LITMIR.BIZ

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      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1966, 2012 by Victor J. Banis

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      CHAPTER ONE

      From the window of her hotel room, Laura Anderson looked down at the streets of Los Angeles below. The city buzzed with the early evening activity, and endless stream of cars dashing past, crowds of people everywhere, the lights making evening into day. Streams of cars poured swiftly by.

      Despite the two weeks since she had first arrived here, the city was still strange to her. Everything was so different from Indiana, from Terre Haute. She couldn’t even say if she liked it. She thought not, nor that she ever would—but she told herself with a sigh that she might as well get used to it. This was going to be her home, probably for the rest of her life.

      She turned from the window, turning her back on the city outside. She could be grateful at least that she wouldn’t be living here, in the heart of the city, with all its confusion and endless activity. She would be at Sandy Knoll—even the name had a serene quality that was different from downtown Los Angeles. Of course, it was a tract development, but only a small one. She closed her eyes and imagined the house in which she would soon be living.

      Yes, of course, it looked very much like the other houses in the tract, but she intended to make hers different. She would plant flowers and shrubs, something suited to the sandy soil—the house was near the beach. And she was happy for that, too, the long expanse of white sand that lay just beyond the patio of her new home. And there was the mighty ocean itself, beyond the beach, and so unlike anything she had known in Indiana.

      Yes, she felt sure she would be happy in her new house, with its ocean setting. She would be happy with her new husband, too. But she had no sooner thought that than she felt a sense of uneasiness. She glanced at the clock on the dresser. Neil Abbot would be arriving here any minute. He’d promised her a night on the town—cocktails and dinner in a special restaurant, and afterward even a visit to the legendary nightclub, The Coconut Grove. Their last night as sweethearts. Tomorrow they would be man and wife, newlyweds. Mr. and Mrs. Neil Abbott, in their new house in Sandy Knoll. She felt another twinge of uneasiness, but did not linger on it.

      “Well, tonight you’re still Laura Anderson,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “And your husband to be will be here any minute, expecting you to be dressed and ready.”

      Laura Abbot. She’d even commented to Neil how convenient it was that she needn’t even change her initials. The letter A on the towels she had bought long before for her hope-chest could just as well stand for Abbot as Anderson.

      She quickly undressed and showered, careful not to get her hair wet—she had splurged earlier and had it done at an expensive shop just down the street—an extravagance, to be sure, but she wanted to look her best for Neil. And without conceit she knew that her best was pretty good. She had been Miss Indiana only a couple of years earlier, and before that Miss Harvest Festival.

      She paused coming out of the shower and looked at herself in the full length mirror on the bathroom door. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves about her oval face. Her features were regular, her eyes vivid green and set wide. She supposed her mouth was a bit too full, but men had never seemed to mind that—nor with the lovely body the mirror showed back to her—soft of shoulder, pale, her skin as smooth and pink as a baby’s. Her full round breasts were altogether womanly, however, full and round, needing no support, the wide aureoles thrusting brazenly forward. Wide curvaceous hips flared from her thin waist and the curve of her belly led downward to the darkness between her creamy thighs. Yes, she knew that men found her desirable.

      The phone rang. She wrapped herself in a bath towel and went to answer it as she emerged from the steamy bathroom. She wrapped the towel loosely around her body and went to answer the summons. Neil Abbott’s voice greeted her from the other end.

      “Oh, you’re early!” she cried when she recognized Neil’s voice on the phone.

      “Umm, I think it’s you that’s late,” he said. “Aren’t you ready?”

      “It won’t take me long to dress,” she assured him, aware that he was somewhat annoyed by her habitual tardiness. “Why don’t you come on up here and wait?”

      There was a slight pause before Neil answered. “I could wait in the bar just as easily. It might look better if I did.”

      “Don’t be silly,” she insisted. “After all, we’re practically married, you know. And besides, this is the wicked city of Los Angeles. No one will bat an eyelash over it.”

      He laughed at that, although the voice sounded to her a little strained. “I guess you’re right. I’ll be up in a minute or two.”

      Laura returned the receiver to its cradle and stood thoughtfully in the center of the room, thinking of Neil Abbot, the man she would marry in a few hours. Why was it that after all this time she suddenly felt so unsure? It had been bothering her since she arrived in the city two weeks ago.

      It wasn’t as though she didn’t know him. They were from the same city, and Terre Haute wasn’t so big a city. Neil, four years older than she, had been in college when she was in high school. But even then she had loved him, as had almost every other girl who was in school with her. What girl wouldn’t have loved Neil, the big football star, the local hero?

      When he had asked her to marry him, right after his graduation from college, there had not been the slightest doubt in her mind. She had accepted at once. There was a job waiting for Neil in California, and it had been decided that he would come west, get started on the job and find them a house. Then, when everything was nicely in order, he would come back for her.

      Everything had gone well and according to the schedule, at first. Neil’s letters kept her well informed of his progress in the new job, and she heard at once when he found the house, which he described as “just what we want”. The date was set for the wedding and the preparations made. Then there had been the accident.

      For two months Neil remained in the hospital. The wedding was postponed indefinitely. Finally, Neil had been released. Things still had to be delayed, however. He had been gone from his work for so long, it was difficult to take more time off. Weeks had passed and Laura’s impatience had grown until she had at last reached a decision on her own. If Neil could not come to Terre Haute to marry her, she would go to California. At first, Neil had resisted the suggestion but in time he had relented. So here she was.

      Like any young bride, she had looked forward to a more elaborate affair than the simple civil ceremony on the morrow, but she knew that it was just as well this way. Her parents had not really been in a position to afford the wedding as it had been planned. They had mortgaged their modest home. Because of the change in plans, they had been able to repay the loan and spare themselves the financial burden. This way, everything was quick and uncomplicated.

      Except, she reminded herself, for this nagging doubt. Throughout the year of waiting, she had remained firmly convinced that she and Neil were truly meant for one another, that their love was beyond question. But since arriving in Los Angeles, she had become less certain with each passing day. It had begun the very first day, when she came down the ramp from the airplane and saw Neil waiting for her. It suddenly occurred to her then that he was almost a stranger to her.

      She had seen Neil every evening since arriving in the city. Their time together was pleasant. Arrangements for the wedding had been made prompt and efficient. She had seen the new house, approved his selection, and the two of them had spent considerable time shopping for furnishings.

      Yet now, on the very eve of her marriage, Laura was unable to shake the gloomy feeling that she was making a mistake. She had tried to view her emotions honestly, still she did not know whether her feeling for Neil was love or mere schoolgirl infatuation with the most popular boy in Terre Haute.

      The knock at the door interrupted her train of thought. Neil was already there and she had not even begun to dress. She wrapped the towel more carefully about herself and hurried to answer the door.

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