Kitty Spencer - Three-way weekend

During their courtship, Elaine had admired Warren's old-fashioned approach to sex. She was not a virgin, but after the crude behavior of some of the college men she had known, his apparent chivalry had appealed to her. But in the still darkness of her wedding night, she wondered if possibly she had not idealized the situation. Instinct told her that something was wrong. Her own limited sexual experiences confirmed the thought. So did the days that followed.

During their honeymoon, she found out that there was only one method by which he was able to achieve an erection. And, as with all impotent men, the method involved a lengthy routine. The routine was more like an obscure tribal ritual, with Elaine, naked, carrying out a series of complicated and exhausting physical exercises, while her husband barked out staccato commands, urging her on to greater and greater effort until she all but collapsed.

She felt herself grow hot with resentment as she remembered the scenes that had taken place between herself and her husband. The oddly excited look on his face as he stood watching her frantic movements while she tried to follow the ever-increasing tempo of his commands, came vividly to her mind; so did the shame she had felt at her own unwitting response to the sight of her husband's stiffening organ.

With a distressed moan, the ashamed young wife buried her face in her hands. By the time the psychiatrist completed his phone call, she was sobbing. It was a little while before she was calm enough to speak clearly. Once the interview was over, Elaine felt drained of all energy. But she had enough strength left to accept the fact that her marriage was finished. The sham was over! There was nothing left to pretend about anymore.

For more than a year, she had stubbornly tried to keep up a facade of being happily married. She'd behaved instinctively, protecting both herself and her husband. It had taken the psychiatrist less than an hour to destroy that facade in a way that made it impossible to piece together again.

Strangely, it had been Warren, himself, who had finally confirmed the destruction. Once, in the beginning he had begged her never to leave him, had asked her with tears in his eyes to bear with him and remain his wife. But after the arrest a different Warren faced Elaine, a grim-faced and monosyllabic man who only spoke to tell her, in halting phrases that everything was her fault, that if it had not been for her, he would not be in such a predicament. Fortunately, he was led back to his cell before she started to scream.

For a time, Elaine had returned to her parents' home in Baltimore. She decided… and her parents agreed… that divorce was the only possible solution. The young blonde had been twenty when her husband had been arrested; her twenty-first birthday took place a week after her divorce became final.

But the divorce was not enough. It provided no escape from those who knew what had happened and whose knowledge was a constant humiliation. She felt continually sullied by the publicity Warren's case had received. He had received a light sentence; and what had happened between the two of them was a secret she could have borne… forever, if need be. His public disgrace was another matter.

It was her father who had suggested a trip. His suggestion came on a day when Elaine had imagined, during a downtown shopping trip, that she had seen Warren twice. She had seized upon her father's words gratefully.

"It would be nice if one of your girlfriends could go with you," Elaine's mother added. "Liz, perhaps, or Marcia?"

Over my dead body, Elaine thought silently. Aloud, she said, "It's a wonderful idea, I'd love it. But I'd prefer to go alone. I need to be alone for a while." She knew that her parents would never be able to refuse her appeal.

Two days later, the troubled young girl boarded the jet for San Francisco…

Through eyes blurred with sudden tears, Elaine looked around the plaza. Well, she'd taken the trip! She was in Union Square, in San Francisco. And, damn it, she was enjoying it.

She fumbled clumsily for a much-needed cigarette, and she dropped her handbag. The contents spilled out over the ground. Elaine knelt hastily to collect them… a change purse, her lighter, two lipsticks, her compact, a comb…

"Is this yours?"

The voice came from above Elaine's head. She looked up, squinting against the sunlight. A young man stood beside her, holding a silver dollar in his out stretched hand. He was tall and he wore dark glasses. He spoke with a marked accent.

"Why, yes. Thank you." Elaine straightened up and took the coin. It was the one she always carried, her lucky dollar. Flustered, she began putting her belongings back into her bag. As she dropped her compact into place, she felt a tear roll down her cheek. Another followed it. She was angry at having made a fool of herself.

The voice spoke again, warm with sympathy.

"Please. You are crying. You must sit down. Let me order you a coffee."

It was a relief to do as she was told. Elaine sat down. The young man sat down opposite her. He snapped his fingers at a waiter and within seconds a large black coffee appeared on the table. She drank it gratefully.

"Please, I wish to present myself. My name is Nino."

Elaine looked at him. She recognized him as one of the boys who had been sitting a few tables away from her. She glanced around. The other young man had disappeared.

"I'm Elaine," she said. "Elaine Craig."

"I'm glad to meet you," the handsome youth said. He removed his sunglasses. Dark, serious eyes looked into her face. "I hope you feel better now?"

"Yes, thank you, much better. It was kind of you to help me. I don't know what…"

Her voice trailed away on the lie as she neglected to complete the sentence. She had no intention of explaining what had happened to her.

Nino smiled his understanding. Elaine considered his face thoughtfully. She found it interesting. It was not merely that he was handsome; he had exceptionally fine bone structure. She imagined him to be a highly sensitive person. She wondered if he came from one of those very old, aristocratic families one heard about.

"Is this your first visit to San Francisco?" Nino asked.

"Yes."

"Are you staying long?"

Elaine paused for a moment. The boy's eyes watched her carefully as he waited for her reply. Finally, she said: "Why, yes. I hope so."

Nino did not answer. He simply sat in the sun and smiled…

Carlo was due to pick up his tour group at two-thirty. After a glance at the watch lying on the bureau, he reflected, for the umpteenth time, that the season had all the earmarks of a real money-maker. The flow of tourists was already promising.

His group for the day was booked in at a second-class hotel in North Beach, only a short walk from the apartment where he lived with his family. While his mother and younger brothers took their customary after-lunch nap, Carlo showered and changed.

The afternoon was cooler than yesterday. Carlo wondered whether or not it would be worth wearing his silk suit. The suit was expensively tailored, and he knew it looked well on his tall, athletic frame. Did guiding a school-group for the afternoon rate the silk suit?

Carlo shrugged. He might as well wear it. You never knew.

He checked his appearance in the bedroom mirror. Although it was still spring, he already had acquired a light tan. He thought with satisfaction that it made him look vigorous. Good. He combed his dark-brown hair and then tucked the comb into the breast pocket of his suit. Last came the cologne. He poured a little of it into the palm of one hand and massaged the back of his neck, taking care not to soil his fresh white shirt. As always, Carlo's attention to detail was meticulous.