(1980) The Second Lady

by Irving Wallace

  be hers. And Alex, dear Alex, she could have him openly, marry or live with him as she wished.

  She peered at the clock. More than an hour had passed. The President was extremely late. It had to be something important to keep him from what he desired so much. She must be patient, she told herself, and she must be giving and loving. For him, the experience tonight must be pure and it must be total. Above all, it must disarm him.

  Five minutes later she heard the entry door open and close, and she heard the lock turn from the inside.

  Andrew Bradford breezed into the bedroom, smiling at her, pulling off his suit jacket, casting aside his necktie, opening his shirt. He came directly to her and kissed her on the lips. ‘My, you look beautiful,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I’m late. We had to bring some loose ends together, consolidate our talks strategy. I tell you, it was hard keeping my mind on the work, knowing you were here and that we could have our old times again.’

  ‘I love you, Andrew. I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Not more than I’ve missed you.’ He had his shirt off. ‘I’ll be just a few minutes.’

  ‘Hurry.’

  He disappeared into the bathroom. He would be taking off the rest of his clothes now. He would move to the toilet. She heard the toilet flush. Then she heard the water from the tap. Then silence. Cologne, she guessed, Zizanie.

  He returned to the bedroom on bare feet. As he emerged from the shadows, she could see he was wearing his blue boxer shorts. He had a nice solid figure, a little flabby here and there, but trim for a man of his age. He had unbuttoned his shorts, dropped them, stepped out of them, and started to the other side of the twin beds. She could see his penis, somewhat enlarged, swinging from side to side. It was not yet erect.

  ‘Are you tired darling?’ she said.

  ‘A little. It was non-stop brainstorming down the hall.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘But not that tired.’

  He was getting into the bed.

  For an instant, the pulse at her throat jumped. Her confidence wavered. Alex’s report had been definite enough, or so it had seemed, but suddenly it did not have anything exact. What were the interim details? What should happen in these next seconds? Should she move towards him? Or would he move toward her?

  She started to slide under the blanket toward him, then stopped. Her directions had implied he would move first.

  He did.

  He had thrown the blanket further back, and he was beside her in her bed, reaching down for the bottom of her nightgown. She lifted herself up, as he indicated he expected her to, and then helped him draw the nightgown upward. She raised her arms to accommodate the flow of the nightgown over her breasts and arms. He tossed the nightgown on the floor.

  He eyed her seriously a moment. ‘You’ve got the most beautiful tits on earth.’

  She pulled back her shoulders. ‘They’re all yours, only yours.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ he murmured, and bent to the breast nearest him, lips pressed to her flat nipple, kissing it, tonguing it, until it began to harden and rise. His lips moved to the other breast, curving his hand under it, massaging it, kissing it all over.

  ‘Andrew, I -‘

  She closed her eyes and lay still, except for one hand resting on top of his head. He was kissing her navel and belly, one hand rubbing her pubic hair line, gliding downward, two fingers gently caressing her clitoris. She felt something press into her thigh, and opened her eyes to discover that he had grown fully erect.

  Mouth near his ear, she forced herself to breathe harder. She was tempted to reach for his cock, but restrained herself. She remembered her instructions.

  He was bringing himself to his knees, and she raised her legs and spread them apart. She was not completely aroused, not really moist, which worried her until she recalled that

  she had earlier applied a sterile lubricant to help him.

  He was coming down between her legs, one of his hands holding his stiff penis, guiding it toward her vagina. The tip of his penis probed, located the vulva opening, and he poked his erection inside her, pushing his torso closer until he had entirely entered her.

  ‘Christ,’ he said, ‘how I’ve wanted you - how good this is — how good.’

  ‘So good, darling.’

  He was going steadily now, up and down, up and down.

  She covered her eyes with an arm, her mouth half open in a pose of ecstacy. She wanted to shake her ass violently, go up and down with him, make him ride her harder, make him gallop with her, but once more she held back and confined herself to mild undulations.

  She lifted her arm from her eyes. His features were distorted. His pumping quickened. She supposed he was enjoying himself. She hoped so. For herself, she wasn’t really with it, only a silent partner to his solo.

  For a fleeting second, Vera was again tempted to shake him up, give him a real pleasure ride. What fun to see his face, the face of the President of the United States, as someone fucked him out of his head. But the essence of the KGB report on Billie’s sexual behaviour burned bold as cue cards in her brain —

  Straight ordinary missionary position. Reactions mainly passive. Let him come to you. No foreplay except breasts and clitoris. Let him do everything his way. Respond normally and with pleasure. Make no aggressive moves. Doubt if he will bring you to orgasm by intercourse. If he does, do not overreact. When finished, he will probably give you an orgasm by hand. We do not know every detail, but this should suffice. Just let him run the show, and you go along, and let him know he is pleasing you. All your moves must be familiar, comfortable, expressive of married endearment. This is to be routine release, not big romance. The game is pleasurable cooperation in his man’s world. Good luck.

  Okay, good luck. Thanks, Alex. So Billie had been a dull fuck.

  Vera felt the President arch, heard him gasp and wheeze, felt him going stronger, accelerating, punching into her harder, enlarging inside her, and then pubic hair flush against pubic hair he froze tightly to her, rasped something she could not make out, felt the sperm sputter deep into her. Ejaculation. Climax. Well, fine, she had gone the distance without a hitch.

  Resting briefly on his elbows, he started pulling his slippery appendage out of her.

  ‘Wonderful, Andrew, just wonderful.’

  ‘Better than ever,’ he breathed. ‘You were better than ever.’

  She lowered her cramped legs, and stretched. ‘Oh, that was delicious,’ she whispered, mocking Billie’s sometimes husky voice, ‘that was worth waiting for.’

  He had rolled off her. ‘There’s more that’s worth waiting for,’ he said lazily.

  She trusted the report completely now. ‘You’re too tired. You don’t have to.’

  His hand reached down between her legs. ‘I want to. I want you as happy as I am.’

  His fingertips found her distended clitoris, stroked it lightly, rubbed it harder, stroked her entire vaginal area, returned to the clitoris and glided back and forth across it.

  As he continued the steady pressure, she moved her head on the pillow, from one side to the other, and rotated her ass gently - she knew her Billie by now - and she simulated controlled excitement.

  Five or six minutes had gone by and she knew that she would not have a real orgasm.

  The final problem. Billie came for sure this way. But how long did it take her? Ten minutes? Twenty? A half an hour? She must not miscalculate. He must tell her.

  ‘Andrew,’ she groaned, i’m sorry I’m taking so long.’

  ‘You’ll be all right in a few minutes. Just relax, relax, my darling, we have all the time in the world.’

  Head to one side, a blink caught the time. Six minutes gone by. Two to go.

  ‘Oh, Andrew, Andrew, I’m wet all over.’

  ‘You’re almost there. Easy does it. Don’t think.’

  Stupid idiot, she thought. Give him a big one. Now. Right now.

  She went rigid, squeezing her thighs together, raising her ass, gave out a strangled cry, a long shudder — and collapsed in
a heap.

  Andrew removed his hand, smiling down at her. ‘There you are.’

  ‘Thank you, Andrew. Delicious from head to toe. Hold me, darling, hold me close.’

  As his arms went around her, she smiled to herself. The best fake orgasm in history, she was sure. Move over Bernhardt, Duse, here lies an actress.

  He was embracing her loosely.

  Now transition, she thought, all’s fair in love — now war. She had come through the long-dreaded ordeal unexposed, unscathed, apparently an utter success. But there was still the last act, the purpose of all the acrobatics, the pay-off. How to handle it? She had rehearsed it countless ways in her mind. She must get into it - not too fast, not too eagerly -yet, not too slowly, or else he might fall asleep. Be deft. Be natural.

  ‘Andrew?’

  ‘Yes, dearest?’.

  ‘The way I feel, I could do this every night.’

  ‘I know. Me, too. I wish it were possible. But considering what we’re up against with the Russians the next few days, we’re going to be walking wrecks. It’s high-tension time. Everything at stake. I can’t say how I’ll feel each night.’

  She turned fully toward him. He had moved over to his bed and dropped his head into the pillow, and lay flat on his back staring up at the ceiling.

  ‘What’s so especially tense about this time, more than any other time?’ she asked casually. ‘It’s always tense, I know.

  But this meeting seems to be taking more out of you. I don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you the problem,’ he said. ‘Usually, we negotiate from strength. That makes it easier. But this time -‘ His voice trailed off as he lost himself in some thought.

  ‘This time — this time what, Andrew? Don’t leave me hanging.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ he said, bringing his mind back to their conversation. ‘This time we have to maintain a bluff to win. Not easy. Complicated. I’ll explain it all to you one day.’

  She pretended exasperation. ‘Not fair, Andrew. Don’t treat me like a second-class citizen. You’ve always confided in me. I’ve confided in you. You’re interested in what I do every day. Well, I’m just as interested in what you do. We’re a team, Andrew. We share. So don’t suddenly go chauvinist and relegate me to the kitchen. Tell me the problems you’re dealing with. I want to share them with you.’

  ‘I don’t mean to withhold anything from you,’ he said apologetically. ‘It’s just that I’m bushed and it’s so late. But you’ve a right to know. Let me make it uncomplicated. I hope you’ll settle for a capsule version for the time being. I’ll expand on it another time. Will the capsule version do?’

  ‘It doesn’t even have to be a capsule version. I’ll settle for a thumbnail version. I’m sure it has to do with that African place — Boende — and your disagreement with the Soviets. But what’s the problem? Why are they making it so tough for you? I’ve got to know about anything that interferes with my sex life.’

  He grinned. ‘Right you are.’ He thought about it and was serious again. ‘The Soviets have that rebel Communist in Boende, Nwapa by name, ready to move in for a take-over of the country. But the Russians are unsure of us. If we’ve armed President Kibangu and the government, if we should be ready for them, if we should intervene, they’d be crushed. A defeat would affect Communist power all over Africa.’

  ‘Well, have you armed him?’ she asked almost casually — an interested-wife question, no big deal. ‘That’s exactly what the Russians have to know.’ He

  sighed. ‘The fact is, we have not armed him.’

  ‘You’ve not armed him?’ she repeated.

  ‘No, we’ve not. We’re only pretending we have. That’s my problem, maintaining the bluff.’

  Vera felt a charge of thrill. Three years of effort had finally paid off. She had it all for Kirechenko, she had secured his victory.

  Vera ran her fingers through Andrew’s hair. ‘Poor darling,’ she said tenderly. ‘No wonder you’ve been so troubled.’

  He took her wrist and kissed her hand. ‘And you’ve been so lovely.’

  ‘Thank you, Andrew.’ She wondered whether it would be pressing her luck to go on. She decided to try cautiously. She put on a puzzled expression. ‘Just one thing I don’t understand.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Even if the Russians knew you were bluffing, and they made a move, couldn’t you intervene fast, airlift supplies to the Boende government?’

  ‘Yes, we could, but no, we can’t. It would cost me any chance of reelection. I’ll show you our latest private polls when we get home. So we can’t move in to save Boende at the last minute.’ He paused. ‘Fortunately, the Soviets don’t know that. If they knew, they’d have their rebels rolling over Boende and taking it in less than a week. They’d certainly refuse to sign our nonintervention pact. They’d break off the Summit.’

  ‘You’re sure they don’t know?’

  ‘Of course they don’t. And they won’t know. Which means a victory for us, the lion’s share of Boende’s uranium, an edge in controlling central Africa, an end to Communist inroads. So now you know what’s been on my mind.’

  Vera found it difficult to contain her excitement. She had learned all that was vital to learn. She had his big secret, the only Soviet on earth to know it. Until tomorrow.

  ‘Andrew, we’ll win, won’t we?’

  ‘You can bet on that. If we play our cards right, maintain our bluff, we win.’

  You lose, she thought.

  She yawned. ‘Andrew, you don’t know how much better it makes me feel, sharing things with you. At least now I can understand what you’re going through.’ She raised herself on an elbow. ‘Good night, darling.’ She kissed him. ‘Thanks again for a marvellous evening, the best ever. Just forget your worries, and think of us. Now get some sleep.’

  ‘Good night, sweetheart. We both better get some sleep.’ He pulled the blanket over his shoulder, and curled under it. She left her bed, took the sleeping pill, walked to the side of his bed, put out the lamp, and in the darkness felt her way back to her bed and got beneath the blanket.

  She was lying on her back, waiting for the pill to take effect, when she heard his snoring. For herself, sleep would come slowly, she knew. She was too elated with success to shut out the joy of it.

  She went over her next instructions. When and if she learned anything important, she had been told, she was to contact Fred Willis. He, in turn, would contact Ladbury, who would arrange for the meeting with Premier Kirechenko. At the designated time, Willis would see that she be provided with a car and driver without her Secret Service guards. She would be driven to Westridge, the abandoned RAF airfield ten miles out of London, the landing strip turned over exclusively to the Soviets for their air transports. At the airfield she would be escorted to the limousine where Premier Kirechenko and General Chukovsky would be waiting. She would pass on to them everything that she had learned from President Bradford. Immediately after, she would be placed aboard a Soviet jet and returned to Moscow, while Billie Bradford was being flown to London.

  Kirechenko would have his triumph. Vera Vavilova would have her own. Curtain call after curtain call, a heroine of the Soviet Union.

  She snuggled under the blanket. She had never been happier.

  Vera Vavilova, heroine and legend.

  That was something to sleep on.

  It was late afternoon, getting later, getting more overcast, when Guy Parker once more drove up before Buckingham Palace, circled the Queen Victoria Memorial, came along the curb, braked his Jaguar to a stop, and let the engine idle as he searched the three entrances for any sight of Nora Judson.

  For twenty minutes he had been driving around St James’s Park, continually slowing before the Palace to pick up Nora. But she still had not shown herself.

  He was supposed to have interviewed the First Lady in the morning, and had planned to devote the afternoon to following her if she left Claridge’s. A short call and a scribbled note from Nora had changed
all that. Nora’s call advised him that the interview on the book had to be cancelled. The note from her, arriving after lunch, told him, ‘The Prince of Wales is having Billie and Madame Kirechenko to tea at Buckingham Palace this afternoon. I am taking Billie there. Can you pick me up at front entrance around four o’clock? Please do.’

  It was now 4.20 and no Nora. About to take another spin around the Memorial, Parker spotted Nora in the courtyard beyond the tall iron rails, hastening past the police guard house, toward the side gate, the north-western gate. She came through quickly, skirted a cluster of tourists, paused to look for him. He hopped out of his car, signalled her, and finally caught her attention. She hurried to the car, and got in.

  Spinning the Jaguar into the stream of traffice, he glanced at her. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Our Queen is still with their Prince,’ she said. ‘I was

  tangled up with the Palace press office. Sorry to be late. I asked you to pick me up not because I needed a lift, but because I wanted to hear what happened to you last night. Did you actually go in to see the President?’ ‘I did.’

  ‘You told him what you thought?’ ‘Everything, every suspicion I had about the First Lady.’ ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, you were right. He almost fired me.’ ‘Was he that sore?’

  Parker nodded gloomily. ‘Damn sore. He said I was crazy. He had an explanation for every slip-up she made. He warned me that, if I mentioned any of this to anyone, I was through.’

  Nora puckered her lips thoughtfully. ‘I suppose if you look at it from his point of view, his attitude is understandable. After all, he’s living with her. She is his Billie, as she has always been, nothing different or changed.’

  Parker halted the car at a red light. ‘That’s what made it difficult. To him, the same old Billie. That’s what is so depressing. You and I know something is wrong, and there is nowhere to turn, no one who will believe us.’ The traffic light showed green and he stepped on the gas pedal. ‘I even advised the President what his next move should be.’ ‘Which was?’