“No. Just the seducing sort!" Valenti was still outraged. “The bastard!”
“He’s not!” Helen Riley protested. “But I am. I’ve been trying to get up the courage to tell you that, Angelo. I am a bastard.”
“So am I," Archie interjected. “But don’t feel bad about it. I don’t. It’s no disgrace. Some of the greatest men the world has produced were illegitimate. There’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
“The shame is his,” Valenti agreed. “Only —”
“Only?” Helen Riley looked at him suspiciously.
“Only you know how Mama is.”
“Yes,” Helen Riley said grimly. “I know how your Mama is.”
“Maybe we could keep it a secret from her,” Valenti mused.
“No!” Helen Riley was firm. “I’m damned if I’ll lie! Either you love me enough to face up to your mother, or you don’t!”
“But Helen—! Why not be discreet? It may not be anything to be ashamed of, but it’s nothing to be proud of, either. Why not keep it quiet so Mama --”
“Angelo!” Helen Riley was angry. “You know what you are? At the age of thirty, you’re a Mama’s boy! That’s what you are! You’re just a great big over-protected cop!”
“Be reasonable, Helen! You know Mama has this stomach condition and —”
“That did it!” Helen Riley exploded. “I’ve had it with your mother’s tum-tum! You hear me, Angelo? I’ve had it! Your Mama’s stomach cramps are no longer of any concern to me. Take this--” She was tugging an engagement ring off her finger. “— and hock it and buy your Mumsy a great big tank of milk of magnesia.” She flung the ring at him. “And I hope the two of you will be very happy!”
“But our engagement-—” Angelo sputtered.
“Is off !” Helen Riley told him.
“And our date tonight?” Angelo was dazed.
“That’s off, too.”
“But this is the big night of the year.”
“I don’t care, I’m not going.
“But —“
“But me no buts! Just leave. Please. Just get out of here!”
Angelo’s chin was down around-his chest as he turned to the door. His eyes lit on Archie as he reached for the knob. “Would you like to buy two tickets for tonight to the Policeman’s Ball?” he asked in a chagrined tone of voice.
“Sorry,” Archie told him.
“I’m sorrier," Angelo Valenti told him sincerely as he closed the door behind himself.
“I’ve made trouble for you,” Archie said to Helen Riley when they were alone. “I’m sorry about that, too.”
“It’s all right!” Helen was bitter. “When I think of the years I’ve wasted on that big lug. Since my sixteenth birthday! That’s how long we’ve been going together. Some romance! Some courtship! All he ever 'd was talk about Mama and her gallstones and her kidney condition and how brave she was. Oh, yeah, and how fragile, too. Whoever said that men who are good to their mothers are good marriage material?” Quite suddenly, Helen Riley burst into tears.
“Hey, don’t do that.” Archie Walked over and patted her on the shoulder to comfort her.
“You d-don’t understand,” Helen Riley sniflied. “I’ve b-been saving myself for him for s-s-seven y-years. His M-Mama convinced him he had to ma-marry a good g-girL So I’ve b-been keeping myself good for him all these years. And l-look! Just look at all the fu-fu-fun I've missed!”
“I know, I know," Archie sympathized. “It’s not so far off from my own hangup. No sins are regretted like the ones we don’t commit.”
“I m-mean, all because of him and his damn M-Mama, I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m still a vir-v-virgin.”
“Who isn't?” Archie asked sadly. “That's my problem in a slangy, erotic nutshell.”
“B—But you’re still young."
“Well, you’re not exactly a candidate for geriatrics yourself.”
“I’m old compared to you. Aren’t I?”
“Are you?” Archie was cradling her head in his arms —a posture he’d originally assumed to comfort her — and now as she leaned back to look up at him he returned her gaze steadily. “You are—if you’ll pardon the triteness—only as old as you feel.”
“I feel like a flaming sixteen,” Helen Riley said in a small voice.
“And I feel like a fiery seventeen—-which I am,” Archie replied.
“I feel like a Lolita about to explode.”
“I feel like I am about to embark on an erotic bender.”
“I feel very drawn to you.”
“And I feel very attracted to you.”
“I wonder what it would be like to kiss someone besides Angelo?”
“I wonder.” Archie bent and kissed her.
“I guess it’s all right,” she murmured when the kiss was over. “After all, you’re just a boy.”
“A mere stripling,” Archie admitted agreeably.
“Hardly a threat to a full-grown woman.”
“Careful. You’ll rip my dress.”
“Sorry. Maybe you’d better do it.”
“All right.” Helen Riley's fingers flew over the buttons down the front of the gown, and it fell away from her bosom. She wriggled so that her strapless bra worked its way down so that it was merely supporting her breasts and no longer covering them. Then she guided Archie’s hands so that the burning tips nestled in his palms.
Archie kissed her again. He slid his hand up her thigh until his fingers were stroking the flesh above the top of her stockings. It was warm flesh and quivered under his touch.
“Ooh!” she moaned. Her own hand moved to push her short skirt out of the way.
Archie’s fingers moved higher, and she slid down a little in the chair to meet them. They were investigating the elastic of her panties circling one of her legs now. Helen Riley began breathing very quickly. “Don t bite,” she cautioned as Archie buried his face in her bosom.
He didn’t. But as his lips fastened over the enlarged and quivering crest of one breast, a shiver ran through her body that left it arched like a drawn bowstring. She pushed him away for a moment then and pulled off her clothes. Archie barely had time to push his pants down around his ankles before she was pulling him back on top of her again. For the second time that evening he tripped into action.
“You know,” she said, holding him off for a moment, “I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Archimedes Jones.” The arrow of Archie’s passion was drawn back, quivering, ready to strike.
“That’s an interesting name. I have this thing about names, you know? I mean, I think you can tell a lot about a person from a person’s name. Your name, for instance. It tells me that you’re—”
“Later, do you mind?” Archie suggested.
“— impatient.” She finished the sentence. “That’s what your name tells me. Now my own name—-”
“Now look,” Archie interrupted again. “What's it going to be? Nomenclature, or deflowering? If you want to discuss names, I’ll pull up my pants and-—-”
“Deflowering,” Helen Riley murmured. “Definitely deflowering. Prune away!" Her nails dug deep into his neck.
Archie started to take the initial plunge, and-—
BANG!
Not a gunshot this time. But not the obvious, either. What it was was the sound of the front door of the apartment being slammed. And what followed it was the sound of one damned mad policeman sputtering fury.
“I’m going to kill you!” he snarled as his eyes took in Archie's naked body poised atop the all-naked torso of his now ex-fiancee. “I’m going to kill you!” He pulled his pistol out of his holster and clicked off the safety. “I’m going to kill you!” He pointed the gun at Archie’s heart. “You lousy snotnose beatnik! I’m going to kill you!”