Alayne had never been able to figure out what her father saw in Dora Chesley, but there was no doubt that Frank Rikardson was wrapped securely around his second wife's littlest finger. He'd met her on a business trip and after a whirlwind courtship that ate into his schedule of meetings during that week, had married her and carried her in triumph home to Yorkeville.
Frank's grandfather, said Yorkeville in its private conversations, had been the brains of the family; his amiable descendent was regarded with affectionate contempt. Old Howard Rikardson's business acumen had been equaled by his ability to judge both character and ability in his own son and his grandson. With a rather despairing sigh, he sent for his lawyers and wrote a will that effectively isolated them from making any business decisions while providing them with an income that, by the late 1980s, had risen to over 7 million dollars a year.
Frank Rikardson might have been stupid, but he was fairly simple in his tastes. He was, as his father had been before him, perfectly content to remain in Yorkeville, where he played golf at the country club, took planeloads of buddies on hunting trips to his lodge in the mountains and indulged in an occasional spree in the 'wicked city'. His marriage to Alayne's mother had been unhappy and brief, ending when the young Mrs. Rikardson plowed into a concrete traffic abutment at 75 miles an hour after a long night's drinking at the Odyssey Club.
Alayne's memory of her mother was dim; Audra hadn't paid much attention to her and had died when she was only four. Her grandmother Rikardson, who lived in a quiet wing of the family house, had been - for all intents and purposes - her mother. Frank's attentions to his daughter were much the same as his attentions to everyone else: he listened to her affectionately, bought her things affectionately, and paid affectionate inattention to her conversation.
Alayne had never understood how much of a stabilizing influence her grandmother wielded over her dim-witted son until a cerebral hemorrhage carried her off. Without his mother's eagle eye on his bank balance and his behavior, Frank began to play a little harder. Which resulted in a wild weekend in New York, a speedy ceremony in front of a Justice of the Peace, and Alayne's horrified introduction to a stepmother who was barely ten years older than she was.
Dora hadn't wasted any time consolidating her position; she redecorated the family home expensively and elegantly, threw receptions and dances to which all coveted an invitation, and in a short time was regarded with bewildered respect by the citizens of Yorkeville, who whispered that she had really kicked old Frank's ass into line.
Dora had from the outset treated Alayne with cool courtesy, and her stepdaughter grudgingly acknowledged her position in the household. It didn't seem that Frank's behavior towards his daughter changed after his marriage, but there was something in his attitude that made Alayne uneasy. She couldn't have known that Dora was working very carefully on her husband, showing him school reports and repeating stories of his daughter's misbehaviors and instabilities. She alluded to Audra Rikardson's insufficiencies, and after a year of marriage, Frank was ready to believe that his daughter was headed down the same path as her tragic mother.
"What do you think we should do with her, Dora?" he asked, finally, trusting that his clever wife would have a solution.
"Private boarding school," replied Alayne's stepmother. "I know just the place."
As she stared out the windows of the car now, Alayne's senses began to sting as the queerly numb feeling began to recede from her mind. Her arms and shoulders burned with muscle strain, between her legs a throbbing hot ache and the slow leak of semen and her own juices. Her thoughts began to dart, disorganized and nearly incoherent. Beneath her eyelashes, she stared at her stepmother's profile, noted the satisfied smile that curved Dora's lips. She discovered that her body was shaking with rage and betrayal.
Dora turned the car into the long drive that led to the house before she spoke. "Your father's out of town, Alayne. I'm telling you this so you don't do anything stupid."
"When he gets back, I'm going to tell him," Alayne managed.
Pulling up in front of the house, Dora turned off the engine and turned to smile at her. "When he gets back, you're not going to be here, darling."
Alayne's door opened, and a rough hand grabbed her arm while another reached across and flicked open her seatbelt; she looked up in shock.
Beneath his dark moustache, his smile was very white.