Chapter 11
DAWN was breaking by the time Charlie Hubbard drove his car into his garage, slammed the overhead door with a vengeance and stamped up the stairs of his house.
Beth was wide awake by the time he came into the house but kept her eyes closed until he snapped on the overhead light in their bedroom. One look at his gray, unshaven face told her she was in for a stormy session. Never had she seen him look so grim or so coldly furious. Instinct prompted her to take the offensive.
"Where on earth have you been all night?" she demanded, sounding very angry. "You dashed off in the middle of dinner without telling me where you were going, and you didn't even have the courtesy or consideration to phone me. I've been going crazy all night. I don't think I've had even an hour's sleep. And now you show up at daybreak. What sort of man are you?"
"The sort who doesn't want to be married to a tramp," Charlie replied. "Get up. I want to get this over and done with as quickly as possible."
For an instant Beth was afraid he might be carrying a pistol but, on second thought, she realized that Charlie was not the type who would resort to violence. "I can do without your insults, but I could stand some coffee," she replied, still in the same angry tone. Not glancing at him again, she went to her clothes closet for a dressing gown, deliberately choosing the fluffiest and most attractive, and then walked downstairs to the kitchen.
Charlie followed her, still glowering.
"Toast?" Beth asked, mamtaining at least a facade of domesticity.
"I've just had something to eat in an all-night restaurant. With Bob Winterton." He watched her closely to see her reaction.
Beth's heart sank at the mention of Bob's name, but her face remained expressionless. "You won't mind if I have some toast, then. I was so upset last night when you raced out of here that I couldn't finish my dinner." She busied herself at the stove, measuring coffee into the percolator and adding water, then taking bread and butter from the refrigerator.
Charlie displayed unusual patience, waiting until they sat at the kitchen table before speaking again. "It will come as no surprise to you," he said, speaking slowly and carefully, "to learn that this whole town has been knocked inside out since yesterday noon."
"So I gathered from a short newscast I heard before I went to bed." Beth wondered if he would pick her up on that one. She rarely listened to news broadcasts, and Charlie knew it.
If he was aware of her slip, he gave no sign.
"I tried phoning several people, but everybody we know seems to have been off somewhere at a party." She continued to act wide-eyed, and her voice gave no hint of her trepidation.
"Some party," Charlie replied humorlessly. "Your girl friends have been in the clink."
"I don't think that's very funny," Beth said indignantly. "First you insult me, then you insult my friends."
"Don't act so innocent. You know damn well what happened at that new motel yesterday."
"I know something very odd was going on." Beth decided that a show of candor before he started blasting at her might throw him off the scent. "I went there with Sandra for lunch, and we ran into a couple of people she knew.
One of them had to leave, and then Sandra went off to the ladies' room or the phone or somewhere. The next thing I knew, Bob dashed in like a raving maniac. I was so upset I came straight home." She buttered a slice of toast and, although she had no desire to eat anything, forced herself to nibble at it.
"I find it very odd," Charlie said, "that you mentioned nothing about the incident to me at dinner last night."
"I hate washing other people's dirty linen." Beth hoped her weak explanation sounded convincing. "I tried to reach Sandra in the afternoon, but she didn't answer her phone. I don't know what all the shouting was for, but she's my friend, and I wanted to get things straight before I started talking. I still wish I knew."
"As recently as dinner time last night, I would have swallowed that whole story. Hook, line and sinker. Now I won't even bite." Charlie rubbed the stubble on his chin and stared at her. "Come clean. Then we'll end this whole mistake in a civilized fashion."
"I don't know what you're talking about. And I wish you'd stop speaking in riddles." She tried to sound indignant.
Charlie sighed, stirred sugar into his coffee and took a deep breath. "Sandra is in the hospital," he said, "and from there she goes to jail." He proceeded to tell her the whole story of the raid on the Stamen but added nothing she had not already gleaned from the newspaper.
Beth pretended to be stunned. "You're making it all up. I can't believe you."
"Like hell you can't. Sandra." He began ticking off names on his fingers. "Patsy. Carolyn. And that new girl in the neighborhood. Your little playmates."
"See here, Charles Hubbard-"
"I've never in my life hit a woman, but you're tempting me, Beth."
"You wouldn't dare."
"After the night I've had, I'm ripe for just about anything."
Again she tried to take the offensive. "The night you've had? For all I know, you've spent it with some prostitute yourself. And now you come home with a wild story that no woman in her right senses would believe."
He took a copy of a tabloid from his coat pocket and unfolded it. "Read this. And thank God that by some lucky accident your picture isn't in there, too."
Beth went through the motions of reading the article. "This is the most dreadful thing that's ever happened."
"Yeah." Charlie finished his coffee, rubbed his tired eyes and then poured himself another steaming cup. "I raised bail for Bob and then took him over to Henry Waters' house. Henry is as good a lawyer as there is in the business. He'll get Bob off, Pm sure."
"After he beat up poor Sandra so badly that she's in a hospital. Is that fair or right?" Beth continued to play the role of a stupid girl who failed to understand the true situation.
"When a man has found out that his wife has been unfaithful to him," Charlie said darkly, "a court is strongly inclined to favor him. And when a fellow discovers what Bob has learned about his wife, just about any judge in the United States will give him a medal for not killing the damned bitch."
Her sense of fear welled up in her again, and she wondered if Charlie intended to become violent.
"Now you've got the pitch. Are you or aren't you willing to confess?"
"I have nothing to confess, and you know it as well as I do." Beth's hand trembled so hard that she spilled coffee into her saucer. "Now see what you've done." She jumped to her feet and went to get some paper napkins to sop up the mess. She needed time to think and decided she could only play by ear, going one step at a time while steadfastly maintaining her innocence.
Charlie waited calmly until she returned. "Bob told me you were sitting with some old goat at a table, looking very cozy."
"I was sitting across the table from him, and if you call that cozy, you're nuts. What's more, he wasn't an old goat. He couldn't have been more than three or four years older than you." Her aggressive tactics seemed to be effective, so she became more virulent. "I didn't ask to see his birth certificate. In fact, I don't know his name."
"In the business you've been in, I don't think names matter much."
"Isn't it bad enough that Sandra and some of my other friends have been involved in something horrible? Must you tar me with the same brush?"
"You're tarred with it, Beth. The whole thing is very logical, now that I look back at the record of the past few months. You drove me crazy, asking me for money to send your idiot cousin. Then, all of a sudden, you shut up."
"That's because you ordered me not to say anything more."
His lips parted in a caricature of a smile. "I'm going to phone Phil Bates in a few minutes and find out how much money you've sent him. Then you can explain to me where you got it."
"I refuse to let you speak to him," she cried, panic gripping her.
"That's interesting. Why?"
"Because-well, because I won't have you insulting me. The members of my family think highly of me even if you don't." If necessary, she thought, she would take up the extension phone when Charlie called Phil and would ask her cousin to say nothing. The mutual dislike the two men felt for each other would, with luck, take care of the rest. Phil wouldn't understand, she thought, but he would do her bidding.
"Then there's the matter of your clothes. You've been sporting a lot of new things lately."
Tears stung Beth's eyes. "You can be so horrid!" Her acting was so good now that she almost believed what she was saying to him. "I scrimped and saved out of my household allowance to buy myself a few rags for my spring and summer wardrobe. I haunted sales, and I walked my feet off in stores. But all I get from you is nastiness instead of thanks that you have a thrifty wife."
"It just doesn't jell," Charlie insisted. "Every time you bought something new in the past, you insisted on staging a private fashion show for me. I've wondered a couple of times why you've kept quiet about your new clothes. Now I know."
"You think you know so much." There was no reason for Beth to feign anger now, for real fury welled up in her. "You've made such an issue about money that I haven't dared to say anything to you. Maybe you've forgotten that you actually threatened to cut my allowance. But I haven't forgotten it, Charles Hubbard, not for one minute. You're the cheapest, tightest, stingiest human being I've ever known."
"I wish we could settle matters without descending to the level of name-calling," Charlie replied. "You make your story sound very reasonable. It almost hangs together, but not quite. All of your good friends are mixed up in this-this vice ring. And so are you. Every fact points to it."
"You're assuming a lot of things, but you can't prove one of your so-called facts."
"Not at the moment, maybe," Charlie admitted. "The girls won't talk. I've tried with every one of them. And I can't expect your boy friends to come forward to admit their guilt. Maybe I can find out the truth from your cousin about the money-"
"There's no truth to get out of him. But even if he told you I've sent him thousands, it wouldn't prove a thing. How do you know that other relatives of mine haven't let me borrow money, for instance? You yourself wanted nothing to do with helping me protect my inheritance." Beth hoped desperately that her bluff would be effective.
"I don't care to argue with you," Charlie replied, standing and beginning to pace up and down the kitchen. "It's enough for me that you and I are through. I can never live with you again."
"That's good to hear," Beth said sarcastically.
"I want a divorce." He halted in front of her and, hands plunged in his pockets, stared down at her.
She returned his gaze silently. "You mean that?" she said at last.
"Yes, and the sooner the better."
"If you insist, there's no way I can force you to continue living with me," Beth said. If he wanted a divorce, she thought, he could have it, provided he didn't drag her down into the mud with Sandra and the others.
"I'm not like Jim Anderson," Charlie said.
"What does he have to do with all this?"
Charlie's face wrinkled in disgust. "He and Carolyn had a big reconciliation when he came to bail her out. Tears and dramatics all over the jail. How any self-respecting man could live with a woman like that is beyond me."
Beth was secretly delighted for Carolyn's sake. "Perhaps," she said, speaking so quietly that he blinked at her, "Jim Anderson is wise enough to know that it usually takes two to make a marriage go sour. Perhaps he's man enough to realize that Carolyn didn't really enjoy her fling. And generous enough to forgive her. I wouldn't be surprised if they have a wonderful marriage now."
Charlie was shaken but tried to hide his feelings behind a cynical front. "Spare the hearts and flowers," he said.
"By all means." Beth discovered that the news about Carolyn and Jim gave her a greater ability to cope with her own problems. "Let's get back to you and me. You wanted a pretty child bride who would double as a housemaid. Somebody you could show off when it struck your fancy. Somebody to cook and take care of your house. Somebody who would have no feelings or desires or aspirations of her own. Somebody you could take to bed or reject at will, who would obey you in everything, give you peace when you wanted peace and stir up a little genteel excitement when you wanted fun. Then, because you've put together some flimsy, circumstantial evidence, you want to get rid of her."
Jarred, Charlie protested, "You're guilty, but you're trying to put me in the wrong."
"I admit no guilt. Whether I've done all the things you claim or whether I'm innocent is beside the point. The Andersons have learned something. You're too narrow-minded to know there's something you might learn. I agree, Charlie. We're through."
He made an unsuccessful effort to regain his balance. "A very pretty speech, but it doesn't impress me. Let's just call it quits. And if you think you're going to get anything from me, you're wrong. I don't intend to pay you alimony or give you a nickel in a cash settlement."
He was running true to form, she thought. "How do you expect me to live?"
"That isn't my worry. I suppose you'll flop over on your back for some of your paying lovers, as you've been doing."
Beth felt safe enough now to say, "You'll have to dig up a lot of proof before you can make accusations like that in court."
"I don't plan to smear you."
What he really meant, she thought, was that he wanted no ugly publicity for himself. "That's very considerate," she said blandly, and only her eyes indicated how she really felt.
"I'll even let you go out to Nevada or some place to file for the decree."
"Thanks a heap. Because you can't spare the time away from your desk, no doubt. Don't do me any favors, Char-he. You can forget about a divorce until you're willing to offer me reasonable terms." Beth grew increasingly bold. "The deed for this house and land is in both of our names. I want my fair share. I also want enough money to live on."
"You can go to the devil."
"So can you," she replied, increasingly certain he could not find enough solid evidence to charge her with adultery. That is, if she stuck to her guns. It was easy, she was discovering, to meet a weak man's bluster with equally firm bluff, and she wondered what she had ever seen in Charlie that had impelled her to marry him. Knowing what she knew now, she would flee his type. "If you force me to become unpleasant-"
"Look here," Beth said heatedly, interrupting him. "You come waltzing home at dawn making wild accusations you can't prove. You've decided you're tired of me, and you want me to oblige you by giving you a divorce and getting nothing in return. Maybe I'm dumb, but I'm not as stupid as you think. I've listened to the girls at bridge games. And I happen to know that a judge, any judge, will order you to pay me one-third of your income as temporary alimony."
"If you think I intend to shell out that much-"
"I've had no chance to think about any of this. The whole idea is new to me. You don't want a scandal, I don't want a gun pointed at my head. So far we're even. By now you should know that I'm not mercenary. If I were, I couldn't have lived with you all these years. Make me an honorable offer, and you can have your divorce."
He remained silent for a long time. "I'm in no condition to think straight," he said. "I'll pack some of my belongings and move to a hotel in the city."
Beth was secretly elated that he was giving in so readily. She had no desire to stay permanently in the house, but it offered her a temporary shelter while she rearranged her shattered life. "I guess that will be okay," she replied, not wanting him to realize that he was handing her a victory.
"I'll send for the rest of my stuff. And in a few days my lawyer will be in touch with you." He bowed rather pompously and mounted the stairs to the attic for some luggage.
Beth hovered near the foot of the stairs, listening intently and ready to leap for the kitchen telephone extension if he made a call to her cousin. So far, at least, he had no real case against her, she thought. He knew too little about women's clothes to realize how much she had spent on her new wardrobe. And only if he learned that she had been sending substantial sums to her cousin would he really be in a position to put two and two together.
But Charlie's basic intent at the moment was simply to leave the house. And in twenty minutes or so he moved down the stairs, straining to carry two heavy suitcases. He was in such a hurry, in fact, that he had forgotten to shave, and he neither looked at Beth nor spoke to her as he started toward the garage. "Goodbye," she said politely.
The moment he drove off she put through a long distance call to Phil Bates, waking him up.
"Phil," she said, "you may hear from Charlie soon. Please don't tell him or anyone else how much I've sent you. Don't even admit I've sent anything."
Her cousin was bewildered. "Whatever you say," he replied. "But why?"
"I can't explain. Just do as I ask."
"All right. How soon can I expect another payment from you?"
"There won't be any more," Beth told him firmly. "But I need-"
"You'll have to work things out with what I've sent you," she said harshly. "I can't pull any more rabbits out of hats."
She leaned wearily against the kitchen wall after hanging up the phone and reflected that, after all she had suffered, she might lose both her original investment and the good money she had sent after bad. But her reputation was still safe, even if she faced possible starvation in the near future, so she had cause to be thankful. Others, no less guilty than she, had been far less fortunate, and had Bob Winterton arrived at the motel a quarter of an hour later than he had, Beth would have been dragged off to jail, too. She shuddered.
But it accomplished nothing to think of what might have happened. The house was very quiet, now that Charlie was gone, and Beth realized with a start that her marriage had been terminated. She had been so concerned about admonishing Phil Bates to silence that not until this moment did it occur to her she was truly free.
Too tired to care or analyze her feelings, she dragged herself upstairs to bed. All she knew was that, no matter what privations might await her, no power on earth could force her to become a prostitute again. She had salvaged her reputation, if not her marriage, and neither threats nor blandishments could induce her to take further risks.
Beth hibernated for three days, seeing no one and following developments in the newspapers of the sensational scandal. But all she learned of real interest was that the owners of the motel planned to sell the establishment to a national chain that intended to change the name of the place at once. None of the girls involved in the case were available for comment.
The telephone did not ring, and only twice was Beth's solitude disturbed. The day after Charlie's departure, she received a check for one hundred dollars from him in the mail, accompanied by a curt note. "This," he wrote, "will take care of your expenses for the present." She could not help wondering how long he expected her to make the money last.
One afternoon a reporter from a metropolitan newspaper appeared at the front door, hoping that she, as a friend of the girls who had been arrested, would be willing to submit to an interview. Beth slammed the door in his face.
After more than seventy-two hours of hiding from the world, she could endure no more and, feeling a feverish desire to learn what was really happening, decided to pay a visit to Sandra in the hospital. Strangely accustomed to living alone in the house and feeling no sense of loss, she dressed decorously, with a minimum of make-up, and even took the precaution of wearing shoes with low heels. In half an hour she was at the hospital.
The gray-haired woman at the information desk peered hard at Beth when she asked the location of Mrs. Sandra Winterton's room but made no comment. Beth's nervousness increased as she rode to the third floor in the elevator and walked down the hall toward the private rooms. She thought she had made a mistake when she saw no policeman stationed in the corridor, but Sandra's voice, amazingly cheerful, hailed her from the far side of the open door.
"Come on in, sweetie."
Beth noted at once that, aside from a slight puffiness on one side of her face, Sandra appeared to be in good health.
"You're a sight for sore eyes, sweetie, and I do mean sore. They were still black, blue and green last night, but the doctors in this dump have some marvelous ointments. Better than any facial creams, I can tell you." Sandra was propped up in bed, sipping a glass of iced tea.
"I expected to find an invalid, but you're in better shape than I am," Beth said.
"My shape will never be better than yours. Close the door."
Beth obeyed. "I thought a minion of the law was supposed to be guarding you out there."
"He was quietly removed early this morning." Sandra winked blatantly. "Orders from on high. Very high."
"Really?" Beth, still amazed, took a chair beside the bed.
"You're damned right. Too many of the Johns are men with big names. Heads of corporations. Financiers. And two of them were politicians with large followings. I've already been guaranteed that I'll be put on probation. And the others will get suspended sentences. That fink, Davies, may spend six months in the jug, but my heart doesn't exactly bleed for him."
"Davies?"
"The assistant manager of the Stamen. If he hadn't lost his head, there would have been no stink, no trouble, no nothing. That's why my friends didn't put on the heat to help him when they turned it on for everybody else." Sandra made herself more comfortable. "I've got to hand it to you, sweetie. You showed real guts, coming here."
"We've had our differences," Beth said. "But I don't believe in deserting a friend when she's in a jam. Anyway, it's a sheer fluke that I wasn't taken to jail, too."
"The pixies were sitting on your shoulder, that's for sure." Sandra laughed as though the whole terrible crisis were of no significance.
"How can you treat it all so lightly?" Beth asked.
"I can't pretend I'm sorry that my marriage to that vicious bastard is ended. He's already filed suit for divorce, by the way. I was served day before yesterday, on charges of adultery. I'm not even going to bother making an appearance in court. He's had his quart of blood, and he can have his divorce. I'm well rid of him, and that's good enough for me."
Beth was embarrassed, not knowing whether to say she was sorry or pleased.
"Carolyn and Jim are pulling out of it beautifully," Sandra continued. "I'm glad. They've always been crazy about each other, and she got into the racket just to spite him after they'd had some scraps. They've already flown down to the Caribbean for a second honeymoon."
"How in the world do you know so much?"
"Oh, I have my souces of information. Men with right jobs in the right places."
It was typical of Sandra, Beth thought, that she should be kept up to date on developments by men.
"The redhead has disappeared. Nobody knows where she's gone. And I'm afraid Patsy's marriage is smashed up-she's gone back to her family. Out in Pennsylvania or Ohio or somewhere." Sandra looked quizzically at the younger girl. "I hear you've been taking some lumps."
Beth stirred uncomfortably. "Charlie has moved into a hotel in town."
"You haven't broken down and told him all?"
"Certainly not. He knows nothing."
"Good. Keep your mouth shut, and he won't be able to pick up even a shred of evidence against you. I give you my flat guarantee. Nobody is going to squeal. Nobody is going to whisper a word."
Beth wished she could share Sandra's conviction. "What about that fellow, Davies, the assistant manager?"
"He'll take his six months in prison without opening his mouth. I can have him sent away for a really long stretch if he gets gabby, and he knows it. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor, for one thing. Peddling drugs, for another. Unsavory characters like Davies," she added with mock solemnity, "should be imprisoned to protect the public at large."
Beth was not amused and averted her face so Sandra could not see the shock.
"What are your plans, sweetie?" Sandra said. "I haven't really made any, yet. I've thought of getting myself a job-"
"Doing what?"
"I honestly don't know. A liberal arts degree doesn't qualify me for much of anything, and I don't even know how to operate a switchboard. Maybe I can find some-something as a receptionist somewhere."
"Jobs like that pay peanuts. Don't do anything until you've had a talk with a lawyer, a good lawyer who'll tell you how to protect your rights. See Newton Swanson-you'll find him in the city phone book. And you can be frank with him."
Beth hesitated. "Is he someone I know?"
"If you're asking whether he's a John who was familiar with the setup at the Stamen, I refuse to answer," Sandra replied with a laugh. "But he's nobody who ever got together with you, sweetie."
Beth was relieved but wondered if she would ever live down the unsavory period that had scarred her life.
"You aren't grieving for Charlie, I hope?"
"No." Beth saw no reason to add that she felt guilty and directly responsible for the destruction of her marriage. Sandra simply would not understand that kind of remark, so Beth changed the subject. "What are your plans?"
"I'm considering several alternatives." Sandra reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry about me. I'll do fine."
Beth did not doubt it.
"You'll hear from me one of these days, after the dust settles," Sandra said mysteriously. "I appreciate this call, sweetie, more than you know."
Newton Swanson, sitting behind a large desk in an oak-paneled office, wore an expensively tailored suit, heavy gold cufflinks and, in short, resembled the men who had frequented the Stamen. Beth felt uneasy in his presence, and her peace of mind was not improved by his apparent familiarity with her whole situation.
"You have nothing to fear from your husband, Mrs. Hubbard." He smiled at her across a desk Uttered with legal briefs and other documents.
"I should hope not," Beth said defensively. "Why should I?"
"When a marriage is in the process of dissolution," he replied smoothly, "women-particularly women who know little or nothing about the law-frequently believe themselves on the brink of ruin. The truth of the matter is that you're in a very strong position."
Beth tugged at the hem of her skirt when she saw the advocate staring at her legs. "At the moment," she said, "the one thing that worries me is whether I'll be solvent enough to pay your fee."
"There are ways of taking care of these things."
She stiffened instantly.
He saw her expression and read her mind. "It's customary," he explained, temporarily retreating and shifting ground, "for the husband to pay his wife's legal expenses."
"I see." She knew he had been hinting at something else and remained on her guard.
"In fact, I've already taken the liberty of speaking to Mr. Hubbard. I called him after you phoned me yesterday to make this appointment. I thought we ought to know where we stand."
She was surprised but could make no valid objection.
"Mr. Hubbard realizes there can be no divorce without your consent. Although he seems sure you were, ah, unfaithful to him, he admits he has no proof that would stand up in court."
"My husband," she said, maintaining the fiction of innocence, "is a man with a highly developed imagination."
A flicker of disbelief appeared in Swanson's eye, but he preferred to observe the conventions. "Quite so," he murmured, then studied her legs openly, with obvious pleasure.
Beth reflected that once again she had behaved impulsively and rather stupidly. She herself had jumped to the conclusion that Swanson had been a patron of Sandra's girls at the Stamen, and Sandra had virtually corroborated her belief, so Beth should have gone to another attorney, someone who would accept her as chaste and as a lady.
"I made Mr. Hubbard aware of his extreme limitations in this case," the lawyer said. "And I told him outright that a divorce will cost him a great deal of money. When a man wants a divorce, for whatever his reason, he must expect to shell out."
Beth knew, even if she had to keep the facts to herself, that she had not dealt honorably with Charlie, and it seemed unfair to punish him because he suspected the truth.
"I'm not greedy, Mr. Swanson," she said.
The lawyer gestured deprecatingly. "You're accustomed to luxuries, my dear." His smile became frankly suggestive. "If I may say so, you're a rather expensive girl."
Her sense of discomfort increased, and she felt a desire to fidget when his gaze rose to her bustline and lingered there. It was evident that he was interested in more than the law, and her only recourse was to pretend she did not know what he meant. "I'm certain Charlie will find me reasonable," she said.
He picked up a letter opener and pointed it at her feet. "How much did you pay for those shoes?" he demanded.
The question made no sense to Beth but she was willing to answer it. "About twenty-five dollars." She did not add that she loved linen pumps and had splurged on them.
"Your tastes are not modest," Swanson remarked dryly. "Quite the contrary. Many young women pay no more than five or six dollars for shoes."
She was prepared to spend far less, too, and shrugged. His point seemed meaningless.
"I advise you to get all you can from Mr. Hubbard. And from any other possible source."
The last part of his statement made her flesh crawl, but she remained poker-faced. Her entire investment with her cousin could go down the drain before she would resort to prostitution again.
"The best arrangement I could make with Mr. Hubbard on a temporary basis is a payment of one hundred dollars per week. He'll allow you to stay in the house until we reach a final settlement."
"That's very generous," Beth said, realizing that Swanson had been something of a magician and had undoubtedly applied considerable pressure to obtain such favorable terms.
He shook his head. "Mr. Hubbard is no altruist. He wants you to sign over your interest in the house to him as part of the final agreement."
"Why not? It was his money that bought the place."
The lawyer showed signs of irritation.
"And I don't want permanent alimony, either," Beth declared. "I'd feel-well, kind of cheap-taking money from Charlie for years and years."
"May I ask why you're here?" he demanded caustically.
"I don't want him smearing me with dreadful charges. And I do think I deserve a little help, at least until I can get on my own feet and support myself."
Swanson took a long time filling a pipe, which he then placed on his desk. "You're unusual, my dear. And for someone in your line of endeavor, unique."
Beth flushed. "I-I don't appreciate the innuendo."
"Very tactless of me." He inclined his head in what seemed intended as an apology. "May I suggest that, as you seem to have little talent for business, you permit me to hammer out the arrangement with Mr. Hubbard?"
It was a sensible idea, Beth knew, and although she felt grubby, it seemed wise to accept. With no rent to pay, she could save small amounts of the one hundred per week to send her cousin. No matter how dirty and underhanded the whole transaction might be, it was essential that she think of herself and her little inheritance. No one else, certainly, would look out for her.
"That's settled." Swanson rose and circled the desk.. "You'll have no cause to regret this decision. I realize how painful the recent unpleasantness has been for you."
He couldn't possibly know how she felt, Beth thought indignantly, gathering her handbag and gloves.
There was a subtle change in his manner, and he became more personal. "I make it my practice to become acquainted with my clients, particularly those I like. I hope you'll have dinner with me-shall we say tomorrow night?"
As Beth stood up, she wondered how she could possibly avoid a date with the attorney, who definitely had only one thing on his mind. She wouldn't go to bed with him and couldn't decide whether he would be more annoyed if she rejected him later rather than now. The problem was a delicate one, as her reputation was in his hands.
"I can understand your hesitation," he told her. "But you can trust someone in my profession and with my experience to be discreet." He slipped an arm about her waist and held her firmly.
Beth's first instinct was to break away and slap his face. But if he became her enemy, she would be completely at Charlie's mercy. And, knowing Charlie, she was aware he wouldn't rest until he found evidence to blacken her so he wouldn't have to pay her a cent. Steeling herself, she allowed the lawyer to draw her closer.
His other hand darted out, and he fondled her breasts for a moment, then kissed her.
Beth submitted with the best grace she could muster, her mind racing. She couldn't blame Swanson for making a pass at her. After all, he knew her to be a part-time call girl, so there was no reason he should respect her. However, she told herself, she would rather die than become involved in another flat, meaningless affair for money.
"Tomorrow night, then?" he insisted, releasing her.
Beth shook her head. "Not just yet," she murmured, and was surprised by her ability to dissemble, realizing she looked and sounded regretful. "I don't dare make any dates until the dust has settled and the things that have happened in Owendale have been forgotten. I was lucky I didn't get scorched," she added candidly, "and this is no time for me to risk being burned."
Swanson was forced to agree with her logic but did not want to give up so easily. "I keep a small apartment here in the city for, ah, business purposes. We could meet there, and no one would know it."
Beth's smile was genuine. "You underestimate Charlie. It wouldn't surpise me if he's hired detectives to trail me."
"Mmm." The lawyer frowned. "Perhaps you're right."
She had frightened him and knew she was on the right track. "Later," she continued, "after the divorce comes through, I'll be free to do as I please." Returning his gaze, she flirted with him, striking a provocative stance.
"It won't be easy to wait," he replied, and taking her in his arms, began to fondle her again.
Beth was afraid that at any moment he might suggest she remain with him behind the locked door of his office. Gently disengaging herself, she continued to smile steadily. "Patience is supposed to be a virtue. I wouldn't know about that. But in this case, I'll see to it that it's worth your while." She almost choked on the lie but took several steps toward the door.
Swanson beamed at her. "I'll be looking forward to a good many dates with you," he said and laughed. "In fact, I'll put on steam to arrange for the divorce as quickly as I can."
Beth thanked him and, giving him no chance to maul or kiss her again, opened the door. He subsided, and she managed to escape into the corridor.
Her heels clicking furiously on the stone-tiled floor of the hallway, Beth seethed as she strode to the elevator. All men were alike, she thought, and a woman who had gone too far with too many of them was lost. It didn't matter, apparently, that she had avoided arrest at the motel and had been spared the subsequent disgrace the others had suffered. The word was out-she was one of the crowd, and she wondered if it would ever be possible for her to live down her past. The prospect of spending the rest of her life fending off Swanson and others of his breed sickened her, and she told herself dismally that she might expect to pay for her transgressions until she became too old to care.
Transgressions, Beth thought. That was a funny one. Funny, because the transgressions had all begun with the enjoyment of sex-back in her teens.
She hadn't been able to do without sex in her teens, and it was hard to think of doing without it now, whatever her transgressions.
She supposed, if she wanted, that she could blame the first man who had introduced her to carnal delights, many years ago....
What was his name? Oh, yes, slim Danny Martin-he had been in his early forties, and she seventeen.
Danny hadn't been crude, either. He'd been like Bruce, very gentle and considerate, until Beth had really had the fires lit in her, and from that point on the sky had been the limit.
No limit at all, really. Beth flushed, just to remember. She had become utterly wanton with Danny toward the end. She had presumed, in her sexual arrogance, to tell him what to do.
His eye a-twinkle, the man had acceded. Something else was twinkling, too, that element to which his overall slimness had taken exception, and which had put Beth in his temporary thrall.
"Be careful, though," he had said.
Her temper had flashed-she could not contain herself and must try him at all costs.
"I won't-I won't," she had said, and went on to be crude where Danny had been cautious about her capacities.
He had gasped at Beth's resultant action. She had become as a whirling dervish, her eyes starting from her sockets, while he had turned white from the exertion of holding back from yielding to the extremity of the delirious sensations. And when, at last, they had pitched to the ultimate, they crumpled in exhaustion....
Beth sighed. How, possibly, could she do without sex?