Carl Van Marcus - The motorcyclist_s wife

"But… but what about the Cycle Circus? I mean, Jesus, man, I've got lots of money sunk in this, and you know it can't go without you! And you've got money in it too!"

"I've decided I just don't care that much about the money, Larry. The most important thing is Sandi and me – our marriage. We want to settle down and have kids as soon as we can save up enough."

"But…"

"Don't try to convince me, man. I've made up my mind for sure. Before they took me into that operating room, I swore to God that I'd never get on a bike again if he'd make me healthy again. Well, he kept his part of the bargain and I'm keeping mine – to him and to Sandi."

Larry's face darkened into a black scowl of frustrated hatred. That fucking bitch! he thought. She never told me she'd talked like that to Verne. She's double-crossed me, and she's gonna be good and sorry! Thank God I've got those pictures I stole from the "Deja-Vu" studio. This'll make Verne think different, all right!

Slowly and deliberately, the dark-haired manager pulled out his wallet and extracted the small packet of negatives he'd taken from Tony Fletcher a couple days after overhearing the photographer's conversation in the bar.

"Before you make a decision," he said in a voice that made Verne know at once that something was very seriously wrong, "I think you'll want to talk to Sandi about these."

"Wh-what's that?" Verne took the proffered photos, tore open the paper packet, and held the negative up to the bedside lamp. His face, so confident and hopeful only a minute before, seemed to age before Johnson's intent gaze, the skin of his face turning a sickly grey shade, bitter lines etching around his mouth, and a hard, cynical expression appearing in his eyes. Though he gulped several times as though trying to speak, no words came out.

"Just thought you'd like to know just what your wife's been doing to earn all that money," Larry said smoothly. Then, scooping up the negatives and replacing them in his wallet, he turned toward the door.

"The bitch! The cheating bitch!" he heard Verne spit out in a strangled tone.

"Be talking to you tomorrow about the summer schedule," Johnson said, then left the room without a backward glance, his face lighted up with an ugly smile of triumph.

Sandi Smith sped through Brunrocke, hurrying to get to Gary before the hospital visiting hours were over. Her hazel eyes shone happily, mirroring her mood of elation. Verne was all right! The operation had been a success – Clare Johnson had just called to tell her so – and now she and her husband could start to build a real life together!

It had been a good day to work, too; they'd just completed the next-to-the-last scene, and by the end of the week the film would be on its way to South Africa. Sandi felt a great sense of relief at the thought of finishing this job, for though she no longer tried to deny that she thoroughly enjoyed being photographed while doing things so obscene she'd never known they existed before now, she was anxious to get back to a normal life with Verne. She didn't like doing work that she was more and more sure was illegal, and she didn't like the deception involved.

Actually, though, it had been surprisingly easy to make Verne believe she was doing fashion modeling and advertisements. She'd never even lied exactly, just left out all the things that might make him suspicious when she was talking about her work. Most of the time they'd been discussing the future, so she'd not really had many bad moments. The only thing that worried her at all was the missing set of negatives, but since there'd been no repercussions for three weeks now she felt pretty secure even about that. Doubtless someone had accidentally thrown them away – everyone was usually so drunk and stoned that it would have been easy enough for that to happen.

Nor had she minded re-shooting that particular sequence in which she was sucking a black guy's cock and then being screwed by him. Even just thinking about how good his hard cock had felt made her feel all excited, and she had to force her attention back to the road.

That's all in the past, she told herself firmly. Now it's time to start a normal life and forget the movie, at least when I'm with Verne.

By now she'd reached the outskirts of Gary, and as she saw the jack-o'-lanterns gleaming from nearly every doorstep she remembered that tonight was Halloween. Reminding herself to stop at the all-night supermarket on the way home to buy some candy corn and chocolate bars for the trick or treaters – there were bound to be lots of them in Brunrocke, where children were as common as crabgrass – she turned down the sidestreet leading to the hospital parking lot.

A slim young mother, not much older than Sandi herself, was leading her two children out for an early trick or treat session, and the blonde motorcyclist's wife slowed the car to smile in a soft, maternal way at the youngsters. A little boy of about four was tugging on his mother's hand, eager to show off his brightly-colored Indian costume at the next house and add to the candy in his already overstuffed bag, while a small girl dressed in a fluffy bunny costume toddled along behind.

That's how I'll look pretty soon! Sandi thought, warm happiness shivering through her body at the thought. I'm so glad Verne's all right, and that he's giving up that dreadful stunt riding job. We're going to be so happy now! And I know I'll be a better wife to him because of the things I've been through this past month… though, of course, I'll never tell him why!

Smiling in joyful anticipation of the bright future that lay ahead for her, Sandi Smith parked the car and hurried into the hospital to share her elation with her husband.