Glamour Puss Page 12

  At the time, she was nineteen and Jugnu was twenty-five, a young Sikh warrior who, together with his father and brothers, owed her father their lives. The details of the story, she did not know, only that Jugnu’s life was her father’s to give and he had given it to her. Venita knew that Jugnu had spent some time in prison and that partially explained why he rarely spoke. During the seventeen years they had been together she’d heard his voice so seldom, it was a shock to her ears when she did hear it.

  Nor had he ever touched her improperly or made any overture toward her she did not invite. Jugnu’s sexuality was a complete mystery to her. He behaved like a eunuch, so complete was his control. They’d never had sex, for Venita was certain that would end her power over him, once and for all. She assumed he satisfied himself through masturbation and visits with prostitutes, but she really didn’t know.

  The massages did not begin until Jugnu had been in Venita’s service for three years. For a long time they were completely chaste, and there was no intimate touching. Oddly, it was her husband, Ranjit, who’d encouraged an evolution in the massage ritual. A film director forty years her senior, Ranjit had taken great pleasure watching her receive her massage, which Jugnu would give her before the couple retired. Because he had a bad heart and found foreplay to be taxing, Ranjit suggested that sexual stimulation become a part of the massage ritual. Venita was reluctant but, considering the suggestion had come from her husband, she acceded to the request.

  Venita would have thought that the introduction of sexuality into their master-servant relationship would have changed things, but they did not. Jugnu remained discreet to a fault. Never once did his own pleasure become a factor. When Ranjit died, the sexual massages ceased, though later, when Venita took a lover, she would sometimes instruct Jugnu, who was adept at arousing her, to prepare her for lovemaking.

  It was, even by Indian standards, an unorthodox arrangement, but one that she had come strongly to rely on. The servant was, after all, hers to do with as she chose.

  Jugnu had applied the last bit of oil to her feet and was, at the moment, working them with exquisite precision. It felt incredible, in some ways as good as sex. With the massage of her feet among the last steps in the ritual, Venita knew the time had come. When he paused, she turned over onto her back.

  Jugnu took half a step back and waited, his eyes on hers.

  “Take off your shirt,” she said.

  He knew she liked looking at his muscular shoulders and chest as he pleasured her. The command conveyed the required information as to what she expected. Jugnu obediently removed his shirt, laid it aside and began working her legs, but this time in a more sexual way, drawing his hands lightly up the insides of her knees and thighs. His face remained stoically calm. Venita sometimes wondered if that refusal to show passion or desire wasn’t his way of maintaining control. In that way alone could he confound her, plus maintain his dignity. He refused nothing, demanded nothing. He gave everything but a glimpse inside his own soul. She would never ask him about that—what he was thinking or feeling—because that would be tantamount to surrender, and she would truly surrender to no man, certainly not one who served her.

  “Yes,” she said as he lightly stroked her clitoris, alternately rotating his thumb over her nub until the forces of orgasm began to build. “Continue,” she said, her voice calm, but her insides already beginning to quiver. “A bit more firmly.” She felt it starting to build like a thunderstorm on the Punjab plain. “And now your tongue,” she said.

  It took sixty seconds, perhaps a minute and a half, no more. He was that good. Venita arched her pelvis as her climax gripped her. She convulsed for several moments, then fell still on the table. The tingling continued though her muscles no longer contracted.

  “Go,” she said.

  Jugnu took his shirt and left. Venita lay still, taking stock of the sensations coursing through her body. There could be no better physical experience. A second and a third orgasm would come easily now. It almost mattered not who was attached to the penis.

  Venita knew there ought be power in that. And surely there was. When the emotional dimension was subsumed under the physical, everything became quantifiable. That was the way most men approached things. It was that way with her, as well. There was wisdom in it. Emotion was treacherous. Every time she allowed herself to be a slave to emotion, she got in trouble. In her experience with men, Venita found that sex had two dimensions—the mechanical and the emotional. Jugnu’s expert manipulations represented the mechanical side. The emotional dimension had to do with the effects of male power on her psyche— male physical power, the power of money, the power of passion, the power of amusement and delight.

  The boy, Troy Hampton, potentially held the power of money. Perhaps, if she were lucky, he might also hold the power of amusement and delight. The secret of happiness, from her standpoint, was to find what pleasure she could in those things without losing control over them. And she would. For if not, they would devour her.

  The maid, Cala, came for him when Amal was in the middle of a rather boring story about some picture he’d made in Madras. They had been sitting at the pavilion, watching the sunset. Troy hadn’t really been listening because he was thinking about Venita and her bath. It was the clearest signal yet. Maybe an invitation to have sex.

  He was ready.

  Cala babbled something unintelligible at him, making a beckoning sign with her bony hand. Troy glanced at Amal.

  “Venita wants to talk to you,” Amal said. “Go ahead, my friend, run along. Her stories are, in any case, more amusing than mine.”

  Troy wasn’t quite sure what Amal was implying, but he had no intention of waiting around for clarification. He went off, following the barefoot servant, who always seemed to move at a half run. She led him into the house, down the hall to the master suite where Venita slept on a huge heart-shaped bed. It was built-in and came, of course, with the house.

  Cala only went partway into the room, where she stopped, pointed at the bath, then retreated, closing the bedroom door behind her. For a moment Troy stood there, aware that Venita was waiting for him. The mere thought of that brought his lingering erection to life.

  “Troy? Is that you, love?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Come talk to me.”

  His chest swelling, he headed for the bath, where he found Venita in a large, raised tub, opposite the door. Her black hair was piled up on her head with tendrils dropping down over her ears and temples. She smiled with the same casual air as if they were meeting at the Hard Rock Cafe´.

  “So, did you have a nice chat with Amal?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come sit here and tell me what you learned,” she said, putting her hand on the gleaming tiles.

  Troy did not wait to be asked twice. He went to the tub, expecting to find the surface of the water covered with bubbles, but it wasn’t. His mouth twisted into a grin. He checked out her body, liking what he saw. Her nipples were a dark chocolate. She had a very small waist and her thighs were full but well shaped. Finally, he was seeing what he’d only imagined under her sari.

  “Do you like what you see?” she asked.

  “Awesome,” he said, his voice tempered with self-assurance. Troy sat on the edge of the tub.

  “What bits of wisdom did Amal have for you, my darling?” she asked.

  Troy continued to scope out her body. “We talked about his films.”

  “Which films?”

  “Something about a tiger.”

  “That would be The Night of the Tiger.”

  “Yes,” he replied, “that’s it.”

  Venita lifted the leg nearest him from the water and rested her heel on the edge of the tub, exposing her private parts. Troy’s heart pounded harder.

  “Did he tell you about the scene where the lover of the princess comes to her while she’s in her bath?”

  Troy shook his head. “No, he didn’t.”

  “It was really quite a go
od scene, if I do say so. I was the princess, you see.”

  “Then it had to be good.”

  “Aren’t you adorable.” Venita put her hand between her legs and began stroking herself. “I don’t believe we have a video of that one, but if you’d like to see how the scene went, we could act it out. Would you like that?”

  “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  Venita smiled. “I thought perhaps you would. My lover in the film was a bandit and, of course, we both died a horrible death in the end. But before that, we had some pleasure. Let’s do the pleasure part, shall we?”

  “Fine by me.”

  “Raj, my lover, climbed in the window. You’re Raj, of course, but you don’t have to come in the window. We’ll pretend you’ve already done that. The princess, Leela— that’s me—is lying in the tub, her eyes closed. Raj silently undresses. So I’ll close my eyes and you undress.”

  Chuckling, Troy took off his shirt. Venita was having her fun, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he kind of liked it that she was making a game of it. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his jeans and undershorts. His erection, fully unfurled, stood out from his body like a handle, so distended that it curved halfway up to his belly button. That was probably Venita’s intent—to see if she could get him hard without so much as touching him. Well, she could, and it was cool with him. “Now what?” he said.

  She put her finger to her lips and, her eyes tightly closed, said, “Raj stealthily climbs into the tub and sits opposite the princess.”

  Troy got into the water, his long legs sliding down the sides of the tub past her hips. Venita seemed so serious it made him laugh, but he was also getting hot. Her game was working.

  “Now the princess, sensing that something is amiss, sits bolt upright.” Venita sat up, her breasts glistening from the water. “But she keeps her eyes closed out of fear of what she will find. You must remember, the princess is a virgin and very innocent. She’s never seen a male member, much less touched one. So what does she do? She feels around with her hand, thinking that she can never be blamed for communion with anything her eyes cannot see.”

  Venita reached around in the water until her hand touched his cock. Gently wrapping her fingers around it, she said, “Leela knows she has found something truly remarkable, but convinces herself she is safe if she keeps her eyes shut. This serpentlike creature is so very hard. She begins to caress it, hoping that if the beast has hostile intentions she can soothe it.”

  Venita began stroking him. Troy was afraid he’d come right then and there. His breathing stopped. When Venita began caressing his balls with her other hand, he was sure he was going to burst. Her eyes were still closed, but she had a little smile on her face. Troy knew he couldn’t hold back much longer.

  “Poor Raj couldn’t help himself,” Venita whispered. “He got up from the tub, dragged Leela off to her bed and had his way with her.”

  Troy didn’t wait for further instruction. He got to his feet. Taking Venita’s hands, he pulled her up, then he stepped from the tub, helping her out, as well. He took her to the heart-shaped bed, ripped back the spread and climbed onto the silk sheets. On his knees, he waited for her to position herself in front of him, her legs open.

  Troy fell on her then and was barely in her before he came, his body convulsing like it never had before and probably never would again. When he was finished, he lay spent, small tremors going through him. Venita rubbed his back, as a mother would a child.

  “You got a bit ahead of the story, my darling,” she whispered in his ear. “But that’s okay. We can work on that last part and make you truly worthy of the princess and the role of leading man.”

  Troy let his body melt into the woman’s soft breasts and stomach. He’d had sex many times before, but never with such urgency.

  “You know what the first rule of acting is, my love?” she asked, stroking his head.

  “What?”

  “Mastering the use of imagination. I’ve given you a small demonstration. Once you have that sort of command, there is no limit to what you can do.”

  Troy drew a long, slow breath, savoring Venita’s rich, womanly scent like a pothead savoring his toke. “Christ,” he said.

  “Did you like that?”

  “Awesome.”

  She chuckled, but he didn’t care. If the woman could bring him off like that, she could do anything she wanted. Troy lay in the mellow languor of his spent body. For several minutes Venita stroked his belly and his chest.

  “Am I a better lover or a better actor?” he asked.

  “You’re putting me on the spot,” she said. “Which Troy Hampton should I appeal to?”

  “Just tell me straight.”

  “All right then, a better actor.”

  “Really?”

  “Have I hurt your feelings?”

  “No,” he replied. “I’m surprised.”

  “Don’t despair, my little duck. Lovemaking is much more easily taught.”

  “You mean there’s hope for me?”

  “Only if you have the wisdom to choose the right teacher.”

  He lightly stroked her nipple. “You’ve given me something to think about, haven’t you, Venita?”

  Beverly Hills

  A warm wind blew over them as they came out of Dominick’s. Stella, clearly tipsy, took Mac’s arm with the ease of a woman confident of a man’s love, the Sturm und Drang of the anonymous note seemingly forgotten. “I like a warm, night wind,” she said. “It makes me think of the desert and Arab sheiks.”

  “Arab sheiks?”

  “Anything associated with hot sensual nights. I suppose Bedouin horsemen with dark eyes and wrapped faces are a cliche´, but it makes for a nice fantasy.”

  Mac didn’t know what to say to that. Stella was definitely drunk.

  “Are you secretly laughing at me?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Yes, you are. Don’t lie, Joseph McGowan.”

  She put her head on his shoulder. Mac felt uncomfortable. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to let her drive herself home. Not in her condition. But he wasn’t going to let her misconstrue his intentions, either.

  “Mac,” she said as they strolled along Wilshire, the wind tossing her hair, “do you ever think of that first time we made love in the pool house?”

  “I used to,” he said honestly, “but not very often anymore.”

  Stella looked up at him and said, “Does a little part of you wish for that again?”

  He was inclined not to tell her the truth and yet not lie, either. “That’s well behind us, Stella.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  Mac couldn’t find a diplomatic way to dispute the point.

  “Will you come home with me?” she whispered.

  “I’m driving you, but then I’m coming back here in a cab to get my car.”

  She looked wounded, but continued to walk alongside him, not holding his arm quite so tightly. Finally she said, “It’s natural to slip every once in a while. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

  “Stella, I feel no ill will toward you. I’m having trouble with that note. Not knowing what’s going on upsets me.”

  “If there’d been no note, you’d say the same.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Have you always hated me, Mac?”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Let me change the question. Have you ever loved me?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I ruined it. Is that what you think?”

  “We married for the wrong reasons, Stella.”

  “I’m sure I made my share of mistakes. But I wasn’t the one who killed Aubrey. Were it not for that…”

  “You’d still be married to him.”

  “No,” she said soberly. “I’d have learned. All he wanted was someone to slap around.”

  “Well, he still seems to be slapping people around. Or somebody is, in his name.�
��

  “I know you think it was a mistake faking his disappearance and burying him under that pool like we did,” she said, “but I think we were very brave.”

  “What has it gotten us?”

  “I still have hope. A chance. That’s all I wanted.”

  They’d come to her car and stopped. She looked at him with glistening eyes. To Mac it seemed like 1978 all over again. The difference was he’d long since sold his soul, and his heart was empty now. She might still have hope, but he couldn’t say he did. Nor had he any idea where to find it. Mac McGowan hadn’t seen a future that counted for anything for a very long time.

  “Let me have your keys,” he said.

  Stella obediently put her purse on the hood of her car and began digging through it. A stiff gust of wind came along and Mac glanced up. He saw an old Chevy coming up the street at an unnaturally slow speed. It was in the outside lane, nearest them. Mac noticed the window on the passenger side was down. Were it not for the deliberateness of the approach, he would have thought nothing of it. But he’d been more alert since the events of the past several days.

  The Chevy slowed even more. With the reflection of the lights of all the vehicles in the street, Mac couldn’t see the driver very well. But when the car nearly came to a stop beside Stella’s Mercedes, Mac wondered if maybe somebody wanted directions. Until the driver lifted his hand and pointed a shiny object at them.

  Mac grabbed Stella by the hips and pulled her down, the two of them landing in a heap on the sidewalk as a couple of loud bangs ensued and the plate-glass window on the shop behind them exploded and shards of glass rained down on them.

  The Chevy roared away and Mac got to his feet, staring after it. Stella sat stunned on the concrete, looking positively terrified, a little girl about to burst into tears. He helped her to her feet.