Do you want to try to call Peter again?"
She certainly did. She felt as if they’d been apart for weeks. She jumped to her feet.
"I’ll be right there!"
She grabbed her blanket and towel and took off for the cottage. The path meandered around the dunes but she was in such a hurry that she ran right up the dune in front of her.
As she neared the crest there was a sudden excruciating pain in her right foot, so intense that she fell to the sand with a scream.
At the hospital the nurse told Jane’s parents that she’d stepped on a sharp fragment of driftwood that had been partially buried in the sand, and that it had gone right through her foot. She would be fine, no bones broken, the nurse said, but she had needed some stitches and would have to stay off her feet as much as possible for a while.
"I’m sorry, honey," Jane’s mother told her when they’d gotten back to the cottage, sitting on the edge of Jane’s bed and stroking her arm, careful not to disturb the heavily bandaged foot on its nest of pillows, while Jane’s father looked on. "I guess this won’t be much of a vacation for you. We’d take you right back home but I still need a few days to finish my research."
"I’ll be here if you need anything," her father added.
"Can you bear it that long?" her mother asked.
"Sure," said Jane, trying to smile.
But after her parent’s had left the room she sighed to herself. No beach, no television, no record player, and worst of all, still no telephone. Jane’s mother had been going to call Mr. Jameson again but all the errands had been thrown aside in the confusion and the rush to the hospital. Maybe tomorrow.
Oh god, she wanted to hear Peter’s voice so badly! She wished she were home so he could come and comfort her. He’d certainly enjoy the fact that she had to stay off her feet. He wouldn’t even have to tie me to the bed, she thought longingly.
She began drifting into a long fantasy in which Peter played the doctor and she the helpless patient...and soon was smiling.
Chapter Forty-Seven
She stood outside The Word Works bookstore, tugging nervously at her red dress.
She had waited outside Peter’s house Monday morning, parked down the block where she could see his car. She’d waited as long as she could, but he hadn’t come out before she’d had to go to work. She’d returned to her vigil on her lunch break but without success.
Tuesday morning had been the same but she had taken a later lunch break and had been rewarded by seeing him emerge from his house and get into his car. She’d followed him downtown and again stopped a little way behind him when he parked in a narrow street that ran behind a line of stores.
She’d watched him enter one of them, climbing a short flight of cement stairs and using a key to open the featureless metal back door. When he’d disappeared inside she’d gotten out of her car and peered at the small sign beside the door, which read, "Word Works Bookstore Delivery Entrance". She’d walked around to the front and looked through the store window until she’d seen him standing behind the register counting money into the drawer, then left.
She had returned that night, parked in the lot near the front of the store, and watched. When the store had closed she’d seen Peter letting the last customers out and then locking the door. A little later the door had opened again and an older man had come out—Peter’s boss, she guessed—and Peter had locked the door after him. Shortly after that the store had gone dark.
She’d jumped from her car then and hurried through the alley between the store and the building next to it, stopping at the end and peering cautiously around the corner. She’d arrived just in time to see Peter exit through the back door, closing it firmly behind him and pulling on the handle to make sure it had locked. She’d waited until he’d gotten into his car and driven away—then crept up to the back door, fishing in her new purse for the ring of skeleton keys. She’d put her ear to the door and listened for several minutes to be sure there was no one else there, then went to work.
Although there were houses on the opposite side the street was poorly lit, so she’d had little fear of being seen and had taken her time. The lock was a fairly modern one and she went through many keys without success, but finally she’d found one that worked, and made careful note of it. She’d opened the door just far enough to stick her head in, called out a soft, "Hello?", waited for a moment, then stepped inside.
She hadn’t stayed long. She’d pulled a small flashlight out of her purse and looked around; as she’d expected she was in a small area separated from the rest of the store—a storage room mostly, with boxes piled up in no apparent order and in one corner a card table with a few mismatched chairs for employees to use on their breaks. There were stairs leading down to the store basement and a door that opened into the store itself.
He would be coming out that way.
She’d left then, closing the metal door carefully behind her then testing it as she had seen Peter do.
She’d returned on Thursday night, wearing her red dress. But Peter hadn’t been there that night. It had been so hard getting through the days, pretending...
But now it was Friday and he was there and she was standing outside the back door, waiting, her mouth dry. Her red dress was driving her crazy; even when she stood perfectly still it seemed to bunch and ride up. She had no idea why it had shrunk like that.
She glanced at her watch. Nine-thirty: the store would be closing. At the base of the door was a thin band of light. When the light went out it would be time.
Suddenly she heard a door open inside the store and footsteps approaching. No! It couldn’t be Peter yet! But the doorknob began to turn, and she half-climbed, half-jumped off the stairs and crouched in the darkness beside them. The door opened and she heard Peter call out, "Good night, Mr. Nevin. See you tomorrow."
She watched him as he hurried down the steps, got into his car and drove away.
Then she wept.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Home at last! Jane hobbled up the porch stairs, favoring her good foot.
The last few days had been excruciating. Her mother had finally gotten through to her employer’s house using the payphone in the drugstore, but apparently he had been out of town as well, and nothing could be done. So the phone in the cottage remained unusable and Jane had to stay off her feet so she couldn’t go into town.
Jane’s parents had done their best to keep her entertained—her father had even carried her down to the beach in his arms more than once—and she was grateful, but not being able to talk to Peter was torture. And by the time it was all right for her to stand on her feet again it was almost time to head back to Ridgeton.
She’d sent him a letter the day after her injury explaining the whole miserable situation but she doubted that he could have gotten it more than a day or so ago. She was going to call him as soon as she got in the house.
She shuffled aside as her father, loaded up with bags and suitcases, bustled up the stairs and dropped everything next to the door with a huff, then reached into his pocket and brought out his keys. But when he started to insert the key the door swung open. Jane and her father looked at each other.
Jane’s mother, similarly loaded down, came up behind them and saw them standing there. "What’s the matter?" she asked.
"Well," Jane’s father replied thoughtfully, "Either I didn’t pull the door all the way closed when we left or..."
He bent down and examined the lock. "Doesn’t look like it’s been forced."
"Well, let’s go in and have a look around," Jane’s mother replied, sensibly. "If all the furniture’s missing we’ll have a clue."
"Good point," said Jane’s father.
Inside, everything appeared undisturbed. Jane looked around the main floor while her parents hurried upstairs. Then, not wanting to tackle the stairs until she had to, sat down in the living room.
After a while her mother came back down, saying, "Everything’s all right, I guess. No one’s touched my jewelry box and nothing else seems to be missing..."
Jane’s father came down shortly after, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, I guess I just didn’t pull the door all the way closed. Funny, I could have sworn..." He shrugged again, picked up a couple of the suitcases and headed back upstairs.
Much later Jane was in her room unpacking and noticed that her closet door had been left open, something she never did. She stared at it for a few seconds...then shook her head. She’d probably done it that morning when they’d all been in a hurry to leave and she was still half-asleep.
No matter. She was home and she was going to call Peter right now! She dialed his house, smiling in anticipation of the sound of his voice, but his father answered and told her Peter was at work and would be there until closing.
Of course, she thought as she hung up. It was Saturday afternoon, where else would he be? She reached to pick up the phone and call the store—then hesitated. Then she smiled. She would ride her bike down to the store and surprise him at closing time.
She looked down at her injured foot. It was still heavily bandaged but she was sure she’d be able to ride her bike. And besides she was still tired and sweaty from the trip back and she desperately wanted a nap and then a shower. And then after dinner she’d put on something pretty and go to him.
When she peered in through the store window Jane saw an older man behind the register and assumed that was Mr. Nevin, whom Peter had mentioned from time to time. But where was… Ah, there was Peter, over by the wall, reaching up for a book and handing it to a portly, middle-aged woman. Jane’s heart swelled as she watched him smiling as he spoke to the woman, and she longed to fling open the shop door and run to him.
Limp to him, you mean, she thought ruefully.
She looked down at her bandaged foot and grimaced, not with pain—although it was throbbing a little from the unaccustomed exercise of riding a bike—but at how it spoiled the effect of the lovely sleeveless print dress she was wearing. She had gotten dressed and carefully made up after dinner, then decided there was no point in going to the bookstore until it was nearer to closing time. She wanted him all to herself.
However by eight-thirty she had been overcome with impatience to see him and hopped on her bike. And now she’d have to wait more than half an hour for the store to close.
She thought about going away and finding someplace to sit down for a while, but put that thought aside. If she had to wait for Peter she wanted to be able to look at him. She watched him lead the woman he’d gotten the book for up to the register, nod politely and turn back to wait on someone else. While he was still looking the other way Jane slipped into the store.
For the next half-hour she played hide-and-seek, moving around the store as if she were browsing, but always keeping one or more of the free-standing bookshelves on the floor between her and Peter and ducking down if he turned in her direction. And as it got nearer to closing time she began maneuvering to keep out of Mr. Nevin’s line of sight as well, keeping close to the back of the store. The Invisible Girl lives, she thought, smiling to herself.
There were only one or two customers left in the store when Mr. Nevin announced that the store was closing for the night, and they obediently made their way out the front door, which Peter held open for them before closing and locking it. Jane, peering from behind one of the bookshelves, watched as Mr. Nevin and Peter closed out the register. Then, as she’d hoped would happen, Peter let Mr. Nevin out the front door, locked it, switched off the lights and began walking towards the back of the store. Towards Jane.
--------------------------
At last, she thought, seeing the older man coming out the front door. She jumped from her car and hurried down the alley to the back of the store as quickly as the constricting red dress would allow her. As she ran she opened her purse and fumbled for the ring of keys and by the time she reached the back door she had the right key in her hand. She paused only an instant to put her ear to the door. Hearing nothing, she quickly unlocked and opened it and without a backward glance hurried inside, closing the door carefully behind her.
She leaned against the door in the darkness, trying to catch her breath, trying to compose herself. As her eyes adjusted she could make out a faint, barely discernible light coming from beneath the door that led into the store itself. In a moment he would be coming through that door to be with her:
Jane.
"Do you like my new undies?" she whispered to herself as she began to unfasten the buttons on the front of her red dress.
----------------------------
Although the lights were out in the store there was still a fair amount of yellowish light from the parking lot coming in through the big display window at the front, throwing huge shadows toward the back of the store. Jane could see Peter quite clearly and waited until he had walked past her before stepping out behind him and saying quietly, "Did you miss me?"
She’d expected him to jump and whirl around. But instead he froze in mid-step and then turned very slowly in place until he was facing her. He was smiling.
"Well, it’s about time," he said softly. "I was wondering when I was going to hear from you. C’mere."
Jane started to hobble towards him and saw his glance fall down to her bandaged foot, then back up to her face. He hurried toward her and took her in his arms, murmuring, "You poor thing." He looked into her eyes and asked, "Are you all right? Does it hurt?"
"A little," Jane admitted, "but I don’t care about that." She pulled him down to her and kissed him. It went on for a long time, and when they finally pulled apart she smiled up at him and said, "There. I feel better already."
She kissed him again. And again. And again, more passionately, tongues intertwining, as they pressed against each other and began allowing their hands to wander.
Finally Peter broke away and said, "You know, you’re in the store after hours. That’s trespassing."
Jane smiled at the familiar gambit and replied, "I’m so sorry, sir. Please don’t call the police. I’ll do anything you want." She hugged him closely and whispered again in his ear, "I’ll do anything you want."
Peter stood back from her then took her by the shoulders, turned her so that she was illumined by the light from the window and pretended to look at her appraisingly for a while. Finally he said, "That’s a lovely dress you have on...take it off."
Jane had been hoping for no less. She quickly reached back and unzipped her dress, let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it—a little clumsily because of her bandaged foot—before assuming her favorite position before him.
She had chosen her bra and panties with special care; they were made from a satiny fabric in a delicate lilac color and they were trimmed with beautiful flutters of the same fabric. She saw Peter inadvertently lick his lips as he stared at her. She smiled. God, she loved being able to affect him this way!
She whispered, "Please sir, is this what you want?"
Standing with her feet apart was putting too much pressure on her sore foot, so she fell to her knees in front of him. "Or this?" she continued, looking up into his face then down as she concentrated on opening his pants. As she slid them down to his ankles she noticed something strange about the fabric of his underwear, even though it was mostly in her shadow—a wrongness of shape and texture. She reached up a hand to touch them...and then realized what they were.
"Oh, Panty Boy, you did it!" she whispered, trying not to laugh.
"Yes, ma’am, night and day, as ordered," came the reply, "And they’re mighty fragrant by now..." He put his hands on either side of her head and pushed her face into his crotch. "...as you can tell."
Jane’s nostrils suddenly filled with the scent of old sweat and a concentrated odor that seemed to Jane to be just...Peter. It made her dizzy with desire. She rubbed her nose up and down the length of his erection, breathing him in. She rubbed her cheeks against him there, lowered her head to kiss and lick his balls through the shiny fabric, then turned her head sideways and began kissing her way up his shaft, stopping to hold him between her lips and tease him with her tongue.
When she reached the top, where the head of his cock was peaking out from the waistband, she licked the pearly drop of liquid from where it balanced there then looked up at Peter and said, "I think you’ve worn these long enough, Panty Boy."
She helped him out of his shoes and socks, then his pants and finally the panties that he’d worn all week for her. She held the panties in her hand then, catching Peter’s gaze and holding it, raised the panties to her face, holding them by the crotch, and deliberately inhaled their fragrance. Stuck out her tongue and licked them provocatively. Then wrapped them around his cock and began to stroke his cock with them as she lowered her head to take him into her mouth.
--------------------------
What was taking him so long, she wondered. The other night it had only taken him a moment or two, she was sure; she had barely made it from her car to the back door herself between the time he’d locked the front door and the time he left from the back. Maybe he had some other work to do before he left...but the lights were out in the store so what could he be doing?
She began to get anxious. What if he had left by the front door tonight? She had been in too much of a hurry to notice if his car was parked in the same place. Oh, Sweet Mary, she couldn’t stand it if he were gone after coming so close!
She had to know. She stepped quietly to the door that led into the store, opened it a crack and peeked out. The lights were all out, certainly, but where was...
Her eyes, already adjusted to the dark from standing in the back room, picked him out. He appeared to be simply standing in the middle of the store...
...Waiting for her! That was it, he was waiting for her to come to him! Yes, I’m coming, she thought to him, pulling the door open wide. She hesitated, looking down at her red dress, hanging open on either side of her. She reached up and pulled it off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor behind her as she entered the store.
She walked with slow, deliberate steps, hands hanging loosely at her sides as she walked towards him. She felt as though she were taking part in a ceremony, almost the way she did when approaching the altar for communion. His back was to her and the pale light coming from the front of the store created a halo around him. She was getting closer. In just a moment she would reach out and touch his shoulder and he would turn to her...
Wait.
She stopped, not six feet behind him. Something was wrong: he was...he was standing there...naked from the waist down! She could see the dark pile of clothing next to him. Why? How could he have known that she was...
Then she heard him moan.
What was the matter? Was he in pain? She inched forward. As she drew closer she became aware of another sound: a moist, delicate lapping, interspersed with louder sounds; a slurping, a smacking of lips...
And then another moan, but this one feminine. She had to see!
On the balls of her feet she slipped behind the freestanding bookshelves on her right and peeked over the top.
Sweet Mother of God, it was the little whore! She was kneeling in front of him and she was...she had his...she… Oh Jesus!
She knew she had to run away—get as far from this unholy scene as possible—wipe it from her memory! This was not happening! But her feet remained rooted to the floor and she found herself unable to look away. She stared and stared, the image of what the little whore was doing, the obscenity of it, burning itself into her mind. And right alongside of it images of his—Peter’s—face in the dim light: the look of blissful pleasure, the affectionate, loving expression as he looked down at the little whore and stroked her hair.
How can he look at her like that, she thought. It’s me he loves, me he wants! Me—Jane! ...Not that little whore!
And then...what was that? Why was he throwing his head back and crying out? Why were his hips shaking like that?
She continued to watch as Peter raised the little whore to her feet and embraced her. Heard him murmur something about not wanting her to have to stand on her bad foot too long. Listened to the little whore giggle as Peter picked her up in his arms then gently laid her down on the carpet. Watched, her mouth dry, as he took off the rest of his clothing, lay down next to the little whore and began to kiss and caress her...remove the rest of her clothing...and roll on top of her.
At this she could stand no more, and fled back the way she came. In the back room she struggled into her red dress and then stormed out the door, deliberately slamming it behind her. She hoped they heard it. She wanted to scream. But she made herself wait until she was back in her car and speeding away.
Then she screamed and screamed and screamed.
--------------------------
Jane and Peter failed to hear the door slam, as they were making a great deal of noise themselves.
--------------------------
She parked her car in the driveway as usual, but didn’t get out. She sat there, staring out into the darkness beyond the windshield, her chest still heaving with fury. The little whore, that little fornicator! She was trying to steal Peter away, sullying him with her nasty, whoring little tricks.
She must be stopped.
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