Sam was two-thirds of the way to La-La Land when he awoke. He had no idea how long he’d been hearing the incessant pounding on the front door before it finally brought him to his senses, but he had a feeling it had been a very long time. It was one of those deals when you think you’ve been dreaming something was happening before you suddenly realized that it actually was happening.
Sam opened his eyes and saw the snowy test pattern on the television screen. The static was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the beating on the door. He sat up on the couch and gazed squint-eyed at the half dozen or so empty beer bottles on the coffee table in the foreground and let out a gasp of disgust when he saw the huge mound of cigarette butts in the ashtray. His head felt like lead as he forced himself up onto his feet, wondering who in the fuck would be banging on his door in the middle of the night.
He stumbled out of the room and headed toward the front door like a drunk being forced to run a marathon at gunpoint. The racket grew incessantly louder as he neared the door, as did the throbbing in his head. He flicked on the front porch light and pulled open the door.
When he saw who it was, Sam thought for sure he was still dreaming.
“Jesus, Sam! I didn’t think you’d ever get here!” she exclaimed.
There in front of him stood Shelley Hatcher: soaked to the bone and her normally thick and lustrous blonde hair clinging limp and lifeless to her blanched but beautiful face.
“Shelley! What the hell..?”
“Let me in, Sam! I’m freezing!” she whined impatiently.
“Sorry,” Sam said, opening the storm door.
She stepped in and stood on the mat, wringing wet. Sam peered out through the pouring rain and saw nothing but his Jeep parked in the driveway.
“How’d you get here?” he asked, stupefied and in shock at this unexpected visit from his former one-night-stand.
Shelley Hatcher stared at him with a pained look. “Well, I drove myself most of the way. Until my car got stuck in the mud, that is. Your driveway is like a river bottom, Sam! Why don’t you get it paved?”
If she didn’t look so pathetic now, Sam would have burst out laughing and said something like, Gee, I would have gotten it paved had I known you were going to show up unexpectedly like this in the middle of a fucking monsoon, Shelley.
Instead, he replied, “Sorry about that. How far is your car?”
“About a hundred yards from the highway-I sure hope my portfolio isn’t ruined. I knew I should’ve left it in the damn car!” she exclaimed as Sam noticed the expensive-looking leather portfolio case that she was holding.
Sam said, “I have to admit that I’m a little speechless right now, Shelley. What are you doing here, anyway? How did you find out where I live?”
Sam could tell that he’d put her off with this line of questioning and he suddenly felt bad.
Shelley looked away for a moment then replied, “I found out from Bill Marshall… He was at the Hi-Light. I just came to say hi and to show you my portfolio… but it’s obvious that you aren’t interested, so I guess I’ll just go now…”
She reached for the doorknob.
“Hold it, Shelley!” Sam said, grasping her by the arm. She peered at him questioningly. “I’m sorry I seem so rude-it’s just that I’m still in shock that you’re here. I was also passed out on the sofa and haven’t quite joined the living yet. Here, let me help you off with your jacket.”
Shelley nodded and lightened up a bit as Sam helped her out of her rain-sopped denim jacket. He draped it over his arm, noticing that the rain had soaked all the way through to the cashmere sweater she was wearing.
“Christ, Shelley, you’re drenched to the bone! How long have you been out in this shit, anyway?”
“About half an hour. It took me at least twenty minutes just to trudge through the mud to get to your house. I’ve been beating on the door the rest of the time.”
“Well, you need to get out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia. Why don’t you take a hot shower and I’ll throw your things in the drier in the meantime,” Sam suggested.
Shelley smiled graciously. “Thanks, Sam. I’m sorry I’m such a pain.”
“You’re not a pain, Shelley. C’mon, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”
She followed Sam down the hall to the bathroom. He switched on the light as Shelley brushed past him and immediately began to peel off her soaked clothes. Sam stood in the doorway and watched in awe as she wrestled herself out of her jeans, unable to take his eyes away. She looked every bit as good if not better than she had on that fateful night: tall and lean with slender legs, slim hips, and firm, nicely-rounded breasts. She gathered up her wet clothes and grinned nonchalantly as she handed them to Sam.
“Here. I won’t be long,” she said.
“Take your time,” Sam replied, attempting to appear unaffected by her lack of modesty. “Would you like something hot to drink-some coffee?”
“You have something a little stronger?” Shelley asked as she leaned over the tub and valved in the water.
“Beer and whiskey.” he answered.
Shelley glanced at him coyly. “Whiskey would be nice.”
“You’ve got it,” Sam said, feeling an electric pang in his groin as he watched Shelley Hatcher step into the tub and draw the shower curtain.
Sam closed the bathroom door, carried Shelley’s clothes down to the basement and threw them into the drier. Returning to the kitchen, he realized that he was going downhill fast as he cursed the relentless throbbing in his head. He was more hung over than drunk now, having slept just long enough to plunge himself into the worst of both worlds.
He needed a good strong belt to set him back on course.
He went over to the cupboard, found the bottle of Jack and poured himself a couple of ounces. He drained the glass in a single gulp, grimaced, and refilled the glass before pouring another drink for Shelley. He made his way to the den and plopped down on the sofa.
Sam lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply as he attempted to collect his thoughts. The sudden arrival of Shelley Hatcher wasn’t only a shocker but and out-and-out mind-blower. Why, he wondered, had she really come here? He seriously doubted that she’d come just to say howdy and show him her photography portfolio-that hardly seemed worth all the bother she’d gone through. Nope, he decided, there had to be more to it than that.
But what?
All he knew for certain was that he felt uncomfortable about Shelley showing up. Seeing her reminded him that had he never fooled around with her in the first place, he’d still be a happily married man now. It wasn’t Shelley’s fault of course, and never once had he blamed her for his own folly. After all, it wasn’t really her fault that she was young, beautiful, and had flirted with him one too many times on the job. He could still remember the subtle way she used to less than innocently brush up against him during an assignment; or the way she’d purposely lean over every now and then in such a way that he couldn’t help but see those lovely tits beneath those perennially loose-fitting tops that she always wore.
Jesus, he thought. Did she even own a fucking bra?
But the bottom line was that Shelley Hatcher was bad news. There simply wasn’t any other way to put it. She brought him bad luck. After all, how many guys in the history of mankind had gone out on their wives just one piddling time and ended up getting caught? Then, ended up being divorced over it? Not too many, he supposed. Only the sorriest of souls, like his own luckless self.
Sam heaved a sigh and drained his glass dry. Stubbing out his cigarette, he went to the kitchen to replenish his drink. He felt the welcome glow of inebriation returning as he went back to the sofa and sat down, staring blankly at the test pattern on the television set.
In spite of all the hell that Shelley Hatcher had created for him in his life, he now realized that deep down, he was actually glad she was here. Seeing her strip down to nothing but her birthday suit had been the biggest thrill he’d had in over six months. The inviting prospect of another round with her in the sack suddenly zipped into his head. What would he do if that opportunity arose? he wondered. More importantly, how would he feel afterwards?
Sam grinned to himself as he considered the absurdity to both of these questions. He’d jump on Shelley Hatcher’s bones at the drop of a hat and wouldn’t hesitate for a second. As for how he’d feel afterwards, what in the fuck difference would it make how he felt? He was after all, now a free man living in a free world, wasn’t he?
This is probably just what the doctor would order, he decided. And he doubtlessly would feel like a million bucks afterwards. After all, he’d had nothing but an empty, lonely existence ever since Ann dumped him. And lately, since Marsha Bradley’s murder, he’d been more than a little stressed-out and on edge. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to get his mind off that for a while…
He heard the water shut off in the bathroom. Deciding to check on Shelley’s clothes in the drier, Sam stood up and went down to the basement. He felt the clothes-they were still soaking wet-then reset the drier and went back upstairs. After topping off his drink he returned to the den, found an old Cars CD and put it on, cranked up the volume. Just What I Needed blared out of the speakers as he plopped back down on the sofa.
Shelley Hatcher suddenly entered the room. She was wearing a towel that was wrapped around her just enough to cover less than two-thirds of her breasts and about one-tenth of her thighs. Her hair was still wet, combed out, and she was carrying the drink he’d left for her on the kitchen counter.
Shelley took a long sip of Jack Daniels as she sauntered over to the sofa.
“I borrowed your comb-I hope you don’t mind.”
“No problem,” Sam said. “I’m afraid your clothes aren’t dry yet. I can find something of mine for you to put on if you’d like.”
She shook her head. “That’s all right-I can wait.”
She sat down beside him, close enough that he could smell her. Her scent was as enticing as her half-naked body was. Shelley took another sip, set her glass down, and gazed at him intently.
“Have you been able to forgive me yet for what happened?” she asked.
Sam held her eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive, Shelley. It wasn’t your fault. I told you that a long time ago.”
“I know, but I still feel guilty about it. I mean, I know how much you love your wife. And it’s my fault that- ”
“It’s all water under the bridge,” Sam interrupted. “Let’s not even talk about it, Shelley, okay?”
She smiled. “Okay, Sam. I guess I was just trying to see where I stand now. I mean, I thought you might hate me or something.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “Hate you? You’ve got to be kidding!”
Shelley smiled again, apparently satisfied that all was okay between them. She retrieved her drink and took a sip. “I really would like for you to take a look at my portfolio. I’ve been freelancing for the Ashland Times the last couple of months. I don’t get a whole hell of a lot of assignments but at least I’ve had plenty of time to work on my book. You want to see it?”
“Sure, lay it on me,” Sam said. “Have you been in Ashland all this time?”
“Yeah. After I got laid-off at the Observer, I was totally directionless. So I moved back home sort of with my tail between my legs, you might say. Moved back in with my parents, got a part-time job at a jewelry store until I could get back on my feet. It’s been a drag, really. But at least I finally have my own apartment now,” she added with a shrug.
“That’s good. And I’m glad you’re sticking with it, Shelly. You have a lot of potential-I’d hate to see you waste it,” Sam declared sincerely.
Shelly beamed. “You really think so?”
“Of course I do. I’ve been telling you that all along.”
“It doesn’t hurt to be reminded once in a while, though. Let me show you my new stuff!” she said excitedly, springing up from the sofa.
Sam’s eyes were on her sweet little ass as Shelley scampered out of the room to get her portfolio. She returned in seconds, holding the briefcase as though it were filled with priceless jewels. She sat down and placed it on the coffee table then opened it up. Sam crouched forward and began examining the contents. The prints were all black and white eight-by-tens. The subject matter ranged from landscapes to portraiture and practically everything in between. The composition, lighting, and creativity were all quite impressive. Shelley had come a long way in the last six months, he concluded.
“Great stuff, kiddo! Excellent,” Sam said after he’d examined the final photograph.
“Really?” Shelley exclaimed. “You don’t think they’re too contrived?”
“Not at all.”
Shelley rested her elbow on Sam’s thigh and leaned forward. ”This is my favorite one,” she said, flipping back to the first page. It was a shot of an old abandoned well taken in the late afternoon sun.
“I love the lighting-the long shadows and the way the background just sort of blurs out behind the well. It’s got a nice mood, don’t you think?”
Sam nodded. Shelley’s face was within inches of his own and her soft blue eyes were wide as she gazed into his. He felt her other hand come down and rest on his knee. Suddenly, she threw her arms around him and kissed him hard. Sam was caught off guard but responded by embracing her and allowing himself to get lost in her soft, moist lips. His head started swimming as she brought her hand to the towel and inched herself away long enough to remove it and expose her flawless body. She then grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast, pressing his hand firmly as an invitation for him to take over.
Before long, Sam’s clothes were off and what had started out as a lonely, rainy and miserable Friday night soon turned out to be a whole lot better than he could ever have imagined.