Her goal was twofold: to get as far away from Hidden Valley, California, as it was possible to get; and to marry a man with position, wealth, and a passion for warm places, snowless places where you could lie at the foot of a clear blue ocean in the middle of January and let the sun bake away all the cold, cold memories. But she was not impatient as so many of her school friends had been. She saw no point in leaving immediately, prematurely, after high school graduation for San Francisco or Hollywood or Las Vegas or New York, as some of them had done. Once you were there, you had to play the game because everyone else played it-and all the while some of the excitement and some of the glitter were just around the corner, look but don’t touch.
No, that wasn’t the way to do it at all. There was a better way, a much better way. It required a large sum of money and a long period of self-sacrifice, but in the meantime you could mature, you could become well read and acquire a certain polish. You put every spare dollar into a special bank account until you had accumulated a minimum of twenty-five thousand dollars, and then you left. Then you went to Europe instead of to the mundane cities of America; you went to Paris and Rome and Monte Carlo, and you outfitted yourself in fashionably expensive clothes, and you stayed at the best hotels and frequented only those theaters and restaurants and clubs which catered to the whims of the select; you ingratiated yourself into the lives of the wealthy and the sophisticated, fitting in perfectly because you were perfectly prepared. That was where you would meet the kind of man you wanted, in his milieu, on exactly the right terms. It would not take long, with her looks and her sexual prowess. It would not take long at all.
So she remained in Hidden Valley, living with her mother in the family home on Shasta Street-her father, a county maintenance foreman, having died of a heart attack when she was eleven. She had taken the job with Grange Electric in Soda Grove, and assiduously, she had sought out the right men with whom to sleep-the men with a little money who did not mind making small loans or cash gifts in exchange for the use of her body. Men like Hidden Valley Mayor Matt Hughes.
She had always believed Matt Hughes to be something of a puritan: righteous, religious, happily married, certainly not inclined to extramarital affairs. As a result, and despite the fact that he was the most well-to-do man in the area, she had never really considered him a possible stepping-stone. But then she had gone into the Mercantile one afternoon more than a month ago to buy some groceries for her mother, and he had been there alone; he kept looking at her, she could feel his eyes on her as she moved along the aisles, and when she had gone up to the counter to pay for her purchases, he made overtures that were at once carefully veiled and, to her, altogether obvious.
Concealing her surprise, accepting him immediately because of who and what he was, she had hinted that she found him attractive too, and that she would be willing to see him in more casual surroundings. Nothing more had been said that afternoon, but Peggy knew that she would not have to wait long until Hughes followed through; in point of fact, she was half expecting his call to her at work the ensuing Monday.
He said then that he was planning to be in Whitewater that evening, would she like to have dinner with him? She pretended to think it over and eventually allowed that she supposed it would be all right. He suggested she meet him, if she didn’t mind the short drive, at a place called The Mill-a small restaurant on the outskirts of Whitewater; she said that was fine, and met him that night, and responded to his flattery and to his physical presence just enough to let him know she was definitely interested. After dinner, however, she demurely declined his suggestion that they go somewhere alone; she made it a practice never to seem too eager, which invariably made men like Matt Hughes want her that much more. When he asked if he could see her again, she feigned reluctance and then told him that even though it was probably wrong, dating him when he was a married man and all, she really couldn’t bring herself to say no.
They had three other dinner engagements at The Mill before she finally allowed him to kiss her, to fondle her, to maneuver her to the small motel on the outskirts of Whitewater-one which did not ask questions or care to what exact purpose their units’ beds were put, this being the middle of the winter off-season. He had been almost laughably excited when she accepted his proposal, as if he were an overeager teen-ager who’d never had a woman before, and she had thought he would probably be totally unsatisfactory as a lover. But he had surprised her in that respect, he was really very accomplished. Sex for Peggy had been a source of intense physical pleasure from the very first, and Matt Hughes was as proficient as any she had gone to bed with in the past four years. It made the arrangement with him all the more satisfying…
They lay without speaking for a time, and the only sound was the penetrating voice of the wind as it whipped through the pine and hemlock outside the motel. Finally, Hughes stirred and rolled onto his side and said, “You’re fantastic, Peggy, do you know that?” in a voice still thick with desire.
She smiled again. “Am I, Matt?”
“Yes. Oh yes. Peggy-can I see you again tomorrow night?”
“We still have more of tonight, baby.”
“I know, but I want to see you tomorrow too.”
“Well, I’m not sure if I can…”
“Please? I’ll have something for you then.”
“Oh?”
“A Christmas present, a very nice Christmas present.”
Peggy lifted herself onto one elbow, looking at him closely now in the darkness. “That’s sweet of you,” she said. “You’re awfully sweet, Matt. What is it?”
“That would spoil the surprise.”
“Couldn’t you give me a hint?”
“Well…” He thought for a moment. “It’s something small in size but not in stature.”
“Jewelry?” she asked immediately.
“No, not jewelry.”
“Something to wear, then?”
“No. No, you can’t wear it.”
“Matt, don’t tease me like this. What is it?”
“I’ll give you a broader hint. I’m not very good at buying presents; I mean, I’m always afraid I’ll pick out something that won’t be quite right. So I don’t really buy anything, I leave that up to the individual person.”
Money, Peggy thought-and said it aloud, “Money?”
Hughes misinterpreted the inflection in her voice. “You’re not offended, are you?”
God! “No, I’m not offended, baby. I… just didn’t expect anything like that. You’ve been so generous already.”
Which was true enough. Peggy had waited until their fourth evening together at the motel before bringing up the subject of money; she had done it very casually and very deftly, as always, saying that her dentist had told her she needed some work on her wisdom teeth but that she really couldn’t afford it and she supposed she could endure the minor toothache discomfort a while longer… As she had anticipated, he had been sympathetic and had readily offered to pay for the dental work, a token of his affection for her, wouldn’t even think of it as a loan; she had told him she couldn’t possibly, and then allowed him to talk her into accepting. And when she said that her dentist would not accept credit from her, that she would need cash, he gave her a hundred dollars that same night and insisted that she tell him when she needed more. She had needed more two weeks later, another hundred dollars, and tonight she had been going to ask him for an additional fifty-proceeding cautiously-and here he was telling her that he was going to make her a cash gift for Christmas. Wonderfully beneficent, wonderfully pliable Matt Hughes!
He said, “I don’t think I’ve been generous enough. And besides that, I want to do it, I want to give you something nice for Christmas.”
“You give me something nice every time we’re together,” she said, but the words were automatic, disassociated from her thoughts; she wanted to ask him how large the present was going to be-the way he talked, it was a substantial sum-but she did not want to seem overly expectant. Three hundred? Five hundred? Just how generous was he going to be?
“And you to me,” he said. “Tomorrow night, then?”
“Yes, Matt. Tomorrow night and any night you want.”
He drew her full against him, kissing her eyes as if in gratitude. Excitement stirred in her loins again, as much a result of anticipation of his Christmas gift as in response to his warm and naked masculinity. He clung to her, whispering her name, as she began to stroke him, make him ready again. And while one part of her mind
