The Body Lovers Read Online Free PDF

it?”
    “Pretty interesting,” I agreed.
    She gave a disgusted toss of her head. “Men like you have lived too long. Nothing’s new. I could daughter you.” She grinned again and ran her fingers through her hair. “But you should see what it does to the other kind.”
    “I don’t know the other kind.”
    “Naturally.”
    She led me inside and slid up on a wooden bar stool in front of an easel while I looked around the room. Unlike most of the village pads, it was a completely professional setup. The windows and skylight were modern and cleverly arranged for maximum efficiency, wall shelves stocked with every necessity, and on the far end, equipment for engraving and etching stretched from one side to the other.
    Every wall was covered with framed pictures, some original art, others black and white or full color glossy reproductions. Every one bore the simple signature, Cleo.
    “Like them?”
    I nodded. “Commercial.”
    “Hell yes,” she told me. “The loot is great and I don’t go the beatnik route. I don’t expect you to recognize them ... you don’t look the type to read women’s fashion magazines, but I happen to be one of the best in the field.”
    I walked over to the easel and stood beside her. The picture she was painting would never make any family magazine. The face and body were hers, all right, but the subject matter was something else. Even unfinished you knew what she was portraying. She was a seductress for hire, promising any man anything he could possibly want, not because money was the object, but because she desired it that way herself. It was a total desire to please and be pleased, but whoever succumbed to the lure was going to be completely devoured with the excesses she could provide to satisfy her own pleasures.
    “How about that,” I said.
    “You got the message?”
    “I got the message,” I repeated. “Still life.”
    “Drop dead,” she smiled.
    “It isn’t commercial.”
    “No? You’d be surprised what some people would buy. But you’re right, it isn’t commercial ... or rather, not for sale. I indulge myself in the hobby between assignments. Now, you didn’t come up here to talk art.”
    I walked over and eased myself down into a straight-backed chair. “You ever know Greta Service?”
    There was no hesitation. “Sure. She lived downstairs for a while.”
    “Know her well?”
    She shrugged and said, “As well as you ever get to know anybody around here. Except for the old-timers, most are transients or out-of-towners who think the Village is the Left Bank of New York.”
    “What was she?”
    “An out-of-towner. I forget where she came from, but she was doing some modeling work and moved into the Village because it seemed the thing to do and the rent comparatively cheap.”
    Casually, I asked, “What are you doing here?”
    “Me,” Cleo smiled, “I like it. I guess I read too many stories about the place years ago too. Right now I’m one of the old-timers which means you’ve been here over ten years. Only thing is, I’m different.”
    “Oh?”
    “I make money. I can support my habit of fine foods and a big bar bill. Around here I’m an oddball because of it. The others dig my hobby but sneer at my crass commercial works, yet they still take the free drinks and stuff their pockets as well as their stomachs whenever I toss a neighborhood soirée up here.” She glanced at me seriously. “What’s with this Greta Service?”
    “A friend wants to locate her. Got any ideas?”
    Cleo thought a moment, then shook her head. “You know about her brother?”
    I nodded.
    “Not long after that she moved out As far as I know, she never said a word about where she was going. Her mail piled up in the box downstairs, so apparently she never left a forwarding address.”
    “How about her friends?”
    “Greta wasn’t exactly the friendly type. She was ... well, remote. I saw her with a few men, but it wasn’t like ... well, whether she cared they were there or