way."
"I'm a doll," Bush said.
She handed him the drink. Bush sat on the edge of the bed. He sipped at the drink, and then leaned forward, the glass dangling at the ends of his long muscular arms.
"Tired?"
"Pooped."
"You don't look very tired."
"I'm so pooped, I'm peeped."
"You always say that," Alice said. "I wish you wouldn't always say that. There are things you always say."
"Like what?"
"Well, like that, for one."
"Name another."
"When we're driving in the car and there are fixed traffic signals. Whenever you begin hitting the lights right, you say 'We're in with the boys'."
"So what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, the first hundred times."
"Oh, hell."
"Well, it's true."
"All right, all right. I'm not peeped. I'm not even pooped."
"I'm hot," Alice said. "So am I."
She began unbuttoning her blouse, and even before he looked up, she said, "Don't get ideas."
She took off the blouse and draped it over the back of the chaise. She owned large breasts, and they were crowded into a filmy white brassiere. The front slope of the cups was covered with a sheer nylon inset, and he could see the insistent pucker of her nipples. It reminded him of pictures he had seen in National Geographic at the dentist's office, the time he'd had that periodontal work done. The girls on Bali. Nobody had breasts like the girls on Bali. Except maybe Alice.
"What'd you do all day?" he asked.
"Nothing much."
"Were you in?"
"Most of the time."
"So what'd you do?"
"Sat around, mostly."
"Mmmm." He could not take his eyes from the brassiere. "Did you miss me?"
"I always miss you," she said flatly.
"I missed you."
"Drink your drink."
"No, really."
"Well, good," she said, and she smiled fleetingly. He studied the smile. It was gone almost instantly, and he had the peculiar feeling that it had been nothing more than a duty smile.
"Why don't you get some sleep?" she asked.
"Not yet," he said, watching her.
"Hank, if you think ..."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I've got to go in again later," he said.
"They're really pushing on this one, aren't they?"
"Lots of pressure," he said. "I think the Old Man is scared he's next."
"I'll bet it's all over," Alice said. "I don't think there'll be another killing."
"You can never tell," Bush said.
"Do you want something to eat before you turn in?" she asked.
"I'm not turning in yet."
Alice sighed. "You can't escape this damn heat," she said. "No matter what you do, it's always with you." Her hand went to the button at the side of her skirt. She undid it, and then pulled down the zipper. The skirt slid to her feet, and she stepped out of it. She was wearing white nylon panties frilled with a gossamer web of puffed nylon at each leg. She walked to the window, and he watched her. Her legs were long and clean.
"Come here," he said.
"No. I don't want to, Hank."
"All right," he said.
"Do you think it'll cool off tonight?"
"I doubt it." He watched her "closely. He had the distinct impression that she was undressing for him, and yet she'd said ... He tweaked his nose, puzzled.
She turned from the window. Her skin was very white against the white of her underwear. Her breasts bulged over the edges of the inadequate bra. "You need a haircut," she said.
"I'll try to get one tomorrow. We haven't had a minute."
"Oh, goddamn this heat, anyway," she said, and she reached behind her to unclasp the bra. He watched her breasts spill free, watched as she tossed the bra across the room. She walked to mix herself another drink, and he could not take his eyes from her. What's she trying to do? he wondered. What the hell is she trying to do to me?
He rose swiftly, walking to where she stood. He put his arms around her, and his hands cupped her breasts.
"Don't," she said.
"Baby..."
"Don't." Her voice was firm, a cold edge to it.
"Why not?"
"Because I say so."
"Well, then why the hell are you parading around like . . ."
"Take your hands off me, Hank. Let me go."
"Aw, baby..."
She broke away from him.
"I'm a doll," Bush said.
She handed him the drink. Bush sat on the edge of the bed. He sipped at the drink, and then leaned forward, the glass dangling at the ends of his long muscular arms.
"Tired?"
"Pooped."
"You don't look very tired."
"I'm so pooped, I'm peeped."
"You always say that," Alice said. "I wish you wouldn't always say that. There are things you always say."
"Like what?"
"Well, like that, for one."
"Name another."
"When we're driving in the car and there are fixed traffic signals. Whenever you begin hitting the lights right, you say 'We're in with the boys'."
"So what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, the first hundred times."
"Oh, hell."
"Well, it's true."
"All right, all right. I'm not peeped. I'm not even pooped."
"I'm hot," Alice said. "So am I."
She began unbuttoning her blouse, and even before he looked up, she said, "Don't get ideas."
She took off the blouse and draped it over the back of the chaise. She owned large breasts, and they were crowded into a filmy white brassiere. The front slope of the cups was covered with a sheer nylon inset, and he could see the insistent pucker of her nipples. It reminded him of pictures he had seen in National Geographic at the dentist's office, the time he'd had that periodontal work done. The girls on Bali. Nobody had breasts like the girls on Bali. Except maybe Alice.
"What'd you do all day?" he asked.
"Nothing much."
"Were you in?"
"Most of the time."
"So what'd you do?"
"Sat around, mostly."
"Mmmm." He could not take his eyes from the brassiere. "Did you miss me?"
"I always miss you," she said flatly.
"I missed you."
"Drink your drink."
"No, really."
"Well, good," she said, and she smiled fleetingly. He studied the smile. It was gone almost instantly, and he had the peculiar feeling that it had been nothing more than a duty smile.
"Why don't you get some sleep?" she asked.
"Not yet," he said, watching her.
"Hank, if you think ..."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I've got to go in again later," he said.
"They're really pushing on this one, aren't they?"
"Lots of pressure," he said. "I think the Old Man is scared he's next."
"I'll bet it's all over," Alice said. "I don't think there'll be another killing."
"You can never tell," Bush said.
"Do you want something to eat before you turn in?" she asked.
"I'm not turning in yet."
Alice sighed. "You can't escape this damn heat," she said. "No matter what you do, it's always with you." Her hand went to the button at the side of her skirt. She undid it, and then pulled down the zipper. The skirt slid to her feet, and she stepped out of it. She was wearing white nylon panties frilled with a gossamer web of puffed nylon at each leg. She walked to the window, and he watched her. Her legs were long and clean.
"Come here," he said.
"No. I don't want to, Hank."
"All right," he said.
"Do you think it'll cool off tonight?"
"I doubt it." He watched her "closely. He had the distinct impression that she was undressing for him, and yet she'd said ... He tweaked his nose, puzzled.
She turned from the window. Her skin was very white against the white of her underwear. Her breasts bulged over the edges of the inadequate bra. "You need a haircut," she said.
"I'll try to get one tomorrow. We haven't had a minute."
"Oh, goddamn this heat, anyway," she said, and she reached behind her to unclasp the bra. He watched her breasts spill free, watched as she tossed the bra across the room. She walked to mix herself another drink, and he could not take his eyes from her. What's she trying to do? he wondered. What the hell is she trying to do to me?
He rose swiftly, walking to where she stood. He put his arms around her, and his hands cupped her breasts.
"Don't," she said.
"Baby..."
"Don't." Her voice was firm, a cold edge to it.
"Why not?"
"Because I say so."
"Well, then why the hell are you parading around like . . ."
"Take your hands off me, Hank. Let me go."
"Aw, baby..."
She broke away from him.
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