Devon stood in front of the chimpanzee cages, watching the group go. Just as Bebe reached the path, she turned and faced Devon. She didn’t say anything to her; rather, she seemed to be trying to memorize Devon’s face. Then, with a contemptuous toss of her head, she turned back to her companions and strutted up the path.
John stretched and opened his eyes. For a moment, the sight of the crimson and gold brocade canopy above the bed disoriented him, and it took him a few seconds to remember that he was at the Hearst ranch. The space beside him was rumpled but empty. Devon must have gone riding, John concluded. Rolling over to look at his pocket watch on the bedside table, he saw that it was one-thirty in the afternoon.
“Good, almost time for lunch,” he murmured to himself.
He pulled on a pair of cream-colored linen slacks and a blue shirt and made his way to the Neptune Pool. In the cabana, he chose a new swimming suit from the selection Hearst always kept on hand for his guests, slipped a terrycloth robe over it, and handed his clothes to the valet who manned the dressing room.
Emerging into the pool area, he squinted at the bright sunlight and looked around for someone he knew. He spotted Sydney and Bart, apparently asleep on lounge chairs, and walked toward them. Quietly, so as not to awaken them, he eased onto a lounge chair next to Bart, took off his robe, and closed his eyes. But a few moments later, the sounds of an argument caught his attention.
Coming into the pool area was one of the most stunning women he had ever seen. She was accompanied by four men, one on either side of her, two lagging slightly behind. Taller than either man at her side, she had endlessly long legs, which made her appear even taller. Thick, wavy blonde hair spilled over her shoulders almost to her waist in a style that was not strictly fashionable, but which suited her to perfection. Her white shorts and halter top revealed a figure that was curvaceous but not so full that it could be called voluptuous.
The woman was heatedly berating the men at her side. “You should have defended me!” she said angrily.
A short fat man, who John thought he recognized as the head of Crown Studios, replied in an exasperated tone, “Look, forget about it. It’s not important.”
John saw one of the two stragglers go over to the barman by the side of the pool and place an order. Meanwhile, the group settled at a table underneath a blue and white umbrella.
The woman was apparently unwilling to let the dispute drop. Even after the barman had filled five champagne flutes with the chilled wine and brought them over to the table, she continued.
“There were five of us and one of her. But you all caved in like a bunch of little boys! What kind of men are you anyway!” she said scornfully.
John put on his sunglasses so he could observe the group without appearing to. He was often intrigued by the dramas that played themselves out at the Hearst ranch. Guests there, insulated from the real world, seemed to lose their inhibitions. They were like a group of teenagers away at camp: hungry to experience everything, to play, to act wild, and to suffer none of the consequences for doing so.
The woman looked vaguely familiar to John, but he could not place her. He smiled to himself as he realized how he had changed since his single days. As a bachelor, he would have surely remembered the details of a meeting with someone as attractive as the blonde.
Suddenly she scraped her chair back from the table, stood up, walked to the waters edge, and jumped into the swimming pool. Doing an angry crawl, she swam down the length of the pool toward John and his friends. Reaching his end, she placed her hands on the edge of the pool surround and hoisted herself out of the water. She stood for a moment directly before John, the flimsy white cloth of her shorts and halter top clinging to her, revealing every detail of the firm body underneath. Her pert, pink-tipped breasts pointed out through the transparent fabric, erect from the coolness of the water. The girl lifted her arms to push her long hair away from her face, closing her eyes and turning her face to the sun. She turned back toward the pool, holding her hair over the water and squeezing. He had a perfect view of her tight buttocks, visible through the wet material.
She turned to face John again. Handsome, she thought. “Hello,” she said.
“Hello.” John looked over at Bart and Sydney. Bart was snoring now, fast asleep under the noonday sun. Sydney had not moved since John’s arrival. The sight of his friends made him think of Devon and he guiltily averted his eyes from the young woman’s body.
“Bebe Henley,” she said, walking toward him with her hand outstretched.
“Bebe Henley?” John, startled, politely scrambled to his feet. “But I remember you as a little girl!” He smiled broadly, taking her hand and shaking it heartily. “I’m John Alexander. Your father and I had some business together a few years back. You probably don’t remember me.”
“John Alexander!” said Bebe with a laugh. “I won’t believe it’s you until you take off those awful sunglasses. I remember you had the most devastating blue eyes. I had a mad crush on you, I want you to know.”
John obediently removed the glasses. Bebe took a step closer to John, not releasing his hand. He was disconcertingly aware of her naked body through the thin cloth.
“Yes, it’s really you. And your eyes are more devastating than ever,” she purred.
John was torn between wanting to flirt back and the realization that he should stop. The last time he had seen Bebe, she had been an awkward adolescent, much too tall for her age and with a slight case of acne. Five years had vastly changed her.
Before he could respond, Bebe asked, “May I join you?”
“How rude of me not to have offered. It would be a pleasure,” John said, feeling clumsy and a little flustered. He realized that he had not really flirted with a woman since his engagement to Devon. He hadn’t been particularly interested in flirting. But there was something exciting in the idea that this woman—girl, he reminded himself—clearly found him attractive. He knew it was a game he should immediately end, but he enjoyed it. I’m not actually doing anything, after all, he told himself.
As graceful as a cat, Bebe reclined into a chair, stretching her hands over her head. John sat down next to her.
“How is your father?” John asked, feeling obligated to channel the discussion in a more serious direction.
“Angry at me all the time, I’m afraid.” Bebe sighed.
“Oh?” answered John noncommittally.
“I stand accused of ruining the family name with my antics,” she said sardonically.
John vaguely remembered hearing some gossip about his old acquaintance’s daughter, but could not recall its content.
“I can’t believe you would do such a thing,” he said with a laugh that showed his startling white teeth against his bronzed skin.
“Oh, I’m guilty as charged,” she admitted playfully. She turned on her side, once more giving him a full view of her body.
John did not reply. He had an uncomfortable certainty the game had gone far enough.
He replaced his sunglasses, though he knew it was impolite to do so. She’s just a child, he told himself, heady with her power over men. And you’ve seen too many like her to take her seriously. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go and change for lunch,” John said formally, gathering up his terrycloth robe from the table that separated his lounge chair from that of the still-snoring Bart.
Bebe immediately sensed John’s mood change and, slightly piqued, rose abruptly to leave. “I’ll just rejoin my friends,” she said, and coolly put out her hand for John to shake.
John jumped up and took her hand, shaking it more warmly than necessary because he felt guilty for his sudden change in tone. After all, he told himself, I don’t need to be rude. Before he could complete the thought, Bebe had turned and walked away.
John put on his robe and tied it. He glanced at his snoozing friends, somehow glad that they had not witnessed his encounter with Bebe.
As he passed Sydney’s chair on the way to the cabana, a low suggest
ive voice followed him. “Careful, honey, that little kitty has big claws.”
John turned in surprise and stared at Sydney. She looked asleep; she didn’t move from her supine position on the lounge chair.
John wrapped his arms around Devon, admiring her reflection in the mirror. As was often the case, Marion Davies had decided to organize a theme costume ball, and Devon and John had thrown themselves into the spirit of it. The theme of the ball was ancient times. Easy enough for the men, who had mostly chosen to wear toga-like garments that they hoped approximated ancient Greece. A bit more difficult for the women, who seemed split between ancient Egypt and ancient Greece.
Devon had chosen ancient Egypt, and was wearing dramatic eye makeup in the style associated with Cleopatra. Alice had devised a headdress using a gold band to encircle Devon’s head; from the band hung gold lame so fine that it floated behind her like a veil when she walked. Her strapless dress was of the same material and it wrapped around her in a way that showed off her tiny waist and full breasts. Gold sandals and two thick gold cuffs completed the ensemble. With her shining black hair and her light golden tan, Devon looked convincingly exotic.
“I feel absolutely ridiculous in this getup, but you look gorgeous,” John said. He lowered his head to her shoulder and teasingly nipped it. “I missed you today,” he murmured as he slid his hands over her breasts, cupping one in each hand. He lightly stroked Devon’s nipples until they stood erect, clearly visible through the gold cloth.
“Stop that!” she said throatily, but she made no move to disengage herself. She could feel his hardness against her buttocks and she leaned against him.
“Please,” John moaned, “I’m not sure what this toga will or won’t reveal, but I feel quite vulnerable in it.”
Devon turned to face him. She reached up and drew his head to her, giving him a lingering kiss. The movement of his tongue inside her mouth sent erotic shivers through her body. “It’s tantalizing to think that you’re almost naked under that,” she said breathlessly. “All I have to do is reach up…” She lightly ran her fingernails up his muscled thighs, eased his underwear down, then sank on her knees in front of him.
John gasped as she enclosed him in her warm mouth. “We don’t have time…” he said in an unconvincing attempt to stop her.
Devon drew away from him for a moment. “You don’t need much time,” she replied with a smirk. She found the easy access to him afforded by the costume incredibly exciting. She swirled her tongue around his member, enjoying his helplessness in the face of her seduction.
He closed his eyes and abandoned himself utterly to the pleasure she aroused in him. She cupped his buttocks with her hands, pulling him into her. As his excitement rose to a climax, he half opened his eyes. In the mirror, he saw their forms reflected. The image drove him over the edge until he felt his knees weaken and the hot juice come spurting out of him.
Devon cradled him in her hands until she heard his breathing return to normal. Then she stood and straightened their clothes. John drew her to him tenderly. “I love you so much,” he said.
“I love you, too.” Devon kissed him lightly, then stepped away from him, moving toward the bathroom. “But we’d better finish getting ready.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Devon called.
Alice entered with a wreath of eucalyptus leaves. “I wove these for Mr. John,” she said with a smile. “I thought they’d set off his costume very nicely.”
“Alice, you are a she-devil,” John accused her with a broad laugh.
“I?” replied Alice, in a tone of complete innocence.
“I think I should refuse to wear that.”
“As you wish, sir,” said Alice, playfully sinking into a deep curtsy. “Pay no attention to the labors of those who serve you with devotion.”
“Get up, you wench, and send my valet in to help me with this ridiculous contrivance.”
Devon beamed from one to the other. She was glad that Alice and John enjoyed each other’s sense of humor so much, for she loved them both dearly. She sighed in perfect contentment.
When Devon emerged from the bathroom, she found John alone in the room holding the wreath on his head and looking in the mirror with a frown.
Well, don’t spend forever preening,” Devon joked, “or we’ll be late for the ball.”
“Better yet, let’s sneak out of here while Alice is fetching Wilkes. That way, I won’t have to wear this blasted thing.” So, giggling like two children, Devon and John quietly slipped out of Casa del Mar.
Light and music poured out of the open windows of the assembly hall in Casa Grande. The huge medieval-style room was lit with giant torcheres, the flames adding romance and mystery to the surroundings. The immense carved wood ceiling provided a dramatic counterpoint to the lustrous tapestries that lined the walls. The effect was one of grandeur, further emphasized by the priceless paintings, sculptures, and other treasures that filled the room.
“In the daytime this room seems gloomy, but it absolutely shines at night,” Devon said dreamily. John nodded his agreement and took her hand as they joined the group of partygoers. More guests had arrived during the day, so that the room, much too large to be actually crowded, was abustle with dancing and merrymaking.
“Even Gary Cooper looks silly in a toga,” John commented wryly.
“Well…” said Devon in mock hesitation. “Okay… I’ll grant you that.”
A passing waiter offered the couple glasses of champagne, which they took.
“Shall we get a bite to eat?” John asked Devon. She nodded in agreement and followed John as he made his way to the adjoining room. They stopped numerous times to greet fellow revelers before they reached the huge banquet hall, with its three long tables almost hidden under an extraordinary array of delicacies, along with more pedestrian fare. William Randolph Hearst enjoyed entertaining and was pleased to offer his guests the most exotic dishes, but he preferred more simple food himself. As a result, mixed in with the smoked quail and the medallions of venison with truffles and port wine sauce were meat loaf and potato salad. And, as always, bottles of ketchup were placed at regular intervals along the length of the table.
“Devon, John, how are you?” Their host greeted them heartily as he balanced a plate filled with ketchup-covered meat loaf, coleslaw, and lima beans.
“Wonderful party, W.R,” John said. “Where’s the lovely Miss Davies?”
“Oh, she’s around here somewhere. Look for a Roman slave girl.”
After a few more greetings and some sampling from the delicious buffet, Devon and John returned to the assembly hall, drawn by the sound of the band. A lindy hop left the couple breathless, but their heart rates slowed to normal after a slow waltz. There was a pause between melodies and John and Devon each took another glass of the proffered champagne.
Devon was facing John, talking to him, when she heard a voice coming from over her shoulder.
“John? Once again I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Devon turned with a smile, but her expression froze when she saw who had spoken. It was the tall, blonde girl who had been teasing the chimpanzees. In contrast to her earlier coarse behavior, the blonde’s breathtaking face was aglow with a charming smile. She was clad in a white satin toga that set off her tan and her silken blonde hair. A golden belt at the waist was the only adornment she wore, and it was all she needed; in that way, nothing detracted from the perfect shape of her breasts and hips. Devon noticed that like many of the other women present, the girl was braless, her erect nipples highlighted by the shimmer of the white cloth.
Devon’s gaze traveled from the girl to John. She noticed that he was beaming at the vision before them and that the girl was looking up at him with an expression that was a mixture of respect and coyness.
“Devon, have you met—”
“We’ve met.” Devon cut John off, her voice icy. John turned to look at his wife, puzzled.
The young woman, her face a m
ask of innocence, looked questioningly from Devon to John. “Have I intruded?”
“Not at all,” John said with heartiness that he hoped would gloss over Devon’s inexplicable hostility. “I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Devon.”
“Your…” The woman raised one eyebrow, and, after a pause, uttered the word, “Wife? Well,” she said, seeming to recover from her surprise, “how nice to meet you. I’m Bebe Henley.” She put out a hand to Devon.
For a split second, Devon thought about refusing the gesture, but it went against her innate good breeding to do so. She took the young woman’s hand and shook it as briefly as possible.
“How do you do,” she said flatly.
“Lovely, thank you,” said Bebe, her voice honeyed.
John turned toward Devon and said, “Bebe’s father is an old friend of mine.” He felt terribly uncomfortable, though he was not quite sure why.
As the band struck up a romantic Cole Porter tune, Bebe turned to Devon and said, “Would you mind terribly if I stole your husband… just for this one dance?”
“What was I supposed to do? Refuse to dance with her?” John demanded, slamming the door to their Casa del Mar suite in exasperation.
“Don’t slam that door. There are other people here,” Devon said coldly.
“Screw the door,” John said, deliberately using the profanity to vex his wife, who he felt was being unreasonable, “and answer me.”
“It was not the dance that I objected to. It was the fact that you allowed her to plaster herself against you while you were doing it.”
Devon hated herself for showing the jealousy she felt for Bebe Henley. But there was something disturbing about John’s reaction to her. Other women had flirted with her husband since their marriage, but John had always appeared oblivious to them. That had not been his attitude toward Bebe, however. He had obviously enjoyed the young woman’s admiration—seemed stimulated by it. Devon knew he cared nothing for the girl. Still, every factor in the equation added to her fury.
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