Melanie's taxi pulled up in front of the Andersson's spacious home a little before three. Well, better late than never, Melanie thought with wryness as she paid the driver. The neighborhood was quiet but there were an awful lot of automobiles parked around, and she had a momentary sense of panic, almost turning to tell the driver to take her back to her home. But her overwhelming desire to recover those pictures took hold of her again, and she gathered up her spirits and walked along the crushed oyster shell path, over the bridge, and to the front door. She pounded the brass knocker, and after a few moments, the door slowly swung open.
Amos Andersson stood smiling in the doorway, softly tweaking the end of his mustache with one hand, the other in the pocket of his crimson velvet smoking jacket. The thumb of the hand that was in his jacket pocket was exposed, and it rubbed along the seam with a casual motion. Melanie couldn't tell if he had a shirt on underneath the smoking jacket, although he was wearing a pair of snug trousers and his usual black shoes polished to a high luster.
"Well, my dear, I see you accepted my invitation," he said smoothly. "Good to have you here again."
"I-I want those pictures, Mr. Andersson," she blurted, trembling.
"Yes, I suppose you do." He moved aside and held the door wide for her. "Well, do come in and we'll chat about it. And please, my dear, please call me Amos. I so prefer it among friends."
He was definitely no friend of hers, but Melanie didn't want to say anything that would harm her chances, so she replied: "Thank you… Amos." She walked into the all too familiar living room, and almost sat down on the wide white couch before hastily changing her mind and settling in a small chair instead. She nervously crossed her legs, seeing already from the way that Andersson was roving his eyes over her mentally cringing body that it would not be easy to accomplish her purpose.
"Now then, my dear, let's consider this situation." Amos talked softly, leaning with one elbow on the mantle of the porcelain fireplace. "You have something I want, and I have something you have to have."
"Mr. Andersson – Amos," she said, catching the fire in his sultry eyes, "I love my husband… I want to forget what happened between us. Please, won't you let me have those pictures?"
"My dear," Andersson said, chuckling, "you are most amusing at times. Give you the pictures? Don't be naive!"
Melanie's head reeled from the whiskey and the humiliation of sitting here with this handsome but evil man while his feverish gaze absorbed every inch of her body. Dear God, it was as if he were undressing her with his eyes! She attempted one last desperate act in an effort to frighten him into giving her the prints without further compromising herself. She glared back up at him, her features as cold as she could make them.
"Amos, if you don't hand over those pictures to me at once, I'm going to leave here and go directly to the police!"
"Go ahead, if that's what you want," Andersson shrugged nonchalantly and added: "Go ahead, but it'll be the word of a respectable businessman against that of a girl who poses for dirty pictures. Pictures that would soon be published in a chain of nationwide men's magazines, and hawked in every skid row bar from here to… to New York City!"
"No!" Melanie gasped, jumping to her feet. "You wouldn't!"
"No, not if we can come to some kind of, ah, arrangement, my dear. After all, we are both adults, are we not?"
"Blackmail!" the horrified young wife hissed. "You're nothing but a lewd blackmailer!"
"It's not very polite to call me names, Melanie," Andersson replied with a mockingly sorrowful expression. "After all, you are Mrs. Cartwright, aren't you? You are the one who's married to Timothy Cartwright, but who let me and my wife both fuck you silly last Wednesday night, aren't you? I mean, you are Mrs. Cartwright the adulteress?" He laughed in a throaty delight at his rhetorical questions. "Of course you are. Now, do you want to go or stay awhile?"
A ghostly tremor rippled over the terrified woman as she stared with disbelief at her debasing tormentor. Her throat and lungs constricted tightly, and she knew deep in her heart that it was useless trying to plead to a decency he didn't possess.
"Well, my dear?" Andersson urged maliciously.
"I'll… I'll stay," she managed to say in a strangled voice.
"That's better, my dear. Besides, I'm doing you a favor. I could make a great deal of money with those pictures, you know, but I'm allowing you to bid for them first. I think that's rather noble of me, don't you?"
"How… how much do you want?" she stammered, clutching the arms of the chair behind her with claw-like fingers. "I don't have much, but… But I'll pay what I can…"
"Not money. Oh, my dear, never money. I want you, all of that lovely firm body of yours!"
"Oh God," Melanie moaned and slumped back into the chair again, her whole body sprawling with defeat, her dress hiking inadvertently up over her slim round thighs. "I… I can't, Amos. I… I've never been unfaithful to my husband, except that once, and… and I just can't again!"
"Yes, you will," Andersson replied, his voice growing stern and harsh with command. "You will or else I'll ruin you!"
Melanie sat in a state of shock, bitterly realizing that this horrible man would do exactly as he threatened if she did not give in. Every degenerate across the nation would have the pictures of her engaged in unnatural acts of love. It would kill Tim, and she would be humiliated no matter where she tried to run and hide.
"If… If I agree," she said dully, "I want the pictures first."
"Heavens, no, my dear," Andersson said. He licked his thick lips, knowing she had mentally surrendered herself to the inevitable. "No, you'll get them afterwards. They're my insurance, you see."
"How… How do I know you'll give them if I do?"
"Oh, you can trust me," he answered, coming closer to the chair. "But this has taken all too much time, my dear. The others are impatiently waiting."
"Wh-What?" Melanie whispered in a choked voice. "What do you mean, others? Another man?"
"Why, of course. We're going through that little door over there as soon as I've undressed you, and down into my private cellar where everybody is waiting to see what you can do for me."
"But I thought…" the stunned young wife whimpered. "But I thought I was just going to have to please you!"
"Ah, but it will please me this way, my dear."
"Oh, no," she moaned, revulsion mushrooming inside her disbelieving mind. "Please don't make me do that. I can't, knowing others are watching. That I can't do! I won't!"
"Well, we'll see about that when the time comes." Andersson reached down and lifted her dress, beginning to pull it up over her full thighs. "First we'll just take your clothes off and then a little bit of make-up… to make you even prettier, and then…"
Melanie had lain motionless in a momentary shock from the horrible threats he had been making, but this last one – to perform in some cellar with other men all around – was simply too much for her mind to accept! As he reached to move her dress up higher, she reacted to his touch with a hysterical repulsion, and without fully realizing what she was doing, she lifted one leg back and abruptly kicked out in terror, catching Andersson full on the chin. He was caught by surprise, and let out a growling yell as he tumbled backwards onto the carpeted floor. He slowly regained his feet, shaking his head to clear it, a slight trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth.