"I've had about enough of this, Conrad Streeter. Please be so good as to drive me home right this instant."
"Find your own way home, you stuck up frigid cunt," Conrad replied to a roar of approval from the drunken patrons watching them fight. Darla's face turned a bright pink. No one had ever spoken to her in that manner—ever. She retrieved her coat and purse from the cloakroom and marched out into the cool night air.
Darla Jean Carston was a very attractive young woman and she knew it. Her parents belonged to the country club and owned a house in one of the better neighborhoods in town. They voted the straight Republican ticket. Dwight Eisenhower was in the White House and all was right with the world as long as you didn't count those godless communists in the Soviet Union and Red China.
Darla's upbringing had been one of privilege. Although her parents weren't millionaires they could afford to provide Darla and her younger brother with every advantage. She could therefore be choosy about who she dated and if anyone had any funny ideas about taking liberties with her, they were soon set straight and behaved themselves or she was through with them.
Darla had thought Conrad Streeter III was a safe bet. He was older than the 18-year-old beauty, about to graduate from college and on his way to law school. His parents also belonged to the country club and his father was a prominent attorney. Darla's father was a client. Darla's mother thought Conrad was a good marriage prospect and Darla thought so too.
After a pleasant dinner at a nice restaurant, Conrad took her dancing. But it wasn't dancing at the country club, but some awful roadside nightclub somewhere outside of town. It was loud and smoke-filled. No one seemed to care if Darla was underage. Still, Darla made do with a Coke on ice. Things rapidly deteriorated after Conrad had a couple of drinks. He started getting fresh and trying to put his hands where they didn't belong. Darla slapped his face for his trouble and now she was looking for the pay phone so she could call for a cab.
Damn! The pay telephone was out of order. She would have gone back inside and ask to use their telephone but Darla had expressed her opinion of the nightclub to the manager and didn't want to face him again. By now, Darla had expected Conrad to follow her and apologize for his outrageous behavior and drive her home but he wasn't to be seen. Strange men were leering at her now and the attractive woman was beginning to feel a little apprehensive but she'd rather die than go back inside and talk to that awful Conrad Streeter in front of that drunken crowd. Darla Jean Carston would get her revenge on him if it was the last thing she ever did.
"Brenda? Brenda Smith!" Darla called to the girl she just noticed walking out of the club. At last, someone to come to her aid. Brenda was in Darla's high school graduation class. They weren't friends. Brenda lived on the wrong side of the tracks and didn't run in Darla's crowd; not that she could even if she wanted to. But that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that Darla had found someone to give her a ride home.
"Hi, Darla," Brenda replied. "What are you doing here?"
"Could you give me a ride home?" Darla pointedly ignored Brenda's question. She didn't want to go through a drawn out explanation and it was none of Brenda's business anyway.
"I don't see why not but I'm here with my date. I'll have to ask him." She had continued walking until she stopped next to a brand new Cadillac Fleetwood. They had to list for more than five thousand dollars. Darla wondered how Brenda knew anyone who could afford this car. The attractive woman hoped she still looked presentable. If the guy was rich and handsome, Darla could probably steal the guy away from Brenda. Brenda was pretty but she definitely not in the same league with Darla. She wondered if he was someone she knew from the country club. Darla saw a man approaching and began to preen.
"Who's your friend, Brenda?" said the man. The man looked prosperous but he was a lot older now that Darla could see him better. He looked almost as old as her father.
"Meet Darla Carston. We know each other from high school. Darla, this is my friend, Sam Rosen." Darla held her smile as she briefly touched her hand to his when Sam offered it but she was already dismissing Mr. Rosen from her mind. No wonder he wasn't a member of the country club. From his name, Darla surmised Sam Rosen was Jewish and a Jew could never be admitted as a member no matter how much money he had.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Darla," said Sam.
"I guess Darla lost her ride. She needs a lift home."
"We'd be happy to give you a lift home but the evening is still young, Darla. Why don't you join us?"
"I'd love to, Mr. Rosen, but I'm still rather upset from a misunderstanding I had with my date. I'd prefer to go home immediately if you don't mind."
Sam Rosen shrugged his shoulders and opened the passenger side door. "Climb in, ladies."
"I can sit in the back," said Darla.
"Sam doesn't like it when people ride in the back of his big black monster. He says it makes him feel like a chauffeur. Of course, if you'd rather not sit between us, you can always look for another ride." Darla nodded and reluctantly scooted into the middle. She was fated to sit between Brenda and Sam but it was a relatively short ride home. What could happen?
"Would you like a drink?" The trio had just turned onto the highway when Sam was holding a bottle that he pulled out of his pocket.
"No... no thank you," said Darla. The young woman was appalled that Mr. Rosen would drink while driving. She hoped they didn't get into an accident.
"No thanks, honey," said Brenda. "You know how I like to be sober when we do things together." Darla briefly wondered what the two did together then decided she didn't want to know. Maybe it had been a mistake to accept a ride from Mr. Rosen. She was relieved when Mr. Rosen returned the bottle to his jacket pocket without taking a drink but almost immediately she felt his hand on her thigh. She tried to push the man's hand away but he wouldn't take the hint.
"Please remove your hand from my leg, Mr. Rosen. I dislike being pawed." Darla wished she knew where they were but it was pitch black out on this moonless night and there were no street lights this far out of town. She would have liked to have ordered the car stopped so she could walk the rest of the way but she was dreadfully afraid of being alone in the dark.
"Yes, Your Highness," said Sam and replaced his right hand on the steering wheel. Brenda didn't seem to care if her date was making a pass at another girl.
"Say," said Brenda, "you were part of that couple fighting in the club tonight. What did that guy call you?" Darla felt her ears burning.
"I don't remember," the young woman replied. "Where are we?" Darla suddenly realized that Sam had turned onto a dirt road. She didn't remember any dirt road on the way to the nightclub.
"It's a shortcut," said Sam. "We're almost there."
"You're supposed to take me home," Darla protested when they pulled up in front of a shack in the middle of a grove of trees. Brenda was already out of the car and entering the building. Apparently there was electricity because lights now lit up the inside.
"I said we'd take you home," Sam replied. "I didn't say we'd let you ruin our evening. We'll be here for a while and then we'll take you home."
"I want to go home now. Please, Mr. Rosen, I'll pay you if you take me home right now." Sam turned to face Darla and placed his left hand on her thigh.
"How will you pay me, Darla?"
"With money, of course." Sam's hand felt hot on Darla's thigh and she was experiencing a funny feeling deep in her belly. Conrad's errant hand had earned him a slap but she didn't dare slap Sam Rosen. He looked dangerous to Darla now that they were alone.
"Do I look like I need your money, Darla?" Sam's hand moved under the teenager's dress and caressed her stocking covered thigh almost where her bare flesh began.
"I'll walk home," the attractive woman blurted and got out of the car.
"Suit yourself," Sam replied and walked to the shack door. "Don't let the coyotes get you." Coyotes? It was pitch black out with the exception of the patch of light from the shack window. Darla didn't have a clue about which direction to take and she was afraid of the dark. She heard an animal sound and came to a decision. It wasn't a coyote but the young lady would wait in the car. Damn! The car doors were locked.
Sam and Brenda didn't seem to notice Darla when she slipped into the shack. It was furnished with an old bed and a table with two chairs. Darla chose to stand. The mismatched couple was dancing to music being played on a phonograph. It was music from that new artist, Elvis Presley. Darla's parents detested Elvis but Darla secretly liked Presley's music and had purchased his album. She kept the album hidden well away from her mother's prying eyes and listened to it on the sly. The young lady couldn't pretend to enjoy the music at the moment. All she wanted to do was get home.
"I thought you were going to walk home," said Sam. "Do you want a drink?"
"No, thank you. I'll just wait around until you two are through."
"Oh, are you the type that likes to watch?" That comment brought a giggle from Brenda and Darla began to blush when she realized the implications of Sam's question. What did they intend to do?
"I'd like a Coke if you have it."
.... There is more of this story ...