Dazzle - The Complete Unabridged Trilogy

by Judith Gould

She could feel his weight shifting on the mattress, and when she looked up at him, he was poised over her, his knees straddling her thighs. Her heart began to beat wildly. She stared at his body. The skin was stretched taut across his wiry shoulders, his waist seemed impossibly narrow, and his thighs were well-muscled and thick. To either side of the cleft, the two muscle slabs which were his chest sprouted curly dark hair and knob-like nipples. His belly was ribbed with a muscular shield, and his navel was a mere indentation in fleshy rock. The power he seemed to have over her frightened her. It made the long-forgotten moistness well up inside her and trickle down her thighs.

  Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself inside her. She sucked in her breath and winced. Her body, having become unused to intrusion, clamped against the initial assault and tried to eject him, but he was patient and persevered. Soon she was filled with his warm thick hardness. Despite herself, a moan escaped her parted lips. Her smooth, silky skin turned electric, and her flesh began to crackle and rage and burn with ecstasy against her will. The moment his hips started to pump, the myriad nerve endings she thought had been dead suddenly came to sparkling life, sending delicious little shock waves down to the tips of her toes, up to her scalp, and all the way out through her arms to her fingertips.

  It was like rediscovering a lost world. Or being reborn from a womb of desires.

  Such a torrent of pent-up passion was being released that she felt herself shedding her old body and slipping into a new one. Reality receded, the world seemed to blur as if out of focus. She lost all track of time and being, of past and future, of the known and the given. It was as if he had pushed her over some mysterious threshold, through some magical, invisible doorway, and she found herself falling, falling, falling into a bottomless netherworld with no beginning and no end. It was as though she had become a hedonistic animal of carnal lusts awakened after a hundred-year hibernation. Thoughts were disjointed. Physical positions became fragmented. She had no idea of what was really happening or where she was. One moment her head rested on the pillow, the next it was between his taut furry thighs, her mouth milking him relentlessly, and then her back was thrust against the carved headboard, her legs spread in midair as his mouth feasted noisily upon her. Passion defied logic, sent her caroming out into space and to galaxies beyond. Frantic gasps became animal growls, thrusts mingled with grunts and howls, and their moist tongues, her slick wetness, and the blunt scimitar plunging relentlessly into her groin were the only reality. She clutched him fiercely, as though he might vaporize into thin air if she let go. Visions burst in front of her eyes. Men from all the ages sprang up before her and merged into one while he thrust into her, and back out again, and into her again and again. And then, suddenly, it was Louis—Louis as he was that very first time they had made love at the clinic in Italy.

  Her eyes were wide and dilated. 'Louie,' she whispered, digging her nails so deeply into O.T. that he cried out in pain. 'You've come back to me, Louieee!'

  And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he faded from view, his face and body merging into O.T.'s.

  'Louie!' she cried thickly, the tears streaming down her cheeks. 'Don't leave me, Louie. Come backkkk . . .'

  Then, as waves of orgasms crashed through her, O.T. let out a bellowing roar and thrust even more deeply, carrying her to the very vortex of the swirling whirlpool. Both their bodies convulsed, shuddered, shrieked, and plunged uncontrollably.

  Suddenly everything was cast into a deathly silence. It was as if someone had thrown a master switch, turning the world off completely. Only the rapid beating of their hearts, the ticking of the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet, and her quiet sobs were audible, those and the slowing rush of their blood.

  The minutes ticked by and once again they joined the world of the living. At last he moved, and she stifled a cry as he slid limply out of her.

  It was over.

  O.T. leaned up on one elbow and smoothed the damp hair out of her eyes. 'Are you okay?'

  She sniffled and nodded. 'For a moment, I could have sworn Louie was here,' she said shakily. 'And then he was gone.' She stared at him. 'Just like that.'

  'He'll be gone for good now,' he replied. 'You're free of him now. His memory can no longer hold you back.'

  She nodded.

  'Strange, isn't it? I've wanted you for years, and it turns out we made love only to chase away the past.'

  'Was it . . . what you expected?'

  'It was good. Hell, it was very good. But no, it wasn't what I expected. I thought you'd be forever elusive. And you know what?'

  Tamara shook her head.

  'You still are—I know this won't happen again. But . . . I'm glad we did it.'

  She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. 'So am I. I thought I was finished as far as making love was concerned.'

  'I'd say you've barely begun. You've got a whole lifetime of loving ahead of you.'

  She took his hand and pressed it warmly. 'Thanks, O.T.— for giving me back my womanhood.'

  'I don't think you ever lost it. Maybe it just . . . went into hiding.'

  'Maybe. '

  He sat up slowly and stretched, then heaved a sigh and looked around for his clothes. 'Well, I'd better be going, or you'll never finish packing.' He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stood up, and started to dress.

  She nodded and started dressing also. 'And I'd better finish soon or I won't get a wink of sleep tonight. We're leaving first thing in the morning. Right now, Inge's out arranging for a sleeper on the train to New York.'

  He looked surprised. 'Why don't you fly? It's a lot less tiring and a helluva lot quicker.'

  'It's a lot more expensive too. Besides, I'm in no rush.' She smiled. 'I've got all the time in the world now, and the train only takes five days.'

  'And once you reach New York?'

  'We'll stay a week or so and then book a cabin on the next steamship for Europe. Then we'll probably have to change ships two more times. Palestine's not exactly on a direct trade route, you know.'

  'No, I don't suppose it is.' He made a moue. 'I tell you what. As a going-away present, I'll pay your fare—'

  'O.T.—'

  He raised a hand to ward off her protestations. 'No, I want to do it. I can't bear the thought of you travelling steerage.'

  She laughed. 'We're not exactly planning to go steerage. And besides, there are two of us. Inge and I are going to be travelling together. I can't afford to upgrade her fare, or expect you to pay it as well.'

  'Of course I will. It's my money, and I can do with it as I please. That's one of the nice things about being wealthy. No one can tell you how not to spend your money. You don't think I can sit back and let my biggest star travel anything but first class, do you?'

  She sighed good-naturedly. 'All right, you win. You always do come up with a good argument, I'll give you that.'

  'Good. I'll see to it that the tickets are delivered to you tomorrow morning. And you'll use them—that's final.' He paused. 'Don't get angry with me, but they'll be round-trip. The return dates will be left open.'

  She started to protest, but he silenced her. 'If you don't come back, you can always cash them in after a year, no strings attached. Deal?' He held out his hand.

  She smiled. He just wouldn't give up. 'Deal,' she said, shaking on it.

  'If you ever get stuck in Timbuktu or need anything, call me. Okay?'

  'Okay. First thing.' She escorted him to the door.

  'Good luck,' he said. 'I just hope you'll be happy.'

  Oscar Skolnik didn't try to sleep. Going to bed would have been useless. He never could sleep right after he'd made a major new acquisition. Something about the thrill of ownership kept his adrenaline pumping.

  He sat in the darkened study of his mansion, his eyes never leaving the luminous colours of the paintings that had once hung on the living-room walls at Tamahawk. They were flooded with light in the shadowy room. All five of them seemed to glow with an unearthly life of their own.

  He puf
fed contentedly on his pipe. He'd always wanted those paintings, and now they were his. Even after Bernard Katzenbach's ten-percent commission, he'd only paid a little over a third of their current market value, so they were also his single biggest art bargain to date. It only irked him that the Matisse had escaped his walls.

  He heard a movement behind him and turned around as a beautiful face peered in at him around the door. 'Aren't you coming to bed, O.T.?' the girl complained sleepily.

  'Later,' he said in a bored voice. 'Go back to bed, Marissa. I want to be alone.'

  She pouted but withdrew obediently. When he heard the door close, he sighed to himself. She was just another of the thousands of hopefuls that comprised the vast pool of girls he could choose from. So many of them thought that sleeping with him would earn them a magic ticket to stardom, the little fools, when in reality all they got was a bit part, a part that invariably was the high point of their short, miserable careers. Meanwhile, they were his until he grew tired of them. Not one of them had what it took. None of them was like Tamara.

  He turned his attention back to the paintings and stared at them until dawn lightened the east windows. Only then did the realization hit home that Tamara would never return. She would never have sold these master works of genius on a mere whim.

  He could only continue to stare at them bleakly and console himself with the fact that he had profited immensely from her, right up until the very end.

  Chapter 22

  'Ahead of us is the bay, which sweeps all the way from Haifa around to Akko, in a sort of wide, teacup kinda curve,' Captain Dusty Goodhew told Tamara and Inge.

  The three of them stood on the wraparound bridge in front of the wheelhouse of the ten-thousand-ton steamship Lerwick, and although the steady rumble from the ship's engine room could not be heard up here, it could be felt: the decks vibrated pleasantly beneath their feet.

  The captain continued, 'It's a deep, natural bay, among the finest in the entire Middle East. It's been dredged at Haifa by Her Majesty's government to accommodate deep-water vessels such as this one.'

  They were heading straight into the sunrise, and Tamara had to squint against the dazzling glare. At first, it seemed to her that the sun was rising directly from the sea, but then as it rose swiftly higher, sending out celestial beams to engulf them, she could make out the dark, narrow band of distant land silhouetted below the brightness like a long thin, black-purple ribbon.

  There it was at long, long last. Tamara's first glimpse of the strange, faraway land which until now had only evoked dreamy Utopian visions. There it was, a very real band of terra firma at the easternmost shore of the Mediterranean. For this she had given six weeks and travelled some ten thousand miles by air and sea. And she hadn't reached it quite yet. It was just near enough to tantalize, yet too far to see distinctly. Miles of open Mediterranean with choppy, blue three-foot-high waves stretched between it and the ship.

  Captain Goodhew handed her his binoculars. 'If you focus and look to yer right, mum, you ought to be able to catch yer first glimpse of Haifa harbour and the city risin' up the side o' the hill.' He pointed with a stubby, calloused forefinger.

  She broke her reverie. 'Thank you, captain.' She looped the thin leather straps around her neck and, holding the binoculars to her eyes, followed the direction of his finger. At first, everything seemed to swim in a hazy blur, but as she focused the little dial between the two lens tubes, the blur suddenly jumped into sharp focus.

  She caught her breath. The hillside looked incredibly steep and green and was dotted with houses.

  Captain Goodhew was saying, 'If you look closely, you'll see that Haifa is actually three parts. The port and the main town are below. In the middle is the section called Hadar-ha-Carmel. And the top is ha-Carmel. Yer see it?'

  She nodded. Sweeping the binoculars downward, she caught the panorama of the busy harbour with its clusters of ships. She felt vaguely disappointed. It resembled any other of the many Mediterranean harbours at which the ship had docked over the past weeks. They were all interchangeable, right down to the army of antlike dockworkers swarming about while cargo booms swung from ship to dock and back to ship again in the never-ceasing ritual of loading and unloading. Between the tramp steamers and two small passenger ships, she could make out the distinctive gunmetal grey of Her Majesty's naval cruisers flying the Union Jack. Multitudes of gulls, attracted by a fleet of incoming fishing vessels, hovered overhead.

  Beside Tamara, Inge was making impatient little noises, and Tamara reluctantly unlooped the binoculars from her neck and handed them to her. Then, clasping her hands, she leaned her forearms over the polished railing of the bridge, raised her head, and shut her eyes. She inhaled deeply.

  So it was true what sailors claimed, she thought with an anticipatory little smile. You could smell land from out at sea.

  Captain Goodhew interrupted her thoughts. 'Yer goin' to be spendin' some time in Haifa?'

  She opened her eyes and turned to him. She shook her head. 'Not for the time being. As soon as we've docked, we're heading straight to Tel Aviv.'

  'You have friends there?'

  She looked at him. 'Just somebody ... I know.'

  He smiled. 'Best way to see this territory. From the insider's point of view. Just be real careful now. Can be a lot more violent in these parts than in Europe or America. Much as we've tried, it's still not what yer'd call civilized.'

  'I'll bear that in mind,' she said, glad when he went inside to check the ship's bearings. He had gone out of his way to be nice to her, and she could only wonder what his reaction would have been had he known that she was the daughter of the single biggest thorn in the British Mandate's backside—the notorious Jewish gunrunner, Schmarya Boralevi. Would he have lectured her. Washed his hands of her completely? Alerted the authorities?

  One thing she did know. From here on in, she would have to exercise extreme caution. One slip of the tongue, and the British authorities might follow her. She didn't doubt for an instant that they would try to use her to get to her father.

  She felt a quiver of fear as the ribbon of land grew in size until she could see the individual houses on the steep green hillside with the naked eye. Well, here I am, she thought shakily. I'm no longer Tamara, the screen legend. I'm plain Tamara Boralevi from now on. There's no glamorous facade to hide behind now. I'm just like anybody else. A woman scared stiff of the future. Now I'll finally get to see if I've made the right choice—or the worst mistake of my life. She took a deep breath, making an effort to calm her nervous anticipation.

  The captain returned to the dock, and Tamara turned to him. Her eyes were bright with a feverish impatience. Palestine! At long, long last! 'Where will we be docking?' she asked, fighting to keep her rising excitement subdued.

  'Over there, to the right,' Captain Goodhew replied. 'Harbour's deepest there. Dredged again last year.'

  'Look! There's a boat coming out to meet us!' Inge cried.

  'Ah, the launch. That'll be one o' the harbour pilots and the British customs agents. They will help guide us into the harbour and begin the passport and visa checks. I radioed ahead that yer's onboard, and they agreed to let yer disembark here at sea. You ought to be able to skip most o' the formalities and be onshore long before anyone else. Yer're all packed now?'

  Tamara nodded. 'Our cases are in the cabin ready to go.'

  'Good.' Captain Goodhew went inside the wheelhouse. When he came back out he smiled. 'I've arranged for your luggage to be brought up on deck. Now, if yer'll be so kind as to excuse me, I must take over from the first mate.' He extended his hand. 'It's been a pleasure to have yer on-board, mum.'

  Tamara smiled and shook his hand warmly. 'And the voyage has been a most pleasant one, Captain Goodhew. I thank you.'

  Another firm handshake and the captain was gone and Tamara and Inge hurriedly descended the embossed-metal companion way to their cabin, two decks below. Tamara found herself humming. Had it not been for the heat already streaming in thro
ugh the two open portholes and the shabby gentility of the ageing ship, she could have imagined herself on a dream yacht, hovering somewhere between ocean and heaven.

  'I'm so glad to see you happy,' Inge said cheerfully. 'You did not sing to yourself for a long time.'

  'That's because one of my dreams is finally coming true.' She took both of Inge's hands in hers and squeezed them. 'Just think, Inge. We're almost there!'

  'Ja, that we are.'

  They gathered up their purses and hats and checked the cabin to see if they might have left anything behind. Then Tamara sat in front of the little built-in vanity mirror and tilted her hat rakishly over one eye. She smiled at her reflection. The hat matched her light silk dress, the big red polka dots on the white background looking at once chic and bright. It matched her mood.

  They went back up on deck, where the purser awaited them. He formally handed them their passports, which, according to maritime custom, they had had to relinquish upon boarding.

  Tamara snapped open her purse, took out a hundred dollars, and pressed it into his hand. 'You will be so kind as to split this gratuity among the crew as is customary?'

  'With pleasure, Miss Tamara.' He gave a gracious bow. 'And may I thank you for the pleasure of your company?'

  The ship's engines slowed, the launch arrived, ropes were thrown down, and a gangplank lowered. The harbour pilot and two customs agents wearing khaki uniforms with sharply creased shorts and knee-high socks climbed easily up the rickety steps to the ship. The luggage was carefully carried down, and when the porters finished, Tamara and Inge carefully followed, clutching the rope banister on both sides. As soon as they were helped onboard the launch, they sat in the stern, the ropes were untied, and the engines sputtered to life. Bow high in the air, they raced toward shore, the hull slapping the water, sending showers of cool spray back.

  As Tamara watched the distance close, warm excitement within her surged and built. Her newly found heritage . . . her faith . . . which had been buried for so long, could no longer be contained, manifesting itself through the sheer proximity of the Promised Land. Her spirits rose: just another half mile to go now, and she would set foot on the soil of Palestine.