"Sally," Blodgett's voice was calm, insistent, "I'll be at your place Monday. I'm damned if I could wait another day. I'll see that Ray has to go to Knoxville… don't worry about a thing, baby… nobody will know. Monday afternoon."

"I can't," she shook her head, her words slurring slightly, "I can't do it to Ray!"

"You're doing it for him, remember? I told you, I'll ask you one more time. This is it-shall I come on Monday?"

"Oh, God," the poor girl's head was spinning. What to say? What to do?

She must help Ray. "Yes," she breathed, "C-come on Monday." Her head slumped forward wearily on his shoulder, eyes nearly closed. Her long brown hair, escaping from the careful hair styling of this afternoon, tumbled down her back. Over the brown curls, Blodgett saw his brotherin-law dancing toward him. The eyes of the two men met for an instant and Blodgett winked broadly.

Sally did not remember the ride home at all, or being undressed and put to bed by her husband. The next thing, she remembered, in fact, was waking on Sunday afternoon with a truly ghastly hangover. Ray seemed to think it was funny, but he took tender care of his wife, bringing her coffee, and ice to put on her throbbing head. That evening, when she had recovered sufficiently to sit in the living room, he teased her about getting high.

"You were the life of the party, honey, dancing with everybody. Good thing I'm not the jealous type."

"Huh! I seem to remember Lauralee Blodgett slobbering all over you."

"Well, her old man made up for it… cut in on the very last dance. Oh, you were a big hit, Mrs. Denham."

Then she remembered it all and the walls seemed to fall in on her! He was coming here… Monday… tomorrow. She had made a cheap, back street rendezvous with her husband's boss, in her husband's own home.

He couldn't hold her to it, she'd been drunk, and Sally had no intention of going through with her part of the lewd arrangement. "I've got something you need… and you've got something I can use."