Blocked!

"A thousand dollars?" he queried, a bit like Shylock in 'The Merchant of Venice'. "A thousand dollars, well, we have been spending up big, haven't we? Didn't you know there isn't that much money in the whole world?"

He didn't even offer me the pound of flesh option.

Next day I signed on with Social Services and was asked all sorts of impertinent questions by a girl who looked about fifteen years old, and this was followed by much form filling in. Finally I was told I would be informed by post if my application for the government's munificence was accepted or not.

"How long will that take?" I asked.

"Just as long as it takes, Mr. Dennis," I was not politely informed.

A State whipped cur, I left with my tail between my legs.

I began looking at advertisement for jobs vacant. I was enthralled to find that there were many openings. Had I been a brain surgeon, atomic physicist or designer of weapons of mass destruction, I could have been placed immediately in work. On the other hand, there were wonderful openings for washers up in restaurants, house sitters and cleaners. I tried to weigh up which among this plenitude of opportunities I would apply for.

No word came from Wendy, and although I had her address and telephone number, I could not bring myself to contact her. To do so might mean exposure of my dire financial situation and further degradation.

A few nights after my arrival back in the flat Ivor had one of his orgies. This consisted of a couple of male friends, a lot of food and booze, and an abundance of willing wenches. Despite the entreaties of one or two of the girls, I failed to discover any enthusiasm for their free and easy virtue, and amazed myself by shutting myself in the bedroom and failing to answer drunken pleas to, "come and fuck me, darling." I always thought we had an oversupply of females to males on these occasions.

Chapter 12.A Wolf at the Door.

Sunday I took my wretched self out for a walk and didn't return for two hours. Ivor had just risen from his bed of pain and groaned, "Some bloody bird has been ringing you; woke me up; says her name is Wendy Bear or Tiger of something."

"Wolf?" I yelped, springing back to life.

"Yes, that's it, 'Fox'. Says your to telephone her as soon as you get in if not before."

I had no thought for what she might want, I simply rejoiced in knowing I would hear her voice. I pressed in the numbers and waited. Brrr brrr, brrr brrr...

"Wendy Wolf."

"Wendy," I nearly added darling. "Christopher here."

Cool and business like: "Ah, Christopher, be at (she gave an address) by nine thirty tomorrow. I shall be there to meet you. You have an interview with Mr. Cashman of Cashman, Cashman, Cashman and Sobers. They are publishers. Mr. Cashman has had a look at your novel and he's interested. I'll see you in the morning, goodbye."

Oh the joys of heaven, I had heard her voice and such a voice! It was a voice to be contemplated, meditated upon and if possible consumed. Above all, I would see her tomorrow, my lovely Wendy; Oh there is a God after all! I even felt friendly towards Ivor I was so happy, and that despite the fact several ornaments had been smashed during his orgy.

I slept hardly at all that night. Visions of Wendy, wonderful, sweet and delectable Wendy, the love of my life! I would see her on the morrow.

I woke feeling like a worm that had been out in the sun too long. The thought struck me, not only would I be seeing my beloved, I should also be seeing Mr. Cashman of... whatever it was. My magnum opus would be shaken, skinned, turned inside out and despised.

I looked at the clock. My God, eight thirty and I had to be there by nine thirty. I hurtled from the bed, passed through a perfunctory shower, grabbed a slice of bread and butter and chewing on it sent the Volks rattling down the street.

I arrived at an imposing old building in the heart of town. It was one of those places that made you expect to see a Dickens or Thackeray character emerge from its portals.

Nine twenty nine and there she was. Clad in a green dress and looking absolutely...absolutely...words failed me.

"Ah, Christopher, just in time; Mr. Cashman likes punctuality, come along."

A somewhat detached greeting I thought, given the restless hours I had spent reflecting on her image in recent weeks.

We passed through the doors and into a cool mahogany panelled reception area. I expected to be greeted by a Uriah Heep at the desk, but instead there was an extremely attractive girl.

"Miss Wolf and Mr. Dennis to see Mr. Cashman," Wendy announced.

The girl looked at a list then said, "Ah yes, Mr. Jacob Cashman. I'll let him know you're here. She pressed a button and after a pause said something into a small communicator. There was a squawk in reply and the girl said, "Very good, Mr. Cashman." She looked up at us and said, "You are to go right in."

Wendy obviously knew the way because she led me down a short passage, knocked on the door and entered.

I had half expected an ancient and sinister looking Semite, and although Semite he was, the tall dark haired man who rose to greet us was not more than thirty years of age, and handsome.

He shook hands with Wendy saying, "Wendy, my dear, how nice to see you."

I was then introduced and we shook hands. "Welcome, Mr. Dennis, please sit down."

We sat and Mr. Cashman drew a manuscript in front of him. I recognised it as mine. He sat considering it for a moment then said; "Wendy tells me she has been working with you on this novel. She always seems to know how to pick the best."

As an opening gambit from a publisher this came as a bit of a shock. I was about to garble some response when he went on:

"I've had two of my staff read your work, Mr. Dennis and have looked it over myself. It...er...it..."

"Here it comes," I thought.

"It has some very fine qualities, Mr. Dennis."

"Really?" I croaked.

"Yes. I think it has a great deal of promise and I would like to publish it...you're not committed to any other publisher, are you?"

"No, he isn't," Wendy butted in.

"Excellent. Would you be happy for us to publish?"

I got in before Wendy, "Yes, certainly..."

"Yes he would," said Wendy, too late this time.

"You do understand, Mr. Dennis, we cannot offer you a great deal this time?"

"Oh God," I thought, "Eros and Cupid all over again."

"I've had a contract drawn up for you to look at and, if you agree, sign. I've got to have a word with one of my partners, so I'll leave you to read it over, I'll be back shortly."

He rose and left us alone.

To my utter surprise Wendy rose and flung her arms round me. "Oh darling, I'm so pleased for you. You don't need to read the whole contract. I know their contracts and there are no nasty small print bits. Just look here."

She pointed to one section and I read. Then I read again, then again. Ivor had said there wasn't that much money in the world; there was; there was more, much more.

The room span in coloured whorls and Wendy went on:

"Darling, I knew, I knew all along it was a wonderful novel. I wanted to tell you so, but was afraid that you might be shattered if it got rejected."

Just as the word "Darling" registered Mr. Cashman reappeared.

"Well, what do you think? Would you like to sign?"

I was still disorientated and Wendy got in first.

"Yes, he would."

"You have noted that the contract gives us an option on your future work?"

"Yes, he's noted that."

"Good. Then congratulations, Mr. Dennis...Oh, I should have congratulated you before; very remiss of me."

"What for?"

He looked puzzled for a moment and I saw Wendy signalling with her hands, but she was too late.

"On your forthcoming marriage to Wendy; I must say I envy you such a lovely bride. I think I can safely say we all love Wendy, and you're the lucky man who snared her." He laughed.

I think I must have been sitting there with a moronic glaze over my face. I know Wendy said something to Mr. Cashman and I heard him laugh and apologise.

He rose to bid us farewell saying that he would be in touch when I needed to see the proofs, but I didn't really take it in. We shook hands again then he said, "By the way, some authors like to dedicate their work; would you like to do that?"

I partially came to. "Er...yes." "To whom?"

"Wendy Wolf."

"We'll leave you to write the dedication then."

"Yes."

"Goodbye for now, then."

"Goodbye."

I staggered out on shaking legs followed by Wendy.

"You look a little overcome, darling. Let's go and get a cup of coffee somewhere."

"Could we make that a whisky?"

"Yes, so long as it doesn't become a habit."

We went to a nearby pub and after getting our drinks we ensconced ourselves behind a corner table. Wendy hastened straight in:

"Darling, about your next book, I've been thinking..."

"Hold it right there! What was all that about marriage?"

"Well yes, I did mean to tell you at the right time. I'm sorry Mr. Cashman let it slip out. I told the girl at reception the other day and she must have passed it on."

"But I haven't even asked you to marry me."

"No, but I did think you wanted to. You did yell out that you loved me when I was leaving Mountain Hideaway. You did, didn't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Don't you know for certain?"

"Yes I did say I loved you."

"Oh darling, I'm so pleased for us."

She rose and came round the table and planted her lips squarely on mine.

A couple of old codgers at the bar turned round to have a look. One of them called out, "Go on sonny give her a good one, lucky young sod. If I was forty years younger you wouldn't have a chance." They turned back to their drinks cackling.

I pulled away from the kiss and said, "Wendy, you're always taking over. You always try to dominate me."

"I know darling, but it's for your own good, and you won't always find me dominating I promise. I do know how to be yielding; you'll find out. Now I've told my parents we shall be coming to see them next weekend; I do like to do these things properly. Then I'll have to meet your parents...and..."

I stopped her with a kiss.

Six months later we were married.

On the first night of our marriage the young, lovely and unsullied Wendy lay upon the bed naked. I let my eyes traverse her beautifully body. The long blonde hair spread like a fan over the pillow; her splendid..."