Chapter 13
He made three mistakes that night.
The first one was letting himself think about Charlotte Stowe instead of reading the new book on behavioral psychology. The second mistake was stopping off at The Little Club for a few drinks before going home for dinner. The few drinks quickly turned into five old fashions made with the strong, effective Jack Daniels' sour mash whiskey.
The third mistake ... that almost followed the second. Almost from the moment he kissed Lilly when he arrived home, he noticed the difference in her. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of the whiskey on his breath. From there her game was neither subtle nor clever. She sat on the edge of the living room sofa, her skirt flared, while she pretended to search her stocking for a run.
Boland watched her, wondering how a woman could hold such a strong pull of desire for him. Lilly tilted her exotic face to him. "You always did like to watch me dress, Ed. It's nice to know I can still excite you. So often, even with attractive people, that sort of thing vanishes!"
The third mistake. When Lilly asked him to make love to her, he nodded and followed her woodenly up the stairs, feeling more like a man being led to some symbolic execution. In a strong sense, it reminded him of a book he'd read in his college days, The Trial, by Franz Kafka, wherein a man was arrested, tried and convicted of a crime and neither the man nor the reader ever learned what the crime was.
Lilly's well-honed body lay before him, warm, eager and vital. Joining his flesh with hers was not an act of jubilation, not any longer. They moved with a frenzy, and he recognized this as being similar to the frenzies and frightening passions they'd had in the past. But there was one exception. This time, he knew it was even more intense. He knew it from the way he sweated, from the way his body reacted with an aching tiredness as he plunged against her.
After dinner, he had two more drinks, very possibly the fourth and most dangerous mistake of all. "I'm going back for a late appointment," he told Lilly.
She smiled noncommittally. "If you get back fairly early, I think we could have a good talk."
He had two patients. The first was an attractive but frightened girl of twenty-eight named Gayle Herron. She spoke with a clipped, slightly British accent and tucked her long, attractive legs under her skirt as she fidgeted nervously with cigarettes, matches and a crumpled handkerchief.
Gayne Herron had shoulder length natural blonde hair and wide cobalt blue eyes. She spoke of her father and of her brothers, all somewhat older than she. She spoke of men in low, frightened whispers and broke into frantic tears when relating for Boland an innocent sounding story of how a young man had called to ask her for a date.
"I don't quite understand," Boland said. "You are upset because he called you on the phone, told you where he'd met you, then asked if you'd go out to supper with him?"
Gayle Herron nodded and prodded at her eyes with the balled up handkerchief.
"That sounds pretty good. What about it disturbs you?"
"I know what he wants."
"What do you think he wants, Gayle?"
"He wants to go to bed with me."
"Did he tell you that?"
"No, but I remember how he was that one time we met. He-he kept looking at me."
"Gayle, you're an attractive girl. Men do have a habit of trying to take girls they find attractive to bed. Many of them even have such honorable motives as wanting to marry the girl. Our entire structure of behavior is rapidly changing. Statistics show that more and more couples are having relations before marriage. The marriage of virgins is losing ground, whether we like it or not. It seems to be a matter of human behavior. Now you might not think much of human behavior at times, there are certainly many injustices in it, but human behavior influences laws and morals. What is so terrifying to you about the thought of this young man wanting to have relations with you?"
"I'm afraid. I'm always afraid. I get all tensed up and can't think of anything else but that moment."
Boland didn't need a book for that one. There was no question about it; Gayle Herron's problem was frigidity. For a moment, he wished he had the power to play God and mingle portions of Gayle's frigidity with Lilly's promiscuity. The balance might do each well. But now with Gayle there were things to be considered. What were the causes of the frigidity? How did they manifest themselves? How would he approach it?
"Does that tensing up always occur?"
"Only when I feel-"
"Yes. Only when you feel what?"
"Attracted. I like this young man. But I suppose I've heard the last of him. I was pretty jittery when I told him I was busy. I-I may have hurt his feelings or given the impression I don't care."
"Gayle, I think you've got the key to the problem. Suppose we do this? Let's not write off that young man. If he should happen to call again, try to accept the date with him ... but if you're unable to, I want you to call me immediately. Got that?"
The girl nodded.
"Now, we've got to work up to this in easy stages. For our next visit, we'll try going into some of the reasons why the thought of men you like causes you to get jumpy and tense. In the meantime," let's try an experiment. Can you smile ?"
"Of course I can."
"Good. You'd be surprised. Some people can't-or won't. Now, I want you to do this. Whenever you're in the streets, where there are lots of people, I want you to pick out the men you think are attractive and smile at them."
"Oh, I couldn't."
"Will you try? Chances are, they'll be too startled to even react to you."
"Suppose someone stops me and tries to talk to me?"
"Talk back, if you can. Remember, I said when there were many people about. If you're embarrassed about it, you can say you're slightly nearsighted and thought you'd recognized a casual acquaintance."
"But-but suppose someone asks me for a date?"
"Well, say yes if you feel like it. Look, Gayle, this is just a first exercise. The trick is to help you get confidence in yourself. The only way to overcome fear is to test it time and time again. You'll always be afraid of something; everybody is. But at least you can have a grip on it."
"Then you don't think there's anything wrong with me, I mean sexually?"
"There very definitely is something wrong, and we're very definitely going to do something about it."
"Do you think I'll ever be able to have a normal, satisfactory relationship with a man?"
"That," Boland said, standing to signify the end of the hour, "is going to be one of our primary goals. Now how about it, even if you don't think I'm attractive, why don't you start off with your homework and give me a smile."
Uncertainly, Gayle Herron complied, showing thin, sensual lips. As a further concession, she stood and deliberately straightened her skirt in his presence. "Therapists are not supposed to notice such things," he said, "but you're a very attractive girl. I expect that's been part of your trouble, not knowing what to do with the attention you get, but don't worry, Gayle, by the time you've finished, you'll know, all right."
He escorted her to the side door then felt himself feel the need of a drink as he heard the bell in the lobby ring. It meant the door had been opened by the next patient, Anabelle Riordan. He considered the small cabinet in the corner of the room, remembering Ralph Hooten's insistence that people who deal with other person's emotions should always have brandy on the premises. He quickly went to the cabinet, uncapped the bottle of Martell that was a gift from Ralph and poured himself a short shot. He knew it was wrong to gulp brandy, but he wanted the suddenness of the fiery liquid, spreading through his stomach. He vetoed the idea of a second shot and walked to the door to admit Anabelle Riordan.
"You are in bad trouble," she said the moment she saw him. She set down the magazine she was reading and rose to take the hand he offered her. She pumped it perfunctorily and minced past him into the office. He got a strong whiff of perfume, the kind that meant Anabelle Riordan had been out on the prowl-or was still prowling.
He went through his usual routine of offering her a seat and lighting a cigarette for her before taking his own swivel chair behind the desk. "Now," he said, "how am I in your bad graces?"
"You've made things very difficult for me these past few weeks."
Boland smiled and motioned with his hand for her to continue. To his surprise, he saw she was more agitated than usual and that he'd nearly mistaken this for her usual lightness of tone.
"You've been working very hard on me for some time now. I pay you a hundred dollars a week for two hours of your time and I don't think it's fair, not after what we agreed on."
"Let's get things straight. What did we agree on?"
"That I should be able to expect a decent sex life, that a woman of thirty-nine is not too old to consider such things, nor is there any reason why she should?"
"Okay, granted we stipulated that. How does it effect you?"
"It's Robert. I can't enjoy him."
"Robert?"
"The boy I've been going with. The tennis player. I've told you about him."
"I thought we'd mainly discussed your relations with Terry."
"Please," Anabelle Riordan said, "don't make me cry. He was such a dear boy, too."
"Let's get back to Robert. What happened?"
"At first, when I picked him-er, met him at the tennis club, I thought everything would be fine. He was appreciative and gallant. Like so many young boys who devote their time to tennis, he hardly had time to care for his apartment. Things were all over, and rather shabby. I saw to it that he moved into a nicer place, where they have maid service twice a week."
"You paid his rent?"
"Of course I paid it. I bought him some clothing and then we went to a market where we got him a larder full of groceries. Then we went back to his place and arranged things."
"And he made love to you?"
"Did he ever? What a fine young stallion. I don't like to brag, Mr. Boland, but I try to keep my body in good physical condition. I'll admit, to having a few extra pounds here and there, but where it counts-" she extended a rather shapely leg, "I do all right." She stood and removed a mink stole, slightly unnecessary for the time of year. Her purpose was to reveal a low-cut bodice in her neatly tailored dress. Her breasts were large and well shaped, probably, Boland thought, the work of an expensive bra.
"Now then, Robert was more than appreciative. He made love to me until I thought his poor body would ache. And then he made love to me in other ways. It was one of the most satisfying days I've ever known."
"When was this?"
"Last week."
"You didn't tell me about it."
"I'm coming to that, Mr. Boland. I didn't tell you about it because I began to feel guilty. I was suddenly quite aware of the difference in our ages and the fact that I had to buy him. I wasn't at all sure he'd be as ardent a lover if-if there were no considerations, and so I decided to find out. I called him back the very next day and he welcomed me. We played together like two young lovers. I even took a shower with him and we made love there and on the floor of his living room. As I was leaving, the little devil had the audacity to tell me about a wrist watch he'd seen in Beverly Hills. He kissed me ardently and even pinched me when I left him. I made no reference to the watch, nor did I call him for two days. I had plenty of time to think and knew what would happen if I returned without the watch."
"What did you do then?"
"Oh, stop asking those nasty questions. I started considering your remarks about James, my husband. He'd just managed to get in several very rare stamps for his collection and he was most enthused with them. I asked to be shown them and he was quite excited. I went into his room wearing the tightest jersey I had. Also a very tight skirt and black stockings. That used to excite him quite a bit, too, in a very different way. How James loved it when I wore black silk stockings. There were times when he would sit and stare at my legs for nearly an hour. Then he'd come over and kiss me and fondle me a bit and get very excited and hold me tightly."
"What happened this time?"
"After we looked at the stamps, he-he noticed the stockings. He became very sweet and I actually sat on his lap and let him fondle me." She sniffled and started to cry. "The poor thing, I got him all worked up. It really wasn't very kind, because, you see, I became excited, too. Ordinarily when we do that, he just fondles me-"
"Where?"
"He likes to run his hands over my legs and my breasts. This time, while he was doing it, I could see what it was doing to him. I remembered what you said and I tried to help him. I deliberately teased him along until we were on his bed. The poor thing, he tried. He really did. I felt terrible for him. He tried so hard, and was really quite close. I even pretended he was successful, but he knew, Mr. Boland. He knew. He patted me a few times and thanked me for trying. He even offered to try again next week."
"I think the man's showing some spunk, some signs of life."
"Mr. Boland, I think it's one of the saddest things I've ever had happen to me. When it was all over, he got up and went back to his stamps. I don't have to tell you what happened with Robert. When I appeared without the watch, without anything but myself and a new pair of lace undies, he pleaded a splitting headache and told me he had an important match to play later in the afternoon and needed all his strength. A young stallion like that. It would no more have mattered to him than-never mind. It's over. You've ruined that for me. Now you've got to do something."
"That's up to you."
"Stop saying that," she said, standing. Her shoulders began to shake with the effort of her sobbing. "If it were up to me, I'd have given him the damned watch. But it's ruined. They're all ruined for me, and I'll be damned if I'll sublimate and get involved in those beastly cat shows or flower arranging classes." The tears b-rimmed over her eyes and Boland moved next to her, his hand on her shoulder for a steadying influence.
"It used to be such fun," she said, "and now you've taken it all away from me."
"I haven't taken a thing from you, not a thing."
"Then why can't I find another boy. You've taken it away."
"You have," Boland insisted. "You've stricken from your life some values that no longer matter. That's what life is, a constant change of values."
"Value, schmalues. Don't you see, it's all ruined. Now I don't know what to do." She buried her head against his shoulder, the sobbing continuing.
It was a moving sight, seeing such a dynamic, vibrant person in tears. She threw her entire body into it. Boland led her over to the large overstuffed sofa and sat next to her, offering her his handkerchief. She made a few good attempts at stopping and for a moment, Boland had that feeling of impending discovery and success. Perhaps her next words and actions would be really important, the true insight a person gets after parting with a painful, difficult situation.
His heart went out to her. He knew what it was like. Being separated from Charlotte Stowe left him with an empty, dull ache. The news that Lilly had finally become pregnant was less consolation than he thought. In spite of her promises, he was aware of that doubt. Was the child really to be his? His fears were not entirely groundless, remembering that overheard moment of passion between Lilly and Hermy Kilgallen. Tenderly, he kneaded Anabelle Riordan's shoulders.
She turned to him, a look of gratefulness in her -lined face. With all her excesses and profligacy, she was not an unattractive woman. Boland felt strangely moved. "Time to build another foundation, don't you think?"
"Boland, I don't care how learned you or those damned doctors are. I don't want to sublimate. I want a sex life. I don't want to give up and become a damned nuisance of a club woman. And waiting for James to take a week to get worked up over me is hardly what I'd call fair."
"It's going to be all right," Boland said.
Suddenly, her face lifted again, her lips parted in a smile. "You Angel," she said. "I knew it. I knew you cared."
"Hey," Boland said, "wait a minute. I didn't mean me."
"We don't have to play games," she told him. "When I get what I want, I'm discreet." She virtually lunged against him, her arms going about him, her lips touching his.
Boland felt overwhelmed. The closeness with the woman acted as a trigger. In an instant, he was able to feel the pent-up excess of her desire. There'd been no denying her condition before. There was even less denying it now. She was one of the fortunate ones. Somewhere, back in the early part of her life, the first discoveries of sex had been made under pleasant conditions, with no guilt or pain. More than anything else about her, this aspect had flourished healthily. Perhaps it had been one of these rare cases of indomitable determination, like the small, delicate flower persisting in growing through a tiny crack in the sidewalk. Whatever it was, Anabelle Riordan, at an age when many women are willing to give up the more overt and obvious ramifications of sex, was still pursuing it to the fullest, intent upon enjoyment.
Boland's protest lasted exactly half a minute, the time it took her to kiss him once, then probe the inner part of his lips with her tongue. In that half minute, he understood why Anabelle's young boys were able to perform like young stallions. Something in them was just as responsive, too. It also explained why their demands on her pocketbook were so high. Passion that could be inflamed that high was bound to produce results. Wasn't he aware of his own situation with Lilly?
He took the aggressive role almost at once. Knowing it was wrong didn't help things any. Somehow, it reminded him of that Italian movie he'd defended back in Hurley, but that was small consolation at the moment.
Boland nearly laughed aloud as he thought of something he'd told Anabelle Riordan a few moments earlier. "Goals change." They certainly do. At the moment, his goal was the removal of her bra. She swarmed about him with lively animation, eager to help. As he worked on unhitching her bra, she kicked off her shoes, lifted her legs and began wriggling free of her underwear. Boland held the firmness of her breasts, his hands feeling the excitement that raged within her.
He soon discovered how perfectly willing she was to be satisfied. Anything he did met with her approval. "Just be good to me, Honey, that's all I ask."
It was all she asked.
From the moment their bodies were joined, she made no demands. Her voice didn't change and there were no transformations of her into a writhing, swearing animal, turned loose. Several times, in the course of their lively movements, their positions changed. Expertly and without missing a single cadence, she shifted back into optimum position, her body ranging against him, determined to achieve its goal. As this approached, a softness and sudden beauty came into her face. She began a throaty murmur. It was all appreciation. "Ah yes," she said, "oh my, yes that's good, Honey. Just keep that up as long as you can and Anabelle will be most, most happy."
Again, Boland nearly burst into laughter. Sharing her body, celebrating it like this with her was like participating in a joyous rite. Of all the women he'd ever known, she was unique in that she used, even at her moment of most intense pleasure, a formal, precise English.
"Wasn't that good, Honey?" she said, breathing heavily in his arms. "Wasn't that fine? That's all I want. I don't have to be mauled or given the business every hour. Just something like this once in a while, to remind me I'm alive and in the world."
"I'm afraid," he said, "that this was a mistake."
"Mistake, hell. You certainly knew what you were doing. And you oan't say I seduced you."
"All quite true, Mrs. Riordan-"
"Now if that isn't the most hellish thing I've ever heard. You've just made love to me. Our bodies are still joined together and you have the gall, the unmitigated gall to call me Mrs. Riordan. You know, Honey, you psychologists can carry objectivity to ridiculous extremes. What does a girl have to do to get you to call her Anabelle? No, strike that. I'd better not ask. I might be shocked if I heard the answer."
Boland moved away from her. "Okay, Anabelle. But that was it. Call it a moment of weakness."
"Honey, you just arrange to be that weak for me about twice a week."
"I can't. It would be a violation."
"Oh, hell, Ed. People stopped talking that way years ago. I was violated once in my life by a big ox of a gardener, and I can't say I really minded that."
"I meant a violation of ethics," Boland said. "Some psychologists think it's even wrong to shake hands with their patients."
"Are they afraid of germs or something?"
"It just can't go on like this, Anabelle. Not if I'm to really help you."
"But you've just helped me. This is what I've come to you for, happiness. Now I have it. I'm not going to try stealing you away from your family, Ed."
"Then look at it my way. It would be very much against my nature to accept fifty dollars an hour from you to make love to you twice a week."
"Oh, you men and your pride. All right, we'll meet somewhere outside the office for our trysts and I'll still come here twice a week and talk to you."
Boland shook his head. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."
"Honey," she said, "it's what you mean and you know it. I'll see you next week."
"Don't expect a repetition."
"Oh," she said cheerily, "I'm always game for variety, Ed. You don't have to worry about that."
Driving home to Lilly, Boland felt tired and frightened. It was no comfort to know that he'd participated so actively in making love to Anabelle. He had the grim feeling that he was endowed with some sort of a King Midas touch. Everything he put his hands on turned to sex. It was neither pleasant nor reassuring.