Widowsmate
a Novelette by Kellis
January, 2000
Editorial in
the Daily
Clarion for Saturday, September 8, 1934:
�������� The recent death of Charles Floyd, alias �Pretty Boy,� in an Ohio field at the FBI�s hands reminds us of the depth of degradation in these terrible times.� Pretty Boy Floyd apparently transferred enough wealth from midwestern banks to poor farmers to merit the second alias of �Robin Hood.�� As a consequence many otherwise law-abiding people have admitted harboring Mr. Floyd and protecting him from detection by law enforcement agents.
�������� A desperate depravity has enthralled our nation.� This publisher can only await with utmost trepidation the ruination of morality that future events must surely reveal.
�Oh, Justin!�� The eyes of the woman who had just opened the door grew round as saucers.� Her voice dropped almost to a whisper.� �I�ve got a visitor and � and the shade must�ve flown up!�
�At nine o�clock in the morning?� he demanded in a fierce murmur, obviously disappointed.� He visibly took control of himself.� �Okay, tell him it was a mistaken house number and I�ll call you later.�
�It�s a she who just dropped in.�� She glanced over her shoulder and turned back, expression approaching horror.� �And she�s interested.� She heard me recognize you.� What am I going to do?�
�Take it easy, Bea.� I�d better come in.� Tell her I�m your neighbor.�
�Oh, could we, Justin?� I�ll make it up to you.�
�I know you will.� Now let me in.�
Beatrice Wallingsworth composed her face and stepped back from the door.� She spun as he drew abreast and they entered the room together.� He stiffened, recognizing the seated visitor only too well.
�Justin,� Bea intoned brightly, �this is my good friend Betty Argent.� Betty, this is Justin Ross, a neighbor who, ah, who works at the bank.� He drops by about this time of the month to pick up my mortgage payment.� Saves me the postage.�
He forced a smile and bowed slightly.� �How do you do, Miss Argent.� It�s a pleasure to meet you.�
Betty�s dark eyes had rounded.� Her back stiffened where she sat and an equally fake smile appeared only on her lips.� �Yes, a pleasure!� And it�s Mrs. Argent.� I�m a widow as well.�
�I�m sorry to hear of your misfortune, Mrs. Argent.�
�Thank you.� Beatrice must deal with Mellon Bank, too.�
�Oh, yes,� the standing woman declared, adding with a roguish lilt, �They take such good care of me!� I�d never go anywhere else.�
�They usually give good service,� Betty admitted, eyes locked with the man.
Beatrice asked, �Won�t you sit down, Justin?�
�No, thanks.� I need to get on to the bank.�
�Going to work at nine o�clock!� Beatrice scoffed playfully.� �Bankers do have certain advantages.�
�They sure do!� Betty agreed, mouth a firm line.
�Let me get that payment.�� Beatrice spun out of the room.
Betty suggested, voice fierce but low, �Another widow in arrears, Justin?�
The woman�s eyes flicked to the sun-filled window nearer the door.� A grim smile touched her lips and she said in a low voice, �She pulled the shade when I first came in.� My mouth fell open, you can bet!� So when she left the room I raised it again to see what might happen.� And look who waltzed in!�
�She, ah ��� He cleared his throat.� �You mustn�t jump to conclusions, Betty.�
She snorted.� �Not much of a jump!�� She rose to her feet.� �I�d love to stick around and see what she calls a mortgage payment.� You don�t have to leave on my account.�
�You�re going?�
Her voice, though soft, was acid.� �Can�t let our favorite banker miss a payment, can we!� Certainly don�t want him to lose any interest!�
She swept past him to the door.� �Tell Beatrice I had to get back to my kid.� She knows all about it.�
With that she threw open the door, passed through and almost slammed it behind her.
A moment later Beatrice hurried into the room, an envelope in her outstretched hand.� �I thought I heard �� Where�s Betty?�
�She, ah, she had to leave.� She said something about her kid.�
�She has a sick child, dropped in to borrow some tonic.�� The woman smiled.� �Which leaves us a clear field.� Come on.�
�What�s in the envelope?� he asked as she turned away.
She paused and grinned at him.� �Only the electric bill.� I meant to give it to you anyway.�
�Then I�ll take it.� Do you think I ought to stay, Bea?� If she swings back by ��
�Why should she?�
�She was a little � quick.� You know how it is.� I think she�s suspicious.�
�Of us?�� The woman laughed.� �So what?� It�ll just make her jealous.� I know it would if I caught her � that is, if I didn�t have you.�� The mirth vanished.� �Justin � I�ve been dreaming of you and fingering myself till I�m wild.� It�s two days before my period, and you know what that�s like!� Next week I won�t care, but now ��
She turned to him in evident distress, hands spread in entreaty, chestnut hair to her shoulders, a plump mother of two in a green house dress.� He thought he could smell her spicy odor.� Suddenly his mouth watered.
He said, �Let me move my car into your alley.�
� *� *� *� *
On Thursday he let himself into Betty Argent�s door promptly at nine-thirty as scheduled.� He paused in the foyer and called, �Anyone home?� genuinely curious as to how he might be answered today.� The door to the hall opened and Betty stood there, wearing the lemon yellow peignoir he had given her.� Nipples and pubic triangle were hazily visible beneath it.
�Good morning, Justin.�
�Good morning.�� He smiled.� �You are a stirring figure in that gown.�
�That�s why I wore it.� Come on through.� Your robe is waiting, unless you�d like coffee first.�
�Just had breakfast.� I�ll drink it when you do.�
He followed her into the bedroom and began to strip off suit and tie.� As she hung his pants over a chair back, she asked, �Who serves you breakfast, Justin?�
�Kate, I think is her name.�
�You aren�t sure?�
�You don�t usually call a waitress by her name, especially not at Hale�s Diner.� But this one is Kate.� She likes me.� I think she gets me an extra egg now and then.� And she always earns a good tip.�
�I�m sure you help her out.�
�Well, she�s trying to support her invalid mother.�
�Another widow?�
�I don�t really know.� She wears no ring, but I hear waitresses often don�t, even when they�re entitled.�
Helping him undress had become part of their ritual, but its usual effect was not evident on him this morning.� She threw off her garment, came to him and took him in hand.� Her dark eyes lifted solemnly.� �I was interrupted last week.�
�Interrupted?� At what?�
�This.�� She knelt suddenly and mouthed him.� Soon his hips began to move gently.� Shortly she raised her head.� �Ready, now?�
�If you�ll let me return the favor.�
Wordlessly she rose and lay back upon the bed, legs spread apart.� He crawled between them.� �God, I love your odor!�
She protested, �I finished a tub bath not ten minutes ago.�
�You can�t wash that odor away and remain a woman.�
�A woman!� You know so much about them, do you?�
He failed to answer, tongue now otherwise employed.� It was a sufficient distraction.� Her lips parted in a gasp.� She arched her back, hips beginning their uniquely feminine rotation.� Despite that she built to her climax much more slowly than usual.� Though his tongue began to tire, he pressed gamely on with the help of fingers, until crescendoing cries and rigid legs finally disclosed success.
He backed away to wipe his face on the bedsheet and immediately lowered himself upon her.� The wordless groans became stronger.� Her arms and legs gripped him tightly, but her center was yielding.� His own crisis soon ensued.
As their bodies eased, he pulled her head onto his shoulder and pressed her breasts into his side.� She threw a leg over his thighs and drew the knee up until it lifted his sodden genitals.� �That was good, Justin.� We�re good together.�
�Very good together,� he agreed.
�But still nothing special, eh?�� Her voice was offhand.
�What do you mean?� he asked, fearing that he already knew what she meant.
�Beatrice says she�s very passionate just before her period, that she can�t get enough then.� Does a man prefer a woman like that, Justin?�
He hesitated.� At last he said cautiously, �Any man would prefer a woman who responds.� When I put it in you just now, after you came to my tongue, you were as passionate as a woman can be.�
�I was?�
�Oh, yes.� Pulled the juice right out of me.�
She wriggled herself a little closer to him.� �I want to be passionate for you, Justin.�
�You are, Betty.�� He cleared his throat.� �But what was that about your kid � Johnny � being sick?� You didn�t mention it last week.�
�Just a 24-hour fever, but he felt so hot it worried me.� Beatrice had three kids;� I wanted her advice.� Johnny was okay the next day.� I sent him back to school.�
�Ah, I thought she had two kids!�
�Her oldest died of infantile paralysis.� Didn�t she tell you?�
�My god!� No, she didn�t.�
�I guess it makes her sad�� Justin, I drove back by there a half hour after I left.� Your car wasn�t on the street.�
�That�s right, it wasn�t.�
�Was I wrong, Justin?� Are you paying on her mortgage, too?�
�Betty �� What difference would it make to you if I were?�
The woman lay partly upon him, her body quiet except for the slow pulse of her breathing.� She offered no answer to his question.� After awhile she said, �My cousins have invited me to come live with them.�
�Your cousins?� Do you know them well?�
�We were raised together.� They inherited my grandpa�s farm in southern Illinois.� It�d be good for Johnny, probably � healthy air in the country.� But I was raised in the city.� Don�t know if I could stand it.�
�Far from the bright lights?�
�30 miles to the nearest movie house.�
�Would you go just for the healthy air?� As for Johnny, everyone concedes the city schools are better.�
�I know that.� No, not just for the healthy air.� Would you miss me, Justin?�
�You know I would, Betty.�
�What�s your advice?� Should I move?�
He stirred restlessly.� �Blood, as they say, is thicker than water.� In hard times relatives can be a real advantage � if you can stand each other.� But since you ask me, I have to say, no, you shouldn�t move away.� You�ve got everything you need right here, including a house and lot registered in your name.� And the city is getting back on its feet.� You will, too.� It won�t be long before you have a job.�
�You�ll keep � supporting me?�
�As long as you need it.� No.� Let me put that another way:� as long as you�ll let me.�
She chuckled humorlessly.� �That almost sounds like marriage.�
He sighed.� �Almost.�
�You won�t marry me, Justin?�
�Betty �� he began.
But she backed away from him and got out of the bed.� She raised the yellow peignoir from the floor, balled it up and tossed it into a corner, then took a tattered gray housecoat from a hook in the wardrobe and threw it around her.� She backed a couple of steps toward the foyer door, crossed her arms and regarded him with flashing eyes.
�I went back to see Beatrice yesterday and accused her of having an affair with you.� She�s a widow, too, with no more visible means of support than I, and another kid to boot.� Our husbands were members of the same lodge.� Hers had the same insurance as mine:� $1500.� She couldn�t explain her livelihood any better than I might�ve.� Except one way.
�Your car wasn�t in front of her house when I came back because it was behind it!� You were in her bed.� And in her!
�What burns me the worst is you spent half the day with her, not leaving until just before her kids got home from school.� The most you ever gave me was an hour or so.� She bragged that you shot off with her four times.� Four times in a few hours!� If that�s true � and I notice you don�t deny it � maybe you�ll tell me what she�s got, as you put it, that pulls out so much more juice!
�We got mad, cursed each other, even traded slaps, but in the end we hugged and compared notes.� We know a lot about you, Justin Ross, all the things that only a wife would know, except two.� We don�t know whether you have a legal wife or not, and we don�t know how many other widows you support.�
He sat up in the bed and stared at her.
She continued, �I don�t suppose you care to answer those ��
He shook his head.� �You told Bea about us?�
�That�s what it took to break her down.�
�Damn!� Why did you have to do that?� How was she hurting you?� I don�t suppose she took it any better than you are.�
�Why should she?� We were both in love with you, you two-timing � three-timing, four-timing, god-knows-how-many-timing bastard.� Well, we intend to find out.� I�m not as dumb as you think.� I looked your house up in the county records:� that big old place on Felton street.� I drove by there and saw two women sitting on the porch.� Is one of them your wife?�
�No.�
�I intend to ask them!� And don�t think you can stop me.� If I don�t call Beatrice� � she craned her neck to consult the clock on the bed table � �in twelve minutes, she�ll call the cops.�
�I would never harm you, Betty.�
�Wouldn�t you?� Your cozy setup is about to fall in on you, Justin.� But you can�t kill both of us.�
�Kill two beautiful women?� I�ve never offered you anything but tenderness.� I can�t believe you expect any different.�
She drew close to the bed.� �You wouldn�t like to close your hands around my neck just now?�
�Damn it, Betty ��
�That�s the only way you could stop me.�� Suddenly she was leaning towards him.� She cried, �Strangle me!� I dare you!�
Her frenzied face loomed before him.� Impulsively his hands darted to either side of her head and pulled the open mouth against his own.� Her shoulder jerked and he felt a sting in his side.� A moment later something clattered on the floor.� Her arms went around his neck and she fell upon him, pushing him onto his back.
�Oh, god, Justin!� she cried into his cheek.� �Please don�t leave me!�
He meant to protest that leaving was never his intention, but her mouth covered his hungrily.� He felt her nipples distinctly on his chest.� She drew up her knees and clamped his hips, her open housecoat falling around them both.� The passionate display rearoused him, which she soon detected.� Her hand darted between them and coupled them.� She groaned nasally, her tongue busy with his.
She perched atop him, hips grinding.� Her sphincters clipped him as her passion intensified.� He realized that she was climaxing again and again and, despite the bizarreness of her behavior, felt his own tension rise in response.� He strained upward, holding her knees off the bed at his climax.
She collapsed atop him when he finally relaxed, panting in his ear.� �Oh, Justin!� she sighed.� �You came � again!� I � felt it!�
When her breath eased, she raised up.� Her eyes were bright.� �Maybe I can�t match Beatrice, but I�m still a very passionate �� Oops!� Beatrice!�
She pushed away from him and scuttled to the foyer�s wall-mounted telephone just beyond the bedroom door.� As her finger spun the dial, she muttered, �Surely she�d wait five minutes!�
She danced up and down in a fever of impatience.� �At least it�s not busy!�
He sat up in the bed, wondering if his lawyer was still in business.
She froze.� �Beatrice?
�You didn�t call the cops yet, did you? �� Oh, good!� I�m so glad.�
The instrument rattled with an interrogative lilt.� She responded, �No, he won�t marry me.� Yes, he�s right here in the bed, watching me�� Yes, I told him everything.� Hurt?� No, I�m not hurt, Bea, but � good god, he is!� I�ll call you back!�
She hung up the phone, darted into the bathroom and hurried out bearing a first aid kit decorated with a red cross.� �Just a minute,� she said, fumbling with the metal box.
�What�s wrong?� he asked.
�You�re bleeding.�
�Bleeding?�
�Where I stabbed you.�
�Where you ��� He craned his head to examine the spot where he had felt a sting.� Indeed a thin line of blood descended towards his hip.� Glancing behind himself, he saw a hand-sized splotch of red on the sheet.
The room tilted crazily and went dark.
� *� *� *� *
His tongue burned.� His eyes fluttered open to find her holding up his head, pressing a spoon hard between his teeth.� His nasal passages registered the tang of bad whisky.� He swallowed involuntarily.
�Wh-what is it?�
�Some moonshine my husband left.� I�m glad you�re awake.� I was beginning to get worried.�
�I passed out?�
�You sure did!�� She grinned, but not in mockery.� �Don�t you like blood, Justin?�
�Not my own, I guess.�� He bent his head to examine his side.� She had applied a neat bandage with gauze and adhesive tape, and washed the blood away.� He felt the starch of a clean sheet.� �My god, a professional job!� he said admiringly.� �How did you change the sheet?�
�One side, then the other.� I worked as a nurses aid before I got married.�
�How long was I out?�
�About ten minutes.�
�Should I see a doctor?�
She shrugged.� �He�ll charge you five dollars for no more cure than mine.� But I admit, at least you could trust him.�
�I�d rather trust you.�
�Even though I stabbed you?�
�You thought I was going to strangle you.� What did you stab me with?�
�Umm.�� She backed away from the bed, looked around on the floor, bent and retrieved a short hunting knife.� �This,� she said shortly, extending it to him.
He looked it over.� It had the recurved Bowie blade.� �Your husband�s?�
�Yes.�
�You had it in your housecoat pocket?�
�Yes.�
�You wanted to kill me, Betty?�
�I thought you might � attack me.�
�Why?�
�Because I was threatening you.�� She studied him.� �Didn�t you see it as a threat?�
�Yes,� he admitted, �but not a reason to hurt you.�
�Oh, Justin!�� She knelt on the bed and laid her face on his belly.� �Can you ever forgive me?�
He stroked her hair.� �You and Beatrice planned this together, didn�t you?�
�Yes,� she admitted, her mouth muffled in his navel.
�All right.� What happens now?�
She chuckled wryly.� �I don�t know.� We didn�t expect anything like this.�
�You thought you could reject my aid and fall back on your cousins, eh?� But what would Beatrice do?�
�She has a plan, too, but she wouldn�t tell me what it was.�
�I�m supposed to see her on Monday, except she�ll have her period.�
�Convenient for you, isn�t it?�
�What�s that?�
�To trade off your women.�
�I, ah ��� He took a deep breath.� �I won�t claim it hasn�t been fun.�
�I�ll bet!� You do Beatrice on Monday and me on Thursday, which suggests you have the week pretty well filled up.� Do you save the weekends for your wife?�
�Betty ��� He cleared his throat.� �You gave me the chance to marry you.� Didn�t Beatrice plan to do the same?�
�Do you want to marry her?�
�She�s � impossible to reason with during her period.� But for that, we could all meet at her house Monday and figure this out between us.�
�What�s to figure, Justin?� Would you marry her?�
�No.�
�Because you already have a wife, eh?�
When he didn�t answer, she sighed heavily.� �I hate to think of what happens next.�� She raised up and sat cross-legged on the bed.� �What do you suggest?�
�The first thing that occurs to me is try to keep you girls from burning any bridges.�
�Too late!� I�ll tell you one thing we decided absolutely.� If you won�t have one of us, neither of us will ever have sex with you again.�
He stared at her.� �Then what just happened here?�
�We agreed that we each get one more shot at you.� Beatrice gets hers when she gets well.�
�After that you�ll cut me off?�
She sighed.� �Johnny and I will go live in the country.�
�Betty ��� He sighed, too.� �This house is worth two or three thousand.� You should have some equity � in a normal market.� But it�s very hard to sell a house these days at any price.� Believe me, I know.�
�I don�t care.� Even if you don�t foreclose, we can�t live here with no income.� We could on the farm.�
�No income?� Why do you say that?�
�Huh!� You mean you�ll pay me not to screw you?�
�Maybe I�d hope to change your mind.�
She took a deep breath, staring at him.� �And you probably could, too.� But with me knowing all this, do you see what you�d make of me, Justin?�
He shook his head.� �I don�t see how it would have to change anything.�
�Maybe not from where you sit.� But I�ve been telling myself, he�ll marry me yet.� I know:� wishful thinking.� If I screw you now, it means I�m just a whore.�
�Betty �� That�s a hard word.� Why apply it to yourself?� And it�s wrong anyway.� A whore screws any man who meets her price.�
�Don�t I?� A mortgage payment and four dollars a week?�
�Only if someone else is paying you.�
�One�s enough,� she insisted.
�If one�s enough, I can make the case that every married woman is a whore.�
�Maybe she is, if she knows her man is cheating and stays with him anyway.�
He shook his head.� �You mean to be stubborn about this, don�t you?�
He got out of the bed and began to don his clothing.� �Betty, sex to me is the best game for a man and woman to play.� That�s all.� I want you to believe me:� my support of you does not depend on it.�
�Doesn�t it?� Then let�s see what happens when I�m not home next Thursday.�
�I need to keep coming here, Betty, to get your bills and to make sure everything is all right.�
Her eyes flashed.� �And to Beatrice�s on Monday and god knows who else�s the rest of the week.�
�Yes,� he admitted, regarding her solemnly.
�Oh, god, Justin, I hate you!�
He nodded and touched his side.� �Sometimes you do.�
�You think I can�t live without you, don�t you!�
�I don�t know.� I hope you don�t try.�
She followed him to the front door.� He handed her six dollars with the advice, �Buy your own tonic for Johnny.�
She sighed and took the money.
�What do you say?� he asked.
�Thank you, Justin.�
He tipped his hat to her.� �My pleasure, Mrs. Argent.�
� *� *� *� *
�One o�clock!� Are you always so exact, Mr. Ross?�
�I try to be, Adele.� Won�t you call me Justin?�
�I don�t know.� Aren�t women supposed to be contrary sometimes?�
�So they say.� I�ve got your old mortgage in my briefcase.�
�Please come in.�
The woman retreated and he entered the living room.� Her golden hair was pulled back in a bun from a face smooth but clean of makeup.� She wore slippers and a matching housecoat indifferently buttoned up the front.
He asked, �Is something wrong, Adele?�
�Wrong?�� Her lip curled crookedly.� �Nothing to speak of.�
He stared at her.� �Did something happen?�
�Nothing extraordinary.�� She added in matter-of-fact tones, �I�ve merely become a whore.�
�Adele, are you referring to what we did last week?�
She lowered her eyes.� �That was the start.�
�And you think today is more of the same?�
�Isn�t it?�� Her eyes rose searchingly.
He took a breath.� �Here.�� He laid his briefcase on a side table, popped it open and removed a long paper that he extended to her.� �This is your old mortgage, the one your late husband signed, marked Discharged.� Canceled, in other words.� The reason I came here this afternoon was to give you that, as I promised.�
�Is that all you have for me?�
�Adele, that�s up to you.� Do you want me to leave?�
She stared at him silently.� The paper fell negligently to the floor.� Her hands made quick work of the two or three buttons that secured the housecoat.� Never taking her eyes from his, she shrugged out of the garment.� Except for rapid breathing and jiggling breasts, she stood as a statue before him, wearing only slippers that no longer matched anything.
She said, voice low and urgent, �Fuck me, Mr. Ross.�
�That�s clear enough!�� He almost chuckled as he released his belt.� �You sure had me fooled!�
�Fooled how?� Fucking is what whores do.�
As he stepped out of his britches, she stared at his evident readiness.� His hands enclosed her chin long enough to turn her face back up.� He declared forcefully, �Adele, you are not a whore!�
Ignoring his claim, she fell to one knee.� �Whores do this, too.�� She took him deeply into her throat.
He endured the writhing tongue for only a few seconds before taking her under the armpits and raising her back onto her feet.� He demanded, �What are you trying to prove?�
She glowered at him, licking a strand of spittle off her lip.� �I�m just acting my part.�
�Your part?�
�My husband said I give good head.� You�ll say it, too, if you let me finish.�
�Is that what you really want to do?�
�What I want is my house paid and my sink fixed and my porch door and my groceries.�
He grunted.� �One thing at the time.� Just now the question is, how do you want to fuck?�
�I want to suck your cock.�
He shook his head.� �I never turned that down yet � not that I ever heard a woman ask for it!�� He bent to retrieve his britches.� �Let�s go in your bedroom before you get another visitor.�
She followed him docilely into the bedroom, helped him drape his clothing on a chair back, and when he sat on the bedside, knelt between his legs and resumed her lingual efforts, hands busy with his scrotum.
He said thoughtfully, �I assume what you�re after is to get my first shot out of the way.�
Her shoulders rose in a shrug without affecting the work of lips and tongue.� One of her hands disappeared between her own legs.� He leaned back on his elbows, affording a clear view of the manner in which her lips conformed to the shape of his organ as her head bobbed back and forth.� At taste of his climax she withdrew completely, working his foreskin rapidly with an encircling hand, ignoring the remaining ejaculate that fell upon her chest.
He rose off the bed, caught her waist and stretched her across it in his place.� �Your turn,� he announced, kneeling and lifting her legs over his shoulder.� He licked her vigorously, introducing two fingers, approaching the center gradually.� Her hips began to roll almost immediately.� When she screamed in her climax, he simply rose to his feet, retaining her heels over his shoulders, and sank into the elevated vulva.
It was soon evident that she could climax so long as he continued to thrust.� She cursed him as she had before, roundly and repetitiously.� As before he found it amusing, more so this time than stimulating.� After several minutes he backed away from her and rolled onto the foot of the bed beside her.� He waited until her panting subsided enough that he might comfortably pull her head upon his shoulder.
She put fingers into herself and brought them up for inspection.� �You didn�t come, did you?�
�Of course I did!� It�s still all over your tits.�
�I mean just now.�
�I told you:� that was your turn!�
A moment later she asked, �Why did you do that?�
�Do what?�
�Men don�t lick whores like that, do they?�
�I don�t know much about whores, Adele, but I don�t see why not.�
�You don�t think it�s unmanly?�
�To lick a cunt?� Ridiculous!� Who says it�s unmanly?�
�My husband did.�
�Hmph!� I won�t speak ill of him, but I think most would disagree.�
�Doesn�t it � stink?�
�Sure, of woman.� One whiff and my dick is ready to look her up.�
She chuckled.� �I think you mean, �look up her.��
�As far as it�ll reach.�
They lay together peacefully while her fingers idly twirled the hair on his chest.� He broke the silence by asking, �What�s wrong with your sink.�
�Nothing now.� The valve was leaking.�
�You got it fixed?� Good.� I�ll take the bill.�
�It�s already paid.�
�Oh, yeah?� Who fixed it for you, a neighbor?�
�No, a professional plumber.�
�That must�ve taken most of your money.�
�Fifty cents.�
�Fifty ��� He raised his head to look at her.� �A plumber charges two bucks just to come to your house.�
�That�s right.� The whole bill was two-fifty.�
�You still owe two?�
�No, I told you.� It�s all paid.� As he put it, he took out two in trade.�
�In �trade?�� What do you mean, Adele.�
�I told you.� I�m a whore now.�
�You mean �� You don�t mean ��
�But I do.� I fucked him right here in this bed, only lengthwise instead of crosswise.� He was very agreeable about it, called it a �quickie.��
Justin stared at her.� He asked weakly, �You � you�re pulling my leg, right?�
�I wouldn�t kid you!� He came out on Monday morning.� And he really was quick.� Good thing, too.� I was pretty dry.� If he�d lasted much longer, he would�ve made me sore.�
�Adele, that�s �� God, I can�t believe this!�
�What�s the matter?�
He laughed harshly.� �At least you�re getting premium price.� Downtown quickies are only one dollar.�
�Really?�
�Really!�
She smiled brightly.� �I take it back.� I am glad I met you!�
He shook his head.� �I don�t know that you ought to be!� What was that about your porch door?�
�The screen door on the back porch.� I called a carpenter and he came right out.� Fixed it in no time.� For free.�
�Free?�
�Well, two dollars worth of trade.�
�You had him in your bed, too?�
�Well, no.� Does that make a difference?� He stood up in the kitchen and fucked me on the table top.� He wasn�t as quick as the plumber, but I knew what to expect and wasn�t so dry.� It was rather pleasant actually.� That reminds me.� I wanted to ask you if I could pay my light bill by fucking the meter reader.� Do you know?�
Slowly he shook his head.� �I don�t think so.� He has to record how much electricity you use.�
She nodded, her lip curling.� �I was afraid there�d be a catch.� I�ll bet the water bill is the same way.�
�Yes.�
�Darn!� The water meter reader is a sheik.�
�You don�t have to fuck them, Adele.� I�ll pay all the bills that have invoices.�
�You will?� You�re already planning to risk $13 a month.� That�s over six quickies!� But if you just come on Fridays you�ll only get four.� Can you come more often?�
�I don�t know.�
�If you�re paying other bills, too, I don�t see how we can get square, unless ��� She snuggled a little closer.� Her hand dropped to his wilted organ.� �Unless you fuck me twice each time.�
� *� *� *� *
�Mr. Dillon wants to see you immediately.�
He looked up from a loan summary into the curious eyes of Macy Tolliver, Dillon�s private secretary.� ��Immediately,� eh?�
�That means right now.�
He grinned, pushing back the ledger.� �I know what it means, Macy.�
She leaned a little closer as he got to his feet, confiding in a lower voice, �There�s a woman in his office, and she�s been crying.�
�Crying?� What�s her name?�
�I don�t know.� Frank Smith brought her in.�
Frank Smith was one of the tellers on front.� This was probably a customer.� As Betty had put it, another widow in arrears?� With a slight smile on his lips he followed the woman down the hall between offices to the door with the label, Robert F. Dillon / Vice President / Investments.
But the smile vanished when he saw that the strange woman was Beatrice Wallingsworth.
Dillon, a thin smoker with a wet cough and a pencil-line mustache, looked up from behind his mahogany desk at Justin�s approach. ��Here is Mr. Ross now,� he said without smiling.� �I believe you know this lady.�
Beatrice wouldn�t meet his eye.� �Hello, Justin,� she murmured, her voice low.� She wore a knee-length ruffled dress tightly belted, but she had wiped her eyes and destroyed her mascara.
�Good morning,� he intoned.� �Yes, sir.� Mrs. Wallingsworth�s mortgage is among my accounts.� I take it she and you are already introduced.�
�Yes, we are.�� The man leaned back in his chair, eyes riveted upon Justin.� �Mrs. Wallingsworth has come forward with an interesting story, Ross.�
�Has she, sir?�
�Yes, in the nature of an accusation.� She informs us that you have been causing her mortgage account to be marked paid and receipts for payment to be mailed to her, all without any actual payment being rendered, for a period in excess of ten months.� She further states that you have been performing a similar malfeasance in favor of a certain Mrs. Betty Argent, and warns us that there may be others of like nature.�
Justin closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath before opening his mouth to reply, but the officer had raised a hand.� �I know what you�re going to say.� I�ve had Macy fetch me the records of the two accounts and found no irregularity whatsoever, of course.� I have explained to Mrs. Wallingsworth how meticulously our accounts are audited here and how impossible it is for sums to be credited to one account without being debited to the exact penny from another.� In other words, madam, if anyone were simply marking your payment made, without the actual payment, his claimed revenue each month would not match his actuals, which are independently accounted.� But I assure you, madam, that Mr. Ross�s accounts do match exactly.� If he or anyone else were behaving as you describe, the bank would know it by noon of the very next day.�
She said tightly, �All that means is that he�s smarter than you are.�
Dillon sneered, �Smart enough to make real money appear from thin air!�
He produced a bubbling cough behind his hand before turning to Justin.� �I want you to handle this, Ross.� Take Mrs. Wallingsworth out and explain to her the potential for litigation if she should make such claims in public.�
�Yes, sir.�
�Take as long as you need, but report to me when you get back.�
�Yes, sir.� Would you please come with me, Mrs. Wallingsworth?�
Beatrice got to her feet but paused a moment to glower at Dillon.� �Well, I warned you.� If you�re too dumb to check him out, don�t blame me.�
�Bea,� Justin insisted, �come on!�
But Dillon raised a hand.� �Madam, it is clear from your manner that your purpose was not to warn the bank, but only to do harm to Mr. Ross.� For that you have chosen the wrong forum, one that can only redound to your discredit.� Explain it to her, Ross.�
�Yes, sir.� This way, Mrs. Wallingsworth.�
She followed him out of the office, down the hall and through the busy lobby.� He turned to her on the street outside.� �How did you get here?�
�In a taxi.�
�I�ll take you home.�
Her eyes flashed in the sunlight.� �Take me to your house on Felton.�
That brought him up short.� �Whatever for?�
�I want to talk to your wife.�
�Bea ��� He shook his head with a sigh.� �I don�t have a wife on Felton Street.�
�I don�t believe you.� Betty and I saw two women on the porch.� And the mailman said he delivers mail to you there.�
She turned partly away and scanned up and down the street.� �If you won�t take me, I guess I can get another taxi.�
�I own that house, but you�re wrong about me living there.�
She winced and bent slightly.� A hand massaged her side.
�What�s the matter?� he asked.
�A cramp.� A bad one!�
�I�m sorry.�� He took a deep breath.� �All right.� I�ll take you, if you insist.�
People were passing in both directions on the sidewalk.� She moved directly in front of him, bodies nearly touching.� Her mouth was a hard line.� �You hate me, don�t you?�
His eyes widened.� �Hate you?� After what we did Monday?� Bea ��
�For telling the bank.�
�It didn�t hurt me, Bea.� You heard my boss.�
�Hmph!� If I get in the car with you, will you take me to the bridge and throw me into the river?�
�God, Bea!�� He stared at her incredulously.� �Don�t be ridiculous!�
�Where�s your car?�
�Behind the building.� We could go around but it�s easier to go through.� Come on.�
When they reached his car, he opened the passenger door for her to enter, closed it gently behind her and took the driver�s seat.� Again holding her side, she watched him put in the clutch and press the starter pedal.
�I want to learn to drive,� she declared as the engine burst into life.� �Is this a Packard?�
�Yes.� Does a housewife and mother need to drive?� he asked, backing out of his slot.
�A widow needs it!� What did your boss mean about litigation?�
�If you started a rumor that the bank was � misappropriating its funds, they could sue you.� The banks are very sensitive to bad news these days.� You need to quit telling this wild story.� Why in the world did you do it anyway, Bea?� Do you hate me that much?�
She snorted.� �Wild story!� It�s the one you told me.�
He shook his head.� �No, I didn�t.� Think back.� I told you I�d mark your account paid each month.� I never said I wouldn�t actually pay it.�
�What?� Do you mean that you do pay it?�
�The boss is right, Bea.� You can�t just mark things paid.� If you don�t actually put in the money, you�ll come up short the next day.�
�But �� This is a Packard!� Are you a rich man, Justin?�
�No, but I had a stubborn father.� He was too patriotic to invest in anything but federal securities.� In the Twenties everyone called him a fool, but my inheritance was still valuable after the crash when all the wise guys were broke.� It�s enough to indulge a few pleasures, that�s all, not enough to quit work.�
�Enough to support a few widows, was it?� Justin, you are a snake.�
�A snake?� Bea ��
�Your poor wife!� I hate to tell her, but she deserves to know.� I hope you don�t have any children.�
�All right, Bea.�� He sighed.� �I�ll tell you the truth.� I�m divorced.� I don�t presently have a wife.� And I never had children.�
�Divorced!� she repeated scornfully.� �You even started out faithless!�
�That wasn�t the reason.� I caught the mumps when I was fourteen.� My wife was desperate to have children of her own.�
�You caught the �� Justin, I�m sorry�� Well!� That explains a few things.�
�What things?�
�Why you never seemed to worry about making me pregnant.� Who are those women on Felton street?�
�They are even worse off than you and Betty.�
�Widows?�
�I just realized, I don�t actually know!� But I doubt it.�
�Do you have sex with them?�
�Yes.�
She was silent for awhile, staring straight ahead, ignoring the traffic and the bright summer morning, rubbing her side.
He was also curious.� �Bea, suppose my boss had me thrown in jail.� What was your plan after that?�
�After that?�
�Yeah.� How did you propose to support yourself and your two kids?�
�I�ve found a way.�
�Have you!� Bea, you wouldn�t do anything crazy, would you?�
�I�m not crazy!�
�No, of course not, but I can�t believe ��
�You can�t believe what?� What difference does it make?� Whether you�re in jail or not, I�ve got the same problem.�
�No, you don�t.�
�Oh, yeah?� Who�ll make my payments now?�
�Bea, didn�t Betty tell you everything that happened at her place yesterday?�
�She told me a lot.�
�Didn�t you believe her?�
�You mean, did I believe what she said you told her?� The answer is no.� I know men better than to believe one would pay my bills for nothing.�
�You have so much experience, do you?�
�I�ve only had sex with three men in my life, but it stands to reason:� no sex, no support.�
�Bea, a man can still care what happens and feel responsible.�
�You don�t care what happens to me.�
�But I do, Bea.� You�re a loving, passionate woman.� I care very much.�
�I know:� so long as I�m passionate for you.�
�Well, I hope you still want that, but I tell you what I told Betty.� I�ll support you just as I�ve been doing so long as you�ll let me.�
�Damn you, Justin!� How can I refuse that when I have two kids to feed?�
He glanced at her face, which showed anger.� �Are you asking for advice?�
She chuckled grimly.� �Sure!� Let�s hear what you recommend.�
�Let me take you to the library.� I know you love to read.� Check out a couple of books and go home.� Take care of your kids when they get home from school.� I�ll see you Monday week as scheduled.�
�In other words, go on as if nothing has happened.�
�Exactly.� Nothing has!�
�As my husband used to say, you have a brass pair if nothing else!�
�Bea, you know you�ll feel different about all this when your period ends.�
�Oh, no, I won�t!� You�re a snake now and you�ll still be one then.�
�A snake!�� He shook his head sadly.
�And most probably a liar.�
�When did you ever catch me in a lie?�
�That�s what we�re going to check on.� Is this the way to Felton Street?�
�It�s one way.� I�ll take you there if you insist, but I think it�s a mistake.�
�For you or me?�
�Both of us.�
�Why, Justin?�
�Those women are not your kind of people, Bea.�
�What kind are they?�
He shook his head.� �I know better than to compare women to each other.� All right, I�ll take you to see them, though I warn you at this hour of the morning they�re probably still in bed.�