Chapter 17
He didn't fight it; there was no use. Now was not the time, he told himself; and he stood above her and watched her sob herself to sleep. Tears squeezed out of her darkened eyes, rolled slowly down to the bloodstained corners of her mouth. He covered her with a quilt, made Karen a bottle, then returned to sit at Edie's side.
She never spoke; it was as though he did not exist. But he did what he could: cold compresses for her swollen face, hot tea, and then an extra quilt because she was shivering.
He remained at his vigil for much of the night, occasionally looking in on Karen, pausing to tidy the kitchen, but always returning to Edie's side to look beseechingly at the blankness of her stare.
She finally fell asleep and when she awoke, several hours later, he made broth and brought it to her side. She didn't want it, she said. Not anything. Just leave her alone. And he did.
He didn't sleep; he didn't want to. He couldn't lose her, he told himself. She meant more than he realized, and if she had cheated behind his back; well, had he been any better? But how could he reach her now? Communication between them was lost perhaps, for keeps.
And nothing changed in the next few days. She remained in bed, except to care for Karen; and she refused to see the Bradfords when they dropped by for a visit. Through it all, she was drawn immeasurably closer to their little one, hugging her closely, saying, "Mommy is sick, honeykins. But in a few days...." And this only amplified his growing hurt and loneliness. And finally, he could stand it no longer. He fell at her bedside, put his head down and cried without shame.
"Bill...." She sat up, doubled over him, and pressed her face to his. "Bill, stop it."
But he couldn't. The thought of losing her ... And then he told her everything. Broken sentences that rambled on with his pitiful confession: Dressing up like a woman, getting trapped by Detective Nuzzo, making a deal with the lousy bastard to save his own skin. "I didn't want you to find out," he sobbed. "I was so ashamed. Edie...."
And suddenly she was off the bed, bent beside him, consoling him, seeing the terrifying ramifications of his secret shame, telling him yes, everything would be all right.
He was gloriously happy. He took her in his arms, held her close, held her dearly. Tears that had robbed him of masculinity and self-respect were slowly blinked away. And then warm coffee was brewed, they sat closely together; and the silent glance of returning affection was worth more than a million words of humility and love. And in bed, long after the lights were switched off, he lay in her arms and tried to find sleep. And the peace of sleep, of well-being, arrived only after she had whispered, "I changed my mind, Bill. I'm not leaving. We've got to try, don't we?"
He whispered 'yes' and closed his eyes.
The following week was like a second honeymoon. They didn't discuss the events that had led up to the break. Better to forget. Better to start anew.
It seemed destined to work. Bill talked Sinclair into giving him another week off; Sinclair amicably told him to have fun.
They did, too. They spent the mornings in Central Park this was Karen's time and they romped with her, Bill providing the piggy-back rides, Edie running down to the lake with her so that she might see the swans.
They breakfasted in Columbus Circle: pancakes and hot steaming syrup; or sometimes bacon and eggs with platters of sizzling home fries. And one morning, breakfast in bed; he the joshing cook, she the smiling, put-to-bed heiress.
In the afternoons, they shopped or took in a matinee; and in the evenings, they sat alone in front of the TV, held hands, re-discovered a love almost lost. He soon found it difficult to believe that they'd ever fallen out of love, and the events of the past an incredible nightmare that had never happened.
So the banter between them became more and more frolicsome, and it became easier and easier to forget. And then he completely forgot.
Edie fell naked over him on a warm August morning. She wiggled suggestively against his loins a wonderful way to be awoken. She said, "What, may I ask, ever happened to that picnic at the beach you once promised. It seems to me...."
The maleness of him buried itself between her hot thighs. He smiled mischievously. "So we'll go to the beach." He had managed to unite their bodies. He groaned with the ecstasy of her movements. He pinched her nipples. "And if you're nice to me," he said with another groan, "maybe I'll show you the breast stroke."
She giggled and pressed against him. "Just make me float," she whispered huskily. "D'ya think you can do that?"
"I don't even need water for that," he said, and he proved it.
Later, they were readying supplies for the picnic at the beach. Darla was going to take care of Karen; Edie preferred to spend this day just with him.
"Why don't you wear that bikini I bought you last year?" he suggested.
"The bikini?" she said doubtfully. "Bill, there's hardly anything to it. I mean...."
He shrugged and continued packing the picnic basket. The bikini wasn't that big a thing, he thought, but he'd like to have seen it on her. And it never occurred to him that there was anything wrong in his request, nor that the insidious cancer of his mind, dormant for the last few days, was now again alive. No, he didn't think of it that way; not until that passing moment in the bathroom, when the picture of her flashed through his mind her in the bikini, the guys at the beach gawking at her and wanting her, imagining how soft and hot her tits were...
He frowned. He tried to blot the crazy thoughts out of his mind.
"Almost ready?" Edie asked suddenly.
"Huh?"
"Daydreamer. I said are you ready."
"Sure. Sure, I'm ready."
She smiled at him. "And I have a surprise for you when we get there," she said. "What?"
"I'm going to wear that bikini, darling."
They discovered a tiny inlet down the road from Jones Beach, a deserted stretch of white sand that seemed far removed from the mad cacophony of New York City. He opened up the beach umbrella while Edie slipped out of her Capris and blouse. She'd worn the green latex bikini beneath her clothes, and he gaped now in stunned disbelief. She was lovely.
"Hello, sexy." His dark eyes coveted her body.
"I feel naked." She glanced nervously up and down the beach. They were alone.
"Do you like the suit?" he asked.
"Of course. Only there's not much to it." She bent over and examined the wispy triangle of latex that bound her pelvis. She yanked up on the halter a flash of green that scarcely covered her nipples and she frowned. "Are you sure it's my size?"
"You wouldn't want it any larger. It looks good."
"To you, it would," she said cynically. "As long as it shows everything."
He slapped her fanny. "Aw, quit your grouching." He shot her a smile and tried to draw her into his arms. She slipped away and ran for the water.
"Last one in is a monkey," she shouted.
He pulled off his trousers and sandals and came after her. He tackled her just as she reached the ocean's edge, dunking her under. She spurted water in his face when she came up, laughed, and swam away. He gave chase, again pulling her under. When she surfaced, he was waiting for her, seizing her roughly, drawing her into a long tempestuous kiss.
She finally kicked away from him, rolled on her back floated briefly, then submerged. He waded ashore, toweled himself, and stretched out on a blanket to watch her. She was an excellent swimmer, and as he gazed at her, watched her frolic against a backdrop of foaming white caps, it occurred to him how lucky he was to have her. A strange contentment filled his body, a complacency with the world; and the idyllic warmth of the afternoon lulled him to the edge of slumber.
When she finally came ashore, he was startled by her unexpected presence. He came to his feet and draped a towel around her shoulders. She shivered, and he toweled her down, bringing her skin to a warming pinkness. "That better?" he asked.
"Wonderful." They stretched out under the umbrella. His hand roamed to the soft flesh between her thighs. She pushed his hand away. "All right, youuuu."
"But it feels good."
"I know. That's the trouble."
He propped himself up on his elbows, gazed fondly at her, his eyes sweeping the majestic curves of her body. It was as though this were the first time he had ever seen her body; perhaps, also the last. So he wanted a greedy look, a long one.
"Don't get shook up, Mister Husband."
"And why not?"
"Because you can't do anything about it."
"Why not?" He grinned.
"Because, in case you don't know it, we're getting company."
He followed the direction of her glance. Some fifty yards away, a small group of boys had gathered to swim. They were in their late teens; they had been staring at Edie's bikini until Bill returned their gaze. Now they turned away.
Bill shrugged. "Guess we'll just have to wait until we get home." He flattened himself beside her and let the sun warm him to laziness.
In a few minutes, Edie fell asleep; for him, sleep was not this easy. He was too swept up in the admiration of her lovely body, wanting to touch her, yet fearing that she would wake.
For a while, he occupied himself with watching the youths play handball. They had moved closer, he thought. Probably itching to see more of the pretty lady in the sand. Probably itching to see a lot more. And then the cancer of sin was full-born again. He wanted to give the boys a peek, just a peek, and what the hell was the harm?
He didn't know exactly how to go about it. He didn't want to awaken her, but ... He gazed thoughtfully at her halter, held together in front by just one little bow. Could he? did he dare? He looked back at the boys, then gently eased the halter down, loosening the bow, letting her beautiful breasts tumble out for all to see. The boys hadn't seen him, and with Edie's breasts revealed to the sky, Bill settled next to her, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.
His wait was a short one. One of them spotted her bare breasts; the others crept carefully closer.
"Dig those knockers!" one of them whispered.
Bill lay perfectly still. An excitement sprang forth in his loins.
"Wish she had everything off," one of the youths whispered.
Bill cursed himself. He could have arranged that; there was just a little draw-string at the side of the bikini; he could have loosened it so easily.
"Maybe we could help her off with the rest of it," a new voice suggested.
"Lets!"
"Yeah, lets!"
Bill sprang up. Two of the toughies surprised him with their strength and bowled him over. Edie screamed. Four of the boys were at her, pulling off the last wisp of her suit, toppling over her body eight hands groping over her hot young flesh. "Bill, help!"
He kicked at his captors. Something struck him a blinding blow at the base of his skull. The sea spun, his legs collapsed. Then it was dark...
When he came to, his hands were bound behind his back, his ankles were also tied, and there was a gag in his mouth. The kids were having a riot with her: two-at-a-time, or so it seemed; and all she could do was writhe in apparent agony. The others either held her, or stood nearby handling themselves. All of them were naked; Edie was helpless.
"Give it to her, Tony. Make her reach for the sky."
"All the way sweetheart...." He sank deeply between her thighs. Her forehead wrinkled, but her resistance was gone. Now her body was disobeying her mind. She was responding, hating herself, first because it was happening; but worse, now because she was starting to enjoy it.
He was on his back, watching them, too entranced by the spectacle to struggle with his bonds, or call out for help. Yes, she was getting gang-banged, he told himself. Getting the works, getting hot in the bargain, sailing to the moon. And it was happening to him too, he thought; he was hot and the same damning sex dream had gripped him again. He wanted it to happen, surged with inward joy, wanted to see her explode and then it happened.
It was too much for her to cope with. Two boys playing with her nipples; another tickling her buttocks; a fourth one engaged between her legs, thrusting himself in and out; and the remaining two standing there fondling themselves inches from her face.
She pumped her body up to meet the savage thrust of the young hoodlum. She had to have it. Had to. And more, and more, and more.
Bill heard her moan, felt her ecstasy, felt the dizzying approach of climax. And then it was again and again. Another boy, another thrust. And then another, and another.
They finally ran, disappearing in the brush on an overhead ledge; and she looked at him and whimpered. He broke loose from the bonds they weren't that secure tore the gag from his mouth and ran to her side.
"Are you all right?" His hands stroked her naked breasts, ran slowly down to the bushy softness between her legs. She mumbled something he couldn't understand, and then the frightening, possessing sex mania gripped him again. He straddled her; she looked up in frightened surprise.
"Bill?"
"I can't help it, honey. I can't help it." He throbbed inside her.
"Oh, Bill...." She broke out and cried.
He wanted to stop, but couldn't. Thrill after thrill rode through his body. Crash the gates of hell. In. Out. In. Out.
"Bill...."
But there was no stopping him. She had been raped by six boys. He was the seventh....