Carl Van Marcus - The motorcyclist_s wife

Even as the words left his mouth, Larry felt a twinge of disquiet at deliberately deceiving the distraught young woman. In his mind's eye, he saw her husband flying through the air to land with a sickening crunch upon the track, his virile, leather-clad body crumpling on impact like a cricket crushed under someone's heel. Then, Larry's memory skipping forward a few hours, a vision of the small hospital's antiseptic white-walled corridor flashed across Larry's brain. He'd been nervously sipping at his third cup of wax-flavored coffee from the hall vending machine when a plump, white-frocked doctor who looked more like an extra in a low-budget television western than a surgeon had approached him.

"Lucky to be alive… doubt if he'll ever walk again, though we did save his legs… but paralysis has set in… no life at all below the waist… but no brain damage, luckily… yeah, he was pretty lucky."

Just the recollection brought back a flash of the horror and disbelief he'd felt at that moment. Lucky? When he'd never again be able to walk or even make love to a woman, much less dazzle the crowds with his stunt-rider skills? Larry wondered if Verne wouldn't have been better off if his brain had died along with his body. And what about the Motorcycle Circus, into which they had both thrown their entire savings, counting on Verne's extraordinary prowess as a rider? He himself was ruined too, financially if not physically.

When the grey-faced, weary-looking doctor had thrown out a grain of hope, he'd grasped at it like a drowning man catching hold of a chance bit of driftwood.

"… no facilities here in Kansas, but there is an operation… very expensive… 50% chance of success… very delicate, intricate… know of a specialist in Indianapolis…"

Now, as he stood in his partner's living room trying to comfort his buddy's tearful wife he wondered why he'd not told her the truth. On the drive from the airport, he'd been full of schemes to raise money for the operation, and he'd fully intended to discuss this with Mrs. Smith. She'd have to get a full-time job, of course, and he'd put on some special benefit shows or something along that line. Anything at all, just so that Verne got the best possible medical care and recovered at least in time for next summer's opening of the real money-maker – the opening of the permanent Cycle Circus here in Indiana.

It was kind of ironic, he reflected, that he found himself depending so heavily on the slightly younger man. He, Larry, had been the one who taught Smith all he knew about bikes, starting when he'd been a skinny little freckle-faced freshman who'd hang around while his older neighbor polished and repaired his big cycle. Larry had taken a liking to the kid who so obviously adored him, and he'd eventually let him try out the bike. Within months the youngster had far outstripped his teacher in skill and daring, and by the time he graduated from high school, he was proficient enough to be able to make a living by the prize money he won. Even after he'd become a success, however, he'd still looked up to Larry Johnson and had asked his advice about a great many things other than motorcycles. In fact, probably the only decision he'd made entirely on his own was when he met Sandi on a tour in Florida and married her three weeks later.

Larry had been prepared to dislike the new bride even before he met her, simply because he'd have preferred to have handpicked the star motorcycle rider's wife himself if Verne insisted in tying himself down at this inopportune point in his career. Hell, the guy was only twenty-one, for Chrissake, and it wasn't like he was hurting for sex, what with all the "cycle groupies" who liked to hang around the track and had no compunctions at all about putting out for the muscular, personable young stunt rider. Although the Cycle Circus had not yet become a reality at that point, the dream had been germinating in Johnson's brain for some months and most of the profits from his repair shop were earmarked for this project. The last thing he needed was some stupid broad coming along and seducing Verne away from a life of constant touring for fear of the danger involved.

When Larry had met Sandi, his worst suspicions had been justified. Granted, she never nagged at her husband to give up his career in favor of a stable nine-to-five job, but he could read in her plaintive brown eyes that this was exactly what she would have liked. At least he'd managed to persuade Verne that it wasn't a good idea for her to hang around the track; he'd told his partner that guys were making passes at his wife, but the real reason was that it was essential for Verne Smith to retain his image of virile, available hero if the circus was to become popular with women as well as men.

Now, for the first time in a year, the ambitious manager found himself looking at his partner's young blonde wife in a new light – that of a sensuous female rather than as an obstacle in his path toward fame and fortune. The curvaceous, apricot-lace-draped figure now clinging to him was obviously that of a woman, and a woman whom he suspected of having a lover as well… and that made her seem much more alluring to him, and available, as well.

Wonder how come I never really noticed her before? he asked himself as he caressed the soft blonde head leaning upon his shoulder. Ain't like me to ignore a sexy-looking chick!

"Oh Larry, Larry," Sandi murmured, hugging him more tightly than ever in her relief that her husband was neither dead nor seriously injured. "You're sure he'll be all right? You're sure?"

"Stop worrying, baby," Larry's normally loud voice dropped to a soft croon as a definite plan began to formulate in his scheming mind. "He'll have to be in the hospital awhile, but we'll get him the best doctors and everything'll work out."

"When can I see him?"

"They're flying him in from Kansas tomorrow afternoon, and I'll drive you into Gary to see him," Larry replied, pouring her another glass of whiskey as he spoke. "Don't you worry about anything – I'll be taking care of you just like Verne asked me to. 'Help Sandi out,' that's what he said to me after the accident. Yeah, you can count on me!"

This was a blatant lie, seeing as Verne hadn't even regained consciousness by the time the show manager left the hospital to catch his plane, but it had the desired psychological effect on the young wife. Her large amber eyes flooded with tears of gratitude, and a tremulous smile hovered on her child-like face.

"Th-thank you, Larry," she murmured. She'd never before seen her husband's partner acting so gentle, and decided that she'd been unjust in her estimation of him as an insensitive wheeler-dealer. Until now, she'd half-suspected him of exploiting and manipulating Verne, but certainly his reaction to this tragedy proved how deeply he cared about his friend.

"I… I just wish I could be there with him, or do something to help him," Sandi sighed. "It's so awful to think of him lying all alone in some awful h-hos…"

"Now don't go on like that, honey," Larry interrupted as the blonde girl's voice began to grow unsteady. "And you can help – you can get a job so we can give him the very best care there is. You won't mind doing that for awhile, will you?"

"Mind? Of course not, Larry. I want to help. Anyway, it'll be better to be doing something than sitting around here worrying."

"That's a good girl," the conniving manager murmured, moving his hands an imperceptible inch closer to the full-swelling mounds of her almost naked breasts. "Here, have some more of this," he pushed the refilled whiskey glass toward her, and was pleased to see her gulp it down obediently. "You're still shaking like a leaf."

And no wonder! he thought to himself, considering that she's running around virtually naked on a cold night like this! But he restrained himself from speaking, for the last thing he wanted was for Sandi to notice that she'd neglected to cover up her resplendent body.