With Babs, Jack had felt stupid and inexperienced. Now the situation was reversed. He felt ten years older and wiser in the art of making love than the teenage girl in his arms.
He had learned from Babs many ways to arouse a woman. He remembered them all.
Ginny was breathing hard, trembling half with fright, half with the excitement of her first love.
"You have to teach me. Jack," she said in a tiny voice.
He took her into his arms.
He missed the intoxication of making love with Babs. But Ginny's very innocence was a mystery, a promise....
CHAPTER ONE
THE evening was dead. Only scattered chores remained. Night lay ahead. Babs Duncan stared down at the warm, soapy water running between her fingers-what wouldn't she give for something warm and viscous running between her legs, something from a man after he had pulsed out within her? Instead, she would have another dry, lonely night with Art after the dishes were done. Why, she couldn't remember the last time she had had an orgasm. I need cuddling tonight, she thought. Involuntarily, she pressed her body against the sink.
She wondered if her love for Art had died altogether. Maybe it had died seven years ago on her wedding night. Maybe she had never loved him at all.
He came from the living room with another tray of empty glasses. "That's the last of them." He placed the tray on the drainboard. "Great party, wasn't it, hon? I enjoyed the Bordens. Interesting couple. We should invite them more often." He gave her cheek an affectionate peck. "You were the perfect hostess as usual, Babs. Have a good time?"
She choked back an impulse to scream. Instead of a peck on the cheek he should have brushed her with his prong, she thought. He's cold. And I'm becoming cold, too. If he's too tired tonight to snuggle that thing of his between my thighs, I'll....
She forced herself to smile. "Of course I enjoyed the party." But inwardly-The hell I did. I was bored stiff.
She shouldn't have been, she realized. They had a circle of charming and interesting friends. And usually she enjoyed them. But not tonight. Perhaps it was because the crowd was mostly Art's age, in the late thirties. She was at least ten years younger than most of them. She wanted more fun and a younger and livelier group for her parties.
Maybe that's what is wrong with Art and me. The age difference. The thought was a fleeting one. Age was purely relative. She knew many people younger than herself who were already old. On the other hand she had met men in their forties who were somehow young.
Art, she thought bitterly, watching him from the corner of her eye, was one of those men who had been born old. He could not do anything that wasn't utterly logical and sensible. Is that why he bores me so? If only just once, just once, he'd do something unpredictable, or human, or make a mistake....
"Can I help you with this mess?" he asked, indicating the clutter on the drainboard.
She knew his good qualities. He was considerate, even-tempered, and a good provider. And, after all, she loved her big modern home. Maybe you couldn't expect security and the grand passion, too. She felt a stab of guilt at her disloyal thoughts. Am I just selfish?
"Thanks, I can manage, Art. Why don't you take your shower and get ready for bed. You look tired."
That's the girl, Babs. You play your part beautifully. The dutiful, cheerful, young wife. Probably not one person at the party suspected that you're a bundle of tense nerves, ready to snap. But, perhaps tonight in bed....
"Well, I guess I will." He yawned. "Got a big day tomorrow. I think we're finally going to get the zoning permit, to go ahead on that new, low-priced development east of town. Means quite a piece of change." Still yawning, he left the kitchen. She finished the party dishes and quickly stacked them.
In the bedroom she could hear Art in the shower. She began her preparations, her body already beginning to tingle in anticipation. She unzipped her new cocktail dress and hung it in a closet. Then she stripped off her hose, garter belt, bra and panties. Naked, she hunted through her bureau drawers for a sheer nightie. She found a sexy black one and slipped into it.
She glanced toward the bed, feeling her heart quicken. She hoped for once Art would be in the mood. It had been almost two weeks since they had made love, and she was as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.
The situation reminded her of the Tennessee Williams' play, especially the line where the mother-in-law patted the bed, and said that when a marriage was on the rocks, the rocks were right there.
Well, damnit, she thought, their marriage bed was full of. rocks. And it had been since their wedding night.
Art Duncan, she knew, happened to be one of those men who had a tremendous business drive-but very little sex drive. He squandered all his energy on his real estate development projects. Sex to him was a perfunctory thing that he got around to three or four times a month. And she, on the other hand, was a very warm-blooded young woman, who would have been happy to satisfy a man three or four times a night-every night, she felt, right at this moment.
She had tried for seven long years to make their marriage work. Was she fast approaching the point where she must either get a divorce or a lover? Neither prospect was happy.
She sat down before her dressing mirror and brushed her auburn hair until it glowed like fire. She used cleansing cream to remove her make-up. After her face was clean and fresh, she retouched it with just a hint of lipstick and rouge. She dabbed perfume to her neck, arms, and bosom. Art liked the scent.
She stood up then, inspecting herself in the mirror. The sheer black gown did little to hide her body; it might have been a wisp of lace. Well, she thought recklessly, if this doesn't put the old man in the right mood, I'll turn in my union card.
Arthur came out of the bathroom, wearing his pajama bottoms. Even with the house air-conditioned, he always slept in his pajama bottoms. It was one of the utterly predictable things about him. His entire existence, she felt, consisted of a series of predictable little habits.
But he looked cool and clean and his thinning hair was slicked down damply. He was by no means an unattractive man, Babs thought. Even if he was a bit on the heavy side, it was solid weight. And the streaks of gray at his temples did give him a distinguished appearance. But the way he looked, after all, did nothing for her. Her feeling for him was almost dead now, after seven years. Nothing could revive it.
But she needed him tonight, or rather his thick, ruddy organ-anything to slide in and out of her yearning slit, if only to give her simple genital satisfaction. Sad that their relationship had fallen to such a level.
Art yawned again, and crawled into bed, without even glancing at her. She clenched her teeth with frustration. He was probably thinking about that new suburban development project, and how to put it over. Sex was the farthest thing from his mind.
She turned out the light and slid between the sheets next to him.
"Did you take your car down to the shop today?" So his mind was not completely on real estate, she thought bitterly.
"Yes," she replied, lying stiff and tense beside him. "They said the universal joint had to be replaced, whatever that is. They'll have it back in the morning."
"Good." He yawned again, louder.
In another minute he'll be snoring, she thought acidly.
His mention of the car jagged her memory pleasurably. When she had driven into the garage, a boy had come over to wait on her. She had explained carefully about the noise the car had made.
In the middle of the explanation, she had lost track of what she was saying. She had frowned, realizing that her lapse had come from his being such a good-looking young kid, big and husky. He had a pair of magnificent shoulders, curly black hair, and beautiful dark eyes, framed by long eyelashes. Then to her surprise, she realized that she had become sexually aroused to such an extent that she almost forgot about the car. It was a pleasant, almost-forgotten sensation. She had hoped the boy would drive her home, but Dugan, the owner of the garage, had come horning in to say that he could not spare his helper.
Thinking about the boy now made her go pleasantly hot and cold all over. If she received no attention from Art tonight, the hot, insistent needs of her body would keep her awake for hours.
She moved closer to him, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. "Art-"
"Ummm?" he grunted, already half-asleep.
She ran her hand slowly over his chest, down to his waist, toying with his pajama draw-string.
Sleepily, he put his arm around her. "Gee, honey, I'm awfully tired-"
Babs again fought down the impulse to scream. It was plain hell on a woman always to be the aggressor. It made her feel cheap and unwanted. Just once to be thrown across a bed and raped by a real man! Yes, raped, violated, forcibly taken for a man's pleasure.
She was filled with contempt for her husband. She wanted desperately to turn her back on him. But she needed sexual release even more desperately.
For months her only way to enjoy having Art inside her had been to shut him out of mind, to zero in frantically and hotly on someone else-and now she pictured the handsome big-muscled boy at the garage. She slowly pulled open Art's pajama draw-string and felt for the thing. There it was, meaty but far from tumescent. She interrupted her dream momentarily to throw off her own gown, then with eyes closed she snaked down, her tongue flicking, to take the now quivering virility of her husband's into her mouth.
The effect was instant. With a growl Art clumsily thrust at her. He was fully awake. But he was still slow. She had to be the aggressor. Her mouth dewy with juices, she released the organ and leaped atop the man, straddling him. Then she seized it once again and teased herself as he groaned with pleasure. Back and forth across the swollen tip of her clitoris she slid her husband's pulsing part. Finally, unable to endure the burning stimulations any longer, yearning for blessed release, Babs rose on her haunches and came down, impaling herself to the full depth of her mucid opening. She made a high, whining sound, then, as she rode him. Art responded with pig-like grunts and took bites at the nipples burgeoning from her swinging breasts. Suddenly she flung back her head as she ascended the crest, orgasm thundering in upon her, but her husband was blotted from her mind. In his place was the handsome, broad-shouldered young mechanic with the beautiful dark eyes....
CHAPTER TWO
"JACK, how you doing on Mrs. Duncan's car?"
"Okay, Mr. Dugan. Just winding it up."
"Then I'll get the bill made out. And you can deliver it to her." Dugan chuckled. "That broad is stacked. I wish I had the time to take it myself."
Jack Hammond completed the finishing touches on the drive shaft, and kicked himself from under the car on his mechanic's dolly.
He stretched the kinks out of his body and patted the cream white Cadillac convertible. He wondered how it would feel to push a heap like that around.
Dugan stepped out of the office at the front of the garage. He was studying the bill he had laboriously made out. He liked to be sure of his arithmetic. As usual, a dead cigar stub was clenched in his teeth.
"Labor, eight-fifty-parts, twelve bucks," he muttered around the cigar stub. "Comes to twenty-fifty." He paused, shoved his dirty felt hat back from his perspiring brow and scratched his bald head. "Wonder if I could soak her twelve-fifty for labor? But then she might check with one of the other garages-"
He handed the bill to Jack. It had several grimy thumb prints on it. "Her address is there on the bill. Woodside Place, in that new section in the south part of town. Reckon you can find it okay?"
"Sure." Jack folded the bill carefully, tucked it into the breast pocket of his blue work shirt. He walked to the water faucet at the rear of the shop and scrubbed the grease from his hands and face. Before he sat in the car he covered the seat cushion with a clean cloth to protect it from grease stains on his work clothes.
For a moment he sat admiring the car's expensive interior. Then he touched the starter and backed expertly out of the garage. He kept the top down and let the wind tug his hair and fan his face as he drove.
A few blocks from the garage he spotted two of his buddies, Tom Hughes and Bill Majors. Since both had graduated from high school and expected to be in the army by fall, neither had seen any point in wasting the summer at a job.
Jack pulled over to the curb and tapped the horn. Tom and Bill drifted over to the car.
"Get in," Jack invited.
The two boys piled into the front seat.
Tom asked, "Where'd you get the heap? It's wild, man." He glanced around with a look of approval.
"What do you mean where'd I get it? I'm delivering it for the garage, you jerk."
"Oh, yeah, sure."
Jack pulled away from the curb with a surge of power that pressed the three of them against the seat cushion. He snapped on the radio, found a station that played rock'n'roll records. The music filled the car from rear seat twin hi-fi speakers.
"Who's it belong to, Jack?"
"Some rich chick lives out at Woodside Place."
"Yeah? Is she in the same class with this heap?"
Jack answered Tom's question with a long, low whistle, more eloquent than words.
Bill and Tom were interested. "What's she look like?"
Jack shrugged. He was getting into heavy traffic. He checked his rear-view mirror, then dodged around slower cars. He was showing off-the car interested him more than its owner.
"Come on, Jack-don't be a horse's ass. What's the broad like?"
On the freeway now, with a clear road ahead, Jack leaned back and enjoyed the speed. "She's about twenty-seven or eight, a redhead. She's stacked."
She had brought the car into the shop late yesterday. Jack remembered Mr. Dugan's eyes had come out on stems. The old man had fallen all over himself, being polite. Jack grinned. It sure had been funny.
Tom said, "So she's stacked. That's all you noticed? I guess it figures. If she didn't have a set of pistons or a carburetor you wouldn't have looked very close. I never saw a cat like you, man. All you can think about is engines and rockets and goin' to college." Tom shook his head in disgust at such a waste of talent.
Jack changed the subject. "What are you guys doing tonight? Anybody got a date?"
"Naw, I'm flat," Tom said.
"Why don't we go swimming out at the park or something?" Jack suggested.
"Okay, we'll think of something. You guys come over to my house after supper."
Jack decided that he had better be delivering the car and getting back to work. He left the freeway at an interchange, cut back to the heart of the city where he dropped his two friends, then drove fast to the new Woodside Place subdivision. He found the address without difficulty, whistled softly. The house was rambling, ranch style, set back under towering pine trees. He thought it must be somewhere in the fifty-thousand-dollar class. Whatever Babs Duncan's husband did for a living, Jack speculated, he had to do it well.
Jack pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. He debated whether to go to the front door or the back. The fence decided him. The entire back yard was enclosed with redwood. Jack grew curious. If he went to the house he would see nothing past the door. He pushed open the gate of the redwood fence.
And stopped.
The garden behind the home of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Duncan was partly paved with brick-the rest was covered with thick grass. Clumps of banana and papaya trees threw some shade, but between them lay dappled islands of sunshine.
In one of these bright spots, Babs Duncan was stretched out, taking a sunbath.
She was wearing a pair of sunglasses.
That was all.
Jack stood frozen, unable to move for seconds. Music reached him faintly. It came from a small, transistor radio beside the nude woman. She had, he noticed, a very fair, pale complexion. She was slender, high-breasted, long-legged. One dimpled knee was raised and moving idly in time to the music, as if the woman were doing a reclining dance to the sun.
He might have made some small sound, for suddenly she turned. He jumped back, slammed the gate and swallowed hard. His heart was pounding and he trembled partly from embarrassment and partly from acute physical desire. This was the first time in his life he had seen a completely naked woman.
Had she glimpsed him standing there? Should he run or stay? He decided against running, without quite knowing why. He was no coward, he told himself. He also admitted to himself that no sight had ever affected him quite the way his view of Babs Duncan had-and that he simply did not want to leave.
Whether or not she had seen him, the sound of his slamming the gate should bring her out. He waited.
She came presently. He was relieved to see that she was now modestly covered with a chenille robe. She was tying the waist cord. "I thought I heard the gate." Then her brown eyes widened with pleasure. "Oh, you've brought the car."
"Yes, ma'am." Jack's ears felt hot. His blood pounded. He wondered if he ought to apologize for walking in on her-it came to him that she must have guessed from the closing of the gate that he had seen her nude.
The brown eyes twinkled. "Did you see me taking a sunbath?"
He bed gallantly, "Oh, no, ma'am. I just started into the yard and-backed right out."
"I see," she nodded solemnly. "Well, it's lucky you did. Lucky for both of us. I should have locked the gate."
"Yes, ma'am." Jack gulped.
She continued to gaze at him, running her eyes candidly up and down his strong frame. The tip of her tongue touched the edge of her teeth. "What's your name?"
"Jack. Jack Hammond, ma'am."
"My, you're a nice polite boy." She smiled, held out her hand. "Hi, Jack. I'm Babs Duncan."
He shook her hand awkwardly, feeling a tingle up his arm at the clinging, soft clasp of her fingers.
She turned her attention to the car. "Well," she said brightly, "I suppose it's all fixed."
"Yes, ma'am. Runs fine now."
"Good. Do you have the bill with you?"
He fumbled in the breast pocket of his shirt, handed her the repair bill.
He wished he could stop staring at her, but it was impossible to look anywhere else. The color of her hair was not pure red, but rather reddish-gold. And it was impossible not to remember the creamy whiteness of her skin, now covered by the loose folds of her robe.
"Come on into the house, Jack," she said suddenly. "I'll write out a check for the repair bill, slip into some clothes, and drive you back to the garage."
Jack followed Babs Duncan into the house. They stepped through the back door into a large, comfortable room, furnished in rattan, with a straw mat floor covering. The refreshing coolness of air-conditioning gave Jack a lift as soon as he entered.
Babs turned to him. "How about a nice cold glass of lemonade while you're waiting, Jack? I've got some freshly made in the refrigerator."
"Swell."
"Make yourself comfortable."
She padded out of the room. Jack sat down on a couch, feeling nervous and jumpy. In a moment Babs returned, carrying a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. She smiled and bent over a rattan coffee table, pouring the lemonade. As she leaned forward the loose robe fell open at her throat. Again Jack saw her naked breasts. Guiltily, he jerked his gaze away.
She smiled. "Drink up." She raised her glass to him, sat down in a chair on the other side of the coffee table. She crossed her legs and the robe fell open, exposing her thighs. She pulled it together, made a face at him. "Damn clothes," she said. "How's the lemonade?"
"Fine."
"I like it on a hot day, don't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," Jack nodded.
She laughed. "Please stop being so darned polite. You make me feel like an old woman. Do I really look that old to you?"
"Oh, no-"
"So, let's not be so formal. I'll call you Jack and you call me Babs. Okay?" He nodded. "Okay."
She sat swinging her foot, gazing at him over the rim of her glass. Jack found it hard to meet her eyes and the motion of her foot caught his attention. She had pretty feet, he thought, nicely shaped. Her toenails were painted bright red. It occurred to Jack it might be kind of kooky to feel that a girl's feet were sexy, but Babs' certainly were. Most people's feet were ugly, Jack thought, with corns, bunions and other signs of punishment. But Babs Duncan's feet were without blemish.
"How old are you, Jack?"
"Eighteen."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're big for your age. Did you play football in high school?"
"Yes, ma'am-I mean, yes. I was captain my last year."
"What position did you play?"
"Tackle."
"Did you graduate this spring?"
"No. Spring a year ago. I've been working for Mr. Dugan since then, saving money to go to college this fall."
Babs leaned forward to put her half-finished drink on the table. Once again Jack's glance flickered to the gaping neckline of her robe. This time when he raised his eyes to hers some kind of strange current seemed to pass between them and Babs flushed. Jack felt curiously shaken.
Babs picked up a package of cigarettes and a lighter and stood up abruptly. "I'll go get dressed," she said, avoiding his eyes. "Finish your drink. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Jack sat stiffly on the edge of the couch. After a while he picked up a magazine from the coffee table, glanced through it without really seeing anything. His attention seemed to have wandered out of the room with Babs. In a distant part of the house he suddenly heard the shower running. Again his heart began pounding in a way that gave him a suffocating feeling. His palms grew sweaty. He imagined Babs standing under the shower, naked as he had seen her in the garden and the thought that he was alone in the house with her filled him with unbearable excitement. He visualized the water caressing her, cascading over her lovely body, streaming over her breasts and down her belly, back and legs. He tried to shake the picture from his mind but could not. It was as clear as if he had X-ray eyes and could see through walls.
He threw the magazine down and got to his feet. For an instant he had an impulse to slip down the hall and try and get a peek at her through the bathroom keyhole. He felt immediate shame.
The sound of the shower stopped. He heard a door open and close. Padding footsteps whispered in the silence, a drawer slammed. Finally heels clicked toward him. Presently Babs appeared in the doorway. She was dressed.
"How was that for a quick change?" She smiled. "I bet your girl friend doesn't dress this quickly."
"I don't have a girl friend."
"Are you kidding? I thought-or maybe you like to keep them guessing. Is that it?"
With a nervous gesture, Babs fit another cigarette. Her movements were curiously jerky.
"I haven't had much time for girls," Jack admitted. "What with football and studying and working after school. And later, just work all the time-"
He paused. Babs did not seem to be listening. She had turned her head and her gaze was distant. She blew a thin blue streamer of smoke. When she brought her attendon back to him, Jack had an oddly electrifying sensation of some kind of communication between them.
Babs had paled. She was staring at him wide-eyed, as if waiting for him to say or do something, to make some move. Jack licked his suddenly dry lips.
"I-I guess we'd better get back to the shop," he said.
"Yes," she murmured. But she made no move toward the door. Nor did she take her eyes from his. She had changed into a light summer dress. Her shoulders were bare. To Jack her stare suggested some kind of nakedness-as if she were looking past all his defences, into his innermost thoughts and desires. And he into hers.
Without shifting her gaze, she moved slowly backward until she dropped into one of the rattan chairs. Once again she crossed her legs. The hem of the summer dress slid above her bare knees. Jack's gaze was drawn to the soft flesh visible under the hiked-up skirt.
He felt tension building up in him and knew that she was feeling something, too.
Babs asked suddenly, "Do you have to get right back to the shop?"
Without knowing why, he shook his head. "I-guess there's no real rush."
Babs bit her hp.
"Do you like to dance, Jack?"
"Sure. But I'm not too good at it."
Babs eyes were wide on him. Her face was flushed. "I love to dance. My husband never has time or he's too tired when he comes home from work. We haven't gone dancing in ages."
She went to a record player at one end of the room, turned it on. When she faced him again, her eyes were bright. "How about dancing with me, Jack? I want to see if I remember how."
He wiped his perspiring palms on his trousers. "I've got car grease all over me."
"I don't mind." She cocked her head at him, like a bird, waiting. "Well, okay "
The thought of dancing with Babs was not like the idea of dancing at all. It was like wanting to hold her in his arms and he sensed she felt as he did. Was she making a pass at him?
He had never had a good-looking, mature woman ask to be in his arms before. He felt unsure, maybe even a little frightened of the implications.
A throbbing, smothering excitement made him clumsy as Babs moved tightly against him. The moment he touched her, she filled his senses. Her body was warm and pliant to his touch-her heady scent seemed to enter his veins and muscles so that he felt almost as a drunk might.
He grew aware of her fingers caressing the back of his neck, making his hair prickle, and a tingling sensation raced down his spine. She tilted her head back slightly. He could feel her heart pounding against him.
"Jack-" His name was a breath on her lips.
They were not dancing-at least to the music. Some subtle rhythm kept them together, however, and Jack did not take his arms from around her. His body was responding wildly to a demand he had never known as Babs pressed even closer to him, flattening her soft belly against him. Still gazing at him, she whispered, "Do you want to kiss me, Jack?"
Her moist lips were inches away. Jack was frightened at what he felt. Man, he was really scared. His mouth was dry and sweat was pouring down him. But he could not tear his gaze from her red mouth.
He kissed her.
Instantly his panic fled, vanished somewhere into the background of his awareness while all he felt was the soft, hot eagerness of Babs' lips under his. Her arms tightened about his neck. Her mouth opened, working against his. He tasted sweet, wet loveliness. Babs moaned softly, twisting her head slowly from side to side. She was breathing hard, clutching at him. Her tongue stabbed between Jack's teeth, thrusting deep into his mouth. Her loins ground against him. When she felt him respond with all his young, male ardor, she gasped and tore her mouth from his.
Her eyes were dark with passion. Her breasts heaved.
Jack pushed trembling fingers through his hair.
He was filled with mingled anticipation and a returning dread. The situation was wildly wonderful beyond belief. In a matter of moments, would their bodies merge-would he learn what all the thunder and shouting was about when guys talked of sex?
But he had been strictly raised. He knew he was doing wrong. This woman was another man's wife.
Guiltily, fiercely, he knew he wanted her more than he wanted a comfortable conscience.
Their eyes were locked in tumultuous recognition. She swayed a few inches toward him. His arms rose to receive her, to pull her against him again.
He was fleetingly reminded of two highly charged electric wires coming together. Her mouth was savage, demanding. Her flattened palms slid down his back, searching out the hard young flesh and sinew under his shirt.
Suddenly she stopped her fevered kissing. Lipstick smeared, eyes closed, she rested weakly against his chest. After a moment's silence, she slipped her hand into his.
"Let's go where it's more comfortable," she whispered.
She led him down a hallway to a cool and darkened bedroom with drawn Venetian blinds and a window air-conditioner.
They sat on the edge of the bed, still holding hands. Her knees were touching his.
Their seclusion quieted the last whimper Jack's conscience might still have made.
You're out of this world, man, he told himself. Somewhere beyond this room, the day was bright, noisy and sweaty. Here there was dimness and the hum of an air-conditioner.
She leaned toward him, kissed him again and ran her fingers through his thick wavy hair. Her gaze was hungrily wistful. "You're such a good-looking boy," she murmured. "And sweet, so sweet-"
She pulled him down on the bed with her. They lay with their arms about each other.
Once before, Jack had gone this far with a girl at a high school party-but no further. He lacked the experience to proceed. Babs soon sensed the fact.
"Jack, honey," she whispered, "haven't you ever made love before?"
His face was hot with embarrassment. "Not-everything-"
She answered unbelievingly. "Never? I thought all you kids these days-"
He licked his lips, shrugging in a kind of misery. He felt he must appear a stupid jerk.
A funny thing happened. Her eyes filled with tears. She hugged him possessively, tenderly, then guided his hand to her bosom. "Have you ever done this to a girl?" she whispered thickly.
His embarrassment ended. Excitement was hammering in his head. "A-a few times," he choked. Her breast was large and firm. Touching her like this brought excruciating desire. His hands fumbled at her bosom, exploring.
"Wait," she whispered. She sat up and opened the zipper at the back of her dress. She slipped the dress from her shoulders, removed her bra, revealing the blue-veined white-and-pink beauty of her breasts.
She lay down again, guiding his head to her bosom. His face was buried in sweet, quivering flesh. She led his mouth to her nipples. He sucked ravenously, like a baby, Babs rumpling his hair and gasping finally, "I can't stand any more." She flung herself up and swiftly undressed, frantically helped him to do likewise.
"Oh, man-" he moaned, staring at her body. Sensing that she was to be the teacher, he waited.
"A fellow and a girl play with each other first," she explained, taking his all-but-bursting meat in her hand, fondling it. Then she bent and kissed it. "Does that feel good, sweet baby?"
"Oh, wonderful! Wow!"
"Now you do it to me. Touch it. Kiss it-" She flung her legs wide. Eyeing the delicate pubic curls, the rather indelicate labia, he had a quick feeling, despite his heat, that this was going to be unpleasant. But he bent his head, and as the musky scent reached his nostrils, hesitancy vanished. Gleefully he followed directions, nipping and mouthing and tonguing, at the same time probing deeply with his fingers. "Oh, honey, that's delicious," she moaned. "You're such a darling. Do you like me?"
He lifted his head. "You-you're beautiful!"
"You know, I'm crazy about you. You're so young and strong and smooth. Lift up, sweet baby."
Tenderly, then, she directed his boyish but sturdy organ into her hot recesses, slickened now by saliva and her own bursting spume. As the orifice contracted spasmodically he took one mighty stroke. It was enough to slam them into ecstatic explosion, Babs screaming and Jack groaning as he emptied himself copiously into her velvety pit.
Recovering breath, they lay side by side on the rumpled bed. Their bodies glistening with sweat despite the air-conditioner. Babs' hair was tangled. Her eyes were closed. She said, "It was never that way with Arthur. I never knew love could be so good."
Jack could say nothing, he found. He wished she would not talk about her husband.
"I never really loved Arthur, Jack. I was too young when I married him. My mother pushed me into it-he had money and we were poor. He's ten years older than I am. That didn't matter to my mother. She said that security was more important than love. She said it so many times I finally believed her. A lot she knew. She never had either one."
Jack sat up. He saw himself in the dresser mirror and suddenly hated the sight of his own face. In the letdown that followed his first sexual experience, he was flooded with remorse and guilt.
Babs studied his expression, her brown eyes concerned. She reached out to touch him. "Honey, what's wrong? You're not sorry, are you? Didn't you enjoy it? Didn't I make you happy?"
He moved away from her touch. His head was bowed, his jaws clenched.
"I guess I never figured on the first time being like this," he said. "I always figured the girl would be my wife-not somebody else's."
She sat down beside him, tears spilling down her cheeks. Tears and sex seemed to go together, he thought.
She said, "Honey, you mustn't feel guilty. It was my fault. I threw myself at you."
"I didn't have to stay," Jack said. "I could have left."
Babs kept gazing at him with a worried expression.
At length she said, "Sweetheart, don't feel bad. R's not wrong for a boy to have some experience before he's married. Most girls would rather have a man who knows what he's doing to them. A bride-a virgin-can be awfully scared and nervous. Take it from one who knows. And if both of you are jumpy-"
Jack felt wonderfully reassured. "What the heck, anyway?" he reasoned aloud. "A guy's folks give him this jazz about how sex is sacred and waiting until he's married. In the next breath they tell him he better not get serious about a girl until he's had a college education and finds a good job. What's he supposed to do in the meantime? They don't bother answering that."
Babs smiled brightly. "I know a way to cheer you up. Come on, baby."
She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and shoved him coaxingly into the glass and tile stall. Giggling like a schoolgirl, she joined him under the stinging cold water and manipulated the faucets until the spray was at a comfortable temperature.
Jack quickly shared her playful mood. At first, like two lads, they splashed each other, slipping on the wet tile and bumping. Babs took soap and a washrag and began scrubbing Jack's husky shoulders and chest.
She grew intent on the scrubbing as she worked down on his body. Jack felt a stab of reawakened desire.
He drew her close and kissed her. They clung together, their bodies wet and slippery.
She whispered, "Sweet, sweet baby. So crazy about you, Jack."
Her body writhed against him. They stumbled out of the stall together. Babs lay down on the tile floor, her rosy body glistening with a thousand tiny bubbles of scented soap. He took her once more, feeling no guilt whatever.
CHAPTER THREE
JACK had no desire to meet his friends Tom Hughes and Bill Majors that night as he had planned. He phoned Tom and made a casual excuse to get out of the date.
He sat at the table with his mother, father and sister, poked at his supper and tried to keep up with family conversation. He was relieved when the ordeal ended and he could escape to his room. He was in no mood to talk to family or friends tonight. This afternoon he had crossed the threshold into adult experience. He felt emotionally at sea. He wanted to be alone to daydream over the marvel that had happened to him and the beautiful woman who had changed his teenage world.
He flopped across his bed, switched on his pocket-size transistor to a local station that specialized in rock 'n' roll. A new ballad was spinning a sad story of teenage lovers killed in a hot rod accident on their way to a high school prom.
The lyrics seemed pointless.
Jack glanced around his room, feeling like a stranger, even though he had always lived in this two-story house, had in fact been born here.
Jack's father had inherited the house from Jack's grandfather. Although they were by no stretch of the imagination wealthy, Jack's family was an old and respected one in the community. Jack had an uncle who was a city commissioner and once his father had served a term on the school board.
Jack's room .reflected the stage of his growth. One shelf still held the butterfly collection he had painstakingly boxed under glass when he was in grade school. Two faithfully constructed model airplanes hung from the ceiling, mobiles forever trapped in the well-remembered past of his junior high school days. On a work surface near his bed were the stereo amplifier, turntable and speaker enclosures he had built last year from a kit. His record collection consisted mainly of teenage vocals.
In a case near the records were his books, from the Tarzan series through science fiction to volumes on rockets and space flight.
Everything he owned seemed like kid stuff tonight.
Babs Duncan filled every nook and cranny of his mind. He had no emotions except those which concerned her.
Twice in high school he had known infatuation over a girl. Puppy love. He had no idea of the real thing until now.
He closed his eyes, searching his memory for every detail, every sensation, he had discovered in Babs' arms this afternoon. He saw the soft reddish gold fire of her hair, felt it tickle his skin. He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting again her scented lipstick. When he pictured her face, a dozen memories rushed together to form a montage. He saw her stretched on the grass, her face turned to the sun. He recalled the way she looked after quickly dressing, her make-up neat and expert. He saw her as she had been after violent love, looking down at him in the dark, her hair rumpled, her lipstick smeared.
The last was the memory picture he liked the most. She had been both sweet and wanton. Her large brown eyes had been tender, her mouth tremulous as she whispered how much she loved him.
He could hear her words right now, a soft exquisite sound. He could feel the caress of her hands running smoothly over his body, loving him with a touch.
His first experience with a woman-maybe he had gone a little crazy. But so had she, demanding everything he could give her and more. He had exploded dizzily way out in orbit where she took him, again and again, shuddering convulsively, and she with him. And each time, she had cried and whispered endearments and caressed him, sometimes as if she were mothering him, other times as if she were a little girl also experiencing love for the first time.
Suddenly dreaming was not enough.
Wow.
When they had finally stopped, he had been quite drained, barely able to walk with her to the car. At that moment he had not thought he would want to make love again in a hundred years.
But now, merely thinking about her, he was getting stirred up again. He felt the sudden aching stab of a lover's loneliness, that could be assuaged only by his sweetheart's presence. He wanted her beside him so bad that he wanted to bawl. He rolled over, slamming a fist into his pillow. She was married, Damn-He had been able to forget for a while that she had a husband.
While they made love no one else had existed in the entire universe-except themselves.
But there was someone else in the universe now-her husband.
He was all loused up and confused, he thought. When he went with a girl in school, he would call her up and go over to her house. But this situation was irritating and different.
At first he had been scared, he knew. You were not supposed to go messing around with a married woman. In the first place, it was a sin. He went to church with his folks and he knew he had broken one of the Ten Commandments.
He might well land in hell.
Besides, a guy could get into trouble right here on earth, if his girl's husband walked in-like getting shot full of holes.
Funny-he was no longer afraid of her husband, now that he had been intimate with Babs. She had belonged to him, she was his. A strange, possessive feeling toward her had come over him. In some goofed-up way that he could not figure out, he resented her husband.
The guy must have treated her like dirt. She had told Jack only a little about it-but enough. He was a lot older than Babs.
Why the hell did she have to be married, anyway? If she was like other girls, he could call her up this minute and pick her up in his hot rod. They could ride down to the lake and park on Hill Road.
The thought of holding her close in a parked car made Jacks blood pound again. Hunger hammered within him until he ached.
He groaned and moaned and blasphemed between clenched teeth, crying a little and viciously pounding his fists into his pillow.
Nothing made him feel any better. He suddenly felt stifled in his room. He had to escape or explode.
He trotted downstairs into the garage, switched on a light that hung over his car engine. The stripped-down hot rod was one he had customized himself with loving hands.
Originally his treasure had been a '55 Chevy. He had put in a stick shift and a souped-up Olds engine, reupholstered the interior with red leatherette, and covered the outside with coats of white lacquer.
The hood was off. Light from the drop cord gleamed on chrome racing heads and twin carburetors.
Jack picked up a wrench and began working on the engine. His joy in his treasure was gone. He felt miserable.
He wished he had never met Babs. But he was glad he did.
He sure as heck wasn't going to mess around with her again.
But he wished she were beside him right now. He was certain of one thing-he was confused.
CHAPTER FOUR
BABS DUNCAN mixed the ingredients of a dry martini and took the pitcher and a glass to the patio.
Two days ago Jack Hammond had delivered her car from the shop and, in a moment of utter insanity, she had seduced a boy a year out of high school.
During those two days Babs had remained quietly stoned. She had kept the house locked and refused to answer the phone while she drank steadily and alone.
Fortunately, Art was so involved with his new development deal that he had come home late each evening, dead tired, and left early in the morning before Babs had to get up. He was not aware of how much she was drinking. For one thing, she had always held her liquor well.
"I ought to eat something," she said aloud, as she lounged in the sparkling shadows. "The mark of a true alcoholic, they say, is not wanting to eat."
The thought struck her as funny and she laughed. "Well, at least I'm a true something if I'm a true alcoholic." One thing she was not-a true wife. To thine own self be true, Shakespeare had said for the benefit of a hundred thousand school kids, of whom Babs had been one quite a few years ago. But if you can't be true to yourself, it's okay if you cheat a little on your husband.
She sighed and asked herself, "Babs, would you care for another martini? Well, I really shouldn't. But if you insist-"
She poured another drink from the pitcher and sipped slowly and moodily.
The redwood patio fence had an unlocked gate. The gate swung open and a blond woman appeared. "Babs," she said. "I've been worried silly about you."
Babs managed with some effort to bring the intruder into focus. She recognized Shirley Landrum, a friend whom she always had liked. She felt closer to Shirley than to any other woman she knew.
Shirley Landrum was big-boned, flamboyant and in her mid-thirties. He hair was bleached. Everything Shirley did, from the way she conducted her love affairs to the type of party she gave, was bravura in style.
At thirty-five she had run through three marriages and twice as many love affairs. Three generous property settlements had removed economic worry from her life, enabling her to spend her time energetically pursuing art. She was active in the city's little theater and was a painter of some talent.
"I ought to spank you," she pronounced severely, approaching with a jangling of bracelets. "I've phoned you for two days. Where the heck have you been?"
"Right here," Babs admitted. "I was in withdrawal. Care for a drink?"
"At ten o'clock in the morning?" Shirley looked at Babs more closely, her tinted eyelids widening with surprise. "Babs Duncan, you're smashed."
"This shocks you?"
"Honey, nothing shocks me any more. But a woman only drinks at ten in the morning if her new hair style is a flop, or she finds that her husband's running around. Your hair looks the same and I can't picture Art playing footsie with his secretary." She sat in a lawn chair beside Babs. "So what gives? Clue me in."
Babs stared at her drink sullenly, aware of her friend's waiting for an answer. She heard herself say, "I'm glad you came over, Shirley. Maybe I need to talk. You're the best friend I've got. I wouldn't talk about this to anyone else in the world."
"I'm the poor girl's Sigmund Freud, sweetie. You can tell me anything." Shirley leaned forward.
The friendly banter struck a sour note with Babs. "Don't joke," she said. "I don't feel cute this morning."
The bigger woman patted Babs' hand. "Darling, I have to joke. It's a defense mechanism, my analyst told me. Please tell me what's eating you. You know I'm interested and sympathetic."
Babs finished her drink in a single swallow. She took a breath. "Shirley, I'm having an affair." She rushed the words out before she lost nerve to say them.
Shirley leaned back. "Finally got to it, did you? I wondered how long you'd be able to hold out."
Babs looked at her curiously. "Am I that obviously unhappy with Art?"
Shirley pursed her bright orange lips. "Darling, I may be a lousy actress and a worse painter, but I know men. I could give post-graduate courses on the subject. I knew Art was a cold fish the first time I ever met him. You, on the other hand, impress me as a hot-blooded little broad who would really enjoy a romp in the hay with the right guy-"
Babs flushed. "You're putting it bluntly. But that about sums it up," she admitted, looking guiltily down at her empty glass.
"And you have now found the right man."
"I have now found the right man."
Shirley laughed. "So that's your problem? Enjoy it while you're young and pretty."
"It's not that simple."
"The guy's married, of course. That always complicates things. I remember when I-"
Through the jolt of the last martini, Babs knew enduring pain. "He's not married," she mumbled.
Shirley bit her lip. "Don't tell me Art has found out and wants to throw you out."
Babs shook her head.
"You want to divorce him and marry this guy? I'd give that some thought, Babs. This thing might cool off, and you know Art makes good money."
Again Babs shook her head. "Nothing like that. The affair started only a couple of days ago. I don't know if I've thought of the future. I'm so mixed up I don't know how."
Shirley frowned. "Let me get this straight. You've found a nice guy who makes you happy in bed. He's not married, so you don't have to worry about a jealous wife. Art hasn't any idea what's happening. You're not upset about getting a divorce, at least not at the moment. So what're you in such a state about? Don't tell me you're suffering from guilt?"
"That's part of it," Babs admitted.
"Oh, now don't be a child. Listen, it's Art's fault. If a guy can't cut the mustard at home, he's just asking for a deal like this."
"That's what I keep telling myself. Anyway, that's not the main thing."
"Then what is?"
Babs swallowed. "This guy-well, he's eighteen years old."
Shirley sat back, speechless for the first time since Babs had known her.
"See?" Babs said bitterly. "I've shocked you. But why? People think nothing of a man going after a girl who's ten years younger than he is. But the other way around is different-or is it?"
Shirley got her voice back. "Eighteen years old." She looked at Babs enviously. "Wow-that must be a blast. Is he big and healthy?"
"He's big and healthy, darling. He's also young and sweet. He used to be pure."
Shirley whistled softly.
"Now can you see why I'm drinking?"
Shirley said slowly, "I don't blame you for anything that happened. But other people might. Is there a chance of anybody else finding out?"
"I suppose there's always a chance. Can they charge me with contributing to his delinquency?"
Shirley asked, "How did you meet him?"
The sun moved slowly in the sky and shadows twinkled across the patio grass. Babs said, "He delivered my car from the garage. I was taking a sunbath here in the yard and he walked in on me. The poor kid was so embarrassed and sweet, and I was bored and lonely. I invited him in for a cool drink while I dressed to take him back to Dugan's garage." She suddenly started crying involuntarily. "Know what, Shirley? He was a virgin. So innocent and clumsy. I cried-because he was so sweet-he was brought up by strict parents."
For a few moments both women were silent.
Shirley said, "Babs, you're not going to see this boy again-"
Babs looked down at her hands. They were clenched in her lap. "Why do you think I've been tight for two days? I've been trying not to call him up. I don't even answer when my phone rings. But I want to be with him again. Terribly."
The larger woman looked worried. "Babs, this is insanity. You can't get involved with an eighteen-year-old boy. Listen to Mama. You want to get a little on the side?
Fine. But pick some nice, discreet guy your own age. Think of the scandal, the sticky mess if people find out about this. You'll not only have Art down on your neck, you'll have the boy's parents and maybe the police." She paused, scowled, then suggested brightly, "Let's get you sobered up and rested. Tonight I'll give a party-and you'll meet someone else, someone safe for you."
Babs said, "I think I'm in love with this boy. I mean, really in love, for the first time in my life. I married too young-" She poured herself another martini and this time she did not sip. She gulped.
Shirley turned pale. "Babs, this is insanity."
"I know," Babs said. "Isn't love always some form of insanity?"
For an hour Shirley tried to talk sense into Babs, then admitted hopelessness and left.
Babs lost herself in reverie as she had done for the past two days. She relived the romantic drama of Jack's fresh lips first touching hers, of his strong arms crushing her close. His pounding heart, the unbearable thrill when his hard, throbbing body ground against her, their abandoned cries, the sweet tenderness when they wept-all these returned. By noon, Babs faced the fact that she could not drink her way out of this situation. She no longer wanted to escape.
She wanted Jack.
She put away the martini pitcher, took a cold shower, applied make-up and slipped into a cool skirt and blouse.
She went out for lunch and had her first real meal in two days, a thick steak and black coffee.
Cold sober, in full possession of what wits she had under the circumstances, she turned her car in the direction of the garage where Jack Hammond worked.
CHAPTER FIVE
DUGAN'S GARAGE was quiet at noon. Mr. Dugan had gone to deliver a car. Jack, alone in the shop, was on his back under a Ford transmission.
Trying to concentrate on the job was not easy. The beautiful face of Babs Duncan insisted on corning between his eyes and his work.
In exasperation, he put his wrench down, lay on the creeper and stared up at the greasy underside of the Ford.
During the past two days he had told himself at least a couple of hundred times to stop thinking about Babs Duncan. What they had done was wrong. He had no business daydreaming about her.
But erotic fantasies came of their own accord and tortured him with memories of Babs sprawled on the bed in all her naked loveliness. He could not help remembering the silken touch of her flesh.
"I gotta cut this jazz or I'll flip," he muttered. Daydreams notwithstanding, he was not going near that broad again. He could get in bad trouble, messing with a married woman, and he knew it.
Resolutely he picked up his wrench and tackled the transmission again.
He managed to keep his mind on work for the next ten minutes. The short blast of an auto horn interrupted him.
He remembered that his employer had left him alone in the shop. He rolled the dolly from under the Ford, sat up, and saw the car that had just pulled in. Shock ran up his spine.
The car was a cream Cadillac and the woman behind the wheel was Babs Duncan.
She wore a soft white blouse. Her head was bare and the wind had tangled her beautiful red hair. She was looking straight at him, her brown eyes wide and haunted with emotion.
Jack laid down his wrench. He wiped the back of his sleeve across his forehead and swallowed with difficulty. "Man, oh, man," he whispered helplessly.
He walked toward her car, feeling the gathering excitement inside, just as he had felt it two days ago. Babs' eyes were sending out radio waves and he was coming in on the beam.
"Hi," she said in a quiet voice.
He stood beside the car and saw the pulse throb wildly in the hollow of her throat. "Hi."
Her brown eyes were drinking him in-as if he were the only thing that kept her breathing. "I missed you," she said.
He wiped perspiring palms on his work trousers. Man, oh, man. He knew what he ought to do-turn right around and walk away from this package of red-headed trouble. , He looked at her luscious red mouth, her full breasts swollen against the texture of the blouse. Her beautiful thighs were only partly covered by a skirt that had hiked up as she drove.
He sweated and his guts ached with wanting her again.
"Have you missed me, Jack?" she asked.
Her brown eyes, he thought, were big enough for him to dive into. He swallowed again. "Yeah-sure I did."
"I just had to see you again." He could neither swallow nor speak. "Do you mind my coming to see you here?" He shook his head.
Her delicious red mouth pouted prettily. "You're not acting glad to see me. Aren't you going to kiss me?"
How could he keep from kissing her? He wondered, staring at that luscious mouth, whether anything now could stop him, short of cutting his head off?
He put his hands on the edge of the door, bent down and tasted her hot trembling lips. Something exploded in his mind and body. He forgot his resolutions not to get mixed up with Babs. Right now he wanted to get mixed up.
She glanced about. "Are you alone here? Where's Mr. Dugan?"
"He went to eat lunch and deliver a car." She giggled. "He usually pops out of his office like he's on springs when I drive in. Will he be back soon?"
"Not until one o'clock, I guess."
The hands of the dirty old clock above the office door pointed to fifteen minutes past twelve.
Babs patted the seat beside her. "Why not get in the car for a few minutes, honey?"
Babs was the first girl who had called him sweetheart and honey and stuff like that. The endearments gave him a charge.
He said, "Let me wash some of this junk off."
He hurried to the washroom behind the office, dipped his hands into a compound that quickly removed grease. He dried his hands on a rough paper towel, splashed water over his comb and ran it through his thick and wavy brown hair.
On his way back to her car he picked up a terry cloth to protect her slipcover from his coveralls. If somebody came in he could pretend he was checking the wires under the dash.
He got into the car beside her. She twisted to face him, smiling. The skirt pulled even higher. Her legs were blush-pink and temptingly smooth.
He was awed and scared. But having been intimate with her once, he knew what exciting mystery was concealed beneath her clothes and he burned all over to explore her again.
She murmured, "Come here, sweet baby." She pulled his face down to hers. Her mouth flattened hungrily against his. Her red, lacquered nails dug into his broad shoulders.
Today, he was not shy. His hands slid down and found the lush swell of her bosom. As he caressed her, her arms tightened about his neck.
"Oh, Jack, sweet baby," she whispered against his mouth. "I've missed you so terribly. I tried to stay away, but I couldn't." There were tears in her eyes. He loved her tears.
She moved away from him, took a cigarette from her purse and punched in the dash lighter. "What will we do about us, Jack?"
He shoved trembling fingers through his hair. "I don't know. I'm all mixed up. Part of me keeps saying this is all wrong and we better not do it again. But I keep thinking about you anyway, and when I see you again, well-" He made a helpless gesture with his hands.
She touched the lighter to the tip of her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, leaned back and faced him.
"I know. I think the same things. But I can't stay away from you, honey. I never knew what it was to need anybody this way." Her brown eyes were desperate with hunger for him. "Do you care for me at all, Jack?"
What did her question mean-what would be asked of him?
"I-I guess so. I don't know-Well, sure, but-"
"Do you love me a little?"
He could not answer. He was filled with a storm of emotions. He knew he lacked the maturity to put them into words.
She rubbed out the cigarette in the car's ashtray, moved toward him again. "Kiss me some more, Jack, please," she begged.
Their mouths locked. She strained against him. Instinctively, his fingers searched for her bosom again.
The blood was pounding in his temples. He burned with desire for her. He fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, pulled the blouse down from her shoulder.
Her breast was uncovered.
Her head fell back. He could hear her breath through her clenched teeth. A spasm shook her from head to foot as he tasted the secret loveliness of her bosom.
Her fingers moved to his face. She stroked his hair, laying back against the steering wheel, shivering, softly moaning.
Panting, disheveled, her blouse hanging open, she drew away. "Jack, honey, someone might come and see us. I'm scared."
"I don't think so," he said heedlessly. "Mr. Dugan won't be back until after one."
"Somebody else might drive in. Maybe a customer."
"It's pretty quiet at noon. Anyway, I'd hear them turning into the building."
She glanced around the garage, at the work benches, the cars fined up in various states of repair. "Isn't there-well, some place a little more private? We oughtn't to sit in the car and make love in public."
"Gee, I don't know. We have the parts bins over in back. But they're awfully dusty and greasy."
"It'll have to do," she said.
"I could close the service entrance. Then nobody could get in without honking." She considered what he had said. "Okay, sweetie. Hurry!"
She opened her door, swung her long legs out and walked quickly toward the back of the shop. The hurried click of her high slender heels echoed on the oil-spattered concrete. Otherwise the tin-roofed building was quiet.
Jack pulled a rope that lowered the heavy overhead doors. The doors rumbled down and hit the floor with a thud.
If Mr. Dugan happened to get back early, Jack would have a hell of a time explaining those closed doors. He broke out in a cold sweat, even thinking about it.
But what could he do about Dugan now? Babs was already behind the parts bin, waiting for him. The only way he could satisfy the aching torment in his body was to join her.
Babs heard her footsteps and marveled. She sounded steady and firm. But her ankles felt weak.
She was having another blank-out of reason.
Another moment of utter insanity.
Her senses had spun out of reach. Her entire being was one great throbbing, screaming need for Jack.
Her body demanded him. Demanded to be touched and loved by him, to be filled by him.
She walked into the dark narrow space between the bins. She leaned weakly against a metal shelf, listening to the thunder of her heart.
Her lipstick was smeared. Her hair was disheveled. Her blouse hung open at her naked breasts.
She heard the rumble of the big doors closing, the tread of Jack's shoes on the floor as he came to her. Her heartbeat kept time to the rhythm of his stride.
He joined her in the alley between the parts bin and a wall, a narrow and dusty space.
Space enough for love.
They stared at each other. The air sang with tension.
She took off her blouse, hung it from the edge of the bin. The tin-roofed building was hot. Her body shone with sweat.
Jack pulled her against him. Hunger made him savage. He kissed her roughly. She responded with equal fierceness, grinding her lower body against his.
"This is a lousy place," he mumbled. "You'll get all dirty and greasy."
"I don't care," she sobbed. "I'm too crazy about you to care-"
Her shaking mouth found his again. Why did she cry when they made love? Art had never made her cry. Hex lovemaking with Art had never been spurred by emotion.
She lay on the concrete floor, hiking up her skirt. The concrete was harsh and cold against her naked bottom. She stared ravenously at Jack's marvelously smooth and sturdy wand that could work such magic for her. She reached up and stroked its petal-like smoothness, felt it throbbing hotly. "Ah," she said. And gently she guided the instrument into the thirsty cleft below her red-gold groin hair.
"Sweet, sweet," he moaned, working his now moistened phallus in and out of the girl. She clamped her legs about his waist so he could achieve greater penetration. His hands jiggled her nipples. She cried aloud as in their lascivious frenzy they rolled and thrashed on the floor. Pinning her finally against a bin, he clutched her warm buttocks and savagely ravaged the soft conduit convulsing upon his hardness.
"Oh, Jack. Oh!" she mewed brokenly, meeting him lunge for lunge, frantically satisfying the hunger of two days. She would not have believed after that first time that their lovemaking could be even more exciting. Now she knew otherwise. Her long, shapely legs quivered and rippled. She felt coils of seething sensation in her vagina, rapturous spirals spinning her toward the summit. She lashed from side to side, urging Jack to be more ferocious with her, to pierce her, hurt her.
He drove at her mercilessly, sparing her nothing until he felt his raging juices slam past all barriers into her, and they were at one....
When they rose from the floor, her body was streaked with grease and sweat. She picked up her things and darted into the washroom. Jack tucked in his shirttails, buckled his belt. Opening the service doors, he breathed a relieved sigh. Neither Mr. Dugan nor a customer had wanted in while he had been making it with Babs.
When Babs emerged, her hair was combed, her makeup repaired. She looked neat, cool, untouchable.
Jack opened the car door for her.
Slipping behind the wheel, she said, "Will I see you tomorrow, honey?"
"I-I don't know. I have to work."
"I'll think of something. Maybe I could phone you from the house and say the car is giving me trouble." She bent toward him for a parting kiss. "One way or another we'll get together soon, sweet baby."
He knew that was a promise.
CHAPTER SIX
TWO weeks passed.
Two weeks of clandestine meetings between Babs and Jack, of stolen moments whose sweetness was all he wanted to live for. The whirlpool had sucked him under and he had drowned in Babs.
The romance was apparently noticed by Jack's boss, although Dugan did not know how far matters had progressed.
One day, during their lunch break, as though speaking of a flirtation, Dugan teased Jack about Babs. Feet propped on his battered desk, dirty felt hat pushed back on his bald head, Dugan said through a mouthful of bread and salami, "You know that good-lookin' Duncan dame that comes in that Caddie convertible? I think she's got the hot britches for you, kid."
Jack looked down at his own sandwich, his face burning. "What makes you think that?" he mumbled, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.
"Man, I wasn't born yesterday. A broad looks at a kid like she does and she ain't got but one thing on her mind. That's gettin' a piece."
Jack's jaws clamped with anger. He wanted to take a poke at this lecherous dirty old man. He had to make an effort to control his impulse.
"Hell, don't look so embarrassed, kid. If I was your age, I wouldn't stop to think. I'd grab it and ask questions later." Dugan pushed his greasy hat farther back on his head, sucked at a front tooth and gazed at a fly on the ceiling. "Man, I bet that chick's a sex-machine in bed. The way she's built, I bet-"
The phone rang, interrupting him-and a good thing, Jack thought. His fists were knotted. One more filthy crack about Babs from Dugan and the garage owner would be picking his teeth from the floor.
Jack picked up the phone. "Dugan's Garage."
"Jack?"
The caller was Babs.
Instantly, Jack's heart quickened. "Yes," he said guardedly.
"Can you talk?" she asked.
Dugan was gazing at him curiously. "No."
"Oh. Dugan's there?"
"Yes."
"Well, listen, sweetheart. I've got wonderful news. Art has to go to some kind of silly board meeting tonight. He won't be home until past midnight. We could go out on a real date together tonight-if you want to."
Jack licked his lips. 'I'll have to call you later."
"All right. Please call me as soon as you can, baby. We could have such fun, spending an evening together."
Jack did not call back that afternoon. He was scared when he thought how deep he was getting in. Suppose somebody saw him out with a married woman? Wow.
He had more than usual trouble that night concentrating on the family supper-table talk.
He realized his mother had made a remark to him and he jerked his wandering mind back with an apology. "Excuse me, Mom. I was thinking about something else."
"You sure were," she said, looking at her son sharply.
"Seems to me like you've been thinking about something else for the last couple of weeks."
"Got something on your mind, son?" his father asked, reaching for the mashed potatoes.
"Aw, no," Jack stammered, looking at his plate. "I was just thinking about an overhaul job I'm doing at the garage."
"I never saw you this wrapped up in an overhaul job before," his mother commented thoughtfully. "You sure you feel all right?"
"I'm fine," he said impatiently. Gee, for Pete's sake, what did it take to get them off his back?
Fern, Jack's twelve-year old sister, put down her glass of milk after draining the contents. "Betcha Jack's got a girl friend," she teased.
Jack suppressed the desire to belt her one. "Wipe the milk off your mouth."
"What I asked you," his mother said, "was if you wanted ice cream on your pie tonight. We're having pie for dessert."
"Oh. Well, thanks, Mom. I think I'll skip dessert." He placed his napkin beside his plate, pushed his chair back from the table. "Will you excuse me, please?"
"For goodness sake, what's your rush?" his mother asked querulously. "We just sat down."
His father peered at him closely through gold-rimmed glasses. "Going somewhere tonight, son?"
"No, sir. I-I have some stuff in my room I want to tend to."
He fled from the table. His mother called after him, "That's a sure way to get indigestion, bolting your food like that. I've told you time and again-"
The rest of her warning was lost as he reached the top of the stairs and the privacy of his room. He flopped across the bed and stared up at the ceiling, his fists doubled.
Why was somebody always on his back-Dugan at the garage or else his folks at home? Why couldn't they leave a guy alone? They acted as if he was still a kid in junior high.
Knuckles tapped at his door. His father looked in. "Mind if I sit down for a minute, Jack?"
"Oh, heck, no." You're going to, anyway, Jack thought in exasperation. A guy had as much privacy as a goldfish around here.
His father entered the room, closed the door and made a small business of sitting down in Jack's chair before taking out and fumbling with his pipe. "You were sorta rude to your mother and sister tonight, Jack," he remonstrated.
Jack clamped his teeth in a mighty effort to hold his temper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"That wasn't why I wanted to talk to you, though. Your mother and I have been worried about you the past week or two. You just haven't been yourself, Jack."
Oh, man, how much poking and prying could a guy take?
"I'm fine," Jack said shortly.
"You can't fool me. You've got something worrying you. What Fern said got me to wondering. I know she was just making a childish wisecrack, but sometimes out of the mouth of babes-you know the rest. Have you gotten mixed up with some girl, Jack? Is that what's bothering you?"
"I'm a big boy now," Jack said. "Guys my age go out with girls."
"Don't get smart alecky with me, Jack," his father said sharply.
Jack sighed. "I'm sorry, Dad. But honestly, for Pete's sake-"
"All right. Just don't forget-honor thy mother and father. You're never too grown-up to respect your elders."
"Yes, sir."
"All right. Now getting back to what we were talking about. So you're involved with a girl."
"I didn't say that, Dad."
"Then you deny it?"
Jack had seldom lied outright to his parents. Lying now would not come easy. A lifetime of strict home authority was no light thing to throw aside.
"I know that in spring a young man's fancy turns to love," his father contributed to the silence.
Oh, for Pete's sake. Why couldn't the old man carry on just one conversation without sticking in those corny sayings? Did he know how they grated on a person's nerves?
"So, I realize it's normal for a boy your age to be interested in girls," the elder Hammond went on. "But I've told you before, you can ruin your whole future if you get involved with a girl before you get your college education."
Jack had the surprised feeling of seeing his father clearly for the first time-this stoop-shouldered man with the sallow complexion and defeated, washed-out blue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses was newly a stranger to him. The ceiling light shone on the bald scalp that was covered only scantily with a few strands of hair.
All his life Jack had taken his father's advice and orders without question. He suddenly wondered why.
The man before him would never amount to a hill of beans, had flopped at every job he tried. He made a halfway go at real estate only because his brother, Jack's uncle, who carried a little weight around town, had gotten him the job.
Yet here he sat, never doubting his great, wise authority, uttering profound advice and corny platitudes.
What the heck did he really know? Had he ever held a glamorous red-headed doll like Babs Duncan in his arms? Had his heart ever thundered?
Jack could not picture his father feeling passion or excitement, or filling a dull and tasteless life with anything but dry trivia. Once there had been a business trip to Chicago. Fifteen years ago-and Jack's father was still talking about it.
"Dad, let me get something straight," Jack stated. "I'm not supposed to get married-or think about it-until I get a diploma. Right?"
"Yes. That's what I've been trying to explain, son."
"By the time I finish working my way through college I'll be twenty-three or four."
"Well, yes. And then you can build a life."
"But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
His father blinked behind the gold-rimmed glasses. "What?"
"I mean, suppose I run into a real chick before I get all this college jazz over with?"
"All that glitters is not gold. The world is full of flashy, cheap girls. But all they'll do is mess up your life."
"How?"
The sage's bald scalp was glistening. He fumbled with his pipe and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Sex was never discussed in Jack's home except in the most oblique and euphemistic terms.
"Suppose you got mixed up with the wrong kind of girl, one of the fast ones that do anything. You might get her into trouble and have to marry her-"
"Don't be so medieval, Dad. Girls are smart these days. They know how to take care of things. They don't get into trouble, as you put it."
The weak, wise face was turning red. "Son, I don't like to hear you talk this way. You've changed in the past two weeks."
"Maybe I've started thinking. You adults give out easy advice. You tell a guy not to mess around until he marries the girl. Then you tell him not to get married before he's got army service and college over with-and a good job. That makes him just about twenty-five. When he asks something practical, like what is he supposed to do in the meantime, you act insulted."
The older man was flushed and trembling with anger. "You're getting out of hand. You listen to me, young man-"
"No. You listen to me for a change." Jack stood up. "I'm tired of everybody on my back, telling me how to eat, and talk, what to do with my life. I'm no kid any more. Ever since I finished high school and went to work for Mr. Dugan, I've been paying you and Mom room and board each month. I figure that entitles me to a little privacy. If I want to go out with some chick I'm tired of getting the third degree about it." He strode to his closet and took out a sport coat. "I'm going out for a while."
"You can't talk like this to me," his father spluttered. "I forbid you. We're thinking only of your welfare."
"Skip it," Jack said hopelessly. He put on his coat, picked up his wallet, comb and car keys and trotted downstairs.
"All right, wise guy," his father yelled after him. "You'll learn the hard way. Pride goeth before a fall."
Jack rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Man, oh, man. Some day the old man would say something new and everybody would faint.
Jack backed his hot rod noisily into the street and drove to the edge of the neighborhood. He stopped at a lighted corner booth and dialed Babs' number.
She answered on the first ring. When she heard Jack's voice she said tearfully, "Honey, I've been sitting here by the phone all afternoon, about to go nuts. I'd almost decided you weren't going to call."
"A lot of things came up," he said. "Still want to go out?"
"Of course I do, baby. I'm all dressed and everything."
"Can I come right over and pick you up?"
She hesitated. "Too dangerous. I have nosy neighbors. I'd better meet you somewhere."
He thought for a moment. "How about the drive-in theater?"
"No, that's too public. Wait, let me think." She was silent for a few seconds before asking, "You know the big shopping center near my home?"
"Sure."
"Most of the stores will be closed by now. The parking lot is dark, especially the north end. I'll drive over and wait for you there."
"Okay."
He burned rubber crossing town in a hurry. He could hardly wait to hold her in his arms.
He reached the rendezvous at the parking area and looked anxiously for her car. At first he thought she was standing him up. Then he spotted the convertible, parked in deepest shadow beside a building at the north end of the center. He spun his heap around, switched off the headlights and pulled in beside her.
The coal of her cigarette arched out and splattered sparks on the pavement. Her door slammed. There was a quick tap of heels and then his own car door opened and she slid in beside him with a seductive nylon swish.
Without a word, they were in each other's arms. Jack held the body that now was familiar and beloved. He kissed her hard, a mixture of anger and passion boiling within him.
She said breathlessly, "Let's get away from here, Jack.
This neighborhood makes me nervous. So many people know me."
"Okay." He started his heap, raked the floor shift into gear, and pulled out of the parking area with his twin glass-pack mufflers drumming.
She moved close to him, resting her hand intimately on his thigh. "Where are we going, honey?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"
"Could we go somewhere and dance?"
"Sure."
He drove to McGinty's, a favorite hangout for teenagers, just past city limits. No doubt some kids would recognize him there but he did not particularly give a hang. In his present mood, he no longer cared if the whole town knew he was going with a married woman. And that included his parents.
A rock 'n' roll band was playing. Jack guided Babs to a booth. They ordered two beers and danced to the slower numbers.
Babs wore a dress of expensive green material that hugged her in all the sexy places. The front was cut in an open V that revealed the valley between her breasts.
She danced with her cheek to Jack's. "Sweetheart, I'm so hot for you tonight," she whispered.
"Me, too," he said. Excitement drummed in his veins.
She pressed her belly against his. "Will you make love to me tonight?" She nibbled at his earlobe, teasingly, lovingly.
"You bet I will," Jack said thickly.
"Where? Why not a motel? We've never been to a motel together. What fun to relax in a room all our own."
"I didn't bring enough money along," Jack admitted sheepishly. "How about we just drive out to the Hill Road and park?"
"Is that where the teenagers go?"
He nodded.
She looked up at him with a kind and mysterious smile. "That would be fun, too, honey. We never have necked in a parked car. I'll feel like a high school girl on a date."
They stopped planning and went on dancing. Jack, still in a rebellious, angry state of mind, forgot to talk to Babs.
He was glad he was with her, though. She was the only one who did not order him around and try to run his life.
He wished there were nobody else in the world except Babs and himself. He could be perfectly happy with that arrangement.
If only they weren't stuck with her husband and his folks. Why did there have to be so many people around, lousing things up for Babs and Jack?
They danced at McGinty's for an hour. Jack paid the check while Babs gathered up her cigarettes, lighter and purse.
They walked toward the door past a table of teenagers who stared at them curiously. One of the girls said, "Hello, Jack."
"Oh, hi, Dorothy," he replied. He guided Babs out to his car.
In the car, she asked, "Who was that girl?"
Jack turned on the ignition. "The one that spoke to me? She's Dorothy Spears."
Babs lit a cigarette. She remained far over on her own side of the seat. Her manner, suddenly, was withdrawn and cool. "She's very pretty."
Jack turned down the highway toward the Hill Road. "I guess so."
"You go out with her a lot?"
"Dorothy? Heck, no. She's just a girl in my crowd."
Babs inhaled furiously. "I don't believe you."
It dawned on Jack that Babs too had been seized by a strange and angry mood. He looked away from the highway to glance at her for a moment. "What's bugging you all of a sudden?"
"Nothing," she said shortly.
"Sure, there is. You're acting real sore."
She stabbed her cigarette out in the car's ashtray. "How old is Dorothy?"
"How the heck should I know? About seventeen, I guess. She's a senior in high school."
Babs turned her face away and looked out of the window. She would say no more, and she refused to move closer to him.
Jack took a farm-to-market road for a mile, then turned right on a country lane. He finally parked in a lonely spot beside a clump of trees.
"I wish to heck you'd explain what's wrong," he said sullenly. "Dorothy said hello and I said hello and you get all sore. What was I supposed to do, walk past her with my nose in the air?"
Babs faced him at last. He was surprised to see that she had been crying-somehow, he had expected her to save her tears for passion. "Jack, don't you understand? I'm so crazy about you I can't stand to think of you with one of those girls."
"Who said I ever was with one?" he demanded.
"Have you ever brought Dorothy out here and necked with her?"
Jack blew out his breath in exasperation and leaned over the steering wheel. "Look, I've never even had a date with her."
Babs stared at him, her lovely brown eyes wide and moist. "Honey, I want to believe you," she whispered. "But she's so young. Only seventeen. And so pretty-"
"Dorothy? She's just a stupid kid. All she can do is giggle and act silly."
Babs crept closer, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. "I guess I've made a damn fool of myself," she apologized. "I never was blind jealous before. I think I'd go out of my mind if you ever made love with another girl."
Jack was still truculent with anger. "And how do you think I feel?"
Her expression was puzzled. "What do you mean, honey?"
"You know what I mean. How do you think I feel about you sleeping with another guy every night?"
She licked her lips. "But that's different, sweetie. I'm married, and-"
"Why is it different?" he said through his teeth, his fists clenched against the steering wheel. "Is that supposed to make me like it any better?"
Babs twisted her fingers nervously. "Jack, honey-"
In a low, tight voice, he asked the question that had hammered in his brain for some time. "Do you-do you still do it with him?"
She swallowed hard, looked down at her fingers. "Jack, we're married." Her voice was dull and small. "He's my husband. He has a right to me when he wants-"
"Boy, I swear," Jack said, shaking his head, "you women are really something. Here you just blew your stack because a girl said hello to me. And I'm supposed to forget that after we spend an evening together and make love together, you're going home to another guy and give him some, too."
"Jack, stop it," she screamed, shoving her trembling fingers into her hair. She whirled and faced him, her eyes blazing. "Now that you've brought the subject up, let's discuss it. Art is not a very strongly sexed man, but still he sometimes wants it. What am I supposed to do? Lock him out of my bedroom? Tell him no, I'm going with a boy named Jack Hammond? Drag you into a scandal?" She shook her head. "No-I he there and close my eyes and grit my teeth and let him have me. And you know what I feel like? I feel like the lowest whore that ever lived. But you wouldn't understand that. You wouldn't understand what it's like to be a woman, in love with one man and having forced intercourse with another."
She stopped for a moment, out of breath, shaking from head to foot. "You make cracks about women. Listen, Jack, you might as well learn this now: It's a tough, rough world. Nobody gives you anything. When you're an adult you do the best you can. You make bargains with life. You pretend. You tell yourself lies-and maybe, if you're lucky, you swipe a few moments of happiness now and then. I mean, if you're damn lucky."
Jack did not know how to answer. He felt somehow shamed-his own family conflicts seemed suddenly petty.
They were silent for long, cold moments. At last Jack murmured, "Gee, Babs, I'm sorry. I guess I was pretty lousy."
She was still crying softly. She looked at him through her tears. "Jack, honey, what's wrong with us tonight? You were angry when you picked me up. I sensed it right away."
He nodded. "Yeah. I had a row with my father. I guess it was my fault. Like you say, it's not easy trying to do what is right. I get kind of bugged sometimes. I mean, I'm not a kid any more. But Dad, well, he acts like I don't have sense enough to blow my own nose. He's always on my back about my future, always bugging me about the college bit. You'd think it was him who wanted to go off to school."
They fell silent again.
Jack became aware of their seclusion in the parked car. Outside, the night drew a mantle of soft dark velvet around them, shutting away the world with all its problems. Jack could hear faint summer sounds, a tree frog down by the creek, the chirp of crickets in the weeds.
A breeze stirred the dry, dusty grass in the ditch beside the road.
As his eyes adjusted to darkness, he was able to see more than the blur of Babs' face. Her cheeks were soft and beautiful, her eyes luminous. A sweet yearning filled his throat until it ached.
She looked back with her heart in her eyes. "Jack, please, let's not be mad any more," she whispered. With a sob, she was in his arms and he was roughly kissing her tea-wet mouth. The fragrance of her hair filled his nostrils. His hands groped for the hidden excitement of her body.
He felt the electric bareness of her thighs above her nylons, and Babs lay back and let him strip her.
"Listen," she whispered after he had slid down her panties and his head was directly over her belly.
"I'm listening," he said.
"Darling Jack, use your tongue, all over me, especially-down there, you know?"
He did not have to be told again. He began with her breasts, trickled down to her belly and then nuzzled the long lips of her vulva.
She whimpered with pleasure and began pulling maniacally at his swollen meat quivering above her. He lowered it to her mouth and, as he found her interior and nibbled at it, her tongue laved and lashed his rigid staff. Finally, gasping with delight, she loosed him, and begged him to drive into her, give her all he had.
It was easy for Jack to slip inside-she was creamy with internal unguent.
She gurgled and he made bull-like sounds. Within seconds he spewed into her. He thought he was finished, but she demonstrated otherwise. Quickly she taught him that he had passed only the entrance exam.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER much troubled thought, Babs rented an inexpensive efficiency apartment in a quiet part of town where she and Jack could meet. Keys to their own hideaway seemed the practical, safe means for the conduct of their affair.
The back seat of a parked car might be all right for a single romantic evening, she decided, but that was all. And motels were risky.
Fortunately, Art gave her a generous monthly allowance and never asked an accounting of how she spent it. By cutting a few corners on her wardrobe, cosmetics and hairdresser, she could easily afford the apartment.
She planned to surprise Jack with it. Telling him nothing about it, she spent the better part of a week, cleaning and decorating the place. Since the neighborhood was shabby, she decided against any effort to make the apartment elegant-a project which, in any case, would have cost too much. Instead, she played up the beatnik theme. She bought inexpensive modern prints, made by a textured process which gave them at a distance the appearance of oil paintings.
She hid the dingy floors with large straw mats at a few dollars apiece. Candles in empty wine bottles, and her portable stereo stacked with cool, muted jazz, gave the final romantic touch.
She phoned Jack at Dugan's Garage on a Tuesday afternoon. "Honey, can you meet me tonight?" she asked excitedly.
"Sure. What do you want to do?"
"I have a surprise." She gave him the address of the flat and made him promise to come there straight after work.
Jack was mystified. "You mean, come like I am, in my work clothes? What is this place, anyway?"
"Never mind, sweetie. You just do as I say."
Next, Babs phoned Arthur's office. She told him that she and Shirley Landrum were going to dinner and a concert and that she might be late. She called and wanted Shirley to cover up in case Art ever asked about the evening.
Preliminary details out of the way, Babs spent the afternoon in and out of the tiny apartment, making preparations. At a small neighborhood grocery store, she purchased the ingredients for Neapolitan spaghetti with savory meat balls and a salad. At the liquor store she ordered two large bottles of chianti wine.
She carried her groceries upstairs, making several trips. As she unlocked her door, a slatternly pregnant woman of forty appeared across the hall, leaning in an open doorway.
"Hello," she said in a nasal twang. "Guess you're my new neighbor. Heard you comin' an' goin'."
Babs nodded. "Hello," she said shortly. Balancing the groceries on one hip, she quickly got past her door and into her apartment. She had no wish to become familiar with other people in this building.
She changed into lounging pajamas and occupied herself for the rest of the afternoon preparing salad meatballs, spaghetti and garlic bread, and counting the minutes until Jack's arrival.
At six-fifteen she heard his knock on the door. Her heart quickened its tempo. She untied and threw aside her apron, smoothed her hair and hurried to the door. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed.
"Hi, sweet baby," she cried as she opened the door.
Jack entered slowly, looking around in amazement. "Hey, who does this pad belong to?"
"It's ours, sweetie," Babs informed him.
"What d'you mean, ours?"
"I mean, I rented it We can meet here whenever we like." She savored his look of stunned surprise. "Well, what do you think of it?"
"Gee, it's real crazy," he said, still somewhat dazed. "You mean you rented it, really?"
She tucked her arm through his. "Come on. I'll give you the guided tour of both rooms. The one we're standing in is the combination living and bedroom. You see, the couch over there opens into a bed." She gave his arm a squeeze. "I hope we're going to try it out before the evening is over," she added, her voice thickening as she gazed at his handsome young profile and broad shoulders.
Then she opened a door. "This, as you see, is the bathroom. It's small, but adequate." She pulled him across the main room. "And this leads into the other room, the kitchen, where mama is right now preparing one of her de luxe dinners for a hungry young man."
"Hey, that smells real good," he said.
"How do you like the way I've fixed the place? I've been working at it for a week."
Jack shook his head, still bewildered. "It's too much. You're something, all right." He looked at her with respect for her cleverness.
"How do you like my sure-enough, genuine Picasso prints?" she asked gaily, waving her hand at the walls. "Who's that?"
"Who's what?"
"That Pick-Picasso, or whatever it was you said."
Babs stared a moment to see whether he were not joking. "He's a famous modern painter, silly. I found a bunch of his prints at an art store for a bargain. I think they go fine with this bohemian atmosphere, don't you?"
He studied one of the prints. "Oh. Gee, I never could make much sense of that modern painting jazz. I guess it's okay."
Babs felt a brief letdown. Was Jack missing the whole point of her decorating the place? He was extremely interested in the meal she was preparing, however, and that brightened her spirits. Italian cooking was her specialty, as it had been her mother's.
"Now, sweetie," she said briskly, "you go take a shower while I finish getting dinner. But give me a kiss first."
He grinned, happy to oblige. When his clean young mouth touched hers, passion flamed in her. She thought of the evening of lovemaking before them and a thrill raced down her spine.
"I guess I'll take my shower," he said, reluctantly letting her go. He looked down at his grease-stained clothes. "I'll sure hate putting these on again, though. You should have let me stop home to clean up."
"I was afraid you'd eat there. Anyway, I'm selfish. I wanted you with me every possible minute." She paused, pinching her hp between her teeth. A mischievous note entered her voice. "I'll tell you what. We'll solve the clothes problem. We'll play nudist."
"What?"
"Sure." Her look dared him to disagree. "It'll be fun, won't it?"'
"You bet it will," he agreed heartily. "But I don't know if we'll get through supper."
'I'll make you wait," she told him with mock severity. "I want you to eat a good, hearty meal. The mood I'm in this evening, you're going to need all the strength you can get."
He grinned. "That's swell with me. It's been almost a week."
She pushed him toward the bathroom. "Now, go already."
After he disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the shower, Babs undressed, hanging her pajamas and underwear in the closet. Nude except for her high-heeled golden slippers, she returned to the kitchen. The meal was cooked and had only to be placed on the table. She opened one of the chianti bottles and filled their glasses. She fit the candles that were stuck in bottles on the table and turned out all the lights.
In the flickering candlelight, she knew her magnificent, long-legged body became golden in hue with gleaming highlights and soft, intimate shadows.
Jack came out of the shower. His muscular young body glowed from scrubbing and toweling. His hair was damp, carefully combed. Babs felt her throat ache. All the other decorations paled. Jack was magnificent-far more than any painting which he did not understand.
The sight of her body by candlelight brought an instant reaction. Jack grabbed for her.
She darted nimbly out of his reach. From a safe position behind a kitchen chair, she giggled, "Sit down and eat first, you sex maniac. You get me for dessert."
"Sounds like a good deal." Jack grinned.
They faced each other across the table. Babs was too excited to do more than pick at her food. She watched Jack wolf down huge quantities of meatballs and spaghetti with his healthy teenage appetite. He washed down the food with moderate gulps of wine.
She was crazy about him, she thought, her throat constricting. Her fingers ached to bury themselves in his thick, wavy hair. She was starved, not for food, but for Jack Hammond's kisses. She gazed across the table, drinking in every line and detail of his face and his smooth young flesh. She loved the ripple of muscles in his shoulders and arms as he ate.
The chianti made him mildly drunk. She could tell that he was completely unused to alcohol. He knew no more about wine than he did about Picasso, but he liked it. She filled his glass twice and he would have had more but she refused him. She did not want a drunk teenager on her hands.
She turned on her phonograph. The restrained, atonal sound of cool jazz filled the room with its subtle beat.
She felt him behind her or, rather, felt a part of him-his congested lance, the blood-swollen organ that advanced before him. She sighed. Jack was learning fast. Now he was probing the smooth cleavage of her buttocks.
Babs shivered. "Wait," she said. And she crouched on the floor on all fours, her knees as far apart as she could extend them. "Go ahead," she said, "from behind...."
He did as she wished.
It was primitive, the manner in which he assailed her. They were like two dogs on the street, or like a stallion and a mare. And Babs whinnied as he cleaved her. Her whole body shook from the force of his slick lance slamming into her own slickness, but she loved every millimeter of it, her hips rising to absorb the thrilling punishment, her bosom heaving as he fed himself to her. At the last, he held on to her by grabbing both breasts, squeezing mercilessly.
Surging to the heights, she screamed.
And as he expended his hot sperm within her depths, they both sank prone, exhausted, to the floor.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHIRLEY LANDRUM said, "Babs, I'm worried about you.
The time was mid-morning. The two women were drinking coffee at Shirley's house. Babs had stopped by to ask Shirley to cover for her with Art again tonight.
"Worried?" Babs placed her cup back on the saucer. "What do you mean, Shirley?"
"You know damn well what I mean." Shirley thrust a pink and perfumed cigarette into a long-stemmed holder and gave herself a light with a flourish of jangling bracelets. "This ridiculous affair you're having with a child."
Babs flushed angrily. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that, Shirley. Jack may be young but he's no child. He's more of a man than Art, who's twice his age."
"All right, if it makes you happier, we'll call him your young man. But how long do you think you can keep this up?"
"I don't know," Babs admitted, looking gloomily down at her cup.
"Exactly how long has the affair been going on?"
"Two months," Babs said without hesitation. She knew the measure of every precious instant of her stolen time with Jack.
"And you still have that love nest over on Lowery Street, I suppose-"
Again, Babs flashed her friend an angry look. "Shirley, why must you use those cheap terms? You're trying to make the relationship something shabby and vulgar. You're doing it deliberately."
Shirley flicked her ash from her cigarette to the flagstone floor of the patio where they were having coffee.
"Very well," she said, "I'll try to be more delicate. The problem is my habit of calling a spade a spade."
"The problem is that you don't understand at all," Babs retorted. She tried to explain. "I've never known anything like this before, Shirley. At my age I thought I knew about love. Now I realize what love can be like in the arms of the right man. I knew nothing before I met him."
"By love' I assume you're referring to sex, of course."
"All right, if you want to use vulgar terms again. Yes, sex. Shirley, these past two months I've discovered that every book, every poem that's ever been written about ecstasy and passion never even began to explain how wonderful, how completely devasting, how-" She made a gesture indicating inability to put her experience into words. "I can only say that with Jack I've found complete fulfillment, all that a woman can know."
Shirley sighed, her cigarette holder theatrical and drooping, her wrist limp. "So you've found the grand passion. Why argue? As a matter-of-fact, I'm quite envious. But I must try to inject a small note of reason into all this fulfillment. In your state, Babs, you're capable of nothing logical."
Shirley paused to have a sip of coffee. Then she continued. "For example, I don't think you realize yourself the chances you've been taking lately."
Babs frowned thoughtfully, then made an impatient gesture with her head. "I've always given Art a good explanation for the evenings I've been out. Anyway, he's all wrapped up in that old business of his. If I told him I had to make an orbital flight, he'd only grunt."
Shirley pursed her heavily painted mouth. "You're sure of that, are you? Listen Babs. Art may give the appearance of being slow and dense. But he didn't become the town's most successful realtor because he's stupid. When this thing first started I wasn't as worried. You'd see the boy for an hour or so during the day somewhere. Lately it's been two or three nights a week. Art is bound to become suspicious."
Babs shrugged. "Frankly, I don't care."
Shirley swore gently. "Now I know I'm worried. When a wife who's taken a lover makes a statement like that, she's gone off her trolley. You actually don't care if Art finds you out?"
"Not any more. In a way it would be a relief."
"But he would divorce you."
"That's what I mean. Shirley, how can I go on living with that man another day? You don't know what it's like to be in love with one man and have to live with another. Every time Art touches me my skin crawls."
The sunlight turned brassy on Shirley's bleached head. She asked, "And if Art divorced you, then what?"
Babs was amazed at Shirley's lack of understanding. "Why, I'd be free to spend my time with Jack. We could get married."
"You think he'd marry you?"
"I know he would. We've talked about it a lot. We've even made-well, plans."
Shirley's breathing was audible and shocked. "Babs, you honestly mean you'd marry an eighteen-year-old boy?"
"If you love a person, what difference does age make?"
"It makes a hell of a difference when it's the woman who's older, especially if the man is still a teenage boy. Why, you'd be run out of town."
"Then we'd go to some other town."
Shirley leaned forward earnestly. "Can't you see, it's one thing to have a fling with a kid like this, but to think about marrying him-well, you are mad," she said with exasperation.
"Why? Since when is it mental illness to want to be with the one you love?"
Shirley commented dryly, "Being in love with a man and living with him all the time are two different things. Oh, hell, why must I tell you these things? You're a grown woman. I swear I think that boy has made a teenager of you. Suppose you were married to him. What would you talk about? What would you do together, I mean beside the obvious? I don't care how much you like it, you can't spend all your time in bed with him. What else could you possibly have in common with an eighteen-year-old boy?"
"There's no use talking, Shirley. You don't know Jack. You can't grasp what a fine person he is, how sweet and considerate he can be. How-" Babs interrupted herself. "But why try to explain? If you don't want to cover for me tonight with Art, it's perfectly all right."
Babs rose and gathered her purse and cigarettes.
Shirley put a firm hand on Babs' shoulder and pushed her back in the chair. "Don't go huffy on me. Of course I'll cover for you. We gals have to stick together, don't we? What other chance do we have against the whole lousy male race? Now park your fanny right where it is until I get fresh coffee. We'll talk about something cheerful. Did I tell you about the darling cocktail gown I saw at the Smart Shop yesterday?"
Babs and Jack were resting after a lovemaking session that had lasted for two hours. The lumpy couch had been opened in the Lowery Street apartment. Babs snuggled close to Jack. Only a sheet covered them. Her bare arm lay across his chest.
Light came from the steady yellow flame of a candle on a table. Wax in soft vague shapes coated the empty chianti bottle that served as a candlestick. Many previous candles, flickering out their lives through many evenings of love, had created the bottle's mantle.
Strains of searching music drifted from the player across the room.
Babs caressed Jack's face with weightless fingertips, traced the infant lines between his brows. "Why so serious, sweet baby?" she murmured.
Jack sighed. "Trouble at home again."
She kissed him softly. "Want to tell me about it?"
"Oh, it's the same old jazz. My old man's on my back again. College, college, college. I get it breakfast, noon and night. 'Fall term's going to start soon, Jack,' he keeps saying. Then he starts bugging me to make up my mind which school I'll go to."
Babs' eyes clouded. "It scares me when you talk about going away to college." Tears filled her eyes. "I don't know what I'd do if you went away," she choked.
"Hey, there." He slipped his arm about her, pulled her closer. "Who said I'm going any place?"
"Jack," she pleaded anxiously, "they won't make you go away to college, will they?"
"Nobody's going to make me do anything," he promised. "Heck, it's my money. My father couldn't afford to send me across town on the city bus."
She moistened her lips. "But you ought to go to college. I'm being so damned selfish-"
"Look, I don't want to talk about it," he said. "I have enough of this argument at home. Maybe I want to go to college, maybe I don't. But I'm sure tired of people telling me what I ought to do. This once I'd like to make up my mind myself."
"I'm sorry, honey," she said quickly. "You're right." She kissed him again. "Well talk about something else."
She wiggled comfortably closer, content with the warmth of his naked body resting next to hers. She sensed the return of his desire. He kissed her and his hands moved to her breasts.
She smiled dreamily. "You never do get enough, do you, sweetheart?"
"I never get enough of you," he admitted.
"Well, then," she said huskily, "well take care of that little matter." She adjusted her body to his and closed her eyes and murmured little cries of incoherent pleasure as his hard, thrusting vitality throbbed deep in her being.
At that instant, the world exploded into bits.
Afterwards she would not remember the details clearly. She would recall being lost in the moist, warm, sensuous world of love with Jack.
Then rudely, there were hot, glaring white lights. There was ugliness, the sick, twisting nausea of shame wrenching at her guts. There was shock that left her mind numb.
She had not heard the key turn in the door. The blinding glare of the camera flash bulb was the first jolting reality.
She heard her own scream. She twisted away from Jack, jerked to a sitting position in bed, desperately clutching the sheet to cover her nakedness.
Three people stood at the open doorway. One was Arthur, her husband, his face a mask of cold fury. A large, burly man held the camera, grinning lecherously. Next to him was the woman who owned the apartment building. Her face wore a pinched look of self-satisfied outrage.
The passkey was clutched in her bony hand. "I figured something fishy was goin' on here from the first," she said shrilly. "She rented this place, but I never seen her here more than a couple nights a week and always with that boy. I run a respectable building here. I don't put up with that kind of-"
The big cameraman shoved her aside and snapped another picture.
Babs was crying, trying to hide her face with her hands. Jack, white-faced and trembling, had scrambled out of bed. Awkwardly, his back turned, he pulled on his trousers.
In a cold, tight voice, Arthur asked the man with the camera, "Is that all you need?"
"You bet, Mr. Duncan." He grinned, filling his eyes with Babs' nude body, poorly hidden by the sheet. "These two pictures and the witnesses you got will stand up in any divorce court."
Jack had gotten his trousers on. Through tears of shock and humiliation, Babs saw him dive at Arthur with swinging fists. "You lousy bastard," he cried in a furious, high-pitched voice. He too was crying with anger and helpless shame.
One wild swing connected with Arthur's jaw. Babs saw her husband stumble against a wall. Jack jumped him again.
The big man with the camera caught Jack from behind. Grinning, as if he were a huge bear playing with a rabbit, he grabbed Jack's arm and in an experienced move that was quicker than the eye, pinned it under the shoulder blade. His free hand came down edgewise in a chopping rabbit punch.
Jack slumped, momentarily stunned. "Take it easy, bub," the large man grunted. "You're in the big league now."
"Leave him alone," Babs screamed. "Don't hurt him."
The burly man looked to Arthur for instructions. "How about it, Mr. Duncan? Want me to rough the kid up some? Sorta teach him a lesson?"
Arthur pushed away from the wall, nursing his bruised jaw. He shook his head. "Just get him out of here."
The landlady, ashen-faced, had retreated to the doorway. Now her shrill voice screeched, "I won't have it-I won't have carrying's-on like this-I'll call the police-"
"Shut her up, too," Arthur Duncan told his helper.
Babs saw that the hall was crowded with tenants of other apartments, shoving and pushing to get a glimpse of what was going on.
The burly man-Babs supposed he was a private detective-hustled Jack and the landlady out of the room and slammed the door. Arthur locked it from the inside. He turned to Babs, his slate-gray eyes glazed with fury. Babs felt her blood run cold with fright.
He was going to kill her, she thought with sudden wild panic.
He stood over her and whispered, "You rotten little slut."
His eyes were not sane. Saliva trickled from a corner of his twitching mouth.
Babs knew with bone-chilling fright that she was teetering on the edge of her grave.
His flat palm swung out, slapping her across the face with all his strength. The blow knocked her halfway across the bed. She uttered a choked scream.
He jerked the sheet from the bed. Naked, she tried to crawl away from him. She was whimpering.
"Look at you," Arthur whispered hoarsely. "Wallowing in bed with a juvenile delinquent."
Suddenly, he began crying, hoarse, wracking sobs that shook his entire body. "You were my wife. I honored and respected you. I worked like a damn fool to give you nice things. I loved you-and then you-you-"
Babs pushed shaking fingers into her auburn hair. Now she was crouched on the bed. "Art, listen to me-"
Suddenly he collapsed on the edge of the bed like a punctured balloon, burying his face in his hands and sobbing.
"Art, listen," she pleaded shakily, "can't we try and talk about this calmly-"
In his shattered emotional state he was not aware of her words. "I began to suspect something," he mumbled, his face gray and sagging, "but at first I couldn't believe it. Then you kept making one flimsy excuse after another to stay away in the evenings, so I hired a private detective. When he told me you were involved with an eighteen-year-old kid-"
"Art-"
He staggered to his feet and loomed over her. "Well, how was it?" he yelled. "Did you enjoy that damn kid?"
"Listen to me," she screamed. "You don't understand."
"I understand, all right. I understand what I saw when I came in here." He slapped her again.
Her face went numb. She was dazed by the blow. Again she tried to crawl away. He was seized as though by mania. Using his fist, he rained blows on her face and shoulders. When she raised her arms to protect her face, he beat her naked body. She finally was sprawled on the bed, a dazed, quivering mass of pain, moaning through bleeding lips.
"I'm not through with you," he panted, swaying over her limp form. "I'll notify that boy's parents about what happened here. I hope they throw your cheating fanny in jail. I'll see that every scandal sheet in the country gets the story. And I'm going to make this divorce hearing as raw as I can. When I get through with you, you won't walk down the street without people spitting on you."
Then he lurched to the bathroom, fell on his knees and was sick.
CHAPTER NINE
THE news headings and stories would haunt her all her life, Babs thought during the nightmare week that followed Arthur's raid.
LOCAL MATRON IN LOVE NEST TRIANGLE TEENAGE BOY, MARRIED WOMAN NAMED est ADULTERY SUIT
"She had an apartment across the hall from me and brought the boy there several nights a week," a neighbor told a reporter today about charges that Mrs. Arthur Duncan, 28, allegedly enticed a local youth to a love nest apartment for lewd and indecent purposes.
One sickening shock had followed another.
First there had been the horror of Art catching her in bed with Jack-next the physical shock of the brutal beating he had given her.
Somehow, after he had finally left her alone she had been able to drag her bruised body from the bed, get dressed and stumble downstairs to a taxi. She had gone to Shirley Landrum's house and Shirley had hastily summoned a doctor.
Babs had suffered cracked ribs, many "bruises and lacerations, but no serious internal injuries. After a complete examination and X-rays the doctor was able to do little more for her than tape up her ribs and administer codeine for pain. Time would heal the bruises and soreness, he promised.
Her physical discomfort was nothing compared to the emotional impact of the week's sordid events.
She was prepared for Art's divorce action, but not for criminal charges. When policemen came to Shirley Landrurn's house with a warrant for her arrest she hit the rock bottom of shame and despair.
Shirley was wonderful to Babs, hovering over her like an anxious mother hen, chasing away reporters with acid execrations. She telephoned a lawyer immediately when Babs was arrested.
The lawyer was expensive but highly competent. He had Babs released on bail within an hour.
He took her back to Shirley's home for a long chat. "You understand, Mrs. Duncan, these criminal charges against you have been brought by the boy's parents?"
Charles Marston was in his late thirties. He had steel-gray hair, piercing black eyes and a deceptively mild voice. He was known as an attorney who rarely lost a case.
He went on, "If the parents could be persuaded to drop these charges I don't think the district attorney would pursue the matter further. The whole case would collapse. Do you think you could reason with these people?"
Babs shook her head miserably. "I've never met them. From what Jack told me, his father is a self-righteous, pompous little man, a fanatic about Jack and Jack's future. I don't think he'd show me mercy."
"How about Jack?"
Babs looked at the floor. "I haven't been in touch with him since-well, since that night."
"Do you think he'll side with you or with his parents?" Babs said fervently, "Jack loves me. He hates the way his father tries to run his life-especially since the old man is a pitiful failure himself."
The lawyer closed his briefcase. "We'll sit tight for a few days. I can't see where we'd gain by appealing to the father directly. From the way you've described him, we'd only make his indignation worse. Maybe he'll cool down and drop the charges."
"And if not?"
The lawyer smiled. "We'll cross that bridge when-and if-we come to it."
Babs said tearfully, "They're making it all sound so dirty. Those ghastly newspaper stories-" She stopped and looked at him imploringly. "They keep using awful words. Lewd. Indecent. They make me out some kind of nymphomaniac who goes around preying on children. Has it occurred to anyone that Jack and I were in love?"
A small, dry smile touched Charles Marston's lips. "Mrs. Duncan, in my profession one learns very early that the human mind is the dirtiest sewer on earth."
In Jack's room, Jack and his father were having a bitter row. The elder Hammond was pacing back and forth, highly agitated. His scalp glistened with perspiration under his few strands of hair.
Jack sat on the edge of his bed, fists clenched, fighting not to bawl as he argued with his father. "You had no right to call in the police," he choked.
His father stopped pacing. "Listen here, young fellow." He pointed a shaking finger at Jack. "Now you just listen to your father for a change. That cheap woman is out to ruin your whole life. She belongs behind bars, you hear me?"
"Just what do you know about it?" Jack yelled. "Just what the hell do you know about anything?"
"You see?" his father cried triumphantly, pale blue eyes hot with excitement behind the gold-rimmed spectacles. "Now you're sassing your father. You never sassed your parents before. The past two months you've turned into a different boy. You think I haven't seen it? Your mother and I have been worried sick. I knew some girl was turning your head. I never dreamed you'd get mixed up with a twenty-eight-year-old married woman. If I'd had any inkling, I'd of gone to the police when she first hooked you."
Through clenched teeth, Jack said, "You stop talking about her." His body and voice both trembled. "Stop right now, you hear me?"
"Why? I'm telling the truth, you young punk. That woman's a-a harlot. She's got you so mixed up you don't know right from wrong or up from down any more."
"Listen." Jack's face was white. His fists clenched and unclenched. "If you don't stop calling her dirty names, I'm-I'm going to-"
"Hit your own father? Has she poisoned you that much? All right, hit me. Hit your father and I hope God strikes you dead, because I'd rather see you dead than what you're turning into."
Jack's outrage sagged. He buried his face in his hands. He was so sick he wanted to vomit.
His father moved more quietly around the room, picking up objects and putting them down without seeing them. He found Jack's chair, sat down, took off his fogged glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. Then he wiped tears from his eyes. "Jack, I didn't mean what I just said," he murmured brokenly. "I don't know what made me say a terrible thing like that."
Jack did not answer.
'When a man's upset he says things he doesn't mean. Speak in haste, repent at leisure, they say." Jack still did not reply.
"Son, we're both upset. I'm trying to make you understand that I'm not thinking of myself-only of your welfare."
"When will you let me start thinking on my own?" Jack asked in anguish.
"When you're old enough. I'm older than you are, Jack. When a man gets older he has more judgment than a boy."
"It doesn't look like your judgment got you very far. I can't see that you're a howling success."
After the words were out, Jack was sorry. He had thought them for some time but he never had wanted to say them aloud. But his father had humiliated him deeply and said terrible things about Babs. Jack had been blindly motivated to hurt him back.
He could see he had struck home. The wise man turned visibly older. His shoulder slump re-set itself, more aggravated than previously-and the change seemed curiously permanent. He removed his glasses again and fumbled as he wiped them. "I guess you're right, son," he said. "I'm sure no raving success. Maybe that's why I've had such high ambitions for you. I hoped I could keep you from failing the way I've failed."
Jack had never before seen his father humble. A fresh wave of nausea washed over him. He had to get fresh air or smother. He managed, "I want to go for a walk, Dad," and fled from the room.
He was half crazed with worry over Babs. Whenever he phoned her home there was no answer. Possibly she had tried to phone him, too, but his parents were alert now and answering all calls before he could reach the phone.
Nothing, however, explained why Babs had not called him at the garage. He was still going to work every day. He understood that because of his youth and his uncle, the commissioner, the newspapers had not printed his name. He was not being hounded by reporters the way Babs was.
Was she angry at Jack because his father had gone to the police?
Had her husband beat her up so badly she was too sick to talk-and nobody would tell him about it?
Would he lose his mind with worry?
Dugan was not helping the situation any. The grimy little garage owner would not give Jack a moment's peace.
"So you really was gettin' next to that Duncan broad." He sucked at his dead cigar stub with wet, hungry sounds. "I knew it," he said, slapping his thigh. "Damn, the way she kept givin' you the eye." He poked his elbow into Jack's ribs. "Tell me what she was like, huh, kid? What I want to know is-"
How Jack kept from smashing in Dugan's face he never knew. Possibly he was humbled himself.
On the third day after the world ended, a red Ford station wagon pulled into Dugan's garage. Behind the wheel sat a tall woman with dyed blond hair.
When Jack walked over to wait on her, she asked in a deep theatrical voice, "Are you Jack Hammond?" He nodded.
She gave him a frank head-to-toe appraisal, then raised an eyebrow. She sighed. "I can see why she went overboard. My name's Shirley Landrum. I'm a friend of Babs'. She's been staying with me since all the unpleasantness started."
A dozen questions rushed to his lips. "How is she? Is she all right? Why hasn't she phoned me? Gee, I've been ready to flip. I tried, but I can't get hold of her-"
"Take it easy, my young Lothario," Shirley ordered. "Babs hasn't been able to contact you because she's got the whole damn town down on her neck and reporters pestering the living daylights out of her. All the scandalmongers need now would be the sight of you two together."
"But I have to see her. I have to talk to her," Jack said desperately.
"That's why I'm here." Shirley glanced about to make sure Dugan was out of earshot. "Can you get away for a little while?"
"Sure," Jack said quickly.
"All right. Pile in. When we get near my house you can duck down in the back seat so nobody will see you. I have an attached garage. We can drive right in. Then I'll close the door and you can slip into the house. Neat?"
Jack wasted no time in following her instructions.
Twenty minutes later he was entering Shirley Landrum's house through the attached garage. Babs was waiting in the living room.
They rushed into each others' arms, both crying. Babs clung tightly. Tenderly, Jack kissed her bruised mouth. But the ugly cuts and bruises on her face made him blind with fury. "That dirty, stinking rat," he choked. "I ought to knock his head off for hurting you-"
She pressed her fingers against his lips. "Hush, darlin'. It's all over now. I know I look terrible. I'm ashamed for you to see me like this. But the doctor promised it will all go away soon and there won't be any scars."
"I know, but-"
"Listen to me, honey," she interrupted. "I want you to forget about Art hurting me. He got it out of his system. He won't bother me any more. He's filed for divorce. It won't take long because I won't fight him, of course. Then I'll be free and we can be together whenever we want."
"That'll be all the time," Jack quickly assured her.
Her tears spilled. "Oh, sweet baby, I was hoping you'd say that. But-" her eyes clouded. "We won't be together if I have to go to jail-"
Jack felt sick again. He knew she was talking about the complaint his father had signed against her.
He said, "Listen, when he found out-well, about you and me-he went completely off his rocker. But don't worry, Babs. He's already cooling off some. I'll talk him into dropping the charges. If he doesn't, I'll threaten to leave home for good. That'll bring him around."
Relief filled her brown eyes. "Oh, I've been so worried, honey. Not about going to jail. I don't care what they do to me, just so they don't separate us."
"Don't worry," Jack repeated.
She kissed him again and ran her fingers through his hair, gazing up at his face with deep emotion. "Honey, we won't be able to see each other for a while, not until this whole mess quiets down and the divorce is final. My lawyer has given me strict instructions not to meet you."
"That'll be rough," Jack said awkwardly. "Gee, I missed you the last few days."
"You don't know," she whispered. She squeezed his fingers. "We're together right now, though. Please, honey, let's make love. I'll need that to keep on going until we can be together for always."
Jack felt his ears grow warm. He could hear Shirley in the kitchen, mixing herself a drink. "How can we?" he whispered, nodding toward the sounds that indicated Shirley's presence.
"Don't worry about her," Babs said in a low voice. "She's very broad-minded-and very kind. She's known about our affair since it started. Come with me, Jack."
She led him to an upstairs bedroom, closed the Venetian blinds, and undressed. "I'm sorry about all these bandages. I have some cracked ribs, you see. The doctor wrapped me up like an old mummy. Maybe I won't be much fun for you."
Jack gazed at her body. Even marred by bruises and taped with, bandages her unclothed loveliness made him tremble.
She was Babs. He loved her.
He undressed with fingers that were clumsy with impatience, lay on the bed beside her.
"You must be very careful and gentle this time, sweet," Babs murmured huskily. "I'm sore all over."
She pressed his face between her palms and gazed into his eyes with mounting passion. She pressed her mouth to his.
He tried to be careful with her, though in the height of their passion she seemed to forget her bruises.
CHAPTER TEN
PRESSURE on the lovers eased somewhat during ensuing weeks. Jack's father dropped the charges against Babs.
A divorce was granted without a hitch since Babs made no effort to deny the charge of adultery.
Babs got comparatively little out of the property settlement. Art had beaten her, had been instrumental in getting her arrested. If she gave him any trouble over the property settlement, she was deathly afraid of what else he might do. Besides, she had had nothing when she married him and in her inescapable sense of guilt toward him, she had no wish to take any of his belongings with her.
Shirley told her that she was a darn fool. But Babs felt she was lucky to get clear title to her Cadillac and the few hundred dollars in her checking account. She did not push Art for more.
During the court hearings, Babs remained in seclusion at Shirley's house as much as possible. Shirley helped her to avoid visitors who might be reporters.
The day after the divorce was granted, Shirley came into the bedroom where Babs had withdrawn at the sound of the doorbell. "The man wants to see you," Shirley said. "He's not another reporter. He's Jack Hammond's father."
Babs stared at Shirley in speechless panic.
Shirley asked, "Shall I tell him to go away?"
Babs hesitated. She was afraid of Jack's father, just as she was of Art.
"I'd better see him," she said. "Ask him to wait in the living room. I'll be there in a minute."
For some reason she changed her dress. She brushed her hair, lit a cigarette, and glanced at her image in the mirror. Her eyes were dark, pupils widened. After one puff on the cigarette she nervously crushed it out, drew a deep breath, then walked down the hall to the living room.
Jack's father was not what she had expected. She saw a small, stoop-shouldered man with a sense of unimportance about him. His faded blue eyes looked disconcerted. He kept wiping damp palms on his coat.
He cleared his throat, fighting for composure. "I came to ask you to stay away from my son," he said.
In a low voice, Babs murmured, "Mr. Hammond, I've given up my marriage, my home. I've had my name dragged through mud-all because I'm in love with Jack." She shook her head. "He's all I have left. How can I give him up?"
Mr. Hammond took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his perspiring brow. "But now he talks about marrying you. I tell you, you've got that poor boy so mixed up he's half crazy."
Babs returned Alfred Hammond's look of hostility. "Maybe he knows more than you realize, Mr. Hammond. Jack's not the kid you think he is. Why don't you start letting him make up his own mind once in a while?"
Jack's father paced the room, paused in front of Babs. "Listen," he said in a shaking voice, "I can't fight you.
You've got too strong a hold on Jack. I've tried to reason with him. He won't listen to me. When I threatened to have you put in jail he said he'd runaway. Now he says if I won't sign the papers so he can marry you, hell live with you, anyway. He's still under twenty. In this state I have to give my written consent before he can marry anybody."
"I know," Babs sighed.
He was staring at her with a look of baffled frustration. "Why are you so hell-bent on a boy of eighteen? You're a grown woman. Why can't you be satisfied with a man your own age?"
"There's no use trying to make you understand," Babs said wearily. "I happen to love him."
"Listen. Listen to me now," he said, his voice breaking. "I didn't come here to threaten you or fight with you. I'm begging you now, for Jack and his whole future. He's a smart boy, Mrs. Duncan. We had big hopes for Jack. He was going to start college this fall. He's been working hard to save money for school expenses. Please, Mrs. Duncan." Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Babs shoved trembling fingers into her hair, covering her ears with her palms. "Leave me alone," she cried raggedly. "I can't take any more of this hounding and persecution. Why can't you all leave me and Jack alone? That's all we ask-to be left alone."
She felt pushed to the brink of hysteria.
"All right!" Alfred Hammond shouted, suddenly losing his air of unimportance. "I've tried to talk sense to Jack. I've tried to appeal to you. Neither of you will listen to me. Well, he who will not listen, must learn, as they say. I'll sign the papers so Jack can marry you. I'm not going to have my boy living with a woman in sin. But let me tell you one thing." He shook his finger under her nose. "If he's man enough to marry you, hell have to be man enough to support you. Don't count on any help from me. Let him try it alone in an adult world-let him claw and scratch to make ends meet, without the education to get a decent job. You won't look so glamorous to him then."
Babs turned and ran blindly down the hall. She slammed her bedroom door and collapsed against it, breathing hard, heart pounding. "It won't be like that," she choked tearfully. "Jack will never stop loving me, Never." She began sobbing. "Damn you," she wept, "damn you, old man Hammond. Damn the whole world. We'll show you-"
Jack and Babs were married by a justice of the peace in a civil ceremony that took but a few minutes.
Jack felt dazed, cut off from reality, as though he were an actor in a TV drama.By eight-thirty that night they were on a major highway, headed out of the state. They knew they could not remain in their home town after the scandal of their affair.
Babs had over five hundred dollars in traveler's checks, salvaged from her checking account after the property settlement was made. Until they were settled and Jack found a job, that was all they had-except, of course, the Cadillac.
Jack sat behind the wheel of the beautiful five-thousand-dollar automobile. He glanced around at the luxurious interior, trying to convince himself that this sleek treasure was really his now to drive and handle all he wanted. And the luscious red-haired girl curled beside him was his woman, his wife, to sleep with, to make love to whenever he pleased.
Behind him were stifling restrictions, domineering parents, a narrow escape from dull, long years of college, Before him was all the excitement and glamor of adult independence.
They took turns driving and sleeping. The next morning, Jack was asleep in the rear seat when Babs stopped at a motel sign.
The air was tinged pink with dawn. A few hundred yards away the Gulf, looking gray and muddy in the half light, washed up on a stretch of white, sandy beach.
"Jack, honey," Babs called. She leaned back and shook him awake.
He sat up with a jerk and stretched the kinks out. "Where are we?" he asked groggily.
She told him the name of the town. "There are some pretty motels here. I thought we'd better shack up in one and rest for a day or so. Tomorrow we can drive on. Okay?" Sure.
"Honey, you go check in for us."
"Oh, all right."
He walked stiffly to the office. A sleepy night clerk pushed the register toward him. Jack wrote, "John Hammond," then flushed, scratched out his signature and wrote, "Mr. and Mrs. John Hammond," instead.
The boy who helped them with their bags stared at Babs with a smirk. Jack wanted to belt him one. Couldn't he see they were married? Babs was wearing the wedding ring Jack had paid thirty-five dollars for.
Then he realized-their age difference must look funny to a cynical bellhop. The reaction was something Jack would have to get used to.
After Jack tipped the boy a quarter and he left, Babs said, "You go take your shower first, honey." She was opening one of her suitcases, sorting out its contents.
Alone with her in the room, Jack felt a tug of excitement. Weeks had passed. Now they were going to sleep together, make love at their leisure as often and as long as they desired, with no fear of interruption, no need for sneaking around.
The moment was thrill-packed for him, every bit as exciting as that first time he had made love with her.
He took his shower in the luxurious tiled bathroom, rubbed himself briskly with a rough towel and dressed in clean pajamas. As he put them on he suddenly remembered that his mother had ironed them yesterday. He swallowed an unexpected dose of homesickness and went into the bedroom.
Babs had turned down the covers. She smiled at him, blew him a kiss, then jvent into the bathroom, taking her gown with her.
Jack slipped between the crisp sheets. Man, talk about luxury. The air-conditioning made the room cool enough for a fight cover.
Babs took a long time in the bathroom. Jack heard the shower go on and then stop. He waited impatiently, grew drowsy and was on the verge of sleep when the bathroom door opened.
He took one look and was instantly awake. Babs' hair had been brushed until it glinted with sparks of fire. She had scrubbed her face,' then replaced a hint of make-up. Her cheeks looked fresh and pink.
And the gown she was wearing-Jack's eyes bugged.
Black but filmy, the fabric surrounded her glowing body like a dark mist, hiding nothing. He could see the full, rich swells of her pink-tipped breasts, her slim waist, rounded belly, the firm white pillars of her thighs.
She came to the bed and filled his breath with the perfume she had touched to her hair and body. Her eyes were on fire.
She slipped between the sheets. Instantly, their bodies were welded together, their mouths working and hungry, tasting, searching.
"Oh, Jack, sweet baby," she gasped. She ran her fingers through his hair and writhed against him, letting him feel every intimate curve and hollow of her pliant body.
"Are you happy with me, darling?" she panted. "Yes," he said thickly.
She rained kisses over his face while her hands moved down his body. "Do you want me, sweetheart?" she gasped.
"Of course I do," he choked.
Her brown eyes, pupils distended, gazed into his. "What do you want to do to me, baby?" she whispered huskily.
"You know."
She whispered an obscene word in his ear. "Is that what you want to do to me, honey?"
This was the first time she had used a word like that with him. He was wildly stimulated. His fingers, eager and trembling, shoved her gown up under her armpits. He wriggled quickly out of his pajamas and clasped her to him again.
Nothing kept their naked bodies apart. Jack felt himself growing drunk on the touch of her velvet flesh, the feel of crisp hair, of quivering muscle.
Her arms and legs clamped about him. They made love for a long time, then slept in each others' arms and awoke to make love again. They ordered a meal and ate in bed, laughing and acting silly like children playing hooky.
That afternoon they put on bathing suits, went down and swam in the surf. They clung together under the waves and kissed with brine on their lips.
Babs was seductive and sexy in her tight bathing suit.
Her figure was gorgeous, lush. Her naked legs were beautiful, streaming with water.
Jack felt himself aroused again.
Hand in hand they ran back to their cabin, stripped off their wet suits and fell on the floor together. Her body felt damp and sticky.
That night they ate dinner in the motel restaurant Both were exhausted from a full day of strenuous love-making. Jack wanted to watch television in their room after dinner. But he was so tired he fell across the bed and was asleep at once. He half awoke, dimly aware that Babs was taking his shoes off, loosening his shirt and belt and tenderly covering him. He turned over and went back to sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JACK at eighteen had never before been out of his home state. His honeymoon trip with Babs was a fabulous adventure.
His occasional pangs of homesickness were quickly dissolved by a procession of thrilling sights and experiences. The floor shows Babs took him to see in the French Quarter of New Orleans, the bayou country of Louisiana through which they drove, the sprawling metropolis of Houston and the fiery nights of love in Babs' insatiable arms all tended to make him drunk with life.
If this was being an adult, he thought, man, he was all for it. For the first time he had no teachers, parents, or other authorities breathing down his neck, telling him what to do. He felt completely free.
He still found it hard to think of himself as a married man. The concept seemed not quite real.
Babs decided they would settle in a medium sized coastal city. She went apartment hunting while Jack watched TV in their motel room. She selected a modern development of forty individual units grouped around a swimming pool.
Each unit had a private patio enclosed by a redwood fence. The apartments were air-conditioned, had wall-to-wall carpeting and were tastefully furnished. One-bedroom units could be rented for a hundred and sixty dollars a month.
Jack was in hog heaven at the new apartment. He lay around the pool during the day, kidding with the other teenagers who lived at the development with their families. They had a blast, horsing around the pool, playing baseball, or listening to rock 'n' roll on a portable radio. Evenings, Jack spent glued to the TV set. After the ten o'clock news, he and Babs made love. They made love every night and sometimes in the afternoon.
It was great, Jack thought, not to have an alarm clock jerk him out of bed at six o'clock every morning. Each day he slept a little later. By the end of the first week in their new home, he was sleeping until noon.
One night as they ate broiled steaks on their private patio, Babs said in a worried voice, "Jack, honey, I'm almost broke."
Jack stopped chewing a delicious morsel of steak. He felt strangely surprised. He had been having so much fun he had given no thought to money. Right at the start, Babs had explained to him her limited property settlement with her ex-husband. But somehow Jack had not been able to reconcile this restriction with the size car they drove and the lavish way in which Babs wanted to live.
He was a teenage boy, raised by a family of limited means. Anybody who drove a new Cadillac, wore smart, expensive clothes and picked an apartment like this, was bound by some magical process to have plenty socked away.
But now she showed him her almost depleted book of travelers' checks. "You see," she said, "I've got less than a hundred dollars left."
Jack lost his appetite for steak. He pushed his plate away, took the book from Babs and counted the checks in it several times. He felt stunned. There was suddenly an uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach.
"I guess you'd better start looking for a job next week, honey," Babs said.
"Yeah, sure," Jack murmured. He counted the checks one more time. Wow, he thought, the way Babs spread the stuff around, this money would last them no time at all. In the supermarket, she always picked out the most costly steaks. She kept a supply of expensive scotch and wine on hand. She was used to highballs before dinner and wine with her meals. After they moved into this apartment she had bought a new bathing suit downtown for forty-five dollars. Forty-five bucks. Jack had never paid more than five bucks for a pair of trunks in his life. Forty-five dollars for a skimpy little bathing suit not much larger than a couple of handkerchiefs. Man, oh man-He said, "Monday I'll see about a job." She squeezed his hand. "You won't have any trouble, honey. There's a crying need for good mechanics."
"Yeah," Jack said uncertainly.
The truth was, Jack had never worked for anyone but Mr. Dugan. He had first become acquainted with Dugan when he was in high school, hanging around Dugan's shop, asking advice about the hot rod he was building. After a while, Dugan put him to work on Saturdays as an apprentice helper. When he graduated from school, Dugan put him on full time. Jack had natural mechanical ability and Dugan had taught him a lot. But there was plenty he had to learn. Working for old man Dugan as a helper was one thing. Asking for a service job from a big city car dealer was something else.
On Monday Jack went downtown and applied at one of the dealers' service shops. He was timid and unsure of himself. The harassed shop foreman needed mechanics. But he considered Jack's youth, limited experience and the fact that by the time he got the kid broken in, the draft would snag him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't guess we can use you."
Jack tried two other shops with the same results. By then he was so discouraged that he hid in a movie for the rest of the afternoon.
Babs' eyes clouded with worry when Jack reported his failure to land a job. She gave him a bright, forced smile and hugged him. "Don't worry, sweetie. You'll find something in a day or two. You can't expect to land a job the first day."
In spite of her effort to sound cheerful, however, there was an air of worry and tension in the apartment that night. Jack could not keep his mind on his favorite TV shows. He made love with Babs later, but for the first time found little real release.
The next day he made the rounds, trying other shops, following up leads in the newspaper want ads. Late in the afternoon, he got his first break. A service station at one of the major intersections had advertised for a man who could handle customer traffic on the front ramp and also do some mechanical work. Jack talked with the owner, a burly, tough-fisted ex-Marine who had been a sergeant in the second World War. He had a Marine emblem tattooed on his left forearm. His hair, salt-and-pepper, was trimmed in a stiff burr cut. His name was Paul Holland.
He munched on a frayed match, glared at Jack from under beetling eyebrows and growled, "I don't know, kid," in a voice that made a stack of oil cans rattle. "You look pretty young. Outa high school yet?"
Jack nodded. "I'm married."
The man swore. "Damn, you kids get with it early these days." He chewed the match to pieces and spat frayed splinters at a waste basket. "This is a tough job, kid. You got to be on your toes eight hours a day, six days a week. When a customer pulls in, I want my men to hop. I don't mean walk, I mean hop, you savvy?"
"Yes, sir."
"You scared of hard work, kid?" Holland growled at him.
Jack swallowed and shook his head.
"How about when the temperature hits a hundred and ten in the summer and that concrete ramp singes the leather on your shoes? How about when we got a norther blowin' during the winter and you got a wash and polish to do with your fingers half frozen? You got the guts to stick to a job like that?"
Jack swallowed again. "I sure need a job," he answered lamely.
Holland grunted. "I run a tight, clean station here, savvy? I want the crappers kept shining all the time. If I see a chewing gum wrapper out on the drive, it makes me very unhappy. You say you're a mechanic?"
"I worked in the same garage a year and a half."
"I need a mechanic," Holland admitted. "People are always pulling in with busted fan belts, loose tail pipes, crap like that. Last guy I hired claimed he was a mechanic. Hell, he couldn't take out a spark plug. I fired his ass the second day he was here."
Jack said, "I can take out a spark plug."
"All right, kid. I'll give you a try. I'll start you at a hundred a week until I see if you're any good. If I keep you, I'll raise that twenty-five. Stick with me a few months, work hard, keep your nose clean and maybe I'll raise the ante a little more."
Jack was elated. Dugan had never paid more than a three hundred a month. "Well, thanks, Mr. Holland. I'll really work hard-"
The station owner growled, "Yeah? I never yet seen a kid these days that would work. I grew up in the depression. Everybody was hungry. You kids nowadays are soft and spoiled." He looked at Jack's hands and continued, "I'm open twenty-four hours a day. I'm starting you on the morning shift. I want you here at seven tomorrow mornin'. I don't mean seven-ten or seven-fifteen. I don't mean two minutes past. I mean seven. Savvy?"
"I'll be here," Jack promised.
"Bring your social security card with you," Holland yeUed after him.
Jack went home, bursting with the good news. Babs hugged him joyfully. "Oh, honey, I knew you'd land something. I'm so relieved."
But when he told her what his salary would be, she fit a cigarette and sat down suddenly, looking deflated. "I don't see how we can manage on a hundred a week," she said.
"That's only to start with," Jack explained. Mr. Holland said he'd raise it to one twenty-five if I work out okay. And in a few months maybe he'll give me another raise."
"I know, but even one twenty-five a week-" She glanced around the apartment, chewing her lip. "That's five hundred a month. Our rent alone will take more than half. Then there's food, clothes, gasoline, cigarettes-"
Jack felt frustrated and angry. "I don't see what the heck you expect," he said angrily. "That's pretty darn good money for a guy my age to be making. I thought you'd be happy about it. Look, we don't have to five in this ritzy joint. We could get a cheaper place."
"But, honey, we want to be comfortable," she said tear-, fully.
"Well, you seemed pretty happy in that crummy apartment on Lowery Street back home."
"That was different, Jack. It was just a place to meet, a kind of romantic hideaway. But when you live somewhere all the time-"
Jack paced back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck angrily. "I can't help it. He won't pay any more and I can't find anything else."
Their first quarrel had started. Babs ended the argument by bursting into noisy tears. Jack stopped yelling at her. The next thing he knew they were kissing. She clung to him. Their kisses became passionate.
Desire took the place of his anger. He pulled her dress down from her shoulders, burying his face in the soft sweet mounds of her breasts. Heat pounded through him. In moments, she was naked, quivering against him.
Making up after a quarrel, he discovered, could be fun.
Afterward, they lay on the couch together, arms locked, her auburn head on his shoulder. "Honey, I'm sorry I was so bitchy," she whispered. "I'm real proud of you. We're going to make out fine. I don't care if I have to five in a tent as long as I'm with you."
Her words were sweet and sincere. He wondered if she understood their meaning. There sure was a heck of a difference between a husband who earned more than fifteen thousand a year and one who earned less than seven thousand.
When the alarm rang at six o'clock next morning, Jack didn't know where he was. For a moment, groggy with sleep, he thought he was back home. Then he saw Babs' rumpled auburn head on the pillow next to him, her bare shoulder above the sheet.
He shook her awake. "Hey, I've got to get to work."
Her eyes still closed, she groped for her cigarettes on the night stand beside the bed. She lit one. Then she crawled out of bed, put on a housecoat and stumbled into the kitchen to fix Jack eggs and bacon while he dressed.
By the time Jack finished his first day's work at Holland's service station he was ready to drop in his tracks. He had thought his work at Dugan's garage was hard. But nothing had prepared him for the pace required by Paul Holland. Except for thirty minutes which Holland grudgingly allowed for lunch, Jack never sat down once in eight hours.
But he knew he was being tested, that Holland was watching him constantly. His job depended on his making a good showing and he was on his toes. When a customer pulled up to the pumps, Jack swarmed over the car, energetically wiping the windshield, headlights, mirrors and windows, checking under the hood, sweeping out the floorboards while the automatic hose filled the tank. A couple of minor repair jobs came into the station that day and Jack handled them with no trouble. In the wash and grease-rack department Holland kept a good supply of tools.
Jack thought he was doing a pretty good job for the first day until early in the afternoon when Holland chewed him out about the appearance of the ladies' toilet.
"I thought I told you these crappers gotta be kept clean," he yelled. "Look at this mess. Paper towels all over the floor. That lavatory is filthy. And look at this." Furiously he scrubbed at a four letter word that had been scrawled on the wall with lipstick. "One thing I don't put up with is bathroom poetry on these crapper walls-you savvy, kid?"
"Yes, sir," Jack said dazedly. He remembered faintly how he had told his father to stop giving him orders.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BY the time Jack got home that afternoon he was exhausted. Babs greeted him with a hug and kiss. "Look, sweetie," she said proudly, showing him several sheets of paper covered with figures, "I'm working out a budget for us."
For an economy supper that night, she had prepared a one-dish macaroni and cheese meal with a salad. The food barely made a dent on Jack's husky appetite. Too tired to complain, he ate half a loaf of bread to fill the vacuum and fell asleep in front of the television set by eight o'clock.
By the end of the first week Jack's youthful vitality had adjusted to the extra demands made on it and he was able to handle his job without becoming completely exhausted. His boss, Holland, had not given him a single word of approval. But when he opened his pay envelope, he saw to his surprise and pleasure that his first week's salary was noted as sixty dollars. But when he transferred the cash to his wallet, he had forgotten to take into consideration the deductions-social security and income tax. He found that the difference between gross salary and take-home pay had dampened the thrill of the fast raise.
That evening he and Babs had another violent quarrel-but not, this time, over his job or salary.
A double feature teenage horror movie was playing at one of the drive-ins. Jack had seen it advertised and had been looking forward to celebrating his first pay check by taking in the movie with Babs in their Cadillac convertible.
"We can't afford a movie, honey," Babs said. "It just won't fit in the budget I've worked out."
"What do you mean?" Jack asked indignantly. "We can't even see one lousy little movie a week?"
"I've made an allowance for entertainment, but I thought we could save it and go to a night club once a month, or to a concert or the little theater. I've heard they have a very good little theater here. We can see all the movies we want on television."
"Yeah, but I want to see this one," Jack said, filled with disappointment.
"Oh, Jack, honey, really. Prehistoric monsters, Frankenstein's grandsons-I should think you'd be bored to death with anything that silly."
"Well, I wouldn't be. Just once could we do something I'd like to do?"
"Baby, it isn't that. If we had plenty of money I'd go to make you happy. But we can't afford it. It isn't only the cost of the tickets. You'll want popcorn and hot dogs and heaven knows what else at the snack bar. We'd spend five dollars before we got out of there."
He was beside himself with anger. "Boy, this is really something-I've worked my fool head off all week and you're griping because I want to see one lousy movie and maybe eat a bag of popcorn. How about all the money you blow on cigarettes? I don't smoke. And I don't guzzle expensive booze like you do, either. You blow more money on that junk every day than I'd spend on six movies."
Babs blinked as if he'd slapped her. Tears rushed to her eyes. "Jack, that's a terrible thing to say."
"Well, it's the truth," Jack said sullenly, wondering why her tears once had thrilled him. He felt hopeless when she cried. "Look, are we going to a movie or not?"
"No, we're not. And stop acting like a spoiled child about it."
The air bristled with hostility. She had lashed out at Jack where it hurt most. First she had treated him like a child, then she had called him one.
Without a word, he grabbed his sport jacket and stalked out of the apartment. He heard her heels rattling against the floor as she ran after him, calling him. He slammed the door without looking back.
He got in the Cadillac and drove off fast. He had not yet given Babs his week's pay. He was so angry he was in a mood to spend it all to teach her a lesson.
He went straight to the drive-in movie. He bought a single ticket, drove in and parked up front close to the screen. At first he was too angry to keep his mind on the film. But soon the violent action and suspense of the thriller gripped his attention. Lost in it, he temporarily forgot all about Babs and their quarrel.
When the story ended with the hero dispatching the monster by means of an atomic rifle, Jack let out his breath. He was limp. Man that was something. Wow.
An advertisement for the snack bar flashed on the screen. The drive-in area was lighted for a ten minute intermission.
For the first time Jack noticed that the car next to his was filled with teenagers. They all piled out, laughing and jostling. One of them, a girl about Jack's age, gave his Cadillac a wide-eyed look. Her gaze moved up and met his. Then she blushed and turned away. She said something to another girl in the crowd and they both giggled.
She was a cute little chick, Jack thought, watching her walk toward the snack bar. Her blond hair .vas tied in a ponytail that bounced when she walked. Her slacks hugged her hips. She had a honey of a figure.
He ambled toward the snack bar behind the group of kids, planning to buy only a bag of popcorn and a coke. But he had been half-starved all week by the skimpy, budget-minded meals Babs had been cooking. He wound up with a cheeseburger, two corn dogs and a malt. He felt a little guilty when he shelled out two dollars to the cashier.
The cute little blonde was in line just ahead of him. She glanced around, their eyes met again. "Hi," Jack said with a sudden rush of boldness.
She blushed again. "Hi," she murmured and quickly looked away.
Carrying his tray, Jack was still behind the girl and her crowd as they returned to their car, each with his or her purchase from the snack bar. Jack looked over the couples that had paired off. Apparently not all the girls had dates. The blonde was one of the singles.
Jack was still in a rebellious mood. He had finished a week of back-breaking work. He was mad at Babs. He knew he was a married man but he did not feel like one.
"Hey," he said, "why don't you move over and sit in my heap?"
He had addressed the remark to the blond ponytail just ahead of him.
She looked around. "You talking to me?" He nodded.
"Thanks," she said coolly. "I'm with friends."
"Well, you got a car full. I thought maybe you might be more comfortable sitting over with me. My name's Jack Hammond."
Jack had always been somewhat shy with girls. After the things Babs had taught him, however, he felt like an experienced man of the world.
The blonde held a whispered conference with her girl friend. The other girl looked at Jack and the Cadillac and they giggled again, this time nervously.
By then they had all reached the two cars. The kids began crowding into theirs but the blonde lagged back. Jack stood beside his convertible, waiting for her to make up her mind.
She seemed to be struggling between her inhibitions and the gleaming Cadillac convertible. The convertible won out.
"I guess it would be all right," she said finally. She went around to the passenger side and let Jack open the door for her. She sat as far from him as she could, looking a little scared. "My name's Ginny Lyman," she told him shyly.
"Hi," Jack said. He placed the cardboard refreshment tray between them.
He devoured his cheeseburger, washing it down with the malt. He could not remember tasting anything more delicious.
The girl sipped her coke, stealing blue-eyed glances at him. "Are you from this town, Jack?" she asked.
He nodded, unable to reply verbally at the moment because he was halfway through one of the corn dogs.
"Did you go to school here?"
He licked his fingers, sighing with contentment as he began to fill up for the first time this week. "No. I just moved here."
"Oh. Well, I was wondering. I never saw you around before and-well, I was wondering."
He offered her a bite from the remaining corn dog. She shook her head. "Thanks, though."
"You go to school here?" he asked.
"I graduated from high school last spring. Now I'm going to business school."
"Oh." Jack polished off the last corn dog, wiped his fingers and mouth with a paper napkin and then disposed of the napkin and tray by dropping them over the side of the door.
Ginny sipped her coke. "Your folks must be awfully rich," she said, then faltered, "I mean, this is such a beautiful car-"
Jack shrugged. "Oh, you know."
A few months ago he would have been as self-conscious and dumb as this little blonde. Now that Babs had thoroughly educated him in bed, he felt like a real operator.
They were interrupted by the start of the cartoons. Jack knew he had made an impression on Ginny. After she drank her coke she dropped the paper cup over the side of the car and moved a little closer.
By the time the feature was half through they were holding hands.
Jack realized that he was married and was not supposed to be making out with another girl. But it seemed as natural as breathing to go to a drive-in, meet a girl and become friends. In his teenage mind this was closer to reality than his marriage. There were still times when the whole business of having an affair with Babs, marrying her and running off seemed like some kind of wild dream.
After the movie, Jack took Ginny to an open air place for malts. He drove with the top down and the radio tuned to a rock 'n' roll singer whom they both enjoyed.
Jack realized that he liked the girl a lot. In a way he felt more comfortable with her than he did with Babs. He knew that much of his talk sounded immature to Babs. But Ginny hung on his every word with frank, blue-eyed respect.
They talked about things that Jack had not discussed in a long time-high school football, the latest rock 'n' roll hits, their favorite movie idols.
Ginny sat close to him, giving directions, when he took her home.
In front of her house, he switched off the engine. Ginny moistened her lips. "Jack, I have to go right in. I really enjoyed the evening so much. But I'd better-"
He kissed her.
It was nothing at all like kissing Babs. Ginny's young lips were sweet with inexperience.
His reactions had been conditioned by the past months of lovemaking with Babs. He felt an instant stab of desire, made all the sharper by her innocence. Almost without thought he slipped his hand to her breast, his fingertips recalling the lush, sagging, mature feel of Babs' bosom. Ginny's young breast was small, high, and for a breathless second, she leaned against him. Then, with a gasp, she pulled away. Jack realized he had moved in too fast. He should have played it cool the first time out with her.
She got out of the car without looking at him.
He followed her out of the car and up the walk. "Hey, don't get mad, Ginny," he called.
She kept marching up the walk, chin in the air, pony-tail swinging indignantly.
Jack trailed her all the way to the front steps. "Look, I said I was sorry."
She paused on the top step, her back to him, as she spoke. "I'm not that kind of a girl, Jack."
"Gee, I know that. Honest, I don't know what got into me, Ginny."
"I guess where you come from the girls were pretty fast. But I'm not like that."
"I understand. I don't blame you for being sore at me."
"I wouldn't have let you kiss me on our first date except-well, I liked you."
"I know how you feel. I won't bother you any more, he said humbly. "But I want you to know that I think you're a swell girl and tonight was-well-it was swell."
She turned. Her blue eyes were filled with goodness "I'm not really mad, Jack. But I don't want you to thin I'm cheap."
"Well, gee, I don't think that."
She nodded. They were both awkwardly silent until she said, "I've got to go in. My folks don't like m being out too late." She started to open the door. "Jack You can call me sometime if you want." Then she moved quickly into the house.
Jack went back to the Cadillac. He walked around once, kicking at a tire. He got in and said, "Hell." Hi feelings were all mixed up. A light went on in Ginny's house-her bedroom, no doubt.
He drove home slowly. The closer he got to his and Babs' apartment, the more confused and guilty he became. Golly, he was married. He was not supposed to be picking up girls. More to the point, he was not supposed to enjoy kissing girls with blond ponytails. He was in love with Babs but how the heck could a guy in love feel a throat-catching sweetness in a strange girl's good-night kiss?
"Married," he said aloud. Every once in a while he had to say the word to remind himself of his status. Even the word was not entirely real.
He unlocked the apartment door and went in softly. The time was eleven-thirty.
Cigarette smoke made visible layers in the air, drifting and lazy. Several ashtrays overflowed with crumpled lipstick-smeared butts. There was an empty glass on the coffee table. Jack picked it up and sniffed the burnt-cork smell of scotch.
Babs had kept a low lamp burning in the bedroom. She was sprawled face down across the bed in one of her thin black gowns, the empty scotch bottle beside her on the floor.
His throat tightened. A thousand memories rushed through his mind. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the lush womanly curves through her scanty gown. Her auburn hair on the pillow was like fiery gold. All his old hunger for her mounted in pounding waves.
"Babs," he said. She did not reply. He shook her. "Babs," he repeated.
He had never known her before to drink herself unconscious. She stirred. He shook her again. She rolled toward him slowly. When she opened her eyes he saw that they were red from crying. Her lips began trembling. "Jack," she whispered. This time when her tears came they seemed beautiful again. "Oh, honey, I just about went crazy, worrying about you. I didn't think you'd come back-"
She tried to sit up, but she was too drunk. Jack lay down beside her. She kissed him desperately. "Honey, please let's never fight any more," she whimpered. "Promise me we won't fight any more."
With the eager soft warmth of her body pressing against him, he found it easy to promise anything. He shoved her gown up, wanting to touch the silken texture of her legs and hips. He caressed the full ripe swell of her breasts, her soft belly. She moaned, hugging him tightly.
"Please, Jack, honey, let's do it. Let's do it right now-"
He stripped off his clothes. She clutched, kissing him all over. "Sweet baby," she murmured. "Oh, I want you so much. Now-please, now-" She fitted her body to his.
But Jack was not disposed to hurry. He took his time. He tantalized her. He slipped his distended phallus in, then slipped it out and slid the slippery thing through the cleavage of her breasts.
"Please," she said. "I need you. Put it in. Let it stay in. I'm dying for it"
He grinned, enjoying his power over her.
At last he sank into her opening.
"Yes," she said. "Oh, yes."
But then he did not move. He forced himself to hold still.
"Jack," she said, "you're driving me out of my mind." She heaved her fanny up and down. "For God's sake, don't tease me. Give me action."
But he pinned her hips against the mattress. "When I'm ready," he said, laughing.
"You bastard."
"Am I?" He lifted and plunged-again-then again. "Am I a bastard?"
"No-no-you're my sweet baby."
He kept on with it, hammering her as if driving a spike.
At last she arched against him. They both went rigid.-And the heavens burst....
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BABS curled up in a corner of her couch with a cigarette and a pad of letter paper. The next few minutes, she told herself, would feel somewhat like a visit.
Dear Shirley, First, thanks a million for the hundred dollars you wired yesterday. It was embarrassing to have to ask for a loan. Things have been a bit rough for us.
Jack has been working at a service station. He doesn't earn a big salary and we got ourselves in a bind.
Hope you'll forgive me for sounding gloomy, but I have to get a few things off my chest. Haven't been able to make many friends here. The people I'd be interested in seem like old fogies to Jack. And the kids he brings home are terrible.
I can hear you saying "I told you so." But I have news for you, friend-I have no regrets. At night, when Jack takes me in his arms, I forget all about the bills, the social life I'm missing.
I'm still so much in love with Jack it scares me. I'm afraid that some day he's going to think I'm an old woman and ditch me. Joke. I know he truly loves me.
The weather was roasting when we first moved here two months ago. This week the first norther of the winter blew in and I'm freezing. These storms are like nothing you ever lived through.
About the hundred-dollar loan-I'll be able to pay you back soon. I decided to get a job. I had some trouble but finally landed as cashier and bookkeeper at the Breezy Beach Club, a very private dinner spot. Most of the patrons are big oil wheels. I've been there a week. I love the work. At least, holding down a job, I'm not so lonely.
The only drawback is, I work five days a week from four in the afternoon until midnight. Jack's asleep when I get home and he has to leave in the morning before I get up. We have only two evenings a week together. I guess you can't have everything. And now we'll be able to pay some of the piled-up bills.
About time for me to go to work, so I'll close now. Jack and I both send our love.
She sighed and read the letter over, frowning and shaking her head. She changed a word or two, tore up the letter and left for work.
At Holland's service station, Jack took a breather between customers. From his shirt pocket, he pulled a crumpled letter he had received that day from his mother and read it for the second time.
Holland bellowed, "Jack, get off your can. A car just pulled in. I ain't payin' you to rest, savvy?"
Jack sighed, stuffed the letter back in his pocket, and jumped up to wait on the customer.
That night when Jack got home from work the apartment was silent and lonely. Since Babs had started working a week ago, she had left him a daily note on the kitchen table. Tonight was no exception.
You'll find ham, salad, pie in the refrigerator. I'm lonely for you, sweetheart. Think you can wait up for me tonight? I need you so much, baby.
Love, love, love, Babs.
He made a sandwich out of ham, peanut butter and jam. He washed down the sandwich with a half bottle of milk and took the pie to the television set.
But he could not get interested in the shows tonight.
It was sure plenty of nothing, he thought, this coming home from work to sit around by yourself after a cold supper.
He had agreed with Babs that a job for her was their only sensible recourse. He had never expected a job, though, to keep her out five nights a week.
They had argued. Babs finally had convinced him that jobs did not grow on trees and that she had better grab this one while she had the chance.
The club had offered to start her at three twenty-five a month, boosting their combined income to more than nine hundred. They needed that much money. He had never guessed how much it cost to live-if you wanted to call this living, this rattling around in an empty apartment every evening.
He tried reading, but could not concentrate. The pangs of homesickness hit him full force. He thought of his mother-of his sister-and next of the cute teenage blonde, Ginny Lyman, who was somehow part of their kind of world, a world of families and homes.
He had sure liked Ginny a lot, had enjoyed talking with someone his own age for a change, who was interested in things he liked.
On an impulse he ran down the list of Lyman's in the phone book, found her address and dialed the number. A woman answered-probably her mother. He asked "Is Ginny home?"
"Just a moment, please," the woman said. Then came Ginny's hello. Her voice on the phone was warm and friendly.
"This is Jack Hammond," he said. "Who?"
"Jack Hammond. I guess you don't remember me. I met you at the drive-in movie a couple of months ago. Remember? I was in the convertible. You came over and sat with me. I took you home."
"Oh, of course. Hi, Jack." Her voice acquired an eager note. "I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again. How are you?"
"I'm fine. What's new?"
"Gee, nothing much. I'm still going to business college. They really pile work on us. There isn't much time for fun. How about you, Jack-what have you been doing?"
"Not much. Just working, mostly."
"Really? You didn't tell me you had a job. Is it hard?"
Again Jack had the mixed-up feeling that Ginny had given him the night they met. He liked Ginny a whole lot-which made no sense because Babs was the girl he loved, as well as being his wife. But it sure would be fun to see Ginny Lyman again.
Before he could weigh the pros and cons of asking her for a date the words seemed to pop out. "I was wondering if you're busy tonight. I thought maybe I could pick you up and we could go have a malt or something."
"That would be lots of fun, Jack," she answered quickly. "I do have homework, but I suppose I could go out for a while."
"I'll be over in a few minutes."
He hung up and let his breath out with a small explosive sigh. He had gone and done it. Too late to back out now.
His mood changed magically to one of excited pleasure. Seeing Ginny again would sure beat another evening all by himself at home.
His conscience was stinging him faintly. But what the heck? Where would be the harm in going for a ride with a really nice girl? Anyway, some of the fault was Babs' for getting herself a job with kooky hours.
He slicked his hair down, put on a clean sport shirt and his jacket and left the apartment.
Luckily, Babs had taken a taxi to work, leaving him with the car. In fifteen minutes he was pressing Ginny's doorbell.
She opened the door and said, "Hi, Jack." He had forgotten how pretty she was. Her blue eyes were sparkling. Her face was flushed with excitement. She was glad to see him again. "I'll be early, Mom," she called softly over her shoulder, then closed the door.
"I was wearing these capris when you called," she apologized. "Do I look too awful? I could change into a dress-"
"Heck, no. You look swell. We're not going any place where you'd have to get all dressed up."
She slipped her arm through his as they walked down the steps together. Jack felt as if he were back in school again, untroubled by financial worries or Holland's demands. Boy, how easy life had been in the old days-
"Hey, your hair is different," he remarked. "You don't have a ponytail any more."
"Like it this way?" she asked.
"Yeah. You look older. It's real sharp."
She smiled with pleasure. "You know, you're different from the other fellows I've met. I don't know another boy who would have noticed my hair." She gave his arm a friendly squeeze.
They got in the car. She sat close to him from the start, obviously delighted to be out on a date with him.
"Where are we going?" she asked after he started the motor.
Jack considered. He and Babs were down to scratch. He had less than a buck in his pocket.
The solution seemed natural. "How about getting another couple or two and having a blast at my place? There are cokes and sandwich makings."
"That sounds like a lot of fun, but would it be okay with your folks?" she asked.
Jack never hesitated. "I live with my sister," he explained. "She works nights, so I have the place to myself."
In a way, as he said the words, he believed them-more than he believed that he was living with his wife. "Oh, swell," Ginny said.
She made him feel the apartment was an asset rather than a drag.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THEY stopped at a phone booth and called some kids Ginny knew, succeeded in rounding up two other couples.
The impromptu party turned out well. They danced to rock 'n' roll music on the radio, drank cokes, had laughs.
After the others left Ginny helped Jack to tidy up. She dumped ashtrays, washed glasses and rinsed coke bottles in the sink. Jack dried the glasses.
The sleeves of her blouse were rolled up. Jack watched her hands and wrists dipping in and out of the soapy suds, feeling comforted and pleased. Cute as a puppy, he thought. And as sweet as peppermint candy.
"Where do you work, Jack? You never did tell me."
"Oh, I've got a job at a service station on the north side of town."
She handed him a rinsed glass. "Are you going to go to college?"
He frowned at the glass. "I don't know. I guess the draft will catch me pretty soon."
"You ought to start, anyway," she said in a grown-up, serious manner. "A lot of fellows put off college because they have to go in the service. But when they get out of service, they say it's too late to start. If you get in a year or two first, you'll be likelier to finish when your stint is over."
Jack put the glass in the cupboard. "I know. I was thinking along those fines last spring myself. I thought I was going to study aerodynamics-"
He paused. Aerodynamics seemed a long way off.
Ginny's blue eyes were wide and solemn with interest. "You're smart. I can tell from talking to you. You might become a famous space scientist. Maybe you'd build ships that would fly to Mars."
He felt his face grow hot. "Or maybe I'd be a big fat flop."
"Don't say that. Your thinking has to be positive."
They finished the glasses, returned to the living room. Ginny sat on the couch and rolled down her sleeves. She was wearing a shirt-type blouse. Her high, small bosoms pushed at the flimsy material with modest pride.
Jack had an urge to kiss her. With Babs coming home late every night he was way behind in his lovemaking. Ginny's gaze met his. Jack drew her close.
Her lips tasted like sweet fresh mint.
As winter progressed, Jack dated Ginny several nights a week. They did all the things that were fun to him, things that he knew would seem young and silly to Babs. A rock 'n' roll singing idol appeared in person at a local theater and Jack and Ginny were in the crowd. Friday nights they went to the basketball games, sometimes in the high school auditorium, sometimes at the community center. Jack liked Ginny's friends.
They necked, but no more than others did in Ginny's fairly civilized crowd. Jack would come home aroused, ready for Babs to give him release.
With Ginny he found the companionship he craved. With Babs, however, he had a bed partner second to none. He wished confusedly that they could be rolled up into the same girl.
He was not sure when he realized that he was deceiving Ginny. One day he simply knew that a decent girl was becoming serious over him and he owed her the truth.
It took him a week to gather enough courage.
One evening they stopped at his apartment for cokes. Ginny sat on the couch. She wore a green knit dress that hugged her figure. Jack brought her drink and sat beside her, trying to think of the right words. Maybe there were none.
She asked, "What's wrong? You've been so quiet?"
"Ginny, I've got to tell you something. It's not easy. It's going to be a shock."
She put her glass down. "Go ahead, Jack," she said.
He ran his tongue over his lips. "After I tell you, you'll think I'm the lowest rat that ever lived. I like you, Ginny. I know you're going to hate me after you know the score. That's why it's hot easy."
Her blue eyes were unwavering. "Don't you know I like you, too?"
"Well-yeah, I kinda thought so-"
"If you like someone an awful lot, you can't start hating them all at once. You're the nicest boy I've ever known. You couldn't have done anything terrible."
"You want to bet?" He drew a deep breath. "Ginny, I'm married."
Her face turned white as paper. He thought she was going to faint. She reached for her coke, put it down again with a shaking hand. "So it's not your sister you're living with," she said.
"No. Babs is-we're married."
Ginny was obviously trying not to cry. She looked across the room at the picture of Babs on an end table. She had seen the picture dozens of times, whenever they came to the apartment on a date. Before, she had seen what was supposed to be a picture of his sister.
Now what she saw was a photograph of his wife. "She's so much older than you, Jack," she whispered incredulously.
Jack felt ashamed for the first time. "Babs is twenty-eight," he confessed.
Ginny stared at him unbelievingly. "How could you marry anyone that old, Jack?" she asked. "How can you be in love with her?"
"I don't know. I'm all mixed up, Ginny."
He told her the story from the beginning, from the day he had stepped into the back yard where Babs was taking a sun bath.
"After her divorce, we got married and moved here," he concluded.
Ginny listened quietly. "You've answered a lot of things I've wondered about," she said in a shocked, subdued voice. "Now I understand why you can't go to college, why you have to work."
In the stillness the refrigerator seemed loud in the kitchen. Jack looked down at his hands. They were rough and cracked from washing cars in the cold. He was lucky to have a job, though-all the want ads called for experience, special training or college degrees. "I guess you want me to take you home now," he said. "I'm sorry, Ginny. At first I asked you for dates because I was lonesome. I never knew how much I'd start liking you. I guess you must hate me. I kind of hate myself."
Unlike Babs, who was spendthrift with tears, Ginny let go of them as though they were money or blood. Her young mouth worked. She kissed him and then they were clinging to each other, both of them crying. Jack had not cried since childhood.
She whispered, "I told you I couldn't stop liking you no matter what you'd done. That's the way I am. Maybe it's wrong."
"Nothing you do is wrong," he said. "You're good."
Her arms relaxed and she clasped her hands in her lap. But her head remained against his heart and his arms ware close about her. Eyes shut, she asked in a hurt voice, "Are you still in love with her, Jack?"
At no matter what cost, Jack knew, he had to answer truthfully-or else he would never again know a truth from a falsehood. He would spend the rest of his life in the hell of confusion he had known for the past few weeks. "You're the one I'd rather be with," he said. "But at night when she comes home and we make love-" He looked at the floor. "I owe her something. She's my wife."
In a small voice, Ginny asked, "Is she good in bed, Jack?"
"She's good in bed," he echoed, confessing what seemed a finality. He had no other future but to go to bed with Babs.
Ginny doubled her fists and gave Babs' picture a female look of hostility. "You know what I think, Jack. I think Babs is a bad woman. You'd never been to bed with a girl before. She seduced you and got you so mixed up you haven't thought straight since. She didn't give a hang about hurting you or her husband. All she wanted was pleasure. If she really cared for you now she'd be worried about your schooling instead of how to pay for this expensive apartment and driving a big car."
"Stop it," he pleaded. Her words were unbearable. They meant he had thrown his life away before he was nineteen, for the sake of a soft body and a series of sensuous thrills.
Ginny put her palms against his cheeks, turning his face so his eyes met hers. He recognized her look and was instantly frightened for her.
He had worn that expression himself, had felt the emotion it spoke of, when he first fell in love with Babs.
In some heartbreaking headstrong way, was Ginny also intent on throwing her life away?
Raptly, she pressed her lips to his. Her arms slid around hiim. Her little body was warm and close. "Jack," she whispered, "make love to me, right now."
The storm within him threatened to tear him apart. You're paradise lost, he thought.
"Nice girls can be fun in bed too, Jack," she insisted, suddenly sounding like a little girl teasing for a present-a sexy little girl-"What's the matter? Don't you want me?"
He told her, "You're crazy, Ginny. A girl like you ought to save herself for the guy she marries-"
"No," she corrected him. "For the guy she loves. The guy she's willing to fight for." She stood up and took his hand. "Let's go to the bedroom, Jack."
He came to his feet, at once awake and dreaming, spinning on a merry-go-round of emotion. She looked sweet, young, vulnerable, insanely brave. Her eyes were naked with surrender and something else-dedication?
He managed, "We can't go in the bedroom. That's where I sleep with Babs."
"That's where I want you making love to me. You've never had another girl, Jack. That's why Babs has such a hold on you. Maybe if you do, you'll be your own man again. And the best place to find out is the bed you share with Babs."
Even while he protested and his conscience felt like a physical hurt, he knew there was no escape. They went to the bedroom together. They kissed.
With Babs, Jack had felt stupid and inexperienced. Babs had been the teacher, he the pupil. Now the situation was reversed. He felt ten years older and wiser in the art of making love than the teenage girl in his arms.
He had learned from Babs many ways to arouse a woman. He remembered them all as he and Ginny lay! across the double bed. He opened the top buttons of her green knit dress.
She was breathing hard, trembling half with fright, half with the excitement of her first love.
Her hard little breasts were covered by a white lace bra. He had had plenty of practice removing a woman's bra. He touched the delicate blue-veined flesh marvelingly and kissed the pink circles. She gasped.
He helped her remove the dress, gently, expertly, slowly. She lay back, a soft, pink blush of shame on her cheeks, as he saw her naked body.
"You have to teach me, Jack," she said in a tiny voice.
He took her into his arms and gave her the lesson she wanted.
Confusedly, he missed the intoxication of making love with Babs. But Ginny's very innocence was a mystery and a promise that wrenched what must be his soul.
Later that night, when he took Ginny home, she stayed quietly close to him, resting her head on his shoulders.
"Was I all right, Jack?" she asked of him and of life. "Did you enjoy what happened?"
"It was like being born," he said, not knowing where in himself he found the words.
"I loved it," she said. "It hurt. I wanted you to be the one who hurt me."
They fell silent. When they stopped at her house, she raised her face for his good-night kiss. "I'm in love with you," she whispered. She left the car that Babs Duncan had salvaged out of a broken marriage and ran into her house.
Jack drove home. He was still awake when Babs came in, but he kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep. He could not face her tonight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BABS closed her register for the night. No cash was involved in her work. The club was operated on a charge-account basis. Babs' job was to total and ring up the signed chits which the bartender or waiters brought her during the evening. She posted these in a ledger at closing time. The members were billed monthly.
Carrying her chits in a paper folder, she went to her office and took out the daily ledger.
Mitch Raymond entered. He was one of the partners who owned the club. "Hi," he greeted Babs. "How'd we do tonight?"
"We had a good crowd all evening."
He picked up the stack of tickets, flipped through them quickly without disturbing their order. "I'm glad business is picking up. It was lousy all fall." He sat on the edge of the desk. "And you keep looking prettier all the time."
Babs flushed with pleasure at the compliment. She knew she owed her job to Mitch. He had interviewed her when she first applied for the job and there had been a gleam of interest in his eyes as he looked her over.
In spite of herself, Babs had felt an inward glow at Mitch's obvious approval. No matter how much a woman loved her husband-and Babs loved Jack, of course-Mitch was a man who could go to her head.
He was in his mid-thirties and over six feet tall. There was a dashing streak of gray at his temples. He had a golfer's healthy tan. His body was lean and hard, his brown eyes sharp. He spoke with a soft drawl and a friendly smile.
Little by little, as she worked at the club, she learned that Mitch had an interest in a number of other businesses in the city. He was never at the club full time although he dropped in every evening to see how things were going. The actual running of the club was left to the manager, a well-paid employee.
Babs had been working for less than a week when Mitch Raymond offered her a weekend holiday on his cabin cruiser in the Gulf.
"But I'm married," she had exclaimed.
To which he had grinningly replied, "Congratulations. Now, how about this weekend?"By remaining gay and charming, he had made his frank proposition sound like a flattering joke. But she still knew, from the way his gaze roamed over her legs and figure, that he was in earnest.
He had cheerfully continued to court her. There were always flowers in her office when she came to work. He never dropped in at the club without telling her, at least once, how attractive she was.
She found herself looking forward to seeing him. From talk that she heard around the club, she gathered that Mitch was considered the city's most eligible bachelor-if only some girl had the luck and wit to catch him. His bachelorhood, of course, was of no interest to Babs, who already had a husband. But his adult poise and humor answered a real need in her life. After the club closed for the evening she could talk to Mitch about things that did not interest Jack-art, politics, people.
Tonight as he watched her close the ledger, he did not speak of culture, however. His topic was the weather.
"All the reports forecast a warm sunny weekend, Babs. You'd love being out in the Gulf. Let me take you away from all this?"
She laughed. "Mitch, believe me, if I wanted an affair, you'd be the man. But my husband satisfies me. I'm in love with him, I'm afraid." She felt confident and guiltless. This was Friday night. Her first paycheck was in her purse.
"Whoever your husband is, he doesn't deserve you," Mitch said dryly.
On Saturday morning Babs cashed the paycheck. She sent a money order to Shirley Landrum, repaying her loan, and met some utility bills that were two months overdue. She bought a week's supply of groceries and still had money left. The brief glow that she felt was marred when she thought of Jack. Lately, he had seemed growingly restless and out of reach.
He did not have a wrist watch, she knew. She stopped at a jewelers, merely intending to browse. Before she left, she had spent the rest of her pay on an expensive watch, seh-winding, shock-and-water-proof, in a stainless steel case. She disliked being broke again but the watch would make Jack happy and that was important.
They both had Sunday off, the one day of the week they could plan to spend together. Typically Gulf Coast weather could warm to near-summer temperatures between northers. This weekend, Babs decided, would be ideal for a picnic.
They drove out early Sunday, taking along fried chicken and potatoes to bake in foil under a driftwood fire. Babs had gift-wrapped the watch and hidden it among the picnic supplies.
Jack's mood was glum when they started. He brightened as they drove. After they crossed the causeway he exclaimed, "Hey, this is great."
He stopped the car on hard-packed sand near the water's edge. The white dunes were dazzling, the Gulf a clear blue-green. Surf rolled on the beach in lazy breakers. Gulls circled above. Tiny sanderlings raced on spindly legs. Skimmers flew down and glided over the shallow water, their bills cutting the surface. All about them was life, minding its own business. Babs and Jack were the only humans present.
Jack peeled off his clothes and got into his swimming trunks. The day was not warm enough to swim comfortably, but perfect for sunbathing and beachcombing.
Babs carried the picnic basket to the dunes. She stripped. For a moment she stood naked in the sunlight, throwing back her head, stretching her magnificent body, filling her lungs with the fresh salty air. Then she slipped On her forty-five dollar swimsuit.
Jack gathered driftwood and started a fire while Babs wrapped potatoes in foil and put them to bake in the heated sand.
She opened a bottle of wine, filled two paper cups and handed one to Jack. "Having fun, sweet baby?" she asked.
"I sure am. This is a swell day."
He stretched out on the sand, resting greedily after a strenuous week. Babs' gaze roamed over his strong legs, deep chest and muscular shoulders. Desire came over her like a crashing wave. They had not made love for more than a week. She was starved for Jack.
She handed him her gift.
He pulled the small package open and saw the watch. He was speechless. "Do you like it?" she asked anxiously. "Gosh, yes," he exclaimed. He slipped the expansion band over his hand, turned his wrist from side to side, gazing at the new watch. Sunlight danced like tire on the gleaming steel case. "How the heck could you afford something like this? I thought we were poor."
"I had a payday yesterday," she said proudly. "I paid a lot of bills. When I saw the watch, I couldn't resist buying you a present. Do you really like it, Jack?"
"I can't get over it," he said. "I never had a nice watch before." He kissed her.
The touch of his mouth seemed to send a spear of flame through her body. She pulled him close.
The kiss grew more passionate. The warm sand cradled their close embrace. Babs rubbed her bare legs spasmodically against his.
'I want you," she gasped. "Right now, honey."
"Here?" He raised his head. Fleetingly, he looked grown-up and troubled. "Gee, somebody's liable to come along and see us."
"Behind the dune, then."
She jumped to her feet and ran. Her hair flew in the wind as Jack chased her across the warm loose sand. She laughed, a happy excited sound that the sea breeze tore from her lips and scattered among the dunes.
On the far side of the dune, Jack caught his prize. They rolled down the slope together in a shower of sand while Babs squealed and giggled.
She rose, dusted the sand from her legs and stripped off her swimsuit to stand naked before him in the warm sun. Her breasts throbbed for his touch, her loins ached to be filled.
She saw the look of hunger in his eyes-then he caught her roughly and they sprawled on the sand. Babs was drunk from the wine, the salt air. She felt wildly exhilarated. They rolled and clutched each other in uncontrollable passion.
Finally, exhausted and panting, both of them glistening with perspiration, they rested in the sunlight. "Nobody can make love like you, Babs," Jack said. "Nobody."
She trickled sand from her clenched fist to his chest. "Silly," she teased. "You wouldn't know. You've never made love with anybody else."
He looked up at a sea gull and did not reply.
The city and its weekdays were far away.
That night when they came home from a day in the salt air, all Babs wanted was sleep. But after taking a shower and putting on pajamas, she felt up to a little straightening and cleaning around the apartment. She picked up a couch cushion, meaning to fluff it. Where the cushion had been, she saw a girl's compact-at first, she thought, one of her own. She picked up the compact and felt a sudden, tight drumming in her temples. "Jack," she called sharply.
He came from the bathroom in his pajama bottoms, drying his damp hair. "Want something?"
She held up the compact. "Who owns this?" she asked.
He stopped toweling his head. She thought a guilty flush might have crossed his face. But his voice sounded innocent. "Gosh, I don't know. I guess somebody dropped it."
"It's perfectly obvious somebody dropped it," she said bitingly. "What I want to know is who?"
"How should I know?"
"It's not one of mine," she said, "and I haven't had any friends over." She was beginning to tremble. A haze of rage was filming her vision. "Jack, have you had a girl here?"
"Sure." He was glaring right back at her. "Lots of them."
For a moment her mouth worked but she could not produce sound. Then she choked, "What do you mean, lots?"
"I mean I have lots of kids over here in the evening. Some boys, some are girls. They come in two varieties, you know."
"Don't you get smart with me," she cried.
"Then stop sounding like you're my mother," Jack yelled furiously. "You know it bugs me when you treat me like a kid. Look, this place is mine as much as yours. I can ask friends in if I want."
"You never told me you were having parties."
"What do you expect me to do every evening? Sit here and twiddle my thumbs?"
There was a short, sick silence. Then Babs screeched, "You're not to have a pack of delinquents throwing wild parties here when I'm away working. I forbid it."
Jack's mouth turned pale with anger. "You what?" he asked softly.
"You heard me. How do I know what you'll do with one of those little teenage tramps?"
"Listen, if you keep calling my friends delinquents and tramps, I'll belt you across the mouth," Jack shouted. "You can't forbid me to do anything. I'll do what I damn please. And how about that joint you work in? How do I know you're not sleeping every night with the guys that hang around there?"
Babs was hysterical with fury. "Damn you, Jack Hammond-you're nothing but a spoiled brat." She threw the compact at him. It missed Jack's head by inches and smashed against a wall.
He pulled off the wrist watch she had given him that morning and dropped it at her feet. "Keep your present," he said.
He went to the bedroom and slammed the door. Babs stood alone, her body shaking violently. She burst into tears and fell to her knees. Face buried in her hands, she cried until her throat was raw.
After a long time, Jack came out of the bedroom. He leaned against the door. His face was sad and sober. "Babs," he asked her, "don't cry."
She shook with sobs.
He ran his fingers through his hair. His tone had an edge. "Look, stop crying, will you? Please? I have to get some sleep. You don't have to go to work until tomorrow night. I'm due at seven."
But she could not stop.
He sat on the floor beside her and tried to put his arm around her. She pulled away.
He pleaded, "Babs, I'm sorry I said those lousy things. Don't cry any more, will you? I don't like you to cry."
This time she let his arm remain around her. He tried to lass her. She turned her face away. He put his fingers under her chin, lifted her head and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were unyielding.
He moved a cushion to the floor and pressed her shoulders against it. He lay beside her, stroking her hair, until her sobs were quiet. He unbuttoned her pajama top, caressed and kissed her breasts. When his lips touched hers again, he felt her respond.
"I can't bear to think of you having another girl." she whispered. "I love you so, sweet baby."
They kissed again and soon settled the argument in the one way they knew. They were completely compatible in one respect-sex.
And that is what they had-sex, special for the occasion, Babs passionately letting Jack's young staff wallow in her mouth while he, like a pig at a trough, slobbered over her demanding slit until the two of them crested in spasms.
Dripping with sweat and sperm, they slept.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DURING the following week, Babs made mistakes in totaling chits. She could not balance her books.
"Hey, what's bothering you, beautiful?" Mitch Raymond asked. "I thought you would be a girl who never goofed. Frank Cleighton jumped all over me about a mistake in his ticket. He's a good customer, honey."
She pressed her fingers against her throbbing temples. "I'm so sorry. I guess I've got something on my mind." She was on the verge of tears.
They were in the office. The bar had closed for the night. As usual, Mitch was sitting on her desk. He put his finger under her chin, made her look up and face him. "Come on. Tell Uncle Mitch."
She blinked back her tears. "It isn't anything, Mitch. Just-well, a family matter."
He raised an eyebrow. "Trouble at home, eh?"
"I guess so," she admitted.
"Want me to poke your husband in the snoot?" he offered cheerfully.
He made her smile in spite of herself. "I don't think that would help. Thanks just the same."
"Don't forget I'm a patient guy. I've been patiently waiting for you to give me a tumble. Any time things get rough at home, remember you've got a friend."
"I'll remember that." She gave his hand a squeeze. "Did anybody ever tell you, you're a nice guy, Mr. Raymond?"
"Sure, lots of people." He grinned. "But I'd rather hear it from you."
Overnight it seemed that Babs and Jack were con-stantly bickering. She had been eaten by jealousy and insecurity since she found the compact. She felt positive Jack was involved with a girl in the teenage crowd he had met. Her thoughts were poisoned by ugly mental pictures.
Had she been afraid from the first that he might tire of her and turn to a younger girl? She could not have said for sure. She only knew that she had found evidence to that effect and that she was suffering tortures she would not have believed possible.
She refused to leave the car at home in the evening any more. They had a violent argument about the matter but Babs would not give in.
She considered quitting her job so she could keep a better eye on Jack. But Mitch Raymond had raised her salary to three hundred a month. She and Jack were in such straits for money that she could not afford to quit and take a chance on finding daytime work.
She tried to keep track of Jack by phoning home several times an evening. If he did not answer, she would later demand an account of where he had been.
Jack, resentful and sullen at her new wave of possessiveness, would tell her, as often as not, to think what she damn pleased.
Thursday night, on an impulse, she obtained permission from Mitch to leave the club for a quick trip home. Jack would not expect her until after midnight. A surprise check might trap him.
The apartment was dark when she drove up. She sat outside for a moment, nervously drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, on the verge of backing out. She noticed a strange car parked in the shadows near their apartment unit.
She had a curious feeling that Shirley Landrum was trying to tell her something in a disembodied voice. Don't go in there, Babs, Shirley's voice seemed silently to warn her. Admit you're licked and take it like a lady. But Babs left her car, drew a deep breath and let herself into her own darkened apartment.
She heard a gasp and quick scrambling movement. Her hand groped, found the wall switch. Light flooded the room.
Jack had jumped from the couch. The girl was still there. She was young, a pretty blonde. Her dress and shoes were on the floor. She had her panties on and was fastening her bra. Her face was pale with shock.
Babs swayed. She swallowed hard, trying not to be sick.
Jack looked from Babs to the girl and back to Babs. He ran his fingers through his hair and did not speak.
Babs began crying. The tears were silent.
The girl got her bra closed. She slipped into her dress and stood up to buckle her belt.
Babs found her voice. "Get out of here you little bitch," she said.
The girl's eyes were bright and defiant. "I want Jack," she said. "I'm good for him. But if he stays with you, you'll ruin his life."
"Get out," Babs repeated.
"You're an experienced, beautiful woman," the girl said doggedly. "Jack's just a boy. You tricked him into marrying you. He didn't know what he was doing. Just look at you. What business did you have marrying a boy Jack's age?"
Babs was near the breaking point. She took a step toward the girl, hating the pretty young face, wanting to claw away the youth and freshness.
Jack grabbed the blond girl's arm. "Come on, Ginny," he said in a clear voice. "We'd both better get out."
"Jack, don't you dare leave," Babs choked.
They left, not looking at Babs.
"All right, get out of here with your teenage tramp," Babs screamed after him. "And don't come back, you hear? Don't ever come back. I never want to see you again. I'm sick of you. I despise you-"
A car door slammed outside. Babs could not stop screaming, even though they were gone. Then her knees gave way. She knew she was going to faint.
She came to herself slowly, feeling nauseated and dizzy. Dragging herself to her feet, she stumbled to the kitchen and poured a glass half full of straight scotch. The drink burned like fire down her throat. She choked and coughed, her weeping so out of control that she was blind. Somehow she found her way out of the apartment and into her parked Cadillac.
Briefly, she pressed her forehead against the steering wheel, moaning and crying, as though the contact had meaning. She started the car and drove like a crazy person, not caring if she were killed.
She had no idea of destination. Unless she kept moving she would have to start screaming again and her mind would snap.
Through her mental fog, she became aware of a lighted public telephone ahead. She swerved toward it, stopped with a screech of brakes.
She clawed through her purse, found two nickels. She fumbled the coins into the slot and dialed the club number. A bartender answered and she asked for Mitchell Raymond. She could hear the clink of glasses and the sound of music. Then Mitch said, "Hello."
"Mitch," she managed. She tried to say more, but could not form the words. She was sobbing again.
His voice showed instant concern. "Babs? Is that you?"
"Yes," she said brokenly.
"Listen carefully. Where are you?"
She pressed her forehead against the phone, her eyes closed. "I don't know, Mitch. In a phone booth somewhere. Oh, Mitch, please help me-"
"I'm going to, dear. Pull yourself together and tell me where you are. Are you calling from a drug store or a filling station?"
"No. A booth on a street." She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and turned her head. "The library is on one corner-"
"All right," he said quickly, "I know where you are. Go sit in your car quietly until I come. Don't try to drive. You understand me, Babs?"
"Yes," she said in what sounded like a whimper.
She went back to her car and collapsed in the front seat, clutching the steering wheel till the skin was white on her knuckles.
A foreign sports car came to a stop behind her and Mitch stepped out. He walked toward her quickly. His gold cuff links gleamed in the street fights.
She said his name and got out of her car. Her teeth were chattering. She was shaking all over.
He slapped her so hard she saw sparks of light. She gasped, sucking air into her startled lungs.
"I'm sorry, Babs," he stated. "I had to bring you around. You're in a state of shock."
She leaned against him, holding to him for strength. "Mitch, help me," she whispered.
His arms were strong, protective. He led her to his car.
She was aware of resting her head against his shoulder, of the fact that they were moving and, later, that he had parked again. He helped her out. She heard the lapping of waves against pilings, felt a swaying gangplank under her feet. Then they were in a warm, lighted cabin. Somewhere nearby, powerful engines throbbed.
Mitch brought her a drink. "You need this."
She downed the drink quickly and Mitch brought her another. "Mind if I get a little tight?" she asked.
"No. I'd recommend it."
She was getting over the first wave of shock and the alcohol was forming a cushion for her nerves. "I just found my husband at home with a girl," she explained with a shaky smile.
"I'm sorry, Babs. These things happen."
"I guessed something was going on. I decided tonight to check on Jack." She took another swallow. "That was a mistake."
"Maybe not."
"Yes. I said terrible things. I told him never to come back."
"Do you want him back?"
She pressed the cold glass against her throbbing temple. "I don't know, Mitch. I don't know anything, except I feel like hell."
He filled her glass again.
She smiled at him in gratitude. "You're being wonderful to me, Mitch. What would have become of me if I hadn't been able to phone you tonight?"
He looked at her soberly. "You can always call me, Babs. I love you. I want to help you."
He spoke as simply and directly as if he were stating a well-known fact or quoting a statistic.
Babs stared, not knowing what to say.
He told her, "Maybe you'd like to talk about what happened. Sometimes it helps to talk."
"Yes," she said. She paused, hearing the slap of waves. "Where are we going, Mitch?"
"Just into the Bay for a short distance to get away from things. I have a man who runs the boat. It's all right, Babs. You're all right here."
She sighed. "I feel all right, too. I always feel right when I'm with you, Mitch."
Mitch had never met Jack. Babs had never mentioned the fact that her husband was younger than she was. She knew from experience the raised eyebrows and look of distaste that came into people's eyes when they discovered the nature of her marriage.
Now she told Mitch everything. He was shocked, as she had expected. "I remember reading a newspaper story about a woman your age and a boy who was in his teens," he said in amazement. "So it was you, Babs."
"I guess you think I'm pretty cheap."
He frowned. "Cheap? No. But foolish. Babs, you're mature, intelligent. Did you really think your marriage to Jack would work?"
She looked away. "Everybody warned me. My best friend, Jack's father-I wouldn't listen. Maybe I couldn't listen. I was too much in love for anything to make sense."
Her tongue was growing thick. Relaxed by alcohol, she felt exhausted, a reaction to shock.
"Mitch," she said, "I'm getting drunk. I think I'd better go to bed somewhere."
She stood up, swaying with the movement of the boat.
He steadied her with his hands on her elbows. "Babs, whenever you need someone, don't forget I'm crazy about you."
"Even after I told you about myself?"
"You're human. One of the reasons I love you."
She shook her head in wonder. "You're a terrific guy, Mitch."
He kissed her for the first time.
After that he showed her where the sleeping quarters were. "This is your room. I'll be next door if you need me.
She stumbled into the tiny cabin, took off her dress and fell across the bunk wearing only a slip. She was instantly asleep.
During the night she awoke with a start. At first she could not remember where she was. Memory returned with the boat's rocking motion and the muffled slap of the waves. Grief and anger threatened her once more.
She lay in the darkness, heart pounding, fists clenched, torturing herself with mental pictures of Jack and the young blond girl making love. She forced herself to think of all the sickening details. She had to stuff a corner of the pillow in her mouth to keep from screaming aloud.
A wave of hatred engulfed her. She wanted revenge on Jack. Also she needed the comfort of a man's arms around her. She was still a little drunk.
She got out of her bunk, walked in stocking feet to Mitch's cabin door and pushed it open. "Mitch?" she said softly.
Either he had been awake or he was a light sleeper. He answered her almost immediately.
"Don't put on the light," she said. She slipped under the cover beside him. Barely moving, he held her until she stopped shivering. She huddled against him. "I need for you to love me tonight," she said. "Please, love me a lot."
Even as she felt his weight, felt him taking her, she knew that with Mitch she would find pleasure-not ecstasy. Being with Mitch made sense-Shirley Landrum might approve. Being with Jack had made her take leave of sense.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JACK sat at the wheel of Ginny's car, with Ginny silent beside him. They had driven for hours, going nowhere. She was still subdued and perhaps ashamed.
"I'm sorry you got dragged into this mess," Jack said at one point.
She sighed. "I should never have gone to your apartment tonight, I guess. But I'm in love with you. I couldn't stay away."
He reached for her hand. They were silent again. Not for the first time that evening, Jack turned toward her home.
"Want me to drop you off at your place?" she asked. "I don't want to go home yet. I'm going to walk for a while."
He pulled into her drive and stopped the car. "What are we going to do, Ginny?" he asked.
She answered slowly. "I think the question is what will you do, Jack. You have to choose between Babs and me. We can't go on like this. I realize that now." She squeezed his hand. "I'll be your girl, or your wife if you want to marry me. I'd work and help you get your college degree and cook and have your children. But only if you want me more than you want Babs."
"You mean you won't see me any more if I stay with Babs?"
Her voice was soft and sure. "I can't, Jack. It was wrong for me to be with you tonight. I should have quit when you told me you were married-I don't know how to compete with anyone like Babs. I can see why you don't want to give her up-"
He looked at her with troubled eyes. "You're decent, Ginny. I need you. But if I leave Babs now, what will that make me? She loused up her marriage for me. Suppose she goes on the bum because this marriage breaks up, too."
Ginny drew a deep breath and reached for her door handle. "I'll be here, Jack-if you want me. But you can't have us both. I have to hold onto that."
She left the car and ran into her house.
Jack found himself walking aimlessly along dark sidewalks.
What did he feel for Babs? Tonight, when she caught him with Ginny, the look of shock and grief that crossed her face had gone through him like a knife.
When she had ordered him to stay, he had defiantly walked out. Why? Because he had to prove his adulthood? Was his husbandly concern for Babs no more than another effort to prove he was a man-how phony was he?
With Ginny he never had to prove anything. She automatically looked up to him and respected him.
With Babs there was always conflict, a struggle to see who was boss. She could not stop treating him like a kid-a pupil at life, at love.
But in spite of their constant ugly rows, Babs was his wife-the woman he lived with.
His footsteps turned homeward.
The apartment lights were on. The front door had been left unlocked. Babs' car was gone. He searched the apartment for a note, for some evidence of where she had gone. There was nothing.
Jack felt a growing uneasiness. The hour was long past midnight. He phoned the club where she worked. There was no answer. The place was closed.
He was filled with sickening apprehension. He-went to their room and looked through Babs' things. She had taken no suitcase or clothing.
"She'll be back," he said out loud.
He changed into pajamas and went to bed. He could not sleep. He had grown accustomed to Babs' warm body snuggled close at night. The bed felt lonely and strange.
He felt he had lost everything. The boyhood home he had left, the wild new home he had made with a flame-haired beautiful woman, Ginny's love, his own respect for himself.
His treacherous body started lusting for Babs.
Tormented, he tossed for hours before sleep came. He woke feeling terrible, phoned Holland and reported that he was in no shape to show up for work. Then he wandered around the apartment, wondering if he ought to call the police or the hospital, desperately wishing he were not alone.
He had never felt more alone in his life.
When Babs awoke, Mitch had already dressed and gone on deck. Babs repaired her face and hair, slipped into her dress and joined Mitch on the cruiser deck. The sea air was spiked with the fragrance of strong coffee.
Mitch greeted her. "Here, you'll probably need these. Bright this morning." He gave her a pair of sunglasses.
She thanked him. Mitch was dressed in comfortable slacks, sweater and yacht cap. His teeth flashed around his pipe stem when he smiled.
The water was calm and blue, the morning air cool.
Babs shivered a little and Mitch, noticing her discomfort at once, helped her into one of his old jackets, then poured her a cup of coffee. Gratefully, she sipped the scalding liquid. "Hangover?" he asked.
She lit her cigarette. "No," she replied firmly. "At least, not from drinking."
"Any regrets?"
"Maybe a few. I want to be honest with you, Mitch." She looked across the water. They were so far out in the Bay, the shore was a smudge on the horizon. "It's peaceful here," she murmured. "I wish we could stay forever."
"That would be running away."
She sighed. "You're right, of course." She touched his hand. "You're usually right about things."
He took his pipe from between his teeth, studying her face in the morning fight. "You're beautiful, Babs. Even in the morning without make-up, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known."
She smiled wanly. "You're kind. But I'm wearing make-up.
"I saw you earlier, while you were still asleep. I watched after I woke up."
She blushed, her gaze faltering. "I behaved like a tramp last night, Mitch. How cheap you must think I am.
"I don't think anything of the sort." He held her hand tighter. "Last night I told you I love you. I meant what I said."
His words brought her back to the warmth and the torment of reality. The city might be miles away, but beside her was a human being with whom she was suddenly deeply involved. And within her was another being who had twice betrayed marriage.
"I want you to marry me, Babs. Do you understand?"
She looked up, her eyes clear. "Mitch," she said, "I'm not sure you deserve me. Have you ever killed anyone or robbed a bank?"
He did not relinquish her hand. She could feel his vitality surging up her arm like an electric current. "I won't have you talk like that," he said. "Your marriage with this boy can't possibly last, could never have lasted. I think deep down you know that but won't admit it."
She had an impulse to cry but no tears came. "Mitch, I don't like myself today. Part of me wants him-part of me is worried sick about Jack. Right now, I'm not only his woman-" she used the word deliberately instead of wife-"I'm also the only adult remaining in his life. How can I simply drop him?"
The sky was clear and the sun was bright and she could see far down in the water's green depths. Too beautiful a morning for sadness-yet she was sad.
Mitch said, "I'll give you time to make a decision, Babs. All the time you need." But at last he dropped her hand.
The memory of Jack and Ginny together came back to her. For a split second she was literally blind with jealousy, seeing only blackness where before there had been green water.
Maybe she had better change her life before someone was killed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EARLY in the afternoon, when Jack heard Bab's car pull into their drive, his first reaction was vast, almost cosmic relief, followed immediately by anger.
When she walked into the place, he was facing the door and waiting. "Just where in hell have you been?" he demanded.
She shrugged and started around him to the bedroom. He grabbed her arm, spun her around. He was tearful with anger. "I asked you a question," he said.
She shook free of his grasp. "After the stunt you pulled last night, you look pretty silly playing the outraged husband, Jack."
They were glaring at each other. "I guess you decided to get even?" Jack said carefully.
"Maybe." She moved down the hall to the bedroom.
Jack followed her, stood in the doorway. "Where did you spend the night?"
She went to the closet, took some dresses out, laid them on the bed. She said nothing.
A cold wind seemed to blow through his spirit. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked in a shaky voice.
"I'm packing. What does it look like?"
"You're going to walk out on me, just because you caught me necking with Ginny last night?"
"You're stretching the point to call it necking, Jack. More than that, I'm facing the fact that our marriage won't work."
Jack grabbed her and shook her violently. "I want to know where you were last night," he shouted. "Where did you get these kooky ideas?"
Her auburn hair spilled over her face and shoulders. Furiously, she jerked free of his grasp and pushed her hair back. She cried, "All right. I spent the night with another man, if you have to know."
Jack took a backward step as if she had hit him. He stared at Babs with horror-filled eyes. Somebody else had stripped her, touched her beautiful, naked body, had felt the writhing heat of her passion.
A band tightened around his head until he felt his skull would pop. Through the drumming in his ears, he heard his own hoarse voice. "Who?"
"My boss, Mitch Raymond. He's not a child, he's a real man. He knows how to appreciate a woman. He wants to marry me. I think the idea's a good one."
Jack wept. His throat worked. He choked on a bitter, acid liquid that rose to his mouth.
"Damn your lousy, cheating hide," he gasped. Then he smashed her face with an insane blow of his flat hand.
She screamed. He hit her again and she sprawled across the bed, her dress pulling above her thighs.
Jack stood over her, his mind at the mercy of primitive emotions. Sex and violence were equated in what remained of his thinking. He grabbed her dress, ripped it. She fought him, kicking and clawing, but he beat her resistance down with fists. After tearing every shred of clothing from her body, he took her, wanting to degrade and hurt her.
When he rose, she buried her face in a pillow and screamed over and over. The pillow muted the sound.
Jack buckled his trousers and ran from the apartment. He threw himself into her car. She had left the keys in the dashboard. He backed out wildly, running over a hedge.
With a scream of rubber on pavement, he drove to the club where she worked, running through red lights and stop signs. At the club door, he slammed to a stop and jumped out, leaving the door open.
The club was quiet and dark within, having apparently just opened for the day. A bartender glanced up with a look of surprise from the glass he was polishing.
Jack ran to the bar. "Where's the guy that runs this place, that Raymond?"
The bartender frowned. "Look, fella, this is a private club."
Jack reached across the counter, grabbed a fistful of white coat. Glasses spilled and crashed to the floor. With his free hand, Jack picked up a bottle by the neck.
The bartender's face turned from pink to a sickly gray. He jabbed a finger toward a door. "There's his office."
Jack let go of the frightened man and strode to the office door.
The man behind the office desk looked up with a frown. Jack closed the door, settled his shoulders against it. "You Mitchell Raymond?" he asked.
The man rose, came toward him. He wore an expensive, narrow-lapeled suit. To Jack's way of thinking, he looked middle-aged, though lean and in fair shape. "Yes, I'm Mitchell Raymond. What do you want?"
"I want you to stay away from Babs, you lousy rat," Jack said in a shaking voice. He was fighting to hold back his tears of jealous hurt. He'd sure make a fool of himself if he started bawling now.
" Raymond's expression changed from annoyance to concern. "I see. You must be Jack." He lit a cigarette, gazed at Jack again. "Now listen, Jack-"
"No, you listen," Jack choked. "If you mess with Babs again I'm going to kill you."
The older man leaned against his desk, folding his arms. "Jack, calm down. Let's talk sensibly."
"You've done enough talking, you lousy, sneaking bastard. You're trying to talk Babs into walking out on me.
A flush of anger showed on Raymond's handsome face, but he kept control of his temper. "Jack, I love Babs, too. I was trying to talk some sense into her head."
"By busting up our marriage?"
"Yes, because it won't work."
"That's none of your business."
"I'm making it my business. Babs lost her head and so did you. But you two can't make a lifetime deal out of this screwball setup. How about this girl your own age that Babs tells me you're running around with? If you're so happy with Babs, why is there another girl? Wake up, Jack."
Jack hated Raymond's guts. He hated the older man for his calm, steady voice, his self-assurance. He hated the guy for standing there and making Jack aware of his own insecurity.
"Damn you," Jack choked, starting to bawl again. He doubled his fist and swung.
But he was not lashing out at a man who had slept with his wife.
He was blindly striking out at authority and success.
He was making his final retort to adult knowledge of how to cope with fife.
He was striking at his own inadequacy and youth.
Surprising, how quick an old guy like Raymond could move. When Jack's fist should have connected with Raymond, he was not there.
"Jack, stop it," the older man said sharply. "You're going to get nowhere but into trouble."
Jack spun around, even more infuriated because he knew he was making a fool of himself. He swung again.
This time the other man stepped inside the blow, grabbed Jack's arms and slammed him against the door. "Stop it now, you crazy kid," Raymond ordered. "How badly do you want to be hurt?"
Jack blinked, momentarily dazed by his impact with the door. Who would have believed that a guy in his late thirties could be so agile?
Jack crouched low and came in again, this time with both fists.
Raymond seemed to lose patience. His left fist moved in a flashing uppercut that caught Jack under the breastbone, knocking the boy's wind out, doubling him over. The edge of Raymond's right hand made a vicious chopping blow.
Many fists, it seemed to Jack, were coming at him from many different directions. He heard Raymond say "You asked for what you're going to get. If I can't talk it into you, maybe I can knock it into you."
Jack realized that he was being cut to ribbons. A final hard uppercut sent him backward. His head struck the corner of the desk-and there was blackness.
Jack stared up at a white blur that gradually became a white ceiling.
Another blur moved between him and the ceiling. He had to go through the difficult focusing process again. Finally the picture cleared and he saw Babs' face. Her eyes were red from crying.
"What's going on?" he mumbled.
Her hand touched his cheek. "You're all right, Jack. You're going to be all right."
"Sure," he said thickly. "I been drunk or something?"
"No, honey. But they've given you shots for pain. They make you kind of dopey."
"Yeah? No kidding." He sure felt far out. "Where am I?" he wanted to know.
"In the hospital," she told him. "Mitch had an ambulance bring you here. You remember the fight, honey?"
Slowly, an inner blur cleared and he remembered everything. "That lousy bastard," he mumbled. He tried to sit up.
Babs held him down. She said firmly, "You've gotten yourself into enough trouble. Mitch feels terrible about what happened."
"Damn nice of him."
"You went over there and started a fight. What did you expect him to do?"
Jealousy, hurt pride and anger swelled up in Jack again. "How long have I been out?" he asked sullenly.
"You had the fight with Mitch yesterday. Your head hit his desk and you have a mild concussion. Mitch is going to pay all your hospital bills, so you don't have to worry about anything."
What a laugh, he thought bitterly. He had messed up his whole life, his marriage was on the rocks. He had lost a fight. And she said he had nothing to worry about.
"I guess you want a divorce now," he said, "so you can marry the guy that licked me."
"Honey, we'll talk about it when you're feeling better."
"I want to talk now."
She tried to blink the tears back but they spilled over her lashes. On the day he died, he thought, he would remember her by her tears. "Yes, Jack," she whispered. "Dearest, we can't stay married. Everything-everybody is against us. We don't have a chance. We'll go on hurting each other, tearing each other to pieces until both our lives are shot. Just look at all the trouble I've caused you already. I'm sorry, Jack. I guess we were both crazy to think it could ever work."
Jack felt lousy. His head was throbbing. The sedatives no longer seemed to be working.
Babs' hand was caressing his cheek. "Honey, you need a nice, sweet girl your age, somebody who has the same interests you do. You're young enough to start all over again. We both can."
Then she smiled through her tears. "As a matter-of-fact, somebody's waiting outside to see you now."
Babs patted his shoulder, then disappeared. Jack closed his eyes for a while. The shots seemed to take over again, making him groggy and drunk. Without them, he probably would be bawling right this minute.
He heard a soft voice say his name. He opened his eyes and got them focused again on a blond head and a pretty young face.
"Ginny!" he marveled.
She kissed him and pressed her cheek to his. "I've been so scared for you," she breathed.
Painfully, he moved his arm, put it around her. He'd be okay now, he knew. As long as Ginny was with him, he felt all right inside.
"You're not going to leave?" he asked anxiously.
"No, Jack. I'll stay right here as long as you want me to.
He was still holding her hand when he dropped off to sleep again. In a way, he felt he was coming home and he had a sense of loss for the end of a great adventure.
He knew that Babs would not come back. He would never see her again.
He was wrong. He would meet her once more in a small, temporary universe that contained only the two of them.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ONE warm day the following year, Jack stood at a street corner, waiting for a light to change. He caught sight of a cream-colored Cadillac, a familiar auburn head.
Babs' eyes widened with recognition. Their gaze held across the distance. When the light changed, she pulled up to the curb, leaned over and opened the door.
Automatically, he slid in beside her. He had not seen her since the day in court six months ago when their divorce was granted. He had often wondered how he would feel if he met her again. His gaze swept over the reddish gold hair, the beautiful features, the figure he knew so well. He felt as he always had felt-Babs was someone he wanted. The big difference was that he knew now with finality that she was not for him.
She kept her brown eyes on traffic. The toe of her high-heeled pump moved from brake to accelerator. Her dress had slipped above one pink dimpled knee.
"How're you getting along, Jack?" she asked.
"Fine. I'm getting along fine."
"Still working? I see you're carrying books."
"I work only part time. I'm taking college courses in the afternoon. Next fall I'll be studying full time if the draft doesn't get me first."
She took her gaze from the traffic to glance at him for a moment. "That's good, Jack. I'm glad." She paused. "Are you happy with Ginny?"
"Ginny is a wonderful girl, Babs. You and Mitch are married now, I guess."
"Yes, we are."
He turned silent. They were out of heavy traffic now, on the road that led to the causeway.
"Are you in a hurry to go somewhere?" she asked, looking straight ahead.
"I have about an hour."
"Good. Maybe we can take a ride. I won't make you late."
"Okay," he said.
He watched the outskirts of town slip past, and still they did not speak. She paid the toll at the causeway gate and continued until they reached a strip of lonely beach. Before them the blue-green Gulf stretched to a blurred horizon. He could see some far-off fishing boats. Behind them were silent dunes, white in the glare of sunshine.
Babs removed her sunglasses, leaned back against her door. The wind blew strands of fire-gold hair against her pale cheek. Her eyes were wide and dark. A pulse was beating swiftly in her beautiful throat.
"Jack-" she whispered.
There was a sudden surge of hot blood all through him, an emotional explosion that burned itself out in seconds. He said, "I won't touch you, Babs. We'd both be ruined."
She lay back, resting, her eyes closed, breathing hard. After a few minutes, she pulled herself together with a sigh. "That's all I wanted to know," she said. "There was really something between us. We weren't both insane."
"There was really something between us," he agreed.
"Each of us was the other's impossible dream, maybe-" She lit a cigarette and stared through the windshield at the distant line where sky and water merged.
"Isn't it a goofy world, Jack?" she asked huskily. "Why can the strongest kind of physical attraction hit two nice people who don't have one other thing in common? No matter what I ever feel for any other man, that part will never be like it was with you."
"I know," Jack said.
She started the car and took him back to town. He got out on a street corner and watched her drive away. He knew he never would see her again. He knew the name of the chronic little pain that was lodged now in his spirit-adulthood. Adults were people who made the best of things and did not demand more.
This was what he had wanted-to stop being a kid. He turned and marched off to his class.
