Jon Reskind

The dog-lover

CHAPTER ONE

Rhonda Baker lay prone across the queen-sized, walnut-framed water bed on her belly, her arms bent at the elbows, her beautiful young face resting in her hands while she watched the Democratic convention on her television set perched atop her antique dresser. Politics had never appealed to her sense of justice, but on a hot summer afternoon the paunchy-bellied frustrated lobbyists and their prissy wives parading around in sexless shirtwaist dressed before the cameras, helped pass the time and add a few laughs on an otherwise uneventful day.

Her shapely buttocks, covered only by a brief black bikini, jutted up proudly behind her at the base of her long tapering back and her legs were bent at the knees, her ankles clapping together in mid-air. The soft August breeze blew the curtains aside and poured into the room, whisking across her nearly naked back like the tender touch of a lover, and the sun slanted to make golden stripes across the burgundy bedspread.

And a dreary day it was, too, for Bob, her fiancee was on his way to the airport, packed and ready to fly to Minneapolis for an interview with Honeywell Corporation, one of the best-paying corporations a fresh young executive such as Bob could hope to work for. Travel, fringe benefits… for wives, too, Rhonda thought with a smirk, hoping that unlike so many of her recently graduated and married friends, she would not fall prey to the wife-supports-the-husband-til-he-finds-a-job-he-likes routine. Sometimes that took years, and Rhonda was not the modern liberated, professionally-aggressive female. College, with its grueling routine of cramming for exams, trying to please art teacher's tastes and get a passing grade had cured her of aspirations. Now, at twenty-three, she was perfectly content lying in the sun in the afternoons, watching television, dressing and waiting for Bob to come by. Sure… soon she'd have to look for a job, but in the time being, she would indulge her own pleasures. Life was too short as it was…

The red haired lovely lay on her bed, dumbly watching the flickering screen, none of the political ploys and inter-party politics sinking into her pretty skull. Tonight would be a long night, she knew. The first night since Bob had left for Minneapolis. Ten more sex-less nights in front of her before she could cuddle up into the protective circle of his strong arms and let him please her. Rhonda let out a long, heartless sigh. Ten days in a cold bed alone was an eternity! Fortunately, her sister Sharon had come to stay with her for three weeks that overlapped Bob's absence, and not by coincidence.

Sharon… Where was she now? wondered Rhonda dimly. Certainly the neighborhood was safe enough on a weekday afternoon with the playground and community swimming pool close by, for a pubescent thirteen year old to wander around unescorted.

But then one could never tell with all those crazies lurking the streets… Hmmm… four o'clock, mused Rhonda, watching her digital alarm clock slip to the hour.

Suddenly a smile broke out on the older sister's face. Maybe her little sister had met a boy, ridden off on his bicycle to the hamburger hang-out, and was sipping a soda out of her shared straw… Like a scene from one of those corny 1950's posters you saw in all the head-shops downtown. Sharon would be an easy shot for some young boy. She was a knockout with her platinum-tresses that hung half way down her back. Fresh as a model, Sharon was one of those girls who always appeared clean and scrubbed in every situation and who carried herself with a feminine grace that often put her older sister to shame. Part of this could be ascribed to her unusual hair. No one in the Baker family had been able to figure out where it had come from, though a few guessed their Irish grandmother might have jumped the fence once or twice, as the old saying goes… something old Grandpa Baker never told his kids when they sat on his knee and listened to family stories…

Sharon also dressed very stylishly, too, changing frequently to fit her mood. She had been a perfect baby, and now she was a perfect young lady. In the last year she had suddenly sprouted up quite tall for her age, and then some, with enticing young breasts, a tiny waist and flat, flat, tummy, and long sleek slender, but well-turned legs which seemed to retain their tan longer than most girls' did. Added to this was her long Jean Harlow hair but a prettier oval face than Jean had ever aspired to, with pert little upturned nose, bright blue eyes, and a small but sultry mouth. Yes, her little sister was a real princess.

But Rhonda was not jealous of the girl, for her own attributes brought a jealous chagrin from most women on the streets.

Perhaps, thought Rhonda, if Bob were to have known my little sister better – thought of her as someone other than my little innocent sister – he might have had eyes for her.