Randi Mason lay on her side, gazing quietly at the somewhat flabby man lying next to her in the bed and wondering how the most wonderful marriage in the world could have gone so sour in just one week.
Her husband reached out tentatively and touched her arm. "Randi?" he said gently.
She tried not to recoil in disgust. She knew that Timothy loved her-as, in fact, she loved him-and she didn't want to make things worse than they already were. Despite herself, though, she sighed wearily. "Yes Tim?"
"Oh come on, dear. It's been like this for a week now. We've got to snap out of this. Now try. Please Randi."
"I have been trying," she said vacantly. But she knew, or at least a part of her knew, that she wasn't trying very hard. She was vaguely aware that she was deliberately being distant to him, intentionally withholding her love in order to hurt him.
Still, she couldn't stop herself. There was a barrier between them now, and she couldn't-or wouldn't-let it down. He had wounded her too deeply.
"Please honey," he said tenderly. Unconsciously he brushed back a handful of her long brown hair, a habit which, up until a week ago, she had loved. Now it irritated her.
She brushed it away. "Don't do that."
He pulled his hand away as if from a hot stove. For a few moments he stared at her unhappily, while she gazed blankly at the ceiling. Then he reached out again and tenderly touched her warm naked body, lightly running his fingers along the slim, almost impertinently proud, neck; then down along her gently rising breasts and the stomach that was still flat even after bearing a child; then down past the rounded buttocks to the firmly-muscled thighs and calves that belonged, he had often told her, on a statue rather than a real live woman.
Randi made no response to his caresses. She lay in bed stonily, like her husband's imaginary statue, staring at the dark ceiling, thinking.
Like an ugly nightmare that wouldn't go away, the scene that had started it all, just one week ago, kept repeating itself in her mind....
He had come home troubled, and she had kissed him. Debbie, their four-year-old daughter, had kissed him too. Perfunctorily, Timothy returned his family's affection. Then, plainly preoccupied, he sat down to dinner.
"Pot roast," he said with forced cheerfulness. "My favorite."
Randi looked at him worriedly. She knew something was bothering him, but she didn't want to upset Debbie by discussing it in front of her. With a smile, she said, "Everything's your favorite, darling. I don't think you'd gripe if I served you dog food. You're the perfect husband."
Debbie beamed warmly at her parents' love for each other.
Timothy choked on a mouthful of potatoes. "Am I?" he mumbled.
Randi raised her eyebrows slightly but said nothing.
Later, after Debbie had gone to sleep, they sat down on the sofa to talk. "Well," said Randi brightly, "whatever it is, the sooner you get it off your chest the sooner you'll feel better. Come on, out with it." She took his hand and squeezed it.
He squeezed her hand in return. His eyebrows were knotted together, his forehead etched with deep furrows, too deep, Randi thought lovingly, for a man of 29. She wished briefly that he could give up his job as a salesman, a job which kept him on the road for long hours trying to peddle mattresses to furniture and department stores. But she knew he wouldn't. It paid too well, and they needed the money for the future. Besides, he'd been at it ever since their marriage five years ago, and he was about due for promotion to district manager-at which time the traveling would be over for good.
"Honey...." he began.
"Come on, Tim," she prodded.
He looked deeply into her eyes. "No matter what," he said earnestly, "I want you to know that I love you."
"I know that."
"No really," Tim said, his expression almost pained. "I really deeply love you. More than anybody I've ever loved in my life."
Randi couldn't help laughing. "If it's another woman," she joked, "she can't have you, and that's that. I won't give you up."
Tim lowered his eyes. Her cheerfulness was making it worse. "I hope you don't," he said quietly.
Slowly, as the possibility dawned on her, the smile slid away from her face. She looked intently at his face, searching, hoping that he wouldn't say what she suddenly knew he was going to.
Tim reached out and grasped her shoulders in his hands. "Honey...." he began, his voice miserable. Randi braced herself. "Honey, I've got to be honest with you. All the time we've known each other, we've always been open with each other, and if we start losing that-"
"It is another woman, isn't it?" Randi said quietly. She had always wondered how she would react if Tim ever told her something like this. Now she found herself instantly withdrawing from him, dropping a veil of blankness over her eyes so that he couldn't see inside them and know how brutally his words were affecting her.
Tim squeezed her arms tighter. "Of course it's not another woman, Randi. But-well-there was another woman once. About three weeks ago. While I was on the road. I don't even know her name."
"I see," said Randi quietly.
"Just once," Tim repeated lamely.
Randi drew back slowly, disengaging Tim's hands from her shoulders. She noticed, without emotion, that they fell hopelessly to his lap. His shoulders seemed strangely droopy and tired.
Randi was amazed at her coolness. She felt nothing, nothing at all except a calm emptiness in her stomach. She felt no sense of loss, no sense of anger. Just blankness, as if her husband were suddenly a stranger to her.
She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Are you going to see her again?"
"Of course not!" There was an expression almost of relief on Tim's face, a look of gratefulness that Randi was at least willing to talk about it.
"I don't want to interfere if you've got a good thing going, you know." Immediately after the words had come out, Randi was annoyed that they had sounded so catty. She wished she could get angry and scream at Tim, or even cry. But she felt nothing.
"Honey," insisted Tim, "I will never see this woman again in my life. I ran into her in a restaurant one evening, and, well, things just sort of developed. She kept coaxing me, you know, and I'd been away from you for almost a week...."
"I'm sorry I was unable to satisfy you," she said.
"Oh, Randi! It's not that and you know it. Anyway, this is the only time it ever happened."
"Uh-huh."
"It is. Look, have I ever lied to you? If I tell you something, it's the truth. We've always had that together."
"Well, I almost wish you hadn't told me this. I'd rather not have known." Tim's eyes were pleading. "Honey," he said, "can't you see that's just the reason I had to tell you? I felt so guilty all these weeks-and not because I'd been to bed with another woman, but because I hadn't been honest with you. The most important thing for a happy marriage is complete trust in each other. How else can you trust me unless I'm honest to you about everything-even those things which hurt?"
" She looked at him as she might look at a television set. "I don't think I'll ever trust you again," she said quietly. "As long as I live."
And that's how it was for the rest of the week. They were polite to each other, almost friendly, but the lines of communication were down. Slowly but surely they were drifting further and further apart.
Now, as they lay awkwardly in bed beside each other, with Debbie sleeping blissfully in the other bedroom, both of them knew that, unless they solved their problem soon, their marriage might just as well be considered over.
"Randi," Tim said, his hand touching her arm. "I wish I knew how to get through to you."
She sighed and said nothing. She knew him well enough to know that nothing would hurt a man of his friendly nature more than coldness.
He took her cheek in his hand and turned it so she would have to look at him. "Randi," he said. "Do you want to leave me?"
She looked into his eyes, felt a lump of emotion start towards her throat, then quickly quashed it. She shook her head slowly. "No," she said.
"What then?" Tim persisted.
She shrugged her shoulders.
Tim said, "Well, we can't go on like this."
"Why don't you find your girlfriend, then," Randi said. "I'm sure she'll give you a better reception."
Randi noticed the look of anger and impatience that flared on her husband's face. He took his hands away from her. "Maybe," he said wearily, "I will."
"Enjoy yourself," she said icily. She looked at him with a feeling of bitterness. Of course he could afford to pretend to be big about the thing. It was he, not she, who had done all the cheating. And it was she, not he, who'd been hurt by it.
Tim was annoyed now. "You're not giving me very much choice, are you?"
Randi shrugged. "Suit yourself. Maybe I'll find myself some outside entertainment too."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Why? Don't you think I could attract a man?"
"Of course. But that's no way to act."
"Why not? You did it."
"I know I did it. But just once. And I told you about it."
"Well, I'm telling you about it. So we're even."
Tim's face was getting red. "Now listen," he said, "What I did was just an accident. I was away from you for a long time, and I just couldn't help myself. Now that's no excuse, but at least it explains things. Dammit, Randi, I didn't enjoy it in the least."
Randi's eyes became even more vacant. "That's your problem, not mine."
Tim was losing patience. "Look," he said, practically snapping at her. "When are you going to snap out of this? Clara certainly wouldn't act this way."
"Clara?" Randi flared. "Why bring Clara into this? Are you seeing her too?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course not."
"Then why bring her up?" Randi felt an even greater resentment for Tim when she thought of Clara Coby, her neighbor two houses down. For Clara had what Randi considered a perfect marriage. Much like, up until a week ago, Randi's own.
"I brought her up," said Tim tightly, "because I'm sure if Robert came home and told her what I've told you she wouldn't act so silly about it. She'd understand it and then forget about it. You're making a mountain out of a molehill."
"So would Clara," Randi retorted hotly. "The only difference is, Robert would never tell her such a thing. Either he just wouldn't do it, or if he did he'd be smart enough to keep his mouth shut."
Tim gave an exasperated sigh and turned over to his own side of the bed, facing away from Randi. "Okay, think whatever you please," he said. "When you feel like talking sensibly, let me know."
"I am talking sensibly," Randi snapped. "You just don't want to listen. You want me to forgive you, so everything will be all right again. So you can go out and do it again and then come back and be forgiven again. Well, I'm sorry, but I just can't erase it that easily."
"Well, I sure can't erase it for you."
"That's true," said Randi angrily, fighting for control of herself. "But maybe somebody else can."
"Don't get any crazy ideas," warned Tim.
"They're no crazier than yours."
Tim turned back to face her. "Look," he said quietly, his normally warm and friendly eyes steely, "We've got a family here, and a child to think about. Don't ruin that. I'm telling you now. Don't ever let me hear about you doing anything with anybody but me. Understand?"
"And what if I do?" said Randi defiantly. "What will you do about it?"
Tim looked her straight in the eye. "Leave," he said.
Randi gave a short laugh. "Okay, you do that," she said.
Tim turned over again, tucked his arm under the pillow and settled down as if to sleep, refusing to even answer her.
"Yes," concluded Randi to her inanimate husband. "You go right ahead and do just that."
Then she turned over onto her own pillow and tried to calm herself. In her mind, she ran through all the men she knew with whom she could become intimate-just once-to get back at Tim. There weren't very many. Most were married to friends of hers, and she wouldn't dare make any advances to them.
But there was no question but that she had to meet somebody. Tim wouldn't ever know about it, of course, because he might just walk out on her at that. But there had to be somebody, anybody, so that she could wash away the increasing resentment she felt for Tim. So she could be friends with him again. So she could hug him and kiss him the way she always used to.
The way she wished she were able to hug and kiss him now.
Yes, she thought with conviction, there had to be somebody else. Just once.
And, as she thought about it, she felt a strange sense of anticipation, above and beyond merely getting revenge on Tim.
Maybe, she reflected, a little variety wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.
Maybe, in fact, Tim had given her an excuse which, unknown even to herself, she had been waiting for a long, long time.
CHAPTER TWO
It was sunny the next morning, and, in direct contrast to the way she felt the night before, Randi awoke feeling good and looking forward to the day ahead.
She stretched her arms luxuriously. Beside her, in the spot where Tim would normally be, was a rumpled indentation in the bedsheets. Randi smiled at her husband's skill in getting out of bed without waking her. He ought to have been a spy, he was so sneaky.
For a few moments she loved him as much as ever. He had got up at five, Randi knew, in order to get an early start towards the city two hundred miles away in which he was scheduled to work for the rest of the week. And, in his typically thoughtful way, he had got dressed quietly so as not to disturb her.
Soon, however, as the "memory"-as she now called it-returned to her, her feelings of affection became tainted with the now-familiar bitterness. She even found herself wondering if she really loved him anymore at all. Or whether she could ever really love him again.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance, soaking wet, of Debbie.
"Mommy," said Debbie, looking downcast, "I'm all wet."
"So I see," said Randi, amused despite the fact that her daughter was leaving puddles of water behind her on the floor. "How did this happen?"
"In the shower," said Debbie.
"You mean you took a shower?"
Debbie nodded, offering a small apologetic smile.
"With all your clothes on?" inquired Randi, deliberately overdoing her astonishment.
"I was just playing," Debbie explained. "All of a sudden the water came on. I didn't know which way to turn the handle to stop it."
Randi laughed understandingly. "Well, honey, I guess it's about time I showed you how it works. But first, let's get out of these clothes before you catch a cold."
Randi busied herself for the next hour with her daughter-changing her, feeding her and straightening out her room. Then, at about ten o'clock, she informed Debbie that it was time to get ready to go marketing with her. Excitedly, Debbie ran to the closet to get the folding wire shopping cart. She rolled it to the door and waited for her mother.
"All set?" asked Randi.
"Yes," said Debbie.
"You sure you haven't forgotten anything, now?"
Debbie shook her head. Then she opened her mouth wide and clapped her hand over it. "Oooo," she squealed. "Daddy left a note for you."
"Did you see Daddy this morning?"
Debbie nodded. "He told me I should give it to you." She raced back into her room, rummaged through her toys and, moments later, emerged with a wrinkled piece of note paper.
Randi took it and read it. It said simply: "Please stop fighting with me. I love you. Tim." She swallowed, crumpled the note in her fist and dropped it in a wastebasket.
"What does it say, Mommy?" Debbie asked.
"It says tell Debbie to behave herself," Randi ad-libbed quickly. "And he says he loves you."
Debbie grinned with pleasure. "I love Daddy, too, Mommy. And you too." She put her arms around her mother's thighs and hugged her.
Randi tossled her blonde hair affectionately. "Come on, Debbie," she said. "Let's hurry before the store gets too crowded."
Inside the supermarket, Randi attached her own shopping cart to the bottom of the store's cart. She lifted Debbie and placed her inside the wagon. Then she began walking up and down the aisles.
"Mommy, let me pick the food," Debbie whined, as Randi began selecting items from the shelves and placing them in the cart.
"All right. But be careful. Just take one thing at a time."
She pushed the cart close to a shelf and told Debbie to take off three cans of corn, one at a time. "See the picture on the front?" Randi said. "That's how you know it's corn." Debbie was delighted.
At the asparagus, however, she fumbled. The can slipped out of her grip, and, as she lunged to prop it back up, she knocked all the other cans off balance.
Instinctively, Randi jerked the cart back so that Debbie wouldn't be hit by the falling cans. But in doing so she bumped into another shopper, and she felt a strong pair of hands on her shoulders.
She looked around-into the smiling, red-bearded face of a tall young man.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "My daughter-" She gestured towards Debbie, who was now trying to climb out of the cart to pick up the cans from the floor.
"I understand," said the smiling face. "I almost had a daughter myself." He grinned at the questioning look on Randi's face. "Nothing more than a close call, though." He left his own cart, bent down and began picking up cans of asparagus and restacking them on the shelf.
Randi watched him as he worked. He was wearing a white, close-fitting, knitted T-shirt, a light blue pair of chinos and sneakers. He moved with the grace of an athlete, and, when he reached out an arm to place a can on the shelf, Randi could see the thick muscles in his shoulders stand out like the sinewy illustrations of muscles in medical textbooks.
He replaced the final can, stood up and smiled at Randi. "Why asparagus?" he asked humorously. "Does she have any special preference?"
Randi laughed. "No, in fact she hates asparagus."
"Maybe that explains it then. She's trying to tell you something."
Debbie looked up at her mother. "Who's that, Mommy?" she asked.
Randi looked at the friendly, muscular man, smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she conceded.
"Warren," said the man, thrusting out his hand. "Warren Church."
Randi took his hand and shook it. There was a warmth to it, a certain meaningful pressure that said just a little more than hello. "Randi Mason," she said.
"Pleased to meet you," said Warren. "And the young lady who hates asparagus?"
"That's my daughter Debbie," said Randi with a laugh. "Debbie, this is Mr. Church."
"Hello, Debbie," said Warren in the deep voice that Randi was beginning to find extremely attractive. He held out his hand and Debbie, delightedly, took it.
"Hello, Mr. Church," she replied, impishly shaking his hand more violently than was necessary.
Warren put on an expression of severe pain. "Oww!" he wailed, trying to withdraw his hand from Debbie's grasp.
"Does it hurt?"
"You bet it does," Warren winced.
Satisfied, Debbie gave his hand one more powerful squeeze and then let him go.
"Wow," said Warren, shaking his hand as if it had been permanently mauled out of shape. "You sure are strong."
Debbie beamed.
"Come on, Debbie," said Randi mildly. "Behave yourself." She said to Warren, "Thank you very much for helping us. I really appreciate it."
"No trouble at all," said Warren. "Asparagus just happens to be my specialty. Of course, that is not to say that I'm totally ineffective when it comes to something like, oh, say, string beans...."
Randi laughed. "You know," she said, "it seems as if I've seen you before. Do you come in here often?"
"About once a week," he said. He got behind his own cart and began walking slowly along the aisle with it. Randi followed. "I've only been here in Bell Harbour for about a month, though. I'm renting the Berman house on Shattuck Drive for the summer. Do you know where that is?"
"Oh sure," said Randi. "That's just about two and a half blocks from where I live. We're on Morton Street."
"You and your husband, that is," Warren clarified. It was said subtly, but Randi knew that he wanted the information because he was interested in her.
"Yes," she answered. Then, less subtly than she would have liked, she added, "Tim's away a lot, though. He's a salesman."
"Oh?" said Warren. Randi noticed that a spark of extra interest had suddenly appeared in his eyes. "What does he sell?"
"Mattresses," said Randi with a laugh. "He sells to furniture stores and places like that."
"He must be quite an expert on mattresses," remarked Warren, pointedly enough so that Randi could tell exactly what information he was searching for.
Carefully, she gave him the answer. "Nobody knows everything," she said, just a hint of dryness in her voice.
"I see," said Warren. "Well, live and learn."
"Yes," responded Randi. She knew that Warren had got the message, and she was glad about it. She was enjoying flirting with him in this manner and was pleased that he was as attracted to her as she was to him. Nevertheless, she didn't want things to get out of hand too soon. Abruptly leaving the subject of her husband, she asked, "What do you do?"
"Paint," said Warren, plucking a package of noodles from a shelf. "I'm a painter."
"Houses?" asked Randi. Somehow, with his crew-cutted hair and reddish beard he didn't look as though he painted houses.
"No, pictures," he said. "I'm an artist. In fact, one of the main reasons I picked Bell Harbour this summer is that it's right near the ocean. And right now I'm painting a lot of beach scenes."
"That's marvelous," said Randi. "Then you're a serious painter, right? I mean, you don't do it for a living or anything."
"Well, a little of both," said Warren with an indulgent smile. "All winter I do magazine and book illustrations, and then when summer comes around I go away someplace, rent a house for a few months and work on my serious stuff."
"Gosh," said Randi. "That's really wonderful. I mean, to be able to take off a whole summer and just paint."
"It sure is," said Warren. "How about you, though. Do you paint?"
"Oh, just a little," Randi lied quickly. "A dab here, a dab there."
"I'd like to see some of your paintings sometime. I'll bet they're really good."
Randi lowered her eyes modestly. "Really, they're nothing," she said. "Just amateur things. Compared to professional stuff like yours I'm sure they'd look like something drawn in a kindergarten class."
"Now, don't put yourself down. My paintings looked like that too at one time."
"Sure," said Randi, grinning. "In kindergarten."
Warren laughed deeply. "You're just being modest," he said. Then, as if it were the most innocent suggestion in the world and as if, moreover, the idea had just occurred to him, he said, "Say, how would you like to come over and see some of my work sometime?"
Randi's eyes lit up spontaneously. "Yes, I'd love to."
"Great," said Warren. He paused. "What about today? In fact, how about right now after we're finished shopping?"
"Okay," said Randi. "You're sure you're not too busy?"
"Of course not. My time is my own. I make my own hours."
Randi turned to her daughter, who had lost interest in the conversation and was rocking back and forth in the cart. "Debbie," she said, "how would you like to visit Mr. Church's house and see the pictures he's painted."
Debbie nodded her head eagerly.
"Okay," said Randi. "We'll be glad to come over."
"Done," said Warren.
Warren Church's house, Randi discovered, looked just about the way she would have expected an artist's house to look. Canvasses of varying sizes were propped against walls and chairs. In the living room were two large easels and a large table that held about a dozen paintbrushes and a palette on which were smeared countless, multi-colored dabs of paint.
Randi wasn't acquainted with the Berman family, from whom Warren had rented the house, but she felt certain that the house hadn't looked quite this way when they'd left.
"You sure have a lot of paintings," Randi said.
"Yes," said Warren. "I work on three or four at a time."
"They're all beach scenes."
"Yes," said Warren with a modest laugh. "Picasso had his blue and pink periods, and so do I. Only mine aren't blue and pink. They're sand and water."
Randi smiled. "They're very nice." She turned suddenly to Debbie. "Debbie," she said sharply, "don't touch those pictures."
Debbie drew her hand back. There was a smudge of orange on two fingertips.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Randi.
"That's all right," said Warren. "In fact," he added, eyeing the painting critically, "I think she's made it just a bit better. Thank you, Debbie."
Warren walked into the kitchen and began placing his groceries in the refrigerator. He called into the living room, "Randi, if you want, you can put your frozen food here until you go home so it doesn't thaw out."
"Thanks," said Randi. "But we can't stay very long anyway. Debbie has to take her nap at twelve."
"Okay," said Warren. He came back into the living room and gave Randi a look almost of ownership. "How old are you?" he asked.
Randi looked surprised for a moment. Then she said coyly, "You aren't supposed to ask a woman her age."
Warren smiled. "I'm asking," he said.
Randi hesitated for just a moment. "Twenty-five," she answered honestly.
"You look younger," said Warren warmly. "That's a compliment."
"Thanks," said Randi. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven."
"You look older," she said with a grin. "And that's a compliment."
They laughed together, and then Warren began showing her his paintings in detail, pointing out techniques he used to achieve certain effects, showing her different brush strokes and explaining how different mixing techniques resulted in different textures of paint. After awhile Warren said, "I guess I've lectured enough for one morning."
"Not at all," said Randi. "It's fascinating. But actually I guess I ought to be getting on home with Debbie anyway. If she misses her nap she's cranky and impossible for the rest of the day."
"Okay," said Warren. "And when you're free sometime I'll take a look at your paintings."
Randi smiled. "Tomorrow?" she asked.
"Fine," said Warren, looking at her evenly with incredibly sexy eyes. "What time did you say Debbie takes her nap?"
"At twelve," said Randi.
"Twelve it is, then." He paused. Then, "And Tim?"
"He's away," said Randi.
"Excellent," said Warren. There wasn't the slightest hint of a leer in his voice, yet his intentions were plain. Randi felt herself flushing with anticipation and excitement.
"Goodby," she said softly, looking him lingeringly in the eyes. "Come on, Debbie. Let's go."
She left the house, walked to the sidewalk and then turned to wave to Warren. Then, with Debbie pulling the shopping cart, she began walking home, tingling as she had never tingled since she was a teenager.
She was about to have an affair-and she could hardly wait.
CHAPTER THREE
The following morning was a frantic one for Randi. From the moment she awoke there wasn't a moment during which she could relax.
First, of course, there was Debbie to be taken care of. Then, once she had her daughter bathed, clothed and fed, Randi hurried with her down to the shopping center to pick up some art supplies. By the time she got back to her house, it was nearly twelve.
"Let's go, Debbie," she said, watching the clock nervously. "Time for your nap."
"Oh Mommy!" Debbie pouted. "Can't I stay up and help you paint pictures?"
"Absolutely not," said Randi firmly. "Later this afternoon when you wake up we can paint."
"Aww, I want to paint now."
Randi raised a warning hand. "Do what I say, Debbie. If you don't go to sleep right now like a good girl, I won't let you paint at all. Now come on, in you go."
Reluctantly, but obediently, Debbie climbed into bed, fastened around a stuffed giraffe and relaxed. Within a few minutes, thumb in mouth, she was sound asleep.
Randi, meanwhile, was busily setting things up in the living room so that it would appear as though she were a real honest-to-goodness painter. She propped the canvass she had bought up on the piano bench, and laid her other materials down beside it-fresh paintbrushes, a box of oil paints, a can of linseed oil. Then she opened another paper bag, took out a brand-new white smock and tied it around her.
She surveyed the arrangement for a few moments. Finally, satisfied that it would pass, she squeezed a few globs of paint onto a wooden palette, mixed them together and began slapping them onto the canvass with one of the brushes. It didn't matter how, she reflected with some amusement. These days anything could pass as art. In fact, the crazier, the better.
As an afterthought, she smeared some of the paint on her smock. Then she was ready-and not a moment too soon. There was a soft knock at the door, and Randi put down her brush, smoothed back her hair with her clean forearm and went to answer it.
"Hi," said Warren quietly. He gave her a big smile and stepped into the house, holding out a thin, flat package for her. "Brought you a little present," he said.
"Oh, you shouldn't have," said Randi, beaming. "What is it?"
"Open it."
Randi tore open the wrapping and found a book inside. It was titled: "Figure Painting," and the author was Warren Church.
"It's by you!" she gasped.
"Uh-huh. I do about one of these a year. I think this one is my best."
Randi invited Warren to sit down, meanwhile thumbing through the book. "These pictures are marvelous," she said. "Where'd you ever learn to draw so well?"
Warren shrugged. "I don't know. Just practice, I suppose. I've been drawing ever since I can remember. Got tossed out of my sixth grade class once for drawing a picture of my teacher without any clothes on. My mother had to come down before they'd let me back in."
Randi chuckled. "Can I offer you some coffee?" she asked. "Or milk. Or linseed oil. I don't know, what do artists drink?"
"This one drinks plain old booze," said Warren. "What have you got?"
"Just about everything. Rye, Bourbon, Scotch, Gin-"
"Gin will be fine."
"Okay." Randi went to the bar in the corner and began preparing two drinks.
"How come such a selection?" Warren asked. "You two drink a lot?"
"Very little actually," said Randi. She found Warren's directness refreshing. "We just keep it on hand for company."
Warren chuckled at the irony of that. "I see," he said.
"Do you drink a lot?" asked Randi.
"Uh-huh," said Warren. "A lot and often."
"How come?"
"Tastes good. Also, it gets you drunk. What other brand can make that claim?"
Randi shook her head somewhat affectionately. "You'll be an alcoholic before you know it."
"Oh, I'll know it," said Warren. "I can hardly wait."
Randi brought over the glasses and handed one to Warren. She lifted hers in a toast. "Here's to ... what?"
"To art," said Warren.
"Fine," said Randi. "To Art."
"May he rest in peace," added Warren. Then he lifted his glass to his lips and downed its entire contents before Randi had barely swallowed a sip.
"Ah," he said. "Good gin."
Randi wrinkled her nose at Warren's ability to belt down liquor. "Wow," she breathed softly. She found herself becoming increasingly attracted to him. There was something rugged and carefree about him that made her want to succumb to him and mother him at the same time. He reminded her of a defiant little urchin with just enough polish to make him attractive.
"Got some more?" Warren asked. "Sure," said Randi.
"Just one," Warren added quickly. "Don't worry, I don't intend to get plastered on you."
With an inward sigh of relief, Randi got up and fixed Warren another drink. "Do you do anything else besides paint?" she asked him.
"I study judo," Warren said.
"Judo? You mean flipping people around, and like that?"
"Uh-huh. It's a sport, you know."
"Are you good at it?"
"Just made black belt last year," said Warren. "What does that mean?"
"Expert. Black belt in any of the martial arts-whether it's judo or karate or aikido-means expert."
"I'll bet you can take care of yourself real good. I ought to study judo myself. A woman needs to be able to protect herself, don't you think?"
"Oh, definitely. I think everybody should know it."
"Can you teach me a few things?"
Warren laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised." Then he paused for comic effect before continuing. "Oh, you mean about judo. Why certainly. Here, stand up and I'll show you a few things right now."
They both put their glasses down and faced each other in the middle of the living room. "The first thing to do," said Warren gravely, "is to remove that silly smock. It's full of fresh paint."
Randi looked slightly embarrased as she began untying the strings that held it around her. "I always paint with a smock," she said.
Warren laughed, but in such a way as to put her at ease. "No you don't," he said. "I've been painting long enough to know the difference between a smock that's gotten paint on it over a period of time and one that's been deliberately painted with a paintbrush less than an hour ago."
Randi blushed deeply.
"It doesn't matter, though," Warren said hastily. "You did a fine job of painting it. You've clearly got talent."
Randi grinned sheepishly. "I didn't think it would be so obvious. I guess you know I just bought all this stuff this morning."
Warren nodded. "So what, though. As long as you've got it, you might as well learn to use it. I'll teach you if you like."
"Okay," said Randi, grateful that he wasn't going to make her wallow in her embarrassment. "But what about the judo?"
"Oh yes." Warren reached out and took her hands in his own, placing them on his white T-shirt in the proper places, one hand grasping the shirt where the lapel would be, the other gripping his sleeve. He gripped Randi in the same way. "This is the basic stance," he explained.
"Now what?" asked Randi.
"This," said Warren. There was a blur of activity, and the next thing Randi knew Warren had gracefully disappeared beneath her someplace and she was flying over his back. Her feet landed on the ground, her upper body supported by Warren's sure grasp.
"Wow!" she exclaimed after she had oriented herself and was standing up again. "What was that?" She leaned one arm against his chest for support.
"Ippon seonage," said Warren. "That means over-the-shoulder throw."
"Gee, you did that beautifully."
"Thank you. Want to see something else?"
"Okay. Take it easy, though."
Warren gripped her again, and seconds later his body had dropped away and Randi felt her body being turned and tripped backwards over Warren's now-outstretched leg. He whisked her up just before her body would have hit the floor.
Then she felt his arms around her and her lips being pressed against his. Almost before the dizziness of the throw had worn off a new dizziness surged in to take its place. She hung limply in his arms for a few seconds. Then she kissed him back and her arms crawled slowly around his massive chest to his back.
Warren drew back and smiled at her, still holding her. "Hello, Randi," he said.
"Hi Warren," she answered softly. He reached down and picked her up off the floor, cradling her in his arms like a baby. She laid one of her arms around his neck and smiled into his face. "Cave man, huh?" she said.
Warren nodded. He carried her over to a couch and stood above it, still holding her. "Here?" he asked. "The bedroom's more comfortable," she said. "So it is," said Warren. He carried her through the door into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. Then he went back, softly closed the door and pressed in the little button that locked it.
"I've never done anything like this before," Randi said as Warren returned to her.
"Oh? Then how do you account for the young lady in the next room?"
Randi smiled. "I mean, with anybody other than Tim."
"Well, variety's the spice of life they say."
"Who's they?"
"The board of directors on the National Spice of Life Committee."
Randi giggled. "You're pretty funny."
"Thank you." Warren lay down on the bed beside her and drew her towards him. "As for you, you're pretty pretty."
"Thank you" she said. Then she was lost in a rising tide of excitement as Warren's hands began running up and down her body, caressing her thin housedress as if it was nothing but her bare skin.
Within moments it was just that. Warren finished peeling the dress down around her legs and then began undressing himself as she lay naked, waiting for him.
She felt herself trembling with excitement and desire as she watched his great muscular body emerge from his clothing. He was tanned and powerful looking, and yet there was a gentleness about his movements that made her unafraid of him.
He ran his hands around her breasts, plainly delighting in their firmness. He touched the scarlet tips of her nipples. Randi felt them respond by growing hard and sensitive.
"Warren," she said softly, running her hands over his body. She felt like a little girl being taught all sorts of wondrous things by the greatest instructor in the world. She felt herself melting.
Gradually, like music rising to a crescendo, their movements became swifter, until they were in a blind oblivion.
"Oh no," said Randi as Warren carried her up to the peak of excitement. "Oh no."
"Yes, Randi," she barely heard him grunt. And then there was a last grand finale of movement, and both of them relaxed, breathing hard.
They lay together silently for a few minutes. Finally Warren, hopped out of bed and grinned at Randi. "Got some more gin?" he asked.
Randi smiled. "Of course. Warren?"
"Yes?"
"You were wonderful. You really were."
"Ditto for you," said Warren. "I take it we'll be seeing each other again."
"Do you want to? "
"Of course I do."
Randi hesitated for a moment. "I want to...." she said, trailing off. "Well?"
"I don't want anybody to find out."
"Don't worry about that," said Warren. "I'm very discreet. Not a word to a soul. Although," he added mischievously, "I might just decide to paint a picture of you when I get home-from memory."
"Don't you dare!" said Randi.
Warren laughed boisterously, quickly toning it down so as not to disturb Debbie. "I won't make any promises," he said.
"You better not," she said, smiling. She got up from the bed, slipped into her housedress and went into the living room. There she prepared a final glass of gin for Warren.
"Aren't you having any?" he asked.
Randi shook her head. "No, Debbie will be waking up soon, and I don't want her thinking her mother is a lush."
"In that case," said Warren, downing the gin in one swallow, "I'd better scram. When would you like to get together again?"
Randi thought for a second. "Tomorrow? Same time?"
"Fine," said Warren. "And here. Let me give you my phone number in case you want to reach me at some other time." He scribbled down his number on a piece of paper and handed it to her.
"Thanks," she said.
"Goodby," he said. He kissed her warmly.
Moments later he was gone, and Randi was standing in the middle of a messy living room, still tingling with his memory.
CHAPTER FOUR
At four o'clock that same afternoon, Randi finished giving Debbie her afternoon snack and took her outside for a walk. Inevitably, perhaps, her course took her in the direction of Warren's house.
"Isn't that where we were yesterday, Mommy?" piped Debbie as they approached from a distance.
"Yes, Debbie. That's where Mr. Church lives."
"I Eke Mr. Church."
"So do I," said Randi with a trace of smile, the significance of which she was certain Debbie wouldn't fathom.
"Are we going to go there again sometime?"
"Maybe, honey. I don't know."
"Will he let me paint?"
"I think so. If you're a good girl."
"I will be." She dropped her mother's hand and began running her hand along a picket fence as they walked. Then she rejoined her mother. "How come Mr. Church has hair on his face?"
"That's his beard, dear."
"How come Daddy doesn't have one?"
"Why don't you ask him? Maybe he'll grow one for you."
"I bet it tickles when you kiss him."
Randi started for a moment, then realized that Debbie was referring to her father rather than Warren. She relaxed. "I bet it does," she said softly.
Suddenly Randi stopped short, bringing Debbie to an abrupt stop also.
"What's the matter, Mommy?" Debbie said, looking up.
"Nothing, dear," Randi replied distractedly. She was looking through narrowed eyes at Warren's house about half a block away.
A woman was walking up the driveway.
Randi stared silently, holding onto Debbie's hand. Debbie followed her mother's gaze and realized she was watching the woman.
"Who's that, Mommy?"
"I don't know," said Randi.
"How come she's going into Mr. Church's house?"
"I don't know."
Her eyes squinted, Randi tried to make out who the woman was. But she was too far away. Within a few seconds the door opened, the woman passed inside the house and the door snapped shut.
"Can we go to visit Mr. Church noiv?" asked Debbie.
"No, dear," said Randi. "Mr. Church has company. We'll visit him some other time."
She found herself controlling her voice with difficulty, and yet she knew she had no right to be upset. After all, she was nothing to Warren. And he was nothing to her. If he had used her for his momentary enjoyment, so, too, had she used him for the same purpose. She had no hold on him, and, what's more, she didn't want any, for it could only lead to trouble.
Her abrupt jealousy, Randi realized, was based on nothing more substantial than the fact that her pride was a bit injured. It just didn't seem right, somehow, for Warren to be consorting with another woman only hours after he had left Randi.
She took a long slow breath and turned around. "Come on, Debbie," she said, more calmly now. "Let's go on home and get started on supper."
"Can I help, Mommy?" Debbie asked eagerly.
"Of course, dear," said Randi, smiling and resting her arm affectionately on Debbie's shoulder.
Now that the initial shock had worn off, she felt better. Perhaps, she thought optimistically, the woman was nothing but a friend of Warren's. Or a model. After all, he was an artist.
Reasonably certain, now, that that was the explanation, she went back to her house, made dinner for herself and Debbie, and, at eight o'clock, put Debbie to sleep for the night.
At 8:30 Clara Coby came over.
"Randi?" she called tentatively, knocking softly on the window of the back door.
Randi, who had been sitting in the living room watching television, got up and answered the door. Her face lit up happily when she saw who it was.
"Come in," she said brightly, opening the door.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," said Clara.
"Not at all," said Randi. "Tim's not home and I just got Debbie off to bed. I could use some company."
"That's what I figured," said Clara. She walked into the living room and sat down in a soft armchair. She picked a sourball from a tray of candy, brought it halfway to her mouth, then thought better of the idea and placed it back in the tray. "Got to watch my figure," she explained.
"You?" said Randi. "Since when have you got anything to worry about?" Indeed, Clara's figure was about as perfect as could be. Any more curves and she'd have looked more like an hourglass than a human being.
"Well, so far I haven't. But that's because I constantly watch my calories. If I didn't, I'd put on 20 pounds in no time."
"You'd still look fine," said Randi. She liked her neighbor very much and, in the two years since the Cobys had moved in down the block, had developed a close friendship with both Clara and her husband.
"Sure I'd look fine," said Clara drily. "As a middle-aged den mother."
"Do you think Robert would leave you if you got fat?" Randi asked teasingly.
"No," said Clara. "He'd throw me out. He'd say I cost too much to feed, and out I'd go."
Randi laughed. "Tim too. He can't stand heavy women."
"By the way, how is Tim?" Clara asked. "We haven't seen him since last week. When was it we played cards together? Last Wednesday?"
Randi nodded. "He's out in Piatt this week. Selling."
Clara shook her head. "Must be awful with him away all week."
"It isn't pleasant. But it won't be for too much longer. He ought to make district manager any month now."
Clara looked closely at Randi, apparently spotting something unusual in her tone of voice. "Not meaning to pry," she said in the direct way Randi had come to admire in her, "but is everything all right between you andTim?"
"Sure," said Randi quickly. She hoped it didn't sound defensive. "What makes you ask?"
Clara brushed back a handful of long black hair that had fallen over her face. "I don't know. Things seemed a bit strained between you the other night when you were over."
Randi forced a smile onto her face. "Maybe Tim was tired. He's been working hard."
"It seemed as tough it was you who were more aggravated than him," Clara persisted. "You seemed, annoyed at him for something."
Randi lowered her eyes to the carpet and was silent for a few seconds.
"You two have a fight?"
Randi nodded hesitantly.
Clara shook her head in amazement. "Must have been a big one. I have a feeling it's still going on."
Randi looked up at her friend. "It is," she said in a subdued voice.
Clara put an angry expression on her face. "Well, why didn't you talk to me about it sooner?"
"I didn't want anybody to know."
"That you had a fight? Why not? Every married couple has fights."
"Not for the same reason we did."
Clara's dark eyes lighted up with sudden understanding. "Has he been seeing somebody else?" she asked perceptively.
Randi looked at her carefully. "You promise to keep this to yourself?"
"Swear on my mother and father's life."
"Okay," said Randi. She took a deep breath. "Yes he has."
"How do you know?"
"He told me."
"He told you?" Clara exclaimed.
Randi nodded in shame. "He said he went to bed with some woman he met while traveling. He claims that he only saw her once."
"Do you believe him?"
Randi thought for a moment. "Yes," she sighed. "I do, kind of."
"But you're still bugged at him, right?"
"I can't help it," Randi said. "I wish I could just say, okay, it happened and let it go at that. But it keeps bothering me. I can't get rid of this resentment I feel."
"Well, it's certainly justified," said Clara. "Anybody would feel bitter about such a thing."
"I know that," said Randi. "As a matter-of-fact, even Tim realizes it. I must admit that he's been just wonderful to me ever since he told me about it. He's trying so hard to make up, the poor man. But I just can't seem to let him. I'm not really being very fair to him."
"Well, perhaps not," said Clara thoughtfully. "And you're not being very fair to yourself either. Or to Debbie."
"I don't know what to do. I was thinking of...." She let the sentence hang in mid-air. "Thinking of what?" said Clara. "Well ... not a word about this, remember?"
"Cross my heart."
"I was thinking of having an affair with somebody."
"Who?"
Randi shrugged. "I don't know. Anybody. Just so I'd feel sort of even with Tim. Then I wouldn't have to act this way."
"No," said Clara flatly.
"No what?"
"Don't do it," said Clara. "Believe me, it will only make things worse." t
"Things couldn't get any worse."
"They most certainly could," said Clara. "And take my word for it, they will if you start playing games like this. You haven't done anything yet, have you?"
Randi shook her head. "No," she lied. "I was just considering the idea."
"Well, consider it vetoed. Look, Randi, all something like this will bring you is trouble. Because when Tim finds out-" She stopped and looked at Randi questioningly. "Did you plan to tell him?"
Randi looked undecided. "I don't know."
"Well, anyway, whether you tell him or he finds out by accident, the chances are he's going to know about it sooner or later. And when he does, he's going to be just as jealous and hurt as you are now."
"What right would he have?" said Randi angrily. "What's fair for him is fair for me."
"Sure. But men don't think that way. They have as much silly pride as we do. Probably more. I can tell you what his reaction would be right now-he'd try to retaliate at you by finding somebody else. And before you knew it, your marriage would be finished."
Randi shook her head sadly. "I know," she said. "I know."
"Try to force yourself to forget about it," said Clara. "I know it's going to be hard, but it's what you've got to do to make your marriage 'happy' again."
"You think there's a chance?"
"Sure there is. Especially since it's you who are holding back right now. Believe me, if you can forgive Tim-and I mean really forgive him-he'll love you for it more than you can possibly imagine."
Randi thought about it for a few moments. "I guess I ought to take a crack at it," she said at last.
"Absolutely."
Randi felt her mood brightening. She smiled. "I'll do it!" she said with conviction. "I must have been crazy to even think of being unfaithful to Tim."
"You sure were. Robert and I realized right at the beginning of our marriage that infidelity was the surest way to destroy a relationship. So we made sort of a pact, above and beyond the marriage vows, that we would never be unfaithful to each other-no matter how enticing somebody else might be, or no matter how mad we might be with each other at the moment."
"I wish we had the same kind of marriage you do," Randi said a bit wistfully.
Clara took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "You do," she said emphatically. "You may not realize it right at this time, but you really do. So don't ruin it."
Randi smiled. "I won't."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart," said Randi, mimicking Clara's expression.
"Fine. I'll hold you to that. Now-how about some gin rummy?"
"Great," said Randi.
Cards were brought out, and, for the next two hours, they played and talked and smoked and drank iced tea. By eleven they had had enough.
"I guess I better be getting on home," said Clara. "Robert ought to be back from bowling about now."
"Okay," said Randi. "I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe I'll drop over in the morning with Debbie, and we'll take the kids out to the beach." As she said it, she remembered that she had a date with Warren-but she immediately decided to break it. Clara's friendly lecture had cheered her up enough that she didn't need Warren anymore. Attractive or not, she suddenly preferred Tim-and she found herself wishing desperately that he were with her.
The phone rang, and Randi answered it.
Her eyes lit up as she realized who it was. "Hi Tim!" she exclaimed happily.
Clara waved goodby and let herself out of the door, shutting it after herself.
"Where are you, Tim?" asked Randi warmly.
The familiar voice was apologetic. "I'm still in Piatt, honey," he said. "And I've got some bad news."
"What?"
"I couldn't see as many people as I had planned-everybody seems to be sick or on vacation or something. So I'm going to have to stay here for a couple of more days than I'd planned."
"Oh." The disappointment in Randi's voice was plainly evident.
"I'm really sorry, Randi. Do you mind very much?"
"It's okay," said Randi a little dully. "I miss you, but I guess you have no choice."
She could hear the grateful smile in Tim's voice. "I knew you'd understand, honey."
"Sure," said Randi, feeling herself growing slightly cold to him again, feeling her enthusiasm for making up with Tim sliding away from her. "Sure, I always understand."
"Oh come on, honey," said Tim, recognizing the tone in her voice. "It's just a couple of more days. By the way, did you get my note yesterday morning?"
"Yes," said Randi. "I got it."
"Well?"
"Well what?" said Randi. Her voice was flat. Try as she would, she couldn't change it.
"Well, can't we stop fighting?"
"Yes, Tim, we can." She felt an uncontrollable urge to get off the phone. "Tim, I'll see you in a few days-okay? Take care and work hard. I'll be thinking of you."
There was silence for a few seconds. "Okay," said Tim finally. "I'll see you." He paused again. "I miss you, Randi."
"Thank you, Tim," she said automatically. "I miss you too."
"Goodby, dear."
"Goodby."
She hung up the phone. Then she went over to the couch and sat down. She felt somewhat in a daze. The bitterness was welling up inside her again. If Tim was really staying a couple of days later on business, that was all right, she reflected. But she was sure that the business he was up to had little to do with mattresses-or at least little to do with selling them. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that he was seeing another woman.
"That rat," she said softly. "And just when I was finally ready to make up and forgive him. What a damn fool I almost made of myself."
Angrily she thought of how she was being taken advantage of. And then she thought of Warren, and she grew even angrier as she realized how he had taken advantage of her too. It suddenly dawned on her that the woman she had seen going into his house that afternoon couldn't have been a model-because Warren had plainly told her that he was painting only beach scenes.
For a few minutes she hated them both.
Then she was overcome with a powerful feeling of loneliness. She had to see someone, anyone. She couldn't stand to be alone tonight-alone and unloved.
Grimly, and with a certain sense of satisfaction that she was getting revenge on Tim, she searched for Warren's number, found it and picked up the phone.
As she dialed his number, she felt no real desire to see him. She only wanted to have somebody to talk to.
Then he answered the phone in his deep, resounding voice.
And suddenly the memory of how he had been in bed with her that afternoon came pouring back to her, and she felt an overwhelming desire to make love to him again.
In but an instant her mood had changed from one of profound dislike for Warren to one of longing for him. She felt sexy and excited.
"Hello," she said in a sultry voice. "It's Randi."
"Hi Randi," he said. "What's up."
"Me," she said frankly.
And fifteen minutes later Warren was knocking at her door, and Randi, very quietly, was letting him in.
CHAPTER FIVE
He was wearing a T-shirt again. But this time, instead of slacks, he had on Bermuda shorts. He looked, Randi thought with anticipation, absolutely delicious.
"Hi kid," he said. He held out his hand to shake hands with her, and, when she took it, he pulled her into him and kissed her lingeringly.
"Hi," she smiled when he let her go.
"How's little Miss Asparagus?" he asked with a grin.
"Sleeping," said Randi.
"Fine," said Warren. "Listen, I have an idea."
"Shoot."
"No, I'm afraid that's taboo. However, here's my plan. Have you got a couple of towels?"
"Sure," said Randi. "Why, do you want to take a shower?"
Warren laughed. "No, but you're close. What I had in mind was a little moonlight swimming."
"Swimming? You mean at the beach?"
"Uh-huh."
"Oh, I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Well, what am I going to do with Debbie?"
"Why do you have to do anything with her? She's sleeping, isn't she?"
"Yes, of course. But I can't just go off and leave her. What if she wakes up and needs something?"
"Does she wake up often during the night?"
"No...." Randi admitted slowly.
"Fine. Then you have nothing to worry about."
"I really shouldn't...."
"We won't be gone long. Maybe an hour at the most. And it's a beautiful night."
"It is, isn't it," agreed Randi. She smiled and gave in.
Quietly she began getting herself ready. "I guess I won't need suntan lotion, will I?" she joked.
"Nor a bathing suit," added Warren.
"You mean we're going to swim-"
"Uh-huh."
"But what if somebody sees us?"
"Nobody's down there at night. Especially at this hour, and especially at the place we're going to. It's real secluded."
"But," Randi persisted, "somebody just might be there, right? I mean, what will we do then?"
"Stand up and take a bow," said Warren. "Now come on, let's get going before the ocean dries up and we can't go swimming at all."
The sand felt cool under Randi's feet, spilling pleasantly between her toes as she walked along barefoot, her arm hooked through Warren's.
"I like this," she said, happy as a child. "I never realized how beautiful the ocean could look at night."
"Yes, it is beautiful," he said.
"Have you painted it this way?"
"I've tried," he said seriously. "Haven't quite gotten what I want, though. That silvery glistening quality that the moon gives to the water is very hard to capture. I'm still working on it."
"You must be very happy in your work."
"I am. There's no boredom to it, because you're always learning, always trying new things. No matter how good you get, there are always new things to try, new worlds to conquer. I think I'm happiest of all being a painter."
"I'm glad," said Randi. "Not many people are happy in what they do."
"Is your husband happy?"
Randi shook her head. "Not really. I mean, who can get all excited over mattresses, anyway!"
Warren grasped her arm tighter with his own. "Oh, they have their uses."
Randi laughed. Then she got momentarily serious. "I do wish Tim had something he liked better. The only reason he sticks with this is for me and Debbie."
"He's quite a nice guy then, isn't he," said Warren.
"Yes," said Randi, "he is. Or at least," she added dryly, "he was."
Warren put his arm around Randi's shoulder. "Meaning?"
"Meaning he's gotten tired of his family lately," said Randi with a trace of bitterness. "Another woman?" Randi nodded.
"And so you're getting back at him now through me, is that right?" said Warren.
"You might say that."
"I just did," said Warren with a grin.
Randi put her arm around his waist. "So you did," she said affectionately. "So you did."
"Well, I'm flattered," said Warren.
"Warren?" said Randi.
"Yes?"
"Where are you taking me?"
Warren pointed to a rise of cliffs about a quarter of a mile in the distance. "To a special spot I know of," he said. "It's very beautiful and it's very secluded."
Randi smiled. "I hope it won't take us too long to get there."
"Five minutes," said Warren.
"This is exciting, you know that? I mean, I've never done this before." She playfully kicked at a mound of sand. "Do you go swimming here often at night?"
"Yes," said Warren. "It gives me a chance to think. There's something about the ocean-its vastness or rhythm or maybe a combination of lots of things-that always gives me a fresh perspective on life. It's very refreshing."
"What do you think about?"
Warren thought for a second. "I think about my work. I think about what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I think about what life means in the first place."
"Have you decided what it means?"
"Well, only to the extent that I've come to the conclusion that there is no meaning. Or if there is, I'm certainly never going to figure it out."
"I know what life means," said Randi.
"Oh really?" said Warren. He lifted his eyebrows questioningly. "What?"
"It means love."
"I see," said Warren. "Well, I suppose that's as good an answer as any other."
"It satisfies me," said Randi.
"That's what counts," said Warren. Then they walked along in silence until they reached the tall jagged rock structures that were Warren's private retreat.
"We're here," he announced. "Welcome."
"Thank you," said Randi, opening an imaginary door and stepping into an imaginary palace of sand and rock.
"The first thing we ought to do is spread out these towels," said Warren. "Then I'll show you around."
They laid the towels on the sand. Then Warren took her gently in his arms and kissed her. She drew in her breath sharply at the unexpected suddenness of it. Then she relaxed and slid her arms around his back. She kissed him back warmly.
"Umm," she said, when she had finished savoring him, "you're good."
"There's plenty more of me," he hinted broadly.
"Yes," she said, pretending to be thoughtful. "I do seem to recall that there was."
"And," he continued, "I see no reason in the world why it should be withheld from you."
Randi pretended to be even more thoughtful. "I'll be darned if I can think of any," she said after a few moments.
"Fine," said Warren. He peeled off his shirt. Then he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. He was standing in front of her naked.
She felt the excitement rising inside of her. He came towards her and gently took her in his arms. Slowly and seductively he unfastened the line of buttons running down the back of her blouse. He slipped it around her shoulders, and dropped it onto the sand.
Despite the coolness of the evening, Randi felt flushed and warm. Warren's hands deftly removed her brassiere and dropped that, too, to the sand.
In the moonlight her white breasts seemed almost to glow with a strange phosphorescence. They were firm and young and erect, with the round, even nipples red and taut with anticipation.
Warren touched them lightly. "You're beautiful," he said.
Then his hands ran down to her shorts. His fingers caressed her buttocks, bringing them in to him. She breathed faster as he toyed with her.
"Warren," she said softly.
"Yes, Randi?" His voice was calm, controlled.
"Undress me all the way."
With a slight smile Warren brought down the zipper of her shorts and helped her slip out of them. Then, slowly, he peeled down the hem of her panties, rolling it over the flat smooth stomach, over the round full buttocks, and down the warm and full and trembling thighs.
She stood naked before him, almost touching him, a little shy about being so exposed in the moonlight. A bit apprehensively she looked around to make sure nobody was watching them.
Warren laughed. "Stop worrying," he said. "There's' nobody within miles of here. Well ... at least a few blocks."
Randi grinned. "Are you going to show me around?" she asked.
"Absolutely," said Warren. He took her hand and led her over to a huge black slit in the rock. "This is my private cave," he explained. "I go in here to meditate and draw conclusions about the nature of the universe."
"That's very fascinating," she said, mimicking his own mock pomposity.
"Yes it is," he agreed gravely.
"Is there anything else of equal fascination you'd like to show me," she said.
"Certainly. However, considering the fantastic degree of fascination inherent in the cave, might I suggest you gaze upon it for a few moments longer."
"All right," Randi agreed. She stifled a grin, because that would have ruined the game.
After a few moments of silence Warren said, "Okay, I guess that's enough for now. Now I shall show you my ocean."
"Your ocean?"
"Has anybody else claimed it?"
"Well no...."
"Then I claim it. You're a witness in case it's ever contested. And now-take a good look at it."
Randi complied. And it was-whether it belonged to Warren or not-a splendid sight. The moonlight splattered its bubbling surface with countless shimmering diamonds. The waves surged in towards the shore in rows of six or more, each riding in confidently behind the other, each breaking magnificently onto the beach with a deep whoosh and a slow-motion shower of spray.
"It's really beautiful," said Randi.
"Awesome," said Warren. "Are we going in?" she asked.
Warren laughed, ending the game of playing philosopher. "We sure are," he said boisterously. He grabbed Randi's hand and led her to the water.
"Ooo it's cold!" she exclaimed as a wave broke a few feet in front of her and washed up around her ankles.
"It's okay once you're in."
"I don't think I want to." She picked her foot gingerly out of the water and made a face.
"Too late now," said Warren. He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the ocean.
"No!" she screamed. But the sound was almost lost in the crashing surf.
Warren's arms held her close to him, cuddling her like a naked little child. Her breasts were squashed up against his chest as she clung to his neck and fought to avoid the icy water.
Then she was submerged and a second later was standing up in the surf and wiping salt water out of her eyes.
For the next ten minutes they swam and frolicked in the sea. The initial chilled feeling disappeared in the exertion. Finally, pleasantly exhausted, they walked back onto the beach.
Randi felt exhilarated: "I loved it," she exulted as Warren patted her body with one of the towels.
"I'm glad," said Warren. He finished drying Randi and then patted himself dry. Then he put the towel down, took Randi's shoulders in his hands and drew her down to the towel that was still dry.
"Warren," she murmured.
And then he was all over her, his head burying itself in her breasts, his tongue kissing the tips of her nipples, then darting down to her stomach, then back to her neck and her lips. His hands caressed her, making her tremble with desire.
"Warren," she murmured again, blindly, caught up in the wild excitement he was producing in her.
"You're good, Randi," he said. "You're very good."
"You make me that way," she answered.
Then there was no more talking. The sounds of their muffled sighs and grunts became one with the rhythmic beating of the waves on the sand.
Even the final cry of release merged harmoniously with a crashing breaker.
Then they lay still, sweating, breathing hard, allowing the blood to stop pounding and the breath to begin moving more slowly.
Finally, they got up, gathered the towels and began walking back.
"Wow," said Randi softly. "And that's my only comment."
Warren laughed. "Well put. And may I say the same for you."
Randi smiled, holding his hand. "I don't know how I'm ever going to give you up," she said.
"What makes you think you have to give me up?"
"Well...." She became slightly pensive. "It's only going to lead to trouble if I keep seeing you. You know? I mean with Tim and so on."
Warren smiled knowingly. "You just want to be convinced otherwise," he said. "So why not just stop worrying about it. I'll see you tomorrow as we originally planned. And, as usual, you can depend on my discreetness."
Randi looked troubled. "I suppose so," she said.
"Is something else bothering you?"
Randi hesitated. "Sort of," she said.
"Well, come on, spill it. Keep it bottled up inside and I'll never know what's bugging you."
"Is there somebody else?" Randi asked bluntly.
Warren stared at her. "You mean am I seeing somebody else?"
Randi nodded.
Warren was silent for a few seconds. When he finally answered there was a hardness in his voice that Randi hadn't heard before. "Yes," he said, "there is. As a matter-of-fact, there's more than one."
"Oh," said Randi. She disengaged his hand.
"What made you ask?" said Warren.
"I saw somebody going into your house this afternoon."
"You did, huh? And what were you doing keeping watch on my house?"
"I was just walking past with Debbie."
"Just walking past," Warren repeated dryly.
"Yes," Randi snapped. "If you think I was spying, you're dead wrong."
"Then why bring up the subject at all?"
"Because I don't like being with somebody in the morning and have him being with somebody else that some afternoon."
"Why not?"
"Because what do you think I am, anyway? A slab of meat or something? Don't I mean anything to you besides a quick roll in the sack?"
"Frankly, no," said Warren, his voice angry. "Do I mean anything more than that to you?"
"Of course you do. Or you could."
"I doubt it," said Warren coldly. "Let's be honest with each other. You're using me exactly as I'm using you. You just want me as a vehicle through which you can get revenge on your husband because you're mad at him."
"Well maybe," Randi admitted grimly. "But I still don't like to be one of a harem."
"Suit yourself," said Warren. "But my private life is my business. What I do when I'm not seeing you is my own affair."
"Well, maybe you won't be seeing me again."
"That's up to you," said Warren.
They walked along in silence.
"Warren," Randi said finally. "Are you still mad at me?"
"Mad at you?" said Warren. "What makes you think I was mad at you? It was you who were mad at me."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I was just jealous. I wish you weren't so damn sexy, then I wouldn't have to see you again. But I suppose I have no choice."
Warren smiled and put his arm around her. "Look, Randi," he said sincerely. "Sure I see other women. That's the way I am. I like variety. But you're the sweetest, most attractive woman I've been with in a long time. I mean that."
Randi smiled gratefully. It was her ego, after all, that had been wounded, and now he was heaping medication on it. "Do you still want to see me tomorrow? " she asked.
"Yes," said Warren. "I do."
She hugged him. "Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry for being so catty. I won't be again."
"Just be yourself," said Warren. "That's how I like you."
"Okay," said Randi.
Warren walked her to the front of her house and poked her affectionately with a finger by way of saying goodby. She stood on the sidewalk watching him walk home-a tall, athletic mountain of a man. And so fantastically expert in bed.
She felt a vague sensation of sadness. She knew she shouldn't continue doing what she was doing. She was aware that it could end in nothing but trouble. But there was no way to stop, no way-now that she had begun with Warren-to shut his fantastic sexiness out of her mind.
She felt trapped and driven by emotions that were becoming more and more beyond her control. And she felt a sense of cheapness-for agreeing to take Warren on any terms, even to the point of sharing him with other women.
Then the displeasure with which she viewed herself turned into displeasure with Tim. For there was no way of getting around the fact that it was he who had started the whole thing-he who had driven her to this.
Then she opened the door and was met with the sound of Debbie-screaming in terror.
CHAPTER SIX
Randi flicked on the light and raced into Debbie's bedroom. She put on the bedroom light. Briefly she noticed that the clock in Debbie's room read 3:20.
Then Debbie was out of bed and crying frantically in her mother's arms.
"What is it, what is it?" said Randi. She shook her near-hysterical daughter gently to try to calm her. "What are you doing up so late? Why aren't you asleep?"
"Where were you, Mommy?" Debbie wailed.
"I just ran out for a few minutes to get something, dear. Now tell me what's wrong."
"The phone keeps ringing," Debbie sobbed. "It woke me up and then it kept on ringing."
"Why didn't you answer it?"
"I was afraid. It was dark, and I didn't want to get up."
Randi sighed and patted Debbie on the back. "Well, I'm home now, so you don't have anything to worry about. Everything's going to be all right." Debbie sniffled and quieted down. "Now let's go to sleep," said Randi. "Mommy's going to be home all night. So come on, hop back into bed."
Debbie obeyed. Randi kissed her goodnight, switched out the light and walked into the living room. The phone rang.
"Yes?" She held the receiver to her ear suspiciously, wondering who could have been calling at such a crazy hour.
"It's me, honey."
She breathed a sigh of both relief and annoyance as she recognized Tim's voice.
"Tim," she said. "What are you calling at this hour for?"
"I was worried about you," he said. "You sounded so sad and upset when I spoke to you earlier that I just wanted to call and say goodnight to you again." He paused. "And to tell you how much I love you."
Randi gave an irritated sigh. The words seemed so empty, somehow. "Thank you," she said without feeling.-
"Well, where were you?" asked Tim. His voice was full of concern. "I've been trying for over an hour."
"I've been sleeping," she lied. "Didn't you hear the phone?"
"No."
There were a few seconds of silence. "Well ... how come?" persisted Tim. He seemed annoyed at her recalcitrance.
"How come what?" she said coldly.
"How come you didn't hear the phone for an hour? It rings loud enough. Axe you sick or something?"
"You might say that."
"Now look," said Tim, "stop playing games with me. This is a long distance phone call, and I want to know what's wrong."
"You really do?"
"Yes, I really do."
She gave a short, disgusted laugh. She felt incredibly tired and very worn out emotionally. "It's you, that's what."
"Oh come on, don't start that again. Not now."
"I can't think of a better time," said Randi. "Well, I can."
"Look," Randi flared suddenly. "You've had yourself a ball all evening, right? So I just had some fun myself."
"What do you mean?"
"I was out."
"Out?" said Tim incredulously. "At this hour of the night?"
"Right. At this hour of the night."
"Where were you?"
"That's my business," she said icily.
"The hell it's your business," Tim said angrily. "Listen, what's gotten into you anyway, Randi? You're acting crazy."
"No crazier than you."
"Now listen, I want to know where you've been tonight. And I don't have the rest of the night to play games with you, either. I've got a full day of work tomorrow."
"Uh-huh," said Randi. "And then a full evening of entertainment after that. I know you're seeing that woman again."
"Don't be silly. You know nothing of the kind, and you couldn't possibly know it, because it simply isn't true."
"I don't believe that."
"I can't help that."
"No," said Randi, "you can't."
"Look, Randi," said Tim, his voice harsh. "Where have you been tonight?"
"You are asking for it, aren't you?"
"Just tell me," he said.
"Okay," she said wearily, "I was out with a man."
"A man?"
"Yes, a man. How does that grab you?"
"You're out of your mind, Randi."
"Perhaps I am," she said dully.
"Well, what were you doing out with a man?"
Randi paused for several seconds as the bitterness and resentment surged through her like a tidal wave.
"I was doing," she said quietly, "what comes naturally."
Then she slowly and deliberately replaced the receiver on the phone, covered it with several throw pillows from the couch and began getting ready for bed.
It took her nearly an hour to fall asleep-and when she finally did, it was with the muffled sound of the phone ringing distantly in her ears.
She awoke at eight o'clock. The doorbell was ringing, and Debbie was shaking her to get up and answer it.
"Go see who it is, Debbie," Randi said.
Debbie ran to the door and peered through the window. "It's Daddy!" she squealed happily.
"Oh," groaned Randi. "Well, why doesn't he come in? He's got a key."
Debbie opened the door for her father. "Hi, Daddy!" she yelped, jumped up into his arms. "Mommy says don't you have a key?"
Tim smiled at his daughter. "Tell Mommy I didn't want to use it. I didn't want to surprise her." He said it in a voice loud enough that Randi would hear.
"I'll be out in a minute," said Randi.
"I'll wait," said Tim sarcastically.
"How come you came home so early, Daddy?" asked Debbie.
"I want to talk to your mother about something, honey."
"About what?"
"Oh, just a few things that older people talk about."
"Can I talk too?"
"A little later. Right now your mother and I want to discuss something ourselves."
Randi came into the kitchen where Tim and Debbie were sitting. "Hello," she said. She kissed Tim so that Debbie wouldn't notice that anything was wrong. Then she told Debbie to go to her room and play.
"Well," said Tim.
"Well," said Randi.
"I suppose we ought to have a talk."
"I suppose so," said Randi. She didn't feel as cold toward Tim as she had the previous night. The few hours sleep had refreshed her. Now she felt only a slight nervousness-and a slight feeling of shame.
"Did you really mean what you said on the phone last night?" Tim asked.
Randi nodded. "Yes."
"Then it's true."
"Yes, it is."
Tim fumbled in his chest pocket for a cigarette. He lit it with trembling fingers. "I hardly know what to say," he began, drawing deeply on the cigarette.
"I know," said Randi. "Believe me, I know how it is." She spoke the words pointedly, glad, in a way, that she had got the revenge she wanted so badly, and yet sorry, now that she had got it, that she had got it at so great an expense to Tim. It was an empty victory, for he looked harried and tired and very, very sad.
"Why did you do it?" asked Tim.
Randi shrugged. "Because you did."
"Because I did?" Tim exclaimed, suddenly angry. "Is that any reason?"
"It's as good a reason as yours," she replied. She felt herself getting angry now. Was there no way out of this insane argument?
"Look," said Tim, "how many times do I have to tell you-I did it just once, and then I felt bad about it, and so I told you about it. How long do you intend to hold this grudge, anyway?"
"I don't know," said Randi. She wished he would stop browbeating her, yet she knew how angry and hurt he must feel.
"Well, it's got to stop," said Tim sharply. "I won't have this going on constantly."
"Then you stop playing around."
"I'm not playing around!" Tim practically shouted at her. "I'm sorry now I even told you about that woman. I only did it to try to make our marriage better."
"Oh, the hell you did!" Randi exploded. Now that he'd put it that way for once, she realized what had been bothering her the most all along. It wasn't merely the fact that he'd been with another woman-that was simply mechanical. What was so infuriating was his pretense of having told Randi about the incident for Randi's sake. "Listen, Tim," she said tightly, "you told me about your affair not for the sake of our marriage, but for your own sake. You felt guilty about it, and so instead of just bearing the guilt, you had to go and push it off on me. That way you could pretend that you're being very big about the whole thing. Well, I don't think you've been very big about it at all."
Tim stared at her for a few seconds. Then he said, more quietly, "Maybe you're right. Maybe that did enter into it. I don't know."
"Well," said Randi drily, "now you know."
"Not quite," said Tim. "Whether I should have told you or not is beside the point now. What really matters is the present. And the future. Now I want to know just what you did with this man."
"I made love with him, that's what," snapped Randi. x "Once?"
"No, as matter-of-fact, twice." She smiled sweetly at him.
"Twice!" he exploded.
Randi held up two fingers. "Once, twice," she counted. Then she paused at the third finger and put a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Why twice?" asked Tim, his face a bright red. "I only did it once."
"So you say."
"It's true, dammit!"
"Well," snapped Randi, "go back and do it some more. I sure intend to. You know, I kind of enjoyed it. Besides, I'd never trust you again, being away all the time. You'd have too much opportunity."
"You're being ridiculous, Randi," Tim said quietly. "You really are."
They remained silent for a few seconds. Randi realized that she was, indeed, being ridiculous. She wished she could stop herself from saying so many mean things to Tim. She wished she could stop hurting him.
Finally Tim asked, "Did you really enjoy it?"
Randi looked at him for long seconds before answering. Then she slowly shook her head. "No," she said softly, knowing it was a lie. "I didn't enjoy it at all."
Tim breathed a long sigh of relief. "Who was it?" he asked.
Randi shrugged. "What difference does it make? You don't know him anyway."
"It does make a difference. I mean, does he live around here? Are you going to see him again?"
"Of course not!" said Randi emphatically. But she wondered, privately, if her extra emphasis was only to hide the fact that she just might see Warren again. He was, indeed, an attractive man.
Tim appeared somewhat reassured. "I hope not," he said quietly.
Randi looked at her husband with sudden love and compassion. Suddenly she knew that she would not see Warren again. It was Tim who really loved her, and that, after all, was what really counted.
He looked so small and weak at the moment, sitting across from her in the living room. And perhaps a bit more flabby than usual. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a fraction of the raw man that Warren was. Yet, in his own way he was perhaps even more of a man-for he had the capacity for deep and lasting love. He had, after all, driven all night long-just for her.
Her eyes misting over, Randi reached out and took his hand. "Darling...." she began.
Then they were in each other's arms, and both of them were sobbing softly.
"Randi," said Tim, "please don't ever do this to me again."
"Oh darling, I won't. I promise you." She hugged him tightly, pressing his face against her bosom.
"And I swear I will never be unfaithful to you," said Tim. "It was just that once, believe me, and it will never happen again."
"I believe you," said Randi softly. "I do, Tim."
"I do," Tim repeated nostalgically. He gave a wry smile. "You say the words just like you did at our wedding."
Randi smiled warmly at her husband. "I mean them," she said gently.
For several long, quiet minutes they nuzzled each other like teenagers. Then Tim stood up and drew Randi up with him. "I've got to get back to work, honey," he said. "It's too late to drive back to Piatt today, so I'll just go down to the office here and do paper work for the rest of the day. I'll be home for supper."
Randi smiled happily. "I'm so glad," she said, hugging him impulsively. "I miss you so much when you're away."
"It won't be much longer, Ran. Just hang on awhile."
Randi pretended to pout. "What do you mean, awhile? I'm going to hang on forever. Whether you like it or not!"
"Ah, that's my girl," said Tim. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "maybe it's good this has happened. I think it's made us know each other better."
"Yes," said Randi. "But at last it's all over."
Tim shook his head in agreement. "You said it!"
"Goodby, honey," Randi said. "I'll have supper ready for you. Something good."
"It's always good," said Tim gallantly. "It's the company that makes the meal."
Randi grinned at his flattery, kissed him goodby and saw him to the door.
Then she went back into the living room by herself and sat down on the couch. She felt relaxed for the first time since Tim had told her about the other woman. She felt terribly relieved that it was all over. Now she could go back to being the same good wife she had been for Tim all along. She reflected on how dearly she loved him.
Then, as a sudden thought hit her, she leaped up from the couch and made a dash for the phone.
"Mommy, Mommy," came Debbie's voice from the bedroom.
"Just a minute dear," said Randi. "I'll be right in."
"I feel sick, Mommy."
"What is it?"
"My stomach hurts."
"I'll be right in, Debbie," Randi called into the bedroom, as she thumbed through various papers trying to find Warren's number. "Mommy has to make an important phone call."
Indeed, she thought frantically, she did. For Warren was due to come over to the house at about twelve. And she had to reach him and tell him not to come.
Ever.
Then the doorbell rang.
"Just a minute!" Randi called. She went over to the door and opened it.
Clara was standing there, her eyes red from crying, her hair disheveled. "Can I come in?" she asked.
"Of course," said Randi, shocked at her appearance. "What the devil happened?"
"I want to talk," said Clara. "You know that wonderful marriage you always thought Robert and I had?"
"Yes," said Randi.
"Well ... it's over."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stunned by Clara's statement, Randi quickly got her seated on the couch and told her she would fix her a drink in a moment.
"I've got to see what's bothering Debbie," she said.
Clara started to get up to leave. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were busy. I'll-"
"You'll do nothing of the kind," said Randi firmly. "Now this will just take a minute."
"Mommy!"
"I'm coming, dear!"
Randi hurried into the bedroom. Debbie was lying on her side in the bed, holding her stomach dramatically. "It hurts, Mommy," she complained.
"Where does it hurt?" inquired Randi. Whatever it was, she could tell by Debbie's expression that it wasn't serious.
"Here," said Debbie, pointing.
"Let me see," said Randi. She poked and probed for several seconds. Then she announced her diagnosis. "I think you probably ate your breakfast too fast, honey. Why don't you just lie here quietly for awhile, and it will go away. Okay?"
Debbie nodded bravely.
"And I'll be in to check up on you in a little while."
"Can I have something to drink?" asked Debbie. She was plainly enjoying being ill.
"I'll make you some tea," said Randi. She went back into the living room and looked, with sympathy, at Clara sitting morosely on the sofa. "Boy," she thought, "Everybody's out of sorts this morning!"
"I'll take you up on that drink offer," said Clara.
"Bourbon?" Randi asked.
Clara nodded. "What's wrong with Debbie?"
"Nothing much apparently. Just a stomach-ache. She gulps down her food too fast, is what it is."
"Can I help with anything?"
"No. But you can talk while I make Debbie some hot tea."
Clara waited until Randi had poured her a large drink. She downed a large gulp, made a face and then shook her head as if to clear it from the jolt of the liquor. Then, glass in hand, she followed Randi into the kitchen.
"Well," said Randi, "what happened?"
"Robert's leaving me," said Clara dully. "He's walking out and never coming back."
"Since when?" asked Randi with concern. She noticed that Clara's eyes were moist, yet she didn't seem close to crying. Randi guessed that she had already cried herself out.
"Since a couple of hours ago. He went out early this morning, and then he came back with a lawyer."
"A lawyer? Why?"
"He wants to get a divorce."
"Just like that?"
Clara shook her head slowly. "No ... actually it was brewing for quite awhile. Only I didn't know it."
"I don't know what you mean," said Randi.
"I was unfaithful to him," said Clara, almost blurting it out. "And he found out."
"But-" Randi fumbled for words. The news came as a total shock to her. Until a few minutes ago she would have bet her life on the fact that there wasn't a happier, more solid marriage in the world than the Cobys'. And not in her wildest fantasies had she ever been able to conceive of Clara being intimate with anyone other than Robert. She frowned in confusion. "You?" she said, disbelieving.
Clara nodded ashamedly.
"But you ... I mean, just the other day, just last night in fact, you were giving me a lecture on not being unfaithful to Tim. And all the time you were talking, you had actually-?"
Clara nodded and took another swallow of bourbon.
Randi gave a low whistle. "I am really shocked."
"You must think I'm terrible."
"No," said Randi quickly. "I don't mean shocked in that way. I mean very surprised. Because of the way you've always talked, and because of what I know about you and Robert, it just seems practically unbelievable."
"It still seems that way to me," said Clara.
"You mean he just walked in this morning and said, 'Clara, I want a divorce.'?"
"Pretty close," said Clara. "Actually, he was much colder about it. He said, 'I'm divorcing you, Clara.' He was very stubborn and blunt about it. I've never seen him like that before. It's as if we don't know each other anymore."
Randi noticed Clara take another quick swallow of bourbon, and she could almost feel the pain that she knew her neighbor was experiencing. "How did he find out?" she asked.
"A detective," said Clara. "I had no idea I was being followed. I had no idea Robert even suspected."
"Has it been going on long?"
Clara nodded. "About a year. It started with some young man I met at a party. I was a little high, and before I knew it, I was outside the house and necking with him in his car. Then things just took their natural course, and after that first night, I began seeing him. Sneaking out when Robert was at work, you know, the whole thing."
"I never had any idea."
"I didn't dare tell anybody," said Clara. "You're my closest friend, but I couldn't risk telling even you. There was too much to lose." She paused thoughtfully. "And now I've lost it."
"Maybe not," said Randi. "After all, Robert is probably just angry now. But when he calms down, I'm sure you can talk things out with him."
Clara shook her head. "I doubt it. I've never seen him so determined about anything. He's had the lawyer draw up the papers and everything."
"Papers can be torn up."
"No," said Clara, with an air of resignation. "Robert won't change. I know that. You see, there was more than one man."
"Really?" Randi wondered if there was going to be any end to these astonishing revelations. Each one was more startling than the last.
"Yes," said Clara. "Altogether, there were four."
"Why?" asked Randi incredulously. She filled a small pot with water and placed it on the electric range. Then she began preparing cup, saucer and tea-bag.
"I couldn't help myself," said Clara honestly. "That's why."
"You mean Robert didn't satisfy you in bed?" Randi had spoken about such personal matters with Clara before, but only on a superficial level. Now, however, it didn't seem inappropriate to probe more intimately.
"He satisfied me," said Clara. "It's just that after I had been with somebody else, I became almost insatiable. I got to a point where what I needed wasn't just sex, but variety. It didn't make any difference hoiv good Robert had been the night before. Still I'd need somebody else the following day."
"You should have gone for help," said Randi. "Or told me about it. Or something.'"
"I know," said Clara. "I know."
"Was it anybody from the neighborhood?" asked Randi. She added hastily, "Don't answer that if I'm prying." For a fraction of a second the thought crossed Randi's mind that one of Clara's four men might have been Tim. But she quickly discarded the idea. For some reason she felt she trusted Tim again.
"Nobody from the neighborhood until just a couple of weeks ago," said Clara. "I guess that was my mistake. I don't have the slightest idea how Robert got suspicious, but once he was, he hired a detective to follow me. And he took pictures of me going into Warren's house and telephoto pictures through the window of us kissing. The lawyer showed me the pictures this morning."
Randi's mouth was wide in amazement. "Warren?" she said.
"Oh, I forgot," said Clara. "You wouldn't know him. He's Warren Church, a painter who's renting a house a few blocks from here for the summer." She gave a rueful laugh. "He's quite a man."
"I see," said Randi, still flabbergasted. So that was the woman whom she had seen going into Warren's house the previous afternoon. Of all people! The one person in the world Randi would have suspected the least!
The water came to a boil and Randi poured it over the teabag in the cup. She sliced up a lemon and squeezed some juice into the tea. "I've got to bring this in to Debbie," said Randi. "Come on in with me."
They walked into the bedroom.
"Hello Clara," said Debbie.
"Hello dear," said Clara. "What's hurting you?"
"My stomach," said Debbie. She reached out and took the tea from her mother. She began sipping it. "Oh, it's hot," she said to Randi.
"Sip it slowly," said Randi. "Are you feeling any better?"
"A little," said Debbie.
"That's good. Just rest a little more, and it will all go away."
Randi went back into the living room with Clara. "Another drink?" she asked. "Please."
"You know," said Randi as she poured more bourbon into Clara's glass, "I still find it hard to believe that you really did all those things. It seems like a dream."
"It wasn't any dream, believe me," said Clara.
"I know," said Randi understandingly. "I wish there was something I could do to help."
"There's nothing," said Clara. "Robert's made up his mind, and that's that."
"Didn't he want to get back at ... this Warren," Randi asked cautiously. The worst thing that could happen, she realized, would be for her to let it slip that she knew Warren.
Clara shook her head sadly. "No. He said it wasn't Warren's fault, but mine. Besides, he knew through the detective that Warren is a judo expert, and he told me that a cheap tramp like me wasn't worth getting himself beat up for."
"He actually said that to you?" asked Randi.
"In those exact words," said Clara. She took a long drink.
"I'm so sorry," said Randi compassionately. "I really am."
"Thanks," said Clara. "It helps some."
"What are you going to do?"
Clara shrugged helplessly. "I don't have even the vaguest idea. This hit me so suddenly this morning, that I'm still in something of a daze. I feel lost."
"You can stay here if you want," offered Randi.
"Oh, I couldn't impose on you."
"Don't be silly," said Randi. "Until you get things straightened out."
Clara smiled for the first time. "Thanks an awful lot, Randi. You're a real friend. I'll remember the offer if I need it."
"I don't think you will," said Randi. "That's just a personal guess, but I think I'm right."
"I don't know," sighed Clara.
"You want me to talk to Robert?" asked Randi.
Clara shook her head slowly. "No. I think that would only alienate him further. I guess I'd better just see this thing through myself and hope for the best."
"And what about the children?" Randi asked.
"I don't know about that either. I guess I'll have to get a lawyer and let the two lawyers haggle it out. But when you come right down to it, Robert's got all the evidence he'll need against me. He can do anything he wants, and I don't have a leg to stand on."
Randi shook her head sympathetically. Then she jolted alert at the sound of Debbie gagging in the bedroom. She raced in, Clara following her.
Debbie was vomiting as Randi reached her. She took her daughter in her arms and patted her on the back until the coughing ceased.
"What happened, Debbie?" asked Randi.
"I felt sick, Mommy," Debbie said weakly.
"Can I help any?" asked Clara.
"No, it's all right," said Randi. "She gets this way every so often. A combination of eating too fast and too much excitement. I'll just clean her up and let her get some sleep. It's time for her nap anyway."
"All right, then," said Clara. "I think I'd better leave you alone. I've got to get back home anyway. Robert went to the lawyer's office, and he should be getting back soon."
"Okay," Randi said. "Give me a call later and let me know what's happening. And take my word for it, things will work out okay."
"I'd like to believe that," said Clara. "And listen, you take some advice from me, too."
"What's that?" asked Randi.
"Behave yourself!" said Clara with a smile. "You understand?"
Randi smiled back. "I understand," she replied dutifully.
After Clara had left, Randi gave Debbie a bath and got her into clean clothing. "Do you feel better now, dear?" she asked.
"Uh-huh," said Debbie sleepily.
Randi smiled. "I bet you're going to sleep real good now, aren't you?"
Debbie nodded. Randi put her to bed, shut the door partially and went back into the living room. She thought about the things Clara had said, and wondered if there wasn't anything she could do to bring them back together again. Without butting in, of course.
Then she began thinking of herself. Could it have been possible, she reflected, that the same detective who spotted Clara, spotted her also? And then what? Would he tell? Would Warren tell?
Warren!
Like a bolt of lightning, she suddenly realized that she hadn't called him yet. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost twelve.
"Oh good grief!" she thought. "I'd completely forgotten about it!"
She hurried to the phone and searched amidst her papers for his number. Finding it, she dialed it, frowning impatiently at the length of time-a full two seconds, she dimly remembered-that it took for the number nine on the dial to slowly spin around to a stop so that she could dial the next digit.
Tensely, she held the phone to her ear, listening to it ring. By the sixth ring, she was growing frantic.
"Why isn't he picking it up?" she thought nervously.
And a second later she had her answer.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Her heart pounding, Randi opened the door.
"Hi," said Warren cheerily. He stopped short at the strange expression on Randi's face. "Is Debbie asleep?" he asked in a softer voice.
Randi nodded. Her forehead had slight wrinkles in it.
"What's the matter?" asked Warren.
Randi hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Uh ... come in," she suggested finally.
Warren entered, crossed in front of Randi and went into the living room. Randi shut the door and followed him. As she watched him lope gracefully across the rug and descend into an armchair she couldn't help but admire, once again, the sheer physical beauty of the man.
He was wearing, as usual, a white T-shirt, and it exhibited fully, as usual, the taut rippling muscles beneath it. He had on tan slacks too-also of a sufficient tightness to sharply define the powerful thighs they covered.
He was, Randi realized ruefully, about the most desirable hunk of man she had ever come into contact with. And for a second she felt a flash of the old desire as she remembered how it had been to be held by him, guided by him, transported by him to dizzying heights of ecstasy.
"Hey," said Warren gently. "What's the trouble?"
Randi looked at him quietly for a moment, wondering what tack to take. Should she be quiet and blase about the whole thing? Simply tell him coolly that she was no longer interested in him and, thanks anyway, but we're going to have to call it quits?
No, that would be a lie. And mainly, she doubted if she'd be able to pull it off.
Of course, she could be straightforward with him and simply tell him the whole story. But that might not be convincing enough. If she told him that she couldn't see him because Tim might find out, he'd surely come up with some way that they could meet without Tim rinding out.
What she finally blurted out surprised even her. "I know about you and Clara," she said.
Warren looked at her blankly for a moment. "What about me and Clara?" he asked noncommittally.
"You've been seeing her, that's what."
"We're friends," said Warren.
Randi gave a sarcastic laugh. "I know. Real close ones."
Warren frowned impatiently. "What's that got to do with us? And how do you know?"
"Clara told me this morning."
"She did, huh." Warren gave an irritated sigh. "That was cool of her."
"I suppose you know her husband found out." Warren's expression of surprise was genuine. "No, I didn't know," he said. "Since when is this?"
"I don't know how long he's known," said Randi. "He's had a detective watching you. He just told Clara this morning. They're getting a divorce."
"I'm sorry to hear about that," said Warren, scowling.
"You sound very sorry," said Randi drily. She was suddenly seeing a side of Warren she'd never suspected existed, and she didn't like it at all. He wasn't, as she had thought, merely a happy-go-lucky, friendly guy who happened to have a lot of sex appeal. He was also selfish and self-centered, and it was obvious that the only thing that bothered him about Clara's husband having found out was that it might interfere with his plans for seeing Clara. He quickly bore out Randi's intuition.
"Listen," he said, "it Clara ran into trouble on account of having gotten involved with me, that's her problem, not mine."
"I think you should at least be a little concerned."
"I am," said Warren bluntly. "Concerned for myself. I don't want to be bothered with a lot of complications that might interfere with my painting."
Randi shook her head in disbelief. "Don't you have the least bit of feeling for Clara? You've wrecked her entire marriage."
"Not true," said Warren flatly. "Clara wrecked it herself. If it meant enough to her, she should have stayed away from other men. She decided to take the risk, so anything that's happened is her own fault."
"It is not!" exclaimed Randi hotly. "It's not entirely her fault that she was attracted to you."
"Well, it's not mine," said Warren. His anger seemed to suddenly pass away, and he grinned at her. "Did I ask to be sexy?"
"You're conceited too, I see," said Randi coolly. "Just honest," said Warren, looking at her evenly. "I know what I've got. And," he added confidently, "I know what I can do with it."
"I'll tell you what you can do with it," said Randi. "What?" asked Warren, holding her gaze until she looked away. She felt suddenly weaker than him. He was too experienced at the cat and mouse game of flirting. She knew that she couldn't meet him head on and beat him.
"Nothing," she said in as bored a tone as she could muster.
"Well then, let's stop hassling about this. Okay?" Randi shook her head with calm determination. "There's nothing to hassle about anymore," she said. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
"No I don't."
"Do I have to spell it out for you?"
"That wouldn't be a bad idea."
"Okay," Randi said grimly. She knew very well that Warren knew exactly what she was talking about. He was just being obstinate. Just playing with her to see if she'd break.
She wasn't about to. "I'm not going to see you anymore," she said quietly, meeting his eyes again. "Never. It was fun while it lasted, but it's over."
"Not really," contradicted Warren. "Yes, really," she said.
"I disagree," said Warren, smiling. "You see, you still dig me. I can tell."
"You're mistaken," said Randi. As soon as she'd said it, though, she was sorry. For she had committed herself to a statement so patently untrue that even the most naive teenager in the world could have seen through it. And Warren was no naive teenager.
He grinned. They both knew, in that instant, that Randi had placed herself-irrevocably-at a severe disadvantage. "Are you going to make me a drink?" he asked. "No," said Randi. She felt herself beginning to tremble inside. She tried to regain the ground she had lost by becoming extra cold to him, but the strategy served only to reinforce her position.
"I suppose, then, I'll have to make my own."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd leave," said Randi icily. "Not just yet," said Warren. His face was, again, the same old friendly face she'd been so attracted to when she'd first met him. It attracted her now. It was playful and teasing and extremely confident. It hid, so effectively, the meanness and thoughtlessness which she now knew was underneath, that she found herself wondering if perhaps those bad qualities had only been illusions.
"Are you going to leave?" Randi persisted. Warren shook his head pleasantly. "Not until we have one more little go-around." Randi frowned. "You must be crazy." Warren grinned. "Uh-huh."
"I warn you, Warren," she said, searching his face warily for signs of imminent attack. "If you touch me, I'll scream my head off."
"No you won't," said Warren. "Because then everyone, including Little Miss Asparagus in the bedroom would know about us. And you wouldn't want that, would you?"
"This sounds like blackmail," said Randi.
"Not really," said Warren. "It's just that I don't like to make a trip over to somebody's house just for nothing."
"I tried to call you."
Warren shrugged. "That's how it goes."
"Look," said Randi, "can't you understand that things just aren't the same anymore."
"Aren't the same as when?"
"As a few days ago. As yesterday."
Warren fingered his beard. "In other words, you've made up with your husband."
"Right."
"And so my services are no longer needed, correct?"
"You might put it that way."
"I just did," said Warren, still playing with her, the smile still on his face.
"Look," said Randi, "what have I got to say to convince you that it's all over between us? I love my husband, I always have. We just had a terrible misunderstanding, that's all. But it's cleared up now. And I don't want anything to happen that will cause us more trouble."
"I can understand that," said Warren. Randi breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, it's about time."
"Yes," said Warren. "It is."
Randi looked at him with sudden suspicion. "You're oing to leave now, aren't you?" Warren gave her a big grin and shook his head from side to side. "To quote Warren Church," he said amiably, "Not just yet."
Randi sat silently for a few seconds, staring at him. Then she closed her eyes in resignation. When she opened them a moment later, she said, "Okay. But just once more."
"I knew you'd see it my way," said Warren. "I haven't much choice," said Randi quietly. "No," said Warren. "You haven't."
"But you've got to understand, this is the last time. You understand that, don't you?"
"Yes I do," said Warren. He looked genuinely sincere as he said it. Then he became playful again. "This will be my final performance. Today, when the curtain rings down on one of the finest acts in the history of show business, Randi Mason will have seen the last of Warren Church. Or at least felt the last of him."
"It will be my pleasure," Randi said coldly. "Anything you say," said Warren, ignoring her sarcasm. "And now-shall we retire to the boudoir?"
"I guess so," said Randi. "Come on." She rose and began walking to the bedroom, expecting Warren to follow. Instead, after four steps, she suddenly found herself halted by a pair of powerful hands on her shoulders. "Don't rush so much," said Warren. "It's bad for the digestion."
"Please," said Randi quietly. "Not here."
"Why are you whispering?" Warren asked. He was holding Randi by her shoulders, and she could feel his massive chest pressing lightly against her back. Despite herself, she felt a twinge of excitement pass through her.
"I don't want to wake Debbie up," she explained softly. "She's not feeling well."
"Oh? What's wrong with her?"
"A stomach ache."
"Something she ate, no doubt," said Warren.
"Possibly. More likely it's just that she's had too much excitement."
"Or too much asparagus," said Warren teasingly. He brushed back her hair with one hand and kissed her on the neck.
"Warren," Randi said, "please stop this here. Let's go into the bedroom."
"Sure," said Warren, making no move either to let her go or to go into the bedroom with her.
"Warren!" Randi whispered sharply.
Warren laughed quietly. "Relax, Randi," he advised good-humoredly. "Enjoy it. It's the last time, remember?"
"Why can't we go into the bedroom?"
"It's twelve steps away," said Warren. "And I just can't stand traveling in the busy season. Crowds drive me mad."
"You're crazy."
"Funny," said Warren, "Clara said the same thing. I wonder if that indicates a trend."
Randi tried to squirm out of his grip, but found it impossible. The struggle made her feel, to an even greater degree, her own weakness in comparison to Warren. His strength made her want to just give up, melt into him, surrender to him in any way he wanted.
She sighed and went limp. "Anything you say," she said wearily. Warren grinned. "Anything I say?" She nodded helplessly.
"Okay," he said, suddenly affecting the manner of a speaker at a college commencement exercise. He cleared his throat deliberately. "I ... uh ... have a few notes here ... yes, here they are. Four score and seven-"
"Oh, stop playing games!" Randi snapped irritably. "If we're going to do anything, let's do it and get it over with."
"Anything you say," said Warren.
Then Randi felt somebody else take charge inside Warren. He wasn't just playful anymore, but deadly serious. His arms turned her body around to face him, and he brought her close to him and kissed her.
"Oh!" she mumbled, as his lips played softly with hers.
"A very apt comment," he noted gently, darting his tongue between her lips and playing with the inside of her mouth. She responded with a sharp intake of breath, meeting his tongue with her own and pressing against its tip.
She felt his hands caressing her back, running down along her spine, holding her buttocks and pressing her body into him. For an instant she tried to dislike him as intensely as she had a few minutes before, but it was impossible. He was too strong, too sexy, too desirable.
"I need you," she murmured.
"I know," he said.
"Take me into the bedroom."
In response, Warren reached down with both hands and ran them along the backs of Randi's knees, up the backs of her white, firm thighs.
Randi gasped, but Warren kept on going until the housedress was at her waist. He held it there with his forearms, while his hands played expertly on the silken panties that hugged Randi's firm buttocks.
"Warren, please," she whispered. "Not here. The bedroom."
He ignored her. His fingers grasped the hem of her panties and began slowly rolling them down to expose her pink flesh.
"Warren," she said. But she squirmed slightly to help him.
He took the panties off and tossed them across the room. Her dress had dropped, and now he lifted it again, exposing her completely. He caressed her deftly, all around the thighs, and up to the flat, narrow waist.
She trembled with excitement. "Warren, please take me into the bedroom," she said.
"The world is my bedroom," he answered.
"The shades aren't even drawn," she protested weakly.
"All the better for detectives to take pictures," said Warren.
"No," she said helplessly, burning with desire for him.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Yes."
He lifted the dress over her head. She raised her arms so that he could take it off. She stood naked and trembling before him.
"No brassiere today," he commented.
She shook her head.
"Good," he said. He brought her close to him and held her firm, high breasts in his hands. "You're magnificent," he told her. He bent down his head and kissed the taut nipples.
"Oh Warren, hurry!" she exclaimed. Her brows were knotted in pleasurable agony. "Hurry!"
He picked her up in his arms like a child.
"Take me to the bedroom," she said.
He shook his head and smiled at her. "No," he said softly. Then he slowly lowered her to the carpet.
"Here?" she asked.
He nodded. Swiftly, he removed his clothing. In seconds he was standing naked above her. Then he was on the carpet beside her, and she was swimming in his muscular arms, squirming against his powerful body.
"Warren," she moaned. "Don't make me wait anymore. Please don't make me wait."
He held her tightly. The thought flashed through her mind that a good lover was one who knew enough to rest his weight on his elbows. She had read that somewhere.
Then all thoughts were obliterated. There was only sensation, the thrilling pressure of Warren's powerful body driving against her own. She felt her excitement rising higher and higher until she knew it couldn't go any higher without rendering her unconscious.
Then she was whimpering uncontrollably, clawing his naked back with her fingernails. And then, dizzyingly, it was over. "Mommy!"
Randi jerked her head in the direction of the bedroom. She closed her eyes tightly to clear her mind and reopened them.
"Mommy!"
"Warren," Randi whispered frantically. "Get up."
Warren let her up, and Randi scrambled into her housedress. "Just a minute, dear," she called. She hurried into the bedroom.
"Mommy, who's that out there?" asked Debbie.
"Nobody," said Randi. "Why aren't you asleep?"
"I'm not tired anymore. Is that Daddy?"
"I told you, there's nobody out there."
"I heard you talking."
"You must have been dreaming, Debbie."
"I wasn't dreaming, Mommy. I wasn't even sleeping. Isn't Daddy home?"
Randi's heart sank. She knew very well that it was all over. "No, honey," she said wearily, "Daddy isn't home yet."
"Then who were you talking to? I heard a man."
"It's Mr. Church," said Randi, closing her eyes hopelessly. "He came over to show me how to paint."
CHAPTER NINE
When Tim arrived home for dinner, Randi had it ready for him. She puttered around nervously as he sat down to eat, hardly daring to look at him, wondering when-or if-Debbie would mention the fact that a man had been at the house in the afternoon.
Randi knew, without a doubt, the instant conclusion that Tim would draw.
"Ahh," said Tim with the air of a gourmet sitting down to a feast, "what a pleasure it is to come home to such a wonderful meal. Randi, you're marvelous."
Randi forced a smile. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said. "For you I would do anything."
Tim turned to Debbie who was playing with her spaghetti. "And what's new with you, young lady?" he inquired.
"I got sick, Daddy," she beamed proudly.
"Well," said Tim, showing her he was impressed. "That's too bad. But you look all right now." Debbie nodded. "I'm okay."
"Were you sick all day?"
"No, just in the morning. In the afternoon Mr. Church came over and he showed me how to paint."
"Mr. Church?"
"The artist. He came over yesterday, too. And the day before yesterday. He's big."
Tim looked inquiringly at Randi. Randi instinctively looked away, and then was instantly sorry she had done so. But it was too late. She knew Tim was suspicious.
Tim's forehead wrinkled up slightly. He said to Debbie, "How long have you known this Mr. Church?"
"Since ... I don't know. Mommy met him in the supermarket the other day, and we went to his house and looked at his pictures. And today he came over here."
"Was he here long?" Tim glanced at Randi as he asked the question. She couldn't meet his eyes.
"He was here when I woke up. Mommy said I was dreaming, but I heard him talking to her. I thought it was you."
"I see," said Tim. "Do you know where he lives?"
Debbie thought a moment. She shrugged and turned to Randi. "Where does Mr. Church live, Mommy?"
"A couple of blocks from here, honey. Stop playing with your food."
Tim looked at Randi coldly. "What's the address, Randi?" he asked.
"What difference does it make?" she said. She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know exactly. Someplace over on Shattuck."
"Where on Shattuck," insisted Tim.
Randi sighed. "Seventy-one," she said. "But what difference does it make?"
Tim pushed his chair back and got up from the table. His face was tight and pale.
"Where are you going?" said Randi.
"I'm going to pay a house call."
"Tim, don't be foolish."
"Foolish?" he said, "I'M being foolish?"
"Tim, we were painting!"
"Uh-huh." He walked to the door and opened it.
"Tim!" Randi said desperately. "Come back here!"
He went outside and shut the door.
"Mommy," said Debbie, "where's Daddy going?"
"Debbie, stay here," ordered Randi, ignoring her question. "We'll be back in a few minutes."
"I don't want to stay by myself."
"You've got to!" said Randi sharply. "Do what I say."
Frantically, Randi raced out of the house. She looked up and down the street and saw Tim walking swiftly down the block. She ran after him. "Stop!" she called. "Please, Tim!"
He ignored her. He was halfway to Warren's house when she caught up with him.
"Tim," she panted. "Don't be ridiculous. What are you going to do?"
"Kill him," said Tim quietly.
"You can't!" said Randi. "He's a judo expert. He'll murder you. Oh please, Tim, you'll get hurt."
"Uh-huh." He continued to walk. "Tim, it was an accident this afternoon. Honest. I told him to leave. I told him I never wanted to see him again. I really did."
"Well, now I'll tell him."
At Warren's house, Tim strode up to the door and pounded on it. "Open up," he demanded.
Seconds later the door swung open. "Hello," said Warren.
Tim took a wild swing and hit him in the stomach. Taken by surprise, Warren doubled over slightly and backed away into the house. Tim charged in after him, swinging wildly.
Randi, her fist jammed nervously into her mouth, watched in horror.
"Keep away from my wife!" Tim shouted furiously. "You hear?"
By now Warren had regained his balance. "Beat it," he said, blocking a wild punch by Tim.
"Did you hear what I said?" shouted Tim.
It was his last remark. Warren swept under a loping overhand right, hauled Tim effortlessly over his back and set him down gently on the floor. Instantly, he had him in a painful arm lock that had Tim twisting his face in pain.
"Stop that!" screamed Randi. She rushed in and began pounding on Warren's back.
"Get away!" snapped Warren, "Or I'll break his arm."
Randi stopped.
"Now listen, you two," said Warren brutally, his face livid with anger. "Get out of this house and don't ever come near here again. Either one of you." He addressed Randi. "Screw around with somebody else from now on. But don't bother me. You're too much damn trouble-you and your fool husband."
Warren lifted Tim, still in the arm lock, to his feet. He shoved him roughly across the room and gave him a push that sent him flying through the door.
Warren took Randi by the arm. "You too," he growled. "Scram. And stay scrammed."
The door slammed behind them, and both of them were out in the street, slightly bruised, but alive. They breathed deeply for a few seconds.
Then Randi, tears running down her face, took Tim's arm and led him away.
They walked silently for awhile. Finally Randi said, "Tim, I love you more than any man in the world. You're so brave."
Tim gave a short, wry laugh. "Courage pills," he said. "I took one before I left."
Randi smiled and held her husband's arm more tightly. "Can you ever forgive me?" she asked.
Tim nodded. "Yes," he said simply.
"Oh Tim!" Randi said, and then she was crying uncontrollably, unable to stop even when they had arrived home.
That evening, in bed, Randi held Tim close to her. "You're wonderful," she sighed happily.
"Yes I am," he agreed jokingly.
"No really!" said Randi. "I love you so much I could bust."
Tim put his arms around her and she cuddled into him. "I love you, too, darling," he said.
"I know," said Randi. "I really know it finally. What you did by running over to Warren's was crazy-but a man has to love somebody very much to be so crazy. Robert didn't do it for Clara."
Tim looked at Randi. "Clara? You mean she also-"
"Oh, I forgot," said Randi. "You don't know. Clara and Robert may get a divorce. She was over here this morning. She was terribly upset."
Tim shook his head. "That's awful."
"I'd better give her a call," said Randi. She picked up the phone and dialed Clara's number. Robert answered the phone.
"Hello?" said Randi, surprised.
"Hello," said Robert cheerfully, recognizing Randi's voice. "How are you?"
"Fine," said Randi. Then, carefully, she asked, "Is Clara there?"
"No," said Robert. "She's at the movies with the kids. I stayed home because I had some checks to make out."
"But I thought-" Randi stopped herself.
"I know what you thought," Robert laughed. "Clara told me she was over there this morning."
"You mean everything's okay? There's not going to be any-"
"There never was going to be any divorce," said Robert. "I just went through all that to give her a good scare, once and for all. It was the only way to shock her back to her senses."
"Does she know that you were just trying to scare her?" Randi asked.
"Yes," said Robert. "She knows. And she's glad. She didn't really want to do all those things. She just couldn't help herself. Now everything's back to normal."
Randi smiled. "I'm so glad."
"So am I," admitted Robert. "I love her very much, you know."
"I know."
"I'll have her call you tomorrow," said Robert.
"Okay," said Randi. "So long. And good luck."
"Thanks," said Robert. "Goodbye."
Randi replaced the receiver on the phone and turned back to Tim. "Forget everything I just told you," she said with a grin. "They're not splitting up after all."
"Nor are we," said Tim, pulling her close to him.
"You can say that again," she smiled, kissing him on the lips.
"I would," said Tim, snapping his fingers. "Except I just remembered, I have something else to tell you. In the excitement of the evening, it completely slipped my mind."
"What is it? I hope it's good news."
"The best. This afternoon while I was in the office I learned that I'd been promoted to district manager."
"That's great!" squealed Randi, hugging him.
"Right," said Tim. "And that means no more traveling."
"Oh, honey, that's wonderful."
"I knew you'd be happy."
"When did you find out?"
"This afternoon. Murphy told me."
Randi pretended to pout. "Well, why didn't you call me and tell me?"
Tim smiled. "I wanted to surprise you with it."
Randi laughed. "You sure did."
They kissed tenderly for a long while. Then they were caressing each other dreamily, rising to heights of passion that, Randi realized, could only be had with someone who was loved very dearly.
"You know something, Tim," she said softly.
"What, hon?"
"I know for sure that I'll never want another man than you. There's nobody whom I love so deeply or who makes me feel so good."
"You mean I'm better than Warren?" he asked teasingly.
"By a mile," said Randi.
"And you," said Tim, still joking, "are better by a mile than ... oh, what's her name?"
Randi feigned anger. "Don't you dare mention her name in this house!"
"I promise not to if you promise not to mention Warren."
Randi held out her hand and Tim took it. They shook. "Deal," she said with a smile. "Deal," he replied.
And as they came together again, and Tim tossled her hair the way she loved so much, Randi knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that it was a deal which would be honored for as long as they lived.
