A part of her admiration stemmed from the differences between herself and Llona. True, both girls were equally tall—about five-nine—but where Llona’s height conveyed an aura of accentuated sensuality, Beulah’s came across as domineering, but not necessarily sexy. Both gave the appearance of being slender, but Beulah’s slimness was that of large bones and sparse flesh while Llona’s stemmed from long legs and a torso that was narrow-waisted, but quite amply padded in all the right places. Llona had a long mane of golden brown tresses while Beulah’s hair was jet black and worn very short. Llona’s breasts were large globes; Beulah’s were small, high and sharp.
When Llona emerged from the ladies’ room, dressed, the differences between them were even more noticeable. Llona wore a simple, sheer white summer blouse through which her bra was clearly discernible, and a miniskirt that showed off her long, well-shaped legs. It was in contrast to Beulah’s severely tailored shantung suit with the skirt reaching demurely to her knees. The business day was over, but Beulah still looked businesslike while Llona had the aura of a flower of leisure—-a flower ripe to be plucked.
Beulah insisted that they take a cab to her apartment, and she paid for it. It was a luxurious building and the modern lobby with its clean-line sculpture impressed Llona as Beulah led her through it to the elevators. She was even more impressed when she saw Beulah’s apartment.
It was meant to be impressive. The decor was bold, all done in black and white with sudden splashes of color ren-dered most effective with their sparse placement and deliberate brilliance. The ceiling of the living room was black. Three of the walls were dead white and the fourth was covered with a broad, slanted, black-and-white striped wallpaper. The floor was black marble relieved by white sheepskin rugs spotted strategically over its surface. There was a fireplace with a facade and mantle also done in black marble. The furniture was low and modern with white sailcloth covering the armchairs and black fur over the couch. Cushions in electric colors were strewn about the chairs and sofa, and a large abstract painting done entirely in purple and maroon hung over the fireplace.
“Oh, it—-it just takes your breath away!” Llona told Beulah sincerely.
“I’m so glad you like it. It’s small, just this room and the bedroom and the kitchen-dinette, but it’s all mine.”
“This living room is immense!”
“It’s not really as large as it looks. The trick is to widen the eye of the viewer. Hell, being an art director taught me something about that. Come see the rest of it.” She led Llona into the kitchen and then into the bedroom. The black-and-white motif was constant throughout.
The ceiling of the bedroom was a wall-to-wall mirror. Llona gasped and stared at it. “What a novel idea!” she exclaimed. “It would be great if you were married—I’m sorry! I didn’t 1nean—”
“Why, you’re blushing!” Beulah gave her a hug that seemed no more than natural and impulsive. “Don’t be silly. I'm not sensitive about not being married. I don’t mind it at all. And I am glad you grasp the idea behind the ceiling mirror. I quite frankly meant it to be sensual.”
“Well, you certainly succeeded,” Llona murmured as she followed Beulah into the living room. “And that bed is so unusual. I believe that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a round bed.”
“I had it custom-made especially to my design and specifications.” Beulah led her over to the couch. “Well now, you just get comfy here and I’ll make us a drink and put some music on and get dinner started.”
“Can I help?”
“That’s strictly verboten! All you’re to do is relax.” Beulah vanished into the kitchen. Soft stereo music — something classical with a lot of violins, pleasant, restful, and unrecognizable by Llona — provided an unobtrusive background to the dimly lit living room. Beulah returned after a few moments with a tray, a cut-glass pitcher and two long-stemmed, very fragile glasses. “The hors d’oeuvres are hot and they’ll take a couple of moments,” she told Llona. “Meanwhile, try this.”
Llona sipped. “Mmm! Delicious,” she decided. “What is it?”
“It’s called a Lysistrata.”
“What’s in it?”
“It’s a mixture of four different Greek and Turkish liqueurs with a vodka base.”
“It has a fascinating sort of undertaste. Not from the liqueurs. What’s that?” Llona asked.
“Oh, different herbs and things. I mix it in advance and slip a pinch into the shaker. But you’re really not supposed to notice it. I must have used too much.”
“Not at all. It’s really very pleasant. Where did you get the recipe?”
“A girl I used to room with. She and I shared an apartment a long time ago when I was very young.”
“You’re still very young.”
“I suppose so. In years anyway.” Beulah smiled as if remembering. “Some of the herbs are supposed to have aphrodisiac qualities,” she told Llona casually. “But I suppose that’s just folklore. This girl was very--umm—-romantic.”
“Well then, you really shouldn’t waste it on me.” Llona giggled and drained off the glass. “You should save it for the right men.”
“Oh, men!” Beulah dismissed the subject. “I’d much rather share the good things in life with a dear friend than with a man. That’s what I hope you and I shall become—-dear friends.” She refilled Llona’s glass. “I’m going to slip into something a little more hostessy,” she excused herself. “And then I’ll bring the hors d’oeuvres.”
Llona sipped the second Lysistrata slowly. It was delicious! She finished it just as Beulah returned.
The tall brunette had removed her spectacles and changed to black silk lounging pajamas. Gold brocade trimming made them vaguely Chinesey. They fit very tightly and it was obvious she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “My at-home outfit,” she told Llona. “I picked it to match the decor.” She undulated into the kitchen and came back with a tray of hot hors d’oeuvres.
They were light and tasty with exotic Levantine fillings. A short while later they were followed by dinner. The meal was by candlelight, served in the dinette and washed down with a hot, mulled wine that smelled as spicy as it tasted. The two girls returned to the living room for espresso and an exotic liqueur with a honey base. This also had been garnished by Beulah with a mixture of ground spices.
“You know, I have a secret vice,” she confided to Llona as she lit a pair of after-dinner cigarettes, and handed her one.
“Only one?” The dinner, the apartment, the atmosphere—-all had combined to make Llona want to appear worldly and blasé, to make her want to fit into Beulah’s sophisticated scene.
“No. More than one.” Beulah chuckled. “But we’ll get to that later. What I meant just now is that I play the electric guitar. Would you like to hear?”
“I’d love it.”
“I don’t want to bore you . . .”
“I won’t be bored. I mean it. I’d love to hear you play.”
“All right then. But we’1l have to go in the bedroom. The guitar is plugged in and set up there and I don’t like to move it.”
“All right.”
Beulah led the way into the bedroom and indicated that Llona should lie down on the round bed. “We don’t want that shining in your eyes.” She turned off the overhead light and turned on a low lamp that left the room in shadow. “That’s it. Take off your shoes and get comfortable,” she told Llona.