by J. P. Bowie
There she is, she thought. Miss Olivia ‘I’m too good to talk to you ’cause I’m a star’ Winters. Shaking her head, she walked back into her living room, closing the sliding glass door behind her. She was still smarting from her first encounter with ‘the Dragon Lady upstairs’, as she now referred to Olivia.
On the day Olivia had moved in, Winfred had tried to give her a neighbor’s welcome and tell her how much she enjoyed the ‘Olivia Winters Hour’. She’d been snubbed, first by some blond bimbo named Brenda, then by the great star herself.
Didn’t they know who she was for gosh-sakes? Winifred Owen, star of many a feature film of the forties and fifties? Some not very good films, to be
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sure—but nevertheless, she’d been as big a star as Debra Paget and Julie Adams. She had written to Olivia, what she construed as a very civil letter, considering the circumstances, reminding her of this fact and saying she would be glad to appear on her show anytime Olivia might want to do a Hollywood ret-rospect.
The answer had been total silence. It confirmed Winfred’s opinion that Olivia had no class, an opinion that was reaffirmed each time Winifred would accidentally bump into Olivia either in the lobby or the elevator. Olivia had been heard to remark, on more than one occasion, how she just hated having to share the elevator with the other occupants of the building, and why hadn’t they thought of putting in a private elevator for the penthouse owner’s exclusive use? It had taken every vestige of her self-control for Winifred not to give vent to a caustic remark or two of her own—something she was very capable of at times.
Despite that, she had tuned into the show every now and then, and had been kind of intrigued by the two fellows from Laguna Beach—the artist and the private investigator. The dark-haired one, Jeff—so cute, she thought. So like Eduardo in many ways and the other one, the artist—just like her brother, Christopher. Winifred reckoned they had brought some much-needed class to the show. They were intelligent, amusing, good talkers—and so they were gay—so what? Christopher and Eduardo had been too. Oh, of course, she’d been mad when she discovered what was going on between them. She’d been so in love with Eduardo, but after they had confessed their love for each other—and for her, she’d forgiven them. They’d had a wonderful life until that awful skiing accident. Eduardo had been killed instantly and Christopher had languished in a hospital bed for weeks before he died, never knowing his lover had gone before him.
Winfred sighed as those memories filled her mind like a black cloud. She’d had so much pain in her life. Losing all the men she loved, becoming too old for the ingénue roles she’d become type-cast playing and now, coming to the bitter realization that some two-bit daytime celebrity would not even give her the time of day.
“Oh well,” she muttered, walking back out to her balcony. “Those are the breaks…”
She looked down from her second-floor vantage point and was relieved to see the security guard patrolling the grounds. She could relax again, knowing her call had been heeded and that order had been restored in her world.
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Olivia dashed through her living room yelling for Joyce at the top of her lungs.
“Yes, ma’am?” Joyce darted into the room, giving her white starched apron a nervous twist.
“Run my bath, pronto.” Olivia gave the pretty girl a cursory glance. “And lay out my lavender negligee…then get lost. I’m expecting company. Take the night off—go see a movie or somethin’. Get that loser boyfriend of yours to spend some money on you.”
“Yes ma’am. Will you need anything else before I go?”
“Uh uh, just hurry with the bath.”
Joyce walked into the master bathroom and turned on the bath faucets full blast. She selected what she knew to be Olivia’s favorite bubble bath oil and poured it in. Then she went over to the dressing table and opened some of the bottles from the array of face and body lotions. With the kind of care only harsh criticism can produce, she laid out the make-up she knew Olivia would need, placing the lip-gloss and some tissues to the right hand side of the table.
There, she thought. The old cow has everything she needs.
She walked back to the tub and looked down into the scented bubbling water. For a moment she imagined herself, as she had done so many times since she had come to this job, grabbing her employer by the hair and forcing her head under the water.
How dare she talk of Larry that way? Larry wasn’t a loser. He had a really good job as a sound technician on Olivia’s show. That’s how she’d gotten the job as Olivia’s maid, although personal assistant had been the job title when Joyce first started working for Olivia.
Joyce had envisaged a job where she would answer the phone; take care of correspondence—that kind of thing. She had never dreamed she would end up being more or less Olivia’s servant. But that’s what had happened over the months she had been in the woman’s employ. She had whined about it to Larry but he was not in a position to do anything about it. He’d suggested she quit, but Joyce knew she couldn’t make the kind of money Olivia was paying her anywhere else, so she’d decided to stay and bite the bullet. She could save a lot of money and then, when she and Larry married, she could tell the bitch to go to hell.
“Is that bath ready yet?”
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Joyce jumped a little as Olivia’s brittle voice jarred her nerves. “Yes ma’am.
Shall I go now?”
“Put out some warm towels, then beat it. Be back around ten or so.”
Joyce gave the practiced little bob Olivia had insisted she do each time, before she left Olivia’s presence.
“Just like you used to see those black maids do in the movies,” Olivia had told a couple of close friends. “Now, I’ve got a white maid curtsying to me.”
Olivia watched the young girl leave, and then stepped into the tub. She lay for a while luxuriating in the soft scented bubbles, letting the vestiges of her hangover and the stress of the long day at the studio gently ebb away. She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind of all the petty annoyances that seemed to build up around her—all the decisions she had to make. What the hell did she employ all those people for if they couldn’t take the initiative sometimes?
No, no Olivia, she thought with a little smile. Don’t get grouchy…in about fifteen minutes you’ll have a very edible piece of manhood come a-knocking at your door. He don’t know it yet, but he will have the best lay of his life—enough to blow his little cotton socks off. She giggled at the thought, then rose from the water and gently patted herself dry. Uh-huh! That young buck was in for the time of his life.
After her toilet had been completed and she had slipped into the negligee of diaphanous lavender silk, she went to the bar and removed a bottle of chilled champagne from the fridge. Just then, the doorbell chimed, and with a little smile Olivia set the bottle on the bar top and glided to the door.
Luke could not suppress a small gasp as a sultry Olivia stood before him, framed in the doorway, looking like almost every young man’s dream come true.
“Wow,” was all he could say. “Wow.”
“Wow yourself,” Olivia chuckled. “Come on in, cowboy.”
Luke walked in, looking around him with awe. “W…” he stopped himself from uttering another wow, fearing he would appear too gauche. Olivia, however, seemed delighted.
“You have a beautiful place, Miss Winters,” Luke managed at last.
“And you have a beautiful ass,” Olivia said, leering at him. “Come on over here, bartender, and make yourself useful.” She pushed the bottle of champagne toward him. Luke, blushing, grabbed the bottle and twisted off the cork.
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He poured the champagne into the two glasses Olivia indicated. She raised her glass to her lips, looking at him over the rim.
“Here’s to you, cowboy,” she murmured, before taking
a long slow sip, her eyes locked on his. Luke’s hand trembled with excitement as he raised his own glass. God, she is one beautiful woman, he thought, feeling his arousal build inside his tight Levi’s—and she really seems to like me…what a break! Feeling a little bolder, he smiled into her eyes as she took a step nearer him. He could smell the heady scent of jasmine on her skin as her fingers brushed his face with the lightest of touches.
“Miss Winters…” he gasped, wanting to take her in his arms, yet nervous of making the first move.
“Olivia,” she murmured, her lips close to his cheek.
Luke groaned, his resolve gone. He set his glass down on the bar and pulled Olivia into his arms, his mouth seeking hers. He felt her full sensuous lips part beneath his, the sensation of her tongue darting into his mouth setting his senses on fire. Luke held her fast in his arms, while Olivia reveled in the feel of his hard, muscular body against her own and the heat of his skin on hers.
“Slow down, baby,” she murmured in his ear. “Let’s not rush things…” She disengaged herself from his embrace, took his hand and led him to the master bedroom. Luke again stared about him in awe at the sumptuousness of the vast room. Hell, he thought, you could fit his entire apartment complex into this one room. Olivia was tugging at his shirt and he gladly shucked it off, flexing his amazing muscles for her benefit. She cooed gently against his chest, her tongue teasing his nipple, while her hands worked at unbuckling the belt from around his slim waist. He let her take the lead, falling back onto the bed as she pulled off his jeans releasing his erection for her to admire. She stood looking down at him for a moment, a little smile playing around her lips. At first, he thought she was laughing at him and he bridled slightly—then she was upon him, devouring him, her mouth and hands seemingly everywhere at once.
Never had he experienced such a physical onslaught, and he gasped as her lips and tongue brought him to the brink of orgasm.
“W…wait,” he muttered, pulling her head away from his throbbing cock.
Jesus, he thought, she’s like a madwoman. He pulled her down on top of himself and held her fast in his arms, then he rolled her over onto her back. She gazed up at him, her eyes blazing with desire.
“Fuck me,” she said, her voice thick and sensual. “Fuck me, Luke. Make me feel whole again.” Her hand guided him in, her legs wound around his slim J.P. Bowie
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hips as they began their rhythmic ritual. “Ah yes,” she cried against his shoulder. “Take me, cowboy…fill me up…”
Afterward, as they lay spent in each other’s arms, Luke dozed off while Olivia lay gazing up at the bedroom ceiling. Not bad, she thought, not bad for a first time. He needs some refining. He’s no Brad Kingman, that’s for sure, but he’ll do—for a while. The corners of her mouth lifted in a lazy smile as she thought of just what she could teach him. Once she was through, he’d be doing things he never dreamed possible—never in his wildest imaginings.
Peter pulled his Corvette into the assigned guest parking outside Olivia’s building and, after a deep sigh of resignation, climbed out of the car. It had been two days since the debacle at Jeff ’s birthday party, and despite her apology, he was not looking forward to seeing Olivia again.
Still, at the moment he had no choice. Two more sittings were required for the portrait and then, the final shooting of the show. At least the camera crew would be there today, so he could avoid having to listen to any kind of deep confessions of contrition from Olivia—should she feel so inclined. Of course, Peter still felt that Olivia really didn’t give a rat’s ass about what had happened at the party, or for what she had called him. Somehow, he knew that just wasn’t really part of her character.
As he stood patiently waiting for the elevator, he became aware of a presence at his elbow. Looking round, he saw a sweet-faced older lady gazing at him, a little smile working at her lips.
“Hello,” Peter said, returning her smile.
She looked up at him, coyly. “You’re the artist, aren’t you? The one on her show.”
Peter nodded. “Peter Brandon.” He held out his hand, which she touched with tiny, gloved fingers.
“I’m Winifred Owen.” This was said as if Peter should immediately know the name. “I live below Miss Winters. We don’t speak though…She’s not what you’d call neighborly.”
Peter could quite believe that. The elevator door opened and he stepped aside to let Winifred precede him.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Nice to meet a gentleman. So rare these days.” She winked at him. “I like your friend…Jeff, is it?”
“That’s right.” Peter grinned. “I like him too.”
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“I could tell. You both remind me of my brother and his friend…when they were alive. They were very close…” She paused as the elevator stopped at the second floor. “This is where I live. Would you like to come in for a moment? I’d like to show you their picture.”
Peter glanced at his watch. “I am a little early—so sure, just for a minute.”
“Oh good,” Winifred said, almost skipping out of the elevator. “I’m right here.” She indicated the door to the right, and handed him the key. He opened the door and she ushered him in, tugging lightly at his arm.
Inside, Peter looked in amazement at the myriad of framed photographs that covered every wall. “What an incredible collection,” he said, gazing around him. Some of the faces appeared familiar, some not.
“My friends,” Winifred said with pride. “All the years I was at Silver Screen Productions I got a photo from everyone I ever worked with—and some I didn’t,” she added, giggling. “See, there’s Rock and Tab and Bill Holden—so wonderful to work with—all of them—so much fun.” She pointed to a photograph of one of the many beautiful men and women. “That’s me there.”
Peter took a closer look at the image of a young and pretty Winifred, wearing a one-piece bathing suit, her smile vivacious, her arm around the waist of a handsome young man.
“That’s Rob Francis,” she explained. “He was my favorite of them all—such a gentleman. He would have been a great actor if only he had lived.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died doing one of his own stunts. He loved to do the dangerous stuff himself…said it made him feel worthy, somehow. His luck just ran out on him that day, though.” Winifred looked at Peter, wiping a tear from her eye. “I still have a hard time realizing he’s not around. He was so vibrant, so alive.”
“You were close…?”
“Mmm…we were teamed by the studio to be seen out on dates. Rob was so good-looking, some of the bosses said he looked gay, so he needed to be seen with a girl on his arm.”
“Was he gay?”
“No. At least not with me.” She giggled again, her good humor returning.
“We were very naughty you see. When we were working together, I would spend a lot of time in his trailer.” Her eyes sparkled at the memory. “He was so wonderful…”
Peter realized he could spend a lot of time here, listening to Winifred remi-niscing, but Olivia would not take kindly to his being late. “Sorry, Miss Owen,”
he said. “I must be going…”
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“Oh, of course,” Winifred pouted. “Can’t keep the Dragon Lady waiting.”
Peter chuckled. “You were going to show me a picture of your brother…”
“Yes, he’s right here. He and Eduardo.” She handed him a gold metal-framed photograph of two young men smiling happily for the camera. Winifred had said he and Jeff reminded her of her brother and his friend, but apart from the fact that one was fair and the other dark haired, he could not see any resemblance.
Almost as if she had read his mind, Winifred said; “It’s not as though you and your friend look like them so much, it’s just that your obvious happiness reminded me of the good days when we were all so happy together.”
“Were they in movies too
?”
“Eduardo was a stunt man and Chris, my brother, a sound technician. I was dating Eduardo and introduced them.” She took the picture from Peter’s hand and looked at it fondly. “I can still see the look on their faces as they shook hands. It was as if I had just disappeared. They had fallen in love right in front of me.”
“How did you feel about that? Didn’t you say you and Eduardo were dating?”
“Oh yes, but in those days lots of gay men dated women. Peer pressure and all that.” She gave a little laugh. “From what I read in the tabloids some of them still do… Anyhoo, that was the start of it, and they were together till the day they died.”
“What happened?”
“A skiing accident,” she replied, her voice suddenly bitter. “A stupid, stupid accident that should never have happened. But at least they had many good years together. I hope you and your friend are as happy as they were.”
“Thank you,” Peter murmured, touched by the woman’s sincerity. “Jeff and I are very happy.”
“I know.” She smiled up at him. “Now, I mustn’t keep you any longer, or that woman’s rage will be terrible.”
Peter laughed and gave her a gentle hug. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Owen.
You’ve brightened my day considerably.”
“It’s Winifred…and you must visit me again. Please bring Jeff—I would love to meet him too.”
“I will,” Peter assured her as he left.
Olivia’s penthouse was a sea of activity when Joyce ushered him into the living room.
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“There you are!” Olivia stood in the center of the room, looking peeved. “I thought you had forgotten our appointment.”
“Of course I wouldn’t forget,” Peter said, with an engaging smile. “I’m only a few minutes late.”