Chapter 2
AFTERWARD they lay apart in pleasant languor, each of them completely sated. Gradually Janice's euphoria gave way to thought again-and she wondered if she really loved Al as much as she believed before and during their sex acts-or was she merely in love with love? He could give her a deep contentment-but was it a perfect one?
Al turned to he on his side, his face close to hers.
"As I said, sweetheart," he told her. "A guy like Bolton should be an easy mark, especially since he's estranged from his wife. Of course, the chances are that he has a dame. We'd have to find out."
"Find out what?"
"What I said. Whether or not he's tied up with a dame."
"Why should we care one way or another?"
"Hell, baby-can't you see it? The guy could do a lot for you-move you up out of that crummy stenographer job."
Janice stared at him. "You mean-you want me to become involved with him-to get a better job?"
"I'm just thinking that it could be a break for us."
"Oh, what a louse you are, Al Kirby."
"Forget the whole bit-if it makes you sore."
"If it makes me sore?" She sat up. "What do you take me for, anyway? A hustler?"
"I didn't say that."
"You as much as said it."
"Well, forget it," Al said. "I know you wouldn't do anything like that. I just got carried away, thinking of the possibilities. For you, that is. Why, a smart dame could really go places with the company-if she played Bolton along. Why, you might even be able to fight him off once he got interested-just keep upping the ante on him."
"I'd have to be more than smart," Janice said. "I'd have to be a tramp. Al, you're a Grade-A heel even to consider letting your wife become involved with another man. I thought you loved me."
"I love you," he said. "I was thinking of you more than of myself. You've got this crummy job, have to five in this dingy apartment, pinch pennies all the time. If you'd get a decent promotion, we could have a house in the suburbs-even have kids, once I got established. As I said, you might fight him off-and it wouldn't be forever. You could quit after I latched on to something good."
This was the first she had heard Al express a willingness to have children. He had always before ended any discussion of their having a child by saying in no uncertain terms that they could not afford one. The few times she had thought she might be pregnant he had gone into a panic.
A house in the suburbs, she thought. Children....
She said, "You wouldn't love me if I did such a thing-and you know it."
He patted her on the stomach. "You know me better than that, baby."
"Yes, I guess I do," she said. "But I'd rather know that you couldn't bear the thought of another man's having me."
"I couldn't-if you didn't get something out of it."
"I'd never go for anybody but you."
"I know that. But any dame can go through the motions."
"I'd feel like-like a whore."
"That's silly," he said. "You wouldn't be taking money."
"Nothing would make me feel right about playing up to Mr. Bolton," Janice said emphatically. "And getting him interested and then fighting him off would be worst of all. I won't do it-and I don't want to talk about it any more."
"Okay, baby," Al said, running his hand lightly over her. "I won't mention it again."
But he was smiling faintly, as though satisfied that he had planted a seed that would eventually bear fruit.
Al kept his word. He did not bring up the subject again. And Janice tried to forget that he had suggested anything out of the way. She put in one week and then two of the three she was to fill in for Miss Forsythe. She had to work hard-but working with Jay Bolton was not unpleasant. It was not nearly as irritating as working out of the stenographers' pool and taking the guff of minor executives too unimportant to rate secretaries of their own.
But not even Jay Bolton was always easy to get along with. He forgot at times that she did not have years of experience as his secretary. When she was slow to catch on to some phase of the job, he was openly impatient. When she made a serious goof, he snapped at her. But he was considerate enough to apologize afterward, usually at the end of the day.
"Don't mind me, Mrs. Kirby," he would say. "My bark is worse than my bite."
He was a big, vigorous man and, as she had told Al, he was handsome. She did not think of him as middle-aged. His tall, broad-shouldered frame carried no excess flesh. His hair was barely touched with gray and his eyes and smile were youthful. He gave the impression of being physically fit. He golfed often and swam frequently, Janice learned. His mind was sharp and he had a great capacity for enthusiasm. To be near him, she found, was to feel vital, alive. Some of his zest for work and for life brushed off on her. She found herself afraid of comparing her husband to him-Al would have looked bad in the comparison.
Bolton had unguarded moments. Then she thought she saw another side of him. He would withdraw from his work, lose himself in private thought. She sensed a sadness in him, saw it mirrored in his eyes. She guessed, from what she had heard from Miss Forsythe, that he still loved his wife, missed her terribly and was basically unhappy.
Woman-like, she was touched by his apparent loneliness. Woman-like, too, she wondered what had caused the estrangement between him and Mrs. Bolton. She found it difficult to imagine Jay Bolton's being at fault in his marital troubles. He gave no evidence of being a chaser.
He had certainly shown not the slightest personal interest in Janice. Not once-during those first two weeks-did he give her reason to believe that he was even aware of her gender. His manner toward her was so proper that she might have been a sexless robot.
Her office-Miss Forsythe's, really-was strictly utilitarian. Jay Bolton's reminded her of a luxurious study. Its walls were paneled in wood-a cloud-soft, wall-to-wall carpet covered its floor. A huge picture window afforded a view of all other plant buildings. The furniture consisted of solid mahogany and leather-upholstered chairs and couch. The desk was oversized and always orderly.
It was his desk that tripped Janice up, quite literally.
On Monday of her third week she stayed late to type some letters that had to go out in the evening mail. Bolton was waiting to sign them and she tried to hurry.
One letter, full of figures, gave her trouble. She made a number of mistakes and her erasures made the final copy messy. She took it in to him, nevertheless, at five-thirty, afraid to keep him waiting longer.
He read the letter, looked up, scowling.
"Mrs. Kirby, come around here and look at this creation of yours."
He looked personally offended.
She was flustered and bumped the corner of the big desk as she started around it. The collision threw her off balance. She managed to keep from falling but pain took her breath away, brought tears to her eyes.
Bolton came hastily to his feet, reached her and grasped her arm to steady her.
"Are you badly hurt?"
"More embarrassed than hurt," Janice said, her voice off-key. "I'll be all right in a moment. I'm not usually so clumsy."
"I've noticed," he said gravely. "You better He down for a moment."
He began to lead her toward the couch.
"Oh, that's not necessary-really."
"Come along," he said, making it an order.
She had bumped her left thigh. Her entire leg throbbed with pain. Bolton put a strong arm around her, supported her to the couch and gently deposited her upon it.
"Take it easy," he said, looking at her with concern. "I'll get you some brandy."
He went to the cellaret in the corner of the room, returned with a glass. She sipped the liquor. It went down smoothly.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes, thank you," she said, rubbing the spot she had bumped. She was not feeling better. The pain had not eased at all.
"Better have a look at the damage."
"I'll be all right."
"Don't be shy." He smiled. "I'm considered reasonably immune to employees."
She was wearing a straight skirt and a blouse. To expose her injury, she had to draw the skirt and her slip up quite far. She twisted her body to see the bruise and the movement hiked the skirt even farther up. Her thighs were almost completely exposed. On one was a huge crimson splotch.
Bolton poured some brandy into his hand and applied it to the hurt, rubbing gently.
"Brantly should do as well as rubbing alcohol, don't you drink?"
The pain did begin to ease. But Janice was embarrassed. Too much of her was showing. And the intimacy of his touch, innocent though it was, had an unsettling effect on her.
"That's much better," she said, wanting him to stop-wanting to cover herself. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bolton. I'm not usually so awkward."
"An accident," he said. "My fault, really. I shouldn't have barked at you."
He removed his hand from her thigh and she quickly pushed down her skirt. She started to sit up, but he told her to remain still.
"After a while well call you a cab. A little more brandy?"
"No, thank you."
"You don't mind if I have a drink?" He smiled wryly. "Somehow, I feel the need of a belt. I'm not used to administering first aid to young women."
He got his drink, returned and seated himself on the edge of the couch. He took a sip of whiskey, looking at her intently. His being so close made her uncomfortable. She was annoyed with herself that he should have any effect on her-annoyed, too, because she imagined she could still feel the touch of his hand on her bare thigh.
A sensible person, she was aware of her own volatility.
He said, "You know, you wouldn't do for my secretary on a permanent basis. It scares you when I blow up a storm. Now, Miss Forsythe-I can yell my head off at her and she's as steady as a face carved on a cliffside. I never have to feel like a heel and apologize to her over losing my temper."
"I am a little thin-skinned, I suppose," Janice said. "I bruise easily, in all ways."
"Don't let me frighten you from now on."
"I'll try not to."
He drank again, then said, "Would you be offended by my becoming a little personal?"
"I suppose not."
He hesitated a moment, his handsome face turned serious. "I find myself wishing you weren't married," he said finally.
Janice said nothing. She was not sure of what he expected her to say. Many men on the make had made far more personal comments to her-those she could deal with. She found herself wishing he would let her get up. Lying there, with him sitting beside her, she felt oddly vulnerable.
"For a man to become personal with his secretary," Bolton continued, "is bad from a business standpoint-as well as for other reasons. Oh, it's not unusual, I know. But I've always felt that it's bound to lead to a situation where one of the participants uses unfair advantage. It's too much like entrapment-dangerous to both parties."
Janice remained silent. She watched him warily, uneasily. She felt sure that she would shortly have to cope with a direct proposition. And could she afford to turn it down? She needed her job-and not even Al would back her up.
Bolton went on, "A man can be tempted to heave ethics overboard." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to her. "In fact, I've been asked to-by someone I once held very dear."
Janice said solemnly, "Miss Forsythe told me-about your marriage."
He said thoughtfully, "I suppose it's a fair subject for speculation. I know Miss Forsythe is not a gossip. Is your marriage a good one?"
"Oh, yes."
"You're fortunate. Mine seemed good-for seven years. Then I discovered that my wife felt otherwise. It seems she needed-well, more variety in sex than I could provide. When I confronted her with evidence of her infidelity, she actually expected me to go along with her playing around. She said she loved me as much as she ever had-as much as she could love any one man. The other men-well, they catered to an entirely different need in her, psychologically as well as physically. Emotionally-they left her untouched, she told me. She even suggested that I join the game-have affairs with other women. She even recommended some of her friends."
His voice had grown bleak.
"Why haven't you gotten a divorce?"
"Alice doesn't want one-won't get one. And I can't bring myself to fight her in court, in public. Maybe I'm still hoping she'll change-people's personalities do develop. Or maybe I'm just proud and hate to admit to failure-which is what a divorce really is." He smiled without warmth. "I don't know why I'm discussing my private affairs with you. I suppose-and this is ironic-I'm suddenly tempted to follow her advice."
Janice dodged the implication in his words. "Sometimes we need to talk about our problems."
"Now you're being land," he said.
"You were kind to me-after my silly accident."
He grinned suddenly. "It did bring us together in an unexpected way. But whatever I felt then-kindness is not what I want to show you now. Would you believe me if I said that I haven't dated since Mrs. Bolton and I separated?"
Janice studied him for a moment. Then she said, "Yes, I would."
She did believe him. If her own Al had made a similar statement under parallel circumstances, she suddenly realized, she would have taken it for granted that he was lying. But would Al have bothered lying to her-any more than Jay Bolton's wife apparently had troubled about lying to her husband? She remembered her conversation with Al about mate-swapping-and suddenly found herself feeling a little sorry for Jay Bolton.
He said, "I've an excuse, of course. My wife's behavior was such a jolt that I wanted nothing more to do with women-until now." He finished his drink, then said musingly, "Particularly I wanted nothing to do with the friends she recommended. You're not her friend, of course."
The sadness was again in his eyes.
"No-I'm not." Janice found her voice shaking slightly.
He grinned at her again-not entirely without mirth. "You wouldn't consider letting me wreck your marriage?"
"No-I wouldn't."
"I thought as much." He considered her intently. "You don't cheat on your husband, do you?"
"Never," she said.
He nodded, as though having expected that reply. He got to his feet and said, not looking at her, "We'll let those letters go until morning. You'd better get home to your husband." He went to the cellaret and poured another drink. He stood with his back to her. "I'll call a cab in a moment."
Janice sat up, swung her legs from the couch. Her pain had eased to a dull ache. She looked uncertainly at the man across the room, sharply aware of his un-happiness, of a curious arousal in herself. She was strongly aware of his need of her. His manhood had been undermined by his wife's unfaithfulness-or he would have made a more determined bid for her. No doubt he felt himself inadequate. He seemed to have no idea of the sensations he had aroused in her.
She could still feel his hand on her thigh-and for the first time realized that her earlier caution had sprung from a panicky knowledge that she could cheat on Al. Could and would. Heaven help me, she thought with returning panic. She said, in a husky whisper, "Mr. Bolton-"
"Yes, Mrs. Kirby?" He did not look around. "What is it?"
"My name is Janice, Jay. When you asked me about cheating on my husband-I should have said I never have meant to-until now."
That brought him about, to stare at her.
After a long moment, he said, "And what about your marriage?"
"I-doubt you'd wreck it," she said, the panic rising in her.
"Are you-completely sure?"
Only one part of her was sure. Another part cried out in protest. Maybe Al had been joking about not minding an involvement between herself and Jay Bolton-in any event, she was not going to hold Bolton up for a better job. But she had committed herself.
She gave him a wavering smile, then began unbuttoning her blouse. He waited until she had slipped off the blouse and stood up to remove her skirt. Then he set his drink on the cellaret and came slowly toward her. When she was completely undressed, he took her hungrily into his arms-a man long starved for love.