"A Neighborhood Party" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grayson Roger)

2

Carol Benson hummed softly to herself as she sat before the dressing table combing out her long silken blonde hair. A tiny pout lined her lips as she struggled momentarily against a particularly stubborn snag that impeded the smooth course of the brush running downward toward her shoulders.

"Ninety eight, ninety nine, and one hundred, there finished." she breathed in relief. She hated this morning ritual, but had been doing it since she was a little girl. It was one of those things her mother had insisted on as being healthy for the hair and she had to admit it had certainly helped her to retain that soft golden look, although, she sometimes wondered if it wouldn't have remained that way anyway. She took a long last critical look at it and then apparently satisfied, began to deftly apply her make up. It took but a moment as she didn't use much; just a touch of natural colored lipstick, that added a slight flesh color to her already full sensuous lips, and a quick line of eye make-up, that did nothing more than accentuate slightly their light hazel beauty.

Cocking her head to one side, she surveyed the results of her work. She liked it and in spite of her inbred modesty, had to admit to herself that she was a very pretty little girl. She must be, she smiled, she had landed Bob for a husband and that had been a coup d'etat of the first order. She must have had at least ten serious rivals at the office who had been trying with every wile they possessed to land him. But she had won after a short struggle and that was the important thing. Not every girl got the most promising young executive in a banking company this size for a husband.

He was going to be a success and a big one, there was no doubt in anyone's mind about that and in the three years since they had been married he had started very well. He was working for one of the best banks in California and now after just five years with them he had been given this chance in the main office to handle their investment accounts all on his own. Mr. Jordan, the president of the company, had even taken them out to dinner several weeks ago when Bob's promotion had been announced. He had told her confidentially while they had been dancing together that he expected big do all in her power to help him. It had really made it right to the top before too many years had passed. He also had complimented her on her graciousness and added that a good wife was also one of the keys to success in this business and he thought Bob had done well in that respect too. This had made her feel wonderful and she had promised herself that she would do all in her power to help him and had really made her feel like a partner in his success. This was supposedly the key element in a good marriage and made her feel needed in the strictest sense. Of course, she always gave Bob full credit for his successes and stayed pretty much in the background except to always look pretty and act hospitable at the many social functions they had to attend and to keep her husband as happy as possible at home. This she thought she was doing, though sometimes it was hard to tell. He was so wrapped up in learning his new job, and with all the things she had to do to move into this new house, they both just collapsed in the evenings after dinner. It hadn't given them much time together, not even for lovemaking, and this worried her. Not because she liked it so much, but because he didn't seem to need her as much or as often as he did a few weeks ago.

Bob had taken good care of arranging the transfer to the new house though. Mr. Jordan had absolutely insisted that they move to a more fashionable neighborhood as Bob would have important clients to entertain at home. She still remembered the excitement she had felt when Mr. Jordan had said at the dinner table, "Bob, my boy, you realize with this new position you're going to have to start living in the manner commensurate with the position of a banking executive."

Bob had answered something about his salary still not being enough to live on an even par with the wealthy customers whose accounts he would be handling and Mr. Jordan had assured him, "Don't you worry about that, my boy. The bank has decided to take care of a down payment for you and give you a housing and entertainment allowance that'll take care of that little problem."

Carol hadn't been able to believe it when Bob had proudly brought her to the new house the first time about a week ago. The bank had handled the transfer of title and even the furnishing. She had been just a little disappointed in the furnishing of it at first, but rationalized that they could do what they liked later on when they really got on their feet. If Bob's present success continued that wouldn't be too long. Anyway, they had done a more than acceptable job through a decorating firm that handled all their new buildings and she couldn't really complain except for the fact that she had no say in it. This, she realized, was just vanity on her part and not really important. She could do without it for awhile.

She was suddenly jerked from her reverie by the ringing of the doorbell. My God, she thought to herself as she tightened her robe around the softness of her body, that's the most awful rasping sound I've ever heard. That's one thing I'll have to change right away.

She walked down the long hallway from the bedroom and opened the front door. A smallish attractive woman she had never seen before was standing on the front steps.

"Hello there, I'm your new neighbor, Jean Talbot, from across the street and just wanted to drop by and welcome you to the neighborhood."

"Oh, how nice," Carol said, smiling sweetly in surprise. "Won't you come in and have some coffee?"

"Oh my dear, I don't want to disturb you, it looks as though you're just, getting dressed. I can come back later when you've finished."

"No, don't be silly. Do come in."

She blushed slightly when she looked down at her robe and realized that the woman must think she was certainly an irresponsible housewife still lounging around without her clothes on at ten o'clock in the morning. "Please come in and have some coffee with me. I've just finished cleaning the house," she added in self-justification, "and can slip something on real quick."

"Well, just for a little while then," the woman replied. "I don't want to upset your schedule. I know you must be pretty busy with all the problems of moving in and all."

"Oh, it's not too bad," Carol said, ushering her into the low modern living room. "My husband took care of most of the problems before we even changed houses. Please sit down and let me get the coffee. It'll just take a minute. It's all ready."

She went to the kitchen and hurriedly got out their new serving set from the cabinet, preparing a tray with two cups from the new Rosenthal china that the bank had been so kind as to include in furnishing the house. It seemed they had forgotten nothing and Carol felt almost as though she were taking over someone else's house complete. She thought for a moment of running into the bedroom and changing now but decided she had better get some coffee to her guest first. She was certain they were more conscious of their social etiquette here than they were in the lower middle-class neighborhood they had just moved from. She hoped she could cope with the sudden change and had to admit to herself that she was more worried about it than she would allow herself to believe.

"Here we are, Jean," she smiled graciously as she entered the living room and placed the tray on the table. "Would it be terribly impolite of me to excuse myself and get into my shorts quickly? I hate to play hostess with just a house-coat on."

"Oh, not at all. I can take care of myself. Besides, I'm enjoying this beautiful living room of yours. I must say, you've decorated it in the best of taste."

"Why thank you," Carol said, pinking slightly at the compliment. She didn't dare admit she had had it done for her. It would be just too degrading. A woman was supposed to take care of that part of a marriage and to admit to another woman that she hadn't was just unthinkable. "I'll be right back. There's everything here, cream, sugar, and the coffee."

She hurried to her bedroom and quickly changed into the work clothes she had worn yesterday when she and Bob had started on the yard work. She knew the shorts were just a bit too tight and reached too far up her thighs but they were her old favorites and this was one concession she refused to make to the change in neighborhoods, they were just too comfortable and too much of a habit to give up. Bob had even tried yesterday to make her throw them away when she had brought them out to wear but she had absolutely refused.

"You take me and you take these with me, Bob Benson," she had scolded and he had begrudgingly backed down. Sometimes lately, she had begun to think that perhaps he was too much of a prude. Good Lord, with the new enlightenment society was going through today they had much more to titillate their thoughts than her little pet pair of sorts. She knew he wound never understand this but somehow it had become a matter of principle with her-some kind of vague retention of her individuality that had crept through and refused to be destroyed along with the other girlish parts of herself that she knew she must sacrifice with this move into the upper classes. Well, she vowed, she would never give these up. She gave one quick swipe to her hair with the brush and headed back for the living room.

"There, I told you, just took a second."

"Well, yes, I can see why," her guest answered with a good-natured twinkle in her eye. "I didn't mean anything derogatory by that, Carol, I assure you. But you must admit the outfit is a bit skimpy."

"Yes," she smiled back after a moment when she realized Jean was kidding, "But I like them and they're the most comfortable thing I own."

"Well just don't let the lecher next door see you in them. He'll he over before you can count to three."

"Y-you mean, Mr. Burns?" Carol raised her eyes in innocent surprise as she poured herself some coffee.

"Yes, I do dear. He's better known as "Stud Burns" by the housewives in this neighborhood." She said with a slight trace of contempt in her voice.

"Why you must be joking, Jean!" Carol laughed. "He's old enough to be my father."

"He might be old enough to be your father, my dear," Jean smiled knowingly, "but I wouldn't even trust him with his own daughter."

"I've never heard anything like it. I've only seen him once out the window since we've been here and he looks absolutely repulsive."

"Oh, that he is," her guest admitted. "But he certainly gives it that old college try."

"D-Does he ever succeed?" Carol asked, a tone of amusement in her voice..

"I think probably more often than not. You'll see him sneaking around the neighborhood just after lunch and disappearing into one house or another before you've spent too many weeks here. You can always tell whether he succeeds by how long he stays."

"It seems you've made a habit of plotting out his little affairs," Carol said, a slight note of coolness in her voice. She didn't want to get involved with gossip on the block and thought the best thing she could do would be to cut off this conversation now before it got around to all the personalities of the neighborhood.

"Oh no, Carol, don't get me wrong," Jean said, sensing her thoughts. "I'm not the street gossip, but the conversation did seem to get around to your next door neighbors and I thought I had better warn you. He'll be around to see you too, I can guarantee that."

Carol though she detected a note of bitterness in her new neighbor's voice and wondered if perhaps this wasn't one of the instances where "Stud Burns" had succeeded. Something was certainly unusual about the way she talked about him and the vindictive things she was saying. She was a pretty woman and couldn't be over thirty-five or six. She had taken good care of herself and Carol couldn't understand how he would pass her up if he were as lecherous as Jean was saying he was. She thought she would probe diplomatically just for the fun of it and see what she could find out about her personally.

"H-Has he ever tried anything with you?" Carol asked, lowering her eyes to the cup she was fingering thoughtfully in her hands.

Jean smiled over at her.

"I knew that question would come in one form or another if we started on the subject." she said, pausing for a moment. "Of course, he has. Even if he hadn't, I don't think I would admit it for vanity's sake. A woman does have her pride, you know."

When Carol heard the sincerity in the woman's voice she was immediately sorry she had even asked the question. It wasn't her business to pry into someone else's affairs, particularly someone she hardly knew.

"Jean, I'm sorry. I should know better. I guess I'm just becoming cynical in my old age."

"My dear," smiled her neighbor, looking directly into her eyes, "I don't mean to sound condescending. But at your age I was perhaps the most naive thing around. It'll take you awhile to really understand what being cynical really is."

Carol detected a note of sadness in Jean's voice and decided she had carried this topic of conversation just a little too far. Her visitor had obviously had a bad traumatic experience of some kind with Harry Burns and she wasn't certain whether she really wanted to talk all-out it or not. She decided she had better change the subject for safety's sake before she got herself involved in some morbid story that might take up the rest of the day. She had discovered early in life that the first people who always came to see you and made friends with you were those who had something to say -usually about themselves. But in spite of this initial judgment of Jean, Carol liked her. There was something innately sad about her that she couldn't exactly put her finger on and it was quite apparent that she wasn't exactly the happiest person in the world.

"Please have some more coffee, won't you?" Carol offered, hoping she would take a hint and talk about something else. But Jean seemed determined to keep on the subject of personalities and continued talking.

"I've seen your husband out the window. He seems nice." she said, reaching over and pouring her own cup full again.

"Yes, he is." Carol's eyes sparkled as the subject changed to Bob. She was proud of him and didn't mind letting people know about it. "I think so, anyway."

"You're lucky." Jean replied drily. "My husband is a brute of the first order."

Carol was shocked for a moment at the sudden unsolicited disclosure. She had just been ready to tell Jean about Bob's new job of which he was so proud but Jean's revelation had cut her short.

"Why, you don't mean that, Jean." she stuttered, not knowing quite how to react to her. She decided to lie a little, "You look so happy and settled. I don't see how you can say that."

It was then for the first time that Carol noticed the slight, almost indiscernible slur of the woman's words. She had been drinking! A sudden feeling of compassion rippled through her. The poor dear! She must be having a hard time if she had to resort to alcohol at this time of the morning. She looked and spoke so logically when she had come in the house twenty minutes ago. While Carol pondered this for a moment, Jean answered the question for her. She reached in her purse by the chair and pulled out a small flask.

"Would you like a small bit of brandy to lace your coffee, Carol? I find it helps on these cold days." Jean smiled almost apologetically, as though she realized the pity running through Carol's mind. "It's good with coffee."

"W-Why no thank you. I-I don't drink much," she answered, watching as her guest poured almost half the cup full of the dark liquid. "B-But please go ahead."

"I think it shocks you that I'm drinking so early in the morning doesn't it?" Jean looked at her, waiting for her confirming answer.

"W-Well no, no it doesn't. If a person wants to drink in the morning then it's their business and no one else's." Carol defended. She had no intention of getting into an argument with one of her neighbors in the first few days they were here. Particularly over something she knew absolutely nothing about.

"Well, I don't very often do this," Jean's words became slightly more slurred as she took a good sip from the cup. "But I saw that Stud Burns watching you out of his window yesterday when you were working in the yard and thought I had better warn you. He's going to be after your pants, mark my words."

"Jean!" Carol answered, a shocked look crossing over her face. "I don't think you should talk like that. What he does is his own business but I'm certainly no child, I can take care of myself."

"You may think so, dear. But mark my words," she repeated again, "he'll think of something. I know that lecherous son-of-a-bitch. He'll screw you silly someday when you have your guard down and then have it all over the town with his big mouth bragging about what a good shag you are. I know him."

"I-Is that what happened with you, Jean?" Carol asked softly. It was obvious to her that Jean had been hurt deeply and it had something to do with Harry Burns. Otherwise, she wouldn't be talking against him this way to a perfect stranger. She could feel nothing but compassion for Jean now and wanted to help her in any way she could even if it were nothing more than sympathize with her.

"Is it that obvious?" Her guest said grimly.

"No, no it isn't," Carol consoled. But you kept talking about him so much I couldn't help but wonder."

"Well, that is what happened to me," Jean said bitterly, taking another long sip from the cup. "May I have some more coffee, please?"

"Do you really think you should? I mean it's all right, but don't you think you should wait a little while?" Carol suggested hopefully.

"No, dear, don't you worry about me. I can take care of myself. I need it if I'm going to make it through this fool day. Anyway," she suddenly brightened up, "let's get off such an unhappy subject and talk about something else, shall we? Tell me something about yourself. We're going to be neighbors for a long time, I hope, so let's get the silly little formalities out of the way."

Carol was more than glad for the chance to get on to something else as it was too apparent that her neighbor was on an extremely touchy subject and she didn't want any emotional outbursts in her home from her very first visitor. She had enough things to worry about as it was in getting themselves established here without becoming the shoulder that all could cry on whenever they happened to have a problem of some kind. From that point on it was all small talk on the subjects that women usually discuss under such circumstances. She told Jean about Bob's new job and how happy they were that he had been given the chance to prove himself so quickly with the bank. Not that she hadn't expected it with the educational background Bob had built up, but she had to admit the good things of life were coming to them a little faster than she had really expected. In fact, she was afraid at one point that she was letting her exuberance about her husband run away with her and just knew she was boring Jean to death, but she seemed to he interested and even asked more questions when Carol would stop on one particular subject. Finally, she even let her talk her into one drink with her coffee and had to admit the cognac did taste good going down. It seemed to make Jean feel a little more at home also and she began to let her hair down in a more pleasant sense and before Carol knew it she had looked at her watch and it was almost time for Bob to be coming home for lunch.

"Oh dear," she muttered in sudden apology, "Bob's due home in ten minutes and I haven't even started lunch yet! You'll just have to excuse me, Jean, I don't know where the time has gone."

"You're lucky to have someone who cares enough to come home for lunch. I hope it lasts many more happy years," she suddenly reverted back to the sadness that had occurred earlier. "I'll drink up and be on my way."

"Oh Jean," Carol smiled at her warmly, "I'm just so sorry. I was enjoying our conversation so much I just lost complete track of the morning. We'll have to do this again soon."

"Yes, dear, we will." Jean smiled in understanding as she rose to leave. The alcohol was having an appreciable effect on her walking and Carol found herself reaching out automatically to steady her as she held the door for her to pass. She wanted to offer to walk her home but knew that Jean would take offense.

"Thank you so much for coming over," she said instead. "I'm glad we've had the chance to get to know each other."

"I am too, Carol," Jean said turning slowly back toward her. "And remember what I told you earlier about that bastard next door. I still mean it."

Carol didn't reply and watched a shadowed wrinkle cross over Jean's brow as though she were almost going to cry. Then, turning slowly back toward the steps, she made her way dejectedly to the street. Carol closed the door softly behind her, a sudden sense of strange foreboding crossing over her mind. What on earth had that man next door done to her to make her so bitter and angry with the world? Well, she shrugged her shoulders quizzically, whatever it was there was nothing she could do about it and the last thing in the world she wanted to become involved in right off the bat was a neighborhood feud. That was the surest way she could think of to make one's self unwelcome fast and it certainly wouldn't ingratiate her with her husband. He needed all the social help he could get with his new job and she intended to do all in her power to see that he got it.