Chapter 4
Gail awoke first; slowly her eyes fluttered open and came to rest on a dark, tousled head. Startled, she shifted position. Who shared her bed? Then she saw the sharp profile denting the pillow and her heart gave an extra beat of relief. Her Jack! She stared at the rhythmically moving, hairy chest. In his sleep he had thrown off the blanket and was now exposed, defenseless, to her stare. She ached to touch the strong-muscled arm, to slide her palms down his thighs. She suppressed a giggle. He didn't resemble the exciting nude in the bathroom of Plymouth Falls now; his virility had collapsed. Shriveled. But, oh, it would return; she would make him swell and glow with frenzied passion.
She slid out of bed and picked up the gown from the floor, slipped into it and padded to the bathroom. She held her face close to the mirror. It didn't show, that she had been ravaged, joyfully taken.
Her face was a shade paler than normal and the eyes seemed larger. She tidied herself and slipped back into bed. He hadn't moved. She snuggled up close and rubbed her cheek against his arm, feeling warm and cozy. Also, playful.
"Hm?" He shook his head, feeling a nibble at his ear lobe. His eyes, deep, sleepy pools, gazed at the expanse of brown-gleaming skin and now lifted to her impish green eyes.
"Darling, my love!" He drew her to him, his finger ruffling her curls. His lips found hers softly inviting; his hands wandered. Now he sat up and she read guilt in his eyes. "You slept so soundly-last night-I ... I forgot myself."
Green eyes searched his face, lashes screened green sparkle. "I had a strange dream, Jack ... And, in my dream you-" Her eyes flicked open, were a question mark. "Or, was it a dream, Jack? Tell me."
He chuckled and his forefinger drew a circle about the incarnate nipple. "No, it was no dream, Gail; it was to me wonderful, thrilling reality. Yes, I confess, I paid myself an advance toward future delights. Do you mind? And I think I want another advance right now."
As he kissed her the conflagration of his body jumped over to hers. His lips were a seal of fire, and her avid hands aware of his readiness, grabbed, feeling hot pulsating life. He was infinitely tender trying to stem the rush of passion to coax her into pleasure, wanting to see her glazed eyes, the tense body ready and poised for flight into ecstasy.
His dark head moved and she felt the bristly chin create goose pimples.
"I don't want to be selfish, you first, always."
And she did-trembling, moaning, body arched, stars rising and falling behind her closed lids. Straining, then relaxing, all moist softness, quivering pleasure-invaded, nerve ends exposed. Soft lapping of his tongue making tender flesh agonize with preamble of wanting. Moistness spilling over, inundating her, burying wanting in red hot lava of fulfillment. Sigh of release, feeling herself floating, soaring to ecstatic new heights of pleasure.
"Love, I want you weak once more. Last night I thought only of myself."
His fingers fluttering spiders on her thighs; his lips moving down her concave abdomen, scorching her back from her cloud, fastening on rose of flesh, coaxing, demanding. Forward, curious tip of tongue tantalizing, a flutter, a forespasm of pleasure, tightening and relaxing of tissue and muscle. Now velvety softness, moving quicksand and, with a moan, the water of life inundating shores not barren any long, er. Her outcry of deepest pleasure, her fingers in his hair, body arched, finally still and sated.
And he, lust-hungry panther going berserk, reaching for his prey, towering over her all threatening tenseness, hands clawing, hungry with wildness and wild with hunger, crushing her softness, pressing, rubbing, shifting, ready to devour. Heat, sweat dripping, lip tasting lip, and her stifled outcry at the charge. Faster and faster, now delaying and secretly expanding. Hardness sheathed in softness, flint to fire. Friction, piston-shoving. And his deep sigh slicing the silence, eruption shattering the secret cave with liquid fire spilling forth, spreading like soothing balm over open wound.
Sealed inside of her, his lips moved over her mouth muttering words of endearment, precious pearls of ecstasy found on secret shore.
Finally he detached himself, leaving her dazed, bathed in euphoria, still and becalmed as one floating down a tranquil river after having weathered the storm.
They had dinner at a small place near the Drake. Over coffee they made plans.
"I really must get back to the office, darling. I suggest we take a plane tonight. It would be more practical to be married in Oakland. If that suits you."
She smiled. "You're my boss, Jack. I leave it all to you-as I do leave myself in your hands." Her tone, sweet and meek, did not betray her thoughts. Was it wise to delay the ceremony? And was it advisable to leave him alone while she went for her luggage? He might get it into his mind to phone Plymouth Falls to let diem know.
He seemed to read part of her thoughts. His forehead creased. "Are you going to call home, Gail? They might be worried. Or, shall I?"
"Oh no, Jack!" I must control my voice, she thought, saying sweetly. "I shall simply write a postcard, saying I am fine, and that I shall have news for them-later. Then, after we're married I shall send a wire. How's that, Jack?"
"Well, I don't know. But I leave it to you, Gail .." He cocked one black brow, inspecting her wrinkled coat and wilted dress. "I guess you'd like to change your dress. And we should get your bag, don't you think?"
There, he'd solved it all. "Let's take a taxi to Mrs. Wilke's. I want you to meet my old friend Louise. She's an artist, a painter, you'll like her."
And to Mrs. Wilke's they drove and while Louise entertained Jack in the parlor, Gail changed into a tailored blue suit and repacked her bag. Everything was going her way. She was elated. Now nothing and nobody could interfere. Have I stupidly, blindly, fallen in love with that man? she wondered, surprised at the happy sparkle of her eyes as she adjusted the blue hat at a jaunty angle. Is he going to boss me for the rest of my days? She shook her head at her reflection. Decidedly not. After the first rapture of sensual knowing had passed and after they were settled in a home she would pick and furnish to suit her taste, she would assert herself, grip the reins and lead him by the nose. And make him like it.
That night, they took Louise out to dinner and celebrated the betrothal. As Louise kissed her tearfully at her door, Gail freed herself from her embrace. Jack was waiting in the cab.
"What's there to cry about, Louise? You're so emotional. Look at me. I am calm and collected and-very pleased."
Louise stared at her as if confronting a stranger.
"Pleased? Is that all? Why, he's a wonderful guy. Crazy about you. And so attractive. However did you do it, Gail? Practically over night he fell for you."
Gail chuckled. "Overnight is right, Louise. I knew what I wanted and went after it. Simple. I used my head-and my body. Yes, it will be a comfortable marriage. And I shall go on using my head."
"Well, I do wish you happiness, Gad. You know, in a way I feel sorry for Jack. Compared to you he is an innocent at heart."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. Better wish me luck, that's more important than happiness. And, I shall keep in touch with you. Thanks for-helping me." A quick peck on Louise's cheek and she got back into the cab.
A week later, they were married before a justice of the peace in Oakland and moved into the house he had rented and which Gail found quite suitable. At first. Six months and many battles later, they moved into an apartment hotel, sleekly modern, with lots of glass and plastic. This freed Gail of household worries.
Gail had wired her mother after the wedding.
'As of an hour ago I am Mrs. Jack Michaels and very happy.
Love Gail."
Before sending it off, she showed the wire to Jack, explaining she would write the family in detail later.
"Hm, don't you think I should write them a few lines?"
There was malice in her green eyes. "Do you think it advisable after ... Well, I leave it to your discretion. I'm sure my parents will be glad to know I'm happy; they always thought a lot of you."
Thus, Jack never wrote them, neither did Gail.
Her loving frenzy had lasted two months and had given way to a passive feeling of tolerating Jack's, now milder lovemaking. They went out a lot, more than Jack wanted to, and Gail made some interesting new friends. Like Janice Bailey, a red-headed, lean sculpturess, a girl with an acid sense of humor who had no time for men at all, and said so. And then there was Kent, 'the beatnik,' as Jack called him contemptuously. A dangling, raven-haired youth with flashing black eyes who escorted Gail to galleries, concerts and lectures. Kent was an aspiring concert pianist, but as man cannot live on aspirations alone, he was a member of a jazz band, helping the customers enjoy themselves at a dingy night spot, called the Yellow Tiger. That's where Gail had met him one' night when she and Janice had dropped in for a late drink.
They were sipping their scotch and soda, when the tall bearded youth passed by their table during an intermission.
"Hi Kent, what can be on your mind not seeing me?" called Janice.
The tall man stopped and Gail was startled by the bony face with a hawk nose and fiery eyes.
"Hello Janice, I thought you had given up slumming." His curious eyes ran over Gail's smart appearance, fastened on her green eyes. "Who's your friend?"
"Gail, meet an impossible character, Kent Miles. Kent boy, this is Gail Michaels, society matron and artist."
"Mind if I park for a minute?" He was already doing so, eyeing Gail unabashed. "You have an interesting bone structure, Mrs. Michaels. And I read revolt in your eyes."
When he left their table to resume his playing Gail had invited him for cocktails at her house, wondering what had made her do it, knowing he was a type Jack detested.
Coming home after a tiring day at the office, Jack found them in the den. Gail, sketching pad on her knees, was doing Kent's portrait.
"Hello Gad." As he bent down to kiss her cheek he glanced at the charcoal sketch. "Hm, rather a good likeness." Coolly, he gazed at the young man's beard.
"Oh Jack, this is Kent Miles, friend of Janice, and now also my friend. He's going to be a concert pianist."
The two men were shaking hands, Jack's eyes sizing up the youth critically. "Well, always nice to meet a budding artist." His tone was disdainful.
Kent took his hurried departure and husband and wife faced each other.
"Gail, for Heaven's sake, what kind of animal is this? Beatniks it's now. Really, at times I find it difficult to understand you."
"You must try harder," she spat at him. "Now, please, don't lecture me. He's a harmless young man. Go and wash up, we're having dinner with the Mercers."
"Not again? I'm bushed and we have been out for the last three nights. Call up and tell them-oh anything."
But she had gone on to the Mercers' without him as she went many places now. The gulf between them was widening. She liked Kent Miles and made no bones about it. She saw him almost daily-at her home and elsewhere. So far, there had been only kisses, but she knew there would be more. Kent's compressed fire, his youth and his unorthodox wildness appealed to Gail who was tired of Jack's mild lovemaking. Jack she owned, but Kent, difficult and rebellious, was a challenge.
She knew all hell would break loose but she did it for the heck of it, to assert her independence. She went out and bought a baby grand, having talked it all out with Kent, that he would give her piano lessons.
And now the piano, black and shiny, was cluttering up the living room and she was expecting Jack, ready to brave the storm, knowing that the bill for it had been received at his office. The fight had started when he called her an hour ago, and it would really begin raging when he confronted her....