Chapter 13

SHE saw the marks of teeth on Al's shoulder, chest. She stared. "What on earth-"

Al said, "Who on earth? That's what you've got to know."

Janice's eyes widened. "A woman? You're trying to say you've been with a woman? All right-who is she?"

Al grinned. "You'd be surprised, baby, if I told you who chewed me up like that."

"So surprise me," she said nastily. "I want to know."

"It's an involved story," he said, still grinning. "Remember that talk we had on wife-swapping? Well, it works. I've been playing games with Alice Bolton."

"You heel-"

"Turnabout is fair play."

"And just how did you get involved with her?"

Al reached out and got a cigarette from the night-stand. After lighting it, he said, "A phone call got me in. I told Alice Bolton about her husband and you. The rest was easy. So-you're the one who helped put that deal over. By the way, thanks. She's quite a dish."

Janice set down her drink, stood up. "Is Alice Bolton the one who put those marks on you?"

"No-that's another story. But there's a lively little sex club, a partner-swapping set, that I've made you and Bolton members of. It'll sound real good in court. Still want to try for a divorce?"

"What do you want from me, Al?"

"What you came here for-money. I'd rather get it quietly than hurt my friends."

"You mean-those women? Alice Bolton-the others?"

"You've got it straight. And if you're going to go holy on me, remember you made it all possible by playing house with Bolton."

She said desperately, "Look, Al-if I get a good job from Bolton-and don't see him again-can we try to start all over?"

She was not at all sure, even as she asked the question, whether or not she could ever accept Al again.

"You get the job, and I'll let you know."

"You won't, I can tell."

"Give it a try," he said. "You could be wrong." She turned to the door, looked back at Al. "Come home with me. Let's talk this over sensibly."

"Sorry, baby," Al said. "But I've had it for today. We'd just be saying what's already been said." She went out.

Going down in the elevator and crossing the lobby, she again felt like a two-dollar whore under the scrutiny of the elevatorman and the desk clerk. And, considering what her indiscretion with Jay Bolton had accomplished, she might be something worse.

On Thursday night Al and Alice double-dated with the Ransomes. The evening went pretty much as the previous one had. But this time the odd overtones Greta Ransome insinuated into the proceedings irked Al. He could not rid himself of the feeling that her unnatural appetites were sickly and he was glad to escape her and end the evening with Alice.

He made love to her with such fervor that Alice laughed. "I don't have to worry about losing you to Greta, at any rate."

"Isn't a comment like that out of line?" Al asked. "The big deal is to love everybody-right?"

"Everyone who needs it," Alice said.

"That's right," Al said sourly. "And who needs it?"

Alice stared at him, then laughed. "I'm glad you're saving some of your energy. We're going to a party, Saturday evening."

"Where?"

"At the Bennetts'. But that doesn't mean you'll get Ginny."

Al grinned. He read a faint note of jealousy into Alice's remark. Maybe he was making some progress at last.

"What does it mean?"

"We'll hold a drawing," she told him. "Most likely the men will place their car keys in a container and each woman pick out a set. You get the gal who draws your keys."

"What if that's you?"

"I'll swap with somebody."

"Make it Ginny Bennett," Al said, baiting her.

Al worked late on Saturday and picked up Alice at a restaurant near the lot. They used Iris car and reached the Bennetts' place around ten.

The evening was warm. The Bennetts and their guests were on the terrace, near the pool behind the big ranch-type house. The grounds were lighted and stereo music was being piped out from the house.

The Ransomes and another couple-Bob and Amy Nolan, Al soon learned-were in swimsuits. Five other couples were present. Ginny led Al around and introduced him. He met Clayton and Betty Mercer, a couple in their mid-thirties-John and Nora Van Zandt, who were about forty-Nils and Tuki Larsen, a lean, intense man with a beard and a doll-like Japanese girl-Len and June Warren, in their early thirties-and, lasdy, Jeff and Marge Allen, whom Al had heard about from the Ransomes. The Aliens were well into their forties.

Everybody held a drink or had one near at hand. Al and Alice were also served. They circulated. Al found the party circumspect-attractive, healthy, moneyed people enjoying themselves informally. Nobody was drinking too much. None of the women flirted with other women's husbands. None of the men made passes at other men's wives. Everybody was on friendly terms. Even the Nolans and the Aliens seemed to have patched up their quarrel. Promiscuity of any sort seemed the remotest thing from anybody's mind. The talk among the men was business, politics, golf scores, the cold war. The women chattered about clothes, bridge games, children, the servant problem. On the whole, Al decided, the gathering was rather dull.

Later the people in swim outfits went in to change. Soon everybody drifted into the house. Al sensed an air of expectancy among the others once they were settled in the Bennetts' huge, lavish living room.

Shortly before midnight somebody said loudly, "Well, are we or aren't we?"

"Are we or aren't we what?" somebody else asked as loudly.

And a chorus of voices called out, "Playing the key game?"

Ginny Bennett said, "Everybody willing?"

There was laughter. The chorus cried, "Yes, yes, yes!"

Ginny left the room and returned shortly with a silver ice bucket. From it she distributed to the men small, plain tags and ballpoint pens. Each man was to write his name on his tag and tie the tag to his car keys. Ginny collected the tagged keys in the ice bucket, her husband mixed the lot thoroughly. The women began to make blind draws from the bucket.

"I'll take the set that's left," Ginny announced. "And good luck to me."

Al looked the women over, excitement rising in him.

Did he want Ginny again, or Greta once more? How about that little Japanese doll, Tuki? She would be different. Or Amy Nolan-she was the one who had gone free-dating in Las Vegas, causing her husband and Jeff Allen to fall out. She was plainer than some of the other women. But she had to be a hot number. Her figure was good. Al waited.

Tuki drew Clyde Bennett's keys; Amy, John Van Zandt's. Alice drew Nils Larsen's. Al's were drawn by Marge Allen and for a moment he felt deeply disappointed. Marge was the oldest woman present, certainly close to forty-five. Still, she had an attractive face, a. trim figure. Al decided that he could make it with her for one night.

Each woman claimed her partner and the party broke up. Couples drifted out of the house, drove away. Clyde Bennett, needing to go no farther than one of his bedrooms, stood in the doorway with an arm about the Japanese girl.

When Al started his car along the driveway, Marge Allen said, "I can't take you to my place, Al. I still have a daughter at home. Can we go to yours?"

"My place wouldn't do," he said, thinking of his grubby hotel room. "We'll go to a motel. Okay?" .

"Yes, of course. Just so it's not too long a drive."

Grinning at her, he asked, "In a hurry?"

She laughed. "You're new to the group. You've been discussed. Now I want to find out for myself."

She moved closer, put her left hand on his thigh. He remembered Alice's having said that Marge Allen was gone on men. But all the women in this crowd seemed to have that rating. He headed toward the city, trying to think of a motel that was decent enough without being too expensive.

Marge said, "I suppose you wonder why a woman my age goes in for this sort of thing."

"Greta told me about it," Al said. "You and Jeff decided to give her a hand."

"Yes-and we discovered we were also improving our own relationship. Jeff and I had reached the point where we hardly ever had sex. We were bored with each other-no longer found each other exciting, even though we were still in love. Through what others found in us-well, we discovered new values in each other. We now have a very satisfactory sex life between ourselves-and the rest is just frosting on the cake."

"Can Jeff keep up the pace at his age?"

"Fairly well," Marge said. "But it's easier for a woman." She patted Al's thigh. "I won't let you be disappointed in me."

"I won't be," Al said with certainty.

He found a motel, registered. Going to bed with Marge Allen was comfortable. She kept up a small chatter as they undressed. And the body she revealed looked well-used, not abused. Her movements were practiced, sure-as were her welcoming kisses and caresses once they were in bed.

She seemed infinitely adept at pleasing him-and eager to do so. Al took full advantage of her eagerness. Her love-play was candid and forthright, combining sensuousness with an acquired expertness. Their actual union was a prolonged, leisurely probing for ultimate sensation-when they reached it, she responded fully.

Yet Al had the impression that Marge Allen was not wholly satisfied, that he had not fathomed her completely. She had held something in reserve that it would have been a violation for him to try to break through.

They dressed and she asked him to drop her off at the Mercers' house. Her husband's keys had been drawn by Betty Mercer.

"Jeff and I always go home together."

Jeff was waiting in his parked car when Al pulled up at the address Marge had given. Marge kissed Al quickly.

"I hope it works out soon again for the two of us, Al."

"So do I," he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it.

He watched Marge walk swiftly toward Jeff's car. Before tonight he had never imagined that he would find a woman ten years older than himself desirable. Live and learn, he told himself as he headed his car toward town.