Mrs. Neva Holdkumb, whose appearance had beat the years to the half-century mark, was one of those overweight women unkindly described as looking like a rhinoceros. The description was unfair. She really looked more like a hippopotamus. Except around the month, where she looked like a hyena. When she smiled, she resembled Dracula with a toothache. When she scowled, she simply looked like a toothache. Add eyes as red as fresh-killed meat, breasts shaped like gristly hexagons, a snout like a boar’s head ducking for apples, legs like fat fountain pens bursting their veins with blue ink, and most of the salient points of Mrs. Neva Holdkumb’s physique have been touched.
She had a personality to match. She was childless and obsessed with sex-—other people’s sex lives, that is. Nor did her preoccupation result in undue permissiveness -- about other people’s sex lives, that is. On the contrary, Mrs. Holdkumb stood ever ready to call the balls and strikes on any players falling into the focus of her eager peephole. However, as Mr. Holdkumb could testify, sex was strictly a spectator sport as far as she was concerned.
In one way she had a ringside seat. Her husband’s business was intimately concerned with sex. He was in charge of the wholesale distribution of condoms for a major pharmaceutical company. And Archer Hornsby, with the title of Assistant Promotion Manager, worked directly under Mr. Holdkumb.
Shortly after Archer's marriage to Llona, Mrs. Holdkumb had made it very clear that the Hornsby’s sex life was of legitimate interest to her. For the most part, this had annoyed Llona greatly, although she’d done her best to go along with it in the interests of her husband’s career. Now she thought she saw a way to turn Mrs. Holdkumb’s obsession to use.
Llona had called ahead, and Mrs. Holdkumb was waiting for her. She ushered Llona into the living room of the apartment. Then she sat down on the couch next to her and leaned her face into Llona’s. Mrs. Holdkumb’s breath was that of a salivating buzzard anticipating a meal of freshly dead coyote and dysentery. “Now tell me all about it, you poor dear,” she instructed Llona eagerly.
“Well, as I told you over the phone, it’s terribly personal.”
“Your most intimate secrets are safe with me.” Mrs. Holdkumb couldn’t wait for her husband, E. Z., to get home that night so she could tell him all about Hornsby’s sex problems.
“But there was no one else I could turn tot”
“Of course not. And I'm your friend, darling. More. Look at me as a priest, or a doctor. Yes, a doctor, like an analyst. Just tell me everything. I'm here to help."
“Well, it’s about Archer and our -- our, uh, marital life."
"Yes. Yes. Does Archer have another woman? Is that it?” A little over-eager saliva appeared at the corner of Mrs. Holdkumb’s maw. She licked it away with her tongue.
“Oh, no. Of course not!" Llona lied, looking wide-eyed. “But,” she added as if by way of afterthought, “I want him to. It’s the only way I can see of saving our marriage.”
“You want him to have an affair with another woman?”
“That’s the conclusion I’ve come to.” Llona was firm. She knew her prey; if she laid down the breadcrumbs just sight, the trail would be followed straight to the chopping block.
“You want your husband to have an affair!” Neva Holdkumb nibbled, savoring the taste. This was even better than she’d expected; the breadcrumbs showed promise of being highly spied. “Why?” she asked, salivating with the word.
“Because Archer has a problem and it’s the only way I can see of coping with it.”
“Yes? Go on, dear.”
“A sex problem, Neva—if you know what I mean.” Llona managed a blush.
“What other kind is there?” Neva sucked on it a minute. “Archer has a sex problem,” she mused. “Are you saying he—umm -- is having difficulty firing his artillery?” she asked delicately.
“He can’t even load it!”
“And you think having an affair --"
“Neva, I’ll be frank with you. I’ve tried everything I can think of and now I‘ve had to face the fact that I simply don’t inspire Archer sexually anymore. I want to preserve my marriage. It that means some outside stimulus is necessary, then so be it!” Llona stuck out her chin bravely. “I’m willing if only it will revive Archer’s interest in sex.”
“I see what you mean. After all, it’s not just your frustration that’s involved. Archer’s whole career could be at stake.”
That was even better than Llona had hoped! Trust Neva Holdkumb, loyal and true company wife that she was, to relate Archer’s alleged inadequacy to the good of the business. Oh! Llona was going to fix that philandering husband of hers before she died! It would be the complete catastrophe! Mother! Business! Sex life! All adding up to his next marriage! Behind tight lips, Llona smiled at herself, pleased at the way her revenge was taking shape.
“But how does a wife arrange for her husband to have an affair?” Neva was wondering aloud now. “And even if you did, aren’t you afraid it might break up your marriage instead of saving it? What I mean is, Llona, girls who have affairs with married men may start out casually, but it rarely stays that way. They inevitably end up competing with the wife, trying to replace her, and often as not they succeed.”
Exactly! “In that case it would be for the best.” Llona faked a sigh. “You see, I love Archer. If the only way I can make a man of him is to push him into a situation where he might leave me, then I’m prepared to take the consequences.” Florence Nightingale took over Llona’s face. “As to how I’m going to set things up,” she added, “that’s why I’ve come to you, Neva. There was no one else I could turn to, nobody else I could trust to understand and help me.”
“You want me to help involve Archer with another woman . . .” Delicious! “But who?” Mrs. Holdkumb thought aloud. “Let’s see now, there’s Zelda . . . No, she’s too much, a real man-eater . . . ”
"Don’t rule her out,” Llona murmured. “It could be that the harsher the experience, the better.”
“Oh‘? Well, yes. I see what you mean. That could be so. Well then, Zelda, or . . . ”
Llona left Mrs. Holdkumb to her lip-licking musings. She still had one more stop to make. Less than an hour later she was having martinis in an intime cocktail lounge with Olivia Valentine, wife of Archer’s cousin Mortimer.
Olivia Valentine was around L1ona’s age, a small girl with a compact body that seemed always to be on the point of bursting with her own unachieved sex fantasies. She had the face of a pixie and the personality of a coquette-—which she was. Everything about Olivia was in direct contrast to her husband, Mortimer, who could easily have carried off first prize in a contest where turnips were judged for their blandness. About the only thing Olivia and Mortimer had in common was their dental problems. Both had been forced to swap their natural teeth for phoney choppers at an unusually early age.
Olivia was glad to see Llona. She looked at it as an opportunity to sound off about the problems of being married to the world’s most disinterested lover. This time, however, she was thwarted. Llona had troubles of her own to discuss and she succeeded in making them take precedence.
Llona leveled with Olivia; she told her the truth. Olivia was shocked at the prognosis for Llona. But she recovered quickly and became intrigued at Llona’s plans for revenging herself on Archer. Knowing Olivia, Llona had counted on her being intrigued.
“Let me get this straight.” Olivia recapitulated what Llona had told her. “You've got a year to live. Maybe less. And you’re determined to pick Archer’s next wife for him. You've found out Archer’s being unfaithful to you. And so you’re determined that your successor is going to be someone who’ll make him miserable. Wow! That’s quite a program you’ve mapped out for yourself.”