William Davis - The Polaroid club book II

Cindy drove up the circular drive and parked in front of the wide verandah. The scarlet bougainvillea entwined around the latticework, and a yellow and black butterfly flitted among the green shrubs, finally landing on the head of a metal statue. The statue was of a small, brightly clad Negro jockey, forever offering a ring to tie one's horse's reins to. The butterfly took to the air as Cindy passed the statue and stepped to the front door.

Norma answered the door. She was dressed in a striped silk sheath with a white leather belt around her slender waist. She was barefoot and held a cooling drink in her hand. She said, smiling, "Come in, Cindy. So good of you to come."

"Thank you, Norma." Cindy stepped in the house.

"I was out on the back patio," Norma continued, walking down the hall. Cindy followed, clutching her purse nervously. They went from the hall through a sitting room filled with furniture of the Empire period, then through a pantry and out into the backyard. The screen door gently closed behind them, the pump brake on top of it hissing slightly.

The backyard was mottled with shafts of sunshine intermingling with areas of shade. The patio was covered with more lattice, hardy grape and honeysuckle vines growing around and through the slats. Norma sat down in a metal lawn chair and waved her hand to the one next to it, indicating for Cindy to sit down as well. The glass-topped table before them had a platter of sandwiches on it, a condiment dish piled with pickles and olives, and an earthenware pitcher filled with wine.

Cindy first looked at the food. She wasn't hungry, not at all, but she knew that she would have to eat so as to not offend Norma. Then she looked out on the broad expanse of lawn and thought how peaceful, how serene and healthy it was. Not at all like the sickness which pervaded her inner being at that moment, made her quiver and want to die. She was suddenly brought back to reality by a gentle touch of fingers on her shoulder.

Startled, she looked around at Norma, who was frowning slightly with concern. The wife of her husband's boss was saying, "… haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?"

Miserably, Cindy shook her head. "I'm… sorry, Norma."

"You haven't been yourself since you arrived. Aren't you feeling well? The flu perhaps?"

"No… no," came the choked response. "I'm fine. Really."

"No, you're not. I can tell, Cindy." There was a long pause, then, a silence which was louder than shouted words. Cindy didn't know what to say, how to begin… if she dared. She had had the courage to call, and she knew that Norma was indeed the friend she had hoped she would be, but now, confronted with the awful confession, she wasn't sure she had the strength. Norma was obviously baffled and unsure of what to say, but finally, the woman leaned forward and placed her manicured fingers over Cindy's and said: "You told me on the phone that you had something you wanted to talk to me about. It's weighing heavily on you, Cindy. Tell me. Get it off your chest. It'll do you good."

"I… I," stammered Cindy, "I've been with another man."

"Really?" Norma sat back. "Another man, hmm?"

Was that a smile Cindy saw forming on Norma's lips? No, it couldn't be… but even if it was such an unexpected response, Cindy couldn't have stopped the torrent of words which now tumbled from her throat. The dam had been broken, and from her tortured soul came all of the gruesome details about her seduction. She left little out as she poured forth her agony to the other woman, and wept copious tears openly as she confessed.

"… The clerk was the one I rented the post box from… I sent away for some pictures… arrived, and he brought them over… the clerk threatened me with exposure, with jail even… Howie would lose his job… the clerk… the clerk…"

Cindy could only refer to Samuels as 'the clerk', unable to speak his name much as ancient Jews were not allowed to utter the name of their God the Nameless One. It was as if to name the man would bring him forth in the slanting light of the backyard sun. Nor could Cindy detail what perverted acts she had been forced to do for the government employee, glossing over the lewd acts quickly. Above all, she was completely silent on the subject of her own arousal, of her apparent enjoyment of the systematic rape of her sanctity.

But everything else she placed before Norma Taylor, like a horribly sculpted gargoyle complete of substance and shadow. The marijuana… the liquor… the pictures. Especially the pictures. Everything kept revolving, kept returning to the uses – the abuses – of the Polaroid camera.

When she was done, she sunk her head in a symbolic act of begging for mercy, of awaiting judgment. Her blouse and skirt were wet with her tears, and her voice was almost hoarse with her wracking sobs.

The first thing Norma did was to pour Cindy a glass of wine. "Here, drink this," she commanded, and even though the distraught young wife refused, she persevered and finally Cindy haltingly swallowed some of the ruby liquid. It did make her feel better, she had to admit, as she sat the glass down.

Then Norma looked Cindy in the eye and said, "One thing more. Did you enjoy it?"

"Norma!" Cindy was taken full aback, her eyes wide with horror.

"I must know in order to get a full, clear perspective of the situation, Cindy. Forgive me for being so blunt, but it's only between us girls." She leaned forward. "Now… did you? Even a little bit?"

Blushing a color as scarlet as the bougainvillea out front, Cindy Jamison first stared with frozen shock. Then, trembling and biting her lower lip, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded affirmatively. There was no use trying to cover it up, no way in which she could bury the awful truth about herself – and it was harder to admit it to herself than to Norma.

"Yes," she moaned. "At… at first I loathed his… attentions. But… but in all honesty, I have to confess I… began to sort of like it." She twisted in her chair, then looked at Norma, wetness blurring her vision. "But only a little bit, Norma. Only a little bit, and when it was over and I'd collected my senses, I was sick about it!"

"Yes, yes, I understand," Norma said in a soothing voice. She then poured herself a little more wine and sighed. She thought of the best way of handling the matter, of trying to calm the near hysterical girl so that a greater crisis would be averted. She could almost picture the scandal it would cause if it was publicly known, and she had the inherent knowledge of a shrewd woman that such publicity could easily spread to herself and Ralph, for Cindy being in the frame of mind that she was in, would break apart and tell everything. Everything, including the business about the Polaroid Club and their own involvement. Howard wouldn't be the only one whose job would be in jeopardy…

"Listen to me, Cindy," she started to say, then sipped the wine as she thought carefully of her next words. "I'll be frank, for I'm sure that's what you want me to be. Why you came to me."

"Yes, yes, that's right, Norma."

"First of all, you were forced into what you did. You had no other choice, just as this… clerk said. You were forced, and no matter what you may think of what you did, you had no other way out. You did the right thing."

"But my…"

Norma held up her hand. "Your feelings, right? What's really bothering you is that you became excited, right?"

Cindy again nodded, mute, and twisted the little napkin in her lap.

"Well, pardon me for saying so, but I don't think any woman could have avoided becoming excited. Any full, loving, responsive woman, that is. Now neither one of us is frigid, Cindy; both of us make love to our husbands with every cell in our body, and we like to. That's the key in understanding what happened to you, Cindy – the fact that we naturally, physically like sex. How could you help not to get hot when his hands were caressing you, his… penis was hard inside you? Hell, I couldn't have, I know that."