Fanchon's Book(42)

"Hmm?"

"Look!"

I looked. It oozed out over her lower lip, white, frothy; I shuddered; it took shape, a great gob of saliva; I felt myself cringing as it hung there, dangling (like a teardrop pearl pendant?) and then at least broke free and splashed into the cognac, a plop, a fizz, loathsome, horrid-spit-but I didn't hesitate to reach for the glass when her command came.

"Drink it, Fanchon. Then we'll go upstairs and get ready to seethe fireworks. And oh yes, don't you have some sort of phone call to make? Come, dear, gulp it down. I just flavored it a little for you, that's all. Doesn't it taste good?"



Chapter 13

Some sort of phone call. It seemed so irrelevant. Not until we checked the weather and went upstairs to change clothing did it regain even a modicum of its former significance. By then the diapason of my tumultuous organs had quieted enough to let an echo of reason be heard. Oh yes, I had a phone call to make. And a book to write. Much to do. Much.

So that I might keep my love.

At the moment, though, my love was concerned with a more immediate, albeit less important issue: she stood at the closet trying to decide what to wear. I listened with half an car while I held the receiver and waited for the telephone operator to get lucky. Kristi sounded far more interesting. What to wear to the fireworks display? Such a problem! The downpour had ended, but everything outdoors reeked of dampness-and another shower might be in the offing. A raincoat, then? But the air was so sultry, muggy, too hot for clothes, and wouldn't it be great if we could go out there naked? What fun! Those nudists knew how to live. Why couldn't the rest of humanity be as free and easy aboutMy connection came through and for a little while I left Kristi to her own devices and concentrated on my agent. Stutz was surprised to hear from me. And flabbergasted, to put it mildly, when he got the gist of my message. As expected, however, he had his experienced finger on the pulse of the literary market and he told me what I wanted to know.

Nor was it a sluggish pulse, from what I gathered, especially in the field of potboiler paperbacks. And as for a fat advance against future royalties, well, Stutz had some pretty promising suggestions to put forth. By the time I hung up I was more enthusiastic than ever about doing a novel, and now I even knew just what kind it was going to be.

But I kept my own counsel and didn't let it interfere with Kristi's epoch-making decisions. I knew better. First things first: what should she wear to the fireworks?

"How about you, Fanchon? Your trench coat?"

"You choose, darling." Such a fuss over nothing! I had too much else on my mind. "I'll dress the same way you do."

"Will you? Hmm… " She scowled, still pondering. Then her face brightened and she clapped her hands elatedly. "Ooh, I know just the thing. We'll wear trench coats-and that's all."

"Huh?"

"Coats and sandals. Nothing else."

"You-you mean naked?"

"Sure. Naked underneath the raincoats."

"But-but-"

"Who's to know? We'll keep the coats on. It's daring, I'll admit, but I'm game if you are. What do you say, Fanchon? Just for the thrill of it?"

That fatal phrase again. Just for the thrill of it. How could I resist? But it was too late for quibbling, anyway, she had already started stripping her garments off, giggling infectiously as she got carried away with the outrй notion-so what could I do but follow suit?

It was quite a sensation, titillating, weird, strolling through the hotel lobby like that, with only a single layer of cloth between my nude skin and the whole wide world. Sexually arousing, actually, although the humor of it had us struggling to keep from laughing aloud in conspiratorial glee. When we got outside, the temptation became too strong and I just had to touch her. My hand slipped inside her coat; she gasped as it patted the little tufted belly-bulge, then shook her head as I sent a fingertip exploring moistly.