And then she cried again. She had done something terrible, as bad or worse than what she had done at Clete's office, on his hard desk, with that horrible, disgusting videotape playing. The tape she had stolen and destroyed because it could be used to destroy Mark's political career and her life with him.
But now, there was another tape, or tapes, and those young men had them, and the danger was renewed. Of her, fucking wildly with two men at once that could definitely destroy Mark, and she was frightened to death that Buchanan would find out. She was a liability to her beloved husband now and if Buchanan found out somehow it would put everything in the toilet. She went over all the possible ways of dealing with the situation. Mark could not know, no way. No way could he find out that she had had sexual intercourse with two young men at once and then with Clete as well. But if he found out how she had been unfaithful, he would demand to know all the details, which were much too nauseating to contemplate.
However, perhaps Sid Buchanan, the fixer par excellence, or his wife Helen would be able to help. He would not demand details and she was sure that he would consider it expedient to help cover the matter up rather than expose it to Mark. No, as a political manipulator, he would not do or say anything to break up the young couple. Yes, he would be a friend to her.
Had she had total recall of what had happened last time she had been in this house, she would never have considered bringing her problem to Buchanan, but her own doctor's secret hypnotic suggestion had wiped clear memory of her last experience here from her mind. She had no memory of that that came to her mind right now, so she rationalized that she could trust him.
DesirЋe drove up the circular drive and parked in front of the wide verandah. The scarlet bougainvillea entwined around the latticework. The statue was of a small, brightly clad Negro jockey, forever offering a ring to tie one's horse's reins to. DesirЋe passed the statue and stepped to the front door.
Buchanan's third wife Helen answered the door. She was dressed in a striped silk sheath with a white leather belt around her slender waist. She was so elegant and held a cooling drink in her hand. She said, smiling, "Come in, DesirЋe. So good of you to come."
"Thank you, Helen." DesirЋe stepped in the house.
"The festivities are in full swing out in back," Helen continued, walking down the hall. DesirЋe followed, clutching her purse nervously. They went from the hall through a sitting room filled with furniture of the Empire period, then through a pantry and out into the backyard. All around, people of wealth and power were enjoying themselves with food, drink, and conversation.
The backyard was mottled with shafts of sunshine intermingling with areas of shade. The courtyard behind the huge mansion was covered with more lattice, hardy grape and honeysuckle vines growing around and through the slats. Helen sat down in a lawn chair and waved her hand to the one next to it, indicating for DesirЋe to sit down as well. The glass-topped table before them had a platter of canapЋs on it, a condiment dish piled with pickles and olives, and an earthenware pitcher filled with wine.
DesirЋe first looked at the food. She wasn't at all hungry, but she knew that she would have to eat so as to not offend Helen. Then she looked out on the broad expanse of lawn and thought how peaceful, how serene and healthy it was. Not at all like the sickness that pervaded her inner being at that moment and made her quiver with a desire to die. She was suddenly brought back to reality by a gentle touch of fingers on her shoulder.
Startled, she looked around at Helen, who was frowning slightly with concern. The wife of her husband's boss was saying, "… haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?"
Miserably, DesirЋe shook her head. "I'm… sorry, Helen."
"You haven't been yourself since you arrived. Aren't you feeling well? The flu perhaps?"
"No… no," came the choked response. "I'm fine. Really."
"No, you're not. I can tell, DesirЋe." There was a long pause, then, a silence that was louder than shouted words. DesirЋe didn't know what to say, how to begin, or if she even dared. She had had the courage to come, and she knew that Helen was indeed the friend she had hoped she would be, but now, confronted with the awful confession, she wasn't sure she had the strength. Helen was obviously baffled and unsure of what to say, but finally, the woman leaned forward and placed her manicured fingers over DesirЋe's and said: "I think you've got something you want to talk to me about. It's weighing heavily on you, DesirЋe. Tell me. Get it off your chest. It'll do you good."
"I… I," stammered DesirЋe, "I've been with another man."
"Really?" Helen sat back. "Another man, hmm?"
Was that a smile DesirЋe saw forming on Helen's lips? No, it couldn't be… but even if it was such an unexpected response, DesirЋe couldn't have stopped the torrent of words that now tumbled from her throat. The dam had been broken, and from her tortured soul came all of the gruesome details about her seduction. She left little out as she poured forth her agony to the other woman, and wept copious tears openly as she confessed.
DesirЋe could only refer to Clete as the sheriff, unable to speak his name much as ancient Jews were not allowed to utter the name of their God, the Nameless One. It was as if to name the man would bring him forth from the shadows of the evening. Nor could DesirЋe detail what perverted acts she had been forced to do with the two young abductors, glossing over it quickly. Above all, she was completely silent on the subject of her own arousal, of her apparent enjoyment of the systematic rape of her purity.
But everything else she placed before Helen Buchanan, like a horribly sculpted gargoyle complete of substance and shadow. The sex… the filming. Especially the filming, the rolling video cameras recording it all. Everything kept revolving, kept returning to the uses – the abuses – of the video camera.
When she was done, she dropped her head in a symbolic act of supplication, of awaiting judgment. Her blouse and skirt were wet with her tears, and her golden, bell-like voice was almost hoarse with her wracking sobs.
The first thing Helen did was to pour DesirЋe a glass of wine. "Here, drink this," she commanded, and even though the distraught young wife refused, she persevered and finally DesirЋe haltingly swallowed some of the ruby liquid. It did make her feel better, she had to admit, as she set the glass down.
Then Helen looked DesirЋe in the eye and said, "One thing more. Did you enjoy it?"
"Helen!" DesirЋe was taken full aback, her eyes wide with horror.
"I must know in order to get a full, clear perspective of the situation, DesirЋe. Forgive me for being so blunt, but it's only between us girls." She leaned forward. "Now… did you? Even a little bit?"
Blushing a color as scarlet as the bougainvillea out front, DesirЋe Denning first stared with frozen shock. Then, trembling and biting her lower lip, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded affirmatively. There was no use trying to cover it up, no way in which she could bury the awful truth about herself, and it was harder to admit it to herself than to Helen.
"Yes," she moaned. "At… at first I loathed their… attentions. But… but in all honesty, I have to confess I… began to like it." She twisted in her chair, then looked at Helen, wetness blurring her vision. "But only a little bit, Helen," she lied. "Only a little bit, and when it was over and I'd collected my senses, I was sick about it!"
"Yes, yes, I understand," Helen said in a soothing voice. She then poured herself a little more wine and sighed. She thought of the best way of handling the matter, of trying to calm the near hysterical girl so that a greater crisis would be averted. She could almost picture the scandal it would cause if it was publicly known, and she had the inherent knowledge of a shrewd woman that such publicity could easily spread to herself and Sid, and Sid's political machine, for DesirЋe being in the frame of mind that she was in, could break apart and tell everything. Everything, including the business about Mark's association with Buchanan and their involvement in politics.