This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.
HIS name was Jim Haskins. The moment he walked into the house, April Taylor knew she was going to bed with him. The knowledge was intuitive. It grew from the undefined restlessness she felt—and from an understanding of herself. She was aware of a keening in her senses, a throbbing in her mind like the drumming of a high-tension wire in a gale. The TV repairman had not triggered her storm—he had simply walked into it.
“The set's in here,” she said, leading the way to the den. “I hope you can fix it. I don't have a thing to do tonight except watch TV.”
She looked at the boy. He was no older than nineteen. He had curly, dark hair, beautiful eyes, fair skin and broad shoulders. She gazed at the strength in his shoulders, sensed his maleness and felt her heart throb.
“Yes ma'am,” he said cheerfully. “I'll just have a look at it. Maybe the trouble's only a tube.”
He placed his bag of tools carefully on the floor and pulled the console away from the wall.
April watched his movements. Her pulse drummed. “I think I'll go make a drink,” she said. “Would you like something?”
He glanced up, smiling. “A coke would be fine if you have one. I'm pretty thirsty.”
She found it difficult to tear her gaze from his dark eyes. “Yes, I—I keep some in the refrigerator.”
She walked down the hall to the bathroom and bent over the sink, pressing her aching stomach against the cool tile edge. Her eyes were closed, her teeth clenched. Not again, she thought. I'm not going to let it happen again...
But she knew she would. She did not have the strength to stop herself. Or was strength what she needed?
She ran cool water into the lavatory, splashed some against her burning face. When she raised her head, her reflection stared back from the mirror on the medicine cabinet. She saw a woman's face, no longer young but not yet old. Her eyes were lonely—and frightened.
She licked her lips. When Mark had walked out on her, she had promised herself she was not going to give in to the usual run-of-the-mill lonely woman frustration and despair. She would not seek another man's bed. She would keep what little self-respect her broken marriage had left her.
But she had not been able to cope with the abnormal hungers of her body. She remained as helpless as she had been during her marriage.
After Mark had left her, she had tried to change. She had stayed home at first, hoping to straighten herself out. She had wanted Mark to come back. But eventually the need for a man—any man, not only Mark —had become a torment to her, then an obsession. At last she had gone out on a date. She and the man had had something to drink. They had danced a little—and later she had not even waited for him to take her home. At her suggestion he had parked his car on a lonely road and she had turned into an animal in the back seat.
Thinking about the episode now made her shudder. She could not even remember the man's name. She had not wanted to see him again. Nor could she remember the names of the ones who had slept with her after him, or even how many they had been.
She had chosen strangers, deliberately and with care. Adultery anonymous. That much she had learned from Mark's leaving.
But now there was a young man with soft, curling hair and beautiful dark eyes in her house and she was trembling and there was a drumming in her head. He was not really a stranger. She had seen him around the neighborhood.
She reached shakily for a towel, dried her hands and face. She refastened her robe, pulling the waist cord tighter. Then she went to the kitchen. She mixed a strong double scotch for herself and opened a cold coke for the young man.
“How's it going?” she asked, returning to the den.
Jim's head popped up from behind the set. He smiled. He had a nice young grin that revealed straight, white teeth.
“Just like I thought, ma'am. A bum tube. I've replaced it. Should be okay now.”
He moved around to the front of the set, fiddled with the controls. The picture came in clear and sharp. He smiled, pleased with himself. “How's that?”
“Marvelous,” she said huskily, her eyes on him rather than on the set. “You're very clever.”
His grin turned her to mush inside. Her fingers ached to bury themselves in his thick hair.
She handed the coke to him and sat on the couch rather suddenly, her knees too weak to support her.
The satin robe spilled away from her bare thighs. She was naked under the garment.
Jim sipped the coke. He glanced at her legs. “Warm today,” he mumbled. “I thought we'd have some rain, but I guess we won't.”
“Why don't you sit down and relax for a minute,” April invited. “You must work hard.”
“I have been at it pretty steady today,” he admitted. “Okay. Thanks.”
He sat on a chair next to the couch. He looked at her legs again and down at his coke.
April knew she had pretty legs. She had a good body. She wanted him to see her without the robe. He would not think about her being ten years older than he if he saw her like that.
She drank her scotch quickly. She had been drinking steadily since lunch. Not until now did she realize how tight she had gotten. Being a little high was okay, though. Liquor made life easier. “Are you married?” she asked. He shook his head. “Steady girl friend?”
He grinned self-consciously. “Oh, you know. Several-nothing serious. I figure I'll have fun for a little while before I settle down. It costs a heck of a lot to get married these days. I want to have my own shop first.”
April crossed her legs. The robe gaped more widely. Her legs were pale, beautifully molded and long. She swallowed the last of the scotch, feeling pretty drunk now.
She realized the young man was staring at her legs. She felt a hot flush spread all through her.
He put his coke on the coffee table. He was careful to place it on a magazine to avoid leaving a ring on the table. April was pleased with his carefulness. She was glad he had nice manners.
She glanced down at her bare thighs and back at him. Her smile became an open invitation.
He moved to the couch. His face was flushed. He cleared his throat, then reached out and put his hand on her bare knee.
She lay back, closed her eyes. She felt his hand tremble. Then it moved farther up her thigh, caressing the warm flesh. Her lips parted. She breathed deeply through parted teeth.
She felt him untie the robe. It fell open. She felt the cool draft from the air conditioner on her nakedness. She heard his soft exclamation of excitement.
Some distant part of her brain wondered how often women like herself had happened to him—how many times had he made service calls to lonely females? She wondered if he thought that, boy, this was his lucky day and if he would return to his shop afterwards and brag to the other repairmen about his conquest. Men boasted, she knew.
She felt his hands on her body. Then she heard his zipper. She did not want to open her eyes. She had no wish to see him undress. She did not want him to have a face or an identity. She was sorry she knew as much about him as she did. All she needed was to experience, for a while, his body—to have it quench the fires consuming her.
His hands and mouth were on her. He pulled the robe from her shoulders. He was rough in his eagerness. She moaned and clutched at him blindly. They rolled from the couch together. She gasped and cried out.
The throbbing in her brain grew louder until it was the thunder of a hundred drums. And then there was an explosive crash of cymbals.
Then came the part she despised, the aftermath— the chilling revulsion. She fought clear of him, pushing him away from her, untangling her legs from him. She ran to the bathroom and was sick. With shaking hands, she then turned on the shower and stepped under, the steaming water, almost scalding her body in an effort to wash away dirt that would never leave.
When she was finally able to dress and return to the living room she found the young man sitting on the couch, his clothes on, looking embarrassed.
“Please leave,” she said coldly, avoiding his eyes.
“Gee, why?” he said, sounding surprised. “I thought maybe we could have another drink together and talk-”
“I don't want to talk. Just get out.”
“That's a heck of a way to act. I was thinking maybe we could get together tonight. You know, go out and have a few beers. You said you didn't have anything to do except watch television. I could give you a lot better time than sitting here looking at a TV set.”
“No,” she said. “Go find a girl your own age.”
“Well, I don't see why you want to act like that. You're real keen. I think you're great—”
She said, “What do I have to do to get you out of here? Phone your employer and make trouble for you? I don't want to have to do that.”
He stood up sullenly. “Well, if that's how you're going to act about it. You owe me five bucks for the service call.”
She opened her purse, took out a ten-dollar bill. “Here. Keep the change.”
She moved to the picture window, stared out at the suburban street, her back turned to the young man.
She heard him gather up his tools, swearing under his breath.
She did not turn around. She watched a moving van being unloaded at the house across the street. She was getting new neighbors.
This suburban development was known as Garden Acres, a cluster of two- and three-bedroom brick-faced homes in the fourteen- to twenty-thousand class. The neighborhood attracted young couples. The couple moving in across the street was young, probably newly, weds. The girl was in shorts, her blond hair bouncing in a pony tail. She looked like a teenager who should be in school rather than starting a marriage.
April remembered bitterly when she had moved into Garden Acres. She, too, had been a bride then, filled with the dream of young love.
She wondered how the marriage across the street would turn out. Like hers? She hoped not. She hoped the young bride would be allowed to keep her dreams.
What—or who—had destroyed her own?
The repairman opened the front door. April suddenly said, “I meant to ask you. Your name is Jim Haskins, isn't it?” The name was stenciled over the pocket of his uniform shirt. She laughed shakily. “I mean, that's not somebody else's shirt you're wearing?”
He did not bother to answer her.
TONY DAVIS proposed to Cheryl Hunter the night of the Bach concert.
Cheryl was exceptionally lovely, cool and poised that night. She was slightly above average height and there was an aristocratic tilt to her chin. Her natural reserve aroused both respect and desire in a man.
Tonight, at one point during the Brandenburg Concerto, she leaned forward in her seat, transported by the music. Her lips were moist and parted. A flush spread up her porcelain-like complexion. Her eyes shone.
Tony, glimpsing her in that unguarded moment was seized by an intense wave of desire.
He had been dating Cheryl for the past six months. He knew beyond any doubt that he was hopelessly in love with her.
They had met at Durston Products when Tony had begun working there this past fall. Behind him had been a college degree in business administration, a year and a half of working with an oil company. His new job was in the purchasing department of Durston Products and he felt optimistic about his prospects.
He had met Cheryl on his first day on the new job. She had come into his office from the research lab, still wearing her white smock. Her green eyes, behind the practical, horn-rimmed glasses she usually wore in the lab, had been deeply engrossed in their mutual, if routine, problem. She had discussed with him an invoice covering a shipment of chemicals she had ordered.
She was approximately his age, twenty-four. Tony had immediately been fascinated by the young, beautiful woman who operated her end of the research lab as efficiently as she might run a comb through her short, dark hair.
He had gathered the nerve to phone her for a date that Friday. On their first date he had picked her up at her apartment in his Renault. They had had dinner at a small restaurant that specialized in mid-Eastern dishes. They had gone from dinner to a civic theater revival of Glass Menagerie, which Cheryl had particularly wanted to see. Later, over martinis, they had discussed Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller.
When they had reached the field of music Tony had been on familiar ground only as long as they had stuck to jazz and Broadway show tunes. He had floundered when she had drifted into the subject of serious music. He had not been able to remember when he had dated a more intelligent and fascinating girl.
Her cool, slightly detached reserve had whetted his appetite for a kiss. When he had taken her home, he had kissed her as they had said good night on her doorstep.
She had given him a long, serious look. Then she had slipped her hand into his.
“Why don't you come in for scrambled eggs, Tony?” she had said.
Tony had been delighted. In her kitchenette, which was separated from the main living area by a pass-through bar, Cheryl had whisked on a tiny apron and gone about preparing coffee and eggs with efficient dispatch. Tony had wandered about the living room, puffing on a cigarette while he had examined her bachelor-girl apartment. The flat had been an expensive one and she had lived in it alone. He had known that her job in the research lab paid well. She had earned more than he had been making on his starting salary.
He had glanced over her bookshelves and noted a selection of technical books pertaining to her work, a few modern novels and a potpourri of history, psychology, and philosophy.
They had had the coffee and eggs on the Formica-topped bar.
“Tell me about yourself, Tony,” she had said.
He had grinned. “What else have I been doing all evening?”
“No, I mean your background. Do you have a family?”
He had munched his eggs thoughtfully, washed them down with a swallow of the hot, black coffee. “You make good coffee, Cheryl. I like it strong. Well, let's see.” He had lit a cigarette. “The story of my life. I grew up in a small town near Dallas. I don't have any brothers or sisters. My father died when I was six, so there were just Mom and I. Dad left some insurance and property and my mother was good at managing things so I had a comfortable enough childhood. Normal, I guess you'd say. I went through the usual stages from model airplanes to football to necking with girls.”
They had both laughed and Tony had felt more at ease with her than with any girl he had been able to remember. He had asked about her family and she had told him that she too was an only child. She was from Virginia and had gotten her degree in chemistry from William and Mary. Her parents were still living.
When the time had come for him to leave she had walked to the door with him. When they had said good night, she had taken a step toward him and bestowed another kiss on his mouth with her cool lips.
“It was a lovely evening, Tony. Thank you.” She had gazed deeply into his eyes.
He had walked out to his car with a feeling of elation that had come close to intoxication.
They had gone together for some weeks and Tony had found himself seriously considering marriage. He would have hesitated even to think of marrying a helpless clinging-vine type girl. Just getting started in the business world as he was, with not much bank account and his car only half paid for, marriage to anyone but Cheryl would have seemed to him a chilling prospect. But Cheryl had an excellent job, so there would be a sharing of expense which would take a lot of financial burden off his shoulders until his earning capacity increased. Too, Cheryl was efficient and practical, besides being an excellent housekeeper and cook. She would help a fellow get ahead rather than be a source of worry like the majority of the hare-brained, spoiled girls Tony had known in college.
Of course he had not spelled out to her all the practical aspects of marriage which a young man had to consider. Because, pushing practical matters to the background had been his pressing emotional need of her. He had wanted her physically and emotionally in a way he had never dreamed he could possibly want a woman.
He had not yet been intimate with her, though their courtship had progressed along the usual lines of necking. Cheryl had not evinced any eagerness to hop into bed with him. He had had enough experience never to make bets about a girl's virginity but in Cheryl's case he had been almost certain she had never slept with a man. He had not pressed the issue with her. He had respected her too much. He had not wanted to risk losing her by giving her the impression that he was just out to make her.
And so, on the night of the Bach concert, he took a deep breath and rushed blindly into his proposal, stumbling over the words a little.
A woman is rarely surprised by a proposal of marriage and Cheryl had grown quite fond of Tony. She wanted to get married, lately with a quiet desperation that overwhelmed her at times. Marriage frightened her, true, but the prospect of soon becoming an old maid frightened her even more.
Tony was a very suitable young man, nice looking, clean-cut, trusting. He had no serious bad habits. She felt reasonably comfortable with Tony, which was something she did not feel with most men.
She said yes to his proposal.
But she insisted in her usual practical manner that they make the down payment on a home before they got married. They made a tour of the suburbs on weekends until they made a choice of a home in the new development named Garden Acres.
They were married on a Saturday in a simple church ceremony. A few of their friends from the plant were present. Cheryl's parents were not at the wedding. She had explained to Tony that her mother had a heart ailment and the trip would be too hard on the old people. By then Tony had gotten the impression that Cheryl was not very close to her family. She rarely spoke about any of her relatives.
After the wedding Tony and Cheryl took a week-end honeymoon, checking into a Gulf-coast hotel. Tony was eager and filled with anticipation. Cheryl, looking pale and beautiful, was nervous.
They had champagne with dinner. Cheryl drank more than usual, becoming flushed and talkative. When it was time to return to their room she fell silent.
Tony felt self-conscious. Cheryl had retreated behind a wall of defenses.
In their room she sat before the dressing table and nervously repaired a chipped fingernail, avoiding Tony's gaze.
He cleared his throat. “It was a swell dinner.”
“Yes,” she said in a muffled voice. “I like lobster.” She nodded.
He toyed with his keys. “I—I guess it's time for bed.” She did not answer.
“Would you like to use the bathroom first?” She filed her nail. Her fingers were trembling. “You go ahead.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Okay, then.” He picked up his suitcase. He hesitated. “I won't be long.”
“All right.”
He showered quickly, inspected his face in the bathroom mirror. His beard did not grow fast but to be on the safe side he plugged in his electric razor and ran it quickly over his cheeks and jaw. Then he mopped the floor with the towel, folded it neatly and hung it over the tub. He knew that Cheryl had an obsession about neatness.
He returned to the bedroom, hung his suit in the closet. “All through,” he said cheerfully.
Cheryl did not look at him. She took some things from the closet and went quickly to the bathroom.
Tony lit a cigarette, stretched out on the bed. His pulse was beating fast. His hands were damp.
His mind was filled with anticipatory fantasies. In moments now he would see his bride disrobed for the first time. He knew she would be incredibly beautiful.
She seemed to take forever in the bathroom. Well, as a husband that was something he'd have to get used to, he thought with a grin. They were always making jokes about husbands waiting for their wives.
At last the door opened. Tony sat up, gazing at his bride. She wore a long, flowing white negligee with tiny blue flowers on the shoulders. She had scrubbed most of the make-up from her face. Her skin, as pale and clear as china, had the texture of a porcelain figurine.
She came to bed. Her lips were cool under his. They trembled slightly. She smelled faintly of cleansing cream and cologne. He opened the negligee, his fingers clumsy with eagerness.
The robe parted. Beneath it was a filmy white gown, almost transparent. He could see her breasts quite plainly. They were like pale mounds chiseled from pure white marble, rising to pinnacles tipped with rose pink.
“I love you, Cheryl,” he whispered shakily, overcome by her beauty.
“I love you, Tony,” she said through stiff lips. Her eyed were wide, the pupils so enlarged they seemed to fill the irises.
Tony slipped the gown from her shoulders. With a cry he buried his face in the lovely, scented flesh of her breasts.
She stiffened, biting her lip.
With trembling fingers, Tony removed her robe and gown. Quickly he rid himself of pajamas. He drew his bride close, glorying in the thrilling sensation of her naked flesh throbbing warmly against his. His nerves tingled. Blood rushed through his veins. His hands moved over her, caressing her.
She was submissive but showed little sign of becoming aroused.
She spoke only once, when he was about to claim her. “Tony, I don't want to get pregnant.”
They had discussed this problem before and Cheryl had been firm about the situation. An unwanted pregnancy this early in their marriage could result in economic catastrophe. Tony was prepared. He told her so.
She closed her eyes and waited.
He wished that she would show some signs of passion. He lay on her heavily, beginning to feel clumsy and inept because he failed to arouse her.