The FRANCE' name is your guarantee of exciting and entertaining reading.
But Joyce didn't seem to share his mood. Her torso undulated restlessly, and Rich knew that she was having difficulty holding her desires in check. At first this had the effect of irritating him somewhat, but as her movements became more and more insistent, he was caught up in her urgency.
"Joyce, baby..."
"I need you, Rich," she murmured.
Her mouth buried itself in his neck, taking sharp little nips...
CONTENTS
Three can play 1
You did it, boy 2
Don't turn me down, darling 3
A goddam status symbol 4
Melody is sweet 5
Tell me you like it 6
Edie needs man-after man 7
A delicious interlude 8
And still another 9
Angela, Angela 10
A swingin' party ll
Love and heart attack 12
Release at last 13
------------------------
1
"You're right on time," Kitty Brokton said, opening the door to a nervous Eric Blaine. "Won't you come in?"
Eric followed Kitty into the swank penthouse apartment, his eyes glued to her well-rounded and obviously expensive behind.
"It appears most of the things I've heard about you are true, Mrs. Brokton," Eric said, taking in the line of her firm breasts and sensuous lips as she turned around.
"What kind of things, Mr. Blaine?" she asked suggestively, using her lowest and most liquid tones.
Eric grinned in response, making a hand motion which included all her famous parts. He had heard how effectively she had used these parts; but this was not the kind of thing he felt he should say to a lady. An ex-model turned lady as the wife of the president of one of America's largest tobacco companies.
"I always thought they must have been exaggerating," he told her, "but I'm happy to see they didn't go far enough. None of the things I've heard has done you justice."
Kitty stared deeply into Eric's eyes. "How very kind of you to say so," she answered with a look that made Eric pretty sure he was going to melt. "What would you like to drink?" she asked, taking his briefcase from him and depositing it on the bar.
"Oh, scotch, I guess, on the rocks," Eric answered distractedly, his mind wandering over her body. It was hard for Eric to remember that she had a husband and that it was him that he had come to see.
"Won't you sit down?" Kitty asked, indicating a large luxurious couch.
Eric's eyes traveled from Kitty to the couch to the closed door. Kitty caught his expression.
"Alfred is dressing. He'll be out in a minute or so."
Eric was pleased that he had remembered to wear a dinner jacket. He wandered over to the picture window and gazed down at the lights of the city. "Nice view you have here."
"Yes, isn't it?" she answered. "We always try to get this suite when we're in town." He joined her on the couch and she offered him a glass liberally filled with scotch and ice.
"I hope you and Alfred will be able to get together on the Sportsman account," Kitty said, looking approvingly at Eric through her half-closed bedroom eyes. As she bent over to reach for a cigarette, only her nipples were covered by the low-cut dress, and Eric inhaled deeply to retain his slipping composure.
"Did you say something?" he asked, fumbling in his pockets for a lighter.
"There's one on the table," she said, smiling, and leaned back to wait for a light. Eric took the lighter from the coffee table and held it to her cigarette.
Kitty put her hand on his and said softly, "Alfred is very fussy about the type of person he deals with..."
Before she could finish the sentence or Eric could find out what the hell it meant, the door opened and Alfred Brokton came in. Eric hurriedly took his hand from under Kitty's and stood up. He tried desperately to regain his composure.
"A man of action is what I like," Brokton said, covering for Eric's embarrassment.
"This is my husband, Alfred Brokton. Alfred, this is Eric Blaine," Kitty said with all the poise in the world.
"I'm happy to meet you, Mr. Brokton," Eric said, his voice somewhat more steady than he had expected it to be.
"Please call me Alfred," Brokton offered, extending his hand to Eric. "I much prefer being on less formal terms,"
Eric took the hand he offered and the large, elaborate ring on Brokton's finger cut into Eric's hand. The ice-blue eyes stared into his and it seemed an eternity before Eric could disconnect his gaze. Brokton was slim, handsome and immaculately dressed in finely tailored clothes. He didn't look at all like the tough customer he was reputed to be in his business dealings. Eric tried to piece together the things that he had heard about Brokton. The cold, piercing eyes were the only give-away that the rumors might be true.
"I'm sure we'll have a pleasant and satisfactory association, Eric," Brokton said, motioning him to sit down again. Brokton mixed himself a drink and sat down in the arm chair across from Eric and Kitty.
"I'm sure we will," answered Eric with little inner assurance. But he was determined Brokton would never guess.
"Tom Fredericks is quite an amazing man," Brokton said.
"I didn't know you knew him," Eric said, the words slipping out unintentionally. Eric, after all, was supposed to be in the know. But no mention had been made of that fact in the office by his boss, Tom, or anyone else.
"Oh, yes, we've been friends for years," Brokton replied with complete indifference to what seemed to be an obvious business blunder. "He has been very helpful in knowing and fulfilling our personal needs for a long time."
Brokton and Kitty exchanged meaningful glances and Eric sat in complete bewilderment, wondering what was going on.
"This is the first opportunity we've had to deal with him on a business level," Brokton went on, speaking as though his words were loaded. Eric strained to get the implication of what Brokton was trying to say.
Tf it's at all possible," Brokton said brightly, "I'd like to throw a little business his way in return for some of the favors he's done for us."
"Oh really, Alfred," Kitty said in a half-amused, half-impatient tone which was definitely intended to include Eric, "one could hardly class our previous associations with him as favors! God knows Tom is well aware of the value of the dollar!"
Brokton gave a laugh which Eric interpreted as dirty.
"I'd prefer to call it business," she added, looking at Eric. "But then, the word 'business' has a lot of meanings, don't you agree?"
"Of course" seemed like the logical thing for Eric to say. He still had no idea what they were talking about but it was obvious to him that they did. Eric decided that the sooner he found out the better it would be.
"On the whole," the vibrant voice of Brokton went on, "the package and the layouts that I've seen are very effective. But there are several things I want to propose to you over dinner tonight."
"Of course, Alfred," Eric replied eagerly. At last the subject of the advertising account had come up. Eric had been afraid he wasn't going to be able to get a word in edgewise so they could get to the business at hand. Now that Brokton had taken the bull by the horns, Eric hoped he could relax and be sociable. On one hand, he marveled at the ease with which the whole thing seemed to be getting accomplished. Still, he would have been much more comfortable to have been in the driver's seat instead of where he was. He couldn't be sure he wasn't being taken for a ride.
"I've taken the liberty of having dinner sent up, Eric. I hope you don't mind. I don't enjoy noisy restaurants and the food is excellent here," Brokton told him in a tone that indicated it would have made no difference whatsoever if Eric had minded.
"No, of course not," Eric agreed. "I'm sure we can get a lot more done here," he added, trying not to sound too acquiescent.
"I'm sure we can," Brokton replied with an expression that looked like a leer.
Eric wondered for a moment whether he liked Brokton or not.
"What's more, I know you'll be only too happy to agree to the stipulations I intend to suggest."
There was nothing for Eric to do but continue listening.
"I'm a very quick judge of character, Eric," he said enthusiastically, "and from what I've seen of you so far, I am sure you'll be able to come through with flying colors." Brokton stared at him with those eyes that seemed to Eric to be getting bluer and colder.
Eric was filled with elation and confusion and utter doubt. He had always felt a certain security in his Harvard-under-graduate-type good looks. He often found people taking an immediate liking to him and had been able to do many things others with less of the superficial qualifications might find impossible. Still, he was not sure that he should put too much stock in Brokton's judgment. As he looked at the man, he felt a certain indefinable repugnance. Perhaps it was the skin, delicately bronzed but soft and smooth, almost like a woman's.
"I think it's time for another drink, don't you, Eric?" Kitty asked, every inch the perfect hostess. "We still have time for one more before dinner is served," she prompted, noticing Eric's silence.
"Oh, yes, thanks," Eric answered, pulling himself out of it.
She collected the empty glasses and went to build the drinks.
"I suppose you're curious as to what proposals I'm going to put forth," said Brokton, teasingly. "Well, my boy, you needn't worry. As I said before, I'm sure you'll be happy to comply. We won't waste much time discussing busines when there is the possibility of pleasure instead. Or, as is said far too often, the possibility of combining the two."
Brokton took his fresh drink from Kitty. The buzzer sounded and Kitty went to open the door.
"Good evening, Antonio," she said, opening the door to the head steward. "Set up the table by the windows. For three."
Antonio entered stiffly, followed by three stewards wearing sharp white jackets and wheeling in white covered carts laden with dinner.
Through the dinner, Eric studied Brokton and Kitty, hoping to find some clue to the stipulations that Brokton had hinted at. The suspense was almost more than he could bear. He realized how important the contract was to him, and that he was willing to do anything to get it signed. There didn't seem to be anything wrong. Certainly Brokton had been offered more by HA&B than any competitor could possibly offer. This, combined with the fact that Brokton seemed to like him, was a bit comforting. Still, there was something strange going on. Suddenly Eric had the premonition that something was going to be expected of him. Not of the company, but of him. There was nothing tangible to make him feel this way ... still ... There was so much liquor floating around inside that Eric couldn't be quite sure. He looked at Kitty, embarrassed that he again had been caught up in his own thoughts.
"Well," said Brokton with exuberance, "this is the moment we've all been waiting for. At least one of the moments."
Eric could feel his heartbeat pick up momentum. With all the double entendre that had been going on, not to speak of the alcohol, Eric's head had begun to reel. It was the last time he would have that much to drink on a business deal, he determined. Liquor and straight thinking just don't mix, he acknowledged again.
"Eric," Brokton went on, his gaze piercing, "I like you. And I can see that obviously Kitty finds you, well, hardly unattractive. In fact, perhaps too attractive." He stopped to take in Eric's reaction. Eric sat frozen.
"However, we won't be too concerned with that since it is one of the most important factors, in a way. You see, Eric, when we're in town, Kitty's alone a great deal. I don't like that. Not that I don't trust her, you understand, but I like to know she's in good company."
Eric looked at Kitty, afraid he might start to drool. "Well, that certainly is my pleasure," he answered truthfully.
"I'm happy to hear you talk that way. I had a feeling you'd like our proposition."
Kitty looked at Eric, showing the mutuality of the feeling.
"I don't know if you know anything about me or not," Brokton told him, "but I am very fussy about the type of person I deal with."
"Kitty did mention it," Eric answered. "Other than that, I really haven't heard a great deal about this particular aspect of your personality.
"Well, I'm sure you can understand how important it is to be seen with the right type of people," Brokton explained. "The right people. The right time. This is what makes a good and lasting business relationship."
"Yes, I certainly realize that," answered Eric obligingly.
"Standards, you know. Very important in business. Very important."
Eric was beginning to get a little bored with the whole thing but he was well aware of the fact that he couldn't let it show. Action was what he wanted. Sitting still for two or three hours began to work on his nerves ordinarily and the tenseness of the whole situation had made it already seem like years.
"You can be sure we will make it worth your while. Later I'll be more specific about the amount," Brokton said, beaming.
Eric knew that the money was important. Even though he and his wife, Janice, would get along no better in bed, at least she would get off his back as far as that went.
"Is there anything else, sir?" Eric asked, afraid to hear the answer.
"Just play ball with us, Eric, and we'll play ball with you."
Eric followed Kitty to the couch, and Brokton, holding the glass of brandy he had just gotten from Antonio, said, "I know it's customary for the gentlemen to retire to the library for their cigars and brandy but I'm afraid I shall have to break tradition. Since I have some phone calls to make, I'll take my brandy into the other room and leave you in Kitty's hands." With that he left.
"I'll fix you a drink, handsome," Kitty smiled, moving to the bar.
Eric didn't really want a drink but he was in no condition to stop her. One more wouldn't hurt, anyway, and he decided that he really needed it, after all. He hoped he'd find out what playing ball' meant and decided to play it by ear, letting Kitty show him the way.
She returned with two glasses and put them down on the coffee table and stood up to run her fingers through his hair.
It might not be so bad after all, Eric decided. Still, he was afraid to touch her, even afraid to breathe.
Kitty unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor.
"What about Alfred?" Eric asked suddenly.
"Don't worry about him," she sizzled, "he won't bother us for a while. This part is for us."
Eric looked startled, still not fully comprehending the set-up.
"You don't mind, do you?" she purred.
"Mind? Hell, no! I mean, I guess I don't mind. Why should I mind?" Eric asked with a lack of composure which he didn't like.
Kitty smiled demurely. She moved across the room, slowly, seductively turning off one light after the other. Eric stood paralyzed, watching her. His mind raced to Brokton in one of the next rooms and wondered what it was really all about. What was going on with Kitty seemed to be pretty obvious but he couldn't help looking for the why.
"What about Alfred?" he asked again.
Kitty stared impatiently at Eric. "If you don't like it, it's all right. But this is part of the bargain, Eric. So if you like it, you might as well swing with it. If you don't like it..." her voice trailed off.
The warmth had entirely left Kitty's eyes and he knew that she was deadly serious. It was no game of love. It was a business bargain.
"It wouldn't have to be part of the bargain, Kitty," Eric began.
"Just shut up and don't spoil it!" Kitty answered savagely.
A feeling somewhere between a shiver and a thrill went through Eric's body. He moved to the couch where she was waiting for him and leaned over to press his mouth on her waiting lips.
"You're very exciting," he whispered as he touched her uplifted breasts, supported by only a thin sliver of a bra. Eric felt his belt loosen and his pants rub against his thighs as they slipped to the floor. He picked up his feet to free himself of them and lay next to her. Her hungry body moved to his. Her long fingernails dug into his back and he took her head in his hands and pulled it to his mouth, forcing his tongue into hers. His breathing became heavier as he reached for the clasp of her bra.
"Let's go into the bedroom," she whispered hoarsely, standing up.
Eric's passion was aroused to a frenzy and his only thought was to get it over with, to find release. He wanted to throw her back down on the couch but he came back to reality and accepted her extended hand.
As he stood up, he saw Alfred Brokton in the doorway, standing with crossed arms and a fixed expression. Eric was seized with terror, with an urgency to run. He could not speak. His words were trapped in his hot dry mouth.
"There's nothing to say," Brokton said, putting words into Eric's mouth.
Eric wondered how long he had been standing there.
"I approve. I heartily approve," Brokton went on. "And I do wish you'd continue what you were doing in the bedroom, as Kitty suggested."
Eric stared at him in amazement.
"I like you, Blaine. I like you very much. I told you that. And I told you your job was to see Kitty was taken care of. Now, please, go on as though I weren't here."
Kitty walked into the bedroom, not looking back at Eric. Eric stood dumbfounded for an instant. Then he noticed his pants heaped up on the floor and bent over to pick them up.
"Don't bother with those, Blaine," Brokton told him. "They won't help you write up the deal. But you might take your briefcase with you," he added coyly.
Eric dropped the pants to the floor and walked toward the bar to get his briefcase, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Brokton. It was as though he were in a trance, and waiting for words from a hypnotist's mouth. He staggered a bit and Brokton directed gently, "Bight in there." Eric headed for the bedroom.
As he got into the bedroom he saw that Kitty was busy taking off the rest of her clothes. Brokton remained at the doorway, watching Eric's face with grim satisfaction. Kitty stretched herself out on the bed, moonlight reflecting from her white body. Brokton moved slowly toward the desk as Eric stood painfully still.
"Relax, Blaine," Brokton encouraged in strange, breathy tones. "Make yourself at home. Bring those contracts over here and put them on the desk."
Eric looked from one to the other and then walked slowly to the desk. For a moment he could think of nothing. The thoughts began to pile up wildly, one on top of another. Idiotic thoughts. Wild thoughts.
Then he simmered down. So this is the game, he thought drunkenly. He and Kitty would play and the old boy would get his kicks from watching. Eric had heard of things like this, but never before had he been party to anything like it. It was crazy, he knew, but he couldn't deny it was exciting to him. He knew too that he should stop. And he knew he wouldn't.
"Take your shirt off, Blaine," Brokton said, smiling. "You won't need that here, either."
Suddenly Eric felt like an obedient child. Brokton's presence was more stimulating to him than he would have liked it to be. He began to open his shirt and Brokton laid his hand on top of his to engineer the movements. Eric felt a twitch of excitement. Then he felt Brokton's hand run over his chest.
"Nice," Brokton said, admiringly. "Very nice."
Eric looked toward the door, realizing this was his final moment for escape. Brokton was quick to catch it.
"We'll sign the contracts immediately afterward," Brokton told him, reassuringly.
Kitty stretched open her arms to him. Eric looked at her, sure now of what his next move would be. He moved slowly toward the bed and Kitty's extended arms. Something within him compelled him to turn and look at Brokton, who was grinning with pleasure. Eric lay close to Kitty, the excitement continuing to mount with the strangeness of the setting. She let him lie beside her for a brief moment and then began directing his hands over her body. Soon they found their way by themselves. He kissed Kitty's breasts fervently, running his hands over her beautiful body, which became warm and responded to his every touch. Then their mouths were glued together. hot tongues lashing.
Kitty closed her eyes. A strange sensation raced through her, setting her limbs quivering. As many times as she had been in similar situations, she had never met any one like Eric. Desire smoldered deep within her body, dormant passion that broke through the surface in the throbbing peaks of her smoothly rounded breasts.
Eric pulled her wildly to him, highly stimulated by her response. Then, when she groaned a mild protest, he slackened his grip, stroking slowly and sensuously.
Kitty kissed him gratefully. He held her off, breathing heavily, his eyes gleaming. Abruptly she was in his arms again and his lips were on her, dwelling on her mouth, touching her closed eyelids, gliding down her cheek to bury in the softness of her throat.
Kitty sighed. Any doubts she had known earlier were entirely dissipated. The heat of his kisses was spreading through her flesh, kindling an itching, burning sensation within her. Her arms tightened around him and she pulled his head to her lips. "Darling," she whispered softly into his ear, "oh darling, darling..."
As their bodies moved with a rhythm of one, the sound of cloth being removed came from across the room. Eric turned to see Brokton removing his pants. As Kitty and Eric clung together with increasing intensity, suddenly Brokton broke into gales of malicious laughter.
"That's my boy!" he shouted hysterically. "That's my boy! And now, I'm coming over!"
Eric knew what he meant. He knew very well. His momentum subsided for a brief moment of indecision.
His questioning was answered when he felt Brokton's hot breath on the back of his neck and heard him whisper, "The contract, boy. The contract."
2
At eight-fifteen the following morning Eric Blaine left the Brokton suite. He gave the appearance of a hunted man, shrunken-looking and frightened. Hurriedly he moved through the hotel lobby and out to the street, clutching his briefcase with the Sportsman account tightly under his arm. He hailed a cab, avoiding a direct look at the driver's eyes. Hunching in a corner in the back seat, he moved only once to sneak a glance in his briefcase to make sure that the contract was intact.
The taxi pulled to a stop behind a bus and Eric's eyes were drawn to the people getting on it. These were the nine-to-fivers, of the world where you forget your work once you leave the office. Eric had long since left that world and these hours served only as a facade for the work that went on after that in cocktail bars, in hotel rooms, wherever there was money, wherever the other people weren't. He knew he would never let himself go back to that other world and there was nothing else for him to do but continue on in the sleazy world he had made for himself. And, of course, he thought he no longer had a choice.
He got out of the cab and walked quickly up the steps of his office building, too embarrassed to wait for the elevator. He noticed Joe, the office janitor, giving a final swipe to "harvey, alien and barrington" which trailed smartly in lower case goldleaf across the glass-paneled double doors. Harvey, Allen and
Barrington HA&B, as it was called in the trade. Eric looked at the names with an unusually warm feeling that surprised him in contrast to the nausea and guilt he had been experiencing all morning. It was a feeling of coming home. He could almost visualize "B" for "Blaine" inscribed in gold lower case. Yes, it was a feeling of coming home in triumph battle-scarred, but triumphant.
"Good morning, Mr. Blaine. Let me get the door for you, Mr. Blaine," Joe greeted him.
"Thanks, Joe. Good morning." Eric strutted through the doors as though he were already President.
"Little worried about you, Mr. Blaine," Joe called after him. "Noticed your car in the parking garage all night." The illusion was shattered.
"Well, hail the conquering hero," Joyce Evans, the receptionist said, as he approached her desk. Her voice seemed to set off again the little buzzes going on in his head.
"What in hell do you mean by that?" he asked, because he really wanted to know.
"We're all very happy for you swinging the Sportsman account."
Joyce smiled and turned back to her typewriter but not before she made sure her skirt was above her knees, revealing two of the loveliest legs an ad agency ever had the good fortune to hire.
"Since when do you get your information before anyone else does?" Eric asked, not bothering to hide his hostility.
"Oh, I get around, Mr. Blaine. I hear things," she answered coyly.
He tried to push past her before she could notice his amazement.
"Oh, Mr. Blaine," she said stopping him, "are you coming in or getting ready for tonight?"
He noticed her eyes on his rumpled dinner jacket. "Whatever I do, I'm sure everyone around here will know about it before I do, so why ask me? Right now I'm going to have a shave and change clothes. If Tom Fredericks asks for me, tell him I'm in my office." He opened the door to the inner offices and slammed it hard behind him.
Eric pushed his office door open and backed against it, trying to push away the nausea that kept creeping back on him. Now he realized just how very sick and tired he was.
"Maybe if I have a quick one, it'll be better," he told himself. He pulled open a cabinet drawer, shaking several empty bottles. Finally one seemed to have something in it.
"Vodka does it," he anticipated. A quick swig convinced him a nice cold beer would have been better. Pressing the button of the inter-com, he told Joyce, "Send in some coffee and a couple of Fizrin."
"Right away, Mr. Blaine," was the answer.
"And get that goddamn smirk off your face, Miss Evans," he shouted through the instrument. He heard a faint, "Yes, Mr. Blaine," and slammed down the button.
He started toward the men's room but remembered he needed his electric razor. He reached in the back of his desk drawer for the razor with one hand and began taking off his dinner jacket with the other. He threw the jacket under his desk and pressed the button again and called to Joyce, "I suppose you'd better get my wife on the phone."
"Yes, sir," she answered.
"Oh, hell, never mind. I'll do it later."
"Incidentally, Mr. Blaine, I told Mr. Fredericks you were in. He said he'd drop into your office."
"Thanks, Joyce," he said, turning off the inter-com.
Joe came in with the coffee and Fizrin. Eric thanked him and hurried into the John to shave. He tried to figure out what he was going to tell Tom, or ask him, but he was not inspired.
When he got back to his office, Howard Gordon, another account man, was perched on his desk.
"Hi, big man!! " Howard said, pounding him on the back. "Really a big thing you did!"
"Well, Howard, anybody could have done it," Eric replied.
"Yeah, but you did, Eric. You did. Guess you'll be around for a while." Eric remained silent.
"Well, tell me about how you closed it," Howard said cheerfully. "I'd like to hear about it." He got up, walked to Eric's closet, and opened the door. "Heard you came in wearing a dinner jacket," he said slyly. "Did you stay out all night? Where'd you stay? Where's the dinner jacket, Eric? Throw it in the incinerator? Hide the evidence?"
"Not now, Howard. Please, not now!"
Howard stared out of the window, past the tall buildings to the horizon.
"How'd you do it?"
"Later, Howard! I said later!"
"Now, don't get your dander up, old boy. It's just that everyone knows the Broktons. And, well, you just don't walk into an office at nine ayem in a dinner jacket without having been somewhere, like all night."
"Okay. OKAY! OKAY!" Eric screamed. "Lay off! I said I'd talk about it later."
Howard looked at him long and steadily. Eric couldn't meet his gaze.
"So that was how you did it," he said quietly. "You son-o-a-b ... That's all I wanted to know."
Eric tried to answer him, but he was already gone.
For a few moments, Eric Blaine stared blankly out of the window, wondering if he would ever again be able to look at anyone directly. Then the door bolted open and Tom Fredericks, the agency head, entered, wearing a grin plastered across his face.
"Eric, mah boy, ah knew you had it in you," he said, pounding Eric on the back. Eric was beginning to feel like a punching bag. "Well, ah suppose you'll have a whopper of an expense account this period, boy, but nevah in mah life have ah been happier to sign one than ah will be to sign yours." Tom grinned with satisfaction.
"You had me figured out, didn't you, Tom? You knew that I'd go along with it. Why did you know that, Tom?"
"You learn real good, boy, that's why. I've always told you to give the bastards what they want and you'd get to the top o' the heap. Ah knows that's where you want to be. So that's where you'll get. There's no gettin' away from it. There's no stoppin' a man like you. Nothin' stoppin' him."
Eric looked at Tom in contempt. He knew definitely now that he hadn't gotten the contract at all. Tom had set up the whole thing and all Eric had had to do was deliver the papers to be signed and comply with the Broktons' sex desires. He had been merely a tool to indulge the esoteric tastes of the Broktons.
He was nothing more than a call boy in Tom Fredericks' stable. At that moment he hated Tom Fredericks as he had never hated anyone in his life. And he hated himself because he wasn't any stronger and because he wanted the credit for whatever he had done for himself and he didn't want Tom taking it away from him.
"Did you think I beat you to the office this morning?" Eric finally asked him.
"Oh, sure, ah did, Eric. What made you ask that?"
"I just wondered, Tom, how you felt when you discovered you had let the news out before you were supposed to know it. Or do you have some kind of a system of mental telepathy?"
"That Sportsman account will be the makin' of us, boy," Tom went on, ignoring Eric. "Ah'll even O.K. one or two of those little items ah'm sure you'll list as business expenses without a question of any kind! No sir, no question of any kind."
Eric looked at him expressionlessly. "I suppose you will, Tom," he said quietly. "I suppose that's why you told everyone about it before you even found out from me that the contract was signed."
It wouldn't have made any difference to Eric what his answer was. He knew this had been another way of making sure that everyone knew it was Tom's cleverness and manipulation that had gotten the contract and that Eric had had almost nothing to do with it.
The inter-com sounded and Eric picked it up. "Eric," his wife's voice blared, "where have you been all night and all morning?"
"Look, Janice, let me call you back."
"All I want to know is did you get the contract or didn't you?" she asked, not bothering to hide the dollar signs in her voice.
Eric looked at Tom. "Yes, dear, I did. I'll tell you all about it tonight. I really have to buzz off now."
"You are coming home tonight, then?" she asked. "Or are you staying out all night again?"
"I'll be home tonight, Janice. I'll talk to you then," he answered softly but meaningfully.
Eric hung up the phone and stared out of the window, ashamed to look at Tom.
"Son, you asked me how ah knew you'd go along with it. The reason was just talkin' to you on the telephone."
"It's nothin' to be surprised about, boy. But that's the way it is. You're a good boy, Eric. You are one of us. Now, you bettah see that Rich gets started on those layouts, boy. We're havin' a conference with Brokton and his boys in a couple o' days. We really got to get goin' on this thing if we mean to keep 'em. Ain't that right, boy?"
"Yes, of course," Eric answered, "I'll get Rich going on them right away."
"Ah'll see you at lunch, son. It's on me," Tom said as he left.
Eric watched him go out and shut the door. He tightened his knuckles and stared at them and then, in a moment of terrible anger at himself, pounded his clenched fist hard against his desk.
3
At 5:10, when Tom Fredericks was leaving the office, he turned when he heard Joyce Evans calk "Good night, Mr. Fredericks," after him.
Tom stopped in the doorway, dramatically framed against the gold "harvey, alien and barrington."
"Miss Evans," he said after a moment's pause, "why don't you all come along with me to the Cavalier?"
"That sounds nice," she told him as she began to adjust her stockings, aware of the attention her shapely legs demanded, "if you don't mind waiting while I straighten up a few things."
"Mind?" asked Tom, watching with no small amount of pleasure. "Since when do I mind watchin' you straighten up?"
He walked back to her desk and spread himself out over it. By then Joyce had finished with the stockings and as he bent over to watch the activity at closer range she stood up, nearly bumping heads with him.
"Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Fredericks," Joyce said coyly. T didn't realize you were right there."
Tom looked down the hallway to check on the doors, which to his delight were closed. He reached over the desk and pulled Joyce to him.
"How about a kiss for daddy?" he asked.
Joyce was drawn in to his flabby chest and reacted with a revulsion so slight and well covered that Tom Fredericks didn't catch it. He did, however, notice a holding back.
"All the way, honey. I've got the nicest bonus you ever did see planned for you, but it's got to be all the way."
Joyce tweaked his ear and pecked him on the cheek.
"Now what could that be, Mr. Fredericks?" she asked, feigning shyness.
"Ah won't tell you yet," he whispered. "But when ah do, you must promise me that little ole you won't tell mah wife about it. Because ah'll tell you right now, if you play your cards right, mah little ole wife won't be gettin' anythin' like that."
Joyce moved in closer to Tom.
"You really mean that?" she asked. "You wouldn't be suggesting..." She paused, her eyes twinkling. "You wouldn't be suggesting..."
He smiled at her expansively. "Ah might. Ah just might. Guess, you little ole sex pot. Guess."
"Not a fur coat?" she asked, kissing him passionately on the lips.
"It might be. It just might. But you have to play your cards right."
Joyce took her purse and moved around the desk, putting her arm through his.
"Show me the way, Daddy," she purred. "You just show me the way." She kissed him again on the lips.
The doors were flung open and Joe, the cleaning man, seeing them, started to retreat.
"'Scuse me, Mr. Fredericks. 'Scuse me."
"Good night, Joe," Joyce said.
They brushed past the sorry man and Tom cursed softly to Joyce, "Those damned niggahs. Ah'm always surrounded by those damned niggahs."
As they entered the Cavalier, Tom's eyes immediately fell on Rich Martin Who was leaning loosely over the bar. Tom forgot about Joyce momentarily. He lurched across the room and pulled Rich up by the back of his shirt.
"What the hell are you doin' here?" he demanded. "Didn't Eric talk to you about the Sportsman account? Why aren't you working on the layouts?"
Rich looked up lazily at Tom. "Don't get your dander up, Tom. I'm on my lunch hour."
"Lunch hour?" Tom shrieked, raging. "Lunch hourl It's time to go home, man."
"It is?" asked Rich, smiling drunkenly. "Can you beat that? Why I just walked into this place and sat down for a drink. Can you beat that?"
Tom suddenly became aware of Joyce standing next to him. He smiled grandly and pounded Rich on the back.
"Let's sit down, man, and have a little ole talk," he told him.
"Sure, Tom," Rich replied. "They're on me."
As they walked toward a booth, Rich reeled and grabbed Joyce by the waist, turning to look at Tom.
"Who's this nice dish you're with, Tom? Don't tell me you finally got one Miss Joyce Evans to go out with you?" He pulled her to him and whispered in her ear, "Tom's got a thing about receptionists, baby. You play it right and he'll take care of you just like he has all the others before you."
She slid into the booth and Rich leaned over and added, "But I guess you know pretty well what you're doing, don't you, baby?"
Tom pushed Rich aside and sat next to Joyce. Rich fell into the booth opposite them and looked at them through narrowed eyes.
"Uh huh," he said, making a mental note of the situation. Then he turned to the waitress who was standing there waiting for their order. "Drinks for the big boss and his wild receptionist. And don't forget about me."
She took their orders and left.
"Now, big boss, you wanted to have a little ole talk, I understand. Shoot!"
"On second thought," Tom said with a broad grin, "ah don't suppose this is a place to talk business. Ah think it might be bettah if ah drop by your place tomorrow and we'll get this whole thing straightened up. It seems to me that you have not fully undahstood the situation and ah would just love for you to undahstand the situation completely." He looked threateningly at Rich.
Rich looked back at him, trying hard to focus on him. "I think I do understand, Mr. Fredericks. For the first time I think I understand. I think that would be very nice if you did pay me a little social call. I'd like that."
Joyce reached into her bag for a cigarette. The waitress put down their drinks and Rich, reaching across with a lighter hit the edge of Joyce's glass, knocking it over and spilling it all over her.
"Look what you did, Rich!" she shouted angrily. "You've ruined my new dress!"
"Hush up, child," Tom said gently.
"I will not hush up," she screamed back. "He ruined my dress."
Tom turned around and noticed heads turned in the direction of their booth.
"Now, Joyce, you go into the powdah room and fix yourself up. And you might cool off a little bit."
"I am going to do no such thing! My dress is ruined!"
"Did you heah me! Ah said you go into the powdah room! I'll buy you a new dress. Don't you worry your little head about that. Now you git in there and come back feeling just a little bettah."
Joyce started to come back with an answer.
"If you don't keep your mouth shut, I'll kill you, and don't you forget that," he said threateningly.
As she started to rise, he pulled her back toward him and said softly but menacingly, "Don't you evah forget that."
Joyce gave a shrug and threw back her head, walking proudly past all the interested spectators.
"Well, Tom," Rich said happily, "guess you got yourself a bill. One new dress for your little companion." He tired to focus his eyes on Tom. "Is this the first time you've taken her out?"
"It's none of your business, Rich. Ah want you to undalistand that. It is none of your business."
"It's my business if I make it my business, Tom," Rich replied sarcastically.
Tom decided on a change of subject. "Now you look here, Rich. We've got a deadline to meet. Ah don't know if you realize it or not, but we have got a deadline to meet."
Rich turned away from him, smiling to himself.
"Ah see that smile formed on your lips. Ah want you to wipe it right off. Ah want you to realize what the hell is happenin' and what your responsibility is." Rich remained unimpressed.
"Ah don't undahstand, Rich. Ah just do not undahstand. It is a very big thing we have undertaken. It is a very big thing. You just sit there starin' at me as though nothin' were goin' on. Ah don't know what to make of it. Ah really don't."
"Lay off," Rich interrupted drunkenly. "Lay off, you fat old slob."
Tom glared at Rich. He did not want to start a scene in the Cavalier. He rose, looking at Rich evenly.
"Ah'll see you in the mornin.' And you'd bettah have a little change o' heart or we'll be gettin' somebody else in to do the layouts. What do you think o' that?"
"I don't think much of it, Tom. By the way, what about Miss Evans?"
Tom reached into his billfold and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "This should take care of Miss Evans," he said, throwing it on the table. He stalked out of the Cavalier, not looking back.
Rich smiled thoughtfully at his drink. He had wanted to talk back to Tom Fredericks hundreds of times before, but he had never dared. It came pretty easily, once you got started. He hated him, just as he knew everyone else did. But no one ever talked back to Tom Fredericks. No one dared.
When Joyce came back to the booth, she looked around for the missing Tom.
Joyce smiled with relief. She really hated Tom Fredericks. She thought he was fat and lecherous and disgusting. But she knew she could get things out of him if she played her cards right. And as appealing as the fur coat or whatever he had had in mind sounded, she knew she'd have to be a hell of a lot drunker to put up with him. Besides that, she knew that Tom had made a lot of promises to a lot of people and hadn't come through as often as he had pretended to. But if he was serious, Joyce knew he'd be around for a long time. She had heard of his domestic problems and she had a feeling that if he really wanted her badly enough he'd be around with his checkbook hanging out.
"Why'd he leave?" she asked Rich.
"Got a little nervous, I guess."
"Tom Fredericks nervous? That's a laugh!"
"Do you think he'll get you that new dress?" Rich asked.
"I don't know. I really don't give a damn. As long as I have something to look forward to."
"Like what?" Rich asked, taking another sip.
Joyce looked at him levelly. She had waited for a long time to get alone with Rich Martin. From everything she had heard, she knew he was great and that he could get whatever he wanted without paying for it. Still, she knew he was married and she didn't want to get mixed up with a married man again, at least not if there wasn't anything in it for her. But she did want to have him once. He looked like he was in rather bad shape and she was pretty sure it would be a waste of time that night. But there would be a chance of his coming back. The chance of his coming back sober these days was slim but from what Joyce had heard it was a chance worth taking. She decided she would get him to come back. Just once. And he'd think it was his idea.
"Like anything you like," she answered, looking at him through narrowed eyes.
Rich blew a smoke ring and watched it disintegrate into the air.
"Like your place?" he asked finally.
"Sure, why not?" she asked, looking at him directly.
"Well, let's go," Rich said. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"What's the rush?" she asked. "I want another drink."
"Hell, what's the point of drinking if you're interested in action."
"I just feel like one."
"Don't you have anything in the house?"
"Sure I do. But I like drinking out."
"Oh, nuts," Rich said impatiently. "Let's get the hell out of here. Let's blow this joint."
He got up, reeling slightly, and extended his hand to help her out of the booth. She took it and found she had to lead him out because he was having a pretty rough time by then.
"You've got a pretty great pair of gams," he told her as he watched her lower half swivel in front of him. "I know you know it but I felt like saying it."
"I haven't had many complaints lately, but thanks, anyway."
They hailed a cab and Joyce had to help Rich in. He propped himself in the corner and pulled Joyce over to him.
"Come on over here, baby, and keep me company."
For the rest of the trip to Joyce's apartment, he stared straight ahead, his arm draped loosely over her shoulder.
At the door, Joyce fumbled in her purse for the key. Rich kept grabbing at her for balance and made it almost impossible for her to get the key into the keyhole once she had found it. She helped him up the steps to the apartment, wondering if it was really worth the effort.
Inside, Rich looked around in surprise.
"Nice place you've got here," he said, flopping onto the sofa. "Real nice place."
Joyce excused herself and went into the bedroom and quickly undressed. She opened the door of her closet and selected a filmy blue negligee that had been extremely successful in the past. She knew she had to hurry or Rich would fall asleep and her efforts would all be in vain. She pushed her feet into a pair of blue mules with fur tassels and walked back to the living room. She stopped in the doorway to await his reaction.
"Christ!" he said, completely taken aback. "It's all yours, isn't it baby!" He pushed himself up from the sofa and moved toward her, trying hard to make a straight line to her.
"Dig those crazy knockers!" he said as he got into better focus. "You're just too good to be true!"
She moved into his arms. "I'm glad you like me. I'd hate to have disappointed you."
"I'll bet you've never disappointed anyone in your life," he said, slipping his hand inside the loosely tied negligee.
"Not that I remember," she said, trembling to his touch. "And I hear you're not so bad yourself."
He gave one powerful tug and the negligee fell airily into a heap.
"That's even better," he said, leaning against the wall for support and staying back to take in her entire naked body. "You shouldn't hide it with that!"
She stood still, smiling at Rich.
"Only trouble is. ... Well, baby, there's just one trouble. There are two of you! I see two of you! I'm not sure I could handle two of you!"
They laughed together and moved arm in arm to the bedroom and lunged together onto the bed.
They lay laughing for a while and then began to caress each other gently.
The relaxed position on the softness of the bed, coupled with the even softer warmth of the luscious body beside him and the effects of the alcohol he had consumed, seemed to generate within Rich a glow of pinkish, hazy peace and contentment, and his caresses were slow, unhurried, almost without passion.
But Joyce didn't seem to share his mood. Her torso undulated restlessly, and Rich knew that she was having difficulty holding her desire in check. At first this had the effect of irritating him somewhat, but as her movements became more and more insistent, he was caught up into her urgency. His hands moved faster, his mouth more hungrily.
"Joyce, baby..."
"I need you, Rich," she murmured.
Her mouth buried itself in his neck, taking sharp little nips.
A shudder racked his frame. "Joyce..." He reared up, bent to her and buried his face in her breasts. "Wait, darling..." He rose and swiftly slipped out of his clothes, rejoining her in moments, gathering her tightly against him.
"Baby," he murmured. "Baby, baby, baby."
Then they seemed to melt together into a glowing pit of fire that burned without pain, rising all around them until it blotted out everything.....
He lay next to her, his arms wrapped limply around her, completely spent. Every ounce of energy was gone. Joyce nestled closely to him and relaxed in his embrace. In a few moments his breathing became heavy and regular and she know that Rich Martin had fallen asleep.
4
When Eric got home from the office, Janice stopped peeling potatoes long enough for the customary peck on the cheek. It had become just a symbol of the image they tried unconsciously to preserve.
"Your drink is in the ice box," she told him. "Hurry with your shower. We've got to get to the meeting at the community center. It starts at eight-thirty sharp."
"Thanks a lot," Eric muttered.
Janice stopped for a moment and looked up.
"What did you say?" she asked sharply.
"Nothing! Not a goddam thing," he answered, angrily pulling open the refrigerator door and taking a quick gulp of his martini.
"Did Tom Fredericks say anything more about your promotion?" Janice asked, busily working at the sink.
"No. Not today. I very likely will get a bonus for firming the Sportsman account, however," Eric answered, trying to make it sound convincing.
"How much?" Janice asked, with sudden interest showing in her blue eyes.
"Well, I should imagine between five hundred and a thousand dollars. That's the usual deal."
"Tom has promised you a promotion so many times, but something always seems to come up to prevent it from happening. I wonder what it will be this time?" she said disdainfully.
Eric finished his drink and poured another one from the pitcher.
"You've just got to keep working on him, Eric. You've got to be in the right place at the right time. I think it's your fault that he keeps passing over you. Well, you'd better have your shower now. We've got to hurry."
"Oh, Christ, Janice! Lay off, will you? I just got in the door. Do you mind if I catch my breath?"
Janice closed the conversation by turning on the garbage disposal. The peelings slushing around against the blades covered his words.
"Christ!" he shouted to the olive floating in his martini. "Christ!"
Eric fantasized a chase after the olive, swimming toward it, never quite catching it and finally drowning in the attempt. And there was Janice, peering over the rim, egging him on, and watching him bob up and down. Up and down. Eric snapped back to reality, realizing this was exactly what she would make him do eventually. Drown.
"Well, aren't you going to hurry?" Janice demanded.
T am in no mood to sit through all that crap that Tom dishes out again tonight. It will be the same thing tonight as it has been for the last twenty that we've been to. It seems to me we've been going to these goddam meetings from the day I was weaned. It sure as hell gets dull listening to that bastard all day and then having to hear the same diatribe all over again in the evening. I just don't think I can manage it again tonight!" Eric was shouting by the end of his harangue and his face was flushed with anger.
"Sssh, Eric, the neighbors will hear you," Janice said in an effort to placate him.
"I don't give a damn about the neighbors!" Eric shouted even louder.
Janice looked at him in disbelief.
"Well, I do. Even if you don't care, I do wish you'd have a little consideration for me. And after what I've just said about you not getting a promotion, you have the nerve to talk like that. This just might be a way to make Tom see that you're at least interested," Janice said as though she were explaining something to a backward child. "I've told you before, and I don't have time to tell you again right now, but these things are very important. You just can't afford to take the chance of offending Tom by not showing up. He depends on you so much. You know how much this hospital means to him."
"I hope you're right, Janice. I hope you're right," Eric said through his teeth.
He walked slowly to the bathroom, his drink still in his hand. He set it down on the sink and studied himself in the mirror. Still looked the same as yesterday, he thought. The same as the day before that, and the same as he had looked last night. He decided he had always looked the same.
"What the hell!" he said aloud to himself. "Why should I worry about anything?"
He was just getting into the shower when he heard Janice yell through the door. "Are you still in there, Eric? I thought I told you to make it quick."
That goddam bitch, Eric thought as the hot water rained down his body. All at once her voice didn't seem to be anything he knew. He was caught up in the sensuous pulse of the water against his naked body and it helped to shut out the unpleasant scene they had just had. He shoved his head under the sprinkler again and again until he finally found a sense of reality.
"All right, be right out!" he shouted through the door.
Janice was standing outside the shower door, holding an over-sized towel for him. "Hurry up, Eric," she said once again.
"okay. I'll get dressed as fast as I can."
"Well, don't take too long. I hate coming in after the meeting has started. Tom always makes some remark," Janice said, handing him the towel.
"All right, all right! Just stop going on and on about it!" he snapped.
Janice slid past him, her blonde hair trailing after her, and went back to the kitchen. He wiped his feet carefully before wrapping the towel around him and plodding down the hall. He knew full well that Janice would really pitch a bitch if he got water stains on the carpet.
As he dressed, he felt angry at Janice all over again. Their relationship had deteriorated into just a persistent, nagging endurance contest. They no longer tried to make each other happy in any way, but only tried to revenge the last hurt, real or imagined, that had been inflicted by the other. Their private hostility and animosity made their blissful public image seem all the more ludicrous. Janice had become a shrew who was interested only in the next salary increase or the next promotion. The next anything and the next everything. But never the now of love.
Never the now of the kiss and tender touch. So why in hell bother?
Eric finished dressing and as he walked past the bathroom he saw Janice folding the damp bath towels and hanging them neatly on the towel bar. He was prompted with a sudden desire for her, a desire to try to save whatever could be saved from their relationship. He went in and grabbed her and began to kiss her as if to relieve his guilt for feeling so hostile towards her.
Janice looked startled and then pushed him away with disgust in her eyes. "Stop that, Eric. We have to eat and get going, you know that. Dinner's ready, if you are," she added flatly.
He watched her go out of the bathroom, wondering if there was something wrong with him. It always got back to that. Once you had cared about pleasing her and giving her what you thought she wanted and needed. What else could anyone do? And finally you gave up trying. But that's one thing you never get past; wondering if there's something wrong with you.
If only they could talk. Eric wanted to tell her all that was inside him and listen to her tell him what it was that had gone wrong for her. As if by pleasing her he could get it off his conscience. But his feelings were for Angela. Angela, who was still between them like a great chasm that could never be bridged. The very fact that Angela still existed, had made it become wider and wider.
Their dinner was a silent one, Eric staring at his plate, feeling no appetite. Janice remained unaware of his absorption with something somewhere outside their small sphere. It was often like this, nowadays, and she paid no attention to it. Eric never knew how the plates seemingly emptied themselves.
Eric found himself following Janice to his car, opening the doors mechanically and then driving. The streets, like his provincially neat home, seemed to intimidate him. He became more and more annoyed with their hominess, their sameness. The warmth and security they had once given him were gone. There was nothing left but boredom. Eric stepped on the accelerator. At least here was a feeling of power. Of manliness. He wished for an instant that he was back at the Brokton's hotel suite, reliving last night.
Janice, noticing the speed, asked nervously, "What are you doing? Are you going to a fire?"
"To a fire?" Eric repeated abstractly. He toyed with the words in his mind. "To a fire? Yes, maybe straight to the biggest, damndest fire you ever saw."
They drove through the suburban streets in the direction of the Community Center.
"I hope Edie and Rich have progressed far enough on the Sportsman job to be able to put in an appearance Friday night," Eric said in an obvious effort to break the silence.
"Oh, Eric, you know Rich. No matter what he has to do he can make a party. Maybe it's a bad time to have a party with so much to be done. I certainly don't want to throw a wrench in the works. The way Rich gulps down the hooch, he probably won't be good for anything for several days."
"Well, he'll have the weekend to recover and then we can always count on Edie. I wouldn't be surprised if she did most of the work, anyhow."
Again there was a silence and Eric wondered who would give in and make the next ever-so-casual remark. He was still hurt and angry at the realization that she had not even bothered to ask where he had been the whole of last night. He would have liked to tell her the whole thing, how sorry he was about it and promise her that it would never happen again. But he knew now that it was all over between them and that she really cared about nothing at all except that he make more and more money. What he did to make that money was of no importance to her.
Worse than that, she was right. The Sportsman account was not enough. Eric was being moved like a pawn across a chess board. One wrong move and he had had it. It didn't mean that if he did everything right he would win the promotion he'd been working for for so long. But it did mean that if he caused Tom any annoyance, it could mean endless waiting or the end of his dreams.
Eric screeched to a stop at the curb in front of the Community Center and jumped out. As he closed the door his eyes fell on Tom Fredericks' cream Caddie parked under the trees across the street.
"Damn status symbol!" he said as he went around the car to open Janice's door. He hated Tom for having so much money, but even more than that he hated him because he had so much power. And because he was afraid of him.
"He's nothing but a slob, and we kowtow to him as if he were a god," he told Janice as they walked through the courtyard to the meeting room.
Janice ignored his remark and put her arm through his to make it look as though they were newly-weds.
Logically, nothing could go wrong, Eric thought. But Tom Fredericks was a cunning bastard. You never knew what he had up his sleeve. How did a guy like that get so much power in a community? Why couldn't you dare open your mouth against him and have someone go along with you?
As they entered the meeting room, Tom Fredericks glanced up and Eric was aware of the phony smile Tom smeared on his face. Tom threw his arms open wide and wailed across the room.
"Good evenin', folks! Good evenin'! Ah sure am happy you all could make it."
"Thanks. I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Eric lied.
Tom threw both arms around Eric and turned to face the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "ah would like to have you meet Eric Blaine. Now, ah know you all know him, but ah just am a wonderin' if you happen to know this boy is mah right hand."
He smiled to the entire room.
"Yes, sir," he went on, "mah right hand! For your information," he told them, "Mr. Blaine just pushed ovah the biggest deal in the history of advertisin'. "
Eric looked at Tom with venom, but Tom went right on talking.
"Well, perhaps not the biggest, but anyhow, it was the toughest."
Turning to face Eric, he squeezed him, saying, "Would you like to tell the people how you managed it, Eric? Ah'm sure they all would be mighty interested in your story."
Eric's hate turned to embarrassment, and he looked at the floor.
Tom studied him knowingly. "Well, perhaps some othah time then," he said, smiling sweetly.
"Now," he said, dismissing Eric in his most business-like tone, "we get to the ordah of the day. The cancah clinic. I'm happy that you all could make it again tonight. Now that we ah all togethah again I want to tell you that it's all comin' along pretty nicely. Yes sir, pretty nicely. But we are still in need, at this time, of a few additional funds. Ah have dreamed about this heah clinic since the days when ah saw my mothah in the throes of agony and pain. She died, bless her soul, and did not see what then became mah dreams come true." At this Tom drew a large white handkerchief from his back pocket and gave his nose a noisy blow, and replaced it in his pocket before he continued. But all of you, ALL OF YOU, God willin', will see it now."
He narrowed his eyes and looked with satisfaction at the reactions of the people who had willingly stopped their individual conversations to listen to him. He puffed on his pregnant cigar, his already gross size appearing to be further inflated by the power he could now feel.
"He's got them all going again," Eric told Janice, "I'd think they'd get wise to his phony crap some time."
Janice gave him a disapproving glance and put her fingers to her lips to quiet him.
"Remind me to tell you a joke sometime," Tom went on. He winked at Janice sitting in the front row and threw back his head, laughing convulsively at the thought of the joke he had in mind. When his fat had rolled back into place, his expression became serious.
"Now, ah'm not goin' to take up much o' your time. Ah'm not going to ask for volunteers because ah know you wouldn't be heah if you weren't willin' to volunteer. So ah'm goin' to get to the point. Ah'm goin' to tell you what has to be done and ah'm goin' to tell you who's goin' to do it."
He scanned the audience and waited.
This was the way Tom Fredericks got things done. One had to admit he did get things done. Whether it was the least bit democratic was another thing. The power and the approval he demanded, he got. There was always a more than ample chorus of yes men eager and willing to appear at his summons.
"If anyone objects, or if anybody has a bettah idea for gettin' the thing finished, just feel free to tell me now. Just feel free, because like ah said, we're goin' to have a hospital and you are going to have to do most of the work since I by myself am a weak little man!" He paused and accepted the set-up laughter. "We are goin' to see that this here hospital is finished. If you all aren't willin' to do anythin' that's asked of you; if you don't believe it's a worthy cause; if you don't want to give your full effort and your full support, you can feel free to walk out right now, because after tonight there's no backin' out. There's no backin' out, my friends. There's no stoppin'. Because ah intend to see this here thing through."
He leaned threateningly over the desk. Eric noticed the tenseness of the audience. The idiots, all of them! A combination of fear and admiration. He was shocked all over again at the phoniness of Tom. At his gall. But at least the hospital was a good cause. He wondered what particular sin this good cause was meant to erase from Tom's slate.
Tom Fredericks' shoulders relaxed, and it seemed to Eric that it was a conscious relaxation. With this, he smiled.
"That bastard knows exactly how to play these fools," Eric whispered. "He knows every acting trick in the book."
Janice's quizzical expression didn't surprise him. She was too caught up in the little drama, although she should have known the whole speech by heart, having heard it a dozen times. Eric couldn't stop himself from remarking: "I wonder what special assignment he's got in mind for me. You'll be lucky to get off with another bake sale. He's probably going to ask me to faint dead away in front of all these people and then push me through his half-completed cancer clinic so he can get pages and pages of free publicity with a miraculous new cure."
"Be quiet, Eric. People will hear you. What will they think?" Janice snapped.
"He would have made a damn good Nazi," Eric returned with resentment mounting in his voice.
He almost recoiled visibly when Tom came down the aisle after the meeting had been adjourned and slapped him on the shoulder.
"How would you folks like to join me and my pretty little wife here for a drink? Just a quick nip, like they say, before hitting that old sack. Hmmmm? How about it?" Again he laughed boisterously. His wife twitched nervously at his side. She was an apathetic creature, so unlike him in every way that it seemed quite obvious that they would have gotten together to make each other's lives miserable. One could hardly be aware of her good figure or her quiet good looks because she didn't impress anyone with more than her existence. More than that could not have been possible with him there, always shouting, laughing too loughly and slapping her to embarrass her.
Eric was about to decline the invitation for the drink when he felt Janice's elbow in his ribs. "Love to," she said coyly to Tom. "The Aloha?"
Janice smiled sweetly and nodded assent. "We'll meet you there in ten minutes," she said.
Eric was furious with Janice for accepting. The aloneness and loneliness that were supposed to end with marriage seemed to increase at times like this. Times like this when there was no recognition of the other's wishes. As they drove through the dimly lit streets, neither he nor Janice spoke.
5
The Aloha was situated above a lake, cleverly concealed in the trees. At the bottom of the hill, the sounds of the combo could be heard, sometimes moaning lazily, sometimes wailing frantically. Eric began to be carried away with the music and almost felt excitement at going in the club even though he hadn't wanted to see Tom again that evening.
"We'd better not stay too late," he found himself saying to Janice as they entered.
For an instant he found it hard to adjust his eyes to the darkness inside.
"Hi-ya buddy." Somebody smacked him hard on the back. He took the hand of whoever it was and shook it briskly.
"Good to see you. What's new?"
"Not much, Eric. Business as usual. Win some, lose some."
"Well, that's the way it goes."
"Well, see you around." Then Tom spotted them.
"Bless my soul! If we didn't get here before you folks. Bless my soul!"
"Where do you want to sit?" Eric asked with little enthusiasm.
"How about in there?" Tom suggested, leering. "Like to watch those gals twist and sway to the music. It does my old heart so much good just to see them swing." With this his hooted laughter pierced through the sounds of the melancholy drumming of the combo. As they walked into the room where couples were dancing, Tom walked behind Janice and pinched her playfully.
"I must say," he told Eric. "Your wife has got about the nicest bottom I ever did see. Just about the nicest."
Eric noted that Janice looked pleased. He wondered if she was crazy enough to buy it.
"Yes, she does," Eric answered, forcing himself to continue on into the dark room.
Melody Fredericks smiled demurely at Eric as she followed her husband, but said nothing.
"Would you be so kind as to order the drinks, Eric, and at the same time grant me the pleasure of a little step or two with your lovely wife?" Tom asked, his eyes shining with a lewd excitement. "We'll just spin around the room and right off to the moon," he whispered to Janice, and winked at her.
Eric and Melody slipped into the opposite sides of a booth, while Tom dragged Janice away to the dance floor.
"That's a lovely little dress you're wearing, Mrs. Blaine," Tom smiled, pulling her against him, "a lovely little dress. And, Mrs. Blaine, if you don't mind mah saying so, I sure am happy it's as little as it is, because I can readily see how much there is of you. How much little woman there is, I mean."
With that he pulled her even closer to him. Janice looked up at him, pleased by his approval and sudden interest. They stood close, moving in one spot to the music.
"You've known me long enough to call me by my first name, Mr. Fredericks. You don't have to call me Mrs. Blaine. Of course, I know that Southern gentlemen are not as forward as we are. But please call me Janice."
"Well, thank you, little flower. What have I done to deserve such a rare pleasure? I'd like to have a special name for you. One that other people don't call you," he mused. "Somethin' like honeysuckle, or somethin'. " They danced off.
Eric didn't mind at all. He was relieved to have them away for a while. He was glad that Tom was suddenly finding Janice so attractive. It let him off the hook a little bit as far as playing up to the old bastard was concerned. He wondered if Janice was really so dense that she couldn't see what an ass she was making of herself.
The whole thing was so ridiculous to Eric that he forgot his hostility for a moment and had to exercise great control to keep from laughing aloud.
The drinks arrived and Eric picked his up, listening to the music and trying to absorb the mood. He remembered the elegance of the evening before and suddenly felt shabby. Then his thoughts went to the "games" they had played, and he felt renewed hatred for Tom. He could see him on the dance floor, pressing his head into Janice's hair. Eric turned to look at Melody and was embarrassed for her, sitting demurely looking on, with a fixed smile and an unseeing blank look in her eyes.
"My little honeysuckle, how I'd like to suckle you," Eric heard Tom say to Janice as they moved by.
"By the way, you and Melody are coming to our party on Friday night, aren't you?" he heard Janice ask as she moved a little away from Tom.
"Why yes, we are. With bells on." Tom said. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Not for the world." Again they moved out of Eric's earshot.
Melody looked at Eric, and then looked timidly away. Very softly she said, T understand that those parties sometimes get rather wild. Yes, rather wild, I hear." Eric could tell she hated this in herself, repeating phrases in the same manner as Tom did. He supposed it was natural since they had been living in the same house for so long, but he was sure she would like to be herself, at least once in a while.
Eric smiled at her with understanding. He felt he would want to protect her from the savages at the party. "Well, I wouldn't say wild, exactly," he told her. "Let's just say rather 'far out' at times," he added with a wink.
"You know, I'm rather looking forward to it," she confided. "Yes I am. I've never been to a 'far out' party before."
Suddenly Eric became aware that Tom was looking at them and had stopped his intense conversation with Janice for a moment. He seemed to be leaning in to hear what he and Melody were talking about. Eric turned his back on Tom and Janice and became even more aware of Melody than before. In the time that he had known the Fredericks, he realized that he really didn't know Melody at all. She had always been in the background, no more significant than the wallpaper on the walls. Eric could now sense her needs to be a person, to be recognized and loved.
Melody touched Eric on the arm. "Don't you be so serious, Eric," she told him. "What are you thinking about?"
Eric looked at her huge warm eyes. They were so tender, so concerned, so gentle, so loving. He reached for a strand of her hair and pushed it away from her face.
"Women," Eric answered noncommittally.
"Women?" repeated Melody. "Any particular woman?"
Eric took her hand and pressed it to his lips, not answering. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
"I wish I knew more," Melody told him softly, "so I could help you. I'd love to help you. It would give my whole life meaning."
"You help me by caring about people," Eric told her. "So few people care nowadays. It's become a lost art. You think you have friends. You think people care about you. But it's not really true. You're really alone. So you, in the fact that you can still care about other human beings, even for a moment, help more than most of us can in a lifetime."
Melody smiled softly. "I cared for someone once. I mean really cared, like you were just saying. But it was a long time ago."
Eric gave her a long look. "Tell me about him I'm sorry. I assume it was a man?"
"Oh, that's all right. It was a man. You were perfectly correct. I was so very young then. I was about twelve, I guess, and my goodness, that was a long time ago." Her eyes sparkled with a look so distant that Eric did not want to interrupt.
"Hardly anyone cared for me when I was young, you see. But I did have one friend. In my whole life I had one friend. We lived in a big plantation in those days. Mamma and Daddy were very rich as you've probably heard. But they were very busy, too, as very rich people often are."
She was embarrassed and almost stopped; now that she felt she had finally found a listener, she didn't know if she had anything worth saying. After a lifetime of silence, she had a hard time believing someone cared to listen to her. But even though it was difficult for her, she went on, encouraged by Eric's compassionate look.
"Mamma used to think I should just do embroidery and tatting and things like that. Anything else wasn't lady-like. Almost anything else I wanted to do she seemed to think was wrong. So I used to do tatting. All day long." She smiled at Eric as though he should contribute something. But tatting was a little far afield for him.
"Anyway, I finally took my tatting to the river. That's where I met him, by the river. We used to sit hour after hour just talking. I never knew anyone I enjoyed talking to more. And I loved to listen to him. Then gradually we got closer and closer and he even kissed me once." Melody looked away embarrassed.
"Anyway, he used to read me poetry. His poetry. And he began to write poetry for me. That was the loveliest thing in my life. I guess I always dreamed that a man ... a knight in white shining armor ... would send me poetry and then take me away from the plantation and away from all the meanness." She sighed, reminiscing. "We even used to fish. Not with a pole or anything like that, but a string with a bent pin tied to it, and we even caught some fish. I taught him things, too. He really taught me more but I did give him something of myself, too. I helped him learn words because he didn't know how to spell. They wouldn't let him go to school and I always promised him that when I grew I would help him go to school." Tears welled up in Melody's eyes. Eric touched her hand gently.
"But then they found out about me. They didn't know who I was seeing, or that I was seeing anyone, for a long time. But then Mamma got to wondering why I wasn't getting more imagine work done. She wouldn't allow me to go outdoors any more. I thought everything would be all right ... that nobody'd find out about what had been going on between us. I was so grateful for the love and friendship I had had, and the memory would have been enough even if I couldn't see him anymore. If I could have felt that he was near. But somehow, and I don't know to this day how, Mamma found out about him. And when she discovered that he was colored ... well..." Melody couldn't continue.
"Go on," Eric urged her sympathetically. "Please go on."
"Well, Mamma sent them away from the plantation. And after they had gone I heard that his family couldn't get work. It's pretty hard sometimes when you're as poor as they were. And then, next thing you know, I heard he died. Starvation, I guess. At least that's what I heard. And to me it was as though my mother had killed him. I never forgave her for that. And I never forgave myself for letting her find out. But I couldn't help it. I don't know how she did find out! I really don't understand anything. All I know is that I had found someone to love, for the first time in my life, and he was taken away from me. I never believed I would find anyone to love again and so I was happy when Tom asked me to be his bride. He promised Mamma he would take care of me and she was happy for that. She was so happy because he was an up-and-coming young man. He didn't have the education or the money that Mamma would have liked, but she knew she would have a hard time getting rid of me. Because, you see, after that happened my friend's death, I mean I never talked to anyone. For years I never even opened my mouth. And Tom liked that. He liked having someone who would listen and listen and listen to him. And you know, Eric, there's not one word that comes out of that man's mouth that's the truth. I don't believe one word he says. I tell everyone what a fine person he is, how honest and good he is with the hospital and all, but I just don't believe it at all.
"Shhhh," Eric whispered. "They're coming back."
"I see them, Eric," she answered, "and I suppose I should be quiet, but I almost hoped he would hear. He just might kill me and end my suffering. I doubt that that would be too much for him to do. I think he might enjoy killing someone." Melody looked directly at Eric.
"The strange thing is, though, Eric, as long as I lived in the south and as much as I was taught to hate colored folk, I never did. I pretended I did just so that they wouldn't beat me, but secretly I have loved colored folk more than I do white people. It might sound stupid, but that is where I learned what love and sharin' is all about and that's where my heart is. Tom would certainly kill me if he heard that. But that is God's truth, Eric. And when I see a handsome colored man ... or maybe not even handsome
... I get a feeling that I could learn to be alive if I could get close."
"What's all this whispering about?" Tom Fredericks asked as he and Janice sat down at the table again. "I go out and have a dance with your wife and I find that all this whispering is goin' on behind my back." He gave a forced laugh.
"Your wife is a very interesting person, Tom," Eric told him. "We have been having a very engrossing conversation. I'm sorry I didn't get to know her before tonight."
"Yes," Tom said, not really meaning it.
Not being able to cope with his anger, Tom forced an even greater amount of false enthusiasm.
"Well, I'm certainly looking forward to your party tomorrow night, folks. It should be a real humdinger. Yes, indeedy, it should be a humdinger of a party." He eyed Janice hungrily, and slid out of the booth, saying, "It's in the stars, folks. I read my horoscope and it predicted great things for tomorrow. Ah kin almost taste it already." And with that he laughed, almost maliciously, and walked out, followed quietly by his shadow his wife, Melody.
A heavy fog had dropped on the hill, giving a closeness and security that made Janice relax for a moment in the car next to Eric. He seemed to sense it and began to think it might not be so bad getting home tonight. But as usual, the mood was soon gone, and Janice tensed up.
"Don't you think you'd better put your windshield wipers on, Eric?"
Eric felt his body stiffen and his anger rose. But with the control he had so well learned by now, he automatically took the guilt himself and turned the button for the wipers.
T suppose so. It's kind of thick." Where was the enchantment now? he wondered. It was hard to remember if there had ever been any. A mundane maudlin world, he thought. He wanted desperately to break through all the petty nonsense. Break away and be strong enough not to need her.
Eric got out of the car and opened the door of the double garage. Janice automatically slid over to the driver's seat and pulled Eric's car in next to hers.
When they got into the house, Janice walked directly to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The steam rose and filled the bathroom. She undressed and bathed slowly and methodically. After she finished she wrapped a large towel around her and walked into the bedroom. With quiet deliberation she donned her pajamas and robe.
"Aren't you going to bed, Janice?" Eric asked.
"I've got to put up my hair first," she replied.
"Oh, Jesus!" Eric said bitterly. He opened a drawer, pulled out fresh pajamas, undressed and got into his twin bed. He turned over and over as he waited for her to finish with her hair and to get settled in her bed for the night so he could go to sleep. Then he realized she had gone into the living room.
He hit the pillow in anger and frustration.
"What in hell are you doing?" he yelled.
"Thought I'd read a little. I don't really feel tired," she called back.
"Christ," Eric said. "Christ!" He dozed off trying to forget that she existed.
Janice walked back into the bedroom and took off her bathrobe, slowly putting it at the foot of her bed. She walked to the window, pulled back the draperies and looked briefly at the sky. Then she went to the chest and fumbled for a cigarette and lighter. All this was done with her usual matter-of-fact attention to detail.
"Is that you, Janice?" Eric said, waking suddenly and turning toward her as she was arranging her ash tray, cigarettes, and magazine on her night table.
"Who'd you think it was, stupid?" Her laugh made it more good-humored than it might otherwise have sounded. Eric drew his breath in quickly.
"I wish you'd turn out the light, Janice. I'm very tired and have a busy day tomorrow," he said curtly.
"I will soon. I just want to finish this story. Nothing is stopping you from going to sleep, is it?" she asked.
"No, of course not," was all he could manage, wishing things didn't have to be like this between them. "Good night."
"Good night, Eric," she said as she settled carefully in her bed and began to read.
6
I The following morning, Tom Fredericks lay quietly in his king-sized bed with green silk sheets, reminiscing happily about how well he had pulled off the meeting at the Community Center. After having saturated himself with good feelings about himself, le pulled a long Indian cord which set off a bell downstairs. Seconds later, Hildy, his colored maid, mocked hesitantly on the door.
"Git in here," he yelled. "Why do you suppose ah rang if ah didn't want you?"
"Yas, suh," she answered, moving in cautiously, as though she expected him to throw something at her.
"It was a nice mornin' before you all came in that door. Pull those draperies back and git downstairs and have mah breakfast ready. Ah'll eat downstairs this mornin'."
Hildy moved quickly to the windows, opening the draperies and exposing a magnificent view of his iixty-foot swimming pool. She came back to his bed ind stood at the end of it waiting further instruc-ions.
"Didn't you heah me? Ah said you git downstairs and have mah breakfast ready! How many times do ah have to tell you things?"
Hildy got out hurriedly and ran down the steps, almost on the verge of tears. Tom watched her movements with great satisfaction. His intense hatred for colored people found release and gratification in these unsubtle ways. If it had not been for the pleasure he attained from pushing them around, he could not have stood to have them living at such close proximity. But this very pleasure which feelings of power and superiority gave him was something he could not deny himself. He took great pride in the fact that his feelings were known and that he was accepted by the others who he felt pretended lack of prejudice.
Tom took his first shower of the day. His bathroom was the one room in the house that gave him the greatest pleasure. If he didn't have to go to the office, he would often take five or six showers a day. like everything else in the house, everything in his bathroom was massive. He had ordered the plumbing fixtures custom made and he polished them secretively and laboriously after every shower. It was a ritual that he followed no matter what else happened. In his mind, this placed him far above the hypocritical church-goers who he was sure never experienced this great feeling of cleansing in a church.
It was in his bathroom, too, that he did all of his big thinking and where he found inspiration. Now, as had happened to him many times before, he was suddenly filled with the delight of discovery. He threw on his brocade bathrobe and charged down the stairs.
"Hildy! You git Janice Blaine on the phone this minute!" he ordered fiercely.
Hildy moved tremblingly toward the phone.
"Can't you move a little faster?" he screamed. "What's the mattah with you lazy good-for-nothin' niggahs?"
"Yas suh," Hildy said quietly. "Yas, suh." And so softly that Tom couldn't hear, she said an almost silent prayer, "Ah hopes you gits your own one day. Ah really hopes to the good Lo'd you does."
"What's that you're sayin'? " Tom demanded.
"Nothin', suh. Nothin'. Ah was just sayin'...'Scuse me, suh, Missus Blaine is on the phone."
Tom, taking the phone gruffly from Hildy, covered his malicious expression with an overly-sweet smile.
"Janice! Janice! How are you this mornin'? " he asked. "Well, ah'm fine too. Just fine. It is such a beau-t-iful day," he chirped. "Yes, isn't it though? Now, listen Janice, ah just got the greatest inspiration. Ah have an idea for the party you're plannin'. You won't believe it but ah just thought of it all by my little ole self." He stopped to listen to Janice's approving remarks. "Yes, ah'm sure you'll like it very much! Yes. Well, ah'm sure you'll understand that it can be worked in very easily without much fuss or bothah and I'll help you. Well, here's what it's about..."
Melody moved cautiously down the stairs, listening to Tom on the phone but not really comprehending what he was saying. Quietly, almost bird-like, she slipped past him into the dining room.
"Hildy, would you please see that Mr. Fredericks' breakfast is on the table. Ah know hell be wantin' it the minute he's off the phone," she whispered.
"Ah'm tryin', Missus Fredericks. Ah'm tryin'. Ah've been so busy this mornin'..."
"Yes, Hildy, ah know you have," Melody said comfortingly. "It's just that ah don't want to to have to get a lashin' from Tom's tongue. Is there anythin' ah can help you with?"
"That's veiy kind o' you, Missus Fredericks. But if he caught you helpin' me that'd be the end o' us both. You know that as well as ah do."
Hildy walked into the kitchen, followed by Melody.
"You all are so kind, Missus Fredericks. Just too kind for words. If it weren't for you ah wouldn't stay in this here place anothah day. Ah really wouldn't. But ah wouldn't dare leave you alone in this house one day wid dat der man. He's a mean one, he is. He really is. And ah prays that he gits his own one day," she continued, carrying steaming rolls and sparkling silverware into the dining room. Ah said a prayer to the good Lo'd just this mornin'. Ah said ah hopes Mr. Fredericks git his..."
"Sshhh, Hildy, he maht hear you," Melody said, still following her. "You mustn't say things like that, anyway. We must love him."
"You kin love him if you want to but ah sure don't! NO ma'am. Not for one minute do ah love him," Hildy answered, carefully placing the silverware at Tom's place.
"But he's a good man, Hildy. Ah've told you ovah and ovah that he is buildin' that hospital. Now tell me, Hildy, what man would build a hospital like that if he weren't a good man," Melody asked, sitting down at the table.
"Well, like ah said, Missus Fredericks. You kin love him. That's your cross to bear. We all have our crosses to bear," Hildy said, giving the table a last check.
Hildy walked into the kitchen, leaving Melody seated at the dining room table. Melody knew that Hildy was right but she didn't feel he had always been like that. Now she felt she shouldn't allow herself to censure him. She knew that Tom had led a hard life and that he didn't really believe that he was the big man he pretended to be. She felt she had to try to understand him and excuse him for it. The only reason he put people down, she knew, was to make himself feel bigger. Since she had had such an easy, rich life, she thought it was up to her to take care of Tom to make up for the things he had missed. She had had to bear a lot and she knew it but still there was nothing else she thought she could do with her life. Sometimes she did feel that she hated him. Sometimes she would have liked to walk out. Sometimes she even thought she would like to kill him. But she knew she mustn't allow herself these mean thoughts.
"Is mah breakfast ready?" Tom barked, hanging up the receiver loudly and walking into the dining room.
"Nothing's ever ready on time!" he ranted. Suddenly he became aware of Melody seated at the table.
"And what are you doin' down here? Who gave you permission? Ah said a hundred times if ah said it once that if ah wanted you at mah breakfast table ah'd send for you!"
He raised his hand to strike her.
"Just this once, Tom. Please," Melody pleaded. "Ah git so lonesome sittin' in that room alone day aftah day. Please, just this once..."
"You are lucky ah didn't hit you. You know that, don't you? If you are maybe lookin' for a beatin' like ah gave you the othah day you stick around. Ah want to have mah breakfast in peace and when ah want you ah'll send for you. Now git up there!"
Melody ran to the kitchen, sobbing.
"Bring mah breakfast up, will you, Hildy?"
"Yas, ma'am," the girl answered, "Ma'm..." she began sympathetically, but Melody had already slipped out of the room.
Tom ate his breakfast in silence, silently chuckling about his plans for the party. He knew that it would shock everyone and that a few might be reluctant to go along with it. Still, he knew that he'd just get rid of the ones who wouldn't do it, and see to it that they didn't work for a long long time. The important ones would stay. He marveled at his control over people with better educations and better backgrounds.
When he finished his breakfast he yelled, "Git Melody down here! Ah want to talk to her this instant!"
He walked into the hallway and dialed a number, waited for an answer.
"Now, listen here, Bich," he screamed into the phone. "Ah want you to git goin' on that contract. No more stallin', do you hear? This is your last chance, man!" He slammed down the phone and grinned. "That'll keep him on his toes, ah reckon!"
Melody came anxiously down the stairs.
"Do you want me, Tom?" she asked skeptically.
"Want you? What the hell do you think ah sent Hildy to git you for? You're just as stupid as she is. Sit down, will you? SIT DOWN!! "
Melody shrank into a chair. He sat across from her.
"Now, what the hell were you up to last night at the bar? Twiddlin' your ass around and battin your eyelashes at Eric Blaine! How many times have ah told you to stay in line? You're mah wife and don't you evah forgit it. If you're lookin for a beatin' like ah gave you the othah day, you just go right on doin' it. But if ah catch you spoutin' off to Eric Blaine again, that's just what you'll be gettin'. Anothah beatin."
"Ah was just talkin' to him, that's all." Tom stood up and walked toward her. "Ah say that wasn't ail!"
"Please, Tom. Please listen to me for a minute."
He looked menacingly at her. Usually her tendency was to flinch and retreat but she seemed to have gained some strength from her conversation with Eric. Tom sensed her defiance and stopped for a moment.
"All right. That's what ah'll give you. One minute."
"Tom, you know ah nevah have anyone to talk to. Everyone needs someone to talk to once in a while," she said with a small amount of strength.
His face was red with anger.
"Don't ah give you all you need? A nice place to sleep and all you want to eat? What in the hell more does a feeble-minded little wench like you want or need?"
"Tom. Tom. How can you say that? Eric Blaine is one of the finest men ah've evah met. He's not like you at all. Just because you try to be nasty with every girl you meet is no sign that everyone else is just like you."
Tom Fredericks was filled with rage. She had never dared speak to him like that before. He slapped her hard across the mouth.
"From now on you'll remember," he said angrily. "How dare you talk to me like that? How dare you!"
She sank back in the chair, crying.
"It wouldn't have looked good if ah hadn't talked to him. He talked to me first!" she sobbed, looking up at him.
Tom realized the truth in that, but he was not to be stopped.
"Ah don't want to hear any more. Do you hear."
"Sure," she said, reaching for his hand. "Ah'm sorry, daddy."
The word 'daddy' hit a soft spot in Tom.
Remorsefully, he pulled her up to him and held her.
"Ah'm sorry, Melody. Let's go ovah and sit down and you sit on mah lap."
She went willingly with him.
"Now, you know how hard ah try to take care o' you. And you go right on bein' a bad girl. Ah guess you know that, don't you, Melody? You're a bad girl."
She nuzzled up to him gratefully.
"Yes, daddy, ah suppose ah am."
"Ah'll tell you what," he whispered. "If you all are a good girl, a real good girl, ah'll take you along to the party at Blaine's this weekend. What do you think o' that, honey chil'? "
"Tom, ah'm sorry ah was mean. Ah forget mahself sometimes. Ah forget how good you are to me. Ah really am grateful for all the things you do fo' me. You're awfully good to me."
"Ah knew you'd see the light," he said. Suddenly he looked at her with a strange fascination. "Tell me, Melody, are you beginnin' to enjoy my hittin' you? Tell me that you like it."
Melody looked at him with terror in her eyes. She didn't know whether he would beat her more or less if she said she liked it. She only knew she didn't want to be beaten any more.
"Ah don't know, Tom," she said. "Ah like your bein' good to me. Ah really do. And ah really would like to go to the party, if you'll allow me," she said in an effort to change the subject.
Tom stood up suddenly, dropping Melody to the floor. i
"Ah just might change my mind. Don't try mel" he screamed. "Now ah'm goin' to the office. But first ah'm goin' ovah to Rich's to have a little talk with him. He's gettin' too smart for his own good and he's drinkin' too much. Ah'm gettin' awfully tired of keepin' after that man. If there were anyone else in the world that did layouts like that boy does, ah'd drop him fast. He's always come through and he'd bettah come through this time." His anger mounted. "That ... If he doesn't get this out ah'll have his head on a platter."
Tom rushed out of the door, leaving Melody seated on the floor, bewildered.
7
When Tom Fredericks called after eating his breakfast of hot buns and hominy grits, Rich Martin was already on his fifth drink. He hung up the phone in disgust and sat in a chair, staring straight ahead. His wife, Edie, who had been carrying her breakfast dishes to the sink, the food on the plates barely touched, stopped and looked at him.
"Was that Tom?" she asked in a beaten tone.
"Mr. Fredericks, yes. Screaming his head off like a madman," Rich answered, staggering across the room to the liquor cabinet. At forty-two he was still somewhat of a handsome man, but his dissipation was beginning to take its toll. His fine, sensitive qualities had hardened and he looked tired, even haggard.
"Please don't drink any more," Edie told her husband.
"Drop dead, sister!" he yelled back. "When I want your advice I'll ask for it."
"You know you don't work when you've been drinking. And you can tell Tom's getting nervous. I think he's losing patience. He usually doesn't bother you at home when you're working." she warned.
"And who needs him?"
"You do. We do. Please, Rich."
"He's a stupid bastard. Tom Fredericks is a stupid bastard. I'm getting sick and tired of having a stupid bastard tell me what to do. How somebody like that can have all that power. People jumping when he toots his whistle. Well, I'm not going to forever."
Edie looked sadly at Rich. He had been threatening to tell off Tom Fredericks for years. Everyone had, as far as that went. She only hoped that Rich would never find the courage to do it, but it wasn't un likely any more, with all the alcohol he consumed. Although Rich never talked to her any more, she felt that Tom Fredericks was not the real problem anyway.
"I'm going to have another drink," Rich said, filling his glass again.
"That's at least your sixth this morning, Rich. You've been drinking more since I told you Adam was in town. I'm sorry I told you," she went on apologetically. "I though you'd be glad. I really did. You were always such good friends before."
"I was never friends with him," Rich stammered. "Never in my life."
Rich stumbled into a chair. He wasn't sure he meant that All he could be sure of was the knots that formed in his stomach every time the name Adam Mason was mentioned. Adam Mason artist. Adam had become the personification of all the things Rich had wanted to be. There was a thin line, almost nonexistent, between a successful artist and a successful commercial artist in Edie's mind, but Rich had never been able to go along with that. To him, there was only one thing in life worth being. And it wasn't being a top-flight commercial artist
"What's he doing in town?" he asked finally.
"He's here to lecture at the U." Edie studied him for a few moments and then asked apprehensively. "Can we ask him over?"
"No, I don't need any geniuses in this housel" he answered, enraged, remembering the critics putting him down with 'excellent craftsman' and labeling Adam as 'genius'. He had always felt that he had the same kind of genius, but that it was trapped inside somewhere where it couldn't be reached. It was burning inside, burning him up, and he couldn't get to it or get rid of it. And then there was the nagging thought that terrified him but that he was never willing to accept, the thought that maybe he really had no talent at all.
"Well, we'll see him at the party tomorrow night at the Blaine's," Edie told him, hurt and angry at not being able to pick up the wonderful hopeful past the three of them had shared years before. Rich didn't answer. Ignoring her comment, he moved slowly to the bedroom door. "I'm going to sleep and I don't want to be bothered for the rest of the day."
She wanted to call after him, to encourage or comfort him, but she knew it was useless. She picked up a sponge mop and ran water over it and began to wipe up the floor. Pictures of layouts for the Sportsman account were beginning to formulate in her mind. She tried to push them out, but they kept coming back to haunt her. She wanted desperately to be able to believe in Rich, to let him succeed or fail on his own. But she had tried that before. She had waited, trying not to interfere, not to contribute anything, but there were always the monthly payments to be met and it always became obvious that they were not going to be taken care of by Rich. So she had waited, until the last possible minute, and when she was finally convinced that he wouldn't come through, she would go into the project and frantically finish his work. Lately he had begun to drink more and more and accomplish less and less. There were only diffused beginnings, which Edie liked but which were not enough. They never got beyond that. And now she realized she had to go through with it again. She wondered how long she would be able to hold out this time and whose fault it really was.
The front doorbell rang and Edie put down the mop and went to see who it was.
"Eric," she said in great surprise, "nice to see you, even at this hour! What brings you here?"
"Well, you might call it social. I'm on the way to the office," he answered evasively.
"Come on in and be sociable then," she said, summoning up as much enthusiasm as she could. "I think Rich went to he down," she added, noticing Eric's eyes search the room as he followed her in She had had years of experience in lying for Rich. She would not allow anyone else to question him as much as she dared question him herself.
"He's been working awfully hard," she went on, continuing to try to cover for him. "He needs the rest."
The pretense was embarrassing for Eric, but he decided he had better go along with it for her sake.
"Yes, I suppose he has been," he lied.
"May I get you something?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation light and off her husband. "How about a scotch and water?"
"Pretty early for scotch, isn't it?" Eric asked, suddenly aware of the fact that no hour was early for liquor at the Martin house. "On second thought, I do need one," he added, fully aware of the purpose and obvious difficulty of his mission.
Eric had a moment's insight, a similarity between Melody and Edie that he had never noticed before. Both were destroyed women. Shadows. Put down by their husbands in different ways and with different results, in a way, but nevertheless put down and beaten. Eric had known Edie in New York and remembered how different she had been then. She had been vital, alive, attractive and energetic. As he watched her pouring the drinks, he couldn't help wondering what had drained her, discouraged her, made her lose faith in her great artistic potential.
"How are the layouts coming, Edie?" he asked finally.
"Oh, fine. Fine," she lied.
Eric took a sip of the drink she handed him as she sat next to him on the sofa. He found it hard to begin, but he knew he had to.
"May I see them?" he asked bluntly.
Edie looked away nervously.
"Well, Eric, I'm afraid there's not much to see yet. You see, they're in Rich's head ... mostly."
"Mostly? What about the other parts? The parts that aren't in his head. Can I see them?"
"Eric, I'm sorry. There really aren't any other parts. Just a few sketches. Nothing really that I can show you at this point."
"That's what I was afraid of. I don't want to push you, Edie, and there's no reason for you to get the brunt of it, but Tom's been on my back. They're having another meeting with the Sportsman people this week."
"Yes, I know," Edie answered, suddenly looking very tired and pale. "He called here on the phone this morning too. I know he's not happy when he phones here."
"It's all well and good, Edie, for Rich not to have to keep regular office hours. He very likely can find more inspiration working at home. But I wonder if he might not get more work done if he worked in the office. Torn asked me to come by and check. That's why I'm here," he said, trying to avoid meeting the hurt look in her eyes and hating himself for being forced to behave like an executive-type monster.
"It'll get done, Eric. I promise. It always does. I don't know why everybody worries so. It's just that Rich seems to do his best work under last-minute pressure." She smiled half apologetically.
"That must make it very hard for him. And for you too, Edie," Rich said, watching her face carefully. He suspected how hard Edie tried to hide her artistic talents because of Rich. Yet Eric wondered if they showed more than she realized or let be known. There had been rumors to that effect. But there was no give-away in Edie's expression. So he let it pass.
Suddenly Edie's eyes filled with tears and she looked as if she couldn't lie any more.
She reached in the pocket of her sweater for a Kleenex and tried to dry her eyes before Eric would notice.
His impulse was to kiss her. He followed it quickly, kissing her and pulling back. Edie smiled. Her smile made her look good to him, exciting even. It wasn't often she smiled these days. Eric pulled her to him and covered her face and neck with kisses. He wondered if it was her or the early scotch.
Grateful for the human touch, Edie decided once again to let her body take the lead. She hated herself for it. Why couldn't she find enough in her husband? Why did she have to go outside to find satisfaction? She hated herself for knowing she would respond to Eric's touch, with her husband drunk in the next room. Yet with the burning desires she had come to acknowledge, she knew she would be defenseless now.
As Eric's hands and mouth moved more and more rapidly and fervently over her body, she responded in kind, giving as he demanded, and demanding so that he would give.
"What if Rich comes in?" she gasped as he began to remove her clothes, sure that Rich wouldn't but almost hoping he would. That he'd realize that someone found her attractive.
"Kiss me," she almost screamed, "kiss me and hold me tight." She was compensating for weeks of boredom, weeks of agonizing frustration.
Eric moved his fingers over her, feeling her softness, her sudden giving. He slipped down on the sofa, tasting the pleasure of her warmth, of her eager pliant body. In only a few moments their bodies were intertwined and they moved together rhythmically.
Eric gasped with delight, clenching her to him. "Now!" they cried at the same moment...
They lay without speaking, each with an individual feeling of unspoken gratitude. Finally Eric got up, slowly, knowing that too quick an exit would be upsetting to Edie.
"You know I don't want to go," he told her, "but I can't stay away from the office too long. Not with the Sportsman account in the making." He pulled the buckle tight on his trousers.
"I know," she answered understandingly. "I know.
It was nice, though, Eric. Very nice." She quickly slipped into her clothing.
He smiled down at her and kissed her softly on the hair.
"We'll have to make it again," he said softly. "Real soon."
They looked at each other for a moment and suddenly the doorbell rang fiercely, breaking into their silence which had shut out the rest of the world.
"Wonder who that is?" Edie said, mostly to herself, as she moved toward the door, straightening her disheveled hair.
"Well, my goodness, where has everybody been?" Tom Fredericks inquired in his boisterous voice. "Ah just popped in to find out how everybody is gettin' along."
All at once, Tom noticed Eric standing near the sofa.
"Well, Eric! Ah didn't think you'd still be here!"
Eric tried to regain his composure.
"Well," he replied, "you said to drop by and look over the layouts ... and that's just what I've been doing ... looking over the layouts."
Edie looked away in embarrassment.
"Like I always said," Tom boomed, "where there's a need for somethin' we have to fulfill that need. Didn't ah say that, Eric?"
"Yes, it seems I've heard you say that," Eric answered.
Edie filled in quickly, "Would you like a drink, Tom? Scotch ... gin ... whatever you like."
"Gin and tonic," Tom replied. "The gin's not as important as tonic for the bones. When you get old as ah am you need tonic for the bones. Now, if ah had cancer, ah'd need a great deal more of everything than ah do ... like lovin' and everythin'. But seein' as ah'm in good physical condition, ah just don't need anythin' but a little bit o' tonic and somethin' to do with mah surplus energy." He eyed Edie suggestively.
Edie moved across the room, trying to forget what had just happened between her and Eric as well as what she was beginning to be afraid might happen with Tom.
The silence made Eric uncomfortable. Even more than that, he sensed something going on in Tom's mind that revolted and frightened him.
"Well," Eric said, "I was leaving. Everything seems to be fine, and since the big boss is here there seems to be no reason for my staying."
He walked to the door.
"See you at the office, Tom," he said as he closed the door behind him.
"Well," Tom Fredericks said, when he and Edie were alone. "Well. . . "
Edie looked again toward the bedroom door.
"Mah goodness," Tom Fredericks continued, "Ah've been tryin' to git alone with you for the longest time ... and suddenly ... here we are. Ah'm goin' to have you now," he added with a leer.
"Rich is in the bedroom, Tom. So if you'll just leave, everything will be all right. I'll forget you said what you just did."
"Well, if Rich is so close, it will behoove you to be just as quiet as a mouse, then, won't it and he'll never know anythin' about it."
"Please, Tom..."
"Now look, Edie, commercial artists are a dime a dozen..." Without a moment's hesitation, he picked her up and carried her to the sofa and threw her down on it. Edie stared into his face, so overwhelmed by his strength and brutality that she didn't try to stop him. Again she felt sick inside for being like this to Rich. And yet, here was another man and she was doing nothing to stop him. Tom Fredericks' bulk was all over her.
"Lay back and relax now, baby," he demanded. Edie was frightened. She obeyed his commands. Tom undid his clothes and fell against her with all his weight, with all his needs, with all his intense desires.
"Put you arms around me," he told her. "Give, baby, give." Edie obeyed. Yet she wondered what the hell she was doing. She could scream and wake Rich. Or she could fight Tom by herself. She knew she would do neither and, what's more, had no real desire to make him stop. Yet she wondered, deep inside, what had become of morality, of the picture she had had of herself, of her dreams, her needs. She had seen herself as a very talented woman, as a woman to be loved and respected. And what had she become? A screaming shrew. A nagging bitch. A nothing. Worst of all, perhaps, she had become little more than a whore. Where was her faith in herself? What had happened to her puritanical beginnings ... the standards that she set for herself, that had kept her a virgin until she met Rich? She moaned sadly.
Tom Fredericks stopped his action long enough to ask, "What in hell's the mattah with you?"
Edie, who no longer knew good from bad, who no longer knew what her standards were, no longer cared how many men had her ... Edie Martin, who had finally realized that there would never be any pleasure for her, and that being close if closeness in itself would give any other than negative answers pushed herself to meet Tom Fredericks' onslaughts, discounting his physical unattractiveness, discounting his spiritual ugliness, and finally recognizing her insatiable need.
"Take me!" she cried to Tom Fredericks. "Take me now!"
And Tom Fredericks laughed, coarsely, triumphantly. "That's mah baby," he grunted. "That's the way ah like to hear you talk."
He pulled her harshly, brutally against him, his hands mauling her flesh, reddening her breasts, bruising them with hard fingers, his nails clawing then at her back, her buttocks.
She gloried perversely in his roughness, responding wholeheartedly to the situation, which ordinarily would have disgusted her as being completely sordid.
-"Yes," she gasped, "yes, yes..."
Tom Fredericks crushed her even tighter against him, then, suddenly released her, rolled away, and sat up on the edge of the sofa.
"How are the layouts coming?"
Edie stared at him dazedly. "W-what? The the layouts? At a time like this, you want to know about the layouts?"
"Well, sure," he answered. "They are very important to me."
Edie dragged herself upright, anger flooding her at such boorishness. "Tom, you've left me I mean, I'm damn you, Tom, you're a complete monster, aren't you! You don't care about anything or anybody except yourself and your desires..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes seeing this man for the first time in his true colors, seeing him for what she had always known he was.
She recoiled from him, trying to reevaluate herself, her position with him in relation to Rich's job, trying to separate the real from the unreal. The only thing she knew was that Tom Fredericks was a company man and that she was not an individual to him and she could no longer stand it. He would say or do what was required to get his jobs done. She knew she had to take a chance to be herself, to speak out once for freedom.
"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, TOM!" she yelled. "GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!! "
Tom finished putting on his clothes and walked quickly out of the front door. When he had left, Rich came out of the bedroom.
"Well," he asked, "what's all the shouting about?" He staggered to her with his arms outstretched. "Thought I'd catch a few winks, but there is a hell of a lot of noise in this joint. Don't know how anybody can sleep."
Edie walked away from him.
"Have I missed something?" he asked.
"Not a goddam thing," Edie answered. "Not a thing, and neither have I!"
8
That same morning, Janice, wearing only a thin bathrobe, was having her second cup of coffee after Eric left for the office, when the truck from Harbor Line Liquor and Delicatessen turned and stopped in the driveway. She stood frozen as the doorbell rang sharply. After the second ring, the door was pushed open and a virile-looking young man stepped in, carrying the box of party supplies. He looked at her, from head to toe, in quiet amusement.
"Am I early or have you been sleeping late?" he asked her.
Janice pulled the neck of her housecoat closer to her throat and walked toward the supply room.
"Would you bring the things in here, please?" she said curtly, leaning against the counter for support. She felt herself flush, and for the first time she really looked at him. He was wearing a white cotton coverall with Harbor Line printed on the back in red letters. Even through the stiff starch, Janice could sense the masculine build, the animal grace.
Suddenly she started to leave the room. Pulling out a cigarette and holding it in his teeth, he commanded, "Don't go."
He smiled, with his cigarette hanging from his lower lip while he searched for a match.
"I'm sorry. I have a lot to do," she replied nervously. Then she added, "But stay and have your cigarette. There's still some coffee in the pot."
"Have one?" he asked, extending the package of cigarettes to her.
Janice looked at the cigarettes and then at him, weighing the need to take flight and the desire to stay. Finally, she reached for a cigarette. He lighted it, watching her face. She tried to hold it steady but her fingers touched his cupped hand, causing her to shake even harder.
"I didn't think I'd run into such a good-looking dame so early in the morning," he said approvingly.
"You're new on the job, aren't you?" Janice asked with attempted casualness.
"Yes, this is my first week." Again he looked her over thoroughly, adding, "And I think I'm going to like it." Looking toward the bottles, he asked, "Going to have a party?"
A little annoyed at his impertinence, Janice replied coldly, "Yes, tomorrow night."
He sat down on the edge of the kitchen table, still surveying her with a fixed look and swinging one leg. Janice's eyes were drawn to his thick and muscular thighs and then to his hand resting on one of them.
"Yes, I'm hitched," he told her, blowing smoke through his nose.
"Do you have children?" Janice ventured, to fill in the silence and to reduce the intensity of his gaze.
"Just one on the way." Sensing Janice's discomfort, he added casually, "I'd like to take you up on that cup of coffee.
"Certainly, why not?" Janice answered with feigned enthusiasm. She was happy to be able to walk away from him, to get away from his gaze. From his light, very light, blue eyes. She turned the switch under the coffee pot and then crossed the room for a cup and saucer.
"Don't bother about the saucer," he told her. Janice looked at him hesitantly, putting the cup and saucer on the table before him.
"Aren't you having any?" he asked, his eyes piercing through her bathrobe, leaving her naked.
"I've just had my second cup."
"Makes you nervous, does it?" he asked knowingly.
"Yes, yes," she answered quickly, glad for an excuse for her apparent excitement.
Janice took advantage of the silence that followed to move quickly toward the dining room door.
"You really don't want to go, do you?" he called, stopping her.
"As I said, I have many things to do."
"They can wait." Then he added, "There's nobody to go to in there, is there?"
"Oh, we're alone, if that's what you mean," she answered, immediately wondering why she had said it.
"I thought we were ... and that's good luck for me."
"I beg your pardon," Janice said sharply.
"I wish you'd let yourself go a little. I've got time. This route is not very heavy at this time of day."
"Well, I haven't got time," Janice answered tightly.
He was still sitting on the edge of the table and his leg was still swinging. Janice felt she had to get him out of there before anything happened. But she could not move. She stood there and looked at him with his blonde curly hair and laughing blue eyes.
"I think perhaps you'd better get your coffee somewhere else," she told him finally. "I'll call the Harbor Line and report this if you don't go."
"Oh, lady, you've got this all wrong," he laughed. "If I don't go, you won't report it. Moreover, you wouldn't want to report it." He smiled gently at her. "You want it just as much as I do. And you probably need it."
He stood up, tossing his cigarette into the sink. "I could make you lose your job," Janice said, in a final attempt to hold her own. He shrugged.
"That wouldn't break my heart. You see, when you're somebody like me, it doesn't matter much. Now, if I had somebody like you to come home to..."
She stared at him. Then he smiled openly, like it was a joke between them. He came toward her, reaching out for her with his hands. He took her by the shoulders, as if she were a child about to be shaken.
"Oh, Christ!" he said under his breath as his hands pressed her. "Some guys have everything."
His hands moved to her breasts. In an effort to stay calm, Janice felt herself become rigid.
"We're not as cold as we'd like to pretend, I see," he whispered.
She broke away from him.
"How dare you do this?" she demanded. But this only seemed to bring them closer together. Her body was burning where he had touched her, where he was touching her now.
"Oh, please," she said, looking toward the window.
"Ain't nobody going to look in," he said. "Besides, if anybody came, we'd hear them in plenty of time ... and there's nobody around at this time of day."
"You can't get away with this," she sighed in desperation.
"Tom make me think I can," he told her.
He kissed her on the lips and she tasted the cigarette he had just finished. She turned her face away.
"Please get out," she said. "Go now and I promise I won't report this."
"You know damn well you can't do anything."
She beat on his chest with clenched fists.
"You son of a bitch!" she cried. "Let go of me."
He laughed at her.
T thought you had it in you," he said, making no effort to stop her. "Go right ahead," he urged, "give me hell! I like it!"
"Well I don't."
"Then why in hell don't you give in?"
He released her and stepped back. His pulse was visible in his throat.
Janice made a dash into the dining room again, but she was worn out before she started. When he followed, she knew she wouldn't fight any more.
"All right."
"Here?"
"No, in there."
"That's right. I want you in bed."
Janice went to the kitchen door and locked it, turning the knob to make sure. She turned the burner off under the boiling coffee. He watched her, smiling all the while. She led the way through the dining room and down the hall as if she were showing him a house for sale.
"Which one?" he asked her, as they paused in front of the open bedroom doors. Janice looked toward the room she and Eric shared.
Then, decisively, she led him toward one of the guest rooms. "Here," was all she said.
"Shall I undress?" she inquired uncertainly.
"I'm going to," he answered with no concern.
"Turn away then," she requested modestly.
She heard the slide of a zipper and the snap of elastic when he took off his shorts.
"No, don't do that," he commanded as she went to draw the curtains. "I want to see you."
Janice realized it was silly to think about the curtains. No one could see in. He followed her as she threw herself on the bed and he helped her take off her bra and pants.
When she saw his nakedness, she turned her head away. He was bigger than she had imagined. It seemed as though she had not seen him in the kitchen at all.
He had the gentleness that big men often have. He took her silently, skilfully, and completely, wasting no time, but not rushing either.
And when it ended she felt deliciously relaxed. It was the fastest she had ever known in her life and the most satisfying.
If he had spoken then, Janice would have burst into tears. But he remained silent, holding her softly and firmly, then letting her go just as slowly.
She watched him as he got into his clothes. There was a sudden panic, thinking he might leave immediately. Instead, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. He offered her one. She refused.
"I noticed you came well prepared," she said as he stood looking out the window. Sure.
"You always carry them with you?"
"Well, why not? You didn't think I'd take you without precautions, did you?" he asked.
"You've got lots of women then?"
"I told you my wife's pregnant," he answered in a strangely harsh voice, as if that explained everything. "Not that I like using them any more than the next man but a guy's got to think of himself."
She drew in her breath and stared at him.
"They've got those new drugs now," he went on, "but I don't take any chances. I play it safe for other reasons too," he said blowing smoke out. He looked at her. "What's the matter? Fair's fair on both sides."
Then, grinning, he asked, 'What were you going to say? You were going to tell me something."
His intuition threw her, as did other things about him. His casualness. His lack of haste. His assumption that to talk like this was easy for her. She had been about to tell him something, but his mention of drugs and its implication; his "Fair's fair," blocked her. It conveyed to her that, in his world, taking no chances was not only practical for him but considerate of her as well.
Well, she thought, it had happened. It was over. Almost. Get him out of my world as fast as possible.
"Go on," he said, "you can tell me."
"I haven't anything to tell you."
"Okay, if that's the way you want it," he answered, shrugging and turning away. "Where's the bathroom?"
She pointed to a door and felt irritated. He walked into the bathroom and left the door open. More of his crudeness, she thought. She got up and found her housecoat, feeling dirty and ashamed.
He walked out, fully dressed, his blonde hair freshly combed. He tried to touch Janice but she wouldn't let him. Still, despite herself, she felt easier about talking to him. "Baby, you needed that."
"Well, I suppose I did," she answered. "How did you know?"
"You looked it. Nobody's slept with you not like that in a long time, have they."
"No."
"Your husband frigid or something?" She could not help smiling.
"Husbands are not frigid only wives," she corrected. "You're not frigid, baby." There was a silence.
"Overworked," slipped out before Janice could stop it and she was immediately sorry she had said it.
"You can have it any time," he said.
She was suddenly weak and frightened.
"This was once. It won't happen again," she told him.
"Why not?"
"Because it won't. Besides," she added, "my sister is arriving from New York. She may be driving up any minute."
This bit of information did not seem to bother him. He seemed to be absorbing all this information that would prove useful in the future.
"Oh, no," she said, watching his face. "It's not as though I'm interested in having it happen again."
"You were crazy about it," he said.
"Let's leave it there. Yes, I liked it once. You'd better leave quickly. Someone might see your truck."
"Don't worry about that. I always know where to park."
"You parked in my driveway."
"Yes, but I pulled it way back, so no one can see it from the street."
"You knew I would be alone?" T had an idea ... yes."
"But you have never been here before," she said, realizing the implication of his having taken these measures, without it being specifically her in whom he was interested.
"I've been on this route for a week. I know the layout. Besides, you were watering flowers one day, and I just took the chance..."
She smiled with relief.
"Well, anyway," she told him, "get rid of ideas like that. Next time, park in the street."
"Okay, just as you say." He smtfed at her with that warm knowing smile that was so disconcerting to her. "I'm lucky you didn't tell me you'd latch onto another liquor store, I guess."
"I wouldn't give it that much importance," Janice lied.
"You mean your husband might want to know why you'd changed?"
She reacted to the truth in the question.
"All right," he teased. "I'm a deliveryman. But I'd like you again."
"I told you, just this once."
"You'll change your mind," he said. "Baby, we've just started. We've got a long time to go. I can teach you things, baby."
"What things?" she asked naively, "I'm married, you know."
"It's always better after the first time, Janice. You see," he said, nudging her, "I even know your name."
"Please go now," she pleaded.
She followed him through the hall, holding the housecoat around her. When they reached the kitchen door she unlocked it quickly.
"You see," he said grinning, "nobody's the wiser." She was twitching anxiously. "Kiss me," he commanded.
"All right, if you'll go."
"Oh, no," he answered unexpectedly. "No deals. I like it open and above board. Either you want to kiss me or you don't want to."
"Leave then."
He didn't kiss her. "If you change your mind we could have a signal."
"No, no! There's going to be nothing like that."
"Just draw the blind on the south living room window," he said, putting on his cap. "Then I'll know it's all right."
She was closing the door behind him when suddenly she opened it and called after him, "By the way, what's your name?"
"Eddie. Eddie Knowles." He waved casually and drove off in his truck.
Janice shut the door, trembling. It made her angry that he had so cleverly gotten the layout of the house. She went into the bathroom and filled the tub, trying to keep her mind off him. But even the bath could not wash away the pleasure she had experienced. She was surprised she felt no guilt and was comforted in the fact that it wouldn't happen again. Yet, she questioned herself, why had she had to find out his name?
9
Rich Martin woke late in the afternoon. He dragged himself out of bed and shook his head in an effort to recover from the initial shock of standing up. He felt pain settle into a dull pounding. With a great amount of effort, he made his way to the liquor cabinet. To his amazement he found it decidedly empty.
"You bitch!" he yelled. "What'd you do with all the liquor? Did you hide it or did you drink it yourself?"
He listened in an angry silence for an answer.
"EDIE! EDIE!! ! Where the hell are you?"
His anger released a great amount of adrenalin and he was effortlessly propelled into the kitchen. He opened cupboard doors and slammed them shut, cursing loudly. Finding nothing there either, he quieted down long enough to drag out a jar of instant coffee. He put on a pot of water and, mesmerized, waited for it to boil. Pouring the scalding water into a cup, he burned his hand. That was all he needed.
"EDIE!" he screamed.
He charged through the house, knocking over objects and screaming like a banshee. Finally his anger was spent and he decided to take a bath and shave. That done, he put on fresh clothes and headed for the studio and his drawing board. His ranting had released an enthusiasm stronger than he had felt in years. He decided he would finish the layouts for the Sportsman account. For a while, the solitude and quietness were comforting. He started shuffling large sketches and letter samples on the drawing board. Gradually, his mind began to wander to Edie and Tom Fredericks and what he was going to do with the knowledge he had about them. His anger began tearing at him. As he tried to make a whole of the possibilities for the back-cover magazine ads to introduce the new brand, he could get no further than the thought of them lying together on the couch. Then his mind wandered to Adam Mason and he wondered if he and Edie had ever been lovers. He knew he had work to do and tried to get back to it. Nothing seemed to fit. He was met with incongruity after incongruity. Color wrong, style of lettering wrong, picture wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
He decided there must be a drink somewhere and retraced his steps to the liquor cabinet and then to the kitchen. After another fruitless effort, he bolted out to the garage and jumped into his car. He zoomed out of the driveway and headed in the direction of the liquor store.
His anger toward Edie increased as he drove along. He tried to remember his amusement when he had first heard the activity in the living room. His amusement had turned to disgust and now it was pure hatred. He found himself comparing Edie to Joyce Evans and thinking that Joyce wouldn't be as cruel and thoughtless as Edie. He imagined she'd have a hot dinner waiting for her poor tired husband when he dragged himself into the dining room from a tough day slaving over the drawing board. With no conscious decision he found himself driving in the direction of Joyce's apartment. He wasn't at all sure he would remember where it was or what it looked like. It was all vague in his mind, but a sixth sense led him to the right street. He parked his car and walked up to her apartment house. The names on the mailbox were unclear to him but he finally made it out and pressed the buzzer under her name. While he was waiting, he decided Joyce was probably out with Tom Fredericks, who was busily trying to get to her.
An answering buzz sounded and he opened the inner door and walked upstairs.
"Who is it?" Joyce called through the door when he rapped lightly.
"Rich Martin, baby. I had to see you. I think we have some unfinished business to attend to."
She opened the door and he went into the apartment. It looked different to him, shabbier somehow. Joyce, however, looked much the same.
"Oh? Well, Rich, now really..."
He cut her short with a quick kiss. "Don't say it, baby. When it comes to sex, I'm no amateur."
"You're a funny guy, Rich." She lifted her lips again.
She was tall, and in high heels her body matched his five-ten in the right places. "You got something to drink, baby?" he asked. Looking hopefully around the room, he spotted a half bottle of bourbon. He poured two glasses straight and set them on the coffee table. He pulled her down next to him, took a healthy slug of the drink and shuddered.
"Something the matter?" Joyce asked, looking strangely at him.
"No, Joyce, but God, I needed that."
He took another swallow. "No, not a damn thing, baby." He moved her head back and kissed her again. Her mouth was hot and open, and somehow she seemed to move closer to him without moving at all. His mouth moved to her ear, touching it with damp lips.
"Easy, boy. Take it easy."
He had to have that mouth again, that sensual mouth with a writhing tongue that was practically an education in itself.
"I think you should go, Rich. I like you a lot, but after all, you are married, and what's in it for me? You know I have to watch out for myself first."
"Oh, baby. Just this once, let's finish what we started. Then I'll leave and not bother you again. You can go your way, whatever that is, and I'll go back to my tight little wife just like I never met you. Now, let's not make a big production out of this."
His arms went around her and his lips clamped firmly to hers so that she couldn't answer.
His hands moved to the back of her dress. He fumbled at the buttons impatiently and after a moment the garment was undone. He stood up and pulled her to her feet, and after a moment the dress billowed away from her like a breeze-borne cloud. Still impatient, he started to unfasten the catches on her bra.
Then the bra was gone and he buried his face in the softness of her breasts.
"Don't bite," she whispered. "That comes later..." She slipped out of his embrace and sat down on the couch. "Come on. You'd better finish undressing me. Or don't you know how?"
Oh yes, he knew how, all right. And if this woman wanted a big production, that was what she would get. "Show me," he said.
"All yes," she murmured, almost to herself, "You're still a little boy, aren't you?" She placed his hands on her thighs and left them there.
He took her stockings off one by one, peeling the filmy nylons clown her smooth legs. She watched him With amused eyes. Then the amusement faded and her breathing became noticeably heavier. Her flesh tensed under his grazing fingertips, and suddenly she fell backward on the couch, arching as his hands found her panties and tugged them off.
Still completely clothed, he stood up and stared down at her naked body. Its sheer magnificence came as a shock. He couldn't even remember having seen it that night. It was all new to him, and more beautiful than he could ever imagine. There was a ripeness in her that was almost awesome. It went beyond the visual and seemed to be reaching out to encompass him, to enfold him in its luxuriant warmth.
She saw his obvious admiration.
"Like what you see?" she murmured, stretching indolently.
"Very much." For the first time he was positive that he was neither lying nor putting on an act. He liked it, all right, and the urgency welling up within him was something that no small-breasted, lean-hipped glamour-girl had ever brought out. "The all-over sun-tan where did you get it, in a nudist camp?"
"No. Sunlamp, mostly." She ran her palms down in a sweeping self-caress. The bronze hue of her skin was continuous, unbroken by the usual bathing-suit strap marks. "It takes a lot of time, but it's worth it. Don't you think so?"
"It's great. And so are you all of you." Her perfumed muskiness reached his nostrils, making him want her more.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Her limbs taunted in a stretching movement again, but this time it was not done lazily. "Rich, take your clothes off. And stop wasting so much time."
He did not have to be told twice. In nothing flat he was down to his bare skin and his clothing was strewn haphazardly about the room.
She pulled him down, drawing him against the pillows of her breasts. They smothered him, stifling his gasps for breath. They fed him, sheltered him and gloried in their own firm resiliency that aroused and enticed him into greater expressions of tribute.
His hands seized her, and under the pressure of his talon-like fingers her flesh came alive. Her muscles grew steel-firm and then butter-soft alternately, undergoing each change as a series of paroxysms came on in undulating waves. There was a strength in her that was almost unfeminine. She was a woman, and yet if he closed his eyes and ears she seemed like a jungle beast. A lioness. The noises that came from deep in her throat were inhuman. They could have been the wailing of some night-roaming predatory animal seeking its prey. Or better still, searching for a mate.
But she was a woman, all right. A lot of woman. And she was no longer waiting for him. Knowing fingers moved on him. Expert lips scalded his flesh. Her teeth were tender and fierce in turn, scourging him with a kind of subtle violence that was almost fantastic in its unceasing interplay of moods.
He responded willingly. And yet, had lie not had a will of his own, his responses would have been no different.
"Now," she muttered. "Rich, now!"
She melted in his arms, yielding at last to his strength. Their bodies tangled and merged, and her tawny flesh surrendered and welcomed his onslaught as if it were a beleaguered castle letting down its drawbridge.
His eyes were closed, but he did not need them. The bright flame of her fervor illuminated the way.
Their mouths clung together.
The haze lifted slowly. "Well..." he exclaimed. A silly thing to say, but what else was there to say?
Evidently she agreed. "Wow..."
It was a long time before either of them spoke again. On the coffee table the clock ticked sluggishly, and Rich waited for his heartbeat to slow down to its measured rhythm.
"Cigarette?" she asked at last.
"Fresh out. Where are yours?"
She pointed to a box on the table. He took two out and they lighted up listlessly, sending spirals of smoke to the ceiling.
"You're some boy," Joyce murmured. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."
She stood up after awhile and stretched, her tawny flesh rippling with every movement.
"I'd better be leaving now. It's getting late."
"Guess you had. It was nice, Rich. Very nice. But remember our bargain. Not again."
"OK, if you say so."
He dressed with little enthusiasm. When he was ready to leave, Joyce came out of the bathroom wearing a dressing gown. Suddenly she was feigning modesty, and he kissed her goodbye with some embarrassment.
He opened the door, not daring to turn back and look at her as he went out.
10
While Rich Martin was making his second call on Joyce Evans, Eric Blaine, after a quick drink, got in his car and headed for the airport to pick up his sister-in-law, Angela.
All the old exciting feelings came back to him as he swung the car into the entrance gate of the airport. He sneaked a glance at his watch to check the time again. He impulsively shook his wrist and held it to his ear to make sure the watch hadn't stopped. Only five minutes had passed since he had checked it the last time, which meant it would be forty-five more minutes before she stepped off the plane. He was seized with the insufferable agony of being without her. The only solution, he decided, was to go into the bar for a drink. His needs had become so great that it was intolerable to be sober. He pulled the car into the parking lot, paid the attendant and drove into an empty parking space.
The bar was warm and intimate compared to the impersonal feeling of the rest of the airport.
"Scotch on the rocks," he told the bartender. "Make it a double."
The bartender moved swiftly, bringing his drink in no time at all.
Eric determined that it had been seven years since he had seen Angela. Since she had gone to New York there had been only an occasional note to Janice. These had been noncommittal "weather is fine" type messages, never indicating more than her general health. Janice and Angela had never been close like most sisters. And less so, since he had married Janice.
Eric realized that he had waited all those endless years for this moment, that the only reason he had kept on living was for her. The hope that he would eventually see her had made it possible to tolerate Tom Fredericks and all the rest of the sick people he had had to live with and pretend to love.
"One more," he told the bartender. He thought again of Angela, and their whole life together washed over him like a fantastic waterfall with colored lights.
All at once he felt as though he was back at the party where he had seen her for the first time. He hadn't wanted to go there at all, but he changed his mind in a hurry when he saw Angela across the room. They had studied each other across the room, taking in every feature of each other's face and body. He had watched her legs and guessed that she .was a dancer. Her movements were graceful and yet he could sense a power underneath.
He knew she was aware of his thoughts as he undressed her in his mind. He could see her toes wriggling nervously in her shoes. There were many things, he had decided, that he must get to know. That first night it was enough to look, just to look. He wanted to go about it slowly, knowing that when they did ... and they would ... get together, there would be no holding back. He didn't want to miss anything by hurrying.
It was drizzling when he had seen her the second time. She was leaning against a building, waiting for a cab, dressed in black tights and leotards covered by a medium-length sports jacket. He walked up to her, and again neither of them spoke a word. They stood for a few minutes, each retracing the lines of the other's body. Then he leaned against her and kissed her gently. The kiss was just as he had imagined it would be, long, with a quiet passion. Quiet like the drizzle that was surrounding them. He made a move down the street, and she had followed him, forgetting about the taxi, and without a word slipped her arm through his.
They walked along the street, unaware of the cars that sprayed them as diey passed. He looked deeply into her eyes, trying to pierce the mystery of her soul. He kissed her again, noticing how much everything else about her was generous and firm. Her long dark hair was almost straight, turning up slightly at the ends, and falling loosely over her face. like an Amazon, tough and animal, wild, and yet, strangely soft. When she stopped walking before an apartment building, he stopped at her side. As she opened her purse, they both looked for the key, then at each other. Slowly he reached into her purse and took the key and pushed it into the keyhole, turning it ever so slowly. He put his arm around her waist and she rested her head on his shoulder and, slowly still, they walked up the stairs to her apartment. He unlocked and pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. The same fragrance he had noticed when he kissed her was everywhere in the room.
"You mix the drinks," were the first words he had heard her speak. "Right over there." She slipped out of her shoes and stretched out on the sofa, turning the knob on the radio beside it. Everything about the apartment fitted well with her, vibrant, exciting, different from anything he had ever known or seen. It was almost pure white, with unexpected shadows and shapes. Eric looked around the room and his eyes went to the bedroom door. He got up and walked to the bedroom, taking the drinks and placing them on the table next to the bed. Then he walked back into the living room, stretching his hands out to her. She took them and slithered upward into his arms. With his hands on her waist, he followed her into the bedroom. She walked to the windows and started to pull the drapes, but stopped, hypnotized by the drizzle. Eric moved to her, stopped behind her and unfastened her leotard, stripping it down to her waist. Then he pulled her to him, his hands reaching into her brassiere for a moment, touching her breasts gently. They were fine and strong and as smooth as her face. Then he unfastened the brassiere and slipped it over her shoulders.
"They're lovely," he told her. "But I have no idea how I am going to get you out of those tights," he added. "They look as though they have to be washed off."
Angela laughed and began to peel them oft. After a moment he got the idea and helped her until she stood in nothing but the brief dance belt. After she was completely nude he pulled back the covers and picked her up and slipped her between the sheets of the bed. Suddenly his tempo changed and he moved swiftly and impatiently, ripping off his clothes and flinging them in the direction of a chair. He stood over her for a few moments drinking in her beauty. Then with one quick gesture he pulled the covers off the bed and dropped them on the floor. He laid himself gently beside her and kissed her shoulders and her breasts and, then, as their lips merged he felt her shudder violently. His lips released hers and he ran his fingers through her lovely black hair, pushing his face into it, trying to delay his feelings.
She sensed this and relaxed against the pillow, looking only at him. They lay quietly, smiling understandingly. He kissed her, quietly, gently, stroking her breasts. She turned languidly, bringing her breasts to rest on his chest. She kissed him slowly and enticingly, nibbling at his lower lip and his ears.
T love you," he murmured, "I love you now and will for ever and for ever."
"It only happens once," she answered, her voice husky. "Once in a lifetime. Tell me what you want from me to make you happy."
Eric smiled at her, already feeling happier than he had ever felt in his life.
"Whatever you want, my darling; your instincts are right." Eric knew he would be able to gratify her. Everything about her was giving, giving in a way that indicated she would know how to take. He could feel her pleasure in being touched. Her body was the most beautiful and perfect he had even seen.
"You're wild, aren't you, Angela?" he asked her. "Wild and passionate."
Her body stiffened, then relaxed in undulating waves of passion. He found himself becoming dizzy, losing his sense of hearing. Even her sounds of pleasure were being shut out. Thought and reason and wondering were gone. There was only the feeling of being; being alive and loved for the moment. His lips pressed powerfully against hers and they were united like waves gushing against each other, in the perfect harmony of nature. Sometimes they were as angry waves, intense and cruel, and at other times gentle and flowing. It was as though there was one organism, not two, following its natural pattern in life.
The shadows of the early evening began to fall into the bedroom. The quiet rain had stopped, bringing with its end a grave and melancholy peace. Eric lay watching the patterns of the sky shift and change, his arm resting gently across Angela's body. They would have spoken, had it occurred to them to speak, but there was no reason to say a word. Eric reached across her at last for a package of cigarettes and a lighter; pulling two from the pack, he put them to his lips and lit them. Then he leaned back on the pillow, handing one to her. They smoked in silence and enjoyed the warmth and comfort of each other's nearness.
After a while Angela put her cigarette out and sat up in bed. She ran her fingers through his hair. He still remembered her touch at that moment...
Eric drained the glass and wished he could relive all the moments of all the day and nights they had spent together. He looked at his watch and saw it was time, the time when Angela would be arriving. He paid for his drinks and left the bar hurriedly. He ran to the end of the terminal building and quickly found the arrival gate. The plane was just taxiing to a stop, and Eric elbowed his way through the crowd to get up to the railing to watch the passengers get off. When the steps were in place the door opened and they began to flock off. Eric was caught in the fear that he would no longer remember what she looked like. A dark-haired woman in a red suit came through the door and Eric gasped audibly, but as the image came into focus, he realized she was not Angela at all. She was the thirtieth person he had counted, and still no Angela. Several more came down the steps. His anxiety, combined with the drinks he had had, made him feel nauseous. His knees weakened and for a moment he thought he would fall to the ground if she did not appear soon. Then the stewardess came out of the door, her makeup case in her hand, followed by the pilot. They walked down the steps chatting and laughing, and Eric's disappointment seemed unbearable. He felt tears welling in his eyes, and he thought that if anyone spoke to him he would cry aloud with great sobs.
He started to turn away and his eyes fell dejectedly to the ground. Then a movement caught his eye and he looked up to see Angela standing in the door of the plane, searching the crowd. She was carrying a small traveling case in one hand and a coat in the other. With a great rush he pushed through the gate and past the guard and ran across the field to meet her.
In a minute she was in his arms, and he was kissing her lips and her cheeks and her hair. The tears began to spill down their cheeks.
"You gave me a hell of a scare, darling," he said, studying every feature in her beautiful face.
"You know me, Eric. I forgot my coat and had to go back to get it. I haven't changed a bit."
"I'm glad, Angela, I wanted you to be as you were."
He noticed she was still carrying the bag. He took it and put his arm around her waist. They walked through the gate, forgetting about everything else in the world except each other.
When they reached the car he opened the door for her. He hated to leave her for even that moment when he had to put her bags in the trunk. He climbed in beside her and as he looked at her he couldn't trust himself to speak. He threw the car into gear and drove out of the car lot. Suddenly he wanted to drive a hundred miles an hour and run down everything in sight. More than that he wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go.
"Is Janice all right?" Angela asked, breaking the spell.
"Oh, she's fine," Eric answered, trying to bring his feelings back to a more realistic level. "She's been excited ever since she got your wire. She was pretty surprised that you decided to see us."
"Nobody was more surprised than I was," Angela answered gaily. "I've been afraid of it for so long. I'm still afraid, but I decided I had to take the chance."
Eric drove through the darkening streets in the direction of his home. On an impulse he turned off and headed for the hills, and after winding through the narrow canyons they came to the top. The lights of the city spread in a wondrous splendor below them and Eric pulled the car to a stop after turning into a narrow side lane.
"How beautiful," Angela said breathlessly. "Every-city becomes so personal when you see it this way."
Eric looked at her. He remembered that they had often sat thus, talking. He remembered, too, that after they had finished talking they had always gone back to the glory of their love. He shivered. He had never known another like her. In the grip of passion she used to come alive in his arms as no other woman had. In the grip of passion, she gave all, with no inhibitions, no shame, no remorse. His hand went out and he gently touched her arm.
"Angela, you're so unspeakably lovely."
She smiled, "Am I? Or is my beauty only in your eyes?"
He fought against his feelings for her as he had never fought before. Her fragrance reached him and evoked other memories that made it impossible for him to restrain his feelings. Her charm seemed fatal to him and he reacted like one entranced.
"You're marvelous, Angela. I've never forgotten anything about you," he whispered.
She pushed his arm away as he reached for her. "Eric, darling. Perhaps we should be getting home."
But now the fire was blazing within him. He longed for her, he longed to strip the clothes from her, to see her as he had seen her in the old days. "I love you," he said softly. "I love you, I want you."
"It can't be that way, Eric. You're my brother-in-law." She fell back against the seat trying to restrain his rising passion.
Eric didn't hear her words. He sensed she didn't really mean that anyway. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her he was certain. Her fingers grabbed at her shoulders and she was trapped in the circle of his arms. He felt her surrender to the hardness of his body, and he was conscious of the power that swept from his body to hers. the power of his fingers clawing into her flesh. His lips sought hers and she twisted, trying to deny him the solace of her lips, to deny him their balm, but he grasped her hair with a fist as brutal as it was strong, and twisted, lifting her face, holding her struggling mouth to his, forcing his teeth against hers, ravaging her mouth with his tongue, rampaging, through the exquisite cavern that stored the honey of her kisses.
Slowly he felt her resistance fade. There had been love before, he thought, but none like this He knew it for certain. She was here beside him and he would keep her here, because with her love he could excuse Tom Fredericks and Rich and Edie Martin and all the fools he knew.
He felt her lips soften and he released her hair, and he felt her body relax sinuously against him. He reached down to hold and help the swaying dervish of her body, holding it hard against the surging of his need, and almost hating her because he needed her so much.
His other hand found its way between their bodies, hard and rough against her soft flesh, squeezing with his hot fingers the delectable curves of her womanhood, moving insistently against the throbbing points of flesh that triggered his rampant desires, pulling them upward to his hungry lips. One soft hand helped him, running manicured nails between his fingers, whetting their appetite, prodding them onward. The other delicate hand searched independently, curious, avid, and he could sense it wanting the wonderful recall of the truth of him, tired of caressing only memories and imitations.
Bodies strained together, they sank down in the seat in a thrashing welter of hungry flesh.
11
When the doorbell rang at nine o'clock the next evening, Janice Blaine shouted from the bedroom: "Will someone get that? I'm almost ready."
Eric made his way to the front door through the dimly lighted living room. He opened the door for Tom and Melody Fredericks. "Hello, Tom. Melody. Come in. You're the first ones here."
Melody was wearing a pale pink organdy dress with ruffles and a lace stole, and it occurred to Erie that she was dressed as though she were still twelve years old.
"Janice and Angela are still dressing. Why don't we go out back and mix ourselves some drinks." Eric led them through the house and through the open French windows in the dining room that led to the patio. There were Japanese lanterns strung across the patio, casting shadows on the shrubs and trees. The swimming pool was lighted from the bottom with soft blue lights that made it look cool but somehow inviting. There throbbed in the shadows an excitement and anticipation of wild abandon.
Eric took them to the portable bar that had been set up on the patio and began to put ice in three glasses. "The usual, Tom? And what would you like, Melody?"
"I'll have the usual gin and tonic, Eric, and Melody will have her usual ginger ale," Tom said without bothering to consult Melody. "The place looks downright terrific, boy. Some fun is brewing in the corners. I can feel it in mah bones." Tom slapped Eric on the shoulder and the glass Eric was holding almost went flying across to the patio. "Did that lovely wife of yours tell you about the little plan ah came up with for the night's festivities? I thought it up all by mahself."
"Yes, Tom, she told me. It may be fun, but we had better see what the rest of the guests think about it," Eric replied without enthusiasm. "Well, it is something a little different, I must admit," he added when he saw a look of disapproval appear in Tom's eyes.
Eric handed Tom his gin and tonic and Melody her glass of ginger ale. He was sure Tom had instructed her in no uncertain terms to drink nothing stronger. He had been tempted for a moment to fill her glass with scotch and watch Tom's reaction when she came forth with all her suppressed feelings.
"Oh, Melody and Tom," Janice purred as she came out the open French doors, "I'm awfully glad you got here first. I want you to meet Angela before the others get here. She just got here from New York, but dien I suppose Eric has told you all about her," she said, and Eric could detect a slight edge on her voice. "She's an actress, you know."
"Say, now, she sounds most interestin', " Tom bellowed. "I'm afraid Eric has been holdin' out on me. If she's just half as pretty as you, Janice, then she must be a real humdinger. Yes sir, a real humdinger."
Janice looked properly modest, and Eric thought as he watched Tom that it was probably the only thing that he had enough courage to keep from the man.
"Oh, there's the doorbell. Guess we have more takers," Janice said with obvious relief as she ran toward the house.
Tom was at the bar filling his glass again when Janice returned with Adam Mason.
Eric saw Tom look up from his mixing at the bar and stare fixedly as Janice brought Adam toward them.
"That's the bartendah, I take it?" Tom asked, pointing obviously at Adam. "Those niggahs are always late."
"No, Tom," Eric said hurriedly, "Adam, it's great seeing you again. This is Adam Mason, Tom. He's the well-known, or should I say famous, painter." Adam shook hands with Eric and extended his hand to Tom, who turned away abruptly without acknowledging it and continued mixing his drink. Eric tried to cover his embarrassment by hurriedly turning to Melody. "This is Mrs. Fredericks, Adam, but I don't think she'd mind if you called her Melody."
Melody became for the moment the stereotype of a southern belle and extended her hand to be kissed. Adam, however, merely touched it lightly with his hand and cast a puzzled look at Tom.
"I was almost afraid I wouldn't find you," Adam said to Eric. "Thought you might have moved' or something."
"Oh, no," Eric answered. "There's no getting out of this trap. But that doesn't seem so bad. I suppose even if you're in jail long enough, you get used to it. Your values change, and you start taking it for granted."
Just then Angela came onto the patio from the house. Eric drew in his breath quickly as he caught sight of her. The blue lights from the pool and the Japanese lanterns made her hair look black as jet and her skin look even whiter than usual. She spotted Adam and Eric and came toward them.
"Adam, darling, it's been years since I've seen you. But I've been reading about you everywhere and couldn't be happier for your success." She kissed him warmly on the cheek and embraced him.
"Angela, you're more beautiful than ever. Don't you agree, Eric?" Adam asked. Eric nodded his head in agreement and fastened his eyes on Angela, drinking in her beauty with hungry eyes.
Tom Fredericks was looking at Angela with lust filling his face. Eric introduced him and Melody to Angela and poured a drink for her and one for himself. Tom took Angela by the arm and they walked toward the edge of the pool.
"Can I give you a hand with anything, Janice?" Melody asked in obvious embarrassment at Tom's actions toward Adam
"Well, of course, Melody. As a matter-of-fact, I have some finishing touches to do with the snacks. Let's go see if Mrs. Parker is making any progress in the kitchen." They walked off together in the direction of the house. Eric and Adam watched them leave.
"It's a little more difficult to remain contented when people like you come back into your life and remind you of the big wonderful crazy world of the past," Eric said finally to Adam. "Then you wonder if it's good to be trapped or not."
"Come on, old boy," Adam said, trying to laugh off the humiliation that had been delivered by Tom. "It looks like you've made it." He indicated the swimming pool and the house.
"Looks," Eric answered dryly. "Looks. That's all it is. Just a veneer. There's much more to life than veneer. You remember how we liked being poor? You remember how we hated it at the same time? See, I don't remember if I liked it or hated it. But somewhere inside a seed was planted then, a seed that grew to say, 'make it first and then you can do anything you want,' but then you get going on that path and there's no turning back. You want different things. You gradually find comfort in the material things that you secretly hate. They might be comfortable, but you begin to want more. And more. Then soon you're willing to do anything to get more, thinking, 'One day I'll go back', but there's no going back. Forward. Forward and down and down. And then you get more bored. And you get caught in fulfilling the empty hole in your stomach that craves excitement to compensate for the boredom. You become a 'yes man' because you think somebody else is going to give you the answers. You get dragged and dragged along until you don't know who you are any more." Eric stood silently eyeing Adam for a few moments. Finally he asked. "So tell me, Adam, did you go along with it? Or did you fight it? Did you really make our dream?"
Adam avoided Eric's eyes. That was all the answer Eric needed and he left Adam and wandered away to the edge of the pool. He watched Tom, who had made a slow approach to Angela, but was in now for the kill.
"Well," Tom cooed in her ear with his hand going directly to the small of her bare back. "How is it that someone as pretty as you is unattached? I should think you'd be hitched a long time ago."
"Well, it's quite a long and rather dull story, Mr. Fredericks..." Angela began.
"Ah tell you, ah've been looking forward to this party all week," Tom interrupted. "And ah must say, ah hope you brought your key from New York, because ah want to be the one that gits it. You sure are a pretty one."
Angela stood at the edge of the pool. Suddenly she discarded her blouse and dropped the skirt to the cement. She was wearing a brief bikini bathing suit underneath. With a quick raising of her arms, she leaned forward and dived into the water. A drop or two splattered on Tom, but he could only look after her as she swam to the other side of the pool.
"Well, goddamn, goddamn," was all he was able to say. He picked up her blouse and skirt and laid them carefully on a deck chair.
Eric walked back to the bar, pretending not to have seen or heard anything.
Adam moved to a corner where Rich Martin was sitting, staring into space.
"I've been looking for you, Rich. When did you get here? I didn't see you come in," Adam said, taking his hand cordially.
"How are ya, Adam?" Rich responded with forced enthusiasm and a trace of embarrassment. "We planned on having you to dinner but I've been so busy with the new account layouts..."
Adam stopped him. "Don't think anything of it, old friend. I'll pop in before I go back. Now, I want to know about this new project of yours. Tell me, is your stuff still as exciting as ever?"
Rich stiffened. "Well, it's so-so, Adam." He gave an embarrassed laugh in an attempt to pass over the question which had sounded like a dig to Rich.
"I hear you're exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art these days," Rich said with forced interest.
"Yeh," Adam replied, shrugging. "I've had some pretty good breaks."
Begrudgingly Rich said, "Well, you deserve it. I always said you had a fine talent. A genius talent. And that's what brought you the luck."
"What's the matter, boy? You've done all right for yourself. You've built yourself into one of the hest commercial artists in the business..."
Rich took another shot of his drink. He wanted to tell him the truth. He decided Adam probably knew, anyway. That everyone knew. He was tired of carrying the guilt with him, tired of trying to pretend to be a success. He felt the truth would be less painful than the lies he had been living.
"My success is Edie's," he blurted out.
"Yah," Adam answered, "that's what all great men say. It's the little woman behind them. It's great to have a wife..."
"Behind, hell!" Rich almost shrieked. "She's not behind me, she is me. But then you know that, don't you? You know that not one of those things I've done is mine. I start things, sure. But you know who finishes them? I do less and less with the projects. Something happens in my stomach and I can't get more than a few sketches down any more. Christ!
CHRIST! How do you face life living a lie like this, knowing . . ! "
Adam cut in, "Okay, old man, forget it. Don't say anything you'll be sorry about tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Rich said, staring into his empty glass. "No tomorrows for me. If I had any guts I would have quit a long time ago. Just said my big goodbye to the world ... Oh, hell, where are the women? Bring on the broads!"
Adam stared at his friend whom he could once reach out to, once could understand and love.. In those days in New York, he had really believed in Rich, though Rich could never believe it. The others didn't agree with him, of course, but Adam knew talent when he saw it, and Rich was talented. Perhaps not genius, but gifted. Talented. But he knew that for some reason he had never been able to reach that talent. He had had a need to destroy himself, to prove his unworthiness to the world. And he had followed his destined course to failure, just as Adam had feared he might.
Then where is friendship? Adam wondered. Is friendship only in equality ... equality of success or equality of failure? Why couldn't people accept the success or failures of their friends and retain their own identity and love for those friends? Rich had lost his identity years ago.
Adam went back in his mind to his own first showing in New York the tiling that had started the unstoppable rift between them. He smiled to himself, remembering Edie's excitement on that day.
"Adam ... Adam ... I just overheard the Times critic. He told his wife that he had never seen such le and control, such vibrant use of color. He called you a genius!"
She kissed him then and Adam remembered thinking at that moment of his father's warnings to him not to have dreams. "You're colored, boy. There's nothing in the world for you except mockery. That's your due. There's no place for colored people in this world."
The word "genius" had sent him into ecstasy. "They mean me? Edie, do they really mean me?" he had asked.
He had turned and looked at Rich who was standing quietly staring at the pictures. His tortured look had pained Adam and he put his arm around him to comfort him. Rich pushed him away and ran out of the room. '
They still lived together ... he and Edie and Rich ... in a fifth floor coldwater flat, but the sense of togetherness was gone. They didn't walk up to 59th and Broadway, eating hors d'oeuvres until five in the morning, as they had done. They didn't go to cheap movies on 42nd street. Gradually they drifted apart and eventually Adam had heard that Edie and Rich had gotten married. He had thought that it would never work out.
Edie, despite her belief in Rich, had always had i more on the ball; and as much as she had worked to put her talents down, her own particular touch of genius had always shone through. Genius might lie dormant, but it never dies, Adam knew. And the genius for which Rich had been given credit was not his at all. Adam had not let himself ever think of it, (because of his loyalty to Rich, but the truth came out tonight, as truth always will, and verified his most feared, most repressed thoughts.
Adam felt eyes on him and looked up to catch Edie smiling at him. She couldn't conceal her love for him, even now. And he felt she couldn't hide her fears or dreams either.
"I was just thinking about us," Adam told Edie, "us and New York and the good times we had ... the three of us."
"Yes, there were three then, weren't there?" she laughed. But underneath Adam felt the tears, the unspoken sorrow of a lifetime of putting oneself down.
"You should see the sketches Rich did for the Sportsman account," she told him.
Adam looked at her curiously for a moment. Then, "You don't have to lie to me, Edie. He told me all about it."
Edie looked away. "Told you what?" she started, but his direct look made that lie impossible.
"Oh," she replied finally, "that's life, I suppose." She drank her drink to the bottom. "I suppose I've ruined him. If he had had somebody less talented, less ... oh, I don't know ... I just haven't been able to encourage him properly."
And then, more thickly, as the drinks were catching hold, "I never believed in him the way you did." She began sobbing. Adam put his arms around her.
"Don't feel bad," he told her, "there's a reason for all things. You didn't make a choice to destroy him, even if you had some part in making it come about! But if he hadn't wanted and needed to be destroyed, neither you nor anyone else could have done it. That was his destiny, I guess, if it really is all over. We all have ours and his, because he willed it that way, is not as good as we used to dream it would be."
Edie caught hold of the back of a deck chair for support. The liquor was getting to her.
"I'm so bored," she said too loudly. "Nothing ever happens truthfully any more. The only time you say the truth is when you're drunk. He's drunk all the time. I think, 'why shouldn't I get drunk, too? Why shouldn't I find an easy way out like he always does?' I'm tired, Adam, tired of protecting and loving him. He's a bad boy. I want a man!! "
She sat down on the deck chair. "I would do anything, anything to break through this boredom!"
"Perhaps I can help you alleviate the state you're in," a voice said from behind her chair. Edie looked up and saw Alfred Brokton looking down at her, smiling. "I'm Alfred Brokton."
"Oh, hello. I've heard of you, Mr. Brockton," Edie said, holding out her hand to him. "I'm Mrs. Martin and this is Adam Mason."
Adam shook hands with Brokton.
"I've heard a great deal about your work, Mr. Mason. What I've seen of it I like very much."
"Thank you, sir. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brokton. If you'll excuse me I've something to talk to Rich about." With that he turned on his heel and left.
"Rather a curt young man, wouldn't you say, Mrs. Martin?" Brokton said, trying not to show that the briskness of Adam's departure had bothered him.
"Oh, not really. He's rather shy about compliments, I think. Even after all I'm sure he's had."
"You were speaking a moment ago about how bored you were. I have promised to put in an appearance at another gathering this evening, and I was wondering if you would care to accompany me. We can be back here in a short while, and I don't think anyone will even miss us."
"Well..." Edie hesitated, "well, why not? I think that would be just fine, Mr. Brokton. Let's go." She stood up and put her arm through his. "I think I could go for a change of scene," she added as they walked toward the driveway.
* * *
"Ladies and gentlemen ... LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" shouted Tom Fredericks, reeling to the center of the living room, "THE ENTERTAINMENT IS BEGINNING. Would someone please ask all those good people from outside to come in now? We don't want anybody ... no, not anybody, to miss out on the fun."
Tom Fredericks belched and the noise in the room began to subside. Couples ambled in from the pool and others untangled arms on the sofas and on the floor where they found themselves together.
"All right now, everybody has a key; is that right?" he questioned, gesturing broadly. A few enthusiastic "yeses" came from around the room and questioning looks from others not on the "in."
"Now, I have asked this lovely lady to my right to give each of you tags to put on your little ole keys."
Kitty Brokton smiled around the room, waving little name tags.
"Now, if each of you will put your given name on your tag and attach the tag with the little chain to your key ... each of the ladies, that is ... I will then proceed. I will then proceed to clue you in on the rest of the game."
Kitty walked around the room, passing out name tags. The guests busied themselves, following his instructions, watching Tom with new interest. When the process was completed, Tom clapped his hands, gleefully.
"NOW!" he said, "now, we go on with the game. Do you see this here fish bowl? It's a mighty pretty thing, isn't it? It's pure crystal! It's a mighty pretty thing, like I said. I brought it from my home in Tennessee."
Inadvertently his eyes fell on Melody.
"I'm sorry. Ah really didn't bring it from mah home. Ah brought it from mah little wife's home. You see, she comes from a wealthy family. A very wealthy family."
There was an embarrassed hush.
"Anyway," he continued, "the point of this game is to put your keys into this here bowl. Then ... then we will blindfold you ... the gentlemen only ... and one by one ... each man will pick out one key. Just one, mind you. There's not enough to go around otherwise. Don't want anyone hoggin' more than one girl, mind you. And that's what your prize is!" With greater intensity and excitation he continued, "It's like the ole game back home ... the basket social!" he said with great delight.
Tom began to cough and snort and laugh so loudly that he couldn't continue. Finally he pulled himself together long enough to get one final statement in.
"Anyway," he continued, "you choose a key and you git the girl that goes with that there key!"
A couple seated at the far end of the room left quietly. Others began shrieking and laughing and pulling to get the first whack at the blindfold.
After much confusion the last key was pulled from the bowl.
"Well, little one, it looks like I got your key." Melody looked up at Adam. His black face was placid but his piercing black eyes had a twinkle in them.
"Ah'm not quite sure what that means, Adam," Melody said quietly.
"It means, little one, that you're mine ... and I'm yours for just this one night."
Melody twitched uneasily in her chair. "Oh," was all she could manage to say. Her eyes moved shyly to one side, then the other and then dropped to a tiny piece of lint on the chair.
"Let's get out of here, baby," Adam said softly. Then he added, "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."
Melody got up slowly, looking around the room for Tom. Finally she saw him, but his back was turned. Almost hypnotically, she found her way to the bedroom and picked up her delicate lace stole and began to wrap it around her shoulders.
A black hand touched hers and continued to drape the stole, lightly touching her breasts. Melody twitched slightly and was surprised to find the sensation quite pleasurable. She smiled faintly at Adam and then allowed him to hold her hand as they went out the door.
The moon had slipped behind a cloud as they walked past the pool. Adam's face seemed to disappear in the darkness. Melody took a breath, held it for a long time and then finally asked, "Where are we goin'? "
"How about your place, Melody?"
"Oh no," Melody put in quickly, "Tom might go there. He didn't know ah put mah key in the bowl and when he finds out he'll beat me up. He'll probably kill me."
"Well, we could go to my hotel, Melody. Would you like that?"
"Well, ah don't really think so. No, ah don't. Would you mind ... would you mind terribly if we just went somewhere else for a little while? So ah can get used to the idea. Ah nevah go to these kind of parties, but ah wanted to come tonight and ah wanted this to happen, but ah'm just not ready for it yet."
Melody was startled to find she had so much courage. She could not remember ever having said that she preferred something to something else. Moreover, she could never admit to herself or anyone else before her deepest, most secret needs or thoughts.
"Sure, hon, whatever you like," Adam answered.
They walked down the steps leading to the car. "Mine's over there," Adam told her. "It's one of those loan jobs. Those outfits sure come in handy sometimes."
Melody started to get in the car but Adam stopped her with a kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth for a moment and then he let her go and moved around the car and got in.
"Where do we go from here, fair lady? You name it," he told her.
"Ah was just sittin' here thinkin' ... why don't we go over to the hospital? There's a sort of good clean feelin' about the place. Ah think ah'd like to feel good and clean now."
Adam followed Melody's directions toward the hospital.
12
Eric had spent much of the evening trying not to be too obvious about his feelings for Angela. "After all," he thought, "I suppose one must preserve some pretense of respectability."
He could not, however, keep from following her with his eyes as she moved from guest to guest. He felt a wild tearing jealousy well up in him whenever he saw her talking to a man.
"I'm sure Tom has propositioned her several times already," he thought as he made his way to the bar for another drink. "Maybe, however, I'm projecting my own feelings to every other male in the place. Impossible! Anyone as attractive as Angela must have a hell of a time deciding which offers to accept." He filled his glass with a more than generous amount of scotch and a drop of water to make it look good. "Guess I'm drinking too much and too fast," he said aloud.
Angela was in her bathing suit, an intense blue bikini that brought out the blue in her black hair, and made her eyes look wide and deep and cold.
Eric watched his chance, like playing an imaginary game of cops and robbers. Janice was somewhere in the house and Melody was walking away from Angela, who was sitting in a chaise-longue beside the pool. With a stealth that made him chuckle to himself he approached her. For a moment he felt he should walk on tip toe and talk in whispers.
"Are you having a good time, darling?" he asked her in quiet tones.
"Of course, Eric," she smiled. "I always do at parties."
Eric sat down on the lounge chair with her. "How are you and Janice getting along? She sometimes lets her true feelings come to the surface when she has had a few drinks. And it usually doesn't take many."
"We haven't seen much of each other since this afternoon," Angela said. "I think she knows that our feelings for each other haven't changed, and never will. I've felt that, and she's been avoiding me. She will never meet my eyes."
Eric took a long drink and shook his head rapidly as he swallowed. It gave him the courage he needed.
"I've decided, Angela, that all this is worth nothing without you. I can't consider Janice's feelings in the matter any more. My own are far, far too important to me. And besides, she's never loved me. You know as well as I that she only married me because she thought I might, just might, someday be someone in the advertising business."
"Eric..."
"No, darling, let me finish. I will not go on living this goddamn life I've made for myself without you. I know for sure now. I guess I've always known ... but I know now that nothing else is important."
"I know, darling, I know. And I feel the same way." She reached out to touch his hand.
"The decision must be made tonight. Seeing you so near, and being afraid to touch you, and realizing that you're not mine, and I have no right to you is more than I can bear. It must be done tonight. I'm sure it will all come to a head anyhow, but I want it to go my way. I'll talk to Janice and tell her the truth. She suspects and knows in her heart what the score is anyhow."
"I guess you're right, Eric. I did hope to avoid unpleasantness with my only sister for just once in my life, but I guess that's more than one could ask for. I'm sure afraid I can't feel sorry for her, or even guilty."
Angela suddenly took her hand from Eric's and stood up. Janice was coming toward them from the house.
"I think I'll sit this round out, Eric. I know that look in her eye." With that she left him standing there to meet Janice himself.
"Angela..." Eric called, but he knew it was no use. This was it. The fire blazed in Janice's eyes as she approached.
He stood up and faced her, knowing somehow this would be the scene to end it. The warm glow of
Angela spread through him, and he knew he didn't care what Janice felt. It was his life that was important, and his happiness.
Janice grabbed Eric by the arm and slapped him. "I hate you! You didn't pick a key! And Angela didn't throw one in. Pretty clever, aren't you?"
"That's right, Janice. Why should I he to you? I didn't want anyone but Angela so why not ... since she wanted me too. Who'd you get, Janice?" he asked, leering. "Or rather, who had the good fortune to get you?"
"You can call a cab this minute and send Angela away," Janice screamed. "I don't want her in the house another minute."
"That's what you think, Janice," Eric told her. "Angela and I are going to be together. We're not only going to be together tonight but every night from now on. I'm sick and tired of your bitchery. I'm sick of your social climbing. I'm sick of being your 'yes' man!"
"What'd you marry me for then?" Janice demanded, wailing. "Why on earth did you marry me?"
"That's hard to say, Janice. Let's say it was a mistake. A big fat mistake. I thought there was no going back, but since Angela is here and we still love each other, there's no reason not to go back. There is no reason to be caught in this muck. I was half-way to hell but now I find I can come back. And you're not stopping me."
"You'll regret this! I'm leaving right now. I'm going to pack my things and never come back," Janice cried.
"Go, then. Go to hell for all I care. See if you can find your way back."
Janice ran into the house, leaving Eric smiling with great anticipation for his new found freedom.
* * *
As they walked down the empty halls of the hospital, Adam brushed against Melody. She trembled to his touch. Suddenly he stopped and pushed her gently toward the wall. She looked at him, trying to see his face in the shadows. Adam brushed her hair, caressingly.
"Such lovely hair," he told her, "and beautiful white skin. You are my white goddess for tonight."
Her hands reached to his face. The skin was soft much softer than she had expected. She pulled back briefly, as though she were going to run.
"Little white goddess, don't leave me. Don't ever leave me."
"Ah wasn't goin' anywhere, at least ah didn't think ah was goin' anywhere..." she began.
Adam pressed his hand against her mouth, saying, "Don't talk now. You don't have to say anything. Just let me touch you. Let me touch you all over. Let me love you the way you ought to be loved."
Melody didn't pull back any longer. She stood against the wall, her body moving to his caresses. As they touched, their breathing increased. Melody began answering the kisses, whose fire grew increasingly consuming. She returned the touches. She found her hands touching his body, running up and down his back, across his chest.
"You have a beautiful body, Adam," she whispered. "A beautiful body..."
"Goddess, goddess..." Adam cried breathlessly.
He scooped her up into his arms and disappeared into one of the rooms off the silent corridor...
* * *
Tom Fredericks jammed on the brakes of his huge Cadillac and came to a screeching halt in front of the hospital.
"This is it!" he shouted boastfully. "This is mah dream. Everything that's good and pure is in this here structure. Bet you nevah saw anythin' like this here buildin' before, now have you?"
Kitty snuggled up against him. "No, Tom that's quite a place!"
"Well, all ah can say is ah was mighty glad to get out of that party. Mighty glad. Though ah must say you made it a very special night. Watchin' you there with Edie. You and she made out all right, now didn't you? Your ole man sure got a charge out of that. I'm glad they came back for the festivities."
"Let's not talk about that any more. I've got you now and I intend for that to be the best part of the evening. It was a kicky party, though. Real nice and kicky. Alfred's good that way, even if he is a bastard sometimes. He always makes real kookie parties," she answered.
"Yes, things are picking up. Ah sure wish you weren't leavin' town, Kitty. Ah'd like to see more of you ... and that ... that's real nice."
Kitty smiled demurely.
"Ah think ah did real well, though, for an old geezer like me ... but you just wait, sugar pie, 'til we get back to the office. Ah'll show you what it's all about," he teased.
"I'll take you up on that," she answered, nudging him. "I certainly will take you up on that."
"What would you say to walkin' round the hospital for a little bit? Stretch your legs. And ah must say diey're the prettiest legs ah ever did see. And then we'll drive back to the office. There you'll see die most opulent casting couch in town." He laughed proudly at his little joke.
"I thought it was etchings," Kitty kidded back.
"Well, if all could take you up to mah house ah'd say etchin's ... but ah sent mah little wife home from the party ... so it's got to be the office and the castin' couch."
"Two more weeks and we'll be able to dedicate this hospital," Tom told Kitty as they walked together up the stairs. "Did ah tell you ah'm dedicatin' it to mah mother? She passed on a long time ago but she was a good woman ... a real good woman. She died o' cancer and that's the very reason ah decided to build this here hospital."
Tom Fredericks stopped dead in his tracks.
"Who's there?" he shouted, hearing voices in one room. "WHO'S THERE?"
Adam and Melody appeared in the doorway, disheveled, Melody radiant.
"Hello, there, Tom," she chirped gaily. "How are
"Melody?" Tom asked disbelievingly. "MELODY?"
"Sure, Tom," Melody said. "Ah decided to take a look at your little ole hospital."
"TAKE A LOOK AT MY HOSPITAL? WHAT ARE YOU DOIN' HERE? JUST TELL ME THAT! AH TOLD YOU TO GIT HOME!"
"It don't make much difference what you told me, Tom," Melody retorted. "Do you know Adam, Tom? Adam Mason. You met him at the party."
"ADAM," he shrieked. "ADAM!"
His body convulsed and he gasped for breath. "AND WITH A NIGGAH! You PIG ... YOU..."
Tom Fredericks' hulky frame staggered and his arms flailed at Adam. "YOU NIGGAH," he gasped, "YOU UGLY DIRTY BLACK DAMN NIGGAH!"
Kitty crouched against the wall, unable to move. Melody intervened.
"You leave him alone, you ole man. He's more man than you ever were to me. Ah hate you and ah love him. He's a man ... HE'S A MAN!"
Adam grabbed Tom's arms powerfully and Tom Fredericks knew he had met his match. "You ... you..." He couldn't speak. The pain in his chest was mounting.
Tom wheeled about like a fierce wounded animal, staring blindly at Melody. "What did ah evah do to you, you pig? Ah treated you like mah child ... but more than that ah treated you like mah mothah..." He gasped for breath and tried again. "In all these years ah nevah touched you. In all these years..." But his pain wouldn't allow him to go on.
Melody's eyes were expressionless.
In utter disbelief he cried, "You were a virgin. Ah kept you a virgin and now you've given yourself to some dirty niggah..."
Tom Fredericks' face was wracked with pain. He coughed again and again and pressed his hands against his chest, trying to push out the hurt. Melody began laughing violently and the harder she laughed the more he suffered.
"AH HOPE YOU DIE!" she screamed.
And with that Tom Fredericks gave a final gasp and fell to the floor, dead.
"He died right here in his own hospital," Melody said with relief, looking at the limp body as though it were an old shoe. "He didn't know it but he would only have lasted another week or two, anyway ... he had cancer o' the kidney."
Melody slipped her arm through Adam's and led him proudly out the door, Kitty following quietly behind.
13
After all the guests had left, Eric and Angela went to the pool, plunging splashily into the water.
"Come on in, Angela, the water's fine," he shouted drunkenly.
"I'm afraid I'll freeze!" she yelled back.
"I can take care of that," he replied, leering. "Come on."
"My, my, how eager the man is!! "
She flopped down on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in the water. The night air caressed her scantily clad body. She threw back her head in wild abandon and her instinct was to howl. Only the queasy feeling in her stomach restrained her.
Eric's muscular body, silhouetted against the water by the blue lights at the bottom of the pool, filled Angela with a desire that was more than a hunger of the moment. It was an insatiable accumulation of seven years of frustration and longing that no one else had been able to satisfy.
She watched Eric's shadow as he moved under the water toward her. He shot out of the water and his hands came up on either side of her and groped for the edge of the pool. With great difficulty he pulled himself up, brushing his chest against her legs and clung suspended facing her.
For a moment neither of them moved, caught up in the passionate awareness of each other.
"Why did I ever take your 'no' for an answer?" Eric whispered. "I've tried, but I've never been able to love anyone but you."
"I thought it would spoil things for us to be married make us ordinary like everyone else," she answered.
"But you know better. We both know better now."
He stretched upward, overcome with the desire to kiss her, to press his lips to hers. Suddenly his hands began to lose their grip on the slippery tile and he clutched at Angela and dragged her with him into the water.
"Watch it," Angela screamed in mock horror.
They struggled under the water, slowly coming to the surface. Angela's arms wrapped tightly around Eric's neck. He started to kiss her playfully and again they sank under the water. Sputtering and coughing and laughing they came up a second time. Angela squirmed, freeing herself of Eric's grip and swam to the shallow end of the pool. He swam after her, teasingly letting her slip out of his grasp until they reached a place where they could stand.
He pulled her to him and kissed her violently on the lips. Her mouth opened for his tongue which wildly, searchingly explored the recesses of her mouth.
Holding her face in his hands, he pushed his face into her wet hair, crying, "Angela, I love you ... I love you."
His hands moved over her body and she quickly responded.
"Not yet," he said softly. "Let's stop and have a drink."
"Let's swim to the other end," she suggested in thick tones. "I don't think I could make it, walking."
Angela reached the ladder first and groped for a hold, her grasp faltering and unsure.
"What's the matter, baby?" Eric asked, treading below her, "need a push?"
"I am having a little trouble," she admitted. "Can't seem to be able to hang onto the damn thing."
Eric grabbed the rail with one hand. "There you go," he said, pushing her up from the rear with the other.
Angela reeled at the top and extended her hand to him. Eric tried to reach it but missed and fell back into the water. Finally he struggled up the ladder and dragged himself out and lay on the cement.
"Wow!" he said. "Some workout."
Angela bent unsteadily over him.
"Want me to fix the drinks?" she asked.
"Yah," he replied, "I couldn't budge if you paid me."
Angela pushed herself up and tried to gain equilibrium.
"There it is," she said, looking toward the portable bar and trying to keep her eyes focused on it. "There it is!" She moved across the cement, weaving and swaying.
She supported herself against the bar and took out one bottle after another. She moved them at different distances from her face, trying to make out the contents of the bottles.
"I wonder if I'd know it if I saw it," she told Eric. "Scotch is what you wanted?"
"On the rocks," he answered.
"Do you think this is it?" she asked.
Eric strained to see the bottle. "I don't know," he blubbered. "Bring it over."
Angela poured liquor into two glasses over some ice and made her way back to Eric. He put his hand out to take the drinks and Angela slid down, resting her head on his chest.
"Well, I made it," she said with relief.
"Together at last," he told her, raising his glass in a toast to the idea.
"Together," she echoed, and they gulped down the icy drinks.
"I've never forgotten you ... and New York ... and you. It was exciting, wasn't it? There's never been anyone like you, Eric. Never!" she told him.
She stretched across him to kiss him, her breasts squeezed on him.
"Your body is still as firm and beautiful as ever, Angela. You haven't changed a bit. Still dancing?"
"Oh, I work out once in a while, but not much dancing as such," she answered. "And what do you do for exercise these days?" she asked. "Have you let your surf board gather barnacles in dry dock?"
"I've been saving myself for you," he said playfully.
Suddenly he thought of Janice and the sexless life they had shared together. Janice, who was nothing more than a painful reminder to him of Angela. Even though she was gone now, her presence somehow lingered in the self-conscious orderliness of the place. A gnawing reminder of a wasted seven years.
"Let's have another drink," he said in an attempt to shut out these thoughts of Janice. "I'll get them this time."
Eric staggered to the bar.
Angela stood up and was undecided for a moment whether to follow him or stay where she was. She decided to walk along the edge of the pool as far as she could, balancing herself like a tight-rope walker.
"Be careful you don't get dunked!" Eric laughed.
His voice seemed terribly far away to Angela. It took her a few moments to realize what he had said.
"Why not?" she laughed then. "My suit's wet now!"
"It is, isn't it?" Eric said as he weaved toward her, a partially filled glass in each hand.
She took the glass he offered and took a sip of the warm, strong scotch.
Her nearness filled Eric with an almost uncontrollable animalistic urge. He took both glasses and quickly placed them on a nearby table.
"Take your suit off," he whispered hoarsely.
Angela stood motionless.
"Take it off, I said..."
Still she did not move.
He couldn't wait any longer. He ripped off the brief top, throwing it on the cement. The sight of her uplifted sensuous breasts made Eric gasp as though he had never seen them before. Savagely, he tore at the tiny bottoms. The powerful tug broke the bone circles that were holding them and they fell away.
Angela trembled with excitement. Her breadiing intensified as Eric pulled her hard against him. His body throbbed in response to hers.
"From now on, you're mine," he told her, biting at her ear. "Mine and nobody else's."
She lost her balance for a moment, pulling Eric sideways with her. He tried to support her but he too was unsteady and they careened together away from the pool.
"Don't tell me you're that high?" he asked, trying to hide his own drunkenness. She moved away from him.
"Me? High?" Angela laughed. "Never!" She grasped the back of a deck chair for support.
"Let's go inside the house now," he told her. "I don't want to wait any more."
"Okay," she said. "But let's have a little dip first to sober up. I really am in a pretty bad way."
Angela ran falteringly to the shallow end of the pool.
"You dive in from there and I'll dive from here and we'll meet in the middle," she shouted, her words muddled and indistinct.
Eric tried to look at her but his eyes could not focus and he saw her hazily across the pool. She looked almost phosphorescent in the blue light that reflected from the pool. She was so far away from him now. Standing tall and naked and beautiful.
As Eric was getting poised to dive, his knees gave way and he stumbled sideways against the ladder rail.
"Hold everything ... ouch! Oh, goddamn it!" He grabbed his leg, which had been bruised on the shin. "Oh, Christ!" he exploded. He waited for a sympathetic response from Angela. She was standing, un-hearing, with her arms stretched upward ready to plunge.
Eric got ready to dive. "One ... two..." Suddenly the sobering effect of the pain made him realize what would happen if Angela dived.
"Angela ... Angela ... for Christ's sake ... don't dive. Angela ... it's too shallow!"
Angela did not hear his words and threw her head back and laughed in an intoxicated delight. She extended her arms farther upward and plunged toward the water, almost straight downward.
Panic shot through Eric's body and every muscle and nerve tensed and froze in that breathless moment before an inevitable disaster. The sound of the splash as she hit the water was shut out of "Eric's paralyzed ears. The only thing he knew was the fierce pounding of a shapeless terror in his head.
Eric knew it was over. He plunged into the water. There was no real point in hurrying and yet he was driven by a powerful inner force, propelling him frantically toward Angela. He got to where his feet touched the bottom and started to walk, pulling himself through the water with what seemed to be superhuman strength. He could see her body lying face down in the shallow water with her long black hair floating like seaweed. There was just the beginning of a dark oozing from her head which settled on the surface like oil.
With a final burst of effort he reached her. Quickly he grabbed her under the arms and dragged her to the side of the pool and lifted her limp body to the cement. The blood flowed freely from her head now, her neck twisted at a blood-chilling, awkward angle. He checked a non-existent pulse.
He cradled her head on his lap. Suddenly his body was shaken with sobs and cries of agony that seemed to come from somewhere else and had no relation to him or to Angela or to anything else.
He laid her head down carefully and stood up, and stumbled blindly toward the house. He moved to the telephone like an automaton and dialed the operator.
"Please hurry," he heard himself saying. "There's been an accident. Get an ambulance and the police out here right away." Then he added, "This is Eric Blaine," and gave the address and hung up the phone.
He found his way to the bedroom and ripped away the spread, flung it wildly to the floor. Then he jerked the yellow blanket free and hurried back to where Angela lay by the pool. The pond of blood was growing bigger and bigger. Carefully he covered her with the blanket and sobbed at the finality of covering her face.
The wet bathing trunks stuck to his backside and he knew the chair cushion was damp beneath him but he didn't have enough interest to care a damn. The old "keep-your-feet-off-the-furniture" feeling came at him again but then, of course, what the hell! Janice wouldn't be around to say that again. He grimaced, realizing this had been her mistaken idea of what was involved in being a good wife. The frequent threats, which she never felt secure enough to really mean, had become the only part of her that seemed real to him and still belonged to him as she never had.
The whine of a police siren came curling through the window. He jerked his head in that direction and the urge to get up and run out of the door was almost more than he could contain. He held tight to the arms of the chair and waited. The siren wailed ominously closer and seemed almost pleasant for a moment, and the animated angularity of Angela seemed to dance before him on the strains. He could almost make out her naked body undulating before him. But he decided it had to be an illusion because he remembered vaguely that he had covered her with a blanket, and she was lying very still and quiet beside the pool and would never move again. He didn't know for sure. It was hard to remember now.
Suddenly he saw a vivid picture of Tom Fredericks in his mind and heard him saying, "Give the bastards what they want, baby, and you'll get to the top of the heap." He heard the wheezy inhalation as Tom Fredericks added, "Don't try to buck the trend, boy. Let them think you're one of them and you won't get your ass burned."
Eric realized, in a brief moment of clarity, that he had followed Tom Fredericks' advice. He remembered not agreeing with him at the time,.shaking his head doubtfully and wondering vaguely if that was the only way to go about it and then putting it out of his mind. That had been his mistake. He knew now he should have taken a stand somewhere along the line. Instead of facing the truth within himself, he had run away.
Now, again, as he listened to the shill whine coming closer and closer he had the urge to get up and run. He did not think he could endure it. But for once in his life he knew he was involved with a reality that he would have to face.
"Hold on, you lousy son-of-a-bitch!" he told himself. "Hold on ... hold on ... hold on tighter."
The black and white squad car stopped abruptly at the curb in front of the house. Eric had a final impulse to run ... run to the pool, with the blue lights wafting upward to the goddamn moon, and the quiet, cold cement where Angela lay under the blanket ... run to kiss the full, firm lips and bring Angela to life again...
The policemen's footsteps outside echoed through the house like the sound of summer thunder and the doorbell rang like a stroke of lightning.
"Yes," was all Eric could manage. "Come in. I'm here and waiting. What in hell took you so long?"
"Would you like to tell us what this is all about?" the uniform asked.
"Yes, I would," Eric said quietly, staring at the vague form, wondering where the voice had come from and to whom it belonged. "Yes, I would. Gladly. If I knew what it was all about. Lying somewhere at the rear of this house, by the pool, I think, is the body of Venus de Milo, Mona Lisa and a modern Cleopatra. Get her fast ... and carry her away ... to wherever you take such wonders. And when you've got her safely put away, come back and get me. If she's dead, I did it. If she's not, I did that too."
"The guy's nuts," Perkins, the first officer, whispered to the other.
"Yeah, looks that way," the second responded. "Guess we'd better watch him. Go take a look in back and see if anyone's there." He walked cautiously toward Eric and touched him on the shoulder. In a few seconds he persuaded Eric to stand up and accompany him Eric wasn't sure where, and wasn't really concerned. There was only a look of comfort and release on his bronzed face as he allowed himself to be led to the front door.
"Let's go out to the car and wait for Perkins," he was told. They walked silently out of the front door, and the flashing red light from the police car seemed to be the only thing in the world that was alive.
