Chapter Six

That should have been the end of it. Irene never wanted to see the man nor his wife, ever again. But unfortunately Hanz was a prideful man and no woman was going to leave him until he’d had his fill of her. When Irene arrived home the following evening, his truck was sitting in her drive. Irene drove past, intending on waiting him out, but as she watched in her mirror, he backed out and chased after her. She drove straight to the police station.

There was a bunch of off-duty cops standing around the parking lot when Irene pulled in. She watched carefully through her side window as Hanz slowed to look, then sped off. Irene was trembling so hard she couldn’t drive.

What followed were a string of insulting phone calls or Hanz would suddenly appear at work, hoping to catch her alone, and finally there was the confrontation in the Employees’ Flight Lounge. The Lounge was strictly reserved for the flight-crews and off limits to anyone else, but Hanz took no notice and barged in.

In front of forty startled employees, he had started screaming into Irene’s face. As she tried to back away he reached out and hooked his fingers into the neck of Irene’s uniform shirt and ripped it down. The material tore with buttons bouncing across the carpet.

Holding the shreds of fabric to her breasts, Irene had managed to escape into the women’s john as security guards raced to intervene. The incident had resulted in Irene obtaining a restraining order and had cost Hanz his job. Several days later she got his note. He told her, in exacting detail, how he was going to kill her with the rake handle he had just finished whittling to a point. He planned on stabbing her, but not in the heart.

After her botched conversation with Hanz, Irene hung up and nursed another vodka. It didn’t seem possible that the Airlines would have hired him back. But it had been eight years. Maybe the incident in the Lounge had been forgotten by those who hadn’t been personally involved, though she was sure that the men still delighted at the memory, her bare breasts flailing as she ran to escape Hanz’s demented rage.

She wondered if Hanz had somehow wangled his old job back. And if so, had he worked on her plane. It would be interesting to get her hands on the maintenance records and see which mechanic had signed off on the number two engine. It was hard to believe that he may have purposely damaged the turbofan but Hanz was psycho and Irene couldn’t begin to think what drove the man, or to what ends he would go to satisfy his revenge.

Her phone startled her. Was he calling back to spew more venom?

Irene scanned the call display and exhaled. “Adam. I can’t tell you how nice it is to hear your voice.”

“Miss Ross?”

“I just had an unpleasant telephone call, that’s all. Women get them sometimes.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine anyone doing that to you.”

“Thank you, that’s sweet. How are we making out with Pamela?”

“Everything’s set. She was a little hesitant, about meeting you, I mean. But we’ll be by at about seven. Okay?”

“Perfect. I’m just putting the beans on.”

Irene checked her watch. She loved to cook but rarely had a whole afternoon to indulge her passion. Her beans were soaking in the sink. She had navy beans, kidney beans and black beans. Irene placed them in the pressure cooker.

While the beans were softening, she sliced up plum tomatoes, onion, cilantro and mild chili peppers for the salsa. She blended the ingredients with a little garlic being mindful of the fiery spices that normally complimented her recipe. She didn’t think Pamela would have much gastric fortitude. Adam would have to get by with the bottle of Tabasco she would place by his elbow. Once folded together in a bowl, she set the salsa aside in the fridge so the flavors could get to know one another.

The beans were ready and she drained and mashed them before frying them in a cast iron skillet.

With everything under control in her kitchen, Irene drove to the liquor store for tequila, a case of Dos Equis, bottled water and soda water. She picked up extra ice.

The kids arrived at seven. Irene adjusted her halter top beneath her breasts and smoothed down the front of her shorts before opening the front door.

Pamela was a lovely girl, not tall but slim and elegant, even simply dressed in a blouse and casual sports skirt. She had dazzling teeth, just the right amount of overbite, and her large blue eyes danced when she talked.

Irene led the way into the kitchen and finished stirring the pitcher of margaritas. She had held back the liquor, in case Pamela opted to try the frosty green mix, but the girl opted for soda water with a lime twist. Sitting side-by-side at Irene’s kitchen table, Adam and Pamela, with their loose blonde curls, looked more like brother and sister than lovers.

“Smells fantastic, Miss Ross,” Adam was enjoying the buzz from his first drink. “Can I help set the table?”

“Already done,” Irene said, stirring the bowl of salsa while also keeping an eye on the mashed beans that she was frying for a second time. “I’ve set the table out on the terrace, it’s such a beautiful evening, but you can cut up the tortillas.” Irene placed a plate of round, whole wheat tortillas on the table and showed Adam how she wanted each to be cut into eight pie-shaped wedges. He and Pamela got to work with the scissors.

“You know you can buy tortilla chips in a bag,” Adam chuckled as he watched Irene fry the wedges in peanut oil.

“In a bag...” Irene chided him. “My, what will they think of next? Do something useful, would you? And fetch another round of drinks.” She lifted sizzling chips from the oil and placed them in the oven to drain and crisp-up. Then on a large platter she began building the dinner: A layer of chips, salsa, crumpled feta cheese, shredded lettuce and re-fried beans. Another layer of chips and more salsa, repeating the layers until the plate was overflowing.

When Adam hoisted the platter between two hands and moved outside onto the terrace, he heard Pamela gasp. The garden was lit in the flickering light cast from lamp-oil torches and flames from a dozen candles bobbed and danced around the table. Irene had set colorful earthenware plates on a festive tablecloth. And the sound of water trickled from the fountain.

“Oh. This is lovely,” Pamela placed a hand on Irene’s arm. “I mean really enchanting.”

“I’m pleased you like it,” Irene returned, the beginnings of affection for the girl growing in her heart. “This is a treat for me as well. I hardly ever get the chance to entertain anymore; and I miss that.”

The girl’s eyes were dancing again. “And Adam says you live alone?”

“Mm-hmm. Always seemed too busy building-up my flight hours when I was your age. And the couple of times I met someone whom I really liked, the timing was all wrong. But we can chat after. Please, sit and enjoy.”

They slipped into chairs, sipped their drinks and munched crispy chips heaped with salsa and beans. There was freshly sliced mango on the side. Irene and Adam passed the Tabasco sauce back and forth. Pamela was still drinking soda water; even refusing the imported beer. Without a little alcohol to loosen her up, it was going to be harder for her to accept what Irene had planned for the evening.

Irene had Adam’s favorite for desert: Key lime pie. He let out an excited “Yes-s-s” when she placed the plate down and he enthusiastically forked potions into his mouth; chasing the bitter sweet down with mouthfuls of margarita while Pamela looked on; a small crease forming between her eyebrows.

While the kids loaded the dishwasher, Irene made Spanish coffee. She placed the mugs on a tray and Adam and Pamela followed Irene back onto the terrace. Irene set the tray down and pulled the cover from the hot-tub. “Let’s have our coffee in the tub,” she said.

Pamela’s chin lifted at the sight of the swirling steam rising into the trees but she glanced down in time to see Irene undo the buttons of her halter top.

Irene smiled at Adam who, after five margaritas, was grinning unabashedly at the sight of her milky-tanned breasts. “C’mon Adam,” Irene said with a snicker. “You know what they say about the last one in...” And Irene shuffled out of her sandals before pulling her shorts down.

“No...” Pamela weakly pleaded but Adam didn’t care. He was too focused on Irene’s superbly muscled thighs and the mound pushing at the front of her cotton underpants to pay much attention to anything but the swelling behind his own zipper. Pamela watched in horror as the arch of Adam’s penis popped into view when he forced his jeans off. With a giddy laugh he bounded by Irene and threw himself into the sudsy foam. Irene managed to grab his bottom with an underhand swipe as he darted past. The kid had great buns.

Irene turned back to Pamela. “You coming? I’ve turned the Jacuzzi jets on. It will be fabulous.”

Pamela blinked. Her lips moved but nothing came out.

Irene grabbed Pamela by the hand and tugged her to the edge of the tub. “It’s okay. Slip outta your things and join us. Relax. Have your coffee.” She lightly hugged the girl about the shoulders then stooping, Irene slipped the underpants down her legs. She turned and made her way delicately down the steps until she was waist-deep in the suds. Turning, she beckoned Pamela to follow before dipping down to sit beside Adam.

Pamela had never felt so alone in all her short life. The sight of her boyfriend sitting beside this older woman, both of them naked and eagerly watching, waiting for her to take her clothes off, left her feeling like she was on a strange new planet. And hopelessly desperate. “I– I can’t,” she finally managed. “Adam...?”

“Oh for christ-sake,” Adam snapped, surprising Irene with his vicious remark. “It’s a fuckin’ hot-tub, not a god-damned Turkish bath!”

Adam was on his fifth drink and the sudden mean-streak was the result of the tequila. “Adam. Give the girl a chance,” Irene soothed, “she just needs a moment to gather herself. Isn’t that right, Pamela?”

Pamela looked hopelessly forlorn. She prided herself on being a good-girl but faced with so much peer pressure, she started to crumble. Maybe Adam was right. It was just a soak in a hot-tub. Nothing more than a skinny dip. It happened. Adults did it all the time and no one she had heard about had been scarred for life. Or even the least bit traumatized. What was her problem?

“C’mon,” Irene encouraged, “you’ve got a great little body. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Pamela nodded. She did have a cute figure. She knew that; had seen the boys at school watching as she walked by. She hated the fact they were mentally undressing her, but all the same, how would she feel if they didn’t take notice?

“Take off your clothes.” Adam’s words cut into her thoughts. “Do it or go home.”

Well there it was. The decision was hers. Walk out and leave Adam naked with the neighbor woman or take her clothes off and join in.

She was thinking of her parents when she started unbuttoning her blouse: They loved Adam.

Irene couldn’t believe the girl was actually going to do it. The odds had been totally against it, but Pamela was standing at the side of the hot-tub and getting naked. When Pamela shouldered off her blouse, she presented them with two smallish breasts crowned with long nipples and startling large dark aureoles.

Irene reached under the water, slipped her hand over Adam’s thigh, found his cock and lifting it, gave him a gentle squeeze. “She’s lovely,” Irene whispered.

She felt him push against her fingers. “This is the first time,” he said close by her ear, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Irene just nodded and squeezed a little harder as Pamela unzip her short tennis skirt.