by Judith Gould
She nodded.
“Those ads are what we in the business call life-style ads, and are all part of the Attitude Sell. Just like Guess jeans. Or Calvin Klein’s perfumes.”
“In other words, all those ads that look as though the products are incidental,” she said slowly, beginning to get a glimmering of understanding.
“Oh, they’re not incidental. Not by a long shot. But what really sells Ralph Lauren and Guess is not the products themselves. It’s the images they portray.” He paused. “Take a moment to think about it. How much can one really say about a pair of blue jeans? Or, for that matter, why should anyone want to choose Jordache over Guess? Is there really any difference between the two?”
“Not much,” Edwina agreed, “if any.”
“That’s right.” He smiled broadly. “Now, you might not be consciously aware of it, but the clothes on that rack?” He nodded across the room.
She kept her eyes on him. “What about them?” she asked suspiciously.
“You’ve got to see them the way I do, that’s all. As more than just clothes. Because they’re more than just attire. They’re your particular vision of a carefree, perfect young life-style. They’re for kibitzing around, for leading a life of romance, sensuality, and sheer unadulterated fun! And have no doubt about it: that’s what will make them sell. And that’s the direction I’m proposing the Edwina G. ads should take.” He sat back to gauge her response.
She looked thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right,” she said with a wistful sigh, and rubbed her chin. “Dresses decorated with pinwheels or rayon roses aren’t exactly one of life’s necessities, are they?”
“No, but they’re fun! They’re kicky!”
“Which, need I point out, was my intention?”
“And, boy oh boy! Are they salable! You know, with the right image, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you’re unable to produce them fast enough to fill the demand. In fact, Edwina G. just might turn out to be the biggest fad since the Swatch watch!”
“Jack?”
He looked at her questioningly.
“Do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Stop trying to sell me on my own designs. I know what they are and what they can do. Now, let’s get on with selling them!”
Chapter 55
Edwina hadn’t been to the Rainbow Room since it had reopened to much fanfare after its multimillion-dollar renovation. Now, her ears still popping from the sixty-five-story elevator ride, she could see what all the brouhaha had been about. The words “extensive renovation” had been an understatement.
Everything was luxurious and soft. The music. The carpeting. The lighting. Even the breathtaking watercolor wash of the sunset. The view out the soaring windows was spectacular, with the metal deco trim on the edges of the Empire State Building reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. Far beyond, the twin towers of the World Trade Center rose up hazily from the tip of Manhattan.
Couples and small parties of six or eight were already seated all around the spacious dining room, enjoying the view along with their cocktails. Above the murmur of voices and the clinking of silverware and china she could hear the orchestra playing “Three Coins in the Fountain.” But the gleaming parquet dance floor was still empty. Later, it would doubtless fill up—not with the wildly jerking, strobe-flashing beat of the downtown clubs, but with the more dignified sounds of fox-trots and waltzes, and maybe a few racier tangos and cha-chas.
Edwina regarded Hallelujah with pleasure as they waited for the maitre d’ to return from showing an elderly couple to a table. “I knew there was a very, very pretty girl hiding under all that goop and gel.” She pinched Hallelujah’s chin affectionately. “Didn’t I tell you, sweetie?”
Hallelujah rolled her eyes. “Only a hundred times, Ma, okay? Maybe a hundred and one now?”
Edwina smiled. “Still, you look very nice.”
“Yeah? Then why do I feel so weird?”
“Hard to say, kid. You look terrif.”
Hallelujah was wearing black tights and a shocking-pink leather micro with a black Danskin top. She wore a poisonous-green plastic belt and an assortment of plastic earrings in primary colors, none of which was paired. Her hair was, at least in Edwina’s opinion, almost human in appearance and texture, worn in a short ponytail that went straight up from the top of her head. Like Pebbles Flintstone’s, only without the bone.
The maitre d’ returned, greeted them formally, and looked at Edwina questioningly.
Edwina turned to Hallelujah.
“The Tanquerays’ table,” Hallelujah said, using the false name under which she had reserved the table when she’d called—Tanqueray because it was her mother’s favorite martini gin, and thus had been the first word to pop into her head.
“Tanqueray?” Edwina murmured. “What a curious name.”
The maitre d’ bowed slightly. “If you will please follow me? The rest of your party is already at the table.” He led the way, positively floating across the carpet.
Edwina followed, and Hallelujah felt like the caboose. The spectacular view outside the huge windows caught her attention, and she walked without looking where she was going. When her mother abruptly stopped six feet short of the table that was their destination, she walked smack dab into her back.
“Ma!” she claimed. “Why’d ya stop so—” She hushed the moment she caught sight of R.L. and Leslie rising, like the perfect gentlemen they were, from their corner seats. “Oh-oh,” she said under her breath. “Now comes trouble.” Ducking her head, she licked her lips nervously and looked out from under hastily lowered eyelids.
Edwina stood there like the ice queen for one full minute. Then, placing her hands on her hips, she turned slowly around. “Haaaaal. . .” she growled out of one corner of her mouth, her flush of anger glowing right through her brilliant blusher.
Hallelujah decided it would behoove her to dart past her mother to the table—and did. Once there, she turned back around, her hands clutching the back of a chair behind her. Feebly she attempted an innocent smile. “Ma?”
Edwina took stalking steps toward her. “All right, young lady. She wagged a furious finger and her voice quivered with barely controlled rage. “I think you’ve got some quick explaining and apologizing to do. You’ve conspired. You’ve deliberately, underhandedly schemed to set—”
“It was for your own good, Ma!” Hallelujah said quickly. “Isn’t that right, Les?” She looked over her shoulder for his confirmation.
Leslie’s head was bobbing up and down like one of those dolls in the rear window of a car.
“See?” Hallelujah said, kicking the heel of one boot nervously against the toe of the other.
Leslie inched forward, nervously thumbing his glasses up his nose. “It’s all my fault,” he blurted as he reached Hallelujah’s side. He looked at her for fortification. “Isn’t it, Hal?”
“It’s our fault,” Hallelujah corrected him, taking his hand in hers. “We’re in this together, ‘member?”
He nodded miserably.
Edwina drew a deep breath and let it out noisily. Then she looked at R.L. Now that she was closer to him, she gave a little start. “What happened to you?” she asked. Momentarily forgetting her anger, she leaned closer in on him. “You’ve got cuts and scratches all over your face!”
“Oh, that. It’s nothing.” He laughed and shrugged it off. “Leslie’s always badgering me for a cat, and I happened to be passing a pet store. You wouldn’t believe it. They had one of the cutest kittens you ever saw. A Bengal, I think it’s called. Bred to look like a tiny leopard, all tan-yellow with leopard spots. Well, damned if it didn’t take an instant dislike to me. Flew right out of my hands and into my face.”
Her eyes narrowed. It’s what I should have done to you months ago, she thought with relish. But despite the clawing, he still looked handsome; she couldn’t deny that. Too handsome. Too well-dressed. Too at ease. Too everything.
The maitre d’ discreetly c
leared his throat.
They all looked at him. He was still holding a chair for Edwina.
She hesitated. She had a good mind to grab Hal by the arm, march off with her, and give her a good thrashing once they got home. But now that she was here, it seemed childish to stomp off in a huff. She might as well stay. For one drink. A quick drink.
She sat down with stiff dignity, and the maitre d’ pushed her chair in.
Hallelujah remained standing. She cleared her throat and made an awkward gesture. “Hey, you guys. Les and I are gonna split now, okay?”
Edwina turned to her. “You are what?” she said incredulously.
“We’re gonna like go see a movie or something. This isn’t our kind of scene, y’know?”
“Hal—”
“Ma, just enjoy yourself, okay? Oh. An’ Les’ll stay the night over at our place. Ruby knows all about it, and she’ll be there. That’s just in case . . . you know. The two of you decide you wanna get it on at his place.”
“Hal!” Edwina was shocked. “How dare you talk like that?”
“Ma! Like this is 1989? An’ I am thirteen? Right?”
“Yes, but—”
“So s-e-x is not exactly a big secret, y’know? C’mon, Les, let’s blow this joint. These clothes are killin me!”
And then they were gone.
Edwina turned to R.L. “Can you believe it?” Shaking her head in disbelief, she added, “I’ve been had.”
“Seems we’ve both been had.”
“Hal deserves a good beating.”
“And Leslie deserves to be grounded for a year.”
“They’re rotten kids.”
“Spoiled and insufferable.” He nodded.
“Makes me wish I’d stayed on the pill.”
“A vasectomy might have been a good idea.”
And suddenly they both burst out laughing.
He had lobster thermidor.
She had pigeon en cocotte.
Together they were working on their second bottle of champagne.
“I missed you,” he said, holding her gaze. “Damn but it’s good to see you again!”
Edwina looked at R.L. over her champagne glass and then quickly poked her nose in the glass and sipped in order to avoid saying the same thing.
She was confused as all hell. What was it with her? Why wasn’t she flying across the table to rake his face for all the grief he’d caused her, instead of feeling insanely weak and warm and trembly all over?
Face it, Eds, she told herself. One of the reasons you threw yourself into Edwina G. with such a vengeance was to try to forget R.L. ‘Cause he does things to you, like making you want him. And you know you’ve long since forgiven him his indiscretion. And besides, it wasn’t as if you two were husband and wife—you were both free to play the field. So either grow up and be happy, or—
She set down her glass.
If she wasn’t careful, he would be right back in her life, and she didn’t want a steady man. No way. She liked her freedom.
Didn’t she?
Maybe it was all the champagne.
Or the slow dances, which had amounted to foreplay.
Whatever the case might be, even before he shut the front door, he was all over her.
“Wait!” Edwina gasped, trying to push away his hungry mouth and clutching hands. “First go upstairs, and see if Leslie’s here.”
“He’s not,” R.L. whispered definitely, his hands holding her face. “You heard what Hal said. They’ll spend the night at your place.”
“Yes, but—”
“Just shut up,” he commanded good-naturedly. His strong fingers found her lips, forced them apart, and probed inside her mouth.
She was momentarily startled, her eyes widening, and then a sudden fever took hold of her. Slowly she sucked his fingers in.
She felt oddly aroused. Her legs were spasming.
Gently he probed her mouth, watching intently as her lips closed hungrily. Then, moving his fingers to the sides of her mouth, he forced her lips wide and ducked his head down.
Their mouths coupled. And nipped and tasted and sucked.
Slowly he trailed his fingers on an exploratory course over her shoulders and down her silk blouse, gently moving in slow circles over the contours of her breasts.
His feather-light touch was driving her wild. Squirming, she pressed herself harder against him. “Not so light, R.L.! I want to feel you. Oh, yes. That’s so good!”
He looked at her. Her eyes were shut and her mouth was partly open. A rapturous absorption had come over her face.
He reached up under her cashmere skirt, dug inside the panties, and put a finger up inside her.
Her entire body arched. “Yes, R.L., yes!” she moaned in agony, and shivered. “Oh, God, yes!”
A millennium-old power thundered inside him and fire burned in his loins. He could smell the scent of her aroused sex.
And she wouldn’t let him go. She squeezed her legs tight and locked him to her while she reached for his crotch. Feeling the surging bulge under his pants, she cupped it with one hand while unzipping his fly with the other.
Suddenly neither of them could stand the slow torture, and they never made it to the bedroom upstairs . . . barely made it into the living room. There, grappling like wrestlers, they tore at each other’s clothes.
“Easy,” she panted as her blouse buttons popped off and went flying.
“Hush,” he mumbled, and still kissing her hungrily, struggled with her skirt.
In a sudden frenzy she attacked his clothes, ripping them off him with the same careless abandon with which he had attacked hers.
Their moist, starving mouths tasted of each other’s flesh, and his fingers kneaded her breasts while hers gripped the hard power of his manhood.
She cried out when he dived between her legs with his mouth to taste her honey and myrrh.
He groaned and trembled as she massaged his testicles, which hung heavy and low.
But when he entered her, it was slowly and gently.
She shut her eyes, giving herself over entirely to sensation, and let caressing zephyrs carry her high into a blue, blue sky. Deliciously weightless, she let herself drift. Cotton-candy clouds cushioned her, lifted her, passed her from one fluffy cushion of down up to the next. In the distance, separated from the others, she saw a small round cloud. Spreading her arms, she drifted over to it in a slow upward takeoff. When she reached it, she clung playfully to its soft cotton sides, tumbling slowly over and over and over with it, as if it were some slow-motion beach ball. Opening her mouth, she tasted of its sweet forbidden fruit. And then angry thunder rumbled, and the cloud was torn out from under her and shredded by a buffeting wind. Forks of lightning rent the darkening sky. Suddenly she was no longer airborne. She was falling swiftly, tossed head over heels by the sudden turbulence, wind tearing at her face and ripping through her hair while everything inside her pounded and rushed. And then she heard the flapping of massive wings closing in on her, and out of the darkness a giant hawk swooped and seized her, and she seized it right back in a strangling wrestle hold. Thus clutching each other fiercely, they both plunged down, down, down into the fiery crater of death.
“I’m dying!” she screamed in gasping ecstasy. “I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I’m—”
And then the earth moved, the heavens cracked open, and the juices of life spewed forth.
Still embracing, they collapsed against one another and lay there spent, waiting for their exhausted bodies to cool and his erection to subside. Each breath was a rasping fire in their lungs.
Edwina opened her eyes lazily and luxuriated in the heady musk of contentment, in the secure knowledge that his half-hard cock was still inside her.
Ah, there was nothing quite as wonderful as being fulfilled; nothing else in the world even came close.
And amazingly, she could feel the beginnings of lust taking possession of her again.
She sighed softly to herself, her mind drifting
with wishes and dreams. Why did it have to be over? Why couldn’t the acute heights of passion last a lifetime? Why couldn’t this be all there was to living?
It was as though he had read her mind. Carefully, so as not to move his hips and withdraw, he pushed his heavy torso up off her.
She looked up at him and smiled.
His eyes glowed down at her. “Now that we’ve released all the poisons,” he said softly, bowing his head to plant a kiss on the left side of her throat, and then the right, “we can make serious, leisurely love.”
Inside her, she could feel his manhood beginning to stir again. As though in reply, her own heat rose to meet the challenge. She was inflamed by the wild thought of him driving her up, up, up to ever-increasing heights of ecstasy, before leading her straight down into the raging fires of a lustful hell.
She dug her fingers desperately into the thick muscles of his back.
“But not too leisurely!” she whispered fiercely.
And inside her, the pulsating giant came fully awake.
Chapter 56
The twice-weekly cleaning woman was alone in the town house.
“Coming,” she called out as she headed for the foyer in response to the door buzzer. “Coming.”
Ermine Jeannot was too imperturbable to let herself be rushed.
The door buzzer sounded again. Insistently. It didn’t speed her one little bit. She was used to doing things at her own particular pace, a legacy of the relentless tropical sun and even more relentless humidity she’d spent the better part of her lifetime in.
She was a big-boned woman, with a big bust, and walked with a flat-footed gait. Her skin was the color of rich milk chocolate, and she wore big glasses with an ornate gold E stuck to the bottom corner of the left-hand lens.
Reaching the front door, she squinted suspiciously out the peephole. Suddenly she frowned deeply. Standing there was a uniformed police officer wearing mirrored aviator shades and a visored hat pulled down low over his mustachioed face.
