Dan Webster - Forced into damnation

Shouldering their way through Fred's crowded living room, Connie and Lionel headed for the door and out into the relative quiet of Queens Boulevard.

"Scotch?" Lionel asked, pouring a drink for Connie from the bottle that he kept on the shelf next to his stereo tuner. Connie nodded, accepting the glass from him as soon as he finished filling it. She still felt a bit nervous about being alone with him in his apartment, and sipped at her drink in order to avoid his eyes.

They had walked about half-way to the Glass Onion when Lionel remembered that it was Tuesday and that the discotheque would be closed. He persuaded Connie to come with him to his apartment by reminding her about the drugs which they had set out to discuss. Although her first impulse had been to refuse, she overcame her initial discomfort by remembering that she was a policewoman on an important assignment. But the alcohol which she had consumed at the party was making it increasingly difficult for her to remember anything.

The scotch went down easily, her throat having become numb to the burning sensation that it usually caused. Before she knew it, her glass was empty and she handed it back to Lionel. Refilling it immediately, he returned it to her.

When Lionel had first suggested going to his apartment, Connie was hesitant, fearing that her agreement to go with him might too easily be misunderstood. Her mother's teachings kept running through her head. Woman had been leading man on ever since Eve fed Adam the forbidden fruit. And man couldn't help his lustful ways. But remembering that Fred Bergen had referred to Lionel as "everybody's connection", she had finally agreed, certain that her Police Academy training had equipped her to handle any trouble that might arise and afraid of losing a perfect opportunity to accomplish her assignment.

Now the liquor was helping her to forget her nervousness. And Lionel's easy casual manner was restoring her confidence. She looked slowly around his apartment, still trying to avoid glancing directly at him.

The room was large – about twelve by twenty with a high ceiling. All four walls were covered in black felt as was the ceiling. A black carpet on the floor completed the macabre motif. The room was practically bare, the only furniture being Lionel's elaborate stereo set and an oversized mattress which occupied a corner of the floor at the far end of the room. The mattress was covered with a black fitted sheet and a thin black blanket was thrown carelessly across it.

All illumination came from a pole lamp in the center of the room. Each of the three spotlight type fixtures on the pole contained a different color bulb and was pointed in a different direction. The overall effect was eerie.

"Have you ever seen a light organ?" Lionel asked, reaching for Connie's glass and filling it to the brim.

"No, I don't think so," Connie said. The whole room seemed to be in motion and it was becoming harder and harder for her to keep her feet.

"Come over here and join me on the couch," Lionel said. "I'll show you. I built it myself." He walked toward the mattress and dropped to a sitting position at its edge. Hearing him refer to the mattress as a couch seemed somehow funny to Connie and she laughed as she eased herself down on it. She felt her yellow miniskirt sliding up her thighs as she sat on the mattress trying to balance her brimming drink in her hand.

For a long confused moment, she didn't know what to do about her skirt. Then, emptying her glass in one long swallow, she placed it on the floor beside her and tugged at the hem with both hands. The entire room was spinning, and Connie found herself giggling as she battled futilely with the errant garment. The harder she struggled, the more stubborn her miniskirt became, and she was aware that her movements were driving it up even higher.

Lionel watched the struggle with amusement, his eyes opening wide as her lace-covered crotch winked at him. Then, seeking to put her at her ease, he rose from the mattress and turned his back to her as he walked back toward the whiskey bottle, taking her glass with him. Things are going just fine, he thought, filling her glass again. She's already on the mattress and so loaded she doesn't know whether she's coming or going. Time to turn on the light organ. He flipped a switch on the cabinet of the stereo tuner. The ceiling above the mattress was immediately illuminated by a series of flashing red, blue, and yellow lights.

When Lionel returned to the mattress, Connie was sitting with her legs tucked under her and her skirt pulled over her knees. He put the drink in her hand and sat next to her as she sipped it tentatively. Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he tipped her back so that she found herself looking up at the flashing lights on the ceiling. She drained her glass to avoid spilling any of the amber liquid onto her red blouse.

"See," Lionel said, his voice softly seductive. "The lights change in color and intensity to match the changes in the music. They get brighter when the music is loud and dimmer when it's soft. Red goes with the treble notes and blue with the bass. Isn't it far out?"

"It's beautiful," Connie said. The flashing lights were filling her consciousness completely now. She felt hypnotized by them – carried off by the marriage of visual and auditory stimulation as the musical crescendos blended with the flashing splashes of colored light to dim all awareness of her surroundings. She leaned back for a better yew, feeling the softness of the mattress envelop her body as she lay back on it. "Simply beautiful," she repeated.

"So are you," Lionel said, suddenly holding her face in his hands. Connie wanted to shake her head and throw his hands from her, but was unable to muster the energy. It felt so good to lie there watching the pretty lights flash and listening to the music. And Lionel's strong hands on her face felt comforting and secure.

His face was directly over hers now, blocking her view of the brightly lit ceiling. At first she tried to look past him at the lights. But then she took a good look at his face. It was a nice face – lean and strong looking. His long blond hair fell around it in loose curls, making her think of an ancient Greek statue that she had once seen in a museum.

His penetrating eyes were deep blue and very clear, and his face was clean-shaven. Connie thought that he was remarkably handsome for a long-hair. He was staring at her now, his eyes moving slowly over her face, examining each of her features carefully. Connie was flattered by the open, look of admiration on his face as he studied her.

His face moved slowly toward hers, coming closer and closer, until his hot breath warmed her skin, making it tingle comfortably. Then he leaned further down and brought his lips gently against her cheek, brushing it with the lightest of kisses. Connie felt her whole body tingling in response to the tender contact. Something told her that she should stop him before things got out of hand but there was a part of her that resisted, wanting to savor the pleasure of his touch for just a moment longer.

In a moment his lips were on hers, grazing them lightly at first and then steadily increasing the pressure. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, trying to remember the reason that she shouldn't enjoy the pleasurable sensations that were beginning to undulate across her body. Kissing is so unsanitary, she thought drunkenly. But alcohol kills germs, doesn't it? She knew that there was something that she was supposed to talk to him about, but she just couldn't remember what it was.

He was kissing her more insistently now, his lips nibbling lightly at hers as he turned his face slowly from side to side. She had never been kissed on the lips before, not even by her mother. When she saw leading ladies being kissed in the movies, she had always wondered how it felt. But until now, the thought of ever finding out was completely foreign to her.