He went out the door. She lay still for a moment, unable to move and then she quickly unzipped her slacks and hauled them off. Within seconds she was nude. She fell back on the cot and waited. It seemed as if she waited for a long time. Finally she heard his footsteps crunching on the snow outside. The door opened and a dark figure stumbled in with an armload of wood. He dumped it by the stove.
"I thought you were never coming back," she sighed. "Come here."
The figure turned and dropped beside the cot. His head bent and planted a kiss on her bare stomach. The lips were chilled with the cold and the gesture stirred new throbbings in her. She reached for the buttons on his jacket and the moment she touched them she sensed something was wrong. She sat up sharply and gripped his head. The hair was rough and matted, not like Paul's at all!
"Paul!" She cried. "You're not Paul!"
He grabbed her and pressed her back to the couch.
"Better than Paul ever was," a hoarse voice laughed.
CHAPTER ONE
Rhoda Barrington awoke with a start. There were low, stirring sounds deep in the darkness.
"Ben! Is that you, Ben?" She called out breathlessly, frightened. There was no response. The sounds continued softly, more distant. They were in the apartment next door. She sighed wearily and fell back against the pillow. It wasn't Ben. He hadn't come home yet. This was another one of those nights when he was "working late." She wanted to believe that he was really working but deep down she was really unsure. In the past few months she had seen less and less of her husband. She had stood by helplessly as he seemed to slip away from her. And she was afraid. So very afraid.
A siren suddenly wailed in the street far below and there was the harsh screech of brakes. She sat up sharply in bed, staring into the semi-darkness. The television set nickered emptily, a gray, unseeing eye. The channel had gone off the air and the screen was a blank pattern of aimless lines. Another siren howled outside in the night. She climbed out of bed and padded to the window, her breath coming in short, frightened spurts, her heart pounding against the thin negligee which twisted around her lithe body.
She reached the window and bent down one of the plastic slats in the Venetian blind. Lights were flashing on in the windows of the monolithic apartment house across the street. Pale faces were appearing and staring down. Two fire trucks were parked in the pool of light under the street lamps. Firemen were scurrying about, tugging on hoses and gleaming apparatus. A fireman came out of a building and shrugged his shoulders. A false alarm of some kind, she told herself.
Rhoda turned and walked across the room to the telephone. Lifting the receiver, she automatically dialed her husband's office number. She knew better. She knew he wouldn't be there. But she had to try. The phone on the other end rang ten times before she slowly hung up.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, trembling. Another siren whined and died outside. The clock on the bed table said one-thirty. In the apartment next door, the soft rustling sounds resumed. She lay back on the bed and tried not to listen. A bed spring squeaked with a slow and certain rhythm. A man's voice rumbled indistinctly and a girl groaned. The squeakings intensified and a thumping grew, like the slow beating of a distant drum.
"Damn these thin walls," she muttered to herself. This was all she needed! Being forced to listen to another, happier couple make love! She cupped her hands over her ears, shivering in the cold, desperately needing the comforting closeness of her husband, hungering for the embrace of his strong arms. But lately Ben Barrington was never there when she needed him. For the past several weeks he had been working late at the office more and more often. Coming home frayed and exhausted. She didn't even see much of him on week-ends anymore. He was always going off to play golf or leaving for days at a time on business trips. She was beginning to feel as if she weren't married at all.
At first she had been sick with jealousy, suspecting the worst, examining his shirts and handkerchieves for telltale signs of lipstick. But he was much too slick and clever to be trapped by such simple devices.
And on the nights when he did come home early he feigned tiredness, went to bed early, and fell into instant, deep slumber in spite of her efforts to arouse him. Other nights, he brought home a bulging briefcase filled with papers that commanded his attention until the early hours of the morning. She had become just another accessory to his social life. Someone he escorted to dull dinner parties with business associates. She played the part of the adoring wife with finesse but her adoration was rapidly cooling. She was hurt and rejected and she didn't know how to fight back.
More and more she needed him. Just to be with him. Just to hear his booming, laughing voice. But no matter how she tried to please him, he seemed to slip further and further away. He seldom touched her now and that was the most unbearable thing of all. She had never known a man before she married him and he had awakened her with experienced skill. He had taught her pleasures she had never dared to imagine. He had carefully struck a fire in her and fanned it into a roaring blaze. And now that she was burning for the touch of his hands and the wild stirrings of his body, he was avoiding her.
"Ben," she whimpered to herself. "Come home, Ben."
But there was nothing in the room except the blank glow of the television set and the thumping of her own heart. She concentrated on forgetting the scene in the street below. She tried to think of other things. Of Bellville.
Bellville was the little town she had grown up in. Her marriage to Benjamin Barrington had been her escape. The town was so small that the trains didn't even stop there. Ben had whisked her away to the city, promising her a life of excitement. And, at first, it had been exciting. There had been so much to see and do. So many people. So much life. And each night with Ben had been a new adventure. Then, gradually, their life fell into a pattern. She filled her days with aimless shopping and going to movies. It seemed that whenever she was preparing an especially fancy dinner for him he would call...."Sorry, I've got to work late tonight." Finally, she stopped planning elaborate meals. And the loving had stopped. It was as if Ben had lost interest in her body after exploring it so completely, just as a child loses interest in a new toy.
At last she stirred. The street outside was silent. She crept to the window and peered out. Everyone was gone.
The most exciting city in the world, she thought to herself, and I'm only a witness to it all. Never a participant. Just a witness.
She turned away from the window again and caught sight of herself in a full-length mirror.
"Golly, I'm a mess," she muttered. Her face was pale and drawn and her soft eyes were red and watery. It was a beautiful face ... or so she had been told ... frequently. She had a pert nose and lush lips that had teased many a boy in Bellville High. Her long blond hair flowed over her shoulders like a golden waterfall and her figure ... well, it was just as good as it had been the day she was voted Miss Bellville High. Maybe better. Now it was more mature and filled out. Her breasts had blossomed into two succulent mounds of high, firm flesh tipped with proud pink circles.
She untied the ribbon at her throat and let the negligee spill to the floor. She pushed her hair back with a nod of her head and placed her hands on her broad hips, innocently admiring her milky flesh. Being nude like this excited her. She gazed at her long, beautifully rounded legs and pivoted her body so she could see the high slopes of her buttocks.
"Ben Barrington," she laughed emptily. "You must be out of your skull. You don't know what you've got."
She strutted across the room, picked up a hairbrush from her vanity table, and absently began to tease her hair. She was beginning to feel warm and a thousand dark images danced through her mind. Memories of the first months of marriage. Months when Ben was consumed with a passion for her that she thought would last forever. She remembered the days when he would surprise her and come home early, lunging through the door and sweeping her into his arms, kissing her strength away and devouring her there, on the living room floor. Or in the kitchen. Or surprising her when she was taking a shower and feasting himself on her hot and eager body while water cascaded over them both.
What happened to those days? Why were they so brief? Well, tonight was going to be different, Rhoda promised herself. Tonight she was going to wait for him. No matter how tired and spent he was, she was going to make him behave like a husband. She was not going to let him go to sleep until he had paid some attention to her. Or lots of attention.
She tossed the brush down and walked into the bathroom, turning on the cold water in the shower. Sucking in her breath, she stepped under the icy stream. The water hit her like a thousand tiny darts stabbing into her body. She could barely breathe. She pulled her hair up and slipped on a bathing cap, gasping and shuddering as the lethargic sense of half-sleep was driven from her. The cold water nibbled at her breasts and the skin contracted, pulling them higher and firmer than ever. Her nipples responded to the chilling onslaught, hardening and swelling. Icy water trickled down her plump thighs and as she grew more wide awake her hunger and passion increased.
Suddenly she heard a sound. She froze, straining her ears.
"What in the world are you doing? Taking a shower in the middle of the night!" Ben's familiar voice rang out on the other side of the shower curtain.
"Oh, Ben!" She cried. "I'm so glad you're home!"
She turned off the water excitedly and shoved the curtain back. He was standing in the doorway, his shoulders slumping, his face lined with fatigue. She jumped out of the shower and rushed to embrace him. He stepped back quickly.
"Careful. You're all wet," he said curtly, brushing off her attempted embrace. He picked up a towel and thrust it at her. "Here, dry yourself off before you catch cold."
He turned and walked out of the bathroom, blind to her eager nudity. Hurt, she rubbed herself with the towl as she slipped into her slippers.
"Was there any mail?" He called over his shoulder as he wearily removed his jacket.
"Just some bills and junk." Her disappointment was turning to anger. He didn't care. He just didn't care at all. "There was a fire tonight. Across the street. A lot of trucks and everything. They woke me up."
"Oh," he said absently, picking up the packet of mail lying on a table and leafing through it, "Everything was quiet down there when I came by."
"Maybe it was just a false alarm. Anyway. I couldn't sleep. I was waiting for you."
"I'm sorry, honey," he grumbled. He tore open an envelope containing a bill, glanced at it and tossed it aside. "Boy, it's been a hard day. I'm very tired. A good night's sleep will fix us both up."
"I need more than a good night's sleep, Ben." She stood firmly in front of him, slowly wiping her flat stomach with the towel, her breasts bare and challenging.
"Now, honey," he said softly. "I've got to get up early tomorrow. Besides, I'm exhausted." He tore open another envelope and removed a mimeographed sheet.
"You're always exhausted these days," Rhoda said bitterly. "And where were you tonight? I tried to call your office ... late."
"I stopped for a drink on the way home," he muttered, his eyes downcast. "Here. I think this is for you." He tossed the letter to her. "It's some kind of invitation."
She took it and draped the towel over a chair.
"Ben, I think we should talk...."
"Dammit ... I'm tired. Won't it wait until the morning?" He started to undress, his back turned toward her.
"We never talk anymore, Ben," she pouted. She looked at the letter, hardly aware it was there. Ben stripped to his underwear. He was a well-built man, with broad shoulders and a lean waist. A handsomely rugged man, several years older than Rhoda but in his prime with wisps of gray just beginning to appear at his temples. Her earlier excitement came back as she watched him.
"We'll talk tomorrow, honey. You're upset tonight. And I'm bushed." He peeled off his undershirt. She fo-cussed her eyes on the letter, aware that they were beginning to water. Painfully, word by word, she read the spotty mimeographing.
"My old high-school class is having a reunion," she noted flatly.
"Oh?" He turned toward her. "Do you want to go?"
"Do you?"
"You know I can't get away. Ever since I got this promotion to sales manager my time isn't my own."
"I don't want to go back to Bellville alone." She moved toward him, lifting her arms to embrace him. He stood motionless. "I want to be with you."
"Maybe it would do you good to get away for a while," he said. "You've been awful jumpy lately."
"I'm jumpy because you're never here. You've been ignoring me." She put her arms around him and pressed herself to him, feeling his hard chest against her breasts. He lifted his arms as if they were made of lead and pressed his hands into the small of her back.
"I know I've been busy and it hasn't been easy for you, honey. But this job is my big chance." He looked down into her upraised face. She opened her mouth expectantly, the blood pounding in her veins. She pushed her thighs at him and waited.
He turned his head away.
"Please, honey...." he mumbled.
She tightened her embrace and buried her head in his shoulder, flicking her tongue at the little spot on his collar bone where she knew the nerves were gathered. He shuddered slightly.
"Now stop that! I just can't tonight," he protested.
She didn't stop. His hands slid down and cupped her cold buttocks as she continued her attack. His touch stimulated her even more. She had to. Now. It had been a long time. Too long.
"Honey...." he grunted. She gripped the elastic on his shorts and started to tug them down.
"You're not going to get away this time, Ben Barring-ton," she whispered huskily.
"I'm really just too tired," he sighed.
"We'll see what we can do about that!"
He pushed her back and stepped out of his shorts. She leaned against him, her hands stroking, her lips kissing his chest. They moved around the room like two primitive dancers. He was resigned to his fate now, like a male spider trapped in the web of a Black Widow. They fell together, finally, across the bed with Rhoda on top. She used all the tricks he had taught her and even invented a few new ones along the way. But she was beginning to despair when suddenly his body responded and his reluctant masculinity answered the challenge. With a cry of delighted triumph she hurled herself to him and then she moaned. His efforts were feeble and his kisses were uninspired. But she didn't care. She only cared for herself and her needs as she thrashed and struggled towards fulfillment. Perhaps her suspicions were right. Perhaps he had been with another woman all evening. But somehow she didn't mind. Not now. This moment was hers. Her body was aflame and delicious sensations were engulfing her.
Then, abruptly, he gasped and she felt his body convulse slightly.
"Not yet!" She cried in frustration. But she felt him tire, exhausted and spent. Her tingling nerves screamed for more but there was no more to be had. It was over.
He rolled over almost immediately, leaving her alone in the blackness with her unquenched fire. She moved to put her arms around him again but he mumbled grouchily and slid to the far side of the bed.
She stared into the darkness. Was this all that was left? She had had to seduce her own husband. Even then, it was a bitter experience. She had so much to give ... and there were no takers. She thought of all the eager boys of Bellville High. If they could only see her now. Wasting away in this alien city with a man who could not do her justice. If she had only known what she was missing back in those days ... she would never have earned the nickname "The Iron Virgin."
The invitation to the class reunion came back into her mind. Perhaps she could go back. Perhaps she could catch up on what she had missed. Her old classmates would certainly be glad to see her again. Especially when she showed them what she had learned since her school days.
"Ben," she said softly. "Ben. I think maybe I will go to that class reunion. Ben?" Benjamin Barrington was sound asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
The date of the Bellville High reunion approached with agonizing slowness. The invitations had been sent out far in advance. Once Rhoda Barrington had made up her mind to attend she could hardly wait for the weeks to pass. As the days crept past her enthusiasm for the event mounted. Her anticipation gave her life a whole new perspective.
If the invitation had arrived a year earlier she would probably have ignored the whole thing. She had told herself repeatedly that she would never go back to Bellville. Her father had died shortly before she married Ben and her mother had later moved to the West Coast to live with her aunt. There was nothing left for her in Bellville except a lot of fragile memories. Memories of a reasonably happy childhood followed by the usual pain and torment of adolescence. It was a town of quiet summer days and rainy Sunday afternoons. A town where nothing ever happened except in the minds of the local gossips.
No, Rhoda had never felt any desire to go back before. Bellville was behind her, she felt. She had escaped the boredom and emptiness of small-town life. But now that her marriage was becoming more tenuous and unhappy she was wondering if she had really escaped after all. Her first years of marriage had exceeded her hopes and dreams. Ben had been a loving, passionate husband and their life together in the city had been filled with excitements, pleasures, and new discoveries. Then, slowly, all the joy drained away.
Ben was a success as the sales manager for a large hardware company. They lived in a fine apartment in a fashionable section of the city and Roda had credit accounts at all the best stores. Ben willingly catered to her whims and gave her a generous household allowance. So generous, in fact, that she had been able to put a little money into a savings account each week. Rhoda should have been a happy woman. Instead, she was miserable.
It all began with Ben's promotion. Suddenly he was too busy to take her out to restaurants and shows. He moved into a lavish new office with three secretaries at his command. His salary jumped to five figures and his romantic attention to Rhoda dwindled away. Her life became empty and, as Ben began to ignore his marital duties, she became more and more obsessed with sex fantasies. Having roused her sexual appetites, he now induced a famine.
The Bellville High reunion offered a promise that fed on her restlessness.
"I've decided to go back for my class reunion," she told Ben the day after the invitation arrived. He didn't seem at all unhappy about the idea of a temporary separation.
"Good," he said, turning on his best boyish grin. "The change will be good for you. You've been getting kind of peaked lately ... cooped up in this apartment all the time." And then he added, almost as a casual afterthought. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"
"Oh, a week. Maybe two."
"I'll be sorry to see you go ... I don't like to come home to an empty house."
"When you come home...." she remarked bitterly.
"Let's not start that again," he sighed. Then his eyes lit up. "Say, why don't you buy a whole new wardrobe for the trip. And never mind the expense. I want my wife to be the best dressed woman in Bellville. Knock 'em dead."
Knock 'em dead, huh, she thought to herself. You just don't know how I'm going to knock them dead.
She went on a shopping spree to end all shopping sprees. She prowled the lingerie shops, buying all kinds of wicked, lacey things. She picked up bras that were transparent and saucy French things which barely covered her nipples and unfastened in the front. She bought sheer panties of all colors, so thin and so brief that they were almost like no panties at all. And she went wild on patterned stockings and things made of fine net. In a single afternoon she charged ninety dollars worth of shoes with long spiked heels that added inches to her height. Then she picked up some negligees and Baby Dolls that really concealed nothing.
Finally, she selected half a dozen dresses designed to show off her lush figure to the best advantage. Dresses that sat tight across her hips and boasted daring cleavage calculated to expose just the right amount of her perfect bosom. A man would have to be dead or hopelessly crippled not to respond to such a wardrobe.
She felt a savage sense of satisfaction with each new purchase. Each garment was another step toward her planned revenge.
"I'll show him," she told herself repeatedly. "There are plenty of men who still want me. And I know that there isn't a man in Bellville who would turn down the chance."
As she went about her preparations she mentally prepared a list of the boys she had known and she savored the notion of offering them the thing that she had always kept unattainable back in her school days. Stanley Mitchell was on the bottom of the list. Fat, drooling Stan ... scion of the wealthiest family in town. The Mitchells had been early settlers and they still owned much of the key real estate. They also owned and operated the paper mill which was the town's principle industry. She smiled to herself whenever she thought of Stan. He had been such a ludicrous figure, hopelessly pursuing the best-looking girls in school and never succeeding with any of them. When he turned seventeen his family presented him with an expensive new convertible ... a sharp contrast to all the old wrecks the other boys were driving.
It was a tribute to Rhoda's beauty that she was the first girl he invited to ride in his new machine. They had taken a long drive to the drive-in movie in the nearby town of Silver Springs. As soon as Rhoda had settled back to enjoy the movie, he pressed a button and the car top rolled into position. Within five minutes his hands were pawing her while he panted with clumsy excitement. She didn't really mind. In fact, it pleased her to know that she had this power to arouse and stimulate boys. She enjoyed being fondled and touched but she never permitted herself to lose control.
That night she was wearing a simple white blouse with buttons down the front and it wasn't long before he was clawing at them. She offered token resistance because that was part of the game but finally he managed to spread the blouse open and he gasped as her well-filled bra came into view. His stubby fingers probed down behind the taut fabric until they came in contact with her hardening nipples. She felt her nerves respond to his touch and she automatically began fighting the hungers stirring in her.
"Stan, you'd better stop that," she murmured.
"What for? Don't you like it?" His voice was quivering. He bent over her and kissed her on the mouth. It was a brutal and awkward kiss and his breath smelled of the cigars he smoked. His cigar-smoking was a local joke. He thought they made him look more mature but they actually just made him more absurd. Obviously he hadn't had much experience at kissing. Laughing inwardly, she had grabbed him and kissed him back, stabbing her tongue into his mouth, taking his breath away. When they finally broke the clinch she caught the back of his neck and guided his head down to the flesh spilling from her bra. He nuzzled happily between her breasts, not quite knowing what to do next.
"Kiss me ... kiss me there...."she moaned.
He pushed one of her bra straps over her shoulder and lifted a breast, artlessly licking at the nipple. Warm pleasure swept over her. She felt her strength draining away. His hand fell to her thigh and searched upwards.
"That's enough!" She snapped, pushing him away.
"Huh?" He looked up at her with glazed eyes.
"I said, that's enough. Somebody will see us."
"Oh ... oh, you're right." He fell back in his seat, breathing heavily. She adjusted her clothing. "Boy, you're quite a girl." He started the car.
"What are you doing? Where are we going? The picture isn't even half over."
"Let's get out of here ... go somewhere private...." he grunted. He heaved the movie speaker out of the car and wheeled out of the drive-in. She sat in silence as he drove to a secluded country road and parked.
"Now what?" She asked coldly.
"Now we take up where we left off," he answered, reaching for her. She shoved him away. "That's what you think. Take me home."
"Wha?"
"Take me home." She repeated firmly. He wrestled with her ineffectually. "You're killing me, Rhoda. You know that? I got a terrible pain." He protested.
"That's too bad. Take me home."
Finally he gave up and drove her home. But he tried again, as she knew he would. There were more dates with Stan and more wrestling matches in the convertible. But she never let him get any further. No one ever got any further with Rhoda. That was the way she played the game. All the boys knew it. And they all tried. But the iron virgin remained invincible.
What had happened to Stan Mitchell, she wondered? Was he married now? Or was he still trying to score, flaunting his wealth in front of girls who would normally have nothing to do with him? Rhoda hoped he would be at the reunion ... it would be interesting to see how the years had treated him. It might even be interesting to get him alone in a parked car again.
Yes, Stan Mitchell was on her list, if only because he was such easy prey. First in line, however, was Paul. She laid awake nights thinking about him. Paul Baron ... the high school football hero. Tall, handsome, strong, brimming with self-confidence. President of the senior class. The most desirable boy in school and the only one who ever beat her at her own game.
His family owned a farm with a lot of woodlands. In his early teens he had built a log cabin deep in the forest next to a large pond. He often invited groups to spend the day swimming and camping there. And, as he grew older, he found other uses for the cabin. More than one Bellville girl had been initiated into the mysteries of love there.
Rhoda had had only two real dates with Paul. The first one had been at a victory dance after Paul had scored three touch-downs in a crucial game against Silver Springs High. He was the hero of the day and it was a great coup for Rhoda. She was the envy of all the other girls. After the dance they had broken away from the others and he had walked her home, taking the long way, out past the paper mill, through the wooded hiUs that surrounded the town. It was a brilliant, moonlit night and the air was crisp with autumn. They paused among the trees on top of a hill and he gracefully took her in his arms and kissed her. It was not a wanton kiss, but one of warmth and gentleness. Rhoda was wearing a gown her mother had made for her. A pink taffeta affair with a flowing skirt and a high neckline. But even a worried mother's skilled hand could not conceal her rapidly blossoming figure.
The mood of the evening and the exhilaration of her triumph had softened Rhoda and she returned his kiss fiercely, pressing herself against him, challenging him to go further. But he knew too well her reputation as the town tease and he was not going to be baited.
"Careful," he whispered. "I'm still in training."
"When will training be over?" She asked slyly.
"Soon ... very soon."
She wanted him. How she wanted him! She daydreamed of marrying him. This was a man she could give herself to. This was a man she could love. Then he engineered the most humiliating experience of her life.
It was soon after the first snow. Paul was going with a girl named Gladys Powers. Everyone knew he was going with her. And Rhoda hated her. All the girls suspected that Gladys, who was a plain but vivacious redhead, was sleeping with Paul. Paul was still very cordial to Rhoda but he hadn't asked her out since the dance. Then, suddenly, one day in Algebra he handed her a note.
"How about spending Saturday in my cabin?"
She was startled, knowing that it was an outright proposition.
"What about Gladys?" She wrote back.
"Gladys is mad at me." He answered.
And so she agreed to meet him and in the late afternoon they walked through the fresh snow to his cabin. It was a small, one-room affair with an old pot-belly stove, a cot, a couple of folding chairs, and a lot of masculine bric-a-brac.
He built a fire in the stove and carefully sat in one of the chairs while she sat down rather self-consciously on the cot. She was wearing a tight pair of ski slacks that outlined her magnificent legs and a sweater that hugged her body like glue. He did not seem especially inspired by the sight of her figure. Instead, he chatted amiably about a wide range of things ... school problems ... football ... world affairs. His casual air made her uneasy. She began to feel quite awkward and was even relieved when he suggested that they cook something to eat and she was able to volunteer to act as chef.
She opened a can of stew ... the only thing they could find in the cabin ... and they ate it leisurely. All the while, her suspense was mounting. She wasn't used to this kind of aloofness. She expected action. She wanted action.
The little stove was radiating a great deal of heat and the cabin was getting very warm. Paul peeled off his shirt and she almost gasped as she saw his broad shoulders and his rugged farmboy muscles. She followed his lead and wriggled out of her sweater. She was wearing a rayon blouse underneath. It was two years old and was now almost too small to confine her ballooning breasts. Night was approaching and the cabin was getting dark. There was only the glow of the fire leaking through cracks in the stove. Still Paul talked on. She, the town tease, was being teased.
Finally, still very casual, he sat down on the cot beside her. He lifted one hand and gently massaged the back of her neck, sending a thrill through her. She leaned against him and he touched her ever so lightly on the breast with his other hand. She tilted her face up to his and he kissed her, softly and easily at first, and then his hand dug deeper into her breast and his mouth opened, his tongue stroking at the inside of her Up. She was alive with sensations and desire. She melted against him, eagerly responding. Her will was gone. Even her usual malicious urge to tease was gone. Paul was going to be her man. Nothing else would matter.
They sprawled on the couch, groping with each other, igniting each other. Rhoda was limp and helpless, her body screaming with need for him. She was blissfully happy, waiting only for him to rip away her clothes and take her as she dreamed of being taken.
Then the fire began to fade. He finally pulled away and glanced at the stove, a cool, pleased look on his face.
"I'd better get some more firewood," he said.
"To hell with the fire," she moaned.
"Don't want you to catch cold," he laughed lightly, getting up. He pulled on his jacket. "Don't go away now."
"You bet I won't."
He went out the door. She lay still for a moment, unable to move, and then she quickly unzipped her slacks and hauled them off. Within seconds she was nude. She fell back on the cot and waited. It seemed as if she waited for a long time. Finally she heard his footsteps crunching on the snow outside. The door opened and a dark figure stumbled in with an armload of wood. He dumped it by the stove.
"I thought you were never coming back," she sighed. "Come here...."
The figure turned and dropped beside the cot. His head bent and planted a kiss on her bare stomach. The lips were chilled with the cold and the gesture stirred new throbbings in her. She reached for the buttons on his jacket and the moment she touched him she sensed something was wrong. She sat up sharply and gripped his head. The hair was rough and matted, not like Paul's at all!
"Paul!" She cried. "You're not Paul!"
He grabbed her and pressed her back to the couch.
"Better than Paul ever was," a hoarse voice laughed. She recognized it. He was cruel, vulgar, Charlie S-liker. "Come on, honey ... let's swing."
He grappled with her but she managed to slam him to the floor. Her horror turned to blind rage. Outside the cabin she heard the laughter of other boys' voices. It was all a trick. A vicious, mean trick. Paul was playing some kind of terrible joke on her. Dear, gentle Paul was getting even ... getting even for all the other boys.
Charlie struggled to his feet as she picked up a piece of firewood.
"Get out!" She screamed. "Get out!" She hit him hard on the back and he hurtled out the door. She slammed it and locked it and fell across the cot, crying hysterically. The laughter outside was loud and varied. There must have been a dozen boys outside in the dark.
"Why?" She cried to herself, pounding her fists against the cot. "Why? Why? Why?"
She never spoke to Paul Baron again. Or to Charlie S-liker. And for months she suffered the embarrassment of knowing that everyone in the school had heard about the joke. That they were all laughing. It was the most terrible period of her life. And the period that made her want to leave Bellville and never see it again.
Now she was going back. And she hoped that Paul Baron would be at the reunion. She would find a way to settle her score with him. He was in for a hard time. She would see to that. Yes, she would find a way. Her spending spree was, only the beginning of the adventure. The real pleasure would come later in wearing the clothes. And in taking them off. That would be a time, all right The iron virgin was coming home and the boys of Bellville were in for the shock of their dull lives.
CHAPTER THREE
"Come on, Honey. We're going to be late." Ben Barring-ton's voice rumbled through the bathroom door. Rhoda was inspecting herself in the bathroom mirror for the twentieth time.
"Since when are you ever on time anymore?" She called back haughtily. She fussed with her expensive hairdo. She had spent all day in the beauty salon and now she had misgivings. Mr. Albert's fluttering fingers had stacked her blond tresses into something that looked like a pile of yellow pancakes. Giving up on her hair, she stepped back and looked over her dress. It was an expensive new gown of gold brocade, bare-backed with one bare shoulder. It gave the effect almost of semi-nudity. One breast was fully covered, the other one was practically exposed. A trick bra was built into it so there would be no telltale straps. She adjusted it critically, thinking happily to herself that this would be the last dull dinner party she would have to attend before leaving forBellville.
"Come on, Honey," Ben called again. "You know how old man Robinson is about punctuality."
"I know how he is about pinching, too," Rhoda mumbled to herself. Robinson was vice president of Ben's company, the picture of dignity and respectability. But he punctuated his conversations with Rhoda by giving her sharp little pinches. And once at a party he had gotten her alone in the library and started making with the braille. Rhoda was about to slug him when, fortunately, someone else came into the room. Sure, she knew all about Robinson, the old lecher.
She gave her hair one final pat and opened the door.
"I'm ready." She announced.
Ben looked at her, pursed his lips, and gave a wolf whistle. He was very handsome and distinguished in his tuxedo.
"I'd rather be ravished than ravishing," she snapped. Ben lowered his eyes uncomfortably.
"You're too beautiful to ravish. You should be sipped, like fine wine."
"All right. Sip me then." She glided toward him.
"There isn't time for any hanky panky now, Honey," he said stiffly. "Besides I don't want to muss your hair and makeup." He slapped her on the rear end, propelling her toward the door. "But don't worry ... you're going to get yours."
"Promises. Promises," she laughed bitterly. He had only touched her once since the night she had virtually raped him. That was on a Sunday morning and his performance had been more mechanical than inspired. She had to face it. Her marriage was skidding and she didn't know why.
They caught a cab to the expensive townhouse on the edge of the park where Robinson and his sour, dried-up wife lived. Other guests were arriving, all of them dressed to the nines, and Robinson was greeting them effusively. He was a wizened little man with cold fish eyes. When she and Ben entered, the old man grabbed both her hands and kissed her on the cheek.
"You should be in the movies, my dear," he purred, his face contorting into what he believed was a smile. He probably hasn't smiled for real in forty years, she thought to herself as she said hello. Mrs. Robinson greeted her with considerably more reserve. For a moment Rhoda thought she sensed sympathy radiating from the old bag. Though she couldn't imagine why.
The party was like a badly staged scene from a movie of the thirties. There was an air of imitation splendor in the overdecorated rooms of the old house. Rhoda was almost afraid to touch anything; afraid that she would find that the walls were only painted canvas flats and the furniture was made of papier-mache. The dozen or so guests posed and postured in their elegant clothes, sipping from delicate crystal glasses and attempting sophisticated banter. But there was something ludicrous about each of them. The women looked old before their time, shopworn and haggard. The men had pot bellies under their tuxes and most of them looked like truck drivers at a union ball. Their talk was marred with untutored accents.
All the male heads pivoted when she and Ben walked in and suddenly she realized that Ben was the best-looking, most debonair man there. From the way he sucked in his stomach and turned on his best smile she knew that he was well aware of his role.
Within moments she was surrounded by admiring men, all showering her with compliments, and Ben drifted away to charm the ladies. A few years earlier parties like this had thrilled and excited her. They were the dream of a small-town girl come true. But now she recognized them for what they were: shams. The veneer of elegance was very thin indeed.
As Rhoda skillfully glided from group to group she sensed uneasily that the women were being overly polite to her, treating her as if she had just suffered some unspeakable tragedy. And all the men were coming on even stronger than usual. Could they sense her frustration, she wondered?
Except for this odd attitude toward Her, everyone behaved as usual and the party followed the usual pattern. There was an elaborate dinner with many courses prepared by the Robinson's French chef. And, afterwards, everyone adjourned to the huge living room the Robinsons called the "drawing room," for coffee and more drinks. Before too long the men drifted away for their predictable card game. Ben went with them and Rhoda suddenly felt very alone. She listened to the woman talk awhile and then excused herself. Old Mrs. Robinson got up and accompanied her to the powder room.
"I'm terribly sorry about it all, darling," Missus Robinson began when they were alone. "But we all go through it, I remember when that husband of mine met a hat check girl and...."
"What are you talking about?" Rhoda interrupted, stunned.
"Ben, of course. Ben and that bookkeeper."
"Bookkeeper!" Rhoda blinked, her face flushing. So it was true! He really was playing around ... and everyone knew about it. A pain stabbed into her chest. She had known it all along, instinctively, but until this moment she had refused to admit it to herself. To face it. But now here it was. Straight from the lips of his boss's wife.
"You did know? Didn't you, darling?" The old lady said gently. But there was a twinkle in her eyes that revealed that she was enjoying this.
"Of course I knew," Rhoda choked, trying not to show the horror and anguish she was feeling.
"Don't worry about it, dear. It won't last. He'll come crawling back to you. They always do. The bastards!"
Rhoda turned away sharply. She was going to cry. She didn't want to but she couldn't help herself.
"Does ... does everyone else know?" She asked, her voice a low, pained whisper.
"I'm afraid so. It's pretty hard to keep something like this a secret. He tried. Oh, he tried all right." She rested her arm on Rhoda's bare shoulder. "But next week ... or next month he will have forgotten all about her. Your Ben was always a wild one. Why, when he has a wife like you-"
"Leave me alone, Mrs. Robinson, please." Rhoda sobbed. "Of course."
Rhoda buried her head in her hands as the door closed quietly. Her chest heaved with sobs but no tears came. She was somehow beyond crying. The last months of rejection and uncertainty had drained her. It was all so humiliating. Why had she been the last to know? And why did she have to hear it this way? Her grief was stirred with anger. Ben. Her Ben ... and another woman! She had once been so happy and had tried to be everything he wanted her to be. Their love ... and their exuberant lovemaking ... meant nothing to him. It was all over.
A numbness set in. She had to face those people outside. She had to go somewhere where she could think. With great effort, she pulled herself together and returned to the living room. All of the women stopped talking to look at her.
"I've got a rotten headache ... I'm going home." She announced in a weak, flat voice. Mrs. Robinson got up.
"Shall I get your husband?"
"No ... no ... I don't want to break up their fun. I'll go home alone." She started for the door. "Goodnight everyone."
The women mumbled goodnight. Mrs. Robinson walked with her.
"Take our car, dear," she said. "It's the black Lincoln. Our chauffeur will drive you home."
"Thank you."
The old lady opened the door.
"I'll walk you to the car...."
"No need to do that Stay with your guests."
"Don't do anything foolish, dear. Everything is going to be all right. Listen to the voice of experience," Mrs. Robinson counseled.
Rhoda didn't answer. She walked across the yard and got into the big Lincoln. The driver closed the door and got behind the wheel.
"Take her wherever she wants to go, Henry," Mrs. Robinson called from the doorway of the house. The driver nodded and looked back at Rhoda expectantly.
"Just drive around awhile ... through the park," Rhoda ordered. He started the car and she huddled miserably in the corner of the wide, luxurious seat.
She could almost hear the tongues wagging back at the party. "She didn't even know ... poor girl ... the wife is always the last one to find out."
Was this the way it was all going to end? Torpedoed by a girl she didn't know. A bookkeeper ... a scheming hussy looking for a way out of a crowded office. Maybe the uncertainty was better, she thought. Maybe it was better to just suspect than to know for sure. Now what could she do? Divorce him? Go through all that messy business and bleed him for alimony? Then what? She had few friends in the city. And she wasn't trained for any kind of fruitful work. What could she do? Go back to Bellville forever? That wasn't a very pleasant prospect.
She ran her fingers absently over the rich upholstery. She had come a long way from Bellville. A very long way. It was one thing to go back for a class reunion. But going back for keeps was unthinkable. On the other hand, how could she accept Mrs. Robinson's advice? How could she stick with Ben and see this thing through ... wait for him to come back to her? How could she ever love him again? Trust him again, ever?
She stared out the window at the blackness of the still park. The night seemed sinister and unreal. The driver was looking straight ahead. It was almost as if he wasn't there at all.
No, she couldn't go back to Bellville on the brink of divorce. That would spoil it all. She needed a sense of satisfaction ... of revenge. After tonight she needed it more than ever.
The years of her marriage flitted across her mind. In the beginning Ben had seemed like her savior, she thought. She remembered the first time she had seen him. Her school days were over and she was working in the Bellville Five-and-Ten. It was a small store, employing only three girls and a stock boy. She was lucky to have the job. Jobs were scarce in Bellville.
Benjamin Barrington had entered the store carrying a heavy suitcase. He was a remarkably handsome man, tall, square-shouldered, dressed in a neat pinstripe with an expensive cut. He moved with a cocky, self-assured manner. It was a hot summer day, she remembered, and yet he seemed cool in his tie and jacket. All three girls looked up at him when he entered and all three of them smiled. But he walked straight up to Rhoda, studied her up and down, and grinned, obviously pleased at what he saw.
"Can I help you, sir?" She asked.
"You sure can," he answered. Even his voice was exciting. "Tell me two things. One: where can I find the manager? And, two: will you have dinner with a weary, lonely traveler tonight?"
His aggressive, direct approach startled her ... and pleased her. Nothing, shy about Ben Barrington ever, she thought.
"One: the manager is in the office in the back," she had laughed. "And, two: I've got a date tonight. Sorry."
"Not half as sorry as I am," he chuckled. He put his suitcase down and extended his hand. "I'm Ben Barrington. Hardware is my line."
"I'll bet you have a line for every occasion, Mr. Barrington," Rhoda countered, inwardly proud of her glibness. She took his hand. His handshake was firm and strong. "I'm Rhoda Kelly."
"Glad to meet you, Rhoda. You're the prettiest thing I've seen in this great metropolis." He held onto her hand. "Break that date."
"I couldn't...."
"What kind of hospitality is this? Do you want a tired stranger to starve to death? I can't eat if there isn't a beautiful girl on the other side of the table." He released her, grinned again, picked up his suitcase and headed for the manager's office.
The other two girls buzzed around her excitedly, urging her to accept his offer. In a few minutes he came back, accompanied by old Mr. Winthrop, the manager.
"Thanks for the order, Mr. Winthrop," Ben was saying. "You'll have it in two weeks." Then he turned suddenly to Rhoda. "What time shall I pick you up?"
Rhoda was taken aback. She hesitated for a split second and made her decision.
"About seven. At 64 Cedar Street." She answered, surprised at herself.
"Right. Seven. Sixty-four Cedar." He smiled at her triumphantly and turned back to Mr. Winthrop. "Nice little town you've got here."
Then he was gone.
"Better watch out for these travelin' fellas, Rhoda," Winthrop said sternly. The other two girls rushed to the window and looked out.
"He's driving a big Buick," one of them giggled, awed.
But Rhoda didn't really hear her. She was busy thinking up some excuse for breaking her date with Johnny Wilson. Johnny was a nice-looking boy, but he was painfully shy and awkward and his only big interest was his stamp collection. When he held her hand in the movies his palms got sweaty.
Rhoda and Ben had dinner that night in a good restaurant about thirty miles from Bellville. He held her enthralled with his easy wit and sage observations on life in general. He didn't seem to drool over her like so many of the local boys did. It was obvious that he was used to being around women and he knew how to handle them.
He moved her chair for her when she sat down to the table, and he opened and closed the car door for her. He made her feel like a queen.
Funny, she thought, now she couldn't remember what she'd had to eat on that first date. Maybe she didn't eat at all. But she remembered what happened after dinner ... every detail.
On the way back to Bellville he turned down a deserted side road and parked. Oh, oh, she had thought to herself. Here it comes. But she was wrong.
Instead of grabbing for her, he leaned back in his seat and lit a cigarette. All the stars were out and he started to point them out to her and named them.
"About the only thing I learned in the air force," he told her. "I was a navigator."
She cuddled up to him and he casually draped his arm over her shoulders. He felt strong and warm and she could hardly wait for him to kiss her. But he didn't. He just talked on and on ... about the air force and his wartime experiences. And after half and hour or so he opened the door and got out of the car. He reached onto the floor of the back seat and came up with a blanket
"Come on," he said briskly, as if this were the natural thing to do.
She got out of the car and he spread the blanket out He sat down on it and pulled her down to him. She didn't resist or protest. Still talking about other things, he nibbled at her ear and kissed the curve of her throat. She was wearing a silk sack dress that covered her loosely and revealed only hints of the curves underneath. She didn't like it much but it was supposed to be the latest fashion. He ran his hands over it smoothly, pausing at her breasts. His fingers did exciting things to her nipples through the fabric and he began to kiss her deeply on the mouth. She had never been kissed like that before. Not quite that way. Not so that her toes tingled and her whole body shivered and pulsed.
He moved with infinite skill until she was so feverish with passion that she was hardly aware of it when he suddenly pulled her dress off over her head. The warm night air caressed her body and she felt herself sinking toward total acquiescence. His hands were stroking her upper thighs when she managed to get a grip on herself.
"That's enough!" She cried weakly, pushing him away.
She could hardly move but she managed to sit up and clutch her dress to her. He smiled at her. She waited for the scene to begin. The begging, the urging, the renewed attack. But it didn't happen.
Instead, he rose to his feet, "Okay," he said softly. "Let's head back before I go out of my mind."
Baffled, almost hurt, she put on her dress in silence.
When they reached her home he kissed her lightly on the mouth and said: "I'll see you again, next time I pass through."
Two months later he was back. Again she said no. She was afraid to tell him she was a virgin. She never did. He found out for himself a year later ... on their wedding night.
Now that she reflected on it, that period of courtship was the happiest of her life. A door had suddenly opened for her. A door that led away from the smirking men of Bellville and the dusty emptiness of the town. He promised her a life in the golden city far away. A world of wealth and glamour. He proposed by telegram, two days after his last visit to Bellville.
PROMOTED TO HEAD OFFICE. WHEN SHALL WE HAVE THE WEDDING? LOVE. BEN.
She could hardly believe it at first. That night he called her long distance and she accepted him. They were married a few weeks later in the church in Bellville. It was a lavish wedding. Rhoda's father had died only a few months before, so Ben quietly paid for the whole thing. Bellville had never seen such a wedding. It pleased Rhoda very much. She rubbed the whole town's nose in it. She was marrying a handsome, wealthy, rising businessman and going to live in the big city. All the other girls envied her. Her mother cried a good deal. But, then, mothers always do.
Now Rhoda was sitting in an expensive, chauffeur-driven limousine, riding through the still and darkened city alone. Wanting to cry but unable to find the tears. All of that, she thought, was so long ago. Her happiness had turned sour almost overnight, all because of some nameless little bookkeeper. But she would get even. She always did.
It was three in the morning when she got home. Ben was already there, still in his tuxedo, slightly drunk, drinking black coffee. He ran to the door when he heard her key in the lock.
"Just where in hell have you been?" He barked, half relieved and half angry. "What kind of a trick was that? Walking out on the party without even telling me you were leaving!"
"I didn't think you'd care," she snapped.
"What do you mean, I wouldn't care? I've never been so embarrassed in my whole life! My wife walking out on a party of my friends." He paced the floor, letting his anger grow.
"How do you think I felt? Hearing about your latest escapade from a bunch of gossiping old hens!" There. She'd told him.
"What?" He turned pale. "What are you talking about? What escapade?"
"You lying bastard ... you know damned well!" Suddenly she felt very tired. She didn't want to fight tonight. She didn't want to have it out with him now. "That floozy you've been working late with every night. Ha! Nice work if you can get it."
His face collapsed. The coffee cup in his hand began to tremble.
"What ... who ... who told you?"
"Everybody. Everybody. That's who. Everybody knew it but little old me. Your loving wife." She headed for the bedroom. He staggered across the room and grabbed her arm.
"Honey ... honey, listen. There's nothing to it. I swear. Those old bags were just making it up. Just because I have lunch with girls from the office ... once in awhile...."
"The lunches I don't mind. It's those midnight snacks that are killing me!" Rhoda cried. She wrenched herself away from him. He spilled coffee all over himself.
She turned and marched into the bedroom, slamming the door in his face.
"Tonight you sleep on the couch," she shouted.
"Honey, don't do this. Let me explain. Please," he called through the door.
"Go tell it to your bookkeeper!" She grumbled, half to herself as she fumbled with the zipper on her dress. It was stuck. She tugged at it. Something tore. She ripped and pulled at the expensive gown, climbing out of it and leaving it in a pile on the floor. Then she threw herself across the bed, biting at the back of her hand. Ben kept pounding on the door and crying out to her.
Tomorrow, she told herself, tomorrow she would get out. She would leave for Bellville a week early. She would show Ben Barrington. She would show the whole damned world.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ben had left for the office when she woke up the next morning. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep and it was nearly noon when she opened her eyes. The city rumbled and honked outside her windows and she left the blinds down as she groggily eased herself out of bed. Dressed only in the filmy briefs she had worn the night before, she padded about the apartment, turning on the fire under a pot of stale coffee and hauling her fancy set of matched luggage from a closet. She carefully avoided looking at herself in a mirror, afraid that she might look as bad as she felt, A cloud of depression hovered over her and her eyes were raw from the long crying jag.
She had looked forward to packing for the trip but now she carried out the chore listlessly. Tearing open the boxes of new clothes and delicate underthings, she mechanically folded and crammed the things into the suitcases, moving in a sleepy stupor.
By the time the coffee was hot she had almost completed packing. She had somehow managed to get everything into two hefty suitcases. She poured herself a cup of the thick, black liquid and sat down at the kitchen table. The phone jangled and she ignored it. Probably Ben, she thought grimly to herself, calling to whimper and lie to her. He'd had plenty of time to think up some good explanations. Well, she wasn't ready to talk to him. Maybe she would never speak to him again. The phone rang many times. She worked hard at sipping the sour coffee, trying to shut out the sound. It finally stopped.
There was a taut pain in her chest and her mouth was dry. She looked down absently at her bare bosom. Her breasts were swollen from emotional tension, their soft red tips trembling with each choked breath. There were no sobs left in her. Only a growing bitterness.
"What am I going to do?" She asked herself aloud, surprised at the sound of her own voice. She was afriad of the whole situation. Afraid of coping with it. Unsure of how she could cope with it. The only thing she wanted now was to escape, to flee the apartment and get away from Ben for awhile. She needed time to think. Time to rebuild her confidence in herself.
She took a final swig of coffee and poured the rest in the sink. Then she called the bus terminal. The next bus to Bellville was leaving in two hours. In two hours she would be out of it. In two hours she would be on her way back to the town she had grown up in and hated. Back to the boys who knew her and desired her. They could have her. The way she felt at the moment, anyone could have her.
She strode to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped out of her briefs. For the first time that day she became really conscious of her body. She ran her hands over her sleek flanks. What did that bookkeeper have, she wondered, that she didn't have twice as much of? Clouds of steam rose up and she plunged into the stream of hot water, letting it lash and redden her body and drive the sleep from her aching limbs. She stood under the water for a long time. The phone in the other room rang again, incessantly.
Two hours. She wouldn't even leave a note. Let Ben worry awhile. Let him suffer. Let him have his miserable little affair.
She rubbed the soap into her milky skin, preparing herself for the touch of some lucky, as yet unknown, man.
Through that peculiar brand of witchcraft practiced by every beautiful woman, Rhoda Barrington transformed herself from a weakened, red-eyed wreck to a sensual tigress, trim in a neatly tailored suit that suggested modesty and yet took advantage of every line of her figure. The skirt was cut just above the knee, exposing the rich slope of her silken thighs, and the jacket rode on her broad hips, ballooning out over her full bosom. She had managed to bring her long, blond hair under control and a deft application of makeup concealed the cloud that lingered over her face.
When she climbed out of the taxi-cab in front of the crowded bus terminal her long legs slipped out from under her skirt and she noted, with satisfaction the many male heads that swiveled to watch her. A red cap materialized and took her bags. She was happily conscious of the many eyes that followed her as she walked behind him into the terminal.
Minutes later she was settling back in the soft cushions of the giant bus. The motor grumbled and purred and they moved out into the afternoon traffic, through the humming streets, toward the gleaming tile of the tunnel that swept under the river and led away through the jumble of suburbia and the open country.
She relaxed and watched the city fade away. In her mind she could still hear the phone ringing back in the apartment and she could visualize Ben's worried, frightened face when he returned to the empty rooms. It pleased her to think that he might be upset. Tonight, for the first time in months, he would be really aware that he had a wife ... and that she had walked out on him.
Rhoda looked around the bus. The towers of the city were now only fragile pillars in the distance. The bus was only about half full. Her fellow passengers were mostly nondescript types. Elderly women on their way to visit their children. Portly businessmen huddled over briefcases filled with papers. A few shabby men and women with lined, empty faces riding from one area of hopelessness to another. There were also two young sailors who looked as if they belonged in High School. Their scrubbed, beardless faces stared at her impudently as she had taken her seat. She had deliberately moved to the empty rear of the bus because she wanted to be alone. She wanted to blank the immediate past from her mind and bend her thoughts forward ... ahead to the days she would be spending in Bellville.
The small towns rolled by and the steady hum of the wheels had a pleasant numbing effect. The sky paled and yellowed with approaching dusk. From time to time the bus halted and some passengers would exit, only to be replaced by newcomers who seemed exact duplicates of the ones who had just gotten off.
The city was a long ways off now and Rhoda felt a vague sense of relief, as if she had freed herself from some invisible bond. A sense of anticipation and adventure gradually pushed her depression aside.
The bus halted at a roadside restaurant in the middle of nowhere.
"Twenty minute rest stop," the driver announced.
Everyone got off, stretching their legs and rubbing their backs. The two sailors remained seated until Rhoda had passed down the aisle. Then they got up and followed her, boisterously joking to themselves. She ignored them.
She knew they were trying to call attention to themselves.
It was growing dark and the driver had opened the luggage compartment to drag out some suitcases and add some others. He looked up at her and smiled.
"Enjoying your trip?" He asked. He was about thirty, with a flat, open face. His big hands gripped a military B-4 bag and tossed it lightly into the luggage rack.
"It's very relaxing," she answered crisply and walked on to the restaurant. The sailors were still behind her.
The lunch counter was crowded but there was an uneasy silence in the place. It was a room filled with total strangers making polite, small talk with each other. There was one empty booth at the far end of the restaurant. She claimed it, trying to appear very prim and proper, aware that every man in the place was watching her.
The two sailors stood uncertainly by the counter. Every stool was occupied. Rhoda picked up a menu and studied it intently, feeling somewhat amused because she knew what their next move would be. She was right. The bolder of the two approached her and pushed his hat back on his head.
"Mind if we share this table with you, Miss?" He asked nervously. His voice almost cracked and she had to suppress a smile. "Sure is crowded here."
"Go right ahead," she nodded without looking up. The boy beamed at his friend and they sat down opposite her.
"Boy, this bus riding is for the birds," the bold one remarked. "I'll take a destroyer any day."
"Yeah," the other sailor mumbled shyly.
"How about you, Miss?"
"I've never been on a destroyer so I couldn't say," Rhoda answered, favoring him with a faint smile. And I'll bet, she thought to herself, that you haven't either.
She lifted her hand to her hair in a gesture meant to display her wedding ring. Then she realized the ring was no longer there. Her hand felt naked. She had deliberately left the ring back in the apartment where Ben would find it. Now she was sorry. She wished she had kept it.
The harried waitress came by and she ordered coffee and a sandwich. The sailors ordered and looked at each other triumphantly, proud of their progress so far.
"You from New York?" The bold one asked.
"Sort of. I've been living there for the past few years," she replied, looking him straight in the eye.
"I thought so. You New York girls really stand out. So well groomed and everything. The minute you got on the bus I said to Sandy here, 'Now that's a real New York girl.' Didn't I, Sandy?"
"You sure did," Sandy mumbled, awed by his friend's courage.
They were so young and innocent, Rhoda observed. Probably they'd just finished boot training and were on their way home on leave. This was their first big adventure. And they were trying to act like men of the world. Perhaps, she thought, it would be fun to give them a little encouragement.
She fumbled with her purse and deliberately knocked her knife off the table.
"Oh, my...." She muttered with feigned consternation.
"I'll get it," Sandy said quickly. He bent over under the table and fumbled around the floor. She knew that her skirt was pulled up well above her knees and she imperceptibly arched herself, moving her legs further apart. His hand grazed her calf and darted away as if he had touched an electric wire. She could almost feel his eyes gaping up along her thighs. After a long moment he reappeared, holding the knife in triumph. His face was red and his eyes were slightly glazed.
"Got it," he gasped. His friend grabbed it and gestured to the waitress.
"I'll get you another one," he said urbanely.
"Thank you so much," she flashed a smile at them. Sandy was behaving like a fighter recovering from a sharp uppercut. He must have gotten a really good look, she thought to herself, enjoying his response.
"It's so warm in here," she remarked, unbuttoning her jacket. Her tight-fitting lace blouse came into view. The two boys stared unashamedly at her full bosom. She inhaled and leaned back. They slowly tore their eyes away and focused on her face.
"Forgive me for saying it," the bold one remarked with a grin. "But you are sure built." His friend fidgeted at his audacity.
"Why, thank you," she purred. She could sense the fantasies that were flitting through their minds. Perhaps she was carrying her teasing too far. After all, what could really happen in the back of a moving bus? But she was a little intrigued with the possibility of providing two virile, frustrated young sailors with a little unexpected fun.
Her sense of rejection was fading. She was beginning to feel like a woman again. The waitress came with their orders. Her sandwich was thin and cold and the coffee was obviously the product of overworked grounds.
They had just started to eat when the totally unexpected happened.
"Rhoda! Rhoda Kelly!" A deep voice exclaimed from the counter. She looked up in surprise. A tall, bronzed man in a sharp army officer's uniform had pivoted around on a stool and was staring at her. For a moment she didn't recognize him. He rose from the stool and strode to the booth. He was tall, straight-backed, and two gold bars glistened on his broad shoulders.
"You are Rhoda Kelly, aren't you?"
The two sailors looked at each other, chagrined. She studied the young lieutenant. No. It couldn't be, she thought.
"I don't believe it!" She gasped. "You're not-"
"Stinky," he gave her a wide, boyish smile. "Stinky Taylor. Remember?"
"Of course ... I didn't recognize you for a moment. The uniform and everything."
"Now it's Second Lieutenant Richard Taylor," he said proudly. "You've changed, too. You're more beautiful than ever."
"Stinky Taylor," she repeated, half to herself. She was genuinely happy to see him again. He had been a gangly, awkward boy ... the star of the Bellville High Basketball team. But the last few years had changed him into a rugged, good-looking man. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm catching the bus. Back to Bellville on leave. Are you going to the class reunion?"
"Yes, I am...." She was interrupted by the uneasy clearing of throats. The two sailors were gazing at him unhappily.
"Would you like to sit down, sir?" The bold one asked miserably.
"If you don't mind, fellows. I haven't seen this lady in a long time." He squeezed into the booth beside her. He moved like a leopard and his muscular thigh rubbed against hers in the narrow booth.
"We'll sit at the counter," Sandy said, nudging his friend.
"Oh, you don't have to move...." Taylor protested.
"Well you two haven't seen each in a long time...." The other sailor grunted, gathering up his food.
"Good-bye, boys." Rhoda flashed a warm smile at them.
"Nice meeting you, Miss. Sir." Sandy mumbled. The two of them moved off. "Are we taking the same bus?" Taylor asked. "It looks that way."
"Good. We can ride together." He laughed lightly. "And I was afraid this was going to be a dull trip." He glanced at her hand. "I'd heard you were married, Rhoda."
"I'm separated now." She cast her eyes down.
"Sorry to hear that." He laid his hand over hers and squeezed it. "It certainly is good to see you again."
"And I'm glad to see you again, Stin-Lieutenant," she chuckled happily.
"Call me Dick. I hope I've outgrown 'Stinky.'"
"You certainly have. You certainly have." She mused.
"Leaving in five minutes." The bus driver called out from the far end of the lunch counter.
Dick took charge of Rhoda with an air of quiet, confident authority. He paid the check, gripped her arm gently but firmly, and guided her outside to the waiting bus. The two sailors stood sullenly by the door, drawing final drags on their cigarettes. The young lieutenant smiled at them as if to say, "At ease." They looked away self-consciously, outranked and defeated. He helped Rhoda onto the bus and directed her to the extreme rear. She obeyed without protest and settled down in the seat next to the last window. He sat beside her, his shoulder touching hers, and he took her hand in both of his. Her heart was beginning to pound. She wanted to cuddle against him, to let him know how much she needed him at this time. But she managed to resist the urge. He was talking softly, with wry humor, about their school days together and the people they had known, and she responded with strained laughter and breathless murmurs.
The other passengers filed aboard and scattered near the front. The two sailors glanced at them and carefully sat a good distance away. The interior of the bus was dimly lighted by a few thin reading lights. Rhoda and Dick were in almost complete darkness.
"I always wanted to know you better back in school," Dick said, tightening his grip on her hand.
"But you were so shy," Rhoda smiled. "I never thought you were interested in girls."
"I guess I was a little awkward." He smiled back. "But the army has changed that."
She pressed his hands, marveling at how this chance meeting fulfilled her earlier fantasies. In a sense, Dick Taylor was really a stranger ... for he was hardly the lanky youth she had gone to school with. He was a new and exciting male. A refreshing change from her aloof and indifferent husband. If all of her other old schoolmates had matured so gracefully, she mused, her visit to Bellville was going to be even more interesting than she had anticipated.
The bus lumbered along into the night. Rhoda felt happy and relaxed. She leaned tenderly against Dick's shoulder, enjoying their muted conversation and feeling very much like a woman. The other passengers dozed or stared glumly into the darkness. Rhoda had the comforting feeling that she and Dick were alone together in a moving well. Dick draped his arm casually over her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.
"You know," he laughed lightly. "You used to scare the hell out of me. You were the best-looking, best-built girl in school ... and you sure knew it."
"I was a terrible tease," she admitted, lifting her free hand to caress his hand on her shoulder. "But the years have changed me, too."
"They certainly have ... and for the better ... if that's possible." His hand moved slightly, over the top of her jacket, until his fingers were pressing against the upper slope of her breasts. She responded by shifting her position so that she was even closer to him. Their thighs pressed together, her soft, rounded flesh feeling the firm muscles of his leg. His hand slid smoothly downward and slipped under her lapel, the fingers expertly stroking her sheathed breast. He released her other hand and placed his free hand on her knee. His touch sent a thrill coursing through her. The blood was pounding in her temples now and she stiffened slightly as the probing fingers of his other hand reached her hardening nipples.
"Dick," she murmured. "It's as if we'd just met. I hardly know you."
"I can't say that," he chuckled. "You'll never know how many nights I lost sleep thinking about you, wondering how I could get you to notice me." His hand inched further along her leg.
"I never even suspected...." She left the sentence unfinished, gasping as his hands strummed her nerves. She twisted her head toward him and he lowered his face, kissing her lightly on the tip of her nose. She closed her eyes, her firm breast throbbing in his hand, and he brushed his lips along her cheek until he found her mouth.
It was a long, deep kiss that sucked all the strength from her body. When he finally pulled away she realized that somehow he had managed to free the buttons of her jacket and blouse and now his hand was buried behind the taut cloth of her bra. His other hand was high on her thigh, its fingers tentatively touching the lace of her frail panties. It had been a long time since she had been handled with such finesse and her whole body was awakened to her frustrated needs.
"I hope nobody's watching," she mumbled happily.
"Nobody can see us," he reassured her, his strong fingers caressing her as he kissed her again.
She felt herself sinking into a warm and blissful stupor, not caring what he did, wanting more. She slipped her own hand under his shirt and pressed it against his broad, hairy chest. His mouth was hard and demanding in contrast to her own soft, moist lips.
As he kissed her, he slipped the strap of her bra over her shoulder and gently pulled her heaving breasts from their cradle. Then he moved his head and kissed her on the nape of her neck, his flicking tongue striking a nerve center that set a bell ringing in her head. She shuddered and sighed, a great flame spreading upward from her thighs. His head moved down until his mouth encircled the hard, erect tip of her breast. She moaned slightly, fighting to keep herself from crying out. If only they were in a parked car, she thought hazily, or in a motel room.
But they weren't. They were in a well of blackness hurtling through the night. They were speeding toward Bellville where they could be together and end this tormenting agony.
As he lavished his attention on her breasts, his other hand was stealthily adding to her pleasures. She trembled and squirmed in her seat, her hips rocking involuntarily as she surrendered to his touch. Her hand fell from his shirt and slipped down over his hard, lean stomach. He moved slightly.
The well of blackness swallowed them up. They gnawed and groped hungrily with each other, their mutual tensions flowering in a sublime mixture of rising pain and pleasure. Her caresses intensified his passion and his hands increased their savage attack on her willing body. Together they flared into an awkward, writhing mass of mindless desire. Dick quivered violently, clutching her tightly to him as he gave her an all-consuming kiss. She responded with white heat, smothered in a burst of sensation that left her spent and breathless.
They sat, holding each other numbly, for several minutes.
"Well," he finally managed to mutter. "Fourth of July came early this year."
He released her slowly, a sheepish expression creeping over his face.
"I didn't mean to go so far."
"It wasn't far enough, darling," she whispered.
"Later," he mumbled. "There will be lots of time."
"Two whole weeks," she observed happily.
"Maybe," he grunted darkly. "Maybe."
She glanced out the window and caught sight of a sign.
"We're coming into Harristown. Bellville will be the next stop." She anxiously began to fumble with her buttons, very pleased with herself. Things were really off to a swinging start. This was going to be a pleasurable visit indeed. She smiled contentedly, joyfully looking forward to spending her first night in Bellville with Dick, planning to make up for all the loving she had missed in the last few months.
She reached for Dick affectionately but he pulled away. He was intent on straightening his uniform and for a second he looked like the shy, reserved boy she had gone to school with. He was clearly uncomfortable and troubled.
"Something wrong, darling?" She asked softly.
"No ... no. Everything's fine," he managed to smile at her but his eyes were distant. She stroked his solid arm.
The bus halted briefly in Harristown and the driver got out for a moment An elderly couple dismounted. Rhoda and Dick sat in silence as the driver smoked a cigarette. Then he got back into his seat
"Bellville next stop," he called over his shoulder as he started the motor.
"We'll soon be home again," Rhoda noted happily.
Dick just grunted, pulling himself up stiff and straight in his seat.
The bus slipped back into the night
CHAPTER FIVE
Bellville huddled in a wooded valley -rimmed by high green hills. The highway spiraled down and cut through Main Street then loped back up into the hills on the opposite side of town. The other streets fanned out like a spider web from Main Street all quiet and dark except for the high iron street lamps on every corner. Most of the neat frame houses were black and silent Bellville was asleep and totally unaware of Rhoda Barrington's return.
She clutched Dick's hand tightly as the old, familiar homes and buildings rolled past the bus window. A comforting sense of belonging came over her. This was her hometown and no matter how hard she had tried to forget it she still belonged to it And every crack in every sidewalk belonged to her and formed a part of the years she had spent there.
"We're here, Dick," she said delightedly. "We're really here at last." The handsome young lieutenant by her side just grunted.
Main Street was dark and quiet. All of the shops were closed and there were very few parked cars. The curb was lined with an army of parking meters now. They had been installed after Rhoda's departure. The old fire-house was freshly painted and a workman's ladder still leaned against its side. Rhoda drank in the peaceful stillness. But as the bus shuddered to a stop in front of the Town Hall she felt Dick's hand pull away from her.
"This is it," he observed laconically, rising to his feet.
Rhoda glanced out the window for one last time and noticed a small group of people coming out of the shadows, heading for the bus. She recognized some of them.
"There's your mother and father, Dick," she announced, her hopes for a wild night with him sinking.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Anybody expecting you?"
"No. I decided to come a week early and I didn't have a chance to write to anyone."
He mumbled something she couldn't understand. They headed down the aisle together. The driver was already outside, removing their luggage.
The lieutenant got off the bus first and started to turn to teach for Rhoda's hand but before their fingers touched a tall, slender girl materialized from the darkness and threw her arms around his neck.
"Dick! Dick! Welcome back," she cried happily. She kissed him full on the mouth, biting into the lips that Rhoda had been kissing only minutes before. His mother and father circled him, pride and joy gleaming on their faces.
Rhoda stepped down from the bus awkwardly, surprised and hurt. The girl kissed Dick again. Now Rhoda recognized her. It was Shirley Brenton ... dull, freckle-faced Shirley who had been all limbs and bones and had never been able to get a date. She was claiming Dick Taylor. Rhoda swallowed hard and turned toward the bus driver to claim her luggage. Dick was babbling with the people around him. She managed to grant the driver a smile of thanks. He grinned back and climbed back into his bus.
"And then I met Rhoda, here," Dick was saying. "You remember Rhoda Kelly?"
"Of course," his Father said. "How are you Rhoda?"
She picked up her bags and slowly looked around.
"Fine. How are you, Mr. Taylor?"
He looked her over with obvious appreciation.
"Hello, Rhoda," Mrs. Taylor grunted sharply.
"Hi, Rhoda," Shirley said coolly, still clinging to Dick. "What do you think of our hero, here?"
"He's turned into quite a man, Shirley. Quite a man." Rhoda was careful to accentuate the right words. Dick squirmed uneasily.
"Is anyone meeting you, Rhoda?" Old Man Taylor asked.
"No. I'm going to stay at the hotel."
"Better let us help you with your bags."
"That's all right. I can manage. The hotel is right across the street."
"Are you sure you can manage?" Dick asked.
"Quite sure." She tugged at the bags, preparing to leave. "Nice seeing you again, Mr. Taylor ... Mrs. Taylor."
"We'll have to get together before the reunion, Rhoda," Shirley remarked in a flat tone that made it clear she didn't mean it.
"That would be nice." Rhoda forced a smile. "Thanks for keeping me company on the bus, Stinky."
Dick Taylor winced.
"The pleasure was all mine. We'll see you around, Rhoda."
"Good-night." She turned away. The bus rumbled to life and took off down the street. Dick and his family headed for their parked car. Rhoda walked slowly across the street to the hotel, hardly conscious of the weight of her bags. Her mind was reeling with anger and disappointment. He had known all along that Shirley was waiting for him. She had just provided him with a cheap thrill. He had used her. She had been married for so long that she had forgotten what men were really like. Well, now she remembered and now the men of Bellville were in for a shock.
We'll see who uses who around here, she told herself as she dropped her bags in front of the heavy doors of the hotel. They were locked. She rang the bell and waited. The peaceful stillness of the town was suddenly oppressive. As she looked up and down the empty street she was seized by an urge to run ... to flee back to the big, impersonal city.
Finally a light went on inside the hotel and someone rattled the door from the other side. The door opened a crack and a pale face peered out.
"What is it?" A sleepy voice asked.
"I'm looking for a room. You do rent rooms, don't you?" She answered haughtily.
"Sure." The door opened wide and a young man stood there with his pajama tops hastily thrust into a pair of trousers. His hair was rumpled and his face was bloated with sleep. "Come on in. I'll take your bags."
She stepped into the lobby as he wrestled with her bags and closed the door behind them.
"The bus was late tonight," he mumbled. "Didn't expect anyone to be on it." He carried her bags forward to the desk and put them down. Rhoda looked around uncomfortably. The hotel had the shabby, austere appearance of a place that did little business. There was an old sofa and a potted palm under an ancient oil painting that had been executed by an amateur. Yet there had been a time when she had considered this dingy old hotel to be the epitome of elegance.
The young man faced her, brushing the hair out of his eyes. She recognized him for the first time.
"Bill! Bill Marble!" She exclaimed. "Are you running the hotel now?"
"Have been for quite a while." He squinted at her. "Rhoda! Is that you? Rhoda Kelly?" His eyes traveled over her.
"I've come back for the reunion," she smiled at him. "I must admit I didn't expect to find you here."
He tucked self-consciously at his pajama tops.
"Boy, you sure look great, Rhoda. Guess I'm kinda of messy ... you woke me up."
"I'm glad to see a friendly face, Bill." What luck, she thought to herself. One of the handsomest boys from her class running the hotel where she was staying. Bill Marble, the president of the Junior Class ... the boy voted most likely to succeed. He had planned to go on to college and study chemistry. Everyone had expected great things from him.
"You can register in the morning, Rhoda. You must be tired after that long bus ride. Come on ... I'll show you to a room." He picked up her bags again and led the way to the rickety old elevator. The only elevator in all of Bellville. One of the great thrills of her childhood had been a ride on that elevator. She remembered it as an awesome chasm of polished brass but it was hardly big enough for three people. The door stuck when he tried to close it and he had to slam at it with the butt of his palm. It creaked and whirred and moved uncertainly upward.
"There isn't much business here anymore," he apologized. "Not since a couple of motels opened up outside of town. But we manage to keep going."
"What happened to college, Bill?" Rhoda asked bluntly.
"I didn't go. Got married to Maggie Olmstead."
"Oh," Rhoda said weakly. Maggie's father had owned the old hotel.
"Maggie's dad died a couple of years ago and left us this place."
The elevator rattled and trembled to a stop. He forced the doors open and picked up her bags.
"You're our only guest at the moment," he confessed. "So you can have the best room in the place. Teddy Roosevelt stayed in it once."
He led her down the musty hall illuminated by a single weak bulb, and pushed open a door. The room was large, clean, and neat, A huge brass bed dominated it and a great bay window looked out across the rooftops of the town.
"There's a private bath ... you have to let the water run awhile before it gets hot." He set her suitcases down. "Bed isn't made. I'll get some sheets." He left quickly.
Rhoda walked to the window and looked out. There was nothing to see or hear, unlike her windows in the city. She sighed to herself and peeled off her jacket. So Bill Marble had married dumpy, homely little Maggie Olmstead. By now he was probably bored out of his mind, she mused. She unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse. Perhaps with a little encouragement....
There was an old wardrobe against one wall. Its doors were two full-length mirrors. She stood in front of it and scrutinized herself. Her hair was a little mussed and her skirt was slightly wrinkled from the mauling Dick had given it on the bus. She smoothed her stockings and, with a wry smile, unclipped the hook of her bra under her blouse. Then she slipped one bra strap down and wriggled free of it, pulling the bra out through her sleeve. She quickly hid it under her jacket which she had draped over a chair. The mirrors reflected her unfettered charms. The hard, pointed tips of her breasts pushed against the thin fabric of her blouse. She opened another button, exposing the cleavage.
She had no time to admire herself further. There were footsteps in the hall and Bill Marble returned carrying a pile of blankets and linen. He was slightly out of breath.
"Sorry it took so long," he mumbled, coming to a dead halt as he glimpsed at her. The bold, confident manner of his high school days was gone. He seemed weary and beaten now, all of his youthful promise gone forever.
"That's all right. This is a very nice room, Bill," she said. He started to shake out a sheet and she grabbed the end of it. "Here, let me help you."
She went around the far side of the bed and helped him spread the sheet and tuck it under the mattress. He made a painfully self-conscious effort to keep his eyes away from the dark opening in her blouse.
"Is your husband corning later?" He asked.
"No." She started to tell him she was free ... separated. But something made her stop. "No, he won't be here."
"How do you like living in the city?" He busied himself with the top sheet. She moved around until she was standing next to him.
"Oh, it's all right." She lowered her voice to a husky whisper.
"I'll bet it's livelier than Bellville," he remarked wistfully. She took the sheet out of his hands, noticing that his fingers were warm and sweaty. She tossed the sheet expertly across the bed. He turned awkwardly to go around to the other side and she stepped directly into his path. He walked straight into her and recoiled as though he had just stumbled into a cactus plant.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Still half asleep."
"Bill," she murmured gently. "Is this the Bill Marble I used to know?" She caught one of his hands and held it. He raised his eyes slowly and she could see a strange, half-frightened look in them. "You used to be all hands."
"Things have changed I guess."
She lifted his hand and pressed it against her breast. His fingers twitched. She pushed them into her soft flesh, feeling their warmth, her body waking to new excitement.
"But I guess you haven't changed much, Rhoda," he laughed lamely. "At least, you feel about the same ... only maybe there's more of you."
"Bill...." She took a step closer to him. She was very conscious of the bed beside them. "I'm really very glad to see you again." She moved one leg, pressing it firmly against his thigh. His face twisted with indecision.
"Rhoda," he gulped. His free hand looped around her waist and pulled her closer, sliding down to claw into her buttocks. "We're both married now. Don't you think...." She didn't let him finish. She raised her face to his, her lips parted, her body flushed with excitement. He submitted to his natural urges and kissed her. For a second his lips only grazed hers lightly and then his open mouth pressed against hers with increasing savagery. His hand slipped into her open blouse and touched the supersensitive pinkness of her exposed nipple. All of the hungers she had experienced with Dick on the bus were fully revived and she grunted with triumph as she locked her arms around his neck. The closeness of his body intoxicated her.
He broke off the kiss and started to pull away but she buried her face in the nape of his neck and her flicking tongue lashed out at the nerve endings at the base of his throat. He shuddered and instinctively pushed her back against the bed. She went limp and fell across the hard mattress, pulling him down on top of her. With a deft motion he flipped open the remaining buttons on her blouse and his mouth sought out the hardening sweetness of her breasts. A wave of pleasure engulfed her and she moaned happily while her own hands fought with his belt buckle.
Once again he tried to pull away but she held onto him fiercely and kissed him until his hands reached for her again, stroking her silken thighs and exploring her ripe body.
He lifted himself up and looked down into her bewildered eyes.
"Rhoda," he gasped unhappily. "Just before you arrived ... Maggie and I ... we...."
"Bill! I need you so. Try, Bill. Please try." She cried desperately.
"I don't think I can," he muttered miserably. He lowered his head, his initial burst of passion waning. Her fingers caressed him ineffectually, a bitter sense of disappointment rising in her.
"Try...." she begged. "Try...."
"I can't...." he groaned, pulling away. His face was ashen. He got off the bed and hauled his trousers up.
"Don't leave me like this!" She cried, alarmed. She sat up and stared at him in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, Rhoda," he mumbled. Before she could move he ran from the room, leaving the door ajar. She looked after him, stunned. Her whole body was pulsing with anger and frustration. The elevator down the hall rattled and clanked and then a grim silence settled over the room.
After a long moment, she managed to stir. She undressed in a stupor, leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor, and then she walked numbly to the window, nude and aching. She looked out at the dark and empty town. Her old animosities toward the town of Bellville returned, , sweeping over her.
Somewhere in this miserable place, she told herself, there had to be a man who could give her what she needed.
She turned slowly and looked at herself in the mirror. Her glistening body was crying out with the need to be loved. She cupped her breasts, still solid with the lingering memory of Bill's caresses and kisses, and she silently cursed him. Then she threw herself across the bed.
CHAPTER SIX
Rhoda awoke early the next morning, feeling dismally alone in the big bed. Her arm had reached out automatically for the place where Ben would have been and when she touched the emptiness she jolted awake. The sunlight was pouring in through the big windows. She had failed to draw the shades the night before. Being used to the constant rumble of city traffic, the silence of the little town seemed like thunder.
She stumbled out of bed and went into the bathroom where she turned on the faucets over the ancient, ornate marble bathtub. Bill had been right. It took a long time for the hot water to turn really hot. There was a damp chill in the air and she was relieved when she could finally settle her nude body into the steaming tub.
After a long, leisurely bath she dressed slowly, donning a pair of frail white panties and a bra that was an engineering wonder. It lifted and puffed out her breasts so that her nipples poked sharply through the tight jersey blouse she had decided to wear. Then she slipped into a pair of tight slacks that dramatized the full curves of her long legs and the firm, round slopes of her derriere. Finally she put on a pair of high pumps and admired herself in the mirror. She was, she noted with satisfaction, probably the sexiest thing to hit Bellville in a long time.
The rickety elevator deposited her in the hotel lobby. Bill's wife, Maggie, was running a vacuum cleaner over the frayed carpet. She looked up at Rhoda with a barely concealed expression of distaste. Her mousy brown hair was knotted under a kerchief wrapped turban-fashion around her head and she was wearing a faded house dress that ballooned over her squat body.
"Hello, Maggie," Rhoda offered, shouting above the roar of the vacuum cleaner.
"Hi, Rhoda," Maggie turned off the machine and leaned against the handle. "Bill told me you checked in last night. Come back for the reunion?"
"That's right. Thought I'd come a few days early so I could look the old town over."
"It hasn't changed much, I guess." She stared at Rhoda, her eyes hostile. Rhoda glanced about uneasily, feeling awkward. Had Bill told her about last night, she wondered? Maggie had never been a close friend of hers and now she was conscious of a great chasm between them.
"Well, I'll see you later," Rhoda smiled wanely, heading for the door. Maggie mumbled something and turned the vacuum cleaner back on.
Outside, in the fresh air, Rhoda glanced up and down the Main Street. A handful of cars were parked along the curb and a couple of shopkeepers were outside lowering their awnings and sweeping the sidewalk. A solitary car flashed down the street and disappeared up the hill. Rhoda walked slowly to the luncheonette and soda fountain called "Pop's" where she had spent so much of her time during her high-school days. She hardly recognized the place. The high wooden booths were gone, replaced by plastic-topped tables. Gleaming chrome glittered behind the modern lunch counter. Two large men in plaid hunting jackets sat at the counter drinking coffee. They looked up at her as she entered and their eyes sparkled with wry approval. She ignored them and sat at the far end of the counter.
A tall, middle-aged woman with graying hair appeared and approached her.
"Hello, there," she said with a friendly smile. "Menu?"
"Please." Rhoda looked around the room uncomfortably as the woman placed a plastic-sheathed menu in front of her. "What happened to Pop?"
"Pop? Oh, he retired years ago. Did you know him?"
"Yes ... I used to live here."
"I thought I knew you from someplace," one of the men exclaimed. "Didn't you used to work in the five and ten?" His face was beaming.
"Why, yes ... yes I did."
"That's where I've seen you. You probably don't remember me. Shuttleworth ... Bob Shuttleworth. I bought the old Winslow farm" He was grinning lecherously from ear to ear.
"Of course," she lied. She remembered neither his face nor his name. "How are you, Bob?"
"Fine, just fine. And do you know Hank, here?" He waved his hand toward his friend.
"I'm not sure...." Rhoda answered hesitantly.
"I remember you," Hank said in a slow drawl. "Best-looking girl in town."
"She still is," Bob mused. "She still is." He nodded to the woman behind the counter. "I'm buying her breakfast."
"That's very kind but...." Rhoda started to protest.
"Least I can do," he chuckled. "Guess the old town hasn't changed much, huh?"
"Not much," Rhoda answered. She glanced at the menu and ordered scrambled eggs and coffee. At least somebody in the town was still friendly, she thought to herself. Even if she didn't remember them.
Bob and Hank slid their cups down the counter and sat next to her. They both smelled of husky farm odors, of sweat and barns and soil. It had been a long time since she had smelled such odors. She was used to men smelling of hair tonic, shaving lotion, and cologne. She noticed their hands ... covered with callouses and dark with grime that would never wash out.
"How long you in town for?" Hank asked.
"I came back for the high-school reunion."
"Oh, yeah...." Bob observed. "That's gonna be quite a do. Quite a do."
After a few more simple exchanges the two men suddenly seemed to be talked out. They finished their coffee. Hank glanced at the clock behind the counter and nodded to his friend.
"Well, we've gotta get going," Bob said, rising. He patted Rhoda on the small of her back. "Nice seeing you again."
"Thanks for the breakfast."
"Think nothing of it." He pulled down his red hunting cap, tossed some money on the counter, and said good-bye to the waitress. Then they left.
"Nice fellas," the waitress noted.
"Yes, they are." Rhoda agreed. She stared into her coffee cup. The odors that lingered behind them stirred old memories. There had been a time when she thought that nothing smelled better than a barn. In her childhood barns had been dark and wonderful places, filled with the scents of life and nature. And they offered a haven, an escape, where she lie in the sweet-smelling hay and read the books her mother had forbidden her to read and dream the dreams of adolescence.
"More coffee," the waitress asked.
"Yes ... please," Rhoda answered dreamily, her mind riffling through the years, going back to a barn and a boy named Jerry. He had been an impish, freckle-faced boy, filled with a love for the land and finding joy in the hard work of the farm. As children they had spent long, happy hours turning that barn into all kinds of wonderful things. One day it would be a fortress, the next day a submarine plowing through the North Atlantic.
As Rhoda stirred her coffee she remembered the sour day when her mother had come to the barn looking for her and had found her wrestling wildly with Jerry in the hay loft. That had triggered a lecture Rhoda would never forget.
Funny, she thought, how her Father was only a dim shadow in her memory. Her Mother had dominated then-house with her lashing tongue and her Father had been a quiet, gentle man who frequently disappeared for days on end and finally limped home sick with alcohol. She knew now that he had had a bitterly unhappy life. He had sought his escape just as Rhoda had sought hers.
Rhoda finished her coffee. How would she spend this day in Bellville? And all the days that yawned ahead before the Reunion? Well, she thought to herself, she could go look at the old house ... the place where she had grown up. She didn't want to go back, really. In her J memory the house was a dark and cheerless place, haunted with old quarrels in the night. But she had to begin somewhere and that was as good a place as any. Where was Jerry now, she wondered? Wouldn't it be funny if he was still on the farm, still walking behind a plow? And wouldn't it be funnier, still, if she were to lead him into the barn, up into the old hayloft? The motion titillated her. But, no. No, he was probably gone. He probably had a farm of his own now ... and a raw-boned wife with eight children at her heels.
Rhoda slipped a quarter under the saucer of her coffee cup, got up from her stool, and walked to the door.
"Come back again," the waitress called from the back of the shop.
"I will," Rhoda promised. She stepped back onto Main Street. It was still quiet. A pickup truck pulled up in front of the barber shop and a man got out and entered the shop. He was wearing one of those plaid hunting jackets over his huge, almost bloated body. He glanced at her, scrutinized her figure for a moment, smiled broadly, and went on his way. As she passed the shop she tried not to notice him and the barber both watching her as she went by.
When she got to the corner she gazed in bewilderment at the old five-and-ten-cent store. It's front was now all chrome and glass and through the window she could see the neat, organized modern shelves, all brightly lighted by fluorescent fixtures. There was a big sign above the store bearing the name of a major chain. On a whim, she turned and entered the store. It was all self-service now and the only person in evidence was an elderly woman behind the cash register. Rhoda looked around, feeling a tinge of sadness. The store was an exact replica of its counterparts in the city.
"Excuse me," she addressed the cashier. "Is Mr. Winthrop here?"
"Mr. who?" The old lady looked at her curiously. "Mr. Winthrop. He used to manage the old five-and-ten."
"Oh," the woman shrugged. "No Mr. Winthrop here. Not since I've worked here anyways."
"I see." Rhoda backed toward the door. "Well, thank you."
She hurried down the street and turned a familiar corner, heading for Cedar Street and the past. As she walked on the years began to slip away. She passed landmarks she had grown up with. Old homes that she remembered. She came to the creaking old bridge that spanned the tiny Bellville creek. Beyond it was the ancient stable. It had been deserted and old when she was a girl. Now the roof had fallen in and one side was missing. She paused and glanced inside. It was littered with junk and was terribly small. She remembered it as being cavernous. It was here that she and a group of children had staged a "circus" and she had done a trapeze act on a swing that had been tied to the old roof beams.
With a sigh, she continued on her way. Cedar Street was on the very edge of the town, surrounded by open fields. There were a lot of new houses there now. All of them short, squat ranch houses with big picture windows. But the Reid farm was still there. The old farm house with its gables and shade trees was set back from the street. The barn was still standing but needed painting and appeared to be unused. A red sports car was parked in the driveway. She hesitated for a moment, surveying the scene, expecting to feel some kind of nostalgia. But she felt nothing and this absence of feeling disappointed her.
Walking slowly, she came to 68 Cedar Street and the old frame house that she knew so well. Her Father had worked most of his life to pay off the mortgage on it. After his death, and after Rhoda's marriage, her Mother had sold it and moved away. The new owners were obviously taking good care of it. The lawn was well kept and the house had been freshly painted. For a moment she considered ringing the doorbell and asking them, whoever they were, if she could look around. But she realized it would be an empty gesture. She didn't really want to enter it. Not ever again. In fact, she had a kind of creepy feeling as she stood looking at it. And she knew this was the last time she would ever see it. It was now a distant part of her past.
Turning away, she remembered a book she had read long ago. It was called, You Can't Go Home Again. Now she knew what the author meant. She started walking, a foreboding sense of isolation and loneliness closing over her. She wanted to run back to the hotel, pack her things, and catch the next bus back to the city. Back ta Ben. But she knew she couldn't do that. She had to stick this thing out.
She walked blindly for two blocks until she was startled by the squeal of brakes. The red sports car had pulled up beside her. A handsome young man was behind the wheel. He was dressed in a well-made tweed jacket and wore a silk tie.
"Rhoda! Is that you?" He asked above the loud purr of his motor. His eyes sparkled with a familiar twinkle. "Let me give you a lift."
"It couldn't be!" She gasped in recognition.
"It sure could be." He jumped out, grabbed her hand and led her around to the other side of the car where he opened the door with a flourish.
"Jerry! Jerry Reid!" Rhoda cried with delight.
"The same." He helped her into the low-slung vehicle, closed the door, walked around and got behind the wheel. "Where can I take you?"
"Anywhere," Rhoda sighed happily, leaning back in the leather bucket seat. "Anywhere at all."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"And so I gave up a promising career as a farmer for this," Jerry Reid said, waving his arm expansively around the cluttered office. He was seated behind a scarred desk buried under papers and galley proofs.
"I don't know," Rhoda laughed, shaking her head. "You were the last person I would have expected to take over the newspaper."
"Correction. Newspaper and job printing. We make our money with job printing. The weekly TIMES is just a hobby. A labor of love. Come on," he jumped up and took her arm. "Let me show you around."
He led her through a door into the printing plant in the back. The machines were still. Two men were working silently over forms spread on a huge slate table. They looked up at Jerry and Rhoda and nodded. Their eyes flicked over Rhoda appreciatively.
"Gentlemen, this is Bellville's Rhoda Kelly, home from the shining city." Jerry announced grandly. The two men mumbled a greeting and went on with their work. "Here, Rhoda, is where we print all the news that fits."
He steered her amongst the machines, explaining them to her in a steady line of patter. His arm slipped about her waist in a comfortably natural gesture and she felt a warm thrill at the touch of his firm fingers. She leaned against him as he discussed the intricacies of a new collating machine. She could see that he was immensely proud of the printing plant and the newspaper business excited him.
"But how did you ever-" She began.
"Get out of farming and into this?" He interrupted. "Simple. I went to college and studied hard."
"I didn't know you were ever interested in journal-ism.
"I majored in agriculture," he went on, ignoring her. "And minored in women."
She stared blankly at him. The two men chuckled to themselves. He guided her back to the office, his arm still around her waist.
"One of those women had a father in the printing machinery business," he continued blithely. "He didn't want his daughter stuck away on some farm. So when we were married, he offered to help me buy the Bellville Times."
Rhoda groaned inwardly. So he was married? Her disappointment must have shown on her face and he caught it.
"Hey," he laughed. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were unhappy about my hopeless state."
"No," she pulled herself together. "I guess I'm just disappointed that ... that you married into this business."
"Or that I married into any business, huh?" He sat down on the edge of his desk and took her hand in his. "It isn't all as crass as it sounds, Rhoda. Zorilda ... my wife ... is a wonderful girl. I'm sure you'll like her.
You've both got a lot of class. In fact...." He reached for the phone, "what are you doing for lunch?"
"Well, I...." she hesitated.
"Nothing. Good. I want you to have lunch with us. I'll call Zee now and tell her to set another place."
He dialed and, after a moment's pause, began talking glibly into the phone. Rhoda didn't listen. She walked to the window and looked out onto Main Street. Knots of people were now weaving among the stores. Jerry was really a total stranger to her anyway, she told herself. This slim, handsome young man was not the same farm boy she had known. He had changed, just as Main Street had changed. She felt like a stranger in a strange, far--off town. The Bellville of her childhood was gone. Her life with Ben was gone too. She was suspended between worlds and somehow she had to make the best of it.
"All set," Jerry's arm dropped over Rhoda's shoulders. "Zee is delighted to have you. Why don't you come back here around noon and I'll drive you out."
"Fine, Jerry," she forced a smile. "I want to look around some more ... and maybe I should change into something more presentable."
"Don't be silly. You're mighty presentable just as you are. Zee will probably be wearing slacks, too." He moved his arm away. "I'm sorry ... we're a bit rushed this week. I have some work to do. But I'll see you later."
"Right ... I'll be back." He held the door open for her. She stepped again onto Main Street and wandered aimlessly away.
Her steps carried her past the drug store and she went in, intending to browse through the phone book and see if she could find any names that meant anything to her. A tall girl with flaming red hair stood behind the counter, nonchalantly filing her nails. She looked up at Rhoda and they stared at each other for a few seconds.
"Sylvia," Rhoda broke the silence, finding the name to match the girl's face. "How are you?"
"Rhoda! I'll be damned!" She threw down the file and came around from behind the counter. "What brings you back to this jerkwater town?"
"The high-school reunion. How have you been, Sylvia?"
"Bored. That's how. Believe me, leaving this place was the smartest thing you ever did." She glanced at Rhoda's ringless hand. "You still married, honey?"
"In a way. We're separated."
"Men!" She spat out the word. "They're all bastards. I never found one I could stand long enough to marry. So tell me all about the big city."
"I'm afraid there's not much to tell. It's big, noisy, dirty."
"But there's a lot going on there. Nothing ever happens in this town. They ought to rename it Rigor Mortis."
Rhoda smiled uneasily. Sylvia had been one of those girls who had gone through a long, awkward period. In school she had been a tall, bony collection of arms and legs with braces on her teeth and a wild array of freckles. The boys had never paid much attention to her. And, since homely girls usually pal around with prettier ones, she had attached herself to Rhoda. At one point they had spent a lot of time together. Then Rhoda had become too busy with boys and Sylvia had gone her own way. Toward the end of her schooldays she had discovered the ancient route to popularity and had developed a pair of round heels which were the scandal of her classmates.
But the years had obviously finally caught up with her and now she was a striking-looking woman. The white coat that she was wearing over her dress plainly concealed a well-developed figure. Her face was attractive but she used just a little too much makeup. But Rhoda was very happy to see her.
"Why don't you move out, Sylvia? Come to the city?" Rhoda asked.
"I would ... but you know ... every year I swear I'm going to leave. Ma died a couple of years back. I said I'd leave then. But somehow...." She shrugged her shoulders meaningfully.
"I just ran into Jerry Reid," Rhoda changed the subject.
"Yeah ... he's a pretty handsome guy but that wife of his gives me the creeps. I don't know why he married a woman like that."
"What's wrong with her?"
"I don't know. Nothing you can put your finger on, I guess. There's just something about her...."
"I'm having lunch with the two of them today."
"Then you'll see what I mean."
"What else is new here, Sylvia? I mean, I suppose everyone we knew is married by now."
"Yeah. Some of 'em have been married twice already. You know how it is. They all had hot pants at eighteen and got married as fast as they could. Breeding all over the place. And now that they're older and bored with each other, seems like the whole town is playing musical beds."
"What do you...." Rhoda looked down at the floor. "What do you do for excitement here?"
"I know what you mean," Sylvia laughed. "Am I getting any? Sure. There's always some guy around." She looked at Rhoda with narrowed eyes. "That your problem, Rhoda?"
"No ... I was just...."
"You've got the hots all right. I can see it written all over you." Sylvia said bluntly. "Tell you what ... why don't we get together tonight and maybe we can find some action."
"Now wait a minute...." Rhoda protested, embarrassed.
"It'll be like old times. Only now we know how to play the game. What do you say?"
"Well, maybe we could have dinner together." Rhoda said limply.
"Fine. It's a date then. Where are you staying?"
"The hotel."
"The hotel!" Sylvia repeated with a laugh. "Kind of lonely there, isn't it?"
"I'm the only guest."
"That figures. Suppose I pick you up after I finish here? I've got a car."
"All right."
The door opened and a stout couple entered the drugstore. The man was wearing a plaid hunting jacket. Sylvia went to wait on them as Rhoda headed for the door.
"See you about six," Sylvia called to her. "And watch out for that lady you're having lunch with."
Rhoda nodded and left, her spirits considerably lifted. At last she'd found a friend and it was someone who could help her with her problem. She could hardly wait for six o'clock.
Zorilda Reid was not quite as strange and sinister as Sylvia had hinted. She was a tall, angular woman with blue-black hair and the finely boned features of a high fashion model. Her body was slender and she had a superb carriage. She was, as Jerry predicted, wearing slacks. Gold lame slacks, to be exact, which gripped her long legs as if they had been applied with a brush. She wore a matching yellow blouse with a neckline that dipped to expose the cleavage between her small but perfectly formed breasts.
She greeted Rhoda warmly at the door of the old Reid farmhouse.
"So this is the girl next door?" She observed, her dark eyes rolling over Rhoda's figure. "She doesn't look like Doris Day to me. More like Sophia Loren."
"Yep, this is the little girl I grew up with." Jerry grinned.
"That must have been interesting," Mrs. Reid noted, her voice tinged with humor. "In fact, I once had quite a crush on her."
"Hmmmm ... I'll scratch your eyes out later," she said wryly to Rhoda as she led her into the living room of the farmhouse. The whole interior was startling. It was done over in expensive Swedish modern and looked more like a fancy city apartment than an isolated country home. Rhoda looked around in amazement.
"The old Reid homestead has certainly changed. You've done wonders with it, Mrs. Reid," she told her sincerely.
"Zee studied to be an interior decorator," Jerry said proudly.
"Gave up a brilliant career so he could win the Pulitzer Prize," his wife smiled, chucking him under the chin.
"What brilliant career?" he asked. "You never even graduated."
"But if I had, I would have had a brilliant career." She turned to Rhoda. "We must all cling to some fantasies."
"Boy, is she going to be disappointed if I don't win the Pulitzer," Jerry said as he went to the bar in the corner of the room. "How do you want your lunch, Rhoda? On the rocks?"
"Easy on the sauce, boy," Zee warned. "Remember you've got a deadline to meet."
"Some deadline. Next Tuesday." He said in a mod grumble as he mixed drink. "Everyday I dash into the office and yell, 'Stop the Presses.' And every day they tell me, 'The presses don't even start until Tuesday.' I tel you, the pressure is unbearable."
"Sometimes I get the feeling he's trying to tell me something," Zee said to Rhoda.
Rhoda liked them both and relaxed, enjoying their banter. They seemed to get along well together and Zee seemed quite contented with small-town life. She had surrounded herself with books and records and revealed that they were able to make frequent trips into the city to attend plays and wade through the art galleries. If only, Rhoda thought to herself, I had been able to adjust to the city as easily as Zee had adjusted to the country. Then perhaps life with Ben would have been different.
Zorilda proved to be an excellent cook and lunch was delightful. From time to time, Rhoda caught Zee studying her out of the corner of her eye in a manner that made her slightly uneasy. But she told herself it was just her imagination.
"We must do something for you while you're here," Mrs. Reid declared over coffee. "A lot of your old classmates will be in town for the reunion." She turned to her husband. "Why don't we have a little party here this week-end?"
"That's a great idea, honey." Jerry responded enthusiastically. "How about it, Rhoda?"
"Wonderful!" She said, genuinely excited over the prospect. "It'll give us all a chance to get together before all the speechmaking and stuff at the school."
"Consider it done," Mrs. Reid announced. "We'll sit down tonight, Jerry, and make out the invitation list."
Rhoda was almost sorry when the lunch ended. As she and Jerry went out the door for the return trip to town, Zorilda pecked her on the cheek.
"We'll see you Saturday," she told Rhoda. "But, in the meantime, if you get bored or anything, please drop around. I'd love to see you anytime."
"Maybe I'll do that." Rhoda promised, suppressing an impulse to rub the spot where Zee had kissed her.
"And you...." she scolded her husband. "You'd better hurry if you're going to meet that deadline."
"There must be an easier way to win the Pulitzer Prize," Jerry complained as he helped Rhoda into his car.
The day suddenly seemed brighter to Rhoda. Things were beginning to happen.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jerry dropped Rhoda off at her hotel and roared away. Bill Marble was behind the desk, toiling over a musty ledger. He watched her walk across the lobby, a faraway look in his eyes as he drank in every wriggle of her hips in the tight slacks. So let him look, Rhoda said to herself, he's had his chance.
"Hi, Bill," she greeted him lightly.
"Rhoda," he nodded. "Enjoying your stay?"
"I've run into a couple of old friends," she answered.
"Good." He lowered his voice to a whine. "Rhoda, I'm sorry about last night...."
"You weren't very helpful, were you?" She flashed a mocking smile.
Maggie, hearing voices, came shuffling out of the little office off the side of the lobby. She glanced at Rhoda, her face a cold, hard mask, and then she looked accusingly at her husband.
"Guess the town hasn't changed much, has it, Rhoda?" She said flatly.
"Not much," Rhoda replied. Bill self-consciously returned to his ledger. Rhoda strolled to the elevator, aware that Maggie was watching her closely. She could feel the hostile eyes boring into her.
She had been doing a lot of walking and Zorilda's rich lunch lay heavy in her stomach. As soon as she got to her room she stepped out of her slacks, peeled off her blouse, and stretched out on the bed. The strap on her bra was biting into her flesh so she unfastened the hook and freed her breasts. Closing her eyes lightly, she tried to shut off her mind and rest but Jerry Reid's handsome face floated in front of her and the memory of his body in the hayloft long ago tormented her. There was no chance there, she thought, Zorilda was too much of a woman and their marriage was apparently a happy one ... in spite of what Sylvia had hinted.
Rhoda rolled over onto her stomach and pressed her face into the pillow. At least Jerry hadn't become like the others, she told herself. At least he wasn't a fat, self-satisfied farmer in a plaid hunting jacket. What had happened to the others, she wondered? Fat Stan Mitchell, all money and no sex appeal ... where was he? And Paul Baron, the handsome louse who had lured her into a forest cabin ... she wanted to track him down and somehow settle the score. Sylvia would be able to fill her in on them.
The sunlight bathed her through the open windows. It caressed her body like warm fingers. Where was Ben now, she asked herself? How had he reacted to the empty apartment? In spite of her efforts, she could not ease him out of her mind. She knew that her heart was not really in this search for illicit pleasure ... this desperate effort to flee from her failure to hold the love of the man she loved. But she was certainly going to try. Sylvia would help her. Bellville would help her. Her pillow was wet with tears when sleep finally came.
It was almost five when she awoke. She washed herself and rearranged her long blond hair. Then she dressed slowly and thoughtfully in preparation for the evening's adventure. She put on a pair of sheer black panties and a wicked bra that unbuttoned in the front. As she pressed the cups over her' full breasts she smiled to herself. Some lucky man was going to have the pleasure of finding that snap tonight. Then she slid a pair of sheer net stockings over her long legs. They were woven with a pattern of tiny devil's faces. Finally she selected a silk sheath dress that was just tight enough to reveal the curves and lines of her well endowed figure, and just loose enough to turn every movement into a teasing hint of what lay underneath. The neckline was high but a row of buttons down the front afforded easy access to any male fingers that might want to undo them.
Her dressing completed, she put on her face and touched up her hair. The full length mirror reflected the result ... a beautiful woman with a gleam in her eye and a great deal of sensuous leg showing beneath her very short and clinging dress. High spiked heels completed her ensemble. She was still looking herself over when there was a knock on her door. She opened it and Sylvia entered.
"Boy, this old hotel gives me the jitters," Sylvia declared with an exaggerated shudder.
"I'll have you know that Teddy Roosevelt once slept in this room," Rhoda laughed.
"And he was probably the last one until you came along." Sylvia focused her eyes on Rhoda. "Whewww, look at you! You look like a movie star on her way to a casting couch."
"Oh," Rhoda pouted, concerned. "Is this outfit too bold?"
"No ... It looks great. But look at me!" Sylvia stepped in front of the mirror. "I look like something the cat dragged in."
She was wearing a tight knitted dress of pale green which did not really go with her red hair, although Rhoda didn't want to say anything. It was clinging so close that it formed a relief map of her body, displaying the round rise of her full breasts, and hugging the expanse of her firm buttocks.
"I think you look fine," Rhoda said cheerfully. "If a cat dragged you in, it must have been a wild cat."
Sylvia opened her purse and went to work on her face and hair.
"What'd you think of Zee Reid?" Sylvia asked, her mouth full of hairpins.
"She was very nice ... charming, in fact," Rhoda answered. "I can't imagine why you don't like her. And she and Jerry seem to get along very well together."
"Are you going to see them again?"
"They're going to have a party Saturday night ... all of our old classmates. I hope you'll be there."
"I wouldn't miss it. There." She patted her hair into place. "I feel a little better."
"What now?" Rhoda asked.
"First, let's get something to eat. I'm famished. There's a pretty good restaurant in the Starlight Motel ... about five miles out of town. And sometimes the action there isn't bad, either."
"Good. I could use some action." Rhoda said enthusiastically.
"Okay ... let's go," Sylvia said, patting Rhoda on the rear end to propel her towards the door. "The bait searching for the fish...."
Rhoda laughed as she locked the door behind them.
The Starlight turned out to be a cavernous restaurant with a series of bungalows behind it. It was almost empty when Sylvia and Rhoda arrived. A burly man in a plaid hunting jacket sat at a far table with a homely girl wearing glasses. A multi-colored juke box flickered and uttered pulsing sounds on the other side of the room.
"That's Jim Barrett over there," Sylvia whispered. "He's with one of the girls from the milk plant."
"Oh," Rhoda's voice was noncommittal. "Jim Barrett ... I don't remember him."
"He was a couple of years ahead of us. Got four kids and a wife at home."
A familiar-looking young man was behind the bar polishing glasses.
"Hi, Sylvia," he said, looking past her at Rhoda. "Don't tell me!" He exclaimed. "Rhoda Kelly ... you're prettier than ever."
Rhoda swallowed, embarrassed. He seemed so familiar and yet she couldn't remember his name.
"You remember Steve, don't you," Sylvia came to her aid. "Steve Connors."
"Of course," Rhoda lied, turning on her best smile. "How are you, Steve?"
"Fine. Just fine." He looked her over, up and down. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Rhoda. How do you like the old town? Guess it hasn't changed much, huh?"
"Not much," Rhoda replied gamely.
"Kind of quiet tonight, isn't it, Steve?" Sylvia said, glancing around the empty bar.
"There's something going on at the Moose Club tonight. It'll fill up later." He kept his eyes on Rhoda. "Hear you got married and have been living in the city. Must be pretty exciting after this town."
"Sometimes," Rhoda said lamely.
"Yeah, Bellville doesn't change much," he repeated sagely. "What would you like to drink?"
"On an empty stomach! Nothing!" Sylvia declared. "Is the kitchen open?"
"Sure. Grab a table and I'll bring you a menu."
They sat down and Rhoda suddenly felt slightly absurd ... dressed to kill ... in an empty restaurant. Her dress slipped up high on her thighs, revealing a generous portion of her patterned stockings. Steve did not fail to take a good look when he brought them the menus. They ordered and he disappeared into the kitchen. The couple at the far table were whispering and holding hands.
"Funny, I don't really remember Steve," Rhoda said thoughtfully.
"He used to go with Betty Mason. Then he married some girl from Beacon Lake."
"Whatever happened to ... to Paul Baron," Rhoda choked out the name.
"Paul ... he went away to college and never came back. Say, forgive me for asking...." Sylvia leaned over the table. "But is it true? That story they used to tell about you and Paul up in his cabin?"
Rhoda felt her face turning red. She lowered her eyes. "It's true. The bastard."
"What a lousy trick that was," Sylvia patted her arm. "Just as well that he never came back. We've got enough crumbs in this town as it is."
"Speaking of crumbs," Rhoda said quickly to change the subject. "Whatever happened to Stan ... Stan Mitchell?"
"Stan...." Sylvia laughed knowingly. "He's around. Runs his family's paper mill. Been married twice ... wore out both his wives if you ask me. And I should know." She winked slyly.
"Don't tell me that you and Stan...." Rhoda began in disbelief.
"You wouldn't recognize him," Sylvia interrupted. "He's turned into quite a man. Say, why don't we run out and pay him a call after we eat? I haven't seen him in quite awhile."
Before Rhoda could answer, the door of the restaurant opened and two well-dressed men entered. They walked automatically to the bar but their eyes were fixed on the two girls. Rhoda was seated facing them and she met their gaze, trying not to look too aloof.
Both men looked like salesmen. One was short, puffy and balding. The other was tall, graying at the temples, and handsome in a rugged sort of way. He smiled at Rhoda and she returned with a faint flicker of her lips.
"Rhoda? Did you hear me?" Sylvia asked. She turned her head to follow Rhoda's gaze. "Well, things are looking up ... almost." She turned back to Rhoda. "One is all right ... but the other one looks like he's ready for Medicare."
The two men sat down on bar stools and whispered to each other, glancing over their shoulders at Rhoda and Sylvia. Steve came out of the kitchen carrying a tray laden with food which he set out before the girls. Then he went behind the bar.
Rhoda started to eat, aware of a tension growing inside her. She had never done this before. She had never picked up a man in a bar. The tall man interested her but she felt embarrassed and ashamed. She tried to concentrate on her conversation with Sylvia. As they ate, they discussed old classmates and tried, somewhat in vain, to recall the "good old days." But their memories of adolescent capers seemed empty and trivial now and Rhoda quickly realized how sad and lonely Sylvia's life was.
Just as they finished eating, Steve came over to their table. He nodded towards the two men at the bar.
"Those two gentlemen would like to buy you girls a drink," he informed them with a knowing grin.
"Sure. Why not?" Sylvia agreed. "Make mine Scotch." She glanced at Rhoda who nodded. "Two Scotches ... on the rocks."
"You really interested in the tall one?" Sylvia asked Rhoda after Steve had left.
"He's very attractive," Rhoda admitted.
"Yeah. But his friend is a basket case. Why don't we run out to the paper mill and see if Stan is around? He usually works late. We can always come back here."
Steve appeared with the drinks. Sylvia took hers and saluted the two men. Rhoda followed her example and they waved back.
"If you really want to go...." Rhoda began.
"Too late. They're coming over," Sylvia casually turned her back to them as they approached. "This is your night, honey. You call the shots, huh."
"Hello, there ... mind if we join you?" The short, stout man asked in a squeaky voice. He directed the question to Sylvia. His tall companion moved to Rhoda's side.
"Sure ... and thanks for the drink," Sylvia said easily.
"I'm Phil...." The tall man announced as he sat down next to Rhoda. "And this is Bernie." His voice was soft and smooth. He had calm gray eyes which he focused on Rhoda.
"We're just a couple of weary travelers looking for an oasis," Bernie chuckled.
"Looks like you've found it," Sylvia observed, nodding towards the drink in his hand. He laughed heartily and slapped her on the leg.
"That's what I like! A girl with a sense of humor," he squeaked.
"Are you from Bellville?" Phil asked Rhoda. There was something gentle and polite in his manner that she liked instantly.
"I grew up here," she answered.
"But you don't live here anymore?"
"No ... I live in the city. I just came back here for a vacation."
"I thought so," he smiled, displaying an orderly row of white teeth. "There's something about you. You don't look like a small-town girl."
Rhoda turned her full attention to him, blocking out Bernie's squeaky voice in the background. She felt herself responding to his warmth and his casual, intimate manner excited her.
"Are you staying here at the motel?" She asked, surprised at her own directness.
"Yes ... bungalow 8...." He answered coolly. "We come through Bellville every couple of months and usually stop here."
Bungalow 8 ... she made a mental note. Her heart was beginning to beat faster and her breasts were heaving in anticipation. She had quickly decided that Phil was not going to get away from her tonight. She needed him too desperately.
"Say, I've got an idea," Bernie's squeaky voice announced loudly. "Why don't we get a bottle and go someplace quiet?"
Rhoda shifted around and looked at Sylvia. She was wearing a slight expression of annoyance. Bernie was sitting very close to her, his arm draped around her shoulders, a lecherous gleam in his eye.
"Quiet!" Sylvia laughed. "This place is about as quiet as you can get!"
"Why don't we just stay put and have another drink," Phil suggested. He waved to Steve, pointed to the glasses on the table, and indicated that another round was in order.
"I'm afraid my friend gets a little out of hand at times," Phil whispered to Rhoda. Rhoda glanced at the other couple. Bernie's pudgy hand was under the table, fondling Sylvia's knee. Sylvia's face was a polite mask as she struggled to contain herself.
"Perhaps," Phil murmured softly, "you and I can slip away together a little later."
"Perhaps," Rhoda responded coyly, even though the idea excited her. Phil rested his hand lightly on hers. His touch was electric. Rhoda smiled at him invitingly. She needed the touch of those strong, gentle hands. She wanted to feel them caressing her whole body. She wanted to kiss his sensual mouth and crush herself against his hard body. These thoughts, coupled with the effects of the liquor, made her a little dizzy and she struggled to listen to the rumble of his voice as he spoke of simple, impersonal things.
Suddenly there was an explosion at the other end of the table. Sylvia leaped to her feet, her face flushed with anger. Bernie was smiling stupidly at her, somewhat taken aback.
"Excuse me," she said in a loud, pained voice. Her eyes snapped contemptuously at the little man huddled in his chair.
"What'd I do?" He asked lamely.
"I have to go to the powder room ... if you don't mind."
"I'll go with you," Rhoda said quickly, startled by Sylvia's anger. Phil glared at his friend as if to say, "Now you've done it!"
Sylvia stalked off to the Ladies' Room with Rhoda close at her heels.
"That slob treats me like a two-bit whore!" Sylvia complained as soon as they were behind the closed door. She lowered her voice and looked at Rhoda sympathetically. "Look, honey ... I don't want to spoil your evening. Phil seems like a nice guy. But I just can't take his friend. I hate to chicken out but...."
A wave of disappointment swept over Rhoda.
"I can't let you leave alone, Sylvia."
"Sure you can. I'll tell them I've got a headache or something. If you want to stay with Phil, I'm sure he'll find a way to get rid of Bernie."
Rhoda was tempted by the suggestion but she was overcome by a sense of loyalty.
"It's all right, Sylvia," she lied. "We'll tell them we have another date. Then we can go out and see Stan Mitchell. I'd like to see him again anyway."
"Are you sure?" Sylvia studied her.
"I'm sure. We can always come back here."
"Okay," She patted Rhoda's shoulder. "I'm sorry about this, Rhoda. But I'll make it up to you. We'll have a good time. Just wait and see."
"It's all settled then?"
"All settled." Sylvia smiled.
Bernie looked miserable when they got back to the table. Phil had probably read the riot act to him while they were gone, Rhoda thought to herself. Sylvia made her announcement brief, waved goodnight to the bartender, and hustled Rhoda to the door. Phil watched them leave, crestfallen. Then he turned back to his friend angrily.
A single light was burning in a window of the second floor office of the old papermill. There was something eery about the weatherworn building on the edge of the great, dark forest. Sylvia parked the car and they walked through layers of sawdust and debris to a side door.
"That's Stan's office," Sylvia indicated the lighted window. "I figured he'd be here."
"Isn't this place kind of rundown?" Rhoda observed.
"They haven't been doing too well recently," Sylvia explained. "That's why Stan is always working late. He has only a small staff now."
She opened the door slowly and started up a flight of shaky stairs.
"Be quiet," she whispered. "Let's surprise him."
They crept up the stairs to the dark hall at the top. A light glared from the open door at the far end. They tiptoed forward, trying not to make any noise in their high heels.
"Who's out there?" A voice called out as they neared the door.
"Ain't nobody here but us termites," Sylvia answered, giggling.
"Who is it?" The voice repeated. There was the scraping of a chair and a male figure stepped into the light. "Sylvia? Is that you?"
"Foiled again," she laughed as the silhouette fumbled for a light switch. The hall lights blinked on.
"Trying to scare-" his voice stopped as he saw Rhoda. "Well, I'll be damned! Rhoda!"
Rhoda blinked in amazement. It was Stan Mitchell all right ... but he had changed. He had slimmed out and his ferret face had softened. He had become quite handsome. He was wearing an old pair of slacks and a wrinkled sport shirt. He was still rather short but muscles had replaced the fat of his youth. He looked Rhoda up and down, delighted with this interruption.
"Hello, Stan," Rhoda smiled, genuinely pleased to see him again.
"You look marvelous, Rhoda. Guess the big city agrees with you." His eyes moved to her ringless hand. "Come back for the reunion?"
"Nawww ... she came back to see you," Sylvia said scoffingly.
"I'll bet," he laughed. "Well, come on in to the executive suite." He bowed toward the door of the office. Rhoda and Sylvia walked past him. As Sylvia passed, he gave her a playful swat on her well-padded posterior. "Fix some drinks. You know where I hide the booze, Sylvia."
Sylvia walked to a cabinet under a littered bookshelf and removed a whiskey bottle and some glasses. Stan swept some papers off the old leather sofa that flanked one wall and gestured for Rhoda to sit down. He perched on the edge of his scarred desk, silently admiring Rhoda's shapely legs as she made herself comfortable.
"I understand you've taken over the family business, Stan," she said, making conversation while Sylvia mixed drinks.
"What's left of it," he admitted soberly. "My old man was always against new-fangled machinery ... so now we're racing to catch up with the rest of the industry."
"When are you going to stop burning the midnight oil, Stan?" Sylvia asked, handing him a drink.
"Right now. I was just about to call it a night, anyway." He took the drink and reached his free hand towards Sylvia's waist. She maneuvered away from him and gave Rhoda her drink.
"Yes, sir ... you've never looked better, Rhoda." He sat down on the sofa beside her. Sylvia picked up her drink and sat opposite him.
"Watch out for this lecher, Rhoda," Sylvia warned.
"I beg your pardon," Stan said with mocked hurt. "I'm an upright young businessman. A pillar of the community." He slipped his arm quickly around Sylvia and cupped her breast in his hand. She giggled and pushed him away.
Rhoda felt slightly embarrassed by their raw intimacy.
"So how long are you going to be in town?" Stan turned his attention back to Rhoda.
"Until after the reunion," she answered.
"Good. Maybe we can renew old times." As he looked at Rhoda, he dropped his hand casually to Sylvia's thigh. She didn't move. He stroked her thigh absently.
"Rhoda is looking for a little excitement, Stan," Sylvia said. "Bellville is kind of dull for her after the big city."
"I'll bet it is," he grinned broadly. Rhoda pretended not to notice that his hand had slipped up under the hem of Sylvia's skirt. Funny, she thought to herself, he was being much more vulgar than Bernie had been and Sylvia wasn't making any kind of protest.
"Do you work late every night?" Rhoda asked weakly, desperate to keep some kind of conversation going.
"Just about. Nothing else to do in this town. Ever since my divorce...." He glanced meaningfully at her hand. "Are you divorced now, Rhoda?"
"Separated."
"Same difference." He turned to Sylvia. "Come on, drink up. Let's really celebrate Rhoda's return."
"You drink up," Sylvia responded. "We've had a head start."
"Good." He looked at Rhoda again, his face bold and open. "I'll bet you learned a lot of fancy tricks in the city, huh, Rhoda?"
"Tricks?" Rhoda took a slow slip from her glass and tried to appear slightly indignant. "What do you mean?"
"Yes, what do you mean?" Sylvia urged.
"You know...." He chuckled. "You always knew how to turn guys on. Did you ever learn how to put the fires out?"
"Stan! Can't you see you're embarrassing her?" Sylvia snapped. Rhoda was a little embarrassed but she was fighting hard to cover it. Stan's directness intrigued her. She half-wished that his hand were on her thigh instead of Sylvia's.
"And you're embarrassing me!" He declared in mock indignation, drawing his hand away from her leg sharply. "Coming up here without any panties on!"
"Stan!" Sylvia giggled.
Rhoda stared hard into her glass, wondering if her face was as red as it felt.
"Don't mind us, Rhoda," Stan said. "We're old friends. Just like you and me ... only more so."
"Sir, are you besmirching my reputation?" Sylvia asked with a laugh, struggling to her feet.
"What reputation?" He leaned back and draped his arm over Rhoda's shoulders. Rhoda sat stiffly, afraid to react to his touch.
"Farewell ... good-bye ... and all the jazz," Sylvia snapped, heading for the door. Rhoda moved in startled protest.
"Sylvia ... where are you going?" She called out. Stan's hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her back against his chest as Sylvia weaved out the door.
"She's only clowning," he laughed. "She's a nut. She'll be back." He reached for the wall switch behind them and turned out the bright overhead light. "Gives us a chance to talk and get reacquainted. It's been a long time, Rhoda."
Rhoda nodded, suddenly conscious of his closeness.
"I've often thought about you, Rhoda. About how you used to tease me. And I wondered what would happen if we were ever together again." He took the drink from her hand and put on a nearby table. "Now it looks as if we're going to find out."
He's making a pass, Rhoda realized, shocked, with Sylvia right outside. She went rigid and pushed against his shoulder as he twisted and bent his face toward hers. Sylvia would be furious, she thought.
Her token resistance didn't phase him. His strong arms pulled her to him and he ground his mouth down against her. She struggled at first but his firm lips forced hers open and his sharp tongue probed forward, running over the sensitive flesh inside her mouth. She felt herself weakening in his fierce embrace, the electric charge from his kiss coursing downward through her body. In spite of herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with equal passion.
As they kissed, she felt a hand stealing upward to her breast, caressing it and turning the nipple hard with excitement. Then, without moving his mouth away from hers, he swung her around on the sofa and stretched her out full-length. His hands moved expertly over her body, stroking, caressing, kneading nerve centers that paralyzed her will to resist. His mouth slipped down the curve of her neck, nibbling and searching until his lips came in contact with her firm breasts and she realized that his nimble fingers had unfastened her dress buttons and pulled away her bra. She responded with hot desire, hoping that Sylvia had taken a long walk and would never come back. She wanted Stan to possess her totally.
He lifted his head and kissed her savagely on the mouth again, his breath heavy and hot against her face. She started to unbutton his shirt, her hands feeling heavy and distant, and she could feel his hand groping under her dress, pulling at the tops of her panties. She arched her back so that he could draw them down the long path of her legs. Her fingers touched the soft hair of his chest and he pressed himself down against her pulsing bosom.
In just a moment, she told herself. In a moment her frustration would be over. She wanted to urge him to hurry but she could only mumble and moan as he assaulted all her senses.
Suddenly a voice rang out. Sylvia's.
"Well ... just what is going on here?"
Stan lifted himself away from Rhoda slowly and looked around. Rhoda squeezed her eyes shut, anguish flooding over her. Then she forced herself to look up at her friend.
Sylvia was standing over the sofa, looking down at them with a wild twinkle in her eye. She was stark naked. Rhoda stared at her in shock.
"Got room for one more?" Sylvia asked drunkenly.
"The more the merrier," Stan laughed loudly. He sat up and peeled off his shirt. Rhoda couldn't believe her eyes. She struggled into a sitting position. Her open dress fell away and her swollen breasts bulged over her flimsy bra. Her panties were down around her knees and she tugged at them automatically.
"I told you we'd find some action, honey," Sylvia grinned happily.
"Right. Three heads are better than two," Stan declared as he stepped out of his trousers, proudly. Rhoda's passion turned to disgust as she faced the two of them.
"What's going on?" She asked in alarm.
"You name it," Stan laughed, patting himself proudly. "There's plenty to go around."
"I can vouch for that," Sylvia said knowingly. "He can wear us both out."
"Oh, no...." Rhoda cried, leaping off the couch.
"What's the matter? Take off your clothes and...."
"No ... No!" Rhoda pulled her dress around her and backed towards the door. Horror and humiliation engulfing her.
"What's wrong?" Stan asked, a puzzled expression on his face. "A minute ago you were all ready for action."
With a sharp whimper, Rhoda ran out of the office and down the stairs. The idea of the two of them making love to one man was repugnant to her. She ran across the open parking lot in front of the papermill and jumped into Sylvia's car. The keys were still in it. She sat behind the wheel, shuddering, wanting to cry, as she finished buttoning her dress. Finally, she pulled herself together, started the car and drove away without looking back.
On the way back to town she passed the Starlight Motel. She drove half a mile beyond it, thoughts of Phil in her mind. She needed him now more than ever. Stan's expert lovemaking had opened a flood of desire that not even the vulgar scene could erase. She executed a U-turn and drove back to the motel. The restaurant was now alive with people ... all of them strangers to Rhoda. She looked in the door. Phil and Bernie were nowhere in sight. She hurried away before Steve, the bartender noticed her, and she walked around in back, seeking out bungalow 8.
It was easy to find and there was a light on behind the drawn shades. She pulled her dress down and straightened her hair. Then she knocked lightly on the door. There was the patter of bare feet inside and the door opened. Bernie stood there in his shorts.
"Well, hello there," he leered. His breath was thick with whiskey.
"Hello," Rhoda murmured softly. "I ... is Phil here?"
"Phil ... no ... he met some little chippy ... school teacher or something. Don't know where he is." He grabbed her arm. "But come on in. Come on in ... have a drink or something...."
"No, thanks." She pulled away from his limp grasp. She turned on her heel and ran back to her car, leaving him standing there, silhouetted in the doorway. Her eyes were welling with tears of disappointment and frustration. This just wasn't her night.
She left the car in front of the drug store where Sylvia would find it. Let Stan worry about getting her home, she thought to herself. Then she walked back to the hotel and went directly to her room. Later, as she lay in the darkness, she heard the soft murmur of distant voices and the rustle of a bed. The hotel apparently had some new clients and the sounds were all too familiar to her. She had heard similar sounds coming from the next apartment back in the city. She tried to fight back the memories of her own bedroom ... and of Ben. The distant bed squeaked in a steady rhythm for a long time and then the lovers moaned and were still.
Rhoda finally fell asleep with Ben's name on her lips.
CHAPTER NINE
At midmorning Rhoda found herself standing in front of the Bellville High School. The extensive wing, which had been under construction when she left Bellville, was now completed. It was a long, low, modern structure covered with vast, gleaming windows, and it seemed ludicrous attached to the much older brick building where she had gone to school. A curtain of nostalgia dropped over her as she looked at it. Childhood memories returned in a torrent. All of the happy and sad moments of her youth rippled through her mind while she walked slowly up the long sidewalk to the door in front of the old building.
Down the hall, past the trophies, was the open door of the school library. She glanced inside, an odd guilt gripping her. She felt as if she had no right to be here. The library was smaller than she remembered and the tables and chairs seemed very tiny. A number of children were sitting there and they, too, seemed very small and very young. She backed quickly away from the door and slipped quietly down the familiar corridors. Voices hummed from the closed classrooms and as she walked she felt suspended in time.
Turning a corner, she stepped directly into the path of two men. They startled her and one of them bumped into her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said, surprised. He was a tall man in his late thirties. His head was almost completely bald and he wore horn-rimmed glasses but there was an air of authority and virility about him.
"It was my fault," Rhoda murmured. "I should have been watching where I was going."
"Hi, Rhoda," the other man greeted her. "I see you couldn't stay away from the old school either." Rhoda shifted her eyes to him. It was Lieutenant Dick Taylor. He was wearing civilian clothes ... a suede sports jacket and a pair of neatly pressed slacks.
"Do you know each other?" The tall man asked, his eyes carefully appraising Rhoda's figure. She was wearing a simple white blouse and a tight black skirt.
"We went to school together," Dick explained. "And we came back to Bellville on the same bus. Rhoda, this is Bryan Cicero ... the new school principal."
"New!" Bryan laughed. "I've been here for four years. How are you, Rhoda? Come back for the reunion?" He looked at her with warm interest.
"Yes. I hope you don't mind my prowling about the school," she replied.
"Mind? Why should I mind? We've been having a lot of traffic lately ... old alumni returning to the scene of their crimes." He chuckled heartily.
"Mr. Cicero was just showing me the way to the new wing," Dick said. "Why don't you join us, Rhoda."
Before she could answer, a series of bells sounded throughout the building. Bryan Cicero took her arm and quickly guided her into the center of the hall.
"Classes are changing," he explained. "Brace yourself for the stampede."
Doors up and down the hall flew open and streams of children poured out. They flowed in ragged lines along the edges of the walls, their voices raised in a cacophony of shouts and laughter. As they passed Bryan Cicero they became respectfully silent and the boys in the line looked shyly at Rhoda while the girls all studied Dick and giggled.
The principal led the pair through the labyrinth of halls to a wide, swinging door that opened into the new wing.
"Look around all you like," he told them. "I have to get back to my office. School is out next week, you know." He smiled benignly at Rhoda. "I hope I'll be seeing you again. I understand the Reids are having a little pre-reunion gathering tomorrow night. Do you know them?"
"Of course," Rhoda answered. "I'm going to be there."
"Good. I'll see you there then." He turned to Dick and shook his hand. "Good-bye, lieutenant. Nice meeting you."
"Thanks for the tour, Mr. Cicero. Maybe I'll be seeing you tomorrow night, too."
Cicero passed back through the swinging doors, leaving Dick and Rhoda together in a swirling sea of scurrying youngsters.
"I really meant to stop in and see some of our old teachers," Rhoda said icily.
"I can save you the trouble." Dick looked down at the floor, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets. "Most of the ones we knew are gone ... retired or moved on to other schools. I did see Mrs. Bettroni ... still holding forth in math."
"I can live without seeing her again," Rhoda declared.
"Well, then, let's take a look at this new wing." He moved to take her arm but she stepped haughtily away. "You sore at me? I've been meaning to call you but-"
"But you were too busy with Shirley Brenton," she snapped.
Another bell rang and the children scattered and ran. Doors slammed and they were alone in the hall, walking slowly.
"I'm sorry about that, Rhoda," Dick said earnestly. "I meant to tell you about her on the bus."
"But you knew it would spoil your fun?"
"Well, we didn't really get a chance to talk much, did we?" He flashed a hesitant smile. Her anger ebbed. After all, he was a handsome young man and Shirley wasn't around now.
"All right," she sighed. "You're forgiven. I should be kind to our boys in uniform." She took his arm.
They passed through a door and entered the new gymnasium. A group of lanky teen-aged boys were scrambling over various pieces of exercise equipment. They all froze for a second to gape at Rhoda and then the burly teacher bellowed at them and they renewed their frenzied activity. He came over and spoke a few words to them. Since he was a stranger to both Dick and Rhoda, they didn't linger. They quickly made their way to an exit.
"You're really raising havoc with a lot of young glands today," Dick observed wryly. "Did you see how those kids looked at you?"
"How are your glands?" Rhoda asked slyly.
"I pump a quart of adrenalin every time I look at you," he admitted with a boyish grin.
"Better save all your adrenalin for Shirley."
"Forget Shirley, will you?" He grumbled. "She's not a tenth of the woman you are."
They came to the end of the corridor. It was sealed with a large red door.
"Looks like a dead end," he observed. He tried the handle on the door. It was unlocked. He pulled it open and peered inside.
"It seems to be some kind of boiler room."
"Maybe we'd better go back," Rhoda offered. He shook his head with a tight smile and maneuvered her through the door.
"Let's take a look around first," he suggested. "Remember the boiler room in the old building?"
"I remember," she laughed uneasily. "That's why I think we should go back."
But they were in the room now, surrounded by pipes and silent machines. A single, naked bulb glowed at the far end. Dick closed the door behind them.
"Seems to be pretty quiet," he observed. Putting his arm around her and guiding her between the low-hanging pipes. His fingers slid up over her ribs until they came to rest lightly on her breast.
"Now just what do you have in mind?" She asked sharply.
He opened his mouth to answer but an engine behind them suddenly coughed and started to hum automatically. The floor trembled and the air was filled with clatter. He pulled her tight against himself and aimed his mouth at hers. She averted her head and he nibbled at her ear.
"Remember ... on the bus," he whispered hoarsely, his hot breath tickling her ear and sending a chill through her. "I promised...."
"I remember, all right," she snapped, shouting above the roar of the machine. "But don't think you can get away with anything here."
His hands groped over her bosom. She struggled ineffectually against the determined strength of his solid body. The buttons on her blouse parted beneath his warm fingers as his mouth searched the length of her throat and his tongue caressed the throbbing nerves. She felt the will to resist flowing from her as she responded to his hunger.
"Someone might come in," she murmured in protest, fighting to keep from going limp in his arms. He wasn't listening. His hand slid around her, under her blouse, and manipulated the hook on her bra. She felt the release of pressure as the strap came apart, freeing the taut cups, letting her hardening breasts escape.
"Stop it, Dick," she groaned weakly, the hot moisture of his mouth assaulting her exposed nipples. His arms girdled her waist, half-lifting her, pressing her back into the darkness behind the musty boilers. She dug her fingers into his hair, her body temperature rising, desire tingling through her. He clawed at her round buttocks, bending her toward the hard concrete floor. Her legs were rubbery and a delicious dizziness numbed her mind. The floor came up to meet her and she stiffened against its firmness.
"I owe you one...." he grunted in low, husky tones. His lips flitted up over the high slopes of her breasts and sought out her open mouth. He kissed her with renewed passion, his tongue forcing its way between her teeth, attacking hers. She tightened her arms around his neck, all reason and resistance gone, barely aware of his stroking hands which lifted her tight skirt high up on her thighs.
The darkness engulfed them. Nearby pipes gurgled and hissed and the clattering machines seemed very far away. Rhoda relaxed, welcoming his caresses and returning his kisses with a vengeance. A cool draft flowed across the floor and she felt the cold air meeting her hot flesh as he clumsily tugged her panties down over her thighs. He got them over her knees and she kicked them free. She unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his hairy chest down against her pulsing breasts.
They rolled together on the rough floor, entwined in silent combat, their heavy breathing punctuated by involuntary moans and exclamations of pleasure. Discarded clothing flew in the wake of their battle until they were both nude. Dick fondled and kissed Rhoda's pink flesh at random, his tongue tracing an erotic path over the high, hardened tips of her breasts and down the sensual topography of her lean stomach, pausing to explore her navel. Their fire brought their aroused bodies close again and Rhoda hungrily anticipated the consummation of their desire. Rhoda waited breathlessly.
But nothing happened. Instead, the door to the boiler room opened and closed. Footsteps rang out on the hard cement and voices whispered and giggled in the semi-darkness. Dick froze in his position, a paralyzed shadow hovering over Rhoda's tense figure. The fuzziness in her brain cleared with the chill. The voices drew closer. She heard the protesting giggles of a girl and the throaty mumbling of an ambitious boy.
There was a soft thud against the side of the boiler and then two figures appeared. A teen-aged girl being propelled backward into the darkness by a tall, slender youth. He was trying to kiss her awkwardly and she was making a pretense of resistance. He pushed her against the wall only a few feet from where Rhoda and Dick lay sprawled. Rhoda could see them without moving her head. She was afraid to move ... or even to breathe. All of her passion was gone, replaced by horror and embarrassment.
The girl stood against the wall, the boy confronting her with his arms outstretched, one palm pressed against the wall on either side of her head. He bent forward to kiss her and she giggled, turning her head away. Her eyes met Rhoda's, seeing the two bodies on the floor for the first time, and she uttered a little cry of shock and alarm.
"What's wrong with you?" The boy asked. He shifted his head and followed her gaze. His eyes bulged. "Holy cow!"
Dick stirred unhappily as the young couple stared directly at him for a long moment of stunned silence. Rhoda fell back, wishing that the floor would open and swallow them up. She had never felt so completely naked nor so completely humiliated.
"Gee...." the boy stammered helplessly, fixing his eyes on Rhoda's nude body. "We ... I ... we're sorrry...."
"Get out!" Dick growled.
The girl whimpered as the boy grabbed her hand and pulled her away. They ran past the boiler and the door slammed. Dick rolled over and sat with his back against the wall. Rhoda pulled herself into a sitting position, a terrible anger gripping her. They stared at each other. Dick shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"We should have had more sense," Rhoda snapped. "This was no place...."
"I know...." Dick said disconsolately. "I'm sorry, Rhoda. But I just...." He left the sentence hanging. Rhoda fumbled around on the floor for her clothes.
"Maybe you should have staged this seduction in the school auditorium," she grumbled. She slipped her bra on. "Come on. We'd better get out of here."
"You're right," Dick said, reaching for his own clothes. "There'll be other times, Rhoda."
"Not if I have anything to say about it!" She straightened her stockings, smoothing them over her long legs.
Dick was silent as he dressed quickly. He avoided looking at her. She realized that he was as embarrassed as she was.
"Funny," he mused almost to himself. "When we were kids ... I always wondered what it would be like ... to make love in the boiler room."
"Well, now you know," she said curtly.
They finished dressing hurriedly and found a door at the far end of the room.
"Look, I've got my dad's car here," he said, grabbing her arm. She pulled away. "Let's go up to your hotel room."
"Forget it, Stinky," she snapped. She was still angry. She wanted to get away from him. "What do you think I am, anyway?"
"But a few minutes ago you were-"
"I was a fool," she finished the sentence for him. "Go find Shirley if you want a toss in the hay. Leave me alone."
They passed along a deserted corridor and reached a door leading onto the playgrounds. Some children were playing at the far end.
"My car is over here," Dick said, downcast, gesturing toward the parking lot. "Qui I drop you someplace?"
"I'd rather walk, thank you," she answered icily. She turned her back to him and walked away. Tears of anger and frustration welled in her eyes. She strode stiffly along the familiar streets, still numb with shock. Her body ached with the twisted agony of unfulfilled desire. It had been a stupid thing to do, she told herself bitterly. She should never have let him touch her. But her frustrations and eagerness had pushed reason aside. In a matter of hours she would once again be a legend at Bellville High. Already notes were probably being passed in the Study Hall and the news of two strange adults on the floor of the boiler room was being whispered excitedly through the classrooms. Fortunately, the two youngsters did not know her or Dick, she thought But even so, it was a sensational scandal that might eventually reach the ears of teachers or parents. Rhoda was certain of one thing: she could never face Dick again. Nor could she ever return to her old school without remembering.
The smallness of the town was closing in on her once more. She needed a shoulder to cry on. Someone to talk to. Someone to help her vanquish the oppressive loneliness she felt.
Without being aware of it, she followed the same route she had walked so often as a child. She was back on Cedar Street, passing slowly in front of the old house where she had once lived. She walked beyond it, to the Reid farm, and slowly went up the flagstone walk to the front door. She pressed the doorbell and heard chimes ring deep within the house. There was the sound of brisk footsteps inside. The door opened and Rhoda fell whimpering into Zorilda Reid's surprised arms.
CHAPTER TEN
"What's happened to you, dear?" Zorilda asked with genuine concern as she gently led Rhoda into the living room. "Your clothes ... you look like you've been rolling around in a coal bin."
Rhoda brushed the tears from her eyes and looked down at herself. Her crisp white blouse was a rumpled mess covered with grime and dirt. Her tight black skirt was wrinkled and torn at a seam. And her stockings were filled with runs. She felt ashamed and miserable.
"It's a long story," she began. "I had a stupid encounter. I should have known better."
Zorilda's austere face studied her sympathetically. She was wearing a pair of blue leotards which displayed her long, thoroughbred legs, and had on a shaggy blue sweater that covered her to just below the waist. Her feet were clad in a pair of slippers with very high heels.
"You look like you've been raped or something," Zorilda observed. She had draped her arm over Rhoda's shoulder in the doorway and it was still there, tenderly caressing her.
"Raped!" Rhoda grunted. "Not quite. Damn it. I met this boy I used to know and ... and...." She pulled away from Zorilda and kicked out savagely at a hassock, her toe sinking into the soft leather. "Men! I hate them all!" She spat.
"I know," Zorilda sighed. "They're all bastards, aren't they?"
Rhoda looked at her in astonishment, "I ... I thought you and Jerry...."
"Oh, Jerry's all right," Zorilda said quickly. "For a man. But sometimes I think we could get along better without them." She took Rhoda's hand firmly and pulled her down on a sofa. "But I think right now we'd better help you pull yourself together." She gently pressed Rhoda's head against her shoulder. "Jerry isn't coming home for lunch today. Why don't you just relax? I'll make some coffee. And you can take a nice shower while I try to clean off and press your clothes. You can't go running around Bellville looking like this."
"All right," Rhoda said softly. She felt greatly comforted.
"Good." Zorilda suddenly kissed her. Full on the lips. Rhoda was taken aback. It was more than an affectionate peck. Rhoda jerked away instinctively. Zorilda smiled at her reassuringly.
"Come on," she said, rising. "I'll show you to the guestroom You'll feel better after a shower and then you can tell me all about it." Rhoda nodded and silently followed her through the halls of the old house, up a curving staircase, to a neatly furnished little room which had an adjoining bath.
"Make yourself at home," Zorilda instructed. "And leave your clothes on the bed. I'll take care of them."
Rhoda nodded miserably and Zorilda quietly exited. A full-length mirror caught Rhoda's eye and she looked at herself in shame and horror. Her long blond hair was a tangled mess and her clothes were filthy from the savage tumbling on the boiler room floor. Her face, she noted unhappily, had the puffy, swollen-lipped expression of a woman who had spent a sleepless night making insatiable love. She had seen the expression before ... in the early days of her marriage to Ben. But there had been a glow to her skin then that was absent now. She looked gray and ashen.
Distressed, she turned away from the mirror and mechanically began to unbutton her blouse. She threw it on the bed, holding it by her fingertips with distaste. Then she stepped out of her skirt and peeled off her stockings. Her bra felt tight and she was relieved when she could undo the hooks and slip it off. There was a red mark on her left breast, just above the nipple, an unwelcome souvenir of Dick's searching mouth. Black blots of soot marred the creamy perfection of her skin. In her rush to dress in the darkness of the boiler room she had been unable to find her panties. They had probably been kicked under some machine and months from now some astonished janitor would find them.
She walked stiffly to the bathroom and turned on the shower, carefully avoiding the mirrors in the room. She felt ill and unclean and the stinging spray of hot water brought her aching flesh to life, tingling over her, stabbing like molten needles into her breasts, reddening her skin as she slowly rotated under its fury. She covered herself with a thick layer of lather and stayed in the shower for a long time, trying to scrub away the entire unwholesome experience.
Finally, feeling somewhat better and refreshed, she turned off the water and rubbed herself briskly with a large fluffy towel. The soft material awakened her sensual flesh. She glanced down at her pert, pointed breasts. The red bruise was fading. Stroking her round buttocks with the towel, she stepped back into the bedroom just as Zorilda appeared with a filmy pink negligee thrown over her arm. Zorilda stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Rhoda's nudity with a peculiar glazed look in her eye.
"That was just what I needed," Rhoda remarked uneasily, uncomfortable under the other woman's gaze.
"I brought you something to put on while I fix up your clothes," Zorilda said slowly, in a low, husky voice. Rhoda pulled the towel in front of her, demurely covering herself.
"Jerry told me you were ... 'stacked' is the word he used," she stepped toward Rhoda. "He was certainly right." She looked down at Rhoda's bosom. The towel did not cover the red mark. "I hope you're feeling better."
"Much, thank you," Rhoda answered. Something about Zorilda's manner made her nervous. She wanted to recoil as the other woman reached for her but she was afraid it would make her look foolish. Zorilda looped her arm around her and pulled her close, crushing Rhoda's bare breasts against her thick sweater.
"Did he hurt you, dear?" She asked tenderly, her face very close.
"No. I'm all right," Rhoda replied, her nervousness evaporating. She felt strangely comforted by the embrace. Zorilda's hand lifted and touched the bruise lightly, evoking a curious response in Rhoda. It was almost as if a man were touching her, Rhoda thought to herself.
"You certainly have a lot to offer," Zorilda mused. She slid her hand down along Rhoda's side and cupped her firm buttocks. No woman had ever touched Rhoda like this before and she didn't know how to react. The caresses puzzled her and she wondered if she was blushing from the sensations she felt.
"I've made some coffee and sandwiches," Zorilda continued, slowly releasing Rhoda with a curious reluctance. "We'll have a nice lunch and you can tell me all about it."
"There isn't much to tell," Rhoda said as she took the negligee from the other woman, sorry somehow that the embrace had ended. Zorilda took the towel from her, smiling oddly as her eyes flicked over Rhoda's body. Rhoda slipped into the negligee slowly, teasingly, as if she were putting it on in front of a man. It was practically transparent and a trifle too large for her.
"My, you look like one of those pictures in a men's magazine," Zorilda declared approvingly.
Rhoda laughed self-consciously and assumed a corny cheesecake pose, sucking in her stomach, jutting her breasts forward, and cocking one leg to expose her plump thigh.
"On second thought ... you're much too good for those magazines," Zorilda observed. She patted Rhoda lightly on the rear, urging her toward the door. "Come on ... let's get something to eat."
They returned to the living room where Zorilda had prepared a gracious spread on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Rhoda sat down and dug into a healthy-sized club sandwich while Zorilda poured the coffee. Rhoda was not anxious to talk about the episode with Dick and she was relieved when the other woman failed to ask her any questions.
"Don't you get lonely here?" Rhoda queried as she sipped her coffee.
"Sometimes," Zorilda answered, tucking her long legs under her. "But life in a smalltown has its compensations."
"Jerry seems very happy here."
"Yes. He seems to have found himself. He loves running the paper." Zorilda stared into her coffee cup. "I don't imagine he would be happy anywhere else. We spent one summer in the city right after we were married. He was miserable."
"He's lucky to have found someone like you, Zee," Rhoda said sincerely, meaning it.
"Why, thank you, dear," Zorilda smiled at her. She ran her long fingers along the edge of her sweater thoughtfully. "I guess Jerry was different from most of the other fellows I knew. Bright but rough around the edges. At first I considered him a kind of challenge. Tell me...." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you know him very well?"
"We were next door neighbors," Rhoda answered slowly, reaching for another sandwich. "We used to see a lot of each other when we were growing up."
"You know what I mean," Zorilda continued, not satisfied with that answer. "He told me that you two ... used to ... do more than play together."
"I guess I used to tease him, if that's what you mean," Rhoda mumbled, slightly embarrassed. A tension was beginning to build between them that she didn't exactly understand.
"Yes, I've heard that you were quite a tease," Zorilda said with a quick laugh. "Now that I've seen you ... in the altogether ... I can understand why all the boys flipped over you." She put her cup down and draped her arm over the back of the sofa, behind Rhoda. "You know, you're probably the only other girl who ever made love to Jerry ... all the way, I mean."
"Now wait a minute," Rhoda frowned, upset "We never exactly ... well ... we never went all the way." She was a little shocked and very defensive. Zorilda smiled tolerantly and dropped her arm around Rhoda's shoulders. Rhoda shuddered slightly at the contact
"Are you cold, dear?" Zorilda asked, noticing.
"No," Rhoda said sullenly. "It's warm in here."
"It is, isn't it?" Zorilda agreed. She pulled her arm away and gripped the bottom of her sweater. "This sweater is too damned warm." With a long, sensuous movement she pulled the sweater over her head. "There, that's better." She tossed it aside. She was wearing a fragile No-bra that revealed the pink tips of her small but well-rounded breasts. Rhoda glanced away, not from embarrassment but from a reflex response to seeing the other woman's pointed bosom. A strange excitement grew in her, as if she were alone with a man who was about to seduce her. This is absurd, she told herself. Zorilda was a married woman with a lusty husband to answer her needs.
"I didn't mean to upset you, Rhoda," she said as she put her hands behind her back and fumbled with the clasp on her bra. "These things!" The bra fell loose and she shrugged it off. "If you don't mind, I'm going to get a little more comfortable. After all, you don't have anything on."
Rhoda averted her head sheepishly, concentrating on her sandwich. She heard a rustling sound as Zorilda rolled her leotards down her legs. A peculiar dizziness crowded the thoughts out of her mind. She wanted to look at Zorilda but modesty held her back.
"There!" Zee grunted. "Now I feel freer. These things were too hot anyway."
Rhoda finished her sandwich and reached for her coffee cup. It was empty.
"Here. Let me give you some more coffee." Zorilda's pale arm reached across the table, brushing Rhoda's arm Rhoda felt a little electric shock as their flesh touched momentarily. What's wrong with me anyway, she asked herself, pulling her arm back slightly. She forced her head to turn and look at Zorilda.
"Thank you," she mumbled. Her eyes quickly examined the other woman's naked form. Zorilda was slender but her figure was superb, in perfect proportion to her size. Certainly she had a much better body than Sylvia.
"Is something wrong?" Zorilda asked with concern. "Aren't you feeling well, dear?" She slipped her arm around Rhoda's waist and urged her gently back on the sofa.
"I'm fine," Rhoda answered softly.
"You're trembling. You're not afraid of me, are you?"
Rhoda leaned back and closed her eyes lightly. Damn Dick anyway, she thought, he got me all excited and then ... nothing. My body is too keyed up. I'm imagining things.
"I think you should rest here this afternoon," Zorilda purred. Rhoda felt her negligee moving as Zee's hands toyed with its hem. She opened her eyes and was startled to find herself looking directly into Zorilda's face. A face that had transformed into a hard, tight mask.
"Poor girl. That man really made a wreck out of you, didn't he?" Her hands were gently fussing with the lace bow at Rhoda's throat, untying it. "Perhaps I can help you to relax."
Rhoda tried to speak but no words came out. The hands brushed away the negligee and the cool fingers glided over her throat and sensed their way down the curve of her breasts. Instead of feeling shocked, Rhoda detected a wanton stirring deep inside herself. The fingers touched her nipples and squeezed them gently, causing the soft pink flesh to harden. Zorilda's head moved forward and her lips found the nape of Rhoda's neck. A blazing warmth engulfed her. Her body tingled and she felt her strength drain away under Zorilda's expert manipulations.
"I understand about these things, dear," Zee whispered hoarsely. "You need a man ... and when there's no man around ... well, we girls just have to find our own way." One hand cupped Rhoda's breast while the other stole lower and lower. Rhoda whimpered slightly, partly in protest and partly in response to the excitement that was rising in her. Her mind revolved dizzily in confusion. The hand gripped her thigh firmly. She sank deeper into the sofa and her own hands developed a will of their own, going out and touching Zorilda, exploring her lean body.
"That's the way, dear," Zorilda murmured. "That's the way." Her face sank to Rhoda's pounding bosom and Rhoda felt her warm tongue probing her quivering flesh. She stroked Zorilda's dark hair as wave after wave of pleasure swept over her. The tongue moved on, expertly ferreting out nerves Rhoda never knew she had. She fumbled aimlessly with the warm body that was tormenting her, no longer thinking or trying to cope with what was happening to her.
The soft, obliging mouth kissed and nuzzled her and then it moved to end Rhoda's throbbing agony. Her passion vaulted, out of control, and a volcano seethed in her. Meteors blazed trails of fire through her brain and she trembled and shook as the sweet pain grew and exploded and left her spent.
The next thing she knew she was sprawled on the floor, tightly embracing the woman who had done this thing to her. Fighting her way back to reason, a numbing horror came over her. She had not really wanted to do this and now, she realized with a jolt, she owed Zorilda something. A debt she did not want to repay.
"Let's go upstairs, dear," Zorilda whispered. "So you can rest."
They staggered to their feet. Rhoda wanted to resist but she numbly allowed Zorilda to take her hand and lead her up the stairs to the guestroom. As soon as they were there, Zorilda pressed her back gently onto the bed and her hands and mouth attacked Rhoda with renewed determination. Rhoda started to struggle, aware that she was the unwilling victim of an ugly trap ... that this woman was using her for her own unnatural pleasures.
But, again, Zorilda's expertise melted her protests and within a few moments they were attacking each other. It was a long time before Zorilda permitted Rhoda to find escape in exhausted sleep.
It was dark when Rhoda awoke. Every muscle in her body ached. Her mind was cloudy, trying to repress the memories of that afternoon. The hall light spilled through the open door and Rhoda moaned slightly to herself as she struggled to sit up. She was still naked and the air was cold on her body.
"Ah, methinks I hear a sleeping beauty," a male voice rumbled in the hall.
"Who's there?" Rhoda called out, alarmed. A male figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. A bathrobe was draped over his shoulders.
"Prince Charming ... to the rescue," he announced.
His arm fumbled along the wall for the light switch.
Now she recognized the voice.
"Jerry! Don't turn on the light!" She cried out. Too late. The switch snapped and a soft yellow light filled the room. He stepped forward, grinning broadly. Zorilda came up behind him wearing a loose silk robe. Rhoda blinked in the light and searched for something to cover herself with. There was nothing.
"Get out of here!" She snapped.
"Now is that any way to treat your host?" He asked. He stared at her with great interest. "The years have been good to you, Rhoda."
"Will you get out of here?" She repeated angrily. She looked to Zorilda but Zorilda only smiled at her.
"Zee tells me you had an interesting afternoon," Jerry said, winking wryly. "We thought maybe after a little rest you would be ready for more fun and games."
Rhoda turned pale. She jumped off the bed, no longer self-conscious about her nudity.
"Let me out of here, Jerry," she demanded.
"We thought you might as well stay over, Rhoda," Zee said. "Since the party is tomorrow night anyway. You could help me with the preparations."
"I'll come back tomorrow. Right now, I just want to get out of here." She looked around the room "Where are my clothes?"
"Now don't be a spoilsport, Rhoda," Jerry said firmly. "You've been running around this town in heat. So tonight's your night." He shrugged off his bathrobe and let it fall to the floor. He was nude underneath. Rhoda stared at him in disbelief.
"What's gotten into you, Jerry?" She demanded accusingly. "I thought you two were different."
"Oh, we're different, all right," Zee smiled. She was slipping out of her robe. "It's not going to be so bad, Rhoda. After all, three heads are better than one."
"Please ... let me go," Rhoda begged, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
"Don't act like a schoolgirl," Jerry smiled, inhaling to expand his broad chest, "After all our times together in the barn ... I owe you something."
Rhoda gaped at him. His body radiated strength and virility. In another place, another time, she would have happily fallen into his arms and welcomed his ravaging caresses. But he and his wife were too cook too detached. Their mood frightened her.
"You enjoyed this afternoon, didn't you, dear?" Zorilda asked, her lips curling in a half-smile. "Remember, you told me how much you needed love ... a man? WelL Jerry is quite a man, I can assure you." She turned toward her husband and playfully swatted him. "He's been waiting for you to wake up. I think he's trying to make me jealous."
"You're not afraid of me, are you?" Jerry asked, gripping her shoulders and pulling her roughly toward him.
"What kind of people are you?" Rhoda cried, trembling in his grasp. His bare chest brushed against her breasts and he pushed a muscular thigh at her. Zorilda stepped to his aid, pressing her hands against Rhoda's buttocks, shoving her against him.
"It's going to be a wonderful night, Rhoda. A wonderful night." She promised.
Jerry kissed Rhoda hard on the mouth, turning her toward the bed. Rhoda, struggling weakly, her natural desires stimulated by his raw flesh, felt herself being forced backward onto the bed. There was a brief flurry of arms and legs and then the three of them were sprawled together on the rumpled sheet, their bodies heaving together. An avalanche of hands cascaded over Rhoda's figure, caressing her, unleashing unwanted excitement in her. She tried to protest but her voice collapsed into a series of moans and grunts.
This is what you came to Bellville for, she told herself as she plummeted into a whirlpool of sensation. You asked for it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The telephone clicked and buzzed repeatedly and Rhoda listened nervously, hoping that Ben would pick it up and that she would hear his deep voice across the many miles separating Bellville from the city. She sat, twitching and dazed, on the edge of the hotel bed with the receiver pressed against her ear. The phone at the other end rang many times before she finally hung up.
An impulse born of sadness and guilt had caused her to place the call. She wanted to speak to Ben, praying that he would be anxious to hear from her and would seek forgiveness and urge her to come home. Her experiences in Bellville had disillusioned and sickened her. She was ready to pack her bags and grab the next bus. But Ben did not answer. Where could he be so early on a Saturday morning, she wondered. Was he shacking up with that bookkeeper of his? Had he already forgotten her altogether?
She stared dully out of the windows at the gray skies of early morning. Funny, she thought, she barely remembered returning to the hotel after the long and eerily unreal session with Jerry and Zorilda Reid. They had expertly unleashed a wantonness in her that both surprised and shocked her. At first she had been a reluctant participant in their love-play but her long repressed frustrations and desires had soon taken hold of her and she had finally met their overtures with total abandon. Jerry, to his credit, had met her passion head-on and had displayed a virtuosity she would never have suspected. He had ravished both women alternately while Zorilda further demonstrated her accomplishments in perversions that Rhoda had only vaguely heard about and read about.
It was only after it was all over that Rhoda began to feel sharp pangs of guilt and distaste. While the other two had sunk into a deep, exhausted sleep, she lay awake battling a sudden fit of depression. It was true, she told herself, that she had returned to Bellville intending to strike up liaisons with old boyfriends to work some sort of revenge on Ben and the hurt he had inflicted. But, somehow, nothing was going right. Her revenge had been bitter-sweet and now she only longed to leave this town and return to her husband. The fear that she could never go back depressed her even more.
The phone rang sharply and snapped her out of her reverie. She picked up the receiver slowly.
"Hello," she said weakly.
"Hello, Rhoda?" It was Zorilda's voice. "Are you all right? We...."
Rhoda grimaced and slammed the receiver down again. She didn't want to talk to that woman ever again. After a moment, the phone started to ring again. She let it ring.
She had known that she couldn't face the couple in the morning and she finally had tumbled out of bed, located one of Zee's sweaters and a pair of slacks, dressed and walked blindly back through the darkened streets to the hotel. She had no idea of how long she had been sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to listen to her tortured and confused mind. Finally, in her shame and despair, she had picked up the phone. It was a long time before Maggie Marble's sleepy voice had answered the switchboard downstairs and dialed the apartment in the city.
Ben's failure to answer depressed her even more. And now the persistent ringing of the phone was more than she could bear. She got off the bed and went into the bathroom where she turned on the water in the bathtub and peeled off the sweater and slacks, both of which were too small and too tight for her. She felt sticky and unclean and wanted to wash away all memory of the night before.
The phone stopped ringing as she lowered herself into the bathtub with the water still running. It was too cold, just beginning to get warm but she didn't care. She sank against the cold porcelain, shivering. She could hardly bear to look at her body as she lathered herself mechanically. At this point she loathed her sensual breasts and she refused to notice the black and blue marks on her thighs and hips. The water slowly warmed up and the phone in the other room began to ring again. She ignored it.
Gradually she began to doze, lulled by the tepid water rising around her. Soon she was asleep.
A pair of strong hands woke her up, tilting her head back. Her mouth was filled with soapy water.
"Rhoda! Rhoda!" Dick Taylor's voice was shouting. His voice sounded very far away. "What are you trying to do? Drown yourself?"
She fought to open her eyes and spat out the soapy water.
"What?" She mumbled groggily. She looked around in bewilderment.
"You've sure made a mess out of this bathroom," he observed. "How long have you been in there?"
She sat bolt upright, startled and confused. The tub had been overflowing and the floor was covered with water. She looked up at the tall man bent over her, his hands on her shoulders.
"Dick? How'd you get in here?" She demanded angrily.
"The door to your room was unlocked. I knocked a couple of times first." He looked very concerned. "What happened to you? I tried to call you last night ... and this morning. I wanted to talk to you about yesterday-at the school. I wanted-"
"I know what you wanted!" She snapped, rising up out of the tub. Water splashed over the sides and Dick stepped back away from it, his eyes examining her nude body. "Get out of here! Stop staring at me!"
He backed away and went into the bedroom.
"You're lucky I came by," he said. "You were flooding the place."
"Yeah, thanks. Thanks a lot, lieutenant," she said sarcastically. "I'll write to the army and see that you get a medal." She threw a towel on the floor and slopped it around. Then she took another towel and wiped herself off. She was angry and disgusted with herself.
"What are you so sore about anyway, Rhoda?" His voice asked from the other room. "I know it was stupid of me to try anything in the school. But that doesn't mean that we couldn't get together again. Like here for instance."
She finished drying herself hastily and threw the second towel onto the wet floor. The bastard, she thought to herself, now he's never going to stop trying. She grabbed a third towel off the rack, wrapped it herself, and walked into the bedroom Dick was standing by the window, his lips drawn tight. He looked suddenly old and tired. She hugged the towel closer to herself, her arm under her bosom, forcing her breasts upward above the terrycloth.
"What'd I do, Rhoda? What did I really do?" He asked sadly.
"This," she sighed, "is where I'm supposed to use the classic female answer, 'If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you!'"
"All right," he smiled weakly, stepping toward her. "Let's start all over again."
"Keep away from me, Dick," she said firmly. "I don't want to be touched. Let's just forget the whole thing. Let's pretend it never happened."
"Is that another classic female line?" He stopped, looking hurt and unhappy. He could see that she was sincere. "Okay. Okay. If you don't want to help keep up the morale of your boys in the service. I understand."
"Now cut that out!" She gave a brittle laugh. "And turn your back so I can dress." He obeyed sullenly and she dug out a clean bra and pair of briefs.
"We're even getting modest," he grumbled.
"You've got a girl friend, remember?" She told him as she stepped into the panties and slipped the bra on. "You don't need to fool around with us old married women."
"So I'm a louse," he admitted. "And you're still playing your old role of town tease."
"No more," Rhoda declared, pulling a fragile green silk dress from the closet. "Them days are gone forever."
"Are you sure?" He asked, turning to face her, watching her struggle into the dress.
"I'm sure," she said with an air of grim certainty. She smoothed the dress down around her well-rounded hips. Then she looked at herself in the mirror for the first time that morning. Dark circles had settled under her eyes and her face was puffy with tiredness. She picked up a hair brush and attacked her disarrayed blond tresses. It all seemed so hopeless. Dick settled resignedly into the old, overstuffed chair by the window.
"It's not the same, is it, Rhoda?" He asked dreamily. "The town I mean. You grow up here ... you feel your roots are here. Then you go away for a while and when you come back you find you're a stranger in a town filled with strangers. The town you knew is gone ... gone with your youth."
"You feel it, too?" Rhoda was surprised.
"Of course. Oh, the buildings are the same. And a lot of the same people are still here. But they're older now, too, and life has made them more distant. They think the town is standing still ... that nothing is changing. But they're wrong. Everything is changing ... all the time. Even a sleepy town like Bellville changes ... grows old ... dies."
"I know...." Rhoda agreed, struggling with her knotted hair. "I thought it would be fun to come back here. But it hasn't been. Not at all. I think I'll leave today and go back to the city where I belong."
"Back?" Dick studied her, surprised. "You're not going to wait until the reunion?"
"No." Rhoda was somewhat surprised herself by this snap decision.
"You're not even going to hang around for the Reid's party tonight?"
"Absolutely not."
"But I thought you were sort of the 'guest of honor' and all."
"Maybe I was. But not anymore." No, she thought to herself, she couldn't go to the party. She didn't want to see the Reids ever again.
"You're really full of surprises, Rhoda."
"She certainly is!" Sylvia's voice came from the doorway. "The door is open. Can I come in?"
"Sure. The more, the merrier," Rhoda sighed.
"Hi, Sylvia. How are you?" Dick greeted her.
"I'm fine. It's my friends I'm worried about," she answered as she strode into the room. She was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a low-cut blouse, both excessively tight and revealing. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Not a thing. Dick was just leaving." Rhoda said quickly.
"I was?" Dick's eyes met hers and admitted defeat. He rose from the chair. "I guess I was. Nice seeing you again, Sylvia." He walked slowly to the door. "If I don't see you again, Rhoda ... have a good trip. And thanks ... almost."
"Good-bye, Dick," Rhoda said curtly. "And thanks for the rescue."
He nodded and left, his shoulders slumped forward.
"Now what did he mean by that?" Sylvia asked. "What trip? Are you leaving, Rhoda?"
"Yes. I've decided I've had enough of Bellville." She finished fussing with her hair. Her stomach was gnawingly empty and she realized that she had gone without any dinner the night before.
"Gee, I'm sorry to hear that, Rhoda," Sylvia sat down in the chair Dick had just vacated. "And to think I came up here to bawl you out for taking my car the other night."
"You found it, didn't you?"
"Sure. But it was pretty silly for you to leave like that. Stan and I had a great time. You should have stuck around. Like I said, he's quite a man."
"I couldn't do it, Sylvia," Rhoda said in a low voice, realizing how foolish it had been for her to run away from one orgy only to end up at another one the next day. She tossed a suitcase on the bed and opened it.
"Say, you're not really running out are you? The party's tonight. Everybody will be there. And then there's the reunion...."
"To hell with the reunion," Rhoda snapped. "I can't get away from here fast enough to suit me."
"Hey, what brought this on?" Sylvia asked. "I thought you came here looking for a little fun. And tonight is going to be a fun night. Stan is taking me to the party. We can pick you up ... and afterward maybe you and Dick can join us and...."
"Dick has a girl," Rhoda interrupted sharply. "Even so, I'm not going to stick around." She started throwing things into the suitcase.
"But the Reids are counting on you."
"I don't ever want to see them again, either," Rhoda declared.
"Woops...." Sylvia looked at her comprehendingly. "Is that it? Did Zorilda make some kind of pass at you?"
"Of course not," Rhoda lied. "What makes you think that?"
"You're so vehement ... and I tried to warn you ... she's a dike ... a lesbian. Everybody in town knows it."
"All right," Rhoda groaned. "So she made a play for me. I don't want to see her again, that's all."
"What about Jerry? Does he know?"
"He knows." Rhoda turned and faced Sylvia sternly. "Look, I don't want to go over the whole thing. I just want to get out of here. That's all. I'm sorry about the other night. I'm sorry about everything."
"Why don't we go downstairs and have some breakfast. A little coffee will do you a lot of good."
"I am hungry," Rhoda admitted. "I didn't have much to eat yesterday."
"I'll bet," Sylvia said sympathetically. "Come on." She got up and took Rhoda's arm. Rhoda slipped into a pair of high heels and glanced at herself in the mirror.
"I look like such a wreck," she protested.
"Forget it. At your worst you look better than any female in this town." She led Rhoda to the door.
The town was busier than usual. All of the people from the outlying farms were in to do their Saturday shopping and the street was lined with pickup trucks and station wagons. Rhoda and Sylvia crossed over to the luncheonette. The counter was lined with teen-agers and burly men in red plaid hunting jackets. They all looked up with frank interest when the two women entered. Sylvia guided Rhoda to a table in the rear and they sat down. All the male eyes followed them and Sylvia nodded and smiled to some of the men she knew.
"These guys could be arrested for what they're thinking," Sylvia whispered to Rhoda with a smile. "I hope you realize the impact you're making."
"I think they're all admiring your tight jeans," Rhoda responded.
The talk gray waitress joined them and took their order.
"Look, I hope you weren't shocked by what happened at the paper mill the other night," Sylvia said in a low voice after the waitress had left. "I thought you were looking for a little action and I didn't know you'd object to a threesome."
"I'd never done anything like that before," Rhoda confessed. "I guess I was a little taken aback."
They sat in strained silence until the waitress brought them their coffee.
"Don't look now," Sylvia whispered, glancing past Rhoda who was sitting with her back to the door. "But an old friend of yours just walked in."
"I don't have any old friends," Rhoda snapped, refusing to look up.
"You have now. He's just seen us. I think he's coming over."
"Sylvia! How are you?" A male voice exclaimed from behind Rhoda.
"Hi, Paul ... where have you been hiding out?" Sylvia answered. Rhoda was taking a sip of coffee and she almost choked. Paul! She swiveled her head and looked up at the tall, erect figure behind her. He was heavier now but his hair was still a mass of unruly curls and his face was as leanly handsome as ever. He shifted his gaze from Sylvia to her and his mouth fell open.
"Rhoda! Rhoda Kelly!" He exclaimed. "You're here, too!"
"Hello, Paul," Rhoda flashed a chilly smile. "I thought you'd be in jail someplace."
"Jail!" He laughed warmly, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "They could never pin anything on me."
"Did you come back for the Reunion?" Sylvia asked.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world. And I understand the Reids are planning a big bash tonight, too. Didn't want to miss that either." He turned his attention to Rhoda again. "How have you been, Rhoda? You look better than ever."
"I look like a shambles and you know it," Rhoda grouched. So Paul Baron was back, she thought to herself, her heart pounding. The handsome boy who had lured her to his forest cabin and then humiliated her beyond cause or reason really hadn't changed much. His eyes were still warm and sincere. He still carried himself with great self-confidence and smiled with disarming ease.
"Some shables," he grinned. "Are we going to see you at the party tonight?"
"We?" Sylvia asked pointedly.
"My wife, Cheryl, and me. I'm married, you know. Married, settled down in an ivy-covered cottage. The whole bit." He patted Rhoda's hand affectionately. "Yes, sir, Rhoda ... it's a delight to see you again. We sure used to have great times, didn't we?"
"Did we?" Rhoda answered, her voice dripping ice. The louse, she thought to herself. He considered her humiliation a "great time." She hated him. She hated his quick smile and easy charm.
"What have you been up to, Paul?" Sylvia asked hast-fly.
"Oh, I've taken up teaching. English. At a school for girls up in New England."
"A school for girls, huh?" Rhoda said pointedly. "That ought to be right up your alley."
"Please," he said lightly. "I'm a married man. Very respectable."
"I'll bet."
"Don't mind her," Sylvia interjected quickly. "She got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. She's a little under the weather."
"Yeah, I can see," Paul nodded. "Well, I've got to run and pick up Cheryl. She's having her hair boiled and scorched at the local torture chamber." He stood up and gazed down at Rhoda. "See you tonight at the Reids."
"Sure. We'll see you." Sylvia acknowledged. Rhoda watched him make his way out of the luncheonette. She was seething inside. Bitter memories were splashing around the edges of her mind and her old lust to get even with him was bubbling anew. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, an opportunity would present itself at the party. Perhaps she would find a way to get even. It might even make it worthwhile to stay on. It might make it possible for her to face the Reids once again. The desire ... the need ... for revenge was uppermost in her mind. Perhaps she could get even with all of them. With the whole town of Bellville.
"Rhoda!" Sylvia said loudly across the table. Rhoda stared at her. "Rhoda, you haven't been listening to a word I've been saying."
"I'm sorry, Sylvia. I was just thinking ... ," She hesitated a moment. "I was just thinking that maybe I'll stay in Bellville for another day. Maybe I'll go to the Reid's party after all."
Sylvia leaned back and smiled in self-satisfied triumph.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rhoda spent the afternoon in her room, napping and gathering her energies for the evening ahead. She awoke at intervals and toyed with various notions of how she could avenge her old score with Paul Baron. Nothing she could think of seemed adequate. She decided she would have to play it by ear and wait for just the right opportunity. The thought of attending the party at all made her nervous. She knew she would have to face people she did not really want to see again ... old classmates who knew all of her secrets and forgotten shames. And Dick Taylor and Stan Mitchell, both of whom had almost possessed her. And Jerry and Zorilda Reid who had stirred dark animal lusts in her and pulled her down into the savage abyss of their own unnatural passions. The party promised to be a traumatic carnival and she was not too eager to participate.
The sun was going down when she finally got out of bed. She took a long, hot bath, dried herself off and, feeling considerably better, pranced nude into the bedroom to prepare herself carefully for whatever the evening might bring. She rubbed her firm thighs with cologne, noting that the black and blue marks were fading. Then she carefully anointed the high, round globes of her breasts with a heady perfume guaranteed to make any man drunk with desire. The red mark on her breast had also faded to an almost inconspicuous blur.
It took her a long time to arrange her golden hair in a sophisticated mound on her head and an even longer time for her to lay the foundation for her face. She added eye shadow with great care and stuck on a pair of false eyelashes.
Tonight, she decided, she would wear her most wicked undergarments. The things she had purchased from a specialty store in the city. She opened a small box and removed a pair of nylon bikini briefs and put them on.
Then she donned a daring, low-cut bra. It was strapless and designed in such a way that it pushed her breasts higher, barely covering her pointed nipples. It made her seem even more richly endowed. Next she fastened on a wispy garter belt and carefully pulled on a pair of sheer gold mesh stockings that would attract attention to her finely curved legs.
She went to the closet and removed the dress she had been saving for a special occasion. It was a pale red chiffon ... an import from France that had cost Ben plenty. She slipped into it slowly, with great care. Draped to just above the knees, it would reveal a generous portion of her thighs when she sat down. It covered one shoulder and one breast completely while leaving the other side almost completely exposed. Neither too tight nor too loose, it revealed all of her charms with fiendish calculation.
A pair of very high heels supplied the finishing touch. She was making final adjustments to her hair and face, feeling rather pleased with the overall result, when the phone rang. It was Sylvia.
"Listen, honey," Sylvia said with a giggle. "Stan and I are gonna be a little late." Another giggle. "There's something he wants to do first. Stop that, Stan."
"All right," Rhoda laughed. "I understand."
"Rhoda? Rhoda ... are you still there?" It was Bill Marble's voice at the switchboard.
"I'm still here."
"I just overheard that call, Rhoda. I don't usually listen but...."
"That's all right, Bill. What is it?" She asked, annoyed. "Maggie and I are going out to the Reid's in a few minutes. Maybe we can give you a lift."
"That's very nice of you."
"Why don't you meet us in the lobby in about twenty minutes?"
"Fine. I'll do that, Bill."
"Good. See you in twenty minutes." There was another click. Rhoda returned the receiver to its cradle and turned to study herself in the mirror again, humming softly. Paul Baron, she thought to herself, should find her pretty hard to resist. If she was going to leave Bellville, she was going to leave all of them with something to remember.
The ride to the Reid farm on Cedar Street was tense for Rhoda. Maggie Marble was sudden and uncommunicative from the moment she met Rhoda in the hotel lobby. Perhaps she was simply jealous of the impact Rhoda had on her husband, Bill, when he saw her get out of the elevator.
There were already several cars parked in the driveway and in the street in front of the house when they arrived. Lights blazed from every window of the old farmhouse and there was the sound of music and laughter. Bill parked the car and took both women by the arm, leading them up the flagstone walk to the front door.
"Rhoda, darling! There you are!" Zorilda Reid exclaimed as she welcomed them. "We've been wondering all day what happened to you." Bill and Maggie looked somewhat baffled as Zorilda greeted them enthusiastically and ushered them into the living room. Several couples were already gathered there, hovering around a long table laden with a buffet dinner.
Jerry Reid separated himself from a group and hurried to his wife's side.
"Well, Rhoda," he said. "We're glad to see you. We were afraid you wouldn't make it."
"What? Miss a party by my two favorite people?" Rhoda responded with a strong note of sarcasm. She was surprised that she felt rather indifferent to both of them.
"We've got a lot to talk about, Rhoda," Zorilda said in a low voice. "Later perhaps...." She looked over Rhoda's dress. "My, what a beautiful dress. You look marvelous ... good enough to eat."
"Doesn't she, though," Jerry agreed, casting his eyes down Rhoda's bodice. She stiffened slightly and glanced around the room.
"Can I get you a drink, Rhoda? Maggie?" Bill Marble asked in a low, defeated voice. Maggie mumbled something and turned to Zorilda to offer a routine compliment on the appearance of the house.
"No, thanks, Bill," Rhoda said. "I'm going to grab something to eat first. If I drink on an empty stomach, no telling what might happen."
"Let me help you," Jerry offered quickly, taking Rhoda's arm tightly. He rubbed meaningfully against her as they moved toward the buffet. "You shouldn't have sneaked away like that, Rhoda," he whispered. "You missed a lot of fun this morning."
"Maybe I don't care for your idea of fun," she returned.
The men around the table moved aside, smiling appreciatively at Rhoda. Their faces were vaguely familiar and as they eagerly introduced themselves she remembered their names faintly. They were old classmates who had never made much of an impression on her and now, in their ill-fitting Sunday suits, they made even less of an impression. But she smiled at them graciously and exchanged small talk with them while Jerry filled a plate for her. She took it from him and he hurried away to welcome some newcomers.
The women in the room, wives of the men who were drooling over her, offered her frozen smiles. She did not know any of them. She crossed the room and sat down primly in a Swedish chair, balancing her plate on her lap. There was no sign yet of Paul Baron and his wife.
"Well, hello, again!" A tall man in a gray tweed suit greeted her. She looked up into the face of Bryan Cicero, the principal of the high school. "Did you enjoy your visit to the school yesterday?"
"Hello, Mr. Cicero," she acknowledged. "Yes ... yes, I did. Very much." She lied.
"You know," he knelt down beside her chair and spoke to her in low, conspiratorial tones. "I was kind of hoping that you would have dropped by my office before you left the school yesterday."
She looked at him with new interest. He wasn't wearing his glasses now and it made him look younger and more handsome than she remembered from their brief encounter the day before.
"I hope we'll be seeing more of you before you go back to the city."
"Maybe," she said demurely. A plump woman in a baggy flowered dress appeared. He looked up at her.
"Mrs. Barrington," he announced, his voice losing all of its warmth. "This is my wife, Doris."
"How do you do?" Rhoda said.
"How are you, Mrs. Barrington," the plump woman smiled wanly.
"Mrs. Barrington is another alumnus of Bellville High," Bryan explained, rising to his feet. His wife nodded curtly and gripped his arm possessively.
"Excuse us," she said bluntly. "We're going to get something to eat."
"We'll see you later, Mrs. Barrington," Bryan called over his shoulder as she dragged him off.
Rhoda smiled to herself. Another conquest, she thought. She returned to her food.
The guests began to arrive in larger numbers. Zorilda and Jerry scurried back and forth, playing their roles of host and hostess. They had little time for Rhoda, for which she was thankful. Dick Taylor came in with Shirley Brenton. He was wearing his army uniform and she was dressed in a long party gown that revealed her bony shoulders and flat bosom. Dick barely said hello to Rhoda and Shirley's coolness was painfully apparent. They joined Bill and Maggie Marble in a corner and both couples carefully ignored Rhoda for the remainder of the evening.
Small clusters of men gathered around Rhoda, casting surreptitious glances at her thighs and nearly exposed breasts. They spoke to her in awkward generalities until their wives appeared and hauled them away. Rhoda could hardly overlook the fact that she wasn't making a big hit with the women at the party ... not that she cared.
Bryan Cicero joined her whenever he could break away from his wife and on one of his trips he brought Rhoda a drink. So she started drinking. The party swirled about her, the tempo slowly increasing as the room filled with people and smoke. Sinatra records had been purring from the hi-fi when she and the Marbles first arrived. Now the Beatles and their contemporaries were blasting forth rock 'n roll. Stan Mitchell and Sylvia came in, spraying laughter in their wake. Stan was wearing an expensive sharkskin suit and Sylvia had on a very low-cut cocktail dress that exposed a great deal of cleavage. Stan paused to talk with a group of men and Sylvia headed straight for Rhoda, staggering slightly.
"Glad you got here all right, Rhoda," she said unsteadily. "We stopped to drink our dinner." She laughed a little too loud. "Say, what's the idea sitting here all by yourself?"
"I'm afraid I don't remember too many of these people," Rhoda admitted.
"Nonsense. They're all our old friends. There's Frank over there...." She waved towards a stout man who was talking earnestly with Jerry.
"Frank?" Rhoda studied him blankly. "No, I don't think I know him."
"Sure you do. He was an honor student. Straight A's all the time. Now he drives a garbage truck. That's life for you. Study like hell so you sling garbage cans with authority."
"I'm sorry ... I just don't...." Rhoda began. "And over there," Sylvia interrupted. "Over there is Gertrude Barrow. Remember her? She was the class prude."
"Please," Rhoda admonished her friend. "Not so loud."
"Yeah, sure," Sylvia lowered her voice slightly. "Old Gertrude married the minister's son and since then she's slept with damned near every man in town."
"Sylvia, I really don't want to hear this now," Rhoda said unhappily. "You can fill me in on the town scandals later."
"Scandals? These ain't scandals. They're profiles ... profiles of the charming little town of Bellville. Makes Peyton Place seem like a convent."
Stan came up behind her and gave her a healthy pinch. She reared back and squealed loudly.
"Watch it, stranger," she laughed. "That's private property."
"I'm sorry. I thought it was more like a public utility." Stan grinned. "Hi, Rhoda ... want to dance?"
"I'd love to," Rhoda answered. She got up and offered her seat to Sylvia. "You'd better sit down for awhile, Sylvia."
"Thanks." She fell into the chair awkwardly. "Watch out for this guy. He's got eight hands."
Three or four couples were standing in the middle of the room gyrating their hips and swinging their arms. Stan and Rhoda joined them, shaking and squirming to the pulsing beat of the hi-fi. They moved in slow, tight circles. Stan was doing a scrambled combination of the twist, the frug, the watusi, and anything else he happened to know. Rhoda laughed as she took off on a series of frenetic movements of her own, aware that practically every man in the room was watching her. She threw herself into the frenzied dance and, wheeling around, found herself face-to-face with Bryan Cicero. He was holding a drink in one hand and making swimming motions with the other.
"You cut a mean rug!" He shouted.
"Twenty-three skidoo to you...." She responded mockingly. She turned back in Stan's direction only he was gone. He was now shaking his hips at Gertrude Barrow, a frowsy brunette in a tight silk sheath. Rhoda shrugged and faced Bryan again just as the record came to an end.
"I love these romantic dances," he panted. "They're so intimate."
Another record dropped down on the changer and Sinatra was back with a mournful ballad. Bryan took Rhoda in his arms and they began a slow dance together. He held her close. Too close, she thought.
"I hope you're going to stay with us awhile longer," he murmured, his mouth close to her ear. "This town needs you." Rhoda looked at him in surprise. He grinned uneasily. "And I need you, too," he continued. He pressed her closer. A warm excitement crept over her as they moved slowly around the floor. Certainly he must be aware that a man in his position can't risk a scandal, she thought to herself. But his open lust for her, with no regard for caution or discretion, intrigued and stimulated her all the more.
When the music ended they walked to the bar in the corner where Jerry Reid was busily mixing drinks.
"How's the belle of the ball?" Jerry asked, pouring generous quantities of scotch into glasses for them.
"It's a very nice party," Rhoda said politely.
"I hope you plan to stick around later," Jerry winked. "The best is yet to come."
"I'm sure...."
Bryan picked up a drink and handed it to Rhoda. His r eyes were half-glazed as he looked admiringly down at her well-filled dress. His mouth opened and he ran his tongue around the edge of his lips but before he could speak his wife materialized out of the crowd.
"There you are, Bryan," she snapped, her eyes flashing angrily.
"Hello, my dear," he said sadly. "I was just getting Mrs. Barrington a drink."
"I can see that," she growled, gripping his arm. "There's something I want to tell you...." She started to haul him away.
"I'll be right back," he said to Rhoda over his shoulder.
"Say, aren't you Rhoda Kelly?" A soft, hesitant voice spoke behind her. She turned and looked into a familiar face mounted on top of a lean, spare body. His hair was thinning and his blue eyes were dulled and haunted. But she knew instantly who it was.
"Hello, Johnny. How's the stamp collection?" She didn't mean it to sound nasty but it came out that way. A wall of fear came down over his face.
"I'm afraid I don't have much time for that anymore," he answered slowly, apologetically. "Got four kids now."
"Oh? Is your wife here?" She tried to sound interested but she was diverted by a burst of laughter from across the room. Paul Baron was talking to Zorilda. Rhoda hadn't seen him come in. He was accompanied by a petite, well-built girl with auburn hair and mischievous! eyes.
"She had to stay home with the kids," Johnny was say-I ing-
"That's nice," Rhoda said absently, taking a long sip from her glass. The liquor was beginning to reach her. She kept her eyes on Paul, her heart beating faster. He was wearing a well-cut blue suit, with a blue shirt and a tie that matched exactly. He was easily the handsomest man in the room. All of the women were noticing him. He moved lightly on the balls of his feet, smiling and greeting the people around him.
"Well, it was nice seeing you again, Rhoda," Johnny said weakly, melting back into the crowd.
"We'll have to have a long talk later, Johnny," Rhoda suggested, forcing herself to look at him again. Then she started slowly across the room toward Paul and the petite girl.
As she passed the doorway to the hall Bryan Cicero appeared and looped his arm around her waist. He was drunker and more tense than he had been when he'd left her a few minutes before.
"Hey, Mrs. Barrington! I want to talk to you," he declared, pulling her through the doorway. She laughed and struggled slightly but he was holding her with a firm grip.
"Won't it wait," she asked. "There are some people here I want to say hello to."
"Say hello to me," he grinned hopefully. He eased her further along the hallway, toward Jerry's den.
"Hello," she sighed wearily. "Now will you let me go?"
"Not yet." He maneuvered her into the den. A book-filled room dominated by a leather sofa and a large desk. "Wanta talk.-"
"Can't we talk later?"
"Now!" He kicked the door of the den shut and wrestled her toward the sofa.
"Please," she protested. "There are too many people out there. Including your wife."
"To hell with them! To hell with her," he declared, throwing her down on the couch and sprawling over her." Been a long time since I've seen anyone as beautiful as you."
"Now, Bryan," she scolded, trying to struggle into a sitting position. "Let me go!"
"What'sa matter? Don't you like me?" He scowled, his face close to hers. His hand rested on her thigh and moved clumsily upward.
"I like you fine ... but this isn't the time or the place," Rhoda explained wearily. "Now please let me up."
His head bobbed forward and he gave her a wet, sloppy kiss. She squirmed uncomfortably. His hands were all over her and she tried to push them away. But he was much too strong.
All right, friend, she said to herself, you asked for it. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. So fiercely that his hands froze in place. Still kissing him, she twisted around until he was stretched out on the couch and she was on top. Crushing herself to him, she forced her pointed tongue between his lips. He was breathing heavily, half surprised and delighted by her sudden attack. His hand fumbled drunkenly for the top of her bodice and his fingers slid down over her breasts which were now swelling with excitement.
Her enthusiasm grew with each prolonged kiss. He mumbled and groaned, completely at her mercy. His body shook and heaved under her deliberate caresses. His hands flailed emptily in the air and finally settled around her shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh as a violent surge of pleasure coursed through him. She did not relax until he fell back against the sofa heavily, uttering a long sigh.
"That was helluva thing to do," he mumbled groggily. "A helluva thing."
Rhoda was now very excited herself but she forced herself to pull away. She stood up and straightened her dress, smiling down at him. Even though she was aroused and hungry for fulfillment, she felt a happy sense of triumph. There was a mirror on the back of the door and she looked at herself fearfully but was relieved to notice that her makeup wasn't badly damaged. There was a box of tissues on the desk and she took one to repair the smear of lipstick around her mouth. A little fussing restored her hair. Bryan remained inert during this operation, his eyes lightly closed.
Now to find Paul Baron, she told herself. She looked back at Bryan and he made a little motion with his hand, indicating that he wanted her to sit down beside him. She shook her head, opened the door and left the den.
In the hallway, Mrs. Cicero almost collided with Rhoda. There was a look of panic on her face.
"Your husband is in there," Rhoda told her bluntly, waving toward the door of the den. Mrs. Cicero charged past her and threw the door open. As Rhoda walked away she could hear the shouting and the angry accusations. She smiled to herself as she re-entered the living room.
The party was changing character now. She could sense the difference. The hi-fi was still blasting and most of the guests were now a little drunk. Some of the younger couples were cuddling wherever there was room. The air was blue with smoke, the voices were louder, the laughter a little more uninhibited. It was all quite different from the dull parties Ben, Rhoda's husband, used to drag her to in the city. There was a sense of fun here. An aura of camaraderie and mounting excitement.
Stan Mitchell had cornered Paul's wife and was holding an animated conversation with her. Paul was nowhere in sight. But, then, it was difficult for Rhoda to see. Someone had turned the lights down and the room was now only hazily lighted.
"What in the world have you been up to, Rhoda?" Zorilda Reid appeared out of the smoke with a slightly mystified look on her face. "The Ciceros just left and Mrs. Qcero was hopping mad."
"Really? That's too bad," Rhoda said innocently.
"Well, whatever happened, it certainly put a sparkle in your eye," Zorilda observed. "I hope you're planning to stay overnight with us here. You could help me clean up the place in the morning."
Rhoda walked over to the bar. Jerry was just leaving it, his arm encircling Gertrude Barrow's waist. The Reid's certainly had a peculiar marriage, she thought. If Ben had ever tried to pull anything like that in their own home she-she cut the thought short. Maybe that was just what Ben was up to. Maybe he had that bookkeeper in their apartment at this very minute. Depression flashed over her. She needed a drink.
She went behind the bar and fumbled with the glasses on the lower shelf, dropping one and breaking it. Muttering under her breath, she kicked the pieces under the bar, found another glass and poured herself a stiff shot of scotch.
"Here's some more ice," someone said, handing her an ice bucket. "I had quite a struggle with that contraption in the kitchen."
"Thanks," she said listlessly. She tossed a couple of ice cubes into her glass and lifted it. "Here's to-" She stopped, peering over the edge of the glass into Paul Baron's face.
"-to old times," he added quickly with a broad smile, lifting his own glass and clinking it against hers.
"Hello, Paul," she said, trying to act surprised. "I didn't see you come in."
"You were busy with the school principal, I guess." He gazed at her meaningfully with his clear, sharp eyes. "Oh, him," she sniffed. "A dirty old man."
"I've got to admit I was jealous."
"Jealous? What on earth for?"
"The prettiest girl in the room should have been paying attention to me ... not to him."
Oh, boy, she thought wryly, he's as smooth as ever. The lying louse. And talk about conceit!
"What about your wife?" She asked pointedly.
"Cheryl ... oh, she's all right. But she's no Rhoda Kelly."
"Is that an insult or a compliment?"
"Maybe a little bit of both. Rhoda Kelly is quite a girl," he laughed.
"It's Rhoda Barrington now. Rhoda Kelly is dead. Dead and buried." She took a long swallow of her drink to punctuate the statement.
"Yes ... I'd heard you got married and moved away to the city." He looked around the room casually. "Is your husband here tonight?"
"No. He couldn't make it," she replied, thinking to herself that he damned well knew Ben wasn't there.
"Too bad." He took her hand and guided her out from behind the bar. "Why don't we sit down and talk, Rhoda? There are a lot of things I want to say to you."
She nodded mutely and they wandered around the crowded room. Every chair and sofa seemed to be occupied.
"Looks like we're out of luck," Rhoda observed.
"Don't give up so easily," he chuckled. "This is a big house. Come on." Holding her hand tightly, he led her into the hall and up the stairs to the second floor. He opened a door and looked in. The room was dark but a female voice squealed. He closed it quickly.
"Occupied," he said flatly, moving on to the next door. He opened that one and peeked in.
"Beat it," a man's voice ordered gruffly. Paul pulled the door shut and shrugged.
"Well, there's one more." He reached for the door knob of the guest room where Rhoda had spent most of the day before. Even the sight of the door made her stomach turn over. She pulled him away.
"Not in there, Paul," she pleaded softly.
"Why not?" He laughed and threw the door open. A woman's clothes were strewn all over the floor. Rhoda recognized Sylvia's dress. Paul looked in.
"Sorry," he said quickly and closed the door. "There's sure a lot of activity in this place tonight."
"Let's go back downstairs, Paul," Rhoda said nervously.
"We'd better," he agreed. Then his face lit up with a new thought. "Say, let's go outside for a little fresh air? Think we could both use some."
"All right," she answered softly. Her head was whirling from the liquor and from the aftermath of the excitement of the tussle with Bryan Cicero. Her long and bitter hatred of Paul was dulled by his closeness. Her dreams of reaping some kind of revenge were scrambled with the desire she was now feeling. The desire to possess him, to enjoy the fruits of passion that had been so cruelly denied her years before in the log cabin. She was suddenly indecisive, unable to determine the course she should follow. She had no way of knowing that fate was about to step in and resolve her whole dilemma.
So she followed Paul down the stairs and out the back door into the crisp evening.
"It's a lovely night," Rhoda remarked, taking his arm and holding him close so that his elbow touched her breast.
"Yes, isn't it ... and the air is so fresh. Not like the air in the city, huh, Rhoda?" He put his arm around her, resting his palm flat against her hip. She was surprised, even dismayed that she welcomed his touch.
They walked across the open ground to a large shed between the house and the barn.
"This looks like a good place," he said, confidently steering her toward it.
"For what?" She asked coyly.
"To talk." He tried the door and it creaked open. It was very dark inside. He lit a match and looked around. It was one large room filled with tools and debris. A long, straight pile of firewood divided it down the middle.
"Ah, here's a blanket," he noted, picking up an old blanket and shaking it out. He went around the pile of wood and spread the blanket out of sight of the door. Rhoda remained by the open door, sniffing the must and feeling slightly apprehensive.
"Rhoda ... come on in," he called.
"Maybe we should go back to the house, Paul," she whispered uneasily. "Your wife will be-"
"Don't worry about my wife!" He interrupted sharply. He came around from behind the wood pile and took her arm. "What are you afraid of?"
"Nothing. I'm all right," she answered. She followed him into the shed and sat down awkwardly on the blanket. The floor was uneven and bumpy underneath and the blanket was rough against her thin dress. Paul sat down close beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Her temples began to pound.
"Rhoda," he began. "I always regretted that business in the log cabin. The other boys put me up to it. I didn't want to go through with it. But when we got there ... well ... I just-"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said quickly. The lie burned in her throat. Did he think she was going to fall for an apology at this late date?
"You mean you don't remember?" He asked, amazed. "The time I lured you up to my cabin and...."
"Did you bring me out here to relive old times?" She demanded tartly. She was getting angry and she tried to control herself. She turned her face to his, opened her mouth, and closed her eyes lightly, challenging him to kiss her. He stared at her in bewilderment.
"Well ... I...." he began hesitantly. She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek.
"Paul," she whispered huskily. "Let's not talk about the past." She ran her lips over his cheek until she found his mouth. He kissed her gently, with a kind of reluctance.
"Same old Rhoda," he murmured, amused. "Now just what do you mean by that?" She snapped, stiffening.
He didn't reply. Instead, he kissed her again. This time with greater enthusiasm and she felt herself responding in spite of herself. Their mouths clashed hungrily and she felt her strength ebbing as desire overcame her. Had she really loved him all along, she wondered, or was her hate so deep that she was willing to use her body to find some curious female revenge? Dizzily she sank back onto the blanket, unable to think coherently anymore, clutching to him, her tingling body demanding more and more.
They grappled tensely in the darkness, their hands clawing at each other's clothes. He managed to slip the wisp of chiffon from her shoulder and eased her ballooning breasts from her bra into the open where his mouth and hands could play upon them. She unzipped the back of her dress and wriggled free of it He gasped as he looked upon the lines of her magnificent body in the dim light that seeped in through the cracks in the shed.
He kissed her flat stomach and stroked her warm thighs while she awkwardly attacked the buttons and zippers of his clothes. He had escaped her once but this time she would win. This time the joke would be on him, she swore.
The initial skirmish ended when they met together in the middle of the blanket, both nude and gasping, ready for the final frenzy.
Then, without warning, the door of the shed squeaked and alien voices whispered hoarsely to each other. Rhoda and Paul held their breath, petrified in their positions. The other couple laughed and blundered about in the darkness on the other side of the wood pile. Rhoda wanted to cry out, full consciousness returning with a surge of anger and frustration. Paul's excited body trembled against her.
"All right, you two," he called out, this shed is already occupied!"
"Oooops," laughed a male voice. "Sorry old man."
"Who is that?" A girl's voice demanded. "It sounded like ... Paul! Paul, is that you?"
"Oh no! It's Cheryl!" Paul whispered to Rhoda. He released her and she huddled numbly on the blanket.
"Paul!" The voice cried again.
Then the walls came tumbling down. The pile of wood collapsed, falling over on Paul and Rhoda. A log struck Rhoda on the head and she fell back dazed. Paul clawed his way out of the wood as Cheryl began howling obscenities at him. Her companion, Stan Mitchell, backed toward the open door. Paul shouted at him and he turned and ran. Rhoda struggled to a sitting position, her body aching from where she had been struck by falling wood. Cheryl and Paul stood face to face, screaming in outrage at each other.
Rhoda, still in a state of shock, tried to gather up the clothes on the blanket. She wadded them all up together and ran from the shed, dashing stark naked to the barn, ignoring the voices bellowing behind her.
Just as she ducked into the barn she heard the wail of a police siren. A police car pulled up in front of the house, probably responding to a call from the neighbors. Alarmed, she ran further into the barn, hiding in the grainery. She sat down on a barrel and tried to catch her breath. Then she looked down at the wad of clothes in her hands and began to laugh. In the tangle, she had grabbed Paul Baron's suit. He was left naked as a jay bird to confront the police. All she had of her own was her bra. Still laughing, she slipped it on and then she hauled on Paul's pants and jacket.
She waited in the barn for a long time and when she finally peeked out the police car was gone. So were most of the other cars in the driveway. She slipped up to the house. Some of the lights were still on and the back door was open. But there wasn't a sound in the place. She entered. The house was deserted.
Was it possible that the police could have hauled everyone down to the town jail, she wondered. She crept through the house ... everything was in a terrible mess. Male and female clothes were strewn everywhere. The modish living room looked as if it had been hit by a combination of an earthquake and hurricane.
In the master bedroom upstairs she found the blouse and skirt she had been wearing the day before. Zorilda had cleaned and pressed them very nicely. She shed Paul's suit and put them on.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she started laughing to herself again. It had really been quite a party. Welcome home, Rhoda Kelly. Welcome home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was a typical Sunday in a typical small-town. A peaceful calm shrouded Bellville and there was not a single sign of life on Main Street. The entire population was hidden indoors, sleeping late, pouring over the Sunday comics, staring at the flickering screens of their TV sets. The devout had already marched off to church and the less devout were probably making groggy attempts at love in their warm beds.
Rhoda Barrington stood in front of the bay windows of her hotel room, dressed only in a sheer black negligee. She was in the throes of a violent hangover, complete with pounding headache and sour stomach. In spite of her agony, she felt oddly at peace with herself as she surveyed the quiet scene spread out below her. Somehow, and she didn't quite know how, her mission to Bellville was completed. She knew that telephones were jangling all over town and that the tongues of a thousand gossips were wagging excitedly, discussing the events that had taken place at the Reid's the night before. It pleased her to know that she participated in the scene and had contributed to the scandal. For a few hours all of the frustrations and conflicts of small-town life had bubbled to the surface and many of its leading citizens had been stripped naked, literally and figuratively.
The Reids had no doubt spent the night in the local clink, she thought contentedly, and a number of marriages would never be the same again. Including the marriage of Paul Baron and Cheryl. Some mysterious chemistry had taken place at the party, fomented by liquor, nostalgia, and the restless awareness of the passing years. It was a chemistry she didn't quite understand. But she would have the rest of her life to think about it.
A knock at her door disturbed her thoughts.
"Who is it?" She groaned, clapping her hand to her aching head.
"Maggie. Are you up yet?" A muffled voice replied.
"I'm up," Rhoda answered as she unbolted the door and opened it. Maggie Marble entered carrying an armful of towels. She was wearing a faded housecoat and her hair was up in curlers. She waddled into the room like a depressed penguin.
"There's a bus for the city at noon," she stated flatly.
"Oh?" Rhoda responded, taken aback. "What does that mean?"
"I thought maybe you might be leaving today. Brought you some clean towels." She shuffled into the bathroom.
"I guess I was thinking about it," Rhoda admitted.
"Kind of thought you might be." Maggie said from the bathroom. She came out and looked at Rhoda with distaste.
"How's Bill feeling?" Rhoda inquired.
"I don't know ... and I don't care," Maggie answered bitterly. "I left without him last night ... just before the police came. He went off somewhere with Zee. Maybe he's still in the cooler. Serves him right."
"With Zee?" Rhoda repeated numbly. Even poor, defeated Bill Marble had been trapped in that evil house. "Don't worry, Maggie. Everything will turn out all right."
"I don't think so. Nothing's been the same since you got here. You leaving?" Her voice was cold, drained.
"I doubt if I'll be ready in time for the noon bus," Rhoda said slowly. "Well, there'll be other buses."
"I'm sure."
"'Course, you'll be missing the Reunion."
"I think I can bear it. Last night was reunion enough." Rhoda forced a laugh.
"I'll have your bill ready when you come down," Maggie remarked with finality. She headed for the door.
"Maggie...." Rhoda stopped her. "Maggie, are you throwing me out? "
"Guess you could call it that," she answered with a shrug and left.
Rhoda heaved a long sigh and returned aimlessly to the window. She did want to leave Bellville. Leave and never come back. But where could she go, she asked herself? Where did she really belong? Back to the city ... without Ben? Back to the ordeal of lawyers and courts and a divorce. Then what? The life of a divorcee living on alimony, picking up strange men in bars when the demands of her body became too great She watched a stocky man in a red plaid hunting jacket slowly walk down Main Street The clock on the steeple at the end of the street said eleven. Perhaps if she really hurried she could make that noon bus.
She turned and hauled out her suitcases, opened them on the rumpled bed, and slowly began to pack. All of the sexy garments she had so carefully chosen in the city were now wrinkled and dirty. All of the dreams of lust and excitement that they had aroused were faded and gone. She had come to Bellville looking for sex, she told herself, and she had found it But not in the way she had anticipated. None of it had even faintly resembled the pleasure of her early days with Ben. It was all tainted and dirty and she only wanted to forget it. All of it!
Strange, she thought, as soon as she returned to Bellville she had reverted automatically to the role she had played as a girl. She had become the town tease again. And she had paid for it all over again, just as she had paid for it before ... in misery and embarrassment. In these last few days she had grown up. She had learned a great deal about herself. But it all seemed too late.
Her phone started to ring and she tried to pay no attention to it. Its harsh shrill hammered at her head and she fled into the bathroom to find some aspirins. Finally it stopped ringing. She didn't want to talk to anybody. She just wanted to get out of Bellville forever.
She returned to her packing, throwing clothes into her suitcases without folding them or caring about order. She was just forcing a lid shut when there was a heavy knock at her door.
"Maggie?" She called.
"No ... it's me," a deep male voice answered. It sounded like Ben! Ben! She pulled her negligee about her and ran to the door, throwing it open.
"Ben! Is that you-" she began.
"Not Ben ... Bryan," Bryan Cicero said, standing in the doorway with his hat in his hand. Rhoda's face fell. "Am I disturbing you?"
"I was just packing. I'm going to catch a bus," Rhoda replied curtly.
"Oh? Are you leaving?" He looked very disappointed. He was wearing his glasses and seemed very old and very pale.
"Yes. I'm in a terrible rush." She made a move to close the door but he pressed his palm against it and held it.
"Rhoda ... I've got to see you a minute. Can I come in?"
"No ... I really-" Before she could finish he had pushed his way past her and entered the room. "Really, Bryan! I'm not dressed ... and I haven't much time." She closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar.
"Aren't you going to wait for the reunion?" He asked. His face was strained and sober and his eyes were dancing across the negligee. She pulled it closer to her, self-consciously.
"I've decided not to go to the reunion," she declared firmly. "Now, will you please go?"
"Rhoda ... you can't go like this!" He threw his hat on a chair and reached for her. She stepped gingerly away. "Not after last night."
"Last night? Nothing really happened between us last night," she uttered a stinging laugh. "Now don't be troublesome ... or I'll call your wife."
"Rhoda," he moaned, hurt by her mockery. "I can't get you out of my mind."
"That's very flattering. But I don't have time for flattery just now." She walked around to the far side of the bed and fussed with her packing.
"Don't make a fool of me, Rhoda," he pleaded. Then his voice got hard. "I know what you are! Did you think I wouldn't know what you and Dick did at school the other day. The whole school knows. It had to be you two. So don't play coy with me." He straightened to his full height and glared at her menacingly.
She watched him with alarm as he walked ponderously around the bed toward her.
"Now, Bryan...." She warned, backing away. "Behave yourself. You can't afford to-"
"What are you going to do?" He laughed coldly. "Who would believe you ... with your reputation? Now please be reasonable. You didn't think I was so bad last night...."
"I was drunk. I was just playing with you!" She blurted. She was sorry the moment the words left her lips.
"Well, now I'm playing with you," he growled. He stepped closer to her. Frightened, she tried to run around him but he reached out and grabbed her. She kicked at him and opened her mouth to cry out but he slapped his hand over her lips and twisted her arm with his other hand.
"Stop acting like a silly virgin, Rhoda," he grunted. "I'm not going to hurt you. You like me. I know you do." He pushed her back against the bed. She struggled to stay upright but he was very strong. She bit fiercely into his hand and the taste of blood filled her mouth. He winced and his eyes clouded with pain but he kept his hand in place. His expression turned to one of cold fury. She had never seen such an expression before and it frightened her all the more.
Slowly he forced her head back and she went tumbling across the bed. He fell upon her, mumbling and breathing heavily. Panic seized her. She felt that she was fighting for her life. He was expressing something more than mere passion. Some horrible, long repressed desire was coming to the surface.
With his free hand he began tearing at her negligee, shredding it, peeling it away from her nude body. His angry fingers reached for her exposed flesh, clawing at her breasts while she kicked and struggled hopelessly.
"You!" He spat. "I'm really going to teach you a lesson." He wrenched his bleeding hand away from her mouth. "Go ahead. Scream."
She tried to cry out but she was breathless and only a pitiful moan fell from her bruised lips. He spread her roughly on the bed, his weight still against her.
"Rhoda? Are you in there?" A voice called from the hall. Bryan Cicero looked up in surprise. "Rhoda!" The voice repeated.
Bryan relaxed slightly for a brief moment and Rhoda struggled to wrench herself free. The door of the room flew open.
"Rhoda!" Ben Barrington stood there, gaping in astonishment at them. He crossed the room in two long strides and gripped Bryan Cicero by the collar. With a single heave, he pulled Cicero off the bed onto the floor.
"Ben! It's really you, Ben!" Rhoda cried, finding her voice. She could hardly believe it. Her husband pulled her attacker to his feet and struck him savagely in the face. He fell back against the wall and cowered there, his glasses hanging askew. Ben brought his fist back and prepared to hit him again.
"Ben!" Rhoda cried out He glanced at her and in that instant Bryan Cicero ducked and leaped away, charging for the door. Ben wheeled and sailed after him. Rhoda sat up on the bed, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Ben ... oh, Ben," she repeated happily to herself.
A moment later, Ben reappeared in the doorway slightly out of breath. He leaned against the door jamb and looked at her, the angry expression on his face melting into concern.
"He got away ... that damned elevator," he gasped. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine ... just fine, Ben," Rhoda sighed, her eyes drinking him in. "I never thought I would be so glad to see you."
"Who was that anyway?" He asked as he stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him.
"You'd never believe it ... the school principal."
"The school principal! My God, what kind of a town is this?" He strode to the bed. She pulled the remnants of her negligee around her, suddenly realizing how awful she must look.
"It's a terrible town, Ben. A terrible town," she said softly.
"Well, I've come to take you away from it," he announced firmly. "Back to the city ... with me ... where you belong."
"Ben ... oh, Ben ... I just can't believe it!" She raised her arms to him and the tattered strands of cloth fell away, revealing her soft round breasts. He sat down on the bed beside her and embraced her, kissing her bruised lips tenderly.
"It's all right now, Rhoda. I've been a big fool. But it's all right now." He kissed her neck and ran his mouth gently across her breasts, murmuring to her all the while. "I hope you'll come back with me, Rhoda. I've missed you so much." too. So much. Of course, I'll come back with you."
"I'm so glad, Ben," Rhoda purred. "I've missed you, He tightened his arms around her and buried his lips in her hair.
"When I found you gone," he whispered. "I couldn't believe it. I suddenly realized how much you mean to me. The empty apartment ... it was more than I could bear. I knew you must have come here ... but I couldn't get away ... not 'til yesterday. I've been driving all night."
"Ben ... Ben...." She muttered, touched and contented for the first time in a very long time. Then a cold chill passed over her. "But what about...."
"My 'friend,'" he completed the phrase for her. "That's all over. I know now how stupid and wrong I was. I hope you can forgive me." He kissed her again and pressed her back onto the bed with great tenderness.
"Ben," she began hesitantly. "A lot of things have happened since I left you. I...."
"Is there another man?" He asked, studying her face fearfully.
"No ... it's not that. There's no one else. But I-" He kissed her before she could say another word. It was a long, deep, meaningful kiss that made her forget Bryan Cicero and all the nightmare of the past week.
"I've treated you very badly," he finally admitted. "I couldn't blame you for ... for anything you might have done. The important thing is that we're back together again."
"And things will be like they used to be?" She asked.
"And things will be like they used to be," he promised. He caressed her gently and she felt her old yearnings for him returning. She wanted to please him and make him as happy as he was making her.
"You must be tired," she whispered.
"Not too tired," he said warmly. He stretched out beside her and held her close, his arms around her, his hands cupping her buttocks and pressing their bodies tight together. Her hangover was disappearing. They kissed again and again and whispered to each other as they had done so long ago when they were first married and their bodies were strange to each other. She helped him break free of his clothing and met his renewed passion with her own eagerness.
They made love together for a long time, finding countless variations to express their need for each other. And it was better than it had ever been before. At length, they fell asleep in each other's arms and darkness fell over Bellville.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The morning sun was low in the sky and the air was still moist with dew when Benjamin Barrington and his wife stepped out of the hotel. He carried her suitcases and paused beside her as she inhaled deeply.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Ben?" She said happily, her arm tightly laced in his. He nodded and smiled at her. Maggie Marble stood in the doorway behind them, her eyes red and puffy.
"Good-bye, Rhoda," she muttered. "Too bad you couldn't stay for the reunion today."
"I've had my reunion, Maggie," Rhoda declared. She looked lovingly at Ben. "Give my regards to everyone there."
"If I go," Maggie grunted. "If anybody goes."
"The car is over there," Ben said, gesturing with a suitcase, pointing toward a brand new red sports car.
"But that isn't our car, Ben," Rhoda said in bewilderment.
"It is now, Rhoda. But it's not our car ... it's yours. A little welcome home gift." He put a suitcase down, dug into his pocket, and handed her the key.
"Ben! It must have cost a fortune!" Rhoda's eyes popped with delight and excitement.
"It was worth it ... if it makes you happy, darling," he told her. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Do you want to drive?" He asked, laughing. He opened the trunk and tossed her bags into it as she climbed behind the wheel. Her nostrils tingled with the new-car smell of leather upholstery and clean machinery.
"Oh, Ben ... it's the most magnificent car I've ever seen," she squealed, hugging the wheel. He got into the bucket seat beside her, grinning broadly. "It's too bad the town isn't awake yet so they could all see it."
"Shall we wait?" He asked, chuckling.
"No ... no, let's get out of here. Now!" She turned the ignition and the powerful motor roared to life. "Let's get home as fast as we can." She threw it into reverse and backed away from the curb too quickly.
"Whoa, now!" He laughed, holding onto the bar on the dashboard. "Remember, we're still breaking it in."
She nodded happily and turned slowly down the Main Street, past all of the closed shops and the drawn window shades, toward the steep hill that led out of town.
"It's like a dream, Ben. A wonderful dream!" She exclaimed, the wind blowing her hair.
"And it's just beginning for us," Ben promised. "Just beginning."
Bellville receded behind them. They spiralled upward until they were on a high hill overlooking the town. Now it seemed like a sleepy hamlet; a cluster of old houses and tree-lined streets, empty and quiet in the glow of morning.
"What a place!" Ben observed softly. "I don't think anything has ever happened there."
"Not much," Rhoda laughed. "Not much at all." She kept her eyes on the road, exalted by the power of the little car, and she wondered if Maggie was right. Would anyone show up for the high school reunion? Or would they all be off licking their wounds and trying to patch together their lives again?
She never did learn that Bryan Cicero, who had been given a week to leave his job, was left alone that day with only a handful of old students cheerlessly trying to find a way back to youth. The reunion was a bigger failure than anyone could have predicted. But Rhoda had no way of knowing that. Nor did she care. Bellville was far behind her now and the city loomed ahead. The city and a new life with the man she had married. The man who had taken her away from Bellville forever.
