Scratch smiled, shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “I was thinking what a lucky man he was.”
Lilly laughed, batted her eyes and touched her hair, embarrassed.
“Did you love him?” Scratch asked.
“God, no,” Lilly made a face. “No one in their right mind would love a person like Horace. I did some digging on Horace Hammock a few years ago, when a blackmail letter came to the office. His real name was Leon Goldman. A New York City reporter, who left behind two wives and six children. Left them destitute. A young man had delivered that letter. There was an exchange of money. He went away. I think he was Horace's son. So, I'll say it again. No one could love a sorry bastard like that. Not even that bimbo he was sleeping with who was 40 years younger than him.”
“Bimbo, huh?” Scratch said. “This bimbo have a name?”
“Caroline Seafront. She's barely 21. Horace has been with her for a year or so. You've seen her around town, I'm sure. Blonde, big blue eyes, even bigger tits.”
Scratch laughed.
“What?” Lilly laughed with him. “A woman can't talk dirty?”
Scratch shrugged. “No. I mean, I don't mind so much. It's just…”
“Just what?” Lilly had to get the bottom of the look on Scratch's face and the shrug.
“Just… it doesn't go with your demeanor.”
“What's my demeanor?”
Scratch waited to answer. “You remind me of a school teacher I had.”
“Oh,” she sounded disappointed with his answer. Or hurt. “Or a librarian. Either way, I remind you of a lonely spinster.”
“No,” Scratch said. “A school teacher I wanted to bed.”
The smile returned to Lilly's face. “Is that what you want to do? Take me to bed?”
“No,” Scratch said.
The smile disappeared.
“I want to bend you over that desk,” Scratch said.
The smile returned. Lilly slowly stood. Contemplated slipping into her heels, but decided against it. She walked over to the desk, bent over and lifted her skirt over her waist. She eased her hands to her ass, pulled down those diamond-pattern panties. The roundness of her cheeks reminded Scratch of a huge ivory ball, and it made the garter belt flex out and her stockings ride up and expand.
Smiling, she looked over her shoulders at him.
“Well?” Lilly asked. “What are you waiting for?”
9
Lilly excused herself to go to the bathroom. She was gone for quite a bit. Scratch decided to see if Horace had any beer in the icebox. Sure enough, two bottles of Blue Ribbon sat not far from a dish of cold cuts. Scratch took down a plate. He fixed a sandwich for himself and Lilly. He carried the plate and the beer with him as he searched for Lilly.
She wasn't in the bathroom anymore. The light was on, but the door was wide open. By now, the Grandfather clock in the living room said it was nine forty-five. He searched the study. Lilly wasn't there. He searched the guest bedroom. She wasn't there either. Scratch went upstairs.
Hanging around the top of the stair, in the hallway, he heard Lilly in the bedroom on the left. Scratch made as little noise as he drew closer to the partly open door. He peaked inside. That bedroom belonged to woman. Lilly had tossed clothing everywhere. Dresses lay on a canopy bed. Undergarments and stockings on the floor beside dresser drawers. Lilly sat on the bed, crossed her legs angrily – obviously upset she hadn't found what she was looking for.
But she wasn't dissuaded.
Struck by a thought, she uncrossed her legs and jumped from the bed. She reached behind the bedpost and dug down. She smiled. Lilly had found what she was looking for. She pulled it out slowly. A white silk blouse was wrapped around a ball of newspapers. She unwrapped the blouse, tossed it aside. She unpeeled the newspaper carefully and discovered what looked to be three stacks of ten 20- dollar bills, bound by paper bands.
Lilly clasped her hands together, threw her head back and cackled.
When she came downstairs, she found Scratch sitting on the couch, eating and watching television. She wandered over and sat beside him, casting a leg over his. They grinned at each other.
“I made you something to eat,” he said. “Got you a beer, too.”
“How sweet,” Lilly said. “Thank you.” She snatched the sandwich from the plate and bit into it like a rabid dog. Scratch watched her eat, finding it humorous she ate as sloppily as he did.
“Here's your beer,” he offered the bottle.
Lilly shook her head, picked up Scratch's bottle and drank from it. “That's OK.” She gulped and smacked her lips. “I'll have some of yours.”
The TV flickered. A cowboy rode through brush and came up on a ranch.
“What are you watching?” Lilly asked.
“Studio One,” Scratch kept his eyes on the screen. “But it looks like a cowboy flick. I don't know. I guess the show is trying something different than people arguing with each other in their kitchens.”
“I wouldn't know,” Lilly said. “I only watch Our Miss Brooks.”
Scratch gazed at Lilly. That was it, he thought. He couldn't put his finger on it before. Now he knew. She did resemble Eve Arden. Did she purposely try to make herself look like the actress? Yeah, Scratch told himself. She did. He nodded. Eve Arden was a knockout, he told himself.
“What?” Lilly asked, making a face, shifting that full bottom lip to the side.
“Nothing,” Scratch said. After a few minutes he blurted out: “I think we should go back to my place.”
Lilly laughed. “You do, do you?”
“Yeah,” he said, and kissed her softly. “I do.”
“Well,” she said, pulling away, “I-I can't.”
“Oh. Why not?”
Lilly waited to answer. She was trying to come up with a good excuse.
“I don't know,” she said, looking away. “I… just shouldn't.”
“Shouldn't or don't want to?”
Lilly shrugged.
“A little of both,” she said,
