If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you share it without charge with others. 1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States. 1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg 1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which the phrase Project Gutenberg appears, or with which the phrase Project Gutenberg is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or reuse it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. 1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase Project Gutenberg associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. 1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. 1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg. 1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg License. 1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format other than Plain Vanilla ASCII or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original Plain Vanilla ASCII or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. 1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. 1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided that  You pay a royalty fee of 20 of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by email) within 30 days of receipt that she does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg works.  You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.  You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg works. 1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. 1.F. 1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain Defects, such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. 1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES  Except for the Right of Replacement or Refund described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE. 1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND  If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem. 1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ASIS, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. 1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. 1.F.6. INDEMNITY  You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any Defect you cause. Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middleaged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life. Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenbergs goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a nonprofit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundations EIN or federal tax identification number is 646221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your states laws. The Foundations business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 5961887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundations website and official page at www.gutenberg.orgcontact Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation Project Gutenberg depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machinereadable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations (1 to 5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS. The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.orgdonate. While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate. International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit www.gutenberg.orgdonate. Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility www.gutenberg.org. This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.


1 Jessie could hear the back door banging lightly, randomly, in the October breeze blowing around the house. The jamb always swelled in the fall and you really had to give the door a yank to shut it. This time they had forgotten. She thought of telling Gerald to go back and shut the door before they got too involved or that banging would drive her nuts. Then she thought how ridiculous that would be, given the current circumstances. It would ruin the whole mood. What mood? A good question, that. And as Gerald turned the hollow barrel of the key in the second lock, as she heard the minute click from above her left ear, she realized that, for her at least, the mood wasnt worth preserving. That was why she had noted the unlatched door in the first place, of course. For her, the sexual turnon of the bondage games hadnt lasted long. The same could not be said of Gerald, however. He was wearing only a pair of Jockey shorts now, and she didnt have to look as high as his face to see that his interest continued unabated. This is stupid, she thought, but stupid wasnt the whole story, either. It was also a little scary. She didnt like to admit it, but there it was. Gerald, why dont we just forget this? He hesitated for a moment, frowning a little, then went on across the room to the dresser which stood to the left of the bathroom door. His face cleared as he went. She watched him from where she lay on the bed, her arms raised and splayed out, making her look a little like Fay Wray chained up and waiting for the great ape in King Kong. Her wrists had been secured to the mahogany bedposts with two sets of handcuffs. The chains gave each hand about six inches worth of movement. Not much. He put the keys on top of the dressertwo minute clicks, her ears seemed in exceptionally fine working order for a Wednesday afternoonand then turned back to her. Over his head, sunripples from the lake danced and wavered on the bedrooms high white ceiling. What do you say? This has lost a lot of its charm for me. And it never had that much to begin with, she did not add. He grinned. He had a heavy, pinkskinned face below a narrow widows peak of hair as black as a crows wing, and that grin of his had always done something to her that she didnt much care for. She couldnt quite put her finger on what that something was, but Oh, sure you can. It makes him look stupid. You can practically see his IQ going down ten points for every inch that grin spreads. At its maximum width, your killer corporate lawyer of a husband looks like a janitor on workrelease from the local mental institution. That was cruel, but not entirely inaccurate. But how did you tell your husband of almost twenty years that every time he grinned he looked as if he were suffering from light mental retardation? The answer was simple, of course you didnt. His smile was a different matter entirely. He had a lovely smileshe guessed it was that smile, so warm and goodhumored, which had persuaded her to go out with him in the first place. It had reminded her of her fathers smile when he told his family amusing things about his day as he sipped a beforedinner gin and tonic. This wasnt the smile, though. This was the grin a version of it he seemed to save just for these sessions. She had an idea that to Gerald, who was on the inside of it, the grin felt wolfish. Piratical, maybe. From her angle, however, lying here with her arms raised above her head and nothing on but a pair of bikini panties, it only looked stupid. No ... retarded. He was, after all, no devilmaycare adventurer like the ones in the mens magazines over which he had spent the furious ejaculations of his lonely, overweight puberty; he was an attorney with a pink, toolarge face spreading below a widows peak which was narrowing relentlessly toward total baldness. Just an attorney with a hardon poking the front of his undershorts out of shape. And only moderately out of shape, at that. The size of his erection wasnt the important thing, though. The important thing was the grin. It hadnt changed a bit, and that meant Gerald hadnt taken her seriously. She was supposed to protest; after all, that was the game. Gerald? I mean it. The grin widened. A few more of his small, inoffensive attorneys teeth came into view; his IQ tumbled another twenty or thirty points. And he still wasnt hearing her. Are you sure of that? She was. She couldnt read him like a bookshe supposed it took a lot more than seventeen years of marriage to get to that pointbut she thought she usually had a pretty good idea of what was going through his head. She thought something would be seriously out of whack if she didnt. If thats the truth, toots, how come he cant read you? How come he cant see this isnt just a new scene in the same old sexfarce? Now it was her turn to frown slightly. She had always heard voices inside her headshe guessed everyone did, although people usually didnt talk about them, any more than they talked about their bowel functionsand most of them were old friends, as comfortable as bedroom slippers. This one, however, was new ... and there was nothing comfortable about it. It was a strong voice, one that sounded young and vigorous. It also sounded impatient. Now it spoke again, answering its own question. It isnt that he cant read you; its just that sometimes, toots, he doesnt want to. Gerald, reallyI dont feel like it. Bring the keys back and unlock me. Well do something else. Ill get on top, if you want. Or you can just lie there with your hands behind your head and Ill do you, you know, the other way. Are you sure you want to do that? the new voice asked. Are you really sure you want to have any sex with this man? Jessie closed her eyes, as if she could make the voice shut up by doing that. When she opened them again, Gerald was standing at the foot of the bed, the front of his shorts jutting like the prow of a ship. Well ... some kids toy boat, maybe. His grin had widened further, exposing the last few teeththe ones with the gold Sitingson both sides. She didnt just dislike that dumb grin, she realized; she despised it. I will let you up ... if youre very, very good. Can you be very, very good, Jessie? Corny, the new nobullshit voice commented. Trs corny. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underpants like some absurd gunslinger. The Jockeys went down pretty fast once they got past his not inconsiderable love handles. And there it was, exposed. Not the formidable engine of love she had first encountered as a teenager in the pages of Fanny Hill but something meek and pink and circumcised; five inches of completely unremarkable erection. Two or three years ago, on one of her infrequent trips to Boston, she had seen a movie called The Belly of an Architect. She thought, Right. And now Im looking at The Penis of an Attorney. She had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Laughing at this point would be impolitic. An idea came to her then, and it killed any urge shed had to laugh. It was this he didnt know she was serious because for him, Jessie Mahout Burlingame, wife of Gerald, sister of Maddy and Will, daughter of Tom and Sally, mother of no one, was really not here at all. She had ceased to be here when the keys made their small, steely clicks in the locks of the handcuffs. The mens adventure magazines of Geralds teenage years had been replaced by a pile of skin magazines in the bottom drawer of his desk, magazines in which women wearing pearls and nothing else knelt on bearskin rugs while men with sexual equipment that made Geralds look strictly HOSCALE by comparison took them from behind. In the backs of these magazines, between the talkdirtytome phone ads with their 900 numbers, were ads for inflatable women which were supposed to be anatomically correcta bizarre concept if Jessie had ever encountered one. She thought of those airfilled dollies now, their pink skins, lineless cartoon bodies, and featureless faces, with a kind of revelatory amazement. It wasnt horrornot quitebut an intense light flashed on inside her, and the landscape it disclosed was certainly more frightening than this stupid game, or the fact that this time they were playing it in the summer house by the lake long after summer had run away for another year. But none of it had affected her hearing in the slightest. Now it was a chainsaw she heard, snarling away in the woods at some considerable distanceas much as five miles, maybe. Closer by, out on the main body of Kashwakamak Lake, a loon tardy in starting its annual run south lifted its crazed cry into the blue October air. Closer still, somewhere here on the north shore, a dog barked. It was an ugly, ratcheting sound, but Jessie found it oddly comforting. It meant that someone else was up here, midweek in October or no. Otherwise there was just the sound of the door, loose as an old tooth in a rotted gum, slapping at the swollen jamb. She felt that if she had to listen to that for long, it would drive her crazy. Gerald, now naked save for his spectacles, knelt on the bed and began crawling up toward her. His eyes were still gleaming. She had an idea it was that gleam which had kept her playing the game long after her initial curiosity had been satisfied. It had been years since shed seen that much heat in Geralds gaze when he looked at her. She wasnt badlookingshed managed to keep the weight off, and still had most of her figurebut Geralds interest in her had waned just the same. She had an idea that the booze was partly to blame for thathe drank a hell of a lot more now than when theyd first been marriedbut she knew the booze wasnt all of it. What was the old saw about familiarity breeding contempt? That wasnt supposed to hold true for men and women in love, at least according to the Romantic poets shed read in English Lit 101, but in the years since college she had discovered there were certain facts of life about which John Keats and Percy Shelley had never written. But of course, they had both died a lot younger than she and Gerald were now. And all of that didnt matter much right here and right now. What maybe did was that she had gone on with the game longer than she had really wanted to because she had liked that hot little gleam in Geralds eyes. It made her feel young and pretty and desirable. But ... ... but if you really thought it was you he was seeing when he got that look in his eye, you were misled, toots. Or maybe you misled yourself. And maybe now you have to decidereally, really decideif you intend to continue putting up with this humiliation. Because isnt that pretty much how you feel? Humiliated? She sighed. Yes. It pretty much was. Gerald, I do mean it. She spoke louder now, and for the first time the gleam in his eyes flickered a little. Good. He could hear her after all, it seemed. So maybe things were still okay. Not great, it had been a long time since things had been what you could call great, but okay. Then the gleam reappeared, and a moment later the idiot grin followed. Ill teach you, me proud beauty, he said. He actually said that, pronouncing beauty the way the landlord in a bad Victorian melodrama might say it. Let him do it, then. Just let him do it and it will be done. This was a voice she was much more familiar with, and she intended to follow its advice. She didnt know if Gloria Steinem would approve and didnt care; the advice had the attractiveness of the completely practical. Let him do it and it would be done. Q.E.D. Then his handhis soft, shortfingered hand, its flesh as pink as that which capped his penisreached out and grasped her breast, and something inside her suddenly popped like an overstrained tendon. She bucked her hips and back sharply upward, flinging his hand off. Quit it, Gerald. Unlock these stupid handcuffs and let me up. This stopped being fun around last March, while there was still snow on the ground. I dont feel sexy; I feel ridiculous. This time he heard her all the way down. She could see it in the way the gleam in his eyes went out all at once, like candleflames in a strong gust of wind. She guessed that the two words which had finally gotten through to him were stupid and ridiculous. He had been a fat kid with thick glasses, a kid who hadnt had a date until he was eighteenthe year after he went on a strict diet and began to work out in an effort to strangle the engirdling flab before it could strangle him. By the time he was a sophomore in college, Geralds life was what he described as more or less under control (as if life his life, anywaywere a bucking bronco he had been ordered to tame), but she knew his high school years had been a horror show that had left him with a deep legacy of contempt for himself and suspicion of others. His success as a corporate lawyer (and marriage to her; she believed that had also played a part, perhaps even the crucial one) had further restored his confidence and selfrespect, but she supposed that some nightmares never completely ended. In a deep part of his mind, the bullies were still giving Gerald wedgies in studyhall, still laughing at Geralds inability to do anything but girliepushups in phys ed, and there were wordsstupid and ridiculous, for instancethat brought all that back as if high school had been yesterday ... or so she suspected. Psychologists could be incredibly stupid about many things, almost willfully stupid, it often seemed to her, but about the horrible persistence of some memories she thought they were bangon. Some memories battened onto a persons mind like evil leeches, and certain wordsstupid and ridiculous, for examplecould bring them instantly back to squirming, feverish life. She waited to feel a pang of shame at hitting below the belt like this and was pleasedor maybe it was relief she feltwhen no pang came. I guess maybe Im just tired of pretending, she thought, and this idea led to another she might have her own sexual agenda, and if she did, this business with the handcuffs was definitely not on it. They made her feel demeaned. The whole idea made her feel demeaned. Oh, a certain uneasy excitement had accompanied the first few experimentsthe ones with the scarvesand on a couple of occasions shed had multiple orgasms, and that was a rarity for her. All the same, there had been sideeffects she didnt care for, and that feeling of being somehow demeaned was only one of them. Shed had her own nightmares following each of those early versions of Geralds game. She awoke from them sweaty and gasping, her hands thrust deeply into the fork of her crotch and rolled into tight little balls. She only remembered one of these dreams, and that memory was distant, blurred she had been playing croquet without any clothes on, and all at once the sun had gone out. Never mind all that, Jessie; those are things you can consider another day. Right now the only important thing is getting him to let you loose. Yes. Because this wasnt their game; this game was all his. She had gone on playing it simply because Gerald wanted her to. And that was no longer good enough. The loon voiced its lonely cry out on the lake again. Geralds dopey grin of anticipation had been replaced by a look of sulky displeasure. You broke my toy, you bitch, that look said. Jessie found herself remembering the last time shed gotten a good look at that expression. In August Gerald had come to her with a glossy brochure, had pointed out what he wanted, and she had said yes, of course he could buy a Porsche if he wanted a Porsche, they could certainly afford a Porsche, but she thought he might do better to buy a membership in the Forest Avenue Health Club, as he had been threatening to do for the past two years. You dont have a Porsche body just now, she had said, knowing she wasnt being very diplomatic but feeling that this really wasnt the time for diplomacy. Also, he had exasperated her to the point where she hadnt cared a whole hell of a lot for his feelings. This had been happening more and more frequently to her lately, and it dismayed her, but she didnt know what to do about it. Just what is that supposed to mean? he had asked stiffly. She didnt bother to answer; she had learned that when Gerald asked such questions, they were almost always rhetorical. The important message lay in the simple subtext Youre upsetting me, Jessie. Youre not playing the game. But on that occasionperhaps in an unknowing tuneup for this oneshe had elected to ignore the subtext and answer the question. It means that youre still going to be fortysix this winter whether you own a Porsche or not, Gerald ... and youre still going to be thirty pounds overweight. Cruel, yes, but she could have been downright gratuitous; could have passed on the image which had flashed before her eyes when she had looked at the photograph of the sports car on the front of the glossy brochure Gerald had handed her. In that blink of an instant she had seen a chubby little kid with a pink face and a widows peak stuck in the innertube hed brought to the old swimming hole. Gerald had snatched the brochure out of her hand and had stalked away without another word. The subject of the Porsche had not been raised since ... but she had often seen it in his resentful We Are Not Amused stare. She was seeing an even hotter version of that stare right now. You said it sounded like fun. Those were your exact words It sounds like fun.  Had she said that? She supposed she had. But it had been a mistake. A little goof, that was all, a little slip on the old banana peel. Sure. But how did you tell your husband that when he had his lower lip pooched out like Baby Huey getting ready to do a tantrum? She didnt know, so she dropped her gaze ... and saw something she didnt like at all. Geralds version of Mr. Happy hadnt wilted a bit. Apparently Mr. Happy hadnt heard about the change of plans. Gerald, I just dont feel like it? Well, thats a hell of a note, isnt it? I took the whole day off work. And if we spend the night, that means tomorrow morning off, as well. He brooded over this for a moment, and then repeated You said it sounded like fun. She began to fan out her excuses like a tired old pokerhand (Yes, but now I have a headache; Yes, but Im having these really shitty premenstrual cramps; Yes, but Im a woman and therefore entitled to change my mind; Yes, but now that were actually out here in the Big Lonely you frighten me, you bad beautiful brute of a man, you), the lies that fed either his misconceptions or his ego (the two were frequently interchangeable), but before she could pick a card, any card, the new voice spoke up. It was the first time it had spoken out loud, and Jessie was fascinated to find that it sounded the same in the air as it did inside her head strong, dry, decisive, in control. It also sounded curiously familiar. Youre rightI guess I did say that, but what really sounded like fun was breaking away with you the way we used to before you got your name up on the door with the rest of the typeAs. I thought maybe we could bounce the bedsprings a little, then sit on the deck and dig the quiet. Maybe play some Scrabble after the sun went down. Is that an actionable offense, Gerald? What do you think? Tell me, because I really want to know. But you said For the last five minutes she had been telling him in various ways that she wanted out of these goddam handcuffs, and he still hadnt let her out of them. Her impatience boiled over into fury. My God, Gerald, this stopped being fun for me almost as soon as we started, and if you werent as thick as a brick, you would have realized it! Your mouth. Your smart, sarcastic mouth. Sometimes I get so tired of Gerald, when you get your head really set on something, sweet and low doesnt come close to reaching you. And whose fault is that? I dont like you when youre like this, Jessie. When youre like this I dont like you a bit. This was going from bad to worse to horrible, and the scariest part was how fast it was happening. Suddenly she felt very tired, and a line from an old Paul Simon song occurred to her I dont want no part of this crazy love. Right on, Paul. You may be short, but you aint dumb. I know you dont. And its okay that you dont, because right now the subject is these handcuffs, not how much you do or dont like me when I tell you Ive changed my mind about something. I want out of these cuffs. Are you hearing me? No, she realized with dawning dismay. He really wasnt. Gerald was still one turn back. You are just so goddamned inconsistent, so goddamned sarcastic. I love you, Jess, but I hate the goddam lip on you. I always have. He wiped the palm of his left hand across his pouting rosebud of a mouth and then looked sadly at herpoor, putupon Gerald, saddled with a woman who had gotten him out here in the forest primeval and then reneged on her sexual obligations. Poor, putupon Gerald, who showed no sign whatever of getting the handcuff keys off the bureau by the bathroom door. Her unease had changed into something elsewhile her back was turned, as it were. It had become a mixture of anger and fear she could remember feeling only once before. When she was twelve or so, her brother Will had goosed her at a birthday party. All her friends had seen, and they had all laughed. Harhar, preety fonny, senhorra, I theenk. It hadnt been funny to her, though. Will had been laughing hardest of all, so hard he was actually doubled over with one hand planted above each knee, his hair hanging in his face. This had been a year or so after the advent of the Beatles and the Stones and the Searchers and all the rest, and Will had had a lot of hair to hang. It had apparently blocked his view of Jessie, because he had no idea of how angry she was ... and he was, under ordinary circumstances, very much aware of her turns of mood and temper. Hed gone on laughing until that froth of emotion so filled her that she understood she would have to do something with it or simply explode. So she had doubled up one small fist and had punched her wellloved brother in the mouth when he finally raised his head to look at her. The blow had knocked him over like a bowling pin and he had cried really hard. Later she had tried to tell herself that he had cried more out of surprise than pain, but she had known, even at twelve, that that wasnt so. She had hurt him, hurt him plenty. His lower lip had split in one place, his upper lip in two, and she had hurt him plenty. And why? Because he had done something stupid? But hed only been nine himselfnine that dayand at that age all kids were stupid. No; it hadnt been his stupidity. It had been her fearfear that if she didnt do something with that ugly green froth of anger and embarrassment, it would (put out the sun) cause her to explode. The truth, first encountered on that day, was this there was a well inside her, the water in that well was poisoned, and when he goosed her, William had sent a bucket down there, one which had come up filled with scum and squirming gluck. She had hated him for that, and she supposed it was really her hate which had caused her to strike out. That deep stuff had scared her. Now, all these years later, she was discovering it still did ... but it still infuriated her, as well. You wont put out the sun, she thought, without the slightest idea of what this meant. Be damned if you will. I dont want to argue the fine points, Gerald. Just get the keys to these fucking things and unlock me! And then he said something which so astounded her that at first she couldnt grasp it What if I wont? What registered first was the change in his tone. He usually spoke in a bluff, gruff, hearty sort of voiceIm in charge here, and its a pretty lucky thing for all of us, isnt it? that tone proclaimedbut this was a low, purring voice with which she was not familiar. The gleam had returned to his eyesthat hot little gleam which had turned her on like a bank of floodlights once upon a time. She couldnt see it very wellhis eyes were squinted down to puffy slits behind his goldrimmed spectaclesbut it was there. Yes indeed. Then there was the strange case of Mr. Happy. Mr. Happy hadnt wilted a bit. Seemed, in fact, to be standing taller than at any time she could remember ... although that was probably just her imagination. Do you think so, toots? I dont. She processed all this information before finally returning to the last thing hed saidthat amazing question. What if I wont? This time she got past the tone to the sense of the words, and as she came to fully understand them, she felt her rage and fear crank up a notch. Somewhere inside, that bucket was going down its shaft again for another slimy dipa scumload of water filled with microbes almost as poisonous as swamp copperheads. The kitchen door banged against its jamb and the dog began to bark in the woods again, sounding closer than ever now. It was a splintery, desperate sound. Listening to something like that for too long would undoubtedly give you a migraine. Listen, Gerald, she heard her strong new voice saying. She was aware that this voice could have picked a better time to break its silenceshe was, after all, out here on the deserted north shore of Kashwakamak Lake, handcuffed to the bedposts, and wearing only a skimpy pair of nylon pantiesbut she still found herself admiring it. Almost against her will she found herself admiring it. Are you listening yet? I know you dont do much of that these days when its me doing the talking, but this time its really important that you hear me. So ... are you finally listening? He was kneeling on the bed, looking at her as if she were some previously undiscovered species of bug. His cheeks, in which complex networks of tiny scarlet threads squirmed (she thought of them as Geralds liquorbrands), were flushed almost purple. A similar swath crossed his forehead. Its color was so dark, its shape so definite, that it looked like a birthmark. Yes, he said, and in his new purring voice the word came out yehusss. Im listening, Jessie. I most certainly am. Good. Then youll walk over to the bureau and get those keys. Youll unlock this oneshe rattled her right wrist against the headboardand then youll unlock this one. She rattled the left wrist in similar fashion. If you do this right away, we can have a little normal, painless, mutualorgasm sex before returning to our normal, painless lives in Portland. Pointless, she thought. You left that one out. Normal, painless, pointless lives in Portland. Perhaps that was so, or perhaps it was just a little overdramatization (being handcuffed to the bed brought that out in a person, she was discovering), but it was probably just as well shed left that one out, in any case. It suggested that the new, nobullshit voice wasnt so indiscreet, after all. Then, as if to contradict this idea, she heard that voicewhich was, after all, her voicebegin to rise in the unmistakable beats and pulses of rage. But if you continue screwing around and teasing me, Ill go straight to my sisters from here, find out who did her divorce, and call her. Im not joking. I do not want to play this game! Now something really incredible was happening, something she never would have suspected in a million years his grin was resurfacing. It was coming up like a sub which has finally reached friendly waters after a long and dangerous voyage. That wasnt the really incredible thing, though. The really incredible thing was that the grin no longer made Gerald look harmlessly retarded. It now made him look like a dangerous lunatic. His hand stole out again, caressed her left breast, then squeezed it painfully. He finished this unpleasant bit of business by pinching her nipple, a thing he had never done before. Ow, Gerald! That hurts! He gave a solemn, appreciative nod that went very strangely with his horrible grin. Thats good, Jessie. The whole thing, I mean. You could be an actress. Or a callgirl. One of the really highpriced ones. He hesitated, then added Thats supposed to be a compliment. What in Gods name are you talking about? Except she was pretty sure she knew. She was really afraid now. Something bad was loose in the bedroom; it was spinning around and around like a black top. But she was also still angryas angry as she had been on the day Will had goosed her. Gerald actually laughed. What am I talking about? For a minute there, you had me believing it. Thats what Im talking about. He dropped a hand onto her right thigh. When he spoke again, his voice was brisk and weirdly businesslike. Nowdo you want to spread them for me, or do I have to do it? Is that part of the game, too? Let me up! Yes ... eventually. His other hand shot out. This time it was her right breast he pinched, and this time the pinch was so hard it fired off nerves in little white sparkles all the way down her side to her hip. For now, spread those lovely legs, me proud beauty! She took a closer look at him and saw a terrible thing he knew. He knew she wasnt kidding about not wanting to go on with it. He knew, but he had chosen not to know he knew. Could a person do that? You bet, the nobullshit voice said. If youre a hotshot shyster in the biggest corporate lawfirm north of Boston and south of Montreal, I guess you can know whatever you want to know and not know whatever you dont want to. I think youre in big trouble here, honey. The kind of trouble that ends marriages. Better grit your teeth and squint your eyes, because I think one bitch of a vaccination shot is on the way. That grin. That ugly, meanspirited grin. Pretending ignorance. And doing it so hard that later on he would be able to pass a liedetector test on the subject. I thought it was part of the game, he would say, all hurt and wideeyed. I really did. And if she persisted, driving at him with her anger, he would eventually fall back to the oldest defense of them all ... and then slip into it, like a lizard into a crack in a rock You liked it. You know you did. Why dont you admit it? Pretending into ignorance. Knowing but planning to go ahead anyway. Hed handcuffed her to the bedposts, had done it with her own cooperation, and now, oh shit, lets not gild the lily, now he meant to rape her, actually rape her while the door banged and the dog barked and the chainsaw snarled and the loon yodeled out there on the lake. He really meant to do it. Yessir, boys, hyuck, hyuck, hyuck, you aint really had pussy until youve had pussy thats jumpin around underneath you like a hen on a hot griddle. And if she did go to Maddys when this exercise in humiliation was over, he would continue to insist that rape had been the furthest thing from his mind. He placed his pink hands against her thighs and began spreading her legs. She did not resist much; for the moment, at least, she was too horrified and amazed by what was going on here to resist much. And thats exactly the right attitude, the more familiar voice inside her spoke up. Just lie there quietly and let him shoot his squirt. After all, whats the big deal? Hes done it at least a thousand times before and you never once turned green. In case you forgot, its been quite a few years since you were a blushing virgin. And what would happen if she didnt listen and obey the counsel of that voice? What was the alternative? As if in answer, a horrid picture rose in her mind. It was herself she saw, testifying in divorce court. She didnt know if there still were such things as divorce courts in Maine, but that in no way dimmed the vividness of the vision. She saw herself dressed in her conservative pink Donna Karan suit, with her peach silk blouse beneath it. Her knees and ankles were primly together. Her small clutch bag, the white one, was in her lap.


She saw herself telling a judge who looked like the late Harry Reasoner that yes, it was true she had accompanied Gerald to the summer house of her own free will, yes, she had allowed him to tether her to the bedposts with two sets of Kreig handcuffs, also of her own free will, and yes, as a matter of fact they had played such games before, although never at the place on the lake. Yes, Judge. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. As Gerald continued to spread her legs, Jessie heard herself telling the judge who looked like Harry Reasoner about how they had started with silk scarves, and how she had allowed the game to go on, progressing from scarves to ropes to handcuffs, even though she had quickly tired of the whole thing. Had become disgusted by it. So disgusted, in fact, that she had allowed Gerald to drive her the eightythree miles from Portland to Kashwakamak Lake on a weekday in October; so revolted she had once again allowed him to chain her up like a dog; so bored with the whole thing that she had been wearing nothing but a pair of nylon panties so wispy you could have read The New York Times classified section through them. The judge would believe it all and sympathize with her most deeply. Of course he would. Who wouldnt? She could see herself sitting there on the witness stand and saying, So there I was, handcuffed to the bedpost and wearing nothing but some underwear from Victorias Secret and a smile, but I changed my mind at the last minute, and Gerald knew it, and that makes it rape. Yes sir, that would do her, all right. Bet your boots. She came out of this appalling fantasy to find Gerald yanking at her panties. He was kneeling between her legs, his face so studious that you might have been tempted to believe it was the Bar Exam he was planning to take instead of his unwilling wife. There was a runner of white spittle coursing down his chin from the center of his plump lower lip. Let him do it, Jessie. Let him shoot his squirt. Its that stuff in his balls thats making him crazy, and you know it. It makes them all crazy. When he gets rid of it, youll be able to talk to him again. Youll be able to deal with him. So dont make a fussjust lie there and wait until hes got it out of his system. Good advice, and she supposed she would have followed it if not for the new presence inside her. This unnamed newcomer clearly thought that Jessies usual source of advicethe voice she had over the years come to think of as Goodwife Budingamewas a wimp of the highest order. Jessie still might have let things run their course, but two things happened simultaneously. The first was her realization that, although her wrists were cuffed to the bedposts, her feet and legs were free. At the same moment she realized this, the runner of drool fell off Geralds chin. It dangled for a moment, elongating, and then fell on her midriff, just above the navel. Something about this sensation was familiar, and she was swept by a horribly intense sensation of dj vu. The room seemed to darken around her, as if the windows and the skylight had been replaced with panes of smoked glass. Its his spunk, she thought, although she knew perfectly well it wasnt. Its his goddam spunk. Her response was not so much directed at Gerald as at that hateful feeling that came flooding up from the bottom of her mind. In a very real sense she acted with no thought at all, but only lashed out with the instinctive, panicky revulsion of a woman who realizes the trapped thing fluttering in her hair is a bat. She drew back her legs, her rising right knee barely missing the promontory of his chin, and then drove her bare feet out again like pistons. The sole and instep of her right drove deep into the bowl of his belly. The heel of her left smashed into the stiff root of his penis and the testicles hanging below it like pale, ripe fruit. He rocked backward, his butt coming down on his plump, hairless calves. He tilted his head up toward the skylight and the white ceiling with its reflected patterns of sunripples and voiced a high, wheezy scream. The loon on the lake cried out again just then, in hellish counterpoint; to Jessie it sounded like one male commiserating with another. Geralds eyes werent slitted now; they werent gleaming, either. They were wide open, they were as blue as todays flawless sky (the thought of seeing that sky over the autumnempty lake had been the deciding factor when Gerald had called from the office and said hed had a postponement and would she like to go up to the summer place at least for the day and maybe overnight), and the expression in them was an agonized glare she could hardly look at. Cords of tendon stood out on the sides of his neck. Jessie thought I havent seen those since the rainy summer when he pretty much gave up gardening and made J. W. Dant his hobby instead. His scream began to fade. It was as if someone with a special Remote Gerald Control were turning down his volume. That wasnt it, of course; he had been screaming for an extraordinarily long time, perhaps as long as thirty seconds, and he was just running out of breath. I must have hurt him badly, she thought. The red spots on his cheeks and the swath across his forehead were now turning purple. You did! the Goodwifes dismayed voice cried. You really really did! Yep; damned good shot, wasnt it? the new voice mused. You kicked your husband in the balls! the Goodwife screamed. What in Gods name gives you the right to do something like that? What gives you the right to even joke about it? She knew the answer to that one, or thought she did shed done it because her husband had intended to commit rape and pass it off later as a missed signal between two essentially harmonious marriage partners who had been playing a harmless sexgame. It was the games fault, he would have said, shrugging. The games, not mine. We dont have to play it again, Jess, if you dont want to. Knowing, of course, that nothing he could offer would ever cause her to hold her wrists up for the handcuffs again. No, this had been a case of last time pays for all. Gerald had known it, and had intended to make the most of it. That black thing she had sensed in the room had spun out of control, just as she had feared it might. Gerald still appeared to be screaming, although no sound at all (at least none she could hear) was now coming from his pursed, agonized mouth. His face had become so congested with blood that it actually appeared to be black in places. She could see his jugular veinor maybe it was his carotid artery, if that mattered at a time like thispulsing furiously beneath the carefully shaved skin of his throat. Whichever one it was, it looked ready to explode, and a nasty jolt of terror stabbed Jessie. Gerald? Her voice sounded thin and uncertain, the voice of a girl who has broken something valuable at a friends birthday party. Gerald, are you all right? It was a stupid question, of course, incredibly stupid, but it was a lot easier to ask than the ones which were really on her mind Gerald, how badly are you hurt? Gerald, do you think you might die? Of course hes not going to die, the Goodwife said nervously. Youve hurt him, indeed you have, and you ought to be sorry, but hes not going to die. Nobody is going to die around here. Geralds pursed, puckered mouth continued to quiver soundlessly, but he didnt answer her question. One of his hands had gone to his belly; the other had cupped his wounded testes. Now they both rose slowly and settled just above his left nipple. They settled like a pair of pudgy pink birds too tired to fly farther. Jessie could see the shape of a bare foother bare footrising on her husbands round stomach. It was a bright, accusatory red against his pink flesh. He was exhaling, or trying to, sending out a dour fog that smelled like rotting onions. Thats tidal breath, she thought. The bottom ten per cent of our lungs is reserved for tidal breath, isnt that what they taught us in high school biology? Yes, I think so. Tidal breath, the fabled last gasp of drowners and chokers. Once you expel that, you either faint or ... Gerald! she cried in a sharp, scolding voice. Gerald, breathe! His eyes bulged from their sockets like blue marbles stuck in a clod of PlayDoh, and he did manage to drag in a single small sip of air. He used it to speak a final word to her, this man who had sometimes seemed made of words. ... heart ...  That was all. Gerald! Now she sounded shocked as well as scolding, an oldmaid schoolteacher who has caught the secondgrade flirt pulling up her skirt to show the boys the bunnies on her underpants. Gerald, stop fooling around and breathe, goddammit! Gerald didnt. Instead, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, disclosing yellowish whites. His tongue blew out of his mouth and made a farting sound. A stream of cloudy, orangetinted urine arced out of his deflated penis and her knees and thighs were doused with feverishly hot droplets. Jessie voiced a long, piercing shriek. This time she was unaware of yanking against the handcuffs, of using them to draw herself as far back from him as possible, awkwardly curling her legs beneath her as she did so. Stop it, Gerald! Just stop it before you fall off the b Too late. Even if he were still hearing her, which her rational mind doubted, it was too late. His bowed back arched the top half of his body beyond the edge of the bed and gravity took over. Gerald Burlingame, with whom Jessie had once eaten Creamsicles in bed, fell over backward with his knees up and his head down, like a clumsy kid trying to impress his friends during Free Swim at the YMCA pool. The sound of his skull meeting the hardwood floor made her shriek again. It sounded like some enormous egg being cracked against the lip of a stone bowl. She would have given anything not to have heard that. Then there was silence, broken only by the distant roar of the chainsaw. A large gray rose was opening in the air before Jessies wide eyes. The petals spread and spread, and when they closed around her again like the dusty wings of huge colorless moths, blocking out everything for awhile, the only clear feeling she had was one of gratitude. 2 She seemed to be in a long, cold hall filled with white fog, a hall that was canted severely to one side like the halls people were always walking down in movies like A Nightmare on Elm Street and TV shows like The Twilight Zone. She was naked and the cold was really getting to her, making her muscles acheparticularly those of her back and neck and shoulders. Ive got to get out of here or Ill be sick, she thought. Im already getting cramps from the fog and the damp. (Although she knew it was not the fog and the damp.) Also, somethings wrong with Gerald. I cant remember exactly what it is, but I think he might be sick. (Although she knew that sick wasnt exactly the right word.) But, and this was odd, another part of her really didnt want to escape the tilted, foggy corridor at all. This part suggested that shed be a lot better off staying here. That if she left shed be sorry. So she did stay for awhile. What finally got her going again was a barking dog. It was an exceedingly ugly bark, bottomheavy but breaking to shrill bits in its upper registers. Each time the animal let go with it, it sounded as if it were puking up a throatful of sharp splinters. She had heard that bark before, although it might be betterquite a bit better, actuallyif she managed not to remember when, or where, or what had been happening at the time. But at least it got her movingleft foot, right foot, hayfoot, strawfbotand suddenly it occurred to her that she could see through the fog better if she opened her eyes, so she did. It wasnt some spooky Twilight Zone hallway she saw but the master bedroom of their summer house on the north end of Kashwakamak Lakethe area that was known as Notch Bay. She guessed the reason she had felt cold was that she was wearing nothing but a pair of bikini panties, and her neck and shoulders hurt because she was handcuffed to the bedposts and her bottom had slid down the bed when she fainted. No tilted corridor; no foggy damp. Only the dog was real, still barking its fool head off. It now sounded quite close to the house. If Gerald heard that The thought of Gerald made her twitch, and the twitch sent complex spiralsparkles of feeling through her cramped biceps and triceps. These tingles faded away to nothing at her elbows, and Jessie realized with soupy, justwakingup dismay that her forearms were mostly without feeling and her hands might as well have been gloves stuffed with congealed mashed potatoes. This is going to hurt, she thought, and then everything came back to her ... especially the image of Gerald doing his header off the side of the bed. Her husband was on the floor, either dead or unconscious, and she was lying up here on the bed, thinking about what a drag it was that her lower arms and hands had gone to sleep. How selfish and selfcentered could you get? If hes dead, its his own damned fault, the nobullshit voice said. It tried to add a few other home truths as well, but Jessie gagged it. In her stillnotquiteconscious state she had a clearer sightline into the deeper archives of her memory banks, and she suddenly realized whose voiceslightly nasal, clipped, always on the verge of a sarcasmtinged taughthat was. It belonged to her college roommate, Ruth Neary. Now that Jessie knew, she found she wasnt a bit surprised. Ruth had always been extremely generous with pieces of her mind, and her advice had often scandalized her nineteenyearold wetbehindtheears roommate from Falmouth Foreside ... which had undoubtedly been the idea, or part of it; Ruths heart had always been in the right place, and Jessie had never doubted that Ruth actually believed sixty per cent of the things she said and had actually done forty per cent of the things she claimed to have done. When it came to things sexual, the percentage was probably even higher. Ruth Neary, the first woman Jessie had ever known who absolutely refused to shave her legs and her armpits; Ruth, who had once filled an unpleasant floorcounsellors pillowcase with strawberryscented foam douche; Ruth, who on general principles went to every student rally and attended every experimental student play. lfall else fails, tootsie, some goodlooking guy will probably take his clothes off, she had told an amazed but fascinated Jessie after coming back from a student effort entitled The Son of Noahs Parrot. I mean, it doesnt always happen, but it usually doesI think thats really what studentwritten and produced plays are forso guys and girls can take off their clothes and make out in public. She hadnt thought of Ruth in years and now Ruth was inside her head, handing out little nuggets of wisdom just as she had in days of yore. Well, why not? Who was more qualified to advise the mentally confused and emotionally disturbed than Ruth Neary, who had gone on from the University of New Hampshire to three marriages, two suicide attempts, and four drugandalcohol rehabs? Good old Ruth, just another shining example of how well the erstwhile Love Generation was making the transition to middle age. Jesus, just what I need, Dear Abby from hell, she said, and the thick, slurry quality of her voice frightened her more than the lack of feeling in her hands and lower arms. She tried to yank herself back up to the mostlysitting position she had managed just before Geralds little diving exhibition (Had that horrible eggcracking sound been part of her dream? She prayed that it had been), and thoughts of Ruth were swallowed by a sudden burst of panic when she did not move at all. Those tingling spirals of sensation spun through her muscles again, but nothing else happened. Her arms just went on hanging above and slightly behind her, as moveless and feelingless as stovelengths of rock maple. The muzzy feeling in her head disappearedpanic beat the hell out of smelling salts, she was discoveringand her heart kicked into a higher gear, but that was all. A vivid image culled from some longago history text flickered behind her eyes for a moment a circle of laughing, pointing people standing around a young woman with her head and hands in stocks. The woman was bent over like a hag in a fairytale and her hair hung in her face like a penitents shroud. Her name is Goodwife Burlingame and shes being punished for hurting her husband, she thought. Theyre punishing the Goodwife because they cant get hold of the one whos really responsible for hurting him ... the one who sounds like my old college roommate. But was hurting the right word? Was it not likely that she was now sharing this bedroom with a dead man? Was it not also likely that, dog or no dog, the Notch Bay end of the lake was entirely deserted? That if she started to scream, she would be answered only by the loon? Only that and nothing more? It was mostly that thought, with its strange echo of Poes The Raven, that brought her to a sudden realization of just what was going on here, what she had gotten herself into, and fullfledged, mindless terror suddenly fell on her. For twenty seconds or so (if asked how long that panicattack lasted, she would have guessed at least three minutes and probably closer to five) she was totally in its grip. A thin rod of rational consciousness remained deep inside her, but it was helplessonly a dismayed spectator watching the woman writhe on the bed with her hair flying as she whipped her head from side to side in a gesture of negation, hearing her hoarse, frightened screams. A deep, glassy pain at the base of her neck, just above the place where her left shoulder started, put a stop to it. It was a musclecramp, a bad one. Moaning, Jessie let her head fall back against the separated mahogany slats which formed the headboard of the bed. The muscle she had strained was frozen in a strenuous flexed position, and it felt as hard as a rock. The fact that her exertion had forced pins and needles of feeling all the way down her forearms to the palms of her hands meant little next to that terrible pain, and she found that leaning back against the headboard was only putting more pressure on the overstrained muscle. Moving instinctively, without any thought at all, Jessie planted her heels against the coverlet, raised her buttocks, and shoved with her feet. Her elbows bent and the pressure on her shoulders and upper arms eased. A moment later the Charley horse in her deltoid muscle began to let go. She let out her breath in a long, harsh sigh of relief. The windit had progressed quite a bit beyond the breeze stage, she noticedgusted outside, sighing through the pines on the slope between the house and the lake. Just off the kitchen (which was in another universe as far as Jessie was concerned), the door she and Gerald had neglected to pull shut banged against the swollen jamb one time, two time, three time, four. These were the only sounds; only these and nothing more. The dog had quit barking, at least for the time being, and the chainsaw had quit roaring. Even the loon seemed to be on its coffeebreak. The image of a lakeloon taking a coffeebreak, maybe floating in the watercooler and chatting up a few of the lady loons, caused a dusty croaking sound in her throat. Under less unpleasant circumstances, that sound might have been termed a chuckle. It dissolved the last of her panic, leaving her still afraid but at least in charge of her thoughts and actions once more. It also left her with an unpleasant metallic taste on her tongue. Thats adrenaline, toots, or whatever glandular secretion your body dumps when you sprout claws and start climbing the walls. If anyone ever asks you what panic is, now you can tell them an emotional blank spot that leaves you feeling as if youve been sucking on a mouthful of pennies. Her forearms were buzzing, and the tingles of sensation had at last spread into her fingers as well. Jessie rolled her hands open and closed several times, wincing as she did so. She could hear the faint sound of the handcuff chains rattling against the bedposts and took a moment to wonder if she and Gerald had been mad it certainly seemed so now, although she had no doubt that thousands of people all over the world played similar games each and every day. She had read that there were even sexual free spirits who hanged themselves in their closets and then beat off as the bloodsupply to their brains slowly decreased to nothing. Such news only served to increase her belief that men were not so much gifted with penises as cursed with them. But if it had been only a game (only that and nothing more), why had Gerald felt it necessary to buy real handcuffs? That was sort of an interesting question, wasnt it? Maybe, but I dont think its the really important question just now, Jessie, do you? Ruth Neary asked from inside her head. It was really quite amazing how many different tracks the human mind could work on at the same time. On one of these she now found herself wondering what had become of Ruth, whom she had last seen ten years ago. It had been at least three years since Jessie had heard from her. The last communication had been a postcard showing a young man in an ornate red velvet suit with a ruff at the neck. The young mans mouth was open, and his long tongue had been protruding suggestively. SOME DAY MY PRINCE WILL TONGUE, the card had said. New Age wit, Jessie remembered thinking at the time. The Victorians had Anthony Trollope; the Lost Generation had H. L. Mencken; we got stuck with dirty greeting cards and bumpersticker witticisms like AS A MATTER OF FACT, I DO OWN THE ROAD. The card had borne a blurry Arizona postmark and the information that Ruth had joined a lesbian commune. Jessie hadnt been terribly surprised at the news; had even mused that perhaps her old friend, who could be wildly irritating and surprisingly, wistfully sweet (sometimes in the same breath) had finally found the hole on the great gameboard of life which had been drilled to accept her own oddly shaped peg. She had put Ruths card in the top left drawer of her desk, the one where she kept various odd lots of correspondence which would probably never be answered, and that had been the last time shed thought about her old roomie until nowRuth Neary, who lusted to own a HarleyDavidson barnburner but who had never been able to master any standard transmission, even the one on Jessies tame old Ford Pinto; Ruth, who often got lost on the UNH campus even after three years there; Ruth, who always cried when she forgot she was cooking something on the hotplate and burned it to a crisp. She did that last so often it was really a miracle she had never set their roomor the whole dormon fire. How odd that the confident nobullshit voice in her head should turn out to be Ruths. The dog began to bark again. It sounded no closer, but it sounded no farther away, either. Its owner wasnt hunting birds, that was for sure; no hunter would have anything to do with such a canine blabbermouth. And if dog and master were out for a simple afternoon walk, how come the barks had been coming from the same place for the last five minutes or so? Because you were right before, her mind whispered. There is no master. This voice wasnt Ruths or Goodwife Burlingames, and it certainly wasnt what she thought of as her own voice (whatever that was); it was very young and very scared. And, like Ruths voice, it was strangely familiar. Its just a stray, out here on its own. It wont help you, Jessie. It wont help us. But that was maybe too gloomy an assessment. After all, she didnt know the dog was a stray, did she? Not for sure. And until she did, she refused to believe it. If you dont like it, sue me, she said in a low, hoarse voice. Meanwhile, there was the question of Gerald. In her panic and subsequent pain, he had kind of slipped her mind. Gerald? Her voice still sounded dusty, not really there. She cleared her throat and tried again. Gerald! Nothing. Zilch. No response at all. That doesnt mean hes dead, though, so keep your fur on, womandont go off on another rip. She was keeping her fur on, thank you very much, and she had no intention whatever of going off on another rip. All the same, she felt a deep, welling dismay in her vitals, a feeling that was like some awful homesickness. Geralds lack of response didnt mean he was dead, that was true, but it did mean he was unconscious, at the very least. And probably dead, Ruth Neary added. I dont want to piss on your parade, Jessreallybut you dont hear him breathing, do you? I mean, you usually can hear unconscious people breathing; they take these big snory, blubbery snatches of air, dont they? How the fuck would I know? she said, but that was stupid. She knew because she had been an enthusiastic candystriper for most of her high school years, and it didnt take long for you to get a pretty good fix on what dead sounded like; it sounded like nothing at all. Ruth had known all about the time she had spent in Portland City Hospitalwhat Jessie herself had sometimes called The Bedpan Yearsbut this voice would have known it even if Ruth hadnt, because this voice wasnt Ruth; this voice was her. She had to keep reminding herself of that, because this voice was so weirdly its own self. Like the voices you heard before, the young voice murmured. The voices you heard after the dark day. But she didnt want to think about that. Never wanted to think about that. Didnt she have enough problems already? But Ruths voice was right unconscious peopleespecially those whod gotten unconscious as the result of a good hard rap on the nogginusually did snore. Which meant ... Hes probably dead, she said in her dusty voice. Okay, yeah. She leaned to the left, moving carefully, mindful of the muscle which had cramped so painfully at the base of her neck on that side. She had not quite reached the farthest extent of the chain binding her right wrist when she saw one pink, chubby arm and half of one handthe last two fingers, actually. It was his right hand; she knew this because there was no wedding ring on his third finger. She could see the white crescents of his nails. Gerald had always been very vain about his hands and his nails. She had never realized just how vain until right now. It was funny how little you saw, sometimes. How little you saw even after you thought youd seen it all. I suppose, but Ill tell you one thing, sweetie right now you can pull down the shades, because I dont want to see any more. No, not one thing more. But refusing to see was a luxury in which she could not, at least for the time being, indulge. Continuing to move with exaggerated care, babying her neck and shoulder, Jessie slid as far to the left as the chain would allow. It wasnt muchanother two or three inches, topsbut it fattened the angle enough for her to see part of Geralds upper arm, part of his right shoulder, and a tiny bit of his head. She wasnt sure, but she thought she could also see tiny beads of blood at the edges of his thinning hair. She supposed it was at least technically possible that this last was just imagination. She hoped so. Gerald? she whispered. Gerald, can you hear me? Please say you can. No answer. No movement. She could feel that deep homesick dismay again, welling and welling, like an unstanched wound. Gerald? she whispered again. Why are you whispering? Hes dead. The man who once surprised you with a weekend trip to ArubaAruba, of all placesand once wore your alligator shoes on his ears at a New Years Eve party ... that man is dead. So just why in the hell are you whispering? Gerald! This time she screamed his name. Gerald, wake up! The sound of her own screaming voice almost sent her into another panicky, convulsive interlude, and the scariest part wasnt Geralds continued failure to move or respond; it was the realization that the panic was still there, still right there, restlessly circling her conscious mind as patiently as a predator might circle the guttering campfire of a woman who has somehow wandered away from her friends and gotten lost in the deep, dark fastnesses of the woods. Youre not lost, Goodwife Burlingame said, but Jessie did not trust that voice. Its control sounded bogus, its rationality only paintdeep. You know just where you are. Yes, she did. She was at the end of a twisting, rutted camp road which split off from Bay Lane two miles south of here. The camp road had been an aisle of fallen red and yellow leaves over which she and Gerald had driven, and those leaves were mute testimony to the fact that this spur, leading to the Notch Bay end of Kashwakamak, had been used little or not at all in the three weeks since the leaves had first begun to turn and then to fall. This end of the lake was almost exclusively the domain of summer people, and for all Jessie knew, the spur might not have been used since Labor Day. It was a total of five miles, first along the spur and then along Bay Lane, before one came out on Route 117, where there were a few yearround homes. Im out here alone, my husband is lying dead on the floor, and Im handcuffed to the bed. I can scream until I turn blue and it wont do me any good; no ones going to hear. The guy with the chainsaw is probably the closest, and hes at least four miles away. He might even be on the other side of the lake. The dog would probably hear me, but the dog is almost certainly a stray. Geralds dead, and thats a shameI never meant to kill him, if thats what I didbut at least it was relatively quick for him. It wont be quick for me; if no one in Portland starts to worry about us, and theres no real reason why anyone should, at least for awhile ... She shouldnt be thinking this way; it brought the panicthing closer. If she didnt get her mind out of this rut, she would soon see the panicthings stupid, terrified eyes. No, she absolutely shouldnt be thinking this way. The bitch of it was, once you got started, it was very hard to stop again. But maybe its what you deservethe hectoring, feverish voice of Goody Burlingame suddenly spoke up. Maybe it is. Because you did kill him, Jessie. You cant kid yourself about that, because I wont let you. Im sure he wasnt in very good shape, and Im sure it would have happened sooner or later, anywaya heart attack at the office, or maybe in the turnpike passing lane on his way home some night, him with a cigarette in his hand, trying to light it, and a big tenwheeler behind him, honking for him to get the hell back over into the righthand lane and make some room. But you couldnt wait for sooner or later, could you? Oh no, not you, not Tom Mahouts good little girl Jessie. You couldnt just lie there and let him shoot his squirt, could you? Cosmo Girl Jessie Burlingame says No man chains me down.  You had to kick him in the guts and the nuts, didnt you? And you had to do it while his thermostat was already well over the red line. Lets cut to the chase, dear you murdered him. So maybe you deserve to be right here, handcuffed to this bed. Maybe Oh, that is such bullshit, she said. It was an inexpressible relief to hear that other voiceRuths voice come out of her mouth. She sometimes (well ... maybe often would be closer to the truth) hated the Goodwife voice; hated it and feared it. It was often foolish and flighty, she recognized that, but it was also so strong, so hard to say no to. Goody was always eager to assure her she had bought the wrong dress, or that she had chosen the wrong caterer for the endofsummer party Gerald threw each year for the other partners in the firm and their wives (except it was really Jessie who threw it; Gerald was just the guy who stood around and said aw shucks and took all the credit). Goody was the one who always insisted she had to lose five pounds. That voice wouldnt let up even if her ribs were showing. Never mind your ribs! it screamed in tones of selfrighteous horror.