Chapter 6
The weekend had arrived at last.
Leslie was free from seminars and conferences, free from the university. She had plenty of work to do: a great deal had piled up in the last week. But it could wait.
Her Max, as she was now inclined to think of him, could not wait. He wasn't planning to stay here forever, after all, and besides Leslie was eager to be with him every minute she could and to complete the capture.
Without saying anything about it, she dropped any pretense of wanting to be with anyone but him. Early Saturday morning she phoned the Flaggs at their hotel, asked if they'd be at the pool that day, and said she would be there as soon as she was finished with her shopping. Did they have any shopping they wanted done?
No, but Max would be happy to help her with hers, if he could.
And so Max came out to pick her up in his station wagon, and they shopped. First they visited a supermarket and a liquor store. Then she guided Max to a small shop and made him help her select the most seductive lingerie they could find.
"You should really try it on first," Max said.
"Want me to model it for you?"
"For helping you pick it out, I think I'm entitled to that, at least."
She cocked her head as if considering the proposition. "Very well," she said half seriously, "comes the appropriate moment, I'll model it for you."
"I won't let you forget."
They drove back to her house and she put her new acquisitions away, bustling about domestically. By the time she was done it was eleven-thirty, a little early for lunch.
"Really want me to model for you?" she asked. "I'm not sure you're far enough past your adolescence."
"Try me."
"Open a couple of beers while you're waiting."
She went to the bedroom and took off her dress. Under it she wore brassiere, panties, and half slip. She took off the bra and put on the new one, a black nylon job that cupped the bottoms of her breasts, hinted at her nipples where the material thinned, and left the tops of her bosom quite exposed.
She slid open the wall and stepped out onto the back terrace. Max was already there, two cans of beer in hand.
"Nice, no?" she asked.
"Woman, you're phenomenal!"
"Naturally-all thanks to my brand-new bra."
They sat in the deck chairs and sipped their beer in reasonably comfortable silence. The tension between them wasn't all that Leslie wished for. Not that there was ordinarily any reason for a grown man to get all excited over a couple of boobs in a revealing brassiere, but her relationship with him wasn't ordinary.
She wondered if Jack had been right in something he had said at the Faculty Town Club. Maybe Doris had exhausted Max last night. She had a vague sense of something being wrong with him. In spite of the tan he was rapidly acquiring, there was a touch of sallowness about his appearance, and a couple of times that morning his voice had shaken oddly-almost, she thought, like that of a little boy holding back tears.
After a while, she went into the house, pulled on an old shirt, and cooked him a good lunch of pork chops. Leslie was convinced that the bit about the way to a man's heart being through his stomach wasn't entirely nonsense. Why should it be, when the stomach was part of the sensual apparatus?
More beer, more lounging about. She put some Lady Day on the phonograph, but it was too sad and they switched to Peggy Lee. Leslie was delighted with the ranee of Max's musical taste: he dug anything from Vidalrli to Cole Porter, from Tebaldi to Bessie Smith.
When they decided it was time to head for the Faculty Cabana Club, Leslie threw a wrap-around skirt over her half slip, and they took off in the wagon. She used the cabana first, selecting a suit she had never used before. The halter was small and was held up by a loop of cord around the neck, the ends fastened between the breasts. The bottom wasn't much bigger than the halter, but the real reason she hadn't used it was that she suspected it might become transparent when wet. But today she didn't give a damn.
Max showed the right reaction when she came out of the cabana.
"Too bold?" she asked.
"Fortunately-yes."
She laughed and headed for the pool.
Doris was already there-as was Jack-and as the afternoon wore on, Max paid a good deal of attention to his wife. In fact, Leslie decided, he was making a point of being with her. What was the significance of this? she wondered. To make up for having deserted Doris during the day? To demonstrate to Leslie that he was a loyal husband? To convince himself of his loyalty?
The suit Leslie wore proved to be as nearly transparent as she had feared-and hoped. She giggled to herself and wondered what the delightfully scanalized would say and if she might be ordered out of the pool at any moment. The suit had been dead white when she had come out of the cabana, but it certainly suggested a flesh tone now, with a little extra darkness at each nipple. Men made a point of passing close by her and talking to her. A few made showoff dives into the pool. Her figure, she knew, had never been more provocative than now.
The only thing that worried her was that, in his preoccupation with Doris, Max might miss the view.
She saw to it that he didn't.
When he was in the water and away from Doris, she played tag with him. When he was out of the water and sitting with his wife, she made a point of walking her wet pink and white fanny around. Like a model, she twisted again, making it a three-quarter turn, and walked close by him, saying hello so that he'd have to look up at her. She went to the bar, got three Tom Collinses on a tray, came back, and leaned forward to serve Max and Doris. Doris couldn't miss the show anymore than could Max, but to hell with her.
At five the three of them picked up Jack and had dinner together at a good spaghetti house. Jack suggested that they make an evening of it, but the Flaggs already had a commitment. Jack volunteered to drive Leslie home.
"Well?" she asked, as they headed toward the edge of town.
"I don't know," Jack said. "I've been afraid to say anything leading for fear it would mess the deal up. She doesn't seem to miss Max when he isn't there, but I can't help wondering if this split-up won't prove to be A figment of your imagination, Les."
"Keep with it, baby. Your hour will come."
"Speaking of hours...."Jack laughed. "You poured it on pretty thick this afternoon, didn't you? You're apt to get drummed out of the Club and into the streets."
"Did I look good?"
"Good? Was that how you were supposed to look? God, if you plan to be lonely this evening, Les, let me give you a little distraction."
"You save your little distraction for Doris."
It proved to be a long, dull evening. By virtue of the strongest concentration, Leslie managed to keep her mind off Max long enough to get a little back work done, but she had to take a couple of stiff drinks and some aspirin in order to relax enough to sleep.
Yet she slept long and it was almost noon when she awakened. The alcohol and aspirin had worn off and she felt lively. Doris-of all people-had mentioned that they would be at the pool today, so after a good breakfast she hopped into the little red gem and headed for the club.
Doris' and Max' clothing were already hanging in the cabana, she noted with satisfaction, though she would have been happier-she laughed to herself-if Doris' had been hanging in Jack's little shack two doors down.
No transparent bathing suit today. Something modest, something demure. She picked out a one-piece green job that indicated everything and revealed absolutely nothing.
A slightly overcast sky did nothing to dampen the feeling of good spirits that surrounded the pool. Even Doris, so often inclined toward a certain somberness. was in a joking mood.
"'Fraid you'll have to do without me for a while. Maxie. I told Francine Brentwood I'd join her and some of the girls for a chit-chat this afternoon. Can't you struggle on without me?"
"I'll drive you over-"
"I've already volunteered," Jack said.
"Where'll I meet you for dinner?"
"You won't," Jack cut in again. "I am wining and dining your wife. I'm taking her to a very expensive joint and I can't afford the both of you."
"So he picked the pretty one," Doris said.
"Stepping out on me," Max accused.
"Well, for goodness sake, an old married woman likes to have a little romance in her life."
"I can't fight that."
Doris grinned and kissed Max. "Good-bye. dear-I won't be out too late. Stay out of trouble."
Stay away from me, you mean, Leslie thought. She felt the blonde woman's thoughts turn in her direction. But why, then, was Doris going off so gaily with Jack?
To make Max jealous, of course.
Well. Leslie would give Max something to think about besides what his wife might be up to.
"I'm at loose ends," Max said, when Doris and Jack had departed toward the cabanas.
"Don't make bawdy and disrespectful remarks about me, sir. Or I won't invite you to dinner."
"Home-cooked?"
She executed a burlesque wiggle. "I certainly am."
"The remark is withdrawn." She wiggled again and rolled her eyes. "But I'm not!"
It took them a couple of hours to get waterlogged and to decide they needed more than an occasional Collins to keep the blood flowing. Max used the cabana first, and then Leslie went in.
She pulled off her suit, hung it up to dry, took a fast shower, and toweled herself thoroughly. Some dusting powder was in order, as was some perfume, strategically placed: even the small of her back got a dab.
The garment which she then pulled on-the only garment, aside from brown slippers-was nothing more than a very loose, colorfully flowered sack. It was low-cut and slit several inches up each side of the skirt, yet it was modest as well as attractive: a dress eminently practical for summer fun.
Practical for other purposes, too.
She persuaded him to leave his station wagon to be picked up later and to ride in her sport car. She did the driving, hiking her skirt up on her legs and tucking it modestly under her knees. His view of her bare legs couldn't do her cause any harm.
Within a few minutes, the car was in the garage and they had entered the house. They went into the living room, and Leslie poured a couple of strong doses of Courvoisier.
"You understand, don't you," she said, as they remained standing after a few sips, "that I expect to get kissed for this meal. I mean, a lady don't cook for nut-tin'."
"Kissed before or after?"
"Preferably both."
Max kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, warm on her mouth, but not demanding.
"That's nice," she said in a tone of considered judgment. "Not up to the brandy, perhaps, but nice."
Max set his glass down on the coffee table. He took her face in both hands and this time he kissed her hard. Her elbows and knees went weak and, as her arms hung limply at her sides, she almost dropped her brandy.
His face withdrew from hers, his hands fell away from her. "That," she said with a nod, "I like."
She swallowed some more brandy and put her "lass down next to his. She shoved him toward a couch and made him sit down. She kicked off her slippers. She sat down beside him, facing him, a leg curled beneath her, and draped her arms around his shoulders.
They smiled and kissed, and she put her head on his shoulder. "Who says Post Office is an after-dinner sport?" she said. "And if you reach for a cigarette or a pipe, I'll kill you."
They kissed some more, and his hand felt good on her ribcage. She went at him more fiercely, throwing herself at him and abandon, pulling them closer together. Her skirt pulled up, baring her leg. and he stroked it, saying, "Nice leg." They necked some more and petted lightly until he announced that he was "coming up for brandy."
She left him and poured a new set of drinks, then sat down on the coffee table, facing him.
"I'm glad you're not a puritan," she said.
"Oh, you might be surprised what a puritan I am!"
She let that ride. "We're good together, you and I."
He nodded. "I think we could be."
"We could mean a lot to each other."
"I think we already do, don't we?"
His words shot a thrill through her. She was on the right track.
"Max, I know that you and Doris have troubles of some kind. If you'd care to tell me...."
"That wouldn't solve anything, Les."
She took a deep breath and wondered if she were about to make a mistake. She asked, "Do you still love her?"
His answer came hesitantly. "How the hell do I know?"
"I understand. One becomes so involved, in so many ways."
"You're a very understanding woman."
"Only where you're concerned."
It was close to an outright declaration of love, and it brought a response from Max. He set his glass aside, leaned forward, and kissed her. Only their mouths touched, but it was a kiss of passion.
She put her glass on the table beside her, arose, and went to him. She knelt on the couch, by his hips.
She returned his kiss. She returned it hard and lingeringly, and when her mouth opened, his did, too. She pressed to him, rising and pushing his head back. His fingers moved the thin flowered cloth over her vertebrae, and at his touch she squirmed, her bosom straining at him through the material. His hands went to the backs of her naked legs, and discovered her bare buttocks.
"Max, Max...."
But he brought that to an end. His hands left her buttocks, moved to her sides, and gently raised and set her away from him.
He picked up his brandy and half finished it.
"I'd better get out of here, Les."
"Why, Max?"
"You know why. I've wanted you from the first moment I set eyes on you."
"Don't you know how I've wanted you?"
Max poured himself another stiff brandy. "You said we were good together. Hell, we might be perfect-"
"We would be."
"But the fact remains, I've got a wife-"
"You don't love her. Can you honestly say you aren't in love with me?"
He gulped the last of his brandy. "No. But you see-I've cheated on Doris before. At the time, it seemed necessary if I weren't to go crazy. But I swore I'd never do so again-"
"Leave her, Max. If you aren't right for one another, leave her."
"Maybe we aren't right, but as far as I know Doris has never cheated on me. And she does keep trying. She does keep trying to make things right for us. We may both end up in the bughouse, but somehow I can't help feeling obliged to stick it out with her as long as she wants it that way."
"I see."
Leslie saw, all right. And she felt a great dull weight in her heart.
Her plans had failed.
"I don't think we should see one another again, Les."
The weight in her heart grew heavier. She sensed that it was futile to argue with him about Doris, that it might even be harmful to her cause, but she hadn't expected him to go this far.
"But we must see one another, Max. We still have to talk over that contract-"
He cut her off with a shake of his head. "You read it over "If it anneals to you. sign it and send it to New York. If it doesn't, burn it up, and to hell with it."
"But I understood that it was important to you."
"It is. It may mean my future, my entire career. But there are other things even more important."
For a time, she could only look at him in wonderment. "You're quite a guy," she said at last.
"I'm sorry it couldn't have turned out better. Now. I'd better hoof it-I've got to get back to my wagon."
He refused her offer to drive him back to the Faculty Cabana Club, and left.
Leslie sat alone in her house, drinking brandy. The affair had ended so abruptly, she was left numb. After all her plans, all her big build-up, it had ended after a few kisses in a matter of minutes. She had hardly even argued with him, feeling that he meant every word he said and that any opposition would only stiffen his resolve to be done with her.
Where had she gone wrong? She wouldn't have handled every man in the manner in which she had attempted to handle Max, of course, but she had been thinking in long-range terms, fitting every move to her estimate of his personality, his intelligence, his degree of sophistication.
And then she saw-or rather, she saw through herself.
This affair had meant so much to her that she had been afraid. Rather than following a natural course of action, she had delayed everything important, had planned all the trivia, had even plotted what bathing suit she would wear at which point. She had been scared by any thought of failure and had blown the deal as a result. She was like a natural athlete who becomes self-conscious and is so busy thinking of mechanics that he can't help but fumble.
Each of her little steps toward final success had meant next to nothing. Time had been wasted and Max's guard had been raised. And if she had followed her natural instinct and inclination, she might well have had Max in her bed within the first forty-eight hours and kept him there all this time and forever.
She had lost because she had turned a heartfelt love impulse into a shabby intrigue.
Now Max was gone and he wasn't coming back. She had a hard time getting that through her head. Not even, the contract could draw him back. He had the kind of hard "do as I see fit" integrity which she had once thought was hers-until she was ready to throw all morals, even her own hardly conventional morals, to the wind in order to have Max Flagg. And now he was gone.
But she couldn't let him leave her so easily. She couldn't let him leave her at all. It was unthinkabe that she would never see him again and never have him in her bed. She loved him and she had to do something about the situation-fast.
But what?
Go after Max? No. He might go to other friends or he might spend the evening alone. He might conceivably pick up Doris and leave town, but it was un-likely that he'd make her break her date with Jack.
Jack. Perhaps he could make himself useful at this point. Perhaps he could drive some kind of new wedge between Max and Doris. If not seduce her, at least keep her away from Max for the night. Or might that make Max feel free to come back to Leslie. Anyway you looked at it, it was a gamble. But the way things stood now, she was losing and therefore it could hardly hurt to stir up the pot a little and see what happened.
She had better get in touch with Jack.
She dialed his apartment number and got no answer. On an off-chance, she tried the Faculty Cabana Club and Jack's office but didn't get him at either place. She tried his apartment again and failed. She considered phoning the Flaggs' hotel, since Max surely couldn't have gotten back there yet, and Jack might be there with Doris. She decided to leave that possibility alone-it wasn't wise to embarrass Doris should she be alone with Jack in her room. The Brentwoods provided a safe possibility, however, and she phoned there. No, Jack Horne wasn't around.
With rising desperation, she tried Jack's apartment again and sighed with relief when she heard his voice.
"Hello, Jack. There's something I want to discuss with you,"