by Dee Dawning
Her eyes brightened. “I’d like that.”
Kevin felt like the American League strikeout king, by the end of the day he hadn’t gotten one lead and so it went for the rest of that week and the next. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, he would connect with people in the publishing trade, trying to find Dede. Then on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so his work wouldn’t get too far behind, he would work long hours trying to catch up. He swore he called every romance agent, publisher, editor in the Milky Way, with no luck.
It seemed like he pursued the invisible woman. He called an old school buddy of his who was a cop to see if he had any ideas. He said about all he could do was let him look through mug shots. When Kevin said thanks, but not interested, his friend suggested a private investigator who was good and not that expensive. “Out of curiosity, how much is not that expensive?”
He choked and coughed when his friend answered, “Only fifty or sixty bucks an hour.”
He took down the name, figuring he’d call him when everything else failed.
A day later, he called private detective Ray Chandler.
“Chandler.”
“Mr. Chandler, my name is Kevin MacCloud. I’m trying to find someone.”
“Go on.”
“She’s a romance author.”
“What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. That’s something I’d like you to find out. She told me her name was Dede Wilson, but that proved to be untrue”
“Where did you meet the babe?”
“I met her at Trends Cocktail Lounge in Manhattan. Do you know where that is?”
“Yeah. I’m wrapping something up right now. Why don’t we meet there tomorrow at two o’clock?”
The next day, sitting in the same booth Dede and he’d occupied, Ray asked him several questions. About forty and tall, he was the epitome of a TV private eye, who meticulously scribbled down each answer he gave in a wire bound pocket sized notebook.
After fifteen minutes of questions, he looked up and told him, “The odds of finding your author with the paucity of information you’ve given me, is less than ten percent. I get five hundred a day, plus expenses. If you want to waste your money, I’ll take it, but don’t blame me if I can’t find her.”
“Will you be working on it full-time?”
“No.”
“How do I know you won’t overcharge me?”
“You don’t.”
Hmm. That was very reassuring.
He’d just received a commission check he’d been waiting for, so for once money wasn’t an issue. What was an issue was that he was tired of having wet dreams instead of the real thing. So he made a proposal. “Okay, you’re hired, but don’t go over five thousand dollars without checking with me. Is that all right?”
He shrugged. “You’re the boss. This must be some babe!”
He nodded. “She is.”
“Okay, since we’re here, I want to start nosing around. What’re you drinking?”
Surprised he asked, “You’re buying?”
He smiled. “Yes. With your money. It’ll go on my expense tab. Now, I need to know the exact day and time you were here with Dede.”
He stared at the ceiling, thinking. “It was a Friday, about four o’clock. Christ, it’s been almost three weeks.”
* * * *
The next day he received a call from his private ‘dick.’ “Rebecca Roth.”
“What?”
“Rebecca Roth, that’s your mystery chick’s name.”
He straightened up in his chair and scribbled the name on a scratch pad. “How?”
“We lucked out, pal. She charged the one drink she bought and they kept a copy of the charge slip.”
What a beautiful name. He wrote the name again and surprised himself by drawing hearts around it. “That’s great, Ray. What’s next?”
“To get an address, phone number, even an e-mail address. It could get expensive, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I have a couple more tricks I could try, but if none of that works we might have to pay some people for information.”
“Do what you can, but get back to me before you start bribing anyone.”
“You’re the boss! Ciao.”
Ray hung up, and Kevin raced to Sharon’s office with the mystery woman’s name on his lips.
She wasn’t in.
The secretary she shared with another agent told him, “She left for Maine last Friday. Her family has a cabin up there and every year she gets away from the hustle and bustle of New York for two weeks of solitude with nature.”
“All right. Let me have her cell phone number?”
She smirked. “No phones is part of the solitude.”
Chapter Seven
Day Twenty
Becca answered her intercom. “Yes, Zoe?”
“Evelyn is on the line for you.”
“It’s about time. I sent the draft of my manuscript to her almost a week ago.” She pushed line one. “Good morning, Evelyn.”
“Hi, Rebecca. It took me awhile, but I got to the draft of your story last night. In fact, I barely got any sleep. I just couldn’t put it down. You really have a way of putting the reader in the story. This may be your best story yet.”
She sensed her lips reacting with a wide smile. “Thanks, Evelyn, then you’re going to leave it as is and send it on to editing?”
“Not quite. In order to keep up with the competition these days, you’re going to have to add some anal play—preferably, with double penetration. Can you do that?”
Her short lived euphoria, deflated. “But, Evelyn, that seems so undignified.”
“Rebecca. You know this business. Other writers are including it in their stories. We’re selling women’s fantasies and anal sex and double penetration is the rage right now. I wouldn’t know, but I hear it feels really good. It sure sounds sexy enough. So, are you on board?”
“I guess, if I have to.”
“Good, I knew you’d agree. Rebecca.”
“Yes?”
“What’s with this Dede Wilson?”
“That’s the pen name I chose for my more risqué writings.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? You’ll be starting a whole new fan base.”
“Others have got around it. I’m sure publicity can figure it out.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Just pen ten to twelve good sized paragraphs of rear entry sex and we’re in business. Gotta go now. Ta-ta.”
“Ta-ta.”
She slammed the phone down and grabbed the back of her head with both hands. “Damn!” Now, what do I do?
Zoe raced in. “What’s wrong?”
A cold sweat washed over her. “You were right. Evelyn wants me to include an anal scene.”
She shrugged. “So get on your computer and pound it out.”
“But I’ve never even had anal sex, let alone both at once.”
Zoe stuck her hands out to the side, palms up. “Then call up your dreamboats and have a reunion.”
The idea of reprising her sexy birthday with her ménage dreamboats warmed her pussy, but the danger of seeing them again sent a cold chill through the rest of her. “I can’t, Zoe. I just can’t.”
In a rare exhibition of warmth, Zoe placed her hand over Becca’s. “Why? Help me to understand, sweetheart.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Suddenly, her sinuses felt like they would explode. “Remember when I said I would move in with them and make love every night for the rest of my life?”
She nodded. “Ah-huh.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto her breasts. “I would, if I thought they would have me.”
Zoe handed a Kleenex to her from the corner of her desk and she blew her nose. She handed her a second and she wiped her eyes. “Thank you. Do you know that every night since then, I have dreamed about the amazing night I spent with them?”
Zoe took a seat in one of the two guest chairs. “No, but Becc
a, you didn’t even stay around long enough to say goodbye. You don’t know what they would’ve done. They’re probably just as captivated by you as you are by them.”
Becca shook her head slowly back and forth. “Not likely. Oh sure, they would fawn over me and have their fun for a couple weeks or maybe even a month. They’d probably keep me around just long enough for me to fall in love, but in the end they would look for fresh, younger meat and I would be crushed. Don’t forget, I’m probably eight to twelve years older than the women they are probably used to.”
Zoe straightened and tucked her twinned legs under the chair. “So you’re playing it safe. You’re turning your back on a possible relationship and love because you can’t stand the idea of getting rejected.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “Yes. Going without them on my terms is better than going without them on their terms.”
Zoe’s hands grasped her tiny waist. “What alternatives do you have to getting back together with them?”
She gulped. “I guess, find two new studs.”
Wide eyed and mouth open, the shock on Zoe’s face was palpable. “You have got…to…be…kidding. Why not go back to Kevin and Vince for one more time.”
She pictured them. Like Sean, they were the kind of men she could fall for—hard. She couldn’t go through the misery she went through three years ago, again—the sleeplessness, the drinking, the constant weeping, her withdrawal from life. Another time like that and she might end up in the morgue. “Because one more time with them and I could be hooked!”
“Okay fine, have it your way. I have a better idea. Look, I can get you a dozen books that describe anal sex, double penetration, the whole works. Just write what they wrote. Not word for word of course, but after you see how it goes and how they describe it, put it in your own words.”
She narrowed her eyes and lifted her head upward. “Yes, that might work. Zoe, when you come in tomorrow, bring in a dozen such books and make photocopies of the pertinent scenes so they’re at my fingertips.”
Zoe dipped her head in acknowledgement. “I’ll tell you what. It’s only fifteen minutes till lunch time. I was planning on going home for lunch, so if I go right now, I can get the books and be back before one.”
She knew her face lit up. “Could you? That would be super.”
Smiling, she rose and, like a well trained infantryman, she about-faced and walked toward the door.
Becca was so pleased, she yelled after her. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you are indispensable.”
Over her shoulder, the little bitch taunted her, “I know, that’s why you keep hiring me back.”
* * * *
By one fifteen, Zoe returned with a dozen erotic ménage books. As Becca instructed, she skimmed through the books for the desired scenes and slipped a paper clip on the appropriate pages, then ran off photocopies of the chosen pages.
When she had the information Becca wanted, she took the pages into her office and handed them to her. After taking a minute to glance through the pages, she looked up. “Perfect, thank you, Zoe. Hold all calls and take messages, will you? I don’t want to be disturbed while I work on this.”
Not too long after Zoe returned to her desk the phone rang. “Romance Writer. Good morning.”
“Yes, good morning. I’d like to speak with Ms Roth.”
“I’m sorry, she’s not available. Would you like her voice mail or may I take a message.”
“When will she be available?”
“I imagine not until tomorrow morning. I’m her personal assistant, maybe I could help you. What did you need?”
“My name is Raymond Chandler and I’m conducting a series of interviews for RT magazine. I would like Ms Roth to be among them.”
How odd. RT magazine just did an interview of Becca last September. I wonder what this is about. “I see. Well, thank you for thinking of us, but Ms Roth values her privacy and doesn’t grant interviews.”
“What about Dede Wilson? Would Dede Wilson grant an interview?”
Raymond Chandler suddenly had her interest. “There is no Dede Wilson here.”
“Are you sure? Good looking blonde, five-six.”
“I’m afraid not.”
Becca came out of her office and stood before her, looking drawn. Her eyes were glazed and she held her forehead.
“Excuse me, Mr. Chandler. Could I put you on hold for a minute?”
“All right.”
“Thank you.” She pushed the hold button and looked at her employer.
“This isn’t working. I’m afraid we’re going to have to do something drastic. It’s even given me a killer headache. For now, I’m going to lie down. You may as well go home.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and went into the residential part of her house.
Zoe pushed the hold button off. “Mr. Chandler?”
“Yes.”
“The Dede Wilson you mentioned. Where did you get that name?”
After a pause he said, “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Mr. Chandler. Ray. May I call you Ray?”
“Sure.”
“Ray, we may be on the same side, but you have to level with me. From whom did you hear the name Dede Wilson?”
“I’m sorry, even if we are on the same side, I can’t tell you. It’s privileged information.”
“I understand. I have an idea. Can you tell me who it isn’t?”
“Yeah. I guess I could.”
“Is it Mayor Bloomberg?”
“No.”
“Donald Trump?”
“No.”
“Oprah Winfrey?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“How about Kevin MacCloud?”
No answer. Hmm. Becca didn’t think they’d want her, yet they hired someone to find her. A devious smile formed on her face. She was about to play Rebecca Roth’s anal fairy godmother.
“Thank you, Ray, I’ll take it from here.” After reassuring Ray, they said their goodbyes.
She strutted into Becca’s office and sat at her desk. She picked up her prized business card—Vincent Reynolds, Architect—and dialed the number.
On the first ring, he picked up. “Reynolds Architecture.”
“Hi, I’m a friend of Dede Wilson and I think we should talk.”
* * * *
He almost fell over when she said she was a friend of Dede’s. Finally, after three long weeks, a breakthrough. He told her he’d meet her at Trends at three o’clock and rang Kevin.
“Hello.”
He was so excited he could barely speak. “Kev. It’s Vince. A friend of De—“
“This is Kevin MacCloud. If you receive this recording, I’m not available or on another call. When you hear the beep, don’t be shy, leave your number and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
Shit. It’s his voice mail.
Beep
“Kev, it’s Vince. I hope you pick up this message soon ’cause this is important. I’m on my way to Trends to meet a friend of Dede’s who just called named Zoe. She said she might be able to get us together again, but first she wants to hear our side of the story. If you get this message in time, please get there as quick as you can.”
* * * *
Apparently, Trends, where Kevin and Becca met, was fairly close to Vince and Kevin’s apartment because Vince suggested they meet there at three o’clock.
Knowing she was about to meet Adonis incarnate, she went by her apartment on the way and put on her best face, so to speak. She wasn’t in Rebecca’s class, but with contact lenses, a short skirt and four inch heels, she felt presentable.
Ten minutes late, she rushed in. Like most cocktail lounges, Trends was dark, so she paused off the side of the doorway to let her eyes adjust. When they did, she glanced around, but didn’t see anyone that looked like the man Becca had described.
* * * *
She walked in and stood there. Five-three tops, with frizzy sandy hair. It had to be her…Zoe. She wore a short, tight dress, whic
h showed off her quite nice figure and comparatively long, despite her stature, legs. Dede’s friend was fairly good looking.
After half a minute, she began to gaze around the club as if she were looking for someone. She looked his way, but didn’t seem to notice him. Finally, Vince queried, “Zoe?”
She turned his way, but appeared to be squinting. Sitting in the dark, being somewhat dark himself and wearing black must have made it hard to see him. When he waved a hand and gave her a friendly smile, she saw him. Smiling, she headed his way.
She slid into the booth and he offered his hand. “Vince Reynolds. What are you drinking?”
She shook his hand. “Zoe Aaron. I don’t care. A glass of the house wine.”
As he raised his hand for the waitress, Zoe appeared to study him.
The waitress set a napkin down. “What can I get you?”
He ordered for her. “She’ll have a glass of your chardonnay and I’ll have another Johnnie Walker Red, on the rocks.”
When the waitress left, he turned to her. “What is your relationship with Dede?”
Fidgeting around, keeping busy, Zoe appeared to be nervous. “I work for her. She told me all about you and Kevin and her wild night of research au naturel.”
That surprised him. “Really, did she mention why she left while we still slept?”
“Yes, but first let me tell you, she would fire me if she knew I was meeting with you.”
His eyes thinned while he cocked his head to the side. “Hmm. Why are you meeting with me then?”
“Because I love and respect her and want what’s best for her. She thinks you and Kevin may be bad for her, but just maybe you would be good for her. That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
* * * *
As Zoe answered, “By asking questions,” the waitress returned.
She continued to study him while the waitress set down their drinks. He was every bit as handsome as Becca said. I’ll bet she had an effing ball.
Vince’s gaze shifted. “Ah, there you are. Zoe Aaron, this is my roommate, Kevin MacCloud. I hope you don’t mind. Since he has an interest in what you have to say, I invited him.”