Myron checked them in to the best available suite. Jessica stood next to him. The hotel concierge swung his line of vision from Myron to Jessica, eyeing her lustily and Myron jealously. A formal affair was in full swing in the lobby. Men in tuxes, women in long gowns. But every man stared agog at Jessica, who was dressed in jeans and a button-down red blouse.
Myron was used to it. When they were first together, he had taken an almost perverse pleasure in seeing men stare, the familiar you-lookbut-Itouchha-ha school of macho sneering. But then he started seeing things in the looks that weren't there, and the even more familiar male insecurity burrowed through his rationality.
Jessica was practiced at this. She knew how to ignore the looks without,, looking cold, bothered, or interested.
Their room was on the sixth floor. They had barely closed the door wheiM they kissed. Jessica's tongue circled and gently darted, making his whotejf body spasm helplessly. He began to unbutton her blouse. His mouth went dry. He actually gasped when he saw her again. Breathlessness made him; heady. He cupped a warm breast, feeling the delicious weight in his hand.
She moaned into his mouth.
They moved to the bed.
Their lovemaking had always been intense, all-consuming, but this somehow more animalistic, needier, and yet more tender.
Later, much later, Jessica sat up, kissed him gently on the cheek. 'That, she said, 'was awesome.'
Myron shrugged. 'Not bad.'
'Not bad?'
'For me. For you it was awesome.'
She swung her legs out of bed and slipped into a hotel robe. 'I did enjoy myself,' she said.
'Sounded like it.'
'I was a tad noisy, huh?'
'The Who in concert is a tad noisy. You were loud.'
She stood above the bed, smiling. The robe was tied loosely, showing
plenty of cleavage and legs that were so long, they were almost intimidating.
'I didn't hear you complain.'
'How could you,' Myron said, 'over all your screaming?'
'What time is it?'
'Midnight.' He reached for the phone. 'Hungry?'
She gave him a look he felt in his toes. Well, not exactly his toes.
'Famished,' she said.
'For food, Jess. Food.'
'Oh.'
'Ever learn about the male's "time for recovery" in health class?'
'Must have been absent that day.'
'The three Rs. Replenishment, restoration, recuperation.' He looked at the menu. 'Damn.'
'What?'
'No oysters.'
'Myron?'
'Yes.'
'There's a hot tub in the bathroom.'
'Jess…'
She looked at him with who-me innocence. 'We can soak until the food comes. Recuperate. One of the three Rs.'
'Just soak?'
'Just soak.'
She had said soak. He was sure of it. Soak. Not soap. But that was how it started. She soaped him back to life. Myron tried to fight it, almost afraid of how good it felt. But he couldn't. Jess toyed with him, pushed him to the edge, let him teeter, then pulled him back. Myron was helpless. Words like heaven, ecstasy, paradise, ambrosia floated through his mind.
Total surrender.
With a whispered 'Now,' she let him go. His nerve endings surged and sung. The white-hot explosion was so powerful, his ears popped. The bright light hurt his eyes.
'Awesome,' he managed.
She lay back, smiling. 'Not bad.'
There was a knock on the door. Probably room service. Neither one of them moved.
'Why don't you get it,' she said.
My legs,' he said. 'They can't move. I may never walk again.'
Another knock.
'I'm not dressed,' she said.
'And what am I, ready for a press conference?'
Bet you'd get good coverage.'
Myron moaned at the joke.
Another knock.
'Come on, Myron. Just throw a towel around your shapely ass and get moving.'
The second woman to mention his ass in the same day. Yowzer. He grabbed the bath towel and headed for the door. Another knock.
'One second.'
He opened the door. It wasn't their food.
'Maid service,' Win said. 'May I turn down your bed?'
'Didn't you see the Do Not Disturb sign?'
Win glanced at the doorknob. 'Sorry. No speaka da English.'
'How the hell did you find us?'
'I traced down your charge card,' he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 'You checked in here at eight twenty-two p.m.'
Win leaned his head in the doorway. 'Hello, Jessica.'
From the bathroom. 'Hi, Win.' Myron heard her stepping out of the Jacuzzi. The image of water cascading down her naked body came to him like a deep punch.
'Come on in,' he grumbled.
'Thank you.' Win handed him a manila folder. 'Thought you might want to take a look at this.'
Jessica came in from the bathroom. The robe was tied tighter. She was drying her hair with a towel. 'What's up?' she asked.
'The police rap sheet of one Fred Nickler, aka Nick Fredericks,' Win said 'Imaginative alias,' Myron said.
'For an imaginative fellow.'
Jessica sat on the bed. 'He's the porno publisher, right?'
Myron nodded. The rap sheet was not very long. He started with the most recent dates. Traffic violations, two DWIs, one arrest for mail fraud.
'Nineteen seventy-eight,' Win said. « Myron skipped down. June 30, 1978. Fred Nickler had been arrested for 'endangering the welfare of a child. Charges dropped.
'So?'
