Chapter 5
He burst into the den where she was reclining on the couch, recently converted into a bed. Standing over her, he wrested the evening paper from her hands. He looks ugly, like a mean devil, she thought, staring calmly into his furious eyes.
"You and I are going to have a talk. And, you better listen."
"Yes dear," she said with mock humility, her eyes sparkling with malice. "But hadn't you better sit down and be comfortable. After all, you 're always tired when you get home from the office."
"Don't you tell me what to do. I prefer to stand." He was breathing hard, his face flushed.
He looks positively repulsive, she thought, noticing his slight paunch. "Darling, you better watch your calories. Tummy's showing," she quipped.
"Never mind, it's my stomach." He now chose to sit down at the foot of the couch. "Who do you think you're going to be? Brahms?" he thundered. "Now, I admit you have a nice little talent for portraits and I have never told you not to pursue that talent. But it's news to me I have a Liszt in the family. So, kindly explain the piano?" He was perspiring and whipped out his handkerchief, to mop his brow. "Do you intend to regale your arty friends with musicales?" He was talking himself into a frenzy and his usually well-modulated voice rose to an ugly falsetto. "That piano goes back where it came from. In the morning."
"Calm yourself, Jack, excitement is bad for your heart."
"If you cared for my heart-or for my health and comfort you wouldn't constantly aggravate me ... Oh, how you have changed from the sweet, compliant girl I married. We live in a glass cage which I hate. You choose friends who are objectionable. We go out practically every night-or entertain in some plush eatery because my wife doesn't care to spend time in the kitchen ... You don't even act like a wife...."
She waited, calmly braving his furious glare.
"Through accusing me? Did it ever occur to you that you haven't lived up either to my idea of a husband? Your head and heart is left at the office, you get home tired and beat, with an insufferable humor. After all I need some outlet, a little attention...."
"Which undoubtedly you are getting from that beatnik," he grumbled. "But this time I'm putting my foot down. That piano's got to go."
"Sorry, but you're wrong. And if you refuse to pay for it-I'll do so. From my allowance."
"Well then I'll just have to cut your allowance," he fumbled, trying to light his cigar.
"I wouldn't advise it, that would force me to go out and get a job. It would certainly hurt your standing." He winced and she knew she had him there, vain as he was.
She stretched her slim arms and the peignoir came open exposing her firm girl-breasts. He stared at the revealed Diana body and his tone softened.
"Really, it's so foolish, our biting at each other. Now if you would just see things my way, Gad." His hand reached and he helped himself to one apple. "I do adore you and in spite of your foolishness my feelings for you have never changed. Just say that you'll be reasonable about that instrument and we'll forget our quarrels." He leaned over and sought her lips.
She kissed him lightly. "I hate bickering, Jack. I want to enjoy life ... Let's try to get along." She ran her fingers through his hair. "And, you'll let me keep the piano?" Her voice was smooth but her eyes were wary.
He arose. "What in the world do you-do we-need a piano, Gad, you tell me?"
"Oh, I always wanted to learn how to play. And Kent promised to teach me. So you see, I'll get free instruction."
He towered over her, his mouth open. "That's the limit. Having that ill-mannered bore around at all hours. Or," he bent down and scowled at her impassive face, "maybe you don't find him a bore, maybe he fascinates you ... Tell me," he seized her wrists, yanking at diem, "has he made progress with you? Is that where your passion has flown to? Is his youth so exhausting that you spend your nights here in the den, safe from my lovemaking-to rest up from your bouts with that uncouth athlete?"
She freed her wrists and managed a slow smile. "If you must know, your snoring keeps me awake. Also, you're hardly ever in the mood for dalliance ... Kent Miles means nothing to me-but he helps to pass the time."
He glared at her, went into the adjoining room and returned with a drink. She watched him gulp it down.
"Darling, don't I rate a drink?"
"You mix your own," he said with venom. "You may find my brand too weak."
Slowly she arose and waltzed to the bar coming back with the half-filled glass. "Darling, really, we're quarreling over nothing." She took a sip and put the glass down on the table. "I find you most attractive when you let yourself go-my wild man!" She threw her arms about his neck and covered his face with light, fluttering kisses, pressing her slim body against him, feeling his tautness. His eyes were one shade darker as his arms encircled her waist.
"No more foolishness," he said, "promise you'll behave."
She traced one rugged eyebrow with her forefinger and smiled. It was even easier than she had expected. She didn't say one word but allowed him to carry her to the couch. He tore the robe open and silently she watched him take his clothes off. Now he did resemble the man in the bathroom of Plymouth Falls, poised for action. But there was the slightly protruding belly she hated.
In fact, she hated his flabby, sweating body crushing her cool limbs, his fumbling, his final sheepish excuse as the assault came to naught and his forces crumbled.
"I guess I'm just too tired. Perhaps another drink-"
But now she wanted him, was bent on pursuit, willing to help arouse his passion, perversely insisting on consummation. "I'll make you hot, darling, you just lie back and let me-get you there."
She let herself go, a cave woman on the rampage, throwing herself over his heavy body, rubbing her hard nipples against his hairy chest, hands clawing. She bathed his entire body with her tongue, starting at the ears, leaving traces of fire.
"Shrivelled little bush, needs moistness."
Her hands brought new life to the sagging body. Eagerly she listened to his accelerated breathing, saw the glazed look creep into the dark eyes, and exulted.
"See, a soldier at attention, ready to do battle."
He wanted to move over her to do his marital duty but her hands held him down.
"No, don't move. Let me-do it all."
And now she had no time for words. Under her artful titillations he moaned and strained, his body arched convulsively.
"Faster," he moaned, ready, sighing for release. She detached herself and walked away to pick up her drink and drain it, her green eyes full of malice. "Gail, what are you doing? Don't leave me that way."
She stood at the bed looking down at his tautness. Her voice was detached. "Now you know how I feel when you climb into bed and start snoring," she said.
"Gail, please, don't leave me now. And I'm sorry-about-being neglectful ... Gail...."
"Well," lightly, tenderly, she was stroking him, "promise no more bickering."
"I promise...." His face was tortured, a tight mask.
"And I can keep the piano-no stupid jealousy." She was exultant, she had him at her mercy.
"Anything Gail, just don't keep me up in the air."
She resumed the started task. Her movements were mechanical. She felt nothing, she was doing a job, soothing him, making him more malleable for future projects.
"Ouch, careful," he mumbled.
She dug in, wanting to hurt him, hating him who so easily gave in to all of her whims, hating herself for being slave, catering to his needs when he didn't hold any appeal for her any longer. He's middle-aged, flabby, used up, she thought. He has no passion unless I provide it for him. The idea of being possessed by him was repulsive to her. She needed freshness, youth....
She struggled with his uncertain passion, getting tired, wanting to heap abuse on him. "What's the matter with you? All worn out?" She stopped her ministrations knowing he was about ready."
"Please Gad, please, don't stop."
"Well, all right, but I can't wear myself out." She watched his face grow tense and pale, a spasm shook his limbs. He let go of a deep sigh and finally, painfully, he surrendered.
She walked away and lit a cigaret, disgusted with the entire proceedings. She wanted to get out of his loathsome presence. But shrewdness made her act differently. She bent over his still figure, pecking his cheek. "Feeling better?" she asked.
He drew her down over him, whispering. "Sorry to be such a nuisance, darling. You're wonderful." His arms went about her waist, flattening her down by his side. His wet, slobbering kisses nauseated her. His hand moved down, exploring. His lips found her breast.
"I'll make you feel good, sweet," he breathed into her ear. "I don't want to be selfish."
She pushed him off and arose. "You need some rest. Besides, after the job of getting you there I'm not in the mood any more."
She sat down and smoked a cigaret, glad he didn't insist to satisfy her-she knew where she would find instant joy and relief whenever it suited her.
As she came out of the bathroom he was sitting up; his face bore a critical expression. His law-face, she thought. Now that he's had his pleasure he'll act up.
His voice was nasty. "So you're saving it all for him, that beatnik," he said. "You don't fool me for a minute, Gail. Oh I know you made me promise that you can keep the piano-which I suppose included keeping your beatnik. Well," his tone was coldly sarcastic, "you and I we know what such a promise amounts to-sexual blackmail."
"Stop making with the big words, Jack. I tried-and I finally succeeded-to please you. And that's the thanks I get."
She was at the door when his voice stopped her. "Are we staying home tonight? Or, what have you arranged? Some stupid bridge, or going to some smelly night club?"
"I had intended to fix us a little supper at home but seeing you're nasty I won't bother."
"I'm sorry, Gail. And I would appreciate eating dinner at home. And afterwards we can watch TV. I have a heavy day tomorrow. So, if you will-"
"Okay," her tone was that of the queen to her slave. "I'll see what I can find in the refrigerator. Will an omelette do?"
"That will do fine."
The piano, of course, remained, and the following afternoon when Kent Miles dropped in at three, she led him proudly to the black-gleaming instrument.
He looked at her grinning face and from there his black eyes remained glued to the piano. He walked up, opened it and ran his thumb over the keys. "What's this addition? Don't tell me you have suddenly become interested in music?"
"Oh but I have," she giggled. "I'm going to learn how to play-with the best instructor-you!"
He frowned and shook his bearded head. "Now I've heard everything. Me, a piano teacher? You loco, or something?" He walked up to her and lifted her chin. "Give, what are you up to?"
"Oh, she smiled into his fiery eyes, "I thought you needed a decent instrument to practice on. But of course Jack agrees I should take up piano."
His eyes were shrewd. "You mean you talked him into it. Well, I hand it to you, you know how to put things over." He grabbed her hands and scowled. "But not on me, Gad, you're not putting anything over on me, Gail, understand? I don't like to be trapped-I'm a free-wheeler. Here today, gone tomorrow. So," his eyes were compelling and she trembled, "if I used this piano to practice on I want to know you're not buying me. That clear?"
"Of course, Kent."
But I am, buying you, she thought, submitting to his cruel lips as he crushed her in his arms. You, like that piano, are an instrument-there to give pleasure to me. And when you're not exciting any longer you will be made to leave.
She freed herself. "And now, how about a little concert, Kent. Yes, play something passionate and forceful, a fitting prelude for things to come."
She watched his agile fingers torment the keys, standing close behind him, breathing in his particular man smell, getting intoxicated not by the Appassionata but by her own feelings of lust, knowing that he would match the music in frenzy and untamed passion....