Blue Norther - a short story

Horror becomes reality when a dark stranger rings the doorbell during a winter snowstorm.

Blue Norther

Dark clouds of an approaching Blue Norther gathered outside the window as Linda watched her husband pace worried circles around their living room.

"Please, Ted, don't go out tonight. The weather's awful and getting worse by the minute."

Ted stopped pacing and frowned. "No option. Big meeting at the bank."

"Friday night at seven?

Both Ted and Linda glanced up at their precocious nineteen-year-old daughter Britta. One year beyond high school graduation, she still lived with them. She glanced over the balcony, naked except for a pair of lacy panties.

Linda said, "Britta! Put some clothes on."

Britta returned to her room with one of her father's starched white shirts over the panties.

"Hot date, Dad?"

Britta's jesting implication caused Linda's gaze to return to the pot on the stove. Ted didn't seem to mind.

"I have an important meeting at the bank, young lady."

"Even Gramps wouldn't call a meeting on a night like this."

"Your grandfather may own the bank, but he doesn't run it any longer. I'm president now. I call the meetings when I see fit."

"Whoa!" Britta squealed.

"Have you done your homework?"

"I graduated a year ago, Mom. Remember?"

"Just being facetious."

"I have a date tonight with Freddy."

"You can't go out in this awful weather. I won't allow it."

"I'm nineteen. I make my own decisions now. Remember?"

"As long as you live here you should at least listen to your mother."

"Dad, will you please tell her to stuff it?"

Ted glanced at his watch before replying. After winking at his daughter, he said, "Britta's a grown woman. Cut her a little slack."

"Thanks, Dad," Britta said, blowing him a kiss and disappearing into her room before Linda could protest.

Ted cracked the curtain and peeked out the window.

"Can you fix me a drink?" he said.

Linda swallowed her annoyance on the way to the liquor cabinet, pouring one for each of them. She touched his hand when she gave him the vodka.

"You know I don't sleep well when you're away."

Ted returned to the window, ignoring her distress. "How did the weather turn so bad, so fast? The sun was out when I left the office."

Drifting snow had already begun piling up against fences and houses. "Blue Norther," she said.

Ted saluted the snow with a raised glass. "Got that right,"

"See how bad it's getting? Please stay home tonight."

She returned to the kitchen without an answer. Linda was different from her daughter. Soft and silky smooth compared with Britta's lithe body and her all-over tan. Long, bottle-lightened hair draped her shoulders. Britta's hair was short and surfer girl blond. Britta was a chatterbox, Linda introverted to the point of angering her husband.

"At least eat something before you go."

Rattling ice in his glass, he just stared out the window. "Maybe. If the weather doesn't get any worse."

The ringing of Britta's cell phone interrupted their conversation, and she returned to the banister. "Guess I'm staying home tonight. Freddy's battery is dead."

"Good," Linda said. "At least I won't be all alone."

They all turned to look when someone knocked on the front door. Ted opened it, finding a tall stranger waiting in the doorway.

"Help you?"

"Car broke down, and I lost my cell phone in the snow. Mind if I use your phone to call for help?"

"Let the poor man in and close the door," Linda called from the kitchen.

Moving aside, Ted watched him remove his gloves and blow his hands to warm them. The young man's clean-cut good looks calmed any distress Linda may have had as she took his coat and pointed to the kitchen.

"Warm yourself by the stove. You look half frozen."

Britta shattered her concentration when she hurried downstairs to see who was there.

"Now I'm glad Freddy has a dead battery," she said, staring at the handsome stranger.

Ted frowned. "Britta, put some clothes on."

Britta frowned but trotted back upstairs as Linda followed the man into the kitchen.

"Coffee or hot tea?"

Looking at her drink glass, he said, "I'd rather have what you're drinking."

Feeling an inexplicable attraction to him, she turned to the liquor cabinet to mix another drink.

"What do you drink?" she asked.

"Scotch, neat, if you have it."

"The phone is by the coffee pot," she said as she handed him the drink.

Without taking his eyes off her, he raised his glass in a silent toast. It brought an inexplicable flush to Linda's cheeks.

"Phone's dead," he said.

"Can't be," Linda said, concern replacing her facial flush. "Britta just had a call."

"On her cell phone," Ted said, walking up from behind.

Linda jumped. Regaining her composure, she called upstairs.

"Britta, is your phone working?"

"No bars. Sorry."

"Mine's not working either in this lousy weather," Ted said. "Guess you're out of luck. Sorry, we can't help."

Britta called from the banister. "Dad can take him into town. Invite the poor man to dinner, Mom."

"Pardon my rudeness. Will you have dinner with us?" Linda asked.

"Why not?" he said, his smile warming Linda's neck.

"Then make yourself comfy. My pot roast is almost ready."

The stranger smiled again. This time, Ted noticed how it flustered her. She turned away, averting his frown.

"How rude of me not to introduce ourselves. I'm Linda Stevenson, and this is my husband, Ted. The sassy young lady is my daughter, Britta."

For an awkward moment, the man continued staring at her as he squeezed her hand.

"I'm Dan Savage," he finally said.

"I'm going upstairs and try the weather band," Ted said.

"Well," Linda said. "Guess we'll soon find out about the highways. Dinner won't be long."

She smiled when she heard the rattling thump of logs added to the barren fireplace. Feeling almost guilty, she peeked through the door. As if he'd felt her gaze, Savage gave her a look that made her weak in the knees.

"Thought I'd heat things up," he said.

Before she could reply, Ted rushed down the stairs, bundled in coat and gloves.

"Can't wait for dinner. Got to go now. Storm's worsening by the minute. I'll drive you into town, Mr. Savage."

Dan Savage placed the last log in the fireplace and grabbed his coat hanging by the front door. Before he could button up, Britta rushed up from the basement.

"Wait, Daddy. We have a broken pipe downstairs."

Ted banged the door with his clenched fist. "You can't be serious."

"No need missing your appointment," Savage said. "I'm handy with things. I'll fix it for you."

"Fantastic! You go ahead, Dad," Britta said. "Mr. Savage can repair the pipe and then stay the night in the spare bedroom. You can give him a ride into town tomorrow."

Ted glare revealed his inner turmoil. After glancing at the cut of Savage's clothes and hair, he decided he was no ax murderer.

"Great. I'll take you into town tomorrow."

He kissed Britta's forehead, ignoring Linda's folded arms as he went out the front door without a backward glance.

"Show me the pipe," Savage said, interrupting the moment.

Britta led him to the basement. Despite Linda's concern, she experienced an almost forgotten flush of sexual excitement. The feeling embarrassed her as she returned to the kitchen.

Unable to shake her growing sexual fantasy for the young man, she fixed him another drink and took it to the basement. She almost dropped it when she saw his bare chest. Stripped to the waist, he was making final adjustments on an exposed pipe. Britta, sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, was also watching Savage's every move.

"Thought you might need this," Linda said.

Sweat trickled down Savage's muscled rib cage. Unnerved by his physical presence, she had trouble averting her gaze.

"Thanks," he said.

Savage stood six inches taller than Linda, had a strong jaw, thick brown hair and probably fifteen years younger. After tipping back the glass, he touched the icy surface to his forehead.

"Fixed," he said.

"You are good!" Britta squealed, wrapping her slender arms around his neck.

Linda's face flushed, jealousy her only emotion as she watched Savage and Britta embrace.

"Follow me, Mr. Savage, I'll show you the guest bedroom. You can shower, and I'll find some of my husband's clothes."

"Call me Dan," he said, untangling from Britta and following Linda up the stairs, into the spare bedroom.

"Towels are in the cabinet. Take your time."

Linda waited in the kitchen for twenty minutes before selecting a shirt and pants from her husband's closet. Returning to the guest bedroom, she tapped on the door and then entered without waiting for a reply.

Through the cracked bathroom door, she heard Savage humming a silly tune. She eased it open; senses sharpened as she stared into the steam-filled room, her eyes focusing on his hazy shape. Standing with his back to her, he stared in the mirror, shaving cream on his face and razor in his hand. She watched his naked backside until he stopped humming and turned around.

"See something you like?"

Linda's face flushed bright red. After dropping Ted's clothes to the floor, she hurried out of the bathroom.

"Dinner in ten minutes," she said.

Twenty minutes later, Savage joined her in the kitchen. Though Ted's shirt and pants were too small, he didn't seem to mind.

"Britta," she called. "Dinner is ready."

Wearing a sexy blouse and tight leather skirt, Britta danced into the dining room. "Where you from, Dan?" she asked.

"Here and there," he said, ladling corn from a bowl. "Mostly there."

Britta giggled, and Linda smiled. When they finished eating, Britta went upstairs, and Savage helped Linda with the dishes. They were soon together in the living room, basking in the warmth of the fireplace.

"Does your husband always have meetings on Friday night?"

Savage's question earned him a nervous titter from Linda. "I've wondered that myself."

"The answer?"

Reclining on the couch, knees bent, she rested her head in her palms. The posture caused her skirt to ride up on her thighs. She straightened when she realized Savage was staring at her legs.

"Sorry," Savage said with a smile.

Linda's face was on fire, but it felt good and she realized she didn't want it to stop burning.

"Britta says he's having an affair," she said.

"Is he?"

"Probably. I'll get you something to sleep in tonight."

"I usually sleep in the buff," he said

Linda ignored his comment and Savage stretched out on the couch as she hurried upstairs. He was grinning when she returned.

"You're bigger than Ted," she said, handing him the robe and pajamas.

He winked as he climbed the stairs to the bedroom. "Your husband has excellent taste. I can sleep naked if they don't fit."

Savage's words seared Linda's soul. Flushing with sexual warmth, she waited ten minutes. When he didn't return, she went to her bedroom, shutting the door but leaving it unlocked. Her body blazed as she squirmed beneath the sheets. She finally got out of bed and drew open the curtains.

The storm had more than arrived. She watched, perspiration beading her forehead as drifting snow piled up against the house. After returning to bed, she slipped into a restless dream, returning her to the shower scene:

A steamy mist filled the room as Savage reached for her hand. When he touched her breasts, she awoke, tangled in the sheets and needing a drink. Not bothering with robe and slippers, she arose to get one. On her way to the stairs, she found something amiss.

Ted's office door was open. Peering inside, she switched on the desk lamp. Papers lay scattered on the floor. His floor safe stood open and empty. With trembling fingertips to stifle a scream, she touched her open mouth.

"My God!"

When Linda discovered Ted's gun was missing, her hands began to tremble. She hurried to the guest bedroom and pushed open the door. She gasped when she heard the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking. Not only had the brazen stranger stolen their money, but he was raping her daughter. She reached for the light switch.

"Stop it now, you monster!"

Britta sat bolt upright,  shock on her pretty face. Savage grinned.

"Mother, how could you?" Britta said.

"Get out of that bed," Linda yelled. "Now!"

Grabbing Britta's arm, she yanked her to the floor. Britta curled up in a ball to hide her nudity.

"Thief! How could you rob us and then rape my daughter?"

"You kidding me, lady? The little bitch loves it."

"You're a liar," she said, scratching and flailing with arms and fists as he blocked her blows. When he slapped her and shoved her against the wall, she sank to the floor, wiping tears from her eyes and blood from a split lip.

Britta sobbed as she lay crumpled in a naked heap beside the bed. Savage wiped the blood from three parallel scratches on his face. Linda crawled across the floor to her daughter. When she tried to put her hands on her shoulders, Britta wrenched away.

"How could you do this to me?" she said.

"Britta, you don't understand. This man is a thief."

"You only want him for yourself," Britta said, her tears returning.

"That's not true."

"I hate you," Britta cried. "Just like Daddy hates you."

Slamming the door behind her, she ran out of the room leaving her mother alone to glare at the thief on the bed.

"I'm calling the police."

Savage laughed, and it chilled her. "Phone's dead. Remember?"

"It was you that cut the line." Savage didn't answer. "How did you know about the money and jewels we keep in the house?"

"Maybe you should ask Britta."

Linda froze. "What do you mean?"

"You think I just met her tonight? We've been going at it like cats in heat for a month. We're taking the money and blowing this burg."

"Liar!"

"Am I? How do you think I managed the broken pipe in the basement?"

Feeling dizzy, Linda sank to the floor as he got dressed. She followed him out of the bedroom and down the stairs where Britta was waiting, suitcase packed. Savage grabbed his coat and opened the front door as the icy wind filled the hallway with blowing snow.

Linda grabbed Britta's elbow. "Where are you going?"

Britta shook loose from her grasp. "Away from you."

"What will I tell your father?"

Pivoting on her heels, Britta said, "Don't bother. He'll know why I left."

"Please stop," Linda begged as her daughter trudged through the snow.

Britta kept walking. Linda followed her into the brunt of the storm. When they reached a car parked on the street, Savage tossed the suitcase into the backseat. Linda grabbed Britta's arm, but she pulled away and climbed into the passenger seat, locking the door behind her. Banging on the window, Linda pleaded with her.

Savage tried cranking the engine until it became apparent the battery was dead. Britta led him to the garage. Minutes later, Linda's silver Mercedes screamed away through the misty darkness, Linda chasing, barefooted through the snow, after them.

***

Ted Stevenson returned the following day, easing his car into the driveway. In front of the house was a red Chevrolet, and the hood and windows were covered with snow he hadn't noticed when he left. He also saw something else.

It was Linda on her knees on the front porch, dressed only in her sexy nightgown. Crystals of ice coating her body glistened like broken glass in the morning sunlight. One frozen hand clutched the door handle in a deadly embrace. Paralyzed by horror, Ted stared at her pallid face.

A strange smile lay frozen on her lips. Her eyes seemed to move, but it was only a frosty reflection. Rushing upstairs to check on Britta, he abandoned her to death's eternity and the frozen kiss of the departed Blue Norther.

###

Born near Black Bayou in the little Louisiana town of Vivian, Eric Wilder grew up listening to his grandmother’s tales of politics, corruption, and ghosts that haunt the night. He now lives in Oklahoma, where he continues to pen mysteries and short stories with a southern accent. He is the author of the French Quarter Mystery Series set in New Orleans and the Paranormal Cowboy Series. Please check it out on his Amazon author page. You might also like to check out his Facebook Page.

NAME OF THE GAME - a short story

There’s a basis of truth in all fiction, they say. Though I can’t speak for everything ever written, I can attest that the statement couldn't be truer for my short story Name of the Game. Years ago I had a girlfriend who was married to a state trooper. Younger, braver, and stupider, I had a taste of the forbidden fruit anyway. Rita (name changed to protect the innocent) had felt her husband had wronged her and was on a mission to get even with him. Though I’d thought that I had initiated the affair, I soon learned I was little more than an unwitting actor in a tale of marital revenge. Hope you enjoy the story. If you do, you might also like Big Easy, book 1 in my French Quarter Mystery series set in paranormal New Orleans.

NAME OF THE GAME

Rita used to wait for me at the building door where she worked. I would park close to the curb and linger until she came outside. Until that day, our routine was always the same. When I drove up, I noticed a powder-blue Mercedes had taken my usual parking spot. The car's nervous driver, a prepped-out lawyer with gelled hair, turned halfway around in his bucket seat to watch Rita leave the office complex.

“Who was that?” I asked.

Rita leaned across the seat and planted a sultry kiss on my lips. “I didn't see anyone.”

The man in the Mercedes watched us with interest and continued staring at us as we pulled away from the curb.

“Today, I want it hot and fast,” she said, turning the rear-view mirror and using it to touch up her lipstick.

“Whatever. How have you been?”

Rita crossed her legs, revealing more than a momentary glance of her shapely thighs.

“Beyond irritation,” she said. “Russell came home late after leaving me alone with Jessica. Ever try communicating with a good-looking teenage cheerleader with tits bigger than her mom's?”

My smile was all the answer she needed. “What happened when Russell got home?”

“Absolutely nothing. I even paraded around in my stretch-lace teddy to show him what he was missing.”

Talk of Rita's husband always made me uncomfortable. Sensing my discomfort, she leaned across the console and squeezed my leg. It was a beautiful clear-blue day in late autumn, and Rita’s grin was wicked when I braked hard to avoid a squirrel scurrying across the road.

We barely spoke during the short distance to my apartment. The parking lot was empty, everyone at work, and we soon found a spot near the stairs. Fast and discrete. Just the way Rita liked it. She had her arms around me almost before I could lock the apartment door behind us.

“Miss me?” she asked.

“You know I did.”

“And these?”

She unbuttoned her flocked blouse to the waist and cupped her breasts. With my fingers, I traced a narrow path up her flat stomach, but Rita had none of it. Grabbing my wrist, she pulled me down the narrow hallway to the bedroom in the back

Recently divorced, my apartment was small, one bedroom. The apartment was dark, with only hazy sunlight shining through an open window. Rita liked the dark, and I didn’t bother turning on the lights.

“Let's not waste it.” Releasing my hand beside the bed, she dropped her dress, slip, and bra in one practiced motion and fell onto the covers. “Now, I want it hard and fast.”

I’d left the air conditioner on high before leaving for work that morning and the room was cold as it was dark. Rita was neither, her eyes flashing. Already hot after having all the foreplay she’d needed during our lustful stroll from the front door. For the next five minutes, she clawed painful Xs in my back, yanked handfuls of hair from my head, moaned loudly, and squirmed like a woman possessed. When we finished, she rolled off the bed, went into the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. She returned shortly, still totally naked, and carried a can of hairspray.

“Hurry,” she said. I have a prospective employee to interview at one. Can’t be late.”

“But we just got here.”

“And did what we came for. Now, be a sweetie. You know my job is vital to me.”

As I exited the bed and pulled on my pants, Rita returned to the bathroom to brush her hair. This time, she emerged, looking ready for an urgent business meeting. Seeing I wasn’t quite ready, she tapped her shoe, waiting as I knotted my tie. Grasping my hand when I finished, she squeezed it and hurried me to the car.

Because of lunch-hour traffic, we found the return trip to her job much slower. Rita remained silent most of the way, although I could see she was miffed. She didn’t talk until we were almost there.

“I have a question, and I need an answer.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Does there have to be?”

“It's your voice. You sound. . .”

Rita ignored my psychoanalysis, folded her arms, and turned her knees toward the door.

“Tell me. What's the name of the game?”

“Game? I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“The one we're playing.”

I didn’t understand the issue and paused before answering.

“Infidelity, maybe?”

Rita closed her eyes. “This isn't a joke. I need a serious answer.”

A blaring horn distracted me from the unexpected course our conversation had taken. “Have I done something wrong?”

“You've done everything just right, and I've enjoyed every minute of it. Cool drinks in smoky bars, peanut butter picnics in vacant lots, and steamy sex in all the ways I love. That’s what our relationship has meant to me. I just want to know what it means to you. Anything?”

“Something exciting and truly memorable. I can't remember having so much fun since I went skinny dipping with the homecoming queen in the principal's pool on graduation night.”

Rita's strained smile flickered briefly. “Now what? It's almost winter. The pool is empty.”

“You're shooting over my head. Is this about Russell? Are you thinking of divorce?”

“Russell's not the problem.”

“But isn't Russell part of the equation? And Jessica?”

“That's not what we're discussing here,” Rita said, her voice rising.

“Then please tell me what we are discussing.”

By now, her demeanor had diminished from silent composure to barely suppressed rage, and I still was unsure why.

“Just let me off in front of the building,” she said.

I coasted into the slow lane and allowed some angry motorists to surge past on the left. “First, explain why you're angry with me.”

She did not frown or smile, only an empty expression of quiet frustration, as she pointed at the curb in front of her building.

“Pull in and let me out. I never play the game with someone who doesn't follow the rules. You don't even know we're playing.”

She hurried across the busy street without a backward glance. When I phoned to apologize, she didn’t take my call.

Three days passed, then a week, without a word from Rita. Finally, unable to control my curiosity and hurt feelings, I parked at the curb at our old meeting place by her office. From there, I watched, aware of a sudden rush of déjà vu as she walked out the door at exactly our usual time. I quickly realized why.

Even though she recognized my car as she hurried across the sidewalk, she didn’t look my way or acknowledge my presence. Instead, she focused her smiling attention on a young man in a black BMW as he opened the passenger door to let her in. Once inside, she wrapped herself around him and gave him a sultry kiss. She knew I was looking, and I wondered if her lustful actions had been for my benefit. I never found out.

As they disappeared down the street, I watched the young man cast a curious glance in his rear-view mirror.

###

Born near Black Bayou in the little Louisiana town of Vivian, Eric Wilder grew up listening to his grandmother’s tales of politics, corruption, and ghosts that haunt the night. He now lives in Oklahoma, where he continues to pen mysteries and short stories with a southern accent. He authored the French Quarter Mystery Series set in New Orleans, the Paranormal Cowboy Series, and the Oyster Bay Mystery Series. Please check it out on his Amazon author page. You can also check out his Facebook page.

Shrouded Promises - a short story

Lust, self-deceit, a single young mother and her two-timing boss. Add in a snowstorm, a party, a spurned suitor and a white rabbit. Mix well and you have a recipe for promises never kept, or maybe never made.

SHROUDED PROMISES

With gentle hands, Leslie Scott clutched the arms of Howard Pike's big leather chair. Pike was late, and welling tears revealed Leslie's gloom, blue and red neon pulsating through the open window as she imagined footsteps at the door. She longed for Howard's contagious smile and booming voice but knew in her heart he wasn't going to show. She continued to wait anyway.

Snow was falling in sooty clumps on the sidewalk when Leslie remembered brave little Billy, waiting alone for his mother to return home and cook supper. Having no more time for tears, she grabbed her coat and started for the door just as Howard's phone rang. Leslie answered in a rush.

"Pike and Scull."

"Leslie. Why are you working so late?"

"Carla, is that you?"

"Yes, dear is Howard there?"

"Gone for the day."

"That rat. I wanted to remind him about the party tonight."

"Sorry, Carla. I'm the only one here."

"Poor dear, why don't you turn off your computer and come to the party?"

"Oh, I really couldn't."

"Sure you can. Bern is here and Howard will show up before the night is over. You know how lively things get when those two party together. "Anyway, there's someone here I'd like you to meet."

"I don't have a sitter."

"Find one, Darling." Carla hung up the phone.

Leslie stared at the dead receiver. Maybe Mildred, the janitor's wife, would watch Billy for her. After finding Mildred alone in her one-room basement hovel, she gave the slovenly old woman half of her remaining weekly wages to sit with Billy. Forcing the guilt from her mind, she changed into her best blue party dress as Billy finished the half-cold hamburger purchased on her way home.

No buses traversed the Scull's fashionable neighborhood, so Leslie took a cab she could little afford. Waiting on the front porch, shawl pulled tightly around her neck, she listened as

violins created a beautiful melody, just beyond the door, feeling very much like an uninvited intruder. Blocking the entrance as if she were, the maid frowned when she opened the door.

"May I help you?"

"I'm Leslie Scott. The Scull's invited me."

"May I see your invitation?"

A woman in a thin party dress tapped the maid's shoulder, then stood shivering, her arms hugged tightly to her chest. "Leslie's my special guest, Margaret." Margaret nodded and disappeared into the house. "Leslie," she said, touching the younger woman's shoulder. "Come in. Don't mind Margaret."

Instantly immersed in the noisy party going on around her, Leslie followed her into the house. Carla hurried through the crowd, grabbing champagne for herself and Leslie from a passing waiter.

"I simply must discuss something with you, Les," she said, leading her to an upstairs bedroom.

Leslie asked, "Have you seen Howard?"

Lighting a cigarette, Carla only stared. Leslie noticed her faded green eyes, strangely incongruous with her short-cropped, bleached hair, but somehow complementary to her anorexic figure and pale complexion. Raising her chin, she blew a wisp of smoke toward the ceiling.

"You look lovely Leslie, but you really should do something about your wardrobe. Baby blue isn't your color."

Leslie ignored her remark. "Your party's lovely, Carla. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Still staring, Carla said, "You should see my hairdresser. You're lovely, but there's so much he could add."

"Carla --”

"Sorry Dear."

Leslie felt uneasy, forehead flushing and a red flush spreading down her face as Carla eyed her like a butcher sizing up a cut of beef. Carla finally asked, "Are you warm, Dear?"

"I’m fine."

"Maybe, but your tits just turned the color of a boiled lobster."

Leslie put her hand over her plunging neckline, smiling weakly when she realized Carla's joke. Carla continued, unabashed, to stare, finally turning, puffing the cigarette as she gazed listlessly out the window.

"There's someone I want you to meet," Carla said.

"But --"

"My brother Joe. He's young and has a law degree. Most important, he's single."

Carla glanced around for an ashtray. Finding none, she deposited the butt into a vase and sat her empty champagne glass carelessly on the dresser. Grabbing Leslie's hand, she led her from the door. At the base of the stairs, they found Carla's husband Bern with an attractive middle-aged blonde woman. Leslie saw him touch the woman's leg, but Carla didn't. Pinching her smiling confidante before strutting away, the woman left Bern to peck Carla's cheek and plant a much too friendly kiss on Leslie.

Carla asked, "Who was she?"

Bern motioned a waiter for another drink. "Richard's - our banker's - wife."

Without commenting further on her husband's overly friendly companion, Carla also grabbed a fresh drink and asked, "Have you seen Joe?"

Bern pointed to the far wall. "Mr. Holier-than-thou is standing by himself in the corner."

"Come, Leslie," Carla ordered, dismissing her errant husband without another word.

As Leslie edged passed Bern on the stairs, he blatantly stroked her backside, causing her neck to flush. Pretending not to notice, she hurried after Carla.

"Joe, Darling," Carla said, embracing her younger brother. "Why aren't you mingling?"

With a shrug, the young man said, "Not my style, Carly."

Carla gave him the same visual once-over Leslie had received in the bedroom. Leslie sipped her champagne to avoid his embarrassing stare when the man's eyes caught hers.

"-- this is Leslie." Hearing the last part of Carla's sentence, she smiled, realizing she was being introduced. "Leslie, this is my handsome brother Joe."

Joe shook Leslie's hand, holding it a moment too long. Self-consciously, she pulled it away a bit too fast.

Carla edged away into the crowd. "Can you entertain this pretty-young-thing while I hobnob with the other guests?"

"My pleasure," Joe said.

Leslie glanced around the crowded room.

Joe asked, "Looking for someone?"

"Just seeing who's here."

"How do you know Carla?"

"Bern's my boss - and his partner Howard. You know Howard?"

"Yes."

"Is he here?"

"Haven't seen him, but I haven't done much mingling."

Again, Leslie glanced around the room, this time seeing Howard and his wife Cynthia enter the party through the front door. Margaret took their coats and they disappeared into another part of the house.

"If you'll excuse, me I have to go to the bathroom," Leslie said, barely glancing at Joe as she departed to find Howard.

Joe waited alone for ten minutes before abandoning his drink on a coffee table and starting after her. Halfway through the crowded room, he bumped into Howard Pike's wife Cynthia.

Cynthia draped her slender arms around his neck and said, "You weren't trying to avoid me were you, Joe?"

Unwinding her arms, Joe pushed her gently but firmly away. "How are you, Cyn?"

"Much better." Hiccupping, she grinned foolishly, hand at her mouth.

"I'm looking for someone," he said, moving away.

"Wait," she said, grabbing his elbow. "Another drink?"

Cynthia had already had more than one, but Joe asked, "What are you drinking?"

"You know what I drink."

With a drunken attempt at seduction, she kissed her fingers and touched them to his lips. Joe grabbed the wobbly woman's shoulders, maneuvering her against the wall for support. Then, shaking his head, he looked around for the nearest bartender.

"You all right, Cyn?"

Cynthia nodded, eyelids drooping. After patting her cheek, he started to the bar. When he handed Cynthia the fresh drink, she greedily savored it, the half swallow of straight scotch reviving her. When she answered, her words were slurred.

"Who are you looking for?"

"One of your wonderful husband's employee's."

"Leslie?"

Confused, Joe's eyes narrowed inquisitively and he asked,

"How did you know?"

"Wives know. Besides, she found us when we got here, wanting to discuss company business with Howard."

"Company business?"

"Funny business is more like it." Draining her scotch, she pleaded, "One more, Joe?"

Again, Joe took Cynthia's glass, her words playing through his mind as he returned to the bar to refresh her drink.

When he returned, he asked, "Where did they go?"

"Probably to the nearest toilet with a lock on the door."

"What?"

Grinning impishly, Cynthia explained. "That's where he made love to me the first time - at a New Year's party, both of us butt-naked on a toilet seat."

"You're incorrigible, Cyn."

"Maybe," she said, putting her arm around his waist and hugging him to her delicate breasts. "It was fun. Let's find a bathroom so I can relive old memories."

"Why don't you just browse through some photo albums," he said, backing away.

"The photos I'd like to see are in your apartment."

Joe winked and started through the crowd as Cynthia finished her drink and wobbled to the bar for another. True to Cynthia's prediction, Howard and Leslie had found a secluded upstairs bathroom. Leslie sat on the toilet stool, skirt hiked to her thighs and pantyhose rolled down around her ankles. Her unbuttoned blouse revealed an ample expanse of bosom radiating an embarrassed shade of pink. Howard stood primping in front of the mirror.

"Please come home with me, Howard."

"Can't," he said his voice booming and distinctive. "I have business."

Leslie watched him comb his hair and preen his mustache with his little finger. "You haven't seen Billy in a week."

"Busy, busy," he said, turning around. "Besides, we've already made love."

Averting her gaze, Leslie stared sullenly at the tile floor. "When are you going to tell Cynthia about us?"

Caressing her bare breast, Howard bent forward and kissed her full on the mouth.

"Soon."

Howard patted her head like a pet dog and opened the bathroom door.

"Howard, wait."

"Gotta go."

Without bothering to close the door, Howard hurried away. Leslie shut and locked the door, then stumbled to the mirror. Hair a mess and dress torn and mauled, she began to cry.

Joe searched the party for Leslie with no success, soon completing the loop and finding the intoxicated Cynthia propped against the same wall where he had left her. Spotting him, she held up her empty drink glass.

"Please, daddy. One more."

Nodding, Joe returned with a fresh scotch for her and a tall bourbon for himself. With one hand on his shoulder for support, she tapped his glass and choked down everything but the ice.

"Drinking away your troubles, Darling?"

Joe glanced over his shoulder as Carla Scull approached through the crowded room.

Cynthia said, "You don't have enough booze for that."

"Someone knocking my booze?" Bern Scull said, appearing through the crowd behind Carla. From his wobbly gait, Bern was also suffering from alcoholic indulgence.

"Bern, baby," Cynthia said. "I wondered where you were."

Bern laughed, stumbled to Cynthia's side and grabbed her by the waist. Both leaned against the wall for support.

Carla ignored their obvious groping and asked, "Where is Leslie."

"The bathroom," Joe said.

"There she is," Bern said, pulling away from Cynthia and pointing.

Joe saw her, moving aimlessly through the crowded room.

"Leslie, over here."

In a haze, Leslie drifted toward them without a smile, or look of recognition.

"Leslie," he said, taking her hand.

Suddenly smiling at everyone as if in a trance Leslie looked at Joe and asked, "Can I have a sip of your drink?"

Joe handed her the drink laced with extra ice and she thrust it to her lips with both hands.

Bern, again, pulled Cynthia toward him, asking, "Where's that no good partner of mine?"

"Haven't seen him," she said, numbly.

"He left the party with Jim O'Brien and his long-legged, puff-brained secretary,” Carla answered.

Leslie's body stiffened. Her hands trembled and she dropped the glass. It exploded into flying ice and shards of crystal against the hardwood floor. Leslie sank to her knees to pick up the mess but Joe touched her shoulders and held her.

"No harm," Bern said, waving across the room for Margaret. "Let’s go to the living room."

Without waiting, Carla, Bern, and Cynthia walked away. Joe helped Leslie to her feet.

"Don't worry," he said. "Carla will never miss it."

"I have to make a phone call."

Joe pointed, through the crowd, at a closed door. "There's a phone in the den. I'll show you."

After leading Leslie to the empty den, Joe switched on the lamp beside the couch and handed her the phone. When no one answered, she put her finger on the button and dialed another number.

"Calling for a taxi?"

"Yes."

Taking the receiver from her, Joe said, "My car is outside. I'll take you home."

Remembering she'd spent her last five dollars getting to the party, Leslie accepted his offer but remained passively silent during their icy trip to her apartment. Joe walked her to the door, watching her shiver as she fished in her purse for the keys. After opening the door a crack, she took his hand.

"Thank you," she said.

Slipping inside, Leslie shut the door behind her, leaving Joe to briefly stare at the peeling paint before starting back down the icy sidewalk. Before he reached the car, raspy hinges creaked behind him and the door opened once again. Leslie called to him, as if in shock.

"Wait. I need your help."

Disturbed by Leslie's voice, Joe returned up the walk and followed her into the squalid, cold-water flat, watching as she shook an incognizant old woman, lying on the couch.

Leslie demanded, "Where is Billy?"

After snorting loudly and rolling over, the old woman covered her head with her arm and dropped an empty bottle to the floor. It dribbled whiskey on the threadbare rug. Leslie's impassioned question went unanswered and she glanced up at Joe, tears forming in her eyes.

"Billy's gone!"

Hurrying back outside, Joe searched the shadow-cloaked sidewalk which was faintly illuminated by the feeble light of the porch lamp. "I see some footprints in the snow."

Pushing past him, Leslie ran through the ankle-deep mire,

still wearing her baby-blue party dress. Joe stalked the tiny footprints by the light of the full moon. Before reaching the surrounding chain-link fence, the flat ground around the apartment sloped suddenly downward. There they found Billy, foot caught beneath the wire. After releasing his foot, Leslie hugged him to her breast.

"Mommy," he said weakly. "I slid down the hill."

Draping his coat around the boy, Joe helped them back up the slope. Returning to the warmth of Leslie's apartment, they got Billy out of his wet clothes, dried him off and warmed him up, and soon learned he was more frightened than hurt.

Leslie knelt beside his bed, holding his hand, and asked, "Why did you go outside?"

"I saw a white rabbit through the window and chased him."

Granting them a moment of privacy, Joe vacated the bedroom and woke Mildred, still asleep on the couch. After ushering her out the front door, he poured a glass of water from the rusty kitchen tap as the ripple of soft fabric behind him interrupted his thoughts. It was Leslie, watching him from the bedroom doorway.

He asked, "Billy all right?"

Leslie started to answer but hesitated. Hearing the metallic rattle of keys in the lock, she wheeled around with startled disbelief. As Howard Pike opened the door and entered, eyes unfocused and dilated, she smiled weakly and her lower lip began to tremble.

Unmindful of Joe's presence, Pike removed his overcoat and went to Leslie, drifting forward in a drunken, exaggerated gait. Twirling her once in the air, he let her slide slowly through his arms to the floor. Joe waited for Leslie's negative reaction. Instead, her trembling lip magnified her smile. Enraptured by Pike's sudden appearance, she wrapped her willowy arms around his ruddy neck.

Feeling suddenly like an unwelcome voyeur as painful reality encompassed his soul, he watched Leslie unbutton Pike's shirt and cover his bare chest with passionate kisses. Opening the front door he stepped out into the cold then turned for one last look before plodding away through the snow.

Bathed in dim light filtering from the single remaining bare bulb in a corroded light fixture on the ceiling, Leslie's brown eyes registered some indeterminate emotion far beyond Joe's ability to fathom.

Blinking away his confusion, he backed slowly away and shut the door behind him. Two steps from the door he began whistling a broken tune. Without looking back he trudged through the snow to his car and drove away.

###

All of Eric's books are available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and on his iBook author pages, and his Website.