shields but rarely going to war, and it was exquisitely beautiful.
Besides, the acquisition helped substantiate his cover as a freelance dealer in primitive art objects, a front which satisfied Elise and which his father found hard to crack. He really made little money from his dealing, but his records were a private matter between him and the IRS, and his father's investigators could never be sure what he cleared as an art dealer.
He had paused before the shield as much to absorb some of its innate peace as to admire its beauty; now, having shifted out of the higher gear that his Tucker persona demanded, he felt in a better state of mind to meet Elise.
She was sitting in a black leather chair in the den, a drink on the table beside her, a book open on her lap. Even in a comfortable old quilted housecoat a size too large for her, she radiated sensuality. She was a big girl, with a showgirl's body, an inch shorter than Tucker at five feet eight, with high round breasts, a narrow waist, slim but not boyish hips, and legs that went on forever. To date, however, her breaks in show business had been because of her face, not the body under it. She was a natural blonde with green eyes, a complexion as flawless as good china. Oddly enough, she was in demand for two kinds of television commercials: those that required a sexy, come-hither chickee to peer at the home audience and solicit men for cigars, beer and sportscars-and those that needed a stunning but innocent ingenue to push makeups, soda pop, junior fashions and shampoo. With different makeups and a change in hair styles, and with her not unimpressive acting ability, she could be two different ages and temperaments before a camera, in the same session.
Tucker kissed her, felt it turn into something else as she began to kiss him.
"How'd it go?" she asked when he went to make himself a drink.
"It's not finalized. I've got to go back in the morning."
"For how long?"
"A couple of days, no more."
"Was something wrong with the bells?" she asked.
He said, "It's a question of which century they're from-last half of the fifth or early part of the sixth. I think they're more modern than the seller says they are, and I'm having them evaluated by Heinenken in Chicago. He'll even do a carbon dating on them, if he has to."
The lies came so easily, though he hated lying to her. He'd told her he was going to Denver to negotiate the sale of a good set of Javanese temple bells, and then he had gone to Pittsburgh to meet Bachman and Harris and Jimmy Shirillo.
In all other aspects, their relationship was an honest one. They both came and went as they pleased, with no phony jealousy between them, no lies or deceptions about whom they might be seeing, where they were going, their plans for the future. She gave him a check every month to pay her portion of the rent and other bills, and when he had not cashed the first two of these she had made him see that, unless they shared responsibilities, they could not share anything else. There was a respect and trust between them that Tucker had never found with anyone else-and yet, when it came to the real nature of his business, he had to lie to her. Not because he didn't trust her but because he didn't want her involved in anything where a court might find her an accomplice or contributing party.
Besides, neither had professed a Great Love for the other, merely a sweet affection. When this finally came to an end, if it did come to an end, he would feel much better knowing that she was completely ignorant of his criminal reputation.
He sat down at the foot of her chair on the thick shag carpet, kissed her knees and then went to work on the drink that he'd built. He said, "How about you and Madison Avenue?"
"I got a call," she said, grinning. "You're never going to guess what I'm selling this time."
"They're allowing
Besides, the acquisition helped substantiate his cover as a freelance dealer in primitive art objects, a front which satisfied Elise and which his father found hard to crack. He really made little money from his dealing, but his records were a private matter between him and the IRS, and his father's investigators could never be sure what he cleared as an art dealer.
He had paused before the shield as much to absorb some of its innate peace as to admire its beauty; now, having shifted out of the higher gear that his Tucker persona demanded, he felt in a better state of mind to meet Elise.
She was sitting in a black leather chair in the den, a drink on the table beside her, a book open on her lap. Even in a comfortable old quilted housecoat a size too large for her, she radiated sensuality. She was a big girl, with a showgirl's body, an inch shorter than Tucker at five feet eight, with high round breasts, a narrow waist, slim but not boyish hips, and legs that went on forever. To date, however, her breaks in show business had been because of her face, not the body under it. She was a natural blonde with green eyes, a complexion as flawless as good china. Oddly enough, she was in demand for two kinds of television commercials: those that required a sexy, come-hither chickee to peer at the home audience and solicit men for cigars, beer and sportscars-and those that needed a stunning but innocent ingenue to push makeups, soda pop, junior fashions and shampoo. With different makeups and a change in hair styles, and with her not unimpressive acting ability, she could be two different ages and temperaments before a camera, in the same session.
Tucker kissed her, felt it turn into something else as she began to kiss him.
"How'd it go?" she asked when he went to make himself a drink.
"It's not finalized. I've got to go back in the morning."
"For how long?"
"A couple of days, no more."
"Was something wrong with the bells?" she asked.
He said, "It's a question of which century they're from-last half of the fifth or early part of the sixth. I think they're more modern than the seller says they are, and I'm having them evaluated by Heinenken in Chicago. He'll even do a carbon dating on them, if he has to."
The lies came so easily, though he hated lying to her. He'd told her he was going to Denver to negotiate the sale of a good set of Javanese temple bells, and then he had gone to Pittsburgh to meet Bachman and Harris and Jimmy Shirillo.
In all other aspects, their relationship was an honest one. They both came and went as they pleased, with no phony jealousy between them, no lies or deceptions about whom they might be seeing, where they were going, their plans for the future. She gave him a check every month to pay her portion of the rent and other bills, and when he had not cashed the first two of these she had made him see that, unless they shared responsibilities, they could not share anything else. There was a respect and trust between them that Tucker had never found with anyone else-and yet, when it came to the real nature of his business, he had to lie to her. Not because he didn't trust her but because he didn't want her involved in anything where a court might find her an accomplice or contributing party.
Besides, neither had professed a Great Love for the other, merely a sweet affection. When this finally came to an end, if it did come to an end, he would feel much better knowing that she was completely ignorant of his criminal reputation.
He sat down at the foot of her chair on the thick shag carpet, kissed her knees and then went to work on the drink that he'd built. He said, "How about you and Madison Avenue?"
"I got a call," she said, grinning. "You're never going to guess what I'm selling this time."
"They're allowing
Similar Books
