The Project Gutenberg eBook of Summertime affair
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Title: Summertime affair
Author: Robert Silverberg
Artist: Harold W. McCauley
Release date: October 16, 2026 [eBook #79800]
Language: English
Original publication: San Diego, CA: Nightstand Books, 1960
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79800
Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUMMERTIME AFFAIR ***
Summertime Affair
By DON ELLIOTT
AN ORIGINAL NIGHTSTAND BOOK
COPYRIGHT 1960, NIGHTSTAND BOOKS
PRINTED AND BOUND
IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any
evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
* * * * *
Have you ever seen a girl you wanted so much, your body ached with the
want? Have you ever stolen a frenzied kiss at a party, when your wife
wasn't looking? Have you ever known passion's damning fire and then
lived to call yourself adulterer? If you haven't, then this book will
be a revelation, an unveiling of human emotions so powerful they may
stagger you. But ...
_IF YOU HAVE CHEATED ON YOUR WIFE_
then David Hughes will not seem a stranger. He will seem a little like
you. You will recognize and understand his open desire for a girl so
beautiful it hurt to look at her. You will feel the same sensations in
your stomach as David Hughes takes her, violently, completely, sinfully.
_For This Book Is About You!_
* * * * *
_CHAPTER ONE_
The house was frantic that morning, as everyone rushed to get ready for
the big trip. The only one who was calm was the one who was not going:
David Hughes, who was staying behind in the sweltering city while his
wife and children went up into the cool mountains for a summer of
swimming and sunning. Hughes would join his family on weekends, and if
he could arrange it he would spend the last two weeks in August with
them. But now he was mentally readying himself for a temporary return
to bachelorhood. And through his mind, over and over again like the
unstoppable return of a haunting melody, went the thought, the brand
new thought, that had worked its way into his consciousness for the
first time the night before:
_I'm on my own again._
_I'm my own boss._
_I'm free to do a little stepping out--if I can find someone to step
out with._
Only twice before, in nine years of marriage, had he been in the
same sort of position. And both those times had been during Ellen's
pregnancies, when he was too harried and worried and busy visiting the
hospital to think of doing any philandering. Besides, their marriage
had been much younger, then. They had still been in love, not merely on
the surface but deep down.
To cheat on Ellen then would have been unthinkable. Now, the situation
was altogether different.
Things had not been going so well in their marriage lately. That was
why he felt he had some sort of moral justification for fooling around
outside the marriage bed. As far as he was concerned, he had remained a
faithful, loving husband. What the slick women's story magazines called
a "Good Provider." Yet, despite his best efforts to keep the warmth
of their marriage alive, Ellen had gradually grown cool toward him.
She seemed too busy to make love, most evenings. Or too tired, or too
spent-up. When he reached for her in bed, she was full of stories about
Tony's running nose or Erika's scraped knee.
He resented the way she had allowed their sex life to cool. He didn't
see any reason why she should be any less passionate now than she had
been nine years earlier. The fact remained, though, that she was. When
they _did_ make love, she enjoyed it just as thoroughly as she had of
old, but the intervals between each act grew longer and longer each
year.
He still had plenty of desire. Ellen failed to gratify that desire
now. And, for the first time in a long while, he had both motive and
opportunity to pick up some outside loving if he could.
_I'm free to do a little stepping out_, Hughes thought again.
He stood in the livingroom, letting Ellen buzz around him like a busy
insect as she finished the tidying-up job. It was Saturday morning,
a crisp fresh morning early in July. In half an hour, Hughes' sister
Beth would come over in the station wagon to pick Ellen and the kids
up. They had rented a bungalow in the mountains ninety miles from New
York. Beth and her two children would occupy the lower floor of the
rambling cottage, Ellen and _her_ two children the upper floor. The
two sisters-in-law would share the household chores, cutting them to
a minimum and allowing the maximum possible rest and vacation for
the smallest possible outlay of cash. The two husbands, Hughes and
his brother-in-law Mike Niles, would drive up together on Friday
afternoons, staying until Sunday afternoon.
Ellen flashed by, looking gay and petite in her tight slacks, cotton
jersey, and pony-tail. The idea of going away for a whole summer seemed
to have revivified her. Ellen was thirty-one--three years younger
than Hughes--but right now she seemed miraculously shunted back in
time so that she looked no older than twenty-three or twenty-four.
Yet during the spring just passed, she had often seemed much older
to Hughes--thirty-five or forty when she was doing the housework,
sixty-five or seventy when it came time to get into bed with her
husband.
But now she was all smiles and gaiety. "Help me get the suitcases out
front, dear," she called, breezing past. "Beth's going to be here any
minute."
"She won't be here before ten, and you know it," Hughes reminded her.
"Be a dear and carry them out anyway," Ellen said.
He found the suitcases in the hallway and rang for the elevator. They
lived on the third floor of a six-story apartment house in a quiet
residential district of Queens. Beth and Mike Niles lived in Queens,
too--but in a $40,000 house in Jamaica Estates, not in a $100-a-month
apartment in Forest Hills.
The elevator came. Hughes and his son got in. Tony was seven and big
for his age, and everyone said he was the absolute miniature of his
father. Hughes didn't see much of a resemblance--Tony was a wiry little
redhead, his father stocky and brown-haired--but he was flattered
at the suggestion, anyway. The kid was going to grow up to be a
good-looking devil, Hughes thought. A regular heart-breaker.
Tony was one of the reasons that their marriage held together. The
other big reason was Erika. Hughes was wild about the kids. He
might have quarrelled with Ellen more, might have released some of
the tension fermenting in his system, except that he was doggedly
determined to give the kids a happy home, and that involved keeping
the home free of cat-and-dog type quarrelling between mother and
father. He remembered how his own parents had roasted each other over
every minor item of friction that came up, and how he had fled the
house when he could to escape the constant battling.
He wanted none of that for his own kids. He wanted them to be happy.
And so, for their sake, he kept his troubles to himself. He let them
fester and bubble in his guts, and occasionally let them come to the
surface in the privacy of the bedroom. But he knew that Ellen did not
fully understand what the actual situation was between them.
He had thought of divorce, too. But it was impossible, because of the
kids. He was bound to Ellen for life by Tony and Erika. He had to
consider their happiness before his own.
In front of the house, Hughes said, "You stay down here and watch the
suitcases, Antonio."
"Sure, Dad."
"And watch for Aunt Beth. Ring the lobby bell when you see her."
"Uh-huh. Big blue Chrysler."
Hughes shook his head. "No, she'll be driving the station wagon, Tony.
Watch for it."
He turned and went back inside. Obscurely it irritated him that his son
would have made such a casual reference to the Niles' two-car status.
Big blue Chrysler and a station wagon--well, why not? Niles did okay
for himself, writing scripts for that television comedy program. The
job would kill him by the time he was fifty, but he'd leave a rich
widow behind. Anybody making $35,000 a year at the age of thirty was
doing okay for himself, Hughes admitted. But it griped him that it had
to be his own sister's husband making all that money.
Even though seven years had gone by since Beth had married Mike Niles,
Hughes still had trouble adjusting to the notion of his kid sister as a
married woman--especially as a well-to-do married woman. He remembered
her most clearly as she had looked on the day of his own wedding, nine
years back. She had been twenty, then, a senior at Hunter, and for the
first time he had noticed that she was a grown-up woman, as she stunned
him with her revealing pink gown. It had come as a shock to him to make
the full realization that his baby sister was a sexy female with full
white breasts and curving hips, a mature woman who had periods and wore
a bra and no doubt was already quite proficient at making love with
that Niles fellow she was dating.
Seeing her that way, at the wedding, had shattered his previous
image of Beth--which pictured her as a tall, gawky, breathless
thirteen-year-old, all neck and knobby knees. Yet it was that image
which still lingered, even now, when Beth was Mrs. Michael Niles,
mother of two, owner of her own car and a nine-room house and a diamond
ring big as the Koh-i-noor.
_Let's face it_, he thought. _You're jealous. You're jealous of Mike
because he makes more money than you do, and because he probably has a
better time in bed with his wife than you do with yours, and because
most likely he's had plenty of other women on the side._
The idea that Niles might have been unfaithful to Beth made Hughes
momentarily angry. He didn't want to see any man treating his sister
that way, he thought--and then he smiled, remembering that he was right
now in the midst of planning to deceive his own wife in the selfsame
way. _Let's not get holier-than-thou, man_, he told himself. _If Niles
has stepped out on Beth, it's no business of mine. None at all._
After all, Hughes told himself, there was a kind of fraternity among
men. Just because _he_ had never cheated on his wife, that didn't mean
that he was a numerical majority. Each man's turn came in time. Niles
was simply the hard-driving kind of guy who was not built for monogamy.
Hughes was a different kind of people. But now Hughes, too, felt the
itch to wander into new territory.
You could never go around wagging the finger-bone of scorn at other
people, he thought. Because you never knew when you'd be tarred with
the same brush. The best policy was just to sit tight, live your own
life, and not worry too much about the way other people lived theirs.
Only then there would be no gossip columns, no news photographers, and
precious little conversation in the world, he decided wryly.
He let himself back into the apartment.
"Beth here yet?" Ellen asked.
"Nope. I left Tony down there sitting on the suitcases. He's going to
ring the bell when she gets here. You all set?"
"Just about. I left you a big list of what to do. Water the plants,
shut the windows when it rains, stuff like that. Also instructions
about what food is in the freezer."
He smiled. "I think I'll manage."
"Dave, why don't you come up for this weekend, after all? There'll be
room in the car, and--"
"I told you, no. Look, Ellen, it'll be the middle of the afternoon
before we get there, and then I'd have to take a bus back tomorrow--no,
it isn't worth it. I'll come up with Mike next Friday."
"You won't forget to leave a note for the milkman on Monday?"
"I won't forget to leave a note for the milkman, no."
"Maybe I'd better--"
Hughes sighed. "Give me credit for a _little_ intelligence, Ellen. Just
a little. I'll remember."
She swept past him, on one final inventory of the apartment. Hughes was
mildly annoyed at her calm assumption of his incompetence; after all,
he had managed to survive as a bachelor for a goodly long time--until
the age of twenty-five. He was out of practice in keeping house for
himself, but not totally inexperienced.
Their daughter came toddling by. Erika was four and a half, just old
enough to perceive that a major upheaval in domestic routine was taking
place.
"Daddy going away?" she asked.
Hughes grinned. "No, pussycat. You've got it balled up. Daddy's staying
here. _You're_ going away."
"Forever?"
"Just till Labor Day."
"When that?"
"Eight weeks from now," Hughes said. "Two months. Sixty days. Then you
and Mommie and Tony come home again."
"Why do we have to go away, if we're going to come back then?"
Chuckling, Hughes said, "Because you're going to someplace nice, where
you can go swimming, and where it doesn't get so hot as it is here. And
you'll have Cousin Larry to play with, and Baby Mindy--"
"What about you, Daddy?"
"I'll be there too. Not all the time. Just some of it. But I'll be
there."
"When you--"
The question was cut off by the sudden, insistent ringing of the
downstairs bell. Tony was just tall enough to reach the buzzer, this
year, and he delighted in ringing the bell long and loud, whenever he
was permitted to. Now he made the most of his opportunity.
Ellen snapped, "Why did you let him ring the bell? You know he always
makes such a racket!"
"It's his last chance for two months," Hughes told her coldly. "Put
your fingers in your ears if you can't stand it."
But the ringing stopped, after ten piercing squalls. Hughes glanced
out a window. His sister's big, gleaming station wagon was parked out
front, and Tony was greeting his cousins. Beth's boy was five, the girl
two and a half. Tony would be very much the leader in the family, with
his two-year advantage.
"You ready to go downstairs?" Hughes asked.
"Just about," Ellen said. She managed a smile. "See you Friday, then."
"Sure. On Friday. And I'll call every Monday and Thursday, just to keep
tabs."
"You won't be lonely at home by yourself?"
"No lonelier than I've been lately," Hughes said with sudden brutality.
Ellen reddened. The thrust had gone home. "You didn't have to say
that," she murmured. "You're always trying to spoil things."
"Let's not have a fight now. Beth's waiting downstairs."
Compulsively, Ellen made her umpteenth final check of the apartment.
At last satisfied, she took Erika's hand and they all went out to the
elevator.
When they arrived downstairs, Hughes discovered that his sister, in her
brisk, efficient way, had already loaded the luggage into the wagon.
"Hello, Dave."
"Hi, Sis. Couldn't you wait for some help with the suitcases?"
"They weren't heavy," Beth said. "Well, all set?"
"All set," Ellen said.
Hughes nodded. His sister looked splendid, in skin-tight pedal-pushers
and a striped polo shirt that accented the fullness of her bosom. She
and Ellen looked almost like sisters, instead of sisters-in-law--two
young mothers in slacks, both of them breasty and round-bottomed, with
ponytails and bright eyes. Hughes wondered how far the resemblance
went. Probably not as far as the bedroom, he decided. He didn't think
Beth was cold in bed. He damned well _knew_ that Ellen was.
Beth was getting behind the wheel. The kids were all aboard. Ellen
came up to him, kissed him lightly and without warmth.
"So long, Dave."
"Have a good time."
"You too, Dave. Don't get unhappy."
"I'll manage. See you Friday."
"Friday," she said.
She walked around to the other side, getting in beside Beth. Beth would
have to drive the whole distance; Ellen had never learned how. The kids
were waving--Tony and Erika enthusiastically, his nephew Larry with
vague flapping motions, his niece Mindy with giggling imitative ones.
Hughes waved back. The station wagon stuttered and came to life. It
drove away.
Hughes stood outside the house for a moment, watching the retreating
vehicle until it turned the corner. He felt strangely lightened. His
wife and his children had driven off for the summer, and he was on his
own.
Eight solid weeks of summertime bachelorhood now. _I ought to make the
most of it_, he thought. _I'm not getting any younger or any handsomer._
This would probably be the last chance he would get. Oh, there might
be other summers when Ellen went away and left him behind, the way it
was arranged this year. But he had the feeling that if he failed to
make the jump this first opportunity, he never would. Next year he'd be
thirty-five, and then he'd be thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight,
next thing you know forty--
And then fifty and then sixty, and nothing to show for it but a lot of
missed opportunity.
No, he thought. It was now or never. He had a golden chance, and he was
in the right frame of mind. He knew that if he muffed the moment, out
of cowardice or laziness or a sudden uncontrollable attack of scruples,
he'd never be in the same position again.
_This is your chance, man. Your last chance for a fling before it's
time to reach for the Serutan and settle down into staid old middle
age. It's all up to you, Davey-boy. You can chicken out, or you can try
for the brass ring. But just remember that it's now or never._
He strolled back into the lobby and punched the elevator button. The
elevator rose, coming up from the basement, and when it arrived there
was someone in it. She was about twenty-two or twenty-three, a blonde
whose golden hair was done up in a plain bun today. She wore levis that
tightly outlined the full, firm curves of her thighs and buttocks. She
had a man's white shirt on, with the top button intentionally left open
and the second button open too, probably not intentionally. Hughes
could see the pale quivering tops of her breasts, meeting in a curving
arch at the place where her collar-wings parted. She was a real blonde,
he thought, with the milky, fantastically soft skin that goes with true
blondeness.
He smiled politely. "Hello, Mrs. Keller. Getting the Sunday wash done a
day early?"
She grinned selfconsciously, and color rose in her face. "The machine's
always so crowded on Sundays, Mr. Hughes. I figured I'd get it done
today."
"Any news from your husband?" he asked.
"I got a letter yesterday, thanks. He's still in California."
"He'll be out soon, though."
"Another six months," she said. "But he hopes maybe the army will
release him early. He says they sometimes let you go after twenty-one
months instead of twenty-four, if you have dependents and a good
reason. So that would let him out in October instead of January."
The elevator reached the third floor. The girl bent over to pick up her
bucket of wash; the front of her blouse fell open, exposing the creamy
globes of her bosom to Hughes' glance. He felt a shiver of lust go
rippling through his belly.
Holding the door open for her, he followed her out of the elevator. Her
apartment was right across the hall from his. He smiled goodbye at her
and let himself into his own now silent apartment.
He closed the door quietly behind him.
The silent apartment seemed weirdly extinguished, now that Ellen no
longer rushed about in her endless anxiety for keeping the place
spotless, now that the kids no longer wandered under foot with their
toys and their crayons and their quarrels. Hughes walked into the
livingroom and sat down heavily in his television chair.
He looked at his hands. They were shaking. He felt a cold sweat
bursting out on his face and back.
The sight of those two soft, creamy breasts jiggling in that girl's
blouse had had a powerful effect. Hughes scowled and clenched his
fists. _Why didn't I think of that before_, he asked himself? _Of
course. It's a natural. But--will she?_
He reviewed what he knew about the girl across the hall. Janice Keller
was about twenty-two or so, he estimated. She had been married just
under two years; Hughes remembered when the newlyweds had moved into
the two-room apartment across the way. And about six months after they
had moved in, Nick Keller had received his draft call. It had seemed
like the end of the world to them, Hughes recalled. But he had gone,
and Janice had managed to survive the separation, and for some reason
she had not gone to live with him after he had finished basic training.
He was stationed in San Francisco, and she remained here, holding down
some sort of job. She did not seem too unhappy. She sometimes had
visitors--male visitors--and it was possible to hear music and laughter
coming from the apartment across the hall on a Saturday night.
And she was beautiful. No doubt of that.
Hughes undressed her in his mind, picturing that creamy white body
with its two high swells of pink-tipped flesh, with the soft dimpled
buttocks, the warm inviting thighs, the rounded belly so tender to the
touch. He began to perspire again. He _had_ to have her.
It would be revenge against Ellen, he thought. It was all Ellen's fault
that he was so actively scheming to deceive her now. Ellen did not
seem to understand that he was still young, still had a healthy man's
healthy appetites. Over the years, Ellen had turned colder, until now
it was a rare event when she turned willingly to him in bed at night.
It hadn't always been that way. Hughes could remember a different
Ellen--the Ellen of ten years ago, before their marriage, the exciting
Ellen who had stripped off her clothes at a picnic in a secluded cove,
who had made love with him out in the open, caring about nothing but
the glory of the act. They had made love often and in many places,
during the year of their engagement--in the back seat of his car, in
parks, in Hughes' little bachelor flat, even on the sofa in Ellen's
parents' home, while the old folks were out at the movies. And after
the marriage, too, they had been happy in bed together.
Until Tony was born. Hughes dated the change in her from the day
she found out she was pregnant. All during the pregnancy she kept
trying to find excuses for not sleeping with him; she was nauseous,
or she had migraine headaches, or she simply was afraid that too much
jostling around would cause a miscarriage. And after coming home from
the hospital there were new excuses. Hughes kept waiting for the old
relationship to return, the relationship that might find her in bed
and waiting for him before dinner when he came home from work. But it
never did. They made love occasionally--as infrequently as Ellen could
manage--but the spark was gone.
She tolerated him until it was certain that she was pregnant again, and
then it was the same story over again. And for four years plus, now, it
had been this way. Ellen was too bound up in her home, in her children,
to have any energy left for her husband. They continued to make love,
once or twice or sometimes three times a week, but only when the
pressure inside Hughes was too great to be mastered, and he simply had
to insist on his rights. But he suspected that, if he never insisted,
Ellen would never think of suggesting it.
And so now he hungered after the soft-breasted girl next door. He was
on his own, for the first time, and it was his chance to get even in
some way with Ellen.
_I'll show her_, he thought.
_If I can't get it from her, I'll get it from Janice Keller. Young
stuff is always juicier, anyway._
He turned on the television set. But his mind was not on the screen,
but across the hall.
_CHAPTER TWO_
It was a long day.
There was nothing on television at that hour of a Saturday morning
except kiddiecrap, and after futilely twiddling the dials for a
while Hughes gave up, shutting the set off with a snap. He found his
newspaper and spent an hour methodically going down one column and up
to the top of the page and down the next, and before he knew it it was
lunchtime. He put together a bacon-lettuce-tomato sandwich for himself
without any great difficulty, and, as Ellen had asked him to do, drank
milk instead of coffee. There were two quarts of milk left in the
refrigerator, and it would offend Ellen's sense of thrift to have them
go to waste while the children were away. He drank milk, obediently.
It was a great temptation to leave the dishes where they were, but
he fought it down. Sooner or later a day of reckoning would have to
come in the kitchen, and it would be easier if he made sure that no
accumulation of unwashed stuff piled up.
When he was through with the dishwashing chores, he strolled aimlessly
around the apartment, wondering what he was going to do with himself
on a Saturday afternoon in July. The temperature was climbing; it had
been a pleasant 70 when the station wagon had departed, but now the
thermometer outside the kitchen window read 88, and Hughes figured the
mercury would hit 90 or 95 before the day was out. And this was just
the beginning.
For one wild moment he toyed with the idea of going across to Janice
Keller's and ringing the bell. Her apartment wasn't air-conditioned
either, and no doubt she would be sweating as much as he was. Maybe she
would like to go to the beach with him. Or just take a drive. He tested
a possible line, something about _here we are, you with your husband
three thousand miles away and me with my wife and kids in the country,
maybe we can work out some way of passing the time_--
A cold icicle of fear formed in the back of his throat. _She'll get
sore. She'll slap me. She'll call the cops. Or worse, she'll just
laugh. "Why, Mr. Hughes! Are you actually making a pass at lil ol' me?
At your age, too!"_
Hughes walked to the mirror. His familiar, unhandsome face looked
glumly back at him. He was a tall man, six feet two, and broad through
the shoulders and hips. He was muscular, but beginning to slow down and
put on a little weight where he didn't especially want to have it. Most
people considered him homely in an agreeable way, with his brown hair
cropped close, his bushy eyebrows, his prominent, rounded nose, wide
mouth, square blue-stubbled chin. It was a solid face, an unexceptional
face.
To Janice Keller it was probably the face of a middle-aged man. _I'm
twelve years older than she is. I was just getting pimples on my face
when she was born. The day she entered kindergarten I was starting my
senior year in high school. I probably had slept with half a dozen
girls before she knew how to spell her own name._
He smiled at the mirror image, and continued the stream of thought
he had embarked on. _I was dating my wife before Janice Keller began
to menstruate. I was a married man before Janice was past the age of
puberty. My son was born before Janice went on her first date. Janice
was probably still a virgin when Erika was born. And here I am afraid
to walk across the hall and ring her doorbell. Here I am panting like a
horny teenager for one good squeeze of Janice Keller's big round boobs._
Shaking his head slowly, Hughes walked away from the mirror. He told
himself that it would be a mistake to begin his campaigning of adultery
quite so speedily. Ellen was gone only two or three hours, now. It was
in bad taste to cheat on your wife your very first day of freedom.
Think about it for a while. Plan. Be patient, before reaping your
harvest.
Yet once again the urge came to ring Janice's doorbell, and once again
he beat it down. He went to the refrigerator and found a can of beer,
and sipped it reflectively at the kitchen table.
He told himself, _Fundamentally, I'm scared. That's the real trouble.
Scared she'll say no. Scared she'll tell Ellen. And also scared she may
say yes._
He closed his eyes, remembering.
It was close to eleven years since he had last slept with any woman
but Ellen. Before Ellen there had been plenty of others; he had been
an active bachelor, with an apartment of his own, and he never had too
much trouble finding a compliant bed-partner.
He remembered the last one. Claudia, he thought. Claudia Rinehart.
A tall mixed-up brunette with breasts like swollen melons. Hughes
smiled, remembering. Claudia went to Barnard; she was nineteen, he
was twenty-three and had a good job. And Claudia lived to lay. She had
probably laid her way through half of Columbia University before Hughes
met her. He was two years out of CCNY and didn't have the Ivy League
background she was used to; maybe that was why she liked him. He had
laid her on their very first date, after a dance at Columbia; she had
come up to his apartment, and she had folded her party gown up over
her waist, and she had no underpants on underneath. It wasn't until
the next time that he actually saw her naked body, all of it, with the
heavy breasts looking so strangely white against the tan of the rest of
her, the twin strips of white across her breasts and middle from the
bikini that summer.
And then the final date, their tenth or twelfth: Claudia very drunk at
a party, making him take her home early, then stripping for him and
putting Latin-American music on. She did a wild, sensuous, drunken
dance, her breasts swaying and bouncing, and rivulets of sweat running
down her chest and back and thighs. And then she had fallen to the
carpet with her legs spread, her arms outstretched, and he had loved
her right there in her parents' expensive home. For half an hour his
body had pressed down on hers, his tongue entrapped in her mouth, her
legs imprisoning him. It was a memorable evening. Two days later, he
met Ellen. He never called Claudia again.
Probably Claudia was a Long Island society matron now, with three kids
and her own Mercedes-Benz and her own private psychoanalyst. And Hughes
had not slept with anyone but Ellen, since. After five dates with
Ellen, she had gone willingly to bed with him--but Hughes had come to
the realization that this girl was not just another lay, but promising
material as a wife and mother, and so he had proposed to her in the
morning. Ellen had been a virgin until the night before. She accepted
his proposal without hesitating.
Eleven years go by. Engagement, marriage, parenthood. Somewhere, along
the way, love gets lost. Marriage turns into kids and paying bills and
planning to take a vacation in the summer.
_And now infidelity_, Hughes thought. _So far not real infidelity, just
contemplated infidelity. A long way from being consummated. I'm out of
the practice of seducing young women_, he thought. _My line is rusty._
The telephone rang, jolting him out of his reverie. Hughes grabbed it
on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Mike here, Dave," said his brother-in-law's deep, commanding voice. "I
just got a call from Beth. The caravan arrived safely."
"So soon? It seems like they just left."
"It's almost two o'clock," Niles said. "The trip only takes two and
a half hours up Route 17. Figure that they stopped to give the kids
lunch, and it still works out."
"They have a good trip?"
"Beth said everything was okay. Also that they found the place in good
shape. Ellen sends her love."
Hughes frowned. "That's nice."
Niles said, "What are you figuring on doing for the rest of the
weekend, Dave?"
"Nothing much, I guess. Why?"
"Thought you might want to drop over here tonight. I'm having some
friends. Strictly stag, but no dancing girls. And it's a pretty
interesting bunch. Mack Correy--he had a script on _Playhouse 90_, you
know--and Dan Wills and Nat Firestone--"
"Maybe I'd better not," Hughes said quickly. "I know your parties. I'll
be roistering all night. I'd better get some rest instead."
"Hokay, man. Just thought I'd try for a nibble. So when are we going
to get together? How about lunch on Monday? I'll be in the city, and I
don't have any appointments."
"All right," Hughes said weakly.
"I'll phone your office around eleven Monday, then," Niles said. "Take
it slow, kid."
"Yeah. You too."
Hughes hung up, scowling. He didn't like to be addressed as _kid_ by a
man four years his junior--even though that man might have an income
four times as big as his. _Especially_ because that man's income _was_
four times as big as his.
He knew Niles didn't really want him to come to the party. He knew
Niles thought of his brother-in-law as a pathetic kind of gink, a softy
who didn't know which way was up. In Niles' book, anybody making less
than $25,000 a year was ipso facto a gink. The world was Mike Niles'
oyster, and he had scant sympathy for anyone else who lacked his knack
for combing out pearls.
The party would have been rough going, anyway. Niles' friends were
television people--writers, agents, actors, directors--all busy cutting
the throats of mutual enemies. The party would have been one long
bloodletting--and it would have culminated in a drunken poker game for
stakes Hughes couldn't begin to risk. Mike Niles thought nothing at all
of dropping eight or nine hundred dollars between midnight and three in
the morning. Hughes wasn't in that league at all.
Even for Niles, of course, the eight hundred represented a week's work,
maybe. Five or six bloody days of pounding the typewriter and getting
damfool calls from the script overseer, and of running into Manhattan
for conferences and dressings-down and harangues. Oh, Mike Niles didn't
get his money for no sweat at all, Hughes admitted.
But it was different, dropping a week's pay and dropping more than
a month's. Besides, when Niles lost money he was losing it to his
television buddies. In a way, that put him one up on them. When
you take a pile of cash from a man, you feel guilty about it,
subconsciously or otherwise. And so you try to make it up to him in
some way. Niles could always figure, when he lost a stack of cash to
some director or story editor, that he was making an investment that
would pay dividends in fat assignments. Maybe, Hughes thought, Mike
even took the losses off his income tax as "business expenses." That
would be just like him, really.
Sudden curdling hatred for his brother-in-law pounded through Hughes'
system. Niles always held all the aces. He always sounded smug,
self-satisfied. And with reason. He had money, he had a successful
career, he had a beautiful home, he had a beautiful wife. Mike Niles
never had to worry about his sex life. All through his marriage to
Beth, he had made that abundantly clear.
Hughes had come close to poking him a couple of times. There was the
time, a year or two after the wedding, when Niles had been in his cups
and boasted to Hughes: "Christ, man, your sister's the hottest thing
on two legs, you know? We got it down to a routine. All I do is touch
her tits, any hour of the day or night. Just a touch, a little squeeze.
Off come the clothes, down she plops on the bed. And she goes like a
rabbit, too. Comes every time."
Hughes had been disgusted. It was nice that Beth had a satisfactory sex
life, but there was something filthy about the way her husband boasted
about it to her brother. Every man thinks of his younger sister as a
virgin until long after abundant proof to the contrary exists. Hughes
resented having anecdotes of his sister's accessibility retailed to him
as though Niles were describing some cooperative starlet looking for a
role.
_Okay_, he thought. _So Niles' wife is a good lay. Hurray for him.
Hurray for Beth. Ellen used to be good too, once._
Then:
_I bet Janice Keller is good in bed too._
Suddenly he was trembling with desire again. The temperature in the
apartment seemed to be at least a hundred twenty. His sweat-soggy
clothes clung damply to his moist skin. Without conscious volition he
moved toward the door of the apartment. _I'll show Mike Niles_, he
thought. I'll show Ellen. _I'll show the whole goddam world._
He stepped across the hall and rang Janice Keller's doorbell.
He heard footsteps within, and fought back the desire to flee into his
own apartment.
"Who's there?"
"Dave Hughes," he said hoarsely. "From across the hall."
She flicked open the peephole as if to confirm this, and then opened
the door and looked out doubtfully at him, smiling in an uncertain way.
She was wearing Bermuda shorts and a white tee-shirt, and the humidity
had pasted the tee-shirt to her skin with sweat. Whether she knew it or
not, it was practically transparent, and she had no bra on underneath.
Hughes could make out plainly the round, pink swells of her breasts,
and he could see the little lumps that were her nipples. His face
reddened and he felt slightly dizzy, looking down at her. Her blonde
hair tumbled in delightful disarray around her shoulders.
She continued to smile at him, as though wondering what he wanted.
He said, "I hope I'm not disturbing you--"
"Oh, no, not at all."
"It's just that--well--you know, my wife and children went away for the
summer this morning--"
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes was telling me yesterday."
Hughes fished for something plausible. "Well--you see, I'm sort of
forced back on my own resources, and it's been a long time. I thought
I'd clean the place up, but I can't seem to figure out how the vacuum
cleaner works, and I thought maybe you had the same kind and could show
me. There's a do-jigger in the back where the dirt's collected, and--"
He knew how to run the vacuum cleaner perfectly well. But it was the
first notion that popped into his head, as he stood in the hallway
trying not to notice the pulse-pounding thrust of Janice Keller's pink
breasts beneath the tightly-drawn fabric of her tee-shirt. He could
make out without any doubt at all the darker circles of her nipples,
and the round masses of her breasts. His fingers tightened as he
pictured himself cupping those full, heavy breasts in his hands.
More. He pictured her lifting the tee-shirt from her. It was
sweat-sticky, and it would come away from her skin with a little
popping sound, and he would draw it over her head and drop it to
the floor. And then he would kneel and delicately touch her nipples
with his tongue, and bury his face in the valley between those two
delectable mountains of flesh.
And then--the image unfolded spontaneously, in one quick flash of lust
unreeled across the screen of his mind--and then he would open the
little buckle on the Bermuda shorts and find the zipper and slide it
down, and pull the shorts off her. Maybe she would have panties on
underneath, maybe not. But he would get her naked, and magically his
own clothes would disappear, and she would draw him down on top of
her and her warm thighs would encircle his body and she would look up
at him out of eyes liquid with desire, and in one quick breathtaking
thrust their bodies would join and he would go rocking off to the land
of delight.
The image faded guiltily.
Janice said, "I'd be glad to. Just let me get my hair fixed and I'll
come right across."
Hughes thanked her and ducked back into his own apartment. Quickly he
got the vacuum cleaner out of the closet, plugged it in, and opened
up the back, making it seem as though he had been tinkering with it
in absolute non-comprehension. A moment or two passed, and then the
doorbell rang.
Janice had gathered up her hair and rubber-banded it into a pony-tail.
She had also, Hughes noticed ruefully, put on a bra. Probably she
had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and had decided it was
indecent to go into a man's apartment dressed so revealingly. There
was color in her cheeks, too, indicating excitement at the idea that
the strange man might have seen more of her than she had known she was
revealing.
She knelt and demonstrated the use of the vacuum cleaner in a few brisk
motions.
"Thanks," Hughes said. "You know, I'm going to have a rough time being
a bachelor all this summer. I didn't realize how dependent I've become
on Ellen."
"Can you cook?"
"Not very well," he lied. "I guess I'll have to eat in restaurants all
summer, unless I want to risk giving myself ptomaine poisoning."
She smiled shyly. "I could make dinner for you if you liked, Mr.
Hughes. I mean, don't get me wrong--it's just that it's a shame, you
having to eat out all summer, when the two of us live right across the
hall. I'm a pretty good cook, Mr. Hughes."
"I'm sure you are. And won't you call me Dave? Neighbors don't have to
be so formal--Janice."
"You wouldn't think there was anything wrong with the arrangement, if
we had dinner together some nights?" she asked. "I mean, with Nick in
the army and your wife away for the summer, it would just be logical
that we could sort of cooperate to keep each other from getting too
lonely. I know I get awful lonely, Mr. Hughes--_Dave_. And I bet you
must miss your wife tremendously already."
Hughes nodded gravely. "Indeed I do."
She smiled. "Maybe tonight, then--"
Suddenly buoyant, he seized the initiative. "Tonight's fine. Only it's
too hot for a girl like you to have to fuss with cooking tonight. Look,
suppose I take you to a restaurant tonight--"
"Oh, no, Dave." _Was that a gleam of suspicion in her eyes_, Hughes
wondered?
"Honest, my intentions are pure. I figure if you're going to cook for
me this summer, we ought to start the arrangement off in a festive way.
Let's you and me go out for dinner, Janice. I wouldn't think of letting
you cook in ninety-degree weather."
"Well--"
"Come on, live dangerously!" he urged. "I'm just an old married man
trying to stave off loneliness. I guarantee not to eat you alive."
"You're _not_ old!"
"I'm ancient. I'm thirty-four."
"What's so old about that?"
"Plenty. How old are you, anyway?"
She reddened. "Twenty-two, almost twenty-three. But you mustn't think
you're old, Dave."
"If you say so, I feel younger already. Is it a date for tonight, Mrs.
Keller?"
"I suppose, Mr. Hughes. Only--"
"What?"
"Let's make it dutch treat."
"Unthinkable!"
"But that way I wouldn't feel so guilty about it," she said.
Hughes glowered at her. "Dinner is on me tonight. I insist. There will
be no further discussion of the matter."
She giggled. "You're funny."
"Like a crutch. Are you quick getting ready for dinner, or are you like
my wife?"
"Well, I'd want to take a shower first, and set my hair--but we have
plenty of time, don't we? It's only two-thirty now."
Hughes nodded. "You go fix yourself up. I'll ring your bell around
five. The quicker we get into some good and air-conditioned restaurant,
the better."
She left. Hughes watched the way her trim rear wiggled as she walked to
the door. The moment it closed behind her, he nearly gave a whoop of
joy.
It had all worked out perfectly. What was it she had said? _With Nick
in the army and your wife away for the summer, it would just be logical
that we could sort of cooperate to keep each other from getting too
lonely._
Cooperation was just what Hughes wanted. The girl was a little on the
naive side, he thought, and probably she had no inkling of exactly how
much cooperation he was hoping to exact from her. But she had a body,
and she was obviously lonely, and the combination added up to good
possibilities. Everything was on his side. Living ten feet from each
other, in the relative privacy of an apartment house where few people
knew any of their neighbors very well, and both alone, both lonely. The
summer heat might help him too, he thought. And gradually they would
become more friendly, as her fear of the strange man from across the
hall receded, and one day soon he would put his hand to her body and
she would not remove it, and he would possess her.
He pictured her nude again, nipples standing up stiffly on the
quivering mounds of her breasts. Desire tightened his throat like a
noose. He peeled off his clothes and headed for the shower. For the
first time in years, he felt delight in his masculinity. For the first
time in years, he felt really glad to be alive.
_CHAPTER THREE_
At five minutes to five that afternoon, Hughes went across the hall and
rang Janice Keller's bell. He was dressed in a light cord summer suit,
a sport shirt, no tie. He was meticulously shaven, and had even put on
a few drops of his aftershave cologne. He felt absurdly like a teenager
showing up at his girl's house for a Very Important Date.
"Coming!" Janice called.
She opened the door. "I'm just about ready. Come in, won't you?"
He was a bit surprised at the way she was dressed. She wore a white
dress, so tight it hugged the full curves of her hips like a glove. It
was extremely low-cut, and the creamy globes of her breasts rose from
it like twin peaks, with a long inviting cleft between them. Hughes was
certain she had put a dab of perfume between her breasts: a dizzying
aroma wandered up from them. She had decorated her eyelids with dark
shadow, and her hair was pulled back in an elaborate coiffure. In
every way, it seemed as though she had been primping for the date all
afternoon.
_Maybe it's important to her too_, he thought. _More important than I
suspected._
He took a seat in the livingroom-cum-dining-room of the tiny apartment,
while Janice busied herself with some mysterious final grooming in the
bedroom. While waiting, he glanced around. The furniture was meager,
though what there was was in fairly good taste, as cheap furniture
went. A long low modern couch, two butterfly chairs, a tiny scrap of
rug. A portable phonograph mounted on a small table. A record rack with
perhaps twenty or thirty long-playing records in it, and a thick stack
of 45s. A two-shelf bookshelf that contained about forty well-worn
paperback books. Most of them were mysteries or science fiction, but
Hughes was more than a little surprised to see a book on Freud, one
called _Understanding Great Music_, and Stendhal's _Charterhouse of
Parma_. The three serious books all appeared to have been read several
times. Hughes wondered if they were the property of Nick Keller, or
if Janice were trying to improve on whatever skimpy education she had
previously had.
He took the Stendhal out of the bookcase and leafed idly through it. A
moment later, Janice appeared, having thrown a white jacket over her
shoulders to mitigate the startling decolletage of her dress.
He held the book up. "This is one of my favorite novels. Have you ever
read it?"
"Twice," she said. "The first time I didn't understand it much, but I
think it's great, now. Did you go to college, Dave?"
"CCNY. I majored in business administration, minored in literature."
"You must have read everything worthwhile, then. I wish I had gone to
college. Now that I'm all alone here, I do a lot of serious reading.
But so much of it puzzles me, you know? Because I can't _relate_ any of
it. That's it. I can't _relate_."
Hughes smiled. "Let's go relate ourselves to some dinner, first of
all. I'm famished."
He held the door open for her, and they swept out into the hall. She
locked up while he was ringing for the elevator.
On the way down she said, "I've just started reading Freud now. All
about sex, and everything. He's tremendously interesting."
"All I saw was the one book _about_ Freud."
"Oh, I keep the others in my bedroom." She giggled. "I guess you'll
have to have designs on my virtue if you want to know what sort
of books I have. The Freud book I was just reading was a kind of
introduction to psychoanalysis, a pocketbook thing. Have you ever been
psychoanalyzed, Dave?"
"Me? No, that's one sport I can't afford. My brother-in-law was in
analysis for six months a couple of years ago. $25 an hour, five hours
a week. He gave it up because he decided the analyst was crazier than
he was."
Janice giggled. "Oh, he wasn't serious! It must have really been
because he couldn't afford it."
"He _can_ afford it, though. Mike can afford anything. He's a
television writer. Some comedy program."
"Oh," Janice said, obviously impressed.
There was a sour taste in Hughes' mouth as he envisioned what would
happen if a girl like Janice ever fell into Mike Niles' clutches. He
would give her the big line about his television writing, and how he
hobnobbed with all the stars and famous personalities, and he would
flash the bankroll. Niles always carried hundreds of dollars in cash,
just for that purpose.
And then Janice would simply melt away. She would fall down stunned by
the magnificence of the self-appointed god, and Niles would just reach
out and pluck the clothes off her and do what he wanted with her. And
after it was all over, Niles would pat her fondly on her shapely rear
and send her away, convincing her that she had had an unforgettable
experience by being allowed to make love to the great Mike Niles.
Niles wouldn't have hesitated a moment. And neither would Janice.
Inside of ten minutes, Hughes thought, Niles could get almost any
impressionable female's clothes off, no matter who her husband was or
how she felt about him.
They left the house and walked around the corner to the place where
Hughes had left the car. The apartment house had its own garage, but
the tab was $15 a month, and Hughes preferred to take his chances
finding a parking spot in the street. Sometimes it meant riding round
and round for half an hour or more, but the savings was worth it.
Raising two kids on $8300 a year wasn't the easiest thing in the world,
if you also happened to like good food and books and shows.
The car was a '54 Plymouth, beginning to show serious signs of age now.
Hughes kept it spotless, but no amount of elbow grease could disguise
an ailing engine. Janice slipped in easily beside him. He felt a
strange thrill at having a strange woman in the front seat with him.
For a moment he seemed to be driving, not the Plymouth of his married
life, but the '46 Buick he had owned during his early twenties, his
bachelor years. Many a maid's honor had been yielded on the back seat
of that battered old Roadmaster, he thought. Many a firm young bosom
quivered to the touch of his groping hand. Many a pair of soft white
thighs parted for the few minutes of writhing and belly-pushing that we
dignify with the name of "the act of love."
Hughes' mind roved backward in time, back to his bachelor days, and he
thought about the girls that there had been before Ellen, the girls
that he had made love to in that old Buick. Claudia, of course. And
Marie, the thin girl from Hunter College with the pimply face and the
thin pale lips and the unexpectedly large breasts ballooning from
her chest. Marie was a French Literature major, and had a funny way
of quoting Racine or Moliere just when he wanted to be passionate,
Hughes remembered. But she had come across twice for him, and he
suspected--though he was not certain of it--that he had had her
virginity from her.
The others came in mind now, forgotten phantoms of the past. The girl
who was just getting over a broken engagement--what was her name,
he wondered? Katherine? Kate? Something like that. _Kay_, maybe. He
could not visualize her face at all, except that he remembered she had
a weak chin and a slightly bucktoothed smile. She had been long and
lean, with a model's figure, small breasts and long neck, and though
she had been eager for sex she was totally incapable of enjoying it.
Hughes had dropped her after three or four dates, because it was a kind
of humiliation to him to collide with the stone wall of her frigidity
every time they embraced. He suspected he knew why the engagement had
been broken.
And Sue, he thought--today she would probably be called a beatnik,
but back then she was merely bohemian. A short, slender girl with big
serious eyes and long black hair that hung down straight. She was the
one, he remembered now, who had the thing about her breasts. She didn't
mind his looking at them when she was undressed, but he wasn't allowed
to touch. They were hyper-sensitive or something, she said, and bruised
easily. So he had kept hands off, and filled her up with cheap chianti
in the Greenwich Village bistros, and had made love to her in a curious
arm's-length sort of way.
Phantom after phantom bobbed out of the past. And then Ellen, blotting
them all away, Ellen who had been his only love for so long.
And now Janice at his side.
Janice....
"Where are we going?" Janice asked.
"Don's. It's a steak house in Glen Cove. Fiercely cold in summertime.
Good food, too. I often go there with my--"
_With my wife._
_Better keep her out of the conversation._
"--with friends," he finished lamely.
It was a good restaurant, and a big one. No chance that the maitre'd
would recognize him and then frown knowingly at his bosomy young
companion. And it was out away from the neighborhood, too. Little
possibility of running into neighbors or friends.
Hughes drove buoyantly, almost convincing himself he was piloting a
brand-new Cadillac instead of a stuttering old Plymouth. He reached the
restaurant in what was probably record time for the distance. Leaving
the car in the restaurant's parking lot, they went in. As always, the
place was glacially cold--but after the furnace heat that prevailed
outside, it would have been ungrateful to complain.
"Two," he told the headwaiter.
They were conducted to a table at the side, nestled away in a secluded
booth. The location couldn't have been more ideal if Hughes had
requested it and backed the request with a fivespot; he wondered if
the maitre'd had not recognized him after all, and, knowing that he
was here with a woman not his wife, had tactfully conveyed him to an
isolated booth.
Janice's face glowed as she opened the immense menu. "Golly! How do you
know what to pick first!"
"You could begin by picking a cocktail first," Hughes said. "How about
a nice chilly martini?"
"That sounds fine. I like martinis, I think."
"You _think_?"
"Well, I don't have them too often," she explained. "It's not the sort
of thing I'd normally drink."
Hughes smiled and gave the order. He was beginning to form a mental
picture of what this girl was like: enormously beautiful, but naive and
actually ignorant--though willing to learn. A girl with a high school
education, and probably not a very good one at that, who, marrying at
the age of nineteen, had had no time to ripen into real maturity--and
who, living the disjointed life of a married woman separated by
thousands of miles from her husband, had had no further opportunities
to mature.
The martinis arrived. They were perfect: ice cold, strong, crisp.
Janice grinned shyly as she drank hers. The effect seemed to be
immediate: on the third sip, she began to unbutton her jacket. Tempting
white flesh gleamed through the opening in the white fabric.
"Want me to hang that up for you?" he asked.
"Please. Yes."
"Sure you won't be cold?"
"I'm getting used to the temperature in here."
He hung her jacket up. She sat leaning forward, holding the drink, her
shoulders hunched together. The front of her dress puckered outward,
giving Hughes a good view of her breasts. He could see the restraining
band of cloth across her nipples, supporting her breasts and thrusting
them upward. His blood pressure began to rise.
As she finished the martini, Hughes signalled quietly to the waiter,
who set off for two more. Janice looked surprised when the refills
arrived.
"We didn't order more, did we?"
"I did."
"But I'll get drunk, Dave! I'm getting drunk already!"
He grinned. "Don't be silly. One whiff of steak and you'll sober up.
Here." He clinked his glass against hers.
"I'm not sure I ought to," she began doubtfully.
"We can't waste it. And if I drink both of them, I'll be too potted to
drive home. Come on!"
She made an okay-be-a-good-sport face and went to work on the martini.
Watching her, Hughes felt like a heel. _She's just a kid, and here I
am busy greasing her up with joy-juice so her panties will slip off
easier. I ought to be shot for this. I ought to be taken out and shot
like a dog. I deserve to be lynched._
She was growing very gay; her face was flushed, her eyes a little
glassy. Finishing her drink, she picked up the enormous menu and began
to prowl through it again, muttering, "Now, what on Earth am I going to
have?"
"What about filet mignon?" Hughes suggested.
"I don't know. I've never had it."
"_Never?_ But--"
"It's so expensive, that's why. What's it like?"
"Well, it's sort of a thick square piece of meat, so tender you can't
believe it. No fat, no bones, just meat, pink on the inside, and they
charcoal-broil it on the outside--"
"Mmm. Sounds good." She found it on the menu. "But it's five-fifty,
Dave! That's much too much!"
It was, Hughes admitted. He would be eating hot dogs for a week to
balance the budget. And, too late, he remembered the lunch date with
Mike on Monday. That was bound to be expensive. Still, call it an
investment. The whole meal today would cost him less than twenty
dollars. And if a twenty-buck investment paid off in dividends of
tender satiny breasts and bedroom thighs, it would be worth it.
He called the waiter over.
"The filet mignon dinner for both of us," he said. "Make them both
medium rare. Shrimp cocktails first, and--oh, a half bottle of
California claret to go with the meat."
The waiter nodded and glided away. Ordinarily, Hughes might have
ordered burgundy or bordeaux--but Janice was not likely to be a wine
connoisseur, and ordering California wine peeled a dollar off the
eventual check. There were limits even to splurging.
The shrimps were excellent, the filet superb. Hughes kept pouring the
wine. Janice ate appreciatively, obviously enjoying this meal the way
she had never enjoyed a meal before in her life.
"What sort of job do you have?" she wanted to know.
"I'm comptroller of a lithography firm," Hughes said. "That's a fancy
title meaning glorified bookkeeper. I oversee the accounts, make up the
payrolls, check the work of the bookkeepers under me. Very dull work."
"Is that what you wanted to do?"
He shrugged. "I don't remember when I last _wanted_ to do anything. I
guess I wanted to be a novelist or a playwright or some vague thing
like that. Only trouble with me was I never wrote anything. So I wised
up and took a Business Administration course. It's not the worst job in
the world, only it's uninspiring. What do you do?"
"Right now I'm a clerk in a bookstore near the Kew Gardens subway
station."
"I think I know the place. Greeting cards, lending library, paperbacks,
a few records?"
"That's the one. I can buy anything I want at wholesale, you see. So
the job really pays a little more than I get on my paycheck. I bought
most of my records there. And it's nice work. I like being around
books. I never read much until last year, and now I'm trying to make up
for all the time I wasted with movies and television. But there's so
much. All the old Greeks, and Shakespeare, and Shaw, and everybody--"
Hughes tried to picture this busty young blonde reading Aeschylus,
and almost coughed up a chunk of steak. _But you have to give her
credit for trying_, he thought. _She's trying to make something out of
herself. She doesn't want to go through life being known just as a dumb
blonde with big tits._
As the wine took hold of her, she became more and more voluble about
her intellectual aspirations. Hughes began to perceive one additional
and useful fact about her: she regarded him as a highly educated
man, a sage who had all of the best ideas of Socrates and Kant at
his fingertips. _I'm a kind of father image for her_, he thought. _A
flowing fount of wisdom and all that. Well, we'll soon see just how
strong her Electra complex really is._
He resisted the temptation to order cognac with their coffee. It
would have been just the ideal finishing touch to the meal--but, he
considered, it would add another two dollars to the bill, and, in any
event, Janice was probably as drunk as she needed to be. They sipped
their coffee with the calm satisfaction of people who had been well fed.
"I think that's the best meal I've ever had in my life," Janice told
him. "But you really shouldn't have gone to all that expense, Dave."
"It was worth it to make you happy. Think of you, twenty-two years
old and never having tasted filet mignon! At least that gap in your
education has now been remedied."
She giggled again. "You're funny. So serious, sometimes. I like you."
"I like you too," he told her solemnly.
It had been an odd conversation. Never once had either of them
mentioned either Nick or Ellen. It was as though there had been a tacit
agreement between them not to say a word about the absent mates. Out of
sight, out of mind.
The check arrived. $18.70--more than he usually spent on Ellen on
their anniversary dinner. He tried to be casual about it as he took
two tens and a single from his wallet and deposited them in the tray.
$21, he thought, would take care of the tip and everything. He took
Janice's jacket from the hook and slipped it around her shoulders. His
trembling fingers brushed the bare skin of her arms as he did so. An
uncontrollable shiver of excitement ran through his body at the touch
of her incredibly velvety skin.
They got into the car. Janice sat closer to him than she had on the way
out; he could feel the warmth of her thigh against his, through her
dress, through his trousers. He drove carefully: with two martinis and
some wine in him, he was extra cautious. It would be unpleasant for the
two of them to get into some sort of accident together--more unpleasant
if they survived the accident and had to explain what they were doing.
The heat had slackened some, but the temperature was still in the
mid-eighties, and it was humid. After the frigidity of the restaurant,
the contrast was even more marked as they returned to the natural
climate. Janice turned the car radio on as they drove, tuning in some
disk-jockey's rock-and-roll program. She leaned back, her head dangling
over the seat, soaking in the music.
Luck was with him. He found a parking spot right in front of the
house--something usually impossible to do on a Saturday night. They
went into the lobby and rang for the elevator. Janice was still showing
the effects of the martinis, even though they were two hours in the
past; she was having a little trouble walking straight. Hughes prayed
that they would meet no neighbors on the way up. It would look very
suspicious, the two of them together, dressed up for the evening, both
of them smelling like distilleries, Janice obviously three sheets to
the wind--
Luck held. They met no one.
Leaving the elevator on the third floor, Hughes hesitated. This was
the crucial moment, the moment when he cinched the evening by drastic
action. But she took the initiative away from him.
"I want to dance, now. Let's go into my place and dance for a while,
Dave."
He forced himself not to yelp in triumph. "That's fine, very fine with
me."
"And why don't we have some more drinks? Do you know how to make
martinis?"
"Of course."
"Okay, then. You make martinis and we'll dance."
They went into his apartment first, and he opened the sideboard, taking
out the gin, the big bottle of vermouth, and the cocktail shaker.
"You have ice-cubes?" he asked.
"Uh-huh."
"Then we're all set."
Carrying the bottles, they crossed over into her apartment. Hughes felt
giddy, not so much from the drinking he had done as from the teetering
sensation of being on the brink of fabulous success.
Janice put a record on. Dance music, rhumbas played by some
Latin-American orchestra.
"I'll make up a whole shaker of martinis," he said. "Then we can keep
them in the icebox and have them whenever we want them during the
evening."
"Let me watch. I want to know how."
He opened the bottles while she brought a tray of ice-cubes in.
"The important thing," he said as though delivering a lecture, "is the
proportion. Me, I prefer about four parts of gin to one of vermouth.
The cocktail shaker is calibrated, thusly. So for six martinis we want,
oh, fifteen ounces of gin, like so. And just under four ounces of
vermouth. Now we toss in some ice, not very much, and stir the whole
thing around. Want one now?"
"Let's wait a little while. I want to dance first, Dave."
"Okay. Put the shaker in the refrigerator. They'll be ready whenever we
are."
She disappeared into the miniscule kitchen. While she was gone, Hughes
slipped out of his jacket and hung it up. She had already taken hers
off. When she returned, she kicked off her shoes and danced up to him.
She was middling tall, five four or so.
"Let me get my clodhoppers off," Hughes said. "I'm less likely to mess
up your toes this way."
He took his shoes off, cutting the height differential between them.
They began to dance.
He had been a good dancer once, but in recent years had let himself
get out of practice. Janice moved well, gaily, with no trace of
martini-induced clumsiness. The visible flesh of her breasts quivered
enticingly as she danced. They began stylishly at arm's length, but
rapidly drew nearer, until they were dancing body to body. He felt the
pressure of her breasts, twin cones boring into the lower part of his
chest, and it seemed to him he was able to detect the little hard knobs
that were her nipples. Her thighs were against his, her belly flat
against his loins.
They moved rhythmically, back and forth, body against body. Hughes felt
the fire start to mount. His hand, which had been round the girl's
shoulders, now slipped lower, to her waist, and, a few minutes later,
to the upper curve of her buttocks.
She was not wearing any sort of corset, thank goodness, Hughes
discovered. He felt the firm but fluid flesh beneath his hand. She
did not attempt to remove the hand. Rather, she gave her hips a comic
little wiggle, rubbing both cheeks past his hand. They laughed.
Then, suddenly, they were even tighter together. He lowered his cheek
to touch hers. The skin was fantastically satiny. For a moment they
remained that way; then, easily, he brought his head around and put his
lips to hers.
It was like the closing of an electrical circuit.
He looked deep into her eyes, and saw strange things there--fear,
guilt, astonishment, but above all else lust. Desire. Then her eyes
were closed, and she was kissing him with her breasts and thighs and
loins, and her tongue darted into his mouth like a little bird of fire,
and for a long instant they remained in stasis, his hands squeezing the
tender flesh of her buttocks while she stood on tiptoe and writhed her
body into his.
The music stopped.
Silence filled the room.
She gently broke away from him. She was flushing red, down to the
hemispheres of her breasts. Her eyes were slits.
She said hoarsely, "Get the drinks out of the fridge, Dave. I need
one."
_CHAPTER FOUR_
Hughes scowled at the interruption to the orderly progression of
physical intimacy, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Even
long-play records came to an end eventually. He went into the kitchen
and got the cocktail shaker from the refrigerator, while from the other
room came the sound of a new record.
"Where are the glasses?" he called.
"In the cupboard," Janice told him. "Over the sink."
He found two glasses--ordinary drinking glasses; there did not seem
to be any stemware--and poured out two hefty martinis. Replacing the
shaker in the fridge, he went back into the livingroom. Janice was
dancing alone, moving rhythmically about. She looked excited and
worried at the same time.
"Drink hearty," he told her.
They clinked glasses. She drank the icy martini down with fierce
rapidity--as if, Hughes thought, she were trying to anesthetize her
conscience as fast as possible. He sipped his drink, finishing no more
than half of it by the time Janice's glass was drained. She seemed to
wobble a little as she came toward him.
"Let's dance some more," she said a little thickly.
He put his unfinished drink down and let her glide into his arms. The
music was slower, more passionate now, and they moved back and forth
across the room in steady waves, body to body. His hands roved down
her back to the springy firmness of her buttocks. Her breasts ground
into his chest. Once again their lips met, and this time there were no
interruptions. She clung to him, eyes closed, as his tongue explored
her mouth.
He found a zipper between her shoulder blades and drew it gently down.
The dress opened as far as the middle of her back, where the swelling
hillocks of her buttocks began to thrust out. He slipped his hand under
the dress, against her skin, and his fingers travelled down the velvet
of her back, finding the elastic waistband of her panties and going
under it to touch the taut, round, satiny sleekness of her buttocks.
She pulled her lips from his and gave a little sign of yearning, and he
felt her body quiver. He let one hand retrace the passage up her back,
finding the place where her bra was fastened, and he groped with the
fastening.
But it was an unusual kind of hook, and to his annoyance he was not
able to open it with one hand.
"Don't," she murmured. "You'll break it. Let me do it, Dave."
"Okay."
She stepped back, away from him, and suddenly yanked the dress up over
her head. Hughes' heart pounded furiously. Her bra was a half-cup kind
that cradled her breasts, lifting them upward and leaving them largely
bare. She wore a garter-belt that supported sleek nylons, and a pair
of filmy panties. Her face was strangely pale now, with no lingering
remnant of the flush of alcohol.
_She's a scared little kid_, Hughes thought. _She can't control what
she's doing, and it frightens the hell out of her. But Christ, she's
gorgeous._
Her hands went around behind her back, performing some mysterious
maneuver, and abruptly the taut bra went slack and dropped away. Her
breasts tumbled free. They were magnificent, great globular mounds of
soft flesh, breathtakingly white. Like angry little eyes, the pink
nipples rose at him, fiercely erect.
Wonderstruck, he drank in the beauty of her breasts from halfway across
the room. Then, unexpectedly, color came to her face, and spread like a
crimson wave down to bring red blotches to the swells of her breasts.
She turned and dashed into the bedroom, closing the door loudly behind
her.
Hughes frowned. Had she changed her mind? Had she suddenly come to her
senses?
Perhaps she would barricade herself in there, he thought. Perhaps she
was suddenly frightened of what she was doing, and--just a scared
little girl, really, for all her woman's love-flesh--she would hide in
there, whimpering at him, telling him to go away.
He felt the stiff thrust of desire in him, and knew he might get out of
control if she denied him. He had to have her, now. He could not answer
for the consequences if she had just been playing a tease act. His
knees felt shaky. Sweat drenched him. What was she doing in there?
The door was shut tight. Frowning, Hughes wondered what was going on.
"Janice?" he called. "Janice?"
There was no answer. He called again, louder.
"Hey, Jan! What's going on?"
"Wait a minute," she called back.
"I want to come in. I'm coming in," he told her. "Okay?"
He walked to the bedroom door.
"Don't come in yet," she called. "Not yet. Okay, now."
He opened the door, not knowing what to expect.
She lay on the bed, propped up on one elbow, nude. The panties and
stockings and garter-belt had been tossed into a heap on the floor.
"I didn't want you to see me undress any more," she giggled. "I was
ashamed."
"Christ," he muttered. "Christ everlasting, but you're beautiful!"
She was. From the golden glory of her hair past the blue-eyed innocence
of her face to the awesome rise of her breasts, she was lovely. His
gaze went on down, to the gentle roundness of her belly, to the
delicate cloud at her loins, to the pale flawlessness of her thighs,
streaked ever so faintly with blue veins beneath the milky skin.
She held out her arms to him. Her breasts, swaying with her gesture,
drew him like magnets.
"Dave--"
"Yes, Jan! Yes, yes, yes!"
He advanced toward the bed, stripping off his clothes as he came,
ripping them feverishly from his body. He felt an excitement he had
not known in a decade. There she was, waiting for him, arms outspread,
nipples stiff and eager, body soft, warm, opening to him.
She pulled him down on top of her. Her fingernails dug deep into
his back. Her pistoning legs wrapped themselves around his buttocks.
He touched her breasts, then slid his hands under her and down to
her hips, to her full soft buttocks, and she gasped and let him take
her. There were no preliminaries, no vestiges of love-play. All the
preliminaries had come long before. They were both fully aroused, both
ready to move directly on to the thundering climax.
Her body moved convulsively beneath his. Her breasts flattened
themselves against his body. He heard her sighing, moaning, whimpering.
He looked down at her face, saw her eyes screwed tight shut, the mouth
open, lips slack and moist. She was panting, trying to catch her breath
as the successive waves of ecstacy swept over her.
He wanted to make it last forever. But his body betrayed him, and he
felt the unmasterable climax coming upon him, and upon her too. She
cried out, hoarsely, almost an animal cry, and he felt sweat burst out
all over his body, and he opened his eyes to see the shiny globulets of
perspiration on her breasts, and then she pulled him down, crushing him
against her, and cried out, "Everything, Dave, everything right now!"
It was everything.
It was like the pounding of a triphammer, and then silence, and it was
all over.
The moment it was done, he thought of Ellen. The image came into his
mind like a canker into an apple: Ellen, somewhere miles and miles
away, in a cottage with Beth and the kids. No more than twelve hours
had passed since Ellen's departure. And here he was, his naked body
flattening the clinging nakedness of this unbelievably lovely child,
this stranger.
He rolled his weight off her, and for a long time they remained side by
side, not speaking. Hughes felt exhausted by the savage intensity of
the act they had performed.
He had to fight to keep from falling asleep. That was what he wanted
to do, now: curl up with his face against the soft warmth of those big
breasts, push his nose between those firm round hills of flesh, and
drop off into bottomless sleep. But he knew that would be wrong. _She_
would not sleep, but would merely come to regret.
It was done now, and there was no turning back from the deed, no
denying it, no canceling-out of what had taken place. He had conceived
the desire to commit adultery, and--almost at once, it seemed--his
desire had been fulfilled.
There was no changing anything now. No future turn of events could
ever make him a not-adulterer. He had chosen his path, and now he was
irrevocably embarked upon it. He heard her gentle breathing near his
ear, and touched her breasts as if to convince himself once again that
this was real, that it was not all some fantasy of his tormented mind.
It was real.
The girl lay there, nude, pink-breasted, golden and lovely. The
imprints of his fingers still reddened the flesh of her body. Her sweat
had mingled with his sweat, her body had contained his.
There was no going back now.
Perhaps ten minutes went by. Then Janice swung herself without warning
off the bed and padded across the floor into the bathroom. Alert,
Hughes listened, heard water running. She came back into the bedroom,
taking a robe from the closet and wrapping it tightly around her.
In a low, muffled voice she said, "Please get dressed, Dave."
"Janice, we--"
"Put your clothes on, Dave. You're--embarrassing me this way."
Shrugging, he found his briefs and slipped into them. Then he looked
up, and saw her beginning to shake, saw the tears in her eyes.
"Janice."
She shook her head. "Why did we do it? _Why?_ It was like--like
insanity!"
"It was the most wonderful moment I've ever had."
"No, Dave. It was something filthy. Your wife was away, and Nick was
away, and we saw our chance and we grabbed it. Like little kids raiding
the bubblegum box the moment mother isn't looking."
He took her hands in his. Her hands felt cold now. "Janice, listen to
me. It was something that, well, just happened. We were both lonely. We
needed each other. And we gave each other what we needed."
"We're married. Not to each other. And we grabbed a dirty little half
hour of sweaty pleasure."
"Didn't you enjoy it, Jan?"
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, and he saw the torment in
hers. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I enjoyed it! More than I had ever
enjoyed it before! That's why I'm so scared, Dave. You--you unleashed
things in me. Ugly things. Things that frighten me. They ought to
frighten you, too. You have a wife--a family--"
He groped for words that would reassure her, that would check what
might easily explode into hysteria. "Listen to me, Janice, will you?
We're both grown-up human beings. We had a need--a need to make love.
You haven't seen your husband in months. My wife is away, and even when
she was here she didn't give me the love I needed. We gave each other
pleasure."
"We had no right to."
"When you see a drowning man, do you worry about whether you have a
right to pull him out?"
"It isn't the same thing at all."
"But it _is_, don't you see?"
She didn't. Tears were running freely down her cheeks, now. Her hair
was wildly disarrayed. She looked for all the world like an unhappy
little girl, a ten-year-old suffering from some trivial disappointment.
Until you looked down at the open flap of her robe, and saw the snowy
rise of her breasts, and knew that she was older than ten.
She said in a hollow voice, "For six months I slept with Nick just
about every night. I was a virgin before I met him, you know. But
then I met him and married him and slept with him. And he got me to
enjoy it, plenty. Then he was drafted and went away. I've only seen
him three times since then. He came home after basic training, and he
came home at Christmas, and he came home in the spring. He didn't
want me to come live with him at the base, though. Maybe he had some
other girl there, I don't know. I think he regrets marrying me. I
think he wishes he had his freedom back. Anyway, I've been all alone
here." She chuckled. "At first I thought I'd go out of my mind. Then I
started having a few dates with my old high-school friends. Innocent
dates. We'd go to a movie, or maybe come up here and dance. I used to
think those fellows were hotshots, but now I saw they were just kids
compared to Nick--or you. So I never let them do anything, up here. I
told myself I had to be faithful to Nick. God, I missed the loving so
much! Once you get used to it, and then it gets taken away--But I never
let them touch me. And I kept seeing you across the hall, and wondering
about you, and--and now I know."
"Now you know what?"
"I wondered about you and your wife, and your kids, and what you were
like. And I started to love you a little. Maybe you think it's funny.
But you were older than Nick, even, and you seemed so intelligent, and
you're big and not bad-looking, and I saw how wonderful you were with
your kids, and I thought, what would it be like to be married to Mr.
Hughes? What would it be like to sleep with Mr. Hughes? And then all of
a sudden your wife was going away, and you were all alone, and then you
were asking me to go out to dinner with you, and I thought it was all
just a dream. When we came back here, and we danced, and you kissed me
and opened my zipper and touched my body and everything--well, I just
couldn't stop myself."
Hughes stared at her. So all this time she had been eyeing him too, he
wondered? Pining for his company in bed. And finally the opportunity
had come, for both of them.
But it wasn't quite the same. She was talking about love. While he
thought of her as something soft and warm in bed, something he could
use for physical gratification, ego salve, and a means of revenge for
Ellen's coldness.
_What am I getting into_? he asked himself.
He didn't want complications.
He didn't want turmoil. All he wanted was simple physical gratification
from this girl. He didn't want love, because love meant breaking
away somehow from Ellen and the kids. He couldn't afford to become
emotionally entangled with this girl. The thought ricocheted round his
mind. _Don't start something that can get out of control. You've got
the kids to think about. You don't want to get pitched into a position
where you may have to split up their home, you big dope._
He put his arm around her shoulders. "Jan, let's go have another
martini. We don't want them to go to waste."
"No. Please, Dave."
"Let's. We're just in a mood like this because everything was so
perfect before. The higher you climb, the further the drop afterward."
She shook her head. "Take the shaker and go back to your apartment,
Dave."
"Janice--"
"No." She sounded firm. "We've had our fun. Now let's call it quits,
right here."
"Don't say that."
"I have to. Look, Dave--I owe you thanks for a wonderful dinner. And we
danced for a while, and that was good too. And then we went to bed and
made love, and that was good. Let's quit while we're ahead."
"I want to see you again, Jan."
She shook her head. "You mustn't."
"We have the whole summer!"
"I know. That's what's so horrible, Dave. That's what frightens me.
Because I love you so much, already. I don't want things to get any
more serious. We have to end it right here. For Ellen's sake. For the
sake of your kids. And for my sake. Nick would never let me get a
divorce. He'd just kill me, if he knew. That's the sort of person he
is."
Hughes summoned a mental picture of Nick Keller--a big, burly kid with
a glowering, sour expression and bulging muscles. Yes, Keller might
very easily be the sort who would kill an erring wife.
But he lingered. He wanted to take the girl again. Desire was returning.
"Please get dressed, Dave. Let's not prolong this any more than we have
to."
Slowly, he pulled his trousers on and began to slip into his shirt.
Janice brought the cocktail shaker and the liquor bottles to him. She
did not look him straight in the eye. It was as if she were thinking,
_You are the man I have just committed adultery with, and I am stricken
with shame. Your body has penetrated the most secret part of my body.
Your hands have touched my nakedness. I'm ashamed to let your eyes meet
my eyes now._
"Go," she said.
"At least a kiss? Just something to remember you by, Janice?"
"Please. No."
He shrugged, not wanting to force himself on her. Gathering up the
bottles and his jacket, he walked slowly to the door. He turned,
smiling.
"It was a wonderful evening, Jan."
She nodded. "It was. But now let's try to forget it ever happened."
"I can't ever do that."
She managed a faint smile. "I don't think I can, either."
She closed the outside door behind him. He walked across the hall,
fumbled in his pocket for his key, and opened his door. Going in, he
put the bottles away, moving like a mechanical man, and carried the
cocktail shaker into the kitchen, storing it in the refrigerator.
He walked back into the livingroom.
He sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.
It had been a long day. It had been an unbelievable day, with its
hectic start and its hectic finish, and the strange hours of desire
in between. The presence of Ellen still seemed almost tangible in the
house. And already he had deceived her. Another woman's sweat had
mingled with his own. Another woman's loins had received his maleness.
Another woman's breasts had heaved under his chest.
_All right_, he thought. _Now I've slept with Janice Keller. I've had a
good night's fun in the saddle, and in a cockeyed kind of way I've had
revenge on Ellen._
_Where do I go from here?_
He figured Janice's remorse was strictly temporary. It was precisely
what you would expect from a young wife who has weakened and cheated on
her soldier husband. But once the first flush of guilt was past, Janice
would remember how good it had been to have a man's weight on top of
her body, and she would be available again.
But what then? She talked about being in love with him. And maybe he
would fall in love with her, too. She was young and beautiful, and
pliable. Eager to learn. He could shape her, mold her into a woman who
would sparkle in every way. But--
_The kids. Ellen. The kids._
Especially the kids. Ellen had grown cold, and he could no longer
truthfully say he loved her. But Tony and Erika were the keystones of
his existence. To give up Ellen would mean to give them up too. And he
could never do that. Never.
_What now, little Lothario?_
He had made love to another man's beautiful wife. In all probability,
he would be able to have her again before long. But the day of
reckoning would come. Ellen would return from the mountains; Keller
would come home from the army. Decisions would have to be made, inner
conflicts resolved before long. And every decision was an impossible
one. _Keller will kill her if she leaves him. Ellen will get the kids
in any divorce settlement._ Everything pointed to disaster.
_Be wise, buster. Forget Janice Keller. You had your one-night stand.
Cherish it, boy. But don't tear off any more._
Sighing, he rose, went into the bedroom, began to undress. All the
drinks and the bout of love had left him tired. He threw his clothes on
the chair, washed his face and brushed his teeth in a desultory way,
and got into bed. The double bed. The conjugal bed. The bed in which
Tony and Erika had been conceived.
He fell asleep almost at once.
He did not dream.
Morning came quickly. He rose, feeling bloodshot and worn, and dressed
and went down for the Sunday _Times_. He bought it at a stand on the
next block. The neighborhood was still asleep, at nine o'clock on a
Sunday morning. The day's heat had not yet descended.
Upstairs, he threw together a sort of a breakfast, ate it without
enthusiasm, and tried to read the newspaper. But his attention wavered.
He had no interest in foreign affairs this morning, or in the pennant
race, or in the antics of the Senate.
He tossed the papers aside. It was half past ten. He paced around for a
while.
He went across the hall and rang Janice Keller's doorbell.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"Me. Dave."
She opened the peephole. "Go away."
"Please let me in, Janice. I want to see you."
"No. We mustn't. I told you last night, we have to forget everything
that happened."
"_Please_, Janice."
"No." The peephole closed. Angrily, he rang the bell again, without
response. He waited, scowling, finally decided to give up. He couldn't
stand out here in the hall ringing her bell all day. The neighbors
might come out to investigate. She might even call the police.
Shoulders slumping, he returned to his own apartment. He admitted that
Janice had done the wise thing. For everyone's sake, she and he would
have to maintain locked doors between themselves.
The image of her danced before his eyes. Satiny buttocks, bouncing
breasts. His throat became dry.
_Forget her. That's all you can do. Just forget her._
He answered himself: _Easier said than done._
The doorbell rang. He sprang up, threw the door open without bothering
to ask who it was.
"Janice!"
She was wearing only a robe. She burst in, eyes red-rimmed, face pale.
"Darling, I'm sorry I wouldn't open up. I had to come, now. I _had_
to," she said huskily.
She ran to him.
_CHAPTER FIVE_
They made love again; not stormily, as they had done the first time,
but calmly, almost with restraint. Already they had become veterans of
each other's bodies. Already he knew which parts of her body to touch
when he wanted to bring a little sigh of pleasure to her lips. Already
he knew the signs that told him she was approaching the peak of her
ecstacy.
She made love hungrily, like some kind of devouring beast that would
seize hold of his body and ingest it--some weird giant crustacean,
he kept thinking, a huge sea-clam or something like that. Her body
overflowed with desire. He realized with awe that he had unleashed
a torrent of lust in her. For months she had penned it back, living
alone, rigidly repressing the throbbing currents of passion that raged
in her body. But now he had thrown open the spillway, and there was no
confining the outpouring flood of desire. They made love twice that
afternoon.
_On my bed_, he thought with a twinge of guilt. _Ellen's bed and mine.
The bed I fathered my children in._
Somehow that thought made the whole thing even more obscene than it
already was. He wondered how Tony and Erika would feel if they knew
that their father, the big, strong father that they worshipped, was
actually a weakling who couldn't keep his desires to himself, and who
had to soothe himself by groping sweatily with some strange woman. He
wasn't practicing what he preached to them. If Tony insisted on eating
ten hot dogs, he got a little speech about how it wasn't always smart
to gratify every desire you had.
If you ate ten hot dogs, you would get sick, and you'd regret your
earlier gluttony.
"But I _want_ ten hot dogs, Daddy!"
How can you make a seven-year-old look behind the immediate desire to
the later unpleasant consequences? It seems so obvious to you that ten
hot dogs is too many, for a small boy or for anyone else.
And what about you?
"But I _want_ to sleep with Janice Keller," you were protesting,
whining like a seven-year-old.
Sure you do. And any idiot could look past those consequences, too. Any
idiot but you.
After the second time, they rose, and he went into the kitchen and
fetched last night's martinis, and gravely they toasted each other. A
note of hysteria was not very far beneath the surface. He recognized,
and she seemed to recognize too, that both of them were caught up in a
compulsion too powerful for either of them to break. All they might do
was talk about the Serious Consequences of what they were engaged in.
But all such thoughts vanished like phantoms with the first stirring in
the loins.
After the martinis, Janice wanted to make love again. Hughes shook her
off. Three times in one afternoon was beyond him just now.
"I'm not in training, honey," he told her. "You've got to give me a
chance to get back in shape for this sort of stuff."
"But I want you, Davey," she wheedled.
"Later," he told her. "Later." He broke away from her and went into the
bathroom. His face, reflected in the mirror over the sink, looked gray
and weary. _Better start slowing down, Davey-boy_, he told himself.
_You're thirty-four, not nineteen. Don't set a pace that'll fold you up
from exhaustion._
When he came out, Janice was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked,
pouting. She looked so pretty he had to kiss her, and as he stooped
over her she caught hold of him and dragged him down on top of her.
Hughes struggled to get loose, not neglecting to consider the irony of
the situation: he was fighting to disengage himself from a beautiful
and amorous blonde! She managed to get the robe off him, to press her
warm breasts against him, but his body simply would not respond.
"What's wrong, Davey?"
"I'm tired. You didn't believe me when I said I was an old man. Baby,
you've got to show some mercy."
"I can't help myself. I'm all tingling inside."
"I wish I could cooperate. But I can't." He smiled, a mirthless and
hollow smile, trying to apologize for the fact that he was a little
past his best years. _But only a little!_ he thought. _Who does she
think I am, anyway? Can't she realize that males aren't capable of
infinite repetitions of the act the same day?_
She was beginning to comprehend, though, and, disappointedly, she gave
up hope for the time being. It was past five o'clock now. She slipped
into her robe and told him she was going back to her apartment to
prepare supper for them.
"Come over at six o'clock. And bring the martini shaker, too."
Hughes nodded as she left. He tidied up the bedroom--it looked as
though a cyclone had hit it--and took a shower. At six on the dot, he
was in the hall ringing Janice's bell.
She met him with a kiss--not a housewifely peck, but a warm, welcoming
tongue-and-body kind of kiss. He smelled food-smells within.
"We're having hamburgers," she said. "It turned out that that was all
the meat I had in the house."
"Fine here," Hughes said.
There were two martinis left in the shaker. He poured them out, and
they gravely toasted each other again, and then they ate. Janice turned
out to be a good cook, though not really exceptional.
Dinner revived Hughes' energy. He helped Janice clean up, and then they
went into the livingroom, sat down on her couch. She put a record on.
Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.
"Don't you love Beethoven?" she asked.
"What? Oh--oh, yes. Of course. The Seventh is one of my favorites,"
Hughes said hastily. He told himself in annoyance not to seem so
surprised when Janice came up with a remark like that. Busty blondes
didn't necessarily _have_ to be ignorant.
She sprawled out full length with her head on his lap, and they
listened to the symphony. His hand crept into the front of her gown and
rested lightly on her breasts, and he felt her nipples slowly growing
erect beneath his touch. By the end of the first movement, she was
breathing harshly. When the slow movement came to its end, Hughes made
a move as though to get up and turn the record over, but she held him
back, tugging at him in urgent desire.
This time he was able to satisfy her. When it was over, she turned the
record herself, and put a stack more on the changer. She returned to
the couch. It was Hughes' turn to nestle, now; she lay down parallel to
him on the outside of the couch, and he put his head in her bosom and
closed his eyes. He realized, almost immediately afterward, that he had
fallen asleep.
He sat up. "What time is it?"
"Half past ten."
"My God, I've been asleep for almost three hours!"
"You were smiling. Did you know you smile in your sleep, Davey?"
He ignored the question. "I shouldn't have stayed here so late. Suppose
Ell--suppose my wife was trying to call me from the country? Where
could I say I had been till ten-thirty on a Sunday night?"
"You were at a neighbor's, because you were lonely. Doesn't your wife
trust you?"
"That's not the point. I shouldn't be here so late."
"Does that mean you'll never sleep over?"
"Impossible," Hughes said. "If--God forbid--something serious should
happen up there, and Ellen should try to call me in the middle of the
night, and didn't find me home--no, I couldn't take that chance. Good
night, Jan."
"Good night? Can't I come with you?"
Hughes blinked. He hadn't thought of that. No one would be trying to
call Janice in the middle of the night. There was no reason why she
couldn't sleep across the hall. No reason but one:
She would be sleeping in the marital bed.
Hughes felt suddenly chilly. It would be wonderful to lie next to
Janice all night, to have her silky thighs and sweet breasts only
inches away. But somehow almost blasphemous to bring the mistress right
into the house, to install her in the marriage bed. That was going too
far.
You had to draw the line somewhere. You had to keep some notion alive
of what was proper and what wasn't. Otherwise you could go right on and
make love to her anywhere. In Macy's window. Or under Ellen's nose.
Just because you were committing a sin, that didn't mean you should sin
as obviously as possible.
Letting Janice sleep all night in Ellen's place made Hughes feel
queasy. He knew it was a ridiculous place to draw the line, but he
couldn't help himself. This wasn't a matter of logic. The emotions
aren't always logical. He knew he wouldn't be happy about inviting
Janice into Ellen's bed.
"No," he said. "You'd--better not."
"Why? Don't you want me to sleep with you?"
"Of course I do. But--but--" His hands shook. "Jan, it isn't right.
Having you sleep in _her_ bed."
"It was all right this afternoon."
"But not all night, Jan." He looked at her in agonized appeal. "Let me
get used to this business, Jan. I've never done it before. I've rushed
into it too fast. I've got to take it more slowly."
She shook her head, frowning, and said, "You're being silly, you know.
Once you've deceived your wife, it doesn't really matter whether you
let me into the bed or not. Or is that too logical?"
"It's perfectly logical," Hughes said. "But what we're doing doesn't
involve logic. Let me handle it my way, Jan. Good night?"
She smiled. "All right, Dave. Good night."
They kissed--warmly, but without fire--and he gathered up the cocktail
shaker and retreated to his own home.
He got into bed. But his overtired body would not yield to sleep.
Stimulated past any hope of relaxation, he tossed and turned, tried
to force his body to go limp and his mind to stop clicking. The hours
dragged past. At one point, certain it was close to morning, he groped
for his watch and was appalled to find it was only quarter to two. He
burrowed into the pillow again, waiting in vain for sleep to take him.
When morning finally did come, he had no clear memory of having been
anything but awake all night, but he decided he had dropped off for a
light doze shortly before dawn. His head throbbed and his face looked
ghastly in the mirror as he shaved. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed
with hideous black circles.
He made breakfast for himself, eating without enthusiasm, and dressed.
Only then did he think of Janice. He crossed the hall and rang her
bell, but there was no answer. He kept ringing, thinking perhaps she
was still asleep, but it became clear that she had already left for
work. It was only twenty after eight. The bookstore, Hughes decided,
probably opened its doors at eight-thirty to catch early commuters
looking for subway reading.
Shrugging away his disappointment, he locked up and left. His office
was in lower Manhattan, a thirty-minute drive via the expressway. This
morning, his hands trembled as he tried to turn on the ignition. He
could not remember when he had last felt so exhausted and hung over
on a Monday morning. He drove leadenly to work, leadenly entered his
office, leadenly embarked on the day's routine. When people passed his
desk, he smiled leadenly at them, saying little. He was in something
of an intermediary position at the firm, anyway--neither top executive
nor mere clerical underling, but isolated in a gulf of his own, with
executive responsibility but without full executive prestige--and
salary. Somehow he struggled through the morning, fighting his work all
the way. At eleven-fifteen his phone rang. He picked it up.
"Hughes."
"Mike here, Dave. All set for lunch?"
"Oh--Mike." Hughes scowled; he had forgotten all about the lunch
appointment with his brother-in-law! "Yeah, I suppose. But no
three-hour siesta today, Mike. I've got a lot of work."
"You're not the only one. Hollis just tossed the August 2 script back
at me for a top-to-bottom rewrite, and as soon as I've had lunch I've
got to run home and get at the typewriter. Meet you at the Exec?"
"Right. What about twelve-fifteen?"
"Fine," Niles said. "See you." He hung up.
The Exec was a middle-priced restaurant on Madison Avenue about ten
blocks north of Hughes' office, in the lower Thirties. He left his
office shortly before twelve and hiked up to it. The lean, tense figure
of his brother-in-law was visible a block away, pacing up and down
pantherishly. Niles always paced. A furious reserve of nervous energy
was imprisoned within him, and he was never still, never relaxed.
As Hughes drew near, Niles whistled. "Christ, Dave, are you sick?"
"Huh?"
"You look like your own ghost. What's the matter, man? The bags under
your eyes have bags of their own."
Hughes smiled faintly. "I didn't sleep well last night, I guess."
"Not used to an empty bed, eh, Dave?" Niles nudged him confidentially.
"I know what it's like. You roll over and expect to grab a nice piece
of tail, and there's nothing there but an empty pillow. You can't do
much with a pillow unless you're really desperate."
They went inside and found an empty table. Hughes was grateful to take
the weight off his feet. His head throbbed mercilessly.
"Drink?" Niles said.
"No, not for me. My head hurts enough."
"Mind if I have one?"
"Would that stop you anyway?" Hughes asked.
"Right you are." Niles ordered a double bourbon. Probably his second or
third of the day, Hughes thought.
They ordered a simple lunch. Lunch with Niles sometimes could get on
the expensive side, if it dragged out at one of the fancy places.
Hughes was thankful that his brother-in-law was in a hurry to get
home, today. After Saturday night, Hughes' budget was in delicate
condition.
"Have you heard from Ellen?" Niles asked.
"Not yet. I'm calling her tonight. You have any messages for Beth?"
"You could tell her that everything's as usual," Niles said. "Don't
say anything about the rewrite. She'll start worrying things up and
figuring that I'm about to lose my option, or something." Niles shook
his head. "You look _lousy_, Dave."
"I told you, I didn't sleep much last night."
"Or the night before?"
"No, not Saturday either."
"You ought to see a doctor," Niles said. "Before you know it you'll be
a wreck. Insomnia can wreck you. I know, Dave."
"I'll get over it. I don't need a doctor."
"Get yourself a doctor," Niles repeated. "Or else a good piece of
quail. Best sleeping powder there is. Hey--don't look so surprised,
man! I didn't mean--"
Hughes felt the knot in his stomach slowly subside. "I know. You were
just joking."
"Hell, Dave, you looked like you were just pole-axed. What's so
shocking about the idea of picking up a piece? A healthy man going from
weekend to weekend without any tail is bound to crack down."
"I suppose you've had plenty of amusement over the weekend," Hughes
said stiffly.
"Wait a minute," Niles protested. "Look, you're Beth's brother and all,
I know. And you've got your sister way up high on a pedestal. I don't
want to say anything that would offend you."
"I'm not fifteen years old, Mike. I won't punch you in the nose if
you've been cheating on Beth. That's strictly between you and Beth, and
Big Brother won't meddle."
Niles grinned. "I don't figure you, Dave. Lookie, I've got certain
impulses. When Beth's available, I satisfy those impulses with Beth,
because she's my wife and I love her. But sometimes Beth isn't
available. Like now. I got drives I can't control, and in my business
there's plenty of available stuff for a man who needs it. So sometimes
I relieve my impulses with someone else. It's all pure and healthy,
like going to a doctor for headache relief. It doesn't diminish my love
for Beth one smidgeon. Naturally, I don't tell her about it, because,
well, it wouldn't be right, but--holy Jesus, man, do you mean to sit
there and tell me you've never stepped out on Ellen once, not _once_ in
all these years?"
Hughes felt the ground giving way beneath him. Of all possible
conversations he might have had with Niles, this was the worst. And
only a week ago, he could have answered in perfect confidence. Now
he had to lie. _Had_ to, because otherwise he would make himself
vulnerable to Niles and thus pave the way for his own possible
destruction.
"No," he said. "Never."
"Look me in the eye and say that!"
With effort, Hughes lifted his head from his soup. "Never. I've never
cheated on Ellen."
Niles seemed convinced--and impressed. In a hushed voice he said, "If
I had a hat on, I'd take it off to you. Nine years and never once! A
regular superman of fidelity! And I suppose you can look down from
your mountain of moral superiority and think I'm a stinking louse for
cutting corners on your sister."
"I haven't criticized you, have I?"
"But you're thinking it," Niles said. "I can almost read your mind.
You're a faithful husband, and you think I'm slime because I've slept
with what I could get."
"Look, Mike, you live your life your way and I'll--"
"Sure. But just let me warn you, Dave. As brother to brother,
practically. Your time will come. Maybe even this summer. A trim little
behind will wiggle at you and you'll fall for it, and next thing you
know you'll be right down in the mud with 99% of your fellow husbands.
So don't get puffed up on your moral superiority just yet. You wait.
Your time will come."
Hughes fidgeted uncomfortably. Niles did not know the truth yet, but
he was unpleasantly close to the mark. Hughes wished this conversation
had never come about. By bluntly admitting his own infidelities, Niles
had placed himself in a position of advantage. Niles' scorn would be
unbounded if the truth about Hughes ever came into the open.
He managed to change the subject, and they finished the meal without
further discomfort for Hughes. That afternoon he felt particularly
tired, and the work was more of a strain than ever. But he looked
forward to the evening. Janice was exhausting but she was worth it, he
thought. Maybe he would die of overexertion loving her, but what a way
to die!
First, though, he had to phone Ellen.
He took care of it the moment he arrived home, at half past five that
evening. He waited, tense and uncomfortable, while the long-distance
operator completed the call.
"Hello," Beth's voice said.
"This is Dave, Beth. How's everything?"
"Oh, just swell, swell. Hold on a sec, and I'll get Ellen."
"I saw Mike for lunch today. He says to tell you everything's going
smoothly."
"Fine," Beth said. Hughes heard her call for Ellen. "She's outside with
the kids," Beth explained. "It's my turn to cook, tonight. Oh--here she
is."
"Hello?" Ellen said.
Hughes' throat was dry. "Hello, darling. Has everything been okay?"
"Just wonderful. We've had the most glorious weather and you ought to
see the way Erika is swimming. And Tony, of course--like a fish. We're
getting tan already, and I've taken off at least three pounds so far.
How are you managing, dear?" she added suddenly.
"Fine," Hughes said without conviction.
"Not lonely?"
"Sure I'm lonely."
Ellen laughed. "I'm glad. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or
something. How's the cooking?"
"I'm managing. I went out for dinner one night this weekend. With one
of the bachelor execs," he tacked on desperately.
"Which one?"
"Tommy Klein. You don't know him." _Because I just made him up_,
Hughes said silently. "He's one of the account supervisors. Swell
fellow."
"I'm glad you're not deserted, at least. Miss me?"
"Mucho."
"Me too. I can't wait till Friday. Especially Friday night, darling."
Hughes blinked. Had a couple of days' separation made Ellen _that_
eager to go to bed with him? Or, perhaps, was she worried about
possible infidelities he might engage in? Or had she unburdened herself
to Beth and received the sound advice that she ought to sleep with her
husband more often? In any event, this was a different Ellen on the
phone now.
Hughes said, "Me too, hon. If traffic's light we'll try to get there by
six. And maybe a quick swim before supper. The weather's been miserable
here."
"Poor Dave! Well, we're murdering our budget with this call. Say hello
to the kids and then let's hang up."
Wife. Children. Like misty phantoms.
Ellen had sounded so warm, so _different_.
He chewed his lip in distress. _Maybe I ought to--_
The doorbell rang. Scowling, he opened it. Janice stood there. She
had put on a tight tee-shirt and a pair of shorts, and her breasts
ballooned upward sensationally at him.
"Time for dinner," she said. "But a kiss first."
She stepped up against him. He began to tremble as he took her in his
arms. He put his hands on her buttocks and squeezed tight, and their
mouths met, and his soul was weighted with despair.
_CHAPTER SIX_
It was almost domestic, that evening. Janice had cooked lambchops, and
Hughes contributed two cans of beer, and they had a pleasant little
dinner. After the dishes were taken care of, Janice insisted on playing
a record she had brought home from the store that afternoon. It was
Mozart's Symphony Number Forty, and she had picked it out because she
wanted to hear some Mozart. She heard it and she loved it, and after it
had been played she said, "Do you have any Mozart records, Dave?"
"A few." He had a small record library, a mediocre hi-fi set. In recent
years the family budget had left little room for record-buying.
"I'd like to hear them."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
So he went across the hall and rummaged through the record shelf,
coming up with the _Linz_ symphony and _Eine kleine Nachtmusik_ and a
disk of excerpts from _The Marriage of Figaro_, and he went back into
Janice's apartment. Although his phonograph was better than hers, he
still felt queasy about letting her spend time in his apartment.
On his way across, he saw one of his neighbors come out of her
apartment, carrying a pail of garbage down to the incinerator. Hughes
winced and stepped quickly through the door, which he had left ajar.
"Old lady Barnett just saw me," he said. "She was dumping garbage."
"Is there any law against neighbors visiting each other?"
"In our case there is," Hughes said grimly. "The old biddy knows
Ellen's away for the summer, and she knows you live alone. And since
she has a naturally evil mind, she can figure out the rest--especially
if she sees us commuting back and forth across the hall all the time."
"We ought to be careful, then."
Hughes nodded. "Yes. We ought to be careful. I brought you some Mozart."
They played _Eine kleine Nachtmusik_, which Janice loved, and the
_Linz_ symphony, which didn't appeal to her as much. While _Figaro_ was
on, she sat down on the floor near his feet, and in a sudden surprising
impulse Hughes bent over, seized her tee-shirt's hem, and drew it up
over her head. She looked up, laughing.
"I thought you'd be cooler that way," he explained.
"It's cooler without the bra, too."
"Glad you told me." He leaned over again and unhooked the bra. It
dropped away. He stared down at the smoothness of her bare back,
with the round bulk of one breast just visible at her side. She sat
cross-legged there, bare to the waist, listening to the music and
rocking in time with it. Above her, Hughes tried to relax, but the
coppery taste of desire filled his mouth. Before the record came to
its end, he leaned over a third time, putting his hands over both her
breasts. They rose, high and firm, into his palms, and the nipples
pressed like hard little nuts against his skin. She craned her neck
upward, looking at him upside-down, and there was laughter and joyful
desire in her blue eyes. She elbowed her way up onto the couch without
breaking the contact between her breasts and his hands.
"I don't understand why they fascinate you so much," she said. "They're
just meat. Swinging lumps of meat."
"Lovely meat."
"Do you really think so?"
"They're beautiful," he said. "Two poems in flesh."
She giggled. "I used to hate them. I used to be skinny, and then when
I was twelve or so these great awful fat _things_ sprouted on me. They
jiggled so much, and they used to hurt when they were growing, and all
the boys in class would look at my chest and try to touch them in the
coatroom. They just seemed like nuisances to me. Big floppy lumps of
meat that had to be hidden from sight."
"Big beautiful mountains of flesh. They ought to put your bust in the
Hall of Fame. They're the loveliest I've ever seen."
"Have you seen many?"
"You're getting nosy."
"Prettier than your wife's?"
"Ellen's well stacked too," Hughes said. "But she's had children. She's
past thirty. You're still ripe, vibrant, firm--"
"You're only the second man I've ever slept with, Davey. But you must
have slept with a lot of women besides your wife."
"Some," he admitted.
"Since you were married?"
"No. Not till--not till you."
"Honest, Davey?"
"I'm getting tired of this conversation," he said. "It's altogether too
personal. Let's change the subject, shall we?"
"You change it. What do you want to talk about? Baseball? The weather?
Foreign aid? Mozart?"
"Let's not talk at all," he said. He put his mouth over hers, feeling
her soft lips against his. They kissed with fierce intensity, tongue
seeking tongue, and she squirmed around so she was against him, and
he found the catch on her zipper and opened it, and began to work the
shorts down, rolling them over her hips, past the round, taut, sleek
globular buttocks, and then she was naked and she was fumbling with his
belt, and he felt desire thrusting from him like a lance, and then his
clothes were in a heap on the floor and her body was up against his
fitting it as closely as though they were one flesh, and, breathing
rapidly, harshly, breaths mingling, their bodies joined and he squeezed
her breasts tight and shut his eyes and she began to move slowly, and
he clamped his jaws hard to hold back the ecstacy, but gradually it
took hold of him as their bodies moved faster and faster, and he felt
a wall of flames surrounding their two linked bodies, tremendous heat,
all-consuming heat, heat that crisped him to an ash, and he smiled,
welcoming the blaze of the heat.
And at the moment of climax he gasped and cried out hoarsely, "_I love
you, Janice, I love you!_" and he felt the shudder in his loins and the
answering quiver in hers, and then it was over and the magic was gone,
and they were just two naked sweating people lying close together on a
couch in a small room on a hot night, and she was limp with fulfillment
and he was still holding her breasts and he was thinking, over and over
again, _What did I say to her? My God in heaven, whatever made me tell
her that I loved her? My God!_
But the words had been spoken, had been wrung from him at a moment when
his inmost soul was speaking, and there was no calling them back now.
_I love you, Janice, I love you._
He found himself cataloguing what there was to love about this girl.
_I love her breasts and the firmness of her buttocks and the warmth of
her loins. I love the way she makes love as if each time is going to be
the last there'll ever be, and she wants to squeeze the most from it. I
love her youth and her freshness. I love her hunger for Mozart and good
books and great ideas. I love the way she makes me think I'm manly and
strong and tremendously wise. I love the way she cooks for me as if her
life depended on keeping me well fed._
With sudden awe he realized that he indeed loved Janice Keller for some
very substantial reasons. He became aware that he might quite easily
want to give up Ellen and spend the rest of his life with Janice.
_What about the kids?_ came the nagging question.
_What about Nick Keller?_
He had no answers for those. Instead, he brushed the questions
irritably from his mind, and, leaning over, tenderly kissed the rosy
nipples of Janice's breasts. She smiled without opening her eyes, and
pulled his head down to rest on her bosom.
He thought of Ellen, far away, with whom he had spoken only a few hours
ago. Waiting for him. Looking forward to Friday night. Ellen actually
anxious to make love to him. And he remembered another Ellen, Ellen of
too many years ago, whose breasts had not been so delightful as this
girl's but who had been almost as beautiful, an Ellen still to endure
pregnancy, and an Ellen whose appetite for love was insatiable. He
realized that he saw in this girl a rebirth of that old Ellen, but even
more glorious, even more wonderful. _But what if the old Ellen should
come back to life--_
He tried to shut off all thought. He nestled against the soft, warm,
yielding bosom, and blotted fear from his mind.
He returned to his own apartment around eleven, and slept soundly.
The next day, Tuesday, they spent the evening in his apartment--"what
if Ellen tries to call?" he asked fearfully. "I ought to be home some
nights,"--and they made love again, and he began to find himself
wearing under the arduous pace of sleeping with Janice one or two times
every evening, but he said nothing.
On Wednesday they went out for dinner. Dutch treat--Janice insisted,
and he put up only a token protest, since last Saturday's extravagance
had made a serious dent in his personal budget.
At the restaurant that night, they had their first brush with calamity.
It was Hughes' fault. Janice had wanted to go back to Don's, but Hughes
had objected: it was bad to visit the same restaurant together too
often. Besides, Don's was too expensive. They went, instead, at his
suggestion, to a Chinese restaurant in Kew Gardens, a fifteen-minute
drive from home. He laughed off her fears that perhaps they were
tempting fate by eating so close to their own neighborhood, but he
realized that his own bravado was perhaps an error.
It was.
They were in the midst of their egg-rolls when Hughes became aware that
another couple that had just entered the restaurant was pausing near
his table.
He did not dare to look up. He was certain they were people he knew. He
was right.
"Davey! Hey, fellow, haven't seen you in ages!"
Hughes felt as though a hammer had just crashed into the back of his
skull.
_Keep calm_, he told himself. _Don't goof._
He smiled and looked up. "Dan! Martha!"
They were old friends, more Ellen's friends than his. In the past year
the friendship had drifted apart from sheer old age. Dan and Martha
Hyman had been friends of the Hughes' for seven or eight years, long
enough for the friendship to settle into the occasional-visit category.
Janice looked flustered. And Hughes saw that Dan Hyman, after his
original effusive greeting, now seemed disconcerted and hesitant, as
though perhaps he regretted having come over.
Hughes said quickly, "Dan, Martha, I want you to meet my cousin Janet.
Jan, this is Dan and Martha Hyman, a couple of very good friends of
mine." Warming to his theme now, Hughes went on in explanation, "Jan
lives in Cleveland, but she's in New York for the summer. It's about
ten years since I last saw her, and I nearly had a stroke when I saw
what a knockout she's turned into." _Stop there_, he thought. _Don't
overdo it._
"She's a charming girl," Martha Hyman said. "Do you go to college,
Janet?"
Janice managed to grin. "I'm a senior at Western Reserve," she said.
_Good girl!_ Hughes exulted. _Spoken like a trouper. And these
busybodies aren't likely to know anything about Western Reserve,
either._
Hughes said, "And don't get any ideas, Dan. For your lecherous
information, she's pinned to a basketball player seven feet tall, and
isn't available."
"Too bad," Hyman said with mock regret. "Too too bad. But where's Ellen
tonight?"
"Ellen's in the mountains with the kids," Hughes said. "I'm a weekend
vacationer this year. I'll be going up there Friday."
"Send her our best, will you?" Martha Hyman said. "Well, nice to have
met you, Janet. Good luck in college."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hyman," Janice said demurely.
The Hymans grinned, waved, and moved off to a table in a distant corner
of the restaurant. Hughes let his breath out in relief. Janice frowned.
"They're looking at us," she whispered.
"Your bust impresses Dan, that's all."
"Do you think they fell for the story?"
Hughes shrugged. "_Quien sabe?_ They're smarter people than they look.
But that bit about Western Reserve may have sold them. How'd you know
where it was, anyway?"
"Nick went there for two years. I remembered it was in Cleveland."
Hughes' legs were still trembling. "For the rest of this meal, remember
that you're my cousin. No hand-holding. No footsie. You're my virgin
little cousin from Cleveland, in the great big city for the summer.
Okay?"
"Of course. But what if they guess the truth, Dave?"
"It would only be a guess. They couldn't prove anything."
"But suppose they tell your wife that you were eating dinner with a
blonde of such-and-such an age, with such-and-such a figure--maybe
she'd know who they meant."
Hughes scowled. "Let's not worry about it. Dan Hyman has enough sins on
his own ledger so that he won't rush to waggle a finger at me. Martha
might let Ellen know, but I kind of doubt it. I'll just have to cross
the Hymans off our social list, that's all. I'd be cooked if they asked
me about my 'pretty cousin' in Ellen's hearing. I only have one female
cousin, and she's got acne scars all over her face."
There was little pleasure in the rest of the meal. They ate quickly and
left, Hughes waving to the Hymans as they went out. Only when they were
in the car and several blocks from the restaurant did Janet dare to
snuggle close to him.
"We'll have to be more careful," he said. "No eating out in the
neighborhood from now on."
"Does it really matter, Dave?"
"Does _what_ really matter? Getting caught by friends of mine?"
"Yes."
"Of course it matters! If we ask for trouble, we'll get it. If enough
people spot us out together, someone's bound to tip Ellen off in
September."
"She'll know anyway, by then," Janice said calmly.
Hughes started to reply, then abruptly closed his mouth as the full
implications of Janice's remarks began to sink in.
"Well, won't she?" Janice asked. "Aren't you going to tell her?"
"I--I hadn't thought that far ahead," he said inanely.
"What were you planning to do? Keep sleeping with me after Ellen came
home?"
"Well--I--Christ, Jan, I haven't thought it all through yet!"
"I thought you had. Last night, when you said you loved me. You
remember that?"
"Of course I remember that."
"It was true, wasn't it, Davey?"
He was silent.
"It was true, wasn't it, Davey?"
Perspiration drenched him. Agonizedly, he made himself say, "Yes ...
yes. It was true."
"What was?"
"That I--that I love you."
"It wasn't just something you said because we were making love when you
said it?"
"I meant it," he said doggedly. "I love you, Janice."
"All right, then. What about Ellen?"
"I--don't know. There are the kids to think about. A lot of things to
think about."
"But you'll let her know eventually, won't you?"
"I suppose. Dammit, _stop hounding me_!" he burst out suddenly. Then,
immediately contrite, he said, "I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to
explode. I'm still all pent up about running into the Hymans."
She burrowed against him, took his right hand off the wheel and put it
in her lap where her legs joined her body. In a soft voice she said, "I
was nagging, darling, and I'm sorry. But I have to know where I stand,
don't you see? Because Nick will be getting out of the army soon, and I
have to know how I'm going to explain everything to him."
Hughes gulped. He didn't like to think of the crisis that the return of
Nick would precipitate. Not to mention the matter of Ellen and the kids.
"I've got to think it all out," he said. "Give me a little time to get
everything straight. Don't rush me on this, Jan."
"I won't, darling."
"And I do love you." Once he had said it the first time, it was easier
and easier afterward.
"Really?"
"Really."
He pulled the car up in a parking spot a block from the house. "You go
ahead," he told her. "I'll get parked and stroll around the block a
couple of times."
"Why?"
"We've had one tight pinch already tonight. If Mrs. Barnett happens to
see us come in together, the cat will be altogether out of the bag. Go
ahead."
"All right. But hurry."
He timed off five minutes before he dared to go upstairs. No one saw
him get out of the elevator. He went into his apartment, leaving the
door slightly ajar, and a moment later Janice slipped quietly in.
"Damn all nosy old ladies," she said.
"That old lady has the Ten Commandments on her side, lover-girl."
They laughed. Janice mopped her forehead. "Isn't this heat _ever_ going
to end?"
"It's only 91," he said. "Pretend you live in the tropics where 91 is
blessedly cool weather."
"I live here, and 91 is _h-o-t_. Mind if I take a shower?"
"Not at all."
As she began to peel off her clothes, he added, "I think I'll take one
too. With you."
They undressed and raced into the bathroom. There was some hesitation
while they got the water adjusted to a level that neither scalded
her nor froze him. The shower was fun: he soaped her until she was
sleek and slippery, lingering long and lovingly over the cones of her
breasts, and then she soaped him up, caressing him intimately in a way
that made him gasp with delight, and then they rinsed clean and he
towelled her until her skin was rosy all over, and she dried him off
and they hugged and the hug turned to something more serious, and they
went to the floor and made love right there, in the bathroom, on the
cold, wet tiles, laughing all the time, and when it was over Janice
smiled at him and said, "My backside is cold. But this was fun. Let's
do it again some time!"
_CHAPTER SEVEN_
It rained on Thursday evening, and there was a break in the heat, for
the first time in over a week. For the first time, too, since their
affair had begun, Hughes did not make love with Janice that evening.
He explained to her, "I'll be going up to the country tomorrow to see
my family. Ellen will think I haven't made love in a week. I have to
act all foaming-at-the-mouth and lustful, and unless we skip tonight I
won't be very convincing."
"My poor darling Davey," Janice laughed. "He has to get ready for a
visit to his wife as if he's training for a five-mile race."
"It isn't funny," Hughes said.
"I suppose. So I'll have to go from Thursday to Sunday without you,
darling? I don't know how I'll survive. You've gotten me into some
terribly bad habits, Davey."
"Bad, but pleasant."
"What time will you be home on Sunday?"
Hughes shrugged. "I guess around eight or nine. Not much later than
that."
"I'll be waiting for you," Janice said, and there was a gleam in her
eye.
For the rest of that evening, Hughes resisted temptation, and the
hours passed chastely. He was relieved when eleven o'clock came, and
he was able to escape into his own apartment, into his own bed, alone.
Five nights of Janice had been five nights of sheer Paradise, but on
the sixth a man had to rest. The pace had been killing. Although he
had never expected to find himself feeling that way, he was actually
grateful to be sleeping alone this night.
_Maybe having too much of Janice is the wise thing to do_, he thought
in the moments before sleep. _Wear yourself out with her. Sleep with
her until the last vestige of this crazy infatuation is burned away.
Get a glut of her. Then go back to Ellen._
But he knew, even as the thoughts came, that it was mere wishful
thinking. What he and Janice had, he told himself, was more than mere
randy lust. It was real love, of a sort. She had youth to offer, and
beauty; he could give her, presumably, maturity and wisdom. Right now
he was physically tired of her, true enough--but he had still relished
her company this evening, and after a brief period of recuperation his
desire for her was bound to return, strong as ever.
_Which leaves me nowhere_, he thought. _Can you love two women at once?
You sure as hell can't be married to two at once. I could go for that
system, though. Ellen as housekeeper and mother of my children, Janice
as chief concubine. Too bad the law won't allow it._ He chuckled and
let sleep take him.
The rain ceased during the night, and by morning it was evident that
the heat was returning. Hughes packed a light suitcase, containing his
swim-trunks and a few clothes for the weekend, and was outside his
house at twenty past eight that morning. He had arranged for one of the
other men in his office to pick him up and drive him to work on Fridays
during the summer; Mike would then pick him up at the office in the
afternoon and take him up to the mountains. This way, he neither had to
ride the subways nor to leave his own car in Manhattan for the weekend.
At three that afternoon, Niles phoned him. "Everything set, Dave?"
"What time will you be here?"
"Forty-five minutes?"
"Good enough," Hughes said.
He finished up his office work by half past three and went downstairs.
Not much later, Niles' long blue Chrysler pulled up at the curb.
"Hop in, Dave. Dump the suitcase in back."
Hughes got aboard, and the car slid away from the curb again. He
fastened his safety belt. Niles was a bug on safety belts--and, since
he liked to drive at seventy or eighty miles an hour, installing belts
in the car was a wise precaution.
Niles drove up to 34th Street and cut across town toward the Lincoln
Tunnel approach. Traffic moved slowly; it seemed as though everyone in
Manhattan were trying to get an early jump on the weekend.
"You get that rewrite thing taken care of?" Hughes asked
conversationally.
Niles scowled. "Do you think I'd be going away for a weekend in the
country if I hadn't?"
"They really sweat you, don't they?"
"They pay me accordingly," Niles said. "A man is willing to take a lot
of crap for $35,000 a year. You can be awful meek if they make it worth
your while."
Hughes tried to picture his brother-in-law bowing and scraping and
meekly accepting scathing criticism of his work. He couldn't form the
image at all.
Niles went on, "I'm no dope, Dave. I'm socking a lot of that dough
away. You know how much I made out of my investments last year?"
"No."
"Twenty thousand. And that doesn't count dividends. I'm not telling you
this because I want to impress you, you understand. It's to show you
what I'm working toward."
_Go ahead, keep bragging_, Hughes thought irritatedly. Out loud he
said, "What's that?"
"I want to be a producer, Dave. I want to put together my own packages.
_I'll_ do the hiring and firing. And whatever I make will be corporate
profits, maximum tax 52%. Michael Niles, Incorporated. But you need
dough to get yourself a set-up like that. You need dough to make dough.
So I play the market. And I've been coming out ahead."
"You've been lucky."
"It isn't luck," Niles muttered. "Oh, there's luck in it, but it's
really _sweat_. A good poker player needs to draw cards, but more than
that he makes his own breaks. Well, it's the same way in the market.
And I've made my own breaks. You've got to know when to take a profit,
when to take a loss if you have to. You--_goddam bastard, why don't you
learn to drive_!"
A small foreign car had cut diagonally in front of Niles at the tunnel
approach. Niles blasted furiously on his horn. Cords stood out on his
throat as he shouted abuse at the driver in front, who took no notice.
"I feel like ramming him," Niles grated. "I'd knock him for a loop."
"Maybe he just didn't see you," Hughes suggested.
"Well, he _ought_ to see me. Goddam bastard. What was I talking about?"
"How to play the market."
"Oh. Well--"
They entered the tunnel, glided across into New Jersey, turned right
onto Route 4. Niles talked on and on, about his plans for squeezing the
maximum possible number of dollars out of the television industry, and
thus repaying himself for all manner of fancied slights over the past
years. Hughes listened, half amused, half annoyed. At the rate Niles
was going, he'd kill himself from hypertension before he was fifty.
Beth would be a rich widow. But that would be very little satisfaction
for Niles.
As traffic thinned out, Niles let the car have its head. The
speedometer indicator crept up, to fifty-five, to sixty, to sixty-five.
Niles preferred to pay an occasional fine, and to travel at top speed
whenever he could. Only when the needle was edging seventy in a
fifty-mile zone did he begin to slacken on the accelerator.
"Listen," he said. "About that lunch conversation we had on Monday--"
"Yes?"
"I told you a lot of things that were strictly confidential. I mean, if
Beth--"
Hughes grinned. "What kind of idiot do you think I am, Mike? I wouldn't
say a word to Beth."
"I had to make sure," Niles said uncomfortably. "I mean, sometimes
brother-sister loyalty is pretty strong, and you might figure it was
your duty to tell her I've been stepping out a little. And I wouldn't
want that. She's pretty happy, the way things are, and I'm happy, and I
just don't want to rock the boat any. See?"
"Sure, Mike. Sure. I see."
They were on Highway 17 now, a broad super-highway that arches up
into the Catskills and then swings westerly far across the state
to Binghamton and Elmira and finally Lake Erie. The big car hummed
smoothly along. They were making good time; they would be at the
bungalow colony not long after six.
Niles was saying, "I may want some fun now and then, Dave, but dammit,
I'm a good husband! Beth doesn't lack for a thing. And--"
"You don't have to justify yourself, Mike. You've slept with other
women since you were married. Okay. You did it, and you did it because
you _had_ to. Don't sit there telling yourself that you're a good
husband after all. That just makes it worse. Accept what you've done,
admit that it was wrong but you couldn't help yourself, and let it go
at that."
Niles laughed. "The way you talk, you sound like you ought to be on
my payroll as a spiritual adviser. You reeled that stuff off like you
meant it."
"I did."
"For me or for you?"
"You're the one who's been stepping out," Hughes said.
"But you had a bunch of neat packaged excuses ready on the tip of your
tongue. Sometimes I wonder about you, Dave. Despite what you said on
Monday about--"
"Look," Hughes said nervously, "every time I'm with you these days we
seem to talk only about cheating our wives. Let's get off it and back
to the stock market. Ellen and I are thinking of investing--for capital
gains, you know. Now, I've been thinking about Texas Instruments and
Universal Controls, particularly, and I wonder--"
He managed to keep the discussion away from wives for the rest of the
trip. Just before six, they turned off Route 17 and onto a local road,
and twenty minutes later they were pulling up at the entrance to the
bungalow colony.
New tension sprouted in him at the moment of arrival. His hands felt
icy. He clenched his fists. It seemed to him, wildly, that Ellen would
be able to read his face and know what he had done. The moment he saw
her, she would look up at him and nod, and say, "You've been sleeping
with Janice Keller, haven't you? Don't try to deny it, Dave. It's
written all over your face in letters an inch high."
Of course she wouldn't say that, Hughes knew. But would she see it all
the same? How well did she know her husband, anyway? Would she suspect?
He was frightened. But he forced himself not to panic. _Don't give away
the show_, he thought. _Stay loose and you'll carry it off._
With trembling fingers he unbuckled the safety belt and got ready for
the moment of coming face-to-face with his wife.
The colony consisted of half a dozen good-sized and well-spaced
bungalows situated in a sprawling semicircle near a lake. The summer's
rent was high, but not so high as any other eight-week vacation would
have been.
The air was warm, but without any of the city's oppressive heat.
Niles parked the car alongside the bungalow closest to the lake. Beth
and Ellen and the children came trooping out to greet the newcomers.
They all looked fine--Beth and Ellen wearing halters and shorts, the
children swimsuits.
Hughes hesitated only a moment before opening his arms to Ellen. After
a week of Janice, Ellen seemed a stranger to him. But he remembered his
wits in time, put on a broad smile, wrapped his arms around his wife
and hugged her and kissed her.
"Hello, darling," she murmured. "I've been counting the minutes all
week."
"Has everything been all right?"
"Swell, Dave. You ought to see the kids in the water. Like a couple of
greased eels. And we're all so tan. Has it been hot in the city?"
"Awful. Except for last night. We had some rain and it cooled things
off."
"It rained here too," Ellen said. "Lightning and everything. We sat
on the front porch and watched the show. Say, are you serious about
wanting that swim before dinner?"
Hughes shook his head. "Not any more. It gets cooler here in the
evenings than I thought. I'll just take a shower while you're getting
supper ready."
He turned to kiss his sister and then all of the children, first his
own, then his niece and nephew. All eight went inside. Within, the
bungalow had a spacious, cheery look. With his wife by his side and
children all around, Hughes felt as though the passionate episodes of
the past week were fantasies, torrid dreams and nothing more. _This_
was real, Janice only an incubus haunting his sleep.
He went upstairs. The upper floor had two bedrooms and a bathroom. The
kids were installed in one; he and Ellen would share the other. She
followed him in.
"Shouldn't you be in the kitchen, wench?"
"I want to change out of my sunsuit," Ellen said. "It gets nippy here
in the evenings. Take a look at your old lady, Dave!"
She opened the halter, took it off, and stepped out of her shorts and
panties. Hughes saw that she had already acquired a nice tan; she was a
pleasing golden brown except for the strips of white across her breasts
and loins. And she had lost a little weight around the hips, too.
"Well? What do you think?"
"Lovely," Hughes forced himself to say. "Hurry up and get dressed
before I get evil ideas."
She laughed. Hughes turned away, distressed. She _was_ a good-looking
woman, he thought, and not just good-looking for her age. One week of
sun and swimming had restored the youthful firmness of her skin; her
breasts were high and full and inviting, her thighs sleek, her buttocks
dimpled but still lovely.
Yet compared with Janice she was second-rate.
You looked at Ellen's breasts and you saw the ever-so-slight sag of
a thirtyish woman who had had two children. You looked at Janice's
breasts and you saw two swelling globes that had no need of any
support.
You looked at Ellen's legs and you could see the blue veins of
childbed. You looked at Janice's legs and all you saw were two twin
white columns, flawless and breathtaking.
You looked at Ellen's body as a whole and you saw a good-looking
woman's body. You looked at Janice's nakedness and you saw something
spectacular.
There was a difference, Hughes realized.
All the difference in the world.
He showered and dressed, and went downstairs. Beth and Ellen were
fussing around in the kitchen, simultaneously trying to get the meal
prepared, to keep the children under control, and to keep out of each
other's way. Niles was standing on the porch, looking out at the snubby
mountains on the far side of the lake. Hughes joined him.
"This is a hell of a swell place," Niles said. "Quiet--peaceful--cool.
It's great to come up here after a week of batting your brains out."
"That it is," Hughes agreed.
"Beth and I could have afforded a different kind of vacation," Niles
went on. "We could have gone to some country club for a couple of
weeks, where all the women stand around in their mink stoles, and some
dumb comic yaps at you every night, and--you know the kind of place.
Well, to hell with that! Beth doesn't mind keeping house for herself.
And when you suggested renting a place up here it was just what we
wanted. Away from it all. Serene. And--hey. Get a load of that!"
Niles pointed down toward the lake. There had still been a few diehard
swimmers in it, and now they were coming out, a woman and a couple
of children. The woman was about twenty-eight, perhaps. She wore a
dark purple bathing-suit, tight-fitted. Her breasts were enormous,
almost grotesque. The rest of her body was ample, but her breasts were
out of proportion. Bigger even than Janice's: two spheres like small
basketballs, jouncing and quivering with each step.
"That's something, eh?" Niles asked. "How'd you like to plough _that_
pasture, Davey-boy?"
Hughes scowled. "It's just flesh."
"But _what_ flesh! Beats Beth and Ellen combined, and they've got
plenty!"
Hughes felt queasy. "You go for her, eh? I suppose you'll make a pass
at her while we're here."
"Well, I didn't say that--"
"You will, though. But you can do better than that one, Mike. Remember
that dairy-farm we passed half a mile back? I hear they've got a
Holstein there with the biggest goddam udders in Sullivan County,
and--" He turned away. Another moment and he would be in a fight.
"Listen, Hughes," Niles said roughly, grabbing his elbow. "You got a
funny sense of humor, you know? I--"
"Dinner's served!" came Beth's cry from within.
Tension dissolved. They went inside.
The girls had outdone themselves. There was a magnificent roast turkey
and Chablis from some mysterious source, and all the trimmings.
Everyone ate with gusto, and the wine helped wash away the incident
on the front porch. After dinner, Hughes played catch with Niles,
Tony, and little Larry for a while, and then it was time for all the
children to go to sleep. Hughes spent a long while in the children's
room, telling them an involved and endless story; Erika dozed off in
the midst of it, but Tony remained awake, prodding him for more and
more complications, until finally he, too, closed his eyes. Hughes
tiptoed downstairs. To his mild surprise, he found a group of people
on the porch--Beth, Ellen, Niles, and several people from the other
bungalows. Including the young lady with the formidable bosom. She
was wearing a tight red jersey that accentuated the misproportion
of her figure; Hughes kept expecting her to tumble over from sheer
top heaviness. He noticed Mike Niles staring hungrily at that over-size
bosom, though. The bosom's owner was named Lorraine Bruson; her husband
was a short, balding man in his late thirties, a commercial artist who
seemed faintly embarrassed at being the proprietor of such a pair of
balloons.
They were congenial people, though, and Bruson had plenty of liquor
in his cabin, and the party was pleasant. They held it out on the
front lawn, under the bright moonlight. Hughes kept his eye on his
brother-in-law, and was not astonished to see Niles, drink in hand,
talking eagerly and enthusiastically to Lorraine Bruson. Hughes was
willing to wager a month's pay that before the weekend was out Niles
would be fondling the contents of Mrs. Bruson's bra, and probably
getting a good deal further than that.
About eleven, Ellen said, "I'm getting sleepy, dear. Shall we go in?"
Hughes knew what she meant. He nodded, and they excused themselves from
the party and went upstairs. Ellen peeked into the children's room;
all was well. Then they tiptoed into their own.
As they undressed, Ellen said, "Hurry, darling. It's been a whole
week--"
"You aren't always this impatient, Ellen."
She smiled. "I've been thinking about things, dear. Mostly about how
much I love you." She hung up her dress and slid past him into the
bathroom. He finished undressing. She came out, getting into bed, and a
few minutes later he turned out the light and joined her.
She pressed her body up against his. Automatically, his hand went to
her breasts. He felt the stiff little nipples rising. She gasped, and
began to move her body against his. After nine years, there was little
need for communication between them. They moved easily into the rhythm
of love.
"I love you, Dave," she whispered. "I love you so very much."
"I--love you too," he made himself say. Her body was warm and soft
beneath his. Her lips clung to his, her hands gripped his shoulders.
Faster they moved, faster and faster, experienced partners moving on
toward a familiar culmination. But part of Hughes' mind was black
with self-reproach. _If she had only been like this all the time_, he
thought, _there would never have been any Janice. But there_ is _a
Janice. I can't have them both. God in heaven, what am I going to do?
What am I ever going to do?_
_CHAPTER EIGHT_
The weekend went well. Saturday morning, just before dawn, Ellen turned
to him again in bed, and they made love a second time. Hughes could not
remember when he and Ellen had last done it twice the same night. Four
years ago? Five? Certainly it was before Erika had been born, possibly
even before Tony.
The fresh country air did things to his appetite, and he put away a
tremendous breakfast. After breakfast it was down to the lake for all
of them; watching his son swim fearlessly and strongly toward the
deep water, Hughes felt an unmistakable thrill of pride, and when
Ellen squeezed his hand he squeezed back. Erika, too, had turned into
a swimmer; she splashed around, elaborately careful to keep her eyes
closed and her face out of the water, and gave promise of matching her
brother's accomplishments before long. Larry Niles, at five, was not
as good a swimmer as the slightly younger Erika, and this infuriated
his father; for most of the morning Niles remained at the water's edge,
trying to persuade his son to swim by a mixture of threats and bribes.
Hughes enjoyed the swim. He crossed the lake and back with Ellen
and Beth; both women had blossomed out into attractive bikinis, and
they were both good swimmers. Coming closer to shore, they had a
water-fight, everyone laughing and splashing.
About ten that morning, Lorraine Bruson came down for a swim. She, too,
was wearing a two-piece swimsuit today: white trunks and a striped
halter that seemed to be groaning under the weight of the two mammoth
breasts it was called on to contain. She trotted down to the water, her
bosom bouncing mightily, and waved hello.
The moment she arrived, Mike Niles lost all interest in teaching his
son to swim. "It's your turn to watch the kids," he told Beth, and
abruptly struck out for deep water. Ellen came up on shore, to stretch
out in the sun. Hughes waded over to where Beth was, in knee-deep water
surrounded by the children.
Beth looked beautiful, Hughes thought--certainly she had all the looks
in the family, with her perfect build, her athletic body, her fine
figure, her tanned skin. Her breasts rose steeply beneath the halter.
She was a splendid-looking woman, Hughes thought. Any man who was
married to her and couldn't be satisfied had to be out of his mind.
She was bending over, supporting Larry's stomach and trying to coax him
to swim, when Hughes came up.
"Tighten your halter," he said. "Everything's showing, sis."
She looked up at him. "Always guarding my modesty, eh, Dave? Well,
maybe I _want_ to show a few things."
"Not to me."
"I'll let you know when I'm ready to go in for incest," she said. "No,
I'm just putting them on general display."
The bitterness in her tone surprised him. "What are you talking about?"
She nodded toward the deep water. Niles and Lorraine Bruson were
splashing around gaily out there. In a low voice she said, "Daddy's
fascinated by those two big things that girl has. I'm just trying to
remind him I've got a couple too."
"Mike's just fooling around," Hughes said.
"Fooling around, hell! He wants that pair of tits so bad he's drooling
for them!" Beth blazed with sudden bitterness. "Dave, he _collects_
them. His secret ambition is to have a trophy room lined with mounted
breasts. And that's the finest pair he's ever seen."
Hughes tried to look bewildered. "Honey, I don't get you. Mike's a good
husband, isn't he?"
Beth smiled. Waving Larry and Mindy away to play in the mud, she said,
"Sit down next to me and listen. Mike's been cheating me for years.
Practically from the beginning, Dave."
"And you've known?"
"Of course I've known. I'm no fool."
"You've never let on."
She shook her head. "No, I was always scared to tell anyone. But this
past week, up here with Ellen, we've done a lot of talking. I've gotten
to know Ellen for the first time since you married her, really. And
we've helped each other."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that we've shared some secrets. You and Ellen haven't been
getting along too well in the past year or so, have you?"
"Things might have been better," Hughes conceded. "But what does this
have to do with--"
"Ellen told me. She admits it's mostly her fault. She's lost interest
in sex. She puts too much of her energy into the kids, into the house,
and she was shortchanging you. She realizes this now. I helped her
realize it. Because I told her about Mike and me. What sort of husband
Mike really is. And I warned her not to drive you into becoming that
kind of husband."
"So _that's_ why she was so affectionate last night!"
Beth nodded. "And it'll stay that way, because she'll see to it. Dave,
she's a fine woman. Don't treat her badly. She wants so much to have
you love her again."
"But you and Mike--"
"I never denied Mike anything!" Beth said bitterly. "I was always
willing, whenever he wanted me. But he couldn't get enough. Every girl
he saw, he wanted. He thought he was concealing it from me, but he
wasn't, not at all."
Hughes looked solemnly at his sister. "Are you going to divorce him?"
Beth laughed. "Don't be silly! I've been married to him seven years.
For the past six, I've known the truth about him. Why should I divorce
him at this late date?"
"But--but he's unfaithful--"
"And rich."
"You'd get the children and you'd get alimony," Hughes said. "You don't
have to stick with him just for his money."
"I don't," Beth said in a strange voice. "Can't you see, Dave? I _love_
him."
"After everything?"
"After everything. Look at the two of them, now. Close together in the
water. I'll bet he's got one hand in her halter and the other between
her legs. But I love him, despite everything. When he's good to me,
he's _very_ good. I keep forgiving him."
"You're making a mistake."
"Maybe," she said. "But I can't help myself. Just don't _you_ make any
mistakes, Dave. Don't do anything that would break up what you and
Ellen have. She's going to try hard to win your love back. Don't mess
things up."
Hughes was silent. He wanted to burst out in rage, to roar that he
_had_ already messed things up, that Ellen's reformation had come a
week too late, that he was fatally and inextricably involved with
another woman. Not a quick breast-squeezing affair like the kind Mike
Niles had, but something serious, something that couldn't be broken up
without heart-ache and agony.
He could not speak.
He realized that he was even more evil than Mike Niles. Niles only
deceived Beth with his body. He was deceiving Ellen with his heart.
He sat in the shallow water, alone now, for Beth had risen to run after
Mindy before she waded out too far. After a moment he elbowed up and
walked up on shore. Ellen lay face down on a blanket, the straps of
her halter open to give her an even suntan on her back. He could just
barely see the sides of her breasts, flattened beneath her body.
Turning, Hughes looked out into the water again, heard Lorraine
Bruson's high-pitched giggle, saw Niles dive under the surface and
reappear some ten feet behind her. It was not very hard to conjecture
what Niles might have done while he was under water. Lorraine Bruson
seemed pleased by it, at any rate. Her husband, fishing from a boat at
the far side of the lake, took no notice.
Hughes knelt over Ellen and put his cold hand down on her bare back.
"Ooohh--_don't_!"
"Guess who?"
"Don? Ned? Phil? Oscar? Cornelius?"
"Keep guessing," Hughes grinned.
"Mort? Ronnie? Clyde? Charlie? John?"
"That's enough."
"Wait," she said. "I can try a few more. Paul? Horace? Leon?"
Laughing, Hughes sprawled down on the blanket beside her, and put his
hand over hers. She looked up, smiling, rising a couple of inches from
the blanket. He clucked his tongue at her.
"Better not sit up any further. The Anti-Indecency League will arrest
you."
"Let them. Hon, someday let's rent a whole lake," Ellen said. "Just the
two of us. We'll board the kids at the vet, or something. And we won't
have to worry about Anti-Indecency Leagues. We'll sunbathe in the raw
all day long, and go skinny-dipping, and make love all night. How does
that sound?"
"Like utopia," he said. He stretched out on his side, facing her. The
only trouble, he thought, was that reality kept obtruding. The annoying
reality that you couldn't just "rent a lake" as easily as all that,
and the equally annoying reality that you couldn't board children the
way you might board a spaniel or a pet cat. Ellen's parents lived in
California; his were dead. Their idyllic summer in the sun came with
built-in problems.
And then there was Janice, too.
As he lay there, in the warm sun, with sweet fresh air in his lungs and
the distant laughter of his children coming up from the lake, and his
wife warm and almost naked at his side, Hughes felt happier than he had
been in a long while. This was real relaxation, he thought. Some magic
had been worked and Ellen was warm and loving again, and everything was
wonderful, everything was magically perfect.
Except Janice.
And on Sunday he would return to New York, to Janice, to the other
reality.
It seemed so easy to make the decision now. Of course he loved only
Ellen; of course he would do nothing to break up his family. When he
returned to the city on Sunday, he would talk to Janice, would tell her
that he had come to his senses at last, that he had broken the shackles
of fleshy lust that bound him to her. They would end it, and it would
be an interlude, a weird intermezzo that he would never forget but
which he would try never to think about in the future.
He rejoiced. His mind was made up. He and Janice had succumbed to
temptation, but the time had come to end it. He belonged with Ellen.
A mood of complete ease stole over him, now that the problem was
resolved. He lay pleasantly baking in the sun for a while, and then,
half an hour later, returned to the water. Ellen decided that Tony and
Erika had had enough, and she removed them, squalling and protesting,
from the water. Beth took Larry and Mindy out, too. Hughes swam out
to the deep water, heading toward Niles and Lorraine, who by this time
were nearly at the other side of the lake.
As Hughes drew near, he was treated to an unexpected sight. Lorraine
had been bobbing with just her head and shoulders above the water,
but she came suddenly to a shallow area in the lake, and to her own
surprise found herself above water almost to the waist.
And she had removed her halter.
Hughes took one look, then pretended not to have seen, and she replaced
the missing halter quickly. But the image was imprinted permanently on
Hughes' brain of two monumental breasts, two heroic breasts that seemed
to begin just below her chin and curve outward and in almost to her
midsection. So clever Niles had managed to work the bra off her in the
water, and she had been taken by surprise by the rise in the bottom!
But her bosom was phenomenal, Hughes thought. Why, the dark area
ringing her nipples was greater than the entire breasts of some women!
Hughes swam up. She was not sure whether he had seen or not, and she
evidently intended to carry on as though he hadn't.
"Hello, Dave," she called.
"Hello, Lorraine." Last night everyone had gotten onto a first-name
basis.
"I've just been having the most fascinating conversation with your
brother-in-law out here," she said. "All about the television
industry. Some of the things he's been telling me--they're absolutely
incredible!"
"I'll bet," Hughes remarked.
Niles said, "Did Beth go in?"
"Uh-huh. She and Ellen decided the kids had had enough swimming for the
morning."
"What time is it?"
"Oh, about eleven," Hughes said. "They told me to let you know that
they'll have lunch ready at noon."
"Thanks," Niles said absently. "Well, I guess I'll swim around a few
more minutes, and then I'll go in. You don't have to wait for me if you
don't want to, Dave."
It was more than a hint: it was a command. Hughes had no interest in
interfering with his brother-in-law's conquests. He turned and began to
paddle himself toward shore.
Beth was preparing lunch, and Ellen was playing with the children
behind the bungalow. Hughes waved to them and went upstairs to get
into dry clothes. Upstairs, he glanced out the bedroom window and saw
Lorraine Bruson coming up from the lake, walking slowly as though
struggling under the burden of those junoesque breasts, and going into
her bungalow. There was no sign of Niles.
Niles remained invisible for the next half hour, then showed up at the
bungalow looking self-satisfied and content. Hughes wondered whether he
had taken some back route to the Bruson bungalow. He was almost certain
of it.
But he said nothing.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough; they cooked supper out,
barbecuing some steaks and hamburgers over a charcoal fire, and after
dinner, with the children stowed away, the residents of several of
the bungalows came together for a little cocktail party--apparently
a Saturday night regular event here. Hughes noticed that his
brother-in-law was paying no more than minimal polite attention to the
bosomy Bruson woman. _And small wonder_, Hughes thought. _Mike already
has had what he wants out of her. He has no further interest._
Ellen was passionate again in bed that night; they thrashed about
violently until Hughes was positive that the loud squealing of the
bedsprings would certainly awaken the whole household. It was a
memorable hour, even after a decade's familiarity.
The weather was cooler on Sunday. Hughes took a brief swim after
breakfast; after lunch they had a badminton foursome, the children
watching, and then about three in the afternoon Niles suggested
that they get on the road. "The traffic gets pretty thick around
four-thirty. This way we can get a little bit of a jump."
Hughes agreed. It took twenty minutes to change and pack up, and then
it was time for goodbyes. In their bedroom, Ellen kissed him long and
warmly.
"So long, darling. Till next Friday."
"I'll phone you on Monday."
"Phone calls can't give me what I want," she grinned. "But call anyway."
By three-thirty, after farewells to Beth and the children, they were on
the road. Niles drove more adventurously than usual, as though buoyed
up by helium.
"God damn," he said. "What a fantastic pair of knockers!"
"Bruson?"
"Who else? Christ, Dave, could you blame me? I know, you think I'm
dirt. I haven't forgotten your cow remark, and I guess I deserved it.
But maybe you don't understand what it's like to be in the grip of--of
a compulsion. The moment I saw that dame, I had to have her. _Had_ to."
"I know all about compulsions," Hughes said quietly. "Well? Did you
make her, at least?"
"Uh-huh. Saturday morning, just before lunch."
"I thought so. You had her bra off in the water, didn't you?"
"She thought you saw it. She wasn't sure."
Hughes nodded. "I saw. Just for a moment. I have to admit she's built."
"Incredible. And not sloppy, either. Big and firm and hard ones. It's
something glandular, I guess. She said they grew that big when she was
thirteen."
"I suppose you went into the bushes?"
"In her bungalow," Niles said. "I went around the back way."
"Suppose her husband caught you?"
"She said that when he goes fishing he stays out all day. Besides,
he wouldn't raise a fuss. She says he's impotent." Niles chuckled.
"Believe me, I've got a steady thing all summer, if Beth doesn't catch
wise. Christ, I'd like to get a photo of that pair, just for posterity!"
Hughes remembered what Beth had said. _He'd like to collect breasts.
Mount them in his trophy room._
"Did Beth seem to notice?" Niles asked anxiously.
"She saw you fooling around her in the water, if that's what you mean."
"I think she knows," Niles said. "She doesn't let on, but I'm sure she
knows. I worry about that. Christ, I'd go crazy if Beth ever left me.
I'd kill myself. But I can't help running after these dames. I'm all
mixed up, Dave. I love Beth, but I cheat on her all the time. Maybe I
ought to get a psychiatrist again."
Hughes said nothing. Niles' torments did not interest him just now. He
was thinking about the return to the city, the return to Janice.
_My mind is made up. I love Ellen. I'm ending things for good with
Janice._
Noble resolution. Lofty decision. But something in his mind sneered at
him. _Go ahead, wise guy. Actions speak louder than words. You'll be
home in two hours. Let's see if you mean what you say._
_CHAPTER NINE_
Traffic thickened up rapidly on Route 17, and despite Niles' jet-pilot
style of driving it took better than three hours to get back to New
York City. Niles was close to a wreck by the end of the trip, fuming
with frustration because he had been compelled to crawl along at
twenty and thirty miles an hour for long stretches. Hughes would have
suggested taking over the driving to ease the strain on the other man's
nerves, but he knew there was no point in making the suggestion. Short
of the point of collapse, Niles would never surrender the wheel of his
pet car.
A damp fog wrapped around them as they entered Manhattan. It was
another hot day in the city, up close to ninety. The men said little to
each other. Niles drove silently Queensward.
It was quarter to seven when the Chrysler pulled up in front of Dave
Hughes' house. Hughes dragged his suitcase out of the back seat.
"See you next Friday," he said.
"How about lunch again during the week?"
Hughes shrugged. "I'll see. Phone me later on in the week and we can
work something out, Mike."
"Right."
The big car glided away. Hughes trudged into the house, pausing in the
lobby to clean out the mailbox. Bills, mostly. Invitations to subscribe
to magazines at fantastic reductions. A two-color flyer asking him if
he wanted to buy a mink coat at summer prices. He culled out the junk,
dropped it in the wastebasket near the mailboxes, and moved on toward
the elevator. He didn't think he wanted a mink coat, not now or ever.
The elevator was waiting. Hughes rode upstairs, went down the hall, and
quietly opened the door of his apartment. With great care he closed
the door without slamming it, and flipped the bolt. He knew why he was
being so quiet. It was to avoid letting Janice know that he was home.
He wanted to postpone as long as possible that moment of reckoning that
he had resolved on.
The long trip had left him grimy and sweat-soaked. He put the suitcase
down and began to unbutton his shirt. A good cold shower now would be
just the thing, he thought. And then a drink, and then he would go
across and have it out with Janice.
_We've got to call it quits right here and now_, he would tell her. _We
have nothing to gain from what we're doing except tragedy. We mustn't
fool ourselves into thinking that ours is a great love. It's nothing
more than a simple mutual case of hot pants. And I discovered this
past weekend that my family means so much to me that I could never
consider--_
The doorbell rang, interrupting the silent rehearsal. Frowning, Hughes
buttoned his shirt again and moved toward the door. He peeked out.
Janice.
His hands shook as he opened the door. She smiled up at him, all
sweet-smelling and young and alive, and stepped into the apartment
without waiting to be asked.
"Welcome home, darling. I thought this weekend was going to last
forever!"
"Janice, I--"
"Don't say a thing. Not a thing."
She came up to him, on tiptoe, and put her arms around his neck,
lifting one leg off the floor and thrusting her body hard against his.
Her lips touched his, delicately at first, and then more fiercely as
her pent-up hunger for him exploded.
Despite himself, he kissed back. Hard.
She stepped away again. She was wearing a man's blouse with the
shirt-tails tied in a knot just below her breasts, leaving about six
inches of midriff bare above a pair of black toreador pants that
outlined every contour and cleft of her anatomy. Her breasts were
rising and falling rapidly with growing excitement.
She smiled and said, "I've had a busy weekend while you were gone. Come
next door and see."
She took him by the hand. Numbly, Hughes allowed himself to be led
across the hall into her apartment. The phrases of his little speech
tumbled brokenly through his mind, but he was unable to voice them.
_Got to call it quits ... nothing to gain ... hot pants ... my family
means so much ... could never consider...._
"Look!" Janice cried.
There was an array of things on the livingroom couch. Four phonograph
records, some books, a bottle of wine, a heap of clothing. Hughes shook
his head uncertainly, not knowing what to make of the display.
"Mozart's _Posthorn Serenade_," she said, picking up the records one
by one. "Brahms' Fourth. The Schubert Trio Number One. And Beethoven's
Piano Concerto Number Four. All the pieces you were telling me I ought
to listen to, last week." She held up the books. "I sort of went on a
book-buying binge too. Kafka--Thomas Mann--Five Greek Tragedies--" She
waved the bright paperbacks about in glee. "And look here," she said.
"Chateau Lafite wine, to go with our steak tomorrow night. I asked the
man in the liquor store for the best red wine he had. I won't even tell
you how much it cost. And here," she finished, scooping up the clothes.
"I bought a few things that you'd like me better in. A shorty nightgown
that's so sexy I'm ashamed to put it on--and look at this bikini. Do
you think they'll let me on the beach in it? These pedal-pushers are
new, too. And--"
"Hold on," Hughes said dazedly. "Did you just inherit a million bucks?"
"All this cost me only $85," Janice said. "And I hadn't spent any money
on myself in ages. I was so lonely for you that I just had to go out
and buy things. Things that we could enjoy together. Buying things
cheers me up, you know. Especially when I bought them with you in mind
all the time. Oh, and I forgot--"
She bustled pass him, into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.
"Look what else!" she called, holding up a cocktail shaker. "I bought
some gin and vermouth and a shaker, also some decent glasses for
drinking cocktails. And I mixed a batch of martinis last night. Come
on. Let's celebrate your homecoming!"
She was pouring out martinis, pressing the glass into his hand,
clinking with him. Still stunned, he put the glass to his lips
automatically, and took a sip.
"How is it?" she asked anxiously. "It's the right proportion and all,
isn't it? I tried so hard--"
"It's fine," he said vaguely. He shook his head. "This is all quite a
surprise, Jan. I don't know what to say. I'm--well, surprised."
He sat down and put one hand to his forehead. He thought of how she had
spent the weekend, probably planning every minute new ways to please
him. This beautiful girl, alone here, scheming to please _him_. And
his mind full of crumbling speeches about how their affair was nothing
but a case of mutual hot pants, and ought to be ended as quickly as
possible.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"I'm--not sure."
"You look so troubled, Dave. Aren't you pleased by all this?"
There was a lump in his throat. "I'm--terribly pleased, Jan. Just that
it was so much of a surprise, walking in and finding all these things.
I don't know what to say, really."
"Say that you love me, if you don't know what else to say."
He looked down at the floor, troubled. All of his fine resolutions were
smashed. _Say that you love me._ The words would not rise to his lips.
He scowled, hating himself for a weakling. From Friday night to Sunday
afternoon, he had rejoiced in his family's bosom. The situation had all
seemed so simple, then. Of _course_ he loved only Ellen. Of _course_
there was no question of continuing this thing with Janice. He would
merely explain the situation to Janice, and that would be that.
But it was a lot less simple now.
Now that he sat in her apartment, with the things she had bought to
delight him strewn out all around, with the drink she had lovingly made
for him in his hand. With her large round breasts dancing before his
eyes. With her firm buttocks, sheathed in tight black fabric, within
reach of his groping hand.
"You're all upset," she said. "I know. It's because you saw your
children and Ellen. Tell me about your weekend. No, don't tell me," she
said hurriedly. "I don't want to know what you did. I don't want to
know if you made love to your wife or not. I just want you to love me,
Dave. Do you still love me?"
"I--don't know. I'm all mixed up, Jan."
"I was afraid this would happen. I was afraid you'd go up there and
she'd make you forget me. Dave, you didn't stop loving me, did you? I
couldn't sleep all weekend, worrying about you."
He drained his glass and put it down. He buried his face in his hands.
"Jan, I don't know what to say. I came back full of all kinds of lofty
resolutions. I was going to end this affair of ours."
"No, Dave!"
"But--but I can't." He looked up at her, his face tormented. In a
hollow whisper he said, "When I was up there, I knew I belonged with
_her_. But--now that I'm here--"
"You still love me!" she said.
He shrugged. "What does love mean, Janice?"
"You know the answer." She sat down next to him on the couch. She took
his hand, holding it in her two small ones, and then she put it on her
throat, pressing it against the beginning rise of her breasts, and
thrust it suddenly into her blouse. She had no bra on. One breast,
large and warm and firm, swelled against his palm, the nipple hard and
stiff. A sudden lance of desire went through him, and he knew there was
no ending this now.
She leaned against him, and he held her breast, squeezing it, kneading
it, until she began to gasp, and her hand went to the tails of the
shirt and undid the knot, and she opened the buttons quickly. The
blouse fell away, and she was naked to the waist. The big globes of
her breasts seemed almost transparent, with the faint tracery of veins
beneath the ivory surface, and the little nipples standing up like
sentinels. She rose, unzipping her pants, and stood before him. He
rolled the pants down, slowly, for they were very tight, and they came
past her hips and over the generous mounds of her buttocks, and he
kissed the warm flesh and pulled them the rest of the way down. She had
nothing on beneath the pants. She turned, her eyes slitted and veiled
with desire, and knelt on the floor before him, fumbling with his
trouser belt.
Her lovemaking was almost savage. Her short fingernails raked his
back, her heels dug deeply into the backs of his thighs as her body
gripped his. The intensity of their coming together was such that the
act itself was over almost at once, and they lay together, breathing
harshly, exhausted on the floor. After a while he separated himself
from her and went into the bathroom.
A guilty face looked back at him from the mirror.
_I told you so_, the mocking voice said within his brain. _You can't
resist her. All she has to do is put your hand in her blouse and you
fall apart._
He came out. Janice was lying where he had left her, on the floor,
her eyes closed, a smile of contentment on her face. She looked
like a satisfied kitten. Hughes stood over her, looking down at her
rounded sleekness. Drained temporarily of desire, he could view her as
objectively as though she were a statue.
_She's lovely_, he thought. _Irresistible._
She opened her eyes and extended one hand. "Pull me up, darling."
He tugged her to her feet. He kissed her, lightly, not wanting to
kindle the all-consuming flame again. She grinned and skipped past him
into the john.
"Hungry?" she asked when she came out.
"Not very."
"It's late. You ought to have something. I've got some franks in the
fridge, and we can open a can of beans, and there's some beer--"
"Fine idea," he agreed.
So they had a simple supper, and afterward they played the Brahms
and the Schubert, and he explained to her why chamber music was so
interesting, and when they tired of listening to records she modelled
some of her new clothes, and after that they read for a while. Suddenly
it was eleven o'clock. Hughes looked nervously at his watch.
"Tomorrow's a working day. I ought to get some sleep. So should you."
She tugged at his wrist. "Sleep here tonight, darling. I want to show
you my nightie. And I want you next to me in bed."
He shook his head. "I've told you why, Jan. Suppose one of the kids got
sick during the night. God forbid, suppose there was a fire up there.
Ellen would try to reach me at three in the morning, and I wouldn't
be there. I couldn't tell her I was out bowling in the middle of the
night, could I?"
"You could tell her you were next door sleeping with me," Janice said
slyly.
"I'll tell her about us in my own way, in my own time," Hughes said in
a measured voice. "But I can't stay here overnight."
"Then let me come sleep in your apartment."
"No. I--" He stopped.
"Nobody's going to phone _me_ at three in the morning, Davey. You're
just being superstitious about the marriage bed again. What for? We've
already made love _on_ it. Why can't I sleep _in_ it, now? Or don't you
love me?"
"What does that have to do with--"
"If you love me, you'll let me sleep in your bed tonight."
Hughes made a few feeble objections, but he knew he was defeated. At
length he said, "All right. I'll leave the door ajar. Get whatever you
need and come over in five minutes."
He went into his apartment and began to prepare for bed. Exactly five
minutes later Janice entered, smiling impishly. She was carrying the
flimsy nightgown and a toothbrush, nothing more.
He showered, and when he came out Janice was in the nightgown already.
It was pink and transparent, and came down only to her hips, and he
could see everything underneath it. She held up a bit of gauzy cloth
and said, laughing, "Panties come with it. Should I put them on or not?"
"Don't bother," he said.
She did a pirouette, and the breeze picked up the hem of the nightgown
and lifted it above her waist, showing him her buttocks and loins.
"I didn't think you'd want it," she giggled. "How do I look in the
almost-nude?"
"Ravishing."
"Come ravish me, then."
"Have mercy on an old man."
"Go on, Methuselah!" she jeered. "You keep telling me you're old and
I'll start believing it. But isn't this a sexy gown? The books say that
it's much more erotic to appear _almost_ naked than totally naked. How
do I look?"
"Good enough to eat."
"Why don't you, then?"
"Some other time," Hughes said. He turned off the light. She bounded
into bed a second ahead of him.
"That's true, isn't it?" she asked worriedly. "About total nudity being
less exciting than partial concealment?"
"That's what they say," Hughes told her. "A girl in a garter-belt and
a pair of nylons drives some men into fits, and the same girl in her
birthday suit leaves them cold."
"How about you?"
"I'm not fussy."
"You ought to be. Wait till you see me in my bikini! Talk about
near-nudity! I think I'll save it, though. For a time when you're tired
of me, Davey, and I have to get you interested in my body again. That's
when I'll start hiding critical areas. And you'll be curious."
"I will not. I know what you've got."
"You'll be curious all the same. You'll want to see if I have any more."
"We'll see," Hughes said. "Let's get some sleep. It's late, and
tomorrow's Monday."
"I hate Mondays."
"Everyone does, chicken." He rolled over on his side, facing her, and
found the hem of her nightgown and slid his hand up, past her loins, up
the smooth softness of her belly, to her breasts. Cupping the lowermost
mound, he murmured, "Good night."
"That's all? Just good night?"
"I'm not a sex machine, honey."
She laughed. "Any time you want me, I'm here."
"I'll remember that."
He fell asleep quickly. But, during the night, it began to rain,
and the pattering of the drops against the window half-woke him.
He stretched out a hand, felt it come in contact with buttocks and
thighs, and for a moment he thought it was Ellen in his bed, until he
remembered. Janice stirred sleepily and murmured, "I love you."
Desire rose in him, unexpected. He put his body to hers, and heard
her emit a sound very much like a purr, and he began to move gently,
dreamily, and she moved too, and a little while later he heard her
deep-throated murmur of completion, and it was over, and as strangely
as it had begun it had ended and he dropped easily back to sleep, his
body still joined to hers.
Morning came. Janice was fantastically lively and buoyant the moment
the first beams of light awakened her. Hughes was always a slow riser,
and he was particularly leaden this morning. But her good spirits
seemed contagious. She was wandering around the kitchen, brewing coffee
and trying to find the breakfast dishes, while he was still groping his
way out of bed and into the bathroom.
Breakfast was good: orange juice, bacon and eggs, toast, coffee. At
quarter to eight Janice rose from the table. "I hate to dump you with
the dishes, darling, but I've got to run. Boss expects me in the store
by eight-thirty at the latest."
Hughes kissed her, and finished cleaning up himself. He could move at a
leisurely pace, since he had risen earlier than usual. He tried not to
worry about the Janice-versus-Ellen problem now. Irrationally, he hoped
that everything would somehow take care of itself.
He was at the office by ten to nine, hard at work, unusually cheerful
for a Monday. At quarter past nine his telephone rang.
"Hughes."
"Mike here, Dave."
_At this hour?_ Hughes wondered. "Is something wrong?" he asked
hurriedly. "You never call so early. Is there trouble up at the lake,
Mike? What--"
"I was just curious," Niles said slowly.
"Curious?"
"That's right," Niles said. "Tell me something, Dave. Who's that busty
blonde you're shacking with?"
_CHAPTER TEN_
The receiver nearly fell from Hughes' suddenly numb hands. He tried to
keep his voice level as he said, "What are you talking about, Mike?"
"You know goddam well. Don't try to play innocent, Dave. You old
hypocrite, giving me those frigging lectures on fidelity! I saw her
clear as day, looking out your window. A naked blonde girl with big
knockers. Christ, Dave, I practically couldn't sleep, I was so amazed
by that sight."
"Take it slow," Hughes said. "You saw--"
"A naked blonde. Last night, around eleven. I was all worked up, you
know. About not playing straight with Beth, and a lot of things like
that. I couldn't relax. I was having trouble with my conscience, and
I figured I'd get in the car and drive over to my old brother-in-law
Dave's place and sit up over a bottle of rye and talk half the night.
I wanted your advice." Niles chuckled. "I wanted to learn your secret,
how you stay faithful to Ellen, you know? So I parked the car in front
of your house and I happen to look up at the third floor windows and
there's your window and there's this blonde in it. I almost had a
stroke. Listen, Dave, I want to know all about it. How long has it been
going on? Who is she? Why were you playing so coy last weekend? What--"
"I can't talk about things like this here," Hughes broke in. "Want to
meet me for lunch?"
"Sure."
"Outside the Exec, then, around twelve. See you then."
"Right," Niles said, and hung up.
Hughes put the phone gingerly down. There was a chill in the pit of his
stomach, and he felt shaky, as though a bomb had just exploded within
ten feet of his desk.
_Mike knows!_
Hughes thumbed his eyeballs wearily. There was no way to lie out of
this, he knew. Mike had seen her--whatever wildness had possessed
Janice to walk to the window last night?--and there was no choice but
to take Niles into his confidence, now.
The rest of the morning was chaotic. Hughes was totally unable to
concentrate. People drifted past his desk and were greeted or not,
depending on whether his mind happened to be focussed on the outside
world at the moment. He made a hopeless botch of a simple accounting,
and had to tear the sheet up and begin all over again--and he was
halfway down the second sheet when he realized he had done it all wrong
once more. He gave up, turned what fragment of attention he could
muster to simpler, more routine work that normally took up no more than
a tenth of his mind, and found himself unable to master even that this
morning. He took an extra-long coffee break, alone, and spent much time
in the washroom. At last it was fifteen minutes to twelve, and he could
decently leave the office. He had not accomplished a thing all morning.
Niles was waiting eagerly in front of the restaurant; he had the
look of a ferret about to pounce. And with reason: he was always
greedily avid about gobbling up some new revelatory tidbit about the
inconsistency of human nature.
When they were at a table, Hughes said, "Now, you say you saw a girl at
my window--"
"Don't try to blur things, Dave. I _saw_ her. I was standing in the
street, and I have good eyes, and I know which your windows are. I
looked up to the third floor, near the corner of the building, and
I saw a girl looking out your livingroom window. She was naked to
the waist, I can guarantee that much. She was leaning on the ledge,
looking out, and I saw her breasts." Niles leaned forward expectantly,
triumphantly. "I didn't want to come upstairs, naturally, after that. I
got back into my car and sat around watching to see what would happen.
The lights went out in around five minutes. I drove home. I sat up half
the night chewing my nails and wondering what the hell you were up to."
"Can't you guess?"
"It wasn't an hallucination, then?"
Hughes shook his head. "Your eyes were playing no tricks at all."
"Who is she, man?"
"How much can I trust you?"
Niles looked indignant. "After all I've confided in you? Listen, Dave,
you know enough to blow my marriage to smithereens. We're in a Mexican
stand-off when it comes to jeopardizing each other. Tell me who she is."
Hughes sighed heavily. "She's a neighbor. Her apartment is right across
the hall."
"Married?"
Hughes nodded. "Her husband's in the army. Stationed in California. He
gets out in six months or thereabouts. She's twenty-two."
"Christ almighty," Niles muttered incredulously. "So all this time you
were handing me a line! You pious bastard, you! How long has this been
going on, anyway?"
"Since a week ago Saturday."
"You're kidding! That's _all_?"
"I didn't even know her first name, two weeks ago," Hughes said.
"Things happened fast."
"They sure did. The day Ellen went away! And then last Monday you sat
right here and told me solemnly you had never cheated," Niles said
reproachfully. "You were lying to me, man."
"I know. But she's the first. Absolutely the first, Mike. You've got to
believe that."
Niles shrugged. "Okay, she's the first. She's young and she's stacked.
Welcome to the fold, brother. You too can step out on your wife! But I
thought you were happy with Ellen."
"I wasn't. We were--drifting apart."
"You mean she wasn't coming across in bed?" Niles asked bluntly.
"Put it that way if you want," Hughes said, toying with his napkin.
"I--wanted to get even with Ellen, somehow. And this girl just sort of
stumbled into my life. That first night, last Saturday, things happened
magically. We clicked. We've been going at it pretty strong ever since
then."
"I'll bet you have. Well, well, well. Is she a good lay?"
Scowling, Hughes said, "Mike, you don't understand. I'm in love with
her."
The color left Niles' face. His jaw sagged. "You're--_what_?"
"Last night, when I got home from the country, I was set to tell her
it was all off, that we had had our fun and now it was time to quit.
Only--I couldn't. I couldn't tell her. I--love her."
"Holy mother," Niles exclaimed. "Are you going to marry her? What about
Ellen--the kids--"
Hughes shook his head miserably. "I don't know," he said in a dry voice.
"When you step out, you step out all the way, huh, Dave? Me, I just
fool around a little, grab off a piece whenever I can. You have to go
fall in love!"
"Believe me, I didn't want it to be this way."
"What the hell are you going to do, then? In seven weeks Ellen comes
home. Are you going to carry this titty little blonde along and dump
her then? Or are you going to tell Ellen it's quits?"
"I don't know what I'll do."
"Take a word from me," Niles said. "Don't just sit on your rear and
look worried. Think ahead. There's an explosion coming. You've got to
plan for it. What does the girl want out of this?"
"She loves me, she says. She wants to marry me."
"And the husband?"
"A bruiser. She thinks he might kill her if she tells him he's had it."
Niles' frown deepened. "Boy, are _you_ in a mess! Who knows about this
so far?"
"Just you--I hope."
"Nosey neighbors?"
"A few. But I'm not worried. Some friends of Ellen's and mine saw us
together in a restaurant, but I told them she was my cousin from
Cleveland, and I think they believed it."
"You hope." Niles sliced viciously into a roll. "You can't make up your
mind whether to stick with Ellen or get hooked up with your blonde
tail, is that it? Look, Dave, let me give you some free advice. Mind?"
"Of course not."
Niles tapped his knife on the edge of the plate. "Make up your mind
that you're not smitten with love. Keep laying this blonde, if you
can't get enough from Ellen. But forget the idea of marrying her. And
when Ellen gets back from the country, drop the blonde cold. _Cold._
Smile at her in the elevator, yes, but not the sort of smile that says
you know how many freckles she has on her butt. A distant smile. And
stick with Ellen. You've got good kids; don't bust up their world."
"What about Janice's world?"
"She's got a husband, and from what you say he's not the sort of guy
you want to get mixed up with. Take it from me, Dave, and I've been
through this sort of thing a whole lot of times: taper her off, get the
marriage ideas out of her head."
"That's easy to say."
"I never said it was easy to do. But you'll _have_ to. Otherwise you'll
lose Ellen and the kids and most of your friends and maybe your job,
too. You'll be slaving to support Ellen the rest of your life, because
she won't remarry. And you're likely to get your head caved in by the
blonde's husband, which will settle your alimony problems but won't do
your health any good. Look," Niles said, "this past weekend I met a
girl, this Lorraine."
"That isn't the same thing," Hughes objected.
"How do you know? Okay, she has tremendous tits. Maybe that's what I've
yearned for all my life--a pretty woman with a 45-inch bust. Do you see
me mooning in my beer over her? Am I giving up Beth and the kids for
her? Hell, no. I laid her on Saturday, and if I can manage it I'll lay
her next Saturday too. That's as far as I get myself involved. Maybe
it's not gentlemanly, but it's not dangerous either. Unless Beth finds
out, that is. But I think she figures I'm faithful, or else I wouldn't
fool around the way I do in public."
For a moment, Hughes wanted to tell him, to hurl the words across the
table. _You aren't fooling Beth one bit, Niles. She knows all about
your affairs, and she's known right from the start. She sticks by you
because of your kids and because you give her a good life and because
she's crazy enough to think she still loves you. But you aren't putting
a thing over on her._
He remained silent, though, because to let Niles know of Beth's
awareness would be to sacrifice his one trump card. Niles would keep
quiet about him because he was afraid of being exposed himself. Take
away the counterweight and Niles might do anything, even try to seduce
Ellen himself, as a reward for tipping her off. Hughes knew just how
completely unprincipled his brother-in-law was. He didn't dare make
himself vulnerable to Niles.
After a moment he said, "You've been a great help to me, Mike. I
appreciate this."
"Nothing at all. You've helped me sometimes too."
"I can count on you to keep mum?"
"Sure, man. And you'll ease off this love-smitten bit a little?"
"I'll try."
"You _better_ try. The blonde may be a good lay, but you don't want to
lose Ellen for her."
After lunch, they parted quickly; Hughes walked the ten blocks down
to his office in far better spirits than he had left the office in at
noon. He plunged into his work with gusto, undoing much of the chaos of
the morning and catching up a bit on the backlog that had accumulated
during the day. When he drove home, he was practically cheerful again.
He reached the house at twenty-five to six. Janice was home already;
there was a note on the door that said, _Ring my bell when you come in_.
He rang it. Janice came to the door wearing the bikini. At first, he
thought she was nude; all she wore was a flesh-colored strip across her
breasts, and a tiny kerchief around her hips.
"You like?" she asked.
"Plenty. But you'll get arrested if you wear it at Coney Island."
Her eyes sparkled. "It's wonderful indoors in hot weather, though. I
can't run around naked because my backside sticks to the chairs when I
sit down. But this way--"
"I see," Hughes said. "Look, it's Monday and I've got to phone Ellen."
"Okay, but hurry back. We'll have martinis and then I'll put the steak
up." She gave him a playful wink and closed the door on him.
The telephone call to Ellen was brief. The weather up there was
splendid, she told him. The children were fine, everything was fine.
She was looking forward to next Friday, she said. Eagerly.
They chatted on for a minute more, and then the call ended. Everything
normal there, it seemed. He hung up his jacket and went back to
Janice's apartment.
When he pushed the door open she was buzzing around lithely, getting
supper ready. The sight of her, all but nude in the skimpy bikini,
tightened his throat. The lovely swells of her breasts were clearly
revealed by the inadequate halter, while the loincloth was cut so
sharply that several inches of buttocks were visible, and little golden
curls of hair peeked out at the sides of the triangular kerchief. She
had done it deliberately, testing the theory, and she was right: she
was infinitely more desirable and tempting this way than in complete
nudity.
He looked away, remembering his brother-in-law's advice. _Forget the
idea of marrying her. When Ellen gets back from the country, drop the
blonde cold. The blonde may be a good lay, but you don't want to lose
Ellen for her._
Janice emerged from the kitchen bearing two crystal-clear martinis.
"Here, darling. I even found out you were supposed to chill the glasses
beforehand, so I put them in the fridge before I left this morning."
He took the drink from her, sipped it, put it down. He said slowly, "If
you're ever in my apartment again, Janice, don't go near the windows.
Or at least put some clothing on if you do."
"_What?_"
"Last night, while I was in the shower and you were getting
undressed--did you walk over to the window and look out?"
She frowned. "Well--yes, yes, I did. I wanted to see what sort of view
you had."
"And what were you wearing?"
"Just my pants, I guess. But--my God, did somebody see me?"
Hughes nodded. "My brother-in-law Mike."
"The television writer?"
"Uh-huh, the television writer. He had insomnia and wanted to pay me a
visit. So he parked in front of the house and started to come upstairs,
only he looked up first, and there was a blonde in my window without
any clothes on. A blonde with big tits, he said. He puts things so
quaintly."
Janice reddened. Suddenly she seemed more than naked in the bikini.
"He--told you this?"
Hughes took a deep pull of his martini. "He had lunch with me today,
and told me. We don't have to worry about him, though--I've got so much
dope on _him_ that he'd never dream of telling Ellen. Even if he had
any motive for informing on me. But still, it was carelessness, Jan. We
mustn't take risks like that. For God's sake, don't go wandering around
with everything showing where other people can see you!"
Janice smiled strangely. "I have nothing to be afraid of, Dave. I don't
mind if the whole world knows we're living together."
"But--Jan, don't be silly!" Hughes spluttered. "We can't just
go--_flaunting_ ourselves--"
"Why not?" she challenged.
"Because--because--"
"Dave, let's be sensible. You love me, I love you. I hate to say it
like this, but it's bigger than both of us. We never expected it to
happen this way, but it did. All right. The world will have to find out
sooner or later. I admit it's a little out of propriety to show myself
off in the window, but I didn't think anyone could see, and anyway
it won't happen again. But you've got to start thinking seriously of
letting Ellen know. Maybe your brother-in-law can help tell her."
He shook his head. "It would hurt her so much."
"I'm sure of that. But she'll have to find out sooner or later,
darling. We have to tell her first, so we can be prepared when Nick
comes back."
Hughes knotted his fists together in frustration. He seemed unable ever
to tell Janice what he had resolved to tell her. _Drop her. Don't lose
Ellen. Don't hurt the kids. This is just a summertime affair, hot-pants
stuff, not an eternal romance._
He couldn't say it.
The moment came, and then he knew it was gone, and he had not said it.
Janice still assumed he planned to divorce Ellen and marry her, and he
had said nothing to contradict that assumption.
Nothing.
_You're a stinking heel_, he thought bitterly. _A lousy vacillating
slimy worm._
Hollowly he said, "You keep pushing me, Jan. You've got to give me
time. Time to think this out. I've been married nine years, you know. I
can't decide overnight how I'm going to tell my wife."
"We don't have that much time. Only seven more weeks."
"I'll figure something out," he promised desperately. Suddenly wild
desire blotted out everything else; if he could only have her body now,
it would take away the need to think, to brood, to fear. He reached for
her and quickly opened the hook of her halter. It fell away. The proud
fullness of her breasts loomed before him, breathtaking, shiny with
sweat. He pulled her to him, buried his face in those two soft silken
mounds, caught her hard nipples gently between his lips and kissed them.
His hands glided down her back, under the skimpy loincloth, over the
soft roundness of her buttocks. He began to undo the little kerchief.
"I haven't put the steak up yet," she protested. "Dinner will be late--"
He laughed. "Let it be late," he said. "This is more important right
now."
_CHAPTER ELEVEN_
Later that evening, Hughes returned to his apartment to get a
phonograph record, and he discovered that the telephone was ringing. He
gulped in sudden fright and snatched it up quickly.
Dan Hyman was calling.
"Martha and I thought we'd invite you over for dinner tomorrow night,"
Hyman told him. "She pities you because you have to shift for yourself
with Ellen away, and anyhow it's a coon's age since you were last here.
How about it? You free tomorrow?"
"Well," Hughes began uncertainly--
"Don't tell me you'll be out escorting that cousin of yours again,
Dave!"
"No, that's not it," Hughes said. "I'm just trying to remember if--"
Sweat began to break out on him. _What if they're trying to test me?_
he wondered. _Well, I won't give them any satisfaction._ "Come to think
of it," he said, "I _am_ free tomorrow night."
"Swell!"
"What time do you want me?"
"How's about half past six?" Hyman asked. "And will roast chicken do?"
"It'll do just fine," Hughes told him. "Thanks for the invite, Dan."
"Oh, don't mention it. We know how hard it must be for an old married
man like you to have to batch it during the week. See you tomorrow."
"Right. See you tomorrow."
Scowling, Hughes hung up, found the record he had come in to get, and
went back to Janice's. She noticed the expression on his face at once.
"Something wrong?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I got a phone call from Dan Hyman while I
was over there."
"The fellow we met in the restaurant that night?"
"The very same. He invited me to come over for dinner tomorrow night.
Felt sorry for me because I was a summer bachelor, you know. And then
he tossed in a little remark about would I be out escorting my cousin
instead? I didn't want to get involved making excuses, so I accepted
the invitation."
"So I won't see you tomorrow night?" Janice said, her face clouding
immediately. "Darling, it isn't fair to let someone else invite you--"
"Whoa! Baby, I've still got to keep up appearances. If an old friend
invites me, and I turn it down, it looks fishy."
"_Let_ it look fishy," she said petulantly. "I don't want to do without
you for one minute more than I absolutely have to."
"I'll be home early," he promised.
"You'd better be."
She snuggled against him, holding him tight.
The next evening, he was home at the usual time, and after freshening
himself up for his visit he stopped off at Janice's place. As though
deliberately stressing the fact that he was neglecting her tonight,
she looked washed-out and shabby, with uncombed hair, no makeup, and
shapeless, faded clothes. She kissed him sourly.
"What time will you be home?"
"Is this an inquisition?"
She laughed. "No, darling. Just a sign of impatience, that's all."
"I'll try to escape by ten."
"Okay. I'll do my sewing or something while I'm waiting."
"Poor Jan. Abandoned by her heartless lover," he laughed.
He drove quickly over to the Hymans' place. They lived in an attractive
two-story home in Kew Gardens Hills. Hyman was an insurance broker,
moderately well-to-do, who believed in living well. Hughes pulled his
car into their driveway, and by the time he had come all the way up
onto the porch Martha Hyman had opened the door and was smiling at him.
She was a tall, big-boned woman, slightly older than her husband, and
pretty in a rugged sort of way.
"Hello, Dave. Right on time, as always."
"As always, Martha. It was swell of you to take pity on a poor
temporary bachelor," Hughes said, as she led him inside. The house was
expensively furnished. Cocktail music was coming from an awesome stereo
rig in the livingroom. Dan Hyman came bustling out to greet him, and
Hughes nodded to the hi-fi set-up. "This looks like something new, eh?"
"Four months. That's only the radio playing--wait till I put on some
records! I've got one demonstration record that'll knock you from here
to Canarsie! But how about a drink, first? Scotch?"
"Good enough," Hughes said.
He would have preferred a martini, but Hyman was not a martini-type
host; at Hughes' request he would have mixed one, but it would have
been a bad one, and Hughes knew it was safer to ask for Scotch. Hyman
_understood_ Scotch. He bought only the best.
Childless, the Hymans had no budget worries. A maid was preparing
dinner. Hughes sat in the livingroom with both Hymans, surrounded by
stereophonic sound, sipping Scotch on the rocks, listening to gossip
about old mutual friends. Most of the gossip had a particularly
unsavory flavor tonight, Hughes thought. He was getting the definite
impression that all the talk was rigged to go in one direction.
"I suppose you've heard about Jean Stevenson?" Martha asked.
"Not since she moved to Hicksville. She have any more kids lately?"
"No, not lately. But she's Jean Mitchell now, for one thing."
"Really?" Hughes asked, surprised despite himself. The Stevensons had
once been part of their set, four or five years back. He remembered
Jean Stevenson as a small, pixyish brunette whose trim little body had
borne four children without damage to its elfin beauty. "She got a
divorce?"
"A particularly messy one," Dan Hyman said. "I know the lawyer
slightly, and he said it was a nasty case. Jean fell in love with some
fellow from a split-level up the block. He took to coming home early
and spiriting her off, that sort of stuff. Until Ray found out about
it. Then there was an explosion, and when it was all over Jean was
married to her new boyfriend. An architect, I understand."
Hughes blinked. "Somehow I can't imagine Jean and Ray Stevenson married
to anybody but each other. They seemed to go together so naturally."
"These things happen," Martha said. "Dan, do you think Dave wants
another drink?"
Hughes smiled weakly. "Yes, please. But tell me--what about the kids?"
"Ray got them. Jean's allowed to visit them one day a month, that's
all."
"But you can't take a mother away from four young children!" Hughes
protested.
"Evidently you can, if said mother is taken in adultery," Hyman said,
handing Hughes a newly filled glass. "That was why the trial was so
messy. But Ray was eventually able to prove that Jean had been screwing
this architect up and down the landscape for months, and he got the
kids. Jean'll just have to start a new family now."
Hughes shook his head. "How do you like that!"
Hyman's eyes gleamed. "Martha heard that the Woolstons are separated
too. No divorce, yet--they're just seeing how they can get along
without each other."
"You're kidding! Harry and Ella Woolston--why, that's incredible!"
But it was so. And the conversation continued in the same vein until
dinner was ready: the focal point of the discussion seemed to be the
marital peccadilloes of mutual friends. And, as a counterpoint, a
constant flow of questions about Ellen, about the kids, about Hughes'
plans for the future. The whole conversation seemed very, very
carefully constructed. Hughes played right along, surprised at each
revelation, tongue-clucking and confident that nothing like that could
ever happen to _him_.
Martha asked several times about Hughes' "cousin," too. How she liked
New York, when she planned to get married. Hughes negotiated all the
hazards of the conversation with a glibness and an ease that surprised
him. He wondered now how he had ever been inveigled into friendship
with these people. It was clear that they had seen through his pretense
and were toying with him, cat-fashion, to see how he would react. He
thought he reacted well.
Dinner was excellent. Afterward, Martha excused herself to phone some
friend of hers; she vanished upstairs, and Hyman took Hughes into the
livingroom again to demonstrate the wonders of his hi-fi rig.
But that was not all on Hyman's mind. A few minutes after he put the
record on, he began to look uncomfortable and anxious. And finally
he said, in a low, worried voice, "Dave, do you mind if I talk about
something personal with you?"
_Here it comes_, Hughes thought.
"Personal? What do you mean?" he asked.
Hyman began to fidget even more. He stared at the thick carpeting.
"Look, Dave, I may be a hell of a way off base on this, and if I am I
don't want you to get upset. What I want to say, I'm saying strictly
because I want to save you from yourself, not because I want to meddle.
I'm a little older than you, Dave, and I like you and Ellen a hell of a
lot, even if we haven't seen as much of each other lately as we should
have, and you've got two wonderful kids and I wouldn't want them to be
hurt--"
Hughes cut the long monologue off brusquely. "What the hell are you
getting at, Dan?"
Hyman looked up. His jaws firmed. "Don't think I'm a busybody, Dave.
But this 'cousin' of yours--well, I kind of doubt she's your cousin."
_My God_, Hughes thought, trying desperately to keep his composure. _I
was sure we had them fooled. Was it as obvious as all that?_
He laughed hollowly. "Christ, Dan, what kind of wild ideas are you
harboring, anyway? I suppose you think the kid is my mistress, that I'm
robbing the cradle while Ellen's back is turned--"
Hyman shook his head. "I'm not asking you to confirm it or deny it.
I'm just saying my personal opinion. You and Ellen are two swell
people. Regardless of any sudden passion you may feel--and this girl
is certainly a beauty--I just want you to take the long view. Think
of the kids, think of Ellen, Dave. There isn't one of us who doesn't
step out of line now and then. Heck, I've done it myself a couple of
times, though don't you go telling that to Martha. But this thing with
you is different. I'm sure of it. We both spotted a--well, kind of a
_glow_ about you two. While you spouted all that crap about her being
your cousin who went to Western Reserve and was pinned to a basketball
player. That's what your tongues were saying, but your faces and eyes
were saying that you two were in deep." Hyman paused. "Okay, now I've
shot my mouth off. Tell me I'm all wrong, tell me she really _is_ your
cousin, tell me nothing's wrong between you and Ellen."
"Did you invite me over here tonight just to give me a little speech on
the values of marital fidelity?"
"I invited you because I like you. Because Martha and I both like you."
"And because you want somebody else to gossip about," Hughes snapped.
"Under the guise of giving paternal advice, you want to get all the
gory details out of me, and then you can go whisper them all over the
borough. But--" He stopped, seeing the hurt expression on Hyman's face.
"You've got the wrong idea, Davey-boy," Hyman said sadly. "You're
_really_ wrong."
"Hell, I'm sorry. That was a lousy thing for me to say. I've been under
such a goddam strain--"
"Okay," Hyman said. "Have another drink. Let's sit back and listen to
the music. Forget everything that we were just talking about. Except
that in the hypothetical instance of infidelity we were just discussing
abstractly, I want to go on record as saying that my private opinion is
that the husband involved should attempt to extricate himself from the
situation as soon as possible, before he does permanent harm to some
innocent people. Now let's drop it."
Hughes smiled. "Okay. We'll drop it."
Music flowed up all around, and Hughes tried to relax. It was far
from easy. A short time later, Martha returned from upstairs, and
with her arrival the tension in the atmosphere seemed to vanish. The
evening became more agreeable. They talked of old times, of business
conditions, of the stock market, of the Hymans' forthcoming winter
cruise to the British West Indies. Time sped; at ten o'clock, when
Hughes decided it was time to leave, he realized he was actually
unwilling to break away. There was no doubt in his mind, now: these
people _knew_, and they were sympathetic. They didn't want him to go
the way Jean Stevenson and their other friends whose homes had been
split. They wanted him to pull out of his adventure while there was
still time.
They knew.
Mike knew.
Everyone would know, soon. It was impossible to hide the secret from
anyone.
And they all said the same thing: _Don't be a fool, Dave. Don't wreck a
wonderful home for a little extra tail. Give this girl the gate before
you smash everything._
It was sane, sound, sensible advice. It was the sort of advice he could
think up for himself, no friends needed. But it was not so easy to
follow. Intellectually, abstractly, he knew that the wise thing was to
get uninvolved, and pronto. But how? In just a couple of weeks, Janice
had embedded herself permanently in his self. How could he give up her
smile, her little gasp of culmination, her breasts, her lustrous hair,
her eager lips, her hunger to learn? She was part of him. He had never
parted easily with anything he cherished.
He revolved the thoughts in his mind as he drove home from Kew Gardens.
_Why am I so helpless?_
_Why can't I break this thing off?_
He knew why. Janice was a compulsion, a disease, an addiction. A
fever in his blood. No nonsense about this being a great romance. He
hadn't suddenly discovered the girl of his dreams, somewhat belatedly,
at thirty-four. Janice was a sweet kid with big knockers and hungry
loins. She had a lech for him, he had a lech for her, and for the past
few weeks they had been satisfying their mutual cravings, disguising
their open lust by inventing fancier words for it. Love, comradeship,
intellectual union. Nothing but mutual hot pants. And impossible to
turn off the heat.
He parked the car, rode upstairs, rang Janice's doorbell. It was almost
eleven o'clock. She opened the door a crack, then wider.
"You're late. You said you'd be back by ten."
"You're a shrew."
"I'm an old witch. And you have liquor on your breath. Come on in and
give me a kiss."
He hesitated, after crossing the threshold. She came up to him instead,
flattening her body against his, grinding it back and forth. He felt
the hard bone of her pelvis against his loins, and automatically his
hands went to her breasts under the floppy shapeless blouse. She wore
no bra, and the large, warm breasts flowed into his hands, filling
them, overflowing. Her tongue dipped into his mouth, searching.
His hands dropped, and he gently forced her away from him. He sat down.
"They know about us," he said heavily.
"What do you mean, they know?"
"Just what I said. Dan called me aside and made it perfectly clear that
we hadn't fooled them a bit with that talk about your being my cousin."
"Was he shocked?"
"No, just unhappy. He--he--Jan, he gave me some advice. The same advice
my brother-in-law gave me yesterday, Jan."
"Which was?"
He brought his head up until his eyes met hers. "To get out. To break
this all up. To kiss you on the cheek and say goodbye. They don't think
I ought to jeopardize the happiness of my kids and my wife by engaging
in a sordid little affair."
"That's very sound advice," Janice said quietly. "It's never wise to
break up a home with young children in it. How do you feel about our
sordid little affair?"
"_I_ didn't say it was sordid. They--implied it."
"Do you think it's sordid?"
"Of course not," he said.
"No, you love me. Isn't that so?" Her face was strangely serious, now.
There was no little-girl kittenishness in it at all. Without makeup, in
unglamorous clothes, she looked more mature, more solemn. "Tell me you
love me, Dave. And mean it."
He lowered his head. "I love you, Jan. But can't you see that I still
love Ellen too? And my kids."
"All right," she said. "If you get a divorce, five people are made
unhappy. Your wife, your two children, my husband, and yourself. If you
stick by Ellen, only two people are miserable: you and me. You suffer
either way. But the arithmetic argues that you ought to choose the path
that would cause the least general suffering. Let's call it off, Dave.
Right here and now. Tonight."
"I--I can't tell if you're joking or not!"
Tears flooded her eyes suddenly. With an effort, she controlled
herself, and laughed harshly. "Do you want to? Do you want to call it
off?"
"Of course not! But--"
"But what?"
"But Ellen--the kids--"
"You can't have everything!"
"I'm in a cleft stick, and no room to wriggle." He clenched his fists
impotently. "God, why did this ever happen to me?"
"Because you wanted it to," she said with incredible calm. "You were
looking for a lover. You found one. Only it turned out to be more of a
problem than it was worth, eh, Dave?"
Agony hooded his eyes. "I've got to make up my mind. One way or the
other. And I've got to make it up right now, before anything goes any
further."
"Yes. Make up your mind, Dave. Who gets hurt? You can't ride the fence
forever."
He looked at her steadily, and his mind peeled away her clothing,
and he saw her pink and warm and naked, her breasts quivering with
excitement, her loins yearning for him. He remembered how it felt to
have her beside him in bed, and how a lump came into his throat when
she cooked for him or asked him to explain something about books or
music, and he knew he loved her.
Ellen--Tony--Erika--
Losing the kids would be like losing his right and left arms. But he
would still have them, in a way; the court would let him visit them;
they were good kids, they would grow up well even without him, and,
perhaps, they would forgive him. Ellen, too, maybe she would forgive
him.
"Okay," he said hoarsely. "When I go up to the country this weekend,
I'll tell Ellen that I've met someone else, that I'm in love, that I
want a divorce. We'll work everything out calmly. You'll have to write
to your husband and explain things. It'll probably take six or eight
months to get everything worked out, and then--"
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
"I'm sure, Janice."
"Darling--"
"I love you," he whispered. She rose and came toward him, and he pulled
her blouse off and cupped her bare breasts, and began to unzip her
trousers. The swelling mound of her breasts was ripe and throbbing
in his hand. Now that the decision was made, he felt calm, assured,
confident.
A key turned in the door.
The door opened. Hughes turned, aghast.
"_Nick!_" Janice shrieked.
_CHAPTER TWELVE_
Keller stood in the doorway, a duffle-bag at his side, the key dangling
from the chain in his hand. He was looking in at the pair in front
of him. The expression on his face was a strange one--not really
surprise, but more a look that reflected the confirmation of long-held
expectation. He did not move.
Hughes stared at the other man with that weird clarity of perception
that sometimes comes at moments of utter panic. He took in the
close-cropped black hair, the heavy eyebrows, the dark eyes that now
looked so cold. Keller's uniform was creased, as though he had been
sleeping in it. He had not shaved in a day or two, and thick dark
stubble sprouted on his jutting chin. He was Hughes' own height, about
six feet two, but much brawnier. There was an electric moment of
silence in the room. Keller stepped in, closing the door quietly behind
him, seeming to control himself with a gigantic effort of will. He
dropped the duffle-bag.
"Hello, Janice," he said. His voice was deep and harsh. "And your name
is Hughes, isn't it? Hello, Mr. Hughes. Funny meeting you here."
Hughes' legs felt watery. He did not know what to say, did not know
what to do, did not know where to go. He looked uncertainly at Janice,
who had backed away from him the moment the door had opened. She was
terribly pale, now, so pale that her nipples stood out like angry red
scars against the snowy hills of her bosom. Self-consciously, she
folded her arms across her breasts to hide them; then, as if realizing
the futility of such a gesture, she snatched up her blouse, which
Hughes had let fall to the floor, and pulled it over her head.
The silence held.
Keller took another step toward the guilty pair. He was only a kid,
Hughes thought, but right now he seemed as terrifying as the Angel of
Death. Keller was young, but there was something about being cuckolded
that made a man older quickly.
Keller said quietly, "Where's your wife, Mr. Hughes? How come you
didn't invite her to this party?"
"You don't understand," Hughes began thinly. "Janice and I--"
"Nick, what are you doing here?" Janice asked at the same moment.
A muscle was throbbing in the side of Keller's cheek. Ignoring what
Hughes had begun to say, Keller turned to his wife and remarked,
"This is what you call a furlough, dear. It happens that my father is
very sick. He isn't expected to live. I got a wire from the hospital
yesterday. I arranged a leave yesterday. I tried to telephone you as
soon as I got things set. I called you at eight-thirty last night,
Janice. That's eleven-thirty New York time, but I didn't get any
answer. I kept calling until one in the morning. Four o'clock, your
time. Then I decided you weren't going to be home any more that
night. I decided I might as well not bother calling you. So I flew in
from California this morning. I arrived at the airport earlier this
evening."
"You could have called," she murmured.
"I didn't want to, now," he said. "I wanted to come in and surprise
you. But I guess we surprised each other, eh, Janice?" He glanced
venomously at Hughes. "I don't know much about you, Mr. Hughes. Are you
an artist, perhaps? Was my wife posing for you? She's got a wonderful
figure, hasn't she?"
Hughes said faintly, "We've got something we want to tell you--"
"Go ahead," Keller said.
"We're getting married!" Janice blurted, when Hughes hesitated. "Dave
is leaving his wife, and you're going to give me a divorce, and--"
"What?" Keller asked. He looked quickly at both of them. "How long have
you two been cooking this thing up? Tell me!"
"It--it happened this summer," Janice said. "Nick, don't make a fuss.
You didn't want me to live at the base with you, and this is what
happened! You didn't have to leave me here all by myself. You could
have taken me with you. You could have--"
"Shut up," Keller snapped. He looked at Hughes. "What do your wife and
kids have to say about this new deal, Hughes?"
"We haven't told them yet," he said. He was still trembling, but it
was impossible to tell from Keller's stony expression whether or
not there were going to be real complications. Hughes found himself
wishing desperately that he had never gotten involved in this. It was
ridiculous for him to be standing here between these two people--these
two _children_--in the role of a marauder, of an interloping adulterer.
He felt himself withering under Keller's icy glare.
"You haven't told them yet," Keller repeated. "And when were you going
to tell them? When were you going to tell _me_?"
Janice said in a more steady voice, "Dave was going to let his wife
know this weekend, when he went up to the country to visit her. And
then we would write to you and explain--"
"Up to the country!" Keller said. He smiled oddly. "So _that's_ it.
Now I catch the picture! Your wife's away for the summer, eh, Hughes?
You're all alone, and getting a little horny, and there's this dame
with the big bosom living all by herself next door to you, and you
figured you'd cut yourself a slice to make the summer a little more
interesting. Sure, that makes sense. But how'd this marriage business
get into the act?"
"We love each other," Janice said indignantly.
"That true?" Keller jeered. "You love her, Hughes?"
Hughes moved his lips uncertainly for a moment before words came.
"I--I--yes. Dammit, yes. I love her. I'm sorry that she had to be
another man's wife, and I'm sorry that it looks like we were skulking
around behind your back. We didn't expect you to come busting in. We
were going to let you know."
Keller's lips curled derisively. "You _love_ her," he said softly,
savoring it. "How old are you, anyway? Forty? Thirty-seven?"
"Thirty-four," Hughes said.
"Twelve years older. All you wanted was a nice young juicy piece of
tail. And my wife happened to be the handiest. How'd she ever sell you
on the marrying bit, though? That doesn't fit in."
"I told you," Hughes said wearily. "I love her. I'm planning to divorce
my wife and marry her. And if _you_ had loved her, you'd have taken her
with you to California instead of leaving her here to go out of her
mind with loneliness--"
Keller scowled. "You know why I didn't take her to California with
me? Go on, laugh at this, because it's funny. It's a scream. I didn't
take her because I was so goddam jealous. That's right, jealous! I was
afraid to bring her out there and have her live on the base, because
I know what happens to army wives. They go out of their minds with
boredom, that's what, and there are always plenty of willing bachelors
around the place. Temptation comes easily in a set-up like that. I have
to be away from the base two, three, four days, a week, sometimes. So I
decided it was safer to leave her here, in our old apartment, in this
nice stuffy smug middle-class Queens house, figuring that everybody was
so stuffy here that she'd be safe, that I wouldn't have to worry, that
at least there wouldn't be a bunch of tail-happy enlisted men ogling
her and whistling at her and following her and maybe raping her or
seducing her. And then you come along! Mr. Dave Hughes with your nice
little wife and your nice little kids, and I walk into my own home at
eleven o'clock at night and there you are and my wife half naked and
your hand all over her tits--"
He stopped. Muscles were quivering in both of his cheeks now. He looked
about to explode.
Hughes regarded him anxiously. _He could kill me_, Hughes thought. _He
could murder me and there wouldn't be a jury in the world that would
convict him for it. But maybe he'll be reasonable. Maybe there'll be
some way of getting this hellish mess untangled._
There was no turning back now. There was no way of smiling politely
and saying, So sorry, I really didn't mean to sleep with your wife,
Mr. Keller, and now that you mention it I have to admit it was rather
an impolite thing to do. So let's be civilized about it and I'll bow
out gracefully and stay married to my own wife, and you can have your
Janice back, only slightly used.
No, he couldn't say that.
He was out on a limb. There was no direction to go but further out.
He said, "I don't really know how to put this, Nick--Mr. Keller.
Naturally it looks lousy as all hell, you walking in and finding us
here. Well, I can't really explain--it's crazy, that's all--but I
simply can't live without Janice now. If you were able to let her
stay behind for so many months, it means you _can_ live without her,
whatever your reason. So I'm asking you, as one man to another, to step
aside peacefully. Janice loves me. I want to marry her. If you--"
"You bastard," Keller said suddenly. "Standing here in my own apartment
and trying to tell me why I should let you go on laying my wife!"
"I love him!" Janice burst out. "I want to spend the rest of my life
with him!"
"You're still my wife!" Keller shouted.
"Not for long," Janice snapped. "Whatever we had is finished, Nick.
Don't make things any harder than they have to be. I don't have a
shred of love for you any more, not a shred. I'm all Dave's. And--"
"You lying whore!" Keller cried. "You round-heels slut! Shut your
mouth, you--"
And then it happened, what Hughes had been dreading for the past
fifteen minutes. Keller reached his boiling point, and all control
snapped. He reached out and grabbed Janice, drawing her to him so
roughly that the buttons of her blouse popped. The blouse front hung
open, exposing her naked breasts. Keller's big, hairy hand went back
and forth, _flick-flack_ slapping her tender breasts, and she screamed
and recoiled as the savage blows ripped across her delicate nipples,
and then he hit her in the face, cursing her bitterly, and threw her
across the room. She landed against the couch. She sat there, dazed,
her blouse open, holding her hands to her pain-smitten breasts. A
driblet of blood smeared her chin; her lip was split and continuing to
bleed.
Hughes felt himself moving forward. He had no choice, no choice at all,
now. Keller had declared war, and the only thing Hughes could do as a
human being and as a man was to hop into the breach.
It had been more years than Hughes could remember since he had gone
toward another person with the intention of doing violence. He was
out of shape and slow, and Keller was a trained soldier at the height
of his physical strength. Yet Hughes knew he _had_ to attack. The
younger man's brutality called for violence in kind, not for sweet
reasonability and honeyed words.
He lashed out at Keller with what he hoped would be a telling blow. But
Keller spun, and Hughes' fist grazed the other man's shoulder. A bolt
of pain shot up through Hughes' knuckles to his elbow.
"Don't!" Janice screamed. "Don't fight him, Dave! He'll murder you!"
Hughes shook his head grimly and tried to aim a second punch. He kept
thinking that Keller was like a rock, that no matter where the punch
landed it would do more damage to his own fist than to his opponent's
body. But the punch never landed. Keller's fist came cascading into the
pit of Hughes' stomach, and the older man staggered back, gasping for
breath, nearly tripping over the low table. Keller came after him.
"Leave him alone!" Janice shrieked. "Nick, don't do anything to him!"
Hughes made feeble defensive motions. Then he saw Keller's fist coming
at him like Thor's hammer, and he tried to duck, but it was impossible.
The fist travelled on a short arc and collided with Hughes' left
cheekbone. The impact grated Hughes' jaws together, and he felt the
fierce pain of a bitten tongue, and his brain seemed to rock within his
skull. He waved his fist at Keller, who knocked the weak blow aside and
swung again, hitting him in the mouth this time. He tasted blood, and
started to sag, feeling foci of pain simultaneously in his mouth and
under his eye and in his stomach.
Above him, Keller laughed triumphantly and turned away, back to Janice.
Dimly, through a haze, Hughes heard Janice crying out. He forced his
eyes to focus and saw an expanse of pinkness, and realized that Keller
had somehow stripped off the rest of Janice's clothes, and had taken
his belt out of his pants and was whipping her. Hughes' legs would
not give him purchase as he struggled to rise. He saw Janice spinning
and leaping, trying to escape the insane blows of the whip. The belt
landed on the soft mounds of her buttocks, leaving an angry welt on the
quivering flesh; it slammed across the pale white hills of her breasts,
imprinting a red line. The belt licked across her belly, her thighs.
"You'll kill her," Hughes muttered, through pain-swollen lips. He rose
totteringly to his feet. Janice lay curled in a huddled ball, and
Keller stood above her, not whipping her any more, simply looking down.
Hughes hefted a lamp. If he could only throw it with some accuracy, put
the madman out of commission before his rage became really murderous--
"Drop it!" Keller yelled. The belt whicked toward him, cracking
numbingly against his wrist, and the lamp fell of its own accord.
Keller came toward him again. He seemed to be twenty feet tall. Hughes
stood uncertainly, his mind shrouded by pain, and he saw the blur of
motion and then Keller hit him in the left side, below the ribs, and
almost at the same instant hit him in the mouth again. He dropped to
his knees, looking down dumbly at the floor and at the oddly bright
drops of blood dripping from his face. He heard a buzzing in his ears.
A big hand scooped him up. Keller, dragging him to his feet, hitting
him again--across the chin, and Hughes heard the sharp snap of his neck
muscles, and he sagged yet again and dropped floor-ward. The pain
stopped mattering now, although he was aware of a fist or perhaps a
boot connecting with his body, and far away he heard the tinny sound
of a woman's screams, and he clawed wildly at the air, trying to pick
himself up off the floor, but no part of his body would obey.
"Don't--hit--me--" he murmured, or tried to. A dizzying wall of
greenish-black color was whirling round his head. He closed his eyes
tight, and let himself slip down into the depths of the whirlpool.
He had no idea how long he was unconscious. He was aware, suddenly, of
a cold voice saying, "All right, Hughes, wake up, now. Give me that
glass of water, Janice."
Water cold as fire splattered in his face. He opened a puffy eye.
Keller stood above him, smiling unpleasantly, holding an empty
waterglass in his hand. Behind him was Janice, her nakedness now
cloaked by a robe. She was pale, her eyes tear-reddened, her face bleak
and terrified.
"Can you stand up?" Keller asked.
"I--think so." Hughes tried, and made it on the third try. His face
felt swollen. He seemed to have three lower lips. There was still a
buzzing in his ears. He had no fight left in him at all, now. Not a
bit. "How--how long was I out?" he asked.
"Fifteen minutes, maybe."
"You--you were whipping her--I had to stop you--"
"You're mixed up, dad. I didn't start whipping her until after I
knocked you down the first time. Suppose you get out of here, now."
"Janice--you'll hurt Janice--"
"Janice and I had a little talk while you were asleep, dad. She and I
decided that she was going to stay married to me, at least for the time
being. Furthermore, she's going to come back to California with me for
the rest of my tour of duty. She isn't marrying you."
Hughes looked at her. She nodded, tight-lipped, frightened. "I'm going
with him, Dave."
"But--"
"I _have_ to," she said softly.
He remembered all that Janice had told him about her husband--how
fiercely possessive he was, how unable he would be to take the thought
of losing her. Hughes did not want to know what sort of threats Keller
had used on her. All he knew was that it was over, now, and he was
lucky to be alive.
"Get out of here," Keller said. "And keep out of my way while I'm here.
The next time you get ideas about my wife, I'll kill you."
Hughes looked down at his feet. "There--won't be any next time."
"Okay. Just so you know."
Keller held the door open. Hughes shambled out into the hall, not
looking back at Janice. He heard the door slam behind him. He stood in
front of his door for a moment before he could collect his wits enough
to take his key out of his pocket.
He went in.
He sank down on the livingroom couch and began to sob. Dry sobs, that
racked through his entire body and filled it with pain. Everything
was done with, now. The ogre of a husband had come home, he had
trounced his cuckolder, he had whipped his wife back into line. Hughes
shuddered. He felt completely demolished. Crushed. He had babbled to
Keller about his love for Keller's wife, and he had had his brains
beaten in as a lesson. With odd clarity, he saw himself now as a
pitiful and pathetic character, who had stepped out of line and who
had been rudely put in his place. The beating had been deserved. If
_he_ had been a soldier, and he had come home suddenly to find an older
man pawing up Ellen, he might easily have done murder. All things
considered, he thought, he had come off quite lightly at Keller's
hands. He might not even be scarred--on the outside. But the inner scar
would remain, the scar of utter, complete, humiliating defeat.
At any rate, it was ended. Whatever Janice's destiny held in store for
her, she could never go back to him, not after witnessing his complete
demolition at her husband's hands. He could no longer feel like a man,
with Janice. Not after that.
He rose, sighing from the pain, and hobbled over to the mirror. A
swollen, purplish, unrecognizable face looked blankly back at him.
_Christ_, he thought. _He really made a mess of me._
The pain closed in again. Hughes' head began to pound. He made his
way back to the couch, swayed, and tumbled down onto it, too dizzy to
stand.
_CHAPTER THIRTEEN_
For a long while he sat there, feeling the steady waves of pain beating
over him. Every time he drew a breath, it was hell. Even with his eyes
closed, mottled spheres of light danced in front of his face. When he
swallowed saliva, his jaws protested. He was nauseated by the blood he
had already swallowed. His swollen tongue felt like an enormous sponge
someone had crammed into his mouth.
Pain everywhere.
Physical pain--and the deeper pain of humiliation, and disgrace.
Hughes knew he had to get a doctor. Not have a doctor come to him, but
go to a doctor. There would be X-Rays to take; maybe he had broken
ribs, a concussion, fractured jaw--anything. He had to go to a doctor.
And not Dr. Aaronson, the family doctor, either. This would have to be
a doctor who did not know him at all.
And he would have to get out of the house before dawn. He could not
risk having the neighbors see him like this. He could not risk meeting
Janice in the morning--or her husband.
He looked at his watch. Miraculously, it had come through the fracas
unbroken. It told him that the time was three-twenty A.M. He had until
dawn to get out of the building.
Lurching to his feet, he staggered over to the telephone and plopped
down weakly in the chair near it. With shaky fingers he began to dial
Mike Niles' number. Niles was his only hope, the only man likely to
help him at this hour.
The phone began to ring at the other end. Once ... twice ... a third
time. A fourth. Hughes started to panic. Suppose Niles had picked this
night to carouse with one of his mistresses? Suppose he was in bed with
somebody right now, and did not care to answer the phone? Six rings. A
seventh.
"Hello?" Niles said, sounding sleepy and irritated.
"Mike ... me, Dave...."
"What's that? Speak up. I can't hear you!"
"Dave ... help me, Mike," Hughes mumbled, unable to raise his voice.
"Dave? My God, man, what's the matter? Where are you? What happened?"
"I'm ... home," Hughes said feebly. "I was in a fight. Come over, Mike.
Fast."
"Jesus Christ, you aren't cut or shot or anything?"
"Just beaten up. Come over here fast. You've got to take me to a
doctor."
"I'm on my way," Niles said. "Just hold everything. I'm on my way."
Hughes tried to smile gratefully, but the effort cost him a few moments
of agony. He replaced the receiver, lurched over to the front door,
unlocked it, left it ajar, and went back to the couch to wait for his
brother-in-law's arrival.
It was nearly half an hour before Niles arrived. He pushed the door
open, came in, switched on the light. Hughes lifted his face.
"_Christ_," Niles whispered incredulously. "What the hell did you fall
off?"
"Does it look bad?"
"It looks like you had an argument with a concrete mixer. What did it?"
Hughes pointed toward the door. "Her husband came home. He caught us.
Hurts to talk. Lips all banged up. He whipped her with belt--beat me
up. Big bruiser of a kid. Got to see a doctor. Not--my--doctor."
Niles was kneeling, staring at Hughes' battered face. "Anything broken?"
"I don't know. Don't think so."
"You're going to have a shiner, and your lip is split, and--Jesus, man,
he really gave it to you!"
"You don't need to tell me that. Get me out of here, Mike. Before the
neighbors see me. Take me to your place now."
"Can you walk?"
"Give me a hand."
Niles helped him up. "Got your keys?"
"On the table there."
"Okay. Let's go."
With Niles' assistance, he hobbled out into the hallway. He waited,
listening, while Niles locked the apartment door. No sounds came from
the Keller apartment. Coldly Hughes wondered if Keller had killed her.
Probably not; the one to kill was the seducer, not the victim. And
Keller had spared him.
Niles tucked the key into Hughes' right-hand pocket and helped him
toward the elevator. They rode downstairs silently. It was just before
four in the morning, and darkness still prevailed. The night was cool,
and fog shrouded the sky, blotting out the stars.
"Skip the safety belt," Hughes murmured, as Niles put him in the car.
"I hurt down there too."
"Okay." The car started. "Did he hit you with anything but his fists?"
"No."
"What about the girl?"
"His belt, I told you. He was like a wild man."
"You're lucky he didn't kill you. I thought he was supposed to be in
California."
"Came home, surprise," Hughes wheezed painfully. "His father sick, or
something. Walked right in."
"While you were doing it?"
"We were just hugging," Hughes said. "But she had her blouse and bra
off. We told him ... told him we were getting married ... he blew his
stack."
Niles jerked his head around in astonishment. "Getting _married_? After
what I told you to do? Dave, you must be out of your head. What about
Ellen and the kids? What about--"
"Doesn't matter now," Hughes said somberly. "He's taking her back to
California with him. It's all off."
"Thanks be for that!"
"It isn't--the way I wanted it--"
"I suppose you wanted to get beaten up, too," Niles said acidly. "Oh,
well. If you haven't learned a lesson this time, you never will."
Hughes said nothing. Talking was painful. He closed his eyes and tried
to relax as the big car purred along.
Some time later, he was aware that the ride had ended, that Niles was
carrying him out of the car and into the house. He allowed himself to
be deposited in a heap on the couch. Niles stood above him, surveying
him.
"Let me get that shirt off you," Niles said. "All bloody. I'll give you
one of mine when we go to the doctor."
Ever so gently, Niles unbuttoned Hughes' shirt and slipped it off. The
motion brought fresh pain. Niles vanished for a moment, returning with
a wad of cotton and a small bowl.
"Hold still," Niles ordered. "I'll get some of the dried blood off you,
so you don't look like such a fright."
Each touch of the wet cotton was like the brand of a white-hot iron.
Niles swabbed carefully, stepping back after a few moments to admire
his handiwork.
"There," he said. "That's a lot better. But you're going to be a mess
for a couple of weeks, at least. You'll have a lot of explaining to
do on Friday, that's for damned sure. But don't worry. We'll dream up
something you can tell Ellen. How about a drink, now, to knock out some
of the pain?"
Hughes shook his head. "I couldn't hold it."
"Pill, then? I've got the damnedest assortment of sleepy-sleepy pills.
Let me fix you something. You'll feel a lot better if you can get some
sleep."
Hughes did not protest, except to say, "Make it a small one. I'm
likely to choke on anything big."
"One small pill coming up."
Niles scurried away, returning with a pill and a glass of water. Hughes
swallowed it quickly. He expected an immediate cessation of pain, and,
of course, was disappointed--but within a few moments he began to grow
hazy, to feel a soft cottony blankness settling over this pain-wracked
mind. "I'm going under," he said.
"Fine. Come inside and lie down."
Hughes let himself be helped into the bedroom. Niles loosened his
trousers and took off his shoes. Hughes was at the edge of darkness now.
He managed to mutter, "In the morning--call my office for me. Tell
them--tell them I had an accident, I won't be in tomorrow and maybe not
for the rest of the week--the number is--"
"I know the number, stupid. Get yourself some sleep, and let me take
care of details."
Hughes tried to smile. It was so good, he thought, to have someone to
rely on. Someone strong, someone solid, like Mike ... sleep took him.
When he woke, there was a roaring in his ears, his eyelids felt pasted
together, his tongue seemed to be swollen to ten times its usual bulk.
He was stiff in every muscle. He did not try to sit up. His left eye
would not open. Vaguely, through the right one, he perceived Niles
standing near the bed.
"How do you feel?" Niles asked.
"Lousy. What's the matter with my eye?"
"In a word, it's a mess. Remember that photo of Carmen Basilio after he
fought Ray Robinson? Well, you look worse."
"What time is it?"
"Half past eleven. A.M., in case you're doubtful about that. I phoned
your office at nine, and you've got an appointment with my doctor at
half past twelve. Think you can stand some breakfast?"
"I doubt it."
"Okay, then. Just lie still and let yourself heal. I've got a little
work to do before we visit the medic."
Niles disappeared. Hughes lay back, feeling the sharp pain in his side
at every breath, feeling the million pains through his body. From
another room came the steady click of Niles' electric typewriter.
The love affair had certainly come to a thumping close, Hughes thought
ruefully. They had had their few weeks of playing the beast with two
backs, and then the curtain had descended. A core of sadness clasped
his heart. Perhaps he would never see Janice again. The weeks of love
and of Mozart, of martinis, Chablis, Kafka, breasts--they would become
fast-fading memories. Yet for a couple of weeks he had _lived_.
He tried to smile. But smiling was painful.
Around noon, the typewriter stopped its unbroken chatter, and Niles
returned.
"I've got the script under control," he said. "Let's get over to the
doctor's."
"Give me a hand."
Hughes let himself be helped up. Niles gave him a fresh shirt, put it
on him, buttoned it, tied his shoe-laces for him. Hughes felt absurdly
helpless. This was what it was like to be ninety years old, he thought,
as he made his way on Niles' arm out to the car in front.
The doctor's office was a twenty-minute drive eastward, into Nassau
County. There was no one in the waiting-room. Hughes realized that
Niles used very expensive doctors indeed. This one's name was Heinsohn,
George Heinsohn, and he and Niles were on first-name terms.
"This is my brother-in-law, George. Dave Hughes."
"He really _was_ in a fight, eh?"
"A drunken brawl," Niles said. "That is, the _other_ fellow was drunk.
Poor Dave was just trying to be a good Samaritan, and you see where
it got him. But we want to keep it out of the papers, because his
employers are very stuffy, and they'd never believe that Dave really
was only trying to break up a fight between two other people--"
"Of course," Heinsohn said. He was a sleek, prosperous-looking man of
about forty. "Suppose we lie down over here, Mr. Hughes? I'd like to
get some X-rays, and then we'll have a look at that eye of yours--"
For half an hour Hughes lay quiescently, allowing himself to be
X-rayed, prodded, examined, nodded over. Niles remained in the far
corner of the office, saying nothing. Heinsohn bustled around, humming
slightly, occasionally murmuring something unintelligible.
An assistant came and went, taking the undeveloped X-Ray plates and
returning them some time later. She was a girl of about twenty-six, and
she eyed Hughes' battered nakedness with serene disinterest.
At length Heinsohn said, having studied the X-Ray plates and examined
Hughes' puffed eye and swollen mouth, "You're a very lucky man,
Mr. Hughes. It looks a lot worse than it really is. Not that you're
completely undamaged, of course. There's a cracked rib on the left
side, and we'll have to tape you. And you'll need a couple of stitches
in the corner of your mouth, over here. But that eye of yours is all
right, even though it looks like the wrath of God just now, and the
plates don't show any skull fractures, bone breaks, or stuff like that.
No broken nose. No internal injuries. Just miscellaneous bruises, a
couple of minor cuts, some swellings and abrasions. You probably won't
even have any visible souvenirs of the fracas, once all the external
damage has healed."
"That's a relief."
"Yes, I suppose it is," Heinsohn said cheerily. "Well, shall we get on
with the repairs?"
They got on with them. Heinsohn called for his assistant, and together
they wound strips of wide tape around Hughes' side, over the cracked
rib. Then the girl administered a local anesthetic and Heinsohn took
two stitches in the corner of Hughes' mouth, where the swinging
knuckles had ripped open flesh. The girl tidied him up some, dabbing
away whatever caked blood Niles had been unable to remove before.
When it was done, Heinsohn said, "Stay off solid food for a couple of
days. Plenty of liquids, soup, maybe some toast. Your stomach's going
to be pretty queasy for a while, and if you load yourself up and vomit,
you won't be doing those stitches or that rib any good. Clear?"
Hughes nodded. "What about the eye?"
"I'll give you an eye-patch, if you want. It'll make you look a
little like Captain Kidd, but at least people won't run screaming
away from you when they see that horrendous shiner. You'll just have
to be patient and wait for the bruises to go away." He scribbled a
prescription. "Get yourself a bottle of these. They'll make life
livable until the aches and pains go away."
Hughes dressed and mumbled something about the bill, but both Heinsohn
and Niles immediately cut him off. The bill would go to Niles, they
told him, and Niles would not hear of Hughes' paying it. "After all,
I took you to my doctor, and he's an expensive man. Why should you be
stuck for the outlay?"
Hughes was too tired to put up an argument; besides, he suspected that
Heinsohn's bill would be of astronomical magnitude, and it was just as
well to let Niles absorb it. He went outside with Niles, and got into
the car.
"Good man, isn't he?" Niles asked.
"Very good," Hughes agreed.
"You notice that assistant? Or aren't you in any shape for noticing
pretty women?"
Hughes shrugged painfully. "I saw her. What about her. What about her?"
"She's Heinsohn's wife. Situation a little like yours. Man married
ten years, has a couple of kids, suddenly meets a much younger girl.
He's forty-two, she's twenty-five. Only she wasn't married, which
made things simpler. He married her last year. Almost looks like his
daughter."
Hughes said nothing. _Janice_, he thought. _Janice!_
Niles drove him back to his apartment, and stayed there with him for a
while. Together, they concocted a story to tell Ellen. Hughes had been
lonely Tuesday night, and after coming home from the Hymans he had
gone out, for a midnight stroll. While walking, he had come upon two
teenagers beating up a third boy. He had tried to interfere, whereupon
the two attackers had turned on him and knocked him down, before
fleeing.
It was believable enough, both that Hughes should have gone for a
stroll and that he should have encountered teenage violence. What
wasn't terribly believable was that he would have interfered, but Ellen
could always assume that he had been momentarily and ill-advisedly
inspired with a burst of Boy Scout heroism. As for the rest of the
story, they decided that he had made his way to a nearby outdoor
phonebooth and had called Niles, who had fetched him, taken him home,
and taken him to his own doctor the next day. Neat, convincing,
satisfying. Ellen need never know that Hughes had actually been
battered by the husband of the woman he had seduced.
After Niles had gone, pleading an urgent deadline, Hughes removed the
eye-patch and stared at his face in the mirror. He needed a shave, and
his face looked puffy, bloated, almost brutish. The closed eye looked
grotesquely ugly. His tongue was still sore and swollen. It was going
to be a couple of days before he stopped looking and feeling like a
wreck.
He was fiercely curious about Janice, but he did not dare go across the
hall, did not even dare open his door. He sat quietly, doing nothing,
reading nothing, trying to think nothing. Around five-thirty, he rose
and made himself some soup, and sipped it delicately, making sure each
spoonful had settled in his stomach before he ventured to down the next
one.
At six o'clock the telephone rang.
It was probably Niles, he thought, calling up to check on his healing
progress. He was stunned, then, to pick up the phone, mutter a "Hello,"
and hear Janice's voice say, "I can only talk for a second, Dave."
"Where are you?"
"At the airport," she said. "Nick just went into the washroom, so I
could call you. How do you feel after--after what he did to you?"
"I'll live. I don't look pretty right now, that's all. What's this
airport business?"
"Oh," she said in a flat voice. "Nick's father died last night. They
had the funeral today, and we packed, and we moved out. I'm leaving
for California in half an hour, Dave. And--and I just wanted to
say--goodbye, Dave."
"Goodbye? But--"
"It has to be!" she whispered. "Oh, Dave, we made a mess of things, but
at least the matter's been taken out of our hands now. Nick won't hear
of a divorce. He apologized for beating me last night--I'm so sore I
can't sit down--but he wants me so desperately much. And he won't give
me a choice. So I'll have to go with him. And it's better this way, for
you, for Ellen--"
"But do you still love me?" Hughes asked feverishly.
"Love you?" she repeated. "I--I don't know, Dave. But it doesn't
matter now. We'll never see each other again. We mustn't think of
each other, even." She gasped. "Oh--oh. Nick's coming. Goodbye, Dave.
Goodbye--darling--"
"Goodbye, Janice," he said to the dead phone.
_Darling._
He let the receiver drop back into its cradle. He tried to laugh.
So that was the way it ended, he thought. An overnight departure, a
hurried phone call, one last word of endearment to last him for the
rest of his life. And the chapter called _Janice_ was ended, now. Like
a destroying hurricane, Nick Keller had swooped past and had ripped her
forever out of his life, leaving numbness behind.
_It's better this way_, she had said. Maybe it was, he thought. Maybe.
He conjured up the image of her body as it looked naked, ready for
love, and his heart writhed with longing and despair. It was no good,
mourning for her now, he thought. She had never legitimately been his,
and now she was gone from him forever.
_Help me to forget her_, he prayed.
_Help me to forget._
_CHAPTER FOURTEEN_
By Thursday morning, the swelling had gone down a good deal. The eye
was still purplish, but he could open the lids now, and his lips and
tongue were nearly back to normal. He was able to shave, and that
helped restore some aspect of his ordinary appearance. He still was no
beauty, though, and he ached in every limb from Keller's punches. He
phoned the office that morning and told the girl that he would not be
in for a second consecutive day, and that in all probability he would
be out on Friday as well.
Half an hour later, there was a call from Mike Niles, who wanted to
know how the invalid was coming along. Hughes told him that he was on
the way to recovery, and added that Janice had phoned him from the
airport the night before. "I guess she's in California by this time,"
he said.
"You don't know how lucky you are," Niles told him. "You got out of
that nasty business at the cost of a beating, nothing more. No divorce,
no scandals. You didn't even get killed by the offended husband, which
might have very easily happened. Listen, Dave, next time you get an
itch to roam, pick up some chippie, lay her, forget her. Don't get this
deep again."
"I'm not out of it yet, Mike."
"What do you mean? The girl's in California, isn't she? It's all over."
"Yes, _that_ part of it's over. But now I have to go back to Ellen."
"So? You've got an airtight story to cover the bruises."
"I don't mean that. I've got to live with myself, now, if I go back to
her--after having loved someone else."
"You still worried about being in love?"
"I loved that girl," Hughes said quietly. "I don't doubt that for a
minute. And now I have to go see my wife as if nothing has happened,
as though there isn't any change in our relationship. It's hard to
explain, Mike."
"It sure is. And I probably wouldn't understand it anyway. I'm not the
type for emotional subtleties. You screwed some girl, it's over, now
everything returns to normal. What do you have to make a production out
of it for, Dave?"
"Never mind," Hughes said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Right. You going to work?"
"No. Stop by and pick me up whenever you want to drive up there."
A moment after Hughes hung up, the phone rang again. This time it was
his immediate superior, Mr. Gardner, who--in the form of a get-well
call--wanted to urge Hughes to get the hell back to work.
"Just what is it that happened to you?" Gardner asked.
"A couple of teenage kids jumped me," Hughes said. "I don't think it
got into the papers. I was walking, and I tried to break up a fight,
and they banged me around. I got a cracked rib and a shiner, and I'm
pretty ugly right now."
"You'll need to rest a few days, I suppose?"
"I ought to be okay by Monday," Hughes said. "Maybe not perfectly
presentable, but I'll come in."
"I hope so, Dave. Work's piling up, you know. This is the first time
you've missed a payday since you came to us, and we miss you sorely."
"I'm sorry," Hughes said. "I'll be in on Monday."
He smiled sourly as he hung up. The explanation of his injuries rolled
glibly enough off his tongue, he thought. It was getting to the point
where he almost believed it himself. He could see the kids, in their
black leather jackets, with their mean, ratty faces, their cold, dully
unintelligent eyes full of hatred, advancing toward him, their fists
lashing out, and then their laughter as he went toppling into the
gutter--
Only it hadn't been that way. It had been an outraged husband,
thrashing him in the time-honored way.
Hughes thought about the weekend, the coming trip to the mountains to
see Ellen. It was too easy, letting the matter drop like this. Keller
had come along and ended the affair, and now he could tell his little
lie and slip back into his old life, with the memories of Janice's
ruby-tipped breasts and white thighs to keep warm for the rest of his
days. But that was wrong, he thought. It was cowardly, to slide along
with the situation as it had been directed for him. True, Keller's
violence had put an end to what seemed like an insoluble conflict. He
no longer had to worry about choosing between Janice and Ellen.
Now he had a different choice.
He could choose between complacent return to the _status quo ante_,
and possible destruction of his marriage.
He began to perspire.
_It could all be so simple_, he thought. _If I were somebody like
Mike Niles, I could just shrug everything off and go back to the way
things were before I stepped out. But I'm not Mike Niles. I'm me.
Do-it-the-hard-way Hughes. And so I have to make things complicated for
myself all the time._
He looked at his watch. It was almost eleven o'clock. Up in the
country, Ellen and the kids were probably splashing around in a
pre-lunch swim. A lump formed in Hughes' throat as he thought of how
close he had come to losing the kids, to losing Ellen as well.
He wanted to be with them.
He wanted to be with them right now.
He had to talk to Ellen.
Hands trembling, Hughes reached for the phone and dialed Mike Niles'
number. Niles picked up on the fourth ring, sounding annoyed at being
disturbed in the middle of his work.
"Yes?"
"Mike, this is Dave."
"Something the matter?"
"I just wanted to tell you--I won't be going up to the mountains with
you tomorrow. I've decided to go right now, today."
"How come?"
"I'm just going crazy, pacing around here. As long as I'm not going to
work, I might as well go up there and get some fresh air and sunshine a
day early."
"Maybe it isn't so smart, Dave. Another day and you won't look so
banged up. You'll give everybody a nasty shock if you walk in there
looking the way you probably look this morning--"
"I'm going, Mike. Right now."
Niles was silent a moment. "Okay, Dave," he said finally. "Do whatever
you want. Tell Beth I'll be there at around six o'clock tomorrow, will
you?"
"Will do," Hughes said, and hung up.
He went into the bedroom, took his little suitcase from the closet, and
packed quickly. He discarded the garish eye-patch and donned a pair of
sunglasses instead; they hid his eye pretty well, except for the area
of discoloration near his cheekbone. They weren't as comfortable over
the bruised area as the patch was, but he decided he looked too ghastly
in the patch--Ellen's first thought would certainly be that he had lost
the eye.
He prepared a couple of cream-cheese-and-jelly sandwiches and put them
into a paper bag, for lunch later on. That was about the strongest food
he could digest, just now. He locked up the apartment, pausing in the
hallway for just a moment and looking at Janice's door. The nameplate,
_Nicholas Keller_, had been removed from the little bracket under the
doorbell. There was a coppery taste of despair in his throat. They were
really gone, then. It hadn't been a dream of some sort.
Gingerly, he got behind the wheel of his car. The mere effort of
depressing the clutch made his injured side ache, but he grimly vowed
not to give up the idea of making the trip today. He had to talk to
Ellen. And he did not want Mike Niles within a hundred miles of him
while he talked.
It was a beautiful day, and at that hour the roads were all but empty.
Hughes cruised serenely along, growing relaxed behind the wheel as
tension and pain ebbed away. The sky was fantastically blue, with
little puffs of fleece near the horizon. The sun, golden-bright,
filtered through the frame of the car and warmed his aching body. He
stopped after an hour and a half, pulling the car off onto the shoulder
to eat one of his sandwiches. Then he started up again. By two o'clock,
he was at the road that led down to the lake, and to the bungalow
colony.
The colony was quiet, only the sounds of splashing coming from the lake
breaking the afternoon silence. Hughes checked himself in the car's
mirror. With the sunglasses on, he didn't look too dreadful. His lips
were a bit puffy, but not to any astonishingly disfiguring degree.
Shock on first sight was what he wanted to avoid.
He stepped out of the car. Almost instantly, Larry Niles came running
up out of nowhere, a tanned, skinny sprite wearing saggy, skimpy trunks.
"Uncle Dave's here! Uncle Dave's here!" he shrilled.
A moment later, Beth came around from the front of the house. She
stopped, her mouth forming a little O of surprise. She was wearing
a bikini that barely covered the critical areas, and she seemed
flabbergasted at the sight of him.
"Dave! What on Earth--of all people--"
"Whoa, sis! Calm down!"
"Ellen was trying to reach you all day, practically. And you look like
you've been in a fight, and you're here a day early, and where's Mike,
and Ellen's in town at the doctor with Tony, and--"
Hughes took his sister by the arm. "Hold it! Slow, girl! One thing at a
time. Why is Ellen at the doctor with Tony?"
Beth tried to calm herself. "He--he got bitten by a snake."
"_What?_"
"It was only a silly little garter snake," Beth said. "I saw the whole
thing. Tony was trying to catch it, and it turned around and nipped his
finger. But Ellen almost had a fit. She was convinced it was a rattler,
and she insisted on taking Tony into town for injections, and she tried
to phone you in the city to tell you about it. Only your office said
you were home, sick. That nearly sent Ellen frantic, and she tried to
call you at home, but there wasn't any answer, and she couldn't wait
around any longer so she took Tony to town. I called Mike's about an
hour ago, but he's never home on Thursday afternoons anyway. And then
all of a sudden you show up. Why does your face look like that?"
"I got roughed up by a couple of teenagers," Hughes said. "But it was
my own damn fault for meddling where I didn't belong."
"Oh, Dave, how horrible--"
"I'll live. Are you sure it was a garter snake?"
"Positive. You know how much of a bug I used to be on nature. It was a
little bit of a snake, maybe eight or nine inches long, and I saw it
clearly. But Ellen wouldn't take any chances."
"No, she wouldn't. How long ago did she leave?"
"An hour. Lorraine Bruson drove her in. She ought to be back any
minute. Dave, you didn't get hurt badly, did you?"
He shrugged impatiently. "I told you, I'll survive. Just a shiner and
some bruises and a slightly dented rib, is all." He knelt, picked
up his nephew, tried to lift him. But--though the boy weighed less
than forty pounds--the effort was too much, this time. Fearful of his
cracked rib, Hughes abandoned the gesture quickly. The little boy
looked up, disappointed and puzzled.
"Tony got bitten," he announced.
"I know, Larry. You mustn't bother snakes, or they'll hurt you. You--"
He stopped. Another car had entered the bungalow area, and was coming
to a halt nearby. Lorraine Bruson got out, wearing a sunsuit that
barely was able to contain her fantastic breasts. Ellen got out,
wearing a less flamboyant sunsuit. With her were the children--Erika
looking grave and solemn, Tony very pale and uncertain. There was a
bandage round one of Tony's fingers.
"Dave!" Ellen cried.
She ran toward him, thankfully, throwing herself against him with an
impact that jarred him and sent tremors of pain through his entire
body. "Oh, darling," she said, "if you only knew what a nightmare today
had been! Tony got bitten by a snake, and I was trying to call you but
the girl said you were sick, and I couldn't reach you anywhere, and all
of a sudden you come out of nowhere--"
"How's Tony?" he asked brusquely.
"He'll be all right," Ellen said. "I was scared out of my wits when
the snake bit him--it was just a little snake, but it was hanging from
his finger, you know. Beth said it was harmless, but I didn't want to
take chances. The doctor showed me a picture of the snake it was, and
it _was_ a harmless one. He gave Tony a shot of something, though, and
bandaged the bite, and it's all okay now."
Kneeling--the posture made him wince with pain--Hughes kissed his
daughter and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Someday I'll have to
show you how you catch snakes, old man," he said. "You need a forked
stick, and you pin the snake down back of the neck, so he can't bite
you. How are you feeling now?"
"I'm fine, daddy," Tony said gravely. "Daddy, why is your face all
puffy?"
He straightened up quickly. Ellen stared at him, as though noticing
his bruises for the first time. She had been so preoccupied with the
snakebite incident that her mind had not even registered the fact that
her husband looked different, and that he was here a day early.
Now she said, "Your face--it's all bruised, Dave! And you didn't go to
work today. I didn't even ask you. What in the name of heaven happened
to you?"
The story roared through his mind: the midnight stroll, the attempt to
intercede, the attack, the savage fists of the two teenage beasts. But
at the same moment he blotted the lying story out.
_I won't_, he said. _I won't tell her that lie._
He realized in one quick flash that this day would be a turning-point;
that he had wandered far from those he loved, and today he could either
win his way back to them or else lose them forever.
He said quietly, "It's a complicated story, Ellen. I'll talk to you
about it upstairs."
She frowned. "Must you be so mysterious?"
"Upstairs," he said. "Not here."
Beth was looking at him strangely. Hughes patted Tony again and walked
into the house, and Ellen followed him, telling the children to go play
with Aunt Beth.
In their bedroom, with the door closed, Ellen said, "I'm soaked with
sweat, after all that excitement. I'll change into my swimsuit, I
think. Now, what's all the mystery? How did you get so terribly
bruised?"
Hughes stared off into nowhere, saying nothing. Ellen unclipped her
halter, unbuttoned her shorts, wriggled out of her panties. She was
nude before him, and still a good-looking woman, he thought. The summer
sun had helped her. Her breasts looked full and young again, her thighs
were lean, her gently rounded stomach was slimmed down to beauty. She
turned, facing him, and he desired her in that moment, but he forced
the thought back.
"You might as well look at the complete job," he said heavily. He took
the sunglasses off. "There. I've also got a cracked rib, but it's
healing."
"_Dave!_" she gasped, at the sight of his eye. She ran across the room,
naked, kneeling where he sat, holding his knees. "For God's sake, tell
me what happened!"
"All right," he said. He took a deep breath. "I was in a fight. I was
beaten up." His eyes did not meet hers. "I was beaten up by a jealous
husband," he said, "because he caught me philandering with his wife."
"This is no time to joke--"
"I'm not joking," he said in a bitter voice. "The girl was Janice
Keller. I had an affair with her during the past two weeks. It came to
an end--violently--Tuesday night."
Ellen said nothing. In the silence, Hughes heard his own voice going
on, telling Ellen how it had begun with his own loneliness, with his
infantile urge to "get even" with her for her coldness toward him by
taking a mistress. He described how the affair had gone, leaving out
only the intimate details. He told of his struggles to break loose,
of the many times he had tried to end it, of the rebirth of his love
for his wife. And of his weakness, his inability to put an end to the
affair until it was ended by Nick Keller's savage fists. He told how
Janice had gone to California, putting finish to any possibility of a
continuation.
"So there's the whole gory story," he finished. "The decline and fall
of David Hughes. I suppose you'll get custody of the kids, and I'm
going to be miserable about that. But at least I told you the truth. I
couldn't let myself go living a lie for the rest of my life. This is
the first time I ever deceived you, Ellen. That part of it is just as
true as anything else I just told you."
She looked up at him. There were tears in her eyes. "My poor darling,"
she whispered.
"Don't you hate me?"
She shook her head.
"But I deceived you," he said. "I had an affair with another woman. A
younger woman."
She was smiling strangely. "Beth warned me," she said. "She told me
I'd lose you unless I showed you I still loved you. So I tried--last
weekend--but I guess it was too late, by then. You had already started
to drift away."
"Yes, I was under her spell already."
"It could have been avoided, though. If I had been a better wife, I--"
"Don't say it's my fault," he muttered. "It was all my greed, my
selfishness--"
"What you did wasn't right," she said. "It was a horrible thing to do.
But you had justification. Beth showed me that. And at least you came
to tell me about what you did. There's something noble in that, Dave.
You didn't _have_ to tell me. You could have made up some lie about the
beating, and gone on as if nothing had happened."
"I considered that. But--I couldn't."
"I'm glad, Dave. I'm glad you told me what you did."
"You don't hate me?"
"I--love you," she said softly.
Hughes stared at her incredulously. "After what I did?"
"You made a mistake. But it was a mistake I drove you to, darling.
I see that now. I was so wrapped up in the kids, in the house and
everything, I was hardly noticing _you_. And the inevitable happened.
Can you ever forgive me, Dave?"
"I cheat on _you_ and you ask for forgiveness? I'm the one who belongs
down on his knees."
"We've both made mistakes, Dave. But now perhaps we see each other a
little more clearly." She took his hands in hers. "Dave--do you still
love that girl? Even a little bit?"
He looked at her steadily. "No," he said after a moment's thought.
"Not the slightest?"
"Not any more," he said. "I love only you."
"I love you, too, Dave."
Then his hands were on her naked breasts, and she was rising, pressing
her body against his, holding him gently so as not to hurt him, and her
lips brushed coolly over his bruised face, while his hands slipped from
her breasts to her hips to the softness of her buttocks. She led him to
the bed and unbuttoned his shirt, and looked at the tape on his ribs,
and then she removed the rest of his clothes and they began to make
love, gently, with deep mutual tenderness. Hughes held his wife's body
in his arms as they shuddered out their climax at the same moment.
"We'd better go downstairs," he said. "Beth is going to be puzzled
about what's going on here."
"Let her be puzzled," Ellen said. "I've just discovered I'm in love all
over again. Does it hurt when I kiss you?"
"Only a little."
"Will you always love me, Dave?"
"Always."
She cradled his tired head against her breasts, and he closed his eyes.
Everything was going to be all right from now on, he thought. He had
been through a little bit of hell, but he had come out, and he still
had Ellen, and their love was deeper now than it had been in many
years. He smiled, despite the pain it involved, and tenderly kissed her
breasts, and clasped her to him once again in deepest love.
THE END
* * * * *
ANOTHER NIGHTSTAND BOOK YOU'LL WANT TO READ
MEET THE LUSTFUL ONES ...
_whose paths crossed for the first and last time on a New Year's Eve.
When all the torment and frustration of the year before met in one
hellish beat of sound and sex and death. In one of the most powerful
and frank novels of recent years, Don Holliday chronicles the incidents
of perversion and unnatural desire that led Wanda the stripper, Roger
the Negro, Walter the fetishist, Paula the co-ed lesbian, frigid Helen
and oversexed Burt to meet in the strip-joint that New Year's Eve. Told
unashamedly, in words of fire and truth, this is a novel that will
shock you and burn itself into your memory!_
THE WILD NIGHT
ON SALE AT YOUR NEWSDEALER
* * * * *
ADULTERY ...
_was his sin. He realized it even as he tasted the unbelievable
forbidden pleasures of her body. His wife was away, it was Summer, the
girl was provocative--in fact, he could see naked lust shining wetly
from her eyes--so David Hughes threw away the sanctity of his home for
a few wild moments with the blonde Janice. It was Summer madness, but
he had to have her, had to feel the heat of her body, the bird of fire
that was her kiss, he had to know her as he had never really known
Beth, his wife. So David Hughes plunged and knew immediately his was an_
... ILLICIT AFFAIR!
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