and perched there like a queen on her throne. But it wasn’t a throne; it was Archer’s bed.
“This is getting interesting, Archer, don’t you think?” she said in that husky and now whiskey-draped voice.
He looked up, cradling his drink and taking another short swallow.
“Could be.”
“You know, all the others just tried to steal that damn Caddy in the middle of the night.”
“May they rest in peace. I took a different tack. Just my nature.”
“You’re the path-less-traveled sort of man, are you?”
“It seems to me that if I just follow along with everybody else, my life will always be crowded with folks I don’t necessarily care to spend time with.”
“Now you can’t accede to my father’s request, and you can’t fulfill Hank’s, either. And you spent money and you can’t pay Hank back.”
“You seem different than you did in the bar that first night. I mean, the way you talk and all.”
“Hank likes me a certain way. So, I’m that certain way when I’m around him.”
“What way is that?”
“You’re a college boy. Do you know what chattel is?”
“Like property.”
“Right. That’s what Hank likes, owning things. And he also likes girlish giggles, flighty, flirty, his hand freely grabbing my ass, and all that goes with it. That also includes the occasional insult, slap, or punch.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t let him do it.”
“You’re educated, aren’t you? I mean, you sound it.”
“I went to college, too. Only I graduated.” She tacked on a smile and eyebrow hike to this.
“What’d you study?”
“Psychology.”
“How’s that work for you?”
“I can read people pretty well. Now, Hank, he’s easy. You, not so much.”
“Always thought I wore it on my sleeve.”
“You might be wearing something, but it’s not you, Archer. Not by a long shot.”
“Why do you want to be around a man like that? He’s more than twice your age. And he’s married, too. Marjorie Pittleman seems nice and respectable.”
“That’s not my issue, that’s his and his wife’s. As to my reasons, Hank treats me pretty well for the most part. We go out, we have a good time, and then I have my own time.”
“Where do you live?”
“In a house on Eldorado. Number 27. Hank got it for me.”
“A house, huh, then you’re a kept woman of sorts.”
“You got that from a book, I think.”
“I think you’re right about that. You have long-term plans with old Hank?”
“I don’t really think past tomorrow. I only live in the moment. Spontaneous.”
He shook his head and finished his drink. “I don’t think I believe that.”
“Believe what you will or won’t. But let me give you an example.” She set her drink down, stood, and slipped off her jacket, revealing her dress straps and bare shoulders. She pulled down the straps, reached around to the back of her neck, undid a clasp there, pulled down the zipper, and commenced to wiggle herself free from the dress’s constraints while Archer could only watch with rapt attention. Finally, the fabric hit the floor. She stepped out of the pile of dress and stood there with not much on except her stockings, garter belt, and underwear.
Archer found he could not look away, not even if a regiment of Nazis were bearing down on him with Hitler leading the pack. He had seen naked or nearly naked women before, in four different countries. He had never seen one that stirred his heart like this woman. Her body was icy pale and soft in every place that mattered to a man. Her mouth was infinitely kissable. And her contrasting Veronica Lake dark peekaboo had never seemed more in reach for a man like him.
She put an exclamation point on this by twirling around for him.
“Are my intentions now made clear?” she said, coming to face him. “Because I’m not sure what else I can do, quite honestly.”
“I think I get the point.”
“I’m truly relieved.”
“And Hank?”
“He’s not here now, is he?”
“Do I have a say in this?”
Her face fell. “I think that’s a given, but if you’re not interested?”
She bent down to pick up her dress, but he gripped her by the shoulders, pulling her straight up.
“You’re taller without my shoes on,” she said, looking up at him.
“I suppose I am.”
“You have a nice mug, Archer. Good bones. Not too handsome and not too scary.”
“Moderation is a good thing.”
“But not all of the time.”
He looked down at her and noticed the bruises on her arms, upper thighs, and obliques.
His features darkening, he said, “What the hell happened there? You fall?”