Chapter 1
Carmel, California, is called by many the greatest and most dramatic meeting of land and sea. The rounded peninsula thrusts out into the Pacific Ocean, and the mountains seem to rush into the sea in a wild plunge. High above Carmel, cows graze in mountain fields. Great walls of sea fog blow in, chilling the air. The ocean is a gentle sparkling blue or, in a matter of hours, a churning gray with crashing, foaming surf. The sand is a powdered white and the Carmel River empties into the Pacific, cutting a clean path through the pure sand. To this spot, to this beauty, tourists come from all over the world.
Carmel itself is a lovely little town full of beautiful and highly individualized homes on quiet streets that meander under spreading shade trees. It is against the law to cut a tree down in Carmel and streets are paved around old pines that stand resolute as cars go around them. Carmel is quaint in a charming sense and everything about it encourages one to lead the quiet life. Almost every home has a lawn and fireplace. Most homes are expensive and tastefully done in a country style. Most of the people who live in Carmel are retired and range in status from well-to-do to rich.
One exception was Scott Baines. He was not rich. He lived in Carmel in a modest cottage with his young, voluptuous and darkly attractive wife, Sheila. Scott had inherited a modest sum when his father died and was determined to make a fortune on his own. He was a young stockbroker in Carmel, eager to get ahead. He felt he must appeal to the older generation of investors in Carmel by showing them that he was reliable and serious.
So he dressed conservatively, in quiet grays and muted charcoal blacks with sober striped ties and white shirts. He strove, at work and at home, to show his sincerity and dependability. He smiled at Sheila in an indulgent way and quietly, carefully, he said, "We've got to instill trust. We've got to show Carmelites that they can trust me to look after their interests and investments. Honey, you've got to remember that when we're dining out or when you're shopping downtown. You've got to realize you're projecting our image all the time."
Sheila Baines was extremely "image" conscious. She was much more conscious of her image than Scott ever suspected. Sheila had a past to hide and live down, a past that none of her current friends knew anything about. She was afraid to tell her husband about that past and dreaded the day he might ever find out about it. It was the one thing in her life that nagged at her and made an otherwise lovely existence uneasy.
Sheila was happy to be married to Scott and loved him deeply because he treated her decently, with love and respect. Carmel was a lovely place to live and full of interesting people to know. Their cottage was small but pleasant, being an older Carmel home, a board-and-batten cottage near the beach. Sheila loved the cool evenings when they sat around the fire and heard the distant boom of surf. She thrilled to the late-night sound of wind in the tall trees blowing in off the ocean as they lay in bed together, snug in the dark.
Her life was so quietly beautiful that Sheila sometimes forgot about her past and enjoyed the present to the hilt, a smiling girl with smoldering, gypsy-style beauty. She had long jet-black hair in a thick mane around her exotic face and smoky eyes that had long dark lashes splaying out. Her smile was slow and sensuous on her indulgent soft lips. She wore very little makeup, just enough to accentuate her features. Her eyes were big and alluring and her nose was elegant and thin, flaring out in sensuous nostrils that quivered when she laughed, giving her the look of a wild gypsy flamenco dancer.
It was natural that men were attracted to her and that one thought dominated all others when they saw her. Sex. Sheila Baines reeked of a refined lust in her every look and motion. It was her movement that first attracted attention. She was tall and slender and voluptuous with a natural hip action as smooth as oiled ball bearings. Her breasts were firm and well-developed, and unless she was careful, unless she wore a tight bra, her breasts jiggled and quivered when she walked. Except for modesty and tradition, she didn't need a bra, for her heavy breasts were full and rounded and quivered as if they were full of some warm liquid. Her whole walk was a fluid tease as she went down the street. To please her husband, she walked carefully and dressed conservatively. But, no matter what she did, she couldn't hide her saucy, provocative walk that turned men's heads and made women go narrow-eyed with envy.
Sheila was well-endowed with bold exciting good looks and a slender body that was lithe and moved with the effortless squirming grace of a panther about to pounce.
Men in downtown Carmel watched Sheila's progress on her way to the post office and speculated about her. Several of the more daring struck up conversations with her. All of them-failed to score and word soon got around. "Save your breath," was the word. "That one has all the equipment but she has it in cold storage."
"No kidding?"
"Listen, with that babe, it's always winter. It's always that way ... the biggest knockouts are the coldest fish in bed."
Sheila was anything but a cold fish. In fact, she was just the opposite and fought with a desperate kind of control to repress herself when Scott made love to her. She forced herself into a passive role and let him make love on top of her. Still, try as she might, she couldn't keep her hips from churning and grinding wildly as he drove for his orgasm. Her lewd behavior as she wiggled and undulated her hips drove Scott mad with desire and he always came quickly, groaning and rolling off her immediately afterwards.
Sheila was just as glad for their sex life and the fact that Scott seldom demanded she have sex. Too much sex would lead her back to her old life, her past, her secret that Scott didn't know about or suspect.
Only one year in the past, before she had met and married Scott, she had been living in San Francisco. She had been working as a secretary in the financial district when she met Mike Curtis and Marsha Evans. She was just getting over a broken romance and was ripe for Mike and Marsha. Together, they led her into a life of excitement, illicit thrills, and eventual depravity and humiliation.
But that was all behind her and Sheila tried not to think of it. She had simply packed up one day and moved down to Carmel, finding herself a furnished room and a job in one of the many gift stores in the downtown section. She was determined to make a decent life for herself, and she succeeded, when she met Scott Baines. Their courtship was a whirlwind affair and they were married by a justice of the peace in Monterey.
Life with Scott was everything she could ask for and she was happy in their home and with their friends. Scott seemed to be making headway at his career and all was well with the world. In fact, Sheila found her early life full of lurid memories retreating in her mind. It was all past, gone, over and done with.
All over and done with, that is, until one day, while walking to the post office in downtown Carmel, Sheila froze, a smile melting from her face and a cold, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Sheila!"
She wanted to keep walking, to run, for she knew the voice.
"Say, isn't that Sheila? Hey, Sheila!"
"It is, it's Sheila!"
She turned, standing on the tree-shaded street with birds chirping above and tourists drifting arm in arm along the block, and saw Mike Curtis and Marsha Evans. It was almost as if her heart stopped beating and her smile was a sickly thing as she saw Mike and Marsha hurrying toward her.
They had changed. Mike's hair was now long and his clothing was different. Once a sharp dresser in continental suits, he was now wearing bell-bottomed tight-fitting pants and beads over a florid shirt. Marsha was more wanton and debauched-looking than ever, wearing a long skirt slit up the side to her hip and no bra. Her big lovely breasts jiggled and jumped under the dress and her pointed nipples pressed against the soft material.
They rushed at Sheila and embraced her. "Jesus Christ, it's Sheila!"
She was embarrassed and awkward as she pulled away from the embraces that had once been so familiar to her as she tried to smile and laugh and pretend she was glad to see them. "Mike! Marsha! How are you?"
Mike's mouth was open with pleased astonishment as he stepped back to look at her with an admiring eye. "How am I? How are you? Sheila! Jesus! You just disappeared! I asked all over and nobody knew where you went."
Marsha's grin was wicked as she too stepped back to look at Sheila's tempting face and figure. "I asked everybody. Nobody knew a thing. Honey, why did you run away?"
"I didn't." Sheila was flustered. People were looking at the three of them. "I did. Look, it's a long story. See?" She wiggled the third finger of her left hand, holding it up so that they could see the wedding ring. "I'm married now."
"Far out." Mike took her by the arm. "Listen, we've got a lot to tell each other. Let's go have a drink some place."
Sheila agreed quickly, eager to get off the street. She took them to a little bar that was out of the way. She knew that not many Carmelites went to the bar. It was considered a tourist trap by the regulars and business was slow in the afternoon. They walked quickly, Sheila nervous and making small talk. She couldn't help wondering: what if Scott should see me with these two? What if friends should see me? She was tense and walked quickly, asking questions in order to give herself time to think while Mike and Marsha talked both at once.
They settled at a table in the semi-dark of the bar and ordered drinks, and Mike set the tone by staying, "Now. Before we get yakking, I want to know something. Why did you just suddenly disappear?"
"Me too," Marsha said, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward, exposing her deep fleshy cleavage while she grinned knowingly at Sheila. It was almost as if she expected Sheila to give some lewd and depraved reason for leaving San Francisco.
Sheila took a breath. The dreaded thing had happened. Her past had caught up with her; all the wild things she had done had now caught up with her in the form of Mike and Marsha. It was time to pay the piper. Sheila exhaled in a long sigh and gathered up courage to face the truth. "I ran away."
Mike frowned. "Something I did?"
Sheila shook her head.
"Me?" Marsha's voice was throaty and insinuating.
She smiled, shaking her head. "No, it wasn't anything anybody did to me, it was what I was doing to myself. Honestly, there were times when I wanted to kill myself. There were times when I was so lonely and so ashamed of what I had done. I got to wondering just how long I could live that way. I just suddenly decided to get away. Leave. Change my whole way of life."
They sat silent for a few moments, all of them looking at their drinks. Mike heaved a sigh and shook his head. "Wow. Far out."
"Yeah," Marsha said. "I know the feeling."
"You do?" Tears brimmed gratefully in Sheila's eyes.
"Yeah. Sure." Mike patted her hand. "Hell, and all this time I thought it was something I had done to you."
"Yeah. Me too."
Sheila bit her lip. She had forgotten how nice they could be. "Hey, we understand," Mike said reassuringly. "Hell, you should have talked to us about it. Hey, we're your friends."
She knew it. Suddenly, in their presence, a flood of memories came back. They weren't really bad people ... just different.
"Hey, we're all friends. Tell us what you're doing down here married to some guy. Who is he? What does he do? What's his con?"
Trustingly, Sheila told them. She told the truth as simply and directly as possible. She told them the story in detail over their drinks. Mike ordered another round as she talked and Sheila found herself drinking out of nervous energy. "So," she summed up, "I guess you can put me down. I guess you can say I sold out."
"Hey, what kind of talk is that? Listen, this is Mike. And Marsha. Listen, I'm happy for you. If you dig it, I'm for it!"
"Same here," Marsha said with a lazy shrug. "If it turns you on, baby."
They toasted one another and Sheila laughed with a released delight. She drank as she thought: I've nothing to be afraid of. They're my friends.
They ordered another round of drinks as Sheila looked more closely at Mike and Marsha and asked them what they were doing.
Mike-had grinned that old big city torn cat grin and said, "I'm cleaning up. I've hit it big. Both of us are making money too fast to count."
Sheila was impressed. "What are you doing?"
Mike and Marsha exchanged a knowing smile. "Oh, you could say we've gone into show business."
Marsha laughed throatily. "Mike's a producer."
"Producer? You're doing plays?" Sheila was intrigued yet guarded because of the way they were grinning.
"I'm in films," Mike said after looking around to see if anyone else was listening.
It was almost as if Sheila knew without his saying what kind of films he was making. Their-Mike's and Marsha's-whole background was right for it. It was only logical. Sheila looked at Mike's twinkling eyes as she said in a low voice, "You're making pornographic films."
Marsha laughed. "Hard core, honey."
Mike nodded. "The whole situation has changed up in San Francisco. Almost like the gold rush days all over again. Them that got, gets. I'm in there making a small fortune. Shoot one a week and they play in a house the minimum of a month. If they catch on, they can run for months. Imagine earning a couple of grand a day every day. Hell, I got three films playing now.
"Hey, I got a fourth with me, back at the hotel. Want to see it?"
Sheila smiled painfully and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but that's all behind me now."
"Come on, for old time's sake."
"Yeah," Marsha said, chuckling. "I'm in it."
"Hell, she stars in it. You should see her go." Mike slapped his forehead. "What am I saying? You've seen old Marsha in action. Hell, we had some good times, didn't we?"
Embarrassed, feeling an uncomfortable flush and just a touch of that old lust and lewdness, Sheila shifted in her chair and fumbled for her drink. With a start, she looked at her watch and realized how much time had gone by and how much she had had to drink. She wasn't used to much drinking except for a cocktail before dinner. Her head was spinning and she looked at her drink in amazement. It was full!
"Bottoms up," Mike said.
Marsha leered. "Here? Oh, you mean a toast. Sure. Here's to Sheila and the good times we all had."
Sheila reluctantly sipped her drink. She was beginning to feel a little smashed and knew she had to be careful. How was she going to explain to Scott, who didn't like drinking?
"How about it? How about us getting a little food and something to drink and go back to our hotel room and see that old movie?" Mike asked, leaning forward.
"Yeah," Marsha whispered in a husky voice, "I've got some groovy grass. We all can get stoned and watch the movie of me.
Sheila swallowed. It seemed to take her minutes to swallow and find her voice. "I'm sorry, but I can't. My husband doesn't like things like that."
Mike shrugged. "He doesn't have to know. Just come up now for a little while."
Nervously, Sheila raked her hand through her wild black mane of hair and swallowed again, lacing her hands in front of her. "I'm sorry," she said again, "but I'm different now. I've changed my life. I don't think I'd want to see that film. I'm not that way any more."
Mike looked at her for a moment before nodding. "Sure. Okay. I get it. You're different. Okay, no harm done, but if you should change your mind, we're staying at the Pine Inn. That's the best place in town, huh? Pretty ritzy inside."
They sat in silence again until Mike looked at Marsha and said, "Maybe we'd better split."
Marsha nodded, getting up quickly. "Sure, I don't like staying any place I'm not wanted."
Sheila winced. She knew she hadn't said it well, she knew she had hurt their feelings. She felt badly and looked away. It was a rotten way to treat someone who had never hurt her. Still, how could she explain them to Scott? What would he say about them? What would he do if he ever found out about her past? Her love for Scott and her fear of what he would say and do frightened her. Life without Scott was unimaginable.
Sheila looked up to see the beautifully wild and depraved face of Marsha glaring down. She was standing with her pelvis thrust out, her hand on her hip. She stood in the dim room like a wild wanton women who was defiant of the world. Carefully, quietly, she said, "I'm sorry if I took up your time. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry I ever knew you." She spun on her heel and slowly walked out.
Mike, ever the smooth operator, always poised and mildly ironic, shrugged and said, "Sorry for the way it came out. Look, I understand your trip, don't worry. We're only here for overnight before we go on down the coast to Big Sur tomorrow morning." He took her hand in both of his. "Listen, it was great to see you. Really. I mean it. Honest. It was great. If you change your mind, we're at the Pine Inn, and if we don't see you, good luck, hear? So long."
She watched Mike swing easily out of the bar and into the Carmel sunshine and out of sight. It was as if he had just walked in and then out of her life, and she heaved a sigh. Mike would never hurt her. Ruefully she smiled, knowing that she had hurt him. And Marsha. She had implied that they weren't good enough, that she was ashamed of them and her own past.
She drained her drink and motioned to the cocktail waitress to order another. She drank it slowly, sitting alone, feeling dirty all over for what she had done to Mike and Marsha.