Chapter 12

Carlo breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator rushed them to the top floor. Everything so far had gone according to plan. Moments before, he had left Nino and Sue stationed in the foyer, awaiting guests who would arrive, and now he was taking Elaine upstairs to introduce her to Marceau. She had swallowed the lie easily enough, expecting Nino to join them before long. He let his gaze travel over her lush young body and chuckled to himself, knowing that before she became suspicious he would have her under his influence--thanks to Marceau's special mixture.

Elaine caught the movement in Carlo's eyes as they traveled over her figure, pausing slightly at her ample breasts, flat stomach, and flared hips. She had remembered him immediately when they had met downstairs. He had been the one with Nino in the cafe... He was as good looking as Nino, she thought--the same finely boned features, the same muscular body. She was glad now that she had worn the green dress--knowing that it perfectly accentuated her ripe figure in just the right places.

Abruptly, the elevator bumped to a stop. As the doors hissed open Elaine heard the muted strains of rock music and felt his gentle touch on her arm as he led her toward it.

As they entered the room, Carlo noticed that the room had undergone a transformation since he had been up there. Now, the only illumination in the circular room came from psychedelic lighting above the sunken stage. He noticed that two of the young girls were dancing with the Count and his friend as he led Elaine toward Marceau's alcove table.

Elaine squinted as her eyes attempted to adjust to the room's darkness. She knew there were dancers on the stage, but in the flickering light it was difficult to distinguish their features.

Carlo stopped abruptly at a table from which copious giggling was issuing. "Elaine, I would like you to meet Marceau Verner, our gracious host. Marceau, this is Elaine Craig."

"Charmed, my dear," Marceau answered, disentangling his arm from the giggle and rising.

"Mr. Verner..." Elaine replied, nodding her head slightly toward him and smiling.

"Please... call me Marceau..." He hesitated, wondering. Could it be? But, no, it was too much of a coincidence... He looked beyond her to the figures on the stage. Still... ? "If there is anything you wish," he finally said, breaking the short silence, "please feel free to ask. The show should be starting very soon now... I hope you will enjoy it."

"Thank you, very much," Elaine said, a puzzled look crossing her lovely face. She thought it strange that neither of the men had bothered to introduce her to the woman in the booth. Her eyes had become more accustomed to the dim light and she bent forward. straining to see into the back of the booth... God!

She was only a girl! Not more than 15 or 16. The girl with flaming red hair stared back, then grinned, and finally giggle Elaine was about to speak, but just then the lights dimmed even more and the music stopped.

"Come," Carlo said, pressing Elaine's hand. "The show is about to start. We'd better get to our table."

"See you later, Marceau," he called over his shoulder as they picked their way across the darkened room.

"A drink?" Carlo asked after they were seated.

"Thank you," Elaine answered. "I could use something!"

"How about some of Marceau's famous hot buttered rum?" he said, indicating the tureen resting in its warmer on the table.

"Yes, that would be fine," Elaine replied. Although the rain had stopped, it had been cool outside and she still felt a little chilled. Maybe the hot rum would warm her.

Carlo filled two glass cups from the tureen, handed her one, then raising the other, said, "To your health."

Elaine nodded in response, then sipped the warm liquid. What an unusual taste, she thought. But it's good. Very good! She sipped again.

They sat silently for several minutes, drinking, lost in their own thoughts. They lit cigarettes from the box on the table, then, Carlo noticing that her cup was almost empty, refilled it. His own cup was nearly untouched. He grinned. Not only was she drinking the hot rum--literally laced with hashish tea and Brazilian Bola an exotic aphrodisiac--but he had just fit a cigarette for her filled with just enough powdered hashish to keep her from coughing, yet strong enough so that just one had the potency of a whole joint of first-class marijuana.

Suddenly, from the direction of the stage, the pulsating beat of a single conga drum began. Gradually, a single orange spot of light began to illuminate one side of the stage. Elaine was mesmerized as the majestic figure of Marceau's negro valet, Nick, gradually appeared in the soft illumination. He was seated, cross-legged, on the far side of the sunken stage, clasping the African conga drum he played between his bare legs, wearing only a lion-skin loin cloth, his naked arm and chest muscles glistening in the warm orange illumination. Elaine scarcely dared to breathe as she watched the light begin to pulse in rhythm to the enormous negro's beat, flickering eerily off of his naked ebony skin with each throb.

The vibrant scene seemed to be having almost an hypnotic effect on her. She was beginning to feel light, airy, and her temples pulsed with the thumping beat coming from the drum.

Carlo watched her closely. God, he thought, she's really taking off, floating into another world. She's really feeling the hashish. And before long she'll be in the grip of the bola. He knew its effects, he had seen them before. And, by God, he was going to see them again.

As Elaine continued to watch the negro, the hashish began to take complete control of her nervous system... She began to experience a humming, vibrant feeling, rising slowly from her toes, crawling steadily toward her skull. Never in her life had she felt so completely relaxed... secure... unafraid. It was good to be with a friend, a handsome young man, someone who would confidently guide her through the evening... To express her appreciation of him, she leaned closer and was pleased when he smiled, squeezing her shoulder lightly and nodding toward the stage. She had been so distracted by Carlo's presence and the effects of the drink and the hashish, that she had neglected to notice the appearance of a young girl on the stage.

Sharon, the slender blonde that Carlo had delivered to Marceau, was sitting on the end of a bid in the center of the stage, her hands folded, slating blankly off toward the audience. Her lithe figure was illuminated by a steady beam of light in much the same manner as was the negro drummer. Suddenly the tempo of the drum increased, and everyone--including Elaine--watched intently as the slender blonde bent dawn and grasped the hem of the filmy yellow gown she was wearing. Rising, she slowly slipped the gown upwards, exposing her slim white legs and then the slender, boyish thighs.

Elaine could hear eager sounds of delight from the males in the audience as the gown staked its way over the girl's head and her graceful but not full-developed torso emerged. Her little budding breasts burst into view and, in the stage light, her small, quivering nipples appeared like tiny pencil erasers. Raising her alms up over her head, she pulled her waist-length, sandy-colored hair up, then released it to cascade like shimmering gold over her sensuous slender shoulders. Then, stretching languidly, she turned to face the negro drummer and gave him a wanton smile. She was completely naked now, her slender alluring nudity presented for everyone to appreciate.

Elaine shifted anxiously next to Carlo. A faint glimmering of understanding came over her, and she could not help but watch with fascination and wonder.

Relaxing, Elaine leaned back against the cushion and found Carlo's arm waiting there. She was quite happy and Carlo's arm was reassuringly solid and muscular... so surely it could not hurt anything to sit back and enjoy herself.

Her attention was drawn back to the stage when the drum beat suddenly changed tempo. It was other-worldly, yet had a soul- stirring rhythm that touched the very core of her being. She saw that the slender fourteen year-old girl was holding a small bottle full of an amber liquid. She unscrewed the bottle cap and poured a small amount of the substance on her fingertips. For some reason the act provoked a murmur from some of the other booths, but it was not the kind of murmur that Elaine recognized. Instead, it sounded more like a chorused groan of animal ecstasy, of fevered expectancy. The pretty teenager reached out her smeared fingertips and massaged her breasts in tiny teasing circles, tweaking the soft nipples to sudden throbbing hardness. Then-spreading her legs she exposed the thin pink slit of her vagina nestling secretly in the soft light-brown pubic hair up between her thighs. Pouring out more of the glistening liquid on the ends of her fingers, she lewdly parted the hair-lined lips surrounding the tight vaginal passage, applying the substance, dabbing it on the tiny exposed clitoris and along the inner ridges of the fragile pink orifice. Setting the bottle aside, she walked to the bed and stretched out on her back. Slowly she began caressing her own ripely budding body, working herself toward a burning passion as her lithe little buttocks twisted against the black satin covered bed as though she were trying to bury herself in it. Her eyes were glazed with desire, and the whiteness of her naked flesh began to turn a rosy blushing color.