Chapter 12

It was crazy, it was madness, but Boland believed he was still bound to try discovering what was wrong between him and Lilly, and each time he asked, it seemed only to drive her further and further away.

"I always come back to you, don't I?" she said. "Isn't that what matters? It would be different, I suppose, if I stayed away."

"That's hardly the point to marriage, Lilly."

"All right, Mr. Beverly Hills Marriage Counsellor, what is the point to marriage, if you're so smart?"

"Trust, for one thing."

"And you can't trust me?"

"That's a silly question. I can mention names. Hermy Kilgallen. Nick Sheets. Lou Elsinore. Johnny Wozziakia."

"I can mention names with you, too, Ed. Those two girls of yours, those previous virgin patients. I happen to know they aren't virgins any more."

"I never laid a hand on either of them. You happen to be right, they aren't virgins. But then, they didn't want to be, not any more."

Lilly laughed. "If you didn't help them out, I'll bet you did the next best thing for them."

Angrily, Boland demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"There's a word for it," Lilly said. "Pimp."

"That's nonsense. You're confusing basic facts of life. Girls who are virgins want to find men."

"And you encourage them, Ed. That's wrong, all wrong. And what about that woman, that Charlotte Stowe. Can you deny being intimate with her?"

"I'll do more than that, Lilly. I'll be honest with you and tell you the truth. Yes, I'm having an affair with her, and I guess the main reason is because I can feel our marriage breaking up."

"We're still good in bed, Ed. You've got to admit that. I see you trying to avoid me. I see you being the noble one and not wanting to touch me after you've spent the afternoon with your precious Charlotte, but you can't help yourself, can you? I still attract you, Ed, and you know it."

"Look, Lilly, what's the good of all this shouting. I'm trying to help us save the pieces."

"Is that how you help, with her?"

"Dammit, a man needs something."

"You get plenty from me, Ed. I've given you a lot, a great deal. If it weren't for me, you'd still be teaching junior high school science in a drinkwater school fifty miles from oblivion. Oh, I've got to take that back, with all your studying and correspondence courses, they'd promote you. You'd be able to lead the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag at assemblies and give that famous Hurley traditional lecture to the ninth graders. Oh, I can just see it now, Ed Boland telling the boys and girls about the Poppa hamster and the Momma hamster and now, almost before your very eyes, boys and girls, they're going to make little hamsters for you."

"Cut it out, Lilly. I've kept up with reading and all the latest theories and you know it. I've done a conscientious job."

"Except you don't really know what you're doing. I've seen you in your study nights, thumbing through all the text books, looking desperately for some clue."

"Lilly," Boland said calmly, "lawyers do the same thing. They interview clients and take careful notes. Then they research and look up previous cases and precedent setting rulings. There are books compiled from all over the country, giving the latest decisions on all the court cases. It's physically impossible for a lawyer, no matter how brilliant, to know everything there is to know about people, he'd either be r. liar or a damned fool. It's simply not possible."

Lilly flounced about the room angrily. "I have to laugh at you, Ed. You've known me intimately for a long time now and you keep kidding yourself by thinking you're going to help me. It's as obvious as the nose on your face, only you're too damned silly to see it. All I need is comfort and assurance."

"I give you that."

She laughed. "Did you give me that with Hermy? Did you give me that with Lou Elsinore? You treated me like some kind of a pariah. I had to wai; for weeks before you'd make love to me, then I had to do the seducing. Even then, I needed help. You had a few drinks before you were even receptive to me."

"I'm supposed to just sit around, making money and letting you go off anytime or anywhere you want and be nice to you when you come home from another man?"

"Maybe if you were understanding enough, I wouldn't have to go off with other men. You think I like it?"

"That doesn't stop you from doing it?"

"There are some alcoholics, Ed, who don't like to take that first drink, either."

"You won't even let me help. That time with Hermy-I tried. I did everything I could except carry you up to your room and lock you in."

She smiled ruefully. "That might not have been a bad idea, Ed."

"You just want to be treated like a kid, is that it?"

"Sometimes. Why not? Is there something wrong with kids?"

"Not a damn thing, Lilly, but you're supposed to be grown up." He stormed away from her, fists clenched and filled with a mixture of anger and frustration. Where did it lead? Any time he could get Lilly to talk, it always went around in the same circle. It was futile, hopeless. And yet as he watched her, sitting on the edge of the high backed chair, her shoulders shaking with the effort of her silent crying, he couldn't help feel a pang of something for her.

Was it possible that once you loved a person, you could never get them out from under your skin? Was the thought of Charlotte just a crazy, impossible dream? Face it, he told himself, you're stuck. It isn't really a bad situation. You've got a good life going for you. And if there's a little pain, so what? What about the patient of his, a victim of painful arthritis attacks, who's most vicious complaint in the world is his difficulty in getting his favored camellias to grow? That was the mark of adulthood and maturity, being able to take your lot in life without crying about it. So he had a wife who liked to sleep around. So what? At least she was right; she always came back home.

He moved over to Lilly and put his hand on her shoulder. She tried to get a grip on herself, but her eyes were still moist. "Ed," she said, "I want you to know something. Whenever there's another man, I take precautions. I-sometimes I like to pretend I don't. I guess that makes it more exciting. But I want you to know this. I'm emotionally incapable of going with another man if I don't take precautions."

"Why tell me this?"

"I want you to be sure. I want you to be positive that any child I have is yours. That's something you'll never have to worry about, Ed. I promise you."

"Okay, Lilly."

"It's-the time is right for me if you'd like to try again. When you stop to think about it, we couldn't possibly want for a better day."

"Okay," he said, following her up the stairs. After all, there was nothing more he could really lose, and everything in the world to be gained.

But two weeks later, there was another sort of proof; one that made it obvious Lilly was not, again, pregnant. She kissed him ruefully on the top of the head. "When I tell you I'm going out to a movie with the girls tonight, I guess you can believe me now, can't you?"

Boland smiled nervously at her. Tonight, it was his turn to play the game. Tonight he was going to see Charlotte after an eight o'clock appointment with a new patient she'd recommended to him.

The new patient was Anabelle Riordan, a thin, reedy woman with a plump face and incongruously plump stomach. She was well into her thirties, obviously wealthy and disguised rather plain looks with a sun tan and well tailored clothes.

"Okay," Boland said, perched on the edge of his desk, "what's your problem?"

She showed him a set of very large, white teeth in a smile that was nearly a leer. "My problem, dear boy, is that Charlotte saw you first."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what it says. You're quite handsome ... in an attractive sort of way."

Boland smiled and lit a cigarette. "Mrs. Riordan, we can work either of two ways. We can let you waste your money by coming here once a week and letting me try to pry things out of you, or we can get right to work and tell me some of the things on your mind. They don't have to be related. Let me worry about that."

"I like the second approach," she said, settling in her chair. "In fact, I like your approach. I'm sure we'll get on well together. Now, about what's on my mind. Sorry to disappoint you, but it's related. First, it's men, second, it's sex."

"What about them, Mrs. Riordan?"

She made a humorous shrug. "There aren't enough of either in my life. And since Terry left, like has been a hell."

"Terry? Your husband?"

The woman guffawed lustily and Boland felt himself beginning to like her. "My husband! Good heavens, no. My husband couldn't satisfy a ... a ... well, he couldn't satisfy me, and I think he's given up trying. Oh, once in a while, we'll meet each other in the hallway and admit we're bored tearless and agree to have a go at things for old time's sake, but-"

"You make it sound as though you and your husband are old and decrepit."

"Don't I, though? The truth is, he's the only one who's decrepit. I'd enjoy things more if he had something on the side. But he's really not much interested. His great passions now are golf and stamps. You see, he was quite a bit older that I when we married. Twenty years, in fact."

"That doesn't have to matter. Have you tried, er, arousing his interest in you?"

"Tried? Darling, I've even brought him one of those gadgets to make things easier for him. The fact of the matter is, he's more interested in his golf and stamp collections."

"I still think you're missing a bet. If he's twenty years older than you, he could hardly be too much more than sixty."

"You're terribly frank, young man, and I think it's awful. But forget this business about my enticing him. That's like entering a Model T in the Indianapolis Five Hundred Miler."

"You have a good opinion of yourself," Boland said, amused.

"Young man, so do a lot of people."

"Let's get down to cases. Why are you here?"

"To find eligible young men, handsome young men. Attractive young men. Virile young men. Men like yourself."

"What makes you think I'm any of these?"

"Honey, you can't fool an old bed hound like me. I know. I can tell."

Boland shifted his position to his swivel chair. "You make this sound as though I ran a dating bureau."

"Honey, I went to real doctors, psychiatrists. They say the same thing all of them. They say I'm too young yet to give up sex. One of them tells me to sublimate my desires and get active in charity work. Another tells me to see if I can find a man a few years older than me and go to plays and shows with him and maybe even baseball games. Sublimate, sublimate. Sublimate, hell! I don't want to go to a baseball game, I want to go to bed."

"Okay, let's get back to your husband."

"Baby, my husband is strictly nothingsville. Oh, I'll admit he likes to see me dressed up nicely and occasionally he'll get a peek at me in the nude and sort of cluck his tongue and think back to the good days ... but Honey, it's like trying to bake bread without yeast; it just won't rise.

"If you were to meet another man you cared for, would you consider marriage?"

"I don't know, Mr. Boland. In a way, I still love the old goat. Say, you aren't some religious quack, are you? I mean, you believe in divorce and sex and all that."

"When necessary, yes." In spite of his attempts to remain neutral, Boland was beginning to feel ashamed. Anabelle Riordan was a hell of a woman. Attractive, frank and interesting. Perhaps after she held out on the subject of sex long enough, she'd reveal other interests. At any rate, she appeared bright and interesting. "I think I can help you."

"You know some nice young men?"

"I do, but I'm not going to introduce them to you. We'll talk about it some more and if you still decide you want to go out picking up men, we'll proceed from there."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You don't think I ought to sublimate, do you?"

"Not unless you feel like it."

"I guess you know my answer to that one."

After she left, Boland thumbed through a few books, thinking he recalled cases similar to hers. One thing was surely pointed out to him, she had an enviable attitude toward sex ... at least one on the surface. It was what he found beneath the surface that would lead to some progress.

A vagrant thought of Lilly brought him up short. Was he really kidding anyone? Why not be honest? She was shopping around for something. Could he be the one to give it to her? Anabelle Riordan wanted someone, be he psychiatrist, therapist or counselor to tell her it was all right to have sex. Certainly he'd have to agree that it was all right. There were all sorts of precedents for that. There were even his own deep convictions on the matter. But was he taking her money to tell her just what she wanted to hear? Was he doing enough?

It was difficult to spin around in his chair and look at that framed diploma from Parsons School. It reflected light back at him, reminding him of a conscience. Was he doing enough?

He was fifteen minutes late for his date with Charlotte Stowe. As usual, she was ready and waiting for him, cool and poised. She wore bright red lounging pajamas that set off her dark features with a particularly haunting brilliance. A tall Scotch and water was waiting for him on the coffee table. "The kidlets are safely bedded down," she said, "so you can ravish me on the spot if you're of a mind. But I wouldn't recommend it. The maid's still puttering around. It might give her the wrong idea. And you know servants; they are impressionable."

Even the briefest of kisses with her was tingling and exciting. "Look," he said, "how well could you do without servants?"

"Baby, I've only had them for about six years. Before I married Craig Stowe, I sold lingerie at Magnin's. About twice a month, I'd land some extra week-end job typing, which is how I met Craig. The rest of the time was spent scrubbing floors of a little apartment over on Melrose and ironing frilly blouses and taking care of clothing that would make me look like a sweet little lingerie salesgirl. What makes you ask? You thinking of taking me away from all this luxury and putting me to work again?"

"Sometimes I get the feeling I'd like to chuck everything and go back to teaching."

"Ed, if that's an offer, I'm game."

"Just a crummy science teacher, that's all."

"Whoops! Careful there, Charlotte," she said to herself in a loud stage whisper. "When the man starts ignoring your propositions, you're in big trouble."

Boland's jaw sagged. He reached for her. "Charlie, I'm sorry. I was preoccupied with my own mess. That woman you recommended, Annabel Riordan. She's a great gal, but too much like a lot of my patients. Just a while ago, Lilly made a crack that got to me. About my dishing out sugarcoated pills and playing young Sigmund Freud at work."

"Ed, Baby, if you moved your office to an area where there was little or no jobs, you wouldn't have patients, or if you did, they'd all want to know how to stop making babies. It isn't wrong to make a lot of money. You don't charge all your patients the same."

"Right, and if I charged Anabelle Riordan five dollars an hour, I'd never see her again. She wants to pay more, just to hear what she wants to hear."

"Ed, listen. All over the city, doctors get rich patients who want to have this and not want to have that. They want someone to listen to their troubles. You dish out the hardest kind of medicine of all, you tell them they've got to do something."

"Do I?"

"I think you do." She patted his chin affectionately and Boland felt his tenderness triggered. He took her hand in both of his and held it to his lips. He drew her close to him and pulled her onto his lap. His arm slid about the back of her neck and their lips met for a probing kiss.

As he tilted her head closer to his, Boland saw her eyes misted over. "What is it?" he said.

"Special occasion tonight. Go ahead, I'll tell you later."

Boland felt stunned, but she smiled at him and drew his head toward her bosom. As usual, she wore no bra. In a moment, his hands were pushing aside the soft red material and kneading at the firm, reassuring flesh. The warmth and desire began to flow through him again, suddenly narrowing his world of worry and helping him focus on the vitality of this important person.

Running his hands over the smoothness of her hips, he realized how their roles with each other had reversed in a very important way. He'd started the relationship by. being a comfort to her, now she meant all that was comfort and reassurance to him.

He parted the sash at her waist and gently tugged off her sandals, then drew the bottoms of her lounging pajamas over her long, lovely legs.

"My, we're getting daring," she said. "This is a position we've never tried before."

It was his intention to force her back, against the pillows of the couch, but the sight of her was so inspiring, it seemed natural that their bodies merge this way. She clung to him, moving gently, causing a steady friction to bring wave after wave of acute desire over him. He felt a consuming hunger for her body and increased his own movements. In another moment, he was aware of her labored breathing, her dilated nostrils, her eager readiness. She seemed to be directing all her movements into her hips. The payoff was a sudden spasm of pleasure that caught them simultaneously. The movements became labored and intense and as she held tightly to him, Boland believed he'd always remember this moment of intensity. Her body was virtually on display before him, rigid with the concentration of love making. The effort that went into it was different and exciting. How grand and simple it could be for him if things always remained this way. Lilly for his wife, Charlotte Stowe for his lover. How simple. All he wanted was the world.

Jab after jab of sensation soared through him, making him aware of the remarkable woman he was joined to. Release arrived, remaining long and full and then, as the spasms of sensation began to subside, he recalled how he'd purposely ignored what she'd called her proposition. How could he possibly consider giving up everything to start over with her? What would happen to Lilly? What would happen to him? Could he ever become used to poverty again?

He was deeply preoccupied with his own thoughts and the sudden awareness of her face, close to him and searching came as something of a shock. He wondered guiltily if she were asking the same question again, putting it all on the line. Again, her eyes were misted with tears. She gave a sad smile as she reached beyond him for a cigarette from the marble urn on the coffee table, making her movements slow and deliberate so as not to cause their bodies to part. Her hands shook as she flickered the lighter into life and nervously applied the flame to the cigarette. She offered him a puff and he refused.

"Ed," she said, "this was the best it's ever been with us, the very best. In fact, what just happened puts sex on a new plane for me. And that, my friend, Mr. Boland, sir, is why this one was the proverbial one for the road."

"What are you talking about? I thought we had a great thing going. You said so yourself. This was why you stopped being my patient and started being my lover. You wanted sex with no strings attached. You wanted something with no feelings of guilt. You wanted time to think about your relationship with your husband."

"I've done all that thinking. Ed. And besides, female prerogative, changing of mind. In most cases, I guess I'm still the same, except that with you I want there to be some strings attached. I feel guilty because I can't do more for you, like maybe help you give up this nonsense you're in and go back to your first love, teaching. You know something, I once figured out a way to get a full, balanced diet on only three dollars a week? I spend more than that on the kid's vitamins alone. It's been a long time since I've had to take a chance on anything, Ed. I don't have to take a chance on the stockings I buy. If they run, I buy others. I don't have to take a chance on anything anymore. I was getting sick and tired of it. Then you came along and I thought we could be nice and cozy playmates until I find myself thinking about my kids? Will he have enough guts to do what he wants? Will I ever get the chance to prove to him how I can cook nutritious meals for a few dollars a week? The answers were all big fat no's, Ed. So let me forget it. Let me go back to my nice, safe little routine of picking up guys in bars when the need gets too great. It's been nice, it's been great, but you've scared the hell out of me and I don't like that, so please go home to your wife. If she's not home, I'm sorry for you. But that's all I can do. Do you get the message, Ed?"

He watched her solemnly and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I get the message and it scares the hell out of me, too."