Chapter 9
Maurice felt the boards of the floor creak beneath him as he walked slowly across the university recreation hall. Most of the faculty had gone home and he had an opportunity to weigh the odds against him.
They were stacked rather high, even when he discounted Ellen's suspicion and the doubts regarding his fidelity which must still bother her. He gazed at the tile wall beside him. His eyes were reflected in the sheen ... dark blue orbs with gray, spider-wed threads. Worry showed plainly in his curled brow, and he could understand why.
Barbara, the dean of women, had been silent for over a week. That had to mean some kind of trouble brewing, because she was not one to sit quietly and let herself be "used" without fighting back. So he was ready for her. It had been a costly blunder when he seduced her in the first place, but such were the perils when you threw the dice of fate and gambled on love.
And of course the menacing shadow of John DiCauslow haunted every part of the campus. What had John been doing since the night he petted with Ellen at the party?
It irked Maurice when he meditated on that punk kid, who knew about the weaknesses of a forty-year-old man and exploited them. The fear of failure in his career, the hours of happiness which alternated so rudely with periods when the earth seemed cruel and Maurice felt depressed or even faintly suicidal. And always the inadequacy. The carnival workers' philosophy of "Never look back-something could be gaining on you" couldn't stem the knowledge that you were aging.
He paused when he reached the bowling alley and saw collegians exercising at the sport. There were other people whom he distrusted. Yvette, for one-she had become entirely too nosey and he noticed her socializing with John every so often. Maybe they were plotting together.
Maurice sighed, then continued his trek toward the exit door of the gym. His briefcase felt heavy in his hand; he wondered if he could muster enough physical strength to cope with the likes of that chauffeur. What was his name? Yes-Yankee Lane. There was bestial violence in the nth degree as symbolized by a character who openly claimed Ida for his own property.
A slight figure appeared in the shadows near the exit. It was a woman, all right, but one whom Maurice had never seen. She seemed to be sizing him up without any particular taste for the sight of him. He started to go around her.
"Can you tell me where I might find Professor Hayko?" she said crisply.
He felt uneasy under her cold smile. "Look no further. A half million professors populate the faculties of higher learning in these United States, and you chose the right one. Congratulations."
"That's quite a song and dance. You should have been an orator."
"I lack the necessary glibness for that field, Miss-uh?"
"Reneson. I happen to be Ida's older sister."
By extending his hand in greeting he covered up the shock which he felt. When she ignored it, he figured his hunch was correct about the hostility she displayed. "If I can help you in any way, Miss Reneson, please let me know."
"Why don't you call me Sue and get down to familiar cases. You certainly treat Ida informally enough. And that brings us to the reason for my social call."
"A phrase which you use for want of a better term."
"You do have a sense of humor, but sis has run into that before. So there's something else about you which she likes." Sue rubbed her upper lip with a finger as she stepped close to him. "I could hate you very easily. A married guy, dating a baby out of the cradle-tempting her-"
"Now just a second. We've gone at this pretty darn fast, with merely the Reneson side of the picture."
"Then you admit trying a Lolita act on my sister?"
He dropped the briefcase and ran his thumb under his collar, frantically seeking the answer to a question that was new in his experience. "Of couse I deny it. Ida's a nice girl and I treat her with the utmost respect. Sure, I saw her once or twice. But we ended it by mutual consent before anything could grow out of the situation."
"How noble."
"She told me about her parents-and about you, Susan. I felt sorry for her."
"And so you dangled a dirty affair in front of the kid! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, mister. I'm warning you to leave her alone."
He was getting fed up with the hypocritical tone of her voice. "Look, Sue. I've already told you what happened and you can be sure I conducted things as befits a lady. At least I didn't throw her out in the street."
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what you think it does. Your parents ditched her and so did you when you bought that stable of horses upstate."
"Let's mind our own business instead of switching the guilt. She's a kid!"
"Sure. A waif who needs someone she can trust and love. I'm not the right person, but you can bet I didn't go for Ida in the way you suggest, either!"
Sue wet her lips and stared at the floor for a moment. Then she nodded curtly, "You may have a point, Maurie. I didn't intend to fly off the handle about her."
"Thanks a lot."
"I have to be sort of a mother even if it kills me. You understand?"
He glared back at her and saw the anger still heavy in the lines of her face. She apparently was debating inwardly as to whether or not to believe him. Finally she continued, "You and I probably talk different languages. I'm educated for nothing much except raising horses in a cut-throat business. Try to see how I feel, anyhow."
"Now that we've cleared the air, perhaps we can be friends."
"It would have to be another day. I do have a taxi waiting outside and a train coming in. Think about what I said."
Sue's threat was clear enough so that he could regard her as another stumbling block. He watched her rush out of the building. That little vixen Ida had certainly put him in a dither with everyone who was concerned with her. He wouldn't mind, except for his sneaky hunch that he was on the verge of falling for the kid-hook, line and sinker.
There could be a chance to wiggle his way out of it, though. All he must do was fall in love more desperately with Ellen!
He decided to make his big move in this direction at once. It was Saturday-the magic, hypnotic night-a throwback to their joyous days of courtship and togetherness, ripe for the recapturing. After supper Maurice rested in the easy chair with the newspaper for a while. He thought of the childhood which Ellen had known with her parents, as she often described it to him.
Everything had been so pat and nice in her family. She was spoiled, in a fashion, but grew out of it when her governess left and bankruptcy hit the clan and Ellen no longer received dresses or jewelry to suit her whims. As an adult she expected other people to live by her own standard of smooth perfection-as near as human failings would allow.
Maurice, on the other hand, was ultra-tolerant and frequently let himself be taken advantage of. He folded the paper and cast it aside. Noticing that she was in the kitchen, ironing drapes, he tiptoed along the carpet until he was directly behind her.
Simultaneously he kissed the back of her neck and untied the bow which held her apron tight.
"Maurice! Do you want me to burn a hole in your drawers with this iron?"
"I've heard worse suggestions." He wound his embrace around her so that his forearms hefted the underside of her breasts. "Let's talk turkey.
Say anything your heart desires, even if the topic has to be your family loyalty."
"You always find fault with them."
"Can I help it if I'm jealous? My folks would just as soon have thrown me out of the house as look at me. I never had stability."
"Get out the crying towel and soap-box for dear old hubby."
He kissed her full on the lips and wished she wouldn't be so god damned reserved about sex. "The weekend is upon us with a vengeance. You remember how we used to pet on Saturday evenings." She resisted half in jest while he escorted her toward the bedroom. "Come on, Ellen. Try and loosen up for a while."
"If you insist."
He knew the continuance of the psychological barrier between them was not due to their past arguments over Ida and John. The petty jealousy reactions had ended. This reticence belonged to Ellen ... her personality had changed and she would make him work hard for any reincarnation of the exuberant love they had shared during the months of engagement.
On their giant bed now, he put all his efforts into the task. He concentrated upon her thighs and hips because that was her favorite area, amounting to virtually a fetish or narcissism. He removed her dress from the slick, somnolent armor of her flesh. His mouth adored the legs with frantic, suckling kisses on their journey up- ward. He massaged her round hips until she at last gurgled with faint arousal.
Maurice covered the upper, meaty portion of her legs with oral worship. He touched and fondled each lovely curve without pausing for breath.
"You're tickling me," she suddenly remarked in her new killjoy tone of voice.
"Clothes will do that if you don't watch out. Sorry I forgot to undress for the part. Honey, you and I are going to have the greatest scene ever imagined by mortal man!"
"If I can stay awake long enough. Are these what you want?"
At least she eased the effects of her squelch by unfastening the bra herself and cupping the breasts in front of him. He felt his desire skip higher with a succession of kangaroo hops. The clothes flew away from him and he writhed, totally nude, amid the fluff which made their quilted bed a private Cloud Nine for pleasure. He closed his eyes tight as he increased the tempo, caressed her awakened breasts, manipulated the hard tips with a surgeon's delicate care.
Blackness swarmed upon him. His brain felt dizzy in a strange world of rapture, but he knew that Ellen had nothing to do with it. In fact he had forgotten her. He was dreaming ... in sharp, vivid detail the silent movie seemed to project before him on a glowing silver screen-Ida and only Ida wrapped about his naked frame as they shared a personal hydrogen bomb of exploding love.
Then reality slammed against him with cruel abruptness and he sighed in despair. No, Ida must be snuffed out! Her vision could not be allowed to haunt the very abode of intimacy which claimed him at this moment and forever more.
Why, then, did Ellen retain her stubborn silence? He roved about her with his arms and hands and belly, listening to the sounds of raw suction between their fleshy knobs when they made contact. He spoke but she merely offered murmurs in reply.
Eventually he struggled his way to the required amount of excited manhood. "I love you, Ellen," he persisted. "I want it to be good for us again."
"Yes, I know."
Her kisses lacked warmth although an artificial blaze of passion did reverberate in her spasming, powerful legs. She raked her fingernails into his back. He gritted his teeth, hoping she would draw blood and yet knowing it was too much of an aspiration.
Cursing from the strenuous exercise which racked his body, he quickly impaled her to the hilt. He gave his last ounce of vitality and then he dr-edged up untapped resources-raising her off the pillow as she gasped for air. Viciously he churned at her inner machine. Faster-faster-row on, you galley slaves or I'll whip the skin off your hides! He thought and acted like a demon from the black occult tribes of the River Styx. Finally he was shocked by a force equal to a mountain cave-in, as his ribs and bones seemed to crack apart under the wave which smothered him.
The sweet hour had arrived. He would not beg, but he wanted Ellen's love and could leave no stones unturned while searching for the triumph.
"You were terrific," he said as they lay side by side.
"Did you have to be such a savage? Look at you! So tired and dragged out that I suspect you'll even stay home from classes Monday. Really, Maurice!"
"We must learn how it is to share a deep love. Whatever I did, you can believe the reason was because I love you."
"Those lines went out with the megaphone and ten-cent novels." She got up and put her robe on. "Meanwhile I've been cheated out of watching the late show."
He clenched his hands, filling them with hunks of the bedsheet, wondering if she intended the cruelty in her words. The moments after sex-a critical, sensitive period-she was creating fear and unsureness within him. Such a strike at his vulnerability could drive him to impotency. She had ignored his affection and buried her own, which meant the guts had fallen out of his plan to win her back.
The next few days were a living hell for Maurice. He missed Ida with a fever that gnawed at him and tortured his nights piteously under the onslaught of sharp, accusing fingers. The predicament had slid from bad to grave.
He fought against himself and he knew it could mean the risk of tragedy if he reopened the wall. Better men than he had met their Waterloo because of a nubile young girl. The debate within him raged on through these sleepless dark mornings until he decided on the logical course of procedure.
Maybe she would reject him without any chance for talk. He felt sheepish, wary, yet knew the gamble must be taken as he strode through the dormitory hall. A light was shining in a white slit at the bottom of Ida's door. He knocked and paused ... the longest, most excruciating wait conceivable....
The door opened slowly toward her room. He stood like an idiot with his tongue unable to move or even slur a greeting.
"So what are you doing?" Ida said briskly. "Either you're a certain professor or his twin brother, and you both sicken me." She started to back away.
"Ida! Wait." His foot held the gate ajar in the best salesman tradition. "I'm sorry for everything I said to you-"
"It's kind of late for apologies."
"Give me at least a Chinaman's chance before you throw me out. Please! I need to be with you."
"Hah!"
"Sure it sounds crazy-like I don't know what I'm doing. But these last four days have been torture."
The coed tapped her shoe on the floor indecisively. "Do you think I'm a puppet on the end of your string? We left no room for negotiation. Now I'm expected to fall down and salame, because of an argument with your wife, I guess. Sorry, but-"
"All I'm asking is that you let me in for a while. Ida-please!"
She sighed, twirling the bracelet on her wrist with a steady, even cadence. His heart leaped because hesitation on any woman's part augured a ray of sunshine. Her eyes flashed briefly. Lowering his head, Maurice started to turn around in defeat and leave it there, dead beyond recall.
"You have exactly one hundred words allotted to your sermon," she frowned. "And hurry it up."
Relief gushed through him as they moved into her dorm parlor. He caught a glance of his face in a mirror and saw that he was utterly wan-far more pale than usual. Ida kept her distance away from him.
"I'm very busy, professor."
"Okay. First of all, you know how a man gets when he passes forty. He has left the golden years of the thirties during which he enjoyed prime life. Age, Ida! It makes you afraid you'll lose whatever has been gained."
"You explained how I wasn't among your assets. Or is Ellen the subject of this opus?"
"I mean you're a girl I've always wanted as a friend, if not-romantically. It so happens I do need you. The other day was an error, and errors will crop up. Please forgive what I said-"
"Stop giving with the mumbo jumbo and get to the point."
"Darn it, Ida, I think I love you!" He extended his hands toward her but she eased away, shaking her head.
"Sue warned me about you older fellows. I should have listened, before I got involved. You keep changing your mind."
"Take me back."
"Maurie, I couldn't think of it. You have a wife who loves you."
"That's the whole hub of it! It feels like we're both falling out of love at the same time, and simply because I've found you. I can't get you out of my thoughts."
A surging triumph overwhelmed him as he saw tears begin to shine in her eyes. She bit her lip desperately. "You're nuts," she whispered. Then she was enfolded by his arms and the world was a paradise filled with Ida's loveliness, her soft young body, the wondrous touch of her as she answered his kiss.
"Darling," he said. "I've gotten hooked on you and it's a sensation I never want to lose! You're my goddess."
"I should heave you out on your ear. But a lousy penny keeps coming back."
He kissed the trickling tears off her face while she fondled him yearningly with her hands and fingers. It cut him like a knife to hear her sob so tragically. "I was a bastard for causing you this heartache. And my own grief."
Ida was far gone with emotion and could not be expected to discuss anything right now. He knew what she would talk about, tomorrow, in the cold and sobering light of retrospection. Indeed they were hooked on each other. Something must be done and done quickly by him, as no man could successfully love two females when they each knew of the rival's existence. Yes, Ellen would sense it.
Maurice asked himself if this double love were possible. Ida had let it be known that she was hep on marriage statistics; she wanted to be one of the crowd-the lucky fifty percent of American girls who entered matrimony in their teens.
The dilemma which confronted him would require plenty of soul-searching. He licked his lips and began kissing Ida more fervently as shadows of late afternoon fell upon the rug and chairs.