"Let's keep the record straight, Bryce," Wanda Tupper's green eyes flashed anger despite the quiet tone of her voice, "I'm a social worker, not a policeman."
"That remains to be seen," the man snapped coldly in reply. "A social worker has certain responsibilities to the community. The police are a vital part of that community."
"Yes," Wanda admitted as she unbuttoned the light tweed jacket and revealed the crisp white blouse with the high collar, "they are, but my people are more important to me. You've been a social worker longer than I, Bryce, I should think you'd understand that."
Bryce Jenkins, head of the Welfare Bureau that included all of the city's social work program glared across the desk at the woman with whom he was usually on good terms. This time though, she was definitely out of favor.
He had just spent the better, or worse, part of an hour in a meeting with the Chief of Police and the mayor. They had both given him a first class blistering and it still burned.
"The fact remains, Miss Tupper," he dropped the first name basis he normally used in talking with Wanda, "that a girl told you Johnny Powers pulled that service station robbery. A man was shot there and almost died. In spite of that, you didn't notify the police or report it to me."
"What would you have done if I had reported it to you, Mr. Jenkins?" Wanda decided to follow his lead in the matter of formality.
"I would have done my duty and notified the police. You should have done your duty, Miss Tupper."
"I did my duty, Mr. Jenkins. My duty as a social worker. If I had turned that boy in, it would have been all over the street the next day. When those people out there can't trust me, I may as well pack it up and, as head of this bureau, you should be aware of that."
"Are you trying to tell me how to run the bureau, Miss Tupper? Is it possible that after making an error in judgment that heaped torrents of abuse and discredit on this bureau, you would dare try to tell me how to do my job?"
"It's not up to me to tell you that, Mr. Jenkins," Wanda refused to back pedal. "I'm merely insisting that I did my job properly. If you can't see that, then you're so blinded by trying to keep on the right side of city hall that you've forgotten what a social worker is supposed to be."
"If you will take that remark back, Miss Tupper," the man's eyes blazed with fury, "I'm willing to forget you made it."
"But I have no intention of taking it back," she stared right back at him. "You know I'm right, Mr. Jenkins, regardless of what you say. If I'm faced with the same choice tomorrow, I'll do the same thing and if you hadn't forsaken all the things you once believed in for the sake of being the fair -haired boy at city hall, you'd understand it. Have I made myself clear?"
"You have indeed, Miss Tupper. So clear that you leave me no choice but to dismiss you."
"On what grounds?" Wanda snapped back.
"On any or all of several," the civil service background was showing plainly now as Bryce Jenkins stung under the lash of her insubordination. "Inefficiency, obviously. Insubordination for another. Complicity in the commission of a crime, harboring a fugitive, accessory after the fact of a felony. The grounds are limitless."
"You fail to impress me, Mr. Jenkins," Wanda spoke with the same calm assurance she had demonstrated throughout the interview.
"Then let me put it this way," the man was actually hissing in anger now, "as of this moment, you are no longer employed by this bureau. You are to clean out your desk immediately and turn all files and notes over to me. You are fired, Miss Tupper."
"And you, Mr. Jenkins, are a fool," Wanda stood and smiled as she threw the line at him. "If you dare to fire me on this issue, I'll devote the rest of my life to making you sorry. That isn't just an idle threat, Mr. Jenkins. I happen to care about those people out there. They're more important to me than your petty ambitions. If the bureau has stopped caring about them, I haven't."
As if cowed by the way she was standing over him, the man pushed his chair back and stood across the desk from her. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.
"I told you, you're fired, Miss Tupper. Don't you dare try to threaten me. I want every file and note you have on my desk within the hour. Now get out of my office." He was almost screaming by the time he finished.
As she walked out of his office and down the uncarpeted hall to her own much smaller one, Wanda took time to wonder whether she had mishandled the interview.
As a social worker, she was in a position to help a lot of people who needed help, she reminded herself. Out of the job, she could keep her philosophy strong, but how, she asked herself, could she apply it to help the people who needed help?
If I don't believe the bureau is being operated properly? she threw another question at herself, am I helping anyone by allowing myself to be fired? Who will work for them then?
Wanda knew that in spite of all that had been said during their bitter exchange, all she had to do was go back into his office and take back the things she had said.
Armed with that, he could go back to the mayor and the police chief and tell them that he had brought his maverick social worker under control and that there would be no more trouble. Even as she thought of it though, Wanda knew she wouldn't do it.
If I give in to him on this, then he'll dictate to me all the way. I won't really be a social worker at all, I'll just be a worker for him and for city hall.
In her office, Wanda gathered up the files that had been left on her desk when she finished working just before midnight last night. Reaching into her purse, she picked up her notebook and was about to add it to the pile when she changed her mind. She slid it back into her purse and muttered a less than lady-like word under her breath.
I'm going to have to go back and talk to a lot of those people out there, Wanda reminded herself, I'll need the notebook. There could be other uses for it too, she thought. Wanda knew that when she told her former boss she would fight him, she wasn't kidding. She was not only going to fight him and the system, she told herself firmly, she was going to win.
After she had checked all the drawers of her desk and put the things that were hers into her purse, she walked to the door, pulled it open and walked down the hall.
When she reached the office of Bryce Jenkins, she pushed his door open without knocking and felt satisfaction at his angry expression as he turned toward her.
"My files are on top of my desk, Mr. Jenkins," she said firmly.
"I instructed you to bring them to me, Miss Tupper," he roared as his face colored again.
"That's right, sir," Wanda flashed a small smile, "but then again, I'm not exactly adept at following your orders am I? As I recall, that's why you fired me. If I were less of a lady, I'd tell you what you can do with your files, but I refuse to reduce myself to your level so I'll simply inform you that you may pick them up if you wish. Good evening, Mr. Jenkins."
Without giving him a chance to speak, Wanda pulled his door closed behind her and walked out into the hall. As she walked toward the stairs, her heels echoed loudly through the deserted hallway. She wished they wouldn't make so much noise, but still, she didn't walk any more softly until she reached the worn stairs.
In the parking lot, Wanda walked toward her three year old Corvair and realized, as she looked at it, just how dirty and beat up it looked. All of a sudden, it was as if she had looked into a mirror and saw herself there rather than a car in need of a wash.
Is that what I am? she asked herself. Am I just a beat up old model who talks like a Cadillac and acts like a Corvair? Sliding behind the wheel, she turned the key, stepped on the gas and heard the car respond immediately.
So what if I am, she snapped back in reply to her own question. Is there anything wrong with being a Corvair after all? Perhaps Bryce Jenkins is the Cadillac. He cares a lot about appearance and comfort, but surely there are other things more important to me.
As she turned the car into the street, Wanda was still waging an argument within herself. She sensed though that no matter how long she argued, she would come up with the same answer. It would have been a mistake to turn that kid over to the police and an even bigger one to give Bryce Jenkins the promises he wanted about her future conduct.
By the time Wanda whipped the car down the ramp into the basement garage of her apartment building, she knew the argument was over and she had won. She knew she had done the right thing and that she would still be able to look at herself in the mirror without feeling even a touch of shame.
Of course, there was the matter of finding a new job, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Effortlessly, she slid the little car into the parking slot, turned off the key, picked up her purse and stepped out.
As she walked to the elevator, she looked like anything except a woman who had just been fired. She carried her well formed body with pride. It didn't require any great effort, Wanda just did that without effort.
To her surprise and relief, the elevator was waiting at that level so that there wasn't the usual waiting for it. Punching the button for the tenth floor, she felt it whir right past the main floor and go all the way without a stop.
She turned the key in her door and walked into what was more than just an apartment. It was a place where she could kick off her shoes at the end of a long day and sit in a comfortable chair. When she didn't feel like sitting, she could walk over to the window or step out on the balcony and look at the city below.
Right now though, she knew she wouldn't do either. There was an almost full bottle of Scotch in the kitchen and the thought of it offered more than the consolation she needed at the moment. She turned the tap on first, then reached up on the shelf for the bottle.
The drink she poured was about two ounces and change and just right under the circumstances, she decided. She ran about four ounces of water into it and held it up for examination. It looked right and when she tasted it, she decided it was right all the way.
Walking across the room, Wanda pushed open the front door and stepped out on the balcony. She was just in time to see the last of the sun as it began to slip out of sight through a mixture of cloud and smoke. There was just a trace of coolness in the air and she felt it comfort her after the heat of argument.
Wanda stayed there until the sun and her drink expired at about the same time. When she walked back into the apartment, she pushed the door closed behind her.
Food, she thought was the logical thing at this stage, but her stomach told her it wasn't in the mood. Searching for something to relax her fatigued mind, she thought of reading but dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. In her present mood, she knew, no book could possibly occupy her sufficiently.
From there, her mind moved on to the thought of a nice long soak in a hot tub. That one worked. She was actually smiling as she hurried to the bathroom and began to run a tub.
It was her favorite form of escape. In times of stress, Wanda liked to turn to the tub as her refuge. A drink helped, but with or without it, a hot tub provided her with the release from tensions that permitted her to think out her problems and come up with the right answers.
This time though, she decided to combine the best of both by pouring a very large Scotch as her tub companion. Carrying it back into the bathroom, she felt the comforting, damp heat that was already permeating the room. Putting her glass down, she unzipped her skirt and pushed it down over her legs.
Stepping out of it, she looked at it and tossed it into the corner before beginning to unbutton the blouse. A few seconds later, it landed in the same corner.
Normally, her bra would have been next to go, but tonight, Wanda couldn't wait to escape from the confinement of the darn girdle. She bent from the waist and pushed her rear back a little as she dragged it down over her hips and felt it slide down her thighs to fall dangling as her nylons prevented it from going all the way. The edge of the tub was cold on her naked buttocks as she sat on it to slip her nylons down. Pushing the lightweight girdle down, she slipped it off with the nylons still attached like a pair of empty legs. It was the kind of sloppiness that always annoyed her, but she decided to tolerate it this time in view of all that had happened.
She reached behind her to turn the taps off then, still sitting on the edge of the tub, Wanda reached behind her to unfasten the bra and felt immediate relief as all of her body was free of the confinement of clothes.
As she tossed the bra onto the pile and stood by the tub, Wanda caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full length mirror. At first glance, she was critical. Wanda Tupper, six years ago at age twenty-one had been a stunner with a figure that could stop traffic.
Now, the full breasts were just a little less firm than they had been then. Now, she had to wear a girdle even though she could get away with a light one.
Six years ago, her five-foot-six frame had carried one hundred and twenty pounds. Now, it was a shade over one-thirty. Still, she consoled herself as she stood in profile to the mirror, it wasn't really that bad.
The six years had added about an inch around her hips and waist, but considering what it had contributed to what was under her short cropped black hair, she didn't really regret it at all. Still, she warned herself, don't get complacent, lady. I wouldn't like you as a fat old slob.
She stuck one toe into the water and found it hot enough to cook lobsters. The next time she stuck a toe in, she decided it was only hot enough to warm them a bit so she left it there. A minute later, she stuck the other foot in the water. Standing there, she reached for her glass that she had parked on top of the chest. A couple of sips later, she put the glass down, gripped both sides of the tub and lowered herself into the water.
In a few seconds, the intensity of the heat passed and she felt the soothing warmth caress her body. Leaning back, she ignored the coldness of the tub against her upper back. Her eyes closed and she surrendered to the almost erotic feeling.
Wanda stayed that way for a long time without even opening her eyes. When she did, she reached for her glass and had another sip. It added a little to the feeling of well being. It didn't make sense feeling so good after just having been fired, but somehow that didn't seem to be important.
There was enough in her bank account to carry her for a while and finding another job didn't bother her at all. The important thing, she reasoned, was to find the right one. It would have to be a job where, one way or another, she could still do the things she believed in.
She couldn't quite define the things she believed in, but Wanda knew she would recognize the job when she found it. In religion, she was an agnostic and had been since about fifteen when religion stopped meaning as much to her as the suffering of the people she saw around her.
In politics, she was somewhere left of liberal, a political as well as a religious agnostic, one of her friends had once called her. She hadn't argued with him either since the label seemed to fit rather well.
As her mind strove to find a way to put her beliefs back to work where they would keep her reasonably contented and still keep the bank balance from vanishing, she thought of newspaper work. Back in college she had done a lot of writing. Over the past few years, she had found time to do a few articles when her work load permitted. Wanda was sure she could make the transition from social worker to crusading newspaperwoman if she could find an opening on one of the two local papers.
For just a little while, she wavered as she thought of the possibility of moving to another city and getting back into social work, but she knew that was out. The first thing they would do was check her record here and the next thing they would do was say no, thanks.
Closing her eyes, Wanda turned her mind loose in search of the right contact to land a job on a local paper. Sam Parker was the most obvious one, but he was out. The fact that he was now city editor of the Bulletin didn't overcome the fact that she had had an affair with him for a while last year while he was separated from his wife and thinking about divorce.
It had been good while it lasted and they had both enjoyed it, but when the time came to make decisions, Sam had scurried back to his wife rather than face the stigma of divorce and the threat of condemnation from his correct suburban neighbors.
The affair had ended then without anger or recrimination. Sam had been anxious to keep it going, but Wanda had made it clear to him that it wasn't her style.
"I don't carry any brief for virginity in the adult female," she had explained to him over drinks in her apartment, "and I'm not averse to sharing what I have to offer with a man who's separated from his wife as long as all other things are equal. Now that you've decided to go back home to respectability, though, I congratulate you, wish you lots of success and say goodbye."
Sam had only gone through the motions of arguing and then let it go. They still saw each other from time to time and were able to talk easily, but going to him for a job would smack of asking for favors on the basis of the past. Wanda knew she would have to look elsewhere to find her entree to the world of journalism.
She remembered Mike Hanson then. She had often talked to Mike when he was doing a series on the new concept of social work as it related to the people of the city.
They had gotten along well and he still phoned her from time to time when he needed information she could provide. A bachelor at thirty or so, Mike had not figured in her personal life even though there had been times when Wanda knew she would admit him if he chose to apply. When he didn't though, she went on being a friendly contact and was pleased to let it go at that.
For a minute, Wanda thought of getting out of the tub and calling him, but she decided against it. She guessed she could get to him by calling his office and leaving word, but that hardly seemed the way to do it. She promised herself to call him first thing in the morning. For now, it was enough to just soak and ignore the world. She was glad she had taken the phone off the hook before getting into the tub and wondered why everyone didn't do it.
When the water began to cool down to the point where it was only barely comfortable, she reached for the soap and began bathing. As she held her breasts and smeared the rich lather over them, Wanda was able to assure herself that she really hadn't deteriorated that much after all. They were still pretty firm, she told herself, and an arresting thirty-eight-C. Rinsing the lather off, she saw the twin globes glisten and knew that she still had a few years before she would have to retire to knitting and keeping Siamese cats.
The fact that there hadn't been a man in her life for a couple of months didn't bother her at all. When the right man came along under the right circumstances, Wanda could unleash enough genuine passion to scare a lesser male to death.
Between affairs though, she was content to read books, listen to good music and do her job. Someday, she hoped, there would be the right man who would want to go all the way through the marriage bit, but she wasn't really concerned and wouldn't settle for less than the right one just because it was considered the thing to do.
Stepping out of the tub, Wanda took another look at herself in the mirror as she reached for the towel. She was still completely satisfied with what she saw. The towel was rough and made her blood flow as she rubbed herself hard with it. By the time she finished, she was tingling all over and looking pink and healthy.
For the first time in a long while, she thought of how nice it would be to have a man around to share her feeling of well being with her. For a little while as she walked naked into the living room, she permitted her mind to dwell on the thought and enjoyed the feeling. When it began to get the better of her, she turned it off.
Watch it, lady, she told herself. We need those carrots for the stew and bananas are for monkeys. Let's read a good book instead.
It was as easy as she knew it would be. The one concession she made to herself was staying nude as she poured her third drink of the evening and picked up the new John Fowles novel she had bought yesterday. For a few minutes, she had to concentrate on getting in the mood to read, but after that, it was easy.
During the evening, she had two more drinks and left the Scotch bottle with an empty look, but all in all, she decided, life wasn't bad. There was more Scotch where that came from and more authors to write more books.
When she decided to call it a day and put the book down, she felt amazingly good for a young woman who had just been both insulted and fired.
As usual, she slept nude and the sheets felt cool. She wondered idly, how cool sheets could feel as comforting as hot water in a bath, but didn't pursue the thought. Philosophy was something she could leave for another day, she decided.
Just as she was about to drop off to sleep, the phone rang. In the quiet of her apartment and with her mind ready for sleep, it seemed that the ring was much louder than any phone she had ever heard. She thought of a fireman hearing the alarm ring and jumping into his clothes to leap for the brass pole and slide down.
It kept right on ringing, but she decided that she could ignore it. When a small inner voice told her she really should answer it, she said absolutely rude things to it and went right on lying there listening as the ring went on and on.
To help her kill time until it stopped, she played little games of guessing who the caller was and what he or she wanted. For openers, she thought of Bryce Jenkins calling to say he was sorry and would she please come back to work in the morning. She rejected that idea out of hand. He wasn't man enough for that.
The next thought was that someone in the family was desperately ill. That didn't work very well either since both her parents were dead, she was an only child and her cousins, aunts and uncles were, in her honest estimation, a collection of creeps, ghouls and assorted nothings. They should call doctors, she told herself.
In time, the ringing stopped and as she drifted off into sleep, Wanda was undecided whether the caller had been LBJ asking her advice on world problems or Richard Burton admitting that Liz had been a mistake and it had been her all the time.
She was just sleepy enough so that either one made perfectly good sense.
CHAPTER TWO
For an unemployed woman, Wanda felt surprisingly good when she woke in the morning. Neither the loss of her job or the job she did on the bottle of Scotch the night before bothered her at all.
Naked, she walked into the kitchen to put the coffee on before going into the bathroom. Because Wanda was up earlier thsn the sun this morning, it was a bit on the dark side in the kitchen. She chose to fumble around in the half light instead of turning on the light since lights on in the morning just didn't seem right to her somehow.
As she reached for the coffee cannister on the shelf beside the window, Wanda's eye was caught by a motion in a window across the narrow alley. That particular apartment had been vacant for some time and she was glad to realize that those bare windows wouldn't be staring at her now.
The windows were still bare and although there was no light on in the room, enough light spilled in from another room so that the motion Wanda had seen was a woman who had just sat up in the bed. Beside the woman, Wanda could see another form huddled under the sheet.
Poor things, she thought, they probably think that because they have no light on in the room, they can't be seen. As she spooned out the rich, dark coffee into the perc, she hoped they would notice the light before beginning to dress. She plugged the perc in and walked to the bathroom.
When she got back to the kitchen, the coffee still wasn't ready. As she waited for it, she turned without thinking toward the window again.
The woman who had been sitting up in the bed was just pulling her nightie over her head. She had, Wanda was able to observe, a really magnificent figure. Although it was difficult to be sure under the circumstances, Wanda guessed her age at very early twenties. Her feminine instinct told her the pair were newlyweds. She smiled a little as she hoped they wouldn't do anything drastic without checking on the light.
It wasn't that her sensitivities were easily bruised by the sight of a young couple making love, it was just that she saw no point in the poor kids entertaining any nosy neighbors who would get their vicarious kicks out of watching their private act of love.
A second later, Wanda froze where she was and became a very nosy neighbor herself. It wasn't the sort of thing she would do normally, but the circumstances had just stopped being normal.
The sheet had been tossed back and the other occupant of the bed leaped up to embrace the nude woman. They were both women. The second one had slept nude and as her body moved, Wanda was able to see that she too was young and had quite a body.
Although Wanda felt uneasy about watching like this, she knew that she wasn't going to turn away. Somewhere behind her, a small click told her that the coffee was ready but she ignored it as she would have ignored the fire alarm had it sounded just then.
Through the window, the two women were rolling across the bed in a wild game which displayed long, sleek legs, fully curved buttocks arched upward, and firm, swaying breasts.
From time to time, the wrestling match would stop as they paused to kiss before going on with the game. It was obvious then that they were not just being playful.
Wanda hadn't become an experienced social worker without knowing something about lesbianism, but this was the first time she had ever actually seen it. She was stunned.
After a little while, one of the nudes turned quickly on the bed and knelt astride the other. Her hands held the other woman's wrists down on the bed in a classic wrestling pose. The one being held down looked up in a gesture of submission.
They remained that way for a little while and Wanda saw them as an erotic sculpture that could have graced a pagan temple on the Isle of Lesbos in another era.
The kneeling woman sat back on her heels then as the other moved up a little in the bed and parted her long legs in obvious invitation. Her legs bent and the knees came up high. The gift she was offering to her partner was blatantly obvious.
The second woman crawled around on the bed until she knelt beside her. Even in the less than perfect light, Wanda was able to see the enlarged tips jutting from the dangling globes as she hovered over her victim.
Reaching across the waiting partner, her hands moved under the raised thighs and held them from below as her face moved downward with maddening slowness. In a few seconds, her face was lost from sight and the lying beauty began to writhe in passion.
Unable to tear herself away from the window, Wanda saw the passion-crazed woman reach to clasp the kneeling body and draw it across her in terrible need. One leg raised so that the woman now knelt astride her head.
Hands wrapped around smooth, firm hips. Her face looked up hungrily, the arched body lowered slowly all the way until it could go no farther.
Wanda realized she was trembling as she watched the two headless bodies making only small motions now. In a little while, there was no motion at all and they seemed to have become statues again. This lasted for only seconds.
When the bodies seemed to lift right off the bed in a fleshy explosion, Wanda realized what was happening. Their moment had come at the same time.
As she watched them writhe in the ecstasy of their aftermath, Wanda got yet another shock as she realized where her own hand had wandered without her knowing it. Angrily, she hurried out of the room. In her bedroom, she picked up a robe and slipped it on.
She forced herself to return to the kitchen then but was very careful not to glance toward the window. Pouring a cup of coffee, she carried it into the living room. It didn't surprise her at all that she required two hands to carry it and still the cup rattled in the saucer.
Fighting to bring herself under control, Wanda realized just how terrifying it had been. The terror had not been in what she had seen the two women doing, but rather, in what had happened to her while she watched.
Deep inside her robe, she felt the fires still raging. She forced her knees apart and tried to concentrate on the coffee. It didn't help much.
Lady, she scolded herself, you're going to be in great shape for job hunting unless you get your mind out of your panties. When she saw that her cup was empty, she went back into the kitchen for a refill. The room across the way was deserted now. Only the rumpled bed remained as a reminder of what had happened. In addition to the visible reminder though, there was another. She couldn't see it, but she could feel it glowing with white heat between her thighs.
Wanda's reaction to it was more of anger than anything else, anger and fear. Lesbianism had never appealed to her. In her college days, there had been opportunities to dabble, there had even been a few narrow escapes in the sorority house when gals in search of new companions had almost made it sound attractive enough to take a try at it, but she had resisted it.
After that, it had never entered her mind at all. In her work, she ran into the odd case where a teenaged girl had fallen into the nylon trap, but that was something different, that was someone else. Wanda Tupper, she told herself, could never possibly become aroused at such a thing.
Not much, you pious phony, she scolded herself as she finished her second cup of coffee and went for a shower. She considered that a much better idea than a tub this morning. She even took the precaution of adjusting the temperature of the water so that it was a little cooler than usual.
By the time she left, Wanda had decided to postpone job hunting for the time being. There were still a lot of loose ends to be tied up with people who would be expecting to see her again. They had come to depend on her to help with their problems and the shock of finding a new social worker when they expected her could undo a lot of the work she had done.
It would be easy for them, she thought, to think that she had given up on them because they meant nothing to her. Ideally, she would have advised them at least a month in advance that she would no longer be seeing them. She would have had time to introduce the new worker to her cases and in that way aid in their adjustment.
Still, it was just so much wistful thinking now. If Bryce Jenkins had been a real social worker instead of an ambitious man with more concern for his own advancement than for the people he was supposed to help, she would have had the time to make the break properly. Come to think of it, Wanda mused, if that were the case, she wouldn't be leaving the job at all so it was pure conjecture anyway.
As she started her car in the basement garage, Wanda began planning her route. It was important to her that she see as many people as possible and break the news to them before they heard it from her replacement. Just for a moment, she thought of asking Bryce to give her a few days to talk to her old cases before sending a new worker in.
That was out of the question, she knew. After their session last night, he would hit the ceiling at the mere suggestion that she continue to see her old cases. She was just going to have to cover as many calls as she could today. It would mean cutting each visit to the minimum, but it was really the only thing she could do.
The first call set what she knew would be the pattern for the day. Mrs. Klaty had a pair of problem children, no husband, and a perpetual unhappy, beaten outlook. When she heard the news, Wanda feared the woman would go to pieces. As it was, before she could get away, the woman was crying and pleading for her to try to find some way that she could still talk to the kids.
They didn't all cry, but the reaction was generally the same on every call.
When she finally took a break a little after one o'clock, Wanda refused to even think of eating.
It had been the toughest day in her career and there was still an afternoon of it to come.
Driving back toward the edge of the business district, she found a bar and went inside for something that would offer more solace, if less nutrition, than food.
For quite a while, she just sat there toying with the glass without tasting it. She didn't try to tell herself that everybody loved her, she knew better. Considering how little time she had though, she had already decided to see only those for whom there was some hope.
With the others, it didn't matter. Either they were beyond hope or just didn't care. To them, one social worker was as bad as another. They wanted handouts and nothing else and usually became abusive when they didn't get everything they demanded.
When she did get around to her drink, Wanda finished it quickly and decided that one more would constitute a meal. She had another but this time she didn't toy with it. It was still a little shy of two o'clock when she got back into her car and headed back into the dismal district that had been her beat.
Somehow, it looked uglier than ever today and that didn't surprise her. Her whole world looked a lot less attractive than it had yesterday, as far as that was concerned. When her memory flashed her a picture of the two women in the apartment across the way, she kicked it out fast. That was just about the last thing she wanted to think about at this time.
Wanda threw herself back into the unpleasant chore of announcing her departure to the people who had become almost friends. Each time there was a suggestion that she was being taken away from them because she was doing her job too well, Wanda denied it.
Most important of all, she knew, was that they retain some hope, some measure of faith so that whoever followed her would not have to deal with a resentment that would make her work impossible.
Because she realized the danger of either telling them the truth about her firing on the one hand, or lying to them, on the other, Wanda just made sure that she didn't discuss it at all.
It was after six o'clock when she climbed tiredly into her car and started the long drive home. She was just passing a liquor store when she remembered that she had almost drained her Scotch supply the previous night.
Although she wasn't normally a heavy drinker, Wanda realized that more than one or two little nightcaps would be in order tonight. It's entirely possible, she admitted to herself, that you are going to get yourself well and truly potted tonight, lady.
Veering sharply toward the curb, she hit the brakes hard and pulled up just a few doors past the store. A car swerved past her and the driver glared at her as he leaned on the horn. Wanda didn't even bother guessing what he was saying about this particular driver. The same to you, Charlie Brown, she muttered under her breath as she slipped out of the car and went into the store to pick up the ingredients for a possible headache in the morning.
She still wasn't hungry when she got home, but she knew she was going to have to force herself to eat something. Looking through the refrigerator, she found a fairly big pork chop and decided that later she would get around to it. There was canned corn in the cupboard, she knew. It wasn't going to be her usual standard of eating, but it was as big a compromise as she was prepared to make.
While she was in the kitchen, it seemed only reasonable to pour her first drink of the evening. Deciding that it would be better to take it easy, she drowned two ounces of Scotch with about five of water and took it back to the living room.
Parking the glass on the desk near her phone, she made herself dial her answering service to check on messages. The answering service was just one of the luxuries she was going to have to give up if she didn't come up with a decent job within a couple of months, she realized, but this wasn't the time to worry about it.
There had been a deluge of calls. Those she didn't want to return, she didn't even bother writing down as the operator gave them to her. One she knew she would return, though, was from Mike Hanson. He had taken the trouble to leave her two numbers where he could be reached. Considering that she had planned on calling him anyway, she took it as a good omen that arrived on a definitely bad day.
Her day didn't get any better when the operator told her that the Police Chief's office had phoned three times. She jotted that number down. Wanda wasn't that anxious to talk to him, but phoning him was better than having a squad car come to the door to take her away. It would upset the neighbors, not to mention what it would do to her.
Looking over the list again after she hung up the phone, Wanda decided she would call Mike Hanson and Chief Markey in that order. The rest of the calls would keep for another day.
She found Mike at the first number and his voice sounded excited when she identified herself.
"Wanda, I've got to talk to you about a half a dozen things including the word I got about your being fired. Say it isn't so."
"I'll say it isn't so if you want me to, but it is."
"When can I talk to you and where?" his tone was insistent, but Wanda saw it as genuine interest rather than bad manners.
"I've got nothing to do all evening except rest up after a very tough day. Does that fit your schedule?"
"Sure," he answered quickly. "Can I take you out to dinner somewhere?"
"It's good of you to ask, Mike, but I don't think I could go out tonight if the building caught fire. Would it terrify you if the unemployed lady invited you up here to talk?"
"I never did scare worth a damn," he replied. "How soon may I show up?"
"I just need time enough to change so I won't look so unemployed. How about an hour?"
As she hung up, Wanda was curious about his obviously intense interest, but she noted that she was also feeling much better. The call to the Chief of Police wasn't likely to add anything to her improvement, she knew, but since it had to be done, she decided to get it out of the way right now.
She had just picked up the phone when the buzzer sounded in the quiet room. Wanda gave a small jump and swore under her breath as she hurried across the room to answer it.
She asked who it was and heard irritation in the voice that identified her caller as the Police Chief. Chief Markey was never really a jovial chap, but this time, he sounded much less charming than ever. She pressed the buzzer to admit him.
Normally, Wanda would have been at the apartment door to greet any visitor coming up, but this time she decided to sit tight and let him knock. While she tasted her small victory, she also took a couple of tastes of her drink.
When he did knock, there was no danger of her not hearing it. She took her time about walking over to let him in.
"Good evening Chief," she kept her voice pleasant. "Won't you come in?"
"It was good of you to answer your door, Miss Tupper," he glowered. "It would make things easier if you'd return your phone calls though. I'm a busy man."
"I'm flattered that so busy a man would take time out to call me three times and then come to visit me." She ushered him to a chair and returned to her seat at the desk where her drink waited for her.
In view of his attitude, Wanda decided to be completely rude and sip at her drink without offering him one.
Before Wanda could ask him the purpose of his three phone calls, he began to make it clear.
"Miss Tupper," he began gruffly, "there are those people who think you're a very fine social worker. I'm in no position to judge that and I don't think that much of social workers and all the rest of the sob-sisters anyway."
"Don't apologize, Chief," Wanda retorted when he paused for breath, "I don't think much of cops so we're about even I guess."
"That's what I'm here to talk to you about. So you don't like cops, but I notice you're real chummy with young punks who rob service stations and shoot people."
"It's my job to be chummy with a lot of people, Chief. At least it was my job until today. That should please you."
"It makes no difference to me," he snapped. "There'll be another sob-sister there to take your place tomorrow. I just hope she's a bit smarter than you."
"It's obvious, Chief," Wanda paused to take a sip of her drink, "that you're qualified to evaluate intelligence. Your manners tell me a lot about your qualifications."
"You can get as smart as you like, Miss Tupper, your type doesn't bother me. Since you're so smart, maybe you can figure out how you're going to defend yourself against a charge of accessory after the fact."
"Are you laying the charge, Chief?" Wanda refused to be perturbed and told him so with a freezing glare.
"I'll lay the charge when I'm ready," he snapped. "I just want you to know it's hanging over your head."
"And you took all that trouble just to tell me that? Come on, Chief, say what you really came to say. You're not going to scare me, this isn't like one of your little helpers pushing some poor prostitute around."
"I'm not sure about that," he almost smiled, "considering the kind of people you hang around with. Maybe you do get your kicks that way."
"Not a chance, Chief," she refused to let her anger show, "I'd be afraid of ending up with a son like you."
"Save your smart answers for the judge, Miss Tupper. All you have to do is tell me where Carol Cook is."
"How should I know where she is?" It wasn't difficult for Wanda to look sincere. She hadn't the faintest idea where the girl was.
"Let me spell it out for you just once, Miss Tupper. Carol Cook told you she was in the car when that punk knocked over the service station. When she got mad at her boy friend, she also told us. That was later though.
"Even though you covered up for him, we still caught him, but now the Cook girl has disappeared. Without her, we don't have a case that will stand up in court. I think you know where she is and you're going to tell us."
Instead of answering him, Wanda drained her glass, walked into the kitchen and poured another drink. She expected to hear him following her but he didn't move. He was still glaring past her when she returned to the room.
"Chief Markey," she spoke slowly, "I have no idea where Carol is now or where she went or when or why. I don't expect you to believe me and, frankly, I don't give a damn whether you do or not." As she completed her challenge, Wanda held the glass in front of her and examined the contents carefully.
"I'm not kidding, Miss Tupper," the man glared angrily. "I'll lay that charge first thing in the morning unless you start acting like a decent, responsible citizen and show some cooperation."
"Chief Markey," Wanda stood as she talked, "you may lay that charge right now if you wish and I'll make a fool of you in court. Unless you really are as stupid as you appear to be, you can't possibly hope to get a conviction. I'm sure your pal Bryce Jenkins would love to see me charged with this, but you can tell him for me that if I appear in court, I'll make him squirm so badly that he'll run screaming out of the city and never show his face again. You may leave now."
Just to make sure he understood that she was serious, Wanda opened the door and stood waiting for him to leave.
"You're making a very big mistake, Miss Tupper," the man said as he stood slowly. "Lining up with the punks and pros is one thing, refusing to cooperate with the police is another. If you get smart and change your mind, you can leave a message with anyone at the station. Carol will never know you told us."
"If it's any consolation, Chief," Wanda replied calmly, "I have no idea where Carol is. Also, and I say this just as honestly, if I did know, I wouldn't tell you even if it meant being boiled in oil. I may not have a job, but I'm still a social worker, not what your people call a stool pigeon."
Wanda braced herself for his retort, but there was none. He stalked out of the apartment and walked to the elevator without looking back. It would have been easy for Wanda to feel elated at having mastered him, but she sensed that she had made a powerful enemy and that he, like Bryce Jenkins and, probably, Mayor Paulson, would be out to get her in any way they could.
After she closed the door behind him, Wanda walked out to the balcony with the glass in her hand. Why, she asked herself the question she had asked so often before, do these people insist on dealing only in blacks and whites? Why can't they even try to see all the grey areas where those miserable, unhappy people spend most of their lives?
Wanda felt no great sympathy for a young punk who would shoot a man to steal his money, but she couldn't lose sight of the fact that the kid was a product of a rotten environment that was permitted to exist by all the people who could do something about it if only they cared enough.
She didn't need the chief to tell her what she should have done, she knew that. It was just that society seemed more interested in putting them in jail than in helping them to crawl out of the muck.
Her victory of a few minutes ago was short lived. As she held her glass and looked out at the city below, Wanda was forced to realize that in spite of bad manners, bad motives and all, the Chief was closer to the correct, legal way of doing things than she. She had broken the law, he was trying to uphold it.
CHAPTER THREE
When the buzzer rang again, Wanda was still standing on the balcony with the drink in her hand almost untouched. Looking at her watch, she was startled to see that Mike Hanson was due and she still hadn't changed. She hurried to answer the buzzer.
As she waited for him to come up, Wanda scolded herself for having blown so much time in a pointless lament on the ills of society. It seemed even more pointless when she realized that there was nothing she could do about it except fight little pieces at a time.
Even at that, she thought as she watched the elevator indicator climb toward the tenth floor, her fighting hadn't been terribly effective lately. Except for losing her job, making the Chief of Police violently angry with her and hurting a lot of helpless people down there in the slums, she hadn't really achieved anything at all.
In spite of the way she felt, Wanda still managed to turn on a smile for Mike as he stepped out of the elevator and hurried toward her.
Before they commenced talking, Wanda insisted on pouring him a drink and he didn't really resist. She showed him to the big comfortable chair that was obviously designed for a man anyway and sat on the end of the couch near him.
"Shall we drink to unemployment?" she asked with another smile she had managed to dig out of an unsmiling interior.
"Only if you insist," he answered as he raised his glass.
After that, Mike wanted to know the whole story of her firing with all the underground aspects involved.
"Are you asking as reporter or friend?" Wanda asked as she looked into his face.
"I'm asking as a reporter, Wanda," he answered with an equally frank stare, "but I'm friend enough that I promise not to use anything you don't want me to."
"Even if I don't want you to use any of it, Mike?"
"Even if you don't want me to use any of it," he agreed solemnly. "But I can try to make you change your mind."
Wanda began telling the story then and told it so completely that he didn't have to interrupt her at all. She was still telling him about her final tour of the beat that day, when she realized that both their glasses were empty. She picked a logical point to break the narrative and went to refill them.
Handing him his glass, she went on again. When she reached the part about the Chief's visit earlier, she saw anger in his eyes. It made her feel a little better to know that someone understood her motives in acting the role of bad citizen.
She had told everything then and for a little while, they sat without talking. It was as if both wanted to say something, but neither knew where to start. Mike was forced to break the silence as he lowered his glass and looked at her in a way that made her feel better than she had felt all day.
"Where do you go from here, Wanda? What about a job?"
"I don't have to rush about that," she answered honestly. "I can go for three or four months if necessary. It doesn't seem important right now. Perhaps it will when the shock wears off."
"Okay, Wanda, we won't push that now, but let me know when you're ready. I don't want to sound like the hotshot reporter who knows all, but I do know a lot of what goes on in this town. You won't have any trouble finding a job when the time comes."
"How wrong am I, Mike?" Wanda asked impulsively without even realizing she was going to ask the question.
"Wrong?" Mike echoed. "Legally? morally? To hell with all those people out there. I think the only thing you're doing wrong is banging your beautiful head against a brick wall, but I know you're not going to stop so I'll even take that back. I guess that's what society builds the wall for in the first place "
"Do you think that's why the Great Wall of China was built?" she asked with a smile of relief at the change of pace.
"It has to be the reason, now that you mention it. You must have noticed that all the old pictures of Chinese we saw as kids showed them as having almost no hair. It got rubbed off from butting the wall, I'll bet."
They laughed and worked at their drinks again. Wanda could see that Mike was waiting to say something, looking for just the right way to phrase it. She decided to let him take his time. When she saw a new gleam in his eyes, she sensed that he was going to go ahead. He did.
"How would you like to bang your head against a wall that can be knocked over for a change?" he asked.
"Keep going, Mike," she answered. "It sounds interesting so far."
"You really care about those people out there, Wanda. You did what you could for them as a social worker, but you were limited by the system or city hall or whatever you want to call it. Now the system has kicked you out, so you either quit or get back and fight from a different position."
"You're building up to something, Mike," Wanda looked at him with open curiosity, "but I can't see it coming. Maybe I'm just being dense tonight."
"I'm sorry, Wanda. It isn't your fault, it's mine for going through all this preliminary. Look," he paused to take a deep breath, "how about running for alderman. The civic elections come up in six or seven months and I'm sure you could win a seat."
"Mike," Wanda almost shrieked, "you have to be kidding. What do I know about politics?"
"Who cares," he shrugged off the question. "You know a hell of a lot about people and that's what city government is supposed to be all about."
"I don't know what to say, Mike, except no. It's just something I've never even considered. I don't see how I could. I just wouldn't know how or where to start."
"Maybe you'd start by admitting that as an alderman, you could fight for those people out there. You could work to get them better housing and schools and playgrounds and day nurseries and all the other things they need."
"You really campaign, Mike," Wanda winced. "I'm going to get myself another drink to protect myself. Join me?"
"Sure," he smiled. "Maybe if I get you drunk enough, I'll make you say yes."
"I thought it was something else a man had in mind when he plied a woman with booze to get her to say yes," Wanda laughed as she carried the glasses to the kitchen for refills.
"Don't confuse me," he protested as he followed her and stood in the doorway while she poured.
Mike took one of the glasses from her and they walked back into the room. The initial shock of his proposal was wearing off now and Wanda was beginning to think about it more seriously. She still doubted she would go along with the idea, but at least she was able to think about it and that was a decided improvement.
"Why me, Mike?" she asked as they sat again.
"A lot of reasons, Wanda. You understand those people, you're intelligent, honest, sincere, and you have guts."
"Thank you," she smiled. "I think I'll vote for me. Assuming all these admirable qualities though, what makes you think I could really achieve anything?"
"You mean the bit about being just one person among twenty?" he asked with a look that indicated he still held a card up his sleeve.
"That's right, Mike. There are probably five or six good ones there now and a couple of weak ones who could possibly be led. That still leaves a dozen of the grabbers and pocket fillers and favor granters. I can see it as just a case of fighting my way into a bigger frustration."
"Right, Wanda," he smiled openly now. "But I haven't told you the whole story yet. You see, I've been aware of this for a long time now and I've been doing some quiet work behind the scenes."
"I knew there was more, Mike, let's have it."
"You'll get it. For one thing, I'm going to run. For another, Sam Gold is going to run."
"You mean Sam the professor at the school of social work?" Wanda's voice registered excitement.
"The same. There's still time to select a couple more really good candidates. As I see it, counting the good members who can expect to be returned, we could end up with control on council. How does it sound to you now?"
"Stunning would be as good a word as any, Mike. How long has this been going on?"
"In my mind, a few years, I guess. Sam and I talked abut it one night a few months ago. That's when it really started. We've put a lot of thought into it and we're deadly serious. We want you to come along with us, Wanda. More important, we need you."
"That's a pretty heady brew, Mister." Wanda leaned back in her seat and tried to bring her mind back under control. She had been prepared for a serious argument, but it had long since passed the bounds she had felt prepared to cope with.
"Sure it is, Wanda. In effect, what we propose is a sort of municipal party of reform even though I don't particularly like that word. We want control of the city after this election. After that, we want to rebuild the city and its way of doing things. If it works, we can make this a model for the nation. Do I sound like a starry eyed do-gooder or some kind of religious nut?"
"Far from it, Mike. I know you much too well for that and I also respect Sam Gold too much to see him in that role either."
"Then you will join us?" He -edged forward on his chair in obvious eagerness as he asked.
"Easy now, Mike. I'll admit you've bowled me over with what has to be a pretty flattering offer. Right now, it sounds exciting. On the other hand, my life lately has been such that I'm afraid I don't trust myself to make snap decisions the way I used to."
"Okay, Wanda, I'll give you a bit of time to think it over. I warn you though, if you try to refuse, I intend to keep on hammering at you."
"Well, that is fair warning, I guess," Wanda smiled and took another sip of her drink. "But look at me, I'm a drinker. Politicians are supposed to be careful of their image."
"That kind of reform party, we're not, Wanda. We intend to show that normal people who drink and make love and live life honestly can actually run a city."
"That's a pretty radical concept, isn't it?" she asked. "It's just so wild that it could work."
"It will work, Wanda, I know it. We're going to make it work and we're going to transform this place into one hell of a city."
"I've just had a jarring thought, Mike. The last thing your new party needs is a member who's vulnerable. Suppose I announce my candidacy and Chief Markey hits me with that charge. What would that do?"
"The first thing it would do is guarantee your election. It would probably also bring in a hell of a lot of votes for all the rest of us."
"You mean the martyr thing?" she asked.
"I mean just that. Suppose the paper announces in the morning that you're running for council at the next election. Assuming that Markey is fool enough to lay the charge after that, how is it going to look to the public?"
"I'm afraid I'm in too subjective a position to answer that honestly. How do you see it?"
"As I see it, the present city hall setup would be walking right into a public outcry of dirty pool. I can't think of any politician I know who'd even dare run against you. You could walk into council without a fight."
"What about the danger that it would damage your whole concept? What if you're guessing wrong?"
"I'm not, Wanda. I've covered this city too long to be wrong about a thing like that. I know too that I'm right when I say this is the one way you can fight back on behalf of all those people you care so much about. If it sounds like I'm trying to shame you into coming along with us, I guess you're right."
Wanda paused for a moment before speaking. She looked at Mike's face and read a lot of things in it. She saw a passionate, yet reasoned, dedication to the dream of a good city. More than that though, she found a sincere respect for her there. She felt that deep inside.
"A little while ago, Mike, I asked you for time to think this over before making a decision. Okay, I've thought it over and not only will I be glad to run for council, but I want to thank you for your respect and trust and friendship."
Impulsively, he reached over and caught her hands. He held them in his. It was the most articulate message Wanda had ever heard. It told her many things she wanted to hear, but most important, it convinced her that she had made the right decision.
For more than an hour, they worked on the story for the next day's paper that would announce her decision to run for city council. When they were satisfied with it, Mike phoned the office and had them send a photographer over. He was going to give the story the whole treatment and knew he would have no trouble with the editors on it. That was a detail he had already worked out.
It was just a bit after eleven when they finished their last drink and Mike prepared to leave. At the door, he took one of her hands in his and squeezed it again. It felt very good.
As Wanda turned out the light in the kitchen, she looked out and saw that the lesbian lovers had hung a curtain in their bedroom window. It was a light sun shade that was completely transparent.
The light was on in the bedroom and through the thin curtain, Wanda saw that they were undressing. She decided then that the two were also exhibitionists and made up her mind not to gratify them by watching as they performed.
Turning, she walked out of the room, turned out the lights in the living room and went into her bathroom. After that, she decided that the nightcap department had already been pretty well looked after so there was nothing left to do now but go to bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was almost eight when Wanda woke in the morning. Despite the fact that it was late by her standards, she still felt tired. Remembering how often she had wakened during the night, she wasn't surprised.
In the kitchen, she saw the lesbians across the alley were at it again but it wasn't difficult to turn away from the window and make the coffee. Watching them the first time had been an experience, but Wanda had no intention of making it a career, though. Judging by what she had seen of them, it seemed that it was their full time occupation.
Plugging in the perc, she walked out of the kitchen and went to the bathroom. By the time she returned, the coffee was ready. Through the window, she saw that one of the women was lying naked on the bed. There was no sign of the other one. Wanda wondered whether the rules of the game they played called for coffee breaks or something between rounds.
As she poured a cup of coffee, Wanda couldn't help feeling just a trace of bitterness. Her own life lately had been practically barren of sexual acitivity while the two in the apartment seemed to wallow in a surfeit of it.
Just when she could have started feeling sorry for herself, Wanda stemmed the door on the temptation. Long ago, she had decided it was the essence of stupidity for a woman to just marry any man who was available simply because he offered regular sexual fulfillment.
Having made that choice, she accepted the price involved. The price that a normally sexed, single woman was called on to pay. There could be affairs from time to time, but there would be long hungry periods between unless she chose to be promiscuous. That particular alternative wasn't included in her plans.
It was probably that line of thinking, she realized, that brought a new thought into her mind. Hurrying over to the couch where she had dropped her purse last night, she dug out her working diary and opened it.
It confirmed her thought that Art Bowman was due in the city later today. Art was a friend she had known since she left college. Divorced now, she had known him during the unhappy days when his marriage was coming apart at the seams.
They had made love fairly often, but they didn't love each other. Their relationship was one of friendship and mutual respect. Any time Art came to town, he would call her. If she was free, they would find time to get together for a few drinks, a lot of talking, and, unless something prevented it, some good healthy lovemaking.
Their relationship in the bedroom was just as nicely matched as in conversation, politics or philosophy. The only thing that prevented their marrying, was the absence of actual love.
Art had come around to insisting that he loved her and wanted to marry her, but Wanda kept turning him down.
"Art, dear," she would answer each proposal, "you have to know I like you more than just about any man I've ever known. I respect you without reservation and I also think you're great in bed, but I just don't love you and I'm damned if I'll destroy both your life and mine by marrying. You're too important to me."
From that point, they would get into a philosophical argument about love and marriage and all the related aspects.
It was never the sort of argument that anyone wins or loses, just a sort of mental exercise in which two razor sharp minds jabbed and sparred through a proscribed choreography. The only ground rule was that no one must get hurt.
If wrestling could ever be translated into something intellectual, Wanda often thought, then their arguments about marriage could be compared to that alleged sport. Both made great, impressive motions of demolishing the other, but there was no danger in the world of either actually getting hurt.
Putting the diary back into her purse, Wanda felt decidedly better as she poured her second cup of coffee. Through the window, she saw the wild ones, as she had come to call them, getting dressed.
There was no doubting that they were a pair of real beauties. What a shame, she thought, that they've committed themselves so completely to their one-way street of lesbian love. There was so much more for them if only they would dare leave their forbidden security and go out in search of it.
Through the light shade which made only an empty pretense of hiding them, she saw the lush young bodies clad in bras and panties. They were, she told herself, younger and more beautiful than she. Wanda wondered how many normal, healthy men there were in the world who would be delighted to offer normal, healthy heterosexual love to either and instead of condemning them, she could feel only pity.
In her studies of psychiatry and psychology, she had learned much about the motivation behind homosexuality, but it was so difficult to translate learned texts into human problems. It was a problem she frequently faced in her work but, as usual, it hurt her to realize that not all the books in the world could contain all the answers to any given problem involving the complicated and individualistic human mind.
By nine-thirty, Wanda was dressed and ready to leave. Only one thing was missing. She didn't have the faintest idea where she was going to go or what she would do when she got there.
In desperation, she went to the door and brought in the morning paper. The story of her decision to run for council was on page one and she knew that Mike had exerted a lot of influence to bring that off in view of all the page-one things that were happening in the city and the world generally.
It was really the want ads she wanted to read, but Wanda couldn't resist pouring yet another cup of coffee and reading her story. Mike had stayed strictly within the bounds of their agreement, she saw without surprise.
She also realized how fast he must have written the story to get it ready before deadline. That didn't surprise her either. Mike was the kind of man who could be expected to do that sort of thing without any fanfare. It was just the way he worked.
Even before she turned to the ads, Wanda knew it was a waste of time. There were only a few possible openings and she knew what they would have to be. She also knew that with people like Bryce Jenkins, Chief Markey and Mayor Paulson opposing her, she didn't have a hope in hell of landing one.
When she finished the paper, Wanda realized that there had been three or four phone calls that she had left for the answering service to pick up. Since she had nothing else to do, she decided to check them out.
The first one was a dud, but the second and third messages the operator gave her told Wanda that the day wasn't going to be a total loss after all.
Both Sam Gold and Art Bowman had called and left numbers for her to call back. She decided to do it in that order.
Sam was delighted at her decision to join the reform team. He also wanted to talk to her about the matter of earning a living and Wanda was pleased to go along with that. She agreed to meet him at ten-thirty and spend the rest of the morning with him.
Art was waiting in his hotel room for her call and his voice was just as warm and refreshing as she had known it would be. He had a lot of things to do, but he insisted on lunch and the evening with her. She wasn't even temped to try the womanly role of playing hard to get as a ploy to keep the man panting.
What had started out as a lost day suddenly became terribly active so that Wanda knew she was going to have to really scurry to get everything done. Driving to the School of Social Work, she drove a consistent ten to twelve miles above the limit.
She knew Sam Gold had been watching for her when she saw him walk out to meet her in the parking lot. It had been quite a while since she had seen him, but his easy manner made it seem like only yesterday that they had discussed the many problems common to their field of interest.
Sam guided her to the cafeteria where they picked up coffee and found a table in a quiet part of the room.
He was obviously delighted with the way she had handled Bryce Jenkins and horrified at the treatment she had received from him and the Police Chief as she told him all that had happened.
"And what are you thinking of doing now, Wanda?" he asked with obvious sincerity. "I mean in addition to winning a seat on City Council."
"Assuming you're right about winning the election, Sam, I haven't even the faintest idea what I'm going to do about a job. I'm not desperate, mind you, I know I can find something I like, it's just a matter of what and where it's going to be."
"Where?" Sam looked concerned. "You're not thinking of leaving the city, are you?"
"Lord no," Wanda answered with emphasis. "That would smack of running off with my tail between my legs and I'm not about to give Jenkins and Markey that kind of satisfaction."
"That's a relief. You had me scared for a minute. As far as a job is concerned though, I know where there's one that's just perfect for you. If you want it, it's yours."
"Out with it, Sam," she smiled. "You have the same kind of look Mike Hanson wore when he tossed the City Council at me as something I just had to do."
"Wanda," he shook his head, "you have such a suspicious nature. I just can't understand it."
"That's not all, Mister Gold. I've also been known to throw a cup of coffee when my patience has been pushed too far."
"Come now, Miss Tupper. That would never do for a lecturer at the august School of Social Work."
"Sam," Wanda gasped, "you have to be kidding. I'm a social worker and a good one, but I'm no teacher."
"They're the same thing, Wanda. Sure we use books to teach our students, but we need more than that. We need people like you who have proved themselves in the field. There's no substitute for that. I'm not offering you a job out of charity or pity or anything like that. We need you here, Wanda, as a teacher."
"But even if I agreed," she protested, "it just couldn't be. Can you see how our beloved mayor would react to that?"
"No dice, Wanda. This isn't a city institution. We happen to be state supported. We just happen to be located in this city, it has no say at all over what we do."
"All right, but he still has influence on the state level. So has Chief Markey and so has Bryce. They just wouldn't stand still for it."
"Speaking of influence, my dear," he shrugged off her objection, "I have some of that myself. So has our dean. The job is yours as of right now, Wanda. All you have to do is accept it."
"What makes you so sure the dean will go along with it? He'll get a pretty rough report on me, you know."
"He's already gone along with it," the man smiled confidently. "You don't think this is something I just happened to think of, do you? We made a rather large hole in a bottle of brandy last night talking about why you should join the staff."
"Tell me, Sam," she looked at him with just a hint of a smile, "did you ever get the impression that all sorts of people are buzzing in the wings hatching plans for your life?"
"Nooo," Sam looked pensive, "can't say I have. Have you ever had that feeling?"
"I've got it right now, you big wonderful phony. First, you and Mike conspire to rope me into politics, now this job. Can't a woman have any privacy? I mean, if I'm out of a job, surely it's my democratic right to go hungry in privacy."
"So who's worried about your rights?" he held up his hands in the manner of a comedian telling a Jewish dialect joke. "We need a good teacher, Rights, schmites. You maybe got something against social work?"
"No, you big fraud, only against Ph.D.'s with phony east side Jewish accents. The first thing I'm going to do when I come to work here is send you for speech therapy."
"Then you will take the job?" he leaned across the table.
"Of course I will," she laughed. "I've always said you teachers have an easy life, now I intend to enjoy it myself. Besides, you need someone here who can speak English."
"Let me see now," he looked up as if deep in thought, "the penalty for insubordination is, uh, I'll have to check that. As I recall, it's something terribly interesting."
"You're still a fraud, but let's talk about the job anyway. I'm rather busy today, but I can start first thing in the morning. By the way, is there a salary involved in this job? We didn't mention that, you know."
"What a salesman I turn out to be. Oy vey!" Sam hit his forehead with the heel of his right hand. "The salary is supposed to be the big attraction and I forget to tell you about it."
They went on to discuss money then and Wanda soon discovered that instead of being unemployed, she had just come into an increase in salary of about two thousand a year.
"You absolutley can't start tomorrow, though," he explained with a serious frown. "There must be all sorts of things you have to do to make the adjustment from one job to another and we'll need time to work out new schedules and that sort of thing. How does Monday morning strike you?"
It seemed like a million years away, but Wanda agreed she would report for work then.
All of a sudden, Wanda congratulated herself as she eased her car out of the parking lot, life is looking very, very good. She had to drive just a bit over the limit to be on time for her lunch date with Art, but that matched her mood of excitement.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Tell me in words of one syllable or less, Wanda, will you marry me or won't you?"
"In words of one syllable or less, Art," She answered with a warm smile, "the answer is an absolute incontrovertible no."
"Why not, you stubborn broad?" he persisted.
"Because you're too good a friend and I wouldn't take a chance on spoiling such a wonderful friendship."
"Is there another man?" he glared in the classic style of the wronged husband.
"There are a million more men somewhere, Art darling, but right now I'm not interested in them. It's only you I want, but without any little gold band."
"You're a shameless broad, Wanda. You take advantage of my innocence and lure me with your fatal charm, yet you refuse to let me make an honest woman of you."
"You're putting me on, Art. You couldn't make an honest woman of an honest woman."
"I may be putting you on, lady in just a little while, but it won't be with words."
"Promises, promises," Wanda stifled a pretended yawn. "I remember when you were young you didn't talk so much about it."
"You're not old enough to remember when I was young," he growled. "Now shut up and pour me a drink before I fall out of my wheelchair."
Wanda stuck her tongue out at him and got up off the couch to pour drinks for both of them. The slowness with which she moved permitted him to deliver a brisk spank just as her buttocks were nicely arched as she reached for the glass. The fact that she wore no girdle permitted the smack to really make a solid impression.
"Ouch!" she yelped. "What are you, some kind of a sadist?"
"That was for sticking your tongue out at me," he answered firmly. "The next one will be for refusing to marry me and the next couple of dozen will be because you have such a nice spank spot. Hurry back, I'm getting anxious."
Wanda meant to pretend anger, but before she reached the kitchen, her delighted laugh floated back to him.
"At your age, Art," she called, "can you take a really strong drink without damaging your appropriate powers?"
Wanda laughed at his decidedly rude reply and went on pouring the drinks. Sensing that their playful mood was about to blossom into something nice and time consuming, she poured the drinks big enough to ensure that she wouldn't have to run back for refills too soon.
Taking the glass from her, Art took one sip and coughed. She had poured it a little stronger than he had bargained for. There was more kidding then, but it just added the right touch to the mood of the moment for both of them.
Wanda found herself in his arms then as their mouths pressed hungrily. A wave of passion rolled over her and she knew that if he had not arrived that day, she would have been in serious trouble. Her body was screaming for the things he could do to it.
Before their kiss ended, Wanda knew that he shared her desire and that was enough to make everything wonderful. If it had not been for that, she knew she would have felt somehow guilty. Now, seeing them as two normal adults with normal hungers demanding satisfaction, everything was all right.
In a little while, she realized, they would go to bed and, naked, would give each other that magic gift of man and woman and, in doing so, each would renew the other.
Looking at the man, Wanda saw his smile and knew it matched hers. Now that both had demonstrated their hunger, the biting edge was gone. A warm glow remained and it would suffice while they continued to sit and touch each other with the confident knowledge that in a little while they would make love.
With a sureness born of their positive understanding of each other, both knew it would be better to wait for a little while as the fires built and fanned out.
Picking up her glass, Wanda rested her head on his shoulder while his arm remained around her. His left hand slid up and down her side, finding the warmth of a full breast and sliding slowly all the way down to where a softly rounded hip yielded slightly under his lingering caress.
"It's been too long, darling," he whispered.
Turning so that she could look up into his face, Wanda told him with her eyes that it had indeed been too long.
"Imagine, Art, more than two months. If you hadn't arrived on the scene just now, I'm afraid I'd have been attacking delivery boys or playing leap frog with fire hydrants."
"Can't you see how silly it is now, Wanda?" he asked in a husky whisper as he brushed her cheek with his lips.
"How silly what is?" she asked.
"That you still refuse to marry me. There isn't any other man. We're just right for each other. Marry me darling and we can have this all the' time."
"Darn you, Art, stop talking about that will you? Sure I'm ready to melt for you right now, darling, but it isn't love. It's a nice healthy, animal thing and it makes me feel wonderful, but it isn't love and I can't marry a man I don't love."
"Dammit all, Wanda, you have to be the most stubborn woman in the world. Who says it isn't love? I love you. You're just so used to me now that you think of me as good old Art. We've just reached the stage that the lucky ones achieve after two or three years of marriage; we're comfortable together. So it doesn't make bells ring for you, but that doesn't mean you don't love me."
"Cut it out, darn you," she pressed closer against him. "If you don't stop asking me to marry you, I won't go to bed with you."
"You realize you're breaking all the rules, of course," he scolded her with a smile.
"Of course I do. Nice girls make sure the man says I love you and offers marriage before they go to bed, but I never was a nice girl, remember? I never even pretended to be one."
While she talked, his hands were busy unfastening the buttons at the front of her dress. When it gaped open, his hand slid inside to caress a warm, well filled bra-cup. She pressed even closer to him then.
"You have such good hands, Art. Are you sure you're not really an artist who poses as a business executive just to fool people?"
"I'm only an artist where you're concerned, Wanda. You give me the kind of inspiration an artist needs to paint a real masterpiece."
"Are you going to do that?" she asked softly.
"Yes darling, I am. While we talk like this, I'm going to undress you gradually. When you're naked, I'm going to make such love to you that you'll want me to marry you."
"I want you to make love to me, Art, but please don't look for other things. Just take what I can give you and give me what you can. Let's let that be enough for now."
"I'll make you one promise, Wanda, if you'll promise to be a very bad girl."
"What's that?"
"I promise I won't ask you again to marry me until the morning. Then, when you're still half asleep, I'll try to trick you into it."
"You've got a deal, sir. No man in his right mind would want to marry me in the morning. I'm intolerable then."
"Not so," he protested. "I've seen you when you wake in the morning and you're beautiful."
"Big mouth. Do you have to tell the whole world you've slept with me before?"
They started to laugh then, but his hand pressed a little harder on the cup of her bra and the laugh stopped. Instead, her lips parted and she moved her face closer to be kissed again. He kissed her and felt her body trembling.
"Want to go to bed now, darling?" he asked.
"I do and I don't, Art darling. I want you so much I just may scream any minute, still, there's something exciting about being taken gradually like this. It makes me feel so terribly young and naughty, like a high school girl on a heavy date."
"You are young and naughty, darling." As he whispered it, his hand moved boldly up under her dress and caressed the warm silk of her thigh. "How does that make you feel?"
"Like I'm not going to get any stars in my Sunday school book this week."
Her thighs had parted at his touch and his hand moved easily between them to stroke her.
"All of a sudden, I've got those stars, darling," she sighed as she fell against him. "They're flashing and bursting and lighting up the whole darn world."
"I know, darling," he replied gently. "I can see them too and I like them."
His hand moved slowly back and forth against the narrow strip of nylon and he felt her body move to meet him. It was the return of a kiss. He began to remove her dress and she moved her body eagerly to help him.
For a moment, Art thought of carrying her to the wide bed where they would spend the night, but he remembered what she had said earlier and knew it would be better this way.
The drinks were forgotten then and they played and kissed while wave after wave of passion swept over them with the warmth of the South Seas and the clear tang of salt water.
When her bra fell away, his mouth replaced it on one side while his hand looked after the other. In a little while, he changed the order and marveled at how the off-pink tips grew between his lips.
Wanda was the embodiment of all womanhood as she raised her generous hips so that he could slip the black nylon panties down over the firm white silk of her body. When they fell away, she was open to him. Open and ready and anxious.
She would have helped him, but Art decided it was faster to undress alone. Although he moved away from her to stand beside the couch while he undressed hurriedly, his eyes stayed on her and they kept her warm and ready for what was to come.
"Here, darling?" he asked as he came to her.
"Yes, darling, here." Her arms reached up for him as he pressed the welcome weight of his body against hers.
In the past, they had played almost endlessly before making love, but this time, both were in too great a hurry. They came together in a rush of love and desire and all at once her body was filled with an indescribable satisfaction.
They didn't talk then because there was nothing that could be said in words. Instead, their bodies talked the oldest and most articulate language ever known to man and woman.
When her cry of completion broke from her throat, his arms wrapped more tightly around her and his body began to move harder and faster as if to heighten her joy and release his own. It happened for him then, and it was greater than it had ever been.
In a little while, they were able to talk again. At first, the words required effort, but they were worth it.
"You're crying, darling. Did I hurt you in some way?" he asked with a genuine sincerity.
"If you did, darling, I want to spend the rest of my life being hurt like this," she answered breathlessly.
"Marry me, my darling," he pleaded.
"Please, Art, you promised. Not until the morning. I'm not responsible for anything I say now. I feel too good."
"Then say it darling. Say you will," he urged as their sweat soaked bodies rubbed in the aftermath of love.
Wanda pressed her lips together tightly. It would be too easy to say yes, she knew, much too easy. For the first time ever, she began to wonder if she did indeed really love him, but even as she did, she told herself that at the moment, her brain wasn't functioning nearly as well as other, more sensitive parts of her body.
CHAPTER SIX
"As far as I'm concerned," Mayor Paulson stated, "a social worker who was fired for inefficiency is not the sort of person I would want to serve on City Council with me.
"The business of running a city does not allow for individuals who feel they stand above the law. I'm sure Miss Tupper will win many votes because she pretends to be a dedicated David fighting the Goliath of City Hall, but I'm equally sure that the people of our city will not be easily fooled.
"We need mature, responsible people on City Council and I'm confident that the people who elect their aldermen will not be taken in by this obvious play to the emotions.
"Alderman Carter has represented that ward over the years with honest dedication. I am convinced that the people who are familiar with his record will return him to office and ignore the publicity seeking candidate who had already shown that she cannot conform to the laws by which we are governed."
"Are you saying that Miss Tupper broke the law?" the mayor was asked.
"I'd rather not answer that," Mayor Paulson replied.
There was more, but Wanda didn't want to read it. She had read more than enough to tell her that she was right in the middle of an even dirtier campaign than she had bargained for. At no point of his speech had the mayor touched on his policy in the forthcoming campaign. Instead, with shrewd political cunning, he had set out to destroy her reputation even before the campaign got underway so that she would pose no threat to an already-in-the-bag alderman who would do as he was told.
As she walked out to the balcony while fighting to control all the anger that welled up in her as she read the newspaper report, Wanda saw that this was only the beginning.
By daring to challenge the establishment, she had left herself wide open to any kind of attack Mayor Paulson and his friends chose to launch at her. One answer was obvious. She could drop the campaign and ignore the barbs.
Her teaching at the School of Social Work was providing more than a full measure of satisfaction. Intelligent young people who really wanted to learn how to help their fellow man were coming to her to be shown how to do their job. The whole political thing, she told herself, was rough and dirty and something she didn't know how to cope with. It would be so easy to just drop it.
But how, she asked herself, would she tell Mike Hanson and Sam Gold that she had decided to quit? How would she be able to look the mayor in the eye next time she met him if she admitted that he had scared her out of the fight?
In that moment, Wanda knew that instead of quitting, she would fight even harder. She hadn't asked to be brought into the muck raking battle of municipal politics, but having declared herself a candidate, there was no alternative but to fight just as hard as her opponents. Mike and Sam had shown enough faith in her to press her into action, she was going to have to justify that faith now.
The early morning air was just crisp and clean enough to inspire her in the way she needed. She heard the phone ringing and decided to answer it rather than letting the answering service run interference for her.
When the voice on the other end introduced himself as being a reporter from the Sun, Wanda was glad of her decision. Despite not having taken time to prepare a statement, she gave him one and sensed that it was just right.
"I've never been terribly impressed by the mayor's sense of truth or fair play," she told the caller. "If he feels I have broken any law, then he is either a bad mayor or a fool not to insist that charges be laid against me.
"After all, if the mayor doesn't respect the law, how can he even hope to provide an example to the citizens he pretends to represent? I rather suspect that Mayor Paulson knows I have broken no laws and that his statement reflects his fear of having me on council where I can keep an eye on him. Perhaps he doesn't know how to cope with honesty."
"Are you suggesting," the reporter asked anxiously, "that the incumbent in your ward is not honest?"
"Heavens, no," Wanda replied quickly, "I don't feel that Mister Carson understands the people of the ward completely, but I wouldn't presume to rule on his honesty. Perhaps you should ask the mayor that question. He seems to have all the answers to the question of people's honesty and integrity."
"Do you feel the mayor is a man of honesty and integrity, Miss Tupper?" the reporter persisted.
"Let's just say that if I did, then I'd support him in the coming election," Wanda answered with complete poise.
"And do you intend to support him?"
"Let's just say that my energies will be concentrated in other directions," Wanda replied.
"You sound like a politican, Miss Tupper?" the man followed up.
"Shouldn't I?" she asked innocently. "I intend to be one."
"Can you see yourself running for the mayor's office at some future date?" he asked.
"I doubt it," Wanda answered quickly. "If I felt I were needed in that office, perhaps I would, but almost anyone I can think of would be an improvement over the leadership we have at present so I think I'll be content to settle for that. I'm prepared to make my contribution as an alderman."
"But suppose," he persisted, "charges are laid against you, Miss Tupper. How do you think that will influence your campaign?"
"When did you stop beating your wife, Mr. Burtch?" Wanda asked in her sweetest tone.
She heard the reporter chuckle as he hung up the phone after thanking her for the interview. Instead of congratulating herself on the way she had handled him, Wanda found herself wondering what had happened to the reporters who used to actually go out looking for their stories. There was something about a reporter who just sat in his office and phoned for an interview that failed to impress her. Somehow, she couldn't see Mike Hanson doing it that way.
Wanda got dressed in a hurry then, but by the time she left, she was still in danger of being late for her first class. Once again, she broke the speed limit by a bit in order to get to the school on time.
While her class waited, Wanda took time to tell Sam Gold about her interview. She could tell by the way he broke up that she had said the right things.
"Cheer up, Wanda," he laughed, "you're a born politician. On your way to school this morning, you picked up another couple of hundred votes just like that."
"Are you sure I handled it right? I mean, you wouldn't just say that to make me feel good, would you?"
"Not on your life, I wouldn't," he assured her. "If I catch you off base before election day, I'll tell you. We want you on Council, Wanda. Keep it up and you'll make it."
Her classes went well that morning and by lunch time Wanda was sure that everything was nicely under control. She considered the possibility that she had pushed Mayor Paulson to the point where he would have to press charges or have Chief Markey do it, but even that couldn't scare her.
She wasn't even surprised when Mike Hanson dropped around to have lunch with her and Sam in the cafeteria. He was absolutely glowing and she sensed that her interview had a lot to do with it. Sam had obviously filled him in on it. It gave her just the added touch of confidence she needed to play at the game of politics.
If her students sensed that their lecturer was really scintillating that afternoon when Wanda took her classes, it was a reflection on their perception. She really was.
The mood of elation was still with her as she drove away from the school and headed home. There was a good book waiting for her and all of the evening to just rest and relax. She couldn't ask for more than that.
As she turned into the apartment parking lot, Wanda saw a car that had been parked at the curb come to life and follow her. For just one moment, she felt a hint of panic. As quickly as it came though, it passed. This, she told herself, is one of those days when nothing can bother me.
When she stepped out of her car, she turned to see Art Bowman pushing his way out of his. His smile told her he was really enjoying the shock he had given her.
He had left the city three days ago and wasn't due back for at least a couple of weeks.
"Hi, beautiful," he called. "How was school today?"
"Art, what on earth are you doing in town today? You're supposed to be five hundred miles away."
"Is that a complaint?" he asked with his infectious grin. "If so, I suppose I can get back in my car and just drive out of your life forever."
"Turn it off, you fraud," she scolded. "Come on up and let me pour a drink all over you."
"Now that's my idea of a really warm reception," he answered seriously. I think politics is a good idea for you. It teaches you to say the right thing."
"Turn it off, Bowman," she tried to hide her smile of delight, "start telling me what you're doing here."
"If I did, you wouldn't pay attention anyway," he said as he tucked her arm into his while they walked toward the entrance to the building.
"Try me," she challenged.
"Okay," he shot back. "I came to ask you to marry me."
"Keep that up, Buster, and you won't even get that drink I promised you."
"Okay grouch, then stop asking me questions if you don't want to hear the answers."
Although they continued their good natured kidding all the way up on the elevator, Wanda sensed a seriousness in the man that he was trying to keep hidden for the time being.
Pouring a drink for him, she left him while she went to her room for a change of clothes. Changing wasn't really that important, but it would give her a few minutes alone to prepare for what Art was going to say and what she would answer.
During their night together, he had become pretty insistant with his campaign that she should agree to marry him. The following morning, they discussed it again while she sat on the side of the bed drinking coffee with him.
For the first time, she felt herself wavering. Was he right, she wondered when he said that their relationship had already reached the mature married stage? Was that why the bells and rockets weren't in evidence? Did she really love him after all?
If I do, she realized with something of a shock, then there's no reason in the world why I shouldn't marry him. We're good for each other in bed, we're ideally suited intellectually, we like and dislike a lot of the same things.
The more she thought of it, the more Wanda was faced with the stunning possibility that she would indeed marry Art and should have long ago. If I had, she thought, my life would be completely different now. One thing for sure, she told herself, I wouldn't be messing around in the muck of civic politics.
Although she hadn't intended doing it, Wanda decided to strip off her bra and panties as well and change all the way. Because of the dress she had worn that day, she had worn a lightweight Lycra girdle. That had to go.
She didn't know whether or not they would make love before the evening was over, but in case they did, she didn't want to have to mess around with a girdle. Most men, she sensed, don't like the idea of girdles at all.
Selecting a matching black bra, garter belt and panties, she began to dress. When they were in place and her nylons had been attached to the suspenders, she stopped in front of the mirror for a quick check of her assets.
Not bad at all for an old woman of twenty-seven, she congratulated herself. Getting a bit plump around the asset, she noted critically, but Art doesn't seem to mind. Remembering some of the glances she attracted on the street and at parties, she was satisfied that there were no grounds for complaint.
As she finished dressing, Wanda thought of how patient Art always was. Most men, she knew, would have become impatient about the length of time she had been in her room to get changed. They would be calling their supposedly funny comments about what she was doing and generally acting like bad mannered little boys waiting for their dessert without very good grace.
Still, she told herself, there's no point in pushing my luck. In front of the mirror, she patted her dress into place, decided she looked just fine and went back to meet him. Only then did she realize that she hadn't gotten around to the decisions she was supposed to be making. That was supposed to have been the main purpose of the time out in her bedroom, but somehow or other, it just hadn't worked out.
Welcoming her back, Art made no comment at all about the time she had taken. He did comment on the results though.
"I've seen them all, Wanda, and you're still, pound for pound the most beautiful."
"Thank you, kind sir," she curtsied, "but watch that emphasis on the pounds. I'm getting a bit sensitive about that."
"Then in spite of appearances, you're a dope. I like my women to look as if they've just had a good spaghetti dinner."
"All of your women, Art?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.
"All of them, Miss Tupper. As soon as you agree to marry me, all becomes one. Until then, I'm free to sharpen my technique by playing the field and picking any pretty little flowers that happen to strike my fancy."
"I'll strike your fancy, you playboy," she glowered as she took his empty glass from him and turned to pour a refill for him and one for herself.
Nursing their drinks, they sat on the couch then and began to discuss plans for the evening.
"How long are you staying, Art?" she asked. "Do you have to go back this evening, or are you staying on for a while?"
"I'm not being coy, darling, trust me," he replied. "But I just don't know right now. At any rate, I've left the empire in good shape so that it won't fall apart if I'm not at my desk bright and early in the morning."
Wanda wanted to fix dinner in the apartment, but Art wouldn't hear of it.
"You look much too beautiful to mess around with greasy pots and pans," he insisted. "We go out to eat. I'll buy you the best dinner this old town has to offer."
By way of compromise, they decided finally to go to a nearby place where they could get a good meal and good drinks without having to spend the whole evening at it.
When they finished their drinks, they were on their way. So far, Wanda noticed, he had said nothing to tip his hand about the reason for the surprise visit. That, she assumed, would come when they returned to the apartment.
In spite of relaxing with a couple of cocktails and enjoying a very good dinner, they were back in the apartment before eight. When Wanda returned to the room after a brief absence, Art had poured a pair of drinks and placed them on the coffee table in front of the couch.
He was sitting at one end of it, leaning back. As she sat beside him, he drew her close so that her head rested against his chest. Wanda decided it was a very comfortable place to be.
For a little while, he was silent. Wanda sensed that he needed help.
"You look much like a man with something on his mind, dear, care to talk?" she asked gently.
"You're so right, Wanda. Thanks for the assist. Will you try to keep on helping me."
Wanda squeezed his hand and that was all the encouragement he needed.
"You know, Wanda, I've asked you so often to marry me that it's become a sort of a standing joke. I guess that's pretty much my fault. It may have been funny at one time, but now it isn't."
"I'm sorry, Art," Wanda brushed her hand along his cheek and felt the faint trance of stubble. "I guess we both fell into that trap."
"It isn't surprising though," he went on. "We just went about things backwards. With other people, they fall in love and go to bed and eventually, they get married. Some of them even marry before going to bed, I'm told, but I can't approve of that.
"Anyway, we first went to bed as friends because we liked each other. Somewhere along the line, I fell in love with you and whether or not you know it, I think you came to love me as well.
"By that time though, we had established a nice little pattern of comfortable friendship and it was difficult then for us to realize that love really had taken over.
"How am I doing so far?" he looked at her with a loving smile. "Do you agree with at least part of my logic?"
"I agree with it so much, dear, that it frightens me a bit. If you're right, and I see the darndest probability that you are, then it means my feminine instinct must have been out to lunch for one hell of a long time."
"Never mind the blame," he squeezed her affectionately, "just shut up and say you love me."
"Wouldn't that be a bit difficult?" Wanda asked, her eyes shining. "I mean if I shut up I won't be able to say anything."
Turning her in his arms, Art delivered a brisk spank.
"That will teach you to get smart assed when a man is trying to propose to you."
"I'm not so sure I'd want to marry a wife beater after all," she pouted as she rubbed the spanked cheek.
"You ain't seen nothing yet, lady," he glared menacingly. "If you don't say you love me and will marry me, you're going to get a real spanking with your dress and panties well out of the line of fire."
"Do you mean that?" Wanda turned on her very best look of damsel in distress.
"Absolutely," he snapped. "Marry me or I'll make you think you've caught fire back there."
"Well, darling," she shrugged, "that isn't where you usually make me feel on fire, but I guess it's better than nothing. I do love you, darling, and I realize that I have for a long time. I'd be happy to marry you even if it were not for your terrible threat."
"Do you mean that, Wanda?" There was no smile now. He had heard the words he wanted, but now he couldn't believe it.
As her face moved up to his, Wanda took time to whisper a quick message.
"Yes, my darling I do mean it. Now please take me to bed and make love to the future Mrs. Bowman. Show me what it's going to be like when we're married."
She kissed him warmly then and her arms crept around his neck. All of a sudden, Wanda felt more secure and more a woman than she ever had.
When their kiss ended, they got off the couch and walked hand in hand into the bedroom.
This time, Wanda didn't want to play the girlish game of having him remove her clothes a little at a time. This time, she was all woman.
As she began undressing, she saw that he was doing the same. His expression was one of contentment and she knew that hers matched it.
When nothing remained but her bra and panties, Wanda was shocked to discover that she felt a flash of nervousness. In spite of the fact that they had made love so often, there was that persistent feeling of nervousness, almost shyness as she prepared to bare her body to give it to her man, the man who would be her husband.
Art had finished undressing. He stood watching as she slipped her bra off. His eyes were the eyes of a man very much in love and very proud of the beauty of his woman. He told her of her beauty in a million ways as she dropped the bra to the chair and reached for the waistband of her panties to slip them down her strong, smooth thighs.
When she was naked, she didn't have to take a step. He came to her quickly and drew her into his arms for a long, passionate embrace.
Picking her up then, he held her that way as he looked at her for a long time before lowering her gently to the bed.
In a little while, both knew, they would make love and it would be better than ever. For now though, there were so many things to do, so many delicious ways of saying T love you'.
His hand cupped a warm, full breast and carried it to his waiting mouth. There, the erect tip responded immediately and grew as their newly discovered love was growing. Her voice made small, soft sounds of approval and delight, her body was throbbing and his felt and understood the silent message.
His kiss moved down slowly covering every inch of her warm, silken body. When he sought new places to adore with his mouth, she raised and turned her body to help him and tell him how much she wanted what he was doing to her.
Inevitably, his lips moved down the slope of her slightly rounded tummy. His hands were under her, raising her body to meet him. As her thighs lifted, they parted wide. In doing so, they told him that more than anything, she wanted the kiss he was preparing to give her.
She felt his lips then and a glad cry broke from her throat. In the way of woman, her body pressed urgently against him, her thighs brushed his face with a silken kiss and she returned the kiss of his lips in full measure.
"Now my darling," she almost cried her invitation, "now."
He moved slowly back up in the bed and found her lovely thighs still open in erotic invitation. His body moved against hers then, his hand reached between them. They were ready.
She cried out again in a little while and it was another cry of joy and love. After that, they rested for a little while.
There were things to be discussed about the future, but they had to wait for a while.
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was just a faint look of disappointment on Mike Hanson's face when Wanda told him of her plans to marry in the spring. Sensing that it was not completely related to his political plans for her, she felt warm in the way a woman is warmed by that kind of sentiment.
"Then you will go ahead with your plan to run for City Council?" he asked after a brief pause.
"Yes, Mike," she answered. "I've discussed this at length with Art and he agrees. I've made a committment and I can't do anything but follow through on it. If I hadn't announced my candidacy publicly, I would withdraw, though."
"Thanks, Wanda," there was open admiration in his tone as he spoke to her. "That's the kind of loyalty I would have expected from you. I suppose though that your days in politics are numbered."
"Oh yes, Mike, very carefully. I'll give it everything I've got for one term. During that term, I'll look around for someone to take my place. At the next election, I'll do everything I can to get him elected and bow out gracefully."
"That's good enough for me," the reporter answered with a sincere smile.
Although Art was the man Wanda loved, it was still good having men like Mike and Sam Gold around. Like she, they were dedicated to the cause of good government for their city and their conversations provided her with the intellectual stimulation she needed.
But while she had enough to keep her mind occupied, she knew Art was even busier. It had been agreed that over the months while she was busy with her campaign, he would start transferring his operation back to the city.
By early spring, with the election over and his business moved, they would be free to relax at last, marry, enjoy a nice long honeymoon and settle down.
Assuming she would be elected, and she didn't doubt it for a minute in spite of the job the machine was doing to beat her, Wanda knew her political career was going to keep her very busy, but she had no intention of letting that interfere with her marriage and honeymoon.
No voter, she assured herself, is ever going to condemn a newly married councillor for taking a honeymoon. The public, she sensed, still loved the Kennedy image and would be all in favor of her taking time out for a honeymoon.
She did draw the line though when Mike and Sam suggested that she announce her engagement before the election. They saw it as a big plus and, considering the dirty pool the machine was shooting, they wanted it as a weapon.
"Sorry, gents," she replied firmly but with a smile. "My personal life remains my own. I'm marrying Art because I love him, not to win votes. Either I win the election on my own merits, or I lose it with a smile."
The argument ended right there. Both men respected her too much to press the point.
When nominations closed, Wanda found that as she expected, Joe Carson, the sitting councillor was her only opponent. In spite of the fact that he had held the seat for eight years and was considered solidly entrenched, she was confident she would beat him in a breeze.
As a good luck token, Art sent her a top notch secretary to run her campaign office for her. He also wanted to finance her campaign, but she drew the line at that.
"This is going to be one of the least expensive campaigns in history, darling," she assured him, "and I want to handle all the cost of it myself."
Understanding as ever, he went along with her. What he didn't tell her though was that he had engaged a couple of pros to go into her ward and spread the word for her.
Although she could have taken time off from the school to do a lot of her campaigning during the daytime, Wanda refused to do it and used her evenings instead.
Saturdays and Sundays, by prior arrangement, were reserved for Art. He flew in almost every Friday night and stayed until Monday morning.
During the weekends, they talked of her campaign, his progress in relocating the business and, more than anything else, their love. Of course, on that subject, they didn't restrict themselves to talk alone. They made beautiful love as often as they wanted and were able.
"You know, darling," she liked to tease him, "for an old man of thirty-five, you're a pretty ardent lover. Aren't you afraid you should ease up a little?"
She knew each such taunt would cost her another spank, but it didn't seem to be such a terribly high price in view of everything.
Both Mike and Sam were more than a little alarmed at her spending her evenings around the poorly lighted streets of the slum area. As for Art, he was more than just alarmed, but there was nothing he could do about it. That was the way Wanda wanted to do it and nothing any of them could say could stop her.
"Think of the things that could happen to you down there," they protested.
"Come off it," she would retort. "Maybe the people down there are poor, but that doesn't make it a jungle. I've had cruder passes made at me at respectable cocktail parties than anything that's happened there. Don't worry so much."
When Art offered to provide a bodyguard for her, she became angry.
"Art, darling, I know you mean well, but cut it out. I'm telling these people I understand them and want to represent them on council. How much respect are they going to have for me if they see I need a bodyguard to walk among them?
"They walk those streets every night, darling and they don't have bodyguards. If protection is needed, then it's up to our police force to provide it for everyone, not just me."
He wanted to continue fighting her, but she left him no room to fight.
Wanda thought of his arguments this particular evening as she walked the broken streets knocking on the doors of broken down houses to talk to broken down people about why they should vote for her.
Her first few calls had provided her with all the information she needed about what she was fighting. People who had liked and respected her suddenly seemed afraid to be seen talking to her.
Old Mrs. Kucherepi was the first to spell it out for her as they talked in the clean kitchen of the walk up flat.
"I think you're good woman, Miss Tupper. I like vote for you, but man say if we do not vote for that man Carson, we get no more welfare money."
"That's a lie, Mrs. Kucherepi," Wanda explained patiently. "In America, no person knows how you vote. You are alone in the voting booth. You mark your ballot, it goes in the box, that's all there is to it. No person can tell who you voted for."
"But he tells me they have a way to know this. He says they will know who I vote for. If I vote wrong, I get no more money. I need the money. I am sick woman. I cannot go to work like I like. I do not care for me, I need this for my Maria. She must have the chance I do not have here in America."
"Believe me, Mrs. Kucherepi, she will have that chance and she will have it even better if you will vote for me. What this man tells you is a lie. You will get your welfare money no matter who you vote for. He cannot know how you vote. It is just a trick to fool you. You must trust me. You must know I would not lie to you."
"Oh, I know you do not lie. They say you are fire because you are a bad woman but I do not believe this. I know you are a very good woman. You are smart and you are honest and good. This I know."
"Then trust me, Mrs. Kucherepi. If I am elected, I will work very hard to have a good school for your Maria and all the other children here. I will have police on the streets at night. I will try to have better houses for you to live in, but I must get the people to vote for me. This man you speak of, he cannot know which way you vote. He is lying to you."
It was hard work, but by the time she finished, Wanda was sure the woman understood and believed her. Not only was she reasonably sure of her vote, but she felt that the woman would talk to her friends and tell them how she felt.
All through the campaign, Wanda knew, she was going to be faced with the same issue. Some of the people wouldn't tell her of the warnings they had received. They would be more difficult. She was going to have to read the fear in their eyes and compensate, for it without letting them know she was aware they were lying to her.
It was a tough, slow process so that instead of just a few minutes, each call took at least a half hour. It meant that she could make less calls each evening, but that those she made were good ones.
Each time she could convince one of these people that the machine was lying, she knew she had one more vote to count on. Still, she knew, it was a matter of time. Was there going to be enough time to talk to all the people she would have to get elected?
Where her original plans had called for having half the ward canvassed with three weeks to go, Wanda discovered to her dismay that she was far short of her target. What it meant was that instead of quitting at nine each evening, she would have to go on until ten or later.
In time, as the election neared, she even pushed beyond that limit and watched for lighted windows on her way home. Each time she found one, she would knock on another door and make another call in search of one or two more votes.
She had been confident in the beginning, now, there was still some confidence left, but not nearly as much as she had felt earlier. All of a sudden there was so much to do and so little time in which to do it.
Wanda had known right from the outset that she should be prepared for dirty pool, but the enormity of what the machine was doing to her had suddenly become overpowering.
Discussing it with Mike and Sam, she found that they had run into the same thing. Their confidence that they could lick it gave her the shot in the arm she needed to carry on the fight.
But now, her thoughts were on something other than the vote count and the machine. For almost an hour, she suddenly realized, the same two boys had been on every street she walked. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it earlier, but it was no time for recrimination, she sensed.
Her car was parked almost three blocks away. Since it was parked right under a street light and in front of a store that would still be open, she would be safe if she could reach it. Before that though, she was going to have to get off this street without letting the two know that she was aware of them.
She thought of them as boys, but on second thought, she guess their age at eighteen or nineteen. They were big and strong looking and she sensed that their motive in lurking against buildings in the semi-darkness had more to do with manhood than boyhood.
Even in the bad light, she knew she should recognize one of them. Somewhere, she had run into him before. The other one, she knew, was a stranger to her in spite of the fact that she knew most of the people in this part of town.
As she walked toward the entrance to the next slum apartment, she noticed that one of them had crossed the street and was just ahead of her. Remaining as casual as she could, she made a quick check and saw that the other was still on the other side of the street.
In spite of her knowledge of this part of the city, Wanda couldn't be sure just what this meant. For one thing, she knew it meant trouble, but she wished she knew exactly how.
A quick look at the building ahead was enough to tell her she had already covered it. She could still go in, she realized, but what then? If they were out to get her, they would be waiting outside for her when she left. The alternative was to phone the police from one of the apartments, but that still didn't promise anything.
For one thing, it would tell someone that she was afraid of the people among whom she worked. For another, it offered no guarantee that the police would come for her. Chief Markey's attitude was clear enough. If he would permit a policeman to come to her rescue, it was also a pretty good bet that the story would be leaked to the papers as soon as it happened.
The next day, they could tell all about how the candidate became nervous while canvassing her own ward and had called on the police to protect her. It wouldn't win her many votes among the people she needed. It would establish her as one of the uptown crowd. That, she knew, was the kind of image she didn't need.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to bluff it out and walk the three blocks to her car. The young man on her side of the street was staring into the window of a pawn shop as she passed him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he pretended not to see her at all. That worried her. She knew that in this part of town, young men didn't ignore women. They stared frankly, whistled, made crude suggestions, but the one thing they didn't do was ignore them.
She strained her ears to listen for sounds as she walked past him, but heard nothing. Across the street, she heard and saw his companion as he kept pace with her without pretending to be aware of her at all.
Suddenly, she saw the boy across the street begin to walk very fast. When he reached the intersection, he crossed against the red light, turned and began to walk toward her. This was it, she knew. All she had to do now was figure out what to do about it. She couldn't.
She sensed, rather than heard, that the one behind her was moving closer just as the distance between her and the one in front closed. Wanda thought of making a break for it and running across the street. Taking a quick look, she saw that the other side of the street offered even less refuge than where she was. There was no choice. She was going to have to try to bluff it out and hope they would turn chicken at the last minute.
They had timed it just right so that she met the young man right opposite the entrance to the alley. She held her breath as she waited for him to make the first move. Even then, she told herself, there would be time to shout and try to run for it. If she could raise enough disturbance, there was a better than even chance that they would run for it rather than risk being picked up by a patrolling cop who had heard her scream.
While she was still cheering herself with that thought, Wanda suddenly found herself unable to breathe. Only then did she realize that a strong hand had pressed over her mouth while a body pressed against her from behind. She had gambled and lost and now someone would dictate the price to be paid as a result of her stupidity.
Instantly, with all the precision of a football play, the other one moved in. While she was still trying to grasp the full significance of what was happening, she felt herself being carried down the dark alley by the two young men. The hand still pressed hard over her mouth to ensure that she would not make a sound.
They stopped then and one of the boys bumped against the door of the warehouse. It swung open and she was carried inside into pitch blackness. There was a flurry of activity and in a moment, she felt a rag being wrapped tightly around her eyes.
In her heart, Wanda cried out for Art to save her from what was ahead, but she knew it was a futile cry. He had offered her protection, but she had refused it. Now, she knew, she was going to pay a price for that gesture of independence.
Even through the blindfold, Wanda could see that a light had been turned on. She heard their voices for the first time then. They were the voices of men and they were contained in the bodies of men even though their years said they were just boys.
"We got us a real doll, buddy boy," she heard one of the voices exclaim.
"I told you so," the other answered. "This is the lady social worker. She likes to do nice things for people, let's give her a chance to do nice things for us."
There seemed to be complete agreement on that point. She drew a deep breath and hoped she would be able to keep her mind under control. Resigning herself to the fact that it was going to be rough, Wanda told herself that the big thing was to make sure she stayed alive.
Wanda felt the hands on her then and gritted her teeth to protect against crying out. The gag wouldn't permit her to make much sound, but she sensed that any gesture of protest would only serve to inspire them to be even rougher.
Their tastes seemed to differ since one grasped the front of her dress with both hands and rubbed her roughly while the other worked much lower.
She could feel herself being pulled down and guessed that they had a mattress there to serve as a playground for their crude tastes. While one still played with her through her dress and bra, the other had already slipped both his hands under her dress and was amusing himself roughly with what he found there.
"Hey," one voice called, "we got lots of time. Let's slow down and take some of these clothes off her so we can see what she got."
"Whaddya mean, some of them?" the other answered with a laugh. "Let's take them all off and let her give us a real show. I bet an old maid like this one would get a kick out of that. I bet she don't got any young guys to make her feel good."
As they enjoyed their laugh, they began working at her clothes. In a minute, her dress and half slip had been removed and she felt rough hands pawing at her through the bra and panties.
She guessed they liked what they saw because they were in no hurry to finish undressing her. Their probing became painfully intimate, but she refused to show resistance as they turned and twisted her to add to their fun.
When she felt two hands fumbling with the catch of her bra, Wanda knew they were tiring of fondling her and were moving on to the main event. Seconds later, the bra fell away, was pulled off her arms and she felt all four hands fumbling with what had been bared.
They pulled her back down on the mattress then and while one toyed with her breasts, the other turned his attention to her panties. Considering the fact that she made no effort to fight them, they were rough, a lot rougher than they needed to be. A few times, Wanda wanted to cry out, but even if the gag had permitted it, she knew it would be the wrong thing to do.
In a little while, she felt herself being dragged across the body of one of them and felt her panties being taken down. Their silence told her that all eyes were being focused on her body as they bared it.
There was even more intimate fondling of her nude body then. While one of them laughed as if it were the funniest thing he had ever seen, the other parted her thighs and began to kiss her in a different way.
In spite of her fears, Wanda was able to think of what they were missing. Surely, she thought, they had girl friends who would love to have them do this to them. Instead, they had to do it this way, by force.
Without being able to see, she sensed that the other boy was pulling him away from her. She had already heard the sound of a zipper and guessed that one of them was becoming overly anxious to advance from the playing stage to the real objective of the game.
A moment later, she felt her body being raised and found herself kneeling on her hands and knees. She knew her bottom was arched and defenseless.
Almost immediately, she felt a pair of hands around her waist and felt a nude body press against her from behind. It was going to be done this way, she thought. Strangely, that seemed better somehow than having him lying on her body even though she couldn't understand just why she felt that way.
She felt one of them probing her, heard them exchange crude comments in the crudest possible terms and knew this was it.
There was a quick flash of pain as he took her then and she cried out in spite of herself. Wanda knew that while it seemed loud to her, the gag had muffled her gasp of pain so that it was barely audible, if even that.
The one behind her had adjusted everything to his satisfaction now and while his hands held her, his body rocked and slammed against her as she tried to brace herself to keep from falling.
When she felt activity below her, Wanda wondered what was happening next. A little later, she found out. The other boy was obviously lying below so that his mouth and hands could reach up to claim her breasts which hung pendulously in their nudity.
Although all of her face was covered by the cloth which served as both blindfold and gag, she pressed her eyes tightly closed as if she could shut out some of the ugliness.
A new feeling deep in her body told her that the one behind her had finished. She felt him shivering against her for a minute before he finally drew away with obvious reluctance.
At the same moment, the other gave up his hold of her and hurried around behind her to take the place of the other. This time, she was pushed down onto her back on the mattress.
His hands were rough and urgent as he pried her legs apart and slipped his body between her thighs. The roughness of jeans told her that he hadn't bothered taking them down and was going to go ahead that way.
In a minute, she felt herself being claimed again with the same unfeeling roughness the other had shown. As the hard, muscular body bounced up and down on her, his hands returned to her breasts and played with the same brutal touch they had shown earlier.
After a while, it ended. She heard his sigh of contentment and hoped her ordeal was over.
Wanda heard their conversation then and shuddered as she realized they were discussing whether or not they should kill her. One seemed all for it, the other was opposed. In time, they decided it would be safer to just take her clothes and leave her there.
"By the time she gets that blindfold off and gets out of here in her bare skin, we can be home and in bed. Nobody can pin it on us."
"I dunno," the other wavered, "I'd still like to stick my knife in that nice smooth skin. That way, we could be sure she'll never talk."
"Don't be such a dope," the other snapped. "Let's let her go. This way, she may come back again some other night and we can give her the same big treat all over again. I'll bet she liked it so much, she'll be back for more."
For a minute or so, there was a flurry of activity then all was quite still. She heard a door close and knew she was alone. Tiredly, she worked at the knots of the cloth over her face. In time it fell away and she blinked as she looked into the bright light of the naked bulb.
Wanda felt dirty and terribly tired, but she knew she had to get up and start moving. As they had said, they took her clothes so that she was going to have to leave wearing only her garter belt and nylons. When she found her shoes, that helped. To her surprise, she even found her purse lying just off the mattress. It was open and the money, as she guessed, was gone. Still, her car keys and all her papers were there. That, she told herself, is something I should be thankful for after all this.
She took a minute to look around the room in search of anything she could throw over herself to cover her nudity. There was nothing. Near the door, she found an old trench coat hanging on a nail.
Just as she reached for it, she saw the cobwebs and a fat spider snoozing among them. That was enough to convince her that she would rather make her break for freedom in the nude than pull that coat on.
Pushing the door open, she saw that the alley was deserted. She stepped out quickly and pulled the door closed behind her. As she reached the street, Wanda peered around the edge of the building and saw two men coming along the side walk toward her. She scurried back into the alley and pressed herself against the rough wall of the warehouse.
As she waited for them to pass, she considered what would happen if they looked into the alley and saw her. It was more than she cared to consider, but her mind refused to turn off so that she had to consider the ugly possibility until she saw them walk past.
The next time she looked out, she saw that the sidewalk was empty. Her car was just a block away now. With luck, she assured herself, she could make it before anyone saw her. Before leaving the alley, she pulled her keys out of her purse and broke into a run then.
The key refused to cooperate for a few seconds, then it gave in and the lock opened. She threw herself into the car and slammed the door shut behind her. It wasn't surprising that she took the trouble to lock herself in.
The trench coat she had left on the back seat looked very good to her then. Reaching over the seat, she picked it up, slipped it on and buttoned it all the way.
Kicking the car to life then, she drove home. It had been a very bad night, but it was over now, she told herself.
In reality, she wondered if it would ever be over, if she would ever be able to forget it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Although it was late and her body was just one big ache by the time she got home, Wanda phoned Art. He wanted to drop everything and rush to her, but she tried to talk him out of it.
"I just had to talk to you darling and hear your wonderful voice again," she told him. "I'll be all right now. I'm going to soak in a hot bath for a while and everything will be fine. In the morning, I'll go to a doctor just to be on the safe side."
She listened to him for a minute then laughed. As she did, it sounded strange and wonderful. It was as if she hadn't laughed in years.
"No, darling, I'm on the pill, remember? It's other things I'm concerned about.
"Honestly, darling," she answered his next concerned question, "I'm not hysterical. It just feels so good to be alive and free and able to laugh again. That's all there is to it, really."
After a while, they ended their conversation. Wanda poured herself a very big drink and ran a tub. It was a lot hotter than usual and she knew there was chance that she would emerge from it looking like a boiled lobster, but it was important that it be hot. There was a lot of dirt to be washed off and she suspected that it would take a lot of hot baths to do it.
It was just a little after midnight when she slipped into the tub. She placed her refilled glass on the floor and slipped into the hot water slowly as it burned her feet. In time, she was able to lower herself all the way into it and felt the water caressing her tired, abused body.
Reaching down, she picked up her drink. It was both strong and good. She leaned back and tried to make her body and her mind unwind. It was going to be a very slow process, she realized.
When the water began to cool, she put her glass down on the floor, pulled the plug out and let half the water run out. After that, she turned on the hot water again and felt it hot and cleansing on her body again.
At one o'clock, she was still in the tub and wishing she had brought the evening paper with her. At twenty after one, she missed not only the paper, but the contents of the glass that had been drained.
Five minutes later, she made the big decision to get out and go for a walk. She knew it meant tracking water all over the apartment as she picked up the paper and poured another drink, but it seemed worth it, somehow. She did it.
Back in the tub, she felt the same warm glow she had experienced earlier, but with a difference. Now, there seemed to be a definite possibility that the hot water would eventually clean away all the dirt of the evening.
When she finished reading the paper, Wanda was astounded to see that it was after two o'clock. She still had to be at school in the morning by nine-thirty, she thought, and getting up was going to be tough. I'll worry about it when the time comes, she told herself as she drained a little more water and turned the hot tap on again.
It was close to three o'clock when Wanda finally decided that if she didn't get out of the tub she was going to become waterlogged. At that, she was thankful that she had kept adding bath oil to the water through her long immersion.
Towelling herself, she felt almost clean again. In spite of everything though, she still wasn't even a little bit sleepy. Instead of going to bed, she walked naked into the kitchen and poured another drink.
Turning out the light behind her, she walked out to the balcony and let the cool night air add its cleansing effect to all the water had done. Almost at once, she felt better. In time, she knew, she would get over what had happened this evening.
The phone startled her. Who, she wondered, could be calling at this time of night? Because of the darkness of the room, she had to walk carefully to avoid tripping over the furniture.
When she heard Art's voice again, she felt the warm glow of relief sweep over her.
"Oh, it's so good to hear your voice again darling," she told him. "Why on earth are you calling though?"
"Because I don't want to scare the hell out of you by pounding in your door or ringing the buzzer for you to let me in."
"Where on earth are you, darling?" she asked then in amazement.
"I'm in the phone booth just outside the apartment," he answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"But that isn't possible," she protested. "I just talked to you and you were home."
"Of course I was," he replied, "but they've invented things like airplanes and you can charter one in a hell of a big hurry if you know your way around. Are you going to open the door or aren't you?"
"Oh, yes darling, yes," she almost cried. "Please hurry. I need you so much."
It seemed like hours before Wanda heard the door buzzer sound. She pressed it with an urgency that even the mechanical device had to understand.
She kept her finger on it for a long time. When she let it go, she hurried to the door and held it open as she watched the elevator indicator climb with agonizing slowless to her floor.
The door opened then and Art stepped out. Stepped hardly describes his action. He ran out. He ran almost as fast as Wanda did. Nude and anxious, she ran down the hall to meet him and threw herself into his arms.
She didn't mind at all when he picked her up and carried her back into the apartment. One time before, she recalled, he had carried her and it had been great. This time, it was even greater.
It seemed to take only seconds before Art was as naked as she and they were lying together in the comfortable bed.
She had cried and laughed and they had kissed and he had tried to make love to her but she wouldn't let him.
"Oh no, my darling," she had told him gently. "You can't know how much I want you right now, but I can't let you until I've seen a doctor. Please hold me."
He held her and in time, sleep came to both of them.
CHAPTER NINE
When Wanda woke, the sun was streaming across her and she was astounded to see Art sitting on the edge of the bed. Before she could speak, he let her know that he had read her puzzled expression.
"It's all right, darling. I've phoned Sam Gold and told him you won't be at school today. Coffee's ready and as soon as you give me a kiss, I'll bring you a cup."
Wanda kissed him with wild abandon and curled up against him like a happy kitten. For just a moment, she wanted him to make love to her, then the ugliness of the night before came back to her and she understood why she couldn't permit that.
"Easy darling," his gentle voice was soothing. "You're home now and safe. Everything's all right." As he spoke, his right hand moved soothingly over her back.
In a little while, things were indeed all right for her. They chatted while Wanda prepared breakfast for them and he leaned against the kitchen door.
"Hey," he smiled, "that's a pretty wild floor show you provide here. A real swinging way to start the day."
Wanda paused for just a moment until she saw him looking toward the window of the apartment opposite. She laughed too then.
"You mean the tireless twins?" she asked. "Were they at it again this morning?"
"They sure were," he chuckled. "You mean it's a regular feature like Captain Kangaroo?"
"Even more so and definitely not for kiddies."
"Oh, I don't know about that. Here we are making a big fuss about spending all that money for sex education in high schools. Just think what the kids could learn from sitting in on a session like that."
"Kids hell," she retorted, "think what I could learn from them."
"Not my wife," he quickly countered. "That sort of thing is like a bikini. A man likes to see someone else's wife in one and the skimpier the better, but that's where the line gets drawn."
"Sourpuss," Wanda frowned, "I was thinking of inviting myself over there in the morning just to make the show more interesting."
"I'll give you all the interesting shows you want, baby," he looked menacing. "As a matter-of-fact, if you'll just put down those dishes, the curtain may go up right now."
"Ease off, darling," she laughed. "Play is postponed until I have a doctor check me over for bugs and things. There's a limit to the kind of gift I want to give my husband."
Although she said it with a smile, Wanda wasn't smiling inside. It brought back last night's episode. She had fully recovered from the terror of it, but the dirt and the chance of infection was still very much with her. All of a sudden, she needed another hot bath.
After breakfast, while Art worked on yet another cup of coffee, Wanda called her doctor. When she told him what had happened, he agreed to see her right away.
Art wanted to drive her there, but she refused his offer with a kiss on the cheek.
"It's the old bit about falling off the horse, darling," she explained. "Thanks for all you've done, but I have to get back in the saddle right away before I start developing mental blocks."
The basement garage had never frightened her before, but this morning, Wanda found it an eerie place of unreal light and strange seemingly moving shadows. She gritted her teeth, called herself seven different kinds of fool and climbed into her car.
Driving to the doctor's office, she kept telling herself that she was going to have to get over it. I can't go through the rest of my life waiting for another couple of kids to grab me and rape me all over again.
Although the doctor was angry with her for not reporting it to the police, he was patient and gentle. There were tests and rinses and a needle just to be sure.
After it was over, he assured her she could stop being afraid of consequences.
"As a matter-of-fact, my dear," his bright eyes twinkled, "having done all I can for you from a purely physical point of view, I'm going to give you some advice for the mind.
"When you leave here, you should phone some nice, gentle, ardent man and tell him to get away from his office for a while. When he arrives, smile at him and let nature take its course."
"Doctor Branson, what a naughty fellow you turn out to be," Wanda pretended horror.
"Naughty hell, Wanda," he snorted. "I've just given you the best advice in the world. Let's see Medicare top that."
Wanda got up to leave then. At the door, she stopped and turned back to him with a smile.
"Oh, by the way Doctor," her eyes gleamed. "Just to put your mind at ease, I won't have to make that phone call. He's waiting for me at my apartment."
"Get out of here you sexy wench," he frowned, "I have my respectable patients to look after."
Walking back to her car, Wanda felt clean and refreshed again and more than ready to take her doctor's advice. Long before she reached the apartment building, Wanda had stopped thinking of it as therapy, but looked forward to it for much more basic reasons.
When Art met her at the door of the apartment, she threw her arms around him and almost knocked him over.
Whether he knew what she had in mind or not didn't matter as he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the still rumpled bed.
"What kind of a girl do you think I am?" she asked with a laugh as he began to take her dress off.
"I have no idea, madame," he answered seriously. "But as soon as I get these clothes off you I intend to find out."
Wanda had no intention of even attempting to fight him off. Instead, she saw the belt of his dressing gown hanging just in front of her. Reaching out quickly, she jerked and the robe fell wide open.
Under it, there was nothing but man, good man, her man.
"Yum yum," she commented in a dreamy voice.
"So that's the way you want to play is it, lady? Well I'll give you yum yum."
He threw the robe off and, naked, advanced menacingly toward her. He intended taking her dress off right away, but when he caught her in his arms, they kissed for a long time instead.
Only then did he start on the dress. Wanda gave him all the help she could. It fell away then and he reached for the twin peaks of her bra. Instead of taking it off immediately, his hands cupped the mounds and his lips grazed over the warm white flesh between the cups while her fingers tangled in his hair.
The bra came off quickly then, and his mouth feasted on the sweet twin offerings she arched toward him. When her sighs became almost cries, Art moved down her body until he reached her panties.
Again she raised her body and he stripped them away quickly to bare her anxious womanhood. Before she could guess what was going to happen, he had parted her thighs wide and his hands cupped her warm buttocks as he drew the fragrance of her body to him and buried his face. She cried aloud just once as his mouth found and claimed her. His hands kept urging her toward him but they didn't need to. Her own body pressed to meet him, demanding more and more of the delight he gave her.
She cried loudly once more and he held her shuddering body, then he moved over her and her body opened for him in a different way. They came together quickly and their love-wet bodies moved in beautiful unison.
He crushed her as it finished for both of them and her fingers dug into his back so that he could crush her even more.
Art wanted to move his weight off her then, but she refused to release him. Lying together, their bodies still united, they talked of love and each other and a wonderful future.
When they did get up, Art found a half bottle of sherry which he carried back to the bedroom with two glasses. They agreed it had been an inspired idea.
Laughing, Wanda told him of the advice the doctor had given her.
"I'm going to have him nominated for a Nobel Prize in medicine and humanity."
"I'll second that nomination, sir," Wanda held up her glass and tried to look serious.
It was time for work then, although neither felt at all like ending their love holiday. They bridged the transition with a leisurely lunch during which they chatted a lot.
After that, Art made a phone call. Over Wanda's frantic protests, he arranged a full time bodyguard for her for the duration of the campaign.
CHAPTER TEN
The only thing that alarmed Wanda as the campaign moved into the home stretch was the fact that the opposition showed an absolute lack of concern. It was as if Joe Carson knew with positive conviction that he would be re-elected.
"What do you make of it?" Wanda asked as she sat around the table with Mike Hanson and Sam Gold. "Are they up to something, or is it just my imagination?"
"No, Wanda," Sam replied, "it isn't just your imagination. For years, the machine has been pulling in the votes to keep these men in City Hall. They're just confident it will work for them again."
"Will it?" Wanda thought her voice sounded strange as she asked the question.
"That's something we won't know for sure until the votes are in and counted."
Something about the way he said it made Wanda feel for the first time that she could lose the election after all. She looked toward Mike for a glance or a word that would cheer her up, but he had nothing to offer.
"But why?" she asked in exasperation. "Just look at those wards where Mike and I are running especially. Those people must realize they'll never get anything better if they keep returning machine men to City Hall. Surely they can't be that stupid."
As she completed the question, Wanda sensed that there was going to be no bright, cheerful answer.
"It's the same story everywhere, Wanda. It's some kind of North American disease and I'm not sure North America has cornered the market on it either.
"They just refuse to care," he pontificated as he raised his glass of beer. "Take any city you like and count the votes. You'll find the lowest proportion of voters in the slum areas every time."
"But how can they be so blind?" Wanda persisted. "Surely they know that the fat cats aren't going to do anything for them."
"That's right, Wanda, the fat cats don't give a damn about those people and they know it, but it becomes a matter of distinction between fat cats."
"I'm afraid you've lost me, Sam," Wanda looked puzzled.
"Put it this way," he explained. "When you're living on welfare or selling stolen car parts or peddling your tail for minimum scale, everybody with a good suit is a fat cat. You are, Mike is, I am.
"The kind of alternative we offer them doesn't mean anything to them. So we try to convince them we really care about them, but why should they believe us. Elections roll around and all the fat cats make all the same old promises they've heard over and over again.
"The candidates live in nice houses or apartments, drive good cars, dress well, talk differently. As far as those people are concerned, we're all fat cats and we want their vote so we can get even richer and ignore them even more."
"But isn't there an answer somewhere?" Wanda found herself wanting to pound the table as she said it.
"If there is, a lot of people who have been looking for it for a long time haven't found it. When election day rolls around, most of them just don't bother voting at all. Those who do, vote for the fat cat they know rather than the fat cat they don't know. It's just as simple as that."
"Then why did you get me involved in this if you knew we couldn't win?" she tried to keep the anger out of her voice.
"Chalk that one up to me, Wanda," Mike interrupted. "I went to Sam with my plan for a reform slate to clean things up. We discussed it and thought that the impact of a whole slate would be strong enough to capture the imagination of those people out there. We thought we could make it different this time."
"I can't let Mike take all the blame," Sam broke in. "If there was a chance at all, you were a natural. You're a woman, and they seem to like that. You'd worked among them and won a lot of respect. It seemed like the one possible way of cracking the machine. We didn't lead you astray, Wanda. We believed it."
"I'm sorry, Sam," she reached over and patted his arm. "I don't know where I think I come off acting as if you were my keeper or something. I went into this with my eyes open and if it doesn't come off, then I won't be the first loser in history, or the last."
"Right, Wanda," Mike answered her comment, "but we're not saying you're licked yet. Sam has enough middle class suburban vote in his ward that I think he's going to make it. As for us, I don't like what I see, but I haven't given up hope. We're just going to have to work a hell of a lot harder in the last few days of the campaign."
"Okay chaps," Wanda forced a smile, "thanks for levelling with me. I'll get back out there and fight some more. You don't have to worry about carrying me. I can look after myself."
"We knew that all the time, Wanda," Sam managed his own version of a smile. "That's why we wanted you on the team."
The after school meeting broke up then and the three candidates went out to take another whack at lining up the votes they needed.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, Wanda saw another car following and knew that her tail was staying with her. Art was making very sure that there was no repeat of the ugly rape experience.
She knew he was still thinking in terms of the opposition having been behind it to scare her out of campaigning. She didn't agree. It was, she was sure, just a couple of kids who saw a woman alone on the street and decided to use her in their own way. Still, she admitted, it did feel comforting to know that the bodyguard followed her every step as she canvassed her slum ward.
Stopping at a restaurant for a snack before going back on the campaign trail, Wanda gave in to an impulse and waved at the man in the car that had parked not far behind. The least she could do to show her appreciation, she thought, was to invite him to eat with her.
He looked right through her as if she weren't there at all, and Wanda realized that it was the way of a pro. She decided not to embarrass him by persisting.
As she ate, Wanda's mind drifted back to the less than cheerful discussion she had just completed. Although she was sure both men knew more about the voting habits of the people than she did, she couldn't help thinking that this time they could be wrong.
It would be nice and easy, she knew, to accept the idea of defeat in advance and lessen the blow when and if it came, but she couldn't permit herself that luxury. There was still time enough to drag out a lot more votes and she was going to do everything in her power to get every vote she could.
When she realized she was just picking at her food without tasting it, Wanda forced herself to pay attention and eat. She was surprised to find that with a little effort, she could actually enjoy the food.
Although she suspected she was playing games with herself, she applied the same discipline to her campaign. So what if it looks hopeless, she told herself, I'll just work that much more and make that many more calls. It wouldn't be any fun at all if it were too easy.
Finishing her meal, Wanda hurried back to her car and set out to do battle. Through the rear view mirror, she saw her full time companion and shadow pull away from the curb behind her.
On her first call, Wanda was sure her approach was the same as it had always been and yet she found something different in the response.
"Why sure, Miss Tupper," the frowsy looking woman assured her, "we're gonna vote for you. I guess everybody around here is."
"You know where you vote, don't you?" Wanda asked.
"Oh sure, it's ah, um, I got a card here somewhere that says where. Don't worry, Miss Tupper, you got my vote. I ain't got no use for that bunch down at city hall."
Wanda walked out with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The woman had said the same thing she had heard hundreds of times during her canvassing of the neighborhood.
Always, the greeting was jovial and the assurance of a vote was there. This time though, there was a difference. In spite of all the woman had said, Wanda knew it was just so much talk.
For one thing, she was sure the woman didn't even know where to go to vote. She sensed too that even if she did, it wouldn't make any difference since she didn't plan on voting for anyone anyway.
The horrible realization that Sam and Mike were right really hit her.
Have I wasted all this time? she asked herself as she trudged down the hall with a sudden feeling of fatigue. A thick pall of gloom spread over her then and she knew that every minute of the campaign from now on was going to be more than hard work, it was going to be absolute torture.
Still, she forced herself to admit, there was no point in throwing away all the work she had done by blowing the last few days of the campaign and just quitting. That, she knew, was something she wouldn't do.
Her next three calls produced three more promises of votes, but Wanda was no longer able to believe anything they told her. All she could do was keep walking, talking and hoping.
As she knocked on the scarred door of the second floor apartment, Wanda realized she knew the woman and felt that this was one vote she could really count on.
Mrs. Harper was a devout churchgoer who had brought up her three kids to the best of her ability after her husband had just gone for a walk one night and never came back.
"Whadda you want?" the voice asked coldly.
"Don't you remember me, Mrs. Harper?" Wanda asked in her brightest voice. "I'm Wanda Tupper."
"Sure, I remember you" there was still no warmth in the voice despite the recognition.
"Well, Mrs. Harper, as you probably know, I'm running for City Council and I hope I can count on your vote."
"Well, you can't" the woman snapped. "I t don't vote for people like you."
"Mrs. Harper," Wanda forced herself to remain calm, "you have the right to vote for anyone you want to, but I can't understand why you sound so bitter about it."
"Can't you now?" the woman almost laughed, j "Well ain't that somethin'." j "Look, Mrs. Harper," Wanda's voice became a little firmer, "I've never known you to be afraid to talk if you have something on your mind. If you're trying to tell me something, come right out and say it."
"Oh, I'll say it all right. I thought it was a real good thing when I heard you was runnin', I was all set to vote for you."
"What changed your mind?"
"Well, I heard of politicians buyin' votes with money, but I never heard of one buyin' them by takin' her pants off for the boys."
"What do you mean?" Wanda felt herself flushing in anger and frustration.
"Don't play it innocent with me, Miss Tupper. The story's all over the neighborhood."
"Mrs. Harper, I don't know what you're talking about, but I'd like to hear you tell me in plain English."
"Then that's the way I'll tell you, Miss Uppity. Everybody in the neighborhood knows about you taking those two guys into the warehouse the other night and puttin' out for them. And they ain't even old enough to vote."
"That's a lie," Wanda snapped angrily.
"Sure it is," the woman glared. "Just like your pants and brassiere they're passing around the neighborhood is a lie. The last I saw, they was hangin' just inside the window of the pool room down by the corner. The way I hear it, your idea of buyin' votes means takin' your pants down for any guy wants it."
"That's the way I figure it too. Now you see why no decent people's gonna vote for a tramp like you."
"Mrs. Harper, you know me better than that. Yes I was in the warehouse the other night. I was grabbed off the street by two young punks and carried in there. They raped me, Mrs. Harper and ran off with my clothes."
"Rape was it?" her tone was laden with sarcasm. "Funny, I didn't see nothin' in the papers about that."
"It wasn't in the papers because I didn't report it to the police, that's why."
"My, my, now ain't that strange. That's the way it is down here, but when uptown ladies get raped they scream their heads off, there's always cops prowlin' all over the place for days tryin' to find out who done it. The way I see it, when one of you gets raped and don't yell it's because you liked it too much. Is that why you're down here tonight? Where are you gonna take your pants down and get raped tonight?"
Wanda was still fighting for an answer when the door slammed in her face.
She had planned on canvassing the whole building, but it was out of the question now. She had to get out and breathe air, even the dirty air of the slum. If she didn't, Wanda knew, she would collapse.
She ran down the last flight of steps and stood swaying on the front porch.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next council of war Wanda held with Mike and Sam was even less cheerful than the previous one had been. She saw their faces fall as she told them the story Mrs. Harper had related to her.
They tried to brush it off as something of no importance, the ravings of a sick woman with a twisted mind, but Wanda saw they were doing it to make her feel better. It was obvious they had no solution to offer. More and more it was becoming clear to Wanda that there were going to be no solutions at all.
When Wanda arrived home and found Art waiting for her, she wasn't even surprised. All she felt was an overpowering sense of relief and of love. With his unerring instinct, Art seemed to know when he was needed and he appeared just like that.
Although he tried to joke about his just happening to drop in from five hundred miles away, Wanda sensed that he had read her troubled expression and knew that the storm signals were up.
When he pressed her, she told him the whole story. He was supposed to be the businessman and she the politician, but she was amazed at how he made swift work of tying the rape and the uglier rumor together.
"So the rape was just a couple of hot kids who saw a chance to knock off a lone woman. I'll buy that. I don't think the machine would be fool enough to set up that kind of a deal with all the risk of backfire that could hurt them more than it could help, but from that point on, they're in it up to their dirty necks."
"You mean spreading the rumor?" Wanda asked.
"Of course. Let's face it, when a couple of kids rape a woman, even in the slums, they don't run around boasting about it. They may spread the word among their own circle of pals, but that's all.
"What happened here is that the other camp got wind of it through their contacts. With a few bucks in the right place, they were able to get the whole story as well as the panties and bra.
"After that, it was a piece of cake. All it took was dough to get the story spreading. All those mothers down there really love to take a woman from uptown and smear her character. Hell, if you can't climb up to one level, you try to pull someone down with you, it's still a form of equalization."
"I can see that you're right, darling," Wanda agreed, "but I can't see any way out of this for me.
"Easy now," he cautioned her, "you've gone too far and worked too hard to just throw it up now. Let's work on it and see what we can come up with."
"But, Art darling, what you're talking now is miracles," she protested.
"So let's talk miracles. They can be bought just like anything else if you find the right angle. We can't do any constructive thinking with dry throats though, let's see what we can find to lubricate the brain and things."
In the kitchen, they found a half bottle of scotch and a shade more Canadian rye. Art seemed to feel that it was enough to start the mental process functioning.
"Let's go out on the balcony and see if the view will inspire us," Art said with a casualness he knew he didn't really feel.
Without answering, Wanda slipped her hand into his and they went outside. There was still a bit of warmth left in the air and it established just the right atmosphere.
Below, the city crawled and sprawled and looked very mixed up. There were times, Wanda recalled, when from her balcony, the city looked neat and orderly and beautiful but this wasn't one such time.
The fault, she realized, lay behind her eyes rather than in front of them. In spite of the many things she had on her mind, she took time to wonder how often people fail to see beauty because of something within themselves.
"Does winning the election mean that much to you, dear?" Art asked in a quiet voice.
"How strange that you asked that when you did," Wanda looked up at him. "Until about ten seconds ago, I would have said yes. I was dedicated to winning it."
"And now?"
"And now, it isn't that important, somehow. I still want to win, I'm still going to do everything I can to win, but if it doesn't work out that way, at least I'll know that I meant well and did everything I could."
"And that's enough?" he asked without implying disapproval in any way.
"It is now. It wouldn't have been yesterday or even five minutes ago, but it is now."
"I'm glad to hear that, Wanda," he slipped an arm around her waist as they talked. "I'm not quitting either. As long as we can still fight, that's what we're going to do, but if in spite of everything, you lose, then I don't want you to be hurt any more. There's been too much of that already."
"Thanks for helping so much, dear," she kissed him on the mouth with lightness but with warmth. "You see, I didn't want the post because of the money or the glory or anything like that.
"I was and am concerned about those people down there who just don't seem to have a chance. They were born in muck, they wallow in it and they don't know how to get out when they have a chance. Somehow, I thought I could do something more for them. It's for that reason that I've tried so hard to win."
This time, he kissed her and she held him for just a moment as if she feared he would drift away.
"Thanks for the timing of that kiss, darling," she told him. "I guess I was beginning to sound a bit like Lady Bountiful. That really isn't my style at all."
"You weren't dear. You sounded like someone who cares about those people out there. That's more than I can say for them. Something seems to happen to them at birth so that most of them lose their will to fight. Maybe it's in the genes or something, I don't know. Anyway, neither of us likes the idea of losing, so let's have a real shot at winning this thing yet."
"I still want to, Art, believe me I do. It's just that I seem to have run out of ideas for fighting back. That shouldn't be necessary, should it? I mean the whole business of democracy says it's wrong.
"People don't want to govern just for the sake of the power or the money, not in theory they don't. When I was very young, I looked up to political leaders as being great men dedicated to the cause of freedom and the people. I guess they were all Lincolns and Washingtons to me.
While I was still growing up, I found out there were McCarthy's too. Perhaps, innocent that I was, I just refused to believe that some people went into politics for power or money without giving a damn about the people out there."
"McCarthy cared," Art pointed out. "I didn't agree with his politics, but he sure as hell cared or made a very strong case of pretending to."
"Sure he did, but are the fanatics any better than the power seekers who want only power? Are they better than the ones who are after the money? I'm afraid they're even more dangerous because of their dedication."
"You're right, I suppose," Art agreed, "but then along comes a Kennedy and what does that do to your argument? He sure as hell didn't need the money or the power. He had both. He also wasn't a fanatic. In a way, he was much like you. He believed in certain things because he knew they were right and fought for them."
"Thanks for including me in the category, darling, but the company is rather heady stuff. If I had some of the Kennedy magic, perhaps I could still pull off this election. I'm afraid I'm just a little girl named Tupper though."
"Be of good cheer, little girl Tupper. The great ones come down the pike just once in a few hundred years. While we wait for them, we have to depend on the plain honest ones who do their best because they love their fellow man and really give a damn. I not only love you, lady, I also happen to admire all the things you are."
When Art looked into her eyes again, he saw tears preparing to fall. He understood that they had nothing to do with the possibility of losing an election, so he did the only thing he could. He drew her into his arms and kissed her in a way that told her he understood.
They drew apart a little then and Wanda saw that something had clicked in his mind.
"Pardon me for thinking while I'm kissing you, little girl," he looked excited, "but I think I've got something. Suppose we can get you some television time, can you get something ready in a hurry?"
"Sure I can," she answered with enthusiasm. "I know what I believe, it won't be hard to say it."
"Then you start putting it together while I buy us a hunk of the primest time we can get."
He let go of her so quickly that Wanda was amazed. When she looked again, he was thumbing through the telephone book with a look of unbeatable determination.
She decided to stay out on the balcony and leave him alone to make his calls. There was no real reason for it except she sensed that it would be better that way.
When he came back to her about five minutes later, he wasn't walking quite as straight and proud as he had done when he left.
"Is there a chance," he asked quietly, "that the local television stations are either a part of the system or are afraid of bucking it?"
"Honestly, darling, I don't know," she replied. "I guess for a politician, I don't know very much about what goes on in my town."
"Don't knock yourself, darling," he answered quickly, "your motives are still the best. If my guess is right, that makes you better than those people out there, but that's the way I figured it anyway."
"What's the answer?" she asked quietly. "They're going to call me back. I figure they're checking with higher authority to find out whether they're allowed to touch you or not."
"You're probably right, Art, but don't let it throw you. That's just the kind of city we have here."
"It's just a city like any other city, darling," he answered. "There's nothing special about it, that's the way the game is played these days."
Within twenty minutes, Art had discovered that there was just no time available and that nothing could be bumped to carry a political message.
"What say we go do some canvassing, darling," Wanda suggested with a smile that was brighter outside than it was from where she saw it.
They went canvassing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The school insisted that Wanda take a couple of days off for the close of the campaign. She and Art spent fourteen hours a day in the ward knocking on doors and talking to people.
Others who believed as she did worked almost as tirelessly so that Wanda's campaign developed a magnificent finishing kick.
The night before the election, there were seven of them in Wanda's campaign office. The last of the printed material had been distributed, posters that had been torn down were replaced and, as they compared notes, it seemed that every potential voter in the ward had been talked to at least once, but more likely two or three times.
"One thing is sure," Wanda pointed out as she kicked her shoes off under the desk and wriggled her toes in search of relief, "we gave it everything we have. I don't know how to begin thanking all of you."
There was general agreement among the group that no thanks were necessary. A twenty year old woman, one of Wanda's students seemed to sum it up for the others.
"You talk of thanking us, Wanda, but you have things reversed. You put everything including your health and your reputation on the line to fight for a lot of people who just don't give a damn.
"If you win, you become part of a minority on a council where you'll be resented for trying to upset the nice comfortable status quo. Because we helped you, you want to thank us? If we really wanted to do you a favor, we'd have asked those people out there not to vote for you."
For a moment, there was silence, then nervous laughter as others decided she had really spoken their thoughts.
"Maybe I'm a masochist, Doris," Wanda joined in the laughter. "Anyway, I do thank you all."
The knock that sounded on the office door seemed perfectly timed. Art hurried to open it and flashed Wanda an enigmatic smile as he passed.
A man in a hotel waiter's uniform walked into the room carrying a pair of ice buckets from which bottles of champagne poked their necks out. Setting them down beside the desk, he went outside and brought in two more.
"I get the impression that there's supposed to be some kind of celebration," Wanda observed.
"It must have been delivered to the wrong address," Art suggested without a trace of a smile, "but we may as well use it up. Let's have a party."
"A party?" someone asked. "With all that bubbly for seven people it sounds more like an orgy."
"Great thinking," Art enthused as he popped the first cork and spilled the wine into one of the glasses the waiter had provided. "We can call the papers and have a photographer here in five minutes. The candidate gets page one on election morning."
It set the tone for what turned out to be a sparkling party. As if all were as dedicated to finishing off the champagne as they had been to finishing the campaign, they stuck with it until the last bottle had been emptied.
The tension that had been with them at the beginning had been drowned in champagne long ago. Anyone looking in on the group could have been excused for thinking that the election was over and the candidate had swept the polls.
Art tried to lure the group to a restaurant for steaks, but there were no takers. When a few wavered, one suggested that the candidate should get to bed and the others quickly followed the lead.
Five minutes later, Wanda and Art waved good-bye to the last of their friends and started back to her apartment.
"How does my darling the candidate feel right now?" Art asked as he slid behind the wheel.
"I feel so many things, darling," she answered with a sleepy smile. "Mostly tired, I guess, but there are other things too."
"Things like what?" he asked as he moved the car out into the traffic lane.
"Things like full of love for my wonderful man, a positive knowledge that I've done my best no matter what happens now, a warm sense of having some very good friends. All in all, I'd say I feel pretty darn good right now."
"Not too tired?" he glanced toward her.
"If you're thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking, you lovely dirty old man," she laughed, "I'm definitely not too tired. Unless," she amended, "you're thinking of something that involves my standing."
"What I have in mind for you, wife to be, depends on my standing, one way or another, but it doesn't involve anybody's feet."
Wanda snuggled a little closer to him and felt the warmth of love fining her.
"Let's not have any accidents, dear," she spoke softly, "but let's hurry home. I want to start concentrating on the most important campaign of my life."
"You're already elected, lady, but go ahead and campaign anyway. That's the kind of politicking I can really go for. What kind of bribes are you offering?"
They had just pulled up at a red light and Wanda checked to ensure that there was no car beside them. With an excited smile, she pulled her dress and slip high above the top of her nylon so that her thigh glowed white in the subdued light from the dash.
"Will that do to influence your vote, sir?" she asked.
"It will influence a hell of a lot more than that, lady," Art answered huskily as his hand reached to stroke the firm, silken skin.
"You're getting the green light, driver," Wanda observed quietly.
"You mean right here in the car?" he gasped in pretended horror.
"No, silly," she laughed, "I mean that traffic light out there on the pole. Why are you wasting time, afraid to get home with me or something?"
He squeezed her thigh hard and stepped on the gas. The car shot ahead with a squeal of tortured rubber.
"If you're going to drive that way, you'll need two hands on the wheel, you sex maniac," she pretended to be serious.
"Out of the question," he replied. "The hand on the wheel is for steering, this one," he squeezed the warm bare thigh again, "is for inspiration."
"Well," she conceded, "as long as the one on the wheel is steady, I must say I like your brand of inspiration."
Just before they reached her apartment building, they had to make another stop for a light.
"Love those red lights," Art observed with enthusiasm as his hand moved to the inside of her thigh and slid upward to find that she was very warm indeed.
"They just don't last long enough," Wanda protested as she pulled her dress down so that she would be ready to get out of the car as Art turned down the ramp into the basement garage.
Although both were anxious to get up to the apartment, they took time for one more kiss before they left the car. They managed another long one when they found themselves alone in the elevator.
"Some elevator," Art grumbled as it stopped at her floor. "There should be a couch in it."
"Going up?" Wanda arched an eyebrow as she asked the question.
He leered and spanked her playfully then pushed her toward the opening door.
They held hands as they hurried down the hall. Wanda let go of his hand reluctantly and fished her key out of her coat pocket. Inside, she flicked on the light and sighed. Her apartment had never looked so good to her.
Art took her in his arms then and the place became even better.
"Art, darling," Wanda looked intense, "this may sound silly, but I'd love to have a bath before we go to bed. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not if you'll let me help, I don't." He took her coat from her and threw it over the back of a chair. His jacket followed and landed on top.
"How do you like that?" he grimaced. "Our coats beat us to it."
"Not by very much, darling," Wanda hurried down the hall to start the bath running. "And besides, they don't have as much fun as we do."
"I don't know about that," he called after her, "take a look at them when you get back here."
Turning the taps on, Wanda ran back to see what he was talking about.
When she saw the sleeve of his jacket sticking in the pocket of her coat, Wanda broke up.
"It must be the influence of the place," she laughed. "I'll have you know my coat never acted like that before."
"Are you sure?" he looked disbelieving.
"Check the label," she turned it toward him with a grand gesture. "See what it says? One hundred percent virgin wool."
"Ouch," she squealed as she hurried down the hall with Art making threatening gestures as he followed close behind.
Despite his threats, Art was very gentle as he helped Wanda out of her dress and draped it carefully over a towel bar.
Pushing her hands aside, he pulled her half slip down and helped her step out of it. He stopped her again when she reached to unfasten her suspenders.
"I'll do all the work around here tonight, darling," he told her as he had her sit on the hassock where the cool leather felt refreshing against the backs of her thighs.
Kneeling in front of her, he took his time about slipping each suspender tab free of the nylons. He rolled them down gently and held each foot in his left hand as he eased the warm nylon off.
"No, darling," she protested weakly, "I haven't bathed yet."
Ignoring her protests, he rubbed both her feet between his hands then drew them one at a time to his lips and kissed them with reverence.
After that, he removed her bra and gently massaged the very warm globes. One at a time, he took the tips between his lips and felt her instant arousal match his own.
He was especially gentle then as he helped her to her feet and pulled the brief panties down to reveal the warmth of her full body. He knelt and kissed her again. Although she protested again that she wasn't clean, he felt her body trembling under his lips and knew they would make very good love in a little while.
Just before she stepped into the tub, he removed her garter belt. As she settled back in the warm water and felt the physical tension draining away, Art undressed quickly. He threw his clothes aside as if he never wanted to see them again.
Kneeling beside the tub, he drew her naked upper body against his own and they kissed passionately for a long time.
After a while, he reached for the soap and began to work a rich, soothing lather over her. Wanda purred like a kitten under his exciting touch.
Although he didn't hurry and made sure that he had soaped and carefully rinsed every inch of her beautiful body, the bath seemed to end too quickly for both of them.
He managed to be both rough and gentle as he rubbed her body with the thick turkish towel until it glowed pink and gold and creamy white.
Bending then, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
Kneeling beside her after placing her gently on the bed, Art stared at the vibrant beauty of her lovely body for a long time before he reached to pick up her thighs.
As he held them high and began to move them apart, the expression of ecstasy on her face assured him she knew what he was about to do and wanted him to do it to her.
His lips grazed over silken thighs and along the lower edges of the lush hemispheres. Just before pressing his lips to her, he whispered "I love you." She heard him and pushed her body to receive his kiss.
With his face locked to her, Art was barely aware that his body was being turned. He realized and understood when he felt her warm mouth close around him.
Locked together in the delightful fleshy confinement of love, they gave and took and the ultimate kiss of lovers, the kiss that could not end until the world shook and bright lights flashed for both of them.
It happened and after the waves stopped pounding on the shore, they moved so that he could take her into his arms. He was still holding her in his arms and their lips still moved in quiet sounds of love as they both drifted into the comfortable world of sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Election day dawned cloudy, grey and rainy. By nine o'clock, the rain tapered oft to a light drizzle but that was as good as it promised to do all day.
"Cheer up, darling," Art tried to console her. "It's raining just as hard for all the candidates you know."
"I wish you were right, dear," Wanda corrected him. "I don't want to sound like an old political pro, but rain falls harder for some candidates than for others."
"You better fill me in on that after I pour us some more coffee," Art shook his head as he stepped naked out of the bed. "I never was much at either weather or politics."
Wanda listened as he rattled cups in the kitchen, then the silence was broken by a little whoop of exhultation.
"Now there's something I can understand," . he called in a way that told her the lesbians were at it again and had given him a ringside seat.
"Right on time today are they?" she called back.
"Sure thing," he answered. "There's one game that doesn't get called off on account of rain."
"That game wouldn't get called off on account of earthquakes, from what I've seen. Are you bringing the coffee or have they hired you to keep score?"
"Grouch," he answered from the door where he stood with two mugs of steaming coffee.
"Who seems to be winning this morning?" Wanda asked with a laugh in her voice that assured him she didn't mind his having looked at the show.
"As far as they're concerned, I'd say it's a dead heat." He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before going on. "Well, not dead, surely, but very heated. I'd say the winners are the viewers on this side of our building. I wonder if they sell tickets to their friends."
"I think I'd better get you off that subject and back to politics, sweetheart."
"Okay," he swung into the bed beside her. "Tell me again that bit about the rain falling on some candidates more than others."
"Well, darling," she began "I suspect you're putting me on, as they say in my part of town, but here goes. The machine has a bunch of assured votes already lined up. These are sure things no matter what."
"Fine, and so do you."
"That's right. They know how many they have, I don't. I suspect on that basis my assured vote total is smaller than Carson's. Now we move into the next area."
"That's the rainy one?" he asked.
"That's the rainy one," she answered in the same tone. "You see, the critical vote is that mass of partially committed voters. They're the ones I've really been hammering at. They are fed up with the system and the fact that it does nothing for them. In talking to them, I could see that some of them were more or less convinced by my arguments and are actually thinking of voting for me."
"And if you have enough of them sufficiently convinced," he picked up her explanation, "you can really beat the machine after all."
"Right. Now that's where the rain leaks in and streaks the picture."
"Show me."
"As I see it, a lot of the people I've talked to went to bed last night expecting to go out and vote for me today. They're not exactly dedicated followers, but they think that maybe I really mean what I say, really care about them.
"So," she went on, "they get up this morning, take a look at the weather and say, oh hell, it's raining. I'll go vote later when the rain stops."
"Maybe they'll vote on the way to work," Art suggested.
"Maybe, except that they don't follow banker's hours. Those who work have to be there by eight o'clock. They have trouble enough getting to work. A lot of them don't work at all so if they don't have to go out to vote, they don't have to go out at all except maybe to the neighborhood bar. Why should they get wet just to vote? They really aren't that concerned."
"But they should be, damn it all. They should be more aware of what's going on around them."
"Sure, darling," she patted his cheek lightly, "but with a lot of them, if they were that concerned, they wouldn't be living in that ward at all."
"I'm afraid I follow you and I don't think I like where you've led me," he observed ruefully.
"Neither do I, dear, but that's the way the raindrops patter."
"Ouch. You nearly made me spill my coffee, you big, nasty bully."
"If I catch you talking Madison Avenue again you'll get more than just one spank."
"Sometimes, I think you're not really punishing me at all when you do that. I begin to suspect you do it because you like it."
"Of course I do," Art laughed. "After all, you're a nice cheeky little miss. I guess that's just the way the fanny tans," he looked very serious.
"Now who's talking Madison Avenue?" Wanda pretended to pound on his bare chest with her fist.
"So," Art returned to the subject of weather and votes, "if the rain keeps falling, so does the vote count. And if all those half-committed ones don't vote, you're going to be the loser."
"That's about it dear," she shrugged. "I'm not admitting I'm licked yet, by any means. And if I do lose, I'm not going to blame it on the weather, but I think my chances would be so much better if the sun were shining."
"Let's see now," he mused as he rubbed his chin, "who do I know in the weather department who can be bought."
"Arthur Bowman," she sat up straight and glared at him, "this is one department where you can't buy things."
"Hey," he looked stunned as he turned toward her, "are you sure of that?"
"Absolutely, my darling. I hear that's a one man show and the head man is absolutely incorruptible."
"That's terrible," Art looked to be in great pain. "You shouldn't go around saying things like that lightly. It's enough to shake a man's faith in money."
They laughed for a while, then got up and Wanda busied herself with preparing breakfast. After admitting it would be more practical to shave while she was busy in the kitchen, Art announced that he had no intention of being practical when he could enjoy himself by watching her work.
Through the window, they saw that the ambitious lesbians had finally finished their game and were getting ready to go out.
"Darling," Wanda slipped her arms around him, "I know I kidded you about looking at them, but I hope you know I don't really mind it."
"Of course I do dear. Sure, from time to time I like to take a look at them, any normal man would I guess, I just draw the line somewhere between normal interest and that morbid point where a man becomes a peeping Tom. Does that sound reasonable?"
"Everything you say and do is reasonable, my darling," she patted his cheek again.
Over breakfast, Art told her that there were a few things he had to do that would keep him fairly busy during the day. Wanda assured him she didn't mind and had been planning to break the rules by going to school for the day but had hesitated mentioning it for fear of hurting him.
When they finished eating, they carried refills of coffee to the bathroom. Art had a quick shower before Wanda ran a tub for herself. Later, while she relaxed in it, Art shaved and they went on chatting.
"How come a man with all your money doesn't have an electric shaver?" she asked as she watched him move the safety razor over his face.
"Because electric shavers are for ladies' legs and very young men, as far as I'm concerned," he answered. "For a good shave, I'll take lots of lather and a good stainless steel blade any time."
"Don't you ever cut yourself?" she asked after a brief pause during which she continued to look at him in the mirror.
"Only when I see you in the mirror sitting in the tub like that and forget where my face is," he answered with a serious expression.
Standing in the tub, Wanda held a towel loosely around herself and went into a variation of a dance that would have drawn roars of approval from the audience at any strip joint in town.
"Lady," he pretended protest, "you're going to make me cut my throat."
With a few more bumps and grinds, Wanda assured him that wasn't the portion of his anatomy in which she was most interested.
They dressed then and kissed good-bye. On her way to the school, Wanda stopped at the polling station and dutifully cast her ballot.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The moment she drove into the parking lot at the school, Wanda realized that it had been the right thing to do after all. The alternative would have been sitting around her apartment waiting for the clock to move, the polls to close and the vote count to start coming in.
She had visions of herself climbing the walls and of visitors throwing her bananas and peanuts while she shrieked jungle sounds.
People she met as she walked down the hall looked more than a little surprised to see her. In each case, they stopped to wish her well in the election, then hurried away as if they expected her to crack up.
Can I really look that bad? she asked herself. In the rest room, she looked into the mirror and decided she looked just fine. The trouble, she realized, is with them. They're so sure I'm coming apart with nerves that they can't consider the possibility of my being perfectly relaxed.
If they had been through this campaign, she thought, they would be able to understand the perfect relaxation that comes with the end of it. All that remained was the vote counting and Wanda knew already that win or lose, she wouldn't cry.
She still wanted to win, still saw an outside possibility of pulling it off, but there was no life or death aspect to it now.
If she won, she knew, then she would fight all the appropriate fights and do the best possible job. If she lost, then she would have the consolation of knowing that she had not only tried, but had given it everything. Either way, she was glad it was over.
Without even checking her schedule, she went to talk to the dean. It seemed obvious that her classes had been given to others for the day as they wouldn't have expected her to be in on election day.
"Hello, Wanda," he greeted her calmly. "I'm pleased to see you looking so good."
"Thank you," she answered. "I'm pleased to see someone who doesn't regard me as a freak today."
"Ready to go to work and produce another crop of dedicated social workers who will batter their brains out against the walls of indifference out there?" he asked, ignoring her observation.
"Ready, sir," she saluted. "I regret that I have only one life to give to my school."
They went over the schedules together and Wanda retrieved the classes that had been given to others to handle in her absence. As she did, she wondered how she ever could have thought of taking the day off.
If anything, the first class she took showed more understanding than she had found in the lecturers she had met on the way in. They were obviously aware of what she was going through, perhaps exaggeratedly so, but they gave no indication of it.
Her other classes before lunch followed pretty much the same pattern. At lunch, she saw Sam Gold for the first time that day.
"I guess neither of us wanted to sit at home and count the minutes," he observed with his usual shy smile.
"It looks that way," she answered. "In my case though, I guess I'd have been counting the rain drops and damning every one of them."
"I know what you mean, Wanda. It's going to work pretty hard against you, isn't it?"
"Let's be philosophical," she shrugged, "perhaps the rain will give me an alibi for the licking I was going to get in any case. It could come in handy."
"You don't need any alibis," he smiled, "and you know it as well as I do. Win or lose, you scared the hell out of the machine."
Something in the way he said it told her that Sam didn't think she was going to win. She liked him even more for that.
"How does it look for you, Sam?"
"Terrible," he answered with a grimace. "I'm afraid I'm going to win."
They were still laughing when Wanda saw Mike Hanson walking across the cafeteria with a very long face.
"Hello Mike," she greeted him. "You look as sad as that weather out there."
"The weather is a big part of the reason my smile died when I looked out the window this morning," he answered as he picked up a tray. "Do you think Paulson and his machine have drag with the big meteorologist in the sky?"
"It's more likely their influence is in the opposite direction," Sam answered.
"It figures," Mike grinned a little. "It sure is one hell of a day for an election."
By mutual, unspoken consent, they steered the conversation away from the weather and the elections while they ate. Only when they had finished and were looking at the clock for what seemed to all of them like the millionth time did Sam bring the talk back to the subject of which they were all very much aware.
"We'll understand if you pass up this magnificent opportunity, Wanda," he began almost nervously, "but Mike and I are going to watch the returns at my place this evening. Care to join us?"
"Thanks for giving me the out, Sam," she smiled. "I do appreciate the offer though."
"I'll never understand why a woman in love ever got into this crazy campaign anyway."
"I'll have you know, sir," Wanda frowned, "I didn't just get involved in it. I was led astray by a pair of evil companions. Besides, I wasn't in love then. That just happened along the way when I wasn't looking."
Mike went back to his office then and Wanda and Sam moved on to pick up their next classes. The afternoon passed a lot faster than she would have expected.
Almost before she knew it, the school day was over and she was receiving good wishes all through her long walk down the hall.
Outside, it was still raining lightly, just enough to keep a lot of potential voters away from the polling booths, she told herself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Under Art's gentle but firm pressure, Wanda finally gave in and agreed to go out to dinner. Knowing he would keep his eye on the time, she just relaxed and was surprised at how easily she could do it.
A well chilled martini made it considerably easier. After that, there was an excellent French onion soup, a crisp salad and chicken cacciatore. By the time Wanda got through that, there was not even the faintest trace of tension. There was also no room left for dessert.
With her coffee, Wanda chose Benedictine and brandy while Art opted for brandy straight. She had no thought of elections or opponents or time. Instead, her mind was as filled with a warm peace as her belly was with good food.
She was actually surprised when she heard Art tell her it was time to go. These were the hours she had dreaded all day, that last wait before the results came in. But the waiting was just about over now, by the time they got back to the apartment, poured a couple of drinks and turned on the television, the count would be underway and the results starting to come in.
"Thanks dear," Wanda said as they walked to the car, "for not asking me even once whether I was nervous."
"Thanks hell," he shrugged. "I was so nervous myself I guess I just forgot to ask you."
"You're a liar, my darling," she squeezed his arm, "and I love you so much I may even marry you after all."
"You'd better, lady," he glowered, "or what I'll do to you right here in the parking lot will get more space on page one tomorrow than the election."
"Promises, promises," she shrugged as he held the door open for her.
"Nice pair of legs you got there, ma'm," he winked as she slid onto the seat with her skirt riding up a little to provide a display of nicely filled nylons. "Are they a matched set?"
"I believe they are," she answered, "but I'm not really sure. Perhaps you wouldn't mind checking when we get home."
"Sorry, lady, I'll be too busy watching television." He closed the door after her and hurried around the car to get in on the other side.
"Why the sudden interest in television?" she asked with mock seriousness when he got in. "I didn't realize you were a Batman fan."
"Batman has nothing to do with it, lady. There's this sexy broad running for council and I want to see how she makes out. You see, I've got something on her."
"Liar," she laughed, "you haven't had anything on her since this morning."
"Is that a complaint?" he asked with a threatening gesture in her direction.
"It sure is," she sighed. "I think I could actually get to like that game in time."
Ten minutes later they were home. While Wanda tuned the television set, Art poured a pair of very big drinks.
As the sound came on, a commentator was still delivering a long winded preliminary report. He discussed the campaign, the issues, the effect of the day's weather on what appeared to be a very light vote, and anything else that he felt would make him sound more erudite.
Eventually though, he did get around to the votes as the camera swung from him to cover the big scoreboard about which he had been raving.
Pointing out for the third time that these were only very early and scattered results, he finally started quoting figures.
In the race for the mayor's chair, the incumbent was running well ahead at the start with an edge of 417 to 285.
"There goes that race," Wanda commented. "Paulson gets his biggest support downtown and those polls were suburban. He'll run away with it."
Her own ward was next to be reported on and Wanda held her breath.
"In Ward Seven," he enthused, "where a member of the fair sex, attractive former social worker Wanda Tupper is attempting to unseat incumbent Joe Carson, we have a promise of a close race.
"At the present time, with just five polls heard from, Carson...."
Wanda stopped listening then and turned her attention to the board that had just been picked up by the camera. It showed Carson 211 Tupper 196.
"You're right in there sweetheart," Art hugged her with gusto.
"Brace yourself for a long evening of watching and waiting, darling," she answered. "If it stays this close, we may both be nervous wrecks by the time we get the answer."
The next couple of wards were of less interest to her. When Mike's ward flashed on the screen, she felt tears in her eyes. He was trailing by 187 to 108. Only then did she realize that she cared more about Mike and Sam making it than she did about herself.
The results in Sam's Ward cheered her up a lot. He was off and running with the score in his favor by 203 to 162.
"I'm happy for Sam," Wanda said quietly, "but I could cry to see this happening to Mike."
"Don't, darling," he held her closely. "Mike's a big boy now. He knew what this was all about and he took a shot at it just like you did. He'll still have his job and he's young enough to take another shot at it later. It's all a part of the making of the man."
Ten minutes later, they took a second look at the various boards. Paulson was increasing his lead and even the commentator admitted that he seemed to be on his way back in with an increased majority.
While he still talked about the probability of the mayor being returned to office, the camera moved back to the board and Wanda read the results from her ward.
This time, it was Carson 386, Tupper 381.
"Please forgive me darling," Wanda smiled almost guiltily, "but I think I need another drink."
With a laugh, Art got up to get it for her. He looked stunned when he realized that his drink was less than half gone.
Within a half hour, a few things became obvious. Mayor Paulson had been returned to office in something like a landslide. Mike was definitely beaten with the machine man leading by better than two to one. Sam, on the other hand, was pulling farther and farther ahead of his opponents and seemed to be a cinch to win.
A full hour after the polls closed, Wanda was still engaged in a neck and neck race with Joe Carson. Now, the count read: Carson 983, Tupper 980.
The next time the camera hit her board, Art unloosed a shrill yell of delight. This time it was Carson 1,154, Tupper 1,163.
"You're going to do it, darling," he squeezed her in a bear hug.
"Not with all those broken ribs, I'm not," she panted.
"I'm sorry dear," he apologized, "I guess I got carried away."
"I love you for it darling, do it any time you like."
When she took a break from watching the results, Wanda phoned Sam Gold's number. He answered the phone and after congratulating him, she asked to speak to Mike.
He sounded much better than she had expected he would. When she finished the call and turned back to Art, his eyes told her she had done the right thing by phoning. She thanked him with a kiss.
The next report showed Carson leading by seventeen votes. Twenty minutes later he had stretched that lead to thirty-two. On the next count, the difference reached forty-seven.
While the commentator fought to keep interest alive by talking about the close race in Ward seven, Wanda told herself the race was over and she had lost.
For just a moment, she thought about it. Relief flooded over her then, the kind of relief she knew she wouldn't have found in winning the election.
She knew she had done everything that could have been asked of her and now it was over. Somewhere, she knew, Joe Carson was watching the same results and sweating blood as he wondered whether this was the end of everything he knew. The thought gave her more than enough satisfaction.
Beside her, Art continued to peer at the television as if by staring harder he could somehow influence the vote count. She was so filled with love that it was difficult to contain it all. She reached for him and pressed her mouth against his in a spontaneous expression of pure love.
When the phone rang, she hurried to answer it. It was a reporter calling to get her reaction to the suspense of the tight race. She surprised him by giving a statement in which she conceded the election.
Finishing that call, she phoned the other paper and gave a similar statement to an equally amazed reporter. When she completed that call, Wanda left the phone off the hook.
"Anyone for bed?" she asked with a smile that came from deep inside., "Hey," Art protested, "you can't quit now, you got a real chance to win this yet."
"Darling," she sat on his lap as she talked, "would you believe that's the last thing in the world I want? My future is filled with important things like marrying the man I love, having babies and being very happy. I can't waste my time listening to dull election results."
Just then, there were more results. This time, Carson had a lead of just over a hundred votes. The smile Wanda wore couldn't be questioned, it was too sincere to be doubted.
"Come to bed, darling and make love to me. I've won."
"You know, sweetheart," Art replied, "I really think you have."
"Of course I have, dear. I'm a very winning woman."
