holding them, squeezing them. He was hurting her and the pain was a delight to her, an ache that was delicious. He squeezed once more and she writhed in passion.
“I love you, Roz—”
“Linc—”
“I love you, Roz baby. Oh, Christ, I love you. I love you so damned much.”
“God, Linc—”
“So beautiful. Such beautiful breasts. You could make a fortune with them. Roz. You could model with them for paperback covers.”
“Kiss them, Linc—”
He did not need to be coaxed. He moved lower on the bed and his lips found the valley between the two breasts. Her skin was very soft there, very sensitive, and his tongue reached out to tease the tender skin. She squirmed, needing him, and he kissed her, moving from the valley to the mountains themselves.
He kissed first one breast and then the other. She was alive with Just now, alive with need, and she put her hands on the back of his head and pressed his face into her breasts, loving the tricks he performed so perfectly with lips and tongue.
His hands dropped to her thighs. He squeezed her and a tiny moan escaped her lips.
“Linc—”
His hands were clever. God, how she needed him! She loved him and needed him and she had to have him or die.
“Linc—”
And then suddenly, too suddenly, he was moving away from her. His eyes were pools of terror and his face was white. His shoulders sagged and his chin fell.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t,” he snapped. “I can’t, that’s all. That’s what’s the goddamned matter.”
“Oh, darling—”
“I’m a first class son of a bitch,” he said. “I managed to get you all worked up and now I can’t finish the job. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, honey. Maybe I ought to go blow my brains out. Maybe that’s the answer.”
“Don’t talk like that!”
He shrugged, impatient with himself. “I’m a son of a bitch,” he said again. “I didn’t think this could happen, Roz. I … I really wanted you. I needed you. I thought it would work.”
“I understand.”
“I thought it would work, that everything would be all right, that I would be able to. It didn’t work.”
“You’re all tied up in knots,” she said. “You’re in a stinking slump and it’s a vicious circle. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“No?”
“No, Linc. It’s all right.”
He turned away. “Look,” he said, “I have to get out of the house, have to be by myself for awhile.”
“I understand.”
“I’m going into town,” he said. “I’ll head over to the tavern, have a few drinks. I’ve got to straighten myself out.”
“All right.”
“Don’t wait up for me.”
She waited in bed while he dressed, left the bedroom. She listened for the slam of the door, then heard him start the car’s engine and drive off into the night. She hoped he’d be all right—he had a tendency to drink too much when he was depressed, and he was about as depressed now as she had ever seen him.
But he held his liquor well. He would be home all right. She did not have to worry about him.
She lay for a few minutes in the darkness.
Alone, she cried.
10
T HURSDAY and Friday were ordinary days in Cheshire Point, ordinary days with ordinary weather and ordinary turns of events. Linc Barclay, who had come home drunk as a skunk when the bar closed Thursday morning, spent all of Thursday trying to get over a hangover and all day Friday trying to write. He managed the first, thanks to a liberal quantity of black coffee and several B-complex vitamin pills. The second was still impossible. Two pages—bad ones, he assured Roz—rolled through the typewriter in the course of a nine-hour stint on Friday. That was all.
Thursday afternoon a salesman came to Elly Carr’s house. He was a college kid, working his way through school by selling sets of encyclopedias to people who did not really want sets of encyclopedias at all. Elly Carr did not want what he was selling. But, when she looked at the muscular young
“I love you, Roz—”
“Linc—”
“I love you, Roz baby. Oh, Christ, I love you. I love you so damned much.”
“God, Linc—”
“So beautiful. Such beautiful breasts. You could make a fortune with them. Roz. You could model with them for paperback covers.”
“Kiss them, Linc—”
He did not need to be coaxed. He moved lower on the bed and his lips found the valley between the two breasts. Her skin was very soft there, very sensitive, and his tongue reached out to tease the tender skin. She squirmed, needing him, and he kissed her, moving from the valley to the mountains themselves.
He kissed first one breast and then the other. She was alive with Just now, alive with need, and she put her hands on the back of his head and pressed his face into her breasts, loving the tricks he performed so perfectly with lips and tongue.
His hands dropped to her thighs. He squeezed her and a tiny moan escaped her lips.
“Linc—”
His hands were clever. God, how she needed him! She loved him and needed him and she had to have him or die.
“Linc—”
And then suddenly, too suddenly, he was moving away from her. His eyes were pools of terror and his face was white. His shoulders sagged and his chin fell.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t,” he snapped. “I can’t, that’s all. That’s what’s the goddamned matter.”
“Oh, darling—”
“I’m a first class son of a bitch,” he said. “I managed to get you all worked up and now I can’t finish the job. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, honey. Maybe I ought to go blow my brains out. Maybe that’s the answer.”
“Don’t talk like that!”
He shrugged, impatient with himself. “I’m a son of a bitch,” he said again. “I didn’t think this could happen, Roz. I … I really wanted you. I needed you. I thought it would work.”
“I understand.”
“I thought it would work, that everything would be all right, that I would be able to. It didn’t work.”
“You’re all tied up in knots,” she said. “You’re in a stinking slump and it’s a vicious circle. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“No?”
“No, Linc. It’s all right.”
He turned away. “Look,” he said, “I have to get out of the house, have to be by myself for awhile.”
“I understand.”
“I’m going into town,” he said. “I’ll head over to the tavern, have a few drinks. I’ve got to straighten myself out.”
“All right.”
“Don’t wait up for me.”
She waited in bed while he dressed, left the bedroom. She listened for the slam of the door, then heard him start the car’s engine and drive off into the night. She hoped he’d be all right—he had a tendency to drink too much when he was depressed, and he was about as depressed now as she had ever seen him.
But he held his liquor well. He would be home all right. She did not have to worry about him.
She lay for a few minutes in the darkness.
Alone, she cried.
10
T HURSDAY and Friday were ordinary days in Cheshire Point, ordinary days with ordinary weather and ordinary turns of events. Linc Barclay, who had come home drunk as a skunk when the bar closed Thursday morning, spent all of Thursday trying to get over a hangover and all day Friday trying to write. He managed the first, thanks to a liberal quantity of black coffee and several B-complex vitamin pills. The second was still impossible. Two pages—bad ones, he assured Roz—rolled through the typewriter in the course of a nine-hour stint on Friday. That was all.
Thursday afternoon a salesman came to Elly Carr’s house. He was a college kid, working his way through school by selling sets of encyclopedias to people who did not really want sets of encyclopedias at all. Elly Carr did not want what he was selling. But, when she looked at the muscular young
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