Chapter 15
Post heard the sound of a woman sobbing nearby. He turned toward the direction, and then he saw her.
Aileen Lark, distraught and dissheveled, moved away from a clump of juniper bushes, tears streaming down her small, doll-like Oriental face. She wore her brocade Hongkong dress, which appeared to have been torn at the bodice. She took quick, decisive steps, her legs flashing attractively from the side slits.
Directly behind her was Lyle Windover. "Hey, listen," he was yelling, "you don't have to scream, Aileen. It isn't like that. It isn't like that at all."
Aileen moved even more rapidly and when she saw Post, she moved toward him gratefully. Windover followed, seeing Post, himself. "She got the wrong idea, Stu. It's a mistake."
"He tried to maul me," Aileen Lark said.
Post suddenly found himself in the position of hearing both their stories, quickly and simultaneously. Windover tried to convince Aileen Lark he meant no harm, but she shrank from his touch.
"Keep your hands away from me."
"Listen, Stu, I was only trying to...."
Gradually a crowd appeared. Ethel Prantis stepped through the hedges, and, in another moment, Gail Windover.
"So," Gail said, "you finally got caught."
"No, no, listen," Windover pleaded. "We were just talking. It was all very innocent."
And then Phil Lark appeared. When Aileen saw her husband, she moved to him quickly, clung to him for protection and support.
"What is it? What happened?" Lark asked.
Aileen told him.
Lark's reaction was instantaneous. He moved Aileen aside and went after Windover. He felled him with a punch to the stomach and then jumped down on top of him. The two men were grappling in the dirt with Joe and Ethel Prantis trying to separate them.
June appeared, standing next to Post, who was now actively trying to get Lark off Windover.
"The bastard, the dirty bastard," Lark said, wrenching free. It was only Post, standing between Lark and Windover that prevented Wind-over from receiving another rain of punches. Don Oakland took hold of Lark's arm, looking comical in his attempts to restrain the taller, bigger man. "Calm down, Phil," Oakland said.
"I'm trying to tell you," Windover insisted, "it was all a mistake. She didn't understand."
"She understands English better than you," Lark said. He pulled free from Don Oakland and went after Windover again. This time, it took Post, Don Oakland and Jot Prantis to separate the two men. Windover came away with a spurt of blood dribbling from his nose, splotching his brightly colored Hawaiian shirt with red.
"It serves you right," Gail Windover said. "I knew you'd get into trouble some day."
Aileen Lark stepped in front of her husband. "Please," she said, "no more fighting. It is enough that you are here."
Phil Lark glowered a moment, looking at the torn cleavage of his wife's dress. Her breasts were bared almost completely.
"Some misunderstanding that must have been," Lark said.
Lyle Windover was hustled off toward the Prantis' yard, still muttering about the innocence of his intentions.
Ethel Prantis spoke up. "We all need a drink," she said. "At least most of us do. I'm going to make the biggest batch of martinis ever concocted in Coolaire Heights."
She strutted toward the outdoor bar, shooting a meaningful glance at June. June got the hint. She moved over to Aileen Lark, put an arm around her and led her to the house.
In a few moments, the party was back to normal range of music, loud chattering and laughter. Ethel and June had removed the last traces of the incident.
Five minutes later, Post was back at the rock garden, a fresh drink in his hand. June sat next to him. Ethel Prantis lazed on the grass, her bare feet poking into the pond.
"Aileen says he got pretty rough," June explained. "He noticed the little Buddhist shrine out on the other side. He asked Aileen to explain it to him. She didn't suspect anything. He put his arm around her. She thought he was just trying to be friendly. That was her first mistake. She let him. He took that as a sign of encouragement. Then the party got rough."
"It had to happen," Ethel said. "Lyle has been asking for that for a long time. Gail had to drive him to the emergency hospital on Sepulveda. She thinks his nose may be broken." She sighed. "Ah, the joys of wedded bliss in Coolaire Heights." She finished her drink and stood up. "I have to go back and be a good hostess."
"Maybe, not wedded bliss for them, Stu, but how about us?"
Stu was completely caught off base. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean, I think we can do it. At any rate, I want to try."
Poetically, at that moment the fire work display began. Sitting thee, watching the elaborate bursts of light that formed pictures of flags and pagodas before they fell to the ground, Post could scarcely keep his mind on the entertainment, his mind was so busy trying to decipher the meaning of June's statement.
He knew he was eager to make a real start with her. And it was not all physical, either. Post realized that somehow, he'd been cheated out of one of the stages of courtship and thrown into a direct, intimate relationship that was, at times, too real for his own comfort.
There was something to be made up, whether it was just a matter of dating or going places. He thought of how it would be, of the weekend trips, of being places with June and knowing she was really his wife.
"Just look," Ethel said, "I don't see another married couple around here, leaning against each other and practically smooching, the way you two are. If things are that bad, no one will be hurt or disappointed if you decide to leave early."
June smiled. "Coming from the hostess," she said, "that amounts to a polite excuse."
"It is," Ethel said.
June nudged Post. "Things are that bad. The fireworks are wonderful but I think we need to be alone."
Happily, Post took her arm. They did not bother to say goodnight to anyone, but managed to slip unobtrusively out of the Corwin's yard and into the street.
June began running playfully. Post followed, knowing instinctively that what would follow would be good. He caught June at the door to their house and lifted her off her feet. He opened the door and kicked it shut behind him. The moment they were inside, June's arms went about his neck and she began kissing him.
As her moist tongue moved over his lips, Post felt his desire awakened completely.
In the bedroom, Post deposited her on his bed and sat next to her. Immediately, she began working at the buttons of his shirt. He kissed her and caressed the smoothness of her face. When his hands touched her breasts, he felt them respond with warmth.
"Oh, Stu," she said, "this is going to be good, because it's something I want."
She wiggled out of her shorts and in a few moments, her loins were pressing his, moving with an abandon and technique that amazed him.
When he brought them together, June let out a gasp of pleasure. "You make me feel that the most important thing is being a woman."
It happened quickly, more quickly than Post had planned, but almost instantaneously, June was writhing and thrusting against him in intense pleasure. He experienced a steady tingle of exhilaration and he knew what it was, the pleasure of being totally committeed to her and knowing it was returned. The softness and warmth of her skin was against him, the faint scent of her body and the silkiness of her hair all mingled to envelope him with pleasure and security. It was, he thought, the beginning of an even better thing for them. It was an answer to the boredom bred by the problems of tract house living.
When he found release, he was aware of June, whispering, "I'm so glad, Stu. I love you so much. I'm so glad." It was a blending of sensations, in which he was aware of everything about her. Any one of the things missing-her touch, her soft, whispered voice, her small, lovely breasts, pushing against him-would have made it incomplete.
After it was over, they lay together. June was completely unwilling for them to be apart. "I won't let you go until you promise to make an honest woman out of me," she said. "You've done pretty well so far. I haven't felt like such an honest woman in ages, but I want to be a legal wife."
"Will you mind being married to a man without a job?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" June wondered.
"Tomorrow I'm going to call the Institute and tell them what they can do with this filthy spy business, that is, if it's all right with you, June."
"It's perfect by me, darling. Tell them we're both quitting. From now on we'll be honest in every sense of the word."
The smoothness of her thighs, pushing against him, and this sudden, enthusiastic awakening of June aroused him again. As he began a slow, tentative movement, he saw that there was nothing detached or distant about her. She was participating actively. Her hands moved over him, touching, caressing. "I'm so glad, Stu. I'm glad because it's you. I'm glad because it's us."
Post accepted it gladly. He moved slowly, building up the enjoyment gradually. His reward for this was in her response. As she reached the plateau of her happiness, June looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her before. He felt the commitment assert itself again and knew, once more, that he held the key-the responsibility-to June's happiness and to their future.
He didn't know just what he was going to do for a job. But now, as he lay next to her, warm relaxed and content in her presence, he knew it was enough to think of her and be with her like this.
They talked for nearly an hour, about inane things.
Where they would live. Who their friends would be. It had a strange haunting effect on Post. These things no longer seemed like part of a memorized patter or conversational gambit you used to convince people you were married. They were plans, his plans, June's plans.
He didn't know when he fell asleep, but he was conscious of dozing. And then he was aware of June's hands, lightly caressing his shoulders. Without opening his eyes, he rolled on his side and felt the length of her body press close against him.
That settled another thing. "When they got back from getting married, these twin beds were going to be chopped up for kindling wood.
"It's awfully nice to be able to think about wanting you and having you right there," June said, kissing him lightly on the chest.
"I was thinking just the same thing," he told her.
She guided his hands to her breasts and he felt them stiffen under his touch. "It's wonderful to be able to want you, too."
For an answer, Post kissed her.
"One thing I've learned from our experiences here," she said. "Keep your man interested. Keep him damned interested."
Post stroked her thigh. She sighed and moved closer to him. "I'm interested," Post said. "Very interested."
He felt June reach for his manhood. She caressed him in a way that imparted her new feeling of awareness and the joy of her possessing him this way.
"You'd better get used to this," she said. "We're going to be the most interested husband and wife in Coolaire Heights, or anywhere else we go...."
Post pushed June over on her back, nipping her neck as she fell, "Listen wench, I've been chasing you all around this damned tract house for months. If you haven't realized by now that I'm interests in you, and only you, you're not the intelligent woman I came to Coolaire with."
"I'm not the woman you came to Coolaire with, Stu. I'm entirely new and different and I like the new me better. The me, you made, darling."
They did a double take on that one and fell to giggling. All the tension and fears and doubts of the past few months fell away in their laughter. After a few minutes, the laughter changed into something else. Stu put his hand on June's bread; possessively.
"We've got a lot of making up for lost time," he said huskily.
He felt her lips press against his chest again.
"I'm with you, darling," June said.
"Prove it," he said. "Right now."