by 26 Nights (Memoirs of a Contemporary Gentleman) [MF] (retail) (epub)
Irene was all of twenty-eight, she had been divorced for a year, and she was dying to see all the things she had always heard about in the big city. The three of us caromed around the town like demented pinballs, seeing every sight ever listed in every tourist handbook ever published. We went to the top of the Empire State Building, for the sake of tradition. But then we had to do the same at the World Trade Center, as it is even higher. We gazed reverently at Grant’s Tomb. We toured Greenwich Village, for God’s sake! We took the Circle Line around Manhattan. We tramped around Central Park. Irene was enchanted. Phyllis was excited. (She had lived in New York all her life, but Phyllis got excited by dust motes.) I was bored to death, and my feet were sore.
I did manage to squeeze in lunch at Le Cirque, but only because Irene’s choice, the Automat, was no longer in existence, much to her disappointment.
In fact there was something childlike about Irene’s enthusiasm (though certainly not about her body) that made her even more desirable in my eyes. Not that she wasn’t bright—in terms of pure intelligence she had it all over her cousin Phyllis—but she had an open kind of eagerness that I found refreshing. Our sightseeing forays were made bearable for me only by my stealthy but determined attempts to establish a rapport with Irene—attempts which were not entirely unsuccessful. In fact, I got the definite impression that her New York adventure would be even more enjoyable if it included a brief passionate affair with a sophisticated, cosmopolitan gentleman such as myself. Gazing at the city from the top of the Empire State Building, I put my arm casually around her waist, and noticed that she did not pull away. At Grant’s Tomb we briefly held hands, like kids, while Phyllis wasn’t looking. And at the Museum of Natural History, while her cousin made a brief trip to the ladies’ room, I managed to kiss her behind a dinosaur.
Of course when Irene in turn answered the call of nature, I had to kiss Phyllis as well. Not that this was a difficult task, but it did nothing to advance the program. Phyllis was in despair, seeing no way to ditch her cousin long enough for us to dally. That was fine with me, except that it worked both ways.
However, tomorrow was another day.
“Tomorrow is another day,” I said to Miss Greenglass when I got home. She was packing up to leave for the night.
“I have heard that somewhere before,” Miss Greenglass said, and left.
That night I soaked my feet and tried to think of a plan. I fell asleep wondering again whatever happened to Inez.
The following day did little to help my feet, but it did have a more salubrious effect on the rest of me. As usual, it was a lady that brought me luck, and this time one that I had no difficulty at all getting into: the Statue of Liberty.
I must admit that I was one of those native New Yorkers who had never actually visited the famed monument. Had it not been for Irene, it was an experience I would have willingly forgone for the rest of my days. I like to think I am as patriotic as the next fellow, but my impression of such a visit consisted of a crowded boat ride followed by an unending succession of steps, leading to yet another view of the Manhattan skyline, which by then one was too exhausted to appreciate.
And, dear reader, I was right.
Irene, however, was inexhaustible. By the time we reached the crown of the statue and looked out the little windows at the admittedly impressive view, even Phyllis’s ebullience had waned, and she was quite happy to join me in sitting down on a convenient bench. Irene continued to gaze, oohing and aahing and exclaiming how beautiful it all was, and wishing we could go even higher.
Now it used to be that one could go higher—the spiral steps continue all the way up inside the statue’s right arm and into the bottom of the torch—but for some time now that area has been closed to the public for safety reasons. I had been quite thankful to discover this, having, as I thought, climbed quite enough steps for one day; but Irene’s remark gave me a glimmer of hope which overcame my fatigue in an instant.
The steps leading up into the arm of the statue were closed off, but apparently they had been doing some kind of maintenance work there, for the barrier was a makeshift one consisting of several sawhorses. A guard was stationed in front of them to prevent anyone from straying from the approved precincts.
We were not alone there, of course. Other sightseers wandered about with their cameras and other tourist appurtenances, but it was a weekday morning and the crowd was not so large as to interfere with what I had in mind. I rose casually and approached the guard. He turned out to be a friendly fellow, and we had a bit of pleasant conversation, during which a little money may have changed hands. Then there was more conversation, and more money, until finally our confabulation arrived at a mutually satisfactory conclusion.
I went to fetch Irene, hoping Phyllis would be content to stay where she was for a while, and I was gratified to note that the lady was dozing on her bench.
“Come with me,” I whispered into Irene’s lovely ear. “I am going to take you up to Paradise.”
Irene looked at me quizzically, but she let me lead her over to where the guard was standing. We had to wait for the proper moment, but when no one seemed to be looking, the guard quickly pulled one of the barriers aside far enough for us to slip through. Irene started to say something, but I put my finger to my lips. “Climb,” I said.
We climbed.
The stairs were narrow, and circled in a tight spiral, but I was not tired anymore. Irene was ahead of me, and the view up her skirt would have inspired me to climb the Matterhorn with an elephant on my shoulders. At one point I couldn’t refrain from reaching up and briefly stroking her round, rolling rump. She stopped and half turned on the stairs.
“Steven!” she said—but not unhappily.
I wanted to take her right there, but the stairs were too steep for that. “Go on,” I said. “Hurry.”
We went on. And at last we arrived, breathless, at the top. I, at any rate, was breathless; but I chose to attribute that to my excitement over Irene’s charms rather than to any physical debility.
There was a rather narrow walkway surrounding the staircase, with a waist-high iron railing all around, in front of the small windows set into the torch. The view was even more spectacular than from the crown, but at that point I couldn’t have cared less.
“Oh, Steven!” Irene gasped, gazing at the city and the harbor laid out beneath us. “Isn’t it beautiful!”
“It certainly is,” I said, but what I was gazing at was Irene. I stepped up behind her and put my arms around her, pulling her back against me. She didn’t resist, but still stared out at the view. “It’s just fabulous!” she breathed.
“Fabulous,” I said. I kissed the back of her neck, and slid my hands up to cup her breasts.
“Oh,” Irene said. And then she said “Oh!” again, as she felt the rising hardness of my passion against her backside. This finally diverted her attention from the window long enough for her to look back at me, turning slightly but not dislodging my hands. I craned my head to kiss her soft mouth. After a moment it opened, and our tongues found each other. When my fingers began searching out the buttons of her blouse, she broke the kiss.
“Oh, Steven, God …” she panted. “We can’t … not here …”
“Why not?” I said, opening buttons. “No one will come.”
“But—” She looked dubiously at the dirty stone floor. “But how—”
“Just watch the view,” I said. “And lean over a little.”
“Oh, God,” Irene said, but she leaned forward over the railing, clutching it with her hands on both sides. I abandoned the buttons and reached down to pull her skirt up, hiking it high around her waist. I then bent and pulled her panties down over those very fine legs. Irene said “Oh, God” again, but she stepped out of them, and then anticipated me by planting her feet as far apart as she could without losing her balance.
I stepped up close behind her, hastily opening my trousers and dropping them and my shorts around my ankles. It wasn’t particularly elega
nt, but neither of us cared at that moment. Irene drew in her breath sharply as I found her sweetly moist opening and guided myself slowly inside her.
It was slow and sweet all the way. My hands found their way beneath her blouse and bra to hold her stiff-nippled breasts, as her hips moved in soft, sensuous rhythm. The New York skyline had never looked so wonderful to me.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Irene gasped. “Beautiful, Steven!” And this time I didn’t think she was referring to the view alone.
I would have liked to go on looking at that vista, under those circumstances, all day long, but there was Phyllis to consider, as well as the guard, who had made it quite clear to me that he could only be bought for a limited period. So when Irene’s breathy moans turned to soft shrieks and her body began to twitch spasmodically, I let go and joined her in rapturous climax.
By the time we had descended the arm and slipped back through the barrier, the guard was glaring, and Phyllis was awake and looking around, puzzled. We made haste to join her, and I came up with a story about having wandered down to a lower level; but I’m not sure Phyllis bought it. She kept looking suspiciously at Irene’s glowing face.
Once again, I got back to my office just as Miss Greenglass was preparing to go home. She had, as usual, no discernible reaction when I informed her that yet another step had been taken in my progress toward the possession of her estimable person. I sat down wearily in my chair, and before regaling her with the details, I glanced casually through the small pile of phone messages she had left on my desk.
One of them made me sit up straight.
“She called?” I asked, showing the slip to Miss Greenglass.
That imperturbable lady merely nodded. “Yes, she wants to talk to you about doing a book on the market. I told her you usually turn down those offers, but she wants to talk to you about it.”
“I’ll be damned!” I said.
“Quite,” Miss Greenglass murmured.
“Come on,” I said, “aren’t you just a little impressed? Hell, even I’m impressed. I mean, this is probably the most famous woman in the world!”
Miss Greenglass continued clearing her desk.
“And,” I said after a moment, “she has great timing, too.”
“Timing?”
“Yes,” I said, adopting her cool tone. “Her first name, you know.”
That, at least, made Miss Greenglass stop what she was doing and turn to look at me.
“You’re not serious, Mr. Walling?”
“Why not?” I said. “I can try, can’t I?”
Chapter 10
JUDICIOUS CONSIDERATION, IN WHICH I MUST admit I am sometimes deficient when it comes to women, would probably have prevented so hasty a declaration as that which I made to Miss Greenglass regarding the lady whose phone message I had just perused. After all, the challenge I had thereby set myself was nothing if not daunting. As I had said, this was perhaps the most famous woman in the world; a woman who had moved in the highest circles, and who even now was still a subject of eager interest to press and public.
I had been carried away by the fact that she had contacted me—though of course I realized it was a business call, in connection with her present occupation—and by the seemingly felicitous timing, as I had just that day effected a lovely consummation with a lady named Irene atop the Statue of Liberty, as described in the last chapter.
But perhaps I should have been less precipitate. There were, to be sure, no shortage of ladies of the J persuasion; it may, indeed, be the most common female initial in the English language. It sometimes seemed that half the women I knew were named Jennifer; and there were plenty of Joans, Janes and Julies all over the place. It was, thus, ironic that I should undertake such a challenge just at the point at which my ongoing, and already difficult, task should have been easiest. I consoled myself with the thought that if I should fail with the lady in question, I would have a plentitude of J’s to fall back on. But of course, having made my declaration of intent, I was obliged to do my best not to fail.
Although the perspicacious reader (and I trust I have no other kind) may be able to make a shrewd guess as to the identity of the lady in question, he or she will understand that this particular case necessitates a certain amount of discretion on my part. It may be objected that, up to now, this narrative has not been distinguished by any noticeable reticence or gallantry. However, in this instance even I quail at the possible consequences should she, or her notoriously close-knit and publicity-conscious family, take offense at any unwanted revelations. Powerful and influential in themselves, they are also rumored to have certain connections which … But never mind. Suffice it to say that the lady shall remain unnamed.
I knew that if I were to have any chance at all of making her the next step in my progress toward Miss Greenglass, I would probably need more than my celebrated virility and charm. This was no Irene, intrigued with the idea of a titillating affair with a sophisticated stranger in the big city. I would have to find a way to get past both her natural coolness and reserve, and the wary guardedness that had built up through all the years of adulation and notoriety. A challenge indeed.
My first step was to do nothing—that is, not to return her phone call. It was a risk, but not a very big one; I was pretty sure she would call again. And she did, the next day. Actually it was her assistant who called. Echoing the message Miss Greenglass had taken, she said her boss was interested in discussing with me the possibility of a book setting forth my viewpoint on the current economic crisis. I asked her why, in that case, her boss hadn’t called me herself. She explained, somewhat tartly, that her boss was a very busy woman, but that she would set up a luncheon appointment at which the lady and myself could discuss the matter. I explained, just as tartly, that I was a busy man and that I never accepted invitations through third parties. And I hung up.
Two days went by, and I feared I had muffed my chance. But then there was another call, and after the usual preliminaries between her assistant and mine, I picked up the phone to hear the familiar breathy voice of the lady herself.
“Mr. Walling?”
“Hi,” I said.
“How do you do,” she said. “You’re rather a hard man to get hold of.”
“Not really,” I said. “But you know how it is. So many phone calls …”
There was a pause. Obviously she was accustomed to having her calls returned immediately—and with deference. My idea was to put her off guard by eschewing deference and treating her like anybody else. Or maybe not even quite as well. It was another gamble but, as you know, I am a gambling man.
“Of course,” she said. “Mr. Walling, as my assistant told you, we are interested in having you utilize your expertise in the area of finance to produce a book for us. It could be quite beneficial to your reputation, and if it were to—”
“Well, thanks,” I interrupted. “But you know, I’ve gotten these offers before, and somehow the terms never seem to make it worth the effort. I’m kind of a lazy bastard, you see, and I don’t think I’m really …”
“My company is willing to offer suitable terms,” the lady said, somewhat coolly. “I’m sure we could reach a satisfactory arrangement, Mr. Walling. Why don’t we meet for lunch and discuss the possibilities?”
“Well, I suppose I could do that,” I said, feigning reluctance.
“Good. Shall we say tomorrow? Mortimer’s at one?”
“I’m afraid I’m busy tomorrow,” I lied. “How about Thursday? No, that’s out too. Friday?”
Another pause. “Fine,” she said. “Friday. I’ll see you there.”
Miss Greenglass, who had of course heard my end of the conversation, was busy at her keyboard, impassive as ever. “She hates me,” I said cheerfully. “Good start, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure you know what you are doing, Mr. Walling,” she said.
“Well, I’m not,” I said. “But I’ve got to do something. She’s so used to everybody falling all over themselves for her
that this might knock her off her feet.”
“Or else she might just knock you off yours,” murmured Miss Greenglass.
“It’s a risk,” I admitted, “but she’s worth it. And so are you.”
Miss Greenglass’s mouth gave a twitch, which might have been the possibility of the beginning of the thought of a smile. “I’m sure the lady would be extremely flattered,” she said, “to realize that you see her as merely a stepping-stone to be used for the attainment of someone else.”
“And to avoid tripling that someone else’s salary,” I said. “Don’t forget that.”
“I assure you I have not forgotten that,” Miss Greenglass replied.
I grinned at her. “Anyway,” I said, “ask not what the lady can do for me. Ask what I can do for the lady!”
The lady, of course, was no longer in the prime of her youth, but the years had done remarkably little to detract from her beauty. If they had taken away the freshness of springtime, they had compensated by adding a strength and character to her fine features which made her as striking as ever. And her body was still slender and firm-looking, attesting to much time and probably money spent in its upkeep. There was an aura of elegance about her that was almost palpable, and I admit I had to make an effort not to be hypnotized by it as I sat down.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Walling,” she said, after our initial greetings. “I do hope we will be able to work together. It’s my feeling that a book giving your views on the current fiscal crisis would be an enormous asset to our company.”
I shrugged. “Hey, I don’t know how I got to be such a big expert. All I did was inherit a successful company and not run it into the ground.”
She smiled. “You’re far too modest,” she said. “Your name is well known in financial circles, and with the proper promotion I believe such a book could be—”