"Three-way weekend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spencer Kitty)

CHAPTER FOUR

The police had been very considerate toward her. They tried to break the news gently. A policewoman sat beside Elaine in the office, smiling encouragingly from time to time. None of it helped! Outside, the New England countryside blazed with bright autumn color. She remembered thinking about that even as she heard her life explode.

After the routine questions, Elaine was told that her husband had been apprehended while engaged in committing an indecent act. The words jumbled together for Elaine as fact and emotion grated within the blur. But, through it all, came clarity. Elaine was given all the facts. Warren Craig, her husband, had stood on a quiet suburban street near the local school and exposed his penis to a group of little girls. He had tried to entice them closer to him, but after whispering among themselves, the children had run off. Warren had followed them a short way, his trousers still open and his penis out.

He had remained in the area for almost an hour, eventually working his way to the school's then-deserted playground. By that time one of the children had run home, told her mother what had happened, and the tearful mother had called the police.

When the patrol car arrived at the playground, Warren was sitting on one of the swings. Two ten-year-old girls watched him, giggling, while he pulled his penis out of his open fly and then stuffed it back inside his pants again. The girls had come to the station as witnesses when the police brought him in.

For Elaine, ordeal followed upon ordeal. Talking to the psychiatrist had been worse than being told what had happened by the police. "If there's anything you can tell me, anything at all, Mrs. Craig, that might help…"

What was she supposed to tell him? That she'd always suspected her husband… that she'd known he had a desire to expose himself to little girls?

"Were your sexual relations with your husband quite normal, Mrs. Craig?" The doctor's voice was firm and decisive. There was no escape for Elaine then, no way out into tears of rage or self-pity. "It's important that you cooperate with us as fully as possible."

The tone had become gentler, but the questions continued.

"Now tell me… did your husband ever ask you to engage in any sexual perverted acts?"

God in heaven, Elaine thought, when they phrase things so clinically, they somehow manage to make everything sound dirty.

"What kind of thing?" Elaine asked. "If you ask me questions, I suppose I can try to answer them." She could not hide the petulance in her voice, nor did she even try to do so. She felt tired and ill-used. She was the real victim of the situation, she thought, yet no one seemed concerned about what she might be suffering.

"Fine," the psychiatrist said encouragingly. "Well, now, would you describe your husband as impotent?"

It was the first time Elaine had openly admitted the truth, even to herself. She nodded.

"Was he always impotent?"

"Nearly always," she said in a low voice. "We slept… I mean, we had sexual relations only a few times during the whole of our marriage."

"How long have you and your husband been married?"

"Just over a year."

"Is it possible for you to tell me what you thought was your husband's difficulty? In other words, on the occasions when you did engage in sexual activity, can you pinpoint the factor that made it possible for your husband to do so?"

Elaine felt herself growing almost hysterical under the questioning. She wanted to giggle and say, "That's a fancy way of asking me how Warren managed to get an erection," but she suppressed the desire. Already stripped of her dignity, she struggled determinedly to retain a few shreds of composure.

Elaine knew what she must tell the psychiatrist, but some innate reticence held her back momentarily. Reticence… and pride. From the beginning, she'd had to battle for her marriage to Warren. It had begun with her parents' opposition. Elaine had won, as she had known all along that she would, but from the first she had found herself forced into a stubbornly defensive position where her husband, was concerned. After the wedding, she had hidden her disillusionment out of false, nineteen-year-old pride. And, having successfully hidden her humiliation for so long, she could hardly bear having it uncovered and pried apart then.

"Where did you and your husband meet?" prompted the psychiatrist, noticing Elaine's withdrawal and trying to ease her out of it.

"At a friend's house in Vermont. I'd gone for a skiing weekend and Warren was there, too. We fell in love right away. It sounds strange to say it but, at the time, we seemed so right for each other."

"How long was it before you married?"

"A year. I was only eighteen when I first met him. My parents were upset about the whole thing. I'm their only child and… they didn't want me to leave college – all the usual stuff. But I got my way in the end, and we were married. My mother and dad gave us a house as a wedding present."

There was a pause. At that moment, the telephone shrilled on the desk and the psychiatrist murmured, "Excuse me," as he reached to answer it. Elaine sat and wondered how she could find the right words to explain her marriage. It would be best to start at the beginning, she supposed. With the wedding night… Well, first she'd have to tell the psychiatrist about Warren's fetish for physical fitness, about his muscle-making routines, his frequent workouts at the gym. He had believed in body-building exercises… morning and night.

That was how she had come to spend part of her wedding night standing naked, lifting bar bells in front of an open window. Warren wanted her to exercise with him. Afterwards, aching and exhausted, Elaine had stretched out on the huge bed in the hotel's luxurious honeymoon suite. He had moved quickly to the bed where he had lain on top of her, without preliminary love-making of any kind. He just lay there, kissing her face lightly with closed lips and balancing his body on hers as if he were performing yet another muscle-control exercise.

Finally, he had rolled over onto the sheet saying, "You must be tired, honey. I won't bother you tonight." After that, he'd fallen asleep almost immediately. Tired though she was, Elaine could not ignore her growing uneasiness. She had lain awake for hours, staring into the dark. It had been the first of many such vigils.

During their courtship, Elaine had admired Warren's old-fashioned approach to sex. She was not a virgin, but after the crude behavior of some of the college men she had known, his apparent chivalry had appealed to her. But in the still darkness of her wedding night, she wondered if possibly she had not idealized the situation. Instinct told her that something was wrong. Her own limited sexual experiences confirmed the thought. So did the days that followed.

During their honeymoon, she found out that there was only one method by which he was able to achieve an erection. And, as with all impotent men, the method involved a lengthy routine. The routine was more like an obscure tribal ritual, with Elaine, naked, carrying out a series of complicated and exhausting physical exercises, while her husband barked out staccato commands, urging her on to greater and greater effort until she all but collapsed.

She felt herself grow hot with resentment as she remembered the scenes that had taken place between herself and her husband. The oddly excited look on his face as he stood watching her frantic movements while she tried to follow the ever-increasing tempo of his commands, came vividly to her mind; so did the shame she had felt at her own unwitting response to the sight of her husband's stiffening organ.

With a distressed moan, the ashamed young wife buried her face in her hands. By the time the psychiatrist completed his phone call, she was sobbing. It was a little while before she was calm enough to speak clearly. Once the interview was over, Elaine felt drained of all energy. But she had enough strength left to accept the fact that her marriage was finished. The sham was over! There was nothing left to pretend about anymore.

For more than a year, she had stubbornly tried to keep up a facade of being happily married. She'd behaved instinctively, protecting both herself and her husband. It had taken the psychiatrist less than an hour to destroy that facade in a way that made it impossible to piece together again.

Strangely, it had been Warren, himself, who had finally confirmed the destruction. Once, in the beginning he had begged her never to leave him, had asked her with tears in his eyes to bear with him and remain his wife. But after the arrest a different Warren faced Elaine, a grim-faced and monosyllabic man who only spoke to tell her, in halting phrases that everything was her fault, that if it had not been for her, he would not be in such a predicament. Fortunately, he was led back to his cell before she started to scream.

For a time, Elaine had returned to her parents' home in Baltimore. She decided… and her parents agreed… that divorce was the only possible solution. The young blonde had been twenty when her husband had been arrested; her twenty-first birthday took place a week after her divorce became final.

But the divorce was not enough. It provided no escape from those who knew what had happened and whose knowledge was a constant humiliation. She felt continually sullied by the publicity Warren's case had received. He had received a light sentence; and what had happened between the two of them was a secret she could have borne… forever, if need be. His public disgrace was another matter.

It was her father who had suggested a trip. His suggestion came on a day when Elaine had imagined, during a downtown shopping trip, that she had seen Warren twice. She had seized upon her father's words gratefully.

"It would be nice if one of your girlfriends could go with you," Elaine's mother added. "Liz, perhaps, or Marcia?"

Over my dead body, Elaine thought silently. Aloud, she said, "It's a wonderful idea, I'd love it. But I'd prefer to go alone. I need to be alone for a while." She knew that her parents would never be able to refuse her appeal.

Two days later, the troubled young girl boarded the jet for San Francisco…