Pauline

It seemed charity was a very tricky business with an abundance of agents with predatory instincts. They would fight each other like feral animals over major donors, and often offered them sweeteners above and beyond things one would normally expect.

Marta and I must have gone through eighty foundations, narrowing the short list to seven. Five were local, and when they found out who we were and what we could offer them they were like a pack of starving hounds chasing a slow rabbit. Miss French hadn't graced us with her presence, although we sent her regular updates and when the hounds started closing in, I sent them to her as the public face of our business.

A couple of days later I heard Marta arguing with someone. "Stop right there! You don't just burst in on my boss without an appointment!"

"Girl, do you know who I am?"

"Of course I do, Miss French. What's your point?"

Sensing it would be prudent to make an appearance before it came to blows, I stepped through the door. "Thank you, Marta. Miss French, is there something I can do for you?"

She whirled around, glaring at Marta. "Who does this woman think she is?"

"She thinks she's my assistant, and doing her job. Who do you think you are, Miss French?"

Marta looked like she was strangling trying to keep from laughing and Pauline knew it. It didn't help her attitude any. To distract her I asked again if there was anything she wanted.

"You can get those assholes off me! They're driving me crazy!"

"You're going to have to deal with it, Miss French. Your father designated you the public face of his charity work, and it's a cross you'll have to bear. Don't worry, we minions will keep you well informed. You do read the reports we send you, don't you? If you want my opinion, get a better assistant that can field your calls and make your appointments. Meet them on your field of battle, not theirs. I doubt I have to tell you how to say no. I'm sure you're a past master at it."

She was so angry she couldn't talk. Her face went interesting shades for a few seconds and then... she grinned. The shark from Jaws would have been afraid of that grin. "I concede your point, Mr. Halston. By the way, there is a gala being held Saturday night by one of the charities you suggested we take a look at. It's to commence at eight, and I expect the limo to pick me up at half past seven. Do get fitted for a tux. I'd hate for us to look anything but stellar on our debut. Until then."

Marta watched as she went down the hall, her four-inch heels clacking and making her ass sway in interesting ways. "What just happened?"

"I believe, dear Marta, that the Queen has commanded my services for the evening. Spot of tea?"

We sipped the tea while Marta reviewed the charity. "Should I arrange a tux for you?"

"Not necessary. I have my own."

"One day, boss, you're going to tell me who you were in a past life. You live in a million-dollar condo, drive a brand-new Jaguar and you have a tux or two just hanging in the closet? Why are you even here?"

"Terminal boredom and a chance to see how the other half lives. Make sure you have a nice gown and a date."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to need a spy. No one will know who you are and you're quite attractive. Men of all ages make fools of themselves over a pretty woman. Learn what you can."

I handed her a card and a note. "Go there. They will take care of you. I expect you to eclipse the other women at the gala."

*****

Marta put quite the dent on my account. She walked in the next morning, plopped on my lap and gave me a scorcher of a kiss before giggling and hopping off. "Well, if I wasn't intrigued before, I definitely am now. That was the snobbiest set of bitches I'd ever seen until I showed them your note. Then they got in line to kiss my ass and pump me for information. The kiss was a thank you. The dress is fabulous. I've never owned a pair of Louboutins before, and the lingerie! Wanna see?"

She stopped grinning and flamed red at my reply. "More than you could possibly imagine, but let's not go there. Decorum, Miss Marta."

She was grinning as she walked out, only to turn. "Sir, Miss French is here. Shall I let her in?"

I heard the sharp intake of breath and the giggle Marta tried to hide with a cough. She slammed the door behind her.

"You need to fire that bitch!"

"Why, for doing her job? Good assistants are worth their weight in gold and she's the best I've ever had. What do you require, Miss French?"

"I read the dossier you had on the CEO and the Board. How did you find all that out?"

I shrugged. "Friends in low places. Not the most attractive picture, is it? Still, the charity has merit if it can contain upper management. Those dossiers are going to land on the majority of the Board's desks Monday. Let's see what happens from there."

"Did you rent a tux?"

"No, I did not. I intend to wear the one hanging in my closet. Men can get away with wearing the same thing to events. Have you a new dress? Wouldn't be seemly to show up in something you've worn before."

She took a deep breath. "I do. I assure you we will be remembered."

She started out and paused. "Have lunch with me."

"Why?"

"So we can get to know each other a little better. It wouldn't do to appear stiff before the crowds."

I grinned. "As you wish. When?"

"Today. Meet me at Amaretto's at noon."

Amaretto's was one of the hardest places in town to get a reservation. I hoped the food lives up to the reputation.

*****

Marta grinned as I grabbed my suit jacket. "Do you know what a Black Widow Spider is and where the term came from? Once they mate the female kills the male and sucks him dry. Watch out for webs, Jason."

"You would be amazed at the traps I've successfully avoided in the past, Marta. Suffice to say if she thinks she going to get a virgin sacrifice, she will be most disappointed. Enjoy lunch."

We pulled up at the same time and she looked my car over, grinning. "Good choice. Where did you get yours?"

"England."

For the first time she noticed the right hand drive. We were seated immediately and the waitstaff fawned like she was a Queen. It was an Italian restaurant, so I spoke to the waiter in Italian and he had no idea what I was saying. The owner, however, did. He was on his way over to the table to kiss the ring and he addressed me in his native tongue, happy to hear it spoken again. After a few moments I could see Pauline frowning.

"Please excuse us, Miss French. I take it you don't speak Italian?"

"No. It sounds like a beautiful language, though."

Giuseppe smiled. "It is the language of love, Miss French. Now please, what could I offer you? I have few things worthy of such a handsome couple. "

Before she could speak, I ordered for us, in Italian. He smiled and walked away.

"He hasn't taken my order yet."

"I ordered for both of us. He has a dish that was my favorite when I was in Milan, and I would like you to try it. Please?"

Did the frost just thaw a little? "So then, you lived in Italy after England?"

"I did, as part of my last job. I've also lived in Madrid, and of course I was raised in London. I got my CV at Eaton and an advanced degree from the University of Seville."

"Do you speak the languages?"

"Yes, both French and Spanish, with a bit of Portuguese. Languages seem to come easily to me. Are you multilingual?"

She smiled. "Yes, in fashion and food. Everything else requires English."

The food arrived and we ate. Giuseppe hovered until I assured him it was the best version of the dish I'd ever tasted. He beamed and disappeared, and when the main course was over, dessert and very rich coffee appeared. Lunch lasted ninety minutes.

I waited with her as the valets brought up our cars. "I got a call from the Chairman of the Board just before lunch. He is most anxious to meet with us tomorrow to discuss the results of our investigation. Will you be available?"

"If you wish me to be available, I'm available."

I opened the car door for her and she surprised me by kissing my cheek. "Thank you for joining me. It was very enjoyable. Shall we say two, tomorrow?"

"I'll be there. Have a good afternoon, Miss French."

"Call me Pauline," she said, as she pulled away.

*****

Marta eyed me suspiciously when I returned. Satisfied I still had all my fingers and toes, she relaxed. "How did it go?"

"Much better than expected. Apparently, the woman can disguise herself as a normal human being when she has to."

"Still, I'd watch out for those fangs. Your messages are on your desk."

We worked through the afternoon and as I entered the condo the doorman smirked. I wondered what that was about until I unlocked the door and saw what was on the other side. She was tall, blond, blue eyed, tanned, and best of all, naked.

"Hi honey, I'm home."

That was all I got out before she dissolved into a fit of giggles. "I always wondered what it would be like to say that. A bit overrated, in my opinion."

I kissed her cheek and she drew me into a full kiss. After she was satisfied, she pulled back. "Be a dear and pour us a drink, would you?"

She plopped down on the sofa with her legs splayed. As I was fixing the drinks, another woman appeared out of the bedroom. She was also naked, her perfect dark hued skin seeming to glow. Looking over at the woman on the couch she laughed. "Slut! Close those legs. You're like a dog chasing a car. You'd have no idea what to do with it if you caught it."

Leslie, the blonde, and Carmella, the Hispanic, were confirmed lesbians, and they were married. I was living in their condo. Carmella told me once she had never been with a man and had no desire to experiment. Leslie had also never been with a man, although once, on a tropical island in the middle of nowhere, she asked if she could touch my penis. We had been drinking and were all naked. They had been together two years by then, she was 22 and Leslie was 19, old hands in the modeling business. Carmella almost fell off the recliner laughing, then knelt down beside her as she tentatively took it into her hands. I was already half hard, and I flexed it. She let go like it was on fire and we all laughed. Then she literally grabbed it again, rolling it around as much as she could in its stiffened condition. She gave Carmella a running commentary.

"You should feel this love. It's both hard and soft at the same time. And it's throbbing. It's ugly but fascinating. What's that on the head?"

"It's lubricant a man generates when he's excited, to make it easier to slide into a woman. Surely you remember your biology lessons?"

"Yes, dear, but that was in the abstract. It's something altogether different to see and touch one."

It was getting painful so I gently removed her hand. "I think you've satisfied your curiosity."

She grabbed me again. "Not yet. I want to see it shoot!"

"And just how do purpose we make that happen?"

"You could do it."

"Ah, but I won't."

"I... I'll do it!"

"And just how do you think your wife will react to that?"

She looked at Carmella. "Please, Baby? I'll just use my hands and nothing else."

Carmella looked at her like she'd lost her mind. Then she laughed. "Just once. And by once, I mean once in your lifetime, and that's only if Jason agrees. If you ever touch another man sexually, I'll put you out on your ass. Understand?"

I ended up experiencing one of the clumsiest hand-jobs in the history of the world. It was painful at times and ridiculous at others, but we got through it. I don't know what Leslie was expecting when I erupted and she squealed as I splattered her impressive chest. Carmella was still beside her and was laughing hysterically until Leslie turned me and I splattered her, as well.

After they got their breath back, Les asked me if all men produced that much. "I have no idea. I know that the more often you have sex the less the volume is. As you can deduce, it has been a while for me."

"Why? You're young, great looking, and while I don't have a lot to compare yours to. I have watched my share of porn. While not in that league, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You should be getting laid on a regular basis."

"I can be, if I want. Right now, I'm taking a break."

"It's Victoria, isn't it? What a bitch! I can tell you from first-hand knowledge she realizes what a mistake she made."

"Well, with knowledge comes wisdom. It's just too bad she gained hers afterwards."

Victoria was another in my circle of friends. Anyone who had seen the cover of a glamour magazine in the previous five years had seen her face. I really didn't want to get into a relationship with a model, but she was determined and I didn't fight it very hard. We progressed to the point that we made promises, then I flew down for a shoot and caught her with the photographer and a production assistant. The photographer was female, the assistant male.

She tried to say she was drunk, but if she was it was from the night before. I caught them at nine in the morning. Then she said they drugged her, which offended the photographer so badly she quit. I was in charge of the shoot, so I had to get a replacement. We met at the airport, me leaving and him arriving. He told me later it was one of the hardest shoots of his life because she would cry at random times, messing up her makeup and losing the light he wanted. A two-day shoot ended up taking a week.

She tried several times to reconnect when she got home, but I was done with her. Her career lasted another three or four years before she faded away. Last I heard she was doing catalogue work as a plus size model. I saw her a time or two, and despite the weight she still looked good. I made it a point to never date a model again. I had a few hookups, but that's all it was. Ships passing in the night and all that.

I finally got tired of the constant traveling, temper tantrums from staff, vendors, governmental flunkies, models and dealing with the corporate bullshit, so I left it behind me. I still got calls, and if I happened to like the person, I'd consult, but that's as far as it goes.

That's how I ended up in the condo.

*****

Leslie and Carmella were going to be home for two weeks before going off to different shoots, and they just wanted to decompress. I babied them and promised them a fishing trip on Sunday. I'd gotten them into fly fishing, and they loved it. They bought all the necessary gear, and in their own way, every outing looked like a fashion shoot. I thought about that one day while watching Les pull in a thirteen-inch brook trout. I made some calls, and suddenly they were on the cover of Fly Fishing Magazine. The article followed them as they fished a private stream in the Smoky Mountains. It was their idea to wear bikini tops with their waders. They told the magazine it was to work on their tans. I had to laugh, but because most of the times I went with them they were topless. Both hated tan lines, for professional reasons.

It became a recurring gig; The magazine would ask them back about twice a year to "test and evaluate" equipment. They didn't pay them anything, but they always got to go to some remote or exotic locations for the magazine, like New Zealand, Colorado and the Swiss Alps. Seems they had imported North American trout when their native trout population was decimated by war and mismanagement. It had an odd side effect because the native trout and the imports were genetically compatible and they had crossbred, creating trout that could weigh up to thirty pounds in a few years. It was the bestselling issue of the magazine in their history. One of their stipulations in doing those segments was I had to accompany them if I had time. I even got featured in a couple of issues as their fishing guru, even though by then they were far more competent than I was. The Swiss segment was filmed and appeared as a documentary on their national television service, and was picked up by Netflix. It remained one of their most popular documentaries. Hot women in bikinis, spectacular scenery, great fishing, it was almost impossible to screw up something like that.

They also became active in conservation efforts, often attending fundraisers when their schedules permitted. Then they bought about five hundred acres int the mountains of North Carolina that had two good sized trout streams. It was going to be where they built their retirement home.

It seemed Mr. French was an avid fly fisherman, and saw me in the magazines, did a little research, and when I walked away from the modeling industry, he recruited me, heavily. We did one of our first interviews on the banks of a stream, fishing as we talked. He said a man's character could be measured by the way he fished. I didn't really think that was correct, but it was the way he thought.

Leslie found out where I landed and called me. "If you haven't found a house or apartment yet, stop looking. We happen to live in this town and we're gone a lot. Use our condo. Even though it's famed for their security, someone got into our place, took pictures, and rifled through all our stuff. We had surveillance and they arrested the guy as he left the building. He had a backpack filled with almost every item of lingerie we owned. He said he was going to sell them on the internet, especially the ones that were in the laundry hamper. Worn supermodel panties go for big bucks."

"Damn! I was sitting on a gold mine when I worked with you guys. Who knew?"

"Stalkers and break-in artists, apparently. I'm sending you the codes and a letter of introduction to management. A lot of people who live there travel, and they're used to house sitters. Stay out of our laundry hamper!"

"I think I'm too late, but okay."

They found out about the charity fundraiser and Googled it. And Miss French.

"She's a hottie!"

"Yes, and she knows it."

"You gonna nail that?"

"What is this, the guy's locker room in high school? I have no intention of 'nailing that.' I have a feeling the baggage she carries would weigh us down."

I told them of the history I'd learned. Leslie was looking at her picture on the company Facebook page. "I'd do her."

Carmella was giving her the evil eye and she tried to back up. "That is, if I was a horny guy and not a stone-cold lesbian who's desperately in love with her wife. Jace should fuck her just on general principles."

Carmella grinned at the save. "You hit that on the head. Jace has too many principles to just 'do her.' For God's sake, he works for her father. If he just banged her and dumped her, she'd be crying on Daddy's shoulder until he had to address the issue."

They bantered back and forth leading up to the event. I should have known by the way they grinned they were up to something, but Miss French was taking up way too much of my time. We'd met with the Chairman and a couple of Board members he'd vetted. He hadn't liked the information we'd given him. He held an emergency meeting and when it came time for the gala, he was down a CEO, a CFO, a lawyer and two board members. He kept it as quiet as he could before the event, but it would definitely hit the fan come Monday.

My friends hovered over me like they were my mothers before sending me out to the limo. Pauline was living in a three-bedroom apartment over her father's five car garage. She had a private entrance so her parents couldn't see when she came and went, or if she was entertaining anyone. I expected to meet her there, but she texted me to meet her at her parents', so I rang the bell on the really ornate door, promptly at 7:30.

You would have thought we were sixteen and going to our first prom the way they fussed over us. Mr. French had called me one day with a problem. He was supposed to take his wife to lunch but had a situation that needed resolved with a vendor, right away. Would I take her?