Jenna looked at him blankly, let out a deep breath as if his question had totally annoyed her, and shook her head warily from side to side. But Terry knew from the smile that began to appear on her face that she wasn’t saying “No.”
* * *
It was the first time in years that Sal Tarantino was still in his office after three o’clock on a Friday afternoon. But as much as he wanted to get an hour or two on the golf course before going home, there was an election coming up in four days and final plans needed to be put in place.
Sandy was on the telephone all morning with many of their contacts around the State. They discussed weather forecasts for Tuesday, the most recent local polling results and plans for transporting Fiore supporters to the voting booths. With each of them, Sandy stressed the need for as many campaign workers as possible to be on the streets with Fiore signs. They were to start on Saturday morning and not stop until all the polling places closed at eight o’clock on election night.
The two Tarantinos walked over to the Blue Grotto for a quick lunch. Each ordered mussels marinara, a small salad and coffee. While they ate, Sandy gave his father all the latest information, along with some details on what the final days of the campaign would cost.
“I thought those drivers and sign carriers were all volunteers,” Sal told his son.
“I did too, Pop, until the bills came in after the primary. They get as many college kids as they can, at no cost, but then they have to use a small army of moonlighters at five bucks an hour.”
Still, a lot of the news was good, and Sal was excited. Richardson’s story about the Tarantino family started his day off on the right foot. “We’re still in the fight, Salvy, so we’ve got to give it everything. I’ll get on the phone when we get back and tell those guys to spend whatever it takes. It sure would feel good to have the governor in our pocket if we need him.”
99
CAROL SINGER PICKED UP the telephone in Room 1021 before it rang a second time. It was 9:40 p.m. She was watching a movie on television but couldn’t concentrate on it. “Doug. Thank heavens you called. I just heard from Bruce a little while ago, and he’s not coming here tonight. He got one of his terrible migraines in Newport and he’s out of it. They’re all staying there overnight.”
“Shit!” The word sounded harsher to Carol than it ever had. “Did he say anything about tomorrow?”
“Yes. He promised he’d do it tomorrow night if I still felt like it.”
“Did you tell Pat Hanley yet?”
“No, I didn’t say anything. I wanted to let you know first.”
“Have you spoken to her at all?” he asked.
“Yes, we talked a little. She’s very nice.”
“Well, why don’t you let Pat know about the change. I’ll call off the photographer.”
“Doug, I’ve got a wonderful idea.”
“What is it?”
“I was thinking, after Bruce called, that this may be the last chance we have to see each other. We’ve never been able to make love and then be together for the night. This room is all paid for, and I don’t have to go home because Bruce won’t be there. Why don’t you come and stay here tonight?”
Fiore thought about it. He was horny enough, that’s for sure, and he felt it might be good to get rid of some of the tension that had built up in the last week. But Grace was expecting him. He called her at six o’clock and she told him she baked a chocolate rum cake, his favorite dessert.
“I’d love to Carol, but it could cost me my marriage.” He meant it as a quip.
“Then we’ll be even, Doug. What I’m doing for you will take care of mine.”
He didn’t want her to start thinking about changing her mind. But if she got angry with him, she might, and then everything could go down the tubes. He would put the blame on Berman, and tell Grace that Cyril insisted on meeting back at the Biltmore to review all their strategy for the final four days. He would say that if they were still at it by midnight, he’d sack out on Berman’s couch and get home for an hour or two first thing in the morning.
“Okay,” he said, “I owe it to you, Carol. I’ll be there by 10:30.”
* * *
Carol purchased a bottle of Bombay Gin—Doug’s favorite—and some tonic water at a liquor store before checking into the hotel. She filled the plastic bucket with ice cubes from the machine in the corridor on the tenth floor, and poured two drinks as soon as Doug arrived. She was wearing a cream colored Italian silk negligee under a white terry cloth robe that was loosely belted. Fiore hung his jacket in the closet, noticing the man’s suit hanging inside a plastic wrapper. A white shirt and tie lay on the shelf.
He still needed to unwind from the long day. Besides, for the first time with Carol, there was no rush. This wasn’t just another hit-and-run job. The whole night lay ahead of them. Doug sat up in bed, a pillow behind his head, while Carol chose a chair off to the side. They talked about a number of things. The words spilled out fast, followed every so often by short silences that threatened on occasion to become embarrassing.
“So you like Pat Hanley,” he said.
“Yes, I do. But I think you have to be careful.”
Doug smiled. “Why is that?”
“Because that woman has a crush on you. I’m sure she’d like to get you into bed.”
He feigned skepticism. “Come on, you’re not serious. She likes me because I’ve helped out her husband, but I don’t think she sees me as a sex object.”
“I think you’d be surprised,” Carol said. “And speaking of sex objects, are you almost ready?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Why don’t you get in bed and I’ll take a quick shower.”
“Okay, but hurry up. I’ve been ready for the last hour.”
* * *
“Why are you still dressed?” Carol asked. There was a mock pout in her voice as her fingers found the bulge in the undershorts Doug had on when he came out of the bathroom. They kissed for several minutes, pleasurably but not passionately. He lifted himself slightly and Carol helped him pull the shorts down over his knees. He let them rest above his ankles instead of kicking them off.
She touched his penis easily but he pulled her hand away.
“What’s the matter?” she teased. “I’m entitled.”
He sucked a little breath through his teeth. “Too tender,” he said. “You do that with your fingers and I’ll show you my ‘Old Faithful’ imitation.”
She giggled and leaned over, kissing both sides of his chest.
“Why don’t you sit up,” he said.
She got up on her knees, next to him.
Doug reached his hands up to the straps of her negligee. “Is this coming down or going up?” he asked.
Carol began raising the nightgown slowly. “Close your eyes,” she said. “No peeking.”
He ran his fingers in the triangle of hair that was already exposed, and watched as the negligee moved up over her breasts. When it was off, Carol let the soft silk fall on his face. He put it on her side of the bed, pulled her toward him and began kissing her nipples alternately, back and forth.
“This is my windshield wiper move. What do you think?”
Carol kept her head raised, until he stopped. Then she looked down at him. “Could you do that if you had two windshields instead of one?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She straightened up, still on her knees. “I just had the sexiest thought. It even sent a shiver right through me. You know that fantasy of yours, about making love to two women at once? The more I thought about it and pictured it in my mind, the more I began feeling I wanted to try it sometime, but only with you. And it just hit me that it would be perfect right now if we got Pat Hanley in here with us. We’ve got all night to try whatever we want. I bet she’d say ‘Yes.’”
Her words left him speechless. His two mistresses were sleeping in two adjoining rooms, without their husbands. It was fertile soil for his fantasy, but the thought of even hinting at a ména
ge à trois never occurred to him. He quickly reminded himself that neither of the two women knew he was intimate with the other. But here was Carol suggesting that the three of them have sex together. He wasn’t sure how to react.
“It’s after 11:30,” he said. “Pat’s probably sound asleep. And if she isn’t, suggesting that she join us might upset her to the point of changing her mind about tomorrow night. She’ll worry about getting into bed with Bruce and finding me there too.” Doug laughed at that. “I think we’d better forget about it.”
“Pat Hanley isn’t a prude, Doug. Far from it. Women can tell these things about each other after just a few minutes. She might say ‘No,’ but she’d probably be thrilled that we asked her. I’ll tell you what. Let me knock quietly on the door and see if she’s awake. If she doesn’t answer, that’s that. If she’s there, I’ll tell her I’ve got you prisoner in here and ask if she wants to come in. There’s no harm in it if she’s not interested.” Carol reached over for her nightgown and slipped it back on.
Fiore didn’t know what to say. He wondered how Pat would react to finding him in bed with Carol. Not only the idea that he was sleeping with another woman, but that he was actually screwing his opponent’s wife. What was Pat going to think of Carol, seeing her willing to set a trap for her husband that would cost him the election, and having this relationship with Doug at the very same time?
And yet the idea of having both these women in bed with him was overwhelming. He knew there might never be another chance like this to have his greatest fantasy come true. It was as if fate had started him in an affair with Carol and then introduced Pat so that at one precise moment, this very night, he could lie between two beautiful women and do whatever he wanted with either of them.
Fiore saw that Carol was turned on by the idea as much as he was. It was hard for him to understand why one woman wanted to be there, watching another twist and tremble with pleasure as the man focused his attention on her and shared all of his body with her in a ritual that immersed the two of them entirely. He thought it might be a lesbian sort of thing involving two women who weren’t comfortable getting into bed together and making love. With a man present, they could find ways of giving pleasure to each other while ministering to his desires also.
He watched as Carol walked toward the front of the room, opened their half of the double door on the opposite wall, and knocked. When Pat answered, Doug saw the light from her room before Carol disappeared behind the closed door. Several minutes passed before she returned, holding onto one of Pat’s hands. As they approached the foot of the bed, Fiore pulled the sheet up to his waist.
“Pat said she’d rather be with us than watching Jay Leno,” Carol said. “And guess what I also found out?”
Before he could say anything, Pat spoke up. “I just told Carol that we’ve been together before, Doug. I wanted to be honest.”
“So we should all be more comfortable than as if we were strangers,” Carol added. “Come on, let’s get into bed.” She returned to her side, to his right, on the window side of the room. Fiore was grateful that neither woman was upset at learning of his relationship with the other.
Pat took off her robe, dropped it on the floor and joined the other two in the king-size bed. “The three musketeers,” she quipped.
“But with only one sword,” Carol replied, giggling.
They all laughed. Their humor was beginning to loosen him up. Doug put an arm around each of their shoulders. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I called this meeting,” he said.
“Probably just to see the latest in women’s lingerie,” Pat said, turning toward him.
“When you could have just asked Victoria’s Secret for a catalogue.” Carol was laughing as she spoke the words. She sat up in bed. “It is now midnight, the witching hour. So which witch is it going to be first? I think I have seniority.” She lifted her nightgown up over her head.
Pat raised herself to her knees. “Unless he wants to do something with one of us witches on each side. I think they call that a sandwitch, w-i-t-c-h.”
“And I think Jay Leno should be watching us,” Carol said. “We’ve got some great material here. But let’s see, before we took a break Doug was showing me his windshield wiper number. If you want to join in, you’ll have to you-know-what.” As she spoke, Carol pulled the sheet back down to Doug’s ankles. Pat took off her negligee.
Fiore looked up at the two women, waiting for him to start the action going. He raised his hands and fondled Carol’s breasts with one, Pat’s with the other. Carol’s breasts were larger, but Pat’s nipples stood out firmer, making the fingers of his left hand more aware of them as he passed each hand back and forth from one breast to the other.
He sat up and Carol got on her knees also, just across from Pat. He moved his head in a semicircle, from right to left, first kissing Carol’s breasts, then doing the same with Pat, then going back again from left to right. He repeated the movement several times. “Love those wipers,” Carol said. She called Pat over to her side of the bed so that they were both on Doug’s right.
His eyes were closed and his mouth was pressed hard on one of Pat’s breasts when the light near the door first went on. Pat’s scream, and the way she pulled away were what alerted Fiore to the activity in the room. He looked toward the door in time to see flashbulbs go off before he raised his right arm to cover his face. There was a man standing partway between the light and the bed. “Good,” he heard the figure say, and then saw him run toward the door. The light went off and the door opened at almost the same instant. A moment later, it slammed shut.
“What the hell was that?” Doug cried out. He moved to his left and got his feet over the side of the bed, but had to bend over and pull up his shorts before he could run. He opened the door and looked out, but the corridor was empty.
Fiore fastened the chain lock before walking back toward the bed. Someone had turned on the lamp near the window. Carol had her nightgown on and was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Pat in her arms. Pat had her face buried against Carol’s chest and was sobbing.
“Get me her robe, Doug,” Carol said.
He picked the robe up from the floor, put it around Pat’s shoulders and stood there watching them.
“It’s ten after twelve,” he said. “That’s when the photographer was supposed to show up. I told Scardino to tell him not to come tonight—that it was off until tomorrow—but something must have gone wrong. Frankie probably left a message with someone else, and the guy never got it. Shit! … shit! … shit!”
Pat pulled her head away from Carol and began wiping the tears from her face with the robe. “Damn it, I didn’t need a dress rehearsal,” she said, “especially when I wasn’t expecting it.”
“That was just terrible.” Carol tried to comfort her, pushing some hair away from Pat’s eyes.
Fiore sat down on the bed. He looked at Carol. “I guess neither of us remembered to put the chain lock on the door.”
“I was sure you had done it,” she answered.
Pat stood up. “I’m okay now. I’m going to my room. I hate to disappoint you guys, but I couldn’t get back in the mood again. Not after that.”
Carol reached across the bed and got Pat’s negligee. “I’ll go with you and make sure you’re all right,” she said.
“Goodnight, Doug,” Pat whispered.
“Goodnight, Pat. I’m sorry about what happened. Someone will pay for this. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The two women walked through the adjoining doors into the other room. A few minutes later, Carol returned. “She’s crying again, Doug. It was very traumatic for her. I’m going to sleep in there tonight just in case she needs me. I feel responsible for the whole thing. Do you have an itinerary for where you’ll be tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it in my jacket. I’ll leave it here on the bureau. Call me as early as you can. I want to be sure that everything’s arranged for tomorrow night. Do you think she’ll have a problem doing it?�
��
“I doubt it. It’s different when you know what’s going to happen. Besides, she must still feel pretty desperate about what you’re going to do for her in return.”
“Yeah, that’s right, I forgot that.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he answered. “And don’t worry about those pictures. I’ll get them tomorrow and destroy everything.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Carol said, and closed both doors as she returned to Room 1023.
100
ON THAT SAME FRIDAY night Jenna stopped at the Twin Oaks on her way home, determined to give that “interesting stranger” from her horoscope of a month earlier another chance to show up. She sat at the bar, trying to follow a Seinfeld rerun that was in competition with the general din around her. A man took the seat next to her, looked over and said, “Hi.”
She smiled and returned his greeting. She could see that he was about her age, fairly good-looking even with glasses, and more shy than forward.
“I believe I know you,” he said. “Don’t you write for the Herald ?”
It always flattered her to be recognized, but she didn’t want to identify herself too quickly. “Yes, I do,” she answered.
“We actually spoke to each other for a few minutes about a year or so ago. It was at the Hopedale Nursing Home in Kingston. You were visiting a relative there at the same time I was and you asked me some questions about the care my mother was getting. I remember reading the articles you wrote about some of the bad stuff going on in the industry. By the way, my name is David Prince.”
“And I’m Jenna Richardson. It wasn’t really a relative of mine, just a nice old man who lost most of his marbles and couldn’t speak up when they didn’t treat him right. I had to pretend to be family in order to sit in his room all that time and watch what went on. How’s your mother doing?”
She died about four months ago, but that was right on schedule with what the doctors had given her. She had kidney problems.”
My Honorable Brother Page 46
