The Hussy

“Mallory, I forbid you from seeing that boy!” the girl’s frazzled grandmother, who’d aged considerably since having her daughter’s child thrust upon her seventeen years prior, commanded. The stress lines at the corner of her eyes continued under a rat’s nest of course gray hair.

“Well, Granny, I shouldn’t have asked! That ‘boy’ is my best friend,” Mallory countered with her hands on her hips in defiance. In that pose, she looked like a runway model, with her flowing locks of gold and her prematurely developed womanly features.

“No, Mallory, that ‘boy’ is going steady with your ‘best friend’…who won’t be your friend for long if you get your claws into her boyfriend!”

“My claws?’ The girl was incensed, and she snatched the car keys off the key rack and ran outside to steal her grandmother’s convertible coupe.

Her guardian gave chase in her bathrobe and shouted at the vehicle rolling away in the night, “Dammit, Mallory! You’re a good-for-nothin’ hussy…just like your sorry excuse of a mother!”

That was over fifteen years ago, and Mallory’s grandmother had been one hundred percent correct. Infidelity was almost an obsession for Mallory; every time she broke up a relationship, she’d soon grow tired of her latest conquest and move on to a new challenge. After multiple high-school dramas, she found herself in college and secretly dating her married literature professor. When the affair became public, it not only attracted a fair amount of television coverage, but also cost the young teacher his wife of seven years as well as his job.

The media spectacle that engulfed her, influenced Mallory to change her major to journalism; she loved all of the attention, even the negative kind, and a career in journalism would be sure to keep her close to the action. She wasn’t wrong, because she soon found herself working as a public relations intern for a local politician, which provided a completely different kind of spotlight.

The state senator, for whom Mallory worked, was a happily married mother of two young children, and during the grueling campaign, she took a special liking to Mallory for her efficiency in dealing with the ever-present media hounds. It was clear that during Mallory’s college years, she’d learned more than just simple facts; she’d learned how to deal with people in difficult situations, but also how to be flexible. It was this ‘flexibility,’ especially in the choice of sexual partners that ended up being the senator’s downfall. When the liaison with her young intern came to light, her campaign, and her marriage were finished.

The senator pursued Mallory relentlessly, long after she lost custody of her two children, but Mallory was no longer interested. In the unfortunate aftermath, Mallory ended up having to get a restraining order against the senator to break free from her former lover’s carnal fixation.

After that ill-fated ‘relationship,’ Mallory swore off all intimacy; that is, until she met the billionaire. He was twenty years her senior, but he was stylish, sophisticated, and startlingly attractive, and more importantly, he was rich. He was on his third wife, and when his old lady found out about the hussy, his wife just disappeared…literally. There was no nasty breakup, no threats, no drop-down drag-out fights, no restraining orders…nothing. His third wife had just seemingly packed up her most precious personal things and left!

For the first time in her life, Mallory was happy. This man was so different from any other person that she’d ever known, and she felt like she could ‘keep’ him; she in no way wanted to discard him like she’d done countless times before. In short order, she’d moved into the old mansion where he made his home and began making it her own. She quit her job and had several rooms redecorated, while expanding the outdoor pool area to include a new hot tub and a cozy stone fireplace.

The billionaire’s ‘old’ money kept him busy during the days, but the nights were always an adventure. However, it had been almost six months, and he hadn’t even hinted at the possibility of marriage, so Mallory decided to address the issue after an intimate dinner and several glasses of wine.

A fire blazed in the open-air hearth as the billionaire playboy and his hussy relaxed in the Jacuzzi’s swirling bubbles. The rich man had a dark five o’clock shadow, almost matching the color of his thick black hair, but the curls of his sideburns and in the middle of his chest were gray, revealing his age. Mallory slipped her lithe body through the water and pressed it against him, with a pout upon her mouth only inches from his wine-stained lips. “Darling, do you love me?”

The playboy set down his glass of Shiraz on the pool’s edge and wrapped his arm around her, relishing the warmth of her nakedness. “Of course I do, Honey,” he answered, knowing that a request was coming.

The hussy twirled his chest hair with her fingers. “Then why are you still married? Why don’t you get a proper divorce?”

The billionaire interrupted her, “So I can marry you, I suppose?”

Mallory became cross, “Of course, so you can marry me!”

The man scratched his whiskers and there was a long pause, then he answered her with a question that sounded like a statement, “Sure, why not?”

The smile on Mallory’s face was insatiable, “Really? You’ll get a divorce so we can get married?”

He placed his other hand tenderly on her blushing cheek, “That’s the thing, Honey; we were never legally married, so there’s no need for a divorce.”

Mallory kissed him passionately and when she came up for air she gasped, “Oh, Darling, can we have the wedding in the black sands of Maui, Hawaii?”

“Sure, Honey, why don’t you fly out there and arrange things. I’ll stay here and take care of my businesses and meet you in Maui a few days prior to the ceremony…sound good?”

Mallory batted her eyelashes, “And buy me a fabulous ring?”

“Yes, Hon…” He was cut off when the hussy embraced him and buried his face in her bosom; that evening, their midnight passions knew no bounds.

**********

Mallory had spent less time than she’d expected on the tropical island setting up their private wedding and small, yet exquisite, reception. So much less, that after only two days of spending time alone at the Four Season’s beach and poolside, she decided to return to the mainland and surprise her groom. She wanted to see the engagement ring that he’d picked out, and then she could join the Mile High Club when they flew back to Maui together in his private jet.

She paid the cab driver in cash, adding a hefty tip, as he drove her up to the Tudor mansion; the sun was just setting behind the massive manor’s three-story wood beams and stucco frame. “Wait here for a minute; in case my fiancé isn’t home, I may need you to drive me to his office in town.”

The cabbie nodded and put his sedan in park as she ran up to the front landing and popped through one of the massive double doors.

“Darling! I’m home!” she called, but there was no answer. She slowly moved through the first floor and her heart sunk to her stomach when she noticed two dirty plates and two used wine glasses on the dining room table. The deep red Cabernet legs stained the adulterous glasses like blood from a knife in the back. “So this is what it feels like,” she whispered.

Angrily, the hussy made her way outside to the pool patio; there she found two wet towels and a discarded bikini top. Her path was clear, so she sprinted to the second floor master suite and flung wide the door. Mallory’s voice cracked in desperation when she loudly repeated, “Darling! I’m home!”

A freakishly skinny Hispanic woman, with short-cropped, jet-black hair was just finishing dressing and stood on the far side of the king-sized bed holding her purse. The billionaire sat on the near side of the bed wearing only a pair of red athletic pants as he smoked the last draw from his cigarette and crushed it out in the ashtray next to the bed.

The man stood up, cleared his throat, and peeked through the window blinds as he casually greeted his fiancé, “Welcome home, Honey.”

Mallory crossed her arms, “Honey? Home? Well this certainly won’t be my home for long.”

The billionaire ignored her threat and pointed to the brunette, “Why don’t you take the cab that my fiancé so graciously provided while she and I work things out.”

The thin woman took his suggestion and clutched her purse tightly as she scooted past the hussy without incident.

“What’s to work out?” Mallory demanded as the woman’s footsteps could be heard retreating down the stairs.

The playboy approached the hussy and put his hand on her shoulder, “Please, Honey, you’ve had a long flight. Come into my library and I’ll mix you a stiff drink. We’re both adults…and remember, I know your past; I’m not ready for you to depart just yet…I’m sure we can come to some mutually beneficial arrangement.”

As he spoke, he led her to the adjoining room; she sat down in a blue velvet chair next to an oak desk as he poured scotch over two glasses of ice. She’d been so stunned that she hadn’t uttered a word, but before he was finished, she let him have a piece of her mind, “Mutually beneficial arrangement? I’m not some business partner that you can negotiate with! I don’t think there’s anything that you can do or say to make this right! In fact, have fun with your bulimic waif; I’m leaving!”

Mallory put her hands on the arms of the chair to push herself up, but when she did the playboy triggered some sort of hidden lever and steel manacles locked her wrists in place! “I told you: I’m not ready for you to depart,” he chided.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Let me go!” the hussy shrieked.

The billionaire playboy sipped his scotch and smiled, “It seems I have the exact opposite problem that you have. You were never able to keep a lover…that is, until now…and I have never been able to discard one.”

The realization was hitting her and she pulled frantically at her bonds. “You’ll never get away with this! NEVER! LET ME GO!”

“I’m afraid I already have…many times over. You see, the woman who just left, earned herself a modicum of freedom for her obedience. She was my first ‘wife.’ Unfortunately, I think you’ll be spending years with my obstinate and belligerent second and third ‘wives,’ as well as some of my nastier girlfriends, before you can be given even the slightest of privileges.” He flipped another switch on a panel under his desk. The whole chair shook and descended through the floor; it continued deep underneath the mansion before tilting and depositing the hussy on the concrete floor of a stone-walled dungeon.

She looked up as the chair returned to the second floor, and she heard her ‘Darling’ bid her goodnight. “Honey, sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

The only light in the large square chamber came from a single flickering bulb, high in the corner, behind a protective steel cage. The dungeon reeked of feces, sweat, and death, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mallory could make out a dozen alcoves with rusty cage doors, three on each wall.

She heard movement, and women in various states of degradation emerged from half of the compartments to welcome her home. Most of them wore only tattered clothes and some had none at all. Their flesh was emaciated, their hair was greasy and knotted, and their fingernails were splintered and jagged. The least filthy one, which she recognized as his third wife, pointed a crooked, dirt-encrusted finger at Mallory and hissed, “Hussssy!”

The imprisoned wenches proceeded to thrust themselves upon their new ‘roommate’ to get a portion of her unblemished clothing. The hags maniacally ripped and tore at her until she lay bloodied and naked on the concrete floor before shuffling back to their individual cells to assess their newfound prizes.

The hussy buried her face in her battered arms; she wept for her fate as much as she wept for her own betrayals.