What You Wish For Pt. 02

A quick online search netted me the address of Susan's employer--I'd never gotten her home address--and I sent her a set of diamond earrings for all of her help. She called to protest, but I wouldn't hear of it. She'd been there when I needed her, which was far more than I was entitled to expect.

I was working twelve hours a day in the workshop, sometimes with Dad, but usually alone. My woodworking skills had returned--mostly. With Dad's occasional help, I was keeping up with the orders and putting out high quality furniture and cabinets. Dad only had to fix a few glaring blunders, but what did he expect? If nothing else, he was getting far better quality than he was paying me for, which was zero.

It was mid-morning, and I decided to take a break from some dovetails on a set of drawers for a Queen Ann lowboy I was making out of quilted maple. Sipping coffee, I pulled out my cell phone and saw a voice mail message.

"Mr. Collins," a husky woman's voice said, "this is Natalie Jagodzinski. A . . . uh . . . a mutual friend of ours has passed along something you wrote. I've read it, and I'd like to meet with you to discuss some things. Please give me a call at your earliest opportunity."

She gave a number, so I called her back.

"South Beach Talent," a chirpy voice answered.

"I'm returning Ms. Jagodzinski's call," I said.

"May I tell her who's calling?"

"Tyler Collins."

"One moment."

Thirty seconds later, the husky voice came back on the line.

"Tyler," she said, her voice loud and cheery.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Natalie," she said. "Call me Natalie."

"Okay," I replied. "Natalie. You called? Wanted to meet with me?"

"Like yesterday."

"So you've read Long Gone?"

"Read it and loved it," she gushed. "It was wonderful."

She stretched out the n in wonderful. It came across as 'wonnnnn-derful.'

"Thanks. So you think . . . maybe someone . . . . You think I can get it published?"

She laughed. A phlegmy, coughing laugh. A laugh coated in cigarettes and scotch.

"No, darling," she said. "You can't get it published. But I can."

I smiled. "Okay. Then what do we do?"

"Well, the first thing we do is sign you up. To our agency."

"And how do we do that?"

"You have a fax? Internet connection?"

"Both," I said.

"Give me your e-mail. I'll send along the standard agent's agreement. You look at it, make sure it's kosher, then sign it and overnight it back to me. Okay?"

I thought about it. My research had told me what agents charged, but I wasn't a lawyer. I wouldn't know what half the damned thing said.

"Can you copy Susan on it?" I asked. "On the e-mail?"

"Susan Karapova? Of course, darling," she said. "Good idea. She gonna be representing you from now on?"

"Don't know. I'll have to ask her."

"Consider it done," she said.

At least she didn't seem set on screwing me. If she was, she'd have probably tried to talk me out of the whole lawyer thing, but her compliance had been immediate and perfunctory.

"You met with any other agents yet?" she continued.

"No."

"Good," she gushed, the relief evident in her enthusiasm. "Then, if you don't mind, I'll start shopping this to some publishers."

"Before we're signed up together?" I said.

"You gonna screw me, Tyler?" she asked.

"No."

"Then I'm not gonna screw you, okay? And we need to get moving on this. We can have it out by Christmas, which is perfect."

"So you think it's good?" I asked again.

"No, Tyler. I think it's absolutely, one hundred percent brilliant. I think it'll be a bestseller. Maybe even win a few awards. So the sooner it's published, the better."

I was amazed. I mean, sure, I'd killed myself writing it. But still, it was my first book.

"Of course," Natalie said, interrupting my thoughts, "you'll need an editor. There's some places that need some work and all. But that's common. The editor will know where and what to do."

"An editor?"

"The publishing house usually assigns one," she said. "They always do."

I hadn't thought about that. Apparently even brilliant first books still need work, the work of a more professional eye.

"Well," I said, "whatever you think is best, I guess. I mean, I'm new to this and all."

"Okay," she said, pausing before continuing.

"What?" I said. "What're you-- "

"Well," she said, drawing it out, "there's a freelance editor near you. In Chicago. We could hire her, then get reimbursed."

"That's kosher?"

"There's a chance they won't agree to reimburse, in which case you'd have to pay it from your share of royalties. Maybe as much as ten for fifteen grand."

"But it'll get the book out sooner, right?"

"In time for Christmas," she said.

"Then it'll be worth it, right?"

"Probably."

"Then do it."

"I'll get right on it," she sighed. "Okay, you get that e-mail opened, printed. Go over it with Susan or whoever you hire. Sign it and get it back to me. I'll get to work getting this published, okay?"

"Okay," I said, then thought again about the message. "Do we need to meet, though?"

But she'd already hung up. I guess meeting with me wasn't in the cards.

Which was fine.

I didn't want to go back to Florida just yet.

* * * * *

Early the next afternoon, Susan phoned. The proposed agent agreement was fine, she said.

So I signed it.

I somehow felt more like a real writer. C'mon, I had an agent, right?

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Fourth of July that year fell on a Friday. Therefore, Thursday night became the busy bar night with old classmates and friends and family all flying in from out of town to see their long lost loved ones.

And I was tired of writing nights, even though the new outline was cruising along well and almost done. Though it had originally come faster than the original story, I was now making it more complex, adding additional layers to the story.

So, I figured, what the hell. Dad was visiting Mom, and he'd grab a bite to eat on his way home. It was almost seven-thirty, and I was in the mood for some companionship. A few beers at the Bar and Grill sounded perfect. So by eight, I was showered, shaved, dressed in clean shorts and golf shirt, and pulling into the overflowing parking lot of the Bar and Grill.

There are three types of people in Grant City. Those that go to the Bar and Grill; those that go to The Hitching Rail; and those that go to the other bars. Combine all the other bars, though, and they don't do nearly the business as either the Bar and Grill or The Hitching Rail. That's mostly because of the food at the two hot spots, though. The Bar and Grill definitely has better food. Hell, everyone knows that and pretty much agrees on that. Still, sometimes you're just in the mood for a really good, greasy burger with a pile of skinny, salty fries, and that's when The Hitching Rail comes in. Also, The Hitching Rail has live bands a couple of times a month, and you can still see some of the fellas from General Beauregard dropping by when they're not touring or in the studio. So, like I said, they both have their adherents.

I'm a Bar and Grill guy. I like the food because it's lighter and--okay--a bit fancier. Definitely not your normal pub grub. Mostly, though, I prefer the ambience. It's got a juke box, to be sure, but it's rarely blaring too loudly and the tables are spaced enough to give you some room. I prefer a quieter joint where the bartender leaves me alone if I want to be left alone.

The place was packed to the rafters tonight, though. Just as I knew would happen, there were a ton of classmates from different years standing around tables, sharing pitchers of beer, and catching up on their families and careers or just talking old times. The dining room was full, too, and I was quick to put my name in for a table.

"Need some company for dinner?" a voice behind me said.

"Allie," I said without turning around.

"The same," she said, leaning over my shoulder and pecking my earlobe with her soft lips.

I turned and took her in.

Allisyn Palmer, Kristin's cousin. The prettiest of the Palmer girls, and there were a lot of pretty ones. Everyone in Grant City had been saying for years that old Grandpa Palmer should've been put out to stud because all the female progeny in his line were such incredibly beautiful specimens of the female form.

"You look great," I said, staring at her smiling face and twinkling hazel eyes.

"You, too, handsome," she said, taking a sip from her bottle of Corona, but keeping her eyes on me the whole time.

"Still single?"

"Uh huh," she said. "And fishin' for a dinner date."

I smiled. "There'd be a damned line in here a mile long if that were the case."

"I'm giving you first shot," she said, her eyebrow raising at the invitation.

I kept smiling, but my mind started churning a mile a minute. Back a couple of months and I'm facing my ex-wife's cousin trying to snag me. Don't get me wrong, she was drop dead gorgeous, but this just didn't seem like a really good idea.

"You're single," she said, pushing her attack. "She left you, not the other way around. So that means you're available and free to go out with anyone you want."

"Yeah, but your father. Her father."

She laughed, flashing straight, impossibly bright teeth as she did so. And she had Kristin's dimples when she smiled, I noticed.

And Kristin's . . . look. The Palmer girl look. A look of sexual invitation that was hard to resist.

"I'm not asking you to a family reunion, Tyler," she said, holding her beer out to me.

I took a gulp, closing my eyes and enjoying the ice cold, lime-tinged beer as it chased down my throat. This wasn't a really good idea.

"Sure," I said. "I'd love to have dinner with you, Allie."

We chatted easily, both while waiting for our table, then over dinner.

It was easy. After all, we'd known each other most of our lives. We'd been at the same Christmas parties, Thanksgiving dinners, picnics, family reunions, and cookouts for nearly a decade. She was only a year behind me in school, and we'd pretty much run around with the same crowd. So we had plenty to talk about.

Thank God she waited until after dinner--while we shared a bowl of cherries jubilee over vanilla ice cream--to bring up the ex.

"She's miserable, you know."

"Who?" I said.

"Kristin."

I didn't say anything.

"They're stuck in this crappy little two-bedroom condo over on Adams," she continued. "His from before they got married. It's small and crappy and she's home alone with the baby all day and nothing to do. Not enough money and all."

"Her problem," I said. "She made her bed."

"She said you were ignoring her," Allisyn prodded. "You were gone all the time. On business. Working forever. And she was always home alone with no friends and nothing to do."

"Then she should've gotten off her ass and gotten a job," I said, trying to restrain my anger.

"You're right," Allisyn agreed. Then she sucked on a cherry that was on the tip of her spoon, her eyes on me the whole time.

"I'd rather not talk about her," I said, mesmerized by her pouty lips sucking on that poor, innocent little cherry. Okay, that lucky goddamned cherry.

"Just thought you'd wanna know," she said, sucking the cherry into her mouth and chewing on it. "She screwed the pooch, and she damned well knows it."

"Good."

"So," she said, scooping another cherry onto her spoon and looking at it before looking at me, "now that you're back and all. Now that you don't have that high pressure job a thousand miles away."

"Yeah?" I said, urging her to finish the thought or start sucking on the cherry. Either would do.

She flicked the tip of her tongue over and around the cherry, her eyes telling me she was enjoying my rapt attention.

"Well," she said, "you thinking of maybe trying to win her back?"

"You're kidding, right?"

She raised her right eyebrow in a mixture of surprise and joy.

"Not a chance in hell," I said. "She's married now. With his kid. So like I said: She made her bed."

"So if she was married, but it was your kid?"

I stared at her. "What's the difference? It's not. And she already found her knight in shining armor. They can have each other."

She started sucking on the cherry again, and I just as quickly forgot the conversation.

With a quick flick of the tongue, she rolled the cherry into her mouth and chewed on it. Slowly.

"I've got an idea," she said.

"I'm all ears."

"What say we mosey on up to the bar. Maybe have a few more drinks."

"Sounds great," I said, wondering how much the bartender would charge me for a dish of maraschino cherries. Now I wanted to know if she could tie the stem with her tongue.

"Then," she said, leaning in closer, "we can go back to my place for awhile."

Here it was. The moment of decision. The second where I can either do the smart thing or I can accept her invitation.

"Sounds like a plan," I whispered.

"You sure?" she said. "Because you don't sound so sure, Tyler."

I smiled. "Positive."

What can I say? I'm a man, right? Flesh and blood.

* * * * *

Allie had a small home on Polk Street, over on the north side of town. She taught English at Grant City High, so she didn't make a ton of money. Then again, she'd never been married and had no children, so she only had herself and her home to spend her money on.

The home was neat, tastefully decorated, and loaded with pictures of the many generations and branches of the Palmer clan. Just looking at the pictures of all those beautiful female cousins would get a dead man hard.

What got me hard, though, was Allie's actions the moment we walked in the door.

She led the way, me following close behind until I ran into her in the dark living room.

"I've wanted this for a long time," she said, snaking her arms around my neck and pulling me in for a kiss.

It was a long, soulful kiss. The kind that say we've got all night, so let's take our time. You know the type: Lips brushing then pressing, the tip of a tongue tracing around the lips then slowly seeking out another tongue, heads tilting back and forth as the passion heats up. A barnburner kiss, the kind that turns a half hard pecker into a full-blown diamond cutter.

We kissed for ages. It could've been ten minutes, could've been ten hours. I was lost in her passion and my need. She looked so much like Kristin, but I kept that out of my mind. This was Allisyn, sweet little Allisyn, and she'd wanted me forever. Said so herself. That seemed good enough, and it was far different from the others I'd spent anonymous evenings with over the past year or more. All except Susan, but I banished her from my mind and concentrated on the excitement of the now.

Allie's hands moved down my back, her fingertips firm and feeling, and her hips melded with mine. Pressing, grinding slowly.

Then one of her hands was on my ass, and I felt the other take my wrist and guide my hand from her shoulder to her breast. Her breasts were bigger than Kristin's, more firm, and I could feel her taut nipple through the thin fabric of her cotton shirt. When I squeezed, she moaned into my mouth and her hips picked up the pace against my own.

"So long," she whispered.

I kissed down to the side of her neck, my hand squeezing her entire breast while the other went to her ass and squeezed while pushing her even harder to my cock.

"I want you," she mumbled as I licked and gently sucked on the hollow near her clavicle.

"How?" I asked, unsure as I always was the first time.

"However you want," she whispered into my ear, opening up worlds of possibilities.

"I want you to tell me what you want," I managed to say as my mouth moved to her cleavage while my hand unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse.

"Just do what you want," she said. "Anything."

Allie's breath was coming in gasps now as I sucked hard on the insides of her breasts, kissing then sucking.

"The bedroom," I mumbled into her breasts. "Let's go there."

Her moan told me she didn't want me to stop, but she needed to get this to the next level quickly.

Then she pushed back and grabbed my hand, tugging me down the hallway to the door at the end. I followed her in as she flicked on the light.

Sweeping my eyes around the room, a broad smile came over my face.

"Somebody's a naughty little girl," I said, looking from her face to the nightstand.

She turned with my eyes, saw the toys and the small bottle of lube, and blushed. When she turned back to me, she fought to meet my eyes.

"You said anything, right?"

She nodded, trying to fight through her embarrassment.

"Good," I said, pulling her close and kissing her again.

While we kissed, I walked her toward the bed until her legs bumped the mattress. She froze, but I gently led her down to the mattress.

"This headboard seems perfect for what I have in mind," I said, breaking the kiss and looking around the room.

Spying what I needed, I broke away and walked to the chair in the corner.

"You're going to . . . ."

I turned around and saw excitement mingled with trepidation.

"You said anything," I challenged.

She fell silent under my raised eyebrow and the bathrobe sash in my hand.

Seeing her acquiesce, I smiled and walked back to the bed. I gently pushed Allie back and raised her arms above her head. Then I tied her hands together with the sash and tied the other end to the headboard.

"I've never-- " she started.

"You'll like it," I said, leaning in and kissing her. "I promise."

She nodded, licking her lips and excitement flashing in her eyes.

I leaned in and unbuttoned her shirt, kissing her belly and down to the top of her shorts as I did so. While doing that, I flicked open her front-clasped bra, then pushed my hand underneath and brushed my hands over her wondrous breasts, squeezing her nipples and occasionally kneading her full breasts.

"Oh my God," she moaned after four or five minutes of my ministrations. "Tyler, I'm so hot right now."

"Just wait," I said, kissing her deeply while my hands moved down and unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts.

"Please," she said.

"Please what?"

"Touch me there."

"We'll see," I said, sucking her nipples into my mouth and gently nibbling.

Her arms went taut against the sash tying her to the headboard, and her hips rose and tried to push against my hand over her mound.

"Somebody's a bit anxious," I teased.

"Please," she said, her eyes hungry and excited.

"But what about me?" I said.

"Anything," she said. "Just please touch me there."

I stood and quickly shed my clothing, standing next to the bed and watching her as I did so. Once I was naked, her eyes never left my cock.

"You've got to do something for me first," I said, getting on the bed and straddling her breasts, the tip of my pecker inches from her lips. "Lick it, Allie."

Her eyes bore into mine as she leaned her head forward and darted her tongue between her lips, flicking against the tip of my cock. Then, her eyes staying on mine the whole way, she started a long, slow, tantalizing journey around the head then down the sides before coming back up along the bottom.

I bit my lip with the tingling sensations running through my body, turned on by the look in her eyes as she slowly parted her lips and engulfed the head and started sucking. Not bobbing or moving her lips. Just a powerful sucking that was soon joined by a slow twisting of her head in a circle around the head of my cock.

Keeping my eyes on her, I reached my hand behind me and traced my fingertips down to her panties, finding the juncture of her legs. When I brushed over the top of her slit, I watched her eyes close and felt a slow moan around my shaft. Her hips rose to join my fingers, trying to force more pressure. Then her eyes opened, and they were begging for more.

I smiled, and backed away from her mouth before I exploded too soon.