... unconditionally. She gave herself no reasons for lying naked in Jay Bolton's arms.
Her husband Al had first suggested that she sleep with Jay. But now she sensed that Jay Bolton was more completely hers than Al had ever been-or ever would be.
But even as she reveled in the discovery and sensation, she knew that she was not by nature a cheat. Jay simply evoked forces in her she barely understood. She would have avoided this entrapment if he had not sought her out.
If he had not trapped her-the way her husband had done....
CHAPTER ONE
JANICE KIRBY kept looking at Al, her rainy-Sunday restlessness increasing and taking on a different form. This husband of hers was a handsome and virile man. He retained, at thirty-four, a boyish charm. Al looked sexy-at least to her. She could become excited, aroused, just by looking at him. He affected her so now.
She asked, "Al, would you like to make love to me?"
"Not particularly."
He did not look up from his Sunday paper.
"Oh, but you're lazy."
"I'm still recuperating," he countered.
Janice was reminded that last night's session had been a good one. She and Al had been to a party, had a lot of fun, come home a little high. They had tumbled into bed and made love like honeymooners rather than like two people married for three whole years. Remembering, Janice felt her excitement grow. She simply had to get Al to go to bed with her-now, at mid-afternoon.
She was seated cross-legged on the floor, sections of the Sunday newspaper strewn untidily about her. She wore black capri pants and a green nylon blouse-nothing else, not even make-up. She felt pleasantly hung over-restless, yet unenergetic. Merely basically alive. The day outside the apartment windows matched her mood. The afternoon was cheerlessly gray and dripping wet.
She regarded her husband from eyes narrowed in speculation. Al was not actually much as husbands went. She had had to keep working after marrying him. He was a used-car salesman just now-the job did not pay much. His jobs never did. He always talked about finding something else, whatever he happened to be doing for a living. He was forever changing jobs and was-Janice suspected-by nature a floater. She had begun to accept the fact that she and Al would never have many of the good things of fife-home in the suburbs, this year's model car-maybe they would not even have children. Al simply was no provider. But he was a skillful lover and she supposed she loved him. At any rate, her great need for his physical love permitted her to overlook his many failings.
Still engrossed in the newspaper, Al said, "Here's something-a wife-swapping scandal out in California. One of the wives got fed up and spilled the beans to the district attorney. She's quoted as saying in an interview," 'My husband insisted that I take part in such activities, so we wouldn't be dropped by new friends we made after moving into the neighborhood. These people had formed a club for immoral purposes. Seven couples belonged to it. The couples took turns throwing parties on Saturday nights, and during each party there was a shuffling of mates. Wives were swapped in various ways. One way was for the men to place their car keys in a container and for each woman to draw a key. If a woman drew her husband's key, she put it back and drew again-so she was teamed off with another partner.'"
Al looked up, grinning. "A real fun game, that. We should have some friends like that bunch."
"It's shocking," Janice said. "Swapping wives-husbands-I can't imagine what kind of people would do such a thing."
"According to the paper-the husbands were professional and business executives. So you might say they were among our better citizens."
"Were' is right. And better than what? Savages?"
"Oh, come off it, Jan," Al said, chuckling. "You're not such a prude that you can't admit it might be fun."
Janice realized that Al was titillated by the idea of wife-swapping. She was now truly annoyed with him-no longer merely critical.
"You wouldn't swap me to anybody," she said. "You'd never involve me in such a thing. Anyway, I'm all the woman you need." Abruptly she decided her annoyance was foolish-he had to be joking. She asked archly, "Did you say you did want to make love to me?"
"What's with you? You got an itch?"
"Don't you know what a rainy Sunday afternoon is for, dope?"
"I know what you think it's for."
"Then do your husbandly duty."
"Tonight," Al said. "When I've gotten back my strength."
Making a face at him, she said, "Maybe I should do some husband-swapping-since you're so easily beat. For all you know, I could. I might have an admirer who would jump at the chance to be nice to me."
"Who is he?" Al said. "I'll bust him one."
Al would not. He had no jealousy in him. Extremely vain, constantly aware of his dark good looks, he was sure of himself-and of her. That he was fortunate in having as lovely and tolerant a wife as Janice never occurred to him. Egoist that he was, he took it as his due that he should have married a woman who was not only attractive but able and willing to help pay his living expenses. If she had been able to support him in idleness, she knew, he would have let her.
She did not especially mind his good opinion of himself. But at times she felt a little rebellious for his taking her so much for granted. Right now, she thought, he should be just a tiny bit jealous. After all, she might have an admirer. Studying Al, she decided to invent one-in an attempt to jolt his complacency.
"How would you feel if I told you Jay Bolton, no less, made a pass at me?" she asked. "President of the company."
"No kidding? How'd you get to know him?"
"I told you the other day that I was sent from the stenographers' pool to take his secretary's place while she's on vacation. If you'd listen to me just once-"
"I listened. I just forgot."
She did not believe him-but let it pass.
"I spent Friday afternoon with Miss Forsythe, his girl Friday, learning the ropes," she said, watching Al closely. "Mr. Bolton called me into his office before quitting time and said he was sure I'd do as his secretary for the next three weeks." That much was the truth. What Janice added was not. "He also said he didn't know that the company had such attractive girls in its stenographers' pool."
Al did not react as she had hoped.
He merely asked incredulously, "You call that a pass? And what a corny fine. The guy must be a real square."
"It wasn't so much what he said," Janice went on, defending her he, sorry she had not come up with something stronger. "It was the way he stared-as though I looked good enough to eat."
Grinning, Al said, "Well, at least he has good taste in dames. You do look good enough to eat." He dropped his part of the newspaper to the floor, patted his knees. "Come to papa, baby."
Janice frowned, feeling a renewed stir of annoyance. Al was reacting-but not jealously. He seemed aroused by the thought of another man's admiring her. She knew a new wonder about him. Maybe it would give him kicks if she gave herself to someone else. Maybe he would get a charge out of infidelity on her part. She knew an impulse not to go to him now-but to refuse what she had asked for would be spiting herself. As always, she must take this man of hers as he was-make the best of an imperfect bargain.
She got to her feet and moved slowly, sensuously, toward him. She made her hips undulate exaggeratedly, swung her shoulders so that her breasts swayed in the green nylon blouse. Al appreciated her gagging up her physical endowments. She was a lushly built young woman, a honey blonde with silver-gray eyes. Her complexion was as flawless as her figure. Unbuttoning her blouse, she exposed a firm, full bosom.
Pulling her onto his lap, Al said, "You do have an itch, don't you, sweetheart?"
"I want you, Al," she said, her anger dissolving. "I need you."
He touched her breasts and she felt an erectility in them. Her abdomen tingled. She took his face between her hands, pressed her lips-warm, moist, parted-to his. He smelled like a man-of beer, tobacco and after-shave lotion. Excitement soared in her. She kept her mouth locked to his, probing with her tongue.
"All right, you," he said when he managed to free himself. "We'll make love now. But don't expect to again at bedtime."
Pleased with her small victory, she laughed. "What are you doing, rationing me?"
"Yeah. For my own well being."
"I won't put up with it."
"No? What will you do?"
"Swap you for another woman's husband."
"That Jay Bolton character?"
"Could be," she said and squirmed with pleasure as he fondled her breasts with increasing roughness. Al was not a gentle lover.
"You could go for him, eh?"
Janice had never given intimacy with Jay Bolton the slightest thought. Bolton was simply the man whose secretary she was to be for the next three weeks. She had not considered him as a male. She had the amused thought that Bolton would be shocked if he knew how she and Al were discussing him.
But she wanted to test out her new theory about Al. She asked, "Would it make you sore if I said I could?"
"Not if it would do you some good."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well-playing games with the boss should get you a better job," Al said. "You shouldn't have to stay in the stenographers' pool once you've worked after hours."
"Oh, you louse, Al Kirby," Janice said. "You wouldn't give a darn if I slept around every night in the week."
"Sure, I would," he said, pushing her off his lap. "Doing it for a better job is one thing, for kicks, another."
He slapped her on the bottom, got to his feet, followed her into their bedroom. He began to undress. She opened the bed and slipped off the green blouse. Though eager for the pleasure to come, she took time to hang the blouse in the closet. She had always been meticulous. Her bared breasts jutted, bell-shaped-firm yet soft mounds, prettily pink-tipped. They were lovely and she was aware of it.
Al said, "No doubt about it, sweetheart, you do look good enough to eat. Old Bolton would be a pushover for you."
"He's not so old."
"Fifty, maybe?"
"Forty, more like it."
"Handsome?"
Janice had to think about that. She had not considered what Jay Bolton really looked like-beyond being personable.
"Yes, he is," she decided.
"I've seen his wife's picture in the tabloids a couple of times. Once in a bikini. She's something. Tough competition-even for a doll like you."
"Maybe she wouldn't be at all," Janice said, now caught up in a spirit of deviltry. "Miss Forsythe told me that the Boltons are estranged. Informally separated, she called it. Alice Bolton moved into an apartment of her own about a year ago. She also does a lot of traveling-without her husband. The jet set is her crowd. I won't worry about her as competition-if I decide to do some work after hours."
She slipped off the capris, put them away in the closet, then turned toward the bed. Her breasts were not her only good feature. She was narrow of waist, flat of stomach, flaring of hips. Her legs were long and shapely, tapering from full, velvety smooth thighs to well-formed calves, slender ankles. Her movements were almost feline as she went to her man, now nude upon the bed. Her silver-gray eyes glowed.
"You're a beast," she said, kneeling on the bed and bending over him. "You get a kick out of thinking I might play around."
He laughed, pulled her down to him. Their bodies entwined. They were healthy, young, ideally mated. Their acts of prelude to the ultimate embrace were prolonged, erotic and uninhibited.
Al finally broke a long silence. "You think the guy would really go for you?"
"What guy?" Janice asked.
She had not been thinking-simply feeling.
"Bolton."
"Oh, him. Al, I was just trying to make you jealous. All he said was that he thought I'd do fine as his secretary while Miss Forsythe was away."
"He didn't give you the eye?"
"No."
"You could make him-a babe like you."
"Oh?" she said, kissing Al. "Why should I?"
"To get a decent job." Al was serious. He had stopped caressing her. "A dame with a hold on a guy like that could make a career for herself. Doesn't the outfit use women executives?"
Janice said that it did. The company manufactured cosmetics and did have a number of women in high positions. One vice-president was a woman. But Janice could not imagine herself as an executive. A secretary, yes, but nothing more important. She knew her limitations. Nor was she interested in her job at this moment. She wanted to make love.
"A man like Jay Bolton probably keeps a pretty classy harem," she said. "He wouldn't notice a girl from the stenographers' pool if she stripped down in front of him." She writhed in Al's arms. "Don't talk so much. You'll break the spell."
Al ignored the warning. "Maybe he wouldn't notice just any dame from the stenographers' pool," he said. "But you, baby-all you'd have to do is let the guy know that you're available."
With that, he did stop talking. He rolled Janice under him and took his place in her arms. His possession of her was rough-it caused her to gasp. But in a moment she was purring like a kitten. Tightening her arms about him, she moved with him and gave herself up to soaring sensation.
They were perfectly attuned to each other. Al was able to gauge her responses perfectly-he was superb as a lover. She let herself be carried aloft-whether by his skill or passion she did not care. She was stormily, utterly content and loved him now fiercely despite his faults.
The day outside continued to be dreary. In Janice's bedroom-it was a fine Sunday afternoon.
CHAPTER TWO
AFTERWARD they lay apart in pleasant languor, each of them completely sated. Gradually Janice's euphoria gave way to thought again-and she wondered if she really loved Al as much as she believed before and during their sex acts-or was she merely in love with love? He could give her a deep contentment-but was it a perfect one?
Al turned to he on his side, his face close to hers.
"As I said, sweetheart," he told her. "A guy like Bolton should be an easy mark, especially since he's estranged from his wife. Of course, the chances are that he has a dame. We'd have to find out."
"Find out what?"
"What I said. Whether or not he's tied up with a dame."
"Why should we care one way or another?"
"Hell, baby-can't you see it? The guy could do a lot for you-move you up out of that crummy stenographer job."
Janice stared at him. "You mean-you want me to become involved with him-to get a better job?"
"I'm just thinking that it could be a break for us."
"Oh, what a louse you are, Al Kirby."
"Forget the whole bit-if it makes you sore."
"If it makes me sore?" She sat up. "What do you take me for, anyway? A hustler?"
"I didn't say that."
"You as much as said it."
"Well, forget it," Al said. "I know you wouldn't do anything like that. I just got carried away, thinking of the possibilities. For you, that is. Why, a smart dame could really go places with the company-if she played Bolton along. Why, you might even be able to fight him off once he got interested-just keep upping the ante on him."
"I'd have to be more than smart," Janice said. "I'd have to be a tramp. Al, you're a Grade-A heel even to consider letting your wife become involved with another man. I thought you loved me."
"I love you," he said. "I was thinking of you more than of myself. You've got this crummy job, have to five in this dingy apartment, pinch pennies all the time. If you'd get a decent promotion, we could have a house in the suburbs-even have kids, once I got established. As I said, you might fight him off-and it wouldn't be forever. You could quit after I latched on to something good."
This was the first she had heard Al express a willingness to have children. He had always before ended any discussion of their having a child by saying in no uncertain terms that they could not afford one. The few times she had thought she might be pregnant he had gone into a panic.
A house in the suburbs, she thought. Children....
She said, "You wouldn't love me if I did such a thing-and you know it."
He patted her on the stomach. "You know me better than that, baby."
"Yes, I guess I do," she said. "But I'd rather know that you couldn't bear the thought of another man's having me."
"I couldn't-if you didn't get something out of it."
"I'd never go for anybody but you."
"I know that. But any dame can go through the motions."
"I'd feel like-like a whore."
"That's silly," he said. "You wouldn't be taking money."
"Nothing would make me feel right about playing up to Mr. Bolton," Janice said emphatically. "And getting him interested and then fighting him off would be worst of all. I won't do it-and I don't want to talk about it any more."
"Okay, baby," Al said, running his hand lightly over her. "I won't mention it again."
But he was smiling faintly, as though satisfied that he had planted a seed that would eventually bear fruit.
Al kept his word. He did not bring up the subject again. And Janice tried to forget that he had suggested anything out of the way. She put in one week and then two of the three she was to fill in for Miss Forsythe. She had to work hard-but working with Jay Bolton was not unpleasant. It was not nearly as irritating as working out of the stenographers' pool and taking the guff of minor executives too unimportant to rate secretaries of their own.
But not even Jay Bolton was always easy to get along with. He forgot at times that she did not have years of experience as his secretary. When she was slow to catch on to some phase of the job, he was openly impatient. When she made a serious goof, he snapped at her. But he was considerate enough to apologize afterward, usually at the end of the day.
"Don't mind me, Mrs. Kirby," he would say. "My bark is worse than my bite."
He was a big, vigorous man and, as she had told Al, he was handsome. She did not think of him as middle-aged. His tall, broad-shouldered frame carried no excess flesh. His hair was barely touched with gray and his eyes and smile were youthful. He gave the impression of being physically fit. He golfed often and swam frequently, Janice learned. His mind was sharp and he had a great capacity for enthusiasm. To be near him, she found, was to feel vital, alive. Some of his zest for work and for life brushed off on her. She found herself afraid of comparing her husband to him-Al would have looked bad in the comparison.
Bolton had unguarded moments. Then she thought she saw another side of him. He would withdraw from his work, lose himself in private thought. She sensed a sadness in him, saw it mirrored in his eyes. She guessed, from what she had heard from Miss Forsythe, that he still loved his wife, missed her terribly and was basically unhappy.
Woman-like, she was touched by his apparent loneliness. Woman-like, too, she wondered what had caused the estrangement between him and Mrs. Bolton. She found it difficult to imagine Jay Bolton's being at fault in his marital troubles. He gave no evidence of being a chaser.
He had certainly shown not the slightest personal interest in Janice. Not once-during those first two weeks-did he give her reason to believe that he was even aware of her gender. His manner toward her was so proper that she might have been a sexless robot.
Her office-Miss Forsythe's, really-was strictly utilitarian. Jay Bolton's reminded her of a luxurious study. Its walls were paneled in wood-a cloud-soft, wall-to-wall carpet covered its floor. A huge picture window afforded a view of all other plant buildings. The furniture consisted of solid mahogany and leather-upholstered chairs and couch. The desk was oversized and always orderly.
It was his desk that tripped Janice up, quite literally.
On Monday of her third week she stayed late to type some letters that had to go out in the evening mail. Bolton was waiting to sign them and she tried to hurry.
One letter, full of figures, gave her trouble. She made a number of mistakes and her erasures made the final copy messy. She took it in to him, nevertheless, at five-thirty, afraid to keep him waiting longer.
He read the letter, looked up, scowling.
"Mrs. Kirby, come around here and look at this creation of yours."
He looked personally offended.
She was flustered and bumped the corner of the big desk as she started around it. The collision threw her off balance. She managed to keep from falling but pain took her breath away, brought tears to her eyes.
Bolton came hastily to his feet, reached her and grasped her arm to steady her.
"Are you badly hurt?"
"More embarrassed than hurt," Janice said, her voice off-key. "I'll be all right in a moment. I'm not usually so clumsy."
"I've noticed," he said gravely. "You better He down for a moment."
He began to lead her toward the couch.
"Oh, that's not necessary-really."
"Come along," he said, making it an order.
She had bumped her left thigh. Her entire leg throbbed with pain. Bolton put a strong arm around her, supported her to the couch and gently deposited her upon it.
"Take it easy," he said, looking at her with concern. "I'll get you some brandy."
He went to the cellaret in the corner of the room, returned with a glass. She sipped the liquor. It went down smoothly.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes, thank you," she said, rubbing the spot she had bumped. She was not feeling better. The pain had not eased at all.
"Better have a look at the damage."
"I'll be all right."
"Don't be shy." He smiled. "I'm considered reasonably immune to employees."
She was wearing a straight skirt and a blouse. To expose her injury, she had to draw the skirt and her slip up quite far. She twisted her body to see the bruise and the movement hiked the skirt even farther up. Her thighs were almost completely exposed. On one was a huge crimson splotch.
Bolton poured some brandy into his hand and applied it to the hurt, rubbing gently.
"Brantly should do as well as rubbing alcohol, don't you drink?"
The pain did begin to ease. But Janice was embarrassed. Too much of her was showing. And the intimacy of his touch, innocent though it was, had an unsettling effect on her.
"That's much better," she said, wanting him to stop-wanting to cover herself. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bolton. I'm not usually so awkward."
"An accident," he said. "My fault, really. I shouldn't have barked at you."
He removed his hand from her thigh and she quickly pushed down her skirt. She started to sit up, but he told her to remain still.
"After a while well call you a cab. A little more brandy?"
"No, thank you."
"You don't mind if I have a drink?" He smiled wryly. "Somehow, I feel the need of a belt. I'm not used to administering first aid to young women."
He got his drink, returned and seated himself on the edge of the couch. He took a sip of whiskey, looking at her intently. His being so close made her uncomfortable. She was annoyed with herself that he should have any effect on her-annoyed, too, because she imagined she could still feel the touch of his hand on her bare thigh.
A sensible person, she was aware of her own volatility.
He said, "You know, you wouldn't do for my secretary on a permanent basis. It scares you when I blow up a storm. Now, Miss Forsythe-I can yell my head off at her and she's as steady as a face carved on a cliffside. I never have to feel like a heel and apologize to her over losing my temper."
"I am a little thin-skinned, I suppose," Janice said. "I bruise easily, in all ways."
"Don't let me frighten you from now on."
"I'll try not to."
He drank again, then said, "Would you be offended by my becoming a little personal?"
"I suppose not."
He hesitated a moment, his handsome face turned serious. "I find myself wishing you weren't married," he said finally.
Janice said nothing. She was not sure of what he expected her to say. Many men on the make had made far more personal comments to her-those she could deal with. She found herself wishing he would let her get up. Lying there, with him sitting beside her, she felt oddly vulnerable.
"For a man to become personal with his secretary," Bolton continued, "is bad from a business standpoint-as well as for other reasons. Oh, it's not unusual, I know. But I've always felt that it's bound to lead to a situation where one of the participants uses unfair advantage. It's too much like entrapment-dangerous to both parties."
Janice remained silent. She watched him warily, uneasily. She felt sure that she would shortly have to cope with a direct proposition. And could she afford to turn it down? She needed her job-and not even Al would back her up.
Bolton went on, "A man can be tempted to heave ethics overboard." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to her. "In fact, I've been asked to-by someone I once held very dear."
Janice said solemnly, "Miss Forsythe told me-about your marriage."
He said thoughtfully, "I suppose it's a fair subject for speculation. I know Miss Forsythe is not a gossip. Is your marriage a good one?"
"Oh, yes."
"You're fortunate. Mine seemed good-for seven years. Then I discovered that my wife felt otherwise. It seems she needed-well, more variety in sex than I could provide. When I confronted her with evidence of her infidelity, she actually expected me to go along with her playing around. She said she loved me as much as she ever had-as much as she could love any one man. The other men-well, they catered to an entirely different need in her, psychologically as well as physically. Emotionally-they left her untouched, she told me. She even suggested that I join the game-have affairs with other women. She even recommended some of her friends."
His voice had grown bleak.
"Why haven't you gotten a divorce?"
"Alice doesn't want one-won't get one. And I can't bring myself to fight her in court, in public. Maybe I'm still hoping she'll change-people's personalities do develop. Or maybe I'm just proud and hate to admit to failure-which is what a divorce really is." He smiled without warmth. "I don't know why I'm discussing my private affairs with you. I suppose-and this is ironic-I'm suddenly tempted to follow her advice."
Janice dodged the implication in his words. "Sometimes we need to talk about our problems."
"Now you're being land," he said.
"You were kind to me-after my silly accident."
He grinned suddenly. "It did bring us together in an unexpected way. But whatever I felt then-kindness is not what I want to show you now. Would you believe me if I said that I haven't dated since Mrs. Bolton and I separated?"
Janice studied him for a moment. Then she said, "Yes, I would."
She did believe him. If her own Al had made a similar statement under parallel circumstances, she suddenly realized, she would have taken it for granted that he was lying. But would Al have bothered lying to her-any more than Jay Bolton's wife apparently had troubled about lying to her husband? She remembered her conversation with Al about mate-swapping-and suddenly found herself feeling a little sorry for Jay Bolton.
He said, "I've an excuse, of course. My wife's behavior was such a jolt that I wanted nothing more to do with women-until now." He finished his drink, then said musingly, "Particularly I wanted nothing to do with the friends she recommended. You're not her friend, of course."
The sadness was again in his eyes.
"No-I'm not." Janice found her voice shaking slightly.
He grinned at her again-not entirely without mirth. "You wouldn't consider letting me wreck your marriage?"
"No-I wouldn't."
"I thought as much." He considered her intently. "You don't cheat on your husband, do you?"
"Never," she said.
He nodded, as though having expected that reply. He got to his feet and said, not looking at her, "We'll let those letters go until morning. You'd better get home to your husband." He went to the cellaret and poured another drink. He stood with his back to her. "I'll call a cab in a moment."
Janice sat up, swung her legs from the couch. Her pain had eased to a dull ache. She looked uncertainly at the man across the room, sharply aware of his un-happiness, of a curious arousal in herself. She was strongly aware of his need of her. His manhood had been undermined by his wife's unfaithfulness-or he would have made a more determined bid for her. No doubt he felt himself inadequate. He seemed to have no idea of the sensations he had aroused in her.
She could still feel his hand on her thigh-and for the first time realized that her earlier caution had sprung from a panicky knowledge that she could cheat on Al. Could and would. Heaven help me, she thought with returning panic. She said, in a husky whisper, "Mr. Bolton-"
"Yes, Mrs. Kirby?" He did not look around. "What is it?"
"My name is Janice, Jay. When you asked me about cheating on my husband-I should have said I never have meant to-until now."
That brought him about, to stare at her.
After a long moment, he said, "And what about your marriage?"
"I-doubt you'd wreck it," she said, the panic rising in her.
"Are you-completely sure?"
Only one part of her was sure. Another part cried out in protest. Maybe Al had been joking about not minding an involvement between herself and Jay Bolton-in any event, she was not going to hold Bolton up for a better job. But she had committed herself.
She gave him a wavering smile, then began unbuttoning her blouse. He waited until she had slipped off the blouse and stood up to remove her skirt. Then he set his drink on the cellaret and came slowly toward her. When she was completely undressed, he took her hungrily into his arms-a man long starved for love.
CHAPTER THREE
THIS was different-was it also wonderful? A questioning panic lingered in the small part of Janice's mind not yet dulled by sheer sensation. For the first time she was experiencing tenderness in love-making. How far could she permit her reactions to range?
Al made love roughly, with an animal-like directness. Now she was being treated gently-with something approaching awe. She lay on the couch, writhing in agonized pleasure and anticipation. Her lover-and Jay was that-knelt beside her, exploring her nakedness with gentle hands and gender lips-with caressing touches of his own body. His ministrations had lulled her into a trance-like state-and through her dulled mind ran a fantasy ... she was a pagan goddess come to life, he a priest worshipping at the altar of her femaleness. She continued to writhe, her tantalized flesh quivering, her limbs, her loins on fire.
He left no part of her untouched. His ritualistic, eager seeking set off in her an ecstatic torment. When this became unbearable-he suddenly covered her.
His maleness enveloped her, invaded her-the priest took possession of his pagan goddess and was worshipful still. He was gentle even now-but so expert that for Janice all existence became focused in their joining. Only she and Jay peopled the universe. There was no Al, no one else-anywhere. Fused in fiery motion ... she and Jay swirled through a maelstrom of passion toward an impossible goal of ecstasy. They reached it too soon-that was the impossibility, the imperfection in it-yet she felt as though she had lived an eternity in his arms.
When he withdrew from her, her panic returned. She thought of Al with instant guilt. A part of her clung to remembering that Al had urged her to become involved with Jay Bolton-but for a reason other than the one that had led her to the intimacy. Still, would she have given herself to Jay if Al had not set her at least conditionally free to do so?
The question-and its possible answers-increased her sense of guilt.
She arose from the couch and gathered her clothing. She used Jay's private washroom. When she returned, dressed, he was getting into his clothes.
"The letters," she said. "They can wait until morning?"
He said, "Yes, of course," and turned as though to reach for her.
She avoided him, moved away hastily, went to her desk in the outer office. She got out her purse, combed her hair and touched up her lips. She avoided meeting her eyes in the mirror, afraid of what she might see in them.
Would Al detect any difference in her?
She cleared her desk, got her cardigan sweater from the closet. He appeared at the doorway, looking at her in an anxious way.
"You're angry," he said.
"Not at you," she told him. "Maybe at myself."
"Don't be. It was my fault entirely."
She thought, It was both our faults-and neither s. Why does there have to be guilt-if no one's hurt?
That was the point, perhaps-would someone eventually be hurt by what she and Jay had done? She remembered assuring him that he would not wreck her marriage. What might she have to do to make the promise good?
She saw him as a stranger now-and found it incredible that she had been intimate with him a few short moments ago, moments for which she might have to ask him to pay in order to hold together her marriage. She told him goodbye, her voice devoid of feeling.
"Janice," he said as she turned to leave.
"Yes, Jay?"
"What we did just now-meant a lot to me." That, she thought, Al would love to hear. Al would want to know, How much is a lot? She said nothing.
Jay asked, "How about that cab? Shall I call one?"
She shook her head mutely and left.
She rode the bus to midtown and walked two blocks to her apartment building. She moved in a daze, reflexively. Her mind was a blank, as though she had suffered a severe shock. Entering her apartment, she was glad that Al was not home. On alternate weeks he worked at the used-car lot until nine in the evening. She was relieved not to have to face him. She was sure that he would have seen in her eyes what she had been afraid to find when she had used her compact mirror at the office.
She went to the bedroom and stripped down to shower. Afterward, while toweling herself, she examined herself critically in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. She was unchanged from this morning-except for the bruise on her thigh. Illicit love left no visible stigma. Yet the ugly bruise was a part of what had happened. Neither cause nor effect-but a catalyst? Hurt, pain-love? That had been the sequence.
How deep was the hurt? The pain still lingered.
How deep was the guilt? It fingered, too.
Meeting her eyes in the mirror, she asked herself. Why did I do it? Why, really?
Because she had felt sorry for Jay Bolton?
Because his touching her thigh had aroused her?
Because her subconscious remembered that Al wanted her to become involved with Jay Bolton?
She answered the first two questions affirmatively-the third with a maybe.
Her motives did not matter, really. The important thing was that she had cheated-and enjoyed the act ... in quick anticipation and longer duration. Perhaps she had gotten to know herself only today.
And this is what I'm like....
She turned her back on her reflection, tidied up the bathroom, returned to the bedroom. She put on a robe and slippers, somehow not feeling up to getting dressed. She was in an emotional turmoil. Those brief moments of intimacy with Jay had been a terrifyingly wonderful experience-being guilt-ridden was a miserable sensation.
She went into the kitchen, poured a drink-gin over ice cubes. She disliked the taste of gin, but wanted something with a belt to it. To dull her mind, to blunt her sense of guilt-and wash away the memory of Jay's brandy. She had no appetite-but made and forced herself to eat a salad of fruit and cottage cheese. She fixed another drink and took it into the living room. She turned on the television set, stared at the picture without really seeing what went on.
Al got home at nine-thirty.
Seeing her in robe and slippers, he said, "You ready for bed?"
"I didn't feel like dressing," she told him. "I had to work late, then got bawled out for doing a messy job on a letter." That much was the truth, but she added an untruth to cover up her unsettled emotional state. "I came home with a headache, took a shower. How was your day?"
Al grimaced. "One lousy sale. An old heap I had to let go for two-fifty. What a crummy job."
He removed his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.
"Want a beer?"
"No, thanks. I've been on gin and I've had my quota."
"Gin-you?" He eyed her in surprise. "I was feeling low," she said.
She got up from the sofa to hang his jacket in the closet. He went into the kitchen.
He returned with a can of beer, sank into a lounge chair.
He drank from the can, said, "You're not hitting it off with Bolton-after all?"
"He's got a nasty temper."
"He needs a dame to mellow him," Al said. "I've been asking around about him. As far as any of the boys downtown know, he's got no woman in his life. But that wife of his-brother, does she have a reputation."
Janice regarded him with fresh resentment. He still had it on his mind that she could get Bolton to give her a better job. What would he do if he somehow learned about what had happened today? And why was he nosing around about Jay's wife?
Al went on, "I don't know how the guy can do without a dame. That's a hell of a way to live-if you can call it living."
"You wouldn't," Janice said. "That's for sure."
He grinned at her. "It's an appetite, baby. Can I help getting hungry?" Then, after another swallow of beer: "He still hasn't noticed you as a dame, huh?"
Janice was tempted to tell him that Jay had indeed noticed her as a dame. Confession would ease her conscience. And the results might prove resoundingly interesting-if unpleasant. The temptation passed quickly.
"Do you still want me to become involved with him?" she asked.
"Only if it would pay off."
"It could be that he doesn't need to pay for sex."
"Any man would do a dame a favor afterwards, if she asked one."
"You know that from experience, do you?"
"Me?" Al said. "With the job I've got, I'm in no position to do favors. Anyway, it's up to you. If you want to pass up a good thing, go ahead."
He turned to give his attention to the television set.
Janice went to bed at ten-thirty. She donned a seldom-worn suit of pajamas. Ordinarily she preferred a shortie nightgown. Tonight she disliked her body and wanted it completely covered. She felt no need of Al.
Al stayed up to catch the eleven-twenty sportscast. She was still wide awake when he came to bed. He ran his hand over her, discovered the pajamas.
"Hey, what gives?"
"I don't want to put temptation in your way tonight."
"But I already want you, baby."
'It's this headache," she lied-and wondered why she wanted to refuse him. Because she was sated by her love-making with Jay Bolton? Or because she felt guilty and ashamed? "Tomorrow night, Al."
"Couldn't you," he persisted, "just easy-like?"
"No-please, Al."
His hand crept inside her pajamas, found her breasts.
"This isn't like you, Jan," he said plaintively, as though he were being abused. He fondled her breasts, trying to arouse her. "Come on-give a little."
It was like him, she thought, to want to indulge himself without considering her feelings. But who was really in the wrong tonight? She, of course-since she had no headache.
She said, "All right. But I want to get to sleep soon."
"Sure, sweetheart," he said, already pushing the pa-jama bottoms down past her hips.
He did as he had promised, taking her quickly in her unresponsive state. For once their mating meant nothing to Janice. A blank, a zero.
She thought in panic: What if my having cheated has made me frigid?
When it was over and he was sprawled loosely on his back, apart from her, he said, "Sweetheart, you're an iceberg tonight."
"Try me again-some other time."
"Count on it."
"Al-"
"Yeah?"
Janice hesitated a moment, then asked, "Have you ever cheated on me?"
His reply came slowly-and then was no answer at all. "What brought this on, anyway?"
"Have you?"
"If I ever had," he said evasively, "it wouldn't have meant anything. You know you're the only dame who rates with me."
She reached out and turned on the bedside lamp, then sat up. She looked at him accusingly.
"So you have cheated."
"Aw, Jan, cut it out," he said, laying a forearm over his eyes-to shut out the glare of the lamp? Or to avoid meeting her gaze? "I'm beat. Don't start a stupid discussion at this time of night. Anyway, you're talking nonsense. What would I want with another dame?"
She pulled his arm away from his eyes. "When-and with whom?" she demanded.
His face took on a sulky look, like that of a small boy caught misbehaving. "Jan, for Pete's sake, lay off. It was a long time ago. It was just something that happened-like an accident."
Like an accident....
Her accident today had dealt with a desk. What had followed had been no simple happenstance-could not be so categorized. She felt frozen inside.
A voice in her mind wanted to know: What kind of people are we, anyway?
She continued to look down at Al, her eyes angry and accusing. She had to know the truth-and she would learn it.
"How long ago?"
"Oh, a couple of months."
"That's not so long ago."
"Long enough for me to have forgotten about it, honey."
"Don't "honey' me," she said crossly. "Who is she?"
"Just some dame who came to the lot with her husband," he said, looking guilty and miserable-but somehow smug, too. "They bought a car from me. A couple days later she stopped by with a gripe. The brake linings were shot. She figured she and her husband had been had. She was right. The car was one of our guaranteed jobs. So I got the boss to have their brakes relined."
"And she was grateful," Janice said coldly. "Naturally."
Al talked willingly now-almost boastfully. "Well, she thanked me and said that if I ever got around to then-part of town I should stop by. She said Wednesday afternoon was the best time, because she always left her two kids with her mother-in-law on Wednesday."
"And of course you stopped by the very next Wednesday?"
"Well, I did have a prospect for a car over in that neighborhood."
Eyeing him shrewdly, Janice said, "How many Wednesday afternoons?"
"Only a couple."
"Meaning every Wednesday afternoon?"
"Hell, Jan-let it drop. She doesn't mean a thing to me-just a little variety. You know that."
"Sure, I know. Are you still going there?"
"Not any more-honest."
"Not from now on, you mean?"
"I wouldn't do anything to make you sore, honey."
"You've already made me sore."
"Well, it's over and done with now," he said. "I won't see her again, I promise. I've told you everything. Trust me?"
Janice made no reply. She sat dispiritedly in bed, hating him and herself.
The two of us, she thought bitterly.
But she should not have been surprised about Al's cheating, she knew. She had always suspected he would play around, given the opportunity-she simply had never let her mind dwell on the subject until she, too, had cheated.
Misery loves company, she told herself. The guilty like everybody else to be guilty....
"Let's get some sleep, Jan," Al said coaxingly. "You said you wanted it. Turn off the light, will you?"
She turned off the light but did not he down. He settled himself comfortably, his back to her. Nothing ever really touched him. He would be asleep in a minute, not even wondering why she had failed to raise more of a fuss about his cheating on her. Why had she gotten him to admit he played around? She knew, of course. So she could feel free to confess her own infidelity. She needed to get that off her chest.
She turned on the lamp again. Al swore and covered his head with the upper sheet.
"Al, listen to me."
"I'm listening, damn it."
She pulled the sheet down off him, and when he looked at her, scowlingly, she said, "I let Jay Bolton make love to me today."
CHAPTER FOUR
IF Al had flown into a jealous rage-called her a whore, beaten her up, walked out on her, she would have accepted his reaction-even respected him for it.
But he merely gazed at her in disbelief for a moment, then grinned broadly and said, "Baby, you surprise me. I didn't think you were game enough to pull it off."
She hated him for what he thought. She said nothing.
He went on, "Now that you've got your hooks into him the rest should be easy. Just play him along for a while-a couple of months, say-until he's really gone on you."
She stared at him with her hatred showing. "Damn .you, Al," she said bitterly. "Oh, damn you!"
He looked offended. "What did I do, for Pete's sake?"
"You're trying to make a hustler of me."
"You did that yourself."
"And you don't even care."
"Sure, I care," he said. "I don't like the idea of my wife playing around with another guy. But if it gets you a big job-"
"You think I asked him for-for payment?"
He shook his head. "Not payment," he said. "But you should ask him to do you a favor. It won't cost him a thing to set you up in a big-paying job. You can fill any spot he can give you. That's what you want, isn't it? To earn enough money so that we can make a decent-life for ourselves-a house in the suburbs and all that goes with it?"
"Brother, what a sales pitch that is." Well, you want better than what we've got, don't you?"
"Not if I have to earn it that way."
"Then why did you give in to him?" Al asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. The next instant his voice was harsh with anger. "You did it for kicks, eh? Damn it, Jan-I don't like that at all."
"I haven't done anything you haven't done."
He was unable to argue against an obvious truth.
He said disgustedly, "All right, let's forget the whole deal. And let's get some sleep."
"You can sleep after this?" Janice said incredulously. "All right, get some sleep-you would-be pimp I"
She reached out and switched off the lamp, then lay at the edge of her side of the bed-so no part of her touched him.
Her anger subsided. Soon she felt troubled and saddened. She did not like Al right now-or herself. His relaxed, barely audible breathing told her he was soundly asleep. She resented his being able to sleep. Nothing fazed him. True, he had been sore for a moment-but only because she had given herself to Jay Bolton with no intention of asking him for a better job.
What a heel he is, she thought, this man I'm married to ... Man?
Except in bed, he was hardly that. He did not earn enough to support her, to give her what every woman had a right to expect. What did he contribute to their marriage? He gave her companionship, yes. And physical love. But nothing more.
Some man....
She did have the American dream of living in the suburbs. She did want children. But she might as well give up such hopes-unless she did as he wanted.
And selling her body in business was more nightmare than dream.
With that bleak thought she finally drifted off into sleep.
She awoke at her usual time-just as sunlight poured in through her bedroom window-and decided that she could not face Jay Bolton today. For one thing, she would feel too embarrassed. For another, she might find herself wanting him again-either for kicks, as Al called it, or to get him to give her a better job. She was no longer sure of herself. Al had failed her and she was face to face with temptation. If Jay wanted her again-she might give herself to him in the hope of getting through her own efforts what Al was unable to give her. And she still found the thought distasteful.
She decided to report herself ill.
Office hours were from eight to five. Jay, who set his own hours, never got in before nine. She telephoned the personnel office a few minutes after eight.
For some reason she expected an argument from the girl at personnel. She got none. She realized, as she cradled the receiver, that she was in a nasty mood.
Al was still asleep. He would not be going to the lot until one in the afternoon. Janice made breakfast for herself, lingered over it, then set about giving the living room a cleaning-something she usually got to do only on Saturday mornings. She vacuumed the rug, waxed the floor about it, dusted the furniture. She worked steadily, energetically, keeping too busy to think. She was still at it when Al appeared, showered, shaved and dressed, at ten-thirty.
"What are you doing home?" he demanded.
He sounded as though he, too, were in a nasty mood.
"I didn't feel up to going to work today."
"Why didn't you?" he asked nastily. "Did that one session with Bolton tire you out?"
She came very close to saying, You know better than that-no man can tire me out....
But she did not want a fight and said instead, "I wasn't in the mood to face him."
Al's handsomely weak face hardened-suddenly he did not look weak at all. He looked as though he were capable of violence.
"So you won't take advantage of the break you've got," he said harshly. "You're going to be high-principled, whoring and stupid, are you? How do you figure a combination like that?"
"I just need time to think."
"What's there to think about?" he demanded. "Only a dumb dame gives away what she could ask value for." He walked to her, put his face close to hers and said, "You'd better quit giving it away and get something for it-or else."
"Or else what?"
"Or else you'll wake up one morning and find out that I've walked out on you."
She stared at him. "Al, you wouldn't? After what you told me?"
"Wouldn't I?" he said. "Don't be too sure of that." He went to the closet, got out his jacket. His face was still stiff with anger. "You think it over. And while you're at it, figure out how much you've got to gain and how much to lose."
He went to the door, opened it.
Janice was suddenly panicky-she did not want to lose Al-not while she felt as confused and self-castigating as she did.
She said, "Al, don't you want me to fix breakfast for you?"
"I don't want you to do anything for me," he said flatly. "It might go against your stupid principles."
He went out, slamming the door behind him.
Janice sank into a chair, covered her face with her hands and, for the first time in years, had a good cry. Next she found herself just plain mad. Al had no business taking the attitude he did. If he wanted to break up their marriage, there were more civilized ways of doing so than his just walking out on her.
She would have it out with him when he got home tonight. She would refuse point-blank to do as he wanted. She would not sell herself to any man.
She went resolutely back to her cleaning-and did the entire apartment.
She finished shortly after two o'clock, took a leisurely bath, put on lounging pajamas. She remembered buying them because she had thought Al would like her in them-now she hoped they would help to bring back some of the warmth of her old feeling for him. They were of Italian silk, the pants a shimmering black and the jacket a shocking pink. The sleek, thin fabric clung to her, as though in love with her body, revealing tantalizingly what it covered.
The outfit did restore her morale-up to a point.
Still, she felt the need of a drink and fixed herself a rum cola. She settled herself in the living room with it and a magazine. She had barely tasted the drink when the buzzer sounded. She tried to ignore it. Someone very persistent had his finger on the button down in the foyer. She placed her drink and the magazine on the coffee table, went to the intercom.
"Who is it?"
"Jay Bolton, Janice. May I come up?" She thought wildly, Oh, no ... Janice-"Yes, Jay."
"May I see you just for a moment, please?" She told herself, I ought to say no....
She said aloud, "Well-for a moment-" and pressed the button that unlocked the inner door downstairs.
Damn it, why was she frightened? Or was she merely caught up by a vast embarrassment? If so, Jay had more reason than she to feel both embarrassment and guilt. He was now the pursuer. All she had to do was send him packing, tell him yesterday had been the first and last time she had cheated on Al.
She opened the door to Jay Bolton. His eyes swept over her and she stepped back quickly, then closed the door.
She faced him.
He said, "I had to come. When I found the other girl at your desk this morning, I was badly shaken. You're angry with me, aren't you?"
She shook her head. "Not at all. I'm just being sensible. What happened yesterday mustn't happen again. In fact-it can't happen-not for the same reason. Whether you can understand that or not-you've got to believe me."
"I do," he said. "But come back-be there tomorrow. You promised that what happened wouldn't hurt you. I could never forgive myself if it did-if it cost you your job."
"Coming back could cost me more. I think something happened yesterday that I hadn't bargained for."
She flushed at her use of the word "bargain"-was it a subconscious reflection of Al's attitude? She hoped Jay would not misconstrue it.
His handsome face was gloomy. "I'm not sure I understand you-but come back, Janice. I want you with me, need you with me."
She said desperately, "Can't you see, Jay-that I'm all upset?"
He looked pained-then his eyes widened. "Of course you are-and so am I. How could either of us feel otherwise?"
Abruptly he reached for her. She tried first to avoid, then to resist him. She even thought briefly of screaming-but deep in her awareness she knew she would not. What would be the point? She might get help from neighbors-someone might even call the police.
More likely-if she screamed even a tiny bit-Jay would let her go.
But did she want him to let her go? She had enjoyed yesterday's intimacy with him-and Al wouldn't mind what she did now, provided Jay paid off. And Jay was certainly asking for a compromising situation-coming right here to her apartment and obviously wanting to make love to her.
And what am I asking for?
The question fled through her mind as she let Jay's arms draw her to him.
"I shouldn't have come here, I suppose," he said. "It's risky, I suppose. But I didn't come to compromise you further-"
Her blood stirred at his touch-at the whole macabre situation. Actually she was safer with Jay's arms around her than she would be resisting him-if Al learned about the situation.
She shook her head slowly at Jay.
"You're running no risk," she told him. "At least-not the obvious one. Al-my husband-won't be home for hours."
"What are you trying to tell me?"
She shook her head again. "Nothing, Jay."
She was suddenly aware only of his arms around her, of the accelerating beat of her heart. In a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, tensions and excitements she recognized one-a thrust of desire.
She clung to its familiarity. Why not? Who cared? Not Al. And Jay seemed heedless of peril to himself.
He kissed her hungrily, greedily, ran his hands caressingly down over her back to her hips.
She slipped her arms about his neck and accepted his mouth with hers. Her body, almost of its own volition, began to squirm against Jay's long, hard frame.
Her flesh was weak; she had always known it and-until Al had belittled her defenses on that long-ago, rainy Sunday afternoon-had guarded against its weakness. Now no reason remained for defenses. She wanted Jay with all her volatile being-wildly, wantonly.
Why fight it?
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE surrendered-unconditionally. She gave herself no reasons for lying naked in Jay Bolton's arms, moments later. To be possessed by him was simply the easiest solution to her tensions, her doubts of Al and his feelings toward her-her doubts and fears of herself. Let what would follow take care of itself. Afterward she would feel ashamed and guilty, but now-now she merely wanted to experience again the pleasure of making love with a man who was tender toward her-at least in the act of passion.
She knew a mounting feeling of release from pressures that had ridden her since yesterday-perhaps longer. Perhaps, subconsciously, from that rainy Sunday on-when Al had first suggested she sleep with Jay. She sensed now that Jay Bolton was more completely hers than Al had ever been-or would be. She knew that Jay would never trade her off or use her for profit. She could probably even bind him to her in a sort of servitude. The realization made her exult in her femaleness-she had never thought of it as a tool with which to enslave such a man.
But even as she was joined to him and reveling in discovery and sensation-she told herself to slow down. Not at this instant-but later. She was not by nature a cheat. She could base no plans, no future, on what she felt now. She was too new to the game-and probably she would not, must not, prolong the affair. The truth was that she wanted to belong only to Al. She was afraid not to. No permanent involvement with Jay could be as simple as Al had outlined-a matter of give and take and bargaining. Jay evoked forces in her she barely understood. She would have avoided even this entrapment-if he had not sought her out.
And trapped she was-into matching his every movement, every gesture and caress in a mutual struggle for fulfillment. It came-and for the little while that total sensation of oneness lasted, that brief fusion when it seemed they could never part. In that instant the danger flamed brightly-and she knew that she, too, could become enslaved.
She continued to know it when he rose from her and the moment was gone. She snatched up her lounging pajamas from the floor beside the bed and went to the bathroom.
When she returned, wearing the pajamas, her smeared lipstick repaired and tousled hair combed, Jay was dressed. He had lit a cigarette and studied her through the smoke with a curious uncertainty.
She could guess at the reason for his unsureness from her own feelings. She went to him and gave him a quick, light kiss.
"Would you like a drink, Jay?"
"No, thank you," he said. "But I would like to talk to you-in a serious way."
"And I to you," she replied. "Let's go into the living-room and sit down."
She sat cross-legged on the couch, watched him seat himself in a lounge chair. He looked grave, tense. She could guess what he wanted to talk about-a continuing affair, a permanent involvement. The very thing she did not want.
She said soberly, "Jay, it may save a lot of discussion if I talk first. I don't want this to happen again. I really, truly, honestly don't. I'm not quite sure why we've become involved at all. You're an attractive man-and I seem to have a weakness for you. But there's something else. I don't like to cheat-either my husband or you. And so far I've cheated you both."
He said soberly, "I understand the first part-not the last. How have you cheated me? It seems to me I've taken advantage of you."
"I can't explain it yet-even to myself. But I've got to face up to certain facts and not see you again. There isn't enough of me for both you and my husband-and I'm not about to give him up." She added: "You can take that as a compliment."
He was frowning now. "A pretty left-handed one. Janice-you can't imagine how much you mean to me. We could arrange something more suitable. I wouldn't come here again. And we wouldn't sneak our love-making in my office. If I set up an apartment-"
"No matter how attractive you made it, Jay, I would still be cheating-either you or Al-or both of you."
"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you-even to letting myself be cheated. Whatever that means."
"The answer is still no."
"I could arrange for you to have a well-paying job, a real career with the company."
Janice thought of how pleased Al would be. But she shook her head.
"That would be too much like prostitution. I couldn't accept payment for-for loving you."
"It wouldn't be payment."
"Of course, it would."
"It would give me pleasure to give to you, to take care of you."
Janice did not reply to that at once. She was tempted. Al would want her to accept. He would be pleased. And if matters turned out so that there really was not enough of her to share-if, in other words, she fell in love with Jay, out of love with Al-what could she lose?
The answer was-everything. Jay was married to a woman who refused to give him a divorce. Living and loving in the shadow of another woman's marriage was not what Janice wanted from life.
She had to be the one with the conscience to save herself. For Al had none-nor Jay, either. Both of these men of hers, she realized, wanted to make use of her-although Jay's demands would be for love only.
"I won't do it," she said emphatically. "I don't even want to discuss this further. In fact, I think you'd better leave now."
Jay was more manageable than Al. He got up obediently and went to the door. He looked back at her.
"If you should change your mind-" I wont.
"But you will come back to the office?"
"Not to work with you," she said. "I'll stay in the stenographers' pool. I can't give up my job."
"At least I'll like knowing you're still with the company," he said.
Without saying more-not even goodbye-he left the apartment.
Al did not come home immediately after work that night, proof that he was still sore. She spent the evening watching television. At eleven o'clock, when he still had not arrived, she went to bed.
She lay wakeful, anger at work in her. She had finally convinced herself that Al's casual attitude toward infidelity had caused her to compromise herself with Jay. She would have resisted Jay's attractiveness, his claim on her sympathies, if Al had not suggested the involvement. Al had no right to be sore. If he meant to punish her by staying out until all hours, he was being downright cruel. He probably guessed she wanted things out with him.
She was still awake, though she pretended not to be, when he finally got home, some time after midnight. He took no pains not to disturb her. He turned on the bedside lamp, made unnecessary noise while preparing for bed. He said nothing to her, however, and finally turned off the fight and got in beside her.
She lay still, her back to him, not wanting to talk to him now-or have him touch her. But he immediately reached out, his hands seeking. She pushed them away.
"Don't bother me."
He persisted, slipping a groping hand under her shortie nightgown to her breasts.
"What's the matter?" he asked. His voice was thick. He had been drinking heavily. "Don't play games with me, damn it. Or have you been putting it out for free to that boss of yours again?"
Janice said nothing.
He grew rough with her-and suddenly she found herself fighting him. She beat at his chest with her fists. He caught hold of her wrists.
"Got the devil in you tonight, huh? I'll get you over that."
He pinned her arms to her sides, pressed his chest against her breasts. She rolled her head, trying to avoid his kisses. He was rougher than he ever had been-and soon got his mouth clamped to hers.
But tonight proved different from last night, when he had wanted her after her first intimacy with Jay. Then she had been totally unresponsive, made frigid by guilt. Now perhaps a greater guilt made her respond explosively, despite her anger. Desire came-passion flared, born out of something close to despair.
"All right, you heel," she said finally. "Now let go of me."
She lay limp and exhausted beside him. She hoped he would say nothing, do nothing more. Usually he fell asleep after a session of love-making, but now he was wakeful.
"You've had time to think it over about Bolton," he said. "Have you decided to be sensible-do the practical thing?"
She tensed, her anger flaring freshly. "Are you going to start that all over again?"
"Why pass up the chance, for Pete's sake? What's the big deal about suckering me? Why cheat on me for free?"
"I told you I won't make a hustler of myself-and cheating on our marriage was your idea."
"You're dramatizing the whole bit."
"I'm doing nothing of the kind," she said. "You're not asking me to be faithful to you. What you're suggesting is nothing more than a form of prostitution. I'll have no part of it."
"You wouldn't be taking money."
"You'd spend what I got exactly as if it were money."
"Don't try to be funny. You'd be earning whatever Bolton paid you at a better job."
"I'd be earning the job by going to bed with Jay Bolton," Janice said. "For your information, I've already told him I won't. He came here this afternoon-because he suspected why I hadn't come to work today. He did offer me a better job, and I told him no. It's over and done with. I don't want to hear another word about it-from you or from him."
Al was silent for a long moment. Then he said angrily, "You dumb dame-throwing away a chance like that. You ought to have your head examined, that's for sure."
He turned his back to her. He was soon asleep.
Janice lay huddled, on her side of the bed-more hurt than angry now. She kept wondering over and over how Al could ask her for what he had-if he thought anything of her at all.
CHAPTER SIX
JANICE returned to work in the morning-to her usual job with the stenographers' pool. The day was long and difficult. She was miserably unhappy. Her hurt over knowing how shallow was Al's attitude toward her had not eased. What he felt for her could not be called love. What did she feel for him?
She was relieved when five o'clock came and she could go home.
Entering the apartment, she received a jolt. Al had left a note on the coffee table in the living room. In his oversized, extroverted scrawl, he had written:
I warned you I'd walk out if you wouldn't be reasonable, and I'm doing just that. I've taken some of my things, and I won't be back until you come to your senses.
Janice sank onto the couch. She felt as if a kind of insanity had entered her once orderly world. Whoever had originally been to blame-the madness now encompassed them both. Perhaps it even touched Jay.
No-not Jay, she decided. He had simply taken what he wanted-and he had not bothered her today.
What would happen now?
Suddenly she decided she hated Al. She recognized the decision as mental rather than emotional-a defensive gesture toward sanity. She would make no effort to get him back. She would not call the used-car lot and plead with him-or even ask about him. He would come crawling back to her soon enough. He liked even the little money she made in the steno pool, she thought viciously.
She dropped the offending note on the coffee table, went into the kitchen and fixed herself a whiskey with water. She took a long pull at the drink, then added more whiskey to it. She blinked away her tears-of what? Of anger? Self-pity? Or simple madness? She carried her drink to the bedroom, and there, abruptly, she was struck by her aloneness. The knowledge that Al would not be coming home made the apartment seem empty-she felt cheated even of the chance to fight with him. She had to get out herself. She would crack up if she stayed alone in this place-which had suddenly become meaningless, a place without pride or sense.
Jay, she thought. He was still sane. Opportunist, perhaps-but sane. She needed somebody who still operated predictably. He would probably want to make love to her-but was that bad? At least it was something she understood.
She took a long swallow of her drink, then set the glass on the nightstand. She found the telephone book and looked up Jay's home number. She hesitated a moment, picked up the receiver and dialed.
A woman answered. "Mr. Bolton's residence."
"May I speak to Mr. Bolton, please?"
"I'm sorry, but he isn't at home. He is expected shortly. Shall I have him call you?"
"Yes,, please," Janice said. She gave her number. "Tell him it's Mrs. Kirby."
Janice cradled the receiver, far from sure that Jay was what she wanted. She still could envision no permanent relationship with him-their worlds were too far apart. Even if he became free to marry again-she could never make him a proper wife.
But tonight, she told herself resolutely, Jay had to be her medicine. She had no one else to whom she could turn.
She went into the bathroom and turned on the water in the tub. She returned to the bedroom and slowly undressed, waiting for the phone to ring. She was anxious-now-to see Jay. The apartment, her thoughts of Al, were oppressive. If Jay accomplished nothing else-he would be an escape for her.
For one night.
The phone did not ring until after she had taken a leisurely bath. She was toweling herself when the phone rang. She hurried into the bedroom, beads of water still dotting her breasts.
Jay Bolton said, "I got your message," and let her take it from there.
She had a sudden fear that he was annoyed.
"I've changed my mind, Jay," she told him. "Something's happened. I'd like to see you."
"I have an engagement, but I can cancel it," he said after a pause. "When and where shall we meet?"
She said, "You decide."
"Dinner?"
"If you like."
"Let's make it seven o'clock. Shall I come by your apartment?"
Why not? Al was not likely to come home and her neighbors were anonymous enough. None of them knew enough about her to draw conclusions from Jay's picking her up.
"Yes, please come," she said. "I'll be ready when you get here."
"All right, Janice," Jay said. "See you at seven."
She was ready quite a while before seven o'clock. She wore a semiformal dress, snug of bodice and straight of skirt, with a short, matching jacket. She meant to look attractive for Jay-she wanted him to want her tonight from the instant he saw her. Under the dress-she felt ready for him, even hungered for him for the first time before he was there. She wanted that sense of conquest she had known with him yesterday afternoon-the feeling of being necessary to a man that Al had always denied her.
She was on edge and kept wishing Jay would come. She would develop a bad case of nerves if he were late. She was jittery about the annoyance she had detected in his voice and wondered what engagement he had broken to be with her.
A gleaming Continental came slowly along the street. Janice recognized it and hurriedly left the apartment. Jay was crossing the sidewalk when she opened the outer door below.
She was still edgy and had to force a smile.
"Hello," she said.
He looked at her intently. "You said something happened. What?"
She nodded. "Something-I'll tell you later. Let's go, shall we?"
She felt uncomfortable standing on the sidewalk with him, although it was un-likely that Al would show up or that anyone else was paying any attention to them.
He led her to his car. She did not really relax even after they were away from her neighborhood. What was she uneasy about? The possibility of Al's finding out? Or Jay's earlier annoyance on the phone?
Jay glanced at her. ."You look very lovely."
"Thank you."
"But tense."
"I feel all knotted up inside," she said. "I'm doing something I'm new to, I'm afraid."
He gave her a searching look. "Don't be afraid. What happened to make you call me?"
"My husband has walked out on me."
"He found out about you and me?"
"He knows about us."
"I'm sorry, Janice. The last thing I wanted was to cause you trouble."
"I'm not sure trouble is the word. Unhappiness might be closer to the truth."
Jay went on, "I know I'm being selfish-but I'm glad you chose me to call. I was pretty unhappy until you did." He paused, then added, "I can't believe you're deeply in love with him. If you were-what's happened between us would never have taken place. Has he offered to divorce you?"
"No. Divorce isn't on his mind."
"You think he'll come back eventually?"
"Eventually, maybe."
"Do you want him back?"
"Tonight-I just needed to talk to someone."
"That's all?"
Talking about Al had brought back her hurt and anger. She answered Jay spitefully.
"Oh, you can have me if you want me," she said. "Fair's fair. I cry on your shoulder-you use my body for lacks."
Jay winced.
He said stiffly, "I hadn't considered what is between us as just something for kicks. I don't make a habit of other men's wives."
Janice felt rebuked.
"I'm sorry, Jay. I'm on edge-angry at my husband."
"But isn't he the injured party?"
"You don't know the whole of it."
"Oh? Will you tell me the rest?"
"I don't know," Janice said. "Not right now, anyway. Where are we going?"
"To an inn just outside the city. The food is good-and I reserved a room after I talked to you on the phone." He gave her an uncertain look. "We won't use the room, of course, if you'd rather not."
"For heaven's sake, Jay," she said, amused in spite of her unsettled emotional state. "Don't be so unsure of yourself when you're with me. I'm available-and you knew it when you reserved the room. Make the most of it."
He smiled wryly. "I deserved that, I suppose. But I'll never be sure of you, take you for granted. I reserved the room-against eventualities. How long do you think my luck with you will last?"
"The luck isn't all yours, you know."
"I feel it is," he said. "I know my limitations as a lover. My wife told me in no uncertain terms what they were."
"If you're less than adequate as a lover, I haven't noticed," Janice said.
But for the first time she gave the subject some thought. She had enjoyed the two occasions when he had made love to her. He had not left her unfulfilled-and his gentleness had been new to her. But a steady diet of tender, gentle, inhibited love-making might pall after a time. Maybe his wife had required more energetic sex expression. Janice herself might, after a time. She was accustomed to Al's ungentle, uninhibited love. Al was more than adequate.
And, she thought bitterly, how I hate him....
The inn was a huge, sprawling place. Its restaurant was swank. Jay ordered cocktails, an excellent dinner and tried to be pleasant company. But Janice remained in low spirits. After the leisurely meal Jay registered for the room he had reserved, rejoined Janice.
He smiled at her. "Nervous?"
"A little," she said. "And I should be. I've never been at a motel with a man other than my husband. How did you register?"
"Mr. and Mrs. John Hammond," he said, grinning at her. "Hello, Mrs. Hammond." He grew serious. "This won't be necessary often," he said. "Tomorrow I'll start seeing about an apartment-in a discreet location."
"I'm not sure you should."
"Because you may decide against seeing me after tonight?" She nodded. "I'll run that risk."
Jay had brought liquor and arranged for ice and mixes. The room was large and pleasant. Jay poured drinks. Janice slipped off her jacket and touched up her lips. Her mirrored image was not that of a woman about to make love. Her eyes had no sparkle. Her mouth was sulky. She made a face at herself, then turned to take the drink Jay had fixed for her.
He lifted his glass in a toast. "To a beginning."
She forced a smile. "Isn't it either too late-or too early?"
"Neither, I hope."
She drank to his toast-without sharing his wish. She still felt uncommitted, without direction.
Jay seemed to sense her mood. He did not press matters and, after a second drink, she decided to set about getting the most out of tonight. She went to Jay, took his drink, set it aside and seated herself on his lap. She slipped her arms about his neck and pressed her mouth against his. She kissed him lingeringly, sensed his quick response. She also succeeded in kindling desire in herself. She began to want him.
"Do you think you're in love with me?" she asked, rubbing her cheek against his.
"Right now," Jay said, "I'm sure of it."
"As much as with your wife?"
"No comparison."
"You can't love two people at the same time-can you?"
"I can't. I haven't loved my wife for some time. I may have thought I still did-before I met you."
"What about me? Can I love two men?"
"You couldn't be like this with me if you didn't love me-at least a little. I don't know how you feel about your husband."
"Right now I hate the guy," she said. "Tell me how much more you love me than you do your wife. Come on-tell me."
He shook his head. "Love has no measure."
She took his hand and pressed it against her thigh, under the skirt.
"Now tell me you're not feeling a rise in temperature."
She sensed that he was annoyed, not amused. His hand remained inert where she had placed it. His eyes grew withdrawn.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I am in a nasty mood. I'll try to get over it now." She kissed him again. "Help me, why don't you?"
He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, then began to caress her. His hands and mouth grew gradually possessive, until passion was touched off in them both.
Only then did her low mood-and her urge to be nasty-leave Janice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE APARTMENT was at a good address. The building was small, quiet and had no doorman. Jay had subleased the apartment furnished, at a high rental, through a proxy-a lawyer friend. He had taken this precaution, he explained to Janice, because he was unsure of his wife's intentions. He was less worried about himself than about scandal's touching Janice. Other tenants in the building consisted mostly of professional people who minded their own business.
Janice was glad he was careful. She still felt uncommitted. She had no idea of what she would do, how she would feel, if Al came back. It was easy to hate him while he stayed away.
Both she and Jay had a key to the apartment. They met there three times the first week and four the second. Jay's social and civic engagements took up his other evenings-but his infatuation with Janice seemed to increase each time they met. And Janice felt reassured when she was with him. The apartment she had shared with Al seemed to grow more hostile every day she did not hear from him.
She had left Jay and come home on Monday night of the third week of her new arrangement with Jay. She opened the door, heard the television set blaring away inside-and knew that Al had come back. Her heart lurched with an excitement she was unable to define.
She found Al sprawled in his favorite chair with a can of beer-looking as if he had never been away.
"Hello, Al," she said, striving for calm.
"Hi, baby." Al grinned at her. "Long time no see."
She crossed the room, turned off the television.
"A long time is right," she said, staring down at him. He looked at home-but in a sense he was an intruder. "That wasn't my doing."
He continued to grin, smug of manner. "I could argue that in court. By the way-how has it been?" he asked, his tone mocking.
"How has what been?"
"Your life with Bolton. What else?"
She felt a little thrust of alarm. "So you've been spying on me."
"Did you think I wouldn't, baby?" Then, in a brusque tone: "When I didn't hear from you, I began to get ideas. That dame could be pulling a double-cross, I thought-planning to keep all the loot for herself. So I made like a pee-eye. I know about the apartment where you two shack up, sweetheart. Did you get a decent job out of him? Or are you just taking cash?"
Janice said, "Al, you really are a bastard."
"But a practical one," he said, getting up from his chair and setting the beer can on the coffee table. "You did figure on not cutting me in, didn't you, you bitch?"
"You listen to me, Al Kirby." Her voice was loud and off key. "There's nothing to cut you in on. I've never taken a thing from him-"
"I know one thing you've been taking from him." His voice was vicious. "Damn if I know how you can be so stupid. You've got what it takes to set us up for life but you won't cash in on it. I ought to walk out on you for good."
"Go right ahead."
"I should let you go on seeing him for kicks, eh?"
"You're not letting me do one damned thing."
Janice found herself yelling, "Get out-get' out-get out!"
"I'll go when I'm good and ready." He let his gaze run over her. "You're a stupid broad-but a dish. I think I'll stay tonight."
"Not in my bed."
"Your bed? It's as much mine as yours."
"Sleep in it, then. I'll sleep here on the couch."
Al's face hardened. His manner was menacing. She moved back as he came toward her. He sprang at her and caught her before she could elude him.
"You're my wife, and you'll sleep where I say," he told her. "Now come down off your high horse before I bust you one."
"You want me, knowing I've just come from another man?"
"What's wrong with that?" His grin was savage. "Knowing you've had another guy'll give me kicks-I'll be able to tell which of us is more man-Bolton or me. Quit stalling and come to poppa." He jerked her off balance, caught her in his arms. "I'll show you what it's like to have a real man again."
She broke away as he tried to kiss her. He reached, got a hold on the neck of her dress. The dress ripped down to the waist. He roared with delight. Again she tried to get away.
This time he got an arm about her. He broke the hooks of her bra with his free hand. He pulled off the bra, laughed and picked her up. Carrying her to the couch, he dumped her on it and then, before she could stop him, tore the ruined dress completely off her. She hit at him, bit, kicked and scratched-but she could not stop him. He stripped her fully.
He said, "A hell of a note-a man having to rape Iris own wife."
"That's what this is-rape!" she screamed, close to hysteria.
Al's laughter mocked her. He did not remove his clothes, simply opened them and forced himself upon her. He invaded her so roughly that she cried out with pain. The act itself was brutal and quick. He removed himself from her as soon as he had finished.
She felt abused-humiliated. She had hated him earlier-now she despised him. She closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to look at him. He rearranged his clothing, slipped on his jacket.
"I'll keep in touch," he said. "And next time I see you-you'd better have Bolton paying off."
She made no reply.
He laid a hand on her stomach. His touch made her flesh crawl.
"See you, baby," he said. With that he left her.
Al Kirby had never figured himself for a fool. He had the sweet smell of big money in his nostrils. He meant to keep on the scent until the payoff. He had not told Janice all his plans. She did not figure in all of them.
Ed O'Connor, a reporter on the Evening Standard, figured in some. Al had thrown in a hundred dollars extra on a trade-in on Ed's old car than the heap had been worth, in exchange for some information on Jay Bolton's wife.
"It's her private life that's really interesting," Ed O'Connor had told Al. "If our rag printed that side of her life, she could hit us with a libel suit that would break us. And she'd have some big backing."
"That's the side of her I want to know about, Ed-not what appears on the society pages."
"Okay. She's lived apart from Jay Bolton for some time. During this period-and earlier-she's jetted to a half-dozen places, including Paris and Honolulu, for quickie vacations. Usually with a man or to see a man, according to the gossip around town. Whatever takes her away doesn't seem to have as strong a hold on her as her social life here at home. She's here more than she's away. She does the night spots with a variety of people-and I mean variety. All ages, all types. But the real scoop, Al-boy, is her friendship with Mike and Greta Ransome. You know Mike-Ransome's Studio?"
"I don't know him," Al had replied. "But I've heard of the studio. Class portrait photographers."
Ed had grinned. "Pretty exclusive, too. The inner circle. Life for art's sake. That means few or no clothes-and no permanent sex partners. Divorces are messy, public and expensive-so why bother? Why not just swap partners, stay healthy in the wallet and reputation-and remain friends besides? Some of our best people are involved. Alice Bolton is real buddy with the set. Her husband isn't-but she's got enough guys on the string not to need him."
Al decided the time was ripe to move in on Mrs. Bolton. Janice, obviously, was not going to play ball.
He telephoned Alice Bolton from a pay booth. Her voice, he thought, was sexy as she identified herself on the phone. Probably hearing any man's voice made her sound so.
He grinned, introduced himself. "We haven't met as yet, Mrs. Bolton-I happen to be the husband of a very good friend of your husband."
Sometimes a hard line made the best sales approach. It got the customer's attention. He had Alice Bolton's.
"Really?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "Is Jay Bolton involved with your wife?"
"Very much so, Mrs. Bolton."
She laughed throatily. "I don't believe you. Do you have proof?"
"Yes."
"Oh? And why are you relaying this information to me, Mr. Kirby?"
"I thought we might get together and discuss our problem."
"You may have a problem, Mr. Kirby. I do not. If it's true that my husband has come alive at last, more power to him. I'm all for it."
Al was salesman enough to realize he was losing his prospect.
"I called you, Mrs. Bolton, because I thought turnabout is fair play," he said. "I don't want to sell you any information-but I would like to talk certain aspects of this situation over with you. I'd like to buy you a drink some time when you've nothing better to do-just to get acquainted."
"Really, Mr. Kirby, I always have something better to do."
"I come highly recommended-as a companion."
She laughed. "By anyone I know?"
"I can produce credentials from someone who knows a great deal about you-and how photogenic you are." He waited through a long pause. Then: "Could you make it this evening?"
"You are persuasive, aren't you?" she said. "Very well, you've sold me. I'll drop in at the Flamingo Room about ten o'clock. If you don't know me by sight, just ask a bartender or a waitress to point me out. All right?"
Al promised to meet her.
He put down the phone. He found himself eager to discover what Alice Bolton was like. He might be able to promote something more than money from her. He grinned in anticipation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A BLOND waitress pointed out Mrs. Jay Bolton to Al. She sat alone at a banquette midway back through the brilliantly lit cocktail lounge. The bar was lined with people and most of the booths and banquettes were occupied. A glimpse of the main dining room showed Al that it, too, was well patronized. He had the sour thought, while making his way toward Alice Bolton, that some guys probably spent as much here in one evening as he earned in a week. The thought bothered him.
His mood lifted with his first close view of Alice Bolton. She seemed to him to be in Technicolor-coppery hair, amber-flecked brown eyes, sensuous, crimson mouth, richly tanned skin-of which much was exposed by the decolletage of a green cocktail dress.
As he stopped before her, his gaze settled upon the cleavage of her breasts. Besides Technicolor, she was wide screen. Hers was the deepest cleavage he had ever seen. She was bigger and brighter than life.
She seemed openly amused by his staring. "Aren't you going to announce yourself?"
He managed to say, "I'm Al Kirby, Mrs. Bolton."
"So I guessed," she replied. "Sit down."
He joined her in the banquette, feeling outclassed. Still, he might as well turn on the old charm and give it a try. He had a lot to gain, and nothing to lose.
He said, "You sort of bowled me over, Mrs. Bolton.
I hadn't been warned what a lot of woman you are."
"And you're not quite what I expected." She looked at him levelly. "When I hear of a man's losing his wife to another man-I get the impression that he's some sort of a sad sack. You don't exactly bowl me over, Mr. Kirby, but you don't make me feel sorry for you, either. Are you sure you've told me the truth about your wife and my husband?"
Al nodded. "I have. But I didn't say that I've lost her to him. The situation's a little tricky."
A waitress came. Al ordered a whiskey and soda. Alice Bolton had barely touched the whiskey sour before her and did not need to reorder.
Al got out cigarettes, offered her one. She accepted and, as he lit hers, she touched his hand to steady the flame of his lighter. Brief though the contact was, it set off little thrusts of sensation in his groin. He began to have fantasies of how the evening might end. The lighter's flame was unsteady as he puffed his own cigarette alight. The hand that held it was trembling.
When his drink came, he lifted it to his companion. "To the beginning of a profitable relationship."
She smiled faintly, touched her glass to his and sipped.
"I like that word-profitable," she said. "Now why did you feel that you should tell me about my husband's affair? You mentioned 'turnabout' on the telephone. I hope you don't mean the obvious thing."
Al said, "I meant that an estranged wife would probably like a divorce with a big settlement or plenty of alimony-if she had grounds for one. I decided that you and I could come to an arrangement."
"What sort of an arrangement."
"I'd see that you got the grounds for divorce-for certain considerations."
"I thought you said you wanted no money from me."
"Only from the settlement from your husband. I want him to pay-not you."
Laughing, she said, "I'm afraid you've outsmarted yourself, Mr. Kirby. You've told me as much as I'd need to know-if I wanted a divorce."
He shook his head. "You mentioned proof earlier. I haven't given you that."
"I'm sure a private detective could find proof easily enough."
"That would cost you-besides, I could warn your husband. He could take additional precautions. Why make things hard for yourself?"
"You could, of course. And I have the feeling that you're heel enough to play that dirty. Any man who knows his wife is cheating and lets her get away with it-"
"Your husband knows that you play around and lets you get away with it."
"True enough," Alice said. "But he doesn't try to profit from the situation. You do. As for myself, my dear Mr. Kirby, I do not want a divorce-no matter how big the settlement or the alimony. I like being Mrs. Jay Bolton. It gives me status. It also gives me a nice allowance each month-plus my freedom. Moreover, I'm still fond of the guy. Fond enough-so that one day, if my freedom becomes boresome, I may go back to him."
Al's disappointment was complete, shattering. He had anticipated anything but this. Women, he thought, were damned impractical. This dame was turning down an opportunity to take her estranged husband for a bundle. Janice was refusing to let Bolton give her a decent job. Screwballs, both of them. But Al was accustomed to a salesman's disappointments. He had to accept the fact that no one sold a hundred per cent. He hid his chargin behind a rueful grin.
"Well, a guy can't win them all," he said. "Besides, this isn't a total loss. I've gotten to know you."
"You have, haven't you?" Alice said, then gave her attention to a man who had stopped by their banquette. "Oh, hello, Earl. Do sit down."
Al looked at Earl, his immediate reaction hostility. Earl looked back at him with no more friendliness. He was a young man with executive-type glasses and a somewhat anemic look. His manner was hesitant, his pale, thin face uncertain.
Looking from Al to Alice, he said, "You're sure I'm not interrupting something?"
"Nothing important, darling," she told him. "I simply got my wires crossed. I told Al as well as you to meet me here tonight. You know how scatterbrained I am. Now come sit down. Al, this is Earl Somers. Earl, Al Kirby."
Earl said grudgingly, "How do you do?"
Al acknowledged the greeting with a nod. He wondered what was going on. He did not believe for a second that Alice Bolton was scatterbrained. He thought it highly un-likely that she had accidentally dated them , both.
Earl seated himself at Alice's right. "I can't see how you made such a mistake, Alice. We made our date only this evening."
"I don't know how I did it, either," she told him. "But don't fret about it. We'll work something out."
The waitress came. Earl ordered a long drink. Alice said she would have another whiskey sour. Al asked for another whiskey and soda. One thing was sure-another man at the table had given him a real yen for Alice Bolton. Competition always affected him.
Alice was keeping the conversation going. She asked Earl about his work. He was a chemist. Alice let him talk for a few minutes, then asked Al what he did.
"I'm in the used-car business," Al said, not mentioning that he was merely a salesman. He grinned at Alice. "Not that you need to know. You're not likely ever to be in the market for a second-hand heap."
Laughing, she said, "One never knows." Earl was interested and asked about trade-in allowances.
"I'll give you more than any other dealer in town," Al said automatically. "I can't give you a figure now, though. I'd have to see the car-and also know what sort of job you'd trade on. Stop by when you can. I'll give you a square deal."
Earl said he would, and things were on a friendlier basis until Alice, having finished her second drink, said that she was ready to leave. She divided an amused look between the two men.
"Since I can't possibly spend the rest of the evening with both of you," she said, "I'll have to be fair about making a choice. Shall we flip a coin?"
Earl frowned, looked sulky.
Alice took a quarter from her purse, made ready to flip it.
"You call it, Earl," Al said magnanimously. He doubted the flip meant anything. Alice would be making the choice. He stared intently at her.
Earl said, "Well-tails."
Alice tossed the coin, caught it, clapped it to the top of her left hand. She looked at it, then at Earl.
"Sorry, darling. Better luck next time."
Earl looked crestfallen. Al was jubilant.
Al followed Alice out of the place. She paused outside to look at him with a conspirator's smile.
"Did you guess I cheated?"
'It was tails?"
Nodding, she said, "Poor Earl."
"And lucky me," Al said, grinning. "I didn't figure him for your type."
"I have no type," she said. "And he is a dear boy. So shy and awkward. I've enjoyed mothering him. You're new, that's all. Don't get the idea that you're my type."
Al said, "I'm grateful for small favors. Shall we go in your car or mine?"
"Mine," she said and started toward the parking lot. "Here are the keys."
She drove an expensive convertible. When they were seated in the car, Al behind the wheel, he put his right arm about her. Drawing her to him, he kissed her lingeringly on the mouth and at the same time felt her breasts with his left hand. She was in no rush to push him away.
Finally she did.
"My, you are in a hurry, aren't you?"
"You're not?"
She made a face at him, laughing. He started the motor and switched on the lights. She asked him if he knew where she lived. He told her he did.
"You have done your homework, haven't you?"
"All the research necessary," he said.
"Oh? And how did you go about it?"
"I have friends. I told you on the phone I know a good deal about your photogenic qualities-the portrait set. But I've only seen your photo in the papers."
"So-what you know is gossip."
"You want to hear it?"
She gave a throaty laugh. "I'm not in the least interested."
The apartment was a duplex, so lavish that for a while after arriving there Al felt uncomfortable and out of place. But once he had found the bar and been initiated into its mysteries he began to relax.
Alice sat on a white sofa. Her bare shoulders had a golden sheen in the soft light. Her hair was less vividly metallic than it had seemed under the brilliant lights of the Flamingo Room. Her amber-flecked brown eyes were as knowledgeable about men as those of any of Eve's daughter's-but Al had the impression that she still had to make up her mind about him. ""What is your wife like?"
"She's a blonde, damned attractive-but not too bright."
"What does she see in Jay?"
"She never said."
"I didn't find him to be much of a lover."
"Janice doesn't seem to have any complaints."
"Maybe experience hasn't led her to expect any man to be much as a lover," Alice said. "Could that be?" Al shook his head. "Try me."
Laughing, she said, "I'll take your word for it. Are you living with her now?"
"No."
"You're letting Jay have her all to himself?"
"I stop around now and then to keep my hand in-and to let her know who's boss. Do you see your husband at all?"
"I see him only if I happen to bump into him at some social affair," she said. "Do you mind if I go change into something more comfortable?"
"Not at all. Need any help?"
"Hardly."
She stood up.
Al watched her climb the stairs, delighting in the sway of her hips in the green cocktail dress. She disappeared. He settled himself more comfortably in his chair, completely at ease now. His luck was in. He eyed the luxurious surroundings. One way or another he was going to get a piece of this-in addition to what Alice Bolton offered.
She reappeared in a few minutes at the top of the stairs. She wore a filmy negligee-and nothing else that Al could see. Her smile was invitation enough.
She said, "Well, are you coming up or not?"
Al took a perverse pleasure in taking his own good time. He finished his drink, took the empty glass to the bar. He climbed the stairs without haste. There was a method in his actions-the less he hurried, the more eager he became ... the more he would have to give her.
And this was an occasion he had to make count. He had to score on this one.
CHAPTER NINE
AL told himself that he was really living. He took Alice Bolton into his arms, began to kiss her. He kissed her lips, eyes, throat. He parted the negligee, mouthed her breasts. She merely submitted for a time, as if testing him. But finally she began to reciprocate with a practical urgency. Her lips were parted, warm and moist She grew breathless, excited.
Her bedroom was done in ivory, pink, and gold. The bed was oversized. She had already opened it. She drew him toward it, began to work on his clothes, the negligee sliding like water down her shoulders.
Coupled with her undressing him was so frank an appraisal of his physical being that he felt embarrassed. He seized her and tumbled with her onto the bed. She entwined her body with his.
"You make Earl look-and feel like a scrawny kid," she said. She kissed him greedily.
Alice's comparing him to Earl excited Al-also cued him to what she wanted from a man. He used his muscles, his strength in handling her, felt her become vibrantly eager in his arms. He prolonged his love-play, adeptly frustrating her aggressiveness until he was sure of his domination.
His final union with her was less an act of invasion than of possession. The rhythmic coupling that followed made her fully his. She was unlike Janice, who never lost a love match with him-who gave joyously as much as she took.
Alice, instead, was a lost, gone chick, his to trample and pound and gore to her vitals-his to possess to the core. And possess her he did, mindlessly and without other purpose-his eruption within her was a consuming thing that left her spent and gutted as if by fire....
He stirred at last, still one with her, running a hand along her now relaxed body.
"Well, did I measure up?"
She shivered. "For tonight-"
He grinned. "Don't kid yourself. Therell be other nights."
"I'm not sure."
"I am. So will you be before tonight is over."By morning he had won his point.
She pushed him away. "Don't, Al. I couldn't possibly again. Now go, please. But phone me about four this afternoon."
"Sure, baby," he said and got up from the bed.
He had left his car at the Flamingo Room. He taxied to the hotel room he had occupied since walking out on Janice. He dozed in a chair until a little after nine, then put a call through to the used-car lot.
Bill Norris, his boss, answered.
Al said, "Bill, I'm sorry, but I can't make it today. I've picked up a bug. Fever, nausea, sore throat. I've been sick as a dog all night."
"That's too bad, Al."
Bill hung up. Al stared at the receiver-a lot of sympathy a guy got. He put down the phone, undressed, got into bed and drifted into a deep sleep.
He woke again shortly after two o'clock. Remembering last night, thinking of Alice Bolton, he felt vastly pleased with himself. He showered, shaved and dressed and went out to eat. He chose an expensive restaurant-he might as well get into the mood for Alice. He ate a three-dollar steak with trimmings, drank two cups of coffee-and telephoned Alice at four.
To Alice's hello, he said, "Al, honey. How are you?"
"I'm fine. A woman always feels fine after having her hair done. I've just this minute gotten back from the hairdresser."
"You had that much energy after last night?"
Her husky laughter sounded. "I bounce back quickly."
"Do I see you tonight?"
"Would you be able to see me tonight?"
"You know I would."
"Egotist. I'm sorry, darling, but I have a date with Mike and Greta Ransome. I get together with them one night a week, and I-well, I can't disappoint them."
He said, "Well, if that's how it is, I'm just out of luck. Why did you want me to call you today? To make arrangements for tomorrow night?"
"Yes-tomorrow night."
"Okay, then." His voice sounded sulky even to his own ears.
Abruptly Alice laughed. "Oh, Al-I'll let you tag along-if you think you'd like to come."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Well, it won't be like last night. You mentioned you've heard gossip."
Al said, "I'm not narrow-minded when it comes to fun, sweetheart. After all, I have traded wives with Jay Bolton, haven't I? And he doesn't even know it."
"He doesn't, indeed," Alice said, laughing. "Well, pick me up at eight, lover."
She broke the connection. Al felt a new kind of excitement beginning to build up in him.
He taxied to the parking lot of the Flamingo to pick up his car.
Alice's doorman had a message for him. "Mrs. Bolton asked you to wait, sir. She'll be right down."
Al lit a cigarette and went back to his car. Presently Alice emerged from the building. Tonight she was dressed less for glamor than elegant taste. She wore a simple black dress of classic lines set off by a strand of pearls. She carried a white, sequined sweater.
Al liked her this way too.
He got out of his car and went to meet her.
"It's a different you," he said.
"You don't like?"
"I do like," he told her.
She smiled. "Leave your car here. We'll use mine." Again she let him drive. "Where to?" he asked.
"Ransome's Studio. You must know the address. You mentioned having done your homework."
"I know it," he said.
"Mike often works at night. Hell be through in an hour or so and he's often fun to watch. The girl who's posing tonight is very lovely."
"She's posing in the raw?"
Alice nodded. "Mike's quite an artist."
"And we can watch?"
"Yes. An audience of friends inspires him. He has a mirror that we can look through from its reverse side. The girl won't know."
Ransome's Studio was a narrow, three-storied building with a decorative aluminum front. The only window on the street was a showcase for artfully displayed portrait photographs. The door was of plate glass. The reception room inside was dimly lighted. Alice pressed a bell button. After several minutes a young woman appeared to admit them.
"Greetings," she said. "Come in and see the fun."
She wore white capris, a snug black sweater and flats. She had a slender but curvaceous figure, lacquer-black hair, large violet-blue eyes and ivory skin. She wore no make-up. The effect was not unpleasing.
She kissed Alice on the mouth. Al had an oddly startled feeling that it was more than a girl-to-girl kiss.
"I'm so glad to see you, darling," she said. Then, looking at Al: "And you've brought your new friend. How nice."
Alice introduced Al. Greta Ransome gave him her hand.
"Any friend of Alice's," she said, smiling at him. "Come along. I've got to get back to helping my lord and master."
They followed her across the reception room to an elevator. The three of them rode to the second floor, stepped off into a small room furnished as a lounge.
Greta said, "Let's see how the creative process works."
She went to a wall, removed a large painting from its brackets, exposed a window that looked out into a large photographic studio. One portion of the studio was ablaze with lights, flood and spot. The glare was directed upon a girl seated cross-legged on a pink chaise longue. She was completely nude.
Dropping from overhead and curving beneath the chaise was a backdrop of heavy, dull-white paper, apparently intended to blot out all background in the photographs to be taken. The photographer had a reflex camera hanging at his chest by a strap around his neck. At the moment he was moving a ten-foot step-ladder toward the chaise. Seated in a chair outside the semicircle of lights was a portly, pink-cheeked, white-haired man. He seemed to be merely an observer.
Greta said, "The old boy is the cutie's friend. He, of course, is paying for the pictures-wanted them taken. He's one of our leading citizens, a pillar of the community. He has grandchildren almost as old as the blonde. Enjoy yourselves, kids-but don't strain your eyes. See you in half an hour or so."
She left the room.
Al said, "The girl's looking this way. Are you sure this is just a mirror on the other side?"
"I'm sure," Alice said, laughing. "She can't see us-and probably wouldn't mind if she did know we were here. She's hot doing this for nothing. He doesn't get enough of her in the flesh-besides, Mike's photo treatment does add something. He is an artist."
Al stared at the nude girl. She was a tawny blonde with a voluptuous body and a pretty, animated face. Her expression subtly complemented her nudity-it seemed to reveal more of her than mere absence of clothes could.
Mike Ransome climbed the ladder and focused his camera on her from there. He was in his shirt sleeves and wore no tie. A man in his mid-thirties, he was somewhat pudgy and had thinning brown hair.
Al said, "Brother, what a way to earn a living."
"Don't be so taken by that blond dish," Alice said. "She's not for you."
"Who cares?" he said, turning to her with a grin.
He kissed her and ran his hands down over her back. She leaned against him, her breasts pressing his chest.
"Glad you came along?"
"You need to ask?"
"How do you like Greta?"
"I like her fine."
"Then there's no problem," Alice said. "We're swapping tonight, you know."
Al had been ready for anything-still, he felt shocked.
"You mean you had enough of me last night?"
"I didn't say so. Anyway, you said you liked Greta."
"I didn't say I preferred her to you," he said.
"Sorry, darling," Alice said firmly. "But those are the rules of the game. We'll have our times together, you and I."
"All right," he said grudgingly. "I'll play your little game."
"That's a nice boy," she said. "Now, let Mike and Greta further your education."
Al turned back to the one-way niirror. Mike Ran-some shot the blonde a half-dozen times, both from the ladder and from the floor. Greta appeared, the blonde stood up and Greta pushed the chaise away. She placed an old-fashioned, gilded chair against the paper backdrop. Greta now posed the blonde with the chair. She embraced, caressed the girl, fondled her breasts until the nipples became tumid. Mike then began shooting again from various angles.
The blonde's expression was a curious contradiction of itself-it was vibrantly languorous. Her pink-cheeked, white-haired friend watched the proceedings with interest.
Mike was finally satisfied. The blonde went into an adjoining room. While Mike switched off some of the lights, Greta talked with the girl's sponsor. The blonde reappeared. She wore a gold dress, stole, spike-heeled slippers-and carried a gold mesh purse.
Alice said, "Put the painting back, darling."
Al did as he was told. He and Alice sat down and lit cigarettes. In a moment, Greta came in with the blonde and her aging friend, led them to the elevator, stepped in with them. The elevator doors closed. Alice took Al out to meet Mike Ransome.
Mike was an outgoing man, good-looking despite his pudginess. He had a hearty, friendly manner.
"Glad Alice brought you along," he said, shaking Al's hand vigorously. "We'll go have a couple of drinks and some laughs shortly." He looked at Alice. "Greta said something about getting you to pose with her. You game?"
Alice shrugged. "I've got to be," she said. "I promised her last week that I'd go through with it tonight."
When Greta returned, Mike told her that Alice was willing to pose. He turned on the lights he had extinguished and asked Al to help him move the chaise back into their glare.
Less care was taken in photographing Alice and Greta than the blonde who had just left. Mike shot them quickly, letting them pose as they would. Greta had slipped off her black sweater, baring herself from the waist up, and kicked off her flats. At her urging, Alice had stripped down to her black panties and bra. They posed on the chaise longue in various intimate attitudes suggestive of two strikingly attractive young women in love with each other.
Al watched with a mounting excitement, new to him and one he found difficult to analyze or understand.
After a dozen or so shots, Mike said, "One more and well call it quits."
For the last pose, Alice and Greta locked themselves in a tight embrace and kissed.
When it was over, Al saw that Greta was wildly excited and released Alice with a definite reluctance.
CHAPTER TEN
THEY left the studio, stopped at a nearby bar. Greta had put on a dress, heels and lipstick. The conversation dealt largely with people Al did not know.
Greta said, "Did you hear that the Nolans and the Aliens have fallen out?"
Alice said she hadn't. "What happened?"
"Well, it was during a trip to Las Vegas-" Greta turned to Al. "Bob and Amy Nolan are in their late twenties. Jeff and Marge Allen are nearly twice that old. They were very close, mostly because they are next-door neighbors and it was handy for them to arrange things at any time." Then, to Alice again: "They planned this trip to Vegas and flew out for a week. The idea was to swap partners and stay at different hotels. They agreed that each couple was to keep to itself-not see the other until the day to come home.
"What happened was, Amy free-dated. Jeff let her, probably because, at his age, she was a bit too much for him. She would have gotten away with it but for a stroke of bad luck. Bob and Marge came out of a casino late one night and saw Amy getting into a taxi with two sailors she'd picked up. Bob blew his top. He went to the hotel where Jeff and Amy had a room, Marge tagging along. He raised Cain with poor Jeff, whose only defense was that he couldn't stop Amy from free-dating since she wasn't his wife. Bob made Amy pack her bags as soon as she got back. They flew home the same day-and now the Nolans and the Aliens aren't speaking. Bob still blames Jeff."
Alice said, "That's too bad. But I'd have thought it would be more Marge's style to do the free-dating. She's so gone on men."
"Who isn't?" Greta said, with a smile that was almost a grin. Then, soberly: "It is too bad they've quarreled. But Amy must have had a ball before Bob caught on."
Al asked, "Is free-dating against the rules?"
Mike nodded. "With most of us. Greta and I don't go in for it. Alice does-but her situation is different. Her husband doesn't belong to our group. The idea, Al, is for husband and wife to share experiences. Free-dating is cheating, in a way."
"Then I can date Greta when you date Alice," Al said, "but not any other time?"
"That's it, pal."
Winking at Al, Greta said, "Just call me some time and we'll see."
But she obviously did not mean it.
She finished her drink, looked at Alice. "Shall we leave the boys now?"
"If you like," Alice said, seemingly less enthusiastic than the dark-haired girl. She turned to Al. "I'll go with Greta in their car. You bring Mike in mine."
They left then and Al, new to this game, was a little confused. He looked questioningly at Mike.
"We'll give them an hour," Mike said easily. "That should satisfy that double-standard wife of mine. You're a novice at this, aren't you?"
Al nodded. "And I seem to have a lot to learn."
"Nothing to it, really," Mike told him. "A few convivial couples without stuffy notions about conventions have decided to streamline what generally happens when people go through serial marriages-you know, divorce and remarry over and over. The system saves most of us from ill-feeling and legal fees-it also saves time and some marriages. Greta and I have a more solid life together than before we formed our group. In fact, we had quite a bit of trouble and our marriage was heading for the rocks. Most of the other couples have saved shaky marriages or been rescued from boredom by our little friendship club. Alice's case-as I said-is different. She's not a full-fledged member. She isn't in all our activities, and she is free to date as she sees fit. But Greta and I get together with her regularly. It would be different for her all around if she stopped playing the field and stuck with one guy-with you, for instance. I'd like to see her do that. You and she would make a good team. The whole group would welcome the two of you."
Still a little confused, Al said, "I'm surprised at that. I'd think Greta and you wouldn't want me in on it-wouldn't want to share Alice."
"When you go into a thing like this deliberately and with your eyes open-you never get deeply involved with casual partners," Mike said earnestly. "It seems the more variety a couple has the more it craves. Some couples go to great lengths to find more and more variety. Take for example Clyde and Ginny Bennett-he's a surgeon. Makes a mint. The Bennetts take the game seriously. They recently jetted down to Miami Beach to meet a new couple-a Cuban couple. Had a wonderful time, Doc told me." Mike grinned suddenly. "This doesn't shock you, does it?"
"You haven't-yet." Al grinned. "I'm actually playing the game, myself, although I hadn't heard the rules. My wife is having an affair with Jay Bolton. That's how I came to meet Alice."
"Jay Bolton is having an affair?" Mike was genuinely surprised. "Now I've heard everything."
They had a couple more drinks, talked some more, and then Mike said they might as well be on their way. "We've given the girls their hour."
In the bedroom of her duplex apartment, Alice Bolton submitted to Greta Ransome's love-play with an indifference that slowly gave way to a feeling of pleasure. Long minutes passed before she was titillated by the dark-haired girl's fervent kisses and eager caresses. Her enjoyment of deviate love was limited. Even when sensation was touched off in her, she found it merely pleasant-not wildly exciting, as Greta did.
A strange creature, Greta.
Or perhaps fortunate. To be able to enjoy both sexes fully must be something. A full adult life-all bets covered. Some people were even able to fit kids into the scene-but for Alice the occasion afforded only an enjoyable sense of being appreciated-with only the mildest of climactic ecstasies.
But Greta could not get enough, could not find enough ways of manipulating Alice's body against her own to satisfy her own strange desires. At last her passion soared and, while Alice tried to attain the same heights, Greta's frenzy exploded to completion. Alice knew only a tiny explosion of sensation.
Afterward they lay apart; their emotions quieted and their senses grew calm. At times Greta talked like a lesbian. She did so now.
"You're wonderful, darling. I love being your butch. Do you like being my femme?"
"Of course, I like it, dear," Alice said, not untruthfully. Love in any form was pleasant to her, enjoyable. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have started my affair with you."
"Sometimes I think you don't like it-you hold back so."
"I simply can't go as far as you, Greta. I wish I could."
"Just don't ever stop liking me as much as you do."
"I won't, I promise."
"I'd die if I lost you." Greta kissed her on the mouth at the same time exploring her body. "What's this new man of yours like?"
"He's a regular stud, believe me."
"He must be extraordinary for you to say that," Greta said, laughing. "I can hardly wait to try him out."
"Don't get any ideas about free-dating him," Alice said, not joking. "If he can keep up the pace, I'll probably keep him as a pet."
The door chimes sounded.
"There are the boys," she said. "Let go of me, so I can let them in."
She had told the doorman to let Mr. Kirby and Mr. Ransome come up without being announced. That they were here so soon surprised her. The hour with Greta had been a short one indeed. Maybe she did enjoy Greta's kind of love-making more than she had realized.
She put on a robe and slippers, went downstairs to open the door to Al and Mike.
"Did you really wait an hour," she asked, "or did you cheat?"
"I cannot tell a he," Mike said untruthfully. "We gypped."
He put an arm about her as the three of them walked from the foyer to the living room. "A drink, anybody?"
"Not for me, thanks," Mike said. "Nor for me," Al added.
He watched Mike run his hand over Alice's hips and felt again a thrust of jealousy. He was doubly jealous, of Greta and of Mike. Alice's session with Greta had left her with tousled hair and smeared lipstick-and a loosely wanton look. He wished that he and not Mike were staying here with her. A strange thing, his being jealous because of Alice when he had been able to accept Janice's involvement with Bolton without a twinge.
Mike sat with Alice on the sofa. Al seated himself in a chair, feeling out of things. He tried not to look disgruntled. He had to play the game their way.
Greta came down shortly, dressed and freshened up. She did not sit down but looked expectantly at Al.
"I'm ready if you are, lover."
He got up reluctantly, looking at Alice. She smiled at him.
"Have fun," she said. "See you later." Then she turned to Mike, who was pulling her to him.
Greta sensed Al's mood. As they left the building and walked toward Alice's car, she said, "Cheer up. You can go back to her later. I'm not going to keep you prisoner. Besides, I'm every bit as good as she is."
Al looked at her. At least she was good to look at. Different from Alice, from Janice, from the recently errant housewife he had visited until Janice had learned about her-subtly different from any woman he had ever known-even in appearance. Black, rigidly coiffed hair, violet eyes, ivory skin. Outwardly hard-but burning with some inward flame visible in an inviting, challenging smile. A slender body, gently curved. Small, widely spaced breasts, pear-shaped under a tight bodice. Lovely long legs. Al looked at her and wondered what he was feeling displeased about.
He grinned suddenly. "You're right, of course."
He kissed her in the convertible.
"Yum-yum," Greta said. "Tastes like more."
He kissed her again. She thrust her tongue into his mouth. It was warm, alive-and had a curious strength and agility. It did suggestive things.
Abruptly she drew away.
"Home, James," she said. "And hurry."
Starting the motor, he said, "Where is home?"
She gave an address. He drove to it.
The neighborhood was old, but time had merely mellowed the tall, narrow row houses. No dry-rot of slums had infected it, nor had the dubious progress of commercialization. The stately houses had been kept up properly. They had the look of money. Obviously, photography paid off.
Al found a parking space between a Continental and an Imperial. He followed Greta up stone steps to a varnished door with stained-glass insets. A light burning in the vestibule made the glass glow softly in a half-dozen colors.
Greta gave Al her key. He unlocked the door, pushed it open. The vestibule was tiled. He opened the inner door, and they entered an attractively furnished foyer.
"Let's go right upstairs," Greta said and took his hand.
She seemed in a hurry now.
On the second floor, she switched on lights and led him along a hallway to a sitting room that had a bar in one corner.
"Fix a couple of drinks," she said, "and bring them back to the bedroom."
She left him and Al, gripped by a sense of unreality, went to the bar. It was well stocked and had its own refrigerator. He dropped a couple of cubes in each of two tall glasses, selected a bottle of whiskey and made the drinks doubles.
He found the bedroom. Its furnishings featured an oriental motif, the color scheme red, black and gold. Bronze and jade ornaments stood on low tables. The bed seemed intended more for romping than sleeping. His gaze was drawn to a large mirror set into one wall. He eyed it suspiciously.
Greta came from an adjoining dressing room. She had changed into a Chinese shift, slit up each side so that each of her legs was revealed as she walked. The garment was black and embroidered in gold with a dragon design.
"A thing with me," she said, gesturing to indicate the room and her costume. "I think my mother must have been frightened by a Chinese when she was carrying me. Maybe one raped her."
She struck a match and lit a brass incense burner on a table.
Then, taking one of the drinks from him, she asked, "Would you still rather be with Alice?"
He shook his head, grinning. "This is better than a slow boat to China."
She said, "Quicker, anyway. I don't sleep here with Mike. This is just my playground. If you're all Alice says-I hope you and I romp here often."
"That mirror," Al said. "Is it like the one at the studio?"
She nodded. "My darling husband is something of a voyeur. We put guests into this room. He's taken some very interesting pictures through that mirror."
"I'll bet he has. By the way, why did you want pictures of yourself posing with Alice?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, really. Having pictures of yourself and your playmates seems to be a part of the game. After all, each relationship, each moment of pleasure is transient. Would you like to see some of my collection?"
"Sure," Al said. "I've reached the point where I'm game for anything."
She shook her head. "On second thought, no. You're too new. We have to be careful."
Al said, "I'm curious about something. How did you and Mike get started on this kick?"
"It was because of something that happened to me," Greta said casually. "I became pregnant soon after Mike and I were married. I was seven months along and terribly clumsy. One day I fell down a flight of stairs.
They had to take my baby from me at the hospital. I had serious internal injuries. Worse, I ended up unable to have another child. I'd wanted children desperately, and what with losing my baby and being told I couldn't have another, I cracked up-had a real breakdown. I wouldn't accept the fact that I was now unable to become pregnant. I put the blame on Mike. I made life a living hell for him. He put me in a private mental hospital. I got out after two months by faking that I was better. I started quarreling with Mike again-accusing him of being sterile. Oh, I was a real bitch. Want to hear the rest?"
"You haven't come to the point."
"At the time we were close friends with Jeff and Marge Allen, the couple I was talking about earlier tonight. Jeff had given Mike financial help to set up his business. And we also lived next to them then in the suburbs, in the house Bob and Amy Nolan now own. Jeff and Marge would come over every evening, trying to help Mike with me. One evening Marge had a girl-to-girl talk with me. She said that if I didn't snap out of it Mike couldn't take much more. Then she asked if I would accept the fact that I couldn't have a child if I failed to become pregnant by a man other than Mike."
Greta paused, took a long pull at her drink. The memory seemed to pain her.
She went on, "Somehow, Marge got through to me. She offered to let her Jeff sleep with me, if I would have him. She pointed out that I knew Jeff wasn't sterile-she'd had four children by him."
Greta smiled bitterly. "I guess I had all three of them desperate. They had talked it over and agreed that anything was worth trying. So Jeff slept with me that night-and a whole lot of nights. Two months passed and I still wasn't pregnant. Poor Jeff, he tried so hard."
"But you became convinced?" Al asked. "You snapped out of it then?"
She nodded. "Somehow it got through to me that there was a lot of love in this world-beyond rigid conventions. Mike's love for me-his willingness to hold our marriage together at any cost. Marge's friendship-Jeff. We decided to share what we'd all learned. Other people-with their own problems-joined us. We decided never to be afraid of love in any form-conventional or otherwise."
"That's not exactly the pitch Mike gave me-but it fits."
Greta smiled. "Mike wouldn't talk about the problem he had with me. At least not to a stranger. But we have, I believe, a better marriage than most couples. Another drink?"
Al shook his head. "I want to make love to you," he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AL found himself talking a woman seriously for the first time in his life. Sex had variously represented to him kicks, a physical need or a chance to assert his masculinity. He had always regarded conventional love and fidelity with cynicism. He had been intrigued by the idea of partner-swapping as a new kind of fun and games-Greta had presented the idea in a new form, making it an expression of a kind of universal love. Al was not sure he understood her fully-but he gathered that, in a kookie way, Greta was giving to both herself and him a serious, perhaps even a desperate reason for what they both wanted to do.
He kissed her again. Once more he discovered that strange, forceful aliveness in her kiss, in the thrust of her tongue-as though the kiss itself were a sexual act He was caught up instantly in a tormenting eagerness to possess her, not only as a man takes a woman in the final phase of mating-before that came, he had to conquer, master her kiss. His mouth fought hers, jousting fiercely, and slowly he grew aware of the rest of her-the tightly twined arms, the sinuous body seeking his through motion, so that he was oddly conscious of her nakedness through his clothing and hers. The sensation was something he could not understand-yet he was in no rush to terminate it.
He was never sure afterward which of them lost the battle of the mouths-it seemed to continue as his clothes melted away under Greta's caressing hands and the thin garment she wore tore during his eager reach for her. Greta did not mind-her mouth continued its seeking and evidently liking the more of him it found.
Al discovered he was more being made love to than making love. He fought a curious sense of weakness stealing over him-but when he tried to manhandle Greta as he usually did women, he found a surprising combination of resistance and evasiveness in her. He also found, under the Chinese silk, a woman more delicately proportioned than any he had imagined-a dream of desire grown solid and graspable, yet retaining the elusiveness of a vision....
And then he had her. Their joining came so suddenly, so smoothly that Al was barely aware of his struggle's end. And what followed then was no struggle but a true oneness-Greta's arms, legs and body meshed with his so completely that no question of domination or mastery existed, or even of striving. He simply merged with her and she with him in mutual passion that flamed ever more brightly until it burned itself out in a consuming consummation....
Yet something had been missing, he sensed, and was reluctant to leave her.
At last she pushed him gently away from her. "That's it, lover. We've had it for now. Any more-and I wouldn't want Mike later."
"What's wrong with that?"
She sighed, smiling. "You'll have to learn."
"Damn it," Al said. Puzzlement made him angry. "Do you have to swing both ways? A dame like you? That's really the trouble, isn't it? You don't really want either Mike or me-you're queer."
Greta did not move or say anything instantly. But suddenly the look in her eyes stabbed at Al like a knife. It almost frightened him.
Then it vanished and Greta said quietly, "You should have stopped while you were ahead, Al. Maybe you've said too much-maybe you can't learn."
The phone beside the bed rang. Greta rolled over and picked up the receiver.
She listened briefly, "All right." She put the phone down, turned to Al. "It was Mike. He's starting for home soon. You'll have to leave."
"That's also in the rules? He knows I'm here-but I've got to be gone before he comes?"
"If you know what's good for you."
Al had recovered some of his buoyancy. "You are, baby." He leaned over to kiss her lips. "I will see you again soon, won't I?"
"It's up to Alice," she said. "And up to you."
"I'll be good," Al promised.
He ran a hand lightly over her body, got up and dressed quickly. Greta said nothing. She turned her back to him, lit a cigarette, smoked silently.
She did not answer him when he said good night. For her, he might have ceased to exist.
It was so he left her.
Crazy, he thought, driving Alice's car back to Alice's apartment. He felt confused-and in a way he was glad he was going to see her again. He was not used to being .kicked out of bed by women once they had accepted him. Alice was probably less kookie than Greta Ransome.
Janice? One thing, crazy as she was, she. was probably saner than both Alice and Greta combined. In the meantime-he was in this thing, having some kind of ball and in reach of big money. How he was going to get it, he did not yet know. He wanted to stay close to it-but one of these days he would drop around to see Janice. Maybe he could still bring her around to hitting Jay Bolton up for a decent job.
That would make the most sense of all-but if Janice wouldn't give in he still had a chance with Alice. Give him time and he would have her eating out of his hand.
He would make her want to divorce Bolton-for a big settlement. Somehow, he would swing it.
The doorman at Alice's building gave him a nod of recognition and what seemed a faint smirk as he entered the lobby and walked toward the elevators. Reaching Alice's door, he pressed the bell button and she opened for him at once. She was in her robe and slippers and held a drink in her hand. She had freshened herself up. Her hair was no longer tousled, nor her lipstick smeared.
After closing the door, she tilted her face for a kiss. He gave her one, slipping an arm about her waist She pressed against him.
"A drink?" she asked as they moved into the living room.
"I'll get it."
"Do," she said and went to sit on the sofa.
He went to the bar, got his drink, sat beside her. She worked silently on her drink. She seemed subdued. He thought she looked tired. The corners of her mouth drooped, and her eyes were underscored by bluish shadows.
Presently she asked, "How was Greta? Did you enjoy her?"
The discussion of one's other partner, he was learning, was a big deal in this game. Probably Mike and Greta were now discussing how he had found Alice and she Al.
Al said, "She was all right. I liked her fine."
"You're not very enthusiastic."
What were the rules here? Was he supposed to rave about Greta to Alice?
"Do I have to be?" he asked.
"If you want to be a part of my crowd, yes."
"The trouble with this sort of game is that a guy doesn't get enough of the dame he really wants."-
"Don't be such a one-woman man, darling."
"Okay, okay. Whatever you say."
"You and I still have a lot of night left."
"I wasn't sure," Al said. "A guy could get used to getting kicked out of a dame's bed-until he wouldn't even mind it." He took a pull at his drink.
Alice laughed, finished hers, got up from the sofa, held out a hand to him. He took it and she drew him to his feet. She led him to the bar, where she set down her glass and he left his unfinished drink. He followed her upstairs to her bedroom. The bed, the room, looked as if they had seen no use tonight.
Alice removed her robe and slippers.
Al said, "A guy could wear himself out dressing and undressing."
Making a face at him, she said, "Stop complaining. I'll bet Greta helped you. I will, too."
She darkened the room and Al stretched out on the bed. Alice undressed him. He wondered if he would be able to perform-if he even wanted more sex tonight.
He asked, "How was it with you and Greta?"
"Pleasant."
"You don't sound enthusiastic, either."
"I do what she wants for her sake more than mine."
"Well, how was it with Mike, then?"
"Yummy."
"Better than with me?"
"I'll let you know-later," she said, kissing him.
After that he responded to her mechanically, letting her carry the ball. She set about arousing him and soon succeeded.
Before yielding to his final urgency, she said, "When it's over, get dressed and go home. Don't talk. Don't do anything. I want to go to sleep at once."
"Will I see you tomorrow night?"
"No. I'm seeing Earl Somers."
"That jerk."
"Now don't be jealous. You'll make me angry."
"All right." He could not keep the sarcasm entirely from his voice. "Anything but that."
"Just don't try to own me." I wont.
"That's a good boy," she said. "I'll call you. Are you in the book?"
"I'm not staying at my apartment," he told her. He gave her his transient address and number. "Can't I call you?"
"No. I haven't yet decided that I want a permanent affair with you. You're a little too possessive." With that-she drew him to her.
All the next day Al had it on his mind that she was dating Earl Somers that night. The knowledge that she would let the anemic youth make love to her tormented him. He felt oddly excluded-besides suffering the unaccustomed agonies of a jealous lover, he envied Earl's access to Alice as part of her wealthy social set. The guy probably had a pile of his own, only needed Alice for kicks-and those she was all too capable of giving a man.
That evening Al felt lonely and lost. He decided to go to his own apartment. He sensed, as he let himself in, that Janice was not there. Her absence made him angry. For the first time he found himself jealous also of her affair with Jay Bolton-it seemed to be his night for feeling insecure and envious. His first thought was to wait until she came home-but that might mean he would be alone for hours. The prospect was unattractive.
He left the apartment, went to a bar and drank too much. He did not return to the apartment.
Alice did not call until late Saturday afternoon. She caught him at the lot. He still felt angry and, upon hearing her voice, he came very close to asking sarcastically if she had been unable to date anybody else.
"Are you free this evening?" she asked.
"That should be my question, shouldn't it?"
"Are you in a mood, darling?"
"I've missed you."
"It's only been two evenings."
"Did you spend both with that jerk?"
"If by that you mean Earl-yes, I did."
Al held his tongue, afraid he would say something to make her hang up. He had to stop being possessive, she had told him-what about Earl's possessiveness, which she evidently had suffered for two whole nights?
"Sure, I'm free, baby," he said. "I'm keeping myself free these days-just for you."
"Good," Alice said. "Come by at six-thirty. I have plans."
Her plans were not what Al had expected. She had reserved tickets at a summer theater a dozen miles from the city. He bought her cocktails and dinner at an inn near the playhouse, then sat through two hours of a drama that Al, who preferred the movies to the legitimate theater, found downright boring. It ended. Alice asked to be taken back to the inn's cocktail lounge.
The place was filling up. Alice and Al managed to find a vacant table. A waitress had just taken their order when a couple approached them.
The woman said, "Alice, what luck. There's not another table. You will share yours, won't you?"
Al got to his feet as Alice said, "Of course, Ginny. Do sit down. Hello, Clyde." And then, as the woman took one of the other two chairs there, Alice added, "Al-Dr. and Mrs. Bennett. Clyde, Ginny-Al Kirby."
Dr. Bennett offered his hand. "How are you, Kirby?"
His wife said, "Hello, Al."
Al acknowledged the introductions and sat down again as Bennett took the remaining chair.
Alice and Ginny immediately began discussing the play, which the Bennetts also had seen. The doctor brought out cigars. When Al declined the offer of one, Clyde lit up his own. While getting out a cigarette, Al looked at the two with a lively interest. He remembered Greta's having spoken of the Bennetts as being members of her inner group.
Clyde Bennett was gray at the temples, had handsome features, wore an air of self-importance. Al judged him to be at least fifty-but it was a youngish fifty.
Ginny was at least twenty years younger. She was a silver blonde. Her eyes matched her hair-they were a clear silver gray. As she talked animatedly with Alice, she let her gaze meet Al's frequently with open curiosity. Al did not need to wonder if Ginny Bennett was appraising him as a potential bed partner-he knew she was. He held her gaze, smiled at her. Her full lips parted in an answering smile. Without a word having passed between them, they understood each other. Al congratulated himself on having learned how to play the game.
Hell-it was the oldest game in the world. Not even the rules were new-they were simply formalized. The name of the game was cheating.
The play adequately discussed, Alice asked, "How was your trip to Florida?"
"Fun," Ginny said. "Real fun. The couple we went to meet turned out to be the nicest people." She glanced at her husband. "Didn't they, darling?"
"That they did," Clyde said, grinning.
"We stayed at their house the entire week," Ginny went on. "Juan was sweet and Elena simply divine. She's like Greta Ransome, you know. They're Cubans. He was a banker in Havana before they had to flee to this country."
Clyde said, "Ginny was having such a good time that the one week I could stay away from my office wasn't enough for her. She wanted to stay another."
"I begged him to let me," Ginny said, laughing. "Just another week, I pleaded. But he's such a monster."
"Perhaps I can make up now," Clyde said. He smiled at Al, then at Alice. "I've missed you, darling. And since Ginny feels she's had too much of me, perhaps your new friend wouldn't mind-shall we say, charming my wife?"
Al was no longer shocked by anything. "Of course not," he said, looking into Ginny Bennett's silver gray eyes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GINNY BENNETT said in the darkened bedroom, "What luck, our running into Alice and you. We'd made no other arrangements, and if we hadn't met you two, I would have spent a loveless night."
Exploring her body, Al asked disinterestedly, "Why a loveless night?"
While her husband had gone with Alice to her apartment, Ginny had brought Al to the couple's handsome, sprawling rancher in the neighborhood. She had taken him to bed immediately. They now lay together in casual intimacy, their naked bodies entwined. Once again Al had a sense of unreality-that he had somehow been separated from the world into which he had been born.
Ginny said, "For the simple reason that my very manly husband is losing his powers. I've been his wife-his third-for only two years. We first met because he needed variety to keep from being entirely impotent. And he lives in dread that one day soon he won't be able to make love to any woman."
"That's why the two of you are on this lack?"
"That's why."
"You could get a divorce."
"Why? I don't dislike Clyde-and I've got it made as Mrs. Clyde Bennett. Money, social position-all the rest. I'm not going to throw that away. And after Clyde has been with another woman-I'm often still fresh to him. Or he's regained self-confidence. I don't know all the answers. But this works for us."
"And your running into Alice and me wasn't entirely accidental, was it?"
She made a face. "All right-I'll confess. I sent Alice an SOS. Clyde needed her. And, for his sake, I need you. Now, love me right," and welded her mouth to his.
Al loved her as well as he knew how-and it seemed to do the trick. Ginny responded with feline ferocity. She squirmed, writhed. She arched her body. She clawed at his back, made breathy, hissing sounds. She sank her teeth into his shoulder and chest. She gasped, whimpered, groaned. And when she reached full rapture her throat exploded with sound and her body was wracked with convulsive spasms for long intervals afterward.
When Al felt it was time for him to leave, she said mournfully, "If I did dare free-date, you'd be the guy. Does Alice give you a long leash?"
It was Al's turn to grin. "Only what the rules permit."
He drove Alice's convertible back to town. Dr. Bennett had left the duplex. Alice was again in robe and slippers with a drink in her hand when she admitted him. He greeted her and went to the bar. He poured himself a double whiskey and added a little soda. He was acquiring a taste for the hard stuff as a steady diet.
Taking a swallow of the drink, he reflected he had to find a way to start squeezing some loot out of this situation. Somehow he had to get Alice to want that divorce-and a big settlement or alimony. How was he going to reach that goal? He had not even been able to jar her loose from that anemic jerk, Earl Somers. He had agreed to tonight's partner-swap so readily, without consulting her, partly from lingering resentmerit of her desertion of him during the last two nights-but partly from an instinctive urge to make her jealous.
But Ginny had told him that tonight had been previously planned. So where did that leave him now?
Alice came to sit on one of the four stools at the bar.
She asked, "Well-how did you hit it off with Ginny?"
He decided to try a new tactic. The thought came to him that she might not have made out too well with Clyde.
"We hit it off fine," he said. "That babe is starved for love. I've a hunch she could be free-dated."
Alice gave him a frowning look. "None of that, my friend," she said sharply. "That's not how the game is played."
"You free-date Earl."
"That's different. My husband isn't a member of our little friendship club-and you're not filling in for him. Not yet, anyway. I simply date you as I date Earl. You free-date Ginny-and you'll make trouble for her and yourself."
"I didn't say I was going to, did I?"
"The idea occurred to you, though."
He drank again, then said, "How did you hit it off with the doc?"
Alice gave an eloquent shrug. "So-so. He's not all that he probably used to be. But he's nice." Her amber-flecked brown eyes studied Al intently for a moment. Then: "I think you're going to make it. You're getting over wanting to be just my guy." She laughed. "But don't get too much over it."
He slipped a hand inside her robe, caressed her thighs. "I'm going to be just the way you want me to be. Do I stay tonight-or go?"
She said, "Ginny must have given you a time. You don't care one way or another about me tonight. But you're staying, of course." She finished her drink, set the glass down. "Right now," she said, making it an order.
Al followed her up the stairs. He was beginning to find the weaknesses in the rules this crazy clique followed. After two nights of Earl and a sampling of Clyde, Alice wanted him tonight. Physical fulfillment was still the basic rule of life-all others, whether conventional or unconventional, were simply trimmings. He would show her tonight what a man was.
He took her roughly at first, barely giving himself time to recover from Ginny. Alice protested-then caught up with him almost desperately and he sensed how badly she had needed the change from Clyde. And this time, when it was over, it was she who grew possessive, not wanting him to leave.
And tonight he exercised a different land of dominance from that of their first time together. He teased and tormented her until she grew angry and asked him to leave. Then he took her again and forced fulfillment on her.
When he started to leave she said abruptly, "Don't go-" and he thought he had won at least the first stage of the battle.
He lay down again, asked, "Why not? I'll see you tomorrow, won't I? We can have the whole day to do anything we like."
"I'm invited to the mountains."
He was surprised.
"Are you taking Earl with you?"
"No, I'm not. Nor any man. It's not to be that kind of a day."
"It seems a waste of a Sunday."
Alice laughed. "It does, doesn't it? But it can't be helped. My friends invited me weeks ago. I can't beg off at this late date. But don't despair, lover. We'll double-date with Mike and Greta again Thursday evening."
"What's a guy to do until then?"
"See his wife-or free-date," Alice said. "I don't own you any more than you own me. I'm not going to be possessive toward you. Now, darling, would you mind awfully if I got some sleep?"
The dismissal surprised him. But he accepted it. He realized he was going to need all his patience.
Janice Kirby awoke unwillingly that Sunday morning. She hated to face the day. She lay for a while thinking of how empty the day would be. All her days were empty-she seemed somehow to be drifting through a nightmare she could not control. She was caught in a situation she had not asked for-and one that seemed to have no satisfactory resolution.
She missed Al terribly-and yet did not want him as he was today. Rather, her longing was based on the early days of their marriage and on the vague plans she had then made for both of them-of a normal life, eventually a home with children.
Now her only escape from a shattered reality was her affair with Jay. He continued to be kind, gentle and loving. But he could not give her what Al had taken away.
Two facts came to her mind as the last cobwebby strands of sleep cleared. One, she would not be seeing Jay tonight. Two, she should get in touch with Al.
Not having to see Jay was something of a relief. His making her the object of a tender, worshipful love had to be false. She was-had been from the start of their relationship-a cheating wife. Also, she was too earthy a woman to get permanent pleasure from being treated like a goddess. And she could never feel comfortable with Jay. She simply was not on his level, socially or intellectually-and no true companionship had developed between them. They were simply lovers. Nothing bound them together except their love-making. And in that, Janice felt, he was getting the better of the bargain. He felt no guilt, needed no more from her than their secret hours.
In this moment of self-analysis, she knew she needed more. She needed companionship at her own level-and she still wanted those things she once had assumed marriage would automatically bring her.
Before any resolution of her problems was possible she had to have a showdown with Al.
She called Bill Norris, Al's boss, at his home.
"This is Janice Kirby, Mr. Norris," she said. "As you no doubt know, Al has been living apart from me. I don't know where he is and I've got to get in touch with him. It's very important."
Bill Norris said, "I was sorry when I heard Al had moved out." He gave her a number to call.
"Thanks so much, Mr. Norris."
She delayed calling for a moment, reluctant to humble herself. Finally she dialed the number Bill had given her.
Al sounded as though he had been awakened by the phone. His voice was impatient, gruff.
"Well, what do you know-my better half hasn't forgotten me. What's on your mind, baby?"
"I've got to see you, Al. It's important."
"What is?"
"I'll tell you when you get here," she said. "How soon can you make it?"
He was slow in replying to that. When he did, he said, "I'm not going to make it. You got something to say to me come here and say it." He gave her an address and room number. "Make it three o'clock. I'm not out of bed yet. I've got to shower and shave, then go out for something to eat. See you then, baby."
"Al, I won't go there. I want you to-"
The line was dead. He had hung up on her.
She told herself, swore to herself, that she would not go-would not humiliate herself. At the same time she knew she must. She had no choice. She went at once to her bedroom to dress. Angry though she was-or perhaps because of her anger-she dressed with care. She put on a tight green sheath, white pumps, chose white accessories. The combination became her. She gave herself a careful inspection in the full-length mirror. Jay, she decided, would have said she looked lovely. But she was not going to Jay. She knew an instant of indecision. Would Al like her-or hate the way she looked? Had her association with Jay left a subtle imprint on her that she herself did not recognize?
Then she thought that whether Al liked her or not might not make the slightest difference in the showdown she planned.
She went by taxi and promptly at three o'clock entered the rather shabby lobby of an ancient and third-rate hotel. A couple of elderly men sat in lounge chairs in the lobby. The desk clerk looked up from a racing form and eyed her with curiosity as she crossed to the single elevator, an antique affair with its operator, a colored man, dozing on a stool.
"Third floor, please."
"Yes, ma'am." He, too, eyed her with curiosity as he got up from his stool. "Third floor. Yes, ma'am."
I'll never forgive Al for this, she told herself. Absolutely never. I feel like a tramp, like a two-dollar whore on my way to turn a trick....
The elevator creaked its slow way upward. Then she was walking along the third-floor corridor looking for Al's room number. Then she was reluctant to knock. Why had Al insisted she come here? To humiliate her? To force her to make love to him? If he tried, she would scream bloody murder.
She knocked.
Al opened the door.
"Well, come on in," he said. She went in. The room was no better than the lobby downstairs had led her to expect. A cheap room in a rundown hotel. It held a double bed, a nightstand with the telephone and a lamp, a chest of drawers, a lounge chair, a straight-backed chair at a small desk, a floor lamp, a battered television set. Everything looked old and worn. "Sit down," Al said. "Drink?"
"A small one, thank you," she said. She took the straight-backed chair at the desk. A fifth of whiskey, a plastic container of ice cubes, and two glasses stood on the chest of drawers. He fixed the drinks, came to hand her one.
"Relax," he said. "You look as though you're about to make a run for it. You're safe here. After all, I've never beat up on you. I'm not about to now."
She sat rigidly, feet flat on the floor, legs tightly together, purse on her lap, the drink held in both hands. She watched him sink into the lounge chair. He looked as though he had no cares. Or guilt feelings. She could not even read appraisal in his eyes. Had he found a woman he cared more for?
"Well, what's on your mind, baby?"
"For one thing-the rent, Al. It's due on Wednesday. I can't quite make it. You know that keeping the apartment going is too much for me on my salary. I'm short forty-five dollars. You've got to give it to me. You've just got to."
"How about Bolton? Doesn't he give you a buck now and then? Is he that much of a cheapskate?"
Looking at him levelly, Janice said, "You can call anyone a cheapskate?"
He acted as though he hadn't heard that. "What if I don't have the forty-five bucks?"
"You'll have to get it."
"Where?"
"Borrow it from Bill Norris."
Al looked at her speculatively. He said nothing.
"Will you get it, Al-please?"
"I was just kidding, baby. I've got it." He took a gulp of his drink. "What I don't get is why you need two apartments. What's wrong with that place where you and Bolton shack up?"
"Al, it's your apartment as much as mine. You know we signed a lease on it. Lots of your things are still there. Are we going to split up, Al?"
"I've told you how things are between us. Nothing's changed." He tossed off his drink. 'It's time you learned how easy it is to get a guy to do you a favor. The lesson should stand you in good stead elsewhere, if you know what I mean."
She knew what he meant. He still wanted her to get Jay to give her a big job-for his benefit. The reference to "elsewhere" meant he was ready to break up their marriage-either now or later.
She said, "Al-if we're going to separate permanently-or get a divorce-let's do it now and get it quietly over with."
He laughed at her. "Get it over with? Sure, if you like. Quietly? No. You start divorce proceedings and I'll drag Bolton right into court. I can do even better. Don't say anything-just watch."
She stared at him silently as he took off his coat, then his shirt.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE saw the marks of teeth on Al's shoulder, chest. She stared. "What on earth-"
Al said, "Who on earth? That's what you've got to know."
Janice's eyes widened. "A woman? You're trying to say you've been with a woman? All right-who is she?"
Al grinned. "You'd be surprised, baby, if I told you who chewed me up like that."
"So surprise me," she said nastily. "I want to know."
"It's an involved story," he said, still grinning. "Remember that talk we had on wife-swapping? Well, it works. I've been playing games with Alice Bolton."
"You heel-"
"Turnabout is fair play."
"And just how did you get involved with her?"
Al reached out and got a cigarette from the night-stand. After lighting it, he said, "A phone call got me in. I told Alice Bolton about her husband and you. The rest was easy. So-you're the one who helped put that deal over. By the way, thanks. She's quite a dish."
Janice set down her drink, stood up. "Is Alice Bolton the one who put those marks on you?"
"No-that's another story. But there's a lively little sex club, a partner-swapping set, that I've made you and Bolton members of. It'll sound real good in court. Still want to try for a divorce?"
"What do you want from me, Al?"
"What you came here for-money. I'd rather get it quietly than hurt my friends."
"You mean-those women? Alice Bolton-the others?"
"You've got it straight. And if you're going to go holy on me, remember you made it all possible by playing house with Bolton."
She said desperately, "Look, Al-if I get a good job from Bolton-and don't see him again-can we try to start all over?"
She was not at all sure, even as she asked the question, whether or not she could ever accept Al again.
"You get the job, and I'll let you know."
"You won't, I can tell."
"Give it a try," he said. "You could be wrong." She turned to the door, looked back at Al. "Come home with me. Let's talk this over sensibly."
"Sorry, baby," Al said. "But I've had it for today. We'd just be saying what's already been said." She went out.
Going down in the elevator and crossing the lobby, she again felt like a two-dollar whore under the scrutiny of the elevatorman and the desk clerk. And, considering what her indiscretion with Jay Bolton had accomplished, she might be something worse.
On Thursday night Al and Alice double-dated with the Ransomes. The evening went pretty much as the previous one had. But this time the odd overtones Greta Ransome insinuated into the proceedings irked Al. He could not rid himself of the feeling that her unnatural appetites were sickly and he was glad to escape her and end the evening with Alice.
He made love to her with such fervor that Alice laughed. "I don't have to worry about losing you to Greta, at any rate."
"Isn't a comment like that out of line?" Al asked. "The big deal is to love everybody-right?"
"Everyone who needs it," Alice said.
"That's right," Al said sourly. "And who needs it?"
Alice stared at him, then laughed. "I'm glad you're saving some of your energy. We're going to a party, Saturday evening."
"Where?"
"At the Bennetts'. But that doesn't mean you'll get Ginny."
Al grinned. He read a faint note of jealousy into Alice's remark. Maybe he was making some progress at last.
"What does it mean?"
"We'll hold a drawing," she told him. "Most likely the men will place their car keys in a container and each woman pick out a set. You get the gal who draws your keys."
"What if that's you?"
"I'll swap with somebody."
"Make it Ginny Bennett," Al said, baiting her.
Al worked late on Saturday and picked up Alice at a restaurant near the lot. They used Iris car and reached the Bennetts' place around ten.
The evening was warm. The Bennetts and their guests were on the terrace, near the pool behind the big ranch-type house. The grounds were lighted and stereo music was being piped out from the house.
The Ransomes and another couple-Bob and Amy Nolan, Al soon learned-were in swimsuits. Five other couples were present. Ginny led Al around and introduced him. He met Clayton and Betty Mercer, a couple in their mid-thirties-John and Nora Van Zandt, who were about forty-Nils and Tuki Larsen, a lean, intense man with a beard and a doll-like Japanese girl-Len and June Warren, in their early thirties-and, lasdy, Jeff and Marge Allen, whom Al had heard about from the Ransomes. The Aliens were well into their forties.
Everybody held a drink or had one near at hand. Al and Alice were also served. They circulated. Al found the party circumspect-attractive, healthy, moneyed people enjoying themselves informally. Nobody was drinking too much. None of the women flirted with other women's husbands. None of the men made passes at other men's wives. Everybody was on friendly terms. Even the Nolans and the Aliens seemed to have patched up their quarrel. Promiscuity of any sort seemed the remotest thing from anybody's mind. The talk among the men was business, politics, golf scores, the cold war. The women chattered about clothes, bridge games, children, the servant problem. On the whole, Al decided, the gathering was rather dull.
Later the people in swim outfits went in to change. Soon everybody drifted into the house. Al sensed an air of expectancy among the others once they were settled in the Bennetts' huge, lavish living room.
Shortly before midnight somebody said loudly, "Well, are we or aren't we?"
"Are we or aren't we what?" somebody else asked as loudly.
And a chorus of voices called out, "Playing the key game?"
Ginny Bennett said, "Everybody willing?"
There was laughter. The chorus cried, "Yes, yes, yes!"
Ginny left the room and returned shortly with a silver ice bucket. From it she distributed to the men small, plain tags and ballpoint pens. Each man was to write his name on his tag and tie the tag to his car keys. Ginny collected the tagged keys in the ice bucket, her husband mixed the lot thoroughly. The women began to make blind draws from the bucket.
"I'll take the set that's left," Ginny announced. "And good luck to me."
Al looked the women over, excitement rising in him.
Did he want Ginny again, or Greta once more? How about that little Japanese doll, Tuki? She would be different. Or Amy Nolan-she was the one who had gone free-dating in Las Vegas, causing her husband and Jeff Allen to fall out. She was plainer than some of the other women. But she had to be a hot number. Her figure was good. Al waited.
Tuki drew Clyde Bennett's keys; Amy, John Van Zandt's. Alice drew Nils Larsen's. Al's were drawn by Marge Allen and for a moment he felt deeply disappointed. Marge was the oldest woman present, certainly close to forty-five. Still, she had an attractive face, a. trim figure. Al decided that he could make it with her for one night.
Each woman claimed her partner and the party broke up. Couples drifted out of the house, drove away. Clyde Bennett, needing to go no farther than one of his bedrooms, stood in the doorway with an arm about the Japanese girl.
When Al started his car along the driveway, Marge Allen said, "I can't take you to my place, Al. I still have a daughter at home. Can we go to yours?"
"My place wouldn't do," he said, thinking of his grubby hotel room. "We'll go to a motel. Okay?" .
"Yes, of course. Just so it's not too long a drive."
Grinning at her, he asked, "In a hurry?"
She laughed. "You're new to the group. You've been discussed. Now I want to find out for myself."
She moved closer, put her left hand on his thigh. He remembered Alice's having said that Marge Allen was gone on men. But all the women in this crowd seemed to have that rating. He headed toward the city, trying to think of a motel that was decent enough without being too expensive.
Marge said, "I suppose you wonder why a woman my age goes in for this sort of thing."
"Greta told me about it," Al said. "You and Jeff decided to give her a hand."
"Yes-and we discovered we were also improving our own relationship. Jeff and I had reached the point where we hardly ever had sex. We were bored with each other-no longer found each other exciting, even though we were still in love. Through what others found in us-well, we discovered new values in each other. We now have a very satisfactory sex life between ourselves-and the rest is just frosting on the cake."
"Can Jeff keep up the pace at his age?"
"Fairly well," Marge said. "But it's easier for a woman." She patted Al's thigh. "I won't let you be disappointed in me."
"I won't be," Al said with certainty.
He found a motel, registered. Going to bed with Marge Allen was comfortable. She kept up a small chatter as they undressed. And the body she revealed looked well-used, not abused. Her movements were practiced, sure-as were her welcoming kisses and caresses once they were in bed.
She seemed infinitely adept at pleasing him-and eager to do so. Al took full advantage of her eagerness. Her love-play was candid and forthright, combining sensuousness with an acquired expertness. Their actual union was a prolonged, leisurely probing for ultimate sensation-when they reached it, she responded fully.
Yet Al had the impression that Marge Allen was not wholly satisfied, that he had not fathomed her completely. She had held something in reserve that it would have been a violation for him to try to break through.
They dressed and she asked him to drop her off at the Mercers' house. Her husband's keys had been drawn by Betty Mercer.
"Jeff and I always go home together."
Jeff was waiting in his parked car when Al pulled up at the address Marge had given. Marge kissed Al quickly.
"I hope it works out soon again for the two of us, Al."
"So do I," he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it.
He watched Marge walk swiftly toward Jeff's car. Before tonight he had never imagined that he would find a woman ten years older than himself desirable. Live and learn, he told himself as he headed his car toward town.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALICE told him the bad news in the morning. She had let him stay all night. Al awoke at ten o'clock to find her gone from the oversized bed. He waited a moment, then got up and went into the bathroom to shower. He found that, although this was the first time she had let him stay, she was prepared for overnight male guests. She had laid out an electric shaver beside the basin.
He shaved, showered and dressed, went downstairs and finally found her in the gleamingly modern kitchen. She had coffee perking, bread toasting, and was fixing a pitcher of frozen orange juice.
"Help yourself to whatever you want," she said. "I'm not much of a cook."
"Coffee and juice will do fine," he said.
She was wearing a green blouse, tan slacks, brown flats. Her hair was tied with a ribbon. She was without make-up. She could have used some. Her face was a little haggard. Dark smudges shadowed her eyes. She looked as though she had had too much dissipation and not enough rest.
He drew her to him and kissed her. She was unresponsive.
"Not yet in the mood?" he asked.
"The spirit is willing," she said, "but not the body. Sit down. I'll pour the juice."
She jolted him with her news while they were eating toast and drinking coffee.
"You may as well know," she said. "I'm going away for a week."
"You are?" He tried to hide his chargin. Was his hold on her weakening instead of growing stronger? "When did you decide that?"
"A couple of days ago."
"Where are you going? Or is it none of my business?"
"It's your business-or I wouldn't be telling you. I'm flying down to Florida tomorrow."
"To see anyone in particular?"
She nodded. "I telephoned the couple the Bennetts visited there. They invited me down."
Jealousy again. A clawing animal inside him. He wanted to grab her and forbid her to go-and hurt her if she defied him.
Instead, he merely said, "You're not going queer on me, are you? Ginny said the dame down there swings like Greta."
"Of course-or I would have had to agree to bring you or some other man along. And right now I don't want you with me."
"Why not?"
She smiled at him. "Don't sulk, darling. I'll have my visit in Florida-but at the same time I'll be deciding something that may be important to you."
"Like what?"
"Like my having you for my one and only, forsaking all other free-dating-with such as Earl Somers."
"You don't have to go all the way to Florida to decide that."
"Oh, but I do," she said. "I need to be objective about you-and I can't when you're within my reach. When I'm with you, I think you're it-my guy. When I'm apart from you, I'm a bit dubious. A week completely away from you will give me a chance to make up my mind."
"Well, I can't keep you from going," he said sourly.
"But a whole week alone-what a headache that will be."
"You'll survive," she said. "And if I know my AL you won't sit around brooding." She eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, then added, "Maybe while I'm away it would be a good thing for you to see your wife-to make sure you're really through with her and want to be my lover permanently. It could be that if you spent some time with her you'd want to win her back from Jay."
Al gave her a sickly smile. "Do you have the feeling that somebody is trying to give somebody the old brush?"
"No, I don't," Alice said firmly. "I don't at all. If I felt it was time to break off with you, I'd say so straight out." She leaned toward him, kissed him. "Don't take it so hard," she said. "Maybe I won't like Florida and will come home after a day or two. Anyway, we have today together. Let's make it a real busy day, shall we?"
They did just that-made it a busy day.
Al survived the week, as Alice had predicted. On Saturday she telephoned him from Florida with more bad news.
"Al, I hope you won't mind too much," she said, "but I'm staying down here another week. Will you forgive me for that if I say that I've decided to date only you when I get home?"
"I'm not sure I will," he said, quickly jealous and not able to keep from sounding sore. "I've got to have some rights if I'm to be your guy. And I don't like your being with that pair down there."
"Now, darling, don't spoil everything by being nasty."
"I'm asking you to come home."
"But I'm having much too good a time."
"You won't come?"
Her voice sharpened. "Listen, Al-I can change my mind about you," she said ominously. "And if you're going to be unreasonable, you can just take it that I have."
He said hastily, "All right, you win. Have it your way. But I can't help wanting you here with me."
"I'll be home with you next Saturday or Sunday," she said. "Okay?"
"Yeah, okay," he said grudgingly.
"That's a nice boy," Alice said. "See you soon, darling." She broke the connection.
Al's anger gradually left him. He was really making out with Alice at last. He was getting a firm hold on her.-and eventually he would get her to divorce Jay Bolton for a big settlement and cut him in on the loot. Al began to feel better-but the prospect of a womanless Saturday night was far from pleasant.
He considered picking up some chick in a bar, discarded the idea instantly. His tastes no longer ran to saloon tramps. Visions of the women Alice had introduced into his fife paraded through his mind-if only some of Alice's friends free-dated. Maybe he could find one who would. Several had kidded with him about it. Maybe they talked one thing and did another, like most people.
Thinking it worth a try, he looked up the Bennetts' number. Ginny Bennett seemed the likeliest to free-date, since her husband was impotent with her. He dialed the number, got Ginny to the phone.
He told her, "I've been thinking about you, sweetheart. And wondering if there was any chance that you'd break the rule against free-dating-just once. Alice has left me high and dry."
"I'm sorry, darling," Ginny said. "I'd like to, for you. But it's as I told you-it's not worth the risk I'd run. Anyway, Clyde and I are going to the country club this evening. I couldn't possibly see you."
"Too bad," he said," disappointed. "Well, have fun at the country club."
Al decided to try Marge Allen next. But she, too, was unwilling to free-date.
"Even if I wanted to-I couldn't tonight," she said. "Jeff and I are meeting Nils and Tuki Larsen. But when Alice gets back from Florida have her call me. The four of us will get together."
He decided it was no use, but then, because he had a salesman's trust in the law of averages, he called Greta Ransome.
"It's Al Kirby, baby," he said. 'I've just had a call from Alice. She's not coming home for another week and I'm at loose ends. Could you possibly take pity on a poor, dameless guy? We could work something out with Mike-like, if you and I make it tonight, he could have Alice one night after she gets home. That would be a fair enough trade, wouldn't it?"
"I'm sorry, Al," Greta said, "but we just don't play the game that way. It would be free-dating, no matter what you called it. I'd like to do you the favor but I won't cheat. If you could work something out like finding a girl for Mike, we're free tonight."
Inspiration hit Al. "Let me call you back," he said. "I'll try to line up a girl."
"She'll have to please Mike, you know. You can't just bring a dog."
"I know, baby. I'll call you."
Putting down the phone, Al thought of Janice. He had threatened her with scandal the last time he had seen her. The threat had reached her. Maybe it would again. It all depended on how much she thought of Jay Bolton-and of her own fair name.
He grinned at the last thought. Janice was a bum and not too bright-but she was a dish. Mike would go for her.
Why not?
Janice was quite a babe. The idea of wife-swapping shocked her. She thought it disgusting. Still, she was Jay Bolton's playmate-and Jay Bolton's wife was his. That was certainly wife-swapping. He might be able to make her see it, especially if he talked tough. Maybe Janice would even go for Mike Ransome.
He dialed the number of the apartment he now thought of as his wife's alone. She answered immediately.
"Al, baby," he said. "How are you?"
Janice said, "You didn't call me to ask me that. What do you want?"
Al grinned. Janice was getting smart. But she still had a lot to learn. He could teach her tonight.
Chuckling, he said, "You're fine. I can tell by the growl in your voice. Busy tonight?"
She said, "Just tell me what you want."
"To talk to you. About us."
"I have a date."
"Break it," Al advised. "Or I'll call Bolton and do it for you."
Janice did not answer immediately. When she did, her tone was caustic. "What's wrong? Are you on the outs with that crowd you told me about?"
"Let's just say I've some new ideas for you and me. Not what I asked you to do earlier. Better see me, sweetheart-or I'll raise all kinds of hell with Bolton. Stuff about you, me, his wife and him that he wouldn't enjoy reading about in the papers."
She swallowed his bluff during a long, hesitant pause. He waited patiently, smiling to himself.
At last she said, "All right, I'll meet you. But I don't want you here any more. What time and where?"
"How about seven-thirty?" He named a restaurant. "Well have cocktails and dinner."
"All right, Al," Janice said. "But this meeting had better settle something-or I'll talk to Jay about you and his wife myself. You can't scare me forever."
Al laughed. "Who wants to scare you? I'll see you, hon."
Calling Greta back, Al said, "I've dated my wife, baby. She's a doll-more than enough to please Mike. I can't guarantee that she'll be easy to handle-but it's worth a try. Even you might like her. Where do we meet Mike and you?"
"Would you like to start off having dinner?"
"That would be fine." He told her where he planned to go with Janice. "Can you make it around eight o'clock?"
Greta said she and Mike could. Al cradled the phone.
He felt good about the way he had worked things out. He even felt that he was putting something over on Alice-getting even with her for staying in Florida another week.
The evening promised to be a satisfactory one.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JANICE hated to call off her date with Jay-but she dreaded the thought of Al's hurting him even more. She had grown fond of Jay-sometimes she even thought herself in love with him. Not as she once had loved Al-but she certainly felt something for him.
Jay was, as she had expected, disappointed-even angry.
"Why should you have to see him at his damned convenience? From what you've told me, he's abandoned you. He has no moral right to make demands on you."
"Jay-I can't explain. He and I have-things to settle."
"If you want a legal separation or a divorce, I can arrange for a lawyer to call on him."
"No, Jay-don't do that-at least until I've spoken with him."
"I love you. He doesn't."
"I'll remember that," she promised, "all evening."
"All right, then." Jay's tone softened. "Let me know how matters work out."
"I will. And thanks, Jay."
She cradled the receiver, aware of a sense of relief. Whatever happened, she could count on Jay to help her. He probably would not even balk at having his name dragged through the mud-although she would never ask him to submit to that.
In the next instant she was worried again. What did Al want? She bathed and dressed carefully-this time for Al. She sensed that if she could make herself desirable to him, he would be easier to handle.
She wished, woman-like, that she had something new to wear. She had not bought a new dress-the kind Al would like-since he had walked out on her. What clothes she had bought had been to please Jay. Her black sheath would have to do, the sleeveless one with the deeply V-cut front. When she was finally ready for the evening, she inspected herself in the full-length mirror and realized how far she had strayed from Al's tastes. She looked good-but hardly recognized the flamboyantly sexy creature in the mirror as herself. A smile, she reflected, would have helped-but she did not feel like smiling.
She left the apartment, taxied to the restaurant. Al was there.
He grinned and surprised her by kissing her on the cheek.
"You look wonderful, Jan." He sounded as though he meant it.
"And you're a beast, Al Kirby," she told him firmly. "I didn't want to come. But now that I'm here, you'd better make it worth my while."
"I'll do my best." He took her arm, led her into the dining room. "I've reserved a table for four. Some friends are going to join us later."
"What land of friends?" Janice asked suspiciously. "Members of that crowd you told me about?"
Al avoided a direct answer. "You'll like them," he said and led her to a candle-lit booth.
He ordered cocktails. Janice looked around.
"Isn't all this pretty expensive?"
"Uh-huh. I had a good week," Al lied. What he was spending was his rent money. "Made more than a hundred bucks in commissions alone. We're celebrating, sort of. You'll know what-later."
" i see," she said. "You can make out well when you try.
"It's not a matter of trying," he told her, "but of how many people come to the lot. This just happened to be an unusually good week."
The drinks came. Janice gulped hers nervously, wishing Al would get to the point of why he had brought her here. But he seemed in no hurry-and presently ordered fresh drinks. Janice was surprised to note that she had finished hers.
Al's friends arrived soon after the new drinks. Al rose to introduce them.
"Greta and Mike Ransome. Mike, Greta-this is Janice. I've told you two about her."
Janice mustered a smile. "How do you do?"
She saw that Greta Ransome was a strikingly beautiful young woman with the blackest of hair, violet eyes and very fair skin.
Smiling back at Janice, Greta said, "Wherever has Al been keeping you? Do tell us why he's been hiding you."
Mike and Greta sat down in the booth. Janice found herself growing increasingly uneasy. Was this woman someone Al had slept with? She tried to put the thought out of her mind.
But she could not keep an edge from her voice. "My husband's motives are a mystery to me much of the time."
Al said, "Motives? Who's got motives?" The Ransomes ordered drinks.
Janice looked at Greta and said, "My husband didn't mention until just a while ago that we were meeting anyone here. We had something private to discuss. Has he known you for long?"
"Not long," the dark-haired girl said. "But it's odd that he hasn't mentioned us. As odd as his keeping you all to himself."
Janice couldn't keep from asking, "Are you friends of Alice Bolton?"
Greta exchanged quick, startled glances with her husband. The two of them then looked uncertainly at Al.
Al said, "Jan knows about my friendship with Alice."
Mike looked at Janice. "We are Alice's friends, as a matter-of-fact."
Looking straight at him, she said, "You seemed hesitant about admitting it. I wonder why."
Her steady gaze seemed to make him uncomfortable. "Not for any good reason," he said. Then smiling at her: "You've a chip on your shoulder, Mrs. Kirby. But I'm not going to knock it off and fight with you. I never fight with attractive women. I appreciate them too much. Being a professional photographer as well as a man, I have a double interest in them."
His smile was puppy-dog friendly and utterly disarming. In spite of her resentful mood, Janice thought him rather nice. Perhaps she was wrong in her suspicions. Besides the peculiar crowd Al had described to her, Alice Bolton might have some perfectly nice friends. And Janice still had no idea of why Al had arranged this meeting. He had to be up to something, though, to have threatened her earlier.
The waitress came with the Ransomes' drinks-and once more Janice discovered she had drained hers. Al ordered new ones and she did not protest. She seldom drank much. But tonight, she sensed, she might need all the fortification she could get.
Conversation in the booth grew desultory, insignificant, casually light. Janice grew aware of both Mike's and Greta's eyes frequently on her, oddly appraising, although friendly. She began to have the feeling of being trapped-and let Al order her additional drinks. Al's eyes on her were malicious, unfriendly. Once more she thought of his threat on the phone. Whatever the trap was, he would spring it. Perhaps, if she drank enough, she would be too numb to feel hurt when the trap closed.
Dinner came-and still no explanation from Al. Janice continued to drink, feeling desperately reckless now. She drank through dinner and-later-at a place called the Flamingo Room, to which the group adjourned.
Another thought had come to her now. If she drank beyond the point of numbness, she might either pass out or create a scene-in which case the trap might not be sprung at all and she could go home. .Or be taken there.
Abruptly Al said to her, "Let's go over to our place, baby."
Janice said, "We've nothing to drink there."
She wanted, needed more liquor. She was drunk-but not drunk enough. At some point the liquor had stopped affecting her. She was too keyed up.
Al said, "I stocked up. I've got a couple of bottles in the car."
So they went to the apartment-hers and Al's-Mike and Greta accompanying them. Mike Ransome helped Janice mount the stairs. Al had his hands full with the bottles and mix. He began fixing drinks for the four of them as soon as they were in the apartment.
"Put some records on, honey," he told Janice.
Again Mike Ransome helped her across the room to the stereo, helped her select soft mood music. Then she sat with another drink in her hand and everything grew quite fuzzy and unreal for her. She was no longer with what was going on.
Al and Greta danced together to the stereo music. Shortly Mike asked her to dance with him. She put her drink down, got to her feet. She swayed, almost went off balance.
She laughed and the sound came out a giggle. "I couldn't possibly," she told him.
"Sure you can," Mike said, taking her in his arms. "Just lean on me-trust yourself to me."
She leaned on him, said, "I'm not trusting myself to you, Mike Ransome. I know what you're after. Wife-swapper, that's what you are. Alice's friend. But nobody gets me in a swap. Nobody-you hear?"
He laughed, said, "You're a little tipsy, Jan."
"More than a little," she said and leaned more and more heavily upon him while a thickening alcoholic haze enveloped her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SUDDENLY she had had it. All those drinks caught up with her, full force.
She slumped against Mike, moaning, "Oh, but I'm tipsy-I think I'm going to pass out."
The room was spinning crazily. Her knees wanted to buckle. But for Mike's arms about her, she would have fallen.
"I've got to he down-I'm terribly sorry."
Greta came and slipped an arm about her. "Come along, dear," she said sympathetically. "You did overdo it. I'll help you get to bed."
"Please," Janice said.
She leaned heavily upon Greta. They moved slowly down the hallway to the bedroom. She stood teetering while the dark-haired girl opened the bed. She tried to undress herself but was unable to manipulate the zipper of her dress. Greta helped her, finally found a shortie nightgown and put it on her. She tumbled into bed, flopped over onto her back. The room, its furnishings, Greta, were still whirling around her. It was good to he down.
Greta sat on the edge of the spinning, teetering bed, looking at her with concern. "All right now?"
"Not all right," Janice said. "But better."
Greta leaned over her, kissed her on the lips. "Good night, then, darling."
Tipsy though she was, Janice was startled. She had never before been kissed in such an intimate fashion by anodier woman. Strangely, she found it not unpleasant.
She said, "I'm awfully sorry I had to be a spoilsport and break up the party."
"Think nothing of it," Greta said and kissed her again. Smiling, she caressed Janice's bare arms and a little later kissed the nipples of her breasts through the thin nylon of the shortie nightgown.
"You're very lovely, Jan. I could like you very much."
"I like you too, Greta."
"Let's be friends, shall we?"
"Of course," Janice said. "You know, I have no woman friends at all. I've always devoted myself entirely to Al. I've been so possessive about him."
"Would you come have lunch with me tomorrow?" Greta said. "Mike is playing golf and I'll be alone."
"I'm sorry, but Al and I-well, we have things to straighten out. Personal things. He hates me, you know."
"I didn't know. Another time, then. I'll call you, Jan."
Greta kissed her again, first her lips and then her nipples. The experience was strange-strange but pleasant. Then, getting up from the bed, Greta drew the sheet up over Janice and turned off the lamp on the night-stand.
"Good night," she said. "Pleasant dreams."
Janice murmured a gOod night, then let herself go completely limp. She told herself that she would merely rest. She would remain awake until the Ransomes left. Maybe they could still straighten out what they had to, if she could rest a little first.
She knew now what Al's intended trap for her had been tonight-and it meant Al and she were through. She would let Jay make whatever legal arrangements were necessary.
Drowsiness overcame her. Then blackout....
She came to with arms around her. Al's? His seeking hands brought her to a half-awakened state. She had to fight him off. He was already in bed with her, his body nude. She struggled to come wide awake-could not. Instead she felt aroused. No, the hands were too gentle to be Al's. Jay's, then. Jay must have found her, come to rescue her from Al. She tried to make herself responsive to Jay-but she could not become really excited. Even when he took his place in her arms and between her thighs, passion remained dormant. But with his penetration, she tensed and experienced the beginning of desire.
Suddenly she was no longer numb. She wrapped her arms about him-and then she knew.
Knew this was not Jay. Nor was it Al.
Al's flesh was firm, hard. The flesh she touched, that touched her, was male-but flabby.
Numbed again, this time with shock, she jerked her arms from about the man and struck at his shoulders with her fists.
"Oh, damn you-damn you-"
"Easy, Jan," Mike Ransome said and pinned her arms to her sides with his own.
She struggled futilely. He was stronger than she and she found that a woman was utterly helpless when invaded. A woman was wholly a prisoner when taken in the ultimate embrace. She could not escape. Nature had not intended her to escape.
A captive of Mike's flesh, she felt for a time that she was being suffocated by it. She moaned with an anguish that was entirely mental. She was not in physical discomfort. On the contrary, she was being betrayed by the weakness of her own body. His steady, rhythmic laboring at her touched off a response of increasing intensity. The spark of desire flared into sudden passion and, with passion released in a molten flood, she closed her mind to the distressing fact that she was being possessed against her will by a stranger.
Soaring sensation came, bursting into full ecstasy. She was transported to the heights of rapture, then plunged down into unfeelingness. But as he continued his exertions she was again carried up, soared once more to fulfillment at the instant he, too, gained completion. Again she tumbled abruptly into numbness as the peak of pleasure was passed.
She experienced an unspeakable horror at having enjoyed this violation of herself.
When he lay apart from her, breathing laboriously, she said bitterly, "Oh, you louse, Mikel You and Al!"
"Why be sore," he said, "when you enjoyed it?"
That, she realized, was partly the reason for her anger. She had enjoyed it, unwillingly, this simple animal act of sex. She had no feeling for Mike Ransome-did not even know him, really-yet she had found intense pleasure with him. She had always believed that sex was meaningful. It had been with Al. And later with Jay. But to wallow in sex-and to exult in the wallowing ... Yes, her anger was as much at herself as at Mike and Al.
"Get away from me," she said. "Just go-please." She turned over and buried her face in her pillow, and sobbed bitterly with self-hate and disillusionment.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHE slept as though drugged, awoke to daylight to find herself alone.
She lay for a moment, remembering and becoming deeply depressed. She forced herself to face the truth that she had long avoided. Al hated her, she thought bleakly-had never loved her. He was incapable of love. She saw her way clearly at last. She had to shed Al at any price-at the cost of whatever disgrace divorce entailed. She had to rid herself of him for good-for both her mental and physical health.
Whatever her physical reaction to Mike had been last night, her body now felt sick from it. It had been unnatural-and Al had engineered it.
She rose and took a bath, scrubbing herself vigorously. She felt soiled. Afterward she returned to the bedroom and the sight of the rumpled bed offended her. She stripped it and made it up with fresh linen. She dressed, put on a blouse, skirt and flats, and ran a comb through her hair. She did not bother with make-up. She did not want to see herself in the mirror, even to apply lipstick.
She went into the kitchen and filled the percolator, thinking that a cup of hot, black coffee would make her feel better. She was in physical discomfort as well as mental anguish. She had a hangover headache and a queasy feeling in her stomach. A sound from the living room took her there and she found Al sprawled-naked-on the couch. He had just awakened and was gazing at her blearily. His nakedness offended her. She thought it obscene.
Fury swept through her and she yelled, "Get dressed and get out! I can't stand the sight of you!"
"Now, honey," he said, sitting up and looking abused. "Don't act like that. It was all in fun. I just wanted to share it with you. You don't know what you've been missing."
"I know now," she retorted. "Oh, how I know. You sent him to me while you had her here. Al, I don't ever want to see you again."
He looked startled. "Jan, you're being unreasonable."
"I'm through with you. Through, do you hear?"
His clothes lay on the floor in an untidy heap. He began to dress, watching her uneasily.
"I mean it," she raged on. "I'm getting a divorce. And I don't care what gets into the papers and whom it hurts. When I tell about my own husband making me an unwilling partner in the wife-swapping that's going on in this town, I'll have no trouble getting free of you."
"My God, Jan-you wouldn't do-"
"It's what you threatened to do. Only now I can paint you as black as a man has ever been painted."
"You'll be involving some of the best people in town. There'll be an awful scandal. The newspapers-"
"That's what I want. I want the whole world to know everything we both have done."
She turned and ran from the living room, went to her bedroom and locked herself in. She wanted to cry. But her hurt was too great, too confused for tears.
She ventured back into the living room half an hour later. Al was gone. She had calmed down a little and now the prospect of doing what she had threatened dismayed her. Still, she had to divorce Al. She had no idea of how to go about it. She could not ask Jay to involve himself-although he probably would be involved. But a girl at the office had recently obtained a divorce. Janice would talk to her.
Even though the prospect terrified her, she felt a measure of relief for having made her decision. Somehow she would survive.
Her telephone rang shortly after twelve o'clock. Her impulse was to ignore it, for she was sure that the caller was either Al or Jay-and she wanted to talk to neither. She was sick of men-and disgusted with sex. But the phone kept ringing until she did answer.
The voice at the other end was a woman's.
"Jan, this is Greta. Please, dear, don't hang up on me. I must talk with you."
Confusion assailed Janice. She resented the dark-haired girl for her part in what had taken place last night-but at the same time she was pleased to hear from Greta. Perhaps Greta, too, had been trapped by her husband's machinations and lacked the strength of will to escape.
"I won't hang up, Greta. What do you want to talk about?"
"Last night and this morning," Greta said. "Al has been here and told Mike about how you feel. They're both terribly upset. I decided to call you-and tell you we've something in common."
"What?"
"I don't want to discuss it over the telephone. Can you come over here? You shouldn't be there alone-brooding. Come and be with me. The men have left."
"I don't know that I feel up to being with anybody, Greta."
"We need each other, Jan. Take my word."
"Well, all right."
"Come right away. Take a cab." Greta gave an address. "Hurry, darling."
"I will," Janice said.
She knew an odd, hopeful excitement. To talk to a woman who knew intimately what had happened last night, who could tell her what sort of man Mike Ransome was, might help her confusion.
Half an hour later a woman wearing a maid's uniform admitted Janice to an old but handsome house.
"Mrs. Ransome is in the sitting room upstairs, Mrs. Kirby," the woman said. "Go right up. It's to the left along the hallway."
Climbing the carpeted stairs, Janice was aware of the stately atmosphere of the house. The Ransomes lived on a luxurious scale. She found Greta in a sitting room much better furnished than her own living room. In one corner was a bar, in another a color television set. Greta had been watching television. She rose and turned off the set. She wore green lounging pajamas and gold slippers.
"Darling, I'm so glad you came," she said, placing her hands on Janice's shoulders and kissing her on the mouth.
Janice drew back, feeling that the dark-haired girl carried her friendliness too far-made it too intimate. Still, there had been a sincerity in Greta's greeting that warmed her.
"A drink?" Greta asked. "I could do with one-and so could you, I think."
Janice nodded. "I do need one."
Sitting in that pleasant room, sipping the drink Greta had given her, Janice found herself relaxing. She knew Greta Ransome hardly at all, yet felt very close to her. The direct affection Greta had shown a moment ago-Janice's vague recollection of Greta's helpfulness last night-and the fact that Greta must be suffering from her husband's behavior, all made a bond between Janice and the dark-haired girl. Al had probably forced himself on Greta last night.
Greta said, "You won't really divorce Al, will you?
You're upset now and will see things differently when you're calmer, won't you?"
Janice shook her head emphatically. "I won't change my mind. What happened last night-was unspeakable."
"Men are beasts, I agree."
"Some, anyway."
"Mike is wonderful, really, except for this one obsession."
"He wants other men's wives, you mean?"
Greta shook her head. "It's more complex than that. Mike has to have variety in sex. It's not that he doesn't love me, though."
"How can you believe he loves you when he has other women?"
"You became involved with another man, I understand," Greta said, "in spite of the fact that you still thought yourself in love with Al."
"That's true. But I was wrong." She studied Greta. "Did Al force you last night-or did you let him take you as-as part of the partner swap?"
"Darling-I didn't fight him, if that's what you mean. I couldn't stay married to Mike-and not play his game. Does that shock you?"
"Yes-it does."
Greta said, "You're probably doing the right thing in planning to divorce Al. You're just not the sort of woman who can adapt to extramarital sex. And yet-you've indulged."
"I've already admitted that."
Greta said softly, "Last night when we kissed-I felt very deeply about you. Did you feel the same way about me?"
Embarrassed, Janice said, "I-I was pretty drunk."
"I'd like us to be good friends. Under the circumstances, we should be. Neither of us is happy with our relationship with men. I'd like to be your lover, Jan."
Janice lowered her eyes, stared at the drink she held.
Greta's frankness appalled her and what she suggested was, of course, unthinkable. But suddenly Janice was curious. How involved were the ramifications of this strange set of which Al had become a member? Perhaps, to fight him effectively, she should learn more.
She looked up. "So that's what your friendliness is."
Greta said, "Not entirely. Have you ever experienced a woman's love?"
"Not really," Janice said. "When I was a teen-ager-another girl and I did some experimenting. It wasn't very satisfying."
"Very young love is never satisfying," Greta said. "Love is an art. One must have both talent for it and experience at it." She set her drink on the coffee table, got up from her chair. Holding out a hand, she said, "Come with me. You won't be disappointed, I promise."
Janice gave her hand to the other young woman and let herself be drawn to her feet. Greta led her from the sitting room. Janice accompanied her without protest into a bedroom with an oriental decor. Both the room and Greta's attitude had a disrupting effect on Janice. She fought it-there was always time to escape, to say no. The outsized bed was already neatly opened.
Janice stifled her aversion, let Greta embrace her, kiss her lightly.
"Let me undress you as I did last night."
"Greta, I don't feel right about this."
"You will in a moment, darling," Greta said: "Trust me, and I'll make you forget Mike and what he did to you."
She quickly removed Janice's dress and slip. After laying them aside, she unhooked and pulled off her bra. Janice placed her hands over her breasts, and Greta, seeing that she was embarrassed, removed the jacket of her pajamas. Now also nude from the waist up, she posed without a trace of embarrassment.
"Now we're on equal terms," she said, smiling. "Look at me, darling. Tell me that you think I'm attractive."
"Of course, I do," Janice said.
This much she could honestly admit. Greta was lovely. Janice stared in fascinated appraisal at the body Al had possessed last night-the beauty for which Al had traded his wife to another man.
Janice found herself loathing it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AFTERWARD Janice was to wonder how she managed to endure what followed. Hatred, she decided, could be as strong a motivation as love. She wanted to see Greta Ransome debase herself.
She submitted stiffly to Greta's kisses and caresses-even lay down with Greta in the enormous bed in that bizarre room. She knew no sensation other than mild revulsion as she watched Greta's excitement mount and waited for her instincts to give her a cue when to stop. She felt vengeful for last night. All the friendliness Greta had aroused in her only short moments ago had vanished. She wanted to leave Greta hanging on the highest possible cliff.
So, almost detachedly, she endured. Even her vengefulness had an objective, unemotional quality-and contained an element of pity for the girl. She simply wanted to violate this body beautiful that had been used against her.
Greta stroked her gently and continued to kiss her.
"We must go on being friends-lovers," she said, her voice charged with passion.
"We can't possibly."
"You don't feel that way about me?"
"I-I don't know what I feel now."
But she knew. And she waited until Greta had worked herself into a frenzy and began the final erotic probings that would bring her fulfillment. Then, abruptly, she disentagled herself, fought free and scrambled out-of bed.
Greta stared at her, wide-eyed and almost in shock. Janice began to put on her clothes. Neither woman spoke.
At last Janice was dressed. Greta had calmed enough to speak almost normally.
"You're leaving? Leaving me-like this?"
Janice nodded. She turned and left the room.
Greta's laughter followed her as she descended the stairs. It had an oddly mirthless sound.
Janice walked more than a dozen blocks through the hot summer sun. She hurried, as though still needing to escape from something. For the moment she wanted no confinement, not even that of a cab. She needed air and cleansing sunlight.
At last she hailed a cab. As it pulled up at her address, she saw Jay Bolton get out of his car and wait for her on the sidewalk. She looked at him with mingled feelings.
"Janice, I've got to talk with you," he said urgently. "It's important-very important."
She stopped before him. "Please, Jay-not now."
How could she tell him that she intended to start divorce proceedings which, if Al contested them or sold the story to a scandal sheet, would drag the Bolton name through a sewer? How could she explain that, after her body had betrayed her in the arms of a virtual stranger last night, she could not bear even the thought of his hands on her?
When he simply stood rooted, she said, "I've got to be alone for a while. I've been badly shaken up by something. Please go away now. Come back later."
"All right. Plow soon shall I come?"
'What time is it now?"
"Three-thirty."
"Come at five," she said.
He looked at her with concern. "You're acting very strangely. What's happened to you?"
"Nothing I can talk about." She took her key from her purse. "Now go-please."
Entering her apartment, she went directly into the bathroom and started the water running in the tub. She took her second bath of the day, this time trying to wash away the memory of Greta's kisses and caresses. Afterward she dressed in fresh clothing from the skin out, combed her hair and touched up her lips, then went to the kitchen and fixed a drink.
She heard someone enter the apartment. She knew it was Al, since only he besides herself had a key. She strode into the living room, her face stiff with anger.
"What do you want here?"
Grinning at her, Al took a half-dozen snapshots from his jacket pocket and tossed them onto the coffee table.
"I just stopped by to leave these with you," he said. "Have a look. They'll change your mind about things."
She reached for the pictures, saw that they had been hastily developed. The photos were unretouched and some of the prints were still damp. Still, the pictures were of excellent quality. She recognized herself easily in them-making lesbian love with Greta Ransome.
She looked at Al with stricken eyes. "How were these taken?"
"There's a trick mirror," Al said, relishing the situation. "You can see through it from the other side. Take pictures through it, too. Mike took these. He arranged for Greta to get you there and perform with you. He has more like them. And we'll make use of them if you go into divorce court and ask for a decree on the grounds that I involved you in wife-swapping. I'll start divorce proceedings of my own and introduce those pictures as my grounds for divorce. Now you know, baby."
Furious, she tore the obscene pictures into small fragments and threw them onto the coffee table.
"Al, you sink lower and lower," she said fiercely. "You're beneath contempt. I've told you I want a divorce-and I no longer care who gets hurt. Use all the pictures-anything you like. Just stay out of my life."
"You've really got a mad on, haven't you?" he said. He went to the door, opened it, looked at her. "How's all this going to sit with Jay Bolton?"
"I haven't asked him. Now-go away."
He left, slamming the door.
Alone, Janice came close to tears. She suddenly realized that not only would she be doomed to loneliness for good-but gone too were her dreams of a home with children, perhaps of a home of any kind.
If everything blew wide open she would not even have a job.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JAY BOLTON came at five-thirty. Janice admitted him reluctantly. His face was grave-almost grim. He looked at her with concern. She was dry-eyed but her unhappiness was etched upon her face. She could not have concealed it if she had tried. She told him to sit down, and seated herself on the couch.
"What's happened?" Jay said. "Tell me about it. Aren't we close enough for you to confide in me when you have trouble?"
"I doubt that you want to hear my troubles."
"Damn it, Janice, your troubles are mine."
"Why? I'm nothing to you-except an accommodation."
Jay swore under his breath, got to his feet, came to stand over her.
"Don't talk like that," he said. "If our relationship has been one-sided, the fault is yours. You've been the one who's held back. You've never even said you love me. You've avoided all commitments."
"All right," she said. "I'll tell you what my problem is. Al's done something that makes it necessary for me to divorce him. He wants to contest. That means hell probably name you as correspondent-drag our affair through the courts."
Jay asked quietly, "Is that all?"
Janice nodded.
This was as much as she would tell him. She would not reveal that Al was involved with his wife. Nor did she intend to use that fact in her own suit. She would use Greta-and what Mike and Al had done last night-and to hell with Al's dirty pictures.
"Then, I don't see what the big difficulty is," Jay said. "I came here to tell you I've also decided on a divorce. I've instructed my lawyer to get in touch with Alice. I called him yesterday. He's to tell her to obtain a quiet divorce-preferably in Nevada. He'll also advise her of the settlement I'm willing to make on her." He smiled somewhat ruefully. "I don't feel that I have to salve my conscience where she's concerned. But I will be generous with her-make sure that she can continue to live in the style to which I've accustomed her. In the event that she's difficult, she'll be informed that I will apply for a divorce if she doesn't. The threat will certainly make her see things my way-for if I get the divorce there will be no settlement. That's a part of what I wanted to tell you, Janice. The rest of it is-or was-that I intended to ask you to obtain your freedom. Now it isn't necessary for me to ask that, since you've already made up your mind on your own."
Janice gazed up at him with near-consternation. "You're divorcing Alice because of me?"
"I'm divorcing her because I'm over being in love with her."
"And because you think yourself in love with me?"
"Because I know I'm in love with you," he said. "I've known it for quite a while. I want to marry you."
Shaking her head, she said, "It's not all that simple. I-I can't even tell you what all this may lead to. I've got to think about it."
He said quietly, "Yes-think about it. When each of us is free we'll talk about this again."
"Yes-yes, of course."
By the time each of them was free-Jay might not be able to stand the sound of her name. "Meanwhile you won't want to see me, I suppose."
"I need to be alone for a while, Jay."
"I understand," he said, and turned to leave. He looked at her from the door, adding, "I think I know you better than you know yourself. I believe that in time you'll find that you can love me."
He left.
Janice remained as he had left her, contemplating her future and finding it bleak indeed. He was right in this-she could love him. Probably she already did. At least she had no comparable depth of feeling for anyone else-even though, right now, she could not bear the thought of having him touch her.
But how long, if Al kept his threats, would Jay love her? Was she really worthy of any man's love?
Alice Bolton came back the following Sunday. She had called Al from Miami Beach before flight time and asked him to meet her at the airport. He did. And when he saw her descend from the jetliner his heart gave a joyful lurch. He had missed her more than he had realized.
She said, when he reached her, "It's good to see you, darling. It really is."
She kissed him. The touch of her lips set off instant desire in him.
She looked radiant. She looked like a young woman who had had a very good time away from home. Jealousy tore at Al. She had the power to hurt him, something no other woman had ever possessed.
He found her luggage, drove her in his car toward the city.
"You're quiet, darling," she said. "You're not in some kind of mood the very day I get home, are you?"
"I've missed you," he said. "It hasn't been easy for m me.
"You poor dear. I'll make it up to you."
He could not keep from asking, "How were the people you visited?"
"Very nice. Lots of fun."
"You'll have to tell me all about your visit with them."
"Is that sarcasm I detect?"
He gave her a sour smile. "If I say another word, you'll accuse me of being too possessive. I thought kissing and telling was part of the game. By the way, did you mean what you said on the phone last Saturday-that you've decided I'm to be your one and only?"
"I meant it," she said. "Now are you happy?"
"I will be-if you keep your word."
"I'll keep it," she said, patting him on the thigh.
Al carried her bags into her apartment and left them in the dressing room adjoining her bedroom. She did not follow him to the second floor of the duplex. He returned to the living room to find her at her desk, going through an accumulation of mail, notes and telephoned messages. She was so preoccupied that Al went to the bar and fixed drinks. He joined her, set a drink on the desk for her. She was staring at a note.
"That's odd," she said, more to herself than to him. "I wonder what he wants."
"Who, baby?" Al asked.
He slipped an arm about her, kissed the nape of her neck.
She jerked away, said crossly, "Not now, please." He was hurt. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"I'm to call Herb Jensen," Alice said. "He gave my maid both his office number and his home number. He had her write down, 'Call immediately-Important.' Why should he want to talk to me?"
"Who's Herb Jensen?"
"My husband's lawyer."
"Trouble, eh?"
"What else?" Alice said. "Jay's probably gotten tired of having me live apart from him. He's no doubt told Herb to throw a scare into me."
"What kind of a scare?"
"A threat to cut off my allowance if I don't go back to him."
Al looked alarmed. "And you'll have to go?"
"How else would I get along?" she said. "I've no income of my own." Then, angrily: "If he forces me to go back, I'll make him regret it. I'll make life miserable for him."
She picked up the phone, began dialing Jensen's office number. She looked increasingly upset. She let the phone ring a long time, but no one answered.
"Saturday afternoon," she said. "Nobody at his office." She began dialing the lawyer's residence. "Give me a cigarette."
Al lit a cigarette for her.
She puffed on it nervously. Then: "I'm just back from two weeks in Florida, Herb, and only now got your message. What do you want to talk to me about?"
She listened. A stricken look came to her face. She crushed out the cigarette in an ashtray with jerky little movements of her hand.
Finally she burst out, "What's behind this? Does he intend to marry that tramp he's been shacking up with?" And after a pause: "Of course you know his plans. You're his lawyer. Well, no matter what he's up to, he's not getting off cheaply. He's got to take care of me. You tell him that for me."
Again she listened, then said, "He had better be generous. After all, I gave him the best years of my life-and as a husband, he's no bargain. All right, I'll come to your office-but not until I've retained a lawyer of my own. I'm not going to get the short end of this deal, believe me."
She slammed down the phone, fumbled in her purse for another cigarette. She lit it herself, then strode back and forth agitatedly as she puffed on it.
"He's demanding that I get a divorce," she said, talking as much to herself as to Al. "A quiet one. I'm to go to Las Vegas or Reno and take up residence. Hell pay my expenses, and he'll make what he calls a fair settlement on me. Fair? I should get half of what he's worth." She stopped pacing, stared at Al. "Has that wife of yours said anything to you about a divorce?"
Al nodded. "She's getting one. She told me last Sunday. I told her I'd give her a battle."
"So I was right. Jay wants to marry her."
"What do you care-if he gives you a fair settlement?"
"I told you once that I like being Mrs. Jay Bolton."
"You didn't like working at it."
"That's true. Working at it bored me to tears."
"What sort of a settlement will he give you?"
"According to Herb, Jay will give me a block of stock in his company," Alice said. "It will be large enough for the dividends to equal the allowance I've been getting since I separated from Jay."
"You can't complain about that, can you?"
"No, I can't. But I can still try to get a little more." She smiled suddenly. "I don't know why I'm so upset. After all, I'll be well off. I guess I'm being a woman-jealous because I have to let another woman have what is mine. But I've no choice. Jay threatens to get the divorce if I don't. And if he does, there'll be no settlement."
"He can't get away with that, can he?" Al asked.
"He probably can. After all, I did leave him-against his wishes. And I have been misbehaving. If he has had me watched, he has certainly got grounds ten times over."
Alice went to the desk, snubbed out her cigarette. She watched Al while doing it, her amber-flecked eyes oddly luminous.
"So that's that," she said. "I get an expense-paid trip to Las Vegas or Reno. I'll go to Las Vegas, I think. And I'll have a ball. Which reminds me, lover, that I haven't had a ball with you for too long. Would you like to make love to me-right now?"
CHAPTER TWENTY
EVEN holding her in his arms, Al Kirby was unsure of Alice Bolton. She had promised that she would date only him but he had little faith in her word. She was unpredictable and utterly selfish. At this moment, while making love to her, he knew that she would drop him the moment another man aroused her interest. Since she had been faithless to her husband, it followed that she would probably be faithless to a lover.
Al had always considered himself too smart to fall for the love bit that supposedly bound most couples together. It seemed to him a sucker's game. But despite his cynicism he had developed some depth of feeling for the lovely wanton to whom he was joined physically-if not eternally. He could be jealous of her. She was able to cause him hurt and make him unsure of his powers as a male to bind her to him.
Actually, his powers were more than adequate-and his skill sufficient-to bring Alice to a rapture that wrenched an agonized cry from deep within her and caused her magnificent body to be wracked by spasmodic shudderings.
After his own completion, Al lay beside her and studied her intently. She was lovely, even when viewed with sated eyes. She lay utterly relaxed, her breasts rising and falling with her still rapid breathing. Her mouth was slack, her eyes dull. She was attractive to him even when his passion had been spent.
But not a great deal more attractive than Janice. Or Greta Ransome. Or Ginny Bennett. Why, then, did he want to be permanently attached to her? Why was he so in dread of losing her-when he had been wholly untouched by losing Janice?
Al did not possess an IQ to match his virility. But now, in a rare flash of insight, he understood himself as far as his relationship with Alice was concerned. Janice had called him amoral. She was not entirely correct. He was no more of a liar and a cheat than the next man. But in sexual matters-well, sex was a game he played to win, no holds barred. He would play it with any woman who caught his eye, if she were willing, no matter what the circumstances. The more variety, the better. The more erotic, the more fun.
And Alice was like him in that.
Sex for her, too, was a game without conventional rules-and she also played it to win. This much they had in common-and unrestrained sex-seeking was her attraction for him. With her, he could enjoy sex unlimited-as in some wild fantasy.
Becoming aware of his scrutiny, Alice said lazily, "Why the pensive frown?"
He said instantly, untruthfully, "I've been thinking of your being away from me again. You'll have to be in Las Vegas for six weeks, won't you?"
"That's the residence requirement."
"When will you go?"
"After I see Herb Jensen and the settlement is signed, sealed and delivered," Alice said. "He wants me to come to his office on Monday to discuss the terms. Will you miss me while I'm in Vegas?"
"You know I will. I hate your being away from me."
"You're invited along."
"I am?" he said, genuinely surprised. "You mean that?" She laid a hand on him, squeezed. "I mean it, lover," she said. "Because I'll miss you, too. Will you come?"
Al's frown deepened. "I'd like to-but I can't get away from the lot."
"You can't take a vacation, for heaven's sake?"
"I had my vacation early in the summer," he said. "I may as well tell you, sweetheart, because you'll find it out sooner or later-I don't own the lot. I'm just a salesman there."
"So?"
"That doesn't bother you?"
"Not at all," she said. "I wasn't impressed by the idea of your owning a used-car lot. In fact, I never gave it a thought. And I'm not unimpressed now that I know you're just a salesman." She kissed him lightly. "I was impressed by something more important than how you earn your living."
Al felt surer of her now. "I wish I could go with you, baby. But the truth is, I couldn't afford a trip to Las Vegas even if I had a vacation coming up."
"I'll pick up the tab."
"You've got that kind of dough?"
"If Jay Bolton is anything, he's generous," she said. "Can you take six weeks off?"
Al shook his head. "Not a chance."
"Quit your job, then."
"I could do that," he said, thinking about it seriously. "A good salesman can always find a new job." He pulled her to him, tightened his arms about her. "All right, I'll go with you."
They were silent for a time, then Alice said, "You know, Las Vegas is as noted for marriages as for divorces. If you're free by the end of my six-weeks residence, we could have a go at wedded bliss. Are you game to give it a try?"
Al stared at her disbelievingly. Minutes ago he had feared that sooner or later he would lose her. Now she was offering to marry him. He suddenly realized that Alice was as unsure of him as he had been of her-and as eager to make their relationship a permanent one. The realization did wonders for his ego.
Mistaking his silence for reluctance to commit himself, she said, "We're suited for each other, darling. We're good in bed. Both of us like playing the same games, which will guarantee our not becoming bored with one another. And, really, I've got a lot to offer a man I'm fond of. I don't see that you can lose by marrying me."
Al's ego was so inflated that he decided to play it cagy.
"Well, let's think about it, anyway," he said. "We'll decide once we're both free."
"We could honeymoon in Europe," Alice said. "Rome would be fun. I know a couple there who are very nice. Would you like to try an Italian woman, darling?"
Grinning, Al said, "I can see that you'd like to try an Italian man. As for myself, I'd like to try you right now."
They began to make love again, this time in the leisurely fashion of two people with all the time in the world.
After retaining a lawyer and filing suit for divorce, Janice Kirby felt that she was existing in a sort of limbo. For her, bringing an end to a marriage, even a marriage that had become a mockery, was a distressing matter. At first she was afraid of Al's contesting the action, of a court battle that would hurt a lot of people-but Al's threats seemed to have melted away.
Jay had told her why. Alice was preparing to marry Al. A scandal could ruin Jay's business-on which Alice's income depended.
Everything was going to be handled quietly.
Finally she diagnosed her unhappiness as loneliness. She weakened and called Jay.
She felt her spirits lift at the sound of his cheerful voice. She had missed him more than she had realized.
"I'm lonely, Jay," she said. "Lonely enough to die."
"I am too," he told her. "And there's no need for it. Let's get together."
"Yes. Tonight. At the apartment."
"There's no reason we can't go out together."
"Another time," she said. "I just want to be alone with you. I'll go to the apartment at seven o'clock. You come when you can."
"I'll be there at seven," he said.
For Janice the Saturday was no longer dreary. She no longer felt like a prisoner in a cell of her own making.
Jay was already there when she let herself into the apartment. The sight of him filled her with sudden happiness and she knew that at that moment, in love with him or not, she needed him-needed him badly. She literally threw herself into his arms and Jay, laughing, lifted her and whirled about with her. They were as joyous over being together again as a couple of teenagers. When Jay put her down, to kiss her, they were both breathless. She clung to him, pressed against him. She was content now, in his arms. It must be, she told herself, that his love was enough for them both.
"I'm weak," she said. "I don't want to be but I am. I can't help myself. I simply had to see you."
"Why did you fight it?" he said. "You knew it was futile-and senseless. Didn't you?"
She nodded. "In my heart, anyway."
They brought themselves down from the clouds. Jay went into the kitchen to get drinks. They would talk things over, he told her. What was there to talk over? She merely wanted to renew their relationship-to be his mistress, to have him for her lover. So that she could endure her now barren existence.
But Jay, she found, would not settle for that. When they sat down with their drinks, he eyed her soberly-almost solemnly.
"Soon nothing will stand in the way of our marrying."
"Jay, I'm far from sure we should marry."
"You need me. Your being here proves that."
"Let's just say that I'm fond of you."
Smiling, he said, "All right, let's say that. It's good enough for me. I'll risk marrying you on that basis. I don't need you to be head over heels in love. That will come, anyway."
She returned the smile. "You're very confident."
"I once told you that I know you better than you know yourself."
"There are conditions you'd have to agree to before I'd even think of saying 'yes.'"
"Consider them agreed to."
"Oh, come now," she said, laughing. "You're too good a businessman to be so incautious. My conditions may be something you couldn't possibly agree to."
"All right, I'll be cautious," he said. "Name your conditions."
Janice hesitated, realizing that she was committing herself-when she had had no intention of doing so. Then she thought: Why not? I am fond of him. And what woman wouldn't he proud-and happy-to have the chance to marry such a man?
She said, "I'm serious about this, Jay. I'm not trying to be amusing. My first condition is that you quit making love to me in such a worshipful way. I'm a woman-and an extremely earthy woman, at that. Or you couldn't have seduced me that first time."
He regarded her frowningly. "Why change a system that works?"
"Your system worked for seduction. We're now discussing marriage. A robust, lasting, earthy marriage."
"A point well taken. Very well, my earthling-I'll pound you to the dirt."
Janice laughed. "That's the ticket. I believe that physical love should be altogether physical."
"So it shall be," he said. "What's your next condition?"
"My next and last," she said. "If I marry you, I want a normal married life-a home with some trees around it, children of my own. If I could have that I'd be happy-and so very grateful." She looked at him uncertainly. "How do you feel about children?"
"That's what marriage is, or should be. I want children, Janice. What man doesn't?"
Janice thought: I could name one....
She said, "All right, Jay, I will marry you when we're both free." And then, impulsively: "Oh, yes, I will!"
He set down his drink, rose, came to take hers. He put it aside, then drew her to her feet and swept her up in his arms.
"Now you can start teaching me how an earthy woman likes to be made love to," he told her.
She locked her arms about his neck, pressed her mouth to his. She did not know even now whether or not she loved him-but she did not doubt that he was more to her than just a cure for her loneliness. She had this hope-since she had loved a heel, she could certainly learn to love a decent man.
"Yes," she said, laughing happily. "I'll show you how."
