Carla

Chapter Two

In the sober light of the day it was much more difficult for Carla to conceive of being unfaithful to her husband. She woke up a few minutes after noon, her mind fresh and awake at once. She hurried for the bathroom and showered quickly, enjoying the way the driving water pelted at her smooth skin. She rinsed herself and turned off the hot water, forcing herself to stand for several minutes under the icy shower. Nothing could compare with a cold shower early in the morning, and although she had slept much later than usual this morning the shower felt better than ever. When she climbed out of the tub and rubbed the water from her body she felt alive and ready to face the world.

After a quick glance at the mirror, she returned to her room to dress. She never did manage to get used to the idea of breakfasting in a night-gown and still preferred to go downstairs fully dressed.

What should she wear? For some reason she felt that the choice of clothes was especially important today, and choosing clothes was a luxury she never failed to enjoy. She was filled with pleasure and a feeling of enormous wealth every time she opened the closet door and looked through her sumptuous wardrobe. Before, living in her flat on the East Side, most of her clothing was bought second-hand — and price rather than appearance was the first consideration. Fortunately with her face and figure she had the knack of looking good in whatever she wore, but the clothes she owned now showed her off to perfection.

She felt that this was a special day, and that she ought to dress accordingly. So far she had no plans, not committed to a busy schedule like so many of the women in her social class. Although marriage to Ronald had brought her an elegant social position, she found it difficult to mingle easily with the wives of Ronald’s friends. They all seemed cold and distant to her, and she couldn’t share their interests in books and the theater. She liked to read a book or see a movie now and then, but the idea of sitting around talking about it with a bunch of over-dressed old biddies didn’t appeal to her in the least. Since Ronald was over thirty years older than she was, his friends’ wives were all out of her age-group, and this intensified the uncomfortable feeling she got in their presence. She could handle older men easily enough, but women were another matter.

Consequently, she kept pretty much to herself. She was never the type of girl who formed close personal relationships, and the few girls she’d had on the East Side were long forgotten. Buffalo was a big city, a metropolitan area of more than a million people, and it wasn’t hard to lose old friends when you moved from the neighborhood.

At times she would feel a bit lonely, longing for someone to talk to. She spent some time looking at the television set and more time reading or listening to records, and still more time shopping. Shopping, however, had lost a good deal of its novelty. It was a thrill to buy whatever she wanted in the beginning, but the joy wore off as she finally came to the realization that she was at last rich and could buy whatever she wanted. She accepted her situation and was glad of it, but the thought of it didn’t make her tremble with pleasure as it once had.

So, although she expected to spend the day either sitting around the house and talking to Lizzie, the Negro girl who cleaned the house and did the cooking, or else out riding in her MG, she still wanted to dress in something a little bit exotic. She slipped on a pair of panties first and struggled into her brassiere, happy with the knowledge that she could still get along without a bra if she had to. Then, after careful consideration, she put on an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and a tight black skirt. The combination, while decidedly exciting, wasn’t the least bit cheap. Clothes sense was something that came instinctively to her; she could unerringly select the right combination to achieve just the right effect.

Breakfast was ready for her when she came downstairs. It always amazed her the way Lizzie knew just when she would be ready for breakfast; the girl’s timing was incredible. She sat down at the table and dug into a mushroom omelet cooked to perfection.

Afterward, smoking a cigarette with her cup of black coffee, she tried to plan out the day. Reading was out; she felt like something a little more strenuous than curling up with a book. By the same token, listening to records or watching television failed to appeal. She realized suddenly that she was lonely, that the time had come when she couldn’t amuse herself doing nothing day after day. Once merely sitting in such a lovely home was enough to satisfy her, but now she wanted something a little more stimulating.

She stubbed the cigarette out viciously and stood up from the table, her mind searching for something to do. Shopping? No, not again. There was nothing she wanted to buy. The museum? No — too damned dull for a beautiful day like this. And it was definitely a beautiful day, with the sun streaming in through the window and not a cloud in sight. Buffalo weather was surprising. It could be dismal and drizzly for days, but a hot sunny day was heaven — especially on Nottingham Terrace, where a cool breeze from the Delaware Park Lake made everything much better and fresher.

But this didn’t solve her problem. She still had to hunt out a way to spend the next six hours. Well, what did she really feel like doing?

The answer came without her willing it. She knew what she wanted, all right. She wanted the same thing she had last night, the same thing she wanted every day for the past two years.

She wanted a man.

Well, she thought, why not? She didn’t have to walk the streets like a common whore, but she certainly wasn’t going to find a lover if she sat around in the house every damned day. She could at least give herself a chance. If she got out in the air for awhile, she stood a slight chance of finding a man and having something happen between them. She didn’t have to crawl into the sack with the first thing in pants she saw, but she could at least take a look around the town.

Why not?

It occurred to her then that this was what she had been planning on from the moment she woke up. It was the obvious reason for her choice of the skirt-and-blouse combination. Today was a day when she wanted to be especially attractive; it was a day for her to go out looking for a lover.

She strode out of the Breakfast nook, enjoying the way her strong thighs rubbed against the skirt with each step she took. “Lizzie!” she called. “Lizzie!”

Lizzie hurried from the living-room, a dust cloth dangling from one hand. She was a lovely chocolate-brown, with a figure an exact duplicate of Carla’s and about two sizes smaller. Carla was certain that the girl didn’t have any troubles when it came to getting attention from men. She was far too beautiful to spend her time cooking and cleaning day after day, and Carla knew that in a short time she’d be getting married and giving up her job. Carla would hate to see her go, because the younger girl was pleasant company in addition to cooking like a French chef and keeping the house spotless.

“Did you want me, Mrs. Macon?”

Carla smiled. “Just wanted to tell you I’ll be going out for the afternoon. I’ll be home in time for dinner, so if Mr. Macon comes home before I do just tell him I took the MG out for a spin.”

“I’ll tell him,” Lizzie said, nodding. “The mail came, if you want to look at it. I put it on the hall table.”

“Thanks.”

She leafed casually through the stack of mail, not expecting anything but bills and not finding anything else, either. It was a shame, she reflected, that no one ever wrote to her. If nothing else, she envied Ronald the volume of mail he received. The only letters addressed to her were bills which Ronald paid, catalogues she rarely looked at, and those mysterious and utterly useless letters that came addressed to “Occupant.”

The MG was parked at the curb in front of the house, looking like a giant cat ready to spring. She opened the door and seated herself behind the wheel. It was always a thrill for her to get behind the wheel of the tiny car, a thrill which hadn’t worn off yet. It gave her a genuine feeling of power to kick over the engine and start the MG racing off. There was something delightful about a sportscar, something on a par with taking a French poodle for a walk. But poodles always struck her as a trifle ridiculous, while there was nothing silly about the MG. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, the wind tossing her long blonde hair and playing with the neckline of the peasant blouse.

The tank was nearly full when she started that afternoon, and by four o’clock it was nearly empty. She drove all over town, down Delaware Avenue past the impressive buildings and expensive stores, back north on Main Street, through the park, and out Delaware into the suburbs. North of Sheridan Drive the houses were fewer and farther apart and the road stretched before her invitingly. The MG ate up the miles, racing along at high speed while the wind blew her hair every which-way. It was pleasant, very much so. She took side roads and doubled back on her own trail, not wanting to go anywhere in particular and anxious only to give the MG plenty of racing room.

She even managed to forget her longing for a man.

By four o’clock she was close to the city line and the gas tank was nearly empty. She looked around for a service station. Service stations, like men, never seemed to be around when you needed them most. At last she saw one and turned the wheel swiftly, bringing the MG to a dead stop close to the gas pump.

“Fill her with regular,” she said, without looking up.

“Nice little buggy you got here.” She looked up suddenly at the sound of the deep, resonant voice. The owner of the voice was a man, naturally enough, and he was a most attractive man. The attractive quality of him was the first thing Carla noticed, even before she was aware of the grease on his hands or the stubble of beard on his rugged chin.

He was about 29 or 30, she guessed, with jet-black hair cut short and piercing eyes. His muscles bulged beneath his uniform and his shoulders were extremely broad.

“I say that’s a pretty fine little car.”

“Oh, she said, realizing that she hadn’t answered him. “Thanks.”

He nodded and walked to the pump, placing the nozzle in the gas tank. She watched him wordlessly, struck by the appearance of him. Her heart was beating more rapidly and her breath came hard and fast. God, what was the matter with her? Two years out of the slums and she got hot as a pistol over a grimy gas-pump jockey!

But he was definitely attractive, and she needed a man badly. Naturally she wouldn’t want him as a long-term lover. He’d hardly do in that capacity.

But once with him might be nice. Very nice...

“That’ll be $3.85.” He was staring hard at her, his eyes riveted to the top of the peasant blouse. She smiled inwardly. This ought to be easy enough to manage.

She took a twenty dollar bill from her purse and handed it to him, letting her fingers trail against his calloused palm. “Here,” she said.

He frowned. “This is the smallest you got?”

“Yes,” she lied.

He turned without a word and walked toward the office for change. She let him get several yards ahead of her and made her decision abruptly, turning the key in the ignition and putting on the emergency brake. Then she got out of the car and followed him into the office.

He whirled from the cash-drawer when he saw her come through the door. “What do you want?” he demanded, a puzzled expression on his face.

Instead of answering, she smiled and let him have a good look at her body. She threw her shoulders as far back as possible to emphasize the size and shape of her breasts. With a good deal of amusement she noted the way his gaze travelled slowly up and down her body, returning at last to her face. She held his eyes with hers, and for a long moment neither of them spoke.

Finally he broke the silence. “What do you want?” he asked again, but this time the words came more slowly and his voice was lower and huskier than before.

“What do you think I want?”

There was no misreading her meaning. He smiled and raised his eyebrows knowingly, and she knew she had made a conquest. Why, the slob was practically falling over his own feet.

“You picked a bad time,” he said. “I’ll have to close up the station; then we can take a ride over to my place. That okay with you?”

She almost agreed; at the last minute, however, an idea flashed into her mind. If she was going to be unfaithful, she might as well try something different while she was at it.

“No,” she said. “Don’t close the station.”

“What do you mean? Look, you’re the best-looking woman I’ve seen in a hell of a while, but that doesn’t mean I can walk off leaving the place open. Are you kidding?”

She stepped up to him, letting her body rest against his. Her breasts pressed against his hard, barrel-like chest and her hips ground into his.

“Right here,” she whispered. “I want you to make love to me right here, right in the station.”

His jaw fell. “Here? Jesus, there ain’t even a couch in the office. What do you—”

“Not in the office,” she went on, rubbing up against him like a playful kitten. “In the place where you grease up the cars. On the floor there.”

“Are you nuts?” He tried to take a step back but her arms held him against hers. “Jesus, it’s filthy in there.”

“That’s where I want it to be,” she said evenly. Before he could reply she pulled his mouth down to hers and planted her lips firmly on his. When he returned the kiss she sank her teeth into his lower lip and drew blood. He backed away, startled and breathing hard.

“Okay,” he snapped, amazed. “You’re calling the shots.”

Quickly he closed the office door and turned the key in it. Then he seized her by one hand and half-dragged her into the grease room. Once inside he released her and strode to the wall, flicking a switch to lower the grease-room door. Then he turned and walked toward her slowly, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. The hunger in her eyes was easy to see.

She pulled the peasant blouse over her head and tossed it into a corner, not caring whether it got dirty or not. The skirt followed it seconds later. She kicked off her shoes, pulled off her stockings, and slipped out of the bra and panties and stood naked before him.

For a second he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. “Christ,” he said, half in a whisper. Then he came closer to her and seized one of her ripe breasts in his powerful hand while the other hand encircled her back and drew her roughly against him. Her arms went around him and her fingernails began raking his back, digging into him and hurting him. He kissed her again, harder this time, and she felt a burst of passion shoot through her whole body.

Her nostrils filled to overflowing with the smell of the grease-room. Slowly they both sank to the gritty pavement.

He rolled away from her at last and clambered to his feet, fumbling with his clothing. “God,” he said, in that hoarse whisper he had used before. Then neither of them spoke while she retrieved her clothing and dressed quickly and methodically. She felt like a woman for the first time in two years.

After she had finished dressing, he flicked the switch again to raise the door of the grease-room. She stepped outside and walked quickly to the MG, anxious to get away now that her desires had been fulfilled. It was time for her to get home.

He strode after her. “Christ,” he stammered, “I don’t even know your name!”

She smiled. “It doesn’t matter, does it?” She opened the door of the MG and hopped inside, fitting the key in the ignition.

She almost laughed but contained the laughter. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be around the next time I run out of gas.”

She stepped on the starter and the engine turned over. “And you can keep the change!” she called over the roar of the motor. Then she drove the car out onto the street, laughing to herself at the unbelieving expression on his face.

What a man he was! Hardly the type for a permanent alliance, of course, but this had been a most satisfactory afternoon. Her heart soared as she raced the MG back into town.