Donna, a thirty-year-old blond who wore short skirts all winter long, said, "Are you crazy? He was gorgeous. And that suit must have cost a thousand bucks."
Betty said, "This is the first we've ever seen of your sordid past." She turned in her chair, watching Donald move away down the street. "You can't blame us for being curious. You never drink anything but club soda, you never talk about dates or husbands, none of us even know where you live…" Veronica tried a smile. It was supposed to be mysterious, but she could feel the wrongness of it. "My lips are sealed," she said.
On a Saturday evening, her third week in the attic in Lynbrook, there had been a knock on her door.
Nancy stood in the stairway, looking uncomfortable. "It's okay for you to sit in on the meeting. But for God's sake, don't say anything, okay? You'll just make me look like an idiot."
Veronica followed her downstairs. A dozen women sat around Nancy's dining-room table. They were all dressed casually; most wore little or no makeup. Three of them were black, two Latin, one oriental. One was a joker who seemed to have too much skin for her body; she had no hair, and folds of flesh hung off her chin and neck and hands. She looked like one of those weird wrinkled bulldogs that rich people sometimes had.
Only one of the women was under thirty, and she stood out like a panther in a rabbit hutch. She couldn't have been out of her teens. Even with her bulky winter clothes, Veronica could tell she was a bodybuilder. It showed in her neck and the width of her shoulders, in the way she held herself. Her hair was black, shoulder length, and to Veronica's expert eye, almost certainly a wig.
Veronica found a chair. The meeting started and lurched slowly forward. Every issue was put to a vote, and then only after endless debate. The young bodybuilder seemed as bored as Veronica. Finally she said, "Screw all that. Let's talk about Loeffler."
The joker said, "I can't see that being as important as the joker issue. Wild-card violence is tearing this city apart." She slurred her words, and Veronica found it hard to understand her.
One of the black women-Toni, her name was-said, "Zelda's right. This joker shit could take forever. Let's talk Loeffler."
The joker woman objected and was quickly overruled. Even W O. R. S. E., Veronica thought, was not completely free of prejudice. As the discussion heated up, Veronica put the pieces together. Robert Loeffler was the publisher of Playhouse magazine and head of the entire Global Fun amp; Games empire. The group intended to confront him and force changes in the magazine's attitude toward women. The problem was, nobody knew a way to get through to him. A slight woman in her fifties named Frances offered to use her locksmithing experience. Zelda wanted to use a bomb.
After a half hour of debate, Veronica excused herself. She went upstairs and copied Loeffler's unlisted phone number and the combination to his penthouse elevator on a piece of paper. She took it downstairs with her, handed it silently to Nancy, and took her chair again.
Nancy, across the table from her, said, "Where did you get this?"
The debate stopped.
Into the silence Veronica said, "I used to fuck him." The table came to life. In ten minutes they had the outline of a plan. The rush of power went right through the top of Veronica's head, like a hit of crystal meth.
Toni said, "Let's go on this. My only question is, how soon?"
Marline, the joker woman, threw her weight behind the bandwagon. "How about tonight?"
"We haven't got time to get set up," Veronica said. "But tomorrow is possible. Sundays were always good for him." The next night, Nancy and Veronica took the train to Penn Station, and Veronica made the call from a pay phone in the lobby of the Penta Hotel across the street.
"Bob? Veronica."
"Veronica!" His voice was muffed, but he sounded pleased. "Darling, how are you?"
"I'm gorgeous, Bob. And the thermostat in here doesn't seem to be working. It's so hot! I had to take all my clothes off." A gust of freezing air came through the front doors, attacking her legs. The extra weight she had put on in the attic made her feel thick and clumsy, and her nerves were ringing like a switchboard at a radio station. "And one part of me is hotter than all the others. I bet you remember which part that is."
She heard a soft moan. "Don't do this to me, Veronica. I'm a married man now. Don't you read the papers? She was the May Doll of the Month."
"I don't care if you're married to Miss America. It's not marriage I'm interested in." At first, Nancy's jaw had dropped in amazement. Now she was starting to crack up. Veronica had to turn away to keep from losing it herself. "I'm freelance now, Bob. I'm offering a special to my very favorite clients. The first one's free. Just to remind you why you should always let a professional take care of your needs. All your special needs. Hint, hint."
"Oh god. We can't do it here. Bev would kill me."
"That's why the good lord made hotels."
"Tonight?"
Veronica covered the receiver and mouthed "Tonight?" to Nancy, who nodded. "Sure, baby. I'm just over here at the Penta, with the heat turned all the way up. Oh! It's really getting damp and sticky in here."
"I'll be there in an hour."
"Call it ten o'clock? I'm ready now, but by ten o'clock I'll really be ready. I'll have the room set up just the way you like it. Call me from the lobby."
She made a kissing noise into the phone and hung up, a little uncomfortable at how easily it all came back. She left Nancy to phone for reinforcements and rented a room under her own name.
By ten till ten, they had five more women, including Toni and Zelda and Martine, the joker. Nancy wanted Veronica to get into bed with Loeffler so they could take pictures. Veronica refused.
"It's not like you've never done it before," Nancy said. "How much could it hurt?"
"Leave the chick alone," Zelda said. "I wouldn't want nobody inside my body unless they was invited."
"The ends are the means," said Toni. "We can't victimize our sister."
"Okay, okay," Nancy said.
"I got a better idea," Zelda said, taking off her clothes. She was not as built-up as Veronica had thought. She was smooth and feminine, with extraordinary muscle definition. Veronica found it a little hard to look away.
The phone rang. It was Loeffer. Veronica gave him the room number and told him to hurry. She left the hall door slightly ajar and took the other women into the darkened bathroom.
"Don't nobody fart," Zelda said, and there was muffled laughter.
Veronica heard Loeffler come in, the door clicking shut behind him. "Veronica?" he said. "Did you bring the pickles?" One of the women strangled a laugh.
"Get undressed," Veronica said through the door. "I've got a surprise for you."
She heard the sound of a zipper. "Mmmmmm. I love surprises." Clothes hit the floor, covers swished back, the bedsprings creaked. "Okay, darling, do your worst."
Zelda was the first through the door. She pulled the sheet down and had Loeffer's erect cock in her hand by the time Nancy got the lights on and the camera focused. Somebody else threw a copy of that day's New York Times on the bed to verify the date. It took Loeffler at least three frames to shove Zelda away and say, "Veronica, what the hell is going on here?" Veronica shook her head. Toni stood at the foot of the bed and presented their list of demands. They weren't asking him to kill Playhouse or turn it into a women's-lib magazine. They wanted the Doll of the Month to become Woman of the Month, and feature the occasional professional woman over thirty. Feature articles supporting the ERA and condemning the NRA. Fiction by women. In short, finish out the decade with at least a minimum of social consciousness.