Case of Lucy Bending (26 page)

She was wearing a white half-bra that bulged her breasts. Her bosom, Eddie thought, looked like a baby's ass. And below, little white bikini panties. There were sharp suntan marks across abdomen and thighs made by her bathing suit. Her legs were long and hard. She hadn't taken off her high Wedgies.

The half-bra had a front closure; Eddie had no trouble there. When he parted it, those glorious appendages surged free. Thank you, God, Eddie said silently. He put his mouth to her breasts. He lipped her nipples, big and sweet as gumdrops.

"Oh my God," she murmured. Then: "So good," she kept saying. "So
good!"

He was trying to keep his cool, but it wasn't easy. She had to help him slide the panties down. Then she was wearing nothing but those crazy Wedgies, but he figured, What the hell . . .

He started to unbutton his shirt, but she pushed his hands away.

"Let me do it," she said. "I want to do it."

So he lay back obediently and let her undress him. She wasn't so neat with
his
clothes, he noted. Just wrenched them off and flung them aside. She was very intent, determined, and he let her do what she wanted, wondering if all old women were as horny as this one.

When he was bare-ass naked, she just moved him over on top of her. Recalling the scene later, he realized how strong she was: just lifted, rolled, clutched, and there he was, between her legs.

He fumbled around, and after a few moments her cool fingers guided him. He was not practiced, not experienced. But he was young, crude, ferocious, hard. Which apparently was exactly what she wanted.

Her knees rose. Ankles and Wedgies locked behind his back.

"Do, do, do!" she said.

By that time, Edward Holloway had lost his cool completely, and was bucking and plunging like a demented mustang. His hands were yanking on her ass, and her hands were yanking on his, and if the apocalypse had arrived just then, both would have yelped, "Wait! Wait just one fucking minute!"

He slipped out, he slipped back in. He chewed on those wondrous jugs. She tugged his hair and tried to gnaw through his carotid. They banged and squirmed, mumbling at each other. They pumped, both going, "Hah! Hah!" as if they had slain dragons.

She wouldn't let him roll away, but clutched him so tightly that his ribs ached. He could feel her throb, deep, a pulse that gradually diminished. She was so hot. And wet. And bottomless. She was a well. He could drown in there.

Finally she let him withdraw and roll free. He lay on his back, trying to live. The stars were whirling through the latticed gazebo roof. He wondered where he was, had to think a moment to recall his name, the place, the date—he was that broken.

"Do you have a phone?" she said.

"What?" he said, startled. "What? Oh yeah, I have my own phone. In my own name. I'm in the book and all."

"Good," she said coldly. "I'll meet you once or twice a week. Maybe more. I'll call you ahead of time and let you know when."

"Well . . . yeah," he said faintly. "That's great."

But this wasn't going so great. It was taking a switch he hadn't figured. And neither had Wayne Bending, that fucking genius.

"Well, yeah," he said. "Sure you can call me. That'll really be super."

She must have caught something in his tone, because she rolled onto a hip and bent over him.

"You liked it, didn't you, Eddie?"

"Oh God, yes," he moaned. "Great. Really heavy."

"More," she murmured in his ear. "There'll be more."

She told him what "more" might include. He shivered. This old dame could kill him; it was possible. He had never heard a woman suggest such things. Fear pierced him. She was a fucking barracuda.

She lay back, close to him, holding his hand.

"Ohh, wasn't that nice, Eddie?" she said softly.

"Oh yeah. Nice. The greatest."

"Different from your young girls?"

"You better believe it," he said. "Different and, and, and . . . well, you know,
different."

"We're going to have fun together, aren't we, Eddie?"

"Oh yeah," he said. "Fun."

"Your body is so beautiful," she said. "So beautiful."

She turned back to him again, and her tongue got busy. He would have appreciated a little intermission right then, but she wasn't having any. He protested, but it did no good. She wanted to explore him, as if she had never come upon such a treasure before. She poked and prodded, caressed and nipped. Out of the trees. Off her branch.

"Teresa, Teresa," he said despairingly.

"I love the way you say that," she said. "You understand about the phone calls, don't you?" "What?" he said.

"Try to concentrate, Eddie. I'll call you beforehand and tell you when we can meet. Try to bring another blanket; this one smells."

A fucking ball-breaker!

"Sure, Miz Empt," he said. "Uh, Teresa."

"You don't have anything to smoke, do you, Eddie?"

"Uh, no, I don't, Teresa. Not right now."

"I don't mean regular cigarettes. I mean pot. Grass. You understand?"

"Oh yeah. Sure. I haven't got any right now."

"But you've smoked it?"

"Oh yeah."

"Can you get some? For us?"

The opportunity was too good to pass up.

"I think I can," he said cautiously. "But it'll cost. You know? And I can't handle it, being on an allowance and all."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I'll bring you money. Will twenty be enough?"

That was more like it.

"Twenty will be fine," he assured her. "I'll get us some good stuff."

She took him in her arms. She hugged him. She ran a palm down his chest, down his abdomen. She eased a fingertip into his navel and stirred gently. Then she looked up at his face.

"Do you like that, Eddie?"

"I like everything you do. You're the sexiest woman I've ever met."

"Sexy?" she said, laughing softly. "I've never thought of myself as a particularly sexy woman, but perhaps you're right. It just took the right man to bring it out."

His ego soared. He had really given her a superbang. Short, but super.

"My first husband wasn't much of a lover," she said, wriggling closer to him. "I just adore cuddling, don't you? He went through the motions, but you could tell his heart wasn't in it. Or maybe he just didn't have enough experience. I know I didn't; I was a virgin when I was married. Hold my boob, Eddie. And I really wasn't interested in sex. It didn't seem all that wonderful to me. But when he died, and I moved to Florida, I began to change. And lately, the last few years, I've been thinking about it more and more. When I see

what's going on, what everyone's doing, I think, why shouldn't I? No one takes it all that seriously, do they? Put your hand down here, Eddie. As far as Luther goes, it really means nothing to me. He goes his way and I go mine. It's a very modern marriage. You can move your finger if you like. Life's so short. You're very young and don't believe that, I'm sure, but it's true, and you'll realize it as you grow older. So you must live your life to the fullest, I've become convinced of that. You don't know what I'm talking about, do you? Yes, that's nice. Just a little higher. Yes, right
there.
So when I saw you on the beach and surfing, so handsome, with your lovely body and blond hair flying, I knew I had to have you. Some way, somehow, I had to have sex with you. You don't think I'm awful, do you? And then, when you told me about coming here to the gazebo almost every night, I knew it was the answer. Of course, no one, absolutely
no
one, can know about this, or I'll be ruined in the community. So I'm depending on you to be very, very discreet, and not tell a soul. Oh yes, I love that. Go a little faster. You're so young and sweet. My God, if my friends knew what I was doing, they'd just
die!
But I'm not going to tell a soul, and I don't want you to either. Eddie, I hope you don't think of this as a one-night stand, like some of your creamers I'm sure. I want this to be a long, loving relationship. Now kiss my breasts. Oh, what a lover you are!"

He had listened to this monologue with growing dread. And now, head lowered, sucking desperately at her nipples, he wondered how long he could endure.

He raised his face to look at her.

"Some nights I might not be able to make it," he said hoarsely. "You know? I mean, homework and all . . ."

"I understand, Eddie," she said. "But surely we'll be able to get together two or three nights a week."

"I guess," he said mournfully.

She laughed, and he was convinced it was a crazy cackle, and maybe she really was off the wall.

"Oh, we're going to have such
fun
together," she said, almost gurgling. "You'll teach me and I'll teach you. We'll just do
everything
together."

He would have been terrified by that prospect, but all the time she was talking, she was playing with his pud, squeezing it, flipping it, yanking on it like it was a goddamned rope or something, and she was ringing a church bell.

So, willy-nilly, he found his body responding. He became engorged, and she peered at the stone-white shaft gleaming in the darkness.

"It's mine," she said. "Isn't it all mine, Eddie?"

"All yours," he said in a strangled voice.

"I don't want you to give it to anyone else. Is that understood, Eddie? I want it all for myself. Promise?"

"I promise."

"And now," she said, "I think I shall give it a little kissy. Just one."

When she raised her head, she looked at him anxiously . . .

"Can you do it again, Eddie?"

"Sure," he said with a bray of insane laughter. "Why not?"

Ronald Bending awoke late on Saturday morning, swaddled in a sweat-damp sheet. He blinked sticky eyes, tasted a flannel tongue. Shafts of sunlight struck through the east windows. He squinted against the glare, fumbled for cigarettes on the bedside table.

He sat naked on the edge of the bed, yawning and smoking. He slept naked: another argument with Grace, even though they had separate beds.

"It's so
gross,"
she told him.

She was using that word more and more. His smoking was gross. His drinking was gross. His jokes were gross.

He had reminded her that when they were first married, everything had been loose, free, uninhibited, pagan. When, he wanted to know, had all the things they shared and loved become gross? She hadn't answered. Because they both knew.

He lifted an arm and sniffed at his bicep. He grinned feebly, remembering the girl from the bank. Her scent was still on him. What a wild one she had been. A tattoo, for God's sake! Yes, a little blue butterfly just below her navel. That was Florida for you: tattooed teenagers.

He finished his cigarette. He went into the bathroom, showered, and shaved. He curried hair and skin carefully with oils and lotions. He coaxed his body to youth, pampering it. But when he inspected himself in the mirror, he saw age there, grinning.

He pulled on swimming trunks, then white duck jeans, a short-sleeved polo shirt. He went bouncing downstairs, barefoot. He smiled at his first sight of the beach through the picture window: shining sand and a platinum haze over the water. Turner would have loved that beamy light.

No kids around, but Grace was in the kitchen, busy with an open cookbook, pots, pans, a flour sifter. Ronald felt so good that he kissed the back of her neck. She waved him away with a floury hand, not looking at him.

"What time did you get in last night?" she demanded, studying the cookbook.

He knew a ribald answer to that, but forbore.

"Late," he said, pouring himself a mug of black coffee from the burping percolator. "I told you the accountant was coming in."

"Was the accountant about eighteen or nineteen?" she asked, still bending over the cookbook. "A dark-haired girl in a tight sweater? That's who Myra Webster saw you with last night at Julio's."

God bless Myra Webster, he thought.

"That was the accountant's assistant," he said glibly. "Mary Something. He was busy with the books, so I took her out for a bite to eat. Then we went back to the office."

"I don't really care," she said, turning to the electric range. "There's orange or tomato juice. If you want toast and eggs, you'll have to make them yourself."

"Coffee will do me fine," he said.

He held the mug in both hands, leaning against the counter-top and watching his wife move purposefully about the kitchen. Not for the first time, he wondered who she was.

A strand of blondish hair had escaped the barrette, and dangled on her cheek. Her face was serious, intent. There was a smudge of flour on her nose. Occasionally she bit her lower hp.