Chapter 7
I awoke to the soft ringing of the telephone. It was the desk reminding me that I had asked to be called at seven o'clock. I mumbled a throaty "thanks" and fumbled with the phone trying to put it back on the stand.
It took me a minute to get my bearings and an outline of the day's schedule in my mind. A schedule, that is, of Cataldo's business. Of course, what else came up in the way of pleasure I couldn't foresee. If it was another day like yesterday I might not make it through the convention.
The fog rapidly dispelled from my mind, I hopped out of the sack and went into the bathroom for my start of the morning ritual. A shower first and then my period of intense exercises. The huffing and puffing, which got the blood stirring, the brain sharp and alert, and my skin glowing, was followed by a steamy bath and then a cold shower, as cold as I could stand it. Man, I was really awake and ready to go after that.
A knock on the door was followed by a bellhop who brought in a tray with a hot cup of black coffee and a Bloody Mary. I flipped him a tip and slowly sipped the tarty tomato drink with its shot of booze. The coffee took its lickings while I dressed.
I decided on a brown tweed suit, with vest, of course. The delegates would be out in force today and I wanted to make the best possible impression. A tweed suit with a conventional stripe tie was the best combination. I selected an orange and black tie. This was my day to make like a Princeton man. I flicked a cloth over my dark brown cordovan loafers. You can get away with wearing loafers with a tweed suit during the daylight hours. The Yankees all do it. Don't try it though after six. It'll mark you as a farmer.
Pleased with my reflection in the full-length mirror, I got busy on the phone. First I checked with Phil to see how we stood with our radio and TV people. He reported that Cataldo had done well on all the eleven p.m. TV news shows last night. I asked how Ward had done. Phil said he had been given some footage, but not as much as Cataldo. It was Phil's opinion that Ward was used because Lita was hovering in the background clad in this incredibly tight leotard outfit.
It had been jet-black with a wide gold leather belt at her small waist.
"That's old Lita," I said. I made a mental note to get to her again before the day was over. I wondered if she had any zippers in her leotard outfit. If she was wearing it and I was in a hurry, it would sure save a lot of time. Phil also confirmed that old Lita had moved up beside Ward while he was being filmed and slowly turned sideways.
"That must have given the viewers a jolt," I said smiling. "Her set must be worth a hundred votes to Tom Ward."
Phil and I checked over a few more matters and then broke it off. I would see him at breakfast with Cataldo who probably by then was returning from his early morning walk. I figured I better get down to the lobby so I could greet him like a faithful retainer when he entered in triumph followed by his retinue of newsmen and photographers.
I was strolling around the lobby being my usually affable and enthusiastic self when I spotted Lita. She saw me at the same time and I walked over.
"Good morning, sunshine," I said. "That was quite a performance you put on for the boob-tube watchers last night."
"Thank you, darling," she said in reply. "I knew you would appreciate it. And in case you missed it, they're rerunning it on most of the channels again this morning. I'm sure that will make you very happy."
I shrugged. "All is fair in love and war and politics. I'm sure our boy is getting another run-around on the a.m.'s. How's it look for you people, anyway?"
"We're still right up there with you," Lita said.
"Course I'm not sure what you have planned for Sally Fitzpatrick. Her votes could nearly turn the trick for either camp. Is Cataldo going to sic you on to her with that fabulous persuader of yours?"
"He might just do that," I said laughing. Lita was a good kid.
"Well, Mark, just remember we've got a return engagement scheduled. And don't forget the daiquiris."
She smiled coquettishly and winked. "I'll see you later, lover," she said, walking away in the direction of a group of delegates.
"When I do show, Lita, I'd appreciate it if you would doff that lovely A-suit and slip into that sexy leotard outfit. I'm intrigued by the description I got of it."
"All right, old friend. It's handy too. Even has a hidden zipper in the crotch for fast work. Ta, ta," she bade good-bye, a flirtatious smile on her full lips.
I laughed like hell and continued my rounds. I was the hail-well-met fellow with the delegates and the top politicos and the old charmer with their ladies and mistresses. I looked at my watch. Cataldo should be showing up any minute now. I started out to see if I could spot him when the loud speaker informed me that I had a house call. I strolled casually over to the line of phones on the wall shelf and picked up one.
"Yes," I asked. "Mark Vista here. Hello."
For a few second there was only this sound of heavy breathing in my ear. That should have been the tip off right then and there. But it had been a long time. And I just never figured that person to show up at that time.
"Hello, hello," I repeated.
Then a voice that I shall carry with me to the grave replied in tones as rounded and mellifluous as her own thirty-two-year-old body, which had never aged since the first day I entered it as a sixteen-year-old virgin, whispered. "Good morning, darling."
It was like being punched unexpectedly in the gut. My dormant root also reacted to the old love call from out of the past by snapping instantly to its ultimate length.
"Ima! Ima Leigh," my voice trembled slightly. "For God's sake what are you doing in town? Where are you?"
"No details now, Marksy. I'll tell you about it later. How soon will you be free? It's been a long time," she said in her soft husky voice.
"I can break away about nine-thirty. I've got to have breakfast with Johnny Cataldo first. But I could skip that too for you, sweetheart."
"Huh, huh, Marksy," she said with a trace of a reprimand. "You don't want to blow it now after all your hard work."
"I'll blow it any time for you, Ima," I said facetiously.
"Hmmm," she murmured. "I'd like that. But I'll wait. Make it nine-thirty. I'll snuggle up and keep it warm for you until then."
I nearly creamed myself. Man was my luck running good. After yesterday and now Ima at the top of today's list.
"Where are you, Ima," I asked.
"Up in room 963 right here in the hotel, Marksy. And I've been here since last night. You've been a bad boy and I have the films to prove it. But we'll talk about that later. Bye now."
"Wait," I called, almost out of my mind with the news that that fantastic body was right in the same hotel and going to waste while I dallied about the hotel. But Ima had rung off. My thing was hammering away in my threads it was so hot to go with Ima. But she was right: business before pleasure.
I heard a loud commotion at the entranceway and Johnny literally burst into the lobby. He could be a ball of fire when he wanted to be, especially in public. I constantly coached him how important it was for him to always be eager and energetic when mixing with the idiots. They liked their candidates to be dynamos on wheels, so no matter how tired he was Johnny had been instructed again and again to perk up and smile in their midst, even when his ass was dragging from fatigue.
I advanced to my chief and wished him a good morning while the press people gathered around with other circles of delegates, hangers-on and private citizens who yelled' out: "Atta boy, Johnny, give 'em hell! We're with you, baby! You got it made, Johnny!" And other such drivel. Johnny, the complete politician waved lustily and clapped his hands like a prize fighter. The bastard really ate it up. Let him, I figured. Wherever he goes, wither goes I; that was my motto. He could have the spotlight, just give me the dough and the broads.
I waved the press people aside. "Later fellows. We've got some private business to attend to. After breakfast for a few minutes maybe."
They all smiled and moved off, the photographers rushing away to develop their shots for the early p.m. editions and the TV cameramen for the noon shows. Johnny and I pushed our way through a door off the lobby into the Pilgrim Lounge. Phil and Tony Boffo were already there. Over bacon and eggs and hot coffee we went over the plans for the day. Everything seemed to be in order, so we broke it up shortly after getting the check.
Once Johnny and the others were disposed of I checked around to make sure my end was all set. Everything was affirmative and I ducked into the elevator and took it to the eighth floor. From there I strolled down the corridor to the exit door, pushed through and dashed up the stairs to the ninth floor. Man, I was in a sweat thinking of Ima and how long it had been. My visions of all those countless times we had the scene, more even than with Lita, just became one big blur. In mind, Ima was waiting like a vampire to pounce on me as soon as I entered her suite.
I no sooner tapped lightly on the door of her suite than it swung open. Ima was standing tall and erect in the far side of the living room gazing down at the city streets.
Her right hand held a cigarette. I wondered if she still smoked her own blend of Turkish and Virginia tobaccos. Her left hand rested arrogantly against the indentation of her small waist. Ima was a cool one. She was obviously aware of my entrance but never looked around for even a second.
I went right across the room and slipped my arms around her lush body. My hands softly locked on the curved fullness of her turned up bubbies. They rested there without exerting any pressure.
She didn't move a hair. I moved in close and whispered "darling" in her ear, lapping her ear lobe with my eager tongue, and slowly pressing my fingers on the ends of her burgeoning bosom.
Her right hand arced downward and noiselessly dropped the cigarette into a ready ash tray. Everything always seemed to be convenient and ready and accessible for Ima Leigh.
Without so much as whispering a syllable, Ima turned within the confines of my arms. Her stunning features, highlighted by pouting baby lips upon which I had feasted so often, came into view. She raised her mouth until those marshmallow lips parted like flower petals straining for a drop of rainwater.
Then, as though they were steel springs, her strong arms curved around me. She pulled my head down until her lips, trembling in desire, nearly touched. Just before we kissed, Ima whispered in a voice edged with wanton lust, "Good morning, darling."
I smiled to myself. After all those years, she had not forgotten. Ima had remembered that no matter where we made it, no matter how many times, no matter if we were hung over or what, we inevitably began her loving with that simple phrase, "Good morning, darling."
Her lips were crushed and locked against mine. Her breath smelled of smoked wood. I inhaled deeply, recalling the memories of past sessions and vowing to make this the best yet. I gathered up the length of her tongue and sucked it between my teeth where I could nip at it.
My hips swiveled as though they were fixed on ball bearings and I gyrated them against the small hump of her supple belly. Ima inhaled audibly. Our lips held fast like suction cups. My impatient rod shot out and knocked at her female doorway. My penis felt like it was growing an inch a minute. I didn't want to rush this sensual session and leaned back so Ima couldn't feel its presence.
Still unclear in my mind what Ima was doing at the convention, I necessarily concentrated on the business in my hands. I stepped back and settled slowly into a large black leather Ottoman. The cushions sighed beneath my rump. My rigid length of erection loomed before me like a tent pole.
Ima's breasts, as always were proud and upright under her classy outfit. It was obvious from the way they jiggled that she was not using a brassiere. Under the skin tight dress, her belly was flat and firm. As she knelt down before me, I remembered how her buttocks were round and bold without the slightest bit of sag.
Her thin long fingers crept up under my trouser legs. The hair on my body rose in stiff array with anticipation. I held back. I wanted this scene the best ever so that it would remain a delightful dream for her until death.
As we played our erotic drama, no words passed between us. Her fingers tightened around the calves of my muscular legs. Ima pulled herself up so that her curved bubbies rested on my hot knees. My bones ached with desire.
Ima's exquisitely formed features, like those of a Tiepelo virgin, hovered directly over my cock, which by then looked as formidable as the Eiffel Tower. With just the brush of a smile across her face, she gently placed her chin on the end of that trouser-encased bulge.
As I watched in passionate awe, Ima dropped her head so that my oversized magic marker traced the course of her classic profile. She paused briefly as it brushed her honeyed lips, then dropped her head again so that my thing was resting between her eyes. She raised up and with parted lips bit me in the stomach. My marker pulsed longingly against the whiteness of her neck.
My hands groped for the zipper at the back of her clinging dress. As they did, I felt her luscious mouth fix upon the tab of my zipper. Holding tightly with her strong white teeth, she slowly pulled down on the zipper. When it touched bottom, my friend jumped out like a jack-in-the-box.
I was inside the back of her dress now, massaging the lovely skin with my tingling fingers. I jerked when her feverish lips fastened like the coils of a toaster on me. As she tongued it, I moaned and strained in the chair. My teeth gritted in delight. I don't know how I got any bigger, but I did. The onset of some magic physical power imbued my being and my sword surged forward.
Ima gently withdrew her red lips and gazed down at it. It was rigid as a steel girder. Taking it in my hand, I probed her left ear and then the right. Her small nostrils were not left untouched either. They breathed forth hot air no Arab ever simulated.
I didn't want her down again. I would pop too soon. I slid my shaking hands under her damp arm pits and pulled her up to me. She came eagerly. My hands slipped the sheath dress and pulled it off her creamy shoulders. As she slithered along my body, the dress fell on to the floor with a soft rustling noise. Ima watched with her big round blue eyes. Her large ripe tits bobbed in front.
My eyes widened as I saw she wore only a half slip. First with child-like tenderness I slid my hands underneath the band and then changed to animal eagerness to rip it off her. A gasp of anticipation escaped her lips.
As I eased Ima on her side so I could grasp the summits of her big globes, she undid my belt with shaking fingers. I rose up on my elbow and she deftly whipped the trousers off my kicking legs.
I cupped her chin and tilted it back so that my mouth could fasten on hers. I chewed her lips until they filled my mouth. My tongue withdrew from that heated cavern and her teeth locked shut. I knocked again at the white teeth. She laughed lightly and then parted them. My hot tongue snaked within and ran amok with hers in panting pursuit.
Ima's hand was taking the measurements of my whang. She stopped and looked at me teasingly. "C'mon," I said, "you know I like that."
"Do you think I could forget," she said, ardor filling her eyes. With just the tips of her fingers she gripped me again and lovingly massaged me up and down like a roller coaster in slow motion.
Her sensitive fingers wandered over flushed blood vessels until somehow I grew even more. Ima eyed it with wonder. I wondered if it would ever be able to get back to its natural size again.
While her fingers played their tune on my flute, I placed my hand on her soft downy thatch and then let them walk through its lustrous curls. Ima was damp with passion and became wetter as my fingers treaded slowly up the golden path of her slit.
Gently, while our embrace became hotter and hotter, I revolved her body until she was squashed against my hard form. Ima reacted by pressing herself eagerly to me. My periscope peeked through the waves of her curly hair in a search for her hidden heaven. My hands slid along the symmetrical roundness of her ass. My legs parted and I pulled her to me as my erection branded the inner sides of her thighs. A gasp of delightful surprise came from her lips which were still welded to mine.
Suddenly, Ima erupted from my grasp and leaped up on my chest so that her well-shaped legs pressed against my ear. I knew what she wanted and snapped to it. But I played with her by first swirling my tongue in her navel. But she was impatient and pushed my head down until my tongue was doing her urgent bidding.
She opened and closed her female oriface with the facility of a bank vault. I lost myself in that sweet pulsating flesh slapping against my head.
Ima, with her old familiar cat-like grace, moved down and away. Her lush breasts seemed to be everywhere at once. My back and legs were stuck in their sweat to the Ottoman.
I pulled away and hoisted myself up. Ima's legs came down around my hips and tightly circled me. We renewed our tongue wrestling.
With strength drawn from my big girder, I clasped Ima to my body and rose up to carry Ima across the room. I was so big that I had no trouble holding her to me. With my arm muscles swelling to their biggest proportions, my thighs aching to hold back the eternal eruption, and my hips being battered by her legs, I lowered Ima to the couch.
Her legs came up fast to hook over my shoulders. My hands slipped to encompass the fullness of her ass. I squeezed and Ima jumped with the spring of a bitch in heat. We rode merrily along the way to bliss. We could both feel it coming from the well-stoked fires of our loins.
Deeper and deeper I plunged. Faster and faster. Ima's breath came in short gasps. Her head fell back. She no longer had the strength to hold my lips to hers. I could have gone then but decided to keep my goodies a bit longer. Ima had done me dirt not letting me know earlier she was in the hotel.
I eased off, letting the fire of my lust cool off a fraction. I slowly withdrew from her cookie jar. Ima frowned. She arched her back, desperately seeking to lock in my handle and keep me to her.
But I was in command and determined to keep things that way. You've always got to keep an edge on any broad. I rode her up and down through waves of passion and ecstasy. At one point I rammed home with so much force that I was sure I had dismembered myself. Ima responded wildly, going into a frenzy of body contortions.
I finally decided that enough was enough. I had to get back to work for Cataldo. Who the hell knew what those delegates were up to? If you aren't after them every minute some other candidate would be wining, dining and womanizing them. Also I had to find out what Ima was up to. The nation's first female White House press secretary hadn't come to town just to get serviced, no matter how good I was. Ima knew I'd go to Washington any time she needed to get straightened out.
I shifted my body and Ima's legs rose higher above my shoulders. I slipped down a bit lower and found that I still had another inch or so to make a full woman out of her. Raising her with my shoulders, I whispered into her panting mouth, "Ready for the homecoming, baby?"
Another moan of pleasure escaped her curved lips. I went to the mark. My toes dug deep into the couch and I felt like a football tackle bucking a thousand-pound dummy which wouldn't budge a hair but you kept hitting it anyway just for the intense joy of it.
I sensed in my loins that I was rapidly near flaming-out. "Ima, I'm re-entering, baby. Hang on for a meteor miracle and here I come."
"Go on, Mark. Do it," Ima cried. "It's going to happen for me too." Her voice trembled with wonder and ecstasy.
It was a way-out blizzard of bliss for both of us when we sailed together. I felt like it was the very first time. My love filled that mystical well, brimmed over the edges and trickled warmly down Ima's shaking thighs. I sensed as though I were rapidly disappearing into space in myriad fragments.
Ima groaned endlessly, her buttocks thumping against the couch. When she saw my small smile, she flickered her eyes lazily and let down her legs.
I rested my head on her breasts which were large and magnificent. Their summits were raised and red. I mouthed them soothingly, easing my thirst after the great ride.
"Hmmm," she finally said to break the pregnant silence. "Mark, there is just no one anywhere who can do it like you. Not one of those studs in the White
House press corps. You make them all look like lads at play."
"No wonder you've reached the top, Ima," I responded, "the way you know how to build a person up. I thank you for your kind words. As always, it was a pleasure to come through for you. How many times now do you figure that makes it with us?"
"It may surprise you, Mark, but I know exactly. Together we've pounded it out eight-hundred and three times. Not bad when you think all the time we were apart," she said proudly.
"I think I can remember each and every time," I said. "Especially the first one. I'll remember that as long as I love."
"And will you remember that scene you played out last night with Angela Cataldo and her maid?" she asked teasingly.
"Hey," I said, playing for time. "How did you know about that? And what films are you talking about?"
"Relax, Mark darling," she said, rolling over to give me some room beside her. I played with her sharp, spherical breasts. "The boss sent me personally. And I always have the best equipment in every field at my call, including wire taps, listening devices, cameras and recorders. And the experts to use them."
"I can imagine," I said keenly aware of the power of Washington and the services it could muster at the drop of a hat. "But what are you doing here in town."
"It's quite simple, Mark," she said with a touch of disappointment. Apparently she thought I should know without her having to explain the details. "The White House wants to make sure that your man gets the nomination. He's the only one as far as Washington is concerned who can possibly knock over the opposition party's candidate in the November election. Our side is going to need a loyal governor in each state we can count on when the presidential election comes around in two years. We want governors who are loyal to our man and who will be sure to throw their full delegation to him at the national convention in Omaha."
"So, you are already laying the groundwork for the next national election. Certainly no flies on you people."
"That's the way you operate in the big time, Mark. When you've got that kind of power in Washington, you don't want to lose out of sheer lack of attention to details."
"I can imagine. Where the hell else is there to go but down," I observed. "I'm glad you're on our side. How have you assessed our chances?"
"Our own surveys show that Cataldo is neck and neck with Tom Ward. They have about two-hundred and ninety-five votes apiece, give or take a couple each way. Is that the way you figure it?" she asked.
"Right on the head," I said without keeping the surprise out of my voice. Who would ever think Washington kept such close tabs on an in-state nominating convention? "Six votes for Cataldo or Ward and the ball game is all over."
"It has to be Cataldo, or you and I go into exile together," Ima said with a touch of urgency in her voice. "The big man doesn't accept excuses. He only wants victory. So what are we doing about those votes?"
"I figure that Sally Fitzpatrick is holding four of them, counting her own. Her candidacy never really got off the ground, but she did commit three delegates to her cause early. Right now I don't know if she'll release them or not. But she'll have to when she sees how the voting is going so overwhelmingly against her and in favor of Cataldo and Ward. That's when she's got to direct them' to Cataldo. They go to Ward and the delegates holding the other two votes could jump his way."
"All right, so what are we doing to make sure that doesn't happen? Is this Fitzpatrick broad a bag or what? Can you turn the charm on her?" Ima asked.
I smiled. "As a matter-of-fact, she's a good-looking housewife. Three kids. Lots of class. Never heard that she did any playing around. Our strategy calls for me to latch on to her as soon as she arrives which is probably just about now."
"We better get going then," Ima said, now all business. "I'll be in touch with you later. I've got to check with Cataldo."
The two of us blended our bodies in one last long embrace and in unison sprang up from the couch. She let me use the bath first. Within five minutes I was out of the room and on my way to contact Mrs. Fitzpatrick.