Roger Grayson: The Two-Way Mirror

It was June 6th, her ex-husband's birthday; Karen Wilson awakened with a start and almost immediately fell into a state of depression. In fact, she had slept fitfully, the darkened hours measured in short, fleeting nightmares in which she kept seeing Jeff's bloodied face in death where he had fallen from an enemy shell; she had cried off and on throughout the night. It had been horrible. Now, she wondered where he was, if he was all right. He had been discharged when his tour of duty was up, that much she knew… and that was all she knew about him.

Eighteen months we've been separated… divorced… good Lord, is it possible…?

The lovely young girl swung from her bed naked, her long blonde hair an entangled mess from her sleepless rolling and tossing. She crossed the room to her vanity, her perfectly round and full buttocks quivering slightly with the movement; she ran a brush quickly through her lengthy, silken, honey-colored tresses. The raising of her arms lifted her firm and lushly copious, high-set, widely spaced breasts to a regal state, their rose-tipped nipples distending sensitively as she watched in the mirror before her. Strange, she meditated, how the mere thought of him could arouse her this way, yet when they had been together she had invariably frozen up…

He is twenty-five today, two years older than me… We would've been married two years… I-I wonder if he ever thinks of me…?

Subconsciously, she noted her slender waist and the way it flared into round, attractive hips. Her shape pleased her. Her stomach was flat and smooth as it should be, and her thighs were long, full-swelling, as did her calves taper admirably into thin, well-formed ankles. There was nothing fraudulent about her body, she thought proudly, no pads necessary, no defacing blemishes… and the soft golden down that sparsely covered her pubic mound denoted her natural complexion. The term divorcee did not fit her, she thought bitterly.

She picked up her robe, slipping into it, then looked closer into the mirror. Her eyes were swollen and puffy. She poked at the little bags beneath them irritably with a long slender finger…

Beautiful, laughing hazel eyes, he used to tell me…

Thank God, she didn't have to walk into some classroom looking this way. She tossed down her brush and went to the bedroom window. A typically hot and smoggy Los Angeles summer's morn greeted her. It was 6:30; she hoped she might get some writing accomplished, if only a page or so, before the temperature reached the unbearable point in the little apartment, but she was in such a hellish, downcast mood. The stupid manager hadn't repaired her air-conditioning unit as yet, and she doubted that it would be done today. June 6th, her Jeffrey's birthday… God, how she missed him… and loved him… Happy birthday, darling… wherever you are…

She sighed resignedly, and dabbed at a swelling tear. It was going to be a miserable day.

In passing through the small living-room on her way to the kitchenette, her typewriter and the cluttered array of papers around it caught her eye. It glared back at her… an ogre, seemingly challenging her determination.

"Go to hell," she snapped aloud at the mechanical monster, setting about to make herself a cup of instant coffee. "I've beaten you before and I'll do it again."

She spooned the dehydrated powder into a cup and drew hot water from the tap. Why hadn't Karl Fletcher contacted her? She had given him the manuscript over a week ago, and he was to call and give her his evaluation the moment he finished reading it and he'd seemed more than just a little anxious to be of service, too. She found herself smiling. Of course, his enthusiasm hadn't fooled her. She had felt his little fish eyes raking her up and down… almost sensed his fat, sweaty hands touching her cringing flesh a half dozen times when they had ridden up on the elevator together. But that was before she had learned he was a literary agent and had gotten up the courage to approach him.

"Why, I had no idea you wrote, Miss Wilson," he had said, drenching her in his jowly grin and wiping perspiration from his naked, fringed pate. "Imagine that, a writer and an agent living in the same building…"

Some phenomenon, Karen mused, dropping into a living room chair, her robe falling partially open to reveal the slightly tanned flesh of a smooth rounded thigh. All the same, she hadn't told him of the half-dozen rejections the book had brought her so far, only of her scant, now-and-then magazine credits, implying that she made her living at it. Well, she hadn't really lied about that; it was her only earned but thank God for the small annuity her parents had arranged for her before their horrible auto accident last year.

After all, she wasn't exactly destitute or without an active means of livelihood; she always had her teaching credential that she could rely on… even though she had never used it. Her ambition as far back as she could remember had been' to write. Teaching had been something to fall back on, in case the need should ever arise, and so far it hadn't, but there had been many discouraging days after Jeff had gone and before the income her parents had left her. Now, she was determined, by hook or by crook, and she was beginning to believe that one more often made it by "crook" rather than ability.

How many times had Jeff said, It isn't what you know, honey, it's who you know.

Whom, darling, she would correct… damnit, there she went again. Jeff, Jeff, Jeff! He haunted her sleep and tortured her when she was awake. Her brain reeked with his memory! Damn him to hell, anyway! She bolted to her feet and went to the cupboard for the half-emptied bottle of bourbon. She was going to need something this day and there was no question about that. There, she was crying again… She spiked her coffee stiffly, watching through blurred eyes, then drank half of it, feeling it burn all the way down into her belly. She went back to her chair and fell into it, wiping at her eyes once more.

She could curse him all she liked, she thought, biting at her perpetually pouting lower lip… but it hadn't been his fault, had it? Face it, Karen, you blubbering little fool, if it hadn't been for your insane frigidity you would be together at this moment! Go on, face it! Think back and think hard!

That's right, open your mind… remember those soft, balmy summer nights when you were going together?… two whole years you teased and taunted him with your body… wanting him as badly as he did you… leading him on to that near impossible stopping point, until he would be almost out of his mind with desire… and then, your morals would gurgle up into your throat… prudistic bile… the molten transmutation of a too severe, religious upbringing, until in horrified repugnance you would fend him off… and only because he loved you… because he respected you… had he reluctantly given in.

Oh God, it was inevitable! She realized that now… had for a long time… It was following a dance and they'd both had too much to drink. Graduation was only a month away and they planned to be married the week after. Already, Jeff had a place in a small office of architects who were handling some veteran housing projects for the government. It was a magnificent start for him, and she would be able to write. They'd bath been so happy; had thought or talked of nothing else but their life together and the home Jeff was going to design and build for them. Karen smiled softly to herself as she remembered.

That night they had gone to their usual secluded, private parking place, climbing into the back seat where they would have room for their limited nature of love-games. They'd never gone all the way, but Lord knows, it was getting more difficult for her to control him, especially with her own passion and need just about driving her wild. Things had been getting further out of hand at every session, and probably if it hadn't been for her over-scrupulous determination to bring her virginity to their marriage bed she would've long before given in to him. Their friends were all enjoying each other to the fullest, they both knew, and that hadn't helped matters. He constantly badgered her with that until finally she had conceded to the gentle caresses of his hands beneath her blouse, undoing her bra and handling her naked breasts, kneading and massaging them into a vibrant, hard-rippled throbbing, setting her whole hungry body aflame with desire.