“I would have been in trouble anyway.”
“But I'm the one that made it stick. As soon as I get over the shock of this, I’ll go to the police and straighten it out. I’ll tell them I was mistaken, that I won’t testify. I’m pretty sure they’ll drop the charges then.”
Archer was more than grateful. He was genuinely touched. Considering the tragedy that had fallen on her, it was a testimonial to her character and to her feelings about him that she should be concerned with his welfare at this moment. On impulse he leaned over to kiss her to show his feelings.
He’d really meant the kiss to convey no more than tender appreciation. Her response took him by surprise. Her soapy arms locked around his neck and her tongue was feverish with raw sex hunger. Death affects some people that way; it fills them with the most basic life-urge, urge to sex.
Bent over the tub, Archer was off-balance. She damn near pulled him into the water, clothes and all. To keep from toppling he had to pull back and break the kiss.
But Shirley didn’t let go of him. Without a word, without a sign of shame or regret, she tore at his clothes, at the buttons of his shirt, the zipper of his pants, even the laces of his shoes. And when he was stripped, she pulled him into the soapy water with her with a splash that reached the ceiling.
She was slippery as an eel, an electric eel, quivering with the force of her lust. Her naked legs shot up out of the water and tried to lock around his neck, slipping and sliding soapily. Her hands grabbed his manhood—it was ready and hotter than the water in which it was immersed--and guided it between her raised buttocks to the oscillating mouth of her womanhood. Its tip bumped against her straining clitoris and she moaned aloud.
Beyond conscious design now, both of them thrashed about wildly in the water. Soap bubbles flew all over the bathroom. Their naked bodies rose and were submerged and rose and were submerged again. He licked the soap from her erect, red nipples, dug his nails into her vibrating buttocks, lunged again and again to the core of her. She bit into the muscles of his shoulder and held on like a bulldog. She slapped her soapy bottom against him with the force of Vesuvian lava reaching the peak of its eruption. Her hands clawed at his genital sack, trying to force it to be enveloped along with his penis. Finally they both slid under the water and came up gasping, their climax attained.
“Wow!” Archer said. It was the only thing to say.
“I love you,” Shirley said after a long silence, a note of surprise in her voice.
“I love you.” Archer was even more surprised to find that he really meant it.
The Fickle Finger, firmly embedded and right on target, was wriggling toward the fulfillment of its function now …
“What are we going to do?” Shirley Simpell asked, her soapy fingers playing idly in Archer’s submerged groin.
“I love you. I want to marry you.”
“What about your wife?” Shirley clutched his mouth to her sudsy breast.
“I’ll ask her for a divorce.” Archer grimaced as he tasted soapsuds along with the nipple of Shirley’s breast.
"When?"
“Right away. Tonight. I promised her I’d be home for dinner tonight. I’ll go home and tell her I want a divorce. I’ll tell her there’s somebody else I'm in love with and want to marry.”
Shirley thought a moment as their bodies slipped and slid against each other in the tub. A divorce wasn’t really necessary. Llona was going to die. Shirley knew that. At the moment she didn’t bother remembering how she knew it. She was concerned with whether, given this new intimacy between them, she should tell Archer. She decided against it. She’d seen how easily his sympathies were aroused, how sensitive he was. She didn’t want him feeling so sorry for Llona that it would delay their plans. Besides, if Llona had wanted him to know, she would have told him herself.
“I’ll ask her for a divorce,” Archer said, pinning her to the bottom of the tub again and forcing her slippery thighs apart. “I’ll tell her right out that I want to marry you!”
The Fickle Finger of Fate withdrew, its anal mischief completed!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Queen Elizabeth Second of England had no way of knowing the Beatles were smoking pot in the Buckingham Palace john just before the ceremonies during which she would confer honors upon them. The Queen certainly couldn’t have figured that the day would come when Beatle John Lennon would make this fact public knowledge. The Queen hadn’t reckoned with the fact that sometimes people make other plans besides those which have been made for them.
That afternoon Llona was in a similar position to the Queen. She was, albeit secretly, all set to confer the honor upon Archer of telling him of her intention to find him a second wife. She had no way of knowing that Archer, like the Beatles, was in a lavatory engaging in activities not fitting to the planned ceremonies.
When evening came, however, Llona couldn't help but recognize quite early that the situation was not unfolding according to the way she had connived. She was busy fussing around the kitchen when Archer came home. He seemed a little agitated and told her there was something he wanted to talk to her about. But she brushed him off, telling him she was too busy fixing dinner to talk then, and he grimaced and left the kitchen to go upstairs to change. He seemed miffed. That in itself was odd; since Archer was usually quite reasonable about such things.
“What’s with you tonight?” she demanded later. “You’re downright boorish.”
“I’m sorry. I have something on my mind. I have to talk to you, Llona.”
He chose that moment to tell her bluntly that he wanted a divorce. Llona looked at him with her mouth open. She hadn’t figured on this. She was stunned.
“But why?” Llona found her voice.
“I’m in love with somebody else.”
“You mean there’s somebody else you want to marry?”
Llona sat down in a living-room chair.
“That's right.”
“Who?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Don’t I have a right to know?” Llona asked him.
“I guess so. Well-—” Archer took a deep breath. “—it’s Shirley Simpell.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes.”
“Shirley Simpelll” LIona’s worst fears for him were coming true. “But she’s all wrong for you, Archer!”
“Why do you say that?”
“Her politics, for one thing.”
“That’ll work itself out. It’s probably the least important aspect of a relationship between a man and a woman.”
“Her personality then. That simpering childishness. It’ll drive you crazy!” Llona honestly believed it would.
“I think Shirley’s personality is very cute,” Archer said stiffly. “It’s one of the things that most attracts me to her.”
“She isn't built as well as I am,” Llona said weakly. “She isn’t as pretty.”
“A man’s tastes change. To me she’s beautiful.”
“What about her husband?” Llona remembered. “Is she going to ask him for a divorce too?”
“He’s dead. She just got a telegram saying he'd been killed this morning.”
“She certainly didn’t waste any time!” Llona flared up.
“There’s no point in getting angry, Llona. And there’s no point in making snide remarks either. You can make things harder, but you can’t stop me. I want a divorce and that’s all there is to it. I’ll give you a chance to adjust to the idea. I know this must be a shock to you. Sleep on it. We can talk about the details tomorrow.”
But Llona didn’t sleep on it. On the contrary, she stayed very much awake with it. Her mind went over the ironies like a tongue with a sore tooth.
She thought about how she had started out wanting to find a wife for Archer who would look after him properly after she was gone. She remembered how she’d seen him making love to Shirley on the golf course through her binoculars, and how deep her desire for vengeance had been. She’d wanted to tie him up to a woman who would make his life a living hell. And then she’d relented. She’d felt sorry for him and gone back to her original plan. Now here he was intending to share his life with Shirley, one woman Llona was sure really would make his life a living hell.