Chapter 4: Innocence Redeemed

The next day, Dinah smiled shyly and said hello to Stanley, who was sweeping their third-floor hallway; and she found that she was genuinely pleased when he returned the salutation. That afternoon, she gave Mr. Grandon another blowjob; and she got home in time to fix Ivan some chicken tenders and oven-baked French fries for dinner. That’s when he told her that they were going out ... to dinner and then to a party ... the next evening (Friday); but he refused to answer any of her questions about it, simply telling her that what she was wearing for work would be just fine. And she was overjoyed to learn that Jimmy had sent her a special email attachment; but because she fell asleep almost as soon as it started, she never had the chance to find out what made it “special.”

The alarm woke her up at six. She was stretched out on the couch, covered by a thin blanket, her blouse and bra completely missing (she found them in the clothes hamper). Sighing heavily, she started her day, washing her hair and shaving in the shower, then curling and blow-drying her tresses, always keeping an eye on the clock to make sure she wouldn’t miss her bus.

Mr. Grandon wanted her right away that morning, which was something he hadn’t done before; explaining that it was his wife’s fault that he was so constantly horny. This time, after he locked the outer office door, he brought in one of the armless chairs from the outer office and waiting area (where she worked). After undressing her and kissing for a minute or two, he sat in the chair and gave her instructions on how to lower herself onto his waiting cock. She’d never attempted anything like this before, surprised to find how well their bodies seemed to fit together in this pose; and she moaned softly at how far up inside her he was, which seemed to turn him on even more.

He began hinting that he wanted her to stay late with him that evening, but she explained about the party that Ivan was taking her to that night. Mr. Grandon was not pleased. His wife was visiting her mother that weekend, and he was alone. Could she possibly come into work on Saturday and Sunday? She didn’t know, but promised to find out. Since she didn’t have a cell phone, he said he would call her the next day.

That evening, as she was unlocking her apartment door, Ted suddenly came out of HIS apartment, perhaps having heard her. Without preamble, he walked directly up to her, took her in his arms, explained that he needed her, and he kissed her wantonly. She didn’t fight the kiss, but she told him that she couldn’t go with him ... that Ivan was taking her out for dinner, and then to a party. She could see the thoughts as they flooded his brain, considering some way to turn this to his advantage; but he obviously couldn’t. “This weekend,” he told her earnestly. “I’ll find a way for us to be together this weekend.” And he turned and left her feeling unsettled and a bit out-of-breath.

In the apartment, Ivan was at his computer (of course), but he met her and explained that they had dinner reservations for seven, and then the party at nine. They needed to leave soon. A date. A real date. This hadn’t happened since they’d been married ... and only twice before that. She didn’t have a shower cap, but she did her best to keep her hair dry. She cleaned herself thoroughly, inside and out, and she hoped the deodorant soap would be enough to make her scent pleasant. She used the hairbrush, as well as the scant makeup she owned. As Ivan led her outside and to their car, she dared to reach out and take his hand; relieved that he didn’t pull away. In fact, he rewarded her with a two-second smile. They didn’t speak in the car.

It was a long way to the restaurant, which was way up in Melrose; and when they finally got there, she found the name of the place was something she couldn’t pronounce. Inside, there was a bar along one wall, while several tables lined the wall opposite, though there were no other patrons. The guy behind the bar greeted Ivan by name, as did another man who pointed to a table. When the man brought a carafe of water and some glasses, he said something in a language she didn’t know. Ivan responded, and they engaged in a lengthy conversation, during which the man unabashedly looked at Dinah: her face, her breasts. Eventually, the man left, but was back immediately with three small glasses and a much smaller carafe, which he poured from. The men each picked up a glass; and, when Ivan motioned, she picked up the other. “Za vashe zdorovya!” the man said, and they downed the liquid. She sipped and sputtered, coughing. The man laughed and left them.

“What is this?” she asked Ivan.

“Vodka.”

She took a sip of water.

“You know these people?” she asked, though it shouldn’t have been a question.

“My people are from the Ukraine,” he explained. “Kherson Oblast.”

She had no idea what that meant. The man returned and set plates of food in front of them. They hadn’t ordered ... or, at least, she didn’t think they had. She had never seen anything like it. There were a dozen slices of something; some round and some squarish. As the men again engaged in conversation, she picked up her knife and fork and tried a bite from a round slice, which appeared to have an egg baked into the center. She was surprised to find that it was cold. The man walked away again.

“This is delicious!” she told her husband. “What is it?”

“Roulade. Chicken, I think.” He pointed. “That’s salo. Pork.”

“Ivan, this is SO much better than cheeseburgers!”

They ate mostly in silence after that. He informed her that it was poor manners not to finish her drink, and she sipped it, trying not to frown. She finished the food, thinking the meal had been wonderful, only find that it had just been the appetizer! A steaming dish of some sort of dumplings in a gravy-like sauce was set in front of her. “Halushki” he called it. There was a glass of red wine. Afraid of offending, she ate and drank everything; which, despite her protests, included another small glass of vodka. It was all marvelous; but she found that she was stuffed, as well as a bit tipsy.

An old man stopped by the table, eyeing her like a head of livestock. He spoke at length with Ivan in what was apparently Ukrainian; and after he’d left, her husband had called him “Uncle Vasyl.”

“You’re related?” she asked. “Why didn’t you introduce me?”

“Trust me. He was in one of his moods. Maybe some other time.”

The party Ivan was taking her to was in Alhambra; and while rush hour was long over, it was Friday, and it still seemed to take a very long time to get there. The neighborhood was an old one, and the lots were spacious, compared to most others in the Los Angeles area. The house was set well back from the street, and was large. Dinah couldn’t imagine how much the place was worth. She was surprised to find that there were only about a dozen people in attendance, with men of varying ages. The women, however, were mostly very young, like Dinah herself.

She was handed a glass of something that had a greenish tint and tasted sweet with a cloying aftertaste. It might have been her imagination, but the men all seemed rather domineering, a few actually swaggering; while the girls were the exact opposite ... meek, submissive, quiet. One wore what appeared to be a dog collar and leather wrist bands. The one girl that did not seem to fit the mold was a short-haired blonde woman, thirty-somethingish, who wore a slinky evening dress. Most of the other females were wearing shorts; or skirts, like Dinah.

No one had made any introductions. Ivan left her side almost as soon as he was inside, and he spoked briefly to the blonde lady, and then joined a knot of men. Two of the males seemed to insist that their spouses (or girlfriends) accompany them wherever they were; and those girls were standing, docile and timid, at their men’s sides, but never joining in the conversations. Dinah couldn’t figure it out. She took another sip of the green stuff, grimaced, and set it down on a side table. Almost immediately, the girl in the collar was beside her.

“Quick! Pick that up!” she urged. Startled, Dinah did so. The girl heaved a sigh. “Too late. Rolf saw you. Please don’t anger him. You should finish that.” The girl nodded at the glass.

“It’s too sweet,” Dinah said confidentially. But she saw a big man striding her way.

The man stopped in front of her. “I brought you a glass of wine,” he said politely, though he didn’t smile.

She had to look steeply up to see his face. “Oh. Thank you.” She held out the small liqueur glass with her left hand while she grasped the stem of the wine glass he was holding. “That looks much better. This is very sweet.”

But the man didn’t let go, and he refused to take the smaller glass. “That is our traditional drink,” he said sternly. “You risk offending the host if you don’t finish it.”

The man sounded just like Ivan did when he was stern. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the taste, and she tipped the glass into her mouth and swallowed. The man took the empty glass from her and finally let go of the stem of the wine glass; then, he turned away and left her without another word. She took a sip of the white wine, but it tasted almost sour after the other concoction.

“Sorry,” collar-girl said with a shrug. “I tried to warn you.” She held out her right hand. “I’m Lynn.”

She shook hands, trying not to stare at the leather cuff on the wrist. “Dinah.”

“Which one’s yours?” the girl asked, looking at the men.

“Ivan. Uh ... the one in the plaid shirt.”

“Is he any good?”

Dinah had to think about that one. “Good at what?”

The girl reached out, grasped Dinah’s shoulder, and turned her so that they faced each other. Rather than letting go, she allowed her hand to slide the entire length of her arm until they were holding hands; and she searched her eyes with a deep, questioning look. “Ivan is your husband?”

“Um ... yes.”

There was a long pause. “What did he tell you about this party?”

Dinah suddenly couldn’t answer. There was just something about the look Lynn was giving her. Slowly, she shook her head.

“Oh my God,” Lynn breathed softly; not an exclamation, exactly ... just a comment. The grip on Dinah’s hand tightened to let her know that empathy was involved. There was a sigh. “Please don’t take offense, but I do not like your husband, Ivan. I sincerely hope I do not pick him.” That didn’t make any sense, so there was no appropriate response. Another thirty seconds went by. Just as holding hands was beginning to feel very comfortable, Lynn let go and reached upward. A fingertip touched Dinah in the center of her upper chest; then it trailed slowly along the upper edge of her bra, following the garment as it made its way across the top of her left breast. “How do you feel right now, Dinah?”

“Wellll,” she started, giving the question the consideration it deserved. “Ivan made me drink...” But no, she decided that wasn’t the way she should describe it; so, she started over. “I drank some vodka at dinner ... plus a glass of wine. Sooo, I think I’m beginning to feel a little bit drunk.”

“Yeah. Me too. I finished my drink just before you got here.” The fingertip began tracing back the other way, but it didn’t stop where it had started. It kept going along the upper side of her other breast. “And how else do you feel?”

Dinah discovered that she was starting to struggle a little for breath. “I think you’re starting to make me feel really, really ... um ... good.”

Lynn’s voice was soft. “I bet you do whatever a man tells you to, huh?”

That caused her to gasp. “Oh, Lynn! You have no idea! This whole past week! Men have been telling me to...”

“Folks,” a man said loudly from the center of the living room, “it’s time we got this show on the road! If you will all gather around, we’ll start tonight’s first session!”

“We have to go,” Lynn told her, still touching her breasts.

“Oh, Lynn! Can’t I tell you what I’ve been feeling instead? Could we be friends? I could really use a friend about now!”

But Lynn reacted in the worse possible way. She heaved a soft sob, and her eyes overflowed with tears. Dinah recoiled, then tried to take the other woman into a clumsy one-armed hug, only to have Lynn pull away.

“I’d love to be your friend,” she said. “But not right now. We have to go do what the men want.” She was obviously struggling, trying to reign in her emotions. She took both their wine glasses and set them down on the side table. “Listen, just keep trying to feel good, okay? Do what the men tell you to do. That’s what you always do, anyway, right? That’s what comes naturally for you, right? Me, too. I’m like you. Let’s you and me go do what we do best, huh girlfriend? Come on.”

Lynn took Dinah’s hand and guided her to the center of the room, where she let go abruptly and moved on to another spot. Caught unaware, Dinah staggered and almost fell; but someone caught her and lowered her gently to the floor. As she sat, cross-legged, she realized that the room was moving, twisting softly around her. Lynn was sitting on a sofa, across from her; and some man was offering her a bowl of something. But no, the bowl was empty ... or sort of empty. Lynn reached inside and extracted a piece of paper. Giving it a single glance, she told everyone in the room: “Sonny.”

A stocky, rather short man walked across the room and offered Lynn his hand. Dinah was enthralled by the fact that Lynn was staring directly at her. Without looking away, she placed her own hand in that of the man, and she rose. Finally, finally, she broke eye contact with Dinah and smiled at the man who led her toward a stairway; and together, they walked up and away from the others.

Next, it was the thirty-somethingish blonde’s turn. She was standing just in front of Ivan; and, for the first time, Dinah noticed that her husband’s arms were around the lady. Smiling, the woman stuck her right hand into the bowl, left it there for a long five seconds, then extracted it. She looked at the slip of paper, then back and up at the man behind her. “Ivan,” she said. Hand-in-hand, they walked to the stairs.

Dinah stopped watching them when her field of vision was blocked by the bowl being held in front of her. Why had it taken her so long to figure out what was happening here? Was she really that stupid? But that was obvious, wasn’t it? Yes. Yes, she was. She took a breath and reached into the bowl, feeling little pieces of paper tickling her fingertips. She seized one and examined it as the bowl was drawn away from her face. “Um ... Albert?”

“Wonderful, I get the new girl!” a voice seemed to float all around her. She blinked as a hand descended to her face level. Ah. It was the man holding the bowl; which was now being passed to somebody to one side. “Riley, would you mind taking over in my absence?”