Nick waited in the foyer of the Park Avenue apartment and his mind raced with thoughts of selling Dennison Beer, and of selling the old lady on his handling of her account.
He straightened his tie twice, and glanced nervously about the foyer, and at the dark stained wood and the paintings and the two heavy, old chests and the neo-Greek statues of warriors with spears on top of them.
The butler, an elderly man with pinched wrinkles and faded blue eyes and wispy grey hair finally returned and nodded at Nick and then gestured to a door.
"Mrs. Dennison will see you now, sir," he said. Nick thanked the butler and walked through the door into the largest room he had ever seen, outside of Grand Central Station. It seemed a block long and was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with old leather-bound books. The carpet was so thick he felt he would sink into it, as he might sink into quicksand.
Gigantic stately plants grew from elaborate copper pots and a fireplace bigger than Nick's living room was blazing with gigantic burning logs. And the ceiling was recessed panels beneath dark wood squares.
Nick passed pieces of magnificent old, heavy wood furniture and moved down the room to the far end, where a wrinkled woman sat sipping something from a delicate flowered teacup.
Nick was slightly unnerved as he reached the huge, overstuffed chair where the woman sat, and he remembered the things he had heard at the agency about the impossibility of dealing with Frances Dennison.
Nick walked past a table whose legs were twined with carved flowers, and whose top was filled with silver or gold-framed faded photographs.
"Young man, you're late," the old lady said, rising from her chair.
"It's hard to get a cab in the snow," Nick said, cursing himself for this blunder on the night of their first meeting.
"Oh, don't apologize," she said and took a dainty sip from the fragile teacup. "I admire a man who's late. Shows that he's human. What do you drink?"
"I drink Scotch," Nick said. "With a little water." He looked at the old lady, at the proud, wrinkled face and the fine line of her profile and the firmness her body still possessed and he realized she must have been a lovely woman at one time. And he also decided he liked her.
Mrs. Dennison stepped to a purple, flower covered cord and pulled and before she turned back to Nick, the butler was coming into the room.
"Yes, Mrs. Dennison?" he asked.
"This young man drinks scotch with just a bit of water," she said. "And I'll have another cup of gin."
The butler came over and took the teacup and left, and Nick stared at Mrs. Dennison with a new respect. She sat back down in her chair and nodded toward a similar chair opposite her.
"So you're going to try to sell my beer?" she asked.
"Mr. Connors has given the Dennison account top priority," he said.
"I should hope so," she said. "Sales have fallen off recently and the idiots Marshall has put on the account are simply not to be believed. When Marshall called and said he could not make it tonight, and was sending one of his top men, I actually shuddered, Mr. Harrison."
Nick started to mouth a platitude, to pour out an oily line of talk that would praise the agency and the account and the old lady. But something told him not to. Because he detected in this old lady a definite toughness, and an honesty, and he told himself that he would be making a bad mistake to follow the same line other men from the agency had followed.
"Sales might have fallen off because people don't like the beer," Nick said, in a win or lose it all statement. "Advertising can only do so much."
The butler brought the drinks in and there was a long minute of silence as Nick took a drink of his scotch and then watched Mrs. Dennison take short, dainty sips from the teacup.
She held the cup in her lap and leaned toward Nick, her faded eyes wide. "Mr. Harrison, the beer is lousy," she said. "It always has been. But before, your agency has been able to sell it, in great quantities."
Nick drank his scotch and looked at the wrinkled old lady and told himself he faced the toughest challenge of his career at the agency. Because how in hell could he deal with a client who thought her product was inferior?
"Do you know, to be honest, I've never had a Dennison Beer," he said.
"Well, Mr. Harrison," she said, "I haven't had one since, oh, when was it we had that party and I got so drunk? Yes, 1929 I think. Terrible, just terrible. But then I must confess. I'm not a beer drinker. It seems a waste of time. Early in life I discovered gin, and it has become a habit. In prohibition of course, in speak-easies, we drank from teacups. And the habit has stayed with me. A whim a wealthy old woman can allow herself."
"I'm not a beer drinker either," Nick said. "I believe in doing the job thoroughly, and whiskey does it best."
"So you're not afraid to admit you like to drink?" she asked, and took a dainty sip from her cup.
"I love to drink," he said. "As long as it doesn't interfere with my work."
"I think we'll get along just fine, Mr. Harrison," she said. "Marshall knew what he was doing when he sent you over. I warned him not to send another of those proper namby-pambies who spent half the time assuring me how proper and sober they were."
"I'll tell you what, Mrs. Dennison," he said. "I'll sell your beer if I don't have to drink it. Give me a week or so, and I'll develop a campaign that will have customers rushing bars and package stores in droves."
"I wouldn't think of having your enthusiasm and confidence dampened by having to know what the wretched stuff tastes like," she said. "You work that campaign out and then you call me here. I'm home all the time when the weather is like this. I like you, young man, but I warn you I have very definite ideas and no little knowledge of the market, and I'll give you hell if you don't live up to my expectations."
Nick smiled. "I've never failed a charming and gracious lady before," he said.
"No indeed, I'm sure you haven't," she said, and finished her gin and set the cup down on an ornate oak table.
The butler appeared at the door, and Nick stood up and bowed slightly. "You'll be hearing from me in a week," he said.
Mrs. Dennison smiled and nodded, but did not say anything. Nick followed the butler across the huge room, and out of the apartment. He hurried from the building, and stood under the canopy and saw that the snow had stopped falling and now was piled deep along Park Avenue.
"Cab, sir?" the uniformed doorman asked as he touched the tip of his cap.
"No, I think I'll walk," said Nick.
Nick turned down the sidewalk and took a deep breath of the fresh, cold air and enjoyed the crunch of snow beneath his feet. His feeling of contentment warmed over him and he congratulated himself on the way he had handled Mrs. Dennison. And he had genuinely liked the old lady and her mannerisms and eccentricities were refreshing after the usual Madison Avenue types he dealt with. But he also knew he faced a hell of a challenge to come up with something in a week that satisfied her.
Nick turned a corner and walked east to Lexington Avenue, and went into a bar, ordered a scotch and water and took it back to the phone booth and dialed Julie's number.
She answered before it rang a full time. "How did it go?" she asked.
"Very well," he answered. "She likes me and seems pleased that I'm going to handle the account. But I told her I'd come up with something in a week. Which means it's going to be a hell of a week."
"I'm sure you'll come up with something wonderful, darling," she said.
"I think I should speak with your father," Nick said and took a sip of the scotch.
"Oh, Daddy's out," she said in a husky voice. "He won't be back until very late. I've been sitting here waiting for you, Nick. And do you know what I have on?"
Nick swallowed and poured down the whiskey.
"No, what?" he asked. "Not one thing," she said. "I'm curled up on the big rug in front of the fireplace, and feeling very lonely, since I gave the servants the night off." Nick pictured that small, pale, voluptuous body curled on the rug, with the flames accentuating the black hair and eyes, and lighting up every fabulous hill and valley she possessed.
"Christ, Julie, you pick the strangest times and places to get excited about sleeping with me," he said. "What if your father came back?"
"Oh, he said he'd call first, and we could lock the door," she said. "Aren't you game, Nick? I am. And please darling, don't criticize my whims. You know how difficult it is for me to make love to you at all before we're married. Tonight though, with the snow and the fire and a few martinis, I feel very much like your wife."
A few martinis, Nick said to himself. Yes, it took alcohol to make Julie a wild, warm lover. "Listen, darling," he said. "You know how urgent this Dennison account is, and I've got an early morning meeting to hand over the Jarvis account."
"And you've just got to dash home and work all night," she interrupted.
"That's what you get for loving a working man," he said, and drained his drink.
"Sometimes I hate my father and that damned agency," she said. "Why does he have to give you all the tough jobs? It isn't fair, Nick, really it isn't."
"We could move the wedding up," he said. "Skip all the formalities, just run down to City Hall in a few days. Then there would be no more cold, lonely nights for us."
"Oh Nickie, now don't start that again," she said. "You know how much a big wedding means to Daddy and to me, and mother would roll over in her grave if she thought I'd get married at City Hall."
"Julie, just let me get things wrapped up tonight," he said, and again visualized that body lit by the fire. "Tomorrow night you can meet me after work and we'll have all evening together."
"You promise, now, Nickie, job or no job," she said.
"I promise," he said. "Now I've got to run. I love you, Julie."
"I love you too, darling," she said.
Nick hung up and went to the bar and had another quick scotch and water. He was glowing with whiskey-warmth and self-satisfaction as he stepped back into the cold and crunched through the snow.
Lights glistened red and green and yellow on the white snow and cars made peaceful, purring sounds on the snow-rutted street. Nick moved along and thought how well things were going, with his coming marriage to Julie, his initial success with Mrs. Dennison and the obvious possibility that one day he would be sitting in the enormous, nostalgia-filled office, running Connors and Ross.
He turned a corner and nearly slipped on a patch of ice and caught himself on an ice-slick street sign. Then he walked carefully down the street and thought how when he and Julie were married he would make certain Julie became the kind of lover who never needed a drink, or anything else, to turn her loose and wild in bed.
The wind whipped up now and blew snow in Nick's face, and he turned up the collar of his coat and felt a little chilled. And for the first time since Mrs. Dennison's, he remembered that a seventeen year-old girl was spending the night in his apartment.
He stopped abruptly and again he nearly slipped on a patch of ice. Christ, he muttered to himself. He had really been a fool to let the girl stay there, no matter how miserable and lonely she was. If Julie or her father ever discovered that she was sleeping there tonight, everything he had worked for and wanted would be dashed in an instant.
He hurried home, anxious to see the girl again and make it damned clear that she had to be out early tomorrow morning. He was filled with apprehension as he opened his door, and he told himself he had been a real fool to let his compassion endanger him the way he had.
The apartment was dark, and for an instant he thought she might be gone. But he switched on the light and saw her blouse by the bedroom door. And as he stepped across the room, he saw that there was a bottle of scotch on the coffee table in front of the couch. He picked up the bottle which had been nearly full when he last saw it. Now it was one third gone.
Nick shoved open the bathroom door, and in the moonlight he saw a skirt, a white bra and a pair of tiny, white panties, a direct trail to the bed, where Holly was sleeping.
Nick stepped closer, and stopped beside the bed. Holly was naked and even in the faint moonlight, Nick could see the vivid contrast of her golden body against the white sheets.
The curve of her back was lovely, and Nick took a deep breath and stared down at her luscious buttocks and her slim legs. And just as he turned, he heard her twisting on the bed and looked around as she shifted over onto her back.
Nick could not believe the loveliness of her lush body, spread golden and young on the bed beneath him, and he bent down and stared with fascination and let himself touch her leg an instant. The skin had a fantastic texture and seemed liquid-warm and alive.
Nick shook his head and smiled to himself and stood up. Holly twisted again in a way that emphasized the enormous breasts with huge dark brown nipples. And then her lips fell open and she muttered something, and her tongue licked at her lips.
Nick stared a moment more, then turned and left the room. He went quickly to the bottle of scotch and poured a double shot and gulped it down. His finger seemed glowing with warmth from touching her leg and he imagined possessing that young, vibrant body fully, and went warm all over at the thought.
Christ, he mumbled, and shook his head. Just thinking of her that way was stupid, he told himself. Tomorrow she would be gone, and he would have only Julie to think about. Julie and his future, which at this point seemed perfect and unlimited.
He had another, quick drink, then went into the bathroom, and turned on the water in the shower and thought of Julie and her invitation, and his excuse about having to come home and work.
As he stripped his clothes off, he admitted to himself that he had really turned her invitation down because he was not about to jeopardize his future by making love to her on the floor of her father's apartment. And also because he had wanted to come back to his apartment and see Holly one final time.
The shower water was hot, and he tensed his body and started whistling and told himself to concentrate on the meeting tomorrow morning, and on the new Dennison account. But as he stepped from the shower and toweled off, there was only one thing on his mind: the naked young girl lying in his bed.
Nick wore only a towel as he left the bathroom and walked to the couch, where he was to sleep that night. He drank down another scotch. But still he couldn't get his mind off Holly. The moment he thought of her darkly tanned flesh against the white sheets, his prick started to grow stiff under the towel wrap.
Tomorrow, she'll be gone, he said to himself. In fact, he might never see her again. He sat for five minutes on the couch, trying to resist the urge to walk into the bedroom for one final peek. And then, as he finished another drink, he knew he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation any longer.
Slowly, quietly, he stepped into the bedroom. Holly was still lying on her back, sleeping soundly after her long period without sleep, and the scotch she'd consumed. Nick walked to the side of the bed again and stared down.
Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open, her rich, full lips sparkling in the moonlight. Her tits were rising and falling with her breath heavy, fleshy mounds tipped with large pink nipples. Her belly was flat and dark, her navel deep, her thighs slender and smooth. He looked at her pussy. Her bush was blonde and sparse, and through the light hairs he could make out her pink cunt lips.
Nick's heart was pounding as his eyes moved along her thighs. Her calves were slender, her ankles thin, her feet small and tan and tipped with a white polish. The only piece of jewelry she wore was a white bone ankle bracelet that made her tanned feet seem all the darker.
The towel Nick wore was pushed out in front by now as his cock gorged. It could be so easy, he thought. All he had to do was lie down beside her take her in his arms. He was sure she would respond, sure she would gladly give herself. And what pleasure awaited him in that tan young body, in those full lips, those quivering tits, that blonde-fringed cunt. He had a feeling that her touch would be so thrilling he'd come the moment she laid a hand on him.
Slowly, very carefully, Nick touched her flesh again. He let his hand rest on her warm thigh, then pressed lightly against her belly. She didn't budge her breath was still slow and heavy. Nick's finger moved delicately around her navel, then along her tan flesh to her tit. Two fingers closed around the spongy nipple, stroked it a few times and then released it.
The pink wad seemed to grow larger immediately. By the time Nick let go, it was twice the size of her other nipple. Nick stroked the second wad until it too was swollen, then leaned back and stared in lusting worship at her body.
The sight of her nipples puffy and throbbing was so tempting he had to fight the urge to bend over and kiss them. He looked at her cunt again glistening in the moonlight. Nick had seen many beautiful young models in his days at the advertising agency, but he had to admit to himself that none of them was as sexually vibrant and enticing as this young girl naked on his bed.
Almost without thinking, Nick pulled off his towel and let his prick wave in front of him. He took hold of the aching member and squeezed it, then tried to soothe the soreness of his hard-on by stroking the shaft a few times. His eyes were still glued on her nipples, and a surge of pleasure passed through his body at his first stroke.
Still stroking very slowly and lightly, he ran his hand over her belly again, then into the warmth of her inner thighs. He let a fingertip barely brush through her blonde bush, then bent over and placed a very gentle kiss on her navel.
Holly stirred, taking a deep breath and then rolling over on her side. Nick froze, cock in hand, until she'd settled into a comfortable sleep again. But then, as he reached down to touch her thigh, she rolled over again, onto her belly.
Now Nick gazed in adoration at her firm, doughy cheeks, split by a deep, hairless crack. Between her thighs he could just make out a few blonde hairs sparkling in the faint light. He pressed an open palm against her buttock, stroking his prick again. When a finger slid into the crack, he moved it up and down, almost out of his mind now with the urge to leap on top of her.
Bending down slightly beside the bed, Nick rubbed the tip of his cock in her ass crack, then stood up quickly to see if she would respond. She didn't. He rubbed his cockhead in her ass crack again, still stroking the shaft. Suddenly he realized that gism was shooting swiftly into his cock.
The thought of rubbing his cock in her ass crack until he came, and then watching his white cream spurting all over her naked, darkly tanned back, was almost enough to put him over the edge. With great reluctance, he let go of his prick and dropped his hands at his side. It was no use. The longer he stayed in the bedroom, the greater the chance he would do something he'd regret.
After one last, longing look at her nakedness, Nick left the room and returned to the couch. He drank down one scotch, then another, trying to knock himself out. But as he turned out the lights and slid under the sheet he'd put on the couch, he still couldn't forget Holly.
At every sound, Nick turned his head to peer through the darkness, expecting to see Holly coming to him. His cock was still half stiff. He had to force himself to think of Julie, of Mrs. Dennison, of Mr. Connors and Nick's new job, trying to lull himself to sleep.
He wasn't sure exactly when he fell asleep, or when he woke up again. But when he did open his eyes again, he could see that it was early morning, and barely light out. And he also had the strong feeling that he was being watched. That feeling forced his eyes open wide and set his heart pounding as he quickly rolled over on the couch.
Holly was standing near the couch, naked and grinning.