by Joan Ellis
"Darling, yes!" Elaine promised hoarsely, the same fire consuming her.
"Elaine, you have to love me," Terry whimpered. "I'll kill you if you don't!"
"Be quiet," Elaine ordered between clenched teeth. "Don't talk, please don't talk!"
Elaine's mouth found hers, and their tongues clashed. They wrestled frenziedly on the rug before the fireplace, with a passion that tore at them, shoving the rest of the world into oblivion. All that mattered was now. Now, now, now!
CHAPTER 6
Driving back into the city early on Monday morning, Elaine took refuge in simulated drowsiness, tormented by the memory of that session before Stephie's camera. What a careless, stupid thing for her to do! All these years, so careful—and suddenly she was losing control. Not that she feared either Stephie or Terry would try to use the photographs, she tried to convince herself—but it was degrading to lower herself to that level.
Elaine stole a pensive look at Terry, slouched back against the seat, a smile of satisfaction about her sulky mouth, the wistful eyes closed against the early morning sunlight. There was something of the young savage deep inside Terry, Elaine acknowledged. She'd fight for what she wanted, no holds barred. And for all that wide-eyed sweetness, shrewdness lurked close to the surface—Terry could be coldly calculating when it suited her purpose; no point in denying that. Elaine wished with a soaring urgency that she could somehow manage to destroy those negatives.
"I suppose you'll each want to go home to change?" Stephie was asking as he swung the car off the parkway into the upper Manhattan city streets.
"It'd be a public announcement if we went to work with the same clothes," Terry giggled. "Leave me off first, then Elaine. She's the lady executive—she can afford to be late."
Again, Elaine caught the note of resentment that they didn't share Elaine's apartment. She remembered, with a sense of guilt, that she still hadn't had that extra key made for Terry.
"Thanks for everything," Elaine said casually, struggling to mask her unease. "Your place up there is perfect, Fred."
"Come up again, soon," he invited. "Maybe next time you might want to bring your paints and things and do some work."
"I haven't worked on anything but package designs for years," Elaine said harshly, and not entirely truthfully. In the quiet cavern of her bedroom, she'd worked sporadically on several projects, each of which was eventually abandoned.
"Then do it for a lark," Fred urged. "Good for the psyche, if you can believe the experts."
"Maybe Elaine'll paint my portrait," Terry laughed, pleased with the idea. "Will you, Elaine?"
"Maybe," Elaine hedged, suddenly knowing whom she'd like to paint. Her brother's wife. Kathy. If ever she got down to serious painting again, it would be for Kathy.
They left Terry off at the door of the brownstone, then shot across town to Elaine's small smart building. Somehow, it was a relief to be back within her own place, with its aura of utter privacy. She showered again, as though to wash away the weekend, then hurried into one of the smartly expensive suits that was practically a uniform with her. Coming back to the office later than usual on Monday morning was suitable to her status, she thought with a wry smile.
It was well past ten when Elaine strode through the corridors of Fleet and Comstock to her office. She moved purposefully towards her door, tossed it open, and halted coldly.
"Are you moving in here permanently?" she demanded, facing Paul Hennessy with candid annoyance.
"An apple for the teacher." He pointed to the big red apple resting on her desk.
"Meaning?" She crossed over to the cabinet where she kept her purse and gloves.
"Congratulations are in order," he announced leisurely, his eyes fastened on her.
"For what?" She swung around to face him, startled.
"I spent at least twenty minutes listening to Rick Stacey rave about your plans for Truly Yours."
"You mean it's set?" she demanded involuntarily.
"All wrapped up in neat satin ribbons," Paul smiled ruefully. "Have to admit it, beautiful—you really delivered the goods. The set-up's great."
"Thanks," she managed a slight smile, while her insides churned with pleasure. The whole campaign had paid off! She was handling Truly Yours! She knew about the hefty bonus that would go with this.
"I still insist," Paul sauntered to his feet and walked to her, "that's sad consolation on a cold night."
"Let me worry about that." Her eyes met his coldly.
"I must be out of my mind, but you do screwball things to me, career girl." With unexpected swiftness he slipped his arms about her waist, pulling her close.
"Screwball is right!" Her face colored angrily. "Go play in somebody else's backyard, Junior."
"What's this peeve you've got against me?" He refused to release her. "The bank account too small? The status too low? I'll bet you weren't this coy with Rick Stacy." His hands moved upward, touching her breasts.
"Take your filthy hands off me," she spat at him furiously. "And don't come back in here again!"
His face tightened as his hands slowly released her. "I don't dig you, career girl."
"Because I don't happen to go for your brand of charm?" she demanded haughtily. "Is that so remarkable?"
"I can't figure you out, and usually I'm right about women." He moved to the door now, inspecting her as he walked.
"Chalk me up as a mistake," she tossed at him, then flung herself into the chair behind her desk, determined to ignore him. She sighed with relief when she heard the door slam behind him.
She was deeply involved in the morning's mail when the phone rang. It was Rick Stacey. He wanted to see her right away, in his office. This was it, she realized, putting the phone down and reaching for the small mirror she kept in her desk drawer. The official assignment for Truly Yours. Well, she'd earned it, she told herself with a surge of distaste, remembering that private conference Friday afternoon. She earned everything the hard way.
It was nearly lunch time when she emerged from the conference with Rick Stacey and Mel Comstock. As she walked out of the room with the two men, she was acutely conscious of the hum of avid curiosity rumbling through the offices and cubicles. Everybody had been watching to see the race between Paul and her. But she'd won it fairly, she reminded herself. Despite the personal persuasions. If she hadn't come up with a superior campaign, Rick Stacey wouldn't have picked her. Or would he? But even Paul admitted her ideas were good, she reminded herself sturdily, so why torment herself with vagrant ideas?
On impulse, she hurried out to the washroom on the chance of encountering Terry. She needed to share this conquest with someone. They'd break her die-hard rule and have lunch together, somewhere special. She glanced about the washroom, already crowded with secretaries and typists going out on their lunch hour. Terry wasn't there. She'd probably gone straight to lunch, Elaine decided, and headed for the elevators, to go down to the drugstore to search for her.
Terry wasn't in the drugstore, Elaine discovered, somewhat taken aback. Terry made a point of eating here, on the chance that Elaine could casually wander in and eat with her, as though by accident. Oddly uncertain, Elaine seated herself at a rear booth and ordered her own lunch, eating with absent-minded disinterest, trying to relax with endless cigarettes and coffee refills.
She walked slowly back to the office, aware of the undercurrent of unrest charging through her. What was the matter with her, anyhow? She had the Truly Yours account signed and delivered. This was the big thing right now! Yet once again, that familiar sense of dissatisfaction, unfulfillment.
Elaine walked into the building just as Paul Hennessy and Terry walked into the elevator. Instinctively, she knew they'd been out to lunch together. Why Terry, she demanded suspiciously. Why had Paul asked Terry out, when they barely knew each other? Was she living in a stupidly blind dream world, thinking nobody knew about Terry and her? Was Paul pumping Terry for information about them, the suspicion shot clamorously through her.
/> In a vise of insecurity Elaine waited for the next "up" elevator, tapped impatiently with one foot until it shot up to her floor and she could hurry back to the washroom where she was sure she'd find Terry.
"Hello," Terry greeted her in surprise.
"I saw you downstairs, with Paul," Elaine said with calculated calmness, glad that they were alone in the washroom at least for a few moments. "I tried to catch up with you but I had to wait for change when I paid my check."
"Wasn't it sweet of Paul to take me to lunch at the Lobster Pond?" Terry crowed triumphantly. "You should have seen the check, with the drinks he insisted on having!"
"I didn't know you two were such friends," Elaine said, ostensibly repairing her lipstick. So she'd been right! Paul had taken her to lunch.
"Elaine, you don't mind, do you?" Terry turned reproachful eyes on her. "Actually, I never said more than hello' to him before. We met in the elevator and he suggested lunch. I was bored so I figured, why not?" A tiny smile played about the sulky mouth. "Sweetie, you aren't jealous?"
"Certainly not." Elaine strove to keep the impatience out of her voice. "Just a bit curious about his sudden interest."
"He's on the rebound," Terry confided. "It's really hilarious! He's got a mad thing for you. Kept slipping your name into the conversation."
"Be careful with him, will you? He can be dangerous." Elaine was reluctant to confide her own suspicions about Paul, yet she had to put Terry on her guard. "Don't forget, he was desperate to nail Truly Yours."
"Even more desperate to nail you," Terry giggled. "Isn't that riot? Oh, honey, you won't mind, will you? He asked me out this evening—he has tickets for a hit musical. I figured it'd be okay. Monday nights you're almost always tied up here at the office until late, anyhow."
It wasn't strictly true that she worked every Monday evening, but Elaine was willing to by-pass that.
"I'd rather you didn't make a regular thing of Paul," she frowned uneasily.
"Elaine, you know better!" Terry pouted. "I just thought—free tickets to a hit show. I'll get rid of him easily enough afterwards." She let one hand rest on Elaine's arm. "Why don't you meet me at the apartment later? Paul won't be coming up. You know me better than that." Again, that secretive smile that shared derision with Elaine. A tremendous joke, their being interested in any man.
* * *
It was mid-afternoon when Kathy phoned up. "How are you, dear?" Elaine asked with instant cordiality.
"Fine," Kathy's voice came to her, warm and bubbling. "Have you got a minute to talk or are you up to your ears in work?"
"I have time," Elaine reassured her.
"Eric's working late tonight, and I thought maybe you'd like to come over and have dinner with me. If you don't have another date," she hastened to add with a tiny laugh of apology. "I know it's awfully late to be asking you."
"I haven't a thing to do," Elaine said. "I'd love to come." Funny, how fate worked things out! Terry was going out with Paul suddenly, and she was free to go to Kathy's. "What time?"
"As early as you can make it." Kathy's light laugh drifted musically over the phone. "I'm absolutely dying of lonesomeness."
"I have some work to finish up that may take me a while," Elaine's eyes chased about her desk, "but I should be there no later than seven."
"Wonderful, I'll be waiting," Kathy said, pleased.
"See you then."
Elaine returned to the sketches on her desk that needed to be checked, struggling to keep her mind on the work at hand. But her mind kept charging ahead to the evening with Kathy. There was something so refreshing, so exquisitely clean about Kathy, that made it good to be with her. It was stupid of Eric to leave her alone this way, when they'd been in the city less than a week. Of course the poor kid was lonely.
Elaine dug into work, not even conscious of the cessation of activity outside. After five, except for private offices like hers, the agency was ghost-like in its quietness. She didn't even hear the door to her office open. Only, when it was slammed shut with an undisguised noisiness did she glance up, startled.
"What are you doing here now?" Her eyes inspected Paul suspiciously, as he leaned there against the door, his face darkly impassive, an odd smile laying about his mouth. "I have some time to kill. Have a date at eight." He lounged toward the chair beside her desk now, and Elaine caught the faint unsteadiness of his gait. He'd been guzzling cocktails pretty steadily all afternoon, Elaine knew instantly.
“Why tell me about your private life?" she countered.
"Because I want you for my private life!"
He reached out a hand to grasp her by the wrist, awing her roughly against him, his belt buckle digging into her flesh from the impact.
“Let me go! You're drunk!" she flared out furiously, trying impotently to release herself.
“Ever know, beautiful, how many truths come out in drink?" he chuckled, and again that sharp charge of alarm shot through her. "I know what's wrong with you and me now.”
“You do?" Her eyes shot to the door, wondering who was outside that she might call to for help. Or was it better to brazen this out between them? What did Paul know?
“Sure I know what's wrong. You're one of those very-strong broads who needs a sadistic guy to beat the hell out of her. Then she'll come crawling on all fours, begging for it. We get so wrapped up in our polite exteriors we forget these things."
"Paul, you're drunk—you're not responsible. Let me go now and we'll forget about this." Her voice was ostensibly cool and controlled, belying an inner turmoil.
"Not yet, doll," he drawled. "This is our big moment. Not a soul in the place tonight, until the cleaning crew comes in!"
"Paul, let me go!" Her voice soared precariously now as he pinned her back against the desk and ripped away the delicate softness of her blouse, tearing roughly at her bra straps to reach her breasts. "Paul, stop it!"
"Go on, yell, if you like it," he encouraged, pulling off her jacket, what remained of her blouse. Then his hands were at the zipper of her skirt, shoving it down about her hips, her thighs, her legs, until it lay in a huddle on the floor about her feet, and he lifted her out.
"I could kill you!" she raged, clawing at his face.
"You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?" he grinned with satisfaction, then with no warning sent his hand across her cheek in a stinging slap that hurled her to the floor. His belt was in his hand now, and her eyes dilated in fear as she saw it descending towards her body.
"Stop it!" she screamed now, not caring who heard. "Stop it!"
"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, falling to his knees beside her now. "Not like these over-ripe sluts with their bulging bustlines. Like Diana the huntress." His voice sunk to a husky whisper as he reached for the faintly swelling adolescent's breasts, as his hands caressed her buttocks with deceptive gentleness.
"Let me go!" she tried again, senselessly, as his hands dug into the tender flesh, and she sunk her teeth into his shoulder.
"You like that!" he gloated triumphantly, after the first bellow of pain.
"I hate it! I hate you!" She was half-sobbing now in her helpless rage. "You're an insane fiend!"
"You'll be begging me for it," he told her hotly. "Wait and see! Even if I have to beat you into a coma!"
For a moment Paul relaxed his grasp and Elaine rolled over and struggled to her feet. As he staggered waveringly to his feet, she put all her strength into one frantic shove. He landed on the floor, striking his head against the desk.
"Paul!" Horrified, she rushed beside him, checking the injury to his head, his pulse. "Just stunned," she muttered to the empty room. "That's all, I'm sure." The liquor and the blow had stunned him, nothing more—at least, she was able to reassure herself to that extent.
Elaine staggered weakly to her feet, feeling bruised and shaken. What would she do now? Best thing, leave Paul here to pull himself back to consciousness. The cleaning women would find him here if he merely fell into a drunken stupor and slept it off. Let him b
razen out his presence in her office, she decided shrewdly. As far as everybody knew, she'd left at five with the others. The whole agency, except for her, had probably known he was thoroughly lit.
Her blouse and petticoat were torn beyond redemption. She hastily gathered them into a heap, shoved the remains into a manila envelope. She could deposit that in a street corner waste basket, she decided. Her jacket could be worn buttoned up the front, without a blouse. Her hands trembling, she struggled to repair the damage to her make-up, grateful that the welts from Paul's belt were where they couldn't be seen. There was a bruise across her cheek, but that she could manage to laugh off. Or better still, she remembered those sticks of make-up to cover such unsightliness. She'd stop in a drugstore on the way over to Kathy's, she decided.
She'd go to Kathy's, she reassured herself with a rush of relief. She could relax there, put this stinking mess out of her mind! Suddenly, she was charging with impatience to be out of this place, to look at Kathy and feel cleansed. It was almost seven. If she hurried, she could make it on time…
CHAPTER 7
Elaine leaned back in the cab, her eyes closed, fighting to regain an outer calm. She knew it'd be hours before she'd stop trembling inside. She couldn't erase the memory of Paul Hennessy lying there on the floor, completely out. He wasn't badly hurt, she kept insisting mentally. An anguished sigh escaped her as the cabbie pulled into another lane to allow an ambulance to pass—its siren screaming emergency. She wouldn't think about Paul now—she couldn't. Whatever would be with him, she'd face up to it tomorrow. Not now, with her nerves a shambles, her body aching.
Then the taxi was stopping and Elaine automatically reached into her purse, stealing one last apprehensive glance at herself in the driver's rear view mirror as she did so. She looked a trifle pale, that's all, she caught her breath in relief. Nobody'd guess about that struggle back in her office.