[ WP ] The socialite hostess of an upscale cocktail party enters the room wearing just heels and necklace .

It was the most successful fundraising year in the history of The American Christian Families Association, due in large part to the lavish parties thrown by Mrs. Schiller. While other family values groups struggled with the question of how to make the movement attractive to those who would rather be enjoying their Saturday nights with something comparatively wicked, her soirees were elegant, chaste, and exciting, keeping all potential donors eager to remain involved. 
 
 It was a celebration for her husband's recent promotion to Chairman. Fashionably late as usual, the host was not yet at the event. The gala began in the husband's absence, with the usual enthusiastic idle chat. Few people had noticed that the hostess was not there to greet the attendees at the entrance to her home. 
 
 After a delay, however, the lacquered doors to the main bedroom creaked open, and the hostess floated in. Silence slowly but assertively passed over the partigoers as they turned to see her. Their vapid conversations trailed off mid-sentence. 
 
 This pristine icon of womanhood strode calmly into the room. Her pale hands and face, ringed by golden hair, were as pure and unblemished as usual. 
 
 At first it seemed like she might be wearing a deep red dress, but as the attendees stared at her with more and more rapt attention, it became clear that her torso and legs were disfigured in a tangled briar of bruises, welt marks, and scar tissue. The long strand of white pearls around her neck stood out in stark contrast to her brutalized, mangled skin. 
 
 There was a pursed anger behind her typically poised voice. `` These marks have been placed on my body in all the hidden places, so as not to arouse any suspicion. I'd like to let you see what sort of man my soon-to-be ex-husband is.'' The corners of her mouth drooped after this confession, giving her the freedom to relax slightly out of her usual façade. 
 
 A car pulled into the driveway. She knew instantly who it was. 
 
 The clacking of her high heels interrupted the shocked stillness as she glided to the front door to greet her husband. The crowd parted to make way for her. She turned the doorknob. 
 
 `` Hello, Dear.''
