“I’m not sure,” Llona said noncommittally.
“She’s not sure!” His voice went up as if he was informing some unseen audience of this latest inefficiency. “Jeez! Jus’ what in hell did Gertie say when she sent ya over here?”
“Not much. She didn’t say anything much.”
“She tol’ ya it was a party, didn’ she?”
“A party. Yeah. Sure. She told me that.”
“An’ did she tell you it was extra-special?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Extra-special.”
“All right then!” He poised in the doorway and spread his arms wide once more. “Then where’s da cake?”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”
“Ahh!” He waved her inside and then turned his back on her in disgust.
Llona huddled beside the doorway and looked around. She saw the parlor of a large hotel suite with other doors leading off from it. There were about a dozen men in the room. All were dressed in tails. All had the hard-guy look of the man who had ushered her inside.
There were also three girls in the room. All three were stunners. They wore evening gowns. But the gowns were just a little too daring, just a little too revealing of the fact that none of the three wore any underwear beneath them. The three girls were respectively blonde, redheaded and brunette. The men pawed them freely as they passed among them.
The party had the look of having been in progress for a while. Empty champagne bottles and whiskey bottles were strewn about on the tables. Some were on the floor. Half-empty glasses perched on chair arms and windowsills. The ashtrays overflowed with cigarette and cigar butts. Still the room was thick with smoke. There were plates with the remnants of food scattered about. And, in general, the atmosphere was that of a drunken stag brawl.
There was a large, bright red banner strung across one wall. The letters “P.D.V.S.B.A.” were lettered on it in bold gold. Llona was trying to figure out what they might stand for when the little man sidled up alongside of her.
He was a skinny little fellow with a face like a weasel. He stared at Llona’s nude figure as if it represented a mouthful of carrion. “Hello-hello-hello,” he said.
“Hello,” Llona replied.
“You ain’t wearing any clothes,” he said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yer naked.” He cackled to himself as if he’d made a great discovery.
“Yes. I am.”
“You come in ‘wit’ Rooney before. I saw ya.”
Surmising that Rooney was the man she’d met in the hall, Llona nodded.
“How come?” the skinny little man asked.
Llona thought fast. “Gertie sent me,” she told him.
“Yeah? Den where’s yer cake?”
“It’s coming. It’s on the way.”
“She hadn’t oughta sent you wit’out da cake.”
“I know. I’ve been all through that with Rooney.”
“Yeah? I’ll bet he was mad. Rooney likes everythin' to go off right. Dat’s why dey sent him down here to run dis shindig fer us. Dey wanna be sure we’re happy Wit’ everythin’, so dey send Rooney.”
“I see,” Llona said, not seeing at all. “What do those letters stand for?” She pointed at the banner.
“Dem letters? Don’cha know?”
“No. This is my first time here,” Llona said as if that should explain everything.
“Di’n’t Gertie fill ya in?”
“No. She was busy.”
“Oh. Well, dem letters stand for da Police Department Vice Squad’s Benevolent Association.”
“Police Department!” Llona shrank back.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“You mean all you guys are cops?”
“Detectives. Yeah.”
“Vice cops?”
“Dat’s right, sugar. But what you gettin’ so shook up for? We ain’t workin’ tonight. Dis here’s the annual wingding dey throw fer us.”
“They? Who’s they?" Llona wanted to know.
“Ahh, come on now. Yer wise, ain’tcha?”
“Oh, sure.” Llona did her best to look wise. “You mean--”
“Da organization. Da Syndicate. Dat’s right. It’s their way a showin’ their appreciation for the favors us guys downtown do for ’em. Every year dey send Rooney down wit’ da cream a da crop to put on a stag for the boys. Dis year dey done real good.” He patted Llona’s fanny approvingly.
“I’m glad you like it,” Llona said, flinching in spite of herself.
“Dat I do.” He reached out and squeezed one of her naked breasts the way a housewife squeezes a tomato to see if it’s ripe. A look spread over his face that said it was quite ripe enough for his satisfaction. “Yeah. Dat I do. What’s yer name, honey?”
“Llona. What’s yours?”
“Archie Flannery. You remember dat. You ever have any trouble down da Tenth Precinct, you jus’ ask fer me. I swing a lotta weight aroun’ dere. They never pinch a hooker wit’out I say so.”
“Archie Flannery. I’ll remember. Thanks.”
“Hey, whadda ya say you an’ me settle down on da couch over dere. Raven’s gonna go inta her act while dey’re waitin’ for da cake to get here. You ever seen it?”
“No. I haven’t.”
“It’s a gasser. Come on. We’ll have a front-row seat.” He led her over to a couch and sat down very close beside her. A moment later Rooney’s voice boomed out over the room. “Awrigh’, ya creeps, let’s quiet down now. Raven’s ready ta do her stuff. So grab ya-selves some chairs and settle down.”
There was a murmur as the men followed his suggestion. It died down as the brunette danced into the center of the room. Somebody killed the lights. The beam of a small spotlight appeared, focussed on Raven, and followed her.
She was tall, with thick, blue-black hair which hung to her waist. She was built big, with wide, bouncy hips, a firm but generous derriere, and a large bosom shaped like twin watermelons. She was exotic, with a sensual, Slavic face and deep-set, smouldering black eyes. She moved with all the sexuality of a girl who knows exactly what’s going through the minds of the men who are always staring at her.
They were staring now. Every eye in the room was on her. Apart from her natural assets, the bright red evening gown she was wearing provided a natural focal point.
The gown was cut very low and only two slender straps enabled it to loosely conceal her bosom. It was much tighter at the waist, hugging her ample hips and derriere and clinging to the length of her long, shapely legs. And it was slit all the way up one side, revealing one of the legs and a goodly portion of hip besides.
As Raven undulated into her performance, it became obvious that she wasn’t much of a dancer. But what she lacked in talent, she more than made up for in calculated sexiness. The initial part of her dance was pure teasing, with one hip and part of her rear seeming to pulsate its way into view as her gyrating flesh widened the slit in the gown.
The teasing continued as she turned her back to the audience and continued to manipulate the slit until one fleshy nether-cheek was completely visible. She rotated and bounced this wildly for a moment and then turned to face the viewers.
She slowed her tempo. She was moving in time with a cha-cha someone had put on the stereo, and Llona noticed that she was off the beat. But nobody seemed to mind. Their eyes were glued to her bosom as she moved one shoulder in a series of small jerks.
The strap of the gown slid down the shoulder. The flimsy material of the dress bodice fell slowly away from one breast until it barely concealed the tip. The deep tunnel of her bosom cleft writhed like the shadow of a snake as the breast itself rotated under the material. Finally the tip of her breast brushed the material away altogether and the impressive orb sprang fully into view.