Ed Buyers looked down at his naked tan lover and sighed under his breath. God, she was something, all right. Why, half the men in this country would trade their own wives and half their fortunes for a woman like her. Damn, it, she still wasn't enough though. He couldn't help it, lust was in his blood. And that precisely why he'd set up this miniature heaven with the coed girls and the dogs… it promised a fine living, plus the on-the-side amenities were nothing to scoff at. There was nothing he liked better than to watch two women getting it on and bring in one of the dogs to complete the three-way. Christ, but it made his balls churn just to think of it.
Mimi… well, he wasn't so sure she was the type. Only one way to find out…
CHAPTER FIVE
Mimi Spender whistled to herself along with the rock n' roll AM station blaring from her portable radio, her only entertainment now that Susie had taken her stereo home. It didn't matter that it was on volume 10; nobody was in the dorm except for she and the girl down the hall and that was almost ego-shattering. Like standing in a corner by yourself at a dance while everybody else is boogeying and having a fine time.
Well… that was yesterday. Yesterday was depression – especially after that horrible experience at the university farm. Tomorrow was hope, and today she was packing, sorting out her belongings for her father to pick up and take home after letting her off at Bartholomew's Kennels.
Bartholomew's… filled the doctor's prescription… just what she needed. A good honest job where she could prove herself, maybe learn some veterinary tips on the side and show a man – Ed Buyers – that she was dead serious about her chosen avocation. Spitefully, she wished Horse-Face Osborn would find out about her ambitious summer time employment. That should set the old fart straight!
Only one thing bothered her, though, as she packed away her books one by one, pursuing the titles, separating the "to be sold" from the "to keep". That girl… Carrie, her name was. How could she forget, the same name as Carrie the Palomino out at the farm. She seemed almost… sluttish in a way. The way those green eyes cattishly followed her around when Ed Buyers was showing off his well-kept grounds. Like a leopard jumping from limb to limb ready to spring, Carrie never missed a motion, a gesture or inflection in her voice. And the more enthusiasm Mimi showed, the higher Carrie raised her eyebrows.
Maybe she and Ed are doing a trip together, maybe they're lovers, surmised Mimi. No, she checked her suspicions. Ed's too old for her. God, Carrie couldn't be over twenty two. That would be like she, Mimi, having an affair with that odious John Dobkins. EEEkkk… it made her stomach churn to think of that.
With an unconscious tap of the foot and an occasional sway of the hip, Mimi sang along with a top-ten tune, slurring over the unfamiliar lyrics, then headed for her closet, opening up the accordion pleated door to pluck blouses, skirts and dresses from their hangers. What to bring…? shorts, she guessed, lots of cut-offs, Levi's, a couple of sweaters, all her T-shirts and her down jacket for cold nights. Nothing fancy… nothing feminine, certainly.
Tomorrow she'd be there, making herself at home in the rustic cabin, or summer home as Ed called it. Hmmm, better take an extra blanket; I don't remember seeing any heater in there.
Bartholomew's Kennels was posted at the entrance to the gravel road by a wooden sign hanging from a pair of heavy chains attached to a post, its feminine gothic hand-lettering done by the same hand as the other logos.
Ted Spender's 1972 two-door Chevy pulled up slowly to the entrance with its driver curiously perusing the well kept grounds. It's often been said that if the farmer has his way, the lawn and buildings are kept in immaculate condition, and if the farmer's wife has her way, the house interior swallows up the money; and judging from the manicured lawn and clipped shrubs, Ted Spender knew this dog kennel was male dominated. That pleased him. "Honey, you be a good girl and work hard. Don't worry about money, now. Your ma and I can help ya out with the spending money," the kind hearted man assured, pushing his beat-up felt hat back on his head. He pecked his daughter on the cheek and sped off, dust billowing like forest fire smoke as the Chevy's tires crunched on the gravel heading back for the farm outside of Davis.
Mimi stood there before that two story wooden house, eyeing it in rapt suspicion and sizing up the challenge of these upcoming summer months. No one seemed to be about, only a scraggly Tom cat lazed on the front steps of the porch, not even bothering of lift its whiskered head in acknowledgment of Mimi's arrival. The chestnut haired lovely picked up her suitcase, toting her shoulder bag high on her shoulder and took the path encircling the house, leading to the summer house back. Strange, she mused, closing the wire gate behind her and listening to blue jays spatting in chatters high in a tree bough, that nobody's here. What kind of professionalism is that? she wondered, feeling forgotten. Oh, well… she swallowed her pride, trudging on down the path, listening to the dogs yelping and whining in the kennel beyond.
Dogs… she mused. They were okay, but horses had always been her preference. Masterful… that's what horses were. You could train them, ride them, yet you had to maintain that respectful distance. Dogs, now you had to pamper them and baby them, listening to them whine and complain as they are doing now. Let them outside, bring them in… always indecisive. Horses could take care of themselves; they aren't fussy eaters and were always thankful for small favors like a carrot. None of this rhinestone collared business. Given a choice, Mimi would have chosen working on a horse farm to a dog kennel, but she quickly checked herself. There you go again… never satisfied, she chided herself, feeling the summer winds – a rarity for the scorching Sacramento Valley – whip across her face in caressing touches. Thank God I have my hair in pigtails, she thought, feeling her forehead bead with perspiration.
A shiny red ten-speed bicycle was parked outside the paint chipped summer home, the lock hanging loose and accessibly open. Hummm, my roommate must be in there, reasoned Mimi with expectancy, making her heart beat a little faster as she approached the door. Would her workmate and companion be anything like Carrie? Would they even get along sharing the same housing?
Setting her suitcase down the step, Mimi's hand was on the doorknob about to ease the door open when a sound made her step her aggressive actions and consider knocking. She thought she had heard someone cry out, but now everything was silent again, save for the blue jays overhead and the murmuring wind. She waited, assessing the situation and had raised her knuckles in a clenched fist to knock on the door, when the sound came again, lower, gravely, as though it had come from an animal. It was answered by an unearthly pleading tone… almost as if someone – a woman – was being tortured. Flickers of Sunday afternoon in the barn with that horrible John Dobkins eased their way back into her consciousness. The attractive young chestnut haired girl hovered at the door. She remained rooted there statuesquely for some moments.
"Oh Goddd!" a muffled woman's voice came from the direction of inside, clearly this time. As if drawn hypnotically, Mimi moved to the door, slowly turned the knob and the voice became clearer, groaning tremulously in an agonized whisper that tightened Mimi's stomach into a frightened knot. Above the voice, she heard a low unearthly whining then: "Please, oh yes, do it like that!"
That voice…? Mimi stood transfixed in the doorway, the door open just a peek.
Again the moans penetrated through the wall, reverberating with greater urgency, and Mimi recoiled from the wall, determined now to flee, to leave alone something that was none of her business.