Married for five years, Dolly felt lucky that she and Bud were still close: he was lover, father, best friend. They credited their success to compromising. So, naturally, when Bud invited a Broadway producer to dinner that October and asked Dolores to invite a beautiful young woman to make a foursome, she eagerly complied. Her calls to theatrical friends produced Aurora, a twenty-five-year-old model, whom Dolores invited in advance for an afternoon visit.
Dolores ushered her stunning guest to the small L-shaped living room crowded with white Provincial furniture, huge twin porcelain lamps, and a smoked glass coffee table. Sitting beside slender Aurora who smelled of soap and whose dress flowed modestly past her calves, Dolores smoothed her good wool skirt across heavy thighs. Thank God that Bud, still handsome with thick gray hair, didn’t mind her added weight. He’d said she was his perfect girl; he’d always adore her. Most of their long-time friends had divorced.
Aurora with her creamy complexion and almond-shaped green eyes, exclaimed, “Oh, Mrs. Krause, I’m just thrilled to bits about meeting a Broadway producer! I just arrived here from Georgia six months ago. I never expected opportunities so fast!”
Dolores smiled, amused yet touched by her guest’s enthusiasm. She patted her cascading black curls, dyed to hide the gray. “Well, we can’t promise a role, but maybe Mr. Hunter will at least audition you.”
Aurora excitedly tossed her deeply-waved red hair behind her shoulders. “Wow, suppose an agent notices me in a small part and then gets me a lead in a play! Mama and daddy would be so proud!”
Gazing past the twelfth-floor panoramic windows at downtown Manhattan, Dolores said softly, “During my teens, I, too, dreamed of acting, but my Aunt Nettie, who raised me after my parents died in an automobile accident, convinced me that I was too inhibited to be an actress, so I wrote plays instead.” She turned to Aurora who listened intently. “Aunt Nettie was very strict on our Long Island farm, but she understood my needs. Maybe I enjoy writing plays because I can control the events.”
Aurora nodded sympathetically over her coffee mug. “My daddy’s only a poor farmer, but I educated myself here, studying at drama school while modeling for catalogues. Even though Mr. Hunter’s married, I’ll do my best to be charming.”
Dolores smiled, wishing she’d had a daughter like that-sweet and sincere. But Bud had been right that children would disrupt their careers. It was quite a coup for a middle-aged, insecure spinster like herself, seeking love at the Backstage Restaurant bar, to attract an ambitious, self-confident guy like Bud; she needed his guidance.
As she ushered her guest to the door, she grasped the soft manicured hand. “Aurora, I’m looking forward to your joining us.”
Aurora, beaming with dazzling white teeth, vigorously shook Dolores’s pudgy hand, and whispered, “Gee, Aurora’s just my stage name. My real name is Alice Carwile. Please don’t tell anybody.”
Dolores smiled at her visitor. “I won’t.”
She watched Aurora wave from the elevator, then rushed to call Bud at his drafting job. “She’s delightful. Well, I’d better buy groceries. There’s lots of work before Wednesday.”
“Honey, don’t forget we’re having roast lamb. And have the groceries delivered if they’re too heavy. I don’t want my favorite girl developing a hernia.”
“Oh, Bud, you worry too much about me. I can manage a few grocery bags.”
“That’s my Dolly.”
She smiled. “See you tonight.”
After storing the heavy supermarket load in the wallpapered kitchen-ette, Dolores cleaned the bedroom and bathroom before cooking. After dinner, she chopped salad vegetables, washed dishes, and mopped the kitchenette tiles. It was past eleven.
“Dolly, please come to bed!” Bud shouted from the adjoining bedroom. “You know I can’t sleep without you.”
“I’ll be right there!” Dolores quickly stored the veggies in plastic bags and ran to the bathroom.
But later, when she crawled into bed wearing her sexy lace nightgown, Bud said apologetically, “I’m too tired now for anything but a squeeze.”
“Then a squeeze will feel good.” Dolores snuggled against him. Sometimes she felt so divinely happy with Bud, her eyes dampened in gratitude. As usual, they fell asleep together.
By Tuesday, Dolly had finished all the cleaning and cooking. Wednesday evening, she wore a silk floral shift that masked her plumpness, combed out her curls unwound from the thick rollers, and added Aunt Nettie’s choker pearls bequeathed the Christmas before she died.
Bud, hurrying to the bathroom, called out, “Honey, don’t forget to order roses and baby’s breath. Put them in the sexy vase from Macy’s.”
Sexy vase? Amused, Dolores phoned the corner florist, and later arranged the flowers in the curvy, milky white vase on the dining alcove’s white damask tablecloth. Bud was right again. It did look sexy. Maybe after their guests left, if they weren’t too tired É
Bud had emerged from the bathroom, smelling of spicy aftershave and looking especially handsome with dark pants, blue silk shirt that matched his
eyes, and loafers. He sat on the sofa, his demeanor suddenly serious. “Dolly, let’s discuss strategy.” She sat beside him and he smiled at her. “We want Frank to feel grateful for a terrific evening. You know he could advance our careers.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll enjoy the lamb, and I followed your mother’s wonderful recipe for German Chocolate cake-”
“Dolly, I appreciate you’re always doing what I ask. That’s part of the reason I fell in love with you, a really sweet woman.” He squeezed her hand and looked deeply into her eyes, then said seriously, “But, honey, let’s picture this scenario. While chatting over dessert, I’ll suggest we’d like to sketch them-nude.”
“Nude?” Dolores’s penciled eyebrows arched.
“Come on, honey, I’m talking CAREER here-anything we can
do É”
“But Aurora’s so innocent, and you said Mr. Hunter-”
“Frank.”
“Frank’s a family man. He’d never consent.”
Bud shrugged. “Most men have a roving eye.” He paused, then took
his wife’s hand while she remained silent. “Dolly, hear me out. We want to push romance. You then suggest Aurora sit on his lap and they’ll look into each other’s eyes during sketching. Later, if they want to sleep over, they can use the sofa bed.”
She stared at him. “That’s unethical! We’d be pimping for our guests, turning our home into a brothel and using poor Aurora who dreams about acting-”
Bud frowned. “Dolly, remember how we agreed that compromises make a successful marriage? I feel that my request is reasonable. Everyone would profit. Our guests will enjoy themselves, Aurora might star in Frank’s next production, I could get a great Broadway designing job, and your play that you’ve worked so hard on could be optioned. Not bad for one evening’s effort!” Regaining his humor, he kissed the nape of her neck, his lips grazing her skin in a way that always gave her goose bumps. “Do it for your Buddy, okay, babe?”
“I É don’t É know É” Dreading another frown, she finally replied, sighing, “Well, if you think it’s necessary.”
He squeezed her. “That’s my Dolly!”
They arose, Bud to fill the ice bucket, while Dolores set the alcove table, using the expensive cupid napkin holders Bud had bought, except now she knew why and pursed her lips in disapproval. When the doorbell pealed, Bud dimmed the lamps, and strode across the white carpet.
“Frank, great seeing you again! Come in, relax, have some wine.” The portly visitor with a fringe of gray hair smiled pleasantly. Bud turned to Dolores, who waited, hands clenched in nervousness. “Honey, take his coat, please.”
Though glad to be busy, she dropped the wooden hanger twice and mumbled apologies as it clattered against the metal folding door; she hurried to the kitchen and quickly returned with the chilled Beaujolais.
Bud, pouring the wine, said, “Well, this is our humble abode, Frank. Not a classy neighborhood, but at least a modern apartment.”
Mr. Hunter, juggling a wine glass, scanned the plush white furniture and panoramic view. “Yeah, very nice.”
The doorbell pealed again.
Bud said, “Ah, that’s our other guest, an actress friend. I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly.” He opened the foyer door. “Hi, Aurora. You look fabulous!”
Handing him her wool coat, she exuded crisp outdoor air. Smiling shyly, she smoothed her demure green silk dress with high collar, and turned inquiringly toward the stranger. Bud introduced them, served more wine, and excused himself to head for the bathroom. He nodded at Dolores to
leave. Reluctantly she poured dressing on the kitchen salad while listening to the conversation drifting from the living room.
“Bud told me you’re an actress. Any experience?”
Aurora hesitated. “Well, I was runner-up to Miss Georgia at Atlantic City É I’ve studied real hard, Mr. Hunter, and want a part, no matter how small. I mean, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a chance.”
“Why acting, baby? The competition’s tough, you know.”
“Oh, Mr. Hunter, all my life I’ve wanted to be an actress! I’m so emotional É”
“And beautiful,” he said softly.
Dolores grabbed the salad and rushed to the alcove, interrupting, she hoped, a romantic prelude. “Dinner’s ready,” she announced with forced cheerfulness, placing the filled bowl on the tablecloth.
Bud, entering from the bathroom, shot her a frown.
Trembling with anxiety, she returned to the kitchen. How could Bud ask their guests to participate in such crude behavior? She must resolve it.
During dinner, Bud described to Mr. Hunter his set design for an off-Broadway parody on Mozart’s Abduction from the Seraglio. Dinner finished, he abruptly pushed aside dirty dishes, and arose.
“Let’s have dessert in the living room. Frank, why don’t you and Aurora use the sofa? It’s the most comfortable seat.”
Mr. Hunter’s bulk squashed the embroidered cushions. He leaned back, straightening his black pullover over black pants. Aurora sat beside him, her legs together. Tugging the dress below her calves, she glanced at her hosts for encouragement. Bud, smiling, took a wing chair opposite. Dolores, carrying emptied dishes to the kitchen, hesitated.
Breaking the awkward silence, Mr. Hunter said, “Dolores, the lamb was excellent.”
Bud beamed at the compliment and winked at his wife who fled to the kitchen.
Lips pinched, she pumped whipped cream on the cake. So far, their guests seemed to enjoy the evening. Mr. Hunter might help Aurora without being pushed into an affair! But she couldn’t disappoint her Buddy whose heart and soul were in this venture. Anticipating then their young guest’s embarrassment caused the lamb in Dolores’s stomach to battle all that almond rice and sourdough bread that she, upset, had broken her diet for. Shaking her head for a solution, she poured freshly-perked coffee. Practical Bud usually knew what was best. But if only he hadn’t waited until the last second to mention it. What could she do now?
When Dolores finished serving the cake and coffee, Bud said, “By the way, Frank, my wife and I meet with artist friends here on Sundays and share the cost of a live model. We’d like to sketch you.”
“Me?” Mr. Hunter stared at Bud in surprise. “I’m a married grandfather who’s losing his hair!”
Bud nodded solemnly. “Ah, yes, that’s how you. see yourself. But to us artists, you have an interesting craggy face. And we’d love to sketch Aurora É”
“I wouldn’t mind,” she said, replacing her cake fork in the plate. She smiled brightly as if for a camera.
“Stay right there,” Bud said, and disappeared into the bedroom. He emerged moments later with huge sketch pads and handed one to Dolores along with a pen.
Slowly she sat in the other wing chair, propped her legs on the white hassock, and put the sketch pad in her lap. The thought of actually complying with Bud’s proposal was so obnoxious she almost wished they’d get it over with.
“How should we pose?” Mr. Hunter asked with an amused smile.
“Well, facing Aurora’s okay,” Bud said, “but we had in mind nude sketches, like at our Sunday sessions.”
“Nude?” Mr. Hunter burst out laughing.
Dolores lowered her gaze. Maybe their guests would refuse, sparing them this humiliation.
“Come on, Frank, don’t tell me you’re shy!” Bud grinned. “A big-time Broadway producer who’s probably seen everything imaginable! You can’t be afraid of beautiful Aurora?”
“I’d be happy to grant your request if she doesn’t object. She’s a great-looking chick.” He turned to Aurora, his lips curled in a smile. “How about it, baby?”
A scarlet fingernail touched the cameo brooch at her throat. “Gee, I didn’t expect É I mean Mama wouldn’t like it-“She broke off, flushing, like a child who wants to be considered grown up.
Bud said, “Aurora, suppose Frank asked you to appear nude in a play. You’d refuse?”
“That’s different. I’d do anything to become a star.”
“What’s different? Nude is nude. It’s all show business. Right, Frank?”
Their guest scratched a heavy jowl, and then laughed. “In this business you do whatever’s required. Just don’t tell my family in Connecticut about the sketches.”
“Never,” Bud said sweetly, and reached for his pad and pen. “Aurora, sit on his lap and you can gaze at each other. Frank, you hold one breast. It’ll be a lovely picture.”
“Well, gee, I don’t know É” Aurora turned toward her hostess for guidance.
Dolores, cheeks reddened with shame, bent over her sketch pad. She wanted to embrace the young woman, reassure her that it was only a joke, and encourage their guests to chat. Instead, she suddenly felt helpless, as if Aunt Nettie again forbade her to pursue an acting career. “It’s okay,” Dolores muttered, hating herself but wanting the event to seem casual. Her protests now might reveal that Bud was using their guests. Maybe the ordeal wouldn’t last long and the guests would leave.
“Well, I guess if you really think so, Mrs. Krause É” Aurora hesitated, and then fumbled with her dress’s back buttons, helped by Mr. Hunter. Slowly she shed her clothes while he removed his. Blushing furiously, she climbed onto the producer’s lap.
Filled with guilt, Dolores sketched Aurora’s slim body with tiny waist while Mr. Hunter cupped a breast, and the pair gazed at each other for thirty minutes.
Finally, Bud raised his pad. “Okay, folks, here’s my sketch.”
“It looks like us,” Mr. Hunter said, glancing at the pad. He turned to watch Aurora who’d climbed off his lap and gathered her clothes, averting his gaze. “You’re not leaving, are you, baby?” Mr. Hunter said, taking her hand.
“Uh, no, I guess not É I don’t know.” Looking dazed, she sat beside him, holding his hand and clutching her clothes. Her lower lip quivered.
Bud smiled. “If you’d like to spend the night, our sofa bed’s very comfortable.” He turned to Dolores. “Honey, get blankets and sheets for our guests.”
Dolores’s high-heeled pumps stomped to the foyer closet. Didn’t Bud realize how they’d cheapened poor Aurora and humiliated themselves? Worse, she’d agreed to it, yielding the same way she’d always yielded to Aunt Nettie. She felt unclean. Bud shouldn’t have persuaded her; this wasn’t a reasonable compromise! Well, what’s done is doneÉ Biting her lip to repress her anger, she dragged out the bedding while Mr. Hunter chatted softly with Aurora, who daubed at her eyes. He put his arms around her and held her against his bare, grizzled chest. She began sobbing; he continued talking, and finally she quieted. Bud had left for the bathroom.
Dolores dropped the bedding beside their guests, and switched off all the lights except the foyer’s. Then with a whispered, “Good night,” she fled
to the bedroom where she donned an old nightgown, and tarried at the vanity to delay joining Bud.
“Coming to bed, Dolly?”
“In a minute.” Frowning she added cold cream to remove makeup, and finally stood, exhausted. She’d welcome sleep. As she crawled under the blankets, Bud whispered in her ear, “We hit the jackpot! Frank’s crazy about her. I bet he stars her in his next play.”
“Maybe.” Dolores lay back on the pillow and stared past the opened Venetian blinds at the night clouds hiding the stars. Thumping sounds emanated from the living room sofa. She closed her eyes, hoping the couple would finish quickly.
“Say, Dolly, I got all worked up, watching them. How about a quickie?
“I’m too tired,” she replied, and suddenly wished he’d shut up.
“Come on, honey, the apartment’s crackling with sexual tension.”
“Bud, I said I’m too tired.” She rolled over toward the window.
“Well, if that’s how you feel É”
He sounded hurt but she didn’t care. It was the first time she’d refused him.
