Free Hot Ticket by Janice Weber Page B

years.” Bobby sniffed his hand languorously,
     ecstatically, as if inhaling purest cocaine. “Believe me, you’re
my
type.” He jerked my hand to the ridge in his pants.
    “I didn’t come here for this,” I snorted.
    “No? What did you come for?”
    “Professional courtesy.”
    Two fingers dug between my legs. They felt as thick as his penis. “Next time you don’t wear panties,” Bobby whispered, “you’d
     better mean it.” One quick, rough kiss and he sprang me loose. The driver came to the porch. I got back to Washington after
     four in the morning. Duncan was not in his room. I couldn’t sleep: bodies were apolitical, and mine had wanted Marvel’s.
    Several hours later I returned Fausto’s Corvette to his driveway. Judging by the paucity of cars outside his house, not many
     people had felt up to breakfast this morning. But that lurid orange sun lurking above the smog would drive any sane human
     into the hills. Only the truly depraved, like Justine and I, would still want to eat. Her silver Mercedes occupied the space
     closest to the front door: she had arrived first. Maybe she had slept over.
    Fausto greeted me in flowing white pajamas embroidered with watermelons. Weak flesh puffed around his eyes. His complexion
     matched the smog. No smile: maybe I should have phoned beforehand. “Darling.” He squeezed my fingers. “Come in.”
    I signed the guest book. A dozen visitors looked up as we entered the dining room. I got fewer, but longer, stares than I
     had yesterday. Justine actually stopped chewing for a few moments to check out my dress. She looked delicious, a little wild,
     as if she had been up all night. When she actually smiled at me, I knew with whom.
    Fausto settled into his chair in the corner. “I had no idea you were such an early riser.”
    “Jet lag.” I told the butler to bring just coffee and bread. “Sorry we missed you after the rehearsal. Duncan is not into
     coed bathing.”
    “I forgive him. He’s a good pianist. You’ve been playing together a long time?”
    “From the beginning.” I stuck a toe in the water. “I try to look out for him.”
    “Ah, you’re worried about Justine? Join the club.” Fausto lit a cigarette. “No secrets in this town, my dear. And the two
     of them are not exactly discreet.”
    Last I had seen Duncan, he was barreling off to some dowager’s dinner party. That had probably ended around midnight: seven
     long hours ago. “Okay, let me have it.”
    “The evening started mildly enough. Apparently your accompanist loves to tango. He burned up the floor at the Argentine embassy.”
    “His mother made him take dancing lessons for ten years.” I sighed. “Then what.”
    “I understand he carried Justine to her car. They cooled off a bit in the fountain in front of the Capitol Building. They
     hit a disco, then committed a few carnal sins on the steps of the National Cathedral.” Fausto waved at Vicky Chickering, who
     had just entered with a glum attorney general. “Thereafter Duncan may have reconsidered his antipathy to coed bathing. Justine
     rolled in an hour ago with stars in her eyes. Extraordinary.”
    Damn! “What does she get out of this?”
    “A priceless opportunity to make Bobby jealous. Not to mention stud service.” Fausto patted my hand. “There, there. Duncan’s
     a grown boy.”
    Across the room, the servicee broke into girlish laughter. It was the same frequency as that laugh I had heard over the Watergate
     fountain the other night. Was I denying the simple, obvious possibility that this woman had fallen in love with Duncan? I
     was a possessive woman, even when I didn’t own the gentleman in question. “I hope he’s got enough energy to rehearse this
     afternoon.”
    “If he’s been screwing Justine, he won’t need to sleep for a week.” Fausto waved to Aurilla Perle as she cruised to the coffee
     urn. “The first week, anyway. Incidentally, my friend Bendix is most taken with you. Are you seriously