Chapter 4

Lyle Montagne stared across the table at Boss Carl.

"When do you think she'll wake up, Carl?" he said in a concerned tone.

"Take it easy, baby," the big kink-magnate said with a crooked grin. "It won't be long now, and we found out everything we need to know. She's a prime candidate for the xylotrope plot."

"It's going to be rough," the movie star said in a grave manner, "don't you think we ought to tell her what it's going to involve?"

"We will, baby--we will--but first I want to put her through one more test. If she's going to fit into our operation, she has to be the best. No questions, no doubts--she has to be the absolute best. I've screened seventy-five girls for this spot and I don't want to make any mistakes."

Lyle Montagne had a worried look. "Carl, don't you think that some of your refugee regulars--maybe the redhead with the horse--"

"No!" Boss Carl cut him off. "There ain't a chance in a million that an ordinary nightclub performer could do the trick. It has to be somebody special; besides, it has to be somebody that the xylotrope people can't connect with me.

"Remember, we gotta sneak her into the plant without anybody knowin' what's goin' on."

The two men tossed off the last of their stiff drinks and made their way through the crowded Phylogem Club to the back room.

Lenny Morgan was just awakening when the two men came in.

"Hi!" she said, rubbing at her eyes. "Did everything go all right?"

Lyle sat beside her on the couch and took her head into his hands. "It went perfect, baby," he said reverently. "I mean, you were just beautiful." He kissed her almost tenderly on the lips.

Lyle Montagne knew what was in store for her next.

"Okay Trixie," Boss Carl boomed in a businesslike voice, "are you ready for the next test?"

"Another test?" Lenny asked, annoyed. "When do I find out what part I'm trying out for?"

"It won't be long, chickie," Boss Carl answered shortly. "Until then, why you just have to hang on and do your best. I can tell you this, though--the next test is the last."

"Well..." Lenny put her thoughts into words, "that's good to know anyhow."

Boss Carl helped her into her clothes, occasionally letting a rough hand fall where it shouldn't. Then, the three of them left the Phylogem Club and rode toward the East Village in a black limousine.

Lenny noticed that the chauffeur never showed his face, his collar was turned up and he allowed himself only to glance into the rear-view mirror occasionally. It seemed odd, but she made no comment. Boss Carl gave the strange driver his orders through a speaking tube.

"Take us to Louie's," Boss Carl ordered.

The car swerved and sped up a side street. Lenny noticed that the neighborhood was exceptionally run down. She made no comment. It seemed to her that Boss Carl had a lot of contacts in this kind of area--it seemed that he transacted much of his business in the underworld as a matter of fact.

As she had so often been told, Boss Carl was no ordinary businessman.

The limousine finally pulled up in front of a truly notorious looking tenement. Lenny wondered how the rich and influential Lyle Montagne felt about hanging around in this kind of place. In her experience, the only people who lived in this type of shack were either junkies or winos.

Nevertheless, she assented to climb the rickety stairs and enter the dim apartment that Louie--what he was--called home.

It was a miserable hovel, the dingy apartment slandered even further by the lack of housekeeping. Bottles and dirty magazines lay about on the floor everywhere. There was no sign of human life.

"Louie!" Boss Carl yelled. "Where the hell are ya, ya bum?"

They heard a muffled groan from the other room. In a few minutes a sleep-grogged figure appeared wearing pajamas that must have been white at one time-but were now completely grey.

"Okay Louie," there was a very real sense of threat in Boss Carl's voice now, "where's the beast?"

"What?" The man was fat and bald, with a certain confused air that one most often associates with those who imbibe heavily during the daylight hours. "Wha' ya wan' da beest fo'?"

"Don't sweat the reasons, ya drunken bum--" Boss Carl's stem voice seemed to have a marked effect upon the man, "we ain't here to screw around, Louie, we got a live one here."

Louie's hither to bleary eyes became suddenly alert. He swung his gaze quickly toward Lenny. "She's a real looker, Boss, I'll say that. Ya thin' she'll work out?"

"I dunno, Louie--you're the one who'll have to be the judge of that."

Lenny was surprised at this revelation, she could not for the life of her see what this fellow, Louie, had that was of value to the influential Boss Carl. The whole thing somehow excited her. It was so mysterious and unusual. She began to realize that she was involved in something bigger than a simple nightclub act-- precisely what that something was still remained a mystery to her.

Louie led them down a set of even more rickety stairs to the basement. It was entered through a heavy locked door. Lenny noted that the door was in poor repair, needing a coat of paint even more than the rest of the tenement house. But she did not expect what was behind that door.

They descended into a large, plush room-almost the size of the main dining room of the Phylogem Club. She gasped as she saw the walls were decorated entirely in thick red velour with gold trimmings and elaborate paintings of an exceptionally erotic nature.

"This," Boss Carl announced to her proudly "is my private showing room. In here, the true elite of the exotic appreciators seek the ultimate in performance... and, I might say, get their money's worth!"

The three men led the lovely blonde woman to a dais made up of plush red cushions and a large harness arrangement somewhat similar to that used by the redhead in the Phylogem Club.

"Gee!" Lenny exclaimed in awed tones. "This place is really groovy. I mean, I think it's the most fabulous thing that I've ever seen!"

"I'm sure it is, Lenny." Lyle seemed to be by far the kindest of the three men. He smiled at Lenny as though she were a little girl on Christmas morning. "Would you like to work here, young lady?"

"Would I ever!" she exclaimed excitedly, "This would be a dancer's dream!"

Louie nodded in agreement, then slapped his hands together twice. The gesture reminded Lenny of movies she had seen of Arabian princes and their harem girls. She was not surprised to see a bevy of gorgeous women hustling out to do the master's bidding.

"Set it up for number one," Louie ordered.

The girls stared at him as though in disbelief.

The tallest of them and apparently the leader spoke in respectful, but doubting, tones. "You didn't say, NUMBER ONE?"

"That's right, chickie," Boss Carl snapped impatiently. "He said number one."

The tall girl whirled without another word and started to hustle the others around. They seemed to be very well drilled in this exercise, despite their expressed surprise at Louie's request.

Lenny noted that these girls were, if anything, more attractive than the ravishing beauties she had seen working in the Phylogem Club. They were dressed in harem outfits, with scanty tops that revealed almost everything but the nipples.

The panties were made of a veil-like material that allowed one to see the fur of their pubic areas quite clearly. The long, billowing pantaloons were made of an even filmier substance that showed off the perfect flesh of each girl's long and shapely legs.

They were setting something up, but it was not immediately clear to the gorgeous Lenny what that something was.

She stood between Lyle and Boss Carl, almost hypnotized by the efficient and graceful preparations of the harem girls. She realized suddenly that their every move seemed to be part of an elaborate and beautiful dance without music. These women were extraordinarily talented!

"What are they doing?" Lenny chose to direct her question to Lyle Montagne, who seemed to be the most easy-going of the men.

He looked at her sternly and spoke as though she had broken some kind of rule. "You'll known soon enough."

There was a rumbling and rustling in the wings. Lenny saw the great scarlet curtains flowing and trembling as some large activities stirred the otherwise quiet air behind them.

Two of the harem girls emerged. They were leading the strangest and most exotic looking animal that Lenny Morgan had ever seen.

It was a giant sloth.

The strange and clumsy beast was dressed in a sailor suit, with a small cap strapped to its heavy head. Lenny had never seen such an animal before. It moved with a tremendous reluctance, as though it preferred sleep to any kind of movement whatsoever. This in fact, as any zoologist would testify, was the case. The giant sloth is the slowest and most reluctant of all creatures that trod the face of this planet. He spends far and away the majority of his time suspended upside-down from a tree-limb.

What he does in this position, few people have been able even to conjecture. Some scientists would tell us that he sleeps-but what mammal needs twenty-four hours of sleep a day?

Louie, despite his slovenly appearance, was apparently quite an expert on nature. He began to explain to the dumbfounded Lenny.

"That animal," he began in gruff, but scholarly tones, "is da most unarousable of all species. He ees da dumbest and most immovable fibing objek in all da woild. I mean it, Miss Morgan, to get that f-dding best to enjoy segsooal entorcourse ees nigh unto empossible."

Lenny, who despite her lack of education was rather a bright young woman, detected for the first time the hint of a foreign accent in Louie's voice. She realized suddenly that his lower- class accent was a put-on. Once, Lenny had known a pimp who had disguised his French accent by talking in a tough, almost unintelligible Bronx dialect. He had been so enthusiastic about becoming an American--and so embarrassed by his foreign accent, that he covered it up by speaking like a bum.

"Eet ees oonlikaly, Miss Morgan," the tough and sloppy Louie went on, "that you will be able ta arouse thees goddomb beast. He ees named 'Droopy, ' becos uv his nadaral hobit ov follink azleep on da jop."

Boss Carl was eyeing Lenny in a peculiar and suspicious manner. She had to avert her eyes from his gaze, because it made her extremely nervous.

"Look," the informative Louie went on, "dis beast am a begatatian fo da most part. He just lies arount and eet da leefs from da goddomb trees. I mean, booby, he don' dig ta make luf--god me?"

Despite her difficulty in following his unusual speech patterns, Lenny nodded--she got the gist of what he was saying anyway.

This animal was not a natural lover. He had to be coaxed.

"Da whot dey got in zoos," Louie was gnnnmg evilly now, this was obviously what he regarded as a supreme test of seductive talent, "dos slods, dey don't eben maade so good wid each udder en der own species. Ya understant wad I mean?"

"I'd understand better if you didn't try to hide your accent in that garble of yours." Lenny snapped these words out suddenly, despite herself she was becoming impatient with Louie's clumsy disguise.

A wide grin suddenly broke across Boss Carl's face.

"Dynamite!" he cheered, "you are one sharp chick, Lenny! And the job I got calls for relatively quick thinking--so you just racked up one more point--you were right on about the accent. What else can you tell us about? I mean, baby, what have you got Louie figured for by now?"

Lenny eyed the dumpy, balding foreigner for a moment then grinned. "I think he's French. That accent is just a cover up--so people will think he's a dumb dock worker or something like that. No. He doesn't even want people to think he's a dock worker--a dock worker could be smart, he could know something and could be working for somebody besides the union. He wants everybody to think he's a wino--that's why he keeps his apartment such a bloody goddamned mess, and that's why he's got all those bottles strewn around. I'd bet a night's salary that he doesn't drink half of them."

Lyle Montagne smiled the smile that made him a star of the silver screen; he was growing to like this spunky, young woman more and more. "What would you say, Lenny, if I told you he doesn't drink any of them, at all?"

"I'd say you were lying," Lenny responded without hesitation, "because he has to have wine on his breath all the time--otherwise people would begin to wonder."

Boss Carl raised his eyes and nodded at Montagne.

"This," he said in a quiet voice, "is one helluva smart piece of snatch."

Lenny could not keep from smiling and blushing with pride--she sensed that that odd comment was extremely high praise from the gruff owner of the Phylogem Club.

"You are right, mon cherie, I am not a wino. I am Frensh as you have guesed. But now you sheel tell to me what you think I am doing foaire a profession."

"Well--" Lenny was perplexed for a moment, she almost wished that she had not been so presumptuous as to criticize his accent. "--I--I don't know, exactly--" she sensed that all eyes were on her. To fail to come up with something good at this crucial point might mean the loss of the lucrative position for which she was being so rigidly tested. Fortunately, she had a sudden and unexpected insight. "Wait! Of course, it all makes sense. You don't want anyone to think that you are even conscious half the time--that must be because you really are sharp--you must be a very important and intelligent man. Perhaps people would even recognize your name if they heard it. The dumb accent covers up an obviously extensive knowledge--maybe you have a specialty--"

The three men nodded and smiled at one another, very plainly impressed.

Lenny glanced back at the sloth and thought of Louie's description of the animal. It had been casual and the grammar had been atrocious--but he seemed to know an uncommon lot about the rare creature. So that's it, she thought triumphantly, it all fits together when you think about it!

"I know," she cried out excitedly, "Louie is some kind of scientist--one that specializes in animals--what did you call it?"

"A zoologist," Lyle grinned in explanation, "that's it all right, baby. You hit the proverbial nail right on the head. Louie is an expert on all types and species of animals. He was, at one time, the world's most famous authority on the sexual behavior of the primitive mammal. For that reason, he has been hired by us."

"Us?" Lenny was somewhat doubtful.

"Yeah, chickie," Boss Carl grumbled, "us. But we'll explain all that later. Bein' quick on your feet ain't enough for this assignment. Ya gotta pass another test. A physical test."

Filled with new doubts about her ability to meet their requirements, Lenny turned once more to eye the sloth. "You want me to--to make love to that thing--uh--to Droopy?"

"More than that, baby," Boss Carl growled harshly, "this ain't no simple test--we know you can do that stuff, already. We want to see if you got real talent. Anybody can screw a sloth--hell, even that redheaded horsefucker, Audre, could get a rise out of Droopy here."

Lenny searched the faces of the three men, searching for a clue to the nature of the next test. It was becoming unbearably suspenseful for her. She knew that this was the final and most important of all the examinations she had gone through this would decide once and for all whether she would get the attractive and mysterious position.

"All right, Boss Carl," she murmured, "whatever it is, I'm ready and eager to get on with it. Tell me what you want me to do."

Louie took her by the arm and led her toward the dias.

"Leesten," the balding Frenchman purred softly, "mon petite choux I wan' you to do whataiver come eento yoaire mind--thees test eet ees foair to see what you can do on yoaire own. We will gif to you a numbair of animols ant you weel do wid them veary interesting things, no?"

Lenny simply nodded. She would try her best.

The fat and dirty zoologist clapped his hands together three times. The harem girls moved again in graceful, dancelike efficiency.

Two of the lovely and scantily attired women brought on a cage containing several monkeys. These little animals squealed and scampered about their cages with restless energy.

Another of the harem girls produced a large, white goat on the end of a tether, which she attached to a golden post in the center of the stage.

Still another beauty sauntered provocatively out onto the dais with a young pony. This lovely little animal had blue ribbons decorating its long mane.

Lenny was somewhat startled to see the tall woman, who was the leader of the harem, marching in stately solemnity onto the dais- with a huge boa constrictor wrapped about her body. This woman was truly a gorgeous specimen of the female of the human species. She had long black hair that flowed down her back almost to the waist. Her skin was of a dark hue, almost that of the gypsies, her black eyes flashed fire at Lenny--expressing a kind of professional jealousy and a challenge at the same time. This rare beauty was testing her also!