Clarence Tydings - The unfaithful girlfriend

Yes, their sex lives were most compatible. And they never forgot their allegiance to each other. Valerie, by turning the best of her current ripening young models over to her husband, satisfying his frequent cravings for just the right girlish, slim-hipped teeny-bopper to answer the burning desires his lechery fanned in his balls; and Dodge himself, never tiring in his quest for tireless young studs to toss to his insatiable auburn-haired wife like raw meat to a lioness. In fact, it had been he who first pointed out this newest passion to Valerie, directing her to "take a look at that artist kid waiting for his girl in our reception room". Valerie, of course, had taken it from there. And quite well, too, judging from the video tapes he'd previewed only last night.

His eyes caught a glimpse of Jessica's trim lovely legs, framed in the slit of her dress that went nearly up to the top of her thigh. She caught him staring at her when she turned, and quickly looked away, trying hard not to blush this time.

"Well, let's get a couple of drinks first and then join the fun," he said cheerily.

Jessica peered around the doorway into the immense living room; it was actually two rooms, L-shaped, and probably close to sixty feet at its longest point. The room was quite dark, most of the illumination coming from a good-sized projection screen at the end of the longest leg. A film was running; Jessica recognized it immediately as one of Valerie Madison's earlier television shows, a situation comedy that was quite successful in the fifties and now well into its thousandth rerun on afternoon TV. The long room, really more like a hall, was crowded with people, some sitting, some standing, quite a few even sprawled on the shag-carpeted floor. It was impossible to recognize anyone in the dim light, and for this she was grateful. It meant she didn't have to come to grips with the problem of what to tell Phillip right away; maybe with some time to think, it would be easier.

Dodge handed her a tall drink, served in a thick frosted glass, which he obtained from the light-skinned Negro busily mixing cocktails behind a richly-padded leather bar hidden away in one corner.

"What is it?" she asked, rather surprised that her host had not first asked her her preference.

There was a sudden burst of laughter as the slapstick action on the screen grew increasingly frantic, and the crowded smoky room came alive with screams of amusement. "It's a special drink that Valerie discovered. She serves it at all her parties…" He was nearly shouting in her ear to be heard over the noise. "… Won't tell me the secret ingredients. Nobody knows but her. She mixes it up ahead of time and Randolph, the barman, just gets another pitcher from the kitchen maid when he runs low. I do know the base is absinthe Pernod, the real stuff from Spain."

"Pernod! Isn't that supposed to be poison, or something?" asked Jessica cautiously. She suddenly remembered a few half-whispered tales about the milky drink, rumors about its potent powers. Some even claimed it to be an aphrodisiac, though this had been disputed.

"It's like a lot of things, poisonous if you drink too much of it. Hell, you can die from drinking Scotch, if you decide to empty a barrel instead of a bottle. Don't worry about it," he assured her, "we've all been drinking it for years, and nothing's gone wrong yet." And at that, he made a melodramatic grab for his throat, clutching his windpipe as if dying, his eyeballs suddenly puffed out like a frog's.

Jessica laughed aloud at his obvious kidding, then suddenly felt quite better, more relaxed about being here, about having to eventually face Phillip. William Dodge seemed quite human to her now, no longer the distant, marble-cut corporate captain she'd known him to be from afar.

She felt a slight light headedness from the strong drink, though the potent blend was, indeed, very tasty, more like a tangy milkshake than the harsh gagging concoction she had expected. There was a glow there, but otherwise it didn't seem to dull her thinking like alcohol usually did. She liked it and sipped heavily again as William Dodge passed her another drink. A strange giddiness seemed to pervade throughout her whole body as she turned from the bar and looked around the darkened room. She had to squint her eyes to even see the opposite end because of the dimness, but still, she could make out the silhouettes of little clusters of people scattered about the enormous apartment. She strained to see if she could spot Phillip, half-hoping Dodge had been wrong and her boyfriend wasn't here. She wondered if he'd tried to reach her, explain that he was invited to this get-together. But she knew he had, it wouldn't be like sweet Phillip to do otherwise.

And then she saw him, outlined quite clearly as he passed in front of the doorway to the apartment's other rooms. Her whole body tensed, and she could see out of the corner of her eye that Dodge had noticed her sudden reaction. He came directly toward them, and she thought for a moment he had spotted her. But no, he stopped at a thickly upholstered loveseat sofa just a few feet away from where she stood near the bar.

"What's wrong, dear," Dodge whispered in her ear.

"Shhhhh," she managed, afraid that Phillip would hear her voice. She stood immobile for what seemed hours, not resisting as William Dodge slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. She felt the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest, though she didn't move as she watched, unbelieving, as Phillip's arms went familiarly around the body of the attractive woman she now recognized as Valerie Dodge.

"It's Phillip… and your wife!" she whispered loudly, safer now from discovery that her boyfriend's back was turned. She watched with tears filling her eyes as Phillip's hands were seemingly at once everywhere on the voluptuous celebrity's receptive body. She saw now for the first time the horrible truth… the man she held up as an example to strive for, the wonderful friend and lover she idolized… no better than any cheating husband or boyfriend anywhere.

"Don't cry, luv, you'll smear your make-up."

"I don't care anymore," she replied bitterly, dabbing her eyes gingerly with his handkerchief. "I'd like another drink, please. It looks like I'll need one."

"Now you're talking," smiled Bill Dodge, "that's just what I hoped you'd say."

Dodge's arm curled around her waist as she pulled heavily on her new drink; she leaned limply against him, all will to fight kicked out of her like a lungful of air with the revelation of Phillip's obvious infidelity. It hurt her, hurt her badly. And ironically, it hurt even worse because of her own horrible failure, that nightmarish encounter with Marty Felder. All the hours, all the nights of worrying, crying… and all along, her precious boyfriend, the man she was going to marry, was no better. Even worse, he had a choice; no one forced him into anything. A man couldn't be forced to do the things she was seeing him do with her own eyes. God, how it ached to see him like this, like a fallen angel kicked from his place on high, now just another mortal, wallowing in the dust and dirt of earthly sin.

Only the knowledge that her wonderful Phillip would someday understand, that she could come to him, humbly and without conditions, to ask for his forgiveness… only that knowledge had kept her alive these few days, had given her the strength to go on despite the ravishment she had endured at the hands of Marty Felder. Just thinking of Phillip, her knight in shining armor, had given her the will to live, the desire to keep on striving for what she had set as her goal in life. She had drawn from him a feeling of security, of strength, much like another might have drawn from her rosary or her Bible. And now, now that was all gone… she felt more alone, more deserted and helpless, than she'd ever felt in her whole life. More than when she left home to come to New York, even more than last week when she left Felder's penthouse, bruised and ravaged, raped of her virginity.