Chapter 14: European Tour, Old and New Friends, Threats, and Deception

The envelope had a wax seal across the flap embossed with the script letters 'NR'. On the front, written in bold letters, were the words, "To be opened only by Jim Mellon." An usher brought it to me at intermission time. I thanked him and went to tip him, but he said, "Oh, no sir, the young lady handsomely tipped me to deliver this to you personally." I figured it was some not-so-subtle fan mail.

The green room door opened and a stage hand yelled into the room to Crystal and me, "On stage in sixty seconds."

We were at Wembley Stadium outside London singing for a record crowd of 90,000 fans. This was the first stop on our European Tour that Terry Ross, our agent had put together. It was May, and the English weather was unseasonably warm. In the coming weeks, Crystal and I were to do concerts in a dozen major European cities, and while in each city we were also to do local premieres of our two movies: Pressure Limit and The Naked Truth. All told we'd be in Europe six weeks; this would also allow Crystal and me some time to sightsee if we could disguise ourselves sufficiently to avoid the cut-throat European paparazzi.

After a second encore, Crystal and I ran back through the aisle secuity guards had provided for us to exit the raised stage in the middle of the arena. We'd worked the crowd into a country frenzie of joy and happiness. I hadn't known that the Brits liked American country music that much, but they sure changed my mind with the reception they gave us. We left the crowd feeling good and feeling the love of the universe. Crystal spoke articulately about our relationship while I stood there and blushed; all I could do when my turn to speak came was to suggest to the huge audience that they spread the love that Crystal felt and that all of us had in us. The crowd cheered and applauded wildly.

We ran back through some doors on the side of the soccer pitch, down a couple of corridors, and back into the safety of the green room. Several security guards hovered outside the door to be sure we weren't disturbed by the uninvited. The sounds of the crowd were finally muffled by the walls and ceiling. I turned to Crystal and pulled her into my arms, "You were specctacular tonight. How can you have so much love inside you? Everyone here tonight felt it."

She pecked at my lips, "Because you're in my life, that's why." I then got a big hug and kiss.

Terry burst in the door. "Wonderful. Fabulous. There aren't enough great adjectives to describe your performance tonight. I'm going to take you out of the country more often. This was a peak for the two of you. I'm glad we video taped it. Sony might make something of this one – you know, something like an album entitled Live from London."

Billy and a couple of the band members appeared soon, and we stood around congratulating each other and listening to Terry's raves. Cindy and the rest of The Hobo Palace band members joined us; I'd never heard them perform better than they did that night. We were all at a peak.

I'd heard people talk about vortices of goodness and spirituality around the world – places where the spiritual energy peaked within each of us. I recalled that Sedona, Arizona was supposed to have four of them. The vortices there are so strong the trees near each vortex grow in a twisted way, unlike those a few hundred yards away. Crystal and I had felt it when we were there with our friend Tama during my road trip. There were other vortices around the world too: Stonehenge and the Great Pyramids were supposedly two of them. Maybe Wembley Stadium had turned into a vortex of goodness and spirituality and love that night.

We packed up our gear, changed our clothes to more mundane and less sparkley outfits, and started for the limousines that would take us back to our downtown hotels. Just before we left, I saw the envelope that had been delivered during our break. I tossed it into my duffle bag, and we left.

Most of our entourage stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel on Park Lane in London, right on the edge of Mayfair – an exclusive neighborhood and shopping area. We'd checked in earlier, so we just rolled into the hotel and went up to our suite.

I tossed the duffle bag on the bed. Crystal said to me, "I'm not sleepy yet. Can we just hang out and talk for a bit. I'm still keyed up from the concert; I put out a lot of energy tonight, and I got a lot from the crowd in return."

I nodded and unzipped my bag. There on top was the mysterious envelope. I picked it up and turned back to Crystal. "This came during intermission."

I tore into the envelope. There was one printed page inside – a photograph and some text.

The photograph showed a group of mostly naked people in some kind of orgy, bodies side by side with a lot of fucking going on. In the middle lay a very pretty young woman in whose pussy I had my cock buried. The photo must have been taken during my stopover in Oklahoma. I'd gone to a debutantes ball, been the guest of honor, and afterwards had attended the party-after-the-party, an event that turned out to be an orgy of all orgies. I hadn't been aware of anyone taking photos; however, many there had cell phones with that capability.

I read the text beneath the photo.

"Wouldn't the press like to know that you had sex with an under age girl? Think of the scandal and the damage to your reputation. Would Crystal break up with you? For the small sum of $5,000,000 this memory and photo can go away forever. Think about it. A Swiss bank account awaits your payment to AB Swissbanc, Account 007762-31-8319. Don't wait more that fourteen days to complete your deposit. I've been nice and given you extra time because I know international money transfers for this amount take a while. Don't waste it. Don't involve the police or you know what will happen."

My brow must have furrowed as I read and re-read the page. Crystal saw my look and said in a concerned voice, "What's that?"

I tossed the paper to her and mumbled something about Oklahoma. Crystal not only knew about Oklahoma, she'd told me multiple times she wished she'd been part of the party. She scanned the photo and read the brief message. She firmly spoke, "Babe, you are being blackmailed. I think in most countries that's a felony."

"You're not concerned that I might have had sex with an underage girl?"

Crystal stood and came to me, embracing me in a hug; "I know you. You wouldn't do that intentionally, plus you told me all about Oklahoma. It sounded like fun, and the kind of party you know I'd like to go to once in a while. I can imagine how some underage babe slipped into the mix as you jumped from pussy to pussy."

I vaguely remembered the woman that had taken me to the debutante's party, Heather, telling me that you had to be eighteen or older to be a debutante in the city's social circles.

In the morning, I met with Crystal, Terry, and Dan, and showed them the letter. They shook their head in dismay.

Dan said, "This is not good news, but if it does break it would die out after a few weeks at the rate scandals of celebrities go. After a few months it would be all but forgotten. We'd play for sympathy about the blackmail, and deny the charge, of course."

Terry said, "But sex with an underage girl is illegal in about every state in the union. He could be arrested, tried, and jailed for years. It's considered statutory rape."

Crystal said, "You have no idea who sent this to you?"

I shook my head, "I barely remember the event let alone the names of the various girls that were there. They were all debutantes, so their names would have been in the paper."

Dan said, "You need more information – like knowing who sent this and why? Money may not be the primary motive. Maybe they're just out for your blood, or to break up you and Crystal."

"I know someone that could get some of this information – a detective friend I met on my road trip who lives in Kansas City."

"Call him."

"It's a her, and I will in another three hours when she'd be up and about. It's six in the morning where she is. Her name is Mils."

After our caucus, Crystal and I went for a run – three times around Hyde Park, down past Buckingham Palace, out to Picadilly Square, up Regent Street to Oxford Street, and then back to the hotel. We then spent an hour in the hotel gym, followed by showers. Life didn't look any better after the exercise than it did beforehand.

Just after lunch, I called Mils Cartright, private detective. I'd met Mils in the black hills of South Dakota. She fallen, broken her leg in a fall to narrow ledge on a mountain, and might have died of exposure if I hadn't found her. We hit it off, and I hung around with her, and later her best friend Connie. The sex with Mils and Connie was amazing.

I had taken a photograph of the letter with my cell phone and emailed it to Mils along with my knowledge of the event in the photo. When I got her on the phone, I asked her to open up the email attachment. After a minute, she said, "Wow! That's too bad. Did you know she was underage?"

"No, of course, not. I guess she got slipped into the mix."

"Looks like fun from the photo. Wish I'd been there. Heck, I wish I were with you now; I'd fuck your brains out." After a pause, she went on, "Oh, well. I suppose you want me to find out the who, what, why, where, when, and how about this – and real fast based on the time scale this person gave you. Do you think this came from the underage girl or someone else?"

"Good question. I have no idea. The envelope had a wax seal with the initials 'NR' on it, but I bet that's on purpose to mislead me." I'd also immediately assumed it had come from my victim; however, it could have come from any of about seventy people who were at the party."

"Well that narrows things down considerably to only most of the state of Oklahoma," Mils said sarcastically. "Give me some more information, like how it arrived into your hands."

I described for Mils the concert setting, the purpose of our trip, our itinerary, and so forth. I could hear the click of computer keys as she made notes from our call. She even asked me to describe the courier, as well as how I connected with all the debutantes in Oklahome a year or so earlier. I gave her Heather's name and phone number. In the end, I felt questioned about every aspect of the orgy, as well all the circumstances either of us could think of around the letter.

Mils said, "I'll be in touch. I might have one of my associates in London get in touch with you too." We rang off, as the British say.

The England premiere of Pressure Limit took place at the Odeon Theater on Leicester Squsre in downtown London. The star studded event drew royalty – Prince William and Kate, the first people of the nobility I think I'd ever met. Apparently, the movie had been touted as the most exciting action movie of the decade, so no one wanted to miss getting an early viewing. The man who recently played James Bond, Daniel Craig, also came up and greeted me warmly.

Crystal looked like the star she was as she allowed me to escort her to the crowded showing and the gala party at the Savoy after the screening. We danced and danced into the night.

Every time I scanned the crowd, either attending the surrounding events or the sidewalk spectators watching us arrive or leave, I searched for a familiar face – a face that might be intent on blackmail; a face that wanted to either embarrass me or get five million dollars of my wealth.

I wouldn't miss five million dollars. In the two years since I'd met Crystal the money had rolled in, and now between the movie and the five Grammys, I knew that this year my earnings would top any others in my life by an order of magnitude. I'd also picked up some advertising endorsements, some pro bono for non-profits, and some paid for products I deemed socially acceptable and that didn't hurt people or the environment. I guess once you start making money, the universe keeps the ball rolling. I learned this was called the Law of Attraction.

Instead of a call from Mils, I had a visitor just after lunch the following day. Margaret St. James presented her business card to me with great aplomb as she stood at the door to our suite. She wore a masculine yet highly tailored three-piece suit that I guessed came from Saville Row, and spoke meticulous English with a beautiful British accent. She asked me to call her Margo. Despite her formal dress, she had a casual and friendly air about her.

Margo sat and explained her presence; "Miss Mils Cartwright and I are of the same profession. I have worked with the lovely lady before on both sides of the pond" – a British term for the Atlantic Ocean. "She asked me to be your contact in Europe since so many of the leads we're following are in Europe."

I asked, "How's that?"

She went on, "Mils is in the process of checking out the twenty-eight young ladies that were the debutantes at your ... party, which is a well-known event and had been in the papers around the time of the ball. We are also tying down the names of their escorts for the evening, and that's less public so we're struggling with that."

"Go on."

"She wanted to test an assumption with you, specifically, that at least one of the young women at your org ... err, your party after the party came from the United Kingdom or from elsewhere in Europe."

I smiled, "You can call it an orgy if you wish. I should probably have been more circumspect in my attendance."

Margo didn't offer any value judgement about the orgy; she just asked, "Do you recall any person at the event speaking with a British accent ... or Irish or Welsh or anything else from Europe?"

I tried to remember the event, even picturing the nude young women, many wearing sexy white thigh high stockings and spike heel shoes as we sexually cavorted. One goal of the evening had been for every guy, me included, to fuck every girl there and vice versa. Everyone was having fun. Various cluster fucks had been arranged with a half-dozen or so girls lying back with their pussies exposed, as the guys rotated past them spending a minute or two pumping their cocks in and out of the wide variety of cunts. I got a visible bulge in my blue jeans as the past scenes played against the screen of my mind.

I closed my eyes and visualized the event again. Heather, a girlfriend of Mark the ex-Army guy I was visiting, had been my escort to the ball and the orgy. We'd hit it off, had mindblowing sex, and then she wanted to share me with all the new debs, a status she'd had about a decade earlier. Heather also enjoyed her status as a nymphomaniac by fucking my brains out the entire visit, except when I was with some of her friends or with the debs. She'd had a personal goal to fuck all the young male escorts of the debs at the event; and she had been pretty sure she'd been successful.

Finally, I locked onto the first girl, so young but so desirous of my cock in her pussy. Many of the girls that night wanted to get fucked by a country music star. I had been up for the challenge.

I blurted out, "YES! I think there were two. I can't remember their names or what they looked like, but I have a memory of a couple of youthful British girls with their formal and interesting sounding voices. As I recall they were much hornier than the others in the room. I couldn't tell you what part of your country they were from; I don't distinguish the dialects."

Margo took some notes, and asked, "What about the young men?"

I remembed doing high-fives with some of the guys when we'd finish a particular cluster and move on to the next group of women.

I told Margo, "As near as I can remember, all the guys seemed to be American; I don't remember any male accents other than mid-west or Oklahoman."

Margo asked to see the letter, and I gave it to her. She carefully put it in a paper evidence bag after studying the letter, photograph, and envelope, amazingly using a large magnifying glass she pulled from her oversize purse.

Margo asked if I'd recalled anything else about the orgy, the note, the delivery, or anything else that might be relevant to our case. I couldn't, so I rehashed some of the things I'd already told Mils over the telephone the day before. Margo took more notes.

After Margo left, Crystal and I tried to disguise ourselves as ugly American tourists. We walked around London hitting many of the tourist spots and taking photographs. For dinner, we found a small Turkish restaurant near the Maida Vale tube stop that the concierge at our hotel had recommended.

We also called home to talk to Ellen, Claire, and Nadia. We explained about the blackmail and told them not to say anything to anyone. We also told them about our concert and premiers, and our having engaged a detective agency.

A day later, our entourage took the Chunnel Train from London to Paris, a three hour journey with a forty kilometer section of rail under the English Channel. By lunch time, we were in another city in another country, and by one o'clock we were rehearsing for a concert that evening in a studio a few blocks off the Champs-Élysée. We'd sightsee another day.

When one thinks of sports in France, they might cite soccer, skiing in the Alps, cycling – the Tour de France, and maybe rugby. They had no baseball or other national sport that got world attention except for soccer. Thus, it was with some surprise when I saw immense size of the enclosed stadium for our concert venue. Just to the north outside the ring road or Périphérique stood the immense stadium. We were told it would house the 80,000 fans that wanted to hear us. The concert went off without a hitch, and demanded two encores again as the fans stomped and screamed.

I recalled the last few times I had been in a foreign country where English was not the primary language. There was Nicaragua just a few months earlier, and my rescue of Jill Danes; consequently, we relocated our shooting locale to Mexico. Before that, years earlier, my platoon of Green Berets had been deployed by parachute in a night time HALO jump to resolve an unpublicized hostage situation in a North African country. Four hours later, and without a casualty on our team or with the hostages, we had been successful, but had left behind dozens of dead soldiers and mercenaries loyal to the oppressive dictator. We vanished into the early dawn light not even leaving behind a trail that could be followed.

I cradled Crystal's tight little nude body against my own as we slept that night. Sleep didn't come easy; I fretted over the blackmail threat. There were only eleven days left to make the multi-million dollar deposit.

Crystal and I played tourist again the next day along with Terry, Billy, and Dan. We wandered around Paris, went to the Louvre, sat and had the strongest coffee in the world at a sidewalk café, and went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. We had a late afternoon snack, got into our evening gowns and tuxedos, and went to the premiere of Pressure Limit.

Jill Danes had flown over to meet us in Paris to attend the premier. Terry had been in touch with her, orchestrating us into the same hotel and even onto the same floor. Our first contact with her occurred when we heard a knock on the door. We expected Terry, but got Terry and Jill. Jill threw herself into my arms, and even ground her pelvis against mine as we kissed. "Oh, I have missed you so much. You are so sexy. I hope you have some room in your schedule to fit me in ... or to let me fit you in – so to speak." She laughed at her lewd humor.

Jill turned to Crystal, "And Crystal, it is such a pleasure to meet you. I know this man is devoted to you, but I have to thank you for giving him some room to play and have little flings. We had so much fun in LA and south of the border." She hugged Crystal and held her as she talked. I could visibly see an instant rapport between the two women. Jill could be brash at times, but Crystal had looked past that and seen deeper into Jill's personality. I knew that Jill had a soft spot in her heart for me partly because of my rescue of her from kidnappers, but also just because of the chemistry we shared for several months.

Terry hustled us out of the room and down to the waiting limousine. The lobby was full of paparazzi that took a thousand photographs as we disembarked from the elevator and walked to the limo. Crystal and Jill both posed with Terry and me to give them some fodder. Jill said, "If they have some good photos to use for their magazines, maybe they won't bug us so badly later."

Terry carefully orchestrated the arrival of our limousine with the four of us, along with the limo of George Rinard, Crystal's co-star in The Naked Truth. We no sooner stood outside our car and posed for the press photos than George's car pulled up immediately behind out car. Soon, the photos were of Crystal, George, Jill, and me; Terry willingly waited off to the side.

The Naked Truth premiere was the following evening, and so the four of us would be together again for that event as well. Much as Crystal had not met Jill face-to-face until a half-hour earlier, I had never had the pleasure of meeting George Rinard. As Crystal had with Jill, I found a lot of common ground with George and liked him immediately. He seemed more approachable than I had guessed, even with all the stress of the opening of the movies and the presence of a large contingent of paparazzi. I watched as Jill and George met for the first time as well; there seemed to be good chemistry there as well. After all, George and I had been rated as the sexiest men on the planet. Off to the side, I could see all of our agents caucusing and comparing notes: Terry, Jill's agent Helen Ferraro, and George's agent Henri Tourette; each were around the same age as Terry – about thirty.

After many photographs and some red carpet interviews, we went in and watched my movie. This was the seventh time I had to watch the film from beginning to end; somehow, it had stopped holding my attention. Jill leaned into me; "I've seen this too many times. Let's slip out into the lobby; maybe we can find a place to talk ... or play." I heard her giggle softly.

I whispered my plan to Crystal, and she just nodded and gestured for me to go. She advised, "Come back before the end otherwise tongues will wag." I could see her wink at me and give me a grin. She added in a whisper no one else could hear, "And, no pussy until later."

Jill and I snuck out and reconnected just off to stage right of the loge seats. A rare usher escorted us to a small room that turned out to be the manager's office ante room. We sprawled out in the sofa, and started to compare notes as old friends would do.

I hadn't planned on telling Jill about being blackmailed, but she saw something was wrong. "Jim, what's wrong? You have a dark cloud over your head visible to at least those of us that know you. Are you and Crystal OK?"

I responded, "Yes, that's not a problem. Crystal and I are solid." I paused and then went on, "I'm being blackmailed as of five days ago." I explained about the note, the situation regarding the Oklahome orgy, a threat to reveal I'd inadvertently screwed an underage girl, legal and trial consequences, and how it would have been easy for some underage but mature looking girl to sneak in under the radar screen and be part of the more than thirty women I fucked that night."

Jill listened and then got a big smile, "Oh, I wish I'd been there – all that young male testosterone and stamina. I would have fucked all night long. What a dream that would be. I've got to get me a toy boy." She rolled her eyes upward as though looking to heaven for inspiration.

We chatted for an hour, and then, by my estimate the film was entering its final minutes. We took turns slipping back into our seats, so that as the film ended, the facilitator could ask us to rise and take bows for our performances. We got a thunderous round of applause.

Our real appearance for the opening of the film turned out to be a party after the showing. A wide back corridor of the theater had been transformed into a jungle reminescent of the some scenes from Nicaragua in the film. Various bars around the room were serving tropical drinks with little umbrellas along with the standard beer, wine, and hard liquor mixes.

Crystal, Jill, George, and I circulated, shaking hands and responding to people with brief one liners about our films and how they were made. Sony Entertainment would have been proud of us; we were upbeat and did justice to the event. In my head, I ticked off having to do this again in Paris on this trip.

After a half hour of being party stars, Terry herded us to the door as though we had another place to be before the evening ended. We shared a limousine and went back to the Hotel George V, threading our way through a crowd leaving some formal function to get to the elevators and up to our suite. By this time, there were seven of us: Crystal, Jill, George, Terry, Helen, Henri, and me.

During the limousine ride from the Normandie theater to the George V, not a long distance, Jill asked Crystal if she could jump my bones when we got in more private space. Crystal laughed and indicated that she should be asking me. Just to show the kind of plans she had, Crystal snuggled into an embrace with George, her older co-star in The Naked Truth, and Henri, George's agent, who displayed surprise at her open display of intimacy but each clearly welcomed the intimate contact.

We no sooner entered our suite than Jill turned and planted a lip lock on me that turned my knees to jello. I forgot how nice it was to kiss my leading lady this way.

Jill wore a calf-length skirt with a slit up both sides to display her gorgeous legs as she walked. The material carried a black and white print, not unlike a crazy zebra print. The v-neck dippped dangerously low between her breasts. Up the front ran a black zipper whose presence had been integrated into the design of the dress.

Jill took my hand and put it on the pull of the zipper; "Undo me, Jim. These clothes are so confining." She gave me a lecherous grin.

I pulled the zipper down to her waist, and then very slowly to her pubes; I purposefully pushed my hand into her mons. Beneath the chic zebra dress I only found skin. I smiled at Jill at my discovery. She said, "It's so nice to feel the breezes on one's pussy." Jill stepped out of the dress and flowed into my arms wearing only her sexy thigh high stockings and her spike heels.

Around us the others were not idle. Crystal had captured George and Henri. She'd told me about their previous intimate times. The three sat on a cushy love seat making out as the two men pawed Crystal's body, slowly undoing her dress from both top and bottom. The two took turns passionately kissed the star, worked over her breasts, and increasingly paid attention to her pussy as nudity overtook the trio.

On the other sofa, Terry and Helen were nearly naked, their hands flying over each other's bodies at a rapid rate as clothes dropped around them. I watched as Terry pulled a lacy thong from Helen, tossed it over his shoulder, and went down on the attractive brunette who moaned loudly.

Soon, the sounds of body slapping against body filled the room. As always, my own desire and lust were heightened by the presence of the others in the room. Jill and I tried to put on a show for the others by changing position so Jill's body vividly displayed my cock sliding into her cunt. Helen and Terry watched us with great interest, so much interest that Helen soon asked of Jill, "Can I get a little of that?"

Jill nodded, and less than a minute later I found a new female impaled on my hyper-erect shaft – a perfect '10' in my parlance. Helen was tight and could do things with her vaginal muscles that were probably illegal back in the States ... and for that matter, probably in most countries. I thrust into her and found the beautiful warmth and challenge of a unique pussy, but on my withdrawal stroke Helen would tighten her vaginal muscles clenching my cock to hold me inside her. The phenomenon drove me to the edge faster than one could imagine.

"Helen, do you know what you're doing to me? In seconds, you've brought me right to the edge."

She smiled down at me from her woman-on-top position. We paused in our thrusts, and she lowered one of her breasts to my mouth. I oscillated my mouth between her mammaries, tasting the unique flavor and scent of a woman new to me. We kissed and made out, making only occasional thrusts into each other. I backed away from the orgasmic edge.

Helen and I paused to watch Crystal, Henri, and George. She was on her knees with George plowing into her from behind as she gave one of her trademark blowjobs to Henri. The scene belonged in some pornographic movie it was so erotic.

Jill had gone to Terry, and immediately started to bounce up and down on his cock, fresh from Helen's cunt. Occasionally, she would roll her hips a dozen or more times, thereby maximizing the stimulation to her clitoris.

I whispered to Helen, "Crystal told me she loved to devastate George. Apparently, his stamina isn't quite what he'd like. If you want to help her, I'm sure she'd enjoy the assistance."