Chapter 5

Pullinng up in his driveway at home, John Carrol sat in the car, eyeing the house in which he and Alice had lived the five years of their life together. He was still wondering how it all happened-what had gone wrong. Certainly in the beginning this had started out badly; but the difficulty (it seemed to him at the time) had been overcome because he and Alice loved each other. After all, if anything, Alice's action had only speeded up a marriage which, at the time, would have occurred, in any case. If Alice had loved him that much-enough to jeopardize their marriage by misrepresenting her pregnancy--certainly it was something on which he could lean....

But, there were other things which got into the way. First, there was the revelation they couldn't have children. Then, Alice's totally unjustified jealousy of the female talent at the club which always triggered hurt insinuations that something more than business was the root of his interest. Then, too, there were other irritants to Alice's jealousy-conversation with an attractive woman at a party, for instance-which always brought on scenes afterward when Alice had taken too much to drink. This she did, almost invariably.

John heaved a sigh, looking at the little, white house. The neatly cut lawn spread away from the front porch under a rock roof which gave a modern appearance to a home, really more rustic in appearance than any of its neighbors. A huge stone fire-place covered one wall of the living room, and the broad, squat chimney dominated the front of the house.

Lighting a cigarette, John continued the process of attempting to sort out the thoughts which had been so jumbled in his mind these past hectic hours. There was still much he needed to think about ... before he faced Alice. Half-way through his smoke, he saw a black convertible slow to a stop before the house. His own car hidden by the hedge and the planting about the house, John felt a lead weight of depression form in his stomach as Alice stepped out of the car.

A tall, good-looking man walked her inside the concealment of the high fence of the hedge where they stopped, he taking her hands and Alice lifting her lips to his tender kiss; then he turned and left. As she moved up on the porch to the door, she saw John's car and her eyes darted to his. The effect had all the impact of a blow; Alice reeled, suddenly against the door and then, after a brief time, she snapped erect, body rigid to key the door open and go into the house. When the door closed behind her, John, with another deep sigh, realized the decision had been made for him....

Starting the car and backing out of the driveway, John felt a strange sense of weightlessness. No depression-more a sense of reluctant acceptance. But the empty feeling remained. He drove back to the club and, when he entered, he experienced pleasure when he saw Norma was seated at her desk in the outer office.

"Hello, John," she smiled, rising to come around to him. "You look positively beat, my friend." John shrugged, opened his mouth to reply, but could find nothing to say as Norma led him into his office, and closed the door behind them. "Where have you been all night?" she asked, anxiously. "You look like you've been through a wringer."

"Maybe that was what it was," he grinned, wondering what thoughts were moving behind her eyes. Norma was a warm, kindly woman-the type a man could depend upon for support, whatever the circumstances. As she went to dampen a wash-cloth in his office bath, John thought again how close he had come to trying to make love to her. If her answer had been yes ... he shifted his line of thought as she returned and, as though he'd been a small boy, sponged off his face with the refreshing coolness of the cloth.

"Doesn't that feel better?" she asked. John laughed.

"Feels like I'm a six-year-old," he said, taking her wrist in a restraining hold. He was surprised at the delicacy of her structure, looking unbelievingly at a wrist which almost vanished in his hand. Yet, Norma was neither small, nor was she skinny. He marvelled at the fact her delicacy was revealed solely by her wrists.

"Well, your face looked like a kid's, just in from a hard day of play," she laughed. "I'll bet you slept right here," she said, her mood suddenly changing to mild scolding.

"Well, I had some other ideas...." and the moment he said it, John wished he'd swallowed his tongue.

Norma made no reply for a moment; then she placed a hand softly on his shoulder as she said: "I'm sorry, John but, as I said, there's a time and place for everything. Right now, you've got to concentrate on straightening out your life."

"Now what does that mean?" he replied, feeling on the defensive.

Norman shrugged. "Well, let's just say that a woman would be foolish to become involved with a man in your position, unless, that is, she's just out for kicks. Not me, John ... I've known you too long, and...."

"Not too well," he suggested, standing to move away from her. The conversation was irritating him, for some reason.

"I know as much about you as it's necessary to know," she said. Then, putting her hands on her hips, she asked: "What is it ... what's wrong, John?"

He leaned back against his big desk, crossing his ankles, and his arms. "I'm considerably upset, Norma, and I guess this just isn't the time for someone to be telling me ... well, the conversation is bugging me. Know what I mean?"

Norma studied him in silence for a moment, her big dark eyes veiled, no emotion showing on her features. For a moment, she seemed a totally different person from his secretary of long standing. In a way, the two of them had teamed to build the Jay-Cee Club into the success it was.

"Look, John, you know I'm not a Nosy Parker. But, remember, too, that I'm a human being-of the female gender-and I...." She broke off, then continued: "Look, if there's something bugging you, lay it on the table, John. We've never double-talked each other." John recognized Norma was a little annoyed and that there was also an undercurrent of something else which he could not identify.

"OK, Norma-I'm sorry-and thank you. I'm just in a foul mood and not fit company for man nor beast. Forgive me?" He looked at her, suddenly realizing he very much needed her to lean on. The fleeting wonder of what he'd do if she weren't there crossed his mind.

"There's nothing to forgive!" Norma said, twisting to move to the door. She stopped there to turn and smile shyly. "I'm sorry, John. It was silly of me to get miffed over nothing." John shrugged.

"Alright, let's forget it." He attempted a smile but missed. For the first time, he noticed then that her trim, dark dress showed off her excellent figure without being obvious. Yet it revealed that, beneath her clothing, she had a beautifully-proportioned body. As she opened the door, John asked:

"How about having dinner with me tonight?"

Norma let the door close and turned to him slowly, her eyes coming to his questioningly. For a long moment she stood, looking at him, her thoughts shuttered by the expression on her face. John felt, at that moment, as if he were looking at Norma Blake for the first time-it was as though some unseen and unknown change had occurred, suddenly. Her look was speculative-as she might look at a man who'd asked to be her lover. Actually, John's feeling was right. The elements of their relationship had changed and Norma was looking at him through eyes which were considering him as a new and very important factor in her existence; possibly the most important.

Finally, she replied, in a soft, unsure voice. "That-that will be fine, John. Around seven?" John nodded.

"Seven, then."

Then she was gone and John, suddenly alone, wondered what he was heading into. He was still married. Norma was, obviously, in love with him. Most of all, he didn't want to become too seriously involved with a woman, now of all times-that could only be a mistake. Yet....

The club was empty, except for Terry Anson and Jerry English. Jerry was seated at the piano, running through arrangements with Terry and she was feeling a tingling sensation at the level expression in the musician's eyes as they held hers steadily. Jerry was a fine musician and, from the first, there had been between them an almost extra-sensory feeling-a wordless communication which allowed them to work perfectly as a team, almost from the beginning. Jerry, was a tremendous accompanist and Terry felt the rapport between them and it bolstered her already-high confidence to smash performances. Right now, the tingle spread excitingly ... she could feel Jerry undressing her mentally ... and anxious that she should know it. He had a way of looking at her that made chills race up and down her straight spine-and dance along her nerves, right out to the ends.

The afternoon before, when they'd done a run-through on a few of her arrangements, this man had watched her, out of the same, heat-inducing eyes. His suggestion that they have dinner together was a temptation to Terry but, at the time, she'd had too many other things on her mind. The first-and most important was to find out just how things stood between John Carrol and her. She'd picked up many bits and pieces of information that day ... learning that John's marriage wasn't looking too solid-the whisper reaching her that Alice Carrol was playing-and still further confirmation of the reputation John Carrol possessed for not playing around with the female talent in the club.

This intelligence, to Terry, was a challenge and spurred her on in her concentration on John as a means of solidifying her position. Terry had a voracious appetite for getting ahead and had had to struggle all her life. Her father had been a hopeless alcoholic the girl's mother ran out when Terry was just nine. By the time the girl had reached fifteen, she'd learned what men were all about. At eighteen, Terry was the most sought-after girl in school; popular, as well for her singing as for her provocative body. By twenty, she was well schooled in the art of pleasing a man, sexually. Sex was a big part of her life and an important part, to Terry. She reasoned that if a woman wanted to get out ahead of the pack in show business, she-first of all-had to be a top-notch performer. You needed the talent and you needed to school that talent. Terry had worked like a fiend to do that. Next, knowing that sex made all segments of the world go round (more so in some than in others), that she needed to be as good in bed as on stage. This she had accomplished, too.

Looking at Jerry English, Terry realized he could do her lots of good. A fine accompanist, he was also a swift, original and solid arranger. Their talents complemented each other and they had, almost from Terry's first eight bars of singing, felt a mutual respect for their abilities. Terry recognized that, as a team, they could make it big. Now, his feelings hot behind his eyes and his fingers flawlessly following her phrasing and her emotion, she knew just as definitely that Jerry wanted to make it with her.

"That's fine!" Jerry said, at the conclusion of 'I'm In the Mood For Love' as Terry's sotto voice ending trailed off into a thrilling silence. Jerry had a way of speaking softly, yet his almost flat utterances, somehow, were more colorful and expressive than had he shouted or whispered for emphasis.

"Thanks," Terry smiled, turning to lean on the piano, facing him. The cut of her bodice gave Jerry an unobstructed view of the tops of her beautifully full breasts. "Jerry, you just play up a storm!" Jerry rewarded her with his controlled grin.

"You have to, to work at the Jay-Cee. Johnny demands the best he can get and, on this, he never gives up." Terry noted, with a small thrill of excitement, that his eyes had never left hers to stray to the enticing vista above her bodice.

She straightened, stretched, thrusting her breasts forward. "I'm getting tired," she said, glancing at her watch. It was three thirty. "I could use something to eat."

Her thoughts were going in a direct line, toward a simple destination: to go to bed with Jerry. Get him interested in her and this would result in extra rehearsal time-maybe some special project arrangements at less than they usually cost. She knew that Jerry was loaded with ideas and-sooner or later-there were songs he'd suggest she do-and provide the arrangements to make sure she did them as he heard them, inside his head. This was Terry's first job in a spot which meant something. She'd worked Fairs and specials and a bunch of one-nighters-had even done two weeks on a camy, pinch-hitting for the vocalist on the girlie show-but the Jay-Cee Club was a real, commercial credit. She'd come across the lead by sheer luck-a casual word from a friend over a drink-and from there, Terry had played it strictly by ear. She was still doing so. She'd struggled to get to a spot such as this-now she was giving it everything she had.

"Let's step out for a snack," Jerry said, grinning, running a large hand through his blond hair. Terry let the suggestion hang in silence for a few beats; letting Jerry sweat out her answer. Him, she intended to use, and to play him smart. Her eyes, level on his during the silence, she appeared as though she were giving his proposal a lot of serious thought. As she stood, her eyes holding his, she became aware of a sensation inside her which was highly surprising to her ... she was growing weaker and weaker as she gazed into the grey-blue eyes, set in the square-cut features. Those eyes, again, seemed to be stripping her, bare, right where she stood. Terry felt the heat of little fires spring up to burn erotically through her body.

As she continued to look at him, she wanted to strip her clothes from her figure, wiggle onto the grand piano top, pull him into her arms and engulf him. It was possible-the club was empty except for the two of them-but discovery was highly possible. Norma Blake and John Carrol were in the office and that was what made it impossible.

That, and her determination to play it cool.

She found herself nodding, then, like a schoolgirl. "Why not?" she said, a bubble of elation threatening to burst in her throat. She felt like kicking herself. This wasn't the way she'd intended to do it....

Alice Carrol had gone through the day in a daze. Breakfast with Carl, lunch alone, then a shower. A high-ball, next. She'd smoked her way through two packs of cigarettes. She cleaned house, just to occupy herself. It was late afternoon and she automatically moved into the kitchen to scout the food cupboards and plan dinner for John....

She stopped there, slamming the open cupboard door and rushed into the breakfast nook, sinking down to cry, her head on the table.

"What the hell am I going to do?" she tearfully demanded of the walls around her.

After a moment more, she got up to move to a small bar in the dining room to pour herself a stiff drink of whiskey. Then, her eyes began to roam the surroundings as she moved from the bar into the living room, noting the beautiful and expensive furniture she and John had acquired during their marriage.

It was like a disturbing dream-and all of it starting from Carl Denver. From the beginning, it had been Carl. Then, after her marriage, she'd managed to forget him, mostly ... until he re-emerged, at the moment when her relationship with John seemed to have gone stale. Now, Alice realized, it didn't really matter that John might have been cheating-it didn't make him any different in his treatment of her. Their life together, in all ways, had been very good. The house was theirs as well as everything in it. The club was theirs. They had built a good life-and now, she had managed to ruin the whole thing. And the trigger was her own sense of insecurity that the suspicion of John's infidelity aroused. Not the knowledge ... just the suspicion.

Practically, what did it matter? If he was laying everything he could find in a skirt-he was a good husband. He made love to her every time she wanted him. So what if he looked at another woman with fire in his eyes and an unspoken desire in his mind-so long as he was a good husband in other ways, had she really any room to doubt her place in his regard?

Alice knew the answer already, poured another drink and sank into an easy chair to mull her misery. After the third drink had been swallowed, she realized she couldn't, longer, sit in the house alone. The knowledge of what her own emotions had trapped her into doing was a bitter pill that she could not easily digest....

So, she had a few more drinks and, by dark, her head was a-whirl. The hi-fi was blasting, filling the house with music which still failed to drown the misery inside her. The tears were flowing again as she stood in the center of the living room, a half-finished drink in her hand. Now, her feeling had changed. All she felt was a sense of complete defeat-and a bitter hatred toward John, who'd been laying anything in skirts-cheapening her, his wife and making her feel guilty. Who the hell did he think he was...?

After she and Jerry had eaten, Terry suggested her place. "I have some jazz albums I think you'll like," she said.

She lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment, only about five miles from the club. It was nicely furnished and she'd just recently bought a small stereo set ... the only furniture she owned.

However, it wasn't music which interested Terry. When she led Jerry into the living room, she indicated the stereo with a wave of her hand, saying:

"Check the records-play what you like. I'll mix a couple of drinks for us...." Returning to the living room, she put the glasses on the cocktail table, excusing herself again. "Be right back," she said. Jerry was kneeling before the stereo.

"Hey, Terry, this is a hell of a collection."

"Like it?"

"Great-you have the ear. Getz OK?"

"Any time," she agreed, moving into the bedroom. There she pulled the zipper on her dress, stepped out of it and removed her bra to stand, looking at her body in the full-length mirror.

A wonderful body, she thought, honestly. The breasts are large and placed high-provocatively high-round and firm and delightfully nippled. When she moved, the beautiful globes jiggled and bounced-they didn't swing. The medallions which centered them were a luscious pink and the nipples seemed tiny in comparison with the size of the bosoms. Her stomach was almost flat and the curve of her hips was an enticing swell from the tiny waist above them. Try slipped her fingers beneath the elastic of her pink panties, smiling at her reflection.

Jerry English was going to get quite a surprise, the next time he laid eyes on Terry, she was determined of that. A nice, exciting, and-she also determined-unforgettable surprise....