Last Licks

by Troy Conway

  I remembered seeing it anchored just outside the harbor.

  “Will they accept me as a guest?” I wondered.

  Zia smiled, “You’d be better off to hire on as a steward. A steward goes everywhere, sees just about everything. You could go places you might not be admitted as a fellow guest.”

  Chalk one up for the baroness.

  “Okay, then—as a steward. But what I don’t know about being a steward would fill a five-foot bookshelf.”

  Zia laughed delightedly. “silly! A steward, does almost anything. you can have a dining room steward, cabin steward, bath steward, and a deck steward. On a private yacht like the A thena, you probably be all those things rolled into one.”

  Sounds great. Like maybe working in a salt mine.”

  The baroness giggled. “Oh, it isn’t all that bad. You probably won’t have to wait on table—they have somebody for that job. Your main problem would be personal services—furnishing Dramamine tablets for seasick people, maybe getting a suit a pressed or a dress dry-cleaned, bring deck chairs when they’re needed, or getting a book for an insomniac to while away the sleepless hours.”

  Boy of all trades, “ I agreed.

  Walrus-moustache asked, “Do your friends need a steward?”

  “Not that I Know of. Just happen to have heard that Email, their present steward, is homesick. The Fortescus, Who own the yacht, are always on the go. Email hasn’t been home to Paris, where his wife and children live, for over a year. I have the felling that if somebody offered him a few thousand francs, he’d jump ship with a yell of pure delight.”

  Walrus-moustache nodded. “Good. I’ll contribute the francs Can you arrange for some sort of meeting between the professor and this Emile?”

  “This morning, if you’d like. Emile is always to be found On the Quai Jean Jaures for a bowl of soup at one of its restaurants as a kind of brunch, a combination of breakfast and lunch.”

  Zia let her eyes dance up at me. “You will have to let me conduct the talk, mon ami. No matter what I say to Emile, you must agree. If you do, you will be a steward on the A thena by nightfall.”

  “He’ll agree,” growled the chief.

  Zia stood up. “Shall we go, then? It’s a little past eleven. If we dawdle, Emile may be gone. And from the gossip around town, the Athena will hoist anchor sometime tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” I muttered, thinking about leaving the baroness and not liking it. She read my thoughts and patted my cheek.

  “You shall be my knight errant, darling. And when you return, I shall be here to give you your reward. I promise that.”

  Walrus-moustache grunted, heaving himself to his feet. He does not hold with romantic nonsense. To him it was enough that I was going to save the world for democracy (what, again?). He fished in his pocket and brought out a roll of bills that his hand pocket and brought out a roll of bills that his hand could not contain.

  “It’s French currency,” he told me, thrusting it in my palm. “Use as a report. Damn, but I’m tired. This time differential between the states and Europe always bothers me.”

  He went clumping off with Norman Beltinge at his elbow. We listened to their footfalls until they died out. Then I turned to Zia.

  “I didn’t realize you wanted to get rid of me so fast,” I more or less snarled. “I thought you’d had yourself a ball last night.”

  She threw her soft feminine attributes against me “Darling, I did! I want to stay with you forever-but if you can save my life? Think, dearest! I will be yours forever. I will be able to devote myself to you completely!”

  “Yeah, well—maybe.”

  She bit my chin. “Besides, wait until you see Ilona Fortescu or Fleur Devot or Celeste Maillot. They will make you forget all about me.”

  “Not a chance,” I vowed, kissing her kissable lips.

  “Bet?” she murmured, glancing at me from under her long-lashed eyes. “Darling, I know you better than you know yourself. When the chance comes for a little carnal research with a Greek social registrite or a French starlet, you’ll snap at it.”

  “Greek, huh?”

  The baroness shook her head at me reprovingly. “Shame on you, Road. Your mind is always in the gutter.”

  “I’m just thinking about my job,” I replied loftily.

  We went down the stairs and out into the sunlight. The Quai Jean Jaures was only a few hundred yards away. It was good to walk in the sunlight and breathe in the salt air as it swept across the harbor to roam through St. Tropez. Zia pauses, caught my arm and pointed out the huge white hulk of the A thena, riding at anchor in the Baie des Canoubiers.

  She’s a beauty,” I nodded.

  “For two million dollars, she ought to be.”

  We went on toward the quai. There, in front of what is called the old down, there are many little shops separated by nothing more elegant than chicken wire fences. The houses lean outward a little, since they are very old. The newer homes are straight up and down. The new houses were built after the Germans blew up the port in 1954 to prevent it from falling into Allied hands when it was attacked. The destruction did them no good, they surrendered that very afternoon from the citadel where they had retired to put up a last-ditch resistance.

  Emile Crillon was sitting alone a round table, rubbing his hands together before tackling his bowl of steaming fish soup A napkin was tucked into his leathery brown neck, his black eyes were sparkling with anticipated pleasure, and he had covered his bald pate with a seaman’s cap.

  He scowled at sight of me, but his eyes danced when he saw zia. He started to get up but she pushed him back down into his seat, telling him to eat.

  “Me, I’m thirsty,” she said, with a look at me.

  I ordered a bottle of Vin Rouge to be served, as was the custom, at room temperature. I gave Emile the biggest glass and kept it filled. It was easy to order more bottles.

  “Emile, do me a favor,” Zia begged when he pushed the empty bowl away from him.

  “Anything, highness.”

  “Go home to your family. Take a gift of five thousand francs and retire. You ought to be in the Halles market, buying crayfish, boiling them yourself, kissing your Marie and all your children good night.”

  Emile Crillon gulped.” Five thousand francs? For me?”

  Zia gestured. “Give it to him please.”

  I peeled off the five thousand new francs—which amounted to one thousand American dollars—and then threw in another thousand on my own. Walrus-moustache could afford it. Emile stared at me, at zia, and at the money. His eyes misted over with tears.

  “For the past three years I have wanted to quit. Now you come along like an angel and. make. it possible. May lebon Dieu have you always in His mind.” Suddenly his face grew tragic. “Ah, parbleu! What am I thinking? I have the steward job on the A thena I could not desert them now.”

  “Not if I had a replacement, Emile?”

  He beamed. “A replacement? Who?”

  Zia jerked her thumb at me. Emile turner his leathery neck to study me. You are a sailor? You have been a steward?”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “He can carry pills. He can lift deck chairs.”

  Emile cackled laughter. “Oui, oui. And he can maybe entertain the ladies better than I can, yes? But it is not to be thought of. My post is too important to——”

  Zia leaned closer. “Mon ami, mon cher ami—do me the favor? I am tired of his love-making. I want to get rid of him. Now be a good fellow.”

  More laughter, cackling out of that leathery throat. “A ha! So? Now it comes out. You want the A thena to do your burial work, do you? So you can find a new romance? Well, now.”

  If there is one argument that will always work with a Frenchman, it is a romantic one. His scrawny fingers were clasping the six thousand francs with the tenacity of a bulldog’s jaw, but it needed the added spur of romance to compel Emile Crillon to see the light

  He shrugged expansively, as if against his will “I will do w
hat I can. I swear this on the virgin I will go to the yacht with your, ah, friend. I will ask the boss, M’sieu Fortescu. If he says yes, I shall retire.”

  Zia leaned forward, clasped his head and kissed his windburned cheeks. Emile beamed. Me, I sat there like a scorned lover.

  Half an hour later I was sitting in a powerboat beside Emile Crillon listening to him babble on about his duties aboard the A thena The powerboat was driven by a man in a sea beret, blue and white, a blue and white striped jersey, and blue duck sailor pants. I gathered this was the more or less official uniform of the yacht crew.

  We went up a ladder alongside the hundred-and-ninety-foot A thena. It was one of the largest private ships in the world. It would sleep a dozen passengers, a smaller one for the crew. Its engines could develop almost eighteen hundred horsepower, and her tanks stored enough fuel for a fourteen-hundred-mile cruise. Those engines permitted the A thena to speed at close to sixteen knots per hour.

  There was a woman lying on the sun deck in a black bikini when we came off the ladder. We walked forward, and saw that she was asleep. Emile cleared his throat Several times until the woman stirred, lifting her attractive face shading her eyes under a palm.

  “Yes, Emile? What is it?”

  “I am sorry to trouble you, madame. It is the matter of my retirement. I am quitting ship, but I have brought a replacement.”

  The woman stirred again, lifting glossy black hair out of her eyes the better to see me. She was still half asleep, but I saw her eyes open a little as she propped herself up on her elbows. Two heavy breasts hung down between her arms, unburdened by any covering. Suddenly she smiled.

  “Well! Is this your replacement, Emile?”

  “Oui, madame.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Damon, ma’am. Rod Damon. I’m an impoverished professor on a sabbatical. I want to do a little research on the Greek islands. I can’t afford to go there expect by working my way.”

  She put a forearm across her breasts, hiding the nipples. Her other arm she waved in the air. “My robe, Emile. My robe—va vite.”

  I was there ahead of him, scooping up the terry cloth robe, holding it so she could place her arms in its sleeves. Over her bare shoulders, her green eyes looked up at me. To slip into the robe meant she must draw her forearm away from her breasts. She understood it; she knew I did too. Her mouth curved into a faint smile.

  “A professor, you say?”

  “I am the founder of the League for sexual Dynamics, madame. I am also a sociology professor.”

  “sexual dynamics,” she murmured thoughtfully. “What does that mean?”

  She slid her left arm into the sleeve, but she kept her right forearm up as a shield before her nipples. Over her right shoulder I murmured, “I teach boys and girls the proper attitudes and techniques that sex, madame. I seek to instill into them the understanding that sex is good, clean and wholesome, an important part of life and therefore to be appreciated in various ways and methods.”

  The forearm dropped. I was treated to a full view of the Fortescu breasts as they wobbled slightly while she tried to find the sleeve with her right hand My fingers were clamped on the sleeve, which effectively prevented her from getting her arm inside it , making her fumble more, which resulted in making her lolos jounce up and down and sideways.

  “Ravissante,” I murmured.

  She turned her head and stared at me. For a moment I wondered if I had gone too far I did not know Ilaona Fortescu She might fell I had insulted her. If she did, and I did not get the steward job, I might have signed Zia von Osterreich’s death warrant.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ilona Fortescu turned away from the boat deck, facing the empty Mediterranean, so that the only one who could see her Mediterranean, so that the only one who could see her naked breasts was myself. I did not know this wife of the Greek industrialist, but I felt I knew women. No woman is completely angry at a man who pays her body compliments.

  I did not look at her face. I kept my eyes fastened on her large brown nipples, and I let my admiration show. She smiled faintly and shrugged.

  “Are you through admiring me?” she asked softly.

  “I could never be through admiring you. You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re a naughty young man.”

  “Am I naughty—because I admire beauty? What was it Keats said? A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Yes. You are a living painting by a master. Da Vinci? Raphael? Definitely not a Rubens.”

  Her delighted laughter rang out. “Take your hand away from my sleeve, you libertine.”

  “Libertine? Me?” I protested innocently.

  I let her bosom. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. She was the eternal woman, knowing she has made a male conquest.

  She reached up and tapped my cheek with her fingertips. “Oui, you. A libertine of the worst sort—one who is attractive to, and is attracted by, woman. Oh, I Know your kind all right.”

  “And?” I challenged, smiling.

  Emile cleared his throat. Almost irritated Madame. Fortescu threw him a glance. “Yes, Emile? Oh, you want your back pay, I suppose. Well, come along.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “You too, Professor.”

  In the office where her husband kept his fingers on the pulse of his vast industrial empire, Ilona Fortescu lifted out a sheaf of banknotes from a safe. She counted out hi back pay and added a month’s wages as a parting bonus for Emile. The leathery little man beamed.

  “Will you be able to go to work at once, Professor?” she asked, turning her attention to me.

  “Just as soon as I get my few belongings from town.”

  “Emile, help him,” she ordered.

  She stood there with her chenille robe folded about her curves as I bowed my way out of the little office and followed Emile Crillon across the deck to the boarding ladder. Her green eyes glowed, and there was a catlike smile on her full mouth.

  On the way to shore, Emile told me my uniform would be a blue blazer and white duck trousers, white shirt and dark blue tie. The blazer would have the arms of the house of Fortescu sewn on the handkerchief pocket. I owned a blue blazer, I could buy a few pair of white ducks in town.

  Zia was waiting when we landed. I told her everything as she accompanied me to my room where I packed my pigskin luggage. With true female perspicacity, she zeroed in on the facts.

  “Ilona Fortescu likes you, doesn’t she?”

  “Now, now. I just made a good impression.”

  “I’ll bet. And it’s all my fault. Will I ever learn?”

  “I’m your knight, remember?”

  Zia laughed, restored to good humor. “All right. Touch! But I’ll be waiting for you, you know—if you ever come back.”

  I grabbed her, kissed her, and patted her rump. “I’ll be back, sweetness. Don’t worry. Just rest up.”

  She came with me when I went to buy the duck trousers and blew kisses as I was taken shipwards by the silent sailor in the sea beret. I felt sorry to be leaving her. I really liked the baroness. I promised myself I’d come back with a whole skin and spend at least a week with her before taking the TWA jet stateside.

  When she was a tiny speck on the beach, I turned and stared at the Athena. This would be my new home for a week or two or three. It was a magnificent sight, all white modernity.

  I had seen only a glimpse of her interior; I knew she had a big lounge where the guests assembled to play games or just talk, an adjoining bar, and a dining room capable of seating more than a dozen people. I did not know all the details at the moment, I learned them later; but I was impressed with its size, the sleek shape that disguised that size to the eye, and with its overall elegance.

  I went up the boarding ladder to the sight of a pair of tanned, slim legs under a striped bikini walking along the deck. The legs paused. A hand lifted a long strand of yellow hair so that a pair of deep blue eyes could assess me. “What ho?” a childish voice asked.

  It was no child who faced
me in the bikini and rope clogs. No top; the breasts that confronted me were as tanned as the legs.

  I made a little bow, remembering my status. “Allow me to introduce myself, miss. Rod Damon, your new steward, at your service.”

  A pouting mouth smiled lazily. “They got rid of old Wrinkle-cheeks, did they? Well, good for Georgeyporgey.”

  “I believe Emile has retired. He’s gone back to Paris.”

  “Goody. You, we can have fun with. You’re young, more or less. Just how old are you?”

  I smiled mechanically and bowed. I pushed past her and walked toward the office door. She turned on a sandaled heel and snapped. “You, there. I spoke to you.”

  My feet went on walking. I thought she might come after me to make a scene, but she did not. I wondered if I had made an enemy. If I had, the hell with it; I did not like pampered brats who pushed.

  Georges Fortescu was sitting at hi desk when I walked in on him. He was a big man with dark black hair graying at the temples. He wore a turtleneck black sweater under a white blazer ornate with gold braiding. He looked like a rough customer in a fight, his knuckles were big, swollen from old breaks. Instinct told me this Greek businessman had been in many a free-for-all before he had accumulated his uncounted millions.

  His black eyes lifted to stare at me.

  “Damon? The new steward?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I imagine Emile told you your duties.”

  “Some of them.”

  He smiled frostily. “You’ll learn the rest. Keep your nose clean and we’ll get on h e . Your pay is two hundred dollars the month. I’ll have Alex brief you on what we expect of you. That’s all.”

  I made a little bow. I was at the door when Fortescu spoke again. “Damon, remember one thing. I have a boatload of—ah—jet-setters. A couple of movie starlets, some very rich, important people. If they want—ah—special attentions, I assume you’re man of the world enough to know what to do?”

  I grinned. “I like to think so, sir.”