1977 - I Hold the Four Aces Read Online Free

escort. It is a despised profession, but make no mistake about it, it is a profession. It is despised by those who don’t understand the very urgent need elderly women have for male company. Go to any good hotel and you will find elderly women boring barmen, boring waiters, looking hopefully for an unattached male. There are thousands of rich, fat or scraggy, unattractive, dull, neurotic, lonely women who crave to have a last fling, to be taken around and be pampered and who pay good money for the attention. I am one of those who supply this demand. These trappings you have remarked on are gifts from old, frustrated women. This bracelet was given to me by a poor old thing who imagined I was in love with her. The cigarette case came from a fat Austrian countess who insisted that I should dance with her every night for three dreadful weeks. Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for her, she suffered a minor stroke or else, I suppose, I would be dancing with her now. I am thirty-nine years of age. For the past twenty years I have been making the lives of elderly women happy.” He finished his coffee and smiled at Archer. “There, Jack, you have it in a nutshell.”
    A surge of triumph ran through Archer. He hadn’t mistaken his man!
    “I think we will have some cheese,” he said.
     
    * * *
     
    The hands of the clock above the concierge’s desk moved to midnight as Joe Patterson entered the lobby of the Plaza Athenee Hotel. He paused at the desk to pick up his key as Archer approached.
    “Good evening, Mr. Patterson.”
    Scowling, Patterson turned, then seeing Archer, who had been waiting in the lobby for the past two hours, he snapped, “What do you want?”
    “I have something important to discuss with you, Mr. Patterson,” Archer said smoothly, “but if it’s the wrong time.”
    “Okay, okay. I’ve just been with a chick, and boy! did she give out! Come on, let’s get a goddamn drink.”
    Archer followed Patterson to an alcove, waited until the waiter had served the drinks and while Patterson lit a cigar.
    “You been busy, Archer? How’s about the Rolfe doll?”
    “It is more than possible,” Archer said, “that Madame Rolfe can be persuaded to finance Blue Sky.”
    Patterson squinted at him.
    “Have you talked to her? You said this morning she wouldn’t touch it.”
    “That was first droughts, Mr. Patterson. Since then, I have had second thoughts. I now believe she could be persuaded.”
    Patterson grinned.
    “Yeah. Nothing like second thoughts. Have you contacted her?”
    “The setup is complex, Mr. Patterson. No, I haven’t contacted her and I don’t intend to, but nevertheless, I am satisfied she can be persuaded to invest two million dollars in your promotion.”
    Patterson scowled at him.
    “Cut the double-talk, Archer! What the hell do you mean?”
    “For you to understand the situation, Mr. Patterson, it is necessary for you to know that Helga Rolfe is a nymphomaniac,” Archer said.
    Patterson gaped at him.
    “A nympho what?”
    “A woman who has a compulsive need for a man.”
    Patterson’s little eyes opened wide.
    “You mean she has hot pants?”
    “A little more than that, Mr. Patterson. I have known Helga for the past twenty years. Sex is as necessary to her as food is to you.”
    Patterson was intrigued. He took a pull at his drink, knocked cigar ash on the floor and leered at Archer.
    “Well! She’s a doll too! You think she and I could get together in bed? If I gave it to her, she would part with the dough?”
    Archer regarded the pockmarked, sweaty, coarse face. If only we could see ourselves as others see us, he thought.
    “I think not, Mr. Patterson,” he said, picking his words carefully. “Helga seems only interested in rather special, unusual men. She likes them tall, younger than herself, extremely handsome, witty, preferably with a knowledge of the arts, and of course, since she speaks German, French and Italian fluently, she would expect the man to do the