"The way it works," Ralph was explaining, "we subscribe to this monthly newspaper the club produces. Couples write in, describing themselves and their photos, what they'd like in return, and so on. Then we exchange pictures."
"You mean this Polaroid Club is a nationwide thing?"
"Sure. There are four chapters — one in New York, one in Florida, one in Chicago, and one in San Francisco-Los Angeles. The New York Chapter puts out the newspaper. Hell, you can buy a copy of it right here in Morriston, under the counter of course. Costs a buck a copy."
"Here in Morriston?" Howard was incredulous.
Ralph laughed. "Uh-huh. Why, you'd be surprised at some of the locals who are members of the club; you really would be, Howie."
"You… you just exchange photos, that's all you do? I mean, you hear so much these days about wife-swapping…"
"That's not our bag," Ralph said with a slow smile. "We're strictly out for our own kicks, together. Oh sure, some of the others undoubtedly go in for that sort of thing — witness some of those pictures you just saw — but that's their business, not ours. I mean, what the hell?"
"Sure," Howard said.
"There's not a damned thing wrong with this picture exchange that I can see," said Ralph. "We're being faithful to our wives, aren't we? Those of us who are in the club for personal gratification, I mean. All we're doing is getting ourselves and our wives turned on watching some other people doing it, and they're doing the same thing watching us. And it does get you turned on, Howie boy, believe me."
I believe you, all right, Howard thought. I can remember how excited I got last right, taking pictures of Cindy — and they weren't anything more than some harmless cheesecake. I wonder if I dare…
He shook his head, as if to clear it. No, there was no use thinking about trying to carry his thoughts past the pure day-dream stage. Cindy would never allow him to take pictures of her stripped completely naked, even though she had agreed to the cheesecake photos of the previous night, and she would most definitely never allow anything as lascivious as self-photos of the two of them making love. For God's sake, even if she did agree to go that far, she would certainly not agree to let anyone else, much less strangers, see the photos.
And he shouldn't expect her to, damn it; what was the matter with him? Cindy was a sweet, moral girl, faithful and passionate and able to satisfy his every need up until now — so why was he thinking about asking her to do something which fairly shouted of perversity and lack of respect for privacy and personal intimacy? Why should he be so excited at the possibility of seeing more of these photos which Ralph had just shown him? Why should the thought of watching other people making love and performing perversion on a regular basis bring the sweat out on his forehead, and bring a tightness to his chest and loins? Well, he couldn't explain it; it was beyond his comprehension. He knew only that the idea of seeing Cindy in a provocative position in a photograph, as he had for the first time last night, turned him on like he had never been turned on before. And the sight of these photos of strangers today had had the same physical effect on him.
He realized Ralph was speaking to him. "… do you think, Howie boy?"
"I'm sorry, Ralph. What did you say?"
"I said," Ralph repeated, "what do you think of the idea of the Polaroid Club?"
"Well, I… I suppose it's all right," Howard said hesitantly. "For other people, I mean." He averted his eyes.
"But not for you, eh boy?"
"No, I… I don't think so, Ralph."
Ralph smiled knowledgeably. "Sure now? I can tell by your face that you're interested, Howie."
"No… no, I'm not, really, Ralph… I'm not." Howard got quickly to his feet, conscious of his sweat-sheened face and neck. "I… I think I'd better get to work. There are some contracts that have to be drawn up…"
Ralph also stood. "Okay, boy," he said. "But think it over, will you? We'd be mighty glad to have you aboard; it's really a wild bag." He chuckled. "And if you're worried about Cindy going along, I've got just the remedy."
Howard had turned toward the door. Now, without conscious thought, he found himself turning back to his superior. "What kind of remedy?" he heard himself ask.
"Take these pictures with you when you go home for supper tonight," Ralph said, pushing the photos and the manila envelope across the desk toward Howard. "And on your way, stop and buy a copy of that newspaper I was telling you about — the Polaroid Club News. I'll tell you where you can pick it up. Then you leave the paper and the photos where Cindy will be sure to find them…"
"No, I couldn't do that," Howard said, shocked. "It's… not right! Cindy would never forgive me…"
"I think you're underestimating not only your wife but women in general, my boy. Why not give it a try? You're interested, I know you are. You can't fool old Ralph. Take it from me, all you've got to do is put the bug in the wife's ear, get her on the track. Once they see the kicks involved, they're only too happy to go along. I know, boy; Norma was the same as Cindy, shy and retiring, when I first heard about the Polaroid Club. Now she's open and much warmer — and hell on wheels in the rack, let me tell you!"
Howard felt uncomfortable in the face of all this candidness, the unexpected admissions and ideas and concepts which he had been subjected to this morning. He wanted to get out of there, get to work so he could think more clearly. "I… I don't think so, Ralph, I don't think so…" he managed, groping his way to the door, opening it, walking swiftly toward his own small cubicle.
He did not realize until he had entered it and seated himself at his desk that he held the photos Ralph had shown him in his right hand…
Howard left the Auto Circus at five that night, for his hour-and-a-half supper break. The lot stayed open until midnight seven days a week, and this was his week to close up five of the seven days.
He had not had a good day. He had bungled two sales, unable to keep his mind on the demanding task of promoting a customer's confidence in himself and the vehicle he was selling, and had fouled up a contract for a regular volume buyer. He hadn't been able to get his mind off Ralph's words of that morning and of the photos which seemed to be burning a hole in his jacket pocket.
At four-thirty, he had known that there was no use in kidding himself any longer; he was going to take Ralph's suggestion about leaving the photographs and a copy of that newspaper where Cindy would be sure to find them. He had gone in to see Ralph, taken a deep breath, and asked where he could buy a copy of the Polaroid Club News.
Ralph had winked boldly at him, saying, "I thought you'd change your mind, my boy. And you won't be sorry, either; no sir, you won't be sorry at all. Now the place you want to go is Winkler's Used Books, over on Shafer Avenue…"
Feeling a strange combination of guilt and mounting excitement at what he was about to do, Howard drove over to Shafer Avenue and found Winkler's Used Books, a small neighbor hood secondhand store set midway in the block. Somewhat self-consciously, for he had never so much as purchased a girlie magazine in the past — although he had managed to sneak a look at some of them from time to time — Howard went inside and asked the grizzled, bald-headed old man behind the counter for a copy of "a modern swinger's newspaper", as Ralph had instructed him.
The old man didn't even glance at him twice. He reached under the counter, produced a small, six-page, roughly printed news-sheet, and demanded a dollar. Howard gave it to him and, clutching the paper tightly under his arm, he hurried back to where he had parked his car.