by Lolita Files
“Please, Penn. Do it. I’m going to explode.”
He plunged all the way in, up to the balls, and banged her hard, fast, and vicious, the way they both liked it best.
He bit down on her shoulder.
“No…no marks.”
“Fuck that,” he said, and bit deep, then softened the bite, sucking at her flesh. He knew she could cover the mark. It wasn’t like Miles was fucking her and would get close enough to see it.
“Do it, do it, do it, baby!”
He did it, did it, did it, running his tongue over and around her nipples, pulling on them, sucking her in. In and out, in and out, he stormed her like a trooper as he held her gaze.
Her breathing rose higher and higher until it was almost a full-out pant. He could feel her coming and wanted to come with her, leave her with a reminder of their synergy before she headed out on tour.
“Penn!” she cried.
“C’mon, baby. Give it up.”
They popped. It was one of those movie pops, except better choreographed and real. Her whole body was flushed and tingling. He lingered inside her, savoring the wave of contractions, letting their togetherness enjoy the rhythm of the moment.
“I’m on The Today Show tomorrow morning,” she said.
Penn chuckled.
“How did The Today Show suddenly get in the room?”
He pulled up and halfway out. She stopped him.
“Could you stay there for a while? Just a little bit?”
He slipped back in.
“Am I squashing you?”
“Squash me all you want, baby,” she said.
They lay there for another quiet moment.
“So what are you going to do while I’m gone?” she asked.
His face was pressed into her shoulder. He loved the way she smelled. She wasn’t wearing No. 5 this time. There was just a light sesame scent that was sweet and hypnotic.
“I’m making the rounds, promoting the song. Oh yeah, and playing tennis with your husband again.”
He felt Sharlyn shift.
“He called you?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think he suspects something?” she asked.
“I hate to say this, baby, but no. He’s all into these games of doubles we play. He loves the fact that we win so much. He’s so damn competitive. I can see why he’s on top.”
“He’s not on top now,” she said.
Penn lifted his head and looked at her.
“You’re such a bad girl.”
She kissed him.
“I’d rather be bad than lonely.”
“You’ll never be lonely, baby. Not as long as I’m around.”
An hour and a restful nap later, they were at it again.
Penn was rimming Shar.
He’d never done that for anyone before. He was always the rimmee (the rimmed?), but he enjoyed the way she gave herself over to absolute pleasure. He wanted to explore every part of her, leave no skin untouched by his tongue. It was a logical natural segue for him to go there.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, baby!” she screamed. “Oh…my…g…ooooooooooh!”
He flicked his tongue briskly at first, then slowed to long, generous lapping.
Sharlyn flapped and lurched and buckled until he could feel her almost becoming spent. He quickly slid above her and plunged himself in. She burst the moment he entered. She screamed, clinging to him tightly, afraid to let go.
“God, I love you,” she finally whispered.
He looked into her eyes and the feeling mirrored his own. Dreamy, fulfilled.
“I love you, too,” he said.
And he meant it.
A few hours later, he was at a nearby Starbucks, getting a Defibrillator before he returned home to a waiting Beryl.
“Penn Hamilton.”
Penn had just stepped up to the counter. He turned around.
He laughed.
“Adam Carville.”
Adam extended his hand. Penn glanced down at it. Adam let it hang alone in midair, then shoved it into his jeans pocket.
“So I’m a hack, am I?”
“With a hatchet,” Penn said, turning back to the counter. He was about to open his mouth when the cashier said, “One Defib, right?”
“Right.” Penn flashed his special Starbucks card. The cashier nodded and called out his order.
“I guess membership has its privileges,” Adam smirked, peering at the card. “How can I get one of those? Pose naked for a billboard in Times Square?”
Penn smiled.
“I doubt anybody’d pay to see that,” he said, stepping aside to wait for his coffee.
A pretty woman in her late thirties holding the hand of a young boy followed closely behind him. One of his many soccer mom fans.
“One Defib,” Adam said to the cashier as he stepped to the counter. He turned to Penn. “Believe it or not, I actually drink them. They’re great for all-nighters when I need to write.”
“You mean you actually stay up nights creating that stuff? I figured you could fire off shit like that in a matter of minutes.”
“Hey, hey, buddy,” Adam said, making a time-out sign with his hands. “What’s the deal? I have no beef with you. We’re colleagues. We’re in the same business. We had classes together.”
“We were never colleagues,” Penn said.
The soccer mom with the little boy moved in closer.
“Mr. Hamilton,” she said nervously, “I’m such a fan. Both me and my son Angus. We love your song with On Fiyah.”
“Get the Book!” the little boy chirped.
“Thank you,” Penn said with a broad smile, clasping her hand. He glanced sidelong at Adam. “Thank you so much.”
“I’ve already pre-ordered your book,” the woman said with fuckme eyes, despite the ring on her finger. “So have all my friends. We just know it’s going to be a big hit.”
“Thank you. I hope so. I have a website. Double-u, double-u, double-u, dot-Penn-Hamilton-dot-com. I’d love to hear from you once you read the book. E-mail me. Be sure to mention where we met. I never forget a face.”
Penn kissed the back of her hand before he released it. He mussed the little boy’s hair. The woman flushed red with unbelievable lust and glee. Little Angus jumped up and down. Adam Carville rolled his eyes.
“Penn! Defib!” the barista yelled.
Adam followed Penn as he went to get his coffee. He was in Penn’s face when he turned around.
“So how about a truce?” Adam said, holding out his hand again.
Penn stared at the hand, then looked up at him.
“No truce necessary. You’re not in my league.”
“Ha!” Adam scoffed. “I’m the one with the National Book Award nomination, buddy, and a score of other awards to back it up. Talk to me when you’ve accomplished that. One naked billboard and hanging out with On Fiyah does not an author make. Anybody can show their nuts to the world. Show me some soul, and then we can talk.”
“Hey, you jerk!” the soccer mom snapped, rushing over with her boy. “Don’t you yell at Penn. Who the hell do you think you are!”
“You jerk!” Little Angus gave Carville a quick kick in the shin.
“Ow!” Adam hopped on one leg as sharp pain shot up through his knee.
“Defib! Adam!” barked the barista.
Adam reached past Penn for his coffee, his eyes glaring, his lips pressed tight. He took the hot drink and limped off, muttering to himself.
“We’ll see who the real hack is,” he said. He turned when he reached the door, his anger boiling over.
“You’re an arrogant fuck, Penn. You were arrogant in college. I figured you would have grown out of that. It’s a fucking shame that nothing’s changed.”
Penn was in the shower the next morning as Beryl lay in bed waiting for Sharlyn’s appearance on The Today Show. She was scribbling notes in the margin of the Gesamtkunstwerk dissertion, which had become her bible. She consulted it to strategize everythin
g. Katie Couric appeared onscreen, making a brief introduction of the new book. Beryl sat up. The camera cut to a wider shot of both women. Shar’s legs were as sexy as Katie’s.
“Penn! Shar’s on!”
He didn’t respond. She figured he couldn’t hear her over the shower.
Shar looked good. Not too trashy, but attractive, smart, and erotic, just like her book. She was such a professional. She really knew how to work her public image.
“The book is number one on Amazon and the New York Times list,” Katie said, adjusting her glasses to better see a piece of paper she was holding. “Publishers Weekly, in a starred review, says, quote: ‘Bestselling veteran Sharlyn Tate’s newest novel really turns up the heat. The self-appointed Queen of Pop Fiction puts the “ooh” in la-la with an erotic plot filled with unpredictable twists and turns that are sure to leave readers exhausted and fully satisfied at the end.’” Katie peered over her glasses at Sharlyn. “‘Exhausted and fully satisfied.’ Yowzah! That’s some endorsement.”
This is great, Beryl thought. Katie’s happy banter was really showcasing the book.
“We were all pretty excited when we saw the review,” Sharlyn said. “I’m really pleased to see that readers trust me enough as an evolving writer to follow me in this particular direction.”
“C’mon.” Katie grinned. “It’s almost Memorial Day. This is a steamy summer read if there ever was one. You went right for the jugular. We can’t even do an excerpt.”
“It’s not that steamy,” Sharlyn said with a coy smile.
“My glasses are fogging up just reading the reviews!”
The Today Show crew could be heard laughing off camera.
“Well, if you think my book is hot,” said Shar, “wait until you see the one coming from Penn Hamilton.”
“What the—” Beryl leaned forward. “What is she doing?”
Katie looked a little awkward, her eyes darting, blindsided by the unexpected plug.
“He’s the Calvin Klein guy, right?” she said, obviously seeking a way out. “The one with the mysterious book that everyone’s talking about?”
“Yes, and it’s going to be one of the best, hottest books to come out in years.”
“Right. Have you read it? Do you know what it’s about?”
“That’s a secret,” Shar said with a smile.
“Well, we’ll look forward to that,” Katie said, extricating herself. “In the meantime, you’re hitting the road on a major tour.”
“Yes,” Shar said. “Forty-five cities.”
“Yikes,” said Katie. “That’s some tour. We should add that you’ll be at the Borders Books in Columbus Circle at noon today and the Barnes and Noble at Astor Place this afternoon at five o’clock.”
“Yes,” Sharlyn said. “People can come by, say hello, and pick up the perfect read for the upcoming holiday weekend.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be a long, hot summer,” said Katie, fanning herself. “Again, the new book is The Magic Man, in stores today. Sharlyn Tate, thanks for joining us this morning.”
“Thanks for having me, Katie. Remember Penn Hamilton.”
“Right. Up next, dog weddings and honeymoons, the newest craze in canine mental health.” Katie laughed. “I can’t wait to see that. But first, this is Today… on NBC.”
Beryl stared at the screen. What was the matter with Shar, plugging Penn so foolishly? His book was four months off. The Today Show people might not even want to have him on after an outrageous stunt like that.
It just didn’t make sense. Shar was acting like a silly schoolgirl.
Beryl sat back against the pillows, her mind churning. She was suddenly overcome by a strong sense of fear, followed by the ghost of suspicion. She wasn’t sure what she suspected, but Shar’s behavior had been egregious and unprofessional, completely out of character.
She decided not to say anything to her. All she would do for the time being was watch. Maybe there was something to see. Maybe there wasn’t.
Maybe it was just an aging author’s crush.
Sharlyn did the same thing on Live with Regis and Kelly, Larry King Live, Charlie Rose, and at both her signings in the city that day. The next day, Kitty Ellerman sent Beryl an e-mail with “Sharlyn” as the subject line.
ARE THESE COMMENTS PLANNED? IS THIS SOMETHING YOU’VE ASKED HER TO DO AS ADVANCE PROMOTION FOR P. HAMILTON’S UPCOMING BOOK? WE SHOULD CONSIDER ASKING HER TO TONE IT DOWN, PREFERABLY DROP IT ALTOGETHER. IT’S VERY AGGRESSIVE
Beryl’s fears took further root.
Something was definitely up.
“I think she’s becoming obsessed with Penn,” she said aloud, the sound of the words resonating back at her like a dare. Her heart was racing. What if Sharlyn got it in her head to take Penn away? She was beautiful, sexy, famous. She had way more money than Beryl could imagine.
But she was married! She had a husband!
Beryl sat at her desk, the fingers of her right hand tapping with anxious rage.
Sharlyn Tate would not take her man.
She would do everything in her power to make sure of that.
Throughout all
…the affairs and intrigue going on between Penn and Beryl and Shar and Brookie and Miles as the months went by, Page Six had been quiet, oblivious to everything, missing the hotbed of action right under its omnipotent nose. Its spies had their hands more than full with all the half-baked heiresses, starlets, songstresses, rockers, rappers, talk-show hosts, rehab rescues, and reality-show rubbish clinging to the last nanoseconds of their fifteen minutes.
Add to that the mismatched, ill-fated unions between haphazard A-listers, addled Oscar winners, Tony toters, Emmy wielders, and attention-hungry billionaires, and there were scarcely enough spies to cover it all, the loads of breaking news in their knapsacks too heavy to even drag.
The giant was sleeping.
But soon it would feast.
Nihilism:
A literary and philosophical movement emphasizing a belief that human life, religion, laws, governments, and moral codes are meaningless.
A man without ethics is a wild beast
loosed upon this world.
—Albert Camus
One week
…before the official release date, news came that Book would come in at the top of the New York Times bestseller list. Penn’s new CD, Wonder Boy, had just debuted at number one on the Billboard charts.
Five studios were at war over the film rights. One of them wanted Penn to star.
Beryl had gotten her loan increased to finish the rehab at her apartment. Merc and his boys were back on the job. Soon she would be able to go back to her own place.
Penn spent that night, the week before he was scheduled to hit the road, partying with Mercury, On Fiyah, Pharrell, Snoop, and a gaggle of supermodels at Bungalow 8. Everyone drank lots of Crissy and popped much shit.
“So how they gonna ask you to star in a movie if they don’t even know what it’s about?” Fiyah asked. “That shit is crazy. It’s brilliant. You jacked the shit outta Hollywood. Let’s give this nigga a toast. That’s some genius shit right there! I wish I woulda thought of it.”
Everyone raised their glasses.
“To Penn!”
One of the models, a bit too happy, teetered and slipped off the banquette, hitting the floor, knocking down a bottle of Cris on the way.
“Hey, hey now,” one of the guys shouted. “That shit ain’t water.”
“Relax, they got more,” Pharrell said. He held up four fingers. A waiter rushed over with four more bottles.
The guest deejay that night was Cameron Douglas. He played hit after hit after hit from Penn’s new joint until, after a while, it turned into a big ol’ Penn party.
He was floating now. This was it. He had money, fame, incredible pussy, and more of each on the way.
Beryl was back at his place, strategizing last-minute details of his tour and things he should say during interviews. He had no problem leaving her there
alone for long stretches. She was living there, after all. Besides, she’d already snooped and found the thing that mattered. There wasn’t much else for her to see. His most important computer files required passwords to open. His journal was behind a loose brick in the wall of his bedroom. She would never see that.
Sharlyn was at the Sherry-Netherland, waiting, just in case he could come by. She didn’t feel like partying out that night. She wanted to party in. With him.
“Please, baby,” she’d said, “try to come over. Miles got on my last nerve. I need you tonight.”
He didn’t know if he’d make it over there. He was having the night of his life.
He was famous. In his element with the beautiful people.
He’d been an outcast in some ways his whole life. Always different from everyone else. But now things had changed. These people, these rich, famous people, they were embracing him as one of their own.
He finally belonged.
It was five-thirty A.M.
She’d been up since three, when the phone began ringing again and again. The caller was relentless, refusing to accept that no one was going to answer.
After the second time, she was wide awake, curious. It wasn’t Penn calling. They had a signal for that. One ring. One ring. Two rings. Three.
Whoever was calling now let it ring until the answering machine picked up.
Beryl had gone into the living room where the machine was. Penn always kept the volume turned down. When the third call came, she turned up the sound.
“Penn, baby, where are you? I know it’s late and I never call, but I need you. I need to feel you inside me so bad. I’m so wound up. Miles is off in Brazil for six weeks, and Brookie’s gone back to Atlanta for a few days. I’ve got all this shit going on, and she just takes off. I am so pissed. You know, the only way to get this feeling out of me is to fuck it out. Call me, baby, all right? Or better yet, just get over here the second you hear this. I’m at our place, but you know that, right. Shit. It makes no sense you don’t have a cell phone. It’s mandatory at your level. You have to stay connected. I know, I know, you hate phones. Still…”