engine and the compression was getting flabbier with every mile he drove, he thought back to the time — fourteen months ago — when he had first met Sheila.
Tom had reached the age of thirty-two without finding success. He was a commission-only salesman working for General Motors branch in Paradise City. Tall, heavily built, dark, with pleasant, rather ordinary features, he had been struggling ever since he had left school to get into the high-income bracket he was sure his talents deserved. The trouble, of course, he was constantly telling himself and his friends, was that he lacked capital. With capital, a guy with his ideas couldn’t fail to hit the jackpot, but without capital well what, could you do?
But the real trouble with Tom was that he lacked drive. He was a dreamer. He dreamed of riches, but he hadn’t the energy or the ability to make money.
Had it not been for his father, Dr. John Whiteside, now dead, Tom would be out of a job. But some years ago, Dr. Whiteside had saved the life of Claude Locking’s wife. This was something Locking, who was the manager of General Motors, could not forget. Because he was grateful to the memory of Dr. Whiteside, he tolerated his inefficient son.
Fourteen months ago, Tom had delivered a Cadillac, Fleetwood Brougham to a rich client who lived in Miami, taking the client’s Oldsmobile Sedan in part exchange.
Tom had driven the Sedan back to Paradise City, feeling pretty good as he sat the wheel. This was the kind of car he should own, he told himself, instead of the crummy Sting Ray that was just about falling apart.
The run from Miami was hot and long, and he had decided, since he had made a good commission on the sale of the Brougham, that he would stop off at a motel for the night, have a decent dinner, get a good night’s rest and then go on to Paradise City in the morning.
He pulled into the Welcome Motel around nine o’clock, parking the Sedan in one of the bays. After dinner, he went to his cabin, took a shower and went to bed.
He was tired, relaxed and well fed. He looked forward to a good night’s rest, but as he turned off the light, a radio in the cabin next door started up, sending strident swing music through the thin partition and bringing him wide awake.
He lay in bed, cursing the noise for some twenty minutes, hoping that the radio would be turned off. A little after eleven o’clock with the noise still tormenting him, he put on the light, struggled into his dressing-gown and banged on the door of the adjacent cabin.
There was a pause, then the door opened and he found himself face to face with the most intriguingly beautiful girl he had ever seen.
Tom often thought of his first meeting with his future wife. She was wearing a light blue wool sweater that emphasised her firm, overdeveloped bust. Her short black skirt seemed to be painted on her. Her long legs were bare and her narrow feet were in cork-soled sandals.
He thought she was wonderful and over-poweringly sexy, and when she smiled, showing her dazzlingly white, movie-star teeth, he was struck speechless.
“I bet you don’t like my radio,” she said. “Is that right?”
“Well…”
“Okay. I’ll turn it off. I’m sorry.” She looked beyond him at the Oldsmobile under the parking lights. “That your car?”
“Yes,” Tom said, the lie coming easily. He put his hand on the door post and looked at her, his eyes moving over that incredible bust.
“Some car.”
He grinned.
“Some girl.”
They laughed.
“Why don’t you come in?” She stood aside. “I’m Sheila Allen.”
He moved into the cabin, closing the door. He watched her turn off the radio, his eyes on the solidness of her hips, feeling his blood move faster, thinking she wouldn’t need a pillow under her in bed.
“I’m Tom Whiteside. I don’t mean to be a crab. I was trying to sleep.”
She waved him to an armchair and sat on the bed. Her skirt rode up and he could see her smooth white thighs. He looked away, rubbing his jaw as he sat down.
“You’re lucky to be able to sleep,” she said. “I can’t sleep. I don’t know why it is. I never get off before two.”
“Some people are like that.” He studied her. The more he looked at her the more infatuated with her he became. “I can sleep any time.”
She found a pack of cigarettes, shook two out, lit them and gave him one. There was a slight smear of lipstick on the cigarette. It gave him a bang as he put the cigarette between his lips.
“You wouldn’t be going to Paradise City tomorrow?” she asked.
“Why, sure. I live there. Are you going there?”
“Yes. There’s a bus around nine…”
“Come with me.”
She smiled, her big eyes opening wide.
“I was hoping you would say that. You work there?”
“That’s right… General Motors.”
“Gee! That must be a pretty good job.”
He waved his hand airily.
“It’s not so bad. I look after the whole district. Yeah, I can’t complain. What are you planning to do in Paradise City?”
“Look for a job. Think I’ll find anything?”
“Sure… a girl like you. Any ideas?”
“I’m not much good at anything… a waitress… a hostess… something like that.”
“Not much good at anything? Who are you kidding?” He laughed. “You won’t have to dig deep… not with your looks.”
“Thanks… I hope you are right.”
He regarded her, then asked, “Got anywhere to stay?”
“No, but I guess I’ll find something.”
“I know a place. I’ll take you there. It’ll be around $18 a week and it’s nice.”
She shook her head.
“Not for me. I haven’t the money. I can’t go higher than $10.”
“Had it rough?”
“Rough enough.”
“You leave it to me. I’ll find you a place. I know the City like the back of my hand. Where are you from?”
“Miami.”
“What makes you think Paradise City could be better than Miami?”
“Just a change of scenery. I’m a great one for changing the scene.”
“Well…” He stared at her, then got to his feet. “I’ll be leaving at nine tomorrow morning. That suit you?”
“Suits me fine.” She stood up, smoothed down her skirt and then came close to him. “I’ll pay for the ride if you want me to.”
There was that look in her eyes that made him flush.
“I don’t want any payment… it’ll be a pleasure.”
“Most men would.” She turned her head and looked at the bed. “That kind of payment.”
Tom would have given a lot to have taken her up on the offer, but he found he couldn’t. This girl suddenly meant much more to him than a quick roll in the hay.
“Not me,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Then nine o’clock tomorrow.”
She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers. The feel of her soft lips against his sent his blood hammering.
“I like you… you’re nice,” she said, smiling at him.
He hadn’t slept much that night. The following morning, he drove her to Paradise City and found her a tiny room for $8 a week. Away from her, he found he was continually thinking of her. In the past he had got around and
