Chapter 55: Deluxe Apartment in the Sky!

April 16, 1984, Chicago, Illinois

When I returned to the office on Monday afternoon after meeting with Ivan Voronin, I revised the report I'd written after my trip to Wisconsin, adding a discussion of my meeting and the potential for future collaboration.

Writing the report made me think of Nikki, the receptionist at Belarus who had suggested we get a beer together. When I'd declined because I needed to return to Chicago, she'd asked for a raincheck. I'd given a non-committal answer and now considered if I should call her or not. A few things argued for making the call.

First, I put great value on meeting people and developing contacts, and that meant at all levels, not just Jeri's group of professionals or future professionals. Second, I was at a place where I was trying to find the best path forward, and that, too, called for meeting people. Maybe my future was with Violet, but that was by no means a sure thing, given her past. Third, if I was honest, Nikki was a cute, perky blonde who was interested in me.

There really wasn't a good argument against calling her, so I picked up the phone, dialed 9 for an outside line, then dialed the number for Belarus.

"Belarus Tractors, how may I direct your call?"

"Is this Nikki?"

"Yes. Who's calling, please?"

"Jonathan Kane. We met last Thursday. You asked me out, and I was busy, and you offered a raincheck. Would you like to have a beer?"

"Yes! When and where?"

"Given my schedule, either Sunday, April 29th, or Saturday, May 5th."

"The 5th would be better," she replied. "Where?"

"I'll come there, so you choose. I have a class on Saturday morning; I can be in Milwaukee by 2:30pm."

"Let's say 3:00pm at Wolski's Tavern on North Pulaski in Milwaukee. I can give you directions."

"OK."

She gave me directions, which I wrote down and repeated back to her. Once I had confirmed the directions, we exchanged home phone numbers in case either of us had a conflict.

"I'm really looking forward to it!" Nikki said happily.

"Me, too. See you on the 5th at 3:00pm at Wolski's Tavern."

We said 'goodbye', and I hung up. I made an entry on my calendar, then went back to work. At the end of the day, I had dinner with Deanna, then went to the Art Institute for my penultimate modeling session. After the session, Deanna and I headed home, and I spent time with Bianca and Sofía before the three of us went up to Bianca's room to sleep.

April 17, 1984, Chicago, Illinois

On Tuesday, I left the office just before 10:00am and caught a cab to take me to Congressman Hayes' office. Marcia greeted me, then introduced me to the Congressman. We had a relatively short 'meet and greet', which was what Marcia had suggested would be the case. The meeting lasted all of ten minutes, but I had achieved my goal of meeting the Congressman, and now had to figure out how to cultivate the relationship. In my mind, that was best done through Marcia, so I took her to lunch.

"I need to find a hook," I said. "Something I can help the Congressman with to foster a mutually beneficial relationship."

"Campaign contributions," Marcia said with a smile.

"OK, besides that!"

"His main focus is on programs to convince inner-city dropouts to return to school to complete their diplomas and help them do that. I'm not sure that's an area where you can help being — please don't take this the wrong way — a rich white guy. You can't relate to those kids."

"Is this another 'only blacks can represent blacks' argument?" I asked, positive I sounded slightly annoyed.

"How well do you think a fifteen-year-old black kid living in the projects is going to react to a white guy in a thousand-dollar suit?"

"I'll wear blue jeans and a T-shirt," I countered.

"That doesn't change who you are."

"So, what, then? Go out to DuPage County and find a Republican Congressman who doesn't give a rat's ass about Chicago? That's just flat-out stupid. Find a white Congressman in Chicago and help the Machine make things worse for Mayor Washington and that kid in the projects? Come on!"

"Find a charity run by blacks and donate," Marcia said. "That's the best way for someone like you to help. Support Operation PUSH and let the people who can relate to that kid do the work."

"Do you know how stupid that sounds?" I asked in exasperation. "The only way to solve our problems is to work together and to learn to trust each other. You're perpetuating the idea that white people are the problem. Are some white people the problem? They are. Are all white people the problem? They are most decidedly not. Seriously, am _I_ part of the problem or part of the solution?"

"Both, actually," Marcia said. "Your job exploits the public for personal gain and the gain of other rich people."

"Yes, because all the union members whose pension funds I manage are rich and are all white. I have news for you — that's not true."

"That's like defending yourself against charges of racism by saying you have black friends."

"You've constructed a neat trap and a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's BS. What happened to Doctor King's statement — 'I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character'? Or JFK's — 'take affirmative action to ensure that applicants are employed, and employees are treated during employment, without regard to their race, creed, color, or national origin'?"

"You don't understand; in fact, I'm not sure you can."

"Actually, I do understand. I grew up poor, and every day was a struggle. I can actually relate better to those underprivileged kids than you can! You're digging deeper to make the chasm wider rather than filling in the trench. What you're suggesting, if carried to its logical conclusion, will result in segregation. I'm trying to help, and you're slapping my hand away.

"As for me being the problem, someone has to accumulate the capital to start and fund businesses, manage the funds in pension funds, pay taxes, and lend money to the government. Well, either that, or we become Marxist/Leninist, but I can show you the results of that failed ideology, and they are FAR worse than the results of capitalism."

"Socialism works," Marcia said. "Sweden is a perfect example."

"Sweden is not socialist; that's a complete misconception and mischaracterization. They are a social democracy. The vast majority of businesses are privately owned and operated for shareholder profit. They are traded on either the Swedish Stock Exchange, one of the European ones, or on a US Exchange. They have no forced unionization. They have no minimum wage. They are NOT socialist; they are capitalist. And they're very good capitalists!

"On the same note, China is busy ditching the Maoist version of Marxism in favor of market reforms and, gasp, private enterprise! So don't give me this socialist BS because it doesn't exist. The only countries that are even remotely close to socialist are in the East Bloc and Cuba. Well, and North Korea, but that system defies classification except as a personal fiefdom. I'm not sure where you get your ideas, but they are seriously flawed.

"I also have to ask — what happened? You were far more reasonable before, even if we disagreed in some areas. Now, it's as if I'm Public Enemy Number One. I want to be your friend, I want to find ways to collaborate, and I want to cultivate a relationship with Congressman Hayes. You appear to think that's not just impossible but evil."

"As I said, you can't understand."

I shrugged and shook my head. I finished eating my lunch in silence and thought about what to do. I concluded that there was nothing I could do if Marcia wouldn't relent. And if she didn't relent, she was going to end up being excluded from Jeri's group no matter what I might say in her defense, and I was at a point where there likely wasn't anything I could say, at least with a straight face.

"Call me if you want to talk," I said. "But not if you want to take potshots and tell me how evil I am."

Marcia didn't respond, so I left the deli and caught a cab back to the Hancock Center. Later that afternoon, after thinking more about it, I reluctantly picked up the phone and dialed Jeri's number.

"Lundgren residence."

"Good afternoon, Karl. This is Jonathan. May I speak with Jeri, please?"

"Yes, of course, Master Jonathan. One moment, please."

"Hi, Jonathan!" Jeri said when she came on the line. "What's up?"

I explained what had happened with Marcia and my concern about her participating in the group.

"That's quite the change in attitude for you," Jeri observed. "You were adamant that she was a permanent member."

"I know. It appears I was wrong. Do you have any idea what changed recently?"

"Other than her changing jobs? No. You know we don't really talk. Did something happen between the two of you?"

It dawned on me just then what I'd missed — I had told Marcia that we didn't click and had rejected any kind of relationship with her beyond friendship.

"Crap," I said. "I told her I wasn't interested in her romantically. She wasn't happy, but I didn't think she'd trash our friendship over that."

"If you fucked her, I'd say that's it. She's not me. You and I could fuck, and it didn't affect anything else about our relationship."

That wasn't quite true, but close enough.

"It came down to her being interested in me in a way that I wasn't interested in her. Technically, that was true for you and me, but your transactional view of sex meant that it wasn't about romance in any way, shape, or form. It was, if you will, a business deal. Most people don't see it that way."

"Your view is closer to mine than that of the romantic fools who put WAY too much meaning on it."

"I think my views are more nuanced, but we can have this conversation another time. My point was to warn you that Marcia might act strangely at our dinner on the 26th. If she does, then we'll have a tough decision to make."

"Screw it! We should just disinvite her now. I can't do it because you flat-out forbade me. But here's the thing – why call me if you haven't changed your mind? And if you have, then why beat around the bush? Make the decision, Jonathan — do you think she's going to help or hurt the group?"

"Hurt," I admitted.

"Then I'll disinvite her."

"I guess there really isn't a choice."

"No, there isn't. See you on Thursday next week."

"See you."

We ended the call, and I turned back to my Bloomberg terminal. I wasn't happy with the outcome, but I didn't see any way around it. I pushed that from my mind and completed my workday. When I left the office, I went up to the condo because I wasn't meeting Beth until 6:00pm.

The projection TV had been delivered, as had the sectional sofa. We were still missing the chairs for the TV area, but everything else was in place, including all the necessary kitchen equipment and place settings. The hardware and electrical wiring for the blinds looked to be about halfway done, which is what I expected, and the electrical work in the gallery room was also about halfway done.

In addition to that, the wood flooring in the new Japanese room had been taken up, and the subfloor prepared for the installation of the matts. It was a bit more complicated, but that allowed for the matt floor to be flush with the floor outside the room. That, too, looked to be far enough along that it would be finished by Friday, though I wasn't entirely sure, as the promised completion date had been the end of the month.

I noticed that Deanna had hung some prints on the walls, breaking up the large expanses of white, though eventually, other artwork would replace the prints, and not just Deanna's. I'd buy some other pieces as well, though that would be in the future. All in all, I was very happy, and Natasha absolutely deserved to be rewarded for her work.

I left the condo, took the elevator down to the lobby, and the doorman hailed a cab for me. Just under ten minutes later, I walked into the tailor shop. Beth finished with her customer, let her grandfather know she was leaving, and we walked out to the sidewalk.

"I have all the stuff in the apartment," she said. "Let's just eat at the diner around the corner."

"Slumming?" I asked with a goofy smile.

"Horny!" she declared. "You know that! But we do need to kill time until my grandfather closes the shop at 7:00pm. We don't want him to hear my screams of ecstasy!"

"You're that confident?"

"Even without the fantasy, you make me scream! I was just controlled at your place because of your housemates!"

We entered the diner and were seated by the hostess. We ordered and ate and still had about twenty minutes to kill, so we ordered coffee and pie.

"This is going to be our last time, right?" Beth asked.

"That is the plan," I replied. "And I am yours to command."

"Tie me up, ravish me in every possible way."

"And you want to tie me up?"

"Yes, but I don't feel as if you'd get off on it."

"I'm willing to give it a go."

"Then finish your pie!" Beth commanded.

I ate the last bit of my pie, downed the last of my coffee, then paid the check. We left the diner and walked back to the tailor shop, which was now dark. Beth and I walked around the side, climbed the stairs, and she let us into the apartment. Beth had re-arranged the furniture so it didn't look the same as it had when Bev had used it, and I saw a gym bag on the bed.

"I'll strip, and then you tie me to the bed, legs tied with the soft ropes to the legs of the bed, hands handcuffed, and the cuffs tied to the bedrail with a rope. I want you to tie me tight enough, so I can't move very much. You've never done anything like this, right?"

"Correct."

"Then we need a 'safe word'. That's a word that if either of us uses, the other stops immediately and unties the person. We'll use 'red'. Say that, and that stops whatever we're doing, and I'll untie you; you do the same if I say it. That way, we know for sure everything is consensual, and the person isn't freaking out."

"That makes sense."

Beth unzipped the bag and took out the things she'd mentioned, along with lube.

"For the tit fuck and the back door!" she declared. "As huge as you are, we'll need a lot of it!"

"One logistical question — if I tie you that way and tie you tight, what you called the 'back door' isn't possible."

"Do that last, and when we get there, untie my legs and lift them on your shoulders."

"That should work."

Beth quickly undressed, and I tied her to the bed with her guiding me. Once she was tied up, I undressed and contemplated how to proceed. I decided I'd cum in her mouth first, and after a moment's thought, I moved into a position I'd never used before — sixty-nine with me on top.

I put my glans in Beth's mouth, and she began sucking and licking. I lowered my face to her pussy and pressed my tongue between her labia, coating it with her tangy juices. I swirled it several times, then flicked her clit. Beth moaned, and I latched onto her clit, then began flexing my hips so that I was fucking her mouth.

Beth really got into it, and she sucked hard and swirled her tongue as I moved in and out of her mouth while tonguing her clit. I was surprised at how quickly my pleasure built, and I didn't try to hold back. Beth had a very good orgasm about thirty seconds before I felt the irresistible urge. I groaned, and cum spurted into Beth's mouth, her tongue swirling around my glans.

"That was SO hot!" she declared when I moved off her.

"I'm glad I lived up to the fantasy!"

I decided the next thing to do was a tit fuck, and while I waited to get hard again, I took a page from Stefi's book and worshiped Beth's gorgeous breasts, kissing, licking, and sucking. After about ten minutes, I retrieved the tube of lubricant, squirted some between her breasts, and some on my palm. I slowly stroked myself until I was hard, then put my dick between her breasts and pressed them together.

I began sliding forward and back, and Beth raised her head, providing me with a perfect target — her nose. Again, my pleasure built quicker than usual, and soon enough, jets of cum landed on Beth's nose, lips, chin, and neck. She licked her lips and smiled, and I moved off her, ready to begin the next round.

I always got hard while eating pussy, and it was no different this time, and after giving Beth three orgasms with my lips and tongue, I moved between her legs. She was dripping wet, so I lined up, pushed in a bit, then thrust hard, driving all the way into her in one savage thrust.

Beth groaned deeply, then growled, "FUCK ME!"

I did, pounding her as if I was trying to drive her not just through the bed but through the floor as well. Beth could barely move, but she did flex her hips as I fucked her hard and fast. When Beth came, she screamed loudly, and strong spasms massaged my shaft as I pistoned in and out of her. I fucked her for fifteen minutes, giving her three very good orgasms, before I slammed deep into her, ground against her clit, and my cum blasted deep inside her.

"I'm going to have to do this again," she panted when I finally pulled out.

I decided the best way to get hard was to sixty-nine with me on top again. It didn't take long for me to get hard, and when I was fully erect, I quickly moved off her, untied her legs, and applied liberal amounts of lube to my glans and shaft and her rear entrance. As she'd advised, I lifted her legs to my shoulders, lined up, and pushed slowly into her rear.