Chapter 8
I looked at Mrs. Smith. she sure looked trustworthy. She was pretty, in a dark, exotic kind of way, but she also looked, well, motherly. I mean, I never belonged to a college sorority on account of I never went to college, but she looked like I'd imagine a sorority housemother would look.
She smiled at me. "I understand you've had difficulties, Sharon. You worked for Sam, and Sam's in jail. You worked for Louis Lynx, and he's in jail. And you're out of a job, right?"
"Right," I said, wondering how she'd heard about all my troubles so soon.
"The, uh, jungle telegraph in the Village is very efficient," said Mrs. Smith. "I understand you bit a cop on the leg a half-hour ago."
"On the wrist," I said. "But yes, I guess I bit him."
"Very bad," said Mrs. Smith. "A terrible mistake. The police in this town frown on civilian brutality. What are your plans, Sharon? Looking for a job-out of town?"
"I'll say," I said. "You know of one?"
Mrs. Smith smiled. A real motherly smile. "It just so happens I do." She jerked her head. "Join me in a booth, where we can talk privately."
I slid off my bar stool, as did Mrs. Smith. She slid a ten-dollar bill across the bar before she left, I noticed. I wondered what favor the bartender had done her to rate a ten-dollar tip.
In the booth, with each of us holding a fresh drink, Mrs. Smith gave me a big smile. "Sharon," she said, "I wonder if you're aware of the wonderful, uh, stimulus family life has had in recent years?"
"Huh?" I said.
"Couples-young married couples-that in other times would soon have broken up and divorced, today stay together. Because they have found a new interest in life; an interest they can share. I'm proud to say that I'm part of this great new movement."
I thought about this. "You work for a sex club, huh?" I said.
Mrs. Smith frowned. "That's a crude way of putting it. Look at it this way: After a few years many married couples find themselves-bored. Disinterested in, uh, normal family relationships."
"You mean they get tired of sleeping together?" I said.
"Crudely, yes. But the basic, uh, problem is more complex. Suffice it to say that all over the nation, young couples find themselves, well, jaded. A few years ago this would have led to fights, arguments, and eventually divorce. And divorce is a terrible thing, don't you agree?"
"I guess so," I said. "I hadn't given it much thought."
"You should," said Mrs. Smith, signaling for a new round of drinks. "But today, thanks to the phenomenal rise of, uh, social clubs, a solution has been found. For some jaded couples, at least. Take the case of two dear friends of mine-I'll call them Jane and John, because those are their names."
A waiter came over with two new drinks. I swigged half of mine.
"Jane and John," continued Mrs. Smith, "married some four years ago. For a while all went merrily as a-a marriage bell. Then, alas, Jane began to become bored with John's lovemaking, and John in turn found himself overly familiar with Janes' physical charms. A typical problem."
"They got divorced, huh?" I said, drinking the second half of my drink.
"No, fortunately," said Mrs. Smith, signaling for more drinks. "They were lucky. By accident, they discovered that their next-door neighbors, Sally and Robert, were also rather bored with each other. A few neighborly drinks led to a frank discussion. And after a few more drinks...."
"The husbands swapped wives for the night?" I suggested.
"Well, yes," said Mrs. Smith, waving the waiter away. "But you mustn't think of it that way. You must think of it as something, uh, beautiful. Jane and John had learned to share. Each other. New Life, new happiness entered their otherwise drab existence. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, John made love to his lovely wife. And on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, he made love to Sally-while Jane made love with Robert."
"And on Sundays?" I asked.
"A perceptive question. On Sundays the four of them enjoyed themselves jointly. Soon they entertained another couple, Betty and Frank. Betty and Frank were a little older, in their mid-thirties. They too, while still tremendously fond of one another, had become sated with each other's physical charms.
"Betty and Frank had both tried the obvious solution-cheating on each other-and both had regretted it. Each had suffered terrible pangs of remorse, confessed to the other, been forgiven, and so on.
"You can guess what happened. After hearing Betty and Frank tell of their troubled love life, John, Jane, Sally and Robert told them of their new and stimulating design for living. Betty and Frank were entranced, and quickly became extremely active members of what had now become a wonderful social club."
"I don't get it," I said. "If sleeping with other peoples husbands and wives isn't cheating, what is?"
"Tsk, tsk," said Mrs. Smith. "It isn't cheating because all parties agree to the cheating-I mean to the need for variety. Instead of slinking off alone, on the sly, both husband and wife ch-I mean enjoy healthy physical recreation with others. Together."
I nodded my head. But privately I still thought it was kind of funny. Kind of moral, too, in a middleclass way. I mean moral in a stuffy, conventional sense. I mean, if I was married to a guy and felt like some new thrills, I'd prefer to cheat on him-get a lover on the side and keep cool about it. I mean, I wouldn't go to my husband and say, Darling, I feel like some new kicks tonight-mind if I invite a boy friend over for dinner and sex this evening? And if I did say something like that I wouldn't want my husband to say, of course-ask him to bring a girl friend for me. It would take all the fun out of cheating, in my opinion at least.
Not that I have anything against orgies. But if I threw an orgy I'd call it an orgy, not a social gathering. Still, I was just a sixteen-year-old girl from a small town, and maybe I was old-fashioned in my thinking.
"And this happy pattern-of friends and neighbors playing together-is springing up all over the nation," continued Mrs. Smith, ordering a new round of drinks and smiling at me. "I find it a thrilling thing. A new horizon in togetherness."
"Yeah," I said. "Excuse me, Mrs. Smith, but why are you telling me this? I couldn't join a-a social club; I'm not married."
Mrs. Smith lit a cigarette, blew smoke in sophisticated patterns in my face. "Let me tell my story my way, sugar," she suggested. "To resume: Innumberable, uh, social clubs have sprung up more or less spontaneously across the nation. Also in Mexico and Canada. Others have been formed through correspondence in certain magazines and newspapers-box-numbered ads inviting modern-minded couples to exchange ideas. And photos and addresses. Social clubs have become big business. And I, dear girl, am a businesswoman."
"You're a social secretary for a social club?" I asked.
"In a way. I call myself an Assignation Coordinator. And I work with many social clubs-of various types. For, to return to your statement regarding your marital status, you should know that many social clubs, after frank and modern discussion, have decided that it's prudish and old-fashioned to discriminate against unmarried persons. In short, they frequently invite single men and girls to join their org-social exchanges."
"And I've been invited to an orgy-I mean a club meeting?"
"In a way," said Mrs. Smith, smiling a bit funnily at me and finishing her drink with a gulp. She was getting, I decided, just a teeny bit drunk. She leaned over and took my hand. "Child, you've got what these suburban live-it-ups go for. Youth, beauty, body and ... No morals?" She frowned. "You don't have any morals, do you?"
"Oh, no!" I said, afraid to have Mrs. Smith think ill of me. It was obvious she didn't think much of people with morals.
"I didn't think so, child," she said patting my hand. "So I'll give it to you straight. These suburban sex-club birds are mostly weirdos. Small-town weirdos. They start out just shacking up with the couple next door. But pretty soon that's too tame. So they rope in more couples, and more, and still more."
"I can see how a club like that would grow," I said, pulling my hand from hers and reaching for one of the fresh drinks the waiter had brought. I figured I'd better reach for it soon, before Mrs. Smith drank it by mistake. She'd already drunk most of my last one as well as her own.
"Yeah," said Mrs. Smith. "Those hicks may think they've solved their problems by switching bedmates with the rest of the block, but the problems those creeps have don't get solved that easy." She lowered her voice still more. "Take the guy John I was telling you about."
"The one who, with his wife Jane, started a social club with Sally and Robert and Betty and Frank?"
"The same. This John-and this is a factual actual case, sugar-this John gets his kicks from Sally and Betty for a while, and even with his wife Jane.
But only for a while. Pretty soon he wants fresh flesh to fondle. Inside of two months he's making it with twelve married women on a rotating basis. Then all twelve couples start having balls together. And still this John finds himself getting bored."
"Golly," I said. "I guess he did have problems. Why didn't he go to an analyst? Or maybe he didn't think he needed one."
"Correct," said Mrs. Smith, ordering a new round of drinks. "John figured all he needed was more variety, more spice. Soon he was getting his kicks watching his wife make it with different men-or having his wife watch him while three or four women worked on him. Or sometimes by slipping off with some husband instead of his wife-the other husband's wife, I mean. I'm just a little high, sugar; you gotta forgive me. I've had a hard day."
"I'm sure you have," I said, wondering if I'd said the right thing.
"But to continue the, uh, saga of John and Jane: Before long John was dreaming up 'specials', as he called them. Talks and exhibitions by noted deviates and sex criminals. Or he'd invite special guests to the meetings-a young Balinese temple dancer (she charged three hundred dollars)-a seven-foot Chinese seaman (he came for kicks)-and so on."
"Wow!" I said.
"Right. One time he held an outdoor meeting. Kind of a convention of five local clubs. It was held in an abandoned nudist camp, and went on for two days. Two days and nights of sex in the fields and woods. Like a real picnic, that was. Some of the girls even brought their pets along-two St Bernard dogs and a Shetland pony."
"That was nice," I said "Animals like a romp in the open air."
"Yeah," said Mrs. Smith, smiling at me oddly. "They sure do! But you get the drift of my tale, sugar, don't you? This John kept reaching for new kicks, each more depraved than the last."
"And what about his wife?" I asked. "Did Jane get more and more depraved too?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Smith," she did. Only she knew she was living an empty, depraved life. She started walking around looking like that Monica Vitti in those Italian movies about neurotic women. Only not as pretty." She sighed.
"Mrs. Smith," I said, "am I correct in assuming that your first name is Jane, and your husband's name is John?"
She patted me on the hand again, almost spilling both our drinks. "Sharon, you're very perceptive. Yes, I'm Jane." She sighed again. "It was less than a year ago that John and I invited Sally and Bob over to play bridge. Little did I dream that that innocent card game and a few drinks would lead to a real modern discussion, and my going to bed with Bob while John made love with Sally. Little did I foresee that within a year our whole way of life would change completely.
"Tsk, tsk," I said, signaling the waiter for more drinks. "How did your whole way of life change?" I asked.
"Simple," said Mrs. Smith-Jane. "Like I said, our little club soon grew to twelve couples. Plus special guests. We kept the membership at that; too big a club is unwieldy. You can't have hundreds of people swarming into a suburban house without the neighbors getting suspicious."
"I see what you mean," I said.
"You don't see half of it," she sighed. "Although John and I are charter members of only one social club, with only twenty-four members not counting guests, we soon gained associate membership in five other clubs-which meant we had to attend their special meetings. And then John joined an auxiliary men-only club, and I joined a girls-only club. Besides which there were local, regional, state and county meetings and ... Oh, it's a mad, mad, mad, mad, whirl!"
"Golly," I said. "Keeping up with so many sex I mean social clubs must take up most of your time."
"It does," said Jane. "Both John and I had to quit our jobs-we'd both been child guidance counselors. We didn't have time to work!"
"Gosh," I said. "How do you live?"
"Frantically. And erotically. To make ends meet, I became a sex-club organizer and Assignation Coordinator. The pay is great, but the work is incredibly debilitating."
"No doubt," I said. "And part of your job is getting single girls like me to come to meetings?"
"Right," said Jane. "And there's a meeting tonight-a joint session of our local club with the Songbird Valley Suburban Sex Club. About fifty or sixty people all told. Want to come-for kicks and a hundred dollars minimum?"
"Oh, yes!" I said. "What do you mean, though, a hundred dollars minimum? What do I have to do to earn the minimum?"
"Just come, in a manner of speaking. And co operate."
"With every man present?"
"With everybody, male or female, who feels like having at you. Money not enough? Okay, a hundred fifty. But not a penny more."
"I'll come!" I said, feeling all excited about the prospect of attending a meeting of a real sex club-two sex clubs! "But if a hundred fifty dollars is the minimum, how do I go about earning more?"
"You'll find out," said Jane enigmatically, "once you're there. Today's Friday, right? The meeting gets under way tonight, at eight p.m. sharp, and breaks up late Sunday night."
I thought about this. What a keen way to make money! A hundred fifty dollars for just two days and three nights of submitting to sexual whimsies. What a lot I'd learn, no doubt-and get paid for learning!
"I'll come," I said again.
"Fine," said Jane, squeezing me on the leg. "And who knows what this may lead to for you?"
I smiled. Because right then I never suspected what it was going to lead to.