"The unfaithful girlfriend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tydings Clarence)

CHAPTER SIX

Jessica Wright waited nervously for the doorman to open her door as she sat, somewhat afraid, in the enormous Mercedes-Benz limousine that had brought her to this fashionable riverside high-rise. The uniformed employee was fast on his feet for an old man, or at least he was when he recognized the car. She politely thanked the driver, a middle-aged black who only nodded in reply, and lifted the hem of her silvery gown, her arm firmly but gently held by the doorman, as she made her way to the building entrance.

William Dodge had sent the car for her, just as he had promised on the telephone when he called day before yesterday. She had nearly refused his invitation at first, feeling it only fair to talk this over with Phillip first. But her aunt's phone had been out of order for almost a week now, and still no sign of a repairman from that marvelously efficient New York telephone company. She couldn't call him for an okay. And after all, didn't Mr. Dodge take special care to emphasize that Mrs. Dodge would be at the party too? What could be wrong with accepting his kind invitation? Surely, the contacts she could make at a party like this would be a great help in her modeling career, maybe even in Phillip's art practice.

Jessica was reluctant for another reason, too… it was only a few short days since that horrible night at Marty Felder's. That nightmare was still indelibly etched in her mind, and there still remained the awful task of telling Phillip the truth about what went on in the Felder penthouse. She knew she had to tell him eventually – it wouldn't be fair to even think about marriage until she'd leveled with him. Maybe he wouldn't want her after he learned the truth… some men couldn't live with the knowledge that their wives had done something as unspeakable as what she had been dragged into at Marty Felder's. But that was the gamble she'd have to take. If Phillip was indeed half the man she knew he was, he'd understand he'd forgive her and go on loving her just as though nothing had ever happened.

And for her part, Jessica knew now never to let herself be suckered into anything again, no matter what the odds. There could never be another Marty Felder in her life, for Jessica Richards the kid grew up that night. And no man would ever pull the wool over her eyes again. Not that she had to worry with Phillip – he wasn't the sort. Wild perhaps, like all artists are, in some way or another, but sweet and warm and gentle. Not like so many men she'd met since embarking on this career. Not like the Marty Felder's of this world.

Of course, there hadn't been any job offer forthcoming from that horrible Felder. All she could thank that filthy pervert for was the chance at an interview with William Dodge. That much he owed her, he reluctantly admitted, after a quarter-hour of non-stop tears when the heartless monster finally admitted that he really didn't have anything open for her at the moment. And it was that interview that led her to this party.

Jessica's heart quickened as she entered the plushly decorated lobby; she paused in front of one of the ceiling-high mirrors to check her hair. One of her classmates from modeling school had styled it for her, and the effect, she'd have to admit, was stunning. It was high in back, and trailed down over the sides of her head in a half-dozen little ringlets, each of them lightly frosted to add contrast to her honey-blonde luxuriant hair. The dress was a real extravagance, but one she hoped would be worth the investment. Her Aunt had lent her the money, but only after she heard where the party was being held. When the Dodge name and address was mentioned, she couldn't dig up the money fast enough. No niece of hers was going to William Dodge's home without a new dress, she had insisted, and Jessica, admittedly, had offered only the least of token resistance.

"Miss Richards?"

She turned, surprised at the sound of her name. It was Bill Dodge, elegant in an Italian jumpsuit creation that made him look like Mastroianni in an imported movie. "Oh, hello. I didn't expect to find you in the lobby," she said.

He laughed, and when he did the soft skin around his eyes furrowed into a hundred tiny wrinkles, like the eyes of a cowboy after years of squinting into the southwestern sun. He looked his age, fifty-three according to the magazines, but he was an elegantly-preserved fifty-three, to be sure. She liked that about him – he didn't try to look and act twenty-five, like so many men in the television and advertising game.

"Actually, I was just coming down to ask Anderson here if there had been any sign of you." He paused to look her over, appraising me young blonde's delightfully trim figure, barely concealed beneath the skin-tight second skin of her silver gown. "You're quite lovely, you know that?"

Jessica felt the color fill her face and she turned away; she was a model now, after all, and she should certainly be acclimated to comments on her looks by now. But still, coming from a man as well-known and important as William Dodge, it was quite a compliment indeed. "Thank you, Mr. Dodge," she replied demurely, averting her eyes from his openly appraising stare.

"Well, now that you're here, let's go back upstairs and join the others. There's quite a crowd up there, and I'm afraid the party's gone on without us."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry we were late. But it wasn't your driver's fault," she explained as they entered the elevator. "You see, we were caught in this immense traffic jam on Riverside Drive. There was a big wreck right in that sharpest curve and we couldn't do anything but wait it out."

"Now, now, don't be concerned," he said with a paternal air, "No harm done. I do hope you enjoy the party. Oh, by the way, you did know that Wright gentleman was here, didn't you?"

"Wright? You mean Phillip Wright?" she asked, trying to mask her utter and total amazement and surprise.

"Yes, that young man you were with in my office the other day. The one my wife Valerie invited in for an interview. Commercial artist, I believe."

Jessica struggled hard and fast to compose herself before she spoke… Phillip, what can I say to him! He all never understand!

"Uh, actually, I didn't know he was coming," she managed to mutter after a long few seconds, "but I haven't seen him lately anyway. Does he know I'm to be here?"

"No, I don't think so. Valerie just happened to mention it to me. I haven't even been introduced myself yet. Would you prefer not to see him?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that! It's just… I'd like to talk to him alone, you understand?"

"Of course, of course," the older man smiled, "Don't let it worry that pretty little head of yours. Besides, it's so dark, I doubt he'd recognize you."

Jessica shrugged off that last remark; there was enough rolling around in her mind already to keep her confused for a lifetime. She took a deep breath and counted slowly backwards from ten, an old trick they'd taught her in modeling classes to help you compose yourself. And then they reached the Dodge's floor; she could hear the sounds of the party when the doors silently opened. Oh well, she thought, here goes!