Chapter 2
The following morning, Rhoda arose first, as usual, and fixed breakfast for them. She didn't feel much like eating; she just picked at her food. There was little conversation between them, the atmosphere being a little like an armed truce. Phil was very polite ... and, she thought, contrite, as he ate his breakfast, in silence, lost in thought, a worried frown on his handsome face. Rhoda noted, also, that his color wasn't good! He looked as though he might be ill. She decided that it was just a hangover from his drinking of the night before. Two or three times Phil started to say something to her, but he changed his mind just before broaching the subject... or he hadn't known what to say - or how to say what was on his mind.
After he was shaved, dressed and ready to leave for work, he came to where Rhoda still sat, at the breakfast table, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee. Sitting down opposite her, his face serious, drawn . . . worried, his brown eyes sorrowful, he reached out to cover her hand with his own big one.
"Rhoda," he began. "You know ... I really love you ..."
She raised hurt eyes to him, in turn, "Was that. . . love . . . last night. .. ?" she parried.
"No . . . that was something in me .. . something I couldn't control. .. I-I just flipped ... I guess ..." he stumbled.
"I won't be able to ... to keep on living with you . .. Phil... unless you can learn t-to ... be gentle with me . . . and teach me to respond ... to love . .. real love ..." she said.
"I'll try . . . Rhoda! Ill try ... " She had thought of it often before, but had not dared mention it to Phil. Now was the time. Phil was ready!
"We could get help... some marriage counseling sessions..." she suggested, not knowing what his reaction would be.
"Yeah . .. maybe that's an answer . . . but the cost. .. ?" he objected mildly.
Elation and hope came to her, once more; her despondency fled before the sunshine of his amiable agreement.
"There are agencies ..." she said, quickly. "Family Service . . . where you pay according to your income."
"Oh . ..?"
Persisting now, she went on, "Something like four or five dollars a session .. . Should we look into it. .. Phil?"
"Yeah . . . yeah, go ahead," he said absently. But, Rhoda, there's something I've got to tell you ... at least part of it before I go. You know my work... a lot of it is secret, top drawer, confidential stuff..."
"Yes, I know, Phil... But.. . Phil! Is something wrong?" She was confused, worried now.
"It could be serious... All I can tell you is . .. somebody's trying to get the data on my project! That's what's been bothering me .. . the reason why I got blotto, last night. . . and when I came home ... to you ... I just went off my rocker . . . and . . . Well, I'm sorry, Rhoda . .. but I wanted you to know .. . about this other thing ..." he struggled, trying to tell her of his all-consuming problem, his realization that he had treated her wrongly, all without, at the same time, telling her anything that would violate the plant security.
"Oh, Phil! I - I had no idea ..." Rhoda said, immediately understanding and sympathetic. "Do you know who's trying to ... to get the information on your project.. . ?"
"Yes, I know! But, they'll play hell getting it!" His voice was strident, emphatic.
"Darling . .. please, be careful," she cried. "You won't take any chances . . . risk getting hurt. .. ?"
She rose with him as he stood to his feet and came into his arms, offering him her lips. Phil kissed her tenderly, holding her close with gentle strength. "I'll be all right!"
Phil went on, "Rhoda ... I love you. Please give me a chance ... to work this out..."
Rhoda was ecstatic. "Yes, oh, yes, Phil.. . We'll work it out, together!" she bubbled. "And Phil . . . you know how much I love you .. . too!?"
He left for work, then, hurriedly, to get to the plant on time, his stride firm and confident on the stair, and Rhoda knew that part of his great burden had been lifted from him just in the telling of it to her.
Her whole being sang; her heart was lighter, her spirit more buoyant and there was deep hope in her heart that their marriage would not flounder. She watched him drive away and knew that now she could hardly wait for his return in the evening. She had so much to tell him.
Oh, My Dearest Phil! I didn't know he was facing something all that serious!... I know he'll tell me all about it. .. when he can. And, he agreed that we need some marriage counseling.. . That's a good sign. .. a healthy sign! Oh, God, I was so close to losing him!. . . I don't know how much longer I could have stood it. .. before I walked out on him. . . divorced him ... or cracked up, myself! I don't want any kind of "like mother. . . like daughter" situation in my life. ..
Rhoda went about her housework with vigor, and by ten had finished all of the daily chores, plus a few of the irregular ones; however, there was still the washing of the hamperful of dirty clothing, but she was unable to get that job done for the simple reason she still had no money for the coin-operated machines. She sorted through the mess of soiled garments and selected some she could do by hand in the bathroom sink. She had just started this hand washing when the doorbell sounded. Hastily wiping her hands she went to her door.
Standing on the covered landing she saw a sallow-faced man of medium height with greying hair; small, actually perceptive eyes and a thin straight gash for a mouth. He held a black attache case in his hand. Thinking, at first sight, that he was a salesman, she said, "I'm sorry ... I don't need anything, today."
She started to close the door, but Sallow-face pulled his mouth into a horrible grinning grimace, revealing long, tobacco stained teeth and said, "Mrs. Grey ... ? I'm Don Proctor, Chief Security Officer for Northern Chemical and Research. Your husband is employed with us there... and... " "Oh .. . ? Yes ... Phil is in Research ... at Northern ..."
"May I come in ..." he asked, politely.
"Phil!" she choked. "Something's wrong with Phil!?"
"No .. . your husband's perfectly all right, but there is a problem I've got to talk to you about. . . concerning him ..." He smiled that awful smile at her, again.
Heaving a quick sigh of relief, she said, "Why yes, of course ... please, come in ... " Rhoda led the way to seats in their small living room. Don Proctor sat on the couch, facing her across the small coffee table. His quick eyes took in everything, including a quick sweep of her voluptuous young figure.
A little nervously, she asked, "What is it... about Phil?"
The security guard looked at her, steadily, for a moment, his little, ferret-like eyes burning into her own, until she felt he was trying to see into her soul; finally he began to speak.
"Mrs. Grey ... as Chief Security for the plant it's my job to know everything that goes on . . . any and everything affecting the safety... or the security at N.C.&R. is my responsibility."
"Yes ... I understand that. .. but Phil's been cleared . .. for top security. After all, he's in research ... and ..." she said, trying to affirm Phil's position at the plant.
"There's no question of his clearance ... now," Don explained. "It's whether he can keep it... in the future."
Rhoda frowned. "Why .. . ? Has something changed ... Is there some new regulation ... ?"
"You didn't understand what I said, Mrs. Grey ... I said he may not be able to keep that top security clearance ... for long. You see ... I have some evidence here . . . evidence that seems to show your husband, Phil. . . may be a dangerous security risk at N.C.&R." the plant guard said, grimly, not smiling, now.
"Oh, My God! . . . What do you mean ... is there some kind of. .. ?" she started, then stopped herself, remembering what he had told her that morning: That someone was trying to get his research data. Had they been successful? Was this part of an investigation . . . the reason for the plant security man being here . . . ?
Oh, God! Phil's in some kind of trouble! Don't let it be so . . . please, Dear Lord!
Then, she caught his ferret-eyes as they swept over her appraisingly, a salacious smile parting his thin lips, giving him a strange, unreal look, as though he were the work of a Hollywood studio make-up artist getting him ready to step before the cameras to play the heavy in a grade B horror movie.
What is it about this man. . . that gives me the jitters. . . ? I should be able to trust him . . . I suppose, because he is from security . . . But, he's so . . . slimy looking. . . or something. Ugh! The awful way he looks at me makes my skin crawl!
"It's all right here, Mrs. Grey... I think maybe it'd be best if I just played the tape for you ... and you can judge for yourself . .. " Don Proctor said, his eyes never leaving her.
He picked up his attache case, laid it flat on the coffee table, opened it and removed a small, portable casette type tape recorder which he placed on the couch beside him. He went on, "I'm sure you'll recognize one of the voices on this tape . .. the other voice, I'm not at liberty to identify for you ... yet. But, he is very big in scientific research. Listen!"
Don set the machine for playback and started it. There was a few seconds of silent lead-in tape; after that there were several squeaks and squawks and the tail-end of a solid rock number, the buzz of voices, the clink of glasses, identifying the location as a bar, probably. Rhoda cocked her head, listening carefully, so she would miss nothing.
PHIL: (short laugh)
Yes. . . that's right . . . I did publish that article. .. It came out about October, last year. . .
VOICE: (a man's voice, baritone in quality) I try to keep up. . . read what I can.. . but I find it gets harder. .. since I'm more in the business end. . .
PHIL: I remember your work. . . especially the research with insecticides.
VOICE: Yes. . . very interesting, but it's too bad about this residual thing. That hurts. .. but it keeps us looking for something better. . . isn't that right?
PHIL: Yes.
(Silence. Background noises, but no conversation) PHIL: Well, thank you for the drink... I should be getting on home. . .
VOICE: Look, Phil ...I know you don't want to talk to me - and with good reason - after all... I am part of the competition. . . But that doesn't mean we can't have a drink or two on a social basis.. . does it?
Come on. . . have one more with me... ?
PHIL: All right... the same, then . . . thanks.
(Background noises, business of ordering drinks, scuffing and scraping sounds, clink of glasses, Rock band starts playing. . . then, dead silence for several seconds) VOICE: I'm glad that's over!
PHIL: What was it you started to say . . . ?
VOICE: There has to be something better than Teflon . . . just imagine... a material so tough that it could be used as cylinder in internal combustion engines... something that can be produced cheaply. .. cheap enough to line the inside of cross-country oil and gas pipe-lines... life-time bearings in machines. . . imagine, never having to replace the bearings in a generator ... or an automobile engine... Bearings that never have to be lubricated. . . and used in paints. .. you'd never have to polish a car, again . . . And, I could go on and on...
PHIL: You don't have to. . . I've already done a lot of day-dreaming about all the possible applications. . . if somebody could come up with such a material.. . Wow!
VOICE: Isn't it more than day-dreaming, Phil? You're the guy who knows how to make it!
PHIL: What makes you say that. . .?
VOICE: Because. . . I think that's what you 're working on.. . over at Northern . . . and that you can already write the formula for it!
PHIL: That's a laugh . . . If I knew that I'd be a rich man . . .
VOICE: You can be a rich man . . . ! Would fifty thousand dollars help?
PHIL: You bidding on something. .. ?
VOICE: If it's for sale ...The bid could go the seventy-five thousand route. ..
PHIL: And if I could produce. .. it might be worth one-hundred thousand. . . ?
VOICE: A workable formula might be worth another twenty-five... on top of that!
PHIL: It's very tempting. ..
Rhoda gasped, "No! I don't believe it!" Don Proctor hissingly commanded her to silence.
VOICE: Are you selling.. .
PHIL: I'll have to think about it.
VOICE: A hundred thousand and twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of money. .. you can do a lot with that. . .
PHIL: How do you plan to pay off. . . ?
VOICE: Numbered Swiss bank account. . . regular drafts to your bank.. . O.K.?
PHIL: Sounds good.
VOICE: Can you deliver?
PHIL: Yes.
VOICE: When?
PHIL: A week O.K.?
VOICE: Good! Let's drink to that!
Rhoda couldn't believe her ears! Phil had actually agreed to sell his secret formula to that other man. . . whoever he was! It was impossible! Phil! Phil was selling out. . . and, yet, he had told her just before he left this morning that he would never let them get hold of his research data. True, he had been offered a large sum of money, but Phil selling out his principles . . . it just didn't square up! She was in an agony of confusion and uncertainty; her quick, hot tears came, unbidden, as she dropped her face into her hands, the wracking ululation bursting from her in sniffling hoots and wails.
Reaching over to the tape recorder, Proctor pushed the stop button; there was not much more to hear, anyway. He watched her cry for a few moments, sadistically enjoying the spectacle of her emotional outburst. Her light house dress molded her superb, young, rounded contours, and the hem of her dress had ridden up her thighs, exposing a good deal of her naked charms to his shifty gaze. The exposed white, flesh of her thighs triggered his sex fantasies, the crawling, pulling sensation of his scrotum and the quick jerk of his penis telling him that it had been worthwhile, after all. The long hours spent in tailing Phil Grey, getting the conversation on tape and preparing it for today's premier . . . was going to pay-off now with an unexpected dividend ... a roll in the sack between Grey's young wife's lust, white legs.
This one's going to be a pushover! Damn, she's delectable! Look at those hips and thighs... just the way I like 'em! Not too thin. .. and not too meaty . . . and those tits. . . man! I'm really going to give it to her! I'll fuck her every way but sideways! God! I can hardly wait! Just watching her. . . my cock's getting so damned hard. . . it's starting to ache! If that bitchy, pill-popping wife of mine would only put out regularly . . . I wouldn't have to get it someplace else. . . but, shit! This is more fun . . . anyway! Little lady . . . you're going to get some fancy fucking. .. in just a little while!
"Well!" he snapped at her, his voice cutting through to her commandingly. "What do you want to do about it?"
Rhoda looked up at him, misery imprinted on her face, "D-do . . . w-what do you m-mean ..."
Looking at her with piercingly lewd, ferret-eyes, he said, "Your husband is about to sell out... you heard! For all we know he may have done it, already! It's all there ... on the tape! Do I make my report to the president of N. C. & R.... turn this tape over to him ... or do we make some kind of agreement. .. you and me... " Again, Rhoda was confused; she hadn't followed his meaning.
"Agreement..." she asked, perplexed.
"Yes! Would you like to have that tape?"
That's it! My God! I've got to get that horrible tape. . . and destroy it or Phil will never work again at the thing he loves most!
"My God! Yes!"
Don reached out a hand, blue veins standing out in ridges, covered with brownish liver spots, and placed it on her thigh, carelessly, just above her dimpling knee.
"You can have it . . . after you've gone to bed with me," he said, trying to make his voice seductive.
Her reaction was swift. "No!" she said, horror creeping in her eyes and sweeping his hand from her leg.
"Your husband could lose his job!"
"No! Damn it! No!" she blurted, unable to believe what this horrid little man was proposing.
"You could only see him on weekends ... if he's lucky... and they send him to Chino!" Don suggested.
"Prison! Oh, n-no! Oh, God! No!"
Quickly, she stood to her feet; she felt faint, the shock, the unreality of the situation bearing down on her. That horrible tape. . . Phil agreeing to sell his secret project - his company's property - to another firm; now, this caricature of a man suggesting that she go to bed with him ... let him make love to her ... in exchange for the tape was too much. She wanted to be alone... to think the thing through, rationally. She swayed, slightly, and Don Proctor was there to take her swiftly in his arms, capturing her mouth with his own and covering her lips, completely, engulfing them moistly, as his tongue darted out to snake itself between her lips and against her teeth, one hand coming up to her jaw, his fingers pressing, cruelly, into the jaw muscles at the hinges, forcing her mouth to open, and his tongue lashed inside probing and tasting at her delicious youth.
She resisted, trying to pull away from him, disgust and revulsion in her at his vile physical contact, but his strong arms held her close to him, his hands hot and moving, restlessly, as they pressed into the smooth, curvaceous outlines of her buttocks, smoothing and kneading them, his strength forcing her pelvis tight into him where the throbbing bulginess of his manhood pressed hard into the triangle of her loins. She knew what he wanted.
No! This is impossible! This foul man is . . . is trying to... to blackmail me! Wanting me to go to bed with him. . . in exchange for that awful tape. . . Phil. . . oh, Phil! I love him ... so much! But, if I let this. . . beast make love to me. . . I'd be an. . . a-adulteress! Oh. God, help me. . . yet, if Phil went to . . . prison . . . I'd die. . . I'd just die! Oh, it can't happen . . . but, isn't there any other way. . . but this? Oh, Lord. . . help me... I need you, now!
Pulling her face away from hid devouring lips, struggling to escape his imprisoning arms with all her strength, she grated out at him, "Let me go! Damn you! I'll never go to .. . b-bed with you!"
He released her. She sank down into her chair, sobbing with relief, tears streaming down her cheeks, unchecked. Don stood over her frowning his frustration.
"O.K., baby! You didn't buy the easy way out... so, I'll move along . . . start the old ball rolling. .. and I can guarantee you that your husband will be in a cell in less than two hours!" he threatened, as he stooped to return the portable tape recorder to his attache case. Rhoda didn't know what to do.
Watching him pack the machine away, close the lid and grasp the carrying handle as he straightened up, she knew that she could not let him leave the apartment until she had that incriminating tape in her possession. She knew what she had to do. Her only prayer was that it be gotten over and done with, quick. She looked up at him, as he turned to leave. "No. .. wait!"
Don Proctor came back to where she sat, a salacious grin of triumph distorting his already misshapen face.
"You get smart, fast, baby doll!" he chortled evilly