Her large, lovely breasts peered out through a pink bra. In a moment, this was gone, leaving the lovely globes free to the touch. They were full and round, the saffron colored aureolas drawing his fingers with the sure knowledge that the touch would excite her into even further passion.
He pressed his lips to them avidly and already the small room was filled with her low, feral moaning. The insistant writhing of her hips excited him all the more. Impatiently, he tugged at her panties as she cooperated by lifting her lithe legs. With this done she moved quickly into a position where she could meet him with the warm eagerness of her body....
CHAPTER ONE
It was like someone suddenly throwing a switch unleashing a great, boiling, uncontrollable current. The moment Ed Boland saw Lilly bend over to reach for her apron and rubber gloves from the drawer next to the sink, he felt a tingling, surging desire for her. In that sudden, vivid moment, Lilly's firmly packed buttocks pushed hard against the tightness of her flannel skirt, outlining the round firmness of her derriere. The shininess of her stockings emphasized the long, slender perfection of the backs of her legs, making her more desirable than ever.
Compulsively, Ed stubbed out his cigarette with nervous, jerky movements and rose. It was really getting to him, the way random movement from Lilly enflamed him with a raging need of her lush, full body when he least expected it. What was wrong with him? Was he becoming some kind of insatiable sex maniac?
He quickly moved to Lilly, who'd straightened up and had her hands behind her, preparatory to tying her apron strings. The posture emphasized the slimness of her waist and the high, sharp tilt of her lovely, pointed breasts. Ed reached for the inviting bosom without thinking.
The moment he touched Lilly's breasts and felt the excitement of her supple flesh, he knew the same reaction had raced through her. She spun about abruptly, her eyes wide with desire, her hips already beginning a suggestive, swaying motion, her moist lips open and moving toward his.
The embrace was nearly violent. Surely, it was violent the way her tongue probed his lips and her body began thrusting against him. Boland felt the same uneasiness again. This was too much more than love, too much more than desire; it was nearly obsession.
Lilly's mouth covered his, her arms clutching him tightly as her tongue flickered against him. Her hands swept low over his hips, her body causing a tantalizing friction.
Boland sighed and reached a hand under the crook of her knees, drawing her off the floor and into his arms. In brief foments, they were in the sleeping area of her small utility apartment.
As he deposited Lilly on her low bed, her hands were already busy, working away at his shirt and trousers. He knelt before her, seeing the passion in her exotic, high-cheeked face, the full lips and large, expressive eyes. "Oh yes," she said. "This is going to be good ... and strong."
Desire and fulfillment were a pattern they knew well. Boland moved at her blouse, tugging it from the waistline of her skirt, then parting the buttons. Already, her body was writhing with expectation. A low, sensual moan came from her lips.
Her large, lovely breasts peered out through a pink bra. In a moment, this was gone, leaving the stately breasts free to the touch. They were full and round, the saffron colored aureolas drawing his fingers with the sure knowledge that the touch would excite her into even further passion. He pressed his lips to them avidly and already the small room was filled with her low, feral moaning. Was it possible? The insistant writhing of her hips excited him all the more. Insistantly, he tugged on her panties as she cooperated by lifting her lithe legs. With this done, she shuffled quickly into a position where she could accommodate him with comfort and efficiency.
Their bodies merged, causing each of them to gasp from the intense pleasure of the sudden, jarring contact. They moved expertly together and even as Boland realized this acute state of proficiency, something within him cried out warningly ... too much ... way too much ... and way too dangerous.
Essentially a gentle man, Boland felt anything but gentle now at the sight of Lilly before him, her eyes closed, her soft moanings and thrusting hips urging him and carrying him to the inevitable and frightening goal of a passionate, animal release.
He was aware of their separate gyrations, of hips gliding over loin with a tremendous precision,, a dramatic build-up of friction and sensation. When it came for Boland, release brought him gasping in her arms, still aware that her body writhed and held a greater excitement than his. To his nose came the familiar scent of her warm, alive body; the slightly pungent scent of her perspiration, mingled with her lavender perfume.
To his jarred, excited senses came the awareness of Lilly drifting slowly back to an awareness of the present. Her hands still clutched at his arms. He was still experiencing the silky feel of her long legs, tight against him, the pulsing in her throat, the insistant taboo of her heart.
Then it changed.
Lilly pushed at him and moved away. "No," she said abruptly, "It's no good, Ed. It isn't any good any more."
Stunned, Boland sat up to face her.
"Aren't you happy?" he asked.
Lilly reached for a cigarette. Her breasts, still firm, dangled invitingly with her motions, making him aware how momentary and futile his own release had been. In a way, she was right. Release and satisfaction should mean something. Lying together, naked and comfortable should be a part of the after effects. That was just as important.
Now, watching her, fear came into his feelings, fear mingled with a new desire he could not possibly hope to fulfill.
"I'm happy from what we just did, yes. But from everything else, no, Ed; absolutely no; That's the trouble, and I'm tired of it."
"I thought-" Boland said, stumbling, "-we had everything all worked out ... all planned."
Lilly shifted her long legs, making him wonder if she were aware just how much he wanted her again. "It isn't enough," she said. "It simply isn't enough. What we do in bed just isn't lasting anymore. It used to be. It would last for a while. One night in bed would last sometimes as long as a week. Now, I don't know what it's done to us, making us flare up like that." She took a long puff on her cigarette, causing her bountiful breasts to heave invitingly. It was all he could do to resist reaching for them. He moaned inwardly. Even if he did, would it do any good? "I want to make love, Ed," she said. "I need it, I like it but not the way it is with us. It's too frightening ... too desperate. It almost seems abnormal."
Boland watched the hypnotic nakedness of her body. Even like this, in her anger and desperation, there was a strong, compelling beauty about her. He knew it was wrong to need that much, to be attracted that much to anyone, but he could not help himself. That was the trouble. She could not, either. Now she wanted to do something about it.
"We've never done anything abnormal."
Lilly uttered an ironic laugh. "It depends on how you look at it." She stretched her legs and a shudder of pleasure went through her. Almost by accident, their legs touched and Boland let out a sigh. He reached for her thigh, trailing his hand over it. For a moment, he thought it would be enough to start things up again. He wasn't sure how he would manage.
But Lilly moved away from him. "You see! Pretty soon, we will end up doing something abnormal. I don't see how it can be avoided. You can't be ready yet. But you want to. Look at the way you're staring at my breasts, my legs. Lord knows, I'd probably go along with it the way thing are. That's the trouble, Ed. We excite each other too much."
Boland struggled to get some understanding and to look away from her glistening body. Both required a great effort. Each time this happened lately, it was as though he'd never had Lilly and carried with him the awful, intensive first longing. "You say you won't marry me until I become something more than a science teacher.
Okay, I'm nearly through with my master's degree. We'll be able to look for something then."
"Six more months," Lilly hooted. She frowned and pulled the covers up over her breasts. "You still have to take the State Licensing exams. You will have all sorts of red tape. Six months of this ... I don't know if I can take it."
Boland placed his hand on her leg. "Lilly, you knew I wanted to be a teacher when you met me. You knew I already was a teacher. You're a teacher, too. You know how it is. I don't understand."
His hand on her leg excited her, there was no question of it. It took effort for her to move from him again. "I can't stand the idea of being cooped up in a hick town all my life and known as a kook, just because I have long hair and high cheek bones. I can only guess what would happen if anyone found out about you and me having a love affair like this, coming to my place to make love. We'd probably be tarred and feathered. Let's face it, Ed, people in this dumb town don't have sex, they procreate. Even the kids are different. The girls at high school wear tight sweaters to show off their blossoming bosoms and they develop a cute fanny wiggle. But they don't do it for sex. They do it for sex appeal. They want to get out of one boring household and into another. The only thing they'll change is the style of furniture they buy on time payments. But as far as the sex goes, that's just a lure, a deadly, well-baited lure."
"We could go away," Ed said.
Lilly mocked him savagely and moved her leg away from him. When she saw this did not good, she stood and reached for her robe. It could not hide the fact that Lilly had fine, full hips and a bountiful bosom. They both knew it. This was what troubled Boland. It was awful, having nothing on your mind but sex and desire. It was miserable, being able to go through the motions and having nothing left to show for it.
"Where could we go, Ed?" she asked savagely, miserable at the effect they had on each other. Boldly, she removed the gown and stood there briefly naked before reaching for her half slip. "A junior high teacher and an elementary school teacher. Big deal. It's too easy for us to be underpaid and oversexed. No thanks, Ed, I can't take it. We're not even married and you're broke."
"I've explained that loan business," Boland said. The sight of her, hurriedly slipping on a bulky knit sweater to cover her breasts and arms aroused him. "My folks loaned me money from school. I've got to get it back to them. Their business isn't doing well and that's all they have in savings."
"Excuses, excuses," Lilly fumed, moving to a chair and sitting. After an angry moment of watching him, she hitched her legs up under her and covered them with her skirt. "Dammit, this is miserable. I want you to look at me, but not like this. Let's face it, when you're broke, everything is hell. I've worn too many pair of forty-nine cent stockings from J. C. Penney and I think I'd rent out my soul for a black, frilly bra with some embroidery on it."
Boland smiled. "I'd like to see you have that, too. It would look good on you. I'll tell you what, I'll get them for you, Lilly. You're too beautiful not to have them."
Her face suddenly went soft and a tear appeared in her eyes. "I suppose you'll start eating less for lunches, just to buy me undies so that we can get ourselves all worked up like this again."
"As long as a person gets a pint of milk for lunch, he can't be in bad shape."
"Ed, I don't want to be bitchy. I just can't take more of this."
"We'll work out something," he said. "You know we will. Just give this a little more time." He moved toward her, his hand touching her shoulder.
Lilly exploded. "Don't touch me!" she cried out. "You know what happens. I can't take it any more."
Boland froze. Looking closely at her, he saw for the millionth time how desirable she was. Her thick coils of long black hair hung like sensual drapery about her long, finely chiseled face, splashing over her back in shiny glints as it caught the dim light. Her eyes, large and expressive, were beautiful even when mirroring her misery. The loose cords in her throat stood out, as if underlining the graceful beauty in her neck. And even now, in spite of the sweater, her bosom had that jaunty, upward tilt.
Boland felt helpless and numb as the contact with her skin caused the electric tingle to generate through him. Lilly's eyes reflected a helpless rage that Boland saw her struggle with herself to fight the reaction that coursed through her. Her lips curled, her hands trembled and she virtually threw herself at him in a frenzy, their bodies meeting hard and tightly. "Damn you, Ed," she cried, "this is the last time."
Through Boland's mind ran two conflicting, yet strangely similar ideas. The first was the idea of possessing her again, of feeling her nakedness clasped about him, of joining his body with hers in search of that moment of release and ecstasy they had come to know so well. On the other hand, he recalled a lesson he'd been giving his seventh graders in science. With great pains, he'd showed them how rats, on the verge of starvation, became more fertile than normal rats. A dying tree will suddenly begin sending shoots and spraying seeds to the wind. A leaf plucked from a cactus or succulent will suddenly begin sprouting roots.
Was this some parody of the same thing. Ed and Lilly, no longer able to work out their problems, suddenly finding themselves possessed with a hair-trigger sexual reaction to each other?
Boland's pulse quickened as his hands probed under her sweater, finding the excitement of clasping her breasts. She uttered a low moan that struck him to the quick. He lifted her and carried her to the bed as she continued moaning.
This was as immediate and energetic as possible. As he tugged on her skirt, Lilly's hips began a lively writhing and thrusting. Her hands dug into him, her nostrils flared and her mouth gasped for air.
The suddenness and intensity with which he and Lilly moved together was strong and frightening, approaching even newer thresholds of a wild, uncontrolled frenzy. He trembled and shook. His skin prickled with anticipation and his body was filled with adrenal shock. As their bodies arched and thrust together, Boland discovered he was more of a lover than he'd ever been, more than he'd ever wanted to be even in his wildest dreams. He was neither proud nor ashamed of the frightening cries that escaped Lilly.
He knew this was not causing her pain. It wasn't like that. As her nails dug into his back, he realized it was simply more sensation than she was used to, more sensation than she actually wanted. He knew in a terrible moment of realization that unless they did something and did it soon, the very attraction that held them together would conspire to turn them fearfully away from love and its most physical expression, sex.
With intensity, Lilly's legs tightened about him and her body tensed as wave after wave of release coursed through her in spasms. When he saw how acute it was, his own satisfaction chilled and frightened him and for a moment gave him a flash of insight into the problem of a drug addict, trying to stop the gnawing, aching need. Then his own release came, no less active than hers, and he was aware of Lilly, having the same frightening reaction he'd just known. She was aware of the thrusting passion of the man in her arms, driven and nearly wild; a product of reacting to her and her great attraction for him.
They collapsed together, lying in a heap, more like two exhausted wrestlers than two lovers. "I always wanted a full, happy sex life," she said between breasts, "and mostly we've a good one.
But lately, Ed, it's been driving me out of my mind. Please get out. Leave me alone. Don't come near me. Don't touch me. Do something to get us out of this. But please go away now. Leave me alone!"
Still shaking and breathless, Boland began dressing. He watched her regain her breath as he dressed and even now, he ached with want of her and with desire, but more slowly ... the old way.
Stuffing his shirt into his pants, he watched her turn away from him, her face toward the wall. Her bare back made a smooth, haunting line, the delicateness of her spinal column standing out like dainty beads under her taut, shiny skin.
Suddenly, he wanted to cry, to drop to his knees beside the bed and brush his cheek against that lovely bared back, to pull her into his arms and stroke her and comfort her and reassure her.
She broke the spell with a sudden shudder. "What's going to happen to us, Ed?" she said. "The hell of it all is, I love you."
"I'll do something," he said. But when he had his jacket on and was walking tip-toe out her back entrance, through the alley and across the empty lot and down the next block toward the lighted street that led to his own woefully small apartment, he could only shudder and wonder, what? What can I do?
CHAPTER TWO
"What can I do?" the petite blonde with the alert, robust face asked, her small, shapely ankle bobbing merrily. She sat across a small table from Ed Boland, her topaz eyes intent on his face. Although she generally exuded a pixyish humor and elfin sex appeal, tonight she was dead serious. "I mean it, Ed. After all, we're out of the Dark Ages. A woman has a right to a decent sex life."
For all his own sense of personal misery, Boland was able to feel sympathy for the vivacious young woman, Nola Pedderson. She thought physical education at the junior high where Boland taught. And though exercise was reputed to have a helpful effect on regulating an individual's sex life, it seemed, if anything, to increase Nola Pedderson's.
"He's even taken to calling me Bunny in public, Ed," she said, a trace of a blush showing on her shiny face. "You know I don't look like the bunny-rabbit type, so people naturally assume only one thing, that I'm oversexed. And he doesn't help them lose that impression, either."
Boland glanced covertly at his watch. Ten more minutes to his night class in Anthropology. Another step toward the all-important master's degree that would make his salary as a teacher mean something-the difference between failure and Lilly.
"What about it, Ed? You seem to know instinctively what to do with personal problems."
He managed a wry smile at Nola Pedderson. "I wish I could be so lucky with my own."
She squeezed his hand. "Oh, come on, you've landed the most gorgeous girl in Hurley, Minnesota. And I happen to know Ruthie Jorgensen owes a good deal to you. You helped her solve a big problem with Tommy. Face it, Ed, you're a, natural teacher. People have confidence in you. You probably know more about the sex life of Hurley than any doctor."
Ed took a sip of his coffee and left a little switch flicker inside of him. Poor, lovable Nola Pedderson, head over heels in love with Mac, a big hulk of a man who'd put a fierce fight for her and had won, much to his pride. Only now, his big feather bed had become something of a battle ground with Nola in it.
"Baby," he said, "let's face it, you've got a different personality than Mac. He's slow and easy going, you're always fired up."
"I'll say I'm fired up. He hasn't touched me in over a week."
"Okay, why not remember that men naturally like to play the part of the aggressor. In some cases, they aren't very aggressive and it makes them feel even better to think they are. Instead of bouncing in his lap after supper and saying, "Let's,' why not put on a sexy night gown and sit in front of the TV brushing your hair. Show a little leg. Arouse his interest slowly. If it takes another night for him to get around to it, you might ask him to scrub your back in the tub, or ask him if he likes the new bra you bought. Or come storming out in a half-slip bitching about having nothing to wear. He'll be happy for the diversion."
"You mean, work him up?"
"Right. You've taken this emancipated woman business too far. You're rightfully proud of the fact that out of eleven brothers and sisters, you worked your way through school, became a teacher and got the man you wanted. Now let him be the man and get you."
Her eyes shone. "Ed," she said, "it feels tight. It sounds good. In fact, I think I'll even let him suggest the position we use. He used to like doing that." Impulsively, she leaned over to kiss him. "You're wonderful. I'm going to name our first boy Edward."
"You haven't had him yet."
She stood up and gathered her books. "Tonight could be the night," she said.
Walking from the nearly deserted student union, Boland experienced a pang of depression and decided to cut his class. The surroundings of the campus bothered him. Hurley College. Big deal. So far away from everything, people made jokes speculating whether they even belonged to the State of Minnesota. A master's degree from Hurley would really go far-about as far as the outskirts of town.
He went into the graduate student's office, a place desolate enough during the day. By night, it seemed more hopeless than Ma own classroom at Hurley Junior High.
Grace Edwards, the counselor, took his folder from the files and sat down to face Mm "You were right, Ed," she said covertly. "TMs is the end of two months. I've never been able to go that long before without. The floors of my apartment are scrubbed clean, I've personally painted the walls, knit three pair of socks and taken up water colors. The withdrawal was awful. But I think I've got it licked. Why, why I've even accepted a date with a man-and I think I like Mm."
Ed nodded. "What about her?" he said.
"She's called a few times. She isn't the only one in town, either, you know. When they pass me on the streets, they call me a turncoat. They start taunting. One of them laughed and said I couldn't possibly hold out, that I'd be begging her to go to bed with me."
"Don't think about it," Ed said.
Grace managed a rueful smile. "Don't think about it! Ed, she's got a build on her like Lilly. Sometimes at night I wake up all sweaty after dreaming she'd been in my arms, kissing, fondling me."
Ed Boland drew in a breath and wondered how the hell it happened. Amateur marriage counselor. Armchair psychiatrist. Big deal, a major in psychology from a college no one ever heard of and all of a sudden, he was solving problems.
"You've got to understand," he said, "that this isn't like being addicted to drugs. It's normal to have sex urges."
"But not very normal to have them for girls," Grace said, "that is, unless you happen to be a boy."
"You know, people do backslide and still win their battles, Grace." She patted his hand. "Thank you, Ed. There are times when I find myself envying Lilly for having such an understanding male. Too bad some of the males earlier in my life weren't more like you. Then things might be different. I might not go out chasing cute young things in high heels and skirts."
Boland went over his scholastic record with Grace and put in a petition to be permitted to submit his master's thesis early, based on his good grades. "I hope it's granted," Grace said. "I'm sure you can use the extra forty-five a month it will mean for you. And I'll bet I know exactly what you'll do with it. But you tell her to be careful, you hear? I'm getting more and more normal as time goes on."
Ed entered the Hurley College library and, from the dingy shelf that held the academic catalogs of other colleges throughout the country, withdrew all those from California. As long as you're going to dream, he told himself, go all the way.
He copied out addresses and went to the student body store. He paid a dollar for a packet of good bond paper after carefully debating over the cheaper kind. Impressions mattered, he thought. Besides, this would be another good chance to try giving up cigarettes.
He typed applications for employment based on his present position and impending master's degree, then plunked them in the mail before he had time to think better of it. Nothing ventured-nothing gained.
Leaving the dreary campus, he decided to go whole hog on his resolve about the cigarettes by spending the money allotted for them on a few beers. He felt moody and desperate and last night's episode with Lilly still lingered unsettlingly with him.
He crossed Scott Street, his eyes arrested by a display in Fritch's department store. One window was filled with daring new lingerie. The sign said they were the latest California fashions and he shuddered at the thought of Lilly wanting something of luxury to feel next to her skin. Invariably, she had to settle for the merchandise in the next window, the hosiery advertised as seconds, the bras and panties advertised as good, solid practical bargain. He really couldn't blame her for wanting something.
On his way past Rickenbacker's Grill, Ed promptly reasoned he could manage two extra beers by seeking a cheaper place, a place where the draft was fifteen or twenty a glass. But through the ornately decorated windows of Rickenbacker's-Hurley's finest restaurant-he saw something that gave him a chill.
Seated at one of the rear tables was Lilly. She was wearing her best suit, a clinging red garment she cared for jealously. The top part of the suit emphasized her thigh, pointed breasts, which she thrust out proudly, almost invitingly. Her legs were crossed, and the skirt had hiked lap to a point above her lovely knees. Across the table from her and laughing uproariously over something he'd just said was Bert Thielan, resplendent in a boldly checkered vest. Bert made no secret of his admiration for Lilly's slim, exposed calves.
In front of them were the remains of dinner dishes and next to the table was a stately silver ice bucket, housing a tall bottle of champagne, Ed Boland blanched at the sight. Was it possible ? Had she given in this quickly?
Morosely, he wandered on, quickening his pace when he came to a small tavern frequented by Hurley business men and all those to whom the luxury of a few more glasses of beer mattered more than the luxury of being able to drink that at Rickenbacker's.
He gulped his first beer, all too aware that it would take more, much more, to provide the relief he sought to quench the torment raging inside of him. On his second beer, he tried playing a game with himself, imagining it was whiskey and actually trying to invent the release a pilsner glass of whiskey would have provided
As he was about to signal for his third and final beer, Chris, the waitress, plunked ckwa next to him and touched his arm. He turned to smile woodenly at the attractive redhead. "Business is slowing down," she said. "I'd like to talk to you for a while, Ed. Could we move over to a booth?"
Grimly, Boland nodded, knowing Chris had a problem she wanted to discuss and also knowing Chris was more or less willing to pay for his ear. At the moment, it seemed like a fair exchange. As he sat in a booth, Chris brought over a bottle of frosty Grain Belt Premium, a beer that was eleven percent alcohol. Perhaps now he could get somewhere.
"Ed," she said nervously, "I tried. Honestly I did. I tried everything you said and I thought it would work, but I can't remain faithful to my husband."
He let a large swallow of the beer trickle over his throat. "What seems to be the problem, Chris?"
"You know, Ed. Some guy comes in here and gives me the eye and I can't help myself. I start getting all worked up, particularly if I know I'll never see him again. We start off with a little grab and grope in one of the back booths and the next thing I know, I'm getting my coat and going with him. It isn't that Manny and I don't get along well in bed, I just can't seem to help myself."
"Chris," he said slowly, "do you want to remain faithful to Manny?"
She pondered a moment. "Yes, I guess I do, especially knowing what it means to him."
"It means a lot?"
"Sounds to me then that you take off with these
"Yes, we've talked about it." other guys to get even with him. There's a good motive, getting even. What are you mad at him for?"
"Why, the crumb! With the money he's making, over two and a half an hour, we never get to have anything new in the house. Same old beat up '49 Chevvy. Same beat up old bed spread. A TV set that looks like a museum piece. It's so old, you can still get Milton Berle on it. It isn't like we don't have any money saved, either. We bank whatever I bring home and some of his. But what's the sense of all the insurance and saving if you can't have anything new or different once in a while?"
"Have you talked with him about it?"
"How can I talk to him? Every time I say, let's get something new for the house, he wants to know what for. He says the old is good enough."
"Do you love him, Chris?"
"Sure I love him. I didn't have to marry him, you know. I had plenty of dates and boy friends before him."
Boland considered for a moment, then smiled into his beer. The big shot again. A few psychology courses from a second rate college, and listen to him hold forth. It reminded him of his own college days, when he used to buy beers for m old coot who'd reel off poetry by the hour.
"You mind a personal question?"
"From you, Ed? Are you kidding? With what you know about me? What do you want to know? How often? Well, Manny and I make it about twice a week and if I get mad at him, I step out about two or three times a month. I-I like to do things to them I've never done to Manny."
Boland smiled. "That fits, too, but that isn't the question. How old are you?"
"Thirty-three."
"And you've been married how long?"
"Eight years."
"Chris, I'd be willing to bet Manny would not only go for a new car, he'd let you redecorate the place-provided you stayed home to manage it."
"And quit bringing in my weekly check? You think he'd let me get away with that?"
"He'd have to if you were pregnant."
"A kid?"
"Do you want children?"
"I suppose so. Sure I do. Say, you really think that would do it?"
"I bet it would change a lot of things."
"Ed, I got to hand it to you, you're really terrific."
Big shot. Next move California with a big office to advise people. Ed Boland, the junior high science teacher with a bit of homespun philosophy and a bit of cribbing from Dear Abby. He finished the beer and walked home, helpless and empty again.
He had two rooms in a large house. The only thing private about it was the entrance-and the bed, which was so small, no one else would be interested in it.
A tall, gaunt man, Boland walked with a shambling-gait up the front steps, brooding over the fact that he was nearly thirty and had the prospects of quickly reaching the end of the rope. Okay, suppose he got the M.A. degree from Hurley? Than what? A forty-five buck a month raise and maybe a chance at teaching psychology at the college when one of the two teachers there decided to retire or move on. A forty-five hundred dollar a year job, then, with possibilities of summer school bringing in an extra few hundred.
Face facts, he told himself, fumbling for his key you'll never realize your dreams. Even if you got the job at Hurley College, where could you go from there? The big, well-paying schools wanted men with degrees from Harvard or Yale, mm who'd published things, men with brilliant records. He visualized a grim future. If there were a small, insignificant school tucked away in an insignificant part of some other state, that would be his only hope. Maybe he could switch locales, find a warmer place or a different kind of place, but the atmosphere would be the same. Cheap rooms and chewy meat and high interest rates on loans were the same everywhere.
He opened the door and flicked on the 50 watt bulb in the wall fixture, jerking back in surprise at the sight of Lilly, sitting on the edge of his narrow bed.
She was completely naked, her long hair unpinned and dangling loosely down her bared shoulders, giving dramatic accent to her lovely bared breasts.
In an instant, Boland could tell she was feeling the effects of the drinks she'd had. But the really pathetic thing was the way her clothes were so neatly folded on the chair next to the bed. Her cheap stockings were hung carefully over the back. Even while being tight on champagne, she couldn't afford the luxury of a run. Her suit was folded expertly and her one pair of good echoes appeared pleading and forlorn, sitting there stuffed with old newspapers to help retain their shape.
She started to snicker, but interrupted it with a burp. "Sorry," she said. "Had no right. Had no right to come. But I couldn't help it, Ed. I really couldn't help it. You've got to do something."
Anger boiled in him. "Maybe I could get a job with Bert Thielan."
"Ed, he bought me French champagne. We had a big bottle of it. And a steak wrapped in bacon. And fresh green beans with a mushroom sauce. Ed, have you ever had real French champagne?"
"Was it worth it, Lilly?"
She shrugged, then lowered her eyes guiltily. "He admired my body, Ed. He was nice about it. He told me he knew he'd been wanting me for a long time. He told me he knew he'd get me someday. But for a man like that, he was nice."
Boland thrust his hands in his pockets. "He let you off pretty early."
"You've got a right to be mad, Ed. But I couldn't help it."
"You told me not to touch you. You told me to leave you alone, but for a lousy bottle of wine and a steak, you went to bed with him?"
Lilly stretched her hand out. "You're so understanding, Ed. Help me, please. Do something. Do something for us now."
"You mean, make what you did all right. Take away your guilt and my anger."
Her eyes held a compelling plea. "Yes," she said, drawing her arms about her knees. "Yes, that and everything else. Do everything. Take me away from this. Touch me, make love to me. Make it all right again, Ed."
He wanted very much to be able to walk out of the room, out of her life forever. But he could not. He moved toward her with leaden steps, realizing how monstrous it was, how very frightened and desperate she was.
My trouble, he thought. I understand too much. A man would hit her-once, twice, maybe three times. He'd call her names. Tramp, whore, miserable filthy bitch, selling your body for a steak dinner.
But Boland could not call her these names. He could think only how desperate he was and how the desperation ran over into his love for her. "I tried something tonight that might be a help," he said, dropping to his haunches.
Her eyes opened and she peered at him over the tops of her knees. Slowly, she unclasped her hands and extended one to him. "Tell me about it later, Ed. But now, let's be the way we used to be. Let's be slow and gentle and take a long, long time. Make everything good again, Ed. Make everything proper the way it was before."
Boland touched her and the passion began, but it was not the way she wanted. From the first embrace, her eyes were flooded with tears and several times Boland had to caution her about her moaning. He hadn't the privacy she had in her apartment. The room above theirs was rented by a crotchety old woman, the landlady was separated by a small room and a narrow hallway.
The bed springs creaked and the mattress buckled, but when their bodies were joined together, Boland experienced the old feeling of inevitable, inextricable habit. The sharp movements of her loins against his seemed to drive into him realizations that he could not do without her, that he would do anything he possibly could for her.
Her hands gripped him tightly and she shut her eyes, throwing her body into a frenzied movement as if to blot out all memory, as if to purge herself of guilt and shame, as if to create a forgetfulness so strong and intense, it would solve all their problems.
She moaned, wriggled and writhed and Boland became aware again of the length of time this was occupying. It was odd how moments seemed like hours during a properly tender interlude of love making, how normal quickness seemed a blessing, an accent to the fine drama of love making. But something had long since happened to them. It was like a curse in a story of fantasy.
He paused to gulp in air, aware of her brief pause before she resumed her frantic motion. Drinking to forget, making love to obliterate it was all the same. The alcoholic was interested only in the proof of the alcohol he drank. Lilly was interested only in the prolonged forgetfulness they could manufacture with their overly heightened passion.
A lover's dream come true or a grim, unwanted talent.
Watching her entire body striving to achieve forgetfulness, Boland knew if things should ever work out for them, their love making would never again be like this. There would be more innocence in it, more of a return to a sort of naive belief and trust in the unknown.
Was it sheer exhaustion or the wearing down of resistance? Finally, Lilly's body began a sudden spasmodic jerking and she found the release she sought, gasping and panting, her hands gripping tightly at his arms.
For Boland there was nothing. He fell on his side next to her, his desire still heightened and aroused, incapable of fulfillment. Lilly completely misinterpreted as she snuggled closer. "What a magnificent man you are, Ed. Who'd have ever thought such a gentle man could be so very, very virile?"
When Boland said nothing, she burrowed her chin against his chest. "I feel better now, better than I have in a long time. Now tell me you forgive me and then explain what you've done."
Boland lay in silence for a few moments, trying to phrase the words of forgiveness. When he uttered them, she snuggled even closer and kissed him. As he started telling her about the letters of application he'd sent to California schools, Lilly fell into a deep sleep and it was fully an hour before he could rouse her, get her dressed and walk with her to her apartment, where there was less danger of their being discovered.
CHAPTER THREE
In less than ten days, Boland received answers to the letters he'd written to the schools in California. With one exception, all were mimeographed form letters. All had the same content. California colleges and universities had unlimited opportunities for instructors on a college level provided the applicant had advanced degrees from well-recognized institutes of learning. Exceptions could be made in the case of graduates of the lesser known schools if the applicant had a record of distinguishing publication, work in the field of research or some strong experience in the practical side of his chosen field.
Ed methodically tore the letters to shreds and tossed them in the waste basket. His distinguished career in publishing included an article in the Hurley newspaper discussing the evils of spontaneous combustion, another being a short biographical sketch on the occasion of Sir Isaac Newton's birthday and a brief article on how to build a crystal radio set, this last appearing in the junior high school paper.
As for the distinguished work in the field of research, Boland had a letter of commendation from the Hurley PTA, thanking him for his exhibit of a dog that salivated at the sound of a bell for the science display at last year's Hurley Junior High Open House. Pick the smallest, most undistinguished college in the United States and they'd still have to laugh at the pretentiousness of it if Boland were to present these "accomplishments" with an application for employment.
Stopping in the coffee shop for a sandwich, Boland saw Nola Pedderson, flitting her way through the tables to join him, her petite figure advertising a smug, well-used sexuality. She flounced up beside him in a whirl of enthusiasm and sexy perfume and bent to kiss him on the cheek.
"You, Ed Boland," she said with a giggle, "could easily be called the Dale Carnegie of Sex. You're an absolute wonder. The first night I tried out your little scheme for Mac, it laid a big egg. If you'll pardon the pun, I didn't even get a rise out of him. But the next night-ah, the next night. Mac came after me like sex was going out of style. We made love right in the living room on the big hassock. Can you imagine it, Ed? A few weeks ago, he was complaining because I was supposed to be oversexed. Now I can't even pass him in the hallway without his making a grab for me. Why, this morning, I was late for school and when I told him I'd have to hurry, he started bellowing about the hell with school and my job. What's the world coming to if a man can't get a little loving in the mornings? Oh, Ed, if that keeps up, you'll have to steal some saltpeter for me out of the science locker."
He decided to be late for class, going to the graduate students' office to see if any action had been taken with the petition on his master's degree. Grace Edwards greeted him cordially, a proud smile on her lips.
"Ed, it feels like I've got it made. Since I last saw you, I've got myself a man-a steady man. It's everything they say it's supposed to be and then some. I can't tell you how delighted the sight is, a virile man, all fired up with desire for me. It just works wonders."
"Now, when those other girls taunt me, I laugh at them and tell them they don't know what they're missing. They made some token offers, telling me they'd like to get me naked for ten minutes, then describing some of the things they'd like to do to me. For a moment, it sounded good. You know-exciting. After all, in this business, there is no time for preliminaries. They speak right out. But then I just laughed at them, Ed and told them that no matter what they did, there was one important thing they couldn't possibly do." Grace laughed. "They claimed to have an answer for that, too. One of them even showed me the little device. But you know, Ed, when I saw it, it was pathetic. For the longest time, I thought love with girls was the only thing, the only way. But from here on in, give me a good virile man. It's every difference in the world and I have you to thank for helping me discover what I've been missing."
Boland felt embarrassed and tried to change 'the subject.
"Just a minute, Ed," Grace Edwards said. "I could always talk honestly with you and I relish it. I want you to know another thing. I envy Lilly what she's got-you. I can't help my feelings. So the next time you're with Lilly and you run into me, you'll be warned in advance why I'll just barely be polite."
"Thanks, Grace," he said uneasily. "I appreciate it. But now, could you tell me what action was taken on my petition to get my advanced degree?"
"They took it up and decided to grant you permission to finish sooner. You'd best get working, Ed-and congratulations. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy." Boland felt strangely let-down. Sure, it was what he'd wanted, it was a step up the ladder. But that was the trouble. It was a damned big ladder and one rung didn't mean a hell of a lot. "Now I can start thinking about a Ph.D.," he said with scorn. "That should take only three or four more years, at the rate I'm going. They - they don't even have a Ph.D. in psychology here at Hurley."
Grace smiled. "You think that's something , Hurley College has given only ten Ph.D. degrees in the past six years. Your best bet is to apply over at Newton University."
Boland groaned. "That's fifty miles away."
"Oh," Grace said cheerily, "you'll work out something, Ed. You always do. Now why don't you go find Lilly and celebrate-the lucky girl."
Boland did go to Lilly's, where he received a note of surprise. Lilly was generally slavishly neat about her small utility apartment. Anything but neatness made her painfully aware of its woeful inadequacy. Tonight, there were dinner dishes piled in the sink and a general atmosphere of disorder prevailed, including the fact that Lilly's hair was ruffled and she had nothing on under her fading flannel robe.
"I-I wasn't expecting you," she said.
"Good news," he told her. "I wanted to tell you. The Master's degree will come through soon. By next semester, I'll be able to expect a raise in pay. Then we won't have to consolidate all our troubles in one big debt."
Lilly gave him a plaintive look. For a moment, her eyes were b-rimmed with tears, then she reached for his hands, scooped them into hers and kissed them. It was a touching gesture, filled with tenderness and meaning for him.
Boland felt himself experience a deep, abiding love for her. So what if she had her moments of bitchiness or weakness? She wasn't a bitch at heart. It was so damned easy to call names, to get your male pride all ruffled because your girl kicked up her heels and bedded down with a guy you couldn't stand. The important thing was that she could do this.
Lilly, still holding his hands, drew them to her breasts. "I'm so pleased, Ed. You've fought against the worst odds there are. With the right kind of woman, I think you could make it."
"You're the right kind," he said.
"I-I don't know."
"I do. Your instincts are right."
She gave a wry laugh. "Ed," she said, "I love the feel of your hands on my breasts. I love the way you kiss me. Do you think we could make love the way we used to? Do you think we could try? It would mean so much to me."
Boland smiled. "It would mean a lot to me, too." He unhitched his tie, removed his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed. She perched next to him, her eyes filled with tenderness and softness. Her hands quickly undid the knot about her waist and removed the robe, revealing her eager, ready body.
Boland leaned forward, burying his face in the warmth of her breasts, his hands running over the roundness of her supple shoulders. He realized this was a special occasion, that it would be possible to recreate the warmth and tenderness and comfort they'd come to know and expect.
Deftly, he kissed at her breasts, running his lips over the cleft between them, then against the pulsing vein in the side of her throat. She uttered a slow moan of ecstasy then clasped her body against him tightly so that Boland could feel the tattoo of her pulse through the intimate, exciting closeness of her breasts.
He noticed at once that Lilly was reacting just as he. Her hands strayed over him slowly, as though gathering impressions and storing further happy memories. There was none of the grim immediacy about it as he leaned back and drew her atop him.
Lazily, her legs played against his, her fingers danced about the back of his neck and sifted his hair. Framing his face in her hands, Lilly kissed him, her tongue darting between his lips and sending shards of excitement racing through him.
This was more like it; strong, heightened desire, but not desire that was completely out of hand. This was desire two people could handle He grabbed her buttocks with admiration, squeezing affectionately, then stroking for a long moment, knowing how she enjoyed this. Her breath sighed into his face from her open, expectant mouth. He fitted his lips against hers for a long, moist contact, then deftly maneuvered her over on her side.
She sighed lazily then shifted to accommodate him. Their bodies met with the experience of teamwork. Boland smiled at the pleasure of having the tenderness of the intimacy renewed. I was good to be able to nuzzle his face against hers, to run the tips of his fingers lightly over her full, beautiful breasts, tantalizing himself for a thrilling moment before giving way to the urge to hold them to cup them firmly in his hands and feel the beauty of her.
After several moments, they began a slow, steady motion as if by common consent. There was no hurry, no records to set, no driving force of trying to achieve an impossible oblivion. Feeling the subtle motions of his body against hers, Boland knew sex could become dull, just as anything else. He knew a man could tire of the most beautiful woman in the world, even if she were the most accomplished lover. He knew he would always look at other women, but never want to do anything about it as much as he wanted to do something about Lilly-something just like what they were doing now.
He smiled at the knowledge he was imparting to himself, it was confidence that he wouldn't tire of her, wouldn't have any reason to. So long as they could find happiness and make love like this, there was a future to think about, plans to be made, children to be thought about.
Lilly's room seemed more palatable. The thought of having to go back to his own room even seemed bearable. Man really wasn't that difficult to understand. If he could get the right kind of love, the right kind of way, he could handle his problems.
A sudden quickening in Lilly's hip movements reminded him how different this was. They were not supermen. Once again, they were human, about to derive human satisfaction. He felt his own pulse quickening and gladly gave himself over to the last, final frenzy that had them moving against each other in a steady, well coordinated friction. Everything went well. Her legs moved about him possessively and her arms extended to him. Now a few thrusts and they lay clasped together, no further motion necessary.
This was how they enjoyed it, each thrust into release by the other, then came the joy of being able to lie in each other's arms, clasping tightly while release and satisfaction and resurgence flowed through them.
Boland left Lilly shortly before midnight, happier than he'd been in months. Nothing had been resolved, but he felt stronger about it, better. That was all that mattered.
In his room, he was able to read profitably for two hours, taking notes. It pleased him the way the plans for his master's thesis came bursting into his mind. This would be something he could show with pride. This might be the thing to send those California schools.
The next day, in school, he saw Nola Peddersen. She winked at him. "Scored again," she said. "The Boland method is a good, fine method. If this keeps up, I think I'll be able to start gossiping about how my husband never leaves me alone. What a wonderful state of affairs that will be."
He taught his classes that day with a verve that surprised and pleased him, noticing how responsive his pupils were when he was in such good spirits. Well, that was the way to teach. Give the kids something and they reward you with their attention and interest.
Hurley Junior High let out its classes at ten after three, the grammar school at three-thirty. Boland had time to clean up, check in the office mail box and discover there were no messages or mail for him worth attention. At twenty-five after, he was on his way to the grammar school, unable to wait until later in the evening to see Lilly. He had two books with him. It would be fun just reading at her place if she had papers to correct or other chores. Besides, there was the prospect of later.
Arriving at the school, he moved quickly down the hallway just after classes had ended, disgorging several hundred active, happy children into the playground and streets. When he came to Lilly's room, his thoughts of prospects for later that night quickly vanished.
The woman in Lilly's room, packing a few things into a brief case was Mrs. Dinsmore, a substitute teacher.
He quickly looked up at the room number, thinking there'd been a mistake, but Mrs. Dinsmore saw him and smiled. "I know what you're here for," she said. "These lover's quarrels can be trying, can't they?"
Ed Boland felt stunned. "Lover's quarrel ? What are you talking about? Where's Lilly?"
"Why, I thought you knew. Mr. Havelock said-Oh, dear, maybe I've made a blunder, Ed."
"Where's Lilly. Mrs. Dinsmore?"
"She's gone, Ed."
"Gone? Gone where?"
"Away. To California. She left this morning."
Boland felt stunned and weak. He found himself starting to laugh at his sudden, weak-kneed desire to sit down on the floor. "What are you talking about?"
"Lilly's gone. I'm taking over her class for the rest of the semester."
Boland felt like shouting at her. Instead, he lurched to the door and made his way quickly to the office of Herb Havelock, the principal of the Hurley grammar school.
Havelock was a short, dapper little man in his late thirties. His family owned several stores in Hurley and Herb Havelock dressed and acted as though he knew it. His crinkly face puckered with embarrassment at the sight of Boland. "Hi, Ed," he managed uncertainly. "I-I guess you didn't get Lilly's note, did you?"
"What is this, Herb? What the hell's going on? Mrs. Dinsmore says she left for California. Now how the hell could she do that?"
"We-uh-we made arrangements."
"What kind of arrangements? What the hell is this, Herb?"
"Now take it easy, Ed. She wanted to leave here. She-she said she couldn't take another day in Hurley. She-well, dammit, man, she hoped you'd care enough to go after her."
"How can I do that? You're head of the Teacher's Credit Union. You know I can't just pick up and go. I have no car to drive and even if I had the money for plane fare, there are about eight places in town that have first call on the money. I've borrowed the limit and I'm in hock with the Dial Finance Company at a percent and a half interest a month. You figure that out. A percent and a half times twelve months. Eighteen percent a year. Oh, hell, I don't know what I'm saying. How? How could she just pick up and go like that?"
"Well," Herb Havelock hedged, "I gave her a glowing letter of recommendation. I said in it that she wanted to leave before the beginning of this semester, but that she generously stayed on until I could get a substitute. I gave her a good recommendation. She got her degree from the University of Minnesota, that'll do well for her, too. I said she was particularly up to date on her audio-visual techniques and all the latest accepted theories of teaching."
Something about Havelock's statement didn't jibe. Nothing about Lilly's hasty departure did. "Wait a minute," he said, receiving a sudden piercing of agonizing insight. "Why should you go to all that trouble to give such a glowing recommendation to a teacher who walked out on her contract in the middle of the semester?"
Havelock averted Boland's searching glance and began to hedge. "I was very fond of her, Ed. She was a good teacher and I didn't want to stand in her way. Hell, let's face it; I'd had a wanderlust in my life, too. There are times when I feel like chucking everything and moving out to California.
The suspicion became clearer to Boland now. He recalled the mussed quality of Lilly's room, particularly the bed. He recalled again that feeling that their love making was serving-he same purpose of helping her to cleanse a guilt.
He tried to shake it out of his mind. It was an ugly thought. But it wouldn't vanish. Herb Havelock considered himself a lady's man. Even though married to an attractive, socially prominent girl, he liked to play the part. It would be just like him, Boland thought.
"For two cents, Herb, I'd deck you and mop up the floor with you, even knowing what you'd do out of revenge."
"Now, listen, Ed, you've got no reason to talk like that."
"Who suggested the idea, Herb? Was it you or her?"
"Listen, Ed, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay, I'll spell it out for you. She gave you something for that letter, something you've probably wanted a long, long time. She gave you her body in exchange for letting her off the hook."
"You're crazy, Ed."
"Am I?"
"It was her idea."
"Herb, you're a fink. And I'd like to be able to think you were lying. What the hell is truth, anyway? Something somebody doesn't want to hear. Okay, I believe you."
Weary and shaken, Ed Boland left Herb Havelock's office and began the trudge homeward. Then he found the note. It was brief and to the point.
"Ed, I don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive me. It's a calculated risk, but one I had to take. I know it's the only way we can get out of this rut. I'll send you an address as soon as I'm settled. I'll probably read your letters if you send any, but I won't answer. It will be the same old thing again. Come after me, Ed, and I promise you; you won't be sorry. I'll make everything up to you and then it'll be just us, all the wav."
Boland clawed the note angrily. What about the meantime? Bert Thielan, Herb Havelock and who else while she was waiting? And that was another thing, how long would it take?
CHAPTER FOUR
Grace Edwards made a production of crossing her long, slightly muscular legs. Even though she appeared self-conscious about it, Boland knew instinctively that she thought they were attractive legs, legs she wanted him to notice and admire.
She had a way of gaining attention that way, then seeming to be apologetic about it.
"Ed," she said, "I-I don't know how to put this. You know how fond I am of you and how grateful. Seeing you take this business about Lilly so well got me to thinking. You were always talking about how blowing off steam worked so well for people in times of stress, and it occurred to me that maybe you had no one to blow off steam to."
"I've been busy," Boland said, "getting that damned master's thesis done. I want to get moving on things. I-I guess I don't have time for thinking about things."
"Have-have you heard anything from Lilly?"
Boland sighed and tried to address himself to the papers on his desk. "No," he said curtly. "Nothing more than a post card with an address on it. She's right near Los Angeles. Place called Burbank. She registered with the Board of Education and has been called to substitute twice.
They'll put her on a regular basis next semester, after the summer vacation. In the meantime, she's got a job selling ladies' cosmetics, door to door." Grace gave a throaty laugh. "Nothing more than a post card with an address on it. She must have a terribly small handwriting to cram all that in."
"Okay, okay," he said shortly, drawing large X's through test questions he was correcting. "You asked and I told you."
Grace's reaction was more laughter, a sure sign she was embarrassed and on shaky ground. Her leg began bobbing. "I'm sorry, Ed. It must be rough on you."
"I get by," he said.
"Do you?"
He looked up, exasperated. "Now what's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, Ed, I'm not exactly blind. No man could know as much about human relations as you do without being deeply involved in them."
Boland grunted. "There's a prime example of a sentence that rambles all over the place without saying anything. I give my kids hell for that. I call it platitude."
"All right," she said defensively. "I mean sex. You must have been carrying on some sort of a relationship with Lilly. Even to someone like me, who's more or less just discovered things, I know what it's like to do without. I-I broke off with the fellow I was dating. I feel sort of desolate, too."
"Go read a book."
"I have. I've read lots of books and taken long walks and searched my soul and done all sorts of things. When I realized what I had in mind, I felt strange. Suddenly, I didn't think I even had the nerve to approach you."
"You're here," Boland said, "That took something, obviously."
"And I feel I'm taking advantage of you." Uncertainly, she stood up. "I'm sorry, Ed. I guess I was using a subterfuge." She tapped a rolled up magazine in her hand. "This was my version of bringing a jar of chicken broth to the convalescent. There was something in here I thought might interest you. And-and I felt like talking. You've said you were never too busy to listen."
Yeah, Boland thought bitterly, and it's like a disease. But that was the trouble. People really meant something. You couldn't ignore a person in his or her time of need. Or if you could,, Ed Boland hadn't been able to figure out how to do it. "I'm sorry," he said guiltily. "I know how well you mean, Grace. What was it you wanted to talk about?"
"Sex," she said, meeting his glance with a certain defiance that had to pass for bravery. "I-well, I didn't know what to do with it, and now T don't know what to do without it."
"like the kid who discovers jellybeans, huh?"
"Almost. I-I guess I want a man. Harold, this boy I was going with, was so good in bed. Even when I began realizing things weren't going to work out with us, I tried not to believe it. We worked out so well. We hardly had to say a word. He'd just put his hand on me somewhere, and boom, there we were, undressing each other and going over to my bed. It always felt so good the way he touched me and caressed me. He knew a lot. We used different ways. I never realized how important it was for a woman to have a man who knew so much. If there has to be a Double Standard of behavior, this is certainly the solution. You see, even though it's over, I feel no bitterness. I haven't even been tempted to go back to those girls."
"That's a blessing," Boland said, "it would be a shame to do that after all the progress you've made on your own."
Was he imagining things or did she pounce on this? "I haven't been tempted, I said, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. You know, some of them are pretty good."
"I don't know. I've never knowingly made love to one or been made love to by one."
"They can be tender and nice, too. They-they just do different things."
Boland grew angry. It was blackmail, that's what it was. "Grace, if you've got to have a relapse, the important thing is not to feel guilty about it."
She smiled. "I'd rather not even have the relapse." Mustering more boldness, she stood, striking a pose she'd probably practiced at home. Her firm bosom stood out in alluring relief. There was an interesting swell to her hips. Boland tried not to look at her this way, but it was difficult. In spite of himself, her talk had brought the subject into his mind. And, damn her, she was right. It didn't take much before the mind and body began crying out for something, for some response it had been used to, for a pleasure it looked forward to.
Grace approached him and put her hand on his shoulder. "You've been without for a long time, Ed. Over three weeks. You must be going wild inside. It's like suddenly being starved. And you've been so good to me, so kind. I'd like to repay it in some way. You know how I care for you. This doesn't have to be permanent, if you don't want it to. But think of the favor you'd be doing both of us. While I was reading today, I thought of the perfect analogy. You know how some of the farmers around here are paid not to plant crops? And some of the farm workers are unemployed because of it. It becomes an intolerable situation, producing nothing but waste." She placed her other hand on his shoulder and coyly began stroking his neck.
"So just like that, like a problem in geometry, it's all settled and now I should take you to bed."
"Not just like that, Ed. It would be good. We'd be doing each other a favor. How much more kind can two people be to each other?" Before Boland could answer, she bent to kiss him on the cheek. Boldly, she flicked out her tongue, leaving an exciting trail of moisture.
"Listen, Grace," he said, pushing away angrily, "people don't just decide to go to bed."
"How do they do it then?"
Boland felt trapped. "There has to be something more."
"With us there's something very noble and redeeming. Need. Human need. What's the point of anything if there has to be human need?"
"Oh, hell, Grace, leave me alone."
She stepped back stunned, as if he'd slapped her. Immediately, he felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry, Grace. I didn't mean it that way." He stood up and moved next to her. His hand reached out to comfort her and in that moment, he was lost. She flung herself against him, catching him with a surprising impact. He barely managed his balance, but then both her arms were tightly wound about his neck, her hips virtually grinding against him. It was almost a parody of what he'd known with Lilly, but the feel of an eager, attractive woman against him was more, much more than he could safely tolerate.
The difference was Lilly's absence. The difference was the absence of love and reassurance that permits a man to look at another woman, to investigate her sexually in his mind, then remain perfectly faithful in fact and deed.
It was gone from Boland and before he could do anything, his body reacted and Grace became aware of it. A look of triumph came into her face a look that quickly changed into appreciation as she reached for him.
In less than a moment, they were lying on his small bed. Grace became quite excited and gave up on undressing after she'd removed her shoes. She lay back to accommodate him, arching her back and making a tent of her legs. She drew up her skirt and told him with more assurance, "you'll have to help me now."
Boland knew what she meant. He tugged at her pink panties, shucking them off her long legs, surprised at how attractive she was. She wore no stockings. There was no problem with a garter belt. He leaned forward to meet her.
"Please," she said, "let me. It's my great pleasure. I want to help all I can."
Ordinarily, this wouldn't have mattered too much to Boland But now, it took on a grim sort of symbolism for him as Grace Edwards became responsible for uniting their bodies. She began moving her hips, well and easily, obviously past her shyness, with him specifically and men in general.
Almost immediately, the glazed expression of passion on her face changed to excruciating registers of sensation and he knew she was close to a prolonged excitement.
She achieved satisfaction almost immediately and Boland thought to leave things like that. He was willing to move away, still aroused and hungry, but Grace Edwards seemed to sense this about him, too.
"Oh, please," she said. "Let me. You've been so kind and good to me. Let me do this for you." She did not wait for an answer or sign.
She moved against him with muscular spurts that soon brought his acuteness raging through him. When it was over, he moved away and lay next to her, the smallness of the bed making closeness a necessity. He felt her hand caressing his back and her voice became gentle. "You were good and wonderful," she said. "I hope I pleased you. Did you enjoy me?"
"Yes," he said.
"You've been so good to me. I wanted to very much. It's the least I could do. You have no idea how much I've dreamed about this, Ed. It can be so good with us and no strings. I understand everything. You have your work. You have your degrees. You have lots of important things."
Boland turned to regard her; she was content and looking womanly now that she was satisfied.
She fit the bill with one exception. There was no feeling of love. He shuddered a moment. In such cases, many women think closeness will bring about that feeling. It's a gamble they're willing to risk, especially when the man seems to be a good out from a lonely, unproductive, unsexed life. It was a particularly good alternate to returning to her homosexual ways.
Watching her smooth her dress down over her taut, lovely legs, Boland recognized another thing about her, also from his old text books. Hadn't he, in effect, acted like a counselor to her, a therapist, a psychologist? The books were full of situations where patients became fond of their doctor.
Boland shook his head. The miracle worker. The Sigmund Freud of Hurley, Minnesota. Already his first "patient" had a crush on him, a powerful sexual crush.
The thought of Nola Peddersen made him blanch. That would be absolutely too much. How did the doctors handle it? He had to find the way, fast. He knew he couldn't stop listening to people's problems. That was beyond him.
"Darling," Grace said, bounding off the bed, "I really did mean it when I said I had something for you to see." She picked the rolled-up magazine from his desk. "It's an educational quarterly read by teachers and educators," she said.
"It's filled with articles."
"It also has advertising in it," Grace said. "There's one in particular I thought you'd like." She thumbed to the rear pages. The ad she had in mind was between men's underwear with a built in stomach support and a book on how to deal with problem children. "The Parsons School of Professional Home Study," the ad read. "Offering advanced degrees in most fields in a palatable, easy to digest manner. Why be robbed of the pick of the good jobs when Master's and Ph.D. degrees can be obtained by this simple method." The address was in Minneapolis.
"I don't get it," Boland said.
"You're going to, Ed. The simple way to get your master's degree. Home study."
"That's impossible."
"Is it? Think for a minute. Who else do you know who has a Ph.D. from Parsons?"
"Why, no one. I've never even heard of the place before."
"Of course you have. Herb Havelock has his Ph.D. in administration from Parsons."
"You're mistaken. Herb's degree is from the University of Minnesota."
"Look again, darling. Herb Havelock was lucky not to get booted out of there as an undergraduate, much less with a doctorate."
Boland was shaken. "You're dead wrong, Grace. Herb has a distinguished academic record. Why, in all the ceremonies, he has the most distinguished robes. He has a degree from a European school-"
"Darling, you forget Herb's family owns a dairy, a men's clothing store, and a construction company. They could afford to send him to Europe. And after you name off the handful of distinguished European schools, what have you got left? Not very much. Herb's master's degree comes from a school in Spain. Spain is a poor country. Herb is a wealthy American. The Spanish admire wealthy Americans who wants academic honors. For a price, they were willing to bestow a great honor on Herb. That bright academic gown he wears represents an investment of over ten thousand dollar.,."
"Okay, so he had all the luck. I still haven't got my master's degree yet, and how the hell can I get to Minneapolis?"
Grace leaned over him, breathing heavily on his ear. Before he could react, her tongue moved out, probing the inner part of his ear. Dazzling jabs of sensation shot through him as Grace moved down on top of him, her body moving ever so slightly against him, her hand investigating his condition. "Herb Havelock had certain advantages, Ed, but I don't want you to underestimate your own."
"Grace, what are you talking about?"
She deftly lifted her leg over his body. The sight of it, flexed and well sculpted, was at once frightening and exciting. She was showing an unusual talent for accommodation. Her maneuvering joined them in a brief moment. "You have nothing to worry about, Darling. I owe you much as it is. Why don't you just lay back and enjoy the ride? In a while, it will be Dr. Ed Boland they'll be calling you. How do you like the sound of that, Ed Boland, Ph.D.?"
There was a sensual, appreciative smile on her face as she pressed forward. A slight, involuntary gasp of pleasure escaped from her pursed lips. "And if anyone wants to know what kind of a fine man you are, darling, I'll be happy to help out."
CHAPTER FIVE
The Parsons Institute was an incongruous Tudor Renaissance building that did not at all jibe with the rest of Minneapolis. The receptionists seemed brisk and furtive, the rooms labeled as libraries and conference rooms gave the impression of being props.
Boland tried desperately not to see this. After all, a Ph.D. degree still meant something to him.
"And naturally," Mr. Parsons said to him, "you don't have to stop your studies when you receive our Ph.D. degree. Many of our graduates tend to use our degrees as supplementary, augmenting with advanced degrees they earn later. One of our pupils, for example, had difficulty securing his master's degree in engineering. We were able to help. With his diploma from us, he was able to secure employment at an eastern missile concern, then secure another master's degree in the field of management. While he is appreciative to us, his allegiance now seems to be toward his new Alma Mater. But he does remember us with nice contributions."
"Okay," Boland said, "let's get down to cases.
You've read my file?"
"Yes," Parsons said. "Hurley college thinks quite well of you. So well that we're quite willing to let you begin work on your doctorate immediately. Tomorrow, you'll meet with an advisor who will go over your course of study with you and make the necessary arrangements for you to begin sending in papers and assignments. On the basis of these, we'll approve your choice for a doctor's thesis and expect to see your first draft by a time mutually acceptable to all of us." He tapped the folder with Boland's papers in it. "Yes, they were most enthusiastic about you at Hurley. Now we also try to get some insight into the possibility of future employment for our graduates and I notice here that Hurley says you'd make an excellent marriage counselor and psychotherapist. With one of our degrees, you can be licensed to practice in most states."
Ed was stunned when he realized the material Parsons had must have come from Grace. It was too coincidental. "I still think I prefer teaching," he said.
"Well, you see, that might be a bit more difficult if you want college or university level."
The next morning at his conference, they drove this home to him in vivid detail. His counselor and advisor was Ethel Sommers, a tall, large boned blonde who eyed him frankly through the interview and spelled things out for him.
"You could have your degree in marriage counseling and therapy in a year, Mr. Boland. A degree in education would take perhaps twice as long and you'd still run the risk of being lost in the terrible shuffle that goes on for big name schools. We're frankly small and can't compete with the likes of Harvard and Yale and Princeton."
"I need time to think," Boland said.
"Of course you do," Ethel Sommers agreed. "You'll be here in Minneapolis for two more days and we'd like as much of that time to go over things with you. Why don't you take a long walk by yourself and spend the afternoon thinking things over. I'll give you my home phone number if you'd like to discuss things this evening. If not, we'll expect you back here with an answer by tomorrow morning at nine." The woman gave him a frank smile that reminded him uncomfortably of Grace Edwards and her eagerness. After all, it was more and more of Grace Edwards' eagerness that was responsible for his being here.
He followed Ethel Sommers' suggestion, wandering aimlessly through downtown Minneapolis and taking the long bus-ride into St. Paul and back, weighing the decisions. Teaching meant everything to him. But the degree would take time and money.
A marriage counselor in California could do well. Well enough to think of marriage himself. Was Lilly worth it? Was the change worth it?
It was nearly four-thirty when he wandered across the main part of the downtown shopping center, intent on a glass of beer. When he heard his name being called, he spun about, stunned at the sight of Nola Peddersen. She was cute and exuberant in a heavy cloth coat. Her healthy cheeks glowed in the cold. Her eyes sparkled radiantly.
"What a lovely surprise meeting you here," she said. "Next Thursday is Mac's and my anniversary and since we had a long week-end holiday, he sent me up here for a shopping spree as a part of my present. And you know what he insisted on? Oh, Ed, I've bought some of the slinkiest undies and things. I'd love to show them to you."
"I don't think that would be a good idea, right here on the street. Why not come in and have a drink with me?"
"Maybe just one. I'm a disappointment to Mac. I never could handle drinking too well. It gives me the giggles."
Boland helped her with some of her packages and escorted her into Fitzhugh's, one of his favorite drinking places. It was a typical Irish type bar, with stiff "backed stools and wooden booths, battered and smooth from age. He ordered himself a hot buttered rum and, out of deference to Nola's ability with whiskey, an Irish Coffee for her.
"Yum, yum," she said, licking some of the whipped cream off her thin, sensual lips. She took deep swallows of the coffee, then began opening some of her packages, showing Boland the filmy black negligees and foundation garments.
He was ready to leave, but Nola insisted on buying a round of drinks to repay his generosity. While the drinks were being made, she showed him a rather daring brassiere. "It'll do wonders for me," she said, "because I have such a deceptive bust line. How big would you say I was, Ed?"
"Oh, maybe thirty-two."
"See," she giggled, "I told you it was deceptive. It's thirty-six, and from now on, you'll be noticing. The sales lady said this would get flattery and more flattery. You can't buy anything flattering or sexy in Hurley."
"It's a small, provincial town."
"And am I lucky to know someone I can talk about sex with. Do you know, Ed, you're probably one of my closest confidantes, the closest I've ever had. You probably know just as much about me as Mac does, except you've never ... never seen me." She began to giggle and took a deep sip of her Irish Coffee. "Say, this is good. I'll have to drink these at home and then Mac will be proud of me."
Too late, Boland realized why she said she couldn't handle drink very well. Nola got the giggles and then began hanging onto his arm. Several of the customers were beginning to look at them and when the bartender came over to politely ask Boland to leave, Nola blurted out: "You've never seen me naked and you know all about my sex life. Oh, we'll have to take care of that, Ed. It's only fair that you take me home and let me show you what I look like."
Boland got her out into the street where he hoped the brisk evening wind would help sober her up, but if anything, it made her want to snuggle closer to him, which in turn made her talk more loudly and more daringly about wanting to get into bed with him and cuddle for warmth.
He hailed a taxi and got her in, then spent an agonizing five minutes, trying to break through her teasing to find out where she was staying.
Luckily, she had her key with her. Boland took her in the side entrance of the Drake Hotel, scanning the halls for a maid to take care of her.
He thought about it with a jab of irony. The last time he'd brought a girl to the Drake Hotel had been during his school days and his intentions had been clear and determined. There were maids and house detectives all over the place.
Fitting the key into the door, Boland relieved her of her packages and gave her a gentle shove inside. The moment she realized she was in her room, behind a closed door, Nola Peddersen kicked off her tiny shoes and began unbuttoning her blouse.
"I want you to see me," she said.
Before Boland could bridge the distance between them, her blouse was off and her small, snug breasts pushed against the restraint of an unimaginative brassiere. "Hold it," Boland said. "That's all."
"Don't be silly. You've got a right to see," she said, hitching at her skirt.
"Nola, you'll regret this. You don't know what you're doing."
"Of all the silly things. I'm perfectly aware of what I'm doing. I'm showing myself to you so you'll know. All this time you've been giving me advice without really knowing what I do best." Her skirt fell to the floor and she pitched forward, off balance, when she tried to take a step. Boland moved toward her and extended a hand. She began to giggle when he helped her up and thrust herself at him suddenly. "Like this, it happens," she said. "I pass Mac like this in the hallway, dressed just like this and he grabs me and I lean against him and ohh, Ed-! It works with you, too."
"Of course it works. I'm a man and you've got a beautiful body, Nola. A very beautiful body." Immediately, he regretted it, but he'd already decided the best thing to do was humor her.
"That's what he tells me, Ed. That's exactly what he tells me. He says it's a miracle that so much woman could be stuffed into such a small body, but that he wouldn't trade it for one of those big girls, no sir."
She was still leaning against him and although Boland tried to move away, Nola had the unsettling habit of simply going limp and leaning against him. Almost absently and without any real knowledge of what she was doing, Nola thrust her hip against him, catching him in the loins. She gave an expert little wriggle and when Boland backed away from her, she reached out with her hand to pat him. "Oh my, Ed, it really does work. It works just the way it does with Mac. Is that how you know so much? You give your own reaction?"
"That's one way," he said. "The other is plain common sense. Now come on, you're going to bed." He pushed her hand away and she turned her face up toward him with a look of a scolded puppy. Then recognition dawned and her face colored. "So that's why I'm drunk. You wanted to go to bed with me."
"You're going to bed by yourself, Nola," he said, nearly frantic.
"You-you didn't have to get me drunk, Ed. I'd go to bed with you. I don't have to be drunk. I just didn't think you'd want to. But you do, don't you?"
"Of course not," he said, drawing her toward the bed.
She giggled. "Yes you do or you wouldn't be all aroused like that?"
He got her to the edge of the bed and started to push, but again, she fooled him by going limp and leaning against him. "That's a basic reaction for a man to an attractive woman, but it is not my intent to make love to you."
"Oh," she said, "you should. You really should, Ed. I wouldn't mind, not with you. It really wouldn't be like cheating. We're so close already." Her hand moved to him again and she patted him affectionately.
Boland gave a push in exasperation. She tumbled forward on the bed with a grunt of surprise. "Now cover yourself and go to sleep," he said.
"I will if you'll do one thing."
"No bargains. Just close your eyes and go to sleep."
"Undress me."
"Absolutely not."
"Then I'll sleep without any covers and get a cold."
"Nola, stop it. You've had more than you're used to drinking."
"I know, you got me drunk to make love to me and now you're afraid."
"I'm not afraid, I just don't want to."
"Your body does."
"My body isn't all of me."
"Ed, I'll go to sleep if you tuck me in and kiss me. Just the way I am."
"Promise?"
"I promise," she said.
Boland bent to kiss her. He brushed her cheeks lightly with his lips.
"No fair. That's no kiss. A kiss on the lips."
Boland bent again, touching his lips to hers. He could taste the Irish Coffee and the sweetness of her lips. In a surprising move, she reached up suddenly and threw her arm about his neck, yanking with force. He lost his balance and toppled forward, his head pushing hard into her breasts.
"I lied," she said happily.
Anguished, Boland tried to move away but her hands caught him again, probing even more boldly this time and making him painfully aware how aroused he was, how he had to get out of here before anything happened. He tried to brush her hand away, but she wouldn't let go. "If you won't make love to me, at least lay beside me until I fall asleep."
"No. If you lied once, you'll do it again. You aren't to be trusted."
Her face puckered and she began to cry. "I want a man next to me."
"You're lonesome for Mac. That can't be helped. Go to sleep and it won't seem too bad."
"But you're the only other man I'd do anything like this with. Please, Ed, please lay beside me and let me hold you. If you won't make love to me, at least do that." Her tears were copious now and Boland cursed himself for a fool, getting into a situation like this. It was simply outrageous. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently pried her hand loose, then began caressing her forehead. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep."
"Lay down next to me."
Boland sighed. What a damned fool he felt like. He swung his legs up onto the bed and took her hand in his. Instantly she reached for him. When he moved to stop her, she began whimpering. When he stopped, she calmed down.
He lay there in an agony, sweat breaking out on his forehead and realizing that, wrong as it was, he truly meant no harm. Of course she was sexually attractive, there was no denying that in truth. But it was more than her sexuality that was getting to him, it was her child-like loneliness that haunted him and touched him deeply. He had no business being moved by it. When you recognized a person showing childish traits, you treated them like a child by being firm and decisive with them. He'd been all wrong to let things go this far. It was his weakness and he blamed himself. What a hell of a way to learn. He should have known already. But dammit, a man has his own troubles and can't always think of everything.
Her hand gripped him more tightly and then he realized what she was doing to him. He tried to stop her, but she began pleading. "Let me do something," she said, nearly maudlin now. "If you won't make love to me, let me at least do this.
Please let me do something. It means so much being able to do something like this for a man."
How perfectly absurd this had all become. Time to stop, right now. But she would not stop when he ordered her to. She increased her tempo until Boland was so aroused he could no longer think how wrong this was. He moved against her, eased her knees apart and became one with her.
She accepted him with a sob of joy and her arms moved to their characteristic position, the back of his neck. Her small, finely shaped body seemed to kick forth at him, as though reaching for something. Then the expression on her face changed, as though signifying she'd found exactly what she'd sought. She gasped several times, moaned loudly at him. then caused her small, compact body to twitch spasmodically a few times.
Boland realized no precautions had been taken. At the last possible moment, he bolted. In spite of her own excitement, Nola was acute to his fear and need consideration. As he lay beside her, panting for breath, her hands besan plving lightly over her shoulders and the back of his neck as she began a soft crooning-"Poor thing. Dear, kind, considerate Ed." Her voice was agonizingly devoid of any drunkenness now, causing him to wonder if it had all been a very skillful act. "I'm sorry," she said at length. "I should have told you there was nothing to worry about. It was very selfish of me, Ed. But I'll take care of that for you. I promise you I will."
It was all wrong and Boland felt his mind reel with confusion. It took two to make adultery.
He'd participated all right, but could he let himself believe he'd been seduced by her? Was that a gross deception on his part?
Ruefully, he sat on the side of the bed, thinking he owed his being in Minneapolis to another woman, Grace Edwards. Another woman he'd been seduced by?
While Nola Peddersen's hands strayed coaxingly over him, he tried to come up with some common denominator, some thing he'd done to give these two women the idea. And then he knew what it was, loneliness. Loneliness took strength away from a man, made him weak, made him vulnerable even when he knew it was wrong. And behind it all, there was Lilly. He needed Lilly desperately and time was becoming of the essence.
"You poor darling," Nola said, "you do things for everyone else and no one gives a damn for you. Ed, I don't exactly love you, but I appreciate you so much that it gives me a feeling of hurt. You were so good to me just now. In case you were wondering, yes; I really was tipsy. Drunk? no, I don't think so. Tipsy enough to know what I was doing, tipsy enough to know you'd be good and kind and considerate. I was lonesome, Ed, and you helped me beautifully. You know how to give one of the most precious gifts there is, comfort. Now please, please forget about things like adultery for a while. I'm a good wife to Mac, I won't leave him, I won't turn into a tramp. Please let me show you some appreciation. Women have a way of knowing certain things and I guess I know what you need now more than anything you need Lilly and she's gone, she's not here.
So instead, you need comforting. Let me, Ed. Please let me."
Boland managed a weak smile at Nola and lay back on the bed. He recalled an Italian movie that had played in Hurley, nearly a year ago. The story was agonizingly simple. A virile young worker of thirty, married only a short while, saw his lovely young wife, run-over by the son of the mayor, driving a new sports car. The wife was close to death. Although the picture had a great deal of political commentary in it, the thing that outraged most of the people in Hurley was the way the hero, immediately after seeing his wife taken away to the hospital in an ambulance, allowed himself to be picked up by a prostitute. What was more, he visited the prostitute several times, reaching the point where she actually fell in love with him and they began carrying on a love affair.
The picture was removed from the theater after two days, even though Boland spoke out in favor of it, explaining that there was no such thing as a standard reaction to grief. People listened and seemed to understand him, but the real deciding factor came when Ed had been with Lilly, drinking beer in their favorite tavern and a reporter for the Hurley Tribune had heard Boland say, "This is a town with a Hurleyier than thou attitude." The comment had been printed and a week later, the picture was brought back to the Roxy.
Now, Boland knew from experience what he'd known before in understanding; there was no accounting for the ways of grief. His smile broadened into one of thanks and he lay back on the bed, actively reaching for Nola Peddersen and drawing her to him. They lay together that way for nearly ten minutes, Nola's hands moving slowly and lazily over his back and arms.
Then desire began to awaken in him, slowly but steadily. When Nola realized what was happening, she told him not to worry about a thing, this time, to leave everything to her, she'd take care of everything.
Boland closed his eyes and felt his body merge with this small, active woman. He was able to get some idea of how much sex meant to her by the way she seemed to take command and make brisk, exciting movements. It felt clean and exciting and good just holding her. This act of love between them was something extra, something more.
He quickened his movements, but had the feeling she was still ahead of him. Then he became aware of a tensing in her legs. Somehow, she gained the right kind of purchase with her knee and foot, expertly causing them to roll over, reversing their position. Then she began moving in earnest. Opening his eyes, Boland was aware of her dominating his field of vision, his awareness and his senses as release began showering through him.
When it was over, she made no move to leave him and he recalled thinking how lucky Mac Peddersen was, having such a warm, sensual, tender woman. He told himself he was fortunate to have her good wishes. He valued this, but now he must leave, he must.
But even in that aspect, Boland realized he was weak-weak or unwilling. He closed his eyes again and slept. When he awakened, it was dark and from the comparative absence of noise on the street below, he knew it was quite late. Next to him, Nola lay sound asleep, snuggling against him, her body imparting comfort and warmth.
Surely now was the time to leave, but when he made a slight movement to rise, her leg draped over him and her arm reached out. He lay there for a moment thinking, then slept again.
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, Boland returned to the Parson School and announced without hesitation that he would accept his Ph.D. in marriage counseling and psychotherapy. The interview with his advisory board was almost affrontingly brief. He was given a mimeographed list of books to read and a large assignment sheet that included visits tormentally disturbed patients and a day at a mental hospital. He was told the course of study normally took a year, but that for a slight fee, it could be extended. The real expense, they said, would be the publication and approval of his doctorate thesis, which was to come from a list of suggested topics on a mimeographed form.
"I sort of have an idea of my own I'd like to try," Boland said.
Mr. Parsons nodded. "So much the better. We'll be interested in reading your notes when you've set them down."
And so, Boland returned home to Hurley, clearing out a better work area at his small desk. On the wall near his ancient upright typewriter, he tacked two things, a calendar and a picture of Lilly, then began working on the final draft of his master's thesis.
Grace Edwards continued to visit him, her demands taking the form of proprietary interest in him. "I know you're going after Lilly. I know there's nothing serious between us, Ed, but I feel I have a right to a voice in things now. It's more than just the money I'm loaning you. It's a feeling of participation. One of the things you need now is assurance and happiness. That means sex, a lot of sex."
Boland finished the final draft on his thesis two weeks before the end of the semester. He turned it in to his advisor at Hurley College and received notice a week later that it had been accepted, that he could, if he wished, participate in the regular Hurley college commencement exercises as one of their four successful candidates for the degree of Master of Science. Boland filed this information with his principal and, on the last day of school before the summer vacation, received written and verbal notice that his salary would be raised forty-five dollars a month, beginning in September.
It was a step toward his goal and even though he did not expect Lilly to answer, he wrote her a letter, telling her the master's had been granted and that he was ready to begin work on the Ph.D. in psychotherapy and marriage counseling.
To his great surprise, he received an almost immediate answer from Lilly.
"I'm going back on my word only this once, Ed, to congratulate you and tell you how proud of you I am and how much I miss my love. I'll be sorry to see you give up teaching, which I know you love, but I think you've shown your maturity by making a decision that's closer to the mark. You will do well here and I'll be proud to be yours.
"Ed, there have been other men in my life and I cannot help that. I tell you this not to taunt you but to let you know how very much I want you to be here with me. Please hurry, Ed. I need you."
On the strength of the letter, Boland revised his schedule and gave himself four hours sleep a night instead of the six he'd budgeted. The Monday after school closed for vacation, he resumed his job as a delivery driver for Fritch's department store, and on Sundays, he made deliveries for Tony's Pizza Parlor.
With this income, he was able to meet some of the interest payments on his loans, reduce the loans themselves a bit, pay rent and keep a minimum of food in the larder. The rest went for the text books on the list of materials sent him by the Parsons school.
Inside of two weeks, Boland realized that many of the books were those he'd either read or used as a college student. The assignments were annoyingly simple, comparing with some of the things he'd done as a college freshman. When he decided this might be some form of trickery, he spent more time on the next two assignments, doing them in great detail and adding long bibliography and outside references. They were returned to him with a long note explaining that he was responsible only for the assignment. Extra work could not be considered.
Boland began to be puzzled. After all, he was working on a Ph.D., a doctorate. It hardly made sense that this work should be easier than the work he'd done for his master's degree. The doctorate was the highest academic degree of all. How did you go any higher? There was only one other course, medicine, and that was, naturally, out of the question for Boland.
Twice during the early weeks of the summer, Ed Boland met Nola Peddersen. Each time she suggested to him that they go to bed; each time Boland guiltily made an excuse.
The third time he saw her, he was just pulling his delivery truck out of the loading entrance from Fritch's, and out onto Scott Street. She waved to him and he left the truck in the drive, waiting for her to approach.
Now that it was summer and she didn't have to dress according to the rigid protocol for teachers, Nola blossomed out into a low-cut blouse and a peasant skirt with frilly petticoats and sandals. "Ed," she said, propping a foot up on the running board of the truck, "why don't you stop driving yourself so hard?"
"I'm not," he said. "I'm simply going after something I want. It really isn't that difficult. Lots of other people have done more than I have."
"Ed, you've got to let people who care about you help."
Bitterly, he thought about Grace Edwards. She was reaching the point where she'd refuse dates when other men asked her. That was a sign of danger, a sign of an attachment, a sign of false hopes.
"I know from past experience that there's something I can do for you, Ed. Something you like, something you need, something I can do well. You've said it yourself, a healthy person is a sexual person, too. Practice what you preach, Ed."
"I'm sorry, Nola," he said. "It's no good like this."
She smiled at him. "Baby, you thought it was damned good in Minneapolis. And from the way you're looking at me now, I can tell I'm right. Ed, I'm going into Fritch's to buy some things. I'm going to ask them to be delivered. There's an awfully good chance that delivery will be on your route. I'll be waiting for you." She gave him a long, lingering smile, then stepped back into the street, turning with an expert flounce so that her skirt swirled about her excellent legs. She started toward the entrance of Fritch's Department Store, her small, high pitched fanny bobbing merrily. It was an exciting, compelling sight. As Boland eased the truck into traffic, he nearly had a collision.
Two days later, he got another batch of assignments back from the Parsons School. The comment on them: Uniformly excellent. Grimly, he leafed through the pages. There were almost no markings or signs that they'd been read. Now his suspicions flared, and to find out, once and for all where he stood, he copied two pages verbatim from a text book in answer to one of the questions.
The next day, when he loaded his truck for the morning delivery, he realized Nola Peddersen had made good. He was to deliver a kitchen table to her. On the instructions were the memo: driver to assemble if customer requests. He already knew the answer to that one.
Nola was waiting for him. She wore a pair of tight shorts that gave unusual accent to her comparatively short, well tapered legs. She padded about the house in bare feet, her blond hair done in a simple horse's tail. She wore one of Mac's shirts, unbuttoned, the tails tied at the midriff in an approximation of a halter. Proportionate to her size, Nola was a big busted girl. These excellent breasts loomed excitingly through the opened neckline of the shirt.
"Ed," she said smiling at him, "why not make it easy on yourself? You know we do well together in bed. You know you're aching for something."
He shook his head. "It's wrong, Nola, all wrong."
"Is it?" I
"You know it is. You're married. No matter what you say, this is a reflection on you. Something's wrong with your marriage or you wouldn't be doing this."
"Nonsense. You're the only man I've ever looked at since my marriage. The only reason I want this is to give you what you've given me."
"People don't have those kind of motives, Nola."
She sat on a hassock and crossed her legs. "This person does." With a smile, she yanked on the knot holding the shirt tails together. It opened quickly, allowing her breasts to spill forth excitingly.
"Tell me why you're doing this," he said.
Nola thrust her hands behind her on the hassock, using them to lean on. "Why do motives mean so much to you? I've told you, I want to give you some of the joy you've given me. Do you always have to be the curious teacher?" She smiled. "Maybe this will help you if it's so important to you. Yes, I find you attractive and exciting. It's daring, doing this. I'm excited knowing that my sex can help men who matter to me. Mac's had two raises at work. He's slated for a promotion. It would be silly to say that this is a direct result of our better sex relations, but I'll tell you, Ed, there is a connection, and no pun intended."
"This could be a dangerous habit, Nola. Suppose you met another man you wanted to-let's say, help?"
"Ed, I'm surprised at you. You're too good a teacher for that and I've learned well. There's a very simple answer. Children. We're going to start a family. In November. That way, I'll get in another year of teaching, then have the baby in August. As soon as that's over, we go back to the drawing board again for more. We've made up our minds that after September, we're going to throw caution to the winds and protection to the garbage. Now, are you satisfied?"
Boland managed a smile. "No, not satisfied, but aroused and envious, damned envious."
She lifted her legs in an athletic gesture, her toes wriggling invitingly at him.
Boland moved toward her, using her upraised legs as an opportunity to shuck her shorts over her slender limbs. Her panties followed and then he knelt before her, embracing and burying his face in the lushness of her breasts.
Even as his excitement mounted over the sight of her beautiful nudity, he knew this was wrong. What she said was no excuse, no real motive. He knew his own weakness, too. Loneliness. It did not excuse him, but he did have a need. If only there were Lilly. But Lilly was over a thousand miles away, over six months away. Worlds apart. The only connection was the memory of their love. And now, at this moment, with his need, memory wasn't enough.
Nola was good, hearty release, particularly after the possessiveness of Grace Edwards.
Excited by her position on the hassock, he moved to her and lay atop her there, his body spurred on by her excitement and willingness. It was difficult and demanding, making love this way. They both knew it and it lent further excitement to the insistent plunge of their bodies. He was amazed at how little it took Nola to have a reaction. Her response came almost immediately and she clasped him about the neck, thrashing her hips and legs wildly until he, too, felt the excitement surging forth to the inevitable.
Fifteen minutes later, Boland was dressed again, so was Nola. He sat on the kitchen floor with a screwdriver and a glass of lemonade, assembling the kitchen table.
Half an hour later, he left. Nola smiled at him and said goodbye as though nothing had happened. She was noticeably happier, a bit smug, but not very different, really, than if they'd had a cup of coffee together one evening before their night classes at Hurley College.
A week later, he received back the lesson from Parsons School with a crisp note telling him how pleased they were with his progress. "It is our considered belief that you will be able to take examinations that will enable us to grant you credit on a pass-fail basis," the note said, "thus making it easier for you to accomplish your goal."
It hit him hard, but Boland had to admit he really wasn't too surprised. Parsons School was a diploma mill. The courses of study were little more than formality. Somehow, someway, they had the power to grant advanced degrees. True, the degrees didn't mean much in the academic world, but if you looked at it another way, a permit to carry a gun didn't matter much either, if the person who'd managed to get it knew little about guns or shooting.
He was stuck, desperately stuck. If he quit this farce with the Parsons School, he'd still have to repay the money he'd spent to Grace Edwards. That would effectively take care of the raise he'd been offered, and he'd still be no better off. He'd have to save more money, make application to some new college, perhaps even Hurley, and go through the painfully slow process of working for years, at least two.
Boland could not do any more of the assignments for two days. He went through his jobs feeling completely numbed. He made love to Grace Edwards, feeling like a robot and, on Sunday, delivered hot pizzas in a complete fog, realizing at one point that he'd driven the stand's Volkswagen all the way across town without being consciously aware of it.
That Monday, he received another letter from Lilly.
"Ed, I know I swore not to write to you at all, but this is a necessity. I'm badly frightened, Ed. I love you. I need you. I don't want to lose you. But there is another man. I tried desperately to keep away from him. When I finally made love with him, I knew what a threat he had become to us. The trouble is, Ed, I was first attracted to him because he reminds me so much of you. He is gentle and kind, and understanding. Nearly always, when we finish making love, I cry out of sorrow. I've been cruel and bitchy to him, intentionally and unintentionally. But he still will not leave.
"Oh, Ed, I'm trying so hard. But it is difficult without you. I came here for selfish reasons, I know. I believed you'd find a way to follow if you really loved me. I realize this was wrong, that I should have had courage and stayed with you. But I was weak and tired and fed-up. I think about coming back to Hurley, but I don't know. There is this man, Ed, and that makes things difficult.
"Please come to me soon. Please come to me and make me yours forever. Please, Ed. I don't know how long I can last."
Reading the letter, Boland felt an icy chill and knew right there that he didn't have time for the luxury of getting drunk or being discouraged. He had to act and right now.
Moving to his desk, he inserted a sheet of paper in the typewriter and addressed the Parsons School. It was a difficult letter for him to write, but he managed to come bluntly to the point by asking them how much it would cost in the way of extra tuition and fees to allow him to submit his doctoral thesis right now and take examinations for all courses on a pass-fail basis. He was amazed at how easily it was for him to take part in the obvious offer of more money. It was simple to use terms like "tuition" and "advisor's fees" and "thesis publication expenses."
The Parsons School answered by return mail with the same candor. There was an itemized list of the new expenses involved. It totaled one thousand eighty-two dollars and seventy-five cents.
Boland sent Lilly a telegram telling her he'd arrive in time for Christmas with a Ph.D. in marriage counseling and psychotherapy. Then he was able to allow himself the luxury of getting drunk.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next evening, he went to Grace Edwards and was the aggressor with her. The moment ?he closed the door to her apartment, Ed yanked her to him, put one arm tightly about her and, with the other hand, squeezed her buttocks hard.
Grace's face flushed, but she was delighted with the strong show of what she considered masculinity. With almost no preliminaries, he unbuttoned her dress and reached for her breasts. She became even more aroused, at once.
Boland hefted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He set her down on the bed and moved next to her. Grace moved to accommodate him and the moment before he joined their bodies, her face took on a strangely sober expression. In that moment, Boland knew he couldn't go through with it. In spite of his need, there had to be a place where he drew the line. He'd gone far enough with Grace already.
"All right, Ed," she said, "what is it?"
He shook his head. "This is no good. Grace."
She laughed ruefully. "I'll say it isn't. You've got me terribly excited. It's something to do with Lilly, isn't it?"
Boland nodded.
"You need money. don't you?"
"One thousand eighty dollars and seventy-five cents."
"That's why you did this?"
"That's right."
"And you realized you couldn't go through with it, didn't you? That's why you stopped. Ed, you poor thing. You probably think you're a heel, but you're not. You've given me something great and you haven't left me confused or twisted. You've done your job well, even though it was a job you didn't want, didn't even consider a job. Ed, I'm sorry, but all I have to give you is five hundred dollars. We'll call it a long term loan. In a way, I like to think of it as your first fee."
Boland was stunned, riddled with guilt. But he accepted the money and sent it along to the Parsons School. They replied promptly that he had three months for the final installment. They were making arrangements, they said, for him to have oral examinations in his study courses, eliminating some of the expense and book work.
That left a little over five hundred dollars to go. And when he saw Nola Peddersen, he believed he might have the answer to that. As a teacher, Nola could draw a low-interest loan and transfer it to him. He could make the monthly payments and Mac would never have to know.
"You have no idea how important this is to me, Nola," he said. "I've come to you because I'm desperate."
She sat lazily on the hassock, wearing essentially the same costume she'd worn the day he'd assembled the kitchen table for her-the day he'd made love to her on the hassock.
"Well, you're certainly flattering," Nola said. "You make me feel like a last resort, as though you're ashamed to come to me for help. I thought we were good, close friends, Ed."
"Nola, you know that's true. I'd do anything for you, even if that money weren't a consideration."
Nola uttered a low, sensual laugh and swung her bare feet into his lap. "Would you really, Ed? Would you really do anything for me?"
"Anything within reason. You know that."
"I'll be glad to get the money for you, Ed. And yes, there is something you can do for me, something I've been thinking about for a long time, something I don't dare ask Mac. He's a marvelous husband and I love him deeply, Ed, but there are places where he's short sighted. On the other hand, you aren't. You take a more tolerant view of what we call the human condition."
"What are you getting at, Nola?"
"I'm coming to it, Ed. You're the only person I know I can broach this to, just as I'm the only person who can help you. I think it's rather poetic in a way."
Boland stiffened in apprehension. "I think you'd better tell me before we carry this any further."
Nola bounded even closer so that her legs were draped completely over his lap. Holding his arm, she whispered in his ear and he felt himself grow dizzy as she explained to him what she wanted. In rather coarse, unexpectedly frank language, Nola named two specific ways in which she wanted Boland to make love to her.
"That's absurd, Nola."
"No it isn't, Ed. I've been thinking about them both for a long time and frankly, I'm curious, very curious. I guess you can say that it will have an effect on my sex life until I do find out what it's like."
"But couldn't you ask Mac?"
"Darling, I told you. For all he's a marvelous man, Mac knows only two basic positions. When he's tired, I'm on top, when he isn't; I'm on the bottom. Those are his horizons, pure and simple and frankly, Ed, I've reached the point where I want to know."
"You could work up to it. You could skillfully overcome any of his objection."
"I tried one of the things and he nearly hit me."
"This requires patience."
"I'm out of patience, that's why you come in so handy, Ed."
"That's lazy."
"So it's lazy. I want to know. I want to know if it's worth the effort of working on him. Now you've got to admit, what I'm asking for, both of them, aren't so terrible. At least four of the marriage manuals you told me to read mention them. They all say the same thing. They say that nothing is wrong or ugly about love where there is mutual respect and tenderness between the two parties. They say the only real perversions are situations where there is a great excitement over the element of pain. Neither of the things I've mentioned is painful, Ed."
"But if I'm not mistaken, both are against the law in this state."
"Then the law is wrong."
"Nola, it's just as wrong for you to be the sole judge."
"But I'll bet you've done these things. How are people supposed to change and grow if old laws hold them back? Every year, hundreds of laws are changed, new ones are made. One of the theories of law is the greater good for the greater number. You can't tell me that isn't the greater good."
"No, I can't. Neither can I tell you that adultery is good."
"And in this case, you can't tell me it's bad. My husband has higher standards than he's ever had before, better pay, better home life and more love. I'm not going to argue about things. You know what I want, Ed. A simple yes or no answer is all I require. Will you do the things to me I asked you?"
He watched her for a moment, thankful she just sat there and did not try teasing or alluring him. Although it hadn't been said, he also knew the loan depended on his fulfilling her demands. They were not, he thought, so different from what they'd already done. And it was a means to achieve a goal.
His eyes scanned her small, desirable body and he realized that there would be a certain element of pleasure in doing as she requested. He could recall his own curiosities about these things earlier. Nola was right, the aspect of perversion did not apply. But what about the means he was using to achieve his goal?
What about the goal? If a thing was worthwhile, a great deal was justified to attain it. What was he after? A phony Ph.D. degree that would get him to Lilly. Was that all so important? No, he told himself honestly, not unless you make something worthwhile out of it. You're going to be a marriage counselor and deal with people's problems on a professional basis. Nola is the second woman whose problems you've heard that you've gone to bed with. That will have to stop, but definitely. You will very positively have to make good, to do well.
"Okay," he told Nola. "You win."
She kissed the tip of his ear. "Don't make it sound so grim. You know the sight of me excites you. You know you'll enjoy it, too, Ed."
He was pleased by one insistent stipulation Nola made. "Call it anything you want, Ed, but I absolutely will not make love with another man on Mac's and my bed. That's ours and that's how it's always going to be."
She drew all the living room blinds and decided on the large sofa.
"Which shall it be first?" Boland asked.
Nola peeled her tight pants off her hips and unbuttoned her blouse. She stood on her tiptoes to reach him for a kiss, then sprang to the sofa, turning on her stomach. "This way," she said. "And Ed, please hurry. You don't have to bother with preliminaries. Now that I'm finally going to get what I want, I'm so excited I can hardly wait."
Boland moved onto the sofa, his weight on his knees. As he brought their bodies together, he felt a gigantic shudder of ecstasy course through Nola and he was aware of a further change in her personality. The times they'd made love before, she moaned and crooned softly, but now she became aggressive and demanding, urging him on with language that surprised him.
To his own amazement, he found himself carried away, hastily complying with her demands as her legs and hips thrashed about. Nola cried out several times, incoherently, then demanding more, more, more. Breathless,. Boland realized they were both close to the point of release and he knew with a sudden jab of fear that this aspect of Nola's personality would want out again and again.
When it was over, Boland started to move away, but she cut him short by an insistent demand. "No you don't Ed. You stay there. That's too good to stop just because we've finished. Oh, Ed, that was absolutely sensational. I never realized anything could be that exciting."
Finally, Boland did move away from her. She turned back over onto her hips to face him, her breasts still rising and falling rapidly as her breathing gradually decreased intensity. "You aren't kidding it's worth the effort to bring Mac around. Oh, is he going to get worked on."
Nola suddenly began to giggle. "Ed, you gave yourself away. I could see that look of relief on your face when I said I was going to try to get Mac to do this with me. It was such a funny look, as though you feared I'd demand this from you incessantly. The simple truth of the matter is, I'll only ask you for once more. Then we'll spend the afternoon with the other and then, my darling, mentor and confidante, you can be merrily on your way to California to cure others with problems of an intimate nature. You can count me among your all-time happiest of patients, Ed Boland."
"Do you want to make love again-now?"
"Of course I do. And look at you, Ed. You do, too. Oh, this is a really wonderful day for me, Ed. Satisfying in so many ways. But look at you, you're still not convinced. You have misgivings and I think it's wonderful. Does that make you the normal one and me the sex pervert? Or is the other way around?" She giggled and turned over on her stomach. "Or is it really none of these? Come to me, my lover. Make love to me again."
It was different this time. Nola Peddersen uttered loud, sensual throaty sounds, bordering on laughter until release came over her and caused her to moan with pleasure. Boland was excitedly aware of her active hips and legs, of the steady continuous pleasure radiating through his own body.
This part is all over, he told himself hopefully. He'd won. Another day of making love to Nola and it was all finished, there was nothing to stand in the way of himself and Lilly-and a career that was as close to what he wanted as he could get.
Nola's writhing, bucking hips and legs succeeded in driving the final burst of passion through him and as release came flooding forth, Ed Boland realized he'd gone further than he'd ever have imagined to achieve a goal that hadn't even been his to begin with.
He lay next to her, taking in the warmth and after-excitement of her vibrant body and wondered just how strong he was, just bow smart he was, knowing what he did about sex and people and yet being so susceptible to it.
"Wasn't that divine, lover?" Nola said with enthusiasm.
Boland decided it was time-at last, at long last-to start being honest. It was the only way to face consequences squarely, the only way to deal with them. "Yes," he said, "it was probably one of the most exciting things that ever happened to me."
"Darling," Nola said, "you start talking like that around here and Baby'a going to want you again."
"I know," Boland said, "I was thinking about that."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Boland left Minneapolis with the official blessings of the Paris school and, as a special graduation gift, a small leatherette wallet filled with cards that read, Edward E. Boland, Ph.D. Marriage Counselling and psychotherapy. Boland wondered how much he'd paid for that.
He flew to Los Angeles on a non-scheduled airplane with five rows of seats and two surly stewardesses who dispensed limp chicken sandwiches and weak coffee with tr j shop-worn attitude of a waitress in a skid row grab joint.
He was met at the Lockheed Airport in Burbank by Lilly, and at the first sight of her, was overwhelmed by tears. Holding her tightly in his arms, Boland realized this was more than a second chance and a new start, it was an opportunity to do things he'd always wanted to, to help people and give them sincere guidance. He could do it all now, do it with dignity and pride. And there was Lilly thrown in with the bargain, too.
She escorted him to a fifty-two Chevy. "It isn't much, but it's paid for, Ed. It's the beginning for us." While they drove to her Bur bank apartment, Boland realized that the time had finally come when, he could make up for the things back in Hurley by becoming a better person. It was an assignment he'd gladly take.
They were not in Lilly's apartment for ten minutes before Boland led her into the bedroom and began kissing and caressing, making up for all the agonizingly long months of separation. As she stood nakedly before him, her full, firm body eager to press against him, Boland thought of the unknown men she'd had in her life and of the one who'd almost become too much competition for him. He thought of his own episodes with Grace Edwards and Nola Peddersen. This was yet another chance being presented him, the opportunity to put all these things where they belonged-anchored safely in the past.
As Boland took possession of Lilly's body, she wound her arms and legs tightly about him, a gesture deliberately calculated to slow things down. He understood and appreciated it at once. Lilly wanted no more of the frightening, uncertain frenzy to come into their love making, she wanted all to be slow and meaningful, as it had been in the days when they'd discovered their love and attraction for each other.
It was a new start and Boland thought it appropriate that they set a new pattern, a new way. He was lingering and appreciative, taking full time to kiss her lips and run the tips of his fingers over the glowing readiness of her distended breasts and saffron tinted aureoles. Lilly responded in a lively, eager way that imparted her fondness and willingness to make this last and grow into something even more meaningful.
Then finally the fullness of their desire and need took over and they began moving together in slow, considerate plunges, the friction building up to a steady, rapid comfort. And then it happened, the comfort reached a peak and overflowed. Boland sighed with happiness and knew Lilly was crying.
They'd done it, regained the old touch, the old tenderness, the old meaning between them. Everything was going to go well for them from now on. Without words and in the best possible way, they related to each other the need and hunger that had existed during their separation. Their closeness was a means of each pardoning the other, of welcoming the other back.
"It's going to be just the two of us from now on," Lilly whispered into his ear. "I'm going to be the best possible wife for you a man could ever have. I'm so proud of you, Ed, so very proud. I'll make it all up to you, Ed, every pang of hurt and misery and despair I've caused you."
He fell asleep happily in her arms, a great weight off of him. He remained asleep for nearly ten hours, another of the greatest luxuries he'd known in long, miserable months. Not bad, he thought, for a guy with a phony degree. But I'll make up for that. I'll damned well make up for it.
One of the first things they did after breakfast was drive Lilly's Chewy to downtown Los Angeles, where they took blood tests at the County General Hospital, then applied at the Hall of Records for a Marriage License. Boland wanted to see about registering to take the qualification examinations, enabling him to open practice in the State of California.
"There's time for that," Lilly said, leading him on a sight-seeing trip. "I met someone through a friend of mine who'll be able to help you with that. You'll know all the things to study for the exam. He'll help you cut a lot of red tape."
"I'll never wear heavy clothing again," Boland told her happily.
Two days later, Boland kept an appointment made by Lilly with Charles Wyckoff, an advisor for the State Licensing Board. A burly, affable man, Wyckoff asked probing questions of Boland for the better part of an hour, then handed him a list of books to read. "With what you know already, Ed, this should get you through. I wouldn't worry about it, too much. The only sweat you'll have is the compulsory ninety days needed for establishing residency."
Boland had little difficulty. With his Ph.D. degree, he was able to find work almost immediately for a small electronics company in the Eastern section of the San Fernando Valley. To Boland's amazement, this job he considered only temporary paid him a larger salary than he'd ever made in his life.
After a week of work, Boland and Lilly drove to Santa Barbara and were married. Their honeymoon was spent in a deluxe suite at the Santa Barbara Biltmore Hotel. Standing on the balcony, overlooking the wide, clear swath of ocean, Boland held Lilly tightly to him. "Talk about the good life," he said, beaming with happiness. "This is like awakening from a nightmare."
"Now you see why I was so anxious for you to get here," Lilly told him.
"It's amazing. Everything is. For the first time in my life, I can spend money without feeling guilty about it. I can know tint there's more to pay the bills. Oh, sure, it'll still be rough sledding for a while. I've got to get an office and you don't just start right off with a full list of patients right away. In fact, that was about the only thing they didn't mention at all at Parsons School, how you got patients."
"A lot of it is word of mouth, and believe it or not, you go to cocktail parties and some of the better restaurants and you meet people. Everyone says Los Angeles is unfriendly because it's so spread out. You'll find that just isn't true."
Boland tightened his grip on Lilly's waist. "For the moment, let's forget L.A. Let's see how friendly Santa Barbara is. I understand wives fall all over their husbands here."
It seemed strange and luxurious, making love to Lilly on the overly large bed. It reminded Boland of his all-too-brief stint in Europe while in the service. He'd taken a week-end tour in Italy and gone to one of the famous villas on the Mediterranean. The most memorable thing about the tour had been a bath he'd had in a deep, sunken tub, with the water pouring in on him from two solid gold ornaments. It had been one of the most luxurious moments in his life until now. And here he was, in a fantastic hotel, m a fantastic area with his wife, for the first time. There were no limits, absolutely none. No landlady to worry about, no need to go sneaking out of rooms at two or three in the morning to avoid discovery. It was legal and fitting and proper.
Jubilantly, he undid her blouse and clasped her to him, the bareness of her breasts pushing hope and excitement through him. As he eased her over to the large bed and lay down next to her, Boland was able to believe he had the world by the tail.
With a practice born of time, love and passion, he and Lilly merged together. "It's really official," he told her. "This does it beyond any doubt."
Lilly lay playfully under him. "Is this what they mean by solemnizing the vows?" she said.
"If it is," Boland said, "let's be solemn."
They remained in Santa Barbara until Sunday afternoon, then took a leisurely drive down the coast, arriving home before midnight.
Once again, the atmosphere of luxury pervaded. Boland didn't have to be at work until eight-thirty. He and Lilly had time for a leisurely breakfast before going their separate ways. Later in the week, he bought a car of his own, finding there was no trouble in arranging credit.
Life was a series of unbelievable dreams for two weeks, until Boland began writing checks to cover his debts in Hurley. Lilly raged with jealousy over Grace Edwards and Nola Peddersen and Boland found himself countering with a remark that escaped his lips like an upper-cut. "It was wrong for me, but apparently the same thing wasn't true with you ?"
"I did my best, Ed."
"So did I. Now we're married and there's a future. Can't we leave it at that?"
Lily went on at great length and Boland couldn't see it. There was something wrong, something disturbing him. They'd both agreed to let by-gones be by-gones. Fresh slate. Clean start. What was nagging away at her now?
Lilly got two weeks off for Christmas vacation, but Boland still had to work days. During their spare time, they poured through local papers and real estate listings for an office suitable for Boland to use when he could begin his practice.
After carefully going over things, they agreed to be practical. They hoped, through referrals, to build up Boland's practice to a rather exclusive clientele from the Beverly Hills, Brentwood and West Los Angeles areas. As a happy compromise, Boland knew he'd have to rely on bread and butter patients for a time, charging minimal fees and getting by on very little profit. They agreed his earnings from the electronics job would be used to pay off his debts in Hurley, reduce Lilly's, and start in on furniture for the office.
After a week of looking, they agreed on the lower floor of a four-plex building just south of Beverly Hills in "West Hollywood. The rugs and drapes came from Sears Roebuck, but they were able to establish further credit by paying cash for these purchases. Since there was still time before Boland's examination and licensing, they agreed that the entire furnishing could be done slowly. With next week's salary, Boland bought a Swedish modern desk at a small decorator's shop on the Sunset Strip. Quite openly, Boland told the salesman he was soon to enter practice as a counselor and therapist. The salesman, an obvious homosexual, waited until Lilly dashed out to feed pennies into the parking meter before broaching a subject.
"Do you think you could do anything' for me?"
Boland faced him squarely. "Depends what you want done?"
The salesman sighed and made a desperate gesture. "I'm getting tired of gay life. Do you think you could cure me?"
Boland surveyed him. "I don't know. Do you consider yourself ill?"
"I'm gay. Don't you people try to cure us?"
"I'd try to help you. I don't think cure is the right word. I don't think you're diseased, just slightly mistaken."
"Give me your card. I'm going to see you. My name is Ralph Hooten."
Boland shook his hand, firmly. "Only trouble is, you'll have to wait until to get my license to practice in this state. It won't be too much longer. Maybe a month."
"Heavens," Ralph Hooten said. "That's terribly long. Can't we begin now? I won't tell anyone. I certainly wouldn't want you to get into trouble."
"It's against the law."
Hooten cradled his elbow in the palm of his hand and poked a lean finger in his mouth, deep in thought. "I'll tell you what, we'll work on exchange basis where you'll more or less talk to me in the evenings, listen to me and give me advice as a friend. In return, I'll arrange the complete decoration of your office and no one can say you're breaking the law. I'm just going to you for advice and friendly chatting. Besides, if this works out well, I could recommend patients to you, wealthy young men who've become completely fed up with the gay life."
Boland considered. It was tempting. There was no question about it, homosexuals were a challenge. There were some doctors who claimed a cure was impossible. Boland had only his experience with Grace Edwards to go on. "All right, Ralph," he said, extending his hand, "you've got a deal. We'll start next week. Just to keep it on a friendly basis, why don't you come out to our place for dinner next Monday?"
In the following week, Boland haunted the libraries, cramming everything he could find on homosexuality into his head. He wanted the latest theories as well as those that had been junked. If Ralph or any of his friends had been subjected to psychiatrists or therapists before, it was important to see where they'd gone astray and picked up the wrong attitudes.
From book stands in Hollywood, he bought publications appealing to the homosexual point of view and tried to digest the way they justified their existence with a combination of Aristotelian logic and a childish sollipsism.
By the time Ralph Hooten appeared for dinner Monday night, he felt armed and ready to begin. Boland was particularly pleased with the way Lilly had set the table and prepared a lamb crown roast. Half way through the meal, sipping an excellent wine Ralph had brought, it occurred to Boland that thin was their first real "at home" evening. He nudged Lilly under the table with his foot and tried to convey his pride with her.
During the meal, Hooten gave guarded background and Boland knew he was waiting for Lilly to leave. When the dishes were cleared, Boland poured large splashes of cognac and thought to loosen Ralph up a bit, set him at ease. Lilly excused herself and took a batch of papers into the bedroom to correct.
Hooten smoked cigarette after cigarette and accomplished nothing the first night except venting rage and hostility against heterosexuals. He also helped Boland rearrange some of the furniture, called Lilly out of the bedroom and set her to work rearranging some of the pictures and paintings hanging on the wall. After Hooten left, promising to meet Boland at his office the next Wednesday, Lilly estimated that there was nearly twenty percent more floor space in their living room, thanks to Ralph's arrangements.
"At least," Boland said, "we know he has an orderly, inventive mind."
Hooten's case began to intrigue Boland. Ralph expended a great deal of energy avoiding any references to his own problems, forced Boland to return the drapes to Sears and, with his own material and sewing machine, made intricate and delicately shirred drapes.
"You've spent a fortune in time and effort on this," Boland told him.
"And you've spent a great deal of your time listening to my chatter and prattle."
"Okay, Ralph. Don't you think now's the time to get off your ass and tell me what's bugging you?"
"You can't talk to me that way, Ed. I won't have it."
"I'll talk that way until you tell me you want to forget the whole business. Or maybe you've changed your mind and still want to stay gay."
"No," Ralph insisted. "I don't! I really don't."
"Okay then, sit down and let's have it."
Ralph Hooten did just that. By the time Boland was notified it would be time to take his written exams for the licensing board, Ralph had told him enough for certain suggestions to be made. Grimly, Ralph tried to comply and just as grimly, Boland tried to arrange things so that it was actually Ralph who was making the suggestions.
"I guess," Ralph said one evening, "I should kick out my roommate. He's nothing but a leach and he cheats on me all over the place. I guess I ought to try living alone ... or maybe finding a roommate who's straight."
"Suppose you found a room mate who wasn't a homosexual and you got a yen for him? Wouldn't you be in trouble either way?"
"I see what you mean," Ralph said, pained. "I've been beaten up several times for making passes at boys who weren't gay. If that happened again, I'd feel awful. On the other hand, if I were successful, I'd feel guilty. I guess I'd better try going it alone. But it's going to be hard, Ed. I'm a sissy."
"I'm beginning to think you've got a lot of guts," Boland told him. "It will be something if you can kick out your room mate. That won't be easy."
"I'll make a terrible scene," Ralph Hooten promised. "I'm very good at that."
Driving home to Lilly, Boland realized how exciting his new line of work was going to be. Already, he was taken up in Ralph's struggle, one he believed would be long and epic. Ralph wasn't the type, he thought, to break such a long habit over night. There were bound to be relapses, possible arrests. One thing was certain, he believed Ralph was telling the truth when he promised to make a real scene. And another thing was even more rewarding. Boland was sure now that his earlier antipathy to Ralph Hooten was vanished. Boland was able to see him as a person with a struggle. A person who wanted to make something out of his life.
The world felt good, rich and opulent for him. He hadn't even been licensed yet and already he was making good on his promise to take full advantage of the Parsons diploma and make it mean something.
When he arrived home, it was nearly midnight and Lilly was not in. Puzzled, Boland poured himself a beer and settled down with a book to wait for her. Knowing she had school the next morning, Boland became worried and jumpy when she did not return by one. Perhaps it was her car. That would have to go. The thought perked him up a bit. How great it was to be able to think, no wife of Ed Boland was going to ride around in an old rattle trap.
Lilly came home at a quarter of two. When Boland saw her standing in the doorway, he felt anything but great. Her disheveled appearance, the look of abject guilt on her face and the sudden expression of a deep, pleading sexual need rooted him to the chair and carried him back in time to that painful moment when he knew she'd been out with Bert Thielan, just for a steak dinner.
"I'm sorry," she said. "There was a PTA meeting. It-it lasted late because we had to discuss some problem children. I-I passed around some of your cards, Ed. I thought it might interest you to work with emotionally disturbed children who are really very bright under the surface."
It was a lie and he knew it because of her jerky delivery, her almost imploring vitality in presenting it to him. She moved quickly across the floor to him, dropping to her knees at his side. From the puppy-dog look on her face, Boland could tell Lilly knew she'd been caught with her lie.
"I'm sorry, Ed."
"What happened, Lilly? Did Herb Havelock decide to come to California for a vacation? Were you showing him the sights?"
Lilly reacted as though she'd been slapped in the face. She averted her eyes from him. "Ed, you've got to believe me, I'm sorry. It-it was something I had to do."
"Had to do, Lilly? That means something's wrong between us."
Vehemently, Lilly shook her head. "No, that isn't true! It's very good with us, Ed. It's never been better. Please, please don't ask me any more. You've got to believe me; it was something that had to be done."
"You went to bed with another man and you want me to believe it was necessary, but I'm not supposed to ask why? Oh, Lilly, I can't let this go by. You say there's nothing wrong between us, then why? Why did you do it?"
Lilly began to cry.
"That won't help, Lilly. Tell me."
"I can't."
"You've got to, Lilly. I can't go around wondering like this. That would be the worst torture imaginable."
"It will be worst torture if you know, Ed."
"Baby, are you willing to put our marriage on the line? Knowing you were with another man and won't tell me why, something between us will be lost forever."
Lilly bit her lip. "All right," she said, "I'll tell you. But then you can't blame me."
"I'm not trying to blame, dammit; I'm trying to find out why."
To Boland's surprise, Lilly turned on him angrily. "You and your damned psychology, always trying to find out why, why, why? Can't you leave it be? Can't you take my word once in a while? Even you said there are some secrets a husband and wife can have."
"Not this one, Lilly. It isn't a secret anymore. Can't you see, I'd never be able to trust you. I'd be suspicious and jealous and it would ruin everything.
Lilly sighed deeply and calmed herself. She reached for the handkerchief in his jacket pocket and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
"As you know," she said, "I have a comparatively large, well-shaped body. It-it manages to excite men's imaginations. Because I wear my hair long and have high cheek bones and dress a bit out of style, I have an exotic appearance that appeals to many men."
"How well I know," Boland mused. "I've never been able to get you out of my mind."
"All right. Sometimes I think it's a curse. You don't know how strong I've had to be at times."
"Why couldn't you be strong this time?"
"It was for you, don't you understand?"
"For me? You went to bed with another man for me?"
"Charlie Wyckoff. That degree of yours is hardly worth the paper it's printed on. You want to be able to get a license, don't you? You want to be able to practice here, don't you? Well, this was the only way you could have gotten it. Otherwise you wouldn't have stood a chance. As it stands now, there's nothing to stop you. It's that simple, Ed. You've worked so hard and gone through so much, I felt I had to do something."
"This has happened before, hasn't it?"
"This is the fifth time I've been to bed with Wyckoff."
"This is monstrous."
"You don't have anything to worry about. He was already beginning to complain that I was listless."
"And you weren't before, were you, Lilly?"
"What do you want, Ed? The clinical details. No, I wasn't listless before. I was the best he's ever had. He said so. That was also part of the deal, Ed. It was a calculated risk. He said I'd damned well better be the best he's ever had."
"The bastard," Boland said, "the dirty bastard."
"You don't have to worry about it any more. It's all over. You'll get your license. You wouldn't even have to show up for the exam and you'd still get it ... now."
Boland felt wobbly. He needed a drink. He should have known better than to expect such an instant change from misery into happiness. There was more than a financial price tag attached to that phony degree of his. There was integrity and happiness and security and comfort, too. Ed Boland, consulting therapist and counselor, by the grace of a crooked licensing inspector and Lilly's body.
He poured himself a tall splash of scotch whisky and wondered what could possibly happen next. He found out in relatively few minutes when Lilly stood next to him, her hips beginning to gyrate against him. "Please," she said, "you've got to make it all right. You did all those other times."
"There was a difference," Boland said, feeling weary. "All those other times, I didn't know. That is, most of those other times, I didn't know."
CHAPTER NINE
Ed Boland watched with relish the exposed body of his wife, draped in the morning sun over the patio lounge. He liked the thought of eating his breakfast and watching her, sometimes in shorts and halter, sometimes completely naked, depending on her whim.
Her nudity was in his mind as he sat at the patio table, pouring himself another cup of coffee and spreading marmalade on a thick slab of wheat toast, raising it to his crumb coated lips.
Not fifteen feet away from him, in the full sun, Lilly stretched her full, lithe body luxuriously like a cat, and Boland felt a surge of desire. There were times when he tried to see her as a child in this glorious body, part of some terrible mistake, some grotesque masquerade, some game of dress-up, but always he returned to two things, forgiveness and the sure knowledge that he prized Lilly and her fine body more than anything else. Hadn't there been ample proof of this from the very beginning? Hadn't he given up a great deal for it? And look what it had gained him-a successful practice, nearly paid-up ownership of an old but stately house in Beverly Hills, freedom from all his Hurley, Minnesota debts, and another of the great pleasures of manhood, the day when he told Lilly, "There's no reason why you should work if you don't want. How about being a housewife for a while?"
Lilly agreed with alacrity and the results had been more than even Boland could have hoped for before. If his new world was built on shaky foundations, there was money in the bank and property under his feet to shore it up, a practice to look forward to.
What had it really cost him? The pain of knowing other men had, in the past, shared Lilly's bronzed body and partaken of it for a price.
Did the ends justify the means? Was a successful conversion of Ralph Hooten from a swishy homosexual into a loving husband and father a reward? Was the removal of tenseness from his life with Lilly worth the price?
The luxury of it all told him yes. It had been difficult to realize one compromise could open so many doors to so many others. It had been difficult to accept the fact that a relatively worthless degree could lead to Lilly's affair with Wyckoff. But now the luxury of the past six months served as an insulation against the past compromises and Boland believed the compromises had finally come to an end.
Finishing his toast, he sipped coffee, dabbed at his lips with a napkin and rose, moving toward the lounge where Lilly lay, basking in the sun. A feeling of danger shot through him. He knew he'd kiss her. But where would the excitement lead? Yes, this was pleasure.
Lilly accepted his kiss eagerly, her arms quickly reaching for his neck, pulling him closer to her. Athletic and limber, she rose, moving against him. Boland was aware of an amusing fear. Sun tan oil on his clean shirt. It was grand to be free at last.
Lilly's lips met his hungrily, her tongue probing his mouth with determined flickerings. Affectionately, he patted her firm buttocks and drew away. "I've got an early appointment."
Lilly frowned. "Last night, you had a late appointment. You didn't get home until ten."
Boland was still amused. "That didn't stop us, you'll recall."
"That was last night. It isn't fair to get me excited then run off."
"I wasn't trying to get you excited, darling. I was simply kissing you good-bye. Wives constantly complain about not being kissed good-bye and that's one sin I won't be guilty of."
"But now I need you, Ed. It isn't fair to tease."
"Baby, I'm not teasing. Look, I'll be through early this afternoon. My last appointment's at two. I'll be back here by three-thirty. We'll have all afternoon together. You be in bed waiting."
"I can't. I'm going shopping. I won't be home until at least five."
"Okay, so we'll have a late dinner."
"Ed, that's hours from now. This minute is what counts."
Boland sighed. "Look, you've gotten oil on my shirt."
Lilly did more than that. She embraced him. Now there were several oil stains on his dacron suit. "You'll have to change now. Ed, forgive me, but I need you. Is it so much to ask?"
"I was under the impression we had a pretty good, full sex life."
Lilly's arms went about his neck again. "Don't you see, Ed? It's important that it stay that way."
Boland felt somehow deflated. The joy he'd just felt slowly oozed out of him as he followed her upstairs to the bedroom, removing his oil stained jacket, tie and shirt. He tossed them aside, knowing he'd next see them cleaned, neatly pressed and hung in his dresser. But now, he felt as though an unreasonable demand was being made.
Lilly toweled most of the suntan oil from her body and quickly unhitched her halter, then stepped out of her shorts. By an agreement they'd made last month, she took no precautions, but simply lay down on the bed, properly postured and waiting for him.
For a long moment as he removed his shoes, trousers and shorts, Boland tried to write this off as her intense desire for a child. That lasted nearly a full minute. She'd been like this before. It was one of those nameless things he hadn't dared consider too closely.
As he knelt beside her, Boland felt mechanical and put upon. He found himself resenting the obvious charms of the woman now, resenting the fact that the sight of her had him aroused. She was deeply tanned all over her body. The strips about her bosom and loins was simply less tan than the rest of her, but still deeply bronzed. She drew him to her and the demands began with an immediate writhing and incessant plunging. It was sex under high pressure and he could tell it was different from the usual for both of them because release was so delayed, the entire process so mechanical.
When it was over, he felt drained and slightly depressed.
"Ed," she said, "thank you. I know you're cross with me, but still, thank you for putting up with my moods. It's better now."
Boland dressed again, thinking it was also different. What a world of difference between their love making the night before and this. The most recent, when it cropped up, always reminded him of the way she'd come to him, wanting him to make everything better. Hell, that body of hers was part of the subterfuge, part of the difference. Perhaps if he could be more lenient toward her in his attitude then this too would pass away, leaving none of the consequences, only a clear road ahead for both of them.
But ii; had been happening too often lately and it preyed on his mind throughout the day, flaring up particularly large when he interviewed his last patient of the day.
Charlotte Stowe was a tall, angular woman of thirty-two. The only signs of age her body wore were tiny crow's feet wrinkles at the corner of each eye. Otherwise, she had the body of a teenager, long, smooth and slightly muscular. Her well developed breasts were neither too large nor conspicuously small for her body. She was one of a small handful of Boland's women who didn't take great pains to emphasize nor hide the bustline.
She sat before him, her neat legs crossed, a cigarette dangling from her long fingers. "We're legally separated," she continued. "I don't know what the chances of reconciliation are, but we're certainly going to be at a stalemate-which is sort of an amusing play on words when you think of it-for at least six months. He's in Africa, making a motion picture."
"Couldn't you join him?"
"They're on location."
"Couldn't you find some city close by and at least visit?"
"There are expenses, Mr. Boland, and children and a house to look after."
"Well," Ed said, surveying her, trying to decide what she wanted, "at least you'll have time to consider whether you want to remain married to him." I
"That's not the reason I'm here, not really. I suppose it would be nice if you could help us when he gets back, but there's something a bit more immediate."
Boland met her cobalt eyes head on. "Sex," he said.
"Exactly, Mr. Boland ... or should! call you doctor?"
"Mister sounds better."
"Well, Mr. Boland, do you think it wrong for a woman separated from her husband to have sex relations with other men?"
"Depends on the circumstances."
"I'm talking," she said, "about my circumstances."
Boland smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere. You obviously do think it's wrong or you wouldn't come to me seeking another judgment. Let's find out why."
Charlotte Stowe uncrossed her legs and stood with dramatic poise. Never mind the analysis or motives. You've given me my answer."
"Not all of it. You see, the responsibility rests on you. I believe people should have sex relations, as often as they want and with whom, but to me, sex should accomplish something loving and noble and in every case, people should be willing to accept the consequences of their sexual activity, be it in or outside the boundaries of marriage."
"Meaning it's all right if I don't mind being called a tramp?"
"Or the possibility of a black eye or so, if Mr. Stowe finds out."
She chuckled. "I think I'd almost like that. All right, now I see what you mean. Yes, the desire by far outweighs the fear of consequences. Next question is, how do I go about finding a compatible sex partner? Church socials are hardly the place to begin, and I'm sick and tired of cruising the bars, looking for pickups. They get all hot and bothered while they're after me, but suddenly, when I say yes, something happens and all that talk has gotten them nowhere. Two weeks ago, I went to a well known hotel in Hollywood and sat at the bar. I let a young man buy me a few drinks. I admit I was dressed for the kill. Black net hose, low neckline. We danced a few times and I knew he wanted me. I still believe it's up to the man to take most of the initiative and I don't feel like acting like a prostitute and saying come on, sonny boy, you've got me. I made some delicate hints that I had a bottle of scotch at home. I made some further hints that I knew a marvelous motel. All he did was dance. Then I finally got the idea. He was getting his jollies by dancing with me ... dancing very close. He could have had all of me and he chose that."
Boland smiled. "Wrong choice, for him and you."
"Do you find me attractive, Mr. Boland?"
"Outrageously so," Ed said, knowing he was walking on thin ice.
Charlotte Stowe smiled, sat down and crossed her legs again. She was justifiably proud of them. "Would you like to go to bed with me, Mr. Boland?"
Ed smiled. "Yes ... and no. Yes, I'd like to, no, I won't. Before you get any further than that raised eyebrow, I'll explain. You're a very esthetically pleasing woman, you've got sensuality and sex appeal. But then, so has my wife. That's what I meant before about consequences. I can take the consequences of not going to bed with you. I'm not willing to take the consequences of cheating on my wife."
Charlotte Stowe smiled ruefully. "I find you attractive, Mr. Boland and I'd happily take the consequences with you. But that brings us back to our original point, where does an attractive and eager woman find a lover?"
Boland thought for a moment, an answer popping into his mind. He sat watching the magnificence of her body as he wrestled with it. Was it right? Was it ethical? Was he willing to take the consequences for the suggestion?
Joel Steele, another of his patients, was a handsome young man of thirty-five. Joel found himself attracted to women, but also haunted by the fear that he was a homosexual.
"Mrs. Stowe, I'm going to introduce you to someone," he said.
Her thin brows lifted. "Someone good?"
Let's say, someone who could give you everything you wanted in the way of justification and satisfaction. Suppose your going to bed with someone could help him restore his confidence in himself?"
Charlotte Stowe moistened her lips. "You mean I'll be doing a good deed as well as getting my jollies."
"If you'd like to put it that way, yes. Now listen to me...."
"I tell you, Mr. Boland, she's terrific," Joel Steele said with gripping enthusiasm. He was perched on the edge of his chair, a handsome young man with a lean jaw and thinning hair. He worked in an electronics factory in Santa Monica and was one of Boland's few five dollar an hour patients. "As she may have told you, the first few times weren't too good, at least, not from her point of view. But man, oh, man, there's something about the sight of a beautiful woman undressing in front of you and giving it the real business, you know, making a production of the bra and panties and garter belt and stockings. Then she tells you it's all for you, that she wants you to feel great about the whole thing. I tell you, Mr. Boland, I feel like the guy in the Charles Atlas ad. Bring 'em on, I'll clobber 'em."
Boland, although he did not tell Steele, felt relieved. It had been a real gamble. Most therapists did not permit their patients to meet. Suggesting two of them actually have sex relations was daring and unorthodox, to say the least. "I'm glad it worked out for you, Joel. Now you know you can attract a woman like that and keep her. What next?"
"That's the thing. I'd been dating this girl Sylvia on the side, and it was all casual stuff. I could tell she was beginning to get bored with me. There was never any question of sex. I'd kiss her a few times and that would be it. Well, last week, that all changed. I told her point blank that I wanted her. And by golly, Mr. Boland, she wanted to know what the hell I'd been waiting for. It's worked. It's really worked. Then I decided to take a gamble on my own. Wow, did the sight of Charlotte ever get Sylvia's back up. She insisted we be married right away. Later, when I told Charlotte, she cried and said she was happy for me and wished me luck. What a great woman."
Boland flipped his notebook on Steele closed. "I have a feeling, Joel, that I'm not going to be seeing a hell of a lot of you anymore. You don't need help any longer."
"Mr. Boland, you'll always have my gratitude, and if I ever run across some friend who's as screwed up as I used to be, I know where to send him."
Boland felt a surge of warmth and pride. This was the greatest reward of them all. More than anything else, this was the feeling of honesty and success.
He turned out the lights in his office and fired up his car, the new Jaguar Sedan Lilly had insisted on for him. If everything else was a sham, this feeling was real. He was taking chances, but by golly, they were working, and he had Ralph Hooten and Joel Steele, amongst others, to prove it.
But the drive into Beverly Hills, toward his home, gradually began to give him a grating feeling, robbing him gradually of the feeling of accomplishment. Home to Lilly. Home to one of her evenings planned down to the last minute. Fifteen minutes for a drink. Ten minutes for a shower, then half an hour for making love before they'd sit down to a dinner of salad and cold chicken before leaving for a concert at the Hollywood Bowl with the Merton's, socialite friends of Lilly's.
Boland shuddered at the thought, realizing the aspect of the schedule he dreaded the most was the half hour allotted for love making. What a farce it was, going through such motions. In a way, it was reminiscent of things he'd read about drug addicts. Lilly, with no sex to count on, was almost sure to have some sort of withdrawal pains.
He arrived home earlier than he'd expected, thinking with amusement that already Lilly's plans were foiled. She'd have to let him have two drinks? Or would she want to make love twice?
Her Sunbeam sports car was not in the drive. He was greeted at the door by Rose Keller, the maid. Removing his jacket, he sat in the den, flicking on the FM radio and pouring himself a drink, a good stiff one. Half way through it. he heard the whine of gears as Lilly down shifted on the Sunbeam and roared into the drive, sending her usual clatter of pebbles.
He heard the sharp clatter of her heels on the tile floor of the entrance and hallway. As she appeared in the den, he noted her tanned limbs, displayed in hauntingly beautiful contrast to a lime colored summer dress.
Suddenly, he was drawn to notice details. When he'd left the house this morning, she'd already had on the lime dress and was seated by her vanity, peeling stockings over her slender legs. Now, she wore no stockings.
Her hair, set only the day before and guarded jealously the previous night, had been pulled into a simple horse's tail, virtually ruining the elaborate setting.
Then he saw the expression in Lilly's eyes and knew ..hat had happened.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, "but everything should come off on schedule anyway; the Merton's will meet us at the Bowl, we won't have to pick them up." She kicked her pumps off, mustered a large smile for him and padded across the floor, making an exaggerated pantomime of describing how the cold of the tile floor felt on her bare feet. She sat on his lap and leaned to kiss him, her body warm, her hands bold and daring in their maneuvering. "There are some schedules I absolutely don't want to upset," she said, deftly probing his loin. "Just making sure, darling."
Boland took another pull on his drink and set it down on the end table, already shaky with the knowledge of the truth. "Who was it this time, Lilly?" he asked solemnly.
"Who was what, darling?"
"You were with a man today. You went to bed with him. I-I can tell."
Lilly's face tightened. "You're guessing, Ed. That's not very nice of you."
"I'm not guessing, Lilly. I know. I can tell."
"You think you're a mind reader, don't you? You get some of those patients of yours are" work out their problems the way they do on TV and all of a sudden, you're a mind reader, you know everything I do."
"Lilly, a lot of what I do with my patients is frankly intuition or guess work. I can't read anyone's mind and if I've had some successes, a lot of it is due to luck. But I know you were with a man today. Do you want to tell me who it was??"
She bounded from his lap and began searching nervously in her handbag for a cigarette. Finding one, her hands shook as she held the lighter to her lips.
As Boland watched her, numbed and tired, he wondered what it was this time, what price she was paying, what new consequences there was.
At length, Lilly let out a long plume of smoke. "All right," she said, "there was a man. At least, I suppose you can call him a man. He was only twenty years old."
"That says something," Boland said.
"Oh, stop it, Ed! I can tell the expressions you use when you don't know what to say next."
"I'm just trying to find out reasons, Lilly."
"Suppose there aren't any? Suppose it just happened?"
"But it didn't just happen, did it?"
"I went shopping with Agnes Milner, just as I'd planned. We were in Beverly Hills around lunch time and decided to eat at the hotel. The waiter showed us to a table by the poolside. After a few drinks, we ordered our lunch and Agnes left to make a phone call. Then I saw him, staring at me."
"Who?"
"The life guard. I knew he didn't mean to be rude, but I am an attractive woman. I even tried to hitch down my skirt and turn my collar so he wouldn't be looking at my legs."
"Obviously it didn't help."
"I tried, Ed, but he kept looking at me in that hungry way of his and it got me unsettled."
"Of course, you had to stay there, didn't you? You had to talk to him. You had to get him to tell you what he wanted?"
"I knew what he wanted. I knew from the beginning. Can't you just let it go at that?"
"Not when we're getting somewhere."
"Where are we getting, Ed ? I'll probably never see the boy again. It was just one of those things.
I'll try not to let it happen again."
Boland was on his feet, his hands gripping her by the shoulders. "Honey, you've got the wrong idea. This isn't a mistake like the time you took my shirts to the laundry and had them starched. This is a little more serious. This is called adultery ... cheating."
She suddenly went soft beside him. "Ed, please, if I tell you everything, will you help me?"
"What do you mean by help?"
The life flared into her eyes again. "You know damned well what I mean ... take me to bed. Make love to me. Make it all right again. Make it so I can always be just yours."
Boland followed her toward the flight of stairs leading to the bedrooms. He was particularly conscious of the liquid sway of her hips as she climbed the stairs. It was all part of a marvelous display she was putting on for his benefit. Or was it strictly and selfishly for her own?
"I'll listen to you, anyway," Boland said, thinking now that this time all he would do would be to listen. He felt it with a pang of sorrow, a moue of regret. It meant something in their attraction for each other had been lost.
But what the hell, how many hundreds and thousands of wives didn't cheat on their husbands, just because some young kid looked at them with desire ? There were text books and studies and case histories on that, too. And on his own, Boland had learned from experience, the guys most cynical about women cheating and being-promiscuous were of two distinct types: homosexuals and men who were pretty unsure of themselves. Two types who were hardly qualified for unbiased commentary. It was very much like having a Democratic guest of honor at a hundred-dollar-a-plate Republican dinner.
He watched Lilly's lush hips, moving enticingly as she gained the landing, then turned anxiously to see if she had his attention. She'd gone shopping and had been unable to resist a twenty year old life guard who stared at her legs.
As Boland followed her to listen to the rest of her story, a sudden shattering thought hit him that was much, much more damaging. It had his heart beating wildly. Why was it, he wondered, that Lilly was so easily discovered? He'd known instinctively each time she'd cheated on him. And there'd been times when she'd told him by mail. She didn't want to get away with it undetected. Part of the pattern definitely included his knowing. Why? What was it?
At the entrance to the bedroom, Lilly stopped and turned to embrace him. When he was able to avoid her, there was an unquestionable trace of letdown in her face. Why? What was it?
CHAPTER TEN
Charlotte Stowe sat in the comfortable Swedish modern chair facing Boland's desk, her neat legs crossed, her tasteful summer dress showing just enough of her knee that Boland could not say it was deliberate. She seemed somehow changed, softer, less bitchy, less nervous. He'd heard the bell in the outer office ring a full ten minutes before her appointment time and when he'd opened the door to his office for her, there had been no cigarette butts in the ashtray.
Even now, her hands were folded calmly in her lap, the only traces of movement being a gentle rise and fall of her breasts and a slight flexing of the ankle of her right foot. "All right, Mr. Boland," she said, "and who is to be my next case? The results were strictly positive with Joel, so I assume I've passed my test with flying colors."
"Who said there'd be another case?"
"A girl can hope, can't she?"
"What about your husband?"
"I got a nice long letter from him. He's still in Darkest Africa. He sent me a sort of carte blanche. You see, he's taken up with a Swedish girl working on the picture. She's a script girl. Married herself, and Stockholm is a long ways distant. So, we've become quite civilized about the whole thing. Besides, I liked that business with Joel. He was considerate and appreciative and I think I can see why you get such a kick out of helping people."
"Maybe you should be looking for someone to take your husband's place."
"Maybe I'm not ready to face that yet."
"I'm not running a dating bureau, Charlotte."
She gave him a bold challenging smile. "You said that; I didn't. I simply want to know who my next case is. It wouldn't by any chance be you, would it?"
"Absolutely not!"
Again, she smiled. "You're actually becoming defensive about it, Mr. Boland. Perhaps my time will come, after all."
"I think I've got something for you," he said, knowing his heart was beating wildly now at the thought of her. But it wouldn't do. He had to try making things work with Lilly. There was too much between them to abandon or allow to go fallow by forgetting. "A patient of mine is about forty. Essentially, he's a very creative person. The only problem is, his wife treats him like a slob. She has him convinced his taste in clothing is awful, his manners atrocious, his habits miserable. Amongst other things, she has the poor guy taking three showers a day and on the rare night when they make love, he has to go through a routine of bathing and lotions that would make you sick."
"Sounds like she's the one who should be seeing you, not him."
"Now what's this man's name and where am I going to meet him?"
This proposed an interesting problem for Boland, one he quickly resolved. "His name is Christopher Wonder and you'll meet him-you'll meet him-at my home."
"Your home?"
"Yes, I think it's high time all my patients met."
"I'm going to be sort of on my own with Mr. Wonder, aren't I?"
"It won't be as easy getting him to bed as it was with Joel Steele, but I think you'll enjoy the challenge."
"Also," she said archly, "I'll get a chance to meet my competition."
"Oh, you mean Alice, his wife?"
"No, Lilly, your wife."
It was, so far as Boland knew, a violation of protocol to have patients know each other. But on the other hand, he'd read with great enthusiasm the results of group therapy classes in local prisons, mental hospitals and in situations where patients could not afford the luxury of private therapy. Besides, many of his patients needed the assurance that they could handle themselves well in groups. Plus that, there was the fact that two of his patients were girls, both virgins at the age of twenty-six and seven respectively. Things had gone well enough with Joel Steele to give the open house a try.
To Boland's great surprise, Lilly was an eager helper, working with the maid on canapes, punches, dips and a buffet table. She was so helpful that Boland found himself being pleased with her and, the night before the open house, when they touched in bed, Boland found himself inflamed with a desire for her that surprised him. It happened quickly and compellingly.
"Do you really mean it, Ed?" she said.
And he reached for her breasts, feeling them warm and lively in his hands. Then came the tingling excitement and the hope that he could want her often enough to make a difference. Perhaps he was able to forget her unfaithfulness with the life guard, or the more recent one with a bartender. He believed he could help, that was the important thing. She lay waiting eagerly for him and when their bodies merged, he had the feeling of goodness and hope that they could solve their problems, that whatever it was that troubled Lilly, it would vanish and leave them with nothing but happiness, or at least problems that could be coped without in the open.
The difference this time, as all the times Boland felt this freedom with her, was her tenderness, her quality of giving to him, imparting love. However temporal a thing it was, they seized on it and merged with a slow, steady plunging of loins. When satisfaction came to them, they still clung together, regretting it had passed so quickly. Lilly fell asleep almost immediately, but Boland, for the first time in over two weeks, actually held her close to him, cradling her in his arms, trying to figure out what was wrong between them, why they could not always be like this, so close and meaningful to each other. Surely there was more to it than Lilly's inability to conceive a child. They hadn't really been trying that long. The doctor had told them he saw no problem. There was no reason why they couldn't have children. There was something more to it. Something Boland wanted over with and quickly.
It was not until late the next evening, when his patients, the guests, began to arrive, that he experienced another pang of understanding. It explained to him his sudden ardor and passion for Lilly.
He knew it the moment he saw Christopher and Alice Wonder appear. Christopher's scrubbed, oiled appearance reminded Boland of the surprise the nearly handsome man had in store for him. A ripe, sensual surprise in the person of Charlotte Stowe.
Charlotte arrived fifteen minutes later, dressed in a black silk dress modeled on the Oriental split skirt models of Hong Kong. Her neckline was a low, daring scoop, filled partially with an inset of antique green and white brocade. Although the gown was daring, there was no questioning its good taste, nor Charlotte Stowe's ability to bring off the long slashes in each side of the skirt, slashes that revealed her long, attractive legs.
At once, Boland experienced a gnawing jealousy and it surprised him. What was he doing, playing games like that with himself? He was jealous of what Christopher Wonder would be getting shortly. It was then he realized the significance of his passion for Lilly the previous night. Already, he saw Lilly hovering over Hermy Kilgallen, a muscular man in his thirties, afflicted with the male version of nymphomania. The man was closer to revealing homosexual feelings than he realized. Hermy Kilgallen was a big, handsome, attractive satyr and Lilly was virtually drinking it in.
Watching the two of them, Boland knew for certain the significance of his passion for her the night before. It was to keep him away from the thing he wanted most, the thing he dare not take-Charlotte Stowe.
The party progressed nicely and according to plan. At first, the patients milled about, somewhat defensively until the maid appeared with a large tray of drinks and a huge bowl of punch. FM music was piped into the den and the patio outdoors. The alcohol did its work and inside of an hour, there were little groups, gay chatter and occasional bursts of raucous laughter.
Lilly, whether intentionally or not, vied with Charlotte Stowe for attention as she moved about busily playing hostess. Boland noticed Hermy Kilgallen lick his lips and follow doggedly.
He tried to close his eyes to the inevitable, but later on toward sundown, when he entered a group where Hermy stood smoking and listening, he saw Kilgallen nervously stamp out his cigarette and move away. It didn't take much to figure that move. Odds were two to one Kilgallen would cancel his next appointment and he vague about making another. He'd pay his monthly bill and that would be the end of it, so far as Boland was concerned-and the beginning so far as Lilly was concerned.
At one point in the evening he even decided on a drastic technique. He pulled Lilly aside. "I just thought I'd give you a run down on that Kilgallen fellow. Might help you get a line on him. He's trying desperately to prove he's not a homosexual."
Lilly's brows arched.
"It's true. And how do men do that? They become sexual athletes. They become the epitome of masculinity. Next thing you know, Hermy will invite everyone over to his garage to see his hunting trophies. Hell of it is, he's a nice, steady guy."
But Boland realized almost immediately his strategy was going to backfire. Several times he saw Lilly paying close attention to Hermy Kilgallen, and he knew, beyond any doubt that they would meet, more likely than not in Kilgallen's garage, where he kept his hunting trophies. There, on a large zebra skin couch Kilgallen had spoken of so many times to Boland, Lilly would disrobe and contrast the bronzed hue of her body, moving eagerly to accept a man no less eager than she.
Boland tried to close the sight out of his mind, but it persisted painfully.
"It's going like a charm, lover," Charlotte Stowe said, moving up quietly next to him. "The natives are really getting restless."
Boland felt wave after wave of desire sweep over him. It was difficult to imagine a woman could be any more sensual, as she would be with no clothing on. "What's happened so far?"
"Well, I threw a good scare into her right off the bat."
Boland scanned the room for Alice Wonder and saw her, nervously participating in a conversation with an engineer, a patient of Boland's who was merely taking a comprehensive battery of personality and vocational tests.
"Not her, lover," Charlotte said cattily. "I meant your wife."
He spun on her. "Listen, you've got to cut this out, Charlotte. Otherwise, everything's off and you're on your own."
"Think twice before you make threats. Then I'll have all that extra time-and energy to concentrate on you."
In spite of his agony at the realization that he and Lilly were being driven apart by something he absolutely could not understand, he had to marvel at the way Charlotte attacked the problem of Chris and Alice Wonder.
Very deftly, she cornered Chris and asked him to help her load her plate from the buffet. "It all looks so good," she said, "but this is the time for a man's judgment."
Alice, watching to make sure her husband's manners were proper, volunteered a suggestion as Christopher Wonder nervously took up a spoon of potato salad. "Not that, silly, it's fattening." Charlotte smiled at Alice-her best catty smile. "Not for all of us, dear," she said. "Thanks, I will have the potato salad. It's so nice to have a man doing the choosing."
When Chris Wonder handed Charlotte a filled plate, she smiled at Alice. "Quite a man you've got there. I hope you take good care of him. They're terribly scarce, you know."
"He-he's a good provider," Alice said grudgingly.
"I shouldn't wonder," Charlotte continued. "He's the rugged male type. Always difficult to keep them down. Chris, I'll bet you like to putter around in your work ship, don't you?"
"I don't have a workshop," he said wistfully. "I keep a little drawer of tools in the kitchen."
Alice could not believe her ears. She did not want to believe the possibility of double entendre in any of Charlotte's flattery, but as Charlotte pressed on, Alice became defensive, then protective.
Boland, staying close at hand to hear the progress and, he admitted ruefully, to keep his own jealousy down to a minimum, was delighted at the results. Alice tried several methods of discrediting Charlotte. But Alice, a very status-conscious woman, quickly became convinced that Charlotte had social standing and was thus to be admired and envied. It was Charlotte's final gambit that nearly caused Boland to laugh aloud.
"I must have you to dinner next week when I entertain," she said, directing her attention squarely at Chris. "It's Thursday. I'm having a few attorneys and people in politics. You'll be the perfect compliment to them and it will mean so much, having an active male about, now that my husband's in Africa. You'll be doing me a great favor, Chris. And of course, you must bring your little wife along with you."
Chris Wonder's face was radiant as he accepted.
Boland handed Charlotte a glass of champagne and whispered into her ear. "You were marvelous, but you didn't have to go as far as that dinner business, Charlotte. Thanks. Unh, from the looks of things, I'll bet we can count a success already."
Charlotte faced him boldly, her eyes blazing with amusement. "I take it that means you don't want me to go to bed with him."
"Do you think it will be necessary?"
"For me, something is necessary. Something nice. And he is nice. I think a scare like that would really do old Alice in."
"From the looks of things, everything's fine."
Charlotte smiled at him. "Ed, you really don't want me to follow through. You're jealous. Admit it, Ed. It's the truth."
"You're imagining things."
"I certainly am, Ed. I'm imagining what you'd be like, the same way you've probably imagined about me. You're the therapist, all right, and I'll give you your due. But don't forget women have hidden antennas. Especially hot pants bitches like me."
"You're not a hot pants bitch. You happen to be in your sexual prime and need a man."
"Do I hear any offers?"
"You're being absurd."
"I'll tell you what, Ed. Tomorrow's Saturday. Can you get out of the house for the afternoon?"
"I don't think so. Lilly has something planned."
"Nevertheless, I'll keep the hours from three until eight opened. Meet me somewhere. Have a few drinks with me. Take me for a walk along the beach. If I can't get you to take me to bed by eight, I promise I'll leave you alone and consider my lesson learned. That's fair enough isn't it?"
"I told you so, I think Lilly has something planned."
"You know the number, Ed, and I'll be there waiting. Frankly, I think it's a good offer." She spun away from him and moved across the floor, an attention-commanding vision of sensual loveliness. Her immediate target was Christopher Wonder. Within another five minutes, Boland could see the transformation come over his patient. He was convinced now that Charlotte was really being sincere in her enthusiasm for him. For the first time Boland could remember, he saw an aggressive look of sexual expectation in the meek man's face.
By ten, the party was in full swing and Boland was shocked when he realized how very quickly his prediction about Lilly had come to fruition. From his vantage point where he talked to the two girls, still virgins, and three other men, he saw Hermy Kilgallen exchange a meaningful glance with Lilly, then hitch at his tie and start across the room.
"Great party, Ed, but I'm going to have to be shoving off. Leaving for the desert to do some hunting tomorrow and I want to get an early start." He shook Boland's hand a bit too enthusiastically and failed to look him in the face as he made for the door. There was another brief exchange, a glance at Lilly, then he was gone out the front door.
Boland felt his insides begin to gnaw. Protectively, he made his way to Lilly, engaging her in conversation. It was a kind of desperate idleness, lasting well over fifteen minutes. When he saw Lilly steal a covert glance at her watch, he knew beyond a doubt that she'd made some plan to see Hermy later that night.
Desperate, he wanted to give her every chance, to do everything he could think of to make things work. If he could only understand-Casually, he slid his arm about her shoulders. "You've been doing great as a hostess. I'm proud of you."
Lilly nodded abstractedly.
"And you look so damned sexy in that gown."
"Charlotte's is nicer."
"More formal. I like yours. You get me when you wear stripes like that. Look, how's about a date for later? Upstairs. Last night was so great, how about a repeat performance?"
She was still distant and abstract. "I don't know, Ed. Let's wait and see."
"Honey, I just want to make sure, that's all. When we've got something good going, let's try to hang onto it."
Irritably, Lilly moved away from him. "I said I'd see," she virtually spat at him. "Now you've still got guests here. Let's take care of them."
Fifteen minutes later, while Boland was buttonholed by one of the virgins, he noticed Lilly move stealthily back toward the kitchen door, and he knew something had begun he could no longer stop. Slowly and by small degrees, his marriage was eroding and he, the marriage counselor, was unable to do anything to stop it.
He took a glass of champagne and downed it, then excused himself from the group. He walked through the kitchen and out onto the path that led toward the small dressing room in back of the swimming pool. From the other side of the yard, he heard the music from the FM radio, being piped out to a few dancing couples.
Pausing to remove his shoes, Boland moved along the path to the rear of the small dressing shack. A small light burned and as he moved closer, he heard muffled voices. There was no doubt in his mind to whom they belonged, his wife and Hermy Kilgallen.
It was weird, crazy and compulsive, but he knew he must do nothing to stop this. This one time was inconsequential. One more blow to his ego, one more pang of grief. But perhaps if he listened closely, he could hear something that would give him a clue, something that would help him save the tattered remains of his marriage. Or was it worth saving?
The sounds from the shed became distinct as he moved close to the small vent. "Wow, what a body you've got," Hermy Kilgallen said.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Lilly hissed. "You've been looking at me all evening. Get on with it, will you. I can't stand it any more. Get on with it?"
"Wow, no wonder Ed can be so sure of himself, knowing he's got something like you. Talk about a lucky guy?"
"Did you come here to talk about Ed or make love to me?"
"You know why I'm here."
"Then get on with it."
"There, what do you call this?"
"Oh, oh yes, that's more like it. Over here now. Come lay down beside me. Oh, yes. Let me hold you. Oh, my, that's wonderful. Be careful. Now! Now! Yes, yes, that's it."
"Oh, man, what a body."
Then there was a series of grunts, low moanings from Lilly that Boland knew so well. The creaky springs in the old sofa began to clatter and Lilly's moaning took on a savage, rhythmic cadence.
Abruptly, Lilly cried out, long and loudly.
"I'm sorry," Hermy said. "It isn't usually that quick. I was too excited."
"It doesn't matter."
"Was it all right for you?"
"Of course it was."
"But it happened so fast."
"It happened," Lilly whispered. "That's all that matters, isn't it?"
"Listen, we've got to do this again."
"We'll have to hurry. I can't stay away too lone."
"You mean now? Oh, Baby, that's more than I bargained for. I was thinking about tomorrow-and other times."
"Yes, there'll be other times. Can you do any thing now?"
"Not just yet. We just finished. Give me a chance."
"Here, let me help you."
"Hey. Hey, you really like your loving, don't you ? Hey, you really know all the tricks. No wonder Boland's so calm and sure all the time. And I'll bet he doesn't miss a thing, does he? You've got a lot going, Lilly. Enough for two, easy."
"Yes," Lilly said, "enough for two, easy." Here now, you're ready. Come closer. Over here. No, not like that. This way. Do it this way. Yes! Oh, yes, that's right."
Boland turned away at the sound of the groaning and the springs buckling and moaning again. It was too much. No matter what he'd been listening for, he'd heard too much-and the answers were too few.
It wasn't love Lilly was after. It was something else. Something he couldn't handle by himself. Something he wondered if anyone could handle. He wandered back to the kitchen in a daze, found his shoes and slipped into them. Inside, he headed for the bar and poured himself a stiff drink.
Charlotte Stowe was at his elbow. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Is there something wrong? Is there something I can do?"
"No!" he said, nearly shouting it. "There's nothing you can do."
Charlotte smiled at him. It was a maddening smile, filled with a confidence that disturbed him. "Mind you, Ed, I'm not making any guesses about what's disturbing you, but there's one thing I will predict. You'll call me tomorrow afternoon.
I'd stake my life on it now." She patted him affectionately on the cheek and, once again, moved away from him with a sensual flounce of her skirt. Boland found himself staring at the haunting momentary vision of her fine long legs, surprised that the thought of them seemed to blot out all his grief and misery.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was nearly two-thirty before Boland got to bed. The last of the guests left at about one thirty and he spent most of the remaining time emptying great mounds of ashes and cigarette corpses from trays, replacing dips and platters of cold-cuts in the refrigerator and carrying trays of glasses into the sink.
Almost wordlessly, Lilly helped him. Her shoes kicked off into a corner, she padded about barefooted, looking for all the world like a dutiful wife.
At one point, she stopped her own cleaning and made sandwiches. She poured two glasses of milk. "Here," she said. "Have a snack. You've done enough for one evening. I'll get the rest of this tomorrow."
Boland bit half-heartedly into the sandwich and took a sip of the milk, wondering what her next gambit would be.
"Nice people, your patients. They all think highly of you, Ed. I'm pleased for you."
"There's some satisfaction in doing a good job and making people happy."
"And you don't just tell them what they want to hear, do you? I mean, sometimes doctors give patients what they call placebos, pills that are just so much sugar."
"So far as I know, Lilly, no sugar coated pills,"
"You take it all pretty seriously, don't you?"
"I have to, if I'm to help."
"And you do want to help?"
"Very much. It means more to me now than teaching used to. Funny how that's worked out."
"Ed, will you help me?"
A flicker of hope rose in him. "I'd love to. How?"
"What you said before. I want to. I want to go upstairs now and make love. Slowly, Ed, tenderly, Let's take a long, long time with it. You have no idea how much that would help me now, Ed, You have no idea."
He watched her blankly for a moment. "I believe I do," he said. For a long while, he believed he could do it, actually go through with the act of love. Watching her move up the steps, shoes in hand, he felt a wave of tenderness for the way she let her shoulders slump forward, tired and weighted by her problems. There was even a bit of girlish romanticism in the way she stopped when she gained the head of the stairs and turned to extend her hand to him. Movements like this, gestures like this, expressions like the one on her face could bridge a great deal of unpleasantness.
Moving next to her and sliding his arm about her waist, Boland hugged her to him tightly, thinking how strange it was he could be feeling this way about her, sentimental and tender, when, scant hours before, he'd heard her aggressively using Hermy Kilgallen to make love to her twice, even though he'd tried to prevent it. Should he have been more direct then? He doubted it. But it was strange how things worked. Now, she leaned her head on his shoulder as they neared the bedroom. Pain, no matter how recent, could be erased with a few moments of tenderness,, a few simple gestures.
They paused in the doorway to the bedroom for a slow, lingering kiss. Boland quickly forgot about Hermy Kilgallen as he tasted her lips. He quickly forgot his fear that she was, somehow insatiable. None of that seemed to matter. His hands reached for her breasts. She murmured softly against his ear. Her hips moved subtly against him, making him acutely aware of how willing he was to comply with her wishes, how completely eager he was to give comfort and assurance to her again, to try once more to rebuild shaken faith from the ashes of infidelity.
She pulled her face from his and gave a childish snicker. "I-I nearly forgot," she said. "There was something I wanted to tell you-before we got carried too far away and maybe one of us fell asleep."
"Can't it wait?"
"Well, it's about tomorrow, Ed. I know we'd sort of planned things for later on in the afternoon. But something's come up and-well, I won't be able to make it. You can find something to do, can't you?"
Boland dropped her hand. "Yes, I can find something to do, you don't have to worry about it."
"This is going to be one of the shortest seductions on record," Charlotte Stowe said, handing Boland a tall glass filled with crushed ice, dark Puerto Rican rum, chunks of lime, pineapple and cherry.
They sat in the shade of her patio, Boland semi-reclining on a lounge, Charlotte Stowe perched next to him. He watched her in disbelief. Her "seduction" costume was a heavy cotton shift, with really no shape to it. Spaghetti strings tied it about her bare shoulders and it simply hung, tent-like to a point about two inches below her knees. A matching ribbon of brown, red and yellow stripes was tied about her freshly brushed hair. On her feet were the simplest of sandals. She noticed his scrutiny. "Oh, I suppose I'd have gotten furiously angry and dressed up for the kill if you'd offered to meet me anywhere else. But I do this with good reason, Mr. Boland, sir. I want to give you every chance in the world to back out. I know how much that means to you. Besides, if you like, later, I'll dress up for you."
Boland took another sip of his drink and noticed how honest she was being. The only makeup she wore was a light coating of a neutral shade of lipstick. Across her bared shoulders, he could see a few patches of freckles. Her finger and toe nails were free of polish. Boland imagined she looked very much like this when she awakened in the mornings. "Except," she said, "that I'm a terrible grouch until I've had a cup of coffee."
Boland's eyes darted around the yard and off to the side, toward the kitchen.
"Oh ho," Charlotte said, "I'm about to be taken violently. Goodie for me. No, darling, you don't have to worry. I sent the maid out with the kidlets over an hour ago. They're at a kiddie matinee movie that has to go on for hours. I was even thinking of starting a slow leak in the station wagon tires, just for extra margin. But don't worry, we've got time." Boland reached for her, touching her shoulders and drawing her gently toward him. The moment their lips met, he increased his pressure on her shoulders, drawing her suddenly and firmly against him.
"Oh, my," Charlotte said, "Mr. Boland, sir, is really after my body at last."
"More than that," Boland said, his hands moving to her breasts and beginning to knead slowly.
Charlotte swung her legs up onto the lounge and lay next to him, her arms moving about him, her body insinuating itself firmly against him so that now there was almost complete contact between them. "Surely you can't be after me for my money, Ed. There simply isn't that much."
"Don't joke," he said. "I'm not."
"Poor thing, I'm sorry. I'm teasing and you mean business. It's okay, Ed, we'll do it your way."
At the moment, his way was to meet her lips in a long, lingering kiss. There was more to discover about her. Her kiss was a curious mixture of sensuality and reassurance. Unlike most women, she kept her lips firm and knew how to respond with light nipping movements. She brought her tongue expertly into play, adding a note of further excitement.
Boland reached for the knots holding the spaghetti straps together over her shoulders. As they parted, he moved the shift down over her shoulders, marveling at the firm, tawny skin and the sudden, stark beauty of her breasts.
"Not bad for an old bag, am I ?" she said.
"Bad? Bad, hell," Boland said, moving his face eagerly forward to kiss and nuzzle.
Charlotte caressed him, her fingers playing lightly over the lobes of his ears, her legs intertwining with his as he kissed and fondled, gradually peeling the shift further down. At length, she laughed. "You know, there's an easier way to get out of these things, an amazingly simple way." She swung off the lounge and bounded to her feet. The shift fell over her ample, well rounded hips and lay at her ankles in a heap. With two steps she was out of them, smiling again. "Might as well go whole hog," she said, stepping out of her sandals. Then she sat next to him, but not for long. Boland felt his desire throbbing wildly within him. He wanted her, and it was a desperate desire. Eagerly, he pulled her to him again, glad that she began unbuttoned his sport shirt and adding some assistance of her own.
"By the way," she said, "just to set your mind free for being completely seduced and carried away, today's modern woman comes completely prepared and protected. An amazingly efficient device. You need have no fears of any sort. Protection is assured."
Boland kissed her passionately, hungrily probing her mouth with his tongue. He knew she was excited. He could feel it in the firmness of her bosoms, in the tenseness of her aureoles, in the insistent thrust of her hips against him, in the sensual roll of her loins. But in spite of this, there was yet another element. Charlotte Stowe was not completely given over to passion, not yet. Oh, he knew there was no problem. Surely there was no question of her being willing and ready. That wasn't the point.
The point was that Charlotte was amused. This was more than a satisfaction of a need to her. As fully aware as he was with her desire for sex, and knowing it had been over a week since her last affair with Joel Steele, Boland knew she was not driven by her hunger or consumed with the desperate anxiety he associated with Lilly.
The element, pure and simple, was fun and amusement.
As soon as Boland fitted his body to her, she placed her hands at his shoulders, her face taking on a gentle quality that gave her even more beauty and overt femininity than he'd associated with her before.
"You're sure you want to go through with this, Baby?"
Boland nodded vigorously. "You were right. I've been more than attracted to you; I've wanted you for some time."
"Now you've got me, Baby, and there's no hurry. You know that, don't you?"
"Nevertheless, I'm jealous."
"Jealous? Baby, I've propositioned you. I've invited you here on a bet that I could get you into bed. Okay, so we aren't in bed, we're on a garden lounge, but is there any doubt in mind or body where you are and what happens next?"
"I'm jealous of my own conniving," he said. "I'm jealous of Joel Steele."
"But that's all past, Baby."
"I'm jealous of your husband, too. Is that all past?"
Charlotte Stowe's hands moved from his shoulders to his face, forming a gentle, cool frame. "I don't know, Baby. I really don't. I think that's also strictly up to you."
Boland let himself relax for a moment, luxuriating in the closeness of Charlotte's body. Then all the pent up confusion and hurt and emotion came pouring forth. He moved, slowly at first, then with a definite purpose.
The purpose quickly became hers. Her hands played over him, her naked body arched to meet him, to provide acuteness and awareness. He was aware of how very much this woman had to give and how much of it he wanted to take.
Very definitely, he felt her participate with him, that same aspect of good humor, of warmth and enjoyment still there. In a way, he thought now he could understand some of the forces that drove Lilly to seek other men. In a way, she was desperately reaching for this very thing he was achieving now, a new, relaxed awareness. It was a freshness that promised never to grow stale. It was a vast, deep potential.
Watching Charlotte's face, Boland was aware of how selfish and withdrawn he'd been. Concentrating on her, he moved even closer, thrusting against her.
"Whoa, Baby," she said, her breath coming in quick spurts. "You don't have to prove anything now. You're here already, remember?"
Boland felt himself relax and with that Charlotte Stowe closed her eyes and eased her movements. Then a great, intense release came over her, and he saw how it took in her entire body. He felt comforted, covered by a large, homey quilt. He felt at peace. Then he felt the satisfaction swarming through him.
They lay together for nearly an hour without a word. Boland was lazily aware of a few flies swarming about the patio, the occasional sound of a jet overhear, a random traffic noise, a sound from beyond the shrubbery at the house next door. But most important, he was aware of the curves and planes, the nuances of Charlotte's attractive nudity, and the joyful completion to the picture, himself next to her, legs entwined, hands resting on one another. He noticed more inconsequential things. Or were they really important? Nearly an hour. Yet Charlotte had not reached for a cigarette. So much to say, yet not a word had been spoken. So much to be appreciated, yet no ideas broached.
Finally, he realized what the chances with Lilly were. Nil. A big zero. Build something on a shaky foundation and what did you have? A big fat zero.
At length, he moved, propping himself up on an elbow and surveying the full sweep of her hips. Gently, he touched his lips to her bare shoulders.
She hummed sensually and shifted to take him in her arms. His face seemed to fall naturally against the cleft between her breasts. He became aware of the intimate pulsing of her heart, of the warmth of her body, of her unique musky odor. The tips of her fingers played relaxation into the tensed muscles of his neck and shoulders. His lips moved for the tips of her breasts and he became aware of a general stirring in her.
The sun cast long shadows, the late afternoon became a timeless period of laziness and slowly aroused sensuality. His hands trailed over her hips and he felt them begin to twitch from the sudden acuteness of sensation. Then he cupped the firmness of her buttocks and she shifted closer to him, deciding he was aroused. The touch of her hand was a tingling delight of sensation with no urgency to it. Gradually, they shifted closer together and he moved slowly between her legs. Their bodies were joined again and still there were no distinct motions, only tentative beginnings.
"You're a great woman, Charlotte," he said, breaking the long silence.
"I was hoping you'd see it along those lines," she said. "It's damned good to be important to someone." She caused a motion that triggered Boland. He began moving aggressively now and their bodies accustomed themselves to the sensual pitch and dip, building up tempo and intensely until once again, release came flooding over both of them.
This time, when it was over, Boland lit a cigarette, took a few puffs and handed it to her. An idea formed. Something had to be done about them, about Lilly. Chances had to be taken. He had to make a choice between devoting energy to patching things up with Lilly or causing Charlotte Stowe to become his. There were consequences all along the way.
"Charlotte," he said, sitting, "you've got to quit being my patient."
He was gratified to note the look of uncertainty in her eyes. "What does that leave us, Mr. Boland, sir?" , "You're going to take a new role in my life."
"Your mistress?"
"That's giving it a blunt enough name."
"Okay, Lover, but being a rather funny kind of broad, I've got to know what's in it for me. Is this all for jollies, Ed?"
He shook his head. "More. Much more."
"You, for instance?"
"That's about the answer."
"Well, Baby, talk about making progress. I've not only managed to get you to bed, I've managed to get you to care. Am I rebound material?"
"I'm desperately hoping the answer to that is no. Now listen to me, you've got to help."
"I'm all ears," she said, snuggling closer to him, "although I'd rather be all something else, considering the dandy way we get along in the love-making department."
"Help me get some patients."
"What's that?"
"You travel in rather well-heeled circles. There must be a few raging neurotics."
"Baby, this isn't an act, is it? I've heard all sorts of stories in my life, but I've never been pitched by a man and made love to for the neurotic people I can send to him."
"Charlotte, I swear that isn't it. It's-well, we're going to have to make a little hay."
Charlotte, now on her knees, hugged him with great enthusiasm. "If you aren't the cagey one. You're already trying to figure out the cost of community property laws in this state, aren't you, Baby?"
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was crazy, it was madness, but Boland believed he was still bound to try discovering what was wrong between him and Lilly, and each time he asked, it seemed only to drive her further and further away.
"I always come back to you, don't I?" she said. "Isn't that what matters? It would be different, I suppose, if I stayed away."
"That's hardly the point to marriage, Lilly."
"All right, Mr. Beverly Hills Marriage Counsellor, what is the point to marriage, if you're so smart?"
"Trust, for one thing."
"And you can't trust me?"
"That's a silly question. I can mention names. Hermy Kilgallen. Nick Sheets. Lou Elsinore. Johnny Wozziakia."
"I can mention names with you, too, Ed. Those two girls of yours, those previous virgin patients. I happen to know they aren't virgins any more."
"I never laid a hand on either of them. You happen to be right, they aren't virgins. But then, they didn't want to be, not any more."
Lilly laughed. "If you didn't help them out, I'll bet you did the next best thing for them."
Angrily, Boland demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"There's a word for it," Lilly said. "Pimp."
"That's nonsense. You're confusing basic facts of life. Girls who are virgins want to find men."
"And you encourage them, Ed. That's wrong, all wrong. And what about that woman, that Charlotte Stowe. Can you deny being intimate with her?"
"I'll do more than that, Lilly. I'll be honest with you and tell you the truth. Yes, I'm having an affair with her, and I guess the main reason is because I can feel our marriage breaking up."
"We're still good in bed, Ed. You've got to admit that. I see you trying to avoid me. I see you being the noble one and not wanting to touch me after you've spent the afternoon with your precious Charlotte, but you can't help yourself, can you? I still attract you, Ed, and you know it."
"Look, Lilly, what's the good of all this shouting. I'm trying to help us save the pieces."
"Is that how you help, with her?"
"Dammit, a man needs something."
"You get plenty from me, Ed. I've given you a lot, a great deal. If it weren't for me, you'd still be teaching junior high school science in a drinkwater school fifty miles from oblivion. Oh, I've got to take that back, with all your studying and correspondence courses, they'd promote you. You'd be able to lead the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag at assemblies and give that famous Hurley traditional lecture to the ninth graders. Oh, I can just see it now, Ed Boland telling the boys and girls about the Poppa hamster and the Momma hamster and now, almost before your very eyes, boys and girls, they're going to make little hamsters for you."
"Cut it out, Lilly. I've kept up with reading and all the latest theories and you know it. I've done a conscientious job."
"Except you don't really know what you're doing. I've seen you in your study nights, thumbing through all the text books, looking desperately for some clue."
"Lilly," Boland said calmly, "lawyers do the same thing. They interview clients and take careful notes. Then they research and look up previous cases and precedent setting rulings. There are books compiled from all over the country, giving the latest decisions on all the court cases. It's physically impossible for a lawyer, no matter how brilliant, to know everything there is to know about people, he'd either be r. liar or a damned fool. It's simply not possible."
Lilly flounced about the room angrily. "I have to laugh at you, Ed. You've known me intimately for a long time now and you keep kidding yourself by thinking you're going to help me. It's as obvious as the nose on your face, only you're too damned silly to see it. All I need is comfort and assurance."
"I give you that."
She laughed. "Did you give me that with Hermy? Did you give me that with Lou Elsinore? You treated me like some kind of a pariah. I had to wai; for weeks before you'd make love to me, then I had to do the seducing. Even then, I needed help. You had a few drinks before you were even receptive to me."
"I'm supposed to just sit around, making money and letting you go off anytime or anywhere you want and be nice to you when you come home from another man?"
"Maybe if you were understanding enough, I wouldn't have to go off with other men. You think I like it?"
"That doesn't stop you from doing it?"
"There are some alcoholics, Ed, who don't like to take that first drink, either."
"You won't even let me help. That time with Hermy-I tried. I did everything I could except carry you up to your room and lock you in."
She smiled ruefully. "That might not have been a bad idea, Ed."
"You just want to be treated like a kid, is that it?"
"Sometimes. Why not? Is there something wrong with kids?"
"Not a damn thing, Lilly, but you're supposed to be grown up." He stormed away from her, fists clenched and filled with a mixture of anger and frustration. Where did it lead? Any time he could get Lilly to talk, it always went around in the same circle. It was futile, hopeless. And yet as he watched her, sitting on the edge of the high backed chair, her shoulders shaking with the effort of her silent crying, he couldn't help feel a pang of something for her.
Was it possible that once you loved a person, you could never get them out from under your skin? Was the thought of Charlotte just a crazy, impossible dream? Face it, he told himself, you're stuck. It isn't really a bad situation. You've got a good life going for you. And if there's a little pain, so what? What about the patient of his, a victim of painful arthritis attacks, who's most vicious complaint in the world is his difficulty in getting his favored camellias to grow? That was the mark of adulthood and maturity, being able to take your lot in life without crying about it. So he had a wife who liked to sleep around. So what? At least she was right; she always came back home.
He moved over to Lilly and put his hand on her shoulder. She tried to get a grip on herself, but her eyes were still moist. "Ed," she said, "I want you to know something. Whenever there's another man, I take precautions. I-sometimes I like to pretend I don't. I guess that makes it more exciting. But I want you to know this. I'm emotionally incapable of going with another man if I don't take precautions."
"Why tell me this?"
"I want you to be sure. I want you to be positive that any child I have is yours. That's something you'll never have to worry about, Ed. I promise you."
"Okay, Lilly."
"It's-the time is right for me if you'd like to try again. When you stop to think about it, we couldn't possibly want for a better day."
"Okay," he said, following her up the stairs. After all, there was nothing more he could really lose, and everything in the world to be gained.
But two weeks later, there was another sort of proof; one that made it obvious Lilly was not, again, pregnant. She kissed him ruefully on the top of the head. "When I tell you I'm going out to a movie with the girls tonight, I guess you can believe me now, can't you?"
Boland smiled nervously at her. Tonight, it was his turn to play the game. Tonight he was going to see Charlotte after an eight o'clock appointment with a new patient she'd recommended to him.
The new patient was Anabelle Riordan, a thin, reedy woman with a plump face and incongruously plump stomach. She was well into her thirties, obviously wealthy and disguised rather plain looks with a sun tan and well tailored clothes.
"Okay," Boland said, perched on the edge of his desk, "what's your problem?"
She showed him a set of very large, white teeth in a smile that was nearly a leer. "My problem, dear boy, is that Charlotte saw you first."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just what it says. You're quite handsome ... in an attractive sort of way."
Boland smiled and lit a cigarette. "Mrs. Riordan, we can work either of two ways. We can let you waste your money by coming here once a week and letting me try to pry things out of you, or we can get right to work and tell me some of the things on your mind. They don't have to be related. Let me worry about that."
"I like the second approach," she said, settling in her chair. "In fact, I like your approach. I'm sure we'll get on well together. Now, about what's on my mind. Sorry to disappoint you, but it's related. First, it's men, second, it's sex."
"What about them, Mrs. Riordan?"
She made a humorous shrug. "There aren't enough of either in my life. And since Terry left, like has been a hell."
"Terry? Your husband?"
The woman guffawed lustily and Boland felt himself beginning to like her. "My husband! Good heavens, no. My husband couldn't satisfy a ... a ... well, he couldn't satisfy me, and I think he's given up trying. Oh, once in a while, we'll meet each other in the hallway and admit we're bored tearless and agree to have a go at things for old time's sake, but-"
"You make it sound as though you and your husband are old and decrepit."
"Don't I, though? The truth is, he's the only one who's decrepit. I'd enjoy things more if he had something on the side. But he's really not much interested. His great passions now are golf and stamps. You see, he was quite a bit older that I when we married. Twenty years, in fact."
"That doesn't have to matter. Have you tried, er, arousing his interest in you?"
"Tried? Darling, I've even brought him one of those gadgets to make things easier for him. The fact of the matter is, he's more interested in his golf and stamp collections."
"I still think you're missing a bet. If he's twenty years older than you, he could hardly be too much more than sixty."
"You're terribly frank, young man, and I think it's awful. But forget this business about my enticing him. That's like entering a Model T in the Indianapolis Five Hundred Miler."
"You have a good opinion of yourself," Boland said, amused.
"Young man, so do a lot of people."
"Let's get down to cases. Why are you here?"
"To find eligible young men, handsome young men. Attractive young men. Virile young men. Men like yourself."
"What makes you think I'm any of these?"
"Honey, you can't fool an old bed hound like me. I know. I can tell."
Boland shifted his position to his swivel chair. "You make this sound as though I ran a dating bureau."
"Honey, I went to real doctors, psychiatrists. They say the same thing all of them. They say I'm too young yet to give up sex. One of them tells me to sublimate my desires and get active in charity work. Another tells me to see if I can find a man a few years older than me and go to plays and shows with him and maybe even baseball games. Sublimate, sublimate. Sublimate, hell! I don't want to go to a baseball game, I want to go to bed."
"Okay, let's get back to your husband."
"Baby, my husband is strictly nothingsville. Oh, I'll admit he likes to see me dressed up nicely and occasionally he'll get a peek at me in the nude and sort of cluck his tongue and think back to the good days ... but Honey, it's like trying to bake bread without yeast; it just won't rise.
"If you were to meet another man you cared for, would you consider marriage?"
"I don't know, Mr. Boland. In a way, I still love the old goat. Say, you aren't some religious quack, are you? I mean, you believe in divorce and sex and all that."
"When necessary, yes." In spite of his attempts to remain neutral, Boland was beginning to feel ashamed. Anabelle Riordan was a hell of a woman. Attractive, frank and interesting. Perhaps after she held out on the subject of sex long enough, she'd reveal other interests. At any rate, she appeared bright and interesting. "I think I can help you."
"You know some nice young men?"
"I do, but I'm not going to introduce them to you. We'll talk about it some more and if you still decide you want to go out picking up men, we'll proceed from there."
She eyed him suspiciously. "You don't think I ought to sublimate, do you?"
"Not unless you feel like it."
"I guess you know my answer to that one."
After she left, Boland thumbed through a few books, thinking he recalled cases similar to hers. One thing was surely pointed out to him, she had an enviable attitude toward sex ... at least one on the surface. It was what he found beneath the surface that would lead to some progress.
A vagrant thought of Lilly brought him up short. Was he really kidding anyone? Why not be honest? She was shopping around for something. Could he be the one to give it to her? Anabelle Riordan wanted someone, be he psychiatrist, therapist or counselor to tell her it was all right to have sex. Certainly he'd have to agree that it was all right. There were all sorts of precedents for that. There were even his own deep convictions on the matter. But was he taking her money to tell her just what she wanted to hear? Was he doing enough?
It was difficult to spin around in his chair and look at that framed diploma from Parsons School. It reflected light back at him, reminding him of a conscience. Was he doing enough?
He was fifteen minutes late for his date with Charlotte Stowe. As usual, she was ready and waiting for him, cool and poised. She wore bright red lounging pajamas that set off her dark features with a particularly haunting brilliance. A tall Scotch and water was waiting for him on the coffee table. "The kidlets are safely bedded down," she said, "so you can ravish me on the spot if you're of a mind. But I wouldn't recommend it. The maid's still puttering around. It might give her the wrong idea. And you know servants; they are impressionable."
Even the briefest of kisses with her was tingling and exciting. "Look," he said, "how well could you do without servants?"
"Baby, I've only had them for about six years. Before I married Craig Stowe, I sold lingerie at Magnin's. About twice a month, I'd land some extra week-end job typing, which is how I met Craig. The rest of the time was spent scrubbing floors of a little apartment over on Melrose and ironing frilly blouses and taking care of clothing that would make me look like a sweet little lingerie salesgirl. What makes you ask? You thinking of taking me away from all this luxury and putting me to work again?"
"Sometimes I get the feeling I'd like to chuck everything and go back to teaching."
"Ed, if that's an offer, I'm game."
"Just a crummy science teacher, that's all."
"Whoops! Careful there, Charlotte," she said to herself in a loud stage whisper. "When the man starts ignoring your propositions, you're in big trouble."
Boland's jaw sagged. He reached for her. "Charlie, I'm sorry. I was preoccupied with my own mess. That woman you recommended, Annabel Riordan. She's a great gal, but too much like a lot of my patients. Just a while ago, Lilly made a crack that got to me. About my dishing out sugarcoated pills and playing young Sigmund Freud at work."
"Ed, Baby, if you moved your office to an area where there was little or no jobs, you wouldn't have patients, or if you did, they'd all want to know how to stop making babies. It isn't wrong to make a lot of money. You don't charge all your patients the same."
"Right, and if I charged Anabelle Riordan five dollars an hour, I'd never see her again. She wants to pay more, just to hear what she wants to hear."
"Ed, listen. All over the city, doctors get rich patients who want to have this and not want to have that. They want someone to listen to their troubles. You dish out the hardest kind of medicine of all, you tell them they've got to do something."
"Do I?"
"I think you do." She patted his chin affectionately and Boland felt his tenderness triggered. He took her hand in both of his and held it to his lips. He drew her close to him and pulled her onto his lap. His arm slid about the back of her neck and their lips met for a probing kiss.
As he tilted her head closer to his, Boland saw her eyes misted over. "What is it?" he said.
"Special occasion tonight. Go ahead, I'll tell you later."
Boland felt stunned, but she smiled at him and drew his head toward her bosom. As usual, she wore no bra. In a moment, his hands were pushing aside the soft red material and kneading at the firm, reassuring flesh. The warmth and desire began to flow through him again, suddenly narrowing his world of worry and helping him focus on the vitality of this important person.
Running his hands over the smoothness of her hips, he realized how their roles with each other had reversed in a very important way. He'd started the relationship by. being a comfort to her, now she meant all that was comfort and reassurance to him.
He parted the sash at her waist and gently tugged off her sandals, then drew the bottoms of her lounging pajamas over her long, lovely legs.
"My, we're getting daring," she said. "This is a position we've never tried before."
It was his intention to force her back, against the pillows of the couch, but the sight of her was so inspiring, it seemed natural that their bodies merge this way. She clung to him, moving gently, causing a steady friction to bring wave after wave of acute desire over him. He felt a consuming hunger for her body and increased his own movements. In another moment, he was aware of her labored breathing, her dilated nostrils, her eager readiness. She seemed to be directing all her movements into her hips. The payoff was a sudden spasm of pleasure that caught them simultaneously. The movements became labored and intense and as she held tightly to him, Boland believed he'd always remember this moment of intensity. Her body was virtually on display before him, rigid with the concentration of love making. The effort that went into it was different and exciting. How grand and simple it could be for him if things always remained this way. Lilly for his wife, Charlotte Stowe for his lover. How simple. All he wanted was the world.
Jab after jab of sensation soared through him, making him aware of the remarkable woman he was joined to. Release arrived, remaining long and full and then, as the spasms of sensation began to subside, he recalled how he'd purposely ignored what she'd called her proposition. How could he possibly consider giving up everything to start over with her? What would happen to Lilly? What would happen to him? Could he ever become used to poverty again?
He was deeply preoccupied with his own thoughts and the sudden awareness of her face, close to him and searching came as something of a shock. He wondered guiltily if she were asking the same question again, putting it all on the line. Again, her eyes were misted with tears. She gave a sad smile as she reached beyond him for a cigarette from the marble urn on the coffee table, making her movements slow and deliberate so as not to cause their bodies to part. Her hands shook as she flickered the lighter into life and nervously applied the flame to the cigarette. She offered him a puff and he refused.
"Ed," she said, "this was the best it's ever been with us, the very best. In fact, what just happened puts sex on a new plane for me. And that, my friend, Mr. Boland, sir, is why this one was the proverbial one for the road."
"What are you talking about? I thought we had a great thing going. You said so yourself. This was why you stopped being my patient and started being my lover. You wanted sex with no strings attached. You wanted something with no feelings of guilt. You wanted time to think about your relationship with your husband."
"I've done all that thinking. Ed. And besides, female prerogative, changing of mind. In most cases, I guess I'm still the same, except that with you I want there to be some strings attached. I feel guilty because I can't do more for you, like maybe help you give up this nonsense you're in and go back to your first love, teaching. You know something, I once figured out a way to get a full, balanced diet on only three dollars a week? I spend more than that on the kid's vitamins alone. It's been a long time since I've had to take a chance on anything, Ed. I don't have to take a chance on the stockings I buy. If they run, I buy others. I don't have to take a chance on anything anymore. I was getting sick and tired of it. Then you came along and I thought we could be nice and cozy playmates until I find myself thinking about my kids? Will he have enough guts to do what he wants? Will I ever get the chance to prove to him how I can cook nutritious meals for a few dollars a week? The answers were all big fat no's, Ed. So let me forget it. Let me go back to my nice, safe little routine of picking up guys in bars when the need gets too great. It's been nice, it's been great, but you've scared the hell out of me and I don't like that, so please go home to your wife. If she's not home, I'm sorry for you. But that's all I can do. Do you get the message, Ed?"
He watched her solemnly and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I get the message and it scares the hell out of me, too."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He made three mistakes that night.
The first one was letting himself think about Charlotte Stowe instead of reading the new book on behavioral psychology. The second mistake was stopping off at The Little Club for a few drinks before going home for dinner. The few drinks quickly turned into five old fashions made with the strong, effective Jack Daniels' sour mash whiskey.
The third mistake ... that almost followed the second. Almost from the moment he kissed Lilly when he arrived home, he noticed the difference in her. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of the whiskey on his breath. From there her game was neither subtle nor clever. She sat on the edge of the living room sofa, her skirt flared, while she pretended to search her stocking for a run.
Boland watched her, wondering how a woman could hold such a strong pull of desire for him. Lilly tilted her exotic face to him. "You always did like to watch me dress, Ed. It's nice to know I can still excite you. So often, even with attractive people, that sort of thing vanishes!"
The third mistake. When Lilly asked him to make love to her, he nodded and followed her woodenly up the stairs, feeling more like a man being led to some symbolic execution. In a strong sense, it reminded him of a book he'd read in his college days, The Trial, by Franz Kafka, wherein a man was arrested, tried and convicted of a crime and neither the man nor the reader ever learned what the crime was.
Lilly's well-honed body lay before him, warm, eager and vital. Joining his flesh with hers was not an act of jubilation, not any longer. They moved with a frenzy, and he recognized this as being similar to the frenzies and frightening passions they'd had in the past. But there was one exception. This time, he knew it was even more intense. He knew it from the way he sweated, from the way his body reacted with an aching tiredness as he plunged against her.
After dinner, he had two more drinks, very possibly the fourth and most dangerous mistake of all. "I'm going back for a late appointment," he told Lilly.
She smiled noncommittally. "If you get back fairly early, I think we could have a good talk."
He had two patients. The first was an attractive but frightened girl of twenty-eight named Gayle Herron. She spoke with a clipped, slightly British accent and tucked her long, attractive legs under her skirt as she fidgeted nervously with cigarettes, matches and a crumpled handkerchief.
Gayne Herron had shoulder length natural blonde hair and wide cobalt blue eyes. She spoke of her father and of her brothers, all somewhat older than she. She spoke of men in low, frightened whispers and broke into frantic tears when relating for Boland an innocent sounding story of how a young man had called to ask her for a date.
"I don't quite understand," Boland said. "You are upset because he called you on the phone, told you where he'd met you, then asked if you'd go out to supper with him?"
Gayle Herron nodded and prodded at her eyes with the balled up handkerchief.
"That sounds pretty good. What about it disturbs you?"
"I know what he wants."
"What do you think he wants, Gayle?"
"He wants to go to bed with me."
"Did he tell you that?"
"No, but I remember how he was that one time we met. He-he kept looking at me."
"Gayle, you're an attractive girl. Men do have a habit of trying to take girls they find attractive to bed. Many of them even have such honorable motives as wanting to marry the girl. Our entire structure of behavior is rapidly changing. Statistics show that more and more couples are having relations before marriage. The marriage of virgins is losing ground, whether we like it or not. It seems to be a matter of human behavior. Now you might not think much of human behavior at times, there are certainly many injustices in it, but human behavior influences laws and morals. What is so terrifying to you about the thought of this young man wanting to have relations with you?"
"I'm afraid. I'm always afraid. I get all tensed up and can't think of anything else but that moment."
Boland didn't need a book for that one. There was no question about it; Gayle Herron's problem was frigidity. For a moment, he wished he had the power to play God and mingle portions of Gayle's frigidity with Lilly's promiscuity. The balance might do each well. But now with Gayle there were things to be considered. What were the causes of the frigidity? How did they manifest themselves? How would he approach it?
"Does that tensing up always occur?"
"Only when I feel-"
"Yes. Only when you feel what?"
"Attracted. I like this young man. But I suppose I've heard the last of him. I was pretty jittery when I told him I was busy. I-I may have hurt his feelings or given the impression I don't care."
"Gayle, I think you've got the key to the problem. Suppose we do this? Let's not write off that young man. If he should happen to call again, try to accept the date with him ... but if you're unable to, I want you to call me immediately. Got that?"
The girl nodded.
"Now, we've got to work up to this in easy stages. For our next visit, we'll try going into some of the reasons why the thought of men you like causes you to get jumpy and tense. In the meantime," let's try an experiment. Can you smile ?"
"Of course I can."
"Good. You'd be surprised. Some people can't-or won't. Now, I want you to do this. Whenever you're in the streets, where there are lots of people, I want you to pick out the men you think are attractive and smile at them."
"Oh, I couldn't."
"Will you try? Chances are, they'll be too startled to even react to you."
"Suppose someone stops me and tries to talk to me?"
"Talk back, if you can. Remember, I said when there were many people about. If you're embarrassed about it, you can say you're slightly nearsighted and thought you'd recognized a casual acquaintance."
"But-but suppose someone asks me for a date?"
"Well, say yes if you feel like it. Look, Gayle, this is just a first exercise. The trick is to help you get confidence in yourself. The only way to overcome fear is to test it time and time again. You'll always be afraid of something; everybody is. But at least you can have a grip on it."
"Then you don't think there's anything wrong with me, I mean sexually?"
"There very definitely is something wrong, and we're very definitely going to do something about it."
"Do you think I'll ever be able to have a normal, satisfactory relationship with a man?"
"That," Boland said, standing to signify the end of the hour, "is going to be one of our primary goals. Now how about it, even if you don't think I'm attractive, why don't you start off with your homework and give me a smile."
Uncertainly, Gayle Herron complied, showing thin, sensual lips. As a further concession, she stood and deliberately straightened her skirt in his presence. "Therapists are not supposed to notice such things," he said, "but you're a very attractive girl. I expect that's been part of your trouble, not knowing what to do with the attention you get, but don't worry, Gayle, by the time you've finished, you'll know, all right."
He escorted her to the side door then felt himself feel the need of a drink as he heard the bell in the lobby ring. It meant the door had been opened by the next patient, Anabelle Riordan. He considered the small cabinet in the corner of the room, remembering Ralph Hooten's insistence that people who deal with other person's emotions should always have brandy on the premises. He quickly went to the cabinet, uncapped the bottle of Martell that was a gift from Ralph and poured himself a short shot. He knew it was wrong to gulp brandy, but he wanted the suddenness of the fiery liquid, spreading through his stomach. He vetoed the idea of a second shot and walked to the door to admit Anabelle Riordan.
"You are in bad trouble," she said the moment she saw him. She set down the magazine she was reading and rose to take the hand he offered her. She pumped it perfunctorily and minced past him into the office. He got a strong whiff of perfume, the kind that meant Anabelle Riordan had been out on the prowl-or was still prowling.
He went through his usual routine of offering her a seat and lighting a cigarette for her before taking his own swivel chair behind the desk. "Now," he said, "how am I in your bad graces?"
"You've made things very difficult for me these past few weeks."
Boland smiled and motioned with his hand for her to continue. To his surprise, he saw she was more agitated than usual and that he'd nearly mistaken this for her usual lightness of tone.
"You've been working very hard on me for some time now. I pay you a hundred dollars a week for two hours of your time and I don't think it's fair, not after what we agreed on."
"Let's get things straight. What did we agree on?"
"That I should be able to expect a decent sex life, that a woman of thirty-nine is not too old to consider such things, nor is there any reason why she should?"
"Okay, granted we stipulated that. How does it effect you?"
"It's Robert. I can't enjoy him."
"Robert?"
"The boy I've been going with. The tennis player. I've told you about him."
"I thought we'd mainly discussed your relations with Terry."
"Please," Anabelle Riordan said, "don't make me cry. He was such a dear boy, too."
"Let's get back to Robert. What happened?"
"At first, when I picked him-er, met him at the tennis club, I thought everything would be fine. He was appreciative and gallant. Like so many young boys who devote their time to tennis, he hardly had time to care for his apartment. Things were all over, and rather shabby. I saw to it that he moved into a nicer place, where they have maid service twice a week."
"You paid his rent?"
"Of course I paid it. I bought him some clothing and then we went to a market where we got him a larder full of groceries. Then we went back to his place and arranged things."
"And he made love to you?"
"Did he ever? What a fine young stallion. I don't like to brag, Mr. Boland, but I try to keep my body in good physical condition. I'll admit, to having a few extra pounds here and there, but where it counts-" she extended a rather shapely leg, "I do all right." She stood and removed a mink stole, slightly unnecessary for the time of year. Her purpose was to reveal a low-cut bodice in her neatly tailored dress. Her breasts were large and well shaped, probably, Boland thought, the work of an expensive bra.
"Now then, Robert was more than appreciative. He made love to me until I thought his poor body would ache. And then he made love to me in other ways. It was one of the most satisfying days I've ever known."
"When was this?"
"Last week."
"You didn't tell me about it."
"I'm coming to that, Mr. Boland. I didn't tell you about it because I began to feel guilty. I was suddenly quite aware of the difference in our ages and the fact that I had to buy him. I wasn't at all sure he'd be as ardent a lover if-if there were no considerations, and so I decided to find out. I called him back the very next day and he welcomed me. We played together like two young lovers. I even took a shower with him and we made love there and on the floor of his living room. As I was leaving, the little devil had the audacity to tell me about a wrist watch he'd seen in Beverly Hills. He kissed me ardently and even pinched me when I left him. I made no reference to the watch, nor did I call him for two days. I had plenty of time to think and knew what would happen if I returned without the watch."
"What did you do then?"
"Oh, stop asking those nasty questions. I started considering your remarks about James, my husband. He'd just managed to get in several very rare stamps for his collection and he was most enthused with them. I asked to be shown them and he was quite excited. I went into his room wearing the tightest jersey I had. Also a very tight skirt and black stockings. That used to excite him quite a bit, too, in a very different way. How James loved it when I wore black silk stockings. There were times when he would sit and stare at my legs for nearly an hour. Then he'd come over and kiss me and fondle me a bit and get very excited and hold me tightly."
"What happened this time?"
"After we looked at the stamps, he-he noticed the stockings. He became very sweet and I actually sat on his lap and let him fondle me." She sniffled and started to cry. "The poor thing, I got him all worked up. It really wasn't very kind, because, you see, I became excited, too. Ordinarily when we do that, he just fondles me-"
"Where?"
"He likes to run his hands over my legs and my breasts. This time, while he was doing it, I could see what it was doing to him. I remembered what you said and I tried to help him. I deliberately teased him along until we were on his bed. The poor thing, he tried. He really did. I felt terrible for him. He tried so hard, and was really quite close. I even pretended he was successful, but he knew, Mr. Boland. He knew. He patted me a few times and thanked me for trying. He even offered to try again next week."
"I think the man's showing some spunk, some signs of life."
"Mr. Boland, I think it's one of the saddest things I've ever had happen to me. When it was all over, he got up and went back to his stamps. I don't have to tell you what happened with Robert. When I appeared without the watch, without anything but myself and a new pair of lace undies, he pleaded a splitting headache and told me he had an important match to play later in the afternoon and needed all his strength. A young stallion like that. It would no more have mattered to him than-never mind. It's over. You've ruined that for me. Now you've got to do something."
"That's up to you."
"Stop saying that," she said, standing. Her shoulders began to shake with the effort of her sobbing. "If it were up to me, I'd have given him the damned watch. But it's ruined. They're all ruined for me, and I'll be damned if I'll sublimate and get involved in those beastly cat shows or flower arranging classes." The tears b-rimmed over her eyes and Boland moved next to her, his hand on her shoulder for a steadying influence.
"It used to be such fun," she said, "and now you've taken it all away from me."
"I haven't taken a thing from you, not a thing."
"Then why can't I find another boy. You've taken it away."
"You have," Boland insisted. "You've stricken from your life some values that no longer matter. That's what life is, a constant change of values."
"Value, schmalues. Don't you see, it's all ruined. Now I don't know what to do." She buried her head against his shoulder, the sobbing continuing.
It was a moving sight, seeing such a dynamic, vibrant person in tears. She threw her entire body into it. Boland led her over to the large overstuffed sofa and sat next to her, offering her his handkerchief. She made a few good attempts at stopping and for a moment, Boland had that feeling of impending discovery and success. Perhaps her next words and actions would be really important, the true insight a person gets after parting with a painful, difficult situation.
His heart went out to her. He knew what it was like. Being separated from Charlotte Stowe left him with an empty, dull ache. The news that Lilly had finally become pregnant was less consolation than he thought. In spite of her promises, he was aware of that doubt. Was the child really to be his? His fears were not entirely groundless, remembering that overheard moment of passion between Lilly and Hermy Kilgallen. Tenderly, he kneaded Anabelle Riordan's shoulders.
She turned to him, a look of gratefulness in her -lined face. With all her excesses and profligacy, she was not an unattractive woman. Boland felt strangely moved. "Time to build another foundation, don't you think?"
"Boland, I don't care how learned you or those damned doctors are. I don't want to sublimate. I want a sex life. I don't want to give up and become a damned nuisance of a club woman. And waiting for James to take a week to get worked up over me is hardly what I'd call fair."
"It's going to be all right," Boland said.
Suddenly, her face lifted again, her lips parted in a smile. "You Angel," she said. "I knew it. I knew you cared."
"Hey," Boland said, "wait a minute. I didn't mean me."
"We don't have to play games," she told him. "When I get what I want, I'm discreet." She virtually lunged against him, her arms going about him, her lips touching his.
Boland felt overwhelmed. The closeness with the woman acted as a trigger. In an instant, he was able to feel the pent-up excess of her desire. There'd been no denying her condition before. There was even less denying it now. She was one of the fortunate ones. Somewhere, back in the early part of her life, the first discoveries of sex had been made under pleasant conditions, with no guilt or pain. More than anything else about her, this aspect had flourished healthily. Perhaps it had been one of these rare cases of indomitable determination, like the small, delicate flower persisting in growing through a tiny crack in the sidewalk. Whatever it was, Anabelle Riordan, at an age when many women are willing to give up the more overt and obvious ramifications of sex, was still pursuing it to the fullest, intent upon enjoyment.
Boland's protest lasted exactly half a minute, the time it took her to kiss him once, then probe the inner part of his lips with her tongue. In that half minute, he understood why Anabelle's young boys were able to perform like young stallions. Something in them was just as responsive, too. It also explained why their demands on her pocketbook were so high. Passion that could be inflamed that high was bound to produce results. Wasn't he aware of his own situation with Lilly?
He took the aggressive role almost at once. Knowing it was wrong didn't help things any. Somehow, it reminded him of that Italian movie he'd defended back in Hurley, but that was small consolation at the moment.
Boland nearly laughed aloud as he thought of something he'd told Anabelle Riordan a few moments earlier. "Goals change." They certainly do. At the moment, his goal was the removal of her bra. She swarmed about him with lively animation, eager to help. As he worked on unhitching her bra, she kicked off her shoes, lifted her legs and began wriggling free of her underwear. Boland held the firmness of her breasts, his hands feeling the excitement that raged within her.
He soon discovered how perfectly willing she was to be satisfied. Anything he did met with her approval. "Just be good to me, Honey, that's all I ask."
It was all she asked.
From the moment their bodies were joined, she made no demands. Her voice didn't change and there were no transformations of her into a writhing, swearing animal, turned loose. Several times, in the course of their lively movements, their positions changed. Expertly and without missing a single cadence, she shifted back into optimum position, her body ranging against him, determined to achieve its goal. As this approached, a softness and sudden beauty came into her face. She began a throaty murmur. It was all appreciation. "Ah yes," she said, "oh my, yes that's good, Honey. Just keep that up as long as you can and Anabelle will be most, most happy."
Again, Boland nearly burst into laughter. Sharing her body, celebrating it like this with her was like participating in a joyous rite. Of all the women he'd ever known, she was unique in that she used, even at her moment of most intense pleasure, a formal, precise English.
"Wasn't that good, Honey?" she said, breathing heavily in his arms. "Wasn't that fine? That's all I want. I don't have to be mauled or given the business every hour. Just something like this once in a while, to remind me I'm alive and in the world."
"I'm afraid," he said, "that this was a mistake."
"Mistake, hell. You certainly knew what you were doing. And you oan't say I seduced you."
"All quite true, Mrs. Riordan-"
"Now if that isn't the most hellish thing I've ever heard. You've just made love to me. Our bodies are still joined together and you have the gall, the unmitigated gall to call me Mrs. Riordan. You know, Honey, you psychologists can carry objectivity to ridiculous extremes. What does a girl have to do to get you to call her Anabelle? No, strike that. I'd better not ask. I might be shocked if I heard the answer."
Boland moved away from her. "Okay, Anabelle. But that was it. Call it a moment of weakness."
"Honey, you just arrange to be that weak for me about twice a week."
"I can't. It would be a violation."
"Oh, hell, Ed. People stopped talking that way years ago. I was violated once in my life by a big ox of a gardener, and I can't say I really minded that."
"I meant a violation of ethics," Boland said. "Some psychologists think it's even wrong to shake hands with their patients."
"Are they afraid of germs or something?"
"It just can't go on like this, Anabelle. Not if I'm to really help you."
"But you've just helped me. This is what I've come to you for, happiness. Now I have it. I'm not going to try stealing you away from your family, Ed."
"Then look at it my way. It would be very much against my nature to accept fifty dollars an hour from you to make love to you twice a week."
"Oh, you men and your pride. All right, we'll meet somewhere outside the office for our trysts and I'll still come here twice a week and talk to you."
Boland shook his head. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."
"Honey," she said, "it's what you mean and you know it. I'll see you next week."
"Don't expect a repetition."
"Oh," she said cheerily, "I'm always game for variety, Ed. You don't have to worry about that."
Driving home to Lilly, Boland felt tired and frightened. It was no comfort to know that he'd participated so actively in making love to Anabelle. He had the grim feeling that he was endowed with some sort of a King Midas touch. Everything he put his hands on turned to sex. It was neither pleasant nor reassuring.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The discussion with Lilly was brief, to the point and mutually unsatisfactory. She hoped the baby would make a difference in their lives. She hoped she could remain faithful to him. She hoped things would work out. She was not willing to go any further with the matter.
"I don't see why not," Boland said. "If we can get to the core of it, we can solve things."
"When we married, Ed, it was for better or worse."
"Is that any reason why we have to keep it worse?"
Lilly gave a vacant smile. "I don't notice you doing things to keep it any better. You know, Ed, you're a fine one to want to talk about my infidelities. There's a generous gob of lipstick on your collar. It's neither the shade I wear nor was it on your collar when you left the house tonight."
"I tried," Boland said miserably. "I tried damned hard not to. Do you think I like it?"
Lilly's smile gave way to mocking laughter. "Now you're beginning to understand the way I feel. You and your precious search for insights. Well, now you've got one." She gave another utterance of laughter. "You know something, Ed? Maybe we ought to take our problems to a marriage counselor?"
A good talk, she'd said. Big deal.
Gayle Herron came to his office, smiling and bubbly over the effect of the smiling experiment. "It worked," she said, "just as you said it would. Some of them looked at me as though I were crazy and one man followed me and became insistent, thinking he knew me. I used your line about being nearsighted. He smiled and offered to buy me a drink. I accepted and it was fun. He's going to call me next week for a real date."
"That's the important thing, Gayle, getting your sea legs, as it were. You keep it up. Now, in the meantime, I want you to start giving me details, background, things we can work with."
It was delightful to see the way Gayle plunged in. From the looks of things, the five dollars an hour she paid him would not break her, even on a two hour a week basis. Still, that meant forty dollars a month, a good dent in a working girl's salary. Gayle went at her problem in a business like way, uncovering one incident in her past that was so painful, it left her shaking with tears. Boland gave her a sip of brandy and complimented her on her bravery.
His next patient was Anabelle Riordan, and from the beginning, it was no contest. Boland neatly parried all her suggestions and moves, and when the hour was nearly at an end, she stood up and smiled. "I'm a stubborn gal, Ed. Just because you've won this time doesn't change things. I won't go all to pieces and feel rejected; I'll just wait for my spot. It will be more difficult for you next time, I'm sure of that."
Watching the entry of his next patient, Boland made up his mind to do something about more men patients. It was, he realized, wistful thinking, like resolving to be stronger-next week.
The girl was Polly Lieber, one of the two girls who was a professional virgin not too long ago. Since her initial contact with sex relations, Polly had frightened Boland. She'd moved from her first experience to Hermy Kilgallen, to several other men with a frightened rapidity. Now, as she sat before him, she began her hour by reporting two weeks of continence. She seemed neither upset by it nor overly proud, taking it in a healthy perspective.
"I think," Polly said, "the time has come to start being a bit more selective. It would be nice to get to know maybe one or two men more intimately. I thought it would be that way with Hermy, but he's only interested in adding notches to his belt, proving something to himself."
"I'm glad you were able to see that," Boland said.
She smiled and crossed her legs. "It came to me after the second time. His greatest joy was when I said yes. He seemed more interested in that than actually making love to me. Now, I think I'll bide my time. I've got my eye on someone interesting. I think it could be fun. I'm still playing it safe, too. You see, he's married."
"Think that's wise, Polly? You could be hurt."
She nodded affirmatively. "There's only one way to find out. As I say, it might not work. I don't know if he's interested."
"There are ways to find that out."
Polly smiled knowingly. "I know."
He was surprised and gratified to see the way Polly had come along. She'd dieted away nearly fifteen unnecessary pounds, giving a slender sensuality to her previously plain face. Her hair was highlighted with a blonde rinse and no longer worn in a severe bun. Her gestures were more certain and she seemed to take pride in exhibiting her neat legs. Without being as attractive as Charlotte Stowe's, they were still pleasant to look at, and with confidence on her side, Polly became striking in her appearance.
Toward the end of her hour, Polly stood up and gathered her things. "There's something I've been wanting to do," she said, moving toward him. "You've given me a great deal. I feel as though I owe a part of my womanhood to you." She leaned forward and kissed him boldly on the lios.
Boland was aware of the pleasant jut of her hanging breasts, the subtle scent of her cologne and the wispy softness of her hair. It was difficult not to be excited, even more difficult to accent her gesture in the spirit in which she'd intended.
She was warm, sincere and frankly frightening.
The next time he saw Anabelle Riordan, it was, once again, strictly no contest. This time, Anabelle won, hands down. Boland felt driven and compelled. He could not resist her sexuality, nor allure. After the first few minutes of the grim contest, he knew his excitement had reached a dangerous level. Desperately, he struggled to keep hold of his emotions. But she smiled at him and deliberately hitched at her skirt. "I like this, Ed. It's not just a quickie. It isn't a contest. I see you fighting with yourself and, dammit, in a way, I hope you'll win. I hope you'll be able to turn me down. But you can't. Not this time. It makes me feel good to know you'll get up and take me in your arms and make love to me. That's something every woman likes to know."
"Not every woman," Ed Boland said. "It would scare the hell out of some."
"Then they're girls, not women. I don't care how old they are. Sex goes with women. It's a part of their make-up."
Boland did exactly as Anabelle predicted. He rose and bridged the distance between them, dropping to his haunches before her and sliding his arms about her legs, kissing the knees and holding her tightly. She ran her hands lovingly through his hair and eased herself forward. Moments later, they sat together on the floor, embracing. Anabelle directed his hands to her bosom and the process was complete. Boland yanked a pillow from the sofa and slid it under her hips. She drew her legs up, making her full skirt look like a tent. Her body arched to receive him. They met with a gasp.
"Whatever it is that troubles you, Honey, take a tip from me. Let this be for joy. Let it be for pleasure." She began a steady movement that caught hold of Boland and bore him along enthusiastically. The act of possession made him intensely aware of her, of how much he needed this sex and excitement. There was something compelling and necessary in this motion of loin to loin, of body to body, and then, of mouth to mouth, probing hungrily until satisfaction was found.
He lay next to her, breathless, wondering how he'd become so entwined in it. He couldn't help himself. It was no longer a matter of being faithful to Lilly. It was no longer even the simple "arrangement" of wanting Charlotte as his mistress. It had gotten completely out of hand. It was entirely a matter of sex, no longer a matter of whim.
A hell of a thing, but he couldn't help it, nor was it any easier to face the fact that his entire working day would have him thrown in close, intimate contact with sex, sex and more sex.
He was able to resist Anabelle Riordan the next time she came in to the office. "I see I'm only going to be able to score every other time," she said. "But I'll be patient."
Boland had to groan. He had neither the courage to tell her no, nor the courage to tell her it would be best for her to seek another therapist.
When he saw Gayle Herron, he found himself fighting the urge. "You've got to get the notion through your head, Gayle, that you can have satisfactory sex relations with men. Your past history should stop and remain in the past."
She smiled at him hopefully. "Are you telling me I'm ready?"
"That's up to you, Gayle. By all means, be with men. If you find one who pleases you, let the inevitable take its course. If it feels right and proper, you'll have won. Let your instincts guide you."
"It would be nice," she said, "if it could be someone like you."
"That's called transference," Boland said. "It's natural you should think that. By the time we've finished, you'll simply look on me as a revered old friend."
Gayle giggled. "What about in the meantime?"
He tried to bring it off lightly. "In the meantime, go find yourself a man."
Boland was not so fortunate with Polly Lieber. Almost immediately, she gave him an unmistakable smile and he knew, beyond a reasonable doubt whom she meant when she alluded to a married man. She meant him. She meant to have him.
He'd come to realize that Polly was dressed for the kill. Instead of her usual skirt and blouse with low heels, she wore a black cocktail dress with wide straps over her attractive shoulders. The neckline was a low cut square.
"You look like you're set for a night on the town," he said by way of greeting.
"You could call it that," Polly said, smiling at him. "There are ways for enjoyment."
The thing that disturbed Boland was something beyond the jaunty cross of her legs or the bold permission in her eyes. This time, it was the way he stood and moved toward her, making the move on his own. "Polly," he said, "you're too attractive to let pass without comment." He knew what he was doing. The fact that it was wrong, that it was part of a losing battle made no difference.
Polly gave her consent almost at once. There were a few formalities. He took her to Ah Fongs in Beverly Hills for a few rum drinks and an order spare ribs. Under the counter, he could feel her thigh brush his. "Finish your drink," he said, the drive of excitement sweeping over him.
"Don't have to," she said. "Shall we go back to your office?"
Boland had her on the couch, the lights blazing light against the milky white highlights of her body. There were no real preliminaries, those had been going on all evening. Polly had very definite ideas about wanting something different and exotic. "After all, if I'm with an expert, why not learn something new."
Boland's mind seemed to flash back to Nola Peddersen and the first of her demands. The thought excited him, even though he knew it would be doing Polly a disservice. She'd romanticize this, make it important. It might influence her sex life to the point where satisfaction to her meant a search for the bizarre. But seeing the readiness of her, he couldn't help himself. The moment their bodies joined, Polly began crying out in a sharp ecstasy that bordered on pain.
The awareness of this frightened Boland and he tried to stop himself. It was comforting to realize that even in the midst of completely compulsive behavior, there was a line over which he would not cross. He turned Polly over onto her back and moved against her, determined to make up in ardor and technique what he'd deprived her in uniqueness.
Their bodies arched and met excitedly and Boland realized just how well Polly had learned. She was accomplished and not lacking in confidence. When the plunging was over, he lay close to her, his arms holding her tightly to him.
"Now I have standards," she said. "Now I really know. Oh, Ed, I used to dream about this. Now that it's come true, I feel real and whole. Please say it can happen again."
Boland looked away. Now that the urgent necessity was gone from him, he could promise anything but that. He could tell himself over and over that this was the last time, that he'd have to start over, that he'd betrayed all his ideals, that his diploma had been all along, nothing more than a license to commit lust and unleash it on all the people with whom he came into contact.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The morning began painfully. Boland pulled himself away from Lilly and had to wrestle with himself to keep from starting the day off with a shot of brandy. The coffee, although fresh, tasted stale. His whole life tasted stale, miserable and wrong. He showered and dressed, taking an aspirin with his juice and remembering with dread that his first patient of the day was Anabelle Riordan. He could not honestly tell himself she'd be unsuccessful today. He could not honestly tell himself he'd feel any better about it. He felt trapped. He'd fallen into a well filled with sex. And if that were a particularly Freudian figure of speech, so much the better; it was exactly how he felt.
The phone began ringing insistently at eight-thirty. Lilly answered it and hung up with irritation. "Some prankster," she said. "All I heard was some labored breathing at the other end."
Boland glared at her. "It was probably only one of your boy friends."
Lilly smiled. "There was a time when you deliberately used to pick fights because we'd always end up making love when we were through. Is that what you're after now? After all, I've still got my figure and there's nothing to hold us back."
Boland shook his head sadly as the telephone began to ring again.
"Maybe it's one of your girl friends," Lilly said. "Let's see you try it."
Boland lifted the phone and uttered a greeting. Almost immediately, he understood everything. He understood the heavy breathing during the call Lilly'd answered. It was all part of a grotesque pattern. Again, he heard the labored breathing and finally the words. "Please, don't hang up this time. I changed mind. Don't want to die. You've got to help me." With a chill, Boland re cognized the voice of Gayle Herron. A few brief questions established the fact of sleeping pills. "You've got to keep moving, Gayle. I'll be right there. You must keep moving, do you hear?" He thrust the phone at Lilly. "I'm going to her place. Keep her talking until I get there. And for the love of heaven, Lilly, don't call the police."
He was at Gayle's within fifteen minutes, thankful at the sound of her voice coming through the door to her apartment. After he knocked insistently, he heard her shuffling toward the door. She opened it and fell into his arms.
Boland took the phone and repeated his warning to Lilly. He searched her cupboards until he found instant coffee, then put on water to boil. Lifting Gayle over the bathtub, he induced her to vomit, then mopped at her face with a moist towel. He forced three cups of hot coffee into her and kept her walking. Gradually, he got the story from her.
Gayle had had sex relations with a man. At least, she'd tried to. But it had been so frightening, so terrible to her that she'd become depressed and taken sleeping pills.
Boland bundled her into a coat and drove her to his home. By this time, there was some color in Gayle's face and it was apparent that she was out of danger, but the moment Lilly saw her, she flew into hysterics. "I can only handle one of you at a time," Boland said. "She's out of danger. Take it easy."
"But she tried to kill herself."
"And changed her mind."
"She should have a doctor."
"She's all right now. We'll take care of her. What she needs most is reassurance and comfort.
"I knew you'd go too far, Ed. You did this, didn't you?"
"What are you talking about, Lilly?"
"You made love to her. You broke her heart. He did, didn't he?" Lilly said, beginning to shake Gayle. "He made love to you, didn't he?"
Still frightened and dazed, Gayle nodded.
Lilly began shouting and ran from the house. Boland started after her, but hesitated, thinking of Gayle. Even though he believed she was safe, he couldn't take the chance. No matter what Lilly did, he had to stay with Gayle.
It happened quickly and in an amazingly orderly fashion. Lilly called the police, who arrived in less than ten minutes, an ambulance not far behind. Gayle was taken immediately to the County General Hospital for observation. Boland was taken to the police station for questioning and told he'd damned well better get himself a lawyer. He was permitted one phone call. Dazed and bewildered, he instinctively dialed the number of Charlotte Stowe. "I like your instincts, Ed," she said, "I'm glad you turned to me when you were really needful. I'll take care of things."
Inside of an hour, an attorney was admitted to the questioning. He introduced himself as Joe Cake, and set promptly to work securing Boland's release from custody on a writ of habeas corpus.
Stan Gillmore, the assistant district attorney, grudgingly let Boland free. "That's just one writ, Boland," he said. "I wouldn't go too far away if I were you. The grand jury's going to want to talk to you. Also, I wouldn't plan on doing too much more practicing in this state. Phony counselors and unqualified people are on their way down the tubes, where they belong.
Cake grew defensive. "Lots of mental patients, under the care of doctors and psychiatrists, attempt suicide. You're prejudging."
"They also call the police and have experience in handling these people."
"My client did well. The girl's still alive."
"Yeah, but she tried to kill herself because he made love to her."
"That's a lie," Boland said.
Cake took him by the arm. "Come on," he said, "we're going to Charlotte's. We've got to start planning your defense. They just nailed two other marriage counselors for administering drugs. They'll be after your scalp."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Charlotte Stowe was warm and gracious. Her kiss of greeting showed Boland her devotion and concern. At Boland's insistence, she sat calmly in the room with him and Joe Cake while he told everything that had happened.
There were times when he had to look away from Charlotte, particularly when he confessed to relations with Anabelle Riordan and Polly Lieber.
"Well," Cake said, "you were honest with me and I appreciate it. Now I'll be honest with you. We can subpoena all your patients. I think the record will show you had a pretty good record of success, particularly with Ralph Hooten and Charlotte, here. But I wouldn't plan on practicing anymore. I think we can get you off, possibly with a suspended sentence or a fine. Our defense will be simple, that you were honest, acted in good faith and did the best you could."
Sipping the coffee Charlotte poured into his cup, Boland was surprised how relieved he felt, now that everything was out in the open. "Joe," he said, "since you're representing me in this matter, how about taking all my money? There's another item I want to get started on. Two in fact. One is a divorce for me. My wife and I are hopeless. You've got all the grounds you'll need. Incompatibility, adultery, mental cruelty. If that isn't enough, I'll add abandonment to the list. I'm through with her."
"What about the baby?" Charlotte asked.
"I was sort of hoping you'd take an interest in that. You see, I'm going to get that baby. I'm also going to get Joe to recommend a lawyer for you. You're going to get a divorce from Mr. Stowe. Then, between us, we're going to start out flat broke, with three kids and me trying to get a teaching credential in this state."
Joe Cake snapped his fingers. "If you're serious about this, Ed, I thing I know a way to make sure you get your teaching credential-a bona fide one."
"I know what you're going to suggest. I'll do it, but I want no bargains. I'll cooperate with Stan Gillmore. I'll do anything I can for him, particularly if it helps raise the standards for people who try to do what I did. But if there's going to be any juice from him, any leniency, any help at all, I don't want it as a bribe for cooperating, I want it to come from him."
"It'll mean Grand Jury appearances and publicity," Joe Cake said. "And if you file for divorce now and Charlotte does, you'll have more publicity than an astronaut."
"Your game for that, Mrs. Stowe?"
Charlotte crossed to him and slid her arm about his waist. "Perfectly game, Mr. Boland, sir."
Joe Cake reached for the phone. "I'll try to get Gilmore at home. We might as well get started right away, while you're still in the mood."
Charlotte coughed politely. "Could you sort of arrange this to give Ed and I about an hour alone together, Joe?" She smiled suggestively. "Until he called me this morning, I haven't seen Ed for quite some time. Considering I've just been proposed to and subjected to a life of rather limited means for a time, I'd like a chance to be alone with him."
Joe Cake smiled. "I think I understand. You want someone to make sure the kids don't get in the way?"
"Oh," Charlotte said, "I want them to."
Both Cake and Boland looked surprised. "Yes, they're going to have to live with it for sometime, they may as well get used to it now."
"Now wait a minute, Charlie," Boland said. "I thought I was the one who carried things too far."
"You still do, dear," she said. "We'll have to do something about that nasty mind of yours.
What I had in mind was showing you my specialty. I'm going to cook you and my two kidlets a nutritious, filling meal on two bucks worth of groceries. As to anything that may happen after Mr. Gilmore and the people from the district attorney's office leave, you'll be quite correct in assuming I want privacy. You'll be very, very correct."
Boland felt calmer and more free than he had in years. It was almost too good to be true, hearing Charlotte talk this way. The thought of caring for her, her two boys and the child Lilly would have was staggering. The complications and difficulties would be legion. "Charlie, you're sure about all this? It's going to be hell; I want you to know that."
"I know, dear," she said. "It will be hell, a very merry Hell."
