She came out and struck a pose in the bathroom doorway, one long leg bent and extended, one arm raised, her hand along the doorframe.
He lay on the bed in a set of blue silk pajamas, an effort that did nothing to improve him nor mask his erection.
“What do you think?” she asked, shifting her hips.
“So lovely.”
Madeleine walked over to the bed and stood in front of him. “You know, you’re my first.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Am I yours?”
“No.”
“Good,” she said, lying down next to him. “You’ll know what to do to me.”
He didn’t, not really.
His prior experience had been entirely with hookers, simple commercial exchanges to satisfy a physical need. So he climbed on top of her, pushed up the hem of the negligee, fumbled with the rubber, and put himself between her legs.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“You won’t.” Although Madeleine wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t wet, not even a little turned on, and he was big. Putting her arms around him, under his pajama shirt, she felt his back. It was hairy, like an animal’s, and sweaty. In her best breathy Marilyn Monroe voice, she said, “Take me, darling. Make me yours.”
It did hurt.
It got a little better, not painful, even slightly pleasurable as he thrust into her mechanically, like one of the machines in his factory, proceeding with rhythmic precision to produce a set result.
For him.
Out of affection for him she moaned, wriggled and whined, whispered naughty nothings into his ear, shut her eyes to block out his ugliness and feigned orgasm moments before he came.
A few moments later he said, “It will get better.”
“It was wonderful.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Manny said. “It’s beneath you.”
They honeymooned in Paris. Stayed in the best hotel, ate in the finest restaurants, shopped in the most exclusive boutiques, and he looked painfully out of place in all of them.
Madeleine gave him everything she had in bed—dressed provocatively, screwed him in every position she could imagine, sucked him off, let him go down on her. That was part of the deal, and, an honorable woman, she honored it. She gave him immense pleasure; her own was mild at best.
Toward the end of the two weeks in France, Madeleine told him, “This has been wonderful, and I’m truly appreciative, but Manny, I don’t need all this. What I want is a nice home, a steady, quiet life.”
They went home to his mansion outside of town, a one-level neo-Spanish colonial on acreage. A large swimming pool outside a slider from the living room, a garden of citrus trees. A circular driveway wrapped around a fountain.
Manny put fifty thousand dollars in her bank account.
She was nineteen.
Being married to Manny was . . . pleasant.
She got up early in the morning with him, their cook made them breakfast, he went to the office and she did calisthenics to keep her showgirl figure. She spent most mornings growing her portfolio. Manny introduced her to stockbrokers and financial advisers, and she studied the market assiduously, making conservative but incisive investments. One of the companies she bought shares in was Maniscalco Manufacturing.
In the afternoons, Madeleine might play tennis with the hired coach, or swim in the pool, or go into town to have lunch with old show friends or shop. She was most often home before Manny, would sit on the terrace and read.
They would have dinner together, watch a little television, and go to bed early, making love once or twice a week.
Madeleine came to have genuine affection for Manny. He was kind and considerate, had a quiet but sharp sense of humor, never chased other women, was totally devoted to her. He would patiently answer all her questions about business and finance, and when he didn’t know the answer would refer her to someone who did.
And he didn’t mind that she wanted to keep her own last name, for professional purposes.
They didn’t go out much—when they did it was for business-social functions or fundraisers, although he did take Madeleine to see any of the big performers she wanted, so she saw Sinatra and Dean Martin and the rest of them on opening nights, and the Maniscalcos were always invited to the after-parties.
She stayed faithful for almost two years. Might have been longer if Manny hadn’t been a fan of boxing. He had ringside seats at all the big fights and finally persuaded Madeleine to come with him.
Jack Di Bello was a brutal middleweight out of Jersey City with a body forged from iron and a heart made in hell. He used to say that he hated early knockouts because he wanted to bust the guy up first. That he never minded getting hit because it was nothing compared to what his old man used to give him.