by Buzz Harcus
"Yes," Harry lied. "I was told by a confidant about the underground, and, so, here I am." He grinned at them.
"For six dollars you can get into the show," the first one enthused. "If you have a date, the two of you get in for ten dollars, a chance to revel in sexuality. The films are first class, tastefully done, even got a plot to them. The lingerie is simply fantastic, old boy, clothing that will knock the socks off you. The Chinese girls are all gorgeous, simply gorgeous, and they don't hide anything from view, not one thing."
"Decadent. A real pick me up," the other added. He straightened his tie, ran his fingers through his hair and brushed one lightly across his thin mustache. "If you have a lady friend, take her along. Very educational. If not, they can supply a girl for a modest fee and you'll have a night you'll never forget. Do catch the show old boy. Simply delightful."
"Do," added the first and then they were gone.
Harry dried his hands. Already he could imagine himself in the arms of a beautiful Chinese girl. He shook his head. "Sounds good to me. Now all I have to do is get rid of the iceberg."
As he returned to his table, he caught sight of Alfie over at the side of the room talking to his waiter, pointing in his direction. The waiter nodded, then bowed to the man and headed across the room toward him. Alfie sat down next to a delicate, slender Chinese girl with long flowing black hair. She squeezed his arm at something he whispered in her ear, and then smiled.
Osa looked up, giving Harry a warm smile as he sat down. Almost simultaneously, the waiter arrived, announcing in a cheerful voice, "The show will start in forty minutes, sir. Will you and the lady be attending?"
Harry groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead. He’d thought the waiter had a better sense of discretion than to blurt out such information in front of the two of them, especially her. The least he could have done was whisper in his ear.
"We came to eat," he replied curtly, and then added, "Do they have a second show?"
"Yes, sir."
"Come back later. I'll let you know then." The waiter bowed in response to his request and hastily departed.
"Vat show is he talking about, Harry?" Osa inquired, the warm smile lingering.
"Oh," he replied, trying to appear nonchalant. "They're having a special movie and fashion show. It starts in forty minutes."
"A fashion show? Dat sounds vunderful!" she exclaimed. "Let's go! I vould luf it." Her face radiated anticipation.
"No." Harry raised his hand stopping her. How could he tell her the show was not for her, not an X-rated film? She was too prudish to get any enjoyment out of raw, basic sex. Better she should go back to the ship and continue her pure thoughts, or whatever it was she thought about.
"Vy not?" The smile had faded, her brow now wrinkled, eyes questioning.
Harry looked at her. He had to tell her. It would hurt her, but hell, hadn't she hurt him, literally emasculated him that night on the bow of the ship? Not tonight! There was no way he was going to get stuck with her tonight, not if there was a chance for action, a night spent in the sack sharing uninhibited sexual delights with a beautiful, desirable Chinese woman. Hell, it had been thirty years since he'd last screwed a Chinese whore. It was more appealing by the moment.
"Harry. Are you not listening to me? I said vy not?" Her voice had assumed that air of haughtiness, demanding.
He looked her straight in the eyes. If he was blunt, she'd grab her package and run right back to the ship.
"Adult entertainment," he said dryly. "Pornographic films, sex, and an adult style show showing the latest sexy clothing women can wear to turn their man on, to enhance love making. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested."
"Oh," she gasped. "Dat kind of show!" Color drained from her face. She looked like she'd just been slapped, lips suddenly pursed tightly together. Her fingers tightened around her glass, knuckles white. Sitting erect, she replied in an exasperated voice, "No. I vould not vant to go to anyting like dat!" Annoyance showed in her eyes, her voice. "I am a good Christian voman. Dat kind of prurient trash is below me. No vun in dere right mind vould vant to vaste time on such immoral filth like dat." Her voice suddenly choked with emotion.
Harry took a swallow of beer. That's for the night on the bow of the ship, he told himself smugly, and then replied. "I'm going in to see it. I enjoy seeing a good porno flick and getting some new ideas. I also enjoy a good fashion show."
At the moment, the waiter appeared with their dinners. Harry turned to him. "Waiter. Remind me about the show after I eat. Right now, I'm looking forward to enjoying your succulent Peking Duck"
"Of course, sir. I'll remind you," the waiter replied, setting his tray down on an adjacent stand. He glanced toward Osa. Harry shook his head no. The waiter nodded, and then began serving.
The die was cast. Harry felt smug. He wasn't going to strike out with the same girl three times in a row. Tonight was his night. With a faint smirk, he glanced across the table at Osa. She had turned away, gazing out the window, a tear glistening in the corner of her eye. If this was victory, why did he suddenly feel like an asshole?
The waiter had carefully removed the tops from each dish, held it momentarily under their nose, and then placed the dish before them. Uncorking the red wine, he passed the cork to Harry, who sniffed, then nodded approval. The waiter poured a sampling into his glass. Harry held the glass before him, swirled the ruby rich liquid around in the glass, sniffed the bouquet, and then tasted it.
"Excellent," he said. The waiter beamed. He filled both their glasses, lit the candle in the center of the table, and then stepped to the wall where he adjusted a rheostat softening the light over their table. The band had just started playing "Stardust." He smiled. It was a very romantic setting. They were a nicely matched couple. Bowing low, he turned leaving them alone.
"Osa," Harry ventured, attracting her attention. She turned back to him. He raised his glass of wine to her, and said, "To an excellent cook, and to smooth sailing." He smiled. It was a "trying to make amends" smile.
"To tonight," she responded, touching her glass to his, a Mona Lisa smile crossing her lips.
Now what the hell does she mean by that, he wondered, as he sipped. Why the cunning smile?
"Dis is really delicious, Harry," she said after several bites. She was suddenly her old self, exuberant, smiling as though nothing had ever happened between them, seemingly unperturbed at what had just transpired only minutes before.
Harry became wary. She had changed one hundred and eighty degrees from the iceberg to a warm, friendly dinner companion.
He found himself pecking at his food while noting her eating voraciously. The food was excellent, the best Peking duck he could recall since having it at the Hotel De Peking back in Peiping the summer of 1948. Although he felt uncomfortable at first, he soon warmed up as she chattered away on a variety of topics. It was the first time they had talked since traversing the Panama Canal.
Soon he found himself engaged in delightful conversation. They were surprised at the similarity in tastes in the love of the theater, gourmet cooking, enjoyment of classical music, visiting art museums, sailing, skiing, reading and on and on their conversation went. Before he realized it, the waiter was standing at his elbow. He coughed to gain Harry's attention, bent low and whispered in Harry's ear. The show would soon be starting.
Harry nodded somewhat upset at the interruption, surprised that they had such a welcome conversation for the best part of an hour. He asked for the check.
The waiter added up the bill and handed it to him. Harry glanced at it, then laid a fifty-dollar bill on the table and waved the waiter away when he started to make change. "Thank you, sir," the waiter said, bowing, picking up the bill and the fifty, then added, " the show begins in ten minutes -"
"Yes," Harry snapped cutting him short. He found himself in a quandary, wrestling with his conscience. He had enjoyed the evening with Osa thus far but he knew it would go nowhere, leading to nothing more than a luke-warm handshake, at the most. The films and f
ashion show offered much more of what he wanted for the night.
"Harry," Osa cooed from across the table in a soft, enticing voice. "Dis has been such a vunderful evening. I haf really enjoyed it. Vy don't ve do someting togedder, maybe shopping, take in der sights of der city, perhaps a play or someting like dat."
Harry looked across at his attractive dinner companion. In spite of the wonderful evening, he knew he wouldn't get anywhere with her, or would he?
At that particular moment there was a tantalizing, different look in her eyes. Was it a come hither look, an invitation? The thought of bedding her down flashed through his mind. It wasn't the first time he'd fantasized about making it with her. Then the thought struck him; she was probably the type who preferred sex in the dark, under the covers with her nightgown on, and she probably talked incessantly about the laundry, fixing meals, the price of groceries and other non-romantic gibberish.
The waiter coughed.
"Harry," she said, her voice beseeching, almost pleading. "You don't vant to go to dat kind of show. You are not dat kind of man, lowering yourself to such prurient tastes, lusting for such depraved sexual gratification, dat is not der vey I see you." Harry couldn't believe what he'd just heard; she'd reverted back one hundred and eighty degrees to the old, conniving, whining bitch. "You are an educated man," she continued, leaning forward, her blue eyes searching his face. "You are a man of stature, high morals, I -1 can't see you lowering yourself to see dat kind of smut."
Harry listened. The lecture sounded all too familiar. If he closed his eyes and listened it would be reminiscent of the many times his wife had lectured him after one of their many famous, nearly nightly, battles about sex.
"Sex is not dat important dat it must be pursued like an animal," Osa said, coming on stronger with her redundant plea. "Man is a higher animal, able to control his lusting, not chasing after cheap, dirty whores und prostitutes. A normal man is able to pursue sex visin der normal bounds of love, not in dis kind of tawdry, sinful vay."
"Sisters under the flesh," Harry muttered aloud. She was building her case now, trying to persuade him that a night with her, sans sex, was better than a roll in the hay with a hot blooded Chinese woman. Bullshit!
"Harry, I tink you vould enjoy an evening vis me more dan dat trash." There was a conceited tone to her voice.
Thoughts of their last encounter flashed through his mind. All of a sudden she was beginning to irritate him. Alfie and his friend, and their two attractive Chinese dates, walked by. Alfie gave Harry a thumb's up. Harry nodded.
The time had come. An evening with her would be self- defeating. No damned woman would ever lead him around again; this he had determined a long time ago. This one was no different than his damned wife, Laurie. No, absolutely not. She wasn't dealing with just any man; she was dealing with Harry Martin - and he called the shots.
Maybe her husband hadn't had the balls to call the shots or he would have squared her away a long time ago. Well, I've got balls! No female is going to tell me how to run my life. There was only one woman: Sandy. She had changed his life. She was willing, in fact eager, to please him. They had found great satisfaction in pleasing each other. Osa was too much like his ex-wife, an iceberg. Thank god all women aren't like that. Piss on her. I'm going to the show!
His anger had peaked, and then waned. He raised his wine glass to her, and then drained it. "I'm going in to see the show. You're welcome to come along or, if you prefer, they can get you a taxi back to the ship."
Osa's mouth gaped open. She turned quickly away trying to mask her disgust. Why were men like that? They'd had a beautiful evening. Why couldn't he be content to be in the company of a lady, to share an evening of companionship? Why sex?
As much as she wanted to leave, in fact had planned to leave directly after dinner, she now found herself indecisive. She swirled the last of her wine about in her glass, and then sipped at it. Her mind was in a whirl; what should she do? Carefully, she placed her goblet back on the table on the wet ring where it had sat before.
"I've taken the liberty of ordering a booth for you," the waiter said, bending, whispering in Harry's ear. "If you wish, I can have a drink set up for you in the booth."
"Good idea. Make it a Millers."
"And the lady?"
Harry looked across at Osa, gleefully enjoying the moment, noting the dull bitterness in her eyes, tight jawline and tightly pursed lips. It'll take just a moment, he told himself, before her puritan ethic kicks in and she's out the door.
"Drink, Osa?" he grinned. "For the show."
He glanced at his watch. Almost show time. He could sense the excitement tingling through him, relishing watching a good porn flick. Sandy enjoyed them, too. They had gone to several together, even caught a lingerie show one time in Detroit. It had been a real turn on for both of them. They'd almost torn off each other's clothing before they got back to their hotel room. One hell of a night! He glanced back at Osa. Haughty bitch! He knew he had her. Exit Osa, enter love for the night!
Sensing the hesitancy of the man's date, the waiter politely added, loud enough for both to hear, "There are specially trained attendants inside the theater who can respond to your every need. They are especially responsive to the single man and welcome the opportunity of gratifying his every secret desire."
The grin on Harrys face widened. Osa's face, in contrast, turned cold, chiseled marble. Harry knew she had heard. Bye, bye Osa, he thought, rising.
"Order me a drink, Harry," she said softly, almost with a tone of dejection. She cleared her throat. "I go vis you." She gathered up her purse, package and coat as she rose.
No! I can't be hearing right! A look of incredibility crossed his paling face. She isn't going with me. I must have heard wrong. But she was standing beside him. He could swear there was the faintest edge of a smirk on her face.
She's playing some kind of game with me. The damned female is out to destroy my one night in Shanghai, the one night I had planned for, a night of lustful shacking up with some beautiful Chinese whore. No! Not her!
"Scotch on the rocks," she told the startled waiter. "Inside vis der gentleman."
"Very good," he gulped, clearing his throat. "Inside."
"Where do we go?" Harry snapped.
The waiter pointed toward the elevator. "Get off on the tenth floor and go to your left to a gold and red enameled door. Knock and give the hostess ten dollars. Tell her Wong has arranged for your booth. I, uh, I know you will enjoy the show."
Chapter 48
PAYBACKS ARE HELL
A small panel in the middle of the gold and red enameled door slid open and two coal-black eyes peered back at Harry. He held up a ten spot and mentioned Wong's name. The panel closed and the door swung open. A trim, graceful, Oriental woman with long coal-black hair greeted them, bowing low. As she did, Harry noted the dress she wore was breathtakingly sparse, two thin lacey panels of sheer material, a front and back, which were joined together at the shoulders, waist and hips with thin ties. The sides were completely open allowing an appetizing view of her lithe body. She wore nothing under the dress. The long open slits exposed creamy brown skin and a glimpse of small firm breasts and dark nipples.
"Thank you," she said softly taking the money. Harry felt a twinge in his groin. Nice, he thought, real nice, sexy nice. He feasted momentarily on the enticing view.
The woman led them through the dimly lit room to a luxurious booth which faced toward a large stage. A huge beaded screen dominated the wall behind the stage. Harry noticed there were a number of booths, each separate from the next allowing complete intimacy and, from the number of murmured conversations, sighs and occasional girlish squeals of delight, all were occupied.
He thanked the hostess, who again, bowed low exposing firm breasts which rolled freely forward. Damn, he said to himself, this is the place. He glanced around his booth. It was fairly large, with an overstuffed black leather couch that curved around the dark interior. In the center was a small table.
Soft, lilting music filled the air.
Osa nudged him and he stepped aside allowing her to move past him, which she did, stiffly, and moved deliberately to the far end of the booth, as far from him as possible.
Harry said nothing, instead sitting down and staring forward. The bitch was out to ruin his night. He knew it. He had stalked out of the restaurant ahead of her, not bothering with manners, letting her walk behind. The ride up on the elevator had been in chilling silence. He crossed his fingers. He had one trump card left: Osa, herself. As soon as she got one good look at a couple screwing on the big screen ten times life-size, it'd blow her mind and she'd go running back to the ship. Then, WHAMMO!
Osa, too, sat in silence. She could hear the sounds of lovers all around them. She had steeled her mind, resigned herself to god knows what fate. Was he really worth it? She looked about the room with a hesitant glance, uncomfortable at being in such a place. She recalled the time when her girlfriends begged her to skip school with them and they had sneaked into an adult theater. It had been sinful and she had fled after several minutes. The vulgar images had stuck in her mind, had bothered her, upset her stomach to the point where she was sick for days afterward. Her friends had stayed through two movies and deliberately teased her for being such a prude.
Now, here she was with a man, Harry Martin. Was he worth the churning, nauseous feeling inside her, that feeling that she might at any moment throw up? Perhaps, she thought, he might still be persuaded to leave. She would strike at the right moment. Till then, she would endure the filth, the smut.
"Your drinks, sir," the waiter said appearing suddenly beside Harry at the opening of the booth. He set the glasses down sliding the scotch on the rocks toward Osa, the beer in front of Harry. "I told your attendant you might find need for her special attention. She'll be here soon." He leaned closer whispering in Harry's ear "Her name is Sunny, and she looks forward to brightening your evening."
Harry chuckled. Osa glanced at them, and then picked up her drink. Men, she muttered disgustedly. Glancing at the bill, Harry extracted his wallet, took out a ten spot and gave it to the waiter with a wave of his hand. "Thank you, sir," the waiter replied, bowing. "If you need help, Sunny can be very helpful. Otherwise, enjoy the
