Chapter 3
THIS was different-was it also wonderful? A questioning panic lingered in the small part of Janice's mind not yet dulled by sheer sensation. For the first time she was experiencing tenderness in love-making. How far could she permit her reactions to range?
Al made love roughly, with an animal-like directness. Now she was being treated gently-with something approaching awe. She lay on the couch, writhing in agonized pleasure and anticipation. Her lover-and Jay was that-knelt beside her, exploring her nakedness with gentle hands and gender lips-with caressing touches of his own body. His ministrations had lulled her into a trance-like state-and through her dulled mind ran a fantasy ... she was a pagan goddess come to life, he a priest worshipping at the altar of her femaleness. She continued to writhe, her tantalized flesh quivering, her limbs, her loins on fire.
He left no part of her untouched. His ritualistic, eager seeking set off in her an ecstatic torment. When this became unbearable-he suddenly covered her.
His maleness enveloped her, invaded her-the priest took possession of his pagan goddess and was worshipful still. He was gentle even now-but so expert that for Janice all existence became focused in their joining. Only she and Jay peopled the universe. There was no Al, no one else-anywhere. Fused in fiery motion ... she and Jay swirled through a maelstrom of passion toward an impossible goal of ecstasy. They reached it too soon-that was the impossibility, the imperfection in it-yet she felt as though she had lived an eternity in his arms.
When he withdrew from her, her panic returned. She thought of Al with instant guilt. A part of her clung to remembering that Al had urged her to become involved with Jay Bolton-but for a reason other than the one that had led her to the intimacy. Still, would she have given herself to Jay if Al had not set her at least conditionally free to do so?
The question-and its possible answers-increased her sense of guilt.
She arose from the couch and gathered her clothing. She used Jay's private washroom. When she returned, dressed, he was getting into his clothes.
"The letters," she said. "They can wait until morning?"
He said, "Yes, of course," and turned as though to reach for her.
She avoided him, moved away hastily, went to her desk in the outer office. She got out her purse, combed her hair and touched up her lips. She avoided meeting her eyes in the mirror, afraid of what she might see in them.
Would Al detect any difference in her?
She cleared her desk, got her cardigan sweater from the closet. He appeared at the doorway, looking at her in an anxious way.
"You're angry," he said.
"Not at you," she told him. "Maybe at myself."
"Don't be. It was my fault entirely."
She thought, It was both our faults-and neither s. Why does there have to be guilt-if no one's hurt?
That was the point, perhaps-would someone eventually be hurt by what she and Jay had done? She remembered assuring him that he would not wreck her marriage. What might she have to do to make the promise good?
She saw him as a stranger now-and found it incredible that she had been intimate with him a few short moments ago, moments for which she might have to ask him to pay in order to hold together her marriage. She told him goodbye, her voice devoid of feeling.
"Janice," he said as she turned to leave.
"Yes, Jay?"
"What we did just now-meant a lot to me." That, she thought, Al would love to hear. Al would want to know, How much is a lot? She said nothing.
Jay asked, "How about that cab? Shall I call one?"
She shook her head mutely and left.
She rode the bus to midtown and walked two blocks to her apartment building. She moved in a daze, reflexively. Her mind was a blank, as though she had suffered a severe shock. Entering her apartment, she was glad that Al was not home. On alternate weeks he worked at the used-car lot until nine in the evening. She was relieved not to have to face him. She was sure that he would have seen in her eyes what she had been afraid to find when she had used her compact mirror at the office.
She went to the bedroom and stripped down to shower. Afterward, while toweling herself, she examined herself critically in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. She was unchanged from this morning-except for the bruise on her thigh. Illicit love left no visible stigma. Yet the ugly bruise was a part of what had happened. Neither cause nor effect-but a catalyst? Hurt, pain-love? That had been the sequence.
How deep was the hurt? The pain still lingered.
How deep was the guilt? It fingered, too.
Meeting her eyes in the mirror, she asked herself. Why did I do it? Why, really?
Because she had felt sorry for Jay Bolton?
Because his touching her thigh had aroused her?
Because her subconscious remembered that Al wanted her to become involved with Jay Bolton?
She answered the first two questions affirmatively-the third with a maybe.
Her motives did not matter, really. The important thing was that she had cheated-and enjoyed the act ... in quick anticipation and longer duration. Perhaps she had gotten to know herself only today.
And this is what I'm like....
She turned her back on her reflection, tidied up the bathroom, returned to the bedroom. She put on a robe and slippers, somehow not feeling up to getting dressed. She was in an emotional turmoil. Those brief moments of intimacy with Jay had been a terrifyingly wonderful experience-being guilt-ridden was a miserable sensation.
She went into the kitchen, poured a drink-gin over ice cubes. She disliked the taste of gin, but wanted something with a belt to it. To dull her mind, to blunt her sense of guilt-and wash away the memory of Jay's brandy. She had no appetite-but made and forced herself to eat a salad of fruit and cottage cheese. She fixed another drink and took it into the living room. She turned on the television set, stared at the picture without really seeing what went on.
Al got home at nine-thirty.
Seeing her in robe and slippers, he said, "You ready for bed?"
"I didn't feel like dressing," she told him. "I had to work late, then got bawled out for doing a messy job on a letter." That much was the truth, but she added an untruth to cover up her unsettled emotional state. "I came home with a headache, took a shower. How was your day?"
Al grimaced. "One lousy sale. An old heap I had to let go for two-fifty. What a crummy job."
He removed his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.
"Want a beer?"
"No, thanks. I've been on gin and I've had my quota."
"Gin-you?" He eyed her in surprise. "I was feeling low," she said.
She got up from the sofa to hang his jacket in the closet. He went into the kitchen.
He returned with a can of beer, sank into a lounge chair.
He drank from the can, said, "You're not hitting it off with Bolton-after all?"
"He's got a nasty temper."
"He needs a dame to mellow him," Al said. "I've been asking around about him. As far as any of the boys downtown know, he's got no woman in his life. But that wife of his-brother, does she have a reputation."
Janice regarded him with fresh resentment. He still had it on his mind that she could get Bolton to give her a better job. What would he do if he somehow learned about what had happened today? And why was he nosing around about Jay's wife?
Al went on, "I don't know how the guy can do without a dame. That's a hell of a way to live-if you can call it living."
"You wouldn't," Janice said. "That's for sure."
He grinned at her. "It's an appetite, baby. Can I help getting hungry?" Then, after another swallow of beer: "He still hasn't noticed you as a dame, huh?"
Janice was tempted to tell him that Jay had indeed noticed her as a dame. Confession would ease her conscience. And the results might prove resoundingly interesting-if unpleasant. The temptation passed quickly.
"Do you still want me to become involved with him?" she asked.
"Only if it would pay off."
"It could be that he doesn't need to pay for sex."
"Any man would do a dame a favor afterwards, if she asked one."
"You know that from experience, do you?"
"Me?" Al said. "With the job I've got, I'm in no position to do favors. Anyway, it's up to you. If you want to pass up a good thing, go ahead."
He turned to give his attention to the television set.
Janice went to bed at ten-thirty. She donned a seldom-worn suit of pajamas. Ordinarily she preferred a shortie nightgown. Tonight she disliked her body and wanted it completely covered. She felt no need of Al.
Al stayed up to catch the eleven-twenty sportscast. She was still wide awake when he came to bed. He ran his hand over her, discovered the pajamas.
"Hey, what gives?"
"I don't want to put temptation in your way tonight."
"But I already want you, baby."
'It's this headache," she lied-and wondered why she wanted to refuse him. Because she was sated by her love-making with Jay Bolton? Or because she felt guilty and ashamed? "Tomorrow night, Al."
"Couldn't you," he persisted, "just easy-like?"
"No-please, Al."
His hand crept inside her pajamas, found her breasts.
"This isn't like you, Jan," he said plaintively, as though he were being abused. He fondled her breasts, trying to arouse her. "Come on-give a little."
It was like him, she thought, to want to indulge himself without considering her feelings. But who was really in the wrong tonight? She, of course-since she had no headache.
She said, "All right. But I want to get to sleep soon."
"Sure, sweetheart," he said, already pushing the pa-jama bottoms down past her hips.
He did as he had promised, taking her quickly in her unresponsive state. For once their mating meant nothing to Janice. A blank, a zero.
She thought in panic: What if my having cheated has made me frigid?
When it was over and he was sprawled loosely on his back, apart from her, he said, "Sweetheart, you're an iceberg tonight."
"Try me again-some other time."
"Count on it."
"Al-"
"Yeah?"
Janice hesitated a moment, then asked, "Have you ever cheated on me?"
His reply came slowly-and then was no answer at all. "What brought this on, anyway?"
"Have you?"
"If I ever had," he said evasively, "it wouldn't have meant anything. You know you're the only dame who rates with me."
She reached out and turned on the bedside lamp, then sat up. She looked at him accusingly.
"So you have cheated."
"Aw, Jan, cut it out," he said, laying a forearm over his eyes-to shut out the glare of the lamp? Or to avoid meeting her gaze? "I'm beat. Don't start a stupid discussion at this time of night. Anyway, you're talking nonsense. What would I want with another dame?"
She pulled his arm away from his eyes. "When-and with whom?" she demanded.
His face took on a sulky look, like that of a small boy caught misbehaving. "Jan, for Pete's sake, lay off. It was a long time ago. It was just something that happened-like an accident."
Like an accident....
Her accident today had dealt with a desk. What had followed had been no simple happenstance-could not be so categorized. She felt frozen inside.
A voice in her mind wanted to know: What kind of people are we, anyway?
She continued to look down at Al, her eyes angry and accusing. She had to know the truth-and she would learn it.
"How long ago?"
"Oh, a couple of months."
"That's not so long ago."
"Long enough for me to have forgotten about it, honey."
"Don't "honey' me," she said crossly. "Who is she?"
"Just some dame who came to the lot with her husband," he said, looking guilty and miserable-but somehow smug, too. "They bought a car from me. A couple days later she stopped by with a gripe. The brake linings were shot. She figured she and her husband had been had. She was right. The car was one of our guaranteed jobs. So I got the boss to have their brakes relined."
"And she was grateful," Janice said coldly. "Naturally."
Al talked willingly now-almost boastfully. "Well, she thanked me and said that if I ever got around to then-part of town I should stop by. She said Wednesday afternoon was the best time, because she always left her two kids with her mother-in-law on Wednesday."
"And of course you stopped by the very next Wednesday?"
"Well, I did have a prospect for a car over in that neighborhood."
Eyeing him shrewdly, Janice said, "How many Wednesday afternoons?"
"Only a couple."
"Meaning every Wednesday afternoon?"
"Hell, Jan-let it drop. She doesn't mean a thing to me-just a little variety. You know that."
"Sure, I know. Are you still going there?"
"Not any more-honest."
"Not from now on, you mean?"
"I wouldn't do anything to make you sore, honey."
"You've already made me sore."
"Well, it's over and done with now," he said. "I won't see her again, I promise. I've told you everything. Trust me?"
Janice made no reply. She sat dispiritedly in bed, hating him and herself.
The two of us, she thought bitterly.
But she should not have been surprised about Al's cheating, she knew. She had always suspected he would play around, given the opportunity-she simply had never let her mind dwell on the subject until she, too, had cheated.
Misery loves company, she told herself. The guilty like everybody else to be guilty....
"Let's get some sleep, Jan," Al said coaxingly. "You said you wanted it. Turn off the light, will you?"
She turned off the light but did not he down. He settled himself comfortably, his back to her. Nothing ever really touched him. He would be asleep in a minute, not even wondering why she had failed to raise more of a fuss about his cheating on her. Why had she gotten him to admit he played around? She knew, of course. So she could feel free to confess her own infidelity. She needed to get that off her chest.
She turned on the lamp again. Al swore and covered his head with the upper sheet.
"Al, listen to me."
"I'm listening, damn it."
She pulled the sheet down off him, and when he looked at her, scowlingly, she said, "I let Jay Bolton make love to me today."