Chapter 4
(Mg, oral)
Feathers fly at Quicksilver City Resort and in the newsroom of the Montenegro Gazette...
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The moment we entered the newsroom Mae Belle Cranston was in my face. "What in hell is wrong with you, Phil?"
"The fact that you're in my face, yelling."
"You told the General Manager of the Quicksilver City Resort to buy a fucking ad, and threw his information packet on the floor."
"No, I didn't."
"You didn't tell him to buy a fucking ad?"
"I told him that. I didn't throw the packet on the floor. I just let it drop. I am nobody's errand boy. And I will not be treated as such. And, from this moment on, you will address me as Mr. Lander. Is that fucking clear!?!"
"Why couldn't you just use this information to write your story?"
"I'm not a PR rewrite man. I am a reporter, and a damn good one. When someone makes an appointment for an interview, I expect to conduct an interview, not be treated as his messenger boy."
She held out the packet. "Take this and make it into a story."
"Go fuck yourself."
"Get out!" Billie Jean ordered.
"What!?!" Mae Belle huffed in surprised.
"Get out of my newsroom and stay out of my newsroom," Billie Jean clarified.
She left. Dave came in 10 minutes later. "Can't we just go along with this guy. Humor him. He could be a big advertiser."
Billie Jean said, "Fill him in, Phil."
I filled him in on the situation, showed him the 'Morale' and UnWanted posters, quoted a few of the personnel complaints, and gave him my opinion that Brown would be fired before the beginning of tourist season. "Right now, everybody down there knows he hates my guts. When he gets dumped, I'll be seen as part of the solution. The Gazette will be seen as part of the solution. We'll have credibility."
Billie Jean reached into her top desk drawer and pulled out her employment agreement. "This agreement gives me complete and total control of the editorial department. You signed it. Are you going to stand by it?"
"I gave you my word. I keep my word. Shit!"
"Please inform Mae Belle of this agreement, and tell that bitch that the newsroom is my domain, and she is persona non grata in my fucking domain."
"Well," he sighed, "there goes my plans for one big happy family."
I sat at my typewriter and wrote the Patrick Brown story I would love to publish, and Xeroxed a few copies.
"I'm going to make a quick run to the south end. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"What are you going to do?" Billie Jean asked.
"Fuck General Manager Patrick Brown in the ass."
I drove directly to Quicksilver City, took a copy of my dream story with an 8x10 black and white glossy of the:
WILL CONTINUE
UNTIL MORALE
IMPROVES
I walked into Brown's reception room, and handed the packet to his secretary.
"Ma'am," I said loud enough for Brown to hear. "I know that General Manager Patrick Brown is way too important to waste his time with the likes of lowly old me. Could you please give him this rough draft of my article about him. If he should wish to discuss it, he knows where to find me."
I gave the wranglers and river guides a copy. I gave one to Red, who seemed to know everybody, and everybody's personal business on the south end. I posted one on the Rudy's Butte Store bulletin board.
"What the fuck have you done!?!" Dave demanded when I walked into the newsroom. "Brown's threatening libel, defamation of character, and anything else his lawyer can dream up. You've been banned from Quicksilver City. Security has orders to shoot to kill you on sight."
"Have you seen the story he's bitching about?"
"No."
"And you won't. Not from me anyway. I'm not submitting it for publication, although it contains the truth and nothing but the truth."
"What's the point?"
"The employees and contractors have been on the verge of revolt since before we arrived. That story, the story Patrick Brown doesn't want published, is going to push him over the megalomaniacal edge. He's going to crack down, and the peasants are going to revolt."
Helen called out, "Line one for Phil."
"Lander."
"This is Red. You better come down here tomorrow morning with your camera. There's going to be a walk out, a demonstration and picketing at 11."
"No shit?"
"Line two for Phil.
"Line three, Phil."
The newsroom only had three lines.
The south enders were giving me a heads up. The revolution was about to begin.
The Sheriff marched into the newsroom. "My deputy down in Rudy's Butte informs me that there has been a death threat against Mr. Lander. Deputy Holder said FM6969 running through Quicksilver City is a public highway, and he will personally escort Mr. Lander there if requested. I have also assigned Detective Antonio Flores as his bodyguard.
The calls died down.
"Phil, line one. Angelina Martinez."
Who the fuck is Angelina Martinez? I wondered, then I remembered seeing the nameplate on a desk. Brown's secretary/receptionist.
"Hello, Ms. Martinez. How may I help you?"
"There will be no demonstrations or walkouts or pickets tomorrow."
I laughed, "His highness has forbidden them?"
"As of 1:30 this afternoon, Mr. Patrick Brown is no longer associated with Quicksilver City Resort. I am the interim general manager."
"Wow! That's one hell of a promotion! From receptionist to interim general manager."
"I'm a corporate troubleshooter. I was sent down to evaluate the situation."
"You were a spy, working undercover as his secretary."
"Mr. Brown was already on his way out. We were going to terminate his employment at the end of the month. Your rabble rousing today just speeded up things. May I speak to your publisher?"
"Dave, Silver City's new interim general manager wishes to speak to you."
He took the handset. "Yes, sir. How may I help you?---Ma'am?---Mr. Lander never submitted that story for publication, and he tells me he never had any intention of having it published. --- Why would he do such a thing? Because Mr. Brown pissed him off, and Philip Lander is one crazy sonofabitch when he's pissed off. But I love him. And I don't mean in the gay way."
"Let me speak to her before you hang up," I said.
He handed me the phone. "I want you to know, you ruined my wife's day. She's my boss, the managing editor. She had visions of a front page filled with protesters and pickets, just in time for deadline."
"Of course, everything we've discussed is off the record," she said.
"I guess one thing they forgot to teach you in corporate troubleshooting school, is nothing is off the record until the journalist agrees beforehand that it's off the record. You can't tell me something, then say it's off the record."
"Could we get together and discuss this, off the record, over dinner? My treat."
"Fine. The Montenegro Hotel Dining room. Six o'clock?"
"I'll be there Mr. Lander."
"Can't we be Phil and Angelina? I hate formalities."
"Phil and Angie."
"Cool. See you at six."
Billie Jean laughed, "The most exciting day that never happened."
"It's going to get awfully drunk down there tonight.
"Line one, Billie Jean. Detective Flores."
"Hello, Stud. What's up?"--- "No way today." --- "Wednesday's aren't good for me. It's The Gazette's deadline" --- "The Diner. Thursday at noon. I'll be there no later than 12:05. If you're not there waiting for me, we're done."
He was still talking when she hung up. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but he didn't sound happy.
"Line one, Billie Jean. Detective Flores again. He said the connection was broken."
"Tell him I'm too busy to come to the phone, and that I'll call him back when I have the time."
Helen relayed the message, realizing for the first time that something sexual was going on between the detective and her boss.
I wrote a feature on the Rudy's Butte Medics, the first aid station and emergency ambulance service operated by two full time paramedics, four part time Emergency Medical Technicians, and several volunteer Emergency Care Attendants. The nearest hospital was in Alpine, more than 100 miles away.
Two of the part timers were a man and wife team, Tom and Gail Bender, who lived off the grid in an ancient travel trailer without running water or electricity. They hauled water from a nearby seep spring at the foot of Bad Medicine Mountain. Their small part time pay was more than enough to meet their needs. They didn't want their lifestyle mentioned in the story.
I also wrote a personality profile on Deputy Buddy. My share of the work on the week's paper was done.
I went to the hotel to check on Filly, and found her doing her homework in the lobby.
"Sharon says her parents want to meet you and Mom, and get to know y'all before they'll let her spend the night. Her mother's a school nurse, and her dad's a prison guard. Her mom should be home now," she said, handing me a slip of paper.
I picked up a lobby phone and asked the switchboard operator to give me an outside line for a local call, and dialed the number. Arnold Benedict, Sharon's dad, worked 3 to 11 p.m. Tuesday thru Saturday. Amber worked regular junior high school hours.
"Looks like Sunday would be good for everyone," I said.
"Sharon wanted to spend the night Friday," her mom said.
"How about midnight tonight?" I asked. "The hotel staff watches out for Filly."
"That'll work." She gave me their address.
I told Charles about our dinner date with Quicksilver City's interim director, and asked if I needed to make a reservation.
"I'll take care of everything for you."
Billie Jean came home a little after four. (I'm not certain when we began calling the hotel 'home.' I think Filly started it, and we picked it up.) I told her about our upcoming midnight meeting with the Benedicts.
"Arnold Benedict? Really?"
"That's what she said."
"Mom? Dad won't let me suck his cock. I promised him that I would still respect his authority. I suck Mr. Parsley's cock and I respect his authority. I always mind him. I suck Granddad's cock, and I still mind him. Dad said that I'd have to talk to you about it."
"I fucking love you, Phil!" Billie Jean said.
"Felicia, you have my permission to suck your father's cock, as long as you promise to respect his authority."
"I promise. And I want to be called Filly because it sounds like Phil and Philip."
"Okay, Filly. Suck Phil's cock, Filly. Have your fill of sucking Phil's cock, Filly."
The sight and feel of my daughter's lips around my cockhead was all it took to induce orgasm. I erupted. She backed away, coughing and gagging. I inundated her face with my spunk. It got into her hair.
After regaining her breath, she said, "The same thing happened with Granddad and Colonel Hebert the first time."
We licked her clean.
"We have to get ready for dinner," I said. "We'll give it another try after dinner."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
A little before six, the maitre d', Ronald Parsley, led us to a table with a reserved sign on it. Angie was nearly ten minutes late.
"I am so sorry! I pride myself on punctuality. I badly underestimated the drive time from the south end."
"You didn't drive down there?"
"No. I came in a corporate jet."
"That didn't make Brown suspicious?"
"He was told that I was the spoiled air-headed niece of one of the board members. He was a rotten judge of character."
The maitre d' and waiters treated us as though we were VIPs. To top it off, the county judge, the Sheriff, the mayor and their wives were seated at a table near us shortly after Angie's arrival. The mayor also happened to be the president of the Montenegro Savings and Loan.
"I'm glad the brouhaha down south has been averted," the sheriff said, shaking my hand. "My deputies were ready and willing to protect you. Any time we can be of service, let me know."
Billie Jean introduced Angie to the local big wigs.
The chef, Harris Parsley, came out to personally recommend the filet mignon. Billie Jean and I met him once briefly after we moved in. He treated us as though we were frequent and valued customers. The dining room was way too pricey for our budget.
We got down to business after dinner. Billie Jean said, "A front page story about Brown's ouster, and the reasons for it, would definitely increase rack sales, and possibly subscriptions. It would be entertaining, which is one of our jobs; informing, educating and entertaining. But it wouldn't really inform, since the folks on the south end already know more than the story would reveal, and the folks up north really couldn't care less about what goes on in the south end."
"I discovered that in my short time here," Angie laughed.
Billie Jean continued, "The story would only create unnecessary friction between The Gazette and the new management of Quicksilver City Resort. Phil and I would prefer beginning our relationship in a friendly and cooperative manner. There will be no story."
Angie visibly relaxed. "My bosses will be thrilled to hear it. And I will do my best never to piss Phil off. I don't want that crazy son of a bitch coming after my ass."
I said, "You can tell your superiors that you sweet-talked us out of running the story. We won't deny it."
"So, you're scratching my back, and expect reciprocation."
"That is the name of the game."
Angie laughed, and said, "In the immortal words of Rick Blaine, 'I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
"Waiter! Champaign please."
There's a difference between a good newspaper and a good news paper. Community weeklies and small dailies are good news papers. They publish good news. They do not rock the boat. They keep advertisers happy. Good newspapers have reporters who question the official line. Good news papers have repeaters who repeat the official line, and never ever question it. The Montenegro Gazette was a good news paper, and I was its repeater.
"Get naked, Dad," our naked daughter commanded when we returned to our room.
"Yes, Ma'am," I said taking off my suit and hanging it on the valet.
"Do you want me to suck your cock?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Tell me. I want to hear you say it."
"I want you to suck my cock, Filly Baby. Suck Daddy's cock."
"Suck your father's big hard cock, Baby. Mommy wants to watch," her mother added.
Filly took in more than I imagined she could. She did a masterful job. Someone taught her well, or she was a natural born fellationist, like her mother; a congenital cocksucker.
"Oh yeah, Baby. That feels so good. Suck it, Filly Baby. Suck my cock."
I wished I had my camera in my hand at that moment. I knew I would have to capture the moment later; my daughter's big beautiful adoring eyes looking up at me with my cockhead in her mouth. I knew there would be plenty of opportunities in the near future.
I held back, and lasted much longer than I thought possible. She couldn't swallow the ejaculate fast enough, and it overflowed her mouth. I licked and sucked it off her chin, then we kissed.
I was shocked by how well she kissed. It was almost impossible to believe that an 8-year-old girl could be such a passionate kisser. After I broke away, I said, "Kiss your mother."
She did, and Billie Jean was as surprised as I had been. "My God!" Billie Jean exclaimed. "You could induce orgasms with your kisses, Filly."
"Mr. Parsley said I made him cum the first time we kissed. Except he said E-jack something."
"Ejaculate."
"Yeah, he ejaculated in his pants."
"Have you told Sharon and Edie about you and Mr. Parsley?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. He said that I could. He said that he wanted them to know that he was a little girl lover who loved eating preteen girls' pussies. And he wanted me to tell them how good he was at it. And now, they want him to eat their pussies."
"It pays to advertise," Billie Jean chuckled.
When I put her to bed, she said, "I want to show you how me and Colonel Hebert play-fucked. It's a lot of fun, and it's almost like really fucking."
"Eat her pussy, Phil. Give her a good night orgasm."
"Yeah! Eat my pussy, Daddy."
I kissed all over her mons, teased her clit with the tip of my tongue, then gently sucked on it when it was fully erect. My stiff tongue slipped into her vagina until the tip pressed against her hymen. I pushed, and stretched it until she flinched, and I stopped pressing. I kissed and licked and sucked until I brought her to orgasm.
"Sweet dreams, Baby," I said. "Thank you for letting me taste your delicious vagina."
"You can taste it whenever you want, Daddy."
After we put Filly to bed, we went to our room, briefly forgot about the midnight meeting, and smoked some of Pablo's pot. It wasn't actually Pablo's pot. It was one of Pablo's farmer's pot, and Dangerous Dan bought it from Pablo's farmer and sold it to me.
"I've never felt a cherry before," I said.
"She still has her hymen?"
"Yep. It's pretty stretchy."
"You didn't want to pop it?"
"I didn't want to hurt her."
"Mine didn't hurt any worse than a mosquito bite. But, I was nine at the time."
I don't know why I dressed in my suit and tie. Billie Jean got into the formal dress she wore to dinner. She and I were still a bit tipsy, and slightly stoned when we met the Benedicts.
I disliked Arnold on sight. He was a bodybuilder who wore a tailored form-fitting uniform, and took every opportunity to flex his muscles. He drank Wild Turkey on the rocks from an old fashioned glass. Then, he opened his mouth, and dislike quickly became detestation. He was one of those super patriotic West Texas rednecks, and an ex-marine Vietnam Veteran.
He offered me a drink.
"I don't do the hard stuff," I said.
He smirked derisively and asked, "Did you serve?"
"I was in the navy," I said. "And it felt like doing time. I hated it. I despise the military."
"Because of the military, you have the freedom to express your mind."
"Really? The Koreans weren't a threat to my freedoms. The Vietnamese weren't a threat to my freedoms."
"The North Vietnamese were a threat to the South Vietnamese freedom."
"No. Uncle Sam was the only threat to freedom. There was never supposed to be a north and south Vietnam. And if Uncle Sam hadn't prevented them from having a free democratic election there never would have been. If we had allowed Korea to have the unification vote, there wouldn't have been a North and South Korea.
The Soviet and American militaries were supposed to leave Korea in 1949. The Soviets left. We stayed, and supported a brutal military dictatorship. We have a bad habit of supporting brutal dictators, while the Soviets support freedom fighters. And we are the fucking good guys?"
"I fought in Vietnam."
"Tell me you weren't aware of any corruption on the part of South Vietnamese officials, or the black market. Tell me that the South Vietnamese soldiers were intrepid warriors. How many Vietnamese, trained by American soldiers, immediately deserted and joined the NVA or the VC upon completion of their training?"
"You can find corruption anywhere."
"That's who and what you were defending. The profits for corrupt politicians, generals, and merchants. And our patriotic fucking American defense contractors. You weren't defending anyone's freedom. The French couldn't beat them. The mightiest military in the history of the world couldn't beat them."
"We could have if the politicians stayed out of it, and the anti war hippie freaks didn't turn against us."
"I was one of those anti war hippie freaks," Billie Jean said. "If it hadn't been for us, kids would still be over there killing and dying for no good reason."
"Politics and religion," Amber admonished.
"I promise we won't talk politics or religion around Sharon."
Arnold said, "I don't know…"
"Sharon will be devastated if we don't let her go," Amber said. "She loves Filly."
Arnold shot her a look, and she flinched, but bravely stood her ground. "Sharon will have her sleepover with Filly."
Billie Jean said, "We wouldn't stop Filly from spending the night here just because we have political differences."
"Yeah," Arnold grunted. "Sharon can go."
As we were getting into Billie Jean's Opel, she said, "Let's do a feature on domestic violence next week. You interview the cops, I'll find the women's shelter."
"You saw it too."
"No one flinches like that if they haven't been hit frequently."
"Federal prison guards must be really well paid," I said. "Big house, big pickup truck, nice car. There were no bars on his collar or stripes on his sleeve."
"Maybe one of the high dollar inmates gave him a stock tip."
"Possible," I replied. "What's the deal with Flores?"
"I was thinking about arranging a weekly lunch meeting."
"What if he doesn't show Thursday?"
"I will be very very disappointed. I would really like a rematch."
"I'm betting he shows. Your pussy is irresistible."
"If he shows, he gets a full blowjob."
"There, in the Diner!?! I wanna watch!"
"You are such a pervert."
We got home, smoked more pot, and fucked our brains out.
In Chapter 5, Detective Flores is a bit uncomfortable when he learns that Phil is Billie Jean's husband...