Chapter 4

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!

But that couldn't be... she and Howard were the only two people who knew about those pictures, and surely he wouldn't tell anybody, least of all Ralph...

Or would he?

She looked at her husband, and Howard seemed to be as elaborately innocent as the Taylors, smiling happily. He sensed Cindy's gaze on him, and turned to beam at her, raising his glass slightly. She turned away, feeling a growing sense of anger and shame take hold of her lithe young body.

He must have told the Taylors about the photos, she thought wretchedly. But why? What possible purpose could be served in relating such an intimate, and personal fact? Howard seemed somehow different to her since that Polaroid had been given to them, as if he were up to something, as if new and strange thoughts were circulating in his head. She had sensed that this morning, after they had awakened. She had been quiet, filled with guilt, and certainly not open to conversation, that was true; but she hadn't been unobservant. She had looked at Howard over the breakfast table, and it seemed to her that he had changed somehow, in some almost imperceptible way, almost overnight; there seemed to be a firmer set to his jaw, as if with some hidden purpose, and his eyes held a new, oddly flashing light that she had never seen in them before.

Oh, God, she thought miserably, it isn't possible that Howard has... has been influenced by Ralph, is it? It isn't possible--or is it?--that Ralph with his dirty pictures and dirty newspaper has somehow managed to completely corrupt her husband? A week ago she wouldn't have thought so, but now, --with all she had seen and felt and experienced in the past few days she wasn't so sure that such a thing hadn't happened...

Sitting there, with her tormented thoughts she had the odd sinking feeling that her perfect well-ordered little world was about to come crashing down around her ears. Everything was too Jovial tonight, for example, too gay and happy--as if it was the proverbial calm before the storm. She hoped against hope that she was wrong, that it was simply her guilt at her actions last night, her masturbation while looking at those filthy photographs, that was making her feel so morbid and depressed.

She hadn't had a good day at all, feeling low, morose, and Howard calling to tell her about the party tonight here at The Gandydancer hadn't helped matters any. She was going through an emotional upheaval, and the last thing she wanted to do was go out dining and dancing. But his arguments had seemed so reasonable and sincere that she had at last acquiesced; now, with the Taylors making snide, pointed remarks, she wished to God that she hadn't.

The distraught young wife reached out and picked up her champagne glass, an almost reflexive movement for she needed something at the moment to still the torment which raged inside her. She drank the effervescent liquid in a single swallow, amid half-heard comments of encouragement from the others present; the warmth of the wine settled in her stomach, making her feel glowingly flushed for a moment. Then she moistened her lips as Howard poured her another glassful, blinking at the smiling faces of Ralph and Norma.

"Now Cindy's joining in, Ralph said to Howard. "Look at her sitting there, pretty as a photograph."

"And an intimate one at that," agreed Norma, laughing.

Cindy groped for her refilled glass, drained that too. Then she stood abruptly, looking at Norma, at the woman she had considered a good friend. Norma was no better than Ralph. The young wife had no one to turn to, no one who would understand, not even Howard it seemed, not even her husband... She spun on her heel, hurrying off through the tables toward the restroom, her yellow, full-skirted cocktail dress rustling as she moved. Tears stung her flaming cheeks.

The other three at the table looked at one another, and Norma stood immediately, straightening her expensive party gown in lime green. "I'll go to her," she said to Howard, smiling, and hurried off after the departing Cindy.

When she was gone, Ralph leaned across the table almost conspiratorially. "She'll be all right, Howie boy," he said. "It just takes a little time for a woman to get used to the idea of change. Once she accepts it as inevitable, she'll be just like Norma."

"I hope so," said Howard, who had been having a moment of compassion for his beautiful young wife. He felt a little uncertain now about what he was doing, about the effect of his actions on the innocent Cindy; in spite of every thing, he still loved her deeply. In the back of his mind, too, was a small but persistent pang of guilt at his actions with Ralph's high-priced whore, Bonnie, the previous evening, his first excursion into marital infidelity.

Ralph, seeming to sense this hesitancy and indecision on his salesman's part, reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and removed a small envelope. He leaned forward and pressed it into Howard's hand. "Here are those additional pictures you asked me for today, Howie," he said. "Some real good ones showing all kinds of oral love, just like you wanted."

Howard looked down at the envelope, then picked up his champagne glass and drank deeply. "T-thanks, Ralph," he managed.

"Not at all, my boy," Ralph said. "Anything I can do, you just let me know. Remember, I'm looking out for your happiness, son. Yours and Cindy's."

"I know, Ralph, and I appreciate it. It's just that... well, it's not easy doing things this new way. Not at the first, I mean."

"Sure, I know, Howie. But it's all worth the momentary upheaval in your life, you'll see."

Howard nodded gratefully, sipping from his champagne again. He was becoming a little drunk now. He poured more, drank it down under the approving eye of Ralph. Yes, now he felt a little better. Cindy would come around, just as Ralph said she would; and when she did, they would have happiness neither of them had ever thought existed before. He was doing the right thing, all right, there could be no doubt of that.

Cindy--his beautiful, passionate, warm Cindy. He moistened his lips. She was better than that whore, Bonnie, any day of the week. Or she would be, once she learned the art of oral gratification. And she would learn-- soon, soon. Tonight, maybe. Howard's prick gave an excited little dance in his trousers as he thought of what would happen when he got Cindy home later on.

Could he talk her into more picture-taking? Well, not in the mood she was in now. But if he could get her a little high--downright drunk would be even better--he could convince her that it would be all right to take more photos. And she would surely be responsive, for even though she hadn't been outwardly excited by the photos he had left for her to see the previous night (that was apparent by her actions today), she had to have had enough curiosity to open that envelope and see what was inside. That meant she had to possess, deep within her, curiosity as to other things as well; hers was an untapped resource, he reasoned, just waiting for the drilling to begin. He giggled inwardly at that image--the drilling--and knew that he was now more than a little bit drunk. But what the hell? He was a new man, wasn't he? He had to celebrate his new-found way of life, didn't he? Sure he did. And he had to celebrate Cindy's soon-to-be- emancipation--perhaps as soon, he told himself again, as tonight. She loved him and she wanted to please him, had always told him that; yes, by God, maybe tonight would be the night after all! In more ways than one...

A few moments passed while Howard continued to think of what would transpire later in the evening, how he would talk his lovely young wife into taking pictures with him of an erotic nature, how he would show her these new acquisitions from Ralph, how he would suggest oralism again and again until she submitted to his every whim. He was growing excited thinking about it, and he didn't know that Cindy and Norma had returned to the table until Norma said chidingly, "Aren't you going to let Cindy have her chair back, Howie?"

"What?" he said, startled out of his reverie. "Oh. Oh, sure, I'm sorry, honey," he apologized to Cindy, taking her arm and guiding her to her chair.

"That's all right, Howie," she said, and she seemed to be composed now.

He sat down, smiling at her, his eyes bright. "More champagne, baby?"

"Yes," his young wife replied. "Yes, I think I will."

As Cindy accepted another glass of the effervescent liquid, she reaffirmed in her mind what she had told herself in the Ladies' Room: even though she felt wretched and miserable, there was no use letting the others see her condition--especially Ralph and Norma. When Norma had come in and asked if she was all right, if she wanted to talk about what was bothering her, Cindy had answered that she was fine now--drying her eyes with a tissue and forcing a smile and that there wasn't anything to talk about, really. Norma had seemed to understand; they had washed up, chatting about something Cindy couldn't recall now, and then come out to the table again.

Determined to affect a calm exterior, not to show the turmoiled nature of her inner self Cindy had decided to have a few more glasses of champagne, just enough so that she became a little high--not so that she got drunk. That way, it would be easier to pretend that everything was all right, that nothing was troubling her; she might even, with a slight tipsiness, be able to join in the conversation that went around the table, might even be able to laugh at Ralph's sly innuendoes and comments and Norma's ready agreements to them.

She drained her fresh glass of champagne and extended it to Howard to be filled again, smiling, feeling already a little tight and missing completely the intensity in his dark eyes, the way he began to slur his own words, the smiling all-knowing endorsement of the Taylors as they exchanged glances across the table...

The rest of the evening, to Cindy, seemed to be a blur. She had vague remembrances of an endless succession of fresh bottles of champagne being brought to their table; of the four of them moving down to the lounge area; of dancing with Howard and pressing close to him, feeling the hardening bulge of his penis in his pants as he whispered intimate words in her ear; of Howard saying, in a pronounced slur, that it was time "he and the little woman wen' home to bed, yessir, time to take the bull by the horns an' bring her around you unnerstan' Ralph."

The next thing she was fully cognizant of, after that, was sitting beside Howard in their car with the cold night air blowing in through the opened windows. Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy and her head light, airy; she licked her lips experimentally, and then leaned against her husband's shoulder.

"Howie, where are we going?"

He, too, had been sobered considerably by the chill night breeze. He was still nice and tight, though, just tight enough so that he was on edge with anticipation. In spite of its bad beginning, the evening had turned out very well; he had gotten Cindy drunk, as he had planned, and she had loosened up considerably, even to the point of smiling and tacitly forgiving Ralph for the set of photos of the night before, of that he was almost certain. She was warm and cuddly now, sitting next to him, in an obvious loving and permissive mood; it wouldn't take much to convince her of the rightness, the propriety, of allowing him to take more intimate pictures of her with their new Polaroid. He just had to be very careful how he went about it...

"We're going home, honey," he whispered. "Home."

"Mmm, that's good," she murmured. "I... I think I drank too much tonight, Howie."

"No you didn't, baby," he assured her.

"I... I'm sorry I was so... so bitchy the first part of the evening," she said softly. "It's just that I was... well, that I was upset about... about a few things."

"It's okay, honey, I understand."

A few moments later they were pulling into the driveway of their small, middle-class cottage in one of Morriston's older sections. Howard parked the car in the garage, and they got out, arms about one another, and went into the darkened interior. He switched on one of the low-watt lamps on an end table as Cindy took off her coat and put her purse down on one of the chairs.

"How about a nightcap, Cindy honey?" he suggested.

"Oh Howie, I don't know. I've drunk so much tonight..."

"Just a little one," he said quickly.

"Well... okay. But a little one, now?"

"Sure," Howard said eagerly. "Sure, baby."

He mixed two gin-and-tonics in the kitchen, spiking Cindy's liberally with gin and enough fresh lemon juice to conceal the oily taste of the liquor. He carried the glasses into the living room, handed his young wife hers, and then sat down beside her on the divan.

She sipped tentatively, smiled at him, and then took a larger swallow. "Mmm, good," she said. She felt safe and secure, now that they were back in their own home, and a little contrite for the way she had behaved tonight. But, as she had told Howard, she'd been upset and everything had seemed to be drawing in on her at the same time, crushing her under its weight. Now, with the liquor to take away the sharp edge of her problems, she wasn't as sure as she had been that things were going to go wrong in their perfect marriage. After all, Howard still loved her-- there was no doubt of that in her mind at all. What, then, could be terrible enough to override that abiding love? Especially since she loved him as deeply as he did her?

Still, though, there was one nagging question permeating her mind. If she had been fully sober, she would never have broached it aloud to Howie--but the drinks had loosened her tongue enough so that, now, she did; she had to find out the truth.

"Howie," she began, "Howie, did you... well, did you say anything to Ralph about those... those pictures you took of me the other night?"

He frowned slightly, looking at her. "Why do you ask that?"

"The way he and Norma were talking tonight," she replied. "It was as if they... they knew all about them."

Howard moistened his lips. "You're attaching too much significance to those photos, honey," he said. "There's nothing wrong in them, you know. Just some harmless intimacy between a husband and his wife, that's all."

"Howie," she insisted, "did you tell Ralph about them?"

"All right, if you must know--yes, I told Ralph about them. I couldn't help it; he kept asking me and I... well, I just blurted it out."

"Oh Howie, how could you!" Cindy looked as if she were about to cry.

"Hey now," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. "There's nothing to get upset about, for God's sake. Here, drink your drink."

Obediently, Cindy took a deep swallow from her glass, shuddering a little as the strong liquor raced hotly into her stomach. He had told! She had known he had, of course, but his admission brought a renewed sense of anguish to her. He had no right telling about the photos; they were a private thing between the two of them, something personal, something exciting and...

Cindy sat rigid. Exciting? Had she just thought that the photos he had taken of her were exciting? No... no, she couldn't have... and yet, there was no doubt that she had thought that self-same thought. But why? Did she really think they were exciting? Herself lewdly displayed like... like those women in the other photos she had seen last night, Ralph's photos--displayed in an obscene provocative pose before her husband...

Exciting? No... no... and yet Howard had obviously been excited by them at the time, just as she herself had been undeniably excited by the lewd carnality displayed in those other snapshots. Oh God, oh God...

She drank again, emptying her glass, and when she put it down on the coffee table she felt a terrible rise of guilt once more. And with it came the need to unburden herself, to tell Howard that she had looked at those pictures of Ralph's last night--but not that she had fingered herself while looking at them, never that. Still, she had to tell him that she had seen them, that she had been aroused by them...

"Oh Howie," she blurted out unable to hold it back longer. "I opened that envelope you brought home last night, the one from Ralph. That's why I was so upset tonight, because I opened it and I saw those terrible pictures, and I... I was excited by them. I was, Howie, and that's the reason I was so upset. Howie, I actually got turned on looking at those dirty pictures!"