Mona Smith waited as the automatic gate opened and then she drove her red Mercedes coupe slowly up the long drive to the three-story house her husband had built when they moved outside the city of Atlanta. The folksy atmosphere was one on which they had agreed when his trucking line had grown to reap enormous profits as a result of Art Smith’s smooth business acumen. It was a non-union operation because he offered his employees such good benefits, and in return they were loyal and worked hard for him. His decisions were pragmatic, not benevolent, but they made him great sums of money.
Although he was twenty years her senior, her husband had been generous throughout their marriage even though he could be aloof and distant. At all times he had been supportive financially of Bobby, her eighteen-year-old son from a teenage pregnancy, although as a father figure there was something lacking in Art’s relationship with the boy. Bobby would never want for anything tangible, but the only thing he seemed to have absorbed from his step-father was an industriousness and desire for success in business. On this Monday in August Mona was just now returning from a trip to Lexington where she had enrolled her only child into the University of Kentucky to study commercial enterprise and economics.
When Art had taken his secretary, the twenty-year-old Mona for his wife, he almost seemed to have accepted four-year-old Bobby as another acquisition due the same careful maintenance as a new Cadillac, or another office building. He had been an adequate lover to Mona at first, although the past few years had seen less and less physical coupling until the infrequent sessions had finally ceased. He was still ambitious, but now his careful mind had committed his wife and stepson to ancillary posts in his busy life, and he was pleasant without outward signs of affection. At thirty-four, Mona was trying to retain some semblance of married life even though she knew her youth and sexual vigor were slipping away. The past weekend’s activities had almost awakened her, and since she kept no secrets from her husband she hoped she could explain them to him in a manner which would satisfy his keen businesslike mind.
Instead of pulling around to the rear garage, Mona pulled her car into the curved area of the drive near the front of the large new house. She grabbed her garment bag from the back seat and slowly walked up the steps to the double doors, glancing at the potted plants on each side of the entrance. They had been imported from the rain forest of Brazil and now appeared to be dry and drooping. She made a mental note to speak to Estella about watering them every day. Mona had good rapport with the house staff, and Art thought they took advantage of her lenient attitude. In a life which approached a long dull dream, Mora thought it small to micro-manage the people they employed.
She crossed through the hallway and looked into the library through the open walnut doors on her right. Art was reading his papers, and looked up as she stopped.
“Hello, Mona. Did you get him into the apartment with no problem?” He smiled at her.
“Yes, and I’ll tell you about it as soon as I take a shower and get these clothes off.”
Art waved his hand and went back to the financial section as Mona walked to the long stairway. She started to return to the library, but with a second thought ascended the stairs to her suite.
With the door closed to her bedroom, Mona slowly undressed and looked at her body in the big mirror which took up a large portion of the wall by her dressing room. She was pleased with her body and was proud of the hard work in the gym which maintained her lithe figure that showed no signs of fat. Her breasts were smaller now than when she had married, but they were still firm and exhibited no hint of sagging.
She studied her athletic figure in the reflection and decided the tan line from her thong was more distinct than that of the tiny top she wore, or did not wear, according to the company. She made a mental note to wear the top more often, then giggled to herself. If she wanted to lose the contrast she would just sunbathe in the nude from now on. It didn’t seem as important now to maintain what little modesty she still thought appropriate before this past weekend.
When Mona finished her shower and dried off, she pulled on a terrycloth robe and sat at her dressing table and combed her short hair. It was still its original color, and she found it easier to manage with her vigorous lifestyle if she did not let it grow out. She was pleased with herself in general, but deep down she wondered why she could no longer interest her husband in her body. She knew men often looked at her when she passed them on the street, and she often noticed the eyes of Bobby’s friends follow her as she walked around the house.
She went downstairs and found Art still busy with the paper. He put it down when she came into the library, and he joined her at the dark mahogany bar as she splashed some brandy into a crystal glass. It was just eleven in the morning, but she had little sleep the night before in Lexington and the plane had left for Atlanta before six. She had been home a little before ten, but the day was already old for her.
She took a sip from the glass and turned to her husband.
“The apartment was just what Bobby wanted, but it won’t be ready for him to move in until the middle of the week. They stored his stuff for him and we stayed at the motel because they are still painting. I just paid for the room for the rest of the week, and he’ll start classes on Friday. Today he has orientation.” She put down the glass and wished she still smoked.
Art nodded. “You don’t usually drink in the morning, Mona. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, it’s alright, but Bobby has been around commerce so much he’s already trying to set up his own business out of the apartment. He wasn’t in Lexington an hour when he noticed all the cute girls. He says he is going to get started making money with his laptop and the new digital camera.”
Art grinned. “Maybe something rubbed off on him. What’s he going to do?
“He heard on television how much money people are making with internet porn, and he’s decided he’s going to try it himself. I have to give him credit, he’s already checked on what’s legal and what isn’t, and he has set up accounts to take credit cards online. He tells me he’ll get started when he’s well grounded in his classes, and I made him promise he’d have to put college first.”
Art just nodded again and looked like he was lost in thought. Mona wondered what he was thinking, then she asked, “Do you think it’s okay for him to do that, Art?”
For almost a minute her husband stared out the window, then turned to her.
“Mona it depends on his overhead. Where is he going to get models? Does he intend to take his own photos? Models don’t come cheap, and his allowance won’t rent him much time with college girls, that is assuming he’ll be able to find any. He won’t have much overhead with equipment and space. He can use his own apartment, but I’m guessing his problem will be just that, getting girls to willingly participate.”
