Chapter 3
"Take me to one of those parties-just to watch!"
It took Cynthia two months of meeting and talking to Chet. During which time she paced the apartment late at night, later tossing in bed until the early hours of the morning when she would lie naked, with all of the covers removed so that the cool morning air would cool her hot beautiful body. Finally, over cocktails when Chet invited her out to "break the monotony," after her third martini, she had suddenly blurted out, "Take me to one of those parties-just to watch!"
A silence hung between them. Chet looked at her with those even gray eyes of his. "I don't know if I can do that."
"Who's to know?" Cynthia asked, surprising even herself with her brazenness.
"Okay," Chet answered evenly, carefully fingering his glass. "But there is my obligation to Mike to think about. Taking you to see one of these parties would hardly be what I call 'looking after you.' In fact, if the shoe was on the other foot, if it were the other way around, I'd be plenty mad if my best friend took my wife to one of those things."
"You know I can take care of myself, that I am over twenty-one and can make legal contracts, you know that, Chet, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm old enough to know my own mind and be responsible for my actions. I say I want to go to see what one of those parties is like, that's all. Naturally, I'd expect you to take care of me."
Chet shook his head in resignation. "No way, Cynthia, no way in the world even if Mike is going-" He stopped and smiled enigmatically. Phase three of his operation was underway: undermine Cynthia's image of her husband, have her believing that he is out having a good time for himself, and you make it all the more easy for her to let go, have a little fun on her own.
It didn't take him too long. Reluctantly, he admitted that almost all the guys in Saigon had a girl. They came so cheap and would do the laundry and shine the boots. Some guys had as many as two and three. He was very careful-too careful-to say that Mike had nothing to do with anything like that. Yes, he did have cleaning girls, all the guys had girls or young boys who came in to dust and clean the rooms.
In no time at all-two weeks actually-he had Cynthia seething, sure that Mike was having an affair with more than one Vietnamese girl. Something else was seething in her too; the desire to go to one of Chet's parties and, in some feminine way, "get even" with Mike.
The total lapse in time since she first saw Chet Larkin and when she finally insisted that he take her to see what happened at "those parties" was just sixty days. Two months, with Chet working easily and assuredly at being her friend, being "thoughtful" and running little errands and fixing things around the house and generally being a good guy. Two months and he had her insisting that he take her to a party or their friendship was at stake.
Of course, Cynthia had three Chet-made martinis before she made her demand. Chet stopped by with all the martini makings. He was, he said, celebrating an anniversary.
"Oh, what is it?" Cynthia asked, her eyes taking in his appearance, noticing he was dressed better than usual, wearing a light blue suit of a continental cut and expensive cloth.
He made the drinks deftly, that enigmatic smile on his lips until he handed her a glass that was frosted and filled to the brim with the driest martini possible.
They touched glasses as he looked into her eyes. "It's just two months since we met, since I called up and said that Mike had asked me to keep an eye on you."
"Skoal," Cynthia said, tapping the glasses and drinking. "My, we're all dressed up. Going to some place special?"
Chet sipped at his drink, just wetting his lips. She noticed this was a customary habit of his and, although he always had a drink at his elbow, she had never seen him get high or anywhere near drunk. He looked down at his suit and said, "Oh yeah, got to attend one of those leftist fund-raising parties tonight. Certain group of people are beginning to think it very chic to be leftist. I gotta check it out"
"Can I go?"
"Not a chance."
"Why?" This led to Chet offering a series of excuses which Cynthia shot down, his excuses growing lamer as he went along.
"You'd blow my cover."
"Nonsense. I'd only help your cover. Since I don't know what's going on, I can only be an asset to you."
"Mike wouldn't like it."
"Is this fund-raising shindig private or can anybody with the price and an invitation go?"
Chet wiped his mouth, waved an arm, and refilled the drinks as he said, "Anybody with the money and an invite can go."
"All right," she said, her hands on her hips and her feet tapping, "I've got the money. Tell me how I can get an invitation-and don't tell me I can't get one-and I'll go by myself and write and tell Mike that you wouldn't look after me."
"Aw, come on, Cynth," he said, refilling the drinks once again.
By the time she had her third martini, she was adamant, almost hostile. Chet gave in with a weary shrug. "Okay, remember one thing, it was your idea. It's a pretty swanky affair downtown and there might even be a celebrity or two there, so get dressed up all sexy and we'll have us some fun."
"Darn right!" Cynthia said, draining her drink and heading for the bedroom to change into something more suitable. Already her sexual stimulus was up and she thrilled at the naughty idea of leaving the door open just a crack. She told herself that Chet was just like one of the family and rationalized further that it was easier for them to converse through an open door than it was a closed one. She could stay out of sight and judge where he was by his voice.
Chet set himself to making a new "batch" of martinis, lining himself up with the crack in the door so he could see into the mirror on one wall and thus most of the room. He smiled confidently to himself. It was only a matter of hours before Cynthia would be groveling, begging to be fucked more and wallowing in the obscenity of saying the word aloud, begging for it, wanting just a little more of the thrill she had felt building, building for so long deep down in her groin.
Chet measured the drinks with care, looking through the crack in the door and seeing the smiling figure of Cynthia come into view in the mirror. She was looking into a closet at what she had to wear, standing tiptoe in her stocking feet, revealing her shapely calves and the proud, twin, bulging cheeks of her skirt that clung so seductively to her flesh.
Chet felt his cock jerk in his pants. He liked watching women undress when they didn't know he was watching.
"Are you mixing more drinks?" she called out over her shoulder, half distracted by trying to decide what she was going to wear, her head swimming and her body feeling heavier and ... pleasant.
"Why not?" he called back. "One for the road."
"Right!" she yelled, surprised and giggling at the loud sound of her own voice.
He gave an audible gasp as he looked into the mirror and saw Cynthia reach behind her neck, flick a clasp, and unzip the dress. As it fell silently to the floor and she stepped out of it, he got a full-length glimpse of her figure before it slipped from view, clad only in a bra, bikini panties, silk stockings, and black garter belt.
Chet shifted his position, changing the angle as he stirred the drinks and saw Cynthia, with her back to the mirror, bend over and pick up the simple dress she had been wearing. The full rounded moons of her buttocks came into tantalizing view and Chet had a completely reflected but unimpeded view of the narrow nylon strip of her panties between her firm, full thighs that tightened momentarily as she bent over. The panties slipped teasingly into the crevice of her buttocks from the pressure of the position and then remained bunched up in the hollows as she straightened up again to hang the dress in the closet.
He watched her with bated breath as she walked along the long wall closet, her buttocks joggling slightly as she moved. It was a sexy, squirming walk and he could tell from the expression on her face, whenever she turned, that she was already sexually excited by the evening ahead of them. Good, he thought, she's going to see plenty of it.
His eyes were narrow slits as he took in her form as she turned from the closet. Her sheer stockings gleamed in the not-too-bright light of the room and her black high-heeled shoes set them off to good effect. He thought he'd like to take her like that, in black stockings and high heels. Better still, he liked to see her get taken, fucked, that way.
Beads of perspiration were on his forehead and he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his forehead as he watched her wiggle into a low-cut cocktail type of dress, exactly right for where they were going.
Outside, they got into a white convertible Caddy and drove to one of the better sections of San Diego. It was a well-to-do residential section called "Hidden Hills," a mystifying title since there weren't any hills. But there was plenty hidden. Houses were designed to be barely seen from the road and lots of shrubbery separated one from another.
Cynthia let her hair flow back in the breeze and felt her head clearing a bit from the generous and dynamite-packed martinis he had made for her. She looked at the car, at the lovely scenery, and at the way he was dressed and she laughed. "Wow!" she said, somewhat drun-kenly, "what rough duty you're drawing! How can you take it?" She collapsed beside him in a cloud of giggles.
Chet grinned. "This is one of the better runs. But don't be deceived by appearances, the action can get quite rough and raunchy later on. Just stick with me and do what I say and don't be surprised who you see at this party."
"Hitler?" Cynthia asked and lapsed off into laughter again. The whole thing seemed so unreal and Chet sounded so needlessly ominous.
"No, celebrities. Helping out ultra-leftist causes and the anti-war movement has become very chic now. Just get yourself a drink, then sit back and watch me operate and enjoy the whole thing. Whatever you do, don't talk about me. Talk about anything else, just say what you honestly feel, but don't talk about me."
"But what will I do if someone asks?" Cynthia said, suddenly bewildered.
"Ah," he winked, nodding, "You just say that I'm a friend and let it go. Then, after, you tell me who asked. Don't drink too much, you're going to be in with some fast company."
Fifteen minutes later, an amazed Cynthia found herself sitting crowded on a large couch, a generous drink in her hand, handsome people all around her. It was everything that Chet had hinted and more. She couldn't believe her eyes! Chet was off in one corner talking to an actor who had just become a big star! People were milling everywhere and, out in the middle of the room, where the rug was rolled back to indicate a dance floor, a young sinuous blonde in a low-cut red cocktail dress was doing a sensuous dance and a slow strip!
The place was packed and the lights were being dimmed and Cynthia gulped at her drink and couldn't believe it was happening in front of her! Everything Chet had said was true! Her eyes narrowed and her body shivered with excitement as she saw a group off by themselves. She wasn't sure, but they seemed to be passing something among them and a heavy sickly sweet odor drifted through the cigarette smoke. Cynthia saw some blacks come in and stand by the far wall. The jazz music was swelling and now the dancing girl was wiggling out of her dress. Someone handed Cynthia still another lethal martini and said something to her. She looked around. Where was Chet in all the shifting, changing people? Where was she? She saw Chet and waved. He was looking at her and still talking to the movie star.