Darleen pulled a beige leather glove onto her left hand. It was two thirty, Wednesday afternoon, five days after her husband had seduced Janet Richards. Her mind had been involved in nothing for the last few days, except to originate plans for the younger couple who were under Martin's power. She had only to wait for word from him as to when Greg Richards returned home from his trip and she could initiate her first step. She picked up the car keys and turned towards the door but the brash ringing of the telephone stopped her.
"Hello, baby," she heard Martin's ringing voice at the other end. He rarely called her at home unless it was extremely important. Maybe for once it wouldn't be she almost hoped. Maybe he would just ask her to meet him for a drink after work.
"I'm on my way to do some shopping," she said. "Is anything wrong."
"To the contrary. I thought you might be interested to know that Greg is at the office today. He came home last night."
"Wonderful," she said. "Did he give you any indication that he might know what happened?"
"None that I could see. I don't think that Janet was foolish enough to tell him. We'll have to find a way to do that ourselves. I'm going to ask them to come to the beach with us for the weekend and with the proper preparations there'll be nothing to worry about. Both of them will find that they can enjoy our company much more than they had ever imagined."
"Good," she said, "When do we leave, darling?"
"Sometime Friday. I think I can talk Greg into leaving the office early."
"There's something I want to ask you, Martin," she said, hoping that he would agree to her proposition. "You said the other night that we could take them to Peter's club for a party, and watch Monroe giving it to Janet. You practically promised."
Martin laughed into the telephone. "Sometimes I think you must be some kind of pervert," he stopped for a moment, still not able to control his laughter. "You go right ahead and do whatever you wish. See Peter this afternoon and make some arrangement for next week. We can't take them there until we've broken them in good ourselves. You understand that they must be perfectly primed. I want Greg in my palm as much as I have Janet or he might blow the works."
"Oh, thank you, darling," she cooed over the line. "You're so sweet to me. Sometimes I think you're a little too lenient."
"Well," he said, "Don't worry about that now. I'm leaving the office to see Janet. I want to impress upon her the importance of the weekend trip and then I'll see you about six thirty."
Darleen hardly heard the click in her ear as Martin hung up. She was preoccupied with the new events at hand. Now she would be sure to get her revenge on Janet for attracting her husband, and at the same time, be able to take Greg for a ride. There was no thought of shopping in her mind as she left the house. She was going to see Peter Grant immediately and assure herself that everything would be arranged when they brought the Richards to meet Peter and his wife, Deborah.
Grant's Tomb was almost obscured from any passers by. The single black door was decorated with a small gold plaque, the club's name engraved in black Old English type on its face. No other sign adorned the entrance. It could have been a private apartment, set between the thriving businesses on Sunset Strip.
However, the unadorned entrance was no indication of the club's reputation. Peter Grant had owned a number of night spots in the Los Angeles area. Each time he closed out and moved to a new location he brought his old customers with him, as well as building a larger clientele from newer contacts.
The Tomb's reputation was Peter's. The army of followers that had come with him through the last ten years were impressed not only by his taste for elegance, but by his taste for the bizarre. Most who came for an evening's entertainment got more than they expected and were pleased. Few complained about the high prices. A select minority of the customers, however, found more than simple nightclub entertainment.
They, too, enjoyed the fine dinners and floor-shows. A few of these even stayed to dance for a while. But if one were to look about him in the later hours of the evening, they would see that a few guests were escorted personally by the owner, or his hulking bodyguard, Monroe, through a thick black curtained door and no one ever came out from behind the curtain before two o'clock, the regular closing hour.
An especially observant person might have thought that Peter was running a gaming club through the large, locked door behind it. But it would take a long stretch of the imagination to figure out exactly what kind of gaming was taking place. But there was enough partying going on in the main clubroom to deter anyone from furthering his curiosity by trying to enter through the door. The psychedelic lights and topless dancers kept most of the guests quite happy.
Darleen was among the selected clique who were allowed entrance to the door. She also had her own key to the club. She and her husband had been friends of the Grants for almost three years and in that time they had come to discover many mutual interests. Enough mutual interests, cultivated during weekends at the Kelly's beach house, to make them the closest of friends.
Darleen inserted her gold key into the lock and opened the door. She closed it and stood for a moment, adjusting her eyes to the semi-darkness. The bright afternoon sun had left her temporarily blinded by the darkened interior. After she locked the door she started toward Peter's office and after a moment she could make out the forms who were working on the club's main floor more clearly.
A pair of janitors swept, while two cleaning ladies were scrubbing the rugs. All four were being supervised by an extremely large ape-like man wearing a light blue turtleneck sweater. The six foot five inch man was pointing toward a corner that he wanted the janitors to be sure and not miss before they finished sweeping. As he turned, he saw Darleen.
"Hello, Mrs. Kelly," he said in a deep, gruff voice. "What brings you here at this time of day?"
"Nothing really important, Monroe," she said. The first time Martin introduced her to the Grants, she had seen Monroe in the background. Not once since then, had she not been impressed by the giant that stood before her. At two hundred and fifty pounds he looked every inch the powerful man that he was. But she was afraid to try anything with him. Though physically perfect, he was obviously a brute and looked as though he might almost kill a woman if he became sexually aroused enough.
"Is Peter here? I thought I would stop to chat," she said, looking at the heavy dark brow that protruded much too far over his eyes. A perfect Neanderthal, she thought. His flat nose spread to a dark thick mustache that topped his wide mouth and framed his dark chin. His eyes were hard, but blank.
"Yeah, he's in his office. I don't think there's anyone else there," he said, more intent on flexing his muscles under the long sleeved wool turtleneck than waiting for a reply from Mrs. Kelly. The former semi-pro football player turned his attention back to the two janitors as Darleen walked to the office behind the stage.
Peter Grant heard the light knock at his open door and saw her standing there. "Darleen! What a surprise. It's been weeks since you've come here during the day," the little man said. "Business or pleasure?"
Darleen flashed a genuine smile and received his warm friendly kiss. They were both the same height, which somehow amused her, but nothing else about Peter Grant amused her. He was a strong, intent and an extremely shrewd businessman. There was nothing amusing about his manner or ideas. He and Darleen had shared many evenings in bed together, while his wife Deborah and Martin frolicked somewhere else, or sometimes, even all four in the same bed. Pleasure was his business.
"A little of both," she said. "But where's Deborah. I thought she was usually here during the day."
"Upstairs fixing a few decorative details to one of the party rooms. I'll call her and tell her you're here. Perhaps the three of us…"
"I really don't have time to play," she interrupted. "I still have some shopping to do, but I would like to see her. It's been weeks."
Peter smiled and switched the intercom on to call his wife. Darleen thought a threesome in bed for the rest of the afternoon would be most enjoyable. But there was not enough time this particular afternoon. Though, she thought, if Martin is going to see Janet, he might indulge. Perhaps…
"She'll be down in a minute," he said. "Deborah was as surprised as I that you came by. She asked if Martin were with you. How is he?"
"As well as ever," she said. "He said to give his regards and that he would see you next week. That's what I came by for, reservations."
"Come on, Darleen. You know that you don't need a reservation. What do you have on your evil little mind?"
"Caught in the act," she chuckled. "I never have been able to fool you. I did come with a special request."
"What kind of request?" came a feminine voice from the door and Deborah walked to her friend and kissed her cheek. Deborah towered over both of them. At six feet tall she stood a full half foot over her husband and Darleen. Her long silken white hair accented the smooth rising of her breasts through the low cut minidress that hung a full twelve inches above her knees. Darleen always envied the taller woman's beauty and height, thinking that it would give her a special power over men, but she wasn't jealous. They were good friends.
After a few pleasant exchanges about each other's health and looks, Deborah asked again, "What kind of request were you about to make to my man?"
Darleen accepted a drink from Peter and said, "Do you remember the couple that Martin and I told you about the last time we were here together?"
"Richards, wasn't it," Peter said. "I remember Martin saying that he hoped to get them here after a little special work."
"That's right," she continued. "And now, we are nearly ready. Martin is asking them to come to the beach with us for the weekend. Apparently the time is right. He has already had a taste of the girl. He told me to tell you that, Peter. Says you'll really enjoy her."
"Well, good," he said, "But why the request? Why not just bring them in some night?"
"There is something special about them. The girl is young, and especially naive. She has some kind of idea that she's better than any of the rest of the world, and I want to teach the proud little bitch a lesson she won't forget for awhile."
"Women are vengeful animals," he smiled knowingly. "What do you have in mind?"
"Well, we always have a special initiation for new members and I have a really good one for her," she said. "Your animal, Monroe."
Peter whistled softly. "That's dangerous, you know. You wouldn't believe the way that brute's hung, but that alone isn't the crux. He could become violent. There are only certain types of women that he can stand, and I doubt if your sweet little friend would be one of them."
"But if he were under strict orders," she said. "He wouldn't do anything to her. Nothing that would cause anything more than a little pain and humiliation, and she needs that."
"I suppose that might work," he said. "But we'll have to be careful."
"We might enjoy watching," Deborah interjected.
"Precisely what I had in mind," Darleen said, smiling to her friend and seeing the hulking Monroe standing in the open door behind her.
"Come in," Peter said. "We were just talking about you. Mrs. Kelly, here, likes you. She has an idea that should please you a great deal."
The huge bodyguard stood for a moment, digesting the simple sentences he had just heard. He always made a point of listening precisely to what Peter told him. He owed everything to him and felt that no request was too much to do for his employer.
The smaller man had attained sainthood as far as the ex-ballplayer was concerned. Monroe had been seriously hurt in a game six years before and the brain injuries he had incurred had made it impossible for him to ever play again. If Peter Grant had not taken care of him, Monroe would be living on skid row like any other broken down athlete who hadn't planned for the future.
Peter had paid all the bills because his success, as the success of many men, had earned him an assortment of enemies, some of whom would not hesitate to resort to violence to stop him. A bodyguard was a good idea and Grant took advantage of the injured ballplayer, enlisting his services as a temporary bodyguard, but his supposed generosity had won him a worshiper for life.
"Good, Boss, if you say so," Monroe said, looking quizzically at Peter. It was very seldom that he was allowed any real pleasure. He spent most of his waking hours ensuring that his boss was comfortable and safe.
"Of course, I say so, Monroe. Just do as Mrs. Kelly directs."
Monroe nodded and she spoke. "My husband and I are bringing a girl here Wednesday night. We are going to take her upstairs. You know what happens there don't you."
He answered her. There was little that he didn't know as far as the upstairs was concerned. He was an assistant host as well as body guard.
"Good. The girl and her husband have never been initiated into the club and as this is their first time, we thought you might like to take part in the ceremony," she said. Darleen always talked to Monroe as if he were a child because it always gave her a feeling of superiority. He understood everything that she said, and though she didn't realize it would not have been so lenient with her condescending tone of voice if she had not been a friend of Peter's.
She continued adding spice to her words. "You can have the girl in bed. She's young and very, very beautiful, but too innocent. You could teach her so many things."
"And we'll all be watching to make certain you do it right," Peter smiled. Monroe, too, was smiling at the prospect, but he wasn't sure if he should be used like that, to have people watch him. Most of the parties upstairs had involved people watching other people in bed, but he had never been a part of it, except for a few fleeting glances at the bedroom acrobats. Peter's reassuring voice, though, told him it would be all right. Monroe knew that his boss had done the same thing more than once, so he felt, perhaps it would be a privilege.
"Settled, then," Peter said. "As long as Monroe agrees, there can be no harm. I'll walk you to the door, Darleen, Deborah, you go ahead and finish upstairs. We'll have a big crowd tonight, though not as big as the one we should plan for next Wednesday," he grinned. "Monroe will help you get everything arranged."