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PART II
ELEVATOR TO THE GALLOWS

65

GIVE.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered, uncaring that Marina was ignoring him.

Give.

That was it. That was the answer. Ethel vouched for his prowess, so he knew he could focus on Marina’s pleasure.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t fake it. She was sharp and a quick study. God only knew what Liz Albright had told her, but since she had been pragmatic enough to think up this scheme, she could probably figure out how to participate correctly to make him think she was enjoying herself.

What shocked him was that he’d had the idea just two days ago, proving, once again, that their brains worked remarkably alike. Why wouldn’t he want a best friend who thought like him?

Except it made him more ill to drug her than to think of her as a lover and it had horrified Gio when he broached the subject.

You’re going to do that to her?

I don’t know what else to do. How much you think it’ll take?

God damn you to hell, Dunham. Why should I help you? Why should you get everything you want and I get nothing I want but you’re throwing what you want away because you can’t be bothered to figure out how to make your wife your lover? You want to, but you painted yourself into a corner, thinking respectability and sex with your wife are against each other.

I’m trying to get out of it! That’s why I’m asking. I need to know how much to loosen her up a little bit. A couple of shots of whisky for a lightweight who gags on the smell. You know.

Go ask Sally. She’s about Marina’s size. I swear to God, there are days I hate you so much I want to put a bullet in your head and this is one of them, so get out of my sight before I whip up a batch of Ready-Mix.

Trey had not taken that threat lightly, nor did he trust Gio to leave him alone about it. On the other hand, it was heartening that Gio would feel as protective of Marina as Trey felt of Dot.

Gio desperately wanted to teach Dot how to be his lover once he’d carried her over the threshold. Why couldn’t Trey think of Marina in that way?

Gio was right about the way Trey saw the men who came into his speak.

How many times had he watched men go upstairs and thought You’ve got a wife at home; why not teach her to do what you want and make it good enough she’ll want to too? How many times had his girls compared their clients’ conversations? I just can’t ask my wife to do this; she’s a good woman. How many times had respectable men come in with mistresses they clearly loved, spent all their time with in and out of bed, enjoyed life with and Trey had wondered Why didn’t you marry your mistress if you like her that much? Trey did allow as how a dead-fish wife and a lively mistress was usually a result of power, money, and politics, but not always. How many times had men cried on Trey’s bar because they missed their departed wives, wondering where they could pay a woman to listen to them and take care of them the way their wives had?

A man didn’t miss a dead whore. He missed his late wife.

Truth was, Trey had missed Marina between the time he’d left her and the moment he’d seen her in that godawful dress at the back of Armour Chapel. He’d been so excited to see her he couldn’t hide it from Albright, who looked at him with exasperated amusement. He couldn’t wait to take Marina to the home he’d bought and furnished just for her, excited that he was going to be able to spend the rest of his life with this girl.

Then she appeared at the back of the chapel not at all excited to see Trey.

That hurt. It hurt the way it hurt when his father left Trey to his own devices, and he didn’t care what Grandfather Elliott said, he would always believe his father gave up because he saw it in his speak. Those who married soon after their wives died never came back. Those who hadn’t married soon came back for a while, then didn’t because they died of a broken heart, just like Trey’s daddy.

Trey scowled. What if Marina died? Would he mourn as much as his daddy had? Naw, he wouldn’t wither away, but he probably wouldn’t take up with another nice girl again, much less get married.

Chore or whore.

“What are you thinking?” Marina asked vaguely, turning a page.

“How much I missed you.”

Her eyelashes fluttered up. “What?”

“Between the last time I saw you and our wedding. How much I missed you.”

“You’ve said that before, but we got married weeks ago and we do almost the same things now as we did before we got married, only more because we also live together.”

He nodded wearily. “Yeah, but I keep thinking about all that time and I feel like you’re going to get fed up with me and leave and I don’t want you to.”

She looked surprised. Confused. “Why would I leave you?”

“Because of, of, of this. This, indecencies business.”

Her mouth tightened. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you, which it need not if you just make up your mind and be a little more sensible about it.”

“Sensible’s got nothin’ to do with it!” he hissed.

She raised an eyebrow and twisted her mouth in contempt. Then she shrugged and took a sip of her soda, closing her mouth around her straw.

Her red mouth.

With that perfect shade of lipstick.

He stared. Hypnotized.

She scowled. “Stop looking at me like that. We’re in public.”

“And you’re my wife,” he shot back.

“Hrmph.”

She went back to her book, leaving him with his imagination and memories.

Trey, I have no idea how much she can take. How much was she given?

Enough that she does not remember anything from about an hour after we left Kresge’s to the time she woke up the next morning.

Good Lord! I’ve forgotten details, but never hours.

Come back to me, Sally. Please. You know I’m trying or you wouldn’t be helping me.

Hrmph. I’ll talk to Alice and Ethel, but don’t hold your breath. I’ll get back to you tomorrow, but for God’s sake, be careful.

He’d measured out exactly how much Sally told him and carried it ever since.

He watched Marina sip her soda, eyelashes down, reading.

Give.

He allowed images from those wicked hours she didn’t remember to trickle in, form, and stay. She’d sucked his cock. He threw that image out. He’d eaten her till she wept. He kept that one. He’d lain back while she did exactly what she wanted to to get herself off. He threw that image out. He’d pressed her into the bed, kissed her tenderly, and watched her expression transform with orgasm while he gently stroked in and out. He kept that image.

Give.

Suddenly he was eighteen again, a virgin, remembering how Florence had guided him, taught him how to make it good for her, let him believe she loved him …

Then turned on him.

Trey made arrangements for someone else to run that route, then threw himself into building his bank account so he could have a sweet little wife like …

But he’d had his say, finally, and that pain had faded. He’d barely thought about it since he’d chewed Flo out, satisfied that she would carry it, and he had a sweet woman to go home to, one he could depend on to help him, watch his back whether she knew she was or not, and share things they both enjoyed.

“Marina,” he said low. When her head snapped up, he subtly brushed his fingertip on his front tooth.

“Oh!” she gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’ll be back,” she whispered, then slid out of the booth and headed to the bathroom to wipe nonexistent lipstick off her tooth.

He pulled a tiny glassine envelope out of his vest pocket.

“Trey,” she began earnestly when she returned and slid her cute little ass into the booth. “Trey!” she said again when he didn’t respond. She was back to begging and he didn’t like that, either.

Shit, what did he like?

“I’m listening.”

“Please let’s can we just try it—”

He held up his hand and she stopped talking. “I spiked your drink,” he said flatly. Her mouth dropped open. “Just now.”

“You already had the idea!” she squeaked.

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to do anything, but I had the stuff—” He waggled the envelope. “—and I don’t want to get any further in this hole.”

She looked at him warily. “Are you going to hold this against me tomorrow morning?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I haven’t been thinking about giving you anything. I’ve been thinking about how much of a bastard I’m going to feel the morning after.”

Her brow wrinkled and she tilted her head. “Oh,” she said softly. “Why didn’t you say that before?”

“I just now figured it out. Thing is, I know how to do this right. How to give. I was taught—oh, a long time ago. I forgot.” On purpose. A man never truly forgot his first love.

Marina swallowed a little.

“Drink it or not. It’s up to you. I’ll do my best.”

She blinked at him. He stared right back at her. She looked at her flip. He watched her, expecting her to change her mind. Her mouth tightened and she glared at the glass like everything was its fault.

Suddenly, she snatched it, downed the whole thing, and slammed it back on the table. She looked at him and said defiantly, “Maybe we should go home.”

65

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