Susan Carter - The hidden camera

Nancy Dodge was being blackmailed.

It had all started off so innocently, so innocuously. One thing had led to another and, before she knew it, she found herself in an impossible situation where there seemed only one way out: suicide.

Now, she got to her feet and went to the bathroom, putting a cold towel on her face and sighing deeply into the cool refreshing depths of the towel. Her eyes avoided looking in the mirror… above all, she didn't want to look at herself. Hastily, she went to the modern kitchen with its vinyl counters and took a bottle out of one of the cupboards. Allan was beginning to be suspicious of all the liquor that was being consumed. Nancy had taken to buying booze out of the house money and hiding the bottles from Allan. She knew she was lying to her husband and she also knew that alcohol wouldn't solve any of her problems. In fact, if pressed, she probably would admit booze only made things worse. That wasn't the point. The point was… she needed a drink.

She poured herself a generous shot, almost half filling a drinking glass with clear vodka. She tossed the drink down as if it were water and stood with her eyes closed, her body braced against the raw cutting shock of the vodka hitting her empty stomach. "Soon, soon, soon," she murmured. Soon the vodka would take effect and she would feel a little numb, things would become a little blurred.

She didn't quite believe it when she was first approached about blackmail… it wasn't quite real… people just didn't get blackmailed anymore… there seemed so little reason for it. It had seemed, at the time, an elaborate bad joke. Surely old friends wouldn't take advantage of her. Surely old friends wouldn't trick her.

"Friends." Nancy said the word aloud like something tasted awful in her mouth. Friends. Rita Nelson was an old friend. Nancy trusted her; why shouldn't she? She was happily married, and Rita came back into her life with her new husband, Tom Nelson.

Tom Nelson.

First impressions. Nancy hadn't liked him when she first met him yet she tried hard to deny and submerge her first impression because she liked Rita so much and wanted Rita to have a good marriage… she wanted Rita to have as good a marriage as her own.

Tom Nelson. Young, handsome, social, glib, flashy. Yet weak somehow. There was a roll of petulant fat under his belt, and Nancy thought she saw a look of indulgent depravity on his face. He was in public relations and apparently was doing well. To Nancy, it seemed that he always had a drink in his hand or on his breath.

And he was too fresh, too familiar. Nancy felt she was far from being a prude, yet Tom Nelson was just a little too intimate. The first they had met, he had brazenly, somewhat drunkenly looked her up and down, taking in her sensuously flaring figure and letting out a low, long wolf whistle.

Nancy poured herself another drink and tossed it down, immediately refilling the glass. Her first impression about Tom had been correct. Actually, it hadn't been enough. If she had been really sensitive, if she hadn't buried her instincts in her happiness over seeing Rita again, she would have known or suspected that Tom Nelson was a vile human being who would sell out his own mother if the price was right. In fact, he would probably be out peddling her.

Tom Nelson was blackmailing Nancy.

To Nancy, Tom Nelson was scum, a man who would use and betray a friendship, an unbelievably evil and weak man who would do anything to gain an advantage… even sell his own wife's body.

Rita.

Rita Nelson, vivacious and possessed of a wild, sensuously wanton figure that was second only to Nancy's proudly upthrust breasts, supple waist, and smoothly undulating hips. Rita was now no better than a whore, doing her husband's bidding. Tom, starting his own public relations firm in Chicago, was a success, off to a flying start.

Grimacing, Nancy poured herself another drink and gulped it down. Immediately, she half filled the glass then decided she'd be more comfortable in the bedroom. She found her walk was getting loose and easy, the alcohol already beginning to take effect. She pulled the blinds closed as she ambled from room to room. If, later, she drank too much and started wandering around, she didn't want old Mrs. Hunter seeing her. She didn't want anyone seeing her.

Tom Nelson had a flock of clients using his services and proudly showed Nancy a big write-up he got in a trade paper: YOUNG REP STREAKS FOR TOP.

She had felt a surge of nausea as she read the article. It was true he was successful… it was true he had many clients… but that was all that was true about the article. The truth was… Tom Nelson was selling his wife's body for his own gain and profit. Rita was nothing more than a common prostitute. Madly in love with Tom, she did whatever he asked of her, even down to recruiting and betraying old friends. Tom Nelson was blackmailing her for his own gains. Tom, drunken and weak-willed, had his own genius. In ways that totally mystified Nancy, he had ways of finding a particular kind of person… like Fred Hartman… and somehow discovering his secret desires… like watching women humiliate themselves. Tom Nelson had a nasty, perverted knack for getting orgies going. In a comparatively short time, Nancy had come to regard Tom as the ultimate rat. Full of disgusting weaknesses himself, he had a nose for sensing weakness in others… and taking advantage of it.

She drained her glass, holding her breath against the shock she would feel in the pit of her stomach and decided the best thing to do was to have a shower and go to bed. She was bone tired and sore all over. She had a shower at Fred Hartman's… he was nice enough to give her a guest room, but all she had wanted to do then was get away.

The alcohol was beginning to make her yawn and stumble around. She knew she couldn't keep her eyes open much longer. As tormented as she was, she knew she simply had to get some sleep. Without looking at herself in any mirrors, she threw her clothes off, letting them fall to the floor. Later she would straighten the house up, later she would have it ready for Allan coming home. Later! Later she would be rested and she would think of what she was going to do. She knew she had to do something because she was only getting in deeper with each phone call from Tom or Rita. She was only getting herself more deeply involved in a lewd world of utter abandon with each visit to Fred Hartman's estate.

At the thought of Fred Hartman, despite her fatigue and drunken vagueness, Nancy shuddered. She feared him. She loathed Tom, but she was afraid of Fred Hartman, afraid of what he might ultimately do to her.

She showered quickly and wrapped her lovely body in a terry cloth robe and, yawning, eyes almost closed, she curled up on the bed and fell into a deep but troubled sleep.

When the phone rang that day a couple of months ago, Nancy had heard the familiar voice and knew who it was immediately: Rita Colbert newly married and now Mrs. Tom Nelson. Nancy had laughed. Whatever her name now, it was good to hear from Rita. They had gone to college together and, after graduation, they had drifted apart and lost contact with one another. Nancy was genuinely glad to hear from Rita, for she had really liked her at school. Warm, tender, a bit wacky and rumored to be "racy"! Nancy found Rita more sinned against than sinning. Rita liked to stay out late and have a good time. She liked to drink a little too much, but she had a good heart and common sense. Besides, she was the one girl she knew at college that didn't resent her stunning beauty and the way men buzzed around her. "Hell," Rita had cracked, "it gives me a chance to meet a lot of groovy swingers."

"Nancy, how the hell are you and guess who this is?" The voice was gay and kind of brazen.