by Warren Adler
"I will not fail you, my darling."
"I am sure," he said.
"Thank you, Eduardo," she said hoarsely, kissing the flesh of his belly. Before she left, he wrapped the device in tissue paper and put it in her hand. She held it tightly for a long time before she finally put it in her purse. "I will show him how clever I am," she vowed.
That night in her own bed, she did not feel the same tug of emptiness. Now there was a sense of mission, participation. Claude, of course, must be manipulated to be her instrument of entry into the Chilean Embassy. Anything is possible for Eduardo, she assured herself.
"Good morning, Claude," she said pleasantly as he arrived at the breakfast table. It was the first time in weeks that she had actually taken any notice of him. He seemed to have bloated slightly and there were dark circles under his eyes. The children had already been packed off to school and she had taken great care with her morning toilette. Not a hair was misplaced and she had dabbed herself with the scent Claude had liked and which she had deliberately abandoned. She had, up till then, rejected anything that gave Claude pleasure.
His face suddenly brightened, although she could tell he had quickly rallied his defenses. It had never been Claude's way to be taken in easily. He was naturally cautious. He would test her first.
"You look very charming this morning, Marie."
"Thank you, Claude."
The smell of freshly perked coffee was heavy in the room. Coincidentally, the sun was shining and the day clear, a fitting background for the illusion of harmony that she wished to convey.
"Lovely," Claude said as he sat down, the folded newspaper beside him on the table. She sat down in her usual place, feeling his gaze. He is confused, she thought. After a while, he withdrew his hand and sipped his coffee. Enough for now, she thought, feeling the excitement of her deception.
"You seem quite different today, Marie," he said. She could sense his subtle sarcasm. It was, after all, safer for him to be cautious.
"Perhaps it is because of the wonderful morning," she said, her eyes deliberately averted, as she lifted the coffee cup to her lips. He continued to observe her, the newspaper ignored.
"Is there something you would like to say, Marie?"
"Perhaps later," she said pleasantly, turning to him now, offering the faint hint of a smile. Slowly, she warned herself. You are such a pompous ass, she mused as she looked at him, wondering if she were wearing a proper expression.
"I would like that, Marie," he said, his hand sliding near hers across the table. With an effort, she kept it still.
"I suppose we have lots to talk about."
"Yes."
His hand touched hers and again she resisted the desire to move it away. Then the full weight of his hand was on hers and he was squeezing it. Although her indifference was absolute, she could feel his emotion. The fool, she thought. After a while, he withdrew his hand and sipped his coffee. Enough for now, she thought, standing up and moving toward the kitchen.
"Marie," he called. She stopped and turned, conscious of improving her posture. She felt her breasts strain against her brassiere and knew she was deliberately emphasizing their fullness.
"Yes, Claude."
"We will talk later."
"Yes."
Getting through the day required an enormous effort of will. If only Eduardo would call, she thought, feeling the need for reassurance. Make it up with Claude, he had told her. And then? But she had not dared to ask that question. She was now part of Eduardo's life, of his work, and that was a step forward, perhaps a tiny step from the present limbo.
That evening Claude came home with a great bouquet of yellow roses and a bottle of champagne. There seemed to be some sentimental currency in it and she remembered that it was one of the elements of his courtship, yellow roses and champagne. How ridiculously contrived, she thought. At dinner, she kept the scene deliberately cheerful. The children talked of their day with great enthusiasm and she forced herself to listen, feeling Claude's eyes on her, watching for any signs of retrogression. Without his realizing, she deliberately delayed the children's departure for bed. It was Claude who intervened finally. When they were alone, he opened the champagne.
Please help me, Eduardo, she pleaded to herself as Claude handed her the champagne, clinking the glass with his.
"To better days ahead, my darling," he said, sipping the champagne and watching her with a silly, glazed, fawning look. She tossed off the champagne in a single gulp, hardly tasting it. He quickly poured her another glass. The expected lightheadedness seemed slow in coming.
"Is it over, Marie?" he asked tentatively, touching her arm, caressing it, still fearful of rejection.
"I'm not sure, Claude," she said. Better to be tentative as well, she had decided.
"These last weeks have been the worst of my life, Marie. The worst."
She wondered why she could not summon pity. Only contempt. Holding out her glass, she let him pour her more champagne. He did it eagerly and she knew that he, too, was being calculating, deliberately plying her. I will do this for Eduardo, she thought. By the time the lightheadedness began, he had moved toward her and summoned the courage to hold her in his arms.
"Perhaps I have been too self-centered," he said. "I will change, Marie. You'll see. I have been thinking it over these last few weeks. It is all my fault. I promise I will change."
She endured his fondling, and the fear of showing indifference forced her to increase her outward response. The objective, she told herself, was to get through this as quickly as possible.
"It will be beautiful again, my darling," Claude said. She could feel his mounting excitement, encouraging its acceleration by caressing his genitals. The touch disgusted her, but she did not falter. She listened for the quickness of his breath, the swift pounding of his heart. His hands groped into her body. She imagined that he was interpreting his own ardor as spontaneity and she fed the fantasy by increasing the strength of her endearments.
"Can we?" he asked.
"Yes."
She had wanted to say later, but it had passed beyond that point and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. Removing her pantyhose, she lay on the couch. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander while she mechanically drew him inside of her. She was thinking of her girlhood and suddenly she missed that part of her life, before Claude, her father's strong hand in hers, walking on the Champs Elysées, the smell of flowers in the Tuileries, the view of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower. She had been safe then, beyond abuse, beyond this. She might have lost herself in these memories if Claude had not hurt her. She was dry and tight, like a virgin. It was detestable, revolting. Thankfully, he did not last long, falling on her in a heap. She waited. His breath became regular again and his heart slowed, she observed with clinical objectivity. She made no move to crawl from under him, waiting for him to act.
"It will be different," he said.
"Of course," she responded, wondering if he could sense her revulsion.
She moved out of the spare room and back into their bedroom, finding that it was possible to endure anything for the sake of one's objective, Eduardo's objective. I am playacting, she told herself, an idea which sustained her. Claude's sexual appetite seemed insatiable, and she endured it with a strange sense of pride. His deprivation had been total, and he had not, out of spite, she was certain, allowed himself the relief of another woman. That would be typical of Claude to deliberately savor his suffering, to increase his self-immolation. If only he could know of her noninvolvement. Someday she would tell him. How deliciously castrating it would be.
"I feel like I've been raped by an army of barbarians," she told Eduardo a few days later when they were together again in his apartment. He put a finger on her lips.
"You mustn't talk about it," he said.
"Not talk about it," she protested, feeling anger even as she caressed him. "It is loathsome. I can barely live through it. I feel violated."
"He is your husba
nd."
She looked up at him. "He is nothing to me."
"Then perhaps we had better forget about it." He was pouting now, and she contained her rage.
"You're not jealous?"
"If it is too much to endure.... "His voice trailed off. But the implied threat struck home.
"If the roles were reversed, I would kill you for it."
"Kill?"
A shadow passed over her face, triggering her own fear. "I could not bear the thought of you with another woman."
"Another woman?" He seemed surprised. Was she being too intense? Was she going too far?
"I am jealous of every moment you spend without me." The new idea appeared to break the tension. "I will endure it only until I have done what you have asked," she said quickly.
His face brightened. He put out his hand, smiling. She took it, squeezed it, like two people sealing a business deal.
"Agreed," he said. She felt her anger subside. But somehow the deal seemed incomplete.
"And after?" she asked quietly.
"After what?"
"After I have done it."
She watched him, frightened again. He was, she knew, trying to formulate an answer, but she dared not hear it.
"Please, Eduardo. I am sorry. It's not necessary to answer that." He seemed relieved. "I cannot bear being away from you."
But the idea of their future together would not go away. The more she endured Claude, the more it plagued her. I can't live like this, she told herself. Yet, she took solace from a new thought. If she proved herself, if she showed Eduardo how clever she was, how cunning, he would overcome his own caution. He is afraid for me, she decided. But when he sees how efficient I am, how fearless, he will not resist our being together always. Let Claude take the children. Nothing mattered now. Only Eduardo.
It did not take her long to persuade Claude to work at securing an invitation from the Chileans. They had begun to do the party circuit again and she had sought out the Chilean ambassador at these events, ingratiating herself with coquetry and what he must have observed as a surprising knowledge of his country.
"It is my great ambition to visit your country," she told him.
"You will fit in nicely," he said. He was a tall man, barrel-chested, with well cut clothes and an obvious interest in women. When she discovered this, she became boldly flirtatious. "The women of Chile are the most beautiful in the world."
"It is the men that make them so." What a perfect retort she had contrived, she thought.
He seemed to puff himself up like a proud bird, and she pressed her advantage. She suddenly yearned for Eduardo to stand beside her invisibly and see her in action.
"We used to believe it was the climate," he said.
"There is a lot more to the environment than the weather."
He caught her drift, obviously a man experienced in such byplay. She was amused by his naïveté. Can't he tell I am playing with him?
"Only a country where men appreciate women can gain such a reputation," she pressed. "And, of course, the women must feel the truth of it to allow it to perpetuate."
"I will accept that for our hemisphere." He winked and bent over, whispering in her ear, "If you'll allow that the women of France reign in your hemisphere."
"We do have a reputation of sorts."
"So I have heard. Is it deserved?"
"I hope so." She hesitated and looked into his eyes. "At least, I do my part." She could see a slight flush begin near his jowls, and she marveled at her own forwardness. This will be easier than I imagined, she decided.
But when the Chilean invitation came a week later, the victory was merely pyrrhic. Eduardo had not called and she was helpless with anxiety, almost to the point of revealing the full force of her irritability to Claude, who seemed to be watching her microscopically for any sign of relapse. His attentions were stultifying, smothering. On the morning that the invitation arrived, she dashed out of the house after the children had gone to school and drove the car to the parking lot of Eduardo's apartment building.
She waited for three hours, watching the entrance, feeling foolish and conspicuous. Suppose he has been killed? Or kidnapped? He had described his danger and had warned her to stay away from him except when he told her to come. She sat there in the car, sick with worry. Then, unable to endure the anxiety, she got out and walked quickly to the apartment house, averting her eyes from the desk man and rushing toward the elevator bank. A couple came in behind her in the elevator and she rode to the top of the building before coming down again to his floor.
In front of his apartment she knocked quietly, pressing her ear to the door. There were no sounds from within. She knocked again. Still no stirring within. Then she rang the buzzer and still no answer came. A woman passed through the corridor. When she was out of sight, she dipped into her pocketbook and, finding a blank envelope, scribbled a note on it, slipping it under the door. "I have news," she had written, wanting to say more.
It was not until she returned home that the full impact of the panic seized her. How can I stand this, she asked herself, pacing the floor. Where is Eduardo? That evening they went to a reception at the State Department honoring those who had given gifts to the Adams room on the top floor. She was listless and withdrawn, barely spoke to people, hoping that she looked attentive despite her indifference.
"Are you well, darling?" Claude asked as she prepared for bed.
"I think I am getting the flu," she answered.
"Is there something I can do?" Claude asked. He was being unctuous and she dared not look at him for fear he would see her loathing.
She awoke the next day exhausted, and her image in the mirror frightened her. There were heavy dark pouches under her eyes and her skin was pale and unhealthy looking. When Claude and the children left, she went back to bed and lay there staring at the ceiling. It was only when the telephone rang that she realized she had dozed. Hearing Eduardo's voice, she was instantly alert.
"You shouldn't have done it," he said. His voice was low, muffled. "They watch. They listen."
"I had to. I can't stand it, Eduardo."
"It is too dangerous."
"I don't care."
"And the news?"
"I will be there on Friday night, at the Chilean Embassy."
"Good."
"Will I see you today?" she asked, wanting to press the issue. There was a brief silence on the line.
"Not until it is done," he said. "That is why I have not called. I think they are watching me closely now."
"I must see you, Eduardo," she said. An idea had occurred to her. Once again the line was silent, but this time it was her voice that filled the void. "The pictures. I want to be sure where it can be put."
"You don't remember?"
"I want to be sure."
She could feel him sigh into the phone.
"I want to be sure," she repeated. His hesitation reassured her, and although she was deliberately lying, she knew that she had found a way to manipulate him.
"I am not afraid," she said. "If I have you, I am not afraid."
"All right."
"Today."
"Yes. Come at noon."
She jumped out of bed, took a long lingering bath, perfumed herself, feeling her body's signals of longing, and when she arrived at his apartment she groped toward him like an animal in heat. The touch of his flesh enervated her and her body lurched with pleasure and abandon.
"You must love me forever," she cried, feeling the pleasure come in deep waves again. "I want you in me always, always." She must have been making loud noises, as he put a hand over her mouth. "I can't help it," she said, when she realized what she had done. "I must shout my joy. You are my life."
After a while her body relaxed and her mind cleared. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her.
"I need you so much, Eduardo."
He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose.
"I had to be near you."
"And th
e pictures?"
"I'm sorry, Eduardo. I lied." She knew it would be impossible to lie to him directly.
There was a flash of anger. "I told you it was dangerous."
"I don't care."
"But there are others," he said. "Other lives are at stake. They are ruthless killers." His arms tightened and he banged a fist into his palm. "Your assignment is of the utmost importance, Marie."
She remembered her conversation with the barrel-chested ambassador.
"He seems so harmless, almost naive."
"That's what he would like you to think. Believe me, he is a key man for them here, and what we learn from him could be most crucial, most crucial."
"He fancies himself a ladies' man."
"He is and I'm sure he finds you irresistible."
"Well," she said gaily, "I must admit he does respond to my blandishments."
"That is certainly not hard to comprehend." She felt secretly pleased, although she would have preferred him to be jealous.
"It will be no problem, no problem at all for me to get him to show me his study."
"I'm sure of that."
She laughed. The anxiety of the previous days had dissipated.
"What you do to me, Eduardo." She bent over and kissed his flaccid penis, caressing its shaft with her tongue. He lay quiet for some time, but he did not grow hard.
"I'm sorry," he said. "My mind seems to be on other things. And I am anxious about your safety. You had better leave."
"Must I, Eduardo?"
"Please, Marie. Your safety is essential."
She searched her mind for some excuse to stay.
"Can I see the pictures again?" she asked, proud of her cunning. He looked at her archly.
"But I thought...."
"One more time. It would be better to be sure."
He bent under the bed, found his brief case, and pulled out the envelope and pictures, handing them to her. She spread them over the bed and studied them for some time. She felt his breath on her bare shoulder.
"Well?" he asked.
"I want to be sure that I have explored all the alternatives." She stroked her chin, feigning absorption. But it was his nearness that held her attention. Finally she turned toward him and her lips sought his, her body pressing against him.
