There was a pause of several seconds. Siegfried cocked his head in response. Don't disappear now, you imbeciles! he thought. Then he heard them again.
HAVE YOU DISCOVERED MATERIAL ON BROWNING U.S. ANTIAIRCRAFT GUNS? AOR-3
Siegfried shot back:HAVE NO ACCESS. HAVE FOCUSED FULL EFFORTS UPON ADRIANA. PLANTED ROSES. CQDXVW-2
To which, Hamburg answered,CLARIFY! AOR-3
Siegfried then tapped out his closing-smugly, joyfully, and egotistically:PLANTED FLOWERS ABOARD ADRIANA. BY MY CALCULATIONS, ROSES WILL BLOOM TWO TO THREE DAYS OUT OF RED BANK, DEPENDING ON WEATHER AND TIDES, DISABLING SHIP. SUGGEST YOU SEND MORE FLOWERS FROM BERLIN. SIEGFRIED
Hamburg digested the message slowly, then replied with obvious enthusiasm.
BRAVO, SIEGFRIED! AOR-3
Of course, "Bravo, Siegfried," thought the spy, glancing at his watch. The communication had taken six full minutes, all of them filled with peril for him, not them. The transmission was much too long, much too dangerous. Siegfried felt his insides set to explode, for the second time in two days. What kind of life was this?
Siegfried leaned back and AOR-3 evaporated into the stars. He felt his own pulse racing when he removed his hand from the transmission key. Good thing he had nothing further to do. He could just disappear into the respectable American middle class and think. He let several minutes pass as he gradually regained his composure. He smoked two more Pall Malls. Then, as his senses returned to earth, he took down his transmission station.
It was only at that moment that he allowed himself to be satisfied with a job well done. And as he descended the long staircase from his radio room, it occurred to him that some sort of reward was in order.
Siegfried grinned. He already knew what he wanted.
Charlotte wore her most seductive black dress, the one that plunged low in the front, and her finest jewels. She used less makeup than usual and her hair was washed, brushed, and styled in a less flamboyant manner than usual. She wanted her Mr. Bolton to, well, she wanted him to know that she was more than just a good prostitute. She was a woman, too. And she deserved to have what other women had, if only the right man would notice.
The buzzer rang and she felt a flash of anxiety. She was acting like a schoolgirl. She tried to settle herself. Imagine, she thought to herself. Me! Charlotte Benton of Hoboken, New Jersey, nervous with a man! How many men have I known? She did not like to think about it in those terms. She only knew that her clock manufacturer, Mr. Bolton, was special to her. And she wanted to be special to him.
She opened the door. "Hello, sugar," she said when she saw Siegfried. "Missed you."
He accepted the kiss, but did not reciprocate. She locked her arm seductively with his and led him into her living room. She let him sit in his favorite chair and she went to the bar to pour him a scotch. She gave him plenty of opportunity to admire her from the back. Sure, she was thirty-one, she told herself. But she had the figure of a woman ten years younger.
She brought him a drink and noticed that he hadn't said anything. She handed it to him and he accepted it. "Something bothering you, tonight, lover?" she asked.
Siegfried sipped his drink. "Business," he said. "Rough week."
He even managed a slight laugh. "That's why I'm here," he said. "I could use some relaxation. Need to unwind, I suppose."
He was always so considerate, she thought. Not like the doctors and lawyers who came to her: cheap and always in a rush. Not like the policemen whom she paid off with sex to keep out of courtrooms: they were rough and inconsiderate.
She studied Mr. Bolton. Indeed, she noticed, he did look as if he had been under a great deal of stress.
"Well," Charlotte cooed softly, "I know how to make a nice man very happy." She knew many ways, she told herself. And they included rooms of the house other than the bedroom. The kitchen, for example. The den. The family room…
She pictured herself with a little girl or a little boy.
"You always make me very happy, Charlotte," Mr. Bolton said to her. "Very."
She sat on the arm of his chair. He reached for her with the hand that did not hold the drink. He pulled her head down to him and he kissed her, a slightly scotch flavor to his kiss. But she gave him a long and impassioned kiss. He deserved it.
She noticed that there was a slight tremor to his touch tonight. Obviously, something major had happened this week for Mr. Bolton. But she knew better than to ask a customer about his personal business.
Plus, it was time. His head had slipped down from her lips and he was kissing her throat. She reached to the zipper behind her back and loosened her dress. Her breasts were freed from their confinement and Mr. Bolton kissed further downward. He unzipped her.
Then she stood, removed her dress, and returned to the arm of the chair. And her sensual, handsome Mr. Bolton was kissing her on the nipples now, making them hard and taut, exciting her in the ways that she had fantasized in the hours she had spent thinking about him.
He reached between her legs, which surprised her. Normally the next move was for her to kneel before the chair and satisfy him. He was different this week. She found his new mood exciting.
"What would you like tonight, sweetie?" she asked. "The loving you always want? He motioned with his head. "The bedroom," he said. She was surprised. But she took him by the hand and led him, then undressed him.
She had been naked before him many times, but this was the first time he stood fully unclothed before her. He was surprisingly muscular. His body was not one that impressed when covered with the square clothes that he wore. But obviously Mr. Bolton took care of himself. He was in good shape. Almost like an athlete, she marveled.
Astonishing for a businessman, she pondered as she reclined on the sheets of her bed. So unusual. Usually businessmen were so repulsively flabby. But then he was climbing onto her and suddenly her clock manufacturer astonished her once again. He pinned her fiercely to the bed, entered her, and moved rigidly and methodically between her legs. Charlotte yelped with both the surprise and the pleasure. Unlike with most of her customers, she was not faking. And she kissed him hard on the lips right before he had his explosion inside her. Afterward, he lay beside her for several minutes, saying nothing. She did not spring to her feet and dress quickly as she would have with other men.
Finally, she spoke.
"For all the time you've been coming to me," she said, "there's something I've wanted to ask you."
“What?" he asked.
"Your first name."
Siegfried thought for a moment. "It's Fred," he finally said. "From Frederick."
She hesitated. "May I call you that?" she asked.
Again, he thought for a moment, wondering where this might be leading. Siegfried had noticed that she was acting differently. Now he was certain.
"Of course," he said. "Why not? Fred."
Siegfried rose and went into the bathroom, where he carefully washed himself. Then he returned. Acting more deliberate now as she remained in the bed, he dressed himself. Then she stood, pulling a red print silk robe around her. He reached to his wallet and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, plus a five, which was her usual tip.
"Fred…?" she asked.
He looked at her, his hand folding the two bank notes.
"I don't want money from you anymore," she said nervously. "You can come visit me anytime you want. But I don't want money."
She felt like saying more, like telling him how she really felt and what she would really-eventually-like to have with Mr. Bolton. But there was confusion discernible on his face. The hand with the money had stopped dead still, and he was staring at her.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
She had rushed things a little, she felt. But then again, he was a gentleman. She had made him happy- she was certain about that-so this was the time to be honest with him.