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As he rounded the hood on his way to the driver’s side, she noticed that he’d recently gotten a haircut. The barber had clipped his hair too short. Topping her list of Eddy “redos” was his car. Second was his barber.
He slid in behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. The air conditioner came on automatically and began filling the interior with hot, humid air. Eddy made a concession to his fresh-out-of-the-bandbox appearance by loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar button.
Fancy went considerably further than that in her quest for comfort. She unbuttoned her blouse to her waist, then fanned it open and shut, providing Eddy with an excellent view of her breasts if he chose to take it, which she was peeved to note that he didn’t. He was maneuvering the car through the intersection and up the entrance ramp to the freeway.
“Are you gay, or what?” she demanded crossly.
He burst out laughing. “Why do you ask?”
“Because if I gave away to other guys half of what I give away to you, I’d spend all my time on my back.”
“To hear you tell it, you do anyhow.” He glanced at her. “Or is that just so much talk?”
Fancy’s blue eyes fairly smoked, but she was too clever to lose her temper. Instead, she curled up into the car seat with the sinuous laziness of a cat and asked slyly, “Why don’t you find out for yourself, Mr. Paschal?”
He shook his head. “You’re an incorrigible brat, Fancy, know that?”
“I should,” she said breezily, pulling her fingers through her mass of dark-blond curls. “That’s what everybody tells me.” She leaned toward the air-conditioning vent, which was blowing out frigid air now. She held her hair up off her neck and let the air blow against her skin, which was dewy with perspiration. “Well, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Gay.”
“No, I’m not.”
She sat up and angled her body toward him. Her hands were still holding her hair up off her neck—a pose that emphasized her breasts. The cold air had made her nipples hard. They jutted against the cloth of her shirt. “Then, how can you resist me?”
Congested freeway traffic had been left behind and they were now heading northwest toward the ranch. Eddy’s gaze roved over her slowly, taking in all the alluring details. It gave her satisfaction to watch his Adam’s apple slide up and down as he swallowed with difficulty.
“You’re a beautiful child, Fancy.” His eyes rested briefly on her breasts, where the dark impressions of their pert centers could be seen beneath her shirt. “A beautiful woman.”
Gradually she lowered her arms, letting her hair fall loosely around her face and onto her shoulders. “Well, then?”
“You’re my best friend’s niece.”
“So?”
“So to me that means you’re off limits.”
“How prudish!” she exclaimed. “You’re a Victorian, Eddy, that’s what you are. A throwback. A stuffy prude. Ridiculous.”
“It wouldn’t be ridiculous to your Uncle Tate. Or to your grandfather or father. If I laid a hand on you, any one or all three of them would come after me with a shotgun.”
She reached across the seat and ran her finger up his thigh, whispering, “Now, wouldn’t that be exciting?”
He removed her hand and pushed it back across the car. “Not if you’re the target.”
She flopped back in her seat, annoyed, and turned her head to gaze at the passing scenery. That morning she had deliberately left her car at the ranch and hitched a ride into San Antonio with her father, planning all along to stay late and finagle a ride home with Eddy. Months of subtle invitation had gotten her nowhere. Since patience had never been one of her virtues, she had decided to step up the pace of her pursuit.
Buck, the bellhop, had lasted less than a month before he had become possessive and jealous. Then the man who had come to spray the house for cockroaches had ended up in her bed. That affair had lasted until she had discovered he was married. It wasn’t his marital status that bothered her so much as his postcoital guilt, which he morosely discussed with her. Remorse took all the fun out of fucking.
Since the exterminator the
re had been an assortment of partners, but all had simply been diversions to occupy her until Eddy surrendered. She was getting tired of waiting.
Indeed, she was getting tired of everything. The last three months had put a real strain on her generally good disposition. There had even been times when she had envied her Aunt Carole all the attention she was getting.
While Fancy was spending interminable hours stuffing envelopes and taking telephone polls in that noisy, crowded, stinky, tacky campaign headquarters, with people who could get off on a ten-dollar contribution, Carole was being waited on hand and foot in that posh private clinic.
