Chapter 5
He was like a frightened rabbit running from a would-be captor. He hurried up Broadway as fast as his legs would carry him, looked furtively over his shoulders at every intersection, ran until tears came to his eyes, until his lungs ached, until there simply wasn't another step left in his straining body. Then he sagged against a brick building up on Seventh Avenue and asked himself: What the hell is wrong with me?
There was no answer for that one, and when he had regained his breath, when his hand crept to the inside coat pocket where the panties were nestled, he told himself that there was nothing wrong. So he had stolen her panties; so what? He wasn't the first man to obey a weird compulsion of mind, nor would he be the last. He grinned at the chilling darkness. Didn't kids steal things from dime stores, and just for laughs? His hands were trembling. He lit a cigarette. That's what he'd tell Sinclair. Did it for laughs. Had to see the look on her face when he ran off with her panties. Bet she threw a real bitch. He took another long drag on his cigarette. Slowly, he moved back into the lights of the theater marquees, back to Broadway.
When he was a block from home, he threw Claire's panties away. He'd buy her a new pair, of course. Almost have to. And maybe she would let him help her get them on. Maybe they'd both put them on; that would be fun. And too bad Edie wasn't that permissive. What the hell was so terrible about putting on a pair of panties, goofing off in women's clothes, as long as he derived a thrill from it? Edie, if she saw him that way, would have him hauled off to the boobie hatch. Claire, and maybe a lot of girls, they'd get a charge out of something like that. He dwelled on the comparisons and by the time he reached the apartment, his attitude was just as antagonistic as it had been early this morning. If she said one lousy word about his being late for supper, he'd tell her off and good!
Oddly enough, she didn't say anything offensive; in fact, she was even sweeter than usual. She greeted him with a kiss, helped him off with his coat, then handed him the evening paper and ushered him to his favorite chair. Supper would be ready in a few minutes, she promised; did he want a highball while he was waiting. He said no, of course, gave her another kiss when she swept down to him, then tried to fathom the sweetness-and-darling role. Her motives were fairly obvious, he thought. She probably felt cheap about last night, she's worried as to where she stands, and now she wants to make up for it.
He decided on an air of detachment. Let her guess, he thought. Let her worry; it'll do her good. He scanned the headlines, took a shower, hoped that it would take the edge off his hangover. When he had dressed, returned to the living room, Karen crawled to his chair. He pulled her to his lap, cuddled her affectionately. Edie came in. Supper was ready.
He put Karen down and lumbered stiffly to the table. He wasn't hungry not after all that drinking and sex but it was there: Pork chops, steaming home fries, and a side order of apple sauce; and he put himself to the chore of at least nibbling.
Edie poured two coffees and sat across from him. She looked pretty, something he couldn't deny not even on those ragged days of the curse. She wore a thin summer frock tonight, one that he was especially fond of; it was white, adorned with embroidered blue bells and garlands of forget-me-nots.
The talk was small. Did he have a busy day, was it cold outside, were the pork chops done enough. He said they were pretty busy, it was cool, the pork chops were just fine. He found himself studying her face from time to time, wondering at the innermost thoughts that were hidden beyond that angelic face. Had she seen her lover today? Did they go to bed together?
"Is something wrong?" she asked suddenly.
"Wrong?"
"Yes, you were staring at me, and you had the oddest expression on your face."
"Did I."
"Yes."
"I guess I was daydreaming." He forced himself to take another bite of the pork chops.
"You don't seem very hungry, either."
"I guess I'm just tired," he said.
She pulled closer to him. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I know what's wrong," she said. "You're mad at me. You're mad because I didn't phone you today like I Usually do."
He grunted.
"You were such a grouch last night, though. And this morning," she went on, "you didn't even say 'goodbye'! or anything."
He didn't want to wake her, he explained. No, he wasn't mad. And then: Yes and no and yes and no and blah, blah, blah. He finally had enough of her conversation; he didn't feel like talking and he pushed himself away from the table.
She followed him into the living room, squatted Indian fashion in front of his chair; Karen crawled close by and attempted unsuccessfully to imitate her.
"How tired are you?" Edie asked.
"Very tired."
"Too tired to take me shopping."
"Tonight?"
"The stores are open 'til late. They had these shoes on sale and...." She broke off abruptly, then said, "Bill, did you remember to drop my coat off at the cleaners?"
It hit him like a thunderbolt. The goddamn coat! Christ, he'd left it in that bar last night! He'd come into the bar with it, dressed up like a woman, he was; then he had left, and the coat...
"You're going to have to get a new coat," he said without looking at her.
"Why? There's nothing wrong with that one."
"You don't have it anymore."
"I what?"
"Somebody stole it. I thought I had the car locked when I parked it...." He picked up the newspaper to hide his face. "...but I guess it wasn't and...."
"Bill, that coat was practically brand new."
"I know."
"And I liked it. It fit so well and everything." And then she was making a damn federal case out of the stinking coat, bringing the crazy episode back in frightening clarity an event that he would now be happy to forget.
Finally, to silence her, because there was no other choice, he agreed to take her shopping. Edie rushed to the phone and called the babysitter.
Darla Winters never ceased to amaze Bill with her suggestive and womanly outgrowth. He had never known a 15-year-old girl with such alluring proportions; she had babysat for them for nearly two years. Bill admitted her to their apartment; Edie was doing some last-minute magic with her make-up.
There were cheerful 'hello's' followed by Bill's interest-sparked smile. He couldn't take his eyes off her rump when she bent over to pick Karen up; she was sugar and spice, and everything nice. She wore tight-fitting stretch pants, a green of summer apples. The apples upstairs weren't bad, either, covered in part by a white pullover that boasted a low, scooped out neckline. Her pony tail was as black as night.
He urged her to sit down and make herself at home, wished that he too were a 15-years-old. Once it had been last summer he and Edie had gone to a movie. It had been dreadfully hot, Darla babysat, and because the movie was such an impossible bore, they returned home unexpectedly early. Darla was stretched out asleep on the living room divan, clad in only panties and bra. She had bolted for cover when she awoke, but not before he had caught an informing glimpse of her young behind and the bouncing cups of her deliciously juvenile breasts. He had never forgotten the excitement of that moment; he was thinking of it now.
Unaware that he was looking down the front of her pullover, the 15-year-old was bent over in front of Bill, bouncing Karen up and down. She had big ones, all right. Might be nice to get a handful, he thought, and he wondered if she had any boyfriends and whether she allowed them to touch her there. Edie entered the room and broke his thoughts; she gave Darla some last-minute instructions, and then Bill was being led to the door.
The evening was an effort for him. Trafficking through crowded department stores in search of a new coat was more than his troubled stomach could stand. He cursed himself for the stupidness of losing her coat; by buying her a new one he was, in effect, practically rewarding her for having a secret lover.
Between department stores, they had coffee in a small luncheonette. Edie prodded him with conversation; he was moodily silent. During the day, he had been able to push Edie's cheating out of his mind and, by his own deeds, achieve a certain measure of revenge. But now, now that she was beside him, now that her cloying perfume assailed his nostrils and her warm thigh was pressed against his own, the ugliness of her infidelity came home to haunt him. He was bitter, hurt.
Half-way through the coffee, he told her that Sinclair was giving him a week off, a sort of impromptu vacation, and Edie wondered what they would do.
"Same thing as always," he said sourly. "Nothing."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He remained silent, played vacantly with the spoon in his coffee. In the past, he thought, doing nothing had somehow been sufficient. They had each other, there was TV, the theater, an occasional ride in the country; that had been enough at least, for Edie. Oh, Bill had approached her often about a party, told of the wild office parties that he wanted to take her to, even sampled her opinion on some of the harmless wife-swapping that sometimes went on. Naturally, Edie declined. Said she was a member of that nearly extinct breed the old-fashioned housewife one who thought a wife's proper place was in bed with her husband not somebody else's. What a preposterous laugh, he thought grimly.
"Bill," she said, breaking into his thoughts, "I asked you a question."
"I guess I just get bored with things," he said without looking at her.
"You mean with me, don't you?"
"I didn't say that, did I?"
"No, but it's what you meant."
"Well, you know, it wouldn't hurt if we did have a few friends, or went to a party, or...."
"I thought that was it," she second-guessed. "What would you like to do? Have one of those wild sex parties you're always talking about? Would you like me to take off my clothes and walk around naked in front of other men? Is that what you want?"
"Edie, for chrissakes, we're in a public place."
She went on, determined to learn what was troubling him. "That's why you acted like a damn cannibal last night, isn't it? Someone at the office told you about one of their wife-swapping adventures, you felt sorry for yourself, and now you're going to take it out on me."
"Edie...." He dropped a quarter on the counter and led the way out of the luncheonette. "Let's forget it."
She caught up with him in front of the revolving door. "I don't want to forget it, Bill. If you're not happy...."
"I didn't say that, dammit. I didn't say a damn thing about wife-swapping. All I said...."
"You'd like it, though, wouldn't you? You'd like to watch other men doing things to me. I know."
Why in the hell couldn't she shut up? he wondered. "Edie...."
She pushed him through the revolving door. Outside, she took him by the arm. "You know how I know?" she continued.
To quiet her, he said, "No, how do you know?"
"Remember how you used to ask me things at night ... I mean when we were in bed?"
He remembered. Silly, he supposed. He'd ask her about the fellows she dated when she was in school, whether they tried to make out with her, how far she had allowed them to go. She had at first thought he was jealous; later, he explained that it excited him to hear her describe the details of her dates. When she understood this, realized it was a hungry prelude to the act of love, she made up stories, fabricated imaginary boys and imaginary seductions.
"That was different," he said, now that she was bringing it to his attention.
"But you would like to do that I mean for real. I can tell."
He decided not to answer her; she'd rather do those things behind his back, he thought angrily. She'd rather cheat and let him continue to believe she was that coy, devoted, angelic, pure, and true. The bitch!
She searched his face for a smile. When he finally looked down at her, she tendered him her most loving smile-a skilled art with her, and she said, "Grouch."
He found a smile for her and although nothing was really settled between them, he sensed her insecurity, her blind anxiousness to please him. Right now she'd do anything he asked. His darkest wish would be instantly obeyed, and those wishes, he mused secretly there were so very many...
In the next department store they fought their way through, Edie discovered the coat that she wanted an autumn shortie, textured with pale pink angora. He bought it for her, and as they strode through the store after the purchase, she said, "Are you going to make love to me tonight? I feel like it, if you do."
He told her he didn't know. He wasn't sure, really, if he could go another round, or not.
"I'll take everything off," she said, trying to excite him, "and if you want, you can even take pictures. How would that be?"
He masked his interest with a shrug of indifference. She was trying damn hard, he thought. Posing nude before his Polaroid would be her supreme sacrifice. True, she had reluctantly permitted him to take pictures before, but she always insisted on tearing them up soon after; she was afraid he would show them to his office buddies.
"You aren't answering me, Mr. William."
"I'm out of film."
"Tsk, tsk." She turned toward him; she moistened her lips. "Then I think you'd better buy some tonight."
"You'll just tear 'em up."
"How do you know, Mr. Smarty?"
"You always do."
"All right. Tonight, I won't. You can do whatever you want with them."
He almost fell over with surprise. If he could show one of Edie's nude photos to old man Sinclair ... Christ, the old boy would fall flat on his aged ass.
Edie gave him a gentle nudge toward the photo supply counter. "Well...."
He stepped up and bought three packs of film. He offered her a timid smile, wondering as he did, why he wanted to show the pictures to Sinclair. He didn't fight the question, though; he simply rationalized that showing the pictures to Sinclair would be for kicks.
Later, in the lamp department and from a few paces back, he caught himself appraising the soft curve of Edie's behind. Nice, he thought. Not too big, not too small. And when she turned to examine a lamp, he saw other things that were also nice: her breasts. None of her features were harsh, though. Her femininity needed no accent, no artifices. She was fine the way she was soft and cuddly, an appealing girl-woman with constant beauty. How sad, he thought miserably, that she was also a cheat.
In the hardware department, Bill suddenly realized they were being followed. It was silly, really two shabbily dressed boys, perhaps 12 and 15, were following closely behind, giggling and whispering to each other, maybe finding erotic amusement in the wiggle of Edie's buttocks. Whatever the attraction, they were not to be easily eluded.
Bill pretended not to notice them, and Edie, agog at every counter display, was impervious to the pleasure that she was bringing two callow youths.
When they left the hardware department, Edie led the way upstairs; she wanted to see those shoes that were on sale. Bill followed her and the boys lurked cautiously up the stairs after them. Just before they reached the top steps, Edie stopped suddenly and pointed to a display that had been built into the wall. Several pairs of women's shoes were mounted within the case: metallic blues and browns, spike-heeled exotics, the very latest in French imports.
Edie was exuberantly entranced with the spike-heeled ones black leatherettes with rhinestone strappings, heels that were at least five-inches high. "I wonder how much they are?" she said excitedly.
Bill shrugged. His mind was directed to the two boys standing below, clutching at the banisters, looking up, seeing everything that Edie owned.
A sudden boiling of passion took him in its grasp. He knew he should nudge Edie upward off the landing, take her away from the prying eyes of the two youths, but some incredible black demon within him rendered him powerless. He even delayed her when she started to leave, asked foolish questions about the shoes, gave the boys precious seconds of added observation. He knew that they could readily see the milky white of her thighs; perhaps, also the pink of her panties and the darkened triangle within.
He was hot hot, knowing that the two small boys were also hot, and when it became apparent that the show was over, Edie climbing the last few remaining stairs, he looked down at the boys and flashed them a knowing wink. The boys exchanged puzzled glances, then followed quickly after them.
Bill led her to the women's shoe department. She wouldn't buy those spiked-heeled shoes the coat had been costly enough, she said but she just had to try them on. Did he care? Absently, he said no.
While they were in the shoe department, the boys stationed themselves behind a pillar and out of sight. The shoe clerk brought Edie the model she was interested in, then excused himself to attend another customer.
Edie, and obviously for Bill's benefit, made a considerably wanton display of herself putting the shoes on. Bill was standing opposite her, gazing at the sheer panties she wore.
"Are you getting an eyeful?" she asked, deliberately working him up.
Bill thought of the two boys somewhere behind him. "Would you like to get raped right here in the store?" he asked.
"That might be fun," she said, cramping her feet into the leather skyscrapers. She stood up and her legs looked more marvelous than he had ever remembered. He was as awed as the two boys clutching excitedly at their trouser fronts.
"How would you like me to wear these and long black hose, and nothing else?" She smiled mischievously.
"Damn you!"
"Am I getting you hot?"
He answered her by purchasing the shoes. Down in the street, his excitement was driving him crazy. He had forgotten his earlier bitterness and let his hands brush the warmth and bounce of her buttocks. He rushed her toward their car, intent on only one thing: Getting his hot hands under her dress. The two small boys ran quickly behind them.