When the waiter departed, holding menus over the crotch of his pants, Julie clapped her hands with glee. “I can't believe that,” she laughed. “It must have been the lacy red half bra that got to him."
"Don't sell yourself short, honey. You have what it takes to own any man you desire."
It took an hour to put away the new clothes and Julie, energy restored, was anxious to get back to her easel. For a while after first meeting Ally, Julie thought her benefactor would serve as inspiration for the Wal-Mart illustrations, but as she admired her body in the bedroom full length mirror, clad only in red lingerie, she knew she would be her own mental model.
She cupped her breasts, causing the cherry red nipples to peek out the top of the lacy brassiere. They are long, she observed. She stroked them with her thumbs, watched them grow and shivered as she pulled the bra over them. She felt wicked as she padded barefoot to her studio, still wearing the sexy bra and panties. She just wasn't ready to part with them, although she did look forward to putting on the new baby-doll pajamas.
The blinking light on her answering machine caught her attention. She propped on the edge of the desk, pressed the button and immediately recognized the irritated voice.
Julie, if you're under such severe time restraint, why aren't you at home? The advertising agency is in the Dollar Building and the owner's name is Rita Holder. She agreed to a one-week extension, but only if you can get two of the ads to her by the end of the month.
Damn it, Julie. We need to talk. I'm having a telephone installed tomorrow. I'll call as soon as they put it in. Look, Pretty Lady, you need a place to stay. I know Charleston is beautiful, but so is Dot. I saw the log cabin this morning. It's fantastic and the view of the pond from the back porch is almost as beautiful as you are. Pretty Lady, come home. I have the apartment looking decent. I'll fix up one of the motel units to stay in and you can have the apartment until we restore the cabin. Think about it, Pretty Lady.
I'll ... I'll call you tomorrow.
Julie grinned mischievously as she erased the message. “If I had been dressed like this, Cliff, would you still have been content only to massage my back?"
She squatted beside the aquarium. “What do you think, guys?” The fish rushed to her side of the tank. She placed her lips on the smooth glass and received their kisses. She grinned wickedly, pushed down the skimpy bra and pressed her breasts against the warm aquarium glass. All but two of the fish swam away, but the two male angelfish fought for position to nibble her nipples.
Smiling broadly, Julie pranced to the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee and returned to her easel. She had a long night ahead and looked forward to it.
It was four o'clock in the morning when she slipped on the new pajamas. She sleepily admired the image in her full-length mirror and slipped between the sheets. Three times she awoke. The dream that interrupted sleep was the same on each occasion. It was a love scene, but there was something wrong. Her lover was not Cliff or any other man she ever admired. The arms wrapped around her aroused body belonged to Allison Thomas.
When the dream popped open her eyes a fourth time at seven thirty, Julie gave up and crawled out of bed. As the warm shower splashed over her breasts, she remembered Ally's eyes on her naked body in the Wal-Mart dressing room. “I'm not a lesbian,” Julie remembered Ally saying. I'm not either, Julie thought as her hand soaped the tangled curly hair at the apex of her thighs. I'm not, damn it!
She patted her body dry with a fluffy cotton towel, slipped on the new pink robe and pushed her tiny feet into the new, soft, light blue bedroom slippers. Julie hugged herself and breathed deeply while looking into the bathroom mirror. “I am beautiful,” she said aloud. “Ally said so.” She pursed her lips. “Ally thinks my lips are sensuous.” She closed her eyes and kissed the back of her hand, wondering what it would be like to feel her lips pressed against Ally's.
Julie put on a pot of coffee, poured cereal into a bowl and added sugar and milk. Sitting at the kitchen table, she tried to construct a plan for the day's activity. She made good progress the previous night. In another three or four hours, she could complete the first flyer.
She almost missed with a spoonful of cereal and glanced down to see if she spilled milk on the new robe. It gaped open and she found herself looking at her proudly upturned left breast. Tentatively she slipped her hand inside the robe and toyed with the nipple, which sprang to attention. She squeezed her thighs together, not certain whether she was trying to stem the tingle between her legs or make it more intense.
"Should have taken a cold shower this morning,” she mumbled as she placed the now empty bowl in the kitchen sink and filled it with water. She refilled her coffee mug and made her way to the studio. Glancing at last night's efforts, she smiled, sat at the easel and reached for her sketchpad.
She was eating a toasted pimento cheese sandwich for lunch when the telephone rang. She pushed back the chair and pulled the receiver from the wall-mounted kitchen extension. Cliff must now have his telephone installed, she thought. “Hello."
"Julie, this is Cliff. Man it's great to hear your voice."
"Good morning, Cliff. Well, I guess it's afternoon now. I got your message last night. Sorry I wasn't at home. I do appreciate you contacting the Holder Advertising Agency for me. I just finished one of the ad layouts and I have in mind what I want to accomplish with the second. The extension of time you obtained, along with the one-month extension of my apartment lease is working out nicely."
"Whoa, slow down, Pretty Lady. I'm paying for this call. You don't need to give me the bum's rush."
Julie chuckled. “I do that when I'm excited—talk too much and too fast."
"You're excited?"
"Yeah, Cliff. This Wal-Mart assignment means the world to me and I feel like I'm off to a great start."
"And you have an extra thirty days to find a new place to live?"
"Rent free,” she laughed.
"But you still must find a new place to live, Julie. Just say the word and I'll get started."
"Get started on what, Cliff?"
"On fixing up your place in Dot. It'll take a couple of months to restore the cabin, but I figure I can make one of the motel units livable in short order. I'll move into that and you can have the apartment until the cabin is ready."
"Cliff, what's gotten into you? I thought I made it clear that I want to sell the Dot property."
"Julie, do you remember the large room with fireplace that overlooks the pond?"
Julie smiled as the picture formed in her mind.
"It would make a great studio and, if you plan to hitch your wagon to the Holder Advertising Agency, it makes sense to move to Dot."
"Who's going to pay for all these renovations, Cliff?"
"I have five thousand dollars saved up."
Julie laughed. “Big Man, that's your money. Use it on yourself."
"It's enough to fix up the motel, store and restaurant, Julie."
"No way."
"Yeah. All it needs is a good cleaning and some paint. It won't look modern, but that'll be a drawing point. It'll be quaint—rustic. What the hell are you laughing at?"
"Big bad Cliff—ex-con—using words like quaint and rustic."
"I'm not joking, Julie. If we can find your mom's barbecue recipe, we can serve that as our only menu item. Add beer and gas and we should make a decent living."
"You're serious."
"Damn right, I'm serious, and I know you have the money to do this and fix up the old home place as well."
"I never should have told you about that."
"I have a name for the business, too."
"I'm listening."
"Dad's Place."
The tears surprised Julie. “That's a low blow, Cliff."
"Your dad would like it."
"Cliff, if Creasy Green can find a buyer, I'm selling. That's all there is to it. Go find yourself a job. Forget about this dream. Forget about me. Get on with your life, Cliff."
The
re was a long pause before Cliff responded and when he did, his voice was soft and low. “I can put the dream behind me, Julie. It won't be the first time. But I can't forget about you."
"What? What did you say?"
The line was dead.
She replaced the receiver and the telephone immediately rang again.
"Don't you ever hang up on me again, Clifford Baker,” Julie barked.
"Who's ... who is Clifford Baker?"
"Oh, hi Ally. He's a nobody. It's wonderful to hear from you. What's up? You sound a little funny."
"Julie, I'm in a bit of trouble. I'm in the emergency room, but they're ready to release me. I'm going to ask a favor. Please, don't hesitate to say no. I can stay with my sister, but that's the first place Frank will look."
"Ally, what's going on?"
"My husband was out of town on business yesterday. He was supposed to come home today, but the meeting ended early. He was waiting for me when I arrived home last night after eating dinner with you. He accused me of being out with another man. He worked me over pretty good. It's not the first time."
"I'll be there within thirty minutes, Ally. Hang on, honey."
Chapter Seven
The hospital complex was confusing. Julie circled the tangle of tall buildings three times before finding the visitor's emergency room parking area. As she made her way into the waiting room, she was relieved to see Ally's sister sitting beside her wheelchair-bound new friend.
"My God, Ally! Are you okay? You look terrible!"
Ally grimaced when she tried to smile. “Thanks for the encouragement."
"The guy needs to be locked up permanently!"
Ally's sister leaned forward. “He is in jail, but he'll be out on bond before the day is over. We must move quickly. Jim is at Ally's apartment now, packing her clothes."
"Jim?"
"My husband—the salt of the earth."
"Julie,” Ally interrupted. “Are you sure you want to do this? If Frank finds me at your apartment, there's no telling what he might do to you."
"I guess you told Frank about me last night, but he doesn't know where I live, does he?"
"That's the point,” the sister agreed. “The first place he'll look is my house."
"Julie,” Ally said, “I promise it'll be just a few days."
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like,” Julie said, patting Ally on her knee. She turned to the sister. “I'm sorry. I just can't recall your name."
The brunette smiled faintly. “Peggy. Peggy Freeman."
After the women agreed for Ally to go home with Julie while Peggy joined her husband to finish packing Ally's clothes, Julie hurried to her car and drove to the emergency room entrance to pick up the battered woman.
"I guess this is a stupid question,” Julie said as she pulled onto the Parkway, “but are you in a great deal of pain?"
"They gave me a shot and a bottle of pills.” Again Ally grimaced as she tried to smile. “I hurt, but mostly I'm numb. It's a weird feeling. Julie, I need another favor."
"Name it."
"Swing by the South Carolina National Bank. If I don't get my half of our checking account balance now, Frank will take it all when he gets out of jail. That's what he did last time."
Julie nodded. “Why do you stay married to this jerk?"
Ally's response was so quiet that Julie had to ask her to repeat it.
"We're not really married. I divorced him two years ago. He broke my arm and two ribs on that occasion."
"Why in the world did you go back to him?"
"A glutton for punishment, I suppose. You know the routine. He stayed after me, professing his love and how sorry he was. He promised he would never do it again and I wanted desperately to believe him. Three months ago my little restaurant failed. I was worse than broke. I owed thousands of dollars. Frank said he's pay off my bills if I'd come back to him.” Ally turned and looked sadly at Julie. “Does that make me a prostitute?"
"Here's the bank,” Julie announced, avoiding an answer. She turned into the parking lot and pulled into the first open space. “Why don't you write a check and we can go to the drive-through window?"
Ally fished in her purse for the checkbook and Julie supplied a ballpoint pen. When they were again on their way to Julie's apartment, Julie asked, “Where are you working now? We need to contact your employer."
"I haven't found a job, Julie. The five hundred bucks I just got from the bank is all there is, but somehow I'll pay my share of the rent and food."
"Don't be silly. I'm not rich by any means, but I have enough for us both to live on for the foreseeable future."
"What is your line of work?"
Julie smiled. “I'm a freelance artist—illustrator. I do line drawings and watercolors for advertisements. Right now, I'm working on an assignment for Wal-Mart. If I don't screw it up, I have a lucrative career ahead. Tell me about your restaurant."
"There's not much to tell. It was just a little diner. I soon found out it takes money to make money. Business was good, but not good enough."
"What role did you play?"
Ally again grimaced as her lips turned towards a grin. “I was the cook, waitress, cashier, bookkeeper and janitor. I worked twelve hours a day, six days a week."
"Damn. That was a grueling schedule."
Ally nodded. “I loved every minute of it."
"Where was your diner? What did it look like? What was on your menu?"
As Ally answered the questions, Julie pictured a large sign featuring a man's likeness and the words, “Dad's Place."
It was difficult getting Ally from the car to the apartment. Ally was in such pain that Julie practically had to carry her. Ally wanted to soak in a hot tub of water and Julie found herself disrobing her new friend. As Ally sat on the commode, tears coursed down Julie's cheeks when she gently pulled the blouse from Ally's shoulders, revealing deep, purple, swollen ribs and breasts.
Julie knelt, removed Ally's shoes and slipped off her skirt. Ally wiped tears from Julie's cheeks as her new friend tugged at her panties. “It's not as bad as last time, Julie. At least there are no broken bones."
Julie helped the abused woman into the tub as water poured from the faucet. She knelt and briefly held Ally's hand. Without thinking she reached for Ally's head, pulled it to her and, while stroking her hair, pressed her lips to Ally's. She jerked back when Ally cried out.
"Oh, Ally. I'm so sorry. I just..."
Ally placed her finger across Julie's mouth. “I wasn't complaining about the kiss. Just watch out for my swollen lip."
That night, with Ally's personal possessions scattered about the bedroom, Julie lay in her bed, arms wrapped around Ally and Ally's head resting on her breast. She stroked the drugged, sleeping beauty's hair. “I'm not a lesbian, damn it. I'm not,” she muttered beneath her breath.
This is Delilah Delight with another four hours of Bawdy Talk. Thanks for turning me on. Now all you guys stuck in Charlotte traffic, honk your horns if you want the delicious babe in the car next to you to flash her breasts.
Cliff grinned and turned up the volume on the portable radio so he could hear over the roar of the vacuum cleaner.
In today's mail, we have a challenging letter from Unfulfilled. It's a long letter, so I'm going to summarize it. Unfulfilled says she's thirty something and has had four intimate lovers during her sexually active years. She says that not one of these guys has a clue as to how to satisfy a woman in bed. Each of her lovers rushes to his own reward and then loses interest.
How about it gals? Are all men like Unfulfilled's lovers or are there a few who can ring a woman's chimes?
Boy, did that hit a responsive nerve. The phones are already ringing. Hello there. Tell Delilah all about it.
Delilah, this is Debbie. I didn't write that letter, but I could have. Guys seem to think all they need to do is plant a few kisses, squeeze selected areas of my anatomy and then do it. I've never enjoyed an orgasm with a man.
You ever
tried it with a woman, Debbie?
Ugh! Excuse me, I shouldn't have said that. To each her own and all that.
Debbie, what would the perfect lover do that your previous lovers have not done?
Talk to me.
Talk? Dirty talk?
Not really. He would tell me how beautiful I am and things like that.
Do you talk to your lovers, Debbie?
How can I? Most of the time they have their tongues or something else in my mouth.
So from your experience, all men are lousy lovers?
Absolutely.
Okay, folks. This is Delilah Delight and the program is Bawdy Talk. Unfulfilled and Debbie think all men are lousy lovers. Let's see what the next caller thinks. Hello, you're on the air.
Delilah, this is Mythrill. I agree that men are just after their own pleasure. I happen to have big boobs and guys seem to think that I enjoy all the squeezing, tugging and twisting that gives them pleasure. Hell, some of them even...
Careful, Mythrill. Remember the FCC.
Well, you get the idea.
Tell me something, Mythrill. When making love to your man, do you moan and groan a lot?
Of course.
But you're faking it.
Do you like to have your nipples twisted off?
My question is, why do you fake it? Why do you let the guy think he is giving you pleasure when he's not?
All guys like to think they're God's gift to women. If you don't fake it, you'll never hear from them again and it won't be long before rumors circulate about you being frigid.
Thanks for your input, Mythrill. This is Delilah Delight and the program is Bawdy Talk on WFNS—your friendly neighborhood station. Hello Caller, you're on the air.
Good afternoon, Delilah. My name is Bruce and I'm mad as hell.
Talk to me, Bruce.
Do you gals think that guys’ mamas teach us how to please a woman in bed? It just doesn't happen. If we don't light your fire, it's your fault, not ours!
How do you figure that, Bruce?
It's simple. Somebody must teach us. Big Boobs says she moans and groans when her lovers pay attention to her breasts, and yet she gets no pleasure from it. The guy doesn't know that. In fact, because she is pretending to enjoy his attention, the guy thinks he's doing just what she wants.
Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners Page 7
