TED MARK
The Nude Wore Bleak
Сhapter One
"There once was an innocent maid
Stripped naked, unafraid,
Ne'er dreaming a guest
Her virtue would wrest
And vanish like a shade."
It was a song the kids used to sing back in high school. Over the years Llona supposed she must have committed to memory some twenty or thirty verses of it, each more risque than the last. Why this particular verse should drift through her mind just now, she had no idea. Later, though, when she recalled how she'd hummed it to herself so casually, Llona would wonder if it mightn't have been some manifestation of second sight. It really was eerie, considering what happened so soon after the song flitted across her consciousness.
But now, as she hummed, before it happened, there were no other portents to arouse her caution. Perhaps if she had known that Archer was there, where she certainly had no reason to expect him to be, where he certainly had no business being… However, Llona had no way of knowing that. She really had no way of knowing of Archer's existence at all since they'd never met-until it happened. And even afterward, although in one way Llona had gotten t© know him better than she'd ever gotten to known any other man in her nineteen years of life, Archer was to remain a great mystery to her.
This wasn't too surprising, since Archer was frequently a mystery to himself. Quite often he was befuddled by the-he supposed-subconscious motivations which seemed inevitably to result in an action, or sequence of actions, landing him in untenable situations. His present predicament was a good case in point.
He was squatting inside a large, walk-in bedroom clothing closet with the door closed. In one hand he held a bottle of Scotch. Half the quart was in the bottle; the other half was in Archer. His eyes were at keyhole level. His vision was filled with a luscious, young, completely nude female who was preening herself before a mirror in the bedroom beyond.
Yet Archer couldn't keep his mind on the delectable keyhole view. He was too busy worrying what might happen if she discovered his presence. She'd scream, he supposed. Loud and long. People would come. The police would be called. There would be a scandal. He'd be carted off to jail. His family would never speak to him again. His career would be ruined. He'd be a convicted sex offender and the label of "pervert" would follow him for the rest of his life. And all because…
And all because his mother had insisted that he attend the wedding of his cousin Mortimer. "It's the least you can do for the family," she had told him firmly.
"What did the family ever do for me?"
"That's not the point. How could I ever explain your not showing up at the wedding of my own sister's only son?"
"Easy. Just say that Mortimer makes me sick to my stomach-which he does."
"How can you talk like that about your closest cousin?"
"Familiarity breeds nausea," Archer suggested.
"I just don't understand it. You two were so close when you were little boys."
"Only because Mortimer used to tag after me wherever I went. And he only did that so he could run home and tattle if I did anything he thought might get me into trouble."
"He was only concerned for your welfare, I'm sure. And Mortimer was always such an angel. He still is, for that matter."
"Yeah. I know. That's why he makes me sick to my stomach."
"You might learn from him. When it comes to his mother, he's the most devoted son I know."
"He sure is. To the point of incest!"
"Oh! That's an awful thing to say." His mother clutched at an area just under her left breast.
Archer well knew why she grabbed that particular spot. He was one of the few people who knew of the device hidden there. Years of experience in coping with his mother had confirmed that knowledge. What her fingers really clutched when they clutched there in moments of stress was the handle to a faucet. And the clutching movement was always a preliminary to the faucet being turned on to release slow tears from her careworn eyes. Archer stayed them quickly. "All right! I'll go!" He surrendered before she could loose the full flood of her watery assault at him.
"You'll be at the church in Birchville by eleven?" She pinned him down.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there."
"And you'll come to the reception at the home of the bride after the ceremony?"
"Do I have to?"
"My sister's only son and you can ask a ques-"
"All right! All right! I'll come to the reception, too." Having given in completely, Archer began edging his way out of the room.
"Remember. Eleven o'clock at the church!" his mother had yelled after him, sealing her victory.
"Yeah. Okay. Eleven goddamn o'clock!"
Archer had really meant to make it by eleven, too. He'd genuinely intended to go along with his mother's wishes. He'd had absolutely no intention of reneging. But-
But-
"I think I might be pregnant," the girl beside him in bed had greeted him when he opened his eyes that morning.
Archer had quickly closed his eyes again. There was a long silence.
"What would you like for breakfast?" the girl asked finally.
"Hemlock."
"Now, don't be like that, Archer. There's no point in sulking. Come on, now, aren't you going to get up? It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping outside the window…"
"Don't look now, but somebody just exploded an H-bomb."
"You're silly. These things happen all the time. There's nothing to get upset about." She hopped out of bed and stretched in front of the window. "Good morning, world," she said cheerily.
"Good night!" Archer turned over on his stomach and buried his head in the pillow.
"Archer! Wake up! We have to make plans."
Unwillingly Archer rolled over on his back, re-opened his eyes, and looked at her. "What kind of plans?"
"About the wedding."
"Jeez! You're right. I'm supposed to be at the church in Birchville by eleven o'clock. What time is it?"
"A little past nine. But aren't you in too much of a rush? I mean, I know we have to hurry. We'll have to have the wedding before I begin to show. Still, I appreciate it, darling, but it doesn't have to be that fast."
"What are you talking about?" Archer was bewildered.
"Why, our wedding, of course. What are you talking about?"
"My cousin Mortimer's wedding. It's this morning. I promised my mother I'd be there."
"Your mother? Oh, I hope I'm going to meet her very soon. Say, do you think I might come with you today? It would be a good opportunity for your mother and me to get to know each other."
"Sorry." Archer thought fast. "It's strictly a family affair."
"Oh. Well then, some other time, I guess. Still, I do think we should meet before the wedding."
"There isn't time."
"I don't mean your cousin's wedding, silly. I mean our wedding."
"Our wedding?"
"Of course." She smiled at him.
"Oh." Archer considered it. "You think we should get married, huh?"
"Well, after all, if I'm pregnant…"
"But isn't that a kind of drastic cure?"
"What do you mean?" The smile slowly vanished from her lips. "Archer!" she demanded. "Don't you want to marry me?"
"Well, now that you mention it…"
"Archer!"
"What I mean is that as long as you brought the subject up…"
"Archer!"
"It's a pretty big step and I think we should consider it very-"
"Archer!" "That's my name," Archer admitted.
"Archer!" She clutched the area just under her left breast. Immediately two large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks.
"I'll be damned!" Archer exclaimed.
"W-What?"
"You've got one, too!"
"One what?"
"A faucet in your chest. I thought only my mother- Tell me, do all women have them?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. And what's more, I don't care. All I care about right now is our wedding!"