"I want you for my wife! I really do!" Matt insisted, practically sweeping her off her feet. She knew she should have been offended. Here was a man who'd raped her. And now he was asking her hand in marriage. It was crazy! It was absurd!
One month later they were married at the university chapel in front of their immediate families and close friends. There was something gentle, yet overwhelmingly powerful about Matt that finally led Diane to accept his proposal. There was also something in her that responded even favorably to that brutal rape in the Sculpture Gardens. That was something she didn't understand and didn't want to explore. All she knew then was that she was in love with Matt Hathaway and wanted to be his wife.
Their marriage went along well for the first five years. Matt went on for his master's in Art History, then his doctorate, while Diane taught part-time at a local Catholic girls' school. When he received his Ph.D., he managed to land a teaching job at USC. Money and status came quickly. But then something went wrong. Diane didn't know exactly what it was. But things started to take a nasty turn in their marriage. Matt started coming home later and later, oftentimes not staggering into the bedroom until dawn. Diane was sure that he was having an affair and often asked him about it. But then he started getting violent, sometimes hitting her and shouting that she should keep her big mouth shut.
Gradually, the blonde learned not to ask Matt about anything. Now, in the eighth year of the marriage, there was a kind of uneasy truce between the two of them. Though they slept in the same bed still, Matt hardly touched her any more. And Diane was grateful for that. His lovemaking was brutal and overbearing, resembling a wrestling or boxing match more than an enjoyable fuck session. But most of the time Matt just came home whenever he wanted to and collapsed exhausted onto the mattress. She'd often thought about divorce. But in spite of everything, Diane hoped that they could still salvage something out of their marriage.
"Diane. You know the way Matt treats you, you really should try to cultivate something like that," Sharon whispered to her as Diane slipped her sweater on.
"Sharon! Don't! You know I wouldn't cheat on Matt!" Diane said under her breath as she bent down and picked up the box of pamphlets that lay on the couch.
"Why not? He does it to you," Sharon said softly.
"Please," Diane pleaded, fighting back the hot tears that sprang to her eyes.
"I'm sorry, honey. But you've got to face the facts. I asked you to come here to get your mind off your problems. But look at what's come your way," Sharon said sympathetically, nodding toward Jack Moore.
"I'm not footloose and single like you, Sharon," Diane said, glancing over at Jack Moore and feeling her nipples tightening up and pressing against the stiff material of her cotton blouse.
"You don't have to be single to enjoy something like that, honey," Sharon said, pressing Diane's right arm as she walked toward the door to say good-bye to some departing women.
Diane looked around and saw that she'd forgotten her box of jewelry samples. This whole affair had been Sharon's idea from the start.
Sharon Dennis was Diane's best friend and sympathized with her concerning her marital problems. Diane had quit her job at the girls' school several months ago and was lying around the house, just feeling sorry for herself. Sharon was a part-time distributor for Jackson's Jewelry Products and convinced Diane that she should come over to her home one time for a demonstration party. Diane kept refusing, feeling a little ridiculous at the idea of her becoming something like an Avon lady. But after Matt's latest blow-up, the blonde decided that she had to do something, or she'd wind up slicing her wrists open. This was the first time she'd been over at Sharon's for this kind of gathering, and already she was sucked in. But with someone like Jack Moore staring at you like that while he talked, who wouldn't give in to his sales pitch?
"Uh, Mr. Moore. My samples?" Diane asked hesitatingly as Jack was explaining something to two plump, middle-aged women in blonde wigs.
"Of course. And here's my card in case you need me for anything," Jack said, handing a foot-square box to Diane and smiling meaningfully at her.
"Thank you," she murmured, refusing to look back at him as she tucked the box of samples and the box of pamphlets under her arm and walked toward the door. She could feel Jack's eyes burning the back of her neck as she said good-bye to Sharon and stepped out into the warm night air. Matt wouldn't be home. That thought ran around and around in her mind as she walked quickly to her car. In a way, it was a blessing. At least there wouldn't be any fighting and shouting to amuse the neighbors with again.
Diane unlocked the car door and placed the two boxes in the rear seat. Sliding in quickly, she slammed the door shut, then inserted the key into the ignition.
"Damn!" Diane muttered as the engine refused to turn over.
"Trouble, Diane?" Sharon called out from the doorway as she folded her arms tightly across her belly.
"I can't get this thing going!" Diane shouted back after she rolled down the window.
"Just a sec," Sharon said brightly, turning around and walking back into her house. Diane sighed deeply and waited. There'd be towing charges, then anything the garage decided to slap onto her. Matt used to take care of things like this for her. Now, she was on her own.
"Let me try," Diane heard a deep, masculine voice roll out suddenly next to her. She turned around and saw that it was Jack Moore, bending down and peering at her from outside the car.
"I think it's dead," Diane said mindlessly as she slid over to the passenger's side. Jack climbed in and tried to get the engine to turn over. After several attempts, he jumped out and walked to the front of the car and raised the hood.
"Looks like somebody walked off with your starter," Jack said after several minutes of examining the engine.
"What?" Diane cried out, sliding out and running over to Jack. She peered into the dark pit and smelled the stale odor of gasoline and burnt oil. There was a gaping hole to the right of the big engine, and several wires dangled loosely into it. "Who? Why?"
"Kids, probably," Jack said, shaking his head and slamming the hood. "Say, I kind of feel responsible for this. Could I give you a lift home?"
The words rang out like a cannon shot in Diane's ear. What woman in that living room wouldn't have sold her own children for an opportunity like this?
"I don't want to put you out of your way, Mr. Moore. I'm sure Sharon…"
"Don't think about it. I'm not doing anything more tonight. Come on," Jack said, smiling broadly at her as he took her by the arm and led her back to the door. Diane grabbed her samples and walked briskly toward Jack's 1976 Monte Carlo while the big man explained what had happened to Sharon. The blonde glanced quickly at her friend and saw Sharon smirking as Jack explained the situation.
The bitch! If she thinks that I'm going to do anything… Diane thought to herself, throwing the samples in the rear seat of the big black car, then sliding into the passenger's side. But then she couldn't finish the sentence. As she sat there nervously twiddling her thumbs and waiting for Jack, Diane couldn't really tell herself that she wasn't hoping for something to happen between her and the salesman. All the frustration and disillusion that had been building up in her marriage seemed to be breaking loose all of a sudden. She felt adventurous and horny tonight. And there was this vital, big man coming up to the car. Her husband wouldn't be home for hours. As Jack opened the car door and slid in, Diane dug her fingernails into her palms as she tried to quiet herself down.
"Okay, where do you live?" Jack asked as he started the car and backed out of Sharon's drive.
"Just a few blocks down that way," Diane said, forcing her voice to be steady and even as she pointed down the street.