Chapter 12
THE SUMMER passed slowly and at such a snail's pace that when Beth climbed out of bed every morning after a sleepless night, she wondered whether she had the strength to face another blank day. On the surface her life was tranquil, but she had never known such loneliness or bleak despair. She was completely alone now, and isolation closed in on her.
Charlie continued to pay her one hundred dollars each week, but the money did not go as far as Beth had hoped. The house needed electrical and plumbing repairs, and Charlie insisted that she pay for them. These bills, combined with her food costs and the other daily expenses of living, ate such large holes in her budget that she found it extremely difficult to send Phil Bates the modest sum of twenty-five dollars every Monday.
Her worry about her investment gnawed at her constantly. Phil sent her an auditor's report that even she could understand. He was doing much better but still risked losing his business unless he could raise a final fifteen hundred dollars. His own sources of capital were exhausted, and he could depend on no one but Beth. If she could produce new miracles, as she done in the past, he wrote, he would become solvent in a short time and in less than a year her total investment would double.
The auditor's facts and figures convinced her that Phil was neither exaggerating nor whistling in the dark.
But the fifteen hundred he needed to make him solvent was unobtainable unless she went back to prostitution, which she refused to consider. In her waking moments she reconciled herself to the financial loss she could ill afford, but late at night, when she was half-asleep, terror chilled her. Decent jobs, she had discovered, were virtually impossible to find when one had no special training or talent, and the world was callously prepared to let her starve.
Charlie was proving far more stubborn in agreeing to a permanent settlement that Swanson had suspected. "My wife," he told the lawyer in countless telephone conversations, "has no right to expect anything from me. I'm letting her stay in the house and paying her now so she'll have a chance to get organized. But I won't play Santa Claus forever. When autumn comes, I intend to take possession of my house and cut off her weekly checks. If she doesn't like it, she can lump it. That's the way things are going to be."
Swanson admitted to Beth that he was making no progress on her behalf. "I've come across tough ones," he told her, "but this guy is like a wall. It's my own feeling that he's being so impossible because he actually wants to get together with you again."
"He wants us to five together?" she asked incredulously.
"That's what I think. But don't depend on it. You may have been right about his hiring detectives to keep watch on you, so stay out of trouble."
The advice was unnecessary, as Beth had no desire to see any man-except Bruce. And he had vanished from her life. As for reconciliation with Charlie, the idea of living as his wife for the rest of her days was repulsive. No woman could be happy with a man so lacking in humanity, in charity and forgiveness.
Once each week she walked to the supermarket for food but went on virtually no other errands, stopping only once at a pharmacy for aspirin and a small supply of cosmetics. She spent her mornings working in her garden until she came to hate the sight of flowers. And every afternoon at the beach she improved her suntan. But neighbors and former friends made it painfully clear that they wanted nothing more to do with her, and she knew that, even though she had not been arrested in the raid, it was common knowledge that she had been one of the Stamen girls.
She saw Carolyn Anderson several times, but only from a distance. Carolyn's nod of greeting was stiff and, having salvaged her own marriage, she did not want to become contaminated again. Several other girls who had been members of the ring and who, like Beth, had been fortunate enough to avoid public exposure, were even more careful. In fact, one of them looked with such disgust at Beth's bikini on the beach one day that Beth put away her skimpy bathing attire in a dresser drawer and thereafter wore costumes more modest.
The evenings were by far the worst, and Beth found it impossible to stifle her longing for Bruce after night fell. I'm a romantic idiot, she told herself angrily. He was never interested in anything but a romp with me, and he certainly doesn't want to associate with a whore. Still, if I could see him, I might be able to explain to him that I tumbled into the racket by accident because I fell in love with him. But he wouldn't believe me, anyway. Why would he? No sane man would accept the word of a prostitute. But her self-lacerations accomplished nothing, and she found herself going over the same ground night after night.
She no longer tried to find work, either. The business and professional men of Owendale, the shop owners and even the tradespeople, were cool to her, letting her know that they, too, suspected her background and would not consider hiring her. On several occasions she went job-hunting in Boston, but her experiences there were equally discouraging. "Sorry," was the constant refrain, "we aren't hiring receptionists."
Beth was surprised to hear her telephone ring one morning late in the summer and was even more startled when she heard a familiar voice at the other end of the wire.
"Hi, sweetie."
"Sandra."
"What did you think happened to me? On second thought, don't answer that question." Sandra sounded lively and vivacious.
Beth could not tell her the truth, which was that she had rarely speculated about the other girl.
"I'd love to see you," Sandra said, "and show off my new apartment to you."
"Where are you, Sandra?"
"In the city. Take this down."
Beth snatched a pencil from the kitchen shelf and scribbled the address of a smart apartment building on Beacon Hill.
"How about coming in for the afternoon-today?"
Beth felt a sudden wave of repugnance but reminded herself that Sandra had demonstrated good intentions by sending her to a lawyer.
"I-I guess I can manage it," Beth said.
"Good. Get here by one and I'll feed you a scrumptious and alcoholic lunch." Sandra hung up abruptly.
For the first time in weeks Beth had a reason to dress and make up carefully. Then she took a train into South Station and, watching her pennies, decided to go uptown by bus rather than taxi.
The building was a new glass-and-brick skyscraper, the self-service elevator was lined with sandalwood and the overall impression was one of great opulence. There was a stand of handsome artificial flowers in the entrance hall outside the apartment itself, and the wallpaper, Beth noted, was an expensive silk damask. Obviously the building was no place for paupers.
Sandra, elegant in a skintight sheath of white shantung, greeted her guest with a hug. "I've missed you, sweetie," she cried.
Beth, who had every good reason to despise the woman, discovered she could not hate someone so genuinely pleased to see her. Sandra proudly took her on a tour of the four-room apartment and, although it was not yet completely furnished, everything already in place had cost a great deal of money and was in excellent taste. An enormous divan and a large abstract painting dominated the living room, and on the far wall stood a bookcase-desk in Swedish modern that matched the breakfront in the dining room. The bedroom, to Beth's surprise, was modest and conservative, and she told herself that Sandra probably entertained no clients here-assuming, of course, that she was still in the racket.
After the tour they sat in the living room, and Sandra poured martinis from a crystal pitcher. "I haven't done too badly, have I?"
"It's gorgeous." Beth peered out at the sweeping view of the city.
"The wages of sin," Sandra said, raising her glass, "can provide a smart girl with a wonderful living."
They sipped their drinks. "I was wondering whether you were still in the game," Beth remarked at last.
Sandra laughed. "I'm better at it than at anything else I know, and the pay is terrific. The hours are good, too. Besides," she added, "I couldn't let the fist I'd been cultivating for years go to waste. The whole time I was in that hospital, I was afraid Bob would find my little book." She opened the drawer of an end table beside her and took out a worn leather notebook. "There isn't a girl in town who has a more solid collection of Johns. Every one of them guaranteed, gilt-edged."
Beth found the description distasteful but laughed politely.
"I've been operating for only six weeks," Sandra said, "but it's the best life I've ever known. I just wish I'd divorced Bob sooner than I did."
The facts, Beth thought, were somewhat mangled. Bob had divorced Sandra, but that did not make nearly as attractive a story.
"Most days," Sandra continued, "I sleep until noon. I spend my afternoons shopping or just puttering around, and then things really come to life at night. I go to the best restaurants and nightclubs, I take in all the new plays and I have more invitations to go away for weekends than I can possibly accept."
"You look great," Beth said, thinking of the puffy face she had seen in the hospital.
Sandra stood and paraded up and down for her inspection. "I've taken off seven pounds, and I think my figure is improved."
Beth had to concede that the other girl looked very sleek and alluring.
Sandra refilled their glasses. "As soon as I'm through furnishing this place, I'll start soaking away money. And I mean real money."
"I'm very pleased for you," Beth said.
"Enough about me. Stand up and let me see how you look."
Beth rose to her feet reluctantly.
"Walk up and down," Sandra said.
Obeying, Beth felt like a contestant in an animal show.
"You've lost some weight, too," Sandra observed.
"I guess so. A few pounds, maybe." Beth had not weighed herself in weeks.
"On you it looks good. The sexiest figure in the hemisphere. The fine forms to the right, boys. Don't crowd, jostle or push. Just be patient, and everybody gets his turn."
Beth was embarrassed and sat down abruptly.
"Still shy after going through the mill, sweetie?" Sandra said. "That's marvelous. Most men love that attitude. It gives them the illusion of real romance. If you handle yourself right, you can make your attitude pay plenty." Sandra emptied the last contents of the pitcher into their glasses.
They stepped into the dining room for crabmeat and avocado pear salads, and Beth felt certain the invitation had been more than a friendly gesture. Sandra was assuming that Beth, too, would resume work as a prostitute.
"How are things in Owendale?"
"I haven't been getting around much lately," Beth replied evasively.
"I get it. They treat you like a typhoid carrier."
"Well, not really. It isn't that bad."
"Like hell it isn't," Sandra said emphatically. "I've kept tabs on you. Not one of the old crowd comes near you any more. And somebody told me on the phone day before yesterday that Carolyn actually had the gall to snub you on the beach last week."
The incident still rankled, but Beth tried to be tolerant. "I can't blame her. In her place I might do the same thing."
"Not you. I'll never forget that you came to see me at the hospital. Even though your own roof was ready to blow off at any minute, you were loyal."
Again the facts were not quite accurate. Beth had gone to the hospital because she had hoped to learn more about her own situation, not because she had wanted to demonstrate loyalty to a friend in trouble. However, she was willing to let Sandra assume whatever she pleased.
"There's nothing tike a good woman, particularly a reformed hustler," Sandra said contemptuously. "Don't be surprised if Carolyn starts an Anti-Vice League and has herself elected president." She laughed harshly, and for a few moments she foreshadowed the woman she would become in time: her face was hard, her features were a trifle too sharp and her eyes were like those of a bird of prey. "But she'll be back in the game."
"Do you really think so?" Beth did not agree but felt she had to say something.
"You're damned right I do. Wait a year or two, until the gloss starts to wear off that halo she's sporting. She'll start having the same old troubles. Boredom. Financial problems with Jim. Lots of time with nothing to do. Looking in her mirror every morning and seeing that she's growing older, not younger." Sandra glanced covertly at Beth. "All the usual. She isn't unique, you know. She's human, tike all the rest of us. Jim won't be able to satisfy her in the hay. She'll start craving variety again. Excitement. The thrill that's unlike any other feeling in the world, the discovery that practically knocks you out when you come across a man who sends you off to the stars.
"Carolyn won't know what's happening to her at first," Sandra continued. "Then she'll start getting restless. And finally, one morning, she'll wake up and tell herself she's had it. But by then she'll be older and drabber. Instead of pulling in the fifty dollar fees she was used to, she'll be lucky if the Johns will pay her twenty-five."
Beth sighed.
"More iced coffee, sweetie?" Sandra's question was casual.
"No, thank you."
Aware of her guest's depression, Sandra led Beth back into the living room. "We'll have our brandy in here."
"Brandy at this time of day? Not for me."
Paying no attention to the protest, Sandra filled two miniature snifters. "This much can't hurt you."
"I suppose not," Beth agreed, trying to be gracious.
Sandra kicked off her high-heeled pumps and tucked a foot beneath her. "Sweetie," she said, "I want to have a serious talk with you."
Here it comes at last, Beth thought.
"Have you given any serious thought to going back into the game?"
"No." Beth's declaration was emphatic.
Sandra shrugged. "You're being short-sighted. I happen to know you're having rough sledding and that things are going to get worse for you, not better."
Swanson, Beth told herself, was talking too much. She should have realized that someone who was a client of Sandra's would not show professional discretion.
"I suppose that sooner or later you'll land a crummy little job at sixty dollars a week. But who can five on that kind of money? It'll be a struggle just to pay your rent in some third-rate rooming house and eat in dingy cafeterias. Except when you can sponge a meal from some man."
The description was exaggerated but close enough to the truth to force a slight smile from Beth.
"You'll be lucky if you can buy yourself two new dresses a year," Sandra persisted, "and in bargain basement sales at that. With your love of nice clothes, you'd go mad."
There were things far more important than clothes in the world, Beth reflected, but kept her opinion to herself as Sandra resumed.
"That sort of existence would be a waste of a gorgeous face and of a body that electrifies every man who sees you. There aren't many in your class, sweetie, or with your sense of dazzle when you really put your mind to it. I'll never forget the day you had Dave spinning like a dervish, while Harold was jumping around the Stamen bar like a grasshopper."
Beth remembered the day all too well, and even now felt considerable shame at the memory. I must have been out of my mind, she thought, to become all tricked up like a street-walker.
"I'm doing beautifully," Sandra went on, "with only fifty percent of your assets."
"You're being too modest."
"I'm being a sensible, hard-boiled business woman. Look at me and then at yourself in the mirror. The difference screams. I swear to you that you can make four figures a week. One thousand dollars. And more, if you want to work a little harder. All of it tax-free, too," she added with a laugh. "Who can afford to turn down that kind of money?"
"I can," Beth said flatly.
"I want to make you an offer," Sandra said patiently. "And please don't turn it down until you've heard everything I have to say. You can move in here with me. There's plenty of room for two of us, and I won't charge you a penny for rent. I won't even ask you to buy a single stick of furniture."
"What would we do," Beth asked sardonically, "take turns entertaining men in the bedroom?"
Sandra pushed a comb deeper into the coil of hair at the nape of her neck. "Still the naive baby. Johns don't come up here, sweetie. They don't even know my address, and I don't intend to be listed in the phone book. The way it's done here in town, a girl goes to a man's place. His apartment, maybe, or a hotel room. You charge so much for a quick fling, so much for the whole night.
Then you come back home, and your private life is your own."
Beth shook her head. "It's not for me," she said. "But there must be many girls who'd be happy to accept your offer."
"I'm interested in you, not many girls. You're a natural, and I can't afford to let you slip away. I'm not being a philanthropist in all this, you understand. I'll take my cut from the Johns, the same as I did out in Owendale. But this time there will be just the two of us instead of a whole stable of girls. There are almost no risks involved, either. No motel managers who lose their heads in an emergency. In fact, no emergencies. We don't accept any new client unless somebody we know well vouches for him. No hoods, no policemen, no cranks who want you to swing from a chandelier by your toes. Just rich gentlemen. Very, very rich gentlemen." Sandra reached for the brandy bottle again.
Beth covered her glass with her hand. "Maybe I'm a damned fool," she said, thinking how easy it would be to send Phil Bates the last of the money he needed, "but I've never-not for one minute-had any kicks in the game. It just isn't for me."
"You haven't been able to get Bruce Gibson out of your system, is that it?" Sandra asked softly.
Beth stiffened. "Please leave him out of this."
"You still have a yen for him."
"I refuse to discuss Bruce with you." Beth jumped to her feet.
Sandra reached out lazily, caught Beth's arm and, showing surprising strength, hauled her back to the divan. "I asked you not to blast off into space until I finished. I still have something to say. About Bruce."
Beth struggled to a sitting position.
"He feels the same way about you, sweetie."
Afraid she was being tricked, Beth stared hard at the other girl, who seemed to be sincere.
"I mean it," Sandra said. "I'll come clean. All the way. I've been intending all along to offer you a partnership, but I wasn't going to say anything until I established my own connections in the city a little more firmly." She shrugged. "Now Bruce has forced my hand." She paused and gazed idly out of the window.
"No tricks," Beth commanded sharply. "If you have something to say, please say it."
"Okay. Bruce misses you. Desperately. Just as much as you miss him."
"You're lying." The news was too good to be true.
"The reason I called you this morning, instead of waiting another couple of weeks, is because Bruce got in touch with me. He told me he hasn't been able to get you out of his system, and he just can't stand being separated from you any longer."
Beth began to tremble. "Do you know-where to reach him?"
Sandra looked at her gold and ruby watch. "He's waiting for my call right now. You can be with him in fifteen minutes." Smiling confidently, she stood and walked to the bookcase-desk. "I met him for a quick drink at a restaurant a few blocks from here this noon, just a little while before you showed up. That's why I'm dressed as I am. Usually I don't bother so early in the day." She opened and closed a desk drawer, then turned with an envelope in her hand. "He asked me to give you this."
Beth's hand shook as she took the envelope. It was plain, without writing of any kind on it, and she saw that it was sealed.
"He asked me to tell you," Sandra said, "that he wants you at any price."
Beth ripped open the envelope and removed some money.
Sandra took it from her and spread it on the coffee table. There were three bills, each of the one hundred dollar denomination. "He's not kidding, sweetie." There was awe in Sandra's voice now. "He can't afford to pay out this kind of cash."
Beth stared in shocked disbelief at the money. Her hopes had soared wildly, only to plummet to a new low. Bruce wanted her-but only as a prostitute. He missed her-physically. His yen for her began and ended in bed.
He could not stand being separated from her, but wanted to join her in the hay-and that was the end of it.
To him Beth was neither more nor less than a whore. An expensive call girl who, he thought, would find the lure of three hundred dollars irresistible.
Ashamed of the love she had wasted on him, Beth snatched the bills from the table and, in a blind fury, ripped them into small pieces.
"That's good money," Sandra cried, trying in vain to stop her.
Beth wrenched free and threw the shredded paper on the floor. "There," she said shrilly, "is my answer to Bruce. And to you." Blindly picking up her handbag from a chair, she ran out of the apartment, neither hearing nor heeding Sandra's calls begging her to return.
Beth's rage remained unabated in the elevator and in the taxi she hailed. Not until she reached South Station did her anger gradually give way to a sense of hysteria, and she sobbed as she stumbled through the station.
Passengers on the suburban train stared curiously at the lovely young woman who wept so freely and made no attempt to hide or even brush away her anguished tears.
The tears acted as a cleansing agent on Beth's mind as well as her emotions and, by the time she reached home, walking from the Owendale station rather than taking a taxi or a bus, she was calmer than she had been in months. Her last illusions were destroyed, and Beth realized at last that she had been clinging to a false hope, wishing that Bruce loved her in spite of the unsavory foundation on which their relationship had been based.
Now she knew she had been dreaming and forced herself to face the future realistically, without sentiment. No matter how much she cared for Bruce, he had no place in her life. A man who regarded a woman as a prostitute, who offered her cash in the hope that she would go to bed with him again, would not and could not be interested in her as a person. To him she was someone with whom he might find an hour's erotic pleasure, nothing more.
Blinded by her yearning for him, she had failed to recognize the path of duty. She was still Mrs. Charles Hubbard, and she had an obligation to Charlie. She had no right to blame him for feeling as he did toward her no self-respecting husband could do less than reject a wife who, as he had ample cause to suspect, had been many times unfaithful to him.
What could she do now to right the wrongs she had perpetrated? It seemed to Beth that there was only one possible answer. She had compounded her error when she had turned away from Charlie and, even though she dk not love him now nor in all probability ever would, she owed him her allegiance.
It was her place, as his wife, to give him the loyalty that every husband deserved. It was her place to help and sustain him, to comfort him when he was bruised and to share in his joys to whatever extent he would allow her to participate. It was her place to give herself to him unstintingly, without reservation.
And, Beth decided, if she refused to make the effort, her failure as a human being would be complete.
Sure that she was right in her reasoning, she picked up the kitchen phone and called Charlie's office in the city.
"Mr. Hubbard's office," a briskly efficient young woman said at the other end of the wire.
Beth did not recognize her voice and wondered if he had a new secretary. "May I speak to Mr. Hubbard, please?" Beth said.
"Who is calling?"
"Mrs. Hubbard." She had not thought of herself as Mrs. Charles Hubbard for far too long a time.
There was a long pause before the secretary replied, "One moment, please."
After another, shorter wait, there was a click, and Charlie came on the phone, sounding brusque and somewhat defensive. "You want to speak to me, Beth?"
"More than that, Charlie. I want to see you."
"Why?"
"I can't explain too well over the phone," Beth said.
"Oh?" He remained unyielding.
She could not blame him. "I think we owe each other a meeting," she said, forcing herself to maintain the difficult initiative. "We parted under unpleasant circumstances, and we haven't seen each other since."
"Do you think you're going to get better terms in a personal interview than your lawyer has been able to wangle for you?" Charlie said.
She could practically see his sneer. "This has nothing to do with divorce terms," Beth said.
It was obvious that Charlie thought she was lying. "One of the oldest shyster tricks in the business," he said curtly, "is to turn a wife loose on her husband when the lawyer falls on his face. Nothing you can say or do will persuade me to offer you a better settlement. So let's not waste each other's time."
Beth was surprised by her own ability to remain calm. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Charlie. If you really do. I can only tell you that divorce is the farthest thing from my mind right now."
"That's a switch."
"Not really. Or maybe it is. I honestly don't know. Maybe I deserve no consideration from you, but I can only beg you to see me."
He weighed the idea silently. "When did you have in mind?" he asked, relenting a little.
"Any time that's best for you." The sooner the better, she thought, before her high resolves weakened and were dissipated. "Do you happen to be free this evening?"
"Well-"
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble for you to come out here, I'd love to cook dinner for you."
Charlie was so flabbergasted he did not know what to say. Then he laughed uncomfortably. "I suppose my curiosity is stronger than my judgment. What time?"
"Whenever it's convenient for you." She wished she could feel some uplift, some sense of elation at the partial victory she had won.
"I guess it isn't too bad an idea. There are some books and other things I want to bring into town, things I intend to use between now and the day you vacate the house. Maybe that date is something we can settle while we're at it."
"I'd rather not go into details over the phone, if you don't mind."
Again he was silent. Always meticulous, Charlie carefully prepared every move in advance. "I believe I'll drive rather than take the train out. That way I can pile some cartons into the trunk. Is there still a pile of cardboard cartons in the cellar?"
Beth did not have the vaguest idea but thought it best not to sound indecisive. "I haven't looked lately, but if you left them there, I haven't moved them."
"Okay, then. You can expect me around six-thirty." He hung up without saying goodbye.
Beth glanced at the kitchen clock and realized she had to rush. First she took a package of cleaned shrimp and a sirloin from the freezer, scrubbed two baking potatoes and tossed a salad. Then she made a generous quantity of the cheese salad dressing he loved and, after another glance at the clock, whipped up a shrimp cocktail dressing that had rarely failed to win a compliment from him.
Racing upstairs, she took her second shower of the day, then dressed with great care. She chose a wide-scooped sheath of off-white tissue silk and deliberately refrained from wearing a bra. If she had used sex appeal as a weapon when she had gone to the motel, how much more important it was to utilize her allure now to regain her husband's affection. The night was too warm for stockings, but her tan was so attractive that she preferred to go barelegged. Her high, spike-heeled pumps matched her dress, and she subtly called additional attention to her legs by wearing a small gold anklet.
Her make-up at first glance appeared subdued because she used the palest of lipsticks, but she accented her eyes with mascara and delicately applied liner and shadow.
Deciding to utilize jewelry sparingly, Beth confined herself to a single costume bracelet of gold on her bare right upper arm and a large onyx ring on the little finger of her left hand. She had not worn her wedding and engagement rings all summer and decided it would be premature to let Charlie see them on her hand when he arrived. It would be far better, infinitely more appropriate, to slip on the rings as the climax to the evening.
Letting her shimmering blond hair fall loosely, she returned to the kitchen, donned an apron and made the last preparations for dinner. All at once doubts assailed her, and she wondered if she were giving in to an impulsive gesture she would regret. Again forcing herself to face issues unflinchingly, she realized that she would be sorry many times in the years to come. Whatever tenderness she and Charlie might once have felt for each other had died long ago.
But romantic love wasn't an end in itself, Beth told herself firmly. Most husbands and wives lived without romantic love and, through tolerance, an attempt to understand each other's problems and a constant exercise in restraint, were able mutually to adjust. Adults were wrong to expect too much. That had been her trouble for a long time, and she vowed that she wouldn't repeat the error. Charlie had been far more sensible, and his indifferent attitude that she had resented so strongly had actually been a cushion for him, his best support in moments of domestic stress. She would do her best to cultivate the same virtue.
Above all, she would keep Charlie's good qualities in mind. He was industrious and hard-working, sober and faithful; few wives could boast as much in their mates, and she had good cause to be grateful. If she respected him, it would be easier to overlook his defects. And she could only hope that, in time, he would learn to respect her, too. Beth promised herself that she would work hard, and eventually she would earn his respect, particularly after it dawned on him that she was a woman, not a child to be treated like a toy when he was in a good mood.
As to the rest of the money Phil Bates needed, Beth felt virtually certain Charlie would not lift a finger to help. She simply had to reconcile herself to the inevitability of losing both her original investment and the thousands of additional dollars she had sent her cousin in the past months. Marriage was more important than money and, although she was afraid she would never be able to forgive or forget Charlie's parsimony and his refusal to come to her aid in a time of need, she would try to minimize the whole matter.
She knew in her heart that her determination to make a success of a marriage that had failed was caused by the shattering of her dreams about Bruce. The shambles with Bruce, of course, was no solid basis for a marriage with Charlie. But half a loaf was better than nothing, she thought, and it would be a never-ending source of satisfaction to know that she had won a battle. She could understand Carolyn Anderson's pride now. Carolyn, too, had faced almost insurmountable obstacles but had overcome them.
A car pulled to a halt in the driveway, and Beth whisked off her apron, took a last, reassuring glance at herself in the small pantry mirror and started toward the kitchen door.
Charlie surprised her by ringing the front door bell.
Beth conquered a quick surge of annoyance. His refusal to be informal was not out of malice aforethought, she told herself. Obviously, after the strain of a long and difficult separation, Charlie was insecure, too. Pausing for an instant to recover her equilibrium, Beth made slowly for the door, a set smile on her lips.
"Good evening," Charlie said stiffly and removed his hat. He continued to wait on the threshold, and Beth could not suppress a giggle.
"I wish you'd come in," she said. "This is your house as much as it is mine."
"The house is one of me things I'd like to discuss with you," he replied, accompanying her to the living room. "The best way to handle it is to give you cash for your share."
"That's a new hat," she said, refusing to discuss anything connected with separation or divorce. Taking his hat, she examined it. "Very nice. You've always looked good in summer straws." Not waiting for a reply, she took it to the closet.
When she returned, Charlie was staring down at shrimp artfully arranged on a tray that sat on the coffee table. "What's this?" he demanded. "A party?"
"Not necessarily." She made herself sound casual. "Delicacies are for any festive occasion."
"Is this a celebration?" He was suspicious, on guard against tricks.
"I hope so. Try the sauce. I'll be right back." She went into the kitchen and took a pitcher of martinis and two chilled glasses from the refrigerator. When she returned to the living room, Charlie was still scowling at the shrimp.
A reconciliation, Beth realized, would be even more difficult to achieve than she had supposed. "I do wish you'd sit down." She deliberately gestured in the direction of the divan.
He seated himself at the farthest edge.
Beth placed the pitcher and glasses on the table. "Will you do the honors?"
Charlie stared at her for a moment, his eyes unblinking. "If you wish," he said tonelessly and filled the glasses.
Beth immediately raised hers in a toast. "Here," she said, speaking very slowly and distinctly, "is to you and me."
"An odd toast," he commented, hesitated and then took a gingerly sip.
"Not too much vermouth, I hope. I tried to remember your formula."
"It's okay," he said ungraciously.
Beth speared a shrimp on a toothpick, dipped it into her special sauce and handed it to him, with a paper napkin to catch drips.
Charlie was unable to conceal his pleasure at the taste.
"I've got to hand you one thing," he said grudgingly, spoiling the moment completely. "Even if you were no good at anything else, you always made a good shrimp sauce'."
"I wish you wouldn't speak of me in the past tense, as though I were dead," she flared. Then, sorry for her quick outburst, Beth smiled apologetically. "I'm sure you didn't mean it that way."
He took a long time eating the shrimp and made no reply.
Beth shifted her position on the divan slightly, letting her skirt ride higher above her knees. Not even Charlie could fail to notice that she was endowed with exceptionally attractive legs. It was absurd, of course, that he needed any such reminder, and Beth had to quell a feeling of resentment. "I'm fixing your favorite dinner," she said. "But I'm waiting a Utile while before I put the meat on to broil. I thought we'd want to get acquainted all over again-first." Her smile broadened, and she knew the dimple in her right cheek was showing to good advantage.
"When a woman goes to a lot of bother and fuss for a man," Charlie remarked thoughtfully, "she wants something."
In his present mood, Beth thought, it would be premature to tell Charlie she hoped he would come home to stay. He needed to be softened by her femininity and meUowed by the martinis before she spoke her mind frankly and freely. "I guess everybody in the world wants something," she replied quietly. "And usually it's the same thing. Happiness."
He shrugged but said nothing.
Beth took another swallow of her drink and waited for him to follow her example. When he continued to gaze out straight ahead of him, however, she held her glass in her hand and twirled it. "If I've made a bad martini," she said, "we can throw this whole batch away. And you can make another."
"No. This is okay." Charlie took another sip.
Beth flipped open a cigarette box and offered him one. He refused. She helped herself, then waited for him to light it for her. He seemed unaware of her need, so she finally picked up the table lighter herself.
At last he turned toward her. "You look as though you've been having a good summer."
"It's been quiet."
"You haven't taken a vacation?" he said.
"No. There's been too much on my mind."
Charlie frowned and absently drained his glass.
Beth refilled it instantly.
"How's your sex life?" he asked suddenly.
The brutal candor of the question startled her, but she replied honestly. "I haven't had any."
Charlie's face mirrored his belief that she was lying. "How come?"
"I'm a married woman," she said simply.
"You never let that stand in your way before."
"Please, Charlie. I don't want this to become an argument. Can't we talk decently, without recriminations?"
"Sure. I don't give a damn what you do."
"If I thought you meant that, I wouldn't have asked you to come out here this evening." Beth knew she had his attention now, and squaring her shoulders, sat with her breasts thrusting toward him. Only a blind man-and Charlie was not blind-would fail to become conscious of her charms.
He studied her impersonally. "You've still got a body, all right. And you still know how to use it." Continuing to stare at her, he reached for his glass and drank.
Beth felt the situation was improving, even though he still carried a large chip on his shoulder.
"I've seen hundreds of girls in town," he continued. "I've looked at them in restaurants, on the streets, everywhere. And not many are in your class. Your physical class, that is. In that one way, at least, I showed good sense when I married you. Where I made my mistake was not realizing that you lacked the character to go with your beauty."
She knew she had to swallow the insult, but could not help asking, "Isn't character a matter of opinion?"
"No. People either have it, or they don't. It's like virginity, I think. Either a girl has it, or she hasn't. There's no middle-way."
"Does it really give you so much satisfaction to hurt me?" Beth asked quietly.
"If you don't like the way I talk, I'll go back to the city as fast as I can get there. Coming out here tonight was your idea, not mine. Let's get business out of the way, I'll collect the belongings I want until I take possession of the house, and that will be that. There's no need for us to see each other again, ever." Charlie stood and, in a gesture she remembered well, plunged his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
She knew that, mood or no mood, she would have to act now if she intended to carry out her original purpose. Pretending nonchalance, she crossed her legs and idly swung one. "You admit I'm attractive," she murmured. "That's something."
"I don't think very many men would have the strength or the will power to turn you down."
"If you're one of those men, we can say goodbye to each other for keeps, Charlie. But if you still have a spark for me, I believe we can build from there."
He stood over her, staring hard. "What in hell do you want?"
"Marriage," Beth said flatly.
'I'm sure that as soon as we're divorced, you can persuade some sucker to marry you," he replied coldly.
In spite of her exasperation, Beth made one last attempt. "I want marriage to you. I want to stay married. I'm your wife. I want to spend the rest of my life being your wife." She tried to put deep conviction into her words, but was afraid they sounded as hollow as her feelings for him. If Charlie did not meet her at least part of the way, it was senseless to think of a reconciliation. Even under the best of circumstances she was setting herself an impossible task, and she closed her eyes.
Suddenly he swooped down on her, joining her on the divan and pulling her to him.
Beth instinctively resisted, then forced herself to yield.
Charlie kissed her roughly, forcing his tongue between her lips. Holding her at the small of the back, he began to fondle one of her breasts with his free hand. His touch was crude and far from gentle, and she wanted to shrink from him, but instead she allowed him to lower her to the divan. Perhaps, after all she had been through, she was inclined to the belief that the power of sex was overrated, but she was willing to let Charlie do whatever he pleased with her. It was his right as her husband, and there might be enough magic in his desire for her so that the tide of their marriage might turn in a positive direction.
He caressed her crudely, one hand still at her breast while the other foraged for the tenderest game.
Never in the years of their marriage had Charlie treated her with so little consideration, but Beth supposed he was trying to prove something to himself. Perhaps he imagined that she enjoyed a rough brand of love-making.
Whatever his reason, she completely failed to respond to his touch. Her soul shrinking, she knew that he meant no more to her than the Johns she had entertained at the motel. Keeping her eyes closed and hoping she would not burst into tears, she told herself repeatedly that the man pawing her was her legally wedded husband. Cringing and ashamed, she made no attempt to move his hands away. No part of her was too intimate to be violated.
Suddenly Charlie stopped and jumped to his feet.
Stunned, Beth blinked in astonishment, hauled herself to an upright position and pulled down her skirt.
Charlie laughed, and the vicious, mocking sound filled the room. "That's a surprise, isn't it?" he said.
She was still too bewildered by the unexpected shift to know what to reply.
"You're irresistible, aren't you?" he continued in the same tone. "You think that all you've got to do is flash those long legs, wiggle your bottom and push those plump breasts into a man's face to make him do anything you want. You invite me out here, you put on a cute little show of domesticity-and you throw yourself at me. Oh, cutie, how you threw yourself at me. But it doesn't work."
Beth was too crushed to weep, too angry and humiliated to speak.
"I'm the one guy in all the world who is impervious to your fascinating charms," Charlie persisted, his voice harsh and grating. "I've just proved something to our mutual satisfaction. I can make love to you for a while and then walk away from you without following through. How do you like that, you goddamned whore?"
She realized, staring up at the bigoted, narrow-minded man, that her idea of a reconciliation had been ridiculous from the outset. She had cheated on Charlie because of the very qualities he was displaying now, and the last of the guilt she felt because of her infidelities at the motel vanished for all time. He was as cruel as he was pompous, and she was well rid of him.
"Well?" Charlie demanded. "What have you got to say for yourself?"
Beth stood, smoothing her dress. "Please get out," she told him, and she was surprised at her own dignity and self-control under such trying circumstances.
"I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Charlie replied, enjoying his unaccustomed sense of power. "What will you do-call the police and tell them I tried to rape you? It won't work. I'm still your husband. This is my house."
"I'll vacate it at once, I assure you." Beth had no idea where she would go, but the mere thought of remaining any longer than necessary was more than she could bear. "My lawyer will work out the final settlement terms with you. I don't care to see you again, ever."
He continued to stand, his attitude threatening. "Oh, I'm not leaving yet. First you'll put on a little show for me. Give me some of the sexy stuff that made you the most popular tramp in Owendale. Well? Are you going to start or must I rip off your damned clothes?"
She wondered if he were demented and backed away from him, carefully putting the divan between them.
"A couple of minutes ago you were ready to give me the works," Charlie said. "What made you change your mind?"
"You, Charlie. Your inability to recognize an honest, decent offer. But there's no point in my even trying to explain. A man of your mentality wouldn't understand." If he became violent, she thought, she would make a break for the door and try to escape down the street.
But Beth did not reckon with the speed with which Charlie could act once his mind was made up. It was the suddenness of his maneuver, too, that took Beth unawares-he practically sprinted around the divan before she could race for the door, and he pinned her against the wall, knocking the breath out of her. The wall shook from the violence of the impact, and a small vase fell out of its niche to roll, unbroken, on the carpet.
The color in Beth's face drained away as she recovered her breath.
"All right," Charlie said, "never mind the show."
She tried to wrench away but his heavy body had effectively immobilized her, and shame flooded her as his hands revelled in her body's bounty as if she were some despised captive.
"Please," Beth said.
"I said you don't have to put on a show, but you got me going now, Beth, and you're going to do me one more wifely favor before we call it quits."
And again the swiftness of his action momentarily stunned her. He abruptly let her go and used both hands to tear down the frock from her shoulders-her big, bold breasts jutted. But Beth shook her head in the next instant and with a cry of rage brought up her knee.
Charlie laughed at the same time as he shifted to one side. He had anticipated her and, worse, took immediate advantage by seizing the underside of her knee to wrench up her leg. The result was that the sumptuous blonde lost her balance and fell, her legs in the air as she toppled, and again her husband lost no time in seizing the play-he bent down and pulled off the remnants of her dress and ripped off the remaining undergarment as she began to thrash. She tried to roll to one side, then, but Charlie grunted before she could complete her effort and straddled her, his breathing stertorous now as he surveyed her heaving breasts, their nipples congested.
"One more wifely favor," he said.
"No. You'll have to force me."
"Sure. Why not? It ought to be a switch."
"You're nauseating."
"Sure I am." He grinned.
Then again he was reaching down, an unspeakable action of coulisse as the tears began coursing from her eyes. Blindly she raised her arms with the intent of raking his face with her nails, but he leaned back, half rose and flipped her over on her stomach. Now she could only beat at the floor as his body pressed her down again-he was squatting on her shoulders and facing her flailing legs. He began to bleat with pleasure as he surveyed her. She started to scream and he silenced her with one ruthless piece of brutality.
"You scream, Beth, and it will be worse."
The shriek died in her throat. She moaned.
"Understand?" Charlie said.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Okay, you bitch. You know you deserve it."
She moaned again as Charlie reversed his position.
Now her legs were still.
The room now was quiet except for Charlie's rasping. The prize was nearly his. He had been deprived of Beth for quite a while. He had to relish the spectacle before him. Then, with a strangling sound, he rose on to his knees and, reaching down, lifted her hips.
It was exactly at that moment that a cliilling series took place.
Outside, an automobile screeched to a halt.
Beth, beyond endurance, screamed for help.
There was the sound of footsteps.
There was the sound of a heavy pounding on the door.
There was the sound of the door wrenched open.
And, as an outraged Charlie lurched to his feet and a distracted Beth picked up the remnants of her dress to make a semblance of covering herself, crying, "Oh, thank God, thank God," Bruce Gibson towered before them.
"What the hell do you mean," Charlie bellowed, "and who the hell are you barging into a man's house? I'll have you arrested for breaking and entering-"
"The lady was crying for help, mister," Bruce interrupted, "and I assume now even if I regret later that you're Beth's bastard of a husband," and with a single sweeping backhand, as powerful as it was contemptuous, he cracked Charlie across the mouth and opened his lower Hp, which started to bleed copiously.
Charlie at heart might have been a craven creature, but the ignominy to him of this stranger having cavalierly shouldered his way on to Charlie's property and assaulting him in the bargain was too much even for his cowardliness to endure, and with a yelp of rage, he sprang at Bruce as Beth retreated, horrified and shocked, to the furthest corner of the room.
Bruce shrugged at Charlie's lunge as at the desperation of a fly and flicked him off with a right cross to the jaw that sent the older man spinning against the wall. He did not topple. He merely stayed there, against the wall, crouching, his mouth bleeding. Then he began to curse.
"All right," Charlie said. "I give you a chance to get out while you can, because this is my house and you're not going to stop me right now from going to the phone and calling the police. I see you're obviously one of my wife's customers, come to claim her, no doubt," he added contemptuously. "Well, you'll claim her from a cell, because that's where you're going for adultery, assault and battery, breaking and entry-"
Bruce laughed richly. Beth stared at him in astonishment-where did the man get his aplomb, she wondered. Where did the bastard-and Bruce was as much one as Charlie-get his nerve?
"Look," Bruce said to Charlie, "the newspapers will be acutely interested in a tightwad wife beater who, I learned from a party who should know, regularly used for rainy afternoons a hundred-dollar-a-trick call girl in Boston."
White with suppressed fury, Charlie glared at his tormentor, rearranged his clothing, retrieved his hat and then stiffly announced to Beth, "Be good enough to vacate these premises within forty-eight hours." Without another word, holding a handkerchief to his bleeding mouth, he stalked from the room and into his car. He pulled out of the driveway and roared off down the street, displaying a recklessness completely foreign to him.
Beth was immeasureably relieved to see Charlie go, but in her shaken emotional state she felt she could not cope with another problem. Bruce quietly opened the closet door, riffled through the garments and found a robe.
He smiled gently and handed it to her and she gratefully slipped it on. Then Beth covered her face with her hands and stood silently, swaying.
"May I come in?" he said quaintly.
"Sandra gave you my address," she said in a muffled voice.
"Yes, for what's known as a monetary consideration."
"I wish you had waited another twenty-four hours. Then I would have been gone. Where no one could ever find me."
"If I barged in at an inconvenient time," Bruce said, "I beg your pardon."
"It couldn't have been better timed. I-oh, I don't know what I mean. Anyhow, as you guessed, that was my husband. Not that it's any of your business, but I won't be seeing him again. And I don't want to see you, either."
Bruce calmly sat down on the divan, dipped a shrimp into the dressing and popped it into his mouth. "Delicious," he said and grinned.
Beth wanted to scream again but so much had now happened that she felt too weak.
Making himself completely at home, Bruce leaned back, supporting his weight by propping a cushion under one elbow. "You look even lovelier than I remembered. Memory usually plays tricks the other way, but no imagination can do you justice."
If he tried to make love to her, she thought wildly, she would kill him. Or herself. "I've just had a very upsetting experience," she said, "and I can't take another."
Bruce seemed to read her mind. His smile faded. He stood and, bowing rather formally, he crossed to close the door. "We were letting in the flies and mosquitos." Suddenly his tone changed. "Please don't be so afraid of me. I give you my solemn oath I won't touch you. I've come here because there's something I want to say to you. After that, if you wish, I'll go."
Beth was so confused she could only nod.
"I love you," Bruce said.
She could not believe she had heard him correctly. "I fell in love with you the first time I saw you," he continued.
"Don't mock me," Beth whispered. "I-I just can't stand any more today."
"Look at me," Bruce said, "and you'll know I'm speaking the literal truth."
Beth could not let herself meet his gaze, fearful that she might weaken and permit him to inveigle her into bed.
"I never knew I could care for any girl this much," he declared, his voice rising when she continued to stare down at the rug.
"If this is a line to get me into the hay," she said, her voice trembling, "it won't work."
"What must I say," he shouted, "to convince you I'm serious? What must I do to make you understand I want to marry you?"
The walls began to spin, the floor heaved and Beth was afraid she would lose consciousness.
Bruce saw the last color drain from her face and gently led her to the divan. "Is there something around here other than this gin?"
She pointed toward the liquor cabinet.
He hurried to it and poured a small quantity of whiskey into a glass. "Drink this," he ordered firmly.
Beth obeyed.
"That ought to make you feel a little better."
"I-I guess it does," she replied in a small voice.
"I wanted to marry you from the first," he said, carefully keeping his distance. "But I-well, what the hell. I'll be frank. I mistakenly thought you were a professional prostitute. I didn't think you were capable of giving love to any one man. That's why I finally tried to break the spell you had over me by bringing Dave to see you. I know now I was wrong."
He was saying things that were too good to be true. "What makes you-believe you were wrong?" She could scarcely articulate.
"I sensed it at the time," Bruce said, "and I've been feeling it all along. Then, this afternoon, when Sandra called me in hysterics to tell me you'd torn up the money I gave her for you, I met with her and made her tell me the truth with the aid, as I mentioned before, of considerable untorn money." He braced himself. "If you can, I hope you'll forgive me for insulting you with that three hundred dollars today. It was the desperate gesture of a desperate man-who wasn't thinking straight."
It was incredible that he should be apologizing to her, Beth thought, and she struggled to keep a grip on reality. "Just what did Sandra tell you?"
"That you were an amateur. That she tricked you into getting together with me that first time. That she used blackmail to force you to stay in the racket. That you hated every minute of it, and that you tried again and again to break away from it. That you needed money for some personal reason or other, and were wild enough to try anything in order to get it." Bruce took a deep breath. "She also told me you still need money, but that you wouldn't go back into prostitution, even though she promised you could clean up and make a fortune for yourself. Is that right?"
"I'd rather scrub floors," Beth said fervently.
He knew she meant it, that her repentance for her errors was genuine and complete.
"As a matter-of-fact," she added, "I'll probably be doing exactly that for a living. I refuse to stay in this place any longer, and I won't give my husband the satisfaction of hanging on until he has me thrown out."
Bruce moved a little closer to her, suppressing a smile. "I don't think that will be necessary. Or maybe you haven't heard some of the things I've been saying." He paused, then added softly, "Sandra told me something else, too. That you're in love with me."
Color burned in Beth's face, and her confusion was devastating.
"Will you marry me?" he asked.
At last she faced him, and slowly drew herself to her feet. "Do you really want me-in spite of everything I've been?"
"I want you because you're honorable and good and wonderful. Because I know you'll be true to me, as I'll be to you."
Once in a blue moon, it seemed, dreams came true. "There's nothing I want more," she said, her voice gaining strength and volume, "than to be your wife."
They looked hard at each other but did not touch.
"I make a good living," Bruce said. "And I have enough stashed away for any emergency. How much cash do you need for your personal problem?"
"Fifteen hundred dollars. But," she said, wonder in her voice, "surely you want to know the details?"
Bruce shook his head.
Beth laughed shakily, then insisted on telling him the whole story of her fight to protect her inheritance.
"We'll telegraph your cousin the money tonight," he told her crisply. "Now, how long will it take you to move out of this house?"
She gazed around slowly at the living room of the place that had been her home for so long. "I don't want any of the furnishings. Charlie is welcome to every chair and lamp and carpet in the house. All I want are my clothes and personal things."
"How long will it take to pack them?"
A sense of inner excitement built rapidly in Beth, and at last she really knew that she and Bruce would truly be together. "A couple of hours, at the most."
He grinned at her. "With me to help you, it won't take that long. Let's get going."
Less than an hour later suitcases were piled into the trunk of Brace's car, and Beth's other belongings were heaped in the back seat. Bruce helped her into the car and was concerned when she gasped.
"Oh, dear. I forgot that I'd taken out a steak for tonight. There are half-cooked potatoes in the oven. And a salad in the refrigerator."
"Charlie can eat them tomorrow, when he moves in. We'll grab a hamburger on our way into town." He slid behind the wheel and started the engine. "I'm taking you to a woman's hotel. And you'll stay there until you go out west for your divorce." The car rolled out of the driveway. "We're going to do this thing right."
She did not look back at the house.
"I didn't kiss you," he said, "because I knew you didn't want me to do it under Charlie's roof."
His sensitivity was breathtaking, and she gazed at him with shining eyes.
Brace braked the car near the corner, halting under a huge, spreading maple. "Now," he said, "we're on our own."
Beth melted into his arms, and his kiss was a promise that their future would be secure and bright.
Bruce started the car again, and she slipped her arm through his as they drove toward the highway. There was no need for words now. They were together, and nothing else mattered.