William Davis - The Polaroid club book II

The three glasses of sangria, taken as they had been on an empty stomach for Cindy had lost her appetite that evening, began to slowly seep through her blood. She began to smile and, as suggested by Mrs. Lathrop, relax and enjoy herself. The sharp edge of panic melted and she found herself humming, her eyes half closed, as the music changed from "Moonglow" to "The Theme from Picnic". She dropped her head and pressed against Ralph Taylor's rising chest.

Hot damn, the scheming manager thought, trying to control his trembling passions, things are better than I thought. After Norma told me about that post office clerk getting into Cindy's pants, I figured I wouldn't be able to score until I found out who the little bastard was and went to see him… talked to him about some certain facts… but the way things are going, maybe I can speed up the action… got to go at it just right, though… just right…

He held the slightly high young wife tighter, his total willpower being taxed to stop his penis from becoming hard and pressing against her undulating belly. The dress she had on, or he should say, the lack of a dress, certainly didn't help his control any. When she had walked in with her husband, Ralph had almost creamed in his pants on the spot, ogling the tight buttocks and ripe, jutting breasts, and smooth expanse of thigh and leg… never had so little covered so little. It made him quiver with the desire to really possess this proud little beauty, to bore his cock deep in her vagina as the postal clerk had done – damn that sneaky bastard's hide.

Ralph Taylor had immediately set to work trying to find a way of getting his desires answered that night, to seduce the wife of his star salesman at the party and not to wait until Norma was able to quietly find out who the clerk was. His prick and testicles ached with burning fire for the beautiful little wife, stoking his mind to come up with a plan of attack.

And he had. He waited until she had consumed enough of the sangria to become slightly wobbly, and then he started in. First this dance… then a short break for another glass of that wine punch. Ralph chuckled secretly to himself. Sangria didn't taste strong, it went down like soda-pop, and women who would normally never indulge heavily soon found themselves drunk out of their minds. Sangria was sneaky… just as he was.

The music stopped, and Ralph led the pretty wife back to the punch bowl and her glass. She drank thirstily, finishing it, and Mrs. Lathrop filled the glass again… They talked, the three of them, of general items: the local gossip, opinions on the fools in Washington, D.C., the Middle East and the Indochina war… Ralph sat out two more numbers and then, when another slow dance was played, he took Cindy in his arms again and way they went. Then there was more sangria…

After the third dance, Cindy was beginning to stumble a bit, and her tongue was getting tied around words of multisyllable. It was, the manager thought, about time to drop the bombshell. The tape was unwinding "Laura" and as he again danced with her, he leaned down and whispered in her shell-like ear: "Cindy, Norma told me about the postal clerk."

The reaction of the little housewife was sudden and cataclysmic. She stopped dead in her tracks, a quivering, shaking statue of agony, her mouth open and her eyes wide as saucers. "No!" she feebly choked. "No, she couldn't have!"

The sangria dulled the worst of the terrible pain which coursed through her brain. She had already realized that she had had too much to drink, but as happens when such a point is reached, she really didn't care. At this moment, she was desperately glad, for the dual shock of hearing that Norma had spread her confidential confession and of being reminded of that wretched man and his blackmail would have been too much for her tortured mind to absorb sober.

"N-Norma had no… no right!" she moaned, shuddering.

"Now take it easy, Cindy," the manager soothed, wrapping his arms around her. "Listen to me. Norma was very concerned about you, and naturally she turned to her husband for advice."

Obstinately, the pretty housewife fought back her tears and said bitterly: "She warned me against telling Howie!"

"Well, of course she did, Cindy. He would be the wronged husband, wouldn't he? I mean, it isn't as though I was hurt by your ah, indiscretions. But Howie could very well become belligerent, seeing as it's his pretty young wife who was in bed with another man and…"

"Stop it! Stop it!" wailed Cindy, putting her hands over her ears. "I can't stand it any longer!"

Ralph looked around, feared that her sudden outburst might have attracted attention. No; the others were well inebriated and laughing and shouting louder than her cry had been. Her husband, Howard, was out of the corner now and doing a wild rhumba to the slow music, a lampshade on his head. Others had crowded around and were clapping and hooting him on… there was a crash from another room and a shriek of giggling…

"Cindy!" he hissed. "Get hold of yourself! You have to face the situation, no matter how unpleasant. Don't you understand?"

"No… no…" the now hysterical young wife pleaded.

"I'm your friend, Cindy. Believe me, Norma did the right thing telling me. I can help you."

"Help me?" Cindy looked up suddenly. Could he? she thought wildly, groping at straws.

"If Howard should find out somehow. Or if that damnable clerk makes good his threat and turns you in. What then?"

"I… I don't know," she shuddered, the possibilities too horrible to contemplate. "I don't know what I'd do."

"Well, we have to talk these things out, Cindy." He looked around again. "We can't talk here, though. Too many people. Tell you what; let's go outside and discuss this. All right?"

"Outside?"

"In your car. It'll be nice and private there, and nobody will overhear us."

"But… but what about Howie?"

"He's fine. He's having a ball. Hasn't missed you yet, has he?" Ralph saw the shake of her head, indicating the negative answer, and he pressed on. "We have to stick together, us Taylors and Jamisons. Now you go on outside. I'll join you in a minute."

"Ralph…" she started to say, but Cindy knew that she was going to the car. She had to, for as Ralph Taylor had said, she was in no position to take care of the potentialities if they should occur. She would have never dared to go to her husband's boss, never even would have considered going to another male, friend or no. But now that Norma had done so – strictly with good intentions, of what Cindy was now assured – and the manager had evinced such strong personal interest in her plight, she was going to lay bare the sordid details again and see what Ralph Taylor could do to alleviate her miserable dilemma.

"Now, go on," Ralph prompted. "That's it. I'll be out in a minute. Soon as I go to the bathroom."

Nodding numbly, Cindy Jamison, a frail of swirling emotions and agonies, headed for the front door. Binnie Lathrop, coming out of the kitchen with another tureen of sangria, paused and asked her if anything was the matter. Cindy shook her head, saying that no, she just wanted a breath of fresh air.

The moment that the pretty young wife of his star salesman was out of sight, Ralph Taylor began the second part of his plan. He hurried over to the general manager, Buddy Lathrop, who was listening with a bored expression to a story about a nude mermaid, a New York executive on a deep-sea fishing trip, and a bag full of lead weights.

"Buddy," he said, sidling up to his boss. "Buddy, come over here for a minute, will you?" He indicated a quiet corner with a tilt of his head.

Lathrop nodded, wondering why his manager was so all-fired anxious. "Thank heavens you came along when you did. That's one of the oldest dirty jokes I know, and if Murcheson doesn't learn any new ones soon, I'm going to…"