A chilling finger of night air tickled her bare back and in her sleep, she moved toward the warmth and protection of the body that shared the bed. A heavy hand moved to her thigh and disturbed her and she could feel herself drifting up to consciousness. She tried to roll away from the source of irritation but strong arms imprisoned her. Toni mumbled a sleepy protest, suddenly aware of the urgency of the tight embrace. "No more...." she murmured crossly. "I'm tired."
It was true. She felt sore and drained and exhausted. The arms refused to release her and the heavy hand continued to roam greedily over the curve of her hip and smoothness of her stomach. She jerked awake as it moved again in crude aggression. "Damn you, Stan!" she cried, twisting in angry withdrawal. "I told you I didn't want to-"
She stopped short, blinking in momentary surprise as she stared into the unfamiliar face that grinned at her from the other pillow. It wasn't her husband's face. The naked man in her bed wasn't her husband ... but instead, her husband's boss.
Elliot chuckled amusedly. "Remember me?"
Toni nodded slowly, resignedly. It all came back to her. She recalled the reason for her tiredness, her soreness, her exhaustion. She remembered the feverish hours of shameless sensuality that had robbed her of all energy. "I thought you went home," she whispered dully, knowing why he had stayed and what he wanted from her and that, if Stan was to get the promotion, she'd have no choice but to do whatever Elliot asked of her.
CHAPTER ONE
She'd always wanted a powder-blue convertible. As far back as she could remember, the sight of shiny-new fenders glaring in the sunlight had held a magnetic appeal. Success. Comfort. Smiling, carefree faces. Even before she was old enough to drive, she'd watched them speed through the dingy neighborhood of her childhood on their way to the clean, open highway. She'd promised herself then, that someday one of those big, expensive cars would be her very own.
It was finally happening. She knew she should be happy, even though ten years had passed since she'd made herself that promise. But now, as the salesman approached with two sets of keys and the unwrinkled ownership papers, Toni accepted all in unsmiling silence. It had taken too long. Somehow, it wasn't the same any more. Today, the big car just wasn't enough.
Toni slid onto the spotless white leather seat, grasped the steering wheel firmly and tried not to think about Stan. She knew her husband would come to appreciate the aesthetic lines of the car if he ever recovered from the price. But dinner tonight was guaranteed to turn into a ten-rounder. To hell with it, Toni decided as she pulled out of the car lot and into the late afternoon traffic. She knew how to handle Stan.
Besides, it was her money anyhow. Toni felt obliged to quiet the voice of a weakening but still irritating conscience. And the last of her money, at that. She had the right to spend it on any luxury she damned pleased. It was Stan's place to provide the necessities.
Some provider! She fought to keep the fury from eroding her insides as she drove swiftly along the Long Island Expressway. Stan was still in debt up to his ears. If not for the ten thousand dollars from her dad's life insurance, they would have been over their heads long ago. And now, the ten thousand was all gone. God help them both.
Still, it was her money, Toni repeated silently for courage. Stan had no right to complain. She'd given him plenty during the seven years of their marriage. First, while he painted his stupid little canvasses. And then, for the down payment on their house....
The thought of Stan's painting added to her discomfort. How could she have been such a dope? Where were her brains at the age of twenty-one?
She knew where they were and she blushed to admit it. The picture of Stan Arlen as he used to look, back in his college days, returned to her mind's eye. Any girl would have fallen for him. Any girl would have believed that with a guy like Stan, love was more than enough to live on. Any girl that had ever been in his bed....
Toni reached into her bag and closed her fingers around a pair of pearl-rimmed sunglasses. Without taking her eyes from the road, she slipped them on. Then she removed her kerchief and pushed her long black hair up into the wind.
The awareness of having been duped threatened to dull her enjoyment of the weather and the powerful motor beneath her right foot. Resolutely, Toni pressed the accelerator down, passed the car in front of her and tried to console herself that at least now she knew better. For the first two years of her marriage, she'd been content to go to work while Stan sweated to sell a few lousy paintings every month. But five years ago, when she'd gotten that insurance check, she'd wised up. And fast.
In his whole lifetime her father had never seen ten thousand dollars compiled into one sum. It took his death to make it possible for Tom to have that money. And she had no intentions of throwing it away on what Stan called creativity.
That's why she'd found a house and moved them out of that crummy Manhattan flat that Stan had been so fond of. Then Toni went out to make friends. Useful friends. Friends that she could never have known in her old neighborhood, where one person was poorer than the next. Friends like Irma....
The loud insistence of a car horn jolted Toni from her memories. Rather than give the man the satisfaction of intimidating her into the right lane, Toni sped up and left him far behind her. Then when his car had vanished from her rear view mirror, she pulled over and diminished her speed to one that didn't require all her attention.
The day was warm and she didn't particularly feel like going back to the house yet. She wanted desperately to show off her car to somebody. Somebody who could admire it enviously and say all the right things-things that would make Toni feel like she'd finally accomplished something.
But there was no one. All the people she socialized with had big cars too. And those who didn't weren't worth knowing.
The signs along the side of the road told her that she was getting close to home. Toni flipped on the radio and purposely" drove past her exit. She had to show that car to somebody. Even if it was only Irma.
Two exits later, Toni turned off the expressway and on to a wide, tree-lined boulevard. This side of town, she knew, was only five minutes from where she lived. But the difference was like day and night. Big houses with gently sloping lawns towered above the roadway. Old oaks arched their leafy green arms on either side and stone gates denoted property lines. There wasn't a house worth less than forty thousand bucks in the whole neighborhood. Toni wondered if it had been wise to come there at all.
She pulled into a circular gravel driveway and sneered at the view. Irma's house was clean, bright and refreshing. Everything that Irma wasn't. There, Toni decided, was the perfect example of a woman who'd be lost without a maid.
"Is Missus Barnes at home, Susan?" Toni kept her tone aloof, trying to appear as if she was used to having servants around.
"Yes, Missus Arlen." The girl smiled courteously and stepped back. "I'll tell her you're here."
Toni nodded coolly and ran her fingers through her wind-blown hair. How gauche, she thought, glancing at the gilt-framed mirrors in the entrance hall. To think that a woman with Irma's money could....
"Toni dear, what a pleasant surprise." Irma's voice soared through the air and seemed to bounce around up near the high ceiling. "I've been dying for some good company all day." .
"You've got it now." Toni turned her cheek to the proffered kiss and realized immediately that Irma's only other company for the day had been a bottle of gin. As usual.
"Come on in and have a chugalug with me," Irma commanded, taking Toni's hand and pulling her toward the living room.
"First, I want you to see something." Toni was determined to have her moment first. A small price to ask for an hour of listening to Irma feel sorry for herself. "Look out in your driveway."
Irma's forehead wrinkled with puzzlement, before she shrugged and walked to the front door. "A brand new car!" Her tone was too enthusiastic for Toni to believe sincere. "It's just beautiful." She turned back toward Toni and smiled knowingly. "What did you have to do to get Stan to buy it for you?"
Toni grinned smugly and shook her head. That was one area where she had Irma beat. And probably the only one. "Absolutely nothing." Toni paused to let her meaning sink in. "I bought it myself. As a matter-of-fact Stan doesn't know yet."
"What'll he say when he finds out?" Irma closed the door and giggled softly.
"Does it really matter?" Toni hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. "I've bought it. That's the most important thing."
"You're right, honey. You're so right." Irma winked and started back into the house. "Now, tell me what you'd like to drink."
"Oh, anything." Toni heard the letdown in her voice. She'd hoped that showing the car to Irma would make her feel just the least bit superior. But it hadn't worked. And now, she'd have to pass a dull afternoon in Irma's company with no reward to look forward to except a headache.
Irma brushed a teased lock of brightly-bleached hair from her forehead and took a long swallow from her Tom Collins. "Best thing for a lonesome afternoon," she said, watching Toni do the same. "Beats cold showers any day."
"That's for sure." Toni tried to keep the revulsion out of her voice. One thing she never needed with Stan was cold showers. No matter what else might have happened during his day, Stan was always anxious for a roll in the hay. Irma's husband, on the other hand, was probably different.
"How's Elliot?" Toni asked in a bland tone.
"The same." Irma sighed and finished her drink.
Toni knew what that meant and could figure out its implications. The only person she knew that drank more than Irma did, was her husband, Elliot. That much liquor just had to affect the sex drive, Toni decided. No wonder Irma took cold showers. The woman simply didn't know when she was well off.
"And how is Stan?" Irma's question sounded more polite than curious.
"All right, I guess." Toni searched her mind for something she could brag about concerning her husband, but there was nothing. To put on airs in front of Irma, she knew, would be pointless. After all, Toni remembered, it was Irma who had arranged for Stan's present job with Stillwell Cosmetics, where Elliot was Advertising Manager. She knew exactly what Stan earned, what he did, and probably, what they spent. There were no pretentions possible.
"Dull, aren't they?" Irma said.
"What?" Toni wasn't sure she understood.
"The boys, I mean. You know, Elliot and Stan." Irma reached toward a silver tray for a refill and glanced over to see if Toni's glass was empty yet. "They're really so much alike, despite their incomes."
Irma seemed to be reading Toni's mind and rubbing her nose a little harder in the dirt. Toni couldn't stand it.
"Every day it's the same thing," Irma continued, seemingly unaware of Toni's anger. "They say the same things, and do the same things, and think the same things. Sort of makes a girl wonder if she's got anything left to look forward to."
Toni nodded dully and wished she could get out of there. She knew for certain now that she shouldn't have come. The surroundings were growing more oppressive with each passing moment. But it was her own fault. She'd trapped herself again.
"Oh, they can be interesting sometimes." Toni watched her double entendre bore a hole through Irma's pretended nonchalance. She wanted to hurt-to shatter that blonde bitch who was lording wealth in front of her eyes. Irma didn't deserve such luck. What had that tramp ever done? All the woman had on her side was a lucky marriage. The kind of marriage that Toni rightfully deserved.
"Maybe we ought to trade men, some time?" Irma chuckled nervously. "You can use the income and I can use the fun."
Toni caught the glint in her friend's eye and knew that Irma wasn't really joking. She had her on the defensive though. Unknowingly, Irma had just admitted that. Now Toni felt a little better.
"No thanks." Toni reached for a cigarette and shook her head. "One's about all I can take." Let the bitch suffer, she thought. Just because Irma had arranged for Stan's job didn't give her the right to treat Toni like a poor relation.
"Lucky girl." Irma seemed to pale slightly as she raised the refilled glass to her lips and drank hungrily.
"I guess I'd better be running along now." Toni couldn't stand the cat and mouse game any more.
"So soon?" Irma looked genuinely wounded.
"I have to fix Stan's supper and prepare myself for a fight."
"Oh, you mean the car." Irma nodded understandingly. "Thank goodness I don't have such problems," she smiled. "A new car would never upset Elliot."
"What would?" Toni couldn't resist sticking the knife in a little deeper.
"I beg your pardon?" Irma blinked stupidly.
"Never mind." Toni knew better than to think Irma hadn't caught the barb. Better to let it drop, though. She never knew when she might need the woman's help again. "I'll call you during the week."
"That's a good idea." Irma seemed to be happy again. "Maybe we can go for a ride in my car. The foreign models never seem to use much gas."
That was the last straw. Toni left without saying goodbye.
The ride home was much too short for Toni's liking. But before she had a chance to entertain thoughts of stalling, she found herself pulling into her own block.
A wave of despair seemed to stiffen her limbs as she looked at the houses there. One was the same as the next, Toni told herself again. Living in a development was almost as bad as living in army barracks. It would be a cinch to wander into the wrong house on a dark night.
As she pushed the power button and raised the convertible top, Toni smiled proudly. At least there was a slight difference now, she encouraged herself. No doubt about it. Hers was the flashiest car in the neighborhood. At least she had something to set her apart from the rest of those struggling dopes on the block.
The house was sticky and Toni cursed herself for not forcing Stan to buy her an air-conditioner. Hurrying through the small living room, she glanced at the clock above the fake fireplace. Four-thirty. She'd better make up her mind fast.
A slight trembling of her hands told her that she wasn't nearly as calm as she'd like to be. Toni plugged in the coffeepot and sat down next to the telephone. It would be better to tell him in the privacy of their cheap little house, she decided. At least that way, Stan couldn't make a scene in front of a hundred people at the railroad station-just because she'd traded in his car to buy the new one.
But why should he make a scene at all? Toni pouted, knowing in advance that all her conjecture wouldn't affect reality in the slightest. Hadn't she been good to Stan? Hadn't she gotten him out of that little hole in New York and helped him get a steady job? Hadn't she let him lean on her and borrow strength long after she'd stopped thinking of him as a man in more than a purely physical sense? Hadn't she put up with his pawing hands and hot, breathy love, night after night for seven years?
The tension knotted painfully in her stomach and Toni knew she was scared. Of what, she asked herself irritably. Of a spineless, groveling little man? Of an overgrown child who hadn't the gumption to go out and provide for her the comforts that ungrateful lushes like Irma took for granted? Of a six-foot-two inch washout that she could crush in a moment by simply locking the bedroom door?
The reheated coffee tasted like mud. Toni forced herself to drink it all, despite the hatred that was souring her stomach. Hatred for Irma. Hatred for Stan. Hatred for herself.
The doorbell rang. Toni jumped up from her chair, grateful for any distraction from her unhappy thoughts.
"Missus Arlen?" The freckle-faced boy smiled, and pushed the bouquet of roses into Toni's arms.
An icy shroud of sudden awareness made her shudder. "Just a minute," Toni muttered, and fled to the kitchen to find a quarter to give the boy.
She didn't want to read the card. She didn't have to. Toni knew what it would say without looking. Yet, an undeniable sense of duty forced her to unwrap the flowers gently and hunt for a little white envelope.
It sat in the palm of her hand, defying Toni to open it and face the truth in black and white. Slowly, miserably, she pulled apart the paper and extracted the card.
Happy Anniversary. Love, Stan.
The anguished cry ripped from her throat as Toni heaved the flowers against the living room wall. Sobbing, uncontrollably, she ran to the kitchen and sank down onto a chair.
Her life with Stan felt like a vise, closing painfully around her. She stared, unseeing, across the empty kitchen and bit her lower lip. She had to do something. Anything, to save herself from feeling the way Irma felt-like there was nothing left to look forward to. And one thing, she knew for sure. Whatever it was, she'd have to do it by herself. And soon.
Slowly, very slowly, she dialed Stan's number....
CHAPTER TWO
Something was up. He didn't know exactly what it was but by now he knew Toni well enough to be almost able to smell trouble in her tone of voice. The sweet voice that could fool the whole world. The loving voice that used to fool him, too. The coy, flirtatious tone, reserved for those not-so-rare occasions when Toni wanted something, or had already done something that he'd find out about later ... and learn to accept in order to survive.
The sounds of a busy office filtered in through Stan's thoughts and forced him back to his present surroundings. That was one thing about Toni, Stan had to admit. Just the velvet sound of her voice was enough to remove him from the chaos at work and make him temporarily able to forget how he earned his living. Nobody else could do that for him, but his wife. It must be love.
The colorful layout for the Stillwell Lipstick television commercial caught his eye and draw Stan's attention down onto his desk. Something was wrong with it, he knew, but just what that something was, escaped him. Maybe the fault lay only within himself. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for the additional responsibility that had lately fallen on to his unwilling shoulders. Maybe he should just walk into Elliot's office and....
"Stan, where's that layout?" Carl's voice, usually friendly and calm, rasped with anxiety. "Barnes has been on my neck all afternoon for the damned thing. Come on, boy. Let's get going."
"Dammit, I'm not a machine, Carl." Stan threw his pen down onto, the desk and swiveled his chair around to face the window. The afternoon sun on the other side of the pane looked warm and inviting. A nice blue-red tone in the shadows, Stan thought, following the long fingers of light that mellowed between the buildings on the other side of the street. Nice colors to paint. Nice colors for a guy to lose himself in....
"All right, all right. Take it easy, boy." A shaky hand descended to Stan's shoulder. "I didn't mean to sound like a slave driver. It's just that-"
"Forget it." Stan waved off Carl's apology and arranged a smile across his face for the man's benefit. Carl was a friend. A right guy. He didn't belong in that rat race of a business, either. Especially not with his heart condition....
"It's not working." Stan turned back to his desk and pointed to the layout. "If you ask me, the entire composition stinks."
"Here, let me have a look at it." Carl leaned over the desk and squinted down at the advertisement.
"Maybe you can figure out the trouble." Stan's voice was noticeably softer as he watched the Assistant Manager carefully studying the layout. Carl had changed a helluva lot in five years, Stan told himself. When he first came to work at Stillwell, Stan remembered thinking how young his boss looked for forty-six. Carl was the friendly dynamo then ... the little man with a slap on the back for everybody and an inexhaustible supply of energy.
And now, Stan saw the lines that had etched deeply into Carl's tired face ... and the hair, more grey than black. The man had aged twenty years in only five. And Stan knew, only too well, that Carl's dissipation was because of his job ... and because of Elliot Barnes.
"It's this word, right in here." Carl jumped up and nodded, matter-of-factly. "Kissable." He pointed to the ad. "It's too small. Throws the balance off."
Stan leaned forward on one elbow and looked down at the word. "You're right," he muttered. "I'll change it myself and bring it in to Elliot's office."
"You won't forget now?" Carl started to walk away from the desk, his thoughts obviously on the next thing he had to do.
"Not a chance." Stan reached into a desk drawer for a bottle of ink. Stupid mistake, he told himself angrily, grunting at the obvious fault in the layout. He should have been able to catch that himself. Any kid that ever pasted an ad together would have seen it.
A cold fear paralyzed his hand. It was happening again. He was slipping.
Hurriedly, Stan worked to correct the error. He mustn't think such thoughts. To lose confidence was to commit occupational suicide. But how was a guy supposed to feel comfortable in a place where he knew he didn't belong?
Toni's smiling photograph beamed out from the confines of its leather frame. Stan stared at it, aware of a familiar twitching down near the pit of his tomach. For her, he would stick out this lousy job and a dozen more. He owed her that much. She'd put up with an awful lot from a guy who didn't deserve her. She could have married somebody rich. Easily. With her kind of looks, she could have been wearing diamonds today.
But she'd married him. And she'd given him her father's money to buy the house. No sacrifice on his part could be too great. Especially on their anniversary.
A warm feeling of nostalgia settled about his mood and caused him to smile. He glanced furtively around the office to make sure Carl wasn't close by. Then he leaned back and thought about the way it had been in the beginning....
The small apartment in the village that smelled from oil pigments and drying canvasses ... the high-riser that converted from a sofa by day to a double bed at night ... Tom, young and eager with warm skin and soft breasts, waiting for him beneath the blankets ... her scarlet mouth, teasing, exploring ... driving him past the point of caring what he did to please her....
A trickle of perspiration ran between his shoulder blades. Stan swallowed hard and shifted his position in the chair. Back to work, he ordered himself forcefully. Two more minutes of thinking about Toni and he'd be in no shape to do any work at all. Soon he'd be going home ... then he could....
"How's it going, Rembrandt?"
Stan looked quickly up from Toni's picture, just in time to return Eileen's disarming smile. "Carl told me what's wrong with the layout," he said. "I'll have it finished in no time."
"Good deal." The young illustrator nodded enthusiastically and pressed the blunt edge of a drawing pencil through her curly red hair. "Now maybe you can tell Carl what's wrong with himself."
"That is our revered and overworked Assistant Manager you are speaking of." Stan pretended a stern, scornful expression. "You are impertinent, Miss Vickers."
"Yes, I know." Eileen wrinkled her button nose. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"Yeah." Stan chuckled and felt his expression change to one of wholehearted approval. The girl was talented, bright and perceptive. Very little went over her head in the office, either about the work, or about the people. And sometimes, he wished she wasn't so damned good-looking. "Nevertheless, you ought to watch what you say."
"He seems to be getting worse every day." Eileen's tone sounded burdened with concern. "I hate to see a man like that running himself into the ground so. If he'd only take it a little slower."
"Nobody rests in this office except Elliot Barnes. You know that." Stan wished he hadn't said it, but the words were already out.
"Doesn't everybody know it?" Eileen didn't seem the least bit shocked by Stan's statement. "Maybe if he was sober enough to do his own work, other people wouldn't have to break their necks."
"Go complain to the President," Stan quipped, trying to make light of the situation. "I have work to do."
"I don't need a ton of bricks to fall," Eileen said, goodnaturedly. "I'm going."
"See you tomorrow." Stan sat and watched Eileen's shapely behind navigate beautifully across the room. Then he loosened his tie and finished correcting the layout.
"Arlen, old man. Come on in."
Elliot Barnes drained the last drop of scotch out of the bottom of his glass and swung his feet up onto the leather-topped desk. "Long time no see, fella. Where have you been keeping yourself?"
"Working, mostly." Stan knew what Elliot was referring to but avoided the issue. It had been at least a month since Toni and he had gone to the Barnes place for dinner. Somehow, Stan found himself no longer able to stomach a night of foul jokes and pretended friendship. If Toni liked Irma, that was her business. But as far as he was concerned, once the office was closed, Stan wanted nothing to do with Elliot.
"I know what you mean." Elliot sighed loudly and poured himself another drink. "That television spec is driving the whole office batty. Sometimes I wish Eva Stillwell hadn't decided to become a sponsor."
"Never question the decisions of a vice-president," Stan joked, knowing he'd better keep up the banter or run the risk of telling Elliot what he really thought of him. How could one guy be such a phony and hope to get away with it? Every person who worked under him knew that Elliot was always too soused to do anything constructive. And now, the bastard was looking for sympathy.
"What Eva needs is a good roll in the hay," Elliot announced decisively. "Then she wouldn't sit up nights figuring out ways to kill the advertising department."
Stan laughed despite himself. The thought of the austere Eva Stillwell involved in some nefarious affair was beyond his comprehension. The woman probably didn't know that sex existed.
"Here's the lipstick layout that Carl said you wanted." Stan handed the ad to Elliot, grateful for a reason to steer the conversation back to business.
"Finally." Elliot made no effort to hide his disgust. "Old Carl isn't very much on the ball these days. I think maybe he ought to start collecting his pension."
"The delay was my fault." Stan leapt instantly to his friend's defense. "I had to re-do some of the lettering."
"You don't have to make excuses for the guy." Elliot's eyes never left the paper. "Everybody's got to start slipping eventually."
Stan felt the rage ball his fingers into fists, but he kept his mouth shut. To knock Carl was unjust to begin with. And to do it in front of someone who worked under him was in rotten taste. Visions of busting Elliot's jaw floated temptingly before him. He turned to leave.
"Hold on a minute," Elliot called after him. "How about a drink?"
"No thanks." Stan felt the anger tightening the muscles in his throat. "I've got to catch a train."
"What's the hurry?" Elliot smiled. "The little woman will wait for you. Mine always does, unfortunately."
"The car broke down." Stan chose a more convenient excuse. Elliot wasn't the type to sympathize with anniversaries. "I'll have to cab home from the station."
"I'd give you a lift, but-"
"Forget it." Stan cut him off. "I'll be fine." He knew that Elliot always stayed in town to have a few before hitting the railroad for home. "See you tomorrow."
"Right."
Stan closed Elliot's office door a little too loudly as he left.
The high level of noise was noticeably absent when Stan returned to his own office. Quickly, he gathered the papers on his desk and piled them in a corner. Then he rolled down his sleeves and reached for his jacket.
A lone figure, hunched over a desk in the far corner of the room, caught Stan's eye. He hurried toward it.
"What's the matter, Carl? You not feeling well?"
Carl picked up his head, obviously embarrassed. "Go fly a kite," he grumbled. "I'll outlive you by twenty years."
"That's the spirit." Stan slapped Carl playfully on the back, not fooled for a second by a rotten attempt at bravado. Too bad the guy never got married, Stan thought. To face an empty apartment after a day in this office was rough. "What are you doing after work?" he asked.
"I've got a date with three fashion models." Carl reached into his pocket and opened a bottle of pills. "These are for strength."
"How would you like to have dinner at my place?" Stan hoped there was no trace of pity in the invitation.
"Got any girls?" Carl wasn't giving in, anyway.
"Just one." Stan smiled proudly. "But I know she'd love to see you."
"I don't know." Carl looked across the empty office. "You young people don't need an old goat like me around."
"You're right, but come anyway." Stan was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Carl was no dope.
"I'll see if I can afford the train fare later," Carl relented. "I've got some more work to do first.
"Don't be later than eight-thirty." Stan started for the door, pleased with himself. "Toni hates to serve burnt food."
"Go home, will you?" Carl waved Stan away. "I can't stand wise guys." He smiled.
"See you later." Stan walked out the front door and allowed a worried expression to break through. Maybe he shouldn't have invited Carl home for dinner on their anniversary. Maybe Toni would be mad.
No, Stan corrected his own thinking. Toni wasn't like that. She'd understand. He hoped.
The train ride home seemed even longer than usual. Stan sat, uncomfortably squeezed into a corner of the seat and tried to ignore the sounds of the poker game going on behind him. It occurred to him that Toni hadn't mentioned the roses he'd sent, when she called him. The poor kid was probably upset about the car breaking down, Stan decided. Women weren't really equipped to handle such minor emergencies. But thank heaven for the things they were equipped for!
The image of his wife as a bride returned to pleasantly unnerve him. Stan gazed up toward the ceiling and allowed his mind to wander. Tonight was going to be special, he promised himself. There'd be time before Carl showed up. Time for just the two of them to be together. The hell with supper. They could eat something simple when Carl arrived.
The train seemed to crawl, just to make Stan's impatience harder to bear. He glanced irritably at his watch. Five-forty-eight. Another twenty minutes to go. And then fifteen for the cab. But once he got through that front door....
She was wearing a pink negligee that first night in the apartment, Stan remembered. A sheer creation that let just enough fight through to drive him crazy. The pure white skin of her breasts ... Stan remembered uncovering them, one at a time. Slowly. Breathlessly. He'd kissed them, fondled them until Toni had begged him to....
A sinking feeling tainted his mood. Had it really been seven years? Was it true that he was thirty and their young days were all behind them?
Nonsense.
He tried to recapture his good spirits. There was still lots of rime left. He'd get back to his painting, one of these days. It wasn't so important anyway. Toni had been right. A man should do whatever he can to make the most money possible.
His common sense disagreed, but Stan wouldn't listen. He'd been through that tortuous battle with himself hundreds of times. And every time he'd come up with the same answer. Toni was right. She was always right. You can't live in a dream world when you're married. If you want a woman, you've got to make compromises.
But the compromises weren't so bad, either, Stan told himself. And once he got home, he was going to prove it. Within an hour he'd make Toni forget about the broken car-about all the luxuries he hadn't been able to give her.
And about everything else, except himself.
CHAPTER THREE
It was an out and out lie and within an hour Stan would find her out. Toni paced the living room floor, searching desperately for an excuse to mitigate what she'd done. What had happened to the courage she'd felt all afternoon, she wondered. Where was that wonderfully rebellious spirit that had allowed her to even conceive the idea of buying a new car? Why was she so afraid of Stan's reaction, when he discovered that she'd traded in his car and that's why she couldn't pick him up at the station?
It didn't matter any more. Toni struggled to convince herself that Stan was no great loss. For the first time in seven years she'd gone and done something to make herself happy, without him. She'd earned that much, just by staying with him for so long. And if Stan didn't like it, he knew where the front door was. He could walk out any time.
That's what she would have liked to tell him. But even as she thought the words, Toni knew she'd never say them. Just like so many other things she'd never had the guts to say-things that she should have said before they were ever married.
It wasn't important. Toni silently scolded herself for even bothering to think about it again. It was only natural for Stan to assume that she'd been a virgin until he met her-and only natural that she'd never bothered to contradict him. What good would the truth do? Men enjoyed the idea of being the first in a girl's life-and in her bed. At least every man she'd ever known.
If only Stan didn't trust her so completely. If only he weren't so pathetically easy to handle. If only he didn't need her so much....
No time for wasted pity. Toni hardened as awareness returned. Soon he'd be coming through that door, filled with his childish anniversary bliss. Too bad she was going to have to spoil his good time.
She heard the squeal of rubber tires stopping in front of the driveway and automatically Tom glanced into the nearest mirror. Too bad the new car didn't fit into the garage, she thought, moving toward the bathroom to freshen her make-up. Then she could have taken her sweet time about choosing the moment best suited for explanations. Now she'd have to be ready for the battle the moment Stan walked into the house.
But she would be ready.
She smiled and locked the bathroom door behind her. Stan would undoubtedly be angry-but not angry enough to resist her completely. And as long as she could count on that, Toni felt confident that she could get away with anything.
The bright coral lipstick complemented the healthy glow that an afternoon in the fresh air had brought to her skin. She ran a comb through her long black hair, arranged a dip in place over her forehead and smiled at her own reflection. How long would he be able to think about the car, she asked herself, slyly. Then she opened another button at the front of her blouse, bringing the tops of her smooth round breasts into view. A dab of perfume completed the trap. Not for long, was the answer....
Stan didn't have a chance, Toni realized. She hadn't known it at the time, but she knew this now: There had been a reason behind her suddenly buying the new car. Her dreary days of accepting second best were over now, for good. And, after the car, there would be other things. Pretty things. Expensive things. Until the day she could look Irma Barnes in the eye and they would both know that a state of financial equality had been reached-and until the day she could look herself in the eye and feel there were still things in life worth waiting for.
And Toni knew then, that to achieve that goal, she didn't care what she had to do-or to whom. "Anybody home?"
The voice sounded friendly enough. Toni opened the bathroom door and told herself to relax. Maybe he hadn't noticed the car in his haste. "I'm right here, darling," she called in her sweetest voice. "Happy anniversary." That was good for an opener.
"Well, well, aren't you hot stuff?" Stan eyed her openly from top to toe and whistled softly between his teeth. "To what luck do I owe the possession of this gorgeous dish?"
Possession indeed! Toni forced herself not to laugh in his face. Men were so blind. "For those beautiful flowers." She hurried into her husband's arms and pressed herself close to his waiting body. He'd never have time to notice the one missing rose, she assured herself-the one that got broken when she'd lost control. "Thank you for remembering," she whispered against his damp collar.
"That's no way to thank a tired husband, just back from the office." Stan held her at arm's length and smiled down into Toni's eyes. Then his composure cracked. "Come over here."
Toni parted her lips willingly before his kiss and yielded to the strength of Stan's arms. At least he was in the right mood, she thought. That would make things considerably easier for her.
The tips of their tongues met inside her mouth. Toni pressed her breasts against the hardness of Stan's chest and rubbed herself slowly back and forth. No time to play games. She had to knock him over, right away. Once she'd aroused him, she could arrange anything she wanted.
"There's nothing wrong with us." Stan seemed to be talking to himself after their lips had parted.
"What was that?" Toni blinked up into his reddened face.
"Never mind." Stan's words were clipped. "Just do that again." He pulled her back against him and lowered his mouth to hers.
She ran the scarlet tips of her fingers through the small hairs at the nape of his neck and felt him tremble beneath her expert touch. He was very excited. She felt the arousal in the tenseness of his body ... heard it in the shortness of his breath ... tasted it in the crushing pressure of his mouth.
"Let's go into the bedroom," Stan whispered into her ear.
"What about dinner?" Toni pretended reluctance. She knew that would work him up even further.
"We'll talk about dinner later." Stan grabbed her shoulders and turned her around.
Obediently, she preceded her husband down the carpeted hall.
The Venetian blinds allowed only thin slats of light into the bedroom. Toni stared at them and listened to the door closing softly behind him as Stan entered the room. She never understood why he always closed the door, since they were the only two people in the house. But the act seemed to fit in with the rest of Stan's unnecessary caution about life, and so she never questioned it.
Anxious fingers slid over her waist and up the front of her soft blouse. She stopped thinking and waited as Stan pressed his body close up behind her. Then she closed her eyes and leaned back, silently giving him permission to explore further.
A trembling hand closed over her breast and squeezed uncomfortably. Toni held her breath and tried not to fidget. The afternoon had been long and warm. The air about them was close. And the last thing she wanted was to be felt up while she was standing in a pair of high heels.
"You like this, don't you?" Stan revolved his palms in slow, rhythmic circles across the points of her breasts.
"You know I do," she crooned, positive that he'd believe what he needed to, whatever the truth was.
"I'm glad that we agree on some things," he whispered, pressing his mouth to her soft, sweet-scented hair.
Toni didn't pursue the meaning behind his last remark. Instead, she exercised her patience to the breaking point as Stan slid his fingers down beneath the open neckline of her blouse and into the moist valley between her breasts. The material of her bra strained around the imposing presence of his knuckles. Toni wondered if the garment was going to tear. It wouldn't be the first time. But then, she assured herself, she'd be able to afford more clothes, soon. If everything went right.
The idea had begun as a passing thought, about a month ago. But now, in the middle of Stan's ardor, with his hands massaging her breasts to unwilling life and his hips pressing tighter and tighter against her behind, it made itself clearly known to her. Seven thousand dollars a year was nice, but nothing spectacular. What Stan needed was a different job-or an advancement in his present one.
But what could she do to convince him of that, Toni asked herself, while Stan worked to pull the bottom of her blouse out of her skirt. He had the courage of a flea. How could she inspire him to act like a man and go out and do what she wanted him to?
The answer came immediately, and brought with it the usual distaste that accompanied unpleasant necessities. She'd have to do the same thing she'd always done-evoke a promise from his hesitant lips. There was only one way to get him to act like a man. And that was for her to act like a woman-exactly what she was about to do, anyway.
"Let me take care of that, darling." She urged his hands from the back of her brassiere and turned herself around to face him. "Why don't you just go over to the bed and sit down? I'll only be a moment." She leaned forward and ran the tip of her tongue between his parted lips. She felt him shake and for a moment, Toni thought she was going to be raped.
Deadpan and silent, Stan walked to the bed and sat down. Toni watched him and knew that he was out of this world. All traces of common sense had deserted him. Sex was the center of his entire being-exactly what she wanted. The perfect climate in which she could conquer.
"Now was this what you wanted?" Toni slipped her blouse off with exaggerated motions and reached behind for the clasps on her bra. She saw his eyes, glued to her skin and she knew she couldn't wish for a more captive audience. "How am I doing?" she asked, hunching her shoulders forward and smiling languidly as the lacy pink brassiere fell to the rug.
Stan's eyes widened at the sight of her huge, naked breasts bobbing in front of him. "Am I too far away?" Her voice was soft, taunting, in the middle of a very hot room. Swinging her hips provocatively, she crossed to stand in front of Stan, whose eyes hadn't moved from her swaying breasts.
"So beautiful," he gasped and pressed his dry mouth to the rigid points of her darkened nipples. "So beautiful...."
Toni sighed and recalled the days when that sort of love-making used to excite her-the days before she viewed it only as a means to an end. She heard Stan whisper something between her breasts, but she didn't listen. She was sure that whatever he was saying, she'd heard it a dozen times before.
Uncontrolled hands rushed to her knees and pushed Toni's skirt up toward her hips. "Come on now," Toni blurted, caught off guard by Stan's sudden rush of desire. She'd always been able to control him in the past-when she had to.
Stan seemed not to have heard her. Beneath her clothes, he fought his way to her thighs and loosened her stockings. Then he pulled her down onto the bed beside him.
Toni slipped off her shoes and decided not to fight. What was the point? The end would be the same anyhow. Let him act like a cave man, if that was his pleasure. Let him do whatever he wanted. The privilege was going to cost him plenty.
She lay quietly on her back as he covered her naked breasts with hot, moist kisses. She raised her hips as he pulled her panties down toward her knees, finally discarding them. And then ... her skirt followed the rest of her clothing.
Naked and bored, she waited for him to make the next move. When he didn't, she glanced up to see what was the matter.
Stan sat, as if mesmerized by the sight before him. Very slowly, his glance traveled downward along the damp softness of Toni's black hair to the creamy-white allure of her round shoulders ... to the high, ample proportions of her voluptuous breasts ... across her flat stomach to her long, shapely legs. It was as if he couldn't absorb enough. As if he were trying to commit every detail of her body to memory, just in case they never met again.
Toni reached up and touched his mouth with her fingers. An eerie, uncomfortable feeling pervaded her body. She didn't like being stared at that way by him-the way he stared intensely at something he was about to paint once and then dismiss from his life forever. One canvas worth and then good-bye....
"Got another kiss for your wife?" She heard a strange edge of pleading in her own tone and wondered what had caused it.
Stan snapped out of his silence and leaned over her body. "Anytime," he whispered, and then covered her mouth with his own.
Toni closed her eyes and concentrated on her image of Stan the way he was when they were first married. She knew that was a dangerous thing to do ... that depression always followed, but she couldn't help herself. She knew it was the only way. Nothing else would work. Not if she wanted to....
A sudden, welcome heat raced up through her legs and blossomed at the insides of her thighs. She reached around and pulled him on against her, working her hips closer to his body, digging under his shirt to get to his flesh....
As if sensing her sudden burst of life, he pulled her arms away from his body and pressed them back against the bed. Then he began to kiss his way down past her ear ... over her throat ... onto her breasts....
"Not now," Toni snapped, possessed by an incontestable need to reach the end of her frenzied journey as quickly as she could.
Stan wouldn't listen. Slowly, methodically, he rubbed his lips over her churning flesh until his mouth rested on the soft curve of her hip.
Toni shook with explosive forces that had suddenly erupted inside her body. She knew what he was about to do, and she even knew why, but it didn't help. He was trying to please her. She had taught him long ago, in one of their uninhibited moments, that there was more than one way to....
Toni gritted her teeth and tried to control the obscenities rising to her throat. She had taught him, dammit. He had no right to take advantage. No right to strike out on his own without her permission....
Her heels slammed against the side of the bed as she tried to adjust herself to Stan's new closeness. The room had become an oven-and her husband had become a tormentor. With the last of her controllable energies, she called out to him, begging....
It worked. Stan backed off. She slid herself further up onto the bed, as she listened to the welcome sounds of his undressing.
His body seemed to bury her beneath its hugeness. She dug her nails into the unyielding hardness of his back as he positioned her for the final surrender. Then her cries mingled with his as they fought their way toward fulfillment....
"Happy anniversary, baby," he rasped. And then with one violent shudder, he collapsed on top of her.
And then it was gone. Her body went cold.
Toni opened her eyes wide, only to see Stan's smiling, sweat-streaked face disgustingly close to her own. What had happened, she asked herself, as her body threatened to shatter beneath the force of her thwarted desire. What had gone wrong?
Hysteria approached.
Toni knew the answer. And she knew also, that there was nothing she could do to reverse what he'd done. All it had taken was Stan's voice, reminding her that he wasn't that same college boy any more-and that she wasn't that starry-eyed nothing of twenty-one. Desire was annihilated by the presence of reality.
Suddenly, she hated everything and everybody in the whole world. And most of all herself.
"Are you all right?" he gasped, fighting to catch his breath.
Instinctively, she knew it was time to put on the act again. "You bet I'm all right." She tried to sound satisfied as she gently urged him off and away from her tired flesh. "You always make me feel good."
"Do I?" Stan looked a little suspicious.
"Sure you do." Toni sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "And if you're really interested, I could tell you how to make me feel even better...."
"Just name it."
Stan looked to her like an eager little boy, waiting to be taught a new game. And that was just fine with her.
CHAPTER FOUR
"FIRST you have to promise not to be angry." Toni smiled out of the corner of her eye and reached over to the night table for the cigarette box.
I should have known, Stan thought and sighed. Nothing for nothing in this world. He reached over for his shorts. "And what if I don't promise?" He forced the patient tone which was always so difficult after the desire had left him.
"Then I simply won't tell you." Toni blew out the match and smiled, naked and sure of herself.
She was being cute. What the hell! He could play her game also.
"I'm not so sure I really want to know." Stan glanced over at her shamelessly exposed body and wondered if he should have her again. Better not, he decided. She still had to make supper for all of them. Later. After Carl went home.
"All right. Forget it then." Toni hopped off the bed and wiggled to her closet for a robe.
Stan adjusted his shorts about his waist and told himself that distraction was in order. And fast. "No ... tell me." He made himself sound truly interested, so Toni wouldn't leave him alone in the room with his thoughts and his re-awakening desire. "I promise I won't be mad."
Toni eyed him for a long moment, as if trying to make up her mind whether or not his word could be believed. Then Stan saw her smile and knew she was forming the words very carefully in her mind.
"Remember, you promised you wouldn't get mad," she purred, affecting an innocent school-girl expression.
"Okay, okay, spill it." He was genuinely starting to worry. She was dragging the bit out too long. That wasn't like her. What could she have done?
"I bought us an anniversary present," she announced, looking at Stan, very shy and ingenuous.
Stan quickly closed the distance between them and scooped her into his arms. "So that's it. I should have guessed." He smiled and kissed her neck. "Just tell me that it isn't a tie or a smoking jacket."
"I said it was for us" Toni answered from somewhere in his embrace. "Don't be so selfish."
"You want me to guess?" Stan asked, kicking himself mentally for having entertained the idea earlier in the day that Toni had forgotten the date.
"No." Toni sounded slightly uncomfortable.
Stan found the bottom of her chin with his index finger and coaxed Toni's face upward to face his. "Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll be crazy about it." He leaned down and sought out the moist orange of her lips. The combination of spring and perfume smells reached his nostrils and inflamed his need. Stan slid his palms down to Toni's hips and around to the front of her bathrobe. Then his fingers slid beneath the nylon....
"Oh, no you don't." Toni sounded more cheerful now. "First I want you to see what I bought."
He couldn't have cared if she'd bought the Brooklyn Bridge. But he knew sex would be no good if her mind was on other things. Maybe later....
"Okay, show it to me."
"Look out the window."
"What?" Stan wondered if he'd heard right.
"I said, look out the window." Toni's voice sounded suddenly thin, like she was making a confession rather than bestowing joy. Stan turned and walked to the blinds. Then he lifted one of the slats and peered through.
In the driveway he saw a three thousand dollar monster. He felt the color drain from his face. He felt the knot form in his stomach. He felt the desire to strike out and hurt fill his torso and spread trembling hatred right down to his fingertips.
"Well, don't you like it?" Toni suddenly seemed so far away.
Stan dropped the slat and ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of utter and complete helplessness. What could he say to her, he asked himself. The sweet little dope thought she was surprising him for their anniversary. He should be able to turn around and thank her. That's the kind of a man Toni deserved.
But all he wanted to do was squeeze that beautiful neck until there wasn't a breath of life left in her faultless body.
"So that's how my car broke down, huh?" His voice was a ghost of it's natural sound.
"I was hoping you wouldn't guess," she said. "I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
Stan shook his head in disbelief and amazement. How could she be childish enough to pull such a stunt when they needed every penny they could lay their hands on? And how come she wasn't perceptive enough to see through to what he really thought of the idea?
"I invited Carl over here for dinner at eight-thirty," he said. A small revenge for what she had done to him. If she got mad about it he knew he'd be delighted. "I hope you don't mind."
"Mind? Carl? Why, not at all."
Toni's answer was a little too bright ... a little too fast. Stan knew better than to take her at face value tonight.
"You know I think Carl's a very nice guy," Toni said.
Her tone seemed to have lightened tremendously, Stan thought. Then he glanced back to watch her pull on her bra and panties. Never once had she asked him to turn around when she dressed or undressed. Suddenly, he found himself wondering if that was normal. He dismissed the idea. In his condition tonight, he couldn't be expected to be objective-about anything.
"I'll only have a little more than an hour to prepare dinner. I think I'll serve...."
Stan vaguely heard Toni talking on the other side of the room. He was made aware of her exit only by the sudden and screaming silence that immediately followed. And for the first time, he felt genuinely glad to be alone.
The door chime reverberated through the house.
"I've got it." Stan left the window where he'd taken up his vigil fifteen minutes ago and hurried toward the front door. Odors from the kitchen made his mouth water. He tried not to think about the car.
"It's about time. You're three-quarters of an hour late." Stan reached out to pump Carl's hand as he always did when they met.
Carl kept his hand in his pocket. "I'm sorry I'm late." His voice sounded distant, troubled.
"Forget it. No calamity." Stan stared at his friend and wondered why Carl looked so pale. "Are you all right?" The question was intended to provoke friendly hostility. Their mutual signal that no matter what was wrong, it was still under control.
"You got something to drink in this dump?" Carl's voice smiled, despite the uncomfortable expression on his face.
Stan felt somewhat relieved. "Sure, just name your poison."
"Brantly."
Stan sat across the sofa from Carl, sipping his drink and trying to figure out what was the matter. Carl wasn't talking. At least not about himself. But from his tone and manner, it was evident to Stan that something was troubling him. Seriously.
"I gave Elliot the layout." Stan dug deep to fill the lull in conversation. "I think he liked it."
An instantaneous shot of pain flashed across Carl's face and disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.
But Stan caught it. "Did you see Elliot before you went home?"
Carl nodded.
And suddenly Stan knew what the trouble was.
"I know you're not going to understand this at all," Toni was saying as she sat before her dressing table, brushing her hair, "but I'm glad." She smoothed the pink negligee with her free hand.
"What's to be glad about?" Stan felt almost submerged beneath his gloom. It couldn't be true, he repeated in his aching head. They wouldn't fire Carl. They couldn't....
"I'm glad he's going. Because that means an opening for you."
Stan whirled, his eyes flashing anger, his words heated by fury. "What the hell's the matter with you, anyway?" he snapped into Toni's unchanging expression of assuredness. "Haven't you got any feelings?"
"Sure I do." Toni's smile came slowly. Her voice remained soft. "And they're all for you. I want you to have Carl's job. You deserve it."
"Not like this," he shook his head vehemently. "It isn't worth it. I'd like to call Elliot on the phone right now and tell him...."
"You'll do nothing of the kind." Toni got up and walked over to Stan. "You may not realize it now, but Elliot did you a favor tonight."
Stan stared above Toni's head toward the telephone. He smelled the fresh perfume she'd just applied, mixed with the cold cream, rubbed into her skin. Those were the odors about her that used to excite him. The sight of her in a pink nightgown used to be enough to start him....
"Oh, come on ... you'll get over this. Give it some time." Toni wound her arms around his shoulders and pulled herself up close. "You'll see, you'll be glad too," she whispered.
His hands seemed to have a life of their own as they pushed her away from him. He strode across the room.
"Where are you going?" Toni called from the doorway as he walked down the hall.
"For a walk," he answered without turning around. Then he opened the door and hurried out into the night breezes.
On his way down the path, he turned to look at the intruder in his driveway. It wasn't a bad looking car, he had to admit. But it didn't belong to him. And it never would.
The night was cool and quiet, and as he walked he tried to lit together the pieces of his day. Everything was upside down, it seemed. At the office. In his home. Almost as if life had taken a quick reversal and forgotten to include him in its new scheme.
The thought of the office without Carl just wouldn't jell. And as he considered it, Stan suddenly remembered what Toni had said. He felt the anger creeping up his spine.
She couldn't have meant it, he tried to convince himself. But the attempt at self-deception didn't work. Yesterday, he wouldn't have believed she'd buy that car. But there it was today, right in front of the house. And this evening, she'd carried on like a heartless bitch....
A stiffening fear grabbed at his limbs and he stopped walking. Was it possible that after seven years he really didn't know the woman he lived with? And if so, what was there to stop him from inadvertently doing something to make her leave him?
Stan turned and ran all the way home.
CHAPTER FIVE
A full week had gone by since Carl left the company and still no decision concerning his replacement had been announced. Toni was getting nervous. The rumors rising out of the situation had been flying hot and heavy all week. And Irma Barnes, Toni decided, was undoubtedly their greatest channel of communication.
"... and so last night, for the first time, Elliot told me what really happened."
Toni put down the emery board she had been using and cupped the telephone receiver a little tighter between her shoulder and her chin. "What really happened?" She repeated the phrase with dutiful enthusiasm. In the back of her mind, Toni didn't expect to hear any earth-shattering news. But the lingering one percent of doubt compelled her full attention toward Irma's breathless reply.
"Of course, Toni, I know you won't let this go any further than the two of us."
"Of course." Toni assented automatically and wondered who else Irma thought would be the least bit interested.
"Elliot told me," Irma's hushed tone took on the aura of a second-rate melodrama, " ... that the real reason he fired Carl was to save the company's face."
"What?" Toni wondered for a moment if that was Irma's bad attempt at a pun about the cosmetics industry. She laughed politely.
"Don't you understand?" Irma proceeded, still whispering. "Carl was going to quit."
Toni perked up. "Carl walk out? Don't be silly. He was here later that night with Stan and me. He would have said something...."
"I don't think so," Irma said decisively. "From what Elliot tells me it was a battle royal."
"But why?" Toni felt a familiar urge compelling her to goad Irma on ... to keep her on the subject of the office and her knowledge of it until something useful could be said ... something Toni could manipulate with.
"Well, it seems that my darling husband got himself told off." Irma giggled. "I wish I had been the one to do it, though."
Toni took a moment to try to estimate Irma's degree of sobriety before proceeding further. "Told off about what?"
"Elliot didn't say," Irma answered. "He just said that Carl was blasting him and the office and everything about the company. Carrying on like a madman. I suppose it's because he's sick-you know, his heart and all that."
"Yes, I know." Toni's voice was bland because her mind was somewhere else ... rooted on an idea that had just occurred. A dangerous one. She realized that she'd better get off that phone and fast.
"Irma, honey." Toni hoped she sounded sincere. "I've got something on the stove. I really have to run."
"Don't you want to hear what else Elliot told me?"
Irma sounded like she'd just discovered herself to have been betrayed.
"You know I do." Toni's hand started to tremble. She resisted the temptation to simply hang up. "Tell you what," she said in desperation, "I'll call you back. Okay?"
"Well, if you won't be too long...."
"Not long at all. Speak to you soon." Toni hung up before Irma had the chance to stop her. Saved.
Toni walked over to the sofa and tried to think of a good reason not to interfere. She couldn't think of one. Stan wasn't about to do anything on his own behalf, of that she could be sure. Wasn't it her duty to try to help him? Wasn't it the moral and ethical responsibility of a wife to....
Baloney. Toni smiled, glad that she was alone in the room and alone with her thoughts. She didn't give a damn about wifely duties and she knew it. The only thing that interested her about Stan's possible promotion to Assistant Manager was the raise in pay.
She had to arrange it. This was the big break she'd been waiting seven years to see.
The boldness of her goal shook her for a moment and made Tom start to doubt her own abilities. She'd never be sure unless she tried. But what was there for her to try?
The telephone bell jarred her from her scheming. Toni walked slowly to answer it, hoping fervently that it wasn't Irma ... calling back before Toni was ready to handle her.
"Hello darling." Stan's voice sounded fatigued. "Miss me today?"
"Of course. Don't I always?" Toni answered in an earnest tone. Stan had been in a lousy mood all week. No sense in adding to it by letting him know how she really felt.
"Do you think you could get through one more night if I don't make it home for supper?" Stan asked, apologetically.
"I don't see why they don't give you Carl's job as long as you're doing his work," Toni complained, despite her complacent intentions. "If this is the firm's way of saving money it's a crummy...."
"Come on baby, don't start that again." Stan's patience sounded strained. "I told you these things take time, company politics being what they are...."
"Well, don't you have any idea at all? Besides, whom else could they be considering?"
"There's always the possibility of hiring an outsider, through personnel. You know that."
"No, I didn't." Toni felt the motive pop up right in front of her. There it was, plain as day. They might be considering someone else. A stranger. A man who didn't deserve that job. The decision was unavoidable. She would have to do something to prevent that. And fast.
"Toni, are you there?"
"Look, honey...." Toni turned her voice to sugar, "if you really have to stay late, then maybe I'll just go and have dinner out. You don't mind, do you?" She knew he couldn't object.
"Of course not," Stan replied as expected. "I'll take a cab from the station if you're not there when I get in."
"That's a good boy." Toni threw a kiss into the phone and hung up before Stan had the chance to get mushy.
The receiver was hardly back in its cradle when she snatched it up again and put it to her ear. The phone rang only once at the other end before it was answered. "Hi, it's Toni again," she sang into the receiver. "I was just thinking that I might come over."
"Really?" Irma sounded overjoyed. "How nice."
"You sure you're not busy." Toni felt the plan taking shape as she spoke. "I mean I wouldn't want to impose or anything...."
"Don't be ridiculous. When am I busy?"
Toni couldn't have agreed more. "Fine. See you in ten minutes, then." She hung up.
The shiny new fenders gleamed brilliantly in the afternoon sun. Toni hurried into her car and smiled inwardly. Now, at last, she was on her way. And soon that car was going to fit in with the rest of its surroundings-herself included.
The drive to Irma's was a little faster than usual but Toni decided to risk the speeding ticket. What she had to do couldn't wait. She was working against time-the time it might take to decide to hire some outsider for the job that she wanted Stan to get. And that, Toni realized, was the first thing she'd have to find out from Irma. Just who was responsible....
"You certainly didn't waste any time getting over here," Irma commented as Toni walked into the living room. "What did you do, fly?"
This, Toni decided, was the moment to turn on the charm. "I just wanted to hear the rest of what you had to say." She watched the joy spreading across Irma's heavily made-up face. "It's not fair to start a story and leave off in the middle...."
"It was your own damn fault," Irma protested. "I wanted to tell you but...."
"All right, I'm listening now," Toni said, declining with a shake of her head as Irma pointed to her bottle of gin. "What else did Elliot tell you?"
"I thought you had something on the stove?" Irma looked suddenly perplexed.
Toni felt like she might whack the woman right across the face. "Forget it," she almost snapped. "Stan called to say he won't be home for supper. I tossed dinner into the garbage can."
"How come he won't be home?" A mischievous twinkle appeared in Irma's eye.
"He's working late at the office," Toni answered a little too emphatically. "You know, the way Elliot often does."
"Elliot will be home for dinner at six," Irma announced instantly. "He told me so this afternoon."
"How nice." Toni smiled, pleased that she'd gotten through to Irma with that last dig. "Now tell me what you were going to or so help me I'm leaving."
"Hell, don't do that," Irma grinned, as if the knowledge she was about to impart was her only reason for living. "I've only begun."
Toni arranged herself at the edge of a gold brocade sofa and waited for Irma to continue. The size of the shot that the woman was pouring into her glass made Toni wonder if Irma was going to be able to get through her story at all.
"It seems," Irma hurried back to conversational life with amazing gusto, " ... that not only did Carl tell Elliot off, but he also threatened to go right to Eva Stillwell!"
"You mean the Vice-President?" Toni asked. "None other." Irma made a distasteful face. "Ever meet the woman? "No." Toni shook her head.
"I only met her once myself," Irma confided. "Very ugly."
"What did Carl want with her?" Toni asked, before Irma got herself hung up with how ugly Eva Stillwell was.
"God only knows," Irma sighed. "Maybe he was going to tell her some nasty things about Elliot. You know how vicious people get when they lose a job."
"But you said Carl would have quit, anyhow."
"Yes, but it's never the same when you go in to quit and come out being fired. Elliot says he had to practically throw Carl out of the office, bodily."
"I wish I understood all of this," Toni said softly. "Carl always seemed to be such a nice guy. Stan still speaks very highly of him...."
"Of course he's a nice guy. But the man was slipping. Elliot told me so. Carl couldn't do anything right. Sooner or later he would have had to be replaced."
Toni saw the opening for her all important question and took it. "By the way," she tried to sound casual, "who decides which man gets Carl's job?"
"Elliot," Irma announced proudly. "With Eva Still-well's help, of course. But mostly Elliot."
"Oh, is that so?" Toni thought aloud, wondering if she would dare to go as far as she was thinking ... and knowing all the time that she would.
"Irma, would you mind if I joined you for dinner, tonight?"
CHAPTER SIX
Stan dropped his sketching pencil into the drawer and switched off the fluorescent light above his desk. The dimness of the atmosphere told him that it must be growing dark outside. He wondered what Toni was doing.
The urge to call her quickly disappeared when he glanced at her picture. There was something about his wife, of late, that he didn't understand-something he sensed, rather than knew, that upset him and seemed to warn that something was wrong. Very wrong. And it took all the self-control he possessed not to pay attention.
The sound of high heels clicking along the hall reached his ears. Stan looked up and felt the smile appear, even before she walked through the office door.
"How's the midnight shift?"
Eileen's voice seemed to lighten up the whole room. "What are you doing here?" Stan asked, suddenly and acutely aware that they were all alone in the office. He watched her come closer.
"I just thought I'd knock myself out too, so you shouldn't feel sorry for yourself tomorrow." Eileen winked and pushed the button on his drawing lamp. "Any objections?"
"None at all." Stan felt the color creeping up his neck because of what he had been thinking while Eileen spoke.
"You look like you're just about finished," Eileen glanced down at his clean desk-top and nodded approvingly.
"You're right, I am." Stan hoped he knew what was coming next.
"Good." Eileen leaned against the front of his desk and lit a cigarette. "Then how would you like to accompany a starving illustrator to dinner?"
"Love to." He'd been right. And he was glad.
"Just let me get my pocketbook." Eileen turned and walked back out into the hall.
Stan kept her hips in view until she was out of the room. Then a sudden tickle of guilt raced through him. With great difficulty he looked back toward Toni's picture. "What the hell," he told himself, averting his eyes from her liquid smile. She wasn't going to be home for supper anyway. There was no law that said he had to eat alone.
Automatically, from seven years of practice, Stan looked down at his watch and decided to call Toni first. He practically held his breath while the phone in the house rang. Once ... twice ... three times, with no answer. Stan slammed the receiver down. No sense in pushing his luck, he thought. He'd done his duty. He'd called first. It was reasonable to assume that Toni wasn't at home. Now he could have dinner with Eileen with no cause for a guilty conscience. Or could he?
"All ready?" The cheerful voice beckoned from the doorway.
"Sure am." Stan forced all negative thoughts from his mind, pulled on his suit jacket and hurried toward the door. He could wrestle with his conscience on the long train ride that awaited him after dinner. For now, all he wanted was to enjoy himself.
The small Italian restaurant was almost empty when they arrived. He followed Eileen, as she made her way down a table-lined aisle toward the back. A tentative smile crossed his face and he felt his knees tremble slightly. This was the first time he'd been out with another woman in seven years. He had to admit that it felt good.
"Decided what you want yet?" Eileen asked. "Or are you going to pore over this menu with me?" She lifted a huge double-leafed folder from the table.
"Just order one more of whatever you're having," Stan said, trying not to stare at her flawless skin and sparkling green eyes.
"Come on now." Eileen shook her head scornfully. "That's not fair. The menu's in English. And nothing on it is deadly."
"Well, if you say so." Stan picked up his menu and seized the opportunity to hide behind the list of Entrees. He practically knew that menu by heart. Nero's was one of his favorite restaurants, and he made it a point to eat there regularly. But now, in Eileen's company, he felt like he was playing hookey. And it was a nice sensation.
"I think I'll have the veal," Eileen seemed to be thinking out loud.
Stan's smile of relief was instantaneous as the waiter approached their table. "Bring me a double bourbon and water," he told the man. "We'll order the food later." Eileen said nothing. Stan assumed that she wasn't going to drink.
"You're damned right," she said, when he mentioned it. "If I got polluted on our first date, what kind of a girl would you think I am?"
Stan hid behind the fifth amendment and tried not to let his reaction to Eileen's choice of the word date show.
The liquor was beginning to relax him. Stan felt it in the restored calmness of his hands ... his legs ... his thoughts. And now, he could look at Eileen without fear of communicating anything he didn't want to-or something he didn't yet understand.
She leaned forward to reach for the salt, and he saw her breasts strain against her blouse. He tried to tear his eyes away, but he couldn't. Firm. Round. The girl was beautiful ... and built like a....
"Waiter!" Stan quickly ordered another double bourbon.
"Aren't you going to eat?" Eileen looked up over her veal milanese and pointed to Stan's untouched plate. "Maybe we should have gone someplace else?"
"No, this is just fine." He was worried about offending her. "I was just thinking how hectic the office has been this week. I guess I didn't know when I was well off."
"That's for sure." The rest of Eileen's thought was interrupted by the waiter's arrival with Stan's drink.
Eileen started talking again. Stan wasn't quite sure about what, because he wasn't paying close attention to the words. Instead, he found himself able to sip his bourbon and absorb only the timbre of her voice-as if she were on the other side of a closed door. The sound was even ... smooth ... strangely comforting. The words, he knew, must be right. But they weren't important. It was her presence that he cared about-plus the fact that she was glad to be with him. He ordered another drink.
And then, he found himself starting on dessert. He glanced guiltily up at Eileen, aware that he hadn't been listening to a word all through dinner. Her ready smile relieved his conscience.
A throbbing, queasy sensation rocked back and forth in his brain. Stan tried to get up. His knees rebelled. He knew he was tight.
"How about some coffee first?" Eileen suggested, somewhere on the other side of a twenty-foot-long table.
Stan blinked and tried to focus, but his eyes weren't anxious to work. "Sure ... if you say so." He managed the answer and slumped back into his chair.
The coffee was awful. Stan winced and heard Eileen laugh. Then he winced again because he wanted to make her laugh again.
"What's your wife going to say when she gets a look at you?" Eileen's voice was still smiling, despite the subject.
"The hell with my wife." Stan felt suddenly brave. Free ... liberated from all onerous responsibilities and obligations. Free enough to get still drunker if he wanted to. Maybe even free enough to paint.
He heard himself talking. He thought he was talking about Toni. But the words were muddled and he couldn't be sure.
"Have another cup ... please?"
Eileen's voice filtered through the screen behind which his brain seemed to be hiding. Stan nodded dully. Whatever she wanted was okay with him. Eileen was a doll. A live, beautiful, honest-to-goodness doll. She didn't care how much money he made. She didn't care if he never got to be president of Stillwell. She didn't care if he never saw the inside of the executive washroom.
"Stan, what are you mumbling about?"
"Huh?"
"Come on. Have one more cup."
He did as he was told. Over and over again, until the liquor was chased out of his head. And then he sat, dejected and nauseous. "I'm sorry." His voice was low, ashamed.
"For what?" Eileen dismissed his guilt with a disdainful grin. "Forget it and let's get out of here."
"You're not mad, are you?" Stan didn't know why he should be so concerned, but something inside of him insisted that he keep her liking him ... on his side ... for that inevitable moment when he would need her....
"Of course not, you dope." She stood up and smoothed her skirt.
Stan ripped his eyes away from the curve of her hips ... the flowing outline of her thighs....
"You going to be able to make it to the train?" Eileen looked concerned, when Stan returned to her from the cash register.
"Absolutely." Stan fought the reluctance he felt at leaving her. "How are you going to get home?"
"Crosstown bus. It'll take me all of fifteen minutes."
They were standing at the corner, each looking for a comfortable way of saying good-bye. "You forget whatever I was mumbling in there, okay?" Stan smiled weakly.
"It's already forgotten." Eileen smiled. He knew she was lying.
The train ride home was unbearable. Stan did his best to ignore the monotonous drone of the wheels and concentrate on something pleasant. Eileen. Her body kept reappearing to his mind's eye. How would she look without those well-chosen office clothes? How would she look in Toni's pink nightgown....
The bringing together of thoughts about the two women seemed to get something off inside of Stan's head-something explosive, something protesting the blasphemy. Stan felt his insides lurch with each movement of the train. The combination of too much liquor and awakening desire made his nerves raw. He looked down at his watch. How long would it take for him to get home, he wondered. How long for him to be able to get his hands on Toni?
Somehow, the idea wasn't as appealing tonight as it had always been in the past. He forced himself to conjure up his accustomed fantasies-the ones that had always aroused him when he was stuck in the office....
He thought of her again, young and willing in their apartment. Through his liquor-addled brain, the memory of their first time together returned ... to make a mockery of their present relationship.
He lit a cigarette and sneered at the foul taste. All of a sudden, everything seemed to be working against him ... Again, there was no place that he fit in.
A fighting sense of self-preservation rumbled up inside hrm and impelled him toward anger. He wasn't going to just lie there and hear himself counted out. It was time for him to do something. Something to prove to himself that he was a man-and that Toni was his woman, completely.
The disquieting vision of Eileen in his bed, instead of Toni, popped into Stan's mind and made him shake his head, disbelievingly. It must be the liquor, he assured himself. That had to be the reason for his sudden preoccupation with Eileen's body.
But what, then, explained the times when he wasn't drunk?
He forced himself to get off that channel of thought and concentrate positively on his wife. Any minute now, the train would bring him into the station. He'd be the first one into a cab. And then....
The house was pitch black when he walked in. Shutting the front door softly behind him, he took off his shoes and tiptoed down the hall toward the bedroom. Disappointment pressed heavily at his shoulders.
The hum of steady, even breathing told him that Toni was there. Using only the light from the hall, he slipped out of his clothes. Then, just before he was about to crawl into bed, he remembered and hurried to brush his teeth.
The awareness of her warm body beside him made his flesh pulsate with sudden life. Their bodies were only separated by the sheer material of her nightgown. How easy it would be to just slip his hand under....
A lack of courage kept him motionless. What if she should wake up angry? What if she should be frightened in her sleep?
A greater need than the one for safety inched his right hand across the sheet and onto her knee. Toni sighed in the darkness. Encouraged, he let his fingers trail over her soft flesh.
She stirred. He pulled his hand back and waited until he was sure she slept deeply, again. Then he inched his palm toward the warm mounds of flesh that pushed up at the sheet above her....
Her breasts yielded to the pressure of his hand. He played with the hardening points, aware of his own body's simultaneous reaction to the contact. If only he had the nerve, he told himself. How nice it would be to just grab her and....
A soft purring sound in her throat distracted him. He slid his hand below the neckline of her nightgown, and waited to make sure he hadn't disturbed her sleep. She started to roll over. He withdrew his hand and cursed under his breath. But then she stopped moving and lay quietly again on her back.
Silent fingers crept up under the hem of her gown and came to rest on the softness of her thigh. The room was starting to pitch along with his insides. He pressed his lips together, aware of the rasping sounds he had been making. Slowly, gently, he lowered his head, until his mouth came to rest on the heaving swell of her breasts.
Toni bolted upright.
"What the hell are you doing?" Her voice was husky, sleep-filled, hostile. "Nothing, honey. I only wanted to...." He stopped talking in the middle of his sentence. She had already fallen back to sleep.
He lay back down in the darkness and fought to control the violence that ripped through his body. Every muscle, every nerve was alive and crying for revenge. How could she do this to him? Why wasn't he man enough to force her? Why did he let Eileen go home alone?
The awareness of his own, confusing desires would not fade, despite his conscious will. Angrily, he reached over for the cigarette box on the night table. Tonight, he knew, there would be no sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The blinding light of morning burned Toni's sleep-blurred eyes and forced her to glance away from the open window. Her head ached unbearably. The rest of her body wasn't in much better condition. She felt the bruised areas throbbing ... around her breasts ... along the insides of her thighs. They'd undoubtedly turned black and blue by now. This was the price she must pay for her actions. But those actions, Toni reminded herself, were going to pay off. And well.
The familiar irritation of Stan's snoring scraped against her eardrums. She turned around and threw a nasty look at his slumbering body. At least she wasn't naive enough to believe she'd done it all for him. Thank goodness the days of puppy-love were gone. And then she smiled, thinking how wide awake Stan would have been at that moment, if he had any idea what was in store for him, later in the day.
It had been a cinch. So pathetically easy, in fact, that had the situation not been in her own best interests, she would have found it absolutely revolting. She wasn't foolish enough to presume that it was her own allure that had made it all possible. Any woman could have succeeded as well. Any woman who was attractive, and coy.
And available to Elliot Barnes.
Toni leaned back against the pillow and decided that today, more than any other day, she deserved the luxury of a few more minutes in bed. Quickly, she reached over and switched off the alarm button, before the clock had a chance to blast the morning air with its nerve-shattering bell.
The softness of the mattress soothed her body and enticed her back down into a sweet state of semi-wake-fulness. Gently, she smoothed the sheer nightgown over her knees, being very careful not to press her fingertips into those throbbing areas of flesh that kept reminding her of what she had done. Yet, despite the constant, dull pain, her thoughts dwelled on the previous evening. The beginning of a smirk played around the edges of her lips. With perverse pride, she recalled the light that suddenly turned itself on in Elliot's whiskey-dulled eyes when he realized that Toni's flirtations were more than just a game....
The setting had been perfect. By the time Elliot got home, Toni had made sure that Irma was well on her way to being quite drunk. Then with her brain safely dulled, she proceeded to get to work on Irma's husband.
"What's a good-looking girl like you doing out alone?" Elliot asked when he first came in.
"Looking for a little excitement." Toni planted the initial idea in his head and watched the tired combination of liquor and boredom fade from Elliot's face.
His square chin relaxed. His mouth smiled. And his blue eyes said that the smile was sincere. "Where's Stan?"
"Working late in the office." Toni purposely waited until Elliot crossed the room before taking out a cigarette. She was pleased when he rushed to light it for her. "Tonight's, the wife's night off." She allowed their glance to linger over the flame. It was Elliot who looked away first.
"What's for dinner?" Elliot turned to Irma.
Toni caught the tightness in Elliot's voice. It encouraged her. Now all she had to do was get Irma irrevocably polluted and out of the way. Then she'd have Elliot all to herself to work on.
Dinner was uneventful, but promising. Toni watched Elliot react to her presence in his house with the usual display of off-color jokes and suggestive remarks. But this time, instead of ignoring them, Toni matched Elliot one for one. After a while, she caught him glancing uncomfortably at Irma to see if she'd noticed what was going on.
Fortunately for all concerned, Toni observed, Irma was in an alcoholic world all her own. And very shortly thereafter, Irma declined coffee, excused herself, and retired to her bedroom.
While the maid cleared the table, Elliot and Toni drifted into the living room. Elliot was more sober than Toni had counted on his being. Perhaps, she told herself, he'd found a reason to keep his faculties about him....
"Susan won't be long." Elliot broke the silence as he slipped off his striped tie and settled himself into a red wing-chair. "She'll bring our coffee in here. I thought that would be nicer."
"I'm in no particular hurry, are you?" Toni raised a challenging eyebrow and watched a slow grin spread across his face. It was a hesitant, hopeful, questioning expression, that seemed to ask just how far she intended to go. "What's to hurry about?" Elliot's casual tone sounded forced.
Toni recognized the uncertainty in his manner and decided to use that factor for all it was worth. The more Elliot wondered about her, the more attractive she'd become to him. And the longer she could keep him interested, the more chance she'd have to get what she wanted from him.
"You sure you don't want something a little stronger than coffee? Maybe something with a little kick in it?" Elliot sounded suddenly inspired.
Toni recognized the source of that inspiration and fought to keep the bitterness from her face. "If you want to mix something, I'm sure I'll love it," she answered sweetly. She'd suspected Elliot would begin shortly, but hoped it would be beneath him to try to get her loaded before making the pass.
"What do you drink? Gin? Same as Irma?"
"Whatever you're having will be fine with me." The reference to Irma made Toni answer quickly. The last thing she wanted, tonight, was to remind Elliot of his wife. That could spoil everything.
"I didn't know there was another dedicated scotch drinker in the neighborhood," he said, lifting a crystal decanter.
"You never asked." She let the words slide liquidly over her tongue. She could practically see the tremor rattle his spine. She was making headway. Tonight's idea had been a good one. She just knew it.
The liquor burned and stung in her throat. "This is good stuff. I just might show up at your bar more often."
"Whenever you like." Elliot seemed to grow almost lecherous at the prospect. "Just any old time."
They drank in sensual silence.
"How about another?" Elliot winked.
Toni took a deep breath and wished the maid would hurry up with that coffee. And suddenly, she couldn't remember hearing Elliot ask the girl to serve coffee at all. "Suits me." She handed over her glass, and hoped she could hold her liquor, just that one night.
The second shot went down a little easier. She felt her cheeks flush as a subtle warmth seemed to play with the flesh beneath her thin dress. It was suddenly uncomfortable in that room. And Toni knew just why. "How about some fresh air?" She seemed to be thinking out loud.
"So soon?" Elliot looked amused. He walked over, took her arm and guided her toward the front door. "I'll turn on the backyard lights...."
"Don't bother. We don't really need them." Toni knew her sudden freedom of speech had come from the liquor, but she didn't care. So what if she sounded like something of a slut. Who was Elliot to criticize anybody? Especially considering whom he had married. The only thing that mattered was the end result. And that meant securing the job of Assistant Manager for Stan. At any cost.
"It's nice up here." She slid her arm through Elliot's and breathed deeply of a loving breeze that floated by. The grass felt soft and spongy beneath her feet. She was glad she had Elliot to hang on to.
"You breathe the same air at your place." Elliot seemed somewhat embarrassed by Toni's unmasked envy. "There's really not much difference."
"That's what you think." Her voice was both wistful and angry. "You should try living at my house, sometime."
"I don't think Stan would go for that," Elliot chuckled.
Toni sighed and let the remark pass without comment. Elliot's mind was in the gutter tonight. As usual. Perhaps that would help the cause. "Speaking of Stan," she began, "he said there's been no appointment for Carl's job, yet."
"That's right." Elliot stiffened slightly.
Toni waited for him to continue speaking. When he didn't she labored to keep the subject alive between them. "What seems to be holding things up?" She could have laughed at herself for thinking the question could minutely resemble innocent curiosity. Elliot had ' to know what she was driving at.
"We just haven't decided on the right man. That's all." He didn't look at her.
Toni felt a hopeless, sinking sensation settling around her shoulders. For the first time since she knew him, Elliot sounded like a boss. She hated him, but fought not to give in and let the matter drop. "What about Stan?" It was the simplest approach Toni could think of. It would evoke a yes or no answer. Then she could proceed as necessary.
"I'm not sure he's ready." Elliot let Toni's arm drop from his and reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "I'm not even sure he wants the job."
"How can you say a thing like that? Have you spoken with him?"
"Not directly. No."
"So why did you make the statement?" She heard her voice growing a little louder, a little more shrill than normal. Silently, she vowed not to let her intensity show. That would expose Elliot's advantageous position to him-the one thing she didn't want.
"I just think that Stan's handling as much as he can right now, without the added responsibility of Carl's position."
They walked for a few moments without speaking.
"You could at least give him a chance," she said.
"I'd be the one who's taking the risk." Elliot shook his head. "How do I know that...."
"Take my word for it?" Toni moved quickly and placed herself in Elliot's path. "You know I wouldn't steer you wrong. You and I are good friends."
"Don't rub it in." Elliot's eyes dropped to the front of her blouse.
"Maybe...." Toni felt her knees begin to quake. The whiskey raced wildly through her veins, assuring her she could do no wrong ... encouraging her to say exactly what was on her mind without fear.
"Maybe, if you did something for me...." She stopped in the middle of her sentence and watched Elliot's smile grow and fill the night air with a hideous joy.
His hands moved quickly in the direction of her breasts. She stepped unsteadily backward and shook her head. "Oh, no you don't," she teased. "Not until I have a definite answer."
"You mean the appointment?" Elliot was still smiling, playing with her, dangling the bait in front of her eyes.
"You know damn well what I mean." Toni took a deep breath and felt her breasts press out against the front of her dress. She wasn't exactly without weapons, either. When Elliot's eyes dropped again, to roam her body, she knew she had won.
"Perhaps something can be done after all...."
"Don't give me that crap!" Toni's mouth twisted with annoyance. "I want a yes or a no. I don't go around doing this sort of thing every day, you know."
Elliot looked as if he wasn't quite ready to believe her last statement. But then he exhaled loudly and shook his head in assent.
"When?" Toni moved a little closer. She hoped her perfume would reach him from where she stood.
"Tomorrow morning soon enough for you?"
"Why Elliot...." Toni walked right up to him and kissed his cheek. "How sweet you are."
"Get over here, you little...." The rest of Elliot's sentence was lost in a kiss.
Toni winced at the pressure of his arms crushing against her ribs, but she didn't move or try to free herself from his embrace. The deal had been made and now she had to go through with her part of it. From a dark corner of her mind, it occurred to her that she was about to commit adultery. She quickly dismissed the voice of morality and waited for him to make the next move.
"Let's go inside." His voice had changed quickly.
"What about Irma?" Toni knew the question was irrelevant, but she didn't want to seem too willing.
"She wouldn't hear an atom bomb go off with what she's got inside her." He grabbed her hand and led her back to the house.
Inside, the lights were all out, except for one small lamp in the entrance hall. "What happened to the maid and the coffee?" Toni asked.
"She must have forgotten," Elliot chuckled, without breaking his stride.
They both knew he was lying.
Elliot walked swiftly down the hall. Toni knew he was leading her to the guest room. It was the wisest place, she realized-safely on the other side of the house from where Irma was sleeping.
The room was pitch black but he didn't move to turn on the light. Instead, he waited until she was inside and then closed the door behind her.
She felt him move up on her and encircle her with his trembling arms. Then she leaned forward into his hungry embrace.
"I've been waiting for this," he rasped, pressing his hand onto the softness of her breast and squeezing hard. "Ever since I first laid eyes on you."
Toni took a deep breath and forced herself not to cry out. There was something about his touch and tone of voice-something twisted ... something cruel.
His mouth ground down hard against hers. The tip of his tongue forced her lips apart.
She closed her eyes when she felt the scotch bubbling inside her stomach. She would have told Elliot, but she knew he wouldn't care. There was only one thing he wanted now. Only one thing that could interest him. His fingers slid down to her stomach....
She stood absolutely still while Elliot's hands roamed over the smooth curve of her hips ... down to the pliant flesh of her ungirdled behind.
Every place he touched felt dirty. Degraded. But Toni knew there was absolutely nothing she could do now. Except submit.
He was panting against the side of her neck. She tried to ignore the offensive moisture of his rapid breath. She'd never seen anyone get so excited so quickly. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think Irma never let you near her."
As if a spring had suddenly snapped, he released her and stepped away. In the semi-darkness, Toni could make out the features of his perspiring face, grotesquely misshapen by the shadows.
"Irma's a pig!" Elliot seemed to grind the words out of a parched throat. "A filthy squirming pig who can't lie still for a moment."
"I didn't mean to...." Toni backed off at the unexpected outburst.
"Everything gets her hot," Elliot continued as if Toni hadn't interrupted him. "All I have to do is walk into the house and she's all over me ... with her hands ... with her mouth." His voice cracked. "A guy has to do the chasing sometimes, you know."
"Yes ... I know," Toni whispered closing the distance between them. So that was it, she thought. No wonder Irma complained about a lack of loving. No wonder she tried to drink her problem away. Irma Barnes, a nympho....
"I like a woman who can wait for it." Elliot's voice was soft, almost tender. "A woman who can make a guy want her so bad...." His mouth moved toward Toni's again.
She returned his kiss with false ardor. What Elliot had told her might or might not be true. But she knew better than to feel sorry for him. Elliot was no angel ... as he was quickly proving.
She felt her heels leave the rug. The liquor and the horizontal position made her head spin. She was only vaguely aware of being carried across the room and lowered heavily on to the bed.
Eager fingers crawled up under her skirt.
"At least give me a minute to take the dress off...." Toni started to protest.
"Just shut up and he there," he commanded. His hand reached for the top band of her panties and tugged....
Toni raised her hips from the bed and let him remove her underwear. She didn't quite understand him, but the scotch inside of her removed the need to. What she did know was that Elliot had agreed to what she wanted. The job was Stan's. Now, she could relax and let him do the work.
She felt her stockings slide down and off. The hem of her dress was pushed up ... over her knees ... over her bare thighs....
She turned away from the sight of his pleasure and tried to hide her face in the pillows.
"No. Look at me." He dug his fingers into her cheeks and pulled her face around toward his.
Toni withstood the kiss without complaint. There was something frightening about the man ... something that warned her not to try and fight him.
"Open the front of your dress." The words were an order. Not to be refused.
Toni did as she was told. Her fingers were unsteady and she had to use both hands. But the buttons finally gave. Until her dress was open to the waist.
Elliot looked down and smiled drunkenly at the sight before him. She heard her own heart pounding and wondered if he could sense her revulsion. The entire situation seemed unreal. It couldn't be happening. That man ... the one whose teeth were scraping over the softness of her brassiere ... that was her husband's boss, Elliot Barnes. Irma's husband. The same man she'd known for years....
The sound of tearing material ripped through the room. Toni clutched instinctively for her chest. The feel of her own, naked breasts greeted her trembling fingers.
"Yeah ... play with them." Elliot glared down at her.
"Come on now, let's not get carried away." Toni had read about such guys but never had she expected to run into one. What the hell was wrong with Elliot? Why did he want her to....
The slap caught her savagely across the face. Toni gasped. Her eyes widened in terror.
"That's right," Elliot drawled. "Lie there. Just he there, nice and still ... till I tell you to move."
Tom felt his hands rubbing roughly over the length of her body. Then she saw his mouth approach ... she felt it kissing, teasing, toying with sensitive flesh ... and despite herself, a tickling finger of desire crept through her body.
"You like it, don't you baby?" Elliot grinned as he lifted his face from her breasts....
She nodded dully and felt his hands move lower
... to the dress, bunched around her waist and below....
An involuntary motion took control of her body and set it to rhythmic movement. Toni screwed her eyes closed and tried to picture herself someplace else. She didn't want to react the way she was reacting-not with Elliot.
He tugged the dress from her body. With strong, sure hands, he turned her onto her stomach....
Toni gasped for air and lay where he'd placed her. She heard Elliot undressing and the sound became a threat. Then suddenly, she realized what he was planning to do. She bolted around to a sitting position.
"No!"
The sound seemed to trigger Elliot's need. She saw him toss his trousers into the darkness and lunge for her. He pulled her back down onto the mattress. Toni felt his fingers bruise the flesh beneath her hips. She stared up at the ceiling, trying not to feel ... not to share....
Without warning, Elliot slid his hands down, reaching for the soft stocking-less flesh. She knew what was about to happen. It was too late....
The need grew stronger with each of Elliot's movements. "Elliot...." she wanted to tell him she needed time-to beg him, if necessary. "Please!"
"That's it, sugar. Tell me how much you want it."
Toni shook her head violently. He was misinterpreting and she must make him understand. But the words jammed in her throat.
She gasped as Elliot propelled himself toward fulfillment-and left her far behind him.
Frantically, she tried to catch up with him-but even as she used and abused her body, she knew the battle and the race were both lost.
Elliot moved away from her. Toni lay in the darkness, her body aflame with the need to be satisfied.
"Still wanna say no?" His voice was thick with contempt and self-assurance.
"What do you mean?" Toni could hardly speak. She wanted to grab him-to pull him to her again. And she hated herself for it.
Elliot moved swiftly. Before she knew what had happened she was on her stomach. And then, an expert hand crawled persuasively up the back of her thigh....
Again, she fought to turn it off-that strange, disgusting, delightful knowledge of herself that had just appeared. But she was too far gone. Her flesh screamed for relief-in any form that she could get it.
He seemed to know. In a moment, he was moving with her again.
She gritted her teeth against the pain ... felt her body being moved ... being readied for the final conquest. Something inside of her told her it was wrong-that she'd regret it forever....
She felt Elliot against her. Suddenly the pain was gone ... and only the pleasure remained. Remained, and grew, until it flooded her body and drove her to frantic heights of pleasure.
The end came with lightning swiftness. Toni buried her face in the pillow to keep from screaming. She was lost now, floating ... drifting ... throbbing with completion and happiness.
But her happiness was short lived.
"How are you doing, baby?" Elliot sounded breathless, but extremely" proud of himself ... of his conquest.
"I'm fine, you bastard," she muttered between clenched teeth as the impact of what had just happened revealed itself to her.
"Yeah, I know," he smiled. "You and me, honey. Two of a kind. Yes sir, two of a kind."
His words still echoed, now, as Toni pulled herself to a sitting position in her own bed. Elliot was everything she despised. Cruel. Perverted. Inconsiderate. A mean bastard who only wanted to use other people ...
But something told her that he had been right about one thing. They were two of a kind.
Forcing such thoughts from her mind, she reached over to wake Stan. At least he was going to have a good day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The tension seemed to simmer in the air and follow him around like a shadow. Everywhere he went, he felt it on his trail. At home. In the office. Even his dreams weren't safe from unrest. And those he remembered, he hesitated to repeat, even to himself. Stan began to wonder how much he could take before he reached the breaking point.
"You awake? Or is that hypnotic blur I see in your eyes a permanent thing?" Eileen's arms were filled with large sheets of cardboard. She stood, waiting in front of his desk.
Stan snapped to attention and smiled defensively. The awareness of Eileen's sheath-clad body, so close, sent a nagging finger of warmth beneath his collar. "Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night." Stan opened the top button on his shirt and reached across for the sketches she'd brought.
"I won't ask why." Eileen seemed to glow with an impish quality suggesting that she possessed some scandalous knowledge about him.
Stan smiled at the sight and wished that a scandal was warranted. "I wouldn't answer even if you did ask." He felt the need to preserve an appearance of security in front of this woman. He wondered why he suddenly wanted her to suspect he was sleeping around
-that there were many women who found him attractive. Women, other than his wife.
He erased this line of thought from his mind and stared down at the papers on his desk. What the hell was going on inside that skull of his? Why was he unable to think of anything else but sex these days? Sex, and escape and....
"Will you be needing me for anything else?" The efficiency of Eileen's tone sliced through his thoughts.
"No, thanks. These are just fine." Stan didn't know if they were just fine. He hadn't really seen the drawings, even though he'd looked at them. More important, he was aware of a sudden need for Eileen-and an equally strong need for her to disappear quickly, before he said something he'd regret later. Without another word, she turned and left.
Relieved, Stan slid a little lower in his chair. He stuck a soft yellow pencil between his teeth and tried to figure out what he could have said to Eileen last night in the restaurant. He remembered getting bombed, but that was all. It had to be pretty raw, he decided, from the way she'd been acting all day. Not that she'd said anything. It was that cautiously efficient air about her-almost as if she felt sorry for him.
He wished he had the nerve to ask her what was on her mind. He wished he had the nerve to do lots of things....
"Arlen!" Elliot's scratchy voice echoed through the office. "Put on your jacket and come in here for a moment, will you?"
Without answering, Stan got up and did as he was told. He couldn't imagine why Elliot wanted him to put on a jacket, but it wasn't important enough to think about. One thing Stan knew for sure, though. He was not in the mood for Elliot Barnes today.
"Well, Stan, old boy, how goes it?" Elliot stood, looking unusually neat, in front of his empty desk-Stan knew something out of the ordinary was going to happen. When Elliot Barnes had the opportunity to sit down or to take a drink, and he wasn't doing either, there had to be a good reason. Instantly, Stan searched his mind for some great mistake he might have made that day in his work. "I feel lousy, if you want to know the truth." Suddenly he didn't care about being pleasant to Elliot-especially not at the expense of his own integrity.
"Well, I've got something that'll snap you out of your fog in a jiffy." Elliot's matter-of-fact tone was not in keeping with the enthusiasm of his words. He adjusted his tie and buttoned his jacket. "Come on along with me."
"What's up?" Stan had a sudden premonition that he was about to be fired. Elliot's attitude was much too official for comfort.
"We're going into Eva Stillwell's office. Relax, she loves you."
"Sure. Sure." Stan followed Elliot out of the office and down a long hall. Perhaps Miss Stillwell was considering him for Carl's job and wanted to feel him out a little. On the other hand, maybe something had gone wrong with the advertising layouts for the television show and she wanted to give him hell.
Stan felt his underwear sticking to his skin. He despised himself for being so easily intimidated. He wanted to run-to bolt out of that stinking office and never come back. Mutely, he walked to the end of the corridor and paused, beside Elliot, in front of the ominous oak door.
"Miss Stillwell's expecting us." Elliot told the secretary, before she had a chance to ask.
"Come in," a rich, contralto voice ordered from inside.
"This is it, boy." Elliot nodded and turned the knob.
Eva Stillwell's authoritative bearing seemed to fill the room. She sat behind the largest desk Stan ever remembered seeing, and looked him over from head to foot as he entered. The afternoon sunlight trapped itself in her chestnut hair. Despite the mood and occasion, he found himself thinking about what a nice color it would be to paint
"How do you do, Mister Arlen." Eva stood up, ran her palms briskly over the grey jacket she wore and smiled curtly.
Stan knew immediately that she wasn't the type to charm ... or be charmed. "How do you do, Miss Stillwell." He'd seen her around the office and even spoken to her occasionally during his seven years with the firm. But this was the first time he'd ever been privileged to invade the privacy of her office. He wasn't sure he appreciated the honor.
"Sit down. Over there." Eva brought an end to their formalities and pointed to a green leather chair on the other side of her desk. "You, too, Elliot."
Stan glanced over at Elliot and marveled at how the man seemed to have shrunk three inches in Eva Stillwell's presence. The woman definitely had something strange about her. Just what, though, Stan didn't know.
"I suppose you can guess why you're here." Eva suddenly reminded Stan of a youngster, forced to address an assembly, and not quite prepared. He began to like her better.
"Yes, Miss Stillwell." He didn't like the sound of his own subservience. For Toni ... For Toni. He fought the urge to just get up and run from the somber room. He glanced around at the wood-paneled walls and the framed advertisements. He was out of his world, here. It was a cold, foreign place. He belonged where it was warm-where he could breathe. What was it she was saying? The woman was out of her mind. Who asked for it? What did he want with the position? Didn't he have enough troubles without her adding to them?
"I'll certainly do the best I can," he heard himself say, politely, about fifteen minutes later. Why wasn't he telling her the truth? Why was he accepting all this with a smile and a grateful tone which he didn't feel?
For Toni ... For Toni....
Wasn't this what his wife wanted for him? Wasn't this what he'd told himself he wanted, too? Or, at least, what he should want?
"Then we can discuss the definite arrangements in the morning," Eva was saying.
He only half-heard the words. His mind was buzzing with a mixture of elation and panic. He had to get out. He had to think....
"Nice going, Stan, old man." Elliot sounded almost sincere as they walked back down the hall. "I'm glad for you."
"Thanks, Elliot. Thanks." Stan shook the man's hand. He did not feel the contact. He didn't feel any contact. It was as if he'd suddenly been placed behind a transparent wall and separated from humanity.
"Come into my office, will you?" Elliot refused to allow him a moment's rest. "I want to go over the work you'll be doing tonight."
"Tonight?" Stan felt a white-hot anger growing in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to go home ... He'd worked late last night. Wasn't that enough? "Is it absolutely necessary?"
"Why, of course!" Elliot seemed shocked. Maybe even a little annoyed, Stan noticed.
Stan didn't know why that should be, but he didn't question. Perhaps he'd missed something in Eva's office. Something that had been said.
The door to Elliot's office closed behind them. Stan felt suddenly caged. "What is it you want me to do?" He tried to sound willing, pleasant.
"It's not what I want you to do." Elliot sounded even more offended than before. "You just got a big promotion, boy. The days of loafing around are over." He reached for a pile of papers. "You've got to move, now. Really move. Here, check all these layouts ... this slogan's got to be re-lettered. Here's a tentative list of the sequence of commercials on the show...."
Stan saw half-a-night's work piling up before him. He wanted to protest-to tell Elliot that he was tired, hung-over, confused. But he simply accepted without further comment. He didn't dare open his mouth. The company was doing him a favor.
At least that's what Toni would say.
His desk welcomed him back silently. Stan sank numbly into a chair and stared dully at the work in front of him. It was almost as if Elliot had done it on purpose, to trap him there in that office. Nonsense, he was thinking like a madman. This was good ... very good. And eventually, he'd feel it, instead of assuming it.
Stan pushed a button on his intercom. "Send Eileen in here," he barked at the secretary, "and make a call for me ... please."
It felt like hours before Eileen showed up. Stan looked at her, felt her smile register and tried to respond sensibly. He couldn't. An overpowering sensation of desire swept away the last of his common sense.
"What's up?" Eileen didn't seem aware of his distress.
"I just got Carl's job. Should I feel good about it?" He searched her face for an honest answer-one he could believe.
"That's entirely up to you." Eileen's expression was noncommital.
Stan turned from her lack of help. He felt suddenly alone again.
"Did I say something wrong?" Eileen sounded slightly worried.
"No." Stan was glad she wasn't being flip any more. Then he smiled. "How would you like to do me a favor, Eileen?"
"Name it." She matched his smile with a bigger one. "Have dinner with me tonight?"
"Sure." Her answer was immediate.
Stan turned off his desk lamp. This time he knew it would be different. Tonight he had no intention of calling Toni first.
Or at all.
CHAPTER NINE
The secretary had telephoned Stan's message and Toni didn't quite understand why. She'd somehow expected to hear from him directly. She'd even prepared herself to act surprised and thrilled when he broke the news. She was going to tell him how wonderful he was and how much he really deserved the job. She was going to tell him all the right lies that would make him feel secure and guiltless about taking Carl's place. But now that wouldn't be necessary. She wondered if she should be relieved, or upset?
What was there to be upset about? The wonderful reality of the situation suddenly dawned on her and Toni broke into a huge smile It was true! It had really happened. Stan was Assistant Manager. That meant more money ... more prestige.
All the things she could buy floated through her mind and made her head spin. She wondered what she would do first. Look for another house? Throw a cocktail party to let the world know that she was moving up? Call Irma?
The bar stood, closed and waiting, in the living room. Toni walked quickly to it and opened the doors. She wasn't in the habit of drinking alone. And the more she thought about it, the more she had to admit that she didn't really like drinking, at all. But the occasion called for a toast. And somehow, she felt that a martini was in order.
To Toni Arlen, who finally broke into the executive set.
Toni silently congratulated herself and tried to remember what the membership fee at the country club was. Of course they'd have to join now. Contacts were important. And that would undoubtedly lead to a round of parties and dinners and....
She'd need new clothes. That was certain. The outfits she'd been getting by on until now, just wouldn't do anymore. Toni sat back and wondered how soon Stan's raise would go into effect. Probably as of next week. And not a moment too soon.
The gin stung her tongue. She sipped it slowly, determined to finish the entire drink. She'd have to learn to hold her liquor. People would be noticing her. The girl from the wrong side of town was going to be moving in some pretty fast company.
Toni felt the excitement racing through her body. She could hardly wait. So many things were in store for her now. It seemed that life was just beginning....
She must have dozed. Toni sat up on the sofa, rubbed her eyes and blinked at her surroundings. Had she really heard the doorbell ringing? She glanced at the clock over the fireplace. Six-thirty. It couldn't have been Stan. He said he'd be home very late. She must have been dreaming.
Again the sound. Toni jumped up and hurried toward the door, running her fingers through her hair as she moved. Maybe it was one of the neighbors. Hardly probable.
"Hiya, tiger." Elliot beamed in the doorway. "Well, don't just stand there. Say hello. I did a big favor for you today."
"I know," Toni answered. She didn't like his familiar attitude. There was something about Elliot that had changed. Something in his manner that could only have been a result of their intimacy. "Come on in." She didn't really want to say it, but she didn't see any alternative.
"You're right, this place is kind of depressing." Elliot glanced at the imitation fireplace and the scratched coffee table. "I suppose you'll be moving out soon, now that Stan's got the job, and the raise."
"I hope so." Toni felt the hatred warming her cheeks. What gave Elliot the right to come in to her home and treat her like dirt under his feet? Where did he come off passing judgment on what she had or where she lived?
The answer came immediately and Toni realized that it was her own fault. "Martini?"
"Love one." Elliot seated himself in a corner of the sofa.
Toni moved toward the bar. She could practically feel his eyes burning into her flesh with every step. She tried to keep her hands steady as she poured his drink. But something told her she was close to trouble.
"Have one with me," Elliot smiled, when Toni handed him the stemmed glass. "I don't drink alone."
His manner wasn't at all befitting a guest. Toni forced herself to bury the resentment she felt. Elliot had kept his promise. For that, she knew, she should feel grateful. And after what they'd done, it was foolish of her to expect him to act like a stranger. "If I get loaded it'll be your fault. Remember that." Toni made a halfhearted attempt to sound pleasant and relaxed.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."
Elliot's intimate tone left no room for misinterpretation. Toni whirled around at the bar. Her eyes narrowed menacingly.
"What was that supposed to mean?" she asked. If Elliot thought he was going to get away with treating her like some street tramp, he was out of his alcoholic mind.
"Take it easy, sugar." Elliot's lewd glance stripped off her clothes. "We're old friends, remember?"
"I'm not so sure I want to." Toni lifted her glass quickly to her lips and took a long swallow to calm her nerves. There was no sense in losing her temper. Elliot was just being his usual, obnoxious self, only a little more so. She'd just have to set him straight, right away.
"You sound like you've changed in twenty-four hours," Elliot commented, before Toni could get a word in. "Don't worry though, I don't believe it."
Toni finished her drink in silent fury. There was something about Elliot's absolute confidence and his control of the situation that she found herself unable to contend with. It frightened her.
"Yes, I'll take another drink," Elliot said without being asked.
Against her better judgement, Toni took his glass and refilled it. She knew that giving Elliot liquor would be like feeding him courage-courage to impose on her, in any way he saw fit. She wanted desperately to tell him off right then and throw him out of the house. But that, she feared, might ruin everything she'd done and preclude all the things she planned to do.
"That's much better." Elliot accepted the fresh drink and nodded, apparently satisfied. "Now sit down and be nice to me. We're going to get along just fine."
"How did Stan react to the appointment?" Toni tried to change the subject. She didn't like the way El-hot was eyeing the line of her slacks. Suddenly, she wished they didn't fit so tightly.
"I think he was dumbfounded, myself," Elliot reflected. "Like he practically had no idea it would happen.
"Well, you know how modest Stan is." Toni felt herself assuming her new role ... the role of the wife of the up-and-coming executive.
"Modest, my eye." Elliot leaned forward and slapped Toni playfully on the hip. "Come over here and sit next to me."
"Wasn't he at all happy?" Toni tired to ignore Elliot's last remark and keep the subject on safe ground.
"I didn't come here to talk about Stan." Elliot's tone was almost threatening.
Toni felt herself being backed into a corner and she didn't like it. Gathering all the courage she could from her fear and from the gin, she faced Elliot squarely and brushed his hand from her thigh. "I don't know what you think you're going to do," Toni heard a slight quaking in her voice and knew she must try harder to sound convincing, "but if you think there's going to be a repetition of last night, every time you're in the mood, forget it."
Elliot looked up and laughed in her face. "Is that so?" He mimicked her angry expression. "Well, I have news for you, sweetheart. Just as easy as I got Stan that job, I can take it away. And don't think for one lousy minute that I wouldn't."
"You don't have the last word on that anymore." Toni heard herself trembling. She knew she was losing ground. "That Vice-President is still around, you know."
"Eva?" Elliot chuckled disdainfully. "Don't make me laugh. She'd believe anything I told her. And that's one woman Stan couldn't wind around his finger, just because he's got a baby face. You better remember that."
Toni felt her momentum turn to inertia. She was caught in her own game. And Elliot knew it, better than anyone.
"You ready to be nice now?" he asked, confidently.
Toni stared blankly at him for a long moment. She would have given anything to be able to claw that cocky smile off his face with her nails. "What about Stan?" She was grasping for straws, now. "He could walk in anytime...."
"He'll be tied up at the office for hours yet. I saw to that personally."
Her last hope was gone and Toni knew it. When she spoke, her voice was soft, beaten. "What do you want?"
"Where's the bedroom? I'll show you."
"No ... not in there." Toni heard the last of her decency screaming for her not to use the bed she shared with Stan.
"You want it right in here?" Elliot seemed pleased by the idea. "Suits me." He glanced around the room before getting up.
She watched him walk from window to window, drawing the blinds. It was still daylight outside, but as Elliot moved, the room grew grey, dismal. Tom resisted the urge to pick something up and heave it at the back of his skull.
"Okay, baby." Elliot returned to the couch.
Toni could practically sense his excitement. She wondered if he treated Irma that way. And if he did, how could the woman still want him? Or any man, for that matter?
"Come over here to me."
Tom walked slowly forward. Every step was torture. Every movement carried her closer to her death sentence. "What is it this time?" She heard her own voice ... tired, resigned, lifeless.
He reached up and covered her breasts with his hands. Then he started moving his fingers down over her body.
Toni clenched her teeth and swore to herself that this time she would feel nothing-that no matter what he did to her, she would remain unresponsive and detached. Even if it meant sheer torture, she would never give him the satisfaction of thinking she enjoyed his foul brand of love.
She felt his hands on the sides of her thighs. Toni stiffened her knees and looked away. She could hear him breathing quickly, against her stomach. He could beat her senseless before she would feel anything for him, she promised herself.
His hands pulled and tugged at her blouse until it was out of her slacks. She tried to ignore the feel of his rough lips on her bare stomach. His mouth was teasing along the top of her slacks. No. She would not yield-even if it felt good ... so very good.
A slow, twisting coil of desire rose through her body and framed her breasts. She held her breath and tried to will away the alertness ... the throbbing of her nipples. It wasn't fair, what he was doing to her. No woman deserved to be treated like a slave for any man's pleasure. Why in heaven's name was she enjoying it so?
His hand crept to the soft inside of her thigh. She tried to move her legs, but there was no time. Reflexively, she jerked her hips back, away from his painful caress. "Easy...."
"Shut up." His words were a whip.
Toni shuddered. She recognized that tone. Elliot was gone ... lost in his twisted fantasies. And Toni knew that she dared not disturb him.
The button on the side of her slacks yielded to the excited manipulation of his fingers. She stood absolutely still, as Elliot peeled the clinging material down over her thighs ... past her knees ... until it bunched in a crumpled heap around her ankles.
The heat of his breath penetrated the sheer material of her panties. She closed her eyes and felt the muscles in her buttocks stretch and tense. Raw desire surged and ebbed through the rest of her body. This was more than any woman could be expected to endure without breaking down. Why should she be different....
Punishing fingers buried themselves m the flesh of her stomach as Toni's panties were pulled down over her hips. She felt a rush of air caressing her thighs, as uncontrollable delight tingled over her naked skin.
And then, he began to kiss her....
Toni reached down without looking and dug her long fingers into his hair. Unable to even consider his possible reaction to her demand, she guided him to her yearning flesh.
He did not resist....
Toni felt herself swaying beneath the force of her desire. Her neck felt stretched, twisted by the thrashing movements of her head.
And then, suddenly, Elliot's hands were at her waist, pulling her ... pressing her ... forcing her downward ... downward, against her will....
She felt the roughness of the carpeting scrape against her bare knees. She tried to move away, but Elliot's fingers had clamped at either side of her face. Her cheeks felt like they would tear if she tried to resist the pressure of his hands.
Awareness kicked her in the pit of the stomach. All desire was gone. "No!" Toni gasped for breath. Her lungs were on fire. Her skull was splitting in two. "Please, Elliot ... no!"
The silence wasn't broken again for a long time ... until Elliot spoke.
"I'll be back. Whenever I want. And you'd better be here."
The moonlight painted the walls and the floor. Toni watched the colors and knew that Elliot had left the front door open. She thought about getting up from the rug and slamming the door and locking it-but she knew that it was too late. The damage had been done.
If she had the energy, she would have been sick. Toni rested her cheek against the sofa and tried to blot out his parting words.
'I'll be back. Whenever I want. And you'd better be here."
She realized then that her relationship with Elliot Barnes had turned into a death-battle. She realized also, that now she had no choice. There was only one way for her to survive what she'd done.
She had to destroy Elliot Barnes.
CHAPTER TEN
He couldn't be sure now exactly whose idea it had been to eat at her apartment-Eileen's or his, but he knew it didn't matter. The important thing, he decided, as they sat silently together in the back of the cab, was the current running between them. Tight rapport. Unspoken assurance, that whatever it was that bothered him about the new job, Eileen would be there on his side. A friend, willing to help him. And suddenly, Stan felt obligated to tell her the truth. Tonight, he knew they would have to talk. Finally.
The crosstown traffic thinned out at the east side of Central Park. Stan leaned forward and glanced through the open window on his side of the cab. The warm spring evening had coaxed people out of their work clothes and out of their apartments. They lined the streets of Manhattan in walking shorts that exposed smooth, naked legs ... in sleeveless blouses that accented the shapes of pointed breasts ... in thin, light colored skirts that clung to round behinds and swayed with softly-curving hips. Stan turned away from the view and lowered the back of his head toward the cool leather seat. It was too warm.
"Sleepy?" Eileen's voice floated softly on air.
"That's too mild a word to describe it." Stan heard the deep rooted fatigue seeping into the hollowness of his voice. "What I need is about a year's vacation." He smiled and resisted the temptation to reach out and take Eileen's hand. She looked so cool and fresh in her mint green skirt and blouse. He wanted to touch her, to hang on and absorb some of the self-assurance and self-respect that seemed to carry her unfalteringly through her days. He wanted to share some of the peace and inner calm that made Eileen so irresistible to him. But he didn't move.
"When we get to my place I'll fix you something tall and cold," she said.
"I've given up drinking alone," he answered, thinking about the restaurant and hoping whatever he'd said hadn't embarrassed her too much.
"That's simple enough to remedy." Eileen's voice was light, unperturbed.
Stan sighed and pulled himself back up in the seat. It would be so easy for him to fall asleep and avoid the rest of the day. But he knew that wasn't the answer. Today seemed destined to mark a beginning for him. And, if he had anything to do with it, he intended to see that it was the beginning of something good.
The gleaming mosaic tiles in the lobby seemed to reflect the sparkling newness of the apartment house where Eileen lived. Stan smelled the fresh paint and smiled. He liked that odor. There was something about it that always seemed promising to him. Flexible. Yielding. He glanced at Eileen as she walked ahead of him toward the elevator. Yes, she belonged in that setting, he decided. She belonged wherever the spirit could be free to express itself openly and honestly.
"What are you thinking about so hard?" Eileen asked while they waited for the elevator.
He shook his head and hoped he looked mysterious.
The girl might not realize she was playing with fire. He must take it easy. They had to work together in the morning. Dammit, but she had smooth skin.
"I'm all the way up on the top floor," Eileen said, pushing the button inside the car. "It costs a few dollars more but the view is worth it."
"There's a girl after my own heart," he winked in approval. He'd never noticed how long her neck was before. He wondered how that skin would feel, sliding between his lips. His body seemed to be listening to his thoughts. He looked away from her, feeling his mouth go dry.
"Here we are." Eileen unlocked her apartment door and stepped inside. "The palace is at your disposal."
Stan looked around and felt the fresh atmosphere lift his spirits. Her apartment had suddenly become a refuge-a place where he felt safe from all the pressures that hounded him so mercilessly. He wished he could stay forever.
He didn't realize how caught up he'd been by the view from the living room window until Eileen nudged him with her elbow.
"We feature fast service in this establishment," she said, extending one of the two glasses she held.
"I'm sorry, I should have helped you." Stan accepted the iced drink gratefully. "I was looking at the...."
"Don't have to explain." Eileen pressed damp fingers against her forehead and smiled at the coolness. "I get lost in that view all the time. That's why I have it."
The vodka in the drink seemed to revive him. He took a long swallow and hoped he could get drunk quickly. So drunk, in fact, that he would forget to go back to the office altogether.
"Dinner won't take long." Eileen started back toward the kitchen, leaving her glass on the window sill beside his.
Stan glanced at her retreating figure and then at the barely touched drink. "Eileen...." he called after her, not quite sure what he was going to say when she turned around and answered him.
"Yes?" Eileen stood, questioning and waiting in the kitchen doorway.
"Don't knock yourself out with anything fancy; Stan felt his courage falter and then run for cover.
Eileen waved away his concern and disappeared into the other room. "You just guard the view," she called above the banging of pots and pans. "I'll take care of the kitchen."
For a moment Stan was tempted to do as she ordered. But then a strong familiar surge of self-loathing rushed over him. He placed both drinks carefully on a table and strode toward the kitchen. For once in his life, he was going to do what he wanted to, despite the presence of fear. "Come back into the living room, will you, Eileen?"
"What?" Eileen looked up from the salad she was mixing. "I'm in the middle of...."
"It's important." Stan knew that if she refused him again he'd lose his nerve. He felt the fear widening his eyes. She must see it. She wouldn't refuse him now.
As if in response to his silent need, Eileen put down the wooden fork, wiped her hands on a brightly-printed apron and walked out of the kitchen. "As long as you shanghaied me away from the cooking, I think I'll finish my drink." She sat down on an orange and brown striped sofa and waited for Stan to bring her the glass. "Now what was it you wanted?" she asked, after she'd taken a long, refreshing swallow.
Stan remained on his feet in front of her. He wanted to sit down, but he knew he was too nervous to remain in one position very long while he spoke to her. If only he knew exactly what he wanted to say ... just what he wanted to communicate. Then the conversation that was about to happen would be so much easier.
"I wanted to talk to you...." His tongue felt swollen, made of lead.
"I know." Eileen looked calm and patient. "I'm listening."
Stan felt stupid. The words wouldn't come. He knew he couldn't just stand there and leave her hanging, but there was nothing he could say. In his panic, he'd almost blotted out what he wanted to tell her in the first place.
The silence was lengthening uncomfortably. Stan smiled shyly and wondered why Eileen even wanted him as a friend. "About last night...." he began, and fidgeted noticeably, "I hope I didn't say anything to upset you."
"Not in the way you think." Eileen rescued him quickly. "You talked plenty, but nothing offensive came out, if that's what's worrying you."
Stan shook his head. It was his reflex gesture of helplessness. He felt the despair flooding through his body.
Without stopping to reason his actions, he removed Eileen's glass from her soft hand. Then he reached down and slid his arms beneath hers. A second later, she had risen, willingly, into his arms. Her kiss was like air to a drowning man.
He held her very close, not wanting to end the moment, not wanting to break the spell that obliterated the need for meaningless talk and banal explanations. Soon, too soon, he knew, they'd be saying things-things to explain and rationalize their actions. For now, all he wanted was to feel, to experience, to revel in the moment.
Her lips were soft, willing beneath his own. Forcibly and willfully, Stan contained his need, not wanting to frighten her, not wanting to hurry her. So much could be revealed through a kiss-so much of the real personality that lurked beneath the veneer that people were able to affect. He did not want to give the wrong impression. He kissed her softly. Again ... and again....
He felt her fingers knotting and unknotting behind his neck. Stan knew she was nervous-as nervous as himself. Where was this going to lead? He knew that she must be wondering the same thing, too. For even now, with nothing more than the kiss between them, he felt that this evening was going to be unlike any other he'd ever spent.
"Stan...." The sound of the word seemed haunted, heavy with fear. "Don't hurt me."
"I'd never do that ... never." He couldn't suppress the surprise and delight he felt. Eileen wasn't the type to whimper ... to offer pleas. How much and how deeply was she feeling? How long had she been waiting for this night? Things suddenly were becoming very clear. Silently, he asked himself how he, supposedly an artist, had walked around for so long without seeing. It was time to change all that....
He must be high, Stan told himself as he began to cover Eileen's body with his hands. Everything he did he watched himself doing, as if he were somebody else-a third person in the room. He tried to find a reason for his actions. But then, there was no need to have a reason. They both wanted the same thing.
Everything seemed to move very slowly. He was detained for what seemed like hours by the softness of her breasts, rising and falling before him like hills of white cake frosting in the late afternoon light. Her nipples were dark and tasty as he teased and nibbled while Eileen sighed and whimpered and her knees sagged.
"How are you?" He didn't really want to speak at all but he felt somehow obliged to ask permission to go further. Eileen nodded, kissing his neck in reply. Carefully, they sank to the rug and he pulled her on top of him.
He held her firmly at the shoulder and the hip. Part of him told him he was crazy-completely out of his mind to think he could get away with what he was doing. And another part couldn't control the wild thing that had begun inside of him and was determined to see it through to the absolute end.
Her quivering hand fought the buttons on his shirt until it was open to the waist. Her quick tongue seared the flesh along his chin, down his chest until Stan thought he would explode from the power of his wanting.
His fingers pushed up the back of her skirt and kneaded the soft insides of her thighs. She felt like silk to him ... warm, live, luxurious silk-exactly what he wanted to feel against all of his own flesh.
Stan rubbed his hand slowly where she wanted him to. He rocked and strained beneath every quickening spasm of her body. And finally, when he felt he could stand the waiting no longer, he moved her gently off his body and glanced around for a bedroom door.
"I don't have a bedroom." Eileen seemed to have sensed his unspoken question. Her tone was an apology-
"That's all right," Stan assured her, before she had a chance to tell him that the sofa opened into a bed. He didn't want to hear her say it. He didn't want to spoil anything. He wanted only to act. That was all that was necessary now.
The mattress floated smoothly and silently into view beneath his grip. Stan pulled it out to full length, then turned back to face Eileen.
She stood, just as he had left her ... breasts exposed, lipstick smeared, the hem of her skirt tilted at a drunken angle above her knees. He wanted her more than he could ever remember desiring anything ... anything at all.
They covered the mattress with their bodies. Stan felt the fresh sheet beneath him and nodded without realizing it. That was as it should be. New. Clean. Just like they were, together.
Eileen tried to crawl back on top of him but he forced her beneath him. It was time. Time for him to set the style for whatever was in the future for them. Time to show Eileen, and maybe even himself, that he wasn't invisible after all.
He thought she was going to scream with need as he pulled the panties off her legs, forcing her skirt above her waist. He knew, vaguely, that he should take all her clothes off-that they should be completely nude-but he couldn't wait. It had taken too long for them to get this far.
He'd never tried to undress himself with one hand before. Despite the inconvenience, he liked it. The necessity implied something different for him ... something unplanned and unrehearsed ... very unlike the way his lovemaking with Toni suddenly seemed. No, he mustn't think of her, Stan cautioned himself. It would be tragic to spoil what he felt now.
As he took her, Stan felt the breath leave her body. Then, he became lost ... absorbed in her arms ... in her sweet, moist willingness. His head weighed a ton and then hardly an ounce. No one moment was remotely the same as the next. Today was Independence Day. And liberation would be upon them both, in a few moments.
Eileen purred and started to move sensually, beneath him. Stan knew what that meant. Now it had to happen. There was no prolonging the inevitable, no matter how pleasurable the waiting. And, from the center of his vast, quiet, loneliness, he began very steadily and very slowly, the long, painfully-sweet journey toward total union with another human being.
And she drew him toward her, as the lighthouse would beckon a boat in the middle of a gathering storm. He travelled toward her, knowing she was ready to welcome his arrival, sensing that she was barely more than waiting for him now.
They gasped and murmured and labored together.
They both knew that there could be no stopping until it was a result of exhaustion and success. Stan felt the need to open his eyes and watch her face. It was beautiful. It seemed to mirror all the things he'd felt for so long, all the things he was feeling right now. A drop of water hung, balanced just below her hairline. Stan watched it shake, tremble, and fall....
Eileen's breathing was suddenly punctuated by short cries, as if she were in pain. Stan heard run-together words that he couldn't make out. And then, her fury took hold of him and set him into violent orbit.
And then, the descent, delirious with joy and grief, the beautiful beginning of an end, for which he had to be both grateful and sad.
When he could move, he kissed her. When he could speak, he asked her how she was. A boyish, silly, graceless question. But a question made necessary by the quality of his feelings toward her.
She asked for a cigarette and he lit one for her gladly. As gladly as he would have done anything else under the sun that she might have requested at that moment.
For now, Stan knew, he would be able to communicate to her all the things he'd wanted her to know. Their closeness had miraculously untied his tongue.
"I think I can talk to you now," he said, simply.
Eileen smiled tiredly. "What about work? You have to go back, you know."
"It'll wait." Stan was thrilled by the conviction in his tone. "First I have things to tell you. Things about myself ... and about my wife."
"You've already told me lots," Eileen said. "The other night at Nero's, when you were high-the way she's been acting, and all."
He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her naked breasts. So she knew about Toni. She'd known all day. And that meant she had to have known what was going to happen once they got to her apartment. She'd wanted him. Openly and unashamedly. He suddenly realized how very much he'd been missing in life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Toni's need for revenge had become an obsession. It crept through her brain and grew in importance until she was hardly able to think about anything else except getting back at Elliot for what he had done to her-for what he was still doing, whenever he had the chance.
Each time he had called to inform her that Stan would be working late at the office, the ache had intensified. She felt that hate enlarge itself within her the moment Elliot walked through the front door, with that knowing, demanding look on his face. His hot hands and foul delights seemed to have burned a scar into her soul. And every time he used her, every time he stripped away a little more of her pride, she wanted to hurt him even more than before. Until finally, nothing else seemed to matter.
And she'd found the way.
It had taken that entire summer to set things up properly, but now Toni felt ready. Her entire body trembled with fear and anticipation as she stood in front of her closet and selected the outfit she'd wear that evening-the outfit in which she'd present herself to Eva Stillwell.
She'd been clever about it, too, and she complimented herself as she chose a tight-fitting black sheath and laid it across the bed. Elliot had never suspected her motives, and without knowing it, he'd helped Toni to arrange his own downfall. Now it was time to put the final stages of her plan into action.
The original idea to meet Eva Stillwell had turned out to be nothing less than a brainstorm, Toni assured herself as she started to peel off her clothes in preparation for her bath. And it was Elliot who had first introduced them, at the club.
It hadn't been hard to wangle the invitation. One night, Elliot mentioned that he and Irma were going to have dinner with Eva Stillwell and some of the other company" big shots at the country club. Immediately, Toni told him how much she wanted to see the club, maybe even join it. From there on, maneuvering Elliot into inviting Stan and herself along, was only a matter of three sentences and half an hour in bed.
Stan had protested loud and long about social climbing when Toni told him what she had arranged. But she had quickly conquered his anger. A man on the way up had to mix with the right people, she'd said. And she'd gone to so much trouble to get the invitation, just for his sake. Then she turned on a few tears and Stan gave in.
It took only five minutes after her introduction to Eva Stillwell for Toni to realize why Elliot disliked her so much. Intuitively Elliot had sensed something about the woman-something that he could never be fully aware of. Something that Toni recognized instantly-and knew she could use to finally get rid of Elliot.
Eva's smile and courteous greeting would have appeared innocent to the uninitiated. But Toni had seen the pinpoints of intensity in the woman's eyes-the kind of interest that could mean only one thing.
Toni had seen that look before, on the faces of women she'd met in New York. She remembered the old days, in their apartment, when Stan's artist friends had come to visit. There had been a few women among that group who had looked at her that way ... and who had come back again and again in hopes of finding something more with her than just a casual friendship. There had been no need to use such women then. But now, she had the best reason in the world ... Elliot Barnes. And his job.
Why not, she'd asked herself. She had arranged a promotion for Stan once before. It should be a simple matter for Eva to get rid of Elliot and give Stan his job, if she wanted to. And Toni knew, she could make Eva want to.
Tonight she would clinch the deal.
The warm water circled and massaged her breasts like soft, soothing fingers. Toni slid her body a little lower into the tub and leaned her head back against the cool tile. But her excitement wouldn't allow her to unwind. She'd been through plenty in her day, yet tonight's adventure was going to be like nothing else she'd ever known.
A persistent wave of doubt returned to warn her that she couldn't go through with it. Toni willed the mood away and reached for a washcloth. Of course she could go through with it. She could go through with anything, if the reward was great enough. And nothing, but nothing, could be worse than Elliot, anyhow.
The sweet-smelling soap clouded the surface of the water. Toni raised her leg up into the air and started to massage her tingling flesh. A subtle tremor of excitement played along her skin, above and below the water. She hurriedly completed her bath.
For once it was going to be nice to see the city. Toni tried to bolster her spirits as she wrapped a soft towel around her glistening body and tucked the end down between her breasts. A long time had passed since she'd spent an evening in Manhattan. And then, it had only been second-rate places she'd visited with Stan. Tonight, she was stepping up in class and style. Tonight, she was going to see how the other half lived.
She patted her body dry and smiled in silent admiration. Eva was a foxy one, she had to admit. Who'd ever think that such a woman would have the nerve to keep an apartment in the city? An apartment, safely concealed from the knowledge of anybody in her family or in the company? An apartment reserved for....
The fresh bra and panties felt good against her skin. Toni pulled a pair of stockings over her long legs and glanced over at the alarm clock. Five-fifteen. She would have to hurry to be on time. Thank goodness Stan thought she was going to a movie.
The black dress clung to her body and molded her curves. Toni stole a final glance in the mirror and nodded approvingly at her own trim silhouette. Despite everything that had happened, she didn't look used up. Mink was going to look good on her, she told herself. Smiling, she picked up her purse and left the house.
The Midtown Tunnel was slow, and Toni felt the irritation rise. She'd never get to Eva's place on time now. Maybe she should stop and call. No, let the woman wait. That way, her appearance would be appreciated even more.
Traffic in the city wasn't much better than it had been in the tunnel. Toni steered her car downtown, along Second Avenue and tried to remember what time Stan had said he'd be home tonight. Not until late, she recalled thankfully. Last minute preparations for the television show that Stillwell was sponsoring tomorrow night. Toni stopped the car for a light and took a deep breath of evening air. That new job was keeping Stan in the city often. It was good to have him out of her hair.
She couldn't remember when he'd been so tired, either. Thank goodness the work was draining most of his energy, Toni told herself. After some of her sessions with Elliot, contending with Stan in bed would have been absolute agony. Even so, it still seemed strange that Stan should want her so infrequently. Toni turned West on Fourteenth Street and decided not to think about Stan any more. No point in looking a gift horse in the mouth. If he could do without her, she could certainly do without him.
Greenwich Village was crowded with warm-weather tourists. Toni cursed the mobs of people that kept herding across streets in front of the car and honked her horn loudly. Six-thirty-five, her watch said. Almost three-quarters of an hour late. Maybe Eva wouldn't wait.
She pulled the car into the nearest garage and walked the rest of the way to Eva's address. She stopped for just a moment at the sight of the blue canopy in front of the expensive apartment house, as the reality of the situation suddenly occurred to her.
What had she gotten herself into? Conflicting thoughts cascaded wildly through her mind. A butterfly fluttered unnervingly in the pit of her stomach. What was she doing, she asked herself. What had come over her to make her agree to this? How could she willingly surrender herself to the embraces of ... of another woman?
Nonsense. Toni willed herself forward, past the doorman and into the lobby. Whom was she trying to kid? She knew damned well what she was doing. She'd known it since the first time she saw Eva. She was going to bed with a woman so that she could get rid of Elliot and move Stan one step higher on the ladder. So what, she thought, and stepped off the elevator. So it was a woman. It was only one more person. At the end of a long list.
Eva answered the door quickly. "I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind." She stepped back for Toni to enter.
Toni smiled pleasantly and tried not to stare at Eva's outfit. Until then, she'd only seen the woman dressed for work, in simple costumes, undecorative but acceptable. Tonight, Eva Stillwell wore tapered slacks and a man-tailored shirt. There was no doubt about it, Toni told herself, stealing another look at the woman, who went to mix a round of drinks. Tonight, Eva looked exactly like what she was.
"Why are you staring?" Eva asked, without turning around. Her tone was a combination of annoyance and resignation.
"I wasn't...." Toni was caught off guard by Eva's direct approach.
"Don't he to me." Eva's words were clipped, angry.
Toni had never heard that tone of voice from the woman, before. "All right," she admitted weakly. "I was a little surprised to see you in pants. That's all."
Eva turned back from the long walnut bar and smiled widely. "That's better." She sounded completely composed again. "Now it's off your chest. We can both relax."
Toni accepted a cordial without speaking. Suddenly, the woman didn't seem quite so easy to handle anymore. The weak, hungry, totally susceptible Eva Stillwell seemed not to exist at all. Toni was frightened.
"Drink your drink." Eva spoke with an air of authority. "Dinner's ruined. I'll have to scramble some eggs or something."
"I'm sorry." Toni fished for an excuse. "Traffic was heavy."
Eva finished her own drink without comment. The expression on her face gave no clue as to whether or not she believed Toni's words.
Toni fidgeted uncomfortably at the edge of the white sectional sofa. She could feel Eva's eyes, staring at her, through her, and she didn't have the nerve to face the woman.
"You'll have to excuse me." Tom's throat was dry. "I'm a little nervous. I've never...."
"We don't have to talk about it." Eva sounded annoyed again. "I can see that you're not exactly at your charming best."
Toni caught the ice in the woman's tone and wondered why Eva had turned on her like that. What had she done to deserve Eva's wrath? Was it because she was late?
"If you like, I'll make those eggs." Toni would have said anything to escape that feeling of being on display that tore now at her composure.
"We can always eat out, if you'd prefer," Eva suggested.
"Yes, that would be nice." Toni jumped at the chance to get out of that apartment-out in public where she'd be relatively safe.
"Fine." Eva nodded. "We'll do that. Later."
Toni felt her shoulders droop slightly. She knew what Eva meant. There was no escape. As a last resort, she tilted her head back and emptied the contents of her cordial glass with one swallow.
The heavy taste of sweet coffee liqueur warmed its way down to her stomach. Without asking how strong it was, Toni knew the drink was going to hit. Hard. "May I have another?" She handed her glass back to Eva.
"Of course," Eva smiled.
Toni slipped off her shoes and tried to let the smile that Eva had just displayed encourage her. Perhaps with the alcohol, the rest of the evening wouldn't pass so uncomfortably.
Two drinks later Toni was feeling a little better. As she sipped the liqueur, she forced herself to think about all the things that she'd have, if Stan got Elliot's job. A new house. A maid. Charge accounts at the biggest and most expensive stores. Then, she thought about Elliot and what he'd been doing to her. And suddenly, she felt very brave.
"I think I'll be all right now." Toni drained the last drop of her third drink and set the glass down on the marble coffee table near the sofa.
"Well, that's progress." Eva placed her glass beside Toni's and smiled amusedly. "When you first came in, I didn't know if you were going to last through the hour."
"You'd be surprised what I can last through." Toni purposely dropped the double entendre. She didn't know if women flirted with other women the same way they flirted with men. In any case, she wanted to let Eva know that permission to begin was granted. For no matter what the cost, Toni knew she wasn't going to make that first move.
"Some music?" Eva seemed to sense Toni's uneasiness.
"Anything." Toni prepared herself to comply with any and all of Eva's wishes. The preliminaries for the evening had long since past. Eva knew she was willing. And now, Eva knew she was inexperienced. Let the woman take it from there.
Toni waited while Eva switched on the hi-fi. Then she got up and walked, barefoot, into the woman's outstretched arms.
She'd danced with women before, but never like that. Toni tried to accustom herself to the sensation of something soft in her arms. She felt Eva's breasts, through the thin material that covered them, pressing against her own. She sensed Eva's excitement in the way her breath came, warm and quickly. Toni closed her eyes and wondered just what she'd be expected to do.
Suddenly Eva stopped dancing. "You're tense," she said, matter-of-factly. "Frightened?"
Toni had to nod yes. To deny it would be an obvious lie.
"Come here, then." Eva led Toni to the sofa and guided her down toward the pillows. "Why are you doing this, Toni?"
Toni stared blankly at the woman. She knew she had to answer. "I'm just tired of my husband, I guess." It was the first thing that came to mind.
"And you think that I can give you what you want?" Eva looked skeptical. Almost insulted.
"Yes," Toni whispered.
"Wouldn't you know it?" Eva chuckled bitterly. "I always get the green ones."
Toni felt the panic rise. She had to say something now, she knew. Something right. Something convincing. Or else, she'd lose Eva's interest. "Please Eva," Toni made her voice breathless. "I ... want ... you ... to ... teach ... me."
Toni smiled to herself as Eva sank on to the sofa and grabbed her in her arms. Willingly, she let Eva ease her back down onto the pillows.
She lay quietly as the woman caressed the soft swells of her breasts. She raised her hips willingly as Eva worked to push the dress up over her knees.
Toni felt the woman's hand on the inside of her thighs and tensed. Something was happening. Something she hadn't expected-something she didn't know how to handle.
"Just relax," Eva commanded, somewhere above her. "I'll take care of everything."
Toni closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensations ripping through her body. In the back of her mind she knew that this couldn't be all that Eva wanted-everything that women could do. But she didn't question. She just lay still and enjoyed it.
THE END approached quickly. Toni fought to sustain a feeling of balance-of precarious positioning at the edge of the magnificent fall, but she couldn't. A moment later, moaning and panting, she tumbled over, headlong, into those turbulent, final moments before shame.
It was a hollow victory. She accepted the cigarette that Eva lit for her and waited for the axe to fall. "All right," Eva's tone was heavy with dissatisfaction. "Now you feel a little better. Perhaps you're ready to go home?"
Toni looked shyly over toward the woman. "No, I don't want to go home," she lied. The course was clear. Toni knew what she had to do.
"Oh?" Eva raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What more do you want?"
Toni reached over and gently took the cigarette out of the woman's hand. Then she ground both of them out in the ashtray.
With leaden movements, she took Eva into her arms and turned the woman's face toward her own. She forced her lips forward, against Eva's. "Show me how to make you happy, too," she murmured.
Eva paled and swallowed hard. "You're kidding," she whispered, smiling and trembling, all at once.
"Try me," Tom said, reaching for the light on the end table. Eva's hand reached for the zipper on Toni's dress. And then, as they descended back to the softness of the sofa, Toni knew that Elliot Barnes was on his way out of a good job.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Without opening his eyes, Stan smiled and pulled Eileen's naked body a little tighter up against his own. He knew she'd dozed, right after their lovemaking, but he didn't mind. Even in sleep, she remained close to him, her soft arm resting on his chest, her leg wrapped possessively around his own. A cool wave of crisp autumn air drifted in through the window. Stan took a deep breath and tucked the rumpled sheet up below Eileen's chin. Again, that persistent nagging voice inside him said that this was wrong-that the woman beside him in bed should be his wife. He rejected this thought and glanced at the luminous dial on his watch. Morality wasn't important anymore, he decided. For once, he was completely happy. Well, almost completely.
Five forty-five. Time to get going.
As gently as he could, Stan rolled his body away from hers and kissed her cheek. A lock of red hair clung to her damp forehead. Stan knew she was exhausted, but he also knew she'd be furious if he left without saying goodbye.
"What time is it?" Eileen's voice was thick with sleep.
"A quarter to six," Stan whispered. "We've got to get up."
Eileen nodded in the darkness and curled herself around him. "Five more minutes."
"Oh, no you don't." Stan patted her smooth shoulder and pushed Eileen onto her back. "Five more minutes and we'll both be out cold."
Eileen came suddenly to life and sat straight up in the bed. Stan lay on his back. In fascinated silence, he studied the part of her body that was revealed above the sheet. The cleft chin ... the straight neck ... the tilted breasts that always quivered to life beneath his touch. All the things he'd grown to know and love. Things that were his on borrowed time only.
"Stop thinking so much. It's bad for you." Eileen leaned over and rumpled Stan's hair. She always knew when he was getting depressed.
Stan grabbed for Eileen's shoulders and pulled her face down to his. Her soft, delicious mouth yielded willingly. The tip of her tongue darted out to meet his. Stan slid his hands over her sleep-warmed flesh until his fingers found the rigid points of her breasts. Slowly, he caressed the shadowed flesh to life.
"You'd better get out of here, Mister." Eileen's voice was husky with new desire.
Without thinking why, Stan reached around and imprisoned Eileen within his trembling embrace. He didn't want to let her go. For some reason, tonight seemed more important than any other time they'd shared.
"You have to be at that television studio in an hour, remember?" Eileen sounded like she was trying to convince herself, as well as Stan.
"Talk to me for a few more minutes." Stan kissed the damp hair at her temple and closed his eyes again. If only he could forget the other things he had to do. If only he could hide here, in her bed, with her love, always.
"What's to talk about?" Eileen relaxed against him.
"Us," Stan answered simply, directly.
"Come on, Stan. We'll only ruin the evening."
"Yeah, I know." Stan sighed and glanced up through the darkness to the ceiling. What was there to say? How could he find an answer that would satisfy everybody?
"You sure you don't want something to eat?" Eileen was obviously changing the subject on purpose. "We never got around to supper."
"No, thanks." Stan felt the gloom approaching and decided that he had to talk. He knew there was no solution, but he still wanted Eileen to know that he was aware-that he wasn't just taking from her, without any thought to the future, and its consequences.
"I tried to talk to Toni last night," he began softly, "but she was too tired to listen."
"I told you that wasn't necessary."
Stan heard a tone of tired resignation enter Eileen's voice. If only he could do something to lift that sadness from her shoulders. "You don't think we can just go on like this indefinitely, do you?" he asked, reaching over to turn on the lamp and get a cigarette.
"You know you're not going to divorce her," Eileen stated simply. "And I wouldn't ask you to."
Stan handed her a cigarette and looked away. She knew him so well. And sometimes, the mirror that she held up to him was frightening.
"Don't worry about it. I'm a big girl." Eileen kissed Stan's shoulder and moved to the edge of the bed. "Now hurry up and get dressed before you lose your job."
Her words made him feel like hitting ... like striking out. But he didn't move. How could he strike out when he didn't know who the enemy was?
"Let me heat up some coffee before you go." Eileen pulled a robe out of the closet and slipped into it as she walked to the stove. "It'll only take a minute."
Stan dressed slowly, still unable to mobilize himself for the task he knew lay ahead of him. Tonight was the television show that Stillwell Cosmetics was sponsoring. For weeks, practically all of his efforts and those of everybody else in his department had been concentrated on the program. Layouts. Commercials. Displays. Slogans. They'd repeated themselves in his brain until he knew the scripts and the sequences by heart. If not for Eileen, he wouldn't have survived the pressure.
"Coffee's ready." Eileen was filling the two cups on the table.
He knotted his tie and walked to the chair he always used at Eileen's place. How many dinners had they shared here, he tried to remember. How many supper breaks and hurried evenings had they stolen, only to realize that despite their feelings for each other something was missing. That something would always be missing, until the time when they didn't have to hide.
No more sentiment, he warned himself. Whether he felt up to it or not, there was a job to be done this evening. People were depending on him. Eileen was counting on him. The company big shots would be watching him. For once in his life, he must not fail-if only to prove to himself that he was capable of succeeding.
"Call me after the show?" Eileen whispered, as they lingered at the door.
Stan nodded and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "The minute it's over. If I make it."
"Of course you'll make it."
Stan saw Eileen's eyes flash with the annoyance. "Just teasing," he said quickly. And then he turned and walked down the hall, before she had a chance to see that he was lying.
The television studio was wild with activity when Stan arrived. For a moment he felt lost among all those professionals who seemed to know exactly what they were doing. He watched them rushing around. Cameramen. Stagehands. Errand boys. From the biggest to the smallest, each man seemed to know his job. If only he could be that way, Stan wished.
But what for?
The implications of that thought were enough to foul him up for a week. Forcing himself forward, he searched the room for a glimpse of Elliot Barnes. The man was nowhere to be seen.
"Everything set?" the brisk, authoritative voice behind him asked.
Stan knew it could only be one person. "I'm all ready." He turned around to smile at Eva Stillwell "I was just looking for Elliot."
"He hasn't shown up yet." Eva seemed truly concerned. "He should have been here half an hour ago."
"Did anyone call the office? Maybe he stopped there first, on his way in?"
"No, I don't think so." Eva glanced across toward the door. "Would you do that for me, Stan?"
"Glad to." Stan nodded crisply, placed his attache case down on a table and went to hunt for a telephone.
He hadn't had much conviction about the possibility when he'd thrown out the suggestion, but Stan went through the motions by dialing anyway. When there was no answer at the office, he wasn't surprised.
It wouldn't be unlike Elliot to be out somewhere tying one on, Stan decided. Lately, the man didn't seem to give a damn about the office or the work, anyway. More often than not, he left early. It was Stan who wound up with the brunt of the job. And the word thanks didn't seem to be in Elliot's vocabulary.
There was still time, Stan told himself as he left the phone booth. The show didn't start until nine. Elliot would show up. He had to. If Elliot didn't, he would have to take over.
A growing fear stopped him in his tracks. The old urge to run and hide licked at his insides. He started to sweat. What would he do if Elliot really didn't make it, he wondered. Would he be able to handle everything on his own? Was he strong enough to make sure everything ran smoothly?
Seven-fifteen.
Stan ripped his glance from the studio door, and opened his attache case. He had a copy of everything Elliot was supposed to know. He was fully prepared to give Elliot all the assistance he needed. But if Elliot didn't show, who would assist him?
Seven-thirty.
Stan looked at Eva, and Eva looked back at Stan. They both knew. He swallowed hard. Eva raised herself up to full height and faced him. "You take over," she said, simply. That was it. Stan was on his own.
His glance darted wildly about the room. Maybe Elliot would walk in at the last moment. Maybe he'd yet be spared from running the commercials, after all.
No Elliot. Eva was looking at him ... waiting for him to do something.
Stan picked up his papers and walked passed her. He reached into his pocket and found a dime. Now there were only two things for him to do.
First, call Eileen.
And then ... march into that control room and function.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eva Stillwell's answer to Toni had been direct and logical. She couldn't just fire Elliot Barnes without a good reason. A good reason, that is, to present to the company as an excuse for letting him go. Of course, if Toni could supply that reason....
So Toni had lied. She'd told her how much Elliot despised Eva. How he'd been spreading rumors about Eva's sexual preferences....
Toni thought that would surely do it. But Eva wasn't as impulsive as she'd hoped. The woman merely took a deep breath, as if to steel herself against a hurt that was forever recurring. This told Toni that Elliot's big mouth simply wasn't enough. There had to be something concrete. Something for which Elliot could be nailed.
The challenge was issued. But Toni decided that she could meet it. And within minutes, she'd thought of a way.
The television show coming up was more important than any other facet of Elliot's job. Toni had listened to Stan ranting on about how much pressure was being brought to bear so that everything would go off smooth as glass. Toni knew that a great deal of the responsibility for that show rested on Elliot's shoulders. What better way to foul him up in his job than to make sure he didn't show up at the studio?
It was perfect. If she could just arrange it.
She had left Eva's apartment without mentioning her plans for Elliot. Eva had been happy. The woman seemed to believe that Toni was really attracted to her.
And no wonder, Toni thought, as she sat alone in her living room on the afternoon of the show. Last night, Eva had gone wild. Toni remembered the woman, panting and breathless as she pulled off their clothes and used Toni's body. Toni remembered how Eva had kissed her, caressed her-taught her how women can be satisfied. Without men.
Toni jumped off the sofa and looked around the room for something to distract her. She didn't want to remember what Eva had taught her. It was something that belonged in another world-a world far removed from Toni's own. A world for women who just couldn't bring themselves to submit to what was normal.
For the third time that hour, Toni checked the clock above the mantel. Three-forty. She still had time. Elliot wasn't due for another twenty minutes.
It had been easy to convince Elliot to take the afternoon off. As a matter-of-fact, he'd practically suggested it himself, Toni remembered. His presence at the television studio required that he work half the night. Nobody would object if he took off the afternoon-especially with Stan around to handle the last minute details.
Toni had recoiled at the thought of Stan working himself into the ground on the last day, while Elliot played hooky from the office. Still, she knew it had to be done. She had to keep Elliot out of that studio. No matter how.
At least this time would be the last time, Toni encouraged herself, as she mixed a shaker of martinis and sat down to wait out those final moments before Elliot's arrival. Whatever Elliot did to her, or whatever she had to do to him, she knew she could survive. Eva had practically agreed in so many words to get rid of him, once the excuse was provided.
Poor Eva, Toni thought. The woman was so strong, and yet, so blind. She believed what she wanted to believe, what she had to believe. That Toni desired her. That Toni wanted to get rid of Elliot because he was taking advantage of Stan, and Stan, in return, was making her life miserable.
Toni tasted the martinis she'd mixed and shook her head in amazement. She didn't even really remember half the stories she'd told Eva. She recalled saying something about how the added responsibility of Elliot's job would keep Stan very busy. Too busy to notice that his wife was slipping out to meet another woman.
Yes, Eva had liked that lie the best. Perhaps that was the final incentive to make her willing to fire Elliot. And once Elliot was gone, Toni assured herself, there wasn't a damned thing Eva could do to make Toni come back to her bed.
Four thirty-five. Toni was starting to worry. She finished her martini and walked to the window. Outside, a golden autumn day was beginning to fade into early evening. An electric current of excitement charged her body with sudden energy. She savored the lingering taste of gin and smiled happily. She was so close, now. So excitingly close to all the things she'd always wanted. And she was even beginning to like martinis. Yes, she told herself, she'd fit in well with the executive set. At last, she'd be right where she belonged.
Five o'clock. Toni poured herself another cocktail and carried it back to the window. Where was Elliot? She peered down the street for a sight of his car. Nothing. Quickly, she emptied her glass and tried to console herself. He'd be there. That was for sure. The invitation she'd placed in her voice when she spoke to him should have registered its effect. He couldn't have questioned the sincerity of her desire. He'd had to believe her when she told him she'd be alone, and she wanted him to come over.
She laughed out loud. What an egotistical dope Elliot was, to think that she was actually beginning to enjoy their horrible moments together. He deserved everything he got.
The shiny black sedan rolled silently around the corner and up the block. Toni saw it and raced to the mirror to freshen her appearance. Now it was going to happen. Her final surrender. And her final triumph.
"Sorry I'm late." Elliot hurried inside and closed the door behind him. "Irma was giving me a hard time."
"You didn't waste yourself on her, I hope." Toni tried to sound coy ... available.
"Don't you worry about it, sugar." Elliot walked up to her and wrapped her in his arms. "There's enough for everybody."
Toni let him kiss her and slide his rough hands down over the front of her sweater. The points of her breasts jutted out against the soft wool and yielded to the pressure of his sweaty palms. She heard Elliot suck in his breath as he fingered the rigid tips. He was ready, she knew. Ready to fool himself into thinking she enjoyed him. Ready to hang himself....
"How about a drink?" Toni pushed him back and smiled up at him.
Elliot glanced over at the cocktail shaker and back to Toni. "Looks like you started without me."
"A girl has to get herself ready," she crooned, knowing he'd interpret her remark on the crudest possible level.
He chuckled and slapped her bottom on his way to get the liquor. "I'll take scotch."
"Let me mix it for you. Please."
Elliott stopped walking and looked down at her body. His eyes travelled slowly from her tight green sweater to her straight, rust colored skirt. He stared hard, as if trying to penetrate the material with the force of his desire. "Anything you say," he drawled, reluctantly forcing his eyes back up to meet Tom's. "I'm with you."
Toni winked at him and turned toward the bar. She wriggled her hips skillfully as she walked, knowing he'd be watching. Let him get a good look, she thought, as a sudden surge of power filled her with confidence. This was going to be his last time.
"You're looking for trouble, you know," Elliot said, when she leaned down to hand him the drink she'd mixed.
"Gladly." Toni took a deep breath, filling her sweater. She didn't move a step. She wanted Elliot to concentrate on her, and her alone. Then, perhaps, he wouldn't notice that she'd poured a double shot into his glass.
It worked. Elliot finished his drink in a few gulps without flinching or questioning. When he handed the glass back to her, she headed immediately back toward the bar.
"What's your rush?" Elliot began to sound suspicious.
"I just want you to catch up with me," Toni quipped. "I had two before you arrived." She mixed another double.
And another.
And another.
Elliot was stoned. She sat on the chair across from him, instigating conversation and beaming at her achievement. Time was passing quickly. He was ranting on about something, but she didn't listen. All she heard was the ticking of the clock above the fireplace-the ticking that meant the passing of Elliot's job into Stan's hands.
"How long you gonna just sit there, making me want it?"
The sudden intensity in Elliot's tone forced its way through her thoughts. She glanced furtively toward the clock. Six-ten. By the time she finished with him, he'd be good and late for the studio. At least. But if she had her way, he wasn't going to show up at all.
"Not a minute longer." Toni got herself up from her chair and walked toward him. Now it was coming. The most important part. The big test. Elliot's downfall.
He grabbed her and Toni winced at the pain. He was going to be cruel again. She knew it. She felt it. But she was prepared.
"Let's go inside," she whispered. The fact that it was Stan's bed too, had stopped mattering a long time ago.
"No." Elliot's answer was sharp. "I want it here. In the light.
She smiled, determined not to let her annoyance show. What was the difference, she told herself. As long as he wanted her ... as long as he forgot about the time.
Slowly, provocatively, she undressed. Wordlessly, she posed, hesitated, smiled. All the things he told her to do. All the things he thought she was enjoying, too.
Her skirt fell to the rug on top of her sweater. Toni leaned down to unfasten her stockings. She saw Elliot's glance leap to the tops of her breasts. Impulsively, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. The material slid down her arms and off. Her breasts hung teasingly, in full view.
Elliot rushed for her and almost knocked Toni over. She straightened up immediately as he caught her breasts in his hands and squeezed, hard.
"That's a girl...." Elliot sighed drunkenly, rubbing her body back and forth against his own. "Now take off the rest."
Toni peeled the nylons from her legs and stood, wearing only her panties. "You or me?" She smiled knowingly. Elliot looked like he was on fire.
With one anxious lunge, he grabbed her and pulled her down to the rug on top of him. Toni gasped and pretended arousal as he tugged off her panties and forced them from her naked limbs. Then she waited, while he undressed....
Their hips met. Toni reached over and grasped his shoulders for balance. Then she moved herself toward him....
She listened to the arc of Elliot's excitement, for she felt none of her own. He was an animal to her. Wild, hungry, inconsiderate. She let him satisfy his initial need. And then, when she felt he was sufficiently rested, she moved closer to him.
"How about doing me a favor now?" she asked softly.
"Name it baby."
"Come into the bedroom with me?"
"What?"
"I want to have some fun, too."
Elliot looked over disbelievingly. Then he smiled. A proud, self-assured, revolting smile. "Sure thing, honey. Sure thing."
Toni led the way, smiling also. She didn't know exactly what she was going to do, once she had Elliot in bed, but the details weren't important. The only thing that was important was that she keep him happily and busily occupied. Until he was fast asleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Success.
Stan loosened his tie, slipped out of his shoes, and propped his feet up on the coffee table in Eileen's living room. It was finally over. The show was finished. His job was done. But the worst was yet to come.
He turned and gazed moodily out through the window. In the building across the street he saw a bedroom light go out. One of many, he knew. Evening had turned into night and people all over the city were saying hello to their pillows at the end of just another day. Lucky people.
The familiar sounds of Eileen's puttering reached him from the kitchen. Stan closed his eyes and tried to make himself feel calmer. Usually, those sounds relaxed him. Until tonight, hearing and sensing Eileen's presence always resulted in a feeling of security. But now, those sounds were pure torture. A painful reminder of reality, and its unpleasant necessities.
Tonight, the problem would have to be resolved, once and for all. A decision must be made concerning the future. There was no postponing the inevitable.
Again he tried to find consolation in his supposed victory. The show had been a success. A roaring success! Everybody had said so. Even Eva Stillwell had congratulated him heartily on a job well done. She had actually told him that he'd be well rewarded for his accomplishment. And that, Stan knew, had triggered the panic button inside of him.
Eva Stillwell wasn't the type of person given to effusion or idle promises. When she said reward, she meant just that. And now, Stan wished she'd kept quiet.
He remembered how he'd tried to tell her that the credit didn't belong to him, alone-that if not for the work of the entire department, and Eileen's invaluable assistance, he'd never have been able to carry off the show. But Eva wouldn't listen. All she could say was that he'd saved the day, and that she wouldn't forget him for it.
It was Eileen who had echoed Stan's fears on the way home from the studio. "Reward?" she'd said, with laughing eyes. "That's simple. Eva's probably going to give you Elliot's job."
The words were like a death knell. Stan had tried desperately to argue with Eileen, to convince her that she was all wrong. But the facts were clear and undeniable. Elliot hadn't shown up at the studio, or even bothered to call. That would be unforgivable in Eva's eyes. Elliot would have to be fired. And that left him, next in line for the job of Advertising Manager.
Success.
The word seemed to pound over and over at his temples. He chuckled bitterly and shook his head in disgust. Some success! He'd been scared right down to his shoes, every minute. Nervous. Unsure. And for this, people were congratulating him. Still, he reminded himself, he had done the job....
The throbbing in his head grew louder and more painful. Stan knew that he'd done more than enough thinking for one day. And yet, something inside him wouldn't allow him any peace. His body couldn't unwind and neither could his brain-not until things were settled. Not until he knew where he was going and what he was going to do about....
"Sandwiches are all ready." Eileen burst into the room, smiling and bright. The pride she felt for Stan still glowed on her face.
He whirled at the sound of her voice and tried to force a pleasant expression to meet Eileen's. It didn't work. He felt his features freeze in what he knew was a mask of inadequate pretense.
"Still knocking yourself out, huh?" Eileen shook her head in sad disapproval as she placed the tray of food on the coffee table. "What's wrong, can't you stand a little success?"
There was that word again. Stan recoiled inwardly at the sound of it. Somehow, the feeling he was experiencing was a long way from that which he'd always envisioned as the sensation of being successful. And yet, according to the standards of those around him, he was just that. And he knew he should be happy.
"But you know that tonight was a freak situation," he protested again. "And if you weren't there...."
"Nonsense." Eileen cut him off and sat down beside him. "You were the one who ran that shindig. Face it. You can do Elliot's job if you want to!"
Stan reached for a sandwich and decided not to comment. What was the use? Eileen believed in him. So much, that it was making her blind to the truth. He wasn't strong and capable. Just lucky.
"You meant what you said about Elliot's job, didn't you?" he asked softly.
"Sure did." Eileen answered between bites of her sandwich. "You're going to be a big man at Stillwell."
"And what if I told you I didn't want the job?" Stan wondered where he had gotten the courage to be so truthful. "What would you say then?" He waited for the reprimand.
"I'd say, don't take it." Eileen answered simply, shrugging her shoulders. "What's the sense of being miserable?"
Stan couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "You don't really mean that." He felt the joy and relief break out into a grin across his face.
"Of course I mean it." Eileen looked patiently at him, as if he were a simple child. "You don't think I'd want you to be unhappy just for the prestige of being an executive, do you?"
Stan moved impulsively to kiss Eileen's smooth cheek. If only Toni were capable of feeling that way.
Toni.
He felt the muscles in his stomach tighten along with the rest of his body. Toni was going to be overjoyed when she found out the news. And there wasn't a chance that she'd share Eileen's attitude about his happiness.
"What's wrong now?" Eileen asked, sounding as if she already knew.
"Looks like I'm trapped anyway." Stan returned to his previous position on the sofa and smiled tiredly. "Tom would never let me turn down Elliot's job."
"Do you have to listen to her?" Eileen's tone was soft, hopeful.
Stan started to answer but stopped suddenly, realizing that he didn't know the answer to that one at all.
"I'm sorry. Forget I said that." Eileen hurried to save Stan's feelings. But they both knew she was too late.
Stan finished the last sandwich and reached for a napkin. "What time is it?" he asked absently, his mind on other things.
"A little after eleven." Eileen yawned. "It's been quite a day."
"I think I'll take off, now." Stan knew suddenly that he had better be alone to straighten out his thoughts. The sensation of Eileen's closeness was beginning to cloud his mind. He knew that beneath her clothing a warm, supple body was available to shield him from the rest of the world. A few more minutes and he could lose himself in the comfort of her arms. He could distract himself with the ardor of her loving ...
"Will I see you tomorrow?"
Eileen's tone was joking, but Stan knew she wasn't, really. "Of course you will." He made his voice sincere.
But inside, he wasn't at all sure.
The Manhattan streets were very still. Stan walked slowly, still tasting the kiss on which he and Eileen had parted. He couldn't remember ever having felt more alone than he did at that particular moment.
He wanted to leave Toni. At least part of him did. Stan shoved his hands into his coat pockets and wished he could think more clearly. He knew he had to make some sort of decision before he got home. Only that way could he tell Toni what he wanted to do. Yes, tell her, Stan repeated to himself. He mustn't allow her to sway his feelings.
And yet, how could he avoid that? She was his wife. He must consider her desires. They should, by rights, share such decisions'. Marriage was supposed to be a partnership.
"Fat chance," Stan mumbled angrily under his breath. Once Toni found out that Elliot's job was available, all discussion would be closed. He would have no choice in the matter.
Maybe it would be best not to tell Toni anything at all about the job....
Coward! The voice of Stan's conscience screamed out at him. He crossed the street, vaguely hoping that a car would hit him.
No such luck. Stan stepped safely up onto the curb on the other side of York Avenue and realized that he'd have to fight tonight's battle all on his own. No matter how distasteful, no matter what the cost. The decision and its execution were his to work out.
The conflict felt as if it were about to crack his skull in two. He headed downtown, grateful for the privacy and anonymity of being a stranger in a large city at night.
He thought about Toni ... about telling her the truth. The anger rushed out and engulfed him. She'd never understand. She'd never agree. And it was his own damned fault. He should have set her straight years ago, Stan told himself, when she first conned him into going to work at Stillwell. He should have put his foot down then. Now, it was too late.
Perhaps if he tried to change things now ... no, that would never work. She'd been waiting too long.
Yes, waiting. Stan suddenly realized the profound truth in his thinking. Everything that Toni had done for them ... the house ... her friendship with Irma ... the big new car ... the invitation to the country club ... all of those things suddenly seemed to be a long preparation for something like this. And she'd worked hard at it too, he had to admit. How could he disappoint her now?
The gloom around him grew thicker. Toni certainly didn't see eye to eye with him when it came to values, but the woman was doing her best. She wanted him to get ahead. She wanted him to be a success, in her sense of the word. Did he have the right to say no?
The night air began to chill him. Stan buttoned his coat and hunched his shoulders up against the cold. And then, a greater cold, far more penetrating than the air around him, seeped into his bones.
If he took the new job, where would that leave him when it came to Eileen?
Nowhere. It was that simple. The job of Advertising Manager was more than seven hours a day. It required socializing, maintaining a front. A new house, probably. Country club membership, undoubtedly. A second car, unfortunately.
The more he thought about it, the more distasteful it became. He didn't belong there, Stan told himself. This was all a freak accident. Toni would have to agree....
No, she wouldn't. Not at all.
And then, the choice became clear.
It was going to be either Toni or Eileen.
He lit a cigarette and hailed a cab. The awareness of his obligation pressed down on his shoulders and threatened to force him to his knees. The taxi pulled up just in time. Stan crawled inside and yanked the door closed behind him. He gave the driver instructions and slumped down into the seat. The decision was made. There had really been no choice.
And again, Toni had won.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A chilling finger of night air tickled its way over Toni's cheek, down her neck and across her naked breast. In her sleep, she moved towards the warmth and protection beneath the blanket. Her limbs were sore. The last of her energy had spent itself hours ago. All she wanted was sleep.
A heavy hand on her thigh disturbed her. Toni tried to roll away from the source of irritation. She couldn't escape. Strong arms wrapped themselves around her. Heavy legs imprisoned her body between them. She felt herself approaching the surface of consciousness, against her will.
Again she tried to escape, and for a moment she thought she was safe on the far side of the bed. Smiling, she pressed her head further down into the pillow and tried to drift back toward sleep. The hand would not let her rest. It moved slowly, silently over the curve of her hip, down past the smoothness of her stomach and grabbed....
Toni bolted upright and stared stupidly into the darkness. Her body had responded but her mind wasn't completely awake. She fought not to lose her balance and fall backward. The aftertaste of liquor formed a paste on her swollen tongue.
And the hand returned. It reached up, encircled her breast and closed. The pain brought her to sudden awareness. "Get the hell away from me!"
A laugh rose to meet and mock her fury. A man's laugh. A cruel laugh. And suddenly, she remembered everything.
"Come on, baby, it's me," Elliot said, still chuckling. "How about an encore?"
"Go to hell." Toni dragged her legs over the side of the bed and gathered the strength to stand.
Thick fingers bit into the skin around her waist and tugged her backward. Toni's arms flailed the air and before she knew what was happening, Elliot's mouth was grinding down against her own.
Toni balled her fingers into a fist, and struck at his face. Her hand connected and she heard Elliot's pain-ridden curse. Instantly, she was off the bed and across the room.
"What's the matter with you?" Elliot sat in the bed, rubbing his cheek when Toni turned on the light. "You have a nightmare, or something?"
Toni hurried to the closet for a robe to cover her nakedness. Then, without answering, she glanced at the clock on the night table. Ten forty-five. It was over. She had done what she'd set out to do. And now, she had to get Elliot out of the house before Stan came home.
"It's late," Toni announced. "I think you'd better get dressed and get out of here."
Elliot looked over at the clock. Toni watched, exhilarated, as the color drained from his face. "Oh, my God!" Elliot looked frantically around the room and gibbered inaudibly.
Toni leaned against the wall to observe his misery.
Now the bastard was getting what he deserved, she thought. Good for him!
"Why didn't you tell me?" Elliot snarled, searching wildly for his clothing.
Toni turned and walked out of the room. Despite the exhaustion that tugged at her limbs, she hadn't felt as good in months. And the best was yet to come. She locked the bathroom door just as Elliot's footsteps started down the hall.
"Let me in there," he called from the other side. "I've got to get out of here."
"In a few minutes." Toni wished she had more time to play with him-to watch him squirm in an agony of her making. "I want to comb my hair."
"The devil with your hair!" Elliot's voice grew louder in the hall. "Do you realize what's happened?"
"No." Toni covered her laugh with her palm. "What's happened?"
"I slept right through the show, dammit." Elliot spat. "There probably isn't anybody left in the studio."
"Is that so?" Toni answered innocently. "You don't say."
The silence on the other side of the door told Toni that Elliot had just put two and two together. Her glee turned quickly to fear.
"Come out of there," Elliot growled. "Right now."
"The hell I will." Toni heard the quake in her own voice and looked over to make sure the door was locked. "You've had your fun, mister. Now I'll have mine."
"You little bitch. God help you if I ever...."
"Shut your mouth," Toni hissed. "You're not holding the reins any more, mister. The game's over."
Toni listened in breathless silence as Elliot walked down to the other end of the hall. And then, there was no sound at all.
She knew better than to think he'd left. Toni turned on the warm water and washed her face slowly. She needed a few moments to calm down. Then she would figure out a way to get rid of Elliot and end the evening without any more trouble.
She ran a brush through her long hair and waited for the pounding inside her chest to subside. She shouldn't have said anything to Elliot, she knew. His temper was not a thing to be toyed with. She turned and walked to the door. Still trembling, she pressed her ear against the wood and listened.
Silence.
"Elliot?" she called softly.
"You coming out?" His voice came from the other end of the hall.
Toni decided that he sounded calmer. She began to feel better. "Do you still want to get into the bathroom?" She made her tone sweet.
"I'm not waiting for a streetcar." He sounded impatient again.
Toni took a deep breath as she realized that she couldn't keep herself locked up in the bathroom all night. Slowly, she turned the lock and opened the door. To her relief and surprise, Elliot didn't come charging through. She stepped cautiously out into the hall.
His slap caught her on the side of the head and sent her staggering across the hall. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come.
"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" Elliot's voice was trembling with hate.
She stared, wide-eyed as he stepped toward her.
"Didn't you?" Elliot pressed his face up close to hers and screamed at her.
Toni shook her head, yes. She knew she had pronounced her own doom. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Elliot's hand raise upward. "No...."
His fingers wound themselves deeply into her hair and held on tight. Tears of pain clouded her vision and she whimpered softly.
Elliot just stared at her for a long time, breathing heavily. Then as if he was realizing for the first time what she had done, he yanked her head back with one hand and slapped her hard across the face with the other.
Toni's knees buckled under her and she began to fall. But he caught her and pulled her back to her feet. From far away, she heard him screaming at her, accusing her, cursing her....
Tramp! Slut! No good....
The words stabbed and stung. Toni shook her head, no. It wasn't true, all those things that Elliot was saying. Feebly, she attempted to deny what he was insisting to be so....
"The hell you didn't enjoy it," he roared. Then he pulled her across the hall and into the bathroom.
She didn't have the energy to even attempt to fight him off. He pinned her against the wall and ripped open the front of her bathrobe. She knew he was staring at her nakedness, savoring the sight of her exposed, tormented flesh. She didn't know what he was going to do, but somehow, it didn't matter. Whatever it was, she didn't have the capacity to feel, anymore. He couldn't hurt her. She was numb.
But when Elliot moved again, his touch was gentle, provocative. Toni raised her arm to push him away, and Elliot brushed it aside. It fell with the weight of marble. And the room began to spin.
Toni hated herself for what was happening. She didn't know where the energy had come from, but her body seemed to have caught a second wind. It moved, slowly, rhythmically in time to Elliot's command. She heard him laughing. And then her own gasping helped to thicken the air.
"Tell me you didn't have fun," Elliot challenged, his hot breath whistling past her ear.
Toni opened her mouth and drew air down to her parched throat. She felt as if she must be losing her mind. The man who was affecting her at that moment was the individual whom she hated most in the world. And still, she couldn't remain indifferent to his touch.
A spasmodic twitching began, deep down in her belly. She raised herself up onto the balls of her feet as the sensation intensified and spread through her trembling body. She called out to him, telling him what to do, telling him how close she was to completion.
And then, laughing, he walked out of the room, leaving her shivering and unfulfilled.
She ran to the sink and flung herself over it. Her in-sides lurched and twisted. For what seemed like hours she remained in that position, spilling the frustration and the sickness out of her, wishing she could die.
And then, it was calm and very, very quiet. Toni heard the front door slam. "No!" she screamed. "Come back here, you bastard. Come back here and....
The look of horrified surprise on her husband's face turned her to stone.
When she could move again, Toni reached for the edges of her robe and tied it closed in front of her.
"What the hell's been going on here?" Stan's face was grey, his voice hardly more than a croak.
Toni felt the lump grow in her throat. It began to choke her.
"I passed Elliot's car at the end of the block," Stan said. "Was he coming from this house?"
Tom nodded. It didn't matter anymore if Stan knew. It didn't matter anymore what he thought of her. She could spend his money, even if they weren't the best of friends.
Without another word he turned and walked to the bar. Toni watched him pour a tumbler full of scotch.
"It's not the way you think...." Toni began, walking slowly across the rug.
Stan emptied his glass and gagged. Then he walked to the kitchen and chased the liquor with a glass of water.
"There was a good reason," she whined, stepping up close behind him. "I had to."
Stan turned around, very slowly. His eyes had become slits and his jaw seemed locked in place. Toni stood absolutely still as he looked her over from top to toe. She saw the hurt shape itself on his face as he looked at a bruise on her neck-at the gaping hole where Elliot had torn her robe.
"And for this, I was willing to give up everything."
She heard Stan's words, but she didn't know what he was talking about. He'd never given up anything in his life for her. Everything he had was because of her. How could he say that?
"You're not making sense, Stan." Toni searched his face for some clue, some hint of what was behind this strange reaction of his.
"Yes, I'm making sense," he whispered, hoarsely. "Now I'm making sense." He walked past her toward the bedroom.
"What are you doing?" Toni stood in the doorway and watched Stan pull a valise out of his closet. "Where are you going at this time of night?"
Stan refused to answer. He began to pack. Quickly.
Toni ran over to the bed. She saw the shirts and underwear piling up in the valise. She moved to unpack them. Stan pushed her away.
"You can't just run out in the middle of the night." Toni knew her protest was weak. She was losing ground. "What if somebody sees you?"
Stan turned around and stared levelly at her and she felt herself crumble before him.
She would not have it. "You just listen to me, Stan."
Toni pitched her voice high and harsh. He wouldn't dare ignore her now. "We'll talk about this when you're calm. There's no reason for you to leave."
"Get out of my way, please." Stan walked past her to his dresser. He began choosing sweaters to take with him.
"Look, I had to do it," Toni spoke rapidly. She knew there wasn't much time left. "It meant getting you his job. Keeping Elliot out of the studio was the only way...."
Stan's eyes widened in momentary disbelief. Then Toni saw him assimilate the facts and gain momentum from them. He moved back to where his valise lay on the bed.
The fear combined with her anger and set her back in motion. She hurried to the bed and pulled his arms away from the clothing. "You're not going," she announced dryly. Maybe she could fake her way out of it.
"This time you're wrong." His words were soft, even.
"What's the matter with you?" she screamed at him. "Don't you realize what I've done for you? You're going to have Elliot's job. A big salary. Everything you've always wanted."
"No." Stan shook his head. "Everything you've always wanted. Count me out."
"Are you crazy?" Toni fought to understand his reasoning. "This is the big break. You're on top now."
He snapped the lid of his valise closed and pulled the bag off the bed. It fell on the floor with a resounding thump. "There won't be any job," he announced, shaking his head slowly. "I'm leaving the company first thing in the morning."
"Sure you are." Toni nodded in disgust. "And just what do you intend to do, retire?"
Stan looked directly at her, but he didn't seem to see Toni at all. "No, I'll probably go back to painting canvasses."
"I won't let you."
Stan's eyes seemed to snap back into focus and then grow sad. "There's nothing you can do to stop me," he said.
Toni watched him square his shoulders and stride out of the room. The man was losing his mind, she told herself. Probably the shock of finding out about Elliot. "Wait a minute, Stan," she called, making her voice gender, as she ran after him.
Stan was in the living room, taking a cigarette out of the box on the coffee table. She halted abruptly in the doorway. The situation obviously required a little more tact, she told herself. "Why don't you at least wait until morning, before you go?" She humored him.
"There's nothing to wait for," he answered, his back still toward her.
She leaned against the doorframe and decided to put him on the defensive. Anything to stall for time until he simmered down. At least he was talking to her. That was something of an encouragement. "The way you're running, I could almost believe you've got another woman waiting for you."
"You're right. I do." His voice was crisp and clear now, as if someone had suddenly injected a shot of adrenalin into his spirit. "I have another woman waiting for me."
She didn't believe him, but she knew this was no time to quibble. She felt the panic taking hold of her. She knew she must use everything at her disposal to keep him there-to hold onto him until he was receptive again.
And so she cried. The way she had cried so many times before when Stan had given her a hard time ... or tried to.
"Cut that out," he ordered. "It won't do you any good."
Toni felt herself slipping backward again. She was frantic. Without allowing herself to concede to the signs of failure around her, she pushed herself forward ... right into Stan's arms.
"Please let me get out of here." Stan's voice cracked slightly. "I don't want you to make a scene."
"Please ... don't do this to me," she begged, wrapping her arms around his neck and locking her fingers together for insurance. "Don't leave me here by myself."
"You'll do fine," he said above her.
Toni closed her eyes and tried to think. Even if Stan really did have another woman ... so what? She could hold him here, if he let her get at him. She knew all the tricks-everything a man liked. Elliot had taught her plenty. And Stan couldn't be so much different. Men were men.
She pulled his head down and made him kiss her. She felt the indifference on his lips, in his rigid posture. It inspired her. For the first time in years, she truly wanted to make love to her husband. To seduce him, and make him forget that other women even existed....
She rubbed her breasts slowly across his chest and slid her tongue into his mouth.
Stan tensed and tried to pull himself away. Toni held on tight, and pressed her hips up close. The slow, sensual undulations of her belly sent a tremor of excitement through his body. Toni felt it. It wasn't too late after all. She could still overcome his will with her body.
She reached down and ran the tips of her fingers up against the hardness of Stan's thigh. She felt his leg twitch at the contact. She moved still higher. She remembered what Elliot liked her to do and she did it to Stan.
Stan began to sway slowly, back and forth. She felt his fingers travel reluctantly to the small of her back. Then they moved downward, over her hips. The material of her robe slid upward as his palms rubbed over her naked flesh....
Toni reached for the buckle of his belt. She knew what she must do, and it revolted her. And yet, she continued to fumble with the clasp. Stan would stay with her. He would always stay with her. It was foolish of him even to think of leaving....
"Please Toni ... don't." Stan's voice was scratchy. He bit the lobe of her ear, panting.
"Come on, you know you want me to," she purred, beginning to undress him.
Stan moaned softly and tried to stop her. She continued with her movements, despite his weak protests. He was hooked. Forever and forever. She could have laughed.
His gasp pierced the air. Toni smiled confidently and massaged his flesh. He was yielding. He disgusted her. Stan didn't know it, but she was really doing him a favor by letting him remain with her. Not the other way around.
"Toni ... Toni...."
His voice trailed off as she found his mouth and covered it with her own. She reached for his hand and placed it on her naked breast. Now she felt better. With his flesh on her own, the desire returned and grew stronger-even stronger than it had been with Elliot.
Soon, Toni told herself as she guided his mouth to her throbbing nipple. Soon, she would satisfy with Stan, the need that Elliot had sparked in her. She would make Stan do everything that she had learned to enjoy. She would make her husband a slave to her body. And then they would both be happy.
"Come over here ... sit down on the couch and watch me," Toni whispered, taking his hand and leading him across the room.
As if in mesmerized silence, Stan sat and watched Toni move. She ran her tongue over her lips and pulled open the sash on her robe. Slowly, she let the garment fall open, revealing her naked flesh, warm and eager, beneath.
She stopped and posed, the way Elliot had taught her. She saw Stan's mouth fall open at the sight of her, willing and unashamed. Very good, she told herself. Stan was getting heated up. Soon, he'd race across the room, wild to possess her.
She let the robe fall to the rug.
"Don't you like my body, lover?" she crooned, bending over and allowing her breasts to hang, unhidden from his sight. She remembered what Elliot had liked and she moved to recreate the cause of his desire. Long crimson fingernails played with the dark points of her breasts. She swayed back and forth, sighing with self-inflicted pleasure, beckoning with her body for Stan to partake of its treasure....
Stan got up off the couch.
Toni smiled liquidly. She had been right, after all. He was no better than Elliot ... than any other man.
She watched him walk across the room ... And out to the front door.
"What's the matter? Come back here!" Toni called to him. Her voice was an agonized shriek.
Stan looked at her and then picked up his valise. "You're disgusting," was all he said, before he left.
Toni fell onto the sofa, a crumpled heap of churning flesh. She felt her hand sliding over her own body, but she couldn't stop it. Slowly, she stretched herself out along the sofa.
It was no good. She knew it wouldn't work. Being alone was worse than....
With trembling fingers, she reached over to the phone and dialed Eva Stillwell's number....
