Chapter 11
It was nearly two-thirty before Boland got to bed. The last of the guests left at about one thirty and he spent most of the remaining time emptying great mounds of ashes and cigarette corpses from trays, replacing dips and platters of cold-cuts in the refrigerator and carrying trays of glasses into the sink.
Almost wordlessly, Lilly helped him. Her shoes kicked off into a corner, she padded about barefooted, looking for all the world like a dutiful wife.
At one point, she stopped her own cleaning and made sandwiches. She poured two glasses of milk. "Here," she said. "Have a snack. You've done enough for one evening. I'll get the rest of this tomorrow."
Boland bit half-heartedly into the sandwich and took a sip of the milk, wondering what her next gambit would be.
"Nice people, your patients. They all think highly of you, Ed. I'm pleased for you."
"There's some satisfaction in doing a good job and making people happy."
"And you don't just tell them what they want to hear, do you? I mean, sometimes doctors give patients what they call placebos, pills that are just so much sugar."
"So far as I know, Lilly, no sugar coated pills,"
"You take it all pretty seriously, don't you?"
"I have to, if I'm to help."
"And you do want to help?"
"Very much. It means more to me now than teaching used to. Funny how that's worked out."
"Ed, will you help me?"
A flicker of hope rose in him. "I'd love to. How?"
"What you said before. I want to. I want to go upstairs now and make love. Slowly, Ed, tenderly, Let's take a long, long time with it. You have no idea how much that would help me now, Ed, You have no idea."
He watched her blankly for a moment. "I believe I do," he said. For a long while, he believed he could do it, actually go through with the act of love. Watching her move up the steps, shoes in hand, he felt a wave of tenderness for the way she let her shoulders slump forward, tired and weighted by her problems. There was even a bit of girlish romanticism in the way she stopped when she gained the head of the stairs and turned to extend her hand to him. Movements like this, gestures like this, expressions like the one on her face could bridge a great deal of unpleasantness.
Moving next to her and sliding his arm about her waist, Boland hugged her to him tightly, thinking how strange it was he could be feeling this way about her, sentimental and tender, when, scant hours before, he'd heard her aggressively using Hermy Kilgallen to make love to her twice, even though he'd tried to prevent it. Should he have been more direct then? He doubted it. But it was strange how things worked. Now, she leaned her head on his shoulder as they neared the bedroom. Pain, no matter how recent, could be erased with a few moments of tenderness,, a few simple gestures.
They paused in the doorway to the bedroom for a slow, lingering kiss. Boland quickly forgot about Hermy Kilgallen as he tasted her lips. He quickly forgot his fear that she was, somehow insatiable. None of that seemed to matter. His hands reached for her breasts. She murmured softly against his ear. Her hips moved subtly against him, making him acutely aware of how willing he was to comply with her wishes, how completely eager he was to give comfort and assurance to her again, to try once more to rebuild shaken faith from the ashes of infidelity.
She pulled her face from his and gave a childish snicker. "I-I nearly forgot," she said. "There was something I wanted to tell you-before we got carried too far away and maybe one of us fell asleep."
"Can't it wait?"
"Well, it's about tomorrow, Ed. I know we'd sort of planned things for later on in the afternoon. But something's come up and-well, I won't be able to make it. You can find something to do, can't you?"
Boland dropped her hand. "Yes, I can find something to do, you don't have to worry about it."
"This is going to be one of the shortest seductions on record," Charlotte Stowe said, handing Boland a tall glass filled with crushed ice, dark Puerto Rican rum, chunks of lime, pineapple and cherry.
They sat in the shade of her patio, Boland semi-reclining on a lounge, Charlotte Stowe perched next to him. He watched her in disbelief. Her "seduction" costume was a heavy cotton shift, with really no shape to it. Spaghetti strings tied it about her bare shoulders and it simply hung, tent-like to a point about two inches below her knees. A matching ribbon of brown, red and yellow stripes was tied about her freshly brushed hair. On her feet were the simplest of sandals. She noticed his scrutiny. "Oh, I suppose I'd have gotten furiously angry and dressed up for the kill if you'd offered to meet me anywhere else. But I do this with good reason, Mr. Boland, sir. I want to give you every chance in the world to back out. I know how much that means to you. Besides, if you like, later, I'll dress up for you."
Boland took another sip of his drink and noticed how honest she was being. The only makeup she wore was a light coating of a neutral shade of lipstick. Across her bared shoulders, he could see a few patches of freckles. Her finger and toe nails were free of polish. Boland imagined she looked very much like this when she awakened in the mornings. "Except," she said, "that I'm a terrible grouch until I've had a cup of coffee."
Boland's eyes darted around the yard and off to the side, toward the kitchen.
"Oh ho," Charlotte said, "I'm about to be taken violently. Goodie for me. No, darling, you don't have to worry. I sent the maid out with the kidlets over an hour ago. They're at a kiddie matinee movie that has to go on for hours. I was even thinking of starting a slow leak in the station wagon tires, just for extra margin. But don't worry, we've got time." Boland reached for her, touching her shoulders and drawing her gently toward him. The moment their lips met, he increased his pressure on her shoulders, drawing her suddenly and firmly against him.
"Oh, my," Charlotte said, "Mr. Boland, sir, is really after my body at last."
"More than that," Boland said, his hands moving to her breasts and beginning to knead slowly.
Charlotte swung her legs up onto the lounge and lay next to him, her arms moving about him, her body insinuating itself firmly against him so that now there was almost complete contact between them. "Surely you can't be after me for my money, Ed. There simply isn't that much."
"Don't joke," he said. "I'm not."
"Poor thing, I'm sorry. I'm teasing and you mean business. It's okay, Ed, we'll do it your way."
At the moment, his way was to meet her lips in a long, lingering kiss. There was more to discover about her. Her kiss was a curious mixture of sensuality and reassurance. Unlike most women, she kept her lips firm and knew how to respond with light nipping movements. She brought her tongue expertly into play, adding a note of further excitement.
Boland reached for the knots holding the spaghetti straps together over her shoulders. As they parted, he moved the shift down over her shoulders, marveling at the firm, tawny skin and the sudden, stark beauty of her breasts.
"Not bad for an old bag, am I ?" she said.
"Bad? Bad, hell," Boland said, moving his face eagerly forward to kiss and nuzzle.
Charlotte caressed him, her fingers playing lightly over the lobes of his ears, her legs intertwining with his as he kissed and fondled, gradually peeling the shift further down. At length, she laughed. "You know, there's an easier way to get out of these things, an amazingly simple way." She swung off the lounge and bounded to her feet. The shift fell over her ample, well rounded hips and lay at her ankles in a heap. With two steps she was out of them, smiling again. "Might as well go whole hog," she said, stepping out of her sandals. Then she sat next to him, but not for long. Boland felt his desire throbbing wildly within him. He wanted her, and it was a desperate desire. Eagerly, he pulled her to him again, glad that she began unbuttoned his sport shirt and adding some assistance of her own.
"By the way," she said, "just to set your mind free for being completely seduced and carried away, today's modern woman comes completely prepared and protected. An amazingly efficient device. You need have no fears of any sort. Protection is assured."
Boland kissed her passionately, hungrily probing her mouth with his tongue. He knew she was excited. He could feel it in the firmness of her bosoms, in the tenseness of her aureoles, in the insistent thrust of her hips against him, in the sensual roll of her loins. But in spite of this, there was yet another element. Charlotte Stowe was not completely given over to passion, not yet. Oh, he knew there was no problem. Surely there was no question of her being willing and ready. That wasn't the point.
The point was that Charlotte was amused. This was more than a satisfaction of a need to her. As fully aware as he was with her desire for sex, and knowing it had been over a week since her last affair with Joel Steele, Boland knew she was not driven by her hunger or consumed with the desperate anxiety he associated with Lilly.
The element, pure and simple, was fun and amusement.
As soon as Boland fitted his body to her, she placed her hands at his shoulders, her face taking on a gentle quality that gave her even more beauty and overt femininity than he'd associated with her before.
"You're sure you want to go through with this, Baby?"
Boland nodded vigorously. "You were right. I've been more than attracted to you; I've wanted you for some time."
"Now you've got me, Baby, and there's no hurry. You know that, don't you?"
"Nevertheless, I'm jealous."
"Jealous? Baby, I've propositioned you. I've invited you here on a bet that I could get you into bed. Okay, so we aren't in bed, we're on a garden lounge, but is there any doubt in mind or body where you are and what happens next?"
"I'm jealous of my own conniving," he said. "I'm jealous of Joel Steele."
"But that's all past, Baby."
"I'm jealous of your husband, too. Is that all past?"
Charlotte Stowe's hands moved from his shoulders to his face, forming a gentle, cool frame. "I don't know, Baby. I really don't. I think that's also strictly up to you."
Boland let himself relax for a moment, luxuriating in the closeness of Charlotte's body. Then all the pent up confusion and hurt and emotion came pouring forth. He moved, slowly at first, then with a definite purpose.
The purpose quickly became hers. Her hands played over him, her naked body arched to meet him, to provide acuteness and awareness. He was aware of how very much this woman had to give and how much of it he wanted to take.
Very definitely, he felt her participate with him, that same aspect of good humor, of warmth and enjoyment still there. In a way, he thought now he could understand some of the forces that drove Lilly to seek other men. In a way, she was desperately reaching for this very thing he was achieving now, a new, relaxed awareness. It was a freshness that promised never to grow stale. It was a vast, deep potential.
Watching Charlotte's face, Boland was aware of how selfish and withdrawn he'd been. Concentrating on her, he moved even closer, thrusting against her.
"Whoa, Baby," she said, her breath coming in quick spurts. "You don't have to prove anything now. You're here already, remember?"
Boland felt himself relax and with that Charlotte Stowe closed her eyes and eased her movements. Then a great, intense release came over her, and he saw how it took in her entire body. He felt comforted, covered by a large, homey quilt. He felt at peace. Then he felt the satisfaction swarming through him.
They lay together for nearly an hour without a word. Boland was lazily aware of a few flies swarming about the patio, the occasional sound of a jet overhear, a random traffic noise, a sound from beyond the shrubbery at the house next door. But most important, he was aware of the curves and planes, the nuances of Charlotte's attractive nudity, and the joyful completion to the picture, himself next to her, legs entwined, hands resting on one another. He noticed more inconsequential things. Or were they really important? Nearly an hour. Yet Charlotte had not reached for a cigarette. So much to say, yet not a word had been spoken. So much to be appreciated, yet no ideas broached.
Finally, he realized what the chances with Lilly were. Nil. A big zero. Build something on a shaky foundation and what did you have? A big fat zero.
At length, he moved, propping himself up on an elbow and surveying the full sweep of her hips. Gently, he touched his lips to her bare shoulders.
She hummed sensually and shifted to take him in her arms. His face seemed to fall naturally against the cleft between her breasts. He became aware of the intimate pulsing of her heart, of the warmth of her body, of her unique musky odor. The tips of her fingers played relaxation into the tensed muscles of his neck and shoulders. His lips moved for the tips of her breasts and he became aware of a general stirring in her.
The sun cast long shadows, the late afternoon became a timeless period of laziness and slowly aroused sensuality. His hands trailed over her hips and he felt them begin to twitch from the sudden acuteness of sensation. Then he cupped the firmness of her buttocks and she shifted closer to him, deciding he was aroused. The touch of her hand was a tingling delight of sensation with no urgency to it. Gradually, they shifted closer together and he moved slowly between her legs. Their bodies were joined again and still there were no distinct motions, only tentative beginnings.
"You're a great woman, Charlotte," he said, breaking the long silence.
"I was hoping you'd see it along those lines," she said. "It's damned good to be important to someone." She caused a motion that triggered Boland. He began moving aggressively now and their bodies accustomed themselves to the sensual pitch and dip, building up tempo and intensely until once again, release came flooding over both of them.
This time, when it was over, Boland lit a cigarette, took a few puffs and handed it to her. An idea formed. Something had to be done about them, about Lilly. Chances had to be taken. He had to make a choice between devoting energy to patching things up with Lilly or causing Charlotte Stowe to become his. There were consequences all along the way.
"Charlotte," he said, sitting, "you've got to quit being my patient."
He was gratified to note the look of uncertainty in her eyes. "What does that leave us, Mr. Boland, sir?" , "You're going to take a new role in my life."
"Your mistress?"
"That's giving it a blunt enough name."
"Okay, Lover, but being a rather funny kind of broad, I've got to know what's in it for me. Is this all for jollies, Ed?"
He shook his head. "More. Much more."
"You, for instance?"
"That's about the answer."
"Well, Baby, talk about making progress. I've not only managed to get you to bed, I've managed to get you to care. Am I rebound material?"
"I'm desperately hoping the answer to that is no. Now listen to me, you've got to help."
"I'm all ears," she said, snuggling closer to him, "although I'd rather be all something else, considering the dandy way we get along in the love-making department."
"Help me get some patients."
"What's that?"
"You travel in rather well-heeled circles. There must be a few raging neurotics."
"Baby, this isn't an act, is it? I've heard all sorts of stories in my life, but I've never been pitched by a man and made love to for the neurotic people I can send to him."
"Charlotte, I swear that isn't it. It's-well, we're going to have to make a little hay."
Charlotte, now on her knees, hugged him with great enthusiasm. "If you aren't the cagey one. You're already trying to figure out the cost of community property laws in this state, aren't you, Baby?"