Chapter 10
George Branch saw a lot of Mavis Preed over that weekend, and not altogether accidentally. It wasn't that Mavis was consciously out to cause trouble, she just couldn't help herself, and from the moment she saw George, she kept imagining what it would be like to he in his arms. She concentrated considerable effort and ingenuity towards finding out, without any thought of the possible effect on Vern, or on George himself. All Marvis recognized was her own primitive passion, desires that were at best only temporarily lulled, never completely satisfied. George Branch was a man and therefore fair game. She saw nothing wrong in wanting him, nothing wrong in openly provoking him, dangling her allure before his eyes.
Vern, happy, patient, good-natured did not suspect. To her, Mavis was just a sweet, willing kid, a little headstrong perhaps, but extremely pleasant. A nice girl....Mavis was certainly pleasant....George Branch would have been the first to admit it. She was young, vital. She stimulated his libido, bolstered his male ego with her obvious interest in him. But he loved his wife. Since their marriage he had been loyal to her despite sundry temptations. But he shared the same views as any virile man, the same appreciation of the female form and the same mental trend towards the sexual conquest of women in general. He was faithful to Vern through self discipline, not because of lack of interest in other women. The sight of Mavis standing naked fresh from the shower, scattering droplets of bath water from her long hair onto the carpet, remained with him. Even then, at their very first meeting, he had suspected something different about Mavis Preed. In the same way that a woman can usually tell what is in a man's mind by merely talking to him and watching the expression in his eyes, so George knew that Mavis' smiling 'innocence' concealed hidden, shouldering fires, a tempestuous nature, and a restlessness that spelled trouble.
George got around. He knew a lot of women even though he didn't play the field any more, and there were no rules against mental seduction. He recognized Mavis for what she was right away, and derived considerable amusement from her too obvious pattern of behavior. At that stage she was merely feeling him out and the weekend passed without incident. But when on Tuesday George Branch sat behind the wheel of his 1959 Oldsmobile heading out along the coastal highway with the dirty Hudson River on his right, he found his thoughts turning continually to Mavis rather than to his wife and baby.
At first the recurring thoughts annoyed and irritated him. But after a while he gave free rein to his imagination and allowed his active mind full scope. He doubted that Mavis would remain long with Vern. He had sensed the resdessness and torrid impulses driving her, and knew that she would find little expression for her turbulent nature in such conservative surroundings. She had, he also knew, made a bold and deliberate play for him over the weekend. Any repetition of it could lead to misunderstanding with Vern, and that was the last thing he wanted. He sighed. Damn the girl, he thought. Most probably she wouldn't be around when next he got home. He couldn't see her staying long, and wondered why she'd moved out to the Bronx in the first place if, as she said, she was in show business. There was a lot about her he couldn't understand.
He imagined her thinking about him, analyzing him in her mind as he was musing over her. But in this respect he was dead wrong. Ten minutes after he left the apartment Mavis dismissed him from her mind. She already had another objective for her talents, a big, blonde truck driver with an easy laugh and tolerance written all over his face who lived in the house next door. Mavis had met him a few times, and his wife, a real sour grape.
Roley Martin was the husky type, but scared as hell of his wife. Mavis found him interesting. From her bedroom window she could see into the Martin's apartment, and on several occasions she had noticed Roley Martin staring across into .her room, which wasn't surprising considering that she seldom bothered to draw the drapes.
Vern Branch received her first insight into Mavis' true character the time Estiier Martin came around to complain about what she called 'that girl's shameful exhibitionism." Esther Martin was a thin, bony female with untidy yellow hair and a formidable manner. She had a narrow, pimply face and eyes that combined shrewdness with near-sightedness.
"I felt I just had to say something, Vernice," she said, obviously relishing every utterance and its effect on Vern Branch. "It's about that girl, Mavis. You know I'm not one to complain without cause, but...."
"Perhaps if you tell me what's wrong," Vern told her wearily.
"I will. You'd best tell that girl to draw her drapes before she gets undressed. Three times this week I've seen her parading about stark naked in front of her window. Deliberately flaunting herself it looked like. Not a stitch on, the brazen hussy. Roley saw her too...."
I'll bet he did, Vernice thought, curbing a smile. She nodded. "I'll speak to her," she promised. "Mavis is from out of town. She's not used to...."
"She can be decent."
"All right! I said I'd speak to her. Goodbye, Mrs. Martin."
When the woman had gone Vern thought no more about what she'd said until Mavis came down for breakfast, and even then it didn't occur to her that Mavis' alleged exposure was anything but innocent forgetfulness. Vernice Branch wasn't the sort of person to think bad of anybody and hesitated to approach the girl on the subject at all.
"Mavis," she said finally, hesitantly,"
"I don't hardly know how to say this. Esther Martin's been around complaining about you."
"About me?" The innocence in the girl's eyes would have fooled a saint.
"Yes, dear. Oh, it isn't anything much-just that, well, she says you don't draw your curtains and that she-and Roley, her husband-can see you undressing. It's embarrassing for her, she says, and for Roley. So, if you could be a little more careful dear."
Mavis stared at her with that frank, open look she always adopted when faced with criticism.
"I'm sorry," she faltered. "Really I am. I never gave it a though. Back home my room faced onto a vacant lot, you know. I never needed to draw the drapes."
At such times she confounded the critics who'd said she's never make an actress. Vern nodded, glad to have gotten over it. "Just so long as you remember in the future," she said. "We don't want to get a bad name, do we?"
We, Mavis thought, or me? She felt amused but feigned repentance. She had, she felt, set the snare with her strip routine. Now she had only to wait and let the pot simmer.
Two nights later when Vernice was taking in a movie with another neighbor and Mavis was keeping an eye on the baby, Roley Martin came over. His wife, Mavis knew, was visiting her sister in Queens. The big trucker had been drinking, not a lot but enough to fuddle his judgment and banish, at least for the time being, his fear of his wife's evil temper and acid tongue.
He felt pretty good when he rang the Branch's door bell. He knew exactly what he wanted and how he intended to go about getting it. His excuse for calling had been carefully rehearsed, the images of Mavis he carried impressed on his mind were enlarged by the liquor, their significance emphasized by his own inclinations. He knew that the girl's repeated exposures had been deliberate. Several times she had seen him watching her and she had waved to him and had revealed even more intimate glimpses calculated to arouse him. For days he had tried to raise the courage to tackle her about it. But there'd always been Esther.
He grinned at his own thoughts. Mavis, wearing dght fitting slacks and lightweight shirtwaist, opened the door and stood for a while smiling up at him before inviting him inside. He knew she was alone or her would never had dared to come. And from the moment he thumbed the bell push he never had a chance. Whatever notions he entertained about himself in the role of a masterful seducer was mere wishful thinking, expression of his male ego. It was Mavis who took the initiative. She who dominated the incident, who had engineered it so skillfully and now proposed to exploit it to the full.
All that evening she had been agitated, unable to settle, and had Sam Davis dropped by that evening she would have thrown caution to the winds. Roley Martin was the answer to a nympho's prayer. She had known he would come but hadn't expected it to be so soon. She almost dragged him into the house. Instead of having to grope for excuses, using guile and having to be persuasive, Roley found the girls soft mouth pressed firmly against his lips, her fingers fumbling at his clothing. She practically had him undressed ever before his faltering steps got him past the bedroom door. Mavis was like an animal, She scared Roley. He had never seen a woman act that way before. But he responded to the urgency of her need, and presently forgot what few inhibitions the liquor hadn't already deprived him of.
When Vernice returned home everything seemed normal. The baby was sleeping. Mavis was curled up on the sofa munching candy. But next door in the Martin's home things were never quite the same after that night....Esther Martin discovered a marked and abrupt change in Roley. Hitherto her constant nagging had failed to evoke any really spirited revolt. But that night when she began to shoot off her mouth Boley quieted her with the back of his meaty hand, a thing he had never done before in all their twenty years of matrimonial dischord. Mavis had resurrected his masculinity and his dormant ego....
The following weekend George Branch arrived from Chicago early on the Saturday, and experienced mild disappointment when he learned that Mavis was working. She had made a marked impression on him despite the unconvincing attitude of mental indifference he had adopted. He'd been looking forward to seeing her again, but only-he tried to tell himself, to prove that his self-discipline was as firm as hitherto.
Somebody had foisted two tickets for a Broadway show on George but Vern wasn't feeling too well, and when Ed Briggs, a wartime buddy, stopped by, Vern insisted that he take in the show with Ed rather than waste the tickets. As the show promised a few kicks Ed okayed the arrangement, brt on the way downtown they dropped into a bar for a few drinks, and when finally a cab dumped them near Broadway subway they were both unsteady on their feet.
George dragged Ed, protesting,, along the street, and into the first handy doorway, which chanced to he the entry to Cash Moran's night spot, the Jive Dive. George got Ed planted in a seat and ordered drinks from the rat-faced waiter who came scurrying from the shadows with rheumatism in his spindly legs and larceny in his calculating eyes. The lights were low and the large room was hazy with tobacco smoke. The band was making with a pagan rhythm, and on a high stage at the far end of the room a young girl was performing a crude strip routine.
She looked familiar to George Branch, so familiar that he left the table and weaved forward to get a closer look, whereon two bouncers grabbed him and trailed him back to his chair. But not before he'd recognized Mavis Preed. She was down to her last wisp of clothing, and even before he saw her face he recognized and remembered the peculiar birthmark like a crescent moon that showed plainly against the white flesh of her thigh emphasized even more by the glaring spotlight. The glare dazzled Mavis. All she could see was a vague blur of gaping mouths and leering faces.
George collapsed into his chair and shook with uncontrollable laughter until Ed Briggs grabbed him and almost shook the liver out of him, demanding to know what the hell was so funny. George didn't enlighten him. When the drapes came down on Mavis' act George clambered to his feet and made for the exit. Ed followed, protesting.
"Somebody in there knows me," he explained tersely. "If they'd seen me I'd catch hell from Vern. Let's find this bastard show."
"Aw, what the hell, George, just when things were getting interesting."
"Haven't you seen enough fanny in your time? C'mon, Ed, I don't wanna be seen."
George hailed a cruising cab, and he and Ed piled in, the latter still grumbling. They were, they discovered, still early for the show. The lights of a nearby bar drew them like moths to a candle flame, and at ten p.m. they were still drinking. By eleven Ed had passed out cold and George was giving a cabbie confusing directions that resulted in them being dumped out three blocks from home. It was after two a.m. before George got rid of Ed, who had recovered sufficiently to become argumentative, and staggered up the steps to his front entry. Trying to be quiet only resulted in him making enough noise to waken the dead, but Vern had taken sleeping pills and was out to the wide.
He let himself in and blundered through into the kitchen. His hat fell off as he yanked at the icebox door, and he trampled the felt without even knowing. Biting into a wedge of cold pie, he peeled off his raincoat awkwardly, divesting his packet along with it, and let both drop to the floor. He slackened his tie and ran lean fingers through his untidy hair, gaping stupidly and grinnding at his reflection in the hall mirror as he lurched towards the bathroom.
Passing Mavis' room, he noticed a crack of light under the door. He knelt, applied his eye to the keyhole, chuckled when he saw Mavis lying stretched out on the bed wearing just a nylon shortie that came no lower than her hips. She appeared to be sleeping, but when he overbalanced and fell heavily against the door, the. bumping of his head contacting the wood brought her head up and she looked towards the door. Travis swore aloud, and instantly a smile replaced the startled expression on Mavis' face. Deliberately she drew her knees up then swung her legs off the bed. Sitting thus, she had no secrets whatever from George. As he stared, sweating, she slipped the brief gown up over her head and threw it on the bed, then stood up and turned her back to the door.
His mouth was suddenly dry. Some of the liquor induced fog cleared from his brain. "The bitch!" he muttered. "The tantalizing, twofaced little bitch! Show business, she said. Stripper in a low-life beat dive . .
But there was more admiration than criticism in his tone. And despite the fuddling effects of drink he felt a hot flush of passion. Seeing Mavis like that helped to sober him and he came clumsily to his feet with a vague notion crossing his mind that what he was doing was wrong, sordid, disloyal to Vern and cheapening to himself. But as he turned away the door opened quietly and Mavis stood framed in the opening, naked, wanton, throbbing with desire and intensely appealing, with a mocking look in her smoldering eyes.
"I knew you were there," she said. "Don't go."
He hesitated, staring at her, drinking in her loveliness, her absorbing nudity.
"Damn you!" he muttered, "I'm drunk, but I'm wise to you. What the hell are you trying to do? My wife...."
She caught hold of his arm, and the strength of her grip surprised him. Her lips were moistened, slightly Darted, the appeal in her shining eyes undeniable.
"Forget your wife," sre whispered. "Come. Don't I interest you? You aren't so drunk you can't see what I'm offering."
He shook his head, but allowed her to draw him closer. "You little whore!" he breathed. "I ought to break your neck. If it wasn't for Vern I'd-"
"She need never know, George. I need you. You're young, strong, like me. Loving is for the young. Don't waste precious time."
She clutched at him.
"No!" he blurted stubbornly. "Vern's been good to you. She trusts you and me. We can't."
He tried to pull back, but he was wavering, weakening, and Mavis know it. She lifted his hand, placed it against her bare breast, drew him still closer, into the room, Triumph gleamed momentarily in her dark eyes as she closed the door.
"Forget Vern," she said. "Why should she have you all to herself? Oh, George. Darling....I don't want to hurt her, or you. I don't want to cause trouble. But I can't help myself. Please help me. Understand. I can't fight this thing. It's bigger than me, or Vern, or any of us. I only know I want you, need you, desperately, completely, now. Oh, God, what's the matter with you?"
He sighed heavily. His resolve was almost gone. She pulled his head down despite his mild resistance, and with the touch of her lips against his, his will collapsed. With a low cry he enfolded her in his arms and pulled her soft nakedness against him. His mouth explored her yielding flesh, roamed avidly over her young body, whipping her passions to feverish intensity.
They fell together to the floor, impervious to bumps and bruises, and rolled back on the thick carpet until the legs of the bed were hard against the girl's padded ribs. She clutched George convulsively, moaning, entreating.
"Come to me, darling!" she demanded hoarsely. "Love me-oh, love me!"
Afterwards, lying in her arms, George felt guilty, dirty. But he made no move to get up. Her breast moved gently against his palm.
"I saw you tonight," he said after a while, "at the downtown dive where you do your act."
That shook her. He heard her sharp intake of breath. "You were in the club?" she asked.
"Quite unintentionally, yes. It struck me as being funny, actually. Not really a surprise though. I knew from the first you were different, Mavis. But I don't profess to understand it, why you're really here, or what makes you tick."
She was silent for a while. "You must have heard it all from Sam,'J she said. "I'm not here from choice. What I do is my business. I didn't ask to come here. I want to lead my own life.
She smoothed damp hair back from his forehead.
"You won't tell Vern?" she asked haltingly.
"Are you crazy? Don't be a damn fool! Look, Mavis. This may seem like a funny time to bring it up, but I love my wife. I really do, so help me. I didn't plan this. I didn't want to go through with it. I've thought about you, sure, since-that night when I came home and found you standing there. But I've fought it, tried to do the decent thing. I should have known I couldn't win. Okay, so I was weak, and the liquor didn't help. Right now I ought to feel good but instead I feel like a lousy, two-timing rat."
"But George...."
"Let me finish. I've got a good life, Mavis. A good marriage. I don't intend to see it broken up. I know your sort, head in the clouds, stars in your eyes, and over-sexed as hell. You don't fool anybody except yourself, and perhaps good-natured saps like Vern.
I don't blame you. You've had your fun, and I enjoyed it too. It was wonderful. You're a nice lay, kid. You've got what it takes but you're no damn good and you'll come to a bad end. Personally I don't give a dam, but I don't want to get involved. So, I think it will be best all around if you aren't here when next I come home."
"You're asking me to leave?"
"I'm telling you. It's the only way. I don't mind seeing you once in a while if that's what you want to keep you happy. But not here."
"But Sam said if I leave he'll have me sent back home. I couldn't face that."
"I don't give a damn what Sam Davis says, you can't stay here."
She sat up, her face flushed. The warm smell of her flesh rose up into his nostrils and rekindled lukewarm passions. When she touched him intimately he swore, but with pleasure mingled with irritation.
"I won't go," she said. "You can't make me. If you try I'll-I'll tell Vern you made love to me."
She was caressing him, coaxing him, making him ready again. Angrily he grabbed her, pulled her close, made violent love to her until they both fell back, exhausted, sweating. In that moment he wasn't sure whether he hated her or loved her. Sex with Vern never thrilled him like that.
Presently he pushed Mavis away and got to his feet, suddenly angry with her and with himself.
"You tramp!" he gritted. "I believe you would tell her....All right, stay. But from now on keep away from me, at least in the house or maybe I'll have a word with Sam...."
He dressed quickly, damning himself for a weak fool. It was absolutely stupid, plain crazy, to play right into Mavis' hands the way he had. The little phony! She had him over a barrel now. Sprawled there, naked, deliberately exposed, she watched him, deriving pleasure from his obvious embarrassment, supremely confident, her body all aglow, satisfied for the time being. She didn't speak. There was nothing more to say.
George went out quietly, and breathed a deep sigh of profound relief when he reached the bathroom without disturbing Vernice. His head buzzed and his cheeks were flushed, but after a shower he felt better. When he got into bed Vern stirred. Sh turned over, muttering in her sleep. Lying beside his wife, he was thankful that she was not sufficiently awake to make physical demands of him. He felt like a criminal. But after a while his natural buoyancy of spirit asserted itself, and he relaxed and let his mind wander back over his lapse with Mavis, going over every delightful detail, each clandestine moment.
Finally he went to sleep thinking-what the hell, what Vern didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and salving his conscience with the thought that for all he knew she had herself a man or two when he was away doing his job.