'In fact, I used to tell you my father had only two things I ever wanted - the paper... and Kim - Kim Nesbit.'

'Well, now you've got the paper.'

'And Kim - well, of course, she's my father's -'

'Your father is dead, Edward.'

Armstead blinked at Dr. Scharf through the smoke. He was silent a long time. 'I guess you're right,'

he said finally. 'He is dead. It takes time to get used to.' He paused. 'What about Kim? Does she ever come to see you anymore?'

What Armstead had remembered was that five years earlier, during one of the rare times he had seen her, Kim Nesbit had noticed and been aware of his own depressed state. She had spoken kindly to him, almost as a momentary ally against his father, and she had admitted that his father had driven her to see an a.n.a.lyst. She had found a good man, a wonderful man named Dr. Carl Scharf, and if Edward ever needed someone to talk to, he might do well to see Dr. Scharf. So Armstead had come to Dr. Scharf.

'Do I see Kim Nesbit anymore?' Dr. Scharf was saying.

'No. She drifted away. She felt I couldn't really help her. Actually, she did come here one last time, about a year ago.' Dr. Scharf thought about it. 'She wasn't in good shape. Loneliness can be devastating. She was drinking too much. I hoped to see her again, but she never came back.'

'How did she look?'

11.

Dr. Scharf rubbed the pipe bowl against his nose. 'Why ask me?' he said. 'Why don't you see for yourself?'

She herself had opened the door.

Armstead stood stock still. All that he had imagined and fantasized for so long was there before him.

And she was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

She gave a little shout. 'Edward! This is so unexpected. I'm so glad you came by.' She offered up her arms, and he stepped into her embrace and kissed her on each cheek. The sweet smell of her flesh mingled with the smell of whisky. 'Come in, do come in,' she insisted, gripping his arm and pulling him through the entry hall into the vast living room.

Momentarily, the lightness and brightness of the room made him feel giddy. His eyes pa.s.sed over the multicolored pillows on the lime green sofas - three sofas that surrounded a coffee table - across the patchwork carpet to the cream-colored grand piano. Near it stood an elaborate television set airing a soap opera, and near that a portable bar.

Kim Nesbit had come into view again. She was trying to draw together her white lace negligee, and apologizing. 'Sorry the room's such a mess, but the maid's off today.' Starting across the room to the television set, she staggered slightly, then walked with deliberate care to the set and shut if off.

She moved to the portable bar. 'Can I make you a drink, Edward?'

'If you'll join me,' he said politely.

'Oh, I'll join you,' she said, holding up an almost empty gla.s.s. 'I've had a head start.' She touched a half-filled bottle of J & B scotch. 'I'm having scotch. I don't remember - what do you drink?'

"The same.'

As she poured, she said, 'It's been a long time, Edward.'

'Eleven months,' he said.

It had happened by chance. His father had planned to take her to a play and supper for her birthday, but at the last minute had been forced to fly to Los Angeles. Rather than let Kim spend the evening alone, E. J. had telephoned his son and asked him to escort her. Nervously, Armstead had agreed.

Her presence that evening, he remembered, had made him feel like an unsure adolescent. After the play, at supper at La Caravelle, he had been mostly mute, unable to take his eyes off her, yet forcing himself not to stare at her. Vividly now, he remembered his mingled discomfort with her and attraction to her... and he remembered how he had envied and hated his father that evening and wondered what she could see in the old man.

She could not have loved him, Armstead had decided. E. J. had been nearly three times her age, and not particularly good-looking. But he had been a power, a legend, and wealthy.

Armstead crossed to a sofa and sat down, once again not able to take his eyes off her. Her negligee was flimsy, transparent, and he could make out the outline of one of her naked inner thighs. She was probably wearing nothing underneath, being alone. Armstead studied her at the portable bar.

12.

There was something marvelously wanton about her, the way her long flaxen hair fell over an eye, the way one almost bare shoulder moved, the outline of that fleshy thigh.

It reaffirmed what he had felt when he saw her last. She had retained her beauty, no question - hardly faded, more mature and provocative. She was fairly tall, her lissomely curved body firm yet full at the bosom and hips, her legs long and slim. His father was a lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d - had been a lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Had been.

He tried to calculate Kim's age. She had been singing and dancing in a mediocre Broadway musical, one that would close in weeks, when his father first set eyes on her and went backstage.

When her show closed, his father began seeing her more frequently, and eventually installed her in a small luxury apartment near Carnegie Hall. That had been eighteen years ago. Kim had been twenty-one, his father sixty-three, and he himself thirty-eight. Now she was thirty-nine, and he was fifty-six, and his father was - gone. She was young, much younger than he, but he was much younger than his father.

She was standing over him, handing him his scotch and water. 'There you are.'

He took the drink and absently took a swallow, looking up at her. 'Were you at the funeral?' he asked. T couldn't find you.'

T didn't think he would have wanted me to go.' She downed a portion of her drink. 'How was it, Edward?'

'Let me put it this way -' He recalled Dr. Scharfs irreverent story about Harry Cohn's funeral, and he retold it to Kim, ending with the visitor's comment, 'Just give people what they want, and they'll show up.' He did not smile and neither did she. He drank some more. 'He was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, my father,'

Armstead said. 'Does that offend you?'

She gave a toss of the bare shoulder. 'Not at all. He was never very nice to you.'

She sat down on the sofa a few feet from Armstead, inched back against the corner pillows, and swung her legs up onto the sofa, lifting her knees, nastily making sure the bottom part of her negligee was closed.

Armstead kept his gaze upon her. 'Was he nice to you?'

She was silent a spell, taking a long pull on her drink, contemplating the gla.s.s in her hand. 'Was he nice to me? I don't know. Yes, I suppose he was, in the beginning. I was just a gangly kid, and he was kind. After that, for some years, he was - well, attentive.'

Armstead tried to recall those earlier years. His mother, Sadie, had suffered her first stroke and was partially paralyzed. His father had spent more and more time at work, actually with Kim, determined to make Kim a Broadway star. His father had financed five musical comedies to star her. Four had closed within a week. One ran a limping Variety season. Kim did not become a star.

But she did become an object of curiosity and gossip.

It was after his mother's second stroke, Armstead remembered, a more debilitating one, that his father had bought Kim this new condominium on Sutton Place. He had bought her the entire floor, remodeling two large apartments into one huge one. He had also bought her endless clothes, furs, diamonds, cars. His father had been very possessive of her, concerned about his age and her youth, and he had rarely

13.

let her venture out in public. Apparently this had been fine as long as he saw her regularly. Only after Sadie Armstead died had E. J. allowed Kim to accompany him in public. But gradually, as his father became older, tired more easily, and devoted himself increasingly to chasing honors, he had neglected not only his flagship newspaper but he had neglected Kim as well. Eventually, as far as Armstead could learn, his father had begun seeing her only occasionally. As for Kim, afraid to go out on her own, long cut off from friends her own age, Armstead guessed that she had become more and more of a recluse. A recluse and, he supposed, a heavy drinker, maybe an alcoholic.

He watched her finish her scotch. 'Kim,' he said, 'when was the last time you saw my father?'

She tried to think. 'Maybe six, seven, eight months ago. Although he didn't come around much at any time in the last few years.'

'You hadn't seen him for that long?' 'Not at all. He'd phone once a week. That was about it.' She swallowed the last of her drink. 'Any more questions?' she said a little thickly.

Armstead hesitated. 'Yes. When was the last time he slept with you?'

She tried to focus her eyes on Armstead. 'You mean f.u.c.ked me, Edward? I don't know - it was that long ago. Maybe six, seven years ago. And not very good. In fact, it was never very good. Ezra was just not much interested.' She frowned. T shouldn't be saying these things about your father.' 'What have you done for s.e.x?'

'Oh, you don't need to do much when you're drinking. Sometimes I m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed.' 'That can't be much fun.'

She stirred, reached around to put down her gla.s.s, and started to get up. T never heard you suggest anything better,' she said. Her negligee had come apart above the waist. He could see the milky mound of one breast.

Then she was standing. He could feel the throbbing and hardening between his legs. He fixed on her swaying form above him. 'What are you going to do with yourself now? You're young. You're beautiful.'

'I'm going to have another drink,' she said. But she did not move. 'You think I'm beautiful? Are you just being nice because it's today?'

He came quickly to his feet. 'I'm telling you I want you, Kim. I want you. I always have.'

Her face was expressionless. She wavered, but remained where she was standing. He had her in his arms, embracing her roughly. He kissed her on her open mouth, pressing until he found her tongue, then shoving his body against hers until she could feel his erection.

With difficulty, she drew her head back. 'Edward,' she said with a gasp, 'do you know what you're doing?'

'Just what I've always wanted to do since I've known you.'

She sighed. 'Yes.' Slowly her arms snaked around him. Her mouth found his lips and his tongue.

As their embrace tightened, their kissing more heated, he lowered one hand and opened her negligee. His fingers touched her naked flesh, groped downward from her belly until they reached the fluffy soft pubic hair, ma.s.saging the distended c.l.i.toris, gliding over the moistening v.u.l.v.a.

She began to moan in his ear, her hand fumbling below until it found his erection.

14.

T - I always wanted you,' she whispered.

He scooped her up, carried her down a hallway to the master bedroom illuminated by a single floor lamp. He lowered her to the downy rose-and-white comforter that covered the bed. Yanking off jacket, tie, shirt, he undressed completely. He could see himself in a full-length mirror, his flat pale-blue eyes holding on himself at this moment of fifty-six. Just under six feet, thickset but not fat, st.u.r.dy and strong, no blotches and few wrinkles. In the mirror, he could see Kim behind him, on the edge of the bed, wriggling out of her white negligee. He could see how young she was, the flawless peach-colored skin, straight full b.r.e.a.s.t.s with large hardened nipples, the rise and fall of her abdomen, the long triangle of soft pubic hair.

His eyes returned to his reflection, to his p.e.n.i.s standing straight out.

He turned around. She was lying back on the bed now, watching fascinated as he walked toward her. 'You feel that way about me?' she said in an undertone.

'More than ever.' He was on the bed. 'Move over.'

She worked herself sideways and he was beside her. He caressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and pushed himself to his knees. She covered her eyes with an arm, licked her dry lips, lifted her knees, and spread them apart.

He was over her, and between her fleshy thighs, and into the v.a.g.i.n.al opening, slowly and slowly, and deeper and deeper between the clinging lips of the v.u.l.v.a. It was delicious, this entry, and as he slid back and forth he was aroused to a bursting point. He thought that he might come right away, and slowed, fighting it, until the wave pa.s.sed, and then he settled down to a steady, relentless rhythm, f.u.c.king her straight and hard.

After a few minutes her hips began to rise and fall with him, and make undulating circular movements that quickened and heaved, and she began to emit throaty o.r.g.a.s.mic sounds. He was ready, and suddenly her fingers dug into his shoulders and she was ready. She opened her eyes and began to come, and with that he pumped mindlessly, felt the perspiration in his eyes, and then he came big.

She was slack beneath him, gulping air, and he rolled off her.

'Did you?' he asked her.

'Oh, yes.'

Her hand went down to her c.l.i.toris, and he pushed her hand away and ma.s.saged her c.l.i.toris briefly until she lifted her hips and came again. After that, she had three more o.r.g.a.s.ms and wanted no more. He lay with his head between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her fingers played with his mussed hair.

After a while, he lay back and thought of what a fantastic f.u.c.k she was, so ready, so warm, so giving. He relived their coupling in his head, and suddenly he felt an involuntary movement between his legs. This had not happened so soon since he had been a young man. But then, he told himself, he was a young man.

His hand found her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and he fondled them, rubbing the large nipples of each, feeling them grow under his fingertips. She came around on her side, felt his growing erection, held it until her hand was full and able to contain only part of its hardness.

15.

She pulled him to her, and raised her knees, and opened herself to him. He rose above her and comfortably entered her once more, resuming as if he had done it with her all his life and this was a dance they had always done so well together.

This time it was even better, the best. His body was slick with sweat and her skin slippery from his when she came in one long-drawn-out eruption, and seconds later he came too.

He managed to push off her, and they both lay there side by side as if dead.

Once she whispered sleepily, 'You're never going to let me be alone again, are you?'

He touched her cheek. 'Never.'

He lay there a long time, resting, letting his mind wander. He had told his a.n.a.lyst today that he had been denied only two things in his life he had always wanted. One had been the newspaper. The other had been Kim. Now he had possessed Kim. She belonged to him. That left the newspaper. It was his for the moment. Tomorrow morning he would go into the publisher's office, remove the pictures from the wall, sweep the ma.s.sive oak desk clear of its artifacts. It would be his alone. And now, for the first time, revitalized by his conquest of Kim, he felt confident that anything was possible and it could be his for all time. He had told Scharf that he would kill to keep the paper.