Gargalaphobia

Brayden checked for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. 'What are you going to say to her?'

'Well, obviously, I can't question her about threats and blackmail without any proof and, at the moment, we only have your word about what you heard. So I should gain her trust and, in the meantime, we'd like you to get us some solid proof.'

Brayden went to loosen his collar and missed; forgetting it was already unbuttoned. 'I'm not sure I can do that,' he said, scanning the room for the waitress with his drink order.

Jaz caught Vanessa's eye and nodded to her feet. Vanessa indicated for her to stay cool but wondered what she could do to grease the wheels of this meeting. She subtly shuffled in her seat, hiking her skirt to show a little more thigh and crossed her legs; bringing them from the shadow of the table into the sunshine.

Brayden's eyes flicked towards them and so, looking casually out at the ocean, Vanessa allowed the heel of her stiletto to slip down and she dangled the shoe from her toes. Brayden was magnetised to her newly visible high arch and the way it smoothed and wrinkled as she swayed her toes. He slowly and subconsciously moved one thigh from left to right; the only way he could stimulate himself in public without the use of his hands.

The waitress arrived with three drinks and placed them on the table, prompting Vanessa to put her shoe back on and hide her legs under the table. Frustration flickered across Brayden's face.

'What can I do to make this easier for you, Brayden?' said Vanessa, before sipping at her martini and slowly licking her lips.

Brayden took a swig of beer to lubricate his dry throat. 'I can think of one or two things,' he said.

'Such as?'

Nerves got the better of him again. 'Look, I don't need to do this. So, short of you getting someone else to record the private conversations of a member of congress, I need to get something out of it.'

'Such as--?' Vanessa repeated as there was a clatter beneath the table. 'Whoops!'

Brayden looked down to see a stiletto on the floor. He straightened in his seat. Vanessa edged her chair back but the legs got caught in the decking.

'Allow me,' he said and dived for the shoe.

Vanessa agreed with Jaz's assessment -- Brayden was a foot nut. The appreciative and lustful look he was giving her bare foot under the table kept him in place for longer than the average person; he tried to justify it by pretending that picking up a shoe was a complex task.

Vanessa indicated for Jaz to make herself scarce.

'Bathroom break,' said Jaz and stumbled over her chair, prompting Brayden to sit up.

Vanessa resisted rolling her eyes and held out her hand for the shoe. 'Thank you.'

'No, it's okay, I can do it,' said Brayden. His hand was shaking as he held out his palm.

Vanessa felt completely out of her element but shuffled back and lifted her heel slowly into his hand. Brayden's nostrils flared with arousal as he looked at her toes. Until now Vanessa's only opinion of her feet was to be paranoid about how large they were compared to Faith's and her friends'. But, at this point, she saw them through different eyes -- they were in naturally good condition, her toes were long and even and she used elegant nail polish. If she'd always known the effect they could have on a man she would have used their power before now.

Brayden revelled in slipping the shoe onto her toes and cupping it over her heel.

'A gentleman, huh?' said Vanessa. 'You're making me feel like Cinderella.'

'A lady like you should be treated right.'

'That's very smooth of you, Brayden.'

'Does your husband treat you as he should?' he asked, nodding to her wedding ring.

'He does.'

'So he gives you regular foot massages?'

Vanessa considered. 'No, I can't say he does.'

'That's a tragic oversight. You deserve them.'

'Do you like to give foot massages, Brayden?' asked Vanessa, kissing the martini from her glass.

'I do. And I'm very good at them.' There was a fire behind his eyes as he spoke.

'Is that what you want to get out of this, Brayden? Do you want to massage my feet?' She uttered these last three words with deliberate articulacy and was gratified by the effect it had on the young man -- he squirmed in his seat to adjust the arousal that was obvious through his suit pants. As he nodded she noticed his heartbeat was so strong it was making a vein in his neck throb.

'Well,' said Vanessa, 'get me what I need and you might get that chance.'

***CHAPTER VI***

'Ms Calhoun will see you now,' said the handsome secretary as he emerged from the congresswoman's office.

As Vanessa and Jaz stood from a sofa in the waiting area Brayden hurried out of the office, clutching a shabby notebook. He pretended not to recognise them and it pleased Vanessa to see that he was unable to resist a glance at her shapely ankles in her highest of executive high heels.

The secretary held the door for them. 'Vanessa Holbrook and Jasmine Seymour,' he announced.

'Sure,' said Gabby Calhoun. She was sitting at an abnormally large desk, behind which hung three enormous flags: The Stars and Stripes, the Florida state flag and the Confederate flag. So many frames decorated the room that wallpaper was barely necessary. They displayed photos of Gabby Calhoun firing a variety of automatic and semi-automatic weapons; holding up immense fish on boats and piers; and posing in the company of newsreaders, celebrities, socialites, podcast hosts, Republicans, the most recent Republican presidents and prominent members of the National Rifle Association. Vanessa noticed that in each photo Calhoun the Loon maintained the same comically awkward "I've never seen a camera before" smile.

It irritated Vanessa somewhat to concede, despite Gabby Calhoun's political standpoints and counter-photogenicity, that she was someone for whom plastic surgery had worked; maintaining a youthful appearance without the G-force qualities. A quick internet search showed her to be 40, but the botox in her forehead, the collagen in her lips and the discreet nose job--along with the compulsory cosmetic dentistry and excessive styling that gave her blonde waves unnatural body--made her a handsome woman with a harsh edge.

"As long as her tits aren't real, I can feel superior," thought Vanessa. "Note to self: find that out later."

She stood to greet them and spoke with the type of throaty timbre that made Vanessa think she must gargle with sand and dried tobacco leaves. She'd heard her speak before but was more familiar with a cadence that was barked into a microphone or sniped at left-wing reporters. 'The journalists from NYC. How y'all doin'?'

'Very well, thank you. It's nice to meet you,' said Vanessa and they shook hands. 'I'm Vanessa, this is my partner, Jaz.'

'Partner?' said Gabby, abruptly ending her handshake with Jaz. She looked like she'd just swallowed a bug.

'Writing partner,' said Vanessa.

'That all?' said Gabby, focussing on Jaz's haircut. 'Which paper you say you're writing for?'

'We're freelance,' said Jaz.

'As long as you're not from one of those pinko, twisted LBGT-WXYZ web sites,' said Gabby as she retook her seat and motioned for them to sit.

Vanessa caught Jaz's resentful expression.

'We have no agenda,' said Vanessa.

'Do the LGBTQIA community cause you trouble?' asked Jaz.

'Every goddamn day,' said Gabby. 'Always protestin' me for somethin' or sendin' me endless mail.'

'That must be a challenge for you,' said Jaz. There was a flatness to her tone Vanessa hadn't heard before.

Gabby couldn't gauge whether the comment was sarcastic. 'Not for me, honey -- that's what my staff are for. I'm bringin' common sense back to this country -- so we can follow honest-to-goodness Christian family values and to stop gettin' distracted by every insane liberal with their own perverted agenda.'

Jaz straightened in her seat. Out of Gabby's view Vanessa tried to distract Jaz's incoming riposte with a kick, but Jaz moved her leg away; however, before she could retort the desk intercom buzzed.

''scuse me,' said Gabby and answered it. 'Yes, Dwayne?'

'Ma'am, the Senate Minority Leader is here -- he wants a quick word ahead of your lunch.'

'Alright, bring him in.' She clicked off the intercom. 'Would you ladies mind waitin' outside? I need to speak with the Senate Minority Leader for a minute.'

'No problem,' said Vanessa, pleased to have the time-out.

The recognisable elderly politician who spent his time trying to squash everything close to Jaz's heart entered the room. Prepared to give Gabby a down-home greeting, he was interrupted by the unexpected sight of Jaz and Vanessa.

'Good day, ladies,' he said, his eye captured especially by Vanessa.

She flitted a smile at him and walked Jaz into a corridor and out of the earshot of Gabby's team.

'He's a sleazy old geriatric cracker too,' said Jaz.

'Shh!' said Vanessa. 'What are you playing at?'

'What do you mean?'

'We've only just got here and you wanna get her to clam up by arguing over irrelevant issues--?

Jaz's indignation was instant.

'--not "irrelevant" in the wider sense!' said Vanessa, 'I know LGBT issues are important, but let's remember why we're here, yes?'

Jaz folded her arms.

'If you can't contain yourself, you may as well leave me to it.'

Jaz took a deep breath and, as she breathed out, flopped her arms and head around like a drunken new-age yogi.

Embarrassed, Vanessa checked for witnesses. 'You finished?'

'Yeah,' said Jaz, her puppy-dog persona renewed.

'Go do some research.'

'Okay. Will do!' said Jaz and she almost skipped down the corridor.

Vanessa was kept waiting another fifteen minutes before she had to endure a second lecherous introduction from the Senate Minority Leader and concoct an excuse as to why she could not join him for drinks that evening.

"If I wanted to hook up with a deflated grey slug...... Well, I just wouldn't, you "sleazy, geriatric old cracker"", she thought and returned to Gabby Calhoun's office.

'He try to crack on to you?' asked Gabby.

Vanessa shrugged politely.

'He does that with everyone. Plus, by the size of that little ol' wedding ring, he may have missed that you were already taken. Lost your little friend?'

'She's following a lead we have on another story,' said Vanessa. She registered the unnecessary jibe about her ring.

'And what story is it that brought you my way, Mrs Holbrook?'

'We want to talk to strong, independent, career-driven women of our time. Naturally, we thought of you first.'

Gabby did a bad job of hiding that she was flattered. She leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on the desk. She was wearing sheer tan nylons and a pair of red stilettos that rivalled Vanessa's for height.

'Who else do you have on your list?'

'We have some ideas but nothing solid. We figured if we can't talk to you, we may as well not even start.'

***CHAPTER VII***

Over the following weeks Vanessa was invited to accompany Gabby Calhoun in and out of the office to work and social engagements. They had breakfasts, lunches and dinners together. She got to know her staff, her husband, her two 20-something children, her parents, in-laws and friends. She was introduced to dozens of Floridian business leaders, several members of congress, two supreme court judges and a handful of senators. In fact, the only types of people who she expected to see in Gabby's realm but hadn't, were other media figures; in particular Erina Tysinger. But, to each and every person she met, she was introduced with a variation on the sentence: "This is Nessa Holbrook -- she's a journalist. She's writing a book about strong, independent, career-driven women of our time, so she's following me around..."

As the weeks went on Gabby became more creative with the adjectives she used. One of Vanessa's favourites was delivered at a soirée after one too many cocktails: 'This is Nessa Holbrook -- she's a journalist writing about fierce eagle, I mean golden...er, y'know, bald... tigress women who don't take no crap and can save this country from the woke libtards, and she knows I'm the queen, so...'

Vanessa made a note that Queen of the Golden Bald Tigress-Women was a potential title for the piece.

One thing about investigative journalism that Vanessa always enjoyed was not only unearthing gems, but also the facts that altered her own preconceptions. From left-wing news reports and the fun that was made of Gabby Calhoun on the late night shows, it was easy to think of her as stupid, but she graduated with a grade point average of 3.5 in Experimental Psychology from the University of Chicago. At the same time she mentored her cheerleading squad all the way to the national championships, which is where she fell in love with Florida. She adored the praise she received for getting the team into shape and set her sights on the biggest stage she could find; where she would receive adulation for her leadership qualities, her opinions and (without going so far as to admit it) her appearance: the Congressional Delegation of Florida. And she got where she wanted to go. Yes, she was far from being an idiot.

It was therefore even more surprising that she appeared to honestly believe the preposterous conspiracy theories that she spouted in congress, on TV and via her social media channels. They were so numerous and ludicrous that they were beyond parody and, whether in the office or at work events, colleagues would nod along until it was time to discuss another topic. When Vanessa was invited to a family meal on the Fourth of July weekend, the spectacle of every family member sincerely contributing to a conversation about "how leafy greens are evil" because the Deep State developed fields of genetically modified kale that skewed the minds of right-thinking people to vote for the left (which is why there was no salad on the table), it left her wondering if she had entered a parallel universe where she was the only sane person in Sitcom Land.

'I've looked into it,' said Jaz on a phone call that evening. 'Endorsement of a theory without any evidence is called motivated false reasoning -- people use it to protect their world view. Ooh! Have you spoken to Brayden?'

'I haven't had the chance. Why?' said Vanessa as she kicked off her shoes and slumped onto her hotel bed.

'He called me. When Gabby arranged for you to be escorted around the Florida State Capitol on Friday, she had another meeting with Erina Tysinger and the others. Things are ramping up.'

Vanessa chewed on her cheek and cursed herself; she knew Gabby wasn't visiting the beauticians as she claimed. Plus, she should be telling Jaz the lowdown, not the other way round.

After a few moments of silence, Jaz asked: 'You're doing that cute little pout you do while you're thinking aren't you?'

'What? No,' said Vanessa and stretched her lips.

'Yeahhh, you are! I caught'cha!' said Jaz.

Vanessa smirked, which increased her irritation. 'I need to go to bed. I'll speak to you tomorrow.'

'Whatever you say, boss. Byeee!'

Vanessa hung up and shook her face out. She could tell if Jaz was flirting or being familiar but she found whatever it was to be inappropriate, plus she hated smiling when she was trying to be serious.

She went back to chewing her cheek. It was time to increase the pressure on Gabby.

***CHAPTER VIII***

Vanessa was wide awake at 5:10 a.m. Her eyes continually traced the frustratingly irregular abstract pattern on the hotel wallpaper while she questioned how much closer she was to the goal of this trip.

Her phone glowed with a text from Ryan:

Hi honey,

I've been handed my notice. We've got one month to find a decent income or we'll need to move out. Mom says we can stay with her while we work it out.

Hope you're having sweet dreams.

xx

She slammed her phone into the duvet. 'You mean: I've got one month to pay the rent or else we'll have to move in with my 42-year-old husband's mother. Goddamnit.'

She threw the covers to one side and went to the shower, which is where she did some of her best thinking.

'How do I get her to talk? How do I get her to talk?' she said to the wall while stroking conditioner through her long, raven hair. She caught sight of her body through the steam-coated glass and the fogging full-length mirror. She was happy to see that some weeks away from the gym hadn't effected how fit she appeared. "Still got it," she thought.

A few bunched strands of hair slid down her spine, over her coccyx and between her buttocks. She shivered in surprise and looked down to see the little clump glide between her feet like a spindly, elegant sea creature on its way to the plughole.

A thought came out of nowhere: Maybe you could tickl--

'Shut up!' she said out loud and shook her head violently.

Out of the shower, she saw the cellphone glow again. Water dripped from her naked body as she picked it up, expecting another message from Ryan. Instead, it was from Gabby:

Not around today.

Get urself a car. Come to my place in Cape Coral tonight.

Wayne give u the address.

Vanessa slung the phone into the pillows.

- - -

Gabby Calhoun's two-story Cape Coral residence sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, with a golf course on one side and well-to-do neighbours on the other who shared one of the most sought-after river views in the city.

Vanessa stood alone on the back patio and looked across a pink and white rose garden to a dock that moored Gabby's yacht, which, Vanessa noticed, was newer and larger than all the other yachts on this part of the river.

'Nice place,' she said to herself, 'but when the ice caps melt, I'll still be above sea level.'

'Excuse me?' asked Gabby's 60-something-year-old maid as she arrived with a pitcher of iced tea.

'I was talking to myself,' said Vanessa.

'Miss Calhoun has arrived--'

'Nessa!' interrupted Gabby as she threw apart the sliding patio doors. She was dressed in a poppy red power suit and matching stilettos. 'You found the place.'

'Yes--'

Gabby turned to the maid, 'Angela, this is Vanessa -- she's a journalist writing about the strongest women in the country and so she's interviewing me... What're you holdin'?'

'Iced tea, Ma'am.'

Gabby shushed her away. 'Oh, get us some margaritas! It's a day to celebrate! Let's sit on the boat.' She pulled off her high heels, tossed them onto a sun lounger and stepped barefoot onto the newly-mown grass. Her toes were painted the same poppy red as her suit and shoes.

Vanessa quickly found that her stilettos punctured the lawn and so hopped along in an ungainly manner to remove them while keeping up with Gabby. 'What are you celebrating?'

'News I got today. All I can say is I'm lookin' forward to the mid-terms.' Her self-satisfied smile was joined by a contemptuous air as she looked down. 'Lordy, do you have big feet! Do you shop at one of those tranny stores?' She snickered to herself.

Vanessa wasn't amused.

She followed Gabby onto the rear of her yacht and up the chrome ladder and, being about 10 inches away from Gabby's dirty soles, thought, "At least mine are clean, Sweetheart."

Of the snug U-shaped sofa at the rear of the upper deck, Gabby occupied the side with a view of the sunset and propped her feet up on the middle seat, which left Vanessa with her back to the river. When Angela arrived with the drinks Gabby made no effort to help her get them up the ladder, but Vanessa felt obliged to do so. Angela pre-limed and salted the rims of six glasses and left them with a large jug of margarita mix. Vanessa was doubtful that the two of them could get through such an amount until Gabby downed her first glass like she was part of a frat house chugging contest.

She smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and let out a satisfied, 'Ahh! Your turn, Nessa,' she said as she poured herself another.