He gradually became aware of the way her breathing had changed. It had deepened into the unmistakable cadence of sleep. He had known a few others who reacted the same way. They would come tumbling off the edge of climax and fall all the way down into total sleep, automatic and inevitable.
Bellinger carefully disengaged himself, edged over to the side of the bed, swung his legs out, and stood up slowly, yawning, scratching the sweat-moist hair of chest and belly. Liz Rountree lay sprawled in deep sleep, on her back, head lolled to the side, toward him, hair thatched partially over her eyes. Her hands were slack fists, the left resting on her belly, moving to each breath, the right on the inside of her out-turned right thigh. In the glow of the distant desk light every softened convexity of her body had a highlight sheen of exertive moisture.
He picked up the blue-gray spread from the carpeting at the foot of the bed and floated it out, drifted it carefully down to cover her. Each inhalation began with a small rattling sound, and each exhalation made a small puhhh sound as pressure forced her swollen lips apart. He smiled sadly down at her. Sweet wistful affection and gratitude. A large lovely troubled child, and just as wonderfully orgasmic as he had guessed she might be. They were a fine couple, Lee and Liz. He would take gentle and understanding care of both of them. It was the least he could do.
He took a quick shower, noting once again the slightly unpleasant chemical odor of the water and the hardness that inhibited proper sudsing. But now it was Larssen’s problem. He turned out the bright fluorescence before opening the bathroom door.
He dressed, putting on oyster-white slacks, a pale blue juayabera, his Mexican sandals. In her sleep she had rolled onto her right side, pulled her knees up. He took her small canvas beach bag over to the desk and found the key to 18-B. He emptied his dispatch case of reports and documents and hung the do not disturb sign on the outer latch when he left the room.
He had to go down and cross the bright area between the pool and the long window wall beyond which was the shadowy, busy bar and lounge. He went into B wing to the far end, let himself into 18, and turned on the lights, pulled the draperies across, and then made a careful selection of what she would wear. Fresh, fragile underthings, white sandals, a crisp-looking shift in broad horizontal awning stripes of blue, green, and white.
He packed the cosmetics, lotions, sprays he thought she might need. He found her hairbrush in the bathroom, and it reminded him to put in her toothbrush and toothpaste. The two toothbrushes hung side by side on little porcelain clips inside the medicine cabinet. Symbol of sweet and homely domesticity. He felt another warm flow of affection for both of them. A fine young couple. Gentle people. The one with the ivory-colored handle and the black bristles was masculine gender. The one with the transparent pink handle was feminine. Eye makeup kit. Yes. Anything else? Inventory in order, sir. All necessities accounted for.
He turned out the lights, let himself out, started down the corridor, and saw Anne Faxton coming toward him, wearing a yellow canvas beach coat over her bikini. She was walking oddly, carefully.
She stopped, bare feet planted wide apart, fists deep in the big pockets of the beach coat. She looked at him, at the dispatch case. “Well, by God, whaddaya know! The old marksman himself.”
“Are you tight?”
“Possible, fella. Possible. I stopped off down there at the bar and I had two double Gibsons. Pow, pow. Celebration.” She swayed and he reached to support her. She yanked her arm away, tottered back, and half fell against the corridor wall, with a solid impact. She was dazed for a moment, shook her head, then stood there, well braced. She gave him a crooked grin. “Have yourself a nice romp with that big sweet kid, boss?”
“Settle down, Anne. Look. I want us to get away from the whole bit for a while. Fly down to St. Thomas and cruise around for a week or so on Winkler’s sloop.”
“Too late. You tore it. Din have any mercy, did you?” “We said from the beginning, honey, no exclusive claims.”
“You set her up pretty good, huh? Took your time. No sloop, sweetie. No soft talk. No sympathy. No special private overpaid personal ’xecutive secretary anymore either. Resignation in effect.”
“Anne, believe me, she doesn’t mean that much.”
“Aldo, baby, no hard feelings. Nobody means much. That’s the point. What I am celebrating is freedom. No. Celebrating a narrow escape. You know, I damned near fell in love with you? Awful close, sweetie. Wow! Real close. My mind was clouded. I nearly mixed up two different things. Screwing and love. Took me four wonderful years to find out I don’t get along so good on the first without the second, no matter how big you turn me on. It’s like... the beautiful color pictures of food in the magazines.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You already have. Face it.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“We’ll never really talk again, you and me. This is the last of it. I had a great idea for you when I was walking on the beach. Know those life masks? What you do, after you score and before you cool off... How long will it take with big ol’ Liz? That Lee is going to see a lot of the world, the way you’ll be sending him off looking at stuff and making reports. Where was I? Oh, before you cool off, you get the gal of the month to sort of sit into a kind of shallow pan you got full of plaster stuff. Then after it sets she gets up and then what you do is pour that kind of rubber plastic into the impression. Follow me? Then you take it out after it sets and you fasten it to a big kind of walnut plaque and color it with the right kind of flesh tint, and put a little brass plate under it that’ll have the initials and the dates, and then you hang it up with all the others in a nice paneled study. Now mine would be kinda scrawny and not very impressive, so you can hang mine in a dark corner.”
“Anne, for God’s sake! Don’t. I need you.”
She pulled herself together with an effort, pushed herself away from the wall, and gave him a truly tender and loving smile. She patted his arm and kissed him on the mouth. “Good-bye, my dear Aldo. Parts of it were nice. There were some sweet times. Good luck. Good hunting.”
She brushed by him and went on along the corridor, walking carefully, humming a timeless little song of freedom.
He went back to his apartment and let himself in. She still slept. He unpacked her things, laid out her clothing, put the toilet articles in the bathroom.
Before he woke her, he stood and looked at her for a long time. He knew that they would have a late supper together, and he knew that by then he would want her again. He knew she would make token objection to coming back up here with him, but she would succumb to the same argument he had used on her before, because now she was conditioned to an expectation of pleasure which made her willing to grasp at this handy new rationalization.
He could even hear the sound of his own voice saying the words that would work.
He put one knee on the bed and shook her awake, saying, “Liz? Liz, honey.”
She rolled over and looked at him, her sleep-blurred face firming up as she came awake. “Hi,” she said.
“I brought your things, dear. Your clothes are over there and the rest of the stuff is in the bathroom.”
She pushed herself into a sitting position, yawned widely, then stretched, fists near her breasts, elbows out to the side, lifted high. She looked over at the shift he had laid over the back of a chair.
“That’s fine,” she said. “Thanks.” She worked her way to the edge of the bed and swung her legs out. She tossed her hair back and gave him a rueful smile. “You sure know how to put me to sleep, darling.”