Chapter 9

She had taken pills to make her sleep, and now it was morning.

Bill and Judy had fixed their own breakfast and left for school without waking her. The emptiness of the house seemed only to compound the tangled state of her emotions. Last night she had seen her teen-age son and daughter fucking each other. Yet it didn't seem to shock her as much as she felt it should. Perhaps so many things had happened lately that she was becoming stupefied. But she wouldn't, she couldn't let last night's incident slip from her mind as if nothing had happened. She had to do something. She had to at least say something.

She drank a cup of instant coffee, then dressed herself conservatively in slacks and a boyish blouse.

It was clear to her now what she must do. She would go next door and give that fucking whore Barbara a piece of her mind.

Arlene applied only a bare amount of make-up. She looked disapprovingly in the mirror, studying the disarranged, slept-on hair that surrounded her pretty face. She pulled the blonde strands straight behind her neck and slipped a rubber band around the knot. She looked pretty, she knew, but not as pretty as she was capable of looking. It didn't matter. She was going next door to tell Barbara exactly what kind of a sluttish pig she was. Why should she make herself beautiful to do that?

Arlene stammered when Sam Carter, not Barbara, opened the door. Wasn't he supposed to be at work? Wordlessly, he left the door open for her, and she followed him through the entrance hall and into the living room.

He looked like he had a hell of a hangover. He was wearing a wrinkled robe, tied loosely around his waist. His hair was in shambles. His eyes were red and not fully open.

"I came to see Barbara," Arlene announced coolly, remembering how vulgarly Sam had pawed and fondled her at last night's party.

"Out shopping," he said.

His terse response left her with nothing to say, and she felt suddenly deflated. She feared she would have second thoughts about telling off Barbara, and she never would get the courage again to denounce the evil neighbor to her face.

"I'll... I'll come back later," Arlene said.

Then she felt Sam nudge her. He stood beside her, wrapping his long arm around her shoulders.

"Stay. I'll fix you a drink."

Just the touch of his arm started curious tingles of desire racing to her brain. She stepped away from him, saying, "No, I better leave."

"For God sakes, Arlene, stay and have a drink. No reason for you to be rude." Despite his unkempt appearance, Sam's tone was authoritative and charming.

"Just one," she responded, the strange passion still raging in her belly. "I really shouldn't, but..."

He went to the bar to prepare her drink. Damn! What's wrong with me, anyway? she mentally scolded. I'm hot! I'm sexually aroused! But why? Get a hold on yourself, Arlene French! Don't you dare let him seduce you! He's going to try, so don't let him! That one dirty little episode with Ralph the other night ought to be enough to last you a lifetime! Now don't get horny, Mrs. Harold French! Don't you dare get horny!

What astounded Arlene most about her mental state was the weakness of her convictions. A week ago the mere thought of getting seduced by Sam Carter would have sent her reeling in genuine horror. Now the seduction seemed naughty, something to be avoided. Naughty. But not sickening. Was it true what they said - that after the first time every infidelity got easier and easier? She hoped not. She still had her sense of morality. What Barbara and Bill had done last night was wrong. And what Bill and Judy - brother and sister - had done was horribly wrong. But why, while she observed it happening, had Arlene felt only lust? And why now was she less outraged than she wanted to be?