Roger Grayson - A Neighborhood Party

"Well, here's to us and our getting to know each other better before the night's over." Marsha tipped her glass to her lips and took a large, deep swallow of the light, smooth liquid, her eyes sparkling at him over the top of the glass.

Bob quickly followed suit. He needed it. Here he was with the chance of a lifetime right before him and the success or failure of it depended on this damn nymphomaniac sitting in front of him. Damn Carol anyway. If she had been here this wouldn't have happened and he wouldn't be sitting here alone and at the mercy of Burns' wife. If she had only listened to reason then none of this would have happened. He also recalled his parting words to her. "Alright, I'll take care of it myself. I don't need your help." This statement was forcing him into the position where he had to succeed at almost any cost.

"Another Scotch for your thoughts," Marsha broke the silence, the still confident smile playing across her lips.

Bob tilted his glass up, finishing it and waved to the waiter to bring two more. The first one helped to loosen his nerves up a bit, perhaps another would give him a better idea how to proceed with this little game.

"No real thoughts," Bob answered her question after a momentary pause. "I'm just wondering what makes me so attractive to a woman like you who could just drop her handkerchief and get any man she wants. I'm sure you don't have to pay for it."

"You tend to underrate yourself, Mr. Benson," she smiled coyly. "You're a very handsome and desirable man."

"Well," Bob smiled back, the tension eased slightly by the Scotch. "I must be pretty desirable to have a two-hundred-thousand dollar account thrown at me like this."

"I'm not having Harry give you the money, my dear, you're just going to invest it for him. There's quite a difference."

"Is this the way this game of business is played?" he asked dryly, fingering the second glass the waiter had arrived with.

"Perhaps not always, but it's the fun way to play it. Don't you agree?"

He had to smile at this. It was amazing at how unimportant money became to someone who had it. And also, what it really could buy. He had never in his entire life thought of people spending it this way. In fact, not even spending it, merely using it to best advantage. It was true what she said, he wasn't getting any of the money-but he was still being paid. What a come down from the lofty thoughts he had had earlier today when he had been called in Jordan's office and told that Burns wanted him to handle his account because he was impressed with him.

"Shall we drink up and be on the way home?" Marsha suggested.

She sensed the break in Bob's resolve not to give in and had for that reason allowed him plenty of time to think and ponder over what the loss of a two hundred thousand dollar account would mean. She knew she hadn't completed the seduction yet but a few more drinks in the intimacy of the basement at home and perhaps a few of Harry's more subtle stag movies if they became necessary.

"Yes, let's do," Bob agreed. The second double Scotch had given him more courage now and he thought perhaps he could handle her without getting too deeply involved. If he couldn't, well, he would just have to see. He had to have that account at all costs, but short, he hoped, of prostituting himself for it. He knew, without a doubt, that this woman across from him held the key to his entire future at the bank.

The ride back to the neighborhood was agonizing for Bob. Marsha had given him the keys to drive and then had snuggled up next to him and teased him with her fingers and hands all the way home. He had weakly protested when she had unzipped his fly and wormed her hand inside his pants, teasing him into hardness. There was no way he could resist in the heavy traffic they were going through so had just sat in tortured silence as she stroked and fondled him at will. It was obvious she was enjoying his discomfort and kept up a steady stream of seductive conversation describing the things she was going to do to him when they arrived at the house.

He had never been so happy in his life as when they pulled up in front of the Burns' residence and he could fight her away. He reddened slightly and she laughed beside him as he had difficulty in pushing his hardened penis back inside his trousers.

"You could just leave it out," she kidded with a laugh. "It'll save time later."

Bob got out of the car and opened the door for her and, with a guilty look at his darkened house next door, followed her into her own house.

Once they were inside, Marsha led him straight through the living room and back to the den, pausing only once to collect a key from a cabinet in the hallway.

"Now, I'm going to show you our little pride and joy." she said with excitement "We entertain some of our more select friends here once a month or so."

He followed her silently when she drew back a curtain in the den and unlocked a leather-padded door and descended a set of stairs into the basement. It led them into a hallway that had two rooms off each side of it. They were beautifully decorated with the main item of furniture being a large king-sized bed that covered most of the floor space. The walls and ceiling were almost all mirrored, with each room otherwise done in varying colors. One was red, one was blue, and the other two were done in green and yellow respectively. She commented proudly on each as she led him on to a larger room at the end of the corridor. It was large and round with curved couches lining the walls that looked more like beds because of the width of the seats. A bar about fifteen feet long lined one side of the room off to the left. Marsha guided him there as Bob's mouth gaped open in wonder at the expense that had gone into this place.

"Now, what for a drink?" she asked, noting with satisfaction that he had been deeply impressed so far with their entertainment area.

"Scotch will do," he answered, his eyes still wandering around the room in amazement.

"No," she smiled, "I've changed my mind. I'm going to give you our little party special. You may need an aphrodisiac to keep up with me."

She walked behind the bar and brought up a bottle filled with a thick green liquid. It was labeled 'Pernod'.

"Pernod?" he asked quizzically. "That's no aphrodisiac. You can buy it anywhere."

"Not this kind, you can't, love. It's the old type they used to drink in France during Hemingway's time. It's outlawed now."

"What's so different about it?" Bob answered with an unconvinced tone in his voice. "It looks the same to me."

"It's made from absinthe which comes from the wormwood tree," she explained as she poured out two half glasses and filled them the rest of the way with water. "It's against the law everywhere now but Spain and Nassau."

Bob watched the thick green color slowly change to a milky white as she poured the water in. He was fascinated by it and in spite of her terming it an aphrodisiac was anxious to try it.

"There you are," she said, after dropping in several cubes of ice. "Give it a try."

Bob, following Marsha's lead, lifted the glass to his lips and took a small experimental sip. It tasted like licorice and was smooth going down. He lifted it again and took a larger sip.

"Like it?"

"Mmmmm," he answered, "doesn't seem all that potent."

"It gets you when you least expect it. Never makes you dull and sleepy like alcohol, either, just leave a mellow, smooth feeling in you all the time you're drinking it.

"And the aphrodisiac part?"

"That will come, love, that will come," she smiled, reaching over the bar and patting his hand. "Now let me show some of the other wonders of our little meeting-place."

"And just what kind of meeting is this? You've got to admit it's a bit unusual for an ordinary social gathering."