Winds of Nightsong. V. J. Banis

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СКАЧАТЬ it’s time you did, Mrs. MacNair. Please say you’ll come with me. I’m not at all familiar with your city, and I’d be more than honored to be seen with you.”

      “You are extremely sweet and most thoughtful, Michael, but I don’t think I—”

      “Don’t think. Just say you’ll permit me to call for you at seven this evening.”

      “You’re being impetuous.”

      “Not at all, Mrs. MacNair. I feel very comfortable with you. I believe we could have a delightful evening together.” Sensing her hesitation, he added, “Please.”

      “Oh, Michael, you can’t possibly believe you’d enjoy yourself in the company of an old widow-woman like me.”

      “You are not an old woman,” he said sternly. “You must stop thinking that way. Please say you’ll come with me tonight.”

      Lorna sighed. “Well, if you’re sure you want me to.”

      “I do. I really do.”

      “Then on one condition. If you call me Lorna, I’ll go to dinner with you.”

      “Marvelous. It’s agreed.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll have a fine time.”

      “Until seven o’clock then,” Lorna said as she got up, feeling suddenly like a young girl. “Now come along. I’ll have my chauffeur take you back.” She rang for the servant. “You might just as well have Charles stay at Efrem’s and drive you back here later. I won’t be needing him for the rest of the afternoon. If you have any errands to run, please feel free to use him. I’ll tell him he is to be at your disposal.”

      “That’s very kind. Thank you, Lorna.”

      She beamed. “Until seven o’clock.”

      He took her hand and kissed it, making her whole body grow warm.

      After Michael left, Lorna found herself humming as she went up to her bedroom. She knew she was acting like a foolish old woman, but she didn’t care. It had been so long since anyone had made her feel wanted. Michael Crane was, of course, much too young, but he had admitted that he enjoyed older women. She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror. “Besides,” she said to her reflection, “you really aren’t all that old-looking, Lorna MacNair.”

      Meanwhile, in the back seat of the limousine, Michael was feeling smug and complacent. He’d need money if he was to impress Lorna MacNair that evening. He’d have to borrow from Efrem again. Efrem liked him, he knew, and so far had not refused him anything. And soon, if all went according to plan, he would never have to worry about money again. Lorna MacNair had more than she could ever spend. And according to what she’d said about the Nightsongs, she would have still more. He’d help her get it. She was old, but he’d known women older than Lorna who’d been only too happy to pay for his services.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Nineteen twelve was a very progressive year for New York City. The new bridges and subway tunnels created a sprawling metropolis of nearly four million people, with Manhattan the most powerful of the boroughs in Greater New York. Business was booming; and Tammany Hall continued to control city politics despite the Boss Tweed scandal of years before. But even though the city was thriving, working conditions were the poorest in the nation and women were still fighting for their right to vote.

      It was also a time for terrible tragedies. In March of 1911 a fire broke out at The Triangle Shirtwaist Company on the corner of New York’s Washington Place and Greene Street. The building was abominably overcrowded, with row after row of sewing machines crammed into every inch of space. Triangle was typical of the so-called sweatshops, paying girls five dollars for a six-day work week in airless rooms. The narrow passageways, the flimsy fire escapes, the single elevator took the lives of 145 workers who had either been burned alive or had jumped to their deaths.

      Then, in April of 1912, the luxury liner Titanic sank on her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York, and 1,513 people perished.

      Susan MacNair Dillon had taken up the plight of the underprivileged years before and was a staunch supporter of women’s suffrage. Her husband, Sean, was active in New York politics, and he shared her concern for the poor and belabored. Both were fully aware, however, of the dangers involved in upsetting the powerful men who ran New York.

      The Dillon townhouse was on Fifth Avenue near Eighty-second Street, across from Central Park. It was a lovely house, furnished more for comfort than show. This pleased Susan and her husband immensely, but their daughter Lorrie hated the place. Though not yet fifteen, Lorrie was already a full-fledged snob.

      “It’s so common,” she always complained. “I’m ashamed to bring my friends here. Why can’t we furnish it as it deserves to be furnished and not with all these old-fashioned, overstuffed horrors.”

      “You’re a little prig,” her mother told her. “You’re just like your Grandmother. Always wanting to put on airs.”

      “We can afford a few airs,” Lorrie would respond. “Father is certainly rich enough.”

      “Money isn’t everything, Lorrie. You’ll learn that one day.”

      “I want to live in San Francisco with Grandmother.”

      It was an ongoing argument, one to which Susan and Sean were almost immune.

      Thursday was the one day of the week Sean always spent at home alone with his wife. The children were in school and when school wasn’t in session, Sean made sure they had somewhere to go so that he and Susan could have the house to themselves, especially the bedroom. After sixteen years of marriage, their lovemaking was both serious and social.

      “I love Thursdays,” Susan said as she kissed his naked shoulder and let her hand trail down over his abdomen and grip his stiffening penis.

      “And I love you, you little minx.” Sean rolled over on top of her and began suckling her nipples.

      “You don’t think we’re getting too old for this sort of thing, Sean?”

      “Old? Good God, woman. You’re not even close to forty.”

      “I’m beginning to feel old,” Susan said as she continued to fondle her husband.

      “If you don’t stop playing with that thing, you’ll have me finished before I start.”

      “I like playing with your thing,” she said, smiling.

      “I can think of a better place for it than in your hand.”

      “Like where?” she teased.

      He took his shaft and edged it against the lips of her vagina. “Like here?” he asked, easing himself into her.

      “Oh God, Sean, that feels wonderful.”

      “Tell me about it.” He started thrusting slowly in and out of her as she arched up to meet him.

      “I wish you’d let me give you more babies,” Susan said, savoring the delicious feel of his length and thickness.

      “We have enough. Two СКАЧАТЬ