Chapter 3

Leslie killed time-killed one dreary day after another.

She almost wished that this Flagg person would appear-the one time she thought of him-on the off-chance that he might break the sterile monotony of her days. But he didn't appear, and the days and hours dragged on.

Audrey visited her from time to time, usually to make passes. Leslie parried her aside, fended her away, shunted her off.

"Oh, come on, Leslie! Don't tell me you're turning puritan in your old age!"

"I'm no puritan-"

"Don't I know it! I know how you like me, sweetie."

"But I don't feel like that now!"

"You've got needs, the same as any other woman! Don't tell me Jack Home has been wearing you out-"

"I haven't been seeing Jack."

"Somebody else? Got a new girl friend?'"

"No. Audrey, for the thousandth time, why don't you get a man-"

"I'm in love with you, sweetie-"

"Oh, nonsense!"

The truth was that Leslie was beginning to dislike Audrey. Bad qualities which had been muted when the two first met were now emerging in full strength. Audrey had harbored a certain bitterness toward herself-toward her inability to graduate to an emotionally mature life. But her self-hatred had reached a point of revulsion against itself and had been turned outward: she tended increasingly to turn bitterness and cynicism against practically everyone, male or female, who came to her attention.

Moreover, she was becoming increasingly adept at prying out dirt-or what she chose to label as dirt. In a small community where rumor and scandal were parlor games, Audrey saw more and knew more than anyone else-and was becoming vicious in the way she spread the dirt which she uncovered.

She could not always sustain the out-flow of her bitterness. From time to time it was blocked and welled up in her, and she was sick with self-loathing. She resisted the idea of psychiatric aid even though she was beginning to be plagued with spells of illness.

Leslie tried to pity her. She tried to remember the quality of soft femininity which Audrey had once had and which might still be hidden under layers of tarnished brass. But the young woman was beyond her help now, and granting her some pleasure was at best a temporary aid: that might even be harmful.

Leslie's growing dislike for Audrey was reflected in her growing dislike for females in general-even herself. Once she had been so organized that almost anything-or anyone-that aroused her sense of beauty or compassion or intellectual balance brought forth a kind of sensual-in the broad sense-response. But now her own body gave her little pleasure except in reference to a man: some man she was waiting for but who never came.

"It's the slow return of the repressed," she told herself broodingly and with a touch of self-mockery, "and I'm developing the neurotic organization of the 'normal' woman."

She frequently met Jack for lunch, and it was always pleasant. After their last morning together, when he had insisted on making love, he had never made a pass, and she was grateful.

He seemed to sense that she was going through some kind of crisis, but he never questioned her too closely. He chose to be a quiet, a warm and friendly presence willing to listen should she ever want to talk. If there was ever a break in the sluggish monotony of her days, it was when she was with Jack, and a couple of times she was tempted to invite him to her house to try to seduce him. But she decided against that. She knew the impulse couldn't last until they reached her door, and going to bed with Jack might start their affair going all over again.

And so the hours creaked and ground in weary procession.

And then one afternoon Audrey appeared at her door with a dark stranger.

In a way-his dark slimness-he was like Jack Home, but a little shorter, a little more solidly built. His quiet almost sober, manner didn't mask a certain feeling, an aura, of masculine force, of power.

She had had no idea of what Max Flagg would be like.

But she would never have guessed him to be a man like this one.

From the moment he stepped into the room and Audrey said, "This is an old friend, Les. Max Flagg," and he said, "How do you do, Dr. Stanton," her entire body, her face, her soul had felt warm and flushed. If she had taken off her clothes and looked at herself in a mirror, she would have been pink.

They dallied through the casual conversation the situation called for, and Audrey reluctantly complied with Leslie's request that she go to the kitchen and take her time mixing some martinis.

"I expected you before this, Mr. Flagg."

"My wife and I have been taking our time driving cross-country and visiting old friends and relatives. We'll go as far as Denver and then take a southern route back."

"Then you won't be here long?"

"For a week or two. Since we have so many friends here this will be our longest stop-over."

"I'm sorry you didn't bring Mrs. Flagg with you."

"So am I, but-"a wry smile flickered over Max Flagg's face, "-she was already committed to some kind of hen-party." He hesitated for an instant as if trying to decide how to phrase what he wanted to say. "My wife and I-to a certain extent-tend to go our separate ways."

Leslie's heart thumped at his words and there was a heaviness deep under her ribs. She felt more flushed and warm than ever.

Wasn't Max Flagg suggesting that all was not well between himself and his wife?

At that moment it was as if some invisible magnetism, some gravitational force, had sprung into being between them.

"Don't you gentlemen usually carry little brief cases or attache cases with you, Mr. Flagg?"

"This is primarily a vacation trip for me, Doctor, not a business trip."

"Pleasure before business."

"Exactly. Since we probably have a number of mutual friends here, such as Audrey, I thought we might get acquainted first."

"Then I'll be seeing more of you."

"I'd like that."

"So would I ... Are you busy this evening, Mr. Flagg?"

"My wife and I are supposed to go to a party at Professor Brentwood's, I'm afraid-"

"Jerry Brentwood is a very good friend of mine. I may be there."

"I'll look forward to seeing you."

They both smiled very slightly. It was a pledge of sorts.

Audrey soon returned with the drinks. Too soon. They settled down to campus chatter, Audrey taking the lead in emphasizing the muck but, happily, not laying it on too heavily.

The hour came when Max Flagg announced that he had to go met his wife. "Can I give you a ride?" he asked Audrey.

"No, sweetie, I'll stay here a bit longer."

"You'll have to take a cab, then," Leslie said, anxious to be rid of her. "I'm not going into town."

"I don't mind. Ta-ta Maxie."

Max Flagg went through the conventions of departure and from the front veranda the two women watched him go to his station wagon and leave.

"What do you think of him?" Audrey asked as the wagon pulled away.

"A very nice young man."

Audrey looked at her appraisingly. "Not too nice, I hope."

"Not too nice."

"Sweetie, don't forget that he's married."

"I suppose he is. Up to a point." Leslie immediately regretted her words. She turned briskly and reentered the house.

Audrey followed her. "Now, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that it's always seemed to me that there are degrees of marriage, differing in every case-"

"And he's not too married, huh?" A sharp note had come into Audrey's voice.

"I'm sure he's extremely married" Leslie lied.

Audrey continued to stare at her. "Maybe, maybe not," she muttered. Then she laughed. "It would be funny if you started getting ideas about the one guy I once thought I'd like to love."

"Very amusing."

Though not looking directly at Audrey, Leslie could see that she was chewing her lip.

"Are you angry about something, Les?"

"No, of course not!"

"You sound sort of distant."

Leslie hurried through the house toward the back veranda. Oh lord, why couldn't Audrey go home! Leslie wanted to be alone. She wanted to think about Max Flagg.

On the veranda, Audrey came up behind her and put her arms around her. "Not mad?" she said. "Not mad."

"You're my best friend in the world, Les." Leslie patted Audrey's hand. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably better than you're doing now."

"Never."

Why didn't Audrey let go of her? Why did she have to hang on her like this, like so much dead weight, like so much dull, uninteresting human pork? Why didn't she leave?

"Les, sweetie...."

"Yes...." Here it came.

"It's been a long time...."

"I think we'd better leave things that way, Audrey."

"Don't be silly, sweetie." Audrey moved her right hand up to a full globe. "Don't I"

Leslie wrenched herself free of the clinging, exploring hands. Audrey's eyes widened.

"Well, what the hell's the matter with you!"

"I simply don't want you, Audrey, I'm not in the mood!"

"You're never in the mood any more!"

"That's right!" Anger, icy and uncontrollable, took command of Leslie's tongue. "I'm never in the mood any more! Never, ever again! I'm sick and tired of that, you'll have to go elsewhere! I'm no frustrated old maid who doesn't know what to do with a man once she has the chance. I'm a woman a grown-up woman, not a Lesbian. Do you understand me?"

She stood panting, glaring at Audrey. Audrey was frozen in an attitude of shock.

The shock faded visibly. "Maxie really got to you, didn't he?"

"I'm sorry, Audrey. I'm sorry." Leslie tried to melt her anger. "No, it wasn't Max. It was everything. I've been fed up with the world lately, and I had no right to take my feelings out on you."

She was aware of an element of hypocrisy in her words: it could be very dangerous to make an enemy of Audrey.

She was equally aware of the hypocrisy in Audrey's soothing words: "Sure, sure sweetie. I know how you feeL We all have these times. I'll tell you what-you sit down here and I'll call a taxi. And while I'm waiting for it, I'll make you another big cold martini."

"Would you, Audrey?" Leslie said eagerly. "It would be so good of you!"

More hypocrisy. God, what a Tartuffe she was! Make Audrey think she was doing her a big favor and thus, perhaps, take some of the potential pressure off!

"Be right with you, sweetie." Saccharin tones. More hypocrisy. So this would be the new game they would play.

Still, the big martini proved to be excellent and after Audrey had left, she sat alone on the back veranda and relished it. Gradually she unwound.

She had better call dear Jerry soon and find out if he minded her coming over. The sooner she saw Max Flagg again, the better.

Max Flagg what was there about him?

Then she remembered.

That daydream she had had the last time she and Audrey had been together. That silly adolescent fantasy she had indulged in.

The dark lover who had come to her, naked and impassioned. The dark lover whom she hadn't been able to resist, hadn't wanted to resist. The dark lover who had taken her mercilessly....

In her mind she was seeing her dark lover again, and the hunger swept through her. She was seeing her dark lover and now she recognized him.

It was Max Flagg who was naked before her, Max Flagg who was ravishing her.

If she only could. She wanted him the dark lover of her dreams, the one she would love and cherish forever.

Yes, she had to have him. She had to have him in her arms.

At this moment, her entire being seemed to have but one objective: to make love with Max Flagg.

Max was angry with himself, angry and disturbed, as he drove back into town.

What had he thought he was up to? His only real interest in Leslie Stanton-aside, perhaps, from the interest of meeting one of the world's leading scientists-was to get an important contract signed. Never in his life had he even considered playing the lady's man to achieve a business objective.

Yet at the very instant he said those words about Doris and him tending to go their separate ways, he had known how they would sound. He had known what his tone would imply. But he had been powerless to control himself. It was as if some unknown power within had taken control of him and was speaking through his mouth.

And the lady had known precisely what he had-no, not he!-what his words and tone had meant! He angrily disclaimed the implied intention.

Well, if Dr. Leslie Stanton had any biological ideas about him, they were badly mistaken. He had no intention of cheating on Doris ever again. If matters reached such a pass that he had to go to another woman, he'd get a divorce. But, like every other man who gets married, he'd taken his chances and he'd do his damnedest to abide by the results. God knew, Doris had worked like hell to make things right for them.

Even if she was driving both of them nuts.

He wondered if Leslie Stanton would show up at Jerry Brentwood's that night.

She was a hell of an example of womanhood, all right.

Audrey was something, for that matter-she certainly liked to throw herself around. She had always been a bit of a tease, but now you half expected her to pull out a boob and wave it at you at any minute. And withdraw it the moment she saw that you were really becoming excited. She had become a lot more bold and brassy in the last three years, and undeniably she had everything it took to interest a man.

But she barely compared with Leslie Stanton, as far as Max was concerned. What an attractive female that was! Brownish-reddish hair: a kind of brilliant auburn, he supposed. Dark eyes. A handsome womanly face. A figure that was too effective to be merely perfect. And the way that figure moved! None of Audrey's wiggling-a flow, a waviness, an undulance.

It was the remembered vision of Leslie Stanton as much as the heat of the day that brought sweat to Max's forehead.

Well, get her out of your mind, buster. Beautiful women helped to make the world a tolerable place during one's brief span-but you have a lovely wife to care for your needs.

Oh, yeah, sure.

Be picked up Doris at the Faculty Club, and they went to their hotel to wash and change for dinner. They had decided to stay at a small, inexpensive, comfortable hotel rather than in some friend's home, because it gave them more privacy and freedom. They had dinner with another couple, the Bannons, at a favorite restaurant of the old days and then headed for Professor Brentwood's.

It was a larger party than Max had expected. Jerry Brentwood had attempted to round up as many people who knew Max and Doris as he possibly could. Max would have preferred to renew old acquaintances a few at a time rather than having them thrown at him so fast he hardly had time to say hello, but he noted that Doris was apparently enjoying herself, and he was grateful to Jerry for his efforts.

He wandered from one group to another, exuding a somewhat forced joviality, trading reminiscences, getting "brought up to date." He was glad that he'd hung onto his class annuals, for without them he would never have remembered all the names and faces he did, and he was still put into an awkward position in a couple of cases. But, with the ease of a good salesman, he faked it successfully and prevented anyone's feelings from being damaged.

When, after a couple of hours, the pressure of social fellowship was beginning to tell on him, Max contrived to fade from sight, disappearing out onto a side terrace and behind a tall stand of bushes.

"Hello again."

She was there. And now he knew that he had been waiting for her, looking for her, wishing for her, during the entire evening.

She wore a dark green dress, low-cut with string shoulder-straps: a cocktail or informal evening dress, he supposed she would call it. She filled it like an overdeveloped adolescent who hadn't lost the last of her baby fat. But what she had was not baby fat. She was all woman.

"Hello, Dr. Stanton-"

"My name is Leslie, Max-"

"I hoped I'd see you here, Leslie."

Again, the words were coming from his mouth as if someone else were dictating what he must say.

As if, it suddenly struck him, he was saying what Leslie Stanton wanted him to say. And there was no doubt-from her smile, from the light in her dark eyes-that she was pleased by his words.

"I've looked forward to it, too," she said.

Music floated through the lighted French windows, across the terrace, and out into the darkness around them. Without a thought of what he was doing, Max held up his left hand and, stepping forward, put his right hand just above the small of Leslie's back.

They danced.

As they danced, he felt the smooth muscles of her back working against his palm. They moved closer together and her full bosom dusted lightly against his chest.

She smiled. The tip of her tongue flickered over her richly sensuous lips. Her eyes at the same moment glittered and darkened.

"I'm glad to know that I was right," he said, unable to prevent his voice from shaking. "About what, Max?"

"I couldn't believe that you were as lovely as I remembered."

She smiled. "Is this how you usually go about getting a contract signed?"

"To hell with the contract."

At that instant, he meant precisely what he said. Earlier, no. Later, no. But right now the only thing claiming his interest and attention was the woman in the crook of his arm, the woman whose body was in his hands.

He danced with her, and he hadn't danced like this since his early days with Doris. This was not the dance of social convention. This was the dance of sensual pleasure! It verged on the dance of courtship, the dance as the first stage of love-play, the dance that led to complete abandon.

This was not two bodies in step with the same music but two bodies in step with each other in a sensual rhythm.

They couldn't stay together long with propriety. But they did stay together-much too long. And after they had rejoined the party and gone their differing ways, Max remained conscious of Leslie's presence across the room. Through cigarette smoke, through party chatter, through the shifting and milling of the other guests, he remained aware of Leslie's voice, glance, her animal attraction.

In less than an hour, Max again made his way across the terrace and out onto the dark lawn.

He turned around and Leslie was there. They danced.

"It occurred to me," she said after a time, "that we'd have to met again to discuss the contract. Why don't you come to the Faculty Cabana Club tomorrow afternoon? Sign yourself-and Mrs. Flagg, if she'd like to come-as my guests. Use the Club any time you wish while you're here." She hesitated and again her tongue-tip moved over her lips. "We can meet there, or at my house, any time."

She moved her left arm from Max's shoulder and held out a key. "Cabana No. 21 "

Max took the key. "Thank you, Leslie."

She smiled.

Her smile grew and her eyes closed as once again his arm tightened around her.

"It was a nice party, wasn't it?" Doris said as they drove back to their hotel.

"Fine. A little crowded, but a lot of fun."

"You seemed to have fun with that Stanton woman, dancing on the lawn."

Max tried to sound casual. "She's quite a hunk. And at least she hasn't given me an outright veto of the contract."

"I think she's attracted to you."

"Naturally, darling. Women simply can't resist your husband's wiles and blandishments. I'll get that contract yet."

Doris laughed mirthlessly. Her voice was strained with the effort to keep the conversation light. "Are you sure the contract is the only thing you're after?"

"What else?"

"Well, if I were a man and I met a cookie like that...."

"You'd betray me darling?"

"Who knows? I might."

"Well, if you ever do," Max turned on a mock-harsh voice, "just be sure you get the contract, see?"

They both laughed, and Max was pleased that the laughter bubbled up naturally.

"The same goes for you, sweetheart," Doris said, a smile still in her voice. "If you must give in to another woman, I want to see us get a substantial return on the investment."

She raised up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Once back in their hotel room, they quickly got ready for bed. As Max brushed his teeth, he told himself he'd better keep his imagination from running amok over this Stanton dame. She was, as Doris had said, a cookie-quite a cookie. But the odds were that she had no real intentions on his fair body, and certainly he had none on hers. Since she had apparently had no inclination to sign the contract, it was decent of her not to give him the boot immediately but to display a willingness to give it a look-see and listen to what he had to say.

But that was as far as matters went. For both of them.

There was no sense in confusing matters just because the woman had a grand pair of boobs and a lovely behind.

And she definitely was lovely....

He looked around the bathroom for his pajamas and realized that he had forgotten to bring them in with him. Still wearing his briefs, he returned to the bedroom for them.

He came to a dead stop the instant he saw Doris.

She was sitting on the turned-down bed, her legs curled under her, and she looked quite casual as she took a last puff of her cigarette and ground out the butt in a tray.

But the effect on Max wasn't casual.

She wore something like a shortie nightie, something like a hip-length negligee; a single layer of black silk, decorated with a few black silk roses, tied at the neck. Under it another wisp of back silk clung to her and a pretense of a black brassiere cupped each beautiful, shimmering hemisphere. Naked pink nipples pointed against the transparent black nightie.

"You like?" she asked softly.

"You've been saving your ammunition," he said huskily.

She nodded. "I bought it before we left New York. Been saving it for the proper mood."

He gazed over her velvet and silken blonde and black length. He prayed that she had left him enough self-confidence to do justice to her.

But he mustn't let that kind of thinking take over. It was that kind of thinking that could easily defeat both of them.

He focused his full attention on her.

"You're beautiful," he said. "I keep learning over and over again just how beautiful you are."

She smiled and held out her arms for him. He went to her. They flowed into one another's arms.

He kissed her and caressed her. He touched her nipples through the black silk, then went beneath the nightie to take their hard warmth to his fingers.

"I do love you Max, I do love you!"

"And I love you always. Always and only and forever.

"I love you and love what you're doing-you make me so female, Max. Oh, do things to me!"

He swept the black veiling aside to worship her breasts. He feather-touched the small of her back and waist. Sensation grew more piognant, wave after wave. The liquor of love flowed over Max, dizzying him.

Doris's nails cut his torso. As she moaned under his touch, she shoved his briefs down, tantalizing him.

"Make love to me, darling," she whispered. "Make love mean and gentle and cruel and sweet. For me, Max!"

The next step was coming soon, he knew. Things worked best for them not that that was saying much, considering the past if they didn't wait too long.

"We'll make this lovely," he said. "Sweet and gentle and I'll give you all my love."

"Oh, darling, be gentle with me."

As she raised herself he moved the black fabric away, fully revealing what until now had been half hidden.

"Now, Max, now...."

He lay her back, black silk on white sheets, and looked at her beauty as lie kneeled near her.

She reached for him, eagerly.

Slow and careful, he took her.

This was time for quiet now, time to wait. They were motionless and savoring, until she initiated the work gently.

They worked slowly.

But it was a matter of calculated planned pleasure. There was no spontaneity, no real joy.

They were not loving one another; they were trying to love. They were gymnastic.

The count picked up. Max struggled to contain himself. He worked to de-emphasize the mounting feeling fought to keep going.

But he couldn't keep his eyes off her, and the sight of her ravished him. The expanse of rolling waist, the yearning nipples straining out of the fragmentary brassiere, the pressure of her grasping arms.

He could not resist; he finished.

"Not yet! Not yet!" she cried out.

But that was too late. He worked again and yet again, unable and unwilling to stop, time and place blanking out.

"Oh please, not yet!"

That was over and spoiled. Even the ultimate moment had been diminished for him by his straining for an unnatural control. Doris' straining had made that worse, and her lack of satisfaction, her complete frustration, ruined that entirely.

"Damn you!" she cried.

He reached to touch her, to help her achieve some satisfaction at the very least.

"No damn you!" she howled. "What kind of man are you! What's wrong with you! I was nearly through. If you'd only kept working! Why couldn't you? You damned-

"For God's sake, I'm not Superman! I'm a human being!"

"You're a louse! You're no man. You call yourself a man, you rat--"

She went on. And on and on.

She couldn't help it, he knew, and there was no stopping her. She had to get it out of her system. But he couldn't help snapping back.

"Maybe I'm not a man. If I were, I would have married a woman."

His words cut her off. He hadn't expected that. More likely, she would have thrown the lamp at him. But she didn't. She turned aside and wept.

"I'm sorry, Doris. I do my best."

But he couldn't comfort her now. Still weeping, she pulled off the remaining black silk garments-and how pathetic they seemed to Max now-and pulled on white cotton pajamas. After a trip to the bathroom, she went to bed, turning herself toward the wall.

Max pulled the sheet over himself and turned out the bedside lamp.

A bad night, a rotten night, he thought as he lay in the dark. Here they lay with their backs to one another and as distant as if they lived in two different worlds.

And yet in the same hell.

It was odd; in spite of his release, he felt frustrated himself. Their relationship had been so incomplete, even in the act of love, that right now he wanted a woman. He wanted Doris.

But he couldn't have Doris. He might never in a thousand years have Doris.

Leslie....

She came to his mind like a bright vision in the dark. Every curve of her body, every movement, was completely real. And completely inviting.

He tried to banish her from his mind. With an effort, he turned his thoughts to Jerry Brentwood and the others who had been at the party. He reviewed them one by one.

Sleep wouldn't come and the minutes ticked by. A quarter of an hour, half an hour, three quarters of an hour. There was no movement from the other side of the bed.

Then the vision of Leslie was with him again, stronger than ever. She came toward him, tilting her head back and offering her kiss, closing her eyes. A strap fell off her shoulder and the green dress rolled away from one breast, revealing a passionate nipple ... She reached down to raise the front of her skirt and brought herself to him.

Max gritted his teeth. For the second time that night he found himself completely excited.

And there wasn't a thing he could do.

A soft hand fumbled over his hip. He reached back to take the hand in his own.

They lay silently, unmoving, waiting for sleep to come.