The Good Life (55 page)

Bet would give Billy a perfunctory kiss on the forehead and shoo him away from her, fearful of his mussing her hair, makeup, or dress. She made fun of Perry's fascination and joked about it in front of her friends. She'd been fitted with a new diaphragm immediately after Billy's birth. She meant what she'd said.

The holiday parties and drink-induced high spirits reached their usual climax on New Year's Eve, with Bet getting drunker than Perry had ever seen her. She embarrassed him for the first time in public. Watching her become coarse and boisterous was painful. She seemed to think it sophisticated to use language that would make a stevedore blush. During the wild party-hopping — going from house to house, club to club, and then to somebody else's for just one more — Perry lost Bet. She'd just disappeared. He was hardly sober himself and found himself in bed with Tallulah Bankhead. Perhaps Bet had been spending a great deal of time with Tallulah; their vocabularies were similar.

He didn't think that either he or Bet had made an auspicious start for the New Year. He tried to take stock. The momentary euphoria — or something near it — that he'd felt being reestablished between them dissolved after the holidays. Life seemed to be slipping out of control. There was a general deterioration. Danger loomed.

He felt tense and cautious, as if he had to walk on tiptoe so as not to go crashing into some unknown obstacle or barrier set up to destroy them. The graceful existence he had imagined for them — the circle of attractive friends, the civilized dinners, a stable family life with Little Billy and a brother or sister or both, there in the center of their lives — eluded them.

He had been so lucky. He had so much. Now it was slipping away, and he didn't know how to get it back. He knew that he wasn't going to lose it for the sake of seeing their names in the columns, but Bet was getting what she wanted. How long would it take for her to get bored doing the same tiresome things?

Money problems and the dissension they caused did not help the situation. Bet made constant references to his nonexistent inheritance and his meager income. She pushed him to play more bridge and give up the studio. That problem was soon solved for him, however. Henry had been offered a brilliant opportunity in Hollywood and would be closing down the studio. Perry knew he couldn't run it on his own, and he couldn't go to Hollywood with his boss, although Henry begged him to. So much for a career. He was now available for bridge day and night.

“You see,” Bet exulted. “I knew that damned studio was a one-way street. You were just marking time.”

Perry was welcomed into several more regular groups, one of which met three times a week, and his winnings did increase. Bet had been right. He missed the studio and what he'd begun to feel was positive progress toward a profession. Being a smartly dressed available male for cards wasn't his idea of a career, but it had its compensations; he could be home with Billy more during the day. He made the most of this. Billy was talking now, or babbling, and Perry was convinced that the baby could understand everything Perry said. They held long conversations about a toy or a flower or a pencil. Perry was engrossed and concentrated on his son's progress.

“Jesus,” Bet exploded. “You two gibbering idiots are driving me crazy. I've got to get out of this madhouse.” Out she would flounce, and Perry gave it little thought. But since she exhibited erratic, impatient behavior all the time, he couldn't excuse her snappishness as being “that time of the month.”

It was soon apparent that his being home was inconvenient for her.

“But I'm doing what you've been nagging me to do for months,” he argued. “I'm playing bridge so much, I'm making bets in my sleep. I'm also getting calluses on my ass from sitting in uncomfortable chairs for hours at a time.”

“Your poor ass,” she said. “Who cares?”

“You used to,” he pointed out with a smile, trying to strike a spark.

“So did a lot of other people,” she said with a sneer.

He'd taught himself not to pick up every reference she made to his past. If he did, he'd be slapping her around the apartment all the time.

She left the place when he was there. More and more he was aware that she had some sort of pattern in her comings and goings, and they didn't necessarily depend on his being home. For example, she was almost always out between 5:00 and 6:30 without any explanation beyond a casual word about “shopping.”

“Why do you always do your shopping so late?” he asked one afternoon as she headed out.

“I say ‘shopping,' but you don't have to take it literally.”

“I don't? How am I supposed to take it?”

“Any way you like,” she said, struggling into her coat. “We agreed long ago that we don't have to lie to each other.” She checked her reflection in the gilded mirror by the door. “I have a lover,” she said calmly into the glass.

He stared at her back, dumbfounded by her matter-of-fact manner. So that's what she'd been up to. He rose slowly and stood behind her, talking to her in the mirror as she primped. “You don't have a lover,” he said quietly. “Not as long as you're married to me.” She turned to face him. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“It's perfectly simple. Don't make a scene.” Her calm was maddening. “I don't want to keep Jed waiting.”

“Jed?” he roared. “That goddamned son of a bitch? He's going to have a long wait.”

“Don't be silly, Perry. You're not going to pretend that you've had nobody since we've been married?”

“That's exactly what I'm going to pretend.” He couldn't believe that they were having this conversation. “It's so close to the truth that it's not worth hedging over details.”

“Well, that's your tough luck. I have to go. We can talk later if you think there's anything to talk about.” She started for the door.

He stepped forward and blocked the way. “There's plenty to talk about.” She sighed heavily with boredom. “To begin with, you're not going to meet Jed.” He tried to duplicate her cool manner.

“Are you planning to lock me in?” she asked provocatively.

“If necessary. What in the world has come over you? You must be nuts. You can't announce quietly to your husband that you're going off to meet your lover. What the hell kind of man do you think I am?”

“I really don't know.” She meant to insult, and she did. “Now let me out of here. I have to go.” She moved forward again.

He grabbed her and held her by her wrists. “You're not going anywhere,” he said, finally matching her cold calm. She stared at him with wide eyes that registered disbelief and outrage.

“Let me go, you son of a bitch.” Her hands broke from his grasp and went for his face. “Get the fuck out of my way,” she screamed, swinging wildly at him with one hand while the other attacked his cheek. He dodged her and hit her hard with his open hand.

For a moment she lost her balance but righted herself and made a dash for the door. “You hit me once more, you filthy fucking quee—”

His next slap cut off the word, and he grappled with her and hit her repeatedly, wanting to hurt her. Her screaming was mixed with sobs, and her voice was choked. The cursing became meaningless sounds mingled with grunts and moans. He managed to drag her to their bedroom and kicked the door closed behind them.

He was panting, and his heart was pounding so loudly that it blocked out her screams. He had to take deep breaths to consciously control his rage, or he'd really hurt her.

He was amazed at her strength as she went on struggling, tearing at him and his clothes. He threw her onto the bed and jumped on top of her, holding her arms above her head. “Right. There. Now go ahead if that's what you want. Yell your gutter talk till you're blue in the face. Just try to keep the nursemaid and the baby out of it.”

Her hair was all over the place. An angry red mark showed on her cheek. Her breath was as labored as his. She could hardly speak. “You're a real man when you have a woman to beat up.” She rolled her head back and forth on the pillow, tears of rage and pain streaming down her face. “Jesus Christ. Don't you understand anything, you silly shit? I've married my father's boyfriend.”

Her voice cracked, and her body was racked with sobs. She let out a painful cry — not a scream — a cry from deep inside herself. It was an eerie sound and sent shivers down Perry's spine. “Do you expect me to live with that for the rest of my life?”

The hideous cry was repeated, making her arch her back and throw her head back as the sound stretched and contorted her throat. She lifted her head — hair wild, her mouth pushed out of shape into an ugly, obscene opening, her teeth slightly stained with blood — and she screamed into his face, “You're a
male whore!”
The last word had the same sound as the terrifying cry, soaring and then dying in shuddering sobs as her body relaxed under him.

He looked down at the pitiful creature that had been his beautiful girl, his child bride, the mother of his child. Nothing of that girl he had loved remained. He'd never seen this ugly woman before.

He had to take several shuddering breaths before he could speak. When he did speak, his voice was quiet and under control. “You married the man you wanted to marry. Everybody warned you about me. No doubt you should have listened, but it's too late now. You're not going to have lovers. Not while you're married to me. Let's get that much straight. You're mine until you get a divorce, if that's what you want.”

She writhed beneath him, making piteous little sobbing noises. The marks on her face were fading. He had learned how to hurt without marking her. Her writhing and his feeling of domination began to give him a sexual charge. She was his and was going to remain so.

“But we agreed,” she said through her sobs. “We agreed we're not going to be like ordinary couples.”

“We're a couple, ordinary or not.”

“We're supposed to be free and open with each other and not deny each other, not deny each other new experiences.”

“Balls.” He pushed his pelvis down hard on her. He was starting to get a hard-on. “Feel that? What's new about Jed? Has he got something like that? Sex is sex.”

Her writhing stopped, and she tried to pull away from his hardening cock. He jumped off the bed and started taking off his trousers.

“No,” she screamed. “Don't.” Her knees were drawn up tight against her chest, and she shoved herself back into a sitting position at the head of the bed, making herself as small as possible.

“I'll give you thirty seconds to get your clothes off, or I'll rip them off.” He jerked his trousers off, kicked off his shoes, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“No. Don't you touch me. I don't want it.”

“That's a change. Let's see how you like being raped then.” A tug at his underwear revealed his rigid cock. The more she resisted him, the harder it became. He cupped it in the palm of his hand and thrust his hips forward, gently stroking himself, teasing her with it. “Take your dress off,” he ordered.

“You think you can have anything you want with that goddamn cock.” She couldn't take her eyes off it.

“I can have you. That's enough.” He moved in closer to her, his cock soaring above her. He clutched it at the base and held it like a club. “You want me to beat you with it? You'd probably love it. Now get undressed.”

This last command was not to be ignored. His own rage and hurt were under control, and now he had to have her under control.

Bet sensed his power and dazedly began to take her clothes off. She tried to make it an act of grudging obedience, but by the time she was naked, she was reaching for him, blindly demanding, grasping, almost hurting him with her eagerness for him. He took her mercilessly, driving into her with all his strength. If he hurt her down there, he'd make sure that Jed didn't ever have a chance to notice the bruises. She was his, and he knew how to keep her his.

He'd won that round. Jed was never mentioned again, but Perry was doubly alert now, watching and looking for any signs of her straying.

And there were signs. She had others sniffing around in the background. He became suspicious of her every move in a way that he loathed in himself. Mutual respect and trust were essential if they were going to make a success of their marriage. As their relationship threatened more and more to slip into routine watchful suspicion, he found that even slapping her around didn't keep her in line. She started spending nights out without letting him know. She openly defied him, daring him to intervene. They'd reached an impasse.

Little Billy was Perry's only joy, but even that was marred when the child kept asking where Mommy was.

Perry stopped seeing the people he liked, and since he hated Bet's new friends, his social life became his card games. He played with an obsessive determination, concentrating on the game fiercely to keep his nagging worries from surfacing. Drink helped.

On nights when he didn't have a game and Bet was out, he wandered around the apartment — his drink often freshened — and missed Billy more than ever. If he could only spend the evening with him — just talk quietly, laugh a bit, or just feel him near while they read comfortably, content in each other's presence. Billy had left a great empty hole in his life that he wondered how he'd ever fill.

Bet was getting wilder and wilder and more and more blatant about her lovers.
She'll probably start bringing them home
, he mused,
and not to share them like they had Timmy
. That had been innocent fun. There was no innocence left.

Timmy's frequent letters to them were hair-raising chronicles about the realities of war, but he still managed to sound tender and loving as he always had.

Perry began to regret having eliminated himself from the draft. Everybody he knew was in uniform with the exception of Bet's wide circle of male friends, who, if young enough to be eligible for the draft, had connections so that strings were pulled to keep them free. The older ones seemed to be getting richer on the war. After all, people like Bet had to have escorts for their nightly rounds of restaurants and nightclubs.