"Yes?" Kelly queried.
"Naw. It's no good." Tom had almost given up when his eye chanced to light on a small discreet advertisement that began: Married couple seeks other couple for fun and games. Wife a rare beauty, former chorus girl, husband well educated.
Tom stopped, suddenly excited. A beautiful chorus girl? A dumb and beautiful blonde, maybe? What more could he ask? What more?
He read on. Husband well educated… then looked questioningly at his wife.
"Educated?" she asked. "Sounds good."
"Oh, yeah!" Husband successful businessman. If you think you can match us, then let's meet. Tom scratched his head, still not certain. "What do you think, honey?"
She shrugged. "What have we to lose?" she asked.
Tom thought that one over. "Nothing," he said at last. "We don't have anything to lose, do we?"
"No, we don't."
Tom put the magazine down. "Shall we get in touch with them then? Shall we answer the ad?"
"Why not?"
"No reason." He stared at the magazine again. At last he said, "Do you want me to do it?"
"Yes. Yes, I do. Is there a box number or something? An address? A telephone?"
"There's a telephone."
"Let's call them then."
Tom looked at his watch. "It's a little bit early," he said. "Can you wait a while?" "I guess so."
Tom stared at his wife again. Christ, she was lovely. And maybe… just maybe… this would all work out. They sat staring at one another again, neither saying anything, each absorbed in his own thoughts.
Time ticked away slowly, marked by the rhythmic sighing of the clock over the kitchen stove. And then at last the sighing seemed to stop, as if it were a signal, and Tom got up and went to the telephone.
He dialed the number, waited for the answer wondering what on earth he would say when he finally reached the guy who had inserted the advertisement. Kelly realized his uneasiness and went out into the other room, leaving him alone with the telephone to negotiate the transaction, whatever that would be.
A little while later he found her sitting on the couch. She looked up expectantly. "Well?" she asked.
"He sounds like a great guy," Tom said.
"Will we meet him? Him and his wife?"
"Sure." "When?"
"It's all arranged," Tom said with a touch of pride. "He's asked us out to dinner, to meet him and his better half. He laughed at his stale joke, and Kelly humored him by smiling.
"Where?" she asked.
"At Pierre's," Tom said.
"Pierre's!" Kelly sucked in her breath. "Oh, Tom… I've never even been there."
"Well, you're going there now, honey. You're going to the fanciest restaurant around."
"When?" Kelly asked.
"Wednesday night," Tom said, smiling.
CHAPTER THREE
Kelly Brown brushed her hair until it gleamed like molten gold streaked by sunlight, and then slipped into the outrageously expensive little dress she had bought for the occasion. It was stark and simple, the sort of thing that never turned her husband on, but she was sure that John Whitmore would go for it, and even Tom, she knew, would appreciate what the pure uncluttered lines did for her figure, showing off every voluptuous curve and making her look like a million dollars.
She decided not to tell Tom what she'd paid for it, though… he would probably explode and tell her that he only wanted her to look like a million dollars, not to spend it. She stared at herself in the mirror as she applied a light touch of make-up, then ran her finger across the row of perfume bottles on the dressing table, trying to decide between Channel No. 5 or Joy. She decided on the latter, remembering that it was advertised as the world's most expensive perfume. If she was going to look like a million dollars, she might as well smell like it, too. Kelly got up at last, after pinning the small diamond clip that had belonged to her grandmother on her shoulder, and then went downstairs to find Tom.
He was waiting for her in the living room and had been for a good twenty minutes. He gave an admiring whistle as he glanced at her and his eyes roved lecherously up and down as she walked gracefully across the room, the firm little mounds of her ass-cheeks undulating seductively beneath the expensive fabric of the dress.
When she turned around, he stared crudely at her soft full breasts outlined beneath the tight bodice. Christ! His wife had class, he had to admit that. Even in what she was wearing, which wasn't his cup of tea at all, he had to admit that she had class. He sprawled in his chair, an unfinished can of beer in his hand until Kelly asked, "Ready?"
"Let me finish this," he said, nodding at the beer. "Then we can
go."
He gulped it down while Kelly stared at him. She wished that he'd chosen something a little more conservative than what he was wearing, a bright blue-and-brown checked jacket, a green striped shirt and a wide, flowered tie. He would certainly be out of place at a swank restaurant like Pierre's. She wished he'd worn a plain dark suit, the kind she was sure Mr. Whitmore would wear, and then she shrugged. She and Tom were so different, so very different. But then, wasn't that just the reason they had answered that advertisement, just the reason they had made this appointment with the other couple? Of course it was, and she was suddenly impatient to meet the two.
Kelly glanced at the tiny gold watch on her slim wrist. "We'd better leave now, Tom," she said. "John and Penny are probably waiting for us already."
Tom shrugged. "So?" he asked.
"It's not very polite to be late, especially when it's our first meeting with the Whitmores," Kelly said. "Come on, darling."
A surge of anger welled up in the man. Damn it all! Why did his wife have to rub in all the time the fact of her own good breeding, and by implication, his own lack of it.
With a little gesture of annoyance he silenced her. He was impatient to meet this other couple, too, but he wasn't going to let Kelly have her way. "They can wait," he said. "I'm going to have another beer." He got up and went into the kitchen and got one from the refrigerator, plucked at the metal tab and tore it open. And then he gulped it noisily.
He could hear his wife pacing nervously back and forth in the other room. "Let her wait, too," he muttered, but at last he finished the drink, then wiped his hot mouth on the back of his hand. "Okay," he called. "You can cool it, Kelly. I'm ready, too."
He walked into the living room and through it, while Kelly followed contritely. She was sorry she'd offended him again, and it depressed her. But there was a tide of excitement rising in her body nevertheless and her heart beat fast as she climbed into the car.
They drove quickly to the restaurant, Tom maneuvering with skill through the heavy traffic, running the stop lights much to Kelly's consternation. They found a slot in the parking lot behind the restaurant, and Tom eased the car into it, cutting the motor and pocketing his keys. He straightened his tie as he got out, brushing off his jacket. "Well," he said, "here goes."
He strode ahead of Kelly who hurried quickly after him, her high heels beating out an eerie tattoo on the asphalt top. She caught up with him at the door and waited for him to open it for her, ushering her in. But he
hung back and she opened it herself, blushing a little at her husband's lack of manners.
They walked in and looked around, peering through the semi-darkness of the dimly-lit room. In spite of it, the white damask of the tablecloths beyond gleamed like stars in the firmament, the silver sparkled like waves washing against the shore.
Kelly waited for Tom to speak to the head-waiter, who bowed obsequiously in front of her, giving him a cold glance. When he said nothing, she asked for Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore. "We were to meet them here," she explained. "Have they arrived yet?"
The head-waiter glanced again at Tom, obviously undecided as to whether or not to ask him to leave. But when he realized that he really was with Kelly, he decided to let him in. "Yes," he said, still eyeing Tom suspiciously. "They're waiting for you." With a backward glance at Tom that annoyed and embarrassed Kelly, he led the way to a table in the corner.