Ron Taylor - Wife in the middle

Seven years, Sheila thought. Crooked tooth. My brother-in-law. "Ohmygod," she said, quickly. "Ohmygod." It was Lou, Caron's husband, come back from the grave, come back for God knew what. The only thing Sheila knew was that it could not be for any good. She felt weak in the knees and, if Melissa Chase hadn't caught her, she'd have toppled. The blonde girl's frame was small, warm, soft, upholstered in all the right places, and surprisingly strong as she held Sheila upright. "I think I'm okay," she said, straightening up, wondering why she hated not to be touching the little blonde. Then she looked at Lou Archer, and if looks could have killed, he would have died on the spot, grin, moustache, and everything.

This was one of the classic situations, Sheila thought, and in a kinky, sick, way it was a kind of a privilege to be a part of it. Someday, she reminded herself, we'll laugh about all this. But it was a little too soon for laughter.

Caron cried all through dinner; afterwards she swallowed four valiums, which at least seemed to dry up her tears. Mostly she sat with Paul, holding his hand tightly, her face, drawn and pale. While Lou made himself right at home, as if he'd just gone out for cigarettes rather than returned from seven years of oblivion. He walked Melissa around the den and living room, showing her family heirlooms, antiques, telling her funny little stories, and she giggled in all the right places like the silly little girl she was. And through it all, Sheila couldn't take her eyes off Melissa.

I'm the worst part of it all, she thought. I ought to be allied with my blood-born sister, helping Caron put that son of a bitch into his place, helping her destroy him. And all I can think about is that cheap, tarty, dumb, stacked teenaged sun bunny, about the tits inside her t-shirt, about her legs, about her sweet swinging ass. I want to bite her. I want to sink my teeth into that tanned flesh. I want to find out if California girls taste different.

Lou was showing off the portrait of his seventeenth century ancestor but Melissa's attention span was short. She lifted one little hand and touched the painting beside the one Lou was talking about. Sheila's heart sang inside her body. It was one of Sheila's paintings, a scene in the Berkshires. "That's really nice," Melissa said. "Look at the clouds." She touched them. She might as well have been touching Sheila, who fidgeted nervously on her chair. "You can almost feel the rain starting to fall. I wish it was raining now." Her hand fell away. "I'd take off all my clothes and dance up and down the beach. I love rain." Sheila's eyes misted over. Oh, my God, she thought, I want her!

Lou peered closely. "Oh," he said, "whose name do I see in the corner? I didn't know you were an artist, Sheila."

Sheila sniffed haughtily. "There are a lot of things you don't know, Lou. You've been gone a long time."

"So I have," he agreed, slipping his arm around Melissa. Sheila hated that gesture of possession. "But maybe I've come home to stay."

Valiums or no valiums, Caron burst into tears then. She collapsed onto Paul's shoulder. Sheila wanted to run to Caron, help comfort her sister, but she couldn't. She couldn't move, not while Melissa was walking liquid-hipped across the floor, her bare toes digging into the pile carpeting. "What's this?" Melissa giggled, bending over. Her ass stuck up and out, rounded and smooth and so delectable…

"It's me!" Lou said, taking the picture from her hands, the same picture Caron had placed on the floor while she and Paul were 69-ing. "This is what I used to look like."

Melissa hooted. "You've changed a lot!"

"Lots of things have changed," Lou observed. He was still holding Melissa's waist, but he was looking at Caron. Sheila's brow furrowed and she didn't like the gleam in his eyes. She didn't like it one bit.

Paul and Caron spent a long time at the door. It was obvious she didn't want him to go, but he left anyway. When she turned around, her face was livid with rage. She came across the floor staggering like a drunk, pointing her finger at Lou. "Goddamn you," she said, "if you think that you can come in here and…"

Lou was lazing on the sofa, his feet on the coffee table. "The house is still in my name," he pointed out. "If it wasn't you'd have divorced me years ago. So the least you can do is show a little hospitality." Melissa giggled. Inanely, but lovably. Sheila's emotions were being torn to ribbons inside her.

Caron got hold of herself. "You can sleep on the sofa," she said, grimly, with determination. "Sheila's in the guest room. But tomorrow you're going. Paul is drawing up divorce papers tonight and you'll be served tomorrow. There is not a judge in this state who will let you walk out of court with a Goddamned thing left to your name. I'd been planning to celebrate your funeral, but this will be almost as much fun. Goodnight." She turned and stormed out of the room, Sheila hurrying after.

"No," Caron said at the door of her bedroom, "I'll be okay. I'm going to take a sleeping pill. If that man thinks he can come back into my life after what he's done to me – oh, God, Sheila, I am going to get him! I am going to get him so good!" She put her hands on Sheila's shoulders, kissed her sister on the mouth. There was an unexpected warmth and moistness to Caron's lips. Sheila closed her eyes, reveled in it. A woman's mouth tasted different from a man's. Even her sister's. Oh, with those warm sweet lips against hers, she could almost forget it was her sister she was kissing. She felt the tiniest pang of regret when Caron drew back, smiling, and went into her room, closing the door behind her. Sheila sighed and went back out.

"Let's camp on the beach," Melissa was saying, eyes aglitter, obviously excited. "We can build a fire and everything." She looked up at Sheila. "You wanna come along?" she asked. "We could drink beer and sing songs and dance and everything, you know?"

Sheila flushed. She shook her head. "No, I don't want to come along," she said, but deep in her heart she did, she really did. If only that son of a bitch Lou weren't sitting there, grinning like a hound dog with a mouth full of shit. Men! She hated them, and she hated this one more than any of the rest. Without bothering to say goodnight, she left the room. She hoped Caron would be all right. A sleeping pill was no cure, but at least it would help her sister get some rest. And Caron would need plenty of strength for tomorrow.

Sheila came out of the bathroom wearing her nightgown. It was flannel – nights could be chilly on the seashore – and it was pleasantly frumpy. All she needed were curlers in her hair.

The bedroom window was open, and a salty mist of night air came fluttering in. With it came the sound of music. Sheila felt the slight chill and she went to close the window, but before she did, she happened to look out.

Lou and Melissa were camped on the beach. They'd built a small fire and Lou sprawled on a blanket, sipping from a can of beer. Melissa stood by him, the tire behind her, a transistor radio twirling from its thong in one hand. She was naked, stark naked, and she was dancing like a bacchanal to the heavy metal music she held on a string.

Sheila sank to her knees, still staring wide-eyed through the window. Dear God, she thought, oh, dear God! She's even more beautiful than I'd dreamed she could ever be!

Melissa was as tawny as a lioness in the firelight, her body shining as if it had been waxed. Her breasts shook as she danced, and they looked even larger naked than they, had straining inside the too-tight t-shirt. They moved now with a freedom and bounce that Sheila found hypnotic.

Melissa turned in profile and her nipples were taut and stiff, thrust out in eye-catching erection. With her free hand she caressed herself while she danced, felt her tits, played with her nipples. She leaned her head back in a sigh of contentment. Her body twisted again, gyrating with the music, and she was poetry in motion. It was a kind of art that could never be captured, not even by anyone as talented as Sheila Ross. Sheila could only stare. And lust. And envy.