Chapter 11
It was T day.
Post knotted the sash of his light silk robe and placed a nasal inhaler in his pocket. He deliberately wadded lumps of facial tissue and stuffed them in a few of the more visible wastebaskets around the house.
On the nightstand next to the bed, he left a half finished glass of tomato juice, a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.
He had deliberately not shaved that morning.
At noon, the phone rang and Post answered it trying to sound as nasal as possible.
"Stu, have you had your lunch yet?"
"No," he said.
"Well, your neighbor lady of mercy is bringing it over to you. June said she left the door open so I'll walk right in."
Post replaced the receiver. The trap had been baited and sprung.
He was only doing his job. This was what he was being paid for, but it left a bad taste in his mouth. You can't live in a neighborhood and learn to like the people, set traps to expose their secrets and like yourself he was discovering.
Ten minutes later, he heard the front door open. There were a few sounds from the kitchen and then the clack of high heels, moving through the hallway into the bedroo.
"Are you decent?"
"Come on in Ethel."
Ethel Prantis entered the room with a big smile. She had an armful of magazines which she sat on Stu's bed. "How is the invalid?"
"Not bad," he said. "I think I'll be able to make it back to work tomorrow. At least, there's been no sneezing today."
"Glad to hear it." Ethel moved over to fluff his pillow. "Men," she said. "What would they ever do without us?"
Post watched her closely. Nothing was said about June being away for the day, although he believed the way Ethel was dressed was an indirect reflection of this. He felt a rush of excitement at the knowledge that the experiment already was showing some signs of success. Ethel wore a tight linen skirt that stretched across her buttocks without a wrinkle, making her buttocks stand out prominently. For a blouse, she wore, a knit cotton short-sleeved jersey tight across the bodice. The two top buttons were opened and Post had no difficulty discovering she was wearing a white brassiere when she bent over to fluff his pillow again.
She left the room, walking with an inviting waggle. A few minutes later, she returned with a tray containing a bowl of rich, thick soup and a platter of sandwiches.
"Looks good," Post said. "As a matter-of-fact, so do you."
Ethel bowed her head demurely. "Thank you, sir. It's my theory that a sick man needs morale."
"Well, you're quite a bit of morale."
She sat opposite him on Stu's bed, watching him eat. Her skirt was so tight that it immediately hiked over her knees. Far from being self-conscious about this, Ethel crossed her legs, managing to show Post an intriguing profile. There was no question in his mind that she was showing off for him when she leaned across him to remove the soup bowl. Her breasts all but grazed his face.
She smiled as he moved back, then sat down, looking idly at some of his magazines. "This is a switch," she said, "the way you go from Atlantic to girlie books."
"I have to keep my mind busy in several areas," Post said with a smile.
Ethel laughed and reached for one of the magazines. A piece of paper fluttered out of it down to the bedspread. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
"Leave it," he said, deliberately putting too much emphasis on his words.
Ethel looked at him closely, then retrieved the paper. It was a picture of Ethel that June had stolen from Edward. "Where did you get this, Stu?"
He tried to make it sound as though he were passing it off lightly. "Well, my little secret is out. Neighbor Edward and I were comparing notes on photography last week and I saw this. It's the cutest damn thing I've ever seen. Very good of you, Ethel. Edward doesn't even know I've got it."
She looked at him suspiciously. "I didn't know you were interested in photography, Stu."
"Well, yes, sort of. I don't have as much equipment as Edward, but...."
"What kind of cameras do you have?"
Post named an inexpensive camera.
"That's all?"
"Yes. Nice little thing, too."
"Stu, be honest with me. Is that the real reason why you have the pictures?"
Post felt everything moving smoothly. All he had to do now was keep it this way, making it seem he was becoming progressively more flustered.
"Well, what other reason would there be, Ethel?"
"That's the very thing I wonder, Stu. Do you have any more of Edward's pictures?"
"Just this one."
"But why this particularly picture?"
"I told you, Ethel, because it's such a cute pose. It makes you look so nice and cuddly and all. I was thinking that maybe if I got good enough with my own pictures, you might pose for me, like this, of course, I mean in a bathing suit or something."
"Or something," Ethel said, her face coming to life with an impishness. "How would you like me to pose, Stu? Like this?" She stood up and assumed a pose that might have come from a photograph,' magazine. One foot was slightly extended, the buttocks stuck out audaciously in the other direction.
"Not bad," Post said.
Ethel dropped all pretenses. "Stu, I don't think that's why you have the picture at all. You stole it because you find yourself attracted to me, don't you?"
Perfect, Post thought, here we go. "Yes, Ethel, I do."
"Well, I won't say I'm not flattered."
"Then you aren't mad at me for stealing the picture?"
"No, Stu, I'm not. But do you think it's a good idea keeping it around? I mean, if June saw it...."
"She won't."
Ethel smiled and sat on the edge of his bed. "You really want that picture, don't you?"
"I told you," he said, "I think it's cute."
Her hand touched his leg. "Is that all, just cute? I mean, don't you ever think anything else when you look at it?"
Aha Post thought, the build-up is coming to a pay-off. "Yes," he said. "I think about touching you. I like the way you walk, Ethel."
"Do you? Do you really? Would you like to touch me now?"
"Very much."
"I don't think that's so wrong, I mean, it's just mature admiration."
Post had to choke back a laugh on that one. It was admiration, all right, but it was anything but mature.
"Would you like to ... now?"
"Yes."
Ethel swung her legs up on the bed and turned on her side, facing him. This was one of the times he wished he had more of June's ability to detach himself. He guessed men weren't made that way, however. Ethel was attractive. "Go ahead," she said. "You can touch me."
Post did. He placed his hand tentatively on the small of her back. She wriggled closer to him. "That isn't where I mean," she said.
He let his hand move a little lower. The flesh of her buttocks was firm and exciting to his fingers, but as Post began a slow, circular movement, he realized he could not possibly be enjoying this as much as Ethel was.
"You have a very nice touch, Stu," she said. "Does it please you to do this?"
He told her it did. As a result, she moved even closer. The tightness of her skirt forced her to turn in three-quarter profile to him to accomplish her next purpose, and that was exposing more of her buttocks. Her right leg lay across his and he could feel the steady friction of her thigh and pelvis against his. There was very little he could do to prevent her from knowing just how much he was enjoying this.
They lay together for nearly a half an hour while Post continued to massage her. After a while, he stopped, but she begged him to continue. Finally, he had to tell her he didn't see how he'd be able to.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "I understand. I feel the same way." Then she became quite animated, moving quickly, thrusting against him.
Post gritted his teeth and held on.
"Please, Stu," she whispered hoarsely. "Kiss me."
He did. It was neither difficult nor unpleasant. Ethel knew how to kiss quite well and this brought him to a pitch of excitement. His hand moved along her inner thigh. She jerked in a few quick spasms and then Post knew she had found release.
While this happened, she clung to him tightly, whispering endearments. Post felt a pang of tenderness for her and massaged her shoulders and neck. She kissed him in return for it. The kiss was moist and lingering, but Ethel did not use her tongue. And when they parted, Post had a strange vision of her, looking quite young and helpless. He touched her to reassure her, but the look of her face was so intense, Post knew he could have taken her.
It was a difficult battle to fight.
Ethel was not, in his eyes, beautiful, but she was cute. She had an impish face and now that the defense of her snobbery had vanished from it and left it only with naked need, Post was quite drawn, not to mention the raging that had been awakened by their being together.
Ethel watched him for a moment, then led one of his hands to her breast. With the other she gently probed at his loins. Post saw this was a time of crisis. It took every bit of teeth-clenching determination he could muster to lay there with her, caressing her and attempting gently to let her down.
After several minutes, Ethel began crying. "I'm not crying for the reason you think," she said. "Believe it or not, I'm crying because I'm happy."
"Happy?" Post said.
"Yes. You could have and you didn't. You saw how excited I was. You were pretty excited, too. But you didn't. And you didn't paw me, you were nice and kind. You really do like me, don't you? Don't you?"
"Yes," Post said feeling like a complete heel. "I do."
"It's never been like this, Stu. I've always felt ashamed afterward. I always think about Joe and then I feel guilty. I always mean to stop, not even to go as far as we did, but something happens and I don't stop. I get pawed and abused.
"But I'm not fooling myself," she said looking him straight in the eye, "I know it's my fault from the beginning. I knew what I was doing when I let Edward take those pictures of me. I take it, you've seen the others."
"No, just this one."
"Well, there are others."
"You don't have to tell me this, Ethel." Post's feelings of integrity as a person were getting the better of his desire to do a good job. In fact, slowly, but very really, he was beginning to hate his job.
"I want to," she said, a note of guilt in her voice. Ethel sat up to accept a cigarette from Post.
"As you can see, I'm not the most attractive person in the world. I'm not bad looking, but I couldn't stand up in a beauty contest with June or, say Francesca Abblebaum. It's like they taught us at school, be charming. All right, that's what I have. I also have an interesting waggle when I walk. It's like advertising, Stu. I'm just calling attention to something. But the main reason I do it is because I want to be noticed. It's flattering.
"I love Joe. He loves me and that's what hurts. I know what we are like and I'm willing to stake my life on the fact that Joe hasn't gone near another woman since we've been married. I wish I could say the same about myself."
Stu took Ethel in his arms, pushing her head down on his shoulder to give her as much silent comfort as he could.
"Unfortunately, Joe loves his job, too. I'm not jealous of the job in the usual sense, but Joe spends from ten to fourteen hours a day at it. Sometimes, he'll get fidgety on Saturdays and I can see he's itching to drive into town and get back to his drawing board. I miss him, Stu. I need a little attention once in a while. Damn it the house is filled with table tops in mosaics I've made. I read six books in the last two weeks and none of it was as satisfying as what we just did. You could have had me. I would have let you. Then I would have felt mopey and guilty-until the next time. My instincts tell me how nice you are, and I had a pretty good chance to judge for myself. But you could have taken me. And you know something, you still can."
Hearing her say that again, Stu lost the control he'd maintained so far.
He pulled Ethel to him, pushing his lips against hers. She fought for a moment, surprised, but quickly accepted what was happening.
She sighed. "You see, this is the only answer." And she moved her arms about him tightly.
This time, Post caressed her with an intimate knowledge of where she was the most sensitive, starting at the small of her back and working about the buttocks and thighs. He struggled with the buttons of her jersey while she probed at him, making quick work of arousing his manhood.
Ethel began undoing her brassiere but Post felt too inflamed to be patient. He lunged for her and they fell back on the bed together. His hands closed over her breasts and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy her kisses.
It was amazing, he thought, how much difference kissing made. Ethel was good. He wondered how she'd come to perfect such fine technique. Her lips would alternately brush his, then meet firmly with an occasional nibble or a flick of the tongue.
He saw how close to release she was and he deliberately brought this about by touching her hips and thighs. He enjoyed the sounds of her passionate moaning and as he held her tightly, he watched her trim body writhe in excitement.
Ethel sought to bring them together and when Post realized this, he knew he'd been drawn on by the intensity of Ethel's need. He'd been inflamed and aroused by it, just as he'd been touched by a note of pity for her.
"What is it?" Ethel said. "What's the matter?"
Post didn't know. In his mind, he'd made the choice. He was allowing this to happen, allowing his intensity to bring this passion on again, but now that the moment had come for completion, he felt a slackness inside of him, a numb, dulling note.
Her eyebrows went up in surprise. "Why?" she said. "You were the one who started this. You were all ready for it."
For a torturous moment, he actually willed himself to try, to participate. Ethel would be good, he told himself. But it was no use. She tried to help him, whispering softly and suggestively in his ear.
At length, Ethel gave up trying. She lay down beside him, still breathing heavily. "I know why," she said. "I'm sure I know why."
"I wish you'd tell me."
"You like me," she said. "I know that and I'm grateful. Iut you love June, that's why you can't. Men are strange creatures that way. They can be aroused by a picture. They can think about committing all kinds of infidelities, they can even believe it's possible for them. But when the chips are down and the opportunity arrives, only a few of them can go through with it."
"I like you, Ethel."
"Sure you do," she said. She pounded the pillow. "Sure you do, but you love June. Oh boy, I've learned something, learned it the hard way, too. I wish it could happen to me the way it did with you. Isn't it funny," Ethel said, "I love my husband. I try to be a good mother, and in between, I look for truck drivers or sympathetic neighbors. All I can say in my own defense is that at least I don't get rid of my need and loneliness the way Lou Regan and Clair Morganroth do."
"What do you mean, Ethel?" Post said, his sociological ears perking up in spite of himself.
"Well, they boast that they've never been untrue to their husbands. And they haven't, I admit that. And they boast they don't let other men paw them. That's true, too. But I think what they do together is worse than infidelity, it's perverted, that's what it is."
"Ethel, do you know what you're talking about?"
"You're darn right I do." She wouldn't look him in the eye and Stu couldn't decide whether it was because she was lying or embarrassed.
"One afternoon, couple of months back I discovered that I'd run out of cloves in the middle of cooky making. I ran over to Lou's, entering her house through the garage door, without knocking. Before I could call, I spotted her and Clair together on the couch. I don't think they heard anything. They were too involved. So I sneaked out of there and ran back home. Boy, it sure cured me of going into someone's home unannounced."
She didn't answer his question but continued to look at the bedspread and shook her head. "Never mind. I shouldn't have said what I did. I guess when you feel as guilty as I do you want to splash a little smut on everyone else. Please forget I said anything, Stu. They're nice girls, caught in the same trap I am. I just prefer my way, as much as I despise it, of handling the problem to theirs, that's all."