Chapter 3
Carol smiled slightly as she thought of John and Ted Hurley. The men in her life. Ted Hurley and now Bruce. And, she smiled again, the dog Mars. He was a man. All man in fact.
Mars was still asleep beside her. The last fucking encounter was too much' for him, maybe, she thought. He was as good as any man if it were just the physical thrill a girl needed, she decided. Bruce was the same. But, she had felt the spiritual and the emotional pleasure with Ted Hurley.
Now as she relaxed she thought again of John. After she'd come from the fitting she'd rested. When John rang her bell it was just eight o'clock and Carol had bathed, fixed her hair and was ready for him. John came waltzing in with a box under his arm. He was dressed in an outrageous tuxedo with a frilly white shirt and a very floppy black tie. "Here I am, you lucky thing. Get into this."
Although she had spent the afternoon naked in front of him and the two women, Carol now excused herself, thinking how silly it must sound, but John didn't seem to mind at all. Maybe he was only interested in her body as a thing to drape.
Since her session with John and after reading Ted's two books, both of which talked about sex in an open manner and espoused a personal freedom and pleasure, Carol had been, for the first time in her life, really thinking about sex, feeling herself—her body and mind—aroused as never before. Suddenly she realized there was a whole aspect of life that she had been ignoring and sublimating. It simply didn't occur to her and, more out of habit than morals, she had always simply dismissed sex from her conscious mind. Now, it was hammering at her for all the years she had ignored it.
Carol stood in front of the mirror and admired herself. She looked like some exotic movie star, like some lustful and sensuous vampire. The dress clung to her and revealed and enhanced her already glorious figure. The dress was slitted up one side almost to the thigh and it revealed her naked shapely leg and thigh as she walked, just a flash of red showing from the lining.
She stepped out in the room and held her arms up and slowly turned around as John got to his feet and took in her figure. "If I must say so myself, I'm a genius. Nobody could do better. My dear, you are an orgasmic dream!"
Carol walked to him smiling. "Just don't get funny ideas."
"When it comes to sex, the only ideas I ever get are queer," John said, again smiling warmly. He clucked and fussed around Carol lowering the dress' neckline even more, draping the transparent shawl around her shoulders in a way that called attention to the nudity underneath.
"Come," John said, "we are off to a night of dancing, dining, and excitement. Later on, I'll show you the real underground night life of this supposedly staid old town."
When they walked through the lobby together, heads turned, men broke their stride; women threw malicious looks of pure envy as they made their way out to a waiting limousine. It continued that way all night. Everywhere they went they were the center of attraction, and Carol found John to be a warm and witty man.
They talked on through a sumptuous dinner with waiters hovering and people at the other tables staring at them. As the evening wore on, Carol found herself drinking wine and feeling dizzy and reckless. She liked being the center of attention, liked having people look at her with envy in their eyes, envy mixed with desire. She liked the idea of being racy and scandalous. More than anything, she found herself liking John as a human being. She was sure that she had found someone who would be her friend for life.
After dinner, Carol broke another rule as a beauty contestant by visiting a night club. She sat, entranced by the floor show and then shocked by a belly dancer in a costume that was cut down to the top of her vagina. They were joined at their table by friends of John's. One of them, a particularly wicked looking man, asked John, "Are you going to the party that the Thompson's are giving?"
"I am," John answered in a bored way.
"And, are you taking her?" the man asked, looking at Carol with a cynical smile.
"I am."
The man shrugged and snorted. "Well, I hope you know what you're doing."
The belly dancer was dancing in front of their table now, staring with dark eyes at John and his friends. Carol couldn't believe her gyrations. Her hands were held above her head where tiny ring symbols tinkled and rang. To Carol, it seemed as if the dancer's hips were on stainless steel springs as she twirled and undulated. My God, Carol thought, I could never do that, I could never behave in that fashion.
The show over, John signaled for the bill and they left with everyone turning to watch them go. Finally alone for the first time since the party had been mentioned, Carol asked where they were off to now.
"We are going to further your education."
"What kind of party is it?"
They were standing by the curb waiting for their car to be brought around. He gave a condescending sigh. "It's a party for adults."
For the first time, Carol thought John was avoiding a direct answer. A shadow came across her mind. Suppose she was the only woman present? Suppose it was "that kind" of party. "Will there be other women there?" she asked shyly.
In the car, John gave an address to the driver and settled back. "Yes, Carol dear, there will be other women there, wives as well as dates."
Carol felt both relief and guilt at having asked the question. She laughed and said, "I'm sorry, it's just that that man—that friend of yours—and the way he talked about the party. They way he said, 'I hope you know what you're doing.' It bothered me, that's all."
John lit a cigarette and smiled at her. "It should have. I said there would be wives and dates present. And there will, but not necessarily with their husbands and boyfriends."
There was silence in the car as they drove down the freeway. Carol tried to speak but her voice, failed her. Then again, "What kind of a party is this that we're going to?"
"My dear girl, you must know. How you worry and judge so. Isn't it enough to know you are going to a party where you'll meet famous and important people—people of influence and position?"
Carol turned in her seat. "John, I'm asking you and 'I want an answer from you. What kind of party is this we're going to?" Her face was serious and her tone was direct and almost blunt.
John blew out a cloud of blue-white smoke. "I see, you want to give it a name. Very well, how about 'orgy'? Or, 'wife-swapping'? Or, a Tai-sexual gathering'? Any of those suit you? If not, I could give other descriptions. Take your pick?"
Carol huddled in the corner and stared out of her window. She was hurt and bewildered. A moment before she was thinking that John was a lifelong friend and now, all she could think of was that, in reality, he was just some kind of unfeeling, unthinking pervert. Although she was still looking out the window, she was really addressing him when she said, "I want to go home."
"I'll take you home after we've been to the party„"
"I want to go back to the hotel now."
"You ought to at least go see what it's all about. Aren't you in the least bit curious?" John asked, his eyebrows arched and his limp wrist waving.
"Not at all. I want to go back to the hotel," she said. "At least let me put in an appearance," John said in his bored, superior voice.
"Take me to the hotel. Now." Carol's voice was firm and cold.
"Look, you can stay in the car while I run In and make excuses. You could at least do that," John said.
Furious, Carol rapped on the glass separating her from the driver who cocked his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Take me back to the hotel."
The driver shook his head and Carol could see his mouth moving in reply. "He can't hear you, my dear," John said, raising a microphone to his lips and flicking a switch. "Drive us to the hotel, please."
The car veered and they drove back downtown without saying a word or Carol looking at John. In the lobby, John was all gallantry. "If you change your mind, I can be reached at this number," he said handing her a folded slip of paper. "I'm sorry the evening turned out unpleasantly for you. That wasn't my intention. You would have met a lot of interesting people and seen some fascinating sights. You might even have met Ted Hurley."
Carol's heart leapt but before she could say a word, old John spun on his heels and she watched him stride across the lobby, never once looking back. His elegant manners seemed ironic as she watched him step aside to allow an elderly lady to pass through the door.
Carol stepped into the elevator and in the privacy of her room, she felt like crying. Suddenly, she felt all alone in the world. She wondered to herself if there were any decent people left in the world, that perhaps the only sane and normal way of life was in being a small town grocery checker.
She sat on the bed and wished for someone decent to talk with. Her wish wasn't long in becoming a reality. She jumped at the pounding on her door and the shaking of the knob.
It was her press agent and he came into the room and stalked back and forth. His face was red, his clothing disheveled and his hair mussed. "Baby, you really blew it!" he shouted, waving his arms.
The phone began ringing and he stalked over to it. "Don't answer it. Don't talk to anybody until I tell you to!" He picked up the phone and barked into it.
"Hello? What? ... No, she isn't available for comment. What? ... An official statement will be made in the morning." He banged the receiver down and held his stomach with both hands. "God what I have to do for a living!" He looked at Carol sorrowfully and then shook his head. "All that work and then, bam, down the drain!"
"What on earth are you talking about?" Carol looked at him bewildered, a silly, insane fact entering her mind: she could never remember his name. A nervous man even when things were going smoothly, now he was sticking two anti-acid suckers in his mouth and chewing them up fast.
"I'm talking about you, baby. You blew it! The whole scene. You were seen out in a nightclub that everyone knows is run by hoods, your picture was taken while you and people of dubious reputation were watching a belly dancer. Pictures were taken of you in that damn dress cut down to your navel almost. Oh boy, I need a tranquilizer!" The press agent rummaged in his pocket for a vial.
Carol was stunned. "I ... I .didn't know. John! We could call John. He said that it was all right, that it could be taken care of."
The press agent looked astounded. "Take care of? That creep? It's too late now, baby. You've been had and so have I. I've got half this state on my back with the other half waiting in line."
The phone rang and the agent answered, his face turning white as he listened to a. voice and said, "Yes sir, no sir, I'm all I can, sir. There's nothing I can see that she can do but formally withdraw and get out of sight. Yes sir, I'll call you back."
He hung up the phone and stood staring at it, heaving a deep sigh. "That's it. That was my boss, Honey, tomorrow morning you're going to be on front pages all over this country. There's a local gossip columnist around town ... a real rat, a lizard. He saw you with that fag and other people and he smelled a story, so he got a photographer and by the time I heard about it, it was too late to kill the story. The pictures went out on the wire services. If you like publicity, you're in for a lot of it."
"What? That's not fair, I didn't do anything!" Carol wailed.
The agent rolled his eyes. "No, nothing at all. All you did was break every known rule. All you're doing is going to Atlantic City with a picture of you with your boobs hanging out in a Mafia nightclub staring at a belly dancer and seated with some of the prize thugs and scum of the world. Also,- there's one picture of you taking a hefty belt of something other than Coke. Nobody in their right mind will believe it was the un-cola either!"
Wearily, he walked over to Carol and put his hands on her shoulders. He looked at her for a minute smiling sadly, before saying, "I'm sorry. I was getting to like you and I thought you had a real chance to go all the way. I don't think you're a bad kid but you sure aren't bright. You've been had. You're a victim."
Real tears came to Carol's eyes. "Oh," was all she could say in a cold voice.
"You'll have to withdraw. There's nothing for you to sign or say. I'll meet the press in the morning." At that moment he looked very tired and sad.
Carol made an effort to speak in a calm voice. Despite herself, her voice was shaking. "I'm so very sorry I've caused you all this trouble. I didn't mean to. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"
He simply shook his head. "You didn't do anything to me. I just like to gripe a lot ... part of my job qualification. All that's left for you to do is pack and get on a plane. Here's your tickets. You leave in the morning. If any reporters run into you, don't say a word. No matter what they say to you, say 'no comment.' Got that? Just 'no comment' and that's all."
Carol felt as if she had just been handed her death warrant. She was being taken out of the Miss America contest and being pushed back into obscurity. She would return home to her friends and her job under a cloud. Her reputation was tainted. And it was all because of that little queer, John. Rage mingled with despair. Being a beauty queen never meant what it was supposed to have meant and she really didn't care about winning or losing, regarding the whole thing as a lark. But she did care about being dismissed in such an abrupt and curt manner, leaving her name and reputation smeared. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the phone jangled again. The agent talked into it and hung up. He pointed to the phone. "And don't, whatever you do, answer that thing."
"Isn't there anything I can do?" Carol wailed again. "Isn't there anything or anybody I can talk to and tell my side of the story?"
The agent shook his head. "All you can do is take it on the chin. Go home, get out of sight, stay out of sight until this all blows over. People forget real fast, you'll see."
"But I didn't do anything!" Carol shouted,- near to sobbing now.
The agent patted her on the shoulder. "I believe you, but, when it comes to a girl as pretty as you, when it comes to beauty queens, people aren't interested in facts so much as they're interested in gossip. And right now, you're nothing but gossip, baby!"
As Carol fell on her bed, the slit in her dress revealed her leg and thigh and stirred the agent to thoughts other than press releases. He reached down and patted her on the bare thigh. "I'm sorry, baby."
Carol raised up long enough to say, "Get out!"