"Listen to me, DesirЋe," she started to say, then sipped the wine as she thought carefully of her next words. "I'll be frank, for I'm sure that's what you want me to be. Why you came to me."
"Yes, yes, that's right, Helen."
"First of all, you were forced into what you did. You had no other choice. You were lured into it and forced, and no matter what you may think of what you did, you had no other way out. You did the right thing."
"But my…"
Helen held up her hand. "Your feelings, right? What's really bothering you is that you became excited, right?"
DesirЋe again nodded, mute, and twisted the little napkin in her lap.
"Well, pardon me for saying so, but I don't think any woman could have avoided becoming excited. Any full, loving, responsive woman, that is. Now neither one of us is frigid, DesirЋe; both of us make love to our husbands with every cell in our body, and we like to. That's the key to understanding what happened to you, DesirЋe – the fact that we naturally, physically like sex. How could you help not to get hot when their hands were caressing you, their… penises were hard inside you? Hell, I couldn't have, I know that."
"Really?"
"What it boils down to is this: you're a woman first, biologically. Half your body, and mine, is tied in with sex and procreation. Our feelings, emotions, and physiology are regulated by its rhythmic chemistry, and no matter how you try to, you can't deny that fact. You're a wife second, which is an artificial social discipline which is learned, not instinctive. You did what was natural, what your body was intended to do – and while most of our country would not approve nor condone it, you must chalk it up to an unpleasant happening. A mistake, at the most, but never as a sick, warped evil thing."
"But what am I going to do?" wailed DesirЋe.
"Do? Why, you're going to do nothing, DesirЋe. Nothing at all, though I think Sid should know about it so he can make sure there are no political repercussions. You know what I mean."
"Mark…"
"Mark shouldn't be told. Men don't understand about such things, DesirЋe, and might do something rash." She shook her head. "No, best to let things lie as they are. You still love your husband, I'm sure, and while it's been a mental shock, it hasn't hurt you physically. You can respond to your husband and his love just as well as before, and of course, that's what counts in situations such as these."
"You… you really think so?"
"Trust me, DesirЋe," Helen said. She went on for a little while longer, soothingly and with confidence, instilling some reassurance back in the shattered wife, pouring a little more wine, and finally getting DesirЋe to have a sandwich. By ten, DesirЋe Denning was perked up as much as possible. The heavy weight of her sin was like lead between her shoulders, but at least she was able to carry the load now, and not collapse as she was in danger of doing before.
Yes, DesirЋe thought as she moved around the big rooms among the guests, yes, I was right in coming to see Helen. She certainly was a great help, being forthright and blunt, and at the same time showing me that she really was concerned. She was correct in what she had to say, and I will follow her advice.
She was wearing her new summer dress and the guests, those that knew her and those that didn't, were drawn to her lovely appearance as she wandered through the house, looking for Mark. Where was he? It was a pretty dress, a frilly pale-blue sheath with no sleeves or belt, but a matching jacket for evening wear – which she now had on. The hemline was daringly high for her, just below the current "mini" style, allowing her to show off her slim, wonderfully toned legs. At first she had been uncomfortable in the dress, for she didn't have a slip she could wear with it and her only underclothing was her bra and panties, but when she saw herself in the mirror at the clothing store, saw how childlike and innocent it made her look, she couldn't resist it.
Helen Buchanan had been right, DesirЋe once more reminded herself. Telling the older woman her problem had helped. It certainly had. But, she still had terrible upheavals of conscience. Then the comforting words of Helen Buchanan would replay in her mind. You were forced… you did the right thing… no woman could have avoided becoming excited… do nothing… do nothing… they will never come back.
"I love you Mark!" she said to herself as she looked around the huge mansion for him.
The party had been planned on the flight from New York, after the meeting with the cadre of Arabs who were supporting Buchanan on this big deal. They were going halves, and the stakes were enormous. But so were the rewards. Sid had paid bribes to many, many inside men and he had things lined up in volatility and derivative trading. Over a billion dollars controlled by the investment chief for the Palestinian Liberation Organization Khalid al-Mazkum, were to go into this move to corner markets and manipulate the stock exchange in America, to tip the hand of the huge country against Israel and in favor of the PLO. With a death lock on so much American wealth and influence, the forces behind the Arab terrorist organization could change the face of American politics. It was a tremendous coup, and Mark Denning would go into the US Senate at the next election as their man in place. al-Mazkum had been in an expansive mood.
All the organization men hoping to land a piece of the action, Sid Buchanan knew, and their assorted wives and girl friends were at the party now, and it was a swinging affair. Good ol' Khalid, the head man over the PLO banking organization, tossed liquor down his throat and laughter resounded in abundant profusion, belying his plump, round-shouldered brooding appearance. Sid was pleased to be allied with the money and power that Khalid controlled.
Khalid liked Sid's house, which was a replica of a southern plantation home, complete with widow's walk and white pillars along the broad, wide front. It looked like a set out of a grand, cinematic epic, right down to the outbuilding and the horse stables. The garden, about the size of a football field, was more modern: swimming pool and cabana, two tennis courts, and a pond and stream where Sid raised his prize race horses.
Not tonight, though. Tonight DesirЋe was going to stay until the Buchanans put her and Mark to bed. Until the last dog is hung, until the last drink was…
"Marhaba!" came a booming voice, and DesirЋe nearly jumped a foot in the air. "Ahlan wa Sahlan!" Gruff hands went around her waist and a wine-heavy breath seared her neck as al-Mazkum kissed her. "Haw! Haw! I finally meet Denning's beautiful diva wife!" he guffawed, his laugh reminding DesirЋe of a bowling ball bouncing down a flight of stairs. She tried to smile and act as though his kiss had been fun… but it hadn't been. His rubbery lips, his sudden grasp had been too vivid a simile to the Arab's unfamiliar touch.
DesirЋe waited impatiently, for she wanted some sangria; wanted a lot of it, in fact, to dull the building pressure in her head. This party was going to be terrible until she could find Mark, that she could see – but not as terrible as the silent nightmare that had thrown a shadow over her happiness.
Mrs. Stone – "Just call me Vickie" – delivered two brimming tumblers of the ruby liquid and DesirЋe drank deeply. The sangria was pleasant tasting, very refreshing, with a combination sweet-tart taste hard to identify. A fruit punch? No… the fruit taste was in the background, DesirЋe thought as she ran her tongue around her lips. A wine base, plus… what? She finished her glass in three more swallows, excused herself to find Mark – where was he!? – and the Stones who were both listening intently, and walked over to the large cut-crystal punch bowl.