Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (43 page)

When at last he allowed her to dress, neither of them noticed the small dark red stain her bleeding anus had deposited on the bed sheet. He produced a large envelope from his attaché case. “There's a check in here for $5,000, just as I promised,” he said as he presented the hard won prize. “The storyboards for the next two television commercials are in there too. Start working on them."

Driving back to Tanglewood, she expected to feel dirty. She didn't, but she did not like being treated as if she was a piece of his personal property, and she resolved to find a way to either change his approach or get revenge. Either way, she would keep doing whatever was necessary until she became an established commercial artist. She regretted only that she had told Bo about the $5,000 and she promised herself not to reveal the exact amount of future commissions.

Betty was just leaving the small frame house in Winston when Big Willie drove up.

“Thought I'd run home and get a shower before heading back to the hospital,” he explained.

“How is Louise today?” Betty asked.

“She's in right much pain. They told her about the probable paralysis this morning. She didn't take it well,” he replied.

“Do the doctors think the paralysis is permanent?"

“Yeah. The surgeon tried to knit the nerves back together. He says its up to mother nature now, but he is not optimistic."

“I need to get on back and fix Bo's supper,” she explained as she moved towards her car. “I left you a big bowl of beef stew and some dinner rolls in the kitchen. Just pop it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. I make it with a lot of vegetables and broth. I think you'll like it."

Big Willie waved goodbye and opened the front door, noting that Betty had not locked it on her way out. He glanced around appreciatively at the immaculate living room. Bo has him a good one, he thought as he moved to the den to check his e-mail. There were two messages.

hi big willie. this is bo. tad is teaching me to use e-mail. he says most people don't use capital letters in e-mail but it looks funny. i hate to tell you this but things are going great at tanglewood. i got through at 4:30 today. the extra help helps. i hope louise is better today. betty said that after work she was going to take you some of the beef stew we had last night and clean your house a little. mr. hathaway said the courses look good to him. tad thinks you might want to use e-mail to give me instructions. he says you have a computer at home. i'll check it every morning and at night before i leave. tad and i are going to play a few holes now. wouldn't it be something if i beat him?

Big Willie did have some instructions for Bo. He clicked the “reply” icon, typed out his message and clicked it on its way. Then he clicked on the remaining waiting message, the one he dreaded, but expected, from Sarasue. He glanced at the message, decided to read it, unzipped his pants and grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the table.

Hi honey. I'm sorry to hear about Louise. I know you love her and that's okay with me. You let me get my tongue in her dark twat and you may discover she's not the prude you think she is. Picture this. Louise and I are on the bed and you are watching. I am kissing and fondling her. She does not participate, but she does not resist either. I begin to slowly undress her, fondle her chocolate breasts, kiss them and suck them. Louise begins to moan in spite of herself. When I begin to peel off her panties she says no, but does not resist. I rub her pussy a little and she moans some more. Don't stop she says when I pause to strip. I gently draw her hands to my boobs. Her slender fingers spider my tits. I press my lips to hers, run my tongue into her mouth. She moans. In disbelief you see her tongue touch mine and then disappear inside my mouth while I begin to masturbate her. She holds on to my head as I kiss down her body and then go to work on her clit. You see her thrashing about on the bed, moaning, groaning and then crying out as the orgasm hits her. You watch me gently draw her head to my left tit. You watch her suck my nipple. You can't stand it. You tear off your clothes and join us, but which one will you fuck?

Good night, big guy. Was it as good for you as it was for me?

When his pulse rate returned to normal, Big Willie flushed the soaked tissues down the toilet and carefully washed himself. As he put the bowl of beef stew in the microwave he thought, Man, she can write good dirty stuff. As the stew heated, the aroma of cooked onions filled the kitchen, causing his mouth to salivate. He ate the delicious stew quickly, thinking alternately of his never seen on-line lover and his suffering wife of nearly thirty years. He tore apart the last roll and soaked up the remaining broth from the bowl. He decided he couldn't stop Sarasue from writing and he would read the stuff, but never again would he reply to her. Eventually she would get bored and move on to another pen pal. With the last morsel of bread, he rubbed every sign of the stew from his bowl. “Damn,” he laughed out loud, “that bowl looks so clean I could just put it back into the cabinet."

He washed it anyway and checked his watch. It was after seven and Louise was expecting him. As he hurried out of the house, he saw the computer was still on and connected to the Internet. Before starting the shutdown process, he noticed the exclamation mark in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, indicating that he had a new message. He brought it up and read quickly.

Mr. Donaldson,

I want to thank you again for the time you spent with our group from Dot. We were most impressed with Tanglewood and with you. I have tried repeatedly to contact you by telephone, both at your office and at home. Finally someone named Bo answered your office telephone and told me of the tragedy involving your wife. He gave me your e-mail address. My prayers are with you and Mrs. Donaldson during this difficult time.

I know this is not the time to discuss business, but please call me as soon as you are comfortable in doing so. I want to discuss with you the possibility of your becoming the club pro at our new golf complex.

Sincerely,

Matt Dilson

Big Willie drove his old Ford pickup back to the hospital, but he felt as if he were floating on fleecy white clouds.

“How'd it go with your advertising man? Did he like your stuff?” Bo asked as they ate dinner in the doublewide.

“He liked my stuff,” she replied, showing him a bank deposit slip.

“Damn,” he exclaimed in admiration. “You keep that up and I can quit my job and become a housewife."

“Househusband,” she corrected.

He laughed. “Whatever. I had a good day too."

“What happened?” she asked, pretending to be interested.

“I had the day planned carefully. Everybody showed up and I gave each one a written schedule—a checklist Tad calls it. They all completed everything on their lists and we were finished by four thirty. The new guys are working out great. I hope we can keep them after Big Willie gets back."

He interrupted his story to help Betty clear the table.

“I did some cleaning at Big Willie's and he came home just as I was leaving. He said Louise had a bad day. The doctors told her she would probably be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of her life."

“God, that's awful. How is Big Willie holding up?"

“He seems resigned to whatever happens."

Betty was wearing an old tee shirt and shorts. As she began to wash dishes, Bo pressed against her backside, reached around and fondled her breasts. Discovering she was not wearing a bra, he pulled the shirt up to her armpits and kneaded her naked flesh. She clamped her teeth together to avoid crying out when he touched her bruised nipple.

God, she thought as she felt his growing erection pressing against her buttocks, he's so much bigger than Max.

“Since I finished so early, Tad offered to play nine holes with me,” Bo continued. “He had a 34—2 under par, and I had a 45—even bogey."

Betty knew what par meant, but she had no idea of the definition of bogey. “Is that good?” she asked as he pulled down her shorts.

“Damn right, it's good. Tad said it was great for my first time on the course. I'll have to confess he let me cheat a few times—'improve the lie’ or ‘foot-wedge’ as they call it. Big Willie would be mad as hell if he knew I played that way."

“I'm proud of you,” she said automatically and without conviction as she rinsed the last dish and stepped out of the panties he had pulled to her feet. “I thought you didn't like Tad, but the two of you seem to be buddies now."

“Betty,” he said, standing up and looking at the underwear in his hands. “You're bleeding."

She glanced at the panties. “It's just spotting,” she said. “Happens all the time.” She turned and pressed her body against him and invaded his willing mouth with her tongue.

“Are you in Charlotte, Max?” Betty asked as she balanced the telephone receiver between her cheek and shoulder while making change for a customer entering the park.

“No, Betty, I'm at the Ramada Inn in Clemmons again—same room, 128."

She took a deep breath while waving through the gate a car displaying a permanent pass. “I'm not coming."

“What the hell do you mean you're not coming?"

“I made a mistake two weeks ago. You turned me into a whore. My obsession with quick money turned me into a whore. Whatever. I've had time to think about it. If I can't succeed on the basis of talent, I'll accept failure."

“Bitch. We made a deal. You get your skinny ass over here or I'll let your husband and the people at Tanglewood know what a slut you really are."

“I can't stop you from doing that, Max. But neither can you stop me from letting your wife know about you."

Betty knew she should have hung up at that point, but she didn't. She had rolled the dice and wanted to know instantly whether she won the gamble or would have to capitulate. There was a long silence. Then he laughed.

“You win,” he said. “Have you worked on the other sketches?"

She rolled the dice again. “I've finished them all, but they're not for sale—not to you anyway."

“Look, I said you've won. Betty, the car dealer loves the promotion. The TV spot doesn't start running until next week, but he's already ordered a second video commercial."

“Congratulations.” She grinned wickedly, amazed that her plan was working so perfectly.

“I can do the thing without your new art. Can you afford to let this opportunity pass?"

“If you want to buy the caricatures and nothing else, you can come by here and pick them up."

“Okay, but I have the commercial video and a VCR with me. I thought you'd want to see the finished work."

The grin faded. She had not anticipated a chance to see the commercial. She did want to see it, but she said nothing, trying to buy a little time to think.

“Betty, come over on your lunch hour. I swear I won't touch you. You've made your point and I accept it. You can have your cake and eat it too."

His offer sounded sincere, but she still said nothing.

“Okay, then. I'll come by the gatehouse in a few minutes, pick up your work and leave the tape with you. Okay?"

“We don't have a TV.” She paused. She won. Why press it? “I'll come over there."

She was delighted to see her caricatures on the television screen and was surprised to see the cartoon figure dancing and it's mouth moving as it spoke.

“Computer animation,” Max explained. “They scanned in your caricatures and then used their software to make them move."

“But if they can do that, why do they need additional poses from me?” she asked.

“I'm not exactly sure,” he replied. “It has to do with facial expressions and spatial poses that the software can duplicate, but not create.” He clicked the rewind button on the remote control. “Want to see it again?"

“One more time,” she laughed.

He stood behind her chair as the third viewing neared its end and placed his hands on her shoulders. She jumped up, but he anticipated the move, grabbed and pulled her to him while twisting and forcing her left arm behind her. She felt her arm was on the verge of snapping in his strong grip and ended her resistance.

He pressed his lips to hers, pulled open her uniform jacket and jammed his hand inside her shirt. She turned her face away. “Max, you promised."

He found her lips again and thrust his tongue inside her mouth. His hand slid inside her bra and massaged her left breast. She felt her nipple growing taunt and her juices beginning to flow. “Max, this is rape,” she said when she managed to again break the kiss.

He yanked his hand out of her shirt while at the same time recapturing her mouth. He unbuckled her belt, unfastened and unzipped her pants. His hand slid down her belly, inside her panties and found her moist vagina. When she felt his finger on her clitoris, she began moving her hips involuntarily.

This time he broke the kiss. “You tell me you don't like this and I'll let you go."

She remained silent until the orgasm passed. “I'll make a deal with you,” she said coldly. “Let go of me."

He released her. “I'm listening,” he said.

“I'll be damned if I know why you are so interested in me sexually,” she began, “but I don't share the interest. Your dick is as small as your little finger. I can't even tell when you're inside me."

He winced noticeably. She expected him to hit her, but he didn't.

“There must to be something in it for me, and I'm not talking about money,” she continued. “When you need artwork done, I'll do it and you'll pay me a fair price like you promised. Okay?"

“I'm still listening."

“When you want sex, we do it my way, not yours. I'm the master. You're the slave. I call the shots—not the other way around. You obey my every command without hesitation. Do you understand me?"

“I understand, and I agree."

She was surprised, but pressed her advantage. “First, are you going to buy my new artwork?"

“I think we can use all ten,” he responded. “I'll have to let my people make the final decision. I'll send you a check in the mail."