Chapter 14
Things couldn't be worse and yet they were. He was leaving the office when the phone rang. It was Edie.
"I'm leaving now," he muttered. "Bill?"
"Yes."
"You're going to be mad at me."
"Am I?"
"Bill?"
"Yes."
"Do you love me?"
Love? Such a funny meaningless word. "Shouldn't I?" he said.
"Maybe I don't deserve it, honey."
"Why?"
"Bill, I did it," she blurted out. Coldly, he asked, "Did what."
"You know."
His mind told him what she was trying to say, but he refused to believe it. "Edie...."
"Bill ... Grant and I ... honey, we started drinking ... oh, Bill." She broke off, weeping.
"Edie?"
She slowly regained her voice. "Honey, I couldn't help it. I just lost control of myself and ... he sent Keith to a movie and then we were dancing and...." She wept again. "...he was rubbing against me and he had his hands all over me ... honey, I lost my head ... I ... Bill, are you listening?"
"Yes," he said sadly. "Still listening."
"Bill, we went to bed. We did it." She was silent, fighting for the rest of the words, trying desperately to excuse what had happened, but no excuse was possible.
For a minute, he was utterly silent. He had taught her this, he supposed; and now that it had happened, happened without his being there, who could he really blame but himself?
"Bill?"
"Still here."
"Are you mad?" she said timidly.
He said no, but still it hurt. Tears burned in his eyes, and what he felt was a strange mixture of resentment, jealousy, and inward excitement. He felt cheated; cheated because he had not been present to watch and he knew this was wrong, but he was powerless to combat it. Secretly, he supposed he had always wanted to watch her do something like that with another man; he didn't want to lose her, he simply wanted to have the thrill of watching her.
Once again, she told him how sorry she was; he told her not to worry. And then it was ridiculously out of place, but the remark slipped out before he could stop it: "Was it good, Edie? Was it?" He waited an interminable period, one that seemed like forever, and then she answered, "Yes, Bill. It was real good." She was silent. Then: "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"I don't really know," he said softly, and then he hung up.
He walked slowly from the building, lost in thought, lost in time. He felt more lonely than ever, and he had made her this way, he thought. His private Galatea, shaped in the way he as Pygmalion, had designed her; shaped to make other men hot, ultimately entice them to the fruits of love, to lie with them and love them. And wasn't this the very thing he wanted?
Wanting to forget, urgently needing to, he entered a nearby beer joint and drank quickly and often. Push back the hurt to where it belongs, he thought. Drown the bitterness of love with the bitterness of liquor. And it worked.
After a few drinks, it became easy to tell himself that he had not made her this way. Hadn't she cheated on him behind his back? Didn't he stumble on her secret lover the other night, get himself slugged in the bargain? Why the hell should he take the blame? Put the blame where it rightfully belonged on her! And then, of course, another drink. Drinks convinced him that he was right, and he was. And he couldn't blame Harrigan. He'd helped Harrigan along by showing him Edie's nude pictures. Harrigan had lived it up, and from now on, so would Bill. Yes, the hell with everything. And if this perverted flatfoot wanted to get some kicks, knock the hell out of her why not?
It was just one more lover that she could add to her growing list.
He threw down another drink, then stumbled blindly back to the apartment.
Supper was finished when he arrived; Edie wanted to warm it over, but he explained he wasn't hungry. What he wanted was a drink. And then another, and another.
Harrigan shot him some guilt-ridden glances; Bill eased the situation, however, with jokes, laughter, a hearty spirit of unconcern. Edie begged him to take it easy on the drinks, but why should he? Tomorrow you died; tonight you lived.
So he drank more than was necessary Keith still hadn't returned from the movie-and he gaily suggested they take some pictures.
Edie drew him aside. "Haven't you punished yourself enough for one day. Or didn't I?"
"Who's punishing?" He swallowed more of another drink. "I'm living it up, baby. You did."
She evidenced the hurt of his remark. She lowered her eyes. "I had that coming, didn't I?"
He put his arm around her. He was blind with drink, but he sagely said, "I didn't mean it that way, hon. What the hell ... Christ, I'd have done the same thing. He just warmed you up and ... c'mon, where's the camera?"
For the next hour, Edie answered every sick request his drink-stupored brain commanded. She brought out all the fetish undergarments he had always wanted her to wear; evil rubber panties, imprisoning leather corsets, mesh hose, high heeled shoes that made him wild with desire. He photographed her in every conceivable angle, had Harrigan help him with the lights.
One of her most exciting outfits it took some coaxing to make her put it on consisted of a French maid costume. Her red panties were scanty and sheer; an exquisite tiny French apron of luxurious nylon, cut provocatively low in front and sweeping down and around to reveal her pretty bare back, caused Harrigan to whistle. The costume was richly complemented by sheer hip length hose and spike-heeled shoes. The French maid cap was of imported lace.
Bill snapped several pictures in this costume; Harrigan again feeling his drinks and oats, clowned and became a part of the pictures. He put his arms around her, glimpsed at her pear-shaped breasts trying to push over the top of her apron, and laughingly called for 'room service'.
Bill laughed and drunkenly brought the Polaroid up to his eye.
"Don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes," Harrigan said, clasping Edie even tighter.
"You mean the pinks of their nipples, don't you?" He laughed and snapped the picture.
There were more drinks and suddenly Edie seemed to join in the fun. "How about something like this?" She bent over at the hips, exposing her blushing pink nipples. Harrigan stared boldly down the front of her French apron. His hands were trembling.
In another minute, she reversed the pose, aimed her buttocks at Bill's camera. The elastic edging of the skimpy panties bit into the soft flesh of her buttocks. Both men were speechless. Harrigan finally said, "I think she wants a spanking."
"So do I," Bill agreed. His gaze was riveted to the back edge of the red panties, where they separated from her dark hip length hose. He jerked his belt out of his trousers and flung it to Harrigan.
Edie frowned. "You're kidding ... I hope."
"Hell, no, we're not kidding." Bill shot her a menacing glance. "You were bad, weren't you?"
"Bill...."
"Give her a crack," he yelled to Harrigan. He aimed the camera. Harrigan sent the belt zinging through the air. It landed squarely on the cheeks of her bottom.
She yelped, Bill snapped the shutter release, and the picture was a corker.
Edie naturally thought they were out of their minds. She told them so.
"Insubordination," Bill ruled. "Calls for more punishment. Right?"
Harrigan said, "Right."
Against her protests, Bill ordered Edie to bend over a chair. She started to go through with it, then straightened up. "I won't do it."
His eyes grew dark. He drew closer. "D'ya hear that, Harrigan. She won't do it."
Harrigan made a lunge for her. He seized her around the waist and pulled her down onto the chair. Edie squealed. "Bill! Bill, stop it!"
"Pull her panties down," Bill shouted. He brought the camera up to his face.
"Bill!"
Harrigan struggled with the wispy nylon panties. His face grew beet-red. He jerked downward on the panties and raised his hand. She screamed. Harrigan's slap was violent. The resounding smack measured the impact of his blow. The soft ripeness of her ivory buttocks twitched with pain. Harrigan struck her again; and over and over and over, Bill whispered to himself, "You're bad, you're bad, you're bad...."
"You're both terrible," Edie cried when it was over. She came to her feet and pulled up her panties.
"We thought it was fun," Bill said, and Harrigan boisterously agreed.
"Wanna double your pleasure?" he asked.
"Hell, no!" she said, and then ran for the bedroom.
Bill and Grant Harrigan started after her, but someone knocked at the door. It was Tom Bradford, and after introductions and more drinks, Harrigan suggested a party.
"We'd need more females," Bill hinted.
"Alice is coming over in a few minutes," Tom said. "She just got back."
Suddenly, the party idea sounded good to Bill. "I could get our babysitter over here for your boy," Bill said to Harrigan after Keith returned. "She's young and ripe...." He winked at Harrigan. "...and not bad."
"If she's that good," Harrigan laughed loudly, "I'll take her."
"And who the hell am I going to take?" Tom Bradford put in broodingly.
"You can have Edie," Bill answered. He shouted toward the back bedroom. "Hurry up, honey. We're gonna have a party." He turned to the rest. "You know who'd get a bang out of this? My boss. Sinclair. That old bastard is hornier than hell." He went to the phone. Somebody put a drink in his hand. Two buzzes and then he reached Sinclair. Could he zoom down? A party. Right now. A wild one. Sinclair said five minutes.
He came away from the phone just as Edie rejoined them. He told her about the party while Harrigan shoved her a drink. "Can you get Darla over here?" Bill asked.
She frowned. She didn't think it was a good idea. "Bill, it's kind of late, you know."
"What d'ya mean, late? It's only nine o'clock. Tell her we need a babysitter." He laughed. "As a matter-of-fact, we do."
"Okay, but I don't think it's such a good idea," she said, reaching for the phone. "If you wolves are planning what I think you're planning...." She began to dial.
"So if we go to jail," Bill said raucously, "we'll just continue the party behind bars. How 'bout it?" And then he laughed not at them, but at himself. He felt ridiculous, drunk, bitter, hurt. He no longer cared what happened. Live today, die tomorrow. The hell with everything.