Chapter 7
Eve had gotten to the point of being a virtual mind-reader of art students. She had noticed the new student, the older woman next to the luckless Prentiss. As she put on her robe she smiled. The woman had rushed out of the class as though it had been raided the moment the break had been given. Eve had seen the agitation on her face, especially during the first pose. A churning excitement covered her.
This was something new....
The revealing positions had been for Prentiss's benefit. Not that she wanted to seduce him-he was rather ghastly looking. She did it because she enjoyed pitting the boy's lust against that of the instructor, who constantly projected his own selfrage against the student. If there were one thing more enjoyable than making one man miserable it was making two men miserable.
But she had not bargained on the woman standing next to Prentiss, who obviously had enjoyed the gynecological exhibition as much as he had.
Yes, this was something new....
Her smile broadened as she walked out into the hall and sought the woman amid the crowd of coffee-drinking students.
Suddenly, Eve stopped and stared'.
She was beside the water fountain, looking with a mixture of pique and vanity, into a mirror.
She was slender and youthful, though she must be fortyish. Her hips were narrow but feminine, and the soft roundness in the back, where her flesh had bounced as she left the classroom, proved that she wore no girdle.
Eve looked at the dark smooth hair. It was thick and fluffed out at the crown and came forward in fishhook curls under her chin. As she powdered her nose, she held her purse over her arm.
Eve felt herself being drawn forward to meet the woman. Her legs moved stiffly as she came up behind the turned figure.
As she approached, the woman whirled about.
"Hello," Eve murmured. As soon as she had spoken and heard her uncertain, nervous voice she knew that for some reason, her cool, aloof demeanor had collapsed.
The woman smiled warmly; it was reassuring. Eve was angry that she needed reassurance. "I wanted to tell you what a wonderful model you are.
"Thank you." Eve found herself standing on one foot, like a child....
"That's such a pretty compact," she said slowly. "You use loose powder?" she asked, surprised.
Vivian nodded, then said with some wryness, "In my day, that's whet we had, and I've never gotten out of the habit. It's not so hard-you don't spill much when you're filling it."
"Well," Eve went on, "It certainly gives you a chance to own a nice compact-a real one, not these plastic things."
Vivian held the compact out to her. On it was a Fraggonard scene of milkmaids and foppish young men in knee breeches.
"It's ... so pretty," Eve said, swallowing. She felt a perfect fool, a tongue-tied little girl. There was a strange kind of silence, then the woman introduced herself, and Eve replied in kind. The end of the break came and they returned to class.
Both women were relieved to be back in the classroom situation where definite rules of conduct existed to be followed. Eve regained the model's platform and Vivian went slowly back to her seat next to the wretched young Prentiss.
The rest of the class time passed as a dream, for both of them. Eve enjoyed herself immeasurably. She took pose after pose, never hesitating before adopting a stance, not tiring within a pose. Yet, all the time she was standing and stretching and balancing and holding, her mind was a million miles away.
How old was the new student, she wondered. Her remark about the compact being typical of her day made her seem much older than she looked. She had a young body, but a mature, cool, very self-possessed air. She seemed like a woman with a past, a woman who had experienced a lot and-somehow-taken from all she had experienced.
And yet, and she wondered why she was asking herself even as she posed the question-was she happy? Somehow she didn't seem like a happy person.
Vivian, on her part, was totally absorbed in admiration and contemplation of Eve's body. The other students, the white-coated instructor, the room, the time, everything slipped out of her mind. She was alone with Eve's body and her own fingers. Her fingers themselves were still out of practice and she could tell that it would take a while to limber them up again, but even that didn't spoil Vivian's pleasure.
For her eye was satisfied by what it saw. If her fingers were slow to meet the eye's demand, too bad, but the eye was satisfied. Such purity of line, Vivian thought, such symmetry, such easy grace. She was mesmerized, fascinated, transported, and ... she wanted more.
That night, Eve had a rare highball and sat staring into space, listening to records. She forgot about Prentiss, the instructor, and the other men she had been considering as candidates for her net. She could only think of Vivian.
Vivian....what a lovely name. Soft, like her hips. Vivian ... vivacity. Were the words related? If so, Vivian meant "life."
That night she dreamed that her mother had just smashed the cheap compact she had bought that day long ago. She saw her room as it had been, and her mother as she had been: hair in a net, body encased in a rubberized prison, her face innocent of makeup. Her dream-self was not the child she had been, but the woman she was now. She stooped, grabbed up a piece of broken glass, and slashed her mother's throat.
The woman fell heavily. The body lay there, motionless and even uglier in death. Then, to Eve's horror, she rose up. This time she wore lipstick and powder, a teased coiffure, and held a purse over her arm.
Eve gasped in the dream and woke to find herself sitting up in bed, breathing in deep, painful gulps.
Marriage, Vivian thought with desperation, would outlast the pyramids. In spite of the hatred between them, Tim still wanted to sleep with her. Not often, but once in awhile.
And the sonofabitch had to pick this night to do it.
Vivian planned to escape into their bedroom early, hoping to avoid any sort of sexual encounter with Tim, hoping, in fact, to avoid Tim altogether. Tim had had a few drinks too many after dinner. There was nothing unusual about that-he usually had a few drinks too many, to relax, he said. Vivian wondered if it wasn't to anaesthetize himself against his life.
She would have liked to do the same thing, but she couldn't, out of concern for her figure. She prided herself on looking far younger than she really was, and alcohol really added to her daily calories. It was too bad. It meant she had to face Tim cold sober.
She could always tell when it was one of those nights when her husband was going to want to have sex. He was just like a bar-room lecher, really. He winked at her and grinned, reached out and patted her fanny when she got up to change the channel on the television. He was so transparent it added to her disgust with him when he'd had a few drinks.
Nobody else knows Timothy Lawler the way I do, Vivian thought to herself, as she had so many times before. They all think he's the great, liberal crusading editor who selflessly gives himself to others, even offering himself for public office. Hah! To me he's a sweaty middle-aged man, going a bit soft around the gut, reeking of Jack Daniels at bedtime.
It made her so mad and fed up that she almost felt like crying. She was getting too emotional lately, Vivian reminded herself. Emotion led to facial wrinkles and facial wrinkles make a woman look old. Usually, she never let Tim get to her, no matter what he tried. But somehow, since meeting Eve Banner, in fact, she had felt all her emotions on the surface, raw, exposed. She had to do something about it-had to toughen up-and fast, or Tim could make hamburger out of her.
"You know," he said to her in the living room, just before she made her getaway, "I really am very proud of my wife."
"Oh, really, is that so?"
"Yesh, yesh I am. I'm very proud of you, honey. And do you know why?"
"No, tell me. Why?"
"'Cause you are a piece of ass!"
"Oh, Tim. What a thing to say to me."
"You like it. You know you like it. And it's true. Especially for a broad your age. You're no spring chicken any more, Vivian...."
Damn him, Vivian swore under her breath. Did he have to remind her? She was aware of her age, thank you, well aware. And she felt old, sometimes. Talking to that lovely young model Eve today, she had been very conscious of her age. She was probably old enough to be that girl's mother. But Tim, that was another matter. She didn't have to take any gaff from him.
"I never wanted to be a chicken," she said sweetly to Tim. "And speaking of getting on in years, my dear, is that an inner tube you have wrapped around your middle? Or is it perhaps a gun belt? Tim Lawler, hard-hitting, fast-shooting, tough on the trigger?"
She had meant it to be insulting, but unfortunately, her husband thought she was being funny, very funny. He burst into guffaws.
"Very good, dear! Very good. That's another reason I love you, doll. You're damn smart. Damn smart, but not so smart that it gets into the way of your main appeal-which is your sex. Women shouldn't deny their sexuality, d'you think, honey? I mean, if you've got it, flaunt it! Right? Haha-ha!"
Vivian winced. She hated to hear Tim laugh when he was high. It really brought out all the crudeness in his personality. He was in rare form tonight. As time went on, she was less and less sure that she was going to be able to avoid having sex with him. She could tell very well that was what he had in mind. The only hope was to get him so drunk that he forgot about her, forgot about satisfying his bodily urges. She had done it before, but she wasn't sure she could manage tonight. Of course, it was worth a try.
"Can I refill your drink, dear?" she asked.
"Sure, why not. Hey! Aren't you keeping me company tonight, sweetie?"
"Well, if you mean am I your domestic companion, then, yes, I suppose I am keeping you company. But if you mean, am I drinking with you, then the answer is no. I don't care to and I won't."
Again, Vivian was trying to be annoying, and again she failed. "Ha-ha-ha! Very funny, dear!
Domestic companion, eh? I could go for a little of that, as a matter-of-fact."
"A little more bourbon?"
"Sure. And also, a little more pussy, if you don't mind my putting it to you straight."
"You can put it to me any way you want to, I don't care."
"Straight, then, straight and hard. See? See that? I've gotten hard just talking to you. You are a sexy bitch!"
Vivian stepped over his outstretched legs and ignored him, picking up his highball glass from the glass-topped coffee table and taking it to the bar for a refill. The bar was a former butler's pantry converted by Tim in the early days of their marriage when he had made an effort to do things around the house to please her. She plunked a couple of ice cubes into the glass and drowned them in Kentucky's finest.
"Here, dear," she said to Tim, handing him the drink she hoped would knock him out, but completely.
"Thanks, love."
"Bottoms up!"
"Ha-ha-ha! Bottom's up, is it? I'll get your bottom up!"
"Please. Tim."
"What's this please Tim bit, anyway, Vivian?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Shit! Turn up the TV, while you're up."
Vivian obeyed. He was watching a late-night rerun of a second rate movie starring Clint Eastwood. And to think that among the citizens of the community, her husband had the reputation of being a bit of an intellectual. The thought made her smile. Sometimes the absurdity of life was just too absurd.
"I think," she told her husband when she could see that he had settled back onto the sofa and had taken a long gulp of his drink, "that I'll retire now."
"Huh? Why?"
"I'm not being stimulated either by this television show or by your scintillating conversation, that's why. Besides, isn't it late?"
"It's eleven o'clock."
"Well, that's late enough for me. I had a stimulating day and I want to get a lot of sleep. I have a million things to do tomorrow."
"So you're going to bed at eleven o'clock?" Tim Asked
"Well, I think I'll take a bath first," Vivian said.
"Sure, why not. Enjoy yourself. I'll just finish my drink and catch up with you in the bedroom."
Vivian's eyes rolled back a bit, involuntarily. So that was it. There was no escaping it. He wanted to have sex. And when Tim wanted to have sex, what she wanted had very little to do with it. For a moment she felt a rush of anger. She ... women ... really were helpless to stop men. Tim was a drunken brute ... she hated him ... hated sex with him ... no, none of these things were entirely true, but they were all partly true, and the mood she was in, she felt both angry and resigned. It was too much trouble to fight him, she knew that. Too much trouble to give him some excuse about not feeling well, too much trouble to enter into a discussion about why she didn't like his assuming that she was ready whenever he was. She'd tried it all before, and it was definitely too much trouble.
After all, they were married, weren't they? She was accepting Tim's room and board and in return, he had bought and paid for certain rights to her body. It was as simple as that, really. She had to put up with it just as generations of women before her had. That was life.
Without turning, without speaking, she left the living room, still hearing the sound of gunfire behind her.
"See you soon, dear...." Tim called out.
She ignored him. In her bathroom, she had a moment of truth in front of her mirror. Smooth, heart-shaped face, no visible wrinkles. Shiny, well-trimmed brown hair in a flattering style, no gray. She pulled off her clothes and let them lie where they had fallen. Her body was okay, too, her lovers said more than okay. She was soft, rounded, yet firm. Tim was full of shit with his spring chicken stuff. Where did he get that crap? She was her own sternest critic, and she had to admit that she looked almost exactly the same as before she'd had two children, better, maybe, because in those days she hadn't played much tennis and tennis had given her very attractive muscles in her shoulders and arms.
And so, satisfied, Vivian poured some forest-scented Vitabath into the tub and turned the water on full blast. Why did she let Tim get her goat like that? They had an agreement, didn't they, and she knew who had come out on top-she had. She could do whatever she liked, as long as she didn't endanger his reputation and she stood by him on all political occasions. So he was just grousing at her out of weakness.
Vivian smiled and stepped into the tub. Before she sank into the suds, she thought of something. She reached into the medicine cabinet and took a white pill from the bottle Dr. Stein had given her. It was a Percodan, a pain killer and muscle relaxant that she knew would make it easy to take Tim's sexual advances.
And then she settled into the tub, scrubbing herself carefully all over, paying special attention to the bottoms of her feet and letting her fingers play around her labia and clitoris. Mmmmmmmmm, she thought. If only I could drift off to sleep, right here, cuddled by warmth, give myself a little orgasm, breathe in all this lovely steam....
She was tired, she realized. Yawning, she finished washing herself and stood up, letting the water stream off her sleek body before she reached for a fluffy pink towel.
"Finished in there?" Tim called from the living room.
"No!" Vivian called out. Damn him, couldn't she even enjoy a bath in peace?
"Think I'll have a nightcap, then," he said and she could hear him banging around. It sounded as if he were already completely blasted. Oh, well. Let him face tomorrow's hangover.
Humming some old song she couldn't remember the words to, Vivian dried herself carefully and wrapped herself up in a terrycloth robe. The humidity had turned up the ends of her hair and she saw in the mirror that her skin had taken on a rosy glow.
What a waste, she thought as she settled herself in bed.
"All washed up, dear?" Tim asked, coming into the bedroom with another bourbon in his hand. "Uh-huh," Vivian said.
Tim came over and sat on the side of the bed. "You look good, baby," he said.
Vivian slid down under the sheet. Her hand found her clitoris and she tweaked it. An answering throb, an involuntary tremor of excitement.
Maybe she'd pretend Tim was Lou Jory....or even that model. But no, to think of her gold and white pureness at a time like this was unthinkable.
Tim leaned forward and clamped his mouth on hers. It was like having a drink, his breath was so saturated with booze. She wriggled a little, turning away, but that excited him further.
"I'm going to fuck you," Tim said.
"Take off your clothes before you come to bed."
"I want to eat you out," he said. "First I want to eat you out, and then I want to fuck you till you scream."
Little chance of that, Vivian thought, little enough chance of that. But she slid her body over in the bed to make room for him and he stripped off his shirt, pants, undershorts. His cock was stubby but thick and it was already hardened into an erection.
"See that?" Tim gloated. "I'm going to shove it into you!"
Laughing, he crawled onto the bed and burrowed his head between her legs. Ho gripped the fleshy balls of her buttocks in each hand and wrenched them apart. Vivian groaned.
"What a pretty clean little pussy you have!"
Vivian squirmed.
"All the better to eat it up!" His mouth opened and sucked in a great mouthful of her labia and all the soft dark hairs that fringed it. He sucked and nibbled and nipped. Despite herself, Vivian enjoyed this part.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling, trying to forget who was doing it to her.
His lips were soft and his jaw was tireless. He made slurping sounds and she felt them sucking on her most sensitive flesh, teasing and pleasing her.
"Ohhhhhhh...." she cried out.
"Getting to you, baby, am I?"
She raised her legs a bit and stretched her arms up over her head, flexing her muscles, stretching the cords of her neck by rolling her head from side to side. He nibbled with increasing speed and dedication.
"Don't stop," she ordered.
"Hell, no," he said. "Mmmmph...."
He was unintelligible, but whatever he said, it didn't matter to Vivian. She wished she'd taken the pill earlier. It just didn't seem like she was going to be able to come, damn it. Tim just wasn't such a good lover, not these days anyway, not when he was drunk.
She writhed, thrusting her clitoris forcefully up into his face. There, there, there. It felt so good. Maybe she would be able to come, after all.
Tim's whole face was wet and he was wheezing and gasping for breath. "Oh, baby ... mmphhhh...." he gasped.
Vivian shoved her pelvic bones up and up. His fingers held her thighs apart and dug into her soft flesh like steel spikes. She knew he would leave bruises....
"I'm going to fuck you, now," he announced, and slid his body up over hers without any further sucking. She felt the trail of his spittle and her juices all up her belly, stomach, and then he was taking her breasts into his mouth, one at a time, sucking on her nipples just as he had been on her pussy. Her nipples were hard and extremely sensitive and she cried out.
His cock was thrusting and poking at her now. Vivian spread her legs wider, as wide as she could reach. Tim was all over her, sucking and licking her breasts, her shoulders, her neck. She slipped her hands up his back, stroking the smooth skin, feeling the thatch of curly hair, feeling that he was breaking out in a sweat.
Tim moved so that the tip of his erect cock was rubbing against Vivian's moist slit. She writhed in excitement.
"I'm big," he said.
She knew that if she didn't answer, he'd repeat the statement until she did, so she gave in at once.
"Big and hard," she agreed.
"Can you take me, now?"
"I hope so. You are big."
"Feel that?" He thrust his cock up against her slit so the tip of it almost went inside, maybe it did go inside just the littlest bit.
"I feel it," she whispered.
"Are you ready to be fucked?"
"Yes," she said in a low, odd voice. It sounded to her as if someone else were doing the talking. This wasn't her, Vivian, in bed. It couldn't be. "Yes," she repeated, "I'm ready for it, I'm ready to take your cock inside my pussy, I'm ready to get fucked."
Tim thrust and the first inch or so of his prick penetrated her. She stiffened. "Relax," he said.
She willed herself to relax. What did she fear, at the moment of penetration, what was it anyway?
Tim began thrusting in deeper. He lifted his body up on his elbows and looked down at the angle of their bodies.
"Sexy bitch," he said.
She looked down to see his cock, surrounded by the thicket of his pubic hair, to see it slammed up against her mound of Venus, see the cock disappearing inside.
She tensed her vaginal muscles and he groaned in response.
"More?" he asked. "D'you want more?"
"If you've got it," she said.
Tim was pumping now, trying to set up a regular rhythm, a steady in and out. She felt her whole body being rocked under his weight.
Vivian's hands clawed at his shoulders and back. She wiggled her ass against the smooth sheets and enjoyed the feeling of vibrating flesh. He kept pumping, gently but firmly, steady.
Their lips met. Again, Vivian winced at the strong liquor taste, but his mouth was open, insistent, and she was taken in by the kiss, taken and carried away. Tim's tongue forced its way into her mouth to touch hers, then to explore the back of her throat. She nibbled on his lips the way he liked it.
She moved her legs out to the side and he grunted. "In deeper, baby," he said, "You're letting me in so deep...."
"Touch my breasts," she begged.
And so he did, cupping them in each hand and squeezing the soft flesh. It felt to Vivian as if he were milking them, as if juices would shoot out of the nipples, as if he could pinch her into ecstasy there, in just another minute. It was so nasty, and yet such an overwhelming feeling that she couldn't quite believe herself.
"What a hot cunt," he said, "Hot pussy...."
He was pounding against her groin now with all the strength of his leg and thigh muscles. She sensed that it wouldn't be long until he came, but something had turned the corner for her. She was almost numb. She couldn't feel him inside her at all any more. He was lost in there, and it was almost as if he was inside someone else, someone else was lying in this bed, someone else was getting fucked.
But Tim didn't notice her withdrawal. He was getting into his top stride, now.
"In a minute, baby," he whispered, as if she cared, "I'm going to shoot."
She turned her head and closed her eyes and thought of how crazy it all was.
It was during their occasional fucks that odd thoughts had a habit of popping into her head. It occurred to her now that when you had sex with someone you cared about you never thought about how really ridiculous the necessary positions were. With almost every possible posture, however arcane, the woman had to have her legs spread and preferably up, thus looking and feeling like a trapped, overturned beetle.
But with someone who meant something to you, you never thought about it. Then, you still felt graceful and lovely.
But I only felt graceful and lovely with women! Always. Never with any of the men....
Now he started his dirty-talk stage. Scatological, the psych books called it. A man who uses obscene language in bed so as to render the woman into a whore. How fitting for Tim-the crusading editor who was hand-in-glove with the vice squad.
"Gettin' fucked? Huh? Gettin' fucked?" he panted. He seemed to doubt it; as well he might.
"Yes, I'm getting fucked. Is there anything else you'd like to have cleared up?"
He heard her and he didn't; he was too far gone to care and she knew it. She hated him for his lack of pride.
Vivian thought of something she had read about how pigs are castrated. They used a pincers, and just went snip! Of course it must hurt terribly.
The poor pig....
When he was finished, she rose and went to the bathroom, feeling nastily moist. She returned, wearing a gown, and got into her own bed. She lay thinking about Eve Banner.
There had been something so touching about that compact business. She had wanted to give it to the girl but she didn't know how. Strange....
Louise had given her the coat, and now she wanted to give this girl something that she had admired.
Oh, my God, I want her.