Chapter 6
"Of course, you don't have to play," Lyle Wind-over said. "There's no law whatsoever that says you have to play, and no one will think the less of you, Stu. I just had the impression that you were a pretty regular guy and wouldn't object to a little innocent fun. Why hell, your wife agreed to play. In fact, June said she thought it sounded like a good idea."
"Really, Stu," Humphrey Hart said, "it isn't as bad as it sounds. I mean, there are worse things."
"Wadda you mean, worse things?" Lyle Wind-over said. "You make this sound like a goddamn perversion or something. I tell you, it's just a little innocent fun."
"He's right, Stu," Joe Prantis said. "You can sit it out in here if you'd rather not, but you'll see, it's an amusing little game, a sort of study in the powers of observation."
Stu nodded. He hadn't expected to get such a reaction when he'd suggested that he and June might simply watch. And his real surprise had been Joe Prantis' ready approval of the game. "Okay," he said. "I guess I'm just shy by nature. If June said she was willing, why then of course you can count me in."
"Good," Lyle Windover said. "Very good. I'll go inside and tell the girls."
Post lit a cigarette and allowed Joe Prantis to freshen hi.; drink. Prantis was an excellent host. Post could still smell the embers from the hickory coals in the back-yard barbecue pit.
The pleasant taste of stripper steaks, cooked charred and rare, lingered pleasantly in his stomach and mouth. The tossed salad had been a masterpiece.
The drinks had been freshened frequently and plentifully. Even now, Post could see the ghosts of four bottles of Jack Daniels out on the porch along with a few empties of gin and vodka.
The collection of empty bottles had its reflection in the guests at Prantis' split-level, ranch house home. There was a uniform air of jocularity and anticipation.
"You get the idea of the game now," Lyle Wind-over said, returning to the kitchen where the men were congregated. "All the girls lay down on the floor and cover themselves with sheets. The lights are dimmed, it's no fair lifting the sheet. Sense of touch is the only clue you're allowed. "Got it?"
Stu nodded. "Got it."
"When you think you've found your wife, you call out her name. If it's her, she can sit up and remove the sheet. If you don't get an answer within ten seconds, that's the sign you're mistaken."
Post said, "I follow you."
"Just a hell of a lot of fun," Windover said, licking his thick lips in anticipation. "As for me, I hope I don't find Gail right away."
There was a knock on the door and Ethel Prantis appeared, looking pert and pretty in her flowery cocktail dress. "We have a new condition for the game," Ethel said. "To make things a bit more difficult when you all come into the room, you get ten seconds to look around, then all the lights go on."
"Hey," Lyle Windover said, "that sounds good. I'm all for it."
"And some of the girls have decided to lay on their tummies just to add more variety."
"Wait a minute, we could use that for a new game, heads the first time, tails the second, if you get me."
"All right," Ethel said, "I'll tell the girls. We'll be all set in about five minutes, so finish your drinks."
When she left, murmur of anticipation went up from the men in the kitchen. Post watched with interest, noticing how animated and self-conscious they had suddenly become. Most of them made a great show of bravado about the impending game and the harmless aspects of it.
He heard mutterings of "good, clean fun," and "this beats playing cards." Where we used to live in North Hollywood, all they ever did was play cards...."
But the thing Post realized was the hypnotic sense of obligation that went along with playing the game. The men had to assure themselves and each other that it was all right. Post believed, however, that they were all experiencing at this very moment, similar feelings to his. The idea of other men groping at June in the darkness was not a pleasant one, even though he and June were not actually married. And the doubtful privilege of being able to grope at other women did not seem to remove his apprehension.
The game began when Ethel Prantis called in to tell them the women were ready. Most of the men finished their drinks with a last gulp and moved into the room. Lyle Windover reached the count of ten, Don Oakland, stationed by the light panel, flicked the switch, throwing the room into darkness.
About the only clue offered was that of height. Post saw someone he thought was June, off toward the rear of the living room. At least, it seemed short enough to be June. It could just as well, Post realized, be Ethel Prantis.
Post immediately heard scramblings and saw shadowy figures of the men, moving about the prostrate forms of the women.
Post made his way past a few forms toward the one he imagined to be June. Deftly, he touched the arm and shoulder, but this gave him no clue. His hand moved toward the face, trying to get some idea of the configuration of the woman he was touching. He felt nothing but an excited motion of breathing. "June," he said hopefully, waiting.
No answer. He waited a bit longer, then moved on convinced that it was not June he had been touching.
He turned seeking another clue and saw Lyle Windover, on his knees, delicately clutching the breasts of a woman under a sheet. He touched them several times before Stu heard him venture a soft, "Gail?" After a moment, Windover laughed when there was no answer. He moved away, bumping in Post. Stu could not help wondering how the woman hidden under the sheet felt to have a man, not her husband and whose identity she could only guess at touch her so intimately.
Post moved on until he found another likely form. He touched the arms and felt them stiffen in apprehension. His hands moved to the face. Another figure moved next to him. It was Don Oakland. "That's no way to find out," he said. "You've got to do it this way." He touched the anonymous woman squarely at the breasts and shook his head sadly. "I'll tell you one thing, that sure isn't Pat." Oakland moved on.
Post steeled himself to touch the woman at the breasts. They were round and firm. He knew immediately why there was a certain amount of curiosity to this game. There was no doubt, whatsoever, in his mind that he was holding to the breasts of Francesca Abblebaum. He felt sad and nostalgic and something else. Could she know that it was he who was touching her.
He kneaded her breasts in a manner he knew she liked. There was no mistaking her reaction this time. She gave a spasm of recognition. Post patted her affectionately on the arm and moved on. There was no sense calling attention to his interest in Francesca.
He paused at the next form; Windover was already there, his hands moving quickly to the breasts and thighs, "Gail?" he whispered.
Gail Windover sat up, the sheet falling from her torso. "You guessed right, honey," Gail said. Post wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Wind-over give a sigh of relief.
He moved on, as though in a nightmare, trying to imagine what June would feel like under a sheet. Part of the nightmare was the growing excitement within him. He hated himself for it but could not repress the sensation that came over him when his hand cupped over round, feminine tissue. He touched a figure. The breasts were small and firm, as June's might have been. He got no clue from the face and shoulders, but returning to the breasts again, and then sweeping his hands across the thighs, he had the strong suspicion that he was caressing Ethel Prantis.
He called June's name and heard nothing.
The nightmare continued.
He moved in the dining area and found a figure. He caressed the chin and shoulders. It somehow fit the image he'd set up for June. He was nearly positive it was June, so positive, in fact, that he felt vaguely disturbed with himself for not calling out her name.
He understood something about himself, in that moment, that he did not particularly like. He had June at a disadvantage. It was like kissing her in front of someone. She would have to accept without comment. And now, as he touched her breasts, he felt a surge of excitement run through his hands. It was a hell of a way to admire someone you were fond of, cared so much for, touching her through her clothing and a sheet, touching her against her wishes. But he could not stop. The excitement had become a compelling surge of desire. There was even less doubt as he made sure of the small, plum-like breasts. None of the other women he touched had evoked such an awareness in him. He moved his hands over the flatness of her stomach, aching at the fact that his only contacts with June had to be this way. It seemed unclean.
What kind of man was he, anyway? Post thought. As the shame and anger at himself grew stronger, he hit on a plan that would, at least, save himself something in June's eyes.
He moved away from her, watching with a jealous sort of tension as Don Oakland began his survey of June. "That sure as hell isn't Pat either."
Post thought it would be safe to move back. He touched June about the shoulders and face. "June?" he whispered.
To his intense relief, June sat up. "I knew it was you the minute you touched me on the arm," she whispered. Then she put her lips against his ear to whisper even more secretly. "Thank you for respecting me. Thank you for not trying to touch me anywhere except the arms and face. I knew you'd be considerate."
Post felt like a heel. His subterfuge had worked and she'd been convinced that his earlier exploration had been at. the hands of someone else. But one thing was sure, he had touched her breasts, he had felt her thighs, even if his way of doing it had been sneaky, and he knew that the memory of that touch and excitement was going to make it all the more difficult, living with her, wanting her, but being only a friend so far as she was concerned.
From the other side of the room, they heard a sudden, intense moaning that caused a wave of fright to belt through the room. It was a woman moaning and, at first, Post thought it was from pain. Or perhaps someone had gotten too rough. He made his way to the light switch after he heard the moan again.
"Oh, God, help me. I'm sorry ... oh, oh...."
When the lights went on, there was a confused instant of blinking while their eyes became accustomed to the brightness. Everyone was watching Joan Humphrey, who sat in the middle of the front room, looking lost and forlorn. "Oh, Humphrey, Humphrey, come here, please, please, quickly. I'm sorry, I can't help myself."
Hart moved to her excitedly. "What is it, baby? What's the matter?"
"Hold me," Joan said, "please hold me. Oh, tightly, tightly."
"What is it, baby?"
"Just hold me, will you?"
Hart complied.
The scene was an awe inspiring one. Everyone watched in hushed fascination as Joan held tightly to Humphrey, her eyes closed, her breath coming in short spurts until she began to calm down. Then, both Joan and Humphrey appeared embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," Joan said. "I don't know whatever came over me. I mean, nothing like that has ever happened. I'm sorry."
She looked at Humphrey significantly.
"I guess we'd better be going," he said. Hart made his apologies to the Prantises with a certain air of confusion about him.
It had only been ten p.m. o'clock when the Hart's left. After several moments of awkward speculation, the game was abandoned. At Post's suggestion, Joe Prantis turned on the FM radio to a station broadcasting popular music. Prantis flicked a control switch that piped the music outside to the patio, where they all began dancing.
Post danced with June, holding her tightly to him. She did not seem to mind. He liked the feel of her hair, silky against his cheek. Her scent had a lilac odor to it. He was very much aware now of her shoulders and breasts. He'd touched them in subterfuge. He longed to do it again, the right way, with her consent.
She was a good dancer, much better than he. As he maneuvered them into a turn, he missed a beat and felt her thigh move directly against his. He felt his pulse quicken at the contact. She was so damned attractive, he thought. He refused to believe it had to be the way she said; that she really didn't care about love. A woman who moved as lithely as June was made for love.
"I think I'm on to something very interesting," June said softly into his ear. "While we were playing the game Lyle Windover went beyond the others in his investigation of my body."
"How do you know it was Lyle?"
"Who else would take such disgusting advantage?"
Post felt miserable. He knew, of course, that June was mistaken. It had not been Windover. It had been he.
"I'm going to ask him to dance with me. I want to see what he'll do. I'm going to try to get him over by the barbecue pit."
Post held her more tightly. "I wish you wouldn't."
"I don't mind, really. I can be quite objective about it. I want to see how far he'll go. You've got to try helping me. If you can keep Gail busy, it will be that much easier. Now promise you'll help?"
When Past moved away from June and started toward Gail Windover, his eyes met Francesca Abblebaum's. Her face was directed toward him, sweeping across his eyes with her own, showing a sign of encouragement for him to cut in on Ted. When he didn't, Post felt a twinge of guilt, particularly when he saw the look of sudden disappointment cloud over Francesca's face.
Gail Windover said, "I'd love to, Stu."
"Go to it," Lyle added.
After a few steps, Post noticed Windover heading toward June. Her scheme was working, but Post didn't like it.
"I've learned one thing about you, already," Gail said into his ear. "You're bashful." You don't have to be afraid to hold me close."
Post felt the sharp jut of her breasts boring into him. Gail, too, was a good dancer. She adroitly managed to keep him on the defensive, with her right leg moving tantalizingly against his groin every step or two.
"There was one man who touched me very reverently during the game, especially at the bosom. I tried to think who it could be, then I realized it must be you. You think I have an attractive bosom, don't you."
"It is very nice, Gail."
"Would you like to kiss it?"
"That's another story."
"You don't have to be evasive. You would, I know you would." Her leg moved against him with a deliberate cadence. She seemed quite amused when the song ended and a lively cha-cha-cha began. She immediately began a lively movement to the Latin tempo. "I'll let you, Stu."
"It's a bit crowded for something like that, isn't it?"
Gail laughed. "I love your sense of humor. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll pretend I'm going in to the John. You dance with someone else first. Then drift away. Come to the door of the John and knock three times. I'll be waiting for you."
Post squirmed. He recalled how Gail had been working over Lyle. He knew he could expect at least equal treatment, if not even more teasing. He hated her for it. But he had to keep Gail busy. He'd promised June. "Maybe we'd better forget about that," he told her.
"No," she said. "You want this and so do I. That game always leaves me excited like this. You see what it's doing to you. You want to, you know you want to." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "You know you do, Stu. You want to kiss me. You're dying to." She spun away from him as the record ended. "See you inside."
Post had no choice. He found himself next to Francesca Abblebaum and Pat Oakland. He asked Pat to dance because he knew there would be recriminations from Francesca and he didn't feel like talking to her now.
"You're a good dancer," Pat Oakland said.
"Do you enjoy the game?"
"I could do without it, but every time I say something, the others start calling me a prude. It was like that in my sorority at USC. For some reason, if you tried to remain a virgin, the other girls said the same thing."
"Who starts these things?"
"Well, this game is Ethel Prantis's idea. There are others, even more suggestive than this, but I draw the line at those. Gail Windover likes some of them."
When the song was over, Post thanked her and moved away. The door to the bathroom was closed and he saw a silver of light through the crack underneath. He closed his eyes for a moment and knocked three times.
Gail Windover opened the door for him, motioning him inside. The entire front of her dress was open and her strapless bra hung from the door in the stall shower. Her breasts were large, staring at him in firm readiness. She was light-skinned and he saw the soft blue pattern of veins, leading to the dull brown aureoles.
"Kiss me, Stu," she said. "Come here and kiss me."
He kissed each breast twice and was about to move away when he felt her arms encircle him.
In another moment, her mouth was against his, her tongue moving over his lips. Desire mounted in him, but he knew it was a false desire. He could not really believe that Gail had singled him out for her specific attentions or that there was anything considerate about this. "More," she said.
"kiss me more. Oh, please, Stu. I'll be nice to you."
In another instant, he was aware that she had him in precisely the same sort of trap she'd had Lyle in a few nights before. His back was pushed firmly against the tiled bathroom wall. He had a strong awareness of jasmine scented perfume as Gail moved against him, her hips undulating in a slow rhythm. Her breasts were attractive and he found himself drawn to them, wanting to kiss them again and again. When he touched them, he heard Gail sigh and he knew that this was, perhaps, the key. She enjoyed this part, being fondled.
"Tell me I'm attractive, Stu."
"You are."
"I mean, tell me I have a lovely bosom."
"I've never seen such a lovely bosom, Gail."
"Then act like it, damnit."
Suddenly, the entire thing was clear to Post. Gail was almost a classic case. Gail was reenacting the figure of a mother to men. She wanted to make men admire her breasts, she wanted to have them fondle and caress her, and then she wanted to be in a position to be able to put them off, to tease, if necessary; to make them dependent on her for this, then as the whim struck her to deny herself.
To test this theory, Post decided on a piece of fiction. "My God, Gail, you're lovely. When can we do this again? We'll have to get back soon or we'll be noticed, but we've got to do it again. Promise me."
"You mean it, Stu?" she said hoarsely. "You really mean it?"
He tried to sound desperate. "Yes, yes, please say that we can."
To his satisfaction, a look of intense pleasure came into her face. "I don't know," she said coldly. "We'll have to see. It won't be easy, you know."
Post pressed it a bit farther to sound convincing. "You've got to, Gail. I'll do anything you say, anything."
She patted him on the head. "We'll see," she said. "I'll have to think about it."
"Please, Gail. You don't know how lovely you are."
"All right," she said. "All right."
Now, Post was absolutely sure. She was a person with a neurotic problem.
"You'd better go back outside first," she said.
He did, but even as he returned to the patio unnoticed, Post wasn't happy. He'd still have to pay more attention to her. There was no trace of June and Lyle Windover. Lord knew what they were doing. And it was just this, the uncertainty of it that made Post uneasy. Jealous? Hell yes, he told himself. He was very jealous.