She reaches behind her with both hands and I hear the sound of a zipper lowering. She does a sort of hip shake and her skirt slides to the floor, and…
…She's not wearing panties.
She says, "All I ask is that you treat me with respect."
"Huh?"
"With respect."
"Okay."
"And don't do anything to hurt me."
"Hurt you?"
She blushes again.
Then I blush.
Chapter 16
If I could have a fifth wish it might be that I'm the most amazing lover Jinny Kidwell has ever encountered.
But the truth is I'm unable to perform.
"This has never happened to me," I say.
"Nor to me," she says.
"I can't do this to Lissie."
"I believe you."
"No, I mean-"
"I know what you mean, Buddy. I was just kidding."
"Oh. Right."
We're sitting on her bed, and we're both looking at the pathetic, drooping thing between my legs I used to call my "mighty sword."
"He looks tired," she says.
I wince.
"What's the problem, do you think?"
I shrug. "I think maybe I'm just overwhelmed."
She nods. Then, as if trying to enhance my mortification, she reaches over and pokes it with her finger. Then she lifts it with her thumb and index finger, holds it aloft a second, then lets it fall, and I want to crawl in a hole somewhere.
She frowns. "So what's the plan, Stan?"
"Excuse me?"
"We've got to get this thing done. What do you suggest?"
I've never had a woman stare at my manhood as if it were a snail on a plate. Nor have I ever had a conversation with anyone about it, while staring at it. I sigh. "Maybe we should just forget the whole thing."
A sudden look of fear enters her eyes.
"It doesn't work that way," she says. "We have to do this."
She starts breathing rapidly, as if she might hyper-ventilate. I reach out and place my hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, relax," I say. "I can tell them we did it. No harm, no foul."
She shook her head. "You don't understand. I made an agreement. You have to perform!"
I look at my lap and mentally curse my dick.
Jinny says, "Give me a sec."
She leaves the room a minute and comes back with a small bottle of water and a pill.
"Here," she says, "take this."
"What is it, Viagra?"
"No."
I stare at the little pill in my hand. "Is it safe?"
"One is safe. Six is an addiction."
"Will it help me perform?"
"It won't hurt."
I look into her gorgeous eyes. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Please, just take the pill."
I swallow it and set the glass down.
"Now what happens?" I say.
"You lie down and relax. I'll turn on some music and we'll see what happens."
"Sounds good."
Some time must have passed. I'm not aware of any time passing, but something must have happened, because I'm suddenly aware that Jinny Kidwell is bitch slapping me and calling me names.
No, wait. That's not what happened.
I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I now realize she slapped me once, lightly, and said, "Focus, Buddy!"
"What happened?"
"You're back!"
"How long was I out?"
"A couple minutes."
"Sorry."
"That's okay. Hey, I have an idea!" Jinny says, brightly. "Have you ever acted before?"
"What, like in a play?"
"Uh huh."
"Not really."
"Well let me put a thought in your mind."
"Okay."
"You know I have love scenes with actors in my movies, right?"
"Uh huh."
"Well, I know I'm married, and the actors know they're married, but the way we get the public to believe our scenes is to pretend we're not married."
"That makes sense."
"It does. And here's the thing: Lissie doesn't know you're here. In two hours our lives will go back to what they were before we met. Lissie won't know what we've done, and she'd never believe it anyway."
"That's certainly true."
"I'm giving you a gift, Buddy. The most special gift I can give a man."
I nod.
"And there's something else," she said.
"What's that?"
"We've already seen each other naked, so the rest isn't such a big deal."
I look at her nakedness some more.
"I've got another idea," she says.
I wait to hear it.
"I think it might help if I show you a view of my body that's never been filmed."
And she does.
Two minutes later, meaning our entire romantic encounter lasted maybe half that long-we talk about making movies, and the type of blouse and sandals she'd been wearing, and how hard it is to be her, with cameras in her face and people shouting and pushing every time she turns around. As she talks, her breasts rise and fall and I become swept up in her delicate beauty and-bless her heart-she allows me a mulligan, and this time I'm playing from the championship tees!
As our second hour comes to a close I feel as though I've known her all my life. We're lying on her bed, gazing into each other's eyes and she seems as if she's about to cry.
"I'm so sorry," she says.
"Sorry? About what?"
"What I've done."
"You mean the pill?"
She places her palm on my cheek. "You're a really nice guy, Buddy. I'm just…It's…"
Suddenly she says, "Oh my God! I almost forgot!"
She slides off the bed and heads to her closet. It's the first time I see her standing with her back to me, and she looks like a different person. She's extremely frail from this angle. Her backbone protrudes like a Rhodesian Ridgeback's. I'd seen her entire back from a distance on the Academy Awards show, but here, in person, it seemed to belong to a different person. She stumbles and nearly falls into the wall. I sit up, preparing to rush over to help her in case she's about to faint, but she regains her footing and steadies herself against the doorway of her closet.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
She laughs. "I'm terribly clumsy. Promise you won't tell!"
Her breathing seems shallow and irregular and I wonder if it had been this way the whole time and I simply hadn't noticed till now, having been so caught up in the experience.
"There it is," she says, and takes a couple of steps into her closet. She bends over and picks up a briefcase, and brings it back to me.
"Your money," she says.
Chapter 17
I'm in the limo with Thomas Jefferson, heading back to the airport. He's tapping his fingers.
"She paid me the million dollars out of her own money?"
"It appears she did," he says.
We sit without speaking. The tapping grows louder as Jefferson seems totally consumed by the challenge of moving his fingers faster and faster against the armrest. He's preoccupied, fidgety, and very possibly angry, which seems completely out of character for the smooth, confident businessman I'd met in the bank.
"Is something wrong?" I say.
" Is something wrong? " he mimics, derisively.
"Is there?"
He stops tapping his fingers and gives me a hard stare. "Was she a good fuck?"
He practically spat the words at me. I'm shocked by his demeanor, which has turned confrontational. I'm trying to decide if Thomas Jefferson is jealous, unstable, or both.
"It wasn't like that," I say.
"Care to enlighten me?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"It was…"
I look at Jefferson's face. He seems to be fighting to keep his anger in check. He repeats my words: "It was…what?"
"It was…like magic."
The anger leaks out of him slowly, like a balloon with a small nick in it. His lips press together in a flat line. "Well, how nice for you."
I nod. "But why would she give me a million dollars?"