Galactic Dreams

“But I do. There is only one condition attached. That you have dinner with me tonight. After which we shall see a performance of the Yugoslavian State Ballet.”

“Do you think that you can work your will upon me?” she said hotly.

“Oh, goodness me,” he said, touching his pristine handkerchief to the corners of his eyes. “I do not mean to laugh but I have not heard that phrase in, well, I have never heard it spoken aloud, to be exact. I like you, my Bea. You are one of nature’s blessings with your sincere naivete and round little bottom and my chauffeur will pick you up at seven. And, in answer to your question, I shall be frank with you, franker than with most girls who seem to expect some aura of romanticism, yes, I do expect to work my will upon you.”

“You cannot!”

“Fine, then you have nothing to fear. Please wear your gold sequin dress; I’m looking forward greatly to seeing you in it.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t own a gold dress.”

“You do now. It will be delivered before you reach home.”

Before she could protest the headwaiter appeared and said, “Scusi mille, Mr. Lowell-Stein, but your luncheon guests are here.”

Two balding and rounded businessmen came up, Brazilians from the look of them. As the men shook hands, the bodyguards helped Bea to her feet and, with subtle pressures, moved her toward the exit. Preserving her dignity with an effort she shrugged away from them and made her own way out of the door. Once on the walkway, in a state of considerable confusion, she automatically took the turnings and changes that brought her home, to the apartment she shared with her ruined friend, Dolores.

“Oh, my sainted mother,” Dolores squealed when Beatrice came in, “will you just look at this!”

This was a dress that Dolores held out, fresh from its tissue wrappings, a garment of artistic cut and impeccable design that shimmered and reflected the lights with an infinite number of golden mirrors, that in the luxury of its appearance seemed to be spun from real gold. In fact it was pure eighteen-karat gold, though neither girl knew it.

“It’s from him,” Beatrice said as coldly as she could, turning away, though not without an effort, from the seductive garment. Then she explained what had happened, and when she had finished Dolores stroked the dress and smiled, and spoke.

“Then you’re going to date him,” she said. “Not for my sake, of course, what’s fifty thousand, I mean, you know. Go out for your own sake enjoy, enjoy.”

Beatrice gave a little gasp. “Do you mean you wish me to go out with him? After what he did to you?”

“Well, it’s done, and maybe we should at least profit from it. I’ll go halfies with you on the loot. And you’ll get a good meal out of it. But take the advice of one who knows — stay out of that backseat of his car.”

“You never told me the details ….”

“Don’t sound so stuffy. It’s not so sordid, not like in the grubby back of some college kid’s car. It was after the theater; I was waiting for a cab when this big car pulls up and he offers to drive me home. What’s the harm? What with a driver and two mugs in the front seat. But who was to know the windows could turn dark, that the lights would fade, while the whole damn back of the car got turned into a bed with silk sheets, soft music, drinks. To be truthful, honey, it happened so sudden and unreal, like in a dream, I didn’t even know that it was happening until it was over and I was getting out of the car. At least you’ll get a meal. All I got was a run in my stocking plus I saved the cab fare.”

Beatrice thought about this, then looked shocked. “You are not suggesting for a moment that — you know what will happen to me too? I’m not that kind of girl!”

“Neither was I. But I never stood a chance.”

“Well I do!”; Spoken firmly with her sweet jaw pushed forward stubbornly, the lift of righteous wrath in her gray-green eyes. “No man can force me to … do anything against my will.”

“You show ‘em, honey,” Dolores said, caressing the dress. “And enjoy your dinner.”

At six a liveried footman brought perfume. Aperge. And in a quart bottle, too.

At six-thirty another uniformed footman brought a mutation smoke-gray mink stole and a note, which read, “To keep your precious shoulders warm.”

The golden dress was sleeveless and strapless, and the stole did go with it, and the effect in the mirror was stunning. At seven, when the door annunciator hummed again, she was ready and she stalked out, head high and proud. She would show him.

The footman who escorted her said, “Mr. Lowell-Stein has sent his personal copter instead of his car and has said …”

He touched a button on his jacket and Ron’s melodious voice spoke, saying, “The hastier the transport, the sooner you will be with me, my darling.”

“Lead the way,” she said sharply-though secretly she was glad not to be traveling in his automotive automated bedroom. Though there was always the possibility that the copter might hold its secrets as well.