“Not long, Mr. Small.” He switched on the motor, and pulled away from the curb. “Anyway, you’re one customer I don’t mind waiting for.”
Small cracked down the rear window and sniffed the night air. “It’s a fine evening, Charles.”
“For what, Mr. Small?”
Small wagged a finger at him. “Now, now—I told you before I couldn’t reveal the nature of my destination. Don’t pry, Charles.”
The cabbie grinned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Small. I’m just curious. You know how it is. I never heard of anything happening on Staten Island before.”
“Something is happening tonight,” said Small
He fell silent, and Charlie fell to wondering again. What in hell could be going on over on the Island to drag a connoisseur like Small out of Manhattan? Like most cab men, Charlie knew the pulse of the city and its suburbs, and he would have heard if a prostitution operation had opened up on the Island. As far as he knew, Staten was as dead as the Dutchmen who had settled it.
Oh, well—if Mr. Small had reason for going over, it must be a good one. All Charlie could do was drive him where he wanted and hope he would let -him in on it if it turned out to be anything good.
As the car purred down Broadway toward the Battery and the Staten Island Ferry, Charlie occupied his mind with these thoughts. In the back seat, Burton Small was also thinking.
The Climax—those two words kept repeating themselves in his brain. Would it be all Madam Fury had promised?
As yet, Small had no idea just how ultimate and climactic the evening was going to be.
But he’d find out soon enough.
* * *
Bill Henry just couldn’t figure her out.
When he’d first seen her earlier that day, strolling along the street, smiling happily and looking pretty as a fashion model, he’d figured her for a good-time-girl. She was the type who would really enjoy a party, an evening’s drinking, the noise of a jazz night club, the quiet of a man’s apartment. Bill knew many girls like that, and he thought by now he knew enough to recognize one when he met her.
But Lillian Peale didn’t fit into any category he could think of. She hadn’t done any of the things he was expecting. She hadn’t teased, for one thing, and girls always teased. She hadn’t required him to make all the overtures, hadn’t pretended to misunderstand his interest, hadn’t tried to turn him away with jokes or snappy remarks. She was so damned straightforward that he had the impression she wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he asked her right out to go to bed with him.
He also had the impression her answer would be yes.
It was all very delightful, and he knew he was being foolish in questioning his luck, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had determined just what the hell made Lil tick.
The two of them had driven out to Jones Beach that afternoon, and sat in the convertible with the top down, watching the roll of the sea. She’d asked him a number of questions, and he’d answered them all fully. He worked for a brokerage on Wall Street, he came originally from Utica, New York, where his parents still lived, he had a bachelor apartment in Kew Gardens, he had no steady girl friends, and he had an open mind. She had asked him all these questions, as if she were interviewing him, checking his qualifications for something or other. He couldn’t fathom why the information was so important to her, but he answered all the questions anyway. Only the last one gave him pause.
“Do I have a what?” he asked.
“An open mind,” she repeated.
“I don’t know.” He scratched his head. “As open as most, I guess. It depends on what I’m supposed to be opening to. I can’t figure out what you mean.”
She stared off toward the sea. “I mean—are you the sort of person who’s open to new experiences? Are you the kind who meets new situations with a preconception, or a willingness to learn? Are you frightened of things that are out of the ordinary, or fascinated by them?”
“As I said, it depends. If a Sultan came up to me now and offered me the choice of his harem, that would be a new experience and a fascinating one. But if a man stepped up to me in a dark alley and shoved a gun in my ribs, that wouldn't be so fascinating. See what I mean?”
“You’re talking in general terms.”
“Sure. Aren’t you?”
“No. I’m not referring to experience in general. I'm speaking of one particular kind of experience.”
“Such as?” he asked.
“Sex,” she said.
He didn't say anything for several seconds. He watched her face, looking for some tell-tale expression, but he couldn’t find a thing. She simply watched the rolling of the waves, and acted no more concerned over their conversation than if they’d been talking about baseball.
“Sex,” he repeated finally. “Yes, indeed.”
“Does the subject embarrass you?”
“No. It just surprised me to hear you mention it.”
She looked at him oddly. “Why?”
“Well—don't you think it's a little unusual for two people who’ve known each other for such a short time to be on the subject of sex already?”
“Why shouldn’t we be talking about sex? It’s an interesting subject.”
“Oh, I'll buy that. If s just that—”
“You're answering my question, you know.”
“I am?”
“Yes,” she said. “I asked if you were open to new sexual experiences. Wouldn’t you call it a new sexual experience to have a conversation about sex with a girl you've known only a few hours?”
He nodded. “I suppose so.”
“The way you're acting, you don’t strike me as open minded at all.”
“Open mindedness has nothing to do with it You took me by surprise. I’m empty minded.”
She laughed. “That’s quite an admission.”
“Oh, I don’t mean all the time,” he said hastily. “I mean, just for the moment.”
“Are you a virgin?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, keeping his voice even. “Are you?”
“Of course not,” she said.
“Well—” He scratched his head again. “Now we have something in common.”
“Tell me,” she went on. “Do you go to bed with many girls, or just a few here and there.”
“I go to bed with all the girls who’ll let me. Does that answer your question?”
She spread her hands. “With just anybody?”
“Whoa, I didn’t say that. I have to be interested in a girl before I’ll even ask her. And I have to get to know her before I become interested.”
“Do I interest you?”
He stared at her. The conversation was veering toward the bedroom at a furious pace. He couldn’t quite accept the fact that it was happening. “Yes,” he answered slowly. “From what I’ve seen of you so far, you’re a very interesting girl.”
“Would you like to go to bed with me?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“You think so? Don’t you know?”
“Look—if you’re asking me do I think you’d be fun in bed, the answer is yes. But as for actually going to bed with you— that’s something I’d have to think over.”
“Why?” She seemed honestly baffled.
“Well, let’s suppose I looked at you and decided you were just the girl to warm my sheets. Suppose I invited you back to my place for a few drinks and a few hours. Suppose we both got a little high and retired to the bedroom together and got ourselves ready for a good one.”
“What about it?”
“Suppose you screamed rape?” he asked. “Suppose yon jumped out of bed and ran nude down the hall, yelling for the cops, telling everyone I’d tried to molest you.”
“Now why in hell would I do a thing like that?”
“I have no reason to think you would. But, until I know you better, I have no reason to think you wouldn't either. If I took you to bed before discovering what sort of person you were, I might get myself in real trouble. Sex is to
o important to be kidded with by two strangers—they have to get to know each other first.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I see. The instinct for self-preservation.”
“You might call it that.”
She wriggled her bottom on the car seat and slid downward, stretching her long legs out in front of her and resting her head on the back of the seat. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, causing the round fruits to lift invitingly against her blouse. “Do you think,” she asked, “that you know me well enough by now to take me to bed?”
He grinned. ‘That’s hard to say.”
“I don’t see why. It’s a simple question.”
“Let’s put it this way—I know you well enough to want you in bed. The question is whether I should or not.”
“When you want something,” she said, “and that something is available—it seems to me the only thing to do is take it.”
“You’re a human being, aren’t you?”
“Of course. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You have preferences of your own. I might want you—but do you want me?”
The question seemed to surprise her. “Do you really care whether I do or not?”
“Certainly I care.”
“Why?”
“Well—it wouldn’t be much fun for me if you didn’t want it, too. When I bed a girl, it’s for the purpose of having fun, not raping her. Unless she enjoys herself, I don’t.”
She smiled. “That sounds like a lot of baloney to me.”
“Think what you like. It’s the truth.”
She fell silent for a moment Then she said, “Why don't you feel my breast?"
“Huh?"
“I asked, why don’t you put your hand on my breast? There’s no one around to see if you do."
“Do you want me to?”
She snorted. “Why do you keep asking that? I offered to let you touch me—isn’t that enough?”
“Girls don’t usually make offers like that,” he said. “At least, not to guys they hardly know, and not out in the sunlight and open air like this.”
“There’s no one nearby. We might as well be in the bedroom of your apartment.”
“Nevertheless . . .”
“You don’t like my breasts, is that it?"
“Not at all. They look fine to me.”
“Then why don’t you touch them. It’s all right with me.”
“Okay.”
“There—isn’t that nice?"
“Yes."
“Don’t you enjoy holding my breast that way?"
“Very much."
“You’re just keeping your hand still. That’s no good. Move it around a little. I won’t break.”
“I know you won’t. I can feel that.”
She laughed. “Squeeze me a little. Yes—that’s die way. Don’t you enjoy doing that?”
“Yes.”
“Does it excite you to feel me?"
“What do you think?"
“I don’t think anything. Tell me if you’re excited."
“I am."
“Good.” She sighed deeply, and the warm mound of flesh cuddled up against his palm. He could feel the seams of her bra through the thin fabric of her blouse.
“Do you want to get me excited?” he asked.
“Yes. Take your hand away.”
“What?”
“Take your hand away for a minute. Come on.”
He lifted his palm from her breast and watched unbelievingly as she pulled her blouse free of her skirt and unbuttoned it halfway up the front. “What sure you doing?” he asked.
“You’ll see.” She slipped her hands in underneath the blouse and unsnapped the bra back. She took hold of the cups through the fabric of the blouse and pulled them up. The top edge of her bra appeared in the open neck of the garment.
“Put your hand inside my blouse,” she said.
He did. His fingers sought up along her warm torso until they had curled over the naked mound nearest him. He manipulated the shape softly, and felt the nipple stiffen against his palm.
“There,” she said. “Aren’t they nice?”
“You’re a hell of a girl,” he said.
“Am I?”
“You are—and you know it, too."
“Wouldn’t you like to kiss it now?"
“What’s your game, Lil?”
“Game?” Her flesh seemed to chill slightly against his palm. “I don’t have any game. I just like to have my breasts felt, that’s all. I like to have them kissed, too.”
“You must have some reason for all this."
“It’s pleasure. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Where are we supposed to be going tonight?" he asked suddenly.
“You’ll see. Kiss it."
“What?”
“Kiss my breast. There’s nobody to see ns. Kits it now—come on. I want you to.”
“Lil . . .”
“Stop stalling and do as I tell you. Here—” she grabbed the tail of her blouse and yanked it up, baring both her breasts. They were white as milk in the sunlight, and the taut berries of the tips were dark as blood. “Kiss them.”
He hesitated for only a moment longer. The voice of caution was speaking to him but he couldn’t make out what the voice was saying. All right—she was a crazy girl. But that didn’t make her any less desirable, didn’t change the beauty of her flesh, or the promise of her free-wheeling personality. Maybe she was a genuine nut—a nymphomaniac, perhaps. But who cared?
He decided to take her offer, and see where it led him. No matter how things turned out, it was bound to be an interesting evening.
Bending forward, slipping his hand under the firm weight of one breast and lifting, he pressed his lips to her.
The nipple responded with such urgency that it almost kissed him back.
He thought: Bill, old chum—this is going to be a night to remember.
He tasted all the contours of both breasts enthusiastically, while her flesh shuddered and twitched against his mouth. He felt her hand suddenly resting on his knee.. The touch sent a tingle of pleasure through him.
While he continued to kiss her, the fingers of her hand began a journey up his thigh, climbing along the material of his trousers. The pleasure was building in him, growing by leaps and bounds, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to contain his excitement much longer.
Her fingers touched him. His gasp of pleasure made a weird sound against her breast.
Then, her hand was gone. Just like that, without warning or reason, her hand left his body. She pulled his face away from her bosom.
“Take me home,” she said.
He stared at her, looking from her distorted face to the coral-tipped globes of her breasts. She yanked her brassiere back into place and buttoned her blouse.
“Stop staring and take me home,” she said. “Right now. I mean it.”
He had to wait a few minutes before he could control the trembling of his hands. Then he put the car in gear and gunned out of the beach parking lot.
They didn’t say a word to each other all during the long drive back.
He let her out in front of her apartment. She walked quickly away from the car and up the path toward the lobby doors. Halfway there, she stopped and turned.
“Pick me up right here,” she said. “At ten o’clock.” She vanished into the building.
So now it was ten o’clock, and Bill Henry was sitting behind the wheel of his convertible, waiting for her to show up. He could still remember the feel and taste of her flesh and the shocking thrill of her touch.
He thought: I want that again. I want to take off all her clothes—not just the bra—I want her beside me, I want her under me. I want Lil Peale.
The question is, what the hell does she want?
Bill Henry just couldn’t figure her out. He hoped the evening to come would bring some answers to his questions.
CHAPTER 11
TED MORTON LEFT his apartment earlier than n
ecessary.
It was only eight-thirty when he reached the Battery. There was a ferry waiting, and by the time he’d parked his car on the lower deck, it was only a quarter to nine. The ferry, he knew, would sit another ten, minutes or so before pulling out, and the trip over to Staten Island would take approximately twenty minutes. All things considered, Morton should reach the opposite shore between nine-fifteen and nine-thirty, a good two and a half hours ahead of schedule.
He didn’t care. He would probably go crazy with waiting once he got over there, but he’d been going crazy back at his apartment anyway. The walls of the place had seemed to close in on him, and he was willing to swear that his little electric clock was on the fritz, running about half the normal speed. Staying in that basement apartment only made the waiting harder to bear. He had to be out and doing something.
Now he was parked on the ferry, sitting behind the wheel of his car and listening to the thrum of the engines as the old vessel warmed up for the trip. There were other cars parked on the deck ahead of him, and beyond them he could see the liquid twinkle of lights on the water. Over there in the darkness was the shore of Staten Island. And beyond that, down along the Island’s southern edge and west toward New Jersey, was the house of Madam Fury.
Morton’s bands felt peculiar. He glanced down at them and discovered he was gripping the steering wheel hard enough to drive all the blood from his knuckles. With an effort, he unwound his fingers and dropped his hands into his lap.
It wasn’t good for him to be this agitated. A lot depended on coolness of head and calmness of manner. It would be time enough to let himself go, let the red rage inside him come boiling to the surface, when he was sure of his footing. But until then, caution was the watchword.
No fee—that’s what Madam Fury had said. And the more he thought about that, the more odd it sounded. Why on earth would a woman run a service like that without charge? How could she stay in business unless her customers reimbursed her for their pleasure?
The idea made no sense. Morton’s orderly mind tried to fit the notion into some category or other, and failed. It was baffling, and anything he didn’t understand was potentially dangerous.
He started to light a cigarette, but paused when he saw a No Smoking sign on a pillar near him. According to the notice, smoking was permitted on the upper decks only. Morton thought for a moment, decided he would never survive the trip without cigarettes, and got out of the car.
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