Clarence Tydings

The unfaithful girlfriend

CHAPTER ONE

Though it was scarcely thirty minutes into twilight, darkness was beginning to settle thickly over the city of New York, and night's sudden approach was nowhere more apparent than by the fountain in Central Park. But the sudden encroachment of darkness was halted this particular evening, and the well-manicured lawns of the park, still bearing the traces of summer green well into September, were brightly lighted with a half dozen carbon arcs, their bluish smoke-streams faintly trailing out behind them as they cast a daylight-bright glow onto the trio of fashion models being led through their practiced motions by one of the city's leading ad agency creative directors, Marty Felder. And mingled in with the crowd of curious passers-by and agency hangers on were two young people who viewed the fascinating scenario of television color commercials being created with particular interest, Jessica Richards and her boyfriend, Phillip Wright, had not chanced on this happening-in-the-Park; their presence had been carefully calculated, right down to the cost of the subway that brought them here from Jessica's aunt's brownstone house down near the Village. Actually, the scheming was more of Jessica's doing than of Phillip's, for she alone had a real and clearly defined reason for being present when Marty Felder put his models through their paces. Jessica, too, was a model; at least, she'd studied successfully with one of the east's top modeling schools and had been through the necessary requisites of fifteen dollar modeling assignments and posing for the mandatory badge of the modeling profession, the portfolio of stills every girl lugged from agency to agency until she found just that right break that tossed her into the hundred dollar an hour league and splashed her features across the country's biggest magazines. But Jessica Richards had not yet discovered that break, though she'd tried as diligently and determinedly as any girl in New York, and Marty Felder offered her the one shortcut available. But it was a painful shortcut she dreaded to take, one that would destroy everything between her and Phillip if he were to find out.

It was a week ago today, almost exactly to the minute, when she'd finally managed an interview with the heavy, beady eyed Felder in his plush paneled offices on the thirteenth floor of a Madison Avenue skyscraper. Phillip, true to their long-standing rules of job-hunting, had waited outside on the avenue; he'd finished his own round of agency visits before noon, unsuccessful for the third week running in his hunt for an art opening where he could use his New York School of Fine Arts training better than at the bargain-basement department store advertising department he'd just quit. Most of the agency people had already cleared their desks and gone back to Connecticut and Long Island when Felder remembered his four-thirty appointment still sitting in his reception office, and with a flourish of obviously contrived courtesy, ushered her in for a quick cursory glance at her well-traveled portfolio, now slightly the worse for wear from being dragged from one agency to another, from modeling house to advertising agency to television package producers to network casting offices.

Marty Felder proved to be a man incapable of beating around the bush; but neither did he fail to choose his words oh-so-carefully, with the polished subtlety of a man long accustomed to propositioning eager young girls who searched him out in their quest for modeling success. He was just obvious enough to make his point, even with the paddle-headed adolescent he mistakenly thought she was; subtle enough to avoid being hauled into court by some sly, recorder-carrying golddigger, in case his long-perfect appraisal of his young job-seeker proved grossly incorrect.

"It's easy to go a long way in this business, Miss Richards," he had smoothly purred that late afternoon, "It just depends on your looks, which you've obviously got, and your, uh…" – he paused here dramatically for a long, slow exploratory assessment of every rich full swell and hollow of her five-and-three-quarters feet, obviously impressed with the fullness and maturity nineteen years had brought to his blonde guest – "… cooperation," he continued finally, after satisfying himself, apparently, that the ripely blossoming teenager sitting before him was worth a few minutes of his busy day. She sat uncomfortably in silence for a few moments, while Felder retraced with his eyes his hungry path over her bulging knit sweater and matching belted hot pants, coursing down over her young body, following the rippling wave of her luxuriant, rich blonde hair as it spilled over the ripe swells of her breasts like sparkling water over polished stone. She had managed a feeble, stammering reply to his unveiled proposition, a proposition of her own that she'd have to think about his terms. Jessica had surprised even herself with her unabashed frankness that day, for she had never had to face such an enigmatic obstacle before. Until then, it was always a no, yes or nothing for her career as far as he was concerned…

***

Marty Felder glanced up from his crouching position, where he was squinting into a Minolta spot-type lightmeter the photographer was holding toward the carefully-poised form of Gloria Annenburg, an Austrian import who was one of Felder's discoveries and who, Madison Avenue legend has it, occupies a bedroom suite of her own in his mid-town penthouse, available at any hour to satisfy the terms of her meteoric success in a most unique manner. He spotted Jessica, smiled openly, then visibly cooled as he checked out the dimensions of her escort. For though only twenty one, Phillip Wright was excellently built, broad through the shoulders and chest, but with a slim tapered waist that evidenced his morning three-mile runs and high-protein diet. Phillip determined long ago that, while he was definitely an artist, it wasn't necessary to effect that gaunt, teetering-at-starvation's-door appearance so many of his contemporaries seemed to carry like an identification card of their trade.

Jessica excused herself by telling Phillip, quite truthfully, that she had to deliver a message to Mr. Felder.

She moved forward through the curiously-staring crowd, elbowing past a couple of elderly ladies in true New Yorker fashion, a tactic she'd managed to learn, though California was her real home. At the crowd's edge was a taut, heavy rope, carefully placed just far enough back to keep prying hands from the thousands of dollars worth of expensive equipment. As Jessica started to lift the restraining rope, one of the agency's hired private police hurried to intercept her; he was a frightfully old, rather rheumatic gentleman, unusually absurd in the blue uniform of the law. He looked as though he could possibly, and only possibly, be a marshal in a retirement home.

"Sorry, Miss. This is as far as you can go. These people have city permission," he said as if he expected her to question their legality. "You'll have to stay behind the line with all the others."

Jessica smiled brightly, unruffled, "I'm a friend of Mr. Felder." The geriatric officer looked puzzled, "You know, the man over there… the one who hired you."

The uniformed guard looked in the direction of the cameras and operating lights, remembering finally that there was, indeed, a Mr. Felder running the show. Marty caught his eye and signaled an okay.

"Thank you ever so much," said Jessica cheerily as me old man held the rope high enough for her to walk through without bending.

The heavily perspiring Felder nodded and smiled thinly at her approach, sending one of his mini-clad secretaries off to get some coffee as Jessica carne closer. "Well, fancy meeting you out here in Central Park," he smiled slightly arrogantly.

Jessica decided to waste no time; his tone was beginning already to bear some traces of hostility. She had a task to do… and there was no logic in waiting a second longer than necessary.

"I… I… uh, wanted to tell you I've made up my mind on your… your offer," she said, a bit embarrassed that someone might be listening. She thought she heard a muffled chuckle behind her, but decided not to turn around. Her head was lowered just a bit, her eyes darting around at the impressive array of network-owned television equipment, her gaze averted from Felder's.

"Right, baby!" he nearly shouted. He started to put his hands on her shoulders, but remembered the healthy-looking friend still out there in the crowd. "How about tomorrow night? You can meet me at the office around seven thirty. I'll tell the night security man your name and you can come right up."

Jessica regained her courage and looked him in the eye again, "Okay. I'll be there."

"Marvelous, sweetie," he leered, "Dinner first, then… Well, we'll have to see what happens."

***

Phillip had that questioning look about him when she managed to squeeze her way back to him, but he chose not to ask any questions. They watched a little longer, then, like most of the others, began to leave when real darkness set in. New Yorkers would rather be in the relative safety of their own apartments when nighttime arrives, and Jessica and Phillip were no exceptions. Only tonight, Jessica had invited Phillip to spend the night at her aunt's. He'd have to use the living room sofa, of course, but this way they'd be up early and off for their picnic out at the beach.

"Let's forget a cab tonight," suggested Jessica, her arm around his hips as they walked slowly toward the subway stairs. There were still plenty of people about, and even here on the edge of Central Park, they felt safe and comfortable.

"I'd hoped you wouldn't mind," confessed Phillip. "Actually, I was worried I wouldn't have enough to get us out to Coney Island. I'm sorry, Jessica, I just don't know where the money went. I guess…"

"Quiet, darling," she said, squeezing him tightly, "I don't care about the money. You'll have tons of it one day. I just know you will. With your talent, it's only a matter of time before you're the hottest art talent in the business. You'll see, Phillip."

Phillip didn't reply; he had heard Jessica's optimistic praise before, and though he hoped her enthusiasm was warranted, he was fast getting tired. Tired of being turned down, tired of hunting for that big break that might not even be there. He held Jessica's slender young body close to his, reassuringly. Nighttime settled quickly in the canyons of the city, and her radiant warmth felt good in the evening chill. His right hand was in his trousers pocket, and with his fingers, Phillip could feel the paper-thin fold of one-dollar bills. And that was all he had left from his final paycheck at the store, all until the elusive opening came his way.

And he couldn't help wondering if it would ever come at all.

CHAPTER TWO

Jessica's aunt, Mildred Whithers, was asleep when they arrived, a small blessing she was indeed grateful for, as Aunt Mildred had a tendency to ramble on for hours, particularly when she had me rare privilege of meeting new people. Jessica helped her boyfriend make up his bed on the sofa and tip-toed upstairs to her bedroom, kissing him affectionately before her departure.

She unfastened the clip at the back of her head and brushed the day's knots and tangles from her thick blonde hair, sitting before the antique vanity mirror on a padded stool. Her thoughts went back to the last time she and Phillip had been together, other than their daytime meetings for job-hunting. They had borrowed a car from a friend of his from school and driven up into the New York upstate hillsides. Her heart nearly missed a beat even now, thinking about me beauty and romance of it all. They had found a gorgeously secluded place for sharing their picnic lunch, and before either of them realized it, their warm kisses had become flaming hot caresses. She remembered Phillip's hand on her breasts; the way she'd offered no resistance as he unfastened her bra, thinking that nothing would be wrong with it, the tender tingle of his fingers on her young nipples, the way he made her gasp for breath and squeal as he played with her breasts there on me grassy hillside beneath a sheltering elm tree. And she recalled also how she'd been so dreamily unconcerned with the reality of it all, blinded by the rapturous music of romance, that she hadn't stopped his hand as it slid up her leg with one smooth, unhesitating movement and went straight under the thin sheerness of her panties to the pink moist lips of her vagina. Even now her mouth went dry at the memory of that moment, at the frightening closeness she had experienced that afternoon, a closeness to losing her virginity she had failed so blindly to see coming. She had been nearly crazy with love for Phillip that day when his fingertips played tenderly with me ragged pink flanges of her pussy, tweaked playfully the tender nerve-filled bud of her clitoris. His fingers had probed deeply into the hot thin vaginal passage up between her slightly parted legs as he had tried to tug her panties down. It seemed now that perhaps it was the chill of the air on her unaccustomedly naked thighs that triggered her response, returned her to normalcy. Phillip had first pleaded, then argued, and finally, demanded that she cooperate, but she had resolutely stood her ground, and in me end, she emerged the winner. He had pouted for awhile, looking for all the world like a five year old who'd been deprived of a toy. Then, he'd finally begun to speak to her again, offering to do anything she liked to make it safe. Use rubbers, pull it out in time, anything… and the rest of their day was far from the spring-like romance it had been before. They had driven back to the city in near silence, speaking only as necessary, and then only in monosyllabic mutterances, her with an uncomfortable wetness between her legs that soaked her panties and threatened to stain through her dress. And Phillip with that bulging hardness under his trousers mat she could see so clearly in the light from the automobile dash gauges.

And now this! How could she reconcile all that with what had just this evening happened? She couldn't pretend she didn't know what Marty Felder wanted of her, that she didn't know the full lurid extent of his proposition. How could she leave her own real love alone on the sofa when tomorrow she would be called on to… Oh God, she just couldn't bear to think about it! It was just more than she could handle tonight… tomorrow would have to take care of itself.

Jessica undressed and slipped between the cool crisp sheets and soon sank into a tossing, fitful sleep.

Jessica's restlessness had kicked the covers off her naked young body as she dreamed a tormented dream of lovemaking, of Phillip's nakedness against hers. And of Marty Felder.

Her door opened gently and squeaked a shrill alarm that seemed a dozen times louder in the quiet of the night. Jessica opened her eyes as Phillip stepped into the room, wearing nothing but his white undershorts.

"Phillip! Have you lost your mind?!" she tried to whisper and shout at the same time.

He came over toward her in the pale moonlight from the open second story window; she could see the bulging mound concealed inside his shorts and knew instantly what was on his mind.

"Phillip," she repeated, "you must be crazy. Aunt Mildred will hear you and throw us both out! You have to leave… now!"

But he came at her and pulled her up into his arms, yanking her nakedness up against his strong body and kissing her furiously, his tongue snaking between her lips hungrily. She felt frightened and strangely excited at the same time, and a kind of emptiness ached in her belly. He pushed forward and she yielded to the powerful pressure, falling back onto the bed beneath his crushing weight. His hand began to rake her body, smoothing over the ripe swell of her bare breasts; his lips found her pink crinkly nipple and he bit into it painfully. She covered her mouth hurriedly to stifle the cry that nearly escaped.

"No, Phillip, no!" she whispered angrily, aware now of the dangerous position she was in.

But his hand roamed caressingly over her body, gently over ribs and belly, stroking the fragrant, sparse fleece of her pubis so that she itched between her legs and squirmed to escape his teasing touch. But his hand soon found her treasures again and pushed aside the soft pink lips of her pussy as his tongue had pushed aside hers. She gasped, nearly choking from the surprised entry, squirming still, but now against his fingers rather than away.

"Oh, Phillip, please," she murmured, breathlessly now, "We can't… we can't."

In an instant, he was out of his shorts and Jessica could feel the huge, hot throbbing of his penis against her hip in the darkness. His ravishing fingers probed deeper and deeper in her tender virginal passage. Her neck arched off the mattress, her teeth gritted, as she managed a weak, rasping, "N-No, Phillip… p-please…"

Phillip took her hand and placed it on his prick; she recoiled at the initial touch. God, it was enormous… she'd never realized they were so huge! His own fingers over hers began a slow massaging motion and when he pulled away, her fingertips continued the gentle caressing movement on their own. As much from curiosity as from passion, Jessica allowed her fingers to drop down to the hairy swollen firmness of his balls, and she stroked them gently, holding their heavy weight in her open palm. Phillip was grinding his teeth noisily and grunting between breaths. She felt the first oozing drop of semen on her thigh as his immense cock rested there; for a moment, she wondered if that might be his ejaculation, but his prick was still as hard and rigid as a young sapling.

"Jessica, darling, please… we've got to, honey, or I'll go crazy!"

"Phillip, we've been through this before. I told you… no, no!"

And even as she mouthed her words, refused him, Jessica knew it wasn't right. Dear God, how can I refuse him? How can I refuse myself?!

She knew she couldn't stop him if he really wanted to; only yelling to Aunt Mildred for help could stop him, and she'd never do that. After all, this wasn't any villainous intruder. This was Phillip!

"Jesus, I've got to have you," he moaned and rolled onto her. She squirmed to get from beneath him, but was not strong enough to lift his weight.

"No, please, no!"

She clenched her thighs tight together snub felt the immensity of his throbbing, lust-inflated cock between them, long and hard in the vise-like grip of her bare legs. In one last effort to ward off his frightening advance, Jessica squeezed her legs even tighter together. It can't be like this! I've got to have time to think!

There was a gasp… Phillip moaned, holding his breath interminably, and suddenly Jessica felt his prick expand and shudder as if alive. He gasped a quick breath, then gasped again and again as Jessica felt the hot sticky flood of his climax splatter over her thighs and drip down between them.

His weight was like a dead man on her as he lay there very still his breath erratic and panting. She stroked his head tenderly, afraid now that his cries might have awakened Aunt Mildred. But there was no sound from down the hall if, indeed, she was awake.

He lay there a very long time, then climbed wearily to his feet, searching for his undershorts in the darkness. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to her face, kissing him warmly. There were no words… and there seethed no need for any.

Jessica closed her eyes as she heard the bedroom dour softly shut. And in a few minutes, she was asleep again, as though he'd never been there nakedly beside her…

CHAPTER THREE

Jessica identified herself to the uniformed night guard at Marty Felder's Madison Avenue agency address; the old man said nothing, but gave her a knowing wink as he motioned toward the elevators. Obviously, after-hours visitors were not out of the ordinary for Felder, something she could have guessed quite easily without the old man's help.

The agency door was open when she stepped from the elevator car at the thirteenth floor; down the long open central room she could see a couple of young men, most likely copywriters, at work at a large desk in the back. Behind them was a cork storyboard, with paste-up drawings of the television commercial frames yet to be filmed. They were using a small Sony tape recorder, and the peppy jingle sounded odd and out-of-place, somehow out of context. Marty's door was open, too – that was something she'd noticed about advertising agencies, people seldom worked behind closed doors. She didn't know whether to attribute that to a convivial sense of sharing, or if the well-known agency "pirating" was more likely the reason for giving no one cause to be suspicious.

Felder was up and out of his chair before Jessica reached the doorway. "Hello, luv'," he greeted her, "I was just finishing up. Let's go out through the parking garage and I'll get out of these work clothes." Jessica thought his outfit was more than adequate for anything going at this hour in New York, but she didn't question him.

"Sure. Anything you say." The two young men in the back of the main work room, their slightly-long hair over their expensive collars, glanced up, frozen in mid-stride, for a moment. The raucous, tiny jingle blared on; then after smiling knowingly they went back to their work.

Felder led the way down the darkened corridor, past the brightly-decorated offices of the creative staff of Hartfield and Marsh. Jessica tried to steal a quick glance into the empty offices as they hurried past; many of the walls were covered with color eight by ten's of models for the agencies various accounts-models like herself. Or like she wanted to be.

"My car's in the basement," said Felder, "Why don't you go on down. It's a Cadillac… Eldorado. It's safe down there, lots of lights, and a night attendant. Just tell him you're looking for my car. I've got to stop by the sixteenth floor and use the telex line. But only for a minute, okay? Be right there." And with that, he left the elevator and she was alone again. When the car reached its destination and the doors opened again, she discovered she was in a cavernous, neon-lit basement garage, all purple and humming from the thin tubes that lined the ceiling. Another guard, almost identical to the one she'd first encountered on coming in from Madison Avenue, stirred from his folding aluminum chair when the metal doors whirred open.

"Yes, Ma'am, can I help you," he offered politely, smiling rather mechanically.

"Mr. Felder told me to wait for him here… in his car."

"Yes, Ma'am," said the guard, "it's over there. The dark green one."

Jessica thanked him and followed his directions to a Forest Green Eldorado and climbed in. She nestled down in the luxurious interior, surrounded by yards of natural leather; even the smell of the car was rich. It felt oddly homey and familiar, as if a car like this was where she had belonged all along. She had turned the collar of her coat up and was sitting with her eyes closed when Felder arrived.

"Like it, baby?" he asked, standing in the splash of multi-colored lights that lit-up instantly when he opened the door.

"Yes, it's beautiful. But it must have cost a lot of money," she said rather innocently.

"Yeah, but it's worth it. When you've got a job like mine, first impressions mean a lot. You'd be surprised how many people judge a man by the car he drives."

"Yes… I suppose so."

After crossing town, knifing through the early evening traffic like an expensive cruiser cuts through water, they entered another underground garage, waiting for the gates to electrically open after Marty had pressed the button installed under the left side of the Cadillac's dash.

"Radio-controlled," he said by way of explanation.

Jessica only nodded, looked up with her neck craned for a better look at this frightfully expensive looking apartment building near the south end of Central Park. She wasn't certain exactly where, for she had become lost in the quick series of corners they'd taken from Madison Avenue.

The elevator door was open for them, and in a few quick moments, they were on the twenty-third floor. When they were in the entry hallway, Jessica glanced around, wondering which of the four doorways was Felder's. She eyed the nameplates of each, but none gave her a clue… Robbins, Saperstein, Alexander, and Van Root.

"No, not here. We've got one more elevator to take," said Felder. It was only then that Jessica noticed the steel-blue doors of the second elevator; but this one had no call buttons to push, only a keyed plate midway up the wall beside the doors. Marty inserted a key from his key-ring and turned it halfway. The doors opened with an electronic noise like something out of a spy-thriller movie; bright light spilled out into the corridor.

"Hop aboard. It's the Felder Express," he laughed.

Jessica stepped inside and watched curiously as he pressed the sole button, marked "P". Only then did she realize Marty Felder owned the penthouse.

His condominium apartment was immense, even for this plush section of New York, and from any of his four terraces, there was a spectacular view of the world's number one city by night. Looking out over the sparkling lights, you could almost forget about the crime and abuse, the filth and pollution that had scarred New York like the ravages of leprosy. Jessica stood by the railing, breathing in the cool night air mat seemed somehow less dirty now that night had hidden the belching Con Edison smokestacks and the millions of reeking exhaust pipes in a mantle of darkness.

"Gee, Mr. Felder, it must be exciting living here like this. I mean, you've got a view of the whole city. There must be something going on all the time down there. And you can see all of it any time you like!" Jessica was busily taking it all in, following the sweep of the streets and avenues she was able to identify, including the dazzling streak of incandescent splendor that marked the course of Broadway cutting diagonally across the crowded Manhattan Island.

When she didn't get an answer, she turned to see where her host – and hopefully, her employer – had taken himself. She spotted him at the opposite end of the long richly-carpeted living room, busily fiddling with a thermos-sealed canister and a tiny colored pipe that appeared to be made of stone or clay. "In here, honey!" he shouted, and Jessica went back inside from the glorious night to join him. She could feel her pulse racing much quicker than usual and she knew it was from the boost of adrenaline she'd just received from the excitement of being in this movie-set world, an exclusive tiny portion of the city that was usually reserved for the very rich or the very famous. And she was here, she was a part of it! This was the storybook fantasy world she had dreamed of for so many years… and now there was a chance for it to all become real!

"Have a little of this, it'll take the day's tensions away in a hurry," offered Felder, extending his hand with the tiny reddish-colored pipe between his thumb and first finger.