downward, over her smooth belly and abdomen and down between her legs. I tugged her suit down enough to allow me to insert two fingers up inside her as far as they would go. She rode my hand desperately, moaning and gasping as I slithered up and down and around and worked her rapidly-for she was as keyed-up and hungry for satisfaction as I was-to a purring, biting, clawing orgasm.
We separated, readjusted our suits and swam innocently back into the beach to take our respective places on either side of drowsy Mama.
Even the use of the bathroom after these outings was a carefully programmed bit of business. Sandy would use it first, and I would follow her. While I was showering, Mother would again select Sandy's outfit for the evening and have her safely dressed by the time I emerged.
Sandy, of course, resented being treated like a pre-school child and fought Mother every step of the way. The more Sandy fought her, the more vicious and spiteful Mother would get. Their yells and screams and catlike hisses, their curses, accusations and threats rocked the house day and night.
Dinner was always a stormy affair, with one or the other or both of them usually bolting out of the room in a rage before the meal was over. Grandma did what she could to make peace between them, but it was a hopeless cause. Hate was the only thing that bound them, and if they had suddenly started loving one another like a nice mother and daughter neither would know what to do with herself all day.
Mother's main ace in the hole in threatening us into submission was this: “If you don't do what I tell you to, I'll drop the custody fight and you can go live with your father. You think I'm so bad, just remember what he's like. And if you think he was rotten before, you ought to see him now.”
One night Grandma asked her how the case stood. She refused to discuss it in front of the children, she said. Besides, she wasn't too clear about all the lawyer's fussy points. It was all too complicated.
“Well, what's going to happen to us?” I asked.
“Who knows?” she said. “It's all in the hands of the lawyers.”
“Who gets the furniture in the apartment?” Sandy hissed.
“Who knows or cares? Same as with you.”
“Yeah, we're just a couple of pieces of furniture to you. Why don't you auction us off and split the profits.”
“How do you split a nickel?” Mother replied. “Well, maybe we could get upwards of six cents for you on the white slave market.”
“I'd rather live with King Farouk than you anyway.”
“Does Daddy want to own us?” I asked.
“Yes, dear, he does. That's what we're fighting about. I want my two precious darlings, too.”
“So you can warp our minds and make us as sick as you are,” Sandy added.
“Wood warps, dear. Your mind, as far as I can tell, isn't composed of wood. As far as I can tell, it resembles a marshmallow. Marshmallows don't warp.” She lifted her glass. “A toast to your mind, my dear.”
Sandy's face flamed. She scooped a tablespoonful of mashed potatoes from the bowl in front of her and hurled them at Mother. They splattered over her face.
“Toast you, lady!” she yelled and stomped from the table. Wiping the mess from her face, Mother jumped up and dashed up the stairs after Sandy. The battle was on.
Grandma and I exchanged a resigned look and went on with our dinner.
Our evenings were dull and miserable. Usually, the three of us would sit around the TV set watching stupid, boring inanities. It wasn't so bad for Mother, because by the time evening rolled around she was always looped and flying high, and she had Sandy there to throw barbs at and start arguments with whenever she got bored.
The only way Sandy and I managed to survive those evenings was to exchange long looks of longing as frequently as possible without being detected, and to work our way out into the kitchen at least once so that we could paw each other desperately and exchange deep, sucking kisses that succeeded in working up our desire to the unbearable stages, only to have to go back to the TV set and burn.
Occasionally we'd hop into the car and go into town or to the local drive-in to catch a movie. The drive-ins were the best, because Mother, who usually brought a thermos of martinis with her, would sooner or later have to make a trip to the girl's room. Sandy and I, meanwhile, were prepared, each of us having made a trip before to remove our underpants.
The minute Mother left the car Sandy's skirt would go up and my pants would go down. We fondled and manipulated each other until Mother was out of sight. Then she would jump onto my lap, straddling my naked thighs with her own and leaning forward on the dashboard as I surged up into her. We allowed ourselves sixty strokes-about a minute-and because we were both so worked up to the event and so attuned to each other's bodies, we always managed to come simultaneously on the sixtieth stroke, whereupon Sandy would dismount, pull on her panties, add a little of the perfume she'd been wearing and try not to look too pleased when Mother returned.
But these moments were few and far between, and the boredom and frustration of our lives was wearing down our nerves. Mother, too, was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Because of the gossip concerning the divorce she hadn't called or visited any of her friends in the town, but it was impossible to avoid bumping into them on the street or in the supermarket.
Friends began calling her and inviting her to parties. She decided against going out at first, then changed her mind and told us one afternoon we'd be going to the Bridges for a party that night.
TEN
Jack and May Bridges, old friends of Mother's since her childhood, lived in a large, lakeside Victorian house about five miles from ours, with their son, Johnny, who was eighteen, and their daughter Kitty, who was about sixteen. Years ago Sandy and I had played with them, but neither of us could remember what they looked like.
When we arrived the party was in full swing in the house and on the patio in the rear. May Bridges greeted us at the door, bestowing gooey kisses and “How wonderful to see you all!”
She was a few years older than Mother, but looked about ten years older. Her face, which had once been attractive, was lined and creased and she had let herself get a little plump.
“You're looking wonderful,” Mother said to her.
“Nowhere near as good as you. But I have other consolations,” she added, turning to grasp her husband's arm as he joined us. Mother winced at this first snide reference to her divorce.
“Ava how wonderful to see you,” Jack said to Mother. “You're looking terrific.” He gave her a puckered kiss on the lips. “She looks great, doesn't she, May?”
“Yes, and so do the kids. My god, how they've grown. How the hell did you and Kurt ever spawn two such gorgeous hunks?”
“It was easy,” Ava said. “Where are your two kidlets, anyway? They must be pretty large themselves.”
May escorted us toward the patio, where the younger crowd was dancing, and summoned Johnny and Kitty. Johnny, like his father, was over six feet tall and oozed with charm. I never had liked him, and still didn't. He was a good-looking guy with straight black hair, but was all greased down and looked horrible.
His sister was something else. Her hair was dark and long, around her shoulders, framing a face that might have been too pretty if it were more innocent. But it had an animal quality that appealed. to me-her dark eyes were darting over at me and laughing. She was shorter than Sandy, and rather slender, but well-stacked for a girl of sixteen. I avoided looking at her. I didn't want to start anything with her, even a mild flirtation. All I wanted to do was wait for an opening for Sandy and me to depart from the crowd for a few minutes. It had been over a week since our last trip to the drive-in, and I was boiling over with desire.
“Why don't you kids come out with us and dance?” Johnny said to us. “No point in hanging around here with the corpses.”
That sounded like an excellent idea, and Sandy and I moved with Johnny.
“Just a minute,” Kitty said. “I'm sick and tired of dancing. I wanted to go for a swim but nobody wants to go with me.”
“Terry will take her,” Ava said. “Won't you, Terry?”
