Howard stepped from the shower, mixed of emotion. No longer was he "Howie the Innocent"; no, he was "Howie the Swinger" now, and he vowed that he was going to continue to play the modern role — like Ralph. Yet, there but a few feet from him was his loving, faithful wife, whom he loved very deeply. He sighed. If only she was more open, more abandoned like Bonnie had been. Well, there was only one thing to do about it. Make her understand too that there was more to sex than just climbing on and climbing off!
He toweled himself briskly, his mind made up. Yes, the acquiescent Howard was in the past, and he was going to show her a more forceful, more worldly husband from hereon in. At first she might not like it, he had to admit, but she would soon see that he was right. And Howard knew just how he was going to accomplish this "education" of his lovely, innocent wife — by following Ralph's advice!
He was going to go ahead with the pictures! He was going to use the Polaroid again to take more shots! Wilder ones! Ones with him in them, too, perhaps even showing his cock fucking her! His penis trembled anew and he moaned lightly as he dreamed of all the combinations he was going to do with his wife. But he knew in order to accomplish this task, he would have to handle things diplomatically, to use all of the tricks of his salesmen's trade.
Yes, that was it. To wait and bide his time… no more sudden confrontations like last night when he'd lost his cool… he would broach the subject just as if he was selling a car on the lot, only this sale would be far more important!
He walked into the bedroom and slid under the sheets. He turned over and placed his arm over his wife's back. Tenderly, with all the emotion of his devotion for her, he vowed to turn her into a completely sexually emancipated woman… like the people in the photos were… like Ralph and his wife, Norma, and all the others of the Polaroid Club were.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Gandydancer was Morriston's most expensive and most well-known restaurant-night club, catering to those among the population who could afford two dollars per drink during the thrice-nightly shows and boned squab at ten dollars per plate. It was plush and dark, with beautiful young cocktail waitresses in sequined halter-and-panty outfits holding forth in the lounge — and maroon-uniformed waiters hovering quietly and obsequiously in the upstairs dining salon.
At nine o'clock the following evening, at a reserved table in the restaurant balcony overlooking the dance floor and performer's dais, Cindy and Howard Jamison sat across from Ralph and Norma Taylor, sipping champagne from cut-crystal glasses. The remnants of four thick Porterhouse steaks smothered in fresh mushrooms, baked potatoes with sour cream sauce, and green beans with pearl onions covered the table in front of them.
Ralph, in his usual jovial, expansive mood, raised his glass as he peered down at the performer's dais, where the orchestra was assembling and the prominent female vocalist who was featured at The Gandydancer this week was preparing for her first show of the evening. "Entertainment will be getting underway any minute now," he said. "We have time for another glass of champagne before they start. You want to do the honors, Howie?"
"Well, shouldn't we wait for one of the waiters?" Norma asked.
"Nonsense," said Ralph, smiling. "Pour the bubbly, Howie, my boy."
"Sure," Howard said, extracting the bottle of imported French champagne from the silver ice bucket at his elbow. "Glasses, everybody."
He poured the four glasses full, and then Ralph raised his high. "To you and Cindy, Howie," he toasted. "And a long life of happiness — in and out of bed." He chuckled, and Norma laughed musically at his elbow at the comment.
Howard grinned, turning to click glasses with his lovely blonde wife. Cindy, as she had been all evening, was silent and seemingly distant; she hadn't spoken five words since they'd arrived at The Gandydancer. In fact, Howard reflected, she hadn't said much of anything all day; she'd been quiet and uncommunicative at breakfast that morning, and the only time she'd really spoken to him was when he'd called from Auto Circus to tell her that Ralph and Norma were taking them out dining and dancing that night at The Gandydancer, a gesture on Ralph's part that was more or less a corollary to the gift of the Polaroid for the Jamison's third wedding anniversary.
Cindy had not wanted to go. In fact, she'd been snappish and irritable at the suggestion, saying that she didn't care to go anywhere with Ralph Taylor. Howard had immediately surmised that her reaction was on account of the pictures and the copy of the Polaroid Club News; she had obviously opened the manila envelope the night before, just as he'd planned, although she was surely not admitting the fact to him. It was only natural, he thought, that she would blame Ralph for the content of the photos — that was to be expected. So he'd carefully set about calming her down, telling her that it was important to his job at Auto Circus that they accept the Taylor's invitation, that the cultivation of Ralph was a vital factor in his plans to advance to Assistant Manager and yes, maybe even to Manager, Ralph's position, when he retired or became a board member of the firm. Cindy had come around finally at his soothing, logical words, just as he'd known she would, and agreed to come tonight. He'd thought everything would be fine, but thus far the evening hadn't worked out the way he'd hoped; she was acting like a child, sitting there and picking at her food and barely touching the expensive champagne and not joining in the conversation — and studiously avoiding Ralph's eyes across the table. He would have to have a talk with her, first chance he had to get her alone; tell her to open up a little, for God's sake, this was an important affair.
Now, he smiled at his sweetly innocent wife and touched his champagne glass to her's.
"Happy anniversary, honey — again," he said.
"Happy anniversary," she said automatically, taking a very small sip of her champagne and putting the glass down again.
Ralph said, "Ahh, that's good stuff, all right. Best they've got here and damned expensive, but what the hell? This is an occasion, eh, Cindy?"
"Yes," she said non-committedly, still not looking at him.
Norma looked at her concernedly. Her black hair was carefully coiffured tonight, and she looked radiant and sexy sitting next to her husband; to Howard, it seemed as if she somehow radiated pure animal musk, a female animal born for one reason and not complaining at the singularity of her purpose one iota. "Aren't you feeling well tonight, dear?" she asked solicitously. "I'm all right," answered Cindy distantly.
"Sure she is," agreed Ralph. "A few more glasses of bubbly and she'll be right in the spirit of things."
Anxious to get the subject of the conversation away from his wife, Howard said, "We really do appreciate this evening out on the town, Ralph. I mean, after your generosity towards us the other night…"
"The Polaroid, you mean? Why, heh heh, that was nothing at all, my boy."
"We're just glad you could make good use of it, Howie," Norma said. "I mean, taking photos of Cindy and all for your private photo album is something no husband should miss out on when he has such a lovely wife."
"That's right," enthused Ralph. "What better way to keep the ties that bind tautly bound than to take intimate little snaps of the wife for future enjoyment?" He laughed heartily.
Cindy, who had only been half-listening to the conversation going on around her before, jerked her head around to stare across the table at the Taylors. They were both smiling with elaborate innocence, and yet… hadn't she detected an under-current of personal knowledge in their words just now? Why, it was almost as if they knew about… about the risque pictures she had allowed her husband to take of her on their Anniversary!