Of course, the car wasn’t the best place in the world. It was cramped, even an old boat of a car like his father’s. And it must have inhibited her performance, as good old Rhonda would have put it. Not that Saralee seemed at all inhibited, not in the least. But the poor girl didn’t have enough room to move around in.
And she loved to move. Oh, how she loved to move. And she moved so nicely.
“Vince—”
He cupped one of her breasts and gave it a friendly squeeze.
“Vince, I needed that. You have no idea how much I needed that. It’s been so long.”
“Look,” he said, “I don’t want to get personal, but what the hell’s wrong with your husband? Is he dead or something?”
“He’s no good.”
“Well... doesn’t he even try?”
She giggled. “Once a night,” she said. “Once a night, every goddamned night of the year.”
He gaped. “Isn’t once a night enough for you?”
“Well,” she said, giggling, “to begin with, it isn’t. Not tonight, anyway, because we’re going to do it again as soon as I get my wind back.”
“But—”
“Ordinarily, once a night would be enough. Once with you, for example, would be plenty. But Brad gets through before I even get started. All he does is get me the least bit hot and it’s over and I have to crawl up the walls.”
“Oh,” he said.
“And I can’t stand it, because I need it, and you came along and I knew you’d be good. And you are good, Vince. You’re wonderful. You’re the best ever.”
“Well,” he said. “Thanks.”
“And we’re going to do it again,” she said. “Right here and right now, but we’ll have to hurry a little so he doesn’t get suspicious. We’ll have to start right now, so get set, honey. Because we’re going to do it and it’s going to be great.
“Now,” she said. “Now, yes, now, Vince, now!”
It was too soon, and he was tired, but she was persuasive.
Very persuasive.
And very skillful.
So skillful, in fact, that when in the course of things he pulled a small muscle in his back he didn’t even notice it until later.
And it was worth it, anyway.
There was always the smart thing and the dumb thing, and it was beginning to seem as though the dumb thing was whatever he did. Or, rather, whatever the dumb thing was, he picked it.
Maybe he was just dumb.
Because, if he was smart, he would have gotten the hell out of Brighton the minute he dropped Saralee on the corner of Schwerner and Fourth. The game was won, the trophy would look good on the wall, and that was that.
But he wasn’t smart.
He stayed the night at Mrs. Sharp’s. That was dumb, of course, but it was also natural. He was just too damned tired to drive all the way back to the lake without a good night’s sleep first. Besides, he’d paid up for a whole week. He might as well collect a night’s sleep there and breakfast in the morning before he left.
Sure.
That, he told himself in the morning, was not exactly the truth. Vince, boy, you’re not being honest with yourself. You don’t give a lily-white damn about breakfast in the morning. You’re wondering what Sexy Saralee would be like in a real bed.
Which was something he didn’t have any right to think about.
For one thing, once with Saralee was enough. Twice with Saralee had almost been fatal, albeit wonderful, and a third time would be dangerous.
On the way to the drugstore, he told himself it was just to see her, to say good-bye. No sense running out without even telling her so long.
Uh-huh.
“Tonight,” she said. “Tonight, Vince. Again tonight, and not in the car because it’s better in a bed. Tonight we’ll do it in a bed, Vince.
“Brad works late tonight,” she went on. “You come over to my house and we’ll do it and it’ll be perfect, just perfect. In my bed. It’s a big double bed and we’ll have loads of room. You’ll like it, Vince.”
That sounded entirely possible.
“169 Hayes Street,” she said. “Right on the corner of Fifth. Come up at eight o’clock and it’ll give us two hours before he gets home. You come right up, Vince. You understand?”
He understood. Boy, did he understand. He understood so well he wanted to crawl in a hole.
“Look,” he said, “Saralee, I mean, I have to get back home and—”
“Hush up,” she said. “You better go now. I’ll see you tonight.”
So I’m stupid, he thought. So I’m a damned fool who ought to know better. So I’m a low-grade moron with a rock for a head. So what?
He parked the car around the corner from her house, then listened to his knees banging together on the way to her door. He rang the bell once, wondering what in God’s name he would do if her husband answered the door, and then listened to his teeth chattering until she came to the door and opened it. She was stark naked.
He stood there, just staring, and then he managed to step inside and get the door shut.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “I mean, that’s pretty stupid, Saralee. Suppose it wasn’t me at the door, for God’s sake. Suppose—”
“I saw you,” she said. “From the window.”
“But—”
“So I knew it was you and not somebody else. I didn’t want to waste any time. I still don’t want to waste any time. I want to get started, because we only have two hours, and I want to make the most of both of them. What’s the matter? Don’t you like the way I look?”
He couldn’t answer. All he could do was look at her. Most girls, he had learned long ago, look a lot better with some clothes on. And a naked girl who was just sort of lying down looked a lot better than one walking around. But Saralee was an exception. She was perfect naked, perfect the way she wandered around without seeming conscious of the fact that she was nude.
She was lovely.
“Hurry,” she was saying. “The bedroom is upstairs, and we want to go there right away, and you’d better hurry.”
They hurried.
In the bedroom, with the door shut, she helped him get his clothes off. She really wasn’t much help. Every time she touched him he got confused and fumbled with his clothing, but finally he managed it and they were both naked.
And both on the bed.
She was telling him to hurry up, that she couldn’t wait, that she’d been going out of her mind all day waiting for him.
But this time he was going to play it the way he wanted to.
“You’re going to wait,” he told her. “I’m going to drive you out of your mind.”
And he spent a lot of time kissing and touching her, and pretty soon she was squirming and moaning for him, making strange sounds from somewhere in the depths of her throat and begging him to hurry, for God’s sake, to get the main event started and stop wasting time on the preliminaries, to hurry up because she was going mad.
It was time. His point was proved, and she had learned her lesson, and now he did not feel that he was the one being seduced. This time it would be good, and when he finally did get the hell out of Brighton this would be something to remember.
“Come on,” she said. “Vince, please. I’ll kill you, Vince. I’ll kill myself. I’ll go mad. I can’t take it, you better start doing it and stop fooling around. I want it, Vince, I need it. Vince, please—”
He got ready, and was about to begin, and then he noticed that she wasn’t talking any more, that she wasn’t saying a word, that she was looking past him with something horrible in her eyes.
So he looked around.
And there, big as life, was Bradley Jenkins.