Nobody else could touch. Well, it was true now, even if it hadn't been true until maybe half an hour ago. Oh, forget it! That part of her life was totally ended. She had the future to consider now. And part of that future consisted of Kerry's upcoming promotion. He'd been coy and mum on the subject after coming home, even when she pressed him, but she suspected that the announcement would be made at the party tonight. "How about the big shots from New York?" she smirked, rubbing her tits and crotch against him. "What will they think of me?"
Kerry grinned. "Some of 'em might give you a second look. Some might not. Hey!" He slapped her ass playfully. "We'd better haul ass if we want to get there in time."
Pam squealed, just as playfully, and she wished they could merely strip off what clothes they'd already put on, pile into the bed, and fuck their brains out for the rest of the night. But if they had to go to the Goddamned party, then go they would.
The party was at the home of Mr. Murdock, the plant superintendent. It was a lovely house, in the most sedate section of the community, a stone-built Colonial with Grecian columns at the front. "We'll have a place like this someday," Kerry told Pam as they pulled up in front. He stroked hey leg, from knee to crotch, and again she wished they could skip this social engagement.
"Let's pay for our own house first," she suggested, sighing wistfully as he took away his hand and went around to open her door. Together, they entered the house.
There was a large, high-ceilinged ballroom on the ground floor, and in it the guests were congregated. Kerry took her around, introducing her to Mr. and Mrs. Murdock, other dignitaries from the plant, and to a couple of representatives from the New York offices. Pam had wondered if her outfit wasn't a little too disco-modern for this sort of party – after all, the other women were mostly wearing party pantsuits or sedate cocktail dresses – but without exception the men's eyes brightened at the sight of her, and each man who shook her hand seemed very reluctant to let it go.
"Was that the big shot?" Pam whispered as they moved past one of the New York people. "The one who's going to give you the upward mobility?"
Kerry shook his head. "No, these are just small fish. Actually, you'd be surprised to see who was in charge of the delegation the main office sent down. Rig business is supposed to be a man's game, you always seem to think, but – oh, come on!"
A tall, russet-haired woman stood at the far side of the room, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other. She had her back to Kerry and Pam, but there was something about the way she stood that rang a tantalizing chord of memory in Pam.
"Dianne," Kerry said, and the woman turned, smiling. Pam felt the blood rushing out of her head, going to God knew where. She was dizzy, or so she felt, and one of her feet dragged as Kerry led her on. She didn't want to take another step. She wanted to turn around, to run out the door, to go home, and hide under her bed for the rest of her life.
"Dianne," Kerry repeated as they stopped in front of the woman, "I'd like you to meet my wife Pamela. Pam, honey, this is Dianne. She is our fairy godmother, you might say."
"Hello, Pam," said Ms. Hagen, offering her hand. "It's nice to meet you."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dianne Hagen leaned in to kiss Kerry on the cheek. Or so it would have appeared to anyone watching from a distance. But Pam was close enough to see the woman's lips brush quickly across Kerry's mouth, and she was close enough to see a slight flush spread across her husband's face. Turning, the woman looked Pam up and down with amused green eyes.
"You must be very proud of your husband," she said. "It's not very often that the Company decides to elevate a blue-collar man to the executive suites. Only when it's a blue-collar man as qualified and deserving as Kerry. How do you feel, on the verge of becoming Mrs. Assistant Superintendent, Pam?"
So. The promotion was official. But, God, to hear it from those lips – the lips she'd spent all afternoon kissing!
Pam looked at the woman, visualizing that body as she'd seen it this afternoon. And she could remember everything now hidden under the velvet trouser suit Ms. Hagen wore – the small hard breasts with their small hard nipples, the tiny navel, slender hips and legs, the russet patch of fur between the upper thighs, the cunt – oh, God, the cunt! – that was a narrow, tight-mouthed red slice in the midst of that puff of hair. As surely as Ms. Hagen must now be recalling Pam's own body. Jesus, there was no mistaking the meaning in those green eyes. They were cool, calculating, totally in control of the situation, and Pam knew that in another moment she'd be sick, dreadfully sick.
Ms. Hagen was holding one of. Kerry's hands, talking to him in a light, casual voice while her eyes focused on Kerry's wife, and Pam felt a gnawing anxiety. Was her reformation all for nothing? Would Ms. Hagen, in another moment, mention in that same casual tone, "Oh, by the way, I met the most darling call girl today. You lucky devil, I had to pay a hundred and fifty dollars for the rental of her body, but you get her for free, any time you want!"
But she didn't. Instead, she took a step toward Pam and said, "That's a lovely outfit, Pamela. Oh, Kerry, dear, would you get me a refill, please? Irish and soda. I'd like to toast your advancement in the Company."
And then they were alone, but Pam didn't want to be alone with Dianne Hagen. Before Kerry could return with the drinks, she said, "Excuse me, there's something I have to do." And site moved away, as fast as decorum would permit.
"Pam," called Ms. Hagen, but Pam wasn't listening and she certainly wasn't going back to find out what Dianne wanted. A maid at the snack table directed her upstairs to one of the bathrooms and she hurried up the stain, barely able to hold back tears of shame and fright.
She'd been in the bathroom for about ten minutes when she heard a knocking on the door. The sound was an intrusion upon her thoughts, but her thoughts were so terrible that intrusion was almost welcome. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into with that ridiculous, adolescent thrill-seeking? She'd prostituted herself to the lusts of Christ knew how many different men and, today – oh, God, today – she'd really done it. She'd gone to bed with the female executive who was handling her husband's promotion. Oh, Lord, why couldn't she have given up afternoon whoring yesterday, instead of today? Why hadn't she simply walked out when she found that her final client was a woman, not a man? Why had she ever gotten started in the first place? So many questions, and there were no fortheoming answers to any of them.
Again the knocking. Pam wiped her nose with a tissue. "Just a minute," she said. "I'll be finished in a minute."
The door opened and Dianne Hagen stepped into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and fiddled a moment with its lock. "There," she said. "Now we shouldn't be disturbed."
"Don't come in here," Pam said weakly. "Please, I'm already in," Dianne replied. "But with us, that's nothing new, is it, Patricia darling? God, I forgot! It's Pamela, not Patricia. Pamela Wilson, Patricia Wright. Not a very original name-change, but then, most people choosing aliases tend to stick with their own initials. Darling, you can't imagine how astonished I was to see you a few moments ago. And as Kerry's wife, no less!"
Pam backed against the sink cabinet. "Please don't come any closer. I'd really like to be alone, if it's okay with you."
"Being alone isn't good for you," Dianne purred, sidling against Pam. The hard breasts grazed Pam's arm, and the dark-haired young wife shivered. She stood almost six feet tall in her heels tonight, but she felt like a dwarf about to be stepped on by an elephant.
Not that Dianne resembled an elephant. Far from it. She was slender and lithe, and she moved like a cat, and very feline, too, was the glow in her green eyes, the curiously triumphant cast of her smile. She smelled of subtle, expensive perfume, and her body heat seemed to make the entire bathroom suddenly very warm, very steamy. Pam's lungs tightened and breathing became an act of great difficulty.