungry tigress. Disdain crept into her voice. "For once in your life, will you shut up!"
"I have a right to say what I think."
She didn't answer him. The doorbell sounded: Paul Juneau, the Chief of Police.
Rita let him in. There was no need for introductions; the two men knew each other arsenic and strychnine, the boob and the blimp. Two perverts.
Juneau threw her a sour look. His face was taped up: the lingering effects of running into a beer bottle. He went to the window or where a window had once been. He examined the hole in the wall, then turned to gaze at the building across the street. Rita stood at his side; Henry remained meekly in the background.
"From the roof," Juneau said, pointing to the gray brick building across the street. "He must have crouched behind that chimney and...."
"Who?" Rita demanded.
"Who?"
"Well ... I-I don't know ... that is...."
"Yes, who. You're the big shot Police Chief, the big brain. Who'd pull a stunt like this?"
Rita led Juneau through the rubble of glass back to the living room. She pushed him onto the couch beside Ridgewood, who was fluttering like a wounded sparrow trying to get off the ground.
Rita stood before them, bold and garish. Her tight leather pants gave her sweeping masculine overtones, and she said:
"I don't scare easily . . She paused before she added the final word. . . men." Her dark eyes bore into her two guests. "And I don't know which one of you arranged for it, but it won't work. I'm not quitting the store, and I'm not running."
Ridgewood remained effeminately silent. Police Chief Juneau was bolder. He said:
"You've got a lot of guts, making an accusation like that."
"Not guts. Brains." She lit a cigarette. "One of you did it. Who else?"
"Maybe you've got more enemies than you imagine." He found an evil grin. "There's a lot of people that feel this town can do well without you. They don't want the store."
"But they're getting it," she snapped. "They're getting it and they're gonna like it." She picked up an ash tray and paced back and forth as she addressed the two men. "Both of you had reason enough to want me dead. I've got enough tape-recorded evidence to hang the both of you. Only hanging is too good for the-likes of you. Perverts ought to have their...."
"Now wait a minute," Juneau cut in.
Rita rushed on. "But killing me isn't going to save your lousy necks. Those tapes are in a bank vault and if anything happens to me, those tapes will be turned over to the District Attorney. You might be thinking about that."
Ridgewood was ready to cry. He said:
"Rita, it wasn't me ... I swear it wasn't" She told him to shut his mouth. "I don't like being called a pervert," Juneau said menacingly.
"Are you anything better?" Rita asked with a smirk. I Juneau tried to haul his huge bulk off the couch. Rita flung the tray of ashes in his face. He coughed and choked. His hands went to his eyes. "You bitch!" he sputtered.
Rita raised up and jammed her needle-sharp spike heel into his gut. The back of her hand cuffed him across the cheek. He reached out for her and she brought her knee up between his arms, catching him under the chin. His teeth clattered. His head went back.
"Don't you ever call me that again," she glowered. "Not ever!"
Juneau rotated his jaw to see if it still worked. He wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. Hate washed over him, but it was coated with fear. Ridgewood was as motionless as granite.
"We'll run through this just one more time," Rita said, still trembling with anger. "Maybe those pea-sized brains you have will grasp what I'm trying to say." She paused. "The store is opening just as scheduled. And I'm not interested in public opposition. The more I get, the more determined I am to open. I'm giving this thing the touch of a Hollywood premiere. That means klieg lights, a ribbon-cutting ceremony, the whole bit. And what could be more fitting," she said, with a proud leer filling her face, "than to have two of Temple City's most promising dignitaries officiate at the proceedings."
Crestfallen and frightened, neither of the two men protested. Rita luxuriated with the force of her intimidation. She said, "Henry can cut the ribbon and you...." She exchanged glances with Paul Juneau. "...you can deliver the opening address. You can tell the public what a great bonanza the shop will be for Temple City, how fortunate the citizens are to have such creative fashions so close at hand."
"I can't do that," Juneau whined, still bleeding.
"You can and you will!" Fata glared at him, daring him to utter another word. He didn't and she went on: "And then we'll have our style show. We'll have the little 13 and 14 year old nymphets parade down the stage in their sexy bikinis and...." She paused, letting her smile become a disdainful grin. This'll be right up your alley, boys. You both like 'em young, don't you?"
"Rita...." It was Ridgewood groping for words. "Get out of here," she hissed. 'Both of you. You make me sick." They got up to leave.
"I'll be in touch with you," she said. "And soon." She walked them to the door. They went down the hallway without a word. Rita shot them a brassy laugh and slammed the door.
An hour later, Joel Harris came up. He'd ditched his teenage girlfriend, Lee Patterson, in a downtown dime store, slipped up a side street and come straight to Rita's.
"Which wasn't a very nice thing to do," Rita said, going for the vodka bottle and glad that he was here.
Joel had kicked off his loafers and sprawled on the couch: very much at home. "Gonna tell on me?" he asked.
"I should," she said, coming to him with the two highballs. "I should tell Lee what a naughty boy you really are."
He helped her set the drinks down. "You talk too much. Why don't you give me a kiss, instead?"
"There oughta be an answer for that," she said, bending over him, "but at the moment I can't think of one."
He pulled her down on top of him. His arms snaked around her waist, bound her close. He kissed her.
Rita cupped his face in her hands. She kissed him back. The boy moaned. His hands sought the warm resiliency of her buttocks. He pressed downward. Rita giggled and wormed out of his grasp. He chased after her. He cornered her in the kitchen, pressed her against the refrigerator and kissed her again.
When the kiss was finally broken, he saw the glass, the broken window. Rita told him what has happened.
"And you're not scared?"
"Concerned," she said, "but not scared."
And he wanted to know who was responsible and why it had happened. She told him what she knew.
"Then maybe you shouldn't open the store." He led her back to the living room. "Maybe you should just forget about it, go somewhere else."
Rita answered, "It's too late. I've got too much time and money tied up in this thing to kill it at this late date."
"But supposin' ... suppose they try again?"
"To kill me?"
He looked at the smashed out window, then at Rita. "Yeah. What if they...."
Suddenly Rita pulled the boy down beside her. She circled his neck, crushed her breasts against his turtle-neck sweater.
"Now who's the one who's talking too much?" She kissed him, letting her tongue dart between his lips.
The boy broke away. "But what if they try to kill you?"
She melted against the handsome youth again. Her glistening dark eyes worked over the boy's face, then his body. She said, "You're the lady killer, Joel...." Her hands lurked in his lap. "...Why don't you kill me?"
"Rita...."
"I'll bet you could," she whispered. 'I'll bet you could kill me just fine...." She melted against him, letting the haunting softness of her breasts press to his chest. "Make love to me, Joel...." She purred. Her head rested on his shoulder. "It'll kill me if you don't...."
The boy had been very game until he'd seen the shot-out window; now his reflexes were dulled and he seemed anxious to leave.
"I should be going," he said, his eyes on the door. "Lee's gonna be madder than hell."
Rita led the boy to the couch and sat beside him. She put her arms around him and let the weight of her breasts drug him with desire.
"You don't wanna go this early, do you, Joel?"
"I really should, Miss Rita. Really."
She slid her hand under his sweater and fondled his nipples. "Does that tickle?" she asked.
"A little."
"And this?" She breathed gently into his ear. The boy reacted with a soft moan. Rita continued to fondle his chest. "You know you don't wanna go this early, Joel." Her other hand crept under the back of his sweater. She caused her fingernails to trail up and down the lean muscular hardness of his bare back. The boy shivered. "Just think of all the things we can do, Joel. Just you and I."
The boy's defenses were shaken. He wanted to leave, but now Rita had aroused him. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he whispered weakly.
"Why, Joel? Doesn't it feel good?" Her right hand dove to his navel. New tremors of excitement spread over the boy's body.
"Rita...." The beginning of a protest, a weak one, but it died in a gasping shiver of uncontrollable desire.
Rita climbed across his body and kissed him. She slipped her tongue into his mouth. Her hands caressed the nape of his neck. Joel trembled. Rita drove her hot tongue deeper and deeper into the boy's mouth. His reflexes took over. And now his hands searched for the buttons on her blouse. She helped him.
"Ohhhhh, Rita!"
She bared her chest to the boy. "Isn't this better than in a darkened basement?" She gyrated her shoulders. Her breasts bounced lightly off the boy's crimsoned face. He seized her breasts and put one of the magnificent fruits in his mouth. Rita pressed herself to his face.
"Take all of it, Joel!"
And he did! And he had forgotten about broken windows and shotguns, about his girlfriend and his desire to leave.
Rita was elated that she had seduced the young lad. The first time this had happened it was because of loneliness; and the event had occurred in a damp dark cellar: a thrashing of bodies that had brought her but little satisfaction. But this time it was different. She wanted him. Really and truly wanted him. And maybe it was the pills that had peppered her with such hot desires, but she wasn't going to question the deliverance of joy.
She rose from his lap and led him to the bedroom.
"Let's undress each other, Joel. It's more fun that way."
Joel smiled at her uncertainly, but Rita didn't give him a chance to entertain any further doubts. She unfastened his pants and his underclothing. Her hands stole the last of his resistance. He moaned. And minutes later he was sliding Rita's leather capris from her body.
Rita held him at bay for a teasing embrace. They stood beside the bed, naked and unashamed.
"Isn't this better than the basement?"
"Cool," he intoned.
She pulled him down onto the bed.
"Joel?"
"Y-yes:"
"You said ... you said it was 'cool'. "
"I know." He dug his nails into her buttocks. He gained momentum. Rita was nearly out of her mind with the thrills that reached her.
She said, "I-I don't think it's cool. I-I think it's