Chapter 5
"Just look at this, will you, Stu? It's a damn outrage." Lyle Windover extended a popular quality magazine to him, his pudgy hands trembling with rage.
Stu took the magazine and scanned the title of the article to which Lyle Windover had been referring. The title leaped out at him in bold italics that caused him a moment of fright. "A New Trend In American Living and Morals." The article was about housing tracts.
They were sitting in Windover's rumpus room. Seated about the poker table were Humphrey Hart, Mike Regan, Sam Thornby, Dan Oakland, Joe Prantis and a young man Post didn't recognize. There were platters of pop corn, pretzels and crackers. In one corner of the room was a portable ice chest, filled with shaved ice and liberally loaded with tall cans of beer.
It seemed to Post that they were all watching him intently for his reaction. He knew there was no way they could have suspected him of anything, but nevertheless, he suffered a moment of doubt. Why would they be calling his attention to this? And why would they be looking at him so seriously?
"The things they say in there," Windover said, his bulbous face coloring, "just aren't true. To hear these guys talk, every man who lives in a tract has a mistress, drinks too much, and cheats on his income tax.
"Not only that," Humphrey Hart said, "but they imply some kind of pecking system where we all feel the need to keep up with each other. I mean, if Lyle, for instance, buys a new car this article implies that I feel the obligation to get a better new car."
"It's an outrage," Windover said. "I've had my car for two years."
"Me, too," Don Oakland said.
Post was still on unsure ground. "I'm not sure where I fit in, fellows."
"It's this way," Windover said, "we thought since you're in the business of writing publicity, you're naturally used to expressing yourself. So we wondered if you'd help us draft up a letter of protest. Not write it, mind you. We aren't lazy. Just act sort of as advisor."
Relieved and slightly amused, Post agreed. Room was made for him at the poker table and the game was on. After a few hands were dealt around, Post lost anxiety about being conspicuous. Humphrey Hart was just as naive and so, for that matter Windover, who bet on everything and stayed in every hand.
However he had trouble concentrating on the game. The conversation he'd just had with June haunted him. Her description of a satisfactory mate was something only a frigid woman would tolerate. She'd overplayed her hand. Granted that sociology, not psychology, was Stu's field, he was too hip from being around the Institute and too observant not to know that a really frigid woman would stand on her hands rather than let the fact be known.
Post had never come across a woman who wasn't vain. A frigid woman was an emotional cripple. And an unlovely one at that. No, June's line could mean only one thing. She had a hot nature. Too hot to stand off a long term seige. June's crisp efficiency had worried Stu. Now he began to tingle. Twice he folded with good cards in his hand to continue his day dream of June in the position Francesca had been today with her feet over his head, ankles tightly gripping his neck, moaning with pleasure as he plunged into her completely vulnerable body. Stu shivered.
He caught sight of Windover eyeing him peculiarly and snapped out of it. It was obvious that they were waiting for Gail to make her departure for the hen party. Then the bull would begin in earnest.
At one point, Post found himself out of a pot. He stood up and moved over to the ice chest, selecting a frosty can of beer. But there was no opener. Moving into the kitchen, he froze into silence as he saw Lyle talking to Gail. His gambit must be the same for all women, Post thought. Windover had his hand squarely on his wife's buttocks, massaging and grabbing.
"Lyle," she whispered. "Not now."
"Listen," Windover said, "you've been giving me that not now business all evening. Okay, not now, but when?"
"Later, Lyle."
"Yeah, I know. Later. You'll be tired."
She squirmed uneasily but made no motion, Post noticed, to move out of range of his hands. "I promise," she said.
Lyle squeezed particularly hard. Gail squealed. "That's my girl," Lyle said. "I can hardly wait."
"I know," Gail said with a touch of irony. But this did not stop her from moving the length of her thigh against Lyle and moving with a slow, circular pattern.
"That's just to give you something to think about."
Lyle laughed. "I've been thinking about it all day."
Gail -edged even closer to Lyle, insinuating her large bosom against him. She bit teasingly at his ear and Post saw the pink flesh of her tongue, flicking out. It was quite a professional job, Post thought. She had Lyle aroused. His excitement was obvious.
And in a moment, Post realized that he did not like Gail Hart. From what he'd seen and from June's report, she'd probably show up at the hen party, complaining about Lyle and his insatiable urge. It was probably Gail who was at the bottom of it all, responsible for Lyle's penchant for fanny patting and pinching.
"I've got to get back inside," he whispered.
Gail made no move to relinquish. She had him pushed against the sink, her hips still rotating against him.
"Jesus Christ, Gail," he whispered, "stop it, will you. Enough is enough."
But Gail did not stop.
Post saw Lyle's plight. His face was twisted with desire as Gail, a skinny, but handsome woman, continually eased her hip against his loin. "Stop it, Gail."
She took the beer can out of his hand and moved that hand to her breast, sighing at the contact. Lyle weakened perceptibly. Post felt a pang of pity for him. Gail was really working him up.
"Hey, Lyle." A voice came from the rumpus room called, "it's your deal."
"Pass me this time," Lyle replied weakly.
"Oh, oh," a voice replied. "Gail's working on a fur coat."
Gail was working on something, Post thought. Her hand was busy probing at Lyle's pelvis. Post saw Windover grit his teeth. "For Chrissake, if you don't stop it, I won't be able to control myself."
Post felt more than pity now, he felt determined to rescue Lyle. Deliberately, he made noises, saw Gail react, then entered the kitchen.
"Hi, he said, "I notice you didn't have a can opener inside."
Post was rewarded by an expression of intense relief from Lyle. Gail handed him an opener. If Post hadn't seen it, he wouldn't have believed it. Gail actually did not seem irritated by the interruption. "He never remembers where things are around here," she said. "If you want anything, please feel free to help yourself. There's cold salad in the refrigerator."
She went on chattering, but Stu paid no attention. Perhaps she was working on a new fur coat or a new car. But one thing was for sure, Post was now seeing the second part of a beautiful performance in the human female of pure bitchery.
"I'll leave you men to your devices now and go on over and join the girls." After Gail Hart left, the joke telling began, and so, for that matter did the more serious drinking.
Mike Regan told a story about one of the secretaries at his office, always managing to inspect her stockings for runs in front of him. "You know, fellows," he said. "Once or twice a day, okay, but she does it every time she sees me."
"Well," Sam Thornby said, "what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"
"Have you ever cheated on Helen?" Lyle wanted to know.
"Listen," Sam said, "we have an agreement, so it isn't cheating. If she sees someone who interests her, okay. Just so long as she keeps the house going and the kid cared for and I don't find out. That's the thing. And my part of the bargain is, if I want to play around on the side, fine, just don't let Helen know about it. Does that answer your question?"
"Boy, I could never get away with a line like that on Gail."
"Don't tell me you haven't played around, Lyle, I know better." Sam Thornby turned to Post. "And you should see Humphrey Hart's setup. He works for a clothing firm. Models all over the place. I went up to have lunch with Humphrey a couple of times and almost flipped my lid."
"It isn't as easy as you think," Humphrey said.
Sam leaned forward. "I tell you something, Humphrey. It's as easy as you make it. How long have you been married?"
"Five years."
"Okay, okay. Helen is a good girl. I like her. I'm not saying anything against her, but don't tell me you don't have an itch to find a little something on the side. You wouldn't be human if you didn't."
"Well, I've thought about it...."
"Listen, Humphrey, it's a human thing. All the guys take a flier once in a while. That doesn't mean they don't love their wives. I mean, hell, isn't she the one they come home to?"
The young man Post didn't recognize, spoke up. "You guys want to hear something really good? You know Sue Short? Big, hefty blonde. Lives over on Hattaras Street. Now there's a real pushover."
To Post's surprise, Lyle Windover laughed knowingly. "All you have to do is feed her a steak then park somewhere secluded and let her have the works."
"Why the bitch," Mike Regan said. "She gave me a real song and dance. Told me she'd never done anything like that before. I bought her a new dress."
"You could have gotten off with a steak, I'm telling you."
Post took it all in, noting with wry amusement that the men were all admitting infractions of the same things that had infuriated them in the magazine article. He had never seen a supply of liquor depleted so quickly, nor heard so many confessions of how expense accounts were padded.
He finally introduced himself to the young man he didn't know: Carl Beard. "And here's something," Beard said. "That son-of-a-bitch neighbor of mine, Wilson, you know what he did? He's putting in a swimming pool."
"Oh, no!" Windover said. "I was afraid of that. I know damn well Gail will be over there. Then I'll start getting the pressure. She'd like a swimming pool. It's bad enough, she's been after me for an MG for weeks."
Post clucked his tongue out of pity for Wind-over. That explained Gail's treatment in the kitchen. She wanted a sports car and she was going to use her body to get it."
"And by the way," Lyle Windover said, "when are you going to get a rock garden, Stu, boy?"
"I haven't even thought of a rock garden."
"Why, hell, man, we've all got them. Good for the neighborhood. Increase the value of your property. I'd like to see you with one, Stu. You'll get a lot of pleasure out of it."
The poker game continued until midnight. Then, by common agreement, they cashed in their chips. Stu lost five and a half which didn't make him conspicuous, particularly not when Humphrey had lost fifteen.
Ted Abblebaum, whose presence had cost Stu some embarrassment, and Hart were the first to leave and Post noticed how quickly their respective wives were brought into the picture.
"Boy, that Francesca," Lyle Windover said, licking his lips. "There is a real dish."
"You can't get anywhere," Mike Regan said.
"I know. She was very nice about it, but I struck out."
"Just the same," Windover said. "If a guy is persistent ... what do you think, Stu? You got to see her."
Stu was nonplussed. For one thing he had an idiotic desire to punch Windover in the nose for talking that way about Francesca. He waited a second until he was certain he was in control of himself before responding. "She's nice, but I'm not about to try anything. If I have any opinions on that score, I think I'd be better off, keeping them to myself."
"Right," Joe Prantis said. "You guys sound like a bunch of catty women, the way you talk."
"I notice you don't particularly avoid Francesca." Windover said.
"I dance with your wife, too," Prantis said, "but that doesn't mean I'm trying to make time."
"Okay, okay," Windover said. "It's just a hunch I've got. I think the right guy could make time with her and I wouldn't mind being the right guy."
"More power to you," Mike Regan said. "I'll take my chances with Joan Hart."
"What do you mean by that?" Joe Prantis said.
"Just what I said. I happen to know that Joan is a push-over, but it takes a certain type."
"What kind of type is that?" Don Oakland said.
"Young boys, kids who aren't even twenty-one yet."
"That's a hell of a thing to say about a woman. How could that possible be true?"
"Because," Mike Regan said, "I saw her." You know that park over by the shopping center? It's got a small baseball field and some tennis courts. Well, I took the kids there one afternoon to get them out of Lou's hair. The kids were playing and I was debating whether to read the book I brought along or take a nap. Then I saw something that changed my mind. A familiar wiggle, if you like. Across the way, I saw Joan. I was so positive it was her, I even waved. Then I noticed she was with this guy who didn't look too much like Humphrey. I thought I'd just take a walk over and see what was going on, particularly when I see them heading into the thickest part of the bushes.
"Joan was wearing shorts, the kind that don't leave much to the imagination in the first place. And when she walks, it's like watching a cat in a bag.
"Well, by the time I got over to the bushes, I hear a sort of moaning. I was all set to call out, but then I got a funny feeling that everything wasn't right.
"I moved in quietly and then I saw them. As near as I can figure it, the kid is from the junior college, picking up a couple of bucks playing tennis and teaching. He had on shorts and tennis shoes and he had that tennis look about him. He was the one who was doing the moaning."
"What was she doing?"
Mike Regan wiped his forehead. "She had that poor kid going nuts. She was teasing the living hell out of him."
"How?" Lyle Windover asked. "What the hell was she doing?"
"Well, it gets sort of messy. I want you guys to promise that what you hear stays strictly in this room."
Mike Regan was given a round of quick assurance.
"Well, she had her halter off and she was making him give her a good workout. Then she began groping at him and making damn sure he was excited. The poor kid, I felt sorry for him. He thought he was going to get somewhere, but all she wanted to do at first was for him to kiss her breasts, not just lightly, either. It was like she wanted him to be a baby or something. Then off came the shorts, "he's got a damn nice figure and it just drove the kid wild. Then she told the kid she wanted him to kiss her in an unnatural way. It got pretty rough after that and I left. I couldn't take it, I felt so damn sorry for the kid. I felt sort of dirty about having even seen that much."
Poet knew exactly what Regan meant.
"But," Joe Prantis said, "that doesn't stop you from thinking about taking a try yourself."
"I tell you," Mike Reagan said, "if she wants to play, let it be with a man. It would be different if she were showing the kid some consideration.
She was strictly out for herself. I doubt if the kid ever got what he expected."
"Poor Hart," Don Oakland said.
"I mean it," Mike Regan said, "if she wants to play, okay, but if any of you guys say anything to Hart, you're going to answer to me."
"Maybe he ought to be told before something serious happens."
"Just let me handle it, will you? You all gave your word. If any of this leaks out."
Mike Regan's confession about what he'd seen between Joan and the boy seemed to provoke an air of thoughtfulness over the group. Post imagined they must all be experiencing a moment of silent fear that similar things would come out about their own wives. It certainly made them uneasy, he thought, and as if to forestall any more talk, there was a mass exit.
To Post's surprise, June was waiting for him when he got home. She still wore her usual sleeping costume and the filmy robe which was-tonight-tied tightly about her neck. She had a pot of coffee in the kitchen; Post couldn't help being pleased, and hopeful.
He smiled at her and sat at the breakfast table. But inside he felt himself tightening. It was going to be a long, hard year, living like this with June unless....
"I wanted to talk to you, Stu," June said, sitting down next to him. He couldn't be sure whether it was from force of habit or preference.
"I'm sorry about what I said this evening. I mean, it was cruel of me to say it the way I did. I'm flattered that you like me, Stu. Please, try to understand this. My marriage made me terribly overwhelmed that anyone as attractive as he could have the slightest interest in me. It suddenly seemed like the sweetest revenge for all those days when I wore braces on my teeth and heard all the remarks about how small I was.
"At first, Wally frightened me a good bit. The first time I went out with him, he tried to put his hand up my dress. When I stopped him, he didn't come back for two weeks. Believe it or not, I missed him, knowing it was wrong. No one had ever tried to do anything like that to me on a first date. I was secretly pleased.
"When Wally called again he told me he'd hardly been able to think straight. The reason was because he wanted to go to bed with me. He said he never wanted a woman so much as me. He was very honest, Stu. He said he was fond of me and thought he loved me. He wanted to kiss me and touch me ... everywhere. He wanted to make love to me. He begged me to let him.
"Well, I did. I was so flattered and excited I couldn't help myself. I must have known what it meant, because I wasn't surprised when he made love to me right there on the front seat of his car. In a way, Wally was very selfish. He never paid the slightest heed to making me happy, but at the time, it didn't really matter. He excited me so, it took very little to make me happy.
"For the first two weeks, Stu, we made love so often that I can remember moments when it actually hurt me to walk. Then it tapered off a bit, but it was still frequent. Then I thought I was going to have a baby.
"We got in his car and drove to Luma, Arizona. We could have gone to Tijuana, but Wally didn't trust Mexican ceremonies. He wanted this to be legal and binding in every sense.
"I cried when I found out that the baby was a false alarm. I was sure he would think I only told him that to make him marry me. But he said no harm done.
"But after a year, he said that married sex seemed stale. Months would go by and he wouldn't touch me. Then suddenly he would come home drunk and have sex with me in such a violent, degrading way, it would be days before I could leave the house.
"What started out as the most happy, wonderful experience of my life turned sour. Sex, even the idea of it, became quite mechanical for me. I came to feel like a machine, an abused machine. I'm afraid it won't ever be anything else for me again."
Stu took June's hand gently in his own. "Thanks for the background, Jane. But isn't what you really mean, you're afraid sex will mean something to you again?"
She didn't answer his question, instead she kissed him affectionately on the forehead.
He finished his coffee slowly, lingering over a cigarette, not wanting to torture himself with the vision of her removing her robe, kicking off her mules and swinging her legs up onto the bed and under the covers. He didn't think he could take that, not tonight.
The thought of June helpless and bruised on a bed while her husband did unspeakable things to her was almost more than Stu could stand. Even so, he knew that if a horse threw you the only thing to do was....
He took an unwanted shower, hoping she'd be asleep by the time he was ready for bed. But to his dismay, she lay in bed reading. She smiled at him when he entered. Her hair was neatly brushed and tied with a ribbon. Her cheeks had a warmth and glow to them. He could see the bared portions of her shoulders and, through the flimsy material of her jumper, the firmness of her breasts. And this made him all the more uncomfortable.
Perhaps her explanation had been satisfactory for her, even adequate justification for thinking that men meant nothing to her. But to Stu Post, it meant only a challenge.
"I wanted to tell you one more thing, Stu," she said, reaching over to turn off the lights. "I like living with you and keeping house for you. It's fun pretending to be your wife."
Post got an excellent view of her breasts as she leaned forward to throw the switch that plunged the room into darkness. The sight of them stirred him even more than he had been.
"Good night," she said. He replied, almost sharply. "Stu?"
"What?"
"What is it? Did I say something wrong?"
"No," he said.
"Then what is it? You don't go around snapping like that."
"It's nothing," he said, "just forget it. It's nothing at all."
But lyinj there in the darkness, the memory of those beautiful breasts and appealing body freshly etched in his mind.
He was jealous. Jealous of Wally Harlon, June's ex-husband.