and pulling off her wedding band to cast it at his feet, Laura announced that she was going away.
“What does this mean?” he said, mystified, bending to pick up the ring.
“It means that I renounce my marriage vows,” she declared snapping shut her little suitcase.
William digested this for a moment. “Any particular reason? Or do you just feel like a change of pace?”
“Yes, there’s a particular reason,” Laura took a cherry red dress from her closet. “I hate you!”
William watched her hold the dress up to her slender body in the mirror.
“What happened between this morning and now?”
Laura went behind a lacquered screen.
“You’ve been fucking Damaris!” Laura charged with vehemence, exchanging her grey skirt and white cotton blouse for the red dress. There was such a long silence then that Laura thought William had gone from the room.
“That would be like him,” she fumed savagely, “Not to even give me the satisfaction of calling him a swine!”
But when Laura emerged from behind the screen in the clinging jersey, she saw that he was simply leaning against the mantelpiece, thinking. Finally he spoke. “What you said was true, but it’s over now and it never had anything to do with us.”
“Really!” Laura laughed. “You suave snake. You’ve humiliated me for the last time.”
Then she changed her shoes for higher heels.
“You’re over-reacting,” he told her. She had picked up her valise.
“Excuse me, I have to catch a ten o’clock train.”
“A train to where?” he moved out of her path, but followed her downstairs.
“New York.” She paused at the hall closet to remove her raincoat. “Good-bye!”
When the door slammed behind her William finally understood that their honeymoon was over.
A few minutes later, William sat at the kitchen table ruminating over a bowl of cereal, unable to decide whether to feel flattered or irritated by Laura’s jealousy. He looked up at the kitchen clock. It was already 9:30. Laura’s leaving town would interrupt his whole routine. It was bad enough he had to find a new secretary. Now this had to happen as well. William decided that he was irritated. Where did she get off, carrying on like Doris Day? He had a mind to give the spoiled brat a good thrashing, right on the station platform, before dragging her home.
Of course William did not for a moment seriously consider going after Laura. He had never chased after a woman before and wasn’t about to begin. Loss of dignity wasn’t the issue; he was just too busy. It would be nice to be able to go rushing off to New York whenever one felt like it, William reflected, a few minutes later, while lacing his running shoes. He himself had to work, and exercise. When he went for his run he could think without being distracted. The girl would either come back or she wouldn’t. He would wait and see.
Laura didn’t look for William at the station, though she did begin to miss him as she and Marguerite were boarding the train. However, she wasn’t allowed to brood on this for long, for Marguerite was pawing her with excitement.
“Laura - did you see who got on the train down the platform? Randy Price!”
“You know him?” Laura knew the name, but had never met the man.
“I should say so - although it’s been about 3 years since we played. Laura, Randy Price is a multi-millionaire. Let’s go and pick him up in the club car. What a stroke of luck. He’ll be mad about you. We’ll get him to pay for our trip to New York!”
The incident took place just before noon at the antiques shop. Hugo’s new assistant, Jane, did not expect her boss in until after lunch. As usual, business was slow. Jane even had time to practice walking up and down the aisles in the dainty high-heeled pumps Hugo had given her. He had given her other handsome items to wear while she was working in the shop. A silk dress, a wool suit and a string of pearls enhanced her wardrobe considerably and caused her to regard her own reflection in a new and interesting way.
It occurred to Jane that she might reasonably protest being asked to dress in an objectifying manner, but she’d never worn high heels or form sculpting dresses before, and she decided that she enjoyed doing so. She’d practiced classic feminist values since high school and knew she had nothing further to prove in this regard. What possible harm could it do to look sexy for a change?
Bored with the chapter on colonial sideboards that Hugo had marked for her to read, and not expecting any customers to tinkle the bell until at least 12:15, Jane wandered into the cedar-scented room marked: Special Collection, which Hugo had told Jane she was not to disturb.
Hugo specifically did not want Jane in this room because it contained folios, books and drawings of an erotic nature. And he knew how she viewed such material.
The room into which Jane now slipped, was furnished with a table and chairs and was comfortably lit for book gazing. She had not examined the contents of this room before. When she did, she recoiled at what she found. For even in the less offensive novels, Jane recognized a preoccupation with the notion of feminine submission.
On discovering this treasure trove of handsomely bound erotica, Jane was uncomfortable and confused. She had signed petitions against pornography. Now she found herself employed by a man who sold it and she didn’t know how to react. Because in the few weeks Hugo Sands had employed her, she had already become attracted to her first poised older man.
The books in his collection celebrated sexism. Yet, upon reading a particularly sensual passage, Jane became aroused. However, this was easily explained. Since being jilted the previous month, she had been without a lover. And this was much on her mind.
When Hugo came in at 12:30, somewhat earlier than expected, he seemed very surprised to find Jane reading a volume of Sweet Gwendolyn, with a deeply creased brow.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he chided her.
“Hugo, what are you doing with all of these perverse books?”
“The stock in this room is of interest to collectors like everything else in the shop,” he explained. Hugo took the volume out of her hands, snapped it shut and put it away. “And you shouldn’t be touching these books without putting white cotton gloves on first,” he chided.
“I’d like to know how you can justify pandering to the sadomasochistic tastes of these collectors!” Jane demanded.
“I’m sure you would, but you’ve got a customer waiting,” Hugo said, hustling her out the door and switching off the light behind them. “He’s been waiting ten minutes,” he added. “He made a point of telling me so.”
These comments worked to instantly remind Jane of her position, and she calmly went out front to attend to the needs of the shop.
The customer Hugo had spoken of proved a happy distraction, as he immediately
