Punchline Read Free Page A

friends and family all by themselves. And his magazine would show them how.
    In the past few years, he’d run a number of articles on those subjects. But Darryl didn’t kid himself. Gorgeous women were still the lure that drew men to About Town.
    Today’s selection of models would certainly send pulses racing. Miss March, an aspiring actress named Mindy who had a mane of dark hair, made it clear she would enjoy having Darryl over for dinner any night he found himself free.
    Next year’s Miss April, with long strawberry tresses and a Cockney accent, had been unable to stop in-line skating long enough to be photographed. Finally Elva had suggested shooting her in action, and so they had. In the process, Miss April had favored Darryl with an exaggerated wink that let him know she preferred not to skate alone.
    And then there was Miss May. Darryl had to congratulate himself on his coup. In addition to her physical attractions, the scientist would bring international attention to About Town.
    The fact that he was thumbing his nose at Belle Martens in the process didn’t detract from his glee one whit.
    He’d tried not to think about her this past month, except as an aberration in the otherwise smooth course of his life. Okay, so she looked better than he would have expected in her birthday suit. And he couldn’t erase the memory of how her breasts felt in his mouth, that mixture of firmness and yielding, those tantalizing pink nipples…
    He caught himself with a jolt. He had to stop daydreaming and concentrate on business.
    He forced himself to focus on Elva as she tried to sweet-talk Connie Sasser out of her shy stiffness. Their efforts would be wasted if the woman couldn’t relax in front of the camera.
    For Connie, Elva had chosen a green-and-silver swimsuit cut high on the hip and low in the front. The scientist, however, tended to clench her arms at her sides, as if afraid she would spill out of the thing. She also kept herhead lowered, so that chin-length dark-blond hair fell over her face like a veil.
    “The light’s going,” Jim Rickard muttered as he watched Elva try to pose Connie on a lounge chair amid an array of potted flowers. “Sun’s getting harsh.”
    “She’s worth waiting for,” Darryl said.
    The bearded photographer grinned at him. “Go for the intellectual type, do you?”
    “I didn’t mean for me, personally,” he corrected. “I meant for the publicity she’ll bring.”
    “Glad to hear you say that.” Jim checked his lens filter. “You’re the only guy I know smart enough to stay single into his thirties.”
    Jim had endured a bitter divorce the previous year. Darryl didn’t pry into the gory details, but he knew Jim desperately missed his five-year-old son, Nick. It didn’t seem fair that Jim’s ex-wife, Tori, had taken the boy and moved to the East Coast, thus effectively denying Jim frequent visitation.
    Besides, in the years Darryl had known the couple, Jim had made as many sacrifices for Nick as had Tori. Why did so many judges assume mothers were superior parents? As far as Darryl was concerned, men could take care of children just as well. Maybe one of these days he would write an article on the subject.
    Elva put a tape of country music on the boom box, but Connie still didn’t loosen up. “I’m sorry,” the physicist said. “I don’t think I can do this, after all.”
    “Sure you can.” Elva brushed straight black bangs from her forehead, a gesture of strained patience. “You look terrific. Imagine you’re alone with the man of your dreams and he’s standing there admiring you, holding a glass of champagne.”
    “Or his Nobel Prize,” Jim suggested.
    “Or your Nobel Prize,” Darryl offered.
    “Or—what the hell?” said Elva.
    Darryl’s first impression, from the corner of his eye, was that a busload of tourists had landed. Then he realized that not only was there no bus in sight, but the new arrivals were all female and all were wearing