the filthy old safari jackets, but I didn't think she'd go for that. 'You happy now?' she asked. Tough again, slightly sarcastic. 'Not till I comb my hair. It's kind of a compulsive thing, you know, after I put on my jacket, I comb my hair.' My butt was burning under the cloth of the pants. I thought my cock would go off. I was literally tied in knots. When she reached into her back pants pocket just like a man would do it and drew out a black plastic comb, all her gorgeous little curves jiggling like crazy, I couldn't help shifting my weight, trying to get more straight with not coming. 'Thanks.'
'There's the mirror,' she said, pointing to a rather small narrow one between the two doors that led to the hall. And there was Elliott Slater in it, combing his hair, looking like he had two million years ago in San Francisco when he headed out to catch a movie on his second to last night as a free man. I looked down when I was finished, and then up again slowly as I handed the comb back to her, letting my fingers linger on hers for a second, and then staring at her. And she backed away. She almost jumped. But she realized what she'd done, and she stiffened as if she had to take command again, deny that she'd showed this little glimmer of fear. 'What's the matter?' I asked. 'Shhh. Walk up and down so that I can look at you,' she said. I walked very slowly away from her with my back to her, feeling everything pulling and rubbing and burning and cramping me, and then I came around again towards her, getting closer and closer, until she put her hand up and said sharply, 'Stop!' 'I want to kiss you,' I whispered as if the room were full of people. 'Shut up,' she said, but she had backed away again with two little anxious steps. 'Are you afraid of me, just because I'm dressed?' I asked.
'Your voice is changed, and you're talking a lot and acting different!' she said. 'What did you expect?' 'You have to be able to play it both ways for me,' she said raising her finger and pointing at me threateningly. 'And you behave yourself, dressed or undressed. You make one impertinent little move, and I'll press one of some ten different buttons in this room, and you'll be running races in the sports arcade all night.' 'Yes, Madam!' I said again unable to stop a little smile. I shrugged. But then I looked down again, trying to show that I wanted to please her. If she pressed one of those buttons, well ...
She turned her back on me, and I had a feeling it was kind of like a young, inexperienced matador turning his back for the first time an the bull. She walked around in a little circle, and when she glanced at me again I lifted my right hand very stiffly to my lips and I blew her a little kiss. She stood there staring at me. 'I did something,' she said suddenly. She put her left hand on her hip and she looked uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. 'I found this book in your luggage and I unwrapped it so that I could look at it.' 'Fine,' I said. Don't try to figure this out, I was thinking. She can't really be interested.
'I'd like you to have it, if you want.' She didn't answer. She just studied me for a moment. There was all sorts of light and heat playing in her face. She went over to the table and she picked up the book. It gave me a mild shock to see it -- Elliott the photographer, Elliott the correspondent -- but not as bad as I would have thought. She had a fountain pen in her hand and she said, 'Sign it?' I took it from her, trying very discreetly just to touch her hands when I did it and not managing it, and I went over to the couch and sat down. I can't sign books standing up. I went suddenly and totally on automatic pilot, like I didn't know what was going to come out as I moved the pen. I wrote:
To Lisa, I think I am in love with you, Elliott
And I stared at it. I gave the book back to her. I felt like I had just done something really