Paper Doll Read Online Free PDF Page A

they were always flying off to visit friends from college.”
    “Family travel much together?” I said.
    “Mr. Tripp and the children would sometimes go places, especially when the children were small.”
    “Ms. Nelson?” I said.
    “I don’t think Ms. Nelson liked to travel,” she said.
    I sat for a while and chewed on that. Ann Summers sat quietly, pointing her stunning knees at me: alert, compliant, calm, and stunning.
    “And Mr. Tripp comes here early, and leaves late, even though there’s not much work to do?”
    She nodded.
    “What do you think of that?” I said.
    She paused for a moment, and bit her lower lip very gently, for a moment. Then she shook her head.
    “I am Mr. Tripp’s employee. I like to think also that I am his friend. In either capacity I am entirely loyal to him,” she said. “I would not speculate about his personal life.”
    “Not even to me,” I said, “after what we’ve meant to each other?”
    Ann Summers shook her head slowly.
    Her smile was warm. Her teeth were very white and even. Her eyes were lively, maybe even inviting. There was something about her that whispered inaudibly of silk sheets and lace negligees, some unarticulated hint of passion, motionless beneath the flawless tranquility of her appearance. I sat for a moment and inhaled it, admired it, contemplated the clear, unexpressed certainty that exotic carnal excess was mine for the asking.
    We both knew the moment and understood it.
    “Monogamy is not an unmixed blessing,” I said.
    She nodded slightly, and smiled serenely. “Please feel free,” she said, “if you need anything else…” She made a little flutter with her hands.
    I stood.
    “Sure,” I said. “Thanks for your help.” I was pleased that my voice didn’t rasp.
    At the door I looked back at her, still motionless, legs crossed, smiling. The sunlight from the east window behind her caught the red highlights in her hair. Her hands rested motionless on her thighs. The promise of possibility shimmered in the room between us for another long moment. Then I took in a big breath of air and went out and closed the door.

chapter nine
    I HAD LUNCH with Loudon Tripp at the Harvard Club. In Boston there are two, one downtown in a tall building on Federal Street, and the other, more traditional one in the Back Bay on Commonwealth Ave. Despite the fact that Tripp’s office was downtown about a block from the Federal Street site, he chose tradition. So did I. Instead of my World Gym tank top, I wore a brown Harris tweed jacket with a faint maroon line in the weave, a blue Oxford button-down, a maroon knit tie, charcoal slacks, and chocolate suede loafers with charcoal trim. There was a herringbone pattern in my dark gray socks. I had a maroon silk handkerchief in my breast pocket, a fresh haircut, and a clean shave. Except maybe that my nose had been broken about six times, you couldn’t tell I wasn’t wealthy.
    Tripp was wearing a banker’s gray Brooks Brothers suit with narrow lapels, and three buttons, and trousers ending at least two inches short of his feet. He had on a narrow tie with black and silver stripes, and scuffed brown shoes with wing tips. You knew he was wealthy.
    Tripp shook hands democratically.
    “Good of you to come,” he said, although I had requested the lunch.
    The Harvard Club looked the way it was supposed to. High ceilings and carpeted floors and on the walls pictures of gray-haired WASPs in dark suits. We went to the dining room and sat. Tripp ordered a Manhattan. I had a club soda.
    “Don’t you drink?” Tripp said. He sounded a little suspicious.
    “I’m experimenting,” I said, “with intake modification.”
    “Ah,” he said.
    We looked at menus. The cuisine ran to baked scrod and minute steak. The waiter brought our drinks. Tripp drank half his Manhattan. I savored a sip of club soda. We ordered.
    “Now,” Tripp said, “how can I help you?”
    “If it is not too painful,” I said, “tell me about your