After their first sensual picnic Sam and Cass saw each other not as often as Sam would have liked. Whenever she couldn't get away from work, he craved for her, even masturbating to her picture, which he had placed in an expensive gilt-edged frame. He was convinced that he was in love with her, though he worried that the feeling was not mutual. They'd had a good time since that first date, becoming less inhibited in the liaisons that followed. He'd tasted her in places his lips had not previously touched on a woman, melted into her in ways that he had never tried to do with his late wife. Cass always responded in kind. Chemistry in bed, or in more daring places, had not appeared to be a problem.
But the encounters came too many days apart--and Sam wondered why. But he did not want to appear too needy or insecure. Cass had not forbidden him from dating other women, nor had he pressured her to be his one and only. Sam had no problem meeting women. Pete, his best friend, who also owned the Peacock Club, the big speak-easy in town, had told him not to worry.
"Women come flowin' in here all the time, bud," Pete said, sipping down a Johnny Walker Red as he patted Sam on the shoulder. "Just pick anyone of 'em. It can be arranged."
Sam nodded softly and smiled. He didn't need Pete to set him up. Women always gave him the eye whenever he hung out by the bar. "Don't want any of 'em," he said. "Just Cass."
"That big-ass broad? C'mon, she's got some kinda angle. I think she's pullin' your chain."
"No, she's the one. I can feel it." Sam blushed as he blurted those last words.
"Yeah, you can alright," Pete answered. He looked down beneath Sam's belt buckle, then quickly looked up again. "Why don't you just spend time with someone else, take your mind off her for a little while. Not like she's got ya hen-pecked."
"Nah, but I gotta know. Why does she put me off sometimes?"
Pete leaned over and whispered. "You know where she works. Why don't I have my guy case out the place?" Pete always had a few off-duty cops on his payroll. They'd come in handy when the Feds tried to crack down on those who supplied his booze.
"No, I gotta do it myself. I gotta know."
Sam was not set to see Cass for at least three days. The next night, he traded cars with one of Pete's bartenders and drove to Cass' dress shop in Newton, only five miles away. Newton was a smaller town, with no entertainment to speak of. He'd once asked Cass why she set up shop in revealing ladies wear in a town where there was no place for the ladies to wear it. She'd muttered something about the low rent and changed the subject, usually with a kiss.
Sam had waited until it was too dark for anyone to make out the lines of the car he had borrowed. He parked across the street from Cass' shop. The lights were on in the storefront, but no one was coming in or out. He thought he heard music, but it wasn't coming from there.
Sam got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Cass had hung the 'Closed' sign in the window, through she had left the lights on. He tried to turn the door knob. It was locked. Sam shook his head. Cass was not the type to waste money leaving a closed building unlit. She was the most astute businesswoman Sam had ever met.
With no traffic on the street, Sam followed the music. His feet jiggled to the up-beat as the jazz composition filled his ears. And he saw women, many well-dressed women, coming into Cass' shop through the back door. Some were tall, others short, but all quite curvaceous. Some quite beautiful, Sam thought, though none like Cass. As Sam approached they smiled. But they appeared to more interested in going inside. Sam opened the door slowly, though he was quite sure the store was not haunted.
"Hey handsome!" A gregarious red-head with round red cheeks shouted. "C'mon in!" She stuck her arm under Sam's and led him into a smoke-filled great room, a Cheshire grin, as if she'd captured a prize. "Lookin' for somethin' for a special someone?" she asked.
"Huh?" Sam quickly turned to face her. Startled, she released his arm.
