The Love Machine Read Free

suitcase with him. He had to catch the noon train to Baltimore.
Austin was alone in his massive office. He came to the point immediately. How would Robin like to be the Head of Network News? He would also want Robin to bring in ideas for expanding the news department, and form his own team to cover the conventions in the summer. Robin liked the idea very much. But “Head of Network News”? The title was enigmatic. Morgan White was President of Network News. Randolph Lester was Vice-President. What, Robin asked, did “Head of Network News” mean ? Well, it meant fifty thousand a year, more than double his present salary. And, as Austin put it, in answer to his question about the title, “Let’s leave it this way for starters, shall we?”
It was one hell of a start. And when Austin learned Robin still had another year to go with his lecture contract, he simply made two phone calls, one to the lecture agency, the other to his lawyer, instructing him to buy out Robin’s lecture contract. It had been as simple as that—simple and secretive. Robin was to stay away from IBC for a week. He was also to keep his mouth shut about the assignment. On the following Monday he was to come in and take over in the new job. Gregory Austin himself would handle the announcement his own way… .
He poured his coffee and lit a fresh cigarette. The weak wintry sun streamed through the hotel windows. A week from today he would be reporting at IBC for the new job. He took a long dragof his cigarette. Some of his good mood filtered away with the smoke. He ground out the cigarette. It conjured up the image of the girl with the orange lipstick. What was her name? Peggy? Betsy? Neither name hit a spark of recognition. But her name ended like that: Billie? Mollie? Lillie? The hell with it! It wasn’t important. He sat back and pushed the coffee away. Once when he had come to New York for a weekend while he was still at Harvard, he had seen a show, Lady in the Dark . There was something about a girl hearing part of a tune—she could never get past the first few bars. The same thing occasionally happened to him. Only it wasn’t a tune, it was a memory, a vision … He could never quite see it, but he sensed it. It was like being on the verge of an important recollection, and it left him with a sense of musky warmth, of happiness ending in panic. It didn’t happen often, but it had happened last night, in one fast flash—no, twice! The first time had been when the girl had slipped into bed with him. The feel of her body, vibrant and soft—her breasts were magnificent. He didn’t usually pay much attention to breasts—there was something childish to him about sucking a full breast. Why did men think of it as a sex act? It was a longing for Mama. There was something weak about a man who wanted to lay his head against a woman with big breasts. Robin dug blondes, clean and bright, slim and hard. There was a symmetry to their bodies that he found exciting.
But the girl last night had been a brunette, with beautiful full breasts. Oddly enough he had found himself excited. It was coming back to him now. He had shouted something when he hit the climax. But what was it? He never shouted ordinarily, not with Amanda, or any girl he stayed with. Yet he knew he had shouted something, just as he knew there had been other times when he had shouted and could not remember his words afterwards.
He lit a fresh cigarette and intentionally turned his thoughts to the new future that awaited him. This was a time for celebration. He had an entire week off.
He picked up the Philadelphia paper that had arrived with his breakfast. On page three he saw his picture with the man who had been honored, a balding corpulent judge. The caption read: ROBIN STONE, PULITZER PRIZE-WINNING NEWSMAN, TELEVISION PERSONALITY AND LECTURER, CAME TO PHILADELPHIA TO SPEAK AND HONOR JUDGE GARRISON B. OAKES , 1960 MAN OF THE YEAR .
He poured himself some fresh coffee and grinned. Sure he had