Chapter 9: This Pain Will Turn to Good By and By-May'96

this pain will turn to good by and by. (Ovid) - May, 1996

Athens, Greece Early Evening

James and Darryl planned to take full advantage of an overnight stop in Athens, before going on to the alcohol-free and more restrictive environment of the Moslem countries. Used to the local custom, they both took naps in their rooms until 9:00 PM. They dressed casually and headed out to a taverna that James had frequented for many years for a fashionably-late dinner. Greek nightlife starts late and ends when everyone goes home. The government once tried to dictate a 4:00 AM closing and was all but run out of office. The subject has not come up again.

They had just entered the lively taverna when a female voice shouted over the boisterous crowd, "James, James McNichol, over here, Sugar; join us."

They looked toward the sound and found a table with two men and one woman. Darryl saw recognition in James's eyes, although not complete delight at running into the trio. The woman was slight of build, but attractive and vivacious in a way that made you think that an evening with her would be anything but dull. One of the men looked Spanish and a little world-weary, as though he needed a long rest. The other was neat and prim in a way that practically shouted British before he opened his mouth. James brought Darryl over and made the introductions.

"I would like you to meet the extraordinary Ms. Cheryl Woodson, photographer, who is working for whom, Time?"

"Correct, plus USA Today and some others." She replied in an accent that came from somewhere south of Atlanta. It was so syrupy sweet that on some women, it would have been comical, but on her was as irresistible as a slice of pecan pie, and, Darryl suspected, about as good for you. It was Mae West meets Tobacco Road with a lap dancer's instinct for stroking a male ego. "And let me guess, Sugar. Well, no guess, I've seen your handsome face in pictures, and your work. You are the Pulitzer Prize photographer and James's protégée, Darryl Sanders. I'm right surprised to see you here; I thought you were Courtney Archer's very, very personal photographer?"

"I was. I quit."

"And Enrique Salcedo, photographer for Paris Match, I assume," continued James, who paused until Enrique nodded. "And Wallace Hamilton, who I know is still working for the London Times. So I'm sure everyone is here because they are on their way to or from the war in Afghanistan, right?"

As it happened, everyone was going except Enrique, who was coming back after several months. This made him the center of attention, while they all pumped him for information.

"Not much to tell that you haven't read in the papers." Enrique explained. "Everyone expects the Taliban to be in Kabul in a few months, September at the latest. What you may not be prepared for is the degree of panic among the Kabuli who know that their westernized way of life is coming to an end. They are fleeing like rats from a sinking ship, and as a result, the government is grinding to a halt. It's getting harder to get permits and documents. Bribes are no longer just the easiest way to get things done; now, they're the only way."

"What about the women, Enrique?"

"Therein lays the most tragic story of all. The women of Kabul are among the most westernized in this part of the world. You can see some pretty hot fashions on the streets. They are educated; they have jobs, and they have a fair bit of independence. They know when the Taliban come; that's over. They will be forced to wear burqas, have no jobs and be allowed no education."

"So why don't they just flee?"

"Often they can't. They don't control their own money; they cannot travel without a male member of their family, and they have nowhere to go."

"Well, they are the story I'm here to cover," declared Cheryl.

"And the food is what I'm here to cover," insisted James, "so to hell with shop talk; we could have done that in the airport lounge. We're here in one of the finest tavernas in Athens, and we'd better start eating, drinking and making some noise, or they'll throw us out in the street, and rightly so." He looked around daring anyone to dissent, and finding none, the party got down to the serious business of eating.

Most menu items at a taverna are familiar enough; the emphasis being on quality and quantity rather than on exotic or innovative dishes. You can choose from classic Greek specialties like moussaka, lamb, giuvetsi, pasticcio or any number of pasta dishes. Or if you want to really go native Greek, you can totally ignore the menu and just custom order whatever the hell you want, and the odds are you will get it. The only rule seems to be to order more that you can possibly eat. And of course, lots of wine to wash it down. Astringent retsina, if your palate is up to it, or more civilized libations if not. Once again, the order of the day is to overindulge.

As the hours pass, the combination of food, large amounts of beer and wine and the passionate Greek music play their magic. The conversations get louder, and people tend to get friendlier, to each other, as well as to the cats under the tables begging scraps. Darryl noticed Cheryl had gradually been maneuvering closer throughout the meal and focusing her conversation more and more toward him. He kept trying to redirect the discussion to the larger group but with less and less success. He caught James' eyes once with a silent plea for help but found only amusement there. He was being thrown to the wolves.

He felt a hand on his leg high enough to be about an inch shy of brazen and lips very close to his ears whispering in that sultry southern accent. "There is no use looking to James for help, Sugar; he never could handle me either. Besides, I don't bite... often."

"Ah, Ms. Woodson. I'm flattered but..."

"Cheryl, honey, it's Cheryl; you should always call a lady by her first name after she has touched you in an intimate way."

"But you've never touched me in... ohh ohhh ohhh ohhh!"

"Have now, Sugar," she stated matter-of-factly as she released his now erect manhood.

"If I were a woman and you were a man, that would have been considered the grossest form of sexual harassment."

"True, Sugar, just another reason I'm glad I wasn't born with one of those appendages, especially since it's so easy to borrow one whenever I want. Can I borrow yours tonight?"

"No, you may not. I hardly know you."

"So... I just wanted to play with it, honey, not marry it."

"And besides, I'm still kind of in love with someone."

"Kind of in love? Usually when a guy says that, it means they've kind of broken up. Did you and Miss Courtney split?"

"How did you know about Courtney and me?"

"Hey, Sugar, you and she did a great job keeping it under wraps; but the press was pretty sure you guys were doing the nasty; you were just discrete. So you two were an item, but now you've split, huh, Sweetheart?"

"Yeah."

"Serious split? Who caused it?"

"Very serious, I think permanent, and I walked out on her."

"So what's the problem, honey? Sounds like you're pretty damn available to me."

"Except I still love her. I don't think that will ever change."

"Oh my goodness gracious, and bless my soul, Christmas has come early, I get the one guy in the whole world with a conscience. Now you are totally irresistible, and I am totally wet; I just have to have you. You poor innocent babe."

Cheryl now ended all pretenses at propriety and climbed into Darryl's lap and started to kiss him. He fended her off temporarily and was looking around for help but finding only laughing, smiling faces. Suddenly he felt something poking him in the palm of his hand and looked down to discover that she had worked his hand into her shirt and over a bare breast, so that her nipple was rubbing his palm. She was wiggling her cute butt in his lap and in spite of himself, his body was responding. He was developing an erection which she immediate reached down and grabbed.

"Is this all for me, Sugar?" she asked in a little-girl voice.

"No dammit, it's not," said Darryl, and grabbing her firmly about the waist, he lifted her off his lap and placed her gently but firmly back in her chair.

Not the least discouraged, Cheryl just smiled sweetly at him. "Ohhh, I love them when they play hard to get! But Darryl, honey lamb, I'll get you in the end. I just was giving you the chance to make it easy on yourself. I have to solve the two great mysteries."

"What mysteries?"

"The mysteries I will solve when we're alone together."

Darryl snorted, "Then they will remain mysteries, because I have no intention of ever being alone with you."

Cheryl beamed across the table at James. "Oh. James, this one is so sweet, and shy; I just love him. You brought him just for me, didn't you? You, sweet man you."

"Well not quite, Cheryl; he's actually very good at what he does, but if you want to ah... borrow him for a while..."

"James," shouted an outraged Darryl, "Don't say that; I was counting on you to help me with this woman,"

"Why Darryl," laughed James, "You don't need my help; you seem to be doing just fine by yourself." Then in a very loud stage whisper, "If you play your cards right, I think you could even get lucky tonight."

Everyone, except Darryl, thought this hilarious. He just blushed, which struck everyone else as even more comical. By 2:00 AM, he'd had enough fighting Cheryl off and providing everyone's entertainment. He waited until she was off powdering her nose, then rose, wished everyone a good evening, and headed back to the hotel. Between the long day and the wine, he was asleep before his head was on the pillow.

The Lake House 3:30 AM

"I want to feel passion, I want to feel pain. I want to weep at the sound of your name. Come make me laugh, come make me cry... just make me feel alive."

Joey Lauren Adams

Jaclyn found herself awake, but she couldn't immediately place what had disturbed her sleep. She was spooned with Courtney, their nude bodies gracefully blended like two Greek sculptures, her hand gently nestling Courtney's breast. Then she felt, as much as heard, the muffled crying. Courtney was silently sobbing, her body trembling.

"Courtney, oh my God, you are crying; is it because of us, because of what we've done? I am so sorry if I've hurt you."

Courtney rolled over and clung to her. She now allowed herself to cry aloud. "No, Jaclyn... it's not... what you've done... what we've done." She took a deep breath, "That was beautiful. You are beautiful."

"What is it then; why are you so upset?"

"Oh Jaclyn, it's not your fault, I'm crying for what it wasn't. For what it couldn't be. For what can never be. There's nothing there anymore. Oh my God, Jaclyn, I just feel completely empty; I just feel nothing at all."

Athens, Greece 3:30 AM

"I'm not a vamp. I just like men."

Dorothy Stratten

Sometime later Darryl came half awake, hearing someone in the room and the sound of clothes coming off. Realizing that James was back but not wishing to start a conversation, he rolled over to go back to sleep. Or he tried to, until he became aware of someone in bed with him. Someone wearing perfume and whose breasts were poking him in his back. Someone whose hands were reaching around to fondle his limp organ.

"Cheryl?"

"Yes, Sugar, I'm here. At last we're alone."

"No, James will be here any minute."

She laughed. "I reckon not, Sweetheart. We swapped keys, so he's probably sound asleep in my bed by now."

"That rotten son of a bitch sold me out?"

"Well, the way he put it, Sugar, was that a night with me should be a part of any young gentleman's education. A concept I heartily endorse."

"Not interested."

"I could get another girl and start with a little girl-girl action; you guys always like that."

"No thank you!"

"Blow job?"

"Nope."

"Hand job?"

"No, thank you."

"No, thank you? Not even a hand job? Hold on one cotton-picking minute, mister. Turn around here, and look at me."

She grabbed Darryl and turned him over, then got up on her knees and turned on the bedside lamp. She was probably in her early thirties but extremely fit. Her trim figure was feminine without any excess fat, and her breasts, while modest, were shapely and capped by some very tempting, very erect nipples. With her face, figure, and vivacious personality, even Darryl had to admit she was an unusually attractive woman. His body started to respond in confirmation.

"So, Sugar, I'm pretty sure that pole between your legs agrees that I'm not the ugliest gal in this berg. You are by your own admission and by your own choice free. You're on your way to a part of the world where you aren't even going to get a copy of Playboy, let alone any nookie for the next six months. So unless you plan to play drop the soap with James, I'm like the gas station on the edge of the desert, last pussy for the next 24 weeks. Honey lamb, you reckon you want to reconsider?"

Darryl laughed in spite of himself. "Cheryl, you are one of a kind, and I suspect my education would not have been complete without meeting you. But how about we talk first?"

"And fuck later?"

"No promises. But I want to talk about James. I gather you know him pretty well."

Cheryl sighed in resignation and lay on her side against him with her head on his shoulder. She idly played with his balls while she answered. "James, oh yes, he's the first I set my sights on straight out of journalism school. He was and still is the one to get my panties wet, along with every other female in range. Hah. But I had to take my shot like everyone else. Every woman worth the name has to take a shot at landing James McNicol. But, Sugar, no one has, and I suspect no one will. Some one already has that man's heart and has for as long as anyone's known him. We're all supposed to be such ace reporters, but that's a story no one's broken. Still, he's always ready to give a girl a good humping when she needs it, unlike some folks who shall go nameless..."

"Isn't anyone close to him, special to him?"

"Oh sure, Sugar, there is one that he treats very differently from everyone else, one he let's in."

"OK, who is that?"

Cheryl laughed. "Why Sugar, that's you."

"Me?"

"Oh yes, sugar lamb, you! He walks up to you at graduation and hands you a hand-picked set of equipment and three weeks of one-on-one instruction at his mountain home, supposedly a gift from these adopted relatives, right? Well honey, let me tell you, NO ONE, and I mean NO ONE gets that kind of personal training from James McNicol at any price. Believe me, he's been offered some pretty fabulous sums, but he just doesn't do that. Second, it is the gospel in our business that James McNicol works alone, solo, sans partner, no sidekick, mono. That's just the way it is. And Sugar, don't think people haven't tried. I tried; I even offered this luscious body. It just doesn't happen. Now tell me, honey, what did you have to give him?"

"Ah, nothing, really. I just asked if he had anything and agreed to follow his directions, and he said we're leaving in the morning."

"Bless my grits, he loves your ass for some reason. You are very, very, uniquely special to James, and I think you need to find out why that is. The good news is James does not lie; it's just not in him, so if he answers at all, he'll tell the truth. But before I went into a life and death situation with a man, I would want to know what we were to each other."