If I were Susan Hayward in an old movie, she thought, I'd know what to do. If I were Bette Davis, I'd fight for my man. But this wasn't an old movie, and she was only Melinda Stillman, a lady who had been summarily rejected by her husband for another woman. Melinda Stillman, who had just been made fantastic love to by another man, as adulterous a connection as Neil's affair with pretty blonde Kathy.
"That makes it more difficult," she murmured as she got into the elevator. It had been exciting with Dave, being fucked as she sat on the edge of his desk, her pussy a sucking conduit for his cock and its boiling load of cum. Not even with Neil had she ever know precisely that kind of excitement.
Oh, she was still too worked up to think properly. First she ought to go home, take a nice hot bath, and have a nice cold drink. By the time Neil returned this evening she'd know what to say to him. Right now, all she knew was that she had to tell him something. Their relationship couldn't go on as it had gone, now that she knew what he was doing. God, she prayed, don't let me blow it! Show me the way! Help me get it straight!
CHAPTER FIVE
Neil was already home when she got there.
Melinda gasped in astonishment at the sight of his car in the driveway and she wondered what in hell could be wrong. He quarreled with Kathy?
Maybe the pretty young blonde's period had started without warning? Whatever the reason, her husband had obviously come straight home from the office, and it fucked up all of Melinda's plans. She wasn't ready to confront him with her knowledge of his guilt. She needed time to work out the scenario, so she could manipulate it to her best advantage. Oh, damn it to hell! she thought, going into the house.
"Hello, darling," she said evenly, hoping that the anger in her mind didn't show in her voice. He had the balls to look so calm and innocent, too, when only last night he'd fucked Kathy, told her he loved her, romped with her on that big brass bed, its posts shaking as the tempo of lovemaking mounted. She wanted to claw his eyes out, rip his deceptive heart from his cheating body. "I didn't expect you home so soon," she added. "I've been… shopping. Dinner isn't ready…"
Neil smiled. "It's okay, hon. I'm just here for a pit stop. Mr. Shepherd caught me by surprise today. He asked me to go up to New York for a mini-convention this weekend, and I really couldn't refuse. I'm just picking up some things to take along…" He held up his suitcase.
All sweetness, she thought, all honey and pie with whipped cream on top. If I was that bitch Kathy, he'd have me on the floor already, my skirt up and my pants down. Oh, I hope he came down with swine flu! It would be such poetic justice!
"Well," she said. "I'll run up and grab what I need. Are we staying at the Plaza, as usual?"
Neil colored. She'd taken him by surprise. Score two points for Melinda. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, the Plaza, but… uh, I'm afraid…" Here it comes, Melinda thought. "You see, I, uh, have to catch the next plane, so I can go over notes with Mr. Shepherd… about the approach we're going to take when we get there, you know? And it's leaving in just about twenty minutes. I'm late as it is… heavy traffic, and there was a two-car collision which slowed things down to a crawl…"
"Oh, that's all right," Melinda cut in. "I really didn't want to go. I should defrost the refrigerator this weekend." He seemed to like that. Apparently he didn't know that their fridge was the modem kind, self-defrosting.
And how much of the rest of it was true? Was he really going to New York? He had his suitcase. Surely he wouldn't employ such a clumsy lie so he could go shack up with Kathy and rattle that brass bed all weekend? Maybe he was in earnest. Maybe he had a plane to catch and just couldn't wait for her to get packed. Maybe.
"Well, be good," she told him, tiptoeing to kiss his mouth. His lips were dry and cool, stiff where hers touched them. Not at all like the kisses she'd traded with Dave Hammett this afternoon. It was as if Neil had become a different person, one who no longer responded to the woman he had married four years ago. Melinda felt a chill in her body as she looked at her husband's face. She wondered if there was anything left for them.
He hurried to the car, and she stood watching from the doorway. Oh, shit! He wouldn't be home till Sunday. When would she be able to collar him for that necessary conference on his secret life? The knowledge rankled in her bosom. Could she stand a weekend of keeping it there, locked up inside?
Or – and her hands began to shake a little – did it mean anything after all? Neil had cheated on her, lied to her. Perhaps he was lying to her now, gone to a rendezvous with his mistress instead of to a business convention.
She went to the bar and pawed herself a very stiff Canadian-and-water, heavy on Canadian, light on water. It warmed her somewhat, and she had another. While she was sipping the second drink, an idea occurred to Melinda. She finished the drink in a gulp and hurried to the telephone.
The girl handling the reservation desk at the airport confirmed that Mr. and Mrs. Stillman's tickets for New York were all in order, which the plane would be leaving in about half an hour. Melinda felt a cold gorge in liar throat. He'd even lied to her about takeoff time. And a ticket for Mrs. Stillman? Who else could it be but blonde, pert Kathy? The real Mrs. Stillman was sitting in her lonely house, demeaning herself by checking up on an errant husband.
"If he's taken her on the plane with him," Melinda mused, "then he probably has a hotel room for her too." Neil had been a little nonplussed when site mentioned the Plaza. Odds were that he had reservations there. Well, she could find out.
"Yes," said the desk clerk, "the suite for Mr. and Mrs. Stillman is ready."
"Goddamn it to hell!" Melinda snapped as soon as she'd broken the connection. She slammed down the telephone receiver. She and Neil had stayed at the Plaza on their honeymoon four years ago. They'd also stayed there the first time they went to New York, before their marriage. She closed her eyes, remembering the view of Central Park you got from the Plaza. This time of year the Park was gorgeous, the spring leaves beginning to green, flowers dotting colorfully in the grass, kites, sailboats floating across the lake, young couples strolling hand in hand. Not to mention the muggers, the flashers, the soapbox orators, and all the other weirdo's and perverts who made New York Fun City U.S.A.
But. Neil and Kathy wouldn't have time for that vista of Central Park. If the videotape she'd seen was any indication, they would probably spend most of their weekend getting good use out of one of the Plaza's spacious, comfortable beds. At least they didn't shake and rattle the way Kathy's brass bedstead did when it hosted a hearty round of fucking.
Not until she felt nails digging into her palm was Melinda Stillman aware that she had clenched a furious fist, that she was hammering that fist upon her knee. She looked down at it, seeing the white of her bent knuckles.
"What's wrong with me?" she asked herself. "I'm an attractive woman, I'm at the height of my sexuality. But my husband has gone off to spend the weekend in New York with another woman. While I sit here fretting because I didn't get the chance to tell him I know he's an adulterer."
And her hand unclasped then as she tilted her head to one side. She remembered vividly the other night with Neil, when she'd dolled herself up in the hope of seducing him, when she'd failed so miserably. Well, how could she help but fail? He'd spent the early part of the night screwing his Kathy; he had nothing left to give his wife. Anger swept over Melinda in a furious tide.