Nikki
Authors: Stuart Friedman
A Compelling Novel
NIKKI
Stuart Friedman
a division of F+W Media, Inc.
CHAPTER ONE
Nikki took the beating grinning like hell.
The harsh sound and feel of violence filled the small room, but Nikki lay on her belly on the high table, a thin sheet partially covering the naked young loveliness of her body, and waved her bare pink heels slowly up and down in a soft, lazy rhythm. She had asked for it, and she could stop it with a word.
Nikki knew that women as well as men were often disarmed by the beauty of her face, so, on entering the booth, she had assumed a contemptuous, high-tailed mistress-to-flunky air. This had aroused the masseuse and, by the time Nikki was out of her clothes, the big, box-shaped woman was straining like a teased, hobbled bull to get at her.
Yet, at first, the woman had succeeded in remaining the detached functionary doing a standard salon job on just another hundred or so pounds of flesh. Nikki had had to bait her again.
Lying there with her graceful hands dangling over the forward edge of the high table, her head in profile within the frame of her prettily rounded arms, Nikki had begun to flick her with brief glances, followed by slight tensions of the cheek, as if she were trying to suppress sly grins. The masseuse soon got the idea she was being laughed at, and the kneading, the pummeling, the hard, edge-of-hand chopping intensified. Then Nikki grinned openly, and the big woman lost command of herself and of the situation.
She was hurting her now, really hurting her; scowlingly intent on wiping that grin off Nikki’s face. Nikki shifted her arms, drew her elbows back and gripped the forward edge of the table. The hard, swift, stinging blows began to merge into a single, continuous sensation like a flow of scalding water, and she thought her buttocks must be blistered raw. She stopped waving her feet and clamped her legs tightly together. Her grin began to ache.
Her fingers clenched more tightly and she curled her toes in against the balls of her feet so hard that her arch muscles cramped. In another second she was going to scream … or she was going to lash up off this table punching, kicking, clawing!
No! Nobody made Nikki cry, nobody made Nikki lose control. Nobody WON over Nikki!
“That’s all!” the masseuse said abruptly.
Nikki came upright with a lithe turn and roll on one hip, and for a moment she sat above the woman, laughing softly. Then she slipped from the table and stood naked on tiptoe, facing the larger woman in an attitude of flaunting triumph, her fists planted on the soft upper swellings of her hips, her long red hair wontonly loose around her white shoulders, her high, thrusting breasts trembling faintly.
The big woman stared, panting, with her mouth open, her homely face sweaty, her big bosom lifting and falling heavily. Nikki began to sway her supple hips from side to side, then stopped and put her weight on one leg, jutting the hip, and peered down her back to the round of her bottom. She shifted her weight and looked down over the other shoulder. She turned her back to the angry woman and pointed to her buttocks.
“That’s nice, that pattern of pink on white. My tail seems to have brought out the artist in you. And now, dear, if you’ll fetch my purse I’ll give you a tip.”
“Fetch, hah!” The masseuse’s voice was thick with outrage, and in her excitement she revealed a heavy accent, as if Nikki had stripped away years of careful learning. “Fetch! What are you, nutty in the head? Yes, that’s what! You think that’s fun to get hurt like that?”
Nikki turned to her, shaking her head in mock puzzlement. “Hurt? You mean … you mean … you were afraid you were hurting me?” Nikki said, her eyes wide, her voice sweet. With a swift change of tone Nikki drew her lips back flat against her teeth and thrust her face forward. “Listen to me, lummox! I needed to find out something. I found out. You didn’t want to be used in my experiment. I used you. Now, if you want your tip, fetch my purse. If you don’t, get out!”
“I go. First, I tell
you
something. You make all the badness and meanness come out. You make me
hate
. The worst you bring out in me. The
worst
!”
“I always bring people out,” Nikki said as the woman stomped to the door. “Nikki always brings them out. Where Nikki is …” the door slammed “… things happen!”
Alone, she felt a tiny gnawing of anxiety, and briefly there was a look of uncertainty around her eyes. Then she shrugged.
Finishing the afternoon with a hairdresser attending her head and a pedicurist at her feet, Nikki felt regal and delicious. She left the salon looking summery and carefree in her bright yellow silk skirt and sleeveless white blouse, and took a cab to the new apartment.
Nikki stood in the middle of the large front room admiring the view, the spaciousness, the buoyancy of the furnishings. She had flown here from across the country three times in the past month for consultations with her decorator, and she had concerned herself deeply with the whole project. The result was just what she had striven for, a home which would embrace without strangling her.
Everything was new and free of the past and alive, and when its strangeness had worn off, Nikki assured herself, she was going to love it. She felt slightly sick at her stomach and hurried into the bedroom, unbuttoning her blouse. There was no time for moping around. She began to dress herself for the evening.
She kept trying to push down the memory of that spanking, and it kept surfacing like a cork. It didn’t matter a damn, she told herself, whether or not it had made sense from the dull-normal point of view. She refused to feel apologetic or ashamed; Nikki Duquesne was her own law. Maybe, she admitted, she was a trifle shocked at herself … or at any rate disturbed … and the whole thing had been a mistake. A person sure of her strength didn’t need to prove it with such grotesqueries.
She tried, with a look of fretful impatience on her lovely face, to give the episode some meaningful justification, but her cool, tough mind disintegrated all the rationalizations. She thought defiantly that she didn’t need justification; she didn’t care. A moment later she tried to imagine telling Dolores about it, and she felt like cringing. Dolores was her best … and perhaps only … friend and, maybe even more than that, her one firm hold on things.
They seldom saw each other, what with Nikki’s bouncing around all over the country and half the world, but Dolores was always somehow
there
, and there were times when Nikki felt she would have no identity except for the fact of Dolores. And this was curious, because Nikki had always been the stronger.
They had met in college after tryouts for the freshman Debating and Oratorical Society. Dolores, a slim, pretty little thing with a baby face, round blue eyes and fluffy blonde hair, had looked too cute to take seriously, and to make matters worse, she had chosen to deliver a militant declamation. The audience had swallowed its laughter for a minute or so, then they had practically convulsed.
She had come offstage flushed and miserably near tears, and Nikki, waiting her turn in the wings, had felt a profound surge of tenderness and the impulse to take the kid in her arms. Instead, she had charged onstage, glaring, and hurled her own speech at them. It called for irony and controlled indignation, but in her anger she had sounded, as someone put it, like a vengeful prosecutor in a B-movie. Knowing she had let emotion ruin her chances, and exasperated with herself, she had hurried out of the auditorium searching for Dolores.
She loved the feel of outdoors on her face and bare head and she put a peppermint on her tongue and childishly slurped the cold clean air in like a refreshing drink, while her intense green eyes searched for Dolores.
The warm yellow splotches of the carriage lights along the greens and walks together with the frosty glow of the autumn moon, fat and low on the western horizon, gave the campus a lovely clarity. From where she stood high on the auditorium steps she could see a dozen small groups and couples lingering along and enjoying each other, and when she spotted Dolores, alone and slumping along with her head down, it seemed not only unbearably poignant but dangerous. The kid was heading off-campus toward Division Boulevard … or wolf run … as if she might let herself get picked up by some of the rowdy town and campus men who cruised that area.
Nikki was only seventeen, actually a year younger than Dolores, but the little blonde seemed so very young and terribly soft that Nikki was convinced that the girl needed her. She took the steps in a rush, cut across one of the greens, came onto the walk a few yards behind the forlorn little figure, then came rapidly abreast. Suddenly Nikki didn’t know what to say, and for a few steps she merely walked alongside; Dolores glanced at her blankly, then just continued to slouch along.
Nikki smiled encouragingly at her and offered her a mint, thinking “candy for a pretty baby,” and when Dolores shook her head, looking sweetly pouty, Nikki felt like laughing with pure joy. She wanted to coo and pet this tender creature to make up for the abuse she’d suffered from those laughing idiots back in the auditorium. Then she frowned, and abruptly discarded all the banal soothing syrup possibilities.
She blurted, “You know why you stank, Varnbush? It’s all that fluffy hair around your cheeks. Makes you look like a taffy head. You’ll notice my hair’s slicked back in a no-nonsense way.”
Dolores gave her a brief, waspish look, then quickened her step. Nikki stayed alongside. Dolores came to an angry stop.
“I want to be
alone
.”
Nikki smiled fondly at her. “I know. I know, but right now you shouldn’t be, Taffy Head.”
“Don’t
call
me that!”
“Well, I don’t know your front name.”
“It’s Dolores. And now that we’ve met, Miss Duquesne, good-bye. I’m in a rush to restyle my hair.”
“I make you sore as hell, huh? Well, that’s good. I wanted to get your spunk up so that you wouldn’t get feeling all worthless and do something silly. Your type tends to self-dramatize.”
“Self-dramatize!” Dolores exploded. “Of all the gall! Nikki Duquesne, the original Storm Front who makes a
career
out of self-dramatizing herself, who can’t go to a class or lecture or rally or anyplace on this campus without making a wrangling spectacle … she calls
me
… oh, you
infuriate
me,” she broke off in exasperation.
Nikki looked at her with a soft, proud expression. “You get pink, and those big doll-blue eyes get
this
wide when you’re indignant. I take to you, but if you don’t take to me I’ll quit bothering you. On one condition. Turn around and head for your dorm.”
“I’ll go where I want to.”
“But not out to the wolf run. I don’t want you getting drunk or seduced or anything silly like that. How about my walking you back to your dorm?
“I’ve got sense enough to do my own walking wherever I want to walk.”
“You head for the wolf run and I’ll tackle you and throw you and sit right on you, I swear I will.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Those big blue eyes stared at her uncertainly. “You actually would!”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt you; it’s just that somebody ought to watch over you right now … and I’m it. You need me,” Nikki said earnestly.
“Yes, but do I
deserve
you?”
Nikki grinned and shook her head admiringly. “Ah, that was honed, Dolores. I like your sense of humor.”
“I don’t mind your calling me Taffy Head.”