Chapter 9

When Sally sobered up the next day, she felt terrible about what she had allowed to happen between herself and Scott.

She kept thinking of her husband, anxiously plugging his book, calling her periodically on the telephone, eagerly wondering how she was getting along.

In the middle of the morning, following their sex escapade, Jerry called. "Hello," Jerry began. "Darling, how's it going?"

"Real fine. I got on the local television station here in Springfield."

"How's the weather in Massachusetts ? "

"It's very nice. A little on the chilly side. Brisk, but nice."

"That's so good to know."

"It's good to hear your voice again."

"Scott and I really miss you."

"How is the boy?"

"He's doing real well."

"That's good. There never is any reason to worry about that kid."

"That's for sure, dear. He takes very good care of himself."

"Which is incredible, considering he's only fifteen years old. You know how it is with most kids that age. Very immature. Not our Scott. That's the big reason I'm so proud of him."

"I feel the same way, dear."

"I'm going to try and make it home in a few weeks," Jerry said. "This travel is really starting to wear thin on me."

"I suppose it is."

"It's just living out of a suitcase, moving around all the time."

"I hope we do see you soon."

"You will. I've got to climb out of my suitcase some time," Jerry laughed sadly. "So good to hear your voice again, darling."

"Same here. Good luck, dear. And take it easy."

Sally put the phone back on the table, and she began feeling guiltier than ever.

It would be terrible for her to continue her sex relationship with Scott, she thought, but yet there was this crying need within her for sexual expression. Jerry just wasn't around to give her any love, except through communicating by telephone, and she wanted badly to engage in some brisk sex.

She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a straight shot of scotch. As she sipped from her glass, she began to think about all that had happened to her.

The more that she thought about all that had taken place, the more disappointed she grew over Jerry's being gone. Also, it bothered her that she enjoyed sex with Scott more than she did with Jerry. She seemed to break loose with Scott, pushing herself into a passionate frenzy in a manner in which she did not communicate with Jerry.

Sex had become so much more blase with Jerry than it ever could be with Scott.

As she finished her first shot of scotch, she poured some more in the glass. Maybe she ought to get a little drunk. It would do nothing more than add to her frustration, but at such a time she didn't really care.

Sally sat down and sipped the scotch, thinking about her handsome son Scott, and the way that he had wielded his huge prick when he had fucked her the last time.

The more she thought about Scott, the more guilty she felt about what she had done. She then began to think that perhaps she ought to go out to a bar. Maybe if she could just communicate with some man verbally, that would help her..

When she finished her second glass of scotch, Sally thought some more about what she had done with Scott.

Just maybe she had something more in mind in thinking about drinking at a bar. Maybe she ought to do her best to communicate with another person. Some man aside from her own son. Perhaps if she could just get involved with a transitory affair, something that wasn't going to tie her down, that would be her best bet.

Sally remembered having heard about a singles' bar not far from where she lived. She had heard a divorced friend of hers commenting on how easy it was for women to get picked up there. The better looking the woman was, her friend had told her, naturally the easier it came to be picked up by the right partner. A girl in such a situation could be a lot more selective.

"You would go over beautifully there, Sally," she recalled the friend saying.

At that time Sally had told her friend emphatically that she was not interested in making such contacts. But time and situations change, and as she mulled over the possibility of going to the bar, the whole idea became that much more enticing.

She wondered what it would be like going in the afternoon. There wouldn't be nearly as many men as she would discover in the evenings, but after all, all she needed was one, provided he was the right man.

She got up and walked into the bedroom, changing her clothes.

Sally climbed into a chic, revealing purple pant-suit that showed her figure off to exquisite perfection. She added a little make-up, then stood before the mirror and admired herself.

She didn't look anything like thirty-nine years old, and that recognition made her feel that much more confident about meeting a man at the bar.

She got into her car and drove toward the singles' bar that she was so anxious to visit. She felt guilty, knowing down deep what she intended to do, but if she could only divert her attention from Scott, then maybe things would become a little more tolerable. At least the feelings of guilt would be modified somewhat, lessened with the knowledge that at least she wasn't playing around with her own son.

Sally arrived at the bar, walking into the dimly lit interior.

It had a romantic look about it, and a soft rhapsodic melody played on the jukebox. Sally glided herself ever so slowly toward the bar, sitting down at a stool.

She observed the curious male eyes attentively sizing her up as she walked into the bar.

There was just a tiny sprinkle of customers on hand, and most of them were men, but it was a good sampling of that particular time of the afternoon. It was just after lunchtime, and a few businessmen were sitting around in a cluster, sipping cocktails.

Sally sat down at one of the bar stools, and the bartender immediately materialized.

"Good afternoon." He greeted her with a smile.

"Good afternoon."

"What will it be?"

"Scotch on the rocks."

"Coming right up," he said.

As Sally sat there, pensively waiting for the drink, feeling a little uncomfortable about the strange atmosphere, a man slinked over toward the bar and plopped down on a stool next to Sally.

"I'll take care of that drink, Marty," the man said, reaching out and handing the bartender a dollar bill and a quarter.

"Okay, fine, Joe," the bartender said, walking away.

Sally turned and looked into the eyes of Joe, a gray-haired man who appeared to be in his middle forties. He was tall and slim, wearing a brown turtleneck sweater and light blue sports slacks.

"Hi, baby. My name is Joe," the man said.

"So I heard."

"Well, what's yours?"

"Sally," she said softly.

"That's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he said. "Did anybody ever tell you, you look sexy?"

"I don't care to be talked to in such a manner," Sally snapped.

"I showed some class," Joe said, obviously shaken by her reply. "I bought you a drink."

"I'm sorry you did, and if I had known you were going to try, I wouldn't have let you."

"Oh, you wouldn't, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't. I don't like fresh men buying me drinks."

"What are you, some kind of goddamn virgin?" Joe exploded. "I've seen your type so many times. You walk into a bar in broad daylight, sit down on a stool, wear the sexiest outfit you can find, then get upset when some guy throws a pass your way. What are you, some kind of cock-tease or something? I've run into that kind before, and I don't like it. Now let's get friendly, baby."

"I wish you'd get lost."

"Don't talk to me that way."

Marty the bartender walked over toward Joe.

"Ease off, Joe. You've had too many drinks," the bartender told him.

"Get off my back, Marty, For Christsake, I drink enough in this joint to pay your salary, along with the rent too."

"Don't come on so strong with the lady."

"If she was a lady, would she be in this upholstered sewer waiting for a guy to pick her up and lay her?"

At that point Sally blew up, reaching out and slapping Joe across his face.

"You had it coming, Joe," Marty laughed.

"Why, you little bitch," Joe exploded. "I ought to take you out in the parking lot and whip the shit out of you."

"Ease off, Joe," Marty said.

"Get lost, Marty. This' doesn't concern you. I'm going to teach this broad something. I'm going to teach her to give me a little respect. Then I'm going to take her to my apartment and fuck her. She's a bitch who wants to be fucked and she knows it."

"Please do something." Sally looked at Marty helplessly.

At that moment, a tall, muscular man walked over toward the bar. He stood menacingly next to Joe, staring at him with intensity.

"Joe, how many times have I got to tell you that you've got a mean tongue," the man said in a booming voice.

"This don't concern you, Gordy," Joe replied nervously.

"You gave Marty a bad time and now you're giving this chick a bad time. You've had enough to drink. Go on home."

"You're not the bartender here," Joe said, his hands beginning to shake. "Marty, tell Gordy to get lost."

"He's right, Joe, I was going to cut you off anyway. I think it's time for you to leave."

"Like hell I will," Joe said.

"You heard the man, Joe," Gordy said in an authoritative tone.

Sally could tell that Joe was fearful of Gordy. He quietly got up to his feet moving his body ever so slowly.

"You've got a helluva nerve," Joe said.

"You've got the nerve, old boy," Gordy said. "You've got no right to talk to this gal that way. As a matter-of-fact, if I couldn't go to jail for doing it, I'd probably bust your head in for talking that way to her."

"What's she to you?" Joe said, moving quickly toward the door.

"She's a lovely young lady and I don't think she's used to being talked to in that way. That's what she slapped you for. Now get lost, Joe, and I hope I don't see you around here again until you sober up."

"Aw, go to hell," Joe said, walking out the door.

"Sorry about what happened," Marty said.

"You couldn't help it," Sally said. "That man was so crude."

"He's really not that bad at all when he's sober," Marty said. "The big problem, though, is that he's drunk so much of the time."

"I got the same feeling," Sally nodded.

"Incidentally, young lady, this man's name is Gordon Kelly," Marty introduced Sally to the tall muscular man. "Maybe you've heard of him."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Kelly. I'm sorry to say I've never heard of you. Should I have?" Sally smiled.

"It all depends," Gordon Kelly grinned. "I'm a fighter. As a matter-of-fact, I'm the fifth rated heavyweight contender in the world."

"I'm glad I've got Gordy as a friend," Marty exclaimed. "It sure makes it a lot easier when a guy gets drunk and starts looking for trouble, like Joe was."

"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Kelly," Sally smiled.

"Please call me Gordy. Everybody does."

"Fine. I'll call you Gordy. Anyway, that man was really beginning to scare me."

"He did have an intimidating way about him," Gordy nodded. "How about letting me buy you a drink?"

"No, I insist on buying you one."

"Are you going to break training again, Gordy," Marty said teasingly.

"Of course I will. I couldn't pick a lovelier drinking companion."

"What will you have?" she smiled. "I'm going to have another scotch."

"I'm going to drink beer," Gordy said. "It's about the only thing that I can have that isn't going to hurt me too much."

"Are you training for a fight?"

"I'm always training for a fight," Gordy laughed. "No, I'm not in what you call immediate training. If I was, I wouldn't be here. I work out to keep in shape, but right now I'm between fights."

"I'm sorry I've never heard of you, but I'm not much on sports heroes."

"Have you ever been to a fight?"

"I can't say that I have."

"I'd like to take you to one sometime."

"That sounds like a lot of fun," Sally smiled.

She looked over at Marty.

"You can pour us the drinks now."

"Fine. I'll do that right away," Marty nodded.

As Gordy took his first sip of the beer, he took a closer look at the beautiful woman sitting next to him.

He couldn't help but think how lucky he had been to be in the right strategic spot when lovely Sally happened to be in need of a rescuer.

"I really like your style," Gordy said. "You handled old Joe as effectively as any woman could."

"Thank you."

"I like you, honey."

Sally smiled temptingly at him.