Goldengirl

This wasn’t scheduled. Till now, everything had gone as per plan, with the characteristic smoothness of any Dryden operation. He had explanations to cover everything: his ‘accident,’ the dope test, the change of route, the delay at the Salk Institute. He was ready to admit to the consortium that he’d used the time to have a conversation with Goldengirl. Laying her on La Jolla Beach was another matter.

‘When I said I like you, I meant it, but—’

‘Kiss me, then.’ She parted her lips and confidently waited.

He leaned over her, keeping one hand on the breakwater, the other in the sand. ‘You must understand that this doesn’t mean...’

She snatched at the kiss in a way that betrayed inexperience.

‘Take it easy,’ he told her. ‘More like this.’ He showed her how to touch with the lips and gently increase pressure.

‘I’m not much good,’ she said.

‘That was better. Like everything else, it’s practice. I’m useless at crouch starts.’

She pressed her hip against his leg. ‘Hold me.’

He shook his head. ‘Better not. I’m liable to take advantage.’

With wide eyes she said, ‘But I want you to.’

Time for the only ploy he could think of. ‘I’m... er... not equipped. Too risky for you.’

‘That’s okay,’ she said with a sweet smile. ‘I’m on the pill.’

‘Not a chance,’ said Dryden. She had told him some weird things, but that beat everything. ‘In that case, what’s Ingrid doing on the payroll?’

‘Silly,’ she said, running the tip of her finger down the bridge of his nose. ‘Don’t you know girl athletes have to regulate their periods? The pill is obligatory for Goldengirl. Hell, I’m not in high school, you know. Because Doc and the others treat me like a kid, it doesn’t mean I’m untouchable.’

‘It’s getting late.’ He was beginning to talk like a school kid. ‘Your father must be going crazy.’

‘We’ll think of something to tell him,’ she said. ‘Jack, I want you. Christ, you’re not refusing me, are you? Am I so grotesque?’

She was fumbling with the front of his trousers. This was becoming ridiculous: rape in reverse. He unlocked the arm that was around his neck and drew away from her, kneeling in the sand. ‘Goldine, this isn’t the way.’

She had pulled open the zip of her jeans. White cotton showed in the cleft. Practical and unalluring, it epitomised her situation in a way that touched his sympathy. Kept by the consortium, shaped to their specifications, trained to the breaking point, physically and psychologically abused, deprived of any feminine indulgence unless it suited their plans, here she lay on the sand in her plain cotton underwear, appealing for confirmation that she existed as a woman. He couldn’t deny her that.

He moved close and whispered a lie. ‘Goldine, you’re too persuasive.’

As he expected, it wasn’t ecstatic lovemaking. Melody Fryer’s soft carnality was imprinted too clearly on his memory as he coaxed Goldine to relax her iron grip and let him perform the essential movements.

It was presently obvious that this was a pioneering effort so far as she was concerned, but she urged him on and accepted the discomfort like lifting weights. He closed his eyes and remembered her in the flashlights, parading the sexuality Dr. Lee had harnessed for her appearances before the press. At a cost now becoming apparent. He caressed her breasts and murmured endearments, but it was obvious he was not going to bring her to orgasm. After he had reached his climax he remained holding her and said, ‘Nice. You okay?’

She gave him a light kiss. ‘Thanks. I’m a beginner, as you must have noticed.’

‘After the first time, it gets better,’ he promised her.

‘I hope it did something for you.’

More than she knew. It had brought him to a decision. He would agree to Serafin’s terms and go in with the consortium.

Ten

BLONDE DASHER: METRO CLUB MYSTERY

By Grantland Davis