Chapter 3

One month to the day after Tim Cartwright had flown to New York City, his wife stood in the ladies room of the Dew Drop Inn, primping her hair before a large oval mirror over the wash basins. She was a little inebriated, although far from being drunk, and a crystal stem-glass filled with a Brandy Alexander stood beside her elbow on the ceramic ledge of one sink.

Lord! she muttered under her breath as she reached for the glass, she had eaten nothing since a quick lunch, and here it was after midnight! The soothing warmth of the Alexander... her third since she'd arrived at the Dew Drop Inn... was causing a slight tingling sensation to ripple through her blood. She raised the glass to her lips and finished the drink in one long sip. It tasted good; almost too good, she warned herself, and then she giggled at the idea of being in danger. What danger could she be in here, surrounded by all the richest people of Greenridge and a guest of Mr. and Mrs. Andersson? None, of course. The Dew Drop Inn was where only the most prominent and civilized of the local residents ate and drank and danced. Certainly nothing wrong could happen to her, she was certain of that. Why, she was as safe as if she was in her own home!

Home... the one word made her smile bitterly at her reflection. Home and Tim were where the last real danger had been. The thought of her long-gone husband made her remember vividly the last night they'd been together, and despite her promise not to dwell on the awful event, the liquor eased her defenses enough so that once more she reflected upon his savage attack. How could Tim have been so cruel to her, she thought. Why had he been such a raging animal.

She glanced around the ladies room and saw that she was still alone, and in a moment of recklessness she ran her hands over the sweater-enclosed tips of her round firm breasts. They had been so sore and swollen, and her nipples so raw, that she hadn't been able to wear the softest brassiere without pain for a week. Her shoulders trembled as she thought back to the horrible rape of her body by her husband and the way he had used her as a tool solely for his own gratification without even the slightest consideration for her wants or needs. He had used her like a slave... his own wife... and the memory sickened her even after all the days which had passed since then. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she recalled his last parting words just before he'd angrily stormed out the door with his suitcase. She could still hear his voice ringing in her ears as he'd yelled at her:

"I don't think you could make any man happy. Maybe when I'm in New York I'll go out and get myself some slut off the street who'll give me the loving I need!"

Dear God, would he? Has he? His letters had been so infrequent and vague, his answers to her own almost daily letters sometimes ignoring the most important parts. This was deeply distressing to Melanie, and she sometimes had difficulty in sleeping at night, wondering if Tim still cared for her and was being faithful to their marriage.

She looked again down her slim body, provocatively dressed as it was in the short mini-skirt and thin pullover which Mr. Andersson had said was her theater uniform. The rounded peaks of her breasts stood out defiantly, and she could almost see the taut curve of her buttocks where they flowed gracefully into her firm legs, the hem-line of her skirt being so daringly high. She was proud of her youthful, curvaceous body, and yet it was the reason for all her troubles. If she could have been a Plain-Jane, she would probably have been settled down with children and happily married to some average fellow. She would never have attracted such a popular boy as Tim, but then she would never have been cursed with being wanted just for her striking beauty.

The hazy effect the brandy was producing seemed to simplify things into an either-or kind of situation in her mind. She turned around and started for the door of the restroom, and as she stepped out into the dim warmth of the Dew Drop Inn, she fleetingly wondered if there couldn't be a middle ground somewhere in between where she could find true happiness...

Melanie threaded her way unsteadily through the ring of small, intimate tables which surrounded a polished dance floor. Over in one corner was her table, the one she was sharing with Amos and Syble Andersson. This was the first time that she had been with them socially, and though she had been reluctant at first, she was now glad that she had accepted their invitation and pleased that they had asked her to join them.

Both the Anderssons, especially Amos, were so understanding and nice to talk to, and Melanie couldn't help feeling that her new employer had a real interest in her welfare. When she had gone to work that evening, Amos had invited her to a party at his house, which, he said, was being held after the theater closed for the night. She had made excuses at first, declining the invitation because she had never liked to drink much and would have preferred a quiet time at home alone. But Amos had persisted in his genial and persuasive way, saying that he was meeting Syble for a cocktail after work, and the least Melanie could do was have one with them. She realized then that his invitation was really a good-natured attempt to get her out of the shell of self-pity into which she had withdrawn. For this, the lonely young wife was grateful to him, and had then accepted for both the cocktail and the party, suddenly wanting a few gay hours to help take her mind off of Tim's absence and seeming neglect.

At first she had been very nervous in the Dew Drop Inn, feeling improperly dressed in her scanty skirt and sweater, but there'd been no chance to rush home and change, and Amos had laughingly told her that it was too dark for anybody to be that inquisitive anyway. She had also felt unsettled at just being out like this, alone and without her husband, even though Amos and Syble were only good friends. But, after a drink had calmed her nerves a little, she had mused that if Tim didn't think enough of her to return her daily reminders of love, then perhaps she deserved an innocent diversion like this.

"Well," Amos Andersson said expansively as she approached, "I thought for a minute you'd gotten lost. I was about to send a Saint Bernard out looking for you with a cask of Brandy Alexanders. Female Saint Bernard, of course."

"No, no," Melanie giggled, sitting down. "You know how long it takes women to freshen up."

"Ah, how well I do," the handsome man sighed with exaggeration, and then winked broadly at his wife. "But you're back, my dear, and just in time for another round of drinks."

"But really, I don't think..."

"Nonsense!" Amos boomed, signaling for a waiter. "Syble has to leave in a few moments to drive some of the guests to our house, so we'll just have time for one more quick one. Waiter, bring us two scotch-and-waters and one Brandy Alexander."

"You like the Alexanders, Melanie?" Syble asked.

"Oh yes, very much. I... don't like the taste of liquor very much, but these are very smooth and refreshing. I should have discovered them before. Thank you for suggesting them, Mrs. Andersson."

"Do call me Syble," the older woman purred.

"That's for sure," Amos chimed in, a slight red flush of alcohol covering his cheeks. "We're out for a good time tonight. Let's eat, drink, and be merry as the saying goes, because we're all good friends together. Melanie, Syble and Amos. One-Two- Three. Yes, siree."

The new round of drinks appeared, and after she had sipped almost half of her brandy, Melanie noticed that the lack of food was finally making a difference. She was really beginning to feel the liquor, but in a most pleasant manner as she relaxed and some of her mental caution disappeared. She soon found herself having a very animated conversation with both the Anderssons. Amos was witty and could converse artfully on a dozen different subjects, and even his slightly naughty risque jokes didn't offend her, but set her laughing delightfully. He was a very nice, very handsome, very urbane man whom she was finding herself liking more and more. A rapport with Syble also developed easily, and they were soon discussing the latest fashions and what it would be like to take a round-the-world cruise.

Melanie was enjoying herself more with every passing minute, feeling giddy and light-headed and almost carefree for the first time since Tim had departed. She was extremely happy that she'd agreed to go along tonight, and was looking forward to the rest of the night up at the Andersson house.

"Why don't you ask Melanie to dance, Amos?" Syble suggested as the conversation hit a momentary lull. "I have to leave in just a moment and want to finish my drink, but you shouldn't let such good music go to waste."

"An excellent suggestion," her husband agreed with a smile, and rose from his chair to offer Melanie his arm. "Shall we, my dear?"

"Well..." She hesitated, but then thought if Syble had suggested it, it must be all right. "I'd love to, Amos."

He led her out to the dance floor where the small combo was playing one of the quiet old favorites. She was taken by surprise when he curled her warmly in his arms, pushing the sharp, full tips of her breasts deeply into his chest. She wasn't sure how to react at first, and stiffened automatically as he hugged her close.

"Don't be afraid, my dear," her boss whispered warmly into her ear. "I'm not planning to bite you."

Melanie's face flushed in the dimness of the dance floor as she felt him push forward harder and spread her legs slightly so that the mound of her loins were forced against the top of his thigh. The soft silkiness of her dress seemed to hide nothing from her senses and she could feel the resilient flesh of her right thigh brushing tightly between the older man's legs as they moved slowly in time to the music. Inadvertently, she made contact with the softness of his trousered penis, and with a start, she felt a slight stirring of his manhood beneath his pants.

"We... we shouldn't be dancing like this, Amos. It... It doesn't look too good to be this close, and your wife might object."

"Oh, she won't care," Andersson said in an offhand way. "She doesn't care what I do."

"B-But you're a married man," she stammered in a whisper. "And... and I'm married, too."

"Yes, my dear," Andersson replied with oily smoothness. "That always makes it more exciting, don't you think?"

Melanie suddenly lost her tongue, surprised as she was by his strange-sounding words to her. Before she could think of a proper answer, the music stopped and the combo leader announced it was time for intermission.

"Your husband is a very good dancer," Melanie managed to say, trying to cover the blushing she was feeling in her cheeks.

"Syble is too," Andersson said, smiling broadly. "Used to be the best in Vegas, and not too many years ago, either."

"Don't listen to him," Syble said to Melanie. "When a man is as good a leader as he is, I could have two club feet and still dance well." She tipped the glass of scotch to her lips and drained it in two swift swallows, then collected her purse and stood up. "Well, I must be off."

"Oh," Melanie said, "must you?"

"If you want a party tonight, I do. I'm not sure when I'll get back, so you go ahead and have another drink, and I'll see you all at the house later on."

"Goodbye, dear," Amos said, and kissed his wife lightly on the cheek. He knew there was no turning back for the young wife sitting next to him now. With Syble leaving, the stage was set for his seduction, just as they'd been planning for the last thirty days. Yes, he was going to enjoy playing husband this evening with Melanie, now that his own wife had made her excuses and left. A slight twinge of anticipation rippled between his thighs as he pictured little Melanie nakedly groveling before him.

"Well," he said warmly, turning his attention to the lovely young innocent sitting next to him, "Here's to us, Melanie. Here's to us and our getting to know each other better before the night's over."

Melanie tipped her glass to his and took a large, deep drink of her Brandy Alexander, her eyes sparkling at her handsome boss over the rim of her cocktail.

Another round of drinks was brought, and the two of them continued to sit in the Dew Drop Inn, talking for almost half an hour. For some reason Melanie couldn't explain, she was beginning to feel uneasy about being alone with Amos Andersson. She already felt wicked and worldly for being out with another man... even though it was not a date... but it was something else bothering her slightly which she couldn't quite put her finger on. She knew that it was perfectly all right in this day and age for her to be in the company of a nice man like him, as it might not have been in her mother's day. She knew nothing would happen, just as she'd told herself in the ladies room, and Amos Andersson had been the very soul of gentlemanly discretion. Yet still there was a pervading air of something wrong, something deliciously wrong as though she were skirting some forbidden fate. She tried to recall what might have caused it, but she could find nothing on which to base her small twinge of apprehension. As she set her glass down, she decided to relax and stop being such an old wet blanket, and that the tingling sensations in the depth of her belly were only the result of one too many Brandy Alexanders on an empty stomach.

"Well, my dear," Amos Andersson eventually said, "shall we drink up and be on the way to my house?"

"Yes," she replied gratefully. "Yes, let's. Maybe your wife will be there with the guests by now."

"Perhaps," Andersson said suavely, but inside his head he was thinking: not a chance, little one. Syble won't be where you can see her, and there won't be any guests around to save you now... !

The ride to the Andersson home was beautiful, Melanie thought as she sat beside Amos in his large convertible. The road wound through the lovely wooded hills in back of Greenridge, and she could see out of the windows the flat-lands below with their myriad of twinkling city lights shining like a thousand fireflies. She was impressed by the rolling, well-landscaped grounds around his spacious house when they arrived. But it was quiet, and the house was dark, with no cars parked in the large driveway, and Melanie realized that her employer's lovely wife had not yet returned from picking up the other guests. Amos noticed this as well, and as he drew up the car in front of the double-doored garage, he said jovially, "Well, my dear, we're on our own for a while longer. Come on in, and I'll get things ready for the party, hmmm?"