Lenora shook her head solemnly. "I don't know baby," she mumbled pensively, "but it must be something mighty big, because if you hadn't passed his test, he was planning to have you, uh, executed."
Lenny Morgan was trembling as she rose from the tub and took a plush towel from the attendant.
Louie entered the bathing area from a side door.
"Hey, leetle sexy one," he called out, "you must come quick, the boss, he wants to see you."
Lenny nodded and tried to pull herself together. It was the sort of fear one has shortly after a near miss on the highway. She had felt almost no fear at all while going through the final test, but now that it was over, she could barely keep from falling in a helpless, trembling heap.
After she had slipped into a sheer robe, Louie ushered her into the basement offices. These were even more plush and important looking than the offices in the Phylogem Club. Lenny stared about her in awe.
The desk was a huge L-shaped affair. It seemed to be made of teakwood polished to a deep glowing brown, almost black. On the short side of the "L" were tiers of telephones, intercoms, and what looked like radio transmitters and receivers. On the long side of the "L" was the usual desk with a velvet blotter, a gold pen set, and a small model of some sort of complicated machine.
To the young and voluptuous blonde, it was like standing in the private office of the President of the United States of America.
Seated in a power-operated swivel chair, Boss Carl wore a clean trench coat and smoked serenely on a thick cigar. The putrid smoke from this cigar wafted towards Lenny as she was given a chair directly in front of the elaborate desk. The odor made her faintly nauseous.
Louie closed the door behind him very carefully, as though he was afraid that someone might try to eavesdrop on their conversation.
For a long moment, Boss Carl sat and stared coldly at the young blonde dancer. Then a huge, happy smile creased his thick, pallid face.
"Baby," he said in genuine respect, "you are really some cookie. I think we're gonna be able to do business."
Despite her previous trepidations, Lenny Morgan was truly flattered at this praise. She had already come to realize that Boss Carl did not throw laurels around carelessly.
"I…" she could barely speak through her still trembling lips, "I'm real glad that you liked my work, but, well, Mr. Boss Carl, I don't really understand what you want me to do. To be really honest with you, I'm getting a bit worried that I may be in over my depth."
Boss Carl laughed his hideous hyena laugh. "Don't sweat it, chickie. You gonna do just fine. The tests were tough because the job is tough. I won't lie to ya about that, but you came through with flying colors and there's no reason why you can't do just as well when the real thing comes up."
"What real thing?"
Boss Carl threw a meaningful glance in Lyle Montagne's direction. Lyle cleared his throat and began to explain the situation in his clear, actor's voice.
"Well, Lenny," he proceeded, "it's a pretty complicated thing to explain. But you have a right to know all the facts before you begin your assignment."
"Assignment?" Lenny interrupted suddenly, "What am I supposed to be? Some kind of a spy or something?"
"Well," Lyle was trying to make his tones as comforting as possible, "in a way that's precisely what you're going to be. You see this machine model here?"
Lenny nodded and stared at the strange device in confusion.
"That machine is called a Xylotrope. It was invented by Masters McClain, president of Xylotropic Industries Incorporated. It is beginning to present a real danger to our vested interests."
Lenny crossed her soft thighs under the sheer dressing robe, "I don't get it, Mr. Montagne."
"You may as well call me Lyle," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
"All right, Lyle," she went on, "but I don't understand what I have to do with this Xenoschalmic industries thing or whatever the hell it is, and I don't see what that stupid little machine has to do with anything."
Lyle chuckled condescendingly, "Of course you don't just right now." He straightened his wide tie and explained, "This little machine is called the Xylotrope, as I said. Its function is sexual. The people at Xylotropic Industries have spent years developing it."
"Fiendish little device," Louie interrupted heatedly, "thees foul leetle sonofabeetch!"
"Yes, well, as you can see," Lyle continued, "we are rather upset by this whole business. You may not know it, but Carl Industries Incorporated, of which the three of us here are the controlling stockholders; Carl Industries Incorporated does the vast bulk of its gross business in the erotic entertainment line. Of course, we have other enterprises that net us a great deal of profit; movies, television, records etc. But far and away the most important product we have to sell is the exclusive and exotic entertainment such as you have seen in the Phylogem Club. It is Masters McClain's plan to crush Boss Carl and his entire company by introducing a machine that will replace the usual performers in this field. Do you follow me so far?"
Lenny nodded weakly. It seemed quite far-fetched to her, but men like Lyle Montagne and Boss Carl did not fool around very much.
"This machine," Lyle pointed now to the model of the Xylotrope on Boss Carl's ornate desk, "this machine is designed to replace the male organ as a stimulant of female sexual excitement."
At this point, Boss Carl picked the small model up and flipped a switch. A distinct whirring noise was accompanied by movement of various parts. Looking closer, Lenny saw that these parts were covered by a soft, rubber-like coating. The main moving part was a large instrument shaped like a plunger, this sinister looking thing moved up and down and in small circles, simultaneously.
Beneath the plunger, there was a soft base that vibrated extremely rapidly. As the machine whirred busily away, Lenny noticed that a lubricating fluid was secreted from invisible pores in the rubberized surfaces.
"This diabolical little contrivance is designed in such a way that all surfaces of the female genitalia are massaged simultaneously. It is, supposedly, guaranteed to produce orgasm in any woman in a matter of mere seconds."
"That's all very interesting," Lenny protested, "but I still don't see where I fit in."
"Look, baby," Boss Carl's gruff voice brought things down to the basic issue at hand, "it's simple. If he starts introducing these machines into clubs and private homes – as he has every intention of doing – it will drive us right out of business. Worse than that, the bastard is planning a device for males that will perform a similarly hideous function. His aim is to drive natural eroticism – women balling women – women balling animals and stuff like that – right out of business. If everybody has one of these things, why, screwing a bull will seem like old hat."
"It becomes, ultimately a great deal more important than just an issue of Xylotropic Industries versus Carl Industries." Lyle Montagne's voice was grave and solemn, his brow was furled in concentration, "You see, Lenny dear, if these things become household items, why normal sex life will be destroyed forever. No mortal can compete with such an ungodly machine. In order to preserve the human race, we will have to initiate sperm bank programs in every city in the entire world! It would be downright inhuman! Downright monstrous!"
Lenny stared at the three concerned men with a gaping mouth and blank expression. She barely believed what she was hearing.
"But," she asked, "why would anybody want to invent such a terrible machine?"
"Thaire aire two reesons, ma cherie," Louie spoke up now, "first, it is common knowledge that thees Meester McClain, he has a vairy beeg grudge against our friend, Boss Carl. They haf been enemies – how do you say it – almost from the days of thaire births."
Lenny nodded. It would not be hard to see how a man like Boss Carl might make some bitter enemies.