The Anchor Bay Restaurant sits out near the end of the Santa Barbara wharf, most of it hangs out like an aircraft carrier’s forward deck over the water. The view is of the Yacht Club and the opening to the breakwater. If the Table Captain thinks you look important enough and you’re prepared to wait a bit after tipping, you get a window table where you can watch the lights dancing across the water, the sun setting behind the blue-gray shrouded Channel Islands, and at certain times of the year… the moon rising like a ripe pumpkin over the Santa Ynez mountains.
Friday night is the worst evening to get reservations; Saturdays are almost as bad. To walk in on one of these nights with no reservations at all is tantamount to dropping in unexpectedly for a chat, tea and tiffin with the Pope.
Shelton and Sylvia arrived without reservations. One look at Tod’s expensive suit and Sylvia’s obviously original Pucci silk crepe mini, and the Table Captain put a small “w” in front of Shelton’s name. A ten dollar bill surreptitiously pressed into his hand resulted in a large black asterisk following the name… this denoting a big spender. They were seated within three minutes… at a table that had been set only moments before for a party of six who had been waiting for almost two hours in the bar and were rapidly reaching a state of non compos mentis.
The Tanqueray arrived in a frosted glass. The waiter asked, “Will there be anything else at the moment, sir?”
“Thank you, no.”
Then Tod was left alone with Sylvia, with only the soft hum of other conversations in the background. She looked very female, very beautiful, he thought and then told her so. She smiled softly in answer. Her hair looked like a golden waterfall frozen in mid-flight. Her face seemed softer, her lips fuller, her eyes a deeper haze. There was just the faintest suggestion of color high on each of her lovely cheekbones. That, he was pretty sure, had come from his beard stubble during their second round of lovemaking after Sylvia had awakened. Her inner thighs would be the same color… for the same reason.
Sylvia, watching the candlelight dance on his face, thought he was the most handsome man she had ever known. She told him so; he grinned in reply. She really couldn’t get over how contented she was, how very secure and very complete she felt around him. She lifted her glass in a toast, “What shall we drink to?”
Tod pursed his lips, then shrugged his shoulders, “To drinking?”
“No, silly. To… to… “she closed her eyes, unable to force herself to say it. She wanted to say, “To us!” but that would sound possessive.
Tod saved her. “To the rest of the weekend. May it be as pleasurable as its beginning.”
She nodded, touched his glass, then drank. She sat back in her chair, completely relaxed, and let the sensations wash over her. Every single pore of her body was alive and singing. God, she felt so alive! She could spend the rest of her life just sitting here, feeling this way. How much of it was due to sex and how much of it due to being with Shelton, she couldn’t say. She was pretty sure, though, that they were inseparable. She had never come close to feeling this content with Bruce. Not once. Never!
“Penny?” Tod asked.
“What?”
“A penny for your thoughts,” he said. “You looked so bloody serious.”
“If I told you, I’d embarrass you… and myself”
“Try me and see.”
She paused then said, “All right. Light me a cigarette, buy me another drink, and I’ll tell you my life’s story. A little sad piano music, if you please, Hoagy.” She grinned impishly at her own joke.
She gazed toward the window, studying her reflection in the glass. She pointed at her image, “See that woman. I sometimes think that is the real me… something seen dimly, infrequently.” She squinted and blew smoke at the reflection. “Sometimes I don’t see her for months. Sometimes she won’t go away, like now. Look at her, staring at me. She’s accusing me.” “Oh? Have you done something you shouldn’t have?”
Sylvia ground out her half-smoked cigarette. “No, it’s the other way around. I haven’t done a lot of things that I should have. When I was very, very young… say about four, I knew what I wanted to do; I wanted to be a doctor and help people. Then my father he and I were very close… died when I was six, and the doctors couldn’t help him. I hated doctors then. When I was in junior high school, I was sure I would be a famous movie actress; that lasted until I was about fourteen when I decided I would rather become an Olympic swimmer. That lasted about four days; the coach took one look at my form and said no dice. Then I thought I’d be a famous writer or artist. No talent. When I got out of school, I thought about joining the Peace Corps or something like that. But I knew I just couldn’t spend time in some dirty-floored hovel trying to make someone do something they really didn’t want to do… or holding someone else’s sick child. I was in my third year at Scripps College and had changed my major six times in the three years when I suddenly realized I really didn’t give a damn about school either. I came back home. Mother took me with her on a round the world tour on the Caronia, she hoped I would meet some nice eligible male who had acceptable social qualifications.” She snorted and there was a touch of bitterness in her voice. “We’re very social and very rich, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” Shelton said softly.
“Oh my, yes.” She mimicked the words, “Terribly rich!” Then she became serious again. “My maiden name was Mayfair.”
Tod cocked one eyebrow and was impressed in spite of himself “Stephen Mayfair? Mayfair Aircraft? Mayfair Boats?”
“The same. Daddy’s.” She fell silent as the waiter brought the second round of drinks. When he left she raised her glass again. This time she paused only a second before saying, “To us!”
Shelton nodded his approval and touched glasses with her.
“Where was I?” Sylvia asked then answered her own question.
“Oh, yes! Aboard the Caronia, eighty beautiful days, forty exotic ports, eighty romantic nights!!’ “ She knew her bitterness and sarcasm were showing, but she didn’t care. “I couldn’t get interested in any of the males; they bored me stiff Mother kept pushing me off on Bruce; she even had his table changed from the Second Officer’s to the Captain’s where we sat. He gave me the creeps. Mother nearly exploded when I told her he looked like the crooked banker in a Western movie.” She grinned as she saw Tod’s appreciative smile.
Sylvia held her glass up to the candle and inspected its contents, deliberatingly whether she should continue or not. She mentally shrugged and went on. “I… ah… began to think there was something wrong with me. There I was, twenty-one years old and still a virgin and not the least bit interested in any male I had ever met. Except one I met when I was fifteen. He was fifteen, too. And I would have given in to him if he’d known what to do. He didn’t. His name was Ron. He was tall and blond and skinny and was going to be a poet. He used to read poems to me that he’d written, and some of them were so sad and beautiful that I used to cry, you know.” She paused and stared out the window at a fishing boat plowing its way into the harbor. “I saw him again a couple of years ago. Already bald at thirty, working as assistant manager in a chain shoe store, married, five kids, no longer writing poetry… or anything.” She looked up, grimacing. “Jesus, this is getting depressing. Sure you want to hear the rest?”
“I’m interested,” Shelton said.
“Okay, then. Back to the old Caronia. I’m on board, you see. Mother is pushing Bruce, the blue plate special at me. Bruce is socially acceptable. He’s a nose talker Harvard and some precious private finishing school on the East Coast. He’s also fifteen years older than I. Divorced. He kept coming on like gangbusters. I couldn’t see him or the panting Third Officer or the deck boy who looked as if I were a hot fudge sundae and he hadn’t eaten for a month. So… ah… well, I started thinking there must be something horribly wrong with me. That maybe I was a lesbian. There was another girl on board a Swede who definitely was a lesbian. I mean, she had made no bones about that to me. She just up and told me that she was les and wanted to know if I was straight or gay, and one way or the other would I be interested in letting her make love to me. Finally, I think it happened between Gibraltar and Egypt, one night I went with her to her cabin and let her do what she wanted. I felt I had to know. She did everything to me… and nothing for me. After it was all over, and I hadn’t reacted. I felt dirty and sick. When I got on deck, I saw Bruce. He made his usual proposition; I said why not.’ He… he… laid' me the same evening. It hurt a little, not much. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. He told me that he had used protection,' but he lied. He took away my hymen and left in its place a baby. It wasn’t until later that I realized the son of a bitch had done it on purpose.”
Shelton watched as she fumbled angrily for a cigarette; he didn’t have a chance to light it… the hovering waiter beat him to it.
Sylvia exhaled a boiling cloud of smoke. “We got… we had to get married. Mother was thrilled, in spite of the circumstances. Two days after we started our honeymoon, I lost the baby. You know… it was the first real thing I had wanted in a long time; I wanted to be a mother. And even that was denied me. Since then, Bruce has repeatedly stated that he doesn’t want a child.” She sighed. “He even had his tubes or something tied off so he couldn’t.”
She was silent for so long a time that Shelton thought she had decided to stop talking, but then she began again. “We had parties, got our pictures in the society pages of the newspaper, attended all the socially proper things like polo at Pebble Beach, the Regatta, and so on. I joined all the proper society matron organizations, the Junior League, the Hospital Auxiliary, the Symphony Guild.” She looked directly at him, and her eyes mirrored her misery. “I was bored to death with it all. I started dying little by little. There was a thick shell of indifference growing around me, shutting off the fresh air and sunshine. By the time I was thirty years old, that shell seemed impenetrable to me. I… I even tried… to kill myself once last year.” She smiled sadly. “I failed at that, too. Failed so
badly that not even Bruce knew I had tried. Not that he would have given a damn one way or the other, except for the bad publicity.” She paused, cocked her head to one side and asked, “May I have another drink?”
Shelton used his forefinger to indicate he wanted the drink order repeated, and the waiter… standing like a silent sentinel just out of earshot… nodded his understanding… Sylvia continued to stare at Tod. “You know something?” “What?”
“I’m glad I didn’t commit suicide.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, too.” He meant it.
“That thick old shell of indifference I was telling you about you broke through it as though it wasn’t there at all. You just shattered it. Crash! Tinkle… tinkle… tinkle. It was an egg, and out came the ugly duckling.”
“No… out came the swan. Long slender neck, graceful, queenly… and I’ve got good tits, too.” She giggled then put her hand quickly to her mouth. “Oops. Say… are you trying to get me drunk? I haven’t had anything to eat all day.” Her eyes narrowed wickedly, and she grinned as she bit her lower lip, “… at least nothing to eat in the food department.”
Shelton’s delighted laughter boomed out. “Sylvia, my pet… you are beginning to talk shall we say dirty.' Time to get some food into you… Anything special you want?”
“I’ll have what you have.”
“Right. Well, after our little exercise this afternoon, maybe we’d better have some red meat.” He scanned the huge menu. “How about a Chateaubriand for the two of us?”
“Great,” she answered enthusiastically.
“How do you likes your meat?”
“How do you like yours?”
“Charred and blood rare,” Tod said.
“Charred and blood rare is fine with me. I always feel barbarian when I eat raw meat.” She growled playfully and raised her eyebrows suggestively. Then her face collapsed. “No… that’s a lie. I’ve never felt anything. Before you…” She forced a smile. “Anyway, hell, I’m hungry!”… and let’s try a bottle of number twenty four, the pinot noir,” Tod said, finishing his instructions to the Captain who had come over personally to take their order.
Moments later, they both were watching silently as the Captain made a full-scale production out of the Caesar salad. By the time he had finished and handed the salad to the waiter for serving, Sylvia and Tod were ravenous.
Still later, they watched appreciatively as the mammoth Chateaubriand together with its garnish of ten fresh vegetables and mushrooms was presented to them. They dawdled pleasurably over dinner and lingered even longer over coffee and brandy. It was with considerable surprise then that both of them suddenly realized the dining room had emptied of everyone except one or two busboys and their waiter.
Tod glanced down at his watch. “Good God! It’s midnight.”
“I can’t believe it,” Sylvia said, looking at her own wrist watch for confirmation.
Tod signaled for the bill, and when it arrived he peeled off three twenties. The waiter’s eyes widened at the size of the tip; he was practically fawning over them as he pulled out Sylvia’s chair for her.
“An after dinner drink in the bar?” Tod asked.
“That would be nice,” Sylvia replied.
They made their way to the cocktail lounge. In the corner, several people were crowded around a piano bar. Most of the booths were empty, however. Sylvia and Tod slid into one against the far wall.
They sat close together, their legs and thighs pressed together.
When their drinks had been served, Tod asked, “Are you still planning to go ahead with your… plan?”
“Of course,” she replied, almost indignantly. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“Just asking.”
“As I told you earlier this evening, I’ve never wanted very much out of life. But I do want to pay Bruce Akron back for everything he’s done and hasn’t done… to me. I hate him. Oh, God! How I hate him. I want revenge. I’m going to get revenge. Whatever the cost.”
“All right. I just wanted to make sure you still felt the same way.” He nodded his head toward the piano bar. “There’s your quarry.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Hunts. She’s the little brunette with the busy hands in the tight purple sheath; he’s the cigar-smoker in the lime-colored blazer. The couple they’re playing kneesies with at the moment are the ones who were on deck earlier tonight before they switched partners.”
Sylvia stared at the men. She felt an immediate sense of dismay and disappointment. Ed Hunt was pot-bellied; if his laughter was any indication, he was coarse as well. The other man was almost a non-entity. The thought of letting those men make love to her was repulsive. She crinkled up her nose, “Yeecckk.”
Shelton smiled. “The best we could do under such short notice. You should have seen the members of the other two clubs.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the two women, but just look at those two men.”
Tod agreed with her evaluation. The two females were extremely well-built, both looked like well-oiled high-powered sex machines.
“What about the other two couples in this group?”
Tod shrugged. “A little better. One of the men looks like a professional football player. Big, big man. The other male is shorter than I am. He looks like Jack Lemmon, the actor.”
“That’s something anyway.”
Sylvia continued to watch then she nudged Tod, “Here’s your chance for a really close look at her; she’s coming this way.”
Liz Hunt passed their table, and her hungry glance locked on Shelton’s face and shoulders. Her expression was unfathomable, but she gave off a powerful aura of sensuality that clung to the air even after she had disappeared.
Sylvia stood. “She’s going to the powder room. I think I’ll try to strike up an acquaintance.”
Shelton ordered another drink for himself and had just lit a cigarette four minutes later when Sylvia said rather loudly, “Darling, I want you to meet someone. Liz, this is my husband Tod. Tod, meet Mrs. Liz Hunt.”
Liz put out her hand, and Tod discovered she had an especially strong grip for a woman. “Mr. Shelton… Tod,” her voice purred. “I’m pleased to meet you. Your wife and I were just talking in the powder room. She says you two don’t know anyone in Santa Barbara. This isn’t a town to be alone in… Come on. I want you to meet Ed, my husband. And another couple, too.”
Tod forced himself to look uncertain. “I don’t know… Mrs. Hunt. I… we… don’t want to intrude.”
“Oh, nonsense! Come on.” She grabbed him by the arm, and Tod was all too aware of her breasts pushing purposely against his biceps. She led them to the piano bar. Ed Hunt, in the middle of a bawdy story, simply stopped talking when he saw Sylvia. His mouth stayed open, and his cigar slipped from his lips. He looked as if he had wanted to fall on his knees at that moment and bury his face between Sylvia’s thighs. Sylvia’s high color indicated she read the message loud and clear.
Liz held onto Tod’s arm all during the introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Reem… Sam and Sally… meet Mr. and Mrs. Shelton, Tod and Sylvia. And this… this here… is my husband… Ed.”
“You don’t have to sound so damned proud about it,” Ed Hunt snarled playfully, and then turned his undivided attention back to Sylvia. “My gawd! You are really something,” he said.
Tod, watching his expression, felt a twinge of jealousy and perhaps, anger. He knew if Sylvia were actually his wife, Hunt would get slugged for staring like that.
Sally’s eyes widened in appreciation as she looked at Tod. When she spoke, her voice was almost a growl. “You, sir, are a handsome devil. Where have you been hiding…?”
Her husband paid no attention. He was obviously mentally undressing Sylvia… and he liked what he saw.
Sylvia found herself separated from Tod. Ed Hunt had given her his stool at the piano bar. Now he stood alongside her, surreptitiously’, rubbing his pelvis against her nylon sheathed right leg. On her left, Sam Reem’s cock was stirring to life against her thigh. She could feel it growing through his trousers. She forced herself to think of revenge against Bruce when Hunt casually placed his ham-like hand on her upper thigh; his fingers twitched, and she felt his thick forefinger nudge her pubic area.
Guiltily, she glanced over toward Tod. The two women had flanked him, and even as Sylvia watched, Sally bent over the bar to get a cigarette. The scoop-neck of her dress gaped open and one full, rounded breast was visible. Tod grinned and made some remark and Sally said, “Naughty, naughty.” Liz Hunt laughed uproariously at it.
Sylvia became aware that Ed Hunt was actually trying to finger-fuck her right out here in the open. That’s when she took his hand away. She smiled in what she hoped was a seductive manner to show him she wasn’t too displeased. He guffawed. On her left, Sam’s erection was complete; he looked as if it were actually paining him.
Hunt began telling her a dirty joke about a customer in a Montana whorehouse who insisted on doing it on the windowsill during fifty degree below weather. Ed’s breath smelled like stale cigars and bad booze. She noted his teeth were stained from nicotine. “… All of a sudden, there he is, banging away into her and the window flies up. They fall out, still screwing away, and are frozen solid before they hit the ground. A few minutes later, this drunk is stumbling down the street, and he sees the frozen whore with the frozen guy frozen deep inside her. He goes up to the door and knocks loudly. When the madam comes to the door and asks, Yes? What is it?’ The drunk answers, Excuse me, ma’am… but your sign fell down.”
Sylvia laughed, but not as loudly as Hunt. Sam didn’t laugh at all, he merely stood there staring at her face to see how she was taking it.
Finally, he said, “Ed, why in hell don’t you show a little hospitality and invite the lady out to see your boat? It won’t hurt you to spring for a drink out there, either, you cheap son of a bitch.”
Hunt, right on cue; turned as if he hadn’t thought of this idea before. “Say… you’re right.” He grabbed Sylvia’s arm, and his fingers dug into the flesh. “Come on. We’ll run on out for a quickie… a drink, that is.”
Sylvia suddenly made up her mind. “Not tonight, thanks. May I have a rain check?”
“Why not tonight? Hell, it’s plenty early yet.” Hunt insisted and was echoed by Sam, “Sure… it’s not even one o’clock yet.”
“No.” It was final; her tone of voice was emphatic. She stood, and as she did her skirt slid up all the way to her bikini panties. She did it on purpose; it had the desired effect. “Jesus,” Hunt groaned, staring at the promise between her open thighs. Sam’s hand was quick, he made one swipe up her thigh and cupped her loins in the dimness. Sylvia merely smiled and took his hand away.
“Come on, darling,” she said loudly to Tod. There was protest from Liz and Sally, both of whom called simultaneously, “Don’t be a party pooper!”
Hunt apparently made a quick decision. “Look,” he said in his most winning way. “We’re going to have a little party tomorrow night on board my boat, the Jolly Rogue. Why don’t you and your husband come. There’ll be two other couples. I think you’ll like them.”
“I… I don’t know…” Sylvia said, trying to appear uncertain. She looked at Tod as though she wanted him to advise her, knowing he would play along with the reluctance act.
“Come on,” Liz said, rallying to her husband’s argument. “The party tomorrow night is going to be fun. You’ll love it. Everyone is lively. Lots of fun.”
“Yeh… “Sally amplified.
Tod asked, “You’re sure we won’t be intruding?”
Hunt clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms, “Hell, no. We’d love to have you. Come on out about… ah… six o’clock! I’ll have the launch here at the boat landing outside the restaurant. Don’t get dressed… very informal.”
Sally said, “No, don’t get dressed. No one dresses at one of Ed’s parties.” She giggled and was rewarded by Liz’s elbow savagely jabbed into her ribs in warning.
“Okay,” Sylvia said as if she were delighted with the whole affair, “six o’clock.”
Sylvia and Tod made a hasty exit from the piano bar. They were riding up in the Ambassador’s elevator before Tod asked the question that had been bothering him. “Why didn't you want to go out there tonight? We could have infiltrated right then and there. God knows old Ed baby was hot for it. And Sally and Liz were about to crawl up the wall, they wanted it so badly.”
Sylvia, who in spite of herself had become very aroused by the strange hands on her, grinned and said, “And Sam baby was a bit excited, too. He almost punched a hole in my leg by jabbing me with his… ah… erection.” She looked directly at him and then answered his question. “I didn’t want to go out there: tonight and spoil the evening we’ve already had. I didn’t want anything to ruin that. Silly of me, I guess. But I felt this might be our last chance to be together alone. I wanted you tonight. I want you to undress me slowly. And then…?”
“Yes?”
She gritted her teeth and purred, “And then? I want you to fuck me.” The door to the elevator whispered open, and the smile disappeared from her face as she was struck with a sudden thought. “That is… if you can. I mean… can you again… after doing it this afternoon and this evening?”
Tod laughed. “I can. I can and I will.”
He could and he did, again and again, and the smog-inflamed sun had already crept up over the Santa Ynez before they finally went to sleep lying on their sides, face to face… with Tod’s softened prick still buried deep inside her.