A kind of odd work for the Ophelia Press. Relocated by time of publication (1968) to the U.S., Ophelia was about to embark on its most legendary period of much-desired erotica.
However, this particular title, with its eponymous hero portrayed as a comic real estate almost-tycoon who obsesses on his net worth (just shy of a million), mismanages wife and mistress equally, and attracts media attention after accidents and mishaps send him to the hospital, is more a comic effort, on a par with the Traveller's Companion Series, circa '58.
One almost suspects Maurice brought the manuscript with him from Paris (books advertised in the back pages of the original are all Traveller's Companion reprints).
Still, there's a nice moment or two with the ladies, some funny bits inside an Obscene Books Store, and Ophelia was the only imprint for the novel. So Ophelia is where we put it.
into the newspapers and you wanted to warn me about the reporters?” “Not at all, Mr. Dancer,” said Miss Pimpleton, in Miss Pimpleton's voice, with Miss Pimpleton's hair on top of her head. “Come now: it's time for your pill. Up we go.” Columbus laughed quietly to himself. He'd finally gone over the edge. He thought he'd seen Maury looking like Miss Pimpleton. He was having hallucinations. He knew there was nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was wait. They'd be here any minute
down the hall, no pinching the nurses, no haggling over surgical fees with Dr. Vitalis, nothing. Not ever again.” “Oh,” groaned Maury. He lifted up his skirts and stamped his foot. “Now I'll have to carry you out!” “Carry me out, Miss Pimpleton?” asked Columbus innocently. “Have I done something wrong?” “I'm not Miss Pimpleton,” Maury whispered passionately to Columbus. “Miss Pimpleton is tied up in a closet on the fifth floor. I'm Maury, your agent.” He tipped his wig again to verify the
Rigor mortis! Flagrante delictus! Let me have a look at this delicious morsel. Mmmm. What's your name li'lle boy?” “I'm only free an' I don' know my name,” lisped back Moe, speaking his first words of the evening. He looked proud and contained. Madelaine was resting from her labors. She was slowing sitting on Columbus' defenceless body, facing the unexpected developments and turning her back to her lover. He seized her shoulders and rammed her body all the way down. She pretended not to feel
throat, her ankles, the lovely contours of her shoulders, of her arms— enclosing and exposing the very essence of femininity, her breasts—the dimpled treasures of her knees supporting the rich design of her thighs—the ... the ... Columbus was gagging with disordered emotions, a three-dimensional flag flapping wildly in front of him, harassed by the winds of his passion. Madelaine! Supreme, absolute womanhood, my life, my mistress, my all ... Columbus was standing there, incapable of speech, of
Columbus patted him on the stomach once more. It seemed as if the old man were smiling slyly at him as he passed. 13 Columbus sat down on the waiting-bench because he couldn't see Louise in the restaurant. Hunger had gotten to him. He saw only the food that was carted back and forth to the tables. He felt faint. He sat down. He was too hungry to even think about eating. He was sitting in the middle of the bench, and he figured he had about as much a right to it as anybody else did, especially