Carly, Chapter 8

by Jackie

I decided that if the teenaged boy with his pants around his ankles lying on my studio floor could offer commentary, he could also do his own damn clean up. I dropped the towel on his twitchy little wiener and walked over to the nervous looking new arrival. I took the way Tracy watched my boobs sway under my open blouse as a compliment.

She was dressed very similarly to the first time I'd ever seen her: little short shorts and a T shirt. The thing that had changed the most was her boobs. I thought if I set up a time lapse camera that I'd actually be able to see them grow. It was only six months since that art show in the park and she'd definitely gone up at least a cup size. All of her other curves were filling in too. 'Pretty soon she'll be too developed for my market—it's such a pity' because I really liked her.

I could, and would, hook her up with some more mainstream photographers, as I had done with other girls who showed interest in continuing their modeling careers. Trouble was, when they came of age, it was hard to keep it a secret. Once your face, and typically your boobs, started showing up on the convenience store magazine rack, somebody you knew was bound to notice.

I kissed my all too rapidly maturing model on the cheek and whispered in her ear, "I thought you had a boyfriend ... haven't you ever... ?"

The wide eyes and firmly shaking head told me how much I'd overestimated her experience. 'I'd like to meet her beau. He must be slower than the second coming to have not found his way into this hot pair of panties!' "If you don't want to sweetie, that's OK."

I gave her an out and looked over at Darin. He was still on the floor with the towel over his Johnson but the towel had a significant lump under it. 'From his angle her tits must look huge' I speculated. A girl his age, with a bust that was 'to die for', had to be an awesome sight for my budding young tit-man.

I was expecting to see some confidence maybe even a little swagger in his face but I was wrong. He looked every bit as uneasy as Tracy did. Turns out his 'Oh yeah' hadn't been an affirmation of my forecast of his virility. It was just the final appreciation of his climax after he had regained his command of spoken language. Nevertheless, my forecast was already proving out.

It was hard for me to imagine that in a very few years, if he was normal, it would take him hours to get it up a second time. Having spent all of my sexual past with women who could basically go indefinitely unto exhaustion, the concept that there needed to be spaces in the pleasuring was hard to grasp, but I was aware of the limitation.

I was expecting to have to give him a little show to get him re-primed; I had mixed emotions about being wrong. Mixed, because I hoped the rapid return of his erection didn't mean that he was going to ejaculate as quickly the second time as well. 'How many pictures can you take in thirty seconds?' "Put your pants back on, stud ... if you can," I said with a snicker. "We need to start this off right."

I'm not sure if he deliberately concealed his rising member with the towel as he pulled up his drawers, or if it was just accidental. When he stood up to fasten the button on his waistband he had to pull the towel out of his pants first. Putting his pants on with his dick already semi hard, it wasn't as evident in his jeans as when he'd gotten the woody with it hanging in its natural position. Now it was an ignorable lump under his fly, instead of the undistinguishable twitching, squirming force down the leg of his trousers.

I stroked the girl's swept back brown hair and asked, "What do ya say, Honey ... are you game?"

She'd had a minute or so to think about it since she'd arrived. (She'd actually had hours because I'd told her on the phone what I was planning). Sometimes things, unfamiliar new things, uncharted territory, seem OK when it's just an idea, but when it comes right down to it ... The cutie was nodding her head almost defiantly.

"Very good, Sweetheart!" I congratulated her. "You're gonna be fine ... trust me," I said, the famous empty words of a predator.

I recruited Darin to help me move lighting arrays over to the little seating area. I didn't usually use it as a set, so there was some preparation involved. I might have had some of it done if they hadn't come early. Now the poor girl was left standing, waiting and evidently getting more nervous with each passing moment.

With the lights set up and the video cameras rolling I directed the teenagers to the center of the seating area.

"Why don't you two get to know each other? Darin this is Tracy; Tracy this is Darin."

I performed the formal introduction and captured the initial hesitant embarrassed half smiles with the EOS.

Darin was small for his age, but owing to Tracy's petit stature, he was still half a head taller than her five-feet. The boy predictably spent only a second looking into her warm brown eyes before his attention descended to her chest.

"Go ahead Tracy, show him your boobs," I suggested.

She hesitated uncharacteristically.

"It's OK Sweetheart he's not gonna bite you ... at least not to where it hurts," I added with a chuckle.

Crossed arms hoisted the purple cotton 'T' over her head and she dropped it on the couch. She was frozen again but that was OK with me. I was making a three-sixty around the adolescent couple making sure to capture the sexual tension in their faces.

Darin's eyes were wide and glued to the little brunette's chest. Tracy's eyes were hooded and downcast in an amazingly innocent look better than anything I could have asked for. When she reached up behind her back to unhook the bra she exhaled a little sob, then shrugged it off. Everyone has heard and likely used the expression 'his eyes popped out of his head'. I know I had; but in this case I actually thought it was going to happen. The boy's eyes were so wide taking in Tracy's tits that it was almost cartoonish.

I had to admit I hadn't seen many — if any — more impressive teenaged tits in my very long career, going all the way back to the Mitchells. Aside from the increase in size, the most significant change in her breasts since that rainy Saturday many months ago was in her nipples. The tiny brown barely one inch circle of her areola had enlarged to well over two inches. There seemed to only be so much pigmentation to go around so they were now a much lighter shade—more of a dusky pink. The nipple itself had matured from a tiny nubbin the size of half a raisin to its current, formidable, cherry gumdrop size. 'They're pretty big for a girl who is still waiting for Johnny Maestro to sing 'Sixteen Candles' ... probably from all the sucking and stimulation they've gotten.' Recollections of some of the brunette's more memorable shoots made the tingling between my legs go up a notch. Click, click, click went the shutter in counterpoint to my pulse.

"Wouldn't you like to feel them Darin?" I asked and the boy nodded as if he was in a trance. "Would that be OK honey, if Darin touches your boobies?"

I sought permission from the owner. She looked at me with pleading puppy dog eyes. I wasn't absolutely sure what she was pleading for; her sob was neither permission nor denial.

"Go ahead Sugar, give them a little squeeze," I encouraged the transfixed young man. Click, click, click, I always thought it was a shame that the SLR couldn't somehow capture the trembling anticipation.

His hands covered her tits, and he just held them there; evidently afraid to move in case he disturbed the space-time continuum and this fantasy evaporated before his eyes. The sound that came from the girl was clearly a moan this time. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head tipped back. I knew very well how sensitive her breasts were and I was suddenly jealous of the boy; wishing it were my hands feeling that warm plump firmness with the rubbery projection pushing into my palm. The tingling ratcheted up another notch.

I suddenly realized that the Canon could pick up the subtle tremors—if they were mine—I pulled my elbows tight against my ribs to steady my hands, thanking God for the anti-shake software in the digital camera.

"Squeeze 'em Honey, she really likes that," I confided to the panting young man.

I saw his fingers begin to make depressions in the pliable tittie flesh, so I knew he was complying. Now it was the boy who moaned and I diverted my attention from Tracy's chest to the crotch of the baggy jeans. It looked a little like an orchestra conductor with a towel over is baton.

"Trace ... Darin's got something he'd like to show you ... don't ya Darin?"

I'd never be sure if he understood what I meant, or if the pressure on his imprisoned organ just got to be too much for him. About the only thing he'd rather be touching than the teenaged tits was his pubescent cock, and at the moment it was one or the other. With surprising dexterity he slipped the button on his jeans and yanked the zipper down. The heavy denim once again performed its familiar free fall.

Tracy had opened her eyes when her lover's hands left her breasts wanting. She was now focused on the tented jockeys with an expression not unlike the one Darin had been wearing when she'd shed her top. The movement under the white cotton was fascinating to both of them — not to mention me.

"Why don't you help him with those, Sweetheart?" I encouraged.

On cue, my experienced model sank to her knees, grasped the wide elastic around the boy's hips and started to pull down. Her inexperience with his equipment became evident when the waistband snagged the head of his cock and pulled it from the twitching vertical to the throbbing horizontal. The boy groaned very loudly just before the maddening pressure was released and his dick escaped its confinement and sprang back to its most preferred posture, slapping against his belly in the process. The sound he made when his member sprang up and had its momentum checked by the impact with his abdomen could best be described as a scream.

Tracy let go of the undershorts as soon as the erection was released and before they reached his knees—they just stayed there. For the second time in a very few minutes I was photographing comically bulging eyes. 'Nice to see they appreciate what the other has to offer' I mused, and caught the topless kneeing girl's tongue moisten her full kissable lips.

"Go ahead honey touch it ... he really wants you to," I prompted the action. Click, click, click the Canon captured her tiny hands encircling the boy's throbbing member. The modest size of the teenaged cock was highlighted by the way the petit girl's fingers were able to encompass it. 'It's probably a good thing' I concluded. "It's smaller than most of the dildos I'd used on her, and had her use ... so she won't be too intimidated.' Twenty-four hours ago I'd have had no personal knowledge of what she was feeling. Now I could almost feel the bumpy, stone hard heat in my own hand — in my mouth — and a shockwave shook my pelvis. I was getting severely tempted to mount the EOS on a tripod set for auto-fire and join the action before I came in my panties. That of course would not yield the panorama of shots that I would get hand holding the camera and some professional — or maybe pecuniary — motivation kept the SLR in my hands.

Much as Darin had done with her tits, Tracy just held the rigid penis motionless.

"Stroke it up and down, Sweetie," I suggested.

Using both hands she attempted to do as I'd asked. It was evident from the minimal movement of the skin on his shaft what a feather-light touch she was using.

"Aaarrraahhgg," the boy wailed as the tiny hands started to so gently jack him off.

If it hadn't been for the pressure relieving attention I'd given him such a short time ago, I'm pretty sure that would have been the end. Just the same I wanted to give Tracy some satisfaction out of this because I had serious doubts about Darin's staying power. 'God is so wise to give them incredibly quick recovery times when their fuse is so short. When they do get some control you're lucky if they can get it up twice in the same night' I thought, and sighed letting my teenaged model have a little playtime. I happily snapped away while she explored her new toy.

I stayed tuned to the Darin ecstasy channel and when I sensed that the program was about to conclude prematurely I intervened. Taking a condom that I'd bought earlier in the day I opened it and showed my experienced model, but novice dick handler, how to put it on the twitching, jerking pole of the ecstatic boy. (I confess I'd practiced with three of them—putting them on dildos when I came back from the store. Somebody had to have some idea how to do it.)

With this being a mutual cherry-pop the risk of STDs was minimal—unless you considered pregnancy to be one. That kind of surprise, none of us need.

"Take your bottoms off, Honey," I instructed when we had installed the rubber on the adolescent penis.

I wasn't thrilled with the fit. The drug store had regular, large and extra large on display. No small or pip-squeak to be found. I recall thinking 'I wonder if they have them behind the counter' I was actually going to ask when it struck me how absurd that would be. 'Who's gonna come and ask for extra small? If you're gonna put one size behind the counter make it the XL. There's no embarrassment in asking for them.' I resolved that I'd have to get his weenie out of the girl before he deflated very much or he was gonna leave the prophylactic behind.

I had given some thought to how I wanted to shoot this. There was a regular wooden chair, similar to a dining room chair with no arms, beside the bookshelf. I pulled it over until it was pretty well centered with the video cams and the lights. I guided the boy over to it and sat him down. I think I could have just as easily walked him over to the window and had him step out into space thirty feet or more off the ground. All the blood available that wasn't essential to keeping him alive was in his dick; there wasn't a drop left for his brain. (Wasn't it the late great George Carlin who said, "God gave man a dick and a brain but only enough blood to run one at a time." Truer words were never spoken!) Darin was the current poster-boy.

When I was satisfied with his position I turned and saw Tracy approaching—naked. The look on the seated young man's face confirmed that his eyes were still working. Tracy's plump pink crease with its lower petals in full bloom took my breath away, and I'd seen more pubescent pussy than almost anyone. The boy in the chair had to be near meltdown.

I found myself looking at the two naked teenagers just a couple of feet apart. (Yeah we'd gotten rid of his jockeys or he couldn't have walked; I pulled his t-shirt off because it looked stupid when it was the only thing he had on.) My crotch was humming with increasing intensity when something strange happened.

A wave came over me and it nearly doused my arousal. At first I couldn't figure out what it was. When I realized it was jealousy, I denied it. 'I can't be ... jealous of what ... why?' Something deep inside me knew that I had reservations about encouraging Tracy to have hetero sex. I'd done ten or more shoots with her, solo and with other girls, but a boy? For a moment I almost called it off.

My mind started making those random associations in an effort to understand why I felt the way I did. Amy's mom never put me with boys. It was always Amy and Agnes who did those scenes. 'Yeah but maybe it was because you were too young ... or she thought you were' I reasoned. That couldn't be right either because later on there had been another girl... 'what was her name? Cathy or Katie or something like that.' She was my age and she started doing scenes with boys right away. There must have been another reason. Just like there had to be a reason why this shoot with Tracy was troubling me. Then it dawned on me 'she's special ... she's not like all the other girls ... why?' I realized that I had been standing there for several seconds facing the carnal scene, camera hanging limply at my side but not seeing anything. Yanking my mind back to the here and now I saw both my models waiting for direction. (Well not so much Darin he was still out of it—but certainly Tracy.) A plethora of emotions were reflected in those big brown eyes. Looking into them my heart melted.

I gave my head a shake and donned my professional—no my predatory persona.

"Straddle him Honey," I directed.

Obediently she put one foot on either side of the chair outside the catatonic boys thighs. His bulging cartoon eyes were now focused on the wide open and nearly dripping girlhood no more than a foot from his cock.

"Hold on to it with one hand and sit on it ... just like you do with the toys," I instructed.

The EOS shutter fired rapidly as the modest adolescent meat disappeared inside my virginal model. Virginal was a technicality. In fact, some childish rough housing had relieved Tracy of her hymen, even before I met her. Finding an intact one was rare—not to mention overrated. Tearing that thin membrane virtually never enhanced anybody's first sexual penetration — at least not anyone I knew.

My girl emitted a long deep groan as she settled onto the waiting organ. Darin made a fairly quiet sound like a loud exhale as his erection traveled the path that it was made for. Tracy was on somewhat familiar ground now. So what if it was hot flesh and not cold plastic? Her hips started, slowly at first, but with increasing speed to move up and down on the boy's penis. He was making a long sort of guttural sound and I realized that the delay when my mind had wandered might have worked in my favor—cooled him down a little. My expectation had been that he would blow his load before she even got it all the way in; here he was still serviceable after ten — maybe it was twenty—strokes.

He grunted deeply as the stimulation, even muted by the latex sheath, became too much for him. Tracy pushed her hips down to meet his final thrust and began to rock her pelvis back and forth at incredible speed. I was disappointed that I couldn't quite capture it through the lens but I knew she had achieved a position that allowed her to rub her prominent clit on the boy's pubic bone.

I should have been happy for her when she threw her head back and shrieked out her climax but the other emotions got in the way. She shuddered three times after her lightning fast hip rocking stopped. I only needed five or six shots of the post coitus expressions then I put the camera on the table and lifted the naked girl off the spent boy's rapidly deflating member. The suction pulled the rubber about half way off, but fortunately the contents did not spill.

Tracy's legs were quite shaky and wobbly as I guided her to the washroom. Her thighs had just had an Olympic workout. I got the shower running nice and warm; then guided my prize model onto the little seat inside the stall. She smiled at me through her post orgasmic haze as I directed the shower head to hit her lap.

Back in the studio I found Darin, just where we'd left him. The condom had virtually removed itself. I picked it up from between his thighs and wrapped it in a tissue before tossing it in the wastebasket beside the desk. I filled my coffee mug from the bottom drawer and downed it in one gulp. Returning to the boy; he groaned and twitched when I cleaned his pubic region with the warm wash cloth but there was not even a glimmer of erectile activity—we had used him up. Dropping a towel in his lap, I then shut off the video cameras and the photo floods. My work here was done, so I half-filled the mug.

I was sitting at the desk uploading the photos to the computer when Tracy kissed my cheek. She was fully dressed and looking pleased.

"Thanks Carly," she said, as I handed her the five hundred dollars I had taken from the safe.

"Would you be interested in doing something like that again?"

"I don't know," she said with a pensive look, "Le'me think about it."

She glanced over at Darin who was fastening his baggy jeans; she left without another word.

My first male model had a satisfied look on his face when he approached the desk. He did look a little stunned, which wasn't really surprising since he had just lived out a wet dream. When I handed him his five he looked at it like he'd never seen money before. His eyes went from the bills to me and back to the cash.

"I guess I don't have to ask you if you'd be willing to do another shoot," I said—matter of fact. "I'll call ya if something comes up."

Frankly I didn't know if I would but it seemed like the thing to say as he was leaving.

The files were uploaded and I decided it was too late to start editing today. Nevertheless I initiated a slide show just to get a sense of what I had captured. When the images of the boy with his hands on Tracy's breasts appeared one by one I felt something rising in my throat. I tried to push it away and dispassionately look at the overall quality of the shots, but I couldn't do it. I swallowed what was left in the cup. The lump in my throat was making my eyes water.

What caused the twisted circuitry of my brain to make me think of Clare Mitchell, I don't know. The question of why she'd never put me with boys in all the shoots we did remained a conundrum. 'Maybe that's something I'll ask her when we finally meet again' I thought wiping a tear. Why the enigma of this shoot was wreaking so much emotional havoc was an even more pertinent question. 'Maybe they're related ... did she not introduce me to the hetero side so she wouldn't feel the way that I'm feeling right now? If that was true then I must have been special to her—the way Tracy is special to me.' That thought made me sob.

Angrily I swiped at the latest tear. 'What the fuck is the matter with you. You're Carly LaRoche the ultimate perverter of young girls ... a predator ... love 'em and leave 'em!' I could reprimand but I couldn't deny. This time I filled the mug to the top. After years in emotional stasis all at once I was attaching to everything. Heather, Caitie, Tracy 'What's next Darin ... Jake?' I couldn't include Amy and her mom on that list because that wasn't new; but maybe it was a catalyst somehow.

I shutdown the slide show, it was just too painful right now. I sat pulling on the mug wondering if any of those pictures would ever be seen by anyone else.

---

The little red light on the answering machine was blinking. I tossed my bag in the hall cupboard and poured three fingers of Jack before I flopped on the couch and pressed the message button. The alcohol induced haze evaporated at the sound of Clare Mitchell's voice. I would later think that it deserved at least honorable mention on the list of the greatest thrills of my life. It had been so long sought after, that now that it was really here, it seemed incredible. "Hello sweetheart, I'm sorry I missed you. I'm at the Holiday Inn Express on University Avenue; room 210. The number here is 548-1700. Give me a call when you get home ... kisses." The part that would strike me later was that she didn't even feel the need to identify herself. I hadn't heard her voice in twenty-five years yet she was entirely confident that I would know who it was. There were other messages but I didn't listen to them. With shaking hands I dialed the number. After the main telephone tree came on and I dialed the room number, I realized that I was also sweating.

"Hello?" the live sound of her voice stunned me, I was speechless. "Hello?" she said again; I knew I had to speak soon or she'd hang up.

"Clare?" I croaked.

"Carly, sweetheart, it's so good to hear your voice," she sounded so bright and cheerful, the contrast with my nervous anticipation was palpable. "I have to see you honey ... when can we meet?"

My emotions were creating sensations that were indescribable; I was hot, cold, I was falling, I was soaring and all at the same time. The sour mash wasn't a help.

"Soon," I said and then got more specific, "right now!" as soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized how impossible it was. Here I was sitting in the now pretty funky pant suit from yesterday's wedding. I needed a minimum of two hours to be presentable and get anywhere.

"Whoa ... slowdown honey we've got all the time in the world now," she said with a chuckle in her voice. "What do ya say we meet at 'The Albatross' ; it's a bar just around the corner from here—do ya know it?"

"On San Pablo?"

"Yeah ... about eight?" I glanced at the clock, it was almost six.

"Better make it eight-thirty" I said already unbuttoning my blouse.

"Eight-thirty it is ... I'm so looking forward to seeing you sweetheart!"

"Same here," I confirmed as we disconnected.

I'm sure it was a good thing that I had no time to spare. No time to contemplate the significance of the person I was rushing to meet. I had, of course, turned that over in my mind a thousand times but with fruition now minutes away the feelings—emotions—would have been too intense for me to not self-medicate.

I had only known, been together, with the Mitchells for a year, but that relationship had done more to shape my life and personality than anything that my birth parents had done or later did. Clarisse Mitchell was in some respects more a parent to me than my parents, but she was so much more. She was also my tutor, my mentor, my first lover—my first love. The fact that she was taken from me so abruptly without cause or explanation had left a hole in my heart that could never be healed, never be filled by anything but seeing her again and finding out what had happened. Why had she left me?

I had envisioned this meeting so many times over the years, and it had come out so many different ways that all of the scenarios overlapped and collided in my mind as I prepared. I had decided what I would wear the day I got the letter. It was a simple cotton dress, high waisted, very fitted in the bust then flowing down to my mid thigh—it was burgundy with a very subtle tone on tone pattern. It wasn't new and it wasn't spectacular but it was very similar to a dress she had given me for my fourteenth birthday.

I usually wore a bra with it, not feeling like the dress gave me enough support, but today I didn't. One of my white thongs and white sandals were only other things I wore. The pendant of a necklace that I had kept but hadn't worn since the Mitchell's untimely departure rested on my upper chest. It was a gift from Amy. The wig was also an easy choice. It was curly and sandy colored; very similar to the shade my hair had been twenty-five years ago. Without putting too fine a point on it, I was trying to look as much like I had the last time she saw me as possible—back to a time when she loved me.

I was an impaired driver making the short three mile trip. Fortunately traffic was very light at that time on a Sunday evening. When I switched off the Escalade in the parking lot I had no recollection of the trip whatsoever. 'Did I stop for the traffic lights?' I wondered on the way to 'The Albatross' door.

The bar wasn't crowded and it was mostly men so it didn't take long for me to spot her. She was in a back booth, but facing the door. Our eyes met and a smile as large as I've ever seen lit up her face. She stood up from the booth as I began to traverse the forty or more feet of hardwood between us. I felt my own broad smile but at the same time my throat seemed to be closing up. I was walking very quickly—no, I was running—trying to get there before I burst.

In the interminable seconds somehow my mind still managed to register that she hadn't aged. In the subdued lighting of the bar she looked exactly the same as the last time I'd seen her twenty-five years ago. The lump in my throat was the size of a watermelon and my chest was burning by the time I arrived. Through my tears I thought I could see that her eyes were full as well. We grabbed each other by the shoulders and just for a moment looked into each other's eyes. When we embraced I started bawling—sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. I felt so stupid — like a child, a baby — until I realized that she was crying too.

We held each other like that, hugging and crying beside the booth. Clare must have realized what a scene we were making and gently guided me into the seat. She slid in on the opposite side and we joined hands across the table. We sat there looking at each other laughing and crying at the same time. Very seldom do you recognize a life changing event while it's happening but that's how I felt — like I had been waiting my entire adult life for this very moment. She was the first to be able to speak;

"It's so good to see you, Darling!" she said as we both started rummaging in our bags for tissues.

We were wiping our eyes and our noses when another emotion, almost as powerful as the love and relief I'd felt crossing the bar, invaded my heart. I was shocked at the sudden surge of anger.

"Why did you leave me?" I managed to squeeze out before I dissolved into sobs again.

She reached across the table and squeezed both my hands hard. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks but she seemed more in control than me.

"I'm sorry honey ... I'm so sorry," it came out as a strained whisper.

"But why?"

It was the greatest mystery and most painful question of my life. She released my hands and started mopping her eyes and nose with fresh tissues.

"It's a long story, Sweetheart ... we're gonna need a drink."

She raised her hand to signal the waiter who had been watching the whole time. Normally he would have approached and offered service as soon as we sat down, but seeing the out-pouring of emotion he wisely kept his distance. At Clare's signal he approached the table looking quite nervous—nothing like two bawling women to make a man run for cover.

"Do you have Grey Goose frozen?" she asked

"Yes ma'am."

"I'll have a double."

"Double Jack on the rocks," I said when he turned to me.

My voice was shaky and scratchy but I managed to get it out. He left with an unmistakable look of relief.

We gained some composure of necessity to complete the ordering process. My long lost mentor reached across the table and took both of my hands in hers again.

"You never met Stefan, Amy's father did you?"

I shook my head. Her expression changed. She looked very thoughtful as she began her tale.

"I met him ... or maybe I should say he recruited me when I was thirteen and he was twenty-five. It was nineteen sixty-five ... the height of the cold war. Stefan had escaped from Hungary when he was eighteen with his brother. They had nothing but a deep desire to live the good life—the western life. It wasn't long before they got in with the criminal element in Germany; got involved in pornography and prostitution. Something happened, I'm not even sure exactly what, but let's just say they pissed off the wrong people. Victor, Stefan's older brother was killed and they probably would have killed Stefan too if he hadn't fled to the States."

Our drinks arrived and I took a much needed gulp. The story was fascinating but I wasn't sure what it had to do with the question. Clare took a long sip of her chilled vodka before she continued.

"When he arrived here Stefan Malonovich became Steve Mitchell. He sort of picked up where he left off in Germany. It was the only thing he knew and it was lucrative. The problem came with the prostitution. Organized crime pretty much controlled that particular vice so it wasn't long before he got on the wrong side of some very nasty people again. That was still a couple of years before I knew him."

She took another swallow from the sweating glass; organizing her thoughts.

"He dropped the prostitution from his repertoire and stuck strictly with the pornography. In those days that meant eight millimeter movies and photos. He soon discovered that the younger the girls he had in his pictures, the more money they were worth. At that time it was pretty much all illegal so there was very little increased risk by using very young, under age models. That's where I came into the picture, so to speak," she said and laughed out loud for the first time since we'd sat down.

The sound and the happy look on her face warmed my heart. After another pull on her drink she said, "One thing led to another and I got pregnant when I was fifteen. Nine months later along came Amy. I'd been on the outs with my parents ever since I met Stefan and so that was just the final straw. They disowned me and I moved in with him."

"What's all of that got to do with your leaving me?" I said. I started out OK but by the end of the question my voice got really weak and squeeky.

"I was just getting to that," she assured me. "For the next twelve or thirteen years we had a sort of on again off again relationship. He'd disappear for weeks at a time but he always provided for us—kept a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs and food on the table. Predictably when Amy reached the age that suited his clientele he wanted to start using her in the business. I was very much against it to begin with, but you have to understand that I didn't have a lot of attractive options.

"I agreed only if I could be involved in every shoot. The next thing ya know I was doing the shoots and running that part of the business while Stefan ... uh, I mean Steve ... went on his talent searches. Eventually I got very ... um, comfortable with the idea, and so did Amy. He'd be gone for a month and Amy and I would just carry on. We also discovered that we didn't even really need him to bring in new models. Amy proved to be a chip off the old block when it came to recruiting talent," she laughed again. "That's where Agnes came in, and then you." 'OK' I thought. 'At least we're getting to the right time frame' "One day he called me and he sounded scared. I'd never heard him sound like that before."

She took a long last swallow of her drink and held up her hand for a refill.

"He said he had a big problem and that we might be in danger. I didn't believe him at first but he was very persuasive — he was always very persuasive. He gave me the number of a friend of his and told me to get in touch with him. When Amy came home she said she thought that a car with two men in it had been following her. Then I got scared. I knew what had happened to his brother so the possibility that we were dealing with people capable of that level of violence made me an instant believer."

Her drink arrived and the waiter put a fresh Jack on the rocks down too, so I finished off the one I had and started the new one.

"I called the number Stefan had given me and a man named Gregor confirmed that we needed to get lost, quickly. We arranged to meet and he gave me papers; driver's license, birth certificates and credit cards in the name of Morgan and told me that I shouldn't go back to the house—'just leave everything and get to Denver he told me'. Then he gave me an address in Denver. So that's how it started."

"What went wrong ... why were they after you?" I needed more.

"I never really knew and still don't," she said with a pained expression. "Just that Stefan was into a lot of shit other than the porn. Shit I never knew about. I'm pretty sure there were drugs involved. He never took any—that I knew of, and we never saw any, but that's what Gregor told me."

We both took another swallow of the only legal drug going. I was feeling pretty relaxed by now and I'm sure Clare was too.

"We heard from Stefan about two months later. He sounded even more agitated and nervous than before and said it wasn't safe. We, with the help of Gregor, were on the move again. It was like being in the witness protection program without the benefit of Federal Marshals looking out for ya."

The second Grey Goose seemed to be lasting a bit longer; the sips were getting smaller.

"A few days later we were in Sioux City as the Murphys," she said after another sip. "After that it was Reno then Spokane and then it slowed down. We were in Washington for a few years. We moved around a little but we didn't change names. We were living in Tacoma when the dreaded call came. So away we went again," this time she chuckled. "We made gypsies look like potted plants."

We both laughed and it felt really good.

"Gregor warned us about leaving a trail. 'Never get involved and don't form long term relationships' he told us. When you move it has to be a totally clean break with no looking back, so we did — we did what he said ... to uh ... to uh, you know survive."

The tears were back.

"But it went on for so long," I said hoping to sound empathetic, but I'm afraid it just sounded whiny.

She nodded her head.

"Why are you able to come back now?"

"About five years ago Stefan's luck ran out."

Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she was looking at the table where her hands were unraveling a tissue.

"They killed him," her voice cracked and she sobbed pitifully, before taking another slug of the frozen 'Goose'.

I slipped around the end of the table and slid into the booth beside her. With my arm around her shoulders I let her cry for a minute or so. Then I said, "That was five years ago, why didn't you—?"

"Come back then?" she wiped her tears and sounded more composed. "We didn't know there was anything to come back to. We had been careful not to get too close with anyone since we'd been on the run ... you were sort of the last person we had a normal relationship with. We figured after all these years that you would have moved on. In fact, because of the fly by night way we left ... I thought you would have ... hated us."

Her voice cracked again at the last. I hugged her tighter and my own tears restarted.

"I could never hate you ... I ... I love you."

The words had actually come out. She turned more toward me. It was an awkward embrace there in the booth at the 'Albatross' but it felt so good. We were hugging with our faces buried in each other's neck.

"When we got your letter I could hardly believe it. I wrote you back right away and I wanted to call but I didn't think I could ... oh, I don't know why I didn't..." she was sobbing again and pulled away from me.

"We're putting on a hell of a show," she said with a wan smile. "Why don't we go back to the hotel where we can have some privacy?"

She threw a fifty on the table and we left. Her arm around my shoulder and mine around hers, both of us bathing in the warm glow of the reunion and the booze, we made it to her suite.

"Where's Amy?" I asked as she inserted the card in the lock.

"She had stuff to finish up in Minnesota. She'll be here next week if all goes well." as soon as we were inside I excused myself and went to the washroom. The warm cloth felt good as I cleaned off the dried tears—thank God for tear-proof make-up, otherwise I'd look like a raccoon. I used the toilet and washed my hands again before returning to the living room part of the suite.

I had to blink my eyes a couple of times to be sure of what I was seeing— 'could be the Jack ya know.' Clare was cuddled up on the couch with a blonde cutie that looked no more than fourteen. I'm not sure why the next words tumbled out.

"Are you back ... uh, in the ... uh business?"

"Never left dear," she smiled and hugged the girl tighter. Then she said, "Carly, this is Stephanie; Amy's daughter."

I swallowed hard as the girl in the long T shirt with her legs curled underneath her smiled at me in a way most fourteen year olds wouldn't understand.