CHAPTER ELEVEN

They rested for a while, and then, about an hour later, vigor returned to him and they began to make love again. This time McDermott's lust was less urgent, his passion more easily restrained, and their lovemaking lasted longer. When it was over, McDermott switched off the light and they got under the covers. He curled up against her, his face nestling in her bosom, his mouth pressed to one hard little nipple. Within moments he was asleep. Laura smiled at him in the darkness, this unhappy man at her breast, old enough to be her father but nestling there as though he were her child. She adjusted her body to fit his; he muttered something unintelligible and she joined him in sleep.

At half past seven the next morning, the room telephone rang. Laura swam up rapidly through layers of sleep, and nudged McDermott awake.

"The phone," she said.

"Answer it," he mumbled.

"No," she said. "It wouldn't be right. You'd better get it."

He nodded dimly and, leaning across her body, picked it up. After a moment, he said, "Thank you," and replaced the receiver. "It was the desk," he explained. "I asked them to phone me early so I wouldn't miss my appointments." He sat up on the edge of the bed, thumbing his eyes. A golden-gray stubble had sprouted on his cheeks. He looked rumpled and older, now, in the morning. He smiled at her. "Christ, but you're a vision, Laura. Lying there with that red hair all over the pillow, and all your skin showing. You're the only woman I've ever known who could look beautiful at half past seven in the morning." He leaned over, planting a kiss just below her navel. Squeezing her thighs affectionately, he rose and shambled off toward the bathroom. Laura heard the shower running, and then, a little while later, there was the sound of an electric razor. When McDermott came out, he looked much more capable of facing the morning. But his eyes were bloodshot.

"The annex is yours, my dear," he said airily.

Laura showered quickly, just to refresh herself a bit. When she came out, pink and scrubbed, there was a towel around her, but McDermott made her remove it. "Delicious," he said. "Delicious. I'd rather eat you for breakfast than a grapefruit. What lovely skin you have. Elizabeth had skin like yours ... once." He scowled. "I keep talking about her. I must be boring you."

"Do you have many important appointments this morning?" Laura asked.

"Oh, God, yes. I've got to be at the Chase Manhattan by half past nine, and then there's lunch with the Morgan Guaranty fellow at noon, and after that—" He shook his head. "It's a busy life, this business of money managing. But I suppose other people work just as hard, with a good deal less of a reward." He took a starched shirt from a drawer. "Will you join me for breakfast at the hotel coffee shop?" he asked.

"Of course," she said.

No one looked askance at them as they rode down together and went into the handsomely-appointed coffee shop. It was a very dignified and conservative hotel—which meant that the guests were free to do as they pleased, so long as they did it in a dignified and conservative manner.

Over coffee, McDermott said, "I'd like to see you again tonight, Laura. Is it possible?"

She shrugged. "If it were up to me, I'd say yes. But I don't arrange my own assignments. You'll have to—go through channels." She did not like to mention Spinelli by name.

McDermott smiled faintly. "All right. I'll try to arrange it. You're a very wonderful girl, do you know that, Laura?"

"I enjoy making people happy," she said.

"You've made me very happy. And I'm looking forward to spending much more time with you. But just in case your schedule doesn't permit me to see you again, I'd like to give you something just as a little token of gratitude for the wonderful time you gave me last night." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a sealed envelope. He slid it along the table to Laura, who slipped it into her purse without looking at it at all, smiled, and murmured a "Thank you."

They parted, then, McDermott entering a taxi to take him downtown to the financial district, Laura hailing a cab to take her eastward to her apartment. Only when she was home did she open McDermott's envelope. Wrapped in a blank sheet of Whittier stationery, she discovered three crisp, fresh hundred-dollar bills.

She gasped. Three bland, smiling images of Benjamin Franklin's face looked up at her.

It was a phenomenal tip for a night's work. Even if she saw McDermott again tonight and he gave her nothing additional, she would have no cause to complain about a lack of generosity. It meant that at the very least she would have $800 this week. Money ceased to have meaning when it cascaded in at such a rate. She closed her eyes, thinking of her burgeoning bank account, wondering whether she would ever find the courage to break away from so lucrative a way of life.

Shortly after noon, Spinelli called.

"You must really have bowled McDermott over," he said. "He phoned in giving an enthusiastic report on you, and practically demanding that I let him have you for the rest of the week."

"What did you tell him?"

"I had you lined up for the camera convention tonight and tomorrow," Spinelli said. "But McDermott was practically drooling into the receiver, so I've made some switches. Tania and May will work the convention, and you'll be with McDermott tonight and tomorrow, and maybe the day after that if he's still in town. I figure it doesn't hurt to please him a little extra. He's got plenty of influential friends."

"Okay," Laura said. "What time tonight?"

"He wants to take you to dinner. Be there around six, I guess. Did he give you a tip last night?"

"He sure did," Laura said.

"How much?"

"Three," she said.

Spinelli was silent for a moment. Then he whistled and said, "You sure must have impressed him. What did you do, mix Spanish Fly in your perfume?"

"I listened to all his troubles, and then I went to bed with him," Laura said. "That puts me one notch up on a psychiatrist. They just listen to your troubles."

Spinelli laughed. "I think I ought to tell you that McDermott isn't the only one who's been raving about you. Your public is wild about you, kid."

"I'm flattered, I suppose."

"You ought to be. And—just between you and me—you may be in for a little elevation of the base salary, if you keep going the way you've been going. How does it feel to be rich, huh?"

"I don't mind at all."

"Maybe you'd rather be in the chorus line on Ed Sullivan's show?"

"Thanks all the same, Phil. I'll stay where I am."

"Smart girl. You know what's good for you."

Hanging up, Laura bit her lip. So Spinelli was thinking of giving her a raise! Pretty soon she would be the top attraction on his list, that meant. She was already the best-looking girl in his organization, and as she gained in poise and sophistication she was increasingly in demand among the rich clients Spinelli served. A raise would make it harder and harder for her to give up the life. If she went to $600 a week—why, that was $30,000 a year! And tips were averaging four or five hundred a week more. A few years of income on that scale and she would be independent for life, if she invested her earnings wisely.

At half past three that afternoon there was a call from Dan.

"I've been trying to reach you for two days," he said. "I phoned around dinnertime yesterday, but there was no answer."

"I was out," she said.

"You're a hard girl to find, sometimes. When am I going to see you again?"

"When would you like to?"

"Tonight?"

She paused. "I'm sorry, Dan. Tonight's out. I—have a tremendous amount of work to catch up on."

"Tomorrow, then?"

She thought of McDermott. Sadly she said, "I hate to do this to you, honey. But I'm going to be busy tomorrow too, and most likely the day after."

"Catching up on important work?" The sarcasm in his voice was only faintly disguised.

"Yes," she said.

"Listen, honey, you don't have to try to soften things. If you're dating somebody else those nights, you can come out and tell me the truth. I won't fold up and die."

"I'm working, Dan," she said. "Honestly." It's the truth, isn't it? she asked herself savagely.

"All right. Have it your way. I'm not going to try to force myself on you."

"Look, Dan—darling—believe me, I'd give anything to be able to see you the next couple of nights. But I can't. Absolutely. It's impossible to explain, but I—I can't."

"Okay," he said mildly. "I told you, I'm not out to force the issue. But I do want to see you. I've some very important things to discuss with you. In person."

"Monday?" she said.

"Monday's fine. Pick you up at six or so for dinner?"

"Swell, darling!"

"Till Monday, then." He blew her a kiss. She returned it, and they hung up.

Immediately she phoned Spinelli and requested a day off for Monday. He was reluctant, but she pinned him down to the admission that she was entitled to several more days off that month, and that he had not scheduled her yet for anything beyond the weekend.

"How come it's so important?" he asked.

"It isn't, really. Just that I feel like taking a breather."

"You had a breather just a couple of days ago. You seem awfully eager for another one."

"I've got some things to catch up on, Phil."

"Oh? Say, now, you aren't involved in anything on your own, are you? You know I don't take much to free enterprise in this organization."

"Would I jeopardize myself by anything as dumb as that?" she asked angrily.

"Women do peculiar things when they think they're in love," Spinelli said with calm menace in his voice. "We've been getting along swell, Laura. I wouldn't want you to mess up a splendid arrangement."

"All I want is a day off on Monday, Phil. If you're going to imagine all sorts of wild affairs—"

"Okay. Okay. Take Monday off," Spinelli said brusquely. "I withdraw all insinuations. Friends?"

"Friends," she said.

When she put down the phone, she felt a sharp pang of guilt and fright. I'm getting into this thing deeper and deeper, she thought. Spinelli, who was anything but a fool, was beginning to get suspicious. It would be only an elementary precaution now for him to station a detective on her tail to watch her after-hours activities. Spinelli would find out about Dan that way.

She knew what would happen. Spinelli would do nothing to her—not directly. But Dan would be visited one night and the facts of life would be explained to him, perhaps with a baseball bat, perhaps with a knife. And she would be told quietly not to make a second mistake.

She had lied to Dan, and she had lied to Spinelli. The tangle of her lies was increasing—perhaps, she thought bleakly, it would soon weave itself into a noose for her throat. Dan had to talk to her about "something personal," and she had a good idea that it meant something to do with a ring. But how would she elude Spinelli's vigilance? How would she ever break free of him? She was too valuable now for Spinelli to let her go without an effort. And he could so easily keep her, simply by telling the truth about her to Dan.

There was no way out.

There was nothing to do but live from one day to the next, and hope against hope that—somehow—everything would turn out all right.

Fear and despair chilled her. Spinelli was urbane and amiable, but the urbanity was only a mask for the ruthlessness beneath the surface. She could not hope to defeat him in any sort of struggle.

The wise thing would be to give up Dan, thus avoiding the conflict with Spinelli and the chance of harm to him or of possible exposure. But she could not give him up. He was the one chance she had—perhaps the only one she ever would have—to escape into a decent life. He was the first man she had known who tried neither to buy her nor to rape her. He was the only one who regarded her as a human being, not as a two-legged sex machine. She loved him for that.

She loved him.

But she dreaded what was coming.

She forced all thoughts of the dilemma from her mind, and began to dress for the evening. Since it was a dinner date, and a second date as well, she dressed more daringly, in a gay and provocative gown whose neckline actually cut below her breasts, leaving only a filmy band of gauze and lace to cover the bosom. There was a special bra to go with the outfit, one that embraced her nipples and hugged the lower curves of her bosom. She had never worn the gown in public; with a jacket, though, it seemed moderately decent, and a really high-class restaurant would be accustomed to such a dazzling display.

McDermott was impressed. He was ready, immaculate in formal tuxedo, when she knocked at his door at five after six that evening. He kissed her hand, and then—to the accompaniment of her delighted giggles—lightly kissed her exposed bosom. "Won't you be arrested in a gown like that?" he asked.

She smiled. "This isn't Boston."

"I know. But it isn't Bali either!"

The waiter, though, kept his eyes modestly averted as she swept into the restaurant on McDermott's arm. It was a Park Avenue restaurant so costly that even she had only been there once before, and McDermott had reserved a table that placed them practically in the center of the room, where all eyes were drawn to the milky loveliness of Laura's bosom.

She enjoyed the attention. Holding her cocktail aloft, she would lean forward, until her breasts came within an ace of popping out of their confinement altogether, and she could almost hear the oohs and ahhs all over the restaurant. McDermott, smiling, seemed to drink her with his eyes. He told her at least a dozen times how happy he was that she could join him for a second night.

It was a long meal. There were innumerable entrees and cocktails, and with the main dish came rare wine, and with the coffee there was cognac. Laura felt mildly dizzy, even though she had eaten sparingly and left her wine unfinished. She felt tremendously relaxed and happy, except for the one nagging thought that if she married Dan she would probably never eat at a place like this again, where the menu did not deign to make mention of price, and where a dinner for two could easily run to sixty or seventy dollars.

In the taxi on the way back to the Whittier, McDermott turned to her and kissed her, his tongue gliding into her mouth and his hand seeking beneath the lace until it came to rest cupping the warm, soft bulk of her breasts. Only when he attempted to slide one hand under her dress did she stop him. The taxi driver was covertly watching in his mirror, she was sure. Delicately Laura took McDermott's hand away from her thighs, and they straightened up. "We don't want to look sloppy in the hotel lobby," she whispered, and he nodded and smiled.

Once they were in the room, though, there were no such restraints. He pulled her tight against him, grinding his loins against hers, and while one hand cupped her breasts the other ducked under the hem of her gown in back, swooping upward and into her panties to grip the cool flesh of her buttocks. They remained glued together for a long moment, McDermott finally breaking away. He looked flushed and excited. Laura wondered distantly whether he might not have a weak heart. So much excitement would be dangerous for him, then. And it would be awkward if he happened to have a heart attack while she was with him.

He was on the phone, now, telling Room Service to send up champagne. "The Piper Heidseick '52 Cordon Rouge," he specified.

An impressive-looking official brought the champagne up fifteen minutes later, in a bucket on a tray, and he made a big production out of removing the cork. Pouring out a glass for each of them, he bowed and departed. McDermott offered Laura her glass, and they clinked them gravely and drank.

Putting his glass down empty, McDermott said in a peculiarly halting, hesitant way, "Laura—I—I've been doing a good deal of thinking since last night—about—about things." He looked down at his gleaming black shoes. "I—I'm rather fond of you, as you might imagine. I was wondering if—perhaps—you could possibly be persuaded to move. To Boston, or one of the suburbs."

She looked at him in surprise.

Before she could reply, he went on, "I have a fairly good idea of what you earn here, and I could guarantee that you'd live equally well up there. And you'd be free most of the time, except when I could manage to see you. We'd have to arrange things very carefully, of course. A breath of scandal and I'd be ruined." He looked up, pale and tense. "There's one additional angle. My wife, as I've said, has aged rapidly. She's not in the best of health. Now, a divorce is beyond consideration, but—in the event of her death, say in the next year or two—I would ask you to become my second wife. After the proper interval of mourning, of course. Naturally this would entitle you to a considerable portion of my estate at such time—as—well—"

He paused. Laura looked at him in confusion.

"I don't know what to say," she got out finally. "I'm—well—stunned—"

"I admit it's sudden of me, this way. But I've searched my soul and I'm convinced I must have you. Your past is of no interest to me. I need you, Laura."

It was her turn to look at the floor. "Well—there are some complications," she said, thinking of Dan. No doubt Spinelli would be willing to release her from employment to make such a marriage, or even to become McDermott's mistress while Mrs. McDermott lived. "I'm afraid I can't give you any answer on the spot, Bob. I'd have to think about it a while."

"Certainly," he said, calmer now that he had said his say. "This isn't anything for you to rush into. Consider it, and let me know your answer when you've reached a decision. For my sake, of course, I hope it'll be yes."

She looked away, moistening her lips. It was an idea, she thought. A lot depended on what Dan had to say Monday night. If he asked her to marry him, life would be a lot more complicated. But if he had no such intentions, then it might not be bad at all to become McDermott's mistress and possibly someday his wife and heir.

She smiled. "I'd like some more champagne, Bob."

"Certainly!"

He filled her glass. She drank quickly. She began to feel giddy. Without his telling her, she started to remove her clothing. When she was nude, he came toward her. She realized she was very close to being drunk. He took her in his arms, and she leaned against him as he carried her to the couch. She sprawled out limply, her arms around his neck, and he kissed her breasts, her eyes....

He sighed sharply as her cool hands touched his body, and then he was on fire, crushing her in his arms, thrusting his tongue between her teeth, and he brushed his fingers along her body and cupped her breasts, and she clenched herself to him and their bodies joined and this time he stayed with her all the way, until they went sweeping away together on a riptide of delight.