Brazen Virtue

ambition had been to have a home and family of her own to care for. There had never been any vision of corporate boardrooms or briefcases in Mary Beth’s dreams. She’d wanted a white picket fence and a baby carriage.

    Mary Beth believed strongly that a person should do what he or she did best. Her sister had passed the bar and joined an upscale law firm in Chicago. Mary Beth was proud of her. She admired her sister’s wardrobe, her forthright defense of the law, and the men who flowed in and out of her life. Mary Beth didn’t have an envious bone in her body. She clipped coupons and baked brownies for the PTA bake sale and campaigned strongly for equal pay for equal work, though she’d never been a member of what society considered the workforce.
    By nineteen, she’d married her childhood sweetheart, a boy she’d chosen when they’d attended elementary school together. He’d never had a chance. Mary Beth had been attentive, patient, understanding, and supportive. Not through guile, but with sincerity. She’d fallen in love with Harry Morrison the day two bullies had knocked him down on the playground and loosened his front tooth. After twenty-five years of friendship, twelve years of marriage, and four children, she still adored him.
    Her world revolved around her home and her family to the point where even her outside interests circled back to them. There were many, her sister included, who felt that world was severely limited. Mary Beth just smiled and baked another cake. She was happy, and she was good, even excellent, at what she did. She had what to her was the greatest reward: the love of husband and children. She didn’t need her sister’s approval or anyone else’s.
    She kept herself in shape for her husband’s pleasure as well as her own. As she approached her thirty-second birthday, she was a trim and lovely woman with unlined skin and soft brown eyes. Mary Beth understood and sympathized with women who felt themselves trapped in the role of housewife. She would have felt the same way in an office. When she found time, she worked with the PTA and the ASPCA. Other than family, her passion was animals. They too needed tending.
    She was a nurturer and was considering the possibility of having one more child before calling it a day.

    Her husband treasured her. Though she left most of the decisions in his hands, or seemed to, Mary Beth was no pushover. They had had their share of arguments during their marriage, and if the issue was important enough, she took it between her teeth and fretted at it until she got her way. The issue of Fantasy, Incorporated had been important enough.
    Harry was a good provider, but there had been times when Mary Beth had taken on part-time jobs to supplement or enhance his income. She’d applied for and received a license for day-care. With the extra money she’d made, the family had been able to take a ten-day vacation to Florida and Disney World. Photos from that excursion were neatly filed in a blue album with the label OUR FAMILY VACATION .
    At one time, she’d sold magazines over the phone. Though her soothing voice had helped her move inventory, she hadn’t been satisfied. As a woman who had grown up knowing how to budget both time and money, she’d found the financial rewards less than worthy of the time involved.
    She wanted another child, and she wanted to provide a college fund for the four children she’d already been blessed with. Her husband’s salary from his position as foreman for a construction firm was adequate, but it didn’t lend itself to many extras. She’d stumbled across Fantasy in the back of one of her husband’s magazines. The idea of being paid just to talk fascinated her.
    It had taken her three weeks, but she’d talked Harry down from adamantly opposed to skeptical. Another week had changed skepticism to grudging acceptance. Mary Beth had a way with words. Now she was turning that talent into dollars.
    She and Harry had agreed to give Fantasy one year. In that time, it was Mary Beth’s goal to make ten thousand dollars. Enough for a small college nest egg and maybe, if luck was with them, one more obstetrician’s fee.

    Mary Beth was starting her fourth month as an operator for Fantasy and was nearly halfway to her projected goal. She was a very popular lady.
    She didn’t mind talking sex. After all, as she’d explained to her husband, it was hard to be a prude after twelve years of marriage and four children. Harry had