Community of Women

19

All day Tuesday Nan waited for Ted Carr to call.

She didn’t know whether to expect the phone or the doorbell to ring. Maybe he would come to her as he had come the day before, ringing her doorbell, telling her to get her clothes off, then making love to her on the living room floor. Maybe he would call instead, to talk to her, to give her instructions on a time and place when and where they could be together. She expected the call rather than his personal appearance, since she couldn’t expect him to double back from New York a second day in a row. And she looked forward to the call. She waited to hear his voice, wanted to see what would happen next.

There was one possibility which never occurred to her. She took it for granted that he would contact her, one way or another, and she never conceived of the possibility that he would not call her at all.

He did not call her at all.

She waited until it was quite obvious that he was not calling. She was a few minutes late picking up Skip and Danny at school, and on the way home she barely understood their conversation because she was too busy thinking about Ted. She drove home fast, and while the two of them went downstairs to mesmerize themselves in front of the television set, she sat waiting for the phone to ring.

She almost forgot Ted that night. It was a busy evening; Howard picked up the babysitter at seven, brought the sitter over to help Danny and Skip watch television, and then they went to the inevitable PTA meeting. The meeting was a gigantic bore, complete with a speaker who provided a rather harrowing picture of teenage narcotics addiction. Since Danny and Skip would not be teenagers for awhile, much less narcotics addicts, the speech was not exactly down Nan’s alley. Still, it was something to listen to, and while she was at the meeting she hardly thought about Ted Carr at all.

That night she wanted Howard to make love to her. She wanted this very much, but something kept her from putting her desire into words, and Howard did not think of the idea all by himself. He kissed her, and he failed to notice when she pressed up against him a bit more warmly than usual. Then he got into bed and closed his eyes, and before long she heard the rhythmic breathing which told her he was asleep.

But she was not asleep. She stayed awake for hours, thinking about Ted, trying to guess why he hadn’t called her. He could have called no matter how busy he was, could at least have said hello to her. Maybe he had just wanted her once. Maybe he was done with her now, and it was time for the boredom to start all over again, and—

She couldn’t believe that. She had pleased him — she knew this for a fact — and he would call again, would return soon. And, she decided triumphantly, when he did call she would hang up on him, and when he rang her bell she would shut the door in his face. She could play his game as well as he could. Whether or not she let the affair go on, she was not going to make it easy for him.

She almost believed this.

He didn’t call Wednesday, either. She was sure he would call this time, and she put off going shopping in order to be home when he called, but the phone never rang and the doorbell remained silent. Three or four times she walked to the phone, almost ready to dial the number of his New York office, and each time she walked away from the phone, telling herself she was behaving like an idiot and commanding herself to put him out of her mind once and for all.

He called on Thursday.

When the call finally did come, at two-thirty in the afternoon, she had not been expecting it at all. If his aim was to catch her off-base he was succeeding admirably, for she had just about managed to condition herself to the idea that he was never going to contact her again when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver, not even thinking it might be Ted, and his voice said hello to her.

“You didn’t call,” she said, her resolve to hang up long dissipated. “I was waiting. You didn’t call.”

“That’s right,” he said pleasantly. “I didn’t.”

“I was waiting. But you didn’t—”

“You sound like a broken record, Nan-O. I’m at the Star Bright Motel on Route 9. How about getting here as quick as you can?”

“Ted—”

“Unit Six,” he went on. “Just come to the door, hurry inside, and pull your panties off. I’m sitting here all ready for you, Nan-O. All ready, kid.”

“Ted—”

“Unit Six at the Star Bright Motel. Don’t forget.”

“Ted, I’m not coming.”

A short and sardonic laugh.

“I’m not. I—”

“Of course you are.”

“Ted, listen to me. Ted, I’m a wife and a mother—”

More laughter. “You’re also a whore and a tramp, Nan-O. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He hung up on her.

She stood there, her hands knotted into fists, her blood pulsing through her system. I’m not going, she told herself. I’m not going, I don’t want to go, I hate the rotten bastard and I’m not going.

She went, of course.

The Star Bright Motel was not a haven for weary travelers. If it had been, the owner might well have starved to death, since his location was hardly ideal in that respect. Travelers heading out of New York would go farther than Westchester before calling it a day, and travelers heading into New York would go all the way in instead of stopping so close to their destination. Still, the Star Bright did a booming business.

In the parlance of the inn-keeper’s trade, the Star Bright was a hot-pillow joint. Its occupants were occasionally married, but never to each other. The place was popular for extramarital affairs, equally popular among the younger set that was sufficiently mature to find the back seats of cars uncomfortable.

Otis Wheeler was the owner. Now one would be hard put to find a more suitable occupation for Otis Wheeler than the one he had. It brought him a good income, and there is certainly nothing wrong with a good income. But there was more to it than that. Otis Wheeler was a voyeur, and there is no place for a voyeur quite so delightful as a hot-pillow joint.

Now it was three on Thursday afternoon, and Otis Wheeler was watching. He was in the little concealed hallway between units five and six, his eyes glued to the piece of one-way glass which was set in the wall of unit six. That had been Otis Wheeler’s own special idea. The occupants of the units saw a mirror, while Otis saw them. Why, one couple who had taken a special sort of delight in making love in front of mirrors had justified the expense of installation all by themselves!

But now...

The tall man with the sandy hair had been sitting alone, waiting. He sat on a straight-backed chair, which was not unusual. What was unusual was the fact that he sat in the chair without any clothes on. He had hung his clothes in the closet.

For awhile Otis thought he was wasting his time watching a lunatic who got his kicks sitting naked in a motel unit. Then the woman came in and Otis knew he was not wasting his time. The woman was blonde, and the woman was pretty, and the woman was stacked like a brick outhouse. Otis liked to watch stacked blondes. He was pleased.

The man sneered, and said something which was probably unpleasant, judging from the expression on his face. The woman cringed. Then, slowly and deliberately, she began to remove her clothes.

Otis watched her. It was not hard to do. The stacked blonde did a slow strip, and from where he was Otis was able to see everything there was to see. Among other things, he was able to determine that the stacked blonde was genuinely stacked.

The man said something else. The stacked blonde then tried to argue. She opened her mouth and talked back, shaking her blonde head prettily. Whereupon the man seemed to lose his temper.

He appeared to curse. Then he asked something which made the blonde go pale all over. She nodded sadly and sank to her knees. The tall man swung his hand and brought it down hard on her shoulders. It left an ugly red mark.

Otis watched, spellbound, while the tall sandy-haired man spanked the stacked blonde on various interesting portions of her anatomy. Then he said something else and the girl obediently crawled around the floor on all fours, performing various imaginative exercises en route.

She returned, finally, and kneeled before the man — Otis watched. His eyes bugged out. He stared.