of high-heeled shoes. She wore her tight-pulled chignon. In between the only covering she wore was the blond bush of her prominent mons veneris!
It was worse than a bad dream. Paula had been having bad dreams too long to even suspect this might be one. She was too alive, too totally aware for this to be anything but the tearing, mauling, humiliating truth. She was naked before half the city! Naked before everybody she knew-everybody who counted in her life.
Hizzonner had finally gotten his unbelieving eyes in focus. He was licking his lips. And now it was beginning to turn into a bad dream. Paula stood paralyzed, still frightened stiff by her narrow escape. She supposed she ought to make at least a token effort, put a hand over her pubic patch, try to cover her tits, turn around-do something!
She couldn't. Totally paralyzed, mouth dry, even her cunt dry for once in her lusting life, she stood looking into the TV cameras, into all those burning, yearning male eyes that stared silently back.
They were all paralyzed too, she suddenly realized. It must be at least as startling to them as it was to her to be expecting a dignified lady lawyer and have it turn into an unannounced striptease. The bar association would have a few uneasy years living this down. And Hizzonner's political enemies must already be rubbing gleeful hands, thinking of all the wonderful uses they could make of this moment, all the unprintable jokes that would liven up the forthcoming campaign. Grimly, Paula realized that at least she had done something. Hizzonner wouldn't be able to fire her for this. He'd be too busy trying to keep her from suing the city. But she'd done her little bit to spike his campaigns Maybe the old bastard would lose, thanks to her.
But at what a price? She could never live this moment down. If she lived another fifty years, if she were to grow as decrepit as Whistler's mother, Paula knew she would still be remembered for this unforgettable moment before the entire city government, before six separate TV cameras. Oh Jesus!
And still nobody moved. How long had she been standing there naked, arms and shoulders back, tits thrust out like a radiator ornament? Ten minutes? One minute? Not over two seconds at the most, she realized. No wonder they talked about drowning men reviewing their whole lives. It seemed to her that she had been there forever, standing on the block at some slave auction, her body exposed for the delectation of all these male chauvinist pigs and who was going to bid? Would somebody buy her? Would somebody take her home and rape her? Would somebody rape her twice before he got her home? Would somebody spread her legs and put his great thumping mass of virility in between her legs, part of her quiff, stuff her full of chauvinism and slide his male supremacy in and out, in and out until she moaned and squealed and giggled?
Dimly she realized it had happened. Somebody had broken the spell. Somebody had bid and bought her and now he was rushing forward to claim his prize. Dimly she perceived that it was Smart-ass, her longtime law school rival. Of all the miserable chauvinist pig sons of bitches, he'd naturally be the one.
Totally undignified, totally lacking in courtroom decorum, he was galloping toward her, tearing off his topcoat as he ran. 'Jesus H. Christ!' he gasped as he threw it over her shoulders, 'Let's get out of here!'
CHAPTER 4
She stumbled along behind him, unable to match her step with his. Smart-ass turned, saw the glazed look on her face, and wasted no more time. Hastily, he closed his topcoat around her, grabbed her like some hairy brute of a caveman, and galloped off toward the down escalator with Paula over his shoulder.
This isn't really happening, she tried to tell herself but she knew it was. No dream could scratch like this topcoat scrubbing her bare belly with each bounce while he galloped down the escalator, across the marbled lobby, and down the flight of cruddy stairs that bypassed an elevator to the parking garage.
He's going to get me in a dark corner and rape me, she knew. The son-of-a-bitch had been trying half heartedly to get into her pants for as long as she'd known him. But never quite hard enough. Until now he'd been happy enough to get his name in the papers with a succession of young hard bodies and, apparently, smart enough not to let any of these conniving young cunts hitch her wagon to his rapidly rising star. But now, having finally seen a full-sized spread of her irresistible charms, he was going to make up for lost time, going to get her down in some dark corner of the parking garage and fuck her silly, fuck her until her brains turned to peanut butter and her cunt to mincemeat. He was going to-
Instead of dumping her in a corner and threading his honker into her, Smart-ass, still draping her coat- wrapped body over his shoulder, fumbled in his pocket and then he was opening the door of a Mark IV. He put her in the front seat, handling her like a length of rolled-up carpet. Moments later they were driving out of the garage up onto the street and Paula knew despairingly that it wasn't true. He wasn't going to rape her. Smart-ass really did have a sharp mind. While all those other dipshits had leered and boggled he had rushed forward and struggled to spare her more humiliation. Now he was taking her home.
It didn't occur to her to ask how he happened to know the way. He'd never been there. In the twelve years since they'd finished law school and been admitted to the bar he'd seen her every day or two in the courtrooms, in chambers, in the restaurants frequented by City Hall people. They'd been friendly in a brittle sort of way and he'd never once visited her home. Now, after a silent ride he was pulling up before her little house.
He pulled into the driveway and touched a door opening gadget. Paula's eyes widened as her garage door flew open. 'Any son-of-a-bitch who peddles these things for security merits whatever the law can ignore in the way of cruel and unusual punishment,' Smart-ass growled as he drove his Mark IV cautiously into the space for her Datsun.
Paula opened the door and bolted. 'Don't I even get a cup of coffee?' he asked plaintively as she shot into the kitchen.
Both of her phones were ringing. She ignored them and raced into her bedroom, shedding the topcoat as she rummaged through the closet and found a quilted robe. Then she realized that, no matter how much Smart-ass annoyed her, he really had been decent about it all. Belting her robe, she returned to the kitchen, then remembered his coat. She went back to the bedroom and got it. When she got back to the kitchen he had already rummaged through her cupboards and was plugging in a percolator.
'I'm sorry,' he said.
Paula looked at him in astonishment.
'I know how you feel about the whole shtick,' he explained. 'Next time the bar association wants to give Hizzonner a few strokes they can hire a bunny to pop up out of a cake.'
The blue phone and the red phone both started ringing again.
'Ignore them,' he growled. 'You're going to have every freak in TV range propositioning you for the next three weeks. And it may even get on the networks unless that kid in my office has sense enough to make a few calls and remind them about invasion of privacy.'
'In a public place?' Paula asked witheringly.
'Nothing wrong with bluffing is there?' Smart-ass grinned. The percolator started muttering and Paula turned to the red phone.
'Don't!'
'I've got to. That's the hot line for my parolees.' She picked up the phone and answered.
'Miss di Stephano?'
'Yes.'
'This's Harry Riggs.' When she hesitated the voice added, 'You know-9173612. Uh look, Miss di Stephano, I've got a job. What I mean is a real job with a future but it's, uh, it's out of town.'
'How far out of town?'
'Well, uh, it's out of state actually.'
'Harry, you know I can't make new rules. I have to obey the law just like you do.'
'But Miss di Stephano, it's a real opportunity. My boss'll go bond for me and he's got all kinds of papers and references and-can't I just bring him around and see you?'
Paula sighed. 'Give me an hour,' she said. 'My office.'
'Uh, couldn't I come to your house? I'm right in the neighborhood.'
'I suppose so,' she said defeatedly. No matter what that burning-eyed breaker and enterer cooked up she knew she couldn't give him permission to leave the state.
Smart-ass was looking quizzically at her. 'Business as usual?' he asked.
