Pulling Strings

Our private jet touched down at Miami International Airport, and as always, a chauffeured car was waiting for us. That’s the drawback of flying a private plane into a major airport. It’s impossible to find a taxi when you land at a private hanger. I should have Joe research a smaller landing field. “Any idea how long this time?” Joe, our pilot, asked. “At least a month,” I told him. “Maybe six weeks. I think Chris needs a real vacation. She’s been working so hard.” “Just let us know and we’ll be here,” he said. “Have a good vacation.” “Thanks, Hon. We’ll call.” I say our because I’m in a relationship and I hope it will last forever. Actually, all of this is mine. I’m the one whose work provided all the cash and whose dreams always ended up in the Caribbean. I brought her here and introduced her to my lifestyle, to my friends, and to my world. When I got to college in New York City, over twenty years ago, I discovered that women were much more satisfying than the boy’s I’d dated. In fact, I was sort of a player for a while, going from one to another, but never settling for any one specific woman. I did have one lover that lasted almost three years but that eventually fell apart. You see, I may be in love, now. I probably am, but I always hold back a part of me in case it falls apart. I can’t let my heart be broken again. It’s happened twice. Once when I wasn’t looking, the other when I caused it intentionally. I couldn’t believe it wouldn’t happen again in the future. The first serious “lover” I had ended up cheating on me, then, when she moved out, took several hundred- thousand dollars’ worth of antiques and art work with her. I know I should have reported her to the police but, hey, I had trusted her. I had turned my back, went away for three days while she packed, and left. I was merely happy that I wouldn’t see her again. If she needed the possessions so badly that she had to steal them, then I wished her luck. But, Christine seemed different. I already broken my own heart over her once, but she told me she wouldn’t let me do it again. I hope she’s right. I met Chris a few years ago. Now, I couldn’t imagine being without her. When I met her, she was an employee at a high-class clothing boutique on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I was attracted to her from the first time I’d gone into the shop but I’m not the kind of person to advertise my proclivities in someone else’s work place, so I never said anything. I’d go there from time to time just to look at her and occasionally flirt a little. I always asked for her to help me and only went in when I knew she was working. I watched her for months, but she never returned my interest. I wasn’t sure if she was getting it. By that time, I’d gone into the boutique about once every week, for several months. It wasn’t that I loved their clothes, but I loved checking her out. Then, she offered to deliver a purchase I had ordered. When she made her delivery, I “persuaded” her to come for dinner the next night. Actually, she said she was going to a movie with a friend, but I flat out told her to cancel it. I was amazed when she showed up the next night. I know I can be rather intimidating sometimes, but I hadn’t dared hope she’d follow through with it. When she accepted my invitation, I knew I’d have her. We flirted and laughed over dinner on my terrace. We’d just finished a large scotch and a full bottle of wine. She asked me if I always drank that much. My response was that it depended on what I wanted to do later. When she asked me what that might be, I couldn’t hold back my desires any longer. I told her I wanted her to make love with me. Yes, that night, I lured her into my bed. We had an incredible time. And Wow! What fantastic s*x that was! I knew I couldn’t let her go. I seduced her, then I hired her. Yes, I admit it. I know it might seem rather crass of me, but I offered to hire her to be on call whenever I wanted her in my bed. I didn’t want to take the chance that she might not stick around or that she’d have to work when I wanted to do something else. I paid her by the hour, so if she stayed overnight, she’d get even more. Of course she didn’t want to look like a kept woman or a gigolo, so I also gave her the title of Personal Assistant. I paid her to come make love to me, but we told everyone that she only worked for me. I paid her more than she was making at the boutique so she could quit there, had extra time to practice and enough money for more lessons. You see, Chris is a cellist. She had told me at the start that her ambition was to be good enough to audition for a major orchestra. It had been her dream all her life. She’d graduated from Julliard School of Music. She now played with a string quartet at a museum on the weekends but that didn’t pay the bills. I’d bought her new clothes and took her to St. Lucia, and that began our story. Little did I know what a monster I’d created. She became even more proficient on her instrument and I like to think that’s how she got all those opportunities to perform. Now, she’s making her own money and although I pay all the bills because it’s my house, she can say she pays her own way. She can purchase whatever she wants and also buy things for other people. We both like that. You see, Christine graduated over ten years ago, though almost ten years after me. Subsequent to spending almost a decade playing mood-music with the quartet, her career has blossomed. When I’d taken her to St. Lucia for the first time, she met all the right people to help her career. Through an agent we met there, she was hired to play her cello in some major perfume advertisements, and was so successful (and beautiful,) that her whole career had opened up. She’d been on television and in every major magazine you’d look into. Because of that and a friend that I’d introduced her to, her whole life exploded. She was offered a three-month concert tour, playing with a dozen orchestras around the country. I’d been afraid I’d lost her when we had a fight before she left on tour. Of course, the argument was my fault, but I had to get her to take the tour. She was scared. She’d never been out on her own like that before, so I pushed her away from me so she’d go. I’d told her she was a failure and wouldn’t take the tour because everyone would see how mediocre she was, and she couldn’t blame it on anyone else. I wasn’t sure how she had responded but I knew she’d accepted the tour. So, all the time she was preparing for the tour and then the tour itself, we were apart. I watched as review after review lauded her playing and her beauty. I was so proud of her but I, personally, hadn’t taken it well and became a bit of a recluse. I had broken my own heart. Several months later, she marched back into my house to tell me how wrong I’d been and that I couldn’t push her away again because she loved me. I hope my belief in her wouldn’t come back to bite me. I’ve always been the one in charge but now I have Christine. I think that now that she’s proven how good her cello playing is, she’s overshadowed everything I did…except make millions. I still have more money, but she’s admired more because she’s beautiful and talented. Those are two attributes I can never compete with her in. Okay, so I was born with purple eyes and hadn’t gained a dress size since I was a teenager, but those are my only pluses. Now, I was happy, but I didn’t want to take the chance on losing her again, so I asked her to move in with me. We are a committed couple. I hadn’t bought her an engagement ring, yet, but I will very soon. I didn’t want her to slip away from me. * * * * I watched as our luggage was transferred to the car. Now, we’d be whisked away to the marina where my yacht, The Phantom Broker, was waiting for us. The seventy-five-foot, white Marlow Explorer sat at the end of the third dock. It was one of the first really extravagant things I’d bought myself when I made my fifth million. That winter, I’d taken my then-lover Joyce on vacation to St. Croix and we’d had a blast. But seeing all those beautiful yachts sitting there in the harbor hit me. What freedom! With your own yacht, you could go wherever you wanted and didn’t have to worry about airlines, their schedules, and airplane food. I had started my own brokerage house by then and the market was booming. Things looked good for me. I’m Car Weldon, by the way. Car is short for Caroline, which my little brother couldn’t pronounce. He called me Cah. My relatives all laughed that he really had a Boston accent, and so my name morphed into Car. I own a lot of things. In fact, I own the plane we’d flown here in. I’m a very successful stockbroker who, before I reached age thirty, had managed a fantastic portfolio that made me mega-rich. I seemed to have the innate ability to know when to buy and sell stocks. The very first thing I bought with my first million was an estate overlooking the Hudson river, north of Manhattan. Actually, a million didn’t quite cover the whole thing but I had it paid off in less than a year. It was probably the least expensive thing I bought. Then, of course, I had to hire a cook. Being that far outside Manhattan and not very close to Yonkers or the Bronx, meant that I couldn’t just call out for food like I used to. I’d flunked home-ec two years in a row when I was in high school, so I didn’t dare cook for myself. I didn’t have the patience. I always set the stove too high so things would cook faster. That didn’t seem to work: food always burned. I was fairly okay with sandwiches, though, as long as I didn’t have to slice too many things. I was good with peanut butter and jelly, but what good is having money when all you eat is kid’s stuff? Also, parking near Wall Street was so expensive and getting around the city so nerve-wracking, that I finally realized that I’d have to hire a driver so I didn’t have to pay those high prices or risk getting ticketed or towed. I mean, if I paid twenty-five or thirty dollars a day to park near Wall Street, then had to find a place to park further up Seventh Avenue so I could shop, that was even more money. It was sometimes so time-consuming, that I’d blow a half tank of gas, just driving around the block looking for a space. Of course, I could pull into a different parking garage uptown, but that would cost at least five to ten dollars, just so I could run into a*****e to buy one little thing. Then if I wanted to go five blocks away to get something else? No. Leaving my car in the garage on Wall Street, would cost twice that in cab fees, and I definitely wasn’t going to take a subway. I’d taken the subway everywhere while I lived in Manhattan and was going to school there, but now that I had money, I wasn’t going to fight the crowds and the stench that was always down there. Well, you can see my predicament. Having a chauffeur on staff was ultimately cheaper than all the parking spaces and risk of tickets. It also gave me the freedom to stop at stores and shops without circling the block ten times or walking a dozen blocks. I needed someone to watch the car for as long as I wanted to stay at the stock market but be ready when I wanted to leave. I guess I seem high maintenance, but I don’t have that much time to spare, not if I want to keep my millions. So, I ended up with four people working for me: a cook, a chauffeur, a housekeeper, and a gardener. Once I had it, I had to keep my property looking good, inside and out. The people I hired were wonderful. My driver, Jack, had been with me for almost eight years. He’s been my shoulder when things didn’t go right and helped me celebrate when they went well. He’d even been my wingman a couple times. Susan, my housekeeper, and Judith, my cook, were both in their fifties and single. Susan had always been single, but Judith had been married, was divorced, and had two grown daughters, so she was on her own. Those three also lived on my estate; Susan and Judith had their own rooms in the wing behind the kitchen and Jack had a bachelor pad over the garage. My gardener, Rob, had a family, and lived about five miles away. He worked four days a week unless something needed extra care. I only have fifteen acres. When I’d bought my own plane, I had to have a pilot and co-pilot on retainer, and then when I bought the yacht, I needed three others: a captain, a cook, and a first mate. I could have used Judith on the yacht but the month I was way was the only vacation she and Susan had. It seemed expensive but by that time, I also owned rental properties across the country. I’d fallen into some penny-stocks that seemed risky at first but turned into the best investment of my life. When you buy ten thousand shares of a new company at forty cents apiece, that three years later has proven so valuable that the company is bought out for two billion…well, that’s one of the good sides of the stock market. I turned four thousand into fifteen million in just a few years. You primarily have to watch what you’re doing. * * * * Chris and I walked down the wharf to my yacht. “We missed you last year,” Captain Sherman Pollack greeted us as we walked up the gangplank. Sherman was a barrel-chested man with thick dark hair. He was probably in his mid- to late-forties, just a few years older than me. “I flew down there for a week,” I told him, “but it was boring.” “It wasn’t the same for us, either. We get used to spending time in St. Lucia every year,” he smiled. “Chris was on tour and I was alone again,” I explained. “On tour?” Sherman Pollock asked, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “Yes,” I bragged. “My Chris was touring as guest soloist with several orchestras. She was very successful.” Sherman looked at me. “Well, congratulations, Ms. Chris. I didn’t know you were a musician.” “I play cello.” She smiled. “Yes,” I added quickly. “Haven’t you seen her ads for Black Pearl Perfume? They were in all the magazines and all over the television.” Sherman looked at her strangely. “Black Pearl Perfume? My wife and daughter made me buy that for them last Christmas. That’s all my daughter wanted.” Then he stopped, thoughtfully. “She showed me some ads in magazines so I’d remember what she wanted. That was you, Ms. Chris?” Chris looked embarrassed. I smiled and nodded. “I know,” I said, squeezing her arm. “I almost didn’t recognize her either.” He looked at his shoes shamefully. “Well, I must admit,” he said, softly, “it wasn’t just your face I was looking at.” “Yes, beautiful, isn’t she?” We all chuckled. Yes. That had been the main disadvantage of doing the ads: Chris had become a s*x symbol. She’d never even thought of herself as pretty before then. That was one of the things that had happened in St. Lucia when we were there two years ago. Chris seemed to have met all the right people to help her career. “Wait until I tell my daughter I know you. She’ll hound me to work this cruise next year.” “Maybe I can find something in St. Lucia that I can autograph for her,” Chris offered. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Ms. Chris,” Sherman said, shaking his head. “It’s not a problem at all,” she assured him. “I’ve been told to court my audiences.” “You don’t have to court her. She’s already in love with you, and she swooned when she saw all those pictures of you with Wilson Potter. She has pictures of both of you all over her room. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I knew better. I’ve seen him and Mr. Foster around this island. They don’t date women, do they?” Chris laughed. “Just us, when it’s going to be in the media.” I laughed, too. “Wil and Chris do make a handsome couple, don’t they?” “They sure do. But then, you two make a beautiful couple, too.” I laughed loudly. “You realize that the common denominator is Chris, don’t you? I think Wilson and I pale next to her.” Chris frowned. “We’re not going to start this trip like this, are we?” “I thought you finally realized that you’re beautiful.” “But we don’t have to tell everyone.” Sherman raised an eyebrow. “I think everyone already knows, Ms. Chris. My daughter thinks you’re even more beautiful than Mister Potter.” Chris chuckled. “Tell her,” she smiled, “that my relationship with Wilson is only as a friend.” Sherman chuckled and winked at me. Wilson Potter was television’s hottest heartthrob, who looked even finer in person. His popularity had soared when he signed to do the TV series, a police show, Case’s Cases, four years ago. Everyone was saying that it was his good looks that made the show a success. The production company had gone out of their way to keep him closeted. He had been linked to several young starlets until Chris met him. When they’d been photographed by paparazzi when they danced together at a restaurant here on St. Lucia, and were seen together at other places around the island, her picture immediately became linked with his. Chris’s mother had seen the picture in the tabloid and immediately assumed that she’d gotten over her “thing” about women and had finally met a man to settle down with. Chris had corrected her at first but finally let her believe that because it was easier than an argument. “Does your daughter like classical music?” Chris asked. “I can autograph a copy of my CD for her.” “I don’t really know, but if it’s yours and you autograph it, she’ll probably listen to it 24/7.” Then we heard another voice from inside the cabin. “Ms. Car! Ms. Chris! I thought I heard you out here.” An older man in white jeans and a white T-shirt came out on deck. “I’m so glad to see you. I missed you last year.” It was Oscar, the ship’s cook. He was a fabulous man who loved to vex me but was an awesome chef. We projected a love-hate relationship, but I adored the man. “Hey, Oscar. I missed you, too,” I said as I hugged him. Then I stepped back, looked down, and patted his belly. He seemed to have put on a few pounds in the last couple years. “It looks like you’ve been eating your own cooking.” “Had to.” He smiled. “I finally wanted to see what everyone was raving about!” I hugged him and asked, “What’s for dinner tonight?” “Ms. Car!” he frowned at me. “You should know by now. What’s it been? Seven, eight years? You both know the first meal is always a secret. If I told you what it was…” “…It wouldn’t be a surprise,” Chris and I said in unison, laughing as we finished his sentence. That was one of Oscar’s standard declarations. Oscar threw his head back. “You’re learning! Dinner will be at 7:30. Go and put you clothes up before then.” “Oscar!” I exclaimed. “Are you’re telling me what to do, again?” “Someone has to. D’ya have a problem with that?” he retorted as he winked at Chris. Then he walked back toward the galley, chuckling. “One day, you’ll go too far, Oscar,” I called after him. “And how far is that?” was his answer. Oscar always started the trip by telling me to go unpack and keeping the first dinner a secret. Of course, he only told me to do what I’d already decided to do and the meal was always something I loved, cooked perfectly. I’m not sure why I take it, but he’s a lovable old codger and a fabulous cook. I guess I’d put up with anything if I didn’t have to spend time in the kitchen. “Old Geezer,” I yelled after him. “Sticks and stones…!” he yelled back. We all laughed loudly. Then, I turned back to Sherman. “Who’s first mate this time?” I asked. “New kid. Going to school to be a marine biologist,” Sherman smiled. “He was excited to work here. Real bright. Name’s Brian. Did a cruise with him last fall.” “Can’t wait to meet him,” I smiled. “What’s the schedule today?” “If we leave just after dinner, we’ll get there Saturday afternoon. That okay with you?” I nodded. “Fine with me. We’ll be below unpacking.” “Okay. The boys put all your bags in your stateroom.” “Thanks,” I smiled, as I led the way down the narrow, steep stairs. * * * * Most people would think that owning a yacht is very extravagant, but when you look at the options, you see that it pays for itself. Airfare for two, plus a hotel suite for five weeks (big enough to be able to entertain friends), plus all the food, and incidentals would cost at least seventy-five to a hundred thousand dollars, and add first class airfare, and it’s even more. The wages for three people, the food, gasoline for the yacht and incidentals were a lot less than that. Just the price of hiring taxis to get us around the harbor, was a lot more expensive than the little skiff that went with the yacht, even with the gas to propel it. This yacht sleeps six passengers and three crew. Two small rooms, each with a single bunk were below toward the front of the yacht and a larger room at the very bow had a queen-sized bed. There were three bunks aft near the engines for the crew. The center of the yacht held a large stateroom. It had dark ash, built-in closets and cabinets, and a queen-sized bed over a lift-and-store frame. It was all incredibly luxurious and just as beautiful as it was when I bought it, eight years ago. You could smell a hint of the wonderful oils and lotions that I had in the bathroom. “Just as lush as two years ago,” Chris said and smiled at me. “I remember it like the back of my hand.” “We did spend a lot of time in here…but not nearly enough.” I leered at her. “Are you trying for a world record?” “Do you have a score-book somewhere?” I asked. “I don’t need one. We’ve already broken every record anyone could possibly keep.” “Then we’ll just have to set the standard higher.” Chris shook her head. “Honey,” she said, “if you set it any higher, we won’t get to see anything on the island.” I smiled a massive smile. “And since you’ve moved in with me, we do that all the time, anyway. Sweetheart, you have more libido than anyone I’ve ever met.” “So? I’ll never get enough of you,” she told me. “You tell me that every day.” “Then it must be true. For a forty-two-year-old woman, you’re still hotter than anyone I’ve ever met.” “Are you sure you’re not looking in a mirror?” Chris shook her head. “Can’t be me. I’m only thirty-three.” “And able to make a forty-two-year-old woman’s blood boil.” Chris had a slim figure. Her longish head of dark brown hair was always perfect and her glowing brown eyes seemed to burn through my brain. In reality, she is two inches taller than I am, but to me, she’s larger than life. I grinned at her. Then I took her into my arms and kissed her as I backed her toward the bed. Yes, we had time for one round before Oscar called us for dinner. * * * * Dinner that evening was spectacular. Oscar had had fresh jumbo shrimp shipped in and had made the most wonderful and tasty, grilled, lime shrimp dinner I’d ever tasted. There was ginger rice, grilled vegetables, a green salad with mushrooms and capers, and fluffy yeast rolls with herb butter. Of course, he’d also chosen the perfect wine to go with it. “Another fabulous meal, Oscar,” I complimented him as I downed the last of the wine in my glass. “It sure was,” Chris added. Oscar laughed. “It’s always a joy cooking for you ladies. Now, Ms. Chris…do you still like chocolate?” “Of course, Oscar,” she exclaimed. Why would he think she didn’t? “Then you just might like the dessert.” He took the dirty dishes off the table and took them forward into the galley. Sherman came into the cabin. “Ready to leave, Ms. Car?” “You’re the boss. I’ve told you that before.” “But I like to check with you first. You do sign my paycheck.” “And the paycheck is for you to be the captain.” He turned, laughing loudly, and went up to the pilothouse. I had told him repeatedly that he knew more about this ship than I ever would and so if he thought it was time to do something, just do it. It’s maddening when someone who knows what needs to be done waits to get permission to do it. If I knew a stock needed to be bought or sold and waited for someone to tell me I could do it, we might have already lost hundreds, even thousands of dollars. “We’re leaving?” Oscar asked as he set a tray of two tall glasses on the table. The sound and feel of engines turning over filled the yacht. I nodded, then I looked at the tray. “That’s dessert?” “Yup,” he said as he placed parfaits in front of each of us. “Chocolate mousse with raspberry cream.” Then he smiled. “There’s also a little taste of brandy in there to give it a bit of life.” “My favorite!” Chris said as she picked up the spoon. Oscar laughed. “I think everything chocolate is your favorite,” he said. “Then, this will be my favorite favorite! I love raspberries, too” So in February, we were aboard the yacht, headed for St. Lucia, where the rich and famous vacationed. * * * * The first night on the high seas is always the most magical. We could see the bubbles blown up around us as we sliced through the water. The blackness around us was lit only by the quarter moon and the stars overhead were totally magnificent. There were so many of them. I leaned back against the railing and pulled Chris back to me, her back to my front. The entire bowl of stars was above us from horizon to horizon, in every direction. I knew Sherman was at the wheel, up in the pilothouse. Oscar would have gone to sleep by now so he’d be ready to make breakfast in the morning and Brian would be napping until it was time for him to take over. “Car,” Chris whispered, “Have I told you how much I love you?” I glanced at my watch. It was two past midnight. “Not today,” I replied. She laughed. “Well, I do. I always have and I always will. From the day you bought that yellow sundress until our last day on earth, I adore you.” “I might hold you to that,” I said. She turned around in my arms. “I dare you to,” she told me. She bent down to meet my mouth with hers. She was only two inches taller but at times like this it seemed insurmountable. “Maybe we should take this below,” I whispered. “You think?” “I know.” She stepped back and I started toward the stairs, her hand in mine. At the bottom of the narrow, steep steps, I opened the stateroom door. No lights were on, so I flipped the nightlight near the bathroom door. Chris was already unbuttoning my blouse. “In a rush?” “Always. I need to feel you, touch you, and taste you.” “Think you can?” “Know I can. I can never get enough of you. I want you every day and night, every morning and afternoon and all the times in between.” “You’re just after my money,” I accused her. “Nope. I have my own. I’ve got more in the bank than I’ve ever had before.” That was true. She’d been getting quite a bit from her Black Pearl Perfume ads and she still hadn’t spent the two hundred thousand she made last summer soloing with a dozen orchestras around the country. The only thing she’d done with her money was to pay off the remainder of the loan on her little Toyota. “Then what do you need me for?” I was undoing her shorts and pushing her pants to the floor. “To fill my nights…and days.” We fell onto the bed, holding each other tightly, our mouths inhaling each other. I felt down her body, slim, but with just the right curves. I covered her body with mine as I pressed her into the bed. I took her hands into one of mine and held them above her head. That was what I wanted…everything available to me, right there where I could reach them and taste them. I drew her breasts into my mouth as my tongue worked its way around. She tried to move, to get her n*****s between my lips but I evaded that. It could wait ‘til I was ready. I nibbled down her sides and across her belly. I could sense heat and wetness below that. Yes. That pleased me and I knew she was turned on. As we’d agreed many weeks ago, she kept her hands where I placed them until I told her she could move them. We had done that once with real bindings, but they left marks on her wrists, so she promised not to move without permission. Then my lips found her n*****s and I tongued them back and forth until she started to shiver. My hand went down into her wetness. Yes. I loved this. My fingers worked their way into her, brushing right past that little nub at her entrance. My hand rubbed back and forth and back and forth, but it wasn’t enough for me. My tongue mirrored my fingers as I delved into the sweet, salty channel. It was filled with slippery, hot wetness. “Car,” she moaned as my fingers touched that one spot that drove her crazy. “That’s it. It’s so good. You’re so good.” “Only to you,” I whispered in return as I pushed my hand in deeper. “Yes!” she wailed. “Yes, Car. Yes!” My fingers rubbed back and forth as my tongue worked her c**t. I felt her body tensing. “I love you, baby,” I murmured onto her c**t, letting the vocal vibrations work their way through her. Her hands flew down to grasp my arms as she started to shake. My tongue got faster and my fingers pushed deeper and deeper. Her entire body froze as the release blew through her. She shook in my arms. Finally she relaxed. “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you, too.” she returned. She stretched and rolled over onto me. Her lips took mine and ground down into me with all the passion she could gather. I pushed her back. “Go to sleep, sweetie. We can continue this tomorrow.” “But you…” “Go to sleep. It’s been a long day.” I drew her into my arms. Yes, I loved this woman. She made every moment of my life worth living. One day soon, I’d make her totally mine.