Chapter 7: Sammy is Indispensable

Mr. Tom Collingsworth's visit to his new space in our building was heralded as a major achievement for us. Having a member of the board of directors of some of our realty trusts house his company in the headquarters building was viewed as a prestigious event. John Oldham and Suzanne joined me in welcoming Mr. Collingsworth, and they hung around for the complete tour.

Daniel McDonald actually wore a suit for the occasion. He proudly pointed out how effectively he had interpreted the designer's use of glass, wall covering and tile work. Mr. Collingsworth was duly impressed, but I could tell that he had something more pressing on his mind. When it was evident that it was going to be impossible for him to have a private word with me, he invited me to drop by his home on Sunday afternoon. Since he didn't mention Cynthia accompanying me, I took it that he wanted me to come alone.

I was late getting to the bank and found Doug beside himself, breathing fire as he spoke to me. "Where have you been? I didn't think you were going to show up for the most important meeting of my life."

"Cool it! Pull yourself together, Douglass. This is your time to shine. Loosen up!"

Doug was still fuming when we were escorted into the loan officer's office. The sign on her desk read: 'Constance Carrillo'. As she stood to shake hands with us, I noticed a wide gold band on her ring finger. She seemed to know that Doug was the applicant and gave him her full attention. I used the time to appraise my adversary.

In the five minutes it took her to assess Doug's business acumen, I was able to determine that Ms. Carrillo was thirty-one, had given up watching her diet, and no longer shaved her pubic hair. Evidenced by the poor job her bra was doing to support her breasts, and her shaggy-dog hair style, she strived for simplicity. Once Ms. Carrillo determined that he was totally inept, she turned her attention to me.

"And what is your interest in this rather precarious venture, Mr. Oldham?" she asked, seemingly unaware that Doug, having endured the exhausting ordeal of inquisition, was exhaling like a deflating balloon.

"Doug and I are fishing buddies. During those long hours of casting and waiting for the fish to bite, I've become aware that his knowledge of auto parts is exceptional. You can ask him anything and he'll respond with an encyclopedic explanation. On our weekend fishing and camping trips, I've learned that he's an avid outdoorsman. The meticulous way he sets up the camp and prepares our evening meal makes me think he employs the same approach to doing his job. I know his devotion to his family..."

Ms. Carrillo didn't just cut me off with, "that's enough." Her 'slash-to-the-throat' gesture told me that she was not impressed with my flowery description of what made Doug a candidate for person of the year.

"So, you're a couple of good old boys, who sit around waiting for the fish to bite and come up with ideas how you can scam a quarter of a million dollars from some pathetic, unsuspecting loan officer. What do you take me for? Do you think I'm desperate? I'll have you know I have experience with men like you. My first husband caused me to lose my job by falling for a half-baked scheme like yours. I've wised up since then."

Ms. Carrillo stopped talking; having realized that she had given us far too much personal background. Doug and I looked at each other. I was wondering what I could say to smooth things over. He had a question. "Was your first husband a fisherman?"

Naturally, Ms. Carrillo misunderstood the question. She took it, as did I, that he was trying to be funny.

"Get out!" she ordered, and when we didn't move, she followed it up with, "Both of you, get out!"

Doug, being married, was far more astute than me. He knew that she was about to cry and complied with her order. I lingered, not ready to give up.

"Meet me tonight at the ice cream shop. It's down the street from the twin movie theatres. The second movie usually starts at eight and we'll have the ice cream shop to ourselves for an hour or so. It's, as Mr. Ernest Hemmingway would say, 'a clean, well lighted place.'"

She looked over at me, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "Have we come full circle? Is that a subliminal allusion to fishing?" she asked, discarding the tissue, and showing signs of recovery.

"You're quick," I said, realizing that she thought my reference to Hemmingway was an attempt to reinforce my praise of Doug's outdoor skills. I got up and was at the door when I paused to look back at her. "I just want to talk to you. See you about eight?"

She didn't say that she would meet me, nor did she say that she wouldn't be there. I had a sneaky feeling that she would want to talk.

Doug was beside himself. "What made you feed her all that crap? She saw right through you. If I'd known you were going to fuck it up for me, I'd have come by myself."

"Relax, it's not over yet," I said, reaching for confidence that wasn't there.

Friday afternoon passed slowly. I double-checked with Wanda to make sure she had the directions to Cynthia's house, and told her the gatekeeper would be watching for her the following morning.

Cynthia had our evening planned. We would change into comfortable clothes, prepare for Wanda's visit the following day, have dinner, and check the entries on her income taxes until it was time for our nightly swim. I waited until seven-thirty to tell her about my offer to meet with Constance Carrillo at the ice cream shop. "Would you like to go with me?" I asked, and watched her consider my offer.

"Describe her to me."

"Unkempt, crude, severe hang-ups, unpredictable, and deceptively cunning."

"That tells me nothing. Be more specific."

"It must have been something I said. Right out of the blue, she started raving about a bad marriage. She's lost her pride in her appearance, and I think she's in serious danger of drowning in her own tears. She has a sense of humor, but I believe it's been a long time since she's had a good laugh. I want to give her that, but first, I've got to make her talk."

"Dress warmly, Darling. Wear your boots and parka."

"Are you sure you don't mind my going?"

"Take the black car."

"Look, she probably thinks I'm doing this so she'll give Doug the loan, but that's not the case. I'm doing it for her because I know I can help her, but she may not show up. I may be back in an hour."

"I know why you're doing it, Darling. Take as long as you need, I'll be here when you return."

It was after ten PM when I got back. Cynthia had given up on our going for our swim. I found her in bed.

"Get on top of me," I said, assuming that she was awake. It was only seconds later when I felt her lips touch my neck, her nipples bore into my back, her pussy rub the cheeks of my ass and her legs spread out next to mine. We were connected, just the way I liked.

Several minutes passed, and except for her occasionally touching her lips to the back of my neck, we enjoyed the closeness of our bodies molded together. I wanted to tell her about my meeting with Constance, but first, I wanted to put her mind to rest.

"Are you my woman?"

Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. "I'm yours, completely yours, from head to toe."

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear."

Several minutes went by before she spoke, softly, "Sammy?"

"Yes, Cynthia?"

"Are we going to fuck?"

"I was going to tell you about my meeting with Constance, but if you want to fuck, we can do that instead."

"Can't we do both?'

"Yes, which would you like to do first?'

It only took seconds for her to respond. "If it's my choice, I would prefer to fuck first. You can tell me about Constance later."

I growled as I dumped her onto her back, much to her delight. Her shrill laughter only lasted seconds until she discovered that her upper lip was being lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, repeatedly, much the same way I'd taken Constance's upper lip between my lips when we parted.

It was not a kiss, far from it, but Cynthia loved the tender treatment. She sighed contentedly as my lips tugged on her upper lip, gently pulling on it and releasing it. She didn't complain at the time I was taking to repeatedly pull on her lip and let it snap back in place. Nor did she complain when I moved my lips to her nipples, although I did hear her whisper something that sounded like, "about fucking time," very softly.

After maybe fifteen minutes of alternating between her nipples I had them pointing upward, stone hard. If they were painful to her, she didn't complain. Cynthia sighed again when I repositioned my body between her legs and moved my lips to her pussy. It was open and drenched in juices, like a volcano spewing hot lava down into the valley. She was extremely patient with me, permitting me to work at my own pace. But eventually, when the tip of my tongue dove in and made a direct strike on her clit, her whole body quaked. I waited until she stopped shaking and her sighs told me she was ready to be penetrated.

"Are you my woman?" I asked again, as my cock found her opening.

"YES!" she shouted, and then, more softly, "Yes, yes, yes, I'm your woman."

I didn't know what made me go to such lengths to take possession of her. It seemed to me that it was what she wanted, to be possessed.

"You've been a good girl for letting me take my time with your upper lip and your nipples."

"I'm your good girl," she said, before becoming silent as we concentrated on making this time even more pleasurable than the last. We'd come a long way since that first time when I'd taken her, bent on taming her, not caring if she enjoyed it or not. She'd accepted my method and discovered that she liked being my prey. Since then, we'd both striven to gratify, becoming responsive to the needs of the other.

Our lovemaking didn't stop after the first or second orgasm either. We went on until we were totally exhausted, wearing each other out. That's the reason I didn't get a chance to talk about Constance. Sleep seemed more important than talking about a woman's troubles and my attempt to help her.

With only three days remaining before our trip to Florida, there were tons of things that we needed to get done. I was thinking that it may have been a mistake to invite Wanda to the house to research the stock portfolio. We also had the hair stylist coming, and there was packing that needed to be done.

In the short time since I'd taken up residence in the house, most decisions had fallen to me. Margaret and Robert openly came to me when there was a question about something. It wasn't like they ignored Cynthia. If she was within hearing distance, they went right ahead and posed their question to me. With Margaret, her questions usually concerned the menu, what to order from the market and what time to have the meals ready. With Robert, the questions had more to do with getting my approval regarding the building and grounds. He didn't need close supervision. He knew what needed to be done; he just liked to have my approval.

It sometimes bothered me the way Cynthia silently stood by, as I made suggestions about the menu or gave my okay to something Robert wanted to do. It made me wonder how she was able to direct others at her company.

We were having breakfast on Saturday morning when I told her the arrangement I'd made with Wanda. She was to receive one of Cynthia's pendants. "It doesn't need to be rare or expensive. She knows the value of a Collingsworth cutting," I said.

"It's very generous of her to give up her free time to help us," Cynthia responded, accepting the payment I'd offered Wanda without consulting her first.

"When the hair stylist arrives, we'll set her up to work on the tile area that overlooks the pool. That will make it easy to clean up afterward and I'll be able to pop out of the study to tell her how I want your hair to look," I said, more for Margaret's benefit than Cynthia's.

"Do you want Robert to move a stool from the breakfast bar, Mr. Sammy?" Margaret asked.

"That's exactly what I was thinking, Margaret. It will swivel and be the right height for the stylist to work."

When Wanda arrived, I introduced her to Margaret before leading her to Cynthia's study. Wanda, who grew up in a home equally as elegant as Cynthia's house, was impressed by the furnishings, the indoor pool and the size of the study.

Cynthia joined us for a few minutes, but soon excused herself, saying that she was going to take a shower before the hair stylist arrived. I let her go without remarking until she was out the door.

"Sometimes I don't understand that woman. We showered when we first got up this morning."

"Sammy, didn't you notice her clutching her pelvis? She may be sore down there."

"Oh, yeah, I guess I put her through a grueling evening. She never complains about anything I do. That bothers me."

"You really are dense. Can't you see that she loves you too much to protest anything you do to her?"

"That's another thing that bothers me. I may have gone beyond the point of no return," I said, wanting to drop the subject. I guess Wanda did too, because she busied herself with the stock folders.

The stylist arrived and I had to go upstairs to tell Cynthia that he was there. "Did you know they were going to send a male?" I asked.

"He's supposed to be very good," she answered, off-handedly. We walked downstairs together and I introduced her to Reuben. He didn't look like a hair stylist to me. For one thing, he didn't wear the customary smock, opting instead, for white pants, white shoes, and a black T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms and chest.

Reuben took in the breakfast stool that doubled as a barber's chair, sniffed the air, and complained that there was no sink to wash Madam's hair. I explained that Madam had just showered and her hair was clean. He unzipped his tool case, sniffed the air again, and took out his clippers, presumably willing to make the best of a difficult situation.

I told him how I wanted Cynthia's hair to look, short, but long enough to comb back on the sides, and went back to the study. It was maybe thirty minutes later when the door opened and she stood in the doorway, statue-like, waiting for me to express my opinion of the look Reuben had given her. He was standing behind her, also awaiting my verdict.

"I like it very much," I said, from fifteen feet away, before I took the first step toward her. The closer I came to her, the more satisfied I was that Reuben had followed my instructions to the letter.

She smiled when I reiterated my approval. "I'm glad you like it," she said, before telling me that it was my turn. This was something that I hadn't bargained for, but since we had a hair stylist at our disposal, I acquiesced to her suggestion that I should take advantage of the opportunity to have a professional work on my hair.

The only thing I didn't like about Reuben was the way he sniffed at the air, making me wonder if he was allergic to the chlorine in the pool water. Otherwise, we got along fine. He became talkative, asking why I insisted that Mrs. Collingsworth wear her hair short and dress like a boy.

"As you may have noticed, she doesn't have much going for her, looks wise. When we first met, she had long hair, which she often wore in a bun at the back of her head to emphasize her height. It may have been my vanity, but I didn't want to be seen with a woman taller than me. I convinced her, demanded really, that she lose the high heels, which she did without question. She also had a padded bra, which bugged the shit out of me until I got her to go without it. That's when I decided that she should use her miniature breasts to her advantage. The young boy look seems to agree with her."

I could see Reuben's expression in the glass wall that surrounded the pool. It was one of approval. "I work on hundreds of women and I must say that I seldom meet one who is as contented as Mrs. Collingsworth. She confided that she has to have soft material under her shirt. Otherwise, she finds the stimulation impossible for her to work."

"Her work is very important to her. It requires precise concentration. That's the reason I permit her to wear the soft material under her shirt while she's working. Around here though, I want her in a constant state of arousal."

"If I may say so, Sir, you've done a magnificent job of molding her into an obedient slave."

I ripped at the sheet that was being used to keep the clippings off me and jumped from the seat. "Don't say that! If there is anything I don't want, it is to turn her into my slave. I care for her and want to do right by her," I shouted, glaring at him.

Reuben apologized, but not for anything he'd said. I got the impression that he was sorry for me. I think that he was envious that I had a rich widow who idolized me and would do anything I asked.

Knowing that it would be impossible to explain how I felt about Cynthia, I got back in my seat and let him finish his work on my hair. He had no right to know of my fear that I'd be perceived as a gigolo, only interested in profiting from my relationship with the rich widow. How could I explain it to him if I didn't understand it myself?

I must admit that when he held the mirror up for me to see the results, that I was impressed with the outcome. Cynthia was equally impressed and when she handed Reuben the check, she invited him back, saying that we would improve his working conditions as he saw fit.

"We'll be away next Saturday," I reminded her.

"We'll be back on Sunday. Can you come at seven?" she asked Reuben and he agreed to be here. I wondered if he had peeked at the amount of the check.

Cynthia wanted to go shopping for things she said we needed to take with us on our trip. I argued that we could pick up anything we needed after we got there, but after we had lunch, I let her go.

Wanda was making good progress with the stock. I joined her in the study and perused what she'd been able to assemble on some of the companies involved. Overall, it didn't look bad. In addition to the official verdicts from stock pickers, she'd given a thumbnail sketch of her own opinion to sell, hold or buy more.