Read the Big Bounce (1969) for Free Online Page B

Pompano. He took her to the Lucayan Beach Hotel on Grand Bahama for the weekend, Saturday through Tuesday.
    The following 4th of July, Nancy was Miss Perky Pickle; she wore a dark green bathing suit and dark green high heels and rode through Geneva Beach behind the Holden Consolidated Marching Band, waving to everybody from the top of Ray Ritchie's Continental. In August she wrote to her mother to say she was taking a job in Ritchie Foods' P . R . department. She wrote the letter from her $400-a-month apartment overlooking the Detroit River.
    As Miss Perky Pickle, she attended conventions, promotional parties, and store openings. She went to Cleveland, Chicago, and Minneapolis with Ray. She posed with Ritchie Foods' displays and passed out samples. She waited in hotel suites for Ray. She raced to airports with Ray. She sat with Ray and his group at bunny clubs and key clubs, usually the only girl at the table. She listened to the radio or record player all day when she was in the apartment. She switched her allegiance from the Hermits to the Loving Spoonful to the Blues Magoos and the Mamas and the Papas. She read Vogue, Bazaar, and 'Teen. She walked around the apartment and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked out the window, at the winter stillness of the Detroit River, at the factory warehouse skyline of Windsor, Ontario. She fooled around with an account rep from Ritchie Foods' ad agency who pretended to be relaxed but kept looking toward the door. She sat alone weekends when Ray was in Fort Lauderdale with his family. She was thinking of going down herself, to see what old Mom was doing, when Ray asked if she wanted to spend the summer at the beach house he'd be up quite a bit and it would be cooler than Detroit.
    There was sunlight in the windows and on the pale blue carpeting, an afternoon in late May, quiet in the apartment because Ray had turned off the radio when he came in. He had ten minutes to change and pack an overnight bag for Chicago; forty minutes to get to the airport. She had fixed him a Scotch and soda and now sat on the couch while he changed his clothes, came out of the bedroom several times with the drink in his hand, took two phone calls and made a call, and finally stopped long enough to mention the beach house.
    What about your wife, doesn't she go up?
    A couple of times, maybe. She stays home and plays golf. She plays golf every morning and drinks gin and tonic in the afternoon.
    What do I do when she comes?
    You go to the hunting lodge. Or come back here if you want.
    Slip out the back door as she comes in the front.
    If you don't like the way it is, Ray Ritchie said, I'll have somebody drive you to the airport.
    It's nice to know you can't live without me.
    Did I make any promises to you? We're square right now aren't we, if you want to take off? Do I owe you anything?
    The businessman.
    Right, a deal. Have I said it was anything else?
    You've never said what it was.
    You're a cute kid, Nancy, Ray Ritchie told her. If I had to replace you, it would probably take me a week.
    She remained on the couch after he had gone, aware of the afternoon stillness and aware of herself alone. She sat quietly while Ray and his group whipped off to Chicago to attend the dumb meeting or look at the dumb plant and make big important decisions about their dumb business.
    Wow. And she sat here waiting for him.
    He would call tomorrow, sometime in the afternoon, and show up about seven with one or two of his group. She would broil steaks as they continued making big important observations and decisions until about eleven. Then she and Ray would be alone and the corporate executive turned lover would say something unbelievable like, Come here, doll. Miss me? God. And the big passion scene would get under way. She would give him a look with her hair slanted across one eye, then go around turning off lights and taking glasses into the kitchen and by the time she got to the bedroom, he would be waiting with his