In another moment, doubtless, the luscious fruit for which I was panting would have been between my lips had it not been for an interruption.
That interruption was the quiet opening of the door which gave access to the beautiful but now disordered and bottle-strewn lounge. I was the only one directly facing the door and I was the first to perceive a new arrival.
I froze in rigid attention.
In the doorway, surveying us gravely and silently, stood a woman. Inasmuch as this woman was the direct opposite of the mental picture I had formed of Monty's wife I did not for a moment or two even consider the possibility that it was she. I simply wondered who she was.
The woman who stood there regarding us with a calm, almost expressionless face was young, not much older than I, probably. An embroidered robe of rich, wine-colored material was drawn about her and fastened with a loosely knotted, tasseled rope of silk. Under its lower hem, the lacy edge of a white garment, a nightgown, without doubt, peeked. She wore no hose, but on her feet were dainty, high-heeled bedroom sandals.
She was superbly, radiantly beautiful, a blonde of perfect type whose skin was suggestive of peaches and cream, and whose loosely coiled hair glinted in the light like spun gold.
So silent had been her entry and so quietly did she stand that for several moments no one but myself was aware of her presence. Monty, his attention finally attracted by my tense attitude, turned his eyes in the direction I was looking. Zippy in turn glanced casually toward the door, and started abruptly. Carlota, facing the opposite direction was still moaning and suspiring audibly. Zippy shook her significantly and murmured a warning “S-h-h-h!” She looked at him in surprise, and then turned her head to see what was holding his attention. When she saw, she sat up hastily, drawing her one diaphanous garment down over her hips as far as she could.
It must have been three-thirty or later. Monty was the first to break the silence.
“Wosh the idea of thish intrushion?” he demanded thickly.
For a long moment there was no answer from the immobile figure. She continued to regard us, coolly, unemotionally. Then:
“Take your disreptutable associates out of this house immediately.”
The words were spoken in a quiet, dignified voice, low and musical, but firmly resolute.
By this time realization of the intruder's identity had dawned upon me and surprise gave way to a rapidly growing feeling of resentment and anger. In a confused, startled way, I comprehended that I had been cheated and imposed upon. So firmly rooted was the conception I had formed of this woman, a conception in which she appeared as a flat-chested, sour-faced misanthrope, devoid of seductive feminine charms, that to find her in every respect the exact antithesis of all I had been led to believe, or permitted to believe, was at first a shock, and as this was assimilated, cause for rage which grew quickly to consuming proportions.
In some way, not yet clearly defined in my mind, I had been misled and hoodwinked. I had been permitted to assume, that I had a rival unworthy of serious consideration, much less to be jealous of. Once, impelled by some vague uneasiness, I had asked Monty whether she was pretty. His answer leaped into my memory. “About as pretty, compared to you, as a moth is in comparison to a beautiful, exotic butterfly!” The recollection brought a new surge of anger, for it suggested that I had not only been deceived but likewise made the victim of my own ridiculous vanity. This woman was regal with a loveliness which made mine look like cheap tinsel, and I had the sense to realize it.
In the baffled, frustrated, angry grouping of my thoughts, I included her as well as Monty in my resentment. I had pitied her before, but I hated her now with all the bitter venom which jealousy can brew in the heart of a woman confronted by the superior and invincible charms of a rival. I could have sunk my fingernails in the soft bloom of her cheeks with vicious delight, I could have clawed the full, voluptuous breasts which swelled the dressing gown outward in twin globes with infinite satisfaction. I fairly suspired to hurl myself on her and disfigure every inch of her golden beauty.
Dimly, I was aware that Monty had lurched to his feet and was advancing toward her.
“Lishen! Thesh ladiesh are my guesh! Wosh the idea of inshulting my guesh? Wosh the idea calling my guesh dish… dish… reputable?”
She stood her ground, receding not an inch before the menacing gesture of an upraised hand. No emotion was visible in her face except that of cool disdain.
“Remove these people from here instantly,” she repeated. “I will not tolerate their presence here.”
“Shay! Wosh housh ish thish? I refush to be embarrasshed in the presensh of my friensh!”
He made an unsteady lurch, and the sharp sound of a hand in contact with flesh was heard. He had slapped her in the face with considerable force.
A wave of cruel pleasure swept over me with the sound of the impact and the hot blood tingled in my cheeks. Across one of hers a dappled, reddish outline appeared to mar the white purity of her skin. But she did not flinch. With outward calm and dignity she remained motionless. There was a moment of deadly silence, and the low voice spoke again.
“Take your degenerate friends with you and leave this house or I will go myself.”
What followed can only be told in a summary fashion. My own emotions were so violent that I saw everything through a sort of red haze and the details were blended in a confused blur of movement and action.
Monty had seized her in his arms. They were tussling and swaying in the doorway, she trying to escape his grasp and he apparently intent on dragging her into the room. No words were spoken; there was no sound except the heavy breathing, the swish of garments, and the scuffle of moving feet deadened in part by the thick carpets.
The pallor of her face had given way to a vivid flush which burned in either cheek. One of her bronze slippers had been dislodged in the scuffle and she was panting audibly. With a violent effort she succeeded in wrestling an arm free from his clasp, and placing the palm of her hand against his chin she forced his head back. For a moment it seemed that she was about to free herself from his drunken embrace.
As she strained to loosen his grasp, the sound of ripping cloth was heard and the neck and upper part of her robe and nightgown were torn open. The folds sagged down over her shoulders and arms, and one white breast was exposed.
I can see it yet, that proud, round breast of alabaster whiteness protruding from the ravished garments, its rosy nipple standing out prominently.
The sudden yielding of the garment caused her to lose her balance and the temporary advantage she had gained. She tottered backward and before she could recover herself she was again helpless in his arms. But she did not cease to struggle as she was dragged toward the center of the room.
The blood was singing in my head. I felt choked, suffocated, and was breathing in short, dry gasps. Zippy and Carlota sat stiffly erect, watching with bulging eyes, but I gave them hardly a thought. Remembrance of his cynical admission of attempts to fuck her was simmering in my brain. Well, he would never lay hands on me again. Let him fuck her if he could, and let her claw him to shreds while he was doing it if she wanted to. That was what he had on his mind now. I knew he was going to try to fuck her right there in our presence.
The sound of more ripping cloth bore out the supposition and testified to his lust for the woman who had spurned him as he tried drunkenly to disrobe her. The kaleidoscopic, shifting blur of movement now revealed her half-nude as the entire front of her dressing gown was ripped open and the torn fragments of the nightgown underneath tangled about her legs.