I did a double-take. “With all that experience you told me about? Don’t put me on, Lolly.”
“But — Oh, never mind.” She stretched out on the bed facing me and quickly rolled over to resume what she’d been doing before. The position created a certain proximity and I returned the favor.
“Nigee, tweggy, tweggy-wud . . .” She was mumbling.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m counting.” She withdrew her lips for a moment. “You’ll see.” She pursed them again and resumed. “Tweggy-doo, tweggy-dree, tweggy-fogr . . .”
I ignored her and fastened my own lips again. It wasn’t long before Lolly began thrashing about wildly. “Zigdy-ziggs,” I heard dimly. “Zigdy-zevah . . . zigdy-ayd . . . YES!” Her legs locked around my neck and an explosion shook her entire body.
It took all my will power not to release my own passion. Somehow I managed to hold back. I wanted to save it for the experience I’d planned.
“Hold it a minute.” I pulled away from Lolly. “Here. Slip this around your waist,” I panted. I handed her the harness suspended from the ceiling.
“But I don’t -”
“Come on! Hurry!” I buckled it around her and before she could argue any more I’d pulled her up so that she hung suspended a few feet above the bed. I stretched myself out beneath her and took a good grip on the pulley that manipulated the contraption.
I yanked. Lolly plummeted downwards and landed on my stomach. “OOF!” The wind was knocked out of me. It took me a moment to recover. “I guess I was just a little out of position.” I pulled her up slightly to relieve the pressure.
“Couldn’t we just forget—?”
“Let’s just try this out now.” I ignored her. “Here we go!” I pushed one of Lol1y’s shoulders and she spun around.
“No! Wait!”
“Don’t be afraid. It’ll hold you.” I twirled her again.
“I’m getting dizzy. Don’t—--”
“All right. All instruments operative now.” I pulled her up to the ceiling. “Landing field ready. On target. Now for the countdown. Ten-nine-eight-seven-six—”
“Why don’t we just . . .” Lolly’s voice floated down to me.
“Five-four-three-—”
“Honest, no matter what I told you, I never . . .”
“Two-one— Blast off!” I yanked the pulley and Lolly dropped once again. I spun her by one knee as she plunged right on target.
But at the last minute she flung herself to one side and avoided being impaled. Her knee caught me in the kidney. Her elbow got my windpipe. And the two of us rolled from the bed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.
“Why did you do that?” I demanded when I was able to speak.
“I can’t go through with it, Vance. I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m a virgin.”
“What do you mean? What about those stories? What about the bit you told me about with Fink?”
“Who’s Fink?”
“The guy who brought you from California.”
“That wasn’t his name.”
“Never mind his name right now. What about making love to him with a contraption like this?”
“That was a put-on, Vance.” Lolly hung her head.
“A put-on? You mean you never slept with him?”
“I never slept with anybody.”
“And all that business about having been pregnant and his fixing you up with a gimmick like this one?”
“I was only trying to impress you,” Lolly said in a small voice.
“Wait a minute! Hold the phone! What about before? You weren’t just impressing me then.”
“Oh, that was just making out.” She waved it away. “Us kids do for each other that way at parties and in parked cars lots of times. But that is not like having real sex. I’ve never gone all the way. I just lied to you because you got so excited and you thought I was such hot stuff.”
I stared at her. Teeny-boppers! Flaming youths! The generation that had passed me by! Uninhibited sex! Wild orgies! Bah! Double-bah! Give me Madame Du Barry any day. The whole wild and woolly teen-age bit was just one big put-on to make their elders eat their livers! The sex kittens were frauds, the whole image a make-believe fairy tale designed to turn the adults green! I’ll be damned if the little bastards weren’t all a bunch of secret moralists! I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that they sneaked into the high school johns to pray!
Well, no sense crying over a limpid libido. I snorted and got dressed. Then I put my disenchantment behind me and got back to the question of Lolly’s connection with Fink.
“What was the name of the man who took you from L.A. to New York?”
“Hale,” she told me. “Aaron Hale.”
“You didn’t make that part up then?”
“No. Just the sex part. He really drove me cross-country. I even saw him a few times after I came to Pine Glen.”
“Where did you see him?”
“I went to his apartment. He liked to cook. And he was lonely. We’d have dinner there and talk sometimes.”
“When was the last time you went there?”
Lolly guessed at a date. It roughly corresponded with the day of Fink’s death.
“Why didn’t you go back?”
“He died. He choked on a fishbone and died.”
That tied it up all right. Fink was the man she’d known. He and Aaron Hale had to be the same man. But as I questioned Lolly further, she seemed to know nothing else about him, nothing about his real work, his connection with the CIA, his interest in the drama group, his functions with Democratic Philanthropies, Inc.
Of course she could have been lying. But I didn’t think so. She was still all wrought up over her near devirginizing before. I just didn’t think she was a good enough actress to be anything but honest now.
I drove Lolly home. When we got there, she lingered a moment before getting out of the car. She looked at me wistfully. “Are you angry at me, Vance?”
“Not at all.” Hell, there’s no point in playing the heavy with the kids these days.
“Will I see you again?” Her voice was plaintive.
“Sure you will.” I patted her knee reassuringly. “Real soon,” I added as she got out of the car.’
Real soon! In about ten years when you grow up, Lolly. In about ten years when you either won’t appeal to me any more, or I’ll be too old to care if you do. So long, Lolly. You grew up fast, but not fast enough. So long, Lolly, you illusion buster, you unknowing, uncaring betrayer of the American dream! So long, you virgin teeny-bopper you! So long!
When I reached home again I went straight up to my bedroom, turned on the light and started to undress. A sudden, distinct click broke the silence. It came from the window. I dived for it and saw a man scrambling over the branches of the tree outside the window.
I dived for him and my weight made the branch crack. The two of us crashed to the bushes lining the side of the house below. I managed to get a grip on him just as we landed. He was hampered by trying to hold onto the cam- era clutched in his hands.
“Who are you?” I demanded as I struggled to hold onto him.
He didn’t answer until I’d subdued him. Then the answer wasn’t really necessary because I could see his ace.
“I’m Peter Putter,” he squealed.
“Why are you spying on me?” Not too original maybe, but I’d had a rough night.
“I’m Peter Putter,” he repeated. “Peter Putter of the CIA!”
Chapter Eleven
There’s a rumor going the rounds of anti-FBI circles that J. Edgar Hoover sleeps with a nightlight. I don’t know about Hoover, but if ever I saw a man who looked like he might need one, it was CIA agent Peter Putter. There was the decided impression of a man missing the rustle of a security blanket trailing behind him. He was a thumb-sucker kicking the habit by jamming his hands deep into his pockets. Well, everyone’s entitled to grab their security where they can find it.