Eight o' clock. I was sitting on my couch, waiting, wondering if Mrs. Evelyn Perkins would show up. It would have been easy enough for her to simply call me and tell me she was coming, but she hadn't. So, here I was, staring down a half-empty bottle of scotch like it owed me money. The glass in my hand was a little too empty, but nights like these called for the kind of comfort you could only find at the bottom of a bottle.
I had been drinking for hours, letting it blur the edges of a day I wasn’t eager to remember and making everything feel a little less real.
There was a knock on the door. "Mr. Slade!" Her voice was soft, like velvet dipped in honey, but it cut through the haze of my thoughts just the same.
"Just a moment!" I called, setting the glass down and putting a lid on the bottle. I got up from the couch and made my way to the door, steadying myself against the faint sway of the room.
Mrs. Evelyn Perkins stood there, bathed in the flickering light from the hallway bulb, which seemed to be on its last legs. Her dress clung to her in all the right places, whispering promises that maybe she didn’t mean to make. The neckline dipped just enough to distract a priest, and the slit up the side of her dress revealed a glimpse of her long, smooth legs. I had to remind myself to close my mouth.
"Good evening, Mrs. Perkins."
"Good evening, Mr. Slade," she said.
"You can call me Jack," I told her.
"Very well," she said. "Please, call me Evelyn."
"Okay, Evelyn," I replied. "Please, come in."
She walked into my apartment looking like she'd just stepped off the cover of a magazine.
She walked past me and into the darkened living room, moving with the kind of grace that made you wonder if she knew how much power she had over a man. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the threadbare couch, the cluttered table, and the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. While she was looking around at my place I was busy looking at her. The light was catching the golden waves of her hair and the curve of her hips. I had seen her earlier in the day and knew she was a looker, but now I was seeing her in her full glory. I could see her nipples pressing against the fabric. Evelyn was bringing out something in me, something primal.
"Please, take a seat," I said. "Can I get you a glass of scotch?"
"No, thank you," she said, sitting in the chair across from the couch, the slit in her skirt exposing a long, smooth thigh. Her blonde hair framed her face in soft curls, her large, round eyes catching the low light. Her lips were full, red. She looked up at me, waiting for me to sit down. I poured myself another glass, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her squirm. “So,” I said finally, “what’s on your mind?” I could feel the heat of her stare and the warmth in the room seemed to rise as I sat down on the couch.
"Mr. Slade," she said, "you promised to look into what happened to my husband." She shifted slightly, her dress shifted and I could see a little more of the bare skin of her breasts.
"So what will you do?" Her voice was a whisper, a gentle, seductive caress against my skin. She leaned in closer, her body language a silent invitation. Her cleavage pressed together, creating a tantalizing display that made my throat go dry.
"First I need to ask you some questions."
"Okay."
"What is it that you think happened?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I just know that he wasn't suicidal. He didn't have a reason to kill himself."
“So your evidence is a gut feeling that he didn’t kill himself?” I asked, taking a slow sip.
“I know he didn’t,” she said, her hands twisting in her lap. “He wasn’t that kind of man.”
“And what kind of man was he?”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. “He was a good man. Flawed, yes, but he wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t leave us like that.”
"Do have any evidence to support your opinion?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No."
I leaned back, the couch creaking under my weight. "Pacific Assurance and Indemnity won't allow me to investigate, the company has closed the books on this one. No payout on a suicide." I told her. "I'm going to be taking a risk helping you. If the company finds out I'm investigating against their interests I'll lose my job and my license. My rate is $50 a day, plus expenses, and a retainer of $200."
She nodded. "That's sounds fair. But, Randall left me with nothing but bills. I don't even have enough money for this month's mortgage payment."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my head. She didn't have the money to pay me. “Then we’ve got a problem,” I said, setting the glass down. "I can’t afford to work for free. Mrs. Perkins..."
"Evelyn, please," she said. "I know it's a lot to ask. I know you're taking a big risk here. But if you can help me, if you can prove that my husband was murdered, the insurance company will have to pay out on the policy. You'll get paid. I promise you that."
"I understand that," I said. "But the facts don't look good for a successful insurance claim. The thing is, Evelyn, I can't afford to work for free."
She bit her lip. I could see the gears in her head turning. "I see," she said. "Is there any way we could work something out?"
"Like what?" I asked. "How would we work this out?" I asked.
"Well," she began. "I'm not exactly rich." "Yes," I said, nodding.
"But perhaps there is another way I could pay you," she said. She was biting her lip again. She was nervous.
"You'd pay me in some other way," I repeated.
"Yes," she said.
"How?" I asked, my eyes meeting hers.
She was looking at me intently. Her eyes were wide and bright, and I could see her cleavage pressing together, creating a deep valley of creamy flesh that was derailing the logical functions of my mind.
"I was thinking," she said, "that maybe we could work out some sort of payment plan."
"Evelyn," I said, "I'm an investigator, not a bank. I don't offer payment plans."
She nodded, her gaze never leaving mine. "I understand. But I'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement. Maybe we could trade favors or something."
I stared at her for a moment, the implications of her words sinking in.
"Favors?" I asked, my voice low.
She nodded again, her eyes never leaving mine. "Yes," she said. "Favors."
"What kind of favors?"
"The kind of favors you can only get from a woman," she said.
I could feel the heat rising in my body. I knew what she was suggesting, and the temptation was overwhelming. Somewhere in a corner of my mind I knew the scotch was clouding my judgment, but I wasn't sure I cared. Evelyn was sitting in front of me, her body calling to me, and the rational part of my brain was losing the battle to resist her.
She stood up and walked over to me, putting her hands on my shoulders. Her touch was soft and warm, her perfume enveloping me in a haze of desire. "Please," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need your help."
Her hands moved to my shirt, unbuttoning it slowly. She leaned in close, her breath hot on my ear. "We can help each other." Her lips brushed against my neck, sending a jolt of electricity through me. I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation. The alcohol had dulled my inhibitions, and all I could think about was how good she felt against me.
I opened my eyes and looked at her, the desire burning in her eyes mirroring my own. I couldn't resist any longer as she leaned in and kissed me, her lips soft and gentle, tasting sweet and warm. My hand slid up her thigh, stopping between her legs. Being a trained investigator, I immediately noticed Evelyn wasn't wearing panties. I could feel the heat radiating from her naked flesh. And she was wet, oh so wet. She moaned softly. I reached up and wrapped my other arm around her, pulling her closer. Her breasts pressed against me, her nipples hard against my chest. I could feel her desire, her need, and I wanted nothing more than to satisfy her, to give her what she wanted.
She pushed away from me, standing up. She began taking off her dress and let it fall to the ground, exposing her full breasts, large and firm. Her stomach, taut and smooth. I watched as she removed her heels and stockings. She stood in front of me, naked and vulnerable.
I stood up, picking her up with me. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her body pressed against mine. I carried her to the bedroom, her arms around my neck, and laid her down on the bed. Her silky blonde hair spilling out across the sheets. She looked up at me, her eyes bright and frightened. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.
I pulled off my shirt, my muscles flexing as I did. She watched me, her eyes following my every movement. I took off my pants and let them fall to the ground, revealing my arousal. She bit her lip, her eyes wide. I moved onto the bed, positioning myself between her legs.
"No, I can't... I can't do this Jack!" She moved her hand to her mouth, covering her mouth. She shook her head. "Jack... Jack... I can't... I can't do this!"
She sat up on the bed, looking away.
"You don't have to do anything." I said. "Just lie back and relax." My words slurring a bit, the room was still swaying. I could feel the alcohol coursing through me, dulling my inhibitions. I knew I shouldn't be taking advantage of her like this, but I couldn't resist. She was here. Naked. And she had made the first move.
"This isn't right" she said, looking at me. She shook her head, as if trying to shake off the thoughts running through her mind. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the desire battling with her sense of propriety.
I moved closer, my body pressing against hers. She was warm and soft, her skin smooth under my hands. She tried to resist, but I could feel her body betraying her. "Yes, we can," I whispered in her ear.
I moved on top, her breasts pressed against my chest. She was breathing heavily.
{ Evelyn initially resists intercourse. }
"No, please," she whispered, the words catching in her throat. "I... I can't." She pushed against my chest with her palms, but it was a weak, trembling effort, like a bird beating its wings against a windowpane. Her body was a battlefield where desire and decorum were waging a losing war. I could feel her heartbeat, a frantic, trapped thing against my own.
Her resistance was a flimsy barrier, and the alcohol in my blood was a battering ram. I slid inside her, the sensation overwhelming. She moaned, her body arching beneath me. Her protests faded into whimpers, her hands no longer pushing but clinging, her nails digging into my back. Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me deeper, her body taking what her mind denied. Her hips rocked back and forth.
She kissed my neck, her teeth grazing my skin. I could feel her desire building, her body trembling with need. I moved faster, my own desire overwhelming me. I could feel her muscles contracting around me, her body tensing. She was close, so close. I could feel her release building, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She arched her back, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she cried out, her body shaking with pleasure.
I kept going, pushing through her orgasm. She was trembling beneath me, her body writhing with pleasure.
I could feel her climaxing again, her hands gripped my back, her nails digging into my skin. I could feel my own release building, my body tensing. I thrust harder, faster, my hips moving against hers. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, her body writhing beneath me.
"Evelyn..." I groaned, my voice deep and husky. "Oh god, Evelyn..."
Her body arched as she cried out, her release washing over her. My own release followed, and I thrust one last time. We lay there for a moment, our bodies entwined, our breathing heavy. I looked down at her, her eyes closed, her face flushed with pleasure.
I rolled off of her, the bed groaning in protest. The room was still spinning. The scotch was doing its job. I looked into her eyes and saw conflict.
"I should go," she said, sitting up and gathering her clothes. I watched her as she got dressed, her movements graceful and fluid. She was beautiful, but I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.
"Will you help me, Jack?" she asked, turning to look at me. "Will you find out what happened to my husband?" I sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand. I lit it and took a deep draw, the smoke filling my lungs. I exhaled, a cloud of smoke billowing from my mouth. The room was still spinning. I was having a hard time focusing on her words.
"Yes," I replied. "I'll help you."
She smiled, the worry and conflict in her eyes momentarily gone. She stood and walked to the bedroom door, her form bathed in the moonlight. She paused at the door, looking back at me over her shoulder.
"Thank you, Jack." Her voice was soft, and sad. She left, leaving me alone in the dark bedroom. I laid back on the bed, the cigarette still burning in my hand. The smoke curled around me, and I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the conflicting emotions swirling within me.
Chapter 3: The Perkins Predicament
Jack meets Evelyn at his apartment. WARNING this chapter contains sexually explicit content; read at your own risk.
