“I’m glad you did,” Lester said.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Not a chance.” His fear, too, was subsiding. “You’re just the person I hoped would drop by.” He stroked the back of her hand and told himself that he wasn’t bothered by its branching blue veins. “How did things go with May Beth?”
She took a deep breath and sighed, shaking her head. “The poor dear. We had ourselves a long, heart-to-heart talk, and I’m sure it did us both a world of good. Really, though, for a girl to see her mother with a man that way…” She shook her head again.
“Must’ve been an awful shock.”
“Oh, I’m certain of that. May Beth is a strong girl, though. She said to me over and over, ‘Everything’s cool, Mom. Don’t worry, everything’s cool.’ She even went so far as to claim she was relieved to find I didn’t entirely abandon sex after Robert ran off. Robert, my ex-husband.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Six years last June. We were married at seventeen, di-vorced at forty-six. I’ve heard it’s a common occurrence, but I must say I was hardly prepared…”
“I guess we’re never prepared for crap to hit us.”
Emily Jean turned over her hand and interlaced her fingers with his.
“Have you had many men since your divorce?”
“Such an improper question, Mr. Bryant! Lester.” She smiled. “And so ambiguous. How many, for instance, is ‘many’? And what, for gracious sake, do you mean by ‘had’?”
His heart thudded. “I’d be happy to demonstrate.”
“I’d be more than eager to witness such a demonstration.”
“Would you care to participate?”
“Why, I most certainly would.”
“Shall we go to the bedroom?”
“That’s a fine suggestion.”
He led her into the bedroom. Plenty of light came in from the bright hallway, so he didn’t turn on any lamps.
He took her into his arms.
Her mouth was just as hungry as before. Her fingers pressed and clawed. She gasped through her slippery mouth as her pelvis pushed against him.
He put a hand up the back of her sweater, slid it to the front and started working on one of her breasts.
Her hands under his shirt were cool and dry. One wedged under his belt. The fingernails raked his buttocks.
He moved a hand down the side of her leg, under her skirt, and up.
No hose or panty hose or anything!
A moan escaped Emily Jean as his fingers slid and delved into her.
She tugged his belt open, undid the button at his waist and pulled down his zipper. Then her hand went in.
That oughta get the damn thing up.
It didn’t.
“This would be a great time,” he whispered, “for Helen to walk in.”
“She won’t.”
“Unless she got a flat tire or something.”
“My, but you are a worrier.”
“Things like that happen.”
“Indeed they do. But I do believe we’ve already had our bad luck in that department.”
His pants went down. His shirt came off.
“I’d just hate for Helen to walk in on us like this,” he said.
“I’m confident she won’t.”
As Lester watched, she stripped off her sweater and skirt. Tall and slim, she bent over the bed, threw back the covers and slipped between the sheets.
Lester joined her.
She moaned quietly as he embraced her.
Her hand went down again to his penis. She gently pressed, stroked, jiggled. It stayed limp.
She worked at it for a long time.
Lester took his mouth off her breast. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but…”
“Don’t worry, honey. Try turning around.”
“What?”
“You know, so we’re vice versa.”
“Oh, okay.” He straddled her face, eased himself down, and began licking the slippery cleft between her legs.
Emily Jean writhed under him. She groaned, gasped. He could feel her mouth, all right: the wetness, the lips, the teeth. The sucking felt good, but not good enough.
What the fuck’s the matter with me?
He climbed off her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning and lying down beside her. “I don’t know…This has never happened before.”
She didn’t look at him. She lay on her back, gazing at the ceiling. “It’s my fault,” she muttered.
“No! No, it’s not. You’re a hell of an exciting woman.”
“I’m so much older than you.”
“You’re fine.”
Beneath the sheet, he felt a finger lift the head of his penis and let it flop. But the hand didn’t go away. It cupped him warmly and stayed.
“It’s not your fault,” Lester said. “It’s just me. I don’t know what’s wrong. Must be the circumstances. Nerves. Hell, I was fine Saturday night, wasn’t I?”
“I should certainly say so.” She still gazed at the ceiling, but the trace of a smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “Excessively fine, considering the mess you made on my sofa.”
He blushed fiercely. “I can’t believe I did that in front of your daughter. I mean, she saw it.”
“She shouldn’t have come barging back into the house that way.”
“She had no idea we might be…”
“She should have at least considered the possibility. Why, I’ve always been so careful not to interrupt May Beth when she has a man in her room, and she does this to me.”
“You shouldn’t blame her,” Lester said.
Emily Jean turned her face and looked at him oddly. “She’s a beautiful young lady, isn’t she, Lester?”
“Takes after you.”
“She’s far more beautiful than me. And she has such a splendid figure…the most exquisite breasts. They’re so high and firm! Mine were that way when I was her age. However, I never dressed in such an immodest fashion.”
“It’s just the way kids like to dress these days. You must see a lot of it, being a teacher.”
“I see rather more than I care to. I don’t approve at all of those—what are they called—tank tops? They’re so awfully revealing, especially when a girl doesn’t wear a brassiere. And May Beth never wears a brassiere.”
Lester suddenly realized he was aroused.
“Why, Saturday night, for all her tank top hid, May Beth might as well have been naked.” Emily Jean’s encircling fingers moved slowly up the length of his shaft.
“What are you…?”
She found his hand and placed it on her breast. Her nipple was stiff and jutting.
“And those jeans, those cutoffs? They were so immodest. I could see the crotch of her panties, couldn’t you? Why, if she’d had no panties on…”
“You shouldn’t be saying this stuff. She’s your daughter.”
“Close your eyes, darling.”
He shut them. His hand was lifted and carried to the warm, damp hair between her legs.
“Wouldn’t you love to have her under you, hot and naked?”
“This is crazy…”
“It’s fine, darling.”
At her urging, he silently crawled on top of her.
“Now she’s under you, darling, open and eager for your throbbing manhood.”
“Emily!”
“May Beth,” she corrected. “Call me May Beth.”
He slid into her, moaning the name “May Beth” and damn near believing it as he rode her to a furious climax.
THIRTY-FIVE
HELEN DROPS IN
“You don’t look very surprised.”
“I was forewarned,” Ian said. “Would you like to come in?”
Helen stepped into the foyer. Her eyes darted.
“Don’t worry, we’re alone.”
“Did Charles call?” she asked.
“He said you might be dropping by. May I take your jacket?”
“I’ll keep it, thank you. I don’t plan to stay long. I just thought we’d better…talk.” She hurried to a rocker and sat down, her back rigid. The chair tipped backward. Gasping, she grabbed its arms. She shifted her weight forward to stop it.
Ian sat on his couch. He crossed his legs. “I’ve been planning to speak with you about this, Helen.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since Friday night.”
She stared down at her folded hands. “Who have you told?”
“So far, no one.”
“But you plan to tell Harrison?”
Ian nodded. “Unless we can work something out.”
She smiled. A cold, vain smile. “I can get you a thousand dollars in cash tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s not…”
“Five thousand, then. And if that isn’t enough, I can make monthly installments of…say, a hundred. No more than a hundred at a time, or Lester might catch on. He never looks at my accounts, but more than a hundred would…”
“Helen, I’m not interested in your money.”
At first, she seemed frightened. Then confused. Then amazed. She smiled and licked a corner of her mouth. “Well well,Mr. Collins.”
“Not that, either. I want you to leave the school, leave teaching. When your contract comes up for renewal in the spring, don’t sign it.”
“Just quietly fade away, is that it?”
“Tell Harrison that you’re tired of the merry-go-round, or something. Nobody will ever have to know about you and Charles.”
“What if I tell you to shove it?”
“I’ll take Charles into Harrison’s office and you’ll be lucky to last out the week.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” she muttered. “You’re too fucking gallant.”
“If it’s gallantry you’re counting on, you’re out of luck. I love to see the bad guys fall, and you’re a bad guy.”
“Get fucked, Collins.”
“All in good time. Right now, I’ve got other things to do. So good night, and let me know your decision within the next few days.”
“Suppose I dig up some dirt on you?”
“I’ve never seduced a student, Helen.”
“You make it sound so dirty.”
“It is dirty.”
“Suppose I find someone who says you did?”
“It’d be a lie.”
“Suppose it’s a good lie?”
“In that case, I’d be forced to make this recording public.” He reached under the couch and pulled out a cassette recorder. It was purring quietly.
“This is blackmail, you know.”
“Good night, Helen.”
THIRTY-SIX
LUST IN THE AFTERNOON
Just before 3:30 on Wednesday afternoon, Lester parked a block away from Emily Jean’s house and headed down the shaded sidewalk. He loosened his necktie. He opened the top button of his shirt. The warm breeze felt good against his neck. He felt great, free. He headed up the walkway to her front door and rang the bell.
The door opened. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bryant.”
He gaped at her, his heart suddenly pounding fast. He took a deep, trembling breath.
“Such a pleasant surprise, you dropping by like this. Won’t you please come in?”
He stepped inside and shut the door.
“You look…” He shook his head. Smiling, he reached for her. He put a hand on her pale, freckled shoulder and fingered the strap of her bright yellow tank top.
“Outasight, huh?” She hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her cutoff jeans and threw her hips sideways.
“Amazing.”
She put her long, thin arms around him.
“Would you care for a drink?” she asked.
“No, thanks. I just want you.”
As they kissed, he put a hand up the back of her shirt. Her skin was smooth and bare all the way up. He moved his other hand to her breast. She moaned and her teeth gripped his upper lip. Her hand pressed the front of his slacks. “Outasight,” she said again.
“Not for long.”
She smiled, took hold of his belt buckle, and led him upstairs to a bedroom. The late afternoon sunlight slanted onto the bed. A single bed, neatly made.
A lean, sweaty rock star gazed down at it from a poster on the opposite wall.
Emily Jean stepped against Lester. As she kissed him, she pulled out his shirttail and pushed her hand down the front of his trousers. Her hand was cool inside his underwear. And then it was gone.
She crossed the room and turned on a stereo. John Denver began singing of his home in the Rockies. “Do you like John Denver?” she asked.
Lester nodded.
Emily Jean crossed her arms, reached down to her waist, then pulled the tank top over her head. She tossed it onto a chair. She walked to the bed, naked except for the cutoffs slung low on her hips. Slowly, she helped Lester undress.
He embraced her, enjoying the smooth warmth of her skin and the rough touch of her jeans.
When the jeans were off, she was all smoothness.
They moved to the bed.
“May Beth,” she said, “always insists on sleeping in the raw.”
“It feels better that way,” Lester said.
“I think she pretends to be with a man. The one on the poster there, perhaps. Or perhaps you. That you’re on top of her, and your weight is crushing her. Perhaps you’re gently biting the side of her neck.”
Emily Jean squirmed as Lester’s teeth nibbled her flesh. “It gives her goose bumps,” she said.
Her fingernails scraped down Lester’s back, chilling him.
“May Beth groans as you take her breast in your mouth, as you ever so gently lick it. And…as you suck it.” Emily Jean groaned as Lester continued to follow her directions. “And then she feels you go into her. Yes. You push in deep and deeper and…ahhh…All the way. There. Yes. All the way in.”
They lay exhausted beside each other, Emily Jean’s head resting on Lester’s chest. He shut his eyes.
So nice. A woman who appreciates me. So nice.
When he opened his eyes again, the room was dusky. He ran a hand through Emily Jean’s hair.
“You make a very handsome pillow, Mr. Bryant,” she said, her voice low and languid. He felt her head turn. She kissed his chest.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Six-ish, I should imagine. Will Helen be missing you?”
“Hardly. She may wonder why I’m late, but she certainly won’t miss me.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“It’s always sad, what life does to people.”
“Not always. It’s not sad, being with you. I find it uplifting.” She laughed softly. “With me or with May Beth?”
“With you,” Lester said. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“What’s that?”
“That…well…doing this May Beth thing? Pretending.” Emily Jean rolled onto her back, stretched her arms up, cupped her hands behind her head and frowned thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I’m sure it must trouble me. After all, a woman prefers to think she has the power to arouse a gentleman without relying on…the power of association?” Her voice lifted as if the statement were a question and she looked sideways at Lester.
He rolled onto his side, propped himself up on an elbow, and looked at her. The sheet was down at her waist. She had nice breasts for a woman her age.
A woman her age?
How the hell do I know what the breasts of a fifty-year- old woman should be like?
Fifty-two, he corrected himself.
He moved a hand up one of the soft, shadowy slopes.
“It’s only an ego thing, I’m sure,” she said. “But of course, what isn’t? A woman does, after all, like to think she’s…sexy.”
“You’re sexy.”
“I am, at any rate, a fair actress. I’m able to create a reasonable illusion of May Beth.”
“A
damn fine illusion.”
The dark skin of her nipple seemed to crawl under Lester’s fingertip, rumpling and thickening.
“Fine enough for our purposes,” she said.
“Uh-huh.” A column of flesh was there in the center now, firm and high and blunt. It grew even more as Lester’s fingertip encircled it. “Does it make you jealous?” he asked.
“Of May Beth? Heaven’s no.”
He rolled the column between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned.
“After all, Mr. Bryant, I’m the one you’ve been sleeping with.”
“That’s right. It is you, not May Beth. It’s my own darling Emily Jean.”
He climbed onto her.
“Again?” She grinned, but her eyes glistened with tears.
“Again.”
“Heavens, Mr. Bryant!”
THIRTY-SEVEN
MOSBY COMES TO DINNER
“What happened to you?” Meg’s voice sounded strained and urgent.
Shaking out the match she was using to light candles on the table, Janet hurried into the living room.
“Would you believe I walked into a door?” Mosby asked.
“No.”
“A door walked into me?”
From the look of it, the damage to his face was several days old. The scrapes on his chin and cheekbone were scabbed over, the bruises gray. A bandage covered one eyebrow. The eyelid beneath it was dark and pufffy.
“What happened really?” Janet asked.
“Really?” He shook his head. “Hell, it was nothing.”
“Looks like you were in a fight,” Meg said.
“You might call it that. On the other hand, you might call it a massacre.” He laughed. “Did I hear someone mention booze? On the phone, I think it was.”
“Sure,” Janet said. “You two sit down and I’ll get you something. What would you like?”
“Beer would be great if you have it.”
“Plenty of beer,” she said. Listening to the conversation, she went into the kitchen, removed three cans of Budweiser from the refrigerator and poured them into three mugs.
“So,” Meg said, “did you emerge victorious?”
“Well, I’d have knocked the guy from here to January but he had me at a disadvantage.”
“What was that?”
“He was quicker and stronger.”