Chapter 6

Jessica Wright waited nervously for the doorman to open her door as she sat, somewhat afraid, in the enormous Mercedes-Benz limousine that had brought her to this fashionable riverside high-rise. The uniformed employee was fast on his feet for an old man, or at least he was when he recognized the car. She politely thanked the driver, a middle-aged black who only nodded in reply, and lifted the hem of her silvery gown, her arm firmly but gently held by the doorman, as she made her way to the building entrance.

William Dodge had sent the car for her, just as he had promised on the telephone when he called day before yesterday. She had nearly refused his invitation at first, feeling it only fair to talk this over with Phillip first. But her aunt's phone had been out of order for almost a week now, and still no sign of a repairman from that marvelously efficient New York telephone company. She couldn't call him for an okay. And after all, didn't Mr. Dodge take special care to emphasize that Mrs. Dodge would be at the party too? What could be wrong with accepting his kind invitation? Surely, the contacts she could make at a party like this would be a great help in her modeling career, maybe even in Phillip's art practice.

Jessica was reluctant for another reason, too... it was only a few short days since that horrible night at Marty Felder's. That nightmare was still indelibly etched in her mind, and there still remained the awful task of telling Phillip the truth about what went on in the Felder penthouse. She knew she had to tell him eventually--it wouldn't be fair to even think about marriage until she'd leveled with him. Maybe he wouldn't want her after he learned the truth... some men couldn't live with the knowledge that their wives had done something as unspeakable as what she had been dragged into at Marty Felder's. But that was the gamble she'd have to take. If Phillip was indeed half the man she knew he was, he'd understand He'd forgive her and go on loving her just as though nothing had ever happened.

And for her part, Jessica knew now never to let herself be suckered into anything again, no matter what the odds. There could never be another Marty Felder in her life, for Jessica Richards the kid grew up that night. And no man would ever pull the wool over her eyes again. Not that she had to worry with Phillip--he wasn't the sort. Wild perhaps, like all artists are, in some way or another, but sweet and warm and gentle. Not like so many men she'd met since embarking on this career. Not like the Marty Felder's of this world.

Of course, there hadn't been any job offer forthcoming from that horrible Felder. All she could thank that filthy pervert for was the chance at an interview with William Dodge. That much he owed her, he reluctantly admitted, after a quarter-hour of non-stop tears when the heartless monster finally admitted that he really didn't have anything open for her at the moment. And it was that interview that led her to this party.

Jessica's heart quickened as she entered the lushly decorated lobby; she paused in front of one of the ceiling-high mirrors to check her hair. One of her classmates from modeling school had styled it for her, and the effect, she'd have to admit, was stunning. It was high in back, and trailed down over the sides of her head in a half-dozen little ringlets, each of them lightly frosted to add contrast to her honey-blonde luxuriant hair. The dress was a real extravagance, but one she hoped would be worth the investment. Her Aunt had lent her the money, but only after she heard where the party was being held. When the Dodge name and address was mentioned, she couldn't dig up the money fast enough. No niece of hers was going to William Dodge's home without a new dress, she had insisted, and Jessica, admittedly, had offered only the least of token resistance.