Dallas Mayo - For women only

Funny. What if I'd gone out that night? I might have, except for the weather – a last glance from my front room window catching the flash of fat silver raindrops reflected in the headlight beams of a slowly moving taxi. The evening mist had turned to rain. And I was all dressed, too, about to seek the beery conviviality of some nearby pub. I just didn't want to be alone. My latest visit from Simon had left me in sad shape, frustrated and feeling sorry for myself. Ready to give the local boys a break. If only it hadn't been raining out there! Not hard yet, just heavy enough to make my first such venture a washout. Who goes bar-hopping in messy weather? Just drunks and punks – and maybe a few stray chippies taking care of business. Mighty slim pickings for an honest woman with horny ideas. Anyway, that was my excuse for staying in. The safest place to be on a night like this. Especially for a waif like me, a born target for trouble.

Only I sure had a case of the blues, all alone and lonesome in the big city. And when my doorbell rang, I could have cheered aloud. Anybody was welcome at that point, even the nosy girls from the office snooping around for more gossip to spread. That was that I thought of first; who else would drop in at this hour without phoning ahead?

I was wrong, though. And all but stunned speechless when I realized how wrong. Even loneliness was preferable to this! It was bound to lead to bloodshed. And she was so much bigger than me, the kind of adversary to avoid at all costs. But then again, well, no man's mistress is overjoyed at coming face to face with his wife all of a sudden. I recognized her only instinctively, of course, a total stranger occupying my doorway with all the impassive poise of a fire-breathing dragon…

"Hmph! Rory? You are Rory, I assume. Aren't you going to ask me in?"

"Oh. Sorry. Do come in, please."

"Thanks. About time."

I shut the door behind her. She swung around and gripped my shoulders, peering down into my face. The trench coat she wore seemed to add extra bulk to her figure, somehow. Not that she needed it, the way she towered over me, taller and heavier and bigger in every dimension. Standing so close to my small body, her statuesque form was well-nigh overpowering. I felt like a scrunchy little schoolgirl.

"You're such a tiny thing, my dear. I had no idea. You do know who I am, don't you?"

"Uh-huh."

"And why I'm here?"

"I-I guess so."

"Good. Every little bit helps. We must both make an effort to be civilized about this, don't you agree?" She let go of me and stepped back, her eyes shooting sparks, belying the serenity of her pose. "As a matter of fact, I could do with a drink right now, something to preserve this peaceful atmosphere, hmm?"

"Of course. What would you like?"

"Scotch is fine. With a little water."

I went to the liquor cabinet, glad to put some distance between us. My feeling of numb astonishment was fading, giving way to a more sharply defined concept of our confrontation thus far. One thing stood out in my mind, undeniably prominent despite its rather trivial nature. Irrelevant, anyhow. No, it wasn't trivial, not even in such gravely serious circumstances. The woman – my rival, Julia Beresford – was she really that beautiful?

Fussing with the bottles and glassware, I tried to recall her features in detail. High cheekbones. The dusky complexion, darkly amber, remarkably so for someone with hair that color. Blonde. Shimmering shoulder-length golden waves, a natural look. At most, just touched-gray. I her middle thirties, I figured, or maybe even younger. But it was her eyes that stuck in my mind above all else, the green eyes that had showered me with sparks – big and deep and green as glowing emeralds. I was almost afraid to turn around again, afraid of the strange power of those eyes…

They were still glowing when I brought her the drink, emerald-green eyes, less formidable now somehow, the slanted corners crinkling in apparent amusement. As though she was laughing at me or had found the situation to her liking, perhaps, since she chose that moment to slip off her coat.

Once again, I couldn't help but recognize a wealth of unexpected beauty, even a certain grandeur. Voluptuous. But without a trace of extra fat, as far as I could see, truly a magnificent body. The one advantage of being childless, no doubt. And I could see plenty, too, the big breasts and narrow waist and broad hips, all delineated by her scantily cut dress, a simple black sheath. And the legs, of course, long and perfectly shaped, with slender ankles – impossibly beautiful! I could only stand there and goggle. With a wife like this, why would any man take a mistress?

"Well, my dear? Admiring the view?"

My cheeks flamed. "Uh, nice. Very nice."

"Just nice? That's hardly a compliment." Her smile was slow and smug, replete with self-satisfaction. She sat down and crossed her legs with lazy abandon, one hand gliding up over her bosom in a pointedly significant caress. "Come now, pretty good for an old broad, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course. But you're not old." It seemed only prudent to bestow the flattery that was so obviously called for. "You're a beautiful woman, Mrs. Beresford."

"Julia. Let's not be formal."

"Uh-huh. Julia, then. Your drink okay?"

She took a sip and nodded; then, "You meant that, about, my being beautiful. I could tell. Much as you hated to admit it."

"Well…"

"You did hate admitting it, though. Why?"

"Oh. You know. This thing between us. I-I don't understand, frankly. Aren't you angry with me?"

"A little. My pride was hurt. But it's happened before, my husband playing around like this. Bastard! Oh no, it isn't exactly new to me. Did you think it was, Rory?"

"N-no. I did at first. I felt guilty, too, since it was my fault as much as his. But then he said you didn't care, it wasn't that kind of marriage. You both go your separate ways, he told me; you have your own life, your own friends, isn't that so?"

"Umm, well, something like that."

"It's true then? About the marriage? He's only staying married to you because of the business?"

"True enough. At this point, anyway. After all, what else can he do? I own the business. Although I'm sure he neglected to mention that fact."

"Huh? You own…"

"Consolidated was founded by my grandfather. I'm the majority stockholder. Simon has only a little piece of it, in spite of his executive position. Surprise, surprise."

"Okay, so I'm surprised. Only now I can't figure out why you even came here. Julia, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing much. I just wanted to get a look at you. To see what my husband is so hot for. Only I haven't seen anything like that yet, at least not that exciting. It's beyond me. Unless maybe you're hiding something special under that dress. Are you? Take it off, let's have a peek."

"Silly. You-you can't be serious."

"Don't provoke me, my dear. Remember now, I'm in a position to make trouble for you. With my husband. And at your job. I could even kick up a fuss and have you thrown out of this apartment, considering who's paying for it. So perhaps you ought to humor me, hmm? I don't ask much. Let's go. Strip!"

Her abrupt change of expression came as a shock. The green eyes had narrowed to slits, the lipsticked mouth drawn thin, a cruel red slash. It was no time for me to argue. Besides, what could I lose? Afterward, she would still be puzzled – my just wasn't that great, with or without clothes. Oh sure, it had all the necessary curves, even a few extra for good measure. But it was far from spectacular. Just like my face, round and pleasant, with a turned-up button for a nose, cute but nothing to write home about. All in all, cute and cuddly in a kind of chubby way, too compact for real beauty. I had youth in my favor, sure, but not much more. No, this uptight woman could look all night and never understand what her husband found so attractive in me. That was our secret, his and mine.