Punchline Read Free Page B

swimsuits.
    Belle Martens was leading the pack.
    “I don’t believe it.” Jim started to laugh. ‘‘Would you look at that?”
    How could I help looking at that? Darryl thought irritably.
    A crowd of women, from tiny to tremendous, teenagers to senior citizens, surged toward him. Their vast variation of shapes and endowments were bared by the tiniest lot of swimsuits ever allowed to leave a store without a police escort.
    Darryl counted at least twelve women. It was hard to be exact, the way they kept bouncing around. Their appearance here couldn’t be a coincidence.
    Nor did he believe Belle had draped her curvaceous body with a black-and-gold string bikini in the middle of a workday just to go exercise on the beach.
    She probably wanted to spoil his photo shoot to get revenge for that night of passion, which he couldn’t even remember. Damn it, he wanted at least the recollection of ripping the bra off those ripe breasts, and sliding a slip of fabric down her hips, and feeling her arms wrap around him as he buried himself inside—
    “Oh, there’s Belle!” Connie cried in relief, and jumped out of her lounge chair.
    Elva threw up her hands. “There goes her concentration.”
    Darryl strode forward, caught Dr. Sasser by the elbow and halted her before she reached the newcomers. To Belle, he said, “Sorry, we’ve already hired our model.”
    She planted herself on the boardwalk directly in front of him. The sunlight brought out the golden highlights inher inordinately red hair and cinnamon eyes. “We’re here for educational purposes.”
    “Really?” He eyed her bikini with deliberate provocation. “I hope you didn’t pay much for that. There’s hardly any material in it.”
    “Precisely my point.” She folded her arms, which had the effect of emphasizing her cleavage. In contrast to Dr. Sasser, Belle appeared to possess no shyness whatsoever. “We want the public to see that real women come in all shapes and sizes. That you can be desirable at two hundred pounds or ninety. Big hips, small busts—who cares?”
    At that moment Darryl wished that Belle did indeed weigh two hundred pounds, or better yet had opted for a hood and a large potato sack. She had no right to torment him with the body that had insisted on sneaking into his fantasies ever since their night together.
    He said a silent prayer of thanks for the fact that he’d thrown a sport coat over his jeans and oxford shirt. Hopefully it was hiding his irrepressible male response.
    “Where did you get this crowd, anyway?” he asked.
    Belle shrugged. “My editors and I called everybody we know. The response was amazing.”
    “I’ve got a great idea.” Elva Ching indicated the giggling group of visitors, who were linking arms and teaching Connie to line-dance to a song on the tape. “Let’s put them all in, the way they requested.”
    Before Darryl could respond, Jim snatched up his camera and began shooting. “Yeah, they finally broke the ice with Dr. Sasser. This is great stuff! And get a load of that babe over there—what a trip!”
    This last remark referred to a tiny woman who must have spent at least eighty summers in the sun to have achieved such a deep shade of bronze on her abundant wrinkles. A bikini hung lifelessly from her hips and chest, but the animation on her face more than compensated.
    Darryl contemplated dragging Belle into the picture as well, but she stood too far away. The editor of Just Us clearly had no intention of appearing in an About Town centerfold.
    A few minutes later, Jim and Elva declared themselves satisfied and began packing their equipment. The women stopped dancing and wandered off.
    Belle wore the mildest expression Darryl had ever seen on her face. He might even have thought she was in a good mood, if he had not known such a thing was impossible.
    “I guess we both won,” she said. “You got Connie and we made our point.”
    “I don’t plan to make a habit of breaking even’ he retorted.
    He