"Welcome, welcome! Come in and join the party!" Hal Ransberg was in a more jovial, more animated mood than Scott had ever seen him before. He slapped the young disc jockey on the back, then helped him off with his overcoat, accepting the carefully wrapped bottle of wine Scott had brought as a gift with great ceremony.
"Let me introduce you around," Ransberg shouted. He led Scott into the thick of the crowd and began presenting him, the names rolling off his tongue so quickly that Scott caught none of them. He was pleased to find that a number of the guests knew all about his radio show, and that most of them claimed to like it.
Ransberg pushed him toward the bar. "Have anything you like, Son. Only the best for my favorite boy."
The black bartender looked at Scott blankly, a glass already in his hand.
"Scotch on the rocks," Scott mumbled, looking around for someone, anyone he knew. He took the drink and drifted over toward the fireplace. He should have brought a date, he thought ruefully. If he had brought Rona he would at least have someone to talk to. He had considered it, but since she had told him that she and Ransberg were intimate, he thought better of it. Nothing could fuck up a relationship with a boss quicker than having him find out you were screwing his mistress. As it was, he was afraid word would get back to Ransberg that he and Rona had been together. He would almost rather have Monica's husband find out about the two of them than have that happen. It was better to have the whole Indianapolis police force on his ass than to lose his job at the station, especially since he was now so well established. His show had continued its rise in popularity. By now he had appeared on all the local television talk shows and had two more calls from Cincinnati.
"Hello there," said a voice close beside him.
"I've been just dying to meet you," the woman said, extending a beautifully manicured hand.
Scott took it, resisting an impulse to bend and kiss it. He had the most uncanny feeling he knew this woman. But that was impossible. If he had ever seen her before he would certainly remember.
"I listen to your show all the time," she said, her voice low and breathy. "Hal gets so angry with me sometimes because I stay up almost all night just to hear your program."
"Thanks, Ma'am," Scott said, still overwhelmed by the woman's beauty.
"Call me Dorry," she said, "and I'll call you Scott, if you'll let me." Her hand was still in his.
"You… you're Mrs. Ransberg then?"
She nodded her head. "Dorry, please. It's so much less formal, and I feel like I know you, after listening to you every night."
"Funny," Scott blurted. "I feel the same way about you." Then, suddenly, he knew why that was so. It was the woman's voice that was familiar. "You're the mystery woman, aren't you?" he said.
Dorry Ransberg glanced over her shoulder hurriedly. "Shhh!" she cautioned. "If Hal heard you say that, he'd kill me."
"Why? You saved the show. It was your calls that started people talking about Night Line." He had not yet let go of her hand.
"You would have caught on anyway. I knew the first time I heard you on the car radio that you had talent. That's why I talked to Daddy about hiring you as soon as we got home."
"Daddy?"
"Yes, my father owns KSZX."
"But I thought Mr. Ransberg was responsible for getting me hired."
Dorry Ransberg tossed her head contemptuously. "That's what he'd like everyone to think, now that you're the hottest thing in Indiana. My husband is an idiot. He would have fired you a while back, would you believe? It only took a quick call to my daddy to fix that. Sometimes Hal is so stupid I can hardly believe I married him."
The dark haired woman floated off into the crowd, and Scott looked after her, feeling as though he had just lived through a dream.
He stuck around for another hour or so and then excused himself. Having to go to work was the best excuse in the world, especially since he had little desire to see the rich of Indianapolis any more drunk than they already were.
He found Ransberg and his wife at the front door saying good night to other guests.
"Thanks, Hal," Scott said. "I really enjoyed the party."
"Enjoyed having you, Son," Ransberg answered, his voice slurred. "Come over any time. You're always welcome. Isn't that right, Dorry?"
"Yes, of course," Dorry Ransberg added, giving Scott her warm smile. "After all, Hal tells me you live right next door."
Scott felt dizzy as he rode down the elevator. It was still hard for him to believe that his employer's wife was the mystery woman. She had admitted it, though, so there was no doubt that it was true. She had also said two other things that stuck with him, that she knew he lived in the next tower and, most important, that she always meant what she said. When he thought of some of the things she, as the mystery woman, had whispered to him over the telephone, Scott almost blushed. Well, one thing was for certain. Dorry would not be calling tonight. She and her husband were much too occupied with their party.
Scott had hardly signed on, when the telephone rang. It was going to be a night like all the others, he thought happily.
"Hi," said a female voice. "I could hardly wait for you to get on the air so I could call and visit as usual."
The hair on the back of Scott's neck began to rise. It was the mystery woman. It was all he could do not to blurt out that he was sure she would not call tonight. He bit his tongue and answered courteously.
"Hi, there, Mystery Lady. Welcome to Night Line. Are you going to say anything extra special and X rated tonight, or can we share our remarks with all of Naptown?"
There was a short pause. Scott thought he could detect the sound of the Ransbergs' guests in the background, but he could not be sure.
"Well," the woman answered at last, "it does seem to me that we might have a few things to say to one another in private. Why don't you just put on a record?"
"Sure thing, Mysterious Lady. Here's a new one by the Bee Gees. Sorry to do this to you, Loyal Listeners, but the Mystery Woman has spoken, and as you know, she always gets her way."
He flipped the switch to start the record, faded in the sound, and turned again to the telephone. Dorry Ransberg was giggling.
"What's funny, Dorry?" Scott asked.
"Oh, nothing much. It's just that you've got me pegged all right."
"What do you mean?"
"You said I always get my way, and I find it nice to know that you understand that." There was a touch of coldness in her voice.
"Yeah, right. What's on your mind?"
"What time tomorrow do you get home from work?"
"Usually about eight-thirty. Why?"
"I'll be there at nine," Dorry Ransberg answered and hung up the phone.
He gave a commercial, took a few more phone calls, and played some records. Monica called to see if she could pick him up after work, but Scott made a rather lame excuse about having a doctor's appointment he had forgotten about. He just kept watching the clock, knowing that every hour brought him closer to his confrontation with the Mystery Woman, his boss' wife.
At exactly eight-thirty, Scott burst through the door of his apartment. He made the bed hurriedly, jerking off the sheets and putting on fresh ones to get rid of the evidence of his and Monica's last sex session. He threw the dirty dishes into the dish washer and straightened up the living room.
Glancing in the mirror, he decided that he should change clothes, even though he suspected he would not be wearing whatever he changed into for very long. Just as he headed for the bedroom closet, there was a knock at the door.
Scott was momentarily frozen to the spot. This was it. Dorry was apparently so hungry for him she had come over five minutes early. Slowly, trying to keep his breathing under control, he walked to the door and opened it.
There stood Dorry Ransberg, dressed in skin tight slacks. Her long hair cascaded down her back just as he remembered it from the night before, and she was no less beautiful in her more casual daytime makeup.
"Hi, Scott," she whispered, stepping inside. "You got home right on time. I was watching out the window." She shrugged her short coat off over her shoulders and let him take it from her. Her see through blouse revealed that she did not believe in wearing undergarments. Scott could see her large, lushly beautiful breasts clearly through the flimsy fabric. He could think of nothing to say.
"You going to invite me in for a cup of coffee?" Dorry asked pleasingly.
"Coffee? Oh, yeah, sure. I guess."
Dorry strolled into the living room, her hips undulating invitingly as she moved. "I'd really rather have a bloody mary or something like that, you know," she said.
"No problem. Coming right up." Scott headed for the kitchen.
"I'm rather surprised you don't remember," Dorry said, coming to lean against the door jamb and watching him while he prepared the drinks.
"Remember what?" Scott asked uneasily.
"That I like bloody marys in the morning. I think I told you that in one of our long, intimate conversations. But, then, I told you a lot of things, and I don't know if you remember any of them." She took the drink he held out to her.
"I remember a lot of things about our talks."
She laughed. "Yes, you're blushing. You're really blushing. I guess you do remember."
"Why did you make all those calls, anyway?" Scott asked, his voice even. He really wanted to know.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Boredom mostly, I suppose. You have no idea what it's like to be locked up in the penthouse with Hal Ransberg every night. God, what an asshole his is! There was more than that, though. I liked the way you sounded, from the first time I heard you. You have something so sexy about your voice that I just had to talk to you."
"Then why didn't you just come down to the station and introduce yourself. As the boss' wife, you have certain privileges."
"And what would I have said? Among other things, my husband is jealous, the boob. No, this was better. As your Mystery Woman I could say anything I wanted to say, and as you said last night, it certainly has helped your rating."
"Why didn't you let me know who you were earlier than last night?" Scott sipped at his drink, his eyes on the dark haired woman.
Again she shrugged. "It just didn't seem right before. I guess I wouldn't have said anything last night if you hadn't recognized my voice."
"You could have denied that you were the Mystery Woman."
Dorry smiled at him. "Once I saw you standing there in front of me, I didn't want to. I wanted to let you know who I was. I wanted to see if you would do anything about what you and I talked about over the phone."
"And that's why you're here this morning, isn't it?" Scott whispered.
Looking at him with her deep violet eyes, the woman nodded her head slowly and began to unbutton her blouse. "Let's go into the bedroom," she whispered.
"You move fast, don't you?" Scott said.
Dorry reached down to undo the zipper at the side of her tight slacks. She slid it slowly down its track, her eyes on his crotch as she did so, watching his erection grow to its full, rigid size. She parted the halves of the zipper and pushed the slacks down over her lush, flaring hips.
With her toe, she kicked off one of her flat shoes, and with the now bare foot, the other. She wiggled her legs to allow her tight slacks to cascade down to her ankles and stepped toward him, leaving them in a heap on the bare floor. She held out her arms to him, inviting him to take her.
She eagerly unbuttoned his shirt, soft mewling cries escaping her throat as she saw the thick mat of curly hair on his broad chest. With nimble fingers, she pulled the shirt tails out of his pants and pushed his shirt off over his muscled shoulders. Quickly, the tips of her long fingers closed over his tiny, dark nipples, and she pinched them teasingly, making them stand erect. Scott was not used to this kind of treatment, even from women like Monica. It was almost as though he were a sex object for Dorry Ransberg. He resented the idea, and, yet, he found the sensation lewdly exciting. It was nice to be worshiped, especially by a woman as beautiful and desirable as this one.
Sliding the cool palm of her hand down along the washboard scallops of his stomach, Dorry ran her fingers down into the front of his pants. "Ouuuuuuu," she said. "You're not wearing any underpants!"
"I never do, just like you," Scott answered, his voice tight with passion.
"I have to sometimes. Hal insists on it, the shit. God, how I hate him sometimes." As she talked, her hands were busy. One continued to play with his erect nipples, the other curved around the shaft of his throbbing, hot erection. "God, you're big," she said, "Just like I knew you'd be. Oh, Baby, I can't wait to feel that big donger of yours stuffed all the way up my hole."
"Which one?" Scott asked playfully, flexing his hips as she began to manipulate his penis.
Dorry slapped him hard across the face. "There's only one, as far as you're concerned. My pig of a husband suggested once that I let him in the back, and I damn near ripped his balls off. Nobody screws me in the almighty ass. Understand?" She gave his penis a cruel twist.
Scott winced at the sudden pain. "Yes, Ma'am. Forget I brought it up."
"That's better," she replied, almost purring. Quickly, she unbuckled his belt and undid the snap at the waistband of his pants. "I want to get a look at you," she whispered.
"I've tried to imagine enough times how you were hung, and now I'm going to see for myself." She grasped the slide of his zipper between her thumb and forefinger and jerked it down. In the widening vee she could see a lush bushing of black curls. The sharp scent of male crotch assaulted her flaring nostrils. She could see the thick, fleshy root of his cock. With determination, the woman pushed Scott's pants down over his trim sinewy hips, and the slacks to the floor, bunching around his slim ankles.
"Oh, Christ," she whispered. "Oh, Christ, you're so beautiful."
Wrapping her fist securely around Scott's erection, she pulled him toward the bedroom.
"Hey," he said, laughing. "Wait a second. Let me get out of these ankle-grabbing pants, or I'll trip and break something."
"Well, hurry up, for chrissake! I can't wait much longer, or I'll be coming all over your kitchen floor."
Scott kicked off his shoes and managed to get out of his bunched up slacks and socks. All the time, Dorry held on tightly to his cock. He was her prisoner, and they both knew it. She would take everything she wanted from him, and she would do it for as long as she found it to her satisfaction.