The Nude Wore Blaсk

Chapter Eight

"That woman is taking advantage of my son!" Mrs. Ogilvie's voice rose shrilly.

"It looks like the other way around to me," the doctor observed mildly.

"You're not Archer," Llona continued to moan.

"Sorry about that," Sammy Spayed apologized.

"Too skinny!" Hannah pronounced judgment.

"What hit me?" Ogilvie wondered.

."Don't be ridiculous," Mrs. Ogilvie insisted to the doctor. "Of course it's not the other way around. You know that my son has an aversion to the female of the species."

"That's a mightly large aversion," the doctor observed.

"Nonsense! He's simply over-excited. You know very well, much as it grieves me to say it, that my Archibald is as fruity as an apple orchard. He's a homosexual." The last sentence was delivered not without a trace of satisfaction.

"His position is pretty damned heterosexual," the doctor pointed out.

"Sheer coincidence." Mrs. Ogilvie dismissed it.

"Unfortunately, coincidences like that can get a fellow drafted," the doctor remarked.

"What do you mean? He's exempt. For psychological medical reasons."

"He's exempt because I attested to his homosexuality," the doctor reminded her. "But after this, in good faith, I can't persist in that diagnosis." "You mean you'll let Archibald be drafted," Mrs. Ogilvie wailed.

"I have no choice. The Hippocratic Oath and all that."

"I always knew you were a hypocrite!" Mrs. Ogilvie snapped spitefully.

"I have no choice. He'll have to serve his country like every other young man."

"Oh, goodie!" Archibald Ogilvie regained his senses and realized what was happening. "At last I can wear the green beret."

"There! Doesn't that sound pretty sissyish?" his mother suggested. "A green beret! That's not very manly. It certainly sounds to me like something they'd wear on the wrong side of the Village."

"Communist traitor!" Archibald hissed at her.

"Archie! I'm your mother!"

"Fetishes of garb are no proof of effeminacy," the doctor said firmly.

"At last," Archibald said. "I can give my life for my country."

"You see," his mother appealed to the doctor. "The death wish! Now, you can't tell me that's normal."

"These days it is," the doctor sighed.

"If we're not needed any more," Sammy Spayed suggested, edging toward the door with Llona in tow, "then I guess we might as well be leaving."

"Who is that woman?" The thought occurred to the doctor for the first time as his mind focussed on Llona. "What is she doing here?"

"My assistant." Sammy thought fast and spoke glibly. "Staked her out here to trap your escaped patient. It worked, too. I'll send you a bill." And before the doctor could reply, he and Llona were out the door and gone.

Sammy apologized to Llona again on the drive back to Birchville. "I thought sure he was the man you were looking for," he said. "Everything fit."

"Well, he wasn't."

"Gee, the only other lead I had that looked likely was this cousin of these Valentines. But you said you were sure it wasn't him."

"The way Olivia Valentine described him, it couldn't be."

"How did she describe him?" Sammy asked.

"Short and fat and with a hooked nose."

"Well, that sure doesn't fit the description you gave me," Sammy admitted.

Still, the inconsistency left a glimmering of doubt in Sammy's mind. The next day, on his own, he decided to check it out. That evening, he called Llona, and his voice was triumphant.

"Arch D. Phelps, cousin of Mortimer Valentine," he told her, "is not short and fat and does not have a hooked nose."

"He isn't? Then what does he look like?"

"He is a young, well-set-up fellow, and I imagine most women would consider him attractive and perhaps handsome."

"But why would Olivia Valentine have lied to me?" Llona was bewildered.

"I couldn't say. But she did lie. And all the other facts fit."

"Do you have his phone number?" Llona's heart was once again pounding with hope.

"Yes." Sammy gave it to her. "Good luck. I'll send you my bill." He hung up.

Fingers trembling, Llona immediately dialed the number Sammy had given her. A man answered.

"Hello. Is this Arch D. Phelps?" Llona couldn't help the way her voice shook.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Well, you don't know me. Or maybe you do. I'm not sure. I'm a friend of your cousin Mortimer's wife Olivia."

The phone clicked in Llona's ear. It took her a moment to realize that he had hung up on her. When she had realized it, Llona still couldn't understand why he'd done it. She dialed again. The phone rang several times, but there was no answer. Not knowing what else to do, Llona dialed Olivia Valentine's number.

"Hello?" Olivia answered the phone.

"Hello, Olivia. This is Llona Rutherford."

"Oh. Hello, Llona. How are you?"

"Just fine. The reason I called, Olivia, is that I just called Arch Phelps, you know, your husband's cousin, and when I said I was a friend of yours, he hung up on me."

There was a long silence. "He did," Olivia said finally, her voice carefully noncommittal.

"Yes. He did. Do you have any idea why he'd do a thing like that?"

"No," Olivia lied.

Something in Olivia's voice made Llona realize that she was being evasive. That, coupled with her knowledge that Olivia had given a false description of her husband's cousin, made Llona suspect more than ever that she was on the track of the right Archer. If that was so, it raised a great many questions.

Had he put Olivia up to misleading Llona? If not, then why had he hung up on Llona so abruptly? But why was he avoiding her? Llona wondered. Could she have completely misconstrued what took place between them on her wedding day? Was it just a casual happenstance to him that he wanted to forget?

Llona had to know. She had to be sure one way or the other. "I'd like to meet your husband's cousin," she told Olivia now, putting it to her directly.

"I'm afraid I can't help you." Olivia froze her out.

"Mortimer isn't on very good terms with Arch." She didn't elaborate.

"Oh." Llona didn't know what else to say, so she bid Olivia a strained goodbye and hung up. She brooded over the situation for a while and then decided to call Sammy Spayed again.

He readily provided her with Arch Phelps's address. Llona showered then, selected her perfume, and dressed carefully. She was going to get to the bottom of this herself. She was going to confront Arch Phelps, and if he was her Archer, she was going to determine the true extent of his feelings about her. One way or another, she was going to settle the whole matter. But Llona was feminine enough to want to give herself every advantage in the confrontation. So the dress she elected to wear was sexily snug-fitting and suggestively low-cut.

It was 10:30 p.m. when she arrived at Arch Phelps's apartment. She'd made one attempt to call first, but the phone hadn't been answered. She gambled that the reason wasn't that he was out, but rather that he was still stubbornly avoiding her call. But when she rang his doorbell three times without getting any response, she began to think that perhaps she was wrong, that perhaps he really had gone out after hanging up on her, that perhaps she'd come on a wild goose chase.

Tentatively she tried the doorknob. The door swung open easily. Llona stepped into the foyer and shut it behind her.

She advanced a few steps toward the living room and rapped loudly on the wall with her fist. There was still no response. She paused a moment, and the sound of running water reached her ears.

Hesitantly, Llona crossed the living room to a small hallway on the other side which led to. the rear of the apartment. Now the sound of running water was louder and identifiable as a bathroom shower. Determined,

Llona knocked on the door from behind which the sound emanated. A second, louder knock brought an answer.

"Yo?" The deep, masculine voice mingled with the sound of the running water.

Llona couldn't decide whether it was the voice of the lover she sought or not. It had been so long, and she was afraid her memory-and her hopes-might play tricks on her. "Mr. Phelps?" She wanted to hear the voice again, to have another opportunity of judging it.

"Hello?" A faucet must have been turned; the sound of rushing water receded. "Who goes there? Friend or foe?" The voice was jovial, fresh with energy from the shower.

"Could I see you, Mr. Phelps? I'd like to talk to you."

"Do you really want to see me?" His tone was teasing. "That's very broad-minded of you, considering my dampish and unclothed state. Now, I wonder just who it might be, with such an intriguing voice, who slips into my apartment and makes such a request."

"I didn't mean that. Couldn't you slip on a robe or something and come out here and talk to me?"

"My robe is in my bedroom closet."

"Should I get it for you?"

"Absolutely not! My bedroom is an absolute disaster area. We bachelors have our pride, you know. I could never face you if you'd set eyes on that mess. Please stay out of there."

"All right."

There was a pause before he spoke again. "I've never been one for ogling the craws of gift horses," he said, "but tell me, are you as attractive as you sound?"

"I'm young and beautiful. Modesty forbids me to say more."

"I congratulate you on your modesty." He chuckled. "But how do I know you're not exaggerating?"

"Come out and see for yourself."

"How can I refuse?" The whoosh of water ceased altogether and there was the faint sound of bare feet padding across the bathroom tiles.

"No! Wait!" Llona had second thoughts. "Are you wearing anything?"

"Not a stitch." The voice came from just the other side of the bathroom door now.

"Then don't come out! Don't you dare!"

"I wish you'd make up your mind." The sound of a toilet lid being lowered said he'd sat down while waiting for her to reach some decision. "Just who are you, anyway?" he asked after a moment.

"A girl who's very anxious to see you in the flesh," Llona answered truthfully.

"Well, the door is unlocked. There's nothing stopping you."

"I didn't mean that literally."

"Why do you want to see me?" he asked.

"I think I know you."

"Well, that seems logical. Considering that you've let yourself into my apartment unannounced in the middle of the night."

"The door was open. And it's not the middle of the night. It's not even eleven o'clock yet."

"You're right. The night is young. And if you've described yourself accurately, I'm all for making the most of it."

"I don't know yet whether I'll agree to that or not."

"When will you know?" There was just a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

"After I see you."

"But how can you see me if you don't want me to come out and you won't come in?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't come in."

"Oh?" He thought a moment. "Oh! Well please don't hesitate. You're more than welcome."

"Is there a curtain around your shower?" "Yes."

"Then get back inside and draw the curtain and I'll come into the bathroom."

"For a girl who came voluntarily into my apartment, you're awfully particular. Somehow I have the feeling that I'm the one who should be setting conditions."

"I wish I could decide whether your voice is familiar or not," Llona mused aloud. "But your bathroom gives it such a hollow ring that I can't tell. Maybe if I was in the same room…"

"I already told you that you're welcome to come in here."

"Are you in the shower?"

"Oh, all right." There was the sound of footsteps padding. "I'm in the shower," he announced.

"Is the curtain drawn?"

There was the sound of curtain rings sliding across a metal rod. "It is now," he told her.

Llona entered the bathroom. Hidden behind the shower curtain, Arch Phelps had left just enough room so that he could see out. As she came into his line of vision, he whis-much!

tied silently to himself. He liked what he saw-very

"Just who are you?" he asked.

Llona elected to ignore the question for the time being. "I still can't tell from your voice," she decided. "It still echoes. If I could see your face…"

"You can see all of me."

"That won't be necessary. Can't you just part the curtains a little and stick your head out?"

Arch parted the curtains and stuck his head out. However, Llona's calculatedly sultry appearance, the aroma of her titillating perfume which filled the bathroom, and the realization of his nudity so close to such an erotically stimulating young female had combined to arouse a certain physical reaction in Arch. It was the evidence of that arousal which inadvertently parted the shower curtain below his head as it appeared and pointed quaveringly in Llona's direction.

Llona looked at the face and her shoulders sagged. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed disappointedly. "You're not my Archer." Her eyes fell with the disappointment. "Oh, my!" she noticed. "You certainly are a lot like him, though."

"Just what was it you wanted?" Arch asked insinuatingly, his eyes following her eyes and a small smile crossing his lips.

"I-I'm not sure." Llona's confusion grew out of the inflamed feelings brought on at the sight of his manhood and the knowledge that she should really leave now that she had determined that he wasn't the man she sought. Thus distracted by her feelings, her next words were a compromise, but a compromise that was weighted by desire beyond her control. "Did you- Did you hurt yourself, or something?" She pointed to a circular ridge of scar tissue around the member parting the lower portion of the shower curtain,

"An accident." Arch shuddered and pushed the memory out of his mind.

"How- How did it happen?"

"It's a long story. And you'd never in a million years believe it."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really. It's all healed now."

"It doesn't-? That is, it didn't-? The accident, I mean-did it do any lasting-?"

"No damage. I'm perfectly all right. Want me to prove it?"

"I don't think-"

"Don't think." Arch threw the shower curtains back. "Just come here and see for yourself."

As if hypnotized, Llona walked over to the tub. Arch took her hand in his and guided it over the surface under discussion. "See? All healed," he murmured. His free hand slipped around to the back of Llona's dress and located the zipper there.

"What-? What are you doing?" The fact that Llona didn't let go belied her interest in any answer to the question.

Realizing this, Arch pulled the zipper instead of answering. The top of her dress fell around her waist. He slipped one of her large, firm breasts free of the strapless bra she was wearing. Far from protesting, Llona merely tightened her grasp. Arch bent and kissed the ruby tip of the breast. It swelled and became even redder between his lips. Llona moaned. His hands slid down to her hips and pushed the dress free of them. It crumpled to the floor. Without relinquishing her grip, Llona stepped out of it. It had been so long! So long!

Arch undid the clasp of her bra and it followed the dress to the floor. Both hands slid down to her silken panties, and he slid them down over her thighs. Llona wriggled impatiently, and they too fell to her ankles. She kicked them aside, and her thighs stayed apart as Arch caressed the opening petals of her womanhood. Soon she was moving against his hand like one possessed, moaning aloud rhythmically, her own hand clutched lightly into a fist that moved over its prize in time to the rhythm. Aroused beyond herself now, she sank to her knees and her lips parted hungrily.

Arch strained backward with the initial caress. His spine stiffened, and he braced his legs. His eyes closed and he gave himself up to the sensation. He rose up on his toes and came down again. This last movement was the one that proved disastrous!

When he'd stepped backward, a small, half-used bar of soap had slipped under his foot" Now he came down on it. His feet went out from under him. He let out a yell which startled Llona. The yell, plus the sudden motion, caused her to clamp her teeth down hard. Arch's first scream was followed by a second one of sheer anguish. It was cut off abruptly when his head struck the side of the bathtub as he landed.

Llona opened her mouth immediately when she realized what had happened. But it was too, late. The damage had been done. Considering the state her initial reaction had left him in, it was probably fortunate that Arch was unconscious. If he hadn't been, the pain would have been excruciating.

Llona kept her head. She ran into the living room to telephone for help. There was a small book of phone listings on the table beside the telephone. Llona flicked through it quickly until she'd found the number of Arch's doctor. She called it, convinced the physician that it was an emergency, and elicited his promise to come right over. He arrived just as she'd finished putting on her clothes.

The doctor was in the bathroom with Arch for what seemed a long time. Finally he came out, supporting the still groggy victim, and helped him into the bedroom. A moment later he came out and Confronted Llona.

"He can't have any visitors," the doctor told her. "Particularly not any female visitors. You'd better go home, young lady."

"Yes. Of course. I was just leaving. I only wanted to wait to see if he was all right. He is all right, isn't he?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'all right.' He has a good deal of pain, but physically he'll recover. Whether he'll ever get over the psychological trauma, I couldn't say. I'm not a psychiatrist, but my advice to him is to stay far away from women for a long time. You see, nothing personal, but he seems to have a predilection for involving himself with the most vicious type. This is the second time he's suffered this particular sort of injury. I was so intrigued by his first misfortune that I've been writing it up for one of the medical journals. I wouldn't dare include this second misfortune in my account, though. It's so unbelievable that it would only lead to doubts as to my diagnostic competency. No!" The doctor held up his hand to keep Llona from interupting. "Don't explain it to me. I'm still having difficulty believing the circumstances of Mr. Phelps's first accident. Just leave now, and in the future watch your diet more carefully."

Chagrined and shamed, Llona quickly departed. She went straight home. As she. entered her own room, the telephone was ringing. "Hello." Her voice was dull and defeated as she answered it.

"Hello, Mrs. Rutherford." It was Sammy Spayed. "Just thought I'd check back and see how things worked out. Was Phelps the right man?"

"No."

"Oh. Sorry. Well, I'll get right back on the case tomorrow and-"

"No, you won't!" Llona said firmly.

"Beg pardon?"

"You won't get right back on the case, Mr. Spayed. And do you know why you won't?"

"No. Why?"

"Because you're fired, Mr. Spayed. That's why. You're fired!" Llona slammed the phone back on the receiver, threw herself on the bed, and started crying. Tears of frustration. Tears of disappointment. Tears of hopelessness.

Llona cried a long time.