Her Secret Sex Life
The tall gray-haired man finished the last of his Grand Marnier soufflй and accompanied it with a swallow of the strong black demitasse, leaned (back against the comfortable red-cushioned back of his seat in the Quo Vadis Restaurant with a happy sigh of repletion. It had been a memorable day for him in New York, and what awaited him already had set his pulses tingling with an almost boyish anticipation.
At three-thirty this Friday afternoon, old Hector Dunbar, president of Dunbar-Thorby Industries, had smilingly informed him that the firm's three-million-dollar advertising billing would be awarded to the Chicago agency of Duffy, Woodling and Stander. To have come all the way from Chicago to give a presentation against the competition of at least a dozen of New York's finest agencies and win a lucrative plum like Dunbar-Thorby was in itself a spectacular day's work. And now there was the celebration which would climax it: first, a leisurely dinner at one of the world's great restaurants, savoring the culinary marvel of a chicken gismonda accompanied by a bottle of Corton de Charlemagne. And now, or rather half an hour from now, to spend the night with one of the most talented call girls in all of Manhattan-or so at least Ted Amberly, the affable advertising manager of Dunbar-Thorby, had intimated.
As he signaled to the gracious yet always unobtrusive waiter to bring him another demitasse, he clipped the end of a Havana panatela, lit it and drew on it till it was going satisfactorily. Then after another sip of the strong hot coffee which had appeared as if by magic, he closed his eyes as speculative images began to insinuate themselves in his mind. The rustle of silken garments, the soft shir of zippers being drawn, the delicate aroma which perfume and soft eager flesh made in their rapturous blend, the satiny-smooth feeling of naked warm palpitating skin against his own, and the little sounds of feverish gasps and sibilant murmurs in the night. He felt his loins quivering with a dull ache which was the presentiment of fleshly delight to come. It helped dispel the gloomy, brooding thoughts which had preceded it, the impressions of his recent second marriage and his ineptness in that marriage. That was why, all the more, he hoped that tonight would finally banish the specter of failure from the bed of passion.
To be sure, commercial lust had its drawbacks. It was usually contrived, generally mechanical, and it sometimes left one with a self-disgust which entirely destroyed the temporary carnal relief from sexual tensions which it was meant to ease. Yet Ted Amberly out of a clear sky, clapping him on the back and telling him that he had really scored with old Jason Dunbar, had volunteered the name of this gifted play-for-pay girl out of a clear sky. He had winked and said, "I think I know just how you feel, Tim boy, but you did a great job and you deserve it. You know what I'd do if I were in your shoes right now? Treat myself to the best chow in New York and then have a night with Eleanor."
And when he had looked blank and asked who Eleanor was, the plump, nearly bald advertising manager had winked and whispered, 'She doesn't do it for free, old buddy, but she picks and chooses, so you might say she's still a sort of amateur. College girl- from what I heard, she went to Barnard. European graduation trip and all, and then the family fortunes went down with the Dow average, so she set herself up in a swanky pad. But she's a terrific actress and she likes sex, and I just happen to have her number because I celebrated my own promotion with her about two years ago-and I'm here to tell you it was like nothing in this world!"
The tall gray-haired man took another puff at his cigar and frowned. He hadn't liked the idea of anyone's pandering for him, but Amberly's enthusiastic praise had piqued him, and so he'd finally accepted the phone number. Then, back in his own hotel room, he'd called this Eleanor. Her voice had been crisp, yet pleasant, guarded and yet friendly. He'd told her only that he'd come to New York to celebrate a big business deal, and wanted a little companionship to end -a very memorable day. And so she'd told him to be at her apartment by nine o'clock tonight.
It was a long cab drive out to Rego Park, and so he rose now, opening his wallet and nodding to the waiter for the check. He left a generous tip, stopped to compliment the suave black-haired co-owner of the restaurant on the magnificence of the cuisine and service, and then had the doorman hail him a cab. Then, finishing his cigar and leaning back in complete relaxation, he waited for the adventure which he hoped would not only end this day in a burst of glory but also solve the nagging, babbling problem that had cropped up since his re-marriage…
He did a double-take when the second-floor door opened and a stately coopery-haired young woman in a green hostess gown confronted him. Her burnished red hair was piled into a thick almost prim bun at the back of her head, leaving dainty little ears bare and the smooth long nucha of a beautifully chiseled neck. Her brows were short, thick, expressively arched, her nose slightly aquiline with sensuous, flaring wings, and her mouth was full and passionate.
"You're Tim?" her voice was husky-soft.
He nodded, suddenly, inexplicably trembling. "Yes, I'm the one who phoned."