"Tell me when you re coming! Tell me when
you're coming! I want to feel you coming inside me!"
Her cut was swollen to bursting and she rubbed it harder into his crotch hairs; His cock stopped its motion and struck rigidly inside her hole as if tapped in the fleshy cunt-walls embracing it.
Nancy came once, and then again, moaning in his mouth. All the muscles in her stomach, cunt and ass were rolling and gyrating at the' same time, but in different directions, the juices flowed freely when Nathan Warner emptied his heavy load into her quivering cunt-hole.
And that's how this sometime Hollywood piano player helped Nancy her first night in town. Starting the next morning, it was her turn to help him. It was then he told her he was in "tap city", and hoped he could move into her new apartment with her, because he was about to be evicted from the motel. There were certain advantages to the arrangement. Nancy figured. He had a car, a little MG, and she didn't. He explained to her that it was just impossible to live in California without a car. He also explained that he could share the rent and food expenses, once he got back to work. And she wanted to break into the movies; that was important. He knew the ropes.
"Might as well face it, baby, you're going to have to put out for the right people. I can point the right producers kid directors out to you and warn you against the phonies.
Nancy had figured on that anyway, and she was glad he. wasn't going to stand in her way. She
didn't need a jealous man around right now in her life, thwarting her plans.
Then, too and probably most important of all there was his wonderful fucking to come home to every night. And so, for the next eight months, that is how Nancy and Nathan Warner lived. But day by discouraging day she was to find out that it wasn't all so easy as it sounded.
And then came the day that irrevocably changed the relationship between Nancy and Nathan although she would not become aware of it till months afterward.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Nathan Warner at the piano," the sign out front of the Mon Cherie entrance read. Four 8 X 10 glossy photographs were pinned to the cardboard sign. They showed a handsome, sun-bleached, blond, sensual-lipped young man in various poses; his full professional smile revealed capped Hollywood teeth, for which he was still paying and
would be for a long time to come.
Nathan Warner, the piano player at the Mon Cherie Lounge on upper La Cienega Boulevard in Hollywood, was handsome in a way that appealed to women, both young and old. But he was primarily concerned with making a few bucks extra in tips above the ten dollars that Buck Pappas, owner of the cocktail bar, paid him for each night's stint. Any amount would help keep him in Hollywood on his single track objective to become an actor.
Tonight he was angry with everyone and everything. He'd had only one brief break, and he wasn't getting many tips. Perhaps it was most appropriate, for this was the night when it all began; for Nathan Warner, at least, at the Mon Cherie, where the events started that brought him to his ultimate damnation; to what Nathan Warner, especially, would call an existence bordering hell and beyond.
Fifteen minutes till quitting time, the door opened and a well-dressed party came into the club. Buck Pappas hopped over to greet them, beaming, and got two tables together for them over in the corner close to the piano. There were ten in the group, Nathan counted. They were drunk from another club and here to raise hell, with no money left for tips. Regular bastards. He knew the type. He sorted the new party out into couples and noticed a small woman with her back to him. What a shape! She seemed to be with the bald-headed drunk to her right who was doing all the ordering.
Then -he saw her face in profile: Oriental-maybe Japanese or Chinese? Maybe Spanish or Mexican!
He couldn't tell. He started playing show tunes,
beginning with Gypsy.
He was curious, The woman had dark hair and there was something about her that was incongruous with the rest of the group. He aimed the music at the women. He heard her laugh. She said something across the table to another woman. He picked up what he thought was an accent. Maybe she was French, but he hoped she was Japanese.
He caught a good look at the woman's profile and saw the makeup. He guessed her to be over thirty-five. She was small and dark, but he still could not tell whether she was Japanese. This woman must have been a real beauty in her day, he thought.
He calmly decided to find out if she was Japanese or not. He chorded into the first minor chords of China Nights, a. tune any Japanese girl would know.
Nothing registered. But she looked around, smiling, her eyebrows raised. He could see that she wasn't Oriental definitely some French or Spanish blood. She looked directly at him, turned and put the back of her chair to listen. The music was different, lie could seethe careful eye make-up: It was the eyes that had given her an, Oriental look.
That was when Nathan Warner first saw the stone on her right band. God, what a diamond, he Thought.
The woman turned back and said something to her companions. They were all prosperous-looking. She probably was their guest, Nathan figured. And somehow she knew the tune was for her. She looked back again at Nathan, got up and came over to the piano bar, sliding onto a stool to his left. His best side.
He finished the song, looking directly at her, using his eyes. She opened her purse, pulled out a bill and put it in the tip glass on the bar top. A ten spot. He flinched. The jackpot. He smiled at her,. showing his capped teeth. He was trying.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello," she replied huskily. "What's your name?"
"Nathan Warner," he said. "It's on the marquee outside. What's yours?"
"You can call me Paulette."
"Are you from Europe or America?"
"Can't you guess from my accent?"
"No, I can't," he said. "I thought you were Japanese!"
She laughed. "I know, because you played a Japanese song."
He was surprised. "Not many American women would know that."
"I've traveled. Europe. Japan. Now I'm here."
"Alone?"
"Certainly. Why not?"
He knew it was too early to ask, but he wanted to know. "Over there. Your husband?"
She put her fingertips to her lips and broke into
tinkly laughter. The big ice was right in front of his eyes. I belong to myself," she said, "and my husband is dead.
"What about men?"
"I have them," she said, straight and direct. "I like young men she said.
"That's good," he said. "Means I've got a chance."
His boyish charm came on strong.
"Of course," she said, matter of factly. "You're nice-looking."
He was silent, then he asked her quickly, "Are you visiting somewhere or what?"
"No, I'm staying at a hotel."
"Where?"
She didn't answer, but smiled sweetly. He got the point. Okay, he'd play it her way. He fingered some background chords. "That group over there.. You with them?"
"They're people who knew my husband. He was in the oil business. Texts oil. Ranchland Oil. You may know the company.
Who didn't? Nathan thought. He had to play it right now.
"Of course you have to remain with their party," ha said, "since they were associates of your husband." He was really asking a question, but she was already ahead of him
"I'll set away," she said and leaned forward to touch his lips with the tip of her soft fingers. That ring was directly in his view. It was all he could do to hold her gaze and not stare at the diamond. "I
wanted to get away from them in the first place," she admitted. Then she added, "Didn't you know?"