Ann Crouse - Runaround Stews

Limply, Ann rose to her feet and after staggering a few feet, kicked off her shoes with a hearty laugh, but quickly stifled her sounds, remembering her girl friend Trudy making mad passionate love with an unidentified man on the bed. The stranger beside her guided her wobbling body through huge sliding doors. "Shall we go into my living room?" the stranger beckoned with an extra tug on her arm, warning her there was no alternative.

Ann couldn't prevent an involuntary intake of breath at the sudden flamboyance of her surroundings as she stepped down, nearly falling on her face, into the sunken living room. "My God!" she looked around in awe, "it's like a terrarium." Every inch of the spacious living room was covered with plants, hanging plants, potted plants, flowering plants, cacti, even blooming perennials.

Everything in the room looked like it had come from a museum.

The Swedish sofa sumptuously designed like a pair of huge red lips looked inviting and she plopped down on the softness of its sensuous form. Beneath her was a zebra skin rug artfully placed under the glass and silver metal table where a Wedgwood vase was crammed with poorly rolled cigarettes. Her eyes traced the smooth outlines of the marble fireplace that covered the entire wall, its brown streaks glistening in the sparkling light of the crackling fire, reflecting the blues and reds of its warm blaze. Through Ann's hazed eyes she spied twinkling lights in the distance. "Oh, you have a view!" she anxiously jumped to her unsteady feet.

"Do you like it, my dear?"

"Lovely, yes lovely." Her trembling hand cling to the heavy red velvet drapes attractively framing the wide veranda of the window. "Is this a Victorian?" she muttered in amazement. "Must be from the high ceilings." Ann raised her eyes to the high ceiling, decorated with crisscrosses of wood beams.

"I'm rather proud of it, myself," he admitted with no hint of modesty. "Why don't you sit down and have a drink with me?" he smiled crookedly.

"Oh, no thank you," Ann touched the back of her slender hand to her aching forehead. "An aspirin and a glass of water, no… coffee… please," she said politely, not forgetting her etiquette ingrained from two years of riding the skies.

"Nonsence," he growled teasingly; "how about some juice, and an aspirin," he added coolly.

He motioned for her to sit back down on the huge red lipped sofa that smiled across the room at her. "Have a seat, and I shall return immediately."

Ann sat stiffly, reassessing her situation. She was in a strange town, in a strange house, with a very strange man. With a deep heave of her chest, she scanned the room for a telephone. If nothing else, she could call her stewardess friend, Janie, and stay overnight at her apartment which she guessed was not far away. But before she could gather the strength to search for the hidden instrument, Mike had returned with a tray in hand.

"I'm sorry, but I neglected to introduce myself," he said with merry eyes. "My name is Mike Boston. Please call me Mike." A hint of animal desire in his eyes made her think she might not be leaving the confines of Mike's lovely trap.

"And I am Ann, Ann Bailey."

"Are you married, Ann?"

"No, no, I was… for a few days and then…" her voice trailed off into inaudible mutterings.

"I see," he said knowingly.

He was standing in front of her then, a drink in each hand. "Here we are, Ann. This will make you feel much better. Take a joint also, it helps this time of day."

Arm's red tipped fingers grasped the sweating glass, filled with ice and orange juice and the small cigarette on the table. Tilting her head she took a deep swallow and grimaced at the taste of alcohol polluting her fresh orange juice but the marijuana cigarette made her feel better. "It's a habit of mine, too," Mike said, his eyes studying the sensuous outline of her mouth and the way the smoke curled out of its soft-rimmed opening.

With a deliberate movement, he sat down on the couch beside her, patting her nylon-covered knee in mock affection. Then, sensing her almost simultaneous recoil from his unwanted touch, he withdrew his hand and smiled.

"You are a friend of Trudy's, is that correct?" His eyes refused to leave the red outline of her lips.

Ann felt a knot in her stomach, tightening mercilessly into a ball that kept growing, feeding on her fear and confusion. It had been eons ago since any man had actually made a pass at her, or was it since she'd let him?

He leaned back on the sofa and studied her proudly postured profile over the rim of his glass. "Tell me a little about yourself, Ann. How long have you been rooming with Trudy?" And then, as if to shroud his questioning probings with ignorance, said, "I don't know the girl personally myself, but. I have friends who are well acquainted."

"A… about three years now," stammered Ann, now fully aware that something was astir as his stubby fingers reached for the pale blue Wedgwood vase and offered her a marijuana cigarette. "Oh, no thank you," she politely refused, "not when I'm already halfway there from the alcohol."

"Do you mind?" He lit one of the oily looking cigarettes. "I find it excellent for sex." He lifted his busy eyebrows and his dark eyes looked right through her. "Do you enjoy sex, Ann?" And seeing her nervous response as she wrung her trembling fingers about the glass, continued his probings. "How about a stag film? Have you ever seen one?"

"No… no thank you, Mr. Boston…"

"Please call me Mike, always."

Ann swallowed hard. There was no way out of this den of iniquity and she knew it. Oh, God I wish I were back in Boston, she thought silently.

Magically, Mike pressed a button on the same table-mounted control board that had switched off the lights, and instantly a motion picture screen began to unroll electronically from a space between the wood beams of the ceiling.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy this."

"No! I want to go visit my friend…" and realizing her nervousness, restated her demand in a calmer voice. "Mr. Boston, I appreciate your hospitality, I enjoyed the cruise tremendously, but I don't feel up to watching any movies right now, and if you don't mind I am going to call my friend Janie and ask her if I could stay…"

"Nonsense!" he boomed inches from her tender ear. "If you like, T have some things in my closet that might be a bit more comfortable…"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," she chirped in a shrill voice as she clutched her low-necked evening gown, struggling to close the generous gap that filled his eyes with lust. Before she had the chance to mutter further protest, a pale blue peignoir was thrust in her face, and in her drunken state she rose and walked over to a broad leafed plant and slipped into the robe, leaving her dress in a heap on the floor.

"Much better, dear. We'll leave the rest for later."

"But I'm not wearing anything else!" she stammered. "Well, a garter belt and my nylons." Ann could feel her cheeks redden, even through the deep tan of her cheeks.

Ann was trapped and she knew it. It was that simple. Before, when she first stumbled into the living room, her attitude had been one of cool defiance, but now, she knew that she'd been fooling no one, not even herself. He'd seen through her nonchalant attitude in. a second, just as she'd seen through his false sophistication. God! how she had wanted to break through those locked doors and grab Trudy for the soonest plane and head back to Boston to the warm confines of her apartment. She was Mike Boston's toy for the evening and she knew it! Some friend Trudy is, she thought, leaving me like this.

Mike fumbled on the control board,, "This is one of my favorites, and I'm sure you will enjoy it equally." He pressed a button and a colored light knifed through the darkened living room. He sat down beside her on the sofa. "You're really a lovely woman, did you know that?"