Jon Reskind - Caesar_s revenge book II

"Right," Link said, lustfully grinning at the prospective thought. "Don't worry, honey, they'll be pictorial gems…"

"Okay, okay… I can just imagine what's going through that lecherous brain of yours. You just sit there and think about it until I call you and verify that it's on… and don't come out here staven drunk," the valley's richest and most powerful bachelorette warned. "Or I might just have two pair of balls hanging over my bed…!"

Steve was up for lunch, then away on his quest for story material, leaving Jean and Carol to rattle uneasily around the small house. Both girls sensed the unwanted strain between them, but neither could put a finger on the actual crux of the other's reasoning. While Mark, who had come home shortly before noon in a miserable, untalkative mood, slept in the guest-room, the once inseparable girls attempted to patiently overcome the secretive barrier which had pitted them against one another. Though they both unwittingly shared the identical, sensuous desire for Caesar's animal-affections, neither could openly admit to it for what each felt were obvious, debasing reasons. Instead, they drank coffee, warmly fumbling through memories and people from times passed, while their young female brains privily filled at every chance with thoughts and reveries of their incredible dog-lover.

Once, Jean in her flusterated jealousy, had been sorely tempted to come right out with it! She just had to know if her wild darling had come looking for her last night! But just as she was about to broach the question, the telephone intervened, and Carol, dreadingly suspecting a prying interrogation from her dearest friend, had welcomed the interruption with a sigh of relief. In fact, while Jean talked, the raven-haired girl had risen from the couch and poured herself a cognac from the cocktail table…

"I… I don't know what you mean," Jean was saying into the phone, her apparently troubled words reaching Carol as she recapped the bottle, then tugged the hem of her sweater down over her slacks. There was a tightness in Jean's voice that her friend readily recognized, the latter returning to the davenport as she listened intently, yet really not meaning to eavesdrop…

"… About Mark, you say…? What about him, Miss Newell…? All right, then Lydia, but we've never met… I see… Yes, it's quite obvious what you're implying, but I don't think I'm inter… You're not being very nice…! Yes, yes, she's the Chief of Police's niece… I don't believe it…! This… this morning…?… That doesn't mean that they…!… Well… what time…? The A and B on the Ranch Road, isn't it…? All right… what time, again? Eight… Yes… I promise, I won't tell a soul… but you better be damned well right, Miss Newell…!"

Carol sipped at her cognac. Something was definitely not right, and it certainly had to do with Mark. The expression on Jean's face as she recradled the telephone would have portrayed that had she not overheard the one-sided conversation. Ordinarily, Carol thought, she could and would put forth the questioning probe; they had always been that close. But after the thing both of them had been carefully weathering all morning, how could she?

Jean returned to the couch forcing a strained, pinched smile. "Lord, I'm sorry, Carol, but I have an overlooked engagement this evening. These small towns," she managed, nervously picking up her coffee-cup. "If it isn't a school thing, the local Woman's Club manages to get some fund raising program going, and of course because of Mark's position, I'm always expected to attend."

"I understand, dear," Carol sympathised. "I just poured myself a cognac. Would you like one?"

"Yes… yes, I think I need something," Jean replied, her mind filled with Lydia Newell's shocking conversation, though she didn't believe a word of the girl's accusation concerning Mark and Annie Purcell that very morning! But what else had she meant by "choice information relative to your husband"? God, the wealthy girl's spiteful tone had actually unnerved her!

That Mark had undoubtedly had some sort of love-life before their hasty courtship and marriage came as no surprise to Jean, and it may well have been with Lydia Newell… but little, teenaged Annie Purcell…? She couldn't believe that…

"Wh-What…? I'm sorry Carol, I wasn't listening," the young blonde wife startledly responded. "What did you say…?"

"I asked if you'd like some water with this cognac, honey?"

"No… no thank you… I'll pour it into my coffee," Jean said, leaning forward and offering a smile. "Coffee royale… I love them, don't you?"

Slowly, Carol re-approached the couch, then lowered herself, adding the cognac to Jean's coffee. "Maybe… maybe, you'd like me to go along with you tonight, honey… you know, so that you can get away early…"

"No! No… That is, it's one of those personal invitation affairs, Carol," Jean, with her forced little smile, advised. "I'm terribly sorry to walk off on you like this, but I don't know what else I can do, darling…"

"I understand, Jean. Don't worry about Steve and me. We'll be here when you get back," Carol assured, patting her friend's hand. "Just… just don't be too long."

"Oh, I won't… I won't…"

Jean could cry. Mark had left the house without a word to her. She'd wanted so much to discuss Lydia Newell's phone conversation with him, and especially give him the opportunity to say something concerning Annie Purcell that would clarify the auburn-haired girl's malicious intimations. God knows, it wasn't that she'd readily believe such vicious gossip, nor wanted in the least to doubt his fidelity… but not even a word! She'd never seen him so close-mouthed, so guiltily ignoring her!

The lovely, honey-blonde young wife could hardly believe it when he'd slammed the bedroom door between them, his heavy footfalls pounding along the hallway until the outside house-door closed and his patrol car started up! Dear God, what would Carol and Steve think…? And then she remembered that she didn't have to worry about them, they'd gone out for dinner.

Well, she could be thankful for that, at least. The unexplainable shame of their strained marriage after only two-months would be unbearable! At first, she'd felt certain that his embittered attitude had been because of her uncontrollable, wanton orgy with Caesar, but after listening to Lydia Newell and the way he had stormed out on her, she was no longer so sure. Even so, and regardless of what he'd done, didn't he realize that she would forgive him? God, she loved him so much… but… but she loved her Caesar, too…!

Confused and nearly in tears, Jean dressed. She hardly knew what Lydia Newell expected of her, forgetting whether she'd been invited to dinner or not. Mark's actions had upset her so. Nevertheless, she had to go… had to know more no matter how horrible it would be… and she dressed accordingly, the striking Lydia Newell's emphatic statement constantly repeating itself in her mind: "It's time you learned a few things about your handsome husband, Jean darling… and don't tell a soul that you're coming here…!"

What else could she do but agree? Nor had she broken her word. Though she couldn't quite understand the insistence for such sworn secrecy, Lydia's emphasis of it had, and was, almost clamily intriguing her. What more could the wealthy girl add to what she'd already implied that demanded such a furtive meeting? God… had she made some horrible mistake in marrying Mark… and even if she had, what could she do? She loved him so much… so much…!

After she'd securely concealed Link Morgan in his strategic spot in her bedroom clothes-closet, taken a long look at the harmless appearing little sugar-cube on the serving tray, Lydia Newell entered the luxuriously furnished front-room of their ranch house with an almost evil, lust-tugging smile playing about her sensual mouth. It had occurred to her that Jean Blakely did… actually did! The voluptuous blonde delight closely resembled her ex-roommate at college… resembled her to a striking T! And what erotic hours they had spent together! Of course, Ann had been made-to-order lesbian material from her parental situation, but who was to say this gorgeous creature was any different? God, wouldn't that be an unexpected pleasure though! Actually, the tiniest leanings would be enough, regardless of whether she knowingly, or unknowingly, acknowledged them; the acid, with proper suggestiveness, would quickly bring them to the surface! Damn, it'd been a long time since she'd enjoyed those intoxicating games, hadn't it? The idea was more than slightly invigorating, especially with it producing all the desired results she vindictively sought. One way or the other, she was going to have her "pound of flesh" this night!