Helen Rhinhart at Betty’s left suddenly pushed herself away from the table and began struggling to her feet. “Excuse me one little minute,” she said, picking up her empty beer bottle. “I’ll be right back.”
Helen could be described only as a soft blonde. Soft hair, soft eyes, soft cheeks, soft lips, and a soft, yielding body. During each meeting of the bridge club, she excused herself periodically from the table, either to go to the bathroom or to the refrigerator or both. She belonged to the bridge club because her husband, “Rhiney” — bald, rotund, and as soft in his own way as Helen — bowled on the same team as T. J. and was therefore occupied every Saturday night.
“If you will kindly deal the cards,” said Gloria Hayden at Betty’s right, “maybe we can play another hand or two before I fall asleep completely.”
Gloria’s outward aspect changed with each visit to the beauty salon. At present, she was wearing a tawney, shoulder-length hair piece with facial coloring to match. A golden serpent encircled her throat and a similar one was twined about her left wrist. But in whatever guise Gloria presented herself, her eyes never changed. They were green, gold-flecked, calculating, and almost completely hidden by thick lashes. The eyes of a female predator. She had had two husbands, and been unfaithful to each, was drawing alimony from both, and was looking for a third one — anybody’s.
“She’s not really carnivorous,” Helen had once said. “Just husbandiverous.”
“Sorry,” Betty said, and began distributing the cards.
Helen came back to her chair, sat down, filled her glass from the fresh bottle she had brought, emptied it, refilled it, and sat the empty bottle on the floor beside her. “I feel much better now,” she announced.
Gloria picked up her cards one at a time, squirming restlessly as if she had a colony of creeping things somewhere in her under garments. She had been invited to substitute for the fourth regular member of the club who had suddenly become ill with the flu. She had accepted, reluctantly, and had spent most of the evening wiggling, smoking incessantly, and looking as if she’d rather be almost anywhere else than where she was.
Betty picked up her cards and began arranging them according to suit. When she had finished, a slow, hot flush rose from her neck to spread across her face. “I’m — I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve — I’ve made a misdeal. I have too many cards.”
“Dear, dear,” said Sara. “My poor dear.”
“Jees!” said Gloria. She gave her cards a slight toss in Betty’s direction.
“Here,” said Helen. “Let me help you.” She made a swooping gesture toward the cards with both hands. Her glass of beer, struck by an elbow, went spinning to the center of the table, spewing its foamy contents promiscuously.
“Holy gawd!” sighed Gloria.
Sara leaped to her feet and began brushing suds from the front of her dress.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Betty, hurrying toward the kitchen. She was back seconds later with a towel for Sara and one for the table. The way the cards clung together, it was obvious that they would never again serve their intended purpose. “They’re the only ones I have,” apologized Betty. “I was going to get a couple of decks this morning, but — well, I forgot.”
Sara tossed her used towel to the table. “You shouldn’t let yourself worry so much about — about things,” she said.
Damn the poison darts! And, also, damn the bridge club! Betty tightened her jaws and felt that she was rapidly approaching a danger point.
Gloria left the table and began a restless tour of the room. She stopped at one of the windows and stood gazing out into the night, nervously flicking her cigaret.
Helen was staring dejectedly at the empty glass she had hastily retrieved from the table. Finally, she set it down carefully and began making her way slowly and unobtrusively toward the kitchen refrigerator. She returned a moment later, a fresh bottle in hand.
Gloria spun suddenly away from the window. “I know what let’s do!” she said. “Let’s go bushwhacking!”
“Bushwhacking?” Betty had never heard the term before.
“Sure. You know. Drive around through the bushes and let your lights flash over parked cars. Very interesting. And tonight is certainly a swell night for it!”
Trust Gloria to know about things like that!
Betty piled the limp cards on top of the towels on the table. “Well, I don’t know...”
“The party has been hovering near death all evening,” said Gloria. “If we don’t do something pretty soon to revive it, we’ll have a corpse on our hands.”
“Sounds like fun!” said Helen. She raised her bottle high by its neck and waved it, banner-like. “Let’s go whack a bush,” she sang. “Let’s go whack a bush-a-bush-a-bush...”
“No use worrying and brooding all the time,” Sara said pointedly.
Gloria started for the door. “We’ll take my car.”
Banner held high, Helen marched out the door after her and followed her into the front seat of the little sports car.
Betty tagged along reluctantly and climbed into the back seat with Sara. There seemed to be little else she could do concerning the situation.
Six miles out of town, Gloria swung off the main highway and onto a graveled road that led gradually upward. At the top of the knoll, she slowed and entered a rutted lane that led into an unfenced area filled with scrub fir and ground-hugging pines, her bright lights bringing the scene into bold relief.
Dim trails branched from the lane at irregular intervals. She selected one and began slowly following its meandering course. In a moment the headlights swept directly into the front seat of a parked car. The couple there quickly disembraced themselves, and the girl put up an arm to shield her eyes and face.
“Here’s to you!” shouted Helen, raising her bottle.
The next car seemed unoccupied, but part of a blanket was plainly visible between two sheltering trees.
“Some fun!” said Helen. “I’ll have to bring old Rhiney out here some night. He might pick up an idea or two.”
“I doubt it,” sniffed Sara.
Gloria swung the car slowly but surely in and out among the trees. Probably knows the area like a book! thought Betty.
The lights suddenly swept broadside across a parked red sedan. At sight of the car, a gasp arose in Betty’s throat, She felt Sara go rigid beside her and clutch her free hand.
The red sedan had been visible for only a few fleeting seconds, but Betty felt certain that everyone had recognized it. She felt cold and weak, as if her entire body were melting away.
Gloria got back to the rutted lane almost instantly and began jouncing rapidly along it toward the graveled road. “Damn!” she muttered. “Damn! I guess you just can’t trust anybody!”
Betty walked slowly to the front porch as the other cars drove away. She let herself into the lighted livingroom, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, feeling as if her brain had ceased all function.
She went to the table, finally, gathered up the towels, Gloria’s loaded ash tray, the wilted cards, Helen’s empty bottle and glass and carried them to the kitchen where she disposed the entire lot into the refuse can.