Chapter 4
Post arrived back at Coolaire Heights at five. He put the car in the garage and entered the back door with a jaunty step, actually eager for the sight of June.
She met him in the kitchen, wearing a neat, colorful Mexican print skirt and an off-the-shoulder blouse. Her legs were bare, her feet were in Japanese thong sandals, her hair tied in a casual upsweep. In spite of the heat outside, June looked cool and fresh.
She also seemed surprised to see him so early. Through the kitchen, Post could see Ethel Prantis and Joan Hart at the breakfast table, talking over coffee. Both women waved at him.
Post waved back and hooked his arm about June's waist, pulling her toward him. "Couldn't bear the thought of being away from you so long," he said, kissing her full on the lips, just as he'd done that morning.
And again, June flashed him that look, that curiosity, that expression he'd come to associate with her when he knew she was trying to figure something out. June was baffled and Post was filled with the flash of excitement at the contact of their lips and the brief pressure of her breasts against his chest.
"My God, but you're frisky," she said, but Post knew it was mainly for Joan and Ethel inside. "Maybe a nice, cold shower, huh? Then you can make us some drinks?"
Post took a playful swat at her fanny and moved into the breakfast nook. "So this is what we husbands work all day for," he said jokingly.
Joan Hart smiled. "I'm glad we've got some vital, young blood in the tract," she said. "I was afraid affection from husbands was a lost art, or anyway, reserved for the time when the late show on TV was just too boring to take."
Post wondered how much of her own particular situation Joan Hart was revealing. He had noticed the TV light on in their den at pretty late hours. "She puts things in my food," he told her.
Joan finished her coffee. "I'll have to get some of whatever it is for Humphrey. He sounds like the man in some of the commercials. He comes home dragging his tail behind him. All he wants to do is watch TV. I can't get him out of the house nights."
"You'd better get him out Friday night," Ethel Prantis said, running her hand through her short, fuzzy black hair. "That's our barbecue. Joe has killed the family cow. Anyone who doesn't eat at least two steaks can count on being snubbed for a month."
Post liked Ethel. She was perhaps thirty, but dressed and acted as though she were still going to an Eastern college for women. She was what Post liked to think of as a beautiful snob. She could make snobbery an art with some of her views and Post had no doubt that there was a small note of truth to her warning about guests at her and Joe's barbecue who did not eat enough.
Ethel looked at her wristwatch. "Oh, golly," she said, "I've only got forty-five minutes before the War Department comes homes. I'd better get hopping or he'll cut off my allowance. Thanks for the coffee and gabbing, June." Ethel gathered her purse and a magazine, touched Post's chin, smiled and moved off with her typically animated waggle.
Joan Hart waited until she heard the front door close. "That's going to get her in trouble some day," Joan said.
"What is?" June asked with an air of innocence.
"The way she wiggles when she walks. Maybe that's how they teach girls to walk at those Eastern schools, I don't know, but honestly, you should see her at a supermarket, and especially when she wears shorts. Yesterday, a box boy dropped a dozen eggs because of her."
"What was she doing?" Stu asked.
"Don't tell me you don't know, Stu Post," Joan said. "I saw you watching the way she walks. Every man does. Someday, she's going to do that in front of someone who isn't a gentleman and he's going to do a lot more than drop a dozen eggs. Really. I even saw her get pinched once. She pretended to be mad, but I think she was secretly pleased."
"Well," Stu said. "Whatever happens, it's interesting to watch."
"You see," Joan told June. "You'd better watch him."
Joan stayed a few minutes and accepted one of the martinis Post made before leaving. "Don't forget the hen party at my place," she reminded June. "If the men are going to have a stag, the least we can do is retaliate."
"I hope I don't botch things up tonight," Post said when Joan Hart had left. "I'm not too good a card player."
"Listen, Stu," June said, "I think you and I ought to have a little talk." She was standing quite erect, her hands on her hips. It gave her the illusion of added height and Stu had come to recognize it as meaning she had something to get off her chest.
He knew it was probably about the way he'd been kissing her, but he couldn't feel too disturbed about the probable consequences. Instead he noticed that she'd been spending some time outside in the sun. Her face had a reddish tan tinge to it. His eyes swept over the bareness of her shoulders, taking in the small firm breasts, liking the way she stood, drawn to maximum height, straining for the effect almost to the point of being on tip-toe.
The skirt fell out full from her tiny waist, cascading over her hips. Her bare legs shone. Post couldn't help it; he was completely taken by her. In spite Oj! what had happened with him and Francesca that afternoon, Post found himself feeling desire for June. The trouble was, when June inspired it, it always came so strongly that it was an ache.
"You know," he told her, "you're a very attractive woman, June."
"And that," she said, "is what I want to talk to you about."
Post knew what was coming.
"It's the way you've been acting lately, and you don't "lave to play dumb. This is a job, Stu, an important one and a difficult one. I like you, I think you're a nice person, but that's as far as it goes. I don't know where you got the idea that I'd take this game of playing house seriously. I'm just not interested. So calm down. You knew what it would be. Dr. Prique explained everything to you."
Post sat down and took a long pull at his cocktail. "It hasn't gone the way I'd planned either, June. You're very attractive. Things like this can get to a guy. And it isn't just because you're a woman. It's because you're June Harlon."
"And I'm going to stay that way, Stu. I had one run-in with the man I married. That was plenty. It was enough to last me a long while. Maybe in a few years, if I meet an older man, who is less troublesome, less demanding and more understanding, maybe then. But as far as anything goes right now, I'm dedicated to this job. And I mean that, Stu, do you understand?"
"I understand that you're deliberately trying to shut something out of your life."
June pouted, thought for a moment, biting at her lip. "If you're going to go pulling psychological rabbits out of the hat, Stu, let me remind you of something. One of the reasons you were chosen for this job, above and beyond your age and ability, is your own personality. The consensus is at the Institute you would adequately be able to forget about your sexual urge and do your job with some competence. To be brutally frank about it, Stu, they didn't think you'd be that interested in sex unless, of course, it was from the clinical point of view. If I've hurt your feelings, I'm sorry. But I want you to know how things stand. There's no reason why we can't be friends, but don't mistake friendship for anything else, Stu."
Post had the impulse to laugh. It was the comparison between what he was supposed to be like and what happened between himself and Francesca Abblebaum this afternoon. Not interested in sex. That was funny.
His reaction obviously bothered June. She did not know what to do with her hands. For lack of anything better, she removed her glasses and wiped them on her skirt, but when she noticed the avid interest with which Stu was directing toward her legs, she dropped the skirt hem angrily. "I'm going to have to start putting things in your food," she said.