“We’re impossible at home,” Llona told her. “We’re a very picky eater.”
“That’s not all we’re picky about.” The nurse giggled.
“Look,” Archer exploded. “I’ve got enough troubles without being plural. Do you mind?”
“All right, we’ll take it away.” The nurse was disapproving. “But I’m warning you, we won’t bring it back until this afternoon.” She reached under the sheets again.
“I’ll survive.” Archer bounced again. “Just take the bedpan, will you? I’m attached to the other!”
“Archer, we’ve got to think about what we’re going to do,” Llona said when the nurse had left.
“What do you mean?”
“From what I gather, you’re going to be in the hospital about six weeks. We can’t afford that. I’ll have to get a job.”
I won’t have my wife working!”
“We don’t have any choice.”
“I don’t care! I won’t!”
The argument continued until the nurse came back to inform Llona that visiting hours were over. It wasn’t resolved, but there was no doubt in Llona’s mind that she’d have to go to work no matter how Archer persisted in his attitude. As she left, she decided she wouldn’t bicker with him about it any more. She’d just go out and find a job.
From the hospital, she headed downtown, meaning to do just that. She got off the bus in the business district and was walking up the street toward one of the larger office buildings, intending to file applications with some of the employment agencies, when she bumped into Pierre Strongfellow. He came up the block toward her, beaming.
“Well, hello,” he greeted her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hello.” Llona found herself smiling back.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“I’rn looking for work. With Archer laid up --”
“I see. Look, perhaps I can be helpful. I mean, I do feel responsible. Look, let’s get out of this hot sun and talk it over.” He guided her toward the entrance to a cocktail lounge.
Before Llona could protest, she found herself sipping a martini and seated across from him in a cool, dimly lit bistro. He certainly is a charmer! she reflected. For the first time since the previous evening, Llona found herself really relaxing.
She didn’t even notice that Pierre didn’t mention the matter of a job for her again. She became engrossed in his sophisticated chatter and his obvious interest in her. She accepted a second martini and then lunch without question.
Over coffee they got into a discussion of art. Llona was delighted. She’d always been interested in painting and Archer couldn’t have cared less. Pierre obviously had a deep knowledge of the subject and she found his comments fascinating. It was when he was paying the check that he mentioned he’d just acquired some Chagall prints signed in the stone.
Somehow, it seemed very natural to agree to go up to his apartment to see the prints. After all, as he pointed out, it was just around the corner. Surely they couldn’t have figured on getting caught in a sudden rainstorm walking such a short distance.
But they did! By the time they entered Pierre’s flat, Llona was soaked to the skin. It was the most natural thing in the world to accept his offer of a robe and to take off her clothes and hang them in the bathroom to dry.
When she came out of the bathroom, wearing Pierre’s robe, Llona found that he too had changed his clothes. He had donned a T-shirt and slacks. Llona couldn’t help being impressed by the athletic build showed off by the garb.
He put on some soft music, mixed them a drink, and then showed Llona the prints. She was impressed with them, as she had been by the tasteful furnishings of his apartment. She really felt wonderfully relaxed here, and she didn’t bother to hide it.
Pierre sensed this, which is why he felt free to kiss her. Llona didn’t make any fuss about it. She accepted the kiss, but she was careful not to encourage him by responding to it. He gauged her reaction correctly, counseled himself to patience, and didn’t persist in romancing her after it was over. Instead, he swung back into easy conversation.
“I’m sorry about the robe,” he told her. “I wish I had something more glamorous for you to put on.”
“It’s fine,” Llona answered. “I wouldn’t even know what to do with anything glamorous. Up until yesterday, I didn’t even own a decent nightgown.”
They chatted some more until her clothes had dried. Then Llona got dressed and he took her home. Weary from lack of sleep the night before, she went to bed early. She didn’t wake up until the doorbell sounded the next morning.
It was a delivery boy with a large package. Llona opened it and found a very filmy, very expensive nightgown nestled in the tissue paper. There was a note with it. “To Llona, From a Secret Admirer”!
Of course Pierre must have sent it. Llona giggled to herself. Life imitates artfulness! She giggled again and went in to take a shower.
She was getting dressed when the phone rang. It was Pierre. “I forgot all about helping you get a job,” he began. “Until just now when I ran into something you’d be perfect for.”
“What kind of job is it?” Llona wanted to know.
“Receptionist for Nymph magazine. All you have to do is sit in the outer office and look beautiful. Just be yourself.”
“How much does it pay?”
“One-fifty a week.”
“You’re kidding! Isn’t that an awful lot for a receptionist?”
“Nymph doesn’t skimp when it comes to beauty. Look, I’ve spoken to the publisher, Raunch Rammer, about you. The thing is, he needs somebody right away. The last girl left sort of suddenly. So do you think you could maybe get down here and start right away?”
“Well, I suppose so.” Llona was confused with the suddenness of it. “What’s the address?”
Pierre gave it to her. “Just ask for Rammer,” he told her. “I’m afraid I won’t be here. I have an early appointment and won’t be in ’til later in the morning. But mention my name. He’ll be expecting you.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Llona said. “And for the present too.”
“I’ll think of a way.” Pierre chuckled. “But for now just get down here as fast as you can.”
Llona did what he suggested. She was at the Nymph offices within the hour. Raunch Rammer interviewed her himself. “I think you’ll do just fine,” the publisher told her. “Can you start right away? Now?”
“Yes sir.”
“Fine. The desk you passed on the way in is yours. Just take off your clothes, sit there, and smile.”
“Just what?”
“Take off your clothes. Our receptionists always work in the nude. I thought you knew that.”
“Of course.” Llona gulped. “I’ll just take off all my clothes . . .”
CHAPTER FIVE
Fig leaves protect the guilty. Against themselves. The innocent look lustlessly. At first, anyway. Later, of course, they are taught to be amused, are taught that innocence is the one sin the non innocent will not forgive, are taught to shuck their innocence in the name of civilization. They have to be taught. But it’s true that they learn all too eagerly. Thus honest, basic, natural sexual response is transformed into sophisticated, complicated, competitive lust.
It can happen very quickly. Such was the case with Cal Lowe. When he walked into the reception room of Nymph magazine late that morning, Cal was a Billy Budd in the bud. Inside of an hour he was leching like a Studs-ish Lonigan.
Cal was the latest in a succession of office boys employed by Nymph magazine. Just under eighteen years old, he’d been hired for the summer, a period which, for Cal, lay between high school graduation and the alternatives of college acceptance, Vietnam, or self-imposed Canadian exile. He was a tall lad, all elbows and knees and ribs, with straw-blond hair worn not quite long enough to earn the respect of his hippie contemporaries, yet just too long to reassure his parents.