Three For Transgression

Chapter One Jeff swirled the glass's contents again, listening to the tinkle of the cubes. He knew he was drinking too much. A fog bank was beginning to envelop him. But he didn't care. A man could hide in a fog bank when he was tired, or depressed, or hurt. And Jeff was all of those things tonight. He suddenly remembered he was at a party, that he was supposed to be having fun. If loud talk and laughter were any indication, everyone else was having a good time. Feeling completely out of step, he downed his drink with a single swallow. A hand reached out for his empty glass. A good-looking redhead stood before him. She wore an extremely low-cut dress, and she filled it very well. In fact, some of her seemed to be pouring out of the top, giving Jeff a sudden urge to reach out and put his hands on the golden mounds. But he suppressed the desire quickly, and looked into the woman's lovely face. "A thirst like that calls for a refill," the woman smiled. She sniffed at the empty glass. "Scotch and water, right?" Her milk-white complexion was a startling contrast to the redness of her lips. Her eyes, of greenish cast, were filled with a teasing invitation. Jeff nodded, smiled. "Your sniffer is in good working condition," he said. "Scotch and water is right." "I'll get you another one," she replied. He wanted to say that he did not want or need another one, but she was already moving away, her curvaceous hips swaying enticingly. He looked after her, wondering if that look in her eyes meant what he thought it did. He had told himself a hundred times that he was no longer in love with his wife, Maria, and if he wasn't, why not take a chance with this delectable redhead? Peggy Copeland was the hostess. He felt a vague impulse to hurry after her, just to be at her side, be close to that exposed bosom and taunting green eyes. He looked morosely at the toes of his shoes. He was a big man, six-foot-three, still lean from the farm life he had known as a youth. But some of the muscle was slowly disappearing after twenty-nine years. He was not a handsome man; his features were too irregular for that. However, he had a fine smile that started slowly and grew until his face shone with it. He had definite appeal to women, although he was never fully aware of it. Women recognized the drive in him, the fierce urgings of pure masculine virility. Generally, he did not care to socialize too much and he had not particularly wanted to come to this party. He had looked forward to a quiet evening at home with Maria-until the Colonel had stopped by his desk this afternoon and said, "Jeff, there's another party this evening at Cope-land's. We've got to go to this one. But I promised Maria I'd take her to see her aunt this evening. We won't stay long. You cover for us, until Maria and I get there." The Colonel commanded, Jeff jumped. He could not even take his own wife to a party. Rebellion twisted his soul. The blonde sitting on the sofa across from him was trying to reach a drink on the end table. She bent far to her right, stretching out her arm. Her efforts hiked her sheath dress well above her knees. One foot came up off the floor, and the hem had nothing to impede it. Jeff watched the hem climb higher. The top of her hose was exposed, then a good portion of smooth white thigh. He saw the bottom edge of frilly pink panties. Peggy Copeland came back with his drink. She looked at the blonde with a half-annoyed look. "Pull your dress down, Cissy," she said. "You're a big girl now." Cissy shot a startled glance at Peggy, then reluctantly and wordlessly tugged her dress back into place, seeming quite hurt that she had to cover herself. Peggy looked at Jeff, smiled a little and said, "Cissy's at the age when she feels she has to advertise a little more strenuously because of her inferior merchandise." Cissy stiffened, her eyes flamed. "Well, really ... " she said haughtily. Now her eyes had turned into twin icicles that stabbed across the room at the lovely hostess. She got up and moved to the far end of the room. "That didn't look like inferior merchandise to me," Jeff remarked, following the girl's movements with a look of mild admiration in his eyes. "Oh, she's always showing her butt and it's getting to where it's disgusting. I don't know why we even invite her." Jealous, Jeff thought. Women were always jealous of other women, especially if they were half-way pretty. But he wondered why Peggy Copeland should be jealous over this Cissy woman; Peggy had a lot more going for her than Cissy did. Jeff's thoughts were interrupted by Peggy's words and her slight tinkle of laughter. "She knew you were watching her. That's why she started to show you what she had. She would have pulled that dress off if you had asked her. I know her. She gets a few drinks in her and little fires start up inside her. Look." Peggy dipped her head in the direction where Cissy had gone. Cissy was sitting on a man's lap, busily engaged in nibbling at his ear. "Maybe she's hungry," Jeff smiled. "Yes, she's hungry-hungry for every man she sees," Peggy said. "Just thought I'd let you know about her in case you thought she had picked you out. Sorry to deflate your ego." "You didn't," Jeff said. "Actually, I had barely noticed." Peggy handed him his drink. "Oh? Well, then, forgive me. I thought the look in your eyes meant something else." He looked at her differently then. He wondered at the weariness in her green eyes. She was a beautifully proportioned, full-bodied woman, and there was a sultriness about her that somehow fascinated Jeff. He shrugged and said, "I guess you know more about these people than I do." Peggy looked about the room, a certain tiredness in her eyes that told Jeff she was not too happy about the party. "I know them all as well as they know themselves," she said. "I've seen them at their best and I've seen them at their worst." She watched him drain his glass. She shook her head. "You must have just come in off the desert," she said, eyeing his empty glass. "Problem that big?" He reacted with a quick flash of irritation. "Who says there's a problem." He thought she was referring to his drinking. "I can take it or leave it. This stuff has no hold over me." He rattled the cubes in the glass. "Then you must be bored," she smiled. His irritation was mounting. He did not want to be here in the first place. He would rather have stayed home. Sure, he had problems, but he did not feel as if he wanted to lay them out on the table for Peggy to examine and analyze. "Oh, don't be so touchy," she smiled. "I'm just trying to be helpful. Sort of a hobby of mine. Also my duty to see that our guests are happy. That's the job of a good hostess, you know." He looked away from her prying probing eyes. "I'm doing all right," he said flatly. "By the way, do you know what kind of party this is?" she asked suddenly. He knew it was a loud and liquid one. Every now and then, he heard a squeal or titter from one of the women and knew that some guy had put an exploring hand into play. But this party was no different than the others he had attended. "Just another party," he said. "Plenty of booze and food and everyone trying to make out with someone else's wife or husband. Tomorrow they'll all wonder if they did something they should be embarrassed about. Either that or they'll be trying to remember the phone numbers that were whispered into their ears." He knew he should not talk so harsh to the woman who was trying to make the evening a success. It was an insult to her. Everyone liked to feel their party was something special. She smiled at him. It was a warm smile, and the tiredness in her eyes gave way to a moment of sparkling deviltry. "I'm sure you're going to enjoy this party. It's going to be a little different." He wanted to tell her that that is what all hosts and hostesses thought. He wanted to tell her he could drink much more comfortably at home. He could sit in his big chair with his shoes off and really enjoy his drinks. He did not. He said, "I'm sure it'll be a nice evening. I'm sorry, but I guess I'm just a little tired." "I'll get you another drink if you promise you won't pass out on us," she said. Then, recalling his touchiness, she added, "I'm just kidding. I'm sure a big man like you can hold his liquor." Grant Copeland was behind the bar, mixing drinks. He was a fat man, his face flushed and moist. He had sensual lips, and the mass of his face dwarfed his eyes. Right now, he reminded Jeff of a perspiring, well-fed, happy pig. He did not seem to belong with the pretty Peggy Copeland. She mused aloud. "My husband told me you were important people, and to keep a glass in your hand at all times. I wonder what that old walrus is up to." Jeff did not know what she was talking about, and he couldn't have cared less. There were undercurrents in this room that could sweep a man off his feet. He wished the Colonel would come. And Maria. The Colonel would not stay long at this party; he did not approve of excessive drinking. When the Colonel left, Jeff and Maria, too, could leave. Peggy's eyes were back on him. "No comment?" she asked. "I didn't think I was important to anybody." "You could be-to me," she purred. But Jeff left the remark hang in midair. His eyes had caught sight of two people descending the stairs. He jumped to his feet, his face suddenly animated. He instinctively took a couple of steps forward, then halted abruptly. "My wife and her father just came in," he said. Peggy's eyes fastened on the descending pair. Maria stopped at the foot of the stairs, her gaze going uncertainly about the room, searching. She made quite a picture, delicious of line from shoulder to ankle. She wore a form-fitting dress, flaring at the knees. The high neckline was wickedly daring. The material faithfully outlined the proud thrust of her breasts and caressed the curves of her hips. Every male eye in the room swung toward her. She was a lot of woman, Jeff mused. But a statue-a statue of ice. Peggy looked at her husband. He was staring at Maria in rapt attention, his mouth partially open. "Has Grant met your wife?" she asked Jeff. Jeff frowned. "I think so. She's been to the office several times. He might have met her there." Peggy's laugh had a bitter tone. "So that's what he's been working for. I wondered why he kept insisting we invite you." She exploded into laughter that seemed to come only from her lips, not from anywhere inside her. And her eyes were cold, unlaughing. The sarcastic laughter followed Jeff as he moved across the room toward his wife. Maria accepted Jeff's arm gratefully. Informal gatherings frightened her. She took a drink just rarely. Her need for protection should have made him feel strong and masculine. Instead, it angered him. The puritanical daughter of Colonel Drake, the girl with no vices. Yet she would wear a dress like this-exposing more flesh than it covered. A man could love her with his eyes-and many did-but no more. Her father frowned about the room. "Grant said a quiet party." The Colonel was a short man, reaching only five-foot-five; he made a practice of standing very straight, trying to give the illusion of greater height. He had reached the rank of colonel during the Second World War and never let anybody forget it. He spoke as though he were still on the drill field, an illusion supported by his bull-doggish face. He condoned no mistakes from anyone. His money and position bulwarked his attitude. Jeff grinned and replied, "Grant understated it a little."