Vicky posed shamelessly for him, purposefully adjusting the scooped neckline of the dress so Perry could get a good view of her breasts. Her body felt hot and expectant, as it always did when he stared at her that way.
"What would you do if I didn't come here anymore?" he asked.
Vicky felt her blood turn cold. "Don't say that."
He laughed. "What would you do?"
"I'd go crazy."
"Would you go back to being a good wife to your husband?"
"No . .
"It's just me, huh?"
Vicky closed her eyes. "Just you, Perry. Just you."
She trembled as he moved close to her. A thrill swept up her body as his hands, his rough hands, roamed brazenly over the silken dress. He made no attempt to kiss her so she stood quietly, keeping her eyes closed, as he loosened the dress and slipped it up over her head. The hands resumed their explorations, igniting new fires within her, increasing the terrible expectation that caused her to shiver uncontrollably.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, stripping her slowly.
Vicky shuddered heatedly. "Oh, yes. Tell me. Talk to me. Tell me what I am. Tell me what you want. Tell me everything."
CHAPTER ONE
Vicky Landis stood before the full-length mirror on her bedroom closet door and surveyed herself with a glow of exhilaration. The abundant auburn hair that normally cascaded about her shoulders in young defiance was piled high in sophistication today. The wide-set blue-green eyes were decorously mascaraed and shadowed in deference to the occasion. Vicky stifled a giggle. Why was it so important for the bride to look virginal?
"Vicky, are you going to stand there dreaming all day?" Her mother bustled into the bedroom, crossed to the bed to pick up-with a reverence Vicky didn't share-the white satin bridal gown that had served four older sisters before today. "I can't for the life of me see why Bob and you can't stay for your own wedding reception."
"What for?" Vicky flipped with a pert grin. "The words have been said-it's legal now."
Vicky pretended to be adjusting the black lace bra, that displayed rather than restrained the delectable high rise of creamy white breasts. She didn't know why she made a point of shocking her mother, unless it was because of her intense dislike of phoniness. And Vicky suspected that her mother's high moral tone concealed a most satisfactory sex life. Her father, before his death three years earlier, had been warm, frank, and demonstrative-and Vicky had loved his earthiness, his delight with life.
"You be sure to write me, Vicky," her mother said nervously. "Everything's happened so fast, you've just taken my breath away."
"But you managed a splashy wedding," Vicky reminded, then leaned forward impulsively to kiss her mother. "Don't look so upset. I'm not the first girl who got married six weeks after she met the fellow."
"I just hope everything works out all right," Mrs. Coleman said with an edge of annoyance.
"It'll be fine," Vicky insisted. "Better get down to your reception. You'll see us when we try to sneak past the stairs."
Her mother had never been able to approve thoroughly of her, Vicky had long since recognized. The others fitted the pattern, were carbons of their mother. Only Vicky was solely her father's child. God, she was getting out of this town! Going to live in New York! Fabulous place, fabulous people, fabulous guy. Excitement stirred in her as she thought about Bob. So good-looking, so intense behind that calm exterior, so bursting with ambition. She would have popped her cork if she had to marry the kind of fellow her sisters married, live their dull, sedate lives. She was nineteen and ripe for living.
Vicky pulled the smartly tailored suit down from the closet. That shade of cinnamon was great with her hair and skin. She stepped into the skirt, leaned forward to retrieve her blouse from the back of a
-chair where it had been draped before the wedding ceremony. Not even a tailored suit could disguise the way she was built. She was glad she was stacked. Bob could get so worked up, just looking at her!
Vicky kicked off the white pumps, stepped into her traveling shoes. A motel tonight, by tomorrow night New York. What was the name of the motel where they were stopping? She giggled, remembering. It sounded like a real swinging place, complete with TV, air-conditioning and continental breakfasts. She had never been to a motel with a man. She had never been with a man. Vicky's eyes crinkled in laughter. It was kooky, the way her mother was always on edge about how far Vicky would go on a date, when of all five sisters she alone went to the altar a virgin.
"Honey?" Bob's voice called with an undertone of expectancy.
"For heaven sake, come on in," she ordered, her face aglow.
She knew from the second date she was wild about Bob. What luck, that his company sent him here for a six week orientation at the factory before he went out selling! Before Bob, she had dated kids. Kids were easy to handle. She had promised herself long ago that when she went the limit with a fellow, he'd have to be a man, somebody who knew all the angles. Sure, she had been tempted sometimes-she had nearly died a couple of times, necking on the back seat of a car. Only Vicky was stubborn-she'd made up her mind to hold out for the best. The best was Bob Landis.
"Think we can get out of here without a mass attack?" Bob grinned good-humoredly, yet Vicky felt an unfamiliar nervousness in him.
Bob was twenty-eight. He must have had lots of girls by now, with his quiet good looks. It must make a fellow nervous to give that all up for one girl. What would she do if she caught Bob playing around? Vicky thought with a tremor of anguish. She couldn't stand sharing. She remembered Renee, the girl who had been her roommate in the hospital when she had her appendix out last year. They had spent hours talking about Renee's husband, who was an engineer and away from home a lot. Renee had shrugged her shoulders and said, "So he finds himself a little girl for a few nights-there's still enough for me." Renee with the passionate body and the cool logic. She would want to kill the other girl, Vicky thought, already growing warm at the prospect.
"Hey, what's sizzling in you?" Bob chided, coming in close.
"What do you think?" Her eyes mocked, mirroring the desire that suddenly skyrocketed through her at his nearness. He had a way of looking at her, like now, that made her tingle inside.
"Let's get this escape bit over," he murmured softly, his hands caressing her shoulders for a moment. "The car's out front, the bags loaded into the trunk. I want to run out on the celebration."
"Okay, bridegroom," she agreed with provocative demureness. No delicate, retiring bride for Bob tonight, she promised herself exultantly. He would find out he had picked himself a passionate wife. If he didn't already know.
They sped down the parkway in the late spring twilight, with Vicky's head cradled against Bob's shoulder as he drove. Six weeks and one day ago she hadn't known Bob Landis walked the face of the earth, and now she was leaving her world behind to share his.
"I hope your sister likes me," she said, a hand caressing his arm. She wondered if the bit about their children being down with the measles was a dodge to keep them from coming to the wedding. It had probably happened too fast, Vicky thought uneasily, for a sister who was almost a thousand miles away.
"Claudia's great," Bob said with the veneration that somehow piqued Vicky. But then Claudia was ten years older than Bob; she had been as active in raising him as their mother, the way Bob told it. His father had died when Bob was two. "I know you'll like her, Vicky," Bob added warmly.
But he hadn't said, "Claudia will like you," Vicky noted with an odd apprehension. Was Claudia going to be one of those women who looked at Vicky and got a bundle of suspicious ideas? There were plenty who did. L: you were flat-chested and flat-bottomed and ethereal, other women trusted you. Vicky struck out on all three counts, she readily admitted.
"Bob, how far to the motel?" No more pretending she wasn't the first to catch on to every risque joke. No more behaving as though she didn't turn into fire every time Bob's body brushed hers. She was a woman now. She could act like one.
"About seven miles, honey." Bob kept his eyes on the road ahead.
What would Bob say if she told him to pull off at the next spot along the way and make love to her? She was tempted. But some newly sensitized intuition told her not to.
Vicky thought about the motel where Bob had made reservations in advance. Had he stopped there before with women? Would the owners hide their smiles and think, ah, he's got himself a new one this time? She wouldn't care, Vicky thought in heady triumph. She had married him. Her mind flitted to the smart new luggage stacked high in the trunk, the clothes she had bought with a frantic abandon even while her mother exhorted against the hasty marriage. There was something deliciously wicked about the sheer black ballerina nightie and peignoir she had bought for tonight. It made her look like an expensive call girl. Not that she planned on wearing the nightie and peignoir long! Her mother had looked so pained when she saw it, as though it weren't quite decent to display passion except in the dark and under the blankets.
"Bob," she murmured softly, a hand on his thigh. "I love you like crazy."
"You'd better," he said with a low laugh, though the way the car swerved for an instant told her she had caught him unawares. "Or I'd whack the daylights out of you."
"Would you?" she challenged.
"What are you, a masochist?" he chided reproachfully, and Vicky was astonished to catch a note of self-consciousness in him. This was really a switch! The bridegroom was nervous!
"I'm a passionate wench," she teased. "Do I scare you?" Why couldn't he stop somewhere, she thought with simmering desire. Why couldn't he pull off at the side of the road and stop playing this cool game? Her temperature must be hitting the boiling point. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She wanted Bob to kiss her now, this minute, and she wanted his hands on her breasts-stroking, teasing the nipples that even now hardened as she imagined his fingers imprisoning their pinkness. "Well?" she drawled as he remained silent. "Do I frighten you?"
"I'd hate a frigid woman," he retaliated, and for a fleeting instant she saw the tenderness glow through the impassive exterior he made a cult of retaining. "Nineteen and making noises like a woman who knows the score. Sure you're not all talk?"
"You waiting for proof?" The hand on his leg moved a bit, and she felt him stiffen.
"What have you been drinking? I thought the champagne was for the reception!" His eyes never left the ribbon of road ahead of them.
"Do I shock you?" she laughed.
She was the one who was shocked, Vicky thought, a strange coldness touching her. She ought to be able to talk any way to Bob. He was her husband. They were going to share everything there was to share in life. She inspected him covertly in the dusky shadows of the car. What was he thinking right now? Was he suddenly doubting the candid story she had related about her past love life?
No man had ever slept with her. She had never even gone in for heavy petting, the way lots of the girls in her crowd had done. She'd been passionately kissed. Her breasts knew what it was like to be loved. But when the hands roamed south of the border, Vicky had firmly blown the whistle. Oh well, Bob would probably find out for himself in a little while, Vicky thought.
"Dig a cigarette out for me, will you, baby?"
"Coming right up," she chirped, reaching eagerly to comply.
It was silly to get herself all disturbed because Bob wasn't behaving exactly as she had drawn the sketch in her mind. She was going to have to grow up, learn about adjusting to marriage. Marriage meant taking someone else into your life, sharing. For the first time Vicky realized how little she honestly knew about Bob Landis. She knew he was about the best-looking man she had ever dated, that he was fun on a dinner date and at the movies. She loved being in his company. He excited her. But what about the everyday little things? What was he like when he was upset? Did he bellow in fury when he was crossed? How did he behave when he didn't feel well?
"We're practically at the motel," he said finally, and shot her a swift quizzical glance.
"I packed a bottle of champagne." She leaned towards him teasingly. "Not the domestic stuff. Imported. It's in my bag."
"You're acting as though we were off for a weekend of sin," he kidded, yet again Vicky was aware of a barrier rising between them. "Shall we let them think the marriage bit is the typical cover? That make you happier?"
"Nope," she insisted with a firmness that brought a flicker of astonishment from him. "I'm putting up a notice. Personal property!" The moment she said it, Vicky was warm with regret. That was the wrong way to talk to a man. They didn't like chains. She'd heard enough husband-wife bickering between her sisters to know that much.
"You're a character," he murmured reflectively. "Kid one minute, all woman the next." He was swinging off the road now towards the smart row of brick and glass-fronted motel units.
"All yours," she reminded, excitement rising to high tide. Who needed champagne tonight?
Bob parked in front of the office, left Vicky to go inside. Night was swiftly settling down about them. The discreetly closed drapes along the occupied units captured her attention. Were all those other couples making love, or preparing to make love? Were there newly marrieds like them behind some of those drapes, or men seeking a night of love with some girl picked up in a bar?
Bob was coming out of the office now, whistling briskly. He climbed behind the wheel, dropped the key into her lap with a grin.
"Hope you're not superstitious. We're in thirteen."
Bob slid the car into the parking area before their unit. She was surprised when he reached suddenly to pull her close, fastened his mouth hungrily to hers. Her arms tightened in relief. The pink lipsticked mouth parted. For a moment his tongue clashed with hers, and then he was withdrawing.
"Let's go inside," he said huskily.
The unit was attractively furnished, small but comfortable. Low lamps were strategically placed, all in a muted key. Vicky stood in the middle of the room, wanting to remember this. Bob placed her valise on one chair, his on another.
"Be careful of the bar supplies," she giggled. "It's in an insulated bag to keep it cool. We haven't been driving more than forty minutes-it should still be all right." All at once she fought an urge to chatter. Because she was here alone with Bob and she wanted to shuck away her clothes and have him teach her everything there was to know.
'I'll get some glasses," he said uneasily, heading for the kitchen unit.
Again Vicki wondered about other girls who had shared a motel room like this with Bob before tonight. She hated them, and at the same time she felt victorious because she had Bob not for one night but every night.
Her hands were unsteady as she fumbled in her valise for the insulated bag that protected the iced champagne. It was still cool. She had brought along a corkscrew, too, to be sure they could open it. Bob took off his jacket and hung it away in the closet before tackling the champagne. He had been brought up to be neat, she thought in a rush of affection. That much she had known before tonight. There was a wonderful control about him, too, that somehow was a challenge.
"Here 'tis," she said lightly, and felt a tremor building into a minor earthquake within her as his hand brushed hers in taking away the bottle. He felt it, too, she guessed instinctively. For a moment one hand reached to touch her breasts, then withdrew.
Vicky took off her jacket, hung it away besides Bob's. She went to her valise, pulled out the sheer blackness that was the nightie and peignoir. High-heeled silver mules because there was something infinitely sexy about high heels and a nightie. Bob was coming towards her with the two glasses in his hands. She reached for one, for the first time aware of a sense of unreality. Tonight would become a page in her memory book, never to be duplicated.
"To the bride," Bob whispered, his eyes holding hers.
"To the groom," she completed, exulting in the blaze she discovered in his dark eyes.
She sipped at the champagne, not needing its stimulation. Deliberately, provocative, she put down the glass, reached for the top button of her blouse, undid it, moved to the next, down the row of buttons until the not-so-sedate display of black lace caressing high white mounds burst before Bob's eyes. He cleared his throat, eyes fastened to the panting loveliness.
"I'll just be a minute," he said, striding across the room to pick up his valise, then disappearing into the bathroom.
Vicky shed her blouse and skirt, inspected the seductive sight of herself in bra and panties, the narrow black stretch of garter belt and garters. Quickly, she snaked out of the underthings, into the short black sheerness of the nightie, then the peignoir and the high-heeled silver mules. She wished there were a mirror, she thought impatiently. She wanted to see in minute detail what would meet Bob's eyes when he came out of the bathroom.
She walked across to the bed, draped herself across its width with careful attention to the view she would offer. Long legs seemingly carelessly draped, the peignoir open though its sheerness concealed nothing. Pink tips thrusting hard against the filmy nightie. Her mouth parted with excitement as he walked from the bathroom. Her perfume was a delicate invitation. The look on her provocatively young face was frank in its demands.
"Lord!" he swore softly. "Oh, baby!"
"More champagne?" She half rose on the bed, glorying in his reaction.
"No," he said quickly, pulling her to him, his mouth reaching impatiently for hers.
Her arms clasped behind his neck so that her breasts thrust hard against his chest. Her tongue played a frenzied game with his. His hands caressed her back, stroked the firm young rump. He was helping her to the floor, so that in her high heels she almost matched his height. Their bodies touched, breast to breast, belly to belly, thigh to thigh.
"Let's get rid of that thing," he said, fumbling with the peignoir.
"Let me." Impatience made them both clumsy. The peignoir finally lay in a silken heap across the foot of the bed. Her nightie was a swirl above her head, and then it joined the peignoir. The mass of auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders, lending her an air of wantonness.
"You're a gorgeous thing," he muttered tightly. "Hot little baby."
"I told you," she reminded huskily, reaching to take away the pajama jacket that kept him from her. She wanted to touch bare skin, the way he was touching her. He must spend hours under a sun lamp every week, she thought, to have that marvelous tan in May. He had a terrific body. "I like the way you're built," she said with candor as he tossed aside the jacket, reached to free himself of the trousers.
"I know what you'll like," he said with a harshness that took her by surprise. The sudden grasp of his hands sent her sprawling across the bed.
For a moment she felt fear, as though this were a stranger crouching above her with such fever. But then his hands cupped her breasts, delicately teased. His fingers caught a nipple. His mouth bore down upon the other. Vicky closed her eyes, enveloped in desire. Her body moved beneath the faint insinuations of his.
"Oh, Bob, I want you," she whispered exultantly. Her hands were tight at his shoulders, her body moving convulsively.
"Talk to me," he coaxed in satisfaction, his lips brushing the excited warmth of her torso. "Tell me how much you want this!"
"I'll go straight out of my mind," she warned. "I'll claw you to pieces." Laughter tempered the undercurrent of passion. "Oh, Bob!" She caught her breath as he stroked her velvet flesh. "Bob!"
She arched towards him, going out of her mind with the sweet anguish that his hands aroused in her. She couldn't bear it another moment, she thought in frenzy. Trembling, she sought to find him.
"Now?" he taunted hotly. "Now, baby?"
"Now!" she gasped, all of her on fire, almost not breathing in anticipation.
A low cry of surprise blended with pain rose in her throat, and then unleashed passion took over completely. She strained to meet him. She sought to claim him, all of him. Their bodies fighting the ageless battle for completion. She welcomed him, demanded, imprisoned. Together, they plunged, exultant, determined, joyous.
"You're great," he whispered huskily. "Baby, you're great!"
And then it was impossibly wonderful, the insane throbbing, the touching, the drowning in his passion.
"Oh, Bob! Bob! Let this never end! Never, never end!"
Vicky lay demurely beneath the sheet and a light blanket, the sheer blackness of her nightie all but masked. Now the room was in darkness, except for the silver spill of moonlight across the rug through a sliver of opened drapes. Afterwards, Bob had switched off the lamps. And then he had gone into the bathroom and she heard him fiddling with the shower. Why was he staying so long under the shower, she wondered, encased in a growing uneasiness. Why shower for fifteen minutes? Was there something unsanitary to him about making love? she asked herself in disbelief. Did Bob feel he had to wash away the touch of her?
The shower had stopped now, her ears told her. Her eyes were fastened to the tiny thread of fight that shone beneath the bathroom door. He was brushing his teeth, at absurd length. Stalling, she guessed with a tremor of astonished alarm. What had she done wrong that he didn't want to come out and face her? Had he been disgusted because she was passionate? Had he expected her to play some Victorian game of reticence? He knew she had never been to bed with a man before. It couldn't be jealousy. What?
Her head began to ache with the effort to think clearly. He had wanted her! He knew she wanted him! Wasn't that the right way, the good way? Or was he ridiculing himself now for going so far as marriage? Was he thinking that he could have had this any time he wanted it, without the responsibility of a wife? What the devil did her husband think? What had she done that was so desperately wrong that Bob didn't want to come out of that bathroom and lie down beside her again?
When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Vicky pretended to be asleep. She felt too insecure, too ill-at-ease now to be her usual flip, slightly provocative self. It was as though she had never really known Bob. He was a stranger, walking nervously about the darkness of her bedroom. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for a cigarette, found it, put it to his mouth and flicked on the lighter. His face was white and tense, in the momentary glow from the lighter.
Quickly, Vicky closed her eyes. She lay still, trying to stimulate the regular breathing of sleep. Feeling his gaze and guessing his relief at her apparent slumber. With sharpened awareness, she listened. Bob was opening the closet door. There was a sound of a hanger swinging against the wall, as though suddenly freed. His slippers made a faint scraping sound across the rug as he walked.
Vicky's eyes involuntarily widened in shock. She couldn't accept the sounds that met her ears. What was Bob doing at the door? Her eyes clung to his shadowed image as the door swung open. Bob puffed nervously at his cigarette, tightened his robe about him. Then he walked out into the night.
Bob closed the door behind him with care, not to assault the silence with this unexpected noise. Vicky hesitated, caught up in a mood of unreality. She slid from the bed, sped in bare feet to the window, to look out into the night. Her throat tightened as she watched Bob pace along the deserted circumference of the parking area, oddly incongruous in his robe and slippers before the line-up of cars bedded down for the night.
For the first time she realized the motel units were in horseshoe formation. Thirteen and a horseshoe, she thought, fighting a surge of hysteria. What had happened here tonight? Why was her husband pacing alone in the dark? What was wrong with her?
CHAPTER TWO
Vicky sat in assumed serenity beside Bob, watching the car consume the ribbon of parkway directly ahead of them. The nightmare quality of last night seemed unreal. She had almost convinced herself it had never happened.
"We're making great time, missing the commuter traffic this way," Bob said with satisfaction. "We ought to be at Claudia's in another ten minutes." He shot her a quick warm smile. "Dying to see your new home?"
"Out of my mind," Vicky laughed. "It was great that she was able to get us a six-month sublet that way, on such short notice." Bob wanted to hear her say that, Vicky supposed.
"Oh, leave it to Claudia." Bob's face relaxed in affection. "Most efficient gal you ever saw in your life. She left a terrific job to settle down and have a family."
"What's her husband like?" She wasn't jealous of Claudia, Vicky reasoned-only slightly alarmed at having to compete with such a paragon of perfection.
"Oh, Perry's a nice guy-good-natured, easygoing. Claudia's always after him to push ahead, though. She has the ambition you need to make it really big.
Too bad, in a way, that she gave up the career."
"Maybe she figured Perry and the kids were more important." Claudia had been working since she was seventeen, Vicky remembered. After thirteen years maybe she was glad enough to get out of the slave market! But instinct told Vicky not to suggest something so cross. Bob had sister Claudia up on a pedas-tal. A smart wife wouldn't try to shake that pedestal.
"Honey, you like the idea of our moving into a furnished sublet for a few months, don't you? Instead of my dinky little efficiency in the city. That way we don't have to rush about deciding where we want to five. Up to you, baby. Okay?"
"It's fine," Vicky lied quickly, because at first she had reacted with antagonism at the way Claudia had taken over. She might have asked before she took an option on the house. How could she know how they felt about moving out to the suburbs? Bob had been living in the center of Manhattan for three years.
"How are you going to like being one of the leisure class?" Bob mocked softly. "Bet you hop back into bed after you drive me to the station every morning!"
"I wouldn't have minded working," Vicky told him seriously. She'd worked two years in an office, after taking the business course. It was kooky, she thought in candid amusement, how she didn't resent the idea of having to work as long as there was a man to come home to at night. Back home her job had been -edged with dullness. But now, nothing would be dull, ever again, she thought exultantly. Not married to Bob.
"No need for you to work, Vicky," Bob took a hand from the wheel to pat hers complacently. "I do all right."
Bob had never said how much of a salary he earned, Vicky thought, puzzled. Why not? Didn't he think she had enough brains to understand about money? Or was it this wacky bit about looking on her as a kid? If she were old enough to be his wife, she was old enough to take on her share of the responsibilities of marriage.
They drove in silence, each enveloped in thought. Was Claudia furious about Bob's getting married so suddenly, Vicky wondered. Apprehension brushed her. She wished they were going to Bob's old apartment in town, which Claudia had also managed to sublet for Bob. Claudia could probably do anything. An odd sensation of compassion for Claudia's husband welled in her. How did it feel to be married to an efficiency expert?
They swung off the parkway, onto a road that weaved in eye-appealing curves through avenues of late vintage homes, flanked by meticulously kept grounds. Homes that spoke in eloquent tones of comfortable incomes and good living. They couldn't afford this, Vicky thought uneasily. She couldn't believe that Bob earned a salary in this bracket.
"There's the house, right there on the left. The grey colonial with the white shutters," Bob said, his voice colored with anticipation.
"It's lovely." Why had they come right on into New York, Vicky asked herself in panic. This was their honeymoon. Why couldn't they have gone somewhere else for this week that Bob had free? But whatever Bob suggested had been okay with her. She had been drunk with the wedding preparations.
Bob swung into the pebbled, circular driveway, came to a stop before the steps. Almost instantly the door flew open, and a slim, slacks-clad brunette came across to greet them.
"Bob, you made such marvelous time I" The brunette kissed Bob, held him off for a close scrutiny. "You look a bit thin."
"Claudia," Bob reached to pull Vicky into the circle. "What do you think of the bride? Was I wrong?" He was grinning like a fatuous sixteen-year-old, Vicky thought, fighting an attack of giggles.
"Hello, Vicky," Claudia said with a pleasant smile, and reached to kiss her. "Bob didn't tell us he'd picked a beauty."
"Hey, what are you trying to do, put me in bad?" he joshed, an arm about each as they headed into the house. Claudia had expected somebody quite different, Vicky realized from the covert inspection. "Remember, we're on our honeymoon."
"We were sorry you couldn't make it to the wedding," Vicky said, determined to be ingratiating. Clauda was nothing like she had expected either. A small, distinctly feminine brunette, who displayed none of the driving ambition, the astute brain that Vicky knew lurked behind that deceptively soft exterior. Vicky knew, also, that she was being taken apart inch by inch and analyzed. "How are the children?" She didn't want to sound like a simpering idiot, Vicky thought nervously, but Claudia gave her this feeling of being weighed and found wanting.
"The kids are fine. They're floating around outdoors. You'll meet them at dinner." Claudia ushered them into the spacious, meticulously furnished living room.
"What a beautiful room!" Vicky said spontaneously. A perfect room, with every minor detail planned for this result.
"Claudia should have been a professional decorator," Bob said, beaming at his sister. "I told you she was loaded with talent."
"Oh, come off it," Claudia laughed in rebuke. "Vicky will think I'm a monster before you're through."
"What's in the bar for a celebrating mood?" Bob demanded, sauntering in the direction of the liquor supply.
"Let me," Claudia said quickly.
For an instant Vicky felt an outward hostility as her eyes clashed with Claudia's, but the contact was so brief she suspected it might be an illusion. Claudia didn't want Bob messing up her lovely bar. He might break one of that glistening collection of glassware, Vicky thought, for the first time sensing a chink in the veneer of perfection. She wouldn't like to live in this house. There was no room in it for people.
"Was I wrong about Claudia?" Bob whispered. "Isn't she something?"
"I can't believe she's ten years older than you," Vicky evaded. "I think you made it up."
Claudia made a point of keeping herself young because it was part of the perfection bit, Vicky thought. Also, Perry was two or three years younger than his wife, she remembered.
"I'm not sure I ought to serve you anything harder than a coke," Claudia teased with a silken sweetness that was suspect to Vicky. "Bob, how did those young kids back there let an old wolf like you walk off with such a prize?"
Color stung Vicky's cheeks. "Oh, I've been out of diapers for quite a while," she said with determined lightness. "As a matter-of-fact, I chased Bob down."
"Must have left my track shoes down in New York." Bob dropped an arm about Vicky as he sipped at his drink, but Vicky sensed a self-consciousness in him. It was absurd for him to be disturbed because she was nine years younger!
The two children, nine-year-old Rolf and seven-year-old Michelle, wandered in shortly, to Vicky's relief. She could talk to the kids without feeling she was about to say something terribly wrong every minute. And then, when Claudia was beginning to be vexed with his lateness, Perry arrived.
"Darling, I expected you for dinner twenty minutes ago," Claudia rebuked.
"Sorry, honey," Perry apologized. "I figured you'd be showing the kids the house, anyway." His glance rested on Vicky in candid admiration.
"Oh, Perry," Claudia laughed. "They'll be living in the house for six whole months. What's the rush? Well have dinner, then you can take them over."
Perry was awfully nice, Vicky decided, inspecting him beneath the cover of convivial conversation. She understood what Bob meant about his being easygoing. Perry was the kind who'd go out of his way not to hurt somebody else. She doubted such tender inclinations in Claudia. Perry was really good-looking, too, in a quiet way that you might not notice at first. Claudia and Perry Mattox were an interesting looking couple, Vicky conceded, with their two perfect children and their perfect house.
But Vicky couldn't relax, despite her efforts to put herself at ease. Perry was outspoken in his approval of Bob's choice, but Claudia Mattox made her nervous. There was something in this too perfect household that nudged her instincts into wariness-' like a volcano long believed to be dormant. Vicky didn't want Bob and herself to be caught in the upheaval when the volcano erupted.
Vicky came awake slowly, with a comfortable reluctance. She could hear the just audible whirr of the electric razor in the bathroom. The realization that this morning was different from the parade of mornings behind them caught up with Vicky in sharp suddenness. This was Monday morning. Bob was back on the job. He had to catch a mid-morning flight to Chicago.
Vicky's eyes darkened with wistfulness. Golly, it was going to be awful. Three whole days alone in the house. Of course, Bob had fixed it for her to have dinner at Claudia's tonight, and the third night he'd be home in time for dinner. But she hated the thought of putting all those miles between them, even for three days. What would she do with herself? She didn't know a soul around. Only Claudia.
"Hi," she drawled in sultry invitation as Bob strode from the bathroom and headed for the dresser.
"Hi." His eyes rested tenderly on her for a moment before he turned to the business of selecting a fresh shirt. "You really want to bother with breakfast and driving me to the station? I could phone for a cab and have breakfast in town."
"Not on your life," Vicky tossed back with spirit. "You're not a bachelor anymore." He wasn't sorry, was he, she wondered in sudden alarm. Now what was the matter with her, thinking so morbidly? "Remember, Mister Landis, you have a wife to take care of such matters these days."
Vickey threw off the light summer blanket, deliberately letting the short, sheer nightie ride high along her slim thighs. Bob made love to her every night, but it was never like that first night, Vicky recalled in uneasy nostalgia. Why? Did he think she was made of china, the way he handled her with such care? Didn't he know she was a woman? Why did he put up barriers between them?
She excited Bob. Right this minute, she thought with heady triumph, aware of the way he forced his gaze away from the sight of her provocative semi-sheer nightie, and the slim waist and firm young rump were also on seductive display.
"Okay, wife," Bob ordered with affectionate sternness that seemed determined to route out desire, "get into the kitchen and start on those four-minute eggs." He grinned, disappeared again into the bathroom with the shirt.
Vicky reached for the quilted duster that lay across a chair. She hesitated fleetingly, pulled the nightie over her head and tossed it across the bed. She stepped into the duster, pulled the zipper into a state of demureness. Bob had lots of time before his train. Why couldn't he make love to her now? It didn't have to be in the night, hiding in darkness. Her breath quickened in anticipation.
She hurried out of the bedroom, down the corridor that led to the kitchen. She'd put the coffee up, on a low fight so it wouldn't boil over. Vicky opened the cabinet, pulled down the coffee, aware of a hammering low within her. Why couldn't it be the way it was that first night? Her fault, she wondered in belated alarm? She had shrunk from being aggressive because maybe a husband preferred to be the one. But why did you have to play games if you were in love with a man? Why couldn't she just throw her arms about Bob and say she wanted him like crazy, right now?
Her hands were unsteady as she measured coffee into the percolator. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the kitchen sink. Her eyes glowed. Pinkness warmed her cheeks. She reached for a lipstick kept in readiness, then rejected it. She looked about fifteen this way, but what a passionate fifteen!
Vicky walked back into the master bedroom. Every nerve in her tingled expectantly.
"Coffee's up," she announced, watching Bob brush the closely cropped hair into sliming neatness. "My, you look handsome."
She walked across the rug to nuzzle behind him, her arms about his waist. Excitement cycloned within her. Why couldn't he turn around right now and make love to her? It didn't matter that the sun was streaming through the half-opened blinds, that outside the morning traffic whirled past. They could close the drapes, forget the outside world.
"Hey, what's this?" Bob kidded, yet Vicky knew her closeness triggered passion in him. Funny, she thought in a rush of tenderness, you learned the little signs that were dead giveaways. Like that crazy vein in his forehead that always stood out, the way it was doing now.
"Your wife's making a pass at you," she whispered, a hand at the zipper of the duster. Bob swung around. The zipper had glided noiselessly down its length, parting to offer the lushness of pink-tipped white breasts, panting in eagerness, the small flat pelvis that already arched in welcome.
"Hey, character, you want me to miss my plane?" he reproached. His eyes were traitorous, flagrantly advertising his own desire. His tongue encircled his mouth, hungry for the taste of her, Vicky thought, fighting frustration. Why was he pulling the zipper up the front of the duster? "What's with the Sadie Thompson act?" he demanded, masking the annoyance with a playful slap across her rump. "I know you're irresistible!"
Vicky sat behind the wheel of the car, watching the train pull out of the station. Then, with the other small army of suburban wives, she slowly -edged the car out of the parking area into one stream of traffic shooting off from the station. She dallied with the prospect of stopping off in town for coffee, dismissed it as subterfuge. She had to go back to the house. It would be just as repugnant thirty minutes later.
As she turned into her own street, Vicky noticed the tall dark-haired girl scanning the headlines of the morning paper. That must be Olivia Sanders, Vicky guessed. They'd caught fleeting glimpses of her and her husband-Claudia said his name was Chuck and he was going places in music publicity. Claudia didn't put it into words, but her dislike for Olivia Sanders had been obvious. Was it because Olivia was flamboyantly attractive, and probably no more than twenty-three?
Vicky pulled to a stop in her own driveway, feeling a sudden kinship for the other girl. Olivia was watching her with a friendly smile.
"Come on over and let me make you coffee," Olivia Sanders invited. "I figure the honeymoon is over by now." Laughter warmed her interestingly chiseled features.
"Nothing's a secret around here, is it?" Vicky smiled in return, welcoming the friendliness of the other girl.
"The word got out that Claudia Mattox's brother and his bride were moving in. Oh, I'm Olivia Sanders." She held open the door for Vicky to enter. "As though you don't know. I saw Bob go off with the briefcase so I figured you'd be on the suburban torture rack along with the rest of us."
"Don't you like it out here?" Vicky asked.
"Right now I don't know what I like," Olivia said, with candor. "We bought the house about eight months ago, and it sounded like a fine idea then. After pounding a typewriter for four years, I thought it'd be the greatest." She led Vicky out to a starkly modern kitchen that shrieked of Chuck's financial success.
"I didn't know we'd be living out here, actually," Vicky confessed. "I mean, Bob and I were married back home and, well, you know how out-of-towners picture New York. All skyscrapers and thirty-floor apartment houses!"
"And here you are with a flock of other wives in the surburban trap," Olivia flipped. "You're younger than most. I'm twenty-three-that's kind of young, too. I get the feeling sometimes when I walk into some affair that they'd all like to put their husbands under lock and key. You know, some of the men aren't bad at all. You wonder how they ever got caught with such creepy broads." She watched Vicky from beneath extravagant lashes, that even at this hour were heavily mascaraed. "There's a teacher at the high school. Zowiel If he doesn't get raped by some hot little teenager, I'll be amazed. There's the pharmacist down at Loring's, who has a way of looking at you and talking about nothing at all." Olivia crinkled up her nose. "You know what I mean-you can just read his mind and it's right in bed. His wife's pregnant constantly, and the story goes she won't let him near her after the second month, so you can imagine what happens when he makes a personal delivery," Olivia drawled. "I think I'll develop a mad headache one day this week, when Chuck's working late." She stopped talking to inspect Vicky with quizzical frankness. "Do I shock the hell out of you?"
"No," Vicky said with a smile. "You talk the way you feel. What's wrong with that?"
"I'm glad you moved next door," Olivia said. "We ought to have fun together." Olivia checked her watch. "Anything special on your schedule for today?"
"Not till dinner time. Unless you call making a bed special," Vicky admitted, her face aglow with anticipation. It was a relief to talk to somebody practically her own age, Vicky realized with shock. With Claudia she was always wondering when she was going to say something wrong. This whole week she had spoken to nobody except Bob, Claudia, and Perry. No wonder she was flipping her lid.
"I have to pick up some junk at the hardware store. Rods and stuff for new drapes. Chuck's on an entertainment kick, for business, so I have to practically redo the house. He's invited a mob out for cocktails Saturday afternoon. Come on over with Bob, if he's in town. If he's not, come alone-there'll be plenty of men to go around."
"Bob's coming back Wednesday," Vicky said quickly. "The party sounds like fun."
"So if you're not busy this morning," Olivia continued, "come on down with me to shop and we can run in for lunch somewhere. I have to be back by two, though. Chuck's bringing some couple out for dinner, so I want to do my hair."
"Fine," Vicky agreed. "I'd better run home and change, though." She viewed the dark green Bermuda shorts and sweater doubtfully.
"Don't be silly," Olivia laughed. "That's practically the uniform around here. I put on slacks because I usually freeze to death in the morning when I drive Chuck to the station. He's been going in so damn early lately." Her eyes narrowed speculatively. "Probably meeting some blonde for early morning shenanigans." She smiled at the look of surprise on Vicky's face. "Oh, I let him play, so long as he comes home to me. That way, he's got no room for complaint if I wander off the range. See?" She gestured eloquently.
"It doesn't bother you?" Vicky stammered in curiosity, self-conscious yet compelled to inquire. "I think I'd want to kill any girl who messed around with Bob."
Olivia walked across to the counter range, collected the percolator, headed back for the breakfast nook. "I figure this is a terrific set-up," Olivia said candidly as she filled Vicky's mug to the top again.
"I like excitement, things happening. What's the use of lying-I like men!" Her eyes challenged Vicky's for a moment. "So long as I'm careful, why not?"
"What about Chuck?" Vicky asked. "Suppose he finds out?" She knew there were plenty of wives who played around, but Olivia's blithe admissions made her faintly uneasy.
"If Chuck finds out, what can he do?" Olivia's face tightened, and Vicky thought, she's not so cold and matter-of-fact about this as she pretends. Maybe Olivia was reacting to Chuck's woman-chasing, she decided in sympathy. "Where does Chuck come off making threats?" Olivia demanded flippantly. "I know every time he picks up with a new babe. I have a pipeline down in the city. I keep score." Olivia checked her watch with the kitchen clock. "I think I'll change, then well run downtown, okay? Won't take me more than two minutes. There are cigarettes on the counter."
Vicky was conscious of the admiring male glances Olivia and she were collecting as they sauntered along Main Street. They were a striking pair, she realized in a surge of exhilaration. The redhead and the brunette, both tall and built. She glowed with hidden laughter at the frank approval Olivia sent in the direction of their windowed reflection.
"We do okay," Olivia said with satisfaction. "Did you see the guy in the hardware store? I get him steamed up enough when I go in alone, but the two of us, wow!"
"Ready for lunch? Or do you have more shopping?" Vicky asked.
This was a real switch from the drab house talk she'd drowned in around Claudia. Claudia talked about two things: her house and her kids. This was a fresh view of daytime in suburbia. Both frightening and fascinating. She remembered the glib talk about the ersatz sex in business offices. The stay-at-home housewife had a brand of her own.
"Lunch time," Olivia decreed. "The place down at the corner. The joint really jumps around this time-it's a hangout for the high school crowd. The ones who don't dig the school cafeteria."
Olivia and Vicky picked up speed, their destination set. She was starving, Vicky realized. She hadn't really eaten breakfast, had just watched Bob. For a moment her fight mood threatened to evaporate. But she wouldn't think about those few moments in the bedroom this morning. Not now. Later.
"Let's sit over there," Olivia said, spying a booth as they walked into the rapidly filling up luncheonette. The jukebox was beating out a frantic rock n' roll record and in the rear a couple were twisting in the aisles, oblivious of the ribald jibes.
Vicky slid into the booth, glancing about with interest. Golly, it almost made her forget that she had been out of high school for two years.
"A burger and coffee, Joe," Olivia called across to the waiter at the booth opposite theirs. "What about you, sweetie?" she consulted Vicky.
"Same," Vicky said, enjoying the young mood of the place.
"Two, Joe," Olivia repeated, her eyes straying about the room. She swung about to watch the door, and Vicky surmised she was annoyed at sitting in the seat that faced the rear.
Olivia's face took on a look of expectancy, and then she was settling down, ignoring the doorway. Vicky noticed the six-foot blond with a build like a health magazine cover. He was in intense conversation with a sweatered teenager. It was difficult to figure out if the husky blond was a student or a worker in the neighborhood. He could be seventeen or he could be twenty-one. But from the fleeting clash of Olivia's eyes and his, Vicky knew there was something clandestine between the two.
"These high school kids are characters, you know," ' Olivia drawled, her eyes kindling despite the casual tone of her voice. "They make me feel absolutely ancient."
The six-footer was making his way over to their table, with seeming surprise at encountering Olivia.
"Hi, babe," he murmured with languorous huskiness that Vicky knew was plotted. "What are you doing on the loose this time of day?" He didn't sit down. His eyes left Olivia now to take inventory of Vicky. "New face in town." He wasn't inspecting her the way a kid would, Vicky thought. She might have been sitting there without a stitch on. "Great."
"You busy this afternoon?" Olivia asked, grey eyes smoldering. "We have crab grass out in the back that needs a strong male hand."
"Okay," he said, his glance still busy with Vicky. "What about your friend? She have crab grass problems?"
"Missus Vicky Landis, Bert Connors," Olivia introduced, not enthusiastic about Bert's interest in her new neighbor. "Bert's not bad for a kid. With crab grass I mean," she added with a glint of dry humor.
"Hi, Vicky. I figured you for a new senior around here. These child brides," he jibed. "Don't know what our civilization's coming to." His gaze wandered across the room to a buddy who was signaling furiously. "See you later, Missus Sanders." It was a mockery, the way he drawled out the "Missus Sanders."
"Isn't he a gorgeous chunk of man?" Olivia sighed extravagantly.
"He's a kid," Vicky protested, overly strongly because for a few minutes she had forgot he was a kid.
"Only on his birth certificate," Olivia corrected. "Bert Connors is a one-man stud farm around this town. He could make the average husband in this town turn green with envy. He's been in and out of beds since he was fourteen, the way I hear it. There's nothing he doesn't know." One long, lacquered fingernail beat a tattoo on the table top. "Ever see a body like that? Wait till you see him in swimming trunks." Her eyes were smoldering as they swung about to find Bert Connors.
Vicky wasn't astonished, two hours later, when she saw Bert Connors, whistling and self-assured, stroll into the Sanders' house, nor was she astonished to see the tall, over-heated body of Vicky Sanders thrust itself with abandon against the hard, lean frame of Bert Connors, in the master bedroom directly opposite her own master bedroom. No rejection here, the way she was rejected this morning!
It was ridiculous to stand watching like a peeping Tom, Vicky rebuked herself. But she couldn't pull her eyes away from the vision of Bert's hands roaming about the slightly weaving torso, so frank in its demands. Excitement simmered low within her, ignited with painful suddenness. Her breasts ached with a need to be touched as Bert was touching Olivia. The core of her shrieked of its hunger.
Vicky was almost glad when Bert strode to the window and pulled the drapes tight. She crossed to her own bed, and threw herself face down across it. Why had Bob rejected her that way this morning? He behaved as though she were some cheap little slut who disgusted him. Bert Connors didn't feel that way about her. Maybe he wished he were over here right now, instead of with Olivia Sanders!
CHAPTER THREE
The phone rang and Vicky rushed to answer.
"Hello," she said breathlessly, knowing before she heard his voice that it would be Bob.
"Hi, baby," Bob said warmly. "I'm in New York. I'll be home on the eight-fourteen."
"I'll meet you," Vicky said instantly, every cell in her impatient for reconciliation.
"I'll take a cab from the station," Bob decided. "Have dinner on the table. I'm starving, for food and the sight of you."
"Bob, I missed you so," she whispered intensely. "You don't know!"
"You think you've cornered that market?" he jibed with an undercurrent of excitement. "I can't ( wait to get home."
"Don't you dare miss your train," Vicky laughed.
"See you in an hour and twenty minutes," Bob promised and hung up.
Vicky put the phone down slowly, caught up in the pleasure of Bob's return. It seemed so long since she had driven Bob to the station. It seemed more than just two nights of sleeping without Bob beside her. Some of the pleasure ebbed away as Vicky remembered Monday morning. She had offered herself to her husband, and he had refused the offering. But maybe he had been keyed up about the trip. They'd make up for that tonight, Vicky promised herself.
Tonight would be a celebration, Vicky planned. Their first separation, and now Bob was coming home. The dinner had-been plotted out carefully in Vicky's mind yesterday. Everything was in readiness, ready to be popped into the oven. Champagne, she decided in reckless abandon, and reached to phone the liquor store. There was a temporary barrier about delivery, but finally Vicky's insistence won through. The man promised to give the champagne priority.
With dinner in the oven, the arrival of the champagne iminent, Vicky went into the master bedroom to decide about clothes. Not a nightie and peignor, she rejected, though in her heart she would have delighted in welcoming Bob in something frankly provocative. But she was discovering this unexpectedly puritanical streak in him that was oddly out of place. A sheer white ballerina nightie, she decided, that could be temporarily masked by the fitted hostess gown. Yellow was a harmonious note with her auburn hair and blue-green eyes. Bob would like that.
Twenty minutes before Bob could possibly arrive, Vicky stood by in readiness. Did she look all right, she wondered in a flush of nervousness? The reflection that met her searching gaze was reassuring. The yellow hostess gown lovingly displayed the high rise of the full young breasts, emphasized her slim waist, hinted at the soft thighs beneath. Again, Vicky wore the high-heeled mules that made her almost as tall as Bob. Perfume, she remembered, and hurried to take Bob's favorite from its resting place on her dresser. Just a spray about her hair, in the valley between her breasts. In a burst of exuberance she crossed to the bed and sprayed the pillows. Laughter welled in her. She was acting like a nineteenth century courtesan in a French play!
The doorbell rang and Vicky ran through the house to answer, faintly annoyed at the intrusion. It couldn't possibly be Bob. And the champagne had arrived.
"Hi," Olivia greeted her, inspecting with a lifted eyebrow. "Don't tell me. Bob's due home."
"Any minute," Vicky admitted. "After all, I'm still a bride," she laughed self-consciously, aware that her anticipation shone through like a battery of flood lights. Okay, so she wasn't as sophisticated as Olivia Sanders.
"I thought you might like to go over to the play rehearsal," Olivia explained. "I've been drafted to do publicity. They figure some of Chuck's contacts might rub off on me. Anyhow, have fun," she drawled. "The best things in life are still free."
Vicky went back into the living room, tried to sit down and read a magazine, but it was futile. She was hungry for the sight of Bob, for the feel of his warmth against her. A pulse hammered away low within her, as she remembered how it could be with them. She tossed aside the magazine, went out to the kitchen to check the roast, though she knew it needed another five minutes. She felt the champagne, frowned about its slowness in chilling. Had she forgotten anything on the table? Another anxious check to make sure everything was in place. The doorbell rang again. Bob would use his key, she thought with feverish impatience. Who was it now? She walked swiftly through the sprawling house to the door, pulled it open.
"Hi, bride," Bob greeted her, his voice unfamiliarly husky.
"Oh, Bob!" She flung herself upon him as he moved into the foyer. "It seems so long!"
His mouth met hers, set off electric charges deep with her. His arms were almost bruising in their eagerness, and she felt a surge of triumph as excitement rose high in him. He loved her, she thought with joyous abandon. Just touching this way for a minute, and Bob wanted her the way she wanted him!
"Hey, that's quite a welcome," he approved, pulling away, leaving her shaky inside. "I'll have to make a habit of going away regularly!"
"Don't you dare." Color blazed in her cheeks. The blue-green eyes were darkly passionate. They were going to have to play the game out, she thought restlessly. Dinner, drinks, and then they could go respectably to bed. When all she craved at this moment was to have Bob pick her up and carry her to any convenient place where they could wresde with their desire.
"What did you do with yourself all this time?" Bob dropped an arm about her waist as they walked into the living room.
"Waited for you," she said extravagantly. "Had dinner at Claudia's Monday night," she reported with deceptive demureness because this was what Bob obviously expected. "Saw Olivia Sanders next door a couple of times."
"The brunette," Bob asked. "Looks like a powerhouse."
"She is," Vicky laughed. "Now, you go wash up and I'll get dinner on the table." For a moment she swayed against him, hoping he'd reject such prosaic procedure.
"Take me three minutes." His eyes were opaque as they rested on her. What was he thinking, Vicky wondered in rebellion. What would be wrong about making love first, and having dinner afterwards?
Dinner was a fight, sparkling affair that, surprisingly, delighted Vicky. Bob could be such a marvelous companion, she thought with pleasure. He was like some man in pursuit of a desirable girl for a night, she decided exuberantly. She liked being that desirable girl, played it to the hilt.
"Let's have our coffee in the bedroom," she suggested with a provocative twinkle. "Real Sybaritic comfort." She didn't feel like a nineteen-year-old bride. She felt like a sophisticated woman on a rendezvous with an exciting man. Marvelous!
"Okay," he agreed. "I'll help you bring it in."
"How was the trip?" Vicky asked belatedly as they prepared the tray.
"All right," Bob said briefly. "Usual business routine." He reached for the tray. "Everything here?"
"Everything," Vicky approved. Why would Bob never discuss business with her? Did he think she was such a featherbrain she couldn't understand? She'd only worked for two years, but her bosses had considered her efficient.
She followed Bob into the bedroom, watched him set the tray on the night table. Slowly she undid the buttons down the front of the yellow hostess gown. Bob disappeared into the bathroom. He was such a character, the way he always closed the door. She dropped the hostess gown across a chair, walked across to the bed, arranged herself with provocative intent. Her hair loose about her shoulders, the short nightie barely touching her knees. She measured sugar into both cups. Bob drank his coffee black, and on a whim she had begun to do the same.
"You look like a fascinating little hussy," Bob announced from the doorway, his voice husky. He was in pajamas and robe.
"Why don't you come and find out?" Vicky invited.
"With all that hot coffee around?" Bob chuckled unexpectedly.
"We can get rid of it," Vicky taunted. There was heat enough in her.
Bob sat on the edge of the bed, reached for a cup, sipped at it.
"You don't really want that, do you?" Vicky trembled at his nearness, at the touch of his leg against hers.
"No." His eyes met hers, and there was only candid desire now. "I'll get rid of this." He took the tray and crossed to the dresser, deposited it there.
"Bob, hurry back," she coaxed.
He strode across the room, swept her hard against him. Her pale pink mouth parted eagerly to meet his. Their tongues clashed. His hands roamed about the charming pretense of a nightie, sending waves of excitement through her. It wasn't enough to capture his mouth this way, she thought in restless torment. All of her cried to be fulfilled.
"Hot little baby," he muttered, almost in reluctance. "You love this, don't you?" His hands stroked her flesh, teased her.
"Bob, yes," she whispered back, straining towards him.
He pulled the nightie above her head, dropped it on the floor. His fingers caught a stiffening pink tip, setting off fresh fires in her. His tongue dropped down to tease the nipple that wasn't between his fingers. A moan penetrated the silence.
"Vicky, you mean it, don't you?" he asked insistently. "You want me to love you this way!"
"Bob, yes!" How could he doubt it, she thought in sweet anguish, her body moving beneath his. Her mouth reached to touch his ear. The small pink tongue shot past her lips to penetrate the crevices of his ear. Her hand reached compulsively for him. "Darling, don't tease me."
The touch of him enflamed her. She moved to meet him, to welcome him.
"Oh, baby, that's good," Bob whispered hoarsely. "We're great together!"
And then there was no time for talk, only for the impossibly wonderful union, the knowing that any moment the world would burst in ecstasy. The only sound in the room was that of their labored breathing, the soaring echoes of passion that began in a low key in Vicky's throat and was now released in frank abandon.
"Sssh," Bob cautioned, his mouth covering hers.
Oh, god, she would go out of her mind, Vicky thought in dizzy excitement. She couldn't stand this! She couldn't stand it if he stopped!
The phone rang, and she heard Bob swear under his breath.
"Don't answer," she managed to protest. She didn't want him to leave her. Not yet Not just yet....
"Baby, I have to," he said regretfully. He reached for the phone while Vicky propped herself on one elbow and watched in reproach. "Hello."
Vicky watched as a look of guilt spread across his face, and instinctively she guessed it was Claudia at the other end of the line. Why must he always be on the defensive with Claudia? She listened as he embarked on a lengthy conversation with his sister, laced mostly with business talk. He wasn't reluctant to discuss business with his sister! Listening, Vicky was able to glean some information about the trip, understanding more than Bob would ever give her credit for understanding.
"Yes, Vicky's fine," Bob wound up briskly. "Well see you."
Bob didn't return to the bed. Instead, he walked over to the dresser where an opened pack of cigarettes lay in readiness. He was deliberately stalling with the cigarette; he didn't want to come back to the bed and her, Vicky thought wistfully. He was even avoiding looking at her! With a sense of having committed some wrong, without knowing what the wrong was, Vicky leaned to retrieve her nightie from the floor, pulled it over her head.
"I'll make us some fresh coffee," Bob said uncomfortably.
"Oh, honey," Vicky stopped him, speaking rapidly in a driving desire to make things right between them again. It was so awful. Minutes ago they were as close as two people could ever be, and then the phone rang and it was Claudia and now everything was wrong! "We've been invited to a cocktail party Saturday. Olivia Sanders next door. Mostly people from the city, that Chuck knows from business, but Olivia says they're all fascinating. She said they'll start dropping in around five-thirty or so," she wound up breathlessly. That sounded so young she thought in self-reproach, as though nobody she knew might be interesting.
"How can we go to their party when we're due at Claudia's for dinner?" Bob frowned. "With the kids, Claudia always serves dinner early-you know that." He was scowling, as though she were a child herself, who had just committed some grievous affront.
"You didn't tell me-" Vicky began.
"And don't you think you ought to consult me before accepting invitations?" Bob's voice was raised in anger. "Don't I have anything to say about these things? After all, Claudia is my sister!"
Vicky felt her face flaming. "I just said we were invited," she stammered. Why was Bob behaving this way? And she hadn't known about Claudia's dinner invitation!
"I'll get the coffee," Bob said tightly, taking the tray they'd left on the dresser earlier, in a much more convivial mood. He walked to the door, with Vicky's hurt-darkened eyes following him. At the door, he hesitated, turned slowly about to face her again. There was a look of guilt blended with remorse on his lean, handsome face. "Honey, I didn't mean to sound like such a tyrant. I just forgot you couldn't know about Claudia's invitation." He was silent a moment. "Well figure out a way to drop in at Olivia's for a while, then go on over to Claudia's. Okay?"
"Okay," Vicky smiled readily.
But nothing was okay, Vicky thought in alarm. Something was wrong in this marriage. She didn't really know Bob. She didn't know her husband at all....
CHAPTER FOUR
Vicky inspected her reflection doubtfully as she fumbled to put on an earring. No, no earrings, she decided, pulling away the one that was in place, dropping it with the other into her jewelry box. Festive noises were already drifting across the lawn from Olivia's house. The party was already going full strength. The laughter, the noisy chitchat filled Vicky with a pleasant anticipation.
"Almost ready?" Bob came leisurely from the bathroom, with the immaculate clean-cut look Vicky loved.
"Do I look all right?" She laughed, swirled around for his approval. Bob had decreed they'd spend an hour at the party, then move on to Claudia's. It had all been arranged with Claudia via telephone. "I'm not over-dressed?" She wanted to look right, she thought with a flurry of anxiety. Not young. Sophisticated and smart, like Olivia.
"I don't let you out of this house under-dressed," he warned in high good humor, his eyes sweeping over her with candid approval. "You look great," he said briskly. "Now let's go."
Vicky reached into the closet for a jacket. She wished secretly that Bob had called off the dinner bit altogether, but Bob would never do that, not in his sister-worshipping condition. As she thought this, Vicky was flooded with guilt. She was developing a real thing about Claudia.
With Bob's hand at her elbow, they crossed the strip of lawn that led from their house to the Sanders'. Cars were lined up on both sides of the curb-unfamiliar cars that advertised they were here for the Sanders' cocktail party. Vicky remembered how Olivia had coaxed Bert to bartend for them, but Bert had flatly refused. In a way Vicky was glad. Bert disturbed her with that eye-stripping technique of his, every time they met. And Bert always seemed to be underfoot, Vicky thought uneasily. Olivia planned it that way. The Connors lived around the corner.
They arrived at the door right behind another couple. For a moment Vicky didn't recognize them, though the couple lived at the far end of the block. Until now she had seen Gail Webster only with her hair hanging limply about her shoulders, without makeup, clad in loose shirts and dungarees. Gail Webster had two very small children.
"Hi," Gail drawled, but the greeting was aimed at Bob rather than Vicky.
"Well, don't stand there!" a voice exhorted as the door swung open. "Come on in and get lit!" It was Chuck, expansive, good-looking, exuberantly party-minded.
Vicky allowed herself to be caught up in the convivial atmosphere inside. A dozen guests were dispersed in small clusters about the room as a white-jacketed smiling man with a tray weaved in and out of the groups. The laughter, the double-edged chatter, the lingering male glances, the appraising female eyes all blended to build a warm exhilaration in Vicky.
Chuck's hand held firmly to hers as he prodded her about to meet people. Gail Webster was making a point of clinging to Bob. Even if Gail hadn't been so obvious, Vicky thought, she'd have to stare. Gail was a stranger today, with the topaz hair becomingly piled high, her sleek body encased in a black sheath cut so low the whole room must know she wore no bra beneath. Involuntarily, Vicky's eyes sought Jack Webster. But Jack was backing Olivia into a corner, an arm draped about her. Olivia's eyes were slitted, her wide mouth faintly open as though in invitation.
"You're quite a baby, Vicky," Chuck crooned. "I'm glad Olivia and you hit it off so well. She goes stir crazy sometimes, the way I have to stay down in the city so much." His arm was about Vicky's waist. Too tightly, she thought, not knowing what to do about it, though.
"I like Olivia," Vicky said, welcoming the drink Chuck plucked from the tray to place in her hand. The drink gave her something to do, helped her to ignore the pressure of Chuck's hand at her waist, the fingers managing to touch the foothill of one breast.
"Most women don't," Chuck murmured, his eyes traveling down the scooped neckline. Kiddingly, he placed the base of his glass in the valley between her breasts, chuckled as she uttered a shocked reproach. "You tempt me, baby," he scolded. "What do you want me to do, pretend I'm not a man?"
"Nobody will ever doubt that," she tossed back flippantly. Her eyes sought Bob. He was in a chair across the room, Gail sprawled across the arm, her fingers trailing through Bob's hair. Draping herself so that Bob couldn't miss the sight of her bare breasts beneath the black sheath.
"Hey, you know what we need around here?" Chuck announced. "Who's in the mood for movies?"
"New ones?" Jack Webster demanded. "Good as the batch at your last brawl?"
"Better," Chuck boasted, and grinned at the ribald comments this elicited. "Come on, Vicky, let's get the show rolling."
Vicky allowed Chuck to prod her into the den, stood by while he got out the projector, a screen, cans of film. Most of the guests were from the city; only the Websters and themselves were local residents, Vicky guessed, though it was clear they made the trek out this way regularly.
"Let me help," Vicky offered, and reached for the cans of film Chuck held.
"You bet," he murmured in satisfaction. His mouth swooped down on hers, moistly open. His tongue shot past her startled lips, delved heatedly into the darkness of her mouth. His hands brushed her rump. And then it was all over, before Vicky could find speech to reproach him. "Come on, party's waiting."
It was evident that the others were familiar with Chuck's movie showings. Films of trips Olivia and he had taken? Vicky wondered naively. The bartender had quietly closed up shop, momentarily, to stack records on the hi-fi. Chuck was hanging the screen, setting up the projector, busy now with film. About the room the others settled down in repose. Vicky tried not to look at Bob. Twice their eyes had crossed and Vicky was aware of the silent, self-conscious apology in his glance because Gail Webster was making such a play for him. But he was pleased, too, Vicky gusssed in uneasy astonishment. Gail was a dish tonight, and it made Bob proud to be thus singled out. It didn't matter to Gail that Jack's hands were at Olivia's breasts, one leg thrown across hers as they sprawled against one side of the low, deep sofa.
"Okay, so what's with the big build-up?" Somebody demanded from the other side, killing the lights and leaving the room in semi-darkness.
"Keep your pants on," Chuck said smugly. "At least for a while."
Vicky sat on the edge of the chair, as Chuck ordered, her eyes on the screen. The music provided a sultry background that was uninterrupted by the sound of voices. The guests at the Sanders' party were too involved with the movie showing.
Vicky felt her cheeks go hot as the topic of the film broke through the innocuous beginning. The briefly costumed girl was now uncostumed. A tall, husky male made a comic entrance, chased the girl. In seconds his dressing gown joined her costume, and both cavorted in the raw.
"This takes time in getting warm, but wait," Chuck whispered, reaching to pull her to her feet "It's socko!"
Vicky stood stiffly at attention, her eyes frozen on the screen. She had never seen anything like this before. Nobody seemed to think of it as anything except fun, she noted uncomfortably. Even Bob chuckled now and then. Chuck pulled her in towards him, her back to him. A hand touched her breast in the darkness, teased. She felt desire rising in him, and again wondered how to break this up without causing attention. For the first time now she was aware of Bob's glance trying to penetrate the darkness.
"I want to sit down, Chuck," she said lightly, but loud enough for the others to hear.
"What's the matter, doll?" Jack's voice hooted. "No strength to stand up? I'll fie with you any day, baby!"
The rapt viewers began a ribald commentary as the nude man and girl on the screen were joined by a second girl. Vicky watched compulsively as the trio performed the more esoteric forms of lovemaking. She hated the tide of excitement that rolled over her, but it was impossible to sit here and not feel desire, Vicky thought uneasily. She wished Bob were sitting here next to her. She wished they were alone back in the house. Damn, why didn't Chuck stop massaging her back that way?
Something went awry in the projector and the movie was a series of flashing numbers. Chuck swore. Somebody turned on the lights. Vicky saw a smear of pink lipstick across Bob's ear-Gail Webster's. Olivia and Jack Webster had disappeared, Vicky noted, feeling oddly alone for a moment.
Bob stood with a suddenness that almost sent Gail sprawling. He walked to Vicky, a hand at her shoulder in a proprietory gesture. Then he hadn't been unaware of Chuck's efforts, Vicky realized, vaguely pleased. Gail might have been making a wild pitch 'for him, but she hadn't been neglected, either.
"We ought to be going, Vicky," Bob said coolly. For an instant his eyes clashed with Chuck's. He was jealous, she decided with a surge of pleasure. "Claudia's expecting us."
"Come on, fellow," Chuck urged. "You've only arrived. You can't leave yet!" Chuck was amused.
"It's early, honey," Vicky began uncertainly.
"I'll walk over. The car's out front. Drive to the house when you're ready," Bob said coldly, but Vicky knew he was furious inside.
Vicky watched Bob look about for Olivia, shrug, and head for the foyer. It wasn't the kind of party where you had to look for your hostess before taking off. She wished now that she hadn't offered even a mild objection to their leaving. Only it rankled to know that even at a party Bob was so involved with Claudia. For a while though, Vicky recalled with mounting resentment, he had been highly satisfied to be the object of Gail Webster's pursuit. He could have stopped that.
"Here, let me handle that. It takes an old pro," somebody scoffed at Chuck's efforts to get the film rolling again.
Chuck relinquished the task with a grin of acquiescence. His arm roamed possessively about Vicky's waist.
"Come on help me get down some more cans of film," he ordered. His eyes glinted in amusement at her look of withdrawal. "Baby, you have to hold the flashlight for me. They're down in the basement. The fight's shot there right now."
Chuck pulled her with him to the kitchen, rummaged about till he dug up the flashlight. Vicky remembered that Olivia had said something about calling an electrician for the basement fights. Chuck opened the door leading downstairs, held the flashlight in one hand on the open stairway, guided Vicky with the other.
The basement was semi-furnished. Olivia had planned it in a South Sea Island motif, Vicky recalled, but so far the only furnishings were straw mats, a hammock, and a bar.
"This place give you any ideas?" Chuck kidded. "Like maybe the grass skirt bit?"
"Where's the film?" Vicky asked nervously. The flashlight shot about the expansive basement in eerie thoroughness.
"Don't worry," Chuck said with an unexpected cynicism. "We won't fall over Olivia and Jack in the sack. They beat it down to the other house. Hey, that rhymes," he chortled. "Jack and sackl My wife's in the sack with a creep named Jack!"
"Let's get back upstairs," Vicky said in exasperation. The kitchen door was open wide. Everybody could hear what they were saying if they stopped making cracks for a moment. It was clear the movie showing had resumed.
"We can put on a better show down here," Chuck objected, his voice suddenly a hot whisper. He put the flashlight down with care, planted both hands at Vicky's waist.
"Chuck, cut it out," Vicky whispered back. Her hands reached for his wrists as he grappled for her breasts.
"Oh, come off it, baby," he exhorted. "You can't yell. It would be one hell of a mess! Besides, what's wrong? Normal young married party!"
"Not for me it isn't," she hissed between her teeth, because Chuck was right. If she screamed, they'd all come rushing down, and it would be the joke of the seasonl
"Relax, beautiful," Chuck coaxed. "A little weekend variety lends zest to any marriage. And you're some variety, doll!"
"Chuck, this is ridiculous," she gasped, her breathing uneven as his hands raced about her.
"You'll be glad you came to my party," he promised satanically. "Just be quiet so we don't have company!"
Chuck's hand sought and found her zipper, slid down its length. He lifted her bodily from the splash of her dress.
"Chuck, stop this," she tried again, furious at her vulnerability. Why did he have to pick on her? No doubt, there were other wives who wouldn't turn down the handsome, personality-laden Chuck Sanders, but she wasn't interested! But she couldn't yell. She couldn't bear the looks of the others, the crude remarks, the laughter. What do you know, she imagined them chortling, Chuck raped the wide-eyed bride right in the basement.
"I'll bet you're as hot as a pistol," he said with satisfaction as she jumped at the touch of his fingers when they released her bra and found a taut nipple. "Hot little doll!"
Vicky shut her eyes, hating herself for reacting to the taunting pressure of his body against hers. His hands were at the elastic of the brief panties she wore, coaxing them down the slim hips, the reluctant thighs. She swayed before him, beating at his chest with ineffectual fists. Suppose somebody walked out into the kitchen, looked down here? What was the matter with Chuck?
"You won't like this," she warned weakly. "I don't want it!" But she caught her breath in a catapulting excitement because the knowing hands of Chuck Sanders were teasing, turning her hot and cold inside.
"You'll change your mind!" His mouth was hard on hers. His tongue burrowing to find a mate, relishing in the encounter.
Vicky clenched her fists against his shoulders, reluctant to concede her arousal. His mouth withdrew now, and she felt cheated. Her head lay back, mouth parted, breasts panting. This wasn't she, Vicky thought off in a cavern of her mind! This was some stranger panting in the arms of Olivia Sanders' husband.
His mouth followed a well-plotted trail down the length of her. A sob of excitement rose in her throat, was silenced by a warning hand over her mouth. Vicky felt herself being guided back into the hammock, fought a wave of hysterical laughter at the prospect of their rolling unceremoniously onto the floor. Involuntarily, her arms settled about Chuck, her body preparing to receive him. She must have drunk more than she realized, Vicky thought beneath the clamorous needs in her. She wouldn't behave this way if she weren't half fit!
"Quiet, baby," Chuck warned in a whisper, and then a thousand fires ignited in Vicky as he took her and they were enveloped in the one need to reach, to touch, to explode their passion.
"You're out of your mind," Vicky sobbed in soft protest, but all of her arched to claim him, reluctant to end this moment. "Crazy!"
No room for thought now. Only for feeling.
Their bodies melted into one, making now impossibly wonderful!
"Crazy!" she gasped, bathing in his passion. "Crazy, crazy, crazy!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Vicky sighed with impatience as she realized she had pumped so hard on the accelerator she'd flooded the motor. It took her another few moments to get the car rolling, to back out of the driveway into the street. If Bob hadn't torn off that way, she thought guiltily, nothing would have happened between Chuck and her. It was Bob's fault in a way. She hadn't acted up when he was letting Gail Webster make such a fool of him. That was the way Olivia's crowd behaved at parties. But if Bob had stayed, she would never have gone down into the basement with Chuck. Vicky clung tenaciously to this belief.
The car encountered little traffic en route to Claudia's, for which Vicky was grateful. It wasn't late, actually. She would be arriving only a few moments later than their revised time. She tried to put up a wall in her mind about what had happened in that basement with Chuck. It was Bob's walking out that way, and the drinks....
Fighting reluctance as she approached the Mattox house, Vicky went over, in her mind, the things she could say to Claudia at dinner. They must be wondering why Bob came ahead that way, of course. But he wouldn't let on there was anything wrong between them. His pride wouldn't let him do that. She was still shaking inside, Vicky thought, nervously.
Vicky pulled up before the house, fished in her purse for a mirror. She had left without saying anything to the others. Olivia had still not showed. The movies were rolling in the darkened living room, and it had been a simple matter to skirt through the guests to the foyer and the outside door. Her hair was a mess, lipstick non-existent. With an effort at calm she repaired her makeup, did a swift hair job. She looked all right, she decided finally in relief, closed her purse, opened the car door.
"We were beginning to worry," Claudia greeted her with a deceptive sweetness. "You read about so many crazy accidents."
"I'm a careful driver-Bob knows that," Vicky said defensively. "I hope you haven't been holding dinner long?" She wasn't even late, Vicky remembered. Why was she apologizing?
"Vicky?" Bob came forward with a tense smile. "I explained to Claudia that Olivia just wouldn't let you off the hook."
"I'm not surprised at anything Olivia Sanders does," Claudia said with a look of distaste. "She's the type of wife that gives suburbia a bad name."
"Oh, Olivia makes a lot of noise," Vicky flipped. She wouldn't have leaped to Olivia's defense that way if Perry had made the remark, she thought guiltily. But she couldn't stand that attitude of Claudia's, of looking down her nose at everybody. "Olivia's a lot of fun," she added, too aware of the sharp glance Bob shot in her direction.
"You'll learn about Olivia Sanders when you've lived here a while," Claudia predicted. "Come along, everybody, into the dining room," she gestured with a brisk smile, dismissing Olivia now. "I'll have dinner on the table in two minutes."
"Where are the kids?" Vicky asked. She always felt safe with Michelle and Rolf. She wasn't constantly saying the wrong things to them.
"I'll call them," Claudia promised, with a touch of pride. "I make it a rule that they spend half an hour before dinner in a relaxed mood."
Vicky tried to concentrate on small talk with Perry, uneasy before the polite veneer Bob offered. He was still seething over that silly remark of hers at the party. No, Vicky corrected herself, seething because Chuck had made a play. What would he say if he knew about what happened in the basement, she thought with mounting trepidation? She yearned to tell him, to have him take her in his arms and promise her nothing like that would ever happen again. Why hadn't she made a scene, she asked herself in reproach? So they would have snickered and made nasty remarks. Wouldn't it have been better that way? Why did you always make the wisest decisions after something ugly happened?
"Think you're going to by this suburbanite bit?" Perry asked with a semblance of casualness, as Claudia marshalled the two children into the dining room.
"What a silly question," Claudia said with a frown for Perry. "Of course Vicky likes it out here."
"Claudia's kind of confidence is refreshing, isn't it?" Perry turned to Vicky with a smile that did little to alleviate the resentment in his voice.
As they involved themselves in questions and answers with Michelle and Rolf, part of Vicky's mind was absorbed in the startling discovery that this perfect marriage might not be so perfect underneath. Perry Mattox wasn't happy.
Vicky and Bob left rather earlier than she had expected. It was a relief. The children were adorable, but after dinner they were banished to their rooms and conversation bogged down between Vicky and Bob and Perry while Claudia closeted herself with Rolf and Michelle in bedtime preparations. It made her uncomfortable, the way Perry kept watching her when he thought she wasn't looking. Not that it was a nasty way of inspecting her, Vicky acknowledged-more that he sensed a bond between them, a sort of compassion because she, too, bridled beneath Claudia's attitude.
"I don't know why you take everything Claudia says the wrong way, honey," Bob began cautiously as he swung out of their driveway into the street. "She's right about Olivia, you know. Those movies!" He whistled expressively.
"You didn't seem to mind them." Vicky stayed close to the door on her side of the car, leaving a vast no man's land between Bob and herself. She was tired, still upset over what had happened with Chuck.
"Yeah," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "You feel funny if you don't play it cool. But that sort of stuff we can do without. Right, baby?"
Bob wanted to make up, Vicky thought with a tug of satisfaction. Now was the time to tell him about Chuck because she didn't want secrets between Bob and herself. But the words wouldn't come. They were too ugly, she thought with an inner shudder.
"Maybe they just get bored," Vicky tried to be cool. "I don't suppose it really means anything." Like the way Gail Webster kept throwing herself at Bob, Vicky thought. Saturday night fun in suburbia. It wouldn't have wound up like Chuck and her if they'd had the opportunity. Would it have?
"Next weekend we'll drive down to the city," Bob promised. "Have dinner down there, go to a play. I'll pick up tickets during the week." One hand left the wheel to touch hers for an instant.
Why couldn't she tell Bob about Chuck, Vicky berated herself? Didn't she trust him to understand? But there'd be a nasty scene between Bob and Chuck, she realized in misery. Everything would be wrong between Olivia and her, and Olivia was her only friend out here. It was like her mother said-some things you didn't tell a husband for the general peace.
But long after they were both in bed and the lights out for the night Vicky lay sleepless. She had expected Bob to make love to her. He hadn't. He had made a lot of caustic remarks about Olivia's brand of party, and then he had gone out into the living room and read for over an hour. When he came back to bed, Vicky pretended to be asleep. When was Bob going to stop treating her like a kid and remember she was his wife? He acted guilty when they made love, as though he ought to be asking for her mother's permission! Or maybe he thought he ought to ask for Claudia's approval, she thought in a flare of frustration.
Maybe she was only nineteen, Vicky reminded herself with an effort to think clearly, but she was old enough to know that she would have to fight for this marriage. How? What means could she use to bring Bob and herself together? It didn't have to be Claudia's kind of perfect marriage-she wouldn't want that. But Bob and she should be able to talk about anything. He had to look at her and know this was his wife. Not a child. Nor a girl he had picked up somewhere for the night. He made love this way, she thought with a sense of shock. As though they had a little while alone in the dark, and the possibility of discovery hung over them.
She would talk to Perry, Vicky decided on impulse. Perry had known Bob since he was eighteen. Maybe he could come up with some answers. He would have sympathy; of that she was confident. Perry, in a way, was in much the same position as she. For all-the beautiful covering, there was a wall between Claudia and Perry Mattox.
Vicky woke early, with a swiftness that carried over from last night's decision. Bob lay sprawled on his stomach, a leg thrown across Vicky. He looked so different asleep, she decided, warm with tenderness. That look of tension was gone, replaced by a sort of vulnerability that made her want to cradle him in her arms, the way she might a baby. Maybe if they were to have a baby, she thought for a moment, then dismissed this. Right now a baby would be a crutch. They had to find their way together before they began a family.
Vicky maneuvered cautiously so as not to disturb Bob. She gathered her clothing, headed for the pleasant warmth of the bathroom. The day was unexpectedly cold for May. It would be fun to sneak back into bed, beneath the blankets with Bob, wake him into lovemaking. But Bob might think that was brazen. The man should be the aggressive one. That was what she gleaned from Bob's actions, Vicky reminded herself self-consciously. She was a wife, not a call girl.
Vicky checked the clock as she headed out to the garage. Perry had made a remark last night about the world collapsing if he didn't pick up the Sunday papers at ten sharp in the morning. He'd be buying them at Loring's, Vicky guessed. And she would be there having coffee at the counter inside, right near the front so she could catch Perry's attention. Should she leave a note for Bob, in case he woke up? She'd better. A note on the night table that he couldn't miss if he should wake up and find her gone.
By five of ten Vicky was at the counter in Loring's, the Sunday papers sprawled on a stool beside her. Her eyes were fastened to the stand out front where commuters straggled in a steady stream to collect the mountainous Sunday editions. Her throat tightened in anticipation as she spied the dark, meticulously polished hardtop that usually Claudia drove but which today was being piloted by Perry.
Perry was parking directly in front of the drugstore. He opened the car door, strode towards the stand. For an instant his eyes looked within the drugstore without seeing anything. Then Vicky caught the glint of recognition, and he waved as he headed inside.
"What are you doing up at the break of dawn?" he chided, pleased at seeing her. "At your age I had to be thrown out of bed." He straddled a stool beside her.
"I do most of the time," Vicky giggled, not minding when Terry teased her about her youth. "Only I had a motive this morning." Her eyes were bright.
"Oh?" A faint look of unease crept into his gaze.
"I was hoping to talk to you," she said frankly.
"Black for me, Ed," he called to the boy behind the counter. "And a toasted English. We're moving over to a booth."
Perry picked up Vicky's cup and the barely touched muffin on a plate and carried them to a booth in the rear.
"Okay," Perry said with a reassuring smile, "Let's talk away."
"It's about Bob," she said, maintaining an air of good humor. "You see, we knew each other such a short while before we were married-"
"I know." Perry surprised her with a compassionate chuckle. "Claudia nearly blew a gasket. But don't take her wrong, Vicky. She means well."
"I'm sure she does," Vicky agreed evasively. "I thought you might tell me something about Bob. I mean, there's so much I don't know, and it would sound so silly to ask him," she fumbled. She stirred her coffee, fighting a torrent of embarrassment, then willed herself to continue. "I love Bob, Perry. I want to be a good wife to him. But I guess maybe there are things I might understand better if I were older. What was he like when you first met him? What kind of girls did he date? What about his friends-what were they like?" Except for Perry and Claudia, she knew no one who belonged to Bob in any fashion, she thought in sudden realization.
"He was a good kid, Vicky," Perry said somberly. "Bright, nice personality, popular at school and college. He didn't go in for any deep friendships, I gather." Perry hesitated.
"What about his girls?" Vicky prodded. "What were they like?"
"Bob never went steady, as far as I know." Perry squinted in thought. A grin brightened his face. "Though some of the girls he dated, zowie!" He whistled eloquently. "The campus sex queens, the way I hear it. Claudia never said a word, but there were times she was in a real uproar. But Bob kept out of trouble." Perry dropped into silence as the boy brought over his coffee and toasted English. "You don't have to worry about competition with gals in the past," Perry said gently when they were alone again. "You're at the top of the class, Vicky."
"I don't mean to be nosey or anything. I wouldn't want to be one of those wives who're jealous of every girl their husband ever dated." She gazed into her coffee cup. "I'm just anxious to understand Bob."
"Your sublet is for six months, isn't it?" Perry asked, almost abruptly.
"Yes." Vicky looked up, taken aback by the unexpected harsh note.
"Then for God's sake, when it expires," Perry said tersely, "move the hell away from here. Take your husband and put distance between Claudia and him!" Perry was on his feet, his eyes oblique. "Bob's a nice guy. You stick with him."
In opened-mouth astonishment Vicky watched as Perry reached for her check, shot her an apologetic grin, and headed for the cashier. She guessed that Perry was already upset about his outburst. But he had been honest. He meant that for Bob's welfare as well as her own. She felt herself falling apart inside. If Claudia possibly could, she meant to destroy this marriage.
CHAPTER SIX
Bob slid the car into a free parking area behind the railroad station, pulled to a stop. Vicky lifted her face for his kiss.
"I'll buzz you later," he promised, pressing her hand for a moment. "I may have to work late tonight."
"Oh, honey!" Vicky's eyes were dark with reproach.
"I said 'maybe,'" he reminded with a rueful grin. "With luck I'll be home as usual."
"Let's be lucky," she said impulsively, and reached up to brush his mouth briefly again. The time Bob spent in the city, she thought with wistful resentment! She was beginning to understand the chorus of complaints that wore an air of tired repetition, the frustration echoed by wives in supermarkets and butcher shops over their manless condition so many hours daily.
"Take it easy, baby," Bob said briskly, stretching to the back seat for his briefcase, and then his eyes took on a guarded awareness as they encountered someone rolling into the parking spot beside theirs.
Vicky leaned to see who was pulling to a stop beside them. It was Gail Webster, depositing her husband in time for the New York bound commuter train.
"Hi," Gail greeted them casually, but Vicky caught the pleased glint in Gail's eyes as they rested on Bob.
Gail was back to her normal role, the casual slacks-clad, makeupless wife; yet Vicky knew instinctively both Gail and Bob were remembering Saturday night. Bob was slightly discomforted, Vicky conceded. Gail seemed amused.
"How are you, Jack?" Bob said pleasantly, after a flip wave of the hand in Gail's direction.
The two men sauntered together down the walk that led to the station. Gail smiled in farewell, managing a look of vague triumph as she backed out again, shouting some garbled reprimand to the tots on the rear seat. Vicky sat in troubled contemplation, watched the two men disappear into the well-tailored clusters. Already absorbed in that other life that began when they took their accustomed seats on the train chugging into the station. For a moment jealousy overwhelmed her because she couldn't be part of that other life. What did Jack and Bob talk about on the train? Was Jack silently furious because Gail had made such a pitch for Bob Saturday night? Was she being naive to care?
In a rash of impatience Vicky started up the car, followed Gail Webster in the trek back to the house. She didn't want to go back to the house; she didn't know what she wanted to do. It would have been fun, living right in the city. Going into the shops, visiting the museums, maybe meeting Bob for lunch now and then. Except for Olivia, everybody out here was all tied up in babies or school activities. No wonder Olivia was bored!
As soon as she turned into their street, Vicky spotted Olivia draped across her front stairs. She waved to Vicky in exuberant greeting.
"I was going stir crazy in my place," Olivia welcomed her. "Chuck's still catching the seven-twenty into town, the heel." For a moment something close to anguish showed in her face, startling Vicky.
"Come on in and let's have coffee," Vicky invited. This was their morning ritual by now.
"I don't think I'll catch up on my sleep till next weekend." Olivia yawned, stretching high above her head. "We didn't get to bed until after the milkman arrived Sunday morning." She followed Vicky out towards the kitchen.
"We saw the lights on when we got home from Claudia's," Vicky said. "Of course, that was awfully early."
"I know dear Claudia," Olivia drawled, an impish glint appearing in her eyes. "But now, Perry, that's something else." Obviously, Olivia approved of Perry-
"He's a doll." Vicky re-filled the percolator as she talked. It wasn't being a family traitor to talk this way, she vindicated herself. Perry was a doll. She hadn't said anything against Claudia.
"I've been running into Claudia lately," Olivia confided, settling herself into a brightly cushioned maple captain's chair before the matching breakfast table. "She's heading the ticket-selling committee for the theatre group. The money is going to a good cause, so she approves. She ought to run for Mayor or something-she might get rid of some of that stinking executive drive. That's what Chuck calls it when he's in a polite mood."
"Claudia's older than us, of course," Vicky reminded uneasily, as though half expecting Bob to be listening unseen.
"Sweetie, I wouldn't care if she were nineteen," Olivia said candidly. "I'd still hate her guts. I can't stand women who try to manage everything that comes into sight."
"You think she tries to manage Bob?" Vicky asked, not looking at Olivia.
"You'd know that lots better than I," Olivia retaliated. A smile played about her mouth. "But I'd say her chances have hit a new low with Bob married to you. I mean, after all, who's more important to him now? That must give Claudia a sweet pain in the neck." Olivia leaned across to reach for a cigarette. Vicky had the feeling Olivia was trying to read deep within her. "Gail Webster sure developed a fast thing for Bob Saturday night. She goes just so far, though, then runs back to Jack scared to death. It must get awful dull with the two kids so close together and no help-and Jack puts in executive hours."
"What's executive hours?" Vicky tried to be nonchalant. She didn't like remembering about Saturday night. It had been a relief, too, that the master bedroom drapes next door had stayed tight all day yesterday. Olivia and Chuck had slept till late afternoon. There had been no party re-hashing yesterday.
"This working two or three nights a week bit," Olivia said, staring into space. "It comes under the heading of 'getting' ahead. Only I wonder what else they're getting down there in the city?" Her eyes met Vicky's with a bared hostility that again caught Vicky by surprise. "By the way, baby, what did you think of Chuck?" The smile she sent Vicky was frankly curious yet displaying no rancor for Vicky.
"Why, he's very nice," Vicky stammered. "The party wasn't the first time I met him," she reminded, uncomfortable before the wise look. Olivia couldn't possibly know! She hadn't been in the house.
"It's the first chance he had to make with the hands," Olivia pointed out. "Something new and delicious comes along, he just naturally tries to grab." She shrugged as though to indicate this meant little in her young life, but Vicky was beginning to understand the frenzied sex life of Olivia Sanders. Olivia was making a firm effort to keep up with her husband's record. "Well?" she prodded. "What about Chuck? Was he good?"
The phone broke stridently into the charged atmosphere. With a flood of relief, aware that her cheeks were hot, Vicky reached for the kitchen extension.
"Hello."
"Hello yourself," a young masculine voice drawled. "Olivia around?"
"Yes, one moment." Bert Conners, Vicky identified the voice. "For you, Olivia." She held the phone towards Olivia with an effort not to appear surprised.
"That's Bert" Olivia said promptly, with a giggle. "I left word I'd be over here." She took the phone. "Hi, fellow. How're you doing?" She listened, smiling faintly in amusement. "Well, I bought this traverse rod the other day, and I need somebody to put it up." She listened, winked at Vicky. "That'll be fine with me, Bertie boy. Around eleven. See you then," she chirped in farewell, and put the phone down. "Bert's got a great schedule worked out at school-it doesn't interfere with his business life." She managed an audacious flip to the business that Vicky couldn't miss.
"The coffee's perking," Vicky said quickly, scurried across to the stove to lower the flame before the contents of the percolator bubbled over. The relationship between Bert and Olivia disturbed her. Olivia and she were married women-Bert was a college kid. But she couldn't completely eradicate the knowledge that Bert, college kid or not, was as old as she was-and infinitely wiser when it came to the man-woman game.
"Come on over to the house with me," Olivia urged, checking her watch with Vicky's kitchen clock.
"You'll be busy," Vicky said quickly, then tried to cover. "I mean, you'll have to explain to Bert about the traverse rod and all." Why the sudden act, Vicky wondered. It wasn't difficult to guess that Bert was coming over for more than the installation of the traverse rod. Olivia had been devious enough about it.
"Come on over," Olivia insisted. "Bert's fun. He has an hour between classes, so we'll brighten it for him." Her eyes challenged Vicky. "Anyhow, I want to show you the jacket I ordered for Chuck for his birthday the end of next week. I'm not sure about it. It may be just a trifle too much." She squinted reflectively. "I don't know why the hell I bother...."
"Okay, I'll come over for a while," Vicky agreed resignedly. There was nothing to keep her in the house. The bed was made, the breakfast dishes done. Claudia's cleaning woman was scheduled to come over tomorrow to do the house. What did wives without kids do with themselves in the suburbs? She knew what some wives did, Vicky conceded. With or without kids.
"I'll fix us some martinis," Olivia promised, busy with a lipstick for a moment.
"Before lunch?" Vicky laughed.
"Martinis can't tell time," Olivia tossed back in high good humor. "So it's before lunch instead of before dinner-who's going to tell?"
The two girls cut across the backyards that linked their houses. Olivia was amusing herself with a ribald recital of the Saturday night party after Vicky's and Bob's departure. Vicky couldn't entirely relax. Was Olivia going to start up again about Chuck and her, she wondered nervously. Gosh, it was ape to be here with Olivia this way after what Chuck pulled off Saturday night! Maybe Olivia guessed what happened, but she couldn't know. She hadn't even been in the house. Yet as Olivia pulled open the side door that led into the dining room, and they walked inside, Vicky couldn't shake off an air of unreality.
"I've been threatening to go back to work," Olivia announced, heading towards the living room bar. "Not that Chuck believes me," she admitted. "I was too glad to get out of that rat race." She was busy for a few moments with martini makings.
"I'll get ice cubes," Vicky offered. She was in no mood for martinis at eleven in the morning, but she could nurse a glass and pretend to be having fun.
As she maneuvered the ice cube tray, Vicky heard the door chimes.
"Coming, baby," Olivia sang brightly, and Vicky heard the soft pad of her sandaled feet heading for the door.
"Here're the cubes," Vicky announced, coming into the living room where Bert and Olivia were already involved in the mechanics of the traverse rod.
"Be a doll and drop some in the shaker, will you, Vicky?"
Olivia managed to brush shoulders with Bert as they discussed the job ahead. As Vicky dropped cubes into the shaker, she felt the brash glances Bert sent regularly in her direction.
"How about liquid refreshment before I haul in the ladder?" Bert asked.
"A sandwich?" Olivia offered.
"Later," he grinned, dropping an arm about Olivia's shoulders. "I hate being rushed." His eyes and Olivia's met in secret laughter.
"Come on then, sample my martinis." Olivia strolled to the bar, her hips swinging provocatively for Bert's inspection.
"They're pretty good," Vicky said nervously, sipping at her glass. She didn't want the martini but it was something to do. She could keep her eyes on the glass instead of on Olivia and Bert, who were touching hip to hip as they checked on the status of Olivia's martinis.
"How about some music?" Bert suggested. "You get that new twist record you were talking about?"
"I'll throw it on," Olivia promised. "In a minute." She drained her glass, refilled it. Her free hand roamed about Bert's chest. He pulled her in snug against him, all the while inspecting Vicky with a brash thoroughness.
Olivia pulled away from Bert, crossed to the record cabinet, flipped through until she found the LP she wanted.
"Hey, is this the hottest," she chortled. "Wait'll you hear it." Olivia drained her refill, deposited the glass on the cocktail table, and devoted herself to the hi-fi.
"Yeah, that's okay," Bert approved as the torrid music whipped through the room. Olivia posed before him, head thrown back, eyes closed, body gyrating to the music.
Vicky crossed to the sofa, sat down in self-conscious discomfort. Olivia and Bert danced as though they were completely alone. Olivia's eyes were open now and they were a frank invitation. Bert moved in close, his hands at her breasts as their bodies twisted to the music. Vicky told herself she didn't want to watch, but it was an impossible task to remove her gaze. There was something primitive and fascinating about the naked desire of their bodies. Vicky was aware of a stirring within herself as Bert's hands left Olivia's breasts to roam about the thrusting torso.
"You can do better than that, Bertie boy," Olivia taunted huskily, and Vicky stiffened. They wouldn't, not right in front of her this way!
Without missing a beat of the music, Bert was guiding the sweater over Olivia's head, reaching to pull it free, tossing it aside. Her eyes wide in astonishment, Vicky rose to her feet. It was as though they weren't aware that she was here. Olivia's bra was unhooked and she wriggled so that it slid to the floor. Bert's hands were at the full, lush breasts that swung with abandon. His fingers caught the stiffened nipples.
"Oh, baby, you're warming up," Olivia approved. Her hands raced across his chest. One hand traveled down to his waist, lingered. "Vicky, baby, go fix us some sandwiches, will you? Remember, Bertie's a growing boy."
"I don't need to grow," Bert chuckled huskily. "You know that by now!"
Vicky fled through the living room, into the dining room, relieved to be ordered to the kitchen. Her body was on fire from the frantic abandon of the other two as they concentrated on their sex dance. Her breasts tingled, a frenzied pulse hammered low within her. She could visualize the look of naked desire in Bert's eyes as they dwelt on Olivia. As she pushed the swinging door that led from the dining room to the kitchen, she heard the gutter language that poured forth from Bert, heard the passionate challenge that echoed from Olivia.
Vicky was deliberately slow in making the sandwiches, too conscious of the heated duel in the living room. Why had Olivia insisted on her coming over this way? Olivia must have expected this. She stalled, putting out cans of soda that the other two would be un-likely to want, but there was a reluctance in her to go back into that room. Okay, if Olivia wanted to play this way, it was her business. But why did she have to be involved?
Vicky listened. The music had stopped. Maybe that was her cue. Still she hesitated with the tray in her hands.
"Hey, Vicky," Bert yelled. "You want us to starve to death?"
"Coming," she called back, relieved. She could walk in there and pretend nothing had happened, Vicky promised herself. After all, it was none of her business!
At first, when she walked into the living room, she thought the other two were playing games. They were nowhere in view. Then, her glance shot across the room to the rug before the fireplace. Her hands stiffened on the tray. Her eyes were wide. Olivia stretched full length on her back, clad only in the thonged sandals. Her mouth was fastened in passion to Bert's as he sprawled above her.
"That wasn't bad," Olivia whispered mockingly. "Let's see what else you know!" Her hand reached out and she guided him to her.
Vicky gasped, on fire, trembling. With an effort she set the tray down, too conscious of the soaring desire of the two on the floor, the sounds of their excitement filling the room.
As she fled through the front door, Vicky heard the cry of satisfaction that broke from Olivia, and the descriptive words of her approval. And then the shouts of laughter as they became aware of her flight. They were out of their minds, Vicky thought in an effort at calmness. What was this crazy bit about having an audience? Never let her get like Olivia, Vicky warned herself in distaste. Oh, God, never let her be that way!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Vicky awoke as the morning sun pushed through an errant opening in the bedroom drapes. She yawned, stretched, then anxiously craned for a view of the small alarm that sat on duty on Bob's night table. It was early. Bob could sleep for forty minutes, at least.
She lay back again, feeling as though she were alone in a sleeping world. It was crazy to wake up so early this way. Normally, Bob had to prod her out of bed. He had even suggested having breakfast in the city, but she had vetoed that. Bob could be so sweet, she thought in a rush of tenderness-and he could be so taciturn sometimes. She turned on an elbow to inspect his sleeping face. He looked young, almost boyish, asleep this way. All the tenseness, the drive in him was at rest.
For a moment she dallied with the prospect of awakening him to love. Desire stirred in her as she watched him. It could be so good. But Bob had this crazy obsession about being the one to initiate their lovemaking. For Bob, love belonged in the darkness of the night.
What would she do today? Vicky roamed her mind for a schedule. She had gone to Claudia's for lunch yesterday, but it had been a fizzle. And it wasn't just that Claudia was nearly twice her age, she vindicated herself. They just didn't think alike about anything. Being Bob's sister didn't make her right in everything, though Claudia considered herself above making mistakes.
Olivia kept giving her knowing looks when she invented excuses about not coming over to the house, but the Sanders' house was too full of unpleasant memories. Why couldn't she tell Bob about Chuck? He had a right to know. She ought never to go into that house again, Vicky thought, then flushed because that sounded so melodramatic.
She hadn't changed in her attitude towards Olivia, Vicky rationalized. She just felt uncomfortable before that kind of frankness. And maybe part of the barrier between them was born of her understanding of what drove Olivia. Olivia's marriage was falling apart before her eyes, and Olivia went to anything male that could restore her female ego.
"Did the alarm go off?" Bob's voice, still hazy with sleep, caught her unawares.
"No, it's early," she said quickly. "I'll have to do something about buying shades to keep out the sunlight." But she wouldn't have Bert install them, she thought self-righteously. Bert seemed the one-man utility firm for this block. What was it Olivia called him? A one-man stud farm.
"Maybe I'll catch an earlier train," Bob said slowly. "There're some papers I should get at before the rush starts at the office."
"Bob, you work too hard," she objected softly. "The way you keep bringing work home every night!" It was great to be ambitious, but she was beginning to recognize this drive in Bob with something akin to alarm.
"Nobody ever made it to the top with his feet on the desk, baby." Already, Bob was throwing aside the sheet, feeling for his slippers. "Let's try for the seven thirty-eight, what do you say?"
"Okay," Vicky agreed, managing a wistful smile. It would be nice if they had a leisurely breakfast together, if they even just sat there and held hands.
"We don't have a dinner scheduled for Claudia's tonight or tomorrow, do we?" Bob asked as he headed for the bathroom.
"No, Friday," Vicky said, wondering why he asked that.
She sat at the edge of the bed for a few moments after he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the shower running. What would Bob say if she waltzed into the bathroom and under the shower with him? It could be such fun, she thought with simmering excitement, visualizing his lean, well-built frame. Knowing the tenderness in him, and then the heat that seemed to be released almost with reluctance.
She ought to throw off her clothes and sprint into the bathroom, climb into the shower with Bob. Let the water stream over their blended bodies. There was that crazy pulse hammering away again, the tingling in her veins. They had been married such a short while. Why the too frequent nights when there was nothing in this bed but monastic slumber? All right, Bob worked hard, he was tired. But too tired to love his wife? Even if she were ten years older, Vicky thought wistfully, she'd still expect to be loved. He kept playing up this child-wife bit, and how Claudia enjoyed going along with it! She wasn't too young to know that Bob and she had problems to straighten out. She wasn't too young to be passionate.
They rushed through the morning ritual, into the car in pursuit of the seven thirty-eight. As Bob swung the car into the street, Vicky caught a glimpse of Chuck and Olivia racing towards the garage, as usual on split-second timing. As they pulled into the parking area behind the station, Chuck and Olivia were right behind them.
"What are you doing up with the milkman?" Olivia sang out with sardonic humor. "The city can't live without you at the crack of dawn?"
"Can't let Chuck walk off with all the honors," Bob tossed back casually, then kissed Vicky lightly and slid from behind the wheel. "See you tonight, baby."
Vicky sat watching as Chuck and Bob met and headed towards the station together. The gall in a character like Chuck, she thought in recurrent astonishment. So sure she wouldn't say a word to Bob!
"Let's live dangerously and have coffee over at the Domino," Olivia leaned out the window to suggest. "I can't stand my own brand at this hour."
"Okay," Vicky agreed because the sight of Bob and Chuck together that way disturbed her.
Vicky followed Olivia, trying to think up logical excuses not to spend the rest of the day with her. Being around Olivia too much gave Vicky a crazy sense of insecurity, as though she, too, were living on the edge of a cliff.
Olivia parked. Vicky drew up beside the grey convertible. The Domino was a hangout for local plant workers. Olivia probably got a charge out of the almost entirely male customers who were lined up at the counter and in booths inside, as Vicky could see as they walked the short distance from their cars to the side entrance.
As she followed Olivia into the Domino, Vicky tensed self-consciously. The whistling might be a not too subtle form of flattery but some of the remarks were crude. Olivia, Vicky guessed, made a point of dropping in here mornings, and the clientele had her figured loud and clear.
"There's Bert," Olivia said nonchalantly. "Tanking on coffee before his eight o'clock class."
"You mean he actually goes to classes?" Vicky was candidly sarcastic. She saw Bert in the back with a classmate. She was aware, too, of the interested speculation among the other early morning coffee drinkers. Two young wives chasing with the college clique, she interpreted their thoughts, not liking the interpretation.
The kid with Bert was nice-looking in an eager, scrubbed way. He evidently felt honored to be in Bert's company. He was the kind of boy Vicky might have dated two years earlier.
"You're late," Bert grinned. "Here I was afraid I'd have to head for class without my morning portion of sex." His attention was riveted on the snug knit top Olivia wore.
"He's fresh, you know," the other kid complained good-humoredly, eager to make an impression on Vicky.
"My husband calls it arrested development," Vicky lied coolly, determined to get across that Olivia and she didn't play in the same league. It was funny to realize the boy sitting across from her and Bert Connors were the same age. Sometimes Bert seemed more sophisticated than Bob. Maybe he was, she realized with a start, when it came to sex.
They had breakfast, dawdled over a second cup of coffee after the boys had sprinted off for class.
"Isn't this joint a riot?" Olivia demanded, chainsmoking. "Can't you imagine their overheated little minds when they look at us in here? Husbands off to the salt mines, the wives making out with everything that comes along. If you don't have kids or a million committee meetings-in suburbia, you are suspect, my love," Olivia said briskly. She fumbled in her change purse. "The stores'll be opening in a few minutes-let's go shop."
"Just at the supermarket, for me," Vicky fabricated. "I want to run down into the city to look at a couple of things, then meet Bob for lunch," she added, because Olivia seemed interested and Vicky didn't want to spend the day in the city with her. It would be fun, she thought with rising anticipation, to phone up Bob from the station and invite herself for lunch. She had seen nothing of the city, except for one brief sightseeing tour with Bob that first week. Bob would be so surprised!
It was only twenty of twelve, Vicky noted with satisfaction as she stepped from the commuter train into Grand Central. Bob never went to lunch before twelve-thirty or one. As she headed for the street, she glanced covertly at a mirror. Bob wouldn't be ashamed to have her pick him up. She looked the perfect young commuter wife, with the well-cut suit and her city heels. Or maybe the well-groomed college sophomore, Vicky forced herself to be honest. The face that met her searching glance was attractive, young, and exuberant. Well, shouldn't a young wife meeting her husband for lunch look pleased at the prospect?
A phone booth captured her attention. She might as well phone from here, instead of searching for a drugstore. The city was still an immense, strange place to her. She went into the booth, dialed Bob's office, asked for his extension.
"Landis speaking," Bob's voice greeted her crisply.
"Hello, darling." It was like walking into that other life, to hear his voice coming over the phone with that impersonal friendliness. "Guess where I am?"
"Something wrong, baby?" he demanded anxiously.
"Of course not," she laughed. Why should Bob think there was something wrong because she called him? "I just decided to hop a train into town and meet you for lunch. Is it all right?" She waited expectantly.
"Of course, Vicky," he said after a moment. "Hop a cab and come on over. I'll introduce you to a few people."
"I'll be there in five minutes," she promised. This was what she should have done days ago, Vicky told herself. Make Bob understand she was interested in his work, in the people he met in his nine to five life. Maybe she ought to go back to work, too, she thought with a rush of eagerness. Olivia said it often enough! Wives like them belonged nowhere out there. They'd die of impatience with the diaper-changing set. They were too young for the committee-chasing wives like Claudia. In an office or a shop at least she'd meet people. For the first time Vicky came face to face with her own barren loneliness. She was bored in that charming rented house with only Olivia to chase away the hours. And she was frightened of falling into Olivia's pattern.
Bob was haunting the reception room for her, Vicky guessed. She saw him as she emerged from the elevator to the floor that was occupied solely by his firm. He came swiftly over the carpeted floor to greet her. Proud of the inquisitive, admiring stare of the girl at the desk.
"Come inside and meet a few people," he said, "then we'll dash out to lunch."
Vicky felt more like Bob's wife than any time since they had been married. She remembered her own office days when an attractive young wife would come in to collect her husband for lunch. It had seemed such a delicious occurence, she thought in retrospect. There was always that faint envy in the girls who worked for the young wife who didn't.
They went into a restaurant only a block away because Bob explained he had an early appointment. It was more luxurious than he would choose for himself alone, Vicky decided, pleased with the gesture. For all the uncertainties, she loved her husband. She loved him so much it hurt to see him drive himself the way he did.
"Darling, don't order shrimps," Vicky warned quickly. "We're having them for dinner." Bob was a bug on seafood.
"Oh, Vicky, I was going to phone you," he began with a hesitancy that caught her attention. "I won't be able to make it home until quite late tonight.
Don't count on dinner. An old college buddy is passing through town and I promised to meet him at the station for dinner."
"Couldn't you bring him out to the house?" Vicky asked. "I'll whip up dinner for the three of us." She wasn't a world-beater as a cook yet, Vicky admitted, but she could turn out a respectable meal, thanks to the cookbooks.
"There won't be time," Bob said swiftly. "Besides, you'd be bored. We'll just re-hash old college stuff."
"What does he do?" Vicky probed, disappointed at Bob's rejection.
"Nothing spectacular. Teaches in some dull little college town. Has a wife and three kids on that rotten teaching salary."
"Maybe he likes teaching," Vicky defended, watching Bob. There was something in Bob's face she couldn't understand. Almost an envy, despite the disparaging words.
"Who could like starving to death on seven thousand a year when he might be making forty thousand? This was a brilliant student, I'll have you know," he said with sarcasm. "What do you plan for the afternoon? Go over to the department stores and spend some money. I'm due for a raise soon."
"I thought I might run over to the Museum of Modern Art," Vicky said slowly. "I've been hearing so much about it."
"The museum?" Bob stared as though astonished.
"Well, darling, I'm not exactly a moron," she said sharply, and flushed because it sounded almost as though they were arguing.
The waitress came to their table, and they settled down to ordering. But Vicky couldn't thrust aside a feeling of depression. Bob wouldn't let her get through to him, and he kept insisting on building up this crazy vision of her. It was as though they were playing a game-perhaps to fit Claudia's version of what they should be. Why couldn't she just face up to Bob and say, "Darling, my birth certificate says I'm nineteen but we're married. I'm your wife. Stop treating me like a spoiled child!" Why couldn't she sit across from him and say. "Let me into your life?"
As Vicky let herself into the house, she heard the insistent ringing of the phone. Maybe Bob had changed his mind and was bringing his college buddy home for dinner after all.
"Hello," she said breathlessly.
"Vicky, it's Claudia." There was an undercurrent of concern beneath the usually tranquil voice. "I hate to ask this of you at the last minute this way, but could Bob and you baby-sit for us tonight? Perry has a business conference in town that he can't possibly break, and I have a committee meeting that's a real crisis-"
"Of course, we will," Vicky said quickly, responding to the unexpectedly disturbed note that was so foreign in Claudia. She would explain later about Bob.
"This girl has never disappointed us at the last minute this way. I just can't understand it!"
"I don't mind, Claudia. What time do you want me there?"
"Is seven-thirty all right?"
"I'll be there about seven-fifteen, so you don't have to rush," Vicky promised. That was a trick that had won her fabulous baby-sitting jobs in high school. Mothers had been so appreciative of that earliness.
"Vicky, I'm sorry about this," Claudia apologized.
"Claudia, it's okay," Vicky reassured her again. "See you later.
Claudia was really upset because the baby-sitter had disappointed her. She was thrown by having plans disrupted beyond her control. That beautiful efficiency just couldn't cope with the normal breakdowns, Vicky realized in amazement. Everything had to run just right or Claudia could fall apart. She had never suspected a flaw like this in her sister-in-law.
"You look about fifteen," Claudia laughed as she welcomed Vicky into the house. "Where's Bob?" she added in surprise, realizing Vicky was alone.
"He had to stay down in the city. I left a note for him in case he gets home before I do." It gave Vicky a sense of going back in time to be baby-sitting again. "A college buddy was passing through town. He teaches at some college now, Bob."
"Oh, yes, I remember," Claudia said, and Vicky felt an undercurrent of contempt in her voice. "That would be Clarke Edwards."
"I suggested Bob bring him out for dinner, but he said he didn't have enough time." Claudia knew so much about Bob, Vicky thought. Even now. She was the stranger.
"Just as well," Claudia shrugged her face suddenly impersonal in its pleasantness. She hadn't been wrong, Vicky deciphered; Claudia disliked Clarke Edwards. "The children are in their rooms. Rolf said something about teamwork." A tenderness softened Claudia's face, fleetingly.
"Maybe I can help," Vicky offered with a smile. Claudia and Perry had marvelous kids, she conceded.
"Perry should be home fairly early. We won't be holding you later than ten, I'm sure." A formal note crept into Claudia's voice. She hated being under obligation to anybody, Vicky thought. "And thanks again for being so sweet."
How comfortable it could be to have a sister-in-law with whom she could sit down and talk, Vicky was thinking with wistful regret. Like about Clarke Edwards. Why did Claudia dislike him? Why did Bob insist on not bringing him home? Did Bob want to spend the evening talking about some girl he used to love? Maybe that was what was wrong with their marriage, Vicky jumped miserably to the fresh conclusion. Maybe every time Bob made love to her, he was remembering somebody else. After all, they had gone together only a few weeks. What did they honestly know of each other?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vicky walked softly down the corridor from the children's bedroom into the living room. Michelle and Rolf were darlings, she decided with pleasure. Rolf looked so much like Bob-the way Bob must have looked when he was nine. She glanced at the clock. What was Bob doing right this minute? What was he talking about with Clarke Edwards?
She fished through the pile of magazines, selected a couple, stretched comfortably across the sofa to read. Then, as though sensing Claudia's presence, she straightened into a more sedate position. This wasn't the kind of room you relaxed in, Vicky thought with wry amusement. She'd take bets the regular sitter never sprawled about this room biting into a sandwich or fruit. It looked like a room where children never lived.
Vicky was half dozing over a magazine when she heard the front door opening. She sat up alertly, half-hoping it would be Bob.
"Well, what do we have here?" Perry greeted her with warm astonishment. "Something new in baby sitters?"
"The regular girl couldn't make it. Claudia phoned me." Perry was nice, Vicky thought with recurrent friendliness. She wished she could relax with Claudia the way she did with Perry. "Will you give me a good reference?" She tilted her head to one side in little-girl mockery.
"The best," he promised, smiling his approval.
"Hungry?" Vicky was on her feet. "I'll fix you a sandwich and coffee."
"Hey, that sounds good," he agreed. "Sure you're my sister-in-law? In that skirt and blouse you look like some teenager who wandered in from down the block."
"Come on to the kitchen and let me feed you," Vicky ordered. It was funny how it never bothered her when Perry teased her about being young.
They walked out to the kitchen together in playful debate about Vicky's culinary talents. As Vicky moved about Claudia's perfect kitchen preparing sandwiches, putting up coffee-and nervously careful about not messing up-she felt a hunger in the way Perry watched her. Not a nasty wolf-ish way, she reassured herself, but hungry. As though he could do with a lot of woman-spoiling. Didn't Claudia know what a wonderful person her husband was?
"You really should wait till Claudia gets in and let me ride back to the house with you," Perry said Soberly as Vicky made a move, finally, to call it a night.
"It's only a few blocks, Perry," she laughed. "If your regular sitter had a car, you wouldn't think of taking her home. And it's early. It isn't eleven." Was Bob home yet? she wondered. He would have phoned if he were, she decided.
"Thanks again for seeing us through our little crisis," he teased. "Claudia must have been in a real stew."
"I think she was," Vicky admitted. "Good-night, sister-in-law." Perry dropped a playful kiss on her cheek. "Good-night, Perry."
Vicky walked swiftly from the house to the car. There had been something different about Perry tonight. When he had kissed her that way, like he would Michelle, Vicky had, nevertheless, felt an unexpected intensity in him. He was seeing her as someone desirable, Vicky thought in discomfort. Someone with whom he'd like to make love.
As Vicky turned into the driveway, she knew Bob was home. The living room was brightly lighted, far more so than normal. She drove into the garage, hurried towards the house.
"Have a nice evening?" she asked, faintly self-conscious because it seemed so strange for Bob to be out on a social evening without her. He could have asked her to stay in town.
"Boring as the devil," Bob chuckled, and Vicky realized with shock that he had been drinking. Was still drinking. He reached for the glass as he talked to her. "How did you make out, baby-sitter?" He crossed to her, a sudden glow in his eyes.
"You know Michelle and Rolf-they're absolutely perfect." She was trying to evaluate Bob's mood.
"My sister's perfect little family." Bob drained his glass, set it down, pulled Vicky close.
"How was your friend?"
"He was in town to read a paper before some educational group," Bob scoffed. "Suit looked as though it had been cleaned too often. He says he bought a new car four years ago. But he loves teaching," Bob drawled. "All puffed up with ideals."
"That's pretty important, isn't it? To feel that way about your work?" Her eyes were puzzled as they watched Bob. Bob was jealous of Clarke Edwards. Clarke had something Bob wanted. Was it his wife? "What about his family?" Vicky pursued. "Do you know his wife?"
"Oh sure, we all went to school together." His face softened reminiscently and alarm welled in Vicky. She hated Clarke Edward's wife, she told herself. That was what stood between them. Claudia and the specter of another love! "They got married Clarke's last year at the university, before he went on to graduate school. I spent more time in their apartment than in the dorm."
"Fix me a drink," she ordered, with an air of bravado.
"You don't need a drink, baby," he whispered, his arms drawing her tightly against him. "Not my passionate little wife."
"Maybe you need black coffee," she laughed uncertainly. "Shall I fix some?"
"What the devil is this obsession you have for coffee?" For no reason he was angry, momentarily. "Don't worry, Vicky, I'm not that drunk," his voice dropped to a caressing murmur. "Let's retire to the master bedroom, hmmm?" His arm was about her waist, fingers reaching to pull the blouse out of its mooring.
"Maybe we ought to turn off some of these lights first," she reminded. She was hurt and resentful because she suspected her husband was in love with Clarke Edward's wife. But she was shaky inside because Bob was in an amorous mood, and it took so little to arouse her.
"Let's leave all the lights on," he decided in a sudden burst of amusement. "Close the drapes tight because we don't like Peeping Toms! But plenty of lights, baby, because I have a beautiful doll." He was moving about the room pulling drapes tightly together, singing ribald college lyrics as he worked.
"Bob, you do need coffee," she giggled. Yet already her body tingled in anticipation.
"Later," he compromised, striding towards her. "Beautiful baby!"
His mouth came down hard on hers, with that urgency that always momentarily startled her. His tongue found hers, did heated battle. Vicky felt his hands at her blouse, impatient that it was taking him so long. And then the blouse was open and his hands swept about her back to release her bra.
"Let's get rid of this stuff," he ordered huskily, helping her out of the blouse, the loosened bra, tossing them across the room. "My favorite view," he murmured in approval, his eyes fastened on the high white spill of her. "Baby, what you do to me!" . "It's all yours," she reminded, feeling wanton in her candor. Her breath was coming in gasps because his fingers teased a nipple in that feather-light way that ignited a thousand fires in her.
"I love the taste of you," he whispered hotly.
Her eyes closed, mouth parted as he caught a taut pink tip in his mouth. The tongue teasing, arousing her until she fought an urge to clutch at him, beg him to fulfill her. Her hands closed about his head. Her body swayed with desire.
"Nothing frigid about you, sweetie," he said, his hands at the waist of her skirt now. "Hot little doll."
"Isn't that the way you want me?" For a moment their eyes clashed, both caught up in the urgency of her demand.
"I want to love every inch of you," he said thickly, his hands drawing the skirt down the slim hips.
His mouth was a persuasive conductor of heat, touching her everywhere. His hands raced about the writhing torso, stroking the hot flesh. No time to think now, Vicky decided, abandoning herself to feeling. Her arms encircled his neck. Her tongue found his earlobe. He moved closer against her, and a sob of anticipation welled in her throat.
"Bob, I love you." She wanted him, now, this minute. "Bob, please!"
"Let's go into the bedroom," he said huskily.
"No, here!" She was insistent. Her hand touched him. She heard the gasp of excitement that ripped through him.
She closed her eyes as he lowered her to the sofa. She arched to lessen the delay in their meeting. She didn't care about that other girl now. She didn't care that Bob might be slightly plastered. Nothing mattered except this incessant demand that cycloned within her.
"Oh, Bob! Darling!" It was a cry of sweet anguish, rapturous relief because he had found her.
"Okay, baby," Bob whispered hotly. "Let's go crazy together."
Her arms tightened about him. Her body trembled in welcome. She plunged with him, with a mounting, impossibly wonderful intensity because she knew it was going to be right this time!
"Bob! Oh, Bob!" The soaring excitement in her claimed him. She felt herself swept away in his passion. She clutched at him, draining his desire. Nothing like this, ever. "Honey, honey!" Her voice became an incoherent instrument of satisfaction, filling the room in unleashed abandon.
She stretched in utter relaxation, arms high above her head as Bob rose, disappeared from the room. No matter how many crazy ideas she cooked up in her head, Vicky told herself, Bob was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. She giggled in young amusement, realizing the lighted state of the living room. Not once had the place been lighted up this way since they had moved in! They were lighted up inside, too, she remembered with pleased candor. She felt so good, so relaxed.
"Here, Vicky." Bob's voice came to her from the entrance to the living room. An odd note of constraint captured her attention. She turned around to face him. "Take this," he said, not looking directly at her as he approached. He held a quilted robe in his hand.
"I'm not exactly cool," she reminded softly. Nevertheless, she took the robe, slid into it.
"Baby, I'm sorry I behaved like such an animal," he said tightly. "I guess I had a few more drinks than I realized, between dinner with Clarke and here at home."
"Honey, you didn't behave like an animal," she lashed back in indignation. But before she could continue, Bob shut her up.
"You don't treat your wife like some cheap little pick-up. Don't worry, baby, it won't be that way next time. I promise."
It was useless to try to talk to him in this mood, Vicky thought. Maybe they ought to go to a marriage counselor for advice. But how could she even say anything like that to Bob? It was admitting something was wrong with their marriage. Admission frightened her. It would be too easy for Bob to say to her, "Sorry, Vicky, we've made a mistake." She didn't want to lose Bob. She wanted this to last.
"It's too bad your old college buddy couldn't have come out to stay for a few days," Vicky said with an effort at lightness. All the time watching him for reactions, too conscious of his possible attachment for the college buddy's wife.
"Just as well." There was an evasiveness in him that disturbed Vicky. Why couldn't she understand what he was going through right this minute? "You can't go back and re-live the past. You have to live for today."
Bob preferred those other, earlier years, Vicky thought in poignant wistfulness. Preferred the years when he knew Clarke and that girl who became Clarke's wife. Had Bob made love to her? Had he made love to her even after she was married? Why couldn't he have brought Clarke Edwards home? Seeing them together, she might have known the answer. But what good was there in knowing, her mind taunted realistically. She knew that Claudia tied Bob into knots, somehow, but what use was she making of the knowing?
CHAPTER NINE
Vicky and Olivia were sprawled on chaises in the rear of Vicky's house. The first summer warmth was arriving, and they had clutched at something new to occupy the daytime hours.
"Chuck says it excites him when a woman gets tanned everywhere but here and here." Olivia indicated the narrow strips across her breasts and pelvis, now audaciously covered in brief by her red bikini. "But then with Chuck you just press a button and he's ready to go," she said with sardonic humor.
The phone jangled inside the house and Vicky ran to answer it.
"Hello," she said with breathless eagerness.
"Hi, Vicky," Perry's voice came over the home. "It's Perry."
"Well, I should know by now," Vicky laughed, wondering, though, at the call. Wasn't he down in the city?
"Honey, could you meet me for lunch today?" he asked, a masked quality coating his voice. "I know it's a hell of a trip just for lunch-"
"I-I don't know," Vicky hedged, uneasy at the request. She was thinking of the other night. Perry's goodnight kiss on the cheek. The feeling that, under other circumstances, Perry would have made a pitch, then and there.
"Vicky, it's quite important," he said briskly, yet she was aware of an urgency in it. "I have to talk to you. It-it concerns Bob."
"What time, Perry?" Instantly she was alert.
Vicky settled on a meeting place with Perry, her mind already trying to recall train schedules. If Bob tried to reach her and she wasn't home, he might call Olivia. She'd have to ask Olivia to cover for her.
Ten minutes later, train schedules verified and fresh coffee ready, Vicky scurried back to the chaises with coffee mugs in tow. She had forty minutes before train time.
"That was Perry," Vicky reported, striving for a casual note. "I'd told him I wanted to buy a present for Bob and he promised to take me to some wholesale house if I'd come into the city. Of course, I'd die if Bob found out, so would you cover for me if he phones you?" She was rattling on like a scared kid, Vicky thought, unnerved by the need to he. And she'd have to come up with some present for Bob to make it look right with Olivia. The odd, quizzical glance Olivia was beaming in her direction Was disturbing.
"Perry's awfully nice, isn't he?" Olivia took a coffee mug, watching Vicky. "Sort of good-looking, terrific personality. I don't know how the hell he got stuck with a dog like Claudia."
"Perry's a doll," Vicky agreed. "And he's very much in love with Claudia." She met Olivia's gaze with candid friendliness, determined to rout out any vagrant suspicions.
"Okay, I'm a louse." Olivia's smile was engagingly apologetic. "I see something rotten in every relationship because I know what goes on with Chuck down in the city. I make a lot of noise, mess myself up with a lot of guys, but it wouldn't be that way at all if I knew I had a husband who could confine himself to one bed." Her eyes were moody as they stared into the coffee. "Right now he's got something wild going. It scares the hell out of me."
"Come on inside while I get dressed," Vicky coaxed. She'd figured out why Olivia played the way she did. Bert, the insurance salesman yesterday afternoon, a deliveryman last week-it must be awful to feel the need for that kind of reassurance. And yet Vicky could understand Olivia's needing it. But being able to understand frightened her.
The two girls kept on safe topics while Vicky went about dressing for the trip into town. The local play group, the current charity drive, the elections coming up. When the phone rang again, Vicky asked, Olivia to pick it up. She was just brushing on lipstick.
"What do they want with me?" Vicky walked into the bedroom to pick up the phone.
"Who knows?" Olivia shrugged.
"Hello." Vicky checked her watch. No time to waste now.
"Missus Landis?" a smooth, professionally charming male voice questioned. "Yes."
"This is Charles Evans of Evans Realty. I've set up an appointment to show you some houses this afternoon. Would three o'clock be all right?"
"No, it wouldn't," Vicky snapped back angrily.
"But Missus Mattox told me that-" he began.
"I have nothing to do with what Missus Mattox told you!" Fury churned in Vicky. "I'm not interested in looking at houses. Not at three o'clock, or ever!" She put the phone down, startled to find that she was trembling.
"Wow!" Olivia whistled. "Never saw you sore that way."
"That creep calls up to tell me he's showing me houses this afternoon. He's set it up with my darling sister-in-law." The blue-green eyes were blazing. "What a nerve!"
"Nerve Claudia has," Olivia flipped impudently. "She'd be a wild success in politics.
"He's going to go running back to her now," Vicky said her throat tightening. "And tonight she'll phone Bob, all full of hurt."
"Forget it," Olivia ordered. "If you don't get out of here in five minutes, you'll miss your train."
Vicky sat with questioning expectancy in a secluded restaurant booth with Perry. The waitress had taken their orders. Vicky waited for Perry to open his mind to her.
"Vicky, I know sometimes Claudia gives an impression of-well-well-taking over," he fumbled. "She has this obsession for perfection, and she'll mow down people who get in her way."
"Bob's a grown man with a wife. Perry, when is she going to let go of him?" No need to play games with Perry, she decided in a need for urgency. "He won't let me in. There's no room in his mind for anybody but Claudia." And there was this other thing, this self-torment when he allowed his body to react like a normal man with normal desires. How did Claudia fit into this pattern? Was he ashamed of sexual love because of Claudia? Hysterical laughter momentarily threatened her. Didn't Claudia go to bed with her husband? Had she had her children through artificial insemination? What was wrong with Bob that he had to rebuke himself every time they had a satisfactory marital relationship?
"Honey, I wish I knew the answers," Perry sighed heavily. "Sometimes I'm ready to pack up and walk out." Vicky stared in astonishment. "Oh, I'll never do it. Because, with it all, I love Claudia-and I understand. She's had a rough life. She's worked since she was sixteen to help her mother, to see Bob through school. She's got this driving instinct to protect those she loves. The kids, me-and Bob. Whatever she does, it's because she thinks it's right."
"I had a call this morning from a real estate broker," Vicky reported somberly. "He had an appointment set up to show me houses. I'm afraid I was nasty to him. He said Claudia had given him instructions to set it up."
"That's why I asked you to meet me." An unexpected strength laced Perry's voice. "Claudia told me she was speaking to Evans. Don't let Claudia sell Bob on buying a house out here. When your lease is up, Vicky, for God's sake, move away into another community. Perhaps back into the city. But put distance between Bob and Claudia. Give him a chance to stand on his own two feet!"
"Don't worry," Vicky reassured him. "I won't let him try anything like buying a house. From what little I know of our finances, we'd kill ourselves even to try that. It's just a matter of another few months. Well probably settle for an apartment in town-I hate being alone so much out here. I hate the traveling Bob puts in every day."
"You want to know something?" Perry said with a lopsided smile. "I don't think the average man would spend three weeks out here with the lousy commuting, except he thinks it's so great for the wife and the kids. Who's in love with a commuter train?"
Vicky steeled herself to greet Bob with wifely good-humor. She'd tell him right away about the call from the broker, before Claudia could get in her hooks. Ten minutes ahead of schedule she was seated in the parking area behind the station, waiting for the train to pull in.
Tenderness welled in her as she saw Bob alight from the train, head in the direction of the car with that eager, searching look that said he was glad to be home.
"Hi," she sang out as he approached, and slid from behind the wheel. "I thought we might have dinner out on the patio tonight. It's warm enough, isn't it?"
"Sure." He kissed her gently. "You look mighty chipper." He inspected her with mocking approval for a moment before he started up the car.
"Oh, we had a call from the local real estate bigwig. Character named Evans." She was deliberately casual. "He's the one who rented us the house?" Up until now she had forgot about that possibility.
"Could be." Bob was listening intently.
"He called up, full of brass, had an appointment set up to show me houses. I told him I wasn't interested. It was a little matter to discuss with my husband before the real estate broker." Sarcasm colored her voice. Easy, Vicky warned herself, if she were to carry this off. "Can you imagine the nerve of him? He decides it's time for us to look at houses !"
"Probably Claudia mentioned something about our being interested," Bob explained mildly.
"I set him straight." Vicky leaned against his shoulder, her cheek burrowing into his jacket.
"We ought to sit down and figure this thing out, honey. I could swing the down payment on a house, if I sold a few bonds." A self-conscious note crept in.
"But there's so much involved, Bob." A coldness closed in about her. She didn't want to buy a house. Not now. Not here! "We don't own a stick of furniture," she tried to laugh.
"We could always swing a bank loan for the furniture. Maybe I ought to give Claudia a buzz tonight and-"
"Bob, I don't want to buy a house out here," Vicky broke in frantically. "It-it's too much responsibility just now," she floundered.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, will you stop being a baby?" he exploded. "Don't you think I know what we can afford and what we can't afford? We can buy a house here. This is the time to look, when we're living here. You don't find a place right away. It takes months to close I"
"Bob, I don't want to live out here," Vicky said recklessly. "Let's find ourselves an apartment in town! I hate all the time you waste on trains. And those nights when you have to work late in the city-"
"Don't throw that in my face," Bob shot back grimly. "I'm not working like a dog for myself. It's to give you a decent life! It's for my wife!"
"Don't you understand, honey?" She fought for calm, fighting an inner terror. "I want us to have a chance to get out of this rat race. Why can't you live five minutes from the office? Why can't you be home for dinner every night, except in occasional emergencies?" More and more Bob was coming home late in the evening, and he talked again about a trip to the Coast for a week. "I sat down and figured how much time you spend on trains every week-it's equivalent to a whole working day. Why should you waste that time? For what?"
"I'll phone Claudia and ask her what she knows about this broker," Bob said, ignoring her outburst. "We'll see what he has to offer us."
Vicky found it impossible to break down the atmosphere of polite constraint between Bob and herself. She knew he had spoken to Claudia. The appointment to look at property had been staved off temporarily, though Bob asked for a written report on what would be available. Probably, he planned on looking on a free weekend, when he wasn't closeted in the den with paperwork from the office.
When Olivia and Chuck planned an evening in town for the four of them, Vicky went along, despite her reluctance to spend time in Chuck's company. She tried to tell herself now that what happened was because Chuck had been drinking heavily. Probably now he was ashamed of it. Olivia and Chuck were on a big reconciliation kick. She hoped some of it would rub off on Bob and her. But around three in the afternoon Bob phoned, and before he got past the first sentence she knew he was going to pull the 'working late' bit again.
"I hate like hell to break the date at the last minute this way," Bob apologized, and for a moment it was almost as though these last few days had never happened. "But the boss wants me in for a conference tonight on a new product. I can't pull out."
"But can't you explain you have an engagement?" Vicky tried. She had counted on tonight.
"Job's a little more important than nightclubbing," he said sharply, then his tone softened. "Maybe well plan an evening in town by ourselves," he promised. "Dinner and the theatre?"
"When?" she asked childishly.
"Don't pin me down, Vicky!" he flung back harshly. And then Vicky heard the dull thud of the receiver.
Vicky stood at the window watching Olivia head for the car. Olivia looked sensational, she thought with envy. Really dressed to the teeth, the full makeup treatment! Why couldn't the four of them be meeting in town, the way they'd planned, instead of Olivia driving in alone to meet Chuck? Vicky could hear the faint echo of Olivia's sighing as she hauled herself behind the wheel, plainly in a festive mood.
The car shot backwards out of the driveway, then leapt forward with breezy swiftness. Olivia always made a point of passing the speed limit by five miles. She would be driving against the traffic, Vicky guessed. In fifty minutes, the way Olivia drove, she'd be shooting off the parkway at Fifty-seventh Street, heading for Madison Avenue to pick up Chuck. And here she would sit, chewing her nails. It didn't make sense, she thought wrathfully. Nothing made sense any more. Had her mother been right, about her being too young for marriage? Would another few years have made it possible for her to understand Bob, to change things?
She forced herself to go back into the kitchen, fix herself a sandwich, open a bottle of soda. Anything to keep busy. She put the sandwich and sofa on a tray, walked out to the patio. A patio wasn't much fun alone. In a determined effort not to feel completely lost, Vicky went back inside, stacked records on the hi-fi, returned to the patio.
Vicky listened intently, not sure that it was her doorbell being leaned upon with such vociferousness. She walked back inside, through the house to the front door. The bell was hitting a jaunty semi-melody. Somebody had a sense of humor, she decided, for the instant pleased.
"I catch you in the shower?" Bert grinned with ingratiating warmth as he lounged before the door.
"No, I was out on the patio," Vicky said, trying to ignore the detailed inspection. It was nice, though, to be admired.
"I'm selling raffles for the school athletic fund.
Olivia said to stick you with at least a book. I figure to let you off with half a book."
"Half a book," Vicky agreed. "Come on inside-I'll get my purse. Oh, how much is it?" she asked belatedly, feeling gauche. Bert had a way of looking at her that made her feel they were absoutely on the same level. Darn it, he probably knew it, tool
"Five bucks," he soothed. "Not too bad, huh? It's a good cause, you know. All for good clean living." Sardonic humor crept into his voice.
"I'll get the money," Vicky stammered and hurtled down the. corridor to the bedroom where she kept her purse.
Vicky heard Bert manipulating the hi-fi. He was rushing ahead to an LP she had scheduled for later in the cycle. It was a torchy blues medley. She walked back to the living room, hesitated uncertainly because Bert was dancing alone.
"Hey, this is great," he purred. "Come on, let's don't waste it."
It would have been silly to make a fuss, Vicky thought. And she felt like dancing, she thought guiltily. She hadn't danced since before Bob and she were married. Bert pulled her in close, their bodies brushing. He danced well, she decided with satisfaction. Some of the tension seemed to roll away.
"We're terrific together," he bragged. "I figured you'd know your way around a dance floor." He tried some fancy bits and she followed with enthusiasm.
The music stopped for a moment before cutting into the next number, and suddenly Vicky was aware that she was in Bert's arms, and he wasn't a kid anymore.
"I thought you wanted to dance," she said breathlessly because the music filled the room again but Bert swayed with her without moving his feet.
"Well dance," he soothed. "What's the rush?"
"Now, Bert-" she began sharply, but was unable to finish because Bert's mouth came down hard on hers.
At first she was resistant, refusing when his tongue fought to pry past her slightly parted lips. And then resistance flowed away because the lean hard strength of him set off electric charges low within her. A hand roamed knowingly about one breast. Her mouth parted, allowing the serpentine tongue to enter the warm cavern. She met his tongue in welcome.
It was crazy, Vicky thought subconsciously, yet she couldn't reject this. It was as though she were physically incapable of thrusting Bert away. More than that, her mind insisted on conceding. She wanted to be lovedl She wanted this handsome, passionate young man to love herl She was nineteen, tired of this absurd game Bob kept playing with her. Bert was frank-she excited him-he wanted her. Simple, uncomplicated.
"I've been waiting a long time for you, baby," he whispered hotly, his hands busy with the buttons on the front of her blouse. "I could hit the roof just standing next to you!"
"We're out of our minds," she said, but they both knew the words meant nothing.
Bert opened the blouse, let a hand roam about to release her bra, then cupped the delicious spill of one breast with a gasp of smoldering excitement.
"Stacked," he whispered. "Wow, are you stacked!"
Vicky closed her eyes, caught up in desire. Her hands roamed about his chest. He tweaked a nipple between his fingers, and she moaned low in her throat. The free hand was busy at the zipper of her shorts. Now both hands at her shorts, finding the elastic beneath as well, thrusting the offending clothing down about her thighs, to the floor.
"Bert, the drapes," she remembered in sudden alarm, yet reluctant to separate even for a moment.
"Tight, sweetie," he reassured. "Relax and enjoy it!"
He lifted her bodily from the spill of cloth at her feet, pulling her in with deliberate harshness against him. His hands caressed her bare rump, building the excitement within her until Vicky was ready to scream.
"You do get around, don't you?" she whispered in faint reproach, her breathing labored because she knew he had freed himself for her and her body ached to taste all of him.
His hands caressed her, teasing her into impossible desire. Moaning in sudden abandon, she encircled his neck, thrust her breasts in sweet torment against his bared chest. Her body pleaded for fulfillment.
"Yeah, baby," he promised body. "Here we go, like it was the end of the world!"
He clutched at the firm young rear, pulling her down as he lowered himself onto an armless chair. His arms held her with comforting strength. A cry escaped her as she welcomed him.
"Take it easy, honey," he whispered, but his voice was husky. "We don't have to advertise!"
His mouth reached to cover hers because the sweet rapture was welling again in her throat as they strove to meet. She didn't care about anything but now, Vicky thought in painful ecstasy, hurtling with him through space. Striving to reach, to claim, to go out of her mind with this impossibly marvelous touching. Oh, God, she thought dizzily! Let this moment last forever!
She dressed quickly, with shame overcoming her now that it was over, unable to meet Bert's eyes.
"I didn't mean for that to happen," she said unsteadily. "I didn't."
"So what, Vicky? Who's to know?" He was gentle, friendly, all at once the older of the two.
"I know," Vicky emphasized miserably.
"You enjoyed it," he consoled. "Nobody's hurt There won't be any less for your husband." His eyes were wise as they rested on her. "Oh, the five bucks, Vicky," he reminded. "For the half a book of raffles."
CHAPTER TEN
Vicky was nervous as she slid into the new dress Bob had insisted she buy for Olivia's party tonight. Claudia and Perry were coming, too, because this was a cast party for the theatre group and the people involved in its production. At the last moment Olivia had dragged her in to work with them on props. With Bob away in the city three or four nights a week she had been grateful for the activity. She made a point of avoiding Bert, but the smoldering interest he harbored for her was undeniable. She lived in dread of his making some small slip that Olivia might pick up.
The phone buzzed and Vicky heard Bob swear in the bathroom as he shaved. He was so on edge these days, she remembered uneasily.
"I'll get it," she called out hurriedly and went to pick up the receiver. "Hello."
"Vicky, it's Claudia," her sister-in-law said crisply.
"Hello, Claudia, how're the kids?" She felt guilty because twice in a row she had turned down dinner invitations because Bob was working and she was involved in rehearsals with the group. She could have begged off, Vicky knew-and no doubt, Claudia knew it, also.
"They're fine," Claudia said, almost with impatience. "Bob and you are coming to Olivia Sanders' party tonight, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Good, I want a chance to talk to Bob. I've been following a lead on another house that might be just right for you two. Talk about it later," she wound up quickly, and a dull thud echoed from the other end of the wire.
Bob was still talking to Claudia about houses, she thought with resentment. Not to her, his wife, but to his precious sister.
"Do we have to bring anything special over?" Bob asked, as he walked out of the bathroom. His eyes strayed pleasurably over the turquoise cocktail dress.
"I said we'd bring over a fifth of scotch," Vicky acknowledged. "Would you zip me, Bob?" She turned around, thinking tonight would be a deadly strain because Claudia would be at the party.
"You look beautiful," Bob said, busy with zipper. For a moment he pulled her snugly against him, his arms amorous.
"Then the dress was worth that mad price," she said pertly. Why couldn't she get back to the old footing with Bob? Maybe tonight. Bob was unhappy, too, because of the barrier between them.
"I'll go scout for the bottle of scotch," he said with a note of reluctance. "You look very exciting," he finished, releasing her.
"You know what I wish?" she said with impulsive daring. "I wish this was just a party for the two of us tonight. Right here." Her eyes held his, dark with invitation. Why couldn't he, just once, release all his inhibitions? Why couldn't he come back to her now, slide the zipper down the back of her dress? Why couldn't he forget everything and make love to her? Other couples didn't have these barren periods of lying together in monastic separateness. Once this week he had thrown a leg across hers in the night, and she had moved across the separation in eagerness. But he had turned on his side and left her alone. Damn, damn, damn!
"Hurry and finish with the glamour," he said with a synthetic lightness. "Olivia's parties always seem to get off to an early start."
When they walked into the Sanders' house the party was just beginning to swing. Chuck was already in amorous discussion with a silver blonde who was a stranger to Vicky. Probably an import from the city, she guessed. Olivia was talking too loudly and with a false brightness. The blonde was probably Chuck's current diversion. Claudia and Perry hadn't arrived yet. Gail Webster had arrived. She made a beeline for Bob, draped herself about his neck on the pretext of telling a joke that required the intimate tones.
"Think your precious sister-in-law will show?" Olivia demanded with a drawl of amusement. "She thinks I'm the village tramp."
"She'll be here," Vicky said. "She called a little earlier, said she'd see us here." Perry's warning against their buying a house kept echoing in her mind. Who stood a chance when Claudia steam-rolled into action?
"I wouldn't mind some private wrestling with that husband of hers," Olivia flipped, pouring herself a drink that made Vicky gasp. "Don't you think he gets a little lonesome now and then for a real woman?"
"She probably has him well-trained after all these years," Vicky answered, her voice low. Compulsively, her eyes moved again to Gail and Bob. Gail had set her cap for Bob, hadn't she, Vicky thought in annoyance. Party time meant some ersatz sex with Bob. If Gail pushed herself any closer, somebody ought to put up a screen around them!
"She really goes to town when she puts on the glamour duds, doesn't she?" Olivia smiled sardonically. "You want me to go over and break it up?" An unexpected compassion lurked in Olivia's eyes. "Jack won't be any help."
"No," Vicky said sharply, and flushed. Let Bob break it up. He could, if he made the effort. He was drinking heavily, she noticed in faint alarm. If he kept up this pace, he'd be stoned before the evening was half over.
"What is such pulchritude doing without male companionship?" Jack Webster scolded, walking across to drop an arm about Olivia and Vicky. He was all set for a big evening again, Vicky guessed. The hand about Olivia's waist was not so innocent as the one about Vicky.
""Waiting for you, doll." Olivia swayed in to him, her eyes meeting his with audacious invitation. Jack gazed down the low neckline of her dress, whistled at the jutting breasts that spurned a bra.
"You doing bar duty?" Jack demanded.
"Until the bar man arrives. He's late." Olivia withdrew, sauntered behind the bar. Her eyes clashed dangerously for an instant with the silver blonde who commanded Chuck's rapt attention. "Oh, baby, here comes the puritan squad," Olivia flipped, looking at Vicky. "I'd better warn Chuck against making it movie night. She'll pop her cork."
Vicky knew before she turned around that it was Claudia who had arrived with Perry. Chuck was at the door greeting them, his arm still snug about the silver blonde. Claudia had wrapped herself in that distant air that said she refused to observe anything off-color. It was funny, though, Vicky thought in wry amusement, how Bob managed to disentangle himself from Gail to walk with her to Claudia.
Vicky made a point of not seeing Claudia. Okay, so it was childish, she thought guiltily, but she wished her darling sister-in-law hadn't come to Olivia's party. How did she bear to drag herself away from the children and her house for this long? Or would Claudia and Perry be leaving at some ungodly hour like eleven?
"Vicky," Bob's voice intruded with an -edged politeness. "Come over and say Tu' to Claudia and Perry." His arm was at her elbow, the familiar tenseness about him, as though he was about to be caught in some wrong-doing. Vicky intercepted a nervous glance he shot towards Gail, who watched with a sly amusement. Tonight was a little different from Olivia's last party, Vicky remembered. The Presence was here tonight.
Claudia was sweetly polite in her greetings to Vicky. There was a veiled awareness in Perry that told Vicky he was ill-at-ease because of their unscheduled secret consultation.
"I really shouldn't have come," Claudia said, faintly reluctant. "Michelle has the sniffles. You never know when a child will sprout a high tempera-
"You left word with the kid to check regularly and to call," Perry reminded, his voice tired, as though they had often been through this conversa-
To Vicky's relief, Claudia was swooped up by the play's director, who was avid for news about advance sales. The play was opening in just a week. He carted Claudia off to the other side of the room. Perry seemed pleased to be paired with her. His closeness made Vicky nervous because his eyes said things he would never allow himself to utter. Ever the clean-cut faithful husband, Vicky thought in tender mockery. Perry deserved the best.
Someone interjected music into the party. With a look of amazement Vicky watched Bob allow himself to be coaxed into a twist. The shots of straight scotch had obviously loosened his inhibitions. Normally, Bob hedged away from anything less sedate than the rhumba. There was a desperate air about Bob tonight, Vicky thought unhappily. Determinedly she turned her eyes away from the gyrating torsos of her husband and Gail Webster. The way Gail danced! Head back, eyes closed, body in orgiastic contortions.
Claudia had said she wanted to talk to Bob. Why didn't she do it now? Desperation tightened her throat as she saw the way Gail reached to touch Bob, to press her hands on his shoulders as they danced, bodies still twisting in frenzy. Vicky watched compulsively, unable to summon the will power to remove her gaze. She didn't want to see Bob's rapt, fixed gaze that was stripping Gail Webster.
"Let's go over and try some solid nourishment," Perry said with gentle insistence. "All right," she whispered.
As Vicky walked with Perry to the buffet, she shot one last glance in Bob's direction. Gail and he had stopped dancing. They stood close, bodies rubbing against each other. She gasped, colored, looked at Perry. He had noticed but was pretending to ignore the tableau across the room.
"This looks great right here," Perry said, filling plates for the two of them. "And I'm a man with a healthy appetite."
Vicky struggled to keep up a semblance of coherent conversation with Perry. He had deliberately contrived for her to face away from Bob. Bob didn't have to make such a spectacle of himself. It was really crazy.
Chuck ambled over, dropped an arm about Perry and the other about Vicky. She strived to stay casual.
"Say I'm going to start some private screening later down in the basement, for those with healthy appetites. Might be a little strong for some of this coffee klatch, so if you're in the mood, take a cool walk out to the kitchen, then downstairs. Okay?" His eyes were challenging as they tangled with Vicky's momentarily.
"I'll take a rain check," Perry demurred. "Maybe some night when you're running a stag showing."
"I'll pass the word along," Chuck promised, then sauntered over to huddle with another pair.
Vicky and Perry prosaically found themselves a comfortable corner and sat down to eat. Claudia was still deeply involved with the director and a pair from the cast. It looked as though she were holding court, Vicky thought in hostility. After all, it was how much they earned at the box office that counted. Claudia was a big wheel in their set-up.
Despite her efforts not to look in Bob's direction, Vicky found her gaze swinging with wavering regularity in that direction. Bob was kibitzing with the bartender, who had arrived. Gail had draped herself about his shoulder. They were taking their drinks and heading towards the kitchen. Vicky's face tightened in a mixture of hurt and anger.
"You're not interested in the movies tonight, are you?" Perry teased, aware of the other pair's destination.
"Of course not!" Vicky's face felt warm because she remembered the last movies Chuck had shown at a party.
"Hey, you two don't look very festive," Olivia reproached as she weaved towards them. "Vicky, baby, would you keep an eye on the buffet for a few minutes? If the mustard runs out or anything else, be a lamb and bring in replacements. I want to talk to Jack about getting us a local radio plug." She sent a secretive smile to Jack, who lounged at the entrance to the foyer. "You run into complications, I'll be in the den."
"Olivia has a pair of folksingers coming out later," Vicky said, as Olivia sauntered off to link an arm through Jack's and to disappear with him. "They're supposed to be awfully good."
"Wouldn't it be simpler just to throw a dozen mattresses about the room and douse the lights?" Perry said with a brusqueness that elicited a startled look from Vicky. "That's Olivia's version of the successful party. Don't get me wrong," he added quickly. "I'm just as passionate as the next guy, but can't they show a little discrimination?"
"At least they're keeping the movies downstairs," Vicky said crisply. And Bob was downstairs with Gail. His hands were all over her, no doubt. Suddenly, she couldn't be still another moment. "It looks as though the ice cubes are getting low at the bar," she manufactured. "I'll get some."
"Shall I come with you?" Perry's eyes were opaque.
"I'll be right back," Vicky stammered, and moved swiftly across the room in the direction of the kitchen.
As Vicky fussed with ice cubes, she could hear the noisy laughter, the ribald comments from below. She strained to catch the sound of Bob's voice, but there was nothing. A woman was singing a colorful party song. Gail? No, somebody else, Vicky decided. What were Bob and Gail doing down there in their silence?
Fighting panic, Vicky forced herself to load the ice bucket, return to the party inside. As soon as she deposited the ice with the bartender, the doorbell rang. She flagged down Perry, who was about to go out to answer, and ran to the front door. It was the folksingers, as she had anticipated.
"We came early," the girl explained with an expansive smile. "We like to dress and make up in leisure."
"I'm not sure where Missus Sanders wants you to dress," Vicky stammered, remembering that Olivia was in the den with Jack Webster. "Oh, would you like a drink or something to eat first?"
"Later," the fellow smiled. "Thanks, anyway."
"Would you mind waiting here?" Vicky glanced nervously down the corridor. "I'll find out about the room in a moment."
Vicky walked to the door of the den, which was closed. She knocked, feeling self-conscious about the intrusion.
"Who is it?" Olivia demanded.
"Vicky," she identified herself. "The folksingers just arrived-"
"Come in, baby," Jack ordered exuberantly. "But close the door behind you."
Vicky walked inside and closed the door. Jack had been wise in ordering the door shut. Olivia lay stretched out on the den sofa, her dress high above her thighs. Olivia had worn nothing beneath the dress. The straps had been pushed down from her shoulders, and her breasts jutted almost free of the bodice.
"What's the problem, sweetie?" Olivia crooned with drunken sentimentality. "What do the nasty old folksingers what?" She held her arms out to Jack, who wasted no time in settling beside her.
"They want to know where to dress," Vicky said sharply.
Jack had buried his mouth in the valley between Olivia's breasts, and a hand roamed about a nude leg.
"Send them into the master bedroom," Olivia ordered in high amusement. "Unless the master is staked out there with his peroxided broad!"
"I'll get them set," Vicky said, anxious to be away from the over-heated pair on the sofa. As she turned away the vision of Jack Webster crouched over Olivia was stamped upon her mind.
Vicky made a point of investigating the master bedroom. It was primly empty. She scurried back to the waiting couple, ushered them to the room they were to use. The faint amusement mirrored on their faces told her they were familiar with Olivia's brand of suburban party.
"The folksingers needed a place to dress," Vicky said breathlessly as she returned to Perry, still anchored in his quiet comfortable corner.
"You didn't miss a thing," Perry flipped, and she felt self-conscious that he knew she had looked about instinctively to see if Bob and Gail had returned from the basement. "Chuck just took half the bar supplies down below, so I assume that section of the party's a howling success."
Claudia sent an inspecting look in their direction at irregular intervals, Vicky noted, as though to make sure Perry hadn't strayed off with some errant female. Didn't she trust him? Olivia and Jack returned a few moments later. Olivia glowed with a look of crafty triumph. She was managing to stay on her feet but Vicky suspected she might collapse any moment.
"I sent Jack over to the liquor store before they close," Olivia reported to Vicky. "This is the most liquid party we've tossed in a long time."
"Why don't you sit down, Olivia?" Vicky suggested. Before she fell down! And about the liquid state of the party, Vicky thought in raging unrest, no doubt Bob was helping that condition.
"Maybe I will sit down." A wicked glint shone in Olivia's exquisitely made-up eyes. Vicky intercepted the fleeting glance Olivia shot across the room before she draped herself across Perry's knee. "Hostess has certain rights, hasn't she?"
"Do you hear any complaints?" Perry seemed amused.
"I'll bet we will," Olivia jibed. "Any minute now." She nipped at Perry's ear, was convulsed with amusement at his indulgent reproach.
Vicky stiffened as she saw Claudia separate herself from her small clique, head towards them. The same distant smile enveloping her, as though she didn't really see Olivia on Perry's lap.
"Perry dear," Claudia said, managing to ignore Olivia. "I'm going to drive back to the house for a few moments. I'll feel more satisfied if I check Michelle for myself." She hesitated. "All right?"
"Sure," Perry drawled, and Vicky caught the momentary clash of Perry's eyes with his wife's. "If you run into trouble, buzz me."
Olivia waited until Claudia stalked from the room, then she hurled herself about Perry's neck. "Oh, baby, are you going to be in the doghouse tonight!"
"You know where you ought to be right now?" Perry said calmly. "Dousing your face under the cold water. Before you fall on that beautiful puss."
"You know?" Olivia squinted contemplatively. "The man may be right." With exaggerated care she untangled herself from Perry, tested herself in an upright position and headed, still with caution, in the direction of the bedrooms.
Vicky sat up alertly. Yes, that was Bob's voice drifting out from the kitchen. And Gail's. Coming closer now. She tried not to be watching as they wandered back into the living room, headed again for the bar. They slouched over the bar in an aura of intimacy, and then Bob's gaze was swinging about, searching the room. For her, Vicky guessed, because his eyes settled on her as though having found their quarry. He murmured something to Gail, then headed for Vicky and Perry. Vicky stiffened, antagonistic as Bob approached.
"How're you doing, baby?" Bob dropped a hand on her shoulder. A note of caution in the gesture. "You're in good company."
"I'm doing just fine," Vicky tossed back, her eyes dark coals of fury. This wasn't Bob, behaving this way. Not the Bob she knew. He was drunk. Maybe if he had gotten drunk with her, Vicky conceded, she wouldn't have felt such fury, but his drunken spree involved Gail Webster. He was just making polite noises for a moment. "Don't worry about me, darling!"
"Great." Bob's face tightened as he became aware of her hostility. "See you." He waved with an air of flippancy, turned on his heel and headed back for Gail.
Vicky watched with unguarded intensity as Gail whispered in Bob's ear, obviously some sales pitch. Whatever the pitch, she was winning. The pantomime was obvious. Vicky watched as Bob took Gail by the hand, headed back in the direction of the kitchen. Compulsively, Vicky rose to her feet, started after them.
They weren't going back down to the private movie showing. They were heading out the side entrance. Vicky clenched her hands as she heard Gail's laughter drifting through the night. She jerked open the door, hurried behind them.
"Wait!" It was Perry's voice, insistent in its command. His hand clutched her wrist, rendering her immobile.
"They're going to Gail's house," Vicky said in disbelief. "You know why!" Her eyes challenged his denial.
"Don't follow them, honey." His voice was soft, compassionate. "Look, well go over to your house, make ourselves a decent cup of coffee."
"What am I supposed to do? Pretend I don't know?" Vicky demanded. And at the same time guilt shot through her because of Bert Connors. That never should have happened. Chuck never should have happened. This was a terrible place, she thought angrily. Bob and she should never have come here to live!
"Gail's chasing like mad, you know. Bob's been drinking-he's flattered to death. And don't worry about what's going to happen down there in the Webster house," he chuckled unexpectedly. "Bob's much too crocked!"
"He didn't have to make such an ass of himself!" Vicky stormed as she allowed herself to be prodded towards her own house.
"We all can make such messes of our lives," Perry said, his voice harsh. "Don't think Bob has a monopoly on that."
They were silent as they let themselves in through the side entrance that led into the kitchen and breakfast nook. Vicky busied herself with coffee making.
"How are you doing on the house situation?" Perry said finally.
"You'll have to ask your wife." Vicky stared, motionless for a moment, into the percolator. "Bob tells me nothing. He went ape when I said we shouldn't even consider buying a house."
"He feels he owes his wife the suburban bit," Perry guessed. "Hell break his neck to give you everything he thinks you need to make you happy."
"He hasn't the faintest idea what I need to make me happy," Vicky tossed back. She turned up the gas jet, swung about to face Perry. "Why does Bob act as though I were some under-aged fragile bit of fluff that might fall apart if he even makes proper love to me? Or is that just a cover? He must have been in love with someone else before. Somebody he's never forgotten." She closed her eyes for a moment helpless in her frustration.
"Honey, nothing like that," Perry said quickly, crossing to her, taking her hands in his. "But Bob has problems, I'll admit."
"Why doesn't someone explain them to me?" Vicky demanded, her eyes accusing as they met Perry's.
"Honey, take it easy," Perry coaxed.
His arms were pulling her close in consolation. But, all at once, Vickey was aware of Perry's warmth, the unexpected strength as he held her.
"Perry, I'm so mixed up." Her voice broke. Part of her grappled with the vision of Bob and Gail in that house down the street. The other part was too aware of the tenderness in Perry-and the tenuously leashed passion that made him tremble as his hands fondled her back.
"Aren't we all?" he mocked.
His mouth came down gently to meet hers, as though he couldn't withstand the need to touch another instant. The tenseness left her as, with swift excitement, she allowed her body to melt into his.
"We can't stay here," he whispered hotly, his mouth tender at her ear.
"The guest room," she managed, a hot flame devouring her. The two drinks, she thought. She shouldn't drink!
"All right, darling." Perry's voice was an endearing murmur as he clasped her hand in his and walked towards the never-used guest room.
They opened the door, walked inside and instantly Perry's arms were pulling her in to him, his mouth hard on hers. His tongue shot past her faintly opened mouth and encircled her tongue, setting off fires within her. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she felt the heat of him against her. Bob and Gail were down the street, she taunted herself. Why not Vicky and Perry?
She uttered a low sound of pleasure as Perry maneuvered the zipper partly down the back of her dress, so that he could pull away the top of the dress, clutch at the jutting white mounds in their sheer black bra.
"Vicky, you're so lovely."
She waited with soaring anticipation as he struggled with the snap of her bra, released it, captured the high white spill of her. He imprisoned a taut pink tip until she uttered a low cry of exquisite pain. She clutched at his shoulders, driving her body urgently against his.
"We deserve this, baby," he said huskily.
Vicky closed her eyes as his hands swept the dress above her head. A pulse hammered insanely low within her. Perry would love and he wouldn't apologize for it afterwards!
"Oh, Perry, I need to be loved," she whispered.
"You're marvelous," he said, and then was silent because his mouth was at her breast, driving her to frenzy.
She felt herself being guided back across the width of the virgin bed. Oh, when he kissed her that way, teasing the nipple! And his hands! She couldn't stand it, she thought. She would go right out of her mind! She arched towards him, a cry wrenching itself from her as she strove to meet him.
"Perry, please," she coaxed. "Oh, darling, don't make me wait!"
She touched him, recognized that his passion matched her own. She waited, knowing he wouldn't delay. Oh, golly, she thought in joyous relief. Now! Oh, now! She plunged towards him, demanding, and rejoicing in his own impatience! He moved with mounting frenzy as she sought to welcome him. It was the greatest! The absolute greatest!
"How charming!" An oddly familiar voice, cold as ice, cut through the stabbing heat of their passion. "I should have expected something like this!"
As Perry froze in shock, Vicky recognized the voice that had intruded on their excitement. Claudia! Oh, my God, she thought with dizzy disbelief. Claudia!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sick with dismay, Vicky fumbled with the straps of her dress, finally managed to readjust the neckline to conceal the panting nakedness of her breasts. Her face hot, she reached to pull the skirt over the bare thighs. Perry was on his feet, his back to Vicky and Claudia for a moment as he rearranged his clothes.
It just couldn't be happening this way, Vicky thought with a stab of hysterial Perry and she on the sofa that way, and here was Claudia. A stricken covert glance at Claudia's white face, the dark shocked eyes told her it was reality. And the jeering admission that this could have been Vicky herself, walking in on Bob and Gail, sent a shiver through her.
"I expected something like this," Claudia said through clenched teeth. "The moment Bob walked in with a teenaged sexpot, I knew we were in for trouble!"
"Now wait a minute, Claudia," Perry began painfully.
"I'll talk to you later, Perry. Shut up for now!" his wife silenced him. "Why should he shut up? Doesn't anybody have a right to speak except Her Royal Highness, Princess Claudia?" Vicky blazed.
"You rotten little tramp!" Claudia lashed with contempt. "How could Bob do this to us?"
"How can you ruin the lives of everybody who comes within your shadow?" Vicky retaliated, knowing there was no turning back now. There were things that must be said. "When I met Bob, I'd never been near a man in my life. Your brother married a virgin, if that means so much to you. But you even get in the way of his loving me. You're right there in the bed with us every night!"
"Vicky-" Perry warned nervously. "I'm not sure what it is with Bob, but you make him ashamed of every intimate moment we have together!" Vicky ignored Perry.
"I don't have to listen to your filthy conversation!" Claudia was trembling. "I'm a lady. My brother was brought up to be a gentleman. You can't drag us down to your level."
"Why don't you come down from that pedestal and live with the rest of the world? Why don't you give your husband a break? Nothing in the world matters to you except keeping that museum of a house as though it were a showpiece-that and raising the perfect children. Don't you think Perry is made of the same stuff as other men? Maybe I'm only nineteen and I've only been married a few weeks, but I know things, too. I know Perry wants to hold his wife in his arms and to love her. Not to feel she's doing him a favor every time!"
"How dare you!" Claudia's voice rose dangerously. "You talk like some common little guttersnipe!"
"Are you ashamed of sex, or afraid of it?"
Vicky's face was aglow with indignation. "What did you do to Bob that he apologizes when he behaves like a husband?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." But for the first time Vicky saw uneasy doubt in Claudia's eyes. "You're trying to cover up for what happened here. Perry, take me home." With a desperate effort Claudia regained a veneer of calm. "It means nothing to a girl like you of course, but Perry and I happen to have two children." It was as though she were half-afraid that her own marriage might be over tonight, Vicky realized. The perfect marriage that was so un-perfect underneath.
"It might help to remember you also have a man in your house," Vicky retaliated, her face hot. "A man like Perry wouldn't go off the range if he had normal fare at home." Vicky refused to flinch beneath Claudia's contempt.
"I'll find Bob and send him home." Perry broke the stormy silence with a sigh of utter misery.
"Don't bother." Vicky's head was high. "I'm going back to the party. Maybe Bob's gotten back by now." She caught the surprised look on Claudia's face. "Oh, Bob goes looking, too, because he has this sick idea that he's defiling his wife to go to bed with her. I'm going to fight to straighten him out, no matter what I have to try. If you're one tenth as smart as Bob thinks you are, Claudia, you'll take some inventory, too. Perry's special. I wouldn't take a chance on losing him."
"Why don't we all calm down?" Perry tried nervously. He glanced from Vicky to his wife, seeming to search for words that wouldn't come.
"About tonight," Claudia said, speaking slowly, with an insecure calm. "We'll say nothing to Bob.
I couldn't bear to see him hurt." Claudia swerved about, strode down the corridor towards the front door.
Perry sent an apologetic and compassionate smile at Vicky as he followed in Claudia's tracks. He hesitated at the front door, aware that Vicky stood watching them. "If you want me to find Bob for you-"
"No," she said quickly, and waited for them to leave.
Vicky stumbled into the bedroom she shared with Bob, tossed herself across the bed, and cried. Minutes later, she arose, walked into the bathroom to freshen her face. She hadn't been making talk when she said she was fighting for her marriage. Tonight would have never happened if things were right between Bob and her. Nothing of the Ugliness that was part of these last weeks would have happened.
At Olivia's door, Vicky hesitated for a moment, bracing herself for whatever she would find inside. Would Bob be back now with Gail? She remembered with wry humor Perry's remark about Bob's being too drunk for anything to happen.
Vicky heard the plaintive voices of the folk singing pair as she let herself into the house. Somebody had switched off most of the lights, except for a lamp that spotlighted the singers. Olivia hadn't been wrong, she thought; they were good. But they could have been rotten for all the attention they were getting, except for an amorous pair who were locked together in absorbed listening. Chuck and his blonde were standing in a corner, the blonde pressed against the wall. In the shadows, Vicky saw his hand travel down the slashed neckline of the blonde's dress. The tight, narrow skirt had been thrust about her hips. The way Chuck was breathing prepared Vicky for the sudden descent of the pair to the dark area of the floor, comfortably concealed by a sofa. They didn't care, she thought in distaste. There on the floor, behind the sofa, with the party in full swing about them!
"Hi, baby, all alone?" Someone made a playful lunge towards her, and Vicky dodged.
The party had broken down into definite couples-like the Ark, Vicky though with forced casualness. Couples on every available sitting space, in various stages of embrace. Couples, like Chuck and the blonde, tangled up together on the floor. Obviously, what Olivia had called the puritan brigade had taken off. The couple in the spill of the lamp continued their plaintive songs, yet Vicky sensed a veiled contempt in them. They knew exactly why they were here; they refused to be touched.
"Hey, everybody!" Olivia suddenly broke in with bright gaiety as the singers took a rest. "Why don't we have a contest? A prize for the couple who can make it the most times. What do you say?" Vicky knew she was aware of the sex-fest behind the sofa, between Chuck and the blonde.
"Wouldn't be fair," Jack Webster objected, pulling Olivia back to him, his hands fondling her breasts. "We're all too lit to make a good showing. Save it for the next party. The small, esoteric kind," he kidded, "when the leading fights from the PTA are not among the guests."
"You're a stinking sport," Olivia pouted. "You could try at least."
The folksingers, as though aware of their obligations, dutifully resumed the floor show. The guests continued with their own. Vicky wandered about emptying ashtrays, went out for more ice cubes at the bartender s call for first aid. Slowly, the guests were beginning to dwindle away.
She felt, rather than saw, Bob's return to the party. She swung about to face his dark, troubled gaze beamed on her from the foyer. He was alone. He began to walk slowly towards her. He had come back alone. Inadvertently, Vicky's eyes moved about the room to find Jack. He was watching Bob, too, with an odd smile on his face. Jack knew all about Gail, Vicky reminded herself, and he didn't care. At parties anything was all right, because afterwards Gail returned to the old routine and that was okay with her husband. How could he be that way, Vicky wondered in amazement? And then she flushed because there were things about herself that Bob had best forget.
"Hi, honey," Bob said softly, almost in apology. As though he were at a loss for words to cover his behavior during the evening.
"Hi," she said, aware of his hand just barely caressing her arm. Somehow, tonight, they had to clear the air between themselves. They couldn't go on this way. All along she had known a time would come when she couldn't stand another day of the doubts, the recriminations, the insecurity of their fives together. She had to know why Bob behaved as he did, how much was because of his sister, how much because of a still-lingering love for Clarke Edwards' wife. She had to know who was her real enemy. "The party's thinning out," she said, to ease the silence.
"Getting late," he smiled, almost shyly.
The folksingers were taking off. They were in whispered conversation with Olivia for a few moments, then-all smiles-departed. Olivia had obviously been heavy on the tip. The director was taking a dramatic farewell now. With surprise, Vicky realized they were now alone with Chuck, Olivia, and the blonde.
"Oh, bartender," Olivia drawled, her eyes on the blonde. "You're driving back to the city, aren't you?"
"Say, that's an idea," Chuck went along vigorously, ignoring the furious, startled look on the blonde's face. "You won't mind taking a hitchhiker into the city, will you? She's sweet-tempered, housebroken, and beautiful."
"And so accommodating," Olivia added, draping herself about Chuck's neck. "Isn't she, darling?"
The blonde, in icy silence, collected herself, took a fast retreat with the bartender. Chuck looked guilty, but he was in no mood to tangle with Olivia. Maybe Chuck, too, knew just how far he could step with Olivia. He didn't honestly want to break up his marriage, Vicky realized. Then why the constant acting up? Didn't he know there would be a time when Olivia would have made all the excuses she could contrive, when she would throw him and their imperfect marriage right down the drain? But it was different with Bob and her, she thought, fear welling in her. They'd been married such a short while-they would find a way to straighten out the twisted paths of their marriage. No more occurrences like tonight because tonight Bob and she would sit down and talk like a pair of grown-ups.
"Wow, what a party!" Olivia released Chuck now, clutched at her head. "My head's out to here." She was inspecting Chuck now with a dangerous glint in her eyes. Golly, not another scene, Vicky thought in panic.
"Why don't I make us all some coffee and scrambled eggs?" Vicky suggested quickly. "Let's all go out to the kitchen," she ordered brightly.
With a spurt of forced conviviality, the four of them headed for the kitchen. Bob sat at the table, looking very serious. Olivia insisted on turning on the kitchen radio, though it was past five.
"Lower, baby," Chuck was cautioning. "We don't want the cops bugging us again."
Chuck softened the blaring radio, then swooped to catch Olivia who-without any warning-passed out cold.
"I'll put Sleeping Beauty to bed," Chuck said with a chuckle. "Keep the eggs warm for me."
I'll set the table," Bob offered, with a guilty look. He stopped to brush her cheek with his lips, again with that hint of apology that made her want to pull him to her and soothe him the way she would a hurt child. Poor darling, he was so upset. But what would he say if he knew about her, Vicky forced herself to consider. Would he be filled with contempt?
"The coffee's beginning to perk," Vicky reported in a few moments. There was an air of unsaid things between them that bothered her. She wished they were home already. She would sit down, like a mature woman, and she would say that they must talk. She wasn't a child-she was his wife. There were things to work out between themselves. Like not buying a house. That would be a starting point, Vicky decided, nervousness already flaring in her as she contemplated the scene. And she would ask him about Clarke Edward's wife, gradually, not forcing it. And perhaps he would make love to her, the good way-when he didn't let shame creep between them. And she ought to be adult enough to convince him that sex was wonderful, to be cherished, enjoyed. She had to convince him Claudia was wrong. Because all at once she knew that Claudia had-impregnated him with the belief that sex was disgusting to a woman. Only sluts dared enjoy sex. Hadn't Bob said that himself?
"Maybe you ought to take some coffee in to Olivia," Bob suggested self-consciously.
"Okay." Take coffee to Olivia, quickly have eggs and coffee themselves, and go home.
Vicky filled a mug with black coffee, walked swiftly to the bedroom. The door was open. Olivia lay back against the pillow, eyes shut, crying. Chuck was getting her into a nightie.
"Oh, baby, baby, I don't know why I'm such a louse," he was muttering as he maneuvered her limp body into the nightie. "I don't know what kind of a bill of goods I'm trying to sell myself."
On tiptoe, Vicky headed back to the kitchen. She walked back inside, put down the mug, turned around to talk to Bob. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Bob was gone. She walked anxiously through the house, calling his name softly, so as not to disturb the pair in the bedroom. And then, as she glanced across the driveway, she saw the lamp turned on in their bedroom.
By the time Vicky had put away the unused dishes, turned off the percolator, and headed across the lawn that connected the two houses, she saw the lamp in the bedroom already doused. Before she walked into the bedroom, Vicky knew. Bob was asleep on his side of the bed. Feigning sleep, no doubt. Running away again. How did you fight with someone who forever fled the battlefield?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Vicky lay beside Bob as the first pinkness of dawn stole through a chink in the drapes to lend a deceptive note of brightness to the room. Bob was a few inches away, she taunted herself, but he might have been on another planet. She shut her eyes tightly, determined to fall asleep.
Her mind refused to surrender to sleep. How had Perry and she allowed themselves to fall into such a situation? Perry was in love with Claudia; she was in love with Bob. How did people allow their fives to become so mixed up? She had been punishing Bob for going off that way with Gail, Vicky forced herself to admit. Inside, she'd been furious, anxious to get back at him for hurting her.
She tossed about in the bed, then relaxed into inactivity. Bob's regular breathing told her he wasn't shamming any longer. She's lie perfectly still so as not to disturb him. But first thing tomorrow morning, she would go to Claudia and Perry and she would talk with them. They were older than her; they knew some of the answers that eluded her. Somehow, she would find out if there was a marriage with Bob for her-or if there had been nothing right from the start. She shivered, remembering her mother's doubts. But having made the decision to go to Claudia, Vicky found sleep less elusive. In a matter of minutes she drifted off into restless, dream-haunted slumber.
Vicky awoke slowly, last night invading her memory with painful clarity. She still clutched the pillow as she had in sleep, while her mind reviewed last night's decision. Carefully, so as not to disturb Bob, she pushed back the sheet, sat up with the realization that the brief hours of rest had been inadequate. Her body ached, felt tense. She stifled a yawn as she felt about for her slippers.
Bob lay on his stomach, sleeping heavily. He looked so much younger asleep that way, she thought with a rush of tenderness. There was something vulnerable about him that made her want to reach out to him, made her feel the older. Next week they would be married two months, Vicky remembered as she tiptoed over to the bathroom. She felt about ten years older.
Vicky showered, trying to frame questions she wanted to ask of Claudia. She was Bob's wife-she had a right to know these things. For an instant, self-conscious alarm shot through her. Suppose Claudia ordered her out of the house, refused to talk? She had been furious last night. Vicky's face grew hot as she remembered Claudia's vituperations. She would have this talk with Claudia.
Vicky dressed with a compulsive swiftness. She glanced at the clock beside Bob. Past ten. Michelle and Rolf would be on their way to Sunday school. Claudia and Bob would be home alone. Nothing ever varied in Claudia's inflexible schedule. If Bob should wake up, he would think she had gone down to pick up the Sunday papers. Vicky hurried out of the house to the garage. The street had a Sunday morning quietness that was oddly soothing.
As she turned into the Mattox driveway and stepped on the brake, Vicky tried not be aware of the knot in her stomach. It would be grim to face Claudia after last night. She closed the car door with a slam, as though to alert those inside that she was approaching. The aroma of Sunday morning breakfast greeted her as she scurried up the three steps to the entrance to the house. Of course Claudia would keep life rolling, she thought with bitterness. She might make a life not worth living for Perry, but to the neighbors, Claudia would admit no glimmer of disagreement.
She hesitated a moment, her finger just touching the bell without exerting pressure. Stop acting like a kid, she exhorted herself. Ring! She pushed the bell, lightly, almost in apology, waited. Her throat was tight with anticipation. She heard Claudia's voice inside, then Perry's footsteps headed for the door.
"Vicky," he said in Astonishment as he opened the door. "Something wrong?"
"I have to talk to Claudia and you," she said, her voice laced with desperation.
"Claudia's still pretty upset," he said hesitantly. He seemed so tired, Vicky thought compassionately.
"Please let me come in, Perry." Her eyes were wide with appeal.
"Of course, Vicky," he stammered self-consciously.
"Who is it, Perry?" Claudia's voice demanded imperiously.
"Vicky," he called back with a nervous glance toward the kitchen.
"Is Bob with her?" Claudia's voice came to them after a moment
"Bob's home asleep," Vicky answered.
"You're welcome in this house only when in Bob's company," Claudia told her. "Those are the terms." She stayed out of sight.
"You're not dictating terms, Claudia," Vicky blazed. "You were the one who decided on not telling Bob, not me!"
"Come out to the kitchen," Perry said quietly, a hand at her elbow.
"Perry, you heard me," Claudia began, her face white as Perry and Vicky appeared at the kitchen entrance.
"Claudia, I make some decisions in this household," Perry reminded with unexpected strength. "The three of us are going to sit down and have breakfast together, and we're going to listen to Vicky. There are four lives at stake right now. We all have something to say."
"You expect me to sit at the same table with your-your mistress?" Claudia choked.
"Oh, come off it, Claudia," Perry said with impatience. "That word went out of fashion with Madame DuBarry! Well forget about last night, Claudia, because all of us," he emphasized, "all of us are to some degree responsible. Yes, Claudia," he rode ahead as she threatened to interrupt. "Even you. I I should have been firm a long time ago, but I understood what drove you. I love you, Claudia."
Vicky knew it was difficult for him to talk this way, but his honesty gave her fresh courage.
"I have to know what's wrong with my marriage," Vicky said with a desperate effort at calm. "I know I've been at fault. Things wouldn't have happened that did happen," she pushed herself on relentlessly. "If I were older, maybe I could understand what troubles Bob. I know he's terribly driven over this new job. It's a constant rat race with him-"
"That's ridiculous," Claudia interrupted indignantly, then colored, retreating into imperious coldness. "I got Bob that job. It's the best break he's ever had in his life. If he handles himself right, he can be making forty thousand in another three or four years. He's brilliant, though I'm sure you've never been aware of that." Sarcasm sneaked into Claudia's voice.
"I know very little about Bob," Vicky said with honesty. "I know he has a good mind. I know he's fighting to make the grade. But with the kind of desperation that makes me sick inside to watch him. There has to be something wrong."
"I wouldn't expect a kid like you to understand. Bob knows the importance of success in this world," Claudia flashed. "Without success, you're a nobody. People step all over you."
"What about college?" Vicky felt her way uneasily. "Back in those days, did he plan on a selling career?"
"He wanted to teach." Perry's voice was decisive, almost belligerent.
"Now wasn't that absurd?" Claudia scoffed. "A man with Bob's potential tied down to a teaching desk, with the measly salary a teacher earns! He knew how insane that was. That's why he abandoned the idea of going for his Master's."
"But Bob wanted to teach!" Color stained Vicky's cheeks. A core of exhilaration within her began to spiral with dizzying speed. "If you hadn't stood in his way, Claudia, he would be teaching today."
"Did you expect me to let my brilliant brother throw away his life?" But there was a defensiveness about Claudia that Vicky never remembered seeing. She was shaken because Perry was not a "yes man" today, Vicky guessed. Vicky could almost feel sorry for Claudia right now, with that scared uncertainty so visible. Always, Claudia had been sure she was right in making decisions. Now she was being questioned. "I've always done what was best for Bob, as though he were my own child!"
"Bob saw Clarke Edwards a while back." Vicky reminded slowly. "He was so nasty, so snide in the things he said about Clarke, that I knew he was jealous. I thought he was jealous of Clarke's wife. I thought Bob was once in love with her-still in love with her."
"God, no," Perry interjected with shock. "I remember Clarke's wife. She was a good scout-Bob and she were friends. She was always trying to find a girl to please him."
"Bob was jealous because Clarke was working at the job he was heartbroken over not having!" Vicky lashed back, in a blend of anger and exhilaration-because answers were falling into place.
"I've always done what I've felt was best for Bob," Claudia insisted.
"What about the girls he knew before me?" Vicky pursued, aware that now she held the high cards. "What were they like?"
"Bob was always popular in high school and college. He could have dated any girl he chose. He could have married extremely well," Claudia shot forth with venomous sarcasm.
"But he married me," Vicky reminded, fighting off a fresh wave of anger. "You said he dated the campus sex queens, Perry," Vicky recalled. "The girls who knew their way around."
"That's right," Perry nodded, ignoring Claudia's startled look of inquiry. "I told you he never got into trouble, but he went out with the girls everybody on campus knew slept around. There was nothing cold about Bob."
"How can you talk that way?" Claudia's control was ebbing away. "As though there was nothing in marriage but sex!"
"No marriage is worth a damn without a healthy sexual relationship," Perry told her with quiet firmness. "We've had that, on occasion."
"How can you sit there and talk that way?" Claudia whispered, eyes averted.
"There's nothing wrong in what happens betweeen a man and his wife. Nothing is wrong if the two of them enjoy it and find satisfaction together. Claudia, don't you think it's time you released yourself from that virginal vacuum and became a woman?"
"I've always tried to be a lady," Claudia faltered. "I wanted to be someone you could be proud of."
"I can be proud of you in bed, honey," Perry chuckled. "Just relax, Claudia. Be a whole woman. We've had some good moments, haven't we?" There was a new authority about him that told Vicky that after this morning things would never be quite the same in the Mattox household. It wasn't only Bob and herself who were finding new maturity.
"Bob's had Claudia up on that pedestal so long, and now he's been trying to put me up there," Vicky said intensely. "I don't want to be on a pedestal. I want to be in his arms. I want to belong to him completely."
"What do you want me to do, Vicky?" Claudia asked with difficulty. "What do you want me to say to Bob?"
"Nothing." Vicky smiled. "I'll say it, Claudia. Everything there is to say." She rose to her feet, impatient to return to her own house. She felt reborn somehow.
"We don't have to tell Bob about last night," Claudia reiterated, and Vicky sensed her effort towards friendliness. "Sometimes it's kinder to know when to be quiet. Just the three of us here, Vicky?"
"The three of us," Vicky promised. And then she was hurtling through the house towards the door. Hurrying home with the hope that she knew enough now to straighten out the shambles of her own marriage. Let it not be too late for Bob and her to find their way together again. Dear heaven, make him allow her into his life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vicky crossed from the garage to her front door with a sense of this being the most important moment of her life. More important than the day of her marriage. Because, if Bob and she were lucky, their marriage could really begin today. She walked with compulsive swiftness, aware of the silence that settled about the house. Good, she thought in relief. This was the way she wanted it.
Vicky tiptoed into the bedroom, incipient desire touching her as she looked at Bob. He had tossed aside the sheet, lay sprawled across the width of the bed. His face was tight, as though unpleasant dreams might be troubling his subconscious. He was so good-looking, she thought, and he could be so passionate. Tender where tenderness was best, strong where strength meant ecstasy.
She stood beside the bed, and swiftly peeled away her clothes until she was in the buff. Her body had been fashioned for love, she thought with dizzy certainty, proud of it. Bob loved the way her breasts jutted forward, so full and high. He loved the young slimness of her waist and the long tapered thighs. If he allowed himself such luxury, he could find the kind of pleasure in her body that couldn't be matched for him anywhere else in the world!
Vicky stretched across the width of the bed, parallel to Bob's sprawl. Excitement soared in her now. With trembling fingers she reached to undo the buttons of his pajamas, pushed aside the jacket. With one slim, golden leg tossed across him, Vicky lowered her mouth to his chest. She felt him stir beneath the moist kisses. Her tongue found a nipple, teased it, became aware that he was awakening.
"Hey, I've got better use for that mouth," Bob whispered huskily, only half-awake.
"Try this," Vicky coaxed.
Her mouth reached for his, already open to receive his tongue. She lowered the length of herself above him, moving with sinuous warmth, glorying in the way he telegraphed his excitement. She was impatient to claim his passion yet knew it would be even better if they didn't rush. His tongue encircled hers. She heard, as though it were a beloved symphony, the incoherent sounds of passion deep within his throat.
"Oh, Bob," she whispered. "Bob, you can make me so happy!" Her mouth slid away from his traveling about the well-formed torso. Aware of his towering excitement as his hands caressed her shoulders while her mouth loved him. She had to make him understand that there was nothing the was wrong when a man and woman loved.
"Vicky, honey, honey!" His voice was a gasp as her tongue teased, learning through instinct.
And then Bob was drawing her to him, his hands fondling the firm young rump. His hands received her breasts, coaxed, teased. It was going to be so good, Vicky thought in frenzy. Like nothing before, ever! Because there were no barriers between them this time!
His mouth nipped at a nipple, then soothed in hot apology. He swung her across so that she lay on her back, and then the impatient strength of him crouched above her.
"No more games," she demanded in abandon. "Bob, love me!"
Her body was hot and trembling as she felt him descend. A cry wrenched itself from her in glorious relief as he met her. She welcomed him, plunged with him, demanded. Now, she thought in sweet desperation. Now, this minute! And then her body shot off a million Roman candles because they had found each other, and the pulse of him touched the pulse of her.
"Oh, Bob, Bob, it's so good!" she whispered in rapturous gratitude.
But when he prepared to leave her, Vicky's hands tightened at his shoulders.
"Say, baby-" he laughed uneasily.
"Don't go," she commanded. "I want to talk to you. Now. This way." This way she had a chance, instinct told her. "Bob, I don't know why you're ashamed of loving me."
"A man forgets himself sometimes," Bob stammered.
"You don't draw lines when you're making love. Any real woman wants everything a man has to give her," Vicky insisted huskily. "Nothing is wrong, Bob, the way you seem to think. Only a frigid, stupid wife rejects her husband. You don't have to run to sluts for sex!"
"Hey, baby," Bob laughed. "That's pretty strong talk."
"But every time you've loved me-honestly loved me, Bob-like now, it's as though you feel you ought to apologize. That's wrong! Sex isn't something you seek with tramps. It belongs here, in your home."
"Maybe I've behaved on the crazy side," Bob admitted, his hands nervous on her shoulders. "I guess I've made a lot of mistakes-"
"Not only you, Bob," Vicky began. Now was the time for truth.
"I don't want to hear anything, Vicky," Bob said urgently. "I've made a pretty sad mess of marriage."
"It doesn't have to be that way any more, Bob," Vicky promised. "Not as long as we keep the walls down between us. Not as long as we're honest with each other. Bob, I want to be a real wife."
"You're doing pretty well," he murmured with approval, "for a nineteen-year old who's never been around much. And don't tell me anything about these last two months," he insisted urgently. "I acted like a dumb kid-you were the one who was mature."
"I was behaving as though I were twelve," Vicky laughed unsteadily, a hand stroking the line of his jaw. "For a while, anyway. Know what?" She laughed, knowing she would have to handle this right or spoil everything. "I nearly died when you spent that evening in town with Clarke Edwards. I built up the most beautiful case of jealousy you ever saw!"
"Over Clarke?" he stiffened in astonishment. "Over his wife," Vicky corrected. "I was sure you were madly in love with her, and I was just a substitute."
"What cured you of that mad idea?" Bob jibed, a hand at her breast again, feather-light in its touch.
"Perry told me about your ambitions to teach, back in college." She stirred, aware of a faint surge of fresh passion.
"Crazy, wasn't it?" he laughed uneasily. "Hell of a future for an ambitious man."
"What's this big deal about ambition?" she scoffed. "Teaching is an honorable profession." She made it a flip comment but her eyes were serious.
"What can a teacher offer a wife?" Bob's eyes were evasive. "I knew it didn't make sense. What could I offer a wife and kids?"
"A man who respects his job, enjoys it," Vicky said urgently. "I don't have to be thirty to realize the importance of that! Bob, you have a chance to go into a job that has meaning to you. Do you know how few people in this world are that lucky?"
"Too late now, baby." There was a lost look on his face that stabbed at Vicky. "A man has to know when he's made a mistake, and to live with it."
"Bob, you said you had stocks. Enough to make a down-payment on a house," she remembered, her mind aquiver with plans.
"Making a lot of noises as usual," Bob said, his eyes faintly ashamed. "I have about a thousand, maybe twelve hundred. I figured on scurrying around for a loan somewhere."
"Not for the house," Vicky said, suddenly strong. "To quit your job, go back to school for your Master's."
"Now you are talking like nineteen," he joshed, yet with a warmth that touched Vicky.
"No, I'm not," Vicky insisted, knowing they couldn't talk much longer. Not with this fresh excitement welling in both of them. Their bodies already moving together. "We're young. Both of us are. Now's the time to start off right. You have some cash. You can borrow for schooling these days. I can go to work. I earned a fairly decent salary, you know!"
"Bragging again." His mouth was at her ear.
"Bob, not yet," she insisted. "Listen to me! You'll go back to school for your Master's. Well find an inexpensive apartment down in the city. I'll find a job-we can live on my salary for a while. And it'll be easy to land a teaching job. There a wild shortage, haven't you heard?" She laughed shakily.
"There's something else wild right now," he whispered huskily. "All of a sudden I'm going wild to make love to my wife."
It was going to be all right, she thought in glorious relief. They were on the right path. Her arms tightened about Bob's neck. Her body arched to meet his. This was their wedding night. Their marriage was just about to begin!
