Three Peeping Toms Pay Up - Hard

"After last night, it seems clear sailing for you," said Guy. "You have met the enemy - and had a fine fuck."

They sat on the terrace late Sunday morning indulging in a third cup of coffee. The old white metal table glared enough in the bright September sun to hurt the eyes, at least quite hung-over eyes, so they had hoisted the umbrella. Now, Leslie sat mostly in the sun, her yellow satin bathrobe gleaming, and Guy sat wholly in shade, which he always preferred. Resting on another chair, his legs were half out of his pajama bottoms and once in a while Leslie would reach over to rub his feet. Rubbing soon gave way to tickling, however, and Guy had to jerk back the offended foot.

Leslie said, putting down her cup, "Like some dream where you are at dinner with your boss and suddenly realize that you're naked below the waist. Judy Jenkins! I could not have imagined a more embarrassing encounter at the Dark Knights! I still can't believe that she and I opened our eyes at the same second and were looking at each other's bare pussy."

"But now it's over. You met a former student—whose love for her former English teacher turned into lust, by the way— and here you are still alive and drinking coffee. Now, it's clear sailing."

"Stop using that phrase, will you? I have no IDEA where I'm sailing! I'm in a fucking fog. What do you do next, when there is no sexual restraint you haven't thrown off?"

"Go back to your monogamous marriage?"

"Really?" Leslie leaned forward, cup half way to her lips, and scrutinized Guy's expression. "Joking?"

"We can do anything we want," said Guy, with a shrug.

"We sure as hell proved THAT!"

"Well, we called this our 'second honeymoon'—I think I used that phrase, didn't I?"

Leslie nodded. "In telling me why we had to join the Dark Knights." She turned to look out over the lawn, down to where their garden patch ran to the edge of the woods. It was a very private property, surrounded on three sides by a nature reserve (or was it 'preserve'?). It had become almost unusual for them to be outside with clothes on. Normality.

"Well," Guy was saying," honeymoons end and lovers settle into marriage. I suppose that... Have I lost your attention?"

Leslie turned back to him. "Not at all, I was trying to imagine normality. Like in the old days—three months ago."

"Honeymoon's over, you settle into marriage. For a while, you make love as you did on honeymoon."

"Would we? You tie me up every night and ram my ass till I scream and then make me lick your prick clean? I sit on your face and get a good grip on your nuts and squeeze them when you don't lick right?"

"Yeah, and then we turn to each other, and say, 'night, Leslie' and 'night Guy,' and roll over to ease into sweet dreams."

"We wouldn't go back to passing the vibrator to one another? So you could read Patrick O'Brien sea stories while I came, and I could do the New York Times crossword puzzle while you came?"

"I might write the memoirs of our sex life," said Guy. "Don't you think a book would sell, if I revealed all?"

"You could call it 'The Old Man and the Semen.'"

"Catchy. Or I could go for a narrative poem, 'The Thumb of the Ancient Masturbator.'"

"Or 'The Dick Also Rises'."

"I believe that pun has been made," said Guy, frowning.

"How about a play, 'As you Lick It'?"

"'The Deb and the Cock'."

"'You Can't Suck Bone Again'."

"Leslie," said Guy, softly, a smile frozen on his face, "don't move your head. Keep smiling right at me. No, don't look away!"

"Why? Is there a bee on my cheek?"

"Keep looking at me. Keep your voice down. There's someone in the woods with either binoculars or a camera."

"Oh! Thank God we aren't fucking out here—or worse. Are you SURE?"

"Uh-huh, I caught a reflection off the glass. Can we act normal?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I want you to pick up the coffee pot and hand it to me, as though you want a refill. And smile, when you do it." Leslie reached over, and with an ingratiating smile, eyebrows raised, head cocked, held out the pot to Guy.

"Okay, okay," he said, more loudly, standing up and taking it. Then, he lowered his voice. "While I'm inside, take off your bathrobe, stretch so whoever it is can see what he wants to see, and toss the bathrobe over the back of the chair. Then sit down again."

"Naked? That's exactly what I'm glad I'm NOT!"

"Do it! When I go inside."

He gave her a reassuring smile and walked slowly to the house and went in.

Leslie rose, lazily turned to the woods, and stretched her arms over her head. She gave a wide yawn. Then, she reached down, untied the bathrobe, and slipped it off, letting it fall back on the chair. She leaned down to touch her toes, the tight curves of her body responding beautifully. When she had straightened up, she kept going, hands over head, so she was bending back, her small tanned breasts lifted on her chest. The little nipples thumbed out.

She gradually straightened, and, reaching down, thoughtfully massaged her closely trimmed bush. Then she picked up her coffee, took another sip, and sat down, her profile to the woods.

Suddenly, she heard a yelp in a girl's startled voice, and a man's voice saying, 'Hey! Ease up!'"

Leslie turned and stared, frowning, her arm coming up to cross her breasts. She could hear people pushing through the brush, then Guy came into view, forging through the last low bushes. On his right, a man seemed to be bent forward, as he walked, but resisting only slightly; on his left, he held the arm of a girl with long blond hair, dressed in shorts and a man's shirt. She was saying, "Oh, please! We're SO sorry! I can't believe this is happening!"

They reached the lawn at the bottom of the grassy hill that sloped up to the terrace. The girl looked up toward the house, her eyes meeting Leslie's, and she gasped, "Oh, my God!" She clapped one hand across her mouth, covering her lower face.

The man lifted his head at an awkward angle, to look, and Leslie saw that Guy had twisted the man's arm behind his back, and was holding it. Now, Leslie gave a gasp. It wasn't a man—or not really. It was a very young men and she knew him—just as she knew the girl. Both of them had been seniors in her high school class two years ago.

Leslie rose quickly and snatched her bathrobe. She pulled it on so hastily that one arm stuck, forcing her to slip it off and reach over to straighten the arm before she could get on the bathrobe. By then, she was blushing.

Guy and his captives were closer. Leslie jerked tight he bathrobe's belt, then turned to watch them approach. "Mrs. O'Brien! I am so sorry." The girl sounded near hysteria, her voice shaking. Leslie noticed that the young man, with his free hand, clutched a camera to his chest, half concealed as he bent forward.

The three stopped at the edge of the terrace. Guy released the girl's arm. She threw both hands over her face, shaking her head slowly, as though in disbelief. Guy reached down and took the camera from the young man's hand, then released the imprisoned arm. He said, "I don't imagine it's any use your running. Do you realize that everything you did since you came on this property is on the security cameras?"

He pointed to a camera mounted on a corner of the house. "One of 10 around the property. You do know that I own the Castle Guard security firm in town?"

The boy nodded, doggedly examining his feet.

"And," said Guy, "I assume that on the camera you have some nice close-ups of Leslie naked, taken through this excellent telephoto lens."

When the young man did not answer, Guy said, "Well?"

The young man nodded.

The girl said, "Oh, my God, this is awful!"

"Meaning you had no idea what he was doing?" Guy asked dryly.

"Oh course, she did," snapped the young man. "Her mom asked us to do it!"

"Victor! Shut up!"

"Your mother put you up to this, Betsy?" asked Leslie, incredulously. Marlene Owen was president of the Castle Harbor school board. "Your MOTHER?"

"We told her we could never get caught, using the telephoto lens," said Victor sullenly.

"This is rather serious," said Guy meditatively. "You will be registered as sex offenders, of course. I'm not sure what the penalty is. That will have to be decided in court, since you are both adults, not juveniles."

"No, no..." Betsy was saying, her face was in her hands, her long blond hair swaying as she shook her head in denial.

"When all the stories are in the Castle Harbor Express, they won't show the ones of me naked, will they?" asked Leslie.

"No, of course, not," said Guy, "but they probably will be used in court as evidence."

Victor spoke slowly, his tone wooden. "Please let us off? Just this one time? There's no reason you should, we were real idiots. But obviously this is going to wreck us."

"Well," asked Guy, "maybe you could tell me what you were going to do with the nude pictures of my wife?"

"I don't know. Marlene... Mrs. Owen... wanted them. She wanted proof of what Mrs. O'Brien was doing. The sex stuff. In the backyard, here."

"I assume for the school board?"

Betsy started crying. "Victor, you're making this worse and worse and worse."

"Well, let your damn mother or the damn school board work things out with them," he gestured vaguely at Guy and Leslie. "Make a deal."

"But I resigned from my teaching job," said Leslie. "What do they want to do to me?"

"Leslie, don't get into that," said Guy. "There's nothing they can do to you at the school. We have no idea what Marlene Owen wants. But whatever it is, she was willing to go illegal to do it."

"I won't let myself be blackmailed," said Leslie. "If what I do in my private sex life comes out, then it does."

"It's time to call the police," said Guy.

"Oh, God," said Betsy. Her voice quavered.

"Shit!" said Victor.

"Tell you what," said Guy. "Let's hold off calling the police. Will you come into the house and call Mrs. Owen?"

"What for?" asked Victor.

"Tell her you got the pictures."

"Oh... I see," said Victor slowly. "Okay, then."

"Oh, Victor, don't get my mom..."

"She already is," said Guy. "She's involved. Maybe we can settle this."

Guy and Victor stood by the phone in the hall between the kitchen and dining room. Guy lifted the phone and turned it over, making some adjustment, then put it down. "Call her," he said. "Just say you got the pictures. If she asks about them, just say Mrs. O'Brien naked, doing things."

He nodded.

"Let her talk," said Guy.

Victor picked up the phone and dialed. After a second, he said, in a low voice. "Hey, I got the pictures."

Guy could hear the reply murmuring inside the phone. "Great! Where are you calling from?"

"Just a phone, not far away."

"What did you get?"

"Mrs. O'Brien naked—you know, doing things."

"Perfect! Perfect! Like what?"

"Hey, I have the photos. I can show you. Beyond words."

"Come right away. Is Betsy there?"

"Of course."

"No trouble at all?"

"No trouble getting the pictures, no. I told you we would get them. They're what you want."

"I'm going to pay you as soon as I see them."

He glanced at Guy, eyebrows lifted, questioning. Guy whispered, "Tell her what happened and where you are."

Victor looked startled, but nodded. Guy could hear Marlene asking, "Are you there, Victor?"

"Yeah, but I have to tell you something else."

"Tell me when you get here."

"I can't. They caught us."

"WHAT?"

"Mr. O'Brien jumped us. And it's all on security cameras. Sorry. We're at his house. He's right here, beside me."

"Oh..." It was a long, quavering cry, unbelieving, denying: "Oh... Oh, my God!"

"I'm sorry. He recorded this phone conversation, too. You have to make a deal with him, okay? That's the only way Betsy and I are going to get off. Do you realize that we would have records as sex offenders? For life!"

"What does he want?"

Victor glanced at Guy, waiting. He said, "Come over, right now. Don't say anything to anyone. If she isn't here in 20 minutes, I'll call the police."

Victor said, "You've got to come over. Be here in 20 minutes." Then, he said, "No, please! It's no goddamn use arguing with me. I can't do a damn thing. He's going to call the police if you aren't here soon. Bye." He slammed down the phone.

Guy nodded. "If she's as cooperative as you, we probably can work things out."

"I hope so," said Victor. Then he muttered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did I DO this?"

"Money?"

He shook his head, not meeting Guy's gaze. He said, "Some kind of big buzz. Betsy was dying to watch what you guys do. Get off on it. I'm a moron."

"Get off on it? But Leslie was your teacher."

"Yeah, everybody loved Mrs. O'Brien," he said, frowning. "We also had eyes."

"Well, come outside," said Guy.

On the terrace, Betsy sat opposite Leslie. You're going into junior year at Columbia, right Betsy?" Betsy nodded, expressionless. There were tear streaks on her face.

"What will be your major, do you think?"

"If I ever go back? English."

"Oh! English!" said Leslie. "That makes me feel so good!" She gave a little clap of delight.

Betsy nodded. Then, she turned as Guy and Victor approached. Guy said, "I believe that Marlene will be here in 15 minutes."

"Oh, God!" groaned Betsy.

"We don't have any SAY, Betsy!" said Victor, roughly. "Got it? No say."

Betsy nodded. She said, "But what will...mother do? I mean..."

"Whatever THEY say."

Betsy looked from Guy to Leslie, then nodded.

"How did YOU get into all this, Betsy?" asked Leslie.

"I guess...just because Victor was doing it," whispered Betsy. She did not look at Leslie.

"Betsy! It wasn't all me! You want to see Mrs. O'Brien have sex."

"Shut up!" It was a shriek. "Mrs. O'Brien..." Leslie laughed. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, Betsy. If I told you my sex fantasies... What Victor says doesn't bother me at all. But what Marlene was thinking..." She shook her head.

They sat around the table, mostly silent, Betsy not looking at Victor, who gazed off over the woods as though following the progress of some speck in the distant sky. Leslie noted that he had grown a brown beard, since high school days. He wasn't bad looking, at all—tall, lean, with a rugged face that was softened by the well-clipped beard. He had played sports better than he wrote English papers, but he got adequate grades and played the drums with fierce joy. Now, she remembered he had a thing for photography, too, taking pictures for the school paper but also part-time for the Castle Harbor Express.

Betsy had been a superior student, especially in English. For a girl who drew boys behind her like a ship's wake, both because she was pretty and because she had her mother's knockout curvy body, she stuck to business. No cheer leading. No varsity sports. No crazy dating scene. Like her mother, she had capacity and energy for a dozen projects, all conducted in a cyclone of motion that was driven by ambition and directed by a practical mind.

Marlene was into politics, winning the school board election, then the presidency of the board; boosting a half-dozen causes; hosting fundraisers in her vivacious, alluring way. Marlene would not settle long for the school board; the state legislature beckoned, and she was preparing the way by working for other candidates and building a reputation for getting things done. It seemed astounding that the short, dynamite body, always dressed to good effect to win the attention of men, could be in so many places in one day.

They heard a car in the driveway at the front of the house. By the sound as it swerved into their driveway, sped up it, and stopped with hiss of tires on gravel, Marlene had arrived.

"We're back here," Guy called.

Marlene came striding around the corner of the house. She did not hesitate when she saw them. It seemed to Leslie that she had come as she was. She wore blue jeans, tight around the hips, and a T-shirt that showed two inches of bare midriff. She certainly had not bothered to dress for business.

Neither Guy nor Leslie rose, but Leslie turned in her chair, and said, "Hi, Marlene."

Neither Victor nor Betsy said anything. Victor looked at Marlene; Betsy stared fixedly at the table.

Marlene halted beside the table, standing with her legs apart, as though braced, her arms across her chest. She looked down at them. Then, she said, sarcastically, "Hello, Betsy? Look who's HERE?"

"Mom," said Betsy expressionlessly, not looking up.

Marlene stared at Victor, but said nothing.

Finally, she looked at Guy. "Okay, what's going on? I rushed over."

Guy said nothing. He waited, watching her.

"Well?" she demanded.

Still Guy said nothing.

She turned to Victor. "Okay, what the hell happened, here, Victor?"

"You mean other than what I told you on the phone? He has the camera, with the pictures I took of...um...Mrs. O'Brien. Everything we did is on the security cameras"—he gestured at the one mounted under the roof at the corner of the house—"and Mr. O'Brien used a telephone recorder to record the whole conversation I had with you."

"Right, so we were going to call the police," said Guy, casually. "You know, trespassing, invasion of privacy, two Peeping Toms, your hiring Victor to secretly take pictures of us nude in our own well-screen backyard, potential blackmail..." He added, "If we've interrupted something, or you're too busy, we'll just call the police now. Betsy and Victor asked us to see what you might have to say."

"So what should I say? 'Sorry'? I was collecting evidence...?

"Completely illegally..."

"About a teacher at our school..."

"Who sent in her letter of resignation, which has been accepted," said Guy.

Marlene whirled to Leslie. "You did?" she demanded. "I didn't know."

Guy said, "It doesn't make a damn bit of difference, Marlene. What was the Castle Harbor Express going to write: 'school board head hires photographer to take secret nude pictures of teacher to force her from job'?"

Marlene stared at him belligerently, her lips pressed shut.

Guy said, "You weren't going to go public with these, Marlene. No way. What WERE you going to do?"

"Nothing. It's all a misunderstanding."

"Okay," said Guy, rising, I'm going to call Police Chief McNamara. He can clear it up."

"Wait," snapped Marlene. "What do you want? You want money, right?"

"No!" cried Leslie. "That's how YOU do business, Marlene."

"Then what?"

"You set out to put my wife through a world of embarrassment," said Guy. "For the rest of her life." He paused, then said: "And actually, me, too—since Victor has explained to me that you wanted pictures of our sexual activities. Betsy has confirmed that."

"So?"

"I'm not asking for anything," said Guy. "I just wonder how you would deal with that kind of embarrassment. I would really like to see."

"I don't frolic in the nude."

"Maybe you don't have sex, either? Have you ever had photographs of THAT secretly snapped and made public?" Marlene stood, chin raised, hands across her chest. She did not reply.

"Do you GET it mom?" asked Betsy, as though talking to a hopelessly dense student. "You're getting a little of what you dish out. You screwed up, and now you pay the price." She added, after a moment, "WE do."

"I have no idea what you mean."

Betsy looked at Victor. She shook her head slowly, lips curled in a look of disgust. "Can you tell her how to play 'truth or penalty,' Victor?"

Victor said: "We were going to embarrass hell out of them, but now it's us, instead. Take off your goddamn clothes. Get on with it.

"WHAT?"

"Don't play dumb, mom," said Betsy with exaggerated patience. "We're fucked." Then she said, sarcastically: "Actually, that might be fine, for you, mom. You think I don't hear you and dad through the wall? 'Can't I get a decent fuck? This is such a bore! Don't you ever do anything interesting?'" She stared defiantly at Marlene.