“Did you want me, Mrs. Macon?”
Carla smiled. “Just wanted to tell you I’ll be going out for the afternoon. I’ll be home in time for dinner, so if Mr. Macon comes home before I do just tell him I took the MG out for a spin.”
“I’ll tell him,” Lizzie said, nodding. “The mail came, if you want to look at it. I put it on the hall table.”
“Thanks.”
She leafed casually through the stack of mail, not expecting anything but bills and not finding anything else, either. It was a shame, she reflected, that no one ever wrote to her. If nothing else, she envied Ronald the volume of mail he received. The only letters addressed to her were bills which Ronald paid, catalogues she rarely looked at, and those mysterious and utterly useless letters that came addressed to “Occupant.”
The MG was parked at the curb in front of the house, looking like a giant cat ready to spring. She opened the door and seated herself behind the wheel. It was always a thrill for her to get behind the wheel of the tiny car, a thrill which hadn’t worn off yet. It gave her a genuine feeling of power to kick over the engine and start the MG racing off. There was something delightful about a sportscar, something on a par with taking a French poodle for a walk. But poodles always struck her as a trifle ridiculous, while there was nothing silly about the MG. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, the wind tossing her long blonde hair and playing with the neckline of the peasant blouse.
The tank was nearly full when she started that afternoon, and by four o’clock it was nearly empty. She drove all over town, down Delaware Avenue past the impressive buildings and expensive stores, back north on Main Street, through the park, and out Delaware into the suburbs. North of Sheridan Drive the houses were fewer and farther apart and the road stretched before her invitingly. The MG ate up the miles, racing along at high speed while the wind blew her hair every which-way. It was pleasant, very much so. She took side roads and doubled back on her own trail, not wanting to go anywhere in particular and anxious only to give the MG plenty of racing room.
She even managed to forget her longing for a man.
By four o’clock she was close to the city line and the gas tank was nearly empty. She looked around for a service station. Service stations, like men, never seemed to be around when you needed them most. At last she saw one and turned the wheel swiftly, bringing the MG to a dead stop close to the gas pump.
“Fill her with regular,” she said, without looking up.
“Nice little buggy you got here.” She looked up suddenly at the sound of the deep, resonant voice. The owner of the voice was a man, naturally enough, and he was a most attractive man. The attractive quality of him was the first thing Carla noticed, even before she was aware of the grease on his hands or the stubble of beard on his rugged chin.
He was about 29 or 30, she guessed, with jet-black hair cut short and piercing eyes. His muscles bulged beneath his uniform and his shoulders were extremely broad.
“I say that’s a pretty fine little car.”
“Oh, she said, realizing that she hadn’t answered him. “Thanks.”
He nodded and walked to the pump, placing the nozzle in the gas tank. She watched him wordlessly, struck by the appearance of him. Her heart was beating more rapidly and her breath came hard and fast. God, what was the matter with her? Two years out of the slums and she got hot as a pistol over a grimy gas-pump jockey!
But he was definitely attractive, and she needed a man badly. Naturally she wouldn’t want him as a long-term lover. He’d hardly do in that capacity.
But once with him might be nice. Very nice...
“That’ll be $3.85.” He was staring hard at her, his eyes riveted to the top of the peasant blouse. She smiled inwardly. This ought to be easy enough to manage.
She took a twenty dollar bill from her purse and handed it to him, letting her fingers trail against his calloused palm. “Here,” she said.
He frowned. “This is the smallest you got?”
“Yes,” she lied.
He turned without a word and walked toward the office for change. She let him get several yards ahead of her and made her decision abruptly, turning the key in the ignition and putting on the emergency brake. Then she got out of the car and followed him into the office.
He whirled from the cash-drawer when he saw her come through the door. “What do you want?” he demanded, a puzzled expression on his face.
Instead of answering, she smiled and let him have a good look at her body. She threw her shoulders as far back as possible to emphasize the size and shape of her breasts. With a good deal of amusement she noted the way his gaze travelled slowly up and down her body, returning at last to her face. She held his eyes with hers, and for a long moment neither of them spoke.
Finally he broke the silence. “What do you want?” he asked again, but this time the words came more slowly and his voice was lower and huskier than before.
“What do you think I want?”
There was no misreading her meaning. He smiled and raised his eyebrows knowingly, and she knew she had made a conquest. Why, the slob was practically falling over his own feet.
“You picked a bad time,” he said. “I’ll have to close up the station; then we can take a ride over to my place. That okay with you?”
She almost agreed; at the last minute, however, an idea flashed into her mind. If she was going to be unfaithful, she might as well try something different while she was at it.
“No,” she said. “Don’t close the station.”
“What do you mean? Look, you’re the best-looking woman I’ve seen in a hell of a while, but that doesn’t mean I can walk off leaving the place open. Are you kidding?”
She stepped up to him, letting her body rest against his. Her breasts pressed against his hard, barrel-like chest and her hips ground into his.
“Right here,” she whispered. “I want you to make love to me right here, right in the station.”
His jaw fell. “Here? Jesus, there ain’t even a couch in the office. What do you—”
“Not in the office,” she went on, rubbing up against him like a playful kitten. “In the place where you grease up the cars. On the floor there.”
“Are you nuts?” He tried to take a step back but her arms held him against hers. “Jesus, it’s filthy in there.”
“That’s where I want it to be,” she said evenly. Before he could reply she pulled his mouth down to hers and planted her lips firmly on his. When he returned the kiss she sank her teeth into his lower lip and drew blood. He backed away, startled and breathing hard.
“Okay,” he snapped, amazed. “You’re calling the shots.”
Quickly he closed the office door and turned the key in it. Then he seized her by one hand and half-dragged her into the grease room. Once inside he released her and strode to the wall, flicking a switch to lower the grease-room door. Then he turned and walked toward her slowly, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. The hunger in her eyes was easy to see.
She pulled the peasant blouse over her head and tossed it into a corner, not caring whether it got dirty or not. The skirt followed it seconds later. She kicked off her shoes, pulled off her stockings, and slipped out of the bra and panties and stood naked before him.
For a second he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. “Christ,” he said, half in a whisper. Then he came closer to her and seized one of her ripe breasts in his powerful hand while the other hand encircled her back and drew her roughly against him. Her arms went around him and her fingernails began raking his back, digging into him and hurting him. He kissed her again, harder this time, and she felt a burst of passion shoot through her whole body.