The car stopped. Its headlights switched from low to high beams and all but blinded Nora Rigby. But, even more disconcertingly, they made her feel stripped in her sheer, summer evening dress. Behind the glare, unseen eyes must be staring at her. She needed no sixth sense to tell her so-the purpose behind the high beam was obvious. And when the lights went off and she saw the three teenaged youths get from the car and come purposefully toward her and Phil, her husband, she had a, premonition of what was to happen.
Rape, she thought. I'm going to be assaulted!
Just why the idea should have leaped instantly into her mind she could not, later, exactly say. Perhaps because of some stories she had recently read in the limited local press of situations exactly like this: a car broken down on a lonely road-the dark of night-youthful group violence. Perhaps because of gossip about other incidents supposed to have occurred although never reported to the press or the police-who would probably have recognized what she sensed and given it a name on their blotter-MO. Modus operandi. Certain species of criminals were identifiable because they generally behaved in a predictable fashion under predictable circumstances. Or perhaps she thought as she did because the possibility of being violated is never entirely out of a beautiful woman's awareness, though it may lurk so deeply in the abysses of the mind that she is actually unconscious of it-unless it is brought to a conscious level by some sensed threat or menace.
Too, only moments before she had seen the trio, her thoughts had been on sex-though of a different kind...
Now the three came to where Phil was just finishing changing a fiat tire on the Buick and she stood watching him. Phil, also sensing danger, tried to pull the handle from the jack to use as a weapon. The handle stuck. Phil was unable to remove it.
Oh, God; what are we to do, Nora thought wildly. And then: Don't let them hurt Phil-please!
The road was a winding, two-lane route through the hills behind town. No other cars were in sight. The only lights, other than Phil's emergency lantern with its red blinker, were a half-mile or more away. Dense woods covered both sides of the road.
Phil still struggled to free the jack handle but paused to look at Nora and say, his voice alarmed, tensely off key, "Get in the car, honey. Lock the doors."
It was too late for her to obey. The three were too close. One moved to stand between her and the Buick.
"Need some help, mister?"
The young voice was amused, mocking. It belonged to the tallest of the three. Nora could see something of him. He was blond, not unhandsome in what had come to be known, Nora supposed, as the All-American way. Perhaps that was why he seemed vaguely familiar or- brief hope flooded through her-perhaps she had actually seen him somewhere before. He was grinning, looking from Phil to her and then back at Phil again. At his expression, Nora's hopefulness died.
"I said, do you need any help, mister?"
"No, thanks," Phil said, facing the three. He was of average height and slightly built. If attacked, he would not stand a chance. Unnecessarily he repeated, "Thanks, anyway."
"Sure, he needs help." This from one of the others, a thin, dark boy who made an indistinct, somehow menacing shadow just beyond the glow of the emergency lantern. "Give him a hand, why don't you?"
The third youth said nothing. He had a round, featureless face in the night and was short and pudgy. His hands hung ominously alert at his sides and though she could not see his eyes she could feel them on her-from the cant of his head she could tell that his face never turned to Phil. In all three, Nora sensed a wicked amusement.
The boy who had spoken first said, "Sure, I'll give him a hand."
Brushing Phil aside, he grasped the jack handle and worked it expertly until the Buick's raised wheel with its changed tire was lowered to the ground. He then removed the handle from the jack, seemingly without difficulty, and turned to Phil.
"There you are, dad," he said disarmingly. "And here's your gimmick."
He started to hand the tool to Phil when the thin youth stepped swiftly from the shadows, snatched the jack handle from his friend and lashed out with it. The blow caught Phil across the knees with terrific force, Nora cried out and started forward as Phil collapsed. She heard what might have been a startled protest from the blond boy as she was grabbed roughly from behind by the pudgy youth. She cried out again, screamed this time, and struggled to break away. But he was far stronger than she. His hands had a viselike grip on her arms, just above the elbows. When she continued her furious struggling, hysteria in her, he slipped his arms about her waist and held her against his thick body. She writhed desperately, trying to kick back at him.
He laughed. "You doing the twist, chick?"
Phil was still on the ground, writhing with pain. The other two boys-how incongruous to think of them as "boys," flashed hysterically through Nora's mind-seized him by the arms and dragged him to the side of the Buick, the side away from the road. They hauled him to a sitting position, his back to the car. He stared up at them dazedly, trying futilely to get to his feet-had they broken his legs, Nora wondered with frozen horror.
"Listen," she heard Phil gasp. "Take my money and let us go. Leave her alone-" "Money, schmoney," one of the boys said. "We don't want your dough, dad. We just want to borrow your dame for a little while. Don't worry about it. She'll have a ball."
Nora gave a violent wrench and got her left arm free. She whirled toward the boy who held her and tried to rake his face with her nails. He caught hold of her wrist, but now that she faced him he had difficulty in restraining her.
"Hey, you guys-give me a hand with this wildcat."
The blond youth had picked up the jack handle again. He held it out to the thin one. With a curious, almost sneering look at his friend, he said, "Maybe you'll want to clobber him again if he makes a wrong move. I'll give Fatso a hand with the dame."
"Don't need that," the thin one said, and brought a switchblade knife from his pocket. The long, thin blade snapped from the handle and glinted dully but wickedly in the darkness. "If the jerk moves a finger, I'll cut him, man -cut him good." His voice shook a little.
He tried to laugh, but the sound was distorted, unconvincing.
For Nora the nightmare now really began. She tried to blank out her mind as the blond boy joined his friend and each held one of her arms. But when they started into the woods, half-carrying and half-dragging her, hysteria seized her again and she cried frantically, "Phil-Phil-" even though she knew he was unable to help her. Then the thought of what might happen to him if he did try to come to her rescue choked off her screams-she remembered the flashing switchblade and the distorted, unnatural laugh of the boy guarding Phil and began to babble soft, frenetic pleas for them to let her go... for them not to hurt Phil further...
They laughed at her.
"Sure, chick," the pudgy one said. "We'll let you go- in a little while. And we won't hurt you."
They came to a small clearing and she felt her feet kicked from under her. She fell heavily, the jolt knocking the breath out of her. Dazedly she realized she had literally been thrown against the earth-mercifully, perhaps, her senses swam even as she continued her struggles, so that she was only dimly aware of what followed. Someone-it may have been the blond boy-drew her arms to full length above her head. She tried to kick and thresh, felt cloth tearing-once more she started to scream and a heavy, fat hand clamped across her mouth with such force that she was knocked nearly unconscious.
The night's darkness spun and deepened. She was dimly aware of voices-one she thought she recognized as possibly the blond boy's, perhaps because he had spoken more than the others-as vaguely defending her from being hurt, but no one defended her enough. She felt herself unspeakably violated-once, twice-swiftly, brutally, so that she was barely aware of anything but shock or pain.
The third time came more slowly-though it was an equal violation. By now some of her awareness had returned and the incident was less a montage of pure terror. For the first time her senses were able to focus on what was happening for her to relate it directly to sex. The blond boy was her last tormentor but though they seemed alone-the other two had vanished-she was too spent, too much in shock still, to resist. It was as if this final outrage were actually happening to someone else or she were dreaming it-a nightmare from which she would soon awaken.
There was a sickness in her, a violent nausea which threatened to erupt at any moment...
She was barely aware of the exact moment when he left her but in some recesses of her being she knew that he had inflicted no further physical pain on her. He had not hurt her as the others-perhaps because he had not had to. Any vestigial, even subconscious resistance had left her long before he had taken his turn ... The illness remained.
She turned, rose to her hands and knees and retched. She felt no better, but emotion returned to her. She felt an anger such as she never before had known. Rage knotted up her insides, brought her to full consciousness.
Animals, she thought fiercely, hating all three of them with her entire being. Animals, animals, animals...
The worst half-hour of Phil Rigby's life was over when the third youth came from the woods-from Nora- and called to the others, "Let's blow, guys. The rumble's over."
The three ran to their car. Before Phil had managed to struggle to his feet, it went roaring away without lights-so he couldn't get the license number, he guessed. He had not even been able to distinguish the vehicle's year, make or model. An old black jalopy, he surmised-a hotrod, probably, with a souped-up motor.
He blamed himself for not having noticed more, but all he had been able to think of while they took turns guarding him had been Nora and what had been happening to her. He leaned heavily against the side of his car for a moment, the pain in his knees intense now that he was standing. But his physical distress was nothing compared to his mental anguish. He had failed Nora. The one time she had really needed him he had been unable to help her. He felt less than a man and his shame was all the greater for his knowing that he had been proven so by three punk kids.
Kids, he thought. My God, what am I anyway?
But his main concern was for Nora-how badly had they hurt her?
He shoved himself away from the car and, on pain-tortured legs, plunged in among the trees, calling her name in a voice that sounded like a stranger's to his own ears.
Why was there no answer? Had they left her unconscious -dead, perhaps? The thought was unbearable and he paused, listening, every sense alerted by an agonizing panic, a fear greater than he had known for himself when those kids had held him at knife-point, though his legs had been virtually useless.
I should have made them kill me, he thought. Then, surely, whatever they did, they wouldn't have killed her, too. She'd at least be alive ...
She was alive. He heard her before he saw her crawling on all fours through the brush toward the sound of his voice, her dress torn, her hair disheveled. She was making retching sounds, sobbing-she could not, he realized, have answered his shouts. He knelt beside her, lifted her to a sitting position and held her tightly to him.
"Damn them," she gasped. "Oh, damn them!"
"We'll get you to a doctor, darling," he said inadequately. "I'll carry you to the car-" "No-I'll walk in a little while. Just-hold me for a moment." She shuddered against him. "I've been dirtied, Phil," she said after a while. "That's worse than the hurt."
"Come on-we've got to take you to a doctor."
"I don't want to see a doctor," she said and he realized she was still on the verge of hysteria. "I don't want to see anybody. Just get me home as fast as you can and I'll take care of myself, I don't want to be pregnant by one of those -those animals. Help me up."
He started to do so.
"My shoe," she said. "I've lost a shoe."
He said to hell with the shoe but she was insistent. And presently he understood. He searched the brush until he found the shoe and bits of her underwear and dress. He gathered up all the evidence he could find of what had happened, then helped her up. She clung to him for a moment as her legs threatened to give way. She was trembling violently and-while he held her close, wishing to comfort her but not knowing how-he flagellated himself again for having failed to protect her. He felt she must hate him-certainly she had reason to.
Finally they started from the woods, moving slowly at first and then with as much haste as Nora could manage. He helped her into the car and quickly shut the door. He went back and threw the jack and the wheel with the flat into the trunk. He did not pick up the jack handle from where the last punk handling it had thrown it, for he knew that if he kept the thing it would always remind him that he had held a weapon in his hand but had been too inadequate or slow-witted to make use of it. He had not been man enough to protect his woman, he thought bleakly. He slammed down the trunk lid, strode to the driver's side, got in behind the wheel.
Nora sat with her legs drawn up under her and her hands pressed hard to her bosom, where her dress was torn. She stared blankly through the windshield into the darkness. He started the motor, switched on the lights, pulled off the shoulder of the road onto the narrow hardtop and pressed the gas pedal recklessly nearly to the floor. He had to get Nora home as quickly as possible- the sooner the better-though whatever precautions she could take might not be adequate. Damn it, she needed a doctor. If she should become pregnant because of those bastards...
But even more agonizing to him was the thought she might have been injured severely-perhaps permanently. They had probably hit her, perhaps kicked her...
TWO
He and Nora had been out for dinner at the Lakeview Lodge. The evening had been a special one. Tonight was their wedding anniversary-the seventh. The martinis be- fore dinner, the wine with their meal and the brandy after it had been a bit over Nora's quota. As they had left the dining room of the Lodge, she had leaned heavily on Phil's arm.
"You know, darling-" her voice had been thick and her words slurred-"I believe I'm a Utile tipsy."
He had grinned at her. "That you are but please, honey, don't conk out on me-not tonight."
"Conk out-me?" Nora had giggled. "When did I ever conk out on you, lover? Name just once."
They had walked slowly across the parking lot toward their car. Nora had found her legs rubbery.
"Just once?" Phil had said banteringly. "I could mention a dozen times. One drink too many-you get silly at first and then sleepy. I'll give odds that you'll be asleep before we're down out of the mountains and I'll have to pour you into bed when we get home."
"You'll lose your money. Tonight I'm going to stay awake until dawn. After all, it's my wedding anniversary."
"It's mine too."
"It is?"
"Uh-huh. I'm your husband, remember."
"You are?" Nora said, bringing herself and him to a stop. "Then kiss me, husband-right now."
Phil had looked about involuntarily to make sure no one was around to see them. At thirty-four, he was still rather shy and often embarrassed at attracting attention- something he never did intentionally. He loved Nora but avoided being demonstrative toward her outside the confines of their home.
But the parking lot had been deserted and he had kissed her quite thoroughly. He too had had two martinis, shared the bottle of wine and finished up with a snifter of brandy. Still, he had been prompted less by alcohol than by a desire to keep the evening at its romantic level. He had wanted the celebration to end as it properly should. There had been a strong need in him earlier in the evening, an aching need that had meant more to him than sexual desire. He had wanted to make love to Nora when they got home-wild, passionate love-but partly what had been on his mind was that they had been childless too long. Perhaps, with both of them emotionally primed, the condition could be corrected tonight.
Nora's lips had been warm under his-moist and parted. Her tongue had moved suggestively to meet his. She had slipped her arms about his neck, not noticing or caring about dropping her purse. She had molded her body to his and moaned softly with a longing he had sensed was a kind of agony.
Tall for a woman and abundantly endowed, she had filled his arms adequately. She was an attractive brunette to the world-to him a beautiful one-with a showgirl figure, and he had often marveled at his possession of her. He was not especially handsome and felt he had a quite colorless personality. He peered at his limited though adequate world through executive-type, thick-rimmed glasses that gave him, he believed, an absent-minded-professor sort of look. He had sometimes felt overly flattered when Nora had told him he was a bright young man doing a good job in a field with a bright new future. He was a cryogenic engineer and going places with the firm that employed him. She did, he supposed, have to give them both some excuse for having married him. It seemed incredible to him at times, that she should love him.
Nora too had worked for the Bentley-Jordan Corporation, manufacturers of freezing equipment, when he had discovered her. He had won her away from a Bentley-Jordan vice-president-though she had been not the VP's wife, fianc� or mistress but merely his secretary. To Phil the victory had been no small one. In fact, it still seemed to him the major achievement of his life. He was as much in love with Nora now as he had been the day he married her.
Back at the parking lot, earlier in the evening, he had reached up and pulled her arms from about his neck and stepped away from her. "That's enough for now," he had said, grinning. "Time's a-wastin'. Let's head for home."
He had picked up her purse, handed it to her and hurried her to their Buick.
"Feel good?" she had asked.
"Never better," he had told her, guessing that she was thinking much along the same lines as he. Nora, too, wanted children.
He had shut her door, gone around, gotten behind the wheel. He had been in a hurry to get home, but Nora had insisted they take the old back country road.
"It's longer," he had protested.
"It's more romantic," she had said. "Full of memories. You used to court me there-if courting is the word."
The old road, a winding affair that climbed up and down past forested slopes and valley farms, did have memories for them. They had driven it many times during the summer they had first found each other. They had parked and necked like teeners at a half-hundred dark, lonely places along it. They had taken it tonight, instead of the fast, four-lane expressway, because Phil had wanted to do nothing to mar Nora's romantic mood-he had wanted the evening to end with a true consummation of their life together.
Nora, true to her word, had not fallen asleep during the early part of the trip. She had sat close to Phil, her dark head on his shoulder and her left hand lying on his knee.
They had driven the first few miles in silence. At last Nora had asked, "It's been a good seven years, hasn't it, darling?"
"The best seven years any two people ever had." "You've been happy-truly happy?" "You know I have."
"Me too," Nora had said. She had snuggled even closer to him. "It's been a perfect anniversary, too. Better than if we'd thrown a party."
Phil had agreed. He was no party type. Actually, they had been celebrating their anniversary a little belatedly. They had been married on the eighth of the month-tonight was the eleventh. On the eighth, this year, Phil had been out of town an business supervising a cryogenic installation for a Florida firm. The job still was not finished-Phil had simply taken the weekend off to fly home. He would be flying back tomorrow. They had just this one night together, until the Florida installation was completed.
After another couple of miles of silence, Nora had said, "There's just one thing wrong with it, Phil." "With what?" he asked. "The anniversary?" "No, not that, silly. With our marriage."
"That baby we still haven't had, you mean?" "Yes."
"Maybe tonight-" It was then that he had felt that the car was no longer riding smoothly. He had braked to a stop on the side of the road.
"What is it, Phil?"
"Flat tire, I think."
"Oh, darn-so soon?"
The Buick was nearly new, only three months theirs. "Probably picked up a nail."
The spot was dark and lonely. Leaving his motor running and lights on, Phil had gotten out of the car and walked around it.
He had returned to the driver's side. "It's a flat, all right," he had told Nora. "Right rear. I'll have to change it."
He had switched the lights from bright to parking, cut the motor and taken the keys from the ignition. Nora had come out to watch as he unlocked and raised the trunk lid. He had taken out the jack and its handle, the emergency lantern with its red blinker, set them on the ground and begun turning the wing nut that held the spare wheel in place.
Changing a wheel was no great task and Phil had been tightening the lug nuts on the spare when Nora, still sounding tipsy, had said, "You know what I'd like to do? I'd like us to go into the woods and-and do what we sometimes used to."
Phil had looked at her. "Used to is right," he had said. "That's for kids. We've got a home now."
She had made a face at him. "You're such a square, Phil Rigby. You haven't an ounce of romance in you."
But she had not sounded as though she had meant it. Her tone had been tender, loving.
Minutes later, after he had replaced the hubcap and was about to let down the jack, he and Nora had been pinned by the headlight glare of an approaching car. The driver of the other car had slowed, swung onto the shoulder of the highway and come to a stop. Phil was not by nature a nervous person given to baseless fears. But recently local papers had told of terrible things happening to people stalled on dark and lonely roads-robbery, assault, rape, even murder.
And when the driver of the other car had switched on his high beam to study them silently, he had known a premonition and had read the same concern in Nora's face-and he had instantly become fingers and thumbs.
He had jerked at the jack handle instead of working it loose and it had stuck in its socket...
And something terrible had happened to Nora and him.
Now he said, "Nora, I failed you."
"No," she said heavily. "Never think that."
"I was too frightened to fight them."
"They hurt you. They held a knife to your throat. They would have killed you if you had fought them."
"Another man would have tried," he said, disconsolate "Damn it, that jack handle stuck because I panicked."
"You might have gotten hurt, if not killed," Nora said "Stop blaming yourself, Phil. "I'm not really hurt an you're alive. Let's consider ourselves lucky."
"Luck." He swore under his breath. Then, in a different tone: "The jack handle-I left it back there, should have brought it along. Their fingerprints may be on it. The police-" "The police?" Nora said, as though she had not eve considered reporting what had happened. "No, Phil- please. I don't want to tell the police about it. It'll get into the newspapers. I don't want to talk about it to anyone I don't want anybody to know." "But I'm not sure we have a right not to report it," he said. "Those three young punks should be picked up. If they get away with what they did to us-to you-they'll almost certainly try it again with somebody else. And next time they may hurt-even kill-their victim. Degenerates like that-" "We're not going to go to the police, Phil," Nora broke in. "I've gone through enough. I won't be put through another ordeal. Just get me home and let me forget it- please."
As if she ever could-and they both knew it. Phil did not press the point and they were silent until Nora began to cry, irrepressibly, with great, wailing sobs.
"Our anniversary-our lovely, lovely anniversary-" He glanced at her. Tears flooded her cheeks. He had never seen anyone cry quite so. She stopped making sounds, but the torrent of tears continued. She did not even make an effort to dry them.
He too felt like bawling-for the sorry specimen of a male that he was. It seemed to him that if Nora had any feeling at all for him at the moment it must be disgust.
THREE
Nora and Phil Rigby lived in an upper-bracket ex-urban community in the birch-forested hills three miles north of Bentley-Jordan Corporation's huge, sprawling plant. Theirs was one of the more exclusive ranchers and split-levels on large, expensively landscaped lots. The house was white brick and simulated graystone. Its thirty-thousand-dollar price tag was a symbol of success. The symbol seemed hollow and meaningless as, some thirty minutes after leaving the scene of the assault upon their persons, they turned into their driveway.
A touch of a button on the Buick's dash raised the garage door but before Phil could run the car in, Nora said, "Let me into the house right away, Phil."
He stopped the car in the driveway and Nora rushed indoors. He ran the Buick into the -garage, pulled up beside Nora's station wagon, cut his engine and lights, folded his arms on the steering wheel and rested his head upon them. He sat in the darkness for some moments, trying to fight his sense of shame, to adjust to what had happened. But logical thought was impossible -he could only emote-and at last he got from the car, pressed the button to lower the garage door and entered the house.
Nora had not bothered with any but the essential lights. He followed them to the ivory-and-pink bedroom. Nora was in the bathroom, the door shut. He heard the rush of water in the tub, knocked on the door and asked if he could do anything.
She called back that she was all right. But her voice shook as she added: "I'm just mad now-mad enough to kill-" After taking her precautions and offering up a prayer that they would work, Nora got into a tub of water almost scaldingly hot. She soaped herself thoroughly, wondering if she would ever feel clean again.
Hysteria still lurked deep in her awareness, but what she mostly felt now was anger. Her whole being longed to hurt the three young punks so that they would regret for the rest of their lives having misused her. She shook with rage until she wanted to stop thinking of what had happened-but she could not turn off her emotions. As she lingered in the tub, reluctant to get out of the warm, soapy water which at least gave the illusion of cleansing her, she discovered that her mind was playing a trick on her.
One face out of the three seemed familiar to her, as if she had seen it before. Not the blond youth-her first sensation of having recognized him had been illusory, she now was sure... he had simply conformed physically too closely to the popularized image of the clean-cut American boy. She smiled bitterly, forced her thoughts to the boy she thought she had recognized.
She meant what she said and the concept was startling -Phil felt capable of murder himself. The impact of what had happened was still growing in him and he felt frightened. Both he and Nora had changed-become somehow different persons-from what they had been before. How different? And for how long? He had no answer.
He went to the kitchen and fixed a stiff drink. He took it to the living room and sank heavily into an armchair. As he worked on the drink, his mind churned with animalistic fury combined with a sense of inadequacy and total defeat. He could not escape the sorry spectacle he had made of himself tonight.
He had been one of the first two-which one, she could not be sure. The night was a montage of horrors, but at some point her subconscious had seized on a detail which had some previous association with her. Gradually, again, her mind picked up a trail... the country club she and Phil seldom visited though they were members... the night at the club when Phil had pointed out a boy ...
She groped in her mind for the name-and it came to her. Stanton-Brad Stanton. Had it been the thin boy or the pudgy one? Why did the name seem to have some special significance to her? And then she remembered-the boy's father, Eric Stanton, was one of the Bentley-Jordan vice-presidents and Phil's superior. Had Phil, too, been aware that one of their assailants was his boss's son? Was that why Phil had been so acquiescent about not calling the police? Nora felt sick again i-the thought was disloyal to Phil.
Phil would not be motivated by such moral cowardice. He had probably recognized none of the trio-they had struck too swiftly and during most of the violence he must have been in a stupor. Was she even sure herself that the boy had been Brad Stanton? The night had been dark and she had been in shock-what she seemed to recall might simply be some superficial resemblance... the boy she had thought she had recognized might not have been Brad Stanton at all.
She still was not thinking normally. She must make no hasty accusations.
She finally opened the drain and arose from the tub. As she stood on the mat and vigorously rubbed herself with a towel, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the door. Outwardly, she was unchanged. Her ordeal had not marked her in any visible way. Even when they had struck her, the blows had been open-handed-considering the pain they had inflicted it seemed incredible that she should seem unmarked.
At the moment she almost hated the loveliness her mirror reflected. She was tall, curvaceous, attractive of face and with a body of which she had always been proud. Her firm breasts were almost too large, while she was perhaps a little broader at the hips than called for by Hollywood measurements-but a camera always added flesh and for male eyes she knew she was delectable. At least outwardly. Inwardly-after tonight. .. had something happened, was it still happening inside her?
Oh, no, she thought frantically. Not that-please!
That she would not be able to bear. To have a child in such a way, when all this time she had not had one by the man she loved.
She took a fresh towel and went over herself a second time. Again she remembered the stories she had read in the local press-others she had heard as gossip. There was no doubt that the seemingly ultrarespectable community of Birchwood had its quota of juvenile delinquents. In fact, a community youth program had been launched a year ago in an attempt to divert the teeners from their inclination to waywardness. There had been a fund-raising drive and enough money had been collected to erect a fine building, the Youth Center.
The Center consisted of a large room in which parties and dances were held, a medium-sized television and game room, a small but selective library and a kitchen where refreshments and even complete banquets could be prepared. There was a pool for summer and plans called for it to be fully enclosed for year-round use some day when additional funds became available. The enterprise had caught on with the community's teen set- there had been a definite decline in juvenile delinquency, but not all kids could be reached by the best social programming.
The Center was in charge of Dave Mallory, called "Coach" by the kids-Dave was also athletic director at the high school. But volunteers had often been required to lend him a hand and serve as chaperones. Nora had helped out on several occasions. She knew and liked Dave. She had always respected his work-and abruptly she found herself wondering what his reaction would be if he learned of what had happened to her tonight.
Would he know the boys involved? Would he blame the community-or perhaps even her? Whose side would he be on?
Nora's face flamed angrily. Why should she care what Dave thought? He was often on the kids' side, though he handled them firmly. She remembered one occasion at the Center when things had threatened to get out of hand.
Dave had confronted the leader of the troublemakers, a tall, powerful-looking boy.
Her memory of the incident was surprisingly clear. She remembered how defiant and belligerent the boy had been.
"Go on, man," he had told Dave. "Make us keep quiet. Call the Marines."
"I don't need Marines," Dave had told him. "I'll handle you myself."
"All six of us, dad?"
"All six of you," Dave had said. "Starting with you. You quiet down or I'll toss you out."
The boy had wilted before Dave's resolute stare. He had turned and slunk out, his companions following him.
The party had resumed and Dave had joined Nora at the refreshment table. He had smiled ruefully.
"That kid didn't know it, but I was as scared as he was," Dave had told her. "Not of him and the others-I could have handled the lot. But of his father. If I'd laid a hand on that boy, it would almost certainly have cost me my job-both here and at the school. The old man is the biggest contributor to the Youth Center-and he's a vindictive bastard."
The language had been pretty strong for Dave, who was a genuinely nice guy. But he had seemed to take it for granted that Nora would not repeat what he had said. She noticed during her few earlier visits to the Center that Dave was especially attentive to her and had rather suspected that she had an admirer in him. Until tonight she had felt flattered. Now, suddenly, she did not know about Dave-maybe he was not doing such a good job after all.
"What ails the boy, anyway?" she remembered asking on that other occasion. "Why does he go around with a chip on his shoulder?"
"It's partly that he's been spoiled rotten by his parents," Dave had said, "and partly that he needs to flex his muscles and act tough. He was a nice enough kid until a few months ago, but then he started running around with the Renegades."
Nora had looked blank and Dave had explained that the Renegades were a small group of boys and girls who considered themselves more mature and sophisticated than their more docile contemporaries.
"Most of them have cars," he had said, "and they chase around all over the county. Instead of cokes, they drink beer. In addition to coming here, they hang out in places where they have no business going at their age. If some of them don't get into trouble, I'll be surprised. I've tried to get the boy I had trouble with just now to quit that crowd, but so far I haven't gotten anywhere with him." Dave had grinned. "He thinks I'm a real square."
"Well, keep trying," Nora had told him. "Maybe you'll be able to convert him eventually."
Now she thought resentfully that Dave and others in the community should have concentrated on wrecking whole groups like the Renegades-whoever they were. On that other night Dave should at least have called the local police, if not the Marines, and had the whole gang thrown in jail-instead of worrying about one boy only, the son of the Center's biggest contributor. Then, perhaps, tonight would never have happened... she had a fleeting, almost insane notion that everyone, all of society, was against her.
It was too late to call the police now-the damage to her had been done. Forget it, she told herself. You've got to forget it-all of it-and act as though it never happened...
But what if it turned out that she was pregnant? She tried to ignore the thought. She went to the bedroom to make herself ready for bed and for Phil's love-
FOUR
Nora joined Phil in the living room. She wore a sheer, pale-green peignoir over a matching shortie nightgown. Her satin slippers were of a deeper green. She found Phil slumped in a chair with a tall glass in his hand. The glass was empty except for ice cubes. He seemed not to notice her seductive new outfit. He was staring broodingly at nothing at all.
She took the glass from him, set it on the marble-topped coffee table, then seated herself on his lap.
She kissed him, asked softly, "What are you thinking, darling?"
"About the whole sorry mess," he said. "My not having protected you. Whether we shouldn't call the police. Everything."
"I won't tell any state troopers that I was raped and have them smirking behind their solemn faces," Nora said. "You couldn't have protected me, no matter what. It was -it was like being in a terrible accident-but we haven't really been hurt-or have we?"
"My God, Nora-you were hurt more than I. Y should know."
"We can't let it spoil our lives," Nora said. "And let's not discuss it any further tonight. Okay?"
"It just seems that I should do something," he said heavily. "Those young thugs shouldn't get away scot-free."
She thought of telling him that one of the boys might have been the son of a Bentley-Jordan vice-president and that if he, Phil, did do something it might lead to his losing his job. Then caution came. If she told him, he might really do something rash-as a matter of honor. To prove to her she mattered more to him than his job. And she was not actually sure of her identification. She did not like the mood he was in. It was ugly, vengeful. He made her uneasy.
"Phil, we don't know who they are," she said, watching him closely. "Unless you recognized one or more of them." He showed no sign that he had. "We didn't even see them clearly, it was so dark. The police would have so little to go on they might never learn their identity. I'd have to submit to the humiliation of telling them what happened-all for nothing. And if it got out-what a scandal it would be for Birchwood to gossip about. No, darling, I won't leave myself open to that."
"Well, if you feel that way-" "I do feel that way."
"All right," he said, with what seemed to Nora a trace of relief. One part of him seemed to want to avoid further unpleasantness as much as another part wanted those boys punished. "We won't call the police if you say so."
"I do say so," Nora said. "Now help me forget it ever happened."
She kissed him lingeringly.
He was slow to respond but she forced him. The front of the peignoir already gaped open. She took his hand and placed it against her flesh. She twisted her body and pressed his face to her breasts. His unresponsiveness continued for a while longer-then she felt his lips seeking through the filmy fabric of her nightie. They sought and found what they wanted-she sensed the warmth growing between them and knew that for tonight, at least, things were going to be all right.
"That's better, isn't it?" she queried gently. "Aren't you happier now?"
"It's better," he said, nuzzling her breasts. "I'm happier."
"Come along, then."
She stood up, took his hands, drew him to his feet. She picked up the empty glass, told him to go ahead and she would turn off the lights. She carried the glass to the kitchen and debated only briefly before pouring some whiskey over the melting ice cubes. She drank the liquor in three quick swallows, felt its warmth spread instantly through her. She switched off the kitchen light, returned to the living room and turned off the lamps there.
She had opened the bed before going to the living room and Phil was stretched out on it in the nude. Only the bedside lamp was on. She slipped off her peignoir and nightie, dropped them to the chaise lounge. She posed for him briefly-a little ritual he usually expected when they planned to make love. But tonight he did not look at her. He had his hands under his head and was frowning at the ceiling.
"Darling, you're not going to be a problem, are you?" He looked at her, still frowning. "What?" "If you keep on brooding-well, it's not good. In fact, it's downright bad."
"I'm sorry, but I can't help it. I can't get my mind off what happened." "It bothers you that they had me?" "Of course."
"And now you don't want me?"
"I want you," he said. "It doesn't bother me that way. It's just that I can't keep from thinking that I should have done something-should have fought to protect you. I fee I don't deserve you. Why aren't you disgusted with me?' "Because I love you," she said. "And because I know you were hurt and had a knife at your throat." She studied him and knew a moment's disloyal wonder-was she actually the stronger of them? "Look at me, Phil-really look at me."
He gazed at her gloomily.
"Would I act like this if I were disgusted with you, darling?" she asked. "Like this-" She moved to the bed and began caressing him. "Would I do this - and this - and this?"
He writhed, uncomfortably at first-but suddenly he reached for her and drew her almost violently to him.
She laughed softly, jubilantly, and switched off the light. She felt a curious tenderness toward him tonight. She led their love-play, found it necessary to restrain herself-a new and somehow rewarding experience. Phil was content for a while to let her take the initiative, but finally desire drove him to seizing her and retrieving the mastery that was his male prerogative.
In his arms, she cried out her love for him and knew that she had him convinced. But in their ultimate instant of ecstasy what had happened on that dark and lonely mountain came dimly back to her.
No one except Phil had ever possessed her. She had known nothing but horror and revulsion earlier in the evening-why should what had happened haunt her now?
Afterward, when Phil was gone from her and had fallen asleep, she lay wakeful and let herself worry. What if tonight was their lucky night and she did get caught at last. Would they, could they be sure that it was Phil's child- or would they always wonder if she became pregnant because of those three boys? For the first time in seven years, she hoped-prayed-that she would not conceive.
The next day, Sunday, was not good. Nora awoke to foreboding and when she reached for Phil she realized he was gone. It was his habit to sleep late on Sunday mornings-his having risen before her this morning added to her unease.
It was ten minutes past eight by the electric clock on the nightstand. She heard Phil moving in the kitchen and quelled an impulse to go to him instantly. She felt oddly shy-if he had wanted her with him, he would have woken her.
She got out of bed and went to shower. Twenty minutes later, dressed in a housecoat and slippers, she found him seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.
"Hey," she said cheerfully but eyeing him anxiously. "This is Sunday."
He looked up, said, "Hi, honey. I couldn't sleep."
She hesitated, poured herself some coffee before asking him, "You're letting last night bother you again?"
He nodded. "I woke up at five-worrying about it."
Seriously she asked, "Why, Phil?"
"Because I'm going to have trouble living with myself," he said. "I can't stop thinking of what a poor excuse for a man I've turned out to be."
"Oh, nonsense," she said and bent to kiss him. "Shall we go to church?"
"I don't know. I don't feel much like it."
"It'll get your mind off things."
"Well-all right."
"Good," Nora said. "What do you want for breakfast? The usual Sunday bacon and eggs for you?"
He shook his head. He was not hungry-he had no appetite. "Just make it orange juice, toast and coffee."
She let it go but worried while preparing breakfast. They were going to have a problem-despite her brave front, last night was heavily on her own mind. But as the one who had really been violated, she had to hold things together for both of them, she thought bleakly. Maybe if they both got out among other people, normal people like themselves, they could both forget about last night for while.
They breakfasted in silence, dressed and went to church. It was a fine spring morning, a morning to lift the spirits. But Phil remained glumly silent and Nora continued to worry about them both.
When they got back home, he changed into his about-the-house clothes and went to the backyard to knock golf balls around. Bill Lambert, who lived next door, came over and joined him. Bill, too, worked for Bentley-Jordan. The two men remained in the yard until a sudden shower drove them into their respective houses. Nora fixed lunch. For Phil, she made a toasted cheese sandwich, set out some potato chips and opened a can of beer. She made a salad of cottage cheese and fruit for herself. The rain did not let up. It threatened to become a steady downpour- the sky was leaden all over.
While clearing the table, Nora asked, "You know what rainy afternoons are for, don't you, darling?"
Phil forced a smile. "Uh-huh."
"Well?"
"I don't know, really," he said glumly. "Why should you bother with a poor excuse of a man like me?" "Phil, for heaven's sake-" "I can't imagine Bill Lambert letting a thing like that happen to his Peggy."
"Darn it, Phil, this moping around about what you didn't do-couldn't "help-is childish. It's making me sore. I don't want to have to put up with more of it. Now, are you going to behave like a husband in love with his wife -or not?"
"I'm sorry," Phil said dully. "I'm just not in the mood."
They sat or moved about the house without touching, without talking, each lost in troubled thought. Phil finally pretended to read the Sunday papers. He turned a few pages, then stopped, staring unseeingly at the newsprint.
Nora was suddenly frightened. She feared that he would let this thing grow bigger and bigger in his mind until he would never want her again.
Nora could not imagine life without marriage and marriage without love-physical love. She was a passionate, easily aroused woman. She enjoyed sex, delighted in it. Marriage without it would be a sham. She had the disturbing picture of her marriage going smash should Phil deny her the physical manifestations of love. She suddenly felt that she dared not let him be away from her for the next three weeks. Her mind envisioned their drifting irreparably apart.
"Phil-" "Yes?"
"I'm going to Florida with you." "You are?" He turned to her with a look of surprise. "Why, for Pete's sake?" "Because I'm scared." He frowned. "Scared of what?"
"Of losing you," she said. "I'll be worried sick if we're apart. We've got to face up to what happened together-or things won't work out. If I'm alone, I'll keep thinking our separation will become permanent. But if I'm with you--well, I'll just feel safer."
"I'll be working ten, twelve hours a day," he said. "We'll have hardly any time together."
"We'll be together nights and that's what I want," she said. "I must have a chance to make things right between us again. You didn't fail me last night. I won't let you fail both of us from here on."
He put his paper aside, stood up, came to her and put his arms around her.
"I'm sorry, Nora. I think I understand."
"I'm sorry too, believe me. And I don't want to be sorrier still later on. If you're away from me for three weeks, you'll let this thing build up until dur marriage will come apart at the seams. But if I'm with you, loving you-I've got to have the chance to prove to you that nothing between us has really changed."
"All right, come along if you like," Phil said. "But the job is at a grubby little town sixty miles from Orlando There's only one decent motel and it's no luxury motor lodge. You won't know what to do with yourself while I'm working. You'll be bored stiff."
"Better bored than worried," Nora said. "You'd better call the airport and get a reservation for me."
"I guess I'd better." He kissed her-and the kiss even held a little warmth. Still, it was a dutiful kiss, rather than a lover's.
He did not seem happy about her going along. But he had not been happy before she had said she was going either.
FIVE
The Florida trip did not work out for Nora. The town where Phil and his crew were installing the Bentley Jordan equipment had a population of less than a thousand. Its only modern building was the plant in which Phil was working. The business section consisted of a post office, a half-dozen stores, two taverns, a lunch room, a diner and three gas stations. There were two motels at the edge of town, one impossible-the other bearable. Except for a swimming pool, it had none of the conveniences of the plush motor lodges at which Phil and Nora stopped when they traveled for pleasure Each day seemed an eternity for Nora. Phil was at the plant from eight in the morning until six, seven or eight o'clock in the evening. She had brought along a current best-seller and a half-dozen women's magazines and passed some of the time reading. She watched television occasionally, but the daytime programs were pretty dreary. She made use of the pool once a day, swimming until she was winded and then stretching in the sun. Otherwise, there was nothing to do. She was bored-as Phil had promised she would be.
They breakfasted together each morning. Lunch she ate alone. The grubby town depressed her more than the motel and the heat was unbearable. The temperature was high in the nineties. Fortunately, the motel room had an air conditioner.
When Phil came from the plant in the evening, he would shower, put on slacks and a sport shirt. They would go to the diner for a unappetizing, poorly prepared dinner. After eating, they would stop in one or the other of the two taverns to pass some time over a couple of drinks. Back in their motel room, they might have more to drink, watch television for an hour or so and go to bed. By then Nora would be too depressed or bored, Phil either too tired or too preoccupied with the next day's schedule, to make love.
They would he together in the darkened room and make gestures at love-play that would usually end either in mutual frustration or a mechanical consummation that would leave both of them unsatisfied. With each failure, Phil became more ashamed, Nora more hurt and concerned. That night of violence back home hovered like a shadow over their most intimate moments.
"It's just no good, Nora," Phil told her bitterly one night. "I feel emasculated-maybe I really am. I never really understood why you married me in the first place."
"I married you because I love you," Nora said. "Oh, damn it, Phil-it's not as though I'd taken a lover and you'd found out. I didn't want them to do what they did. Can't you understand that?"
"Of course," Phil said, sounding tormented. "And I should have stopped them. I was impotent right then. I didn't behave as a man should. Maybe nothing really changed either of us that night-something simply happened to show me up for what I am. What I always was. Everything before that was untrue-just make-believe."
"Would you say that-behave as you're doing now- if I'd been in a bad auto smash-up?"
He was silent for a long moment. At last he said, "Wouldn't the way I'd behave depend on what happened to you in the smash-up? I haven't told you I love you less."
What had happened to her? Had something actually happened? As yet there were no indications that she had become pregnant that night-but of course it was too early to tell. Yet something subtler might have occurred -the fact that her attackers might have started new life within her was a factor in itself, whether they had succeeded or not. Certainly their aggressiveness had been greater than Phil's and in the combination there had even existed a touch of solicitude, at least, if not tenderness. The last of the trio, the blond boy had been careful not to hurt her.
She felt no disloyalty to Phil in the recollection, in trying to analyze and sort out the events of that night of confusion. She was simply trying to understand Phil-and herself as well. She did catch at least a glimpse of an understanding and was suddenly sorry and a little frightened at having brought up the analogy of a car smash-up. Perhaps something had actually happened to her both physically and mentally that made it impossible for her to rouse Phil to their old, spontaneous lovemaking. Perhaps, in some subtle way, as he had implied, she herself was crippled, maimed.
The injustice of the possibility was appalling and her mind panicked, ran away from the concept. She could not let her imagination take over. She had to bring their relationship back to the level of reason, reality.
"You're not being reasonable," she said. "They hurt both of us. We might both have been killed. The fact that they-did something else-should make no difference between us." "You're wrong."
"I'm not wrong." She tried desperately to convince them both. "You know the truth but won't face it." Phil did not reply.
At last she demanded, "Have you given any thought to what's happening to our marriage?"
"Just give me a little time, Nora. Give us both time. Just because we didn't go to the police, we can't pretend nothing's happened."
"How much time?" she asked, knowing she was being cruel but unable to restrain herself. "A week, a month, a year? Or just time enough to discover whether or not I'm pregnant?"
"It's not that, I tell you." He writhed restlessly. "If you're pregnant, it could be by me."
Could be ... In those two words was the key.
She said resignedly, "Take your time, whatever you think the reason is. Just keep in mind, though, that I'm not a frigid woman. I need to love and to be loved. I'd rather have no marriage at all than one in name only."
He reacted violently to that. "My God, Nora-you're not saying that you'd divorce me?"
"I don't know what I'm saying," she told him. "But I'll stay here only a few days longer. Then, whatever will have happened, you can take me to Orlando and put me on a plane for home. That gives you time to think about our future-and I mean our-instead of brooding on the past."
"Damn it, Nora-it's not that I don't love you."
"I don't want to talk about it any more tonight," she said tightly. "I'm going to sleep."
She turned her back to him and they were both silent -but it was a long time before she was able to sleep.
Her gesture of turning her back to him turned out to have been symbolic. During the remainder of Nora's stay in Florida she and Phil were virtually estranged. Neither tried further attempts at making love and finally Nora called the airport at Orlando and made a reservation on a flight scheduled for ten-thirty the following morning.
When she told Phil that she was leaving, he appeared more depressed than ever-but he did not urge her to change her mind.
He did suggest that they drive to Orlando that night and check in at a decent motel, adding: "We can wait until we get there to have dinner. A blowout. Something for you to remember me by besides the greasy spoon He grinned ruefully and Nora's heart ached. Was he actually saying goodbye?
She packed her bags while he showered and dressed. They drove to Orlando in the rented car Phil used for business and the evening was more pleasant, at least superficially, than any since they had come to Florida. But Nora's brief enjoyment of it was marred by her discovery that Phil seemed suddenly to have developed a roving eye. She caught him staring at more than one attractive woman in the restaurant and jealousy leapt in . her as never before. Had he had an ulterior motive in not protesting her departure?
She had seldom minded Phil's looking at other women. She knew that most men appraised most women they saw but until now she had felt confident-secure in his love. Always, in the past, his attention had returned instantly to her-tonight he barely seemed to notice her beyond the necessary amenities.
He doesn't care, she thought miserably.
But even more disturbing to her was the realization that his wandering attention indicated a need for sex. It meant, she was convinced, that he thought he could make love to a woman other than his wife. She had difficulty hiding her hurt and fear and in the privacy of their motel room, she had even more difficulty keeping herself from quarreling with him.
She was tense throughout the night. Phil was silent and preoccupied. His few gestures of affection were simply that-they had no bearing on any physical love or need between them.
At the airport the next morning, Phil showed concern over what was happening between them. He looked as unhappy as she felt.
"Give me a chance to square things with myself, Nora," he pleaded. "It's as I've told you. I need time to learn to live with the sort of person I've discovered myself to be."
"You'll have time during the next two weeks," she told him shortly. "And when you come home, you'd better have faced facts-whatever they are. One thing is clear to me-we can't go on like this."
She submitted to his dutiful kiss, boarded the plane. She made the flight north in a daze, lost in troubled thoughts.
Home held an unreality new to her. She had grown accustomed to being alone during Phil's frequent business trips but always in the past she had been buoyed by anticipation of his return. Now she felt lonely and lost. She did not count the days, mark each off on a mental calendar, waiting for him to come home. Now she half-dreaded his homecoming-the routine of their love and marriage had been shattered. The future was no longer predictable.
She was depressed. Perhaps she had lost Phil for good -certainly their marriage as she had known it was on the rocks. During the ensuing days she found herself giving up most of her normal activities-she even avoided seeing her friends, wanting to be alone with her unhappiness. She kept busy with housework, doing more than was really necessary and, as the weather warmed, tending her garden assiduously. But each evening her depression deepened. Nights were harder to live through than days. She read, watched television. She got in the habit of watching the late movie, but no matter how late she went to bed or how hard she worked during days, she still had trouble sleeping.
There was only one bright moment during her first week back home-one morning she awoke to discover that her fears of pregnancy were groundless. Some tension left her and she considered telling Phil the news when he made his duty phone call from Florida Saturday evening.
When he phoned, she did tell him.
He made an attempt to sound cheerful, but the effort fell flat. He said his usual, "Hi, honey," and asked, "How goes it? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said. "I'm all squared around, since yesterday morning."
"Good," he said, understanding instantly what she meant. "I've been wondering, worrying."
"Well, you don't need to let that bother you any more."
"It is a relief."
"Yes, it is," she said. And then, hesitantly, "How are things with you?" "Oh, I'm all right."
"Does that mean what I hope it means?" "I won't know until I get home, Nora. Until I'm with you."
"You must know whether or not things are still bothering you."
"I do know that I'm still damned ashamed of myself."
"Please, Phil." Nora was ready to plead with him, do anything. "Try to believe that nothing really happened-certainly you know now that at least the worst-" She was unable to continue the thought and finished with: "You'll be home next weekend?"
He told her he expected to be and after that neither of them seemed to have much more to say.
Later, Nora still did not know whether or not to feel happy about his homecoming. She always pitied those of her acquaintances who had problem marriages. Now she could feel sorry for herself on that score-Phil had been noncommittal on the phone and the news she had imparted had scarcely had any impact on him.
SIX
During this period of uncertainty, Peggy Lambert, her next-door neighbor, became almost her sole friendly human contact. They met daily in the garden and one day, having invited herself in for coffee, Peggy looked at Nora with genuine concern.
"I'm worried about you," she said. "You've lived like a recluse ever since coming back from Florida. It's none of my business-but is something wrong? If there is and you want to talk about it, fire away."
Peggy was two years older than Nora, and the mother of a boy of eight and a girl aged six. But in her usual around-the-house clothes-faded blue jeans, an ill-fitting blouse and flats-and without make-up she looked barely past her teens.
She was a tiny redhead with a pug nose and freckles. She was bouncy and managed her children and household with little fuss, while seeming to do a good job. She had even come to outwardly serene terms with herself regarding Bill, her openly philandering husband. She had once told Nora she had married Bill Lambert for better or worse and still loved him. If he occasionally strayed from conjugal fidelity, he still came back to her regularly. She doubted any other woman could lay permanent claim to him.
Bill was sales manager for Bentley-Jordan. He was a good provider, a tolerant father and had made no secret, from the moment the Lamberts and the Rigbys had become neighbors, of the fact that he had a yen for Nora. His frequent passes at her had become something of a joke between them.
What success Bill had with other women in Birchwood, Nora did not know. Nor did Peggy, probably. But there was open gossip about his numerous business trips and this talk had reached Peggy, who shrugged it off. Bill had no permanent extramarital paramour and what he did with his occasional out-of-town conquests she had learned to tolerate.
"He always comes back to mama," Peggy had once told Nora. "And he always will. He chases other women because he's scared not to-he's afraid of losing his masculine appeal, the big jerk, and knows he needs me. I'm a great little ego-builder. He knows something about me he can't be sure about with any Other woman. I love him."
This morning, Nora asked Peggy, "What makes you think I need to talk to someone?"
"You show all the symptoms-the faraway look, the dead pan. You don't smile unless absolutely necessary. You keep too much to yourself. You don't visit-I have to come here. And when I am here, I have the, feeling you'd just as soon I went home. You seem downright unhappy, Nora."
"Well-" Nora hesitated. "Phil and I have had a sort of spat."
"It must have been a dilly." "In a way it was."
"I hope the cause wasn't the usual thing-another woman."
"Oh, no-not that."
"Then the trouble between you can't be too bad," Peggy said. "I have to live with that sort of thing constantly and, frankly, I'm a little tired of it. Still, Bill's never serious about other gals. With a man like your Phil, it would be different."
"How?" Nora asked. "Isn't it always the same when husbands play around?"
Peggy shook her head. "Not at all. Bill loves 'em and leaves 'em-if love is the right word. All he wants is conquests. Once he's had a woman, he loses interest and begins to look for another pushover. But other husbands -the mature, serious type-let themselves become emotionally involved. Phil strikes me as the sort for whom an extramarital affair would be a serious thing. He'd fall in love-or imagine he did-and might end up feeling that he had to decide between his wife and his mistress. You can guess who would have the advantage. Honey, you can thank your lucky stars that there's not another woman I-believe me."
"Yes, I suppose I can," Nora said-but suddenly she felt scared to death.
She knew Peggy was right about Phil-and she might eventually have a rival. She remembered Phil's wandering, almost searching interest in other women the last time she had seen him. Alarmed by his impotence with her, he might test himself with someone else-and if he found someone who could gratify him, remove his sense of self-blame, Nora could be in real trouble with her marriage.
Phil telephoned her on the Friday afternoon of her second week home from Florida. She knew from the restraint in his voice that there had been no change in the way he felt toward her. He expressed no great enthusiasm for coming home. "I've finished the job here," he said, "I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon and my flight is scheduled to get in at six-thirty. Meet me at the airport?"
"Yes, I'll meet you."
"How have you been, Nora?"
"Not happy."
"I'm sorry, darling."
"So am I, believe me."
"We'll talk things over when I get home."
"If you think it will do any good," she said, her voice sharper than she had intended. Phil, at the other end, had no way of guessing that her tone was tight from worry, not anger. His voice was cool and distant as he said goodbye and hung up.
She had done little shopping of any sort during the past two weeks and her refrigerator needed restocking. She made out a long list and drove tq the shopping center. After filling a cart with packaged meats, fresh vegetables, fruit, frozen and canned goods-every imaginable thing Phil might like-she paid for her purchases and wheeled them outside to her station wagon.
At least Phil's first dinner at home would make up for the greasy-spoon cooking he had had to endure in Florida. Nora decided to feel encouraged. Alreatly anticipating her next evening she suddenly found herself reluctant to go home to her lonely house. She locked the station wagon and went to the drugstore with the intention of passing some time over a soda.
The counter at the rear of the store was U-shaped, so that most customers faced each other. And Nora, taking one of the few vacant stools, found herself directly opposite one of the three youths who had raped her.
Her first reaction was frozen panic.
It had not occurred to her that she might one day have to face any of them again. To avoid such eventuality, she had even decided to sever any connection with Dave Mallory and the Youth Center. Too late, she realized that a drug-store soda counter represented equal perils.
Birchwood was not a large community.
Luckily, the boy was entirely unaware of her. His attention was divided between a banana split and an attractive girl seated beside him. But this time there was no question in Nora's mind of her identification-he was the blond boy, the one of the trio whom she had seen most clearly, whose cocksure voice she had first heard addressing Phil with clear overtones of jeering menace and later, more dimly, defending her from hurt... Hurt!
Her memory of the word saved her now-turned her instinctive panic to anger. He had not inflicted actual physical pain on her-but he had used her exactly as the others had-looking at him now with hate-filled eyes, she wondered why. The girl with him seemed sweet and innocent. She probably liked him-studying his handsomely reckless features Nora could imagine his being more than normally popular with girls. Why, she wondered in heated anger, would he have done what he had that night?
Nora found herself trembling with an emotion she could not quite name. Anger, yes. Panic, vestigial terror still left in her by the memory of violence. But she felt something else-not empathy exactly, but a shocked regret that he should be so guilty of the enormity he had inflicted upon her.
She was almost more frightened of her own feelings than of her unexpected encounter with the boy-if seeing him suddenly could be so called. He was still completely unaware of her. She got hastily up from her stool and walked unsteadily away from the counter-in flight not only from the boy but herself.
Her nerves steadied as she reached the front part of the store-suddenly she wanted to learn the boy's identity. If she ever ran into him again, he might recognize her- knowing who he was might help her to avoid future meetings. Underlying her confused thoughts also was a vague desire for revenge-she wanted to learn who he was and who his companions had been that night. She wanted to do them injury, to punish them.
She stopped at the magazine display, picked up a women's magazine and pretended to browse through it without really seeing anything that filled its pages. Slowly an understanding of violence seeped through her-for the first time in her life she longed to inflict permanent physical damage on another human being. Added to his and his friends' bodily abuse of her was the fact that he had spoiled-perhaps permanently-her marriage to Phil.
Some fifteen minutes later the boy and his girl left the drugstore. She put down the magazine and followed them outside.
She had not realized, that dark night, quite how tall the boy was. He stood well over six feet and was broad of shoulder. He wore a pale-blue sport shirt, dark-blue slacks, moccasin-type shoes. Beside him, the girl seemed tiny. The top of her dark head did not reach his shoulder. She was in blouse, skirt and flats. She kept looking up at the boy admiringly, lovingly-or perhaps with what passed for love among the young. They walked across the shopping center's vast parking area to a little red sports car, which Nora recognized as an MG.
The boy got in behind the wheel, and the girl, with her stack of books, slipped in beside him. The car told of well-to-do parents. The youth was no product of the wrong side of the tracks-slums did not exist in Birchwood-what he had done could not be blamed on lack of privilege or denial of life's full gifts, at least material ones. He had to come of a "good" family, undoubtedly one right here in Birchwood. Not that background created delinquency -the myth that it did had been exploded long ago-but if his family were well-to-do her plans for vengeance might be affected. The very wealthy were differently vulnerable from those with moderate means.
The boy had started the MG's motor but did not drive off immediately. He and the girl were busy talking and laughing. Nora had time to find her pen and write down the license number on the back of her marketing fist. Just as she finished, the little red car pulled away with a roar of its exhaust.
Back in her station wagon, she sat behind the wheel without starting the motor, lost in uncertain thought. How could she track the number down? She did not intend to go to the police-what story could she give them?
She still had no dear idea of what she would do when she finally drove home and put away her marketing. She made dinner for herself, ate, tidied up the kitchen and faced another lonely evening. She tried to rid her mind of all thought of the boy-fretting about the license number made her restless and such dreams of vengeance as came to her were unrealistic and wild. Before she could do anything, she had to learn who the boy was-she did not want to become neurotic because of what had happened to her.
And as soon as she had made up her mind to shelve her questions for the time being, the answer came to her. The one person in town who could help her was the man she had decided "to avoid.
Dave Mallory at the Youth Center.
SEVEN
The Center was located in Birchwood's small business section. At nine that evening Nora turned into its parking lot. As she switched off her wagon's motor and lights, she looked among the cars already parked there for a red MG. She did not know whether to be disappointed or relieved at her failure to see it.
She hesitated for a moment before going in. Dave Mallory might be curious-he was sure to question her at least casually about her interest in the boy. And what could she tell him? At last she decided to rely on her wits-perhaps say she was making inquiries for an acquaintance. Dave had to work at making friends and influencing people-he would not be too insistent.
She walked briskly, purposefully, into the building and was relieved to find that this Friday night things were rather quiet. Only about fifty kids were in the place. A dozen couples were dancing to records in the big room, chaperoned by a middle-aged woman Nora did. not know. About twenty boys and girls were in the recreation room, where Dave Mallory was keeping an eye on things. A couple of ping-pong tables and a dart board were in use and two serious-looking youths were immersed in a game of chess. The rest of the youngsters either watched television or sat about with soft drinks, talking.
Dave saw Nora the instant she appeared at the doorway of the rec room and came toward her with a welcoming smile, reminiscent of the times he had given her reason to think she had an admirer in him. A matter of months had elapsed-yet Nora felt as though she had last seen him in another era.
She supposed she ought to feel flattered at the way he looked at her. Dave, handsome and exuding virility, had made many feminine hearts flutter. Most girls going through Birchwood High at one point or another confessed to crushes on him and gossip had it that quite a few mothers of students had evinced interest in him as a man-in preference to their husbands-possibly because his job made him a kind of honorary father to their children. Until now, as far as Nora knew, Dave had avoided all entanglements-probably, she thought with a new-found cynicism, with his job keeping him permanently in the public eye, he had to keep his reputation untarnished.
A little reluctantly, Nora offered her hand and he took it.
He said, "You're something of a stranger."
He was a big, husky six-footer in his early thirties. He was always deeply tanned and seemed honed to a razor-edged fitness both physically and mentally. He was wearing a tightly fitting knitted yellow sport shirt that revealed the great breadth of his chest and his muscle-corded shoulders. His bare forearms were thick and looked as hard as iron.
"I haven't been here for quite some time," Nora admitted, trying the impossible-not to be aware of him as a male. "But then, I haven't been asked to help out."
"You could volunteer, you know."
"Maybe I will-" She hesitated, wondering how to bring up her question. At last she decided to plunge right ahead. "I wonder if you couldn't help to identify a boy for me. He probably lives in the area." She described him. "He's probably seventeen or eighteen-tall, blond and quite good-looking. He drives a red MG."
Dave eyed her curiously, a little on his guard, she thought resentfully. "Is he in some kind of trouble?"
"No," she answered truthfully enough. Not yet, at least, she added mentally. "I have the license number of the car if that helps any." She took the marketing list from her purse and handed it to him.
He glanced at the license number and once more his eyes probed hers. "Of course, if it's really important to you, I could turn this over to the police-" "No," Nora said hastily. "It isn't really a police matter or I could have gone to them myself." Her mind hunted desperately for an excuse. "He-well-he seems to have picked up the daughter of a visiting friend of mine and her mother is a little worried. He won't come to the house, for some reason, except to drop the girl off-she goes to meet him secretly and won't tell us who he is. And on the few occasions we've seen him, he seems to drive rather recklessly-" She watched anxiously for Dave's reaction. Actually her story was not pure fabrication-it was based on a forbidden high-school romance of her own, one her mother had worried about, except that in those days, of course, the boy, whose name she had forgotten, had not been driving an MG.
She was relieved to notice Dave's face had cleared. He smiled. "One of those things-I'm glad you came to me. Kids like to be secretive about certain things- in the best of homes they often grow up with guilt feelings. And what seems reckless driving to adults with big cars can be safe to a kid in a sports job. He hasn't been in an accident, has he?"
Nora shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. An accident was what she had called what had happened to her and Phil-and as for guilt feelings, her assailants had certainly demonstrated none during the attack, nor had the blond boy seemed bowed down by hidden guilt when, she had last seen him. Anger was building up in her again. Before she was through with him, she vowed silently, he would know guilt feelings.
Dave still studied her, outwardly friendly, but Nora sensed a cautious reserve in him that made her seethe inwardly.
Finally he said, "If I do find out who he is for you, how do you intend to use the information-blast the young romance?"
The word "romance" made her wince as she remembered what the boy had done to her.
"I don't know what I-my friend, that is-intends to do," Nora said sharply.
Dave's smile remained steady. "You realize, of course, that youngsters, too, have a right to be protected against invasion of privacy."
She stared at him, temporarily speechless. Invasion of privacy... after what they had done to her. For an instant she hated Dave Mallory-as she had hated him briefly on the night of the attack-for having anything to do with teenagers, for being on their side. Finally, with an effort, she forced herself to remember that she had preferred no charges-that she wanted no charges preferred . . . that she wanted to handle her revenge alone.
She forced a stiff smile. "Of course, if that's how you feel-" She turned and started to leave, suddenly felt his hand on her arm.
"Wait," he said. He was not smiling now. "That's how I feel and I wouldn't do this just for anybody. Possibly not even for your friend, the mother of the girl you mentioned. Clucking, over-protective parents are not always good either for or to their children. But you've always struck me as level-headed-I'll see what I can do."
Nora met his gaze levelly, hoping that the anger she still felt did not show. "Thanks, Dave."
"Don't mention it. I'll trust you to use the information for the kids' good-both the boy's and the girl's. If he's all right, don't get him into trouble. You know how gossip travels in this town-give a kid a bad name and everybody jumps on him. Especially if he's a good kid and hasn't got a gang to protect him-or the wrong kind of parents." He smiled again. "If there's trouble, promise to come to me first."
"All right-I promise," Nora said woodenly. She found it hard to maintain her self-control-not to blurt out that she knew the boy was a devil and that he did have a gang and probably the wrong kind of parents. Her emotions were in a turmoil but she managed to keep her thoughts clear.
She heard Dave say, "If he drives an MG, chances are he belongs to one of the sports-car clubs in the area. There are several. Come into my office and let me make a few phone calls."
She followed him to a small cubicle of an office off the rec room, took the chair he indicated. He closed the door, went behind a simple steel desk, picked up his phone and i began dialing.
He made several phone calls, addressing the people he spoke to either by first name or outlandish nicknames presumably having to do with cars, motors, drag races she had heard of but never witnessed-many of them suggesting wildness, recklessness bordering on mania- Dave spoke to them all casually, easily, in tones of friendship. Watching him, listening to his addressing what she assumed to be teeners he knew by names their own parents probably would not recognize, she wondered about him.
Did he have a life apart from the kids of Birchwood? Was there a woman in it? Surely, a man so knowing and obviously virile did not live like a monk. She found herself listening not only to his words but the tone of his voice and now and then, with womanly intuition, detected a note in it that suggested someone feminine was under discussion. Once or twice he used the word "chick"-but it was always someone else's chick.
She met his gaze, found him studying her as she was him and felt oddly guilty, as if she were spying into matters concerning him that were none of her business. But his eyes remained warm on her and once more she had the impression that, even as he spoke to others his gray eyes were absorbing her as a woman-and liking her.
Involuntarily, she found herself growing warm, though there was nothing offensive in his gaze. He probably did not realize that his eyes gave him away and would have been disconcerted if she had given him any indication they did.
She found herself considering repaying him for the favor he was doing her. The thought of having an affair with him intruded upon her with some shock-and brought with it a definite sense of excitement. She forced it out in her mind-this was the first time since her marriage that she had thought in such terms about another man than Phil. She did not like the emotional impact of the idea and felt a sense of relief when Dave put down his telephone with an air of finality.
He had been scribbling on a pad-doodling, she had supposed-now he reached across the desk to hand her a slip of paper.
"Got it for you," he said. "Ronald Edward Hughes- complete with address." He stood up, rounded the desk and came toward her, smiling. "Don't use it to destroy love's young dream."
Love's young dream... She writhed inwardly at the memory his words evoked-writhed even more at the involuntary thought she had had Unking him with her. She folded the paper, put it into her purse and rose.
Dave said, "I don't know the boy but I found someone who does. Another sports-car buff but beyond that nothing. I don't think he ever comes here and he's not a student at Birchwood High. He must attend a private school that's either nearby or he's home on some sort of vacation or leave."
Probably kicked out, Nora thought with some viciousness. She nodded. "Thanks. You've been a big help, Dave."
"I hope I've been of help," he said. "Your friend with the daughter-is she a house guest?" When Nora nodded mutely and turned to the door, he took her arm. "I'll see you to your car."
They walked outside, and it was one of those marvelous spring evenings with a sliver of moon in a star-studded sky. It was the sort of evening, Nora found herself thinking, when one should not be alone. Dave's firm hand on her elbow felt curiously strengthening if not quite comforting-she had an odd premonition that he would be of help to her in the future, though, just how, she could not imagine. She wished Phil were home and that she could feel so about him-but about Phil she felt only uncertainty.
Dave opened the door of the station wagon for her, closed it when she was behind the wheel.
"If I can be of further help," he said, "you know where to find me. Here or at the school-and my home number is in the book. Call on me any time, Nora." - "Thanks, Dave."
He smiled. "Good night."
She saw him stand a moment, looking after her as she drove away.
He likes me, Nora thought. For a moment she let herself feel flattered-then she began to plan what further use she could make of him. She became preoccupied with the name he had written on the slip he had handed her.
The surname, Hughes, and the general area of the address struck a familiar chord. She knew by reputation a woman named Mrs. Jeffrey Hughes who lived in that neighborhood and was active socially and in civic affairs. The blond boy was probably her son.
Now that you know who he is, a voice in Nora's mind asked, what are you going to do about if!
At the moment all she could do was hate him. But she would think of something else-and just possibly Dave Mallory would help her.
EIGHT
At closing time, Dave Mallory made the rounds. The kids had cleared out of the Center after a quiet evening and everything seemed in order. He switched off the lights and locked up. On the nearly deserted sidewalk, he hesitated, lit a cigarette and thought of Nora Rigby. Her visit had been the only notable incident in an otherwise uneventful, routine evening.
She was a damned attractive woman, he thought, and wondered idly what her husband was like. He had to be lucky, for one thing-Dave sensed quiet depths in Nora in which a man might find peace and contentment, though tonight she had seemed disturbed. He wondered just what relation the boy whose name he had found for her bore to the tension she had betrayed-her inner turmoil, he was sure, had been greater than her simple explanation about concern over a friend's daughter warranted. Experience had taught Dave to gauge adult reactions to youth, and Nora's to whoever Ron Hughes might be had shaken her deeply.
Why should it matter to him? He scarcely knew her and did not know the boy at all. Yet he had recognized an empathy between himself and Nora Rigby from the first moment they had met-and somewhere this unknown boy made a common denominator between them. First of all, she had sought him out instead of going to someone else -he had sensed a psychic need in her and a woman's basic psyche dealt with sex. There had been that indefinable aura about her and though he had not been sure it had been directed at him, his maleness had responded.
Perhaps he had wanted to respond. Maybe he ought to look into this business with the boy-the thought came to him that the sexual aura he had detected in Nora might have been directed at the boy instead of him. She may have seen the boy and developed a yen for him. She had described him as good-looking-and he had felt she was holding a tight rein on herself. That could have been the tip-off. It would not be the first time a young matron had lost her sense of moral values over a teen-aged boy. Dave could recall more than one such affair.
No, damn it, he thought-I'm being unfair to her...
He refused to believe anything so monstrous about Nora Rigby. He pushed a twinge of jealousy of the boy out of his thoughts and strode to the Center's parking lot. He got into his late-model Thunderbird, a bargain he'd found on a second-hand lot-driving a flashy car was an asset when working with kids-and gunned out of town.
He needed to work off steam tonight and took the old road instead of the new expressway, blasting expertly past the dark curves, ignoring speed limits. Midway to Hanford, the nearest town, he turned in at an ancient building that bore a sign; old valley inn.
The place was a three-storied field stone structure with a slate roof, dating from colonial times. Until the expressway had taken most of the traffic off the old highway, the tavern had been popular with the general public. Now it catered to a smaller and different sort of trade. Aside from a few regular bar customers, mostly old-timers from the neighborhood, it attracted through its isolation couples seeking a few drinks and a room for an hour or two. And if a man came alone and wanted feminine companionship, he could usually find it on the premises-for a price.
Dave parked among the few cars at the rear of the place, then sat for a moment wondering if the Old Valley Inn's offerings were really what he wanted. They were not, of course. He wanted Nora Rigby, heaven help him, and another woman might not do at all. He felt that he might even fail with another woman tonight-still, making the attempt might get Nora out of his system.
He got out of his car and went into the barroom. It was dimly lighted, featured an open-beam ceiling and walls paneled halfway up with fine wood on which the varnish had long ago worn thin. The tables, chairs and the bar itself dated from the turn of the century and the light bulbs glowed through shades that had once sheltered gas flames. A vast stone fireplace was dark and lifeless on this spring evening.
A half-dozen men sat quietly at the long, ornate bar and two tables were occupied, one by an elderly, white-haired businessman type and a doll-like blonde. The girl was drunk and the old man amorous. Alone at a corner table sat a woman, a drink before her and a look of boredom on her rather pretty face. She stared expectantly at Dave as he entered, but he gave her only a glance and took a stool at the bar. He still was not sure that he wanted just any woman tonight.
The bartender, Mac, who also owned the place, recognized Dave from previous visits and greeted him with a nod. He was bald, thin, sour-looking. Dave asked for a double bourbon on the rocks and sipped it, smoking, watching in the back-bar mirror the reflection of the girl seated at the corner table.
She was new here, at least to him. She was younger than most of the women who made themselves available to the tavern's clientele and quite pretty. Her reddish-brown hair had been teased into a high pile. Her complexion was good, her eyes sultry and her lips were full. Just now they pouted. She wore a green linen sheath with a white cardigan sweater draped over her shoulders. Her bored gaze drifted about the room until finally her eyes met Dave's in the mirror. She looked steadily at him for a long moment, in obvious invitation.
Dave debated a little longer, gauging the degree of his feelings. He decided they needed an outlet. He took a deep swallow of his drink, got up from his stool and crossed the room.
"Mind if I join you?"
She smiled. "I wish you would, coach."
He sat down. "You have the advantage of me."
"I remember you from when you were at Hanford High. How long ago was that, anyway?"
"Five years."
"A lifetime. I was Anna Bosavage then." "And now?"
"Remember Al Kulaski, who played football for you for a couple of years?"
Dave nodded. "Sure. He played fullback. He was good but he wouldn't keep training, not even in high school. Too many beer parties. Whatever happened to him?"
"Nothing," the girl said. "He's a truck-driver now. He's been one ever since high school. He drives an over-the-road rig. Oh, yes, and he married me. I'm Anna Kulaski now."
Grinning at her, Dave said, "I wouldn't say that nothing happened to him. Let me buy you a fresh drink?" "If you like, for Mac's sake."
At the bar, Mac had been alert for Dave's signal. He brought a new drink for Anna, took away her half-finished one and scooped up the money Dave placed on his tray.
Dave said, "Is Al out on the road now?"
"Yes. He pulled out this afternoon for Chicago."
"You must be alone a lot," he said. "That's not so good for a marriage, is it?"
Anna shrugged. "You get used to anything," she said. "Maybe our particular marriage would be a drag if we were together all the time, Al and I have been married since I got out of school. Long enough for us to have an understanding. You know?"
Dave knew. She was letting him know she was available. She was younger than he, though not by much-he had barely been out of college when he had coached at Hanford. He as a rule did not play around with married women or with single women who had marriage in mind. If he had met someone like Nora Rigby earlier, his life pattern might have been different-as it was, he had to get her out of his system. And from what he remembered of Al Kulaski, he would probably not be doing Anna a disfavor with a one-night involvement-she had undoubtedly told him the truth when she had said she and Al had reached an "understanding." Kulaski had been, probably still was, a simple animal.
Anna did not strike him so. He looked more closely at her. She was ripely built-not trim. The fabric of the green sheath was taut across the front, filled with a bountiful bosom. Yet there were indications that she made an effort to keep in shape, to make the most of her attractions.
Her eyes were intelligent, following, he knew, his general thought pattern as he appraised her.
She had a definite appeal for him.
"The understanding between you and AT?" he asked.
She nodded. "We arrived at it when I caught on that Al had women when out on a run. I couldn't blame him. Driving a truck is a drag, and stopovers in strange places must be strictly from Dullsville. Besides, Al and I went steady all through high school. We started when I was fourteen and he sixteen. We went the whole way, right from the beginning. That makes it eight years altogether. ; After all that time he needed some variety, I suppose."
"And you?"
"Me too, I guess."
"No children, Anna?"
"No. I have a job."
"Do you come here often?"
"Not often," she said. "I don't go too often to any one place. I don't want a local reputation. We just happened to meet tonight."
He made up his mind. "Do you want to go upstairs?"
"If you like, coach." She smiled. "But not for free."
He returned the smile. "Fine. It's better that way." She picked up her purse and, in the tavern's lobby, went through the formality of registering as overnight transients-Mr. and Mrs. J. D. Smith, Philadelphia. Dave paid for a room and received a key. Anna and he climbed the stairs to the second floor. The room's furnishings were worn but seemed clean and not too depressing. Anna removed her sweater, draped it over the back of a chair and looked at Dave expectantly. She smiled faintly and he grinned back at her.
"Let's not kid ourselves-we're both tired and want to get to bed. Have to be up again early, you know. Philadelphia's a long way from here."
She laughed out loud for the first time since they had met. "I like you, coach," she said. "Most guys want to make a big production of kissing and pawing and taking off my dress. Some-" her face clouded briefly- "even want to maul me a little. Al does."
Dave stood watching her until her face cleared. The he said, "I think you'll do a better job of getting out o that dress by yourself than I could help you do."
She laughed again. "You're so right. I'll give you show."
And she did. Not a strip-tease-she simply did as Dave had suggested, behaved as she normally would if gettin ready for bed. She reached behind her and pulled down the slide fastener of her dress, slipped the green sheath o her shoulders, pushed it down over her hips, stepped out it. In half-slip and bra, she crossed to a closet and hung u the dress, exactly as if they were planning to spend th night-as if she and Dave belonged together. Dave found himself liking her and realized, as he started to remove his own clothing, that his pulse had begun to beat faster.
She faced him as she unhooked her bra, saw the satisfaction, the beginnings of eagerness in his eyes. Her own gaze traveled over him with approval.
"This is how I like it," she said. "The big deal happens over there." She indicated the bed. "Why waste any of it before?"
He grinned. "You're right."
A strange little intimacy was developing between them, an understanding and acceptance of the transient relationship-the one-night stand. He had achieved it with other women on occasion-it grew from his basic conviction that all women were subtly different from each other, if permitted to express those differences. No two women, for example, bared themselves to a man exactly alike-or reacted quite the same way to this prelude to ultimate intimacy. A man could overpower, could destroy these small variances-Dave rather enjoyed them.
And most women discovered in his acceptance of them a definite and pleasing suggestion of flattery-if they cared for themselves at all.
Anna evidently did. She showed herself to him proudly, then came over to run her hands over his strong shoulders and chest.
"Dreamy," she said. "Real dreamy." He drew her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest. Her arms went about his neck, tightened. As she pressed her mouth, warm and moist, to his, he slipped his hands down to her hips. She was all flesh and vitality and came frankly to life under his touch. He swept her up in his arms and, as he carried her to the bed; she kept her mouth locked to his in their first kiss. She pulled him down with her and the kiss continued while his hands found the rest of her. She was no dream of a calendar-girl with Hollywood measurements-he found himself sinking into her warm softness, drowning in its primeval, earthy feel until he lost all thought of Nora, all recollection of what had brought him here . . . and she became all that mattered.
Sometimes, he had found it was better to accept matter over mind, substance in preference to dream-especially when the dream, as in this case, was unattainable. He let himself become lost completely in Anna, in their oneness which, even after he had finished, murmured with Anna's voice, "Don't leave-stay with me, please-" He stayed with her and later asked her, "Are you always like this-or is it because Al is away so much?"
She laughed softly. "Always-with or without Al. Not all the men are as good as you, coach-it's part of your business to keep in shape, I guess. But I'm always like this. I like sex-I guess because I got used to it early."
"Then why are you a hustler-I thought the women who asked for money really hated men?"
She laughed again. "It's not like that with me. I just don't like feeling worthless. I don't like giving away what I've got." She was silent a moment, then added; "There's reason."
"Al doesn't give you enough money?" he hazarded.
"No-he gives me all I need. I didn't tell you-he runs his own rigs, big ones, too. He makes plenty, enough for both of us. And I've got a job besides. The money's important in another way."
"What's that?"
"The same reason you like to pay. The reason you're a bachelor. You don't like permanent involvements-I don't either, except with Al. I really like him. So when you pay me-when any man pays me-we both know the deal's over."
He thought it over and what she said made a peculiar kind of sense. She had at once released him of his obsession with Nora for tonight-and would leave him free to pursue Nora later, if he chose. She had shown him a concept of permanent fidelity existing side by side with transient love-with neither betraying the other.
He was not sure he believed it, even as he asked, "Do you want me to pay you now?"
"Is the deal over?"
"No," he said. "Unless you want it to be."
She reached strong, warm arms for him again. "Then all we have to remember is that early start in the morning, Mr. Smith. Philadelphia is a long way off."
He went back to her, laughing. In the morning, when they left, he simply emptied his wallet to her and she stuffed the money in her purse.
Neither of them counted it.
And neither mentioned a future meeting.
NINE
Nora awoke first to the knowledge that Phil was coming home. The morning was sunny and she felt in high spirits. Not until she was through breakfast and was going about her morning chores did she remember her visit to the Youth Center and what had come of it. She got her purse and took from it the slip of paper bearing the name and address Dave had given her. Ronald Edward Hughes ...
While she stared at the name and address, she conjured up a,mental picture of the boy. Strangely, she saw him not as he had been that Saturday night, as her violator, but as he had seemed yesterday afternoon when with his girl friend-his chick, both he and Dave would probably call her. There had been nothing menacing about him yesterday afternoon. Nor did she, this morning, feel the seething fury she had known while discussing him with Dave yesterday afternoon.
Yet there was a chill deep within her as she thought of him in connection with Phil's return. Suppose Phil was still cool toward her-perhaps if she knew just a little more about the boy, she could use the knowledge to help her with Phil. Perhaps if she shared it with Phil, it would convince Phil she at least agreed with his sense of outrage-if she turned some means of avenging their injury over to him, the act would serve at least to convince him of her faith in his manhood.
She sat on the edge of the bed and got the telephone directly from the drawer of the nightstand. She found Hughes listed at the address Dave had given her.
Nora dialed the number.
When the telephone rang at the other end and a woman's voice answered, Nora asked for Ronald. Her heart was thudding oddly and she suddenly had an eerie sensation of being on the phone to some number in another world than her own. She heard "Ronnie" paged and had not the faintest idea of what she would tell him when he came on.
What had actually made her phone him before she had decided on some excuse to give him? Was she phoning just to make sure she had found him?
She heard his voice. "Hi, chick." The sound of it, paralyzed her. "Laurie? That you, Laurie?"
Nora remained silent. She had not counted on the violent flood of mixed emotions his voice released in her-the sound of it, the knowledge that she was actually in touch with him though only by wire and electronics, seemed to dredge the full horror of that violent night to the surface of her awareness. It no longer seemed incongruous, but startlingly real, even in the morning's bright sunlight. It was another world, another dimension, brought into the one where she normally lived. Hearing his voice made her feel as if his hands were once more touching her, violating her, and her flesh and spirit shrank. The experience was worse than seeing him accidentally had been-perhaps because she had initiated the contact.
Nora found herself voiceless.
"Hey, do you want Ron Hughes-or what?" the boy said, sounding annoyed. "Quit kidding around. I know you're there. I can hear you breathing. Laurie, is it you?"
Nora put down the receiver. She sat frozen. Whatever had gotten into her? I must be losing my mind, she thought. This thing is making a lunatic of me ...
It took her a long time to rationalize her reaction to herself. At least she had confirmed the boy's identity beyond question, she finally told herself-she could never mistake that voice. She began to look forward even more eagerly toward Phil's arrival, hoping that being with him would either help her forget that youthfully arrogant, hateful sound-or make some use of the fact that she knew who and where the boy was.
She drove to the airport and arrived ten minutes before Phil's plane was to land. She was wearing her best and had taken special pains with her hair. She had made up her face with painstaking care. She wanted Phil to notice her as he never had before. Not even the phone call seemed important to her now. All that mattered was the effect she would have on Phil. She wanted a miracle to happen.
By the time the plane landed, she was so tense she felt breathless. And when she saw Phil among the disembarking passengers, her knees felt weak. His familiar, slight figure, his nice, grave face, his gray eyes behind his executive-type glasses ... He looked important and was important to her, so much a part of her that it seemed incredible that things should not be right between them.
As he came through the gate, his smile told her nothing. But in public it never had-Phil had never been demonstrative in a crowd. The smile could have meant that everything was all right now. It could have meant that he was covering up the fact that everything was still all wrong. And when he kissed her, she still did not know how things stood between them. Phil's greeting kiss, like his parting one, could be merely a gesture where strangers could witness it.
"Nora, it's good to see you," he said. "It's good to be home."
"It's good to see you, Phil," she replied. "It's good to have you home."
"You look wonderful. New outfit?"
"Yes." At least he had noticed. Nora took heart.
"You look wonderful," he repeated. "Or did I say that?" "You said it, but I like hearing it over and over."
"Like a broken record?" he said. "Well, let's go. I'll pick up my bags. Bring the car around?"
She said she would bring the car around and they walked toward the terminal building.
She did not know then or while they drove home whether or not things had changed between them. She did not want to ask-she could find neither the right words nor the courage-and he seemed unwilling to speak of it. A few times she took her eyes off the road and looked at him searchingly. His face was blank, revealing nothing, He looked at her and asked if she would like to stop somewhere for dinner.
Shaking her head, she said, "We're dining at home. You've been eating in that horrible lunchroom in Florida so long you must be dying for a home-cooked meal. I've steaks ready to go into the broiler and a salad waiting for the dressing. I'll mix a pitcher of martinis, first thing."
She chattered on, without speaking of what was really on her mind.
When they arrived home, Phil went to shower and she had the steaks broiling and the martinis mixed by the time he appeared in slacks, sport shirt and loafers. She poured martinis and brought the tray with the pitcher into the living room.
"I've got to gulp mine and get back to the kitchen," she told him. But after she had swallowed only half of her drink, she found the courage to ask, "Phil, I've just got to know-is everything right between us again?"
His face clouded. He would not meet her gaze. "I don't know, Nora," he said glumly. "Nothing's worse than it was-but I still blame myself for what happened."
She looked at him with dismay but also thoughtfully. "Maybe I can change your mind about that before the evening's over," she said and fled into the kitchen. Maybe I can give you someone else to blame, she thought, while fixing dinner and thinking about her phone call.
But somehow she could not, during the rest of the evening, introduce the subject again. Nor did Phil bring it up. He talked about his work and prospects as he usually did-and she sat thinking that she loved him, as she usually did.
The boy, his voice, the night of terror seemed more than ever to be part of another world, an alien planet- she could not force herself to permit them to disrupt the outward harmony of the evening.
But they did intrude upon her at bedtime-when Phil simply kissed her good night, caressed her briefly after turning out the light... and fell asleep.
Usually Phil was given a week at home between field jobs-but this time he was assigned to California in four days. He had no idea how long he would be gone. Nora was heartbroken and suspected that he had asked to be sent away immediately. Then, facing up to the fact that their marriage had become one in name only, she told herself his going might be all to the good. She still had told Phil nothing about the boy. He had given her no clue as to how he might react to the information-in some ways he had become a stranger to her and she wanted no overt scandal. Perhaps, with Phil away, she could find some way of using Dave Mallory to avenge herself-and bring Phil back.
Driving home after seeing him off at the airport, she felt that she had not done all she could have for him. It occurred to her now, too late, that she should have insisted that he get medical help. Impotence must be a kind of sickness, she thought. Or perhaps both of them should have gone to see a competent marriage counselor. But it would have been impossible for her to tell anyone what had happened to her that night-perhaps Phil would have found it equally difficult to confide his weakness to a doctor.
She had two letters from him during the next two weeks and he telephoned her once during that same period. He had little to say on the phone and his letters were brief, meaningless duty notes. She felt that he was drifting farther and farther away from her-might indeed already have gone beyond her reach.
Spring and early summer had always been the best times of the year for Nora but now she barely noticed the fine days that followed one another. Days, nights and weeks seemed to flow together in a stream of despondency and except for seeing Peggy Lambert-who worried about her-she existed in a sort of vacuum.
Loneliness she could cope with, having come to terms j with it over the years. But now she felt something beyond loneliness--a complete aloneness. To love and not to be able to look forward to enjoying the physical manifestations of love was for her a crushing thing. She felt lost, without a place in the scheme of life.
One afternoon during Phil's third week in California, while she was fixing lunch for herself, Bill Lambert appeared at the kitchen screen door. He kicked the bottom of the door after peering in to see if she was there.
"Open up, baby," he called. "I've got my hands full."
He had not been home for more than a week, having also been away on a business trip for Bendey-Jordan. Nora hurried to open the door and saw just how his hands were filled. Each held a tall drink.
"For heaven's sake, Bill," she said, as he came in past her. "Why the drinks?"
Grinning, he said, "I come home after a week out in the cold, cruel world earning a living and find my wife and kids gone to Philly to visit my in-laws-and a note telling me to drive down there for the weekend. Hell, after jetting in from the West Coast, I sure don't feel like going somewhere else. I needed a drink after getting the bad news and I still haven't taken to drinking alone. So you're elected, sweetheart." He added: "I also saw you come in from the garden a moment ago. You looked hot and thirsty-otherwise perfect, as usual."
Nora took the drink he held out to her, not wanting it and feeling a little resentful of his intrusion.
"Well, thanks," she said. "Sit down, why don't you? I saw Peggy before she left yesterday afternoon. She wasn't sure you'd be home today. You didn't let her know."
"I didn't know ahead of time myself," Bill said, taking a chair at the kitchen table.
He was a big man, coarsely handsome. He considered himself irresistibly attractive to women and most of the women in Peggy's social circle had learned through experience that it could be embarrassing to be cornered by him. Nora had trained herself to duck quickly whenever he caught her alone at a party-he was an expert at the quick pass and the cheap feel.
He was thirty-seven or eight and encroaching middle-age was thinning his hair and thickening his waistline. But he held on to a boyish immaturity. He told off-color stories and laughed more loudly at their punch lines than the people upon whom he inflicted them. He read only the sports pages of newspapers and seldom missed a televised sports event. His head was as full of baseball statistics as that of any Little Leaguer.
He had stopped at home long enough to change clothes. He wore a fresh T-shirt, a baggy and faded pair of khaki pants, and sandals. His heavy face glowed from a recent shower and shave. Despite his long plane trip he seemed to be bursting with good health and high spirits.
Sprawling comfortably on a kitchen chair he took a pull at his drink and then stared at Nora. "My God, you look prettier and sexier every time I see you."
Nora was wearing a snug green blouse and black Capri's and wished she were not. She was acutely aware not only of Phil's but Peggy's absence.
"Stop it, Bill," she said, standing by the stainless steel sink-well out of his immediate reach. "Or rather, don't start it."
"Can I help it if the sight of you upsets my chemistry?" said, leering at her. Then, holding up his drink: "To the good-neighbor policy, Nora. And even if that dates me, I still intend to drink to it." He did drink to it.
And Nora, knowing he was going to be a problem, said to distract him, "How was your trip?"
"A drag. I got over to Fresno, by the way." "Oh?"
"Ran into Phil, of course." "How was he?"
"Doing all right," Bill said. Then, eyeing her in a speculative way: "How are you doing, Nora?" She shrugged. "So-so." "Still don't get lonely?" "I get lonely for Phil," she said pointedly. "Always the one-man woman. Why?" "It's the way I'm built, I guess." "And how you're built, baby." "Bill, for heaven's sake-" He frowned, looking serious. "Look, Nora-all kidding aside. What have you got against me?"
"Not a thing, except your being constantly on the make."
"That's something out of the ordinary?"
"It's not the usual thing with most men."
"The hell it's not," he said. "All men are chasers by nature. They're all on the make-in their minds, anyway, even if they haven't got the guts really to play the game."
He gulped down almost all of his drink, set the glass on the table, heaved up from his chair and moved toward her.
"I really play the game, baby, because I only expect to live once-and life is one hell of a dreary grind when there's no time off for a little fun. So I've got a yen for you. That makes me a stinker? Hell, baby, you ought to be flattered-pleased."
Nora slid along the edge of the sink, trying to elude him. He stopped her by leaning on the sink with a muscular hand and arm. She set her drink down, preparing to move in the other direction or to fight. He thrust his broad, not unhandsome face close to hers. The odor of the whiskey on his breath mingled with that of the aftershave lotion on his face. He was flushed with excitement.
"Now you know about me-what I'm like," he said. "So let's talk about you."
She said flatly, "I'd rather not. I'd rather you left."
He said, "You're not fooling me even a little bit. You're a bundle of sex posing as an iceberg because you're loused up with a lot of crap about love, fidelity, and what-ww-people-think. Maybe, too, you're a little scared that Phil will find out. But deep down inside you'd like to cut loose-kick over the traces. Am I right or am I right?"
"You're talking nonsense," Nora said. "Now stop crowding me. I feel as though I can't breathe."
He stayed where he was and when she tried again to move away, he held her against the sink by placing his hands on her hips. She had some wild notion of jamming a knee into his groin, then decided that there had to be a limit to how far he would go. She had to assume that he was a civilized man, not a rapist.
"Wise up, baby," he said, leaning against her so that she could not have used her knee had she wanted. "Phil's in California and Peggy's in Philadelphia. It's set up for us. What do you say, huh?"
Before she could say anything, he slipped his arms about her and pressed his mouth to hers. Her reaction was a combination of fright, revulsion and anger. She got her hands against his chest and shoved with all her might. She caught him by surprise and he reeled backward, off balance. When he recovered, he stared at her with disbelief and anger.
"You witch," he said savagely. "I ought to knock you on your can."
"Get out, Bill-and from now on stay away from me."
"You think you're too damn good for me?"
"I don't think anything," she said. "I just don't like your taking me for what you do."
"You playing the faithful wife. That's a laugh."
"It doesn't strike me as funny."
"Only because you don't know what gives with the guy you're being so stinking faithful to," he said nastily.
"That's right," she shot back. "Make out that Phil a rutting animal like you."
"You think he isn't? Well, you've got a lot to learn baby!"
"If you think you know something I don't," she said contemptuously, "go ahead and tell it. You're dying to."
"Sure, I'll tell it," he said, grinning without humor. "Not to make trouble for him but to square accounts with you, sweetheart. Your ever-loving was playing more than footsie with a cute blond dish when I was in Fresno. I stopped around at his motel one afternoon and they were splashing around in the pool like a couple of kids. Only the way the blonde looked in her bikini, she sure was no kid. That night I ran into them again- in Phil's hotel room. How do you like that, doll?"
Nora stared at him with stricken eyes. "You're making it up, Bill. Your ego is bruised, and you're trying to hurt me the only way you can. By lying."
But she knew he was not lying. Whatever he was, Bill Lambert was not a gossip-monger. His curious set of ethics included a live-and-let-live code Nora had never heard him break. Suddenly he looked shamefaced, evidently regretting what he had told her.
His look of anger faded. He said, "Sure, I'm lying, Nora. As you said, I just wanted to hurt you. You know Phil's not like that. He wouldn't cheat on you."
Nora picked up her drink, took a long swallow of it. Bill stood before her looking sheepish. He started to say more, then thought better of it. He shrugged and turned to the door.
Nora took more of her drink, almost finishing it, then said, "Bill-wait."
He turned, holding the screen door open.
"Come back," she said, making it an order.
He obeyed, looking uneasy.
She said thickly, "It's true, isn't it?"
"No-no, of course not. As I said, you just made me sore. I'm sorry, baby-believe me."
Nora frowned at him. Obviously he was lying now. Lying to protect Phil because Bill Lambert did not get his women by telling stories about their husbands. If he had not lost his temper, he would not even have hinted that Phil was playing around. Bill got his women by making a straight pitch for them.
Nora finished her drink, then set the glass on the drain board. She opened the section of the cupboard where Phil and she kept their liquor supply. She took out the bottle closest to hand. It held gin. She unscrewed the cap and poured a full four ounces into her glass. She put the bottle down and picked up the glass.
Facing Bill Lambert again, she said, "I'll make a bargain with you. Tell me the truth, the whole truth-and you can have what you want."
Bill looked at her somberly and said with unaccustomed gentleness, "No one's sorrier than I-but I've just told you the truth."
TEN
She did not believe him-but neither could she shake his story that he had lied about Phil's philandering because he had been angry at her. Phil was not the cheating kind, he insisted, and Nora well knew it. Bill looked in agony of embarrassment as he tried to sell her the idea-He looked as though he wished he were far away.
She drank some of the straight gin and said, "Better take me up on it, Bill. You'll never get another chance like this."
She wanted to know the whole of it, all about Phil's infidelity. She had to know how wide the rift was between them. She remembered Peggy's warning that Phil would not take another woman lightly.
"If you want me, you'll have to give. So give."
Bill's forehead glistened with sweat. He swallowed, ran a nervous hand over his face. A man struggling against temptation, he looked utterly miserable.
Nora drank more of the gin. A mixture of gin and whiskey clobbered her. She felt giddy and her vision blurred. She swayed, saw Bill fuzzily as she put down her glass and began unbuttoning her blouse with clumsy fingers. She wore no bra and Bill's gaze fixed on her breasts. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.
"Come on, talk," she said thickly. "Or I'll button up again."
"Damn you, Nora," Bill said with genuine anger. "You're acting like a bitch who doesn't deserve a guy like Phil. You deserve what Peggy's got-me."
"But Peggy knows the truth about you," she said mockingly, pulling her blouse fully open. "She told me. That's why I've got to know about Phil."
"All right, all right," he said, still with anger. "Here's the truth-and when you hear it you'll wish Phil were just playing around. The woman's name is Kitty Marvin. He's not kidding about her. He's got her a job with Bentley-Jordan and she's coming with him when he comes home. Phil doesn't play games-he doesn't know how. He's serious about her. Now you know. And you've made a Grade-A heel out of me."
"So let's you and I play games," Nora said, knowing she was reacting partly to liquor and partly to hurt and jealousy.
Bill surprised her by saying, "I'm not so sure I want you now. All of a sudden I don't like you very much."
"Do you have to like me?" she asked and pulled her blouse off completely.
She tossed the blouse to the floor, posed briefly, her upper body naked, then left the kitchen. She went down to the basement game room and lay down on its studio couch. She kicked off her flats and wriggled out of her Capri's and underwear. She waited as Bill came slowly, heavily, down the stairs.
He crossed the room and stood looking at her with both dislike and desire in his eyes. He was still fighting temptation, which was almost certainly something he had never done before.
Nora smiled at him. "Well, don't just stand there."
"You want this like you want a dose of poison," he said flatly. "You just want to even the score with Phil."
"Do you have to analyze me-just because I'm on a couch?"
"All right, damn it," he said.
He came to her, his hands closing on her roughly. She wound her arms around him, took his kiss greedily. She felt roused, not by Bill Lambert but by long denial, not by passion but anger-not by love but the need to escape a nightmare thrust upon her.
This was her first infidelity, she knew. Her physical response to Bill blotted out all thoughts of Phil, banished the lurking nightmare dread left in her by that evening when she had been violated in the roadside forest. She let herself be possessed by Bill, finding a release in being wanted, in giving and receiving-and if love was lacking in her union with Bill, its need was filled by the obliteration of all thought in waves of soaring sensation...
He was more than adequate as a lover and when he removed himself from her arms to he beside her, she turned to Mm and kissed him tenderly before going upstairs, carrying her black Capri's. On the way, she picked up her blouse from the kitchen floor.
When she returned to the game room ten minutes later, dressed once more, Bill was still on the couch. But he had pulled on his shirt and pants and was propped up on an elbow, smoking a cigarette. He looked at her uncertainly warily, as though fearful of her mood. She sat cross-legged on a lounge, facing him.
"You sore, Nora?" Bill asked.
"No. Not at you, anyway."
"It wasn't really right for you, was it?"
"You filled the bill." She studied him gravely. "No pun intended."
He was serious, a rare mood for him. "I'm sorry for you," he said. "In more ways than one. Losing a husband like Phil isn't the best thing that could happen to you."
"Don't be sorry," she said.
"You mean that?"
Nodding, she said, "I think I do. Anyway, I haven't lost him yet-officially."
Bill took a final drag on his cigarette, then sat up and crushed it out in an ashtray on the table beside the couch. He stood up, crossed over to her, bent down to kiss her on the mouth. His lips were gently and did not feel unpleasant but after a moment she pushed him away.
"You'd better go," she said, pulling away from him. "After all, Peggy will be expecting you."
Peggy, she thought. She had betrayed her friendship with the redhead. She wondered if she would ever feel comfortable with Peggy after today.
Bill said, "I guess I will. Since it wasn't right the first time, you're not likely to be in the mood again."
"You're right," she said. "That one time was it."
He kissed her once more, fondly and quickly, and went out. When she heard him leave the house, Nora stretched out on the lounge, stared blankly at the ceiling, and let her mind fill with bleak thoughts. She felt despairing.
Her marriage was certainly going smash. She could not believe there was any hope for it. She remembered Peggy's prediction that if Phil ever became involved with another woman he would certainly fall in love or imagine that he had. What Bill had told her about the blonde named Kitty Marvin corroborated Peggy's theory. Phil must have discovered that he was not impotent with her. Why would he prefer a wife with whom he was impotent?
Tears filled Nora's eyes but they came partly from anger. She would not give up Phil without a fight. She would not let her marriage be wrecked if she could help it. She had a sudden impulse to call Phil and tell him that she would come out to Fresno. But almost in the same instant she saw the folly of rushing the showdown. She would not be able to break up this affair with the Marvin woman when it was still new and fresh. She must wait until the novelty of it wore off and perhaps whatever sort of feeling Phil had for her rival would wear thin-maybe even die a natural death. After all, it might be only gratitude that he felt toward the woman for her having proven to him his masculinity. Surely, he would not go on being merely grateful forever. Yes, she had better wait and see if the affair would not run its course.
Surprisingly, she was not at the moment angry with Phil. She understood why he had become involved in an affair. Something unholy had happened to both Phil and her the night they were attacked on the lonely road-as she herself had just demonstrated by her response to Bill. Both she and Phil were trying to escape a nightmare.
Her anger was directed at the three young thugs who had created the nightmare. It focused primarily on the tall, blond boy, Ron Hughes, for he alone of the three seemed real. She had seen him in broad daylight. She knew his name. She had heard his voice on the telephone. -She had given little thought to him after the day she made the call to his home but now he loomed important again. Once more she felt that she must somehow even the score with him.
Just how she was going to do it and what she would accomplish, she did not know, but in having it out with Ron Hughes, she felt, she would be taking a step toward making everything right for herself. The feeling made no sense, yet its urgency overrode everything.
ELEVEN
Later that same afternoon Nora found a way to see Ron Hughes without directly seeking him out. At four o'clock she brought in the evening paper from the lawn where the delivery boy had thrown it. As she looked through it, she saw that Mrs. Jeffrey Hughes was heading a drive to raise funds to build a new wing at the local hospital. Mrs. Hughes was quoted as asking for volunteers to help the good cause along.
Nora disliked collecting for charity but now she decided to volunteer. She dialed the now familiar number and asked to speak to Mrs. Hughes.
A moment later a pleasantly modulated voice said, "Louise Hughes speaking."
"Mrs. Hughes, this is Nora Rigby on Maple Drive. You don't know me, but I understand you need help to solicit for the hospital fund-and I want to volunteer."
"How wonderful of you, Mrs. Rigby. I'm so happy you called. It's so difficult to get helpers for even such a worthy cause. Hardly anyone ever volunteers. It seems that everyone is so preoccupied with their personal affairs that they have no time for communal things. Don't you find it so?"
"I suppose everyone is kept busy."
"Well, you're the first person to call me," Louise Hughes said, "and I'm delighted. Are you free at the moment, Mrs. Rigby? To run over here for half an hour or so? I could explain matters and give you some of the pamphlets we've had printed describing the great need for a new hospital wing. And of course you'll need subscription slips for the people you contact to sign."
"I suppose I could come over," Nora said. She was prepared-she had showered and dressed to go out before making the phone call. "Yes, of course I could, Mrs. Hughes."
"Wonderful. I'll be looking for you. Do you know the address?"
"Yes," Nora said. "I can make it in ten minutes."
She hung up, hesitated a moment, wondering if she weren't being foolish. Ron might not be at home. And if he were, she probably would not get a chance to talk to him. But there was really no hurry about meeting him formally until she had decided exactly what to do about him. She took her purse and went to get the station wagon out of the garage.
The house was a big split-level of stone and clapboard. It stood on spacious grounds and Nora saw a three-car garage. Two cars were parked in the driveway, one a blue Cadillac and the other an MG. So he's at home, Nora thought as she parked her car behind the MG-and found herself trembling with a sudden flaring of fear and anger.
She tried to regain control of herself as she got out of her car and walked to the front of the house, but she still felt shaky as she pressed the bell button.
Louise Hughes herself came to the door, beamed at Nora. "Come in, Mrs. Rigby. It's so nice to meet you. Isn't it a lovely day?"
She was on the far side of forty and definitely matronly. More than comfortably overweight and huge of bosom, she had, in the dark-blue dress she wore, a firmly corseted look. Her hair was gray. Her full face was a bit too heavily made up but it was wreathed with a wide, enthusiastic smile.
Nora agreed that, yes, it was a lovely day. She also exclaimed that the house was lovely. Louise Hughes beamed with understandable pride. For the house indeed was lovely and furnished with expensive good taste.
"Yes, it's quite comfortable," Louise Hughes said. "I shall miss it when Mr. Hughes and I go to Europe this summer. We're flying over for six weeks on the fifteenth. That's why I'm so anxious to get the hospital fund drive completed as quickly as I can-so that I can enjoy the trip with a free mind."
"A trip to Europe?" Nora said. "How exciting."
"It's something Jeffrey and I have dreamed of for years. Of course, I shouldn't take such a long vacation, with all my social and civic obligations, but my husband insists." She smiled proudly again, her pride this time being for her husband. "Come into the study, my dear-I have all the papers there."
She had evidently usurped the study from Mr. Hughes, for the room was furnished in a definitely masculine fashion. There was a large mahogany desk and several armchairs and a couch done in rich brown leather.
And the boy was sprawled on the couch.
He was reading a magazine and listening to a transistor radio. He came slowly to his feet upon the entrance of his mother and her guest. At sight of him, Nora stopped just inside the doorway. She could not take another step at the moment-her legs had suddenly gone weak. Her mixture of anger and fear returned-fear that he would recognize her as his rape victim and do something rash to embarrass her and a vestigial fear still left in Nora by that night of terror.
But he merely glanced at Nora. There was no sign that he remembered her.
"Darling, do you mind letting me use the study for a little while?" Louise Hughes said. "Mrs. Rigby and I have some business to discuss."
The boy wore a sulky look as he said, "I guess not."
His tone was sullen. He lay the magazine aside, shut off the radio, got to his feet. Again Nora was impressed by how tall he was, how broad of shoulder, how handsome. But he was without charm-at least for her. And his sulkiness made him look as nasty as an ill-tempered child.
"This is my friend, Mrs. Rigby, Ron," his mother said. "Nora, my son, Ronald."
The boy gave Nora another brief glance, muttered a surly acknowledgement of the introduction. Again there was no recognition of her in his eyes. Evidently, he saw her merely as another of his mother's friends.
Rebukingly, Louise Hughes said, "Please, darling. You have better manners than that."
He looked at her with resentment, then turned directly to Nora and bowed slightly. "How do you do, Mrs. Rigby?" he said with grudging politeness.
"How do you do, Ron?" Nora replied, thinking that she would not have liked him even if nothing had ever happened between them.
He moved past her to leave the study.
His mother said, "We'll be through in here shortly, dear."
"Don't hurry on my account," he said flatly, without looking around.
Louise Hughes looked apologetic. "Please forgive his behavior, Nora," she said. "He's been in a mood ever since school let out for the summer. He wants to go to Europe with us and he simply won't understand that it wouldn't work out. We're going with two other couples and for a boy to travel with six older people-well, looking out for him would spoil things for everyone."
"But wouldn't he be going off on his own much of the time? So many young people do Europe unaccompanied these days. They find their own way about."
"Oh, that would never do in Ron's case. He's never been on his own. What we really want is for him to go to camp, as he's always done since he was a small boy. But he says that is kid stuff and insists that he'll just stay home. What a problem children are these days. Do you have any, my dear?"
"Unfortunately, no."
"Perhaps it's just as well. Those problems! I'm certainly grateful I've only one son. Do sit down, please."
Nora seated herself on the brown-leather couch. She noticed that the magazine Ron had been reading was one of the better science publications. So he had at least some serious interests, she thought bitterly. And suddenly, despite herself, she decided that she could not dislike him for the way he had acted a moment ago. His mother had given away the reason-to her he was a problem and she had probably considered him one from the day of his birth. She was too busy with her outside activities to have time for him. She would be too busy with her friends on the trip abroad to want him along. Possibly he had always felt neglected or at least shunted aside. That could explain his sulkiness, and his resentment toward his mother. It might even explain worse attitudes in him.
But nothing could excuse the way he had acted on that certain night . . .
Her mind wandering, Nora spent a boring twenty minutes listening to Louise Hughes talk enthusiastically about the hospital fund drive. The woman gave her the impression that she regarded herself as carrying the entire weight of the drive, not only in Birchwood but in the whole area, upon her shoulders. Nora promised with no enthusiasm of her own to contact the people living in her block on Maple Drive and in the two adjoining blocks. She was given pamphlets, subscription slips, and a badge to wear when she made her calls. She was able to escape from the woman's overpowering presence when the telephone rang. The caller was Mr. Hughes, long distance from New York.
"You'll excuse me, dear?" Mrs. Hughes said. "I think Jeffrey has some plans to discuss with me for a party I'm hosting at the country club next week."
"I can find my way out," Nora said, rising.
"Goodbye, dear. Call me soon."
As she let herself out of the house, Nora wondered just what she had accomplished-other than to have gotten herself a task that would hardly get her neighbors to vote her the most popular young matron on their street. She had seen the boy, of course, but no obvious method of avenging herself had come to her. His pretentious family was, of course, vulnerable to scandal, but Nora wanted to avoid scandal as much as they. Perhaps, she now realized, she had subconsciously hoped he would recognize her at least partially-enough to worry him-but at the same time she had been relieved at his not remembering her at all.
As she walked toward her station wagon, she saw him at his sports car. He was fondly wiping dust from it with a rag. His expression was still sullen and resentful and remained so when he looked up and saw her. She had the impression that he was at odds not only with his mother but with her friends as well.
Without knowing exactly what she had in mind, she stopped by the MG. "Hello," she said. "That's quite a car you have."
He eyed her warily. "Yeah."
"How does she handle?" she asked, seeking to communicate with him without knowing why-simply following some female jungle instinct. "I've never driven a sports car."
"She handles real cool," he said, brightening slightly. "No chick is real gone till she's been behind the wheel of a sports job."
He looked her up and down with insolent appraisal, eyes narrowed in some kind of half-amused expectation.
Nora recognized his expression-it reminded her of how he had looked that night when he had wanted to know if Phil had needed help with changing the tire. And something in Nora grew steely in response to his hardness.
"Are you by any chance suggesting that I might become a 'gone chick' if I drove your MG?"
"Could happen." His mouth quirked slightly, though his eyes remained expressionless, hooded.
To her own surprise, Nora found herself smiling, perhaps too brilliantly. "A deal, Ronnie," she said. "Let me know when."
Suddenly, blindingly simple, her plan of revenge leapt into her mind.
His smirking expression Vanished. His eyes opened alertly. He seemed suddenly wary-had she overdone the smile, Nora wondered.
"You mean you want to wheel this heap-Mrs. Rigby?"
"Chick, I believe the expression is-not Mrs. Rigby." Nora smiled again. "Yes-I want to be real gone, Ronnie."
This time he grinned openly, not smirking, meeting her gaze squarely. "You're different," he observed.
She pursed her lips reflectively, her eyes still smiling. Inwardly she felt coldly angry.
"Maybe not too different, Ronnie-a girl hates to outgrow the chick stage, sometimes. Is it a deal?"
"Okay." He was a little on guard again. "When?"
"You let me know. I'm in the phone book. And my husband's in California."
She turned and walked to her station wagon, letting her hips swing suggestively. Aware that he was looking after her, she wondered how she looked to his teen-aged eyes-had she managed to convey the impression she had intended? Was he stripping her mentally-as he had let his friends strip her physically that night in the woods? She felt oddly alive to his stare-to the curious mixture of fear and exultation coursing through her veins. She barely had to act her seductive walk-it seemed to come to her naturally.
She had the motor running when he came to the station wagon, still on his guard, but with something like eagerness in his manner.
"Say, you really meant it, didn't you?" he asked.
"Sure-just let me know."
She gunned the wagon out of the drive, tires kicking blue stone gravel, leaving him standing, looking after her, she saw in her rear-view mirror. She was glad he could not see her face now-it was frozen in anger.
And triumph.
The coldness inside her had spread through her whole being now-her face, her arms and legs, her entire body felt stiff with it. Her eyes stared straight ahead.
When she nearly side-swiped another car coming in the opposite direction on the narrow two-lane road she forced herself to relax. She must not have an accident.
Her anger grew molten-but it remained anger.
TWELVE
Sunday seemed to Nora as good a time as any to start soliciting for the hospital fund. She set out-none too enthusiastically-to call upon her neighbors. She knew all the families Uving in her own block and at first had smooth sailing. Except where no one was at home, some member of each household signed a pledge to contribute a certain sum of money. The amounts varied but some were quite generous. In the second block, where she knew fewer people, Nora found the going tougher. The people who signed up did so less willingly and at two houses she was turned away empty-handed. After three hours of going from house to house and explaining the purpose of her visit, she felt bruised in spirit and tired of foot and decided to let the third block go until another day.
Phil called from Fresno that evening but he had little to say. He asked how Nora was, told her that he was well and that he was working hard. When she asked if he would be home soon, he said that he would finish up at Fresno within a day or two but then go directly to another Bentley-Jordan job there in California.
"It's at Madera," he said, by way of justifying his not coming home between jobs. "That's not far from here, so it would be senseless to come East and then right back here."
Especially since you're enjoying yourself with Kitty, Nora thought-and wanted to say it aloud.
But she did not dare to mention that she knew about his having another woman. He would know that Bill Lambert had told her, and that would make him sore at Bill. Since they were not only neighbors and friends but also worked for the same company, Nora did not want them on bad terms with each other. Besides, she had her own infidelity in mind. If Bill and Phil started throwing verbal punches, there was no predicting the outcome.
Her tone of voice must have communicated some of her feelings to him, for he suddenly asked, "Why so tragic, Nora?"
"I'm not being tragic." She told him of her day of canvassing for the hospital fund. "I guess I'm just tired." She concluded by saying tentatively, "I love you."
"I never doubted that, Nora," "That's nice to know."
"You sound strange. Is something wrong?"
"Is anything right, Phil?"
"Now, darling-" "Oh, don't mind me," she said. "I'm just in a mood."
Their conversation ended. Phil had at no point said his usual, And-I-love-you-Nora.
The Lamberts returned from Philadelphia later that evening. Bill came over to see Nora. He came to the kitchen door, having cut across his own and her back yard, and rang the door chimes.
"Bill, you shouldn't," she said, as he came in. "Peggy-" He pushed the door closed, eyed her gravely. "I always have come over here, even when Phil's away," he said. "Peggy knows it. She'd begin to wonder if I stopped. Anyway, I had to see you. How are you feeling?"
"Not happy."
"You're taking it too hard, believe me. Phil is sure to wise up and ditch that dame. Don't hold it against him for having slipped once."
Nora had difficulty holding back tears. "What's she like, Bill?"
"Compared to you, she's a dog."
"That I can't believe," she said miserably. "Phil wouldn't go for someone who wasn't attractive."
"She's nothing like you, I tell you," Bill said. "And Fm the guy who knows." His eyes ran over her, seemed to strip her of her clothes. "Take my word for it, Nora. He's got the best right here at home. He'll realize that sooner or later. When he comes home, you forgive and forget-eh?"
"If he comes home."
"Hell, he's got to."
"Why does he?"
"He wouldn't give you up," Bill said. "You know that."
She did not know it. And Bill had no inkling of the true situation. He had no way of guessing that Phil was impotent with her.
She said, "He's going on another job this week, without coming home in between. At Madera. If he takes that woman there, I'll know it's serious. Bill, will you do me a favor?"
"You know I will, baby."
"When he gets to Madera, find out for me if she's with him. Can you do that?"
Frowning, not liking the chore, Bill said reluctantly, "I guess so. As sales manager, I can find some excuse to call out there and talk to him. If I kid him about the blonde, he won't hold back. I've got a reputation for not blowing the whistle on errant husbands. Though I've already done it on him, damn it."
"Nora gave him a wan smile. "But it was worth it, wasn't it?"
"I'm not sure-now I keep wanting more but you'd only say no so I won't ask. I keep dreaming about it Well, I'd better get home. If I stay too long, Peggy will think I'm making headway with you." He turned to the door, then looked at her over his shoulder. "If I do you a favor, I can expect one in return-can't I?"
Nora laughed in spite of her feelings. "You never quit trying, do you, Bill?" she said. Then, sobering: "I'm not promising anything. I think you owe me a favor without asking one in return."
"Still, I'll ask when the time comes," he said and on that went home.
Early Monday afternoon the telephone rang. Answering it Nora was startled to hear: "Hi, chick."
"Ron?" she asked. Her heart began to pound.
"Want to go for a ride today?"
"Yes-of course."
She felt a strong excitement but managed to keep it from her voice. He was playing right into her hands. She also felt alarmed-the old nursery bit about the fly and the spider's parlor came into her mind but which of them was actually the spider? He sounded cocksure-almost too sure of himself on the phone. Perhaps she ought to let someone know she was meeting him-but whom?
Not Bill Lambert. Dave Mallory? No, it was too soon to bring Dave into the affair. She had nothing yet to tell Dave.
Of course, she could ask him to call for her here-such neighbors who saw her drive off with a teener in an MG would probably remember it-and if he tried any violence with her today, she could remind him of the fact-on the other hand, she virtually hinted at a clandestine meeting when she had mentioned to him that Phil was out of town and to ask him here might alarm him, defeat her purpose.
Her brain cooled-she began to think logically just as he became impatient at the other end of the wire.
"What's the bit, chick? Where'll I pick you up? Hubby still out of town?"
"Yes-" She did not have to pretend to make her voice sound breathless. To play this out properly, she simply had to take her chances. Carefully she said, "Let's make it this evening, Ronnie. You're almost a grown man and you know how people will talk if they see us together. " That ought to get him, she thought, her pulses pounding. "I'll meet you at nine at the shopping center. I'll park my station wagon near the bowling alley."
"I'll be there."
"See you then, Ron."
"Right," he said.
After putting down the receiver Nora was plagued by doubts. She wondered at her own feelings - his call should have come as no surprise. She had invited it. Why had it caught her unprepared, with no immediate plan in mind? She knew what she wanted to do in a long-range fashion-but tonight?
Well, she would simply have to play it by ear-fly by the seat of her pants, as it were, as pilots put it. There simply were no instruments to chart the course she had [chosen-that of fighting the boy with his own weapons. It was he who had declared war-and what, actually, did she have left to lose? She had already lost more than the first battle.
She kept reminding herself grimly of that fact during the remainder of the afternoon and through early evening. At a quarter to nine she got the station wagon from the garage and set out for the shopping center.
She had barely parked when she heard the blast of a sports-car exhaust. She glanced in the direction of the sound and saw the red MG parked at the edge of the lot. Ron waved to her and she threaded her way quickly through the rows of parked cars toward him.
A moment later he was smiling down at her. "Hi, chick. I'm glad you came. I was a little afraid you wouldn't. Want the wheel?"
"You'll have to show me first."
"Okay."
They got into the little car. The top was down and Nora felt naked to the eyes of the world. But there was no one to see her except her own conscience. Moments later, when they were away from the lighted shopping-area street, she felt less exposed and some of the tension left her.
Ron drove to the clover leaf just beyond the shopping center and took the southbound section of the expressway. This was safe, Nora thought-and relaxed to a degree. There was nothing he could do to her here. He pushed the MG up to sixty, let the needle creep up. The rush of wind whipped Nora's hair wildly about and felt sharp on her face. Despite herself, she began to feel exhilarated.
"How do you like the heap?" Ron asked. "It's nice." "Real cool, eh?"
"Yes," she said, laughing. "Real cool."
He was silent for the brief time it took them to cover another mile, then said earnestly, "You know, you're different from my mother's other women friends. It's like you dig kids-the way you talked at the house, coming along with me tonight. Like kids are people, just as grown-ups are-only often not as rotten."
Not as rotten... This from him! Nora was speechless. She stared straight ahead into the stinging wind- it was the wind, she was sure, that brought tears into her eyes.
She said nothing, not trusting herself to speak.
He went on. "Like a kid I know. His old man's a wheel at Bentley-Jordan. Any secretary he hires has to hit the sack with him. His mother plays around, too- and neither of them knows the other's cheating." He laughed. "And they tell us how to act."
Nora, sickened, remembered she thought she had recognized one of her violators as the son of a Bentley-Jordan executive on the night of her attack ...
"Still, your parents must be good to you," Nora managed finally. "They probably give you everything you want. This car, for example."
"Well, yes-though what I really want is a Jag. But they act like I'm a nuisance all the time."
"Maybe you just imagine that."
"No, I don't," he said flatly. "It's true." Then, glancing at her: "You're different, baby. You're hip, I can tell. You know."
Yes, I'm hip, Nora thought. You helped to make me so. Sure I know-and I'm learning all the time...
She closed her eyes. "You don't get along with most adults?"
"Not too well. Not even with my teachers at school. They kicked me out this spring, before graduation." "What was the trouble?"
"Well, I guess I don't dig a lot of people. In a group, anyway. And my old man wants me to go into insurance where you've got to talk to people all the time-sell 'em. So that's what he wants me to study-business. And I stink at it."
A picture of him was forming in Nora's mind, a little blurred at the edges still, and she understood for the first time what Dave Mallory had meant when he had suggested she use the information he had provided for her with judgment. The boy beside her was still a member of a group that had assaulted her, but he was also emerging as an individual.
Abruptly he said, "They're going to Europe, my folks are. Without me."
To change the subject-or, rather, not to change it and to learn more about him-she asked, "What would you like to study? In school, I mean."
"Physics," he said promptly. "I dig math-the real math. Not the kind where you add or subtract loss from profit and make it come out on the profit side. But the kind that takes you up there." He pointed suddenly at the star-filled sky and Nora was startled. "I know all the distances up there-the names and weights of most of the planets and how to figure 'em."
They were silent again until Nora asked, "Do yon have a girl?"
She was aware that her meeting with the boy was not going at all as she had anticipated.
"A steady, you mean?" he said, letting the car slow down. "I do-sort of. Her name's Laurie Fenton. But she's away on a trip out West. She won't be back until the end of July." Again he looked at Nora. "How soon do you have to be home?"
"Pretty soon. Maybe you'd better turn back at the next exit."
He nodded and said, "I guess even with your husband away, you've got things to do." "That's right." "You got kids?" "No."
"Then why do you have to go home right away?" "Well, it just seems that I should," Nora said, flustered.
She did not like the "effect he was having on her. She wanted to hang on to her hate.
A few miles farther on, coming to an exit, he turned the MG off the expressway. He took an overpass, then drove down to a northbound secondary road. Not talking now, he pushed the car up to seventy and then to nearly eighty.
"Ron, please!" Nora said, the rush, of air taking her breath away. "Not so fast!"
"Okay," he said, laughing. Then, as the car slowed to a safe speed, he asked, "Were you scared?"
"To be truthful, yes. Thanks for slowing down."
"No need to thank me. I wouldn't do anything to make you sore. I like you too much for that."
She did not know what to say to that. He had suddenly switched off the hip talk, was speaking almost as an adult. What was coming next was hard to imagine.
She tried to piece together an objective picture of him from what she had learned.
He was neglected, lonely and had a great need for someone-an adult someone-to take an interest in him. In his need, he had accepted her invitation with all its implications-yet he was turning to her in a way she had not anticipated, to fill a need she could not answer. She could never be his friend.
He's gotten me all mixed up, she thought, so mixed up, I don't know what to do about him...
Minutes later, they turned onto a dark country road.
"Ron, please," Nora said sharply. "Where are you taking me?"
"Not far," he said easily. "Just to a place where we can talk. It's only a little way."
"I wish you wouldn't. I should go home."
"For a little while-please?" he begged.
"You said you wouldn't do anything to make me sore," she reminded him. "I will be sore if you don't turn back."
"Please-just a couple of minutes." His voice was still adult-like, sensible, but with an undertone that suggested she had better play along with him.
"AH right. But when I say we go, we'll go. Do you understand?"
"Sure, Nora," he said, using her given name for the first time.
He turned onto another road, a dirt road running through an orchard. A number of cars were parked at intervals along it, with couples sitting in them. He had brought her to a lovers' lane, as she had feared he would. Suddenly she steeled herself for a fight.
This time, if need be, there would be a scandal.
THIRTEEN
He pulled to the side of the road, switched off his motor and lights, but did not, as she had expected, reach for her.
He said earnestly, "I wish things were different. I wish you weren't married and I was older. I like you a lot, Nora."
"We can't change ourselves, Ron," she said, still wary of him. "And I wouldn't want to. I'm in love with my husband. And you've got a steady. We shouldn't be here. You should be faithful to your girl."
"Laurie and I aren't really serious."
"Now, Ron-" "Honest, we're not. This would have been my last year in prep school-but I didn't graduate. I don't know if I'll go back to school. Laurie'll get another steady when she goes to college. And maybe I'll get to know another chick."
"Still, you should be faithful to her while you're going steady."
"Like married people?"
"Why not?"
He laughed shortly, without humor. "That's a joke. Married couples aren't faithful. Not all of them, anyway. Even my father-" "Please, Ron," Nora broke in. "Don't talk about your parents like that."
"Oh, all right. But I thought I could talk to you about anything. I thought you wanted to be friends, real gone."
"We can't be friends, Ron."
"You've changed your mind?"
"It's not that," she said. "It's just that a married woman can't be friends with a boy your age."
"Then why the pitch back at the house? Why come out with me tonight? You didn't come just to wheel this car. In fact, I don't even think you want to."
"It's impossible, I tell you."
He nodded glumly. "I guess I should have known it. But I don't like it. You were kind of stringing me along. Why?"
"I'm ages older than you. You shouldn't have been taken in-" "That doesn't make any difference. You don't look old to me. Marriage doesn't mean a lot to most people-you all but told me it didn't mean much to you. I think it would be better to have a woman for a steady than a high-school chick."
To distract him, she asked, "Have you come here with Laurie?"
"Oh, sure. I learned about this place from her. Her steady before me used to bring her here. But she won't always come with me. Sometimes she wants to, sometimes not. Then some nights she wants to do heavy necking and some nights she hardly lets me touch her. I never know how to figure her."
"All girls are that way, Ron."
"I guess so."
"I think we'd better go back now."
"All right." He was sulky again. "But could I just-just kiss you once?"
"Ron, for heaven's sake. I'm not really a chick. That was just kidding. I-" "Please," he begged.
She sensed how badly he wanted it and through some odd reversal of logic he had managed to make her feel guilty for inviting this date. One thing was sure-she would fight him if she had to. She still wanted her revenge, but the time was not yet ripe.
She said, "All right-but only once."
They were already very close in the little car, but he took her by the shoulders and drew her closer still. As his lips found hers, Nora thought with dismay: This is insane. ..
For she found herself responding to him. Not from love -perhaps a little from hate-from some sort of passion, certainly, even if it were a passion for vengeance. For her long-range plan to bear fruit she had to rouse him to controllable passion-what she had not counted on was that she herself might be aroused.
She put her hands to his face and held him to her even after his kiss ended. She was now the seeker. She found his mouth with hers again and kissed him hungrily. His hands were on her now, exploring her person. When they found her breasts, she was returned to sanity. She wrenched away from him.
"That's enough," she gasped. "This is wrong, as wrong as anything can be." Yet except for how she felt, things had gone at last almost exactly as she had expected.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to go so far. I couldn't help myself."
She wondered a little frantically if she were going to be able to help herself in the future, but for the moment she had control.
She said, "Take me back-now, right away."
He turned from her and started the motor. He switched on the lights and pulled out at once, making a U-turn and heading back the way they had come. They did not speak until they reached the shopping center, where he was able to park close to where her station wagon stood. She opened the door and started to get out at once, then waited when he touched her arm.
"You're not sore at me?" he asked.
"Not at you, at myself."
"I shouldn't have asked to kiss you. It won't happen again, Nora. From now on, I'll behave."
"We'll see," she told him. "If there is any 'from now on.'" "All I know is that I like you," he said. "I like you more than anybody I know."
"You shouldn't. Take that as a fair warning." She spoke carefully, gauging the effect of her words on him. During the silent ride she had had time to think, to concretize her plans. "I'm a married woman and I love my husband. If I saw you again, I might forget that. I might want you. And you're just a boy-a kid."
"I just want to see you-not make trouble." It was hard for her to read his face. She was not sure which of them was playing a game.
"Good night," she said.
She took her keys from her purse as she hurried to her station wagon. She got in quickly, drove as fast as she could from the parking lot. The boy was still sitting in his MG and looking after her as she drove away.
Nora's anxiety about her mixed reactions to Ronnie Hughes remained with her. During the next few days she could think of little else. She had read that love and hate were closely related-did the same apply to sex and hate? She felt herself turning into a wanton-all because of one nightmare experience she hated.
Knowing the male animal, she expected Ron to call her within a day or two and beg her to meet him again. When he failed to do so, she decided that he must have either seen through her game or decided to play a game of his own. He probably had his approach to women he considered his chicks.
She finished making her calls for the hospital fund. One morning she called Louise Hughes and asked her to stop by and pick up the signed subscription slips. She pleaded feeling unwell as her excuse for not going to the Hughes home. It was vital for her plans of revenge for her not to give Ron reason for supposing she wanted to see him. And if she called on his mother, he might misinterpret the visit.
On the following morning she received a call from Dave Mallory. He asked if she could help out at the Youth Center that evening. She would merely have to serve as a chaperone, he said. She took the call in the kitchen and was still talking to Dave when Peggy Lambert came in. If Peggy suspected Nora of having submitted to Bill, she gave no indication of it. She smiled at Nora now.
Nora said into the telephone, "Yes, I can make it. What time, Dave?"
He told her to come any time between seven and eight o'clock, and then added, "Don't fail me. I'd hate to have to keep watch over a hundred or more teeners all by myself."
"I won't stand you up," she said.
When Nora put down the telephone, Peggy said, "That sounded for all the world like an assignation. If I didn't know you better-just who is Dave?"
"Dave Mallory at the Youth Center," Nora said. "He wants me to help out tonight."
"Oh, that dream-boat. I should be so lucky."
"Lucky?" Nora said, reaching for the electric percolator to make coffee. "Don't be silly, Peggy."
"You mean to say he doesn't send you?"
"Not far, anyway."
"Well, he could put his shoes under my bed anytime." Nora turned to her, wide-eyed with surprise. "You, Peggy?"
The redhead laughed. "Nora, you're such a square," she said. She was thoughtful for a moment, then went on confidingly, "I wouldn't tell this to another soul, Nora, but I've had something going for me off and on for the past couple of years. Mostly, to get back at my ever-loving, I guess. Did I ever tell you that I worked as a receptionist for a commercial photographer named Ed Blakely in Han-ford before I was married?"
Nora said she had told her.
Peggy went on, "Well, Ed and I had a thing for each other before I met Bill. We weren't in love, but-well, we were good with each other. It ended when I fell for Bill, of course. But two years ago I ran into Ed one day when I was in Hanford on a shopping trip. It was at a time when I was sore about Bill's philandering. And when Ed asked me up to his apartment, I went. I've been seeing him more or less regularly ever since. Now I've shocked the pants off you, haven't I?"
Smiling uncertainly, Nora said, "Just about."
She had never suspected Peggy Lambert of infidelity, but she was glad now that she knew. She could feel less guilty about what had happened between Bill and herself that day Peggy and the kids had been in Philadelphia.
"If I had a chance at Dave Mallory, I might be tempted," Peggy said at least half seriously. "But not you, of course."
"Knowing Dave, I doubt he'll try to seduce me." "You could try seducing him, you know." "You're talking nonsense, Peggy," Nora said. The telephone rang again while they were having their coffee.
When Nora answered, Bill Lambert's voice said cautiously, "Are you alone, Nora?" He knew his wife was often with her in the morning.
Nora said, "You have the wrong number," and hung up.
Shortly afterward, Peggy left, and at noon Bill called again. This time Nora admitted to being alone.
"Was Peggy with you earlier?" Bill asked.
"Yes."
"Here's hoping she didn't guess it was I calling you."
"She didn't," Nora said. "What did you want, Bill?"
"I called Madera, California this morning," he said. "And talked to Phil."
"Did he say that he has that woman with him?"
"I'll tell you about it when I see you," Bill said. "I'm taking a long lunch hour today. How about meeting me?"
"Oh, for Pete's sake, Bill," Nora said impatiently. "Tell me what I want to know. Don't play games."
He said, "How about meeting me at the Old Valley Inn at one-thirty, baby?"
"I will not."
"You want to know what Phil told me, don't you?"
She did, but she said, "I'm not so sure I do if it's going to cost me."
"Just have a drink with me, baby."
"All right But no more than that. Don't get your hopes up. I'm not going to be talked into anything."
"Okay, Nora," he said laughing and hung up.
She went to dress and had just stepped from the shower when the telephone rang again. She hastily dried herself and took the call on the bedroom extension.
Ron Hughes said, "Nora, I've been thinking about you, chick. You?"
Nora had to smile-he was back to the kid lingo again.
"I've been busy," she said. "Doing what?" "Many things."
He was silent so long she almost hung up.
"Nora?" he said then. "Yes, Ron?"
"Mom just got around to telling me you had some stuff to be picked up yesterday. Can I come over now? Strictly official."
She saw her reflection in the mirror of the dressing table across the room. Her completely nude self holding the telephone. Wearing nothing but a frown, she thought.
She said, "I'm dressing to go out, Ron. I have an engagement. But I can leave the envelope near the door for you "No deal. Meet me tonight?" "Absolutely not." . .
"For a little while?"
"I couldn't if I wanted to," she said. "I'm going to help out at the Youth Center tonight." She was glad he had called. Playing hard to get was part of her plans. She said, "I've got to hang up now. I haven't much time."
"All right, chick. Next time you call me."
She slammed the receiver. She was damned if she would do any such thing. But she also felt uneasy.
She stood for a moment, looking at herself in the mirror and thinking how fouled up things were for her. Bill Lambert would almost certainly try to maneuver her into bed and she was deliberately baiting Ron Hughes into a compromising situation and probably succeeding. She herself had proven unexpectedly susceptible to simple sex-but the man she loved, her husband, did not want her. She felt that life was being wholly unfair to her.
FOURTEEN
Nora had never been to the Old Valley Inn but she knew its location and reputation. It was at the same time out of the way and yet conveniently located for assignations. She took it for granted she knew why Bill Lambert had chosen it for their meeting. He had done a favor she had asked for and now he intended to ask one of her. Well, he could go ahead and ask. She could and would say no.
His dark blue Mercury was parked among a half-dozen other cars when she pulled in at the place. Bill was perched on a stool at the bar when she went inside, There were a few other men at the bar, and a woman sat with two men at a table. Even as Bill gave Nora a welcoming smile, he looked her over from head to foot There was as much desire as admiration in his eyes, and she wondered peevishly if he were so insatiable that he never got enough sex.
"Hi, baby," he said as she took the stool to his right "You're looking wonderful."
She was wearing a yellow dress with white shoes and accessories. She knew she looked summer-fresh but decided not to feel complimented. She was sure that any halfway attractive woman looked wonderful to Bill.
When she did not speak, he asked, "What'll you drink?"
"Whatever you're having," she said. "I don't much care."
He signaled the barman and ordered a double bourbon on the rocks for her. He still had most of his own drink.
When hers came, she took a swallow of it and then looked at him expectantly.
"Tell me," she said.
"Don't be in such a rush, baby," he said. "We'll talk after you've finished your drink. I've taken a room and we'll go upstairs where we can talk in private."
"You're wasting your time, Bill," she said. "You want too much for too littie."
He studied her for a long moment and evidently decided that she was in earnest. He looked disappointed, then shrugged and reached for his drink. After a pull at it, he grinned a bit sheepishly.
"Well, anyone who looks like you can't hate a guy for trying," he said. "I asked Phil what you wanted me to, and I felt like an SOB. He-" "Bill, don't he to me," she cut in. "I've got to know the truth. It's important to me."
"What makes you think I'd lie?"
"There are two reasons you might. One, to cover for a friend. Two, to spare me hurt. A third might be that you're not getting what you want from me."
"You're right, of course," Bill said sourly. "All right, I won't he to you. Phil said he does have the dame with him. I guess it means he's serious about her-or thinks he is. But you've got to. . . ."
He went on talking in a clumsy attempt to keep her from feeling defeated. She barely listened. She heard his voice but not his words. The hurt had come instantly and was unbearable. She told herself that this was the end for Phil and her. She convinced herself of it. She reached blindly for her drink, her vision blurred by tears. She drank down the whole of the double shot, looked at Bill.
"All right-take me upstairs."
He gazed at her with concern. "Look, Nora-you don't want that. Just take it easy. Things aren't as bad as they seem. Phil will have his fling and then come back to you, believe me."
She picked up her purse, got off her stool.
"Are you coming?" she demanded. And then, in a shattering voice: "Can't you see that I want it-to stop thinking?"
Bill hesitated no longer. He rose from his stool and i led her upstairs. She gave herself to him in complete abandon-because of her need to forget Phil's continued infidelity . . . because Bill's wife, too, cheated-because [her own moral standards were completely crumbled . . .
They could not get enough of each other and it nearly five o'clock before Bill said that he had to back to his office.
His lunch hour had been a long one indeed.
Nora arrived at the Youth Center at seven-thirty. For her evening as chaperone, she had dressed casually. She wore a blouse, skirt and flats. She had managed to blot the afternoon out of her mind. She refused to flagellate herself with a sense of guilt. Why should she feel guilty, when she had merely done what everybody was doing?
The Center was already swarming with kids. As usual, she found Dave Mallory in the rec room. He welcomed her with a smile and that look that once had made her. believe he found her somehow special. If he knew her better, he would no longer find her so.
"I'm glad to see you, Nora," he told her. "The place is really going to jump tonight."
"I can see that it is," Nora said. "What are my duties?"
"Just make sure that none of them pair off and slip away to some dark corner," Dave said. "They'll try it, you can be sure. I've got the basement locked. But some may go into the library and manage to block the door-it opens inward -- or even into a closet or the utility room. We can't have them going too far on the premises."
"I'll keep close watch," she promised.
"There'll be couples leaving now and then, to go for rides gosh only knows where. We can't keep them from: doing that. What these kids do away from the Center is not our responsibility. Oh, yes-if any of the boys start a rough house, let me know."
"You'll be here the whole time?"
Dave nodded. "Until closing," he said. "You can circulate if you like. No need to stay in any one room And if you want to get away from it all how and then, go to my office." He gave her another smile. It you get bored, come talk to me." "Will do," Nora said, smiling back at him.
She did not become bored. Boredom was impossible for her these days and she was grateful to the teeners for intruding on her introspections. They were constantly active and noisy, sometimes to the point of being boisterous. In the big room, they danced to records. Occasionally, some of the boys did become rowdy but they always stopped before Nora thought it necessary to summon Dave Mallory. In the rec room, some played ping-pong, darts, and card games with much good-natured banter between them. Some sat watching television or merely chattering. The vending machines in the hall did a brisk business. Everybody seemed to be having fun, or at least pretended to. As Dave had said, couples did now and then make their departure. Most of them returned after a half-hour or so. Nora supposed they went off to neck for j a little while. She could only guess at the activities of those who did not come back. ' Shortly after nine o'clock, she found Dave taking a cigarette break in the hall.
"How goes it?" he asked.
"Smoothly," she said. "No trouble at all."
"The kids like you. They don't have the feeling that you're finding fault with them. Some of the women take chaperoning too seriously. They let their disapproval I show."
"Well, I don't disapprove. They're only kids once. And being a teener is sometimes a painful thing." Oddly, she was thinking of Ron Hughes as she spoke-the boy upon whom she hoped to inflict both pain and disgrace. "Are they really enjoying themselves, Dave?"
"Only as much as their growing pains let them," he said. "Me, I wouldn't want to be their age again for anything."
"I wouldn't, either," Nora told him.
A little later she looked into the library, a small room furnished with shelves of books, a rack of magazines, a long table, and a dozen chairs. When she had looked in earlier the place had always been empty. She was surprised to see a boy there now. He was sitting at the table reading a magazine.
It was Ron Hughes.
He looked up and gave her a smile. He said, "Hello, Mrs. Rigby," in an exaggeratedly proper tone.
She knew why he had come and for a moment she was angry. Then she had to laugh, not only at his overdone air of propriety but because his coming suggested her plan was working-she was making him come to her, despite his threat earlier on the phone to reverse their relationship. She was only slightly disturbed at the vague thrill that shot through her-it was simply, she thought, a sense of imminent victory. She needed some victory-no matter how small-needed it badly.
She said, "Hello, Ron. What are you doing in here? Why don't you join the other kids?"
"I don't like any of them."
"You could get to like them if you'd try."
"I'd rather sit here and read."
"Well, that's up to you," she said. "But you should mix more with people your own age. Even if you don't plan to sell insurance."
"So you remember I said so."
He smiled in a way that reached her and she turned from the library doorway, determined not to become involved with him tonight. He was not her immediate problem. She went back to the room across the hall and watched the other kids-trying but failing to put Ron out of her mind. She still could neither simplify nor control her basic emotional reaction to the boy-she could handle it on the surface, but deep down in her he aroused passions that shook her. Love and hate, both?
And both unrecognizable.
Between then and closing time she looked into the library a half-dozen times. He remained there, apparently reading. His attitude annoyed her-she knew he was hoping to meet her later. She had no intention of permitting any such thing and rather than give him a chance to suggest it, she did not speak to him again.
At last Dave Mallory announced over the speaker, "Curfew, kids. Everybody out. Good night."
There were protests. Moans, groans, hoots, jeers, Bronx cheers. But the youngsters obediently quit their various activities and began to drift out of the building. Nora stood in the hall and watched them go. She saw Ron make his departure. He tried to catch her eye. She did not let him. He remained aloof from the swarm of boys and girls as he left the place.
Nora had left her purse in Dave's office and when the last kid had left she went there to get it. Dave came in while she was touching up her lips. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked. "No, it wasn't," she said. "I enjoyed it." "You'll come again?" "Yes, of course." "Tomorrow night?" "I could, I suppose."
"If you have something better to do, say so," he said, grinning at her.' "It's just that I like you here with me. You're good. You don't fuss with the kids. But you can beg off, you know."
"I've nothing better to do, really."
"Your husband's away again?"
She nodded. "In California."
"Well, come tomorrow night if you feel like it," he said. "I have somebody else lined up, in case you can't make it."
"Then you really don't need me?" "The Saturday night crowd is always the biggest. The more helpers I have the better."
"I'll come," she said. They walked out together.
He said, "I usually stop in O'Hara's Grill for a beer. I'd like to ask you along, but well, what do you think?"
"I think we'd better not give even the slightest excuse for tongues to wag. For your sake, more than mine. But thanks, anyway. Good night."
"Good night, Nora," he said. "And thanks again for helping out."
She went to the side of the building and got into her station wagon. Dave stood at the tavern entrance as she drove along the street. He saw her and waved. She found herself thinking about him as she drove on, wondering if it were possible that there was no romantic interest in his life. Certainly a man such as he needed feminine companionship-or did he have such firm control over himself? She suddenly wished she had gone with him for a drink-and to hell with gossipy Birchwood.
As she turned a corner she suddenly saw Ron Hughes's MG parked a short distance from the intersection. When she drove past him, he pulled out from the curb and followed her. Two blocks farther on, she pulled over and stopped. As she had expected, he stopped behind her. He got out of his car and came to the driver's side of the station wagon.
He grinned. "We meet again."
She stared at him angrily for a long moment, then opened the door and moved across the seat.
"Get in," she ordered. "Take me where you want to."
He ran back to his car, took his keys, switched off his lights, returned and got into the station wagon. He pulled out at once, drove to the next intersection and headed out of town to the same country road they had driven their other night together. He did not turn into the lovers' lane, however. He went on for a couple of miles and turned in at the entrance to an old, abandoned farm.
No other cars were parked here. After he had parked, he turned to her.
"What do you want of me?" Nora demanded. "Only to be with you," he said. "For a little while." "Oh, quit pretending. You're not that innocent." "What do you mean?"
"You know very well what goes on between men and women." "Yes, but-" "And don't tell me you've never had a woman."
He was silent for a long moment. He said as though ashamed, "I did, twice. Once I went with a couple fellows to a place in South Hanford. A pretty crummy place. And the other time-I don't want to talk about that."
"Why don't you?" "I wish you wouldn't ask."
"All right, I won't ask questions," she said. "I'll be exactly the pushover you want me to be-" She did not know why she thus offered herself to him -certainly this was not part of her premeditated plan of revenge-though it could be made to fit. Perhaps she did it because Ron had helped to make sex meaningless to her. Perhaps she did it from that passionate anger he always roused in her-she stopped trying to reason out her motives.
He stared incredulously at her. "I-I didn't think of doing that with you."
"Well, make up your mind," she told him flatly. "You'd better want it now-you'll never get another chance."
Ron hesitated, then reached for her awkwardly-more clumsily than he had kissed her the last time. She submitted to his kisses and caresses. When he fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, she pushed his clumsy hands away and helped him. She pulled the blouse out of her skirt, reached up under it, behind her, and unhooked her bra. He captured her breasts at once and at last his awkwardness vanished into a curious tenderness.
Unaccountably, as she helped him with his inexpert brand of lovemaking, Nora found herself weeping. Some of the nightmare of her wedding-anniversary violation was swept away-she remembered he had been gentle then, too-and the last to take her. Perhaps he had not wanted her at all that night, but had simply conformed to the pattern of his society and surroundings.
Her hatred of him vanished-love did not take its place. She could not love him but not hating him at least for the moment was a relief. Hate could be as burdensome as love-and not feeling either, Nora found herself weeping for her own lost teens and their dreams -as much as for Ronnie's.
For whatever she was giving him, it was not what he wanted-though perhaps at the moment he was too young to know it.
FIFTEEN
Instead of his usual beer at O'Hara's, Dave Mallory ordered a double bourbon and water. It occurred to him that strong drink was becoming his usual antidote to Nora Rigby, though the last time he had required even more than that. He hoped the whiskey would dull the desire touched off in him again by his contact with Nora. It did not. He left O'Hara's and drove to the Old Valley Inn.
Tonight the barroom was better patronized than usually, but a look about showed Dave no unaccompanied women. He had hoped that Anna Kulaski would again be there but she was not.
He took a stool at the bar and ordered another double. He seldom drank heavily but he knew that enough of the -stuff dulled any emotion. Tonight he was beset by the disturbing conviction that he was in love with Nora. Really in love, not merely lustful. Which meant that he had been foolish to ask her to come to the Center again tomorrow night, for the more often he saw her the more difficult controlling his feelings would become.
He sipped his drink and wondered why Nora. Because she was good with kids-seemed to communicate with them almost as he did, on a dual level-adult and teen. They had that priceless thing in common that could make a unit of their life's work. He wondered what she shared with her husband-not his work, certainly, which kept him mostly away from home.
She probably shared nothing more with him than a bed -and she probably was not a woman who strayed. But if all she shared with her husband was sex, she might stray with a little help, a voice in Dave's mind said. He was not without male conceit and knew that women found him attractive. He could recall a dozen women-some of them married and the mothers of teenagers-who had found in his interest in young people a sexual stimulant. He felt there was a chance that if he played his cards right, he might make Out with Nora.
He toyed with the idea of making a play for her tomorrow night, then saw his reflection in the back-bar mirror. What he wanted from Nora was more than a one-night stand-what he wanted would wreck her marriage. He did not like the image of himself as a home-wrecker.
A woman took the stool to his right. She was wearing a cocktail dress and a matching stole about her shoulders. She looked him over, made her decision, then started the cigarette bit. He watched from the corner of his eye while she opened her purse, got out a pack of cigarettes, selected a cigarette, and turned to him.
He already had his lighter out and jumped her line. Grinning, he said, "Sure, I can give you a light."
She laughed, gazed intimately into his eyes as she puffed her cigarette alight. She was not young. Make-up applied with a heavy hand failed to hide her haggard look or the weariness deep in her eyes. Obviously, she had seen too much of men. But her smile, as she thanked him for the light, was as eager and full of promise as a young girl's.
"Buy you a drink?" Dave asked. "I'd like you to," she said, and turned toward him so that her left thigh pressed against his right.
She would do, Dave told himself. She would have to do.
Nora awoke in the morning to an impression that her whole world had come apart at the seams. Her first troubled thought, as usual, concerned Phil. Her second was the memory of her wanton behavior with Bill Lambert yesterday afternoon and with Ron Hughes last night. What disturbed her most was the realization that she had invited both episodes and-in different ways, had gotten something out of each. What she had received was as difficult a question to answer as what she had become.
But neither episode would recur. She would not see Bill again under any circumstances. As for Ron-whatever unfinished business remained between him and her had solely to do with the night of her original violation-not future sex escapades. In fact, he had virtually absolved himself in her eyes last night-she would only use him now to avenge herself on his two companions, though he might have to suffer with them when her moment arrived.
Hoping to lift herself out of her depression, she drove to Hanford in the early afternoon. She ate lunch in a pleasant restaurant and did a little shopping. By the time she returned home, shortly after four o'clock, she was in better spirits.
Ron did not appear at the Youth Center that evening, but his absence, strangely, did not keep him out of her thoughts. She kept wondering what he was doing. As though, she thought with self-annoyance, he would not know how to get through an evening without her. At last, she had to admit the truth-she was a little disappointed that he had not come to the Center again.
The other woman who had also served as chaperone tonight, a Mrs. Van Cleaf, left early. Nora stayed until dosing time and again waited until Dave Mallory locked up.
As they left the darkened building, Dave said, "Tonight I'm asking you to have a drink with me-and hang the consequences. Will you?"
Nora hesitated briefly, then nodded. "If you're game, so am I."
They went to O'Hara's Grill, where the barman, the cocktail waitress and the dozen or more customers knew Dave and greeted him with easy familiarity. They stared unabashedly at Nora, the men sizing her up and the women taking her apart. Their collective interest in seeing Dave Mallory with a woman was written all over them.
Dave and Nora found an unoccupied booth, ordered drinks.
Nora said, "Dave, we've made a mistake. Some of them must have noticed my wedding band. It'll be talked all over town that you were out with a married woman."
"So let it be," Dave said. "I wanted to be with you, and I'm not letting a bunch of busy bodies spoil life for me." He got out cigarettes, gave her one and took one for himself. Holding his lighter for her, he said, "Of course, you've got a reputation to consider. I should have thought of that."
"I thought of it," Nora said. "And still I'm here."
He looked into her eyes while lighting his own cigarette, then said softly, "Why are you here with me, Nora?"
"Because I want to be," she told him. "Because I know you want me to be."
"Does it show-the way I feel about you?"
"You aren't very good at hiding your feelings, Dave."
"They started the first time you came to the Cent didn't want them to. I fought against them."
"Why me, Dave, when you meet so many women?"
He shrugged. "Who knows why? We work well together."
"Isn't there anyone in your life?" He shook his head. "And you don't get lonely?" "Very lonely, at times." "And then?"
"Then I find companionship, of course," he said candidly. "The kind that can be had for a price." He took a swallow of his drink, looking at her intently the while. "Recently, that companionship has had to do as a substitute for the companionship of the woman I can't have."
"Maybe I'd better not come to the Center any more, Dave."
"If you didn't, forgetting you might be easier for me," he said. "But only for a night-I'll never forget you completely. Are you in love with your husband?"
"Yes," Nora said. "Very much."
After that Dave found nothing more to say, and they left the tavern as soon as their drinks were finished. As they walked out, they were again the target of almost every pair of eyes in the place.
On the sidewalk, Nora said, "You'd better go back in there and have another drink without me-so they won't suspect we're having an assignation."
"I suppose I'd better, for both our reputations."
"Thanks for the drink."
"Thanks for having it with me."
They stood there looking at each other, finding it difficult to part. Nora sensed that at a word from her he would defy the busy bodies inside the tavern and go with her to some place where they could be alone. She was tempted. Being made love to by a man who really loved her was something she needed. Neither Bill Lambert nor Ron qualified in that respect. Ron's feeling for her was no more than a teener's crush-if that. In the final analysis she might turn up in Ron's memory as nothing more than an "experience."
That would be when he was older.
She put temptation from her, told Dave good night and turned quickly away.
After all, she thought, I can't sleep with everybody . . .
She got her station wagon from the Youth Center parking lot and drove toward home. She saw nothing of Dave in front of O'Hara's. But at the same intersection as last night, the red MG appeared suddenly behind her. She decided to ignore Ron's presence, and go straight home. But then some impulse caused her to turn off the main highway to the now familiar country road. Ten minutes later she parked on the dark, lonely driveway of the abandoned farm. , Ron had followed her, of course. He parked behind her, came to the station wagon, got in beside her.
"Don't talk," she said. "I don't want to hear any little boy whining about his lack of experience tonight."
He looked at her for a moment, all his tough, young certainties gone. Finally, almost humbly he reached for her. She gave herself over to his still inexpert kisses and clumsy caresses-but desire, pulsating and warm, spread through her. At least, she was giving, not being taken or used. After a time, she bared her breasts to him as she had done the night before and again he made haste to capture them.
He kissed and fondled them for a long time, then asked, "Would you like to do-what we did last night?"
"Yes, but not in that fashion," Nora said, caught up in a maelstrom of passion.
"Tonight-I'll show you the right way."
SIXTEEN
"I love you, Nora." He sounded almost like a man. Nora smiled and held his face against her bosom. He still needed a mother more than a mistress. She might be doing the wrong thing, making a man of him too soon-but he had no real mother.
It had been quickly over, too quickly-though not like last night-and she was in a torment of passion, still aflame. She was unfulfilled-last night she had not minded, but tonight her body cried out for more. But she was not angry, she would not let herself be, for she had taken a boy and could not fault him for not having performed like a man.
"And I'm fond of you, Ron," she said and realized it was the truth. From hating him she had come to like him, and now, because his flesh had mingled with hers, she knew a new feeling of tenderness for him.
He lifted his face and said huskily, "I never had anybody who really cared about me until now. You won't ever stop letting me see you, will you, Nora?"
She said, not unkindly, "I'll have to soon, darling."
"But I need you-I'll always need you."
"I know, Ron, but when my husband comes home-| "I hope he never does."
"Please," she said with dismay. "Don't say that." "I don't like his having you."
She thought bleakly of her marriage. She said nothing.
Ron said, "But you'll let me have you until he does come home, won't you?"
She thought, How quickly even a boy learns...
She said, "It's too dangerous, darling. People will catch on. There could be a terrible scandal. I'd be thought an awful woman. Your parents would be angry with you."
"My parents left today to spend some time in New York before going to Europe," he said. "They won't find out about us."
"Somebody else will find out and tell them. It's bound to happen."
"My folks wouldn't care. They don't give a damn about me." "They do care, believe me," Nora said. "No matter how you feel that they've neglected you, they certainly care. I'm sorry, Ron, but I'm afraid to go on meeting you."
"Maybe you don't want to," he said accusingly.
"Now you're being silly," she said. "Let me up, please. I'm not exactly comfortable."
She had not been comfortable, and she had not been satisfied. Making love with a boy in the back seat of a car was not her cup of tea. She sat up, smoothed down her skirt and buttoned her blouse. She opened the door and got out. He followed her.
"You're going home now?"
"Yes. It's very late."
"Will you see me again-at least once more?"
"I'll think about it," she said, reluctant to hurt him but not wanting to commit herself. She kissed him. "Good night now."
She got in behind the wheel, switched on motor and lights. She had some difficulty turning the big car on the narrow road but finally managed it. Ron still stood by his car, looking after her. She waved to him. He called after her, "I'll phone you, Nora-" Don't, she silently told him. Don't phone me or try to see me... Not that she was really through with him, but neither did she need nor want a boy to mother. She wanted a grown man-she wanted Phil. If she lost Phil, she wanted a husband-one all her own, not someone else's, i But Phil was in California with a woman named Kitty Marvin. She was here with a boy named Ron Hughes. The situation was still a continuation of that nightmare evening.
Sunday, another bright spring day. Another day of loneliness, guilt and worry. And of disappointment. Phil did not call. He had always before called her on Sunday when he had been away. But not any more. Not since he had found Kitty Marvin. Call him? She could but she would not. To force the issue would be an invitation to disaster.
The telephone was silent all day-at eight o'clock that evening it rang. Nora guessed even before picking it up that the caller would be Ron.
"Nora, you said you'd meet me once more."
"I promised to think about it," she told him.
"Please, I want to be with you so badly I can't think of anything else. I need you."
"All right," she finally said. "Don't whine. I'll meet you at nine o'clock."
She put down the telephone, annoyed with him and herself. But she still had use for him, though not for sex. And he seemed to have a real need of her.
He was waiting when she drove into the lane. He was standing by his car and came to the station wagon as soon as she brought it to a stop. His hands went immediately to her. She pushed them away.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"More than you know," she told him bitterly. "I think you're a doll-but I don't want to make love again on the back seat of a car."
"But what will we do?"
"We've got to find a place," she said. "I want it in bed. We can't go together to a motel. But we'll go separately and each take a room-then get together. There are a number of motels on the south side of Hanford.
Let's drive over there. I'll pick one out and stop. You can keep behind me and see which one, then come back later. All right?"
"I guess so," Ron said. "But I know a place we can go. It would be better. My folks have a cottage at Laurel Lake. I've a key. What do you think?"
She kissed him impulsively. "I think that's a fine idea."
They went in their separate cars, Nora following the boy. It took them nearly an hour to reach the cottage. Located on a wooded slope, midway between the highway and the lake, the cottage was of stone, redwood, and glass. Inside, it had beam ceilings, knotty-pine walls, ranch-plank floors. There was a living room, a dining room and three bedrooms, all comfortably furnished. The kitchen was adequately equipped, as was the bathroom. The place was perfect.
"How do you like it?" Ron asked.
"It's fine," she said. She nodded at the big stone fireplace in the living room. "Do you suppose we could have a fire? A little one?"
"It's pretty warm for a fire."
"I'd still like one."
"You'll have it," Ron said.
But he did not make it immediately. He took Nora into his arms. She let him kiss her but pulled away when his hands began to explore her body.
"Not now," she said. "Don't be in such a rush." While he was busy at the fireplace, she went into the kitchen to look for liquor. There was a plentiful supply in a cupboard. With the cabin not in use, the refrigerator had been disconnected. She plugged it in-in the meantime made herself a tall drink. It was warm, but still a drink. She took a can of beer from the refrigerator and opened it for Ron.
He had the fire lighted when she returned to the living room. She sent him to get a blanket from one of the bed- rooms, spread it on the floor in front of the fireplace, then turned off the lights. In the flickering glow of the log fire, she began to undress. Finally she sat cross-legged on the blanket and gazed at the slowly spreading flames while sipping her drink. Ron joined her with his can of beer.
"You make me feel good, Nora," he said, placing a hand On her thigh. "I'm really happy for the first time in my life. Do I make you happy, too?"
"Oh, sure," Nora said and thought how unhappy she really was.
"You don't seem to mean it."
"Don't let it bother you."
"I want you to be happy with me."
"Oh, I am, I am," she said. "Now be quiet. Don't talk."
He fell silent and began drinking his beer. When the can was empty, he set it aside and moved closer to her. He began fondling her and stroking. She swallowed the last of her drink, set the glass on the floor, and stretched out full-length on the blanket. She gave herself over to his kisses, his seeking caresses, letting desire come alive within her.
The heat from the fireplace coupled with alcohol had a languorous effect on Nora. She tried to instruct Ron in the art of love, but managed only to offend him.
He said, "It's not as good with me as with your husband?"
She caught the jealousy behind his words, and said soothingly, "It's just that you're young. You need experience. You mustn't be so impatient-" But he continued impatient and once more left her with her whole being screaming. She remained supine, arms out-flung. The flickering glare from the fireplace cast an ever-changing pattern of light and shadow on her body. She suffered torment, but she did not give in to disappointment and anger. She meant to be patient with Ron. She was not yet through with him.
"Go get yourself another beer, why don't you?" she suggested.
"I think I will," he said, rising. "Shall I bring you something?" "Only yourself."
That pleased him and he said, "Now you are happy."
He returned with a fresh can of beer and sat down beside her. There was nothing of the small boy about him at the moment. In the uncertain light, his face had the look of a man's. His tall, clean-limbed body glistened with perspiration brought on by the heat from the fireplace and his recent exertions.
Nora looked at him fondly but speculatively. She said, "Tell me about the other two women you had."
He looked startled and embarrassed. "What's there to tell?"
"I want to know everything about you, Ron."
"It wasn't anything," he said reluctantly. "I was with a couple of fellows from school one night. They got some beer from a place that sells to minors. After we'd drunk a few cans each, the other two guys got to talking about- well, they'd had girls already. I hadn't. They decided to go to a place in South Hanford that they'd heard about. I refused, but they said I was chicken."
"So you went with them?" "Yes."
"Then what?"
Ron shrugged his bare shoulders. "The woman didn't want to let us in because we were so young. But one of my friends told her we had plenty of money and would pay double. When one of the women inside told me to come upstairs with her, I was scared. Scared to go and scared not to."
"But you went?"
Ron nodded. "Did you like it?"
"Sure."
"What about the other woman you mentioned?"
Ron drank more beer, then said uneasily, "Don't make me talk about that. I don't like even remembering it. It was a pretty lousy thing-" "Tell me."
"Well, I was with these two fellows another night. We'd been at a joint here at Laurel Lake. And we'd drunk a lot. On the way home, by the back road, we saw a man and a woman. The man was changing a fiat. We stopped and offered to help. Then we jumped him and grabbed the woman."
Nora said in a tight voice, "What was she like?"
"I don't remember," he said. "I'd had so much to drink that it was all fuzzy for me afterward. I was scared-and I didn't like any of it. But I remember being mad, too- mad at the whole lousy world. I'd been kicked out of school and had a fight with the old man. I wanted to hurt people-I was still like that when I met you. You changed my whole life."
"Do you ever see the boys you were with that night?"
"No. I've given them up."
"What are their names?"
"I-I don't want to tell you that, Nora. You know."
"Did you enjoy raping the woman?"
"I was mad, but I felt sorry for that woman. I don't like to think about it."
This is my chance, Nora told herself. But she could not put it into words. She was unable to accuse him point-blank-threaten him with scandal, his parents with disgrace. She was in a position to hurt him now as much as he had hurt her. But she could not do it.
Instead she silently held out her arms to him.
He set down his beer, came to her. And this time he was, as she had hoped, much better. Perhaps looking back had been good for him-sharing what had probably been his guiltiest experience had suddenly matured him Each night during the following week, Nora went to the lakeside cottage after dark and met Ron. They made love and she no longer scolded him-in fact, she began to wonder if she were not falling in love with Ron. That his feeling for her was rapidly outgrowing the simple crush stage was amply evident-he was growing both possessive and considerate. He no longer asked but took-and he had learned to give.
One night they found a car parked in the driveway-a big, black Continental. It stood beside the cottage. Nora had arrived first, and though the cottage was dark, she thought someone must be inside. She parked her station wagon in the woods and hurried back up the road to flag down Ron as he turned in from the highway.
"Ron, somebody's here," she said in a tense whisper. "That car-we'd better get away before we're seen."
Ron got out of the MG. He shook his head. He said no one could be in the cottage. "It's somebody who went into the woods. It's happened before-people park here for an hour or so. Don't worry about it."
"Well, if you're sure it's only that."
"I'm sure," he said. "Nobody has a key but my folks and me. Come on, Nora."
They went in, turned on the living room lights. Nora was still uneasy, but there were no signs, at least in the living room, that anyone else was in the cottage. Ron laughed at her look of concern and pulled her down on the sofa with him. He began to take his usual liberties with her and she gradually relaxed.
Then a voice said amusedly, "Well, what have we here?"
They pulled apart, jumped to their feet, stared at the girl who had come from the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She was a lushly built blonde and she was pulling on a man's shirt. The shirt was a necessity, for she was wearing nothing but the briefest of black scanties.
SEVENTEEN
The shirt did little to conceal her nudity, for she left it hanging unbuttoned. She had a magnificent body, full-breasted, narrow waisted, broad-hipped, long-legged. She looked drowsy, as though she had just awakened from a sound sleep. She also looked as though she had recently been made love to-her blond hair was tousled and her lipstick smeared. She came brazenly forward.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
Ron was staring at her, narrow-eyed. Nora remembered the young tough look-he had not been using it lately.
He said, "I'm Ron Hughes. This cottage belongs to my parents. Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"
The girl continued to smile as she looked from him to Nora and obviously noted the difference in their ages.
She said, "I'm Margo Forbes and I'm here with my friend. The owner of this place said he could use it. We got here at six o'clock, had a drink and hit the sack. We both fell asleep after a while and then I heard you come in."
From one of the bedrooms a man's voice called, "Hey, baby, what's going on?"
"You'd better come in here, lover," the blonde called back. "We've got company-and I think they're going to evict us."
The man appeared shortly, wearing only trousers. He scowled sleepily. He was burly, gray-haired and seemed almost three times as old as the blonde.
Nora's heart sank, for she knew him-and he her. He was George Pearson, the contractor who had built most of the more expensive homes in Birchwood. He had built her own house. She also knew his wife, a rather attractive woman in her late fifties who was forever talking about her grandchildren.
Pearson was staring from Nora to Ron and back again, putting two and two together. He began to grin.
"Hello, Mrs. Rigby-hi, Ron," he said heartily. "I hope you're not going to evict us, fella. Your dad gave me a key to this place and said I could use it any time while he and your mother are in Europe. I guess I should have called you, eh?" Not waiting for a reply, he went on, "Margo and I planned to stay until tomorrow night. But we don't want to spoil anything for you two."
Nora said, "Ron, we'd better go."
George Pearson said, "Why do that? We're all here for the same purpose-to enjoy the weekend. Stick around a while and we'll have a party. We brought more than enough food and liquor along. I'll go fix some drinks. What do you say, Ron?"
"All right," Ron said. "We'll all stay." He looked at Nora. "All right with you?"
Margo answered for her. "Sure, it's all right," she said. And then to Nora: "We'll have a ball, honey."
And Nora did not know now how to refuse. If Pearson chose to talk, her reputation was ruined in any case. It was best to humor the man.
George started toward the kitchen to make drinks. Ron called after him that he would have a beer. When the older man returned and passed out the drinks, neither he nor Margo showed any inclination to make themselves decent. The girl continued to wear only the unbuttoned shirt and black scanties, George nothing but his trousers. Margo noticed the record-player in a corner of the room and put on a stack of discs. The music did away with any need for conversation and the four of them sat and worked on their drinks without talking.
Finishing her drink, Margo got from her chair and went to the bedroom she and George were using. When she returned, she was wearing high-heeled shoes.
"Anyone for dancing?" she asked.
George begged off and she turned to Ron, who sat beside Nora on a couch.
"Do you mind, honey?" she asked Nora. Without waiting for a reply, she took Ron's hand and pulled him to his feet.
The boy set his beer can on a table and took her into his arms. They continued to dance, record after record, and Nora finally got up and went to the kitchen for another drink. Jealousy began to nag her.
George came for a refill. He eyed Nora with lively interest and said, "You could have bowled me over. The male population of Birchwood has you pegged as a babe who doesn't play around. But you turn out to be a play-girl. You like them young, eh?"
"This particular one."
"He's a damn good-looking kid, but I'd have thought a woman like you would need more of a man. Husband away?"
Pouring gin over the ice cubes she had dropped into her glass, Nora said, "Yes. He's in California."
"So is my wife. She's visiting our daughter and her family. Sometimes we do get a lucky break, eh?"
"If you call it that," Nora said. She added soda to the gin, stirred the drink, then turned to face George. "You're not going to spread this around, are you?"
Grinning, he said, "When I'm playing the same game?" He shook his head. "Don't worry about that." Then, building a new drink for himself: "You and the kid staying overnight?"
"No. We usually leave around midnight."
"Stay over tonight. We can keep the party going over tomorrow."
"I don't know."
"Think about it."
"All right," she said, eyeing him uncertainly.
He was big and rugged looking. He looked like a man who had once done manual labor. She remembered having heard him boast that he had started out in life as a bricklayer. His bare upper body was still muscular. His chest was broad and covered with a mat of graying black hair.
"You stay and maybe we can trade partners later on- for a little variety," he said. "I can have the blonde any day in the week. But I'm not likely to get another chance at you soon. What do you say, baby?"
"We'll see," Nora said. She had no intention of changing partners even if she and Ron did stay overnight.
Ron and Margo had stopped dancing when Nora and George went back to the living room. Margo was sitting on the floor. Ron was turning over the records on the player. He has removed his shirt and was, like George, nude from the waist up. It was warm-but not that warm, Nora thought.
The decision to stay overnight was made for her. Ron and Margo danced again. They did not break it up until George, with several more drinks in him, became unashamedly amorous. He called Margo to him, drew her down to his lap and they began necking. Nora had made a second trip to the kitchen to freshen her drink and she was beginning to feel tipsy. Ron came and sat with her on the couch, nursing another beer. He watched George and Margo for a time and finally suggested to Nora that they go to bed. It was nearly one o'clock, too late to think of going back to Birchwood.
George and Margo had taken the big, middle bedroom for themselves. Nora and Ron went into the small one at the rear.
As they lay abed in the darkened room, locked in each other's arms, Nora said, "Margo really sends you, doesn't she?"
"She's fun," Ron said. "And pretty. But I can't understand what she sees in a man as old as George."
"She sees in him what you see in me," Nora's "And I'll scratch her eyes out if she makes a play you. Now love me."
Later, before she fell asleep, she heard George and Margo enter the next room. The two talked and laughed for a little while, then became silent.
Nora awoke with a hangover and a feeling that she was suffocating. Brassy sunlight was shining through the open window and no movement of air stirred the foliage outside. The room was stifling. She rose and closed the drapes against the glare of the sun. She gathered up her clothes, opened the door and looked into the hall. No one was there to see her, so she ducked across to the bathroom.
A shower did little to refresh her. Her body felt damp by the time she was dressed and while she combed her hair, tiny beads of moisture collected on her upper lip. Because of the heat, she applied no makeup except lipstick.
She went to the kitchen, threw open the door and windows. Nothing helped. Hot, humid air came in through, the screens.
She looked into the refrigerator and saw that George and Margo had stocked in with a variety of food. She took out a large can of orange juice and a package of sweet rolls. She punctured the can and poured juice into a tall glass. She sipped the juice while filling the percolator to make coffee. The kitchen seemed to grow hotter by the minute and she closed the door and windows and drew the blinds. The dimness at least gave an illusion of coolness.
Margo came into the kitchen. The blonde was dressed as she had been last night, black scanties and George's white shirt. The shirt was limp and wrinkled. "Boy, is it hot," Margo said. "And, boy, am I beat." She got a glass of orange juice and seated herself at the table. "I thought it was always cool in the mountains."
"These aren't much as mountains go, Margo."
"I'd as soon be back in my air-conditioned bedroom," the blonde said. "That's quite a guy you've got-real dreamy. But aren't you close to robbing the cradle?"
"In a way, I suppose."
"How is he in bed?"
"He's learning," Nora said. And not liking the conversation, she asked in barbed tones, "How is George in bed?"
"He's a real stud," Margo said, taking no offense. "You're married, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am. You don't need to remind me." ' "I was married once. Until my husband came home unexpectedly one day and found me in bed with his best friend." Margo laughed. "He's married again but I see him often. He turns up at my apartment two, three times a month for a handout."
"A handout?"
"Spelled s-e-x."
Nora wished suddenly that she had gone home last night. She did not like Margo's openly casual attitude toward sex. Not that she herself had not been promiscuous lately, but she had not yet learned to discuss it freely with strangers.
After her breakfast, she went outside. She expected it to be cooler outdoors, but the heat was unbearable in the sun and the trees made little difference. With the sunlight glimmering dizzyingly on the water, even the lake gave no illusion of coolness. She soon went back indoors.
Ron got up at eleven o'clock. He went to the lake for a swim. Nora had breakfast ready for him when he returned. He sat at the kitchen table in his jockey shorts, with beads of water still clinging to his bare body.
"Why didn't you wake me?" he said. "I was disappointed when I woke up and you were gone."
"It was too hot to stay in bed," she told him.
Grinning at her, Ron said, "It's never too hot for that."
She looked at him, thinking that the boy Ron Hughes was no more. In appearance, manner and talk he was now a man. She thought it a little sad-he had not been exactly a nice kid. Was the change for the better?
George Pearson appeared at noon. He was wearing nothing but shorts. Suffering from a hangover, he was in a sour mood until he laced his orange juice with gin. Margo made bacon and eggs for him and began to help Nora tidy up the kitchen. Still at the table, eating and smoking a cigar, George ran his hand over Nora's bottom as she gathered up the dirty dishes.
"Why so bundled up, sweetheart?" he asked. "You expecting a cold wave?" Then, as Ron appeared at the doorway: "Hey, son, why don't you get your chick to strip down a little and be comfortable?"
Ron winked at Nora. "George is just trying to con you into giving him a free look."
"Don't think I don't know it," Nora said.
Later George and Margo set up a card table in the living room and played gin. Ron started the record-player. Nora sat in the uncomfortably hot room and wondered what she was doing there. She disliked sharing Ron with the others but he was clearly enjoying the company. George had three drinks during the nearly two hours that he and Margo played gin. When he finished his third, he called off the game and got up from his chair. His big body was shiny with sweat.
Ron stood up, too, and pulled Nora to her feet.
"Come on," he said, making it an order.
Nora was willing.
They spent the remainder of the afternoon and the whole of the evening in the room, not just enduring the heat but forgetting it entirely. By the time it began to grow dark, Nora knew that Ron had reached the limit of his endurance. She left him then, to shower and dress. When she returned to the room, the boy was sound asleep. She hesitated a moment, then went out without waking him to say she was leaving. George and Margo were still in their room. Passing their door, Nora heard the blonde When she got home, an hour later, the telephone was It was Phil, calling to say that he was coming home.
EIGHTEEN
Ron took the news of Phil's homecoming better than Nora had expected. She told him that Monday night at the cottage that Phil would arrive the following day and added: "So this will have to be our last date."
They were lying side by side in the darkened bedroom. Strangely, she felt both relieved and saddened. Her feelings toward Phil had altered subtly: though she still wanted him back, she felt her marriage was broken- and she had grown fond of Ron.
He said, "I've been wishing he wouldn't come back. But I guess you haven't been."
"No, I haven't, darling."
"Do you love him more than you do me?"
"I love you both-but differently."
"Is he planning to stay home this time?"
"I don't know," she told him. "But I think we'd better break our affair off in any case. Before we're found out and get in trouble. Pearson already knows about us. Others are bound to find out."
"Yes, I guess we'd better," he said thoughtfully, showing that he had indeed matured. "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble, Nora. But if you ever need me for anything at all, you'll call me, won't you?"
"Yes, I will," she promised.
They were silent again for a time. Finally Nora sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.
Facing him, she said, "Ron, I want to have a serious talk with you." She paused, waiting for him to look directly at her. "It's about how I became involved with you. You see-I'm the woman you and those other boys raped that Saturday night."
He looked jolted. "Oh, no!"
"It's true," she said. "I saw you one day at the shopping center with a girl. I recognized you at once. I followed you and got the "license number of your car. Later, after I learned your name, I made it a point to get your mother to invite me to your home. My purpose was to-well get you into trouble. I didn't want open scandal involving myself, but I set about making you fall in love with me-even seducing you-deliberately in order to ruin your life as completely as I could. Those first few times I met you, I hated you."
He looked shocked, oddly helpless. He seemed to be thinking back over their relationship-he avoided looking at her while the silence in the cottage grew.
At last he said slowly, "I'm sorry-truly sorry. It must have been hell for you when I-when I first began pestering you." He laughed shortly. "And I used to think I had all the answers."
She said gently, "No one ever has all the answers. I still need a few. I might have forgotten what you and those other boys did to me. I wanted to forget. But my husband couldn't. It preyed on his mind and made our marriage-at least temporarily-impossible. I won't know until I see him if we can ever patch things up again."
"I'm sorry, Nora. How you must have hated me."
"I did hate you. I don't, any more. I've learned a good deal-many things I never knew before. How difficult it can be for a boy to grow up, for one thing. How difficult for anybody-perhaps most of us spend more time growing up than we realize."
He said after a while, "Now I know why you wanted to learn the names of the kids who were with me. Do you still want to?"
"You inadvertently identified one for me on our first date. Do you remember mentioning a Bentley-Jordan big wheel who was setting a bad example for his son? Well, I wasn't sure enough to make accusations, but I thought I recognized one-Brad Stanton, wasn't it?"
Ron nodded, then asked curiously, "Why didn't you go after him?"
"I told you, I wasn't sure at first. Then-Phil works for Bentley-Jordan and I didn't want to complicate things further for him." She added thoughtfully: "I may still do something about the Stantons-the whole family."
Ron stirred uneasily. "The third kid-you don't have to do anything about him. His folks found out and moved away from Birchwood. I think they put him in a special school or something. You don't want his name, do you?"
Nora shook her head. "No."
Ron touched her arm. "You're pretty wonderful, Nora -in so many ways. I'm sorry for what we did-but I was lucky to get to know you. I was headed for bad trouble-I hated everybody. Now I feel differently- about everything." His face clouded, and he said unhappily, "I have a feeling I'll have a hard time again without you."
"You'll lick any problems that come your way," Nora told him. She smiled. "That's a promise. You're a man now, not a boy." "I'll miss loving you." She knew he would.
He went on, hesitantly, "I wasn't going to tell you-I wouldn't have if we were still going to see each other because then it wouldn't have meant anything. Margo called me this afternoon."
Frowning, Nora asked,- "What did she want?"
"She wanted me to come to her apartment."
"Did you go?"
"Of course not," Ron said. "I wouldn't cheat on you. But now that I won't have you-well, what do you think?"
"That's one kind of problem you'll have to face and lick-as I said," Nora told him. "It comes under the general heading of how you're going to run your life. Some women are good for you-others are not." She smiled. "I didn't intend to be, remember? I wanted to harm you and maybe I actually have. You said you loved me. Maybe you do. But it'll be up to you to prove whether I've been good for you. Maybe your having Margo wouldn't be as wrong as our affair has been. She's younger than I and unmarried."
Ron was silent for a long time. Then, still without speaking, he reached out and turned off the light. His arms closed about her in the darkness.
He whispered, "I want to love you one more time. It'll be a while before I'll find another girl-and she won't be like Margo."
Nora said, "We'll do anything you want-" Perhaps the next girl he found would not be like she was, either. The thought made her sad-but for his sake she hoped he would find someone better.
Perhaps the girl she once might have been-back when she had been very young.
It seemed an eternity since she had last seen Phil. He seemed a stranger-or perhaps they both had changed.
They sat facing each other in their living room. At his suggestion, they had sat down to talk things over "like two adult, civilized people." Next he had told her what she already knew, that he had met someone else, a woman named Kitty Marvin, and wanted a divorce. Nora pretended stricken surprise-she still meant to fight for him and he might as well know it.
She sat stiff-backed on the sofa, her hands clasped so tightly on her lap that they ached. She fought to keep control of herself, thinking wildly: If I let go, I'll crack up... really crack up ...
She said bleakly, "You met this woman only a few weeks ago and think you're in love with her. You lived with me for seven years and believed you loved me. If you were wrong about me, how can you be sure about "I haven't said that I don't still love you," Phil said flatly. "Let's be reasonable about this. Let's discuss it calmly. We can't undo what's happened and under the circumstances if we remain married, I'm bound to continue to be unfaithful to you. Neither of us deserves that kind of marriage."
"I'm trying to be calm," she said. "But I should be screaming and throwing things. After all, I'm the one who was wronged first."
Phil did not catch the implication in her use of the word, "first." He said, "You're simply not looking at it in the right way. You should be glad to get out of a marriage that is no longer a marriage."
"On your part it may not be, but on mine it's still a legal contract."
"Why do you want to hold me to you when I'm incapable of being a husband to you?"
"If you can be a husband to that woman, you can be one to me-if you get help." "Help?" he said. "What does that mean?"
"It means psychiatric help." "Oh, for God's sake, Nora." "Impotence is a sign of emotional disturbance."
"I'm impotent only with you."
"How lucky for you that you discovered that," she said. "How fortunate you met a tramp willing to tumble into bed with a married man."
"Nora, I wish you wouldn't act like this. Kitty is a very nice person and-" "And a pushover, by all the evidence." Phil looked distressed. He took off his glasses and ran a shaking hand over his face.
"Did you bring her East with you?" , "No."
"But she is coming here?" "Yes. In a few days."
"And you'll put her up here in Birchwood, for everybody to know?"
"She'll find a place in Hanford."
"That will be convenient for you-when you're not off on a field job. You can keep her there as your mistress, because that's all she'll be to you. You're not going to be able to marry her, for I'm not getting a divorce. And if you try to get one, I'll fight it. Oh, how I'll fight it!"
He rose from his chair, began pacing the room. He looked distraught and angry.
After a time he stopped in front of her. "All right," he said. "If that's how you want it, that's how it will be. Hold me to our marriage-if only out of spite. But I'll promise you it will be a travesty, one that'll hurt both of us."
"You'll go on seeing this woman?" "Yes, I will."
"I'll make trouble for you." Frowning, he asked, "How?"
She stood up to face him. "I've learned the name of one of those boys who messed up our lives," she said fiercely. "He happens to be Brad Stanton. Does the name mean anything to you? You once pointed him out to me at the club."
Phil stared at her. "Eric Stanton's son." Suddenly his face crimsoned. "You recognized him that night and never told me. That was why you didn't want to go to the police-you were afraid the scandal would cost me my job -your financial security." Phil was breathing hard. "You were willing to lose me as a man-but not as a good provider."
Nora said evenly, "You happen to be wrong but we can slice that bologna two ways if we're going to make this stink public. Maybe you recognized Brad and kept quiet. Maybe he was the reason you didn't put up more of a fight to save me-and later agreed not to go to the police."
Phil dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. "You know that isn't true, Nora. I wouldn't have behaved so."
Wearily Nora said, "I really don't know anything any more. I don't know you-I hardly know myself. Since this is confession hour and we're being civilized and understanding, I might as well tell you I haven't exactly behaved like a virtuous wife since you last saw me-and since I learned about your blond Kitty."
He raised a suddenly haggard face. "You've known about Kitty?"
"For some time."
"Who was the man you went to? Or were there more than one?"
"I won't tell you who," Nora said. "I'm not trying to wreck our marriage. But I will say this-I didn't have to go to anyone."
"So he-or they-came to you and you accepted." His face was tortured. "And you still think we can have a marriage?" He stood up again. "I don't care what threats you make, what stink you raise-or whom you sleep with. I'm not giving up Kitty." He turned and stalked out of the house.
NINETEEN
Nora did not expect him to come back that night but he surprised her. He returned shortly after midnight and she saw at once that he had been drinking heavily.
She had prepared for bed but, knowing she would not be able to sleep, had gone to the small television room off the living room to stare unseeing at the late movie. An overdose of tension can produce its own antidote-a desperate, unthinking calm like a prelude to storm-and Nora was experiencing this when Phil entered the room a bit unsteadily.
He had a mussed look. His hair was rumpled, his tie awry, his coat unbuttoned. He went to the TV set and switched it off, then faced her belligerently.
"All right, I'll give our marriage a chance," he said, his voice thick and his words slurred. "We'll go to bed together, and if you can work me into the mood you've managed with other men, I'll forget about the divorce. The more the merrier. Is it a deal?"
Rising, Nora said, "You're drunk and disgusting-and you're issuing ultimatums. That's no better than rape. And I've had enough of that."
He leered at her. "So whoever it was who got you into bed while I was gone didn't have to use the rape technique. What technique did you use? Show me."
He seized her roughly by the arm. She struck his hand away.
She said bitterly, "You know, Phil, after seven years I'm only now beginning to know the real you. And I don't like you very much."
"Are you going to try?"
"No, I'm not."
"It's your last chance, believe me."
"Some chance," she said. "You don't expect or want love from me."
"Did your lover or lovers? Or did they just want a roll in the sack? You know, they intrigue me. If they could make it with you, maybe I could, too."
"When you're sure, let me know."
She wanted to run from him, to escape. She forced herself to walk out of the room. She half-expected him to follow her but he did not.
She reached her bedroom safely and locked the door against him.
Phil stayed at home for a week. During this time they hardly spoke. He went to his office in the morning, came home at night. They shared breakfast and dinner but usually after dinner he either went to his study or went out. Once or twice he returned slightly drunk, but they did not argue again or discuss either marriage or divorce.
On Saturday morning he and Bill Lambert went to the country club for golf. In the afternoon he went off without a word and did not return that, night until long after she was in bed. On Sunday she went to church alone and when she returned, he was gone for the day.
She supposed that Kitty Marvin had arrived from California and was in Hanford. She had no proof, however. She did not see enough of Phil to know whether or not he was having an affair.
On Wednesday morning he packed his bags and left on a field job. He did not tell her where it was. Since he took the Buick, she assumed that it was not far from Birch-wood. She tortured herself by wondering constantly if he had taken Kitty Marvin with him.
Then on Friday morning, the telephone rang and a woman's voice said, "Mrs. Rigby, this is Kitty Marvin. Please don't hang up on me."
Taken off her guard, Nora was unable to reply.
"Mrs. Rigby?"
"Yes," Nora managed to say. "I'm listening."
"This must be a shock to you, my calling you," the woman said. "And I shouldn't upset you, I know. But I feel unhappy and-well, I'd like to see you-talk to you."
Anger stirred in Nora but curiosity overcame it. "All right," she said. "When and where?" "I'm at the Hotel Stevens in Hanford. Will you meet me in the coffee shop for lunch-say, at one o'clock?" "Yes, I'll meet you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Rigby," Kitty Marvin said, sounding no happier than Nora felt.
Kitty Marvin was a surprise to Nora. She had expected someone cheap, common. Even the name, Kitty, had suggested to Nora a doll-faced blonde-probably in her early twenties, mature of body but not of intellect. What she saw was a small, nice-looking woman in her early thirties, wholly without any aura of sexiness.
Kitty gave Nora an uncertain smile. "Please sit down, Mrs. Rigby-and thank you for coming. I must seem a terrible person to you-and rather nervy to ask you to see me."
"Well, we do have something in common," Nora said. She seated herself. "And I've been wondering what you're like."
"And I about you," Kitty said. "You are as lovely as Phil told me." She smiled wryly. "I was hoping you wouldn't be."
The waitress came and Kitty suggested cocktails. Nora ordered a martini, Kitty a daiquiri. They remained silent then, giving their attention to the menu and avoiding looking at each other. Nora kept thinking, I should hate her ... I should want to scratch her eyes out... Strangely, she felt nothing but hopelessness at the moment. When their cocktails were served, they ordered lunch.
When the waitress had gone, Nora sipped at her martini and waited for the other woman to say what she had wanted to talk about.
Kitty finally said, "I have to admit that I don't know Phil very well. But I don't think he lied to me. He's told me of the unfortunate thing that happened between you and him. Now that I've met you I can't quite see how it could be true. You're so very attractive, Nora. If it shouldn't be true-well, I'll be very disappointed in Phil."
"Oh, I'm sure whatever he's told you is true," Nora said. "Phil doesn't he."
"In that case, why do you want to hold onto him?"
"Because I feel that he's ill-that with help he could get over what's wrong. What you're offering him is not a cure."
"He doesn't feel that way."
"I'm hoping that he will in time."
"But if he doesn't, how miserable you both will be."
"Yes, there's that," Nora said. "But I'll still have a marriage of sorts. I'll have my home."
"Are you sure you're not just being spiteful?"
"I don't think so. I'm just a woman fighting to hold her man." Anger came to Nora now. "You've no right to put me on the defensive. It wasn't normal for Phil to react as he did to what happened to me. What he needs is medical attention, not another woman."
Kitty nodded. "I was wrong in accusing you. But I must think you could be wrong, too. I fell in love with Phil against my will. I didn't deliberately try to take another woman's husband. It just happened. We met and were attracted to each other-it was an accident, really."
"So was the fact that I was attacked. Am I to be the casualty in both cases? You can't deny the two 'accidents' are related. And yours was more avoidable than mine."
"I don't want you to feel that way, Nora."
"How do you suggest I feel?"
"That you're free to get out of what's become a bad bargain."
"Is that what you think marriage is-a bargain?" Nora asked tartly. "I'm afraid I don't care to discuss it on that basis."
"But we've settled nothing," Kitty protested.
"Of course, we have," Nora told her. "At least, I have. I've reaffirmed my intention not to get a divorce. And I've told you why." Kitty looked at her with dismay but said no more.
Their lunch came. Neither of them seemed to have any appetite. Kitty nibbled on a roll and picked at her salad. Nora ate no more than half of her salad and passed up the rolls entirely. They drank their coffees but declined dessert. Kitty picked up the check and lay the tip beside her coffee cup.
She broke the taut silence between Nora and herself by saying, "If you're interested, I too have come to a decision."
"I'll listen, at any rate," Nora said but picked up her purse to show she wanted to leave.
Kitty said, "I've decided to lean over backwards to be fair. I'll give you a chance with Phil-for a reasonable length of time. I won't meet him except platonically for a month. If you can win him back in that time, I'll go back to California and try to forget him. If you haven't won him back by the end of a month, I'll expect you to divorce him. Isn't that fair?"
"Not really," Nora said. "I still think Phil needs medical attention. You should feel so, too, if you really cared for him."
"But I don't feel as you do. And I am in love with him." Kitty looked at Nora intently. "You're more attractive than I am. You have a better figure. You're-well- sexy. Everything will be in your favor-for a month."
"How can I be sure you'll keep your end of the agreement?"
"You'll have to take my word for it, of course."
"A month isn't much time," Nora said, "considering that Phil is away from home so often."
"You set a time, then-but not an unreasonable time. You be fair, too, Nora."
Nora looked at her with a grudging respect. Kitty had skillfully maneuvered her into a corner. If she did not agree to the bargain, she would betray her own lack of self-confidence. She would be admitting, though not actually acknowledging, defeat. And in a way Kitty's suggestion was fair.
Nora said, "All right, it's a deal-provided I can have three months. I've got to have that long. Do you agree to that?"
"Yes, I agree," Kitty Marvin said. "Thank you for seeing it my way."
"And thank you for the lunch," Nora said, rising to leave.
TWENTY
Nora doubted the wisdom of her bargain with Kitty Marvin but at least she had gained time. And she felt herself in a fight where no holds were barred. After some thought, she hit upon a possible maneuver and telephoned an old acquaintance, Lucille Bentley.
She made a date to meet Lucille on a shopping spree. Later they stopped at a cocktail lounge for a drink and a chat.
The two women were not close friends and Lucille guessed that Nora had sought her out for a reason. After some inconsequential chatter, she came directly to the point.
"What's wrong, Nora? You're not looking well at all You had a reason for asking me to meet you."
Nora said briefly, "Husband trouble."
Lucille smiled. "And you want to cry on mama's shoulder."
Lucille was one of The Bentleys by marriage. She had been secretary to Mark Bentley, president of Bentley- Jordan, at the time that Nora had worked for the company. She had married Mark Bentley, who had died suddenly of a heart attack some two years ago. Lucille hac come into his entire estate, which included a large block of Bentley-Jordan stock. She had remained a widow but not in mourning. It was public knowledge that she had at least a dozen lovers, some locally. She collected men as others might collect objects d'art.
She was currently a silver blonde, and the effect was somewhat startling. She had dark, lustrous eyes and a deep tan. Lush of figure, she was careful to wear clothes that accented her abundant curves. Today she was wearing a sleeveless, peach-colored sheath and looked ravishing.
"What's with your Phil?" she asked Nora. "Another woman?"
Nora nodded. "One he met in California and brought back with him."
"What does she have that you don't?"
"Nothing." Nora had no intention of telling Lucille the truth. "She's rather plain, as a matter of fact. But I don't seem to be able to break up the affair. Phil wants a divorce."
"And you don't?"
"I don't."
Lucille regarded her shrewdly. "And you want me to break it up-and hand Phil back to you on a silver platter?"
Nora laughed. "It doesn't matter about the platter. The main thing to do is to make him realize that he's not really in love with that woman."
"All right," Lucille said. "I'll vamp him for you. But I won't guarantee to give him back."
"I'll take that chance."
Looking amused, Lucille said, "You really want me to have an affair with him? You are desperate, aren't you?"
Nora said, "I'm desperate enough to go to any lengths to break up this thing."
"Let's see, how shall we work it? I could throw a little party at the country club and invite you and Phil. He won't turn down an invitation from a Bentley-or duck a pass from one."
Nora was not so sure-Phil was no longer as predictable to her as he once had been-but she said, "Phil's out of town on business now. I'll have to let you know when he gets home."
"You do that," Lucille said. "And maybe I can pull it off-maybe not." She smiled, flashing beautiful, predatory teeth. "It ought to be a challenge, anyway-and having a wife's permission to make free with a husband is a novelty. I'll even try to swing it so he won't really be unfaithful to you. Okay?"
"Okay," Nora said, smiling feebly. But actually, she thought, what happened between Lucille and Phil made little difference, as long as it broke up his affair with Kitty. Lucille did not hoard her conquests.
When Phil came home ten days later, Nora called Lucille. They decided that the coming Saturday would be the deal date for a dinner party at the club. There would be an orchestra and dancing-and the mood at the club would be right. Saturday-night get-togethers often saw a lowering of the bars of propriety.
Nora waited until Thursday morning, Phil's third day home, to tell him about the party.
He looked up, frowning. "I don't feel like going to any party."
"You can't turn down Lucille." "Why can't I?"
Since his return he had been in an even nastier mood than before-Nora guessed the reason was that Kitty was keeping her word and had suspended her affair with him.
"You can't because nobody at Bentley-Jordan snubs Lucille," Nora told him. "You know how touchy she is about people refusing to pay homage to her in her exalted station in life. As one of the major stockholders she can make all sorts of trouble for you. You stay away from her party and she may be just nasty enough to pull some strings that would hurt your future with the company."
Phil did not argue the point, but said, "You go. Tell her I'm under the weather."
"If I do," Nora said ominously, "I'll tell her the truth about why you didn't come. You can do without bedding your amour for one night."
Phil swore under his breath, shoved back his chair, rose.
"For your information, I'm not bedding anybody," he said. "And I've a sneaking suspicion you know why. You went to see Kitty, didn't you? You told her you'd never give me a divorce-right?"
"Did she say I did?"
"No. But she's changed since I was away."
"Could it be," Nora said bitingly, "that she's discovered that you aren't such a bargain, after all?"
Phil stared at her for a moment with something like hatred, then angrily left the house.
But he would take her to the party, Nora knew. And at that point she had a hope that her scheme, insane though it seemed, might really work.
TWENTY-ONE
Saturday night was her night of decision, Nora thought. The night when she would win or lose Phil forever. Actually both she and Kitty might lose-even Phil might lose in the long run if he offended Lucille. Nora herself felt guilty-she was definitely fighting gutter-style. But she had to break up Phil's affair with Kitty Marvin to have any chance of saving her marriage.
She had only a small hope that her scheme would work. Phil probably saw something in Kitty he saw in no other woman-it was possible that he would be totally blind to Lucille's sophisticated, egotistical charms, immune even to Lucille's money and influence with the company. Nora gave herself a final inspection in the dressing-table mirror and put aside thoughts of defeat.
She simply had to take her chances that her plans would work.
She left the bedroom and found Phil waiting sullenly in the living room. She was wearing a new cocktail dress-he barely gave her a glance.
She thought Phil looked surprisingly handsome in his white dinner jacket-even his scowl became him.
"You ready?" he asked shortly, and started for the door without waiting for her reply.
They drove in silence to the country club.
After he had parked the Buick, Phil said, "Let's get it over with fast, shall we? It'll be a drag and I'll want to leave as early as we can."
"You used to enjoy Lucille's parties," Nora said. "You used to think Lucille was quite something."
"I used to enjoy a lot of things I'm fed up with now."
"Don't think you're the only one who's fed up."
He said bitterly. "You're getting a real bang out of seeing me miserable, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes-I'm having a ball."
They entered the clubhouse and put on smiles as they joined Lucille and the other guests in the dining room. All the tables there were occupied and they were almost the last couple to arrive at the long one Lucille had reserved. They knew everyone except Lucille's current consort. Lucille introduced them to him. His name was Matthew Garth, and he was a tall, handsome man of about forty. Drinks had already been served to the others. Phil and Nora both ordered martinis.
Their cocktails arrived a moment before Lucille's last guests came in. Nora was surprised to see that the man was Dave Mallory. He and his companion, Amy Riddle, a school teacher, were seated directly opposite Phil and her -and Nora found herself oddly flustered when Dave's eyes met hers.
His eyes still told her that he loved her.
She avoided looking at him and her glance met Lucille's, who gave her a meaningful smile.
It's all set, Lucille's smile said-I'll do my part.
Nora smiled back at her, uneasily. She again felt that what she had planned with Lucille would not work. And suddenly she did not care whether it would or not.
Music was furnished by a four-piece combo. Couples from some of the other tables were dancing. At Lucille's table, there was the usual flow of drinks and a great deal of meaningless talk before the appetizers were served. Nora had a second martini and Phil soon had a third, then a fourth.
Nora thought it necessary to whisper a warning. "Go easy, please. It will be a long evening."
"I don't need a nursemaid," Phil said sullenly, not whispering.
During the main course, several couples left the table to dance, among them Dave Mallory and Amy Riddle. After a time almost everyone except Phil and Nora had been out on the floor. Dave finally asked Nora, and she glanced at Phil for his permission. He ignored her. She rose and went with Dave.
This was the first physical contact she had had with him and she found it disturbing. Dave excited her more than she wanted him to. Dancing with him threw her into an emotional turmoil. It was knowing how he felt about her, of course-and her own need to be loved. Beyond that, she told herself, her feelings had nothing to do with Dave.
Dave said softly, "I know it's none of my business- but are you and your husband quarreling?"
"Does it show?"
"To me, it does. You look unhappy, Nora. And your husband was barely civil when I asked you to dance." "Well, neither of us is really in a partying mood." "I hope, for your sake, it's nothing serious." "Oh, no," she lied.
They danced a little while in silence. Then Dave said, "It seems such a long time since I last saw you."
"You thought it best not to have me help out at the Center?" "Yes. And you know why."
"Does your being here with Amy Riddle tonight mean anything?"
"Only that Lucille told me to bring someone."
"Amy is very attractive."
"She is?" Dave asked, smiling at her.
Nora had another martini after Dave brought her back to the table. A little later, when everyone was having coffee, Dr. Thorpe, who sat on her left, asked her to dance. It was while she was on the floor with him that she saw Phil dancing with Lucille. She was not entirely surprised that Phil had lost his sullen look. The way Lucille danced would have brought to life a wooden Indian. Without seeming vulgar, she danced in a way that made a man aware of every part of her body-and the man did not even have to be her partner. Nora noticed almost every male eye resting appraisingly on Lucille at one time or another.
As the party progressed and drinks flowed faster, things grew a little confused for Nora. Along with most of the guests, she had more than her usual quota to drink. Phil and Lucille had left the table to dance again-and Nora was unaware that they had disappeared until Matthew 'Garth came over to her. He bent over her and asked curtly where Phil was.
"I haven't the slightest idea," she said, looking first at the dancing couples and then up at him.
Garth's face was handsome no longer. It was ugly with anger.
"Lucille and he were dancing a moment ago," Nora said. "They must have gone outside for a breath of air."
"A breath of air," Garth's voice was low but savage. "Well, I'll damn soon put a stop to that. Sorry to have troubled you, Mrs. Rigby-but you might be as interested in this as I."
He went striding-charging, was how it looked to Nora -across the dining room toward the doorway to the lobby. He had been right in saying she was interested-but she had not foreseen any complication such as this. A little shaken, she rose hastily and followed Garth.
She had reached the lobby when someone grabbed her by the arm. It was Dave Mallory.
"What's up, Nora?" he asked. "What's happening?"
"Phil and Lucille," she said shakily. "They must have gone outside together and that man-her current boy friend-is in a rage about it. I'm afraid of what he may do."
"Let's go, then," Dave said, still holding her arm.
There were several couples on the veranda that extended across the front of the clubhouse and others strolling in the moonlit gardens. Her anxiety increasing, Nora looked one way and another. She saw nothing of Phil and Lucille. And nothing of Matthew Garth.
"The parking lot," Dave said.
They descended the veranda steps and went around the corner of the building. Angry voices reached them from somewhere among the parked cars. They hurried between two rows of cars, making for the voices. A moment later they saw three people-two men and a woman-standing beside a Cadillac convertible.
Nora called out, "Phil? Phil-is that you?"
At that moment a scuffle broke out between the two men. A blow was struck and one of the men fell back against the convertible and then collapsed to the ground.
Running now, Nora thought frantically, Oh, God- don't let him be hurt...
For she knew it was Phil who lay sprawled on the dark macadam.
TWENTY-TWO
It was Phil and he was unconscious. He had been struck a terrific blow to the jaw and the back of his head had struck the front fender of a car. His glasses had been knocked off and Nora picked them up, barely conscious that she did, as she knelt beside him. . Lucille was upbraiding Garth, telling him that he was all muscles and no brains and that she was through with him. Over his rage now, the big man looked sheepish.
Dave bent over Phil, then said, "Look, Garth, he may be seriously hurt. Go ask Dr. Thorpe to come out here."
Garth hurried away.
Turning to Nora, Dave said, "Bring your car over here -in case we have to take him to the hospital."
Nora understood. Phil was not a rugged man physically and his being struck by someone like Garth was like someone else's being hit by a fast-driven car. She was so badly upset that it took her a while to find the Buick. When she brought it to a stop behind the convertible, Matthew Garth was returning with Dr. Thorpe.
She got out of the Buick, leaving the motor running and the lights on. Phil had regained consciousness. He was trying to sit up but Dave was restraining him.
Dr. Thorpe knelt by him, examined his jaw and the back of his head as best he could in the darkness. He asked Phi] questions. Phil's answers were incoherent.
Rising, his grave eyes never leaving Phil's face, the doctor said, "I suggest that this man be taken to Hanford Hospital, to emergency. There's almost certainly a fracture of the jaw and possibly a concussion. I'll go along."
Dave and Garth lifted Phil into the back seat of the Buick. Dave told Nora to get in with him. Dave took the wheel.
During the few minutes it took to reach the hospital at Hanford, Nora sat with her arms about Phil. Though still conscious, he was in a dazed condition. When she said, "I'm sorry, Phil-this is all my fault," he did not seem to hear. She was sick with shame and frightened for him. She knew that he would really hate her when he understood that she was responsible for what had happened. But not, she thought, as much as she hated herself.
Dr. Thorpe arrived in his own car while Dave and Nora were helping Phil from the Buick. Dr. Thorpe gave quiet orders-Phil was placed in a wheel chair and taken away. Dave took Nora into a waiting room. She sat down and he offered her a cigarette. She shook her head, got up again and began to pace restlessly.
After a few minutes, she got a grip on herself and began to see things more clearly. She was to blame, of course- but Phil had gone outside with Lucille of his own accord. No one had twisted his arm. Lucille had not forced him to accompany her at gunpoint. He had gone with her because he had it in him to cheat on Kitty as he had cheated on his wife-because he still needed to prove his manhood. Nora had been right when she had told Kitty that no affair with a woman could cure-or perhaps the word now was alter-Phil. Perhaps not even medical care could. He had probably remained faithful to Nora during the first seven years of their marriage from lack of aggressiveness-because no other woman had made a strong enough play for him.
She remembered suddenly that even during their courtship she had been the aggressor-at least to the point of having made things easy for him. And suddenly she knew that she was not going to try any longer to hold him. She stopped her pacing.
Dave had been watching her with concern. Now he asked, "Feeling better, Nora? I'd say you don't have too much to worry about. Phil was hurt, but he's in good hands."
She had forgotten Dave and now looked at him as though surprised that he was still there.
"Better's not the word, Dave-smarter might be more like it. My life's been a terrible mess lately-but no longer. I've got to make a phone call."
"I noticed a phone booth in the lobby."
She nodded and started out, opening her purse on the way. Dave followed and stood nearby as she closed herself in the booth. He studied her gravely as she looked in the directory for the number of the Hotel Stevens, then deposited her coin and dialed. She asked to speak to Miss Marvin.
When she heard Kitty's voice, she said, "Kitty, this is Nora Rigby. I called to tell you that I'm giving Phil up. I've decided to get a divorce."
Kitty said nothing for a moment. Then: "This is a welcome surprise, Nora. But what decided you?"
"I can't explain. Some day you may find out." She hesitated. "Phil's had an accident. He pay want to see you. I'm calling from the Hanford Hospital."
Kitty's voice firmed. "I'm corning right over."
"Good, I'll wait till you get here, then leave."
Kitty wasted no time, Nora noted, in unnecessary questions about Phil's condition. She said "Thanks, Nora-" and hung up.
Nora found herself smiling a little wryly as she left the booth. The pattern was repeating itself, the pattern of Phil's life she herself had discovered only moments ago. Kitty was taking over, as she, Nora, once had taken over Phil's affairs. Kitty herself was probably as yet unaware of the fact-but undoubtedly she, too, had been the actual instigator of her relationship with Phil, as Nora had been of her own.
She was glad her part in Phil's life was finished.
Dave asked her no questions as he followed her back to the waiting room. Now she wanted a cigarette. He gave her one and held his lighter for her. She sat down, feeling not quite calm but relieved.
She said, "Dave, you've a right to know what's going on."
"You don't have to tell me."
"I want to. Things have been wrong for Phil and me for a long time. He's met another woman and wants a divorce. I did something foolish tonight-I got Lucille to try to take him away from the other woman, thinking that after both had broken with him I could win him back. You know what happened."
"Don't blame yourself, Nora."
"I'm not-now. I've at last come to terms with myself. I don't want to hold a man such as Phil has become-or perhaps always was, without my knowing it. I've called the woman he wants to marry and told her to come here. I'm not staying to see him but no doubt she'll want to."
"You're sure you really know your own mind, Nora?"
"I am."
At that moment Lucille came into the waiting room. She looked upset, worried. She was followed by Matthew Garth, who still wore a hangdog look.
Nora rose and went to meet them. She told Lucille, "We haven't heard anything yet. Dr. Thorpe is still inside." And to Garth: "It was all my fault. Has Lucille explained why she was with my husband?"
He gave her a rueful smile. "She explained. But that doesn't make things right. I know I went off half-cocked but-well, I like the wacky dame and I was jealous. I'm sorry I slugged your husband. All women should be spanked regularly."
Nora expected a strong reaction from Lucille-instead Lucille was looking at Garth in a speculative fashion. "Perhaps you're right," she told him. "It's a long time since anyone spanked me."
"I won't enjoy doing it," he told her grimly. "But pull another stunt like this and I will. It's time you settled down."
Kitty Marvin arrived, greeted Nora and sat stiffly apart from the rest. At last Dr. Thorpe appeared. He came to Nora.
"You can see him now if you like, Mrs. Rigby. He has a broken jaw and a slight concussion. Nothing a few days in bed won't cure. We've given him a shot and he's gone under. He won't wake until morning. It may be better if you waited until then to look in on him."
Nora thanked him. She found Kitty at her elbow. "You heard?" she asked and when Kitty nodded: "You see him -now, if you want, tomorrow morning, certainly. I won't be here. You tell him what we've decided."
"All right," Kitty said and once more Nora smiled, ostensibly in friendliness to Kitty-actually at a thought of her own. Kitty had missed the implication in her phrase, "we've decided-" It was typical of Phil to have women decide his relationship to them. Just never show weakness, honey, Nora wanted to tell her ex-rival. Never let yourself be forced or raped-even by him-or you'll lose him ...
For now she was sure that instead of blaming himself for her violation on their wedding anniversary, he had subconsciously blamed her for submitting. She looked at Kitty almost with compassion.
Don't let yourself get killed, honey ...
She turned to Lucille, Dave and Garth-Dr. Thorpe had left. Nora repeated what he had told her and Lucille smiled in relief. She linked her arm with Garth's, looked up at him. "But perhaps those days are over."
"I'm for fun," he told her, unsmiling. "But we'll draw some lines in the future." He raised his eyes to Nora and Dave. "I'll take Lucille back to her guests. Join us later?"
Nora shook her head and said her goodnights. She was not entirely surprised to find Dave did not leave with the others. They walked in silence to her car.
When they reached it, Dave got behind the wheel, pushed open the door on the passenger's side for her.
"It may not have hit you yet," he said, "but you've had a rough evening. Collapse whenever you want to."
"Thanks, Dave," she murmured, closed her eyes and thought of her future.
She would have to give up her lovely house and a way of life she had become accustomed to and liked enormously. She would live in a small apartment-in Hanford probably, since apartments were few and expensive in Birchwood-and find a job. She would get a quiet divorce in Reno or Las Vegas, where she could file simply on grounds of incompatibility.
She had given no attention to the direction Dave was driving. She had assumed he would drive her home, then go back to the club for Amy Riddle. But when he brought the Buick to a stop, she was surprised to see that it was at an apartment building in Birchwood.
He turned to her and asked "You're sure you'll stick to your decision to leave Phil? You won't change your mind?"
"I'm sure," she said. "Where am I?" "You're home, Nora," he said gently. "This is where I live."
"Isn't-isn't this a little sudden?" "I've waited for you all my life," he told her. "You might as well see where I five." "But, Dave-" He touched a finger to her lips. "Don't worry about a thing, honey. I can wait a little longer. But I don't think you ought to be alone right now."
"It's not that, Dave. I'm not worried. I'd never be afraid of you. But I'm still sort of mixed up tonight. I know you think you're in love with me. But right now I don't know how I feel-about anybody."
"That's the point," Dave said. "You're mixed up and need someone to keep an eye on you or you might do something foolish. I'm appointing myself. Come on."
"What about Amy? Isn't she waiting for you at the club?"
"Amy doesn't wait for any man-we're old buddies. She's an old maid at heart. I'll phone her from my apartment and simply confirm her belief that all men are thoughtless brutes. She'll love it." Dave grinned. "Don't concern yourself about Amy." .
He took Nora's hand and she followed him meekly out of the car, across the sidewalk and into the building. They went up in the automatic elevator in silence, still holding hands.
She was surprised at herself.
How different this was from being with Phil. How strange not to have to plan, to think, to decide. To have all responsibility taken from her-to have nothing to do but to follow.
Without protest she followed him into his apartment. The place was as tidily kept as an Army barrack, but the living room was surprisingly homey and comfortable. Dave seated her, and turned on the stereo set. Music filled the room.
Nora told herself-without conviction-that she should not have come there. She felt defenseless, without a will of her own. She could not remember when she had last felt so.
The sensation was luxurious. "A drink?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, thank you. I don't need one."
He stood watching her. She knew he was aware of her helplessness-of the fact that she would give herself to him if he so chose. But he made no move toward her.
Because he loves me, she told herself. And she knew finally that he would always go on loving her-to him sex subsisted on love, not love on sex.
He would wait forever if she asked him.
She said, not taking her eyes from his, "Come to me, Dave-make love to me."
It was neither an order nor a plea, as it would have been with Phil-or with any other man.
