Hot Bebe

She yawned.

Sonja's phone went and she had a short conversation and asked, "Bebe, your phone is off-line. Switch it back on. It's Jason Wilson calling."

"Who the fuck is he?"

"Ted's grandson."

In her haste to reactive her phone, the phone slipped from Bebe's grasp. She just managed to scoop it into her hand before it hit the hard pavement.

Bebe's phone rang.

She answered (with Sonja only able to hear her side of the conversation).

"Yes, you can date me. When?

"Now?"

"Oh, you've just watched me on TV. What did you think and what did you think of my tits?"

"Oh, you think I appear intelligent and look very presentable?"

"Yes Jason, it's okay with me if you call them tits. I'm more than aware that I'm not a cow."

"The Red Dragon, but that's a restaurant. I thought you'd want to ply me with alcohol."

"Oh, you only drink a little and were hoping I could act couth? Okay, Jason. I can be couth. I'll meet you at the Red Dragon in say 20 minutes."

"No, go inside and get a good table. Yes, I'll know how to find you. You'll be the only guy looking up expectantly with a hand clutch his... um, allow me to rephrase that."

Sonja stood shaking her head and when it ended, she said: "Darling, you can't speak to guys like that and expect them to respect you."

"Sonja, guys expect you to make it easy for them. They are looking to fuck their date, not to respect her. Gosh, most of them won't have a clue what respect means."

"A few young guys could be like that, Bebe, but not the majority.

"That's bullshit," Sonja.

"Bebe, pull down your panties and bend over and allow me to whack you."

"Oh, Sonja. I apologize. You are serious, aren't you. Um, I realize I was so out of line."

"Thanks, Bebe. Just get rid of those nasty university habits. Correct behaviour is for females to resist, at least initially and remember they have no intention of becoming a whore. Guys, too, should refrain from ripping the panties off their female companion, or even pulling the panties aside gently, at least on the first or even more dates. Females like you Bebe have to learn restraint and learn to space themselves."

"I used to practice restraint until three months after my nineteenth birthday b-but at university almost everyone appeared to be fucking or wanting to fuck and I just um caught the wave for a while until I throttled back to avoid ending up with a body like an old whore."

"Good for you," Sonja said with motherly encouragement. "I'll drop you off at the Red Dragon and you just remember those words I used earlier, that you need to throttle back."

Bebe entered the Red Dragon Restaurant feeling a little confused. She wanted to have sex and yet Sonja, sounding rather like Bebe's mother, had urged her to throttle back. In other words, don't slam against the guy with her hand reaching to check out penis size and his state of erection.

She almost whimpered when a waitress asked, "Yes, ma'am?"

Gathering herself, Bebe said, "I'm looking for someone; he's already here."

She swept by two guys at separate tables who looked to be waiting for someone and past a guy in a suit and tie, for fuck sake, and he called, nervously, "Bebe. I spotted you on TV earlier."

She swung around, preparing to hide her disappointment, padding a measured treat to their table and smiling.

"Hi, Jason, it's so lovely to meet you," as he stood, kicking his chair back, adjusting his tie as if he were being half choked.

"Hi um Bebe. Omigod, you look beautiful, even better than what you appeared on TV."

Well that was flattering, coming from a guy who probably feared she was almost capable of feasting him alive after draining him of sperm. Omigod, where were those weird thoughts coming from? This was totally unlike her apart when she was attacking herself with one of her dildos, seeking powerful relief.

As she sat, people from the two closes tables clapped her, for fuck sake. She smiled in acknowledgement.

"Omigod, I wasn't aware how truly famous you were until now. My grandfather was crazy attempting to line me up for a date with you."

"It's fine, Jason. Relax. I suggest you remove your tie, only toff male stiffs in this restaurant are choking on neckties."

Bebe watched in almost disbelief upon glimpsing his chest muscles ripple and he engaged in loosening and removing his tie, licking her lips and thinking he must by one of those gym guys bent on developing a six-pack to impress women. She was aware she was dampening her panties.

"Say something to start this our first meeting rolling. Say the first thing that comes into your head."

Bebe expected him to say something like she was pretty with cute boobs rather than ask what did she do at nights in bed knowing there was a choice of three dildos in her bottom bedside cabinet."

"My mother is wildly excited that I'm having dinner with you tonight. She teaches an introduction to fiction writing to adult students at a night school and says you are a natural frontrunner, epitomising the new generation of university graduates, especially females, trained to reorganise facts emerging more coherently from their interviews and drawing the true essence from both the heart and mind of people they interview."

"Omigod, your mother cannot be Australian-born?" exclaimed Bebe.

Jason eyed her curiously and said, "Correct, said was born and raised in Marseille and immigrated to Melbourne when recruited to teach French when she was twenty-six.

"In uttering those words to you, your mother has endowed me with a supreme compliment. Does she read the magazine that I contributed to, Thinking Woman's Magazine?"

"Yes, it's her favourite magazine after the French edition of Cosmopolitan Magazine."

"Wow, I'm impressed. What do you do for paid employment, Jason?"

He explained he was an on-call computer systems engineer specializing in trouble shooting for a number of major companies.

A lively conversation developed over food and drink until Bebe began to wilt and she explained it had been a long and enormously engaging day for her.

"I can understand that, and will call you a cab," Jason said.

"What, without making another date with me?"

He appeared confused and said he didn't think she would welcome a second date with him but recovered well as said, "Saturday evening?"

She thanked him and handed Jason her business card and told him to call her with details.

"Um, I expect my mother would like to meet you."

Bebe spoke in excellent French that she was sure his other would. She said perhaps they could meet somewhere for lunch on Saturday where Jason could introduce her to his parents and they eat at his home or at a restaurant, and suggested semi-formal dress.

"You speak excellent French," he said in French, appearing quite astonished.

"I have an Aunt married to a French businessman in Lyons and I have visited t there almost every second summer, with or without my parents, since I was eight years old. I'm not so fluent in Italian and speak a little German, tourist style."

He stood back as she was about to enter the cab. Bebe pulled him to her and kissed him and said, "Goodnight, you beautiful man."

Jason wished her a safe journey home, his expression set in neutral, and physically his wave was at half-mast.

Uh-ha, I could be a little too much for him, Bebe thought, as the cab drove away.

She received a text message from him next day with details of where they would meet on Saturday for lunch, mentioning his mother was really keen to meet Bebe.

She re-read the message and wondered whether his father had an opinion about meeting her also or was reluctant to associate with one of his immoral father-in-law's female acquaintances who was even younger than Ted's grandson. Perhaps not; Mr Wilson could be unaware of the connection.

On Friday night, Bebe went to a party with two unmarried women from the office that she worked with, held in a very cool decorated large apartment. The music was rocking and the well-dressed people attending were really in a hot party mood and during the evening Bebe noticed the occasional couple gliding off to one of the bedrooms.

Well after midnight, when most of the guest's had left including the wives/partners of the host's two close buddies, leaving just those three guys, the host's girlfriend Margo, Bebe and her two lively friends from the office, Thelma and Penny.

Hard liquor and stronger party pills were produced, and popping a couple of pills, Bebe thought what a good-looking group they were with great teeth and huge smiles and she wondered where the sex was. The atmosphere was already much like the groupies about to happen that she remembered, mostly pleasurably, from her university days.

The it commenced.

Their host, ripped off his belt and threw it across the room to land behind a sofa and dropped his smart dress jeans and began kicking them off, yelling "Let's party harder."

That triggered the other two guys and the four females, in various stages of intoxication, into yelling, laughing and divesting clothing.

The host Trevor, grabbed Bebe and they embraced heavily.

The hot groupie was really underway.

A couple of hours later, Bebe staggered from the cab outside her apartment block, aware that some of her clothing was missing, and listening to the driver yet again reminding the remaining passengers not to vomit in his vehicle to avoid paying the cost of having it fumigated.

Fumigated?

Laughing almost hysterically, Bebe waved her two companions off, thinking it would be best if she avoided them socially in future as they behaved more like whores than usually elegant senior editorial staff.

And how had Bebe Newton acted that night in their wild company?

"Omigod," Bebe groaned and staggered off to her apartment to prepare to vomit for the second time that evening. "Yes mum, I do need to sharpen up my behaviour," she babbled.

Some how next morning, Bebe managed to be outside the building at 11.45 before Jason arrived by cab to take her to lunch with his parents.

She was freshly showered and her lipstick was on straight but she had pulled on her party dress from the previous evening, with food stain -- probably tomato sauce -- from late supper down the front of it. Ah yes, she recalled eating pizza with gusto.

Bebe entered the cab, unaware her hair was in a mess and she'd forgotten to clean her teeth since early the previous evening. She kissed Jason hugely, wetly with an open mouth and flicking tongue.

"Get off," he roared, pushing her away and saying she was drunk.

"I'm not."

"You are, definitely."

"You are confused, Jason. I'm in what is called recovery mode. I... I can't remember if it's the phase that comes before or after the event."

"What event is that, Bebe," he snapped.

"I really have no idea."

"Driver, please let me out and take this female back home. Here's a fifty bucks (dollars)."

Jason slammed the door behind him, Bebe's plaintive cry ringing in his ears, "Jason darling, where are you going. Is there another woman?"

"Omigod, there goes another Bebe Newton fuck-up," Bebe wailed.

Chapter 3

Two weeks after scandalising Ted Evans' grandson, having him walk out on her, Bebe climbed out of the rooftop pool of her apartment building, a guy of about her father's age, sitting at a poolside table with a pile of files in front of him, called, "Lousy swim style but great bod."

"Thank you, sir."

"Coffee?"

"What, are you sure you have authority to be up here?"

"Sort of," he chuckled.

The day manager came out with a tray, mug and coffee pot and said, "Bebe, Mr Armstrong owns this entire building."

"Oh, how nice for him."

"Fetch a mug for Miss Newton please Dan. I heard that the so-called Hot Bebe had leased one of my apartments in this structure but never expected to see her because celebrities rarely rise before 1l o'clock. Please sit with me Bebe."

"Do you have any complaints living here?"

"Yep, just the one."

"Okay, spill it," Mr Armstrong sighed and told Bebe to call him Aldo.

"What's your real name?"

Startled, he saw the outline of a grin on her face and said, "You have a touch of wickedness about you, Bebe."

"Thanks for recognising I have humour. My gripe is I don't have a man living with me."

"That's not one of the services we provide, although rumour has it that Dan is a bed-hopper around here."

"No thanks."

Aldo asked why didn't Dan appeal?"

"Too fat for me, is balding prematurely, speaks mechanically..."

"Okay, enough, here he comes with your coffee mug."

When Dan left after pouring Bebe's coffee, Aldo said his older son may be a good date for Bebe, but his mother wouldn't tolerate him sleeping all night with a woman while he still lived at home.

"Interested?"

"Could be, and you forgot to mention he's had more girlfriends that you've had hot dinners. He probably experiences difficulty holding on to a girlfriend. My interest in him would be definite if he's anything like his Old Man."

Aldo chuckled.

"Wow, you just come right out with it, don't you? My wife is already half in love with you. She sticks some of your articles into a scrapbook and has your magazine's front cover picture of sprinter Irene Moss, who broke her leg ice-skating on the eve of gaining probable selection to represent Australia at the Olympics, on our kitchen wall along with your story about Irene's gutsy bid to get her life together again after sinking into depression. She'll be hailed for making a late start to enter university and the challenge to catch up to her contemporaries will be what she needs."

"You seem to know Irene's situation well."

Aldo replied, "Obviously I read your article, don't you think?"

Without answering the question, Bebe said, "Let me have a crack at helping your son Roland to stabilize himself in dealing with young women. In return, his influence might serve to calm me down a bit."

"Yeah, I've already thought you'd be rather difficult for most guys to handle as you are definitely your own woman, and so much like my wife Olivier it's uncanny. Her parents are Dutch."

"Oh, then she'd rather pragmatic?"

"Like hell, she's a fireball with a great capacity for work and has been known to throw a punch at me at times when I really piss her off."

Bebe giggled.

"Wow, I've known you for only ten minutes Bebe and already like you heaps."

"Steady on, Aldo. It's your son being talked about as a possible date for me.

He laughed, saying, "There she goes again."

Aldo handed Bebe his business card.

"Come to my office downtown at 11 next Saturday morning. Roland will be there scanning my recent files on maintenance work together with sketches and plans, to show office staff the system to follow in digitising copies of maintenance work for permanent filing. We trail behind in this digital age."

"Okay, I'll do my best to be there. Please don't reveal at this stage that I'm Bebe the magazine journalist. We need to approach this slowly."

"Agreed."

Bebe entered the dingy building on Saturday morning. She looked for spiders and mice, but found none. Actually, the interior of the building had been modernised and was clean with no sign of vermin.

There was only one receptionist at the big desk. Well, it was Saturday morning.

"Ah, Miss Newton. Mr Armstrong asked that I take you to his office where his oldest son is working. Mr Armstrong will return in an hour or so and his cryptic message to you was 'Go to it." He said you'd know what that meant."

Then catching Bebe's straight-eyed stare, the receptionist continued.

"Omigod, you are Bebe, the wonder writer on Thinking Woman's Magazine, who writes just under the name Bebe."

"Ah, yes. Do you mind if you keep the lid on my precise ID for the moment, but calling me Bebe is okay?"

"Oh, are there other Bebe's in Melbourne?"

"I assume so. If you don't mind, I'll take myself to the eighth."

"Very well, the code to use on the seventh to get to the top floor is 9339."

"Thanks. You have been a great help."

"It's my pleasure. May I tell my mother I've met you face to face."

"Yes of course, but I know not why. I just write."

"True, but it's what you write, how you express yourself so intently and how you manage to secure such interesting personalities to project them so naturally and thoughtfully is what makes you a VIP among your peers that makes the difference. Bebe, I have a lowly BA in English Literature and know enough to realize that you have a foot on the top rung as a magazine writer already and you've not yet a year into your career."

"Thanks for those kind words. Let's swap business cards."

In the lift, Bebe looked at the receptionist's business card: Margaret Fisher, LLB, BA.

"Wow, also a law degree. That woman is probably only a part-time receptionist, earing sufficient living to support herself while writing a novel. If I'm correct and her synopsis has been approved by a publisher, then I must investigate this woman to discover if she is a new author about to burst on to the literary scene and is likely to earn big sales. What a story to publish ahead of it actually playing out in full."

"Indeed," she practically panted. What a story. She pressed the code and the lift rose to the topmost floor.

"Golly, the eight is all one floor, luxuriously appointed and divided into work-space and meeting/reception space," she gasped.

"Indeed, and who are you?"

"Bebe, I'm here to see your father at his invitation."

"What, are you that hotshot magazine writer my mother goes on about?"

"Would it be likely that any high-flier would be up at this time of day after a horny and loquacious long Friday night of booze, boobies, pill-popping and irrelevant chatting?"

"You sound like a journalist to me."

"Okay, is that your conclusion?"

"Um, I don't think so. Why are you so confrontational?"

"Oh, how odd," Bebe said, smiling. "In my mid-teens, I remember my father saying that I didn't possess a single useful brain cell cluster in my head."

The guy smiled, walking toward Bebe and said, "And then I guess you slapped him."

"No, I yelled to mum, that dad was abusing me. She rushed in and punched him hard over his right eye, and then paused to ask questions about his behaviour. He defended himself, cupping the swelling around his eye I guess but I was no longer there. I was pedalling away from the house fast before my mother began having a piece of me, even is only verbalizing."

"Great story, I'm my father's clone, for what use that is. He's a multi-millionaire, not that I benefit from that. Every dollar I spend has to be from every dollar I earn."

"Are you sure about that? Owning an apartment wouldn't make one a multi-millionaire unless it was a skyscraper in central Manhattan Island."

"Is that so? For your ears only, six years ago he inherited 12 apartment blocks from his late-father and has added two more to the solo-ownership portfolio since then."

"Wow, at the very least he should toss you a fat retainer monthly just for being his son."

"Um, great. That suggestion could appeal to him better than any I've put to him to date. Your words appeared to me to emotionally embody much that's appealing about philanthropy and entitlement, providing it's pitched perfectly to envelop his conscience."

"Way to go, Rollo."

"Rollo, you mean Roland?"

"No, modernise by registering that change to your first name and having all legal documents and authorities changed accordingly. Despite initial objections by your parents and some others, they will get used to Rollo quickly."

"I'll have to think about that," said Roland, frowning.

Bebe smiled and said, "Do that, it's only a timely and very sensible suggestion."

"Words, words. You are that Bebe journalist."

"What if I were?"

"You'd be out of my league."