“Tonight, Tjger?” The girl said, in a voice unmistakably full of go.
“All right,” Tiger murmured, after a moment or so. He was aware of her urgent tone.
“Eight o’clock?” She murmured, still in that tone.
“Fine,” He told her, admiring her verve.
And she moved on, after a delightful smile. He walked on. He had barely been thrown off his stride. He couldn’t help smiling. She certainly had verve. She was a girl with verve. And with no practice tonight, as well she knew, or had guessed, the time was just right ... He smiled more. . . .
He reached his office, and walked in.
“Hello,” Barbara said.
That brown-haired maid with the cutest fringe turned around on the couch as she greeted him. She looked well. Very well. And this surprised Tiger just a little bit, considering how close her relationship was to her ex-sister cheerleader, so to speak, and Assistant Captain, no less. She had on the sweetest yellow outfit—a dress. Tiger stood there a moment, admiring her. Who had a cuter fringe? A long time ago. it seemed, Looby Loo had a fringe—definitely. He thought of that. He kept on looking at that fringe. It went just right with her slightly turned up nose. He loved that nose. She always made herself right at home. Now the Holy Hour, Tiger thought.
“What’s new?” He said, crossing to his desk. He had taken care of the door.
“Haven’t you heard?” Barbara asked.
What did she mean by that?
“Everything O.K.?” He asked. He had given her a good supply last time, so assuming she had been a good girl—
“Oh—I’m O.K.,” said the girl.
Tiger sat down in his chair and surveyed the girl. He knew what she meant.
“That was a blow, a blow,” he said, quietly.
“She was such a nice kid,” Barbara moaned.
“I know—” Tiger said, “I know—” His voice was very low.
“So was Jill—” the girl said, with another moan.
“I know—” Tiger murmured. The dress fitted her like a glove, he observed.
“It doesn’t even do any good praying to find the murderer, does it, Tiger, because that won’t bring them back, will it?” She paused, shaking her head from side to side, “No, no—” She moaned low, “It won’t.”
There was an indisputability about that that jarred Tiger. It hadn’t crossed his mind just that way, ever. Nevertheless, he knew he should be ferreted out. Whatever. It was essential. He told her.
“If they don’t find him,” he said, gently, “Who knows what will happen next?”
Barbara wasn’t impressed.
f,But it won't bring them back—”
Tiger could think of no comeback to that. What could he say to that? She was dug in, impregnably. Now she was gazing at him, from that couch. He let her. Her eyes were moist, and in contact with his, and soon he felt a hot pressure building up in him. He knew how she felt. Exactly. Empathy couldn’t be more complete. He admired her fringe. Her eyes were almost exactly the color of her hair. She had lovely hair. Tiger felt his own eyes going moist. Would he break down, at last? He wondered. Would that help her? Without a doubt, she had a powerful effect on him. Would they both go over the brink, and break down together? He gazed at her.
"Whosoever cometh unto the Lord—** she began.
“That’s right, that’s right,” Tiger said.
The girl cried. She sobbed and sobbed.
Tiger held on, knowing he ought to. There was something more he could do. He got up, he went to the maid. He put his arms around her, and let her cry on his chest. “There,” he murmured, softly to her.
“Tiger—” She sobbed, “Oh Tiger—” She sobbed and cried, ‘7 love you so much—”
“I know you do,” he murmured to her, sitting back with her on the couch. She nestled in his arms.
"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh—” she said.
Tiger, murmuring softly, nodded his head. In his arms her sobs gradually faded away. Now, once in a while, she gave a tiny one. She sighed. He helped her dry her eyes. She raised her hand and gave his face a caress.
“You’re so good to me,” she said.
“I want to be,” he said, returning the caress. She raised her face to his. He saw her fringe. He was looking into her eyes. Tiger loved her warm brown eyes. And the fringe. He passed his hand over her eyes. And the fringe. She gave his hand a kiss.
“I’d better not talk about them anymore,” she said, “What can I do?” She paused, “What can anyone do?”
“Not much,” Tiger replied.
She kissed him on the lips. Tiger fondled her, through that nice dress. He fondled her breasts, soft and free.
“Ummmm—” she said, *7 don't have it onshe said, which he already knew. She gave him a marvelous kiss, her arms behind his neck. He was warm.
“I know—I know—” He murmured to her, “You’re a good girl—” He murmured low. He found their tips. He lingered there.
She came up for air. She was very warm, she sighed, her face next to his. Tiger’s hand caressed her thighs, and glided slowly toward Paradise. She closed her eyes. She sighed.
“Don’t you have a nice dress—” He murmured low.
“I’ll take it off—”
“I’ll help you get it off—”
“Like it—do you—”
“Really swell—”
“Ummmm—well—”
“How’s everything?”
“Just nice—”
Tiger gave a soft chuckle. He draped the sw'eet dress carefully over a chair. He admired her slip. He took her in his arms, and they kissed again. She was more than warm. His hands drifted downward again, caressing all the way. Her heart pounded hard against him. She gave little moans.
She came up for air. Now his hand was traveling upward, he loved gliding over her stomach and bumping into those fabulous breasts. They were treasures, just for him. He fondled them, and brushed their tips. He kissed the tips.
“Tiger—” she gasped, soaring toward bliss, “I have to tell you this—Tiger—” She said, “Let me—”
“Tell me—” he said, his lips on those tips.
“I dreamed—” she said, trying hard, “Tiger I had this dream last night—darling Tiger I—” She tried and tried —'7 dreamed you were Jesus Christ—” She stopped, as Tiger thought, escalation, that's all. He waited for more. He held, he continued to caress her throbbing form.
“Is that right?” He said, at last. Hoping for more.
“Yes—Oh yes—” She replied, her hands straying wonderfully over him. Her lips brushed his ear, she whispered, “Is that blasphemy?” A little gasp. “My love?”
“I don’t think so—” Tiger said, though he wasn’t all that sure. Could a dream be blasphemous? He thought that one over, in the heat of the moment, and wondered more. He could check with her father one day. That was the way. Next time. Sunday, maybe. But maybe before, for often he ran into the Reverend here or there, in Sawyersville. On Sunday certainly during the course of conversation, possibly after the sermon, he could put the question to him for his consideration. It was most interesting and worthy of expert consideration. The finer nuances of Theology certainly weren’t in his sphere, Tiger was well aware. The Reverend was the man, definitely. They were standing up now, which was something he knew she loved to do, he was behind her, caressing those magnificent orbs. She bent her face back to his, and sighed, and kissed him. She leaned against him, and his organ.
“Aren't they gorgeous—” Tiger murmured, fondling her. He couldn’t find praise enough for their marvelously soft
fullness. She sighed, and gave sweet little cries, whenever he brushed the tips. She kissed him about the ear, and caressed his head.
“What was I doing?” Tiger inquired, drifting back to her dream. He was interested. Definitely.
“Well—Darling—” She said, “My sweet darling—” She said, and what a state she was in, “This—I think—-Tiger— Honey—” She fought for her breath, “Do I—have to—tell you?”