Chapter 5
The Arcadia pulled up her anchors and steamed north and west for Istanbul at midnight. Before she left Iskenderun several things happened that were to have profound effects on the lives of some of her passengers and crew.
The shore parties had to be back aboard by 10 p.m. but crew members were due an hour earlier. Alfred Maddon climbed jauntily up the ladder from the tender, whistling softly to himself. The day had gone well. He had made contact with his usual connection and picked up a quantity of hashish and a number of flat, oiled silk sachets containing heroin and cocaine, which he had concealed in special pockets sewn below the knee inside his wide steward's pants. He had finally managed to meet -- and bribe -an area police captain whose cooperation would help him a great deal in the future. He had left the usual presents with his friends in the Customs, he had successfully carried out the little assignment demanded of him by Len Bonner, and last but by no means least there had been Fatima!
His lips curled into a reminiscent smile as he recalled the gymnastic contortions the dusky-skinned Arabian dancer had gone through to please him in the hired bedroom above the waterfront bar. Yes, it had been a good day! And what that little tart could do with her tits!
One of the first calls he received after he had secreted his small stash of contraband narcotics was from Stateroom B-7 -- the Grants' cabin. Shrugging himself hastily into his white mess jacket, he hurried along the passage and tapped on the door.
Bob Grant was alone in the cabin. Maddon . . . who had heard the best part of the young man's quarrel with his wife that morning from the other side of the door, had expected him to be drunk, maudlin, or at the very least sullen. But he appeared to be in very good spirits. He was humming gaily to himself, a razor in one hand, as he wiped the dried lather from his cheeks with a towel held in the other. Judging from the state of the bed, he had just woken up from a long sleep. That was a very odd way for a man to behave, Maddon thought, when his wife had spent the whole day ashore with someone else. Especially when that someone else was Len Bonner! If it had been his wife, he would have been hopping mad, pacing the bloody cabin until she got back!
"Evenin' Mr. Grant," Maddon said. "Can I get you something?"
"Good evening, good evening, good evening," Bob caroled happily. "Yes you can indeed. The thought just came to me that what I need is a drink. A king-size, power-packing, large and lovely drink!"
"A drink, sir. Yes sir. Did you have something special in mind?"
"I sure did, Alfred my boy! Something very special! You can bring me a large port and brandy."
"A port and brandy, sir?" Maddon permitted his eyebrows to scale two of the ridges creasing his brow. "Excuse my asking, Mr. Grant, but have you an upset stomach, sir?"
"Upset? Why certainly not! It's just that I think it's a great drink. In fact while you're about it, you'd better bring me two: I may need another later!"
"Just as you say, sir." "And Alfred . . ."
"Sir?"
"I don't suppose you could get me something to eat, could you? I was . . . er . . . kinda busy earlier, and then I fell asleep, and I guess it's too late to dine now, eh?"
"I'm afraid they stop serving dinner in the dining saloon at nine thirty," Maddon said. "And it's almost that now. I could get you a chicken sandwich or something like that. Or there's always the snack bar on "D" Deck -- it's kind of a cafeteria and it's open all night."
"A chicken sandwich it shall be. Two chicken sandwiches! I don't want to get dressed and go on out: there's . . . it . . . there's a couple of things I have to attend to right here; later on."
I'll bet there are, you randy sod! Maddon thought to himself as he bowed and left the cabin.
After he had ordered the sandwiches from the kitchen he began to prepare the two drinks. When they were ready he fished a small gelatin capsule from an inner pocket, carefully unscrewed the two halves, and emptied the fine white powder it had contained into one of the glasses.
Young Grant might protest that he had nothing wrong with his guts right now . . . but he sure would have before the night was out!
Joanna Grant and Len Bonner came aboard with a crowd of other passengers from the last tender at ten o'clock. To the girl's astonishment, the day hadn't been too bad after all. As if to disprove both her own fears and Bob's insinuations, the advertising man hadn't been the slightest bit difficult. He hadn't made a pass at her; he hadn't propositioned her or made lewdly indecent suggestions; in fact he hadn't laid a finger on her all day except for such necessary attentions as pulling out her chair in a restaurant, helping her on or off with her linen jacket, or taking her arm to pilot her across a busy street.
More than that, he had actually been an amusing companion. It seemed that he had been to Iskenderun before, once when he was handling a big account for an oil company. At any rate, he knew the town well and he was an interesting and informative guide, taking her to places off the tourist track, waiting patiently while she explored the bazaars, and insisting on buying her lunch and dinner. She had bought some souvenir trinkets for her folks and she had got hold of some real cute things for the home. They had dined in the open air, sitting under a fig tree in a patio restaurant outside the town while a band of strange stringed instruments played softly among the fireflies. Over the coffee, Len Bonner had become almost fatherly, advising her about her modeling career and . . . this was exciting! . . . promising to give her introductions to the bosses of two photographic agencies who worked for him. All in all -- she had to admit it -- she had enjoyed her day with him! Of course she had been a bit worried that morning when Mrs. Bonner had turned out to be sick, suspecting some kind of a setup and expecting the worst. But the husband couldn't have been more attentive . . . or less of a wolf. Naturally it would have been even better if Bob had been there too, but . . .
Climbing the ship's ladder with her arms laden with packages, she sighed as she thought of the quarrel that still had to be resolved. If she enthused and told him what a good time she'd had, he'd become sullen and angry again. But if she said nothing, he'd think she was holding back something disreputable and he'd get jealous and bad tempered! Oh dear, she could see she was in for a difficult time!
And if only Bob would listen, if only he'd be a little reasonable and not think he could conquer the world all on his own, she was sure Mr. Bonner could help him too. He'd spoken very kindly of Bob during lunch, which was big of him considering how rude Bob had been with them. She hoped not, or that would mean another row. He'd probably accuse her of having fixed it deliberately!
"Mr. Bonner I have to thank you for a wonderful day," she said as they walked along the promenade deck towards the companionway.
"Why, gee, that's okay Joanna," Len Bonner said. "It was a real pleasure. It was just too bad that Mrs. Bonner and your husband couldn't come along too."
"Those bazaars!" Joanna laughed. "And those cute little stalls in the markets with the merchants sitting outside among all their pots and pans! And fancy running into Alfred, the steward . . . right there in the middle of the old quarter! That was funny, don't you think?"
"Not really. I expect he has a girl tucked away there some place," Len Bonner said comfortably. "They're supposed to have one in every port. Sailors."
"So they are. But I never think of him as a sailor somehow. More like a waiter really. You don't think he was drunk, do you?"
"Drunk? Why do you say that?"
"Well, because he stumbled and fell against me. And the sidewalk was really quite wide just there. He had to grab hold of me to save himself from falling down"
"I guess he just slipped or something," Len said. "They get into pretty hot water if they misbehave on shore. And quite right too!"
They had just turned a corner one section away from their own corridor on "B" Deck when Len himself appeared to miss his step. Cannoning into the girl, he inadvertently knocked two of the packages from her arms and shot her purse out from under her elbow onto the floor.
Apologizing profusely, he stooped to retrieve the purse, handed it back to her with the packages, and then began to collect the contents of the white patent handbag which lay strewn over the deck . . . a lipstick, a handful of coins, a gold flapjack, a comb, a packet of tissues, and a small parcel wrapped in grey waxed paper.
"Thank you . . . it's quite all right . . . really . . . thank you . . . why, whatever's that?" Joanna exclaimed.
Len was rising slowly to his feet staring at the package. It was about five inches long by three inches wide and an inch deep. A corner of the waxed paper seemed to have got torn in the fall and through the gash a greenish brown substance that looked like unripe tea-leaves was trickling.
He tipped some of it into the palm of his hand and sniffed. It had a curious aromatic odor. As he raised his eyes to her face his expression was somber. "Joanna," he said severely, "I'm disappointed in you."
She was frowning in bewilderment. "I don't know what you mean."
"I know some of us older folks seem pretty square to the younger generation," he said heavily. "I understand all that stuff about freedom and liberalism and doing your own thing that you keep ramming down our throats. I don't go along with all of it, but I understand. There has to be a limit, though. You have to draw the line some place, and when it comes to smuggling dope . . ."
"Dope!" Joanna squealed. "Smuggling? whatever do you mean?"
"You're not trying to tell me you didn't know there was a package of marijuana in your purse? Look, this stuffs poison, Joanna. If you don't care about your own health, you should think of other people. It's when kids get stoned on this stuff that they experiment with the hard drugs. You should be ashamed of yourself peddling such filth!"
"But I didn't . . . I wasn't . . . I mean I didn't know," the poor girl stammered, absolutely aghast at what she was hearing.
"I suppose you picked it up from your connection when you made that excuse to leave me in the old town," Len said sadly.
"I didn't make an excuse. I wanted some things for my folks . . . I went to a curio shop. And since you'd said you had to spend ten minutes in that office with your colleagues, I thought . . . look, I swear I know nothing about that package. I've never set eyes on it before. You've got to believe me!" "I wish I could believe you," he said, shaking his head and sighing. "Look, this is a very serious offense, Joanna. Smuggling's bad enough, but smuggling hash -- that's an automatic jail sentence wherever you are.
"Mr. Bonner . . . Len. . . How can I make you understand: I didn't know!"
"It walked into your purse all on its own maybe? It's you, that doesn't understand: I have connections with the Narcotics Bureau in New York City. It's my duty to report this right away to the Captain. I'm sorry but I don't see what else I can do."
Joanna had begun to cry. "Please, please," she sobbed. "There has to be some mistake . . . somebody must have picked up my purse . . ."
"When? Where?"
"I don't know! Can't you see I know nothing about that awful package . . .? Oh please don't tell the Captain! Don't tell my husband: he'd never understand. He'd never forgive me -- he's so strait laced! I mean I . . . "You should have thought of that first," Len said sternly.
"But I haven't done anything! How can I convince you? You've got to believe me, you've just got to . . . please!"
The advertising man held a silence for an unbearable half minute, searching her tear-stained face with his eyes. Then he said dubiously: "I don't know. I just don't know. I'd sure hate for a promising young career to finish up in a women's jail. But there is the moral side to it too. I'll have to think it over."
"Oh please give me a break, Mr. Bonner," Joanna implored.
"I'll tell you my decision tomorrow morning," Len said stiffly. "In the meantime, I guess I'd better take charge of this disgusting stuff." Slipping the package into his pocket, he stalked away along the corridor.
Bob Grant was sitting with two glasses and an empty plate in front of him when Joanna, the ravages to her face partly repaired in the ladies' powder room, entered the cabin a half hour later. "Darling!" he cried. "Did you eat? How did it all go? Did you have a good time?"
"It was fine," Joanna said dully. "Just fine."
"You didn't suffer too much from the attentions of Mr. B? He didn't try to make you on the tender? He didn't proposition you in the bazaars?"
"Don't be absurd, Robert. Of course he didn't. He . . . he was very nice really; not a bit what you thought. Quite proper in fact."
A damned sight too proper, unfortunately, she mused, remembering the scene in the corridor. Of all people to find . . . but how in heaven did that incriminating packet get into her purse? How could it possibly have done so without her knowledge? And whatever was she going to do? She dare not confide in Bob . . . he was even more moral than Mr. Bonner! She was completely in the hands of her companion for the day. "In End, Mrs. Bonner didn't come with us," she said, trying to sound casual. "It seems she was sick or something."
"I know. I -- er -- I caught sight of her on deck. What have you got in all those packages?"
"Oh nothing. A few things for the apartment. Some souvenirs for my folks."
"Did you eat, honey? Or did I ask you that before?"
"Sure I ate. Twice." Joanna began listlessly stowing the packages in the closet. Her face, she saw in the looking glass, was very pale. What the hell could she do but wait for Len Bonner's "decision" tomorrow morning? God, how difficult -- and how frightening! -- life could be.
Bob was on his feet, his face covered with a huge grin. "If you already ate then, there's nothing to stop us going to bed, eh?"
Joanna looked at him. "Nothing at all, Bob.
It's a good idea. I am rather tired as it happens. I guess I'll go on in and get undressed."
She made for the bathroom door but he blocked her way. The grin on his face was wider than ever. "Oh no you don't!" he chortled.
"You undress right here in front of me! I just decided . . . there's going to be some changes made." He was standing very near to her and she could smell the heavy fumes of brandy and port on his breath.
"Robert Grant, you're drunk!" she said accusingly. "A fine thing . . . your wife goes ashore for one day to do a little marketing, and comes back to find you stinking! Now you let me past this minute or I shall--"
She broke off with a gasp as he swept her into his arms and planted a moist kiss full on her lips. She struggled to turn away her head. "Bob! Please! You smell horrible! . . . Look, if this is your way of trying to make up for that silly quarrel this morning--"
"Quarrel?" he interrupted boisterously. "I don't remember any quarrel, baby. Forget it. Just I love you, is all. And so I want to kiss you. Is that bad?" His arms tightened around her and he sought her mouth again.
She drew back her head and looked him in the eyes. "You do love me . . . and you're not angry still about my going ashore with . . . with Mr. Bonner?"
"Yes . . . and no."
"Then will you please let me go to the bathroom to get ready for bed?"
Suddenly releasing her, he moved to the door and leaned his back against it. "No," he said.
Joanna's eyebrows flew up. "What do you mean . . . no?"
"What I say. I want you to get ready . . . I want you to undress right here, in front of me."
"Now I know you're drunk!" his wife said indignantly. "What an idea! You know perfectly well that I always-"
"Yes I know you always," he interrupted again. "And I always let you. But now it's going to stop. Hell, you have a beautiful body, darling . . . is it so wrong that I should want to see it? After all, every other goddamn man on the Coast does, in magazine ads and TV commercials and I don't know what else."
"Oh let's not start going into all that again," Joanna said impatiently.
"I'm not going into anything again. I want to do something for the first time . . . like see you undressing."
For a moment longer she stared at his flushed face, and then she compressed her lips. "Very well then," she said coldly.
Angrily, she tore off her jacket and hung it in the closet. She pulled her blouse over her head and dropped it on a chair. Then she sat down and drew off her white pumps, stood up and unzipped her skirt, stepped out of that and reached up behind her to unclasp the hooks of her brassiere.
Bob watched her, fascinated. Of course the performance was hardly comparable with anything Harriet Bonner could do -- but then firstly Joanna was angry, and Number Two, she was trying deliberately not to please. All the same, he had to agree that the risk had been well worth it! He marveled afresh at the subtle curves of her hips as they contoured into the tautly flat plane of her stomach. He took delight in the firmness of her swelling thighs and the grace with which they tapered down through knee and calf to her slender ankles. He was bewitched by the modeling of her back, with its just visible arrow of blonde down pointing at the cleft between her ripely rounded buttocks.
But his greatest pleasure naturally came when she removed her bra and panties. She was unable to hide from his avidly appreciative gaze the pale triangle of softly curling pubic hair mantling her loins . . . and when, seeing his lustful look, she turned away, she afforded him an uninterrupted view of the hairy furrow between her legs as she bent over to twitch the legbands of the brief garment over her feet. Her breasts, hanging in nippled bulges from the angled plane of her chest, aroused him more then than they ever had. Inside the leg of his pants, he felt his cock jerk slowly into hardness.
When she was completely naked, she turned to face him defiantly. Her face was slightly pink and her chin was held high. "I trust you're satisfied?" she said icily.
"Why sure I am, honey. You're just beautiful. I think you're the most-"
"Then perhaps I may be permitted to go to the bathroom now?" Joanna said. "Or would you maybe like to see me take my douche? Do you want to watch me pee?"
Flushing, he opened the door and stood aside to let her pass.
Later, when they were in bed, he turned to her and said: "I just don't get it, honey. You seem to take a perfectly normal and honest pleasure in your body professionally, when you're in the studio. You get mad at me when I object to your showing it off that way. You're proud of it and I guess you're right to be proud. But when it comes to me, your own husband dammit -- then you come over all puritanical and want to hide it! Hell, sex is just as important as anything else in marriage! Maybe more so."
Joanna sighed. "Of course it's important," she said. "It's good and healthy to have sex. But there's a difference between love and lust, Bob."
He laughed a little bitterly. "Healthy!" he repeated. "It might be more important still if it could be fun as well!"
Later still, when he had kneaded and stroked and massaged her breasts and stimulated the nipples to agonized hardness, he began to caress the soft hair-lined lips of her cunt. As soon as the fleshy folds grew moist, and his fingers were sliding wetly in and out of her trembling vaginal opening, his head disappeared beneath the covers and he started shifting himself down the voluptuous length of her body. His mouth trailed damply across the softly quivering curve of her belly and his fingers clenched around her lower hips, the thumbs reaching down to splay apart her warmly throbbing cuntal lips.
"Bob!" she exclaimed sharply. "Whatever are you doing?"
"I'm only going to . . . I want to.. . use my mouth on you. I want to kiss you . . . to lick you down there!" the muffled reply came from beneath the covers.
"You are drunk!" Joanna cried. "You'll do no such thing! It's disgusting! It's . . . you come right back up here this minute!" And she tangled her fingers in his hair and hauled his head back up on the pillow.
There was no going back for Bob now. "Well if you won't let me do it to you," he said sullenly, "then you must do it to me."
"Do it to you? What are you talking about? What's come over you tonight, Bob?"
"I'll put it simply for you. I want you to suck my cock," he said brutally.
"Robert Grant! Have you gone out of your mind? I never heard of such an idea! I certainly will not. It's filthy, it's degrading, it's . . . oh, how could you suggest such a thing!"
"You've hinted more than once that I'm not . . . adventurous enough, I think you said . . . in bed." He was getting mad now. "But as soon as I do try and bring a little variety into our lovemaking, you act like a prudish old school teacher!"
"There's a difference between being adventurous and being perverted. What you're suggesting is unnatural. It isn't right. It's . . . oh, darling. I do want you to make love to me though! Come on, let's do it our usual, normal way." She snuggled her body close to him and reached for his pajama cord, sliding her hand down inside the waistband to search for what she expected would be his already hardened cock, but she was disappointed.
Bob's penis lay soft and flaccid down along his thigh. The double rebuff he had just suffered, coupled with his excesses earlier in the day in Harriet Bonner's cabin, had left him now totally without desire for normal sex!
With frantic fingers, Joanna massaged the length of the limp shaft, attempting desperately to bring it to vibrant, throbbing life in her hands. Nothing happened: the lifeless rod of flesh remained obstinately soft.
"If you were a real woman," Bob muttered angrily from the depths of his humiliation, "you'd know damned well that I was talking sense . . . and you wouldn't have any trouble seeing that I had a hard-on!"
For a moment Joanna lay in frozen silence. And then, with a muffled sob, she abruptly turned her back on him and stared into the darkness with tear-filled eyes. After her shattering experience with Len, this was just too much!
There could be only one explanation. She'd heard that some men forced their wives to indulge in these filthy and perverted practices. But Bob -- apart from a couple of half-hearted attempts to push her head down towards his loins soon after they were married had never suggested such a thing before. This sudden and unexpected interest in unnatural acts, added to the undeniable fact of his impotence, could only mean one thing . . . he must have been with another woman!
He had probably staged the quarrel deliberately to give himself an excuse to get away from her. Then he had taken a later tender and gone ashore alone when she was safely out of the way . . . to spend the day with some dirty little whore that he picked up in a waterfront bar!
Crying silently into the night, Joanna heard the Arcadia's anchors rattle up and the engines start churning as she contemplated a future that held nothing for her but the threats of the divorce court and jail!
At three o'clock in the morning, Bob Grant woke up with agonizing stomach cramps and an attack of diarrhea and vomiting. The ship's doctor diagnosed infectious enteritis and he was moved to the sick bay at once. Half an hour later Alfred Maddon gave a treble knock at the door of the Bonnets' stateroom to signal the success of the second phase of their combined operation.