THEY WERE MAKING love for the third time in three hours.
The little blonde was clawing crazily at the muscular male as she oscillated in wild abandon.
Arching her scented body, groaning and squirming, Betty met each of Bill's forays with feral avidity.
Her uninhibitedness was quite exceptional, he thought. It was as if she were challenging his manhood. Perhaps what she was doing was meant as a test of his sexual powers, as if she could discover by his sustained performance if he were no longer consorting with other females-that he had saved all of his potency for her. And, if he could measure up to the test, perhaps she might continue the show of reconciliation she had begun with earlier in the evening.
Betty was breathing gustily. He watched her breasts rising and falling in tortured cadence. She groaned and began to roll her head from side to side. He grinned and tantalized her. He gloated as she shuddered and whimpered.
He was winning, he thought. He was winning. And he took her again.
Suddenly his whole body rocked at the summit. Both man and woman were now knotted in throbbing ecstasy.
A fanfare of triumph blared in his mind. He had made it, he thought-he was her master. He had, at length, passed the test....
* * *
At last she said, "Get up, Bill, and dress. I think I hate you. Get dressed, for God's sake."
He shrugged. Her remark puzzled him. Not only that-he was astonished, in view of his theory with respect to the sexual test. He no longer seemed to be the master. The thing to do, however, was remain calm, Bill thought, and do Betty's bidding. The female, he knew, was an extremely contradictory creature. So he repaired to the bathroom....
* * *
Having adjusted his tie before the bathroom mirror to his critical satisfaction-believing as he did that a tie was a subtle index to the male character-Bill Martin ventured back into the arena of his supposed triumph. To his surprise Betty was standing at the apartment door and wearing a hip-length blue toweling robe only partially covering her dazzling nudity. The sight of her upthrusting breasts with their tiny cherry-pit nipples stirred him again.
But Betty opened the apartment door. She gave him a cherubic wide-eyed smile and held out her hand.
"Goodbye, Mr. Martin. I don't think I have enjoyed myself so much for a long time. It just goes to show how loose a gal can get in bed if she hasn't had any loving for a while." The wide-set blue eyes twinkled mischie vously. "And, Bill, take these with you. I know you dote on candies. Make a real pig of yourself."
"Hey, wait a minute. I-" But Bill never finished his objection. He found himself on the mat and staring at a door that had been shut suddenly in his face. Even as he stared belligerently, he heard metallic noises unmistakably those of a lock being secured.
Bill stared angrily at the expensive gift-wrapped box Betty had shoved into his hand and then he slammed it to the ground with a snarl of rage. He wheeled into the elevator and down to the canyon of Manhattan streets where he hailed a cab and told the hackie to take him to Gip's, Bill's favorite dispensator of thoroughly distilled spirits.
What a foul development, Bill thought. He had tied on a blithe mood earlier in the evening after he had arrived at the apartment where he and Betty had once lived as man and wife. The luscious blonde had been so sweetly amiable that Bill had been confident their reconciliation finally would take place. After all, he had reformed. There had been no woman in his sex life except Betty for an entire month. That, Bill had considered, was sound rehabilitation.
Bill's indignation escalated. His glamorous and unpredictable spouse must have planned tonight's mayhem in advance, he thought. Tossing him out with his candy was another turn in Betty's depthless repertoire. Damn her!
And now a couple of Betty's passing observations cropped up to sear his mind.
Dig this, idiot. I can sleep with you but I can't live with you.
That he could understand, but the other one really hurt.
No babies, Bill. I don't want my baby to have a baby for a father.
The cab stopped and Bill stepped out. He stood meditatively on the sidewalk. It was beginning to rain. He was not sure now if he wanted to go into the bar. There would be women there, he thought. Girls he had slept with, girls he had wanted to sleep with-and men who knew he had a taste for any chick who had something to offer. Girls! Bill Martin hated them. In his present mood if he never saw a female again he couldn't care less.
But his need for the liquid spirits was overriding and he ventured into the dimly lighted cavern of forgetfulness where he propped himself against the curved end of the bar nearest the door and as far away from the telephone as possible so he would not be tempted to call Betty-who would not answer, anyway. Gip, the plump and balding bartender-who also owned the place-came gliding towards Bill like a pink penguin and slapped a setup and a side dish of peanuts in front of the ailing husband.
"The usual, Mr. Martin?" Gip said, reaching for Bill's favorite bourbon. Bill nodded and Gip skillfully poured a liberal finger of liquor over the ice and, bending his bald head towards Bilk whispered, "Don't look now, sir, but there's a new chick down the end. She doesn't seem to know anybody. Must be fresh in town." Gip grinned. "Could be you're the big movie exec I've been telling her about-the man who's been looking for talent."
Bill found a smile. "Tonight I'm incognito. Respect my wraps." He adjusted his tie in the mirror.
Gip shrugged and slung the bourbon bottle expertly into the rack behind the bar. "So I'll shut my big mouth. But take a look at it and you may change your mind."
Bill tried to focus his thoughts. He was an idiot to flagellate himself and allow his troubles to punch and kick at him. No woman was worth it, Bill reasoned. Life was too short.
He emptied his glass and, as Gip refilled it, Bill was certain about one matter, at least. Betty was worth a million other girls, he thought. But he wasn't going to weep over her. Betty, poor darling, could not get along without him any more than he could without her. His blues began to dissipate. The situation was so ridiculous. Even if he were on the outside of his marriage looking in, why make a tragedy of it? Instead of rubbing the skin off his nose against the door Betty had locked on him, he would count his blessings. There was always a blessing somewhere around. In the past Bill's had been mostly female and usually eye-stoppers. A seasoned connoisseur of female flesh, Bill had been a highly successful collector.
Disposal was difficult at times, he reflected, but never impossible. Nothing was really impossible provided you gave it the necessary mental and physical application. Staring at the ice cubes in his glass, he saw his own problem quite clearly. Apart from earning a living-which at present happened to be selling mutual fund portfolios to theater and TV folk, and writing an occasional song nobody wanted to set to music, and a book nobody wanted to publish-the big challenge in his life was to be indispensable to Betty. For one thing, only in the attractively curved loins of his lovely wife could he perpetuate something of what the world knew as himself. But she had refused to give him a child. Her cherub face seemed to be smiling mockingly at him in his imagination.
Well, he would simply have to batter down her resistance. Betty needed a child to bring her to her senses. So what was he waiting for? But first he would have to straighten out their little difference of opinion about living together. He could not very well manage to have his child with her by remote control. But he should have no worries about Betty eventually living with him again-she was very pliable and perpetually responsive to the old husbandly charm.
Bill drew a deep breath. He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. Best call Betty pronto, he thought, and put things straight. Bill adjusted his tie for the tenth time. He was still well-groomed in spite of everything. His hair was unruffled, his dark tropical suit fitted him flatteringly and he wore a clean shirt.
I'll be back," he told Gip. "Just remembered I should have made a phone call." Perhaps Betty would dress and come over and meet him at the bar. They had spent a lot of time and money at Gip's place.
Bill set out briskly to the rear towards the telephones. He jingled his keys as he went. As he passed the girl Gip had mentioned, Bill had the impression she gave him a sidelong glance and he felt a little more blithe in consequence. But the poor kid was out of luck, he thought, if she expected a pickup. He was a happily married man again. This time for keeps.
He was ready to make all sorts of silly concessions, the kind wives insisted on. Bill whistled a happy little tune as he dialed Betty's number. In a few minutes he would be back in the apartment-never more to roam.
Of course Betty might not answer, he thought. He brushed away the possibility. The poor kid was probably crying her eyes out and would jump at the opportunity of answering the phone-she would probably think one of her girl friends was calling, someone to whom Betty could pour out her troubles.
Bill made a face. Betty's girl friends made a habit of popping up in unexpected places and sniping at him. How such a perfectly lovely and sweet-natured girl like his wife could have such a bunch of drippy goons as friends baffled his imagination. Sue Langley was about the only one worth a second thought. Bill shuddered, remembering a certain shameful episode in the lust-life of his yesterdays. You did such silly things when you were young, he consoled himself.
The signal for the Betty Martin phone kept buzzing but there was still no answer. There would be shortly, Bill was convinced. And his heart began to beat faster.
Dear Betty, he thought. She really was a wonderful kid. Dear sweet little Betty. His angel wife. The very thought of having argued with her made Bill feel like an unconscionable beast.
2
ANXIETY SNATCHED at Bill's heart as the signal to his wife's phone kept buzzing. Supposing the poor little thing had trudged around to his apartment in the next street to apologize? What would Betty think if she did not find him there?
He knew the answer. She would conclude he had gone off to some bar to down bourbons and ogle girls ... But she would be half wrong, anyhow. This was not his ogling night. He was drinking, true, but a man had to settle his nerves. Betty's treatment had really been shattering. She couldn't expect him to sleep, he thought, after her cavalier ejection of him. She had wounded him savagely....
Bill became impatient with the buzzing now. Betty could have stepped out for some late groceries. He decided he would take a trip to the men's room, smoke a cigarette and then try his wife again.
Five minutes later he was back in the phone booth. Maybe, he thought, Betty had slipped out to mail a letter telling him she was sorry, bless her heart.
Ah, he thought, as the signal terminated in mid-buzz, she's finally answering.
"Who is it?" Her voice sounded as if it had floated out of a deep freeze.
"Me." Bill swallowed the lump that had climbed into his throat. This was the moment to be bright and gay. "Mr. Martin, the man in bed with you, recently. Remember?"
"Mr. Martin ... Let me see. Are you the one with blue-black hair and a chin like a doughnut with a dent in the middle?"
"There is a slight resemblance."
"What do you want? I never buy things over the phone."
"I'm delighted to hear that. You're improving. Taking a course in homemaking or something?"
"No, at the moment I'm studying how to treat mentally deficient males. Now what do you want? I'm trying to get some sleep."
"I just called to say I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Betty said.
"Sorry you're such an ornery, misinformed, infantile, brutal, thoughtless, selfish female."
Betty's laughter was music without tears. "My dear Mr. Martin, you forgot a few of my more desirable qualities. Have you lost your dictionary?"
"Really? Such as?"
"You didn't tell me I was oversexed, immoral, greedy, arrogant, demanding, flirtatious, extravagant, unreliable and bitchy."
"Sorry, I'm concentrating on simple words these days."
"You must be getting senile," she said. Betty's apparent amiability added to Bill's fury. "May I make an extended comment?" she added.
"Go right ahead."
"Are you listening?"
"I'm afraid so. Let's have it. Unveil your cute little psyche so I can smack its bottom. What's on your mind, except you?"
"Just this, Bill. Next June we shall have been married two years. With the exception of the first three months when you hardly gave me a chance to get out of bed for a cup of coffee in your lousy bachelor apartment-all of which lead me to presume you were faithful-you have hardly behaved like a married man. During the ensuing twenty months, according to reliable information, you have found, flirted and fornicated with at least ten nauseating females."
The accuracy of Betty's arithmetic rocked Bill. She had hit his score right on the nose. But he managed the indignant reaction. "Your preference to believe your gossiping and meddlesome girl friends instead of your husband is one of your worst failings."
Betty hooted with glee. "Darling, you're absolutely priceless. I seem to remember your admitting your brazen infidelity on various occasions. You said it was all in the interests of literary creativity, Mr. Byron."
Bill grunted. "Did I really say that, honey?"
"You certainly did."
"But that's all finished. I'm a reformed character now. You must know that, of course."
"And just when did the reformation happen? Was it before or after the night you sent me out for a half pack of beer-which, incidentally, I paid for out of my imaginary allowance-and came back to find you making out with my best friend in our marital bed that I bought as a wedding present for my then favorite writer."
"I just did the unhappy girl a favor," Bill stuffily defended himself. "Poor old Sue was so down."
Betty snorted with derision. "Sue Langley has been more down than up ever since I've known her. You didn't have to take advantage of the poor depraved creature."
"You shouldn't have such depraved friends. I thought you were a nice girl when I married you. A girl is known by the company she keeps."
"Thanks! Now you know why I'm avoiding you."
Bill winced at her heavy sarcasm. He said in haggard desperation, "For Christ's sake, Betty, let's talk this whole thing over."
"That's exactly what I'm doing. Ever thought what a jewel of a wife you had? When I found I couldn't five with you I allowed you to live alone and gave you regular bedtime privileges-until you abused them."
Bill bellowed like a wounded bull.
"I don't know what you're driving at," he managed finally. He was honestly puzzled. His conduct had been spotless for at least a month. "Who are you talking about?"
"I don't know her name. She has one of those mink-coat voices. She called up this morning." Betty shifted into one of her fabulous imitations. "Mrs. Martin, I'm a friend of Bill's-more than a friend, really. Don't tell Bill I called. I don't want the poor boy to worry but I think he would appreciate it if you would go ahead with your divorce plans. I would, too. We want to get married. I can really do so much for him that you can't. He needs peace of mind so desperately, the poor darling. Creative men are like that.'"
Bill's stomach knotted. Marta Thomas, the creep Betty had mimicked, had been trying to sink her hooks into him since he had chickened out on her as an essential part of his personal rehabilitation program. The spiteful bitch had called Betty to be revenged.
He strained to sound convincing. "Never heard of her." A bright thought came. "She must have called the wrong number. These things happen! Did it myself once."
"Of course, darling," Betty's voice had become saccharine. "The poor thing connected with the wrong Betty and the wrong Bill. As a writer you must appreciate the value of coincidence. Poor darling, she sounded so disappointed when I told her to drop dead. Do you have a black tie for the funeral in case she does? I may be a witch without knowing it. I worry about things like that sometimes."
Bill cracked. He raved and spluttered. He babbled to Betty he loved her even if she were a mean little bitch. He swore she was the only woman in his world and he announced he was coming right over to show her just that and a whole lot more.
Betty waited until his gibberish trailed off into silence and then she sang like a mockingbird. "You don't know what love is, Bill Martin," she trilled. "You just bongoboard out of one bed and into another. I think I'll try it myself one day. They say it's fun. Goodbye, Billy boy. Enjoy yourself."
Betty signed off with a familiar bang of the handset.
Bill gave himself a few seconds to cool off. Then he took his lobster face to the men's room where he smoothed his hair and adjusted his tie. So he was single again, he thought. Back on the wheel of fortune. And there was a cute little twirler out there who looked as if she had never suffered from dizzy spells.
He squared his shoulders and tautened the famous Martin chin line. Whistling a march tune, Bill headed for the bar. He saw the chick was still there, unescorted, unattended and ripe for the plucking.
Bill halted at a discreet distance to inspect the dreamiest feminine cupcakes he had seen in a long time to grace a bar stool. There was a total absence of droop! And, surmounting the confections, was a torso of incomparable posture.
The stars reappeared in the Martin eyes. Bill then approached a little more closely to obtain a profile view. To make his reconnaissance less obvious, he searched for a match to light a nonexistent cigarette.
The chick was slim where girls should be slim and she had a dark-eyed serious face and twin streams of blue-black hair flowing luxuriantly over each shoulder. Bill settled on a nearby stool and snapped his ringers at a beaming Gip.
I'll stay down this end," Bill announced. 'I'm expecting a call." He turned and gave the dark-haired girl a friendly and approving eye and followed it up with the jolly old Martin get-acquainted grin.
"As representative of the local welcome-wagon," said he, "may I offer you a drink?"
She gave him a grateful smile. She resembled a sophisticated seraph. "You may," said she. "It's a pleasant thought."
Bill felt appropriately tender. Small and vulnerable little girls often made him feel that way. He signaled to Gip who refilled her glass. Then Bill studied the girl. There was something provocatively deceptive about her. One minute she could pass for seventeen and the next for twenty-five. Bill noticed with considerable approval she had everything girls are supposed to have, admirably arranged and better than most.
"When you've finished looking me over," she said, "which I might resent from anyone less attractive, can you provide me with a means of indulging my addiction to the tobacco habit-and also tell me who you are? Do you have a name or a number?" Everywhere about her was an exciting feminine vitality.
"I'm not using my number at the moment because I'm off duty," said Bill. He snapped open his lighter. "My name is William, Bill for short. Bill Martin in full."
As she leaned over to light her cigarette, Bill noticed her twin frontispieces quivering seductively. And a part of him he had presumed temporarily out of action revived.
"And what's your name?" he added. "Fair's fair."
"Rika," she said prettily. "Rika Balsem-in full. Incidentally, I hope you have a kind heart. The last Bill I had was a brute."
"For kind hearts I win all the prizes. I help old ladies cross crowded streets in between the lights and never lost one-old lady, that is. I replace candies bad men steal from babies. In my spare time I knit bras for embarrassed bovines."
She rippled attractively with laughter and said, "At the moment I need a kind heart and a broad shoulder. I have a problem."
"You don't have to look any further."
"Thanks, chum." She patted Bill's cheek with a small soft hand that seemed supercharged with female electricity.
Bill soared into high. The girl's appreciation was a boost to his morale. He positively scintillated. They hit it off famously. They exchanged biographies and appropriate reminiscences. Until Gip began blinking the lights to signify the closing hour, Bill forgot the passage of time as he rode towards cloud nine in a capsule of romantic expectancy.
It seemed natural, then, for the pair to stand hand in hand outside under the stars.
"I love the fresh air," said Rika with an exotic sigh. "I wonder why we ever go in bars. They're really rather depressing."
Bill posed the question only a moron would shun. "Where do we go from here, my pet?"
"Due north, my love, as the appropriate star indicates."
"Due north, then, to my place." Bill hailed a cab that immediately became Cinderella's golden coach on its way to the wedding. As the invisible horses drew them swiftly downtown through the glistening streets, Rika snuggled comfortingly against him.
"By the way, Bill, what do you do?" Rika said gently as she removed Bill's hand that had settled on one silk-sheened thigh. "I mean how do you earn your daily bread or cake and martinis? Something terribly romantic, I imagine."
Bill felt such a discerning girl deserved encouragement "Well, among other things, I'm a writer."
"And no beard, darling?" Rika put her hand up and held his chin. "What do you write? Poems, articles, books-or TV commercials? Are you published?"
"Articles, yes. Poems, no. But a book of prose is I in the making."
I "What's it about-the book, I mean?"
"Women."
"Oh, no!"
"Why not? It's a fascinating subject"
Rika giggled. "Do you do your own research?"
"Of course."
"Shall I be in it?"
"Possibly. You may be good raw material."
She reached up and gave him a soft feathery kiss. "I shall be, I'm sure. I'm so different in my outlook. I think you could write a whole book about me. I know people always say that to writers but I really have something for you."
Bill explored with expert fingers and now met no resistance. "By the way, what do you do; except to look nubile?" he said.
"What a ghastly word. By calling, I'm a secretary. I was, at least until I ran too fast."
"How come? I didn't know you got jobs by running."
"This particular track happened to be around the desk! I kept running until my boss got tired."
"And he fired you?"
"I prefer to say I resigned. But I have another job. One I made for myself."
"Good for you. What is it?" Bill nuzzled a fragrant tendril of hair. He was feeling very much at home.
Neither of them noticed the cab had stopped. The hackie, accustomed to early morning riders losing their sense of logistics, turned around and said, "You wanted number twelve, Mac, didn't you?"
Bill flipped the driver a dollar and a tip. He handed out his adorable bundle with the tender courtesy of an old world Casanova. Rika thanked him prettily and put her arm in his as he jiggled his key in the door.
When they arrived at Bill's one-and-a-half, rear, three-flight walk-up, Bill turned on the shaded lamp on the desk-experience had shown him this was sufficient illumination for a girl's debut into his love life. Few chicks cared for the bright lights on their first giant step bedwards. It would be daylight soon, anyhow.
Bill suppressed a yawn. A certain heaviness of his eyelids suggested the desirability of a nap before engaging in creative athletics. He noticed Rika was yawning as well. Thus encouraged, he said, "I think a shade of shuteye is indicated. I don't have to get up any special hour in the morning. Do you?"
Rika was sitting in front of the mirror and combing her I hair. She was laboriously bundling it on top of her small head. Bill's knowledge told him this action was the preparation of battle dress. The girl evidently was a realist.
"No, Bill, my work hours are my own. I can rise with the birds or slumber with the sloths. So we're both lucky.'
"Excellent! Incidentally, you never told me what you do. Remember, the cabbie interrupted."
Rika concentrated on subduing a balky braid. Her reflection in the mirror seemed like the answer to a love-starved male's prayer. Bill, who had been debating whether he should wear pajama tops or bottoms or the full regalia of slumberdom, was battling the urge to kiss the nape of her neck which rated high in his female-component scale of attractiveness.
He waited impatiently for her answer. Finally, still twiddling with the topknot, Rika turned to him. "I'm afraid my job will be a shocking disappointment, Bilk even if it interests you. I really should not be here, but it so happens I am terribly empathic. I had a hunch you were in need of a girl like me. I love being useful."
Bill grinned. "How did you guess you could be useful?"
"Easy, I was born under Scorpio. We have second sight without glasses."
"So what's the job?"
"I'm founder and president of STAIS."
"What's that?"
"STAIS stands for the Society to Abolish Instant Sex. I'm afraid you'll hate me for that."
Bill made a face. I'll swallow my prejudices. Tell me about it. I might even join. Who knows?"
Rika's eyes sparkled as she inspected her image in the glass. "At least it will make some copy for your book on women."
"So tell me more."
"Wait till we're in bed. I'm more explicit in the horizontal, or shall we say the outgiving." She gave Bill a sweet smile over her shoulder. "And, Bill, honey, would you like me to sleep brassiered and pantied or in the raw?" She studied him briefly. "It's all the same with me. The laws of the society cover everything."
"Make it raw. What's the same for you is the same for me." Bill's eyes crinkled. "Except you don't show!" As; he repaired to the bathroom he wished he hadn't made that crack and hoped it had sailed over her head.
The bed was attractively occupied when he returned. Bill inserted himself between the sheets. He was contentedly aware of the warm togetherness odor pleasantly emanating from his partner who bestowed a welcome loss on the end of his nose.
"Now tell me about this comic society of yours," Bill said gaily as he slid his arms around the slender torso and was explosively happy to find his action met with no resistance.
"This will slay you, I'm sure," Rika said. "Now listen and keep your hands to yourself, please...."
* * *
After she had banged down the phone Betty flung herself on the bed just like any other unhappy wife and wept until the last drop of tears was exhausted.
Finally, when she felt satisfactorily dried out, Betty languorously stretched her voluptuous self and clutched her breasts reminiscently. Bill had really nobly acquitted himself earlier in the evening, she thought, cursing the memory.
She was glad she had no more tears. Crying brought you nothing but a red nose and indigestion and did not help your image. In this day and age, she thought, it was essential for a female to be a person. Persons were people and people were important. The tragedy of life was that the majority of those vulgar and rutting creatures called men never got around to treating women as people.
Betty snorted defiance and sat up. She could always think better with the top part of her vertical. She was not the type of girl to take anything lying down. Except Bill, she thought with a wry grin. She closed her eyes and inhaled enough air to inflate a truck tire, held it for ten seconds, yoga fashion, and slowly expelled it with the serenity of a guru.
After five more of such actions her mind cleared and (she pitched the vital question at herself. If Bill were so I superior sexually and in other departments, why was she behaving like a donkey's rear end?
The answer was obvious. William Stanhope Martin was an incurable and highly successful girl chaser and consequently an abominable liar. With all his charm, good looks and deep understanding of females, husband-wise he was pathetically disappointing.
She was not the type to be shared, Betty insisted. Marriage had made her a one-man woman. As such, she deserved a one-woman man. And apart from the physical she had a lot to offer a guy. She was as bright as she was beautiful. She was hep and well-informed. And she was delightful company in bed and out.
She had more friends than the average dog has fleas. ' She had a top sense of humor. She could frug, rabbit, monkey and watusi with the best. She was an efficient, loyal ; and helpful secretary. She could even read Bill's writing , and type his manuscripts. And she could cook and keep house like a reincarnated great grandmother. Summing it all up, she thought with modest feminine pride, she wasn't really too square. One part of this sweet little package, however, she believed was a private affair for two people until nature began its simple addition. Betty was determined to keep her marriage for husband and wife only, even if it took a lifetime. Bill could plead any way he wished but he was not receiving any more of the bed business until he was prepared to wear his wedding ring through his nose- mentally, at least.
The irony of her situation irritated her in the extreme. She was absolutely in love with Bill and here she was shutting the gate in his face.
Living without Bill would be painful, she reflected. Marital celibacy hurt a woman physically as well as mentally. Betty nibbled her lip as she remembered her mother's comment. "The lousiest husband always takes away some part of you with him when he's gone-and you never get it back."
As she took a shower Betty found herself recollecting nostalgically all the fun she and Bill used to have playing around under the hissing water. She was dismayed. But she was not going to stop taking a shower just because it reminded her of the adulterous ape. Her anger aroused her erotically. She jumped out of the shower and rubbed herself so hard with a towel it hurt.
But at breakfast she felt a sudden lift. She remembered vacation time was approaching. Bill had made a reservation for next month at Wingtip Go, a resort hotel in the mountains. He had paid for two weeks in advance for Mr. and Mrs. William Martin.
Betty laughed aloud and hurried to the chest in the bedroom where the scanty Martin records were kept. She grinned with summit satisfaction. She and Bill would have a second honeymoon in the mountains-wow! The good guys always won in the end!
Betty did not cry when she found the envelope from Wingtip Go distressingly empty. She merely cursed and generated hate waves in the general direction of a certain Bill Martin. What a bastard! Of all the miserable and cold-blooded connivers! If Bill weren't the meanest man in the world, who was? Evidently Bill had made up his mind to take a vacation at Wingtip Go but he wouldn't be going alone.
She was staring mutely at the empty envelope when the idea struck her. The phone number under the address on the envelope had been the inspiration.
Betty reached for the phone and twirled the dial.
The woman who answered sounded distraught. I'm sorry, madam," she said. "We're booked as solid here at Wingtip Go as a Broadway hit." She gave a tired little laugh. "If we ever open, that is. We're having staff trouble. Three key people we hired have let us down. I was hoping you might be the woman from the agency to say she had got us some replacements."
Betty loaded her voice with helpfulness. "What land of people are you looking for? I can make beds."
"Lots of people can do that," said the woman. Betty detected a spark of interest in her tone. "If you could type and keep books and arrange cocktail parties, you'd be a big help."
Betty rushed her answer. "That's what I've been doing for years. I'll be up to see you tomorrow."
I'll pay your fare," the woman said. "And if you have a friend who would like to wait at tables and double as a social director for the younger set, please bring her. Ask for Edith Brown. I'm always here."
Betty seethed with excitement when she hung up. She would land the job, she assured herself as she lit a cigarette. She would work for nothing if she had to.
She visualized Bill's face when he arrived with some chick and found his wife there. She began to laugh. But her laughter soon faded to a smile. It was going to hurt to see Bill in action with another female. Betty knew from experience. But you expected to experience hurt when you went into battle, she mused. You couldn't win at chess without losing a pawn or two. But it would help, of course, if she knew the girl Bill might bring to the mountain resort. If she were the twelve-cylinder cat who had called on the phone, Betty might lose her temper and maul her. That would spoil everything.
I'll have to be serene, subtle and sophisticated and remain poised all the time-every single minute, she told herself. She had a book that told you how to do that.
Betty felt at peace with the world suddenly. To spread a little happiness and see if she could glean a crumb of useful information at the same time, she phoned Sue Langley to invite her to lunch.
Poor Sue, Betty thought. Sue really was a dirty little cat, but-well, Bill was an ace at taking advantage of both innocent and not-so-innocent girls....
3
IT WAS EIGHT O'CLOCK, Bill Martin blinked at the yellow fingers of sunlight poking through the Venetians. He rubbed his eyes. He felt unreal in an unreal world.
Not only was he suffering from an unusual amount of male morning stiffness definitely unrelated to physical exercise, but his mind felt like an unwound watch. His cluttered bachelor apartment looked different. It even smelled strange-Attar of Astarte perfume and all that jazz. He whistled to himself wonderingly and unbelievingly.
But it had happened!
To be more accurate-it had not.
Whichever way you viewed it, this "it had not" was a first. A memorable first. The great non-happening stood out in his mind like a monument to idiot nobility.
For the first time since reaching the age of puberty he, William Stanhope Martin, the goat of Gotham, the monster of Manhattan, the undisputed head of the Find, Feed and Fondle Society in permanent good standing, had slept naked in the same bed with a definitely ravishing naked girl without his fulfilling his natural function.
Could it really be true? Bill sniffed. The Attar of Astarte smell was definitely girl. Bill ran his eyes slowly along the undulating profile of what could be nothing but the female form. Yes, Martin's folly was still there.
Rika Balsem had wrapped herself in the sheet from head to toe like a mummy and was sleeping balanced on the extreme edge of the bed. The graceful curve of her hip quickened Bill. How could such a tiny waist blossom into such a glorious bottom? Bill's libido licked its chops. She was one gorgeous package. Absolute high camp. Instant sex was indicated. Damn STAIS, he thought. The time was now. The old rough rider Bill Martin would charge.
Repeating these inspiring slogans, Bill strode into the bathroom to prepare himself for the flowery combat.
As he applied the shaving foam to his jaw he reviewed the preceding night. He had been tired. Not too tired but tired enough. His previous triple-header with Betty had destarched him. Which had been how he had managed to close both eyes while he had been in proximity to this provocative piece of pulchritude.
That STAIS business was all crud, he thought. The chick was shooting a line. Some birds liked to be different. The kid had probably forgotten all about STAIS by now. If she hadn't, she soon would, he vowed. Draping his muscular torso in the yellow toweling robe-a birthday present from Betty-he emerged from the bathroom imbued with the honest conviction that the events of the immediate future could not happen to a nicer fellow. Or with a better girl.
He thought briefly of Betty. His sweet wife had said she would perform an operation on him similar to that which civilization inflicted on race horses and cats if ever he wore the yellow robe in the presence of another female.
Poor Betty, he thought, how wrong she was. Bill's conscience bowed its head in a moment of remembrance. A shame that such a desirable girl should be so demanding. But he could forgive her. Girls inherited these strange inhibitions from their mothers and kept them concealed until the state of marriage. What he was about to do was immoral as related to his wife, he admitted, but Betty had asked for it. Indubitably so. Then again, as he often pointed out to his charming wife, without mistakes there could be no repentance.
Bill's eyes widened as they feasted on the lovely on the bed. If creative collaboration with this were a mistake, it was surely one of the sweetest this side of heaven.
Rika was sitting up.
She had removed the sheet. She sat in such a way as to reveal to Bill the haven of his desire. Bill shook.
She was smiling at Bill. A pair of graceful upthrusting pink-tipped breasts beckoned a welcome with quivering charm. The tiny whorl of the shy little navel winked invitingly.
A natural woman, he thought. Nature in the raw.
The civilized man in him held back the primitive by a feat of superhuman strength. Bill had dedicated himself to the velvet-glove approach.
Her smile was charged with innocent promise. The dark fox-brown eyes regarded him with an ingenuous friendliness that completely lacked the sophistication of the night before. Bill could feel his heart hammering.
"Hi, Bill," she said. "Why didn't you wake me? Have you got any coffee? I'm thirsty. I love coffee in the morning." Her voice had silver bells.
A casual undulation of the dazzling breasts he had so briefly fondled before she had conned him into going to sleep last night shot more of the old ginger into Bill. He was glad he had waited. Fully rested, as he was now, he would be capable of acquitting himself magnificently. A double-or triple-header would be appropriate. He wanted to make a good impression.
Bill nodded. He mumbled something about fixing some coffee and backed up toward the kitchen. He felt frustrated. As he set the pot on the stove he heard her go into the bathroom. Natural enough, he decided, but he needed coffee like he needed a sock in the jaw. For a grim moment of indecision he studied the coffeepot. Hell, it could wait. He didn't need a curtain raiser. He pulled out the electric cord of the percolator.
Rika emerged from the bathroom naked as the new Eve. She walked toward Bill with a delightful wiggle. Halting close to him she reached up and put her arms around his neck.
"You haven't kissed me yet, Bill. Don't you like morning kisses?"
Bill replied with the obvious. The touch of her lips, sweetly wet and warm, blasted him. He slipped his arm about her tiny waist. His other hand found the erected tip of one creamy breast. Bill guided it to his lips and kissed it. The girl wriggled and gasped. She pulled away and whispered, "Oh, Bill, you tempt me. You make me wish I wasn't the president of STAIS. It's all rather tragic, isn't it?"
For long moments he did not reply. His hand had slipped down between the satiny thighs to begin its work. Responsive muscular contractions rewarded him.
He stared down at her. Rika was hanging in his arms, her fragile face upturned. The dark pools of her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted to show the tip of the pink spade of her tongue protruding between the rows of her small white teeth. The face of a chick in the throes, Bill decided. What else? A pulse was beating in her throat. Bill kissed it. He put his hands on the plump little buttocks.
It isn't tragic, Rika," he whispered with poetic intonation. "It's destiny. You and I. Man and woman." That should go down well, he thought.
Bill held her tight. He pressed himself hard against her to symbolize his need for action.
Rika sighed-a deep and gusty sigh that spoke of smashed defenses and of sweet surrender. Mutual attraction was flowing between them like a high voltage current.
The girl looked as if she were in a dream. Bill picked her up. "Come, my love," he chanted in his best espresso voice. To bed, dear child, to taste of love's sweet mead and dip the pearl of Venus in the wine of life."
"Oh, Bill, that's cool. You make it sound so real." Rika stirred in his arms. The chick was real gone as Bill lowered her gently to the bed. He kissed a satiny shoulder and stroked the appetizing breasts.
He was standing by the bed doffing his robe when Rika sat up and said in a tone spiced with regret, "Oh, Bill, you're so lovely. What a pity ... what a pity."
"What's a pity?"
The chick smiled innocently. The brown eyes were shaded with friendly compassion.
"But, Bill, my love, don't you remember?"
Bill found a breath. "Remember what?"
"STAIS. I'm the president and you're a member. We can't break the rules. Me, especially. We have to get to know each other first. It is really important!"
Rika sat up very straight. She folded her legs yoga style and placed her hands on her knees. Her face was grave, her voice cool.
"It's too bad, Bill. I like you so much." Her eyes prowled over Bill's nudity. "I must admit you attract me strongly. What a shame we didn't meet before I founded STAIS. Life is full of ironies. We simply have to get to know each other first."
"And how long does that take?"
Her smile had a quality of kismet helplessness.
There are no fixed rules. Our subconscious minds tell us when our bodies are conditioned for the creative act-don't you remember? I told you last night." Rika patted the bed. "Come and sit down, so we can talk. Are you making coffee?"
Bill regarded her with grim rebellion. "The coffee can wait. My subconscious mind tells me it's time I got to know you better." He spoke with a tinge of mockery. "And something else tells me, too." He noticed her eyes were inspecting him on the lower levels. "And that's just what I'm going to do. Now!"
Bill reached for her. Instead of moving away as he had expected, Rika sat motionless and regarded him with an unflinching scrutiny.
"You dig?" Bill said.
Rika took a deep breath.
The ache between his thighs became agony. He waited impatiently. He was not going to be rough but if she thought she was going to talk him out of the ultimate, she was out of her mind.
"I think I understand, Bill. I'm so sorry but there it is. STAIS is STAIS. If the president breaks the rules, the entire society might collapse. That would be terrible. Can't you understand? You gave me the impression of being so intelligent. I'm disappointed."
Bill patted her creamy thigh. "Get me straight, Rika. I'm a man. I'm naked with a naked gal and I want to do what naked men and gals do when they're together." Bill paused, puzzled. "Don't tell me you don't feel the same. You mean you haven't the old womanly urge to go-go?"
"Of course I have," Rika said and laid a petal-light hand on what she had recently released. "Your proximity has affected me deeply. I am in the throes of womanly temptation. The serpent of lust is wriggling in my loins." She stared forlornly at the ceiling. "Sleeping with you was a torture. An ordeal by fire. Your good-night kisses scorched me." Her eyes dropped. "But I fought with myself. Oh, Bill, it's so hard. I am still burning." Her fingers gave him an encouraging pat.
"So let's get busy." Bill slipped his arm about the tiny waist and brought his lips down on hers. To his surprise she responded by inserting a hot wiry tongue in his mouth, and proceeded to piston it in and out as only a passionate girl would.
This could be nothing but surrender, Bill gathered. But when he slid his hand down to where the action was, she pulled away and said with a considerable reproach, "You can kiss me all you like, chum, but there must be no congress. The more frequently we contact each other physically the better. The first law in the STAIS charter says that a couple must pass a minimum of three weeks in close intimacy before indulging in procreative endeavor."
"So why all this kiss-and-fumble stuff?" Bill was becoming angry. His ache was worsening.
"But I told you all about that last night, lover. That kiss-and-fumble stuff, as you call it, is all part of getting to know each other. At first there may be temptation. But STAIS prescribes mental exercises to sublimate temptation-by removing the physical tension until the two personalities are ready for creative coition."
"When's that?" Bill's face was red. What would she do if he jumped her? He wondered. He would rather have her yield beforehand.
"When both parties concerned feel they are really and solidly compatible mentally. It's not just a question of liking the same movies and TV shows. The couple have to know each other completely, mentally and physically.
That accomplished, their union becomes insolubly durable."
"And you believe that crud?"
Rika made shocked little noises. "Please, Bill, don't be vulgar. You don't surprise me, however. It's only natural for the questing male libido to respond with initial shock tactics. That shows you are ready for your first lesson in sexual abstinence. Bodies are faithless things unless directed by resolute hearts."
"I'll take my lesson afterwards."
Rika frowned. She removed the hand that had been cosseting Bill. "After what? You've lost me."
"After we've done our man-and-woman act."
"No, Bill, it doesn't work that way." Rika seemed displeased. "You must take your lessons first. We can do them together. Don't you remember what I told you?"
"I've got a bad memory. My mind is forward thinking." Bill pulled at Rika's leg but she moved out of his reach and leaped off the bed before he could push her down to the horizontal.
Standing safely out of his reach she said with slow emphasis, "Don't touch me, Bill. I'm warning you. You'll be sorry if you do. We STAIS members would rather fight than submit."
"I'll risk that!"
Bill bestowed a compassionate smile on the defiant chick and advanced on the luscious body.
"Come on, Rika," Bill persuaded. "No more kid stuff. You're a big girl now." He approached closer with the intention of picking her up and flopping her on the bed.
Then something happened. What, he was not sure.
Bill was aware of a soaring sensation that ended in a breath-shattering thump. He heard a crash of glass that sounded as if a picture had fallen off the wall. He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back on the floor.
The founder of STAIS was standing over him with an indulgent smile. She was obviously delighted at the superb judo fall she had administered her rebellious pupil.
"I hope I didn't hurt you, chum," she said. "But I did warn you. Remember?"
Bill rubbed his elbow as he glowered at the vision of her loveliness. Now it was his turn.
If she were a man, he thought, he'd knock her flat.
He scrambled to his feet.
"You can thank your lucky stars I'm a gentleman," he growled. "I never hit women."
"Nor do I, Bill-and I'm not a lady." Rika's smile was mocking. She backed away, her hands raised like a wrestler. Bill circled to the right. The chick knew her stuff, he thought. Once he got his hands on her, she'd be a dead duck. He'd dump her on the bed and jump her.
He saw an opening and sprang. He saw her weave and then felt the pressure of a small shoulder in the neighborhood of his belly. He felt himself flying up and over. That soaring sensation again. The ceiling descended to meet him and then zoomed out of sight as he felt the sharp jerk on his arm that brought him down.
He landed heavily on the bed.
The bed was not built to stand the impact of two hundred pounds traveling at great speed. The longsuffering slumber artifact collapsed with a splintering crash.
He opened his eyes. Of all the crazy cats, this Rika was the felinist, he thought. Enough was enough. So he'd have to hit her, after all. Manners were okay, but when a girl threw you about like a sack of spuds, something had to be done.
Bill gave her an angry stare. "You broke my bed, damn you. You're rough."
"It was your fault. All STAIS members must learn to defend themselves."
Bill choked. He was sweating. Damn her making a cluck out of him. How could such a dreamy bird be so rough, he thought. It just didn't fit her. Her nonchalance about everything made it worse. He wanted to sock her. She deserved it.
But he would not meet force by force. The old velvet gloves business still had merit.
Bill draped his flushed face with a grin.
"So where do we go now?" he said.
Rika said, "Along the enlightened road of reason, I hope."
"Now I know where I stand, suppose you tell me more," Bill proposed, at pains to sound sincere. "No more rough stuff, please. It's land of expensive."
Rika laughed. "Brute force always is. I hope we can mend the bed. Anyhow it doesn't need legs. We can still sleep on it. Beds are such silly things. They always seem to break when you need them most. I'll buy you a new picture frame. It fell off the wall, you know."
Bill warmed to his task. He allowed his eyes to worship as he said, "Now come sit down and give me my first lesson. And don't get rough." He felt as excited as a wild stallion sighting a herd of equally wild mares. Take it easy, boy, he thought. She can't escape. "Go right ahead. I'm sitting at the feet of learning."
Rika settled herself gracefully on the bed. She sat upright in a yoga position while Bill lay flat on his back, his legs bent and crossed at the knees. He battled with the temptation to maul her.
"When I founded STAIS," Rika began, "I realized that in certain situations our members might encounter violence such as yours, so I took a course in judo. It's admirably suited for female use. Karate is too violent. I might have kicked you and ruined you for life. I know how."
Bill winced as she put her hand on him. He felt as if she had jabbed him with an electrode. He kept his body still by a superhuman effort. The countdown was on.
"I'm so glad I didn't hurt you, love," Rika continued. "There are holds and throws to meet practically every situation and I know most of them. I had a wonderful teacher."
Bill took his cue. He moved with the speed of a ravenous tiger. He pulled Rika down and sideways, rolled her over on her back, and deftly forcing her thighs apart, planted himself in the commanding position.
"And now tell me this," Bill inquired with mock gravity. "Do you have a judo trick to meet this situation?" He was pinioning her arms down on either side and pressing all his weight hard against her.
Rika did not answer so he kissed her. There was still no response. At least she was finished, he thought, with that phony getting-to-know-you stuff. She was serious now, the crazy little teaser. He could feel her heart beating.
"You didn't answer my question." Bill took one cherry pit nipple between his lips and saluted it gently with his tongue. He moved his loins against her.
Her breathing accelerated.
He felt her belly quivering.
"Come on, Mrs. STAIS," he taunted. Tell me what STAIS recommends to its members when they are trapped like this."
Rika's dark eyes gravely considered him. Bill raised his smiling face to see her better. He was still pinning her down, just in case.
The movement in her basal area was more pronounced. The slight suggestion of undulation might be construed as a welcome.
Finally Rika answered. "In cases where the STAIS member is at a hopeless disadvantage and the male is intelligent, we advise compromise-" her look was mischievous-"and we hope the couple concerned will return to their studies after the breaching of the code."
"Good, I'm all in favor of that. I agree-count me in." Bill's spirits whooped. He kissed Rika. He ran his tongue down her shoulders and between her breasts. This was it, he thought. The great moment. The all-in-all high camp, high gear-everything.
Rika responded by winding her thighs around him. She arched her body and pulled his face down.
"Bill, you're quite nice." She spoke in a whisper. "But I'm scared."
"Why?"
"Because I'm so small. You frighten me!"
"Come on-let's go." Bill parted her thighs. "Don't worry," he said. "Nature has never betrayed me."
"Wait-oh, please. Oh, darling."
Then she laughed and locked her lips on Bill's. Her slim body shivered as her tongue made love to his. Finally she lifted herself.
She squealed-and took him. It was the perfect union of mortise and tenon.
She began to undulate furiously. "My breasts, Bill. Kiss them. Kiss, kiss."
Rika's pace increased as Bill's lips found their delicious targets. He strove to control himself. Rika's very smallness had a peculiar aphrodisiac effect on Bill. How long could he last, he asked himself. He had to wait for her. She must be nearly there.
Then he felt Rika's tension mounting. Her eyes were closed. Her face was a mask of passion. The moment was near, he thought. It must be. He could not hold out any longer. He wanted to yell at her, to tell her to hurry.
She continued to work on him furiously. To help her he took her breasts, one in each hand. Bunched and squeezed them.
Rika moaned. The moan became a scream. Her body had now the violence of a bucking horse. The tiny creature's strength was superhuman.
Bill responded instinctively. Her body convulsed. It jerked and swiveled. She was gasping and wriggling feebly.
It was his turn now!
And at last he attained the great truth-all a man could ask for or dream....
She held him tightly in the warm chaplet of her arms as the poem of their love-making whispered to its end.
Bill laid his damp face between her breasts. He was exhausted. This had been good, he thought. Almost too good. The chick's know-how had surprised him. Such technique came from experience. His eyes were heavy....
* * *
After a timeless interval Rika awoke Bill with a kiss. She fondled him knowingly and bestrode him. She took his hands and guided them to her breasts. She squirmed and rolled. She tossed her dark head and squealed. She began to twist with astonishing violence until Bill begged her to stop. She laughed and fell forward and their passions bubbled simultaneously....
* * *
Bill came back to life to find the daylight had faded and the street lamps were throwing pale shafts of light at the windows. Rika was holding him again and he felt himself flower to her touch.
He regarded her with knitted brow. Could he still perform, he wondered. Hadn't she had enough? He dismissed the thought that she was a nympho. The kid was too clean and sweet for that. Just an enthusiast. She liked him. He probably appealed to her strongly. Physically he must have done something right.
"Now what is it?" Bill said, a crinkle in his eyes. "I'm hungry. What about you?"
Rika nodded, deliciously elfin. The view of her bodily profile as she knelt over him excited him enormously.
I'm hungry, Bill, my darling," she said and bestowed him a warm kiss. "But we'll eat later-you are ready for your first real lesson in STAIS." Her dark eyes were mischievous. "Seeing you're a very special case, I'm going to give you a very special treatment. I must first expurgate all your wrong instincts-to give you a new view of life." Her tongue flicked in and out. "Now relax as much as you can. Don't think of me-don't think of anything in particular. If you must think, visualize your favorite flower."
Rika bent over.
He was thrilled beyond measure. Never had he been, Bill thought, such bee to such honey....
4
RIKA AWOKE BILL with a kiss and said it was time for breakfast. Bill hoped he did not look as haggard as he felt after a night of continual and prodigious sexual endeavor that had finally laid him low mentally and physically.
"You're really prepared for initiation now," Rika announced as she flitted nakedly about the apartment to fix breakfast. "Please don't let any coarse masculine ideas enter your head at breakfast. That would spoil everything."
Bill nodded sadly. He was a fallen gladiator. Even the sight of this delicious nymph's glorious nudity failed to give him the slightest bristle of desire. His catharsis was so complete that he found himself wincing when Rika bent over him to put his plate of bacon and eggs on the table and the tiny pink tip of her breast accidentally touched his bare shoulder. Being definitely in no state to prove his manhood, Bill hoped her action had been accidental.
"We will initiate you after breakfast," Rika announced.
"Initiate me?" Bill contrived to raise his eyebrows without the aid of the toothpicks he felt he needed. "Into what?"
"STAIS, of course! Don't you remember?" Rika eyed him critically. "That's why I went to such pains to prepare you. I worked so hard on you. Don't go and disappoint me."
"I won't!" Bill's mind began sweeping up the scattered leaves of memory and gradually the picture came into focus-the girl at the bar telling him about some comic society to prevent sex-at-first-sight, and the orgy that had followed. He counted his summits in the orgy: five times! He had beaten his own record, established some time back in a Florida motel with a gal named Betty.
Betty! Florida! Pieces of Bill's mind jiggled painfully as memories from outer space dropped into continuity. Betty was the gal he had married-Betty was His conscience sat up and gave him a dirty look. You're still married to her, idiot, he thought. Who else?
Well, so what? And where was Betty? This was no time to solve inner conflicts, Bill decided. This naked chick, named Rika, with whom he had established his record, had mentioned something about controlled sex-making for a permanently happy marriage. Well, he wanted his own marriage to be happy and he wanted some material for his book. So he was taking lessons. A man had to learn, didn't he?
Rika interrupted his thoughts. "Bill, you look real saintly and it suits you. You've changed for the better overnight. You're positively mystic and metaphysical and everything that's good."
"I'm so glad." Bill's throat was like sandpaper. "I think I'll feel even better if you give me a cup of coffee."
Rika seemed doubtful. "Coffee's bad for you. It raises your passions. I want to get you initiated into STAIS before you return to normal. Coffee's an aphrodisiac. It even makes cats sexy, I read somewhere."
"I'm not a cat. Come on, now! No coffee, no initiation." Noting the determination on Bill's face, Rika wiggled her shapely nakedness prettily into the kitchenette. Watching her, Bill wondered idly how such a beautiful girl could be so sexless. Perhaps she would look better with some clothes on. There was something psychologically stimulating that clothes did for a woman.
But he liked them naked. He had made a point of that in his book. He was all against clothes. Something was wrong somewhere. His brow furrowed and his psyche began to sweat. What had happened to him? Had he really changed overnight? Had this little witch really bewitched him and finished the mental castration Betty had begun? Impossible. This was all in his imagination, of course, he assured himself. Even a master of goatmanship like Bill Martin couldn't expect to be randy after five genuine deliveries of conjugative energy. Sheer fatigue of his vitals had temporarily led to delusions.
Rika's sudden appearance from the kitchen convinced him he had been deluding himself because now the chick was definitely attractive. His foolish fears melted. A few hours' sleep and old Bill Martin would be in the saddle again.
"I'm going to join you, to keep our vibrations equal," Rika said as she put two cups of coffee on the table. "We must be in perfect harmony to receive the true message of STAIS. You need to be in the right mood to be properly initiated. The recording secretary will be here in a minute to prepare your papers. I telephoned him while you were still asleep."
Bill ignored the bit about the recording secretary. This gal was an actress, pure and simple, and he concentrated on the coffee. After Bill had emptied his cup Rika announced it was time to put him in the right mood for initiation into STAIS. She sat in the armchair; he stood on the kitchen step-stool a few feet away. She dangled a tiny glass ball on a string. She made Bill clasp his hands which she insisted was the first basic step to induce a trance and told him to concentrate on the glass ball.
"Just what do you think you are doing?" Bill said.
"I'm going to put you in a trance and immunize you against instant sex so you can concentrate on your work and we can get to know each other without being ridiculous."
"But I can concentrate already and I don't feel ridiculous. Do you? You don't look it."
Rika groaned. "Please, Bill, don't be difficult. You're spoiling everything. The trance is not going to hurt you. Just look at this little glass ball and your eyes will become heavy and you'll feel sleepy and you'll go off and when you wake up you'll feel wonderful. Please, Bill, try it. You promised me!"
Bill shrugged and yawned. "Okay, so what do I concentrate on?"
"Me." Rika jumped up and did a Utile skip and dance around the room, halting by the bed. "Now get on the bed and he flat on your back and we'll be through in no time. It's working. You're going off. Yawning's a sign."
Bill contrived to stagger across the room. He let her push him down and closed his eyes but Rika pulled his ear and said in a troubled tone, "Not yet, Bill. You've got to stay awake and look at me and go into a nice trance. Come on, don't be difficult. You're such a nice man. STAIS needs intelligent people like you."
Bill grinned and nodded. "So I'm awake, madam. Do your worst." He was past caring what she did. Or who did what and when and how. Sleep was the sweetest word in his book at the moment.
Rika settled astride Bill's stomach and cupped her breasts in her hands. "Look at me, Bill."
"Look at what?"
"My boobies if you like, but look and keep looking-concentrate! It's important."
"I can't look at two things at once. I get cross-eyed."
"That helps to put you off."
"I don't want to be put off cross-eyed." Bill sounded weary. "Why can't I look at one?"
Rika sniffed with annoyance. "You can, if you like, but it's difficult to move one breast without the other. Keep looking, anyhow. I know, I'll stand up and you can look at my navel." She stood up and then, as if a bright idea had struck her, said, "I know, look at me-the real me."
Rika pointed. "Watch me execute rhythmic trance-inducing patterns. You'll soon go off."
For a few seconds Bill managed to watch Rika's twirling. He had never seen a girl do that before and he wished he were not so tired. Rika's performance was really fascinating. A strange languid feeling was creeping over him. His eyelids were so heavy he could not keep his eyes open.
Why not go along with her, he thought. She was a nice kid ... very nice. He would sleep until dinner time and then show her what love between the sheets really meant. Afterwards they would go out and eat. It was simple as all that.
Rika was still droning away. Bill could hear her faintly. She was telling him he would wake up presently and feel wonderful all over and that life was going to be perfectly beautiful. He would understand women, too, and they would respect him and everything was going to be fine. He would really appreciate the opposite sex and banish forever from his mind the idea that women were just made for sex and nothing else. And once he had learned that instant sex was vile, vulgar and self-destructive, he would never want that again. And sex would not trouble him because he would be completely under the control of his higher mind....
The gal could be right, Bill decided as he felt himself slipping into a blissful drowsiness. Nice kid, good to be with, wonderful material for his book. Good in bed, too. Her twirling had been real camp. If her land of sex were intelligent, he was all for it. Yes ... sex should be intellectual. He would do a chapter in his book on that....
Bill realized then that Rika was asking him if he agreed to the rules of STAIS. "Of course, why not?" he said.
"So raise your right hand and say yes in a loud voice," Rika instructed.
Bill was momentarily puzzled. A few seconds back he did not seem to have a right hand but now it had returned and he had raised it and he heard himself say, "Yes, I agree to the rules of STAIS-all of them!" His voice sounded just as if he meant it, Bill thought, although he couldn't care less. All he wanted from STAIS was to bring its founder into bed or to the floor or on the kitchen table. Rika was the kind of girl who went well anywhere.
But what was she saying now? Some remote part of Bill's jaded psyche strained to listen.
Rika's voice was chanting. "Now you're a full member of STAIS ... you are going to sleep for ten minutes and you will wake up feeling fine and refreshed all over ... now go to sleep ... sleep ... sleep . .
Good! He was going to sleep. What else? If Rika thought he were going to wake up in ten minutes, she was all wet.
With such pleasant thoughts, Bill fell asleep.
When he found himself sitting up ten minutes later feeling full of pep and ginger, he decided his sensation was just a coincidence. Such things could happen.
Rika gave an excited cry and danced over to the bed. She threw her warm and naked self on top of Bill and gave him a hot wet kiss that could be nothing but an invitation.
"Now for the test, darling. I'm so thrilled." She put her arms around Bill's neck and darted her tongue into his mouth. Then she drew away and stared down at him, wild delight shining in her eyes. "It works, it works," she chanted. As if to make it stick, she kissed Bill again and began to love him furiously with her tongue. Then she put her hand between Bill's thighs and positively cooed with pleasure on finding what she was touching was utterly quiescent.
Very tenderly she took Bill's face in her hands and gave him a sisterly lass on the lips. "You don't want me physically, Bill," she whispered. "You don't really. So it works. Oh, you darling man, it works. But you do love me, Bill, don't you? You do love me."
Bill nodded hypnotically. "Sure I love you, but we've got to know each other better. Isn't that what you said?"
"You're so right, Bill. Oh, doll, I'm so glad." Rika rubbed one erected nipple against the tip of Bill's nose and gave a quick glance at his creative department to see if there were any reaction.
Not a sign! Her spirits soared. Bill was a perfect subject, she thought. If only she had been able to treat Claud Harrow the same. That man was really impossible.
Bill idly picked up a magazine to leaf through. This was odd in itself, he thought, but as yet he didn't feel impelled to question his passivity.
Reflecting on Claud as she cleared the table, Rika was aware of a dark cloud in her heart. Claud, from whom she had been fleeing when she had met Bill at the bar, really was a darling, but so earthy. Positively messy, in fact, she thought. An impossible companion for the president of STAIS. But if it had not been for Claud's earthiness, she mused, there would be no STAIS-which she had started as a protection against Claud's perpetual carnality problem. Bill, on the other hand, really was a dreamboat. It hurt to think she would have to live without Bill's physical attention for the next three weeks but it was really for a good cause. STAIS was established at last. STAIS really worked. She had accomplished something. She had great plans for STAIS.
Rika drew an excited breath as she contemplated the future. She would be rich and famous. Bill would write a book about STAIS which every woman in the world who wanted a happy marriage would buy. How many women were there in the world, she wondered. She would look up the statistic in the library. Her thoughts raced on. She could see herself being interviewed on TV and jetting from continent to continent, the most famous girl-on-the-go. She would earn enormous sums lecturing. She could hear people saying, "She's such a pretty little thing. I don't know how she does it!" And there would be STAIS skyscraper buildings in the leading cities of the world.
Rika piled up the breakfast dishes in the sink and returned to the bed where Bill lay stretched out and still leafing through a magazine. He was a picture of male magnificence in repose.
Rika bent over him and gave him a warm kiss as Bill's strong hand clutched automatically at her womanly comforters. Rika responded by jabbing her tongue into his mouth and sighed with luscious approval as Bill's arms encircled her slenderness and pressed her hard against his naked body. This was the supreme test on which the future of STAIS depended, she thought.
"You darling," Rika whispered between kisses. "I love you. I'm sure we'll get along. I'm sure."
That was the point at which Bill's first doubt speared his mind. Rika might be getting along but he wasn't, he thought. His mind was anticipating their instant union but he lacked what it takes to make a girl happy. There was absolutely nothing.
Panic punched at him. She had bewitched him, Bill thought. Of all the crazy kooks, this girl was it. But no chick would ever defeat him. Never.
Rika now really turned on the heat. She made love to him with her tongue more fiercely than before. She rubbed her hardened breasts against his lips. She fondled and felt and pulled and kissed and finally she laid her wriggling superheated little body between his thighs. She squirmed and undulated until her passion apparently overflowed and she subsided with a gusty sigh.
But Bill lay in a pool of sweat and shame. He had been as active as a dead starfish. Never in his whole life had he been so embarrassed. What would she think of him? He had never failed a woman.
Rika gave him a tender kiss on the tip of his nose and wiped his damp forehead with the sheet. "You did want me, darling, didn't you? Really?" Her eyes lit with expectation. "I wanted you to." Bill grunted, "Sure, but-"
"I know, darling. But you were as you should be. "I'm so glad!" Rika squealed and wiggled. "It's real love-in your head, where it should be. You're learning through STAIS. Oh, I'm so happy."
Bill wanted to slap her but rejected the idea as a waste of energy that might worsen the situation.
"I'm glad you're happy," he said tartly.
"You should be, too, darling." Rika gave him a friendly bite on the shoulder. "Now you'll be able to work better and think clearly. You may be able to finish your book during our probation period and you'll be able to help me get STAIS on its feet. We need a whole lot of new members and we have to draw up a curriculum. I'll tell you about it. It's terrific."
Rika then gave Bill one of those kisses that under ordinary circumstances would have raised him to ecstatic tumescence.
But having decided such bliss was out of question at the moment, Bill gently pulled her little lips away. Even if she had succeeded in putting a hex on his procreative department, she had not shattered his sense of masculine superiority. This seemed the appropriate moment to show her who was boss.
"Now what's biting you?" he snapped.
"Just love, darling-pure unadulterated love and joy."
Bill rationalized at that point that his constitution could enjoy a furlough from sex for a time. With his batteries recharged by healthy living and total abstinence, he would be in better shape to implant a little Martin in the utterly attractive loins of his charming wife. And he would have labored in the vineyard of literature without being troubled by the old nocturnal urge to prowl the forest in search of man's legitimate play.
Still, resolved to cut Rika down to size, he regarded her with unsmilingly critical appraisal and said, "Why don't you put some clothes on?"
"Why, darling? Don't you like me like this? Do I worry you?" She regarded Bill with a cute smile, her face slanted prettily.
"No, but you might catch cold. This weather's kind of tricky, you know. And girls are supposed to wear clothes in the daytime. One should make oneself decent around the house."
Rika said, "Yes, dear," in a stunned voice. "I'll go and put something on. You have a good sleep. I'll tell our secretary to come back tomorrow if he turns up."
Bill was gleeful as he watched her pretty little flanks heading for the bathroom in full retreat. This was definitely a victory for male superiority, he thought. The chick had to be kept in her place. Did she really think he was soft in the head?
Then he remembered something and his brain reeled. Because something was definitely different. Because that adorable and luscious piece of girl flesh had caressed Bill Martin without rousing a single erg of response.
Bill forgot all about the benefits he had decided celibacy could confer upon him. The truth finally had hit him hard. The girl was undoubtedly a witch, he thought The Bill Martin supersensitive sexostat that normally reacted to any likely female within twenty yards had failed.
Bill shivered with horror. His sweat began to drip. His congenital upmanship over the female sex had become a memory. Robbed of what it takes to be up, he would be permanently and miserably down. His soul moaned, his psyche blubbered. Scorching blasts of frustration roared through the desert that had once been his mind.
He hoisted himself up and stumbled out of bed ant rushed across the room. In front of the big mirror he surveyed his muscular self. He looked normal enough. Bu was he?
Bill clutched at himself in sudden bleak desperation It couldn't be true, he thought. It was all a delusion. He waited, hoping against hope for the familiar tingling sensations to return. Nothing. He stared at himself again in the mirror. Nothing was missing. He had everything you saw on a Roman statue in the museum. But the salient did not work. The terrible implication screamed through his mind.
What to do? How did you handle a situation like this Bill snatched a cigarette and lit it with trembling hand and pondered. He wasn't going to let Rika know what she had done to him. She would only try and boss him if she knew. To that he would never submit. Being head man in any coupling was the Bill Martin recipe for a happy sex life.
Rika was cute enough. But there she stopped. Girls like her were a menace.
So he would hand himself back to Betty. Betty's sex appeal could raise the ambition of a centenarian. Bill was sure her time-tested oomph was strong enough to smash any hypnotic suggestion Rika might have planted in his subconscious.
Nuts to STAIS! Bill briefly reviewed the situation. He would rest up for a while. No sex, just dedication to work. After all, sex was really time-consuming. You first had to find the girl, sell her a line, feed her, fondle her and lead her into the right mood. The nicer the girl, the more time she demanded.
Bill's resolution was granite all at once. No more episodes of seduction.
A happy thought occurred. Dear Betty would flip her lid when he took her out to dinner and tried none of the old bed stuff afterwards. He would just show his sweet wife what real husbandly love amounted to-devotion, dedication, regard, fidelity and all that jazz.
As for Rika, the poor little thing meant well. He would play along with her and research the story of STAIS for his book. It sounded just like what he wanted. The Bill Martin luck was definitely holding out. If he didn't have everything, who did? With such comforting thoughts, he fell asleep.
5
VOICES, A MAN'S and a girl's, woke Bill. He sat up in bed and wondered what was going on.
Rika tiptoed nakedly in from the kitchenette. Apparently, she had not dressed at his command.
He sniffed. From the kitchenette was wafted the unmistakable scent of bacon and eggs. Through the crack in the door he could see a male figure with a beard bending over the table in the act of wolfing what must be breakfast.
"Claud Harrow is our recording secretary," Rika explained. "He's come to collect your membership fee and give you your certificate."
"Membership fee?" Bill said stiffly more out of surprise than resentment. "How much?"
"Only five dollars, honey. That's charter-member rate, specially for you."
Bill wanted to laugh. The chick seemed so damned serious, he thought. It bugged him, then, that such a perfectly bedsome little creature more torrid than an overheated steam bath could take such a lunatic idea as STAIS into her head and follow through on it.
Bill reached for his wallet and handed Rika the five dollars.
"If you'd like me to fix you breakfast," Rika said, "Claud will go out and shop. You give him the money."
Bill stared at her as he wrenched his mind away from wondering just what Claud meant to Rika and Rika meant to Claud-since she was still strolling around naked.
"There are some eggs in the ice box-and bacon and sausages as well," he said. "He doesn't have to go out."
Rika regarded him unsmilingly. "I just gave Claud breakfast. He was hungry." She managed a glimmer of a smile. "You don't mind, do you? A man has to eat."
Claud showed himself in the doorway-a pink egg of a man with a beard on top of a larger egg wearing a red shirt and dungarees.
"Hi, there," he said, saluting Bill with an easy smile., "Here's your certificate. Nice job, I must say, even if I did it myself." He handed Bill a paper that resembled one of those standard stock certificates you buy at a stationery store. It was just that, Bill remarked as he read it. For his five dollars he owned a lifetime share in STAIS which his name was inscribed in green and unreadable thick lettering.
"You'll be proud to hang it on your wall," said Claud, bright cobalt blue eyes sparkling funsomely. "Claud's won prizes for his art work. He specializes script," volunteered Rika.
Bill clung to his good nature and refrained from telling them what he felt might be a more appropriate use for the paper. Although Claud seemed a right enough guy. You had to accept his costume, of course. There were some people who did themselves a service by dressing eccentrically. The lad was doubtless a frustrated artist indulging in exhibitionism.
Bill made a mental note that Claud might provide useful copy for his book. "The certificate is definitely camp," he told Claud. "I shall treasure it." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the still naked Rika giving him, Bill, a puzzled look. Possibly doubting his sincerity, he thought. The chick was far from dumb.
Bill produced his wallet and put another five on the table. "I'm hungry. If Claud will be so good."
"Sure thing!" Claud's hand snaked down on the bill. "Brown or white eggs?"
"Whichever comes first-and Canadian bacon if you find any." Bill glanced at Rika. "Anything else we need?" He had never seen a girl so completely at ease being naked with two men. Undoubtedly a valuable social asset, he thought. A STAIS axiom, probably.
"We need some bread and a few more members for STAIS but I don't think we'll find the latter at this hour in the morning." Rika smiled at Bill. "You win a dollar for each new member you bring in and fifty cents for each member your new member brings in. It's like those pyramid clubs they had years ago."
"Yeah, and you can become a millionaire almost overnight," said Claud with his hand on the door. "Once you get going."
Rika settled herself on the stool in the kitchenette in preoccupied silence. She seemed depressed as she bent over the table and propped up her chin with her hands. Bill inspected the profile of her breasts and observed that the nipples pointed at widely different angles, a detail that had escaped his notice. Viewing her dispassionately as a member of STAIS in good standing, he decided she was definitely one of those chicks who looked good in the mornings, a valuable asset for any girl facing life in a man's world.
But why her wrinkled nose and furrowed brow? Bill was deliberating on this when again the awful truth struck him. What was he doing by staring at this thoroughly delectable naked girl and having no physical reaction? He might be a member of STAIS but he was not in good standing. His libido moaned. But, of course, he was still under the influence of that crazy mumbo jumbo Rika had pulled. He had become, under psychological influence, what amounted to a eunuch, one of nature's inferior jokes.
Rika addressed him at last. "You know, Bill, there's something I forgot. With things as they are, we'll have to use this place as STAIS headquarters for a while."
Bill hid his internal panic behind the well-known Martin grin. The old Martin philosophy was to keep smiling in the face of adversity.
"And so how are things?" The hard-core Missouri mule part of Bill was suggesting there was something mildly smelly about STAIS. Why hadn't Rika filled him in on Claud's function, position or potential in her young fife, Bill thought. The bearded one must be something more than a bill collector for STAIS. Bill scratched his ear. He had a definite impression he was playing substitute or something. Or perhaps sharing the saddle.
His sense of humor simmered as his writer's imagination began to weave the plot. A sexy dish like Rika could not go long without sex despite her assertions to the contrary. Judging by her performance, the chick couldn't possibly remain celibate for three weeks. Bill's medical research for his book told him that. So what was more simple than to hook him with her charms, desex him hypnotically while she used his apartment for food and shelter and had Claud fill in the yearning gap while Bill Martin was kept on ice like a frozen hamburger in the refrigerator?
Simple, my dear Martin, you are a genius, Bill's deductions continued. If he were wrong, why hadn't Rika put on some garments while Claud was around? The natural inference was that Claud was very much in.
"Things are bad at the moment," Rika said. "You might describe them as impossible."
"How come?" Bill wanted to pat Rika's bare shoulder but the solemnity of the occasion restrained him. The girl was undoubtedly in serious trouble, he mused. If only she were not so attractive. There was something so pathetically warm and appealing about the kid that it hurt Bill to be critical of her. But what was genuine about this toothsome morsel of female fruit and what was phony? How had it been that the president of such a high-minded organization as STAIS allowed herself to be picked up in a bar where gals unanimously had themselves picked up for one indisputable purpose?
"STAIS is broke," Rika said. "You can save it though be letting us use this apartment as our temporary headquarters."
"And what does that involve?" Bill said with serious mien. "I imagine the landlord doesn't like these apartments being used for business."
"It won't really be business, silly. No one will know. They'll just think we're your friends."
Bill's brows arched. With true Martin perversity he said, 'We? Who's we?"
"Me and Claud, of course. He's the STAIS recording secretary. We need him."
Bill felt he needed a third party around as much as he needed glass heels for his loafers. He visualized briefly a situation that might arise when sleeping time was nigh.
"Oh, him! You want him to come and live here?"
"He's sleeping in the car at the moment. The top is torn and it has mice in the upholstery. We can put him up here. He often stays out at night and sleeps in the daytime. Claud is very accommodating. He'll fit in with our plans. We just can't run STAIS without him. He has all the records."
"Where did he sleep before STAIS moved?" Rika's innocent air of vulnerability made Bill feel as if he were walking all over a bed of geraniums in snowshoes.
"I had a room until I couldn't pay for it." Rika sounded annoyed. "If you must know! Claud doesn't eat much and he works sometimes. He's really a nice person and terribly talented."
"I'm sure," he said. She was on the defensive and Bill decided to push home his advantage. "What kind of work does he do?"
Rika contrived to look as if her soul had a bellyache. Bill felt a little more of a brute.
"As I told you, he's the STAIS recording secretary. He keeps the books, writes our advertisements and gives lectures when we can obtain dates. He teaches yoga-you could do with some breathing lessons to loosen you up-for three or four dollars a session. Then he delivers circulars, works as a checker at a supermarket, occasionally-he's terribly good at figures-and he walks dogs and watches cats. In case you think he's destitute, he's not. He has an income from his grandfather's trust fund. It's hopelessly inadequate, naturally, but he shares it when it comes. If a person shares with you, then you should share with them. Yes?"
"Undeniably. So who do I share? You with Claud or Claud with you?"
Rika made a shocked sound. She turned toward Bill on the stool as if to give him a full view of her upper upholstery. She stretched out a most attractive right leg. After a moment's critical inspection of her pink-tipped toes, she looked at her tormentor and said, "You're sure you're quite all right?"
"Definitely. Why?"
"I'm getting sex vibrations. You make me feel as if I should put something on. I don't want to tempt you!" Bill snickered.
"I'm sorry about the sex vibrations. Perhaps they're coming from next door. There's a newly married Italian couple there." Bill paused to smile at Rika's slightly worried face. "But you didn't answer my question about the sharing."
Rika glowered. Then, however, she purred.
Bill was completely taken aback when she said, "You're making everything so difficult, Bill. I am disappointed in you. I thought you were an artist, not an accountant." She switched her gaze from Bill back to her toes and wiggled them prettily and was so fascinating that Bill wanted to demonstrate what men did to naked girls in the morning.
But he just stared and kept staring.
He had the strangest sensation. He wanted to touch Rika's alluring flesh. He wanted to kiss the tiny pink buds that grew on those beautiful mounds. But his concupiscent ambitions dissolved like smoke in a gale.
Cold fingers began to ice his spine. Something was terribly wrong. He was still subject to the STAIS hex.
He felt himself flushing. Sweat began to drip under his arms. He felt awkward, clumsy. No clod at a society cocktail party felt cloddier.
With a prodigious effort he succeeded in steadying his mind. What land of idiot was he to sit staring at a naked beauty and do nothing about it? The hell with STAIS. There might be something in that society-but not for him.
The writer in him reminded him he was doing a book. STAIS principles were good copy. Transmitted to the American public in the Bill Martin inimitable style they might bulwark the American marriage against the evils of social incompatibility, frigidity, nymphomania, satyriasis and all that. A writer should have an open mind Be willing to experiment. Sure he was! But not to sacrifice. Sex was important-before and after marriage. Instant sex had its place in society. Supposing guys did not want to become married? What would STAIS do for them? Nothing but make them miserable. That's what!
Bill hustled his thoughts forward. STAIS was all compete rubbish. But horror crashed into his consciousness. Supposing he stayed in the condition Rika had brought him to? Supposing Rika left him that way? Supposing she couldn't bring him back to normality? His libido was ashen at the specter of that possibility.
So he had to placate Rika or he was lost. Women were ruthless creatures. The smaller and more innocent-seeming the girl, the more ruthless she could be.
So I'll compromise, he said to himself. It will be fun and I'll have some good copy. I need some offbeat material to liven up the book. Placating Rika could be positive.
I don't mean to be difficult," he said judiciously. "I'm just interested in how you mean to handle this threesome."
Her eyes lit. Contentment glowed in her entire body.
"I believe you, darling," Rika said. "Of course, you have to become reoriented. STAIS will help you. "I'm sorry I was so short but I'll be frank with you. Learning to be frank with each other, you must know, is part of the probational premarital period in our philosophy which is a blend of the East and the West. I don't think I told you that. We teach mental as well as bodily control and out-givingness. You'll find it fascinating. We insist on frankness. It's hard sometimes, but you have to bring yourself to look your heart in the face. Can you see what I mean?"
Bill nodded. This was one double-yolked kook but she did it awfully well. "I understand."
"I wonder if you really do." Rika approached to sit on the bed. She ran her hand softly up and down the inside of Bill's thigh. "Let me put it this way. You were emotionally disturbed when I suggested Claud stay with us. I know what happened. A mental image associating me physically with Claud formed in your mind and bruised your expurgated psyche. You have even visualized Claud making love to me and your earthy primitive ego found it repulsive. That's the land of thing you have to fight And probably your own libido felt it must justify itself by emulating Claud's performance." Rika hunched her knees under her chin. "You just mustn't do that. It's harmful."
Bill nodded and tried not to look annoyed. "I understand. Tell me more."
Rika was reaching for him, obviously trying to prove the efficacy of her treatment. "I'd like to tell you everything, Bill, and afterwards you can make up your own mind, but we just don't have the time. You have to believe me. What is important at the moment, dear man, is that we are broke. I am broke, Claud is broke, STAIS is broke. Until I met you, this wonderful organization-which could do so much good in the world-was in danger of financial collapse and total oblivion."
Bill tried to assume the appropriate concern.
Rika continued. "You would never guess what I intended to do when fate brought you and me together in that loathsome bar where I had fled in desperation from the chilling arrows of a hard and cynical world." Her voice now was very solemn. "You realize, of course, I am a normal, healthy-minded, high-principled girl with a woman's instincts, a woman's passions-and a woman's needs. All these I pushed aside when I dedicated myself to the cause of STAIS."
She paused dramatically. Her jaw line firmed.
The little witch, Bill thought, keeping his face serious. She needed a good spanking and a lusty five-hundred horsepower loving to straighten her out. The nerve of her expecting him to absorb this nonsense.
"So what did you intend to do when we met in the bar?" he said. "For God's sake tell me. I'm suffering from suspense."
"You won't hate me and abandon STAIS?"
"How could I hate a beautiful, warm-hearted lovely like you?" said the old Bill Martin. He felt a tiny spasm of desire somewhere in his body.
Rika's face clouded. Bill's reference to her beauty was obviously not to her liking.
"Please, Bilk be serious. Carnal thoughts are so dangerous." Her huge dark eyes rounded appealingly. "I was going to sell myself to the first man who would pay me twenty-five dollars and look after my bar checks. The money was to pay a week's room rent in arrears and buy a hamburger and retrieve Claud's laundry so he could go to work. But you came along, dear heart, and saved us. You rode on to the battlefield like a true white knight But let's forget the mundane aspect of it all. You saved me, so in return we are saving you from destroying yourself with instant sex and sex without thought."
The writer section of that complex human mechanism known as Bill Martin made a note of the term "instant sex." The girl was good copy. His ordeal would pay dividends.
But when, he wondered.
"I have to work, you know," Bill announced tentatively. I'll be frank with you. I have a wife." Rika gave no sign of shock. I'll be franker," he continued. "I have to have sex to work. I'll be most frank. If I don't work, I starve, you starve, Claud starves and STAIS goes down the drain."
Good going, my boy, he thought. Who could put it plainer than that?
Rika patted what had once been the Martin pride and glory and said reassuringly, "Don't worry, darling. You will adjust yourself to your new life. It's like dieting. The first few days are the worst. Some people I know never gave sex a second thought after living on STAIS principles for less than a month. They said it was glorious to be free. Just glorious. Sex ties you down. Ever thought of that? It's a form of imprisonment. We were born to be free."
"I suppose so," Bill said offhandedly. "But I'm all for a touch of the right kind of imprisonment." He gave her a sharp look. "If I remember rightly, you found it pleasant enough."
Rika shrugged. Her smile was provocative. "With me it's a matter of perfect control. Even in the advanced stage, change is beneficial."
Irritation and disappointment clogged Bill's breathing. Why waste breath? There must be a way out-and a way back into this bewitching little witch. He excused himself to go to the bathroom where, scrubbing his teeth, he remembered something old Shakespeare had said about there being good in everything. At least he'd make money out of this.
But the bitter thought struck him-there wasn't enough money in the whole world to compensate a man for losing his procreativity.
Bill glared at his hot-faced image in the glass. If that little devil did not restore his virility, he thought, he would sue her. What publicity for the book. Great-sales would be ruined.
Bill Martin uttered a baleful imprecation. The situation was intolerable. Something concrete had to be done.
6
BILL MARTIN ESCAPED from his own apartment.
So, he thought, his ego felt slighted. His masculinity had been bested by a woman. He was chained to the little witch, Rika. Samson had met his Delilah.
His heart sank to his pounding shoes. This stupid hypnosis business, he thought He had to break that spell and show Rika who was boss. There was a bookstore on the corner of the avenue, one of those places where they sell books on every subject under the sun. Bill hared in and left in a while with two paperbacks on hypnosis. In a cafeteria he bought himself a coffee and sat himself down in a corner to read.
Much of the data he knew. But the chapter on the use of hypnosis to cure bad habits really disturbed him. Great overstuffed knockers, Bill thought was it actually true that only the person who put you in a trance could satisfactorily detrance you? Bill's hair bristled. If that were true, Rika had him hogtied.
He absorbed the chapter and marked the salient paragraphs. The next chapter detailed the experience of people who had been restored to a normal sex flow by subliminal therapy. Bill found it so fascinating that he forgot his immediate worries. It was stupid to worry, anyhow, he thought. The writer said quite definitely that most sex suggestions implanted in a patient's subconscious mind were directed toward one individual.
Bill closed the book with a snap, rammed it in his pocket and darted for the street. He had nothing to worry about, he told himself again. Betty was the answer. He had only to think of this delicious, adorable blonde with the dazzling legs and a pair of gorgeous matching bosoms and he was cured.
Bill quickened his pace. He was a man in a hurry going places. There wasn't a girl in the world like Betty, he thought. She had style. And what a shape. He was stirred-he was sure of that.
Was he, really? Bill's debonair smile faded. Chagrin punched at the soft underbelly of his rising spirit Because Betty had made it plain, after all, that he was persona non grata. She would not even answer the telephone.
Bill's belly knotted. He slowed his steps. If Betty would only speak to him. li only he knew where she was. She was so good for him.
Misery took him but he scotched it. The proven Martin tenacity came to the rescue. You could lose a battle and still win a war. There was a stationery shop across the street and a sign indicated a phone booth within. Bill jetted into the store and slotted himself into the pay booth.
The phone buzzed beautifully. Bill pressed the coin return button and tried again. He tried to smile at a large woman loaded with parcels who scowled when he sent the dime on its third downward trip. Finally, sweating damply, he emerged. Another blank.
Now what? An idea occurred to him outside a Western Union office. He could be persuasive. But Betty no longer responded to that, he knew. But he might appeal to her compassion. All women had mother complexes. They saw their husbands as little boys. What more likely to tug at the female heart than a little sick boy?
A telegram every hour might do the trick, Bill considered. Having dispatched the first couched in simple words as benefited the occasion, Bill made for a gin mill to reflect, cogitate, dust off his hopes and renew his confidence. Two drinks later he called Betty with the results as before, except that the telephone sounded bitchier than usual. Inanimate objects acquired personality to the conditioned mind, he reflected. His mind was in shocking condition.
The next telegram he sent was a masterpiece of falsehood masquerading as reality. Surely she would not let him go to hospital without a kind word, the message said. Yet she might, Bill thought. You never knew women. But a man knew his own wife. Or did he? Bill steered himself into another tavern.
For another couple of drinks he brooded in fruitless debate as to whether a man could ever really know his own wife. Some men could not, but he could. What
CHAPTER could he write on that? Bill collected his change and allowed the liquor to veer him across the street at the green and not in between. People were going home and the streets were filling with automobiles.
The girl at the telegraph office looked as if she did not appreciate dispatching telegrams from clients with a load on. After spoiling a round dozen forms, Bill chickened out, rolled the spoilage into tight balls he dropped in the waste can and set an unsteady course to the street outside. If Betty would not go to Bill then Bill would go to her, he decided. A man should push out the boat even on the stormy sea of matrimony.
Bill squinted at his watch. His animal cunning suggested the wisdom of waiting a while to give Betty time to relax after work and shake off the strains of toil. He presumed she was still working. To bolster his theory he nudged himself into yet another phone booth and poked his dime into the little round hole.
The signal sounded aggressively repulsive this time. Bill hiccuped. He viewed the wretched instrument as a symbol of separation, an insult to licensed concupiscence. Another note for his book.
Time seemed to have flown remarkably fast. The traffic was thinning and the streets were darkening. The night person in Bill cooed. Early evening was the prelude to romance, the lover's warm-up.
So Bill Martin would warm up. With thoughts of Betty's charms occasionally banishing the fog in his mind, he began to navigate himself in the general direction of what had once been his happy home. On the corner of Betty's block he halted. His spirits soared. There was a light in Betty's window. Or was there? Bill counted the floors on his fingers and arrived at a different answer each time. Too bad he had forgotten his abacus, but why bother about such trivial matters? Still, he could use a stimulus.
A desolate bar welcomed him as warmly as a harlot's smile. It was the kind of place a literary figure of his stature would normally not patronize, Bill reflected as he aimed himself down the three steps and success fully negotiated the door. But people drank there. Otherwise, why would it be open? As a student of humanity, he owed it to people to mix with people.
The barkeep brought Bill a scotch, unfolded the five dollar bill dropped on the bar, inspected it sourly and delivered the change. A faded girl sidled up and asked Bill for a light. Bill obliged and reflected on the tragedy of women who lived alone. He had a chapter heading for exactly that problem.
Bill was at the bottom of his second drink there when he thought of Rika. The storm of aggravation her image created in him blew Bill into ferocious determination, Rika and Claud had to go, Bill told himself. Why had he allowed them to impose on him? But on the other hand, one should help the unfortunate. Strong men like himself could help themselves. The weak and the underprivileged lacked the power. Bill was glad he was him. He might have been a Claud. The world was full of Claud's.
Bill consulted his watch. Whatever time it was, it was now and now was the time for action. Scooping up his change, he blotted up his drink and directed himself in the general direction of Betty's apartment.
It was dark now. The building was a blaze of light There were rows upon rows of lighted windows. He was home. Bill inhaled a deep breath, hiccuped and pushed on. Home was the sailor, home to the she.
When Betty's door opened a matter of seconds after his first ring, Bill jerked his head back as if someone had clipped him on the jaw. He blinked, he stared, and then, as his surprise drained, he smiled.
The dark silhouette of a girl with her red hair piled high on her head like a guardsman was not his sweet wife.
"Bilk for Heaven's sake."
"Sue, of all people."
Bill swayed to the right, yawed to the left, centered himself and advanced into the familiar coziness of the living room. Nothing had changed. There were flowers on the table and flowers by the window. The Chinese evergreen still climbed up the wall by the couch and the Mona Lisa was still hanging over the workbench, as Bill called the bed.
And there was that gorgeous redheaded pushover, Sue Langley.
Bill turned to regard Sue. She did not seem exactly calm. Bill narrowed his eye to bring her into sharper focus.
"Where's Betty, Sue? Where's my wife?" The last question slipped out of his outraged husband department before he could stop it. He added stiffly, "Where is she?"
Sue appeared as unhappy as she was toothsome. The girl had a figure that simply screamed challenges at the male libido. It had no appeal for Bill, then, but it was comforting to know the statistics still held-thirty-eight, cup B.
But her face was parchment white. Her slanting eye structure registered concern moving into open confusion as Bill's stern blue orbs zeroed in on hers.
"Where is she, Sue? Where?"
Sue backed away. Her hips were terrific. Bill straightened his shoulders and blinked his libido. This was no time to admire a girl's hips, he informed himself.
"Betty! Yes, of course." Sue's pale mouth kept in motion but the words faded. Bill noticed her gaze deviated for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye he saw why. Two suitcases stood by the bed. She must have moved in to keep Betty company, he surmised. Adversity made strange bedfellows. Women were queer fish and all that. Betty had wanted to murder Sue, he remembered, after that awkward little event between Sue and himself. Now the two women were together again. Well, Betty did need looking after, Bill thought. He was glad his wife was chaperoned.
"So where is she?" Bill demanded. "Betty-my wife. She lives here!"
Sue nodded and managed to say, "Betty-oh, yes. Betty's here but she's out. She went to do some shopping. She'll be back any minute. She's not here now. Really she isn't.
Bill watched her closely. As a chaperon for Betty when he was not there, Sue Langley was perfect. As a third party when he wanted to discuss the responsibilities and duties of being Mrs. Martin with Betty, Sue was a pain in the neck.
"And you, Sue, where are you going?" Bill's gaze moved suggestively towards the door. "Didn't you say you were going out for a while? Or did I hear incorrectly?"
The expression on her face was eloquent of her distress but Bill was ruthless. If Sue didn't have anywhere to go, he thought, she could find somewhere. There was a movie around the comer.
Bill ignored the appeal of Sue's big eyes. She was probably thinking that Betty would never forgive her for letting him in. He would take the blame for that.
"I'll explain everything to Betty, Sue," Bill declared reassuringly. "Betty and I have a few things to discuss. You know how it is."
Sue said, "Yes, Bill, I know!" She seized her purse and jacket Tell Betty I'll phone later. Goodbye, Bill Nice to have seen you." Her scared eyes stared at Bill for a moment as she tried to smile. Then she headed for the door and disappeared with a flash of hurrying legs.
Bill waved his hand in ironic parting. He was back. Home was wonderful.
He settled on the bed. The softness of the mattress made him feel sleepy. Why not take a nap? They were going to bed anyhow. He and Betty, his sweet little wife.
He began to undress. Betty was certainly going to be surprised about this. Good old Betty. Bill stripped off his shirt and vest. His pants followed.
Down to his socks, he stood up and waved to his somewhat fuzzy naked image in the mirror. You made it, Bill he chortled. I knew you would. Betty's sure going to be surprised.
Azimuthing to the bathroom proved a perilous journey but Bill finally made it He squirted himself with some of Betty's perfume and fixed his hair. Betty always liked him to smell nice. That was something American men had to do-go to bed looking smart It was all in his book.
Back in the bedroom he halted with a shocked expression. He had left his pants on the floor. How careless of him. If there was one thing Betty hated it was seeing his pants on the floor.
Clutching the back of a chair to steady himself, Bill knelt to retrieve the pants. He erected himself gingerly, folded the trousers properly and hung them over the back of the chair. A smile of satisfaction spread over his face as he surveyed his handiwork. Just right. Couldn't be better. Betty would love him for that.
After placing his shoes neatly tinder the same chair, Bill slipped into bed to wait for Betty. He saluted Mona Lisa with an airy wave of his hand and said, "You know something, Lisa, old girl? I bet you do but I'll tell you in case you forgot You can't keep a good man down, old girl. You just can't"
7
BETTY WAS WORRIED as she walked home, a bag of groceries under her arm. Had she made an error, she wondered, by intending to leave the city for the summer?
She felt like a drink. Her throat's need of lubrication suddenly became terribly important. There was a bottle of wine in her bag. But that was for dinner. She wanted a drink now. But Sue was waiting in the apartment.
Sue could wait till Florida froze, Betty thought. She sighted a bar where she and Bill often used to go and her heart twisted with genuine and painful nostalgia. Still, her thirst was compelling. A drink might convince her she was making a first-class ass of herself for having accepted the summer job at Wingtip Go and for having literally taken Sue Langley back to her lonely bosom.
Perched on a bar stool, Betty felt morosely deserted. Bill had not been around after their last screaming row and she somehow wished he would show up. At least he might try. If he really loved her, he would. Because of his absence she felt she had a right to be angry. The man was a complete bastard as well as being the most adorable guy in the whole world. Why were adorable guys always complete bastards to their wives?
Betty shrugged off the necessity to answer that one and sipped her gin and tonic. She was in a womanly mood. The land that made spending the evening with another girl a torture. Betty wanted to call Bill but her fail-safe mechanism would not allow that But, she acceded-aware of two warm sensations blending inside her, one being liquor-if she were to bump into Bill accidentally, or if Bill happened to phone with good intent, she might be inclined to relent She might Possibly. Even probably.
Betty warmed her tonsils with another gulp and signaled to the barkeep for a repeat Yes, she decided, if Bill phoned tonight she would resume loverly relations with the big chump. She might even apologize for her imaginary faults and The unfinished sequence of her hopes had flowered so vividly in her that her body reacted as if her lord and master were already in possession. Betty wriggled her fingers frantically to the barkeep that she would be back immediately, dumped her groceries on the stool and hared for the girl's room. Emotional crises invariably hit her that way.
Later, lugging her grocery bag homewards through the streets, Betty again felt morose. There was a jinx somewhere. She kept thinking of Bill and what he meant to her on this particular day and the big clunk was nowhere. It was a cruel world. She would have to phone Bill.
She halted outside a store where there was a pay phone but the physical inconvenience of dumping her package and fishing for a dime in the depths of her purse overcast her resolution. She would call Bill when she reached home.
In the lobby of her apartment building she remembered Sue was waiting upstairs. Damn, why did the girl have to come and settle in the apartment? Betty felt resentful. She had invited Sue, of course, because of Betty Martin loneliness. But now the arrangement did not make sense. Sue should have had more tact than to have accepted. But you couldn't expect tact from Sue, Betty thought. Any girl who would fornicate with her best friend's husband while her best friend was out buying beer for the three of them-was impossible.
Betty's resentment flared. To hell with Sue. Betty was going to phone Bill anyhow. If Bill were willing to play, and she could not imagine he would not be, since he loved her and had sworn he was through with other women, which she finally believed because she loved him. She would just pitch Sue out on her ear and tell her Bill was moving back and that was that.
Betty was glad women could be realistic with women, she reflected as she slipped her key in the door. Sue would understand. The girl would not have the gall to protest. No woman had a right to come between husband and wife. There was a pleasant glow in Betty's stomach.
Betty balanced her groceries in her arm and inserted her key. The door opened suddenly at the exact moment that the bottom of the grocery bag gave way and plopped its contents on the floor. But Betty did catch the wine. She swayed for a moment as she surveyed the array of goodies on the floor. To hell with them, she thought. Sue could pick them up. She was going to share them, wasn't she? It was time she did some work. Where was Sue, anyhow? Couldn't the girl come and help her carry the stuff? Sue knew Betty would be coming back with a load.
If Betty had rung the bell and not fussed about trying to open the stupid door, the silly bag wouldn't have broken.
"Hi, Sue, I'm back," Betty called.
There was no answer. Where was that stupid girl? She had probably drained the last drop out of the vodka bottle and gone to sleep.
Betty paused to reflect on the perfidy of women friends. Clutching the bottle of wine by the neck, she took a step forward and then halted. Supporting herself with one hand against the wall, she sniffed. Something was different, she thought. She had an eerie feeling and shuddered.
Her romance lamp, as she called it, was lit. She had hardly used the thing since she had been on the outs with Bill. Seeing it now evoked memories that tugged at her heart and spiraled in her stomach.
"Sue," Betty called softly, "Sue, it's me. I dropped all the stuff," she added a helpless giggle. "Come and help pick it up."
The only answer was silence. Betty choked for a moment and hiccupped. Sue must be asleep, Betty thought There was nothing to be scared of. This was her apartment. She had come in with her key.
Then she heard it. Someone was snoring.
Now Betty could hear her heart thumping. The suspense was excruciating. It was a loud snore, too. Not a sweet little whispering snore women make.
The man next door snored, Betty remembered. She often heard him. But this snore wasn't on the other side of the wall. It was in her room.
Finally she found her courage and rushed forward. In the middle of the room where the carpet was worn, she halted. A squeal of delight that had started as a gasp of surprise soared from her lips. The bottle fell to the ground and rolled in an unobserved direction as a bomb of womanly joy burst inside of Betty.
She threw herself on the bed and kissed the snorer on his unsuspecting lips.
The snoring stopped.
Bill rubbed his eyes and grinned. His willing arms gripped his wildly excited spouse.
The air was filled with protestations of feminine love.
Female clothes flew off in a whirlwind. Shapely legs kicked. Shoes fell off. A bra melted away.
A magnificent pair of breasts appeared for kissing as their owner emitted heated gasps. Hips wriggled, frenzied fingers disposed of a garter belt.
The bedcovers were ripped down and an animated, superheated, one hundred ten pounds of female flesh pounced on naked man.
Lips met, a female tongue darted in and out, limbs entwined.
An engorged female rubbed herself passionately against the male counterpart.
The room filled with the unmistakable sound of labored female breathing.
The Martins were reunited.
All was forgiven and forgotten.
With every fervid female gesture known to the sex, Mrs. Martin announced her willingness-nay, her determination to take her husband back into her yearning depths where she shamelessly invited him to plant the seed of their son and heir which she knew was Bill's life ambition.
Bill reacted as would any other erring husband so generously forgiven. He clutched, he stroked, he kissed. He ran his hands over the familiar curves, he patted the warm velvet of his wife's eager flesh. He kissed the fragrant armpits, the deliciously erected nipples, the rosy flanks and the delicious feminine equipment they enclosed. He sniffed the warm clean woman smell native only to virtuous wives-and then horror mounted slowly in him as he became aware of his total lack of response where response really mattered.
Betty was behaving with the wildest abandon. She rolled over on her back, her sweetest treasures prettily exposed.
But the virility Betty anticipated did not appear. Bill was bearing down but that was about the size of it.
She reached-and discovered the awful truth.
The man was soggy.
She pinched encouragingly at first. Then, when she could no longer ignore her consciousness, she deliberately dug her sharp nails into him.
Bill yelled.
Betty screamed. In vituperative indignation. What she screamed was unintelligible to Bill but the portent was clear.
"I'm sorry, Betty-I-well, I've been working hard-and I've been drinking a bit Missed you and so forth."
Betty gave him that special brand of get-lost scorn wives retain only for husbands. Her rounded eyes resembled twin gun barrels about to fire at him. She drew a deep long breath.
The room became a vacuum of silence. Tension pressed in on Bill as he watched Betty's blanched face turn a delicate shade of pink. The shade spread slowly down the throat he loved to lass and suffused the full breasts that sweet minutes back had welcomed his kisses and now seemed to glare at him like accusing eyes.
"I'm sorry, doll," he ventured with a hint of his customary Bill Martin nonchalance. "But that's how it is. All work and all that makes Jack a dull boy and douses the traditional pep."
Betty did not speak. The silence was monstrous.
Bill blundered on. "Drink and too much work does things to a man. You should know that. I've been doing some research on the subject for my book." His points weren't going down well, so Bill snatched at an imaginative straw. "When you're in love with someone and you sleep with her regularly and then you don't, you miss her and you get out of practice-a doctor said that-and it takes time to become used to sex again. A man gets overanxious. I had been dreaming about you and overdid it. It's like fasting or going without water. You can kill yourself if you take too much food or water right after you stop fasting...." Bill spread his hands hopelessly. "That's how it is. Just like boxers over-training. Lots of them lose fights that way. We've got to have patience, tolerance and so forth. Patience, doll. I've always believed in patience. A good thing is worth waiting for. You know me. At least you should by now...." Bill trailed off into unhappy silence.
Then Betty hit him.
She hit him hard, just once. And she sprang out of the bed and headed for the bathroom.
For a moment Bill sat staring moodily at the bathroom door behind which the streak of naked fury had disappeared. He listened gloomily to the bathroom noises. The poor kid was really upset, he thought. His intentions had really been so good, too. Damn STAIS. He'd break that slinky little Rika's neck and ram his membership certificate down Claud's throat.
The bathroom door opened and Betty emerged draped head to foot in the most concealing robe Bill had ever seen.
Bill observed his wife's face was still pink and her mouth still down turned. He awkwardly covered himself, feeling like a small boy who had been caught swimming naked by his pretty teacher at the Sunday school picnic.
Betty halted in the middle of the room. Her right hand, which peeped from the folds of the robe, held the brush designed for the scouring of an important piece of bathroom equipment Bill's neck hair bristled as he beheld the thing.
Betty pointed at the door and delivered her speech in super acidulated decibels.
"Bill Martin, I will not waste words on you," she said, her eyes shooting death rays at Bill's shamed face. "No words can express how I feel about such a deceitful, cowardly, unfaithful, fornicating, girl-chasing, persistently incurable, loathsome, unattractive, blustering, unscrupulous, unreliable, pestiferous, baneful, virulent, perverted, fraudulent, humbugging whoremonger as you. I have only one word to express my feelings for you. One little word!" Betty paused to snatch a labored breath. "It is-go. And don't come back. Never let me see you again. If you pester me in the street I shall call a cop, I shall scream for help. If you ever come here again I shall hire a bodyguard at your expense."
Betty pointed dramatically at the bathroom and announced, "I am again going to the bathroom where I shall eventually soak myself in the tub in an attempt to wash away the stains your vile and degrading hands have left on my fair flesh you sought to abuse so wantonly. But first I shall give you five minutes to dress your miserable self and leave. If you are still here when I open the door, I shall take decisive action. I shall call the superintendent. I might even murder you and claim self-defense, you incredible, snake-bellied, contaminated toad."
The bathroom door banged so hard that Mona Lisa jittered on the wall and hung aslant.
Bill cogitated momentarily in considerable gloom and decided the moment was one for evasive action rather than persuasive argument He had a difference to settle elsewhere. There again the problem called for diplomacy rather than violent action. And, being a whole man again was essential before discussing further life with Betty.
Bill's psyche growled like a wounded jungle beast As he knotted his tie with customary precision in front of the mirror, he heard the tub running. Betty would feel relaxed after her bath, bless her little heart.
Dressed to his norm of immaculate perfection, having been fortunate to find a clean shirt in his dresser, he knocked on the bathroom door and said, '"I'm going now, darling!"
His words were wasted, if he hoped for a reply. Hot of face and unhappy of heart, he strode out of the apartment closed the door gently to demonstrate that Martin males knew how to control themselves and headed for STAIS headquarters.
As he marched he posed himself a question. What should he do if he arrived and found Claud besaddling Rika, which was quite possible. What was STAIS etiquette under such a circumstance?
A dark thought occurred. But violence was not the answer. What a chaos. Rika's damnable post-hypnotic suggestion had created a block in his sexline. He needed a free flow through to the appropriate human plumbing. Perhaps he should find a plumber!
Bill clenched his fists as he walked. He could not see himself telling a psychiatrist he, Bill Martin, had been nut enough to allow a girl to put a hex on him. No, rectification of this stupendous wrong he had suffered was his own personal risk.
Bill's hand went automatically to adjust his over-adjusted tie. He would somehow prevail. He would confound Rika and Claud.
But the question remained: how?
8
RIKA WAS ALONE when Bill returned. Wearing a pair of blue panties, she was sitting otherwise nude in the armchair and reading.
She greeted him with a tender smile. "Hi, Bill. I was waiting for you, to give you your lesson."
She put the magazine down and inspected Bill with a puzzled expression.
"You look different this evening. What have you been doing? You're so formal, you scare me. I don't like formal people. Undo your collar and loosen that terrible tie, relax."
Bill said, "Lesson? What lesson now?"
"You're due for the second plateau of STAIS activity. I'm going to give you some exercises to build sexual power and store it just as you do electricity in a car battery.
We teach you to concentrate your sexual energy in the right place and not dissipate it as the average person does. It's very simple and terribly effective. You become a power pack of creativity."
Bill made a quick decision. Underneath Rika's innocent little girl pose there was a rock, he knew, a real hard one. A promoter like her had to be that way. He rejected his first instinct to tell her he thought STAIS was a lot of rubbish. Instead, he said with considerable urgency, "Rika, I've got to talk to you."
"Of course, darling," Rika purred prettily, the personification of confident feminine composure. "STAIS encourages its members to be outgiving. It helps to form the building blocks of one's new character."
Bill's jaw hardened. I'm going to be very outgiving, chum. "I'm going to talk turkey."
Rika gave him a bland stare. Amusement flickered in her eyes. "The poor old turkey. I wonder why that unfortunate bird so often has his name taken in vain. There should be a law against it. I hope you're not going to gobble at me. STAIS members usually acquire a quiet, compelling dignity that attracts the opposite sex."
"So we'll forget the turkey and face facts. If you don't remove this post-hypnotic impotence from me I'm going to blow and leave you and STAIS to wither on the vine."
Rika met his gaze calmly. She was studying Bill as impersonally as she might a picture and he hated her for it.
"You mean you want to have sexual relations with me, Bill as we did before?" Amusement and compassion blended in her eyes. "You really can't wait?"
Bill sensed the need for caution. Best to let the chick think she was the only one on his list.
That's about it, Rika. I have to admit that."
Rika's brows rose. "And if I won't let you?" Her expression had pity for him. "I hate to spoil good work."
Then I'm tossing you both out and STAIS can look after itself." He spoke savagely. "No funds available."
She looked as if she were thinking of something else and then said, "I suppose I could make an exception. Of course I can. HI free you for intercourse once a week. It will be an interesting experiment. We'll be able to discover whether your sexual power has noticeably increased. It should have." She laid her face against Bill's arm as she clutched his hand and turned her eyes up to give him a saccharine smile.
"So you do it now," Bill snapped.
"It wouldn't do you any good, darling," Rika said. "Nature has taken control of my womanly functions and I am enabled to think the more clearly, just as STAIS has been doing to you although you don't realize it."
"But I want to work. I've got to have sex to clear my brain. Well all starve if I don't get to work."
She was studying him contemplatively. Her innocence was overstressed, he thought. Waiting for her to speak, he wondered how she would react if he put her across his knee and spanked her. But that really wouldn't be so good in view of her present condition.
"I can give you some cerebral energy suggestions," Rika said. She spoke as if she were measuring each word. "It would be fatal if I unleashed your sex drive and you dissipated it on someone else. It might ruin you for life. You see, you and I have established an entirely satisfactory magnetic rapport that benefits both of us and we just mustn't lose it. Similarly, I would not encourage oral or manual stimulation at this stage. No, Bill, you'll have to wait."
"So I'll wait," Bill said gruffly.
Rika sat on his knee. She took one of his hands and cupped it around her breast She nuzzled her soft cheek against his. "It's only another forty-eight hours, darling, and then we can dance hand-in-hand down the purple path." She jogged up and down like an excited child. "We'll have a wonderful time. You'll be surprised to find how strong you are."
Rika made no comment on Bill's muted lack of enthusiasm. She fell to inspecting her toes as was her wont when a situation threatened to become awkward. Then her face brightened.
"By the way, darling," she said, as if she had found the solution, at least to continuing communication, "if we are to eat tomorrow, we need some food. Give me some money and I'll go out early and get breakfast" She snuggled closer in Bill's arms. "And, darling, STAIS needs some stamps and I need something from the drugstore. Ten bucks should do everything." She took Bill's arm. "Come and see how I've fixed the bed for three. We're going to sleep crossways. I'm in the middle. And I've told Claud to wash his feet. They smell sometimes. He's so careless about things like that." The happy child smile came again. "You see, I think of everything! Don't I?"
"You certainly do." Bill agreed with no effort to conceal his irony.
* * *
The next two days dragged. Bill received three sessions in STAIS hypnotic suggestion and three promises of restoration. Similarly Rika received three definite threats of STAIS collapse and an additional thirty dollars for housekeeping.
Claud was becoming quite affable. While Rika was out shopping for food, Bill discussed his problem.
Claud laughed. "That's Rika all over. She tried it on me. Get her to unhook you. She'll do that. She's crazy about you and she can't do without the old balm of comfort. It just happens I've cut her out for a cutie up the road but I promised to help Rika with STAIS. So I stay around. I'm interested in the mental-physical culture side of the movement." Noticing Bill's lack of enthusiasm, Claud said with a sudden burst of good nature, "Don't worry. If Rika doesn't take the spell off you, I know someone who will. It will cost you ten bucks. But it's a complicated business so it's better to let her detrance you to make sure it takes...."
* * *
The great day came.
Rika was as good as her word. At precisely noon, after giving Bill his regular STAIS instruction to the accompaniment of a phonograph record supposed to represent rain on a roof, she revitalized him, took herself a perfumed bath and obligingly nestled concupiscently beside him to receive his restored ardency.
Bill performed with gusto. The kid had been right, he decided. The layoff had done him good. He felt better than ever. No stallion in the spring ever enjoyed his work more than Bill Martin as he covered the bewitching sexuality of the president of STAIS and repeatedly de livered his accumulated vitality into the tender vessel she so generously and persistently offered....
Rika was ravished. As they lay side by side sweating from their efforts, she whispered, "You see, darling, STAIS did you a lot of good. It helped us both to raise sex to its proper level in human existence. You're a wonderful subject." Rika stretched her alluring shape in languid rapture. She yawned and said, "I'm going to take a nap now, darling. Then I'll put you back into your celibacy orbit until next week." She kissed Bill's damp forehead. "Isn't life wonderful, Bill?"
Bill agreed. He waited until Rika's regular breathing announced her weary little body was asleep and then he slid out of bed, dressed on tiptoe and rushed his revitalized body out into the street where he headed for home. He stopped at a bar on the way to quench his thirst and indulge in a brief mental contemplation of his wife.
Betty was absolutely the best, he reflected. He visualized that delicious, adorable blonde with the dazzling legs and a pair of matching breasts. And what a shape! There wasn't a girl in the whole world who could measure up to Betty. Bill's libido conjured up the picture of Betty's captivating nudity and his love-hungry ego devoured it The results were magnificently apparent Everything was back to normal.
Bill ordered another drink. He felt himself triumphantly. The Bill Martin charm had returned. The goat of Gotham was in form again. Damn STAIS and all its members.
He gulped his drink and hurried to the apartment. Marching with head high and shoulders squared and gay music sounding in his ears, he made plans. He would simply ring the bell. Betty would not expect him so she would open up quickly. If Betty did not, Sue would. If it were Sue, he would push her out, close the door and act persuasively with Betty. He would show her the Martin charm to convince her she had made a terrible mistake.
There was a light in the apartment when Bill arrived. He stood for a moment under the tree across the street and counted floors to make sure. Then, remembering that such an occasion suggested a drink, he rushed into a liquor store and bought a bottle he had the clerk gift wrap.
With the bottle tucked under his arm, Bill tripped happily into the self-service elevator and pressed the button for the tenth floor. Arrived, he pressed the bell and stood aside, one big athletic smile of a man with that definite sexual manifestation still evident to his gleeful self.
The door opened. Bill bounded forward like an excited spaniel. The girl who opened had long black hair and enormous black goggles.
"Yes?" she said, eyeing the parcel. Is that for me?"
Bill swallowed his gasp. It's for Mrs. Martin," he said Is she in?" Had Betty another roommate, he wondered. This one seemed a real failure. Where was Sue?
The girl in the doorway shook her head. Her wide pale mouth split into a sad grin.
"Mrs. Martin isn't here," she said in an English accent "She's subleased for the summer. I'm Mrs. Palethore, you know, like the ale in London, only I'm not. We're staying here for the summer." She eyed the gift-wrapped bottle. "I thought that wasn't for me. We don't know a soul in America."
Bill said, "You can have it. Please accept it with the compliments of the management, but there's only one to a customer. By the way, did Mrs. Martin leave any address?"
The girl hugged the bottle as if it were a baby. She scanned Bill's face. Finally she said, "Are you a bill collector or something? Mrs. Martin said some man might come and ask for her and we were to say she wasn't in and she wouldn't be in-and she didn't ever want to see him."
"I'm certainly not that one," Bill asserted. "Did she leave any address?"
"No, she didn't. She said I was to keep any mail and she might write and she's not coming back nil Labor Day or something. I suppose she's having a baby."
Bill thanked her and retired. He had lost another round. Where could Betty have gone? Why hadn't she waited? She wouldn't send her address to the Goggle Girl. She was hiding from him on purpose.
After loading himself elegantly in a neighboring bar, Bill did the only thing that seemed feasible and sensible. He walked slowly back to STAIS headquarters and unloaded the remainder of his renewed vitality and his mental chagrin on Rika-the founder of that fantastic society-who received his energies in grand style. Then he promptly put his weary and somewhat drunken personality back into what she termed the STAIS celibacy orbit into which Bill snored most obligingly....
9
EACH YEAR WHEN the steaming heat of summer wraps the steel and mortar caverns of Manhattan in its suffocating blanket, those inhabitants who can afford such luxury stream northwards in a seemingly endless chain of automobiles to the mountainous northlands where cool breezes are alleged to blow at night and where the air conditioner's breath can be expected to be less contaminated by exhaust fumes than in the city.
So it was that when Bill Martin, lonely and disconsolate over the complete disappearance of his bride, remembered his reservation at Wingtip Go, he decided to enjoy the cool breezes, the quiet lakes, rustic nooks and the various other sundry benefits a mountain vacation bestows on the weary exile from the metropolitan ovens.
Motivated by the knowledge that a guy without a girl is as competent as a one-armed wrestler, and influenced by the fact that an attractive girl with proven performance and an amusing daytime character is infinitely better than the unknown, Bill suggested Rika accompany him. Her surprising perfection on the typewriter was a valuable asset for a writer. Jam-packed with worthwhile and attractive information gleaned from Rika's knowledge of oriental lore and her knack of applying it to American sexology, Bill's book was in high gear-it was nearly ready for a final editing.
Rika greeted Bill's suggestion with three squeals of delight, ten passionate kisses and a subsequent orgy of copulation.
"Going away is a perfectly wonderful idea," Rika said after they had calmed down. "Summer in New York always slays me." She twiddled her tiny fingers through the golden mat of Bill's chest fluff. "We can take Claud with us and he can give lessons to the guests or get a job. There's always plenty of work up there."
"Lessons in what?" Bill said impatiently.
"Anything-breathing, tennis, weaving, karate. Claud is so talented. It's sweet of you to take him. The poor boy needs some fresh air."
That settled to her satisfaction, Rika ran her tongue lightly round Bill's nipple and gave him a playful bite.
So they were taking Claud. Bill's mind screwed up its nose. Bill was becoming too indulgent. STAIS exercises might be responsible. They had done him a whale of a lot of good but it was time he stopped letting Rika have her own way about everything. The principal benefit he had received from STAIS was the ability to eliminate sexual desire for days at a time. Sex just did not worry him any more, even with Rika walking around naked as she usually did. Consequently he was accomplishing twice as much work than formerly and the escalation of his sexual endurance was phenomenal at the permissible times.
But he worried about Betty. He had called at the apartment frequently but the goggles girl never had any news. Betty had completely vanished. So had Sue.
Not without misgivings one bright Monday morning, Bill loaded his typewriter, a few essential books and Rika into Claud's car and headed up the toll roads to Wingtip Go. He was comforted by the knowledge that his reservation of a double room in that desirable mountain playground precluded any continuance of the sleep time three-in-a-bed.
Not that Claud ever posed any problem. The guy took regular baths, tactfully stayed away on Bill's and Rika's prearranged sex nights and kept the place spotlessly clean. He would make someone a wonderful wife, Bill thought with good-natured malice. However, the prospect of being able to sleep only with Rika as a partner was extremely comforting.
Claud's ancient car was asthmatic and a heavy smoker. Occasionally, as it wheezed painfully up the hills, it laid thick blue smoke screens to its rear that caused other drivers to sound their horns and switch on their lights.
"It's an 007 car," Claud cracked. Ideal for ducking tickets. The cops sneeze and get confused so they usually snap the first guy they see with a smoke trail as I disappear."
* * *
There was little more than a rosy reflection of the dying day when Claud eventually persuaded his chattering wagon up the steep and winding drive that ran from the blacktop road to the impressive pillared porch of Wingtip Go which revealed itself as a somewhat rundown five-story hostelry presided over by a gaunt-looking redhead of uncertain age answering to the name of Edith Brown.
Mrs. Brown's pink-tipped talon riffled through a bunch of papers, turned up cards and finally opened a file after Bill announced himself. She looked far from happy.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you," she said apologetically. "I hate to turn people away but we're full to the fifth floor attics. It's your fault, you know." The gaunt face softened the pronouncement with a motherly smile. "You did cancel your reservation, Mr. Martin, you know."
Bill did a double take.
"I beg your pardon, but I did not!"
"Oh, yes, you did." Mrs. Brown produced a pink slip of paper to which was pinned a letter and an envelope that had been certified. "Here it is. Our receptionist-she's off now-marked your cancellation in the book and put this in the file."
Bill inspected the letter. It was his address on his letterhead and his name had been scrawled underneath.
Betty's handiwork, he thought. A blatant forgery. He boiled momentarily. But you couldn't sue your wife for that. He contrived to look apologetic. "Sorry, I clean forgot. These things do happen." He turned to Rika and Claud. Rika was sitting yoga-style on the floor while Claud was squatting on his heels.
"Sorry, kids," Bill said. "We'll have to move on."
Mrs. Brown was sad. Three guests meant money and who wanted to turn money away? And the girl was a doll, Edith Brown thought. Having her around would liven up the place. The men were attractive, too.
Her expression slowly lightened. "If you wouldn't mind roughing it for a few nights, I could put you up," she said. "We have a big old barn which used to be a straw hat theater. There are beds in some of the dressing rooms."
Rika came to life. "I could sleep anywhere. I adore the theater."
Mrs. Brown said, "If you're an actress, dear, you could use the stage to rehearse. It's a beautiful stage." She scanned Rika's face hopefully.
Claud said, "She's terrific on stage. It's just perfect We've come up here to study a part. I am her director."
Mrs. Brown turned to Bill whom she adjudged the head of the party. "Would you like to see it Mr. Martin?" she said.
Bill nodded. Mrs. Brown produced a key on an enormous brass ring and the four of them set off on a safari through the long meadow grass already damping with the evening dew.
Mrs. Brown made a surprised noise with her lips when she found the theater door open. "These workmen," she exclaimed. "They're so careless. I always keep the place locked."
She switched on the naked bulb hanging in the tiny vestibule and displayed the accommodations. "All it needs is living in," she said. "There's every modern convenience." She flicked another switch. "Running hot and cold and steam heat in the star's dressing room." She glanced at Bill. "You and your wife will probably like that. The bed's not too large but I'm sure you won't mind that" Mrs. Brown smirked.
"It will be just lovely," Rika announced with an excited pirouette. "I hope you have a nice room for my brother." She ruffled Claud's hair.
"There are six he can choose from," Mrs. Brown said and opened another door and flipped a few switches. "Let me show you the theater. It's too bad no one's using it. We'll probably have dances or physical culture classes or something here later. It's a shame to waste all that space."
Rika danced out into the middle of the huge expanse.
She looked at the yawning stage and turned her face up to the cathedral ceiling. "It's perfect, darling," she declared. "Positively heaven-sent."
Bill and Claud exchanged glances.
Claud said to Mrs. Brown, "You'll have to forgive my sister. She sometimes has glandular over-enthusiasm."
Rika was spinning around and dancing to imaginary music.
"The place is full of potential. It's gassy," she announced excitedly. I'm frantic about it. I could live here always. I think I shall."
Knowing the power of women, Mrs. Brown was relieved. She had her guests.
Back at the hotel she fixed them eggs and bacon and sausages for dinner, the cook having closed the kitchen.
"We have a lovely girl for a receptionist," Mrs. Brown told Bill as she loaded them with towels and clean bed linen. "She'll explain to you about the cancellation, I'm sure. But don't scold her if she's made a mistake. She's such a sweet girl. She and her friend, who waits on tables, wanted to come here as guests but I gave them jobs instead. They're darlings. The boys are just mad about them." Mrs. Brown smiled and added a confidential memo. "Having nice girls around helps such a lot. It makes an old place like this swing a little. That's what we need."
Bill acquiesced. Mrs. Brown seemed a nice enough bird, he thought. At least she was easy to agree with. Despite the reservation error, he was in an amiable mood-as a good STAIS devotee should be.
When he returned to his improvised bedroom, he found Rika had made the place moderately appetizing. Rika was sitting on the edge of the bed in her favorite state of nudity. She rose with a tender smile and pressed her forehead against his and murmured words of love.
"I think we should have a special night, darling, to celebrate a new plateau of our association," she whispered. I'll release you, yes?"
Their hypnotic rapport now was such that Bill reacted to a snap of her fingers. It was really time for him to be completely decontrolled but Bill was not pressing the point because of what the celibacy was doing for him. These days Rika freed him whenever he wanted so he had no cause of complaint.
"Sure thing," Bill said, returning her lass. "I feel like a time of release." He fondled the warm breasts as Rika spoke the magic words and he thrilled as intense physical desire flowed into him like air under pressure. The sensation improved each time, he decided as he stroked her and listened to her gasping expostulations. The kid was real high camp-the end, the most, the absolute.
Bill shoved Rika down on the edge of the bed and gave her what, in the good old days, he and Betty called the emergency treatment-mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Bill pushed away the sudden twinge of pain the memory of Betty invoked and concentrated on the good work with Rika. She was really exquisite. Her breasts flared at him in the purest pearly sheen. The hardened nipples rose to his lips in voluptuous glory until it seemed they would burgeon into luscious flowers. His eyes took a ramble down the slender torso centered by the tiny navel dancing a rondel as the internal convolutions beneath that alluring belly thoroughly involved him. He pulled himself up wantonly and felt a glow of masculine pride as she herself was lifted from the bed. That was power, he thought. How many men could do that? Bill inhaled a contented STAIS breath as Rika wailed and wrapped her legs around him. Then her sharp nails clawed at him.
Tig ... pig," she whispered. "Don't do that to me!"
Bill was amused. She had asked for it. He had been a naturally strong guy sexually when they had met and her STAIS routines had made him stronger. He watched her squirm. He could do what he liked with her.
But he was having difficulty holding himself back. Just seeing the lovely creature at his mercy excited him wildly. His loins swelled. To ease the strain he quickened the tempo.
"Quicker, quicker," she moaned. "Yes, Bill Quicker! Ah, that's good."
Bill perversely slowed to watch her response. She was now past protesting but every contortion of her writhing body spoke of her need for him.
How was it, Bill wondered, that they could attain such physical perfection? Was sex more chemical than mental?
But he had been so happy with Betty! The thought of his wife now tripled his energy and he was so rough that Rika's body was perceptibly jolted.
Listening to her harrowed breathing, he wondered if he were in love with her-and recognized the dreadful possibility.
And did she love him?
Was her total abandonment the apogee of carnality attesting to mutual love?
Bill Martin, presumably loving and beloved husband of Betty Martin from whom he was estranged, did not want to answer that. Again he smote his victim, the sweet Rika. He felt he had a newly acquired reserve of priapic endeavor, and with clenched teeth and straining limbs he continued until his passion burst in blessed relief ... And hers with it, in a white-hot cascade of boiling, swirling juices.
* * *
Rika stirred. She took his sweating face in her gentle hands.
"It's beautiful, my love," she whispered. "You fill me with fragrant flowers. How cool they are. Bless you, dear man ... Flowers, my favorite flowers...."
Bill arranged Rika's limp body on the bed and lay beside her. Instead of feeling relaxed, he was nervous. He decided he did not want Rika to love him. He wanted her merely as a man wanted any woman to be a comfort and a divertissement.
But that damnable hypnotic business, he mused. He must not let Rika make him fall in love with her. She had the power. Bill shuddered.
He started as Rika began to talk into the darkness. Listening, he knew she was talking in her sleep. The words at first were unintelligible but slowly they took form and meaning...."I have hated men ever since I was twelve when they started to chase me. I wanted them as much as I hated them and I had to have them and hate them and torture them. This man is different, so different. He's a bright flame ... he's hard and he's tender and understanding. I love him. I must have him, Mother. I cannot let him go. I'll kill him before I let her have him. I swear I will...."
Rika's voice trailed off into the limbo of her slumber.
The words echoed in Bill Martin's ears as if the girl were still talking. He lay listening to the beating of his heart. He was frightened.
Then the possibility occurred to him that it was just barely conceivable Rika hadn't been referring to him at all. But if not him, then who? Bill had no idea. Still, the possibility Rika had someone else in mind relieved him-a little.
10
NOTHING IS MORE brutally tantalizing in human life than to suffer the experience of having a most coveted object snatched away at the very moment its enjoyment appears an established certitude.
When the lost prize happens to be a naked and dreamy-eyed girl obviously hungry for love and wildly anxious to throw herself into the passionate exchanges of carnality, men have been known to drown themselves in liquor, smash windows, rend their shirts, crush whole packs of cigarettes under their feet and indulge in numerous eccentricities, including the use of profanity.
Sympathy then is requested for Tom Turner, erstwhile college football star and vacation athletic director of Wraxton Flues, a plush neon-and-chromium resort hotel some five miles from Wingtip Go.
Tom was enamored of his date, a vivacious and full-bosomed redhead with dazzling knees that begged an admiring male to make a tactile survey of the upper delta. The girl had everything a young man's heart could desire.
From the first stimulating kiss exchanged in Tom's shiny sports car the redhead had made plain her willingness to share her luscious corporal assets with what such an outstanding athlete might offer. The poor girl was simply bursting with promise even after a lengthy session of drinking, the frug, the monkey, the watusi and other nonmusical barbaric fertility rites.
Similarly, Tom observed, her friend, a fetching blonde, gorgeously stacked, had been showing marked affection for his side kick, Colen, the Wraxton social director.
The girls had taken the two young men to an apparently deserted structure where the females had asserted they would not be disturbed.
Tom, a trifle dizzy from the effects of the evening's alcoholic intake, found himself in a dusty and sparsely furnished room that seemed the ideal location for a session of impromptu and economical making out. The girl lit a stub of candle on an upturned beer can and remarked in passing that candlelight was so romantic, didn't he think?
Tom agreed. He was in no state of mind to think otherwise since after a frenzied round of kissing and cuddling in the vertical, dainty feminine fingers had executed a thrilling and thoroughly encouraging survey of his ration d'etre.
Thus stimulated, Tom began the utterly pleasant task of undressing the girl who made it clear that was exactly what she expected of him. He started tenderly removing her long emerald-green earrings. He pulled down her zipper and the scanty green dress fell to the floor. Revealed were a magnificent pair of breasts, briefly concealed by a bra that Tom hastily removed.
He kissed and fondled them. They wobbled so enchantingly in the candlelight that for a blissful moment he could do nothing but contemplate them and assess their many beauties. How hard the nipples were as they dded to meet his tongue. How succulent the texture of those golden globes. In a moment of ecstasy he buried flushed face in the crease of the redhead's magnificent equipment. He pressed the hemispheres against his and sniffed their delicious fragrance. He continued is absorbing pastime until the redhead shivered exaggeratedly, pulled him down on the couch and darted her tongue into his mouth, an undeniable sign that party time was past due.
Tom paused for a moment to pull off the girl's remaining garment, the tiny wisp of panties strung like a lacy fringe between those gorgeous hips. The scene he denuded was a blast of erotic beauty. The sheer creamy beauty of the shapely girl's body with its tiny waist and vividly flaring hips stunned him momentarily. This was perfection.
The girl's narrowed eyes glittered like hot jewels under their heavy fids. The red lips were slightly parted. Her breathing was harsh and irregular.
He advanced, poised, to his conquest.
But there was no contact.
Tom staggered back in bleak surprise as the girl sprang up.
He saw her eyes swell into rounds of terror as her face masked with consternation. He watched her arm shoot out to cover herself.
He heard her cry in strangled voice, "Bill-for God's sake."
Tom then heard her scream, "Go away-get out!" He saw her flash past him still naked, the curves of I her bisected bottom wagging vigorously, her arms flapping as she endeavored to slip the green dress over the burnished cascade of her hair.
Tom crossed to the door. Down the dark passage another girl was yelling. He saw the blonde appear wearing shorts, her bosoms bare. He noticed how the two girls clutched at each other and whispered, how they glanced this way and that. He saw the blonde pull the green dress down over the red-haired girl's head. He saw how they debated in hushed whispers and how they finally hurried away into the darkness flying signals o agitated retreat.
Tom's friend Colen joined him. Colen was fixing his trousers. The two regarded each other with considerable gloom. Their unhappy faces registered anger, disappointment, sultry despair and strained aggravation.
Colen said, "The bitch-just when I was making the scene."
Tom nodded sadly, "Me, too. I just had it made when she started flapping her wings and quacking like duck."
"What happened?"
Tom scratched himself under the arm. "God knows She yelled something about a guy called Bill."
Colen considered for a moment. "Hysterical, huh? You didn't see anybody?"
"Not a sausage!"
"You mean she just screamed and took off?"
"Just that, the lousy crud. And yours?"
"The identical! She heard your bitch scream and began to yell blue murder. I was just getting there, too. Brother, was she ready for it."
Tom's smile was saturnine in its melancholia. "And was mine! They don't come that way twice."
Colen marched back to the room from which his bird had fled and returned with a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one in Tom's mouth and lit it.
"Just a couple of teasers, man," Colen said. "That's what they are. We certainly picked them." Tom took a thoughtful drag at his smoke. Colen laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Come on, kid, put your pants on and let's go home. We got some better stuff where we are."
Tom remembered that lovely vision of creamy flesh and red-gold hair, the swaying breasts, the terrific all-girl appeal of his date.
"Could be. Maybe I'll try again."
"You're on your own," Colen growled. "Count me out. I never did like blondes. They're cheaters, all of them."
The pair fumbled their way to the door through which the night sky glowed palely.
Neither of them had seen the rather worried young man who had been watching them from the shadows, a towel wrapped around his middle.
Bill Martin was not drunk but he felt like it. He could swear he had seen Sue Langley naked!
Bill inhaled a deep breath. It had to be Sue. The girl had had Sue's face and incomparable aphrodisiac breasts and Sue's long limbs. And if she hadn't been Sue, why had she screamed and run like a scared rabbit?
Bill wrapped his arms across his naked chest and rested his chin on his fist. If Sue Langley, he thought, was at Wingtip Go, could Betty be far away? He painfully evaluated the hot potato. The premise was as absurd as the prognosis was ghastly. Its contemplation demanded another deep breath-which reminded Bill he had set out to find the bathroom and had opened the wrong door.
Unwilling to hazard disturbing another pair of lovebirds, he retraced his steps to the rear door and performed his comforting function under the stars.
The nervous shock he had sustained had banished his weariness. He became aware of dynamic power running down his spine to his procreative center. Congress became imperative.
Once back in the bedroom he saw Rika flat on her back, milky white and shapely. She had thrown off the covers. Even in sleep she possessed an incomparably fluid beauty.
His imperative need propelled him to the bed. He turned Rika on her side, her back to him. Still asleep, she raised her legs and bent her knees. Bill made love to her slowly and gently, almost reverently. As his ecstasy escalated he forgot Sue Langley. His worries about Betty's whereabouts vanished. This was nirvana, the great tranquilizer, the answer to life's major problems.
Why worry, he thought. Joined with such a girl, a man couldn't worry. Rika was not aggressive now as she usually was but in some intangible way she made Bill feel she was grateful for his attention.
Enjoying the indescribable sensations of his relief, Bill surrendered to the alien presentiment that this might be their last union. A ridiculous notion, he decided as he arranged himself for sleep, Rika's warmed body cradled in his arms.
The idea of separation from her hurt.
His awareness of the hurt worried him.
But-he was a married man.
Or was he?
* * *
Two anxious, half-dressed, breathless and frustrated young women regarded each other unhappily in the cabin that Wingtip Go had allotted to its receptionist and dining-room waitress.
"You're quite sure it was Bill?" Betty said. "You're absolutely sure?"
Sue Langley gave her friend an impatient glare. She found Betty's assumption that she, Sue, was an idiot far from hilarious.
"I told you it was Bill didn't I? It was him all right."
Betty, who had draped a sheet over her shoulders, hugged herself and shivered. Brooding, her wide-set blue eyes were icy.
"I'm glad he didn't see me." Betty's face brightened a trifle. "I was just going to let that guy Colen have me, too. If you had yelled a minute later we would have been on the job and I would have committed adultery. Wouldn't that have been awful? I don't know what I would have done." Betty's eyes crinkled with amusement. "What do you do when your husband catches you with a man inside?"
"Grin and bear it, I suppose-and hire a smart attorney." Her tone embittered, she said, "I really wouldn't know. Men don't ask me to marry them, not even the single ones. I'm not the type." She inspected her naked body in the full-length mirror and lamented. "I came away without my panties and everything. I'm all out of bras. I'll have to serve breakfast tomorrow without one." She sighed. "Gosh, me with my wobblers."
"Don't worry, the boys will love it," Betty said consolingly. "I left my things, too." She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, her hands locked behind her head.
Neither spoke for a while. Sue wriggled into a pajama top and sat on the edge of her bed, the pajama bottoms in her hand. She felt nauseated and was not sure whether it was from sexual frustration or the drinks. She had been three whole months without a man, she reflected-too long. Remembering her dreamboat date, her thoughts about Bill were unprintable. But she had really nothing to worry about-except finding herself another man, and quick. Sensations spiraling in her stomach reminded her of the urgency.
The silence became melancholy. Sue sighed. Why didn't Betty say something, Sue thought. Betty seemed as poised and mysterious as a Siamese cat. Sue had never seen her in that mood.
"What are you going to do about Bill, Betty?" she said finally. "It was him, I'm sure. We can't stay here with him around."
Betty turned her face slowly on the pillow to regard her friend. "I don't know why not. We work here. He doesn't. He'll be just another guest."
Betty raised one shapely leg and crossed one knee over the other. Sue watched a blissful smile form on the blonde's face. Betty's aplomb made her nervous. Sue was not sure whether she wanted to weep softly or scream. She's so sure of him, she thought-that's a blonde for you all the way.
Betty's smile broadened. "You know something," she said, "I've got it all figured out. Remember how I cancelled the reservations Bill made for us both? Bill must have thought I did that so I could come up here myself and make him follow me. He wants to reconcile, the dear thing."
"And you're going to?"
"I might!" The comers of Betty's mouth curled upwards. "I'm ready to be convinced. Let's put it that way." Betty turned on her side and hugged her naked self blissfully. She shut her long-lashed eyes, an expression of indescribable ecstasy on her face. She wriggled languorously and stretched.
"It will be wonderful to be loved regularly again, Sue," she purred. "Men are funny! You have to treat them rough to get the best out of them. It will be nice to be married again. I really have missed Bill that way!"
Betty's eyes were sorry for Sue without meaning to be, Sue sensed, and it hurt. She felt very much alone, as if the blonde had erected an invisible wall between them. From now on Sue would have to find her own amusement Betty would be too busy with Bill.
"I'm sure you have, dear," Sue said tartly. She allowed herself a yawn to cover up the sudden chill that had taken over her heart. "Now you can make up for lost time."
Sue crossed to the bathroom. When she came back ready for bed after smoking four cigarettes, Betty was asleep.
Sue's arms felt heavy. Some part of her ached. Her fingertips were cold. She wanted company. The temptation to crawl into Betty's bed and cuddle up was strong. But the redhead resisted it. She didn't want to have to explain to Betty why she was crying.
Sue was not exactly sure herself. She felt a complete mess.
Sue reached under the bed for a bottle. She pulled out the stopper and drank deeply until the neat brandy smothered her breathing. Wow, that was a drink, that was, she reflected as she put back the bottle. She used the stuff raw when she had the cramps, being convinced that hers, as a redhead, were the worst in the world. Now it felt as if her soul had cramps.
11
NEVER HAD THERE BEEN such tension in the dining room of Wingtip Go. Never had a woman's heart, yearning to take prodigal mate back to neglected bosom, been so cruelly cheated. And never had a prodigal mate, yearning to return to the aforesaid glorious spouse, felt more of a witless goon caught with his pants down....
Betty was no more astonished to see Bill stalking confidently into breakfast than was Bill to see his beloved wife installed at the food-checking desk at the entrance to the kitchen. He had not thought out a thoroughly plausible explanation of his presence but the warmth of Betty's smile from across the room and the realization that he had gained the dining room alone, raised his foolish hopes that the magnetic Martin charm allied with his undeniable gift of words would accomplish the impossible.
Betty, enjoying the utterly thrilling illusion that her handsome husband had taken to the hills for the sole purpose of being with her, continued to beam welcome. Only a darling person like her Bill, she decided, would make such a charming gesture.
But cruel fate, or just plain bad timing, would not have it so. Bill had reached the center of the grand dining m when a familiar female voice, about as welcome as a rejected lover's fist at a wedding, called him by name. He halted and stayed put as immobile as a potted plant He felt a female arm linked with his and wished he were an inch tall. Rika's voice trebled so sweetly, "Darling, you might have waited for me. I was only in the bathroom." Rika raised her lithesome self on tiptoe and with the blissful exhibitionism of a woman who has landed her man, kissed Bill on the chin. "Your morning lass, darling," she announced. "So you can start your day right."
Bill began to sweat. He heard none of the nostalgic gasps with which the romantic among the assembled breakfasters greeted Rika's artless exhibitionism. Neither was he aware of the lustful stares the males bestowed on the shapely contents of Rika's purple leotard. He heard none of the whispered comments about the two of them being such a lovely young couple. Because his still smiling face had frozen as he had beheld the winsome blond checker advancing towards them with anything but admiration on her face. The down-turned mouth, the marbled eyes, the prancing strut of those shapely legs betokened a memorable battle.
For the first time in his experience of dealing with the improbable and wiggling out of the impossible, Bill's sang-froid deserted him. His feet had grown roots. His brain was shattered. His tongue was tied.
This was it be thought. Death in the dining room. Mayhem with the mushrooms. What should a gentleman do? Push Rika behind him and die a hero? But Rika believed in reincarnation. He had not attained that STAIS status.
He measured his distance to the door. He loved his life. Why take a chance, he thought.
Bill made the one step that, as the old proverb says, is supposed to start every journey, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Sue Langley bearing down on them and balancing a loaded tray of breakfasts on her shoulder and looking as if she had acquired two of the blind eyes that are essential working tools of a professional waitress.
And so, because he could not turn the corner of his eye fast enough, the collision was violent.
As Bill fell, he heard the tintinnabulating ding-dong, rattle-clatter as the loaded tray made a landing on the floor and covered him with splash-out He felt the soft and yielding body of the waitress descend on him. He felt the painful scald of tea in his crotch and the spouting dribble of an upturned coffeepot that had landed on his chest. In one hand he felt a smeared mass that suggested warm buttered toast liberally topped with jelly. In the other hand he felt a warm mass which, experience told him, was a female braless breast. In his moment of confusion he squeezed it by force of habit but the wrong hand responded to the signal from his bewildered brain and he squelched the toast by mistake.
He heard female voices. Someone was clumsy, one asserted. Another wanted to know why the hell people did not look where they were going, and yet a third said she wasn't going to eat her eggs off the floor and how much longer would they have to wait for coffee?
Bill lay still. He appreciated the warmth of Sue's lithe body so benignly sheltering him. The coffeepot had drained itself and the tea no longer scalded.
He heard Mrs. Brown taking charge of the situation. She was telling Betty to have the cook put up some more breakfasts quick and was assuring the customers they would not have to wait long.
Someone hoisted up Sue and stood her up. A man and a woman, whom Bill had never seen, pulled him to his feet and Bill heard himself going through the mechanics of apology.
Sue was giggling with considerable mammalian agitation. Between giggles she kept saying it was nothing and Bill wasn't to worry. Bill grinned and said it was most certainly his fault. In the midst of one apology he rubbed his chin and added a gob of oatmeal to the pulped buttered toast.
Rika squealed with laughter and said, "You do look funny, darling. You have oatmeal and strawberry jam all over your face and corn flakes down your neck. We should get a dog to lick it all off."
Bill wanted to hit her but decided to wait. Still mumbling apologies, he allowed Mrs. Brown to lead him to the bathroom in the lobby where he proceeded to reconvert himself into a human being.
When he finally joined Claud and Rika at their table, the blonde at the checking desk regarded him as if he were the original invisible man. This nettled him considerably.
The situation was pregnant with complications, Bill reflected as he sipped his coffee and paid little heed to the chatter of his companions. The frail barge of his marriage was sinking and there was no one to answer his SOS. He felt dazed and weary. He loathed the winsome Rika who was responsible for it all. He detested STAIS and everything it stood for. In his present mood he felt like starting a Society to Encourage Instant Sex in which he would enroll all STAIS members at discount prices.
What a mess! Well, he mused, there was always the alternative of flight. A change of scene always helped. A writer could earn his living anywhere. All you needed was a credit card, a flight bag and confidence. He would find a tropical isle inhabited by tropical women and write a best seller. Life was as simple as all that. There were no problems.
These comforting thoughts brought back the Martin smile.
Claud said, "Now that you are sane again, Bilk did you notice the waitress whom you so neatly floored is more than attractive? Her chest work is admirable, her legs match and her hair is adorable. I think I shall enjoy our stay. I am indebted to you for calling my attention to such an irresistible view. What little I saw was perfection itself."
Rika snapped. "Shut up, Claud. Sex at breakfast makes me want to vomit."
"Probably the result of excessive sex overnight, dear heart." Claud leered amiably.
Iced fingers moved slowly up Bill's spine as he watched Rika's face metamorphose into tender whimsy. The huge dark eyes widened as she regarded Bill's unhappy face. Then she turned to Claud to snap, "But this time, honey, we shall know the father."
Claud's belly made a noise as if a miniature bomb had exploded inside. He gave Bill a friendly wink and said, 'What fools we mortals be, as some old hack once said. My mother once told me I did not know my father. Neither did she, my father insisted, when he took off to the woods with some beatnik in a topless swimsuit he picked up in a joint in San Francisco."
Rika was annoyed. "You are irrevocably coarse, Claud. You irritate me."
"So write me down as the outstanding STAIS failure, my pet." Claud's eyes followed Sue's seductive perambulation around the room with lustful vigilance. Bill scented an ally. A little talk to Claud was indicated. There was a Chinese proverb that stated a woman was one of the only two resting places that could separate a man from his money. Bill's mind leapfrogged. Claud needed money. With money he could indulge Sue with candy or liquor, whichever he found quicker.
Bill smiled at Claud and Claud smiled back. A rapport had been established outside the periphery of STAIS. Man would talk man-talk to man.
"I think he's right about the girl," Bill said. "She's refreshingly nubile, to say the least. Let's enroll her in STAIS and marry them off, Rika. It would be interesting, don't you think?"
"For me the waiting period would be torture," Claud asserted. "I am the impatient type."
"You see what I mean," Rika said to Bill. "The creature is impossible. His libido positively crawls in the slime of his perverted imagination."
While the pair continued sparring like a couple who knew each other well enough to be married, Bill busied himself making plans that did not jell and were so absurd that he would have laughed at them himself if he had been capable of laughter.
* * *
In the kitchen Sue was saying to Betty, "It was the only thing I could do, kid. I hope the tea didn't hurt him too much."
"Nothing could hurt him too much," said Betty. "I hope it scalded him where it hurt most. I hope-" Words failed her. Betty screwed up her face, clenched her fists and uttered a loud and resentful, "Ugh!"
"So what you going to do?" Sue said.
"I'm not sure." Betty had recovered her speech. "I don't think arsenic is painful enough and cyanide is too quick." She drummed her fingers on the table. "Don't worry, I shall do something. Something drastic, impressive, retaliatory, effective and final." Betty banged the table with her fists. "I shall not spare them. My virtue will be avenged."
Sue was worried. "And you mean you're not going to give him a chance to explain? You know something? I think the guy with the beard is her real guy and she's playing up to Bill to make him jealous."
"Don't be such an infant, Sue," Betty snapped. Her face became rocky with determination. "I shall not talk to him ever again. While he is in residence here, Mr. William Martin will be just another guest. I have decided I do not wish to face a charge of murder, which I would if I were ever alone with the lying beast who masquerades as my husband."
Betty finished her breakfast and returned to her desk in the lobby. Shortly before lunch the restraint she had imposed on herself was put to its first test.
The lobby was empty and she was enjoying a cigarette when she observed a certain Mr. William Martin approaching with a gleam in his eye and a matching smile on his undeniably handsome face.
Bill spoke softly. "Betty, I must talk to you. When can we get together?"
The receptionist's professional smile had a grotesque quality. The blue eyes were jewel-hard as she said, "Good morning, sir. I hope your room is comfortable. If there is anything you wish for your personal comfort, do not hesitate to mention it The hotel staff is here to serve you and each member is dedicated to make your stay with us a happy one."
Bill studied the stone maiden quizzically. He replied with low-key gravity bolstered by a judicious wink, That is exactly why I am addressing myself to you." He glanced at the plaque on the desk. "Miss Betty Green is the name, I presume? Or is it Martin? I came to tell you that my personal comfort would be materially increased if you would afford me a personal interview."
The radiance of Betty's smile rocked him. No professional receptionist ever gave a visitor such a blaze of feminine sunshine. In that happy moment Bill's sundry miseries melted away. This was going to be easy. Good old Betty, he thought.
I am sorry, sir." Betty's tone was venomous although she was still giving Bill that supercharged welcome-wagon smile. "Our regulations do not permit the staff to converse with the guests except on impersonal matters concerning their comfort and the welfare of the establishment. Further, Mr. Lousy William Martin, I would have you know that decent women, of whom there are still a few left in the world, although you might not know it, do not associate with vulgar, two-timing, brazen lechers who flaunt their evil ways and display their trollops in respectable hotels.
"Also," she continued, "may I suggest to you that in the interests of public decency and for your own safety you pack up and leave this very day? I am sure you will find some low-class hostelry in the neighborhood where your talents and your behavior will be appreciated or will pass without comment-and I would have you know, Mr. Martin, that there is a law in this state which protects the innocent against contamination by the vicious. I should advise you that I can invoke the said law simply by picking up this telephone and informing my good friend the police chief of your lewd and unprincipled adultery. And one more word, please! In view of the fact that I wish to avoid further contact with the most debased creature that ever masqueraded as a man, let me inform you that any communications you may have for me can be delivered to Miss Sue Langley who, if I remember rightly, is not unknown to you, and so I shall wait with impatience for an address to which my attorney can serve the necessary papers which will enable me to withdraw from a marital situation I find utterly repulsive."
Betty's smile remained dazzling. "Good morning, Mr. Martin. I do hope you have a miserable time in our lovely hotel."
Realizing the futility of reply, Bill marched his damp and irritated self out of range. He had lost another battle but he could still win the war. Martins did not defeat that easy. On the porch he paused to wipe his brow. Betty had sounded a mite overconfident. When gals got that way, they were easier to outwit. She did not really want to divorce him, he was sure. She was bluffing. The poor kid just could not do without him. He was her life, her breath, her very, very existence-which was why she was so upset. Poor little thing. He would be very good to her once they were together again.
A marital dispute, Bill reflected, could be settled by arbitration just like an industrial wage hassle. He and Betty should sit down at the bargaining table with a third party who would arbitrate. No marriage counselors, of course. These characters were too professional. Sue would be ideal, since she loved them both. To insure further impartiality, he might draft Claud.
Bill's spirits soared as he considered this brilliant notion. He would introduce Sue and the bearded one. When they were going steady bed-wise, Betty would miss Sue's company. Betty's consequent loneliness after work would soften her up and make her eager to forgive and forget. One bargaining session would do the trick. Reason, plus the proven Martin way with women-would prevail!
Bill inhaled a deep breath as he settled contentedly into a deck chair. In his mind's eye he was already savoring the happy reunion. Betty was in his arms. All was forgiven. Their two hearts beat as one! It had all worked out perfectly.
Definitely, his name should have been Machiavelli Martin.
Of course, there was Rika. She had to be discouraged. There might be a problem in that area. Bill had the definite impression Rika did not discourage easily. After all, she had muttered something in her sleep about killing a man if she couldn't have him. But Bill was no longer intimidated by the memory of that. Hell, she could have been recalling in her unconscious anybody she had once been obsessed with-even her father!
Speak of the female devil-there she was now, zeroing in on him. Rika was approaching, skipping and dancing with unveiled delight. Her arm was linked with that of Mrs. Edith Brown, the beaming owner of Wingtip Go.
"Darling," Rika announced with breathless delight, "everything's perfectly wonderful. Edith wants us to give STAIS lectures in the theater every night for men and women. She says everyone will attend. Claud's making the posters for us now. Isn't Edith a doll?"
12
CLAUD JUMPED AT BILL'S offer to finance Claud's squiring of Sue Langley. Bill did not inform the bearded one that Betty was Mrs. Martin. Bill did make it clear he wanted to play with the blond receptionist who Claud agreed was definitely a blast.
"Better watch out for our mutual little monster!" Claud warned as they stood on the edge of the crowd of guests watching Rika's lithe profile demonstrate yoga while she dilated on the principles and purposes of STAIS.
Bill raised his brows. "Why? My celibacy term is through."
"That's what you think, man. Rika can still put a hex on you while you sleep. She tried it on me."
Bill's interest sharpened. He had heard of people being hypnotized while they slept. This did not sound too promising.
"So what did you do?" Bill said.
"Luckily I woke up in the middle of it. I slugged her on the fanny and ran like hell to my favorite tramp and spent a week making sure I was dehexed. I was lucky I woke up just in time. The Rika bag nearly had me down."
"You're not kidding me by any chance, are you?" Bill said.
"Absolutely not. You're dealing with a very determined character, son. She's really got a line on you. Watch out. But if you do land in trouble, tell me. I know a thing or two."
Bill thanked Claud. So: Bill would have to make other sleeping arrangements. Fortunately, there were one or two other dilapidated bedrooms in the barn. He would lock himself in if necessary. Seeing Sue Langley on the edge of the excited throng of guests milling around Rika, Bill caught her eye and beckoned her to him.
Sue was with him in a moment like a startled deer, her glorious red hair cascading over her shoulders, her gorgeous bosoms tastefully displayed. The thought of having to hand Sue's supercharged femininity over to the bearded one raised a pang of regret in Bill's heart. Sue was far too good for the man, Bill thought.
"Hi, sweet, why so breathless?" Bill said, sliding his arm around Sue's slender torso and grasping the opportunity to provide manual support for the heaving frontispiece. Sue was alarmingly vital. Claud was entranced.
"I'm scared Betty might see me, idiot," Sue managed to say. "You are off the visiting lists. Betty says she'll murder me if I as much as exchange a word with you. Your sweet wife has definitely put you out of bounds."
Bill winced. He remembered he had not told Claud that Betty was the wife. Bill's injured male ego had been inhibitory on that score. But now the pussy was out of the bag. So he conjured up a quick grin as he introduced Sue to Claud and added, "Sue is my wife's best friend, my wife being the toothsome blonde we discussed, be good to Sue. Now off you go, children, and have fun, and leave me to my miseries."
Sue was dismayed. "I can't go now. Betty is expecting me back. We've both signed up for STAIS. Rika wants us to wait after the other people have gone. We're going to have special lessons and demonstrate for her or something. Betty's all excited about it. I simply must go or she'll slay me. She's really wild these days, Bill. She scares me."
Claud took Sue's arm. I'll come with you, doll. "I'm a STAIS man from way back. Leave everything to me." He winked at Bill. "Sue will be quite safe with me. And good luck with your blonde. I may be able to help you there. Don't despair. You've got a friend in me. Behind this humble beard there beats a noble heart." He felt Sue's flanks and gave her a hug.
Bill watched them go with mixed feelings. How much would Sue tell Claud about Bill and Betty, he wondered. And how much would Claud tell Sue? Probably everything!
Bill skirted the crowd and repaired to the bar. He wanted to think. Perhaps it would be smart to beat a strategic retreat back to the city. He weighed the suggestion. But Rika would probably follow him and thus confirm any suspicions Betty might have as to that relationship, and Betty probably had many suspicions by this time, the lass being far from stupid. Then Claud, to transport Rika, would also follow. Which would mean Claud losing out with Sue, and so Claud would become angry at Bill for breaking his promise to finance the squiring of Sue. And Betty would be left alone to be an undoubtedly willing target for vacationing Casanovas. Bill shuddered, remembering the night he had unwittingly interrupted Sue and Betty and the boys in the barn.
No, he definitely had to stay on scene. His wife needed him. A husband had a duty. Claud needed him and, unfortunately, so did Rika. Never had one guy been needed by so many. Bill drained his beer and called for another with a vodka stiffener and pondered some more. Why not simply disappear long enough for Rika to set her sails for the city, at which point he would return to concentrate on winning his wife back into his loving arms. He could tip Claud and Sue off so they wouldn't panic.
Two drinks later Bill decided such procedure did not fit the Bill Martin image. He would take direct action. He had a loyal ally in Sue and he hoped a loyal mercenary in Claud. It remained for him, Bill Martin, to keep his head and watch for the golden opportunity that must sooner or later present itself. There was always a golden opportunity, Bill assured his sleepy image in the mirror at the back of the bar-always.
He yawned. He did feel sleepy. He drained his glass. Time to hit the sack, he thought. He waved farewell to the barkeep and ambled out into the moonlight where he set out to walk slowly under the stars across the meadow to the barn. It was a perfect night for strolling. Bill's heart throbbed nostalgically. If only Betty's warm fingers were locked about his arm. Betty was so cuddlesome. Such wonderful times they had spent together....
And they would again. That he was determined on. Bill squared his shoulders. He was glad he had decided to stay. Only cowards ran away. Nothing like facing up to your problems.
When he reached the barn he remembered his resolution to sleep alone. That was no problem at all. He and Rika shared one room. Claud had the next room, number three. Number four was a junk room but five and six were usable. There was something that had looked like a bed in each.
Bill hesitated in the dark and musty entrance. He was tired enough to sleep anywhere but the idea of having to rough it in one of those dilapidated rooms did not appeal to him. Hell, no girl could hypnotize him while he was asleep. He wagged his finger at the darkness. So he wouldn't sleep, he thought. That would fool her. The girl wasn't born who could outsmart Bill Martin.
Reinforced by such a comfortingly modest thought, he pushed open the door of the palatial shack he shared with Rika and slumped on the bed. There was a lock on the door. He could lock her out. Rika couldn't work her mumbo jumbo through a locked door, he thought. But she could squeal. That would never do. Bill wagged his flushed face slowly from side to side. Squealing women were definitely out.
He lay back on the pillow. There was really nothing to worry about, he told himself. He would just rest his backside and not go to sleep. It was as simple as all that. He closed his eyes. Who wanted to sleep, anyhow?
* * *
Bill Martin awoke with a start. How long he had slept he did not know. But he had slept and had put himself in danger. So he concluded he ought to go to a spare room. Bill was determined. He would sleep there if it were full of rats, scorpions and banshees.
There was a flashlight on the table that Rika had insisted they needed for finding their way home in the dark. Bill picked up the flashlight. He put out the lights, congratulating himself on having woken up before Rika arrived for the night, and set out through the darkness behind the thin pencil of light the flashlight threw along the corridor. The place was extraordinarily quiet. How could a girl come here to do the love business, he wondered. There was something eerie and chilling about the joint. Or was that sensation due to the drinks he had downed?
Bill inched along. He stopped short as a large black rat emerged from the wainscoting and lazily lolloped along into the darkness. No girl in her right senses should come here to be swained, Bill thought. The open fields were better. Bill was all for the wide open spaces.
He carved an arc of light out of the gloom. The flashlight beam showed him he had reached room number five which he knew had a bed. He flicked off the light and pushed open the door and stood for a second sniffing the air. The place did not only smell musty. It smelled of something else. Bill sniffed. Woman! Perfume!
Bill heard the noise as he switched on his flashlight again. The bed was busy. The blanched face of a girl on her back with a man superior gave him an indignant get-lost look. Bill did not have to sharpen his mind to know what they were doing.
"Get out, pig," the girl squeaked.
Bill obligingly closed the door. For an attenuated minute he stood uncertainly. Should he try the other room? Surely that could not be occupied illegally. Of course, Sue and Claud might be in there already, Bill reasoned. But Claud had his own room. This door had no latch.
Bill moistened his lips, took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The flashlight told him everything. Two couples were in occupation, one on the floor. Bill sighed and retreated.
He retraced his steps to the bedroom he shared with Rika. He was still dog-tired, still a candidate for a deep sleep. But not for a hex. Nuts to that! For a while he sat on the bed cogitating. What could he do? True, Claud might have been joking. On the other hand-no, Claud could not afford to deceive his meal ticket.
Bill raised himself with difficulty. He staggered to the door and closed it. His fingers found something that felt like a wooden bolt. He rammed the bolt piece home and went back to bed. That problem was solved, he thought Tomorrow he would tackle the next. He snickered, he laughed, he yawned. Let all the problems appear. Old Bill Martin would solve them.
Bill yawned again. He felt safer than he had felt for a long time. To hell with STAIS. He was running for re-election on monogamy, oddly enough one of the principal planks of the STAIS platform.
Bill made a promise to the sable darkness that he, Bill Martin, when duly reunited to his wife Betty, would remain a STAIS member in good standing and the standing would be good because there was not a single woman in the entire world who could make him stand better than Betty.
Thus resolved, he pulled the sheet over his head and fell asleep.
He slept so soundly that he did not hear Rika rattling the door although, if he had, he would not have opened it.
Rika gave up after three thumps and five rattles. She felt her way cautiously along the darkened corridor to Claud's room, a converted horse stall. The door was locked. From inside issued a series of grunts, groans, creaks and sighs in a series that told her the bearded baboon was tranquilizing himself.
The knowledge shocked her for a moment. The idea of another woman servicing Claud did not go well with Rika's ego in the least. After all she had done for Claud, she thought resentfully. But the furrows quickly left her brow. Her resentment was a ridiculously bourgeois and completely square emotion that belonged to yesterday. Rika was building a new image of togetherness for herself and Bill, so to be resentful was tantamount to idiocy. But, she lamented privately, she was still a woman, and even enlightened females had sensitivities.
I hope it's someone nice, she thought as she shrugged off the incident. Claud's last woman was so dreadful. I do deserve a cultured replacement.
But where could she, Rika, sleep? She nibbled her knuckle. She had to sleep somewhere. Of course, how silly to forget. That nice blond receptionist had invited her to come to her room any time. Rika set off.
* * *
Betty was in her bra and panties when she heard the knocking on the door. "Who is it?" she called, half hoping it was Bill and terrified it might be because she was in a mood for instant surrender.
Her spirits sank when a female voice said, "It's me, Rika. That stupid man locked me out. The poor thing's exhausted."
Betty opened the door with a pert smile on her face and murder in her heart. She remembered she had once wanted to take a mail order course in meat carving. Had she graduated, she would have been able to do a neat job of disposing of a body. Those new electric carving knives must be a boon.
Rika came in purring. She seemed sweetly girlish in her simple black leotard, a single shark's tooth hanging from a chain about her neck. So Betty could not help liking her. If the girl only had a husband on the scene, they would make a pair of nice friends for Betty and Bill. A girl like Rika would naturally have a nice husband, Betty thought.
I'll have to sleep with you, darling," Rika said. "You don't mind, do you?" She looked at Sue's bed. "Where's your friend?"
"I don't know. Sue must be out somewhere." Betty had a hunch. "I think she was talking to your friend, the boy with the beard." She watched Rika's face closely and her female instinct told her she had come very near to scoring a bull's-eye. Betty felt a glow of satisfaction. The president of STAIS was jealous.
Betty then said, "I don't suppose Sue will be very late. She has to rise early in the morning to set the breakfast tables and I help her." She noticed Rika eying the bed longingly. Damn her, Betty thought, she wasn't going to let this kook sleep in Sue's bed.
Betty drew a deep breath. As she inhaled she was reflecting that, after all, she was a woman since she had been married to an adorable if impossible man, and she was not going to let any little strumpet with a baby smile and a leotard steal her husband right from under her nose. When Betty reached the apogee of positively loathing Rika and thoroughly disapproving of everything about her, the blonde said sweetly, "We both have to get up hideously early, darling, so I don't think you would enjoy staying here. You couldn't possibly sleep with me. I snore like an elephant and my friend grinds her teeth. That's why she can't get married, poor darling. And I couldn't face you again if you heard me snore."
Rika surveyed her quizzically. "I can give you an exercise for that. Let me show you now."
"I must try it one day but on this night I'm going to enjoy my snoring. So I won't keep you. Do remember to tell me all about it in the morning."
Rika stared at the door that Betty had practically closed in her face. Betty's behavior only confirmed an opinion she had formed in her early teens that blondes were stupid creatures, but that did not make them any less dangerous. The problem now, however, was to find a bed.
Rika went uncertainly back to the theater. There was a bed on the stage, she remembered. She was at the stage when any bed was better than the floor.
She saw the door of Claud's room was open. Rika propped herself against the wall to regard the cheerful sight. Claud must have finished, she thought, and taken the wretched girl back to where she belonged. Rika would have to fix Claud so he didn't do things of this sort. She liked the man even if she did not want him around all the time. On the other hand, he was a fixture. Claud somehow represented stability in her unstable existence. A sense of helplessness came as she realized she really was not ready to go life alone. She actually needed Claud around all the time. She repeated the thought: all the time. She was astonished. Her deepest feelings were telling her that theirs was a good association!
Rika stepped inside and switched on the overhead light. The bed was rumpled, warm and damp. The sheet looked as if a hundred couples had slept there but that did not matter. This was Claud's bed. Rika sighed a long and voluptuous non-STAIS sigh. She felt as though she wanted to be Claud's woman again. If only for this night, she thought romantically. Bill, after all, had let her down. Men with money were fun, she rationalized, but so arrogant. It was very curious, she reflected as she peeled off the leotard and inspected her naked shape in the old-fashioned mirror, but no man had ever locked her out before. Claud never had. That was another mark in his favor.
She decided to turn out the light. Claud would find her in his bed with nothing on and that would be a comfort to him. Both of them firmly believed that sleeping nude did something for your health.
Claud was nice that way. He liked to believe the same things as you did, Rika thought....
13
WHEN SUE RETURNED to the cabin she resembled a dream with a happy ending. Having promised to relate her adventures, she awoke Betty. Sitting nakedly on the edge of the bed, the redheaded sexpot related the lurid details.
"It was so wonderful," she sighed, squeezing her nipples to recreate the sensations. "You've no idea how good it is to have a man doing the right things to you after you've been so long without. And such a man." Sue laughed. Her face lit with remembered glee. "Once you get used to the beard part he's delicious. I held the beard between my boobies for a while and it was terrif-sex with barbed wire, subtle sadism and all that. Seamy thighs are still red. He said that's his trademark-the devil! Ooh, ooh, what a going over I had, and did I need it! He took me straight to one of those smelly rooms in the theater place and shoved me down on the bed and there I was. I wanted to say no, seeing we were perfect strangers, but I just didn't feel like it. You know how it is on certain days...."
"I certainly do," moaned Betty, running her hands down her neglected thighs. She was sitting up in bed, the tips of her unloved bosoms peeping shyly out of her pajama top. "Tell me more. It may help me to sleep. I like to be reminded of my youth."
"Darling, you're absolutely nuts." Sue slipped off her bed and put her arm round the blonde's shoulder. 'You're still young and able, Betty," she said, giving her friend a little hug. "This place is full of young and able men if that's what you want. You know that."
"I don't want just any young and able man," Betty said, pouting. "I want Bill. I happen to be married to him."
"Then you have to go and get him, that's all. He's mad about you. He told me so."
"The pig has a fine way of showing it." Betty stared wistfully into Sue's contented brown eyes. "He came up to Wingtip Go with that yoga girl. Everyone knows it."
"Don't worry about her," Sue said. "Claud says Bill doesn't really like her. He's just studying her methods for his book-everybody's writing books, isn't that a scream? She is clever. Claud says she can hypnotize you so you don't ever want a man and she says it's good for your figure. You even lose weight."
"I could do with losing a little weight, I suppose," said Betty, pinching her hips.
Sue folded her arms and gave her friend an extended scan. "You know something, Betty Martin, I think you are a real goony kook. If I had a husband like you have, I wouldn't let him out of my arms long enough even to smell another woman. What's happening now is your fault Bill adores you but you're playing hard to get-the most dangerous game a married woman can play. It's okay when you're single, murder when you're married. You're encouraging adultery right under your nose."
Betty sniffed ironically. "Listen to the voice of experience. So what do you advise, grandma?"
"Go find Bill, move him into a quiet corner and show him you love him. You're a woman. You know what to do."
"You mean I'm to give in? You want me to humiliate myself."
Sue giggled. "Call it what you like. I'd say it was just getting loved legally, the way you want to be."
"I don't think you're funny," Betty said. She hunched her pretty knees under her chin. "He's probably sleeping with that string of curves in the leotard now."
"If he is, then it's still your fault, only worse," Sue insisted. "I could shake you. If you think that's what he's doing, why don't you go and see? You know where they sleep."
Sue nearly fainted when Betty shot out her hand and said, "Okay, pal so we go and see. You'll be the witness to the slaying." Betty laughed at her friend's suddenly shocked face and motioned with her thumb. "Come on," she insisted, "I need a witness."
After considerable grumbling, Sue finally consented. The pair set off in the general direction of the barn theater. They wore only their bathrobes. Sue's teeth were chattering. Betty's were clenched with determination. As far as she was concerned, this was Martin's last chance, and that went for her and Bill. If she caught him in the corpus delicious-which she had a hunch she would-it was the end. Betty's stomach rumbled, a sign of emotional tension. The barn theater's door creaked ominously. The two hesitated on the threshold and clutched each other nervously. There was something eerie about the old place. "I'm going to put the light on," Betty whispered. "I know where the switch is!"
"Don't be an idiot. They'll know."
"I want them to. I'm not giving him any more chances." Sue clutched at Betty's arm. "Wait," she whispered. "I can hear something." They both stood stock-still, hardly daring to breathe, Somewhere in the darkness a bed was creaking and a female was moaning. Betty and Sue listened in awed silence.
Sue pointed at the darkness ahead. "It's down there," she said. "Let's go. We may have a simple answer to your question."
Betty hung back. "I'm scared. Let's go back. It's probably just two other people. They come here to make love. You told me so."
"Yeah, but what two other people? We have to know. We have a right to know. Come on, what are you scared of?"
Sue pushed Betty forward into the darkness. They stopped noiselessly outside the first door. A man was snoring peacefully.
That must be Bill," Betty whispered. "He's been drinking. He always snores when he drinks."
Sue tried the door. Finding it locked, she pushed her unwilling partner forward until they reached a door that was ajar. Sue gasped. The door was not only ajar but it was the same door from which she had exited a bare half hour earlier. But what left her breathless was the fact that from this familiar door emanated the unmistakable sounds of two human beings in the act of copulation. Recordings had been made of such things, Sue knew, but who would play such a record at this time of the morning? This had to be for real.
She pushed open the door. The noises amplified. The male part of the party was grunting as if he were carrying a heavy load up a five-floor walk-up and the female was yowling as if she were having her wisdom teeth extracted without an anesthetic. Sue's practical mind translated the noises into the symbolism of togetherness in the absolute. But who?
Sue reached for the switch. The single naked bulb lit the room explosively. A yellow cone of light revealed a pale-skinned man with a red beard in the act of topping an ecstatic brunette with billowing breasts and a pair of vividly long legs wrapped tightly around the man's bumping gluteus. One lovely female arm hung over the edge of the bed, its fingers moving in graceful patterns of fully structured eroticism.
Sue folded her arms. She stood for a moment surveying the scene with glazed eye and bowed head while Betty, not sure whether to laugh or cry, swung her gaze from the bobbing figures on the bed to her friend's face, It struck her as odd that neither of the protagonists in this horizontal grunt-and-groan drama were aware of the light having been turned on or of their audience of two startled females so taken aback by the exhibition that both of their robes had fallen open.
Sue was the first to cover up. Clutching at herself as frantically as if the plumber had surprised her in the shower, she turned to Betty and said with a heroic smile, "Now, you see how wrong you were? Let's go back to bed. I'm tired."
"Better turn the light off," Betty suggested, awed at her friend's remarkable aplomb.
"Like hell I will-they don't and won't even know it's on. The jerks."
When they were outside and stood shivering under the stars as the chilly mist from the meadowland encircled their ankles, Sue spoke fiercely to Betty.
"If you don't grab your man first thing in the morning," she said, "I'll take him myself. I could, you know."
Betty resented that "But could you keep him?"
"Probably, if I had a chance."
"Which you are not getting, pussycat." Betty yawned and shuddered. "Let's not talk any more nonsense. You have to be up at six."
"I probably won't make it" Sue snapped. "I think I'll quit and take Bill back to the city with me to keep him safe for you. You sound as if you don't want him."
There was nothing she would like better, the redhead thought as a cloud of weariness and anger befogged her. Betty was a sweet kid, Sue thought but all kinds of an idiot to let Bill run wild. She had happy memories of Bill.
Even that short time on the couch, Sue reflected, had been really high camp.
When they reached the cabin Sue said, 'Last in bed puts out the lights." She sprang into bed.
She wanted to think some more but something in her sagged. She was bone-tired. Plans were for the morning. She thought of Claud's swift infidelity. The horny devil had sworn undying love. She was to be his girl while they were at Wingtip Go. He would kill any man who looked at her, he had said. He had been waiting for a girl like her for most of his life. Despite her weariness Sue Langley laughed to herself. She liked the rascals. They were always much more amusing than the steady guys-as long as you didn't believe the tomcats. But what a man Claud was. She counted-she and Claud had made the scene at least five times that night almost nonstop. The man was really super-colossal. Did his endurance he in the beard or something? That she would have to research.
"Stinker," cried Betty from the bathroom. As she climbed into bed, she said, "Sue, what would you do with Bill if he were yours?"
"How would I know?" Sue said with a hint of the ungracious. "He never has been mine, not really." But, she thought with secret amusement, there was no reason why Bill shouldn't be hers, permanently perhaps. Finders keepers and losers weepers and all that. There was some relativity to the circumstances.
But she would not keep the man permanently. Instead, she would return him to Betty in top condition. And why not the permanence? But she was well aware of the answer. She knew herself. She was the kind of girl a man should have when he was having more than one. She would always be the more-than-one in a man's life.
It was more fun. For her as well as him.
And Bill knew that.
* * *
"I'm sorry, old son," Claud apologized, "but it kind of slipped out when I slipped back into the old home yard. I told you the gal's a witch. Now we've got to watch her. Rika's no time waster!" Bill felt like grabbing the burly one by the beard and baking him until his whiskers parted from his chin but he dismissed the notion since, for one thing, they were in the dining room having the latest breakfast ever served at Wingtip Go, thanks to Sue's pleadings to the chef on their behalf.
"So what do I do?" Bill queried anxiously. Claud had confided how he had inadvertently let Rika know that Betty was Bill's wife and had volunteered the further information to Bill that Rika was determined to separate the Martins by using a post-hypnotic suggestion.
"I hesitate to advise you, son," Claud said dubiously. "I view the situation as critical. If Rika seizes your wife in her claws, anything can happen. The only thing I can do is to give you a quick course in snap hypnosis as a means of counter-suggestion and hope you can reach the subject before Rika does. He seemed momentarily hopeful. "Are you sure you can't warn Betty?"
Bill glanced across the room to the lobby where Betty's golden loveliness presided over the reception desk.
"Of that I am sure. The ice curtain was never thicker.
I could try once more. Now's as good a time as any!" He made as if to rise from the table.
Claud shook his head. "Attempt to restore relations with the wrong approach is a waste of time. Further, such an action tends to antagonize the subject. Unfortunately, if you want to use the hypnotic counter-suggestion, you have to be on speaking terms with the subject."
"But you could warn Betty, couldn't you?" Bill said. "Better still, have Sue tip her off!"
Claud's smile was indulgent and compassionate. "That I have tried, pal. It did not work." Seeing Bill was a trifle green around the gills, Claud added, "At the moment I am on the outs with the lovely redhead whom I had seriously intended to take seriously to my bosom for the entire vacation-and perhaps for life."
"How come?"
"Sue either has second sight or someone somehow talked. She acts as if she is aware I did not sleep alone last night. Why she should be concerned, since our association was by mutual consent sex for sex's sake, is what bugs me. Women are strange animals."
"I'll ask her for you," Bill said, noticing Sue heading for the kitchen. Ignoring Claud's protest, Bill hurried to intercept her. Sue saw him coming and changed course for the ladies room. Bill accelerated and planted himself firmly in her path.
"Sue, I want you to help me with Betty. Come over to the table and talk."
Sue's eyes blazed. "I absolutely refuse. I will not come within a cubic yard of that philandering bluebeard and his comic woman-and if you want Betty back, Bill, you'll take my advice and drop both Claud and Rika in the lake where they belong. He's vile and she stinks and you know it."
"Sue, for Heaven's sake, be reasonable, I want you to help me. Can't we talk this over somewhere? Just you and me? I'll tell Claud you don't want to see him."
Sue's eyes flashed. "Don't tell him a thing. Let him find out the hard way. If he has the sensitivity of a decomposed clam, he should know already."
"When can we meet, Sue?" Bill persisted. "You've got to help me."
Sue's mood changed. She treated Bill to one of those sexy smiles that translate into any language. She still liked Bill best of all. Although her first episode with Claud had quieted her sexual isotopes, the physical laboratory of her libido was still open for similar experiments. Also she had never been able to dispel from her mind the idea that if Betty did not want Bill, Sue herself could use him. And howl The idea appealed to her strongly at this moment as her eyes devoured him hungrily.
She put on what she hoped was a convincing facial demonstration of troubled thinking that terminated in a fetching personal smile supported by seductive arching of her generous female frontispiece that, she noticed, had captured Bill's gaze, and said, "Okay, make it nine o'clock sharp at the cabin."
"Won't Betty be there?"
"Gosh, no! She's taking a private course in sex control from the leotard. Betty's hipped on STAIS principles. She wanted me to come but to hell with that. I want I my sex when I feel like it."
Bill's spirits drained as he contemplated what Rika might do to Betty to prevent the Martin reunion.
Sue patted his cheek as he stood momentarily gripped in mute confusion. "See you at nine, fellow. Yes?" She winked and swung away with a beguiling toss of her hips. Emotion-charged as he was, Bill reacted as he watched her go. The girl had a very special brand, he thought.
Back at the table he lit cigarettes for himself and Claud. "It's a mess," Bill said gloomily, "What can us do?"
"It could be worse," Claud said airily, flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Fortunately, the worst never happens." He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and leaned back in his chair to stare at the ceiling.
The man was just a phony exhibitionist, Bill decided, his anger rising. He felt like slapping Claud around but that would not help. Bill felt superior to the fellow but ironically enough Bill had to accept Claud as an ally. The guy knew Rika like a book. Rika had as good as confessed that Claud was the only man who had ever bested her. But the guy was a typical beat, a sponger, Bill thought. And he remembered how Claud had rooked him of five dollars for that ridiculous STAIS membership certificate.
Bill made a silent resolution. If Rika balled up his marriage by giving Betty some ridiculous post-hypnotic hate-your-husband suggestion, he would treat himself to the pleasure of yanking the bearded one out to a quiet spot and beating the daylights out of the guy. Bill would take that satisfaction.
"So what are we going to do?" he said mechanically.
Claud came to life. "We are going to get rough, man, real rough! Both of us. You say you have to be at Sue's cabin at nine. I will find out what time Rika intends to give your wife her private lesson and you and I shall act in unison." He parted Bill's shoulder. "Count on me, son. It's operation grab-snatch. It cannot fail."
Bill disliked the man more than ever but acquiesced when Claud suggested a visit to the bar to celebrate the success of his master plan in advance. Over the drinks Claud became voluble. Rika, he admitted, was the only girl in the world for him. Once she had STAIS really started, she would find herself and they would enter into a permanent association. Rika, the bearded baboon insisted, needed him as much as he needed her. He gave her stability and she supplied him with the comforts so necessary for male survival on this weary planet.
After ordering a fifth round at Bill's expense, Claud said, "This STAIS business will undoubtedly make your book. It will be a best seller. Notice how the women here are gobbling up Rika's exercises? They'll have their husbands working overtime between the sheets. We'll have to draw up a percentage contract for STAIS."
Bill contained himself with difficulty. When Claud had finally drained his glass, they walked arm-in-arm a trifle unsteadily to the barn theater where the STAIS morning class was awkwardly finishing its routine. On the stage superintending the forest of over-upholstered female rears bobbing and straining, was Rika demonstrating what she described as simple toe-touching exercises. Bill had to admit the girl had a touch of genius. Her patter was perfection. She was concise and powerfully persuasive. With few exceptions every one of the twenty-odd women were striving to emulate their teacher and enjoying it.
Bill's heart missed a beat when he caught Betty's blond loveliness. Watching her absorbed face, he became resentful. Why was she wasting her time watching these super-fatted females? She didn't need Rika's exercises. His wife had a perfect figure.
He was weighing the possible consequences of marching over and seizing Betty when Rika halted in the middle of the stage. Standing on her toes, she pointed at Betty.
"I am now going to show you what STAIS can do for the average girl," Rika announced. "You have all seen Betty at the reception desk. Betty's lovely figure is gorgeous but she and I have both agreed it. could be improved and that is just what we are going to do." Rika beckoned to Betty. "Come up here, darling, and well show the girls."
Bill stood stunned as Betty pranced up to the stage. She was large beside Rika's figure but beautifully proportioned. Bill clenched his fists as Rika zipped down Betty's dress and pulled it off over her blond curls. Betty must have taken leave of her senses, Bill thought How dare she exhibit herself to this crowd in nothing but her bra and panties? Damn Rika and her lousy STAIS.
Rika produced a tape measure and said, "I am now going to record Betty's measurements and inscribe them on this chart." She flourished a sheet of paper. "Week by week we will check these measurements and you will see how Betty's figure improves." Rika paused and executed a skittish little dance. "You may not believe it but you will see the change take place right under your eyes. If there is no change after ten lessons, I shall be delighted to return all your fees. That's how confident I am of the benefits exercises can confer on you." Rika turned Betty around and made a production of measuring Betty's hips.
"Betty is exceeding supple, as every woman should be for her own satisfaction and her husband's," Rika was saying as Bill fumed. "Now bend over and touch your toes, Betty, keeping your knees straight. Do it three tunes."
When Betty had finished, Rika said, "You'll notice that Betty is flushed with exertion. Now watch me." She executed the same routine. "I am not flushed, am I? When Betty has had a few lessons she will be able to touch her toes about ten times without showing the slightest signs of exertion. This is possible only because we combine deep controlled breathing with the exercise. Eventually this becomes an integral part of our daily life, automatically increasing our ration of oxygen."
Rika smiled at Betty. "Thank you, darling."
Betty took her dress and vanished backstage.
"There's something else which may interest you," Rika continued. "STAIS being dedicated to the promotion and maintenance of happy marriage, we give special courses to enable you to achieve this desirable state." She nodded her sleek head. "Betty won't mind my telling you this. She has a husband problem. One might almost say the man is a complete monster-totally unworthy of her, but she will be able to change him after a course of STAIS special lectures. I hope you will all be able to join. Our message in this area is that no matter how impossible your mate may seem, STAIS will show you how to convert even the most sterile marriage into blissful and fruitful existence. If any of you would like to sign up for the lectures-or for private classes-Betty has the enrollment forms at her desk."
Claud grinned at Bill's furious face. "Relax, man, and contain yourself as we say in STAIS. All's well that ends well. You must admit the girl has talent. Look at the material we're giving you for your book." He stuck out his hand. "What about a trifling loan? My tonsils are in need of lubrication."
Bill turned over a five with a show of amiability. The situation demanded tolerance, he thought. One day he would tell Claud where to get off. For that Bill could not wait.
14
AFTER LUNCH, AS BILL was heading to the lake for a swim, Rika came silently up behind him and ran her finger up his naked back.
"It wasn't nice of you to lock me out last night," Rika said with a pout. "I was hurt."
Bill grinned but his eyes were cold. "Sorry, I must have been tired. Locking you out was accidental."
"It wasn't-things like that never are."
"So what was it?" Bill's jaw hardened. How could a cute dish like this be such a monster, he wondered.
Rika's eyes captured his. Her smile was ravishingly innocent as she explained, "It was just reflex action, my love. Your jaded and overstrained libido was seeking to shield itself from all females." Rika's brows arched prettily as she thrust in her little harpoon. "Blondes as well as brunettes. The STAIS principles are subconsciously garlanding your personality. You're a much more sensitive person these days. Haven't you noticed?"
Ignoring Bill's angry expression, Rika gave him a warm
"Perhaps it's time you had another purgation treatment. How about after your swim?"
"Thanks, I'll take a rain check," Bill said nervously. Aware that Rika was appraising him, he decided he could not escape her fast enough, particularly after Claud's warning she could influence people without their knowledge.
So he said the first thing that came into his head. "Excuse me, but I'm taking a little run for my health. I've been eating too much these days." Before she could answer, he jogged away, feeling like a two-headed idiot.
The plunge into the cool water restored his morale. A guy of his caliber was plain insane to be frightened by pint-size witches like Rika, he reflected. What would she be without sex? Just a waste of time!
Claud's plan, as Bill reviewed it, was that Claud go to the cabin at nine instead of Bill and grab Sue. Bill was to carry off Betty when she arrived for her STAIS lesson after he had locked Rika in the room in the barn. Claud had also rambled on about spiked drinks, sneezing attacks brought on by bouquets of ragweed, and a dunking in the lake as suitable treatments for Rika.
Bill stopped swimming abruptly. The bearded coot had not wrapped up the loose ends. Apart from what Sue had told Bill, he had no idea where Betty was having her lesson or the exact time she was meeting Rika. Claud was supposed to find out.
* * *
Before dinner Bill went in search of Claud. The man was nowhere. The barman had seen him earlier. Mrs. Brown had seen his car leave. Bill rushed outside. The car was still there. Only its owner was absent. Bill searched the grounds. He peered into empty bedrooms, combed the basement. The bearded one had vanished.
* * *
When Claud did not show up for dinner, Bill was in a sweat. Rika did not make the scene, either. He looked everywhere for Betty. His nerves began to jitter. The whole project looked like a colossal floperoo.
Sue gave him the eye as she brought his dinner.
"She didn't say when she was to meet Rika," she told Bill in answer to his query about Betty. "Probably around nine. But don't worry, you and I will be alone. The child's loco on this STAIS nonsense."
* * *
After dinner Bill marched into the bar. He did not feel like a drink but he made himself down one on the score it would soothe his nerves. He was pretending to watch TV in the lobby later when he spied Sue ready to leave. He joined her as unobtrusively as he could manage.
"Keep cool, doll," Sue advised with a roguish grin. "I'll be there, alone. Betty went for a walk instead of having dinner. Said she wanted to prepare herself for her indoctrination or something. I think she's slightly nuts. She's meeting the leotard creature definitely at nine." She gave Bill one of her fabulous winks. "Don't worry, Bill. I have everything fixed, real good."
* * *
Bill slumped in a club chair and watched the hands of the clock dawdle around the dial. He tried not to think of Claud's perfidious absence. The man was a louse. Bill began deep-breathing to calm his nerves and became more taut than before.
At five to nine, he set off for the barn. Betty must be meeting Rika there, he thought. On the stage, perhaps, or in the large bedroom. If they were meeting anywhere else, he was lost. He considered the possibility of that and his thoughts soured. The bearded recording secretary of STAIS could certainly anticipate a fractured nose.
It was one of those chilly misty nights the mountain country produces to cool off the summer visitors. Bill shivered. He had been sweating heavily.
The barn door creaked as he pushed it open. The single light set high in the roof was on. That augured well.
When he saw the door of the room he shared with Rika was closed, Bill halted. So they were already there, he surmised. He put his ear close to the door. All he could hear was silence. He stepped back, eyeing the door belligerently. If it were locked, he would break it down, seize Betty and run. She would probably scream blue murder but he had to risk that. His determination was unshakable now. The moment had come when the tiger of wrath was better than the horse of wisdom, to quote the Hindu proverb Bill had used as a chapter heading in his book.
He turned the handle. The door opened so suddenly he nearly fell inside. The room was empty. Depressingly so. Bill leaned against the wall, panic stabbing him. So where were Betty and Rika? He scanned the shabby interior. The bed was rumpled. The STAIS literature on which Rika had been working littered the floor. Rika's blue T-shirt and a pair of her diminutive shorts hung over the back of the single chair. There was a faint smell of sandalwood, one of Rika's perfumes. Rika had obviously been there, and recently. Where was she now?
An excruciating moment passed. Tension built up i Bill Martin. He felt as if he had arrived at the point of no return in life. His entire future depended on what happened in the next few minutes. One mistake and he was through. He goggled at the musty emptiness. He snorted. He cursed under his breath.
Supposing they were to arrive and see him standing in the doorway? The thought set the hair at the back of his neck abristle. This was no time for trial and error. He closed the door and moved stealthily down the corridor on cat feet until a noise halted him and turned him into baited breath.
Someone was grunting. A human being.
Bill listened, fearful his ears were playing him a trick. He heard the noise again. It came from Claud's room. Bill tiptoed forward, stopped again-and then suddenly wanted to laugh.
Claud was at the side of the bed. But he was not praying. He was working in the perfumed garden of love. His back was to the door and he appeared to be naked. Over each pale muscular shoulder hung a female leg attached to slim white thighs.
Bill watched the balding pate. Bill was fascinated. The action was grotesque; It was ridiculous. But it was real. The legs undoubtedly belonged to Rika.
Bill took a step forward to confirm the fact. Rika lay on her back, her full breasts upthrusting, her arms spread. She was staring sightlessly at the ceiling. A bottle and two glasses on the little table explained why Rika and Claud had not shown up for dinner.
As Bill watched, Rika sighed gustily. She moaned and wriggled. Claud grunted protestingly.
Bill heard Rika say, "Hurry, doll. Hurry, damn you! I have an appointment."
Claud riposted with something that sounded like an obscene negative. Rika tried to push him away but he cursed her drunkenly and went about his business with such renewed ferocity that she quickly began to whimper in what could be nothing but sensual sublimity. Evidently the appointment had been quickly forgotten.
Bill heard the outside door squeak on its hinges. That would be Betty, he thought. He stepped back into the shadows. He wanted Betty to see this orgiastic performance the pair were putting on. It might shake her interest in STAIS.
Betty walked slowly down the corridor towards Bill. She was wearing a simple blue dress. The thigh-length skirt displayed her legs attractively. The curve of her bosom was alluring. Bill's heart quickened. His lovely wife! He adored her.
It called for superhuman control to refrain from revealing himself immediately and pleading his case. But things had gone too far for simple pleas.
Betty reached the door. Bill waited until he heard Betty cry out. She was no prude. Bill knew. She liked Bill to love her as Claud was loving Rika-but to see Claud and Rika thus involved would be shock medicine after what Rika must have told Betty about the aims and principles of STAIS.
It was a stunned wife that Bill quietly but firmly gathered into his arms. But once she had recovered from her surprise, she struggled like a trapped cat. Bill, holding her from behind, buried his face in the fragrant tousle of her hair.
"It's me, darling," he whispered, one hand embracing the breasts he loved to kiss. "I love you-really." A spiral of sensation whirled up from his vitals. Betty was so warm and cuddlesome. She smelled delicious. Her attempts to free herself added to the thrill of her nearness.
"Let me go," Betty cried.
"You're coming with me, honey."
Td rather die."
"I want you alive, darling."
Betty dug her nails deep into Bill's hands.
I'll scream. I'll call the cops. I'll-"
"Scream all you want" Bill picked her up. Betty's legs kicked out wildly. She bumped her head hard against Bill's jaw. She pulled at his hair and slapped at his face.
"You beast. You impossible brutal insensitive ape. You-"
Bill squeezed the breath out of her and lunged through the doorway. When he slackened his hold momentarily, Betty started struggling again. She seemed to have acquired formidable strength. Bill began to sweat with the effort of holding her and simultaneously mounting up the slight slope towards the cabin. Once she struggled so furiously that he lost balance. They sprawled on the damp grass. Betty sprang up like an infuriated panther but Bill seized her ankle and pulled her down.
"You're staying with me," he told her quietly when he found his breath. "Get that straight." He picked her up again. She was suddenly soft and yielding in his arms but Bill was taking no chances.
"You're hurting me, Bill," she said.
Bill did not answer. They were near the cabin.
"You're not fair," Betty complained. A pause. Then she said, "You're mean, you're horrid, and beastly and-" she caught her breath and added with scalding venom and degenerate. I loathe you."
Betty punctuated her last sentence by landing a roundhouse swing of her free hand hard on Bill's jaw. He replied by slapping her bottom hard.
When they reached the cabin, Bill put her down. He held her by the arm. He found it reassuring that Betty had not screamed as she had threatened. She probably did not want to make a scene any more than he did.
When he tried to drag her up the two steps to the wooden porch, Betty again struggled briefly but he hoisted her up. He pushed open the door.
At the sight of the lighted interior, Betty gave a terrific backward tug that nearly pulled Bill off his feet. He yanked her back roughly and she screamed for the first time. So did a naked and bosomy Sue Langley who happened to be lying on the bed contentedly savoring the delights of her anticipated visit by the man who now stood staring at her in the doorway clutching at his distraught wife.
Bill collected himself enough to push Betty inside and bang the door shut behind them. The portent of Sue's agitated nudity was not lost on him. At least Betty did not have to know who Sue was expecting.
"Sorry, Sue," he said hoarsely. "This is an emergency. Betty and I want to talk. Do you mind?" Ignoring Sue's embarrassed distress, he added, "Claud's waiting for you in the barn. He told me to tell you."
Sue, vainly trying to shield her breasts with her hands, sprang for the bathroom, pausing en route to snatch a dress.
Bill held Betty tightly as they waited for the redhead to reappear. He was taking no chances.
"Thanks, Sue," he said, feeling suddenly hoarse. "You're a doll." Bill slipped the bolt in place behind Sue's fleeting shape. Betty was limp in his grip. He released her. For a moment he stood towering over her breathless beauty, a tender smile on his face. "Anything you want to say, darling?"
Betty stared up at him numbly. Her eyes flashed anger for a moment and then softened. Her breathing was gusty. Bill watched her magnificent breasts rising and falling in provocative waves.
There was a long silence.
Betty shook her golden head. Her long-lashed lids shaded her glazed eyes. "It would take too long-you beast." Her voice broke. She clutched at his arm. "Oh, Bill, I'm sorry. I-"
Bill held her close.
"Me too, kid. Never again. I've had it."
"Them, you mean. Oh, Bill, those horrible people."
Bill took her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. "Forget them, Betty. Let's think of us. No more fighting!"
"But I've got to fight. I can't be a doormat. It's not my nature. Oh, Bill, you're impossible." Betty delivered herself of a great sigh and began to cry.
"You don't have to fight any more, darling." Bill kissed her cold damp face. He licked a tear from the end of her nose. "Not with me. Not any more. " He began to fondle her. Betty sighed voluptuously and nestled close. His desire for her spiraled.
Bill pulled at her dress. The zipper whined. Betty wriggled and the garment fell to the floor. She stepped out of it and Bill fumbled impatiently with her bra. He pulled it down at last.
Betty gasped and shuddered as Bill's lips found her breasts. His hand slipped down the smooth velvet lane of her spine.
He felt her fingers searching for him. She was pulling at his pants. He undid his belt
"Hurry, Bill, hurry!" Betty said, writhing. An animal moan escaped her lips. Her naked belly thrust at him. "Please, Bill, please."
Bill picked her up and dumped her on the bed. He kissed her eyes, her lips, her warm shoulders. He flicked his tongue across her navel.
Their mouths locked as he swiftly reoccupied his marital domain.
Then Betty gasped. Her creamy breasts billowed against his straining body when, moments later, she arched herself. For breathless moments she quivered in the throes of glorious sensation.
"Bill. Oh, Bill, I waited. I did, honest." Betty broke off and dug her teeth into Bill's shoulder as a great spasm shook her. Then it was finished. Her tiny fragrant body relaxed as Bill summited.
A great calm came....
For stretched out moments, then, they stayed irrevocably and blissfully joined. Man to woman, woman to man-husband and wife. The only union possible for true lovers.
"I hope it's a boy," Betty whispered. "We should start with a boy."
* * *
Two hours passed. Betty sat up in sudden alarm.
"Poor Sue! I wonder where she is. You must have locked her out. Oh, Bill, what shall we do?"
"Don't worry about her. She'll be all right. She's probably sleeping in the barn."
After being quiet for a while, Betty said, "I hope Sue hasn't done anything silly."
"I'm sure she hasn't." Bill encircled a hardened pink nipple with his tongue. "Come on, darling. We're on vacation. Didn't anyone tell you what people do when they take vacations in the mountains?"
Betty giggled sexily. "Suppose you show me, darling."
* * *
Sue did not return that night. She was up bright and early serving breakfast and looking dewy. Bill remarked on that as he rushed his he-man appetite to the table. Before he had finished his second helping of pancakes, Claud arrived, a genial bundle of smiles, wearing a suggestion of weariness like a halo.
"Thanks for sending me the redhead, man," he said to Bill. "Very thoughtful of you. We hit it off in magnificent endeavor with a good old-fashioned double-header after a session of daisy-chain stuff with our little friend Rika who of course conveniently passed out in time for me to pleasure Sue."
Claud chuckled. He patted Bill on the shoulder. "You see how my brilliant scheme worked out? I'm sorry about the last-minute change but you know what they say about liquor being quicker. I figured you would be hep to the situation. As a matter-of-fact I predicated my entire plan on your alert mentality-which I recognized at our first meeting." Claud lowered his voice and leaned over so that his ear brushed Bill's. "How about a small loan to celebrate our success? The anesthetic I used on Rika vacated me entirely. You see, I had to make sure she was under control. I told you liquor was the great leveler. See what a man will do for a pal?"
Bill surprised himself by producing a pair of tens. The bearded one was certainly an amusing rogue. The world had niches for people like Claud, Bill thought.
Claud's eyes widened with unconcealed delight. 'Your magnanimous donation could not have come at a more appropriate moment man. The eve of my marriage. You see, we are both consolidating and diversifying at STAIS." He tucked the bills in his shirt pocket. "You'll come to the wedding, I hope. You and your wife. Rika says it wouldn't jell without you-I'm inclined to agree. You might like to throw a party for us, or at least be the master of ceremonies."
Claud sent a wistful glance at Sue's svelte figure flitting from table to table. He turned to Bill with a wry smile. "Lovely as she is, that girl shocks me. She actually does not believe in marriage. She told me again last night. Personally, I find such an attitude immensely immoral-particularly in the gray light of morning."
