Nicks Women Plus Real OnesbyEgmont0409©
Nick Bradshaw received a call from his mother's social secretary. "It's Nina Mr Bradshaw. Your mother wishes to see you at 6:30 today but you are not required to stay for dinner.
"What was that?"
There was a pause until Nina said, "I'm awaiting an apology."
"You ass will turn blue under winter's snow eight month's hence before that's likely. Tell her yes and to send a car."
Blue-eyed curly blond Nick, with the body of a male model and author of lurid sex novels that had female readers reaching for their toys, terminated the call.
Nick looked down from his turret studio apartment at 6:10 and saw the black limo had arrived. He smiled knowing the chauffer would be seated and almost pissing himself in anxiety that he'd be late delivering Nick for his appointment. Rex would know what to expect from madam if he were late.
A discrete tap at the door brought a smile to Nick's face as he sauntered across to leave.
"Good evening Rex. Thank you for bothering to coming all the way up here."
"I'm Rex's daughter Maine. So you need glasses?"
"Christ you have got old. You introduced me to sex I seem to remember."
"Well at least one of us had sex. It was over so quickly I don't remember actually having sexual connection."
"I probably haven't improved."
"That doesn't surprise me. Hurry, I don't want your mother to removed my cervix for lateness."
"Well give me a call if she does. I'll bridge the gap with my fingers."
"Christ you're still a smart-ass," Maine laughed (she was conceived at the summer house in Maine after her father Rex and the cook Meg found themselves left together one weekend when Nick's mother Muriel was away having a brief affair at sea).
Samuels the butler, son of the butler in Nick's time at growing up in the house, said stiffly, "This way sir. Mrs Bradshaw is in the drawing room waiting for you. We must walk slowly because we are thirty seconds early."
Nick raced ahead and was in the room before the clock chimed. "Good afternoon mommy."
"It's either mother or Mrs Bradshaw. Langley, you remember your son don't you?"
"Of course I do. Good early evening er....Nicholas."
"It's Nick actually."
"Oh yes, how forgetful of me."
"Useless asshole," grumbled Nick, knowing his parents, both in their late fifties wouldn't easily hear him at that distance.
"I saw you on Chamberlain Drive with a street slut yesterday," his mom alleged.
"Pauline is an actress."
"Similar difference I daresay."
Nick thought he couldn't dispute that.
"My offer is this. I want high caliber grandchildren. Produce a woman for my inspection that I approve and then impregnate her and I'll pay you $1,000,000."
"I'll attempt to ensure she bears twins. For that I want $3,000,000."
"We don't have twinning in our families."
"That could be about to change."
"Hmmm," said his mom, playing with her left ear lobe. "$1,500,000."
"Deal. Where's the written agreement?"
The butler arrived with the agreement. Both parties signed and Samuels witnessed the signing of the four copies and handed Nick his two copies, one being for his attorney to file.
"Goodbye Nick. You have six months from today to produce the woman I'll approve otherwise this agreement falls null and void. Find your own way out and call a cab."
In twelve weeks Nick produced twelve women for his mom's inspection. She called all twelve sluts to their faces and Nick began developing a bad reputation amongst the city's promiscuous top-shelf women... at least the ones known to be that way inclined. He decided no way would he bother searching in the thirteenth week because that woman would be very unlucky. His mom would probably label her a whore.
On Wednesday evening of that thirteenth week Nick was dining alone in Herman Ahab's Pequod Fish Restaurant when he watched pretty Lucy Litton enter in a party of six and felt the muscles of his ass tighten in desire. He knew Lucy had recently received her PhD in Library Science and Information but hadn't known she was back home. He'd introduced Lucy to sex soon after her high school graduation when he was twenty-four and she swore she'd never forget him. Well that was almost ten years ago; time to put it to the test.
Nick sauntered over to the table, careful not to alarm anyone unduly and said casually, "Hi darling."
Lucy looked at him, blinked and said, "Oh Nick darling."
The thickset guy with her snarled, "Fuck off buster. This is a private party."
"It can't be; this is a public restaurant."
The guy's face turned dark and he pushed back his chair and balled his fists.
"Down Otto," Lucy said. "You are only my brother. This was my first real boyfriend Nick Bradshaw. You are employed by Nick's father."
"Oh, why didn't you say?"
Two of the other women called, "Hello Nick" and fluttered their eyebrows.
"We are celebrating my recent conferment Nick. Would you join us?"
"No, you guys look set for a great time and I'm about to leave. Give me your card and I'll call you sometime."
Lucy handed him her card and whispered, "Make that tomorrow Nick."
Returning to The Turret as Nick called his apartment, although the owners who lacked imagination called it Apartment 29, Nick found a letter in a woman's handwriting that he took upstairs to read. His mother had told him as a young teen how to distinguish between male and female handwriting although Nick was sure gay males and females would probably upset that theory but then it was unlikely his mom had really absorbed what gays were. His mom had about a 100 % chance of being accurate in predicting 'female' because only females wrote to her by hand. Nick knew he was correct in this case because the handwriting was elegant, with curls and other flourishes and beside, the envelope smelt of perfume.
He was unaware that in opening that envelope he'd never date Lucy Litton and take her to his mom to begin earning his one million plus bucks.
Nick smelt the envelope again. It was unlikely cat's pee because how would a cat get into the mailbox. No the manufacturer of the envelopes probably used cheap scent to permeate a strip into the paper to con women into buying the product. He opened the envelope and read the single page, written only on one side.
'Dear Mr Bradshaw'
I take 12th grade girls for English Literature (Romance) at Melrose High School from where you graduated. Already this year I have confiscated twelve copies of your paperbacks from girls reading in my classes instead of learning from me. The other sixteen paperbacks I have confiscated are from various authors. I find this preference for you amazing and am sure my students have no idea you live and write in this city. I know because my mother went to school with your mother but your mother chooses not to remember that.
Please come and discuss your approach to writing to at least one of my classes.
Romantically connected in your love of literature.
Rose (Rosemary) Rousseau.'
Rose had provided her cell phone number. He called and left a message, suggesting why not gather all her romance literature classes in the school auditorium for his address. He'd keep firmly in mind they were 'impressionable' 17 and 18-yearolds.
Intrigued about Rose, his imagination about her roamed from an over-weight geek with glasses to a bisexual with a body to die for, Nick forgot all about Lucy Litton.
Next day there was a letter in his mailbox from Rose. There was no stamp. God she must live close by, perhaps even in his apartment block?
'Dear Mr Bradshaw.
What a wonderful suggestion. I have discussed this with the school principal and Mrs Shultz has suggested we assemble all females at the school and also invite their mothers or female care-givers to attend. Our suggested date is Tuesday the 17th at 9:00. Please be aware that some of our girls are at the giggling age and because of wild hormone flow may find you unbearably attractive. I must say my own hormones stir a little whenever I see you in the supermarket.'
Nick couldn't get Rose out of his mind. Fuck the million bucks; he wanted Rose! Er, not the fat or the bi version. He wanted her, well just like an average female would do but if she was up a few notches from that well so much the better. Only then did he shudder, thinking perhaps she was married with thirteen children.
Two days later came the invitation from the school principal inviting Author Bradshaw to address a full assembly of female students along with their female caregivers who attended. He was asked to speak about why do he think his readers liked his heroines.
Harmony Shultz, school principal.'
God Harmony, Nick thought, that would be easy to answer and develop. His readers liked his heroines because they fucked hard, enjoyed it and were good at it.
Nick felt the blood drain from his face. Christ he couldn't say that. Some of the juniors would have only just turned fourteen. The moms would lynch him.
Suddenly he though a couple of week far from the city sounded good, ensuring he'd be a thousand or more miles away around the 17th.
But then he thought coward and figured 'what if' about Rose. He felt almost certain, judging by her handwriting, she would be pretty and elegant.
He pulled out her envelopes and checked the writing and nodded but added, "And with big breasts and great legs."
He pulled out a can of beer and spluttered on the first mouthful. What the fuck was he going to tell the kids?"
Um what about the truth but leaving out the sexual bits?
Oh yeah. After finishing the fourth can he went to bed although it was only just after 4:00 in the afternoon. Nick never minded how early he went to bed because he knew when he awoke he'd be fully charge to rip into several chapters of his current draft novel.
* * *
On the 17th Nick awoke at 3:00 am and then 4:10 and then 6.20 and then 8:32.
Holy shit. He'd be late, destroying Rose's faith in him and those dear young girls and their cranky moms would regard him as a piece of donkey's dung.
Nick shaved while showing, had three slugs of whisky, did his hair and grabbed the first draft of his first novel. He flagged down a cab and the cabbie drove on waiting to be given an address.
The cabbie grinned and said, "Do up your fly pal otherwise you're not likely to come out of there in one piece."
Nick, rechecking his zip was up, arrived at the school at 9:10 and was pleased to see some tail-ender mothers with their daughters heading for the auditorium.
A mom looking great enough to be a beauty queen asked, "Nick?"
He looked at his watch and told her 9:11."
"No not the time. I'm asking are you Nick Bradshaw?"
She held up the cover of his latest published novel, 'Gwendolyn Covers Her Dark Past'. He grinned and said yeah, that photo was taken eight years ago but publishers like to keep their authors looking young.
"Holy shit," he gaped.
Rose looked down half-terrified as if expecting her boobs had fallen loose.
"That's just good make-up. Come on we must dash."
She took his hand and they raced to the auditorium.
"Stay there," she hissed, in the wings. "Next time be on time."
She fronted the packed hall. "Ladies and our young women of tomorrow, thank you for coming to listen to our famous author resident in this city, Mr Nick Bradshaw."
She turned to him and smiled. Nick smiled back.
Rose frowned and Nick thought that wasn't fair because he hadn't been staring at her chest.
Rose beckoned and Nick realized she wanted him on stage.
He walked out pretending to be zipping up.
Rose looked horrified and then showed astonishment when the auditorium boomed in laughter.
"Sorry I was taken short," Nick apologized. "Was writing through the night and just had time to shower and shave before coming here. Forgot to pee."
There was another howl of laughter.
"I was late to give you latecomers time to get in here before I began. I didn't want you ladies earning demerit points from your daughter's teachers. Thanks Rose for inviting me here. Isn't she beautiful?"
There was huge applause.
"I base my heroine's on women who look a lot like Rose."
"Where Principal Shultz? I base my dark ladies on women who look like school principals."
By then Mrs Shultz was standing.
"But I base the heroine's mother on school principals who look as elegantly attractive as Mrs Shultz."
Mrs Shultz blew Nick a kiss and she sat down.
"I've been asked to discuss why I think women like my heroines."
"Actually it wouldn't surprise me if male readers like them even better."
"You see I've never had a heroine who treasurers the so-called American Way and is as predicable and delicious as her mom's freshly baked apple pie."
"No, my heroines are just that... heroines. They are prepared to kick male butt when necessary and accept no nonsense from their girlfriends. My heroines represent what I perceive is a American young woman of today and likely would puke if being caught in the pages of a typical romance novel. If she's hit she expects to bleed and be bruised, and if it's a bad time for her she tells her amorous partner she's menstruating and if the boss places a hand on her butt she says if doesn't intend arriving home that night with discolored testicles then he should leave his hand right there and accept the consequences of a well-directed kick."
"My heroines are real, upfront women."
Nick paused and the auditorium boomed with applause.
"What about sex?" yelled a mom.
"Ma'am, what I know and could write about sex wouldn't fill half a page in a paperback."
Nick's readers screamed in laughter. They were familiar with page after page of erotically described sexual action.
"Now girls, I'm not saying you have to strive in life to attain all the qualities of fictitious heroines because readers of fiction are presented with an amalgam or perhaps I should say mix of women invented in the author's mind. She probably will have the great legs of Mrs Smith who serves fish in the supermarket, the lush lips of the local mayor's wife, the heaving breasts on the horse that won the 400-yard sprint at the racetrack, the hair from the mane of the same horse, and its dark eyes and the backside of the school bus but seen from the distance of course."
"No girls even if you get to possess even just one very desirable physical traits consider yourself very lucky. But no matter how you look there are other things about my heroines that appeal to my readers and you'll possess at least some of them to develop. I speak of honesty, integrity, affection, humor, a steely backbone and yet humility or sympathy to display when needed. Whether you possess high or not so high intelligence you can come to deeply respect with understanding how people are, how they fit together and how people can make communities really work or they are so bad they can tear communities apart. As you grow older you'll become more and more aware of these forces that are known as human dynamics."
"Now what do my heroines do that you girls do not do or should not do at the age of most of you? Come on, let's have suggestions. Be careful what you say."
"Drive a car."
"Yes and you?"
"Great answer. And you""
"Hold down a fulltime job."
"Very astute. Yes please?"
"I hope everyone had their ears closed then. And finally you young lady."
"Go half the day to the gym and the other half to the beauty parlor with coffee with friends in between and then go to bars at night."
"Ah, you sound like one of my regular readers."
"I try to vary how my heroines act and what they say. I imagine my regular readers attempt to identify such differences and even to anticipate in which direction I'll head with this particular heroine. That is called reading between the lines and if I'm able to satisfy readers who read between the lines, tantalize them and draw them back to my central theme and then they learned what they correctly predicted several chapters back they think they are very clever and like me for being clever enough to almost deceive them. Those of you who go on to college or university and study writing will learn about such skills when studying storyline structure. It's similar to putting flesh on bones. I believe almost anyone can write a bare-bone novel but will they find a publisher and if they do will the book find sufficient readership to justify it's publication?"
"Now this is a museum article, er from my personal museum. It is the first draft of the first novel I had published. I sent it all told to seventeen publishers. Two of those publishers said it was promising; the other fifteen did not bother to send my draft back although supplied with a self-addressed envelope with sufficient postage attached."
"In frustration I could have given up and returned to university for a higher degree or become a coal miner as my grandfather did. But fortunately I was aged twenty-four and was having regular sex with a lovely young woman of my age who wept at my disappointment at receiving that seventeenth rejection. That told me something about heroines... they stick by their man although that young woman did go off and marry a guy who managed a pre-owned vehicle lot. But I get ahead of myself. Marion went to the father of a guy she went to college with who was the publisher of textbooks. The guy read my script over the weekend and liked it, sent it with his endorsement to a pal who published fiction and lo, I got back this initial draft with all these markings in red on it."
"Hello, what was this I asked? And Marion with her baby blue eyes and cupid smile said, "Make those changes marked in read and send the clean manuscript to Barton Publishers and they will published your book."
"I said go on."
"Marion said was true."
"I said stop teasing me and she gave me the letter from Barton's publishing editor to read."
"Ohmigod, I said. You little beauty. How can I reward you?"
"Marion flicked those baby blue eyes on to me and advanced towards me. My heart raced. 'Lock the door' I gasped and the rest shall remain unsaid."
"Aw," yelled some students and mothers.
"I have read every novel you have written and that makes me a regular reader. I have crossed-index everything of moment in my mind. In 'Miss Jacobson, Private Eye', your second novel, on page seventy-six you have Marion Jacobson flickering those baby blue eyes on to Grayson Summers and as he rips apart his shirt buttons he wheezes, 'Lock the door Marion'. Am I correct in believing you were reliving your time with Marion you spoke of earlier?"
"Er yes but Grayson is a fictional character although he did assume my memory for that one scene."
"I admire the way you treat women in your novels Nick, tell us about it."
Nick looked at the principal. "Mrs Shultz?"
"Please proceed Nick but carefully, remembering some of these girls here are only fourteen."
Nick wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Hands up anyone who doesn't know what is meant by having sex?"
Not a single hand was raised.
"Ah that makes it a little easier for me," he sighed, drawing laughter.
"Well the thing that never changes in any of my novels is my hero and my heroine always respect each other although in the heat of the moment during a torrid scene the heroine might slap the hero and in two novels the hero slapped her back but then they are always instantly mortified and say sorry and ask forgiveness. Because of the strong relationships I develop between hero and heroine, forgiveness and by that I mean true forgiveness is only moments away."
"When they prepare to have sex they don't go at it like a bull at a gate. Remember my youngest hero was twenty-two at the start of the novel and the youngest heroine 20. So they are always adults and think and act like adults. Please understand that."