Case of Lucy Bending (49 page)

"No way! I don't know if I went to sleep or passed out. Half of each, I guess. I was zonked. As I said, it was a grand party."

"The next day, do you remember if Grace mentioned anything about your absence from the party?"

"Not a word. For which I was deeply grateful. I guess she didn't even notice I was gone."
"Probably,"
Levin said, nodding.

He believed he had extracted all he was going to get from this man's memory. But it was sufficient to turn his thinking around, to prove to him once again the danger of facile explanations of human behavior.

"I suppose you think I'm some kind of a crud," Ronald Bending said, trying for a casual tone and not quite making it.

"A crud? I don't understand, Turk."

⁴⁴
For screwing my friend's wife. For being unfaithful to mine every chance I get."

"I don't judge people. That's not my job."

"If I told you I still love my wife, would you believe me?"

Levin didn't answer.

⁴
'Well, I do," Bending said. "All these women—they've got nothing to do with Grace. I don't expect her to understand that, but it's true."

Levin stared at him. "What do you want from me, Turk— absolution? Pardon for your sins?"

"You think they're sins?"

"They are if you think they are."

"No, I don't think they are. And I don't want your pardon. I just thought that you being a man, you'd understand."

"Oh, I understand, I assure you."

"Ted, I called you a snotty bastard once, and you are—in spades."

"You are not my patient," Levin said tonelessly. "My only interest in you is how your behavior affects Lucy's problem. When that has been, uh, satisfactorily treated, you may wish to enter therapy yourself."

A harsh bark of laughter from Bending. "You think I need

"That's for you to decide. But I must tell you that I detect in you a certain dissatisfaction, a weariness with the way you hve. I think you are beginning to question the meaning of your life, and are perhaps frightened—well, maybe not frightened, but dismayed by what you see."

"Not me, Ted. I'm on top of the world."

"Glad to hear it," Dr. Theodore Levin said stonily. "And
ⁿ
ow I see our time is up."

After Bending had departed, the doctor glanced at his appointment calendar and saw that his next patient was a twelve-year-old boy, a chronic masturbator.

Levin very rarely drank in the office, but now he went to a file cabinet and from the bottom drawer withdrew a bottle of California brandy. He poured an inch or so into a water glass. Then he sat at his desk, feet up. He sipped his drink and finished his cigar.

After a few moments he called Dr. Mary Scotsby and asked if he might take her to dinner. She readily agreed, and he was pleased. He wanted to tell her his new theory in the case of Lucy B.

PART VI

The affair with Eddie Holloway had released Teresa Empt. She could not think of a better word than "released," for she felt unfettered, free. She was, she told herself, still a young woman; there was nothing she might not do with her newfound gumption.

She had seduced the boy—had she not? Managed a sexual liaison of months' duration without being discovered. And now she was ready to end the affair. She had confidence in her ability to handle it with dispatch and discretion.

She bathed, anointed herself, and dressed with particular care for her final meeting with Eddie in the gazebo. Experience had taught her the most efficient costume to wear: a blouse that opened down the front, a wraparound skirt that didn't soil too easily, and no pantyhose.

She carried a small coin purse into which she had tucked the payoff: a new, crisp hundred-dollar bill, neatly folded. She wondered if Eddie had ever seen a hundred-dollar bill.

She drifted across the dark lawn at the appointed hour, humming softly. He was waiting eagerly for her on the spread blanket. When she sat down beside him and stroked his long hair, she thought he really was a pretty boy. Stupid, but pretty.

"Listen," he said hoarsely, "about that boat ... I think I can get it for—"

"Later, Eddie," she interrupted gently, touching his cheek. "First let's see if you remember what I taught you."

With a little prompting, Eddie remembered. She led him through his paces. The only things lacking were hoops through which he might leap, growling ferociously.

Lying on her back naked, fevered skin exposed to the jught breeze and Eddie's frantic tongue, Teresa thought she had never been happier. To be loved and to be in control— was there another combination that offered such bliss?

The boy followed her instructions willingly and with the enthusiasm of youth. She had learned the secret of giving herself up, total surrender to the demands of her body. She felt herself awake inside, stir, convulse, and finally melt.

"About that boat ..." Eddie said.

"Later," she murmured again, and went to work on him with cool, deliberate fingers, ignoring his giggles and protestations. Lying on her side, manipulating his body intently and sometimes cruelly, it suddenly occurred to her that she owed a great deal to this youth.

Through him she had learned the hidden hungers of her own flesh and the subtleties of her desire. It transcended physical want. There were deep emotional needs there, some of a dark nature she didn't wish to name.

Edward Holloway—satiny skin, hard bone, blood-flushed muscle—had been her introduction to self-knowledge and a new world. She bent over him and gave him pleasure out of gratitude for what he had given her, and as a kind of benediction.

"Now then," she said at last, sitting up and looking down at the gasping boy, "I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Eddie."

He struggled up to a sitting position and looked at her warily.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I'm afraid we won't be able to see each other anymore."

"Why not?" he cried.

"Shhh. My husband has been acting very suspicious. I don't know how he found out. Maybe the old woman said something to him. Anyway, it's just too dangerous for us to continue."

"We could go somewhere in your car," he said hopefully. "And park—you know? Or maybe a motel. Have you got a friend with an apartment we can use?"

"No, Eddie," she said. "My husband's liable to follow us. Or hire a private detective."

The full meaning of what she was telling him sank in slowly. Teresa waited patiently. Eddie Holloway wasn't the swiftest lad in the world.

"Jeez," he said finally, with a groan. "You mean we gotta split up?" "I'm afraid so," she said gravely. "This is the last time I can see you alone."

"I thought you loved me," he said, in such a piteous voice that she was touched.

"I do, I do. And I'll always remember the wonderful times we had together. Weren't they wonderful, Eddie?"

He was silent awhile, then . . .

"Shit," he said disgustedly. "You say it's over, and it's over. Just like that, huh?"

"Can't you see that it's best for both of us?" she said. "You're so much younger than I am. It had to end, sooner or later. You'll find a nice girl, someone your own age, and you'll—"

"You're a real bitch!" he shouted at her.

"Oh Eddie," she said sorrowfully.

"Well, screw you," he said. "I've got something to say about it. And I say we keep on just the same way. We can always find a safe place."

"No, Eddie," she said. "It's over."

He stood up and began dressing, pulling on underwear, shirt, pants with trembling fingers.

"That's what
you
think," he said wrathfully. "How would you like it if I went to your old man and told him what we been doing?"

She had come prepared for this. She dressed slowly, calmly.

"I don't think my husband would believe you," she said in a silky voice. "A woman my age and you, a boy of—what is it? Sixteen? He'd never believe it. But he might believe it if I told him you raped me. Or tried to. If I went to him, crying, and told him what you tried to do to me while I was out for a walk. My husband owns a big revolver, Eddie."

She saw his mouth drop open. In the faint starlight she thought his face paled.

You wouldn't?" he gasped.

"Oh yes, I would," she said, laughing lightly. "If you insist on acting like a vindictive child instead of a man."

She had said the right thing. He could not endure the thought of being considered less than mature. Sophisticated. Cool—y
_OU
know? Smooth. A cool, smooth cat.

"Well, what about my boat?" he demanded.

"Oh Eddie," she said. "I couldn't take that much money from our account without my husband asking what it was for."

"Ahh, shit," he said despairingly, "I really wanted that boat."

"I know," she said. "And I want to help you get it. Here . . ."

She unsnapped the coin purse, handed him the hundred-dollar bill. She watched him closely as he unfolded it, inspected it, his eyes widening. Then he turned it over, examined the back.

"Wow," he said with awe. "A hundred."

"It's for you, Eddie. To help you get your boat. And to help you remember what fun we had together."

"Yeah," he said, brightening, "we did have fun, didn't we? A real gas."

She knew he would brag about it for years to come.

"A goodbye kiss?" she asked.

"What? Oh. Yeah."

His kiss was brisk and perfunctory. Then he grabbed up the blanket, gave her one of his golden smiles, and trotted away, still looking at the hundred-dollar bill.

She watched him go, feeling an unexpected pang. But then, she assured herself, there was Mike, the supermarket bagboy. And hundreds, thousands of other Adonises in south Florida, all with long, sun-bleached locks, smooth skin, and the wild fervor of youth.

She wandered back to the house. Gertrude was watching a biblical drama on television. She looked up when Teresa entered.

"Have a nice walk, dearie?" she said brightly.

Teresa nodded absently. She mixed herself a tall rum and Coke at the living room bar. She took it out onto the terrace. She stood at the railing, sipping her drink slowly, staring at the darkling sea.

This land had changed her into someone quite different from the tight, frozen creature who had come down from the north seeking the sun. This was a place of growth. Plants and people sprouted and grew overnight. Life flourished, ripened quickly, decayed just as fast.

She supposed she was being paganized, and found the idea attractive. A hibiscus bloom behind one ear. Long, oiled hair falling free. Her naked body . . . Running down the strand ... A naked lover awaiting her . . .

She laughed aloud at the fantasy. As the door behind her slid open and Luther came out onto the terrace, drink in hand.

"Hi babe," he said in his raspy voice. "What'cha doing?"

"Just dreaming," she said with a secret smile.

The meeting was held in the same motel suite where the original deal had been made.

"I don't know what it's all about," Empt told Turk Bending and Bill Holloway. "They just called up and said we gotta meet. I suggested my office, but they said no. Maybe they're afraid the place is wired, for God's sake. Anyway, they want us all at the motel. Who knows what the hell they want?"

It didn't take long to find out.

"What's happened is this," Rocco Santangelo started. "We got this hotshot management consultant, he comes in and looks over our whole setup. Production, processing, packaging, distribution, sales—the works. Now what he says is this . . . We got to have a vertical organization. Like the big oil companies—you know? I mean, they get oil out of wells they own, they make it into gasoline in refineries they own, and they sell that gas in service stations they own. Right? So we got to do the same. Produce our stuff in our own studios, process it in our own factory, and sell it through our own outlets. This guy has the numbers to prove that we—''

"Hey, wait just a minute," Luther said, beginning to bristle. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"It's dollars and cents," Santangelo said earnestly. "It's got nothing to do with the job you've done. You've done a great job. Am I right, Jimmy? But we got to reorganize like this hotshot business guy says. Which means we got to control the processing of the cassettes."

Empt looked wonderingly at Bending and Holloway. "This stinks," he said.

"Look," Santangelo said, "you're not going to lose a penny on the deal. Not a penny. Whaddya think, we're bandits or something? The three of you get your original investment back. Every cent."

"Screw that!" Empt said furiously. "What about all the work we did? The time we put into this thing? All that's down the tube?"

"We recognize all that," Santangelo said smoothly. "Sure, you worked hard and all. That factory is up and ready to run. So maybe we can add a little sweetener for your time and trouble."