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The warm water was running over his head, and Carl was thinking to himself how foolish he was to suspect Ginger. The thought of her being unfaithful disturbed him, to say the least, although it wasn't really the infidelity that bothered him, but the idea that his wife would need another man, and the fact that if found out, well, … it always hurts a libertine's pride to find out his wife is unfaithful. No, Ginger wouldn't fool around, she's too good for that sort of thing, he thought hopefully as he dried himself off. He dressed and walked into the bedroom. Ginger was awake, lying in bed, visibly showing signs of a sleepless, crying night.

“Darling, let's forget about last night. I'm sorry …”

“That's all right, Carl, I've forgotten it already”.

“Thanks dear”, he said as he kissed her forehead. “I'll try to give you a call from the office later. I don't think I'll be home till late tonight … have to meet one of the boys from the New Jersey office”.

“That's all right. See you later”.

“So long”, said Carl as he mounted the stairs and went out the door. The slamming door sent a slight shock through the house, but Ginger was already too occupied dialing the phone to pay much attention to the percussion. She waited as the number she called rang.

“Hello Frank, Frank Darling”, she said as tears began to well up in her eyes. “I've been so miserable without you”. Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Please let's never fight like that again. I don't think I could stand being away from you for two days again”.

She listened to the voice on the other end of the line. “Yes, … yes, I couldn't sleep all night, just thinking that I might never see you again”. She hesitated, listening. “I love you too. I'll get dressed and come right over”. She puckered her lips, sending an electronic kiss, then she hung up, and swung quickly out of the bed.

A NIGHT AT THE CARNAL-VILLE

Roger's large figure pushed up a long bulge in the bed covers that resembled a miniature mountain range, like the fake mountains that you can buy for the settings of electric trains. You would almost expect a little black locomotive, with its searching head beam, its frantic little wheels spinning, to come steaming out from behind his feet, one of which stuck out from beneath the covers into midair only to swerve and disappear in the dark cavernous tunnel that was dug in under the highest mountain near his hip. It was a dark shadowed spot where gently sloping folds of covers cut off the light of the moon which passed through the window and between the parted curtains, with a shining blue-grey luminance. Roger lay on his side, asleep, his thin-frame glasses still clenching the small of his nose, his arms folded over the evening papers, which were strewn over the floor as well as the bed. Soft shadows fell fleetingly across his sleeping countenance, as the face of the moon became shadowed fleetingly by small silvery translucent clouds in silhouette, … emerging brighter than before—making all the world blue-bright and extremely quiet.

It was about 1 a.m., and in Tylersville everyone, or at least all the nice people were quite asleep. The ancient boards of the front porch, as someone walked slowly across them, pierced the crisp quiet of the house. Roger turned restlessly in his bed. He was a light sleeper at times, times, that is, when he sleepily waited for Nancy to come home. He could awaken at the slightest sign of her return, and after she was safe, after his thoughts were turned only to sleep, he slept with the determination of a tired bear at the dawn of winter.

The squeaking stopped, only to be replaced by the whine of the front door opening slowly. It closed quickly, and feet shuffled across the threshold into the living room which stood behind the sliding doors to the left of the staircase.

“Shhh”, rasped Nancy, who was Roger's only child, a fair haired, attractive—when all dressed-up—girl of nineteen, “watch out for that chair … shh …” she rasped again as the fellow she was directing tripped into the chair she had warned him about. Nancy contained her laughter only by putting her hand over her mouth. She motioned her follower forward again, still containing her laughter with her hand.

Upstairs, Roger heard the slight whump of the chair as it slid against the floor. His eyes opened, but his body moved not. Now he could distinctly hear the living room doors slide open, then slide closed again. He slipped his feet down and into the slippers which were under his bed. He. kicked the newspaper out of the way and found the one slipper that was buried beneath it. As he took his robe off the chair by the window, he saw a light snap on from the living room, throwing a square of greenish white on the shadows about the house. It must be Nancy, he thought, but even so, it wouldn't hurt to check. Besides, he wanted to tell her to come up to bed soon. He didn't like her sitting in the living room with men until all hours of the night. It just wasn't proper. The way those college men from the school were these days, a good girl just isn't safe, anywhere, not even in her own home.

A long slit of light was the target to which Roger's eyes were drawn as he made his way stealthily down the stairs. Not that he was trying to be stealthy, but the dark and the night and the quiet invaded his descending figure. He did not know who it was down there, that was it, it could be a burglar. He wasn't trying to sneak up on his daughter and her date. He didn't know who it was. He reached the door. Beyond he heard the rustle of silk and crinoline and nylon. It was Nancy, after all. Silently, he slid the door open, and there, sitting on the couch was the couple, kissing. Nancy's date was embracing her, with his back twisted toward Roger.

“Hhhhrrmpph”, sounded Roger, as he stood at the door. Nancy's date, a fellow that Roger had never seen before, twisted around quickly, as Nancy's hands smoothed her dress and her hair in one motion. They both sat surprised and somewhat shamefully looking at Roger. “Well, what's the idea of this?”, said Roger, fiercely indignant. He stood confronting the pair, waiting … “Well, what the hell is going on here?” repeated Roger, his head bobbing to emphasize his words.

“Nothing at all sir”, said the fellow rising slowly, hesitantly. “I was just, … well, I was …”

“I know damn well what you were doing boy, I know damn well”, fumingly spumed Roger. “I was young once, too. But I never got carried away with myself. We respected women in those days. You've got a hell of a nerve to be coming into my house, and making love on my couch …” Roger was gesticulating and shaking his head for emphasis.

“Oh Dad, be serious”, Nancy said, weepfully embarrassed.

“That's enough, Nancy, go to your room”, Roger turned to her imperiously. “I want to speak to this young man alone …”

Roger turned back to the young man in front of him, who stood akimbo, biting his lip nervously, annoyedly shifting from one foot to the other. Nancy, as she left, shrugged her shoulders in signal to her date, as if to say, “I'm sorry, … it will only be a short ordeal”.

“Listen here young man”, began Roger after listening for Nancy's tread ascending the stairs. “I don't want this sort of carrying on going on in my house”, he said slamming dust off the table as his hand came down heavily. “This is a respectable house, and a respectable little town, and I won't stand for this sort of thing. What are you little wise acres making of this town, … a cat house … you God damn college wise guys. What do you think my daughter is, … kisses every fellow that takes her out. I don't mind you kids going out and having a good time, but God damn on this sort of nonsense … don't let me see this sort of thing around here again, you hear me?” raged Roger with eyes that almost glared out of his head, pointing his finger in the fellow's face. Roger's austere, round face, with the glasses still grasping the nose, had flushed to a purplish red, even his bald pate was colored with the flood that he had summoned to give him strength for screaming. He towered above the seated young man.

“Yes, sir”, said the young man, more to end the ordeal and get home, than in sincerity. “I'm sorry it had to happen … I'll be sure it never does again”, he said, knowing that was what Roger wanted to hear.
Shit on you, you antiquated bastard
”, the young man simultaneously thought to himself,
evil minded old bastard
.

“This is a nice town we have here, and we don't allow none of the fooling around they do in the city. Let's see it doesn't happen again”, said Roger to the young man as he guided him to the front door and watched him go down the steps of the front porch.

Roger stood in his bathrobe, leaning against the column that supported the roof of the porch. The moon bathed the porch and Roger in blueness.

When the sound of the disappearing car had also disappeared, Roger turned into the shadows, shut the door, bolted it with the double bolt and went up the stairs.
Have to get some sleep
, thought he to himself. “Bill'll be over at eight thirty to drive me to the airport. Big day tomorrow” Roger was envisioning his trip to New York and the business meeting there tomorrow night.

“Nancy”, Roger whispered as he gently knocked and then pushed open her door.

“Yes, Dad?” said Nancy in an exasperated way.

“I know it wasn't your fault, baby”, he said as he sat at the edge of her bed, “but I want you to be more careful. These men these days, they don't care for a woman”, Roger continued slowly, emphasizing each word. He cupped his hand behind Nancy's head, caressing the soft hair that fell to her shoulders. “You have to be careful all the time … it's not like when I was a boy. We respected women then”.

As he stroked Nancy's hair, Roger felt a warm moisture transferred to his arm from her cheek. She was crying. “I'm not trying to tie you down, honey”, he said assuringly, “I'm just doing these things for your own good. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you”.

“I'll be very careful from now on”, Nancy said resignedly.

“Good girl”, said Roger as he kissed his daughter on the forehead. “And we won't say anything about this to mother, okay, honey?”

“Thanks, Dad”, Nancy said as she was expected to do.

“Good night, dear”.

“Good night, Dad”.

“Listen, Rog, ol' boy”, said Charlie, a heavy jowled, rotund faced home office representative, who was showing Roger New York, “I have just the place for us, a little spot downtown where they have a terrific show”.

“Well, now, Charlie, I don't know. I have to get up early in the morning … I've got that plane to catch”.

“Oh, c'mon, … just a little while. It's only eight thirty. Driver, take us down to Third Street and Sixth avenue”, said Charlie to the cab driver.

“Well, okay, but let's not stay out too late. I've got that plane to catch. So, you really think that this deal with Morgan will go through, eh?” asked Roger.

“Sure, sure it will, but let's not talk business now. We're going to a joint where you'll see the curviest broads in town”, said Charlie devoured by a carnal anticipation.

“Oh, one of those places, eh?”, asked Roger awakening. “What is it, Charlie, one of the stripper joints?” concluded Roger with wide eyes.

“That's a nice name for it”, Charlie snickered. Over in this place they take off what the other places leave on …”

“Sounds like you know the right spots, Charlie”, Roger smiled.

“Got to keep the boys from the field happy, eh Rog?”, said Charlie, slapping Roger's arm for emphasis.

“Did you say the boys from the feel?”, said Roger, bursting with laughter, pounding Charlie's arm.

“Yeah, the boys from the feel”, repeated Charlie, laughing loudly, grasping Roger's arm as he swayed with amusement.

“Here you go, Mac”, said the driver as he U-turned and stopped on the corner of 3rd and Sixth Avenue.

“Here are the places, Roger”, said Charlie looking up as he ducked out the cab door. “Take your pick. The Blond Bombshell over there” … Charlie pointed to the different illuminated signs hanging from the joints along the street. “Candy Doll over there, and Sugar Baby over there. Which one do you want to hit first?”

“Let's see—that Blond Bombshell. I always did like blonds”, said Roger, laughing. Both men were laughing as the eager doorman, a military peaked cap on his head, opened the door for them.

Inside there was only gloomy darkness, relieved by dim yellow lights. On one side behind the bar, the lights revealed shadowy people. A rectangle of blue lights outlining a stage was lit up against the far end of the club. Within the frame of the stage lights was a woman with stringy black hair, too old to strip anymore, who introduced herself as the Mistress of Ceremonies—quite the appropriate description—Standing at the bar, behind a velvet cord suspended between thick chrome poles that kept them herded together like cattle, were a number of men, in one state of excitement or another. At the entrance end of the bar, near the front of the club, were girls, who shifted on their stools as Roger and Charlie walked to the bar.

“Want to sit at a table or stand at the bar”, asked Roger, twisting to Charlie who was behind him.

“Let's stand at the bar. This way we can duck out to one of the other joints if this one isn't hot, and I mean hot”, said Charlie breaking into a leering laugh.

“Give me a scotch and soda”, said Roger to the bartender who had come over to get their order. “What are you drinking Charlie?”

“Give me a, … well, make mine the same”.

Hoarsely talking from the stage, the MC, who was in front of the closed stage curtain, said, … “and now we want to present to you, the one, the only wowww, … hey—take it easy back there boys”, she said as she moved the lower part of her body away from the curtain, as if it had been grabbed suddenly from behind. “I don't mind the ring, but the wrist watch?”

“Ha, ha, … not the wrist watch”, laughed Charlie gleefully. “What a crazy place, hanh, Roger?” he said turning to Roger so they might laugh together.