was expecting; it should have been sleazy, like my hotel room. Was I in the wrong place? Had I misunderstood Ralph? Td like to see Mr. Sutton… please,' I said.
She smiled at me with' dazzling white teeth that could not have been real. 'I see. Do you have an appointment, Miss…' She ran a silver fingernail down the lines of the appointment book on the desk in front of her.
'Bryant. Sally Bryant No I don't have an appointment.'
Her finger stopped moving, like the carriage of an electric typewriter, and she looked up from the book and smiled sympathetically. Her lips were perfectly shaped, and she wore a pale pink lipstick that was as thick and rich and creamy as a paste. I judged she was about twenty-three.
'I'm terribly sorry, Miss Bryant,' she began, 'but Mr. Sutton is terribly busy today. Perhaps I can make an appointment for you for some time next week…'
Panic stabbed into me. 'No… qh!' I said, perhaps louder than I should have. 'You don't understand. I have to see Mr. Sutton today. It's very important.'
She smiled sadly, sympathetically, pursing her lips. 'Gee, I wish there was something I could do…'
I tried to think. I had no money, no place to sleep, nothing to eat… nothing but the clothing I was wearing. 'But-But Ralph said he called. He-he…'
A light went on in her blue eyes. 'Ralph?'
I grasped at it hopefully. 'Yes. Ralph D'Angelo. Ralph D'Angelo. He's a friend of mine. He suggested that I come to speak to Mr. Sutton. For a job.'
Her perfect smile blossomed out, and this time I knew it was genuine. 'Mr. D'Angelo. Why didn't you say so before. I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't realize.' I sighed in relief. 'That's all right.'
'I'll speak to Mr. Sutton immediately. Why don't you have a seat for a moment.'
I nodded, breathing again, and I walked over to the brown leather sofa and sat down. It was soft and firm and smelled of lemons. It made a soft crushing noise as I settled into it.
The blonde rose from her desk and disappeared through a brown door in the middle of the far green wall, in between the two green rubber plants. The door was marked Private. I looked at her empty desk, and noticed there was a bronzed nameplate in the middle of it. Her name was Miss Mitchell, and I wondered whether it was her real name. It sounded too perfect. Too Hollywood.
The door opened again, and Miss Mitchell stepped out. She left the door open just a crack.
'You can go in now, Sally,' she said, calling me by my first name for the first time. 'Mr. Sutton is waiting for you.' She smiled, dazzling rne with her teeth. 'And good luck.'
I nodded my thanks, and pushed open the door marked Private. The room beyond was another green and brown square, almost identical to the one I'd left. The concept must have worked, for the decorator decided to carry on the motif. The same green rug
and walls, the same low hazy light, the same brown leather sofa in the far corner. Only the desk was different. It was larger and further back, and there was a man sitting behind it.
Herb Sutton was-different from what I had been expecting. I'd imagined him to somehow look like Ralph, only much more refined and more businesslike. You know, over fifty, wide flowered tie,* mod suit, fat and balding and perhaps rimless tinted sunglasses.
But I was pleasantly surprised. I guessed that he might have been forty, but he was probably less. His dress was comparable to what I had imagined, but it fit his slim tall frame the way a kid glove fits a hand. His suit was deep brown, obviously hand-tailored, with a tan shirt and a bright yellow striped tie. His hair was black and long, his eyes brown, and his handsome face was toasted from long hours under the California sun. His features were sharp and vivid as though his face had been chiseled from a piece of aged mahogany.
He rose to greet me, extending his hand. 'Come in, please, Miss Bryant. Have a seat.'
His voice was rich and cultured, deep-toned and sexy. He moved his body with all the lightness and grace of an athlete. I settled myself into the brown leather chair across from him, and he sat down.
'How is Ralphi^' he asked, and I thought I caught the slightest hint of a double meaning. 'I haven't seen him for ages.' I nodded. 'He's… fine. Fine.'
Herb Sutton smiled at me, to relax my tension. 'I spoke to him on the telephone this morning, and he gave me a very thorough report of your… assets, shall we say. A very thorough and very good report.' I felt myself blushing as I imagined what he must have said. 'Oh.' 'You know, of course, Sally-You don't mind me calling you Sally, do you?' 'No, no. Of course not, Mr. Button.' He held up his hand. 'Herb. Herb, please. All right, Sally?' I nodded. 'Fine, Mr, Sut… Herb. Fine.' He sat back in his chair, tilting back. 'As you know, Sally, we run a very… unique service business here, and we sometimes have to be very careful about whom we hire. Not that it's illegal exactly, but… Well, you know how Victorian some legislators and law enforcement people can be. They don't seem to have any understanding of how life is changing around them. The whole sexual revolution, for example…'
He went on like that, talking platitudes, never once mentioning what the job was, but hinting around enough to let me know that it wasn't another secretarial position. It seemed to me that he was trying to defend his way of life; as if he were trying to prove to me that he wasn't doing anything wrong or immoral. That seemed very important to him-• to make it and his motivations sound altruistic. Like a public service. I wondered why he needed to legitimatize himself that way? Why he couldn't even be honest with himself?
'Well, what exactly is the job?' I asked impatiently. 'Didn't Ralph tell you?' 'Not in so many words. Not exactly.' He was holding a pencil in his hands, twirling it as he leaned back. He looked at me over the top of the pencil as if studying me. He flipped the pencil on his desk, then sat forward, leaning towards me conspiratorially.
'Sally,' he said, 'you're a very attractive young woman. And as such, you can make an enormous amount of money if you are willing to… sleep with our clients for pay,'
Even in describing it, I thought, he had to clean it up, I don't have to fuck with them, only sleep with them. A very fine distinction.
Expecting that land of an answer, that type of Job, I didn't hesitate in accepting. 'All right. I'm willing.'
He studied me again. Tou understand, of course, what you are agreeing to?' I said I did.
'And you'll have no compunctions, no second thoughts?' 'No, I don't think I will.'
He nodded gravely several times. 'All right, you're hired.' He leaned across his huge desk and depressed the button on his intercom. 'Miss Mitchell, would you come in here, please.'
I sat back in my chair, and realized my knees were shaking. My breasts were hard, and I could feel my cuntlips sticking together.
'You understand, of course,' he said, playing with the pencil on his desk, 'that we do have to… test*yon first. You know, to make sure that you are capable of… performing to our standards.'
He made it sound as if I had to take a typing test, but I was half expecting some kind of trial examination. I didn't think they would buy sex without first… trying the product, to use Herb's terms. I accepted this condition also. 'I guess that's only fair. When is this test going to take place?'
'Right now,' he said, rolling the pencil. 'Right now, Sally.'
My cunt throbbed, and I began to imagine what Herb looked like naked. I wondered how long and fat his cock was.
'Are you going to test me… personally?' I asked, trying to be sexy.
Herb dropped the pencil. 'Certainly not,' he said. 'That is not one of my functions.' He seemed insulted. The door opened, and Miss Mitchell, the ash blonde beauty from the outer room, walked in. She closed the door behind her, then locked it She said: 'I locked the front door too.' Herb nodded. 'Very good, Patti.' Then, turning to me, he said: 'Sally, why don't you take your clothing off. I want you to make love to Patti.'
I felt my stomach rise up, then sink very heavily. I felt numb. 'Wh-what?' I asked.
Herb gave me a very cold long stare. 'Do you object, Miss Bryant?' In my whole life, I have never made love with another woman. I have never so much as kissed another woman with any degree of passion, much less sexual intent. To be honest, however, I have thought about it, and found myself tamed on to the idea because of its perversity, but never, never would I ever have dreamed of doing more than thinking about it. Up to this moment, that is. In the split-second I had for reflection, I had to make my decision. I was apprehensive to be sure, but I was also excited and fascinated by the prospect of making love to a woman. To touch a breast, a cunt that was not rny own… I found myself quaking in anticipation. My mouth tasted hot and sweaty. The nipples on my breasts pushed out the front of my dress like twin marbles. I rubbed my hand against my thigh. My palm was
