Archer squinted his eyes for perspective. It helped to separate the faces once again. Still, they remained as alien to him as before. He tried in vain to locate his mother, or Mortimer, or Mortimer's mother, or the bride-whom he'd never met but thought he might identify by her gown-in the crowd. He kept trying as he downed a third double Scotch, but still without success.
It was then that he overheard someone mention that the nuptial couple had gone upstairs to change into traveling clothes. Another remark, accompanied by a leer, passed on the rumor that bride and groom were changing their garb in separate rooms. The implied shyness of the newlyweds drew a general titter, but it didn't really penetrate Archer's consciousness. He was too busy trying to figure out how to save face with his mother and-for her sake-with the family for having missed the ceremony.
He decided that the best way was to locate them immediately and establish his presence. If he knew his aunt, she was probably upstairs shedding a few last tears over her son, the bridegroom. And if he knew his mother, she was probably up there mopping up her sister's tears.
Archer girded himself to go upstairs and find them. He'd been knocking off the double Scotches so quickly that the caterer's bartender had simply left the bottle in front of him. As part of the girding now, Archer stuck the bottle in his belt and concealed it by closing his jacket over it. He looked not so much like a fat young man as a bizarrely pregnant young man as the bottle made him waddle climbing the stairs.
There were people milling about the hallway of the upper floor as well. Archer tried a few doors, but he didn't find anybody who was familiar to him. Pretty soon the confusion began getting to him again and he felt the need of a quiet drink. He elbowed his way into a bathroom, locked the door behind him, sat down on the toilet seat, and took a long pull from the bottle of Scotch.
He must have been sitting there quite a while-he'd lost track of the passing of time-when somebody began pounding on the door from the hallway. "Hey!" a voice called. "Give somebody else a chance."
"Go bust a kidney!" Archer mumbled to himself.
"Come on! I want to get in there!"
The yelling annoyed Archer. More than a little drunk by now, he stumbled out of the bathroom through a door opposite the one by which he'd entered. He found himself in a small, quite feminine bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, raised his eyes to the canopy over him, and took another swig from the bottle. As he did so, the knob of the door leading from the bedroom to the hallway was turned and the excited chatter of voices from beyond it reached Archer's ears.
"Man can't find a li'l privacy t' have a qui' li'l drinkee anywheres," he mumbled to himself. Clutching his bottle, he strode over to the large walk-in wardrobe closet opposite the bed, entered it, closed the door behind him, sat down crosslegged on the floor, and took another nip at the Scotch.
Behind him Llona had entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Then she had crossed over to the bathroom and locked that door. Quickly then, she had stripped off her clothes. Humming to herself, she had lain down on the bed naked to snatch a few moments' relaxation. It was when she finally got up that her luscious nude body first filled the keyhole and attracted Archer's attention.
It had a sobering effect on him. He was titillated, filled with anxiety, and then ruefully reminiscent of what had led him into this situation-all in quick succession. Then, as Llona posed before her mirror, he reversed the order and went back to worrying over what might happen if she found him there.
Screams of "Rape!" un-numbed his liquor-fogged brain. Police sirens silently howled. Jail doors clanged shut. Fingers pointed at him. A judge's gavel bonged with the finality of a J. Arthur Rank gong, and a doomsday voice echoed his fate. Gnarled but nimble fingers tied a hangman's knot while a beckoning finger drew him into the gas chamber and the executioner's face was impassive as he threw the switch shooting the fatal jolts of electricity into Archer's body which crumpled under the volley from the firing squad. Then a plain pine box, a lone funeral caisson, a bleak graveyard, and only his mother's tears to dampen the dank earth with a silent reproach, a final silent rebuke for the consequences of his not having arrived at the church on time.
Archer gasped to himself as he saw his fate approaching the door of the walk-in closet, naked and implacable. Yet fear wasn't the only motivation for the gasp. Admiration also prompted it. Despite his horrendous predicament, Archer couldn't help appreciating the revealed beauty of the nude girl now overflowing the keyhole.
Many men reacted to Llona that way even when she was wearing clothes. Perhaps it was her height. She was taller than most girls-about five-nine-and it does draw eyes when so much pulchritude is piled so high. Then too, there was the mass of golden-brown curls which topped the pile-thick and worn loose. There was something savage and feline about the way Llona would unconsciously toss her tresses when she moved, something reminiscent of the mane of a lioness rippling in the sunlight. Now, combed out, the smooth sheen of her hair was like some careful arrangement of fronds designed by an artistic florist to set off the white-petaled, red-tipped flower twins of her large, firm, uptilted bosom.
A tiny waist further accentuated the size of her naked breasts and the fully curved, slightly heavy hips which always seemed to sway so sensually when Llona walked. Her small but plumply provocative derriere usually picked up the movement of her hips and elicited the interest of most men who happened to view her from the rear. Front or rear, her legs-long and strong, but shapely nevertheless-likewise drew admiring glances.
The sensuality of her body, however, was not particularly reflected in her face. It was a pretty enough face, with high cheekbones, dark brown eyes, firm chin, and pert, small nose, but it lacked the sultry appeal of the knowing siren. It was young and clean and shiny rather than exotic. It hinted at no mysteries. It showed little experience. Yet it was alive with expectancy.
Archer continued to misread that expression as Llona drew closer to the keyhole. He saw her wide mouth contorting with fear. He heard her scream: "HELP!" He felt her pounding fists pummeling their defense against what she would certainly mistake for his lustful intentions. And once again Archer saw the whole panoply of his dire fate following the naked body up to the door of the walk-in closet.
A hand on the doorknob blotted out the keyhole view. The doorknob turned. Archer cowered. And then the door opened, and the walk-in closet brightened with the filtered sunlight coming through the chintzy curtains of the bedroom windows.
The naked girl looked at Archer and gasped audibly.
Archer steeled himself. She wavered there a moment, evidently too surprised to move either way. Archer's eyes pleaded with her to wait before she screamed, to hear his explanation, to try to understand.
But to Llona, the eyes which met hers seemed filled with a powerful, overwhelming lust. Wave upon wave of hot flushes suffused her naked body under his stare. Her knees grew weak, and her body sagged under the sudden flood of desire which seized her.
"Go ahead," she murmured, closing her eyes, resigned. "Take me. I can't fight you off."
"You don't understand-" Archer started to protest.
"I can see that you're too strong for me. I can't stop you. Go on. Get it over with."
"But I'm not going to-"
"I'm too weak." Llona crumpled to the closet floor. "I could never withstand your animal attack. So go ahead and rape me and get it over with."
"You don't understand!" Archer said desperately. "I didn't hide in here to rape you."
"You didn't?" Her eyes fluttered open. "Then what are you doing here?"
"I just got a little drunk. I wanted to get away from the crowd and drink in peace. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that's what happened."