Chapter 8

"No way, Bernie," Paul Gannet said. "Poetry is poison."

Paul was the booker for "More at Four," the afternoon news-and-interview show on Channel Six. We were casual acquaintances and I had inveigled him up to the office with the promise of a free drink. Which meant I had to buy a bottle of Scotch. But I figured it was worth it, because if the discussion went the way it was now going, I would have my Secret Weapon close at hand.

"But this is different," I said. "This girl's stuff is really hot. Here, just read some ... "

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Nobody will hear it. The minute the audience hears the word poetry, sets will be switching off all over the city." He emptied his glass. "Got any more of this?"

I poured. "Look," I said, "what you do is hit them with the sex angle. Nobody's going to switch the set off when they hear sex. They'll be turning the volume up."

Paul looked doubtful. "I don't know. This is a family shoxxe can't get too raunchy." He drank. "Anyway-a lady poet is a lady poet. Deadly. Unless she looks hot. Like Erica Jong ... in her younger days. Does she?"

"Well ... not exactly ... " I said. "But that's what makes it intriguing, see. The contrast. She looks like the sweet girl next door, but ... "

"Forget it," Paul said. "Not for us. Now if you have a new cat book or a new diet book-or an astrologer. We haven't had anything on astrology for a couple of weeks ... "

"But ... "

"That's how it is, Bernie. Sorry." He finished off his drink and started to get up.

So I had to go to the Secret Weapon.

"Hold on a second, Paul," I said. "Before you make any final decisions-I'd like you to meet my secretary."

"Your secretary? What for?"

"Well, she might ... show you something you've overlooked," I said.

He stared at me.

I pressed the intercom button. "Peggy, would you come in, please?"

Peggy came in. I introduced them. I could see Paul was impressed. He went so far as to put down his glass to shake her hand.

"Peggy has certain powers of persuasion that I lack," I said.

"I can believe that," Paul said, a little hoarsely.

"Well," I said, "I'll leave you two alone now." And I did.

Jenny was booked on "More at Four" for the following Tuesday.

I went with her to the studio. She was very polite to me-as she would be to any stranger. She wore the same uninspiring dress she had worn when she first came to my office. And the glasses, of course. There was one difference, though-she had her dark hair up in a bun instead of loose. It was as though she was defiantly trying to make herself dowdier instead of sexier.

Before the show started, we were introduced to the director, Osborne Miles and the two anchor persons, Larry Brewster and Nancy Norris. Miles took one look at Jenny and said, "Oh, God. I think Paul has finally flipped."

"Wait a minute," I said.

"A poet!" he said, rolling his eyes. "Just don't read any, dear, all right?" He walked away.

Larry Brewster took one look at her and said to Nancy, "I'm glad .you have to interview her." And he walked away. Nancy Norris eyed her and asked, "Are you going to be wearing that dress, dear?"

"Yes," Jenny said.

"Oh," Nancy commented and walked away.

I patted Jenny on the arm reassuringly. She pulled away from me. "Look," I said, "don't let them get to you. Just be yourself. Don't be nervous."

"I'm not at all nervous," Jenny said.

"Right," I said. But I was.

Jenny didn't get on until three-quarters of the way into the broadcast. I watched on one of the backstage monitors as Brewster, at the anchor desk, introduced the segment.

"A real treat coming up now," he said. He sounded sardonic, but then he always sounded that way. "Nancy is going to talk with a promising new literary talent, a young lady who we are told is headed for the best-seller list. Remember you saw her here first. Nancy?"

I noticed he hadn't used the dreaded word "poetry."

The scene switched to a shot of Nancy and Jenny facing each other in a couple of uncomfortable-looking chairs. Nancy smiled at the camera.

"This is Jennifer Jourdemaine," she cooed. "An exciting new author whose first book, entitled 'The Regretful Rose,' has just been published by Forest Press." She turned to Jenny. "Jenny, it's nice to have you here. What a lovely title-'The Regretful Rose.' Where does it come from?"

"It's the title of one of the poems in the book," Jenny said. I saw Nancy wince slightly, then hastily cover it with another smile. Jenny went on: "Would you like to hear it?"

"Uh ... let's chat a bit first," Nancy said. "It's such a romantic-sounding title. Your poems-your work is mainly concerned with romance, isn't it?"

"Yes," Jenny said. "And love. I believe that the love relationship between men and women is the most important subject in the world."

"I think most of us would agree with that," Nancy said, "but do you ... "

"Especially for poetry," Jenny said.

Nancy smiled again. Very brightly. "Tell us a bit about yourself, Jenny. What made you become a writer?"

"I've always written poems," Jenny answered. "Since I was old enough to write. But I never felt I was a real poet until I began concentrating on love as a subject. Now ... "

"Yes," Nancy interrupted. "That's certainly fascinating. What is your view of the feminist movement, Jenny?"

Jenny looked surprised. "Why?" she asked curiously.

"Well ... your being a member of the-the new generation of artists, I think our viewers would be interested in your opinions," Nancy said.

Jenny shrugged. "I think it's fine."

"You don't think the romanticism you say you emphasize in your work might clash with the principles of ... "

"It's not romanticism," Jenny broke in. "It's reality. All my poems deal with the realities of love. I'd like to read one of them to show you what I ... "

"Well, we're a little short of time ... " Nancy began.

"I'll read a short one," Jenny said. Before she could be stopped, she had her book open. "It's called 'Summer Sweetness' " The camera moved in on her as she began to read: "My pale thighs open like the apple blossom As your serpent tongue winds into The nexus, warm and wondering, of my being. The ancient honey flows to your lips, And I writhe in breathless dance Desiring forever the throbbing in my soul. Oh rise to me, my love, Enter my body with your pulsing wand, Split me in two and let our keening mouths Cry tidings of our cleaving through the earth."

There was a long pause.

"Uh ... " Nancy said. "Um ... Yes. Well ... ah ... that was ... uh, thank you ... um, Jennifer Jourdemaine. Now ... back to Larry."

Nancy had been so startled that she had even forgotten to smile. But Larry, back at the anchor desk, could hardly contain his laughter. His toupee shook as he tried to suppress his reaction. "Thank you, Nancy. Most interesting. Yes, indeed. Well-we'll have some sports news for you right after these messages."

Jenny came backstage as the commercials came on. I wanted to hug her, but considering her attitude toward me, it didn't seem like a good idea.

"You were terrific!" I told her. "Marvelous! I'm really proud of you, Jenny."

Her face was flushed with excitement, but she still looked coolly at me. "Even though I didn't look like a sex object?" she said.

"Forget that," I said. "You were wonderful. The book is going to sell a billion copies."

"I'm glad you're interested in the book," Jenny said. "Even if only for financial reasons."

"Of course I'm interested. Jenny, look, just because ... " But I stopped because Nancy Norris had come up to us. She still looked a bit stunned, but she smiled at Jenny-a different smile from the one she used on camera, though not necessarily more sincere.

"Quite a performance," Nancy critiqued. "She should go far, this girl." Then she looked Jenny up and down, a speculative gleam in her eye. "Do you-ah-go both ways, dear?"

"What?" Jenny asked.

"No, she doesn't," I said. "Thanks anyway."

Nancy gave me a glare, then shrugged and walked off. Hard on her heels came Larry Brewster, eyes glittering and toupee a-quiver. "Just have a moment while the sports guy is on," he said in his deepest tones. "Really wanted to tell you how great you were in there, Jen. Look, how about you and me grabbing a bite to eat after the show?" Hmm?"

"She's busy, "I said.

This time it was Jenny who glared at me. "No, I'm not," she said firmly. "I'd love to," she told Larry. "Thank you."

"Great. Hang around, I'll pick you up later." He winked at me and was gone.

"That wasn't a good idea," I commented.

"Why not?" Jenny said coldly. "And what business is it of yours, anyway?"

"Look, Jenny. You just read an erotic poem on television. A lot of people who don't know you are going to think you're ... "

"A sexpot?" Jenny inquired teasingly.

"Well, yeah. Now that's great for selling books, but it means you're going to have to be very careful in dealing with people who might want to ... take advantage. Especially guys like Brewster."

"I'm sure I can handle myself, thank you," Jenny said. "And Mr. Culligan, I would appreciate it if you would not interfere any further in my personal life. It's no concern of yours-and it never will be."

And she walked away from me.

"Tough titty," Nancy Norris said from behind me.

I swung around, startled.

"Guess she doesn't go either way," Nancy said. She gave me one of her bright smiles. "How about you?"

"What?" I said intelligently.

"I just have to sign off in two minutes and I'm done for the day," Nancy said. "Want to screw a TV star?"

"Uh ... " I said.

"Sure you do," Nancy said. "Everybody does. You wait right here. I'll be back."

I waited right there. I watched the monitor as Larry and Nancy did a little cutesy patter-supposedly spontaneous-as they closed out the program. Did I want to screw her? Well, she was a phony through and through, but she wasn't bad-looking-long reddish-blonde hair, a great set of cheekbones and a sleek, well-engineered body. and as you may have noticed, I'm not in the habit of turning down a romp in the hay when it comes along. As I watched her signing off, my cock twitched in anticipation. Of course I didn't like her much, but my cock didn't care about that.

Before the credits had stopped rolling, Nancy Norris was beside me. "Come on," she said. "Follow me." And she walked away, before I could say anything.

I thought I probably should have been offended by her confidence, and for a brief moment, I thought of just walking out of the studio. A very brief moment. Watching her back, I noted the elegant carriage of her slender body and the shapely lines of her long legs. I followed her.

She took me to her dressing room. It was small and cluttered. There didn't seem to be much room for sexual activity; but what the hell, it was at least bigger than the closet up at Carswell & Haynesworth and I had done all right in there. I noticed a lot of mirrors around; aside from the dressing-table mirror, there was a full-length looking glass on one wall and a smaller one hanging on the back of the door, plus a few others here and there.

Nancy closed the door and locked it. Then she turned to face me. She looked me up and down, much as she had looked at Jenny. "You're a big one," she said. "God, I'm horny. Take your clothes off while I get rid of some of this makeup."

Just to show some independence, I didn't start stripping right away. I leaned against the wall and looked around while she sat at the table and started removing her television makeup. "When you came on to Jenny before," I said, "I had you figured for strictly a ladies' girl."

"Not me," Nancy said. "I do it all. Most of the time I prefer men, actually. Especially after a show. I get so damn hot after a show. Always. Every time." She looked at me in the mirror and her eyes were burning. I figured I had shown my independence sufficiently. I began to undress.

"You know why?" Nancy asked, but she didn't wait for a reply. "Because when I'm on, I know that men-hundreds, thousands of men-are watching me and lusting for me. It's true, you know. Men tell me that. And they write to me about it. Not just weirdoes, either. All sorts of men. They watch me on the air and they think about fucking me. Sometimes they sit there and jerk off just watching me. When I'm on camera and I think about that, I get hot as hell. My nipples go all hard and I get wet between my legs. Then, afterwards, I have to have somebody. I just have to."

I took my pants off. "So you latch on to whoever's around," I said.

"Don't be nasty, dear." She stood up and faced the full-length mirror. "You're getting what all those men only dream about. They strip me in their fantasies. Imagining how it would be to see me take my clothes off." She raised a hand to the neck of her dress and began to open a row of buttons down the front. When she had it open down to her waist, she slipped the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Her figure in bra and panties was fuller than I had expected, but the overall effect was still one of slender elegance. My cock stood up to show its appreciation.

I was watching her in the mirror, but she wasn't looking at me. She was staring at her own reflection. Her hands brushed over her body, lightly caressing it. Then they reached back for her bra catch.

"They would give anything to see what my breasts look like," Nancy murmured. And she took off the bra.

Her tits were terrific. Perfect round melons sitting firm and proud, with rich, red nipples sticking up and out. She touched them. Her eyes never left her own body in the mirror. Neither did mine. I dropped my shorts.

Nancy took off her panties. "They dream of seeing me naked," she said, a bit breathlessly. "Look. I'm naked. This is my naked body." The narcissistic woman moved closer to the mirror, until her nipples touched the glass. Then she pressed herself against it. A tiny gasp came from her throat. For a moment, I thought she was going to kiss herself in the glass. But then she moved back a few steps. Still gazing at herself as if in a trance, she slid a hand down over the front of her body. Her legs moved apart slightly and her fingers went between them. "Look at me naked," she moaned, stroking herself. "Nancy Norris, naked."

I had the feeling she wasn't talking to me anymore, but to the unseen hordes of lusting television viewers. I wasn't even sure she knew I was there anymore. But the throbbing of my cock told me I was there all right. I moved forward and reached for her. At my touch she gave a start, then pressed herself back against me.

"Fuck Nancy," she said breathlessly. "Fuck the TV lady."

"That's the idea, all right," I said, rubbing my hard prick against the smooth, yielding cheeks of her ass.

"Wait," Nancy said, pulling away. She reached for her dressing-table chair and swung it around to face the full-length mirror. "This way," she breathed. "Sit down. Sit down here."

I sat. There was no bed or couch in the room, so the chair was probably as comfortable a place as any. I figured she would straddle me face-to-face; but instead, she lowered herself into my lap with her back to me. Of course-that way she could still see herself in the mirror. All of herself.

She sat down on me slowly, her thighs spreading wide. As she moved back against me, she reached down between them, found my stiff prong and held it at the angle which would guide it into her descending pussy. We both gasped as the tip of my tool slipped into her. She took her hand away then and her tight warm cunt slid down over me like a custom-fitted sheath.

Nancy hissed with pleasure. "Ah," she said. "Ahh. Ohh. Ahhh."

"I agree," I said. And I did.

Nancy spread her legs as far apart as they would go, planting a foot on either side of the chair, which let me slide more deeply up inside her. It also gave her-and me, over her shoulder-a good view in the mirror of my prong stabbing into her pussy. In fact, the view of her whole body in that position was pretty spectacular.

Her hips began to squirm as she gazed at the reflection in front of her. I encouraged her by pumping myself up and down slightly and she took the hint and began a slow but rhythmic rising and falling movement around my happy prick.

"Look," she breathed. "I'm fucking. I'm fucking you. "Ohh ... oh, look how beautiful ... "

It was beautiful, with her sleek body in motion, her succulent breasts quivering, her slender legs open to show the long stretch of her inner thighs, her triangle of reddish pubic hair below which her cunt rose and fell over my cock. She watched herself as she moved harder. I reached around her to put a hand over her breast, rubbing the hard nipple between my fingers, bringing a moan from her. I slid my other hand down over her stomach, through her pussy hair and down to the labia of her moving cunt, my fingers probing for and finding her tiny clit.

She inhaled sharply when I touched her little love-button and then moaned again as I gently brushed my fingers across it. I continued to explore that sensitive area, while with my other hand I played with her breast, squeezing and stroking them and twiddling the nipples. Nancy's breathing became harsh and she began to move harder. I watched the breast I wasn't holding jiggle sexily in the mirror as she got into a strong up-and-down rhythm. My own breath was coming faster and I moved with her as much as I could beneath her writhing bod.

Nice as this was, I was beginning to wish for a position in which I could be more active. I wanted to really bang it into her and see if I could get her mind off her own image. But that was probably an impossible task. And I really didn't have any cause for complaint. I slid my hand over to the other knocker and squeezed hard, while my fingers stroked in quick little circles around her clitoris.

"Uhh ... " Nancy gasped. "Unnh ... Aaahh ... " Her movements got jerkier and I knew she was on the way to climax; so was I. I brought my head forward and licked at the skin of her shoulder, suppressing a desire to sink my teeth into it.

"God, I'm ... I'm going to come ... " she panted. "Oh, look ... I'm coming ... watch me come ... ohh ... watch Nancy come ... Aaahh ... Unnhh! ... Aahh! ... LOOK AT ME ... AAAAHHH!!"

I watched her and she watched herself. Her hands clutched at my legs and her body spasmed once, twice, three times. Her mouth was open and gasping; her eyes never left the mirror.

She went limp then, slumping in my lap like a deflated rubber doll, my hard cock still up her cunt. I had held off to give her her orgasm and now it was my turn. But Nancy didn't seem interested. I gave her a few moments to recover, but the occasional involuntary twitch of her pussy kept me on the edge. I moved my hips suggestively. No response. I fondled her nipple and licked the back of her neck, trying to raise some interest. Nancy only made a noise that sounded like protest.

"Come on, baby," I said. "My turn." I squeezed her boob.

"Don't," she said. "I'm finished."

"Yeah, but I'm not." I moved up and down as strongly as I could beneath her, but the limp weight of her made if difficult. Still, I was able to slide my prick in and out of her tight twat to a limited extent. In my present state, that was enough.

"No!" Nancy whined, trying to pull away from me. I tightened my arms around her and the squirming of her body pushed me further toward the finish line. It also made me mad. The self-centered bitch had gotten her rocks off and didn't give a shit about anything else. It didn't turn her on to watch me get off.

Unable to break my grip on her, Nancy went limp again, but by now I was about to come. I felt my whole body tightening, ready to shoot my hot wad up into that soft, warm cunt. But I had another idea. At the last minute, I tightened my hold on her even more. With a supreme effort, I lifted her body just enough to let my cock slip out of her. I held her back against me as it began to spurt strongly and the silver jets shot up into the air and fell onto her body. The first couple of shots splashed onto her lovely breasts and the rest hit her stomach and then her red pubic triangle before dribbling off.

Nancy cried out with indignation and tried to hit me with her elbows. I let her go then and she jumped and took a swing at me, blindly and missed. "You bastard!" she yelled.

I got up. Maybe it had been a rotten thing to do, but I couldn't feel too bad about it. In fact, I was chuckling. "Never mind," I told her. "Think of all the TV fans who fantasize about Nancy Norris with cum coating her body."

"Bastard," she said again, but less harshly. Then she turned to the mirror. I guess I had said the right thing. Her eyes softened as she gazed at herself with the slick white stuff dripping from her sweet flesh. Slowly she raised a hand to one tit and began to rub a wad of semen over her skin, while all those unseen men lusted and jerked themselves off in her mind.

I'd had enough and got dressed as quickly as I could. By the time I was ready to leave, Nancy wasn't mad at me anymore. She even kissed me goodbye and offered to give me her autograph. But I told her I hadn't brought my book with me.