A Time For Us (Michael Kaplan Mysteries)

by David W. Cowles

  “Go on—what happened?” Myra asked anxiously.

  “Lacey said he has a big assignment for me. He wants to dress me up like an African princess.”

  “What on earth for?” Myra asked. “That sounds kind of kinky, to me.”

  “Lacey wants me to pretend to be a whale—that’s a wealthy high-stakes gambler—and play blackjack. He says one of the dealers who’s a mechanic—that’s a person who manipulates cards—will deal me winning hands, and I’m going to win a lot of money. Half a million dollars!”

  “Oh-wee!” Myra whistled. “And then what?”

  “Then I’m to turn all the money in to him, and he’ll return it to the cage.”

  Myra’s brows wrinkled. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. Did Lacey tell you the purpose of his little game?”

  Morgan nodded. “Yeah, he explained, but his explanation didn’t make sense, either. Something about checking on the honesty of one of the pit bosses. For the life of me, I can’t understand what having a crooked dealer give me enough winning hands to build up to a half-million dollars is going to prove about a pit boss who’s probably going to be just standing around in his pinstripe suit watching me win.”

  Myra shook her head. “I can’t, either. It sounds to me like it’s a scam of some kind. I’d be very careful if I were you, Morgan. Are you positive Paul Carey has okayed this charade?”

  “That’s the only thing I am sure of. When Lacey finished telling me what he wanted, he took me up to Mr. Carey’s office personally. Mr. Carey closed his door and repeated the same things Lacey said. He told me Lacey picked me to do the job because he knew he could trust me to keep the test a secret.”

  “Well, Carey’s the casino manager. If he says it’s okay, I guess you should go ahead and do it. I’d love to see you dressed up as an African princess,” Myra giggled. “Let me know when it’s going to be. I’ll stick around that night. Perhaps I can even take pictures.”

  “I have to go to Wardrobe tomorrow to get fitted for my costume.”

  “Oh, I’m glad you mentioned Wardrobe. I almost forgot to tell you. One of Blue Hawaii’s cocktail waitresses—Patti Ho, she’s Hawaiian—is missing. Mark Caruso asked me to see if I could get any information about her. I visited my friend Micki Nedrow, who runs the Wardrobe Department. She knows everything that goes on in the casino. Would you believe—Patti is one of Rick Lacey’s girlfriends!”

  “God, I hope nothing’s happened to her. I tell you, Myra, I don’t trust that man any farther than I can throw him.”

  Myra pulled up in the parking lot of the Steak House restaurant. “Morgan, I’ve told you what I wanted to tell you, and, unless you have more information for me, let’s forget about murders and Rick Lacey and Blue Hawaii for the rest of the evening. I’d like to have a good steak dinner and enjoy your company.”

  “You mean, like we’re on a date?” Morgan grinned impishly.

  Myra felt a frisson. “Yes. Like we’re on a date.”

  Myra and Morgan started dinner with shrimp cocktail appetizers. Then, they had mixed green salads with Roquefort dressing, charbroiled ribeye steaks, and baked potatoes with butter, sour cream, and freshly-cut chives. Throughout the meal, they filled their glasses from a carafe of the house red wine. They decided to bypass dessert, but drank cup after cup of steaming coffee and sat talking for hours.

  They gabbed about everything under the sun. Myra’s parents. Morgan’s mother, who needed a bypass operation. Her father, a man she never knew. The schools they attended. Their jobs prior to Blue Hawaii. Myra’s marriage. Her relationship with Kimberly, both when they lived in California and after they found each other again in Las Vegas. Their likes and dislikes, which turned out to be surprisingly similar, despite their diverse backgrounds.

  Morgan opened up to Myra. “I always knew I was different from other girls, but I never even heard the word lesbian until I was sixteen. One afternoon, a lady who lived in our apartment building, a person I really liked and looked up to—she was a teacher at my school—invited me in for a glass of iced tea and a wedge of carrot cake; that’s my favorite. While we were eating, she explained she was lesbian, and told me she suspected I was, too. When I asked her what lesbians do, she showed me.”

  “You mean, she seduced you?” Myra asked.

  Morgan chortled. “I suppose you could call it seduction, but I never regarded the experience that way. It was more of an education. The teacher educated me, and I was an ardent pupil. She did me a world of good. I’d been feeling mixed-up for years. I was ashamed of my lack of interest in guys and confused about my attraction to girls. I’d thought there was something drastically wrong with me. She made me realize I was perfectly normal, but just had different drives and desires from most other girls.”

  “I was about the same age when I discovered I could be turned on by another female,” Myra admitted candidly. “It took my breath away, because I’d always assumed girls could be turned on only by boys. As I told you, I never explored my bisexuality until very recently. I wish I had, though. I thoroughly enjoy having sex with another woman! When I think of all the pleasure I’ve missed over the years—” Her voice trailed off wistfully.

  Morgan’s eyes flashed with lust. “I can help you make up for lost time—”

  Myra blushed. Not because of Morgan’s thinly veiled proposition, but because Morgan had apparently been reading her subconscious mind. “I’ll bet you could, at that. Watch out, I might just take you up on your offer.

  “What is it about men that you don’t like?” Myra asked, not quite changing the subject.

  “Their bodies, mostly. They’re hard and hairy. I couldn’t stand having a man rub the stubble of his beard against my sensitive skin. And just the thought of having a man invade my body—aarrgh! Not that it’s ever happened to me, I just never want it to. Then there’s the macho attitude of most men. They think they’re so vastly superior to women.”

  Morgan’s voice took on a silky sultriness Myra found mesmerizing. As she spoke, she stroked Myra’s arm. “Women, on the other hand, have smooth, soft bodies and delicious curves. They’re a pleasure to look at, a delight to feel. Their hormones give them a different scent. There’s nothing a man could possibly do to please me that a woman couldn’t do better.” While Morgan was talking, her lustful, hungry eyes never left Myra’s.

  “I can’t say I feel the same way you do about men,” Myra said. “Of course, I really can’t make a lot of comparisons. I’ve only been intimate with Michael and Kimberly. But Michael has never really satis—” Her voice drifted off.

  “Yes, Myra. What is it?” Morgan prompted anxiously.

  “It’s … it’s … hell, I don’t know what I was thinking, Morgan. It was more of a feeling, actually. A feeling of vast emptiness.” Myra happened to glance at her watch. “Ohmygosh, it’s after ten. I had no idea it was this late. This evening went by all too quickly.”

  “Yes, it did,” Morgan agreed. They had been holding hands beneath the table for hours. “I’ve had a wonderful time, Myra.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’d like to see you again. Can you get away from Michael and Kimberly once in a while? For dinner or whatever?” There was a slight emphasis on the whatever.

  Myra remembered she had been instructed by Mark Caruso to keep in close contact with Morgan, away from Blue Hawaii, and both Michael and Kimberly had grudgingly acquiesced. That would be the excuse she needed to pacify Michael and Kimberly. She needed no rationalization for herself. “Of course.”

  “Soon?”

  “Yes. We’ll get together again very soon. I promise you.”

  Myra planned to pick up the dinner tab, but Morgan insisted they split it. While driving Morgan back to her apartment, Myra turned her car stereo to an FM station that features standards and show tunes. A selection from Westside Story came on—Somewhere. The DJ segued into A Time For Us from Romeo and Juliet, a similarly-themed song from a similarly-themed musical.

  “Do you think there�
��ll ever be a time for us, Myra?” Morgan asked plaintively.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps,” Myra replied noncommittally. She had been wondering the same thing.

  They rode in silence the rest of the way to Morgan’s apartment building. Myra parked her car in one of the visitor spaces and turned off the lights and engine.

  Morgan took that as a signal. “Do you want to come in for a little while?” she asked. “We could watch television, or do whatever you’d like. I’m sure Mom’s been asleep for hours. Even if she wakes up, she won’t disturb us.”

  Myra shook her head. “Perhaps another night, Morgan. I’m pretty sure Michael and Kimberly are still waiting up for me.” She was more tempted than she had imagined she would be. “I’ll walk you to your door, though.”

  “That really isn’t necessary.”

  “I know. I want to.”

  “Just like on a date?” Morgan teased.

  Myra felt herself blushing. “Yes. Just like on a date.”

  When they reached her front door, hand-in-hand, Morgan pulled Myra toward her. Their arms quickly surrounded each other.

  “You feel so damned good,” Morgan murmured.

  “So do you. I’m very comfortable with this,” Myra admitted, snuggling even closer.

  “I hoped you would be.”

  Their lips brushed in a tender kiss. When Morgan’s lips parted slightly, Myra’s tongue entered. Tentatively at first, then with intense eagerness.

  Just then, a car turned the corner, catching them briefly in its headlights. Myra tensed momentarily, then relaxed when the vehicle passed by the apartment building and drove away. They resumed the kissing, which had elevated to a display of raw passion and fervor.

  When Morgan’s hands moved to the front and started unbuttoning Myra’s blouse, Myra felt she should show at least a token sign of resistance. But she could not. When Morgan’s fingers closed around Myra’s nipples, Myra knew Morgan was no longer merely flirting—if, indeed, that’s all it had been—but seriously intent on getting her into bed. Myra did not want to give Morgan encouragement. She was determined not to cheat on Michael and Kimberly. Not at this point in time, anyway. Not tonight, certainly.

  “That’s enough, Morgan,” Myra sighed. “Enough for now.”

  Morgan’s hands never left Myra’s breasts. “Are you sure?”

  There was a hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure. I can’t take any more. Not tonight.”

  But Myra’s own hands betrayed her conscious mind and her spoken words. They opened Morgan’s blouse and found their way to her breasts, which were firm and full.

  Another long passionate kiss, then Myra pulled back. “Morgan, I don’t want to leave, but I really must go. Now. We’ll be together again. Soon. Next time, I’ll make arrangements so I can stay out later. Perhaps, all night. There will be a time for us,” Myra stated determinately.

  Morgan urged her body close to Myra again. She smiled knowingly. “I understand, Myra. You should go home now. There’s no need for us to rush into anything. We both know how the other feels.”

  But Morgan’s words were also in total discord with her actions. As she was speaking, she undid the buttons on Myra’s jeans and pulled down the zipper. Myra became transfixed. She felt her body tremble with excitement as one of Morgan’s hands slipped inside the jeans. She moaned slightly as Morgan’s fingers located the top of her silk panties and surreptitiously entered them. The fingers slowly traced a path downward, gently caressing her abdomen, gliding effortlessly over her silky pubic hair like a skier descending a snow-covered Alpine slope.

  Morgan’s finger quickly located the opening it was seeking and the fleshy jewel crowning its entrance. When Morgan felt the abundance of glutinous moistness, she knew Myra was ready. More than ready.

  Myra was having trouble catching her breath. Her body was screaming with desire. “Morgan, I wish I could stay a while longer, but I really have to go now.” The words were barely audible and said without conviction.

  Morgan’s tongue titillated Myra’s ear, and she whispered in a sensual growl. “I know, baby. I know. You can go home. Anytime you want. Will you call me tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Definitely,” Myra promised. But she still couldn’t part. She needed one more kiss, to savor for a few moments longer the rich softness of Morgan’s full, pouty lips, to taste the inside of her delicious mouth, to entangle Morgan’s tantalizing tongue with her own. She wanted to feel Morgan’s hot breasts pressing against hers like two glowing branding irons, and she wanted to fill her nostrils with Morgan’s heavenly scent. There was a throbbing, burning sensation in Myra’s groin, amplified a million times when Morgan’s finger gently penetrated her and tantalized her most intimate recess.

  Just one more kiss outside of Morgan’s door. That will have to be enough for tonight, Myra resolved. But it was not enough. Not nearly enough. Myra’s entire body was racked with fire. Her soul cried out for release. When the words of consent burst from her lips, as Morgan knew they would, Myra uttered them with full knowledge she was signaling complete and total surrender of her body and soul.

  “I can’t take any more of this teasing, Morgan,” Myra groaned. “You’re driving me crazy! I want you so damn much and I can’t wait another minute. Let’s go inside.”

  Which was what they both wanted from the start.

  Twenty-Four

  MICHAEL STARED AT HIS WATCH for the umpteenth time in half an hour. The minutes were creeping by at a snail’s pace. “It’s ten o’clock,” he told Kimberly. “Myra should have been home an hour ago. I’m getting worried. Maybe something’s happened to her. Maybe she’s had an accident—” he postulated worrisomely. He picked up the telephone and started to punch in the numbers of Myra’s new cell phone.

  Kimberly took the cordless from his hand and placed it back on the stand. “Calm down, Michael,” she said in a soothing voice. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong. Myra would have called us if there was. She and Morgan are probably having a great time regaling each other with their life stories. If you phone Myra now, she’ll think you don’t trust her. She’s a grown woman. Give her some space. No matter what time Myra comes home, don’t make an issue of it. Above all, don’t ask Myra what she was doing tonight. She’ll tell us anything she wants us to know.”

  “Well, I want go to bed,” Michael fretted. “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day and I want to get some rest tonight.”

  “Then, let’s get ready and go to bed. We don’t have to wait up half the night for Myra,” Kimberly stated. When Michael started pacing the floor, she put her foot down. “Michael, for Pete’s sake, you’re acting like the father of a teenager out on her first date.”

  “Date. Damn it, Kim, why did you have to say that word?” he fussed. “When Myra came home from work tonight she got dressed up to go to dinner with Morgan just like she was going on a date. She even shampooed her hair.”

  “Big deal. Myra just wanted to freshen up after work. And she didn’t dress up. She changed from a very stylish outfit into jeans.” Kimberly pulled Michael to her and gave him a passionate kiss. “C’mon, baby. Let’s take a shower. Together. I’ll scrub you all over. Do you realize you and I have never made love together, just the two of us?” She reached her hand between Michael’s legs and was pleased to find her one kiss had made him rock hard.

  “We really should wait for Myra—” he protested weakly.

  Kimberly stood back and put her hands on her hips. She was obviously becoming irritated with Michael’s reticence to make love with her alone. “Why? Don’t you think I can satisfy you? Are you now so inured to sleeping with two women that you won’t be able to get your rocks off with just me?”

  Michael realized, belatedly, he had crushed Kimberly’s feelings. “No, Kim. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that at all. It just … it … what I’m trying to say is that, well, wouldn’t we be cheating if we didn’t wait for Myra?” He tried to take Kimberly in his arms, but she backed away.

  Kimberly decided to stick
the knife in and twist it a bit. She had not yet extracted her pound of flesh. “Isn’t that what’s really going through your mind right now, Michael? Aren’t you thinking that at this very minute Myra might be cheating on us? That she and her new friend Morgan are making mad, passionate love?”

  He looked down at the floor. “Yeah, I guess that is what I was thinking,” he mumbled dourly.

  “Maybe they are. So what? If Myra does have sex with Morgan, how does that hurt us? How does that take anything away from us? It doesn’t, unless we let it. Our ménage is based on the concept of sharing. Myra shares you with me, and you share me with Myra. Would it be so terrible if Myra shares her love with someone else, too? Not that I think she is, but you obviously do.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Michael grudgingly conceded.

  Kimberly moved in for the kill. “Then, let’s get ready for bed, baby. I’m looking forward to having you all to myself, even if it’s only for one night.”

  I-15 WAS NEARLY DEVOID of other automobiles. Myra had to keep reminding herself to slow down, to take it easy. She did not want to be stopped by the highway patrol and given a traffic ticket nor did she want to become involved in an accident. By speeding, she could save but a few minutes, and she was already so late that getting home a few minutes earlier or later wouldn’t matter.

  Myra checked the clock on her dashboard. Could it possibly be right? Could it really be four in the morning? Where had the time gone? She intended to join Morgan in bed for just half an hour or so. An hour, at the very most. She knew Michael and Kimberly would be worried sick about her. She wondered if they would suspect she and Morgan had been making love.

  She should have called home, just to save them the anguish of wondering if anything had happened to her. On the other hand, why should she? She had the cell phone with her; they knew that. If they really needed to reach her, all they had to do was call. Yes, she probably should have let them know she was going to be out later than originally planned. But once she was comfortably ensconced in Morgan’s arms, with Morgan’s lips welded to hers, Morgan’s sensual body covering hers like an erotic blanket, Morgan’s hardened nipples embedding a pattern into her chest, the friction of their groins rubbing together causing miniature volcanic eruptions, how could she interrupt the passion to phone them?