Chapter 8
It was about six weeks later on that he again entered Mac's place and walked up to the bar, pulled out a stool and sat down. The bartender-John thought it was the same man who had waited on him the time Joan had approached him-came over, took his order, brought him the double whiskey.
"How are you?" the bartender said. "Your name John Deering?" John nodded.
"A young woman has been in here three or four times looking for you. She asked me, when I saw you, to deliver a message."
"What is it?"
"She said you have to come to the Ainsworth place."
"Thanks," John said.
He had been working for the past month at a promotional deal. He had been in charge of a large group of young guys passing out soap samples to the public. Consequently, he had a few dollars in his pocket, enough to repay the two hundred he had accepted from Mrs. Ainsworth. It had rankled him, having to take that money-not at the time, but later. For a week now he had not been working, had considered several times paying a visit to the Ainsworth home. Now seemed like a good time to do it. He would not have fully admitted it to himself, but he wanted to see both women. Especially, he wanted to see Joan.
He caught a cab, gave the driver the directions and some ten minutes later was let out in front of the large stone residence. He paid the cabbie, walked up to the door, punched the bell button.
He knew a moment of pleasure when Joan opened the door. She was wearing the briefest of briefs and a halter that barely covered her nipples. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her lush body. He had almost forgotten how appearing she was.
"Hello, John," she said. "You look prosperous. I'm glad to see you."
"Hello, Joanie," he said quietly, but he did not feel quiet. His heart was hammering. "I'm glad to see yon, too."
He noticed she was barefoot. There is always something very sexy-looking about a young beautiful girl who is in her bare feet. John felt his heart picking up in speed by the moment. He let his eyes travel up and down her body, noting again every detail of it.
"Did you get my message?" she asked, taking his arm and leading him into the hallway. She closed the door and once again he noticed how cool it was in this large house.
"Yes. The bartender gave it to me."
"I'm so glad you came, John. I've missed you terribly."
Not half as much as I have you, he thought, but merely said, "That's nice to hear, Joanie."
She steered him into the front room, let go of his arm, walked to the liquor cabinet. "I'll bet you want a bourbon," she said. "Right?"
"Thanks," he said, watching her from across the room. She's terrific, he thought-why did I get mad at her the other time? I've just about forgotten the reason.
She brought the drink, handed the glass to him. "There," she said. "I made it a triple shot."
"Thanks. Are you going to get me drunk right off?"
"I might. Drinking breaks the ice," she said, smiling.
"Ice? What ice?" he said, playing along.
"None, really. I'm very fond of you, John. You ought to know that."
He waited for her to get a drink. Then he motioned toward the sofa and she nodded, sat down. He sat beside her, closely. He could catch the scent of her perfume just as he had weeks ago. It was a pleasant and familiar odor. He wanted, suddenly, to kiss her, but made no overt move.
"How is ... everyone?" he asked guardedly.
She laughed. It was a pleasant sound to his ears. He realized suddenly that he might be in love with her. Might be. He could not be sure. Love was a damned peculiar thing, he knew. One minute everything was beautiful, the next minute it stank. How to keep it beautiful? Well, people had been trying to figure that one for centuries. A few people managed it; more did not. He was certain of this. His thinking was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Keith Ainsworth.
The man came into the room, stopped cold when he saw John. He turned about, started to leave without speaking.
"Hello," John said carefully.
Ainsworth turned about facing John. He shifted his glance to Joan. "What's he doing here?" he demanded of her. "I thought I told you to keep him out"
John got to his feet, looked at the man, looked at Joan, looked back at Ainsworth. "I was invited here," he said evenly.
Ainsworth glared at him, glared at Joan. He snorted, turned on his heel and left the room.
John sat down again. "What's that all about?" he asked her.
"I don't know. He's been acting strange lately. He's angry all the time. He struck my aunt the other day, hurt her quite badly."
John took out his pack, offered her a cigarette, which she refused. He lighted one for himself, sat quietly smoking it, thinking about the man's actions. He could arrive at nothing, so he put him out of mind.
"Joanie," he said.
"Yes, John?"
"Did she have her ... I mean ... what happened with her?"
Joan laughed tensely. "She's all right."
"I think you know what I'm talking about," he said evenly.
"Sure. I said she's all right."
He pulled out his wallet, extracted two hundred dollars, handed it to her. "Give this to your aunt, please. I had to borrow it from her the last night I was here."
"All right, John. She put the money in a drawer of a table nearby. She came back, sat beside him more closely than before.
"The message," he said carefully. "What was it about?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to see you," she said, smiling. "Do you mind?"
He was about to reply when Keith Ainsworth entered the room again. "Go up and see your aunt," he told Joan. "She wants to talk to you immediately."
Joan put her drink down, said, "All right." To John, "Excuse me. I probably won't be long."
John stood up as she left the room, looked at Keith Ainsworth, who had walked to the liquor cabinet and was busy pouring himself a drink. John saw him toss it off, cough, pour himself another. He drank this too, all of it, slammed the glass down hard, came toward John. He spoke:
"You know something? T hate the sight of you."
John took a drag on his cigarette, let the smoke drift out slowly. "Why so?" he said. "What have I done to you?"
"You've turned my wife into a sentimental slob. Now since you were here, all she can think of is love, love, love. She even wants me ... me, mind you, to try it with her. Makes me sick to my stomach. Anything I can't stand is for a woman to-" He broke off, took another drink, coughed.
John tried hard not to grin. He knew this was a serious deal with this womanish man. In a way, he felt sorry for him, but only in a way. In another sense, he felt disgust at having to listen to the guy. It is difficult, sometimes, for men to treat homos with any fairness at all; this was one of the times. John suppressed his desire to ridicule the guy. He simply turned away from him.
"Damned bitch," he heard Keith Ainsworth muttering. "Awful thing."
John picked up his own drink, finished it, set the glass down. Keith Ainsworth walked across the room, stopped by a window, peered out of doors at something. He turned about. "Here comes that Mark Harkins," he muttered.
John recalled that this was the name of the man who had taken Joan out that last night he had been in the house. He was surprised not to feel the stab of jealousy he had known that night.
Ainsworth went out of the room, presumably to the front door. John heard him tell the man that Joan was not in. Evidently, Keith did not care for him, either, John thought. The other man tried to argue with him about it, but John heard the door slam hard. A moment later, Keith Ainsworth returned to the room, picked up his drink and drained the glass.
John wished Joanie would hurry and return. He did not care to stay there with Ainsworth. One thing he knew-if Ainsworth kept knocking off shots of whiskey at this rate for long, he'd be plastered fairly soon. John turned slightly and saw him toss off still another glass of whiskey. Ainsworth slammed this glass down hard, too, walked across the room near where John stood.
"Lousy, stinking world," he muttered, and walked by John and out into the hallway.
John grinned, sat down on the sofa, feeling a sense of relief that Ainsworth had decided to leave. He noticed his glass was empty, so he refilled it, returning to the sofa. It was more than ten minutes before Joan came back to the room. She stopped in the doorway, looked at him.
"John," she said, her face set-looking. "She wants to see you. Will you go up to her room?"
"I don't think so," he said quietly.
"Why not, John?"
"I seem to be too mixed up in this family already. I don't want to get any further involved."
"Poor Aunt Julie, John. She so much wants to see you."
"I see," he said a trifle coolly. "So that's why you wanted me to come back ... so your aunt could see me."
"No. That's only part of the reason, John. I wanted to see you, too."
He stood still as she came close to him. He felt her arm go about him, felt the warmth of it against his midriff. She placed her head on his chest; her hair brushed over his nose and lips. He kissed it, felt his heart beginning to hammer again.
John," she said. "I know why you're being so stiff toward me. You think I'm going to marry Mark Harkins, don't you?"
He knew this had been bothering him, perhaps only subconsciously. "Are you, Joanie?" he asked, letting his lips brush over her hair.
"No. I told him to not ever come back here."
"He was here just a few minutes ago."
"I know. My uncle told me he sent him away."
John felt better, his heart began to beat even faster as he felt her body move up against his. He wanted to pick up, carry her up the stairs to her room and....
"John," she said. "Stay here all night, will you?"
"Are you the boss here, or is your uncle?"
"I'm not. Why do you ask that?"
"You uncle doesn't like having me around. He said so."
"He doesn't like anybody or anything these days. Nothing."
"Do you want me to stay, Joanie?"
"Yes. Very much."
"All right. I'll stay."
She leaned back, looked up into his eyes. "The more I see you, the better I like you."
"Ditto," he said, feeling very good now.
She was silent for a time. Then: "Won't you please go up and let her look at you? You don't have to remain there for long."
"All right," he agreed. "In a moment."
He drew her up closer to him, his sexuality returning with full force, and even more potently than it had the other time he had been in this house. She must have felt this, for she sighed and pressed her nearly nude body tightly against his cock. He brushed her hair with his lips again. Her hair smelled clean and fragrant, wonderful. He wanted to hold her like this for as long as he could.
"Will you go up now, John?" she asked, her face buried in his chest.
"Do you want to go up with me?" he said, hoping she would.
"N-No. I don't believe so, John. It would be better if you went alone to see Aunt Julia. She's really quite fond of you."
That's what I'm afraid of, he thought, but did not say it. With reluctance he released her and she stepped away from him. He looked at her for a long moment. "You're even prettier than you were before," he told her, and meant every word of it.
"Thank you, John. That's very nice."
"It's also true."
She smiled. "I hope so."
He walked to the doorway, stopped, looked back at her. "I won't be gone long. Will you wait here for me?"
"Yes."
"All right."
He looked at her longingly again, left the room, strode down the thickly carpeted hallway to the open staircase, went up it, taking two steps at a time. He arrived in front of Julia Ainsworth's room only to meet Keith coming out of it.
Ainsworth scowled at him. "Where are you doing, Deering?"
"Your wife. She wanted to see me."
Ainsworth swore. "All right, go in and see her, but don't stay long."
John held his temper. After all, he was in the man's house. "I don't intend staying very long," he said quietly.
"After you've seen her," the man sneered, "why don't you clear out and leave us alone?"
John just looked at him. Keith Ainsworth swore again, walked away. John saw him go down the stairs. What was wrong with the guy? Why should he care if John went in to see his wife? He knew why John had been brought here in the first place. If he wasn't man enough to take care of his wife and had to hire someone else to do it, why should he be resentful afterward? John grinned as he thought of the phrase "hire someone else." It was not flattering to have someone hire you for such a purpose. Or did it matter, really? he asked himself.
He shrugged, not knowing the answer, pushed open the door, stepped into the room. Julia Ainsworth was sitting up in bed, as usual. When she saw him, a smile came over her face; she jerked her shoulders about, the straps falling down, exposing her breasts. John knew now that this was deliberate. He had suspected it before, but this time he had caught her doing it.
"Put your straps up, Mrs. Ainsworth," he said, even before saying hello.
She looked at him, the smile died on her face. She brushed her blonde hair away from her eyes, drew up the straps, tried another smile, apparently for size. John smiled back at her, walked over to the bed.
"Hello," she said, finally.
"Hello, Mrs. Ainsworth. How are you?"
"I'm fine. You?"
John nodded, letting that be his answer. He stood there looking at her, wondering what she was thinking.
"I sent Joan out to look for you, Mr. Deering."
So ... he was "Mr. Deering" this time. Part of the time she called him that; the rest of the time she called him John.
He thought he might as well be blunt about it. "Didn't it work, Mrs. Ainsworth?"
She shook her head. "I'm not going to have a child, if that's what you mean."
What else would I be meaning? John thought. "I see," he said, smiling. "Well, I did my best."
"Yes," she said. "And so did I. But we weren't good enough. I asked you here ... to make a request of you."
"Sure, I know. You want to try again. Right?"
She looked away quickly, found strength somewhere, apparently, looked back at him-this time straight in the eyes. "Yes. Will you ... please?"
He just looked at her.
She flushed a little. "I'll give you one thousand dollars this time."
He could tell this sort of thing was humiliating her. He looked away from her, walked slowly around the bed, coming to a stop near her. He noted she was looking at him lower down on his body. He saw the quick lust come into her blue eyes. She narrowed the lids, moistened her lips. He turned about, walked back to the foot of the bed. He was not so sure now that she was humiliated.
"Well," she said. "Will you or won't you?"
"I don't know," he said. "It depends on things."
"What things?"
"Yourself, for example."
"What do you want from me besides money?"
John fought to hold his temper again. "I don't want your money. This time I'm not hard up."
"I am," she said, looking him in the eye.
"For money?" he said suggestively.
"No. Not for money. For something else."
He played along with it. "For what, exactly?"
"For you, John," she said, using his first name.
He turned and walked to the door, stopped. "I had an idea that this was what you wanted to see me about. Sorry."
He walked from the room. She called out to him, but he kept on going, went down the stairs to the front room. There was no one there. He felt disappointed Joanie had promised him she would wait. Perhaps she had gone to the bathroom. He got himself a drink, stood in the middle of the room sipping it. He thought about the woman upstairs. He was sorry for her, in a way. In another way, he thought she was something of a fool.
It was several minutes longer before Joan entered the room. She smiled at John ran over to him, threw her arms about him. She placed her head on his chest and again he felt his heart hammering. She looked up at it with her pretty dark eyes.
"Did she ask you, John?" she surprised him by saying.
John looked down at her, frowned slightly. "Yes. How did you know that?"
Joanie bit her lips, flushed a little. "I guessed," she said, but her face indicated she knew.
John pushed her away from him gently. "I turned her down flat, Joanie. I don't want any part of that bit."
He was surprised by the look that came over her face. "You did what?" she screamed.
"I turned her down, Joanie."
She jumped away from him. "You can't do that, John. You can't do it."
"Why not? I have the say of it, no one eke does."
"Because," she said slowly, "if you don't do as she asks, then I will not have anything to do with you."
"You don't mean that, Joanie," he said, shocked. Her face was set. "Oh, yes I do. I mean every word of it."
He shook his head. "Joanie," he said gently. "I won't allow you or anyone else to force me to do something against my will."
"Well you will do this, John Deering, or you can just get out of here," she yelled at him.
He looked at her coldly. "I see. So that's the way it is."
"That's the way it is. John Deering," she yelled angrily.
"You pulled a boner, Joanie. A big one."
"I don't care what you think I pulled. Either you do what you're supposed to, or you can go to blazes."
He examined her eyes, saw the fury in them, tried to comprehend it. He could not. "Why," he said, "are you so worked up?"
She flounced out of the room without saying another word. He put his drink down, walked to the hallway, looked down it, saw her going up the stairs.
"Joanie," he called, "come back."
She stopped, turned around. "I hate you, damn you," she yelled at him, turning about and walking all the way up the stairs.
He stood there momentarily, having an almost overwhelming desire to follow her. He put the feeling down, walked to the front door, jerked it open angrily, walked out of doors. He went up the street, walking slowly, his mind slightly confused.
There was one thing of which he was certain: This was the craziest situation he had ever been caught up in-and caught up in it, he was. He knew he could not get along without Joan. She had become a part of him, it seemed. He swore softly, increased his pace, strode to the nearest intersection, looked for a cab, found one, climbed in, slammed the door.