Pacific Interlude by Sloan Wilson Page B

“You can stay over if you want.”
    Her apartment was on the third floor of an old house about a mile from the beach. She skipped up the flights of steep stairs, her round buttocks dancing under her damp pink skirt. He pounded after her, his breath coming hard after the second landing. Her hand trembled as she fitted her key to the lock.
    They stepped into a room so small that it was almost filled by a big double bed. Moonlight from the window glinted on its brass head and foot. There was a refrigerator in a corner with a shelf of groceries near a sink and a gas ring.
    â€œI’m going to take a quick shower,” she said. “There’s a beer in the fridge if you want it.”
    She disappeared through a curtained door and almost immediately he heard the rush of water. The cold Australian beer was strong, dry and tangy. He had not yet finished when she came back wearing nothing but a towel which she held around her waist, her shoulders and breasts still beaded with diamondlike drops of water.
    â€œI really must be in heaven,” he said as he stepped toward her. “The ship has exploded and here I am.”
    â€œTake a shower!” she said. “I’ll be ready when you come out.”
    He squeezed into the metal shower stall and took what must have been the quickest shower in history. She was lying on her back on the bed when he returned, a perfect odalisque, he thought. He lay down beside her, gently, then began kissing her.
    He had forgotten the incredible softness of a woman’s breasts. He was afraid that he would cry out with his pleasure. He couldn’t hold on much longer. Thank God she was ready for him. Their bodies fitted together with a precision that seemed remarkable for strangers. “Oh, please,” he gasped, “don’t move like that; I won’t be able to last—”
    â€œDon’t worry about me!”
    But he did worry about disappointing her. He squeezed his fists so tight that his fingers hurt. He clenched his teeth, held his breath, thought of swimming in cold water with ice and sharks, and he exploded anyway.
    â€œI’m sorry ,” he groaned.
    â€œI’m all right,” she said, smiling, and seemed to mean it. “Want to finish your beer?”
    â€œThirty seconds, for God’s sake …”
    â€œI bet that was just an appetizer. Hand me a cold beer.”
    She never got a chance to finish it. She did not complain. For half an hour they made love so hard that at times they almost seemed to be in a kind of combat. When they were finally exhausted, they slept for an hour and he had no idea what time it was when he woke up in darkness. She was not in the bed … had he dreamed the whole thing? Then he heard the water running in the shower. When she stepped through the curtain a few minutes later, she was naked with her arms upraised, drying her hair.
    â€œSomebody said a man really knows a woman is beautiful when she looks as good after as she did before,” he said.
    â€œI pass the test?”
    â€œCome back to bed and I’ll try to show you.”
    â€œLater! I’m hungry.”
    â€œWhat time is it? I left my watch somewhere.”
    â€œOver the sink. It’s almost nine-thirty.”
    He could not get over the fact that they had spent so little time together, three hours at most. He felt as though they had been together for a year. His perception of time had changed. He had always believed that in retrospect, pleasure seemed short, pain long, but this was the reverse.
    â€œAny restaurants around here still open?”
    â€œNo good ones. I thought I’d bring something in.”
    â€œI feel like taking you somewhere and celebrating. Do any of the nightclubs serve good food?”
    â€œThere’s a fancy supper club, but it’s awfully expensive. It’s called the Queen’s Taste. All the real toffs go there.”
    â€œSounds exactly right for us. Tonight money’s