They lived in Valley Vista, a co-op apartment in the San Fernando Valley.
Ruth lay directly in the middle of their big bed, her legs waggling invitingly in the air, her hands supporting her buttocks.
She wore a full compliment of underwear. Her long black hose were hitched to a small garter belt. Her panties were meshy and slight. Her bra was black lace, forcing her breasts into tight, high cones.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
"Trying to look attractive for my husband.
You do like me this way."
Johnny stormed closer. "You don't get the message. My appetite gets dulled by the sight of my wife playing around with a big slob like our neighbor. My gorge rises when she comes home from him and starts to make a play for me."
But even as he said it, he knew he would make love to her. He knew that if he wanted to stay in this society and keep his wife and his job, he'd have to play the game according to the rules-a game that was known as....
WIFE SWAPPING
CHAPTER ONE
Johnny Marshak was aware of a lot of things at once. He was aware of being irritated, aware of Adele Chambers hand, gripping tightly at his wrist, of the excited rise and fall of her sharp bosom and of the goading, near-sexual quality of her voice, hot in his ears.
"You see," Adele said, moving closer to him so that her long, slender thigh brushed against his and the fullness of her breast bored against his arm, "I told you. I told you, Johnny. Look at them. There they are. Has-has she ever done that with you?"
Johnny felt stunned. Not more than ten yards from where he and Adele stood in the slight clearing of a bamboo plant, he saw them, bathed in a pool of blue light from the outdoor spot. Naked and writhing. Just the two of them.
It took a moment to place the man. He was the burly, affable Sam Masterson from apartment 2B.
But Johnny had no trouble with the naked delicacy of the woman's body. He'd have recognized the long, slender legs, the taut, Venus-dimpled buttocks and the small, pert breasts anywhere. They belonged to Ruthie: Johnny's wife.
"She hasn't has she?" Adele carped at his ear. "I can see it by the look on your face."
Johnny felt revulsion flood him, yet he could not tear his eyes from the spectacle. He felt dirty and ashamed, standing there, watching his wife driving another man into a sensual storm. Through the insulated thermo-pane glass panels of the bedroom, Johnny could hear Masterson groaning out his pleasure.
Johnny spun away, feeling sick. He was aware of Adele close against him, a fact that ordinarily would have pleased him. If only she'd shut up, and not rub it in. It was bad enough his wife was making love to another man, without someone else pointing up the fact. He felt dizzy and numb. There was a churning that alternated in his stomach and brain. He took a shambling step and nearly stumbled. There was Adele Chambers to bump into. She steadied him with her flank and shoulder. Without thinking, he took her arm. It was painful, but he forced himself to look back again. At this slightly greater distance, the fast growing stand of bamboo partially obscured the bedroom, but not enough to prevent him from seeing his pride and joy, his wife, with her legs thrust wildly into the air. Slender, delicately boned limbs he loved so much, loved to see sheathed in silks and nylons, probably the most beautiful legs he'd ever seen in his life. Another wave of dizzying grief came over him. How could Ruth do it? How could she? With another man. Knowing these were the very things he craved, knowing how much he worshipped her.
He reached nervously for a pack of cigarets, getting out several in his shakiness and eventually spilling half the pack.
Adele Chambers stood in front of him, her smoothe veneer of hardness breaking for a moment. Her eyes actually softened and a look of concern crept into her thin, brittle face. "You poor guy," she said, her voice losing its harsh, crowing quality for the first time. "You act like this was the end of the world."
Bitterness hit him hard. "Damned near," he said. He could feel all his plans and hopes draining away, fast. What could he expect? It was really too much to hope for, wasn't it? Johnny Marshak with a good job and a classy, beautiful wife and his own property, a choice apartment in a new luxury co-op. He'd heard of guys making the big jump, but they'd always been exceptional or had made a sudden, big score. He wasn't exceptional, he was just hard working ... and in love with his wife.
A tear bulged out of his eyes and brimmed over, down his cheek. He clenched his teeth to keep from bawling like a kid.
Adele Chambers put her hand on his arm. "Hey," she said, the carping completely vanished from her voice for the first time. "This has never happened to you before, has it? This is the first time ... and you really care."
He managed the cigaret now, getting his Zippo shakily to the end. "What of it?" he said, starting toward the gravel path that snaked across the wide vista of lawn to his apartment-his and Ruth's.
"I remember-" Adele Chambers' voice had a choke.
"I remember when I was in love with Art. Really in love, the way you are with Ruth. The first time's always the hardest."
"What makes you think this is the first time?" Johnny said in a blaze of anger. "Just because I didn't know about any of the others...."
Adele actually held him now. The sudden softness in her voice and understanding in her eyes made him uneasy. She was not the vindictive, carping bitch of several moments ago who'd come to him like a bitchy little girl, chanting, "I've got a secret, I know something you don't know." Adele definitely was not the tall, skinny woman with the over-sexed walk and the exaggerated waggle of her tight fanny, looking at him daringly as she led him by the wrist saying. "You should see what your wife is doing."
"Hush," she said now, "you don't know that there were any others."
Anger boiled in him. Johnny shook her arm away. "I don't know that there weren't, either. I've a mind to go back there and beat hell out of that son of a bitch." Fury welled higher. "That's a hell of a lot of nerve."
"It still takes two to make a game," Adele said. "The rules have changed a lot, Johnny, but not that much."
Johnny made a fist. "I'm going to do it. The hell with it. I'll teach that fat slob to mess around with my wife."
Adele Chambers held him again. "There isn't anything you can do about it, it's already happened. Everything else is between you and her."
Funny how the change in her, the near-tenderness, got to him, slowed him down. She was right, of course. Ruthie hadn't been dragged into Sam Masterson's big bed. Not with a performance like that, she hadn't. It had been premeditated. At least two lies had been told. One to get Sam's wife out of the way, one to get Johnny Marshak out of the way. He looked up for a moment, wondering if he hadn't misjudged Adele Chambers. These high class women were sometimes hard to figure. They could be bitchy and demanding and nerve wracking, but they'd always come through in a way you least expected. At least, Ruthie had. It was true, the flesh was weak, but quality always told.
He smiled dumbly at Adele, feeling a certain amount of comfort at the touch of her hand on his arm again. Looking at her, he understood what she'd meant when she'd said the first time was the hardest. It had happened to her too, he was sure of it.
Well, once again it was borne out in another way. Quality. "When you sleep with pigs," his father had told him, "you get up covered with dung." Adele Chambers, nervous and oversexed as she was, had a streak of quality a mile wide. She knew how to take things. She had feelings.
He snapped the cigaret onto the damp lawn and wiped at the tear in his eye. A moment later, he felt his head being drawn against her shoulder and breasts.
"Johnny," she said in a near croon, "it isn't really so bad. Sex was meant to be fun. You can't let it tear you up inside. Then it stops being fun."
"I've never looked at another woman since I've been married to Ruth," he said, making no move to shift his head. It was comfortable there, where it was.
Adele uttered a mocking laugh. "Never? Never is a long time. A guy like you, not looking at women? Next thing you'll be telling me, your career comes before everything else."
Johnny stiffened. "I work hard, damned hard."
Adele calmed him, drawing his head directly against her small bosom. "Johnny, you can't be all that one-track minded. You're an attractive young man. I'll bet you aren't even thirty-five yet."
"Thirty-two," he said.
Adele Chambers sighed. "Standing up has its disadvantages. Let's go sit."
"I'd still like to paste that son of a bitch."
Adele deftly manuvered him to a redwood bench. "That will solve a lot."
"I'll feel a damned sight better," Johnny said.
Adele Chambers sat close to him again, putting her arm about him, her hand kneading expertly at his shoulders. Johnny felt himself relax a bit. "I know what would make you feel better than that," she said.
"What?"
"Release."
Johnny looked at her blankly. "Release from what?"
"Tension. And you are tensed."
In spite of himself, Johnny grinned. He understood. She meant sex. This was another thing it was still difficult to get used to, still hard to shake off the traditions of the past. People like Ruth and Adele could discuss sex freely in mixed company. It was a tossup in his mind who indulged in more of it, these people or the people of his own background, but one thing for sure, Ruthie would never say to him, "Let's go inside and have ourselves a time," or another used figure of speech common amongst the itinerant workers, "Let's air out your breeches." Hell, Ruthe could be blunt about it, "Let's have sex."
"You know," Adele said with cloying sweetness, "it's possible for two people to fall in love, marry, have children and still have other experiences on the side. It's only the lower classes and people who are more like primitive animals who resent any such thing."
Johnny tensed again. Was she teasing him about his own background? "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, silly, that you're a handsome young man with a strong, animal air of attraction about you. It means women-other women than your wife-find you attractive. I know I do."
"Thanks," Johnny said heavily. "I know you mean well, but that does a hell of a lot of good right now. I've just seen something I won't forget for a hell of a long time." Again, his anger rose. "You saw it, Adele," he said, moving to his feet. "You saw what she was doing to him?"
Adele tugged on his arm. "And she wouldn't do it to you. That's what you're mad at."
"The hell!" he said, waving his arms.
In the distance, they both noticed Myrna and Matt Folsom, walking from the parking area to their apartment. Johnny only nodded, but Adele waved to their greeting.
"Take it easy," Adele Chambers said. "There's something you can do."
"What?" Johnny asked.
Gently, she reached for his hand and placed it squarely over her breast.
"Hey!" Johnny said, looking intently at her.
"That's something you can do. This is a big world. It offers lots of advantages to those who know how to take them. I, for instance, would be glad to do what your wife won't do. No strings attached. All I ask in return is a good, long, hard bout of loving."
Johnny couldn't believe his ears. His hand, still firmly placed on her breast, suddenly felt as if he were holding an electric eel. He jerked away.
She stood up and moved against him, her hips grinding against his. He felt overwhelmed by the strangeness as the friction increased. He'd never considered her for himself, never considered her in any other way than a casual thought that she had nice legs or that she must be over-sexed and undernourished with all that nervous energy she displayed. But he'd been lulled by the shift in her attitude, the sudden streak of solicitation. Now it was all being offered him, aggressively, no holds barred.
She made no bones with her choice of language, using the four letter word. "A good one," she said. "I'm sick and tired of love making; that's all been ruined for me. If I'm going to do that, then I want an occasional good---
He felt desire squirt thorugh him. In fear and confusion, he pushed away.
She stood there, hands caressing her hips, her pink tongue moistening her lips. "I've got time, Johnny. I'll be patient. But you'll see, I'll be worth it. I'll be the best you've ever had. If you think Ruthie was active awhile back, you're still behind the times. But don't worry, I'll wait. You're here in Valley Vista. You'll be here for a while. You aren't going anywhere."
Johnny felt dazed. "The hell with you," he said, hacking away. "You've got a hell of a nerve."
Adele smiled. " I suppose I do. But I also know more than you. I know the situation. There's a technique they use to train and condition voting animals called imprinting. Well, my nicely formed young animal, you're imprinted. I'll even add more spice to it." She slowly began unbuttoning her blouse. In a moment it was all too apparent that she wore no bra. Her breasts, small but exquisitely formed, gleamed taut and erect in the moonlight, the saffron tips seeming to beckon hauntingly. "You'll get more of the picture of the way things are and then the urge will hit you. Unless I miss my guess about those lovely, hot glands of yours, the urge will be hitting you soon. And you'll be thinking about this, the wav I look and the way I felt, tight against you. And it'll he good, Johnny, so good you won't regret it for a minute."
"You're crazy," he said moving further away.
She touched her finger tips to her lips and blew a kiss toward him. "I'm not bitchy when I get what I want, Johnny. I won't give you a bad time, even if you fall in love with me."
Before he could react, she turned and moved toward the path, her small, full buttocks waggling invitingly.
Johnny felt rooted to the spot. Watching her, he imagined for the first time since he'd been married how it could be with a woman other than Ruth. The movement of her hips! That hit him hard and evoked the competant friction of her against him.
Watching her retreat along the cinder path, Johnny Marshak made a fist and slammed it viciously into his other palm. But the fire she had fanned in him was still a raging fire in his loins.
CHAPTER TWO
Arriving at his apartment, Johnny poured a stiff drink and plunked into the large, overstuffed sofa. Brooding over the drink, he found it no help in assorting his feelings of confusion and rage.
The sight of Adele Chambers, exposing herself to him that way and making such a straight foreward offer chilled him. It was impossible to drive from his mind the sensations caused by that sudden coursing of activity against his thighs. But the offer! He visualized that and moaned aloud as he realized things were not what they could be with him and his wife Ruth.
Not if she went to other men. And everything sexually with them-things she wouldn't do with her own husband!
The rage flared again as he heard the sound of Ruth's heels clattering across the flagstone patio in front of the entrance to their place. Without thinking, he decided to see how far she'd go when questioned.
As she flounced in the doorway, Ruth had a look of smugness and cat-ate-the canary satisfaction normally lacking in her cool, indolent expression. A girl with high, exotic cheekbones, Ruth had luxurious silky black hair, a creamy white skin and a high, proud bustline. Her narrow waist-line extened to thighs and legs by seemingly ignoring hips, but proportion made up for this with a cute, high canted fanny and long, slim legs, ending in delicately-boned, trim ankles.
She was a natural for wearing high heels and, as a matter-of-fact, generally did, even to the point of having three inch bedroom slippers. But she generally complained that heels were giving her arch legs. Johnny often suspected she did this simply to call more atention to a lovely asset.
"Hi," she said, greeting him effusively. A peculiar grin betrayed a few drinks over her general cut-off point. "Get all your work done?"
"No," Johnny said, miserably, "I was interrupted and distracted."
"Poor dear." Ruth said, making a slight stumble as she moved past him. Her voice carried a note of amused irony. "Distracted by drinking, I bet. Me, too. We stopped for a few and they turned into a few more."
Johnny went along with the gag, waiting to see how far she'd go with it. "Get any shopping done?"
Ruth shook her head. "They have absoluetly nothing in these Valley stores. I'll have to start going into Beverly Hills. You'd thing for a place as exclusive as this, they'd have stores with a reasonable stock."
Johnny felt stabbed. Had she made arrangements to see Masterson every week? "I suppose you'll be doing your shopping nights?"
Ruth sat next to him, on the edge of the sofa. She kicked off her backless pumps and massaged a foot.
"Some day I'll learn to wear flats with all that walking." There was a generous show-the usual show-of neat, well tapered leg, including the tops of the black nylons Ruth preferred over the brown. "In answer to your question," she said, turning on him suddenly, "I suppose the answer is yes. After all, I wouldn't want to interfere with your plans."
"My plans?" Johnny suddenly felt himself on the defensive. It was that icy superiority in her voice. "I don't plan to bring work home every Tuesday night."
"Work?" Ruth laughed prettily. "You poor Lamb, you've gotten so used to working hard, you have everything pigeon-holed as work. I meant I didn't want to interfere with your other plans."
"What the hell other plans are you talking about?"
Ruth smiled again, in a different way. It was the smile she used as a preface to her suggestions that they make love. It was sensual an open mouthed. It galled him that she could do this now, after having been with Masterson. "Oh, if you don't want to spell it out, I suppose we could call it your night on the town. I'd say your night with the boys, but Adele Chambers isn't exactly a boy, is she?"
Johnny was stunned. "I don't know what you're trying to make-"
"Darling, I know who you're trying to make. I hear you had quite a little scene out on the lawn with Hot Pants, which incidentally, is her nickname about here."
Johnny had had all he could stand. "I suppose they'll be calling you Miss Round Heels. Or doesn't Masterson ever get around to that particular aspect of love making? You know, the natural way?"
Ruth showed no signs of surprise or contrition. "Johnny," she said, "if you're going to get crude and make a scene, I'm going to bed."
"I'll make a scene in there too. And I'll tear the damned door down if you lock it."
"I know you will," Ruth said. "It's one of the things I like about you, you're so-so physical."
"Cut the crap and tell me about Masterson," Johnny demanded. "I didn't go to bed with Adele Chambers. You went to bed with Sam. I didn't proposition Chambers, she came after me and I refused because I happen to be married and in love with my wife. I don't know who did the propositioning between you and Sam, but I do know it couldn't have been more of a spectacle if you've done it up on a stage."
Ruth shook her head in mock remorse. "I told him about that damn blue light, but he wouldn't listen."
"I want to know where we stand," Johnny said, gripping her tightly by the shoulders, his anger giving vent to more strength as he dug his thumbs into the pliant flesh.
Instead of showing pain, Ruth smiled "Yes, I did well. My hard working, aggressive, physical husband. You want to know what I'm going to do, and I refuse to answer you until you give me about ten minutes. Have a drink and come into the bedroom. Then I'll tell you what I'm going to do." Still showing that sensual oval of a smile on her thin face, she casually brushed away his grip, rose and moved to the hallway, where she paused and deliberately lifted her skirt, exposing neat, tantalizing thigh and the tangerine colored silk panties she ordered specially from Juel Park in Beverly Hills. The light hitting the black of her hose and the dull gloss of panties set a patina about Ruth's lower limbs.
"Johnny," she said, "it really belongs to you and I really love you. It's just that we've been married so long-"
"So long? You call two years long?"
"Long enough for what I mean, Lover. Sam Master-son wasn't the fisrt, you know. But that doesn't stop me from saying what you see right here belongs to you. I love you, Johnny. And I know you love me." She let the skirt drop, shot out her buttocks in a saucy immitation of a can-can dancer and vanished into the hallway.
Johnny poured himself another drink. Loved her is right, he reflected. Sometimes, that was the trouble, he loved her too damned much. A spoiled little bitch sometimes, born with a silver spoon in her mouth and, apparently, all itch in her crotch.
He checked himself immediately on that. An illusion that revealed his background, an illusion that revealed all the things he was trying to change.
At thirty-two, Johnny Marshak looked a hell of a lot better than he ever had. Slightly over five-ten in height, the necessary muscle and hardness his body had required to survive had honed down into lean, sharp lines. He could walk into a store and walk out with a size forty, no alterations necessary. Ruth was always feeling his biceps through his jackets and inviting other women to do the same. At time, it made him feel like a damned freak, particularly when Ruth made her allusions that were not as crude as his. "If you think that's something, you should know about him what I know," she'd say. And, even though it would embarass him, Johnny would flush with pride. Ruth valued their love life together.
That was one of the reasons he looked so damned good, he believed. Having the former Miss Ruth Mowbray, college graduate and debutante lying under his eager body, dipping and thrusting with excitement. Feeling the creamy skin touch aginst him and know it was his, that he'd waged a successful battle for her against several high-class opponents, these were the things that mattered to him.
Born into a large family of drifting, migratory workers, some of whom spilled over into carnival life, Johnny began to be fed up with moving around at an early age. He'd stopped counting the temporary camps and worker's huts after age six. When he'd reached age ten, he knew his father's drunken ramblings for a place of their own was just so much bull.
Johnny wanted roots. He was tired of big, commuinty rooms where as many as three families ate and slept. He was tired of listening to the muffled giggles of the kids his own age as their parents went through their grunting rituals of love making.
He was tired of the half-brothers and-sisters who suddenly appeared as a result of a casual liason when his father had gone out on some drunk.
More than anything else, he was tired of thoughts of Melanie, the big, bovine appearing girl who'd come to live with them, even when his mother was still alive. She'd done a certain amount of cooking and she had a way with making bread and home brew beer. She also added to the growing list of illegitimate half-brothers and-sisters Johnny had to call his family.
He was tired of Melaine, who had less brains than even Johnny's father, coming after him persistantly. The times her stomach was swollen with another of Johnny's father's bastards made no difference to her; she'd pursue relentlessly, appearing when he swam naked in an irrigation ditch or rigged a shower.
He was tired of the girls with dirty legs and dresses made over from flour bags or passed along endlessly from mother to daughter to sister after a purchase at a J.C. Penny or Sears.
He was tired of girls who'd never even heard of the notion that a woman might shave under her arms or apply some perfume. He was tired watching his sisters saunter off with any man who had the price for a decent steak dinner or perhaps a pair of cheap shoes.
He was tired of having to thrash out his passions on narrow cots with giggly, indifferent girls, or with the five dollar whores in Bakersfield and Delano.
Sometimes, thinking back on the old life, Johnny realized it was time to slow down a bit, to think of the future a bit more calmly. He'd put enough difference and distance between him and his family. That had come with his first job as an oil rigger near Bakers-field and his first room, all to himself. He'd indulged a long time fantasy by establishing credit at Sears and buying the biggest bed he could find. For nearly a month, he pent every spare moment in that bed, sparawled out and luxurious.
When the idea struck him that this was his, really his, that ho one could take it away from him, he rented the most expensive whore he could afford. Twenty-five dollars for all night. More important than the fact that she enticed him to more frequent and intense release than he'd ever known in his life, she was an absolute fool for taking showers. She changed clothing three times during the twelve hours they were together. She didn't reek of cheap perfume, her creamy skin had a delicious, soft subtle tang to it. Her shoes weren't runover at the heels. Her panties and brassiere hadn't a stitch of patching or darning on them.
That first job and the first rewards it brought seemed to dig a big moat, through which the old life could reach him only in memory. From there, it had been a matter of working himself down to Los Angeles and, thanks to his electronics training in the army, bridging another gap, from the field to the office.
"You want to marry me and get ahead in the world?" Ruth Mowbray had asked him after they'd been dating for only two months. "I'll help you, dear. I'll marry you and show you how to get ahead."
What Ruth hadn't realized was the kind of clean disorder she'd brought to Johnny Marshak's life. She didn't realize how the sight of her sheer nylons and thirty-five dollar shoes, tossed lazily to the floor of his bedroom excited him, or how the sight of a black lace bra, dangling limply from the arm of one chair, a thin whisp of scant panties from another added to his sense of satisfaction as he took pleasure from her taut, lovely body. She didn't realize what it meant to him, being able to walk into the bedroom of their first apartment together and open the sliding door to her wardrobe and look at the collection of nearly a hundred dresses, thirty suits and well over fifty sweaters and skirts. There was no sense counting the shoes she'd collected. Every time he did, the number seemed to increase as though they were like rabbits, multiplying simply by proximity.
Some of the things Ruth did know were basics. She knew how to wrap Johnny around her finger. She knew the value of her maiden name in the proper circles. She knew the value of telling her father, "Johnny's been working so hard lately, it doesn't seem fair to ask him for a new car yet."
She knew the value of making love to him with an occasional abandon. Once, perhaps twice a month this way, a few delicate jabs or rakings with her long nails or the correct nibblings with her straight white teeth and Johnny's appreciation came back a hundred fold.
The value of Ruth was realized almost immediately. Johnny had asked for and been granted a two week vacation to be married. Holloway Industries liked the idea of having married employees, particularly on Johnny's level and above. It made for a picture they liked, of a man assuming responsibilities, of a man serious about his career.
News of Johnny's wedding to Ruth Mowbray appeared in the social pages of The Times, along with a picture of Ruth and her father, the socially prominent North Hollywood Building contractor.
Immediately on his return from the honeymoon in Hawaii, Johnny had been summoned to the office of Dick Braintree, the publications supervisor, given a promotion that automatically included an engineer's status and, of course, a raise in pay. After Braintree got through with what he called the business aspects, he invited Johnny and Ruth home for dinner.
After another three months, Johnny was promoted again and given an option to purchase shares of Holloway stock. Dinner with the Braintrees became a near habit.
"Doesn't matter if you don't like playing bridge," Ruth instructed. "You learn how anyway, and do it well. Everyone plays bridge. It's good for contacts, you'll see."
Johnny saw. Dean Chambers and his wife Adele invited them for dinner. The timing was perfect. Johnny had to apologize to Dick Braintree on the next invitation; "Sorry, the Chambers' asked us first."
"No problem, old man, well make it next week."
But they hadn't. Ruth had taken him to a party, given by one of the Stanford alumni clubs. Bored, but determined to make a good showing Johnny fortified himself with frequent trips to the bar, where he met a slightly older man looking equally bored.
"Damned nuisance, these things," the man said.
Johnny agreed.
They swapped data on their wives and discovered the wives had belonged to the same sorority. This led to another drink and a formal introduction.
"Jayson Simson," the older man said, shaking Johnny's hand. "Do you mind my asking where you work?"
"Holloway Industries,' Johnny replied. "Like your work?"
Johnny was able to reply with a zeal and enthusiasm. He owned a good deal to Holloway, it had given him more security than any job he'd ever know. After talking about his job for nearly ten minutes, he flushed with embarassment, afraid he'd gone a bit too far.
"Not a bit," Jayson Simson said. "I like a man who's pleased with his work."
"Do you mind my asking where you work, sir?" Johnny said.
Simson smiled. "Not at all. I'm vice-president of Holloway Industries."
Shortly thereafter, Johnny was promoted again and Dick Braintree invited him to dinner along with Dean and Adele Chambers. In Braintree's walnut paneled den, the men retired for cigars and brandy. "Look, old boy," Braintree said, "Chambers and I were hoping we could convince you and Ruth to buy in here at Valley Vista. There's a vacant apartment coming up on the ground floor that would suit you perfectly."
Johnny shrugged. "I don't know," he said. He was thinking about the fifteen or twenty thousand it would cost, in addition to the hefty monthly maintenance cost and membership in the club that went along with Valley Vista. "Ruth and I are pretty happy where we are."
"I'll be honest with you," Braintree said, "you're slated for big things with Holloway and we like the idea of keeping all the executives in close touch. Ninety percent of Valley Vista is Holloway people."
"I don't know," Johnny said. "I'll think it over."
Sam Masterson cornered him at work two days later. "It's the Bel-Air of the San Fernando Valley, Johnny. Give it some thought. We'd like to have you." He winked. "Great parties. Plenty of action. It's a way of living you'll go for." He winked again, this time lewdly. "Think it over, kid. You couldn't want for more in the way of comforts. Quality at every turn, and your every need is taken care of."
"You mean to tell me they've been asking you for two months and you haven't told me vet!" Ruth said, nearly exploding when Johnny finally discussed it with her.
"It's a pretty hefty price," Johnny said. "For that money, we could put a sizable down payment on a house. For that matter, we could use the same money to build a damned nice place on that property I own in Topanga Canyon."
"You and that silly property of yours."
"It's a good place for kids."
"I thought we agreed about when we'd have children. I'm having too much fun to think about babies yet."
"You're damned right, its a good move," Ruth's father said after she'd broached the subject to him. "Johnny, that's the place for you to live. Now what's this about it being too much? You make a good salary."
"I thought we'd save a bit first."
"Save, then," Mr. Mowbray said. "Let's say this is a gift to my little girl-and of course, to my son. You go right ahead and save. If I were asked to move into the Valley Vista Co-op, I'd damned well do it."
Johnny thought this ironic. Mr. Mowbray had a hell of a house in Beverly Hills. "You're generous, Dad, but I'd sort of like to make all the financial moves and decisions in this family-according to my salary."
"Oh, Johnny," Ruth said, disappointed.
"No, I understand," her father said. "I like proudness in a man. But you mustn't be too proud to accept gifts, boy. Remember that.'"
That settled Valley Vista.
It also settled Johnny's position. He wanted the big promotion. If this would help get it, okay. So much the better. And just as important was the way Ruth looked at him when she said, "My husband is marked for big things, really big things at work. Oh, Johnny, I'm so proud of you."
Pretty good for a guy who hadn't finished high school until he'd been in the Army. Pretty damned good for guy who'd never had any formal training beyond high school. He'd done it, bulled them all.
It was right there on his record now. Engineer status, and the small, exclusive college in the midwest Ruth had persuaded him to put down on his record.
"No one will ever know. It's the kind of place only people from the very best families attend."
One lie, a hell of a lot of work, and a wife he was crazy about.
He'd made it.
Here he was, with big expectations for a big job.
Here he was, wondering what the hell to say to a wife he'd just seen making love to another man like there'd be no tomorrow.
Ruth called in to him from the bedroom. "I'm ready, darling. Come on in." The was a sensual quaver to her voice. "And the door is open. You don't have to break it in."
Johnny took the last gulp of his drink, feeling it turn to a warm, sharp glow in his stomach. He ground out his cigaret and felt more of the anger floor him as he started into the bedroom.
Other men, she'd said. There'd been other men.
And she didn't seem the slightest bit put out about Adele Chambers. Put out, hell, she'd chided him about it and teased, as if it were an encouragement.
He opened the door to their bedroom and saw her, the shock nearly causing him to stagger when he saw what she was doing.
CHAPTER THREE
Ruth lay directly in the middle of their big bed, her legs waggling invitingly in the air, her hands supporting her buttocks.
She wore a full compliment of underwear. Her long black hose were hitched to a small garter belt. Her panties were meshy and slight. Her brassiere was black lace, forcing her breasts into tight, high cones.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
"Trying to look attractive for my husband," she said.
"This is a hell of a time for that."
"No time is a hell of a time for pleasure, is it? You do like me this way, I know it. You like me to be this way for you."
Johnny stormed closer. "You don't get the message. My appetite gets dulled by the sight of my wife playing around with a big slob like Masterson. My gorge rises when she comes home from him and starts to make a play for me."
"I told you this is all yours. Now I mean to prove it to you."
Johnny turned away in disgust. "Go prove it somewhere else," he snarled. "Go tell them all how you're Johnny Marshak's wife, appearing in a new bedroom on a limited engagement by popular demand."
"Don't be sarcastic, darling. Besides, Adele's probably in bed by this time-asleep, I mean?"
The suddenness of this performance and its disgusting innuendoes hit Johnny hard. "The hell with Adele," he said bitterly, "and the hell with you."
At his back, he heard a swishing and rustling. Ruth bounded playfully off the bed and came after him, draping her arms across his shoulders and holding on tightly. He spun around furiously, driven by his anger. Before he realized it, his hand lashed out, delivering a stinging blow to her cheek. Ruth groaned as the force of the slap drove her off balance, causing her to fall back on the bed. She looked at him for a long moment, blazing in an anger of her own.
Dammit, Johnny thought. It was so compelling, seeing her that way. The effect of her face, given over to anger, ran over him in a sudden wave, making him painfully aware of her long, sleek body. Seeing her dressed and displaying herself this way made her seem alternately cheap and beautiful. It was like one of the truly good strippers, say Lili St. Cyr, finishing one of her more artful routines by giving a vulgar gesture. Johnny felt cheated. He knew Ruth was playing for effect on him, but what an effect. Was it really a weakness to know the very things that fascinated you the most about your woman's body?
Ruth's mood changed abruptly. She did not bother touching her hand to the cheek he'd struck. Instead, a slow smile played over her thin-lipped sensual mouth. The tenseness ran out of her, making her seem even more desirable. "You know something, darling?" she chided, her ankle flexing languidly, "I think you forgive me. I think you love me too much to do anything but what you're doing now, taking stock of what's yours."
"Don't trade on it," Johnny warned.
"I'm not trading, I'm just stating fact. I've got what you like."
"You've got what Sam Masterson likes, too," he said, goaded by her smugness. He felt his hand move for another blow.
Calmly, Ruth extended a leg, as if inspecting for a crooked seam. "They say a man never hits a woman unless he truly loves her. Do you think that's true, Johnny?"
"You bitch," he said.
She smiled again, her leg raising so that her rhythmically flexing ankle was quite close to his face. "But you like that. You like my being a bitch for you. don't you? You like the idea that your precious Ruth can outdo some of the prostitutes and girls you've known before you met me. I've got everything they have and a little bit more. It's a good combination, isn't it?"
"You make me sick."
"Let's not confuse our words, dear. I make you feel sexy." Her out-thrust foot touched his chest, playing slowly over his arm. At once, she seemed to inch forward, then she was in striking range. The lithe legs quickly encircled his waist, drawing her to him with a sudden jerk.
Johnny was taken off balance. He teetered forward, then extended his hands to break his fall forward onto the bed.
She was directly underneath him, her body teasingly beginning a series of arcbings and thrusts toward him as her legs secured a new purchase.
Anger boiled within him and he struggled to push free, aware of the tremendous power in the lithe perfection of her slender legs. The feel of the silk and of the hallowed, remembered places was too much. Anger quickly turned into sudden, flaring desire. All the while, he realized how outraged he felt, how monstrous this was, the wife making love to her husband after cuckholding him only briefly before. Doing it because she knew she could. Doing it because she knew he couldn't resist.
He moaned inwardly. Was it all so obvious? Did she know him that well and have him that much wound about her little finger? Was this the reward you got for loving someone?
Question changed into responses as the insistant friction of her body was augmented by the hot, passionate suction of her mouth over his, her tongue probing boldly, excitingly. It was like pouring coal oil on a fire. The rage flared and he gripped her hips with strong hands, butting against her chest with his head and driving her forward in an animal rage.
Through his shirt, he felt her hands and nails, clutching and clawing. It was true, making love this way was more than a passionate desire; it was the complete boss and control of him.
Before his eyes, she managed to shuck out of the scant black panties, and tantalizingly make to him the same offer she'd made to Sam Masterson. Again the sense of being the bumpkin, the helpless cuckolded husband flared through him. His fingers pinched tightly into the taut flesh of her thighs.
No matter what the occasion when they made love, there was no question in Johnny's mind that Ruth was excited by him.
She'd run the gamut of play acting with him in their love making; he'd seen her coy, angry, shy, demanding school-girl cute and rich, cool bitch. But always, her appreciation managed to overcome to some extent the current mood and make satisfaction and release a matter of course for her.
The intensity of her lovemaking gave him a sober moment in which he wanted to ask her, "If I'm so damned good, why the others?" but the moment passed and only the question remained, frowing dimmer as she worked her sure magic on him, drawing him further and further along.
He was aware of the exquisite electric silkenness of her stockinged legs, brushing tantalizingly against him and then the shout of jubilation and release that began forming in his throat.
Then before his eyes, Ruth was transported to release of her own. Her eyes closed, giving her face that heavy-lidded flare of sensuality as she shouted out her pleasure to the walls.
Moments later, his passion spent, he could afford the luxury of reason. She lay in his arms, still beautiful and desirable. He hated to admit how satisfied he was, how much she meant to him.
"You love me, don't you Johnny?"
"Yes," he said. "I do, I do.' It was out before he could check himself.
Ruth slid on hand about the back of his neck. "Now," she said, sitting up, 'listen to me."
He realized all too quickly that Ruth had changed again. That her show of passion and this rough, animal satisfying of it had given her a strength, a strength he'd somehow managed to lose to her.
He tried to fight it. "You listen to me," he said. "You stay the hell away from Sam Masterson."
"You listen to me, my peach picking friend. It's time you learned some basic facts about people and love."
"I know enough to get you shouting for more."
"That's what I mean," Ruth said archly. "That's only the beginning. You've got lots more to learn. We can do it the easy way, like this, or you can learn it the hard way, peeking in through windows. Any way you're ready."
Johnny sighed. "Go ahead," he said glumly, "I'm listening."
CHAPTER FOUR
Ruth smiled and shifted her body into a languid drape. She still radiated the same, compelling sensuality. In the face of it, Johnny felt stunned and helpless.
"Now, you're being considered for an important promotion, right?"
Johnny nodded.
"And it means a lot to you, right?"
"I'll be on the executive level. I'll have made it on my own, without much of a formal education."
Ruth patted him consolingly on the arm. "You've got things no education could provide, but let's not go thinking your position was earned on its merits. Don't get me wrong, Darling. I know how hard and how well you work, but you've had, shall we say, certain advantages."
Again, Johnny nodded, words of protest forming on his lips.
Ruth raised a finger to his mouth. "Now you hush up and listen. You're making a big jump in class. You were nothing but an agile mind and a strong back before. Now you've made something for yourself,, a new life. Most of your friends and associates are from the upper classes . .
Johnny listened to her prattle on, thinking numbly how he really had no friends. Oh, he supposed he could call Jayson Simpson a friend, or Dick Braintree. Still, it left a lot to be desired.
"... and naturally, you've married into it. Our children will go to good schools and have all the advantages. Thanks to Daddy's connections, the boys will have no trouble with college." She named a prominent Ivy League School. For any girl children, she ticked off a list of equally imposing names. "Now that's quite a jump, isn't it?"
Johnny lit a cigarette.
"Well, making that jump on guts alone is commendable, but there are certain things you just don't know about people. Morals are different, customs change. People learn how to control their emotions and don't go flying off the handle at every turn. Of course, there are certain things I'd be foolish to try teaching out of you. That is, I'd be cutting my own throat. But you've got to understand; when you're with sophisticated people, you do sophisticated things and don't gawk."
"Does that mean I should let you carry on with Sam Masterson without trying to stop it?"
Ruth sighed impatiently. "Darling, it isn't as though anything was wrong with our marriage. I'm happy, but-"
"But what?"
"But I'm young and I like variety and excitement. I expect you'll be having a mistress of your own, one of these days. After all, Adele Chambers has done everything but embroider your name on her undies."
"Tonight was the first I'd noticed," Johnny said.
"Well, I'm telling you."
"I know this sounds stupid," he said, "but suppose other women don't interest me? Suppose it's only you I want?"
Ruth caressed his cheek. "I think that's sweet and dear of you, but you-ve got to be realistic. We're not living in a world of middle class morals now. Leave that to the rest of the Valley. We're in a better place now."
"I'm just a country hick," Johnny said. "You'd better do what you've done so many times in the past; spell it out for me."
"It's simple, Darling. We're married and we're going to stay that way, but I don't see what harm a discreet fling can do now and then. When it's time for children, we'll make absolutely sure so there'll be no slipups. If you see a woman who interests you-"
"You won't be jealous?" Johnny asked.
"Of course I will, silly, that's what makes it so good."
"Discretion," Johnny said dully. "You're a dear, you've got it."
"Just one thing. If I catch you with Sam Masterson again. I'll break his nose. I'm not sure what I'll do to you."
"After everything I've just said-"
"What can you see in the fat slob?"
"I don't see much in him. It was-a whim."
"What were all the others? Were they whims, too? Why is it you'll do things with Masterson you won't do with me?"
"Oh, that again. Well, Johnny, I'll tell you why. Sam made me want to, you never have. That's part of what I mean about variety. Fidelity is such a middle class thing."
"Funny," Johnny mused with irony. "I come from a lower class background, as you so often point out. All that promiscuity was one of the reasons I wanted to get out. I made it. I got out. Now what do I find again."
"But this is different," Ruth said.
"I know,' Johnny said, "this is discreet."
"Exactly," Ruth beamed, "Just the same, if I ever catch you and Master-son-"
"Johnny, do I have to teach you all over again?"
"Maybe this is one thing you can't teach."
Ruth sighed with impatience. "Well," she said, more to herself than to Johnny, "you're oodles of trouble, but I still can't say you aren't worth it." Almost mechanically, she fluttered her hand across his loins.
"No!" Johnny said.
Ruth deftly slid her legs over his lap. "Don't be naive," she said, drawing his hand to her breasts. "I'll educate you yet."
CHAPTER FIVE
The following two days reminded Johnny of the time right after he and Ruth were married, days in which all his dreams and ambitions seemed to have slackened off, making him realize he had nearly everything he wanted. Future ambitions? Well, of course. He wanted to be better at what he was, and there were pleasant dreams about children and that real dream of being able to build his dream house on the Topanga Canyon property, by himself, using as little outside help as possible. If he botched a job, what the hell? He'd do it over again until he got it.
Like that again, pleasant and dreamy.
Work was interesting, reducing the complicated operations of a new Holloway data processing system the size of a basketball into a handbook that would be used by engineers and scientists.
Ruth was attentive and pleased, a combination that had him feeling on top of the world.
The second day after the argument and threat, Ruth even suggested they pack a picnic dinner and eat it on the Topanga Canyon property, just talking and watching the sun set.
Ruth wore a light tweed skirt and a tight cashmere sweater with crepe soled English walking shoes. It gave a note of aristocratic adventure to the picnic, as thought they had no other concerns than what their new estate would look like when finished.
From the high point of the plateau, they could see the molten sun, firing up the sky with a blaze of reflected reds and oranges on the low hung clouds. Lying with his head in Ruth's lap, Johnny felt pleased with himself again. He had it made. There was no problem he and Ruth couldn't solve together.
He knew it was overly sentimental, but he felt close to tears.
Ruth seemed to share the mood, which added to his pleasure.
"We're not through yet," Ruth said. "We're going a long way on that strong back and determination of yours, Mr. Marshak. You're going to get everything you want."
Then it happened, so naturally that Johnny didn't have time to think about it until later. His hand ran idly over her knee and calf, tingling at the sleek, electric sensation of her sheer hose. He even chuckled at the thought of Ruth wearing stockings in rugged, undeveloped land like this. She'd wear nylons to go water skiing if she had any doubts that bare legs were socially incorrect.
The sensation was pleasing for both of them. Johnny hummed his approval. Ruth bent to kiss him. The plum-like shape of her breasts, tightly outlined by the cashmere sweater, dipped invitingly close. His hand moved up to touch and he felt Ruth jump. At once, Johnny raised his head and drew her close against him. The nubby tweed skirt hiked above her knees, revealing a secret that brought a cunning grin to Ruth's lips; she wore no underwear except for a thin band of lace and elastic that was her garter belt.
"After all," she said softly, pulling him close to her, "we are married, you know."
"I know," Johnny breathed, "I know. Oh, Ruth, I love you. So very much."
She moved away. "But, darling, we can't-I mean, not here."
Johnny felt a wave of annoyance. "Why not?"
"Because we haven't any-I mean-" She seemed strangely embarrassed. "Well, our plans don't call for starting a family for a time."
Johnny moved away, suddenly feeling bitter. "That's true," he said with sarcasm. "We can't possibly afford a child now, and we're both much too young to become parents."
"Oh, don't spoil everything by getting that way. We've talked and talked about children. That will come. You're being very childish, doing what you've just done."
Johnny reached for a cigaret. "What have I just done?"
"You've spoiled an important triumph for us."
"What kind of triumph?"
Ruth clucked her tongue in annoyance. "You see, you are being childish asking questions like that. We're not animals, Johnny, and we've just proved that-by not doing anything when it would be so easy to do something we might be sorry for later. We have a very good sexual adjustment, Johnny, that's what our triumph is. We have a very, very fine sexual adjustment."
"So do we," Liz Braintree said, the next evening casually munching a stalk of celery. "Don't we Dick?" Dick Braintree shifted a bite of steak in his jaw and said, "yes, I guess we art pretty well adjusted sexually. We're certainly liberal and aware of each other's needs."
Johnny kept his eyes on his plate aware that his cheeks were flushing, content to let Ruth tell the Braintrees about hers and Johnny's sexual adjustment. He still wasn't used to the idea of discussing something so personal at. dinner, even if they were relatively close with the Braintrees. Still, it bore out Johnny's belief that Ruth was not a prude where sex was concerned. She never hesitated discussing it or inventing words for it like the ones he'd heard at home. His father had probably been the most straight forward, referring to sex as getting his ashes hauled. But his father's various mistresses and many of the girls he'd known would invent phrases like, "doing it,"
"hitting the hay,"
"a roll in the hay,"
"having the time." To his knowledge, actual words for the love act or for parts of the body were never brought out unless it was in reference to a visit to the doctor. And then, it would be a curious mixture of the Latin words with the slang expressions. "The doctor says there is nothing wrong with coitus if-if you don't go 'round giving it away to your old man every night."
But Ruth could bring it off in polite conversation and Johnny was learning that he could expect it from these people.
"Why just last night," Ruth said, and she went on to tell the Braintrees how she and Johnny had been so overcome, being alone out in the open like that.
"We're like that, too," Liz Braintree said, directing her conversation to Johnny. She was a dimunitive woman with an agreeable face sprinkled with attractive freckles. Her hair was reddish brown, the brown dominating the coloring and making it possible for her to take sun without burning like the classic redhead. Her most striking physical assets were a cute, nearly button nose and wide, round eyes. But these were closely rivaled by an exquisitely shaped bust.
If Liz Braintree was aware of how attractive her nose and eyes were, she preferred to emphasize her breasts, indulging and getting away wth the most daring cleavages and cut-out bras that gave support while still showing the full outline of her nipples against dress or blouse.
Tonight, it was both for her, a full, deep V of cleavage and the decided presence of full large aureoles outlined against the chiffon of her dinner dress.
"We're like that, too," she confessed. "We get carried away when we're in some lonely country. But we have a thing, a real thing on the back seat of the car." She smiled prettily. "I should say, I have a thing. Dick probably just indulges me. In bed, the classic position is fine, but in the back seat of a car, the other way just drives me wild."
Johnny smiled, his embarrassment vanishing. The thought of Liz being driven wild was amusing to him. Already a lively, animated woman, the notion of her being inspired to even more excesses conjured pictures of circus acrobatics.
Liz's response to his smile vaguely bothered him. She winked. It was more than a friendly wink, he thought. Or was he imagining things? Was all this direct, straightforward talk about sex making him un-comfortably aware of a new facet to the relationship between himself and Ruth and the Braintrees?
Johnny gave Liz Braintree an acerbic smile when the realization hit him hard. Seen from another light, the Braintrees friendship had a completely different meaning. The way Dick kissed Ruth when they met, the way Liz directed conversation to him; there were hidden undertones that jolted him.
Even now. he recalled a recent conversation with Liz on the subject of women's breasts. He'd stated his preference after she'd questioned him. He simply hadn't liked these big, mammalian bosoms that bordered on ugliness because of their size. He definitely recalled saying he liked a natural look to a woman's bosom.
Well, Liz had taken him at his word. The connection wasn't difficult to make. Each time he'd seen Liz since then, she'd been wearing a cut-out bra.
It was preposterous, and yet it loomed suddenly into his mind. If Liz was doing this to attract him, what was Dick doing to attract Ruth?
And then, the most damning of all fears. Had Ruth already slept with Dick Braintree?
"You know," Liz said, lowering her voice into a whisper, "Dick and I are really fond of you and Ruth. We've had lots of fun together and we can have lots more. Thank heavens we're all in such a simpatico atmosphere. We can have grand parties and all sorts of things."
Johnny felt his dinner turn to lead in his stomach.
Before he could respond, Dick was at his elbow, pouring a generous splash of brandy. "What say we move into the living room and listen to some music," he suggested, giving Johnny a genial pat on the back. Johnny took a swallow of brandy and turned to regard his friend. It felt odd. Dick was his friend; at least he believed Dick was as much a friend as anyone. But thanks to that sudden doubt, thanks to Liz's attentiveness to him, thanks to a certain heaviness of sophistication in the room, Johnny looked at Dick in a different light; as a possible seducer of his wife.
Possible, hell! Ruth could very easily be willing.
"I was just telling Johnny," Liz said, getting up, "that we ought to get up a real whing-ding of a party this week-end. Just the hard core of our close friends. Small and intimate." Sympathetically, she turned to Johnny. "Dick brings shop talk home sometimes. I know you've all just had a real difficult session with that new guidance system the Air Force wants. Let's make this a blow-off steam party. Five or six couples and everything goes."
"Count us in," Ruth said, smiling at Johnny with a challenge.
He definitely felt something hovering in the air.
"And I like to think," Liz said, "that our closeness, the Marshaks and the Braintrees, will remain throughout the party."
Johnny watched in awed fascination as Ruth and Liz exchanged a long glance, then a smile, as though consumating a deal. "I think," Ruth said, "it will be great fun."
Gulping his brandy, Johnny felt terribly left out. It made him recall an incident from his early days. He was scarcely more than twelve. He'd just made an unheard of five dollars picking walnuts at Tulare on a day he'd set out to go swimming. Five dollars, free and clear beyond his father's knowledge. He'd gorged himself on hamburgers and malteds, then returned to the outskirts of the migratory worker's camp where he'd met three friends.
"You got any money?" they'd asked him.
Because they were close friends, he'd confessed. Four dollars left.
"Great. We got a hooker. She charges two bucks. You can get in on it if you want. In fact, you got to, otherwise she ups it to three bucks for just three of us.
Johnny hadn't understood. "To lay her, silly."
Johnny was stunned. Sure, he'd seen his father after women; sex had been no mystery to him, but he hadn't connected himself with it yet. He felt the same way now with this talk and with Liz Braintree taking him into the living room and flicking on the FM radio and asking him to dance with her.
He felt as naive as he had when a boy. He'd known something was going on, but what?
Liz's chin burrowed into his arm, her breasts into his chest. She had a good voice and she hummed softly but well to the music. Her dancing was basic and straightforward. Johnny, with the dance courses Ruth bad insisted on for him, had no trouble evoking praise from her.
When he acknowledged her, she replied by fitting her hips flush against him. They danced just enough for Johnny to feel a prickle of irritation intruding on him, the same kind of feeling that came when he got mad at Ruth on those times they ended up making love violently.
Another drink and he was aware of Liz's technique again as they resumed dancing. As the alcohol hit his confused brain, the numbing effect made him calmer. It seemed to remove the undercurrents and doubts.
He caught brief sight of Ruth. She smiled at him over Dick's shoulder as they danced out toward the Braintree's balcony. It registered with Johnny that Ruth thought this an important occurrence, that she was pleased.
He felt jealous toward Dick, but Liz pressed another drink on him, doing it with skilfull direction so that he really could not refuse. "You must be all tensed up. You've got to unwind. I will not consider myself a good hostess unless one of my favorite people loosens up and stops being so tense."
He took another drink and lost all pretense of wondering what was happening. The jealously seemed to vanish. Ruth was alone with Dick and he was dancing closely with Liz and all he knew was that it was beginning to get to him.
To add to it, Ruth and Dick appeared shortly after, suggesting they make this less formal by removing shoes. The men, of course, were to remove their ties.
It seemed to Johnny that Ruth actually waited until she saw him ask Liz for another dance before she moved out to the balcony with Dick. He thought he caught one of Ruth's signals, a sly wink that he'd come to associate with her approval in a social matter. "You pick these dungs up faster," she'd told him several times, "when you just follow my lead and stop thinking about your background. Sophistication should come naturally, but you're going to learn. A person can be trained."
And so Johnny decided it was time for more training. He let Liz rub her hips closer against him and remembered the words of his dance instructor that it was the man's job to make sure his partner was not merely dancing, but enjoying the dancing.
Liz was getting tight, he could tell. Her humming was off key now and her rhythm impaired. Her every movement seemed to be devoted to bedeviling him. First there was the thrust of her hips, then the subtle chafing of her bosom against his chest.
After a few moments more of this, he began to experience the inevitable reaction. A sweat broke out on his forehead as he attempted to control his thoughts, to concentrate elsewhere. At length, he tried to keep a distance between their hips, but Liz persisted. When she made the discovery that he was so obviously asouset, she let out a sigh of relief. "Well," she said, "I was beginning to wonder. I thought something was wrong with me. But I've made the grade. At last I'm a successful hostess." Impulsively, she threw herself into Johnny's arms, her hips grinding against him now. "Oh, Johnny, I can hardly wait for the party."
Startled, Johnny attempted to withdraw. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "Maybe we'd better sit down."
"And miss out on my triumph? Not a chance. Let's finish this dance."
Johnny tried to hold her at bay, but she kept moving in on him. "I was afraid you didn't like me. Those compliments you paid me, I thought they were all just politeness. But it is fun to have new friends, real friends. You have to be so careful these days. So few people really understand. I-" she kissed him impulsively on the cheek and then, before he could react, her hand darted out to his loins, patting him in a gesture of affection. "I'm so pleased. I hope we'll be as good friends as you and the Chambers' are."
Johnny blanched. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"It's all right," Liz Braintree teased. "We're discreet and understanding." She showed a move of distaste. "Not like some people we know."
Johnny's puzzlement must have shown. "That would be silly," Liz said, "telling you tales and then expecting you to believe I don't carry them. But I am so eager for us to get on well."
At the conclusion of the LP album on the radio, it was Liz who suggested they sit down. In the dimmed room, Johnny became all to conscious that they were indeed alone. Liz smiled encouragingly at him. "You can kiss me if you'd like."
His reaction was a new reflex, virtually pounded into him by Ruth. "For the love of heaven, know when to be gracious." Well, there didn't seem to be any harm in kissing a friend. He leaned a bit closer, his lips meeting her cheek, just at the comer of her mouth. He thought it perfect, it was just tentative enough, placed just well enough to be intimate without going too far. But two things happened. Liz wrinkled her face in annoyance and he could see without difficulty her two neat breasts, caged in the cut-out bra, looking delicate and fragile like two prize pears. packed for shipping in lightly colored excelsior. For all the delicate appearance, there was something disturbingly hearty about this animate bosom and as she leaned even closer, he could see the nipples, saffron and firm, pushing against the chiffon of her dress.
"I don't get any kick out of your just looking," Liz said firmly. Then she immediately backed water. "That isn't true: I do, too. But for heaven's sake, if you're going to look, then look. If you're going to kiss, then kiss. I believe in a woman helping out with things, but the real initiative is strictly up to the man."
Johnny got the message. He was being invited to handle the merchandise. He took a deep breath and did. He could feel Liz's pulse gently transmitting itself to his fingertips as her face moved closer to his. They kissed, and it was a deep, searing, tongue-probing affair.
It excited him to have her literally throwing herself at him this way. Yet it was crazy, it was mad. Here he was, beginning to make love to his friend's wife, an offense for which he'd seen several men beaten and one man actually killed. But it went in Valley Vista, and it surely went with Liz Braintree.
"Oh you living doll," Liz said in a tight-lipped voice, pressing her body against him.
Johnny was excited by her passion. He thought of the strangeness of the situation and the newness of the tensed, exciting beauty being offered to him. Her face was buried against his cheek as she gasped and panted and he realized she was as excited as he was. Her eyes closed and her entire body was giving itself over to the pleasure that splashed intensely through it.
The thought came to him. stop this, it's absurd, but the thought came slowly, like a penny dropped into a bucket of honey, spinning slowly through a suddenly dense medium. But before he could translate thought into action, it was too late for both of them.
She sighed and relaxed in his arms. "That's such a delicious moment, isn't it, Johnny? I don't think there's anything that feels better than when two people first discover that initial shared intimacy."
Johnny didn't know whether to thank her or not.
He knew from Ruth that there were times when it was silly to thank a person; it gave precisely the wrong impression. "You're very gracious," he said, settling for a word Ruth liked and used a good deal. She used gracious as though it denoted a quality such as Sterling silver, twenty-four cart gold or gowns by Balenciaga.
Liz actually squirmed with delight. "And you are a very gallant man," she said, betraying one of the rare inflections and gestures that revealed her Southern schooling and upbringing.
"I suppose you'd like to freshen up after all that," she said.
Appreciatively, Johnny nodded finding as he got to his feet that the drinks still had a hold on him. It was more than crazy to him, it was absurd and nearly grotesque. You got ahead in society by being sophisticated. Sophistication meant winning your wife's approval for causing the wife of your neighbor and work mate to achieve release by pretty blunt, unmistakable manipulations.
It was confusing and he doubted he'd ever get used to it, but if this was the way to get ahead, well, he'd try to go along with it. If this was maintaining his position and insuring it, well, he'd give it a go. If this was pleasing his wife, he'd do what he could.
His wife.
The thought of Ruth gave him a chill and he felt sober as he started toward the restroom. Sophistication or not, he couldn't help wondering what had gone on between Dick Braintree and his wife.
CHAPTER SIX
Johnny took a long gulp at the remnants of an unusually dark drink for him. He set the glass down on the table and followed Ruth out the door of their apartment, her words still ringing in his ear, his pulse pounding with a mixture of dread and excitement.
The evening was warm, nearly balmy; the moon barely under full. In the patio, the light fell on Ruth's bared shoulders and proudly extended chin, adding to his sensation of excitement. She reminded him of some animal performing a mating dance. Her dress, a bright red, carried out her sensual intent, at least in his feelings. The dress was tight where it should be, scooped where it should be. Even now, her buttocks waggled with animation and, thrilling a sight as this was, he found himself resenting the hurried clatter of her heels over the flagstone and gravel as they moved toward the Braintree's apartment.
"Want to stop at the club house for another drink?" he suggested.
Ruth turned on him. "Losing your nerve already?"
Her hot, piercing glance caused him to lose the last remnants of conviction he had. Numbly, he nodded. "The farm boy in me," he said glumly. "You'd better tell me how it works again."
Ruth plunked her hands on her hips, profiling to him. The sharp jut of her breasts was outlined in the light, stinging him with its effective reminder that tonight she was neither dressed for nor anticipating him. It was probably someone else and it was supposed to be sophisticated and somehow the thing to do.
"You pick the craziest times to get obstinate," she said. "You want to make something of yourself, don't you?"
Johnny allowed a small grunt. "You want a better position in your work, don't you?"
He nodded.
"Then you've got to learn that this is a world where two kinds of games are played, penny ante and table stakes. If you keep playing penny ante, you'll win penny pots. If you take an occassional fling, you stand to gain everything. People judge you by your accomplishments and sophistication. If you're going to be bound and hampered by these middle class notions of...."
"Of purity," he said bitterly.
Ruth's lips tightened. He was positive she'd have slapped him if she'd been any closer.
He shook his head. "You've had the advantage of good schools. This is all something I've got to learn slowly."
He watched Ruth's front teeth chew at her lip. She finally gave a grunt of anger. "I'm going. If you want to come, come on." She started again, without looking back.
Johnny lit a cigaret and watched her. Even when she was mad at him and he at her, she held a charm for him, a strong, abiding allure. It was so senseless and futile. She was putting it all on the line and expecting him to go for it, not caring if he didn't.
He knew what his apprehensions were telling him. This party, this sophisticated meeting was a polite excuse for an orgy. But that was the answer. It was polite, so it went. If you had position, you could get away with anything. If you had that, you couldn't be touched. He recalled a famous motion picture actor, getting only probation for having had a prolonged affair with a seventeen year old girl. Some poor sap tries that and boom, it's a jolt for statutory rape. Or Mcintosh, the wealthy stock broker, who got off on an involuntary manslaughter charge after a so-called shooting accident that killed a man who'd been sleeping with Mcintosh's wife.
Watching his wife disappear into the darkness, Johnny thought of all these things, telling, compelling arguments. But there was one that was even more telling than the rest. When the one you love flaunts all the rules you've ever played by and tells you, you've got to do the same if you still expect to keep her, you follow, no matter what it costs you.
Johnny snapped his cigaret against the trunk of a palm and started toward the Braintree's apartment. He thought of his wife and of the lure she felt for Dick Braintree. He thought of Liz and imagined how much more heated things would be. She would do more than dancing tonight, that was for sure. It was already an unspoken agreement. The Marshak's and the Braintrees swap mates for the evening. All nice, clean fun. All good healthy sophisticated friendship. No complications. Business as usual come Monday morning, with Liz making toast and coffee for Dick, if she got up in time and Ruth making his bacon and eggs.
All neat and tidy, except that the sudden image of Liz, baring her breasts and offering to him made him aware of a sudden dryness in his throat and the need for another drink.
He'd go ... after his wife and after his friend's wife, but first another drink.
His mind made up, Johnny moved quickly for the intimate Valley Vista Club house. A low-slung brick and glass building, the restaurant would provide meals if ordered ahead. There were three full time bartenders on duty, one of the reasons the monthly Valley Vista maintenance costs were so high.
He felt like one of the small booths, wanting no conversation while screwing up his courage. But the booths were filled. He sat next to Joyce Powell, a slim, pretty blonde. She nodded to him and Johnny waved. He liked Joyce and her husband, Sid, but had no use for Ed Blainey, the man with whom Joyce was now drinking.
The drink was set in front of him without his having to order. Another benefit of Valley Vista living. The bartenders made damned sure they knew your drink and your brand.
He looked at the drink, said here goes to it and downed a good half. The specter of Liz Braintree's ebullient breasts, firm and ready for him, seemed less like a threat now. He actually began to feel that he could lose himself in enjoyment of them. It-it might even be enough. She seemed that nice and understanding. He smiled to himself as a jolt of courage hit him. Liz was an highly responsive woman. Perhaps if he displayed enough enthusiasm, petting and kissing would be enough to satisfy her completely and his initiation could be by degrees.
The smile grew broader. What a hell of a thing, drinking to get enough courage to satisfy his wife ... by making love to another woman.
"You either have a dirty picture glued to the bottom of your glass or manage to find life damned amusing," a voice said at his ear.
Johnny turned to confront Adele Chambers. Her hair was slightly mussed and her breath was tinged with vodka. Judging from the way she was dressed, Adele had not been invited to the Braintree's intimate little party. In contrast to Ruth's dressy simplicity, Adele wore a tan gabardine skirt and a flaming orange blouse. Her pumps were covered with the same, silky orange material, the brightness of which made striking compliment with the cinnamon brown of her stockings, outlining her attractive legs to perfection.
"Life is amusing," he said, warily. Something about Adele's manner put him on his guard by reminding him of Ruth's musky eagerness. He grimaced at an image that came to his mind, a seed bull moving after a feisty cow in heat. He tried to make amends for this by amending the mental image with the words, "Adele is in heat tonight." It was a concession to Ruth, who also preached on the problems of thinking like a farmer.
"If it's amusing, you shouldn't be growling at me, or is that a sign of encouragement?" Before Johnny could answer, Adele laced her arm through his. "Looks like we're both at loose ends tonight. To say the least, our spouses are occupied. Shall we improvise?"
"I have to leave pretty soon," he said.
"In the right place and under the right circumstances, soon can be time enough for a hell of a lot."
Johnny shrugged uncomfortably.
Adele pressed her advantage. "You may get the message by now, Johnny. I wouldn't be in the least bit adverse to going to bed with you, the sooner the better."
Johnny twisted uncomfortably.
"You have every reason for feeling free. I know you find me reasonably attractive. I know enough about birth control. My husband is not home. I have the desire and, most important, I think it would be a beautiful thing."
Johnny's eyes flickered up quickly, as though trying to assure himself of her sincerity. A beautiful thing. Going to bed with another man's wife because she was at loose ends and happened to feel the need. A beautiful thing.
She extended her foot to the rung of his barstool, throwing a sharp line from the small of her back against the seat of her skirt, then extending along the rear leg. Everything was tightness and inviting female profile. Adele Chambers noticed his fascination. "This is as far as my vamping goes. I admit to liking the notion of being able to arouse a man simply with a few poses and I believe a certain bitchiness and seductiveness from the woman helps. But I've told you, given you a green light and done everything but grope you. The rest is up to you. The booze is cheaper at my place. We can go there for a few drinks. I want to go to bed with you, but if you don't make the move, I won't push it any further."
I've got to go, Johnny thought, the image of Liz Braintree strong with him. But Adele's words were stronger. "I think it would be a beautiful thing." Johnny stood up. The way he was feeling, beautiful things were hard to come by, that is, beautiful things you loved. "Let's go," he said.
They made the distance to the Chamber's apartment quickly, Adele walking the last hundred yards with her arm clinched tightly about Johnny's waist.
He smiled inwardly as he allowed the rhythmic sway of her hips to beat a cadence against his side. She didn't have to hold him to make sure he'd remain. That much was certain now. The mixture of drink and irony was too much present to allow him to turn back. He wanted to see what this beautiful experience was.
Although he'd seen the inside of the Chambers' apartment on other occasions, he noticed it now in a new, special way. Odd how there was little difference between Adele and Ruth's tastes in furnishings. The basic floor plans were slightly different and the two women indulged different color preferences, but Johnny believed he could locate things in the Chambers apartment in the dark.
Adele's favorite color seemed to be white. Noticing the long tufted sofa and the shirred curtains and lamp shades, Johnny felt like a cynical onlooker at a so-called White Wedding, where the bride's virginity extended only to her prospective husband and she'd been had by nearly every other capable male in the room.
True to her word, Adele did nothing in the way of embracing or maneuvering once they were inside the den. She did not go through the woman's ritual of kicking off her heels and sighing about the freedom of bared feet, nor did she look as though she expected to be kissed or suddenly handled.
It was all cool and practiced, a bit too much so for Johnny. Her off-handedness had to be practiced. Maybe this was what was meant by something beautiful.
He looked about the room again, as if assuring himself this was reality. But by now the perverse committment had changed its way into something direct he could understand, desire. Moving toward Adele, he was aware of thinking how it could be desire for anyone, for Ruth, for Liz Braintree, for Adele.
She perched on the edge of the sofa, her eyes rising inquisitively to meet him as he neared her.
"Well, I do believe we're going to have some hanky panky," she said, stretching herself cat-like so that her back arched into an exaggerated curve and her small breasts flared forth.
Not, he thought, if you keep up this way.
He neared her and took her hands in his. He could feel the excitement and anticipation coursing through her, and now he began to wonder, what next? How did you treat the woman in a situation like this? Surely she didn't expect protestations of romantic inclinations or such nonsense as, I've always wanted you.
He settled on an approach from the past, treating Adele much the same as he'd treated a twenty-five dollar whore in Delano, after a particularly good winning streak in a poker game with some peach pickers.
He applied gentle pressure to her hands and drew her to her feet. "Where shall we go?" he asked.
Adele tossed her head toward the sofa. "Is this all right?"
Johnny shook his head, just as he had at the twenty-five dollar whore's suggesting a blanket on the sand near a river bank.
Adele acted surprisingly like the whore; she showed a good deal of teeth. "There's my bed."
"That's fine," Johnny said. A wave of curiosity hit him and he drew Adele roughly against him, feeling the burrow of the small, firm breasts and the abrupt sharpness of her hips, digging into him. He took her face in his hand, tilting it and pressing his lips to hers.
Adele responded immediately, her moist tongue flickering out like a switchblade knife, jabbing deftly. Her body began a sensual roll of friction and gyrating against him. She moaned softly, prolonging the contact of the kiss, her hands finding the back of his neck.
"Oh," she said, at length, "to think you've been running around loose all this time."
"I haven't," he said. "I've been married." He took her hand again and started leading her toward the hall door that opened on the entrance to the bedroom, wondering if, in this "game," mention of marriage wasn't forbidden. It was difficult to know the rules of organized adultery.
In the bedroom, he noticed, to his surprise, that Adele and her husband used single beds and wondered if Ruth, in her excursions about the other apartments, wouldn't notice further use of the single bed. It might help explain her opposition to the big double bed they shared. Ruth had given in only when she saw the size of the bed he had in mind; the very bigness of it seemed to reassure her.
Adele sat on the edge of her bed. "Do you want to undress me?" as asked.
Johnny shrugged. He actually didn't care. Besides, what was protocol in a case like this? It was funny, ironic almost, but he really didn't know. He nearly burst out laughing with the thought that it might get back to Ruth that her husband didn't observe the correct manners in committing adultery. The thought racked him with such mirth, he nearly lost his desire for the entire thing.
Adele stood up before him, her hand moving tentatively to her blouse.
"Oh, the hell with that," Johnny said. He was determined now. It would be done and he would do his best to make it good. He knew the secret to that sort of thing, you had to enjoy yourself.
He landed Adele back on her bed with a near-tackle that caught her by surprise and caused her to grunt involuntarily. "Hey," she said, a note of pleasure in her voice.
The touch of her began to excite him and her obvious, intense pleasure drove it home. She liked being treated this way, and if she liked his way, there'd be no trouble. That was the most important thing to establish. Ruth sometimes fancied herself as delicate and objected to rough handling. It was hard to anticipate her moods.
As he gripped Adele Chambers' skirt, she began writhing. Words of joy and ecstasy shout out of her lips and she began encouraging him. By arching her back, she was able to reach in for her panties and give them a convincing tug. Johnny took care of the rest with a yank, drawing the undergarment over the long length of her legs.
Adele no longer spoke, but it was amazing how understandable her moaning was. Her hands clutched and clawed at him and she found the articulateness to utter the word yes over and over again as she clung tightly to him. Her breath came now in short bursts.
Adele gave the appearance of a wanton, a woman who placed all her confidence in sex, who believed in it more than anything else. She might do other things, have other interests, but this was the driving force in her life. This driving thrashing urge gave her more of what she needed than any other material thing. It was something to anticipate, something to plot, something to enjoy, something to brag about, something to keep score on. Realizing it, Johnny felt himself carried along by her ardor. When you were with someone who cared so much about a thing, so very much, it was only natural to be taken along by the excitement.
Her moaning increased intensely now, and Johnny began to fear that even the substantial walls of the Valley Vista apartments would not be enough to dim the advertisment to the neighbors.
He felt Adele tighten again, her voice reaching a crescendo of intensity. Her nails dug into his back, her legs flailed wildly. Her eyes wer glazed and distant, her face a mask of pleasure now. Johnny felt curiously pleased and, at the same time, detached.
His pride was immense and he felt a new strength and virility. Most of it was false, he knew, but he believed he could continue this act of love indefinitely. What a receptive audience.
He wondered if Adele reacted this way with her husband. Perhaps that was the game, and the reason for it. You didn't act this way with your mate, that would be too-what would they call it?-too middle class. But you could play around all you wanted and anything went.
What a joke.
But here it was. Again, he felt like laughing at the situation, but the prolonged excitement of Adele, moving and making such animal noises beneath him heightened his own urgency and in another moment he knew his own excitement was fast approaching.
As release neared, he felt a complete abandon. Like a small boy, in the care of a baby sitter, he did things he'd never dare do otherwise. His movements became furious and with it, his detachment turned into sheer amusement. There was no longer a question of repercussions in this outrageous situation. There would only be trouble if he refused to play the game. And if there were no Ruth, if he had no woman at the moment, Adele was someone he'd surely look at.
Adele's movements increased and Johnny was taken by her sincerity. There were plenty of ways to play act in love making, but there was no doubting her honesty and deep appreciation. Again, he couldn't help himself, he wondered if she was so unselfish with her husband. Quickly, he vetoed the idea as she began watching intently so that he became aware of the look of soft concern on her face, moving closer to him as he felt his senses drawing him inward to the raucous explosion that began taking place in his body with such force that it shut out all sight and all feeling except the excruciating awareness of his own body and his own voice hearalding the event.
Afterward, he reached for a cigaret but before he could get the pack, she beat him to it and lit it for him. Moments later, she asked if he was hungry. An affirmative response brought a huge sandwich on French bread with hot mustard and thick slabs of ham and succulent cheese. After he took the first few nibbles, she bounded out of the room and returned with a cold beer in a chilled pewter tankard.
No, he was positive Adele's husband didn't get this kind of treatment; if he did, there wouldn't be any of this game playing, no musical beds. And conversely, if there were no musical beds, there'd be no treatment like this for any other man.
Well then, that was the answer to Ruth's trying to teach him about class and society. Underscore one important rule of etiquette: it was wrong to have a continuously successful sex life with your wife, but it was highly permissable to do so with someone else's wife.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Johnny left Adele Chambers' apartment shortly after twelve, the bloom of fulfillment considerably off his enjoyment. After finishing his sandwich, it had become apparent that Adele was running down, thinking of less and less to do for him, parrying nearly every attempt at conversation and finally, like some smug, petulant teenager, turning on TV for the late movie.
After watching nearly a half hour, Johnny had become fed up with the whole thing. Adele still smiled at him occasionally, but she was intent on the TV show, which he considered dull. She had finally removed her shoes and she'd sat with her feet up on the sofa cushion, her knees a platform for her chin. Absently, she chewed at a strand of hair.
There was virtually no way of getting to her; she hadn't even objected when he'd gotten up to leave. He shrugged and thought of the club house and a cigaret. He had absolutely no taste for going to the Braintree's now, even though he felt a token appearance necessary.
Very well, he'd have a drink and peer in. If there were objections, he was well covered. Adele Chambers. All he'd have to do is slyly intimate that he'd been way-laid. He could deliver it with a straight face, then realize he'd made a pun and it would be perfect. Even Ruth couldn't object.
Pleased with the turn of events, Johnny Marshak felt free and clear. He decided on the short cut through-the swimming pool area, even though it meant vaulting a short fence.
As he moved over the soft damp lawn that sloped down to a row of hedges that grew tall about the pool to cut out the noise, he heard a man's voice spitting out a string of epithets, punctuated by, "and if that's the way you feel, the hell with you."
A moment later, he heard sounds of a person cruching over the gravel path with a quick, heavy determination. Lord only knew what that was all about Some strange argument. Some husband or wife, perhaps even a kindred spirit, subbornly hanging on to the old idea that you stayed with the person you married, or if you happened to stray out of some motive, it wasn't at the direct, insistant instigation of your mate.
To his surprise, Johnny heard sobbing. A low, steady woman's voice, crying intent, bitter tears that choked now and then, finally stopping abruptly. "Who-who's there?" a woman's voice said with a quavver.
"John Marshak," he identified himself, vaulting the stone fence that was so close to the hedges and pushing his way through a narrow opening. "Is something wrong?"
He didn't need an answer to that, he could see it. Joyce Powell sat huddled on one of the deck chairs, her arms draped disconsolately in her lap, her knees sagging apart.
"Hey," Johnny said, moving closer. He saw Joyce trying to stem the flow of tears without much success. As she wiped a hand across her eyes, he couldn't help noticing the front of her dress was torn, revealing two tight pink cones of her bra. It was a haunting and frightening sight, causing him to make quick mental addition. The man he'd heard swearing had done this, had ripped her dress with a tug.
"Are you all right?" Johnny asked, feeling silly. If she were all right, she wouldn't be sitting there, crying. "Strike that," he said, starting to remove his jacket. "You obviously aren't."
"I'll be all right," she said. "You can leave me alone."
He had his jacket off now. "After I get this on you," he said. "If you want."
Her liquid blue eyes met his with a blaze of sudden hatred. "Look, I've had it for tonight. No more party games, you understand. Let's just go on, being two nice, fortuante people who happen to live in the same co-op and have similar backgrounds. We'll smile if we meet in public and maybe one day soon have a drink together and you and my husband can talk about the dumb nine hole golf course and the great mother, Holloway Industries, at whose breast we all suckle. But right now, I want to be alone to lick my wounds."
Almost before he could think, Johnny found himself answering. "Let me help you lick them." Then he recoiled, embarrassed. He'd only meant to help.
The look of hatred grew even stronger as Joyce Powell extended her somewhat pointed chin defiantly. "Oh, save me from these Playboy magazine quips and quotes. I'm telling you, Johnny, I've had it. I'm through for the night. Go on home to bed or go play tiddlywinks or something."
She was a strikingly attractive woman in that her looks were quite plain and she knew exactly what to do for them. Her face was heavily angular and a bit bony. A scattering of freckles bridged her nose and died out at the beginnings of her cheeks. The right touch of mascara emphasized her deeply set blue eyes and the right shade of brow pencil made a strength out of a potential weakness. Her lips, thin and nearly straight, had a soft inviting quality thanks to the light orange lipstick.
Johnny found himself gawking at her as usual. He knew her only slightly and that mostly by reputation. Joyce Powell was supposed to be the original Miss Round Heels. Any time he'd heard mention of her from his friends, it invariably began, "now there's a piece I'd really love to-" Always in the subjunctive, but so far as he knew, no one of his acquaintances had ever gone to bed with her. Still, she had the reputation for it.
"Blainey plays rough," he said, tossing her his jacket.
"It wasn't Blainey, since you're so damned nosey, it was Jack Marcher." She looked blankly at his jacket. "What's this?"
Johnny took pleasure in being able to answer her question with the same sarcastic tone she'd used on him. "It's a jacket. People generally wear them, particularly if they have nothing on underneath." He turned on his heels and started away, calling over his shoulder, "You can return that tomorrow or when you're through with it." He continued walking until he was arrested by the plaintive sound of her voice, the bitchiness in it run dry. "Johnny Marshak," she said, sounding sweet and chastened, "I'm sorry, Johnny Marshak. And will you walk me home?"
He turned, smiling. "I'll even carry your books."
Joyce Powell stood up and made great show of putting on his jacket, using it to cover her torn bodice. She kicked off her shoes and stuffed them into the pockets, approaching him barefooted. Her walk was straight and proud, reminding him of an Indian.
"I'm sorry about that little speech," she said, catching his arm, "I was pretty teed off."
"I guess that remark of mine didn't help. I meant well, though."
He felt pressure on his arm. "I believe it. But you'd be surprised how well everyone around here with pants means these days. I guess you're the more reliable type."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I put men into categories and I'm usually pretty good about it. There are the ones like Marcher who eat, talk, breathe and smoke sex. They can never get enough, to hear them talk. The oftener the better, the stranger the better. But they don't really enjoy the act. Then there are ones like you. You go after it, get it and that's it; no hoopla, no crowing."
"What makes you think I'm that successful?"
She clucked her tongue. "For one thing, I've seen your wife. For another, I saw you earlier with Adele Chambers, remember?"
"Does it automatically follow, just because you saw me with Adele?"
This time, Joyce laughed. "You weren't with Adele, Johnny; she was with you ... all over you. She's my only competition for campaign ribbons."
Joyce rambled on, installing in Johnny a curiosity and confidence. Listening, he learned that her background was every bit as lofty as Ruth's although Joyce took less stock in it. "We still contribute our share to the world's prostitutes, finks and crooked politicians," she said. "I don't know why we think we're so special."
Listening to her, Johnny began thinking she was special. There was a freshness and frankness, in spite of the tiredness. The girl had something, an extra spark. Walking more slowly to prolong the conversation, he found himself thinking how narrow an escape he'd had. He might have met her before Adele Chambers and gone after her. He was aware of her, so positive it would have been good, all the way good, that he'd have swallowed Ruth's new edicts without further thought. But this was different. He was attracted to her and it was all the better, knowing he wanted it that way. She was of his choice. And because he liked her, he would never do anything about it.
It took little persuasion to get her to accept the offer of a drink at the club house. "I guess I'm taking you up on your earlier offer of assistance," she said. "Talking about it, bitching about it seems to help."
He, of course, found out what the it was.
Joyce's husband, George E. Powell, was a male counterpart of Ruth, at least as far as playing around was concerned. George E. saw no harm in an occasional fling, just so long as there was no scandal.
"Scandal," Joyce hooted, "that means his family would die if they knew how many times he was almost a father by someone other than me." She tilted her chin up, her gesture of beauty and defiance. "I'm the pot calling the kettle black. I guess I'm hoping my family will discover all the theoretical notches I have carved on my headboard over my bed. Undoubtedly, you've heard rumors about me?"
Johnny nodded affirmatively. "Many are true, especially the ones that use the subjunctive. I can think of four or five men who are plotting to get into my panties. But I've had it. I'm through with this sleeping around. It's like trying to give up cigarets. I've managed to go pretty long spells without. Each time, it gets better, and you know why? Because the men and their approaches and their lines and their techniques all start blending into each other, and so there I am with nothing really. A mosquito bite that's been scratched. I experimented with that, too, Johnny. Next time you're bitten, give it a try. Don't scratch. Put your mind on something else. The feeling will go away."
"But you're so-"
She halted him with a deft touch of her finger tips to his lips. "Don't. Please don't give me the line about being so attractive it would be folly to isolate myself from men."
Johnny was glum and silent. She was like Adele, effectively blocking off any attempts at closeness. It gave him an uncomfortable twinge to realize this was the direction he was headed with Ruth.
What the hell kind of man was he, he wondered briefly. He'd originally set out to protest his wife's infidelity. Instead of accomplishing anything, he'd learned of more past infidelities and planned future one. That wasn't all ... he was expected to jump into the swim of things, too.
He started to ask Joyce again, instictively sure this was the way to reach her, on a basis of honesty. Enough of it would penetrate her barriers.
"There ought to be something people can do when they find themselves in this situation," he said. "Damn it, is this really the way it's done? Do we have to play the game because we're so-" he fought for another word other than Ruth's favorite, privileged. But it was unnecessary. Joyce's head bobbed a few times and moved against his shoulder. She was asleep. End of question and answer period.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, Johnny awakened with a start. It took him several moments to realize what was happening. In his dreamless sleep, smells and images began floating rapidly, mingling with noises.
Opening his eyes, he saw Ruth, wearing a peach colored shortie gown, carrying a breakfast tray.
She was serving him breakfast in bed.
"Of course," she said. "I'm proud of you, you're making an effort to learn. You've got to know these things to live the kind of life we can have."
"I didn't show up at the party. I thought you'd be mad."
"Mad? Darling, I was disappointed. So was Liz. But we heard about you and Adele and also the great strides you made with Joyce Powell. You go after big things. Well, you'll get big things. You'll get a promotion and well have more stock options and-"
Johnny ate his breakfast in a daze. He was haunted by Joyce Powell, and to Ruth's incessant chattering, he could only think. I've done it, I've really lived through it. It was no nightmare; it was real and now she's pleased, and she's happy.
He washed the last of the egg down with a gulp of fresh, hot coffee and told himself how well this worked. When Ruth was pleased with him, his energy was unbridled. He could work twelve, fourteen hours a day and scarcely notice it. That was what came from loving someone. It was still crazy, but she was happy.
"I was thinking of a day of loafing," Ruth said. "There are some things you ought to read. I worry that you spend most of your time reading those silly books on electronics from work. You've got to spread out. Particularly there's one thing that's important. A doctor in Sweden has written a book saying it's unnatural for a man and woman to spend their entire sex life in monogamy."
"Sweden has the highest suicide rate of any country in the world," Johnny said.
Ruth's face puckered into a frown. "You're always doing things like that, interrupting me."
"I thought you were finished."
"No," she said, "I am not finished. He goes on to say that monogamy is good for the lower classes. When they ignore it, they tend not to want to work. They lose their sense of responsibility. But the upper classes-another thing. There's a long list of famous kings and statesmen who've had several mistress, and you know of course about marriages of convenience and how that leads to having lovers."
Johnny spent the afternoon trying to read the book. The Rams were playing the '49ers on TV and he turned it on, making a pretense of doing both, but Ruth came bounding into the room to turn off the set. She sat on his lap then, asking him questions about Joyce Powell, particularly if he'd witnessed the scene she'd had with Jack Marcher.
From there, she went into Adele Chambers' prowess as a woman. Johnny found the subject distasteful and tried to concentrate on the book. Ruth remained on his lap, working at her fingernails. Her bare legs bobbed continuously and her chatter was more than enought competition for the book, which was dull and uninteresting, He set the book down and tried to shift Ruth. Her weight was causing both his legs to fall asleep.
"You finished that chapter?" she said anxiously. I guess so.
"Don't guess, Lover, this is important. Did you read that last one? Wasn't that magnificent? I've never tried that before, have you?"
"Johnny shook his head.
"Adele's supposed to like that. I'm surprised she didn't try to induce you. As a sort of showing off."
"She showed off plenty," Johnny said.
"Slow down Lover," Ruth called as he started out of the room. "We've got some experimenting to do."
"What kind of experimenting?"
"That position, silly. Doesn't that make you feel sexy?"
"Frankly, no."
"Well," she said, standing and moving toward him, "we'll fix that."
Johnny was transfixed. Did she really mean it?
Apparently so, her look told him. She had a studied determination that frightened him. What the hell was happening? Was his life turning into a complete farce? How much did a man have to accept to gain a new status?
He let his mind reel at all the staggering implications. The only thing that could possible happen next was a big huge orgy, with everyone in the Valley Vista Co-op participating.
He felt hunted and frightened at this sight of his wife stalking him, not out of love but curiosity, eager to try a rather athletic position for love making.
That was a joke, the love making part. Ruth would approach this the same way she approached his bridge lessons, beginning with the basics and drumming the rules of bidding into his head, growing cranky that a man with his ability at mathematics couldn't grasp so simple a concept as a card game.
What a hell of a difference. Everything was oriented to social graces and performance. A wife worked at perfecting the technique of sex with her husband, not with the idea of solidifying their love and marriage, but to gain skill in a new social aspect, mate swapping.
Ruth held her hands out. "Come, come, Love. You've slept well and been fed well. Surely, I'm not difficult to look at, am I?"
There, Johnny was had. He was forced to shake his head. She was not difficult to look at. Her limbs were sleek and lovely peering out of the shortie nightgown. He sometimes wondered how her body remained so slim and muscular when she rarely indulged any real exercise.
"Do we have to do that?" he said, almost ashamed with the whole thing.
"We don't have to do anything, Johnny. Not a damned thing. You just sit and stagnate if you want. I thought you were a man who wanted to get somewhere when I married you. Lord knows, my whole education and upbringing as for one thing, to be an asset to my man. Other women study for careers, my background is to be an asset to my husband."
"And that," he said, voice dripping irony, "includes learning new positions to use in the sex act. What a fine way to help your husband make his mark in the world."
"When you get your back up against the wall," Ruth said viciously, "you revert to type. Dull people are the ones who refuse to learn anything new. All right, mister, you go watch your silly old football game and get tight drinking beer. If that's the kind of life you want, you go ahead. But don't you expect me to make a habit of looking good for you or staying home."
"For Pete's sake," Johnny said, annoyed. He got up from the bed and marched off to the bathroom, took a brisk shower and dressed. Ruth was not in the bedroom when he entered. He found the book, lying where it had been left, on the bed. The whispy peach colored shortie gown lay in a heap, apparently against Ruth's closet door in disgust.
He headed into the living room, noticing he could still catch the remaining quarter of the football game. No sooner than he flicked on the dial when the door chime sounded. That would be Ruth, he thought, without her key and perhaps back for another try.
To his surprise, it was Joyce Powell.
"Hi," she said, extending his jacket, the one he'd loaned her last night. Although the usual Sunday afternoon lounging costume at Valley Vista was swimming gear-weather permitting-or lounging pajamas, Joyce wore an off-the-shoulder summer dress, emphasizing the lean muscularity of her shoulders and arms and the delicate outline of her neck. The sprinkling of freckles that loaned such character to the bridge of her nose and cheeks was vaguely repeated on her arms and shoulders, giving her an outdoorsy appearance. Nor did she indulge the almost continuous use of high heels. Her feet were comfortably clad in thin sandals. "I came to return this and thank you for the favor and for taking me home. I hope I wasn't rude, falling asleep on you like that."
Watching her, Johnny cursed Ruth and all her nonsense. His brief taste of adultery had honed his responses to Joyce Powell. Even worse, the fiasco of a few moments ago with Ruth and that crazy experiment left him more upset than he'd realized. An instinct lie did not trust took over. As its first official act, Johnny found himself listening while he invited Joyce in.
Joyce accepted with alacrity. "Truth is, I got kicked out. There's a Sunday afternoon poker game at our place."
"I was abandoned," Johnny confessed. "The football game was too much for Ruth. She had other notions, too. I won't go into them."
"Correct me if I'm wrong or bawl me out if I'm impertinent," Joyce said, "but I'll bet that other notions business had to do with a book written by a Swedish doctor. The old biddies around here have been going for that in a big way. It's the best seller since Exodus."
Johnny looked downcast as Joyce sat next to him on the sofa, sprawling her long legs in a lazy fashion. He was acutely aware of her and the petulant sensuality she radiated. It was supposed to be, he figured, a friendship. The thing they supposedly had in common was a tiredness of playing around and putting up with the whims of their respective mates. But Johnny noticed more. Joyce was of the same cut and quality as Ruth, vet Joyce didn't take any of Ruth's elaborate pains to advertise the fact Nor did Joyce have to be entertained. Even now, sensing her preoccupation with her own problems, he noticed she was quiet out of consideration.
Before too long, she had the football game on TV. They watched in silence, thinking how much they really had in common. The same basic approach, the same feeling of love toward their respective mates, the same approach to rationalizing the insistent betrayal. How far did it go, he wondered. When did you draw the line with someone you loved?
Johnny cast several sidelong glances at her, wondering how she handled her problem, wondering how she could reconcile the way she lived and still be happy.
Joyce caught his glance once, then stiffened, stood up abruptly and made as if to leave. "I thought we were friends," she said. "It's a tricky thing, a friendship between a man and a woman. It's okay until the libido starts getting in the way. Seems one party or the other is always bringing their unfulfilled urges into the picture. Apparently, you've still got troubles."
"And how," Johnny said, "but not like you think."
"Not like you think," Joyce mimiced viciously. "I've told you, friend. I've heard every story in the book. Men have always been going to do something for me because they didn't want to sec such a great beauty go to waste. By giving me a quick jump or two or three, my great beauty was no longer going to waste and I could no longer be accused of saving it for the Great White Dream, who never came along. Well, I won't have it, Johnny. I won't have you coming to me and looking at me with the left over lust from your wife."
Johnny reached for her, restraining her with a firm but gentle grasp of the arm. "I can't help it if you're so damned attractive to me. If it's being looked at you're afraid of, you'd better stay home because I can't help looking at you, no matter how loved up I am. But in all honesty, I'm just as interested in an uncomplicated no-sex friendship as you are. Please stay."
Joyce considered. "I wonder," she said. "I don't exactly find you ugly, you know."
"I love my wife," Johnny said.
Joyce gave him a soft look. "I know," she said, with understanding, "but that isn't a safeguard, is it?
Your wife likes the idea of your having other women. At least, she thinks she does." She lowered herself to her haunches, her bunched leg muscles crying for attention from Johnny's eyes. "Look at you, even now you're giving me the once over. There isn't a movement I make that you don't think is sexy or attractive. Women feel the same way about men. You think it doesn't give me pleasure, knowing I can arouse you? Even if I don't intend to bed down with you, I still like the idea. Any woman who tells you differently is lying-either to you or herself.
"One rainy afternoon or some other conducive situation, we'll meet and both of our glands will be in an uproar and you'll touch me and I'll touch you and then you know what will happen? I'll get a few black and blue marks from where you've grabbed too hard, maybe a few weals from love bites, and you'll get a few bites and maybe a furrow or two from my fingernails. We'll have made love, committed adultery, cheated on our spouses, whatever you want to call it. And the hell of it is, it'll probably be damned good, so good we'll want to try it again. Then we'll really be in trouble. Our troubles will just be beginning."
"What do you want to do, then?" Johnny asked, miserable.
"Maybe not if we meet in the supermarket, tell jokes if we meet in the clubhouse or wink if we ever have dinner together and think with great smugness how we've beaten the game by being the only two people in Valley Vista who have an attraction for each other and have managed not to hit the sack. That will be my idea of high hilarity."
"It will mean not seeing you," Johnny said sadly.
Joyce straightened up, self-conscious now at Johnny's gaze. "Hey, you love your wife, remember."
"I know," Johnny said, with a quiet determination. "I know."
CHAPTER NINE
The first hint Johnny had of the approaching party was at work. It was handled with a cruelness that hit him hard, even though he was not the brunt of it.
In the publications section with Johnny was a young man named Evan Buck, slightly over five nine in height, stocky, good natured and hard working. Buck had the misfortune of not looking well in clothing. I lis suits and jackets, generally quite expensive, would wrinkle and bulge and apparently no amount of tailoring or artificial fabrics would help.
Buck looked exceedingly good, however, in shorts or levis, and it was said of him that at more than one former Holloway company picnic, Buck had landed one of the girls from the steno pool out in the bushes.
Approximately Johnny's age, Buck had married-and only recently-one of the secretaries in the research and development section, a move , Dick Braintree had said, that cost Buck a promotion.
Sitting in the third floor rumpus room, drinking coffee with Buck and discussing plans for a new booklet showing the government a run-down on expenditures and progress, Johnny was joined by Dick Braintree and Ed Kelsey.
"What about that golf date we'd discussed?" Evan Buck asked Dick Braintree.
Dick virtually gave him the cold shoulder. "Sorry, old man, can't make it. Terribly busy. Oh, say Johnny, you've heard about the blast we're having next Saturday night. You don't show up for this one and we'll come roust you out." He winked slyly. "You prowling at this party, not away from it." His voice took on a new tone of admiration. "You and that Powell dish were a surprise. No wonder you're a loner."
"Will she be there?" Johnny asked.
Kelsey nudged him. "We'll do our best, kid. We want this to be a good one."
Johnny nodded, feeling uncomfortable for Buck. "Boy," Evan Buck said, "you guys must do nothing but ball it up at that Valley Vista Place. I'll have to see a real estate agent about getting in on the waiting list. Emily and I have booked the stork, you know, and we were thinking of buying someplace."
"Valley Vista's a bit steep, old man," Braintree said, getting up. "And exclusive."
"Oh, I think we can handle it," Buck said. "I was talking to Mike Ryan about it just the other day. He and his wife invited us over for dinner and let me tell you, we were impressed."
"I don't think Ryan will be there much longer," Braintree said.
"Are you kidding?" Buck protested. "He owns his apartment just like the rest of you. He wouldn't think of leaving."
"He may have to," Dick said. "Some of us were thinking of buying out his share. He's gotten into one scrape too many."
Evan Buck was bug eyed. "I thought he was a good guy."
"We did, too. But we can't have our people passing bad checks like that. It's almost a habit with the guy. Besides, there are a few other things."
Buck leaned closer, forgetting his own vulnerable position. Anything that reeked of scandal got his interest. "What was the trouble?"
"He's done some shoddy things," Braintree said. "Let's just let it go there."
Buck put a hand on Braintree's arm. "You can trust me. What was it, that secretary of his?"
Braintree shook his arm free of Buck's hand and turned to Johnny. "We'll expect to see you, old boy." And with that, he and Kelsey were gone.
Buck started in on Johnny, first with golf, then trying to wangle an invitation to dinner. Johnny felt miserable putting him off. It gave him an unflattering picture of the kind of game he was playing. There was one big difference, Johnny had married well, Buck hadn't. Johnny had made the grade, Buck never would. It was a strange nether world, where Buck, in any other job, would probably do quite well. His big mistake was marrying a secretary and trying to put on airs.
Back in his own office, he plunked his feet up on his desk and cradled his arms behind his head, then angrily swept his feet back to the floor. He'd been in what they'd called a Holloway position, a thinking position affected by all the executives when they didn't want to be disturbed by anyone. Being seen with one's feet up on the desk had come to mean, I'm thinking deeply about company business. The hell with all that.
He tried to lose himself in his work, but a conversation in the next cubicle arrested him. It was the wheezy, con-man voice of Mike Ryan, plying one of his favorite gambits. "Look," he said, this time to Lenny Brine, "I left the house with no cash this morning. My credit cards are all in my wallet, too. How's about I give you a check for ten or so, huh?"
"Absolutely not," Brine said. "Your last one bounced."
"But I've got to have lunch," Ryan said. "You wouldn't want me to go without lunch, would you?"
"Do you good," Brine said. "That tummy of yours-well, it wants trimming down Now if you don't mind, fellow...."
Johnny read all of the signs. Ryan was on his way out of everything. The quickest way to realize it was when you heard someone called fellow instead of old man or old boy. As long as they called you one of these two names, you were in good graces.
A moment later, Ryan was in his cubicle. A bug-eyed man with a florid face and an adam's apple suggesting the beginnings of a goiter, Ryan looked about Johnny's cubicle with interest.
The entire publications office was in a large wedge shape, with each supervisor such as Johnny having a small private office and a cubicle from which he could look out on his staff.
"Hey," Ryan said, "you sure got a good lay-out here. They gave you walnut paneling."
Johnny nodded, seeing at once the similarities in his and Ryan's backgrounds. It was a hell of a life, fighting for position and status, and for what? He wasn't sure about Mike Ryan, but he knew about himself. Getting away from an unbearable past. Getting Ruth for his wife. That was it. Ryan played his little games for some reason, probably because it was all he knew. Johnny was in it for love.
He closed his eyes, briefly cherishing the notion of chucking in the whole thing, the walnut paneled walls of his cubicle, the Broadloom Bigelow rug on his office floor, the apartment he owned at Valley Vista and yes, even the job at Holloway.
"So I'd really appreciate it, old man, Ryan said, "if you could give me some cash for a check. What say?"
Johnny shook his head ruefully. Even though he, too, was on the way down at Holloway, Ryan called him old man. Even though he must feel the pressures beginning to mount and notice the silent treatment, he was still trying for some sign of acceptance, however small.
"Listen," Lenny Brine's voice boomed in from the doorway, "you'll have to tend to your problems elsewhere, fellow," he directed at Ryan. "Johnny is busy, too busy to give you cash for bad checks."
"It's good, Lenny," Ryan protested.
Lenny Brine's tight lips formed a straight line. "You've been pushing a good thing pretty far. You need money, you go down to Crosley Kelly at the credit union and stop bugging my buddy."
Ryan, abject in his failure, moved out of the office.
"What a fink," Lenny Brine said of him. "A real fink."
Left alone, Johnny clenched his fists. It was all crazy and ridiculous, the things that happened to a man. You work your way up to the top with sweat, guts, determination and, if necessary, your fists. You start reaping some of the benefits of what you've struggled for ... and what happens? You get soft, Johnny realized Physically and morally soft.
He picked up the dummy copy of the latest brochure from his desk and tried to immerse himself in it, but a nagging thought persisted. He recalled a conversation with Ruth about the book, "Tropic of Cancer." He'd thought it was a ridiculous book, Ruth had appreciated it and lectured him about what the lawyers had said about the book having redeeming social values. That was the important thing, contemporary standards and contributing valuable insights and understanding of humanity.
Good standards, but who was to be the judge?
Well, he mused, it had to start with the individual. He could tell what was redeeming if he thought about it honestly enough. And that was the absolute hell of it. Johnny Marshak, reaching the top by guts and hard work, that was a redeeming quality, all right. That was acceptable in his own eyes and those of his peers.
But what had happened after he'd begun reaching those goals?
It was brutally simple to figure out. His life had become devoid of those very redeeming social values, and there was nothing he could do about it because he had no guts. It was a nice trap, a silken boudoir of a trap and it centered around words like love, wife and Ruth.
CHAPTER TEN
The party began at the Braintree's, and even though the beginnings were pretty much like all the Valley Vista parties, Johnny quickly noticed an undercurrent of excitement and high, electric expectations.
Adele Chambers latched on to him early in the game, berating him for not having come to see her. She was dressed in an outrageously seductive manner, her blouse tight across her bodice, her buttocks jutting out saucily and suggestively as she walked.
Liz Braintree virtually made a cat fight out of it, latching on to Johnny's other arm and peering daggers at Adele. As usual, Liz wore one of her elaborate bras, with a hefty cut out, giving the impression that she really wore no bra at all. "I dressed for you tonight," she confided.
Everywhere Johnny looked, there was an aura of women having gone to extra special care in making themselves look desirable. After a few minutes, there was so much blatant sex about that it became easy to ignore.
Dick Braintree supervised the serving of alcohol, which he dispensed with a joviality that bordered on savagery.
Johnny was aware of Ruth, acting like a cheetah on leash at his side, straining to be free and moving. She was off almost immediately, bolting through a throng of people as though catapulted by her own desires. Johnny's last sight of her was a flash of her lime green taffeta dress and her silky green shoes, disappearing behind a welter of bright party dresses and moving men.
He found himself seeking the bar, along with several others.
"Your wife's a knockout," Dick Braintree said, handing him a dark drink. "Well, here's to oblivion and fun."
Johnny drank, thinking how true this was; it took a kind of oblivion to produce something like this. Seeing Liz Braintree moving toward him, he tried the opposite direction, producing a feeling of being trapped when he saw Adele Chambers wave and smile at him.
"Am I glad to see you," she said. "Party was beginning to get dull already. I've really been in the mood for excitement. You don't realize what it's like, all those club meetings and Holloway Executive Wives meetings. You don't realize anything but your work; that's all that counts. I don't care if I do have a maid or tons of luxury appliances, there's still a lot of work for a woman to do, running the home of a young executive. And most of it's dull, stiffling work. I need a chance to let my hair down, and you're the man to let it down with. Lord but you were tender and good that other time, Johnny. Please, please try to draw me tonight."
Johnny blinked, feeling like a fool in this world where he seemingly understood nothing. "Draw you? What do you mean?"
"You'll see," she encouraged "We're pairing off later on an as-is basis."
"As-is?" he said, feeling like a dolt for having to repeat things that way.
"Yes, no adjustments. When the pairings are made, that's all, brother."
"That's nice," Johnny said with sarcasm.
"Who do you want, Johnny?" she asked hopefully. "Who do you really hope you draw?"
"My wife," he said, walking away. It was suddenly necessary for him to see Ruth, to look at her and reassure himself of this feeling of love and devotion he had. Adele had had her explanation for liking to live the life of wild parties, and he supposed it was realistic enough, but not for him. All that work, hell! He could recall his own mother, cooking for eight or ten on a wood burning stove, then doing the washing and still managing enough work to bring in her own half day's pay during the heavy fruit picking seasons. Too much to do, hell! Adele needed children.
He came across Ruth talking earnestly to Sam Masterson and a pang of jealousy ran through him. Were they plannning things? Were they as hopeful of being paired together as Adele had been with him? Questions and no concrete answers. He looked long and hard at the woman he loved and for a moment tried to assess his feelings. He saw a tall, slender, attractive woman, so evocative for him that even the back of her neck brought tingles of excitement to him. It brought moments of real love and affection to mind, moments when their bodies had acted like pledges of faith and happiness. These memories blotted out all the painful moments, the time he'd seen Ruth with Masterson, that crazy book with the impossible positions ... unreal things, all of them.
Sara Porter appeared next to him, nervous and giggly in her blue bouffant gown that showed her long skinny legs off to such interesting advantage. Sara had a pretty face and had often been mistaken for Grace Kelly-when she was fully clothed. In shorts or bathing suit, Sara's figure evoked the same work from nearly everyone-"Interesting."
"I understand the entertainment's going to start," Johnny said, nodding his head to an array of sausage shaped balloons.
Sara smiled thinly. "Something around here that isn't sexy? That's easy-my husband."
Johnny was taken aback.
"I have one of those mysterious marriages," Sara continued, "Where Shep can successfully become excited by everyone but me. They say it's a vicious circle. Satisfy a bitchy wife sexually and she won't be bitchy any more. But you've got to start satisfying her."
"You aren't bitchy, Sara."
She pecked him on the chin. "That's the thing. No one can understand it. I don't have to be bitchy to you; you're attractive and you aren't my husband. Believe it or not, Johnny, much as I dream about sex and keep trying to get it on pleasant terms, a party like this, even without sex, is something I live for. I can't think of anything more exciting than the raucous hum of masculine voices. Sure, they show off a lot, get pot bellies and act like little boys, but I like men." She nudged him, "Look the entertainment's going to start."
Johnny noticed Nora, the Braintree's young maid, a slender Philipino girl with nut colored skin, moving into the center of the floor. Sara's intense interest made Johnny even more thoughtful. After all, Ruth had told him to keep his eyes open and he might learn something. Well, perhaps he just had. Sara liked to let her hair down with men. Something was wrong with the relationship she had with Shep Porter, and whoever it was to blame, the result was amazing. Sara could be pleasing and interesting to any man but her husband. He was positive the affable Shep Porter had the same effect on women other than Sara.
Nora, the maid, was barely over five four. Standing in the center of the floor, she called for a low ottoman, which was brought to her by Sam Masterson.
Johnny couldn't see how Nora could entertain. So far as he knew, she was merely a maid, nothing more. Nor was she particularly attractive, except for the deep tint of her shiny skin, the glossy blackness of her hair and the slightly plump breasts that poked against her uniform whiteness.
"Have you ever seen her do this before?" Sara asked.
Johnny shook his head.
To his surprise, Sara surveyed him closely for a moment, then linked her arm through his. "Then I'm glad we're together, watching this. I like you, Johnny. And I must admit, I've heard nice things about you; very nice."
Johnny didn't know what to make of this. He turned his attention to Nora, watching her place the ottoman in the center of the floor and sit on it.
Sara Porter nudged Johnny and motioned toward a chair. Johnny pulled it over for her, only to discover she intended that he sit first, so she could then sit on his lap.
"Don't be an old fuss," she said, when he showed some reluctance. "I don't weigh all that much." She virtually pushed him down into the chair and sat on his lap, one of her skinny arms moving about the back of his neck for support.
Out on the ottoman, Nora had extended a leg, preparatory to removing one of her flat heeled loafers. Johnny was still at a loss to see what kind of entertainment she could provide; she simply didn't carry any impression of being particularly talented.
Then he felt a sudden rush of apprehension and began thinking that perhaps this was where the party really got wild, that Nora was about to perform some of the more outrageous acts he'd seen in Tijuana as a youth.
To his surprise, there was an immediate transformation of feeling as Nora wriggled the shoes off the tips of her toes. In that moment, the difference was electric. Nora had changed from a rather nondescript girl with a few attractive features to a new, vibrant personality. The angle of her legs, extended without waver, was an exciting thing to behold. Her form was that of a gymnast or Olympics diver, the toes pointed, the leg held at a perfect forty-five degree angle for an amazingly long period of time, making Johnny's leg muscles twitch in empathy at the discipline being shown.
Slowly, Nora's small hands moved over her leg in a gentle, caressing motion that brought a sudden rush of whispered comment from the audience, making Johnny aware of how quiet it had been, of what a dramatic effect Nora was having.
Deftly, she wriggled free of the other shoe and extended her left leg. Now both legs were held rigidly together, still at that unflinching forty-five degree angle.
Again, Nora's hands moved over first one leg, then the other, and now both simultaneously.
Johnny was more than aware how difficult it was to hold the legs straight off the floor like that for so long.
Nora's small body began assuming even more interesting dimensions as this incredable display of muscular discipline and control continued.
Her posture was beautiful, her waist line flat, her face impassive.
Now she reached forward, dramatically loosening her cinnamon colored stockings from her garter belt. Her starched white skirt rode back well above her thighs, revealing rather ordinarly looking pink panties. That was of no moment or consequence. The revelation brought an involuntary gasp to the audience.
Johnny felt Sara twitch a few times. She shifted her weight and whispered something indistinct into his ear. It sounded like a question; he merely nodded as indistinctly as possible. Again, Sara shifted her weight.
Nora had one stocking completely free of her garter belt. Slowly, she shucked it over her comparatively short leg, drawing the movement out in slow motion, giving an added impression of length and sleekness.
Now Johnny understood. Perhaps Nora was a contortionist or even a gymnast. That didn't matter. What mattered was that she was in the midst of one of the most compelling, haunting strip teases he'd ever seen.
The wispy stocking dangled from her toes, then fluttered lightly to the floor, looking like a discarded skin, floating for an unbelievably long period of time.
This was followed by the same performance on the other leg.
"Isn't that sexy?" Sara asked him.
Johnny had to admit it, it was more than sexy; it was compelling. He felt tingling impulses rushing to his spine.
"I could never do that," Sara confided. "And oh, what I wouldn't give to be able to." Experimentally, she extended a leg, but for only a brief moment.
Nora's hands moved now to the front of her white starched uniform. Her legs still extended, she began unbuttoning slowly, gradually revealing a taut, muscular chest against which was outlined a plain black brassiere. The bountiful secret of Nora's breasts was revealed now. From the waist up, she took on an air of cuteness, of cuddlesomeness. But this quickly vanished as Nora performed a surprising and dramatic movement of lifting both legs in perfect union, moving now into a ninety degree angle, her weight shifting, naturally, to her back.
Her hands touched her hips. The starched skirt fell further, but because of its stiffness, did not bury Nora's head or hands. She continued her motions so that her legs extended well over her head, emphasizing the slight, cute protrusion of her buttocks. Her hands moved at the buttons to her dress, continuing the baring of her bosom and then affecting the complete removal of her brassiere.
With this, she sprang forward, into a normal sitting position, while at the same time, slithering out of her dress and standing up in an energetic motion, displaying her shiny, taut torso clad in nothing but a garter belt and painties.
Johnny was aware of the electricity of the sensation. His own reactions reminded him of something he'd read of a German doctor, who claimed there were no real degrees of sensation, only frequency of it. A hammer, hitting the sensitive cartridge could produce only two different effects; the blow would either set it off or it wouldn't. Johnny was aware that his own senses had received enough of a stimulus to cause a reaction. His skin was crawling with the intensity of desire and reacting to the perfection possible in the human body.
Yet it was difficult to isolate things further, where he could detach himself and reason the phenomenon out. Nora exuded that much artistry and deftness. He was reacting to her because she represented an ideal situation, the discipline and beauty of a woman. But his own reaction ... ah, that was the trouble. It was particularly troublesome because he had Sara Porter sitting on his lap, and Sara's reactions were to him.
He understood now why Sara was so entranced by the performance. It made her aware of a perfection she could never reach. It was, for Sara, an artificial thing. But it made Johnny realize how difficult it was to conform to a standard of morals. When the mind said one thing and the body said another, it was generally the body that won out. Now his body was saying something, telling him to respond to the performance he'd just seen.
Knowing it was just an entertainment made no difference to him, nor anyone else in the room.
It was a perfect thing in its way, a start to the expectations and hidden hungers of the evening.
Standing there in the middle of the room, Nora had been effective in arousing nearly forty adults-forty people who'd come to be aroused, who'd whooped and consumed alcohol to make sure that arousing was possible.
Johnny wasn't surprised nor angered when Sara Porter literally grabbed him, nor was he surprised at his own reaction of suddenly kissing her hard across the mouth, his lips hungrily moving against hers. The mood was intense and natural. It took something else for him to realize how easy it was for a human being to lose powers of thought and moral discretion.
Sam Masterson, letting out a war whoop, moved quickly into the middle of the floor and picked Nora up, cradling her in his arms. The passivity had left the girl's face. It was impossible for her to have gone through that performance without becoming aroused herself. Masterson buried his face in her bared breasts, kissing intensely.
Nora's arms went about his neck for a moment, a sure gesture of compliance, but as Masterson started toward the bedroom with her, she stiffened. Her legs began kicking. "No," she called out. "Not with you. Put me down."
Johnny reacted without thinking. He lifted Sara Porter from his lap, set her down and started toward Masterson. He noticed with pleasure that three other men had started the same thing. They'd come here to play games, to swap mates, but this seemed different. Nora's unwillingness made a difference.
He stopped in his tracks as Masterson put the girl down, blinked a few times and shrugged. "Hell," he said, "I was carried away. You all know that."
Johnny nodded. They all knew it. The lid was officially lifted The party was on now, in full force.
Even the sudden blare of talking and music from the record player couldn't stop the momentum now. The first big step had been taken in further breaking down inhibitions.
A few couples moved out into the floor, dancing the twist.
Then Johnny looked up and saw what his wife was doing. It froze him in his tracks.
The party had truly started in full force now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ruth had kicked off her shoes and opened several of the buttons of her dress. In addition, she'd unhitched her bra so that now, as she gyrated her body in rhythm to the Twist music, her bosom bobbed suggestively and freely.
Several men were watching her intently and in a way that angered Johnny. He started forward again, this time intending to stop Ruth, but she saw him and glared warningly, as though able to read his intent. He shrugged and turned away. For some reason, jealousy wasn't part of the code here. You weren't supposed to be jealous of your wife, not if you wanted to keep her. You were supposed to be sophisticated and understanding.
The hell with it.
He turned away, almost bowling over Dick Braintree.
"Hey," Dick said, "your wife is really great."
"Yeah," Johnny said bitterly, "as compared to who?"
Braintree looked startled for a moment, then burst into laughter. "What a sense of humor you've got, old sport I've got to hand it to you, you're really one of the bunch."
Johnny shrugged. "Excuse me," he said. "Here comes Adele Chambers and I don't particularly feel like being raped just now."
This time, Braintree gauffawed. "Old boy, this is a completely new side of you we're seeing. I think you're going to be the life of the party. You're a good man, Johnny. You're a damned good man. You'll go places."
Johnny went places but Adele Chambers followed him. He avoided her as best he could, feeling dizzy and strange from the combination of drinking in all the booze and sexuality.
Nearly half an hour later, he realized he'd been milling about, hopeful of finding Joyce Powell. Perhaps they could join forces in putting on a disappearing act that would be mutually acceptable to all concerned. In reality, they'd slip out for a walk and fresh air.
But after a while of intense looking, he was forced to admit to himself that Joyce and her husband George were not there, and it surprised him to realize how good he felt about it.
Perhaps Joyce had found a way out after all.
At this point, Nora reappeared, ready for another act. Clad in a bright red bathing suit, she went through her routine that resembled an exhibition in free exercise in a gymnastic meet, leaving no doubt in Johnny's mind that she was a capable contortionist.
Once again, watching the agile, taut body got the best of the crowd. It was an idealization of the capabilities of the female form and it had the same shattering effect as her strip tease. The women could identify with her and the men could imagine themselves as her partner. This last aspect was further enchanced when Nora lay on the floor and began a pantomine that was an abrupt deviation from her former routines. There was absoluetly no doubting what the pantomine was. Nora was going through the motions of the love act, her back slightly arched, her thighs spread.
Her spatulate hands began tapping a slow tattoo on the floor, gradually increasing in tempo. Her hips moved and thrust, her legs writhed. Johnny found himself competely shocked by the performance until he realized that, once again, Nora was quite artistic about it. There was nothing lewd or lascivious about this performance. It was something everyone in the room had participated in, although probably not with such consumate grace.
He was amazed at how a simple change in attitude caused her performance to become a moving, beautiful thing. Again, the effects haunted him, but unlike Sara Porter, who -edged her way up next to him and whispered the supreme suggestion in his ear, Johnny found himself thinking of Ruth.
He told Sara no in no uncertain terms and started across the way to find Ruth. She was sitting on Dick Braintree's lap. He gave her the signal they'd agreed upon a year earlier. In case of emergencies, it meant, drop everything, I've got to talk to you now.
Ruth glared at him and slid off Braintree's lap, promising to return. As she moved toward him, Johnny noticed that Ruth's bra hung from Braintree's jacket pocket.
"What's the matter with you?" she asked thickly. "Have you lost your mind or something? Sara Porter's been after you all evening and you start acting like a frightened rabbit. Do you have any idea what Shep Porter can do for you?"
"I have an idea what Sara Porter would like me to do."
"Then do it, silly, or do we have to go through the N whole business again? Honestly, Johnny, there are times when you act positively dumb."
Johnny felt as though he'd been slapped hard across the face. He turned away "Okay," he said, "I get the message. Would you like a public demonstration, or is it all right if we find some privacy?"
"Don't do me any favors," Ruth said acidly. "I've had just about all the nonsense from you I can. You resist learning, you resist progress, you resist advantages. Go on, go back home if you want or play your silly games with Joyce Powell. But don't expect me to do anything more for you. Maybe you have the muscles to work an oil rig and the freak kind of brain that helps you remember complicated details, but just remember, mister that you'd be nothing without me except a foreman on some road gang. If that's what you want, fine and dandy, but you can count me out" She spun away, flouncing her buttocks in her angry departure and returning to Dick Braintree with an effusive leap onto his lap.
Stung, Johnny headed toward the bar. Here it was again, the old conflict coming up. It apparently wouldn't go away unless he numbed it with enough alcohol and threw himself into it.
He ordered a drink and found himself fervently wishing he didn't love Ruth so very much. Well, perhaps she was right about him. He had all the equipment and none of the brains. It wasn't his fault he had so much of a conscience.
He snorted into his drink.
Conscience, hell. It was that damned background of his.
Finishing his new drink with a gulp, Johnny went after Sara Porter, finding her in the midst of a dance with Sam Masterson. He took fiendish glee in cutting in on Masterson and beginning to dance with Sara Porter by placing his hand squarely over her buttocks.
She winked at him. "Now I get it. You're one of the type who has to have a few drinks in him before anything happens."
Johnny made a show of getting with the spirit of things. "I start late, but last the longest."
Sara Porter stopped dancing "Do you mean that?"
"Yes," Johnny said. "In every way."
"Oh, you darling. I'll let you in on a secret, Johnny. I love to be seduced. You will seduce me, won't you?"
Johnny's hand squeezed tighter. "You don't know it, baby, but you're already seduced." Deftly, he scooped her into his arms and started toward the door. Sara's arms moved about the back of his neck. She made only a token show of protest.
"Wait," she said, "we'll miss out on all the other games."
Johnny shook his head. "Everyone else is going to miss out on our games."
He carried her into the Braintree's bedroom and flicked the latch on the door. "You're right," she said. "I might lose out on you later, unless we can figure some way to cheat on the drawings."
"The drawings?"
"Yes. We put all the men's apartment keys into a hat and the women draw. You get to spend most of the night with the man whose key you draw." She tilted her head back and laughed nervously. "Even though we're Republicans at heart, I still think this is a nice way of redistributing the wealth and breaking up certain monopolies."
Johnny laughed appreciatively, but wasted no time in drawing her to the edge of the bed, then embracing her in a long, lingering kiss He felt her compliance as her body snuggled closer against him, affording the maximum possible contact.
His hands cupped her breasts, evoking a long, sensual sigh from her. That was all it took for Johnny. The excitement, the anger, the memory of Nora's dances, they all blended to have him ready and eager. If it wasn't genuine, it was close, damned close to it, and that was all that mattered.
He ran his hands over the length of her arms, amazed at the quickness with which she responded to his touch and movements. It made him think of Ruth for a moment, made him wonder why Ruth felt she had to attend these parties. What motive? What was in it for her?
With Sara it was patently obvious, up to a point. Shep Porter and she didn't get along. That is, they got along well enough to remain married, but they didn't get along well enough to do anything constructive about it.
Sara, perched on the edge of the bed, tried a nearly successful immitation of Nora by extending her legs and holding them as close to a forty-five degree angle as possible while trying to shuck off her panties.
In the end. Johnny had to help and then, for all Sara wanted to be seduced and for all Johnny had to talk himself into being aroused and willing, passion began driving at them, causing frantic sounds and motions from both of them until they were joined in the ultimate embrace of love making.
The intensity swept over him, taking complete control and guiding him by an instinct of hunger. If it was a false hunger or not, Johnny was beyond noticing. His movements were direct and precise against her and Sara clutched him hard, moaning and cooperating with precisely timed counter movements of her own.
It was over for Sara almost immediately and as a result, Johnny's driving intensity caused her pleasure to border on that curious pain that is quite removed from masochism It was like Johnny's fondness for pepper and his realization that pepper really had no taste; only an irritant quality.
Sara's enjoyment spread through him, to, increasing his own moment of release into one of the most continuous, throbbing, intense moments of passion he'd known in some time. His entire body was affected, the sensation seemingly radiating from every portion in his body that was capable of registering and transmitting sensation. For a long spasmodic moment, he felt as though he'd experienced a surfeit of every pleasant sensation he'd ever known. It was like eating just a bit too much of particularly juicy steak, or diving into a swimming pool on a hot day to discover the water was just a bit too cool. It was like having a sore back rubbed into relaxation by an expert masseur.
Sara Porter's enjoyment swarmed through her and him, and then, as it gradually faded, they both became aware of the noise outside, assuming proportions of panic and fear.
It was Sara who responded first by tensing and sitting up. "What is it?" she said, still breathless. "It sounds like something terrible going on out there."
Johnny sensed the difference in the noises. He got up just as they both heard the sound of a woman screaming, and then a scuffle. Moving almost by instinct, he quickly slipped back into his pants and started toward the door. Only later, he realized he was acting on concern for Ruth. Now it was all activity, prompted by a squirt of adrenalin into his blood, causing him to be tensed, sweaty and ready.
He moved out into the main room in time to see several men scuffling. In the middle of the floor lay a small Filipino, blood gushing from his nose.
As he struggled to get up, several men tried to restrain him.
Opposite him was Mike Ryan, in his shirt sleeves and panting. "Let me at that Gugu," he said. "I'll really fix him this time."
"Let them fight," someone said.
"You're crazy," Sam Masterson said. "Mike'll make hash out of that guy."
"Listen, we've got to keep this down," Dick Braintree said. "We'll have everyone here and it won't look right. Johnny and Sara are already in the back."
In that moment, the Filipino broke loose and moved closer to Mike Ryan. "You bastard," he said, "you dirty bastard. I pix you. I really pix you up good."
Johnny saw the reason, then, for all the commotion. Nora stood in a corner, being comforted by Adele Chambers and Liz Braintree. She'd changed back to her starched white uniform again, but now the front was torn and Nora had a frightened, dissheveled look.
Shep Porter nudged Johnny's arm "That crazy Ryan. He crashed the party, bringing some floozy with him. Then he went after Nora. Her husband's hopping mad."
It was easy to see just how mad Nora's husband was. Crouched in a judo stance, he lashed out a stinging blow that caught Ryan across the forearm, causing the bigger man to howl with pain. In rapid motion, he caught Ryan by the shirtsleeve, deftly shifting his weight and using his hip for a fulcrum as he crashed Ryan to the floor in a side take-down.
Ryan howled with pain.
"Somebody stop them," Ethel Prentiss shouted. "Let them go," Braintree said, "there isn't much we can do about it."
"Ryan should be shot, the dirty bastard." Johnny watched, tensely as Ryan circled warily, gauging his opponent with respect. It was only luck that Nora's husband had thrown him so hard. Had Ryan not rolled with the force of the take-down, he might be nursing several broken bones now-if he were still alive.
Nora's husband swung a vicious blow with the flat of his hand, narrowly missing Ryan. The anger on his small face and the intensity of the missed blow caused a spontaneous reaction from the crowd of onlookers. They grunted simultaneously, as if they'd all been punched in the stomach at one.
Only then did they begin to understand the seriousness of the little Filipino's anger.
This was an emotion Johnny more closely understood. The man was protecting his wife and her honor. In a group of people where honor had to do only with cheating at cards, this was strange indeed. Perhaps it would even be taken as part of the amusement.
Johnny wondered if anyone realized how very serious this was. The force of the Filipino's blow might have killed. Were the people reacting to that or simply to a display of force?
Ryan circled even more warily, then tired of the waiting game and bulled forward. The Filipino warded off a blind punch with another slash at Ryan's arm.
A quick inspiration hit Johnny. "Watch it," he shouted, "you'll break his check signing arm and the guy'll starve to death."
The reaction was exactly what he'd wanted.
More than likely, the Filipino hadn't heard a word Johnny had shouted, paying attention only to the tone and intensity of his voice. But several of the others began a nervous laughter that suddenly exploded into a ribald, continuous chortle.
It overtook everything and everyone, including the outraged Filipino so that, eventually, nearly all of the Braintree's guests were laughing with relief, all that is, except Mike Ryan.
"The hell with you," Ryan said. "The hell with you all." He motioned furiously for his date and the sight of her, out in public as she timidly approached, brought on. a new round of guffaws. Ryan's date was barely over eighteen, a gawky girl, outlandishly painted with eye shadow and bright lipstick, her hair done in a huge bee-hive arrangement, her spindly legs wobbly on extremely high heels.
"He went to see the movie 'Lolita' and came home with the usherette," some wag shouted.
"Hey, Mike, you picking 'em pretty old lately," another said.
Ryan made a vulgar gesture and left.
The merriment continued, with Johnny becoming the center of attraction, thanks to his tension breaking remark. To his complete surprise, Ruth kissed him publicly, throwing her arms about him and making as if to nibble his ear. Instead, she whispered. "Now you're with it I'm proud of you. That's the sort of quick thinking that will get you places. You'll see, Johnny. You'll see."
He told her about Sara Porter.
She squeezed even harder. "Johnny, sometimes I think you just act stubborn and obstinate to bedevil and tease me." There was a warmth and softness in her voice. Her body, pressing against his evoked so many pleasant memories and sensations that Johnny melted. He couldn't help himself. And it occurred to him that if he didn't know Ruth's reason for liking this kind of party, he at least knew his own. He came to get moments like this, moments when he could feel close to his wife.
"Look," he said, "let's move out of here and go back to our place." He was prepared for a sudden stiffening and a new outpour. To his surprise, she moved even closer against him. "You darling," she said. "I'll bet I know why, too."
"Damned right," he said.
"Was Sara that bad? I always had a hunch about her being hyperthyroid. Sort of what you'd call a nervous jump."
"Let's just say I've got all the inspiration I need right here, in my arms."
"Darling," Ruth said, her tongue flickering between her lips, "I wish you knew how I wanted you right now."
He tugged on her arm, hopefully. "Then come on."
"Tomorrow, darling. I promise. No books, no new positions, nothing; just us together."
"Why not now?"
"We can't just leave now."
Johnny pressed his advantage. "Why not? I've impressed the hell out of Sara, which you seemed to think was a good thing. And I more or less proved I had the brains to stop a massacre."
"Darling, I sort of promised Dick I'd stay. You've been such a darling so far, can't you be just a little more."
"I love you, Ruth," Johnny said.
"I know you do, and I appreciate it."
Johnny backed off. "Well, at least that's something," he said, giving her an affectionate pat and moving away from her, not wanting to see or think of what would happen. It was one thing to know it, it was another to see it. It was one thing to lose himself in his desires and go off with Sara Porter, it was another to have the frenzy and passion wear off.
Moments later, just as Adele Chambers collared him, he found himself and several of the other men being herded into the bedroom while Liz Braintree took over the job of hostessing and announcing the next activity.
"You all know how the game of Braille works," she said. "All the men give us ten minutes to get set. The lights in the living room and dining room will be turned off. Each woman is covered with a sheet. She lies on the floor and can't make any sound or movement. The only time a woman can make a sound is to acknowledge the correct identification by her husband. The she gets up and she and her husband move off the floor.
"I have a special surprise. The first three men who correctly identify their wives by sense of touch will get a bottle of Bollinger's vintage 1956 champagne. Now check your watches, boys, you've got ten minutes. I'll send in Nora to inform you when we're ready."
Waiting with the men, all crowded into the Braintree's bedroom, Johnny picked up the nervous tension and anticipation again. The party had shifted into a higher gear, thanks to a bit of entertainment that hadn't even been scheduled.
Envious glances were cast his way, along with a few compliments on his clever handling of a tough situation. One thing he knew for sure, it had increased his stock at Holloway, put him one step further to that executive level that, in his own mind, was the desired plateau. From then on in, he'd keep his nose clean and that would be that. It was a goal long dreamed of and now about to be achieved. From there on in, it would be all him and Ruth ... or would it?
"Listen," Dick Braintree confided, "in case you're new to this Braille business, old boy, it's a big help to go for the breasts first, then the legs. You'd be surprised how you come to know the feel of your wife's breasts in the dark. Still, it's great fun and there are some marvelous mistakes made. I think it's a toss up as to who enjoys it more, the fellows or the girls."
Sam Masterson piped up, telling of a game of Braille in which he once participated. "It took a long time. We were all pretty smashed. But two of the women ... well, right out there on the floor. That's how excited they were. One of them was a real joke, too. Almost didn't get invited because she had a reputation for being sort of frigid. I tell you something, that stopped in a hurry. They'd been married eight years with no kids, then boom, all of a sudden, they had three so fast it made my head swim. And there was no question about them being all his and hers. No one else had the chance to get close to her in all that time."
They were all startled by the sound of a shrill pair of gigglings in their midst. The giggling grew in intensity until it was revealed that Adele Chambers and Ethel Prentiss had quite successfully managed to effect a masquerade. Under questioning, they revealed that they'd rushed back to the Chambers apartment and gotten into men's suits. In the excitement and semi darkness of the Braintree bedroom, they hadn't been noticed until Adele Chambers had gotten a laughing jag that had quickly infected Ethel Prentiss.
"Besides," Adele said, "I've been dying to know what you guvs talked about while we were inside, getting ready." They left with grave warnings to their husbands that they'd better win the champagne.
Finally, Nora appeared and told them the ladies were waiting for them in the living room.
Johnny nearly burst out laughing. Nothing seemed to faze Nora. She'd gone through all her various routines with a pretty straight face, being carried away in much the same manner a dancer or athlete is carried away with a performance. Even the unpleasantness with Ryan had only upset her for a few moments. Now, announcing the beginning of a game as ribald and unique as Braille, she still played it in a formal manner.
Johnny was one of the last ones out of the room.
Nora stopped him with a gentle tug at his sleeve. "Mr. Marshak," she said softly, "might I have a word with you please?"
"Sure," he said, stopping to light a cigaret.
From the living room, he already heard the excited rumble of male voices as the men dropped to their knees, feeling their way through the welter of sheet draped bodies of their respective wives and neighbors.
Johnny sat on the edge of a vanity chair as Nora closed the door. He was slightly surprised to hear the lock click.
"Please tell me, Mr. Marshak," she said, "did you enjoy the little performance I put on?"
"I was quite taken with them," Johnny admitted.
Nora beamed, showing stunningly attractive, pearl white teeth and then a delicate, pink tipped tongue. The slight Oriental cast to her eyes convinced Johnny he'd completely underestimated her. In his mind, it was no longer a question of her performance having imbued her with a beauty and desirability. He'd simply stopped looking beyond that terribly correct starched uniform. For all her size and lack of the elongated, skinny shape possessed by the bulk of the women in Valley Vista, Nora had a beautiful appearance. Even now, he noticed with a slight gasp how beautiful her breasts were. The thought of them bared as the finale of her routine came back to haunt him, then taunt him, making him regret not having looked more closely at details.
"I have often heard men who've watched me say I possess a certain magic."
Johnny shrugged. "I think that's probably just talk and maybe superstition-"
"Then you do not think I am attractive?"
"I didn't say that, Nora I think you're exquisitely attractive."
She smiled again. "I think you, too, are attractive, Mr. Marshak."
Something within Johnny stirred.
"It is rather difficult, a girl like me, performing such things without proper appreciation."
"I don't understand," Johnny said. "You were thoroughly appreciated."
Nora shook her head. "Not the way I would like to be appreciated."
"I don't get you. Everyone applauded when you finished."
For the first time, he saw how close to tears Nora was. "That is no matter. What matters is Ramon, my man. We-well, we are not really married. We live together. He says it is for tax purposes that we do not marry. Now, I have lost him to the Japanese maid of the Porters. I know he goes to her, and even though we still live together, Ramon has lost interest in me."
"He must be crazy," Johnny said "I'm sorry to hear it. I guess it's a part and parcel of this place. Nothing stays quite the same."
Sadly, Nora shook her head. "My magic is gone."
"Oh, hey now, you don't believe that stuff, do you?"
"Not magic in the sense of voodoo or making things disappear. Our beliefs are much simpler. My magic works on you, for instance. My dancing and movements entrances you. It doesn't entrance Ramon any longer."
"Now I see what you mean. But look, what can I do? I'm sorry to hear your trouble, but maybe the best thing to do is find another man."
Nora brightened. "Oh, I will. But these things take time-too much time. For nearly three months, Ramon has not touched me. This is not good. It causes problems. But I have an answer. Earlier this evening, I heard Mrs. Chambers and Mrs. Porter talking-about you. Each said you were every bit a man, a strong man. The last time I was dancing, I thought of you. I danced only for you. I worked my magic on you and it feels right to me."
"Now wait a minute," Johnny protested, getting to his feet.
Nora held up a hand. "I recognize in you a man who appreciates the art of love and the magic attraction of love. Even if we use different words, it is the same thing. Please, Mr. Marshak, I would like to dance for you again. I would like to show you my body, and feel the pleasure of attracting you and working my magic on you."
"Nora, you poor kid, I'm sorry, but it just wouldn't work."
She smiled again. "It will. You'll see." With that, she slowly raised her skirt above her knees. Johnny felt bewildered and confused. He started toward the door, reaching for the latch.
"Look, Mr. Marshak," Nora said.
Johnny turned, feeling nearly hypnotized by what he saw. Nora tumbled to the floor, raising her legs again at that forty-five degree angle. He stood transfixed. She could call it magic if she wanted, that didn't matter. Whatever it was, it was compelling, particularly alone like this.
She seemed to loosen her hips, virutally throwing them out of joint. Her slippers fell to the floor, after deft flicking motions of her toes. Johnny remained stunned, his hand frozen on the doorknob. He lost awareness of the precise moment the hand fell loosely at his side.
A smile played over her face, giving it a triumphant glow. The noises of the Braille game outside were forgotten as Johnny watched in awed fascination. Her legs waved and flowed rhythmically. The dim light of the room bounced off the nylon stockings sheathing her legs, encasing the limbs in a shiny outline.
Toes pointed, her ankles flexed, her feet arched and moved, swooped and splayed with a slow rhythm.
Johnny sank back to the edge of the vanity chair, watching her with rapt attention. Her feet and legs moved like two cobras in a basket, responding to a charmer. In another sense, he might have been the cobra, himself, charmed by the rhythmic swaying and movements.
Before long, Nora started an incomprehensible crooning of a simple melody. Half song, half moaning, it sounded like a musical response to the act of love making. Nora's hands moved to her bodice again, unloosening the buttons and revealing the plain black brassiere.
As the bra came loose, her proud breasts stood before him, erect and saffron tipped. Only then was he aware of her gradual progress toward him, bridging the few feet that separated them.
Now she was directly before him and Johnny had to keep telling himself this was real, that this was actually happening to him. Again, urgency and desire shouted through his body, causing him to come alive with a nervous electricity.
Her stockinged feet played along his shins and kneecaps, drawing closer and fluttering at him like beckoning hands.
Nora braced her body with her hands and lunged, her legs wrapping tightly about his waist.
"Hey!" Johnny said, his hands moving to the tightly muscled legs.
Nora said nothing, her lips parted moistly in a continuance of her sensual crooning. Every movement of her body was devoted to drawing him toward her. She used the strength in her legs and the waving motions of her body.
Looking down at her, Johnny found her performance so expert, he felt himself losing his balance. He steadied himself by plunking his hands on the edge of the seat, so as to avoid tumbling forward. Again, Nora tugged at him.
Johnny felt the strangeness and desire surging through him. He leaned forward, then felt himself pitch forward, on top of her. Her arms found him immediately, holding him tightly to her.
That was all she needed.
Nora used a clever amount of lilac scent. The lilac and then the heavy silken feel of her hair against his cheek worked their effect on him. He pressed his lips against the side of her throat, finding the spot where her pulse throbbed.
Closing his eyes, he felt the tempo of Nora's pulse increase as her hands played expertly over his back and shoulders, then drew him suddenly against her erect bared breasts.
The scent of her warm, taut flesh drove him beyond endurance. He kissed with ardor and passion and all thought of where he was or what he was doing slipped completely from his consciousness.
Magic was right. Perhaps Nora's word for it was the best. It had completely captivated him, without destroying the responses of his instincts. He made love to her at his own pace, on his own terms, first removing completely the starched white uniform, then helping her tug off the panties.
Next he skinned the stockings from her legs and clasped the entire nakedness of her body tightly against him, feeling the desire through her every pore.
The merging of their bodies brought a very standard gasp from her and she was immediately through with the crooning and behaving very much like an acutely eager female, her hips spreading to accommodate his weight, her eyes radiating a content and fulfillment that had driven her to this desperate measure in the first place.
They had no difficulty in knowing each other. Nora sensed his intentions and accommodated each of his movements, sending a new chilling feeling of happiness through him at the realization of how perfectly two strangers, approaching this with the right attitude, can find such means of affording the other happiness.
It had nothing to do with intensity or performance. For the longest while, it seemed completely immaterial to Johnny that their two bodies were joined in the classic union. The more important aspects came in the way their hands met and clasped, or the way their fingers played lightly against each other, their hands making tents. Their feet brushed, their lips met. At one point, their forearms met and Johnny reacted as though he'd touched an electric circuit.
When the inevitable finale arrived, it was quiet, unheralded by violent motions or by sudden increases in deep breathing. This last was almost an anticlimax to everything else that had taken place. It was mild, yet satisfying, but certainly not the most satisfying thing of the entire encounter.
They lay clutched in each other's arms for several moments before Nora spoke, whispering softly in his ear two simple words, "Thank you."
Johnny smiled and rested his head against her shoulder, feeling drowsy and comfortable. For the first time that evening, he truly felt relaxed. His mind drifted and sleep seemed imminent until they heard the continuous, determined knocking on the door.
Johnny was on his feet in an instant. "Could that be Ramon?" he whispered. "I'd hate to tangle with him, not after the way he went after that crazy Mike Ryan."
Nora shook her head. "He left after the fight. He accused me of provoking that man, of deliberately trying to excite him."
"Did you?"
"Of course not! That horrible man. He gives me the creeps. I don't see how any woman would go with Mike Ryan."
The knocking persisted.
"Okay, Johnny," a voice said, "we know you're in there. Come on out."
Another voice chimed in. "Maybe he really passed out."
"He wouldn't lock the door. You can't fool me; he's in there hiding."
Liz Braintree's voice added to the din. "Well, here's the key. Let's see for ourselves."
Before Nora could do much in the way of covering her nudity, the key turned in the lock and several people entered, then stopped, blinking. Among them was Ruth, whose expression changed quickly from one of anger to amazement, then smugness.
"Well, I'll be damned," Dick Braintree said. "I told Johnny he'd be the life of the party, but I never expected he'd top his other performance."
"Which one?" Sara Porter asked with a drunken giggle. "He's been a busy boy tonight." She wagged a finger at Johnny in mock reproof. "You don't make me look any too good," she said. "Usually, when I get through with a man, they stay finished all night."
Dick Braintree approached, offering his hand. "You, old sport, have accomplished the avowed goal of nearly every able bodied male in the place; you've actually gotten to Nora. I think she's an excellent maid and I'd hate to lose her, but I think under the circumstances, you should claim the spoils if you want. What say, Nora? Care to work for Mr. Marshak?"
"I think you're terrible," Nora said. Dick clucked his tongue. "Man oh man, she's really stuck on the guy. What's your secret Johnny-o?"
Johnny looked about nervously. "Let's just forget the whole thing," he said.
Dick winked. "Sure, sure, I know. It was an accident."
Ruth approached, linking her arm through his. "Like hell, we'll take her as a maid," she said loudly enough to cover the truth of her statement.
Naturally, it brought laughter, and from Ruth a peck on the cheek. "I'm so proud of you," she said.
Johnny looked blankly. He wasn't sure he'd ever know how to react moments like this. Being congratulated for a successful love making with another woman.
Since it was nearly three-thirty in the morning, several of the couples decided against carrying the party on any further. Ruth yawned suggestively and said, if no one minded, that she was tired.
This brought on more hilarity. "You mean Johnny's tired," some one said. "It wouldn't be fair if he played dip-in-the-hat anyhow. The one who drew him would be getting extremely short shrift."
"No shrift at all," Dick Braintree said. "He's done enough for tonight."
"I'm perfectly willing to take my chances on that score," Adele Chambers said. "That is, unless Ruth is afraid of letting out valuable information about her man."
Holding Ruth's arm, Johnny felt her stiffen. "I'm not afraid of anything," she said.
The party continued, by more or less popular consent. The brief flareup between Ruth and Adele Chambers was enough to provide new impetus. Dick sighed good naturedly and brought out several more bottles of whisky and bourbon.
Dancing with Ruth, Johnny learned even further details about his so-called conquest of Nora.
"They call her iron pants, darling," Ruth said. "You saw how all the men were gawking at her. They've been trying to do more than that. For a long time, they've been trying to do just what you've done. Do you realize what this means? You'll be invited to golf games and poker games and more parties. Everyone will be talking about you, and of course, asking you if she was-well, you know...."
"Yes," Johnny said, "I know. They'll all want to know how she was. They'll all want to know the details."
"Precisely," Ruth said. "And by the way, they'll want to know how you managed to do it." She squeezed him affectionately. "My man," she said. "I might have known."
"It's that working class appeal I exude," Johnny said.
Ruth thrust her hips against him teasingly. "There you go again. You just don't like praise, do you?"
"From you, I do."
"Tell me something, love. Was-I mean was she good? As good as we-you know what I mean?"
"I know what you mean. You can run out of Latin sounding names for it. You can have parties like this, where people swap mates, vet you can't come right out and ask if she was good in bed. That's the part of sophistication I just can't seem to grasp."
"Never mind that. Johnny. Was she any good? And did you learn anything, anything important we can use?"
"Lots," Johnny said. "I'll tell you about it sometime."
Nearly half an hour later, Johnny became aware of an undercurrent of excitement. More and more of the women were suggesting the beginnings of the last game, where the apartment keys were placed in the hat for drawings.
More and more of the men seemed ready to call it quits. Several of them came from the Braintree's bedroom, frank smiles on their faces. From time to time, Johnny saw Dick Braintree carrying a fresh bottle to the back bedroom.
The tension in the living room mounted, too, as Adele Chambers resumed her taunting of Ruth. "You can only inspire him about twice a night," Ruth said. "You don't like the idea that anyone can outdo you."
Johnny's feeling of being a chattel, not a husband, flared up quite suddenly when Ruth lost her temper and slapped Adele hard across the jaw. Adele countered by attempting to hit Ruth in the stomach. In another moment, all pretense of a formal fight was out. Ruth grabbed Adele's hair. Adele yanked on Ruth's dress. They tumbled to the floor, rolling about and thrashing, a mass of squirming, kicking legs.
A large group gathered about to watch and Sam Masterson drunkenly poured a bottle of champagne over the two women, muttering thoughtfully that it was no waste; it was only California champagne.
This somehow offended Shep Porter, who kicked Masterson in the shin.
"Hey there, fellow," Masterson said in surprise.
Shep Porter tried to hit Masterson again.
Masterson lost balance avoiding the blow and inadvertently stumbled over Ruth and Adele.
Johnny turned away in disgust. Some nice, intimate party.
He was tired, dead tired and needed a drink. He made for the bar and found no fresh glasses.
"Dump it on the floor, old sport," Dick Braintree said, handing Johnny a glass filled with melting cubes and a cigaret butt. "Don't have any more clean ones."
Braintree was drunk, his eyes glazed, his tie askew, his shirt incorrectly buttoned.
"Quite a favor you did for us, old boy," he said with a giggle.
Before Johnny could ask what the favor was, he saw Adele Chambers, her dress in tatters, her eye badly bruised, running out the front door. The sight of it made him feel ill. Yet even this could not completely register before Lenny Brine came out of the back bedroom, shaking his head.
"What's wrong?" Dick Braintree asked him.
"We've gone too far in there," Lenny Brine said. "I have to admit it. I claim my share of the responsibility. There are some things no man should do, no real man. I'm not very proud right now."
"It was all good clean fun," Dick said.
Johnny noticed a certain wavering of his voice. He didn't sound so sure of himself any longer.
Lenny Brine continued to shake his head. "Absolutely not. The way I see it, we're all a bunch of heels."
"She wanted it," Dick insisted. "She didn't try to fight it."
Lenny pointed a finger at Johnny. "With him, she didn't try to fight it. With us, it was different. She's in there drunk now and crying. I tell you, I can't take it. Suppose-well, just suppose she gets knocked up. How do we handle that? Like Ryan's apartment? Do we go in shares on that? Huh? Do we form a club or something and call ourselves godfathers or something? Not on your life. I say a shoddy thing was done in there. We've taken grave advantage of that girl. It will never be the same watching her again."
Johnny listened, unbelieving until the implications were so clear and obvious that he couldn't ignore them...."You mean," he said, "you guys have been in there with Nora?"
Lenny's face turned a pasty white. His drink tilted in his hand and a splash trickled over the rim, landing unnoticed on the rug at his feet. "I'm not very proud at all."
Johnny grabbed him by the lapels. "How many of you?" he demanded. "How many of you did this thing?"
"Go ahead," Lenny said, making no attempt whatsoever to extricate himself from Johnny's grip. "Belt me. I deserve it. Here, right on the jaw. Go ahead, buddy. If anyone had a right, you do."
"How many of you?" Johnny said hotly.
"So far as I know, ten," Lenny Brine said.
Johnny closed his eyes. "Hell," he said. "Oh, hell." He thought of Nora, sweet and intent, a real victim of her own womanliness, encouraged to play with dynamite in front of a bunch of men with the morals of torn cats. No, strike that. A torn cat has greater morals than any of them. The dynamite had gone off. He wondered if the damage to Nora would be harsh, making her frightened and bitter.
"I've got to get out of here," Johnny said. "I feel awful."
"So do I," Dick said. "All of a sudden, it doesn't seem so right anymore. It was okay when you did it, but that was different. She was apparently willing with you, Johnny."
Blainey tottered by, drink sloshing from his glass. Heartily, he clapped Dick Braintree on the shoulder. "Great party, kid," he said.
Dick Braintree's verve seemed to have dissipated. He had lost considerable enthusiasm and now a sickly smile played across his features.
"Yes," Blainey said, a spirit of cameraderie evident in his voice, "you people really know how to live it up. Take that clam dip, for instance. That was only a beginning. And the girl...."
"Forget it, will you," Dick said.
Blainey misunderstood the motive. "Forget it, hell. I can hardly wait for the next one. The wife and I insist on being the host and hostess. Your bit with that maid and her dancing act gave us an idea. We know these young actresses who do the Geisha girl bit."
"Let it go, Blainey," Braintree said. "Oh, I still won't spoil the surprise. These gals are terrific."
"I'll bet." Dick said, pouring himself a tall drink and exchanging a glance with Johnny.
Johnny caught the implications immediately. Dick was miserable. Things had gone far-too far. And for the first time in a long while, Johnny Marshak was able to look at this man he considered a friend and think how ironic it was that he'd not felt closer to Dick in ages. The common bond here, that transcended everything else was guilt.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next week's party at the Blainey's was something that truly amazed Johnny. Nearly all the people at Valley Vista had spent a week preparing for it in a curious way; by insisting they would not go.
They'd gone too far last time, they all said. It was time to begin quieting things down.
The men took a collection for Nora, each man contributing heavily as if to assuage his shame. They were almost relieved when Nora calmly took the envelope filled with money and flung it in Sam Masterson's face, causing him to be the victim of a freak black eye.
On Tuesday, Adele Chambers had an automobile accident in which she suffered the well known whiplash effect and was forced to wear a neck brace.
Adele took it as her due, saying at first that she deserved it for her profligacy, but then, on the night of the party, she appeared with the neck brace covered in rhinestones, her sexual ardor no less diminished than it had been a week earlier.
The game with the hat and keys was played, starting off with some mirth when it was learned that the key Johnny drew from his hat was the key to his own apartment. The look of disappointment on Ruth's face caused him to forget any qualms he had about participating. Eagerly, he dipped in again, aware of the great suspense on the faces of the women involved.
When Johnny's hand came up with a key, he read the number stamped on it and Liz Braintree began chortling with victory and happiness, loudly over a few undisguised moans of disappointment from the other women.
"I was hoping it would be you," Liz told him in her bedroom. "You've got quite a reputation, you know. And I confess to more than a small fondness for you."
Johnny admitted to nothing. He took note of her smoothe, well-kept shape of Liz Braintree's body as she stood before him, undressing. Looking at her loose-limbed body, he wondered what Liz had to do in the way of responsibilities or activities. She was not a golfer, like several of the women at Valley Vista, nor did she ride horses or put in much physical activity on anything, including housework. Perhaps an occasional dip in the heated pool.
As she sat on the edge of the bed next to him, beginning to tease him about his modesty and simultaneously working at undoing his tie and shirt front, Johnny got an image of her as having no real activities except her avowed love for physical love. Every physical asset Liz had was a result of passive exercise or dieting. The tone to her body had been put there by massages and oils, by a few of the electric reducing machines, but not by anything natural.
He made love to her with an excitement that was equally artificial, one that had begun when he'd seen the expression on his wife's face when he'd drawn their key out of the hat.
All the while, he was conscious of Liz Braintree's technique and he came to believe that it, too, had been acquired in the same manner as her appearance, passively and not from any effort she took on her own. Rather, Liz was versed in the mechanics of lovemaking as a pastime. When it was over, he watched her intently.
"Was I good?" she asked. "Was it all you expected?"
Johnny didn't really know what he'd expected.
"Was I better than that girl, Nora? Please tell me. I tried so hard for you, Johnny. The only way I'll know is if you tell me."
"You were fine," Johnny said. "Just fine. Dick can be proud of you."
"Never mind Dick," she said hotly. "Not now. I know him. I know I can satisfy him. That isn't the thing, don't you see?"
Johnny saw, all right. It was a game, a competition, to be better than the others. So long as any current favorite was bested, the game was satisfying. So long as Liz could hear from Johnny that she was better than Nora, she'd be contented.
"Tell me," she said.
He watched her anxious eyes. "You've got a long way to go," he said "But then, so do I."
This wasn't strictly true, not in several senses. At work, Johnny didn't have far to go at all. He was told point blank that he had an inside track for a big promotion, that carried with it executive status. George E. Powell already hinted Johnny's Christmas bonus would be several of the outstanding shares of Holloway stock.
"You see, old man, we're in a dangerous position with you now."
Johnny looked amazed. "How?" he said. "You've given me nearly everything I want here. How can that be dangerous?"
"Look at it this way," George E. Powell said. "You've got an engineer's status, you're in a supervisory capacity and you're young. Any other company would be proud to have you. We get quite a bit of pirating done at higher echelons. How do you think we got Dick Braintree? Why, with his degrees and background, there were several big companies after him. I know you'll understand when we tell you this, but to get Dick, we had to buy him his apartment in Valley Vista. There were a few other considerations, too. But the thing now is to really tie you in big with Holloway. You've arrived, my friend."
When he arrived home that evening, Johnny was surprised to note the apartment busy with the chatter of four other women. Ruth greeted him perfunctorily, seemingly annoyed and irritated. In front of Johnny's eyes, she openly picked a fight with Liz Braintree and then told a long sarcastic story about Adele Chambers being forced to bed with a traction device and using the pulleys and levers to assist her love making with the gardener.
The embarrassed silence was too much for Johnny. He'd never seen Ruth go quite this far. Later, when the guests left, he realized she'd been drinking heavily, as if feeding the grudge she bore.
"I don't get the reason for your bitching," he said. "We're getting what we wanted. Powell told me today...."
"Which Powell?" Ruth said bitterly, "George or Joyce?"
'What's gotten into you? I haven't seen Joyce for ages. She does not work at Holloway."
"From the sound of things, I'm lucky to see you at all. You're popular, you know. Every damned one of those hens is after you, one way or another, Johnny. I'm getting a bit tired of hearing about it."
Johnny tapped a finger pensively on the coffee table. "It was your idea, you know. I was just playing the game."
Ruth shot him a barbed look. "Did you have to play it so well? They're all talking as though I married a sex machine."
Anger hit Johnny again. "Well, in a way you did, didn't you? It wasn't because of my long string of degrees from fancy colleges. It certainly wasn't for my family background. You remember once when you said everything about me was ordinary, even my blood type? And you were going to help me overcome my deficiencies. Well, you've helped me. I know how to use a dessert spoon and a lobster fork. I wouldn't dream of drinking out of a finger bowl, and I always manage to say something polite and instructive like 'Excuse me, my dear, but isn't the Cuban situation simply frightful?' to each woman with whom I commit adultery. Face up to it, Ruth, you married me because you saw something there all right, a strong pair of arms, a lot of endurance and determination. You just didn't have the guts to face up to the real reason. If it hadn't been for that first time we made love together, in the back seat of your precious Rolls Royce, you'd have written me off as some fling with a member of the working classes.
"Let's face it, Ruth, you married me because of the intimations that I was strong, healthy and good in the sack-or the back seat of your car, as the case may be. You just can't quite go around admitting to yourself that you married for sex and nothing else, so you have to give out this bull that I was a diamond in the rough and that you're refining me and making a smooth, polished executive type out of me."
Ruth's face reddened. She tightened her fists and thrust forth her chin defiantly, a look of childish petulance on her face. "That isn't true. I can't help it if you're so ungrateful."
"For what?" Johnny demanded. "What am I ungrateful for? What have you given me?"
"Everything you've got."
Johnny hooted with irony. "In a funny sense, that's true. You've given me the neighborhood women, hanging around like bitches in heat. The trouble is, now you're jealous of what you've done. I don't know how you square moral accounts in that pretty little head of yours, but the sad truth is, my dear, that you're out to get your jollies at any cost."
"I knew it," Ruth said "You simply can't take it. This kind of life isn't for you."
"Damned right," Johnny said, picking her up, despite a furious struggle. Her muscular legs pumped vigorously, her hands clawed at his shoulders. "From here on in, I'm changing that. No more mate swapping for me. If I catch you, there'll be hell to pay. We're going to get out of this nonsense." He carried her into the bedroom and tossed her on the bed. Her pouting was even more intense. She looked as though she'd been spanked.
He flopped down next to her, pressing his mouth hard against hers. She kicked him in the shins. Johnny retaliated by delivering a stinging slap across her buttocks. Ruth cried out in surprise and pain. She slapped his face.
Johnny slapped her back.
Tears streamed from her eyes and she began crying. Her words were wrapped in fury. She swore and tried to bite. The cords in her neck and throat tensed. Her whole body shook with rage. Johnny kissed her again and she tried to bite.
Once more, Johnny delivered a stinging whack across her buttocks. Her legs flailed wildly and Johnny plunked a hand down on her knee, squeezing hard at the pressure point. She writhed in a spasmodic twitch. Again, he pressed his lips hard against her. She bit his lip hard.
Johnny gripped her shoulders and shook her. "Someone should have done this a long time ago. You're spoiled rotten." He flipped her over his lap and proceeded to spank until the palm of his hand became numb under the stinging blows.
Her fury gradually began to subside and then she reached for him, holding on to him tightly as her body racked with sobs.
It was Ruth then who made the first overt move of placing his hand over her breast and causing him to squeeze. In his excitement, the fact that they were both clothed made little difference to him.
Ruth's entire attitude seemed to have changed. She moved as quickly as possible to accommodate him, her urgency and moaning spurring him on, causing him to marvel at how quickly the feelings of love and intensity came swarming over him. How he loved her! That was the strong, striking thing. Perhaps it was she who had been wrong all this time.
Man's work lay ahead. Now it would be up to him to carry the ball and call all the shots. Ruth needed a firm hand to get her out of that spoiled petidance. Anything to restore the first flush of happiness and abiding feelings of love.
It was possible, Johnny believed. Seeing his wife, so eager for him, so determined for his full, masculine approach, Johnny felt a great, intense thrill of recognition. It was so right when they were together. Anything could be worked out, the difficult parts of the past forgotten.
What was his way? Well, he didn't really know. Who could tell what came next. It was a matter of taking chances. Give a man his woman, the one he loved and wanted, and then watched him go. He might make it, he might fall flat on his keester. None of that mattered. This was the most important transaction, right here and now, between a man and his wife, where love cleared the air of all the petty grievances and made things all right again.
It could only work if both parties were amenable.
Well, Johnny was more than agreeable.
He felt Ruth responding under his fingertips. His awareness of her was acute and filled with pleasure. She was so close, so very damned close.
"It's good," he said, breathlessly. "This is the way for us. From now on, it's you and me. Period. Just us, Ruth"
Ruth seemed to stiffen and stop.
Johnny felt it, immediately. Knowing a woman that well, he was keen to her moods and responses How else had he known with that surge of impending happiness how close they'd been? But even in love, being close doesn't count. It has to be all the way.
Ruth was suddenly different in his arms. Limp, diffident, self-involved, she grinned as if to some private joke which she must not share with Johnny as she found release. There were a few movements and reactions she could not avoid, but whatever real intensity she felt was reserved for herself only.
Watching her, Johnny felt cheated. He might have drawn her out of a hat in a game at the Braintree's. She might have been Liz, wondering how good she was.
So close and yet so damnably far away.
The skirt she'd lifted so eagerly to accommodate him seemed like so much impedimenta now. The very act they'd begun out of their deepest passions had come to seem like something done in subterfuge, a quickie, lest anyone discover them, something to be done because they were both humans and had that ability of exciting each other.
And that was all.
Johnny felt part of his love for her die as she closed her eyes and kept her thoughts and satisfaction to himself, looking like a child who had only one cupcake-and nothing in the world could get her to share it.
"One thing I know," she said at length. "We still have a good thing going."
He watched her, smoothing out her skirt and investigating the length of her stockings, checking against snags or runs. For the first time, he was able to verbalize that loss of love, the absence of something really deep as he answered her. "Don't count on it," he said.
Ruth stood up, giving a hitch to her brassiere. Her breasts assumed their posture of insolence, in perfect keeping with the knowing, defiant glint in her eyes. "A threat?" she said. "Ho ho. You started out to give me hell. You were going to lay the law down to me, and look what happened. You got so excited, you forgot everything. You see, Johnny, this is why I don't worry about you. You've just proven to me how silly I was earlier. That's the thing you'll never understand. I want you and I've got you. I don't care now if Adele Chambers comes after you with a rhinestone covered chastity belt. You can argue with me all you want, but your body knows differently." She grinned at him, almost obscenely. Again, she lifted the skirt of her dress, revealing the neat, attractive legs and the frilly undies. "There," she taunted "Doesn't that excite you? Of course it does. Or maybe you have to get violent first and spank me. It that why you had to spank me, Johnny? Is that what you really like."
"You bitch," he said. "It's just like you to make something ugly and obscene out of that"
"Darling," Ruth said sweetly, "don't take it out on me. It's a fact. No one likes to be reminded that they're sexually different."
Johnny raised his hand to strike.
"See," she said. "I'm perfectly safe. My husband still cares."
Johnny turned on his heels and stormed out of the house, Ruth's mocking laughter echoing in his ears.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He stormed out of the house and drove quickly and without thinking. At length, he found himself heading West on the Ventura Freeway, past the White Oak turn-off and whistling through the town of Reseda.
The marker advising the closeness of Topanga Canyon caught his eye and for the first time, he realized what he had in mind. Taking the Topanga Canyon turn-off, he drove foolishly fast over the tight turns, passing slower cars on the left, going over the double line and having no regard for his own safety.
A close call with a truck and camper squirted enough adrenalin through him to make him frightened and aware of the chances he'd taken. He drove safely until he came to the dirt road turn-off for Upper Canyon Road. Ten minutes later, he brought the car to a halt on the sloping expanse of land that was his.
The night was hazy. To his left, he could barely see the distant glimmer of lights along the Pacific Coast Highway. The signal ship, The Star of Malibu, was a faint pin-point of light in the distance.
He walked the few hundred feet to a natural rock outcropping, pried loose a heavy rock and withdrew a quarter-full bottle of bourbon and a plastic cup Sitting on the flat boulder at his feet, he drank two shots in rapid succession. It didn't help.
He lifted a few handfuls of the dirt, his dirt, and thought longingly about the house he longed to build here. Sure, he'd call in a plumber and electrician when the going got rough, but this was to be a dream project. Live in a trailer or camp out on weekends while he did the work himself. Plenty of rock and fieldstones around for what he had in mind. He already knew down to the last board foot, how much the heavy construction grade beams would cost him down at the lumber yard on Sepulveda.
Impossible dreams? Who knew.
He finished the bottle and tossed it off into a clump of bushes. A solatary jack rabbit scurried through the brush. A dog bayed in the distance. Johnny felt lonely and desolate.
He looked about him, realizing how strongly all his dreams and hopes centered on these few acres of land. But even that wasn't enough to soothe him now. He was beyond the point of being a loner. It only mattered when you had someone you cared for to share things with. Johnny knew he wasn't the type to give up on the human race and on himself by becoming a hermit. The hell with that.
Getting back into the car, he stopped in several places for beers, but they were either too fancy for his taste, or too filled with the racous sounds of hillbilly music and overly loud talking.
He arrived home late, noting that Ruth wasn't even there in the bedroom He finished the last can of beer in the ice box and fell into a troubled, dreamless sleep.
The next two days at work were sheer hell. Johnny was assigned to supervise a large publication, one that would accompany one of the Holloway computer machines that was rapidly finding use in several colleges and universities across the country.
"This has to be a real status job," Dick Braintree told him. "You'll get writing and supervisory credits on it, but we have to bring in some of the boys with their Ph. D's on this, too. When this goes through, you'll be the envy of some of those poor saps teaching in schools. You'll make four, five times what they do and still get glory."
Johnny couldn't seem to concentrate. He pushed as much of the work off as possible. Why not? If it were going to take a year, what difference would a few days make?
Nights, he ate out and spent the greater part of the evening at his property, alternately scaling rocks off the cliff or tracing out foundation lines with a big stick. He knew it was meaningless and only partially satisfying, but then that was better than nothing.
It was generally close to midnight before he considered going, and then he'd begun the habit of stopping at Flack's, a bar on Ventura Boulevard that seemed to be a good place for him. There were generally several people and the juke box had some good numbers on it, Peggy Lee and Jerri Sothern. The draft beer was Coors and, when the occasion warranted, the bar whiskey was Old Crow. Johnny invariably drank just enough to get a buzz on.
After a few days, he was accepted as a regular, which meant the tall, skinny barmaid, Bonnie, called him "Honey" and the bartender had asked him to enter a dollar pool on the television football game of the week.
One particular night, toward the end of the week, Flack's was nearly deserted "All the valley stores are opened for shopping," Bonnie explained. An innocent enough beginning, except that Bonnie was honest, straight forward and evocative of some of the real, independent women Johnny had known during his days as a migratory worker in the San Jaquin and central valley regions.
"I make no bones about it," she told him, a foot perched jauntily on the empty stoll next to his, "I can't see why a good looking, nice guy like you don't score like Gangbusters around here, what with all the women looking. I haven't seen you even look at a woman in here yet, unless it was that time Jeanie sat on your coat. You are a man, aren't you?"
Johnny nodded, listening to the chatter that he knew was building up to something. Bonnie's voice grew huskier and more determined as she revealed more of her background. Briefly: married to a boozer, got tired of being kicked around, got out, came to L.A. Married again, this time to an aircraft worker who didn't have guts to find other work during a Lay-off; wanted to live off Bonnie's earnings and spend his time fishing. Marriage number two on the rocks. But was this little lady skeptical about men? "No," she said, just a mite wary. You'd be the type I wouldn't be so wary about."
Johnny surveyed Bonnie. Outside of a trim figure, she was nothing special to look at, but this was its own blessing. Neither was she built along such outrageous, bosomy lines, nor was she a half-starved fashion model. Her arms showed a bit of muscle, her legs, although straight and unimaginative, were tidy and slim. She was used to a day's work and a day's play.
On an impulse, Johnny took her bowling at the all night lanes on Corbin. She clobbered him in three straight games, downed four beers and then called a halt to things. "No sense tossing your money around like I was one of these hanky-panky bluenoses who come in to the bar for their dollar mixed drinks. There was one gal from out your way who's come in a few times I don't call her a hooker; she's strictly out for kicks. Well, kicks for her was nearly a week's wages for the guys she picked up. She goes for call-your-brand Scotch, good stuff like Chivas Regal. Then she has to have a steak sandwich someplace where they charge three bucks. Can you imagine, three bucks for a sliver of meat and a hunk of toast? Well, then she gives it away."
Johnny neatly parried her suggestion that she fix them a midnight snack at her place. He got home later than usual. This time, Ruth was there. She stirred as he fell wearily into bed. "If it isn't the torn cat," she chided. "What is it dear, are you trying to forget?"
Johnny grew angrier than he'd imagined. Getting into bed, he gave Ruth a shove. She fell out her side with a shriek. "You spiteful slob," she said. "I'll fix you for that." Gathering her dignity and a few blankets, she stormed out into the living room, where she slept on the couch.
The next evening, Flack's was crowded and Johnny found himself watching Bonnie with a good deal of closeness. The thought of her had preyed on his mind all afternoon. He wasn't quite sure what he had in the works with her. Perhaps it was her frank earthiness that got to him. Or maybe it was just the idea of wanting someone to show the Topanga Canyon land to.
Watching her bend over a table to place an order of beers, down, Johnny quickly vetoed all that. Might as well be honest, he thought. Bonnie stirrs a very simple, basic need in you, old boy. A nice, unsophisticated down to earth toss in the hay, that's what she evokes for you.
Bonnie smiled at him as she moved by, saluting with a flounce, of her chestnut colored horse's tail hairdo. Johnny was just about to signal to her and ask her to wait for him when she got off work at twelve when the bartender tapped him on the shoulder.
"Look, pal, don't take no offense, but some of the boys, they got a live one out back in a station wagon. Maybe you'd like to have a go at it, too. She's a real good gal." His face dropped as he looked beyond Johnny. "Speak of the devil. I guess she's got a real snoothful and won't go for the whole gang."
Johnny turned, curiously, just as he heard a familiar voice demand a drink. His eyes met Joyce Powell's and they both reacted with surprise. Joyce, wearing a slightly wrinkled pink afternoon dress, looked like a drunken commedienne in a comedy movie. She was not a sloppy drunk like so many women, nor did she use exaggerated movements.
"Well," she said, "fancy meeting you here." Her eyes bugged slightly in a comic effect.
"Sorry, Honey," the bartender told her, "you're eighty-sixed. I'd loose my license serving you."
Johnny clenched his fist. "But it would be okay to steer guys out back for a quickie, wouldn't it?"
The bartender eyed him keenly. "I told you no offense, Mac."
"How about telling her that. You know," he said, turning to Joyce, "that you've got a guy working for you here. They've got names for it."
Joyce tottered close to him. "If you're worried about my honor, it's unsullied, tonight."
"Just the same," Johnny said his voice trailing off angrily.
Joyce caught his arm. "Hey, you're mad because someone implied I was a doer, not a talker. I think that's sort of funny and nice. My nonsexual friend, Johnny Marshak. My diatonic friend. Did you know that Plato liked little boys? I mean, since we're discussing morals and all and since we've let Platonic friends come to mean so much."
"There's a lot of falseness," Johnny said.
"And a lot of fancy words. Will you take me somewhere and either get me more booze or lots of coffee?"
Johnny stood up. "Let's make it coffee. Suddenly, seeing you, I don't need booze."
Joyce clung to him in a wobbily manner. "I do manage to drive men to Alcoholics Anonymous, don't I?"
"That was meant as a compliment." She stopped to regard him, almost soberly "I know, you fool."
Nearly an hour later, Johnny sat with Joyce in Biff's, an all-night restaurant, watching patiently, as she downed her fourth cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs. She was no longer tight, rather she alternated in her speaking between the manner of one so garrilous she has nothing to hide and an attitude of not giving a damn about who knew any aspect of her life.
"And so it must seem ironic to you, Johnny," she said, "my getting mad at you for even looking at me, then having you find me after an abortive night of prowling around, looking for a man."
"Not ironic," Johnny said, "just strange. I've decided that there isn't one woman in Valley Vista I understand, not even the maid. Even she has some confusion with sex and status. To tell you the truth, I was interested in Bonnie, the barmaid. I think I understand her. She wants to get laid by some guy who's tender and gentle and might want to take a fling at marrying her and seeing how things work out. She might not give a damn whether her husband gets the big promotion or not. She might even slap some guy who makes a pass at her when she's married."
Joyce smiled understandingly. "We're a pretty fouled up group, aren't we? I go on binges of picking up men because I'm disgusted with mate swapping parties and the well known game of grab ass." She smiled. "I see I shock you with my choice of words. Amusing, isn't it? A woman like me, graduate of Smith college with a degree in anthropology, can pretty well get away with being drunk in public and using certain four letter words. Your barmaid tries it and she's labeled trash. Or you take a book and put it out in hard covers and you can use all sorts of languages and expressions yon wouldn't dare use in the small paper books.
"We can commit adultery and get away with it, the bar girl tries it and is branded a tramp and a chippie and an unfit mother or whatever you will. I'll tell you something, we're living in a world of illusion."
Joyce lit cigarets for both of them and gave Johnny his. "What would you say about a man who had several illegitimate children, had killed at least two men in fights, could practically drink his weight in bourbon, loved fist fights, could swear with the best of them?"
Johnny considered. "I'd say he was a character from a John Wayne movie."
"Yet a hundred twenty-five years ago, such a man was president of the United States."
Johnny saw the light. "You mean Hawknose?"
"Andy Jackson, himself In fact, I even wrote a paper about him in school. One of the better presidents this country has ever had. It all points out the way the illusion of quality and refinement has been heading. In my own personal code of ethics, muddled as they are, it's better to pick up some stranger and sleep with him than to tell you how much I feel that way about you."
Johnny reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. "Take your time he told her. "I'm listening."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The effect of seeing Joyce and talking to her was so strong and surprising that Johnny returned home, determined to try harder than ever with Ruth. The severe strain this had placed on their relationship might pull too far now that he felt so strongly about Joyce. Once that first doubt about his love for Ruth had been spelled out in his mind, the fear drove him to investigate it for all his might.
Nervous yet determined, he fit his key into the lock and called out to Ruth. In the short space of a few moments, he was jolted again. Opening the bedroom door, he understood only too well what lay behind Ruth's threat of getting even.
This time, there was no sheet of thermo-pane glass separating him from his wife and Sam Masterson. There they were, in approximately the same position he'd first seen them in the night of the terrible discovery that brought his whole house of cards tottering down about him.
Ruth propped herself upon her elbows. "Home early," she said sweetly.
"Look, old boy," Masterson said, "how about a bit of privacy until we finish?"
All it once it seemed so ugly and obscene that he wanted to laugh
"You're a bitch," he told Ruth
"Now look, old man," Masterson said, balanced precariously, "there's no need to take things badly"
"I told her what would happen if I ever caught her with you," Johnny said. He advanced on the two of them, wrenching Masterson up by the shoulder and, just as Masterson grimaced in pain and annoyance, drove his fist hard against Sam's jaw.
The big man tumbled over the side of the bed with a grunt.
Ruth let out an involuntary yelp.
"That's right," Johnny said, "there's no telling what we might do when we lower class people get angry." He delivered a stinging slap to her jaw and moved quickly out of the room, slamming the front door of the apartment behind him.
He'd been cuckolded and fooled and manipulated just once too often. To think he'd been motivated to try again, patching things up, getting a new start, a better perspective. To think he'd been such a damned fool as to react protectively to the love he bore Ruth. To think he'd been so frightened by the implications of his attraction to Joyce that he'd wanted to make sure, damned sure with Ruth.
It was hard to accept the fact that he might be right in the face of so much performance, but he had to. The only way to see it was this insular, jaded life that ran rampant in Valley Vista. It bred boredom and thrill seeking. It bred status, but no real fulfillment.
To hell with it all, he thought. Johnny Marshak was angrier than he's been in years. He craved revenge now, revenge on Ruth and on all the wasted attempts he'd made at understanding and changing.
Finding himself in the pathway that snaked its way through the apartments of Valley Vista, Johnny's desire for revenge moved him toward the Chambers apartment.
Adelle was watching the late show on TV with Bridget Brine. The sight of her, in that silly rhinestone covered neck brace, her spindly legs draped over the side of the sofa, the look of sudden delight on her face, instantly cured him of his urgency.
"I was looking for Ruth," he said lamely, leaving before Adele Chambers could muster enough of an approach out of her surprise.
The next day, at work, Johnny met several cold, unreasoning glances. Dick Braintree took him aside, asking, "Is anything wrong, old boy? You've been under a strain for a few days?"
"Few days, hell!" Johnny told him. "It's been longer than that."
"Try to take it easy, huh? Maybe I could put in for a week off for you. Go to Palm Springs. Play tennis. Get some sun. Take it easy."
"Have some parties," Johnny suggested snidely.
"Well, sure, have parties. Or maybe I could have George E. arrange to have you sent to Cape Canaveral. Would you like that?"
Johnny shrugged. "There isn't a damned thing I could do there and you know it."
"Don't take it that way. Sure you could. Let me see what I can do."
Johnny shrugged again and returned to his work. A few moments later. Lenny Brine came in. They went through essentially the same routine.
Brine wanted to know if there was anything he could do. "You need to get away. How about if I put in for you being sent to the desert? The installation in Nevada, near the testing site. You know. Tonopah." He winked lewdly. "Good old Tonopah. A wide open town. Cut loose a little. Raise a little hell. Just looking at you, I can feel the need. Johnny, no man ever needed to go to Tonopah more than you."
But even as late as the next day, there was no further contact from either Dick Braintree nor Lenny Brine. Once, during lunch, Johnny saw Brine, but Lenny's eyes shifted nervously, moving across his face like a typewriter carriage. Then Brine ducked away rapidly.
Sam Masterson had not really been hurt by the jab Johnny had given him, yet Masterson, by way of rubbing things in, appeared at work for a week with a small bandage on his chin, claiming Johnny had worn a ring when he'd made the punch.
And when Dick Braintree did finally corral Johnny, it was not to tell him about going to Cape Canaveral, it was to inform him he was expected in Jayson Simpson's office two days hence.
"The house of cards is really tumbling down," he told Joyce Powell that evening. They were on his land at Topanga Canyon, with a small Coleman stove heating hamburger patties and a can of Sterno doing its work on a pot of cowboy style coffee. "Oddly enough, it was your husband who gave me the coldest treatment of all."
Joyce laughted as she flipped over the hamburger patties. "Check that, Johnny-o. It is my husband who gives me the coldest treatment of all."
Johnny dropped down on his haunches next to her. "Whatever it is, I'm rapidly reaching the point of not giving a doodely damn about anything."
He was aware of Joyce's eyes, giving him a quick, shrewd look. "You care about this, don't you?"
"I guess so. This place means so much, I sometimes take it for granted. But seeing you here, over a silly Coleman stove and a can of Sterno does things for me."
"What kind of things, Johnny?'
"Complicated things, trouble making things. Like making a break with everything."
"Including me?"
"No, Joyce, not including you."
She stood up and kissed him lightly on the check. "In spite of everything, I'm still not a big outdoor girl, Johnny. I bitch about a lot of things, but I do like electric dishwashers and expensive hairdressers. I even own a pair of tailor-made levis, and if I ever saw a cockroach or snake, lord only knows the tizzy I'd fly into. I'm just sick and tired of being the town pump."
"But," he said, gripping her shoulders tightly, "you are interested in things like having kids and knowing who the father is. if yovi got that, would you care what your man did for a living?"
"Only within reason and prejudice," Joyce said. "I couldn't abide a man who worked as a mechanic. That's only because an older sister I loved ran off with one whom I couldn't stand. I wouldn't want to marry a racketeer or a cop, either. I suppose that does it."
"You know," he told her, "I didn't finish high school until pretty late in the game."
Her eyebrows arched. "I thought you were the big, smug college man. The way Ruth was bragging about all your honors and such-and that trip you took to an alumni meeting-"
"That trip," Johnny mused, "was one of the most god-awful things I've ever experienced. We didn't go east. We spent the time in Las Vegas, virtually sneaking out nights for fear someone from Holloway would see us and ask what we were doing there."
"A self-made man. That puts you in a new light"
"A self-unmade man, too," he said bitterly. The closeness of her was too much for him. The casualness of her tweed skirt and tight cashmere sweater outlined her excellent figure. The trace of interest in her face brought her to life for him with a vivid sparkle. "I know we've got a sort of unwritten law between us," he said, "but laws were made to be broken-or changed." He reached for her, pulling her close against him, ready to use more than a little force if she resisted.
To his surprise, she didn't resist. She met him willingly, her body thrusting warmly against him, her lips slightly parted and moist, her eyes closed.
Gradually, as his hand moved her hips, feeling the tautness, they lowered to the car robe she'd spread out on the scrubby grass. "I suppose," she said in a listless tone, "this was inevitable."
Aroused as he was, Johnny stopped. He broke away from her.
"The hell with it, don't do me any favors," he said acidly.
Her eyes opened, seeking his pleadingly. "You idiot, don't you understand, I could love you. I don't know if I've got the guts to go through with it If we start having an affair, it will lead to something or die out. Either way, I'll be taking a chance of having to do something, to break away or to get used to doing with out you. When you get a little crumb of happiness after so long, you want to hold onto it for a while, for safety, for reassurance. I don't know whether you're just doing this because you're lonely or not."
Earnestly, he regarded her. "Why don't we find out?"
There was no guile in her eyes now. She slowly began unbuttoning her sweater. "I know this is going to sound silly to you, after all the junk you know about, but the gentle with me, Johnny. Please be gentle."
He was. There was none of the almost tedious false emotion involved wherein they had to claw and tear at each other to bolster their desire. This was slow and direct. They lay clasped together in the thin light of the moon, the light from the can of Sterno casting flickering shadows over them. Birds called in the distance. The light from the signal boat flashed below. An occasional noise from the distant ocean same up, like a chorus of whispers.
Johnny found himself trembling with excitement, wondering for the first time in ages if he could please this woman, realizing how much it meant to both of them.
Calmly, Joyce helped him, guiding him in her preferences, asking his. Then all that faded away and they joined together, moving instinctively and quickly. It was over shortly, but left them both stunned with its intensity of completion.
"Well," Joyce said, "I guess we know how we stand now"
Johnny framed her face in his hands, marveling at the way communication was so easy for them. He was positive of what she'd meant; that his reaction had been hers, that it had been the most satisfactory relationship she'd had in ages, that there was something strong and important there.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jayson Simpson's interview with Johnny was brief and to the point. "I don't know what your personal differences with Sam Masterson are and I don't care. We try to run this place on a mature, adult level. Now it's been reported to me that your work has fallen off and I get the impression that it's a bit too much for you. I want you to feel free to tell me if this is true.
"There's no dishonor in admitting something is too difficult. After all, you've done amazingly well as it is for a man who has only a Bachelor of Science degree. Would you like to be replaced on this vital and important project?"
Johnny shook his head. "No sir, I can handle it better than all your Ph. D's put together."
"All right then, you've got two weeks to make a significant showing or we'll have to remove you from the project. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir; it's understood."
Johnny was amazed to learn how quickly the word was out on him. Not only did Dick Braintree and Lenny Brine avoid him, but he was referred to several times during the course of the next few days as "fellow."
At home, Ruth became grouchy and irrirtable. "You've done something," she said. "I don't quite know what it is, but you've managed to foul things up. Do you realize we're the only Holloway people in Valley Vista who haven't been invited to the Simpson's big party?"
"Big deal," Johnny said.
"You'll think it is when you're out looking for another job."
"With my record, I could get work anywhere."
"They'll want to know, my dear, why you were fired."
"And I'll tell them; my wife slept with the wrong people."
Ruth slapped him hard and left the room. Watching her go, Johnny actually felt happy. He went to the phone and called Joyce.
"What this big thing you've got for picnics, friend?" Joyce said. 'I'm not known in every bar in the Valley. Besides, my hands are blistered from chopping fire wood."
That will be the day," Johnny said, enjoying the banter and teasing tone of her voice.
"Don't laugh, pardner, that day may come. I care just enough for you to be crazy enough to do it."
Later that night, they went to a motel out of compromise to Joyce, who reacted in fury at discovering a tic bite on her leg. "Making love in the big out-of-doors isn't all it's supposed to be, and I want to score some points before you become completely reverted to nature."
Lying close in his arms, Joyce told Johnny all the rumors about him her husband had brought home from work. "And the ultimate is, he's given me two orders. One is that I will attend the Simpson's party with him and play the part of a dutiful wife. The other is that I will stop seeing you."
"What will you do?"
"I'll obey the first one. Damned if I'll obey the second one. Johnny, I'm really frightened. I don't give two hoots in hell for your precious Topanga Canyon, but I give considerable hoots anywhere for you. I'm spoiled and frightened, but I can't stand my husband or what I've got any longer."
"Kiddies and a lot of work will make you forget all that," he said. "You'll be better off, bitching about your unhappy lot in life."
"Do you realize how we're talking, Johnny?"
"I realize"
"Doesn't it frighten you?"
"Scares the hell out of me, particularly if I have to leave Holloway under unpleasant circumstances"
"Oh, but you'd be able to get another job, sooner or later"
"Yes," he said, "but there's the rub I could probably get a job tomorrow-as a mechanic."
Joyce groaned, but snuggled closer to him. "You do all the things I can't stand, but on you, I love them. Is this what love does to people?"
"I'm beginning to think so."
The night after the Simpson's party, Ruth went on a long-and for her unusual drunk. Joyce cried bitterly in Johnny's arms. "He actually beat me this time. I-I was the stake in a game of poker. John Marcher won me and I refused to go with him. I refused everything and George says it's a reflection on his honor. He says I've mined him. In front of everyone, he bawled me out and called me a slut who'd sleep with anyone except the right one. He says it's all thanks to your influence."
Johnny felt a strength and calmness. "Is it?"
"Yes," she said. "Isn't it funny, the thought of going to bed with another man, after you, was more than I could stomach."
"Still frightened?"
"Terrified, Johnny."
"So am I."
"I guess this is one compensation of love. For every fear like this, there's a realization of a strength."
"To show you how correct you are, I'm going to ask Ruth for a divorce. I'll ask her tonight."
"Suppose she won't?"
"I'll subpoena Adele Chambers, Liz Braintree, you and Sam Masterson into court. Adultery is still a very acceptable ground for divorce in California, opinion of Valley Vista notwithstanding. I'll give her a chance for that or the old standby of incompatability and mental cruelty."
"I suppose I could do the same then, couldn't I?"
Johnny agreed "We'll call it a gentle sort of blackmail on our respective mates Either they agree to divorce on commonly acceptable grounds or we come parading in with adultery, circus style. Have-have you ever seen Ruth?"
Joyce thought "There've been so many ... yes, I recall. I think it was the first week you moved into Valley Vista. There was a small gathering at the Chambers'. It was a night you worked late or something. I saw Ruth dancing with Lenny Brine. She started out taking off her shoes, then her skirt. Along came Sam Masterson-"
"That bastard again," Johnny said.
"He helped Ruth take off her blouse and bra. I saw him put his hand around her waist, and then squeeze her bare breast. They walked into the bedroom and several moments later I heard both of them moaning. I remember vividly now because Lenny Brine made a suggestion to me."
Johnny thought for a minute. "That's probably conclusive enough to satisfy any judge in California. I can surely testify for you. I saw good old George E. at the Blainey's party. Blainey and that actress masquerading as a geisha girl ... on the ironing board in the kitchen."
"He always was one for nonsense like that." She shuddered "I never thought I knew what hard-core pornography was until the last few times my husband made love to me. It was terrible."
"The point is, darling, if need be, we can help each other and no lawyer can prove we're doing it as a collusion. Now that this is settled, comes to obvious question. Not as romantic as I'd like it, but will you marry me?"
Joyce smiled. "I thought you'd never ask"
"Since you mentioned it, though, I've been doing a bit or research on Andy Jackson. Seemed he lived with his last consort, Rachel, for a time previous to their marriage. You know, well have to wait a year for divorces."
"And you have a sharp eye to double rent payments."
"I have," Johnny said proudly, "an aversion to single beds or empty double beds."
"We can live in sin in your valley. Sin Valley, here we come."
Johnny thought about that. "Un uh, Sin Valley, here we go."
Arriving home late that night, he was pleased to note he needed no drinks for artificial courage. Scared? Yes, he was scared silly, but his parting with Joyce had given him enough determination to go through with it.
He found her, dancing by herself in the den, an empty bottle near the record player. For the first time, he felt something obscene about the sight of his naked wife, drunkenly dancing and humming in an off-key counterpoint to the music.
At the sight of him, Ruth pouted and swore.
"Save it," he said. "Let's get down to basics. I want a divorce. If you won't go to your lawyer tomorrow and charge me with incompatability or mental cruelty, I'll be at mine twenty-four hours later, charging you with adultery."
She seemed not to have heard him. "I'm sorry, Johnny," she said. "I only did it because I was mad. I thought I'd be mad when I saw you again, but-my heart isn't in it. I'm sorry about what I just said. I'm sorry about what I did to you. I'll help you get a new job."
The words registered heatedly. "New job? What the hell are you talking about?"
"I told them, Johnny. I told them about your phony record. I told them how you were fortunate to have graduated high school. You've got to understand. I was so angry when I found out the baby."
Johnny sank to a chair. "You're going to have a baby?"
"Yes," she said.
"Swell. Just great. Can you think of anything else I ought to know? Like for instance, who the rather is?"
"I don't know, Johnny. I don't know You've got to help me."
"It's pretty damned sure it isn't me, isn't it?" Guiltily, Ruth nodded her head. "You will help, won't you?"
Johnny was surprised how quickly he arrived at his conclusion. "I'll help you all right. You listen to me. What I said still goes. If you don't see a lawyer tomorrow, I'm going to file myself. As far as the baby is concerned, I'm sorry for you, but sorrier for the kid. When it comes, I'll take it and raise it with my name, provided you give me custody By that time, it'll have a mother. Joyce and I are going to be married."
"She's already married," Ruth said petulantly. "You can't leave me now, Johnny."
"Why not?" Johnny said. "What'll I do?"
"Astound Valley Vista with the newest game of all, mate swapping on a permanent basis. You can have George E. Powell. Just think of the splash you'll cause. Everyone will want to do it. You'll have your rightful place back again. In a wav, I'm going out of here like I came in. Reminds me of a rich bitch shedding her lover and making him leave his wardrobe. It's all yours, baby. Everything I've got through you. I leave it to you with my blessing. I'll send you a Christmas card."
Without turning back on her childish, heartrending pleas, he went into the bedroom and began throwing clothing into his suitcase. The suits would have hell wrinkled out of them, so would the shirts. But that didn't matter.
"What do you want, fellow?" George E. Powell said, answering Johnny's knock at the door.
"My wife," Johnny said insistantly.
"She's not here," Powell said defensively. "Try the Chambers. Try anywhere else, but take off, fellow."
"I don't mean Ruth, I mean Joyce"
"She told me about that I think you've both got a hell of a lot of nerve."
"Right," Johnny said. "That's why we'll make it." He stepped past Powell and caught a glimpse of Joyce, entering from the bedroom. He could see through the open door. She had two suitcases out. She too, had forgotten about wrinkles.
"Tailor-made levis," she said, indicating the pants on her arm.
"You did it. I'm proud of you. You were coming to me."
"I was damned well going to yank you away, Mr. Marshak. I've had very few proposals of living in sin that sounded as good as yours."
"See here," George E. Powell said, "you're creating a nuisance."
"Go away, George," Joyce said. "Go away or you'll see something that will upset you. You will see how completely you've lost me." She turned back to Johnny. "You know, I still don't like your dumb canyon, but if you want to build a house on it, the least I can do is stick around and get you mad, moving furniture around."
"Ben Franklin's advice about how to handle women. Keep 'em barefoot and pregnant." He scooped Joyce into his arms and pulled off her sandals, tossing them onto the floor.
"Hey," she said, "just how far do you intend going with Ben's advice right now."
"All the way," Johnny said.
"You're forgetting something basic and biological. Babies take nine months, divorces take twelve."
Johnny kicked the bedroom door shut behind them and tossed Joyce onto the large bed. He locked the door and moved closer to her. "Fine and dandy," he said, "but wasn't it also Ben Franklin who said practice makes perfect. Well, get ready. I want to stay in practice."
