Chapter 9

THE GRAPEVINE WAS WORKING OVER time the next morning. The latest scuttlebutt was that Joan and Bill had sold their home-practically overnight. They had left no forwarding address, and nobody had seen them go. An older couple had bought the place for a song, and were expected to take possession that very day.

There was much speculation among those who were not in the know. Why had that nice young couple left? And so suddenly? One would almost suspect that the creditors were after them.

The "in" crowd could have supplied the answers, but they preferred to follow the advice of three wise monkeys: see no evil, hear no evil, and-above all-speak no evil.

Pam had received the early news report via the telephone-from Maggie, of course, who had barely given the dust a chance to settle before pouncing on her favorite means of communication. Pam had had little to say on the subject, refusing to be drawn into speculation about their new neighbors or how they might turnout. She cut Maggie off with the excuse that she was very busy.

Since then, she had avoided the telephone like the plague and had closed her ears to its persistent ring. She was nursing a mild headache, brought on by a combination of the children's squabbling, her nonexistent relationship with Jerry, and her slavish attitude toward Steve.

At last the children had succumbed to her bribe of milk and cookies and were paying for it now by taking an afternoon nap. This left her free to seek a little peace and quiet in the back yard, away from the house and the problems that went with it.

Although she tried to think of nothing but the chirping of the birds and the faint droning of bees, her mind insisted on clicking away automatically. Vaguely, she was aware that people were moving into the house so recently vacated by Joan and Bill, but she was so pleasantly drowsy ... the effort required to look was too great.

She was almost asleep when a shadow blocked out the sun's warmth. Her drowsiness fled when her mind grasped the fact that strange, masculine eyes were peering at her. The man's examination made her feel like a bug under a microscope, and the costume that had seemed so appropriate for the back yard now seemed indecent. Even with her eyes shut, Pam could picture all too vividly the strapless bra that was struggling valiantly to conceal her boobs, and the pair of briefs that were about the size of a belly band.

Fortunately, she had brought a beach-type cover up with her, and she slipped into it post-haste. Only then did she summon up enough courage to turn and face him.

His appearance did nothing to put her at her ease.

He was extremely short and gnome-like, with a swarthy, foreign look about him. She figured he must be pushing sixty, judging by the lines in his face, and his right hand was missing an index finger. Pam had a hard time keeping her gaze off that horrid-looking stub.

When he spoke, his words sounded guttural, practically unintelligible, with an accent that was difficult to place. He spoke slowly, with spaces beeween the words, as though he had to think each one out first.

"I am Henry Yoles. That ... over there ... is my wife."

He stabbed a soiled-looking fingernail over his left shoulder, and Pam was treated to an equally grotesque vision-a tall, bony woman with a definite mustache fringing her upper lip.

They looked like the cartoon characters of Mutt and Jeff come to life, and the strange pair would have made Pam smile, except for the fact that she sensed danger here. Right now, Mrs. Yoles was looking daggers at her, and Pam could feel the hatred coming from that forbidding presence.

"How do you do?" she said, struggling for composure. "I'm Pam Carter. We ... ah ... my husband and I ... want to welcome you to the neighborhood." She had brought Jerry's name into the exchange deliberately, just to let him know that she was not alone.

He said nothing at all, just accepted her greeting with a curt nod, turned on his heel, and left her standing alone. She had been dismissed, evidentlyand he was acting as though she had intruded upon his privacy!

The little scene wrote finis to her pleasant interlude, so Pam gave up and went inside. The old man had disturbed both her privacy and her peace of mind, and had instilled in her a morbid sense of foreboding.

She had just hauled the sweeper out of the closet when Jim appeared, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Mommy, Sue says she doesn't feel good," he announced, bursting with importance.

She headed directly for Sue's room and found her sniffling quietly to herself. "What's the matter, honey?" Pam asked, feeling her forehead. "Jim says you don't feel very well."

"My head hurts, and I'm hot," she complained.

"Would you like a glass of orange juice? Or something to eat?"

Sue relaxed against the pillows, happy that her case was in proper hands. "Just a glass of juice, please."

Pam plumped up the pillows and made her comfortable before filling the order. As an afterthought, she added a favorite picture book and a tiny transistor radio to the tray.

Sue was delighted with the attention she was getting, and the radio with the little earphones pleased her even more. Pam lingered awhile, watching for signs that might indicate the need for a doctor.

But, beyond looking a little flushed, Sue didn't seem to be too bad off, so Pam drew the shades and decided to wait for further developments. If it was anything to be alarmed about, she would know by nightfall.

Meanwhile, there was some serious thinking to be done. Her marriage was in jeopardy, and she had to decide whether or not it was worth saving. On the credit side, Jerry was a good provider, father of her children-and, she had once loved him. He had some endearing qualities, and, if the kinks were ever ironed out, it was entirely possible that she could learn to love him again.

The debit side of the ledger carried only two strikes against him. His peculiar method of lovemaking was something she could learn to live with, surely. After all, there were other ways of finding satisfaction-if he could only overcome his jealousy of the children and learn to regard them as people in their own right, to be enjoyed, not just tolerated.

The handwriting was on the wall. If she could patch things up by giving in to his desires, maybe the rest would follow. At least, it was worth a try.

When Jerry came home, she told him the news of the day, describing Mr. Yoles and his wife in a vivid word picture that needed no illustration. When she came to the part about Sue, he took the news glumly, especially when he realized that they were grounded. He went in to see the patient, masking his anger with a show of concern.

When he returned from the sickroom, he was shaking his head at her anxiety. "Honestly, Pam. You're such a worry wart! Why, she's got that earphone plugged into her ear and is having the time of her life! I thought you said she was sick."

"I didn't say she was, Jerry. She did! She complained of a headache and feeling hot. I took her temperature, and she does have a slight fever."

"So she's got a little cold-what of it? Why, when I was a boy..."

"Don't tell me. I know. You walked three miles to school every day, in snow up to your knees, et cetera."

Jerry laughed, although he was irked at himself for having fallen into such an obvious trap. "Well, maybe I do tend to exaggerate, but I can't remember my parents getting hysterical over a common cold."

Pam let that one go and gave his ruffled feelings time to calm down. After all, it wasn't every day that he received such a blow-a whole evening in the company of his wife. Before he could retire into his shell, she picked up the TV listings.

"I don't suppose there's a damn thing on television, either." Jerry uttered this prediction in a voice dripping with gloom.

"No, they're all reruns. We must have seen some of them at least five times. Why don't we just play it by ear? You know, have a few drinks, dance maybe we've got a perfectly good hi-fi set just going to waste."

He was taken aback by her suggestion. To cover his confusion, he pounced on the one drawback of her plan. "How about Jim? Is he in bed too?"

Pam glanced at the clock and crossed her fingers behind her back. "No, but it's his bedtime." She would have to make it up to Jim tomorrow, she thought. The poor kid would be getting bed sores from spending so much time in bed.

"You go ahead and make the drinks. I'll tuck him in and check on Sue a minute."

"Yeah, you do that. And slip a sleeping pill in their cocoa, while you're at it. We don't want to be interrupted tonight."

Pam checked herself just in time, before the angry words came pouring out. He expected her to wave her magic wand and make Jim and Sue disappear at his convenience; then, when he was ready to play at being a father again, they could reappear.

She went into her Houdini act, bartering a new toy for an extra hour of bedtime-cheap at the price. Sue was more easily mollified, no doubt because of her inexperience.

Pam armed herself with the best possible ammunition, calculated to bring any husband to heel. The way to a man's heart was not through the stomach, as any wife could testify. A more direct pipeline was needed, in the form of a seductive appeal to his senses. Follow that up with a good meal, and you had an unbeatable combination.

Jerry was on his second drink when she sashayed into the room, looking like anything but a housewife. She wore a hostess gown of red satin, slashed to the waist. It was close-fitting, eclipsing the roundness of her breasts so that they looked like perfect half moons. He had never seen the garment before, but he hoped to lot more of it in the future.

A pair of gold sandals twinkled out from beneath the folds of the skirt. And that was it. There wasn't any more.

"Do you like it?" Pam asked, twirling around for his approval.

"Let me put it this way. I like it so much, I'm not even going to ask how much it set me back."

"Coming from a man, that's high praise indeed." Pam bent down to get his glass, trailing a whiff of exotic perfume and offering a panoramic view of her splendid tits.

He slid a hand inside to explore the lush contours, adding the sense of touch to further stimulate his glands. "Why don't you let that go?" he suggested, indicating the glass still in her hand. He pulled her onto his lap and dispensed with the empty vessel. "I'd rather taste these, anyway."

Pam let him look and taste his fill, leaving the light on, just the way he liked it. The front drapes had been drawn, but those at the side window remained open. She tried to put it out of her mind, but she happened to be facing in that direction, and it made her edgy.

"Jerry..."

He paid no attention, being rather busy at the moment.

"Listen, darling." Pam unconsciously pulled back to look at him, bringing Jerry's banquet along with her.

"What's the matter?" he grumbled.

She adjusted the gown so that her exposed breast was covered, and tried to rise. "I'd feel better if those drapes were closed, Jerry. Why, anyone who happened to be passing by could look in."

Sighing, he pulled her back and switched off the lamp. "There. Does that make you happy?"

She relaxed again in his arms.

"Now, where were we?" he mused, as if searching his memory. "Oh, yeah." He resumed where he had left off, happy as a dog with a bone.

From her position on his lap, Pam could feel the slow awakening taking place, and she wriggled around to encourage it. The skirt of her gown parted, revealing the darkish patch his hand was seeking. The full moon cooperated beautifully by making a silvery path to guide him. She looked mysterious and untamed, wreathed in the luminous glow, and his desire grew by leaps and bounds.

Knowing that she flourished under a little petting, he unselfishly fondled her, working her up gradually. The signs of her passion were familiar to him-the sudden intake of breath, an involuntary quiver-so he was able to time it just right. He could feel her pussy opening up for him the way a budding flower opens its petals to the sun.

He pushed back the folds of her robe and prepared to reap the rewards of his patience. "Now, darling. I can't wait ... "

A shrill scream shattered the spell as effectively as a sudden deluge of ice water.

Pam sped down the hall, running faster than a fugitive from justice. The scream had come from Sue's room, and she burst through the door and into the room, afraid of what she might find.

Sue was cowering in fear, and crying her eyes out. She was so incoherent that Pam had to shake the words out of her. "I had a nightmare," she sobbed. "A man was chasing me, and I couldn't run."

Pam sagged with relief and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal. Then she set about the business of calming her daughter down.

When she returned to the living room, she wasn't too surprised to find that Jerry had flown the coop. His glass was still on the table-empty now. Soft, romantic music throbbed out a mournful message, echoing the sadness that was in her heart. Feeling utterly defeated, she went through the mechanics of switching off the hi-fi and locking the door.

I guess I should have locked it first and swallowed the key, she thought bitterly. She decided to drown her sorrows, only to find that he'd made off with the booze, too. Of all the nerve!

Then she remembered a bottle of champagne left over from a New Year's Eve party. She didn't much care for it, but what the hell. Maybe if she drank the whole thing, she'd be able to get some sleep.

She curled up on the couch, causing her gown to split asunder, and toasted the party of one. She was beginning to feel giddy already. Jerry always said that she got tipsy just from smelling the cork.

Hmphf! She sniffed contemptuously. You'd better watch your step, buddy, or I'm going to tell Ann Landers on you. Let's see. How should I word it? Dear Ann: Every time my husband tries to make love to me, right at the crucial moment, one of the children comes between us. No, that doesn't sound right. Scratch that part out.

She was belting them down like a two-fisted drinker now, completely ignoring the advice of wine connoisseurs the world over. She felt sparkling and tingly, like the bubbles she could no longer see. The trouble was, Jerry had started a bonfire, and there was nobody to put it out. She propped her legs up on the coffee table and regarded tbeir lovely lines through hazy eyes. If only Steve was here! He wouldn't leave her high and dry, no matter what.

He knows what to do with these, too, she thought, hefting her swollen boobs. The nipples were still erect from Jerry's lips, and she fondled them, pretending that her delicate hands were Steve's rough hairy ones. By closing her eyes, she could almost imagine that he was here, ready to fill her need. Strange bits and pieces came unbidden to her mind. Every sexual experience she had ever known, from the time she first learned the difference between boys and girls, swirled in a brilliant kaleidoscope behind her closed lids.

Her legs turned to butter and melted apart, exposing the hungry and throbbing cunt-mouth that was destined to be unfulfilled tonight. She watched her fingers creeping down to feed the hunger. The light from the moon made her hand look strangely disembodied, and she was able to watch, with true detachment, the manipulations that would bring her some release.

Other eyes were watching, too. Goggle eyes that would have looked at home in the frog family, but in actuality belonged to Mr. Yoles. He had seen the whole thing, from start to finish. It had crossed his mind to sneak in when Jerry left the house unguarded, but something told him to bide his time.

His position was uncomfortable and precarious, perched atop an old tin can, but his height made it necessary. He remained long after Pam had passed out, storing certain pertinent information away in his memory. His departure was silent, and he hugged the nuggets of information to his chest greedily.

While his wife lay dead to the world, Jerry was taking in the night air in an out-of-the-way spot. It was a favorite place for neckers, but there were no other cars around at the moment. He sat on the hood of the car, swilling from the whiskey bottle with monotonous regularity and smoking an endless chain of cigarettes.

One sweeping headlight signaled a late arrival, and a jalopy clanged its way to a halt just a few feet away. Jerry was about to leave them a clear field when a girl's shrill voice made him hesitate.

"Now, cut it out, Frank. No, please!"

Her voice sounded so urgent that Jerry waited to see that the boy didn't get carried away. A clump of bushes separated them, placing Jerry in the unwilling role of eavesdropper.

"No, Frank. Don't do that ... oh, Frank!"

Jerry relaxed. The girl's protest had been made merely to fan the flame. She had succeeded admirably, judging by the hot session that followed.

God, how he envied them. There was nothing like those first few times, with a girl still fresh and virginal. He supposed when Sue started dating, he'd feel differently about it. But that was a long way off, he hoped.

"Oh, no!" the girl wailed. "Already?"

Jerry grinned to himself. It wasn't all peaches and cream, even at their age. Poor Frank. The jalopy limped its way out of the lane, with the girl sitting as far away as she could. If only she'd realized what a high compliment he'd paid her, she wouldn't be in such a huff, Jerry thought.

By the time the whiskey bottle became a dead soldier and had found its resting place among the debris that littered the site. Jerry had come up with an inspiration. He needed to let off steam with somebody, and now he had just the person in mind.

Out on the highway, he weaved in and out, driving in first one lane, then the other. Glencove closed up tighter than a drum at this time of night, so he met up with no oncoming traffic. Only an occasional rabbit crossed his path and darted away to safety.

He managed to reach the Reddings' home without adding to the traffic casualties. Making no attempt to hide his approach, he switched off the ignition and lurched his way around to the bedroom window. He wasn't at all sure which bedroom they used, but his drunkard's uncanny logic led him to the right one.

Groping around in the darkness, he located some loose pebbles to throw at the window.

"Bever-lee," he called, drawing the last syllable out an extra measure.

The room came to life as Bob turned on a light and opened the window. "Who in the hell is out there?"

Bev appeared beside him, and Jerry stepped into view with the air of a man who has just sprung a surprise birthday party on his best friends.

"Oh, it's you, Jerry. What do you want at this time of night, for Christ's sake?"

"I want Bev," he stated, calmly.

"Are you crazy? You'd better go home and sleep it off."

"Listen, are we running a wife-swapping club, or aren't we? Well, then, I want to swap wives. Right now. Here's the key to my house. Help yourself. That is, if you can outmaneuver those two kids. I can't."

Bob and Bev held a small conference. "I don't know, Bev. He's getting louder by the minute. I'm afraid there's no other way to get rid of him. Maybe you'd better go out there and see what you can do."

"All right, Jerry. I'm coming out," she whispered.

Bob watched her go, and went into the living room to wait it out. He was well aware that Jerry had taken unfair advantage of him. He might have known that Bob wouldn't dream of imposing on Pam at this late hour. Not when he was sober, anyhow.

Jerry had found an outlet for his passion, at last. It had been building up all night, what with Pam's help, and the teen-agers in the car.

Without preamble, he separated a willing Bev from her nightie and held her tightly against him. Sleep was the farthest thing from her mind now, as Jerry's urgent demand burned into her.

"Oh, my," she giggled. "You are in a bad way, aren't you?"

She received an answer to her question as they fell to the ground and rolled around on the newly mown grass. The dew made their bodies glisten as their screwing picked up momentum.

Un-like the boy in the car, Jerry was able to prolong the union, and Bev enjoyed every minute of it. When it was over, she balanced one ruined nightgown against her evened-up score with Bob.

She was smugly satisfied.